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About the author:
Pippa Prince hails from the middle midwest where she divides her time between chasing her young children, writing sexy romance, and watching classic movies.
What inspired you to write your book?
I grew up in a small town, attended church, heard the stories in Sunday School. Pretty standard midwestern US youth. The story of the prodigal son always interested me — he took his inheritance and squandered it, abominably. When he returned home, utterly penniless, his father welcomed him with open arms and a party. The important part wasn’t the money — the important part was family. Of course, in PRODIGAL, ‘family’ means the hero and heroine, but the moral is the same.
Here is a short sample from the book:
I stand up and slide onto Zack’s lap. “Not all that little.”
“Little compared to me,” says Zack. His hands cup my knees as I settle astride his lap. He slides them up, toward the top of my thighs. He pauses before gripping my hips and pulling me forward, right atop the ridged denim covering his erection. The contact and his boldness make me gasp.
“Breaking out the big guns now, hm?” I say. It comes out less taunting than I meant it to, since I’ve got breathless all of a sudden.
Zack is tracing patterns with his thumbs across my lower back and it makes me want to arch into him. I hold back, because this is my office, for God’s sake. Somebody could walk in at any minute. The door is closed, but I’m almost certain he didn’t lock it.
The thought vaults my arousal to a fever pitch.
“Come out with me, Liz.” Zack murmurs, his eyes on my mouth.
“No,” I say. I give in to the urge and arch my hips into his. Zack bites his lip to keep back the groan, but I hear it anyway.
“Besides,” I say. “We see each other all the time these days. We can always socialize then.”
“When you say socialize…” Zack thrusts up against the cradle between my legs and close my eyes, savoring the heat and the friction he causes. “Are you referring to this?” He thrusts again.
I open my eyes again when I feel his fingertips on my lips.
“Pretty little Liz,” he murmurs. “Would you give me this?”
“Yes,” I whisper against his fingers.
“Would you let me come to you anytime I want it?”
“I– Yes.” There’s nothing I wouldn’t let this man do to me.