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About the author:
USA Today Best-Selling author Roz Lee is the author of twenty erotic romances. The first, The Lust Boat, was born of an idea acquired while on a Caribbean cruise with her family and soon blossomed into a five book series published by Red Sage. Following her love of baseball, she turned her attention to sexy athletes in tight pants, writing the critically acclaimed Mustangs Baseball series. Roz has been married to her best friend, and high school sweetheart, for over three decades. Roz and her husband have two grown daughters (and a new Son-in-law) they couldn’t be more proud of. Even though Roz has lived on both coasts, her heart lies in between, in Texas. A Texan by birth, she can trace her family back to the Republic of Texas. With roots that deep, she says, “You can’t ever really leave.” When Roz isn’t writing, she’s reading, or traipsing around the country on one adventure or another. No trip is too small, no tourist trap too cheesy, and no road unworthy of travel.
What inspired you to write your book?
Jennifer: Roz and I first met when we were both writing for Red Sage. We love writing romance, but wanted to push ourselves a little further into “erotica” territory than ever before. The result is a brand-new series called NOT VANILLA, in which we hope to provide readers with a tantalizing glimpse into a sexy range of “flavors” that are definitely not vanilla! Each release in this series contains two erotic stories – one from each of us – centered around a particular fetish. The first is voyeurism, and it has been really fun to work together on this exciting project.
Here is a short sample from the book:
From WATCH ME:
My hands clutch like claws against the window pane. The glass, frosted by Melbourne’s mid-winter cold, is icy beneath my fingertips. I let the coolness seep into my flesh, grounding me. I am waiting, but he’s late.
We have an arrangement, this neighbor of mine and me. At the start of every working week, late on a Sunday night while the rest of the city sleeps, we play a game. A dangerous, addictive game.
I don’t even know his real name, and yet this game of ours, and his presence in my life, has grown to fill the recent emptiness. It consumes me. He consumes me, but in a good way. I am becoming whole again, thanks to this man and our seductive, secret play.
But it is half past midnight and he is not yet at his post. The window in the apartment across the narrow alleyway is still dark. The red brickwork surround is lit by a street lamp that only serves to enhance the darkness within, making the square appear fathomless. It looks like an empty eyeball socket in a skull whose soul has long departed the physical world.
A thought grips my heart and squeezes painfully. Perhaps he’s grown tired of it all? Perhaps he no longer wishes to play?
A whimper slips from my lips and the resultant breath frosts the glass in front of my face, obscuring my reflection. What will I do to satisfy this insatiable need if he’s not here anymore to fill the void? My shoulders slump and even though I’m reluctant to give up this lonely vigil, I am about to concede when a square of golden warmth lights the window opposite. Just like that, between one click of a switch and the next, my anxiety turns to heady excitement.
Yes! I need this. I need you.