Attraction, Elements of Chemistry Part 1, by Penny Reid, releases on April 6th! Want a sizzling sneak peek? Trust us, you do!
We had the pleasure of reading an advance copy and loved it. We're a sucker for incredibly smart writing and solid storytelling and Penny Reid gives us exactly that! Martin (YUM!) is a sexy as hell hero who oozes wicked charm and seduction, and is endearingly honest and patience with Kaitlyn, a quirky and adorable heroine who struggles with her self-perception and inexperience. Their interactions, dialogue and relationship is relatable, awkwardly sweet, and the perfect mix of innocence and smoldering sexual chemistry. Don't take our word for it, read a sizzling excerpt and meet Martin and Kaitlyn!
Plus check out fabulous teasers and enter to win a $50 giveaway! Happy reading and Good Luck! Don't forget to pre-order Attraction now at the pre-release sale price of only $0.99!
We had the pleasure of reading an advance copy and loved it. We're a sucker for incredibly smart writing and solid storytelling and Penny Reid gives us exactly that! Martin (YUM!) is a sexy as hell hero who oozes wicked charm and seduction, and is endearingly honest and patience with Kaitlyn, a quirky and adorable heroine who struggles with her self-perception and inexperience. Their interactions, dialogue and relationship is relatable, awkwardly sweet, and the perfect mix of innocence and smoldering sexual chemistry. Don't take our word for it, read a sizzling excerpt and meet Martin and Kaitlyn!
Plus check out fabulous teasers and enter to win a $50 giveaway! Happy reading and Good Luck! Don't forget to pre-order Attraction now at the pre-release sale price of only $0.99!
Sizzling Excerpt: Meet Martin & Kaitlyn
He still gripped my arms when he asked, “Do you hide in the cabinet often?”
“Sometimes,” I said distractedly, my jaw clenched, willing the mortified blush to recede.
“Is this an everyday thing?”
“No. Only on special occasions, like when strange people arrive to plot your demise.” I twisted out of his grip, reached for and failed to find the spot needed to secure relief.
“Plot my demise?” His eyes darted over me again, I could tell he was studying my movements. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to reach an itch between my shoulder blades.” My elbow was in the air now, my hand down the neck of my shirt.
Martin’s eyes widened then blinked. Without a word he stepped forward into my personal space. Before I could comprehend what was happening, he’d backed me into the lab table and I was trapped. Martin was against me, his arms wrapped around my body, his hands slipped under my T-shirt to the center of my back, and then his fingers itched the unreachable space between my shoulder blades.
At first I tensed because… MARTIN SANDEKE’S ARMS ARE AROUND ME. HIS HANDS ARE UNDER MY SHIRT. HIS BODY IS PRESSED AGAINST MINE!
OMG. WTF? BBQ!
But then, my brain’s very understandably stunted fan-girl reaction to his movements was quickly eclipsed by the blissful relief of an inch scratched.
I melted in his arms, my forehead resting against his chest, and I moaned my satisfaction.
“Oh, yes, God. That’s the spot… Please, don’t stop,” I murmured, obviously out of my mind. But it felt so good. So very, very good. Like sinking into a hot bubble bath after walking a mile through a nor’easter.
Martin didn’t stop.
Well…not precisely.
Rather, over the course of a full minute, he ceased using his nails, and instead began caressing and massaging my back with his fingers and hands. I realized too late that his head had dipped to my neck and his lips were against my ear, his hot breath tickling me and sending delightfully dangerous shivers down my spine, and down the backs of my legs to my toes.
“Did I make it all better?” he whispered, then bit—yes, bit!—my neck, like he was tasting me.
Then he bit me again.
I sucked in a breath and my eyes opened—even as my body instinctively arched toward him. Reality burst through the delightful fog of his ministrations like one of those disturbing and jarring windup jack-in-the-box clowns.
After one and a half semesters of virtually nothing but mundane academic interactions, I was in the chemistry lab with Martin Sandeke and his hands were roaming, liberal, and greedy. His face was tucked in my neck. I was trapped against a lab table. Our bodies were intimately connected.
And I’d just moaned.
What the hiccup was going on?
I raised my palms to his chest and made to push him away. This only caused his hands to still, now on the curve of my waist, and his grip to tighten. He plastered our fronts together more completely.
“Um…” I cleared my throat, found my voice unsteady. “Yeah, yeah—all better,” I croaked.
He laughed. Actually, it was more like a lazy chuckle.
One of Martin’s hands slipped up my back and under the strap of my bra, where the itch had been, his fingers splayed wide. The other went to the clip on my head and released the spring. My hair fell like a curtain and I felt him wrap his hand around the thick length.
I pushed him again, tilted my head to the side and away, feeling breathless. “I’m all better now. Thanks for the help. Services no longer needed.” Everywhere he touched sent ripples of awareness and heat to my core.
My attempt at escape was a failure, because, as soon as I pressed against him in earnest, Martin tugged my hair, encouraged me to tilt my chin upward.
Then he kissed me.
And—damn, damn, damn—he was a good kisser.
More precisely, since I had grossly limited experience in the kissing department, he was what I imagined a good kisser would kiss like. The kind girls fantasize about. The guy who just takes what he wants, like he’s hungry and you’re on the menu, but somehow makes it epic for both parties involved.
No preamble, prologue, or preface. Just urgent, fervent, worshipful kisses, one right after the other. I had no choice but to wrap my arms around his neck, stand on my tiptoes, and try to kiss him back. Because, honestly, the way he held me, the way he growled when our tongues met, the way his mouth moved over mine—he demanded it.
Also, in the recesses of my mind, I realized that this entire situation was completely preposterous. Likely, he was drunk, or tripping on acid, or was playing some kind of joke.
One day I would persuade my grandchildren to gather ’round while I put in my good dentures—the ones with no space between my two front teeth—and I would tell them for the millionth time about how Hercules had once accidentally kissed me in the chemistry lab at my Ivy League University.
The need for air eventually required our lips to part, though we separated only inches. If I inclined my head forward our noses would touch.
I opened my eyes as wide as they would go and glanced at his, where I found his gaze alternately moving between my lips and my eyes. I also noted I wasn’t the only one breathing heavily.
I said and thought in unison, my voice just above a whisper, “What was that?”
His eyes stopped moving over my face and instead settled, held mine captive. They were heated and…hot and…intense. I was starting to understand why the blood of a thousand virgins had been sacrificed at his altar of sexual prowess.
I tried to swallow. I couldn’t.
“That was necessary,” he finally said. Actually, he growled it.
“Necessary?”
“Yes. That needed to happen.”
“Sometimes,” I said distractedly, my jaw clenched, willing the mortified blush to recede.
“Is this an everyday thing?”
“No. Only on special occasions, like when strange people arrive to plot your demise.” I twisted out of his grip, reached for and failed to find the spot needed to secure relief.
“Plot my demise?” His eyes darted over me again, I could tell he was studying my movements. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to reach an itch between my shoulder blades.” My elbow was in the air now, my hand down the neck of my shirt.
Martin’s eyes widened then blinked. Without a word he stepped forward into my personal space. Before I could comprehend what was happening, he’d backed me into the lab table and I was trapped. Martin was against me, his arms wrapped around my body, his hands slipped under my T-shirt to the center of my back, and then his fingers itched the unreachable space between my shoulder blades.
At first I tensed because… MARTIN SANDEKE’S ARMS ARE AROUND ME. HIS HANDS ARE UNDER MY SHIRT. HIS BODY IS PRESSED AGAINST MINE!
OMG. WTF? BBQ!
But then, my brain’s very understandably stunted fan-girl reaction to his movements was quickly eclipsed by the blissful relief of an inch scratched.
I melted in his arms, my forehead resting against his chest, and I moaned my satisfaction.
“Oh, yes, God. That’s the spot… Please, don’t stop,” I murmured, obviously out of my mind. But it felt so good. So very, very good. Like sinking into a hot bubble bath after walking a mile through a nor’easter.
Martin didn’t stop.
Well…not precisely.
Rather, over the course of a full minute, he ceased using his nails, and instead began caressing and massaging my back with his fingers and hands. I realized too late that his head had dipped to my neck and his lips were against my ear, his hot breath tickling me and sending delightfully dangerous shivers down my spine, and down the backs of my legs to my toes.
“Did I make it all better?” he whispered, then bit—yes, bit!—my neck, like he was tasting me.
Then he bit me again.
I sucked in a breath and my eyes opened—even as my body instinctively arched toward him. Reality burst through the delightful fog of his ministrations like one of those disturbing and jarring windup jack-in-the-box clowns.
After one and a half semesters of virtually nothing but mundane academic interactions, I was in the chemistry lab with Martin Sandeke and his hands were roaming, liberal, and greedy. His face was tucked in my neck. I was trapped against a lab table. Our bodies were intimately connected.
And I’d just moaned.
What the hiccup was going on?
I raised my palms to his chest and made to push him away. This only caused his hands to still, now on the curve of my waist, and his grip to tighten. He plastered our fronts together more completely.
“Um…” I cleared my throat, found my voice unsteady. “Yeah, yeah—all better,” I croaked.
He laughed. Actually, it was more like a lazy chuckle.
One of Martin’s hands slipped up my back and under the strap of my bra, where the itch had been, his fingers splayed wide. The other went to the clip on my head and released the spring. My hair fell like a curtain and I felt him wrap his hand around the thick length.
I pushed him again, tilted my head to the side and away, feeling breathless. “I’m all better now. Thanks for the help. Services no longer needed.” Everywhere he touched sent ripples of awareness and heat to my core.
My attempt at escape was a failure, because, as soon as I pressed against him in earnest, Martin tugged my hair, encouraged me to tilt my chin upward.
Then he kissed me.
And—damn, damn, damn—he was a good kisser.
More precisely, since I had grossly limited experience in the kissing department, he was what I imagined a good kisser would kiss like. The kind girls fantasize about. The guy who just takes what he wants, like he’s hungry and you’re on the menu, but somehow makes it epic for both parties involved.
No preamble, prologue, or preface. Just urgent, fervent, worshipful kisses, one right after the other. I had no choice but to wrap my arms around his neck, stand on my tiptoes, and try to kiss him back. Because, honestly, the way he held me, the way he growled when our tongues met, the way his mouth moved over mine—he demanded it.
Also, in the recesses of my mind, I realized that this entire situation was completely preposterous. Likely, he was drunk, or tripping on acid, or was playing some kind of joke.
One day I would persuade my grandchildren to gather ’round while I put in my good dentures—the ones with no space between my two front teeth—and I would tell them for the millionth time about how Hercules had once accidentally kissed me in the chemistry lab at my Ivy League University.
The need for air eventually required our lips to part, though we separated only inches. If I inclined my head forward our noses would touch.
I opened my eyes as wide as they would go and glanced at his, where I found his gaze alternately moving between my lips and my eyes. I also noted I wasn’t the only one breathing heavily.
I said and thought in unison, my voice just above a whisper, “What was that?”
His eyes stopped moving over my face and instead settled, held mine captive. They were heated and…hot and…intense. I was starting to understand why the blood of a thousand virgins had been sacrificed at his altar of sexual prowess.
I tried to swallow. I couldn’t.
“That was necessary,” he finally said. Actually, he growled it.
“Necessary?”
“Yes. That needed to happen.”
Teasers: Want More Martin and Kaitlyn?
Click on pictures for full view
Attraction, Part 1, Synopsis & $0.99 Purchase Link
One week.
Private beach.
Invisible girl.
Jerk-faced bully.
What’s the worst that could happen?
Kaitlyn Parker has no problem being the invisible girl, which is why she finds herself hiding in various cabinets and closets all over her college campus. Despite her best efforts, she can’t escape the notice of Martin Sandeke—bad boy, jerkface bully, and the universe’s hottest, wealthiest, and most unobtainable bachelor—who also happens to be Kaitlyn’s chemistry lab partner.
Kaitlyn might be the only girl who isn’t interested in exploiting his stunning rower’s build, chiseled features, and family's billionaire fortune. Kaitlyn wants Martin for his brain, specifically to tabulate findings of trace elements in surface water.
When Kaitlyn saves Martin from a nefarious plot, Martin uses the opportunity to push Kaitlyn out of her comfort zone: spring break, one week, house parties, bathing suits, and suntan lotion. Can she overcome her aversion to being noticed? Will he be able grow beyond his self-centered nature? Or, despite their obvious chemistry, will Martin be the one to drive Kaitlyn into the science cabinet of obscurity for good?
Private beach.
Invisible girl.
Jerk-faced bully.
What’s the worst that could happen?
Kaitlyn Parker has no problem being the invisible girl, which is why she finds herself hiding in various cabinets and closets all over her college campus. Despite her best efforts, she can’t escape the notice of Martin Sandeke—bad boy, jerkface bully, and the universe’s hottest, wealthiest, and most unobtainable bachelor—who also happens to be Kaitlyn’s chemistry lab partner.
Kaitlyn might be the only girl who isn’t interested in exploiting his stunning rower’s build, chiseled features, and family's billionaire fortune. Kaitlyn wants Martin for his brain, specifically to tabulate findings of trace elements in surface water.
When Kaitlyn saves Martin from a nefarious plot, Martin uses the opportunity to push Kaitlyn out of her comfort zone: spring break, one week, house parties, bathing suits, and suntan lotion. Can she overcome her aversion to being noticed? Will he be able grow beyond his self-centered nature? Or, despite their obvious chemistry, will Martin be the one to drive Kaitlyn into the science cabinet of obscurity for good?
