Welcome to Steam Hop, a monthly offering by members of Marketing For Romance Writers for readers who like their scenes hot and spicy. Click on the links at the end to travel to other Steam Hop posts, and enjoy!
Today’s excerpt is from our newest release, I Am Not For Sale.
A desperate espresso café owner, a determined coffee franchise rep, a quiet Midwestern town, anonymous threats out of the blue—where does the true danger lie?
EXCERPT
“Remove your robe,” Nadja ordered. “I want to see how much you want me.”
Kevin stood briefly to do as she requested and sat back down on the straight backed chair she’d provided him when they entered her dance studio. Her image reflected from mirror to mirror around the room until he was surrounded by her. This was his penance.
If this was her idea of penance, he’d be her supplicant any day. Entirely naked except for her sapphire pendant and a light orange veil she’d used as an added visual tease, she’d been twirling and dancing for several minutes before she came to stop and told him to remove his robe. This was better. Even the robe had been too restrictive.
He skimmed his stiff shaft with his right hand.
“Don’t,” she commanded. “Unless I tell you to.” She gave him a tiny smile. “Which I doubt I will. I want to see him seeking me without your assistance. He is seeking me, isn’t he?”
Resting his hands on the chair seat, Kevin watched his cock weave about. “Yes. Can’t you tell? He wants your heat.”
“Good. Maybe this will teach you to trust me more in the future.”
“Will you still put on a show like this for me if I do?”
She ignored him and let the veil drop to the floor. Without looking at him, she walked to a line of crates on one wall and began tossing out pillows, mats, and throw rugs. He watched her move about without any display of self-consciousness until she’d arranged a bed of sorts in front of his chair.
He swallowed hard when he saw her lie down on her back and spread her thighs before him. Penance had all of a sudden gotten a bit edgy. She tucked a bolster under her butt, providing him with an even more pronounced view of her alluring orifices.
She reached for a small knit bag that he hadn’t seen and unzipped it. Then she pulled out a long crystal object and held it up for him to see.
“You,” she cooed, “wanted to meet my crystal wand.”
He tried to breathe.
She placed the wand in her mouth and made a show of sucking it in and out. “Right?”
It all seems simple enough—Ukrainian immigrant Nadja Petrov is determined to hold on to her thriving new coffee shop, Nadja’s Literary Cappuccino, and Java Beans District Rep Kevin Langley is equally determined to move into her North Iowa town with a franchise and run her out of business.
He scopes her out, she keeps a watchful eye on him, and the sparring begins. But there are other players involved, and the web of intrigue soon threatens Nadja, her shop, and her aunt as well as Kevin, his potential franchise, and his son. Within this cauldron simmers a sexual attraction between Nadja and Kevin that catapults them to overcome their fears of intimacy and commitment. Their lovemaking is tender and raw. Their love is nearly lost in tragedy—can it survive doubts, fire, and even a death?
Click to travel to the rest of today’s tantalizing excerpts:
It’s nothing personal…A desperate espresso café owner, a determined coffee franchise rep, a quiet Midwestern town, anonymous threats out of the blue—where does danger lie?
I Am Not for Sale was born in the fortuitous intersection of several threads when we lived in a small Midwest town – our favorite sole proprietor espresso café, the opening of a newly authorized casino in the next county, the growth of a new regional chain of espresso cafés, and a work trip one of us took to Ukraine at about the same time. Our heroine is a feisty self-sufficient recent Ukrainian immigrant to the U.S. whose aunt helps her open an espresso café in their small town. Her café, the new chain of cafés, and the possibility of a new local casino are on a collision course…
BLURB
It all seems simple enough—Ukrainian immigrant Nadja Petrov is determined to hold on to her thriving new coffee shop, Nadja’s Literary Cappuccino, and Java Beans District Rep Kevin Langley is equally determined to move into her North Iowa town with a franchise and run her out of business.
He scopes her out, she keeps a watchful eye on him, and the sparring begins. But there are other players involved, and the web of intrigue soon threatens Nadja, her shop and her aunt as well as Kevin, his potential franchise, and his son. Within this cauldron simmers a sexual attraction between Nadja and Kevin that catapults them to overcome their fears of intimacy and commitment. Their lovemaking is tender and raw. Their love is nearly lost in tragedy—can it survive doubts, fire and even a death?
EXCERPT
Here is our opening scene:
Glancing quickly at the clock on the far wall of her small coffee shop, Nadja fought back annoyance at customers who arrived when she was ready to close and go home. But in America, she reminded herself, the customer was always right.
She managed a small smile for the tall dark-haired man wearing a classic blue sport coat with a red tie knotted loosely about his neck. It was the end of the workday. He was probably grabbing a coffee for the drive home. “How may I help you?”
“Am I too late?”
He must’ve noticed her peeking at the clock.
“I’m sorry, I’m behind schedule. It’s been a grueling day.”
“It’s okay,” she murmured, not wanting to prolong her day by getting into a protracted conversation with a stranger. “What would you like?”
He studied the menu of drinks printed neatly on a chalkboard over her shoulder.
She didn’t have to look at it. She’d printed the block letters herself and knew the menu and the ingredients of each specialty coffee by heart.
She tried to wait patiently for the man to make up his mind. She took pride in being decisive. The man in front of her—the man with the square jaw and deep-set brown eyes—looked like a take-charge sort of guy, but he couldn’t seem to decide what he wanted. She cleared her throat.
The stranger flinched and glanced at her. “I’m sorry again. And you’re probably in a rush. It’s just that you have so many choices. I’ll have a grande vanilla latte.”
“Caffeinated or decaf?”
“Caf, please. I don’t know how far I’ll drive yet tonight.”
She nodded and turned to prepare his drink.
He followed her to the end of the counter and watched.
Steam gushed out of the machine. She narrowed her eyes. If she wasn’t careful, steam would be pouring out of her ears. Many customers watched her work, but this one did so more deliberately than most.
It was a comfort knowing that since it was Tuesday, her aunt would keep the shop next door open another two hours. The door connecting their shops stood open, so it wasn’t quite like she was alone with this intense guy.
She stirred the latte and set it on the counter. He paid her and she made change. She fully expected the gentleman to take his latte and leave, since he had miles to go.
She scowled when he turned his back on her and strolled to a corner table.
He looked back at her and grinned crookedly. “I hope it’s okay if I drink this here. It’s too big to set in my little car. Spilling hot coffee can be dangerous.”
She nodded. “I’ve got to clean up anyway. No hurry.” She grabbed a rag and began scrubbing down the counters. With any luck, the stranger was a fast drinker, or maybe he’d spill it.
She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. He didn’t seem to be hurrying at all—he seemed more interested in studying her shop, and her. Unless he was an avid reader, there wasn’t a lot that should catch his eye.
Relief swept over her when the man stood. Just as quickly, her stomach knotted. He wasn’t leaving. He walked over to one of several bookcases lining the walls.
What had gotten into her? She was a twenty-nine-year-old woman capable of handling nearly any man. If nothing else, she knew her five-foot-ten size intimidated most men—though the fellow in the sport coat gave no clue he’d noticed. And her aunt was only a few steps away. It wasn’t as if the guy intended to accost her. If he’d planned to rob her, would he have bought a drink first?
Still, he made her uncomfortable. She didn’t like being uncomfortable.
He stared across the empty room at her. She couldn’t escape his scrutiny. “This is a beautiful setting for taking one’s time with a cup of coffee. I hope I’m not keeping you.”
“No,” she lied easily.
“You have a fine book collection.” He drew one out from the shelves and leafed through it absently. “Do you sell books as well as coffee? Or do people borrow them?”
“I lend them out. It seems a shame to keep books stored away when others might find them useful.”
“What’s the penalty for people who fail to return them?”
She folded her arms across her abs. “I don’t know. I use the honor system. So far each book has come back.”
He carried her book and his half-full cup over and set them on the counter before her. “All of these books… Is that why this place is called Nadja’s Literary Cappuccino?”
She grinned softly. She couldn’t help it. The shop was her pride and joy—it was her child. And the man clearly approved of her establishment, of her work. “That, and because on most Friday evenings, we have readings by local writers. Some nights it might be live music. And occasionally we even feature graphic artists and their work.”
“A cultural mecca, of sorts.”
“This town is a cultural mecca,” Nadja responded with pride.
“I’ll have to take your word for that. I haven’t had time to look around.”
“Too many people hurry through on the way to the big cities.”
“So are you Nadja?”
“I am. This is my shop.”
“You’ve done a tasteful job with it.”
“Thank you. It has been a joy to do.”
“You surely don’t run this place by yourself?”
“Not anymore. I have two full-time employees and a few part-timers who come in for our busy nights.” She glanced at the clock, whose hands now showed five minutes after six. She blushed. “I close on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday at six o’clock,” she said, in case he wondered why he was the only customer remaining. “On Friday and Saturday we are open until ten o’clock.”
He eyed her levelly, with a hint of danger. “So how much would it take to buy this place?”
Stunned, she stepped backward and caught her breath. “I am not for sale!”
BIG SALE
All our erotic romance and romantic suspense novels at Extasy Books are on SALE
Welcome to Book Hooks, a Wednesday offering by members of Marketing For Romance Writers to share a little taste of our work and entice you into wanting more! Click on the links at the end to travel to other Book Hook posts, and enjoy!
It’s nothing personal…A desperate espresso café owner, a determined coffee franchise rep, a quiet Midwestern town, anonymous threats out of the blue—where does the true danger lie?
EXCERPT
Giving the menu a quick once-over, Kevin avoided looking at the blonde sitting on the other side of the booth. He counted himself lucky to be alive. Was the woman enraged at him, or did she normally drive like a demon? Fearing for life and limb, he’d made no attempt to engage in conversation, and neither had she.
He’d order the grilled walleye. That ought to be safe enough. He peeked up at Nadja, who gave him a hard stare. She was a specialist at projecting innocence, sexiness, and danger in one amazing package.
He reached for his coffee and sipped. Not bad for restaurant coffee. He glanced around the spacious eating area and smiled. Nadja wasn’t taking any chances. She’d brought him to a well-lit, fairly noisy sports bar. Hardly a setting that would engender a romantic mood.
And romance was the furthest thing from his mind—until he looked at her and felt himself drawn into her soulful eyes. Was she a witch? She had to be one of the most absolutely stunning women he’d ever met. And he was drawn to her eyes. Cripes, maybe he was getting old. At that moment, those beckoning eyes bored holes through him. Romance was definitely not on Nadja’s mind.
BLURB
It all seems simple enough—Ukrainian immigrant Nadja Petrov is determined to hold on to her thriving new coffee shop, Nadja’s Literary Cappuccino, and Java Beans District Rep Kevin Langley is equally determined to move into her North Iowa town with a franchise and run her out of business.
He scopes her out, she keeps a watchful eye on him, and the sparring begins. But there are other players involved, and the web of intrigue soon threatens Nadja, her shop and her aunt as well as Kevin, his potential franchise, and his son. Within this cauldron simmers a sexual attraction between Nadja and Kevin that catapults them to overcome their fears of intimacy and commitment. Their lovemaking is tender and raw. Their love is nearly lost in tragedy—can it survive doubts, fire and even a death?
BIG SALE
All our erotic romance and romantic suspense novels at
All our erotic romance and romantic suspense novels at Extasy Books are on SALE
~ 40% off ~
now through November 30!
What do you think of when you see the word prairie? Wide open spaces? Tall grasses? Early prairie settlers and their sod houses? All this and more are wrapped into our heroine, Ellen Jeffers, but she’s about to undergo a seismic shift.
We spent time in the Dakota prairie researching this book long before we began writing it. Here’s an excerpt from a blog I posted then:
I’m writing this from South Dakota, where we’re currently in the early research stages of two new WIP’s set in the tall grass prairie. I love this stage of the work. Even before we’ve developed character sketches and plot outlines, we talk over the places we’d like to set our next works and share what draws us to them. We like to ground our work in its geography, so we get to know our setting intimately and deeply. We’ve never set a work in a place we haven’t been.
Prairie speaks to me. I can hardly find words for the visceral response I felt when we crossed into South Dakota last week and I saw the tall tipi skeleton that decorates each Dakota rest area on I-90—but I’ll have to try. Our job will be to set that feeling on the page in a character’s body, to pull that feeling into the reader’s direct experience.
BLURB
Prairie roots can be deceptive. Will Ellen Jeffers cling to the sedate past that’s familiar, or will she embrace a different version of her history—one that includes tragedy, scandal, fortitude, and freedom?
It’s 2002, and South Dakota third grade teacher Ellen Jeffers has signed up for a photography summer course and assistantship at an art academy in Minneapolis. Thirty-three, divorced from her college boyfriend for nearly a decade, she’s not seeking major change. She just hopes the course will enhance her teaching skills and her resume.
Aaron Brewster comes from privilege, and he has used that status to flaunt his family’s values and carve out a successful career as a photographer specializing in black and white erotic portraiture. Has he ever loved? His love is for beauty, sensuality, eroticism. His new uptight teaching assistant will never fit that vision. Should he send her packing? For reasons he cannot fathom, he takes her on as a challenge.
Aaron’s frontal assault shocks Ellen, but it also triggers something deep inside she’s never been willing to acknowledge. Is her beloved prairie a safe refuge, or will it become a crucible for transformation? The choice is not merely Ellen’s.
Ellen has arranged a photo shoot with Aaron on the open prairie, where her ancestors homesteaded. The original sod house still stands.
“Uncle Jim asked that we not try to go in,” Ellen said, walking around the old soddy. “I can understand why. He’s looking into how he can shore it up without damaging the walls more.”
“It’s an amazing structure,” Aaron said. “Baked by wind and sun, I guess. I’ve seen adobe of the southwest, but I’ve never seen anything like this. Looks like caked mud, grasses, and I don’t know what else.”
“Anything that might stick together. I know the roof has undergone repair, probably several times. I don’t know about the walls. They’re very thick.”
“You’ve been in the house?”
“When I was a little girl, and then my mother brought me out here when I was fourteen to explain Clarissa to me.”
“That must’ve been fascinating.”
“It was. I already knew much of the story, but not all of it.”
“And this is her place.”
“The original soddy. The wood house she and Hazel built didn’t last, but this structure did. Ironic, huh?”
“Amazing. And she would’ve used most of these things your mother collected for the shoot.”
“That’s right. These, or others like them.” Ellen ran fingers over the spinning wheel. “This wheel was hers. The flail comes down from her. The hurricane lamps probably don’t. There’s an old butter churn. I don’t know its history. But they’re all authentic pieces. None of them are replicas.”
“Very good.”
“You do have a passion for authenticity.” She stepped across the baked ground to squeeze his arm. “That must go along with trying to be original and wanting to be first.” She studied him thoughtfully.
He held her gaze.
“Neither one of us seems eager to talk about last night.”
He shrugged. “Maybe we’re afraid if we do, it will evaporate like a mirage.”
Welcome to Steam Hop, a monthly offering by members of Marketing For Romance Writers for readers who like their scenes hot and spicy. Click on the links at the end to travel to other Steam Hop posts, and enjoy!
Today’s excerpt is from The Diary, first released at Extasy Books in 2007.
All our back list releases at Extasy Books are on sale!
40% off, now through November 30
Forty erotic titles, and you can find them all HERE
Set up:
Kate has just stumbled upon her sister’s diary and dared to read it…
EXCERPT
June 3
Splendid. Absolutely glorious. A wildfire continues raging across my body with the professor’s cock still buried deep in my ass. His panting breaths of aftermath warm my neck. It is so much better being a woman when it comes to lovemaking. He is so quickly finished and I am still burning bright. He is consumed by our mutual heat and I—I am fed by it.
Will I ever get enough?
I am moist with the remembering, with the writing of this entry. I greatly doubt and sincerely hope that my thirst for sex will never be quenched.
“Luci, how could you?” Kate Noble slammed her sister’s diary shut. Kate tried to breathe normally, but how could she do that when she’d just discovered that her baby sister was some kind of nymphomaniac?
BLURB
A rakish professor, a flaming redhead, her petite younger sister, and the redhead’s bi Italian girlfriend in a blistering transcontinental tale of revenge gone awry.
Lust, revenge, dark sexual escapades and the mysterious disappearance of her younger half sister, Luci, will take art curator Kate Noble on a whirlwind transcontinental journey. The diary Luci’s left behind paints vivid images of shameless erotic exploits with a rake named only as G.C.
Can Kate learn enough under the delightful hands of her bisexual best friend, Gina, to ensnare the sensual and elusive Professor Grayson Cosgrove into a marriage proposal of her making? Can she find Luci before it’s too late? If only she could read between the lines.
The Diary ~ never have the secrets of another been so electrifying!
Welcome to Steam Hop, a monthly offering by members of Marketing For Romance Writers for readers who like their scenes hot and spicy. Click on the links at the end to travel to other Steam Hop posts, and enjoy!
All our back list releases at Extasy Books are on sale!
40% off, now through November 30
Forty erotic titles, and you can find them all HERE
The Merry Widow is the steamy story of a mid-life widow’s sexual awakening. Following a prologue to set the stage, it opens with an erotic scene between two women – the first ever in our heroine’s life. If this isn’t your cup of tea, no problem – you might prefer our Romantic Suspense books, all of which deliver one man, one woman, hot sex, and perilous danger.
But if this appeals to you – hang on for the ride! Recently widowed and in her early forties, Merry Delany is about to plunge into a self-discovery journey that takes her places she’s never imagined, much less hoped for. Once passion is unleashed, can it be stopped?
In today’s scene, Jim and Merry have just completed a thorough search of her house to make sure it isn’t bugged. They’re on her patio, where she now knows he’s previously spied on her…
“Oh, yeah. I’d just learned about the computer hacking and I was suspicious of your phones. So I’d raced over here to protect you—only you weren’t here, so I waited.”
“I see.” Merry bit into an orange, which squirted in Jim’s direction. He reached for a napkin and wiped the table. “So from where you sat”—she motioned toward the numerous bushes ringing her yard—“did it look like I needed protecting last night?”
“Not really. You’re damn good at asking questions, Merry. Now I have a few for you. Did you think I was out there last night? That I was watching?”
Merry tapped her lips with a napkin. “It did occur to me to wonder.”
“And did that turn you on—wondering if I was watching?”
“Maybe. Did watching me turn you on?”
BLURB
The millennium arrived with such promise—will it deliver for recently widowed Merry Delaney?
So much for all the anticipation about the new millennium. Merry Delaney’s life is still in a rut and shows no signs of changing. Sex? A fading memory, gone long before her husband actually died. Excitement? Hardly the hallmark of an accountant’s life. At forty-two, what can she look forward to?
Until her best friend takes Merry’s predicament into her practiced hands. One passionate kiss unleashes possibilities Merry never dreamed of—and she wants to sample them all. Men? Women? Young? Old? Ménage? Toys? Yes, to all, to pleasure, to making up for lost time.
Enter Chicago Detective Jim Barnes, who solicits Merry’s help with a mob funds-skimming case. Can the scorching passion that soon smolders between Merry and Jim survive the escalating mob threats of exposure? Having discovered a zest for sex, will Merry ever again be satisfied with one man?
When her husband complains about her constant sexual demands, MILF Lauren Gordon is shocked and hurt – and determined to act on his instructions.
Lauren has never strayed outside the bounds of her marriage, but now that she has permission, she unleashes her voracious libido on her gorgeous girlfriend next door, the UPS delivery man, and anyone else who strikes her fancy.
Her husband called her a slut in order to shame her. Lauren wears the title with pride. When he comes home to find her gang banging her son’s buddies from the college wrestling team, he realizes he’s made a huge mistake. He wants his slutty wife back. But once you’ve freed the genie, you can’t put it back in the bottle.
If you love wild adventures of wanton women, you’ll love The Slut Strikes Back.
They huddled together, laughing and chatting, obviously good friends. She couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but the lovely, rolling cadence of their speech made her shiver. Shades of Michael Caine and Sean Connery! She’d always found an English accent devastatingly sexy. She squirmed on her leather seat, aware that her minuscule silken panties were well on their way to being soaked.
Nikki set down their single malts, in sparkling crystal glasses. Lauren couldn’t see how much of a tip they gave her, but her broad smile suggested they’d been magnanimous. Crossing one leg over the other, Lauren gave the barkeeper a come-hither gesture. “Another daiquiri, please,” she called.
The two men gazed in her direction, seeming to notice her for the first time. The dark one’s eyebrows shot up as he took in her generous curves, trim thighs and shapely calves. The red-head gave her a wolfish grin. She reached for her glass to drain the last bit of tartness, knowing that the gesture made her breasts shift under her form-fitting dress. Then she leaned over to fiddle with the buckle on her shoe, giving them both a clear view of her sun-tanned cleavage.
None of this was calculated. She wasn’t consciously trying to turn them on. They were watching her; it seemed natural to put on a bit of a show.
The shorter guy waved at Nikki. “Add her drink to our bill, please,” he said, staring straight into Lauren’s eyes.
She liked his boldness. “Why, thank you!” Slipping off her stool, she made her way down the bar, swinging her hips and flipping her long hair back over her shoulder. She settled her butt on the tall chair next to the man with glasses and set her purse on the polished wood surface. “That’s very kind of you.”
“It’s our pleasure.” The dark-haired member of the pair held out his hand. “I’m James.” He had big hands and a powerful grip.
Lauren couldn’t help wondering if he was big everywhere. The erotic potential of this encounter was already clear to her. Her mind running fast-forward, she saw herself sandwiched between these two delightful males. Her pulse jumped and new moisture dampened her already sodden thong.
“Lauren,” she replied, then stopped herself. Should she be using a false name? But why bother? Elliott had called her a slut, and he’d been right. She wasn’t ashamed of who she was. Far from it.
The shorter man licked his lips. “Phillip Worthington,” he said. “At your service.”
She liked that notion. Her vigorous nod caused her unfettered breasts to bounce. Their eyes followed every movement. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I gather you’re visiting LA.”
“We’re here for the IPI conference,” James replied, obviously struggling to look at her face rather than her tits. “Indie Publishers International.”
“Oh! You’re authors?” Brains as well as beauty!
“Phil’s the author.”
“Mysteries and thrillers, mostly,” Phillip added. “As P.J. Worthington.”
“I own a small press in London,” James continued. “Haversham Books. But I don’t imagine you’ve ever heard of us.” He drained his Scotch and signaled to Nikki. “Another round, please.”
“Meanwhile, why don’t you sit between us, Lauren?” Phillip suggested. “That way we can share you.”
Even with the subdued lighting, Lauren caught the devilish twinkle in his eye. “Lovely idea,” she agreed. They shuffled about, until the two Englishmen bracketed her chair. She gazed from one handsome man to the other, then lifted her third cocktail. “Cheers!”
AboutLisabet
Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.
Welcome to the MFRW Steam Hop! If you like your romance hot and spicy, this is the place for you. Click on the graphic to link to all the steamy posts.
Through the Lens by Adriana Kraft
~ Erotic Menage Romance ~
We thought we’d share a little about how this book came to be. Are you a fan of Impressionist art? We are, and when we lived in Minnesota, we spent a day at the Minneapolis Institute of Art exploring its collection.
We want you to put yourself in the mind of our character, Ellen Jeffers – a third grade teacher from the plains of South Dakota – when she walks into one of the exhibit rooms and sees this painting, Caillebotte’s Nude on a Couch – six feet wide and a little over four feet tall.
You’re right, she freaks. Not a good thing. She’s in the middle of a tour conducted by the art academy teacher she’s assisting for the summer. And she doesn’t keep her mouth shut. In front of him and their students. Here’s the scene:
EXCERPT
“Isn’t that the most lewd, despicable painting you’ve ever seen?”
Aaron looked up sharply from his notes. He hadn’t even begun to talk about one of his favorite Impressionist paintings—Caillebotte’s Nude on a Couch.
Ellen was standing with her arms crossed under her breasts, glaring with disdain at the painting.
“What’s your problem, Ms. Jeffers?” He’d purposely called her Ms. Jeffers to try to snap her out of her tirade, but with little success.
“It’s so huge. The woman is begging for attention, for sex. The painting must be life size. No wonder it’s under glass. Someone might claw it to pieces.”
Aaron gulped, trying to hold himself in check. Who would even think of such a thing happening? “This is one of Caillebotte’s most famous paintings. We’re quite fortunate to have it here.”
“I’ve never heard of Caillebotte. He must be a third rank Impressionist.”
“Well, you’re wrong, Ms. Jeffers.” Aaron saw Tina grab Ellen’s arm to warn her, but Ellen pulled away. “Caillebotte was not only an impressionist of the first rank—it was through his financial support and considerable influence that the group was able to attain recognition and stature in its own time. What is your problem? We looked at other nudes in the last corridor, and you didn’t begin to flip out.”
Looking at least somewhat chastened, Ellen sniffed, seemingly unable or unwilling to let it drop. “The others weren’t in our face. She’s too bold. Good grief, she’s playing with a nipple. She’s trying to seduce us.” Her eyes widened. “She must’ve been a prostitute. Only such women would’ve posed like that during that era of French history.”
“And you know that for a fact?”
“It was the custom of the time. Upper-class women wouldn’t go out unchaperoned.”
“Do tell.” He gathered himself as best he could. “That might’ve been the norm at the time, but even the upper class of the Victorian era had its libertine members. There are plenty of accounts in England and France of upper-class ladies being escorted to a rendezvous with a paramour by a maid or manservant. After successfully completing her liaison, the woman would be escorted back to her house to await her husband as he returned from another lover’s arms. Does that upset your sensibilities, Ms. Jeffers?”
To her credit, Ellen kept her lips tightly sealed and this time did not shake off Tina’s supporting hand. She shook her head, but he knew everyone knew she was lying. According to what he knew, the woman in the portrait had become Caillebotte’s mistress. There remained some debate whether she’d been a prostitute. Many models of that period were, but he wasn’t about to let Ellen know he was aware of that. “Our reclining nude might’ve been a woman of the working class trying to put food on the table. Had you thought of that possibility?”
Prairie roots can be deceptive. Will Ellen Jeffers cling to the sedate past that’s familiar, or will she embrace a different version of her history—one that includes tragedy, scandal, fortitude, and freedom?
It’s 2002, and South Dakota third grade teacher Ellen Jeffers has signed up for a photography summer course and assistantship at an art academy in Minneapolis. Thirty-three, divorced from her college boyfriend for nearly a decade, she’s not seeking major change. She just hopes the course will enhance her teaching skills and her resume.
Aaron Brewster comes from privilege, and he has used that status to flaunt his family’s values and carve out a successful career as a photographer specializing in black and white erotic portraiture. Has he ever loved? His love is for beauty, sensuality, eroticism. His new uptight teaching assistant will never fit that vision. Should he send her packing? For reasons he cannot fathom, he takes her on as a challenge.
Aaron’s frontal assault shocks Ellen, but it also triggers something deep inside she’s never been willing to acknowledge. Is her beloved prairie a safe refuge, or will it become a crucible for transformation? The choice is not merely Ellen’s.
What do you think of when you see the word prairie? Wide open spaces? Tall grasses? Early prairie settlers and their sod houses? All this and more are wrapped into our heroine, Ellen Jeffers, but she’s about to undergo a seismic shift.
We spent time in the Dakota prairie researching this book long before we began writing it. Here’s an excerpt from a blog I posted then:
I’m writing this from South Dakota, where we’re currently in the early research stages of two new WIP’s set in the tall grass prairie. I love this stage of the work. Even before we’ve developed character sketches and plot outlines, we talk over the places we’d like to set our next works and share what draws us to them. We like to ground our work in its geography, so we get to know our setting intimately and deeply. We’ve never set a work in a place we haven’t been.
Prairie speaks to me. I can hardly find words for the visceral response I felt when we crossed into South Dakota last week and I saw the tall tipi skeleton that decorates each Dakota rest area on I-90—but I’ll have to try. Our job will be to set that feeling on the page in a character’s body, to pull that feeling into the reader’s direct experience.
BLURB
Prairie roots can be deceptive. Will Ellen Jeffers cling to the sedate past that’s familiar, or will she embrace a different version of her history—one that includes tragedy, scandal, fortitude, and freedom?
It’s 2002, and South Dakota third grade teacher Ellen Jeffers has signed up for a photography summer course and assistantship at an art academy in Minneapolis. Thirty-three, divorced from her college boyfriend for nearly a decade, she’s not seeking major change. She just hopes the course will enhance her teaching skills and her resume.
Aaron Brewster comes from privilege, and he has used that status to flaunt his family’s values and carve out a successful career as a photographer specializing in black and white erotic portraiture. Has he ever loved? His love is for beauty, sensuality, eroticism. His new uptight teaching assistant will never fit that vision. Should he send her packing? For reasons he cannot fathom, he takes her on as a challenge.
Aaron’s frontal assault shocks Ellen, but it also triggers something deep inside she’s never been willing to acknowledge. Is her beloved prairie a safe refuge, or will it become a crucible for transformation? The choice is not merely Ellen’s.
Ellen has arranged a photo shoot with Aaron on the open prairie, where her ancestors homesteaded. The original sod house still stands.
“Uncle Jim asked that we not try to go in,” Ellen said, walking around the old soddy. “I can understand why. He’s looking into how he can shore it up without damaging the walls more.”
“It’s an amazing structure,” Aaron said. “Baked by wind and sun, I guess. I’ve seen adobe of the southwest, but I’ve never seen anything like this. Looks like caked mud, grasses, and I don’t know what else.”
“Anything that might stick together. I know the roof has undergone repair, probably several times. I don’t know about the walls. They’re very thick.”
“You’ve been in the house?”
“When I was a little girl, and then my mother brought me out here when I was fourteen to explain Clarissa to me.”
“That must’ve been fascinating.”
“It was. I already knew much of the story, but not all of it.”
“And this is her place.”
“The original soddy. The wood house she and Hazel built didn’t last, but this structure did. Ironic, huh?”
“Amazing. And she would’ve used most of these things your mother collected for the shoot.”
“That’s right. These, or others like them.” Ellen ran fingers over the spinning wheel. “This wheel was hers. The flail comes down from her. The hurricane lamps probably don’t. There’s an old butter churn. I don’t know its history. But they’re all authentic pieces. None of them are replicas.”
“Very good.”
“You do have a passion for authenticity.” She stepped across the baked ground to squeeze his arm. “That must go along with trying to be original and wanting to be first.” She studied him thoughtfully.
He held her gaze.
“Neither one of us seems eager to talk about last night.”
He shrugged. “Maybe we’re afraid if we do, it will evaporate like a mirage.”
Martimus. An underwater habitat dedicated to pharmaceutical research.
Martimus. A facility that staffs its vessel with inmate labor.
Martimus. The place where inmates visit and never return.
Agent Cate Creighton is in love. Unfortunately, as the Agency honeypot, she is knee-deep in an assignment that tests the bounds of her new relationship. It seems eight socialites have gone missing, all wealthy twenty-somethings with influential parents. No one seems to care until a former vice president’s daughter disappears.
When the vice-president shares a tale of false arrest, a broken promise of deportation, an illegal diversion into a private prison, and an alleged trip to an unwater habitat called Martimus, Cate and her colleagues must find a way to follow the same path. In other words, they must enter the right prison, meet the right fixer, wind up on Martimus, and hopefully return in one piece. And it looks like Cate is the perfect bait.
That doesn’t sit well with Cate’s lover, former U.S. Navy Seal Warren Hazelton. He intends to protect her until death ‘til do they part.
Fortunately, another possibility appears, in the form of an MISix agent who has interfered in one too many Agency operations. Tillie Henderson owes them and they are all too willing to serve her up on a plate. It’s race against time as the Agency attempts to lure their adversary out of hiding and into their somewhat ambiguous trap. Maybe then Cate can finally focus on love.
Release Date: May 29, 2019
Publisher: Extasy Books
Romantic Suspense, Contemporary Romance, four flames
Tom cocked an eyebrow. “Warren, you’re a former Navy Seal. Isn’t there some sort of limit on the amount of time you can spend under the sea before it starts to seriously impair your health?”
Warren frowned. “Usually two weeks. After that, the lack of exposure to the sun and the constant high pressure oxygenated environment would begin to take a toll. There’s also a psychological impact. Think sensory deprivation. Your senses are out of whack because you’ve been dumped into a soundproof sponge. There is no normal sensory stimulation. No sunlight, no sound… Even taste and smell become compromised. Coming back to the real world would be an adjustment.
“In addition, those underwater stations are small. People are right on top of each other. Things we take for granted, like privacy, hot showers, home cooked meals, are in short supply. That can create anxiety, depression, and stress. No way he served that sentence consecutively. He had to take a break in between.”
Warren gazed at Tom. “That environment is more hostile than a prison. You may not be in danger from other inmates, but you are putting your life at risk. Three months sounds like way too much time to be stuck underwater though, especially if you’re not leaving the station for deep sea diving on a regular basis. They must be breaking up the time somehow, otherwise they’d have a pretty tough situation on their hands. A lot of contract workers would be headed to a rubber room. It would be extremely difficult to survive a month, much less three, down there.”
“Could they be treating the inmates like guinea pigs?” Hope asked. “Testing their limits? Tracking actual survival rates?”
Warren sighed. “Possibly. It’s not like they have to answer to anyone. They are located in international waters. No country in particular has legal oversight. I imagine they could be doing anything they want without recourse. Unfortunately, when the prospect of a reduced sentence is dangled in front of some people, they grab it, damn the consequences. If one or two inmates suffer some sort of harm or die along the way, they chalk it up to collateral damage.”
“And who’s going to know?” Cate shook her head. “Someone dies, they probably flush them down a chute into the deep sea and they become shark chum. No evidence left behind.”
Hope cringed. “God, that’s kind of evil. But that still doesn’t answer our original question. Where the hell is Fuzzy? Has he already served out his sentence? Has he been released, and if he has, where the hell is he? He’s the one we need to find. He could have a lot of the answers.”
“That lack of governmental oversight is troubling,” Tom said. “If Cassie McIntyre is down there, I can’t believe the CIA isn’t all over it. At least, our government should be doing a welfare check through the Red Cross or something.”
Warren grimaced. “Unless no one knows she is down there. Think about it. They are on the bottom of the ocean, more than two miles under the sea. It’s not like you can just go down there and knock on the door. Any regular monitoring would be impossible.”
Cate nodded. “And we haven’t been able to confirm that she embarked on the same path as Fuzzy. All we’ve got are suspicions. Right now, she’s missing. We need to sit down with her family and get more information. And we need to find other prisoners who contracted with Martimus.
“Otherwise, we’ve got nothing.”
About Seelie Kay:
Seelie Kay is a nom de plume for a writer, editor, and author with more than 30 years of experience in law, journalism, marketing, and public relations. When she writes about love and lust in the legal world, something kinky is bound to happen! In possession of a wicked pen and an overly inquisitive mind, Ms. Kay is the author of multiple works of fiction, including the Kinky Briefs series, the Feisty Lawyers series, The Garage Dweller, A Touchdown to Remember, The President’s Wife, The White House Wedding, and The President’s Daughter.
When not spinning her kinky tales, Ms. Kay ghostwrites nonfiction for lawyers and other professionals. She resides in a bucolic exurb outside Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where she shares a home with her son and enjoys opera, gourmet cooking, organic gardening, and an occasional bottle of red wine.
Ms. Kay is an MS warrior and ruthlessly battles the disease on a daily basis. Her message to those diagnosed with MS: Never give up. You define MS, it does not define you!
Because I am fascinated by the games people play to find and secure a lasting relationship, which is not always love. There’s the chase, the courtship, the falling, the surrender. That’s what I try to capture in my stories.
Q. Do you prefer a certain type of romantic hero?
I adore smart, dashing gentlemen who aren’t afraid to live on the edge. They can be a bad boy, a billionaire, a prince, or a secret agent. That hint of danger just hooks me! However, I they have to be paired with strong, independent women who aren’t afraid to fight for what they want, even love.
Q. Why did you write “Martimus?”
This is the final book in the series, so I needed a way to tie up a lot of loose ends. That meant the Feisty Lawyers needed a compelling story to accomplish that. Something in space was beyond the realm of believability, but something at the bottom of the ocean? The possibilities were endless. I went in all sorts of directions at first, but ultimately made Martimus a key step in a much broader journey. The bottom of the ocean is an unforgiving environment. Survival is never guaranteed. Divert a few socialites there to serve out a prison sentence, make then disappear, and you’ve got what I hope is an exciting story!
As a former lawyer, I also developed an interest in private prisons. These are institutions that are governed by a different set of rules, and not all institutions follow the same rules. In some cases, which private prison an inmate winds up in can mean the difference between survival and death. In addition, there have been several cases of prosecutors and judges who received a financial incentive to divert inmates to private prison. Some were so incentivized that people innocent of the crimes with which they here charged have been convicted just so the prosecutor or judge could get their kickback. It is an industry that requires serious regulation and monitoring.
Q. How does your former profession as a lawyer impact your writing?
My friends say I am obsessed with justice and I guess that’s true. After 30 years, the law and the legal world are so firmly embedded in my brain that I can’t flush them out. That has become the lens through which I view the world and that naturally guides my characters and plots. Injustice infuriates me, but it also leads me to great stories!
