The Other Side: Book #1 in the Island Girls Trilogy by Zee Monodee

by | Jul 30, 2013 | | 0 Comments

The Other SideBlurb:

Divorce paints a scarlet letter on her back when she returns to the culture-driven society of Mauritius. This same spotlight shines as a beacon of hope for the man who never stopped loving her. Can the second time around be the right one for these former teenage sweethearts?

Indian-origin Lara Reddy left London after her husband dumps her for a more accommodating uterus—at least, that’s what his desertion feels like. Bumping into him and his pregnant new missus doesn’t help matters any, and she thus jumps on a prestigious job offer. The kicker? The job is in Mauritius, the homeland of her parents, and a society she ran away from over a decade earlier.

But once there, Lara has no escape. Not from the gossip, the contempt, the harassing matchmaking…and certainly not from the man she hoped never to meet again. The boy she’d loved and lost—white Mauritian native, Eric Marivaux.

Back when they were teens, Eric left her, and Lara vowed she’d never let herself be hurt again. Today, they are both adults, and facing the same crossroads they’d stood at so many years earlier.

Lara now stands on the other side of Mauritian society. Will this be the impetus she needs to take a chance on Eric and love again?

Buy Links:
Decadent Publishing
Amazon US
Amazon UK

*****

Excerpt:

She shouldn’t have come. The sound of her mother’s high-pitched voice crept over the din, asking if someone had heard a car stop in the driveway. They’d come out in the next minute.

Picking up her courage, and wishing it were Dutch courage despite her not being a drinker, she tore her fingers and head from the wheel and threw the door open. Lara peeled herself out of the vehicle at the same time a chorus of gasps resounded in the garden.

All three older women were over her like a bad rash. Hugging and kissing her cheeks, holding her face in their hands while they exclaimed how beautiful she had become. All of which were simply tactics to lull her into complacency for when they’d really pounce on the meaty topic—her divorce.

With their deceptively frail-looking hands on her shoulders, they pushed her toward the back door to the kitchen. A memory of being pushed around in the same way toward the altar on her wedding day, the glittery gold and red veil over her eyes, assaulted her. She stopped in her tracks, the pain coming in from nowhere to slice through her heart. The biddies must not have noticed her stilling; they simply continued to steer her inside until she was seated at the table. A plate of towering hot bhadias appeared in front her, along with a bowl of satini cotomili, the coriander, tomato, and chili paste-like dip Mauritians ate with all their fried foods.

Auntie Ruby, resident gossipmonger, lived up to her reputation. She had been the first to mention Lara’s failed marriage before they made it back into the house.

The sound of the grating voice droned on, Lara choosing to ignore it, before her mother gave her a small slap on her shoulder.

“You wicked girl. You said you were coming on Monday, and here you are surprising us now.”

She sighed. This was code for “how could you have kept this a secret and made me lose face in front of everyone, when I’ve been telling them you are coming on Monday?” Her mother lived for hearsay and the general idea of “what will people say.” In fact, most people in Mauritius lived by the standard. Whoever said the ton and all its silly rules had died in the Regency era had not taken a trip to Mauritius, in eighteen-ten or the year two thousand.

“But my poor little girl,” Auntie Ruby said in a cajoling tone bringing nothing but danger to mind. “Of course you wanted to come home earlier. Who wouldn’t? Look what that awful, awful man has done to you.”

Translation: “And here’s your cue to air out the laundry, from the sheets to the knickers, you silly goose.”

“Our hearts went out to you, dearest girl, you who are like a daughter to us,” Auntie Zubeida chimed in. “We never saw this coming. How could you not have told a soul you and that scoundrel were having problems? We would’ve spoken to him, set him right, showed him this is not how he is supposed to treat our daughter.”

“Tsk-tsk. And what a beautiful couple you two made. How could anyone have thought you would break up?” Auntie Ruby added.

Lara forced a small smile. Damn, how she wanted to be out of here. She had a duty to do, though—the sooner she was done, the better, so she could run back to Grand Baie and leave those old cows behind. And yes, in that lot, she included her mother, who had yet to speak out. Bad vibe.

“I’m doing fine, Auntie,” she said. “That’s what matters.”

All three women watched her with narrowed eyes. No way was she doing away with the Inquisition.

“How can you be fine?” Auntie Ruby asked. “We have been so preoccupied with your plight. How on earth are you going to get along? How will your parents bear all this? To think they still have an unmarried daughter on their hands, now they are ending up with two daughters. Oh what fate God has dealt them.”

Lara bit her lip to keep from answering back. Right, the ton must’ve been more solicitous than this. The aunts were simply nosing for gossip. But then, that’s what Jane Austen wrote in her subtext, too. The concern was merely the polite way of enquiring about gossip in their society.

*****

Trailer:

*****

Random Facts:

– The Other Side is Zee’s first-ever penned novel, written in the year 2005, when she was diagnosed with breast cancer and thus decided to live her dream of writing a book. She drafted this book mostly during sleepless nights between chemotherapy sessions, the outpouring of this tale becoming her therapy to cope with her treatments.

– The book trailer features images of locations mentioned in the story. The second image, at 0.08, is of the Grand Baie beach, where Lara lives. At 0.58 is the Swami Vivekananda International Conventions Centre located inland in Pailles, that Zee used as the inspiration for the centre Lara manages in Grand Baie. 2.09 features the Coin de Mire Island, a visual that can be admired from the terrace of Eric’s residence in Cap Malheureux.

*****

The Other Side About the Author:

Stories about love, life, relationships… in a melting-pot of culture

Zee is an author who grew up on a fence – on one side there was modernity and the global world, on the other there was culture and traditions. Putting up with the culture for half of her life, one day she decided she’d stand tall on her wall and dip toes every now and then into both sides of her non-conventional upbringing.

From this resolution spanned a world of adaptation and learning to live on said wall. The realization also came that many other young women of the world were on their own fence.

This particular position became her favorite when she decided to pursue her lifelong dream of writing – her heroines all sit ‘on a fence’, whether cultural or societal, in today’s world or in times past, and face dilemmas about life and love.

Hailing from the multicultural island of Mauritius, Zee is a degree holder in Communications Science. She is a head-over-heels wife, in-over-her-head mum to a tween son, best-buddy-stepmum to a teenage lad, an incompetent domestic goddess, eternal dreamer, and an absolute, shameless bookholic. When she isn’t penning more stories and/or managing the Ubuntu line at Decadent Publishing, you can bet you’ll find her with her nose in her tablet, ‘drinking in’ a good book.

Guest Blogger: L. C. Wilkinson

by | Jul 26, 2013 | | 2 Comments

Does it Add Up? The Enduring Appeal of the Younger Lover

Love affairs between older women and younger men has been richly mined in fiction, both in mainstream and erotic romance (and elsewhere – look at the success of TV show Cougar Town). With good reason: a significant gap in years can add tension and a dynamic that isn’t present when lovers are peers. And like it or not, there is still a stigma attached to these relationships; you only have to look at the media fascination with high profile women like Madonna and Demi Moore who have a penchant for men young enough to be their sons. Yet, the same cannot be said of the fellas. It is only when the men stray into bordering-on-the-if-not-out-and-out illegal that the press have a field day.

All of MeIt’s often said that writers bring a little of themselves to characters, and I would agree. In my early thirties, I had a brief affair with a man eleven years my junior, and funnily enough at the same time my would-be husband was dating a woman twelve years his senior. My fella and I were born within a year of each other, but we have spoken about the synchronicity of these affairs and what we found appealing about our respective beaus of that time. Also, my mother married a man ten years her junior in the 70s; a period when it was much more risqué than it is today. So, perhaps it was inevitable that at some point in my writing life I would create a character who falls in love with a much younger man.

Flick, my leading lady in All of Me is fifteen years older than my love interest, Orlando, and because she is an actress, and a reasonably successful one at that – she has played a major role in a long-standing soap opera just before the main action of the novel begins – the pressure on her is, arguably, stronger than those whose profession doesn’t thrust them into the media spotlight. And fifteen years is officially a generation, so whilst it would be unusual for her to have had a child of a similar age to Orlando it is not inconceivable (sorry – couldn’t resist that one). In fact, Orlando’s step-mother is only a couple of years older than Flick, which adds to Flick’s insecurities about her age, the appropriateness of their relationship and so on.

On top of this, Flick is nudging forty. An uncertain age for most women; an age when the mind and sexual desire is enriched by knowledge and experience, but the body (for most of us, those of us who do not have access to personal trainers, stylists, top class surgeons and so forth) is beginning to show the first signs of wear and tear. There’s an expression in the theatre that suggests there are few roles for actresses between Ophelia and Gertrude (from Shakespeare’s Hamlet). While there are signs of positive change in the industry, with actresses like Julia Roberts, Cameron Diaz and Meryl Streep, as powerful and box-office attractive as their younger colleagues, if not more so, decent, sexy roles for women in their forties and beyond remain thin on the ground. Flick is fully aware that her days as the foxy lead are numbered, but she is too young and too attractive just yet to play the crone.

To stand naked before Orlando is hard for her – there are other reasons too, but to talk about them here would be to talk spoilers. Like many of us, she’s a little insecure about her body; she sees the flaws before the beauty. Orlando, meanwhile, worships her; her curves, her less-than-perfect hips and breasts, the small bump at the top of her nose, the result of a break as a child. As a part-time model he is surrounded by women defined by society as the most desirable (and very young women at that), and yet he is not interested in them. Flick is intriguing; she spellbinds him as much as he does her. If not more so. He is the predator, not Flick.

This was deliberate on my part. I didn’t want my lead to be a cougar in the usual sense of the word. It’s not that I think these women are unappealing; quite the contrary. I think they are admirable in so many respects: if young, firm flesh is your thing, then why not? Consenting adults and all that. No, I wanted the age difference to be a problem for Flick, but not for Orlando. In the past, I’ve written about the ridiculous and insulting way that older, beautiful women are spoken about. Remember all the brouhaha over a seventy-year-old Sophia Loren appearing in the Pirelli calendar?  One of my pet hates is that phrase ‘looks good for her age’. Why can’t someone just look good? Of course, forty looks different to twenty; but one isn’t necessarily better than the other. Because in the final analysis, where matters of the heart are concerned especially, age doesn’t matter. Passion is passion, love is love, no matter what a person’s age. Desire isn’t about maths. Age is just a number. Orlando knows this from the outset; it takes Flick a little longer.

one eyeAll of Me is published by Xcite in paperback and e-book formats. You can buy the book here and here.

To find out more about L. C. visit her site – www.lcwilkinson.com – for news and freebies. Or follow her on Twitter: @ScorpioScribble

Or become a friend on Goodreads.

Guest Blogger: Clare Dargin

by | Jul 24, 2013 | | 1 Comment

It’s not the years, honey, it’s the mileage.

A very cool quote that meant absolutely nothing to me when Indiana Jones first said it back in 1981 but now that its 2013 I totally understand it.  And now that I think about it, I guess it was the same thing that the makers of the Expendables were trying to say when they made those two movies.  Some guys just get hotter with time.

From Edward Norton, Patrick Wilson, Shemar Moore to Dwayne the Rock Johnson, I love a man with a little mileage on him.  Be it with experience, age or a combination of both there’s nothing hotter than a man who’s a bit older and still got it.  Yes there are some hotties out there rockin’ their twenties but thirty-somethings and older should not be left out the game!

 

Han and Leia Kiss

 

I guess it all started with Star Wars.  You see, when I was a kid, my dad took me and my brother and my mother to see Star Wars when it first came out.  And of course like everyone else I was blown away by the whole thing.  But my six year old mind, though enthralled by all the characters on the screen, only saw Luke as the cool friend but was enthralled by Darth Vader and had a major crush (or my child like equivalent of one)  on Han Solo.  The loveable rogue who’d seen it all, Han Solo with his cool ship and loyal best friend made me swoon.

Luke-rotjpromo

 

Of course that dissipated as he fell madly in love with Leia and while Luke morphed into his acrobatic sword wielding Dark Jeddi.  I soon kick Han to the curb and fell for Luke and his hardened gaze.  The black double breasted shirt (yes ladies and gentlemen it was the 80’s what can I say? He was sharp!) pants with the tall boots and the black glove on the injured hand, he was hot!  Yes the dye was cast.

The difference between the Luke in Star Wars and the one in Jeddi was age and experience.  He’d seen it all and lived to tell the tale.  Not only did he have that compassion in his heart for the people he loved but he was willing to do what he had to in  order to defend them from the threat that sought to destroy them.  And then that hot bod too.   Mmmmmm.

Some of the coolest heroes of late have not been in their twenties.  Like Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Hawkeye in the Avengers.  Or if you go to tv don’t forget Aaron Hotchner and Derek Morgan in Criminal Minds two men who are forty plus!  So who says an alpha male hero has to be in his twenties to be hot?  Not me!

Colonel Medoro Keegan is just such a man.  Forty-two years old he’s seen it all and  somehow managed to keep that boyish gleam in his eye despite having lived through his fair share of hell.  A passionate man who knows what he wants and not afraid to go after it, he still understands that none of it means anything without someone to share it with.

The second book in my futuristic romance series The Cold Warriors Universe is now available.

 

Ice and PeaceBlurb-

A New Threat? After a long and vicious war, peace is on the horizon for Earth and its allies. However, a series of mysterious attacks on several secret military installations causes hostilities to rise once again.

Redemption. Having left under a cloud of disgrace, retired Marine Colonel Medoro Keegan is called back to duty.

Bound. His wife Caitlin, the only surviving member of her team, chooses to embrace life, albeit grudgingly, as a cryo soldier. Seen as sub-human, she is forced to serve a planet that denies her rights as a person.

Driven. Guided by their sense of duty and belief that some things are bigger than them, they are determined to risk it all.

Hope. The cost of war is high. Can their love and marriage survive? Or will it be killed off by the very same mission that brought them together?

 

~Excerpt~

Caitlin was a sight for sore eyes. She was beautiful. Her petite frame was perfectly accented by the curves of her figure. And her brown eyes and coffee-brown skin was smooth, creamy.

Standing at attention, she did not meet his gaze. Though it was customary not to do as a sign of military courtesy, he could tell she was not doing it for that reason. Her gaze was different. Circling her, he tried to see if he could catch her watching him out of the corner of her eye. In fact, she appeared to be staring blankly ahead.

Peering directly at her, he spoke in a soft tone. “At ease.”

She relaxed.

“Cate. Can you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” she responded mechanically.

Pain pierced his insides. She was definitely not there. Keegan placed his hands on his hips and hung his head in defeat. The one thing that was supposed to go right did not. For whatever reason, they had placed her in a deeper state of mental control than she’d ever been in. He controlled the hostile emotions brewing with him. Touching her face gently, he felt her icy skin.

This is unacceptable! Not here. I will not let this happen here. Not under my command.

“Chief, listen up,” he said in an authoritative tone. He knew in this state, it was the only way he could speak to her and still have her respond.

“Yes, sir.” Her gaze became even more distant.

Her response fueled his anger. “You are going to hightail it down to the doc and receive a full examination. Tell him it is based on my orders. He will know what to do. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Knowing that she was under the influence of cryo neurotransmitters, Keegan figured the only way to combat it was to get someone to reverse it. They usually wore off once she was away from the stimulus triggers for a long period of time. But considering her stimulus triggers were high-ranking officers in uniform and combat situations, being around here meant she was going to be in a drone zone for a very long time. The last thing he needed was a zombie on board, especially one in charge of the lives others.

Only the jerks in psyche warfare thought doing this to someone would be a good idea. As long as he was running the ship, none of that would be allowed. There weren’t going to be any super zombies soldiers on board his ship. And he’d rollover in his grave before he let them do it to his wife.

“After you come back from the doc, you will report to me, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are there any questions?”

“No, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

She did an about face before leaving the room. Keegan clasped his hands behind his back. In the blink of an eye, his joy had turned to sorrow. Now faced with the responsibility of looking after his wife, he wondered how could he handle the burden of command and still protect the woman he loved.

You can buy it at Decadent Publishing, All Romance Ebooks, Barnes and Noble and

Amazon- http://www.amazon.com/Peace-Cold-Warriors-Universe-ebook/dp/B00DZV25QS/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1374531936&sr=8-2&keywords=clare+dargin

As well at other Ebook Retailers.

 

Also visit me on the web at:

Clare’s Blog 2: The Haven–  http://www.claresblog2thehaven.blogspot.com

Facebook-  http://www.facebook.com/clare.dargin

Twitter- http://www.twitter.com/clare_dargin

Guest Blogger: Victoria Blisse

by | Jul 16, 2013 | | 0 Comments

100buttonPucker up, something special is coming!

I love a good party and when I noticed that the 100th Sunday Snog was coming up I knew I had to do something special for it.  What is the Sunday Snog? Well it started out as me writing a kissing excerpt up on my blog ever Sunday and has become a blog hop consisting of different authors all sharing different kisses on a Sunday. I love the variety of excerpts it brings in from soft and romantic to cheek reddeningly hot!  All the Sunday Snog goodness can be found here: http://blissekiss.co.uk

I am a big believer in sharing the love, so for the very special part for the 100th snog I wanted to do something that would benefit charity. I ummed and Ahhed for a while over which charity and in the end decided on Médecins Sans Frontières. They do a fantastic job of taking love in a practical way to some of the most needy people in the world. To find out more about their important work check their site: http://www.msf.org.uk/ It’s a fabulous international charity and I really hope we make lots of money for them.  If you’d like to donate to the cause please check out the just giving page for the event: http://www.justgiving.com/sundaysnog

So, what is the big 100th Sunday Snog event going to be? Well I am hoping to get 100 authors to join in on the 22nd September.  Each author will post up a kissing excerpt on their blog and each author will offer a prize for readers to win. So there will be at least 100 different prizes you could win! How cool is that? We’ll keep the contest open until Friday 27th September, then the winners will be drawn and announced. It’s going to be lots of fun and the biggest Sunday Snog to date.

If you want to join in as an author or a reader all the details are here: http://blissekiss.co.uk/100th

And here’s an example of the kind of kissing excerpts I post up each week. This one comes from Rob and Lou’s Wild Weekends: http://victoriablisse.co.uk/books/rob-lous-wild-weekends

rob-and-lou-wild-weekends 400“Do you know something?”

“I know a lot of things,” he replied with a dig of his elbow into my ribs, “but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me something new.”

“Hmm, not sure it’s new but there’s something I’ve always wanted to do. It’s a bit mad.”

“Jump out of an aeroplane? Bathe in a bath of rice pudding?”

“No,” I rolled to my side to face him, “and it’s traditionally beans, anyway.”

“Oh excuse me for being innovative.” He grinned. I swear he gets far too much pleasure from winding me up.

“Do you want to hear my mad desire or what?” I was starting to feel a bit nervous about telling him. I mean he already knew I was kinky but this was something rather new.

“Go on, then.” He ran his hand down my naked arm, turning me on further and not at all placating my nerves.

“I’d really rather love to fuck in the rain, I think.”

“Oh,” Rob’s brows lifted with surprise. “Tell me more.”

“Erm, well, I haven’t really got any more detail. Just kinda like the idea of getting it on in the rain. On the grass. Clothes on. All wet and sticky and—”

“Let’s do it.” Rob sat up.

“What?”

“Get your pants on and a top and let’s do it. “ He pulled on his damp jeans and his t-shirt.

“Oh, okay.” I pull a short floaty skirt from my luggage. I’d packed it when I was feeling optimistic. I matched it with a cotton t-shirt and scrabbled out of the tent behind my eager husband.

The rain hammered my skin from the moment I stepped out onto the wet grass and mud. The rain wasn’t particularly cold, though and I felt uncomfortably hot inside as I squirmed in anticipation.

“Let’s go towards the woods.” Rob grabbed my hand and pulled me forward. We skirted the edge of the other tents then darted off towards the trees.

“There’s no one out.” I commented.

“Yeah, other people aren’t totally mad, Lou.” He replied then pulled up to a stop. “This looks promising.”

We stood on the crest of a dip in the landscape. Beyond us were trees. Dense, drenched greenery and nothing else. No path, no people, no signs of life at all.

“It’s a bit, erm, exposed.” My sensibilities decided to kick in as we got closer to doing something very naughty and probably illegal. I was incredibly turned on, I was shaking with the force of the lust zooming through my veins but I was also aware that the majority of people I knew, and many of those I didn’t, would frown upon such public displays of affection.

“There’s no one here, Lou.”  Rob wrapped his fingers around tighter and pulled me forward.

“But there could be people just in the wood, sheltering from the rain. What if—”

The end of my wondering was silenced by his lips on mine. He often won arguments, or at least postponed them, by using the kiss tactic. I was powerless to resist the pressure of his mouth against mine. He wrapped me in his embrace and his tongue darted between my lips. I responded without thinking. I pulled him closer to me, squashed him against my body. Rivulets of water ran down from my hair, down my cheek and nose to drip on our heated kisses. I could taste the rain with each kiss. The deluge had soaked the cotton to my body. The wet material sculpted my curves. My skirt stuck to my thighs and my arse and that wet embrace heightened the arousal that sparked between us.

See you on the 22nd September for the 100th Sunday Snog, it’s going to be great. http://blissekiss.co.uk/100th

Desire in Tartan by Suz deMello

by | Jul 12, 2013 | | 1 Comment

Desire in TartanDugald Kilburn was sure that he’d never find love. And why should he?

‘Tis rare for vampires and their mates to reproduce successfully and Dugald kens that. He’s certain his lust caused his first wife’s death in childbed.

Innocent Alice Derwent presents Dugald with a dilemma. She’s different than any woman he’s known, different and altogether alluring. And while the lady is innocent, her feelings are anything but.

Will he bed and wed the lady, risking her life? Or remain celibate, sparing her?

But when threatened with death, Alice decides she doesn’t want to die without knowing Dugald’s love. Can he resist her charms?

Like what you read? Buy it here:

http://www.ellorascave.com/desire-in-tartan.html

*****

Excerpt:

Book Two of the Highland Vampires series from Ellora’s Cave

***

Glasgow, Autumn 1759

Dugald left most of his company of men back at the inn with strict instructions to stay out of trouble, but he had no illusions. The men would drink as much as they could hold before finding the loosest bits of muslin available. If they were still able to perform, perform they would, as long and as hard as possible. He hoped that he’d be able to rescue the less experienced of the lot out of whatever scrapes they fell into. The youngest, Malcolm, came with Dugald as his companion. He wouldna leave Malcolm in the care of the rest.

The mop fair was a mad scene. ’Twas combined with a street fair and a farmer’s market, so the entire population of Glasgow had seemingly crowded itself into the square with a market cross in the center. Food stalls, redolent with the spicy aromas of roasting fowls and sausages were fronted by cooks and ’prentices bawling out the prices of their wares. Nearby, penned livestock emitted a less appealing miasma of straw and shite, with the autumn wind swirling the scents along with dry leaves.

Turning to Malcolm, Dugald raised his brows. Without speaking, the two Kilburns started to walk along the disordered rows of booths. Once they’d passed the food stalls, the fair became even more riotous, with knots of maids and men looking for hire, screeching their qualifications. Each brandished a tool of his or her trade, cooks with rolling pins or wooden spoons, coachmen with their whips. Country girls in their Sunday dresses crowded in a knot, peering anxiously at well-dressed passers-by whom Dugald guessed were the stewards of the grand houses. Every once in a while one would stop and question a rosy-cheeked lass, occasionally leaving the fair with a new maid or tweeny in tow.

He stopped, arrested by a sweet fragrance that rose from the reek of unwashed bodies like clean mist drifting on the surface of a loch. He hadn’t detected it before. Mayhap it had been cloaked by the pungent roasting sausages and the other scents at the food stalls—herbs and the like.

He lifted his face into the air and sniffed. Yes, ‘twas there, elusive but definite.

Malcolm did the same. “I smell it too.”

“That’s our lassie,” Dugald said.

The stripling looked mystified. “A sweet smell means a governess?”

“Milady gave me questions to ask.” Dugald patted his sporran. “If she passes, she’s the one. But this is how we’ll be finding her.”

At the end of the row of coachmen, stable hands, maids and cooks fluttered a gaggle of…what? Somberly robed figures resembling a flock of giant crows or, mayhap, vultures. Exuding the stinks of mothballs and body odor, they all appeared to be flapping about one small, drab figure, a female who couldna contrast more with her oafish companions.

Dugald’s first impression of the woman was of narrowness, so at odds with her tempting scent that all he could do was stand and gape at her like a looby. Dressed in unrelieved black, she had slender shoulders and a tiny waist. Slight hips. When she turned, he could see she possessed but a small bosom. He raised his gaze and didn’t bother to stifle a gasp at the sight of her pure and perfect profile. Intelligence sparkled in her hazel eyes, completely belying the rest of her dull demeanor.

Her face… He could stare at that face forever without a single moment of boredom.  Pale, though not as white as a Kilburn’s, for a smattering of freckles spattered the bridge of her straight little nose and sprinkled her high cheekbones. She had well-cut lips with a definite Cupid’s bow, the one distinct curve on her serious face. A semi-circular half-moon dip.

He wanted to slide his tongue into that dip before kissing her with every mite of passion he possessed.

*****

Best-selling, award-winning author Suz deMello, a.k.a Sue Swift, has written over sixteen romance novels in several subgenres, including erotica, comedy, historical, paranormal, mystery and suspense, plus a number of short stories and non-fiction articles on writing. A freelance editor, she’s worked for Total-E-Bound, Liquid Silver Books and Ai Press, where she is currently Managing Editor. She also takes private clients.

Her books have been favorably reviewed in Publishers Weekly, Kirkus and Booklist, won a contest or two, attained the finals of the RITA and hit several bestseller lists.

A former trial attorney, her passion is world travel. She’s left the US over a dozen times, including lengthy stints working overseas. She’s now writing a vampire tale and planning her next trip.

Find her books at http://www.suzdemello.com

For editing services, email her at suzswift@yahoo.com

Befriend her on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/sueswift, and visit her group at http://www.facebook.com/HotWriters

She tweets her reading picks @ReadThis4fun

Her current blog is http://www.fearlessfastpacedfiction.com

Icarus Bleeds by Annabeth Leong

by | Jul 11, 2013 | | 0 Comments

Icarus BleedsBlurb:

Icarus, a man on the run, dreams of wings, and of taking flight like the surgically modified rich and famous of Central City. The hacker who harbors him will do anything to keep him, including paying for the dangerous operation in a back alley chop shop. Neither can imagine how much the wings will truly cost.  (M/M)

 

Buy Links:

Forbidden Fiction’s Story Page (includes links to all sites where the title is available): http://forbidden-fiction.com/library/story/AL1-1.000140

 

Excerpt:

I will call him Icarus, because he worked so hard to erase his birth name that I will not commit the sin of returning it to him now. The things I said and did when I knew him will only make sense if you understand how beautiful he was, so I will try to force the words of mortals to describe a man who never seemed to belong to earth at all.

Icarus first came to me in the dark, in the rain, passing out of the shadows falling over the street, slipping smoothly into the shadows I made for myself. His eyes glowed from the corner where he took a seat, huddled under shelves loaded with discarded computer equipment. Even then I wondered how a shadow could be so luminous within a shadow, how black could shimmer from within black.

I wasn’t in the habit of looking at my clients. They came because they wanted to be forgotten, and they generally did not want to be seen either. I could not help myself with Icarus. He reminded me of flesh I liked to pretend I didn’t have. Eyes, lips, fingertips, inner thighs, the sides of my stomach, the soles of my feet. And, yes. Tongue. Cock. Thoughts both crude and poetic competed to distract me from the mechanical process of obscuring someone from all the files and IP addresses that affirmed that person’s existence.

I avoided looking at his skin, a lighter shade of what is called black than my own purple-tinged pigment. Icarus’s brand of black flowed with honey, shone with sunlight, glittered with the gold that may once have belonged to Pharaoh. Long, thin fingers, delicate as a girl’s. Red-gold palms, and the beginnings of a scar, a telltale revelation of a story that started in the hands and parted the flesh of the forearm nearly to the elbow.

He saw me looking, and pulled the sleeves of his sweater down low, clutching bunches of the material in clenched fists. “Can you really make me disappear?”

I snorted. “Of course not. Not these days, not with the backups they keep and the triple cross checks they have to avoid failure conditions. Best I can do is make them forget to look for you.”

He nodded, the gesture emphasizing the length of his neck, the quality of his silence. “How much?”

“How much you got?”

He shrank back from me, receding into the forest of parts and cords. “I’m not looking for favors.”

“I don’t do favors. I do a sliding scale. You pay what you can afford to pay. What you think is fair. I trust you.”

“Why?”

I sighed. No one ever understood this when I bothered to explain. “Because I’m not one of them. I don’t want to act like one.”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving gracefully up and down in that impossibly lean neck. “I was going to see what you would take.” He bit his lip and didn’t explicate, but I got an idea of what he’d had in mind by the way his hands crept toward his fly, the gesture so subtle that I wasn’t sure it had been a conscious invitation.

On any other night, with any other man, I wouldn’t have. I would have kissed that smooth, wide forehead, done my work for free, and sent him back into the street uttering the vague promise that someday, when he could, he would take care of me. With Icarus, I could not resist the offer. I had to keep him a little longer. Though I hated myself for it, the sentence passed my lips as if it made up part of my daily stock in trade. “After I finish, you’ll come upstairs with me.”

His bowed head telegraphed his acquiescence well before his soft words. “Thank you.”

When I got him to my bed, I knew I should be the one thanking him. He stripped with a benevolent dignity that shamed me. I felt as if I’d brought the Virgin Mary to my room to make a whore of her. Again, I considered releasing him, leaving my work to be my offering to his present and future beauty.

Then his undershirt peeled away from smooth, hard abs, and his boxers fell away from his hips and the thick, dark cock that hung soft between his legs. The shy and lovely young man before me, with his incandescent eyes and visible ribs, brought my own cock surging to life. I could not let him go. My desire made me cruel.

“Get on your knees and crawl to me,” I whispered, loosening my own clothing, casting it aside. Hurt flashed through his eyes, and I loved it for the confirmation that it offered. He was open to me. I could touch him. I could make him remember me forever.

 

Bio:

Annabeth Leong has written erotica of many flavors. She loves shoes, stockings, cooking and excellent bass lines. Icarus Bleeds joins many other dark erotica titles published by Forbidden Fiction, including The Snake and the Lyre, a story of Orpheus and the erotic underworld, and In the Death of Winter, about a dead god and the sacrifices his followers still make. She blogs at annabethleong.blogspot.com, and tweets @AnnabethLeong

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