Russian
Heat
Hot
Ice, Book
7
Lily
Harlem
Genre: Contemporary erotic romance
Publisher: All Romance eBooks
Date of Publication: October 1, 2016
ISBN: 978-1-945193-65-1
Word Count: 68k
Cover Artist: Erin Dameron Hill
Book Description:
One
night stands should be exactly that, one wild night. Somebody should tell that
to the sexy Russian.
I love working for an airline and
traveling the world—it’s everything I'd ever hoped and more. I work hard and
play hard, and if I can have some sexy time with a hot guy, why not? I'm a free
agent.
When my one-night stand is a hunk
of a hockey player with a smooth Russian accent and an even smoother way of
sweet talking me into his bed, not once but several times over, things
definitely get complicated for my heart. I have no intention of having it
broken again.
Will he be able to make it up to
me? Has he even returned from his homeland? And what the hell is going to
happen when engine failure makes my life flash before my eyes? Only one way to
find out, and that's to hang on for the ride.
First
time in print! Includes the bonus short story: “Rookie Rules”!
Excerpt
“Vadmir,” the man
in front of me said, holding out his hand. “My name is Vadmir Arefyev.”
“Vadmir,” the man
in front of me said, holding out his hand. “My name is Vadmir Arefyev.”
I tore my
attention from the departing couple and let his warm fingers wrap around mine.
He had a few callouses on his palm and his nails were neat and square-shaped.
“Samantha.” I paused. “But I guess you know that because my friend just said
it.”
“Yes.” He grinned,
a proper smile this time, not the half-amused curl of his lips he’d had before.
“But it looks like you have lost your friend.” He spoke with an accent, Russian
I guessed, having heard passengers speak that way.
He released my
hand.
“I’ve only lost
her for a few hours.” I knotted my fingers together, trapping the warmth
infused from his palm. “Let’s hope she doesn’t eat him alive.”
He laughed, a
deep, rumbling chuckle that shifted his huge pecs beneath his t-shirt. “I hope
she does. Jackson is still getting used to his new Viper fame and it might
teach him a lesson. Knock him up a peg or two.”
“Do you mean down
a peg or two?”
“Yes, yes, that’s
what I mean, down.” He smiled again and I noticed that his two front teeth were
slightly crossed.
“Yes, and he is
new, isn’t he?” Harmony had mentioned that earlier. “In that case, he might be
a little worn-out at practice tomorrow.”
He rubbed his hand
over his chin, creating a sharp sound over his dusting of pale stubble. “I’m
not here tomorrow but it would be good to see.” He nodded at the parking lot.
“So do you need a ride now?”
“I’ll grab a cab,
that’s how we got here.”
“I don’t mind
taking you somewhere. I’ve finished for the day.”
“No really, I
don’t want to bother you.”
“It is
no…er…bother.” He gestured to the lot. “Anyway, there are no cabs here.”
A small, welcome
breeze lifted my hair from my shoulders and wafted the scent of dew-coated moss
and light herbs my way. He was wearing an unusual cologne that seeped into my
nose and heightened my awareness of his magnetism. There was definitely
something seriously sexy about Vadmir Arefyev.
Damn, I really
should get a ride out of here.
In fact, better
still. I should make him my ride.
“Well I guess
you’re right,” I said, “there are no cabs about, so yes, a ride would be cool.
As long as you don’t mind.”
“I really don’t
mind.” He adjusted his bag, his upper arm muscles straining against the sleeve
of his t-shirt. “It’s this way.”
He turned to the
lot and I fell into step beside him. I had to take two strides to his one but
luckily my Hermes wedges were up to the job.
He swung his keys
around his fingers again. “Samantha, that’s a pretty name.”
“Thanks, yours
is…unusual.”
“Not where I’m
from.” He shrugged. “There are plenty of Vadmirs there.”
“Where is that,
then?”
He glanced at me.
“You are not a Vipers fan?”
“No, sorry, I was
just hanging out here with Harmony. I’m more of a Prada, Gucci and Jimmy Choo
fan. Don’t mind a bit of Donna Karan and Armani, either.”
He chuckled again.
“I get your drift.”
“So you’re from
where exactly?” I asked.
“Russia. North of
Moscow. I’ve been here four years now, though.”
“Your English is
good.”
“Thank you. I have
worked very hard to get it right.”
“And do you miss
home? Russia?”
He paused at a
white convertible Chevy Camero and clicked his key fob. The car beeped to life
and he tugged open the passenger door for me. “Yes, of course. I miss my
family, my parents are not getting younger but at least, doing this, playing
here, it means I can provide for them.”
“That’s very kind
of you.”
“They’ve always
been very kind to me.” He smiled and gestured for me to climb into the car.
I climbed inside
and he shut the door. As he walked around the front, I buckled up and placed my
purse down at my side.
“And you,” he
said, dropping into the driver’s seat. “You’re not American. I can tell.”
“Ah, well spotted.
No, I’m English, well, technically half-and-half but I grew up in England so
that’s home. But my father lives over here, in Denver. America has been home
for a long time now.”
“We played Denver
last month. I liked the cold. The heat in Florida can be very…tiring.” He
revved the engine and flicked on the air-conditioning.
“I won’t disagree
with you there.” I crossed my legs.
His gaze drifted
over my thighs and knees and I couldn’t help yet another small thrill. It
seemed Vadmir was a leg man, which was just as well. I had great legs. Not by
chance but by hours in hotel gyms and a healthy dose of good genes from my
grandmother and mother. Right now my legs were also tanned to a milky-coffee
shade of brown and freshly waxed.
“Tell me if you
get cold,” he said. “You’re…er…not wearing much.”
Now it was my turn
to laugh. “I’m fine, it’s a relief to be out of the sun.”
He looked me in
the eye and my breath hitched. There really was something captivating about
him, and being this close to him—his handsome face, his scent and his obvious
interest in me—was hitting all my buttons.
I pulled in a deep
breath, licked my lips and willed my heart not to race too much.
“So where do you
want me to take you?” he asked, his attention dropping to my mouth and his
eyelids getting heavy.
On a fast and
sweaty one-way trip to Heaven.
Author Bio
Lily Harlem lives in the UK with a
workaholic hunk and a crazy cat. With a desk overlooking farmland, she allows
her imagination to run free and revels in being able to use the written word as
an outlet for her creativity. Lily’s stories are made up of colorful characters
traveling on everyone’s favorite journey—falling in love. If the story isn’t
romantic, sexy and exciting, it won’t be written, at least not by this author.
For more information on other books
by Lily, visit her website:
