As the youngest Chief of Medicine at Southside General Hospital, David Carlson has no business lusting after the most hostile nurse on the ER staff. A professional, hard-working, over-achiever, he’s finally realized his life-long dream of promotion, and the last thing he needs now are complications.
But he can’t help being intrigued by the enigmatic Ian James. Not only is Ian flat-out gorgeous, he’s also mysterious. And he awakens in David a passion that he hasn’t felt since … well, ever.
Unfortunately, Ian James is a man with a dangerous past and an even more dangerous present, and loving him will come at a cost. Can David trust him? Is he willing to put his entire career on the line to protect a man who might be playing him? Is Ian capable of loving and trusting him back?
Discovering the truth will take David into the heart of blackmail, corruption, and scandal. Straight to the edge of control.
The Edge of Control is a stand-alone, full-length novel with NO cliffhanger!
By the time I pulled my tired body out of the shower, it was past nine o’clock. Before I’d allowed myself to return home, I’d holed up in my office for hours, dealing with the mountain of paperwork I’d been neglecting over the last few weeks.
It was as much a punishment as a necessity.
Idiot. You stupid, desperate, sex-starved idiot.
I was finding it difficult to forgive myself. How much time had I wasted fantasizing about Ian? How had I allowed myself to be taken in by him when he was so openly hostile to begin with? I’d ignored every fact, making up my mind that he was more than his surface appearance. But sometimes people were exactly the way they seemed. Sometimes men who appeared angry and dangerous were exactly that: angry and dangerous.
The Littinger connection got to me the most. It wasn’t as if Ian was directly responsible for the man’s suicide. Even if they’d had an affair and Littinger later regretted it, that didn’t mean it was Ian’s fault that Littinger had decided to shoot himself. But Littinger’s involvement made Ian a chronic adulterer. A man who lead other men – older, more powerful men – into bed.
I stretched out on my leather couch and closed my eyes. I hadn’t yet pulled a shirt on, and my back was still damp from the shower, sticking to the leather upholstery, but it felt good to lay there in my loose cotton pajama pants, bare feet resting on the arm of the sofa, a soft pillow beneath my head. I was so exhausted I might have drifted off to sleep, but a knock at my door pulled me awake again.
My first thought was Caroline, but she never knocked softly. With her it was always loud, incessant pounding in rhythm to whatever song she’d been listening to last.
“Hang on.” I shuffled my way to the door and opened it, wondering if one of my neighbors had locked themselves out again.
It wasn’t a neighbor.
Ian stood in the hallway of my apartment building, hands thrust into his blue jean pockets, one foot kicking absently at a loose thread on the hallway runner. He looked up at me with that familiar expression that repelled and invited simultaneously.
“Is this a bad time?” he asked.
I leaned against the door frame and watched as his eyes moved over my bare chest, waiting for my answer.
“That depends,” I said. “Are you in trouble?” I fought to keep the coldness out of my voice, and I could see the confusion leak into his expression as his eyes moved up to scan my face, searching for something that was no longer there. He turned. “I should go,” he said.
I should let him.
But what if I was wrong? I cursed under my breath. “Wait.”
Ian stalled in the middle of the hallway.
“Come in,” I said at last.
What the hell was I doing?
He paused, then turned and followed me inside. I couldn’t decide if his demeanor exuded relief or reluctance. I was generally good at reading people. Part of my job as a physician inevitably involved spotting liars: people lying about their pain, lying about their addictions, lying about their relationships. Body language was as familiar to me as the internal workings of the human form, yet with Ian I could never deduce his true motivations. He always seemed conflicted, as if he didn’t know for certain what he’d do until he was actually doing it.
As soon as he was in my apartment, his gaze lit over every surface in a practiced kind of surveillance – the kind people did out of ingrained habit rather than conscious intent. I couldn’t help remembering what Bruce had said about him having a record. A record for what? Breaking and entering? Burglary?
Not that I was worried Ian was there to rob me. We worked together for Christ’s sake. It was more that I was seeing him clearly for the first time. Seeing his nervousness for a man playing up his mark.
I wondered what attracted Ian to the men he chose. Was it their money? An illusion of power? It certainly wasn’t based on looks. Bruce was a nice looking man for his age, but Littinger had been small and rail thin with a horrible comb-over and chronic body odor. I tried to see myself – my furniture and possessions – through Ian’s eyes. Would he see something worthwhile here? A turn-on? Had he come here to seduce me? Could I resist him if he had?
I fought back my rising attraction. Despite everything, there was a rabid thrill to having the man I’d fantasized about step into my apartment, at night, looking like –
He wore a black, button-down shirt, untucked from a pair of form-hugging jeans. His hair, slightly on the longer side and usually tousled, was combed back, away from his face, tucked behind his ears, and my fingers ached to run through it.
God damn. He took my breath away.
It had been a mistake to invite him inside.
“So?” I prompted, deliberately forcing my thoughts back to the conversation with Bruce. Forcing myself to imagine Ian in bed with Littinger. Anything to fight my raging, testosterone fueled hard-on. The hard-on he must certainly notice beneath my cotton pajama pants.
I was standing against the wall that divided my living room from the kitchen. He was three steps away, and at first he didn’t say anything, shifting his weight nervously, but then he stepped towards me – one, two, three steps – and just like that his mouth was on mine, his tongue tracing my lips before moving down my neck to my nipple, probing gently before sucking it between his teeth.
The shock of his touch was indescribable. His hands slid across the skin of my chest to my back as he licked from one nipple to the other, and the moan that came out of me could not be stifled. Ian’s mouth returned to the hollow of my neck as his hands released me, and his fingers undid the buttons on his shirt. He released them one by one, his lips never leaving my skin, and the whole time he was sinking to his knees, his tongue trailing down my abdomen, stopping only when he pulled his shirt off, leaving it on the floor behind him. Then his fingers, firm yet supple, were untying the drawstring of my pants.
Without meaning to, my hands raked through his hair and I felt sure I’d never let him go. This was the point of no return. One fraction of an inch further and nothing would enable me to turn back.
My entire career flashed before my eyes, and I pushed him away with an explosiveness that surprised us both. “Fuck! Stop.”
He fell backwards, regaining his balance as I straightened my pajama pants, but the shock in his eyes was immediately mingled with terror. He pushed himself away from me until his back slammed into the couch. Then he was cornered, and his instinctual cringe wasn’t something anyone could fake. This was a man who’d been hit in his lifetime. A lot.
I held up both hands, trying to catch my breath and regain some composure. My heart was pounding out of my fucking chest.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to –”
He didn’t wait for me to finish. The second my hands were up he grabbed his shirt off the floor and bolted to his feet. His eyes searched frantically, obviously looking for a weapon.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” I kept my voice soft. “You surprised me. That’s all. We can talk about this.”
I would’ve given a million bucks to be able to read him right then. Whatever was going through his mind was either too conflicted or too concealed for me to decipher. Was he angry? Humiliated? He turned away and for a moment I thought he might run, but when he turned back again, bare chested, clutching his shirt, his eyes looked hurt. But was that the truth or simply a mask slipping into place?
“I thought … I thought you wanted me to – You gave me your address.” He glanced out my living room window again, as if longing for escape. Strange choice considering the door was only a few feet away, unlocked. His terror seemed to be diminishing, but his overall fear was still palpable. I kept both hands in the air, feeling distinctly like I’d been taken hostage in my own apartment.
“I gave you my address because I was concerned about you. I thought you might need help. Obviously, I’m attracted to you.” I couldn’t deny I’d had a massive erection practically from the moment he’d walked through the door. “But giving you my personal information wasn’t a ploy to get a blow job.”
Now Ian’s gaze shifted to the door, and I could see how badly he wanted to leave. He seemed torn. Leave through the door and resume a normal life, whatever that meant for him, or cast himself out the window to oblivion. He ran both hands over his face and closed his eyes.
“I could make you feel good,” he said at last. “No strings attached.” He paused for emphasis. “I promise you, it will feel good.”
Shock rendered me incoherent. I hadn’t realized that decision was still up in the air, and I had to give Ian credit. He never said what I expected.
“No,” I sputtered, nearly laughing at the absurdity of this moment. Who turned down a blow job from their personal walking wet dream? “I already said no.” Idiot. Careful, repressed, boring, idiot! Take it back! My penis was screaming at me.
Ian’s fists clenched and unclenched. “Don’t you like me?”
He blushed. How could a man be on his knees ready to give his boss a blow job without any apparent reservations, but the mention of actual liking (as opposed to licking) brings forth a bashful blush?
“I do like you,” I said carefully, as if I’d stumbled into the psych ward at Southside. Or maybe the psych ward had come to me. “Of course I like you.”
If he only knew how much.
“But there are some things we need to clear up. About Bruce and … Littinger.”
The moment I said the name, I knew Bruce had told me the truth. If there was a tiny part of my brain that had doubted – hoped – that Bruce had been lying, this part was now convinced by the look on Ian’s face.
He took a step backward, closer to the door. “How do you know about –”
“I know a lot of things.”
Ian shook his head. “I have to go.”
“Don’t leave like this.” I tried to make my voice sound commanding. “We need to talk. I mean it. Don’t –”
But he was already stepping away, his eyes never releasing mine. He opened my apartment door, bolted out, and then sprinted down the hall. The elevator door opened, and he was gone before I could call his name.
If Bodyguard, Derick Britt, can make it through Afghanistan, he should be able to handle guarding rock star Heath MacFayden. But when obstinate and out-of-control Heath makes headlines for a gay sex scandal, the situation spirals. Fans clash with protesters; a stalker threatens Heath’s life; and the media drags Derick into Heath’s headlines. Through the chaos, Derick finds his professionalism compromised as he discovers the vulnerable man Heath is underneath his rock star persona. Derick can handle being front page news, but can he handle his growing feelings for Heath?
Rock stars aren’t supposed to wake up every morning wanting to crawl under a rock, but Heath MacFayden’s world is unraveling. After having his private sex life exposed for the entire world to see, his upcoming US tour is in jeopardy, and he can’t leave his house without being mobbed by reporters. After breaking free from a damaging relationship, Heath finds himself with no one he can trust. Derick Britt is exactly Heath’s type – but the last thing Heath needs is another alpha male telling him what to do, no matter how tempting it may be to lean on someone strong. Heath is determined to guard his heart, but with Derick around that might not be possible.
Unguarded is a full-length, stand-alone novel with NO cliff hanger, but lots of steamy sex, salacious scandals, and sizzling suspense.
“Can I ask you something?” Heath asked, tipping back his shot and feeling the liquor go down his throat like hot, liquid courage.
“Your partner, Bart … I get the impression he wants us to hook up.”
That wasn’t really a question, but Derick froze. His cheeks flushed and he turned so Heath couldn’t see his face. “Ignore him. He’s on this kick about getting me laid.”
Every cell in Heath’s body was screaming at him to leave things alone, but he couldn’t. Didn’t want to. He wanted to be with someone who wasn’t Miles. He wanted to not feel lonely for the first time in months.
“And do you?” he asked, stepping closer. “Need to get laid?”
The air expelled from Derick’s lungs in one huge breath. One second he was standing still, not even meeting Heath’s gaze, and the next his lips were on Heath’s lips, his tongue sliding into Heath’s mouth, and his hand moving under Heath’s T-shirt and finding his nipple ring, tugging it gently until Heath’s back arched in pleasure. Derick tasted like the cinnamon flavor of the Fireball Whiskey and their kiss burned with residual heat.
“What do you think?” Derick growled.
For a moment Heath couldn’t answer, his senses overwhelmed by strong hands on his skin. But then Derick pulled back and groaned.
“Except … I can’t,” he said, shaking his head as if he were waking himself up from a dream. “You’re my client. And Chloe’s client. I don’t sleep with clients.”
“Never? No exceptions?”
Derick shrugged. “Bart has done it … twice. One became a long-term girlfriend and the other was a fling that ended with the assignment, but for me … it complicates things.” He paused, breathing hard. “Trust me, I want to make an exception. You have no idea how much I want that, but …”
Heath forced himself to shake off the rejection. “I get it,” he said, pulling away. “I shouldn’t do this, either. It would be wrong to get involved with anyone right now – rebound sex and all. Plus, I can’t afford another mistake with the media.” He paused, his eyes fixing on Derick’s broad chest. “But just so you know… I want you.”
He wasn’t usually so bold, and his own bravado made his pulse race.
“How could it be a mistake when the media already thinks we’re fucking?” Derick asked.
Heath wasn’t sure how to answer that. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe it wouldn’t be.” He paused. “How can it be a mistake for you when technically I’m not your client until tomorrow? We can’t sign the contract until Bart gets back, so it isn’t official, right? If we fucked tonight, it would be off the books.”
Derick laughed. “That’s one hell of a technicality,” he said, but he stepped closer, reaching out to touch Heath’s cheek. He slid one calloused finger down to Heath’s lips. “So this would be a one-time deal? Like hooking-up with someone at a bar, only … safer.”
“Much safer.” Heath sucked the tip of Derick’s finger into his mouth then bit the fleshy pad. “In fact, you and I fucking would be the responsible thing to do because we’ll both get our needs met without either of us having to get off with a stranger.”
Derick chuckled. “Responsible, huh?” He nuzzled Heath’s neck just below his ear and Heath could see the indecision dancing across Derick’s features. “I should still say no,” he told Heath, “but I want to see you naked so bad it hurts.”
Heath shuddered. “So strip music trivia then?”
It had been a joke, but Derick cocked his head to one side. “I could go for that.” He walked over to his closet, shuffled around, and came out wearing a coat, boots, several pairs of socks, a hat, and mittens. “You’re on.”
Heath feigned outrage. “Cheater!”
“I prefer the term ‘ruthless competitor’.”
Heath chuckled. “Bring it on, then.” He paused. “Winner gets to top?” He didn’t miss the flicker of surprise that crossed Derick’s features, and Heath bit his lip, swallowing his disappointment. “Unless you don’t do that. You probably don’t …”
Derick grabbed his arm before Heath could move away.
“No. It’s fine. I’ve bottomed before. Not often, but I enjoy it when I do.”
“You just didn’t think I’d want you to,” Heath said, trying to act is if it didn’t sting. “Because of the video.”
“Maybe,” Derick admitted. “Listen, I didn’t mean to insult you. You just caught me off guard.”
“It’s not a big deal,” Heath said, although it kind of was. “It’s just … I’ve never topped before.”
“Ever?” The look of surprise on Derick’s face made Heath want to shrivel up and disappear. He already knew most guys would’ve topped by now. At least once. And everyone expected rock stars to be sex gods.
Heath shook his head. “I know what people think about musicians – that we’re all oversexed party animals – but I’ve only had one real relationship and I was nineteen when it started. Before that I only had random hook-ups, frotting, and some blow jobs in the back of clubs, maybe an occasional night bottoming in a hotel. Then I got with my ex and he never let me top.”
“How long were you together?” Derick asked.
“And in all that time he never let you top him? Not even once? Did you tell him you wanted to?”
Heath could feel the heat flushing his cheeks. He had told Miles, and Miles had made him feel like an idiot for asking, as if Heath wouldn’t know how to top, so then he’d known that no matter what he did, Miles would act like the experience had been horrible, so it hadn’t been worth arguing over a foregone conclusion.
“This is stupid. Forget I said anything. We shouldn’t even be hooking up.”
“No,” Derick said again, his face suddenly serious. “We’re doing this. Pick an album and name a song. We’ll play it like pool, so it’s your turn until I get one right.”
“You’re sure?” Heath twisted his hair into a tight spiral, then let it go again. Stupid habit.
Finally, Heath walked over to Derick’s shelves and chose a Ramones album. “Judy is a Punk.”
Derick laughed. “Too easy. Billy Joel. Glass Houses.” He pulled off his hat and threw it onto the bed before Heath had a chance to say that he was wrong. Then he stepped closer until Heath could smell the whiskey on his breath. “Ask me another one.”
Heath didn’t need to pull out the album. He stood still, feeling Derick’s closeness. “Sugar Never Tasted So Good.”
“Billy Joel. Glass Houses.” Derick kicked off his boots.
“Billy Joel. Glass Houses.” Derick toed off his socks.
“Thought you were a ruthless competitor,” Heath breathed.
“I am,” Derick said. “I’m also a huge Billy Joel fan.” He leaned in, pinning Heath’s arms behind his body and licking a stripe down Heath’s neck.
“Odd that you can’t distinguish him from the Ramones, the White Stripes, and The Rolling Stones.”
“That is odd,” Derick said, pushing Heath’s shirt up and then sucking his nipple ring into his mouth. His hands felt huge against Heath’s sides, sliding up his back. “Remember when you called me a cheater?” He pulled the Marines shirt over Heath’s head and tossed it to the floor.
“Mmm.” Heath could barely breathe, let alone answer.
“You were so fucking right.” Derick pushed Heath’s track pants down, but he left the boxer-briefs on. Then he stepped back and removed every item of his own clothing until he was standing naked in front of Heath, his gaze never straying from Heath’s eyes. “Huh,” he said. “Looks like you win.”
This was the second time Heath had seen Derick naked that day, but this time he was already so hard he thought he might explode. He groaned at the sight of the dips and plains on Derick’s body. Hard, grooved lines.
“You’re sure about this?” He couldn’t help asking again.
“One hundred percent.”
God. This was going to happen. Heath’s heart was beating so fast he had to take a moment to calm down. Then, slowly, Heath leaned in and traced the muscles of Derick’s chest with his tongue. He sucked one hard nipple into his mouth and then the other, listening as Derick’s breath hitched. Then he knelt, letting his tongue trace the lines of Derick’s abs, down his treasure trail, and along the soft skin where Derick’s groin and legs met. Derick’s cock was eye level, fully erect, and Heath sucked the tip into his mouth, palming Derick’s ass with both hands.
Derick groaned, lacing his fingers into Heath’s hair.
Heath swallowed Derick’s cock further down, looking up to meet his eyes. Heath was good at giving head. That was one skill Miles had made sure he learned thoroughly. And he liked doing it. Liked the salty taste and the feel of a hard cock in his mouth. He’d loved going down on Miles, loved the way it had pleased Miles unconditionally. And now he wanted to please Derick the same way.
Heath allowed one hand to stray to Derick’s balls, weighing and stroking while he bobbed his head leisurely, setting an easy rhythm. He kept working Derick’s cock, alternating hard suction and soft caresses, enjoying the sounds Derick made as Heath played. Derick’s hand caressed his face, and Heath slipped Derick’s cock against the inside of his cheek so he could feel the hard head against his palm.
“Oh god.” Derick cried out and pulled Heath up off his knees. “Get up here and fuck me, or I’m going to lose it.”
Heath took a deep breath. He hadn’t expected Derick to be ready so soon, and now nerves settled in his gut. What if Miles had been right and he screwed this up? What if he was no good as a top?
Derick lay down on the bed, sitting up long enough to pull a condom and lube from the bed stand drawer. “How do you want me?”
“Like that is fine,” Heath managed, although his cock was throbbing with need. He circled a hand around the base. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to last very long.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Derick said. “We have all night, and I’m not going to last long either. See how hard you’ve made me?”
Derick spread his legs, letting one large hand stroke the length of his cock. Heath drew in a sharp breath, then he grabbed the lube, snapped it open, and drizzled some on his fingers. He shuffled until he was kneeling between Derick’s legs, but then he hesitated, his fingers poised above Derick’s entrance.
“More than okay.” Derick took his hand and pressed Heath’s fingers between his ass cheeks. “I want to feel you inside me.”
Heath was breathing hard, but he pressed first one finger and then another inside Derick’s body, slowly working Derick open. He moved his fingers in and out, watching the way Derick’s body responded. At first Derick’s ass clenched, but then he relaxed and wriggled under Heath’s gaze, lazily stroking his cock.
“You look gorgeous right now,” Derick breathed. “You’re so hard. And your face is incredible …”
“I could come just watching my fingers fuck you,” Heath admitted.
“Well, don’t,” Derick groaned, “because I want to feel your cock inside me. It’s perfect, by the way. You have a damn good cock.”
The compliment washed over Heath like a wave. He couldn’t remember the last time Miles had complimented him on anything. But then he pushed all thoughts of Miles out of his head and rolled on the condom. It still seemed impossible that Derick was letting him do this, and the excitement was almost too much. Derick looked like a porn star, lying there with his legs wide, letting Heath take him.
Heath pushed inside, feeling Derick’s muscles clench. Derick seemed so relaxed, as if he bottomed all the time, but Heath was going to be careful just in case. He moved excruciatingly slow, but when Heath was almost all the way in, Derick grabbed his ass and pulled him the rest of the way until he bottomed out.
“That’s it, baby,” Derick whispered. “Just like that.”
“Oh my fucking hell,” Heath moaned. “This is amazing. I don’t think I can …”
Derick moved his hips so Heath jolted inside him. “You can,” he said. “Move. Fuck me.”
Heath pulled out, then pushed inside again. He thought his eyes might roll back in his head, and he knew he ought to be thinking about Derick’s pleasure, trying to make this good for him, but Heath could hardly think straight.
“Again,” Derick breathed, curling his body up so he could mouth a line at Heath’s throat. “Fuck me, Heath.”
“Sorry,” Heath breathed. “I’m not very good at this.”
“Sorry?” Derick said. “Are you kidding me? I’m so fucking turned on watching you right now. Knowing I’m your first. Touch my dick and I’ll go off.”
Heath didn’t want this to end so soon. He pulled back again, then pressed inside, setting up a rhythm and angling his hips until he felt Derick arch beneath him and knew he’d found his prostate.
“Quick learner,” Derick breathed, and then he gasped.
Heath couldn’t say anything. Sweat dripped down his chest and Derick curled up again to lick it off. “Harder,” he whispered. “Hard as you can. Nail me to the fucking wall.”
Heath did as he was told, wrapping his hand around Derick’s cock at the same time. Derick’s body moved beneath him with the force of each thrust until he had to brace himself away from the wall, and then Heath pressed in one more time and pumped Derick’s cock hard. Derick cried out and came in Heath’s hand and over his own chest and even a bit on his chin. That was all Heath could take. He leaned down and sucked a drop from off Derick’s jaw, then erupted inside the condom, filling it with jet after jet of hot cum.
Finally, Heath collapsed onto Derick’s chest, completely out of breath, and felt Derick’s strong arms wrap around him. Derick kissed his forehead and his temple and didn’t make any move to separate their bodies. Heath didn’t move either, wanting to savor the feeling of his cock still wrapped in Derick’s tight channel. The sensation was intimate in a way Heath hadn’t imagined. Derick’s hands stroked his back, his ass, his legs. Ran through his hair, almost as if Heath were something special. Something to be savored.
Finally, Heath pulled away, tugging off the condom and tying it before throwing it in the garbage can. He figured he ought to find his clothes, get dressed, and go back to the couch, but Derick reached out and snagged his hand.
“Hey you. Come back here.”
“I don’t mind sleeping on the couch,” Heath offered.
“The hell you will.”
“Really?” Heath couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.
In answer, Derick sat up, grabbed him around the middle and tossed him unceremoniously onto the bed. The he pulled Heath into his chest and whispered in his ear, “Now shut the fuck up because we’re going to cuddle.”
Heath laughed. “Is this how you usually ‘cuddle’ because so far I’d say it’s a bit more like being mauled.”
Derick made a low rumbling sound that was halfway between a growl and a laugh. Or maybe the noise was meant to be a purr. Then he reached over to shut off the light on the bed stand. Heath wasn’t sure if he’d ever been this content.
We’ve all heard the Will Rogers quote: “You’ll never get a second chance to make a first impression.” That’s certainly true for authors. I’ve thought a lot about my debut book release for The Edge of Control. Spent years writing and editing the book. Months preparing my website and social media sites so I’d be ready for launch day.
Maybe it’s because I’m a romance writer, but I can’t help comparing the process of entering the book market to a blind date. Makes me chuckle to imagine myself prepping in the proverbial upstairs bedroom while my date waits below… for years.
I wanted my first impression to be as polished as possible. To reveal my truest colors. We all have flaws. Books have flaws. And I know it’s impossible to write something that will have universal five-star appeal. Not every blind date will turn into true love.
But don’t we all secretly wish for that?
So I prepped, polished, and polished again, but eventually it was time to take a deep breath and come downstairs. Took more courage than I expected. It was tempting to hide under the bed.
Except then I’d never have gotten to meet my date.
What people often forget is that first impressions work both ways. As I release my book into the world, I’m also looking around, wondering what this market is like. Do the majority of people support each other or do they tear each other down? Is this safe ground or dangerous territory? Are other authors generous or competitive? What are the readers like?
I’m happy to say that so far my impressions are good ones. Of course, every audience is made up of hundreds of diverse people, but my first impression? Lots of joy. Celebrations of love. Generosity. And a true appreciation of passion.
Hmm… love and passion? Sounds like the start of a promising relationship!
Lou Kelly loves a great romance. Having honed her skills through a decade of writing and publishing, she discovered male/male fiction and fell in love. What does she like best? The slow burn.
“No insta-love for me. I adore a well-developed full-length novel with characters who are believable and sympathetic. My favorite relationships are the kind where suppressed desire sizzles with sexual tension as it struggles for release. Give me a strong Alpha male who has to fight for his mate, or enemies who are shocked when hate turns into love, or a mysterious stranger who doesn’t want his secrets to be revealed … I crave books that keep me up past my bedtime, so these are the books I strive to write.”
Lou Kelly is a proud member of RWA and Rainbow writers of America. When she isn’t writing, Lou Kelly loves to travel. Sadly, most of her traveling these days happens between the pages of books, but top on her wish list is a trip to Greece. Followed by New Zealand. And Ireland. Ooh, and Scotland, too. And Iceland. *sigh* Someday she hopes to explore them all. Until then, you can find her reading!
Lou Kelly loves her fans, so please visit her on Goodreads at: Lou Kelly
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One random commenter on this blog post will receive an ebook from Lou.