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About the author:
I also write erotic mystery/thriller’s and the Agatha Christie nominated non-fiction “How to write the Amateur Detective Novel” which is in the FBI Forensic Library at Quantico.
What inspired you to write your book?
Then I teamed my heroine with a hero who was suffering from PTSD….however…it’s a romantic comedy that brings harsh truths of today front and center by using humor
Here is a short sample from the book:
She refused to look at him and kept walking up and down the tiny apartment. “I’ve met men like you before, pushy and controlling. First, I’m type AB negative blood, with the emphasis on negative. So if you think you’re a modern day vampire, I am not on the menu so just forget about making me your beverage of choice.”
He shook his head and tried not to laugh. “Trust me, that won’t be a problem.” Kit’s pacing figure drew him like a magnet. The auburn braid kept hitting against her shoulder. Her thin white T-shirt was soaked with perspiration and plastered against her breasts. Even with a bra, Rafe could see the outline of her nipples, the hardened nubs pushing against the cotton. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on whatever the hell she was saying.
“And while you may like your women all submissive and cowering and calling you sir and wearing a collar or hanging from a rope or wearing fuzzy handcuffs and a blindfold or having a ball gag in their mouth – that won’t be happening. Don’t even think about nipple clamps or butt plugs or putting BenWa balls in any orifice. And you better not have a secret red walled, sound-proof room filled with assorted sex toys either.”
Rafe vaguely heard her talking nonsense because he was mesmerized by her frayed Daisy Dukes. Riley had been right, her shorts were dangerous. There was something about denim and the erotic juncture of her ass and upper thighs that was causing his stick and stones to engorge with both pleasure and pain. The crazy combination of damp T-shirt, cut-offs, and well-toned, long, tanned legs caused his internal temperature to reach the boiling point.
“I’ll pretend to be your fiancée,” Kit agreed, walking past him again, “but I’ll only be your vertical fiancée not a horizontal one.”
“Not a problem.” Rafe grabbed her shoulders, spun her around and pushed her back against the wall. “I do vertical.”