Blog Archives
Fabulous Friday Reads: The Racing Driver’s Wife
Let’s kick off this lovely weekend with Raven McAllan and the latest entry in her smouldering new series, Their Wives. The Racing Driver’s Wife is now available from Evernight Publishing and other purveyors of fine erotic romance. Take it away, Raven!
What is it with some men and their attitudes?
Hot bods, hot blooded and often hot tempered. You know, speak first, regret it later.
Yeah, them. They might make you shiver quiver and tingle—however that level of hotness can be hard to live with. They can’t help themselves, bless them, sometimes, when they try to shield their love from all the nasties that could affect them.
And we all know how damned annoying that is. Why do they think we’re such fragile little flowers we can’t cope. Because if they think that, sometimes, we begin to think it as well…
And that’s where the problems can start…
My first book in this series, called Their Wives is already out. (The Rock Star’s wife)
Racing driver Gael Lorenzo is used to taking his life in his hands, if only he could say the same for his errant wife. He meant his wedding vows, and there will never be another woman for him, but what can he do to win her back?
Darcy thought she knew the risks of being married to a man who lives for his sport. The reality of the race track, however, proves too much for her. Nevertheless, giving Gael up entirely, is not an option either.
When circumstances force them back into each other’s company, neither one of them can let this chance go. Together they are stronger than apart, and their marriage is worth fighting for, isn’t it?
Story Excerpt
Gael Lorenzo ducked the remote control as it flew through the air in his direction, and caught it in one hand.
“How on earth you ever get from A to B when your coordination is so bad I have no conception,” he said as he walked into the room and put the control down on the table. He made sure it was well out of Darcy’s arm reach. He knew how sneaky she could be if she thought the occasion warranted it. Damned if he wasn’t more nervous then before a race. He was under no illusion that the next few moments were going to be sticky. “That was more likely to hit the window than me.”
Darcy made a sound somewhere between a scream and a snort. “Ass. You scared the living daylights out of me. And as for your one-upmanship, how on earth you lie so successfully and don’t bat an eyelid, I have no conception,” Darcy said. “‛My wife is my life’,” she parroted and rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, that’ll be right. After your car, your team and…”
“And nothing, cara.” One-upmanship? He’d thought he was very restrained. He made no mention of open doors, lack of security, self-preservation or the like. “You believe what you will, but I speak the truth. If my wife would let it be so.” He shrugged. “Then it would be. However, she chooses to live her own life, and I have to accept that.” He winced as he became oh-so-very Italian. It was a measure of his concern and the knowledge of just how important this meeting was.
Darcy turned toward the television where the bouncy idiot he’d had to endure warbled on in her happy-clappy manner. Gael braced himself. He knew what was about to come, and he’d hoped to speak to Darcy beforehand. It seemed a tractor and trailer, and a laden log lorry who just knew they owned the road, had put paid to that. He’d spent twenty minutes breathing their fumes, before passing in a spot only the brave or foolhardy would use. It wasn’t that you couldn’t see any oncoming traffic—the road ran straight for nigh on half a mile. It was the width of the ruts and gravel that was tricky. Gael got by with no more than an inch on each side and a dozen or so scratches from the gravel where it jumped up and scored the paintwork. As it was a hire car, he guessed that his chance of a cheap rental ever again had just disappeared down the toilet.
“…and so you say this woman is lying?” The voice reverberated around the room. “In fact you’re happily married? There is a wife, but she’s not hidden away somewhere? So why isn’t she with you? Are you estranged?”
Darcy turned to him, and if he had one wish, it would be to banish the pained look in her eyes. Heaven help him, he’d done his best to avert the interview, but some ferrety reporter had discovered he was married and of course it was full bodied fodder for the gossip columns. Gael knew fine and well how his boring, no companion, race, practice, test, train and sleep regime annoyed them. Even more so because in his youth he’d kept most of them in business.
“Cara, I…”
“Shh, I’m listening to what my husband has decided to say.” Darcy turned her back on him. “Even if he chooses not to say it to me. Strange, that.”
Gael spent a few seconds admiring the curve of her spine and the way a few tendrils of reddish brown hair tickled the nape of her neck before he shrugged and wandered into the kitchen. After several wrong attempts he found mugs and coffee and set the stovetop machine on the hotplate to percolate.
It was inevitable this day would come, but he wished it hadn’t been mid season, where his chances for in-depth discussion would be few and far between. Unless he could persuade Darcy to accompany him to the track, and after today there was less likelihood of that than persuading her to fly to the moon.
He was pouring the liquid into two mugs when a sound alerted him to her presence. She leaned against the doorjamb, her long legs bare and a tiny skirt and strappy top covering what needed to be covered to preserve her decency.
“What a load of cobblers you spouted. ‘My wife has a busy life and we prefer to have our time together without interruptions. Those moments are precious and I’m greedy enough not to want to share them with anyone else. Lucky for me she feels the same’.” Darcy parroted his explanation in the interview in a sarcastic tone. “Yuck, so icky-sicky. Why didn’t you just divorce me?” She held her sunglasses by one of the arms and spun them around before jamming them on her nose. “You have grounds. I left you.”
It was a pity, because Gael could no longer see her eyes to gauge her reaction to his words. “Sadly I couldn’t find any Italian coffee, but I’ve done the best I could.”
“You get whatever was on offer and lump it. I buy for myself, not for unwelcomed guests.”
He winced very theatrically, and was immediately ashamed when she coloured and looked away from him.
“Why should I divorce you? I took my vows in all faith, and intended to abide by them. I still do. In sickness and in health, in good times and bad. Etcetera. The fact we are apart does not negate my love for you. That strengthens every day. It is above everything. It’s your choice not to be with me, and I have to accede to your preference.” He took a swallow of coffee and grimaced. “It was pigs’ swill on sale, cara. You were robbed if they called it coffee. False advertising.”
“Join the real world, caro. See how the most of us live.”
Where to Buy
Evernight Publishing
Amazon US
All Romance eBooks
BookStrand
About Raven McAllan
A multi-published, best selling author of erotic romance, Raven lives in Scotland, along with her husband, in a house much too big for them—their children having flown the nest—surrounded by beautiful scenery, which inspires a lot of the settings in her books.
She is used to sharing her life with the occasional deer, red squirrel, and lost tourist, to say nothing of the scourge of Scotland—the midge. As once she is writing she is oblivious to everything else, her lovely long-suffering husband is learning to love the dust bunnies, work the Aga, and be on stand-by with a glass of wine.
Where to find Raven McAllan
Website
Blog
Personal Facebook Page
Author Facebook Page
Twitter
Amazon US Author Page
Amazon UK Author Page
Mid Week Tease: Fine Dining #MidWeekTease #MWTease
Happy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with another wonderful Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. Here’s a tease from my short story “Fine Dining,” which will be appearing in Evernight Publishing’s upcoming uniform fetish anthology. James Fairchild has something of a crush on the elegant, handsome waiter Gustav, but is too shy to do anything about it. After an unfortunate mishap with some spilled soup, James learns to his delight that Gustav is more than happy to make the first move.
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
A sharp rap sounded at the door. On instinct he dropped into the chair like a marionette with its strings cut, covering his briefs with the wadded trousers. “C-come in,” he called.
Gustav peered around the door, holding up a large soup bowl with a white cloth draped over it. “Ah, good,” he said, bustling over. “Once again, monsieur, I apologize for this. Luckily Marco is an expert at treating stains before they set, and of course I will pay for your dry cleaning.”
“Absolutely not,” James said quickly. “It wasn’t your fault. That boor bumped you on purpose.”
Gustav gave a most Gallic shrug. “Nonetheless, I insist,” he said, putting the bowl down on the desk before gently prying the trousers from James’s hands. He held them up, studying at the stain. “Quel salaud,” he muttered.
A Paris veteran, James was fluent in French and recognized the phrase. “Calling him a bastard is probably an insult to bastards.”
Gustav smirked. “Yes, I suppose. But it will be the last time that connard and his friends eat here. Un moment, s’il vous plaît.”
He opened the door, handing the trousers off to someone outside with murmured instructions, then came back in. “Now for you, monsieur.”
“I–” James choked slightly as Gustav knelt in front of him, taking the bowl of ice water from the desk and putting it on the floor. The choke turned into a gasp as the waiter matter-of-factly slid two somewhat chilly hands between his knees and gently nudged them apart.
“This will cool the temperature of the burn and help it heal more quickly. It would be better if we could soak it in milk for a half hour, but I’m afraid that’s impractical considering the location,” Gustav said, wringing out the soft white cloth before wrapping it around an ice cube. “Brace yourself, monsieur.”
James shuddered as the wet cloth touched his burn, moving gently over it. Gustav clucked in apology, but James knew his reaction was equally due to Gustav’s free hand coming to rest on his uninjured thigh. The man was kneeling practically between his knees, so close that he could feel Gustav’s breath on his bare skin. He clasped his hands over his groin as camouflage for what promised to be a most inconvenient erection. “I’m all right, really,” he said thickly. “You don’t have to do this.”
Gustav eased back a bit, one hand still resting on his uninjured thigh. “It would be irresponsible of me to let you go while you are still in discomfort,” he said, dropping the cloth back into the bowl. “I should fetch some aloe vera lotion from the kitchen–”
“No, please,” James begged. “It’s all right.”
Grey-blue eyes narrowed at him, then glanced down at his clasped hands. A welter of emotions played across the man’s face, then; surprise, disbelief, acknowledgement, and finally an incandescent joy that shook James to his marrow.
“Ah,” Gustav said softly. His fingers left James’s thighs, gliding up so softly, touching his wrists, then the back of his hands. “I had hoped, but I wasn’t sure. Please, let me?”
Dizzy, James nodded, unsure of what he was agreeing to. He quickly found out what it was when Gustav pulled his hands away, revealing the long, hard shape of his desire under clean cotton. Already there was a spot of dampness at the tip, a faint grey shadow that spread as they watched.
Gustav bent his head and pressed a kiss to James’s pubic bone just at the base of his shaft. Warm breath gusted through the fabric, and James made a soft noise as Gustav’s lips closed around him, laying open-mouthed kisses up to the rounded head. A flickering tongue licked at the wetness there, savoring it.
“Délicieux,” Gustav murmured, glancing up at him with eyes that had gone dark. The waiter’s polite mask was gone, revealing the man underneath. “Please, James. Let me taste you.”
Powered by Linky Tools
Click here to enter your link and view this Linky Tools list…
Nicola’s Sunday Shoutout: L.D. Blakeley
Today’s Sunday Shoutout goes to the charming and hilarious L.D. Blakeley, whose new Romance on the Go™ story Judging a Book By Its Cover is now out from Evernight Publishing. If you’re in the mood for a sweetly sexy story about a bashful hottie and the smoldering editor-in-chief who discovers something delicious under that shy exterior, this is for you!
Agonizingly shy Emory North has his life mapped out for him: finish his business degree, go to work for his father, and one day take over as CEO of North Star Publishing. More at home amongst stacks of books, Emory has little to no interest in his lot as ‘North Jr.’, but has never had the courage to follow his true passion—writing.
Brash and ballsy Bryce Palmer, editor-in-chief of ECLIPSE magazine is known for bedding and discarding PAs like yesterday’s newspaper. He’s up against a serious deadline and down two staff members. And the last thing he has time for is babysitting the spoiled rich son of a CEO. But when Pierce Barclay North insists now is the time for his heir apparent to get his feet wet in the company waters, Palmer’s hands are tied.
But looks can be deceiving. And, sometimes, passion can spark in the most unlikely of places…
Story Excerpt
By 6:30 Monday morning, Emory sat at his desk nursing a steaming hot cup of strong, black coffee. It was far earlier than he should rightfully be at the office. But his internal monologue was making him crazy and he’d hoped work might, at least, distract him from the situation. Torn between anger — at Bryce for his wrongful intrusion — and mortification — also directed at Bryce (but more at himself) for that stolen kiss — Emory was fit to be tied. Did he confront Bryce about the email and risk his ire? Or should he avoid both subjects entirely? Emory knew his father would give him some variation of the I Assumed As Much speech, if Bryce were to fire him. Would he, though? Would Bryce fire him for last night’s indiscretion? He’d seemed well enough into it at first. So maybe Emory could call him out on the manuscript without risk of being upbraided like a child for the kiss — or worse, fired.
Before he had time to become completely unhinged with his thoughts, they were interrupted with the arrival of their main source of strife.
“Morning,” was all Bryce muttered as he breezed past Emory’s desk and into his office.
Seriously? That’s it? Emory was at a complete loss. Now what? Act like nothing out of the ordinary happened Friday and he hadn’t spent the entire weekend fretting? March into Bryce’s office and demand an explanation for the email? Before he was able to decide one way or the other, his phone lit up — Bryce’s extension.
“Emory speaking,” he finally managed after picking up the phone and hesitantly clearing his throat.
“I should hope so — I did dial your number.”
“Oh, um.”
Bryce sighed and Emory was positive there had been an accompanying eye roll. “Are we back to nervous monosyllables again?”
“No, I…” Emory heard Bryce chuckle before he could manage to spit out the rest of his sentence.
“Would you please come into my office, Emory?” This was it. He was about to be tossed out on his ass and onto a pile of jilted former PAs… and he hadn’t even managed more than a drunken kiss!
“You wanted to see me?” Emory stood in the doorway of Bryce’s office, not entirely sure what to do or say. A million things came to mind: curse the man out for taking his story; apologize for his behaviour after the gala; kiss him one more time just to see if it was as scorching hot as he remembered. He chose none of the above and timidly avoided eye contact.
“Would you please come in?” Bryce appeared to be finishing up an email, his fingers flying across his keyboard. “Shut the door behind you and have a seat.”
Emory did as he was told and sat facing Bryce. Before he could change his mind, he managed to muster up more temerity than he’d ever thought possible, and spat out “I’msorryaboutFridaynight,” as though it were all one single word.
“Sorry about… what, exactly?” Emory was surprised to see a smile on Bryce’s handsome face.
“The wine?” Emory started worrying at his thumbnail once again.
“I didn’t mind the wine, to be quite honest. Made you much more… conversational.” And didn’t that sound laced with… undertones. Emory could feel his face burning.
“But that wasn’t what I wanted to discuss.” And there it was. Emory braced himself.
Where To Buy
Amazon Canada
Amazon UK
Amazon US
ARe
BookStrand
Evernight Publishing
About L.D. Blakeley
A pragmatist with a romantic soul & a dirty mind, L.D. is a fan of horror movies, hot sex, and Happily Ever Afters. Easily distracted by shiny things, she’s a slightly neurotic, highly ambitious dreamer who enjoys dabbling in photography & pretending she can carry a tune.
In another life, L.D. was a newspaper reporter, an entertainment & music writer, travel writer, website content editor, and a marketing shill. Now she prefers to spend her time writing hot, steamy fiction (with a healthy dose of romance) about intriguing, sexy men. Of course, whether these pretty boys end up between the sheets with other gorgeous lads or up against a wall with a spicy and spirited heroine, all depends on which direction her imagination takes her on any given day.
Although she dreams of living some place isolated with an endless supply of wine and an infinite number of titles on her eReader, she currently lives in down-town Toronto with her husband and their rock star cat.
Nicola Cameron Writes 