Reader's Edyn: Blitz: Perfection by Kitty Thomas + GIVEAWAY

**Perfection by Kitty Thomas**

Good Morning, Everyone! So thrilled to see you all today! Today I have another new-to-me author to share with you all! She is here letting us all know about her latest release. Please allow me to feature on the blog Kitty Thomas and her release, PERFECTION … Plus, a GIVEAWAY!

**KITTY THOMAS**

**BIO**

KITTY THOMAS writes dark stories that play with power and have unconventional HEAs. She began publishing in early 2010 with her bestselling COMFORT FOOD and is considered one of the original authors of the dark romance subgenre.

To find out more about Ms. Thomas, please visit:

https://bookandmainbites.com/KittyThomas

**PERFECTION**

Publication date: April 8^TH, 2020
Genres: Adult, Romance, Contemporary, Dark Romance

**BLURB**

Everyone thought I was married to the perfect man. But if Conall Walsh were perfect, I wouldn’t have killed him.

I thought I got away with it until I received an anonymous note at the ballet company I dance for:

You were a very bad girl. If you don’t want me to report what I know about last night, meet me at the old opera house after rehearsal. I will tell you the price of my silence when you arrive. If you speak of this or bring anyone with you… no deal.

But his price isn’t money. It’s me.

THIS IS A STANDALONE contemporary dark romance.

**EXCERPT 1**

There’s a crackling sound and then a booming male voice magnified over a speaker.

“I neither need nor want your money, Ms. Lane” It's a smooth, rich baritone. But I can't tell if the voice belongs to someone old or young. And I don't recognize it.

“Do you know he beat me? He threatened to kill me. What was I supposed to do? He practically owned this city. Do you know how much power he had? What other choice did I have?” I shout into the mostly empty theater.

“Do you know how much power I have?” he counters.

Obviously a lot if he can get into this building and have electricity running in it. “I don't deserve prison,” I say.

“Murder is a serious crime.” His tone is similar to the one you'd hear in the principal's office after being caught vandalizing a dumpster behind the school.

“Please...” I feel the hysteria bubbling over as my gaze continues to dart around the cavernous theater, trying to find where he's hiding, what perch he observes me from. “Please...” I say again... “You said you'd tell me your price. How much? Please. I'll pay you anything.”

“No, Ms. Lane. Not money. I have plenty of that. The price of my silence is your obedience.”

The stillness that follows this announcement is so complete you could hear a pin drop on the black dance tarp. What the hell does that mean?

“Empty out your dance bag in the center of the stage and spread out all the contents,” he says.

I freeze at that. There's a gun in my dance bag. I'm not that stupid, that I'd just go meet some mysterious blackmailer without going home to get a weapon first. I mean, come on.

“I want to remind you that we aren't in a 1940's noir film. I have a phone on me at all times, and I will use it to report you if you hesitate again.”

I take a deep breath. My hands are visibly shaking as I empty out the dance bag, arranging the contents, carefully concealing the gun in a dance sweater.

“What are you hiding from me?” the voice asks again.

I look around the otherwise empty theater, trying desperately to find the source of that voice.

“N-nothing!”

“Do you want to go to prison, Cassia?”

His use of my first name startles me. It feels too familiar in spite of everything.

The voice continues. “No. Lies. I want to see what you're hiding.”

I don't know how I thought I would get away with this. Did I think he'd just show up and confront me in some straight forward face-to-face way? Did I think he'd let me see him? Did I think I'd have a clear shot, and he'd just stand politely still while I put a bullet in him?

What the hell was I thinking?

“Last chance to save yourself,” he says, his patience running out.

I feel like I'll hyperventilate as I unwrap the gun from the sweater and lay it out on the brightly lit stage. I flinch and look around me as if he'll somehow swoop down, materialize on top of me, and rip me apart for daring to try to defend myself.

He chuckles. “Were you planning to build a body count? Gotten a taste for it, have you?”

“N-no,” I stammer.

“No, Sir,” he corrects. “I expect a basic level of formality and etiquette when we're in this space together.”

Everything inside me freezes at this. When we're in this space together.

**TEASERS**

**EXCERPT 2**

“Please what?” he asks, his voice hard again. And I can feel his distance from me. He's too far away for me to touch even if I reached out. And I want to reach out. I want to beg for him. I want to crawl.

“Sir, please... please... don't stop. Please.”

I'm still holding onto the barre. My arm is aching, but I can't bring myself to break the position he ordered me into. Mercifully, he takes that hand in his, and pulls me to stand. Then he leads me away somewhere. Off the stage... backstage... I don't know where we're going, but I don't protest.

When we reach the bathroom backstage, I know that's where we are. I feel the tile floor through my soft ballet shoes. I hear the water go on in the shower. A zipper. Clothing hitting the floor. Then he's stripping me. First the shoes, then the leotard and tights. But the blindfold remains in place. The glass door slides open, and he pulls me into the enveloping wet warmth with him.

I know he's seen me naked before on the screen, but realizing his closeness, feeling the hard naked length of his body pressed against mine is another thing. He’s so tall and strong. So much stronger than me. Suddenly being in this confined space with water pouring down on me, naked with a stranger—with my blackmailer—jars me out of his seductive spell.

He could rape me. He could fucking drown me. He could tilt me back and hold his hand over my mouth and just let the water take me. I panic, and then tears come. I’m so isolated from the rest of the world, from anyone who could help or hear me. Suddenly being this vulnerable with this man I don't know scares me in a way I haven't been scared since the note in my locker.

“Shhhh,” he says. “Shhh. You're safe.” He pulls me into his arms, which should feel more confining, more terrifying, but I can feel his steady heartbeat against my skin, and he's stroking my back in the most delightfully soothing way. I shouldn't melt into him like I do. I shouldn't feel this sense of trust flow out of me and into him. Especially not after Conall. This is a dangerous man. This is not a romantic comedy. This is something dark and disturbing and wrong.

But my brain can't process that reality anymore because he's being so gentle. My arms go around him, clinging to him, my head pressed against his chest, sighing like a contented house cat as he strokes the back of my neck.

“I think that's enough for tonight,” he says.

I want to say no. He can't leave me wanting. Even as he says these words, the desire comes flooding back, overriding all doubts and fears. I grip him harder, as if I can stop him from pulling away.

His mouth grazes my ear. “Do you want more?”

“Yes, Sir.” I am nothing but adrenaline. Fear and desire blending together until I don't know where one thing ends and the other begins. But I need him to keep touching me.

“Turn around and put your hands on the wall.” He doesn't say it in the same hard way as usual. And it doesn't come out in a growl. The command is soft, calm.

And suddenly I am soft, calm.

I do as he says, and a few moments later he's washing me, lathering my body, the relaxing scent of lavender permeating the space.

“I'm going to remove the blindfold. Stay facing the wall, and keep your eyes closed. I really don't want to punish you right now. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” It's barely more than a whisper. But he hears me.

He removes the fabric from my eyes, which has miraculously mostly remained dry, since my face wasn't in the water. Then he releases my hair from the bun. He runs his fingers through it. He shampoos my hair and washes my body, and I stand there, obeying him—my eyes closed, turned toward the shower wall, my hands flat against the tile.

Why the hell am I doing this?

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