You know what 2020 needs? A Prince.

If there's a year that ever needed a Happily Ever After, badly, it's 2020.

As a writer of romance, I needed a HEA. As a sufferer of anxiety, PTSD and depression, I was afraid I wasn't going to be capable of creating one, even with total creative control.

In fact, I spent the first few months of 2020 in a critical balancing act of both needing to create and being terrified of the creative space, where I normally work out all sorts of societal ills in my narrative. Instead, I was creatively paralyzed, unable to use my usual coping skills to manage as I watched the world come apart.

How do you work through your emotions without commenting on what's going on right now, yet not comment on what's going on right now because everyone you write for (including yourself,) needed an escape?

While I reserve the right to one day delve into this new world in which we find ourselves, 2020 was not the year for me to explore how much everything had changed or how difficult it has been. In fact, I had a great deal of sympathy for most folks who, for the first time ever, perhaps, were dealing with the world blowing apart. That I've had lifelong experience was both a comfort and a challenge. For many of us, the road has been littered with painful, emotional debris that has been impossible to dodge as it kicked old traumas back up in our faces. Everything, and I mean everything has changed, assigning a big ol' question mark if it will ever go back to normal.

We had to walk gently. Out of compassion and out of self-preservation.

For me, the Covid-19 crisis was a terrifying return to January 2018, when I first got the cancer diagnosis. Everything changed with the terrifying prospect of a life-threatening illness, an aggressive foe that wanted to kill me quickly and steal me away from those I loved and rob me of the long life I had previously envisioned for myself, where I could watch my kids get married, have kids of their own, and grow old with my husband. 

Instead, everything was punctuated with a question mark, including immediate future plans. Would I make it to the five year mark? Even the one year mark? With a uterine sarcoma, that was no longer an easy assumption to make.

I didn't even want to take down my Christmas tree because I worried I wouldn't be around to put it back up again.

January 4, 2018 threw everything into a blender. Then, ten days later, my husband had a heart attack. Five months after that, I was laid off from my job, right when I needed my insurance the most.

2018 was a year where I saw my world turned upside down. When 2020 came along, and I saw the actual world do the same, it was painfully and frighteningly familiar. And I hadn't even fully healed from the first bout in the ring.

I needed an escape when all the stuff I normally used as an escape were no longer available. All I had was the inside of my brain, but none of the stories brewing around in my noggin were going to provide that for me. I had several WIPs (works in progress,) in various stages of completion, waiting for me to take the time to write them. Though I still maintained my job working from home, which helped provide stability for 40 hours a week, no longer did I fill my free time with all the stuff I used to. There was no going out, there was no regular noise to take up space in my head. There was nothing but me and a big ball of jumbled emotions playing havoc with my anxiety and my depression.

Because I need to be creative, I resorted to paint-by-numbers kits to find a way to do SOMETHING.

But in the back of my mind, the challenge lingered.

I needed to write something, something with a HEA, something to escape the walls of reality closing in. I knew it would have to be a romance, because I needed the excitement of falling in love. I wanted the promise of a happy ending.

Scratch that... I needed the promise of a happy ending.

Rewind to December of last year. I flew to Florida on a business trip, so I had a book on hand to keep me occupied on the long flight across the country. I picked up THE BEAUTIFUL ONES, by Prince, because Prince.

Except it wasn't by Prince at all. It was written by a guy hired by the enigmatic star to write his memoir.

I was enthralled from the first paragraph:

"I last spoke to Prince on Sunday, April 17, 2016, four days before he died. That night I was lying in bed when my phone shuddered and lit up with a 952 area code. He'd never called my cell before, but I knew at once it was him. I scrambled for a pen and paper and plugged my phone into the wall--my battery was almost depleted. But my charging cord was only a foot long, so I couldn't stand up when I used the phone. I spent our final conversation hunched in a corner of my bedroom, taking notes by pressing the paper to the floor."

As a writer, and as a life-long fan of Prince, I couldn't imagine what getting that phone call must have been like.

I went on to read about how this writer got this gig of a lifetime, and how he had to win over the elusive rock star. As someone who has written a fair amount of rock star fantasy, I couldn't help but think about how this story might have gone a little differently if written for a romance audience.

Basically I stopped reading that book on page 25 as the seeds of my own story started to quickly take root.

I talked it over with my bestie, Jeff Mayo, as I tossed around several ideas. Because Prince's writer was a male and Prince himself was a male, my first thought was another M/M romance, so I wanted to get some feedback on if that would be a story that would work.

That was when Jeff threw a huge curveball at me. "What if you made the rock star an ACTUAL prince?"

He had just come off nailing a college course on British history, so things like kings and queens and princes and dukes were all fresh in his mind. I was at once intimidated AF. How could I pull this off with ACTUAL royalty? Imagine the kind of homework that would take and all the rules it would involve.

And it's not that I'm adverse to research. It's a skill I've honed since a producer told me I had to set one of my stories in Romania when I'd never once stepped foot in that country. But I'm a writer. My greatest skill is making things that aren't as though they were.

Still, it promised to be a lot of work and I put it on the backburner.

Then.... March 2020 happened. The entire world shut down and I was in desperate need of an escape from our painful new reality.

This story continued to whisper in the back of my brain as I waited to see which idea would revive the muse and force my hiney into the chair to write.

It happened around May, when the pieces of the puzzle began sliding into place. And it all started with a girl named Peaches.

I had her name before I had a clear vision of who she would be. Like any girl named Peaches, she quickly filled in the rest. She couldn't be like anybody else. Likewise, neither could her romance, nor her Prince Charming.

Jeff and I tossed around the notion of researching existing countries from which to pluck our regal hero, before settling on the daunting task of creating a country of our very own. Both of us have Irish/Scottish roots, so we decided early on our Prince would have a Gaelic ancestry right to his auburn locks. (My first ginger fella... I was super stoked.)



Jeff and I spent so much time building this world for our prince that it quickly became one of the most healing moments of 2020. We couldn't leave our houses, but in our minds we traveled to this amazing new country almost every single time we talked. It was kind of eerie yet really, really cool how all the pieces fell into place. One of us would make a suggestion, then, when we did the research, we found that what we wanted to do with the story fit exactly.

"What if they had some kind of export that was directly tied to the country? Maybe something like a mineral that is exclusive to the country, making it a highly desirable export," he said.

"It could be something they could sell on a small scale for souveniers," I agreed. "Something beautiful on the inside, but ugly AF on the outside." (Y'all know me, this sort of thing is my jam.)

He sent me an article on geodes right as I was mulling the idea over about volcanoes.

But could volcanoes actually come into play in the vast open ocean west of Ireland?

Turns out, they totally can. Iceland, just north of where we wanted to plop our little island kingdom, is known as the land of Ice and Fire. It has not one, not two, but 30 volcanic systems.

The introduction of Iceland brought the presence of Vikings, which I wondered if this would fit with the Gaelic ancestry we were attempting to build off of. Turns out that the Norse were first recorded in Ireland in the eighth century, where they began raiding and occupying and intermingling with Celts.

We spent much of late spring building a whole new world with history reaching all the way back to 800AD, but in reality I think it was all there just waiting to be discovered. Whatever we had the instinct to do, the history and science was there to support.

It was wild. And a true joy. I watched the kingdom of Aldayne come clearer and clearer into focus with each passing day. We had maps and cities and history and economics, all interlinked and entwined. We even created regional cuisine. I stopped just short of making an entire language, but only because Peaches was whispering in my ear that I needed to get started on the modern stuff in the US.

Once we had all that in place, I knew I could handle the rest. And what came next brought me so much joy it actually healed many of my open, emotional, wounds.

I was a damsel in distress, locked in my lonely tower, waiting for a hero to ride in on his noble steed, the world at his fingertips, to make me whole again.

I was entranced the first time he said hello.

And I mean that literally. From the first scene, every time he said "Hello," I was a swoony puddle of goo.

Audra lead me through one of the arched doorways to one of the many colorful parlors that branched out from this main foyer. I was assisted to The Red Room, which, as you might imagine, had dark red paint on all the walls. The molding was stark white, to take away some of the darkness, as did the huge picturesque window facing an ornate garden full of impressive topiaries. Plants and flowers gave the room some color, as did the floral rug on the floor. Taking up one wall was a tapestry mural with a huge family portrait of Prince Roan, Princess Sofie and young prince Augustine. He couldn’t have been more than maybe five years old at the time. The same age as Dash, but unlike my little brother he wasn’t free to dance around in a rainbow tutu. He stood stoic and straight, with no smile to be had on his sweet little face.

It painfully mirrored the unhappy faces of his parents, the burden of royalty dragging their shoulders down despite how desperate they were to keep them lifted.

I was so lost in the painting I had already forgotten that Audra was beside me. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll go get The Duke.”

I nodded at her; slightly embarrassed how awestruck I was by my surroundings. I needed to every bit as stoic. I needed to be professional. Their story needed to be told and I wanted to be the one to tell it. If not for any reason than that sad little boy staring at me from the portrait.

As the minutes dragged by, I busied myself by walking along the ornate surroundings. They were right about the statues and the busts. There were also old books and silver candlesticks, Fabrege eggs, marble urns and Chinese vases; everything you’d expect from a palace. Historic, valuable pieces that demanded one’s attention and reverence. The only thing out of place was a huge ugly black rock that sat atop a gold stand in the middle of the room. I spent an inordinate amount of time studying the rock, trying to figure out why this ugly piece was being showcased. I wrote it off as one of the Duke of Mayhem’s royal eccentricities and moved along. I was drawn instead to the pictures lining the bookshelf. Unlike all the royal trappings, the pictures gave me a sense of who this family was at the core. One photo that struck me in particular was the picture of Auggie as a child, hidden back behind all the official portraits of the Royal family taken at various events, with various world leaders. Instead, this hidden snapshot in a tiny 4x6 silver frame predated the portrait on the wall. He was probably about three, and laughing up at the face of his beautiful, happy mother as they sat cuddled on a picnic blanket.

I reached for the frame, which dared to show just a bit of dust because the photo itself was hidden back behind the larger photos, overshadowed by the larger, looming official family photos. (Fitting, I thought.) I used my sleeve to buff it to a shine, taking my time to get anything off the glass of that precious picture, which made me smile despite myself.

I don’t know how long I stood there staring at that photo, but I guess it was long enough.

“Hello,” I heard this deep voice say behind me.

I turned right into the gaze of Augustine Seamus Whitley Quinn Agassi, the Prince of Alasdair and Duke of Iver, last heir to the throne of Aldayne. He was also a mega rock star, but like Monica had warned, his regal air was undeniable.

If I thought those green eyes were piercing in photos, they were damn near lethal in person. I felt immediately exposed, like I was standing naked in front of him. His long hair curled around his sharp features, and that beard was trimmed high and tight around his sensual full lips.

I was so taken off guard I took a step back, losing my footing and stumbling right into the bookshelf that held so many golden and silver frames. Like dominoes falling in slow motion, they all went down in a clatter, one even toppling right to the floor.

“I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed, mortified. I tried to retrieve the fallen soldier, but I was so discombobulated that my hands shook like crazy and I dropped it twice more. Just as he reached around me to take it from my hands, I backed up again, this time into what was likely a Ming vase. I managed to capture it, but barely.

I was flushed and embarrassed as I faced him. I realized I had that tiny silver frame with the candid photo clutched to my chest. With shaking hands, I tried to replace it without destroying anything else. “I’m… I’m so sorry,” I mumbled, unable to look him right in the eye.

“No damage done,” he said in that warm, hypnotic voice that poured over my senses like honey. Then, like out of a dream, I saw him reach out a hand to me. “I’m Auggie,” he said, quite unnecessarily.

I stared at his hand for a long, uncomprehending moment, fixated on the opal-like ring he wore on his finger, with the familiar crest I’d seen throughout the castle. That ring meant the rules were different, right? Shit, should I bow? I remembered that I wasn’t supposed to touch him, but he was reaching out to me. What were the rules in this scenario? Where the fuck was Audra?

Truth be told, I kind of fell in love with Peaches around the same time. He was so dashing, she was so awkward.

It was just the right mix to bring into chaotic 2020.

These two swept me up in a whirlwind that kept me glued to the pages as I churned out Book #37 like someone who was obsessed. Obsessed to escape the confines of 2020 to this brand new world where anything was possible. Obsessed to get to that HEA, which loomed greater than any conflict. Obsessed to tell this story that had been nagging at my brain for months, and with the players in place there was no excuse left to avoid it.

It was Non-Stop.



And now I have a story I can share with all of you.

On August 25, 2020, I am so pleased and proud to bring you PEACHES & THE DUKE, my first ever royal fairy tale. It's done Ginger Voight style, which means it has a lot of twists and turns, a few familiar faces, plus a sexy rock star hero to lead the way.



I hope Auggie brightens your year every bit as much as he has brightened mine.

Pre-order your copy now for the discounted price of $0.99. It will go up to it's normal price of $2.99 when the final prices and final edited copy are locked in by August 21st, so act now.

You won't want to miss this book boyfriend. Add PEACHES & THE DUKE to your TBR list today.

And brace yourself.... for Auggie.

Something to read while you bask in the warm afterglow of Devlin Masters

Hey, you know how it's SO ANNOYING to wait a year or better for your series to complete? You find characters you just love, and juicy story that just won't leave you alone, and you have to *wait*? It sucks. And it seems all our best series tend to keep us dangling on the line, making us wait for them.

Ahem.

Believe me I share your pain. It's hard for me to wait, too, which is why I write obsessively for hours at a time to watch my stories unfold. I'm the book's first reader, and I *can't wait* to see how it all comes together. Never has this been truer than with the Masters Saga.

Confession: I couldn't let go of Devlin.

Actually that's not true. Devlin wouldn't let go of me. It was like he was made of magic.

#DefinitelyMagic



That little stinker whispered into my ear day and night, urging - demanding - me to write his story, and I was all too eager to tell it.

Basically I had no choice in the matter. He took me well in hand.

N' I liked it. O_o



Truth be told, I kinda fell in love with him.

If you feel likewise, and are suffering a book hangover and Devlin withdrawals, I have GREAT NEWS...

You get Book Two - MASTERS FOR LIFE - on October 30, 2015!!!

Here's the cover...

Here's the blurb...

DISCLAIMER: This book is part of a series. Spoilers might be contained in the description. For new readers, start your journey with Devlin and Coralie in MASTERS FOR HIRE, now available everywhere!

They were two completely different people from two completely different worlds. Within two weeks they were married, for better or worse.

Their whirlwind romance did nothing to prepare Coralie Masters for what awaited the happy couple back home. Reality crushes the fairytale existence Devlin had created for her in Las Vegas. Ultimately his powerful seductive hold over her cannot protect her from new, powerful forces outside of their marriage that work nonstop to tear them asunder.

There is much more to fear than her family learning the truth of how and why they met, because there’s much more to Dev’s story that she could ever know. The mystery surrounding Devlin Masters quickly undermines their love story.

One thing becomes crystal clear. They may be married, but she doesn’t really know this sexy, alluring stranger at all.

They love each other. They want each other. They can’t stay away from each other.

But will it be enough?

The Groupie Saga titillated you. The Fullerton Family Saga broke your heart. We were only getting started. Book Two of the Masters Saga, MASTERS FOR LIFE, turns up all the Ginger Voight angst, drama and sex like never before.

**Author not responsible for broken Kindles.**

Intended for readers 18+ for graphic sexual content.

As you can see, it's about to get complicated! Dev was easy to love in Book One. He said all the right things and usually did all the right things. But as we return to "real life," Coralie realizes - as do we all - that Dev really was a blank slate in Book One, a chameleon who fit himself neatly into Coralie's fantasies. The truth? Devlin Masters harbors a lot of secrets. Worse, he doesn't appear especially eager to share them. He wants Coralie to trust him, even though he can't bring himself to share with her the dark details of his past.

How does he plan to make her trust him, then? Well, they don't call him a master for nothing. He uses his considerably skill as a lover - and his unbreakable seductive hold on her - to keep her blisscombobulated.

Here's a little taste...

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

I paused by the side of the bed. “It looks like you think you’re going to tie me to this bed.”

“I don’t think I’m going to tie you to the bed, Coralie,” he said. He turned to face me. “I know I am.”

My stomach dropped. “I don’t think so.”

He rounded the bed to approach me. “Why not? That’s what my good girl has always wanted, isn’t it? A walk on the wild side with an alpha male, who would take her in hand and make her submit.” He stood right in front of me. I could smell the booze on his breath. “A bad boy who would take all her choices away, so she doesn’t bear any responsibility for all her naughtiest desires. You need the baddest of the bad for a job like that, darlin.’ Someone a little…,” he trailed off as he leaned even closer, “unpredictable.”

I shivered in spite of myself. His fingers chased the goose bumps down my arm. “We didn’t cover everything in Vegas, did we? We left a few stones unturned. Let’s turn them over. You know nothing would turn you on more than to be tied to this bed, at my mercy.” Again I shivered. “Devlin.”

“For the rest of the night, until I tell you otherwise, you will call me sir,” he instructed as his eyes met mine. It was a potent look that welcomed no argument.

“Devlin,” I tried again, this time a little sharper. He responded by stepping closer.

“I said,” he repeated slowly, taking my chin in his hand, “you will call me sir.”

My eyes widened as his mouth descended on mine. Despite the light bondage and submission he was suggesting, the kiss was positively gentle. He teased my mouth apart with his lips, probing my mouth just lightly enough to make me melt against him. And he knew what kind of power he had over me the minute I kissed him back.

I was a junkie. And he was my fix.

He wound his hand in my hair and pulled my head back so he could explore my neck. “That’s my girl.”

***********

As you can see, Devlin was pushing me out of my comfort zone. He does that a lot during this series, alternately making making me swoon and breaking my heart. You will love to hate me for what happens next, and this book in particularly will make you curse me. Vanni and the Groupie Saga will seem like a walk in the park in comparison. If you're a fan of my brand of hyper-reality, particularly the way I deliver it, where you love to hate me for the angsty complicated messes I allow my characters to get into, THIS is SO the series for you.

If you think you're up for it... dare to fall in love with the Master...

A Date with Devlin. Are you ready for October 9?? #Teaser #AdultsOnly #Sale #Kindle

She paid $800 for one date; one chance to get everything she always wanted, no questions asked.

Little did she know, Devlin Masters was about to give her so much more...

**************************************************************************************

Devlin shadowed me as I walked Gus and Lucy to the door. I stood waving after them long after they disappeared down the pathway and into the darkness beyond. Devlin finally reached around me to close the front door with one hand, which ultimately pinned me between the solid, hard wood of the door and the solid, hard wall of his chest. He towered above me, so close that I could feel the heat from his incredible body. His gaze swept over me, as if peeling away every inch of my clothes with nothing more than a look, before it finally settled on my face.

My eyes met his. This was where it got complicated, I knew. We could spend the rest of our night ‘talking’, but I hadn’t paid to talk. I could have had that with Oliver without paying one thin dime. I had wanted something more than that, and had for a long, long time. I knew it, and I suspected that Devlin knew it, too. He was, after all, a professional.

So what now? Did I take a green light for granted here, or what? Did I simply ask for sex? Or did wait for him to make a move? Did we talk about it, or just go at it like a couple of people might on a “real” date? The clock was ticking and I had absolutely no idea what to do next.

He answered my silent questions with a slow, confident smirk as he locked the door behind us with a resounding click. He leaned forward, his mouth so near to my skin I could feel his breath against me. My knees nearly gave way when he said, “Alone at last.”

I nodded, gulped hard and licked my lips. He chuckled a bit before he turned back to the living room, tugging my hand in his so that I would follow. “You should get us some glasses, Coralie,” he murmured as he reached for the bottle of champagne to uncork it.

I nodded dutifully and scurried around the corner to the kitchen, returning with a couple of cobalt blue champagne flutes. He shrugged out of his jacket as I perched on the sofa to pour us our wine. It was a wonder I didn’t spill it everywhere. I couldn’t wrench my gaze away from his body if I tried. Those broad shoulders… that solid chest…the promise of that bulge in those slim-fitting pants…and for the next couple of hours or so it was all mine, bought and paid for.

#NNNff…

My pulse raced as he sat next to me, so close that I became intoxicated on the spicy, woodsy scent of his cologne. I was sure he could see my hand tremble when I handed him his glass.

Those sultry eyes rendered me mute as he stared at me. Finally he raised his glass. “To old friends and new beginnings,” he said in a voice so soft, it felt like an actual caress.

I nodded as I clinked our glasses together. I couldn’t tear my eyes from his supple mouth as he drank. Again, I drained another glass. I reached for the bottle, but Devlin leaned forward to grab my hand. “You’re not going to need that,” he murmured in a low voice that sent a shock wave to my core.

“I’m–I’m not?” I stammered.

He shook his head. My head was floating as high as a cloud as he took the glass from my hand and set it on the coffee table in front of me. He eased back against the couch, capturing my face with his hand. His thumb brushed rhythmically over my cheek as he stared down into my face. “I think I know what you want, Coralie. I definitely know what you need. The question is… do you trust me to give it to you?”

My eyes widened as I stared up at him. Slowly I nodded. I stared at his mouth as it descended towards mine, closing over my lips finally in a soft, sensual kiss. My insides went up just like kindling as his broad tongue parted my lips and darted inside. He tasted like champagne. It only made me feel drunker.

And I blame the alcohol for the wanton way I threw my arms around his neck and kissed this enticing stranger back. I mean, I was only human for crying out loud. This man looked like he just stepped off the cover of a magazine, and here he was kissing me. He was kissing me. Me! His lips on mine, his hands on my body, his tongue penetrating my mouth with all the passion I’d only read about in romance novels. His fingers tangled in my hair as he deeply explored my mouth with that skilled tongue, and I felt my whole body come to life as a response.

I wanted more, and I was in the very unique position to take it, no questions asked.

He held me close, with one broad hand sliding up my side to cup the full curve of my breast. I gasped into his mouth as he thumbed my nipple through the fabric. He pulled away to stare down into my face. “You spent all your life taking care of everyone else, but no one has taken care of you, have they?”

I couldn’t even speak. I just shook my head.

“I’m going to change that,” he promised as he reached for another kiss. “I’m going to change everything.”

**************************************************************************************

The $0.99 pre-order sale for MASTERS FOR HIRE expires this weekend! Get your copy now. ;)

SOUTHERN ROCKER BOY teaser "I Just Want to Make Love to You"

Excerpt from SOUTHERN ROCKER BOY, releasing OCTOBER 17, 2014

***

“So was this a date or some kind of a goodbye?”

She looked away. I had my answer. And it pissed me off.

“So let me get this straight. Because some other asshole screwed you over, you’re not even going to give me a chance. Is that it?”

Her eyes flashed at me. “Not just some asshole. The asshole. It started this same way. He invited me to perform in his band. He thought I had ‘it.’ That I could be a star. Meanwhile I played backup while he got to soak up the spotlight. And Gay was right there the whole way, making sure he got the opportunities I didn’t.”

“Why would she do that?” I asked.

Her eyebrow cocked. “You don’t believe me?”

“I didn’t say that,” I corrected at once. “But it is in her best interest for you to do well. Why would she play favorites?”

Her eyes narrowed as she stared at me, as if she was trying to piece together a puzzle. Finally she looked away. “Because I’m a harder sell, that’s why.”

It echoed what Gay had said to me. It didn’t make sense when she had said it, and it didn’t make any sense when Lacy repeated it. “Why are you a hard sell?”

“Because I won’t play the game,” she said. “I don’t care to wear slutty outfits or flirt with all the boys in the crowd. I just want to sing, get paid and go home. That’s it. I never wanted to be famous, Jonah. That’s not my scene. Fame changes people. When the people around you stop telling you no, it’s that much easier to stop telling that to yourself. So it’s no holds barred. Real life rules don’t apply. Look at us. We’re reduced to some booty call in a hotel because it would hurt your image to be seen with a steady companion who isn’t somehow more famous than you.” My eyes narrowed as she went on. “You know that’s why you’ve gotten all this recognition right? It’s because of Ariel Acardi and Jasper Carrington.”

That rubbed me the wrong way. “Gee. And I thought it had something to do with me being talented.”

“That’s not what I mean,” she snapped.

“Then what do you mean?” I snapped back.

“You’re not an artist, Jonah. You’re a paper doll that Gay can dress up, or strip down, just to fill her club.”

My heart plummeted as I stared at her. Was this really what she thought of me?

“I see,” I gritted through clenched teeth. I buttoned my shirt, which had come unbuttoned when I tried to seduce her.

It was clear that was no longer on the agenda. At least she had the decency to look chagrined and turned away. “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I’ll pay you back for the room.”

“I don’t care about the fucking room,” I snarled.

“Then what do you care about?” she shot back.

I stomped over to stand almost nose to nose with her. “I cared about spending some time with the Lacy I thought I knew, not this cold-hearted bitch who comes out to play every time your pride gets a little wounded.”

There was a resounding crack throughout the room as her hand flew across my face, slapping me hard before I could stop her. “Do it again,” I dared, before I breathed “bitch,” to seal the deal.

Her other hand raised but I caught it. I curled her arm easily behind her back, bringing us face to face. “Is this some kind of fucking foreplay with you, lady?” I said under my breath as I studied her eyes.

“You’re an asshole,” she hissed.

“Then why are you here with me?” I asked as I held her even closer. As mad as I was, she still felt like heaven in my arms. That body… that fire… all I wanted to do was throw her on that bed and make her mine. It wasn’t just a fight with her anymore. It was a fight for us. “If I’m some talentless hack, some witless paper doll, why did you come here? To rub my nose in it, like some dog that pissed on the carpet?”

“No!” she denied instantly.

“Then tell me,” I commanded in a soft voice.

Her eyes darted between mine until I saw tears form at the edges. Finally she said, “I wanted you to prove it wasn’t true. That you’re not him.”

It was the most honest thing she had ever said. “You want proof?” I said before I lifted her in my arms and tossed her onto the bed. I followed her down, pinning her to the mattress with my body. “Here’s your proof.” I crushed her mouth under mine for a punishing kiss that would silence any of her doubts.

***

Pre-order SOUTHERN ROCKER BOY now from Amazon! Coming soon to B&N and iTunes!

Enter to win one of three signed copies via Goodreads! Giveaway ends 10/31/14.

THE LEFTOVER CLUB is available NOW. Adults Only Teaser HERE. "Insatiable."

IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER

If you need a warning label to read a book, whether for language, sex, emotional trigger topics, the presence of cliffhangers, cheaters or triangles or the absence of a HEA, then this author's books are not the books for you.

He kneeled in between my legs as he slowly took off his shirt, revealing that amazing body as his eyes locked with mine. “Touch yourself,” he commanded softly.

I obeyed by cupping my breast with one hand, tweaking the hard nipple as he unzipped his jeans and slipped a hand inside to grab his prominent erection. He stroked himself slowly as he watched me. I groaned as I watched the head of his cock emerge from the top of his jeans. Want him? I thought I might die without him. I lifted up, reaching for a kiss, tasting myself on his lips and that forceful, driving tongue that pierced my lips.

My fingers fumbled to pull away the final barrier of clothes between us, his jeans and underwear, pulling him back down onto the bed on top of me until he was fitted nicely between my legs. We kissed so hard I could barely remember to breathe. I clasped fistfuls of his hair in my hands as I wrapped my legs around his hips.

This time I reached for the bedside table and fumbled for a condom. He watched me tear that sucker off with my teeth before I slid it onto him, luxuriating in the feeling of how hard he was in my hand. I squeezed and brushed and stroked until his eyes fluttered closed and he shuddered hard.

I felt him kick away the jeans at last as he positioned himself to enter me, which he did with a purposeful thrust that buried him deep inside. We both gasped at how it felt to be one at last, after all these months, all these years… all this time. He trembled against me.

“It could never be this way with anyone else,” he murmured, his eyes dark. “Tell me you know that.”

I nodded.

“My Roni,” he stated as he thrust hard, making me gasp. “I don’t care who you married. I don’t care who you’ve fucked. You’ve always been mine since that very first kiss.”

I nodded again. It was the truth. He branded my heart from the time I was nine. Everyone that followed had been a pale substitute. There would never be anyone else for me but Dylan.

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Teaser Three for THE LEFTOVER CLUB - "SexyBack"

After the club, we hit an all-night hipster diner in Santa Monica. Olive was knuckle-deep in her vegan nachos when she said, “This reminds me of the day we met. Remember?”

Both Bryan and I chuckled as we nodded. “Food’s better,” I quipped as I shoved more of my omelet into my mouth.

Our cute waitress stopped by the table to refill everyone’s water glass. “So is the view,” Olive said with a wink. “Remember when the best we could do was Dylan Fenn?” She laughed, because apparently she thought this was an embarrassing aberration of our youth. “Why were we all so hung up on him?”

“He was beautiful,” Bryan murmured wistfully.

“He was so popular any of his attention validated you by default,” I added.

“And he was completely out of reach,” Olive concluded. “Nothing safer than wanting someone who can’t possibly want you back, is there?”

“He got over that at the ten-year reunion,” Bryan confided. “When he infiltrated the crew.”

Her eyes opened wide. “If it is either one of you bitches I’m going to kick you right in the leftovers.”

Bryan shook his head. “No, we’re members of the crew tried and true.”

“Then who?” she asked before ticking each of us off on her fingers. Finally she put it together. “Charlie? Are you fucking kidding me? How is that even possible?”

I shrugged. “She lost a hundred pounds, bleached her hair and showed up looking like Baby Spice. He was a goner.”

Olive snorted. “Figures. Once a dog, always a dog.” She toyed with the straw in her glass before musing, “But no longer an unattainable one. Interesting.”

“That’s a look of pure evil if I’ve ever seen one,” Bry teased.

“What can I say? I’ve always loved a challenge.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I figured out a way we can make this twenty-year shindig a little more exciting. I think it’s time that all the Leftovers got their chance to sail away on the S.S. Fenn.”

I shook my head. “You’d have the best shot of any of us. I’m still nowhere near his type.”

“And I’m an outy, not an inny,” Bry reminded.

“Trifles,” she dismissed. “The bigger the obstacle, the greater the victory. You guys still talk to Fenn, right?”

“Roni does. She works at the agency that represents him.”

“Perfect! Lemme see your phone.”

“No way,” I protested immediately.

“Don’t be a chicken. This will be fun. Isn’t this the one thing you’ve always wanted?”

Well…

“Come on, come on, come on,” she insisted as she held out her hand. “It’ll be fun. I promise.” Then, with an arched eyebrow, “Have I led you astray so far?”

I sent a beseeching glance to Bry, but he was no help at all. He just shrugged. “It does seem kind of unfair that Charlie had all the fun. If she cracked the code, who’s to say we couldn’t?”

I shrugged. “The plan is inherently flawed. I’m fat and old, she’s a lesbian and you’re a guy. Even if we make the cut by default of our gender, you might not. I don’t think he’s bisexual.”

Another arched eyebrow from Olive. “Neither are you.”

“I don’t think he even knows I’m gay,” Bryan decided suddenly.

“Good,” Olive said. “Let him come to you.”

“How can he not know you’re gay?” I asked. It had been obvious to me even before I knew what gay was.

“One: people see what they want to see,” he told me. “Two: we only hung out together in high school, when I was pretty far back in the closet by necessity. Three: whenever he sees me now, it’s usually as your date.”

“Perfect,” Olive said again. “People are easier to manipulate when they’re jealous.”

“You’re kidding, right? You’re not really seriously suggesting that we make this some covert operation.”

“Operation: Fuck Fenn. I like it,” she grinned. “Now gimme your phone.”

I shook my head. “This is childish. We’re not in high school anymore. We’re all adults. I have a child, for chrissakes.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. Revenge sex can be a lot of fun. Just ask Bry. I’m sure he’s bedded a guy or two who used to call him ‘fag’ in high school.”

“She has me there,” he grinned.

“And nobody here has to sleep with him. You just have to make him want to sleep with you. To finally win the desire of the one who got away. You can reel him into the boat and throw him back immediately, kind of like he did to everyone in high school. Call it poetic justice. And you, my friend,” she said to me, “need to finally figure it out that you’re more than worthy to sit at the cool kids’ table.”

Bry nodded. “She’s right, Roni. You’ve been measuring yourself by his ruler long enough. Isn’t about time the tables turned?”

I shook my head. This was lunacy.

“You don’t know how liberating it is to defeat the fears that have chased you from your childhood. Bryan and I had big fears, about being accepted for being different. It was a more dangerous world for us to finally embrace and ultimately celebrate what set us apart. In your head, sleeping with Dylan is that mile you never ran. That trophy you never won. Imagine how much your life would change if you could finally figure out the only obstacles you have in front of you are the ones you’ve put there all along?”

I hesitated. She was right about that. Being singled out by Dylan had shaded my whole identity as I came of age. If he didn’t want me, who would? It was probably why I settled for so much less than I deserved with Wade. And it was neither Dylan’s nor Wade’s fault that I did so.

I decided a long time ago I wasn’t good enough for the ultimate boy, so it was okay for others to shortchange me as well, including my very own daughter.

“Come on. I don’t have cable. Throw me a fucking bone,” she added with a grin.

I sighed. “Fine. You win.” I handed her my phone.

She was mighty proud of herself as she scrolled through my contact list, landing at last on the object of our new, weird, impossible mission. “And that, my friends, is how you get someone to do what they don’t want to do. Take notes. There will be a test.”

She stuck her tongue out at us before she texted something to Dylan and handed the phone back to me.

I glanced down at the screen.

“Some old friends are treating me to dollar beer at the Karaoke Klubhouse tomorrow night, eight sharp. You are cordially invited.”

It only took a minute for Dylan to reply.

“Sounds like fun, count me in.”

I half-glared at Olive, who returned once again to her heap of nachos with a wide, shit-eating grin on her face.

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Teaser Two for THE LEFTOVER CLUB - "Naughty Naughty"

This time when Dylan asked to head down to the river, I didn’t hesitate. We headed down the hill together. The terrain was flat but rocky, with tall trees surrounding the area like sentries on guard. He lit up a joint, which I shared. I inhaled deep the smell of the trees and the dirt, feeling like we were at one with the universe.

“We should go rafting,” he suggested.

I shook my head. “This is perfect,” I said as I sat on one of the rocks near the foamy river. It was large and flat enough for me to lie on my back and stare through the tiny opening in the trees toward the blue, cloudless sky above. I took another hit and just allowed myself to be a part of it.

He joined me on the next rock over. “Where’s your spirit of adventure?”

“On dry land,” I clarified with a pointed glare. “This is perfect.” I kicked off my shoes and stuck my feet in the water. It felt like cool heaven against my skin, which had been warmed all day by the relentless summer sun. Dylan had an impish smile on his face as he studied me thoughtfully for a moment. Before I knew it, he was tugging off his shoes and tossing them on dry land.

I watched him shrug out of his shirt, baring that sculpted torso once more. “What are you doing?” I asked, much sharper than I intended.

“Going for a swim,” he said before he started to release the fastener on his jeans.

“It’s dangerous,” I said as he stripped to his briefs.

He shook his head. “You heard what the caretaker said. Guests love swimming in this area because it’s safe and it’s private. So no one,” he said dramatically before he pulled down his briefs, “is going to look.”

As God as my witness, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his naked form. I had dreamed about him in some form or fashion since I hit puberty, but there was nothing like seeing him stand before me, naked as a jaybird, offering his hand to me so that I can join in his spontaneous debauchery.

I shook my head. “No way.”

“Chicken,” he teased with a smirk I swore was going to be the death of me.

“Dylan, be serious.” There was absolutely no way I would get naked in front of him. Hadn’t he figured that out by now? Sometimes I swore that he did these things just to get a rise out of me.

“I’m serious as a heart attack,” he promised as he crossed his heart with his finger. “We’re adults now, Roni. Let’s live life on the edge.”

If he was near an edge, I would have pushed him off of it. The longer he stood there, the madder I got. “Don’t be stupid. This is not something that you and I should ever be doing.”

“Why not? Because we’re friends?”

“Yes,” I sputtered, as if the answer should have been obvious.

“I would think our being friends would make this a perfectly safe and innocent thing to do. I mean, what do we have to hide from each other, really?” He waded out into the water until he stood waist deep. “Truth or dare,” he called out.

“I’m not playing this stupid game with you,” I announced. “In fact, I’m sorely tempted to go back to the cabin until you stop acting like an idiot.”

He laughed. “You won’t,” he predicted easily before he dunked himself. “You want to stay right here.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “You certainly sound sure of yourself.”

He shrugged. “If you were going to leave, you would have left already.”

I sputtered more as I stared at him. He had my number and I knew it. I grew hotter by the second. “Fine,” I said as I unbuttoned my shirt. Maybe it was the pot. Maybe it was the fact I was tired of him toying with me like a stupid cat with a timid mouse. He wanted to see me naked? Fine. Then maybe he’d stop teasing me at last and spend his time chasing after one of his endless size-2 cheerleaders.

I could feel my face burn as I unhooked my bra and tossed it aside before I lost my nerve. I couldn’t even meet his eyes as I squirmed quickly out of my shorts. I was in the water, quick as a shot. I heard him chuckle the closer I got to him.

“There,” I announced with a tilted chin. “Are you happy now?”

“Not yet,” he mused before he dunked me under water.

I came up gasping for air. He swam easily away from me so I chased after him until I dunked him in the water. The more we frolicked, the easier it was to forget we were both completely naked.

He gave me another heart-stopping smile. “Isn’t this better than sitting on the sidelines?”

I glared at him. “Yes,” I admitted at last.

He swam a little closer. “You know what your problem is, Miss Lawless?”

“I can’t wait to hear it, Mr. Fenn.”

“You make everything so much harder than it has to be. Why do you do that?”

“Because things do come harder for me,” I said softly, knowing he’d never understand. He was one of the blessed ones, one of the beautiful ones.

“It doesn’t have to,” he replied just as soft. “You can have anything you want. It’s all there for the asking.”

I shook my head. He had no idea.

“What’s standing in your way?” he wanted to know.

“Me,” I finally said.

His eyes glittered as he stared at me. “That’s the first honest thing you’ve said.”

I started to turn away but he pulled me back. “Truth or dare?”

I shook my head. “I’m not playing.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Neither am I. Truth or dare?”

If he asked me what it was that I wanted most, I would have been mortified to answer. I don’t think I would have even had the presence of mind to lie. Finally, with a hopeless shrug of my shoulder, I said, “Dare.”

Those dark eyes consumed me. “Come here,” he said softly.

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Teaser One for THE LEFTOVER CLUB - "Sister Christian"

Dylan grabbed my arm and propelled me out toward his car. He said nothing as he unlocked the door and thrust me in the passenger seat. He revved the engine once he got in, and then screeched around in an illegal U-turn as he pointed the car towards home.

“That was stupid, Roni,” he finally muttered once we hit the Pacific Coast Highway. “You can’t go alone with guys like that. They’re only after one thing.”

“Not from me,” I said softly.

“From anyone,” he corrected. “All those guys want is an easy lay.”

“I’m not an easy lay,” I snapped. “I’m a virgin.”

He stole a brief glance. “For now.”

That pissed me off. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He sighed. “Insecure virgins are a number one target.”

“You’d know,” I snapped.

He pulled off the main road and headed down toward the beach, pulling into the parking lot and killing the engine. He swiveled to face me from his bucket seat. “Is that the kind of guy you think I am?”

I held his gaze for as long as I dared. Finally I looked away. “I don’t know what kind of guy you are.”

“I’m a guy who cares about you,” he said softly, which forced me to look at him again. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

It was hollow comfort. I had been hopelessly infatuated with Dylan Fenn since I saw him ace a spelling bee in the first grade. A lot of good that had done me over the years. With a sigh, I glanced out into the inky blackness of the ocean.

Silence stretched on indeterminately between us until finally he said, “Truth or dare?”

My eyes met his. “What?”

“Truth or dare?” he repeated.

“There are no merry-go-rounds here,” I pointed out.

He conceded that point with a nod of his head. Then he reached across me to pull a joint from the glove box. He lit it up, inhaled deep, and then handed it to me. I took it begrudgingly and gingerly took a hit. “Hold it in,” he instructed, and I did. “Good. Give it a few minutes and you’ll feel like you’re right back on that merry-go-round.”

After I finished coughing and sputtering, I leaned back against my seat and closed my eyes. Just like he said, within minutes I felt like I was flying.

“Truth or dare?” he repeated softly.

I didn’t bother to open my eyes. “Truth.”

“Would you have slept with Todd if he had asked?”

I took a deep breath. “I don’t know,” I finally said. And that was the God’s honest truth. “It’s not like anyone ever has.”

“Would you have kissed him?” Dylan persisted.

“I don’t know. Probably. I mean look at me, Dylan. I’m a cliché. Sweet sixteen and never been kissed.”

“I think you’re forgetting something,” he said softly.

I glared at him. “That wasn’t a real kiss.”

A long moment passed before either of us spoke. “You’re right,” he finally conceded. “It wasn’t. We were just kids and it was just a silly dare.”

Though I long suspected it, it hurt to hear him say so. I started to look away but his hand curled around the back of my neck and pulled me back. “This is a real kiss,” he said before he leaned toward me and his mouth landed on mine.

I was in shock. I gasped, which parted my lips, a clear invitation for him to deepen the kiss. I tasted the alcohol on his tongue as it slid between my lips and meshed with mine. Inside I went up just like a roman candle. A rush of emotion flooded over me and I had no clue what to do with it. I sat rigid in my seat, as if I moved, or even breathed, I’d wake up lip-to-lip once again with my pillow.

His fingers tangled in my hair as he deepened the kiss, a moan of his own locked in his throat. His breathing was ragged as he broke the kiss. I knew my eyes were big and wide as I stared at him, unsure what to do next. He sighed as his eyes scanned my face. Gently he brushed my hair from my face before planting a long, lingering peck on my lips.

Without another word, he scooted back to his seat, started the car and pulled out of the lot towards home.

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