Tuesday, May 13, 2014

Excerpt: SLIDING INTO HOME by Arlene Hittle @ArleneHittle

Sliding Into Home by Arlene Hittle is a humorous contemporary romance, out now!

More than anything, Arizona Condors first baseman Greg Bartlesby wants to make his own name in the big leagues. Too bad being the son of MLB legend Jake “Big Man” Bartlesby makes that impossible. Even worse? His failed attempts to differentiate himself from his old man frequently land him in legal trouble. His latest brush with the law brings him in contact with an attorney he’s met before — as a dancer at the club where he was arrested for protecting her.

Jenn Simpson isn’t a stripper—not that she can convince her idiot client her twin is the one doing the dancing. When Greg offers her sister a job at his father’s Foundation, Jenn is the one who accepts. She soon discovers she likes the work—and her boss—more than she should. The closer they get, the more important it becomes for her to convince Greg she’s not who he thinks. And when his father is hospitalized, compelling Greg to fast-track his leap to the majors by capitalizing on Big Jake’s fame, it might be too late to come clean.

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" … You promised me dinner.” She dug her fingers into his knotted shoulder muscle and started to work out the kinks. His bat dropped to the ground, wood thunking against concrete. “I’m hungry.”

A low, guttural sound—could have been groan or growl—rumbled from his throat as he whirled to face her. He settled his hands on her waist and hauled her against him. “Me, too.”

Then he captured her lips.

Surprised by his move, but not really, Jenn did more than let herself be kissed. She kissed him back. Enthusiastically and without reservation. She’d spent the better part of a month pretending not to be attracted to Greg, and she was tired of faking it. Time to press her advantage.

Their tongues tangled with a ferocity fueled by weeks of heightened awareness. Every shared glance, every accidental brush of their fingertips poured into the experience.

When she pulled away, they were both breathless and his arousal pressed into her stomach.

Looking as dazed as she felt, he stroked her chin with his thumb. “Whaddaya say we call out for pizza?”

She leaned in to press her lips to his. That it put the rest of her parts in alignment with his was a bonus, one she savored. He quivered when her lips brushed his ear. “I say, ‘Mangia!’”

About the Author

Arlene Hittle is a Midwestern transplant who now makes her home in northern Arizona. She suffers from the well-documented Hittle family curse of being a Cubs fan but will root for the Diamondbacks until they run up against the Cubs. Longtime friends are amazed she writes books with sports in them, since she’s about as coordinated as a newborn giraffe and used to say marching band required more exertion than golf. Find her at arlenehittle.com, on Twitter or on Facebook.

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