Title: Riding Shotgun
Genres/Themes: d Fantasy, Futuristic, Inter-racial
Release Date: Sept 17, 2014
Author: Anne Kane
Publisher URL Changeling Press – Erotic Fiction
When Kalie decides she wants to ride Shotgun, he better be ready to oblige!
She was a genetic experiment that was never supposed to get out of the lab. If the government finds her, they will kill her without hesitation. She’s a crack shot, though, and she’s used to looking out for herself. Her affinity for all things mechanical helps her make a living on the road racing circuit, but lately things haven’t been going so well.
Shotgun falls hard from the first time he meets her, and is determined to make her his own. When accidents keep plaguing Kalie’s car, he gets suspicious and with the help of his mercenary buddies he is determined to find the source of the problem and keep his woman safe
“Sounds like a great idea.” Shotgun answered Jackson automatically, his attention on the girl he’d tackled up on the cliff. Kalie sauntered across the clearing, arm in arm with one of the other girls. Her tight fitting outfit outlined her luscious curves with groin tightening detail. She’d twisted her hair up in a ponytail, a streak of brilliant blue weaving through the long dark tresses.
His gaze fell to her shapely ass, and his cock twitched as he remembered how she’d felt beneath him. An image flashed through his mind, of her lying across the rocks up on the cliff, holding the rifle, caressing it almost. Now that he’d confirmed that she wasn’t the enemy, he had to admit that she stirred something deep inside him that he hadn’t known existed anymore. Something fierce and protective. Something lustful.
“So you’ll back me up when I talk to Sarge?” Jackson slapped him on the back. “Thanks!”
“Sure. No problem.” He sure hoped he hadn’t agreed to anything outrageous. With Jackson, you never knew what you were getting into. He remembered the time the wily mercenary had convinced them all to go to a party in the next province. Hopefully whatever he’d just agreed to wasn’t that dangerous. “Excuse me.”
He quickened his pace, angling to intercept Kalie and Winter. Was it his imagination, or did she slow her pace to allow him to catch up?
“Hey there. How’s it going?”
Kalie slanted an inscrutable look from under her lashes. “Going just fine. Where did you disappear to in such a hurry back there?”
So she’d been looking for him. “Just had to check in with Jackson, make sure I was clear for the rest of the day.”
“Are you free for the rest of the day?”
“Oh, yeah. The group’s on stand down for now.”
“What group is that?”
He realized she had no idea who he was, or what he did. Did he want her to know? He couldn’t recall the last time he’d even cared about someone’s opinion of him or his life choices. “I work with a group of ex-soldiers. We fought together during the Provincial wars, and kind of stuck with each other when they were over.” He shrugged. “We’re good at soldiering and it pays the bills.”
“Winter says you only take jobs you believe in.”
So she’d been asking questions about him. “Yeah.” He fell into step beside her. “I’m the company sharpshooter, and Jackson over there is the tech expert. There are six of us in all.”
“Must be nice to do something you believe in.”
He detected a trace of wistfulness in her voice. “Yes, it is. So you race cars?”
“Yeah. Usually I do pretty well, although there’s been a few bizarre accidents lately.” Her brow furrowed for a moment, then she seemed to shake off whatever was bothering her.
“Maybe I could come watch you sometime?” He tried to keep his voice casual, but the thought of this woman controlling a couple thousand pounds of pulsating engine and metal was enough to make his mouth water and his cock stiffen. What else could she control?
She shook her head. “Street races aren’t advertised. Even I don’t know the locations until race day.”
“Too bad. I’d love to see you in action.” He made a mental note to have Trace check and see what he could find out about the street-racing scene. Nothing was buried deep enough to keep Trace out.
She turned and stared straight into his eyes. One shapely brow lifted, and the beginnings of a smile crooked the corner of her mouth. “I bet you would. Love to see me in action that is.”
The challenge in her voice was unmistakeable, as was the gleam in her eyes. She had the biggest, softest, darkest eyes he’d ever seen and right now they were glowing with desire. Shotgun didn’t wait for her to rescind the invitation. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her to him and lowered his head to claim her mouth.
Changeling Presss – https://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=2289
I’ll be giving away a bottle of Boucheron Trouble perfume to celebrate the release of my new book, Courting Trouble. Just go to my contest page to enter.
This YA novel should put you in the Christmas spirit.
When nineteen-year-old Raquel McKnight’s car is stolen from the mall parking deck on Christmas Eve, she is sure that her family’s jingle bell jinx has struck again. And then she runs into her eighth-grade beau Gabriel McKnight. Although his kisses say he never got over her, she can’t help but wonder if he’s somehow part of the jinx. Has the holiday hex finally come to an end? Or will she add a broken heart to a long list of Christmas calamity?
At exactly 9:38 p.m. on Christmas Eve, I gave in and admitted that this year’s jingle bell jinx was the absolute worst of my life, easily beating out last year, when my brand new iPod got lost in the wads of wrapping paper and accidentally trashed.
I’d wandered every inch of the mall parking deck for the past hour looking for my car, a Honda Accord that was the only thing my dad and I had ever agreed on in my nineteen years. It wasn’t anywhere, which meant someone had stolen it. I guessed that was what I deserved for buying a vehicle ranking high on both the safest and most stolen lists.
I readjusted my load of gaily wrapped boxes and all the oversized shopping bags that dangled from my left arm. How I wished I’d gone with the cable knit sweater for Dad instead of the tool set. My right shoulder stung with the effort of lugging the heavy black case, and he wasn’t going to like it, anyway.
So what now? I wondered, more worried about calling him to say I’d be late than finding mall security to help me. With a sigh of resignation, I walked over to the You-Are-Here map mounted next to the elevator and set everything down on the cold concrete floor. An icy breeze lifted the corner of my red scarf. The air smelled wintry crisp and clear. I heard sleet pattering the windshields of cars parked on the deck’s perimeter and wished like crazy I was back in my two-room apartment in Tyler. I’d be wrapped in a fuzzy blanket watching Ebenezer Scrooge reform and sipping hot cocoa with extra marshmallows. Suddenly I wanted to sit down and bawl my eyes out.
“Buck up,” I told myself, exactly what my retired drill sergeant dad would’ve said if he’d been there. A widower since I was ten, he treated his only daughter the way he treated his men, with no tolerance for weakness or emotion. Life was what it was, he always said. Deal with it. Of course that didn’t stop him from trying to micromanage mine, the reason I’d escaped to a college in Texas instead of staying with him and attending the one in Norman, Oklahoma. I loved my dad dearly when there were miles between us. Up close and personal, he drove me crazy.
Digging my cell phone from my purse, I punched in his number. My stomach instantly knotted with dread. My goal was to say just enough to get by. He didn’t need to know what had happened until I sorted everything out and knew myself.
The phone rang on his end.
“Raquel Allison McKnight, where in the hell are you?” he asked by way of answering. “We thought you’d be here by six.”
I guessed that “we” meant his younger brother Mel, wife Josie, and their perfect daughters Sara and Steph, who sometimes spent Christmas with us. Unfortunately, my girly-girl cousins and aunt didn’t approve of tomboys, so regularly tried to engineer makeovers. As for Mel, I couldn’t quite believe he and my Dad had the same parents. Thank goodness for his conspiratorial winks, which were all that kept me from going ballistic when someone said something especially snarky about my hair or clothes.
“I told you last week I couldn’t possibly get home that early. I work, remember?” I’d so hoped for a few quiet days with him. After all, we’d been apart since July and had some serious issues to discuss, namely my decision to change my major. My dad and I were like salt and sugar–similar in looks, but with entirely different tastes. “And now there’s a complication. A little problem with the car–”
“Are you talking about a flat? After I told you about that Michelin sale?”
“My tires are fine.” Just missing, as is the Honda they are attached to.
“Where are you?”
That warning sound made me check my cell battery, which was seconds from dead. “I’m at the Dallas mall.”
“You’re still in Texas?”
“Yes, so there’s no way I’ll get there tonight. It’s sleeting like crazy here, and I don’t want to drive in it.”
“Why are you at the mall?”
“You should’ve finished shopping weeks ago.”
“No time. Between classes and my job, I–”
“Blame yourself for that.” Dad had withdrawn all financial support when I told him I wasn’t going to attend OU Norman. He thought that would make me change my mind.
I had a full-ride scholarship and could get by on my own, thank you very much. I didn’t need him or his strings-attached money.
AnnaLee Johnson awakens from rolling her truck into a ditch into a world of nightmares. She’s no longer herself, told her name is Katherine, and is now in some mysterious school where it seems the ultimate goal is turning amnesiac teens into some kind of super soldiers. The only problem: AnnaLee remembers who she once was. And only one guy believes her.
“No weakness, only strength. Rely on no one.”
“She’s down. I’ve won.”
The trainer writes something on his tablet and I have the queasy feeling it’s something about Lawrence ending the bout before it should be finished, rather than any points scored.
The little girl suddenly rolls into Lawrence’s legs, knocking him flat on his back, spins up and onto his stomach where she slams the point of her elbow into his collarbone. We all hear the crack of bone and Lawrence’s cry before he chokes if off. The girl lifts her uninjured arm again, poised to slash down across his throat. My breath hitches, instinctively knowing it’s a kill strike, but this time the trainer intervenes. “Sarah. Enough.”
Soft green eyes lift, swimming in disappointment and the little I ate for lunch threatens to come right back up.
The trainer walks to the center of the mat and stands above both of them. “It takes only seven pounds of pressure to snap a collarbone. You see, Lawrence, broken bones will not stop a determined opponent.” He moves his stylus across the screen of his tablet.
Jaw clenched, Lawrence nods, and smiling prettily, Sarah climbs off of him, shoving his leg as she does.
“Report to the infirmary.” Helena comes forward.
Cradling her arm, Sarah walks away, though Lawrence is having a harder time of it. He’s trying to roll over to his knees but is in so much pain he can’t do it.
The moment I step onto the mat, I hear gasps, and then silence as once again the entire room stops what they are doing.
I crouch beside Lawrence and slowly help him turn over to balance on his knees.
“I can do it.” He hisses, holding his arms tight against his body to keep the bones of his collarbone from shifting. His face is wet with perspiration.
The mat sinks as someone else steps upon it. I look up at Helena. She’s frowning, though not unkindly.
“It’s important for Lawrence to stand on his own power, isn’t it, Lawrence?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Lawrence grates out. A drop of sweat falls and makes a tiny dark circle on the charcoal mat. He gets one knee bent and his foot under him.
“Back off,” he practically growls at me.
So I do. I back far away and stand up, clenching my hands while Lawrence struggles to his feet. His face is the color of milk.
“You’ve just awoken so you don’t understand.” Helena speaks loud enough for all to hear. “It’s vital that you all learn to stand on your own in order to be strong. For with this disease, you have been changed. Give in to no weakness. Revel in your strength. Rely on no one.”
The students cheer. It’s the most animated I’ve seen them. All around us, beautiful faces twist in determination. It’s frightening, yet I can’t help getting caught up in the vibrancy and the hope. If everything has been taken from you down to the fragile strands of your memory and who you are, regaining the strength to get up from an injury on your own is empowering.
I see it in Lawrence’s face as he rises to his full height and the students chant out. “No weakness, only strength. Rely on no one.”
The chant goes on, slower and slower, resonating like a failing heartbeat through my chest.
I meet Helena’s gaze and she smiles.
ALL FOR THE FAMILY
Blurb: In 2003, as a way to erase her 22-year-old husbands criminal past, 19 year old Molly Abbott devises a ghoulish and desperate strategy.
Excerpt: If nineteen-year-old Molly had listened to her mother, perhaps the slender, freckle-faced felon and her now-divorced felon husband Ernie would not be sitting in a Texas prison. The way the auburn-haired Molly chose to make a new life for herself and Ernie shocked the town and became forever known as the cruelest and dumbest action one could take when one wants to do “all for the family.”
Candy will say she tried to talk her daughter out of marrying the lazy, drinking, sandy-haired, blue-eyed Ernie. But Molly was “starry-eyed head over heels in love,” or so she thought.
Molly insisted she knew the seldom-employed Ernie well enough to be his wife and allow him to be the only father her four-year-old son Mathew knew. Even though Mathew was conceived from an earlier relationship, Molly insisted that the uncouth and chain-smoking Ernie treated him respectfully. “He loves me and Mathew,” Molly would say.
After a two-month courtship, Molly married twenty-two-year-old Ernie Abbott. According to Candy, she hated Ernie and wanted everyone including Molly to know it. She told Molly she was making a drastic mistake by marrying Ernie, but her eldest daughter, insisted the two were soul mates. “He’s the one,” Molly said.
In a simple backyard ceremony with the theme of Harley Davidson motorcycles, the pair exchanged wedding vows. As if straight from the pages of American Rider, the bride wore jeans and a sleeveless Harley shirt. The groom donned black leather chaps and a vest emblazon with the famous cycle logo.
Friends and relatives surrounded the glowing couple and, happily toasted them with keg beer. A reception followed, with grilled hotdogs and burgers as the main course. They received numerous wedding gifts and money, to help them on their way to a long and happy life together…or so the giddy couple thought.
Candy was not the only one who disapproved of the courtship. Baby-sister Janie was as different from Molly as igloos are from tropical huts. Janie was known as the “pretty” sister and Molly the “plain Jane”. Janie thought Ernie was a loser, as did most of Molly’s family. She believed her big sister thought she was in love, because, according to Janie, Ernie was the first man to pay attention to Molly in a long time.
According to Janie, Molly called her jealous. Afterward, Janie thought it best to let Molly find out for herself what a “bad apple,” Ernie was. She gave the marriage two years, “Good things come to those who wait,” she said.
The next move for the newlyweds was buying the dream home Molly wanted so much. According to Molly, when she saw the two-story ranch-style house in a quiet and family-oriented neighborhood, with an adjoining playground and dog park, she knew, “This is the one for us.”
She said Ernie picked her up and swung her around, telling her the house would be theirs. They called the realtor, and three weeks later they moved in-but as renters, not owners.
According to the loan officer, both had inadequate credit. The loan officer informed the couple that with neither earning more then minimum wage, and Ernie’s upcoming legal matters, he did not see a home in their near future.
Molly was devastated, recalled Candy. Besides being a mother, Molly wanted so much to be a homeowner, she said.
Another person who had doubts about the couple getting the home was Rita, Ernie’s mother. Tall and skinny, with waist-length red hair, Rita dressed and partied like a teenager. When she learned of her son attempting to purchase a home, she told relatives, “With Ernie’s credit and legal matters, he couldn’t get a loan for a candy bar.”
A SENSELESS KILLING
It was a grand Thanksgiving evening for all at The Lakeway Lounge on November 25, 2010. The country band kept everyone on the dance floor. The occasional smacking of pool balls was heard above the laughter, and the crowd’s favorite barmaid, June McSween, was serving them. She had asked a co-worker to allow her to work the night shift, to earn a little extra cash. It was a choice she would not live to regret.
“Better times are coming,” said the bubbly blonde, who had only begun working for the small neighborhood pub four months earlier. According to patrons, June was looking forward to moving into her own apartment next to the pub in just a few days. Her forty-ninth birthday was only hours away.
Little did the joyful crowd realize, that that cool autumn evening would be the last time anyone saw June, except for her killer.
According to June’s timecard, she punched out at 3 am. Her last duties were washing glasses and ashtrays. Black Friday was on the horizon. Her birthday party would consist of her daughter and son, and a few close friends. Everything was planned-everything except what actually happened to the tall slender grandmother.
According to the bar owner, fifty-four-year-old Pablo Corteza, he returned to the bar at 8 a.m. the next morning and noticed June’s car with flattened tires in the parking lot, along with two other vehicles with flat tires.
The short, heavy Albanian immigrant said he called police, who did a quick search of the perimeter and canvassed the street, from inside their cruiser, but found nothing and soon left.
Shortly afterward, thirty-eight-year-old James Wager, a boat mechanic, noticed Pablo, and told him he had notified police because two boats at his business, located near the bar, were vandalized. According to the tall, slender man with sand-colored hair, as he walked around surveying the damaged boats, he discovered a woman’s shoe and underwear. He told Pablo, “This doesn’t look good.”
To kick things off, here’s a rather graphic excerpt from my latest gay erotica book published by MLR Press, with a strong S&M influence, Bear Hunter.
Blurb: Sven is on the run. He escaped to Alaska trying to get away, but the cops are still on his trail. Desperate, he kidnaps Matt and hides in his house. He has to keep Matt tied up, and Sven is surprised and turned on at the fact that he refuses to be intimidated. Matt fights back every single time, waiting for the moment to turn the tables. Every day of captivity, Sven gets to know Matt better. Enough to feel bad about what he’s doing. He can’t let his guard down, though. If he does, he knows Matt won’t hesitate in getting his revenge.
Excerpt from Chapter 1
I stuck out my hand. “Sven.”
“I’m Gordon,” he said, shaking my hand. Firm grip, but he winced when I squeezed a bit harder.
I leaned back on the wall and watched the dancers for a bit, waiting to see what Gordon would do. He obviously had no idea what came next, and the silence made him uncomfortable. I didn’t offer any help. If he was as interested as I was, he’d have to show me.
“Um…” he began, “are you new here?”
The same tired line. Valid, though. “Yeah.”
I took a long drink from my glass until it was empty, then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I looked at Gordon with a steady, calculated stare that clearly made him nervous. I glanced significantly at his crotch and adjusted the fly of my jeans with an exaggerated motion.
Gordon gulped. “Listen,” he said, as if surprised to hear himself speak out loud. “You want to go, you know, someplace?”
I grinned. Not bad. The guy was showing some initiative at least.
“Follow me,” I said.
I stopped by the bar to put my empty glass down, and passed by a very surprised Tiffany on the way out. I put on my jacket before pushing the door open and stepped into the cold night, Gordon close behind.
I turned and walked down the western side of the bar, where a nearby shed made a kind of small alley that shielded us from view. There I stopped and turned around. Gordon nearly collided against me.
I unzipped my fly and said, “Kneel.”
Gordon looked at me fleetingly, hesitating for a split second, then did as he was told.
I took out my dick, and Gordon gasped when he saw it.
“What is it?” I said, voice low.
“It’s…big,” Gordon answered.
I shoved my dick in his face. “Wait till you get it hard. Come on, boy. Get to work.”
I grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his face up. He opened his mouth willingly and took my cock when I gave it to him. Then he began to suck me off.
“Yeah, that’s it,” I said, getting hard inside his mouth.
Gordon grunted something, but he couldn’t really speak. He was really going at it, though. The guy was enjoying himself. I was a bit disappointed he’d submitted so willingly, but hey. A blowjob is a blowjob.
He grabbed the base of my dick with one hand and began to work his mouth up and down its length. His mouth was warm, and I plunged my cock inside it every chance I got, feeling how he used his tongue to caress the sensitive head with deft, hungry motions. I closed my eyes and let him service me, thrusting into his throat slowly, then backing out as he sucked me with increasing intensity.
I saw he’d taken his own dick out, and was busy jacking off while he took my meat into his throat. The sight made me hornier and I began to thrust inside his mouth with more force, driving as deep as I could go, holding his head in place for a couple seconds before pulling out. He gasped for air, spit dribbling from his lower lip as he swallowed once, hurriedly, then nodded and opened his mouth again, taking me in as far as he could.
He used his lips and tongue to get my dick all slick and hard, and he licked every inch of it. He worked up a rhythm with his head, going up and down, making soft slurping noises every time he backed off to take a breath. I let him get worked up, grunting to encourage him. He responded right away, and redoubled his efforts to please me every way he knew how. The guy was good at sucking dick; I had to give him that. His hand was flying over his own cock, his eyes shut tight as he took me in his mouth every time I thrust with short, hard motions. Soon he began to breathe a bit faster; I could tell he was close to coming, and he must have thought I was, too, sucking me off on his knees like he was.
That was when I stopped him.
He looked up, puzzled.
Before I treat you to the excerpt, I just wanted to let you know that this book is on sale throughout November. All the details are below…
Grab your copy here: http://mybook.to/cnparis
Author Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/lucyfelthousewriter
Author Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/cw1985
Here’s what it’s all about:
Jacob is nearly forty, and has recently come to the sudden realisation that he’s not doing much with his life. Sure, he’s got his own successful business, but what’s the point in earning lots of money and not doing anything or going anywhere to spend it?
He’s in serious danger of being all work and no play, so he starts to rectify this by organising a twenty four hour layover in Paris en route to a meeting in Dubai. Whilst there, he goes on a bus tour of the city, and there meets Annabelle, a fellow Brit who’s studying in Paris. There’s clearly an attraction between the two of them, so when the gorgeous Annabelle makes an indecent proposal to help Jacob fill his time in Paris, who is he to refuse?
“Now shut up and kiss me.”
“With pleasure, ma’am.” Shifting so their bodies were millimetres apart, he placed his hand on her hip, tugged her closer and looked into her eyes. What he saw there galvanised him; lust, desire, affection. He may have pretty much forgotten how this stuff worked, but the woman in front of him genuinely wanted him. Judging by the throbbing from his crotch area, the sentiment was more than returned.
Hoping his expression displayed the same feelings, he smiled, then leaned over and pressed his lips to hers. Reminding himself they’d done this part before, albeit in the middle of the street, he let his worries go and allowed himself to be absorbed into the moment. Concentrating purely on her lips against his, her soft curves, the increased pace of her breathing and heartbeat, the cute little sounds she was making.
After a few seconds, their kiss inevitably deepened, grew more passionate. Mouths pressed harder against each other, teeth occasionally clashing, tongues battling. She tasted of peppermint mouthwash, as, of course, did he. As he explored her mouth further, Jacob let the hand that wasn’t trapped beneath him wander. Up to her face; cupping it, stroking his thumb against her soft skin. Then he gently trailed it down her neck, her shoulder, her arm and finally onto her hip, where it rested for a few seconds before sneaking round and grabbing her buttock. Pulling her closer still, so their bodies were pressed together from head to toe, he resisted the temptation to grind his now-fully-erect cock against her.
Turned out he didn’t need to, anyway. Their new position meant it was impossible for her not to notice it and she let out a noise that was somewhere between a growl and a purr, and slipped her free hand between their bodies. Pressing it to the length of him, she stroked the bulge through his clothes, causing him to make a growling sound of his own.
Their kissing ramped up yet another notch as passion overwhelmed them. He squeezed and groped her backside as she almost-masturbated him. Soon, Jacob felt he was in danger of coming in his boxers so he snatched his hand away from her luscious arse and grabbed her wrist.
Breaking their kiss, he moved away enough so her face came back into focus, and said, “Shall we continue this with less clothes on?”
“Sounds like a good plan to me.”
They rolled away from each other and began removing their own clothes, on some unspoken yet mutually understood agreement that it’d be quicker that way. With less garments to contend with, Jacob finished first and turned back to watch as Annabelle’s bra, then tiny thong were flung to the thick carpet. She looked up and caught his gaze, grinned wolfishly at him.
“Wanna get the protection?” she asked.
Shaking his head, Jacob replied, “Not just yet. Any objection to me going down on you?” He suspected his hormones were driving his sudden confidence, but he didn’t mind. Whatever worked.
Annabelle looked at him incredulously. “What kind of question is that?”
Now it was Jacob’s turn to be confused. “Uh, a genuine one that I asked because I wanted to know your answer.”
“Um, okay. I have no objection whatsoever, and have never met a woman that would ever have an objection to that particular sex act.” Letting out a sound that sounded something like phrrt, she shuffled to the middle of the bed and lay down, her head on the pillows. “Christ knows what kind of women you’ve been hanging around with, lover boy, but they’re not in the majority, I can tell you that.”
Shrugging, he moved on the mattress so he was at Annabelle’s feet. Before pushing her legs open and feasting on what was between them, he paused for a moment to look at her naked form. She definitely had curves in all the right places; breasts that were just the right size for a handful, hips he could barely wait to grab onto as he pounded into her and a gently rounded tummy that was in proportion with the rest of her figure. She truly was beautiful, and although he didn’t say the words out loud, the way his cock strained up towards his belly button certainly proved the adage actions speak louder than words.
“What?” Annabelle said, a little shyly, as he continued to look at her.
Flicking his gaze up to hers, he replied. “Just admiring you, that’s all. I’m not just saying this because I’m about to get some, but you’re absolutely gorgeous. Both clothed and naked.”
Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22607390-one-night-in-paris
Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She ownsErotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook andTwitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9
Courting Trouble by Kimberly Dean – available Thanksgiving Day!
Excerpt from Courting Trouble
Published by Mischief, November 2014
Copyright Kimberly Dean 2014
Her hands were shaking as she smoothed her dress, making sure it covered her. “This shouldn’t have happened,” she said tightly. “It’s against the contract.”
His eyes narrowed. So this was his fault? “Really? Then why did you come out tonight without wearing any panties?”
The answer hit him like a ton of bricks. She was an escort. It was pretty damn obvious. How stupid could he be?
Her head snapped to the couple who walked by, oblivious. Lowering her voice, she hissed. “I did wear panties.”
“The invisible kind?”
“No,” she snapped. She lifted a hand to her forehead and looked anywhere but at him. “I had to leave them in the ladies’ room.”
The look she sent him was at once woeful, discomfited, and fuming. It was the most honest she’d been all night.
And it made Jason’s cock nearly jump out of his pants.
She wasn’t a slut; she was a prim good girl whom he’d made wet – before he’d even kissed her. Before he’d even touched her for real. Had all those little brushes and strokes been enough to get her juices flowing?
Testosterone pumped through him.
Oh, yeah. They had something going on here.
Brenda, a classical musician, is looking for a roommate to help alleviate the costs of living in expensive Southern California. She is also attempting to fend off the attention of her amorous, bullying conductor, deal with her meddling family, and understand her feelings for Greg, the building’s sexy young owner.
Rosy, a nurse, recently arrived from Australia, hates the Vietnam War, in particular what it has done to her patients. She agrees to room with Brenda to save money.
Can a war protestor and war supporter live peaceably under one roof? And why is Rosy unable to shake her attraction to her gorgeous, unconscious patient, Jack?
Jack’s eyes drooped. Rosy watched as he seemed to be spirited away back to the War.
“I will never forget one little girl, Binh Lue. She lived with her grandparents in a village in the Que Son Mountains. She was about four or five. She was so sad, wouldn’t come to us the way the other kids did. It took me a week of gentle persuasion before she would come and sit on my lap by the fire and listen to the men playing handmade wooden instruments.”
Jack gazed deep into Rosy’s eyes. “You would have loved her. She was tiny with a little button nose and the bluest eyes.”
“Blue? Is that common?”
“Her father was an American soldier and she had been left in the village to try to protect her from Viet Cong. Trouble was, the bastards were everywhere.” Tears welled in his eyes.
“Clark, Steven and I were on patrol in thick jungle around the village perimeter, about half mile out, when we heard a bomb explode. Viet Cong were bombing the village. By the time we got back there every hut was on fire. It was beyond our control, no-one was left alive. It was a fuckin’ slaughter. We headed back into the jungle with plans to radio our unit the following day. Binh had somehow survived and followed us. We didn’t know until we heard a click. She had stepped on a mine.”
“Oh God.” Rosy’s hand flew to her mouth.
“We raced back towards the sound. Clark and Steven got there first and when Binh saw her friends, she started towards them. We screamed at her to stand still but she couldn’t understand us. The mine exploded and we were all blown into the air with the force. There were only fragments of Binh’s body left and I buried the pieces I could find. I started to drag Clark and Steven back to the village but I could only go a few feet each day before I passed out. I hoped if I got us to the village, some of our unit would eventually come to check why they hadn’t heard from us. I don’t know how long it was before some soldiers found us and we got help.”
Jack began sobbing. Rosy sat on the edge of the bed and pulled him into her arms. She ran her hands up and down his back and silently grieved with him. She couldn’t begin to understand the horrors he had borne witness to. No wonder the man was troubled by nightmares.
Suitable for 18+
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Becky’s Master is set in Colonial Australia while Mastering Justice is set in Modern Day Sydney.
Note: This book contains explicit sexual description and is suitable for 18+ only.
Becky Gentry is desperate to escape her brutal owner.
She makes a bargain with English buccaneer, Ethan Harvey, to take her to safety on his ship.
It costs him his betrothed and his fortune.
He vows to make Becky pay, but all she has to barter is her body.
What will happen when the sex slave falls in love with her Master?
Will she ever make it back home to England?
Moses Jordan is a part African American, Billionaire Computer Geek. He is also in charge, her Dom.
Imogen Walters is a tall, leggy blonde who practices law. She is his property, his Sub.
They share a fifth floor luxury apartment overlooking Sydney Harbour. She drives a Mercedes, he drives a Ferrari.
She practices law with confidence and is in command, until she steps through the door of their home.
He has vowed to never release her. Does she want to be freed?
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KC Vixen Website: http://carnal-candies.wix.com/kcvixen-1
Lacey Roberts Web: http://robertslacey1955.wix.com/lacey-roberts