By: Samanthe Beck
A sexy category romance from Entangled's Brazen imprint...
He's not who she expected, but he's exactly the man she needs…
When Chelsea Wayne drags Santa into a supply closet for a little office party nookie, she assumes the man in the suit is her on-again/off-again coworker boyfriend. Instead, it's Rafe St. Sebastian, a man known for his hard-driving ways in business as well as the bedroom--and, kill her now, the brand spanking new owner of Las Ventanas--who grants her naughtiest Christmas wishes.
So much for her reputation, not to mention her career.
Rafe needs to close three acquisitions to prove to his father he's ready to take the helm of St. Sebastian Enterprises. A hot interlude in a supply closet after deal number two seems like the perfect illicit Christmas bonus. Unfortunately, when that "bonus" becomes the key to the final deal, he finds himself back in bed--so to speak--with Chelsea, and after their steamy tryst, he's not interested in keeping things professional
My Thoughts:Oh boy, get a change of panties ready, you're going to need at some point in Compromising Her Position. Samanthe Beck is back bringing in new dirty talking hero that might make your needs go week. We meet Rafe St. Sebastian who is sexy and very bad. I mean he manages to get his groove going a broom closet in a Santa Suit. Naughty, naughty, naughty Santa. After the closet Santa escapades it kind of goes down hill for the guy. He loses one of the assistant managers and he's stuck with schmuck of a general manager. Good times.
Now Chelsea Wayne thought she was giving her boyfriend at the time the time of his life in a broom closet. Whoops. Of course, it's not going to sit well if she stuck around. I mention the schmuck who happens to be her ex-boyfriend, because he just had to drop a bombshell at the Christmas party. Loser (the ex-boyfriend). Of course Chelsea needs to start her life over and what better place to starter than in Hawaii. Paradise.
Of course, Rafe can't forget the broom closet, so he tracks down Chelsea and basically will do anything to get back into her pants; even make a purchase of the resort that Chelsea is working at. After all we gotta work out the girl out of his system, we can't be mooning after a girl that's just not possible. The game of seduction is on and he plans to win on all accounts and keep his heart out.
Talk about leaving with a smile on my face. Samanthe Beck gives a few new words and phrase a life of their own in Compromising Her Position. For example, we have tackle-f**ked. Lets knocked the poor guy down and give him the play of his life. The whole incident of a broom closet and Santa. I'm sure you never thought those two things with be in a sentence together or the fact that it was crazy monkey sex. Or that Rafe would be "a walking orgasm." That's pretty high complement. I think one of my favorite would be "a bad case of sexually-induced ADD." These are contributing factors that make this read so much fun. Toss in some hot steamy sex between Chelsea and Rafe with a dash a wit and you have Compromising Her Position. Those who love Samanthe Beck are going love this story. After all who doesn't want a hot hero who makes Santa look good and bad at the same time.
"I'm done with love."Moral of the story don't make the mistake all cakes (men) are created equal, some are just fake.
"Because of Paul Barrington? That's like giving up cake because you had a bad Twinkie."
"Paul's a Twinkie?'
"The human equivalent. A Twinkie isn't real cake, and what you had with Paul wasn't real love."
Copy provided by Entangled via NetGalley.
“There is nothing personal between us.”
“I beg to differ. In fact, I’m fairly certain I know your deepest, darkest secret.”
“I sincerely doubt that.”
He brought his mouth to her ear. “You knew I wasn’t Paul.”
“No.” The denial, though immediate, sounded slightly breathless, slightly desperate.
She had to have at least suspected, at some point. He refused to believe otherwise. “Not at first. But when I had you clinging to the tables, trembling so hard you could barely stand? You knew.”
“You-you’re delusional. If I’d realized you weren’t Paul, don’t you think I would have stopped you?”
“No. By the time you realized, you didn’t care.” The crowd around them erupted into a countdown.
Ten... He cupped her jaw in one hand... Nine... and slid the other down her back. Then lower. Eight... “You didn’t care about anything except my tongue tracing the path of your thong”—he let his fingers do the honor now—“all the way down until I could taste your sweet, throbbing little—”
“I thought you were Paul!” Her wide eyes darted to his, pupils huge.
Five... “Remember how you used your body to beg for more? There’s no f-ing way you’ve ever begged like that for Paul Barrington. No f-ing way. I could have you begging again.”
Her breathing came in quick, shallow pants. The hands she’d rested lightly on his shoulders tightened, bunching his jacket in a white-knuckled grip. She shook her head. “Not going to happen.”
Three... He was risking getting his face slapped in the middle of a dance floor on New Year’s Eve, but he didn’t care. For some inexcusable reason, he needed to know she wanted him, not Barrington.
Two... He spread his palm over the perfect curve of her ass and hauled her against him, so she’d feel just how well he remembered every damn detail of their last meeting.
“It’s not?” he challenged, and then crushed her lips under his.
Cheers of “Happy New Year” echoed around them over the strains of “Auld Lang Syne.” A flotilla of black and silver balloons sailed down from the ceiling. Guests laughed, and sang, and jostled them while he kissed her. Sparkly, star- shaped confetti rained over everyone and everything, and he kept right on kissing her. Her arms twined around his neck. Her lips parted. She flattened one hand against the back of his head and held on. When he bent her over his arm and swept his tongue into her soft, yielding mouth, she wrapped her leg around his hip. The heat of her body practically seared his thigh through his tuxedo pants.
He trapped her lower lip between his teeth and nibbled. There went his no biting promise, but her shuddery moan told him she didn’t mind.
The song ended. The house lights came up a few notches. He slowly drew her upright, and even more slowly relinquished her mouth. She stared up at him, dazed, her lips plumped from their kiss.
“You’re a terrible liar, Miss Wayne.”
Giving her a grin he hoped didn’t reveal how much the move cost him, he walked away.
Wine lover, sleep fanatic, and USA Today Bestselling Author of sexy contemporary romance novels, Samanthe Beck lives in Malibu, California, with her long-suffering but extremely adorable husband and their turbo-son, Hud. Throw in a furry ninja named Kitty and Bebe the trash talking Chihuahua and you get the whole, chaotic picture.
When not clinging to sanity by her fingernails or dreaming up fun, fan-your-cheeks sexy ways to get her characters to happily-ever-afters, she searches for the perfect cabernet to pair with Ambien.
($50.00 Amazon eGift Card and a rare print copies of Samanthe's Private Pleasures Trilogy)
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