The British Bad Boys Box Set is out at last! Seven novellas by seven different authors: British Bad Boys are the best! I’m happy to have my novella, In Training included in the fabulous British Bad Boys Box Set. I’m in between the pages with Lucy Felthouse, Victoria Blisse, Tabitha Rayne, Marissa Farrar,Lexie Bay, and Lily Harlem. This box set is romance with heat. It’s perfect for a sizzling summer binge read. To celebrate the release of British Bad Boys, here is an excerpt from my novella, In Training. While In Training may not be the recommended method to get fit for bikini weather, it certainly is recommended to take the chill off while you wait for the brief , but glorious, British Summer. Enjoy!
British Bad Boys Box Set Blurb:
Indulge yourself with this boxed set of stories written by bestselling and award-winning British romance authors. No one knows British bad boys better than they do!
Come and spend time with a dirty-talking London tattoo artist, a Scottish bad boy, a British gangster who won’t take no for an answer, and MORE! These men are all hotter than hell and have accents to die for. Whatever your desire, you’ll find it within these pages.
Packed full of brand new standalone, steamy stories with no cliff-hangers. With happily-ever-afters guaranteed, you won’t want to miss out on this limited collection, available for a short time only!
Buy British Bad Boys Here:
In Training Blurb:
In Training Excerpt – I can’t work with her:
“What Physicality, Inc. are doing is unprecedented,” said Misty Daniels, one of the presenters who would be covering Physicality Reality. She was one of Wolf Jennings’ gushing gym bunnies and happily claimed that she owed much of her success as a television presenter to Jennings’ training. Her partner in crime, Del Allen, was some obscure sports personality turned presenter – at least he was obscure to Lauren. They were both ready and waiting for Lauren’s big arrival so that the torture could begin.
“Think Big Brother does the gym, only one on one,” Del Allen said to the camera. “But I’m wondering, Misty, is there a back-up plan in case Lauren Michaels can’t cut it? She’s a shining example of the walking unfit that plagues Britain right now, putting career above marriage and family, above fitness and health. That path seems to have worked for her just fine judging from her accolades in the PR and marketing world, but this is a whole different ballgame. I’ve seen how Wolf Jennings operates. If I were a betting man, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be putting money on Michaels.”
“Well, Del,” Misty offered him a genuinely fake smile. “I wouldn’t be too quick to dismiss Lauren Michaels. Certainly Claire Amos has confidence in her, and I’d be the last person to bet against a horse Amos is backing.”
“Fucking hell. Now I’m a horse,” Lauren grumped. “I wouldn’t bet on me either if I were Allen. Claire, please reconsider.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Lauren. You’re perfect for the job.” Before she could argue, Claire made a loud shushing sound and nodded back to the TV built into the plush upholstery of the stretch limo transporting them to the Wolf’s Lair, as the facility was now being affectionately called.
Lauren glared at the two commentators, who sat in the lounge area of the TV control centre. The lounge overlooked the
gym, which was far more intimidating than the presenters. Lauren racked her sleep-deprived brain for a last minute stay of execution.
It hadn’t been a good night – not that Lauren had expected it to be after tall dark and northern pulled a runner and left her in a bad way. She would have returned to the pub afterwards and switched from ale to whisky – lots of it, but for the fact that she didn’t need a hangover when she faced Claire for the walk of shame. Her boss had arrived in Keswick early this morning for the final briefing before she threw Lauren to the wolves, er … just one wolf, actually – Wolf Jennings.
She’d gone back to her hotel room accompanied by a pint of chocolate fudge brownie ice cream, which she followed up with an order of curry fries from the chippie down the street. It felt like her last meal. If she couldn’t make her boss see reason, the next six weeks would low-carb and kale hell.
Lauren had stayed up late checking the applicants who, unlike her, really wanted to be Jennings’ victim. It hadn’t been difficult to line up several, who promised her they would be packed and ready to take her place at the drop of a hat. That was the easy bit. Figuring out how to convince Claire to give someone else the infamous honour was the real battle.
Claire had the limo pick her up an hour before she was to make her grand appearance at Wolf Jennings’ chamber of horrors. It was another nod to Claire’s sick sense of humour that she wouldn’t allow Lauren to even know what the trainer she had chosen looked like until she was on her way to her gym prison.
“Here it is,” Claire said, giving Lauren a maternal pat on the arm.
On the screen, Misty offered the viewers that smile that said she was about to impart the best gossip. “As you know, Del, Wolf Jennings was my personal trainer for over a year, and all I can say is that the man gets results.”
“Sounds like the guy gave her multiples instead of biceps,” Lauren complained.
Claire replied with a silencing finger to her mauve lips, and Misty continued.
“Here’s a little clip we filmed earlier to introduce you to Wolf Jennings, the man and his methods.
“Claire, I really don’t think I’m the right person for — ”
Her boss silenced her with a raised hand and nodded to the screen. “Just watch, and then we’ll talk.”
Lauren glared at the video through gritty sleep-deprived eyes. Sounding more like a cheerleader than a presenter, Misty did the voiceover touting Jennings’ unorthodox, but successful methods. Before and after selfies of some of his clients — all looking svelte and glowing with health, flashed on the screen.
Lauren’s stomach knotted into a tight fist as Misty explained, “while Wolf’s methods might seem harsh, no one can deny they’re effective.”
Then the scene switched to early morning light streaming through a Lakeland forest. A dozen people sweated their way through the workout from hell while Misty rattled off Jennings’ qualifications, which meant nothing to Lauren. On camera, a middle-aged man grunted through something that made him look like an overgrown frog hopping across the grass, and Lauren wondered how it had all gone so wrong. The PR campaign she had created was genius, it was the ultimate way to showcase Physicality, Inc. for the brilliant company that it was. The plan had been to choose someone, someone grossly unfit, a volunteer who was willing to do what it took to get a hard, fit body, or at least get started down that path as far as six weeks would allow. And certainly there had been no shortage of volunteers, people believing that the extra level of control is what it would take to finally get them the healthy fit body of their dreams.
Oh Lauren could talk the talk, but she certainly didn’t walk the walk. Who had time for all that training and planning and eating clean? Of course now that she worked for Physicality, she intended to do all that stuff. Someday. It sure as hell hadn’t been her plan to have it done to her on reality TV!
The close-up of frog man pulled back to a panorama of a dozen people – men and women, in varying stages of fitness. They were all running and leaping and sweating out jumpy-squatty moves along with the weird frog thingy. Instead of curling up and whimpering on the grass, which Lauren was pretty sure she would have done, they were all shouting breathless encouragement to each other. In the midst of all the grunting and huffing, Wolf Jennings yelled, cajoled and egged them on sounding more like a drill sergeant than a personal trainer. The camera was strategically placed behind Jennings so that it looked out over his clients and, at the same time, made it clear that he was working out right along with them. He was jumping sweating and bulging and doing it all … shirtless!
“I can’t work out with him,” Lauren gasped, her heart doing a drumroll in her chest. I can’t … I mean he’s so … and I would be so …”
“Of course you can work out with him, Lauren, exactly because he is so … and you are so …” Claire spoke around a smile that was almost too big her face. Yup! Definitely a sick sense of humour.
The plan was that the volunteer would actually live with Jennings for the next six weeks. He would train them, monitor them and coach them on good nutrition and a healthy life style. The whole event would culminate in some physical challenge of the client’s choosing – something they dreamed about but never thought they could accomplish. Physicality had put together a state of the art facility complete with living accommodations. They had hired a cook and a nutritionist to help the client learn better ways of eating and cooking. Viewers could tune in any time to the live camera feeds and see what was going on at the Wolf’s Lair. Daily segments would air on YouTube, several cable channels and social media outlets as well as on Physicality’s own fitness network. Sponsorship had been quick in coming from multiple high end clothing, cosmetic and health food companies, all anxious to get a piece of Lauren’s genius. In addition, all those who tuned in and watched could download the recipes and the basic training techniques
Jennings used on his client. Every day there would be a weigh-in with measurements taken once a week. The audience could watch the transformation and participate by sending in their own success stories, photos and questions to the team who would be working social media 24/7. How could something so brilliant have backfired so badly?
The camera zoomed in for a close-up of Wolf Jennings glorious bulging arms and broad shoulders. “There’s nothing wrong with the way I look.” Lauren spoke over the cheerleader, who was now talking fitness jargon.
“Of course there’s nothing wrong with the way you look,” Claire replied smiling at Jennings’ tight arse well presented in athletic shorts. “Believe me, I would be the last person to ever base anyone’s employment on looks rather than skills, and you’ve got the skills or you wouldn’t have the job. But that’s not the point.” She waved a well-muscled arm at the image of Jennings glorious backside as he effortlessly pumped out some more jumpy- squatty thingies. “You’re the brains and Wolf’s the brawn. With both of you comfortable on camera, you’re Physicality’s dream team. But on a more practical level, hon, I thought you were going to have a heart attack before we made it up three flights of stairs when the elevator was down last month. I need you. I can’t have you dying on me.”
“I was carrying a heavy computer bag,” Lauren said, unable to hide the blush at being called on her lack of stamina. “Besides, I think I might have been fighting off a cold,” she lied.
Claire gave her the evil eye. “You work for Physicality, Inc. now, full time, and this new PR campaign is bloody genius,
but it’ll be even more so if the world can see that Physicality’s people are walking the talk.”
“I understand that, really I do, and I’ll join a gym, I’ll even get a trainer if that’ll help, just not in such a public way, and not with him. Please.”
Claire’s phone blared out Flight of the Valkyries over Jennings’ barked instructions to his tortured clients. “Speaking of the devil,” she said nodding to Jennings’ arse on the screen as she answered her device. “Wolf, darling! Lauren and I were just talking about you. Watching your lovely video, actually. On our way over.” She winked at Lauren, whose stomach suddenly felt like it was in free fall. “Here, Sweetie, let me put you on speaker so I can introduce you two,” she said just as the Wolf Jennings on the screen yelled for his people to clench those gluts and zip those abs.
And suddenly it was like that slow motion scene in a horror film, just before the pretty young innocent is shredded by Freddy Kruger or pursued by the monster from the fetid swamp. Wolf Jennings turned to gaze at the camera from beneath hooded eyelids that revealed familiar blue eyes. He offered a smile that was damn near erotic. Then he said in a very northern accent, “If you do your part, I guarantee I’ll get you there.”
As the clip ended and Misty and Del were once again on camera, Lauren sat frozen to the spot, just like all those poor
women in the films. She didn’t scream, though she felt like it. Instead she managed in a shaky voice, “I can’t work with him.”
“I can’t work with her.” The response on the other end of the phone was simultaneous. The familiar voice was honey and heat and frustration. Then he continued, sounding at least as breathless as he had on his video, as he had when he got up close and personal with her in the garden behind the pub. “There’s been some mistake, Claire. I can’t work with her. We can’t work together.”