Monday, February 24, 2014
In The Hot Seat With H.C is author Willow West
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Friday, February 21, 2014
Guest Author: Tamsin Baker
Stranded Domme by Tamsin Baker
Blurb:
Natalie is a
professional Domme, in total control of her emotions and her life. When her car
breaks down outside of a small town, she is rescued by a quiet gentleman with
all the strength of a good submissive. They have a wonderful night where
Natalie breaks her own rules, yet doesn’t regret allowing Mick into her bed.
When Natalie returns to her real life she feels the lack of her country
gentleman and invites him to her club. She offers him a play collar and shows him
off to her friends. All is in order for Natalie, but Mick is feeling less than
enthusiastic about being kept on the outside of Natalie’s heart. They need to
find a balance quickly, or their budding relationship will soon be over.
Excerpt:
Natalie awoke to two very weird and rather pleasant
sensations. The first was the mere fact that she awoke naturally and not to an
alarm. It had been years since that had happened. The second was the warmth and
weight of a male body behind her. It had been almost a decade since that event
had occurred.
Memories of the night before came flooding back to her
and the soreness between her legs became more pronounced. Mick.
What on Earth had tempted her to let him fuck her? She
rarely had sex with anyone, let alone an untrained, un-collared sub that she
had just met.
The urge to leave quickly was strong but so was the
feeling to stay. She lay still for a minute just listening to him breathing. It
was deep and even, comforting actually. His weight was nice too.
Too many men she had met were scrawny, too thin and all
lean muscle. She liked a bit of bulk. It made her feel small, safe and
protected.
Confused now, old memories came flooding back into her
mind. Days of crying over men who had hurt her, disappointed her. It was enough
to get her moving.
Natalie wiggled out from under the strong arm that held
her and shuffled to the bathroom.
She looked in the mirror and the Domme did not stare
back. A ruffled, well fucked and sated young woman looked back at her. Who
the fuck was that?
“Damn...”
She groaned as she sat on the toilet. It had been so long
since she felt out of control.
“What a mess.”
Natalie pondered over what she would do. She really
wanted to see Mick again, but how was that going to be possible? He lived too
far away, and he wasn’t in the Lifestyle. How would he handle watching her with
some of the other bottoms?
A strange smile spread across her face at the thought. He
wouldn’t like it at all. She giggled to herself as she imagined a stand off in
her club.
No, she had to stop thinking that way. Nothing could
develop between them. Last night had just been a moment of weakness. A
wonderful, fulfilling, unnerving moment, but still just a moment.
She took a deep breath and snuck back into the room for
her clothes. She didn’t really know why she was being quiet, Mick had to take
her back into town. She would have to deal with him eventually.
She froze on entering her bedroom. Mick sat up in bed,
the sheet covering his lap. His eyes scanned her nakedness and he smiled.
“Good morning, Natalie.”
Inside her head, the Domme was warring with her girly
self again. How did he manage to bring out that side in her? The one that
wanted to jump onto the bed, laugh and curl up into his lap for morning kisses.
There was a reason she didn’t do that anymore and that was because she was
happier when she was always in control.
She tried to be casually confident as she opened her
overnight case and pulled out fresh bra and panties. She was never embarrassed
by her body, but she blushed as she felt his heated gaze on her.
“Would you like a shower?”
She jumped, his voice surprising her. Mick hadn’t come
inside her, a concession she greatly appreciated but she was still sweaty from
their exertions. A shower would be very much appreciated.
“I would actually. Thank you, Mick.”
Mick smiled as he slipped from the bed and walked towards
her. He was still naked and his cock was hard. Her mouth hung open, shocked at
how natural and in control he looked. How did he manage to look so calm when
she felt like a bundle of insecure nerves?
What did you do the morning after? All of her scenes were
orchestrated and always ended with her subs going home afterwards. She was at a
loss at what to do with a lover.
Mick kissed her softly on the lips and walked to the door.
“I’ll make us some breakfast and you have a shower. See
you soon.”
Natalie stood staring after Mick’s retreating form. He
had a lovely ass, and she could see the red striations from her flogger. She
blushed again.
The cool and calm gentleman she had met yesterday
afternoon was back and in control of the situation. She couldn’t believe how
unbalanced she felt, how out of control. And it would not do.
The reason she had trained to become a Domme in the first
place was to establish control and order in her life and emotions. It would not
do to lose all of that now.
She showered and pulled on her work clothes. They were
black, fitted and very professional. She had to take special care with her feet
and apply many band aids to her heels before she dared to put on her black work
shoes. Her feet wouldn’t let her forget this hiatus any time soon.
When she entered the kitchen she was ready for action,
only to be totally derailed by the scene in front of her.
Mick had set the table for them both, orange juice poured,
bacon and eggs cooking. Tears stung her eyes at the casual intimacy he was so
good at. Where had he been when she had desperately wanted this sort of
relationship?
She collapsed into her chair, deflated and awestruck. She
had stumbled upon one of the last true gentlemen.
“How do you like your eggs? Sunny side up?” Mick called
over his still bare shoulder.
Clearing her throat, she coughed. “Sunny side up would be
great.”
Mick whistled as he cooked and Natalie looked around the
kitchen. It was clean and orderly but lacked a feminine touch.
“Have you been married, Mick?” Natalie asked before her
brain could kick into gear.
She hissed in frustration and wanted to bite off her
tongue. Why was she asking intimate questions?
Mick looked over his shoulder at her for a minute then
turned back to his cooking.
“I was, for twenty years. But we divorced a few years
ago.”
He continued whistling and Natalie found herself more
intrigued, not less. That was the problem with questions. Once asked, they
opened the door to more.
“And you have kids?” She couldn’t help it, she had to
ask.
Mick laughed. “Yep, the bane of my bank balance.”
Natalie smiled, despite what he actually said the tone in
Mick’s voice was beautiful. Loving devotion.
Buy Link
http://www.amazon.com/Stranded-Dome-BDSM-Tamsin-Baker-ebook/dp/B00IJGWLFE/ref=sr_1_8?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1392861750&sr=1-8&keywords=tamsin+baker
Monday, February 17, 2014
NEW RELEASE! My Lover, My Dom- Club Whips #1 by H.C. Brown
H.C. Brown’s long
awaited Club Whips Series takes the reader into the no holds barred Whips Gay BDSM Club. With
cameo appearances from some of the more colorful characters of Club Floggers,
H.C. Brown introduces more of the Doms and delicious subs from the exciting
world of rock n roll and big business.
Jett Silver has
waited patiently for Brad to find himself. Being his gym buddy has been agony
but now he plans to train this delectable pup and collar him. With Jett’s best
friend Nash Mage and his sub Paul on hand to help, Brad’s life becomes a living
fantasy
.
.
Excerpt:
The
cold tiles pressed into Brad’s chest. The exquisite thrill of pain followed by
his Master’s tender touch undone him. He hovered on the edge of tears, need
seared through him, burning flames of desire caressed his balls and shot up his
shaft. He opened his stance and pushed his ass toward his Master. He wanted
more and his knees shook in expectation of Jett’s hot tongue on him. He longed
to sink into the wet warmth of Jett’s mouth but he craved more of his Dom. What
would Jett be like inside the dungeon? A shiver of delight licked his balls. I
can’t wait. Jett slapped again and the sound of his large hand hitting flesh
echoed in the small room. Pain sizzled and Brad’s cock scraped against the
wall. He rocked his hips and heard Jett growl. Oh, Lord! His Dom slid
inquisitive fingers down the cleft of Brad’s ass. Hot breath
brushed his cheek. Brad swallowed the moan of delight. The next moment Jett
spun him around. He gazed into his Dom’s eyes. “Oh, fuck, I’m losing my mind. I
want your mouth on me so fucking bad... Sir.”
Monday, February 10, 2014
Valentine's Day Blog Hop- PRIZES!!!!!!!!
What do you like best
about Valentine’s day or what do you hate about it?
I know it’s a day for
lovers and romance but it can also be a day for sadness. I don’t want anyone
to be sad today, so if you enjoy M/M Romance tell me why you like or hate
Valentines day and I’ll give a copy of my new historical release Lord Byron’s Secret Obsession to the best comment as a prize and perhaps if the comments are really good a copy of one of my other books.
Also all comments go
into the draw for the $50 prize.
Don’t forget to leave
your email details J
Lord Byron's Secret Obsession Blurb:
Lord Byron Wilton, fearing exposure as a sodomite
after a public argument with his secret lover Lord David Litchfield, leaves
England for the Americas. On his return, he finds his delicious man in the
hands of the brute, Hale and his cohorts.
Discovering Lord David is an unwilling sex slave
for these three disgusting men, he makes outlandish and somewhat dangerous
plans to outwit the trio. Byron must use every trick in the book, and a
considerable amount of his fortune, in an effort to regain his lover’s freedom
and trust.
I have a new release Lord Byron’s Secret Obsession and a brand new BDSM series Club Whips coming out with Spunk Books on 17 February the first book is titled My Lover, My Dom. My Lover My Dom Blurb:
H.C. Brown’s long
awaited Club Whips Series takes the
reader into the no holds barred Whips Gay BDSM Club. With cameo appearances
from some of the more colorful characters of Club Floggers, H.C. Brown introduces more of the Doms and delicious
subs from the exciting world of rock n roll and big business.
Brad Morrison is a sub
pure and simple. He wants Jett Silver, manager of Cold Heat but their yearlong
friendship is just that . . . friendship, until Brad’s arranged marriage of
convenience ends.
Jett Silver has waited
patiently for Brad to find himself. Being his gym buddy has been agony but now
he plans to train this delectable pup and collar him. With Jett’s best friend Nash Mage and his sub
Paul on hand to help, Brad’s life becomes a living fantasy.
Buy link 17 February
|
Saturday, February 1, 2014
NEW RELEASE! MASTER ME by H.C. BROWN
After Leo Marshall survives a storm at sea, he discovers the
watery vortex he hurled through was a gateway to another realm. As a filthy disease ridden human, he is not
welcomed into the strange world of unusual diverse humanoids and finds refuge
with a shifter. His immediate lustful attraction to the delicious BDSM Master, Ashrin
of Ecatnie Pride is so powerful it is frightening. The rules are different in
this future realm and frequent sex with a multitude of partners is expected. Leo wants Ashrin exclusively but is afraid
his Master will love him —to death.
Buy Links:
Amazon
Excerpt:
"You belong to me, Leo."
The voice
spilled over him like liquid silk, the man's face a dark shadow in the
twilight. Leo lowered his head to nuzzle the hairless balls, to drink in the
rich, hypnotic scent he craved. Under his palms, strong thigh muscles tensed,
moving under sweat-soaked skin. Leo moved his mouth, pressing kisses up his
lover's long, hard shaft. Strong fingers twisted in Leo's hair, dragging his
mouth to the weeping slit.
"Open your mouth. Suck me." The
deep, sensual voice commanded.
Leo swiped
his tongue across the tip, the familiar, rich, musky flavor bursting across his
tongue. His heart clenched. He loved this man with a soul-destroying passion.
This man completed him. His dream lover, his ultimate fantasy. Leo moaned in
bliss. He couldn't wait to taste him again and lunged forward to slide his
tongue across the velvet shaft.
I don't know
your name. Tell me your name.
The bed
began to lurch and roll. The dream faded and he awoke achingly hard and
frustrated. Damn it. Why do I always have the same dream?
"Winds of up to one hundred and fifty
miles an hour . . . ."
Leo Marshall lifted the baseball cap off his
eyes and yawned. What was that?
Stretching,
he eased out of the chair and moved to the edge of the boat to pull in his
fishing rod. The balmy summer day had vanished, hidden behind a violent, black
storm front. Clouds of every shade of grey charged across the sky. An icy wind
cut through his t-shirt and whipped the once glassy blue ocean into angry white
caps. In the distance, lightning illuminated flashes of the coastline,
misshapen behind a wall of torrential rain.
Fuck. Leo secured
his belongings and ducked inside the cabin. On the two-way, he could hear the
Coastguard giving out warnings. He radioed in his details and position.
"You
won't make it to Harper's Peak. Didn't you hear the warnings?" came the
response. "You will have to try and ride it out. We have your position. Do
you have a satellite beacon?"
Leo ran a hand through his hair. He’d ridden
out many storms and his boat was well equipped to handle a storm front. "Yes,
I do, thank God."
The
Coastguard signed off and Leo stood transfixed, watching the sea join the inky
blue of the sky and close in around him, plunging him into twilight. The Laura Jane rolled and dipped, huge waves
crashing over her bow. Leo dragged on his life jacket and pulled his way to the
stern to up anchor. Wind tore off his baseball cap; it dragged his long hair
from its binding and whipped it across his eyes. Brushing at his face, he
looked up at the savage sky; his eyes widened. "Holy fuck."
Highlighted
by blanket lightning, a funnel rose from the sea. The awesome beast swirled
high into the clouds and danced across the ocean like a giant hydra. Long
trails of water undulated from its twisting neck with gaping maws. The wind
roared, lashing salty rain into his face and tearing at his clothes with icy
fingers. Leo dropped the anchor on the deck and battled his way back to the cabin.
I have to get out of here. He depressed the start button on the engine,
once, twice.
Nothing.
He ran his
arm over his face, swiping at the seawater stinging his eyes, and depressed the
button again. "Come on girl."
The motor
caught and burst into life. Leo laughed in triumphant desperation and fought
frantically to turn the craft around. A great surge of white water picked up
the Laura Jane and dragged the small
craft up to the crown of a gigantic wave. Leo clung to the wheel, water
swirling in the cabin up to his knees. The boat hovered on the crest then
surfed down the shimmering wall at world record speed. Leo looked down the face
of the twenty-foot wave and gasped. I'll never out run it.
The boat
crashed into the foaming water, bobbing like a cork. It lurched to one side and
the crab basket and fishing tackle slammed against Leo's legs. In his hands,
the slippery wheel fought against him, spinning one way and then the other. The
bow dipped sharply and the propeller broke free of the waves, the engine
screaming in protest. The sea roared its discontent, and before him, a
whirlpool opened up, a giant vortex sucking everything into oblivion. Leo
swallowed, fear closing his throat, ears deafened bythe roar that sounded like
a freight train. The Laura Jane lay
on its side, dark, swirling water pinning it in its embrace. Whipped into a
giant centrifuge in hell, Leo joined the speeding procession of marine debris.
Above, a mountain of spinning black water, below, a swirling orifice of black
and green sank down to the depths of hell.
Leo clung to
the cabin door, his legs floating in midair. The howl of a thousand devils
shrieked in his head. The roof of the cabin ripped off in a whine of twisted
metal. He looked up one last time, seeking the heavens. Within the madness, a
strange calmness enclosed him. His fingers grew numb and slipped off the cabin
door. Goodbye, Mom and Dad.
www.hcbrown-author.com
Saturday, January 18, 2014
In The Hot Seat With H.C.Brown: Author Rosie Vanyon
Welcome Rosie , tell my readers a little about who you are and what you do,
Rosie Vanyon shares her renovator’s
‘delight’ with a gorgeous Italian (and sometimes his son), a teenage daughter,
a high-maintenance dog, a giant tabby cat and a satanic sable one.
She has a Creative Arts degree and a
grown-up job in financial services. Rosie has been a writer and editor in
fields as diverse as motoring, travel and tax. She is relieved and elated to
finally ‘come out’ as a romance author. At last, she is following her heart.
I spent years snatching spare evenings or cramming my
annual leave full of words and chapters. I have recently put my money where my
mouth is and dropped back to a nine-day fortnight in my day job, so I have at
least one dedicated writing day every two weeks. This is a small step in the
right direction!
Without a dedicated day, writing tends to slide down the
priority list behind everything from homework help to cleaning the bathroom.
Now the trick is to keep my writing day safe and sacred!
Q: Can you
tell us about your writing process, for example, do you write an outline first?
I find the Snowflake method a great
way to get started but I am way too impatient to take too much time over planning
or to see this method right through to the end.
Having said that, the ‘snowflake’ helps me see if the
ideas whizzing and exploding around my brain are likely to pan out into an
actual story (or if I should maybe just forget it, have a wine and play Candy
Crush, instead).
A plan means I’m not blindsided by an ‘oh, crap’ moment
halfway through chapter six when I realise my plot is imploding. It also helps
me back to the path when I accidentally wander off on an enchanting detour.
H.C: I've never heard of the Snowflake method before sounds interesting. Me I'm a pantser, no outline on paper, no carefully and boring worked out plot, I write without a net but I think the Snowflake method would work well for me too. :-)
Q. Coffee or
tea?
Mainly coffee (but no instant, decaf or drip filter
coffee – it has to be the real deal). I drink tea when the caffeine jangles
kick in. I take both drinks black – my theory is: why ruin a perfectly good
cuppa by adding stuff?
Q. Beach or
countryside?
Sand, swimmers and sunburn versus cow pats, critters and
commutes…
Nah!
I’m a city girl. I like
clothes shops, culture and convenience. I’m happiest in a world of stilettos, espresso, edgy art and
wifi.
H.C. The Gold Coast has all that and a beach LOL. It's shop till you drop paradise.
Q: Where do
you get your inspiration?
On the bus, folding laundry, chatting to friends, reading
the news, working out, day dreaming, washing the dog, partying, in a
meeting.... The ideas are everywhere – I only have to wonder ‘what if…?’ and a
story takes off.
Q: Would you
change anything in your life to make writing easier.
Yes! As much as I enjoy my day job, I can’t wait to wind
my hours right back so I can follow my soul path as a writer.
Q: We have
all suffered submission rejections. How do you cope? Do you have any advice to
other writers on coping with rejection?
For a long time, I took
rejection personally and it was a real struggle to peddle my wares. In the end,
I realised no one was ever going to ring me up and say, ‘Hey, Rosie, I hear you
have a manuscript in your Google drive we may want to publish.’
The trick is to start seeing rejections as good things.
Every rejection is a badge of honour; a battle scar that
means you have actually written something and been brave enough to send your
work out into the world. Every time you get your work out there, you learn
stuff, you grow your confidence and you increase your odds of getting published.
Woody Allen captured it in a nutshell when he said ‘80%
of success is showing up.’
If I could start over, I would be more persistent and
resilient about submitting my work. I’d stop worrying about whether my writing
was ‘right’, tell my ego to take a hike and focus on getting my work out into
the public sphere at every opportunity – paid, unpaid, electronic, print, commercial,
artistic, lauded, bashed, whatever.
Q: What do
you like to read and who are your favourite authors?
I love to read Lee Child. I wish he would write faster!
His hero, Jack Reacher, is so amazing that I am never sure whether I would
rather sleep with him or be him!
Other fiction favourites include:
- anything
by Harlan Coben (I’ll bet even his shopping list would be worth a read)
- The
Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley (this is the
Arthurian legend told from the women’s point of view)
- John
Marsden’s Tomorrow when the war
began series
- Philip
Pullman’s Golden Compass books.
Q: Do you
write one novel at a time or do you move between works in progress?
I force myself to work on one book at a time. There are
always plenty of stories clamouring in the wings. If a second story becomes too
persistent and clogs up my brain, I may write some notes to appease it. But,
given my time constraints, even finishing one story is a challenge, so I have
to be ruthless.
Q: Do you
have times when the Muse is away on holiday?
Freelance journalism and copywriting have been very
valuable experiences for me as they have taught me discipline which carries
over into my novel-ing. Not in the mood
to write that love scene? Write it anyway. Really can’t do it? Tweak dialogue
or heighten mood, tighten description or correct spelling instead. Absolutely,
totally can’t do it? It’s writing or ironing. (Amazingly, ironing rarely
wins.)
My writing time is so precious that I can’t
afford for the muse to kick back for a Pina Colada and a pedicure. My muse is
on call 24/7. She has a fire-fighter’s pole.
Q. What motivates
you to write?
Writing is my default status. It’s what I do. I don’t
need motivation. It happens by itself. Like breathing.
Q: Can you
tell us a little about your current novel? What inspired you to write this
story?
Free to love is my first real bash at writing romance. It combines my
favourite romance elements – secrets, humour and steamy sex.
I liked the idea of a non-typical heroine – and sassy,
sexy ex-con Calico Jones certainly fits that bill! Callie is a cute, smart hottie who burns up Nick Chà vez’s traditions, routines,
rules – and libido – in their first second together.
Quirky supporting characters like Callie’s shifty
brother, Jace; her wise and wily Granny Mango; and the flouncy and flamboyant Oliver
really heighten the tension and accentuate the laughs.
This is a classic romance story with some fresh, funny
and spicy elements to add a zing of something special.
Blurb:
Sizzling business tycoon, Nick Chà vez, springs sassy
Calico Jones from jail where she’s spent two years cooling her heels after a
million-dollar embezzlement conviction.
With his family’s multi-billion dollar empire at risk of
a hostile takeover, Nick has enough on his mind without battling his searing –
and totally inappropriate – attraction to the sultry ex-con. So why the hell
has he offered her a job? Meanwhile Callie must fight her deadbeat brother to
make a fresh start as a Chà vez Enterprises employee.
With circumstances so precarious, neither Nick nor Callie
can afford to surrender to the scorching attraction between them. But the
desire is impossible to withstand. In the eye of the high-stakes tornado of
lies, thefts, greed and lust, Nick and Callie inevitably yield to one another.
Their brief rapture is destroyed when Callie receives an ultimatum
that puts the future of Chà vez Enterprises firmly in her hands – and leaves her
with no choice but to walk away from Nick forever.
Excerpt:
AT THE far edge of the square was a narrow path that had been worn into
the rough grass of the field between the city buildings and the distant river
bank. Nick led her along it and she followed willingly, acutely aware of his
palm against hers, his large, firm fingers enfolding hers.
She knew she shouldn’t be letting him hold her hand. It was dangerous
and inappropriate and probably just plain stupid but with the sun dappling them
through the willow, wisteria and cherry trees and the breeze drifting in over
the sparkling river, there was a rightness about his touch that would stand no
denying.
Callie shrugged off her concerns. It had been so long since she’d been
really touched by a man that just this simple clasp sent her heart racing
wildly and her breath skittering unevenly. It wasn’t as though she was having
sex with him, for heaven’s sake, she was just holding his hand in a platonic
way. Although there was nothing remotely platonic about the ache that had
started somewhere deep in her belly the moment their fingers had connected,
nothing even close to friendly in the thrumming of her nerves as he stroked his
thumb over her index finger.
No, she was not thinking friendly thoughts at all. She was thinking hot,
horny, ravenous thoughts. Voracious thoughts. Desperate, wild and uninhibited
thoughts that involved a whole lot more than pressing their naked palms
together. Thoughts that whirled through her with a ferocity that made her
wonder if she was losing her mind.
He was a safe bet, she reminded herself. He was her boss. Unattainable.
But if that was the case, why was he holding her hand? And why did his jaw have
that set look that told her he was forcing himself to keep things light just as
much as she was? Why did his eyes darken when he looked at her? Why was his
tongue moistening his lips as though he was parched for something much more
enticing than fruit juice – something a bit more like her?
She wanted him. Badly. And she couldn’t have him.
They had begun to climb as the path followed the slope of the hill. It
was the incline making her breath so erratic, she told herself. She must not be
in as good shape as the thought. But she knew she was lying to herself. She’d
worked out in the prison gym for at least an hour a day, seven days a week for
the past two years, determined not to accumulate pounds or lethargy like so
many others did in prison. She’d started with a handful of girl push ups and a
ride on the exercise bike on the easiest setting and, as she’d gained more
privileges through her study, she’d graduated to weights, laps, the treadmill,
aerobics and even chin ups. Who was she kidding? She was in great shape.
And he looked like he was, too. He must work out, she thought, admiring
the strength of his calves against the straining fabric of his trousers as he
made the steepening climb beside her. His arms were solid muscle highlighted by
sprinkles of dark hair over his golden forearms where he’d rolled up his
shirtsleeves. He really was a big man – tall and broad. His sheer size made her
feel delicate and fragile beside him – crazy, really, when she’d just been
thinking how fit and strong she was. But feeling delicate wasn’t an altogether
unpleasant sensation. Delicate didn’t have to mean weak. She knew of plenty of
fragile looking plants that would survive a desert sandstorm better than a
human being. Although, right now, she didn’t feel that hardy. She felt pretty
much like mush.
Pausing for a moment beside a white weeping wisteria in full bloom, he
turned to her and studied her so intently she would have sworn he could see her
soul.
Her nipples hardened, her breasts ached for his touch. Her body felt
scorched and open and greedy. There wasn’t enough air. She felt light-headed.
She couldn’t take her eyes off his handsome chiselled face and her fingers
hankered to test the broad muscular chest before her. There was no way to hide
her want. In this moment, her desire was too blatant, too powerful to veil.
She read the war within him, the severe line of his mouth emphasising
his struggle to keep things on an even keel, the heat in his eyes, fighting to
be unleashed. Callie sensed it would take almost nothing to tip the scales
either way.
She licked her lips.
She saw the decision flash in his eyes like sunlight off glass.
She didn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Lust overpowered her ability to even
think. She was desperate. If he didn’t kiss her, she realized, she might faint.
“I need to taste you, Calico,” he told her, stepping towards her,
resting his hands gently on either side of her forearms. His voice was a raw
demand but his body was all restraint and his eyes sought permission.
She should deny him. She should push him away. But his words sent
blistering need searing through her through her, unwavering in its intensity.
She didn’t so much as nod, merely let her eyes drift shut and her body sway
towards him. He didn’t hesitate, but eased her close, gentling his mouth over
hers in the sweetest, most tantalising kiss she had ever experienced.
All her senses zeroed in on the exquisite male animal worshipping her
mouth and the divine feel and scent and taste of him. She gave herself up to
him, utterly helpless, surrendering completely to the perfect moment when their
lips met.
She sighed into his mouth, drowning in the taste of him, greedily
drinking in the feel of his knit shirt beneath her fingers and the iron
hardness of the muscles beneath. She breathed in the spicy scent of him, moving
her mouth over his, encouraging him, enticing him. She wanted more of him and
she wanted him to know it.
He pressed his lips harder against hers. She could feel him tense
further with self-control, and it excited her. She knew he wanted to ravish
her, to make her body thrum, her mind corkscrew, her heart rocket. But he held
back. His repressed longing speared her centre with an arrow of heat. Her skin
burned, every cell jangled and clamoured for more. She was a slave to her body
– from her erect nipples to her stiff and sensitive clit and the pulsing in her
throbbing core, clenched tight and slick with her juices.
Some dim part of her mind registered that this was a mistake, that
kissing her boss was completely off the scale where dumb decisions were
concerned but she hushed her inner voice, gave herself up to the feel and taste
and smell of him, ceded to the demands of her body.
His hands were in her hair, then skimming down her spine to cup her
behind. He eased her against him where she could feel the enormous bulge of his
shaft. She whimpered and he captured the sound with his lips, gently teasing
them apart as he sought access for his tongue. Then he took her, slowly, softly
but completely, making her mindless with the bliss of his loving, boneless with
the restrained force of his desire.
Too soon, Nick pulled away, as flushed and breathless as she.
“God, I want you,” he rasped.
“I want you, too.” There was no room for anything but the naked truth.
But sanity was returning, an unwelcome dampening, a mist of regret.
Callie struggled to ease her breathing into a normal pattern, strove to
quell her trembling. If this was the aftermath of a simple kiss, how would she
survive anything more with this man? While one half of her cowered from what
she knew could only end in pain, the other half carelessly craved everything
Nick could offer.
She could see in his eyes that he, too, was torn between pursuing this
attraction further and clamping down on his passion with that fierce control
that at once awed and frustrated her. She was fascinated by the display of
battling emotions like a fireworks show in his green eyes.
He dragged in a rough breath. “We should walk. Clear our heads. Think
about how best to proceed.”
This time, he didn’t take her hand and she didn’t reach for his, either.
To touch would be too volatile, too explosive. They were heading for a dangerous
precipice. Would they step back from the deep unknown or would they plunge into
the chasm with eyes open? In that moment, Callie honestly didn’t know. Oh, she
wanted him, but they were worlds apart. She was an ex‑convict who could do
nothing but sour his reputation. He was a moneyed businessman who was also her
boss. When she looked at the situation rationally, she could see nothing in the
future but damage and destruction for both of them.
She tried to force logic over her sadness. Just as she had never
believed in love at first sight, she also didn’t believe in “once in a
lifetime”, at least not in the traditional sense. The idea of one soul mate per
person had never sat easily with her. Being together was a choice people made,
something sensible, reasonable, based on mutual compatibility, shared goals,
love and respect. It was not based on some cosmic plan where two people were
destined for each other and bound together for all eternity. There would be
other men, she told herself, men more suitable than Nick Chà vez.
As they approached the crest of the hill, Callie could just make out the
glimmer of water over the cliff top. The view promised to be amazing as she
plotted their geography in her head. The vista would encompass the wild
southern end of the river and the small harbour with its colorful bobbing
fishing boats and sleek white cruisers to the north. The far bank would reveal
swathes of sandy tree-lined beaches and unspoilt sloping dunes giving way to
acres of fields and forests. She had no trouble at all imagining why a powerful
man like Nick would find comfort in a rugged spot like the ancient cliff they
were climbing. There was a timelessness about the place, an energy that was all
elemental magic – sun and water, rock and sky. She imagined Nick silhouetted
against the blue heavens, proud and aristocratic and all-powerful against the
stunning scenery, like a mythical king or a demigod.
They had almost reached the top when it happened. A loud electronic beep
pierced the moment. At first she thought it must be his cell phone. She didn’t
possess one, although it was on her shopping list. But then the beep sounded
again and she slowed her pace, pulling Nick to a stop beside her. Even that
simple brush of her fingers against the cloth of his shirt, the feel of his
muscular bicep beneath her fingers, made her whole body ignite anew. But the
insistent beeping sound was a timely if bitter reminder of why she must ignore
her feelings for Nick, why she must back off and quash whatever was between
them while there was still time to do so. If he was a mythical king, she was
the lowest of serfs and this was real life, not some fairytale.
She glanced longingly at the top of the cliff where a tantalising
expanse of glittering gilt-edged blue enticed her forward, only hinting at the
stunning panorama beyond.
“What is wrong?” he asked her taking her hand in his. “Afraid of
heights?”
She shook her head, gazing sadly once again at their goal only two or
three hundred metres to the east.
“Is there a call you have to take?”
Once again, she shook her head.
His gaze searched hers, at once concerned and simmering with barely
suppressed yearning.
She knew her next words would ruin the mood completely but there was no
avoiding them. In fact, they were words that had to be said. If she didn’t put
a stop to this right now, they would both end up regretting it. Still, the
words were like drops of vinegar in her mouth. “I can’t go any further. I’m
sorry Nick. It’s the anklet. That’s my one hundred metre warning. I’ve gone as
far as I can.”
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