Get ready for your next book boyfriend! February has given us amazing new releases. Here is another book worthy of recommendation. Pucked Off is wonderful, moving and burning hot sport romance, not only for fans of this type of books. In fact, for anyone who likes a good love story.
In brief, what you can expect:
It’s laugh out loud kind of story with good angst.
Incredibly well created characters. You will definitely fall in love with the hero, Lance Romero.
The wonderful heroine with great heart.
Highly emotional, it will absorb you completely.
It break your heart to put it together afterwards.
Pucked Off will not be your last book in the series if it is your first. A shame to admit it but this is my first. And I reserve the next month to catch up! Well done, Helena Hunting! Well done!
I’ve agreed to go out with Lance. On a date. Two actually. I don’t even know what to think. I grab my purse and slip into my jacket. As fall settles in and the temperature drops, layers are becoming necessary.
When I return, Lance is standing at the desk, checking his phone. He’s smiling.
“Ready to go,” I say.
He hits a couple of buttons, pockets his phone, and turns that grin on me. “Cool.”
I lock up the clinic, and Lance walks me across the lot. This time he doesn’t leave the usual space between us, and the back of his hand grazes my hip.
I’m nervous when we reach my car. His Hummer is parked right behind my Mini this time. I adjust the strap of my purse and look up at him. Strangely, he looks as nervous as me.
He scans my face and takes a small step closer. I can see his hand lifting in my peripheral vision. My hair is in a ponytail, which is sitting on my shoulder. He fingers the end of it.
“Why do I always want to pull this?”
I don’t have the opportunity to answer, because he drops his head and his lips skim my cheek.
“I want to kiss you.”
“You just did,” I whisper.
“I want do it again, but here.” His thumb touches my bottom lip.
He’s so close. His lips almost touching mine as he asks, “Can I do that?”
His lids grow heavy, and he kisses the corner of my mouth. Lance strokes my cheek and rests his palm on the side of my neck. The other hand skims the length of my arm until he reaches my fingertips.
He leans back a little, and for a second I think it’s over before it’s even begun, but he takes my hand in his. Uncurling my fingers, he lifts it and presses my palm against his cheek. A full-body tremor runs through him, and his eyes drift closed. He turns his head toward my palm, and I smooth my thumb along the contour of his bottom lip. A deep sound comes from the back of his throat, making my skin prickle and heat blossom in my belly.
When he opens his eyes again, the fire in them matches the heat flooding my entire body. “Can you keep yer hand right here?”
“If you want me to, yes.”
“I definitely do.”
He leans in and brushes his lips over mine again. It’s soft and warm. The next time he takes my bottom lip between his, he releases it slowly, and then does the same with the top one. When his tongue flicks out, I might whimper. Light fingers cup my head, and I tilt it back farther.
I part my lips, and his tongue sweeps my mouth. His groan is low, sending a shiver down my spine. He drops the hand that’s keeping mine pressed against his cheek. His arm winds around my waist, and he pulls me in tight against him.
I expect the kiss to grow in intensity. It doesn’t, though I can feel the heat building inside me. That feeling I’ve been searching for all these years is finally back.
Armed with my clipboard, I walk down the hall to the waiting room. Lance is impossible to miss. Despite the fact that he’s wearing a sweatshirt and the hood is covering half of his face, he’s more than six feet of broad, hockey-playing man.
He’s so wide his shoulders encroach on the chairs on either side, which would explain why no one is sitting next to him. He’s slouched down so his head rests on the back of the chair, and his hands are clasped in his lap, a baseball cap hanging off one knee. His lips, plush and soft—I know since I’ve had them on mine; it might have been a decade ago, but I remember it clearly—are parted. He looks like he’s asleep.
I clear my throat. “Lance Romero?”
He doesn’t move.
Bernadette, the receptionist, gives me a meaningful look.
I clear my throat again and call his name a second time. He jolts awake and the hood falls back, exposing his face. It’s not in good shape. He has a black eye and bruises on his left cheek. There’s a fly bandage across one eyebrow.
Sadly, he’s still hot.
He blinks a few times, yawns, and smacks his lips, his tongue touching the split in the bottom one. His gaze sweeps the room and finally lands on me. Heat explodes in my cheeks and courses through my limbs, warming me from the inside out as he starts at my sneaker-clad feet and roams up over my yoga pants to my company-issued T-shirt before stopping at my face. I can’t look directly at him for more than a couple of seconds. I sincerely hope he doesn’t remember me. I cannot go there and also be professional.
I’m sure the smile he gives me has melted many a panty off a slutty bunny. Mine stay right where they’re supposed to, wedged up my ass.
I force a polite, professional veneer. “I’m ready for you now.”
About The Author
Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She’s putting her degree in English Lit to good use by writing contemporary erotic romance. She is the author of Clipped Wings, her debut novel, and Inked Armor.