A Love Restrained

Title: A Love Restrained
Author: Becky Flade
Genre: Romantic suspense

Spring in the city brought people out of winter hibernation like a siren song but as the temperature rose, so in turn, did the crime rate. Cops had to be sharp as they walked the streets of Philadelphia. In her ten years on the force, on these streets, she’d seen a lot of crazy and often stupid criminals do a lot of crazy and often stupid things. But to be so brazen, or so plain dumb, as to do a hand-to-hand drug buy right in front of two uniformed officers rode high on her list of top ten. “Tell me you saw that?”

“Saw what?” Hunks of half chewed soft pretzel fell from Sherman’s mouth.

Pete Sherman’s not a bad cop, just not an observant one whose paunch portrayed his love of all things fried and his reupholstered recliner. He hadn’t seen a thing in the last six months. But he took direction well, despite the fact he had seniority.

“There, across the street.” She pointed. “The junkie walking east just scored off the guy in the leather bomber heading west. I swear the dealer looked right at us before the exchange. Call it in, Pete, and grab the junkie. I’m going after the dealer.”

Sherman didn’t argue. She took off into a quick lope, kept her footsteps light so as to not alert the man she pursued. The spring day had drawn people out and the complaints of the pedestrians she weaved through grew loud. The guy glanced over his shoulder, and the edge of his mouth tipped into a grin before he sprinted around the corner.

“Cocky jerk.” She turned the corner, and shouted, “Stop! Police.”

She ran clean and fast, closing the distance between them with little effort. The dealer ducked into an alley she knew to be a dead end. She slowed and put one hand on the butt of her service pistol as she approached. He had his back to her, his hands on his hips as he stared at the brick wall in front of him.

“Philly PD, you’re under arrest. Slowly put your hands above your head and against the wall to your left.” She closed the few feet between them, using her free hand to release the handcuffs from her belt, the other remaining on her weapon. She cuffed him, with practiced efficiency, and then read him his rights before leading him out of the alley, preferring to do the pat down with her partner present.

“Kylee Parker, I’ll admit I daydreamed a time or two about you cuffing me, but it was never in this context.”


Becky Flade will be awarding $10 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

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Old secrets, new threats…What are they willing to sacrifice?
Philadelphia police officer Kylee Parker is dedicated to protecting and serving. She sees the work in absolutes: right and wrong, black and white, good guys and bad guys. That is, until she chases a drug dealer into a dead-end alley and finds the bad boy she had a painful crush on throughout her teen years has turned into a more dangerous and more attractive man.

Jayson Donovan knows he doesn’t deserve someone as good as Kylee Parker. As the right hand man to a local drug-pushing mobster, he’s solidly on the wrong side of Kylee’s moral compass. But he can’t help reaching for her time and again when he knows he shouldn’t.
Even when his secrets threaten them both.

I am giving this story 3.5 stars because while I found the plot engaging, the characters were a challenge to get to like.

I wish this story had started halfway through part two and gone to the end. That was he most exciting, nail-biting, and character-centered part of the whole book. We learn more about Kylee’s secret feelings in this, the second half of the story, and more about Jayson’s true motivations, not to mention how they mesh as a not-quite couple.

However, as all stories do, this one begins at the start—and spends numerous pages giving one dimensional motives for the two main characters. I wouldn’t have even minded this so much, would have assumed that they would be explained more as the tale went on, if not for the complete lack of justification for the secondary characters’ actions. I was completely distracted by a long-time abuse victim suddenly turning her life around and the never-explained lying Kylee endured from her supposedly loving parents.

I did enjoy the six-year gap between parts one and two, and the surprise of what happened to both main characters during that time. It was wonderful to find out Jayson’s true reason for being gone for over half a decade, and this is where Kylee’s motivations picked up some depth and wherewithal. Even the assumed main bad guy gains some three-dimensionality. But again, the book falls short when it comes to the real bad guys’ reasons for being the bad guys.

I’m giving this book a three and a half (3.5) star review because if you skip to the middle and read to the end, it’s a fabulous and well-paced read. I’m also giving it that extra half star for the scene I’ve excerpted. If you like passion, read this book. If you like bad boys and kickass cops, definitely read it. I’m looking forward to another book from this author with the desire to give a higher rating.

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

A city girl, born and bred, I tend to place my stories in and around southeast Pennsylvania, or at least have a character or two from the area. Home is where the heart is and I make mine with my very own knight in slightly tarnished armor, three beautiful daughters, my son-in-law and two grandsons. When I’m not busy living my own happily ever after, I’m writing about someone else’s.

I’d love to have you visit with me at any of my virtual homes or write to me directly at beckyfladeauthor@gmail.com

Website: http://www.beckyfladeauthor.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/BeckyFlade
Twitter: https://twitter.com/beckyflade
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/Becky_Flade
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Becky-Flade
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/BeckyFlade/

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The book will be on sale for $0.99.

Entromancy: A Nightpath book

Title: Entromancy: Book One of the Nightpath Trilogy
Author: M.S. Farzan
Genre: Urban Fantasy, Sci-fi

I fought to stay calm. I could hear my pulse pounding in my ears, matching the drumming in my temple, and I kept forgetting to breathe. I hedged, knowing that I could leave, taking the auric with me for questioning, but I wouldn’t have time to evacuate the people upstairs. I wasn’t familiar with being unsure of my next course of action, and I didn’t care for the feeling.

I had neither the time to give the defuse protocol another tries nor the skillset to hack into the device and do it the hard way. I synced the timer with my digitab and saw the countdown appear in my lenses. Pocketing the digitab, I released my knee from the auric’s throat and grabbed him by the collar.

“What’s the code?” I snarled at him.

“What?” he said thickly. I could see the blood staining his white teeth.

“Don’t play stupid with me,” I said, shaking him. “What’s the code?”

“The hell, man? What code?”

I could see that he had no idea what I was talking about. I glanced back at the bomb and up at the time display. 21:27:24, three minutes and thirty-six seconds.

The auric craned his neck to follow my gaze, then looked at me. I could see understanding register in his eyes.

“We’re dead?” he queried.

I nodded absently, reaching for another ceridium capsule. Prying off a glove with my teeth, I reached out towards the device.

The auric’s hand shot up and grabbed weakly at my wrist. “You’re going to kill us, man!” he protested.

“Probably!” I looked back towards a side entrance next to the counter. “Can you open that?”

He hesitated, then nodded slightly.

“Do it,” I said. He got up slowly and trotted over to the door.

Blurb: 2076 is not a good year to be a special agent. A quarter of the world’s power runs on ceridium, a newly discovered element that has had the unintended consequence of spawning a new race of people, and several forms of magic that were once thought to have been forgotten. Eskander Aradowsi is an agent of NIGHT, a paramilitary force created to contain and control this new perceived threat, but he soon learns that not all within his organization is as it seems. A botched mission turns out to be the least of his troubles, when he unearths a plot that threatens the uneasy truce between the aurics and humans of San Francisco, and centers on a form of magic that toys with the very fabric of the universe: Entromancy.

I’m giving this book four (4) stars. It would have been higher but the beginning of the book was confusing as magic and the new breeds of humans were suddenly shown up and no explanation on what they were and how it works.

But further on in the book things get explained and we learn about the plot of the auric king to take oveerre city and the double crossing of the agency the main character works for.

I love all the characters in the book, they each have their different personalities and back stories. I love the little hint of romance that floats in the plot while everyone get shot at. I really couldn’t put this book down once it got started. I’m looking forward to reading the next book in the story, as it promises to be a good one.

The author will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour The author will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
Rafflecopter link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/28e4345f2395.

M. S. Farzan was born in London, UK and grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area. He has a B.A. in Integrative Biology, M.A. in Religious Leadership for Social Change, and Ph.D. in Cultural and Historical Studies of Religions. He has written and worked for high-profile video game companies and editorial websites such as Electronic Arts, Perfect World Entertainment, and MMORPG.com, and has trained in and taught Japanese martial arts for over ten years. He also enjoy.


Title: Dutch
Author: Madhuri Pavamani
Genre: Fantasy/Romance

Blurb: I’ve spent years holed up in the deepest, darkest parts of the city, fighting to keep Death and her Poochas from crossing the dead back to the living. My skill with a blade is bested only by my menace, my despair, my anguish – the strongest weapons I yield.

Then I meet Juma Landry and it all goes to hell.

She is beauty and love and sex and light, everything I am not. And she makes me want things I haven’t desired in years. But the monsters of my life, the evil lurking in the dark corners of my soul, those places craven and vile, bind me to a past I cannot shake free. As the most skilled Keeper for The Gate, nothing and no one can prevent me from excelling at a job I never wanted. I do it because it is my legacy, a fate I cannot outrun, but when Juma becomes my next assignment, each of her nine lives to be ended by my hand, I must decide: the legacy I never wanted or the love I don’t deserve.

Excerpt: Just then I saw it, a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye, a swish of black, so like the New York City uniform of the chic and sophisticated but of a different realm altogether. However, more than what I saw was what I felt. The cold that crept into my bones, settled in my blood, and soothed me with its familiarity.

I knew her essence anywhere had known it since I was a little girl dying on an emergency room gurney as she promised me all kinds of things, love, power, life. Knowing I wanted all of them more than I could say, craved them even as a tiny human, would obsess over them as a grown woman.

Death knew all the right words to whisper in my ear and bring me to her bosom for all eternity, forever beholden to her and her whims, willing to do whatever she asked of me just to see her smile. And what did I receive in return?

Her love which was precious and given out too few.
Review: I’m giving this book four stars. It was; not quite what I expected, it was more romance based then fantasy based and there a lot of swearing and sex. The author uses these devices to get across the characterization of Dutch.

He’s full of prickles, bad language, and rules he’s invented to keep himself sane. Being an heir to the Keepers and having m;urdered against his will. His father is trying to break him to his own will and thusly makese his sons as difficult as possible.

Then comes Juma, with her sweetness and open personality. The absolute need to touch and to help people. Thee two characters are a lot like Romeo and Juliet. The main difference I that there are more extreme opposites. I’ve never read a book were the characters change so much and change the way they see the world.

Each time Juma and Dutch meet they come away with a little bit of each other’s souls, and Juma is the only thing keeping Dutch from going completely into the darkness, never to be seen again.

In the background there is something building between the Gate and Death. We Are given only small hints and I’ll have to read the next book in the series to see what exactly will happen.

Except today.

Today she was pissed—the chill of her glare said as much.

“Get up.” She breezed through the doors as they opened at 14th Street.

I followed, obedient and cowed. It was coming, had been coming for months now.




As we reached a more deserted section of the platform, she spun on me, her dark pixie perfectly coiffed, her red lips caught in a sneer, and I prepared, my body tense and ready for whatever she was about to unload. But then her eyes flashed to the right, something caught her attention, and whatever anger and irritation had been directed at me dissipated.

“Stay here, Juma,” she ordered. I stopped, and for once I didn’t say a word, I simply obeyed her command. Her tone demanded it.

Death flew across the subway station, her eyes full of fire and fury, directed somewhere distant and removed. I followed her trajectory and that’s when I saw.


Tall, lean, solitary.

Calm, confident, beautiful.

And dark. So very dark. As if light long ago stopped seeking refuge in the corners of his body, the cracks of his being. My body heated in places it should not, my blood pulsed a little stronger as I watched him, unable to look away, knowing I should lest he burn a hole straight through my core.

Anyone else would have stepped away from her but he did not, unmoved by her oncoming fury, unafraid of her wrath. Death slammed into him and together they fell into the wall, tiles above his head cracking from the impact. Minutes passed as she harangued him with her words and gestures and her power to bring the pain.

And still he remained.

Until she had enough, said enough, did enough, and sent him on his way, watching as he disappeared into the dark of the subway tunnel, his shadowy self-becoming one with the dank environs. Long seconds later, Death remained rooted to the spot and watching the tunnel, as if she expected the beautiful stranger to reappear, but he was gone, lost in the ether.

She finally turned my way and started, the movement slight but noticeable to my discerning eye, as if surprised by my presence, my rare acquiescence to one of her demands.

“Juma,” she as she neared, her ire piqued and ill-contained, “what are you doing?”

“You told me to wait here,” I replied, “so I waited.”

She raised a brow and sneered. “Fine time to start listening to a word I say,” she groused as she breezed past, her chill a balm to the strange heat inspired by the dark stranger, one that touched the tips of my fingers and kissed the depths of my soul.

“Who was that man?” I could not help but ask.

Death spun back around, stopping so suddenly I crashed into her, our bodies pressed against one another, a position quite familiar and yet today, when she was so angry and full of unease, utterly foreign.

“Forget you ever saw him, Juma,” she insisted as she grasped my chin in her hand and searched my eyes, probing for something I could not did not would not know, for she was in no mood to elaborate or educate further.

“He’s from The Gate,” I replied, certain only those rotten souls could inspire such a reaction from her.

She stilled and it was as if all movement stilled with her and only she and I existed, the air sucked from the moment by the words falling from my lips.

Finally, she spoke, low and deadly, her tone serious, her words a warning. “He is someone far more dangerous than The Gate—he is a beautiful, tortured soul seeking absolution. Forget him


*Madhuri Pavamani will be awarding a $50 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via raffle copter during the tour.

Raffle Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/28e4345f2421
Enter to win a $50 Amazon/BN GC – a Raffleocpter giveaway

Author Madhuri Pavamani writes twisted love stories and dark poetry. She loves whiskey, tattoos, Bukowski, and yoga. She laughs constantly, says f*ck a lot, and dances anywhere. She is the author of the paranormal romance trilogy, THE SANCTUM, and the fantasy trilogy, THE KEEPER SERIES, published this year by St. Martin’s Press. She’s currently working on something evil and delicious.

You can find her on Instagram and Twitter at @madhuriwrites
thor Bio:

No Holly For Christmas

Title: No Holly for Christmas
Author: Julie N. Ford
Genre: Women’s Fiction/Romance/Suspense


Julie N. Ford will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.



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Some things were inevitable. Sitting in his hybrid sedan outside the Jefferson County courthouse, Brian closed his sleep-deprived eyes. Images of his frail father took advantage of his limited vision to once again flood his brain.

Declan McAlister had never looked so weak as when he lay in his hospital bed, sensors monitoring every heartbeat, oxygen hissing through the tube taped to his gaunt face and hovering just beneath his nostrils.

“I really need you to do this for me, son.” Declan had used his stern voice. “You’re the only one I can trust to help me see it through.”

From the head of the bed, his mother, Georgian, had pleaded with her eyes for Brian to accept. Imploring him to do this one favor for his father, for her. Brian could disappoint his father, he’d been doing so quite proficiently his entire life, but disappointing his mother was a behavior he’d never grown accustomed to.

If only what his father wanted didn’t go against every ounce of moral integrity Brian had left. Working for the district attorney’s office, even on a temporary basis, was not a job Brian had ever aspired to. In the DA’s office, guilt or innocence was relative to whether or not the case could be won. The guilty went free for lack of resources to investigate, while the innocent spent years in jail, victims of ignorance, poverty, and public and prosecutorial apathy. Putting folks in jail whether they were guilty or not just so the rest of society could enjoy a false sense of security was nothing short of criminal, in Brian’s mind. No, he’d never wanted to be a part of that world—his father’s world.

After being jilted not once, but twice by the only woman he’s ever truly loved, Brian McAlister has all but given up on relationships. Then, on special assignment for the DA’s office, he steps into the middle of a politically sensitive murder case where he crosses paths with a beautiful ex-socialite-turned-social-worker, Holly Cavanaugh Winter.

Widowed, practically penniless, and reduced to shopping at Walmart, Holly is dreading the approaching holiday season. However, her angst isn’t due to her husband’s untimely death the previous December 25th, but to a secret that could reveal itself unless she can find a way to avoid the coming Christmas. To make matters worse, she unwittingly stumbles into the throes of Brian’s case and the manhunt for a killer who now has his sights set on her.

His case unraveling, Brian finds himself tasked with keeping Holly and her two daughters safe while bringing an assassin and the powerful man who hired him to justice.

I’m giving this wonderful story an enthusiastic five (5) stars.

This book is the second in the series, but you do NOT have to read the first to love the second. It’s action-packed and both plot and emotionally driven. I was afraid, given the materialistic introduction to the female protagonist, Holly Winter, that I wasn’t going to like half of the starring couple. But soon, it became clear that Holly had many conflicting reasons for carrying herself off as a snob, and that she also had scores of heartwarming qualities.

The third point of view isn’t given to the real bad guy, but to a supporting character. I was a little unsure about this choice—until I saw how well developed this tertiary person was treated, both inside his own head and by other members of the cast. This story could have been carried off without this third person, but not half so well.

Without giving the plot away, there isn’t too much more I can say except: READ THIS BOOK! As a special incentive, during the tour, it’s available for only $0.99. Such a deal!

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

A graduate from San Diego State University with a BA in Political Science, Julie N. Ford also earned a Masters in Social Work from the University of Alabama, which has only made her better able to recognize the unhealthy, codependent relationship she has with writing. Professionally, she has worked in teaching and as a marriage and family counselor. She is the author of six women’s fiction novels, including Count Down to Love, a 2011 Whitney Award finalist. After twenty-five years of residing below the Mason-Dixon line, she now calls the chaparral of Southern Utah her home, where she lives with her husband, the one daughter who has yet to flee the nest, and the cutest Scottish fold cat you’ve ever seen.





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The Berghoff Betrayal

Title: The Berghoff Betrayal
Authors: Michael McMenamin & Patrick McMenamin

The Tiergarten
Monday, 30 January 1933
THIS HAD BLOODY WELL BETTER BE WORTH IT, Mattie McGary thought as she stood in the center of an uncharacteristically deserted Tiergarten, shivering from the icy evening air. Even in winter, Berliners would stroll in the early evening through the spacious grounds of Europe’s largest metropolitan park. Tonight was different, unbelievably so. The park was in the center of Berlin, but its size—2.5 square kilometers—made it seem isolated from the city. Yet, the sound of the cheering crowds still reached her ears as torch-bearing Nazi SA Storm Troopers marched past the Brandenburg Gate on their way to the Chancellery Building where their leader and the newly appointed Chancellor of Germany, Adolf Hitler, waited at an open window to receive their accolades. It was nearly 8:30 p.m. and the Storm Troopers and crowds had been at it since 7 p.m. when Mattie had left the Hotel Adlon and joined the happy hordes mobbing the sidewalks as the SA marched down the streets. It had taken her twice as long as usual to reach the Tiergarten.

In early 1933, the Nazis plan a fake assassination attempt on Adolf Hitler, the new German Chancellor. This fake attempt will allow the Nazis to declare martial law and liquidate their political opponents. Churchill learns of the fake plot and persuades Mattie McGary, his adventure-seeking Scottish god-daughter and William Randolph Hearst’s top photojournalist, to investigate. The plot turns perilous for Mattie when she is kidnapped by Hitler’s enemies within the Nazi party who are conspiring with renegade elements of his own SS to turn the fake assassination attempt into a real one.

I am giving this book 4 and a half stars. It’s a fast paced, drama filled historical fiction. A fake plot to murder Hitler is discovered by Winston Churchill and he sends his goddaughter Mattie McGayry, a top journalist for William Hurst, to investigate.
There are a lot of different points of view, and that part can be a little challenging to follow, along with all the plot twists that happen. The characters were fully developed, the heroine is what every woman wants to be: strong-willed, with the ability to take care of herself, and who doesn’t take any crap from anyone.
It can be a little difficult to follow the different strings the authors are weaving but like I said each character is developed into someone I would love to meet. Even the bad guys get their own points of view. The difference between the SS and the SA is thoroughly explained. The book also shows a different view into Hitler’s commanders. According to the book, Hitler was not the one that was really in charge, it was the officers around him.
*Michael McMenamin & Patrick McMenamin will be awarding a free Audible code for The Parsifal Pursuit and The Gemini Agenda (2nd and 3rd books in the series) and Becoming Winston Churchill, the Untold Story of Young Winston and His American Mentor to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
Click the link below to register for the raffle and follow the tour every Thursday to enter more then once.

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Michael McMenamin and Patrick McMenamin are the co-authors of the award winning 1930s era “Winston Churchill Thriller” series. The first three novels in the series—The DeValera Deception, The Parsifal Pursuit, and The Gemini Agenda—received a total of 14 literary awards. The Berghof Betrayal is their fourth Winston Churchill Thriller and they are currently at work on their fifth, The Silver Mosaic. Both Michael and Patrick have travelled extensively in Europe, South America, Central America and Asia while Patrick has also travelled in the Middle East and Africa.
Michael is the author of the critically acclaimed Becoming Winston Churchill, The Untold Story of Young Winston and His American Mentor [Hardcover, Greenwood 2007; Paperback, Enigma 2009] and co-author of Milking the Public, Political Scandals of the Dairy Lobby from LBJ to Jimmy Carter [Nelson Hall, 1980]. He is an editorial board member of Finest Hour, the quarterly journal of the Churchill Centre and Museum in London and a contributing editor for the libertarian magazine Reason. His work has also appeared in The Churchills in Ireland, 1660-1965, Corrections and Controversies [Irish Academic Press, 2012] as well as two Reason anthologies, Free Minds & Free Markets, Twenty Five Years of Reason [Pacific Research Institute, 1993] and Choice, the Best of Reason [BenBella Books, 2004]. He was formerly a first amendment and media defense lawyer and a U.S. Army counter-intelligence agent.
Patrick, the other half of the father-son writing team, is an award-winning journalist who has produced stories for HuffPost Live, ABC News, and Fox News He is a Phi Beta Kappa cum laude graduate of the University of Rochester with Departmental Honors in both 20th Century European history and Film Studies.

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Cushion by Tamela Miles–HOT STUFF

A thousand apologies for spelling your name wrong in the post title, Tamela!

Cushion by Tamela Miles


Tamela Miles will be awarding a $10 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Leave a comment at www.goddessfish .com or on this website.

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Genre: Paranormal Romance

Natalie shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so. You recognize you have a problem, and that’s a great start for our work together, but your mistake lies in thinking you can, and should, conquer this on your own. If you think I’m wrong, prove it to me.”

He gave her an assessing look. “Prove it? How?”

She placed her hands on her hips, tilting her head slightly. “Empty your pockets.”

Billy had a sinking feeling and closed his eyes for a moment. “What? Why?” Her expression never changed, and he knew she had him beat. For the moment, anyway. He slowly reached into his shorts pocket, pulling out his wallet and cell phone.

She showed him no mercy, as he had fully expected. “Now, the other pocket, please.”

He reached into his other pocket and slowly pulled out a silver flask full of vodka that he kept on him most of the day. Before he could say a word in his defense, she snatched the small, silver container and emptied the liquor onto the sand.

“Hey! What the hell—”

Natalie turned and handed the flask back to him. “You won’t be needing that while we’re working together, and if I do my job, you won’t need it after. This has to be a collaboration between the two of us, and keeping you from drinking is the first step to making sure you’re totally on board.”

Review of Cushion by Tamela Miles

Natalie Kliebert finally has the perfect life she spent years dreaming of. She’s on the fast track to her fantasy-come-true career as a therapist. If she can help pop star Billy Chambers, it will be her greatest achievement and even sweeter than earning an “A” grade.

The last thing Billy Chambers wants is anyone’s help, especially when he doesn’t see a single thing wrong with his life. When bossy Natalie becomes his court-appointed personal therapist, sparks fly from day one. Annoyance was never so arousing. Hooking up should be easy, but an undercurrent of evil is coming for Natalie, which may force her to reveal her deepest secret.

The problems of their pasts are no match for today’s demons. Natalie and Billy must come together and be the allies they were meant to be in a supernatural fight that may cost them their lives.

I was a little thrown right at the beginning of this book when Natalie (formerly known as Carin in her past life) is visible to the cops that respond to the fiery crash of her BMW, but soon I’m fully engrossed in the rules Tamera Miles sets up for her world. She makes clear rules and never deviates from them, the first key to a great paranormal romance.

From the description of the afterlife in all its forms to the characterization, this is an excellent book. I love especially the give-and-take between Natalie and Billy as they both struggle against their attraction (Natalie somewhat more than Billy). The single problem I have with the plot—and it’s a minor one—is the lack of a reason why it has to be a mortal who fights the main demon. This is never fully explained, and I think the book could only be made richer by this.

It’s ingenious how the author incorporates the supernatural into the characters’ “normal” lives, giving them open minds and reasons to believe. I really enjoyed the lack of incredulity and the firm grounding for faith. I also really like how this book talks about heaven and hell, God and the Devil, without being preachy.

I give this book a full five (5) stars and look forward to reading more from this author.

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Tamela Miles is a California State University San Bernardino School Psychologist graduate student with a Bachelor of Science degree in Child Development and a former flight attendant. She grew up in Altadena, California in that tumultuous time known as the 1980s. She now resides with her family in the Inland Empire, CA. She’s a horror/paranormal romance writer mainly because it feels so good having her characters do bad things and, later, pondering what makes them so bad and why they can never seem to change their wicked ways. 

She enjoy emails from people who like her work. In fact, she loves emails. She can be contacted at tamelamiles@yahoo.com or her Facebook page, Tamela Miles Books. She also welcomes reader reviews and enjoys the feedback from people who love to read as much as she does. 

”Cushion”, a spooky and steamy paranormal romance novella, is coming late summer 2017 from Ms. Miles and The Wild Rose Press. 

She is the author of the popular paranormal romance thrillers, the Hell On Heels series from the Wild Rose Press. For those who are already fans of the series (yippee!), please feel free to check out the author’s soundtrack playlist for Hell On Heels on YouTube.com, listed as Hell On Heels: Songs from the Edge by Tamela Miles. https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLc8TSkx6d_Hu_IVh0lfqHWNcWRZ_yquRV

Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/sassysleepingbeauties/
On Twitter: https://twitter.com/jackiebrown20
Buy Links:
Amazon.com: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B073XYX1M6/
The Wild Rose Press: https://catalog.thewildrosepress.com/all-titles/5224-cushion.html

Temptation Trials II a HOT read

Like this post? Have a comment? The more you comment, the higher your chances of winning the author-given prize: a $15 Amazon/B&N Gift Card (GC). Comment here: https://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2017/09/book-blast-temptation-trials-ii-by-b.html

Blurb: Lust Is the Epitome of Damnation

Lust, one of the seven deadly sins, was sweeping through the nation like wildfire. In its true essence, lust was leading mankind down the path to damnation. In this dystopian society, Cali and Stefani had to comply by the Regime’s strict rule of arranged marriage. But Eminence, the world dictator, doesn’t play fair.

Against all odds, they both decide to put their relationships through the ultimate test on The Temptation Trials—a reality TV show where every temptation of the flesh was set before them.

As participants on the show, they soon learn that losing may cost them more than the men they love. Cali’s torn, unsure of what her future holds with Cade. Stefani worries whether her relationship with Tobias can be salvaged.

Love can be blind. The betrayal they face from the Trials burden them. Will love be their redemption, or will it destroy them?

A million questions torment their minds.

Can you love two people at once? If a person is chosen for you, can those feelings be real?

Cali and Stefani must overcome heartbreak and pull together with their loved ones before it’s too late. The abominable truth is unveiled, which sends them on a journey that will jeopardize their lives.

The will of the weak is his for the taking. Can love save their souls?


Glazed, cryptic eyes pierced through me, reminding me of a strung-out junky. His face seemed vaguely familiar, right down to his golden curls. Just couldn’t put my finger on where I’d seen him before. An eerie thrill rippled my spine. The way he was staring creeped me out. I quickly skirted past him, only to have Blondie clasp my arm. Okay, now I was officially freaked.

“Let go of me!” I seethed.

“The time has come,” he blurted.

“What are you talking about?”

“The decision is made … binding.”

This dude was clearly psycho. He spoke in riddles, none of which I understood. “You’ve got me confused with someone else.”

“No, you’re the one.”

My purse, where I normally kept my Taser, was nowhere to be found. He’d better be glad or I’d light his ass up. This whole scene was turning more bizarre by the second. I couldn’t figure out where I was. My surroundings were dim and heat began to consume me. Blondie leaned closer to me. Being nearer, I got a better look at his dilated eyes. His pupils were diamond-shaped, not the usual round. His grip tightened.

“Asshole. Take your hands off me!”

“You’re chosen, and you’re coming with me.”

Though I struggled against him, it didn’t do any damn good. Bright light blazed up ahead, mixed with smoldering heat. I soon realized the light and scalding warmth was coming from giant flames. Doubling my efforts, I fought harder, to no avail. Blondie’s face became a blur, and darkness encompassed me—the scalding heat grew stronger. Time seemed to stand still—my mind swirled in a haze. The only thought that became clear, which seemed to chisel into my mind, was that I had to make the right choice.

The more you comment, the higher your chances of winning the author-given prize: a $15 Amazon/B&N Gift Card (GC). Comment here: https://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2017/09/book-blast-temptation-trials-ii-by-b.html

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AUTHOR Bio and Links:

B. Truly has wanted to be an author since she was fifteen years old and is grateful to have accomplished this dream. She has very vivid dreams and a wild imagination. She likes to read, watch tons of TV shows, and movies. She’s addicted to romance and gets a thrill out of action and sci-fi. She writes New Adult and Adult, Romance. Sci-fi, Dystopian, and Paranormal genres.

B. Truly likes to explore different elements of sci-fi romance, and create various realms of reality. She also loves creating impossible situations for her characters to grow from and try to overcome.

B. Truly has three wonderful children and a husband who defines the person that she is today. She works full-time as an Ultrasound technologist in Houston, Texas.


Buy Link: https://www.amazon.com/Temptation-Trials-Part-II-Truly-ebook/dp/B075BLH6M7/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1504483493&sr=8-1&keywords=temptation+trials+part+ii

“All For Her Pleasure” Yum…

It’s First Chapter Friday again. Here’s a great first chapter from Leela Lou Dahlin’s erotic novel, All For Her Pleasure.

Chapter 1

“Go for the eyes, throw some elbows, and knee him in the dick if you can. If you can get him incapacitated for even a few seconds…scream ‘fire!’ and run like hell.”
Angelia Anson stood outside the recreation room of the exclusive Westwind Acres Community Center, watching the action inside. That deep, gruff voice made it out of the room, skittered along her nerves, and sprang right into all of her erogenous zones. How can he do that with just his voice?
What had started out as a stroll a few months ago, when she’d stumbled across these self-defense classes featuring the beautiful and muscular instructor, had turned into bi-weekly stalking sessions. The man intrigued her with his powerful build, shoulder length honey red hair, startlingly bright sapphire eyes and gentle guidance with his students. Although he appeared to be a lot younger than she was, her fascination with him hadn’t waned; in fact, it seemed to be growing stronger. She wondered about him—what does a man like that do for a living? What takes up his free time? When she had found the flyer saying the class was run every Tuesday and Thursday night, she’d also found out his name. Dillon Blackmore.
As much as Angelia wanted to participate in the class, she hadn’t yet worked up the nerve to do so, though she continued to watch. She wasn’t exactly hiding behind the tinted glass wall where she stood, but she knew the instructor of the defense class and his students couldn’t see her—she had snuck into the room when it was empty to check. It was in a perfect spot.
“Good class tonight, ladies.” He clapped his hands together as though applauding the class and they joined in to clap as well. “Keep working on your techniques, and I’ll see you next week.”
The women gathered their things and some left the room talking, laughing and wiping their faces, but others seemed to linger like they wanted to talk to Dillon. Angelia couldn’t blame them—she’d love to be in the same room alone with him. Not that she’d know what to say. She talked to people all the time, but for some reason, when she’d had the chance to talk to him, she’d totally blown it. It seemed the few remaining women in the room had the same affliction she did, because they looked at their instructor longingly before walking away without saying anything.
“Stay safe.” Dillon called out to no one in particular, as he gathered his things and checked his phone while waiting for the last of the ladies to leave. After the last woman left he hiked a large bag over his shoulder, turned off the lights and locked the door.
This is where it typically ended, but Angelia wasn’t ready for it to be over just yet. She didn’t have anything else to do tonight and she wanted to see where he went after his Thursday class. As luck would have it, they happened to live in the same apartment building, and she knew he didn’t go home. He walked outside and she watched as the crisp breeze blew the long strands of hair that had escaped his bun as she followed at a good distance behind him. Dillon stopped by a bench, put his bag down, and took a leisurely look around as he removed the band that secured his locks and let his long, curly hair blow in the wind. The deep breath he took into his lungs made her jealous of that whiff of air. She’d love to be that close to him. He stood there for a couple of minutes as though enjoying the air whipping around him before gathering his wild hair and securing it at his nape again.
Angelia stayed in the shadows, thinking of what she’d say if he actually caught her acting like a weirdo. He finished fixing his hair and returned his bag to his shoulder, then looked in her general direction, though not directly at her. She held her breath, even though she knew the wind was too loud for him to hear her breathing. Turning toward the street, his casual strides were deceptive as he was moving pretty fast, and she knew she had to keep space between them but didn’t want to jog to keep up. That might make too much noise. He turned the corner and Angelia hurried to make up some ground.
Should my heart be pounding like this? Is following someone illegal?
The wind was strong and she was grateful for it, because between the excitement of doing something naughty pumping up the adrenalin running through her veins, and the short bursts of walking so fast she was practically jogging, she was hot. She was also thankful for the long pause he took at each corner. Being only five feet two inches and trying to keep up with a man who is at least six feet was another reason she wished she had left a few layers of clothing at home.
Dillon paused and turned his head a little before turning the corner, and Angelia tucked herself into the closest alley to make sure he didn’t see her. The heart-beat in her ears sounded like a bongo drum. It was nice to take a moment to catch her breath and recover from almost being caught, but she knew if she didn’t get a move on she would lose him. Taking one last fortifying breath, she pushed off the wall and started walking toward where she had seen him last, all the while berating herself for not working harder during her weak attempts at cardio, as her body clearly wasn’t quite ready for this kind of workout.
When she got to the corner her heart sank as she looked left and right. He was gone. What am I doing? The thought struck that she may have taken this secret interest in her hot neighbor a bit too far, but then she caught sight of him turning another corner and waved the thought away.
She’d watched him leave the apartment building, with his duffle bag and smooth strides, a few times during the week. He seemed to leave around 7 o’clock, but she’d been asleep when he returned. Although it was abso-freaking-lutely none of her damn business, Angelia wanted to know where he was going. Maybe she’d learn something unappealing about him that would make her interest in him wane. Maybe he had a regular rendezvous with a bunch of different women, or possibly even the same woman over and over—that would suck—or maybe it was nothing like that at all. He was wearing loose grey sweat pants and a blue shirt with some sports team Angelia wasn’t familiar with on the front. A tame outfit to be sure, but the beautiful black ink designs that covered both of his arms conjured a much wilder picture.
Picking up speed she reached the corner and peeked in the direction he’d just taken. “Shit,” she murmured to herself. How the hell did I lose him?
She looked the other way and didn’t see him there either, but the bright flashing lights drew her attention away from the disappointment. Club Kink. Here was the other thing she’d been trying to work up the nerve to do. How did I end up here? She turned toward the building and wondered if it was fate that had brought her here. Angelia had been looking for an adventure of sorts and, although it wasn’t the one she’d had in mind, it was something she’d been very interested in exploring. Considering her options, she ran through what her next move should be. Should she ask for an application to join? She owned a successful laundry service and her business, The Crisp Cleaner, was growing by leaps and bounds, but she’d heard whispers about the price to be a part of the exclusive club and the cost was terrifying. She wondered if it was way too much money for her budget, but she wouldn’t know for sure unless she asked.
“If it isn’t A. Anson from apartment 3-B.”
Angelia startled. You’re all right, she told herself, taking a few deep breaths to calm down, no need to panic. He had never spoken directly to her, but she’d know that voice anywhere. Her initial feeling of fear had now been taken over by thorough embarrassment at being caught staring lustfully at a sex club, but there was no way she wanted him to see that. Turning slowly, she was rewarded with the sight of the glorious man she thought she’d lost as she weaved in and out of the foot traffic on the street.
“If it isn’t the man who lives in my building,” Angelia countered, clearing her throat as the deception seemed to clog her throat up a bit. Hoping he didn’t know she’d followed him, she added, “Nice night for a walk.”
She tried to think of something witty to say as his bright eyes assessed her, trying to make herself seem normal, and not at all like a crazy stalker or just a plain ole lunatic. It was a difficult job coming up with something, though, seeing as…well… stalking him is exactly what she’d been doing. With the chemistry she’d felt whenever she had seen him in passing, Angelia could only hope he wouldn’t call her bluff about what she had been doing. She gave a little wave and hoped it might save her from having to say anything else, but he took a step toward her and crowded her space.
“It’s not safe to walk around these streets following some man you barely know. Unless you’re going to say you weren’t following me?” His sexy voice was low and he leaned in as though telling her a secret, giving her the opportunity to smell the heady scent of his skin mixed with the fresh zing of laundry detergent. She may or may not have noticed what kind he used when he’d left his clothes unattended in the laundry room one time, and she tried hard not to lean into him now to breath it all in.
“Ummm…” Angelia stalled and waited for something to come to her. His left eyebrow arched, though he didn’t appear impatient. She had nothing. Her only hope was that he had somewhere to be and didn’t have time to wait for an answer. Unfortunately, he didn’t look like he was planning on leaving any time soon.
“A beautiful woman like you is hard to miss, especially when you hide behind things that don’t shield you, or come out into the night wearing a hot pink hoodie.” He tugged on the strings of said garment as he called her attention to it. “It also doesn’t help that you are the most dedicated student who doesn’t actually participate in class.”
Angelia could feel her cheeks starting to flame, and she looked down at her attire, swearing silently. She could have sworn he hadn’t seen her each time she’d been at his class. That was embarrassing, and her choice of clothing was definitely a rookie move; she should have worn darker clothes. Stealth wasn’t her first, middle or last name, but she was thankful the smile on his face was amused. She’d take that over offended or angry any day.
“You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to follow me here. What is it you want?”
“Club Kink?” Angie wanted to sound worldly and sophisticated but her voice squeaked. “Is this where you go every night?”
He raised his brows and she realized she’d given herself away. Too bad, she didn’t care anymore. It was too much to contemplate that this man had anything to do with the place of her fantasies. Overload. Fantasy overload.
Dillon backed away from her and stood like he always did, with his legs spread apart and his hands behind his back.
“So, you work here?”
“Yes. I do.” He watched her like she was about to do a trick, with expectation and amusement. She turned away to look at the building and tried to take it all in. Angelia had made a resolution to follow adventure wherever it led her, though she’d actually been referring to taking up a hobby, or trying one of those recipes that came up on her Facebook timeline.
“You work at Club Kink?” She knew he’d pretty much answered this question, but she was finding it hard to pull herself together, and stalling was her go to move.
“Yes. I work at Club Kink…the place that had you so transfixed you abandoned your cloak and dagger mission of following me.”
She looked up at Dillon and decided not to negate that fact, since he obviously knew what she had been up to, and it would be even more embarrassing for her to stand there and lie about it. Angelia shrugged and took the opportunity to enjoy the visual feast that was this man’s beauty. There were still tendrils of hair that had escaped his hair tie and blew around in the breeze. She wanted to touch him more than anything, just to see if he were real, but as she lifted her hand, to touch him but the look on his face stopped her. His bright blue eyes were so expressive. She didn’t know much about him, but she’d never seen the word Stop so clearly in someone’s expression before. “Can you show me around the place?”
“What do you know about the Club?” His face had lost the sudden fierceness and was back to normal, but she wondered what that look had been about.
“I’ve heard you can only get in by invitation, that it’s very expensive, and that it’s a place that fulfills your every dream.” Waiting to see what he’d say to that was almost painful. She could tell he was thinking about it, but in the end he had nothing to say.
He walked away from Angelia and, looking both ways before crossing the street, made his way to the entrance of the building. He stopped and looked back at her. “Now you need permission to follow me?” His amused tone made her chuckle a little to herself.
“Well, apparently I’m not very good at tailing people.”
He put up his hand and summoned her with a few bends of his fore and middle fingers, and she felt it like a physical caress. Was he trying to be sexual, or was it all in her mind? Either way, she was already across the street and standing next to him, waiting for what was next.
Dillon walked to the large door and held it open for her. All thoughts left her mind as she took in the opulence of the foyer. The fabric on the walls was a rich black and gold brocade of some type and she wanted to rub her hand across the pattern. She didn’t though, instead she took in the silence of the area.
“So, do I get a tour?”
He moved closer to her and for the first time in a long time she didn’t feel fear; the trapped feeling that grew in her chest if a man got too close to her when she was unaccustomed to her surroundings.
“You were right about a few things. This place is only open by invitation, and it is very expensive, in both money and in the time and personal investment.” He looked around the large room before turning back to her. “It can help you facilitate your dreams, but you have to make them come true all on your own.”
She nodded so hard she probably looked like a bobble head doll attached to the dash of a four-wheeler, but the time for cool sophistication was not now. The opportunity to get into this club was so exciting she could barely speak, let alone say something worthwhile. She’d gone from wanting to know where her most recent fantasy was going at night to standing inside the exclusive invitation-only lounge of her wildest fantasies. She had tried numerous times to get information about the place, but it was like Las Vegas—what happens in Club Kink, stays in Club Kink. Everything she had discovered was pure speculation—nothing was known for sure because the members just don’t talk about it. There was no way in the world she was going to say no to any of this.
“I’m going to get one of the guys to take you home.”
“What? Wait!” The cold water of his words effectively took the dreamy ideas from her mind. She had thought she was going to get invited into the club to play with her dream man, but all he was doing was keeping her off the street.
“I’ll walk you down one of the public hallways and you can get an eye full that way, but that’s more than I should be doing in terms of a tour.” He unzipped her cotton jersey jacket and helped her take it off. She had on a gray t-shirt under it so her look was still not dressy, but at least she wasn’t so bright.
“Thank you.” She let him help her wiggle out of the garment before she stood in front of him and waited. While she was waiting she couldn’t help but notice how much more amazing he looked in this light compared to how he had outside. His windblown face had a healthy glow and his reddish gold, thick curly hair was complimentary to his complexion. He couldn’t have been drawn better. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there looking at him but she startled when she realized that he had just stood and waited patiently while she scrutinized him. “Ummm, I’m ready.”
He started for the large door that lead into what she assumed would be the actual club, and she followed along hoping she could contain her excitement, and not embarrass either of them. After taking a few steps toward their apparent destination, feeling what could only be described as unadulterated glee, a sudden thought made her nervous.
“What do you do in there?” She pulled his arm back to her as he was opening the door and he turned to study her.
“If I tell you I’m the accountant or the janitor would you still want to go in?”
“No, that’s not what I mean.” Stepping into her own custom-made fantasy was great, but she was wary. It was as if her slow, boring life had suddenly morphed into warp speed and she couldn’t keep up. “I just don’t know what I’m walking in to, so I’d at least like to know who I’m walking in with.”
“I’m an instructor of sorts.” He looked at her face like he was trying to figure her out—perhaps he was judging whether she was trustworthy or not—and she’d be damned if she didn’t like all of his attention on her. Just when she thought he may have changed his mind about the offer, his pursed lips softened. “Do you want to go in?”
“Of course, I do. It’s the hottest ticket in town and most people don’t know how to get invited in.”
“Are you speaking of yourself? Do you not know how to get an invitation?” Did his eyes soften? He’d better not feel sorry for her—she had her own business which she ran like clockwork, and she was strong and independent.
Angelia stood up to her full height and tried to put on an air of aloof casualness to match that of the man in front of her. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to get started, or what I would need to do if I did.”
“Club Kink is not for the faint of heart, but if you followed me here you must be very interested.”
“No, I—” She started to correct him but stopped herself when she realized she didn’t want to remind him that she hadn’t followed him to Club Kink specifically. Angelia had just wanted to find out where he went, and it had just happened to be here.
He brought his hand to her cheek and stroked it with his thumb. There is no way it should have been as arousing as it was, but she found herself leaning toward him. He smiled, and it was a game changer. Dillon had a beautiful smile and it made her heart jump. He pulled back and she took a deep breath; she’d been aroused since the beginning of his self-defense class and the slow build of anticipation was making her more aware of the pull she felt toward him. Damn her for not using her best vibrator that morning. She was going to come in front of him with practically no provocation.
“What part of kink interests you the most?” He had a way of asking a question that made her want to answer. Although she really wanted to come up with a good solid reply, she just couldn’t find the right words. This should be an easy question to answer, but her embarrassment just wouldn’t allow the words to slip out of her mouth, even though her mouth was open as if she were going to try.
“Looks like I did a good job of making you clam up. Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out.”
Hearing him tell her he was going to figure out what kink she wanted added more fuel to her orgasmic fire. This night was getting better and better. On the other side of the huge doors were two large men who were built like MACK trucks but with Armani suits.
“Dillon.” The two men broke into smile upon seeing the man Angelia was following. They stopped and looked at her and she cursed herself again for following after him in such casual clothing, but how was she supposed to know he was going to be heading to an exclusive club where the guests dressed to the nines? “She’s with you?”
He turned to look at her and gave her a little wink. Dillon looked like he could give her a lot of things—a firm slap on the ass, directions to be followed and even a deep firm kiss—but she’d not taken him for a winking man.
“She is,” he answered in a deep voice that promised satisfaction. What was she thinking? The man said he’d get her a ride home and show her a few things. In her mind, she already had his pants around his ankles and his cock in her mouth.
The guards looked at each other and Angie wished she could tell what the look was about, but it was definitely an inside conversation between the two, maybe even the three of them. One of the men turned to lift the red rope so they could enter. “Welcome. May you find every delicious kink you seek.”
It was a dim hallway they walked down before coming upon a door marked Voyeur’s Delight.
She wanted to follow him down the hall, she really did, but if ever there was a time to let the adventure lead her, this was it. The sign was just too much for her to pass by. Angelia ducked into the room and stood still as her eyes adjusted to the near darkness. As the door closed the light became brighter, and she saw at least ten large windows with electronically retracted shades, leaving the picture windows open for observation. Angelia walked over to the first window and saw a couple who seemed to be just getting started, if she was going by woman’s still pale ass cheeks. The woman was in the middle of the room in a black lacy thong and matching heels, bent over what looked like a spanking bench. The man was fully clothed and held what Angie knew to be a flogger. He walked around, looking for the perfect place to begin.
The door behind her opened but Angelia was riveted to the window like a television screen. She didn’t want to look away, but she was curious as to what was behind the other windows.
“You’re not very good at following directions,” Dillon said with his sexy voice, standing so close behind her she could feel his heat, and sounding even more alluring now that she was watching a random couple preparing to perform a sex act.
“I wasn’t given any to follow.”
“‘Follow me’ was implied.”
Angelia bit her lip. She wanted to say something flippant but one—she knew she was in the wrong. Two—she was much too aroused to use her words.
Dillon reached around her and pushed a button before dropping his hand back to his side. The button was the audio component and just like that, they heard the first swing of the flogger. All of it. The whirl through the air, the sound of leather hitting skin and the gasp that resulted from the sweet sting of pain. Whether the gasp was from the woman enjoying all the personalized attention or from herself, Angie wasn’t sure.
Dillon closed the distance between them and put his hand on her stomach.
The view was amazing but the simple touch of his hand around her midsection reminded her of how long it had been since she’d been touched. It was amazing.
“Looks like you found something you like,” he whispered into her ear through her hair.
The man behind the window continued to slowly dole out swats to the woman, taking turns striking each cheek before rubbing the area with the palm of his hand.
Angelia couldn’t stop the moan that left her throat any more than she could stop her hand from touching the outside of her pants. With this scene before her and Dillon behind her, she was overwhelmed with sensations, and she was finding it hard to catch her breath.
“Shhh,” Dillon’s voice was huskier than it had been previously and that wasn’t helping Angelia gain any control. “Let me help you.”
She turned her head to look at him and he returned her gaze. Angelia didn’t know what she’d expected, but she was surprised because it hadn’t been this. He seemed like a nice guy, but she’d seen nice men turn into groping animals with no thought for anything but their own pleasure, and that was when she wasn’t standing in a darkened room falling apart from her own arousal. She nodded and dropped her hand.
“Keep watching the scene,” he told her as he slowly lifted her shirt and slid his hand into her panties. It was a good thing he was a strong man because she leaned on him heavily.
“Please.” She wanted to say so many things like… ‘Your touch feels so good’ or ‘I need to get off now’, but that one word was all that escaped.
Two thick fingers separated the lips of her pussy and Dillon slid their length across her hard clit and down to her very lubricated opening. She grabbed his wrist and he stopped immediately. Her emotions were all over the place. She wanted him to slow it down and make it last, but she also wanted him to go fast, and the steady sound of leather slapping skin had overawed her.
“Trust me.” The timbre of his voice mixed with the command of his words comforted her. He moved his head to look at her face and she turned slightly and nodded.
The glide across her clit was maddening. It was firm enough that she shuddered with each pass, but not quite enough to satisfy.
“When you look at the woman bent over the horse do you want to take her place?”
Her breath hitched and she hoped he wasn’t really looking for an answer.
“Does the thought of being displayed ass up, waiting for the sweet sting of pleasure to kiss your ass appeal to you? I like toys, but I’d want to use my hand first, then I could return to this hot pussy that weeps with want.”
Dillon brought his other hand up to cup her breast and found her nipple through her clothing. The slaps were coming faster now and the woman on the bench had tensed up. Dillon chose that moment to sink his two thick fingers into her, fucking her at a tempo that wasn’t fast but made her grab on to his arm for leverage.
“You want to come with her? You’re both so ready.”
Dillon pulled Angelia’s nipple and rolled it around between his thumb and index finger with one hand as he fucked her pussy with two fingers and ground his thumb against her clit with the other. The result was incredible, her body was ratcheted tight and high and all her nerves were wound tight. Her breath came in harsh pants that she couldn’t control.
“Don’t come until I tell you.”
“Please,” she panted, “I’m going to come.”
“You’d better not.”
Angelia tried to calm herself but it wasn’t working. She was going to fail whatever test this was.
“Come now, baby. Come all over my hand.”
The noise that left her throat was alien to her and, damn, it was loud. There was no way to control it. He’d brought her too high and she felt like she was free falling into a pleasure that was way too strong. Her body writhed and shuddered as the contractions took over.
Dillon moved his arm down to her waist to support her as he helped her work her way through the orgasm of a lifetime. When her body settled down and the wild convulsions eased to mild shakes and tremors, she could hear that he was murmuring something to her as he pet her pussy like he was trying to console it.
“Damn, that was hot. I love a woman who comes hard.” He removed his hand from her panties and grabbed a few wet wipes from a hidden cupboard on the wall.
He offered her a few and then wiped his hands. Angelia stood there, waiting for her brain to catch up with what had just happened.
“Although that was lovely, Dillon, I’m going to need you and your guest to visit my office.” The voice on the intercom was deep and, while whoever it was didn’t sound angry, there was a firmness in his voice that was a bit off-putting.
“Who is that?” Angelia whispered.
“It’s your lucky day, Ms. Anson. You’re about to meet the Wizard.”


Angelia has settled for the mundane all her life…first to survive, then because she was grateful. For the first time in her life she’s free to be her own person, to explore her secreted desires and to follow adventure wherever it leads… The hottie with the body is way out of her league but something about him calls to her. The days of settling are over… despite her anxiety, she’ll do what it takes to answer that inquiry.

Dillon is a professional in erotic education and a master at Club Kink. Teaching women to listen to their bodies as he encourages them to try things they never would on their own. He recognizes the woman from his apartment complex, but he knows a picket fence chaser when he sees one. He sees a forever kind of woman and he is a committed here and now kind of man. Dillon loves a good, hard, long screw as much, if not more than the next man, but he is honest to a fault, so all parties have to be on the same page. He is willing to give all to please a woman..all but his heart.

These two people are like magnets…opposite but drawn to each other with the force of nature that puts at risk things they both cherish. Whatever the final answer turns out to be in the world of Club Kink everything is all For Her Pleasure.

All For Her Pleasure
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Love on the Boil–a HOT read

Love on the Boil by Neil Plakcy
Chapter 1: Screwed the Pooch
The last time I saw Darren Carter, we had just finished a marathon fuck session to celebrate our college graduation. We’d been boyfriends for most of senior year, after meeting at a GLBT dance party, but we had both been avoiding the conversation about what would happen after commencement. I had already accepted a job on Wall Street, but I hadn’t told Darren I’d be moving to New York.
I knew that he’d been interviewing for jobs and internships in his field, East Asian Studies, but he hadn’t shared any results with me.
* * * *
“I’m leaving for Japan tomorrow,” he said, as I pulled out of his ass.
“That’s what you were thinking about while we were fucking?” I asked. I peeled the condom off my dick and tossed it toward the trash can beside the bed. I missed, but I was too irritated to care. “The whole time we’re doing it you’re thinking about leaving me?”
“I wanted to tell you,” he protested, as I stood up. He looked so sexy there, his skinny, hairless body covered with a sheen of sweat, a flop of brown hair over his forehead. “I could never figure out the right time.”
“And this is the right time? While I’ve got your jizz all over my chest?”
Darren had come on me while I was making my final thrusts up his ass, and I could already feel a cold, clammy mess congealing among my chest hairs.
“Don’t be such a drama queen,” Darren said.
“Me!” I heard myself screech and made a conscious effort to dial it back. I was the stud, after all. The butch one nobody suspected was gay. I worked out and tended bar in the evenings. Darren was the queen who made a big deal out of everything.
“You’re moving to New York anyway,” Darren said. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
“Have you been reading my e-mails?”
“When you accessed your mail on my laptop the other day, you never logged out of your Gmail account. It popped up without my doing anything.”
I pulled on my shorts and T-shirt without bothering to clean myself up. “So this is it? Thanks for the fuck; see you around?”
“You’re the one who’s always saying you don’t want to get wrapped up in some heteronormative relationship,” Darren said, sitting up against the pillows. “That we’re just having fun together. What, did you think I was going to come to New York with you? We’d get an apartment in Brooklyn together? That I’d be your little woman, make you dinner every night?”
His words stung because I had been thinking that. Yeah, I didn’t want to get wrapped up in anything too serious with Darren, wanted a chance to sow some wild oats and all that crap. God knew I’d fucked a lot of guys before him and figured there would be a lot more after him. But I always thought I’d be the one to end things, not Darren.
I stuck my feet into my deck shoes. “Have a good life,” I said and I walked out the door.
* * * *
I admit I’d stalked him once or twice on social media over the last five years. Saw that he’d loved his postgrad year in Japan, how he’d moved to Portland for a job at a museum of Asian history. I’d gotten busy with my startup and had no time for anything that wasn’t work related or didn’t lead to a quick fuck.
So I was stunned to see him in the reception area of Phil Sweet’s office. Sweet was a venture capitalist I’d been courting for months, trying to get him to invest in my business. He’d asked me here for a face-to-face that I was sure was going to lead to a much-needed cash infusion.
A year before, I’d cashed out all my retirement savings and moved to Miami to start Cockteals, a business selling tea-based cocktail mixers to bars and restaurants. I wanted to start selling to the public too, but for that I needed cash to ramp up production and make distribution and advertising deals. I’d met Sweet at a venture hive event and intrigued him enough that we’d come this far together.
Seeing Darren in Sweet’s lobby threw me for a loop. “Darren. What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
He looked good. In the five years since graduation, he’d filled out a bit. His normally pale skin was tan, and I liked the way he’d cut his hair—very short on the sides, high and puffy on the top.
I noticed a tattoo on his right wrist—a teacup. And then it clicked. “You have a tea business too?” I asked.
“What do you mean, too?”
Sweet’s secretary opened the door behind the receptionist. “Mr. Sweet will see you both now.”
Darren stood, and we followed the secretary to a conference room overlooking Lincoln Road, the pedestrian thoroughfare in the heart of Miami Beach. I’d spent a lot of time on that street over the past six months, talking to every restaurant and bar manager who’d meet with me. I was proud of the connections I’d made. I hoped Sweet was too.
Phil Sweet had been born under a lucky star. He’d majored in physics in college and moved to Silicon Valley as the tech boom was beginning. He’d founded an Internet startup, which had eventually been acquired by one of the big players in online marketing. At that point, he’d cashed out and become a venture capitalist.
He was a tall, rangy guy with a perpetual tan that came from spending a lot of time on his hundred-foot yacht. He’d invested in a Miami company that taught coding to inner-city kids, and fallen in love with the weather and a gorgeous Cuban woman, so he’d relocated his business to Lincoln Road a year before.
He shook my hand and Darren’s. “Darren Carter, meet Eddie Gonzalez,” Sweet said.
“We’ve met,” Darren said. “We went to college together.”
“Oh yeah,” Sweet said. “I knew that. But yours was a big class, wasn’t it?”
“Two thousand. But Darren and I had some interests in common.” I was feeling generous, so I added, “Darren’s the one who introduced me to tea in the first place.”
“Great. So you know about each other’s businesses?”
“Nothing at all. We haven’t been in touch since graduation,” I said.
“Let’s get reacquainted. Darren, you want to give your elevator pitch?”
I saw Darren gulp. He was an effusive guy, or at least he had been when I’d known him, but he was never comfortable giving presentations.
“Tea is one of the oldest beverages known to man, and one of the most versatile,” he said. “But Americans have been slow to realize that. My company, DiversiTea, provides custom blends for upscale restaurants that complement the entrées and the desserts, as well as training wait staff on what to recommend.”
Interesting. Darren and I were in the same market, though coming at it from different angles.
“Eddie?” Sweet asked.
“Like Darren, my company, Cockteals, aims at the higher-end restaurant market with custom tea blends used as the basis for high-end cocktails. I want to take my product line and introduce it to the consumer market.”
“I want to do that too,” Darren added.
“And that’s why you’re both here,” Sweet said. “I’ll be honest with you. There isn’t room in my portfolio for two companies based in the same product. I love both your ideas and your enthusiasm, but I can’t invest in both of you. And honestly, on your own, neither of you is strong enough. But if you work together—”
“No,” Darren said.
“Absolutely not,” I said, before I had the chance to think it through. There was no way I was going to be able to work with Darren.
Sweet shrugged. “Then our time here is done. I wish you both good luck.”
And that was it. All that time struggling to make a connection with him, and Darren Carter had screwed the pooch in less than a minute.

First Chapter Fridays–a touch late

This is the first chapter from an amazing Ariel Atwell book. Check it out:
Chapter One
“If women governed the world, ‘la relations sexuelles’ would no longer be forbidden or scandalous. Men are so vehemently against the thing they love so well for fear of giving too much liberty to the women who might otherwise challenge them.”
—Twenty-One Lessons from the School of Aphrodite by Madame X
Translated from the French Vingt et Un Leçons de l’École d’Aphrodite.
Published in London, England, in 1792 by Anonymous.

February 28, 1831
Penelope Cavanaugh, Marchioness of Huntley, had heard it said more than once that William Lindsay, Viscount Weymouth, was not the sort of man a respectable woman should ever consider marrying.
“He is handsome. I will grant you that,” the Duchess of Haverhill had observed years ago as they’d watched Weymouth flirting and charming his way through a bevy of ladies at a grand ball hosted by Lord and Lady Francis, his dark-brown hair gleaming in the illumination provided by more than five hundred candles.
“And he is reputed to be quite the swordsman, if you know what I mean.” Penelope had known what the duchess meant and blushed accordingly. “But the lad has a reckless streak a mile wide and will come to no good, mark my words.”
Penelope had nodded dutifully as the duchess continued. “If you are foolish enough to marry a scoundrel like Weymouth, he will fritter away all your money on horses and drink and gambling, and then where will you be? Much better to have an affaire de cœur with men like that. After you have given your husband an heir, of course.”
Penelope had been pregnant with the third of her six children at the time, all of whom would turn out to be girls, and thus disqualified as heirs, and so had never had an opportunity to test the duchess’s theory. Not that she would have anyway, as she had been devoted to her late husband, Henry Cavanaugh, the sixth Marquess of Huntley.
But on this chilly February day, as she observed Viscount Weymouth walking—staggering, really—toward her in the early morning mist, she realized the late duchess had known what she was talking about.
Weymouth was as drunk as a wheelbarrow, his bloodshot eyes and unsteady gait serving as the two primary giveaways, the pungent smell of spirits on his breath providing further confirmation as he drew closer to where she stood on the bottom step of the stone staircase leading up to Huntley House.
“Why, Lady Huntley,” he drawled, a noticeable slur in his voice. “Fancy finding you on the streets of London at this late hour.”
“Hardly the streets, Lord Weymouth,” she said, tipping up her head to look at him, for even when she stood on the stairs, he was at least three quarters of a foot taller than she. “And the hour is more early than late. Are you typically foxed at this time of the day, or is this a special occasion?”
“Paragons of virtue such as yourself would say it is early, I suppose.” He leaned against the iron stair rail and squinted at the rays of sun just beginning to kiss London’s rooftops. “Individuals with more open minds and forgiving spirits might regard it as very late. It all depends on your perspective.”
“I cannot speak for others, but here at Huntley House we are steadfast in our belief that eight o’clock is morning, probably because it is an hour when many of us are rising from our beds.” She gave him a critical glance. “Bed being a place where you have yet to find yourself from the looks of it.”
Now that he was standing close, she could see he was not only intoxicated, but also worse for wear. He wore no overcoat despite the chill in the air, and the blue velvet jacket that stretched over his broad shoulders had seen better days. If he’d been wearing a cravat, it was not in evidence as his white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, providing a glimpse of dark chest hair. His leather boots were a total disgrace, scuffed and splattered with mud. A gentle breeze was riffling through the curling locks of hair that framed his face, while a layer of stubble covered the pale skin of his jaw. Fatigue was etched into circles beneath sapphire eyes. He was beautiful nonetheless, the very picture of what she imagined a fallen angel might look like. Although there was no indication that William Lindsay had ever been anything even close to angelic.
“My goodness, when was the last time you slept, Weymouth? Or spent time with your valet?”
“Those are rather personal questions, don’t you think, Lady Huntley?” he replied affably. “Now where is my sister Catherine? I have come to see her on her birthday.”
“Catherine and James departed for Everton with the children three days ago. And her birthday was last week, so you are late.”
“That is inconsiderate of her, considering the lovely tribute I have brought.” He held up a small bouquet of flowers for Penelope’s inspection. It was a haphazard collection of asters, periwinkles, and daisies of various sizes and shapes, some missing their blossoms, others lacking their leaves or suffering from stems that were bent or broken. In short, not the sort of bouquet anyone over the age of seven would have ever dreamed of bringing to the current Marchioness of Huntley for her birthday. But then it was well understood that Weymouth’s chronological age had long since diverged from his maturity level.
“I know what you are thinking,” he declared with a drunkard’s slurred conviction. His stance was now so unsteady that if he had not been holding on to the rail, she feared he would have tumbled over into the hedges.
“Oh, I sincerely doubt that. It might be best if you came inside the house.”
“Why, Lady Huntley, what did you have in mind?” he asked, a suggestive note in his voice. “I am a bit in my cups as you may have noticed, but give me a few minutes, and I might be able to come up to snuff.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know it will be difficult, Weymouth, but try not to behave like a complete arse,” she said crisply.
A grin spread across his face, softening his haggard features. “Did you just call me an arse?”
“I feel bloody well certain that I did not,” she replied primly.
“Will wonders never cease? Lady Perfect has a gutter mouth.” He gave her a considering look. “Do your children know their mother curses?”
“My children would be the reason I curse. If I cursed.” She gave him her most beneficent smile. “Which I do not.”
“Yes, I imagine they would. You have, what, a dozen or so brats by now?”
“A mere half dozen. Do you intend to stand out here in the cold, or will you come inside for breakfast? Cook doesn’t seem to realize that most of the household has gone away to the country, and it would be a shame for so much delicious food to go to waste.”
“As much as your kind offer warms the cockles of my heart, I fear I must be going.” He tried to bow and would have fallen over had she not grabbed his arm.
She sighed. It was tempting to allow him to go on his merry way, but anything might happen to him in this sorry state. He was family, after all, albeit by marriage.
“I think you are coming inside,” Penelope said, tugging his arm and pulling him up the stairs toward the front door. She expected him to protest, but he proved unexpectedly compliant, following her almost obediently in the house and into the warmth of the library, where a fire had been lit.
“Now try and behave while I go to see if breakfast is ready,” she ordered sternly. Weymouth nodded, and she strode down the hallway to find the butler, with whom she placed an order for porridge, eggs, kidneys, sausage, and toast.
She was gone only a few minutes, but that wasn’t fast enough. Returning to the library, she found him dead asleep, his long legs stretching almost the length of the leather sofa where he was sprawled. With help from the footman, Weymouth’s boots were removed, and he was covered with a blanket. He did not stir, so sound was his slumber.
The servant departed the room, leaving Penelope to stare pensively at the viscount. He was tall, his body lean but muscular, with no sign of a drunkard’s paunch despite a life largely spent in idleness and debauchery. When sleeping, he appeared much younger and more vulnerable, and she could easily picture the boy he had once been.
A dark lock of hair had fallen against his forehead, and Penelope felt something inside her stir at the sight of him lying there, looking so vulnerable. Without thinking, she leaned over to push the hair back off his face, stopping herself only at the last moment. He was not a boy, but a grown man, and she had no business touching him, no business at all. She forced herself to step back out of temptation’s way.
The duchess had been right. As he had demonstrated this very morning, Viscount Weymouth was not the sort of man a respectable woman should ever consider marrying. As for what else the duchess had believed him to be good for—well, that was something she simply wasn’t going to contemplate.

Morning, April 3, 1831
It was the incessant pounding that finally awakened him. At first, he had thought it was only the throbbing in his head. But when it did not stop, he realized someone was seeking entrance to his bedchamber.
Bang, bang, bang.
Quite insistently at that. He opened his eyes and closed them just as quickly, the pain vibrating with sharp ferocity from his scalp down through his eyeballs. He had not reached his bed until dawn, and his throat and mouth were both damnably dry, as if the whiskey bottle had sucked all the spit out of him.
He shifted and became aware that he was still fully dressed—never a good sign—and that he was not sleeping in his bed, but lying on something far less comfortable. Something downright uncomfortable in fact.
Where was he, then? Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and winced as memories far more painful than any hangover came flooding back. Weymouth House emptied almost entirely by creditors. The house and land at Rossendale Hills near foreclosure. The people who were counting on him. His solicitor’s ominous words ringing in his head like the voice of doom.
“You must sign over the estate, my lord, or you will be sent to Marshalsea prison until the debts are settled.”
The debts would never be settled, for there was no money with which to settle them, and as the bitter taste of his failure swept over him, he closed his eyes in search of sleep’s sweet oblivion. But it was not to be, at least not this morning.
Bang, bang, bang. Whoever was knocking upon his door seemed determined to deprive him of even the comfort of his slumbers.
“Haven’t you vultures already picked my bones clean?” he growled, his breath visible in the cold air, for the small fire in the hearth had long since burned out.
Bang, bang, bang.
Pulling himself to a sitting position, he then swung his legs over the side of the narrow couch where he had been sleeping. The motion was almost more than his throbbing head could endure, and dizziness passed over him in waves.
“Steady now, old man,” he muttered, forcing himself to rise. “One step in front of the other.” He made his way across the vast sitting room, now empty of the fine furnishings and paintings that had decorated the space for his entire life, and out into the once grand hallway before at last reaching the massive front door. Feeling as if he had traversed the Sahara Desert, he unfastened the latch and pulled open the door. Standing on his doorstep was a well-appointed gentleman dressed in a dark overcoat and beaver hat, a gloved fist raised apparently in preparation for another cruel round of knocking.
“For the love of God, stop that infernal racket, for I am trying to sleep,” William snarled.
“My apologies for disturbing you, sir.” Through William’s bleary eyes, the man did not appear to be the least bit sorry. “I am seeking Viscount Weymouth.”
“Sadly for me, you have found him.” William pinched the bridge of his nose, desperately seeking some relief from the stabbing pain in his skull.
“Good morning, sir,” said the man with a respectful bow. “Laurence Heath at your service. I am here to discuss a matter that I believe will be of great interest to you.”
“If you are a bill collector, you have come too late, for anything of value is long gone. Now go away and leave me in peace.” William moved to shut the door in the man’s face, but a well-polished boot placed in the doorway frustrated his attempts.
“Quite the other way around, sir. I am a solicitor,” the older man said earnestly. He looked around the street meaningfully. “Might we talk in a more private setting?”
“I doubt there is anyone within earshot who will give a tinker’s damn about whatever it is you have to say,” William said wearily.
The solicitor gave him a beseeching look. “This is a matter of great…delicacy, sir. It really would be best if we went inside.”
It seemed the man was not going to give up without gaining a private audience. “Come in if you must,” William said, ushering Laurence Heath through the door with a grand sweep of his hand as if he were welcoming him into St. James’s Palace instead of a mansion that had been stripped of nearly every comfort and ornament by his creditors. He saw the place the way Heath must be seeing it, the once grand room now containing only a few scattered pieces of furniture, including the settee where he had passed a most uncomfortable night. It was better than sleeping on the floor, but only just.
“Do not keep me waiting, man, for I have a busy day of social engagements ahead of me,” William quipped.
Heath responded with a pained smile. “This will not take long, sir.” The solicitor removed his hat to reveal a mane of silver hair held back in a black ribbon. From his coat pocket, he withdrew a rolled sheet of vellum and handed it to William. “As I said, I do believe you may find this to be of interest.”
William unfurled the sheet and began to read. “In exchange for services, a sum of…shall be paid to Viscount Weymouth…agreement to commence…and continue until…both parties agree to keep the terms entirely confidential.” William looked up. “Is this some sort of jest?”
“Not at all. It is a legitimate offer from a benefactor who wishes to provide you with the opportunity to, shall we say, recover from your current financial difficulties,” Heath replied.
“Who is this benefactor?” William demanded, feeling his temper rise. “If it is Huntley, you will see me dead before I will be found hanging on his sleeve.”
“If you are referring to your brother-in-law, the Marquess of Huntley, rest assured that neither he nor your sister, Lady Huntley, are involved in any way,” said Heath, his firm manner convincing William that he was not dissembling.
William scanned the document again, searching for clues to the mystery unexpectedly confronting him. “Who is it, then? And what sort of service am I expected to provide?”
“I could not say, sir.” Heath’s expression was inscrutable. “That would be a private matter between you and the other party.”
William gave a snort of disgust and flung the document back at Heath. “Times are difficult, but I am not so loose in the haft to sell myself to some old man—” he began, but the solicitor interrupted him.
“Not a man, my lord, but a woman. A lady,” said Heath, carefully rolling up the contract and setting it down on the room’s one remaining table. “Quite a fine lady, in fact.”
“A lady?” William was momentary flummoxed by that. “Which lady?”
“I am not at liberty to reveal her identity,” Heath said. His tone was almost prim, and William gained the distinct sense that the solicitor did not approve of the mystery lady’s proposal—whatever it might be.
William swiped an impatient hand across his brow to keep the hair out of his eyes. He desperately needed to get it cut, but his valet had resigned two months ago to take a job “where the gentleman can pay me, sir.” He couldn’t blame the man, but it had been damned inconvenient to be left without anyone to assist him with his toilet. “Will I be expected to commit a crime? Knock off an inconvenient husband, or have a go at stealing the crown jewels?”
The solicitor compressed his lips into a terse line. “You will not be asked to do anything of a criminal nature. Beyond that, I cannot be more informative, as the lady herself wishes to explain the particulars. I will leave the contract here for your consideration. If you are interested in pursuing this opportunity, you need only contact me, and I will arrange a meeting between you and the lady in question. But do not tarry long, as an answer is required by the end of the week.”
William did some rapid calculations in his head. The funds on offer were damned tempting. Enough to pay off his largest creditors and get his estate back on its feet. For the first time in months—nay, years—he felt a faint spark of hope.
“That’s a fair amount of blunt—enough to stake me for at least a month or two of faro,” William said carelessly and was rewarded with the solicitor’s look of dismay.
“It is none of my business, sir, but you might be wise to consider putting aside some of the funds so that you can assure the future of your patrimony.”
William gave the solicitor a haughty look. “You’d be wise to refrain from giving unsolicited advice to your betters, Heath,” he said coldly, sounding a right jackass, even to his own ears. From the pained look on Heath’s face, the man obviously thought William a pompous fool.
But the solicitor was far too circumspect to betray his personal thoughts. “My apologies, sir,” he said, handing William a card. “Send word to me at this address when you have made your decision.”
William pictured the families who would lose their homes when Rossendale was divided and sold off. Was there anything that this lady could want from him, short of murder, which he was not prepared to do?
Unbidden, he heard his dead father’s voice whispering to him.
What sort of man sells himself for money? Are you a tradesman now? Where is your pride, boy?
Go back to hell where you belong, you old bastard.
“I will meet with this mysterious lady,” William said to the solicitor. “But it must be today, for I am expected at Crockford’s at midnight and will want the cash in hand by then.”
Heath nodded, looking not at all surprised. Maybe the man made these sorts of arrangements all the time. “I shall let her know to expect you.”

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