Excerpt/Giveaway: Flashes of Me by Cynthia Sax
FLASHES
OF ME
By
Cynthia Sax
(Avon
Impulse| On Sale: 02/18/2014 | E-Book ISBN 9780062328182
| $3.99)
(Avon
Impulse | On Sale: 03/11/2014 | Paperback ISBN: 9780062328229
| $3.99)
FLASHES
OF ME
is the
incredibly hot and steamy new novella from Cynthia Sax, author of the
Seen
Trilogy.
Sax
delves deep into voyeurism,
a whole new
realm of erotica, and her latest read screams with seduction. With a
red-hot tension between a brawny executive and a new, curvy intern,
the secrets, sex and suspense will have readers aching for more.
FLASHES
OF ME
is on
sale 02/18/2014 from Avon Impulse wherever e-books are sold. Please
contact me if you are interested in reviewing.
She
longs to be watched…
He
can’t bear to look away
Henley,
the head of cyber security at Blaine Technologies, is a man no sane
person crosses. He watches employees constantly using his network of
cameras and enforces his rules by any means possible. Henley strives
to protect everything in sight but rumors of his violent past, his
scarred hands and huge size have resulted in him being feared by
everyone… almost everyone.
In
walks
Katalina,
the perky intern with a bright taste for fashion. Kat has made a big
move across the country to escape her past, and comes alive at the
first touch of Henley. Though she fears the revelation of her most
painful secret much more than she fears Henley’s wrath, she sees
the loneliness in his dark eyes, feels the gentleness in his marred
fingers, and tastes the need in his kisses. She knows he watches her,
and her only. His silly rules about not stripping for the cameras and
no sex at the office are destined to be broken…it’s
only a matter of time.
But
can this beauty…
tame
her beastly boss?
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| IndieBound
Flashes
Of Me
“I
think we’re on the quiet floor,” I observe. No one else is
talking.
Camille’s
walk is defiant. “We’ll change that.” She pauses in front of
the stairwell. “Stairs?”
“Ummm . . .”
I thought the human resources lady said something about the
stairwells being for emergency use only, but I hadn’t been paying
close attention to her monotonous spiel. I was too worried about not
being chosen. “Sure.”
We
clomp down the stairs, our heels ringing against the concrete. The
supremely clean and brightly lit stairwell smells of stinky socks,
the stale air making me dizzy. Camille appears unaffected by the
stench. As we descend, she sings happily, her song choices being a
collection of increasingly vulgar hip-hop songs.
We
reach the second floor and Camille tugs on the door. It doesn’t
open. She scans her passcard over a small black security box. The
light remains red. “S**t on a stick.” She scans it again. Nothing
happens. “Unbelievable,” she fumes.
“Let
me try.” I wave my passcard over the sensor. The light remains red
and Camille curses. Her vocabulary makes me blush and, as I’m a
native New Yorker, that’s an impressive feat for her to accomplish.
“We’ll try the ground floor,” I suggest.
We
trudge down to the ground floor. This door is locked also. Camille
tries her passcard. It doesn’t work, prompting another stream of
colorful language from my new friend. I try my passcard. It’s as
useless as Camille’s.
“We’re
stuck.” I state the obvious, slapping the metal door, ignoring
Camille’s ranting. “Do you have a phone?”
“Do
I look like I have a phone?” Camille pivots in a circle, her arms
outstretched. “Besides we’re in freakin’ Fort Knox.” She pats
one of the walls. “These babies must be shielded to hell and back.”
“The
doors are thick also.” I slap the metal door again, my palm
stinging with the impact. “Hey.” I gaze upward. “They have
cameras.” I point at the black lens positioned above us. “Security
must be monitoring the stairwells.” I wave my arms at the camera.
“They’ll send help.”
“If
they’re real cameras, they’ll send help,” Camille scoffs.
“Didn’t you hear about that girl in Westwood? She was trapped in
a stairwell for four whole days. That stairwell had cameras too: fake
cameras, installed to discourage thieves. She ate her fingernails
down to bloody nubs.”
“Four
days,” I repeat, staring up at the camera. It looks real, but I
guess that’s the point. Fake-looking cameras wouldn’t fool
thieves. “We could pull the fire alarm.”
“If
we do that, we’ll get ourselves fired.” Camille shakes her head.
“They’ll evacuate the building and we’ll look like dumb a****.
Oh.” Her face becomes animated. “I could pick the lock.”
I
stare at her. “Can you do that?”
“I’ve
picked locks before.” She beams, acting as though this is a skill
to be admired. “Let me have a look.” Camille shoves me out of the
way. She examines the door, rattling the handle and poking her
fingernail into the lock. “Do you have a piece of wire?”
The
only piece of wire I have is attached to my bra. “Wait a second.”
I unbutton my blazer for the second time today, unhook my bra, and
pull it through the armholes. Jiggling the underwire, I try to poke
it through the fabric. “I need scissors.”
“If
we had scissors, I could jimmy the door open.” Camille eyes the
lock. “And our problems would be solved.”
“You
scare me.” I bite my bra, tearing the lace, and slide the wire out
of the cup. “Here’s your pick, as I believe you criminals call
it.”
“A
few minor misdemeanors does not make one a criminal,” Camille
mutters, taking the wire from me.
“Actually,
I believe it does.” I sit down on the steps, the concrete cool
under my ass.
“I
freed information.” Camille straightens the wire and inserts the
end into the lock. “This is America. Freeing information shouldn’t
be a misdemeanor.”
“Sure,
sure, tell it to the judge.” I watch her work, hoping to learn
something.
Minutes
pass. I don’t know anything about picking locks, but I do know how
to read people and Camille is struggling with her assigned task, her
curses growing louder and more colorful.
“Are
you sure you’ve done this before?” I lean back on the stairs,
spinning my bra around the tip of my right index finger. This is much
more interesting than shredding paper.
“I’m
not deliberately screwing the pooch,” Camille snaps. “This is a
high-end lock.”
“Thank
you,” a deep voice drawls, the low tones originating from behind
me. “We try our best.”
I
shriek, jump to my feet, and turn, dropping my bra. The behemoth from
the park catches the lavender lace before it touches the floor,
twisting the flimsy garment in his tanned fingers. Lightning flashes
in his dark eyes. His square chin juts.
He’s
big and sexy and impossible to resist so I don’t even try. I fling
myself against his massive body, wrap my arms around his waist, and
bury my face in his black cotton shirt. “You’re here. You somehow
knew we needed help and you came to our rescue.” He’s warm, his
body heat engulfing me, and he smells good, his lemon-and-cedar
cologne filling my nostrils.
My
mystery man stiffens, not moving for three agonizing heartbeats, and
then he stuffs my bra into the front right pocket of his pants and
hooks his arms around me. “I’ve got you, kitten,” he says
softly, the words rolling up his chest, his body hard, not an ounce
of give on his big physique. “You’re safe.” He rubs my back,
his stroking reviving the passion I thought sated.
“You
knew where to find me.” I snuggle deeper into his enormous form.
“It’s as though we’re connected.” My parents have this same
connection and their relationship lasted. Will our relationship last
also? I tilt my head back and meet my stranger’s gaze. His eyes are
the darkest brown, almost black. “How did you know where I was? Did
you feel it in your heart?” I place one of my palms over that area
on his chest.
“No.”
His lips flatten. “I saw you on the security cameras.”
About
the Author:
CYNTHIA SAX
lives
in a world filled with magic and romance. Although her heroes may not
always say “I love you,” they will do anything for the women they
adore. They live passionately. They play hard. They love the same
women forever.
Cynthia has loved
the same wonderful man forever. Her supportive hubby offers himself
up to the joys and pains of research, while they travel the world
together, meeting fascinating people and finding inspiration in
exotic places such as Istanbul, Bali, and Chicago.
Please visit her on
the web at www.CynthiaSax.com.
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