Wrapped in Lace Blog Tour

When I was a little boy, the best thing about the holiday season was unwrapping presents on Christmas morning — tearing off the paper and tossing it on the floor. Now that I’m a man, I like to unwrap slowly, deliberately, taking my time to savor what lies before me. I still like to throw the wrapping on the floor, but now I know the best gifts come wrapped in lace.

And unlike when I was a kid, I won’t get sick of this present by New Year’s. I’ll definitely be playing with this girl day after day after day.

After six years avoiding my hometown, the last thing I expected when I returned was a wannabe bad girl to unwrap my heart and rip open my soul. But that’s exactly what happened. Now if I can just get the hell out of my own way, maybe I’ll finally get the best gift of all — her!

Come get unwrapped by Drew this holiday.

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Globug's Review

 
Well I was totally wrapped up, not in lace, but in this story. One of my first thoughts as I finished reading Wrapped In Lace was that it's one of my favorites this year. The synopsis only scratches the surface of the awesomeness. It was so much more than I expected.

From the synopsis I really thought Drew Landon was going to be a player. He's not! I fell in love with this character so fast. The dream of a perfect life in his hometown was crushed by his girlfriend of four years. In one night he lost his best friend and brother, the girl he thought he loved and his even his parents were a casualty of the situation. It was easier to leave town than have to face his heartbreak everyday. Drew has the most incredible Nana that I've ever read. She is hysterical. It's his Nana that finally convinces Drew to come home for Christmas after six years.

Of course Nana has missed Drew terribly but she's also playing match-maker. It's been a decade since Drew and Piper have seen each other. They were the best of friends as children and secretly each others first love. I didn't want to put the book down once they re-connected. I loved everything about Piper. Her name is awesome, she's a talented artist, she takes care of her Gran-daddy and she's insecure but likes to pretend she's a bad girl.

Piper and Drew make up for their missed years pretty quick. I love that he comes up with a way to make her a part of his business. As much as I loved Drew's character he's still a guy and guys are just stupid half the time. That and a couple of other factors work against their chance at happily ever after.  Drew has to stop running from his past if he wants to claim his future and realize that his dreams are still possible just not as he first envisioned them. 

One of my favorite quotes is from Piper's best friend Sabrina:
"Oh my God, you totally got laid. That's why you're still dressed! You did the 'got laid parade' back home last night, didn't you?"

“There was this guy.”

“OOH, a guy.”

“Shut up,” I said, laughing. “We flirted and drank all night, and he was so hot and sweet and. . . .”

“You are totally gushing over a boy. I can’t believe it.”

“I am not,” I protested, but I knew I was. “I don’t even know his name.”

“Why not?”

“I threw up before we got that far.”

Sabrina fell back on my bed laughing. “You did not.”

I hid my head back under my pillow. “I did.”

“Girl, you are hopeless,” she said, still laughing. “How hot was he?”

I came out from hiding. “Pretty damn hot.”

“As in you’d shave for him? That hot?”

“As in I’d wax for him.”

Sabrina started to fan herself, and I got up and headed to my bathroom, looking for some aspirin. “We’ve got to find this wax-worthy gentleman,” Sabrina called out.

Prescott Lane is the author of First Position, Perfectly Broken, and her new release, Quiet Angel. She is originally from Little Rock, Arkansas, and graduated from Centenary College with a degree in sociology. She went on to receive her MSW from Tulane University, after which she worked with developmentally delayed and disabled children. She married her college sweetheart, and they currently live in New Orleans with their two children and two crazy dogs. Prescott started writing at the age of five, and sold her first story about a talking turtle to her father for a quarter. She later turned to writing romance novels because there aren't enough happily ever afters in real life.

Happily Ever Afters Guaranteed

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Release Day Blitz: Wrapped in Lace by Prescott Lane

 

When I was a little boy, the best thing about the holiday season was unwrapping presents on Christmas morning — tearing off the paper and tossing it on the floor. Now that I’m a man, I like to unwrap slowly, deliberately, taking my time to savor what lies before me. I still like to throw the wrapping on the floor, but now I know the best gifts come wrapped in lace.

And unlike when I was a kid, I won’t get sick of this present by New Year’s. I’ll definitely be playing with this girl day after day after day.

After six years avoiding my hometown, the last thing I expected when I returned was a wannabe bad girl to unwrap my heart and rip open my soul. But that’s exactly what happened. Now if I can just get the hell out of my own way, maybe I’ll finally get the best gift of all — her!

Come get unwrapped by Drew this holiday.

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I sat back and studied the canvas. I’d finally gotten it right — the way his lips turn up in that smile that makes both my heart and panties melt. It had taken me over a dozen tries to get it just perfect, but I finally had. Unfortunately, I didn’t feel any better. I thought if I could capture Drew’s smile on my canvas, my pain would somehow lessen. Because I’d always have his image, that his leaving me wouldn’t hurt so bad. It hadn’t worked. The pain in my heart was just as sharp, just as overwhelming as it was yesterday and the day before. I knew I’d never get over him. I knew it like I knew the deep blue color of his eyes, the rough spots on his hands. I knew it like I knew the way his lips tasted, the feel of his thick brown hair.

Prescott Lane is the author of First Position, Perfectly Broken, and her new release, Quiet Angel. She is originally from Little Rock, Arkansas, and graduated from Centenary College with a degree in sociology. She went on to receive her MSW from Tulane University, after which she worked with developmentally delayed and disabled children. She married her college sweetheart, and they currently live in New Orleans with their two children and two crazy dogs. Prescott started writing at the age of five, and sold her first story about a talking turtle to her father for a quarter. She later turned to writing romance novels because there aren't enough happily ever afters in real life.

Happily Ever Afters Guaranteed

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Cover Reveal: Wrapped In Lace by Prescott Lane

Genre: Contemporary Romance (Holiday)

Release Day: November 2nd

*This is a Standalone*

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BLURB

When I was a little boy, the best thing about the holiday season was unwrapping presents on Christmas morning — tearing off the paper and tossing it on the floor. Now that I’m a man, I like to unwrap slowly, deliberately, taking my time to savor what lies before me. I still like to throw the wrapping on the floor, but now I know the best gifts come wrapped in lace.

And unlike when I was a kid, I won’t get sick of this present by New Year’s. I’ll definitely be playing with this girl day after day after day.

After six years avoiding my hometown, the last thing I expected when I returned was a wannabe bad girl to unwrap my heart and rip open my soul. But that’s exactly what happened. Now if I can just get the hell out of my own way, maybe I’ll finally get the best gift of all — her!

Come get unwrapped by Drew this holiday.

EXCERPT ONE

I sat back and studied the canvas.  I’d finally gotten it right — the way his lips turn up in that smile that makes both my heart and panties melt.  It had taken me over a dozen tries to get it just perfect, but I finally had.  Unfortunately, I didn’t feel any better.  I thought if I could capture Drew’s smile on my canvas, my pain would somehow lessen.  Because I’d always have his image, that his leaving me wouldn’t hurt so bad.  It hadn’t worked.  The pain in my heart was just as sharp, just as overwhelming as it was yesterday and the day before.  I knew I’d never get over him.  I knew it like I knew the deep blue color of his eyes, the rough spots on his hands.  I knew it like I knew the way his lips tasted, the feel of his thick brown hair.

OTHER WORKS BY PRESCOTT LANE

Perfectly Broken  First Position  Quiet Angel

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Prescott Lane is the author of First Position, Perfectly Broken, and her new release, Quiet Angel. She is originally from Little Rock, Arkansas, and graduated from Centenary College with a degree in sociology. She went on to receive her MSW from Tulane University, after which she worked with developmentally delayed and disabled children. She married her college sweetheart, and they currently live in New Orleans with their two children and two crazy dogs. Prescott started writing at the age of five, and sold her first story about a talking turtle to her father for a quarter. She later turned to writing romance novels because there aren't enough happily ever afters in real life.

Happily Ever Afters Guaranteed.

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New Release: His For Tonight by Ravenna Russo

* This novella is Book 2 of a 4-part serial, so watch out for cliffhangers--and one demanding, dirty-talking bad boy with a sexy accent who will melt your panties! *

Three days, three nights. Hot sex. No strings attached...maybe.

How did a sensible, serious Iowa college girl like me end up in a situation like this? I can explain.

I know it seems crazy. I never expected to find myself the paid escort of a superstar athlete with a sexy accent and wickedly talented hands. But all of a sudden, I’ve been swept into a world of bright lights, limousines and paparazzi.

We’re just supposed to be having a weekend fling. But it’s starting to feel like something more…something real. I’ve never responded to any guy the way I have to him. Everything is on the line now.

My heart most of all.

Please note: His for Tonight Book 2 is a New Adult romance novella of 20,000 words (about 75 pages). Contains graphic sex and language. Cliffhanger alert! This is Book 2 of a 4-part serial. Subscribe to Ravenna’s new-release newsletter to get an email as soon as Book 3 is published!   

It’s dark by the time we arrive at our five-star hotel in Midtown Manhattan. The city lights beyond the windows of our suite are dazzling, like a neon constellation of greens and whites and reds glowing among the shadowy buildings. We’re in the penthouse—of course. It’s two thousand square feet of gleaming wood and glass, with dining and entertaining areas, a living room, a bar, a black grand piano…and a curving staircase that leads to a whole second level.

“I-I think I need to quit saying ‘Wow!’ all the time,” I stutter as I stand just inside the door, taking it all in, still wrapped in my cashmere coat. “You’re going to get really tired of hearing me say ‘Wow!’ But there’s just…no other word for this.”

“Go ahead.” Luciano chuckles.

“Wow!”

He takes off his jacket and drops his key card on a coffee table, then holds a second key card out toward me. “One for me, one for you. The bedroom upstairs has a walk-in closet, a salon-size vanity in the bathroom, and a shower big enough to host a party in. There’s also a private gym on the upper level, and a terrace with a garden and a glass-bottom Jacuzzi.”

“Probably a little cold for that in January.”

“It’s heated. And I don’t think you and I would let a little snowy weather stop us.” He gives me a wicked grin. “The bell captain has already put your suitcase in the bedroom. Nico also sent a few things for you with the jacket this morning. Not that you’ll be needing any clothes.” He starts to unbutton the white shirt he’s wearing. “So…what do you want to do this evening, mia bella? We can get tickets to any Broadway show you might like. Have dinner at a five-star restaurant. Take in the view from the top of the Empire State Building. Or…” He pauses for a moment, his shirt dangling open. “We could stay here and have sex.”

I’m in his arms before he can say another word. Our mouths join in a fiery kiss. Despite the shattering orgasms we both had in the limo, it’s like we’re desperate for each other. I’ve never felt this way before. It’s like I can’t breathe unless he’s with me, touching me, holding me. I want him inside me. I need him inside me. More than I need anything New York City has to offer. More than I need air.

He strips out of the rest of his clothes, takes off my coat and sweater dress, and scoops me into his arms.

“Dio, you look so fucking sexy in these boots. It will be a shame to take them off.”

I give him the same wicked grin he just gave me. “Then let’s not take them off.”

“They might be a problem when I tie you to the bed.”

When he carries me upstairs to the bedroom, I’m a little confused about exactly how he’s going to accomplish that. It’s a gorgeous room, the curtains drawn for privacy, the lighting turned low, the covers already folded back, little chocolates waiting on the pillows. But the king-size bed doesn’t have posts of any kind—just a padded leather headboard that fills most of the wall behind it.

“Umm, Luciano, there isn’t any way to tie me to the bed.”

He winks at me. “Trust me.”

When he sets me down in the middle of the mattress, I sink into the luxurious sheets, sighing. They’re so silky they must be like a million thread count. I move my hips, the soft sheets a delicious friction against my backside, still sensitive from the hard whipping he gave me with the flogger.

He kneels on the bed and remains poised above me for a moment, his weight balanced on his hands. I can’t help smiling as I gaze up at him, just enjoying the view—the way his tousled hair falls into his dark eyes, the powerful muscles of his chest and shoulders, those sculpted arms, the intricate tattoos that stand out against his tanned skin. Forget Broadway shows or Manhattan cityscapes; I could happily just look at him all night.

He brushes his mouth over mine. “Stretch your arms above your head, sexy signorina.”

I do as he says, still confused about what he has in mind.

He moves to the head of the bed and reaches beneath the mattress, pulling out a black cuff attached to a nylon strap. “The under-the-bed bondage system,” he explains. “Ideal for discreet, adventurous couples who like to travel. A brilliant invention by some enterprising American.”

He fastens the cuff around one of my wrists, then does the same on the other side. I pull experimentally and discover that my hands are, as promised, tied securely to the bed.

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His for Tonight (Book 1)

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Ravenna Russo believes in soulmates, naughty fun between consenting adults, and the healing power of happily-ever-after. HIS FOR TONIGHT is her erotic romance debut. Under another name, she has written for a traditional romance publisher and appeared on the USA Today bestseller list.

When she’s not glued to her laptop, her favorite things include sea-salt caramel anything, peep-toe pumps, and hot yoga. Not necessarily all at the same time. Married to her college sweetheart, Ravenna lives in the Midwest where she’s working on her next scorching hot romance. Subscribe to her new-release newsletter to be first to know when it’s published!

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Release Day Blitz ** SWEET **

My brother is both powerful and cruel, which means I have a lot of enemies I've never met. He swears he'll keep me safe, but what I want most is to break free. I especially want to break free with Drew, my brother's lawyer.

I've spent my life under glass.

We shouldn't be together, but everything about him draws me. His intensity, his kindness.

And the way he looks in those custom tailored suits.

One night when he's outside my bedroom, I give him a sexy show. And in doing so, unlock pandora’s box. Drew shows me everything I’ve been missing. He touches my body and my heart, but when the truth comes to light, we're both in danger.

The cost of my freedom may be the man I’ve come to love.

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Drew stepped into the spotlight, casting a long shadow over the silver-white side of his car. He opened his door and tossed his briefcase on the passenger seat. But instead of getting in and driving away, he paused. He turned back, looking directly at my window—at me. I froze, my throat going dry.

He must have known it was my room, though he’d never been upstairs. I didn’t think he could see me. At least not clearly. We were twenty feet away, separated by double-paned glass, and the glare from the floodlights would overwhelm the thin light from my lamp. Impulsively, I pressed my palm to the cool glass. Could he make that out, the shape of my hand, the color of my flesh?

I leaned forward, painting my own reflection in the window. Wide, dark eyes set in the pale moon of my face, all framed with thick curtains of black hair. I looked like a ghost, something ephemeral and weightless.

That was how I felt sometimes too—not really there. I wanted to feel something, to see what it was like to participate, even if it was only a glimpse. He was waiting for me, leaning against his car.

Maybe he’d always been waiting for me.

Since that first meeting and the sudden heat that had sparked between us, he had been waiting for me to initiate something so he could be sure I was ready. Waiting and wanting, because he had some idea of my background, if not the specifics. The consideration in that gesture, the sheer expanse of it, took my breath away.

He remained still until the floodlights flicked off, blanketing him in night. My eyes adjusted, and he came back into focus again, somehow clearer in the dark. His arms were crossed as he leaned back against the car. The driver’s side door hung open, an ignored invitation in favor of this.

I could see the glint of his eyes, his intensity unmasked. My imagination could fill in the rest—the short, stubby growth on his jaw after a long day of work, the shadows beneath his eyes.

How could I show him; what did he want? Silly questions. Of course I knew. It was primal, the urge to bare myself, to offer myself, and only my fears kept me in check. It wasn’t the glass of the window or the bricks stacked beneath it. Only my fears kept us apart.

I toyed with the hem of my soft tank top, teasing him with a strip of flesh, blowing cool air across my belly. It wouldn’t be like this with him. His breath was hot, his body a furnace. That much I knew from the study earlier when he’d murmured in my ear. The window pane was emanating cold, holding out the chilly night air but failing just a little.

He must be freezing, but he didn’t look it, not even as a breeze ruffled a lock of hair over his forehead. He looked like he could wait forever, but why should he have to? I wouldn’t be a coward, not tonight.

I had dressed for sleep after my shower, so there was nothing underneath the thin fabric of my tank top. I tugged the shirt off and let it slip from my fingers. My skin pebbled with goose bumps at the chill. My nipples tightened almost painfully. He might have been a statue, he was so still. I felt the opposite, tingling and aware. It was too much—too embarrassing, too revealing—but exactly what I had been waiting for.

What next? If there was a script to forbidden exhibitionism, I had never read it. I moved with pent-up desire, acted on ideas unformed. I trailed my palms up my stomach and lifted my small breasts like an offering.

I wanted his hands on me, wanted him to touch and caress and pinch me, so I did it myself, grasping my nipples between my thumb and forefinger. I squeezed slightly, and as if he were connected to me, as if he had done it, his body jerked infinitesimally.

Was he excited? I knew enough to look for a bulge at his crotch, but it was too dark to see. I wished he could tell me what he wanted me to do, but maybe that would ruin the illusion of safety. From fifteen feet away, I watched him lick his lips and heard the tacit message.

I put a finger to my lips and licked, slightly exaggerated so that he could see. He leaned forward slightly—yes, more. I sucked the finger into my mouth and could have sworn his hips moved slightly where they rested against the car. Trailing my wetted finger over my chest, I circled my nipple and pinched again, savoring the bite of cold air and hard pressure.

I let down my hair from my tower in the form of secret glimpses, and like Rapunzel, I needed exposure like I needed air. He joined me with his arousal, in the commands conveyed with his body. We communed in a language of our own. Climb to me. I don’t want to be alone.

An ache built in my sex under the weight of his stare and my own touch. My hips moved in answer to his, finding an instinctive rhythm.

I reached for the band of my sweatpants, then paused. Panties too? Too much. I pushed down the pants but left the matching pink bikini panties on.

There was no way I could have heard, but I could have sworn he groaned. I imagined tiny molecules of air vibrating at the sound, traveling all this way and whispering against my lips.

I tucked my fingertips beneath the soft, stretchy hem of my panties, but then he wouldn’t be able to see. Instead I slid my palm over my covered sex and slipped beneath the strip of fabric between my legs. Wet heat met my questing fingers, more slippery than I had ever felt it when alone in my bed. I teased myself along the slick outer lips before sliding upward in search of a particular place—there.

My knees threatened to buckle from the pleasure that coursed through me, from the hard training of the day. I braced myself against the window, one hand on the glass and the other on my clit. It did more than sustain me, it connected me to him, an arc from the outside in, and the result was electric.

He leaned forward, gripping the top of the open door. I watched his other hand ball into a fist before letting my eyes fall shut, imagining that hand on me, holding me just as tightly, bruising me so I would never forget.

Finish it.

I didn’t know whether the words came from him or me, but I let the currents pull me along, let the arousal swirl faster and deeper until I couldn’t find the surface, couldn’t breathe—could only buck and moan and spill all over my furiously rubbing fingers. My stuttered moan was loud in my ears, filling my room before it dropped off into a sigh.

I let my hand fall away and opened my eyes.

He stood exactly as I’d left him, bristling with an almost palpable tension. After a moment, he detached from the car, moving slowly, like a man in pain, as if he’d been injured.

He turned away and rested his palms on the top of the car. With an unreadable glance back at me, he gingerly got inside and drove away.

I watched him go, sated but far from satisfied. Always wanting, always needing something above my reach. Dreaming of ballerinas when I came from the slums. Lusting after the smart, successful man in a well-tailored suit. One of these days, I’d reach too far. I’d fly too close to the sun, but even knowing so, I couldn’t stop myself from spreading my wings.

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Skye Warren is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of dark romance. Her books are raw, sexual and perversely tender. For those new to her work, consider the bestseller Wanderlust, Prisoner or the Dark Nights series starting with Trust in Me.