Find more from this author on:
About the author:
Robin Bonzon lives in the Bronx with her husband and young son. She has a long, successful career in Digital Marketing and has been a passionate writer since the age of 5. When she's not working or writing, she's watching horror movies with her husband, reading anything she can get her hands on, and spending time with her family.
What inspired you to write your book?
Laurel K Hamilton's Anita Blake series sparked the idea, which I spun into my own creative world.
Here is a short sample from the book:
The lights assault my eyes, battling with the throbbing music and its desperate attempts to pound holes in my eardrums. I tried begging off attending the bachelorette party the minute I figured out it would be at the city’s premier male strip club. But Tanya pleaded and laid a total guilt trip on me.
“How would it look if one of my bridesmaids didn’t come and show support?” she’d asked with a wounded expression. So, here I sit, surrounded by multicolored spotlights in a dark club full of scantily clad men. Not my scene.
No one’s touched me yet, and I’m grateful, even if I’m not a prude. It isn’t the sex and flirting that bother me. Even the casual sensual contact isn’t a problem. I just don’t like being forced into anything. And yet, here I sit, in a place where women through money at men for an opportunity to graze fingernails down a set of rock hard abs.
I’d like to think that, if I was interested in something like that, I wouldn’t have to pay good money for it.
“You need a drink!” I turn to look at Stacy Montgomery. She sits a couple of feet away, but I can barely hear her over the din of the sex cave, even though she’s yelling. I raise an eyebrow at her and shake my head. She rolled her eyes and says, “Come on Avery, it’ll loosen you up!”
Very encouraging, but not what I need. I rarely drink, and with good reason. “You know better than that, Stace. I see what happens when women in here ‘loosen up’.” I motion to a woman currently trying to crawl on stage with the featured dancer so she can maul him, and two bouncers promptly pull her away. Liquor and sex? Bad combination.
Stacy just chuckles. “Would that be so bad? Even the bouncers are hot!”
I wave her off. “I’m fine.”
But she won’t give up and frowns at me. “You are so full of shit. You’re too uncomfortable to have any fun, and frankly, you’re bumming me out. If you don’t start enjoying yourself, I’m telling Tanya.”
To most, that wouldn’t particularly sound like much of a treat. But I know better. My busty blond friend is getting married, and she doesn’t like when things don’t go her way on a normal day. Tonight, she’s already drunk enough to be dangerous. If Stacy makes noise about me being a downer, Tanya will take drastic measures to correct the situation, like buying me a dance on stage or sending me back to the VIP lounge, where who knows what sort of lurid things go on.
I shudder internally. Out loud, I sigh as I roll my eyes. Sitting up straighter, I decide a compromise is in order to avoid a worse fate. “You’re a pain in the ass, but fine. Have it your way. I’ll have one drink.”
Beaming, Stacy’s brilliant white teeth gleam in her dark chocolate face. “Great! I’ll buy.” Before I can argue, she grabs a passing waiter and pulls out a ten. My mouth does dry, and I can feel my eyes bugging out like saucers because she hasn’t grabbed the typical waiter. She’s chosen the young man who walks around shirtless, feeding test tube shots to women after performing a miniature private dance. The other waiters are in full black tie, with white tuxedo shirts and bowties, and they just bring mixed drinks from the bar, like good little service people. Of course Stacy has to complicate matters.
I start to protest, but Stacy requests a fluorescent green liquid and points to me. The waiter smiles brilliantly, showing his own perfect dental work behind his sun kissed skin and full, pouty lips. He really is gorgeous, with a well-defined eight-pack and a solid chest that are designed to make women lose their train of thought. I’ve seen him dancing for some of the other women here, and he has moves that seem to leave them wet and wanting. I wonder why he isn’t flaunting himself on stage, knowing he could clean house with tips. But no matter how hot he is, I’m just not into his brand of attention, valuing my personal space.
Stacy’s already paid, so I have to at least take the shot. I hold out my hand and offer him a friendly smile. “Thank you,” I tell him, waiting for him to hand me the tube.
But he just winks and holds it out of reach, his grin broadening. “I’m sorry, but I have to do my job, or I just might lose it.” He fakes a pout and then points toward an empty barstool behind him, no longer looking sorry at all. He sets down the tray of shots and reaches out his free hand to grasp my outstretched fingers.
I hesitate briefly, shooting Stacy a look that should cause her to burst into flames. Considering this guy a little more closely, he seems young and fairly harmless. From what I’ve seen, his little performances are mostly hands-off and very professional. Maybe I’m just paranoid and do need to loosen up to a degree.
Resigned, I take his hand, but as soon as we touch, I gasp. Something in my stomach clenches, and I try to pull my hand back in shock as a warm, tingling sensation crawls up my arm. But the waiter grips it tighter, and as I look up into his face, I see his eyes wide with the same shock or even fear that is instantly coursing through me.
I shift in my seat, turning away from his piercing crystal blue gaze, which seems to be fixated on me. I can’t muster the courage or willpower to meet the intensity of those eyes. But as I look away, I hear his smooth voice say, “Can you hold this for a second?” His tone falters slightly at the end, and I swallow hard, wondering what the hell is wrong with me.