Thursday, October 25, 2012

An ULTIMATE Wildly Inappropriate REVIEW

The Devilish DeMarco Men Series
By Eden Connor

Lila Walker has batted lead-off in Colton De Marco's fantasies for years, and now that he's stumbled upon her sunbathing in the nude, he decides to take his best swing.

Coping with her ogre-in-law, her inability to collect her late husband's life insurance, and the knowledge the entire town's counting the days she wears widow's weeds, Lila decides some between-the-sheets batting practice is just the distraction she needs--even if their sexy scrimmage won't last the summer. But is she missing Colton's signals that he's in it to win it? And can Colton knock it out of the park with the attractive widow before his thirteen-year-old nephew's foul attitude gets him thrown out of the game?

The book starts off with quite the steamy scene but is really a sweet story. Widow Lila Walker is finding her place in the world after losing her husband and her only son joining the Marines. Despite being much younger, Colton DeMarco has been in love with Lila for ten years but he kept his distance since she was a married woman (that alone is a refreshing theme!). But now is his chance and he won't stop with just a brief encounter. Colton is raising his deceased sister's son and as the couple bond over baseball, their relationship becomes more than just sex. There's a real emotional element in Lila coming to terms with leaving behind the memory of her husband and forging on. The author doesn't sugarcoat and this makes it a beautiful love story albeit one that is different from your usual romance. Lila and Colton are great characters along with all the secondary characters who serve to add depth to the story.
Soft Sounds of Pleasure RATING: 4 Chocolate-Dipped Strawberries
This book was given to us by the author. Many thanks.


Desperate to save her grandmother from an unscrupulous loan shark, Cynda Avery agrees to Daniel De Marco's wildly inappropriate offer--control of her body for two weeks in exchange for time to talk him into selling his untended peach orchards.
Handsome Daniel isn't the redneck farmer Cynda expected. From the feminine clothes he wants her to wear to the confident way he handles every problem to the kinky way he likes to tie her up to have sex, he makes her want to please him. When she finds the key to his mother's disappearance and spends a weekend in jail, will Daniel decide Cynda's an itch he's already scratched or could he cling to dark flesh like hers?


This book triggers a lot of emotions while exposing prejudice in a realistic format, uncovering history unknown in book one and introducing elements of domestic discipline. WARNING: Those of us in the south won't be shocked by some of the situations that arise but others might find it unsettling. Never have I seen this theme done so honestly. It is intrinsic to the development of the story. So much happens in this book and it is all woven so perfectly, so seamlessly, I didn't want to put it down. Including characters from book one was a great addition - readers will feel a part of the DeMarco family as they fall for Daniel and Cynda. There are a few light moments of humor and some suspenseful and tense scenes. The sex is hot, their chemistry is even hotter. This is truly an indulgent read.

Wildly Inappropriate RATING: 5 Chocolate-Dipped Strawberries
This book was given to us by the author. Many thanks.

Wildly Inappropriate EXCERPT

He plunked her down on a table in a spacious nook at the far end of a huge kitchen, kicking chairs out of his way as easily as he'd lifted her. Frowning, he touched his forefinger to the end of her nose.
"Don't talk."
When he dropped the coiled-up end of her leash onto the golden surface of the table it made a metallic jingle, sounding to Cynda like the lunch bell from her school days. She thought she might be the dish of the day until he turned away, disappearing through an open archway to her right. Leaning from side-to-side, she gingerly rubbed her abused butt cheeks. Those two spots burned as brightly as the copper hood over the massive stove. Cynda squinted at the dual oven doors beneath the six big burners and the fancy china lined along the plate rack over the pine sideboard to her left. Dark marble topped the counters. Through a storm door to her left, she spied a glassed-in room filled with plants. It didn't look like he needed any money.
He came back wearing jeans faded nearly white in places. He hadn't bothered to do up the buttons at the fly. The dark tangle of hair peeking through the wide-open vee made her heartbeat speed up, irrational though that was. Half-dressed, he was less intimidating, but the outline of his cock pressed along his abdomen was plainly visible. Shoving his huge arms through the ripped-out sleeves of a chambray shirt, he stared at her, his brows drawing together underneath the hair spilling over his forehead.
What kind of man gets hard and then gets dressed? Confusion more than his order kept her lips sealed. Without bothering to fasten the shirt buttons he moved to stand in front of her. His hands slapped the wood on either side of her hips, making her jump. Cynda froze as he leaned in close enough to kiss.
"I won't lie. I goddamn wanna touch you." He choked out a short laugh that didn't sound like he was amused. His breath tickled her lips. "Brian started out by sending balloon bouquets with his offer typed on a little card. They made great target practice. After a couple of years doing that, he sent a stripper over to the garage. She gave my brothers lap dances and left the little portable tape player with her music. I guess his offer was recorded after the music ended, but I don't know, because I threw it out, along with her. My middle brother didn't talk to me for a week." His sudden grin was lopsided. "That was an unexpected bonus."
The chill caressing her skin from the air conditioning seemed to disappear when he smiled. He straightened, but reached to pick up a strand of her hair that had fallen across her chest. "Do you braid it? Corn rows, I think it's called. With long stacks of those little wooden beads at the end? Ten or so, I should think." He rubbed the strand between his thumb and forefinger as if testing the texture.
"Plastic beads," she corrected automatically, forgetting she wasn't supposed to speak.
"Wooden beads." His tone became stern. "And not damn neon. White beads." His smile seemed to soften and the look in his eyes appeared almost shy but his words were bold as brass. "I'd like to hear them clicking together while you ride my cock. Plastic won't make the same sound. There must be a salon in town that has 'em. Straight rows, not those insane zig-zaggy ones I see sometimes. Those hurt my eyes."
His words seemed to sink into her skin. The hairstyle he described was unique to her race, she felt. White girls tried to wear it sometimes, but their hair was too soft to hold the braids for long, and the beads fell out.
"Last year Brian sent six skinny bleached blondes in bikinis. They were supposed to wash our trucks, I guess, but ended up washing each other." Some emotion flashed in his eyes. She thought it might've been scorn. "One of 'em wrote Brian's offer in shoe polish on my windshield." His expression became stern. "Getting those six back into that van was like herding wet cats. Two female customers who had their vehicles up on lifts and couldn't leave haven't been back to the shop since. Now, he's sent you. Why am I finding it so hard to throw you out?"
Cynda had no idea how to respond. The stinging hand prints on her butt were warning enough not to think out loud.
"So, I hope like hell Brian picked your outfit and not you. It won't matter, really, because if you want to go through with this, I'll be choosing your clothes." He shoved his fingers through his hair, whirling away to begin pacing back and forth. "What's your name?"
The soft feeling his comment about her hair had induced evaporated with his insult, but she answered his question. "Cynda Avery."
He continued talking, his long legs eating up the distance between the back door and the table where she sat. His pacing made her think he was the one on a chain, but that made no sense. "I'm not going to put my cock in you, Cynda, but if you'll allow me the privilege, I want to make you come. Look at this as an exercise in trust. And to see if we're compatible, before we discuss anything else."
This white boy is nuts. Cute as hell, but crazier than a bedbug. She laughed harshly, so off-balance by his odd assortment of declarations she forgot she wasn't supposed to speak. "Yeah? And what's in that for you?"
"I'm a man who likes to take control, Cynda, but I don't object to proving I deserve to be in control of a woman's body."
Most men couldn't find their way around a woman with a map. In her experience, the ones who bragged most about their prowess were the worst at sex, and this white guy wouldn't be any different. Still, she couldn't take her eyes off his hands. He propped them on the table again and leaned forward. Staring. She felt him staring, but kept her gaze on his hands. They were large and strong, covered in tiny cuts and scars. Though he wasn't touching her, the burning sensation on her ass made it feel oddly as though they were connected. Why does every man in the world think his cock entitles him to be listened to without question? Maybe I'm supposed to answer now. What choice is there?

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