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Win a personal massager-you'll need it for BOUND TO BE A GROOM @MeganMulry #erotica


I am thrilled to be touring around the blogosphere introducing everyone to my new book Bound to Be a Groom! I loved researching and writing this steamy story and can't wait for readers to get their hands on it.

Speaking of hands...while a reviewer was reading an advance copy of the book a few weeks ago, she bemoaned the fact that she had run out of double AA batteries. This led to a hilarious conversation on Twitter about the wide range of sex toys and vibrators at our disposal and my editor, to whom I defer on all things technical, said the Hitachi Magic Wand was the be-all-and-end-all of "personal massagers" (<-that's the technical name, just in case you were wondering). It never runs out of batteries...because it plugs in! So, of course I went online and bought one (which also involved research because there are cheap imitations galore...do not be fooled!). And holy hell! Okay. First of all, it is loud and heavy and enormous...there is no pretending you are just *whistles innocently* hanging out in bed with a good book. It's more like shouting, "OKAY NOW I AM GOING TO PLUG IN THE BROBDINGNAGIAN VIBRATOR AND HAVE AN ORGASM!" Which is also fine. So, yeah, I tried it. Two times. And then I realized it was really an excellent, LITERAL, personal massager. I sit at a desk eight hours a day and have tons of muscle strain in my neck and shoulder. And the Hitachi is AMAZING for that shit. I'm not joking. Give me five minutes on low, right there at the base of my neck...and I'm ready to walk upstairs and have sex with my partner.


So to celebrate this rite of passage (I used a vibrator! Yay!) and save you the trouble of ever running out of AA batteries (You can too! Yay!), I'm giving away (a brand new lol!) official (do not accept cheap imitations!) HITACHI HV250R MAGIC WAND MASSAGER. This priceless (okay, it's about $75) item will go to ONE lucky winner. The 2nd place winner will receive a $10 gift card from Riptide Publishing, and the 3rd place winner can choose any book from my backlist (excluding Bound to be a Groom). Entries close at midnight, Eastern Time, on April 25, and winners will be chosen on April 27. Contest is valid worldwide. Good luck and thanks for being a part of the blog tour!

What were you reading while working on Bound to be a Groom?
Oh my. I read about four books a week and this book took eight weeks so…not sure I can list all, but around that time I was reading: Charlotte Stein, Jackie Ashenden, Ainslie Paton, Georgette Heyer, Susan Napier, Tawny Weber, Bella Andre, Jayne Ann Krentz, Miranda Neville, and Anne Calhoun.

If you could be in a band with other writers, who would you choose as band mates and why?  What kind of music would you perform?  What would be the name of your band?
Oh man. I am sharing a house in New Orleans for the RT Convention in May 2014, and other writers who are staying there include: Anne Calhoun, Miranda Neville, Lexi Ryan, and Lisa Maxwell,  along with bloggers JanetNorCal, RRRJessica, and Sasha from Caribbean Accent. Maybe we would have a band called the French Quarter Hussies and we would play French cabaret music and drink scotch.

Lightening round:
What’s your hidden talent? My tongue is double-jointed.
What would you do if you weren’t an author? Freak out.

What was the very first romance novel you read? The Thorn Birds.


Sometimes our wildest dreams come true.
In the tumultuous summer of 1808, Spain and England are close to war and four young lovers are close to ecstasy.
To carve out an independent life with the woman she loves, ANNA knows she must leave her quiet Spanish convent to become a courtesan. To gain experience, she sets her sights on . . .
SEBASTIAN, whose powerful, aristocratic confidence suits Anna’s mercenary goals. But his arrogance masks a craving for submission that Anna instinctively satisfies. Sebastian soon begs for her hand in marriage, even if it means sharing her with . . .
PIA, who trusts Anna completely—with her body and her future—until she learns of Anna’s hasty marriage. Pia questions their commitment to each other as they leave for London to meet . . .
FARLEIGH, the seemingly feckless duke who thinks he’s over Sebastian, the potent Spanish soldier he bedded two years ago.
What begins as a series of erotic escapades soon evolves into a deep, unbreakable bond. Two men and two women who yearn to explore are about to make their wildest dreams come true.



CHAPTER THREE
She turned in his arms, staring into those blue-green eyes of his, wondering how honest she could afford to be. Some version of the truth would free her to ask all sorts of relevant questions, to make him an accomplice of sorts. He seemed like he’d be game.
“Sebastian . . .” They’d been properly introduced, but it was wholly improper for her to call him by his first name. Then again, she was already alone with him, unchaperoned, having recently lost herself in the sensation of sucking his fingers until her sex was throbbing so hard she’d forgotten her own name. Calling him by his Christian name did not seem to sit quite so high on the long list of improprieties. What with one thing and another.
“Yeeessss . . .” he drawled. He’d begun swaying her gently in his arms, as if they were on the deck of a slow-rolling ship.
“I . . .” She hesitated and then cursed her unfamiliar cowardice. He was quite right in letting her know she couldn’t very well play the blushing virgin when she’d more or less lured him into their current embrace. He was staring at her mouth again—making love to her mouth with his eyes, really—which made it easier to blurt out a portion of the truth. “I would very much like to . . . do things . . . with . . . to . . . I would . . .” Well, this is going abominably.
He smiled and kept up that gentle motion, pulling her nearer with each sway. “That all sounds positively delightful,” he said, “but perhaps a bit vague.”
“Vague?” she prompted.
He inhaled. “I tend to prefer very clear directions.” He was quite close by then. In fact, the hard pressure of his cock was resting against her stomach at that very moment.
“You do?” she asked, surprised and delighted at her good fortune.
He nodded and then looked adorably sheepish as he pressed his length along her belly.
I can do this, she thought.
He felt big, but certainly no bigger than anything she and Pia had used to penetrate one another. Fingers at first. Then tongues. Then more fingers. Anna’s whole hand one time, after much patient, delectable coaxing. Anna felt the heat pool in her belly at the memory, at the way their shared desire had ultimately opened Pia up to her so completely.
She closed her eyes, overcome with memories.
***
Abbey of Santa María la Real de Las Huelgas, Burgos, Spain – September 1807
Initially, they had tried to ignore the heat that flamed between them. For many months in the spring and summer, they would catch one another’s eyes and quickly look away—in vespers, in the library, at mealtimes. They would speak of art and nature and herbal remedies, books and political ideas and astronomy . . . but never of feelings.
Anna had tried to quash her feelings through petition and penance, with prayers for forgiveness and relief from her agitation. She had tried to deny how deeply she loved Pia, to convince herself that she only loved her as a friend. She had tried to persuade herself that her physical desire was part of a childish infatuation or sinful temptation, a brief flare of unfamiliar lust that would pass soon enough.
But it hadn’t passed. It had grown.
So, when she began to suspect that Pia felt the same way, there was nothing for it. Anna finally decided to declare her feelings one warm afternoon in September, when the two of them were sent to the surrounding forest to collect some late-summer herbs that would be dried during the long winter. Pia appeared serious and thoughtful as always, but Anna’s heart thudded wildly, emboldened by their exceptional solitude. The novices were rarely granted times to speak privately, so Anna saw it as an opportunity to dash her foolish hopes. Perhaps she had imagined Pia’s answering gazes, and Pia would put an end to her madness once and for all.
“Do you look forward to spending your life in the convent, Pia?” Anna tried to sound casual as she bent to snip an herb.
Pia turned her head slightly. “I never think about it one way or another. It will be my life whether I look forward to it or not.”
Her moderate, equable nature was something Anna had come to love about Pia because it was the shell she wanted to break apart, to see what roiled beneath.
Choosing her words carefully, Anna said, “I think about it.” I think about taking you away with me.
Bending to pick a stalk of malva, Pia spoke without looking up. “As well you should. That is your future, is it not? To be a lady-in-waiting at court next year?”
Anna couldn’t look away from the turn of Pia’s long back and strong shoulders. She could stare at her for hours. She was desperate to touch her. Her breath caught in her throat.
“Anna?” Pia was standing in front of her by then, stepping closer.
“Yes?” She licked her lips in the one nervous gesture she’d never been able to conquer.
Pia looked at her mouth for a split second. “Are you unwell?”
“I don’t know . . .” Anna whispered, her heart pounding.
“What is it?” Pia’s voice had softened to a near whisper, as well.
Anna gathered all her courage. “I believe I’m in love with you.”
Pia didn’t gasp or step back, as Anna had half hoped she would. They stood like that in the dappled glade—staring at one another—until the autumn noises of the forest were like clanging cymbals all around them. Insects skittered and dried leaves crackled into the air. An acorn falling might as well have been a hundred-year-old oak crashing to the earth for how the small sound resonated.
Finally, after what felt like an entire rotation of the moon, Pia’s eyes blinked slowly, then drifted shut. The sparsely filled basket slid out of her weak hold. “Touch me,” Pia pleaded. “I beg you.”
That was all the encouragement Anna needed. Within seconds, she had pinned Pia against one of the large oak trees. After so many months of wondering and hoping, the reality of Pia’s lips and skin and hair threw Anna into a sort of frenzy. Kissing her lips and then along the strong turn of her ivory neck, nipping at her ear, Anna reveled in the physical reality of Pia in her arms. The smell of her—a mixture of fresh autumn air and spices from the convent kitchen where Pia had baked bread that morning. The sound of her—a loving compilation of supplication and devotion.
Anna began removing Pia’s clothes without asking permission, pulling desperately at her tightly wound coil of hair. The more Anna pushed, the more Pia bent. As if they were both perfectly attuned to the moment and its meaning: that they were both discovering their true natures. Pia was made to soften and sway into Anna’s controlling, greedy hands.
“You are so beautiful, Pia, so strong and wise,” Anna gasped between kisses and fumbling fingers. “I watch you all the time, how you manage everyone without flouting the abbess’s authority.” Her lips trailed down Pia’s neck. “I’ve seen your lovely drawings and your modesty about them. I’ve seen your patience with the younger girls. I love watching you.”
“I’ve watched you too, Anna,” Pia confessed, her breath shallow. “I’ve watched you grow into this woman who knows her own mind. I see how you look at the world. How you will take what you want.”
“I will take you. I know that now.” Anna’s voice was low and demanding, and she watched as Pia’s body responded to its strength—her strength. “My wild ideas about you have become so real to me.” Pia whimpered at the words, and Anna kissed her full on the lips, savoring the texture and taste, the feel of Pia’s tongue against hers.
Anna broke away for a moment. Pia leaned her forehead against hers and said, “I’ve dreamt of you so many times, Anna.” She reached tentatively to hold a strand of Anna’s silky blonde hair between her curious fingers. “You come to me at night, into my bed, like an angel.”
Anna laughed, low and mischievous. “If I am an angel, I’m an angel of darkness.” She spoke as she worked, removing the last of Pia’s clothes with rough, tugging movements. Every time she gave a firm pull at a piece of fabric, Pia seemed to come emotionally, as well as physically, undone. “The thoughts I have about you, Pia, they are dark and heathenish. Beautiful and raw.”




Megan Mulry writes sexy, stylish, romantic fiction. Her first book, A Royal Pain, was an NPR Best Book of 2012 and USA Today bestseller. Before discovering her passion for romance novels, she worked in magazine publishing and finance. After many years in New York, Boston, London, and Chicago, she now lives with her family in Florida.



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