Erotica or Porn?

When I first began to write my work, I wondered how far to take the description of the sex act. Most of the books I was reading at the time described the foreplay, but only in general terms, and certainly not everything which can happen between two consenting adults.

I wanted to put in everything. The pearl necklace. Different positions. Sex toys. Graphic language. Light bondage.

But how much was too much? Did I really need to show someone who was determined not to lose their virginity having sex in other ways? Or did that cross the line into porn writing?

The first time I ever saw a dildo, I was appalled. Why would someone willingly have sex with a rubber penis when the REAL DEAL was so available (keep in mind, I was in my 20's and had no shortage of men in my life, lol!)?

But now I'm in my forties and can fully appreciate the use of one, thanks to the 'education' of Passion Parties and fellow authors' books. And it seems the line between porn and erotica is fragile; as long as there is romance in the act, it's acceptable.

Another issue is fidelity. The rules state that once the hero/heroine meet/attract/sleep together, there must be no intimacy with anyone else. So....does the book I wrote, tentatively titled 'Anatomy of an Affair' not count? He DOES stop sleeping with the wife, and ultimately divorces her. I'm not finished yet; this is the wip which is scarily and eerily mirroring a friend's life, minus the actual affair. I spiced it up to be a 'what-if' she crossed the line; guess some things doesn't matter if she stayes faithful or not. The bad things are still happening.

Anyway....where was I? Oh yeah...then there is the popular menage stories. Twenty years ago, threesomes were a 'hush-hush' topic. Now they are increasingly in demand. But what I want to know is, what happens if the two people of the same sex decide to swap 'roles'? You know; usually only one does the actual penetrating (from what I've read, anyway...maybe I need to read more??). What happens if one day he says to his buddy, 'Tonight, I want to make love to her; you only get her mouth.'? And there is another one where the heroine sleeps with each man, one at a time, only one is a D/s relationship, while the other's not. The non-D/s male wants to know why she seems more happy after her nights with her 'Master' and strives to be more dominant. Doesn't that count, or since the two males know about each other, it's not technically infidelity?

Maybe I need to investigate the meaning of 'erotica' vs 'erotic romance', since I came across this issue in another book two years ago?

So what do you find is 'too far over the line'?

Interview of Author Donna Michaels

Today it's my pleasure to present an interview of romance author Donna Michaels.


 Latest Book: SHE DOES KNOW JACK
Buy Link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00DZZGMEA

BIO:
Hello, my name is Donna Michaels. I’m a multi published author of Romaginative Fiction. From short to epic, sweet to hot, I write most romance genres for two small presses and am also self published. My works are in both Digital and Print and can be found at my website, Amazon, B&N, Fictionwise and more. For my print books, I write Romance through the H’s—Hot, Humorous & Heartwarming.

The first two books, HER FATED COWBOY and HER UNBRIDLED COWBOY in my popular HARLAND COUNTY SERIES—Unruly cowboys and the women who tame them—have been in the Amazon Top 100 for months. And my first contemporary time travel—CAPTIVE HERO (Time-shift Heroes Series-Book One)—is a RomCon Finalist and a Finalist in the upcoming 2012 RONE Awards for best Time Travel. My latest release—which will be FREE tomorrow through the 21st—SHE DOES KNOW JACK is a humorous romantic suspense. Yes, I love to mix things up, but one thing you can always count on is humor sprinkled throughout.

Q: What’s the first thing you did when you received word you’d sold a book?
A: I called my critique partner and we screamed together. lol She lives in California and I live in Pennsylvania so I think they heard us coast to coast.

Q: What part of the book is the easiest for you to write? Why?
A: The easiest part of a book to write for me is the dialogue. I can always clearly see and hear my characters, so I just sit back and let them have it…and take dictation.

Q: Who is your favorite character in your book and why?
A: Tough one, but I have to go with my heroine, Brielle. She’s smart, capable, and trying to make it predominantly male field as an investigator. Oh, and she has the worst luck. Something we can all relate to at times.

Q: If one of your books became a movie, which celebrity would you like to star as one of your heroes? Tell us about your hero.
A: If SHE DOES KNOW JACK became a movie, I’d love to see Alex O’Laughlin play Capt. Jack ‘Dodger’ Anderson, former Army Ranger and owner of Anderson Security providing security for the reality TV show where his foolish brother is the groom. Jack is tough, yet fair, and unhappy with his latest mission, until a vaguely familiar contestant walks onto the set and knocks his orderly life off kilter.

Q: Do all your heroes and all heroines look the same in your mind as you “head write”?
A: Absolutely not, although a lot of my heroines are brunette, the shades vary greatly, as do their eye color and height. In my current WIP, HER UNIFORM COWBOY-Book 3 in my Harland County Series, Brandy, my heroine has caramel colored hair with sun-kissed streaks and is battling her thyroid. As for my heroes, they vary greatly, too, but most are former military, and all are tortured to a point. lol

Q: What is your favorite romance book that you’ve read?
A: I love to write hot and humorous, so it only makes sense I love to read those type of books, too. One of my favorite authors is Jill Shalvis, and I’m just in love with two of her books, okay, three. Three of her books. Lucky In Love, Animal Magnetism, and Instant Temptation. If I had to choose just one out of them…I couldn’t. I really love those three equally and have read them numerous times. Do yourself a favor if you haven’t read them, go grab them now. They rock!

Tell us where to find you: website(s), publisher’s page(s), blog(s), Facebook page(s), etc. List them all!
You can also find me at:
https://www.facebook.com/DonnaMichaelsAuthor
https://twitter.com/Donna_Michaels
http://donnamichaelsauthor.blogspot.com
http://pinterest.com/donnamichaels
http://www.goodreads.com/Donna_Michaels
http://www.linkedin.com/pub/donna-michaels/8/879/408
https://plus.google.com/110301062410249005533/about/p/pub?hl=en
Amazon Author Page

BLURB:
Security specialist, Brielle Chapman reluctantly agrees to help her uncle by going undercover as a contestant on the Meet Your Mate reality show. Having nearly failed on a similar assignment, she needs to prove she still has a future in the business. But when the brother of the groom turns out to be Dodger, the only one-nighter she ever had—while in disguise from a prior undercover case—her job becomes harder. Does he recognize her? And how can she investigate with their sizzling attraction fogging her brain?

Former Army Ranger Capt. Jack ‘Dodger’ Anderson would rather run naked through a minefield in the Afghan desert than participate in a reality television show, but when his brother the groom begins to receive threats, Jack quickly becomes his sibling’s shadow. As if the investigation isn’t baffling enough, he has to contend with the addition of a beautiful and vaguely familiar new contestant.

But when deceits come to light, and the case is solved, can he overcome the lies to meet his own mate?

EXCERPT:
“He’s lost his mind,” Jack muttered, dragging her past the contestants and into the study with a cameraman tripping over his feet to keep up. She eye-rolled the other girls. Their chuckles could be heard until Jack kicked the door shut with his foot.

Yanking her hand free, she rounded on him. “What in the world’s the matter with you? I don’t see you treating the others like this.” Jack’s behavior was certainly a lot different than Dodger’s. She was used to him looking at her with warmth and undisguised interest. Not annoyance.

Eyes narrowed, he stopped before her. A musky ocean scent filled her nose as she fought her body’s knee-weakening reaction. Damn. Okay. That hadn’t changed.

“I don’t treat the others like that because they haven’t given me reason.” Hot breath lifted the hair framing her face. His eyes dared her to speak.

She’d never backed down from a dare.

Hands on hips, she gave him the full extent of her stare, tipping her head back a little more since her heels were only two inches, not the five she’d been forced to wear at The Limelight. “What exactly have I done? You don’t even know me.”

Except, maybe in the carnal sense.

Crap. Was there a way to shut off her inner voice?

“Look, Ms. Bennett,” he spat her name like spoiled meat on a hot day. “I’m not interested in what you have to say because I’m telling Matthew to send you home tonight.”

His blue eyes flamed, but not in a good way. And they say women were confusing. As far as she was concerned, Jack reigned supreme.

“Why are you so mad? I haven’t done anything to warrant this behavior. I came on this show hoping for the best.” She waited for his expression to cool before she moved toward the wooden desk in the center of the cherry-paneled room. Resting on the edge, she pretended her mauve fingernails were the most fascinating things in the world.

He stepped in front of her, his presence demanding she look at him. “Why exactly did you come on this show, Ms. Bennett?”

She shrugged and tried to keep some truth in their conversation. “I wanted to meet your brother.”

“What for?”

“To learn origami.” Her hands shot in the air. “Why do you think?”

His gaze narrowed. He wasn’t amused. Too bad. Her presence on this show wasn’t for his amusement. But, she didn’t want to make his job harder, either.

She sighed. “Look, I know I can make your brother happy. Isn’t that what matters?”

“How?”

“What do you mean, how?”

He placed his hands on either side of her on the desk and leaned in. Ah hell. She stilled as déjà vu hit hard. His heat and strength seeped into her and she had to fight the urge to press against his muscles, bury her face into his neck.

“I meant by kissing him the minute you two were alone?”

She blinked. “You saw that? Well, you’re not very observant for—” Brielle stopped before she gave herself away. See? This wasn’t going to work. His nearness sucked the cells from her brain. Cripes. By the end of this mission she was going to be drooling and wearing a damn bib.


Anything else you’d like to add?

Yes, thank you so much for having me here today. I had a great time and really enjoyed answering your questions.

If you’d like to keep up with my news and enjoy exclusive contests, feel free to join my newsletter at the bottom of my home page: http://www.donnamichaelsauthor.com

And remember, SHE DOES KNOW JACK will officially be released tomorrow and FREE! That’s right, from July 19 – 21 you can get my latest novel for FREE at Amazon. Please spread the word and the link: http://www.donnamichaelsauthor.com
Buy Link:  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00DZZGMEA

Thanks for reading,
Donna

Look what I found !!!

Still unpacking after the big move...and finding stuff every day I'd forgotten about. I ran across these delightful facts about our wonderful English language.

There are two words in the English language that have all five vowels in order: "abstemious" and "facetious".

There is a word in the English with only one vowel which occurs six times:
"indivisibility."

The only 15 letter word which can be spelled without repeating a letter is "uncopyrightable".

No word in the English language rhymes with "month".

"Stewardesses" is the longest word typed with only the left hand. With your right, it's "lollipop".

Here's an excerpt from my newest book, coming Sept.28th. Just got the cover this week, and love it!

"Rurik said nothing for a long quiet spell. His father didn’t press him and they sat in silence. He knew his father wanted him to commit to helping this child. Wanted it badly. But he also knew Vale would never say a chiding word if he decided this whole elf business was just too much for him.

Rurik hesitated. His precious freedom would slip away if he took on the task of trying to help this little girl. Part of him shouted at him to walk away while he could. Go back to his research and his book and finish what he’d started there. Where he knew he could be a success. Maybe he’d try to help his father after that.

And maybe he’d never find the courage to come back.

With a startling clarity Rurik knew he’d reached a critical passage in his life. His next words would determine his future. It all boiled down to one decision. Did he want to be a responsible elf, or did he want to ignore his heritage and forge his own path?

The latter tempted him with a siren’s call that played seductively in his head. He could advance to the top in his own field. Even if he helped his father now, he’d be forever a second rate elf. He could never compare to others in his illustrious family.

Rurik closed his eyes for a brief moment. Mary Beth’s face flashed into his mind, smiling slightly as she’d won the second checkers’ game.  Actually he’d had a bit of trouble with all the games. She was a first rate player, but that was beside the point. What mattered was she responded to no one but him. She’d disappear back into her shell if he didn’t appear tomorrow. She might never give anyone else the chance to discover her secrets and let her out of her cage of silence.

He thought suddenly of how he’d known how to reach her with his checkers challenge. That had not been his brilliance. He’d never planned what to say. Something or someone had guided his every word to her. He’d opened his mouth and the words poured out, with no thought at all on his part. He knew what that meant.

He sighed again. Damn it all, he was somewhat of a true elf. A flawed one, compared to his father, but still an elf.

Damn and double damn."

Please notice the sexy, pointed, elves ears! Would love comments, good or bad. That's how a writer learns. This is book five in my Passionate Pursuit, with three more to go. Love writing about my sexy elves!!!,

You can find other excerpts at my website, www.jeanhartstewart.com, and at www.ellorascave,com

 

Self promo...

I often wonder if self-promo works...

Once upon a time, I was a gung-ho blogger...I posted daily and commented constantly on other people's blogs. I set up a Facebook page, a Twitter page, and I got into Goodreads and Shelfari...hoping to gain more visibility. We have all done that. 

I joined with other authors in group blogs...and I truly enjoy these social things. But I have also realized something very important. How much of this supreme effort is totally wasted?

The audience we all seek is an audience composed mostly of readers. Now, other authors sometimes do read our books, but most often they do not. They are too busy working on their own books to have the time to do that. I genuinely do appreciate it when other authors comment on my posts, and tell me that they love my books...but have my author friends actually read my books, or only the excerpts and blurbs that I leave? Are they simply being kind, and helping me to promote my books, or did they truly enjoy reading that book?

Now I am an oddball...because I DO buy and read my friends' books. I love reading stories that send me to different places and times. I adore seeing how romance is spun out between characters that I did not create. In fact, in the past six months, I have purchased and read over 50 books written by others.

Now here is the big question...how many of the members of this blog are actually readers, reviewers, (and authors who read other authors' books)? How many of us have seen the blurbs, excerpts, and other promo, and thought "Wow. I have GOT to have that book!"?  In the last week, how many of us have bought and read books by other authors because they blogged an excerpt?

I do...constantly. So those who blog do know that at least one author certainly does buy their books. LOL! 

How many of you see an increase in your book sales when you blog? After a chat? Of course, chatting is fun, but it IS a sales tool. I'm not sure how many of you purchase ad space on the big review sites...I spent some money on that a couple of years back, but saw little effect on sales. Why? Because most of the people who go to those sites are...authors. Not readers.

I genuinely believe that what sells books is the cover...that and the blurb. AND the title, of course.  The most evocative covers have sold the most books for me. 

That may seem terribly superficial...but when we enter a web page with dozens of books vying for our attention...or walk down an aisle loaded to groaning with paperbacks...most of us look at the cover...them check the blurbs and excerpts. 

I can only pray that my newest book will be blessed by the cover goddess with an exceptional, delicious cover that will drag the eyes...and then the hands to it. 

Tell me which of these covers attracted you the most...then tell me why...

Thanks...

Fran Lee

Guest Blog: Mona Risk: Life, Inspiration, Romance

In a previous life, I was the director of an environmental laboratory. Day after day, I supervised a staff of chemists who performed analytical tests. I wrote proposals and competed for more government contracts—a boring predictable life.

Suddenly everything changed when my boss asked me to look into the DOD section for international projects. Not one to refuse a challenge, I wrote a winning proposal and our company was awarded a contract to refurbish a military laboratory in Belarus. To be honest, I almost collapsed when the boss ordered, “Now you need to go to Belarus and work on this refurbishment.”

The Internet didn’t abound in information about Belarus, a former USSR country located South of Russia, East of Poland, and North of Ukraine. After learning a little bit about the food, I decided to play it safe and take my own supply of water and nonperishable food: crackers, BabyBel gouda cheese, and green apples previously washed and individually wrapped in plastic bags and of course a dozen bottles of water. At the time, it wasn’t forbidden to carry liquid on the plane.

My first trip to Minsk, capital of Belarus, occurred at the end of October 1994. Our delegation included the DOD contract manager and his interpreter, two government auditors, my lab manager, our computer specialist and me.

My initial impressions are related through the heroine’s voice: cold weather, gray skies, and cigarette smell everywhere. The curious looks of the local people made me feel as if I was wearing the wrong clothes. Of course I didn’t have a chapka (fur round hat). I remedied the problem by buying a cute mink chapka at the Minsk Big Bazaar.

Between May and October there is no central heating in Belarus. On my first night at the hotel, I literally froze in the drafty room. The next day, our delegation bought several electrical heaters. During our meetings, I continuously asked for a hot cup of tea. Of course I was often offered vodka instead.

Many of my special stories are related in my book, TO LOVE A HERO, that has been released at Amazon.com  http://tinyurl.com/kl9pwlw

My fall on the broken escalator of the airport is included. I was rescued by my lab manager while my heroine, Dr. Cecile Lornier (the smart woman) fell into the arms of a hero to die for, the handsome Major General of Belarus, Sergei Fedorin, who stole her heart with his penetrating blue gaze. And let’s not forget the time I got sick and was treated with vodka. Here is a short excerpt where my heroine, Cecile is sick in her hotel room.

“We hope you feel better. For you, from the Major Generalle who wishes you a speedy recovery.”

Nicolai presented her a vase of gorgeous red roses. Delighted, she took the vase and stuck her nose in the flowers. “They smell divine.”

Poor Sergei, she imagined his disappointment. There was no way he could visit her in the hotel but he sent her the expensive flowers to cheer her up. “Please, tell the general I love the flowers. Thank him for me.” She deposited the vase on the night table and twisted on the pillows to face it.

To her surprise, Nicolai unscrewed a bottle of vodka, filled a shot glass and handed it to her. Befuddled, she gasped. “Are you kidding? I can’t swallow anything.”

“Trust me, Cecile, vodka is the best thing to cure you. It will cleanse your system. You’ll be back to normal faster than you can count to ten.”

He brought the glass to her lips. “A few drinks will kill all your germs.”

“I must be crazy to listen to you.” She sighed and sipped from a shot glass until she emptied it. She felt warm and relaxed.

“Go ahead, a second one,” Nicouvitch coaxed as he gave her another drink.

“I’ll be drunk soon.” She giggled as she emptied the next one. “How many am I supposed to down according to your prescription?”

“Two or three more until you sleep.”

My story, TO LOVE A HERO, highlights the hospitality and warmth of the gorgeous and gallant Belarusian officers who sing and toast and make a woman feel like a goddess. I had a lot of fun writing this book and I hope you will discover a new country and interesting civilization while reading TO LOVE A HERO.

 ****

Admired by men and adored by women, Major General Sergei is a true hero in his country. When a lovely American chemist stumbles straight into his arms, Sergei has more on his mind than patriotic duty.

On her first international business trip to Belarus, a Russian country dominated by male chauvinism and intrigues, Cecile finds more chemistry than she bargains for.

Can she betray his trust to save his career? Would her love cost him everything he values?

****

Two Lips Review: Mona Risk tells a poignant yet beautiful and sweet story of two people falling in love, who must fight their attraction… This is a story readers will enjoy.

Review Your book: Mona Risk is a talented author. She knows how to weave intrigue and romance into her story. Fans of romance and suspense will enjoy To Love a Hero.

Simply Romance Review: Outstanding Read. Mona Risk's To Love a Hero is a wonderful love story complete with deception, conceit, stubbornness and the love of a lifetime for two people who couldn't be more different. Ms. Risk hits a homerun with this story.

Publishers Weekly, Saturday Blurb Special  Beyond her Book Blog: “The sense of the unfamiliar makes the story exotic, and a subtle tension was maintained with the trace of fear for an unknown culture and its politics…”

****

If you like sexy romantic comedies, you'll enjoy reading Mona Risk's other novels:

Holiday Babies Series: CHRISTMAS BABIES and VALENTINE BABIES

BABIES IN THE BARGAIN: “ER” and “Grey’s Anatomy” in the NICU.

NEIGHBORS and MORE: With too many skeletons in their own closets, would her dear neighbors do their best to save her or incriminate her?
NO MORE LIES: a lie that brings a smile or a truth drawing tears?
RIGHT NAME, WRONG MAN: What's a girl to do when she whispers another man's name in her fiancé's arms?

The Black Jack Gentlemen

Let's talk about some new books coming soon from yours truly:

3 Cover Reveals & Excerpts for LIZ CROWE'S The Black Jack Gentlemen Series~

A city and a sport with something to prove—Meet the men who take that challenge.

The Black Jack Gentlemen—Detroit’s expansion soccer team.

They play hard. And live harder.

 

The Black Jack Gentlemen

The newest series by Liz Crowe

 

 

Book 1:  Man On (August 2013)

Book 2:  Red Card (August 2013) 

Book 3:  Shut Out (September 2013)

And Coming Soon…

Book 4:  Set Piece

Book 5:  Hat Trick

Man On (Black Jack Gentlemen: Book One)

Bad boy of European football, Nicolas Garza is about to hit American shores with a vengeance. Signed by the Detroit Black Jack Gentlemen as lynch pin for their expansion club, Nicco only half believes he’s making the right move. But with a past full of ghosts and rotten behavior chasing him from his homeland, he has no real choice.

Parker Rollings is a college soccer superstar, but his parents’ plans for their only son do not include professional athletics. When the Black Jacks approach him to finalize their roster, Parker leaps at the chance to keep playing, leaving behind medical school, stability and his first and only college sweetheart.

Nicco and Parker face off as bitter rivals for a coveted starting spot at midfield and are forced to channel their negative energy into something positive for the sake of the group—and themselves.

All eyes are on the fledgling team in its debut season. It’s crucial that the Black Jacks prove all the doubters wrong. They must make a good showing in the league and with new fans. But player drama, club dynamics, and misplaced priorities may tear it apart before it even begins.

Official Excerpt-MAN ON: 

His fingertips grazed a small card in his pocket making him wince at the memory of his first encounter with the team psychologist. He’d set it up one morning after booting Terry out the door, along with a couple of girls he’d convinced to come by for some playtime. His head had been pounding, not so much from a hangover but shame.

When he had flipped through his expensive-looking orientation packet the words “team psychologist” had leapt out at him as if connected to a hand that gripped him by the short hairs. Not a new thing, all teams had one. But, sick of his bizarre need for constant physical contact—for fucking, he’d corrected, tired of even glossing over it in his own stupid head—he had been desperate for someone to simply listen. So, he made the call. And in the meantime, had enjoyed the workouts with the trainers, the few times he’d scrimmaged around with some of the other players. They’d all been contracted but not obligated to do anything for a month but “acclimate to their new surroundings.”

Part of that acclimation came with the requisite social networking and attendance at a some high visibility fundraisers—which is where Nicco had hooked up with Terrance who’d been attending as personal assistant to some politician. He’d also been encouraged to look around for a place to live with the assistance of an eager young real estate agent, an adorable, sexy, woman whose name he had forgotten within minutes of banging her brains out in an empty mini-mansion. Par for his course, really. But behavior that made him angrier than ever.

His first session with the psychologist, an earnest, nerdy-looking guy with square glasses and a cleft chin, had been brutal. But Nicco had deflected, and to his credit, the shrink had let him front, and show off like a dumb ass for a full hour.

Then, just as he was getting up to leave, convinced the whole thing had been a total waste, the guy looked up at him, pinning him with eyes so sharp and clear they made Nicco gasp in spite of himself. “Nicco,” he’d said. “When you’re ready to face up to your addiction, I’m here to listen. I know you have a problem with sex. You know you have a problem with sex. I’m glad you made this appointment. Next time, let’s make it more useful, shall we? And for your information, I did not support the concept of putting you out there as poster boy for gay rights or gay athletes.”

The man had removed his glasses, staring Nicco down as if he could see into his very soul. “I am gay. I have been with the same partner, a man I love dearly for six years. I understand, on a certain level, what you’re dealing with. So,” he’d put the glasses back on and glanced down at his tablet computer. “When will I see you next?”

Now, Nicco pulled the card from his pocket and stared at the therapist’s name and phone number. Then ripped it into small pieces as the rest of the new team filed into the room. He noted two German players he’d had run-ins with in World Cup play, a South African player who must have cost the casino owners a pretty penny, at least three Brits, a Welsh guy or maybe Irish, and two South Americans whose dark, intense good looks made him shiver with memory.

A handful of fresh-faced young Americans interspersed in the group made him feel old. And that pissed him off. What was Inez thinking anyway? There were two per position in the room, two strong players for each spot—except his. He sipped his water bottle and glared at the Germans. Nervous tension gnawed at his gut but he kept his face calm. Finally when their temporary coach showed up and flipped the blinds closed, he relaxed.

So everyone in the room has to fight for their spot except me? That works. He dropped his feet to the floor at Rafe’s pointed glance and propped his elbows on the table prepared to ignore the forthcoming pep talk.

He’d already made plans for the night and wanted to rest up before hand. This goofy welcome pep talk would be as good a time as any. Letting his thoughts wander to the nightclub catering to gay men and promising full discretion, he made himself stop obsessing over the failed therapy session.

The door clicked open and all eyes landed on the tall, blond man who walked in, backpack on his shoulder, dressed to play. Nicco’s scalp tingled at the sight of him—strong torso, long legs, firm jaw covered with several days’ worth of fuzz. Good Christ but he was a perfect specimen. Nicco kept his casual stance but startled when the kid’s bright blue eyes and huge white smile landed on him.

He resisted the urge to smile back. Something about the man made Nicco distinctly uncomfortable but horny at the same time. He suddenly wished he’d held onto the shrink’s business card.

“And Parker will be working with you, Nicco.”

Nicco sat up, knocking his water to the floor as Rafe’s words got his immediate attention. What the fuck? He stared at the polite hand the kid stuck in his face then over at Rafe. His throat closed up between the proximity of the impossibly handsome man and realization of the fact that the vision of masculine perfection he’d lusted after for the last few seconds wanted to take his spot on the field.

Oh hell no. He leaned back again and ignored his brain that clamored for him to be nice, to take the kid’s hand. To smile and act like an adult.

Instead, he smirked, ignored him, and turned to face their coach as if suddenly fascinated by what the guy had to say. Parker stood a minute, and Nicco watched his face turn red before he sat in the one empty chair nearest the door.

Rafe passed out new phones, instructed them that they were obliged to “tweet” and “post profile updates” on Facebook at least three times a day. All shit that Nicco already knew. Rafe’s hot young lady assistant issued key cards to the ones who’d just arrived, including the kid Nicco studiously ignored but whose very presence was making the front of his jeans uncomfortable.

He shifted in his seat, trying to get control of himself, a bizarre combination of anger and lust spinning around his brain. The room rose, and Nicco joined them making their way out into the hallway.

A gaggle of kids and parents awaited them, and the team spent about an hour signing soccer balls, slips of paper, jerseys, getting photos for camera phones. Nicco joined in to prove his ability to schmooze like a pro. At one point he caught sight of his new young coach with his arm around a tall, attractive, pregnant woman with coal black hair. Rafe caught his eye and beckoned him over.

“Nicolas Garza, this is Maureen, my wife and her son, Adam.” A dark-skinned teenager next to the stunning woman stuck out a hand. Nicco took it, noting the kid’s own club kit and backpack. He took Maureen’s hand, kissed it, and eyeballed Rafe.

“Well done, young Rafe. What a vision. How did a loser like yourself rate such beauty?”

Maureen frowned but her eyes sparkled. “Spare me, Nicco. I’ve heard all about you.”

“I have no doubt of that lovely lady.” He gave a short bow. “But may I also say, congratulations on the coming joy.”

She smiled at him, and he mirrored her liking her already. He valued women who took no shit from him. He winked at Rafe and made his way back into the teeming throng after nodding at the woman’s son who didn’t look that much younger than his mother’s new husband. But when he turned he immediately locked gazes with the blond American usurper and his throat closed up. The man stared at him wide-eyed and innocent, and Nicco had to grip the back of a chair to keep from saying something utterly stupid.

He’d wager his left nut that young Parker had never been with a man, but the sheer sexual energy that poured off him was intoxicating. His fresh, clean good looks spoke of a typical American, upper class upbringing, expensive soccer clubs and college scholarships. Shit that Nicco usually despised and denigrated.

He broke the eye contact and set his jaw. The kid had another think coming if he honestly believed he’d be taking Nicolas Garza’s place on the team. Pure and simple, no matter how fevered his sudden fantasy over popping the kid’s cherry. He ran a hand down his face and swallowed hard. Things had certainly gotten complicated and then some. But he knew that he had a focus now—keeping his starting spot ahead of the delectable Parker.

Red Card (Black Jack Gentlemen:  Book Two)
Free will makes us human.

Choice makes us individuals.

Love makes us unique.

Metin Sevim has it all. At the pinnacle of international soccer playing success, he has managed to craft a perfect world for himself along the way.

When fate strips him of free will and the ability to choose his own path, he retreats from everyone and everything, destroying his hard-won career in the process.

Dragged back from the brink by his desperate family, Metin reluctantly agrees to coach the Black Jack Gentlemen Detroit soccer team but remains debilitated by memories and loss. When a surprising friendship emerges, it renews his passion for life, providing much needed solace… and extreme complications.

A saga of family dynamics and gender politics that cuts across cultures and circumstance, Red Card illustrates the human capacity for forgiveness through the life of one man as he attempts to rebuild his shattered existence.

  

Official Excerpt-RED CARD: 

Metin studied the attractive woman sitting across from him at the huge kitchen island. Musing that she probably would just as soon pour him a lovely glass of cyanide as sit and drink red wine with him, he smiled, trying not to overreact to her unsubtle hostility.

“So,” she said, sipping and staring at him. “How is Graciella?”

He forced an ever-wider smile. “Fine, I am assuming. She is on a photo shoot in Italy for a month. I haven’t talked to her in…a while.” He lifted the glass to his lips, not breaking eye contact.

Melanie Matthews Miller could be a model herself. Something he was sure she’d heard plenty of times. Her dark brown hair was thick, curly, barely contained by a headband. Dark eyes shone in her angular, handsome face. He noticed that her hand shook when she put her glass on the granite surface. Unable to resist, he reached for it. She yanked it back as if he’d touched a lit match to her flesh. “Your mother must have been a stunning woman.” He said, softly, as if to a cornered, frightened animal.

“Yeah. She was,” Mel polished off her first glass. Metin poured her some more. “Spare me the lecture. I’m not an alcoholic.”

He looked up, shocked. “I wouldn’t think of calling you that.”

“Sure you would. I see it in your eyes.”

“The only thing in my eyes right now is terror.”

She scoffed, left the newly refilled glass on the counter and propped her chin on her hands. The defeated slump of her shoulders made the natural caretaker in him want to soothe. But he knew better than to comfort her, at least at that moment. He took another drink of his wine, and the silence took on a life of its own. Clearing his throat, he put his glass down, deciding if anyone could take him being straightforward, it was this woman.

“I love your sister,” he said.

Mel just stared at him, her face betraying nothing. “No you don’t. You’re just a collector of women. And Alicia is something new and exotic to you. Get over yourself.” Her hard voice fit her. It was as if she had sharp edges he would wound himself on if he were not careful. Her face was nearly perfect—high cheekbones, large expressive eyes. In a different situation, she would be his type. “I won’t let you hurt her, soccer boy. We clear on that?”

He nodded, believing silence was the better part of valor at the moment. “Tell me about him,” he finally said, unable to stop himself. “This man. Your… husband. Who hurt you and made you into this….”

“Bitch?” Her laughter hurt his ears.

“No, that is not what—”

“Yes, it was. It’s okay. I’m getting use to it now. Scott was the guy who swept me off my feet, knocked me up, installed me in a house while he went to work at the bank. I caught him fucking his secretary one day, right in that very house, when I was supposed to be volunteering at Zach’s school.” She gripped her glass, gazing into the middle distance. “I left. Came home to my father’s house with my son. Told him we were through. And started going out, to clubs, bars… you name it. I was a total slut. As I’m sure you will confirm, being the traditionalist that you are. Men can stick their dicks in however many women they want and they are super studs. I go out a few nights, let a few strange men do that to me, and I’m a whore.”

He gulped, forcing away that very reaction, reminding himself that this woman’s life was absolutely none of his business. She glared at him, holding the stem of her wine glass in a death grip. “And then, bam, I was pregnant again. And Scott said he’d take me back, wanted me back, needed me back. Blah blah. Whatever.”

“Oh, um, Tanner is not…”

“No, Metin. I don’t know who Tanner’s father is. How about that for your traditional principals? Shocked enough by me yet?” Her eyes darkened.

He sat up straighter his ire rising at her seeming need to prove how bad she was for some reason. “I don’t shock that easily.”

“Sure you do.” She got up to pace. Her wild, curly hair kept escaping from the headband and haloed her flushed face. In an instant, he saw what appeal she did hold, when she was not being so bitter.

He glanced around. The giant house was freezing, empty, positively cavernous. He couldn’t fathom it. His family was huge, loud, and annoying, but that was a whole hell of a lot better than this empty, echoing space filled with nothing but unhappy people.

“Mom!” An older boy stomped into the kitchen from the laundry room, slamming the garage door behind him. “I thought you were… oh, hello there.”

Metin stood and held out his hand. “Hi. I’m….”

“I know who you are. My mom and aunt have been doing nothing but argue about you lately.”

“Oh, well.” Metin ran a hand through his hair, watching the boy’s body language around his mother. “Sorry, I guess.”

“Nah, it’s cool. They don’t need much excuse to fight.” He dropped his soccer bag to the floor of the kitchen. Metin fought his inner neat freak. His mother never tolerated his soccer kit anywhere but out in their garage. And a cuff to the head was all it took for him to remember it. He and his three brothers had all played, which made for a pretty smelly garage.

“Mom, where’s dinner.”

“Order out,” she said, her voice low and distant.  

“Whatever, I’m going out anyway.”

Metin stared as they did their non-communication dance for a few more minutes then got up before the urge to smack the smartass kid upside the head got too strong.

“Sorry, Metin.” Mel’s voice was soft. “We’re hardly the exemplary family. I have no business being mad at you for judging us.”

“I am not judging…. Oh, thank god,” he said when Alicia strode in, her gorgeous face dusted with makeup, amazing curves draped in a silky black dress. “You are beautiful.”

“Thanks.” She blushed, which he loved. “You guys getting along okay? Zach, are you being your usual teenager jerkish self?”

“Sure thing, Auntie.” The kid grabbed a few cookies from the jar and walked out without another word to his own mother.

Metin shook his head.

“Okay, stud. Let’s go to dinner. Or whatever.” She shot a worried glance at her sister, but the other woman kept her back to them. By the time Metin realized Melanie shoulders shook from crying, Alicia was pulling him out of the room.

Shut Out (Black Jack Gentlemen: Book Three)

A submissive once, a submissive forever?

A man on the run from the only life he’s ever known, Brody Vaughn is poised to accept the Black Jack Gentleman’s newly vacant goalkeeper’s position. It’s a desperate move, but one he must take to regain his emotional equilibrium. Reeling from his Mistress’s rejection and on the ragged edge of a total breakdown, he arrives in Detroit. Numb with thinly veiled grief, he walks into the club’s front office completely unaware that an encounter with true destiny awaits him.

Sophie Harrison has seen it all--as Domme, sub, and victim. Now that her complicated circumstances have landed her as legal counsel for the expansion Black Jacks team, she holds herself aloof in body and spirit. Nothing and no one gets past her fiercely guarded walls. Until the day she looks up to greet the new goalie standing in her doorway, his raw combination of vulnerability and strength making her breathless.

Two people, horribly scarred by the excesses of the BDSM lifestyle and hiding from their true selves, meet across a desk over a simple contract. All bets are off.

Official Excerpt-SHUT OUT: 

Sophie kept her chair turned from the office door, unwilling to even acknowledge the next soccer player awaiting her wise words. Sweaty and exhausted, she had a bitch of an afternoon low caffeine headache. And talking these over-paid, over-sexed, full of themselves prima donnas through their final contracts and benefits packages. However, as head of legal for the team in its third year, she had a new crop of new players to orient—ten to be exact. And had managed to do so for the last week.

But if one more of them waltzed in here reeking of sweat and eyeballing her as if she were the last crumb on the cookie tray, their flirty high beams blazing, as if she would ever be interested in any of their little boy bullshit... so help her. For the thousandth time, she questioned her sanity, taking on this utter crapshoot of a project.

Oh, right. She shut her eyes a moment, closing off the memories. Shutting down her natural reaction to pore over them, poke at them, rip off the scab that had more or less healed over them in an attempt to start over.

"Hey," a deep, syrupy-sounding voice intoned, sending a strange tremor straight down her spine. "Um, am I in the right place?" It hit her ears as: “’m ah in the raht playce?”

She swiveled around and shoved her glasses up her nose to get a good look at the next one standing in her doorway. Her gaze slid from his jet-black hair, along the strong lines of his stubbled jaw, across his t-shirt clad shoulders. The Black Jack Gentlemen wore grey when they practiced, in uniforms provided by a famous shoe company she didn’t recognize with a company logo emblazoned across the back. And said shirt clung to his sculptured torso in a way that really ought to be outlawed. All the while, Mr. Southern Accent stood stock still, as if used to being so frankly appraised.

A drop of sweat formed at her temple. He cleared his throat so she jerked her gaze back up to a set of the darkest eyes she had ever encountered. He smiled—a sweet, lopsided thing that imprinted itself on her retinas in a wholly annoying way. She tried not to swallow her own tongue.  

"Hey… uh… I'm Brody. Brody Vaughn." He ran a hand through his hair and she sensed his nervousness as if there were a neon sign over his head. Adorable. Her radar pinged like mad. But she forced it to shut the hell up. She had no business thinking about these…these kids in any way other than purely professional.

So far they had all been the exact same breed of cocky asshole, alternating eye-fucking her and extreme boredom in response to her monotonous drone of legal-ese. Sexy Southern Accent—Brody, she muttered under her breath—put his hand out, as if to shake hers. His face reddened charmingly when she raised an eyebrow at his outstretched palm—the same one he’d just dragged through his sweat soaked hair

She smiled, rising slowly to her feet, needing to be at his eye level. His eyes widened as he dropped, as if boneless, into the chair opposite hers without a word. Sophie took a long, calming breath, forcing her brain to focus in ways she had learned, practiced, utilized for years in her time as a professional Dominatrix—a woman who took money in exchange for bringing pain and raw, rough sex to the men who requested her services.

 As she shut the door, keeping her back to the boy...  to… Brody… her pulse kept racing, and her heart continued its disconcerting rhythm, no matter what tricks she employed—which pissed her off. And that finally, calmed her enough to face him.

“Hello Mr. Vaughn, I’m Sophie Harrison, legal counsel for the Black Jack Gentlemen. I’ll be explaining the terms of the contract you or your agent negotiated with our organization.” She kept talking, using words she’d said a hundred times already. But her own voice echoed around in her head. She purposely kept her eyes on the paper in front of her, glasses sliding down her nose. Ignoring the raw, visceral reaction her finely tuned body and brain were having to the man across from her—Brody, a twenty-five year old man, she saw on his employee fact sheet.

No, he is a boy, and you do not play with boys, not anymore.

 She compressed her lips together, pretending to find a non-existent problem with the stack of legal documents pertaining to his agreement. To his credit, he stayed silent and very, very still, in a way that intrigued her.

Finally, she met his eyes once more and blinked—then frowned. “So, another goalkeeper?” she said, fully aware how it would needle the average, ego-driven high-level athlete. A glimpse at his salary indicated his golden child status. The keeper that the club had managed to sign, thanks to the aggressive recruiting activity by their new assistant coach.

She tried out a casual smirk but discarded it. And the way he just sat, glaring at her as if memorizing her, or hoping to intimidate her brought a hot flush to her cheeks. God damn it. She straightened her back, sucked in her gut and forced her thoughts to her next real workout—the kind she preferred, that involved tight leather, her favorite bull whip, and a willing submissive.

“You okay there… Miz Harrison?” His voice slithered around in her brain, nestling in nice and low, gripping the base of her skull in a way that made her want to jump up and run out of the room. Asshole. She glared at him.

“Of course. I’m fine.” She shoved her glasses back up nose and slapped the contracts down in front of him, probably a little too hard, but fuck it. She needed Mr. Brody Vaughn the hell out of her office. She tried to keep her face neutral, not snarl or growl or snap the poor kid’s head off.

He shifted in his seat, cleared his throat, and glanced down at the papers she had pinned under her manicured hand. Which gave her a well-needed rush of control over the situation. Her spine tingled in a familiar way but she channeled it—the distinct, loose, fluid feeling of impending need that she recognized.

“Now, let’s go through this…” She brought her focus back to the contracts. His hand covered hers. Surprised, she flinched, and a strange, embarrassing sound emerged from her throat.

“I think you need a drink of water. You seem a little… done in,” he claimed, his deep drawl coating her brain like the sweetest honey infused bourbon. She snatched her water bottle, gulped some, set the thing down and took a breath. Within thirty minutes she had laid out the terms of the contract, including his non-disclosure and good-behavior clauses, the health insurance guarantees, all of it. He had asked few questions, his voice soft, musical and soothing in a way that somehow had the opposite effect on her nerves. She gritted her teeth against the urge to stand up, lock the door and yank the kid’s sweaty clothes off. Jesus, help me. Get him out of here.

He stood quickly, startling her. “Well, if that’s it.” He leaned back, studying her.

She got to her feet, unwilling to let him stand above her for some reason, and noted how his chocolate brown eyes darkened at the sight of her facing him.

 “Yes. That will definitely be it.” She lifted her chin and willed her damn knees to stop shaking. She would have little reason to ever see him again, unless he landed in trouble and she had to handle a public relations problem on his behalf.

His physical presence, not that different than all the others who’d paraded through here in the last few days, compelled her in ways she refused to acknowledge. At nearly six foot eight, with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, long, strong legs....he cleared his throats. She blinked, and the traitorous flush crept up her neck to her face again. His angular features at that moment were set, and bored, and slightly amused at her obvious discomfort. She narrowed her eyes. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? Her pulse fluttered as she put a hand to her throat.

As if reading her mind, Brody Vaughn lifted his chin slightly, and she got a good long look at it—the inky black chain imprinted on his neck. A dark circular pattern of interlocking, heavy loops encircled the flesh at his throat. He smiled again, slow moving, like his drawl, and he touched it, once, then turned, giving her a breath taking rear view that included the sight of the chain continuing around the back of his neck. The man wore a collar, a permanent one, inked right on his skin. But the vibes he threw her proclaimed one thing loud and clear—the person who’d bestowed the collar no longer had a say about him at all.

Her mind swooped, whirled, and doubled back on itself, picturing him—Brody the man—at her knees, bound, and waiting her command. She shivered and jumped when her assistant appeared at the door. He’d left. Taking his mysterious aura of vulnerability and strength, and raw sexy need, with him. 

 

~Author Bio~

 

Microbrewery owner, best-selling author, beer blogger and journalist, mom of three teenagers, and soccer fan, Liz lives in the great Midwest, in a major college town. Years of experience in sales and fund raising, plus an eight-year stint as an ex-pat trailing spouse, plus making her way in a world of men (i.e. the beer industry), has prepped her for life as a successful author. 

 

When she isn’t sweating inventory and sales figures for the brewery, she can be found writing, editing or implementing promotions for her latest publications.  Her groundbreaking literary fiction subgenre, “reality fiction,” has gained thousands of fans and followers who are interested less in the “HEA” and more in the “WHA” (“What Happens After?”)

 

Her beer blog a2beerwench.com is nationally recognized for its insider yet outsider views on the craft beer industry. Her books are set in the not-so-common worlds of breweries, on the soccer pitch and in high-powered real estate offices. Don’t ask her for anything “like” a Budweiser or risk painful injury.

 

For more information on Liz Crowe, please visit her website www.lizcrowe.com or www.brewingpassion.com (her author blog).  She enjoys interacting with her fans on her Facebook author page www.facebook.com/lizcroweauthor. Information for all of her books, including eBook and print formats (where available), can be found on her Amazon author page. 

 

www.lizcrowe.com

 

www.brewingpasssion.com

 

www.a2beerwench.com

 

www.facebook.com/lizcroweauthor

 

www.twitter.com/beerwencha2