Book Blitz and Giveaway: SINFUL REWARDS 3 by Cynthia Sax

Where did you get the idea for Sinful Rewards?

When Avon Impulse approached me about writing a 12 novella serial, I was completely stoked! I know this was my opportunity to write a delicious love triangle. Love triangles need a huge word count to be believable. 12 novellas of 100 pages or more would give me the space to write one.

Why write a billionaire and a biker as Sinful Rewards’ love triangle rivals?

I knew I’d write about a billionaire. Billionaires fascinate me. When I realized that Nicolas would be a real estate developer, I wanted an alternate hero who would be as different as possible from Nicolas, yet still be a swoon worthy, strong choice. While Nicolas represents home and security, Hawke, our tattooed bad boy biker, symbolizes mobility and freedom. If you had the choice between security and freedom, which would you choose?

What is your writing environment?

I write on an antiqued PC (which I’ve nicknamed the Comedy 64) set on a tiny wood veneer desk I found discarded on a curb. This computer faces a blank wall so I don’t get distracted. My side table is the seldom used ironing board. Yes, we writers live glamorous lives. (grins)

Who is your perfect hero/heroine and why?

The perfect character for me is imperfect. Flaws are interesting and make each character different. I love that Nicolas, the billionaire in Sinful Rewards, has a sweet tooth and a secret love of jellybeans. I love that Bee, the heroine, cleans when she’s upset (putting everything in order makes her feel more in control). I love that Hawke, the bad boy biker, doesn’t care what he looks like.

Which authors/books have caught your interest lately and why?

There are so many. I love Shelly Bells’ White Collared, a four part BDSM erotic romance serial. Opal Carew is always a favorite writer of mine. J.K. Coi’s  In Bed With The Competition is a perfect summer read. I loved Christine d’Abo’s Nailed also.

Note: I consider all of these writers friends. If I had to recommend a writer I didn’t consider a friend, I wouldn’t have any writers to recommend. (grins) I usually contact the writers I love and strike up a friendship.

What do you like to do when you are not writing?

We writers love our jobs, which is a good thing because writing is a 70 hour plus week job. The hubby and I also love to travel (writing can be done anywhere) and, of course, I love to read. I speed read and average an erotic romance a day.

Bee Carter’s carefully constructed world is tumbling down around her designer knockoff heels. Pleasing others isn’t working for this small-town fashionista. Bee decides to throw caution to the Chicago wind for one night and release her inner bad girl, accepting a sexy challenge from an unknown texter, exploring the backseat of a limousine with gorgeous billionaire Nicolas, and entering a rough, tough biker bar with the mysterious Hawke.

Two hot men, one wicked night. When this good girl goes wild, who will make her erotic dreams come true—the enigmatic billionaire or the tattooed bad boy?

A very large man separates from the pack, and my words fade. He’s backlit, his face and form in darkness, but I’d recognize that blunt buzz cut, square chin, broad shoulders, and confident swagger anywhere.

“Hawke,” I whisper, my toes wiggling in the practical flats I was forced to wear. My lack of heels makes him appear even larger, more dominant and manly.

“Sweetheart.” He cups my chin with his rough fingers and tilts my face upward. Our gazes meet and hold, time stopping, the noise and lights fading. There’s only the two of us.

I’ll have sex with this mountain of a man tonight. Decades-entrenched fear battles newly formed desire. The temptation to turn, to run from him, from this fate, increases with each heartbeat. I know of only one way to quiet my mind, to ensure passion wins. “Kiss me,” I whisper.

Hawke doesn’t hesitate. He swoops down and claims my lips, the strength of his embrace stealing my breath. I gasp. He surges inside me, his tongue tangling, tumbling with mine. He tastes of whiskey and chocolate, a burning sweetness I could quickly become addicted to.

My knees tremble, and he straps his arms around my body, holding me upright, pressing me to him. I forget everything, my doubts, our audience, my friend Cyndi, losing myself in him, in the rasp of his stubble-covered chin against my skin, the stroke of his tongue along mine, the hardness of his body.

Hawke lifts me higher, fitting me into his fit form. My curves flatten against his muscle. My feet dangle above the pavement. Never have I felt this delicate, this cherished.

I grip his shoulders, clinging to him, relishing his strength and size. This is right, this kiss, this night, this man. I’ll give him everything, expecting only pleasure in return, forgoing forever for one evening.

A man whistles, breaking the spell. Other men join him, hooting and hollering, their unruly behavior heating my cheeks. Hawke releases my lips and pushes my face into his cotton-covered chest, bending over my smaller form as though to shield me from them.

“I’m glad you came,” he murmurs, his voice low and deep and arousing.

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