Claim's brand-new again!

And only 99c!

Mahalo,

I’m listening to Cake by the Ocean by DNCE as I write this edition of The Writer Gal Letter. It’s a happy summer song, Postmate. And I’m a happy summer Writer Gal, finally!

Necause I am on track to tackle my humongous task list - all of which include books, books, and ever more books just for you!

For this edition of TWGL, I only have one update for you.

The first-person dual POV edition of Claim has been published. The paperback version is still in review but the ebook is available on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited!

And, because this is sorta like introducing myself to a whole new branch of reader (the first person-loving Postmate), I have discounted it to 99c only.

Smash the pink button and get Claim now?

NOTE: The story of Claim and the plot remain exactly the same as before. Just the reading experience has changed to become more immersive and immediate.

Note: For Postmates who already have read Claim or have it on their devices - please go to Kindle app settings and sync it again. The new, updated version should show up for you, if you want to read a brand-new old romance. :)

Happy reading Drake and Anya’s combustible marriage of (in)convenience, Postmate!

Excerpt - Drake’s POV

I lightly toed the door open – Runwal had overestimated his internal alarm system and was now paying for it – and entered the room.

It was bitching cold. Especially after the cloistering heat from Bacchanalia.

It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the low-heat skim lights. To make out the slim figure of the woman as she bent over the single computer terminal in the whole room. Right next to the bank of free-standing server modules in the middle of the room.

Her legs were toned and ridiculously sexy, now that she was barefoot. And the line of her shoulders in the slip dress she wore was outrageously tempting.

I was about to step farther into the room when he caught the faintest glimmer of red and green around the computer monitor.

I narrowed my eyes, unsure of my eyesight. Then it happened again, and I saw it.

A tiny motion-sensor field constructed around the monitor. Ready to trip and sound the alarm when anyone other than approved personnel touched the computer.

So, I coughed. Rather loudly.

The woman froze.

I felt the pull of her action in my belly.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I said pleasantly. Taking care to not move an inch in either direction.

The woman whipped her slender neck and speared me with a look. It was stunned, accusing…apprehensive.

My belly tightened as I deciphered each individual feeling she telegraphed so clearly.

Her dark eyes were so expressive I almost felt bad for her. Almost.

“What?” Her voice was low. Defiant.

Something beeped on the woman.

She turned around and touched the monitor, her fingers passing through the sensor field. Triggering the alarm.

I kept my wince in at the god-awful racket.

“That,” I said grimly. I nodded at where her hand was still inside the sensor field.

The woman’s expression changed to utter horror as she realized the implications of what had just occurred.

 Then, something strange happened.

Her spine snapped straight, as if she’d been yanked upward by a chain. Her expression went glass-smooth. Unreadable. It was an impressive about-face if I hadn’t seen her fingers clench at the side of the flimsy piece of clothing she wore.

“I…”

My bat-sensitive ears caught the sound of pounding feet coming down the stairs. I gripped the dress and stockings I held and stuffed them into my pants pockets, crossing the room in three swift strides.

The woman’s eyes widened before she realized my intent.

I reached her, grabbing her waist without so much as a word and clutched her closer. Her body was cold to the touch, where I touched her front to back. Her nails dug into my forearm where I held her.

We looked at each other breathlessly for a long moment.

Her eyes were dark brown, almost hazel, I thought irrelevantly.

And they were furious instead of terrified.

Her red-slick lips parted, and I had the distinct notion she was going to scream. Which was stupid and brave. But nothing about this woman was vaguely normal.

I dipped my head closer to her, my belly clenched to the point of pain at proximity with her. Her scent was subtle, some kind of a flowery fragrance under the more obvious scents from the party – liquor, illegal substances, and designer perfumes. Her skin flushed golden as I breathed on her.

“Just go with me, okay?” I instructed her. Holding her closer when she took a surprised breath.

The strap of her silky slip slid down revealing the crest of one rounded breast gaping open at one side, the nipple pointing up, no doubt due to the freezing air.

I was appalled because I had such an explicit vision of whipping her about, bending down and tonguing that point. I was afraid I’d already done it.

But, then my famed control brought me back from the edge.

“What’s happening?” she muttered, twisting.

“Don’t move.”

Security entered the room in a rush, but I only had eyes for the woman in my arms.

I will be back super soon with You’re Just Not My Type updates, Postmate. Till then, I hope a whole bunch of new Postmates enjoy my most-requested hero - Caleb Drake Fallahil and his tempestuous Anya!

Take care and read on.

Xx

Aarti