Tuesday, February 21, 2017

Spotlight of The Acrobat by Agnes Moon

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TITLE: The Acrobat
AUTHOR: Agnes Moon
PUBLISHER: Self publisher
GENRE: Paranormal
SERIES: Blood Ties # 1
TRANSLATOR: Kevan Houser
E-BOOK: Yes
PRICE: $ 3,49
LENGTH: 190 pages
RELEASE DATE: February 21st

BLURB:

The Acrobat is a professional thief with dozens of burglaries to his credit, but when he finds himself trapped in the enormous abode of a mysterious man, as seductive as he is lethal, he realizes that the police might not be the worst of evils.Vincent de Saint-Bonnet is incredibly rich, with many hidden secrets, and little will to live. A foul-mouthed little thief with magnificent blue eyes is just what he needs to bring some light back to his gray, long-drawn-out existence.

A thief looking for a valuable dagger, an antique dealer with hundreds of years under his belt, for whom the weapon represents an object of . . . inestimable value. Each man has a precise goal and nothing will stop him from reaching it. Not even the incredible attraction that grips them, pulling them into a duel, one fought with lies and seduction.



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excerpt

“Find anything interesting?” I sarcastically asked the figure who’d jumped nearly six feet the second the room lit up.

No shout, no exclamation, not a word. Just those incredible blue eyes staring at me cautiously and intently, scanning his surroundings for an escape route.

I admit, I was disappointed. Maybe not a terrified scream or a hand on his racing heart. . . but, parbleu! I would’ve appreciated at least a tiny reaction.

Lost in thought, I almost didn’t notice the black figure darting toward the door at supersonic speed. A speed that didn’t even come close to matching mine, naturally.

Without exerting myself in the least, I grabbed his arm. “Gotcha,” was all I needed to say, as I stopped his escape dead in its tracks.

He tried to wriggle free, but my grasp was ironclad. I knew I was hurting him, but he didn’t moan or utter a single word. Shorty was saving his breath, but the fury in his eyes, mixed with a touch of fear, did the talking for him—he was trying to hide it, but he was terrified.

“I’ll repeat the question,” I said patiently, as though addressing a disobedient child who was a little slow on the uptake. “Did you find anything interesting?”

“Yup. An arrogant old windbag!” he answered immediately, punctuating his response with a kick to my groin that made me double over in pain and temporarily loosen my grip on his arm.

The man took immediate advantage and bolted toward the door to the great hall. He moved like lightning, dodging the furniture despite the darkness that still pervaded that part of the room. A true cat-man, I thought, catching my breath and massaging my poor, mistreated balls.

I caught up to him a second later, this time grabbing him by the neck, squeezing gently, and lifting him up to his tiptoes, until he couldn’t breathe. I towered about eight inches over him, and saw a hint of desperation in his eyes. I felt a little sorry for him. . . but not very much. He needed to understand who was in charge here, and the fact I had his life literally in my hands seemed as good a way as any other to drive that point through his thick, thieving skull.

His survival instinct prevailed. He immediately froze, relaxing his arms and legs, trying hard to get air down through his constricted throat. He wasn’t fighting or struggling. He was probably saving his strength for a more opportune moment, but his eyes told me he was afraid I was going to kill him. I couldn’t blame him. Who knows what he might have heard about me?

I squeezed a little more, and when I saw his lips starting to turn slightly cyanotic, I decided he’d had enough. I suddenly let go and he dropped to the floor, gasping for breath—his hands immediately flew to his neck, as if to assess the damage. I granted him a few seconds to catch his breath. He was struggling, his breath rasping and laborious. When I saw the marks I’d left on his slender neck, I wondered if perhaps I’d gone a little overboard. The effort to breathe along with his accelerated heart beat caused his jugular vein to deliciously distend, and I had to force myself to hold back. . .

“Take your hood off!” I ordered, suddenly curious to see his face.

“Fuck you!” His voice, even more husky thanks to his injured throat, shot straight to my dick, making me painfully hard all over again.

“Don’t make me repeat myself. Take. Off. That. Hood.”

“Go. Fuck. Your. Self.” He shot back, looking up at me furiously as he tried to stand up.

I pushed him down on his knees in front of me. Which was exactly where he belonged, a wicked little voice whispered in my brain. I tugged that damned hood off him and finally saw his face.

I was momentarily speechless. He was just a boy. He couldn’t have been more than 20 or 25 at the most. And he was. . . stunning.

I’ve known—yes, I mean in the Biblical sense—a whole lot of men in my long life. Some were really very handsome, others fascinating and seductive, still others were ruggedly sexy—but this one. . . this abominable little thief took my breath away. His cascade of black curls, sweaty and disheveled from having been squashed inside that awful hood, reached down to his shoulders, framing an exquisitely crafted face. It looked like an artist had taken a chisel and committed himself to producing his greatest masterpiece, only to succeed with flying colors. The delicate features managed to retain their masculinity thanks to the square jaw and the straight nose that perfectly balanced the fullest and poutiest lips I’d ever seen. His eyes, which at that moment were shooting daggers at me, were a very pale blue, with a sort of darker halo circling the irises, making them look deep and magnetic.

“Happy now?” he dared to ask, with that husky, sexy tone I started to think was his normal voice.

I grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head back. I stared him in the eyes. He was on his knees in front of me with his face directly in front of my increasingly swollen crotch. No, I wasn’t happy in the least. I wanted to stuff my dick in his beautiful, nasty little mouth until he couldn’t breathe again. That would definitely make me happy!


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Amazon Buy Link


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1 comment:

  1. Thank you Nanee for hosting me and my novel on your amazing blog! I hope american readers will enjoy The Acrobat <3

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