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November 11, 2015

STARE HIM DOWN SCENE #3, MORE FOR THE GIVEAWAY & A HONEY STORY!

May 16, 2016

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About the drawing first!

001

Click on the picture to see what we already have for our giveaway.

toe ring

This is what we’re adding. It’s a Sterling Silver toe ring. Only because James is into jewelry and well…if you read Stare Him Down when it releases you’ll see why. :)

Here is scene #3 of Stare Him Down. If you didn’t read scene  1 & 2 here are the links

(Excerpt)

The Donavan ski lodge a year later. The annual company competition

James

James knew he’d put his foot in his mouth the second Bran Donavan jumped to accept.

“Great. Are you sure you don’t mind going back to the cabin to check up on her? I’d go myself, but I’m expected to stay until the race is over.”

James shifted his skis from his right shoulder to rest against his left one. “No. I’d be glad to. You know I wasn’t planning on participating this year anyway.”

“Good thing.” Bran studied him for a second and then added, “But I hope that decision wasn’t based on you worrying about winning and thereby creating more waves with the crew. I’m well aware of how your advancements have been viewed by certain members of the board. You need to ignore them. You’ve earned every promotion I’ve given you.”

James wasn’t worried about this, but he was sensitive to it. In only a few years he’d become Bran’s right-hand man. Much to Decker’s chagrin, and most of the other guys vying for advancement in the company. “I should hope so. You fucking work me like a dog.”

Bran smiled. “I know. And now there’s more work for you to do.”

James had gathered his skis and was just about to step away when his boss’s words sunk in. “Work?”

His friend and mentor nodded. “See if you can get my girl to talk. She’s going through something right now and we haven’t had enough time together for me to draw it out of her.”

“And you want me to talk to her?” James was a little surprised. The last time he had come face to face with her was when she’d screwed him around with that conference call. Sure they’d seen each other in passing—a company thing here or there—they’d both been polite to each other, but from a comfortable distance.

“Yeah, I think she likes you. You’re the only employee she’s ever bothered to ask about. Several times in fact.”

He didn’t like the way the older guy was staring at him. Nor did he like the observation he’d just made either. “Again. And you want me to go back to the cabin and speak with her? Isn’t that a good reason for me not to go?”

“I know you have a certain lifestyle. There are rules and protocols you strictly adhere to, correct?”

James nodded, relieved that Bran had brought the topic out in the open.

“Michaela is my daughter and she knows nothing about those things. She never will. Understood?”

James did, better than Bran would ever know.

“Great. Besides, you’re the only man I trust. I’d trust you with my life.” He put a hand on James’ shoulder and even through the heavy ski jacket material James felt the heaviness on him. It weighed him down, much like the added pressure of being asked to deal with an angsty teen. But he’d do it. “I am trusting you with my life. You know how I feel about her.”

Of course he did, but even if he didn’t, James didn’t want anything to screw up the solid relationship he had with this man, so he thought he’d try one more time. After all, signing up to check in on someone was far different than sticking around and speaking to them about their problems.

Not just any someone. This was the girl with a Mona Lisa smile.

“Bran, I really think you should be the one to talk—”

“I can’t. I’m too close. If her mother was still with us…” He looked away and James realized how hard it was on the poor guy. Then he recalled how Bran had confided in him a few months ago when he’d shared his fears about Michaela and him growing apart. It was bound to happen. Most girls around Michaela’s age usually did grow up and find a man to replace Daddy. Damn. He nearly choked on the irony of that thought. After all, in his world outside of work, James counted on this natural evolutionary process between men and women. It worked to his benefit. This transfer of need was something he relished, but not with her. Never with her because of the respect he had for her father.

“I’ll do my best then.”

When the man looked back, relief was written all over his face. “Thanks. We’ll be up around dinner time. I’ve got one of the chefs from the lodge trucking up supper for all of us tonight. It should be fun.”

James didn’t know about that. Especially when he made the trek up the mountain on one of Bran’s expensive snowmobiles and the dark gray clouds overhead opened up, pelting down snow. This was a heavenly occurrence to a skier, but hell for him. Why? It was a little too Charlotte Bronte for his tastes. A Dom being stuck in an isolated cabin with a gorgeous young woman who supposedly had a crush on him.

He revved the engine of the Polaris, thinking there was no way this afternoon could get any worse…until it did.

 

 

The cabin that evening at dusk

Michaela

She clutched the pillow over her head and curled up tighter into a ball. If her dad didn’t stop knocking on her bedroom door she was going to scream. What was wrong with him tonight? Normally he gave up after a few tries when she was in hibernation mode.

“Michaela?”

Her eyes popped open and she blinked in the darkness under her covers. That wasn’t her dad.

“I’m coming in if you don’t answer the door in the next thirty seconds.”

That was Barrington. She tossed the pillow aside and sat straight up. “What’s wrong? Is my dad okay?”

“He’s fine. Open the door.”

She really didn’t want to for many reasons. The biggest one? She’d been wearing the same sweats for a couple of days and it smelled like it.

“I’m going to start the count down.”

Holy shit, he was. “Hang on.”

“Five—No, I suppose your dad hangs on. I don’t—Four…”

She turned on a bedside lamp and scooted off the mattress. One quick check of her image in the mirror attached to the dresser as she rushed by it, intent on the door, and she winced. Her hair had seen better days, but then so had the rest of her. She was one hot—

“Damn.”

She lost her train of thought when she opened the door and saw him. He was mad and disgusted. Maybe even a little surprised. “Damn? Damn what?”

“You are one hot mess right now.” She couldn’t argue with that. “What have you been doing all afternoon?” But she could take exception to his brusque demand.

She leaned against the door frame and crossed her arms to ward off the chilly air. “Obviously not my hair. What’s it to you?”

His smile was tight. As if the action was paining him. Didn’t he know he was the one wrecking everything at the moment? All she wanted to do was sleep and get over her funk. She hadn’t pounded on his door.

“I want you to come down and help with dinner.”

He may as well have said, “I want you to hand over fifty grand and a box of your finest cigars.” She wasn’t eating, and even if she was, she wouldn’t be cooking for anyone. She barely even cooked for herself. “No thanks.”

She stepped back and managed to get the door halfway closed before his big hand landed with an abrupt bang against wood. The knotty pine surface vibrated so hard she felt the twangs straight through to the grip she had on the brass knob.

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t a choice. Get yourself cleaned up and come downstairs. I’ll meet you in the kitchen in fifteen.”

She really didn’t know what to say to all this. Could he really make her? “But…but I don’t want to.”

“First rule of negotiations? Never show your opponent what you’re holding in your hands.”

She looked down, and then let go of the door handle and scowled up at him. “I don’t have anything in my hands.”

His voice softened when he said, “Yes you do. You have the power to choose.”

“I thought you said I didn’t have a choice?”

“Not with what I have planned for our dinner, that’s been decided. But with other things? The sky is the limit unless you keep slamming doors on me. Are you going to continue to slam doors in my face, Michaela?”

She swallowed so hard she was afraid he’d heard the action. Suddenly she was hot. Short of breath, and wishing for the life of her that she wasn’t standing just inside her room with her crappy sweats on.

His big frame filled the doorway.

He was patiently waiting.

Softly smiling.

Why?

“Are you going to answer me…?”

That whispered query sounded as if he’d cut if off short. As if he had wanted to add an endearment to it, like honey, or sweetheart, or love.

She swallowed hard again, only this time she vigorously shook her head before she whispered back, “No door slamming. I’ll be down in fifteen minutes. You can time me.”

His smile widened and then he saluted her right before he left. She thought about that odd gesture as she got changed. The action was the same as the one he’d given her that night after he’d returned her medallion. Only this time it felt different. Very, very different.

“Don’t be crazy,” she muttered. “There’s no difference. None. Zip.”

But there was because she was still warmly blushing from it…

 

 

The kitchen, ten minutes later

James

He was trying to keep his cool, but seriously? He’d returned shortly after lunch only to find that Michaela intended to sleep the whole afternoon and evening away. He’d been patient, but when he’d received word from Bran that the snow was so bad the main ski lodge had closed down the lifts, and advised against making the trip up the mountain pass on vehicles, he knew he had to do something. Plan A had been to tell his boss that he hadn’t gotten the chance to talk with her because clearly the young woman was exhausted and needed her sleep.

“Fucking snow.” Because of it, plan A was a bust.

He continued carefully trimming the salmon as he thought about what he’d just done. He’d gone upstairs to bully her in the gentlest, almost flirtatious way he could. Was it his fault she’d eaten it up like—?

“Fucking. Snow.”

It was all his fault.

He didn’t need a plan. He needed a motive. Some other reason to put the third degree to her besides his boss asking him to. He wasn’t a meddler, nor did he believe in passing the buck. Yet now that he was going to be pulling an all-nighter with her on his own?

Yeah. He was going to have to get to know her.

Damn.

“Fucking snow.”

“Hi. I’m here with a minute to spare. Did you say something?”

He shook his head and then angled a look at her. Big mistake. She had done what he’d asked and cleaned up. Brilliant. Now, all she’d been hiding under her baggy jersey sweats was nicely molded in a tight, long-sleeved pink T-shirt, and a pair of dark and equally snug jeans.

“What can I do to help?” she asked, as she opened one of the cabinet doors to retrieve a glass. Unfortunately, when she rolled up on tiptoe to reach the shelf inside, her shirt rode up with her. Was that a sterling navel ring she was sporting?

“Help.” It was an unconscious slip of the tongue. He should have formed the one word into a question, or he should have flatly told her the truth. She’d be helping him immensely if she tucked her shirt back in. Or better yet, returned to wearing her sweats.

When had she grown up?

When she ditched her dad, searching for a different kind of relationship with a man.

“Dude, you don’t look so good.”

And with that statement, all was right with the world again. She may look the part of a grown woman—absolutely, positively she did, but she was a young adult.

Thank God.

He could deal with young, bratty, and emotional. “No need to be concerned. I’m fine. Are you any good at chopping vegetables?”

She turned and eyed the two items. One bunch of broccoli and half a dozen carrots he’d left on the cutting board. Then she shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll see.”

After she was all set and had started the job he’d given her, he returned to his own task of preparing the salmon. “Don’t tell me you’ve never cooked your own dinner before.”

“Okay.”

His hand stilled in the process of shaking black pepper over the fish. “Okay what?”

“I won’t tell you.”

Her Mona Lisa smile had nothing on this cryptic edge to her personality. He liked it. “I give.” He finished peppering both sides of the salmon. “What will you tell me?”

“I like soup.”

His chin dropped to his chest and he turned to study her profile. “Soup?”

“Yes. Tomato and chicken noodle. Sometimes I crave cream of mushroom. Usually when I’m hung over. You have no idea how great a crushed up bag of saltines stirred into the broth tastes. It’s a healing miracle for a delicate stomach.”

“There’s no soup tonight.”

“No soup for you!”

It took him a second to realize she wasn’t mocking him. She was mimicking the Seinfeld soup Nazi character.

He liked that too.

Then there was a comfortable silence between them as he placed the salmon fillets on the broiler pan. Nothing but the sound of her knife hitting the cutting board in a gentle series of chop, chop, chop. Chop, chop, chop. But then, by the time he’d put the fillets next to the oven, he noticed the sound had increased and the frequency had decreased to sharp and hard chops. Chop! Chop! Chop! Chop!

“Whoa. Easy there. You keep treating that knife like a hatchet and you’ll lose a finger. As it is, you’ve done a great job of slaughtering the broccoli.”

Initially she attempted to fight off his hold, but when he didn’t let go, she gave up with a sigh. “I shouldn’t be here.”

So this was her problem. She wanted to be somewhere else. Probably with the guy she wanted to replace her dad with. He let go of her hand and gave her some room. “I take it your dad insisted you be here?”

“Yes. He wants me to hang out with Mr. Decker’s son, McCauley Jr. The schmuck might be Jr., but he’s a bigger dick than his dad.”

James grinned, for no other reason than he whole-heartedly agreed with her. “Is this why you’ve been hiding out? Your dad is worried about you.” He turned and set the oven temperature to four hundred and fifty degrees. Then he looked at her. “Tell him you don’t want to babysit.”

“I have. Oh, and McDick Jr. isn’t the reason I’ve been hiding. I can deal with him.”

The way she said this made James think there was something pressing on her that she couldn’t deal with. Brilliant. “What’s going on?”

She picked up the knife and started chopping the emulsified broccoli again. “I’m not telling you.”

“Yes, you are, but first you’re going to stop killing the stems.” He pointed to the carrots. “Murder those for a bit while you tell me.”

“No.” He knew she meant no to telling him, when she started chopping the carrots and they began flying all over the place.

“Jesus, you’re a menace with a knife. Give me that.” He took the blade away from her and easily began slicing through the long, orange vegetables. “And yes, you will tell me. Why?” He stopped slicing and angled a look down. “Your father is worried sick about you. Is it a guy at school? Did someone put the moves on you, make you uncomfortable, or…?”

“Moves? I wouldn’t care about that. It happens all the time.”

This was so not what he wanted to hear.

“By some of Dad’s closest friends.”

Definitely not what he wanted to know.

“Decker even. Senior, not junior.”

Brilliant. Lecherous old fucker.

When she turned to stir the potatoes boiling on the stove, he was relieved, hoping the topic of her being hit on was at an end, but as it turned out? It wasn’t. Not even close.

“The office doorman asked me to marry him last summer, only because he was looking to start the honeymoon right away. Dad’s favorite security guard begged me to meet him in the parking garage for a little—” she paused here and tilted her head as if thinking about how to describe the invitation. Apparently she settled on the basest way possible, when she continued, “—participate in a taste-test of the foreskin kind. Decker cornered me in a conference room right after that. No asking or begging from him. He just growled an order like I would drop everything, even my clothes, and be all over what he was offering.” She gave a shudder of disgust and James didn’t blame her.

“Michaela Donavan, it seems you take after your mother. From what your dad has told me, she didn’t have any filters either.”

She stopped stirring, but didn’t look up at him. “My dad talks to you about my mom?”

Great. Now he’d done it. He’d singlehandedly peeled one more layer off the shield he’d hoped to maintain between them. If he started talking about her mom, he’d go from being a casual acquaintance to what? A confidant?

He was just about to brush that truth aside, when he took note of her profile and how still she was while she waited for his answer. She appeared hopeful. Didn’t—?

“Dad never talks to me about Mom.”

That quiet admission made his chest tighten because he knew it was true. Bran only talked to him about his late wife, Celia Donavan, when the guy was three sheets to the wind, and him getting in that condition rarely ever happened.

“He loved your mother.”

She looked up and he was struck by the color of her eyes. Violet. Not blue like he’d thought. “Is that all he tells you?”

“No.” Very carefully he used the knife to corral the carrots into one neat pile before he put the blade down and turned to her. “He told me once that your mom drove four and a half hours to your very expensive summer camp to pick you up because someone had drizzled red paint all over your sheets and then hung them out the window of the cabin for everyone to see. He said she took one of the male counselors off at the knees for laughing over the prank.”

Slowly she nodded, and when he saw her pretty eyes start to turn glassy, he was sorry he’d shared this with her.

“Thank you for reminding me.”

But then, maybe he wasn’t.

“My mom was…she was my best champion,” she whispered.

And his heart squeezed a little tighter in his chest.

Brilliant. Trapped and not because of the snow.

 

 

An hour and a half later in the library, sitting in front of a raging fire

Michaela

Wow, he had a great laugh. A great smile. A great…well, everything. Seeing him comfortable like this made her realize how young he was as well. When he’d been at her bedroom door earlier, even in the kitchen, she would have described him to anyone who asked, as him being older. Grown up. No, mature. Too mature for her. But now he seemed so much younger. Approachable.

“Hang on a minute.” He held up a hand. “You can’t seriously be thinking you won with that word. Where’s the Scrabble dictionary? Not that I need one. Fangshui? It’s feng shui, two words, by the way. And fang? Not getting that one by me.”

She so was. “Haven’t you ever heard the term?”

He shook his head and she noticed how nicely his eyes sparkled when he was amused. “No.”

“It’s an elite group of vampires who enjoy positive energy in their nests.”

He lifted a brow at her. “The undead are concerned about their energy? They should be more concerned about living in nests.”

She had to work hard not to smile. If she was going to get away with this she had to sell it. If he got another turn he’d win and if there was one thing she hated, it was losing. “They don’t live in nests, per se, at least not physically. It’s more a figure of speech. The same way we live in communities. So you know they do live in houses, just like we do.” She vigorously nodded when she saw she might be losing him. “We live in communities, but also in a house, right?”

“This is what you’re going with?” He sat back and folded his arms over his chest. “So these nests of elite vampires buy furniture that they have to fangshui? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Exactly.” She wasn’t going to fool around here. Quickly she scooped up a few tiles off the board so he couldn’t challenge her anymore. Unfortunately, in her haste, a couple of them dropped to the floor. “Uh oh.”

He wasn’t fazed. He shifted, bending forward to pick them up, speaking as he checked the floor for them. “When do they shop?”

She was staring at the top of his head. Actually, his hair. She wanted to touch it. “Shop? At night of course, or online.”

“I can only find one.” He straightened and tossed the tile to her. When she snagged it, he said, “Good catch.”

She clutched the square piece so hard the corners dug into her palm. “Thanks.”

“So tell me more about these fangshui elitist vampire nest people.”

She turned away from his direct stare because she didn’t want to carry on with this. No wonder her dad had fast-tracked James’ promotions. The man was unflappable. Determined and so charming she needed to get out of here before she said or did something stupid. More stupid than trying to get him to swallow her made up fangshui concept.

The second tile. “Oh. I see the Q. It’s right under your seat. To the left. No, your other left.” He gave her a withering look, so she widened her eyes and pretended she didn’t notice. “I can’t lose that. It’s worth ten plus points to a player.”

After he searched, but couldn’t find it, she decided to help, even though she’d been trying to stay on her side of the coffee table. “I’ll get it.”

She wasn’t going to get on her hands and knees. Not around him. So she sat beside him and bent down to reach under the sofa. It was farther back than she realized, and she wound up having to put her hand on what she thought was the couch cushion. Turns out the block of steel was his thigh, just above his knee.

Rock-hard.

Warm.

Hot.

Immovable.

With her other hand she searched. The tip of her index finger touched the tile. Now all she had to do was coax it forward just a little until she could get a hold of it.

“What’s their adage? I’m fairly sure every elite group has one.”

Did he just flex his leg or had her grip tightened on him? Please let it be the first one. Please, please, please. She stretched as much as she dared, nearly pulling a muscle in her arm. “You mean like a motto?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

His tone was deep, not mad sounding, but definitely authoritative. She closed her eyes and went all in trying to reach the tile.

“Careful.”

His hand was on her arm.

On. Her. Arm.

His grip was as steely and rock-hard as his thigh had been.

Oh boy. She liked it.

She managed to reach the tile and then blurted out at the same time, snapping up so her hair cartwheeled over her head, “Get bitten facing the right direction and it won’t suck.”

Their gazes locked. He didn’t blink and neither did she.

“That’s quite a motto.”

She couldn’t even remember what she’d said. All she knew was that she was being pulled, not by him, but dragged by some unseen force to lean toward him. One inch, two, three. She was so close to pressing her lips to his, barely a breath-span away, that when he shifted back she almost fell forward into his chest.

“Michaela.”

His tone was soft. So…apologetic and gentle that she knew—could actually feel her face flaming in heated embarrassment. She’d put the moves on him and he’d backed off.

“Michaela, sweetheart.”

Oh, no, no, no. She didn’t want to deal with this. Not now. She put the tile on the table and then shot up. Before he spoke her name again, she rushed out of the library, up the stairs, down the hall and into her room, closing the door, and wishing for the world she’d never come out from under her covers tonight.

(End)

And now for my Honey story. This is titled: The Rack

Okay, so as most of you know Honey and I have been doing a minor remodel that blew up into a major one the second he took down the first wall. And, for the most part, I have dealt with the upset around the house, my office, and basically in life in general, fairly well.

Until…now.

I was willing to put up with all this because he was working like a madman, but then he tells me on Saturday that he’s agreed to start another big project for a client before he finishes ours. That wasn’t part of the deal. He was supposed to get ours completed before he took on anything more. Why?

We have moved out of the master bedroom, and we are now sleeping in one of the guest bedrooms. The problem with that? Well, aside from the bed being a queen size when we are used to a king, it’s like sleeping on a rock. Oh, I know what you’re thinking. “Riley why don’t you buy a nice cushiony mattress pad to soften things up a little?” *Points finger at you* I did that and then it was too soft!

When I complained to Honey about the too hard and then the following too soft problem, he shook his head and said, “Who am I living with? Goldilocks?”

To which I promptly replied. “I wish because when I get out of that bed I feel more like The Hunchback from Notre Dame. And who am I living with? Pinocchio? You promised you’d finish this up in a week and now it’s going to take weeks.”

He kind of made light of this, but to me, it is a big deal. Remember how I sleep like a vampire? Well, as it turns out, I do and this affords Honey a nice uninterrupted sleep. How do I know this? Well, I’ve been lying next to him wide awake most nights for nearly a week.

Did I mention me having time on my hands to think is never a good situation for Honey? No? *Looks right at you* It’s not people. If I’m not dreaming up new things for him to build, do, or otherwise keep busy, I’m coming up with ways to entertain myself. *Looks away* Then mutters, “At his expense.”

Last night? That would be one of those times when I was looking to amuse me, and it all started with the Mother’s Day card my daughter bought me. She so gets me, which is why the card was not only covered in felt-type cut out pineapple drink images with colorful umbrellas sticking out of them but when you opened it you were greeted with the most kick-butt luau music that played really loudly – I thought – for a card. And what better time to enjoy the music than in the middle of the night when not a creature was stirring, but Riley, right?

WRONG.

We hadn’t been in bed for more than five minutes when I snuck the card out from under my pillow in the total darkness and opened it up. One second later I totally regretted my bug-Honey decision. Why? As the sounds of the pacific played, Honey slept right through it, but my poochie? She freaked out and by the time I got her settled so she wasn’t barking her face off, I realized that my little stunt woke up my feathered Oscar Pavarotti in his nest – which I swear has to be right outside the guestroom window.

There I am lying like a vampire next to Honey ten minutes later listening to my pooch, who is doing the low growl at anything – I mean – anything. Static sound on the sheets *grrr…* Me sniffling, *Grrr…* Me silently thinking, “Grrr…* AND, when I’m not focusing in on her doing that, I hear Oscar beyond the window pane, chirping his little heart out. Perfect, right?

WRONG AGAIN.

Perfect happened when Honey rolled over to face me. In a soft and calm voice, he asked, “Would you like me to test our fire alarms now as well?”

I heard him, and yeah, I recognized that tone as not being a happy one, but seriously. I was so looking forward to getting my house back this week and now because he’d taken on another project I’m looking at weeks lying on this rack, so how could I play nice? I pulled the duvet up to my chin and answered him in a louder than normal voice, “What did you say? I can’t hear you over the dog growling and the bird caterwauling.”

He chuckled. The pooch growled. The bird chirped louder. And Riley? She buried her head under the duvet and continued to work on her crooked spine.

One upside to all this? The horrific experience has inspired me. Oh, yes it has. I’ve come up with this really interesting spin on Goldilocks. Hey, I may even write it down if I’m not crippled before I get my bed back. *Fingers crossed*

As always, thanks for stopping by! Don’t forget to leave a comment. You know the drill. If you’re a subscriber you’re automatically entered into the build-a-giveaway drawing, but if you leave a comment your name gets added each time, for more chances to win. Yay! I think we only have two more items to be added before we do the drawing. Can’t wait!

Riley

 

 

 

 

 

 


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Second and Third scene in Stare Him Down and Our Giveaway!!!

May 4, 2016

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Hi, guys! If you haven’t read the first scene (click here)

I’ve doubled up on the scenes with this post because I owed you two.

At the end of these scenes, you’ll find info about our build-a-giveaway! Be sure to check it out as I’ve added something else to the list!

Later that night at the lodge, alone in her king-size bed and snuggled under the warmth of a soft, feathery down duvet.

Michaela Donavan

She stared at the clouds of moonlight that reflected off the mountainside of snow outside her bedroom windows. The light stole in through the panels of glass to ride the heavy wooden beams that crisscrossed on the ceiling, as she tried to figure out who James Barrington was. Well, besides being one of the youngest and brightest, according to her dad, executives that he’d ever hired to work in their pharmaceutical company.

The guy was an enigma all right.

She’d spotted him in the library this afternoon, catching his silhouette in her peripheral line of vision when she was bent, rearranging the trash, to hide Lack Dickman’s trophy. That’s what she called her dad’s VP. The slimy cheat.

He was probably fuming right now.

She couldn’t help smiling when she thought about that medallion being returned to her. The question was why had Barrington stepped in, getting involved? He was relatively new to the company so shafting the VP like that, even for the boss’s daughter’s sake, was taking a big career risk no matter how you sliced it, as no one had told her dad about what had happened.

Maybe he was smart enough to know that one day she’d be signing the checks.

She closed her eyes and continued to turn things over in her mind.

Barrington was young. From what she’d been told, he’d finished college a year earlier than most and been hired right from there to head up her dad’s new sales team. So how old did that make him? Twenty-two? Three?

And what was with that salute?

She kind of liked it.

Yeah, there was something different about him. Something special. More unique than just good looks and a killer body.

Barrington was a puzzle.

She loved puzzles. Maybe…

Her eyes popped open.

Maybe he was gay?

That would be wonderful. A company ally her dad couldn’t chase away.

She plucked the medallion off the nightstand and shoved it under her pillow, settling back into the warm areas in her sheets.

What she needed to do was find out all she could about this rising star in the company. After what he did on her behalf today she knew she had to. There was no rush though. She had a few years. She wouldn’t be allowed to intern until she was eighteen. By then she’d know all she needed to about him.

She’d start with the HR department. Any personnel who searched the files there would find exactly what you’d expect them to find. Resumes, performance studies, and the like. But then she’d move on to the more important files. The ones under lock and key. Fortunately, her dad kept impeccable records on his executives. He had to, being in the business they were in. He needed to keep a handle on not only their virtues, but more importantly their vices. He needed to see the potential for problems before they became an issue.

Did gay men have fewer skeletons in their closets because that’s where they hung out as well? What happened to those bones when the guys decided to come out?

Wow, that would make a great essay topic in her diversity class. She’d have to introduce it.

An A-plus. Oh yeah. Here I come.

Donavan Industry’s main office a year and a half later

James

James was trying to stay one step ahead of the company lead in research and development at the west coast office. The last time he’d been on a conference call with the woman she’d drowned him with so many variable statistics he’d wound up with one helluva a headache. Today he opted to use a little help from his staff. If he needed more info on a given subject he’d stealthily ask for it via direct messaging Tad, his very studious assistant. For the first half hour or so, his devious stay-abreast-of-things plan had worked like a charm, but now? It seemed his guy had suddenly lost his ability to spell. He was willing to put up with a number of misspelled words, but this was crazy.

He checked the thread to make sure he hadn’t missed something.

He’d texted, Need info on current trends with Prilosec sales.

Tad replied, Prilosec is very trendy right now, but then antacids usually are. No one wants a flaming esphogras.

James blinked and then sighed. He punched the keys on his cell so hard in his next text he was afraid the woman on the other end of his conference call would hear.

Esophagus. WTH are you doing? %$%$#! Get it together, man. You’re killing me here.

Clam down!

You clam down.

The cursor flashed with dots

Then he received a reply

Don’t you mean calm?

He had no idea why, but he laughed. Maybe it was the noticeable pause that had taken place while those three dots blinked. But then it didn’t matter what it was because the factoid genius woman was mad. Her eyes narrowed as she leaned closer to the screen on her end, and asked, “Should I leave you to your video game?”

Yeah, he probably deserved that. He cleared his throat and then assured her he wasn’t playing games, but something had come up and he’d get back to her.

By the time she explained they only had three days left to put this proposal together he was ready to strangle Thaddeus. Had the guy been drinking?

Negative on that plausible excuse because the second James exited his office he saw the green-at-the-gills guy come out of the restroom, only to race back in. Hm. So, if it wasn’t his assistant who was his conference call saboteur, who’d taken over for him? That’s what he wanted to know. He shot a text as he headed to Tad’s cubical.

Yes, I mean calm.

He thought about all the previous mistakes and texted.

You seem to be having a problem jumbling words. Did you mean, make, talk, and circumvent before? I’m sure you didn’t mean circumcision.

Oh…circumcise means to chop off so in a way – you could have taken that to mean yhop ofl the production bt makeng the pills gigger. Instead af circumventing she problem by taking the bottle ligger.

When he read that, he stopped to reread it. Whoever was on that direct message line keyboard had a hell of a sense of humor and the worst fucking typing skills he’d ever seen.

Once he reached the cubicle, he leaned sideways so he could see around the partition. It was a woman. Long legs. Long, long legs and a nice shape to her under that pencil skirt. Nice tight sweater, and—He snapped back so she didn’t catch him looking.

It was little Michaela Donavan.

Damn.

Jailbait. Well, not really in this state because she was seventeen – but surely she was office bait as she was the boss’s daughter. Not just any boss, but Bran’s. The man was like a father to him. He also worshipped his little princess which meant she was off the list because of all those things.

He stepped around the partition and noticed how she managed to apply more red lipstick with one hand, while texting with the other, before she bent to check the direct message screen to see if he’d replied to her.

Well, well, well. Since she hadn’t noticed him. Sure, why not?

He texted.

J: Are you busy?

M: Why do you ask?

J: I want you to do something for me.

She shook her head in clear disgust and typed.

M: What? Get you coffee?

J: No. Look to your left.

She sat back and muttered under her breath, “Look to my left…?”

Then she did. He expected her to be shocked or surprised or both, but she wasn’t. She almost looked bored to tears when she said, “Hey, Mr. Barrington. I’m sorry about the spelling mistakes, but I’m used to typing with just a thumb.”

He fought the urge to narrow his eyes. She wasn’t sorry at all. “Evolution strikes again.”

She tilted her head to the side and made a face so he clarified, holding up his thumb and moving it as if he was pressing down on a trigger. “Opposable. The one feature that separated us from early primates and got us up off our knees.”

She righted her head and gave him that Mona Lisa smile he’d never forgotten. “Oh, sure. I get it. But as you know, some of us love to be on our knees.”

And the air left his lungs as if it had been punched out of him.

Then while he was fighting to get some oxygen back into him?

She winked. She fucking winked. What the hell was she insinuating here? And what was with the emphasis on you?

“Oh. And it was a good thing you didn’t bring up evolution when I was covering for Dim—”

“—Tad.”

“Like that’s a better name, but whatever. I probably would have typed ejaculation.”

He was stunned. “Ms. Donavan.”

“Michaela?” Bran good-naturedly boomed across the office. “Has anyone seen my daughter? I heard she was in the building.”

She was in the building all right. James was currently staring her down, but she didn’t seem to know it. Instead, she popped up out of the chair, and called, “Hi Daddy!” Before she stared right up at him and widely grinned. “You were saying, Mr. Barrington?”

He wasn’t saying anything. Nothing. He couldn’t because he was speechless. The girl who was on the brink of womanhood was a class A brat.

As he watched her walk away something she said came roaring back to him.

Damn it all to hell.

She knew.

Or did she?

“Fucking Mona Lisa smile.”

“Did you say something, sir?”

James didn’t answer one of the office clerks; he only shook his head and was a little more careful, remaining silent as he made his way back to his office.

There was always the chance Michaela had been speaking in general terms. A young woman her age would no doubt be a little preoccupied with her new found sex appeal—

“Shit.” He fell back into his chair and felt like pounding something. Why the hell was he thinking about her thinking about sucking a guy off?

But as you know, some of us love to be on our knees…

Right. That’s why.

(End)

As for our build-a-giveaway. You know what we already have, and if you don’t please (click here)

2016-01-27

I’m adding a signed hard copy of the all three books in the series!

And as always. Thanks for stopping by!

Riley…who has a ton of Honey stories to share. I’m just slammed right now and I do promise to get them down on paper! Some of them are priceless. I. Swear. To. You! Crazy good. Gold! Haha.

 


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This is James and Michaela in Stare Him Down

April 13, 2016

TOP

This is Michaela

STARE HIM DOWN

This is James

JAMES STARE HIM DOWN

This is the beginning of their story

 

The Donavan mountaintop ski lodge in Stowe, Vermont

James Barrington

 

He closed his eyes and allowed his weight to sink into the couch. The worn leather might have started off cool, but in no time it would be warm and cozy. Too bad he wasn’t alone up here. He could go for a blazing fire and an hour or two to enjoy an expensive brandy in complete solitude. Maybe—

Bang.

Wonderful. Now he had company. He didn’t move as he tried to imagine what the newly arrived person was doing. Drawers slid opened and then closed. Cabinet doors, running the full length of the lower part of the bookcase, opened and then slammed shut. All ten of them in quick and decisive OCD fashion. What the hell?

Now he was paying attention and when he eased up to peer over the back of the couch, he scowled. It was the boss’s daughter, Michaela, who’d turned her sights onto methodically searching the large tiger-striped oak desk. Yeah, scratch daughter. She wasn’t just Bran Donavan’s only child, she was his princess. The man thought the sun rose and set on the girl.

Not that it was any of James’ business. How his boss spoiled his kid was none of his concern. In fact, he shouldn’t even care about what she was doing here. She had more right to be in Bran’s library than he did. Even still, he couldn’t help being curious. What was she trying to dump? She had some type of object in her hand, and judging from her single-minded attempt to get rid of it, the shiny item was probably a murder weapon.

Suddenly, she stopped and simply dropped the thing. It didn’t hit the stone floor, but made a soft thud instead. Interesting.

Even more interesting? After a quick scan of the situation, he realized whatever she’d been trying to ditch was now cushioned in the papers in the garbage basket by her feet. He knew this because she bent and then rearranged the trash in three quick moves. He was just about to clear his throat to let her know that he was there, and also to find out what was going on, when a deep voice sounded outside the library in the hall.

“Like hell. It didn’t just disappear. She took it. I know she did.”

It seemed that Mack Decker was on the warpath. James watched Michaela closely to see how she’d react. She had her back to him while he wondered what she planned to do. Didn’t Daddy’s little princess know that Decker wasn’t a man to mess with? Apparently not. She straightened, and instead of panicking over the impending confrontation, she seemed to be preparing for it by pulling up her sleeves.

“There you are.” Decker came in and closed the door with the authority of a guy who knew he had this showdown in the bag. A fact that was yet to be seen. Speaking of seen…

James was grateful for the darkness in this half of the library as it afforded great cover while he waited for the mystery surrounding Michaela’s actions to unfold.

“Hi, Mr. Decker.”

Her innocent greeting surprised him. Enough that he took a moment to study her body language more closely. And what that language currently shouted belied her serene, calm, and cool as a cucumber right out of the fridge, tone. She trembled a little and her hands, which were tightly clasped behind her back, showed the whites of her knuckles right through her taut skin.

Hm. Her seemingly blasé attitude must have surprised Decker too. The guy scowled. “What are you doing in here?”

“Oh no, is my dad looking for me? I’m so sorry. I forgot about the photographer. I hope he’s not too upset.”

“Wait.”

Decker growled, forcing Michaela to halt at the door where she’d been trying to make a quick exit. She spun around. “Yes?”

“Give me your medallion.”

The face she made was so over-the-top outraged that James wanted to laugh.

“Why? My team came in second. I won this fair and square.” She held up the gold coin only to have Decker swipe it from her.

“We’ll see about that. At least this will replace what you took from me.”

Her previous outrage reached phenomenal B-movie potential. “Took what? I didn’t take anything.”

They glared at each other and then?

Without a word or even a change of expression, Michaela just swung around, opened the door, and left. Causing James to wonder once more about what she’d dropped in the trash can. The way she steadily denied the VP’s accusation made James wonder. Did she take something from the guy or not? A few minutes later he finally got the chance to find out. The second Decker left he went on a small scale dumpster dive.

And there it was.

Decker’s first place ski trophy. The whole team got one. Each of them was expected to hoist it high in the annual championship picture. No wonder the guy was pissed. He’d be lunch-bag left out in the shot.

“He cheated.”

James dropped the award and turned. Michaela was standing in the open doorway in a stance that fairly challenged him to question her about all this. But how could he? It wasn’t as if he doubted the possibility. Decker was a competitive son-of-a-bitch who’d been known to skew things in his favor every chance he got. They didn’t call him double-dealing Decker for nothing.

So James simply waited for her to spill the dramatic tale of woe. He knew from experience that teenagers ate up this kind of shit.

Probably why he was left scratching his head several seconds later when Michaela smiled, much like the Mona Lisa, and then left.

Her enigmatic grin haunted him for most of the afternoon, but it wasn’t until Decker took a few verbal shots at her when some of the guys got together later in the evening, that James intervened. After he tackled the VP in private over this, he went to find the little crusader.

“Here.” He handed her the gold medallion. “I believe this is yours?”

That’s all he said, before he mimicked her earlier inscrutable expression, and gave her a salute of approval.

It did occur to him as he walked away, that she didn’t seem at all impressed with his gesture. Which was…

Perplexing.

Interesting.

Downright distracting, if he was being honest.

(END)

These are a series of scenes that take place over the course of years prior to their story starting. I will continue to post the next few scenes, until the full story releases at the end of this month.

They are titled as follows, so keep checking back.

Later that night at the lodge, alone in her king-size bed and snuggled under the warmth of a soft, feathery down duvet.  (Michaela)

Donavan Industry’s main office a year and a half later  (James)

and if we have time…

The Donavan ski lodge a year later. The annual company competition

With each of these scenes, I’ll be adding to our build-a-giveaway too.

For those of you who aren’t familiar here’s how it goes. If you are a subscriber you are already entered for a chance to win, but then, if you leave a comment you increase your chances as I add the names from comments to the hat before I do the final drawing. So let’s say we have five build-a-giveaway posts and you’re a subscriber and you leave a comment on all five posts, your name will be in the hat six times. That’s better odds, right?

So far we have all this stuff (if you don’t want to click we have a 25.00 Amazon gift card, chocolates, a Stare Him Down mug and some chocolates) and I’m adding this mystery box today:

photo 2 (61)

photo 1 (65)

You’ll find out when we do the drawing what’s in it. 😀

Okay, and for those of you who follow my blog because of my Honey stories? I have dubbed this one:

The Night The Lights Went Out on Fable Land

So Honey and I were lying in bed the other night and he was trying to go to sleep. I say he, because I was lying awake trying to work out this idea I had about reinventing a fairytale. I won’t bore you with all that. It’s still marinating in the old noggin.

What I want to share is the conversation Honey and I had in the wee hours, lying in our bed in compete darkness. Check it out.

“I think it will work, don’t you?” That’s me talking and you have to imagine that I’ve just unloaded a whole multi-leveled plot of epic proportions on him. Non-stop talking for a good five minutes at least.

His answer? Grunt

Seriously? Hell no, you know that’s not going to work, so I start poking him. “Did you even listen?”

Grunt

I’m determined to get him to talk, actually wake him up. I poke him some more. “You fell asleep, didn’t you? What was the last thing you remember me saying and I’ll pick up there and then you can tell me what you think.”

Groan

“Come on. I’m not going to let you sleep until we do this.”

He groans again and rolls over onto his side, facing me. “Do what?”

“Finish working through this idea.”

“The fairytale one?”

I stop poking him. “Exactly.”

“I thought all your heroines are noble and virtuous?”

There’s me thinking, sure we’ll go with that. “They are.”

“Then how is this going to work?”

I shifted back and frowned. “I’m not following.”

“Snow white lived with seven male dwarfs, the comatose chick in the glass case let some stranger slobber all over her to wake her up – not very discerning if you asked me, Rapunzel invited a schmuck into her treetop lair without blinking an eye, and Red Riding Hood was a medieval porno star.”

Me, Blink, blink

“Now that I think about it,” he continued. “We never should have let our kids read that shit.”

*Looks right at you* How the hell did we get here?

There were so many, MANY, things I could have said regarding his astute findings, but I went with asking him about the latter, because *shrug* why not? *Looks back at him*

“How could you possible say Red Riding Hood was a porno queen?”

“Subliminal literature.”

*side-eyes you* What-a-what?

I leaned up on an elbow and scowled at him. “I don’t think I’m following.”

“The wolf ate her in the end…think about it.”

Yeah, I was thinking about it alright. “I wonder why you didn’t bring up the three little pigs. Could it be because you are one?”

Honey didn’t think that was funny, but I did. We never finished discussing my fairytale idea either. Because we moved onto *cough, cough* other things. And now that I’ve shared this little Honeyism with you guys I don’t think I’ll broach the subject about fairytales with him again. Clearly the man has issues surrounding childhood classics.

Red Riding Hood was a medieval porno star?

Damn, I’ll never read that story without seeing Jenna Jamison in the cape.

*Shakes fist at Honey* Because I’ll never read any of my favorites the same way ever again.

That will teach me to poke the beast.

*thinks for a second and then wipes brow*

Thank God he didn’t massacre that classic. I would have killed him. That one’s my fav!

As always, thanks for stopping by!

Don’t forget to leave a comment!

Riley

 

 

 

 


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You know you’re too old to try false eyelashes when…and we’ll be adding to our giveaway!!!

March 25, 2016

domestic dispute

You know you’re too old to try false eyelashes when…

When, you ask?

Well, when you purchase the bodacious lid enhancers to freak your husband out with your new fountain-of-youth bat-wing lashes, only to discover you didn’t buy the glue you needed to put them on but had inadvertently picked up the adhesive remover you needed to take them off instead.

*Looks right at you with me own eyelashes, not batting*

Total bummer.

That’s when I realized the only problem with age is you need your reading glasses to distinguish the labeling on the packaging you’re intending to buy. How can one dip their toe into the spring-of-recaptured adolescence if you’re practically legally blind? *Le sigh*

So what started this quest for the bodacious batters in the first place? Simple. I saw a commercial where this model had these cool looking lashes and I thought since I bought the pink hair *Leans in to whisper to you behind a cupped hand* that’s another story I’ll tell you about later this month – I could use them. Man, I was so looking forward to having my spotlight moment. I had it all planned. Honey was supposed to come home and do what he always does.

Wait, let me script how I saw this going down in my head for you.

Honey arriving home. “Babe, I’m home.”

And there’s me. I’m dressed in my snazzy, and sure-to-catch-his-attention, outfit, anxiously waiting behind our new bedroom doors to make a grand entrance. Honey always calls twice if I don’t answer him the first time.

“Babe? You home?”

See? 😉

“Yes, I’m right here,” I say as I regally part the two doors and walk out of our room looking like a pink-haired Marilyn Monroe <- Hey it’s my fantasy so I shall just carry on with the outrageous lie while I imagine those bodacious lashes batting at him with the perfect come-hither look.

Which will, of course, force Honey to his knees so he can worship me like the sex goddess I am.

Damn straight.

*Looks away and then looks right back at you* You see? It would have been so perfect if only I’d bought the glue, and stuck to the workout schedule I promised I do every day from the time I was twenty-two on. If so, I may have pulled off some semblance of worship-worthy smexxy.*snap*

*Snap*

Wait I still have the hair, right?

But then, to tell you the truth, the pink hair was bought for something else entirely. Funny story about that. When I showed my daughter the hair she started to sing that Corey Hart song. You know the one that goes like this?

“I wear my sunglasses at night, so I can, so I can…”

There I am staring at her, and then at the hair in my hand, returning to scowl at her when I say, “What the heck are you singing that for?”

She didn’t even blink, but she did give me a cheeky smile. “That hair is so bright anyone that sits with you will have to wear their shades.”

*Pulls down the readers I should have been wearing when I went to the beauty supply place to buy the lashes and glue, and eyes you over them* Fortunately, I didn’t want to sit with Honey if you know what I mean, but I couldn’t tell her that. She still thinks her Dad and I experienced the Immaculate Conception twice, with the arrival of her brother and then her three years later. 😉

Oh and here’s another funny story. Not about the hair, about Honey. Well…eventually about the hair, but I digress. I walked into the family room the other day and stopped. Why? Honey’s watching a soap opera. Interesting, right? But what was even more fascinating was the fact that it was in Spanish.

*Side-eyes you* Honey can’t speak a lick of it. So yeah, I had to ask. Here’s the conversation:

“Whatcha doing?”

“Watching a soap.”

He says this like it’s something he does every day. Which, you know, he never has. At least for as long as I’ve known him and that’s like more than a couple of decades. *shakes head*

I point out the obvious. “It’s in Spanish.”

He sagely nods. “Yeah, I figured it was about time I learned how to speak the language of love.”

*Turns my head this time to look at you while one of my brows lifts in a dubious manner.* He intends to learn a new language – of love no less – by watching a soap opera? Color me impressed.

I leaned over the top of the couch and bent to put my arms around his neck for a loose hug. “Okay, tell me what’s going on in the show.”

I fully expected him to say something like, “This chick started screaming at the guy with the long hair…” Or something equally as non-committal and what do I get instead? A whole dissertation about this cast of characters. Of what’s happened to them, how they’re feeling – yeah, I about died when he began running down the options of maybe this particular woman was crying because it wasn’t the guy she loves baby, or it’s because it was his baby and she may have to marry a different guy. There I am listening to him while he’s pointing out each character and sharing their story and it came to me. Honey was watching this Spanish soap opera like I read a new book with my author cap on. I tend to pay close attention to the smallest details trying to guess where the writer is going to go next with the story.

With Honey and this show? He had to pay closer than normal attention to the scenes because he wasn’t being spoon-fed the details of what was going on in English. Wow. He might have been onto something here.

A second later I realize maybe I was too! Why? This Latin God of luscious perfection arrives on the screen. I mean the guy is perfect for me. Not rob-the-cradle-ish-too-close-to-my-son’s-age, but you know, a little older, in mucho perfection-o shape, and he even had defined laugh lines around his eyes. It’s very rare that I find a perfect combination with all my likes so, I wiped the drool from lips, and said, “Wow, what’s that guy’s story?”

Bah! Honey tilts his head to the side to look at me. We stare at each other for a milli-second and then he deadpans. “He gave the pregnant woman herpes and now they’re going to have cut off his *ick.”

Har, har, har! Honey cracks me up.I straightened and then shrugged. “Who cares about that? The guy’s got great hands, great eyes, and what a mouth. I’d let him pleasure me.”

I straightened and then shrugged. “Who cares about that? The guy’s got great hands, great eyes, and what a mouth. I’d let him pleasure me.”

The minute I saw the remote in the air heading to the one of the cushions on the couch I knew I better start running. And I did. I got as far as the hall, almost to the living room – when Honey caught me from behind and started tickling me. He may have been trying to get me to take back what I said, or maybe he was insisting I cry uncle, who knows and it really doesn’t matter. Why? Because now that I’ve had a chance to think about it, weren’t the bodacious bat-wing lashes supposed to deliver the fountain of youth to me? Meh, I don’t need that kind of small application when I have a fountain of youth force like Honey to reckon with every day. Prime example.  This is what happened last night. All I did was tell him it was time to hit the hay.

I said, “Come you, it’s late. It’s time for bed.”

And do you know what he said to me? “Make me.”

Heh. Being the grown up I am, I simply gave him a withering look and walked off. But when I reached the hall I completely behaved like an adolescent when I called, “Okay, suit yourself. Stay up all night if you like, but you’ll miss your wife wearing nothing but hot pink hair and a smile.”

*Stares right at you* I can honestly say I have never seen the TV and lights turn off so fast before. Sheesh!

Men!

Oh, before I sign off I want to add something to our build-a-giveaway. I love this bracelet. It has a spring opening and it’s hard to tell from the pictures, but it’s shiny silver with very pretty turquoise enamel in it. It’s a fun piece for spring. You all remember what else is up from grabs so far? Right?

001

002

003

 

And these items: Chocolates, a mug…

photo 2 (57)

preview

And a 25.00 Amazon gift card

You guys know the drill. Leave a comment and your name gets added extra times to the hat. If you’re one of my subscribers you’re already added, but if you leave a comment on our giveaway posts – you double or triple your chances. We’ll be doing the giveaway when Stare Him Down releases in April. I can’t wait for you guys to meet James and Michaela.

I love them so hard!

SHD cover thin size

As always, thanks for stopping by.

Riley

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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SPRING FLING WITH NIGHT OWL REVIEWS!!!! 100.00 GIFT CARD UP FOR GRABS!!!

March 9, 2016

Night Owl Reviews Spring Fling

Hi Guys!
Anyone up for finding new authors and to winning some prizes? I’m one of the sponsors of the Night Owl Reviews Spring Fling Scavenger Hunt. (March 10 – 31)
During this event I’m going to help you find some great new books and authors to read. Make sure to check my featured titles out along the way.
I am featuring my Make Me series:
teaser for make me series
The grand prize is a $100 Amazon Gift Card!
ENTER NOW by clicking here or on the image below. :)
Collages44
Thanks for stopping by!
Good Luck!!!
Riley
Here are a few reviews from this series!
5silver-stars

Provoked

Provoked is fantastic story that had me gripped from start to finish. The romantic storyline was hot, funny and emotional. Add to this an intriguing mystery/suspense plot and you have a must read book. This is the second book I’ve read by this author and I absolutely loved both of them, so I’ll definitely be looking out for more of her books.

 

Charlie gets herself into a spot of trouble which leads to her having to swap lives with her twin sister Cat for a few days. Then she ends up in even more trouble when Neil Cannon, a well respected Dom in the BDSM community, believes she’s the twin who’s been teasing his employees. Neil is determined to take the bratty sub to task for her behaviour, but she’s not what he expected. As the chemistry between Charlie and Neil gets scorching hot, they find themselves drawn into a dangerous mystery involving her parents’ pasts.

 

This was an exciting read, I couldn’t put it down. The plot is unusual and intriguing, they was so much going on here. The humour in this book was fabulous, I was laughing out loud at times. At other times I had tears running down my face, as I really cared about these characters and I felt involved in their lives. Provoked is a brilliant book that definitely receives five stars.

5silver-stars

PUSHED

Another great BDSM romance from Riley Murphy with a wonderful feisty heroine ,Cat and passionate hero , a Dom with a heart, Jude and Riley’s wonderful trademark humour and oneliners – loved ”haggisectomy” and the banter and insults[mostly Cat’s] between the two of them.

I liked the mystery element which started in ”Provoked” and will continue in”Persuaded”.Great secondary characters too and I also liked seeing Cat and Charlie ”interacting” i.e drinking together again. I adored the way that Jude loved Cat so much that he worked hard to change himself from the ”vanilla pudding pop” she thought he was and was reluctantly attracted to into the Dom she needed and how she was the only thing he held onto, to get him through his terrible time at ”Sanctuary”. A very romantic story but also incredibly filthy! Jude has to be one of the dirtiest talking heroes I have read in a long time. How come that sort of talk can be rude, crass and offensive but , spoken by a gorgeous , sexy guy who loves his heroine with a passionate, single minded intensity. it becomes incredibly hot , loving and romantic? Riley really knows how to walk the line between the two. One reviewer mentions feeling ”uneasy” over some of Jude and Cat’s sex scenes and there are ”forced” elements in some of them that may be uncomfortable for some. However,they are not abusive: there is never any doubt that Cat didn’t want it or enjoy it or that Jude would have stopped if she asked him to or that he would ever have really hurt her in any way. They are just very sensual, uninhibited ,exciting scenes and Riley’s skills as a writer shows again in the way that she knows how to write these sorts of scenes without going too far or crossing the line.

Can’t decide whether I like ”Provoked” or ”Pushed” best!

5silver-stars

Persuaded

The sexy and witty banter between GREYSON and his heroine is some of he best I’ve ever read! I loved this story. It gave me all the feels– hot, tender, funny and endearing. Just a great, great story! It’s definitely a reread for me! I highly recommend this author and can barely wait for her next offering!


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