Thursday, May 24, 2012

A Contemporary Thursday


As promised my fellow book lovers I have a treat for you today! Two snippets from Author Roz Lee's newly released hot romance which is just in time for the summer break and not to mention the long weekend coming up. 

Sweet Carolina not only has the romance but the action that goes along with racing cars! We've got adrenaline on and off the track, people! :) Against every grain in my book worm mind I am saving the book for this weekend's pool time, but that doesn't mean I have skimmed through it like a naughty child peeking at their birthday presents ahead of time. This one is going to be good!

And I'm going to say it. I hear Days of Thunder theme song playing in the back of my mind each time I look at the cover and as I pulled together the snippets! 

To set the tone there's no better place to start than at the beginning so let's buckle in for a fast lap around the track with Dell and Carolina!

Happy Reading! 
Snippet One: Dell in the zone


   “On your right.” 
   “Stay low.” 
   “Clear.” 
   “Hold steady.”
   Dell listened to the voice in his ear. Earl was one of the best spotters in racing and Dell would have to be crazy not to pay attention. One hundred and eighty miles per hour doesn't leave much room for error. Hell, there wasn't any room for error. The 14 car sped past on his right, leaving Dell looking at his bumper. He loosened his fingers on the steering wheel to keep blood flowing, then curled them back into a tight grip. His car inched up the track. The wall zoomed past, close. Too close. 
   “I'm tryin', Earl,” he answered. “Car's loose. I don't know if I can hold speed and make it through the turn.” “Stay low,” Earl admonished. 
   Dell fought the car through curve two, narrowly missing the wall as the rear of the car lost its grip on the track and pulled him up the embankment. 
   “Go back low.” 
   “Fuck, I'm tryin',” Dell said. “Who the hell built this car? The backend is all over the place.” 
   “Hang in there, Dell. We'll pit on caution and adjust the track bar.” 
   Dell battled the car through two more turns, barely keeping off the wall in turn four. He coaxed a bit of extra power out of the car on the straightaway, caught some air drafting off the car in front of him, and throttled back in turn one again, fighting to keep the backend from dragging him ass-backwards up the embankment and into the wall. 
   “Shit, Dell. Go low. Clear left. Hug the stripe.” 
   “I would if I could,” he said through gritted teeth. “Car needs a rebuild. Piece of fucking shit.”
   “Engineers are working on the problem, Dell.”
   “Hi, Ray,” Dell greeted his crew chief. “What the hell happened? The car was perfect in qualifying.”
   “Don't know, but we'll have a fix when you pit.”
   “If I make it that long. Damn thing's dragging me all over the track.”
   “Right.” Earl again.
   Dell glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the car coming up on his right side.
  “Got it.”
   Shit. “Where are we?” Dell asked.
   “Fifteenth, and slipping.”
   Well, fuck. The first race of the season, the Daytona 500, and he was driving a piece of shit that didn't have a preacher's prayer of winning. At this rate, finishing would be a long shot. It was only a matter of time before the car asserted its inclinations and dragged him into the wall, or worse, into another car. The 35 car passed and dropped down the track, forcing Dell to throttle back.
   “Clear.”
   “Yeah, I see.” Fuck.
   “Ten laps.” Earl called the milestone out.
   Jesus. Only ten laps? “Roger,” he acknowledged. “Where's a fucking caution when you need one?” he asked.
   “Patience, Dell,” Earl said. Such an idiotic statement didn't warrant a response. Dell wrestled the steering wheel, willing the car to follow.
   “You've got a tail,” Earl said.
   Dell glanced in the mirror. Shit. What the fuck would Warner want to draft off him for? Dell couldn't think of a single reason anyone on the track would draft off a car the driver couldn't control, and it had to be obvious to everyone the car was driving him, not the other way around.
   “Fuck.”
   “Hold,” Earl admonished.
   “Like I have any fucking control,” Dell answered. “What the hell does he think he's doing?” Daytona was one of two tracks where bump drafting, catching a free ride, so to speak, from the driver in front of you, was allowed. It could be a mutually beneficial maneuver, causing both cars to go faster, but the last thing Dell needed was to go faster. With the recent rule changes, it wasn't wise, or necessary to draft for the entire race. Most drivers saved the maneuver for when they or a teammate needed a boost. If it had been anyone other than Richard Warner on his tail, he might have been grateful.
   His car lurched when Warner eased up on his bumper, pushing, nudging. Dell reacted, braking, engaging the clutch and using his heel to rev the engine – keeping the RPM up. The car responded, and pushed by the car kissing its bumper, accelerated. Dell's eyes flicked to the control panel and back. He cringed at the increase in speed. Shit. He re-engaged the gears and held on for the ride.
   His fingers tightened on the wheel and his arms ached with the effort to keep the car on the track. Seconds. Flying, fleeting, seconds. Warner was going to take him out of the race. It was the only reason Warner could have for drafting at this stage of the game.
   Dell ground his teeth as he approached turn one.
   “Clear right,” Earl said.
   Fuck. Warner nudged his bumper. The rear end of Dell's car lost its tenuous hold on the asphalt. He turned into the slide, trying to bring the car back under his control. The sound of crumpling metal penetrated his sound-muffling headphones as the car hit the wall. He spun out of control down the thirty-one degree embankment at one hundred and eighty miles per hour.
   Dell fought for control and prayed no one would hit him as he spun in dizzying circles. His car came to a halt at the bottom of the turn, untouched, but mangled from his close encounter with the wall.
   “Caution's out,” Earl informed him.

Snippet Two: Moment between Dell and Carolina

   Damn. He didn't want to care about Carolina, but someone sure as hell needed to. It was obvious she wasn't taking care of herself. Dell wet a towel and grabbed two water bottles from the refrigerator. Since Warner's revelation, Dell thought of little else. Memories and reality collided until the pieces of the puzzle began to slip into place, and the picture they formed was ugly – filled with anger and hate that gnawed away at him.
   He'd only found relief in his dreams, dreams of Caro, beneath him, riding him, taking him away from reality, taking him to paradise and beyond.
   He stopped dead when he saw her.
   She'd undone her blouse, revealing perfect breasts encased in some sort of lace marvel that married engineering with sin, and sent blood rushing to his cock with enough speed to make him dizzy. Caro's head rested on the back of the sofa, her eyes closed, her full lips parted. Images through his impaired brain, and he couldn't decide which he wanted more – to shove his cock past those soft lips, or lick the sweat from her body, one inch at a time.
   He stood silent, watching her breathe, almost afraid to breathe himself – afraid he'd wake and find it was a dream – a fantasy. He wasn't the man for her. He knew it in his soul, but it didn't keep his body from wanting her.
   A wave of possessiveness stole over him. The erotic tableau was for him only. The tantalizing band of exposed skin was meant for his hands, his lips, and no other. Those lips were meant for his cock, his kiss. And the rest of her, the hot center taunting him in his dreams, that was his too, and he'd murder anyone who believed otherwise.
   She stirred, turning those sapphire blue eyes on him. An invisible current flowed between them, releasing Dell from his paralysis. Wrong. What he wanted was so wrong, but like a bug drawn to the light, he couldn't overcome nature. Knowing he was courting the flames of hell, he closed the distance between them. Her gaze followed his progress until he joined her on the sofa.
   “Dell,” she breathed.
   “Shh. Let me take care of you,” he said.

Sweet Carolina

Available at:
Amazon | B&N | Print Coming Soon

Back Of The Book
Twenty-three-year-old Carolina Hawkins needs an experienced Cup driver, or the business she inherited from her father will be facing its last lap on the NASCAR circuit. Approaching her childhood friend, Dell Wayne, is risky - there's a reason he doesn't have a ride in the middle of the season. Carolina pins her hopes and dreams on the man once touted as a brilliant, new style of driver, but whose recent track performance has earned him the nickname – Madman.
After his father's tragic death at Darlington, Caudell Wayne Jr. has done his best to live 'down' to his father's expectations. When Carolina Hawkins hires him to drive for her failing race team, her faith in his ability prompts Dell to dig deep to find the driver she needs in order to save her business and her dream, and if he's lucky, maybe he'll win the biggest trophy of all, her heart.



Did you feel that? As you read the first snippet you felt the rumble of the race car course through your whole body, didn't you! ;)

So, let's dish on race cars, sexy drivers and romance! I melted over the line, "Shhh. Let me take care of you." whispered to Carolina in the second snippet. I'm not sure I'll hold out until the weekend to read this one. While I have it on my Kindle, this one is getting added to my print collection as soon as it is available!

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