The video! A man in love, a woman he yearns to save...if he can.

LIE DOWN WITH A LYON debuts 4.30.25

https://books2read.com/u/bWa8n7

LIE DOWN WITH A LYON for a First Kiss! A nibble now! Debuts 4.30.25

Copyright 2025, Cerise DeLand. All rights reserved. 

He stepped around her, his height and breadth a barrier between her and the wind. He lifted her chin. His tormented gaze deepened to a river of regret as the gathering clouds blocked out the sun. Catching her wrists, he pressed the palms of her hands to the flat of his chest. Beneath her flesh, his own pounded. “If I could, I would marry one woman.”

She could not bear to ask if that lady was her. Oh, but she could hope. “What deters you?”

“She and I are star-crossed.”

“Can that chasm not be bridged?”

He brought her hands up to his lips, and the journey they took began with the press of his lips to one wrist, then the other. “No,” he rasped. “She is not mine to have.”

“How…how do you know?” 

He opened one palm and licked the skin. She trembled at his ardor. 

“She wants, she deserves, more than I can give her.” 

“Sometimes,” she ventured, caught between desire and propriety, “love can grant more to a relationship than circumstances provide.” She had no knowledge of that, no understanding. She had heard it whispered among her childhood friends in Crawford’s school, or read of it in books that were in essence fairytales for adults. 

He hooded his eyes as he bent and nipped the pad of one thumb, then the other. His lips stirred fresh, hot hunger in her blood. 

She threw back her head, her eyes squeezed shut. “Please stop.”

He circled her waist with both arms and pulled her against him. His lips in her hair, he whispered, “I can’t.”

’Twas then she threw all caution to the windy afternoon, reached up, and caught his cheeks. Sliding up against the bulwark of his fabulous body, she put her lips to his. 

No man had she ever kissed. She knew not how, exactly. But in that moment, instinct was her guide and she took his lips, parted from him, and took them again. He groaned and crushed his mouth on hers. Heaven, at once, appeared before her. 

He was fierce in his claim. Ravenous. His arms were iron, his lips a brand, his tongue a fierce probe she met with a cry of delight. He’d said he was not married. He was gentle, persuasive—an animal who took and gave. He’d said he could not marry because the one he desired was so different. But in the command of his kiss, the claim of his tongue, the groan from his throat, he declared how he wanted her.

She believed him. His fierce possession of her. His words. 

And she let him have her. All of her. Her lips, her teeth, her heart. How could he not want to claim her? She wanted all of him!

He broke their kiss. 

She gasped for air and marveled at the look on his face.

He was enchanted—torn and furious. He cupped her shoulders. His voice a rasp, he said, “I must go.”

Dazed, she let him steady her on her feet. Insulted, heartbroken, she fought for sanity. He would leave her? After this? Was he a fool?

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7 Brides for 7 SEALs? Another bride, another groom...another wedding for you to swoon!

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Out March 31!

Viv LaClare is so over being the matron. The widow. She wants to laugh again, live again, maybe even dabble in a little affair…if she could just find the right guy.

Britt Ackermann is so over one-night stands—and women who party with a SEAL for the bragging rights. He wants a lady with guts, sass and more than a lick of sense…if he could find the right woman. 

So when he meets Viv at his teammate’s wedding, she hooks him at ‘hello.’ He’s convinced he wants all the nights she’ll give him. 

But if he can promise her all the tomorrows he’s got, can she risk her tender heart on a man who has the deadliest job in the world?

How about a nibble of my newest cherry?

When the doors opened on the fifth floor, Viv caught a glimpse of her reflection in the full length hall mirror. The shoulder-length red hair, the dark green eyes, the body she worked super hard to keep in shape. Didn’t this woman deserve to take what she wanted? Especially since the desire was mutual?

She extracted the card key from her purse and began her hunt for 510. Directional signs lead her around to the left and down the hall and she happily padded along on the thick carpet. The hotel was filled not only with Abby’s family but also with her professional associates and quite a few friends. Viv might not want that promotion but she wasn’t eager to have anyone see her go to her rendezvous. So she hurried along the hall and turned another corner—

Only to halt in her tracks.

Two doors down stood Tracy Banning with The Saint, her arms wrapped around his shoulders as he held her against the wall. Their lips were locked in a frantic kiss, and Tracy’s legs were hooked around The Saint’s hips.

Viv shrank back around the corner silent as a mouse.

“You need to go,” Tracy whispered, her voice husky.

“You don’t do wedding hook ups, is that it?” he asked, disappointment in his tone.

“The odds of being happy about it tomorrow are not great.”

“We can reexamine that idea tomorrow night,” he said with a laugh. “Waiting makes it all better, don’t you know! And I’m a patient man.”

“Thanks, Santiago,” Tracy whispered. “You’re a good man.”

“That’s me!” he said. “Adios. Sleep well!”

Viv straightened and took a step around the corner. “Hi, there!”

Santiago threw her a little salute. “Hey there, Viv. Good night. See you tomorrow.”

“Right.” She breathed a sigh of relief.

Speeding up, she went to the end of the hall before she found 510.

She stood there a minute, smoothed her palm over her hip, knocked twice, then put the card in the slot and—

A wild screeching siren rent the air.

What the hell is that?

Her head shot up. She stared and looked around.

The door in front of her swung wide.

Her mouth fell open.

Britt stood there, bare chest, bare feet, bronze and beaming from ear-to-ear.

She heard yells. Doors opening.

The door in back of her disgorged people. People who said, “What is that?”

A woman yelled, “Oh, shit!”

Another door opened and someone moaned, “A fire? At this hour of the night?”

“Darlin’, where are my briefs?”

“Is that a fire alarm?”

“Britt?” she beseeched him, jostled by four hotel guests rushing around the hall in pjs and shock.

He reached one long muscular arm out, grabbed her hand and pulled her inside. “Oh, honey!”

He pressed her to the wall and slammed the door shut. “I thought you weren’t coming. I was crazy.”

His hands were in her hair, his body warm and hard, his lips sweet as they spoke on hers. “Thank god.”

“Britt,” she murmured, so enthralled by the little kisses he bestowed on her mouth and her throat that she could barely breathe, let alone think. “The place is on fire!”

“Tell me about it.” He was chuckling as his fingers took her evening bag from her and put it on the hall table.

She grinned, arching into his big warm hands as he molded her to him, breasts to chest, tummy to tummy, flames roaring. “But the hotel—”

“Forget the hotel, baby. I’m burning up. In a minute, you will be, too.”

She moaned as he found the side zipper to her dress and slid it down, tooth by agonizing tooth. “The place will burn down!”

“I know it will.” He brushed his hands inside the crepe and let it slither down her body.

The air-conditioned air made her shiver. But his adoring hands scorched her everywhere he touched. “They’ll find us in here.”

“I know they will.” He pulled her forward to step out of her cocktail dress that puddled on the carpet.

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Laughing at the absurdities of life and luck and alarms, she tossed her hair and widened her eyes at him. “We’ll be burnt to a crisp.”

He continued backward to his sitting room. “Damn right.”

“You don’t care?”

“That some drunk fool tripped the alarm?”

She threw her head back to chuckle. “I really shouldn’t laugh.”

“Laugh, baby.” He sat down in a big easy chair and pulled her down with him, her legs bent at the knees to the cushion, her entire body open to him with only see-through French lace adorning her. He inhaled and lifted the wealth of her breasts, one in each reverent palm. His china blue eyes grew heavy-lidded and stormy. “Giggle. Scream. Do one. Do all. Do whatever comes naturally.”

She felt her nipples harden, her core pulse. She felt triumphant. Powerful. Where had that strong woman been for the past few years? “You like wild women?”

He bent to fasten his lips over one of her nipples. “I like you.”

Bucking, she tried to squeeze her thighs together. She was so swollen, so slick, she might be rash and stupid and attack him like a starving cat. “You’re not going to stop?”

“Not all night long.”