Agent Red by Eric Paxton

Yes, Murder! Or is it?

A middle-aged bachelor suddenly has a quarter of a billion dollars to play with. Did someone say boys will be boys, even at that age? First he gets himself involved in a racy & risque nightclub venture.

Then, he finds himself smack dab in the middle of an international human trafficking scandal. His high flying life now seems to be a continuous trail of crime, involving private investigators, police officers, detectives and the possibility of murder.

Can someone say female protagonist to the rescue? Agent Bennett is her name, but she is affectionately known as “Agent Red”. A blond boom shell with a stunning figure, good looks, and the ultimate fashionista. Oh, and did we mention she is as smart as a whip.

She is the one and only FBI Agent in the office who qualifies to go undercover to help bring those law breaking, illegal smuggling scumbags to justice.

And what would a thrilling suspense-filled kidnapping crime be without a little romance. Agent Red has a little surprise in store. Let’s just say that when they told you that you should never judge a book by its cover, and that you never know what you’ll get in a box of chocolates, you should have listened.

Prepare yourself. The action-packed ending may leave you speechless!

SKU: B012V4LI4Y Category: Erotica

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About the author:

Free Promotion: 7/30/2015 – 8/3/2015

What inspired you to write your book?

Free Promotion: 7/30/2015 – 8/3/2015

Here is a short sample from the book:

Chapter 1
After three months, Josh McCready was still floating on air and not coming onto land anytime soon. A $250 million lottery win can have that effect on a person. His life had changed overnight from the drudgery of an office drone to that of a feted playboy, and he was milking every single minute. From being a balding, unattractive, forty-two-year-old divorcee with a growing beer paunch and no sex life, he’d become a balding, unattractive, forty-two-year-old-divorcee with a growing beer paunch and a bevy of beautiful women of all ages, colors and creeds eager to find a place in his bed. “They’re only after your money,” his friends said. “I know,” he replied, with a $300 bottle of French champagne in one hand and a scantily clad female bottom in the other, “What’s not to like?”
It wasn’t long before he moved into a luxurious mansion on the ritzy side of town and bought a Ferrari 458 Spider and a Lamborghini Aventador just to fill up some of the space in his four-car garage. Lavish parties became the theme of his life. Some were held privately in his stunning bedroom with two or three handpicked young women, while others took place in the more public setting of his spacious designer pool with naked girls jumping in and out of the water and screaming with laughter when their mouths weren’t being used for more pressing matters.
Josh was determined to live the dream, but to many of his old friends it was more of a nightmare, and they dropped off the radar one by one. Not that Josh seemed to notice or even care as he drifted from one day to the next on a sea of alcohol, cocaine and naked female bodies; naked that was except for one item of clothing he insisted they all wore – a pair of ‘hot and stylin’ red stockings.
Ever since he could remember, he’d had a thing about red stockings, and in his mind, there was nothing more perfect than a young woman adorned in nothing but those and a frilly red garter belt to match. For Josh, they made the perfect picture frame for the most exquisite work of art that lay within their parameters: a neat coiffure sitting atop the naked flesh of the upper thighs. Josh had gained an encyclopedic knowledge of stocking types and he devoted a whole room in the mansion just for their storage, handing them out to his female guests like confetti. He was very exact in what he liked. All the stockings had to be sheer, and he possessed only the finest silk, rayon and nylon available, keeping a special supply of ten denier or less for his favorite girls. There was something to suit his every mood and whim – seamed and unseamed, garter and stay-up, and even fishnet. And each pair came in a mix-and-match range of Cuban heel, point heel, sandal toe or shadow toe. But his obsession didn’t stop there. He had a designer come in and remodel his bedroom like a lingerie store, with red stockings and garter belts arranged artistically on the walls and ceiling. But as happy as he was in his new world, he felt there had to be more.
His passion for red stockings soon became an open secret as well as the de rigueur party uniform for the girls who had an eye on becoming the next Mrs or Mistress McCready and were more than willing to sashay around the pool wearing little or nothing else in a bid to be invited into Josh’s inner sanctum.
It was at one such party that Josh heard something that was to catapult him to the next stage of his life. He was sitting on a swing seat, wearing one of his trademark red stocking headbands, with a busty dark-skinned girl on one side and an equally large bottle-blond girl on the other. Both were topless, and he had a hand thrust down the front of each one’s underpants, skillfully using his finger tips to see who would be first to orgasm. I think I’ll sleep with the one who comes second, he thought, then smiled inwardly at his little unintended double entendre. The girls were breathing heavily and pushing themselves against his probing digits when one of his oldest friends wandered over to watch. “It’s just like being in an exclusive sex club, only the entrance is free.” At that precise moment, the dark-skinned girl threw her head back and made a choking sound as her body shuddered uncontrollably. Josh pressed his fingers in harder and felt them slip further into her wet folds. The bottle-blond wasn’t far behind, letting out a short scream that left her mouth wide open as she gave off a series of short pants. Screw it, he thought, why should I have to choose only one. I’ll have them both. “That’s one you two girls owe me,” he exclaimed. “Now go and entertain yourselves while I think. Come back in twenty minutes.”
While they were gone, he thought about what his friend had said. If he charged people to come to his parties, he could have all his pleasure and make money too. It was a good idea in as far as it went, but it rankled with him to charge friends. It wasn’t right. After a little more thought, the light came on. The solution was blindingly obvious, and the following day, he called a business broker and briefed him on what he was looking to do. Ten days later, he had looked around a shortlist of possible club venues and made his decision on which one to buy. Four months later, The Red Stocking Experience was launched on an unsuspecting world.
The outside of the club was very unusual and looked more like the entrance to a church. Under the stone-arch, which he’d had set in the windowless wall, was a set of ornate heavy double doors, constructed of thick seasoned wooden planks that were stained a dark walnut brown and held together by heavy-duty black-painted iron hinges. The only hint of the delights and debauchery that lay in waiting on the other side came from a highly polished brass plaque on the wall that spelled out the name of the club above a stylized motif of a pair of crossed female legs.
The opening night was an invitees extravaganza. Inside, three young women in red stockings, red-sequined g-strings and black and red satin vintage lace-up bustiers greeted the guests in the reception area and turned their coats over to a cloakroom attendant wearing only red fishnets, a red thong and garter belt, and a red ‘cat’ collar.
Once officially checked into the club, the guests’ eyes were immediately drawn to a split-level floor layout that was decorated in the most sumptuous manner imaginable. No expense had been spared in providing every luxury a successful businessman could desire, with soft red leather seating, and walls covered in the finest wallpaper and fabrics featuring the red stocking club’s logo. The floor space was divided further into secluded booths, a medium-sized dining area and a small dance floor. And in the very center, the opulence was completed by a deep blue splash pool with a fountain that spurted water high into the air. Strategically hidden low-power lighting further enhanced the relaxed and private ambiance, while there were two long bars, one at either end of the room. Both were staffed by young women dressed in a manner similar to the three meeters and greeters in the reception area, while an army of topless waitresses, all clad in red stay-ups, sparkly red thongs and ‘cat’ collars served the clientele their food and drink.
Josh had recruited them all from a nearby agency.
“No one over the age of twenty-five,” he’d said. “And I want a wide variety… you know… skin color… hair… and make sure they’re all legal.”
“Of course they’re legal,” the man had said. “I have the appropriate documents here in my safe. I get them to leave their papers as insurance against them being poached by a rival.”
“Whatever,” Josh had replied. “Just make sure I have copies to show any busybody who comes snooping.”
“You got it.”
“I want the Red Stocking Experience to be a veritable oasis of the best and sexiest young female flesh around,” Josh had said, “the like of which has never been seen before in this state. I want guys beating down my door and begging for membership.”
“You’re in the right place,” the man had said. “Do you want to see some photos?”
Josh had waved the suggestion away. “No, I trust you. Make them all a minimum of five foot eight with gorgeous legs, small asses and firm breasts. No wobblers.”
“As you say, Sir.”
And the man had been as good as his word. Josh was on cloud 9.
Membership in the club ran into several thousand dollars a year, for which the patrons had full run of the premises and were able to bring along up to five guests at a time. Non-members were allowed entry only upon the deposit of a platinum credit card with the club secretary, twenty-four hours in advance. The club operated six days a week, from 10pm to 5am, being closed on Sundays, and to maintain its mystique, Josh would make changes to the girl’s costumes most nights, but always maintain the red stockings, all of which were provided by him from his personal stockpile.
Other than the girls who worked the floor, Josh only employed two other members of staff. One was the club secretary and the other was a bookkeeper. Both were female. The secretary was Hispanic and went under the very un-Hispanic name of Marta, while the bookkeeper was African-American and called Dianne. They had been personally selected by Josh because they were tall and had no objection to wearing short skirts that finished an inch below their butt cheeks and exposed their shapely red stocking-clad legs to the fullest.
After the first night, the membership list was close to full and Josh sat back in his office, contented, smug and very pleased with himself.