Title: The Hook Up
Author: Kristen Callihan
Release Date: September 8, 2014
Genre: New Adult
Author Photo: Attached
Book Cover: Attached
Summary
The rules: no kissing on the mouth, no staying the night, no telling anyone, and above all… No falling in love
Anna Jones just wants to finish college and figure out her life. Falling for star quarterback Drew Baylor is certainly not on her to do list. Confident and charming, he lives in the limelight and is way too gorgeous for his own good. If only she could ignore his heated stares and stop thinking about doing hot and dirty things with him. Easy right?
Too bad he’s committed to making her break every rule…
Football has been good to Drew. It’s given him recognition, two National Championships, and the Heisman. But what he really craves is sexy yet prickly Anna Jones. Her cutting humor and blatant disregard for his fame turns him on like nothing else. But there’s one problem: she’s shut him down. Completely.
That is until a chance encounter leads to the hottest sex of their lives, along with the possibility of something great. Unfortunately, Anna wants it to remain a hook up. Now it’s up to Drew to tempt her with more: more sex, more satisfaction, more time with him. Until she’s truly hooked. It’s a good thing Drew knows all about winning.
All’s fair in love and football…Game on
Buy Link
Amazon: http://bit.ly/
Author Biography
Kristen Callihan is an author because there is nothing else she’d rather do. She is a three-time RITA nominee, and winner of two RT Reviewer’s Choice awards. Her novels have garnered starred reviews from Publisher’s Weekly and the Library Journal, as well as being awarded top picks by many reviewers. Her debut book FIRELIGHT received RT Magazine’s Seal of Excellence, was named a best book of the year by Library Journal, best book of Spring 2012 by Publisher’s Weekly, and was named the best romance book of 2012 by ALA RUSA. When she is not writing, she is reading.
Social Networking Links
Website: http://www.thehookup.
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/
Exclusive Excerpt
“I want you.”
The floor dips beneath me, his confession taking up too much air. Baylor seems just as shocked by his words, his eyes going wide and his lips parting. But he commits to them with a squaring of his broad shoulders. “Tell me you don’t want me too, and I’ll go.”
My mouth opens, a denial on my lips, then he reaches for me. It’s barely a touch, just the tips of his fingers on my elbow, as if he’s planning to guide me back downstairs. It’s the smallest of contact. Nothing really. And yet it’s everything. The small contact burns, ripples outward along my skin with lightning fast intensity, and my breath hitches.
His does too. A quick glance up, and he searches my face as though seeking an affirmation. Whatever he sees must tell him that he’s not alone in this because he doesn’t let go.
Neither of us says another word. Blood rushes hot and thick through my veins, as the backs of his fingers skim slowly, oh so slowly, up my arm. His pulse thrums, quick and visible just beneath the golden skin of his throat. I want to lick that spot, put my mouth there and suck. I want him. I want him so badly that I’m going up in flames.
A quiet, pained sound escapes me as his knuckles drift toward my inner arm. I’m shaking deep within myself, an increasing tremor that spreads outward, until my breath comes in choppy pants that I fight to control.
What am I doing? This is Drew Baylor. Nothing good can come of this. I need to be strong. I need to stop this. To walk away.
I twitch, leaning into his touch, wanting, needing him more.
His lips part with a sigh, as if touching me is both a relief and a source of pain. Somehow my hand settles on his hip, the bone solid beneath his skin. He tenses, a visible clench that has his biceps bunching. The next instant, my fingers steal under his shirt.
His skin is hot, as if he’s burning up from within. My palm glides along rippling muscle, smooth and toned, the cotton of his shirt tickling the back of my hand as I go. He holds so still, when he shivers it’s an earthquake. He swallows audibly, those little tremors within him growing stronger.
With a choked cry, he stumbles forward, his forearm hitting the wall beside my head as he braces himself. Warm breath caresses my cheek, the sound of his panting filling my ears.
Shaking, Baylor stands there, so close that his heady scent and vivid heat envelop me. I draw that crisp, clean scent in, and grow lightheaded.
His long index finger curls around the strap of my top. For a moment, he simply runs his finger up and down the strap, toying with it, each pass drawing closer to my breast. Then he tugs, sliding the strap over my shoulder by agonizing degrees.
Oh, God. My lids flutter. I want to close my eyes but can’t. I’m stuck staring at his rapidly beating pulse, all of my awareness centered on the progress of my strap as it scrapes down my arm, peeling the top over the curve of my breast, which has grown heavy, aching. I don’t think I’ve ever been more conscious of my breasts, of my body.
The top slips further, exposing more skin.
Hurry, I want to cry. I’m shaking by the time the edge of my top catches on the hard bead of my nipple. Stuck.
We both seem to hold our breaths. Beneath my palm, his heart beats fierce and strong. I can feel his stare, covetous and hot. I want him to see me. I want to be exposed to him.
The sound of laughter drifts up, and the deep bass of music has the walls buzzing. Anyone could find us here, see him pulling down my top. As if he’s thinking the same thing, Baylor shifts his weight, sheltering my body from view with his own. That small gesture, his consideration, breaks my resistance. Biting my lip, I arch my back at the very second he tugs again. My nipple pops free.
Baylor makes a sound that’s guttural. His breath is a rasp in my ear as his big hand cups my breast. The pleasure of his touch is so acute, it’s a relief, and then it’s far from that. I ache more and so deep down that my sex clenches.
He doesn’t move, just stares at his tanned hand against the white my breast and my pink nipple jutting out just over his fingers, as if he’s trying to make sense of things. Or maybe he’s just savoring the moment. His tongue darts out as he licks his lower lip. Jesus, I want to lick it too. I hold still.
The blunt tip of his thumb brushes over my nipple. Once, twice, then presses down.
A bolt of hot, sharp pleasure shoots to the empty space between my legs.
On a cry, I sag, slipping down the wall, my knees knocked out from under me. But he’s there, wrapping an arm around my waist. He holds me up. Holds me still. Gentle fingertips bracket my jaw and tilt my head up. I meet his eyes. Lust there, dark like burnt sugar. His gaze settles on my lips, and his own part. He dips his head, his breath buffeting my cheeks as he comes for me.
Without thinking, I wrench my head to the side. “No. Not on the lips.” It hurts to say it because the greater part of me is screaming. Yes. Now. Please. But I can’t. A deep, undeniable instinct tells me that, if he kisses my mouth, I’ll lose all resistance to him.
He hesitates, his brow furrowing with his frown. His gaze darts over my face, going from my lips and back to meet my eyes. A growl of frustration escapes him as he swoops down. My heart leaps, but his mouth lands on my neck, just above my shoulder. And I can’t think any more. Just his lips touching my skin has me breaking out in goose bumps. He kisses my neck the way he’d kiss my mouth, open, wet, like he’s been hungering for this, waiting for this. Kisses me with anger. Like it’s a punishment for my refusal to let him have a proper kiss. Maybe it is, but it doesn’t matter because it feels so damn good that I’m not going to stop him.
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