New from Molly Ann Wishlade and Carina Press: Trying Too Hard @MissWishlade @UKCarina


Molly Ann Wishlade – Trying Too Hard

Release date: 29th January 2014

Publisher: Carina UK

Genre: Contemporary Erotic Romance


What’s the French word for lust…?

Hired as an intern at a coveted talent agency, blonde bubbly Catrin Owens knew she could be brilliant at the job. The code of conduct is crystal clear – business is business, pleasure is pleasure…and the two should never, ever meet! No problem for Catrin – she’s hardworking, and determined to excel. Until, that is, she meets the 6 ft-something wall of lean muscle that is her boss’ top client…

Scarred, and brimming with forbidden sex appeal, the French rugby star Henri Chevallier crashes through the walls of Catrin’s neatly-ordered life – and throws her polished professionalism aside like a scrap of sheer French lingerie!

The sex is fierce, exhilarating…life-changing – and almost all the more exciting as she knows she’s risking the career she dreamed of. Catrin knows she should step away. The problem? Henri is a temptation she can’t seem to resist…


 “There you are!”

The voice was like silk against Catrin’s skin and a flicker of lust darted like a hot tongue between her legs. The poky, clinical office kitchen suddenly seemed too warm, its aroma of burnt toast overpowering. The air conditioning hummed in vain as Catrin’s body was flooded with heat.

The new arrival took hold of her shoulders in large, powerful hands and pushed her towards the counter so that her stomach pressed against the hard melamine edge. Her heart picked up its pace. The fine hairs on the back of her neck pricked up.

“Catrin,” he whispered into her right ear, causing a blonde tendril of hair that had freed itself from her chignon to flutter.

“Yes?” she whispered, her nipples tightening in anticipation.

“I missed you this morning.” He nibbled her earlobe. She shivered as he ran his fingers slowly down her sides.

“Henri.” She leaned into his warmth, felt the strength of his stomach muscles against her back, his heat searing through her thin blouse. “I had to get back to my apartment. You know…feed the cat.”

“What cat?” he said, trickling slow kisses down her neck then sliding his hands under her arms to cup her breasts.

She sighed as his exquisite touch fired her passion and her breathing quickened. She slid around in his arms then pressed a trembling hand upon his broad chest.

“Please, Henri…”

“What is it, chérie?” He tipped her chin upwards with a fingertip and his cologne washed over her. She savoured the fresh green woody tones. At their edge she could make out something else, something even more delicious: his musky masculine scent. It made her want to open his shirt and press her face against his belly to breathe him in.

“I can’t keep going like this,” she smiled, trying to regain her composure but desire pulsed through her core like a lusty demon possession.

“Like what, Catrin?”

He reached out and stroked the back of his free hand over her black satin skirt and she groaned, moving towards him even though a voice at the back of her mind reprimanded her. He laughed softly at her body’s betrayal and turned his hand around, pressing it against the apex of her thighs and cupping the ready flesh beneath.

She slumped against the counter, her eyes half-closed. Her legs turned to jelly as he lifted her skirt to her thighs.

Here I go again!

Her common sense drifted away like cobwebs on the wind and her body revealed her true emotions with every breath she took.

Oh, t’es la plus belle femme du monde!” he gasped.


Pardon, chérie!” he laughed. “I said that you are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“Oh,” she smiled, “Thank you.” She loved it when Henri spoke his own language but wished that she could understand him better. A GCSE in French hadn’t equipped her for communicating with a French lover.

She relaxed and closed her eyes again as he ran his hands over her thighs.

“And this is what I love about you!”

Her eyes shot open.


He pushed her skirt right up to her hips then fingered the tops of her hold-ups and she realised what he meant. This Frenchman loved a woman’s body with all the trimmings, which was lucky as she liked pretty underwear. It was just more fun to have someone to appreciate it.

Mere moments ago she’d been spooning two sugars into her coffee cup, desperately in need of a caffeine fix after yet another long night of French loving with the handsome rugby player.

She was exhausted. Exhilarated. Still horny.

It was hard to believe that it was only two nights ago, on a rather cold, drizzly July evening that she’d accompanied her boss – the renowned celebrity agent Liam H. Clarkson – to an annual dinner. It had been the sixth anniversary of the establishment of Clarkson and Gwillam Celebrity Agency. It now had five branches across Europe, with the possibility of further growth, so spirits were at an all-time high.

And it had been there, deep in the cavernous candlelit corridors and ante-chambers of Cardiff Castle, polished, manicured and poured into her best lbd, that Catrin had met Henri.

And since then, her feet hadn’t touched the ground!

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