Tag Archives: new release

I Make an Executive Decision to Interview Wade! Chapter 1

April 9, 2015Blog, New ReleasesAn Executive Decisions novel, grace marshall, hot romance, Interviewing Wade, new release, romanceK D Grace

Aaaaand! One final Executive Decision on my part to round out the lot! Since Interviewing Wade is hot off the press, and you’ve now gotten a look at Wade’s friend’s and Wade’s world though the first chapters of An Executive Decision, Identity Crisis and The Exhibition, and it’s now time to give you a peek at the opening chapter of Interviewing Wade and give you an introduction to Carla Flannery and Wade Crittenden.

Happy Reading!

Interviewing Wade

An Executive Decision follow up novel (Click Here for Book One | Book Two | Book Three)

The Executive Decisions Trilogy may be over, but the story continues. Intrepid reporter, Carla Flannery, wants to interview Wade Crittenden, the secretive creative genius behind Pneuma Inc. But when, against all odds, Wade actually agrees to the interview, Carla suspects ulterior motives.

Carla has made a lot of enemies in her work and when Wade discovers she’s being stalked, he agrees to the interview to keep her close and safe. As the situation turns deadly, lives and hearts are on the line, and the interview reveals far more about both than either ever expected.

Chapter 1

Carla Flannery took a large gulp of what that was supposed to be coffee, but she suspected was actually lubricant for heavy machinery. She made a heroic effort to swallow, and then shuddered at the after-bite. The cut on her face stung, but it had stopped bleeding, so she ignored it as she went over her notes on the rescue of Devon Melbourne and the arrest of his kidnappers – well some of his kidnappers, anyway. The police suspected that Rigby Eberhardt was only the flunky but, for whatever reason, he was taking the fall. She had a good rapport with most of the cops at the station, so she would eventually find out. They didn’t trust many reporters, but they trusted her, probably because of her father and her inadvertent association with Wade Crittenden. It actually wasn’t much of an association. For the most part, Wade ignored her. At the best of times he tolerated her – probably because she was Martin Flannery’s daughter. Well, being a good reporter was all about contacts, networking and being able to namedrop when necessary, so if Wade’s name got her into certain inner sanctums, she wasn’t above dropping it.

She glanced down at her watch and then at the closed door of the interrogation room. She knew Wade wasn’t inside, but was pretty sure he was watching the questioning of Eberhardt from the two-way mirror. She’d seen him go down the hall with Detective Meyers. They’d been back there forever. She’d sent off a quick story to her editor from the scene of the rescue, as soon as she’d gotten over the shakes. Flannery scoops it again, she thought with a smile. She supposed a high-five from Wade was too much to ask, but he’d glared at her like she’d just killed his cat. Still, Wade, and his cat – if he had one – weren’t the issue. Carla had all ready updated her story after she’d talked to the police, and she wanted to talk to Wade for the next update. She knew the night’s rescue and subsequent arrest wouldn’t have happened without Wade’s help, but it wouldn’t have happened without hers either. It hadn’t been her intention to still be in the vacant apartment building when the police raided. She was a journalist, not a cop, and she didn’t make a habit of hanging out at crime scenes – well unless you counted the illegal landfill over by John Day or the warehouse outside Gresham where stolen cars were being cannibalised for parts. And that horrible stalker who tried to kidnap Kendra Davis well it was hardly Carla’s fault that he decided he wanted her to have an exclusive on his creepy brilliance. Wade had played a major part in saving Kendra Davis’s life too, but so had her quick actions. She would hardly go so far as to think of them as a damn good team. He certainly didn’t think of her at all. Not that she wanted him to, of course. Not that she cared what Wade Crittenden thought of her.

Back to the present situation though, the truth was, the police wouldn’t have raided at all if she hadn’t put two and two together, gone to the building and realised what was going on. They wouldn’t have known where Rigby Eberhardt was holding the heir to the Melbourne empire if Carla hadn’t figured it out and called them in. It wasn’t her fault that she got caught out when Eberhardt and his cohort showed up unexpectedly. Then when it became clear that they were getting ready to move Melbourne somewhere else, namely the bottom of the Willamette River in a weighted-down garbage bag, what else could she do but text Wade and the cops from her hiding place in the closet?

She looked at her watch one more time. What the hell was Wade doing? She wanted to make sure he was all right. He was favouring his arm when he came out of the derelict building with the police and Devon Melbourne. No other civilian but Wade Crittenden would have been allowed access. She’d been severely reprimanded by Detective Meyers for her part in the incident – never mind that it was her part that got Devon Melbourne back alive. All she wanted was just a few quotes from Wade before he told her to fuck off, he was busy. That was the man’s standard answer to everyone. Go away, he was busy. He wasn’t known for his social skills, and he certainly hadn’t been happy to see her tonight.

She nearly choked on the last of the lube-oil coffee as the door to the interrogation room burst open disgorging Detective Meyers, who was joined almost immediately by a very stern-looking Wade Crittenden. She had to do a double take. Wade wasn’t cloaked his usual baggy hoodie. He had given it to Devon Melbourne, who was wearing only a singlet and a pair of shorts when the kidnappers had taken him during his morning run along the river. She had never seen Wade without the baggy jacket, even in the heat of the summer. But Wow! The man clearly did more than just play with computers. He wore a faded black Portland State t-shirt that was not tight, but was definitely not baggy enough to hide broad well-muscled shoulders and that squared, ramrod upper body that had fit written all over it. His left bicep looked as though it might burst from a strip of gauze bandage wrapped carelessly around it several times. God, what the hell did the man do with himself when he wasn’t being Pneuma Inc’s genius nerd? She knew he bowled, but she’d never heard of anyone getting that ripped from bowling. He wore the shirt tucked into a pair of threadbare low-riding Levis settled over scuffed hiking boots that looked well past their sell-by date. And bed head! Wade Crittenden had bed head. His rich brown hair, sorely in need of a cut, had the just up from a romp between the sheets look prissy men moussed and blow-dried to get. But Wade Crittenden didn’t have a fashion-conscious bone in his body and try though she might, she couldn’t keep from thinking of the man just up out of bed. Preferably her bed. Nope, the look was most definitely not dress for success billionaire, and yet Carla couldn’t take her eyes off him, as he bent to talk to Meyers. The detective was a fireplug of a man, several inches shorter than Wade, who she figured to be about 6’2”. She strained to catch what they were saying, but could hear nothing over the hum of the air conditioning.

And then Wade looked up. Her stomach did a summersault, and her face flushed. Damn pale Flannery skin meant that, beneath the freckles, she glowed like a fire engine when she blushed. And why the fuck was she blushing? There was no need to blush. It was just Wade. But as his gaze came to rest on her she felt like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a Mack Truck. He nodded to Meyers and said something else before the detective turned down the hall, but Wade’s eyes never left Carla’s, and the shift of muscle along the square jaw now sporting the stubble of a very long night told her that he wasn’t happy. Her pulse jumped with a little shiver of fear. She’d never seen the man when he wasn’t totally focused on something that wasn’t her. He never got angry, never got happy, never got anything but slightly annoyed at being interrupted from whatever work of genius had his totally tunnel-visioned attention. That had never upset her, since she wasn’t sure any person was actually worth Wade Crittenden’s full attention when he had other things on his mind – which he always did. He’d never done more than offer her an acknowledging glance, and that grudgingly, as though her presence startled him slightly, but not enough to pay any real attention to.

She wiped hands, suddenly gone sweaty, against her own jeans and rose from the orange plastic chair. For a moment he didn’t move, only stood glaring at her so, like any good journalist, she took the initiative. She offered him her best Flannery smile and moved boldly toward him. ‘There you are. I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk. What happened,’ she said, nodding to his arm.

He looked down at is as though he hadn’t actually realised he was wounded, as though he hadn’t realised he had an arm there at all. Said arm was apparently far less obvious to him that it was to her. ‘It’s nothing. Just a scratch.’

‘Detective Brewster said it’s a knife wound, that Eberhardt tried to stab you.’ Even as she said it, her knees felt strangely weak. Knife wounds were often fatal. People died every day from stabbings.

‘It’s nothing,’ he repeated. ‘Eberhard’s not good with a knife.’ His hard gaze returned to her. His eyes weren’t exactly green, but they weren’t hazel either. They reminded her of moss or lichen or some mix of the two.

‘That’s good. I’m glad. I wonder if I could ask you a few questions,’ she ploughed on before he could shove past her and ignore her like he always did. ‘I’ve already talked to the police, but –’

‘What the hell were you doing?’ his voice was so soft, she almost didn’t hear the question.

‘Excuse me.’

‘Why the hell were you there? In the building?’

‘I had a lead from one of Eberhardt’s old school mates, and I … What are you doing? Wade?’

The man grabbed her forearm in a bruising grip and half marched, half dragged her down the hall and into an empty interrogation room, where he slammed the door behind them and gave her a shove. She stumbled and steadied herself

‘Ouch! What the fuck to you think you’re doing?’ She turned to face him, feeling her cheeks heat up, but her stomach turn to ice at the angry mountain of a man that only a few minutes ago was mild-mannered nerd genius, Wade Crittenden.

‘You could have gotten yourself killed.’ He moved on her, forcing her back until she had to catch herself to keep from falling on top of the small table at the centre of the room.

‘You’re a fine one to talk,’ she said, skirting the table and shoving him with the flat of her hand in the centre of his hard chest. ‘Besides if I hadn’t texted it in, no one would have known Eberhardt was there and Devon Melbourne would be dead by now.’

‘Text it in! I got that. But text it in, Carla!’ He grabbed her by the lapels of her white shirt and gave her a shake that made her teeth rattle. Christ! She had never seen Wade like this before, and she could never remember him calling her by name. She was doubtful that he even knew it. He continued. ‘You don’t have to go into the goddamned building to text us the location.’

‘I wasn’t planning to stay!’ Her words came out high pitched and a lot less indignant that she intended. ‘I didn’t expect Eberhardt to show up while I was investigating.’

‘While you were investigating? While you were investigating!’ With his hands still on her lapels, he walked her backward in an urgent, cockeyed tango until her spine was up against the institution-green of the wall. ‘Christ, Carla, you could have been killed!’ He repeated.

‘I would have left if I could have, goddamn it, and don’t talk to me like I’m some stupid little kid. A man’s alive because of me, because of what I found out. You think I’m gonna stay safely locked up in my little apartment and let a man die because I’m a coward? And you? What about you? You’re not a cop. Eberhardt pulled a knife on you when you should have been back in the Dungeon safely calling the shots over your juiced-up Android.’ This time she gave him an elbow in the solar plexus and the bastard didn’t even budge. ‘I’m doing my job, damn it, Wade. I’m doing my job.’

‘They could have killed you!’ He shook her again. ‘They could have killed you.’ It was only as he brought his hand down to trace the wound along her cheekbone that she realised he was shaking. She barely had time to wonder if he could really be that angry at her before he pushed her again, then pulled her up on her toes, fists still curled in her shirt. And then … and then… he kissed her. Wade Crittenden, the epitome of obliviousness, the man who was always too busy doing important stuff to notice Martin Flannery’s daughter, suddenly had her mouth in a lip-lock that was so vicious and so demanding that if it had been a wrestling move, she would have very happily submitted.

She gave a little yelp that he took full advantage of, his tongue finding its way in to battle hers and to snake over her teeth and her hard pallet. Almost as though her arms had a mind of their own, they went around his neck and curled into fists in the back of his t-shirt. And his hands – well his hands were all over the place. One, fisted in her hair, held her so that there was no taking her mouth away from where he totally controlled it, not that she was very anxious to do so. The other hand slid down low onto her hip and then moved to cup her ass, bringing her up on her toes even further, as though he were trying to drag her up his body, and damned if she wasn’t doing her best to aid his efforts. Then he slid a knee in between hers, for support, she was sure, because her knees had turned to jelly at the first signs of mouth-to-mouth. And he was hot, like sitting too close to a campfire that felt so good you just couldn’t bring yourself to move away from the heat, even though it scorched you. Hard against soft, that was all she could think – that and how good it felt and how surprised she was at the hardness of Wade Crittenden’s body. At some remote control centre in her brain, some bit that had stayed marginally online in the wake of the kiss that would now and forevermore be known as The Kiss, she became aware that some parts of Wade Crittenden were harder than others. There had been major expansion in the general area of his fly, and her efforts to climb him, and his efforts to help her were an attempt to position said hardness for maximum effect.

‘Wade if you’ve got a minute – Oh shit! Sorry!’

It all happened so fast. Detective Meyers shoved into the interrogation room and was already mid-sentence before he realised there was a very private interrogation going on. Wade jumped back from her as though she had given him an electrical shock, and she bit her tongue to keep from yelping. Whatever Wade said beneath his breath, Carla was certain it wasn’t nice.

‘I’ll be right there, Meyers,’ he said, without taking his eyes off Carla, who just stood there like a lump with her hand against her mouth, breathing like she’d run a marathon. The desperate rise and fall of Wade’s chest helped to keep her eyes above his waist and the fire of anger still in his eyes, kept her from moving until he stepped back and raked her with a gaze that would have scorched metal. ‘Go home, Carla, and don’t try to play dangerous games you don’t understand.’ Then he turned and left her in the interrogation room leaning heavily against the wall, one hand still pressed to her lips, the other clenched in a furious fist at her side. She would have run after him and given him a piece of her mind, but at the moment, she wasn’t entirely sure she could even walk. Come to think of it, she couldn’t imagine walking was too easy for him at the moment either. That at least brought a smirk of satisfaction to her kiss-bruised lips.

Out Now – The River’s Embrace by A. Silenus

April 7, 2015Guest Bloggera. silenus, contemporary, erotic romance, erotica, new release, secret cravings publishing, the river's embraceK D Grace

Blurb:

With her blond tresses and blue eyes, London fabric retailer Margery “Margie” Tull is used to being admired. When she’s hired to decorate a riverside manor house though, she suspects ulterior motives.

Lord of the manor Percival Winstanley reveals a long ago love triangle leading to death and the bewitching of his son and heir Stephen. Margie’s cousin Shyan is supposed to protect her. But he’s lured away by Winstanley’s cougarish housekeeper, Mrs. DePlessey, leaving Margie in the dubious care of servant Kern.

Unsure whom to trust, Margie turns first to artist Raphael Watts, also working at the house. Meanwhile Stephen hovers in the background trying to draw her attention to a cottage across the river. Somehow the women who live there are a portent of Margie’s fate. If only Stephen can convince her of what lies in store Margie can give new hope to the manor and its heir.

Buy links:

Barnes & Noble
All Romance eBooks
Amazon UK
Amazon US

Excerpt:

Margie crept from the hall to the library and back again. It was the strangest thing how people either were not there when they were wanted or were breathing down your neck and scaring you out of your skin. There seemed no middle way in this house.

She would have to go upstairs. It was the obvious place to look. She started climbing steps, feeling like an intruder and unsure how she would explain why she was snooping around the house if she did find someone. A snigger told her she was on the right track. Tiptoeing across the landing and down a passage way, she homed in on the intertwined voices, Shyan’s wisecracks and Mrs. DePlessey’s purrs of appreciation.

Through the gap between an open bedroom door and the jamb, Margie watched unobserved. Shyan was standing on a foot stool wearing only underwear. Evidently measuring requirements had reached the upper thigh. A crouching Mrs. DePlessey’s glistening nails trailed a tape over the city boy’s pale flanks. Shyan’s muscles tensed as her fingers neared the straining material of his briefs.

“Am I tickling?” The question was made to sound guileless, like a dentist asking “Am I hurting you?”

“Well a bit,” Shyan said. “But it don’t bother me.”

I’ll bet it doesn’t, Margie thought. She was so mad at him. Had he forgotten why he had come? Not to dally with the housekeeper, that’s for sure.

The waistband was the next number on Mrs. DePlessey’s list, and as her arms circumnavigated Shyan’s midriff with the tape measure she could not refrain from rubbing the bangles on her wrists against his bare skin. The metal must have been cold, because Shyan jumped slightly at the touch.

“Oh, I am sorry. Did I do that?”

You calculating bitch, Margie wanted to shriek. She’d seen better acting on the soaps.

But there was nothing simulated about Shyan’s reaction once the tape made contact at the base of his spine. Margie didn’t have to see below his waistband to know his self-control was on the edge. It wouldn’t take much to unbalance him.

All it did take was another move in Mrs. DePlessey’s repertoire of suggestive contact. As her breasts prodded his stomach, ostensibly so she could complete the tape loop, Shyan’s hands descended onto her shoulders. Then the tape was forgotten as her lips came up to meet his. Her clasping arms steadied him on the wobbling stool. They moved to the bed in an uncoordinated tango, and toppled into a grinding embrace. Shyan tackled the buttons on her blouse. His hand groped for the bra clip at her back. He suckled on an inflamed turret of a nipple, with a gusto equal to Ainsworth’s effort during Margie’s previous spying escapade. Then the couple’s hands met and, steered by one or the other—or both—glided in unison down the crevasse between their bodies until they disappeared inside Shyan’s briefs.

Margie was mesmerized. Exasperated as she was by her cousin’s easy compliance, she couldn’t help being fascinated by this mesh of desires. That was why it was so startling when Mrs. DePlessey rolled Shyan to one side and, with a light kiss on the lips, told him, “We must save this.”

Shyan gaped and attempted to insert a hand between her closed thighs.

“For what?” he asked.

She smiled, not in the provocative way Margie half expected, but rather as if Shyan hadn’t understood.

“In time,” she said. “In time.”

Author Bio:

Silenus spent his early years in southern England and now lives in Arizona. He writes in various genres under different names. His erotica-oriented material includes three self-published sets of short stories, Fiends That Go Boink, which has otherworldly themes, Obsessions and Two Men And A Woman In A Boat.

Other stories have been published in anthologies, ezines and magazines, including Afternoon Delight (Cleis), The MILF Anthology (Blue Moon), Wicked Pleasures (Ravenous Romance), and Forum magazine in the UK.

For more about Silenus and his work, please go to his blog: Basic Writes: http://asilenus.blogspot.com/

Spy Games — Another Fab New Anthology Edited by Jillian Boyd

March 31, 2015Blog, Guest Blogger, New Releasesanthology, erotic fiction, House of Erotica, jillian boyd, new release, Spy GamesK D Grace

It’s totally my pleasure to announce that the wonderful author and editor, Jillian Boyd, has an exciting new anthology out called Spy Games — a sizzling collection of nine stories, by nine delicious authors, all about spies and detectives. Move over Mr Bond! Make room for something truly sexy!

SPY GAMES Blurb:

From the sunny streets of South Florida, to the bars of Paris, to the backstreets of Rome where a secret club for old spies lies hidden, Spy Games is a collection of nine tantalizing tales in which spies and detectives seduce and deduce in all corners of the world.

Edited by Jillian Boyd and featuring stories from the likes of Zak Jane Keir, Slave Nano, Emily L. Byrne and F. Leonora Solomon, Spy Games is filled with danger, desire and the thrill of sex and spying. Unleash your inner Mata Hari and devour this collection… should you choose to accept this mission, of course.

Spy Games Buy links:

Amazon UK – http://www.amazon.co.uk/Spy-Games-Thrilling-Erotica-ebook/dp/B00V5659WW/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1427644792&sr=8-1&keywords=Spy+Games%3A+Thrilling+Spy+Erotica

Amazon US – http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_2?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Spy+Games%3A+Thrilling+Spy+Erotica

ARe – https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-spygames-1766800-362.html

Spy GamesExcerpt:

from Mid-Life Career Changes by Jessica Taylor

On my last night with Roman, I dropped from a contorted perch in the airshaft of his kitchen. I knew he kept no security in his house overnight, perhaps the only honest mistake I ever saw him make. My bare feet made no sound as I landed like a small grasshopper next to his purring refrigerator in the warm, inky dark. The lights of the city pulsed like stars through the glass walls of his home. I remember almost deviating, almost going to stand next to his round, thick dining table in front of those transparent walls overlooking the up lit trees of the park below. Roman had eaten there last, sipping magenta borscht and reading the paper Nash Gorod – Our City. Then he had gone to his freezer and pulled a translucent bottle of anise liqueur from the drawer. Dressed in silk black pyjama bottoms, his nipples hardened when he slowly kissed the bottle, leaning back peacefully onto the cold metal. His Adam’s apple bobbed finely as he pulled on the cloudy fluid.

I stole across his open home until I came to the ornately carved door of his master suite. In the centre of the room, my man was sleeping soundlessly, innocently tucked into the folds of his red silk bed. Talismans and the charms of the superstitious decorated the high ceiling above the entrance and I knew from months of watching that he crossed himself each night before he finally entered. I had smelled sage and peppercorn as I envisioned him walking down the hall, shirtless and stretching his arms above his head, scratching his shoulder blade lazily.

My hands, I remember, had shaken. It was a miniscule vibration but still it was there. It took moments longer to pick the lock than it normally would have. I suspect I even made noise, as if I was subconsciously warning him. But when I slithered in, he remained asleep and undisturbed. Then my steps were choppy, without confidence or grace, as I moved across the room to my sleeping, waiting man. He had slept so noiselessly, I thought to myself he would not keep even me, such a light sleeper, awake the way other men had with their lip smacking and snoring. I would have been at peace beside him.

When he opened his eyes, there was no fear or surprise. He looked at me as if he was awaiting me and I had finally emerged from between the trees. His eyes travelled my tightly shrouded body, taking in my small frame, my bare feet. In those days, I carried no weapons. Perhaps when he noticed this, he thought he might have a chance. Or maybe he thought escape from the situation possible when he saw the confusion in my own eyes, the hesitance in my stance. He pushed himself up slowly, as if to not ignite a wild animal, as we continued our mutual gaze. He spoke first, with a voice I knew well; scratchy and deep, caressing my ears like a symphony.

“You don’t look like one of my normal girls,” Roman announced sarcastically but calmly. “Who sent you?” he continued.

I wonder now what my voice sounded like to him the first time he heard me speak. Was it instantly intoxicating, as his was for me? “I don’t actually know,” I responded, honestly but quietly. “It’s not the way that I operate.” I spared him the explanation that I always opted out of knowing who wanted it done or why. I found that such information hindered my efficiency.

He slowly sat up, the red sheets falling into his lap. He drew his hands to his chest in submission as his carved, naked muscles flexed. “How long have you been with me?”

I sighed as I stared longingly between the lines of his muscles, “Six months.” His face had reddened then, thinking perhaps about whom he would personally execute for the oversight of my presence. I let him slide his feet to the floor in the same way I had seen him do so many times before. Perhaps because I am so small, he thought he could out manoeuvre me. He thrust forward like a beast released from a cage, groping towards the spot where I knew he kept a 9mm Glock.

I dropped to my knees, thinking to swipe his ankles. With my legs spread, and my shins pressed to the ground, I looked up into his clear blue eyes. My mouth hung open in awe. I had never seen his eyes this close and they mesmerized me. My sex began to throb and my breasts swelled with heaviness. A dull ache stirred in my clitoris. I was overcome with sensation I thought I could suppress. He hovered over me, looking down at me between his legs. I must have seemed so inane, so slight, perhaps even so lovely straddled there beneath him, looking up at him like a confused but lovesick dog. All I would have had to do was rise onto my knees and I could take him into my empty mouth as I kept staring into those calm eyes.

I will never know why he stopped going for the gun, why he looked down at me with a new expectation, or why he pulled on the black silk tie of his sleeping pants to give me a chance. They drifted with the speed of a feather to the ground at my knees and all of the fantasies I could not suppress over the past few months filled me like a dam had broken. I saw us walking through the park with the lost, white dog prancing along beside us. I saw us sparring, and then falling to make love on the mat. I saw myself as his warrior, his personal assassin for any man he needed taken down.

After months watching him, he had made me doubt my solitude and even my consuming profession, and I was deeply grateful to be beneath him watching his cock elegantly harden. I suddenly wanted to express my respect and longing for him. I wanted to show him how he had changed me, though I was still unsure in what ways I was different. When he ever so slightly nodded his head to me, my mouth watered, saliva jumping from the buds in my mouth.

I arched my back and leaned my small breasts in to rub at his knees. For a second only I worried for his hands having access to my neck, where we both know places for that smooth snap. But the skin of his cock had turned dark and burgundy against the white of his muscular thighs and I was magnetised. I placed my hand at the base of his shaft, opened my mouth and flattened my tongue over his balls. I dragged my tongue up him, each taste bud softly abrading and then absorbing him as I moved up to the head of his cock. I ascended so slowly, as if every cell of his skin needed to be tasted. I licked it ravenously, the way Eve had when she first beheld and then tasted her own apple.

I hovered there, at the bright head of his dick, and dug my nails into his inner thighs as I tried to hold myself back from swallowing him too deeply. When I finally let myself take him slowly into the back of my throat, he had begun to softly groan “yes” with each exhale. He pulled at my bundled brown hair so it fell down my arched, begging back. When he dug a powerful hand into the roots and shoved my head farther onto his dick, I moaned loudly and my nipples tightened, fiercely longing to be thumbed.

He lifted me without effort just before he could no longer keep himself from erupting hotly onto my face. That would have been enough for me, to swallow him reverently. He sat me on the heavy wooden bed in front of him and peeled off my black pants. He set his teeth against the inside of my ripped thigh and squeezed his teeth on my muscle. I thought briefly of the major arteries available to his mouth, if he was considering using it for a different kind of destruction. As he bit, he pulled back the skin of my hood and rubbed the head of my clit, already engorged and slick just from sucking him. I drew my knees toward me as I balanced back onto my arms and spread with trust for him.

When I lifted my eyes from his dirty blond head, I discovered a mirror behind us and watched his gluteal muscles ripple and twitch as he thrust his tongue into me. Misty grey tattoos covered his back and I could see a scar where one had been dug from his body by the blade of another man’s knife. If I were his, he would be perfectly protected for life. A white, shiny scar had healed there but threads of leftover ink still peppered the new skin. I first came quietly and deeply with his face between my legs, lapping my clitoris while his two fingers calmly caressed me. I stared into the white dwarf star of that scar that swallowed me whole.

As he stood, I returned my hands to his cock and stroked him as he discarded my tight black top and I stared up into his blue eyes, biting my lip and wishing for this moment to continue on and on. He spat on my breasts and then sat his dick between them and slid himself up and down. He stroked my hard, dark nipples, exactly as I’d dreamed before. I grew wetter and wetter, the energy in my pelvis growing as I began to moan softly for him. Just then, he could have done anything to end me. He could have slit my throat or choked my breath from me. I submerged myself in the moments with him, avoiding myself and the decisions I would need to make, lost from my consciousness as he rubbed me and showed me his beautiful cock and let me pet his tattooed chest and abdomen. My cheeks and neck flushed red like they did when I sprinted after him in the park below, like they did when we pounded ourselves into switch kicks and hooks.

I let him turn me and set me on my knees in front of him on the bed. He could have made a horror movie of me, dark and sadistic with my blood smeared on the walls and my insides brutalized entirely differently. I didn’t worry about his hands groping for a gun as he kept on massaging both my nipples while he pumped himself deeply into me from behind. Eventually, he grabbed my ass and split my cheeks as he slowly pulled his length from me, floated at my entrance, and then painfully slowly slid back into me. I dripped sweat when he sped up, fucking me deep, hard, and rhythmically. I was too weak with desire to fear him when he set his hands on top of his head, continuing to bang into me. “Harder,” I begged as I stroked myself and pressed my face into the red sheets.

He could have shot me, stabbed me, broken my neck. Instead, he fucked me until I came twice more. The last time, I was on my back and he had smiled deep into my eyes. This was the smile I had seen when he was deeply happy, deeply at peace. This was his smile for lost dogs in the park, for toasting frozen vodka at midnight, for singing off key in the gym late at night. He withdrew from me as I stared hazily at him and the world exploded around me. He erupted searing cum onto my belly and chest. Then he massaged it into my breasts and nipples as he softly made love to my lips and tongue with his mouth.

After, Roman lay behind me—he spooned me tenderly and I allowed it—as we spoke softly for some time. He asked me what I had seen over the past months, and I told him, which was everything. He sighed deeply as if it mattered what one murderer saw another do, as if he still planned on us both making it out of there. Telling Roman the complexity of his life, I finally admitted to myself how I had come to fall in love with him. And I failed to recognize that the story could have a different ending.

Find Jessica Here:

Blog: http://jessicataylorwriter.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/jessahtaylor

About Jillian Boyd:

Jillian Boyd is an erotica author and blogger, who has been putting dirty words on paper and on her blog for the past three years. She likes taking everyday, seemingly mundane situations and making them sexy and sensual – and when she’s not doing that, she lets her imagination fly off into history and distant planets. Where she also tries to find everyday situations and make them sexy and sensual.

She’s been published in several House of Erotica anthologies, contributed to Tiffany Reisz’s office supply erotica charity anthology Felt Tips and has a story in the Golden Crown Literary Award-winning Best Lesbian Romance 2014, published by Cleis Press. She is currently working on her first novella, a sci-fi erotic thriller called In Another Life.

Find Jillian here:

Blog: http://ladylaidbare.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/JillyBoyd

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jboydwrites

Spy Games Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/spygamesantho

Touring Wade’s Dungeon — Going Down!

March 25, 2015Blog, New Releasesbook launch, giveaway, grace marshall, hot romance, Interviewing Wade, new release, romance, The Executive Decisions novelsK D Grace

Once lunch is over, I’m well fortified for the second half of my tour of Wade’s Dungeon. In fact, I’m so stuffed with burritos and nachos that I think Wade is being a proper sadist when he continues my tour of his Dungeon with a peek at his state of the art gym. ‘I hear you like to work out, K D,’ he says, and I can see his quirk of a smile threatening to break out as I scurry over to a space in front of a ceiling to floor mirror to fondle the most complete, most gorgeous set of kettle bells I’ve ever seen. I can tell they’re not just for looks. There are no pretty colors, just good, solid cast iron. ‘Thought you’d like those,’ he says.

I barely get a chance to run an appreciative hand over a proper stair machine, ogle a fantastic free-weights set up, a vicious-looking treadmill and ooh and awe over the Metrix machine before he’s herding me out the door.

From there he takes me into the Suite. I actually had breakfast in the kitchen area the other morning with Carla and Wade, but the Suite has been talked about in hushed tones for a while now. Carla calls it Wade’s fuck pad, but she knows, as do I that Wade keeps it for the rare guests he has. She has been one of the few people to take advantage of it. ‘It’s amazing!’ I say, trying to catch my breath as I stare at a marble bathtub and Jacuzzi the size of a small swimming pool, and an enormous wet room with more water sources that I can count before he’s herding me off again, blushing as we head past a bed big enough for half the employees of Pneuma Inc to have an orgy on. ‘Beverly Neumann did the decorating,’ he says still blushing. ‘She did this on purpose.’ He makes it sound like she put peanut butter in his boxers or something. ‘It’s lovely,’ I manage. ‘I’d say she did good.’

He mumbles something about overkill and herds me out of the room before I take up squatters rights as Interviewing Wade’s author and move in. I notice his pace slows considerably as we head back down the hall past several rooms that look like state of the art laboratories, spotlessly clean, well-equipped and seemingly deserted.

‘Does R&D use these?’ I ask.

He looks at me like I suddenly grew horns. ‘No. Why would they? They have their space.’

‘Then you work in them.’

He pauses mid-step to contemplate that idea. ‘I suppose I could if I wanted to, but they’re not as private as I’d like them to be. It’s too easy to be disturbed on this level. I do most of my work in the sub-basements.’

We move past a strange door that looks like the entrance to a train car.

‘What’s this,’ I ask.

‘Nothing yet,’ he answers. ‘Just an idea I have for a … space.’ He doesn’t clarify, and I’ve been around him enough to realize he won’t unless he wants to. His pace slows still further. At the end of the hall I can see a set of double doors that look like they could well belong in a hospital, but before I can ask, I realize he is standing in front of an open door, blocking my view.

‘You know what this is,’ he says, blushing furiously.

I do, and I’m desperate to see it, but I know how sensitive Wade can be. ‘You’re room,’ I replay. ‘I don’t really like people in my bedroom either,’ I add, feeling his discomfort below my breastbone almost as though it is my own.

For a moment he has trouble meeting my gaze, then he looks up at me with dark green eyes. ‘It isn’t so much that it’s my sleeping room as it as that you know … you know what happened in there.’

I nod, not quite knowing how to reply, feeling a blush rise up my own cheeks as I think about what has happened between him and Carla in that space. But as I turn to walk away, he lays a strong hand on my arm to stop me, then steps aside and motions me in.

The room is small, much smaller than even I expected. Unlike the rest of the tiled floors of the Dungeon, Wade’s room is just concrete. The only piece of furniture is a fairly sturdy camp cot with an aging Star Trek duvet made up neatly over it. I notice immediately that the bedside table is really just stacks and stack of books. There’s a gooseneck lamp on top of them. A laptop, several tablets and more books, some open and marked with pens and pencils, some stuffed with paper scribbled full of notes. Next to the books I assume Wade’s reading is an empty Coke can. Around the rest of the room books are stacked three and four deep, in some places as high as my waist. The room smells of old paperbacks and I blush as I realize that the room smells of Wade Crittenden dreaming. He might sense my thought process because he’s blushing again, shuffling from foot to foot.

I quickly change the subject. ‘The books, have you read them all?’

‘All of them, yes. Some more than once,’ he replies.

‘Why do you keep them,’ I ask nodding to a pair of eReaders on the make-shift table.

‘Because they’re books. I like the feel of them, the smell – especially once they’ve been read a time or two.’

I run my fingers along a stack threatening to avalanche against my hip and am astonished to find there is no dust. ‘How do you find anything? Do you have a system?’

He looks around and shakes his head. ‘I thought about some kind of system for them, but then it seemed like a waste of my time when I know where they all are.’ He looks up at me and the blush is there again. ‘I don’t sleep much. Some nights not at all. I read a lot.’ He shrugs and this time the smile is one I can tell isn’t meant for me. ‘Well, I don’t have quite so much time to read now with Carla here. But I still don’t sleep much.’ Then he adds. ‘Besides, Carla loves to read too.’

Once again out in the hall, we push our way through the operating room doors and find ourselves standing in front of an elevator that looks like it might very well lead to an operating theater. The elevator opens and I nearly jump out of my skin, coming face to face with a life-size poster of the monster from Aliens. Wade smiles at my response and motions me in. With a series of taps against a blue buttoned console, the elevator begins a rapid descent. My heart is racing in my chest. I realize the sub-basements are off limits to everyone but Dee and Ellis, Carla, and possibly Martin Flannery. I know that the lowest level, level four is basically a no-go zone, with good reason, and my pulse goes into overdrive at the thought of going down there.

‘I do most of my work in the sub-basements,’ Wade speaks above the hushed whisper of the elevator. ‘I can work there undisturbed.’ We pass sub-level one and then two, and I wipe sweaty hands against my jeans. ‘I have a dozen or so projects going on at any given time, and I never know which one I’ll be inspired to work on,’ Wade says, ‘Best to have a space for each one and some extras too. I never know when the idea for something new will come. The lift stops on sub-level three and I find that I’ve been holding my breath as he motions me out.

This laboratory is nothing like the ones on the upper floors. It isn’t at all what I would expect a laboratory to be like. This one looks like a nerd’s dream basement. There’s a battered brown leather sofa against the wall. On the end table next to it is a lava lamp bubbling up hypnotic red blobs. There’s a kitchen unit that looks like it came out of the 1960s to one side. In the middle of the room on battered desks and metal tables there’s a hodgepodge of monitors and keyboards and on a free-standing metal framework above a section of work table is what looks like a very sophisticated robotic arm that could have come straight from a Terminator film. ‘You know about this,’ he says, nodding to it. He reaches out to touch it. ‘It’s not ready yet. The interface is still not sensitive enough.’ He smiles to himself, running a hand over the slightly curved, nearly human looking fingers. ‘Shocked the hell out of myself the other day. Still can’t manage the electrical impulses so that they guide the operator but don’t knock him on his ass.’ He shrugs. I’ll figure it out.’

As we step back into the hall, he nods in both directions. ‘Three more laboratories on this floor,’ he says. ‘The projects in two of them are only in the conceptual stage and the other one is Nano-technology, not something I can easily show you.’ He herds me back into the elevator, and suddenly I’m having trouble breathing again as the door closes behind us and the blue buttons await Wade’s touch.

I can feel him studying me, and try though I might, I can’t meet his gaze. I can’t speak I feel frozen to the spot with the knowledge of what’s in the fourth sub-basement – no laboratories, no nerd’s hang-out. Nothing pretty, nothing sophisticated. I feel a sudden chill as he releases his breath and taps a code into the keypad. The elevator whirs to life and with the tiniest of judder … begins to ascend. I catch my breath in a little sigh.

At last he speaks. ‘I won’t take you down there,’ he says. His face is suddenly like a wall hiding so many things. His jaw is set and his eyes are nearly black in the subdued lighting. ‘You know … what it’s like down there. What I’m like when I go there.’ He swallows hard and closes his eyes, and I feel cold. When he looks back at me, I force myself to meet his gaze. ‘That you know is enough, K D.’ His voice is barely more than just a whisper. ‘Let it be enough.’

We ascend the rest of the way in silence. As we arrive in the main living area of the Dungeon, Carla meets us with two mugs of mocha – extra marshmallow cream. She kisses Wade gently on the mouth and guides him to the table, guidance which, at that moment, I can’t help but feel he needs.

‘All right?’ she speaks softly squeezing his arm after he’s had his first sip.

He nods and forces a smile. Then he reaches out and touches her cheek. ‘Fine. I’m fine.’

For a second I sip in silence, trying to figure out what I should say, under the circumstances. At last I look up at him. ‘Wade, I didn’t mean to –’

He stops me with a shake of his head. ‘If I hadn’t wanted you to see, I wouldn’t have shown you. But what’s on sub-level four, well, even though you know. I don’t like to go there. I … I only ever go there when I have no choice, when I need to. And right now, thankfully,’ he squeezes Carla’s hand, ‘I don’t need to.’

In the evening, Stacie Emerson and Carla’s father, Martin Flannery, take over the kitchen in the Suite. After toasts to the launch of Interviewing Wade, with Prosecco Stacie and Harris have brought back from a recent trip to Italy, there’s homemade spaghetti carbonara with the best tiramisu I’ve ever eaten for dessert. We end the tour and the day’s celebration in the Dungeon’s home cinema stuffing ourselves with buttered popcorn while we watch X-Men First Class.

It’s late when I get ready to leave. Carla and Wade give each other the eye and nod. Then Wade turns his attention to me. ‘It’s late, and you’ve had a busy few days, K D. Why don’t you stay in the Suite tonight.’

Carla nods her agreement, when she sees my uncertainty. ‘I’ve grown rather fond of Wade’s cot,’ she says with a wink. ‘Besides, we don’t need very much space, the two of us.’ As we say our good-nights at the door of the Suite, I watch them head down the hall arm and arm, and I figure Carla is probably right. They don’t need much space at all.

The Interviewing Wade Blog Tour and Giveaway continues throughout this week and the next. I’m over at the fabulous Lynelle Clark’s Do join us there!

For the next two weeks find Carla, Wade and me on these fabulous blogs!

Mar 23 L. C. Wilkinson http://lcwilkinson.com/

Mar 24 Jan Graham http://jangraham.blogspot.com/

Mar 25 Lynelle Clark http://lynelleclarkaspiredwriter.blogspot.com/

Mar 26 Nice Ladies, Naughty Books http://niceladiesnaughtybooks.com/

Mar 27 Love Bites & Silk Ties http://www.lovebitessilkties.co.uk/

Mar 30 Books and Banter http://locglin.blogspot.com/

Mar 31 Case Sharidan http://casesheridan.wordpress.com/

Apr 1 Lisabet Sarai http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com

Ap 2 Gale Stanley http://galestanley.blogspot.com/

Ap 3 Illustrious Illusions http://www.illustriousillusions.com/

INTERVIEWING WADE Is An Executive Decision novel (Click Here for Book One | Book Two | Book Three)

Blurb:

Interviewing Wad is available from:

INTERVIEWING WADE Launch Celebration: Bowling with Wade & Carla

March 22, 2015Inspirationgrace marshall, hot romance, Interviewing Wade, meeting the characters, new release, romance, The Executive Decisions novelsK D Grace

After a celebration launch breakfast with Wade and Carla in Wade’s Dungeon, involving a fabulous sampling of Pop Tarts a la Flannery and Marshmallow Cream chocolate coffee, a la Chrittenden, Wade and Carla invite me to join them for an early morning bowling session at Clyde’s bowling alley – the place that has inspired some of Wade’s most innovative inventions.

Right off the bat, I march up to the lane, take three steps, as everyone has instructed me, let the ball go and fall flat on my ass, while the ball with some serious momentum, gutters long before it gets to the pins.

Wade watches it nodding. ‘I’ve never seen quite that kind of back spin on a ball. I think it has something to do with the way you were off balance when you let it go.’ The earnestness of his observation makes me laugh as I wait for the ball return rubbing my bruised butt.

‘Is that engineer speak for what happens when you fall an your ass while swinging a bowling ball?’

‘Well I suppose there’s a bit of that,’ he says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. ‘I can give you the mathematics of what just happened if you’d like.’ The man has shed his requisite black hoodie and I’m suddenly reminded just how well-built he is. He’s sporting a faded red t-shirt on which I can barely make out a diagram of a carbon molecule superimposed over the Coca Cola logo with the words Carbon Nation written in the Coke font. ‘But I don’t think it would help your game.’

This time I managed to stay on my feet and boldly take out one pin on the far left after the ball slo-mo’s its way down the lane. ‘I don’t think much of anything would help my game,’ I say.

‘Looks to me like your ball’s to heavy,’ Clyde says.

‘Heavy balls can be a real problem,’ Carla says around a mouthful of Doritos. Wade gives her a sideways glance. She shrugs and Clyde sniggers.

As Clyde offers me several lighter balls to try, I watch out of the corner of my eyes as Wade bowls a beautiful strike. Twice. ‘You’ve known him for a long time?’ I ask.

Clyde nods and the smile on his face reminds me of a proud father watching his well-accomplished son. ‘Couldn’t bowl a lick when he came in here the first time. Don’t know why he chose bowling over anything else. But I showed him the basics, and Crittenden being who he is, it didn’t take him long. Tried to get him to bowl with a league. Thought it would be good for him – you know some social interaction. He told me …’ Clyde chuckles, ‘Well what he told me wasn’t very nice, but made it very clear that he didn’t bowl to be social.’

We both watch as he leans close and whispers something to Carla, who laughs congenially and musses his hair before rising to bowl her own strike. Clyde nods and his smile broadens considerably. ‘That one, well, she’s way better for him than any bowling league. Take the fact that he invited you along to bowl, KD. That young woman can cajole him and pester him and tease him in ways I’ve never seen anyone do. I mean even Ellis Thorne knows not to cross the line with Crittenden, and they’re best friends. But it’s like, well it’s like with Carla, there is no line.’

‘You think he’s a better person for having her in his life?’ I ask, choosing a pretty blue ball with sparkles that may actually be too light, but the way I bowl, I doubt it’ll matter much.

‘Nah,’ he says, watching Carla deal surgically with a difficult split. ‘He’s always been a good person. Might have taken her to show him that. I’ve seen a lot of teamwork here on league nights. Some teams just click, and they win even when they lose. These two, well they’re like that together. They’re a team.’

‘It’s your turn, KD,’ Wade calls over his shoulder. I return to find him sharing a package of Ding Dongs with Carla.

‘You want one?’ Carla asks. ‘I have another package.’

I take the precious gift of junk food assuring myself that though I don’t usually eat such empty calories and I don’t have the metabolism these to do, it’s a special occasion and, let’s face it, sometimes the emptier the calories, the better they taste.

This time my bright blue ball takes a swath right out of the middle of the pins and I take a bow to the cheers from my audience of three. However I may well have taken my kudos too soon as the second attempt hits the floor with a kathunk and then promptly gutters.

‘Never mind,’ Carla says. ‘Here, eat your Ding Dongs, and you’ll feel better.’ She’s right. I do.

‘So, back to work on the photovoltaic prototype after bowling?’ I ask Wade.

He’s just bowled another strike and we both watch Carla position herself. ‘Nope. We’re heading over to Stacie’s Clear-cut after this.’

‘Oh? How’s that going, the re-planting, I mean.’

We watch Carla bowl a split with a ball that curved just slightly too much to the right at the last minute. Clyde tells me that. I would have had no clue why. Carla calls the ball a few choice names and waits at the return.

‘In spite of the planting and the careful management,’ Wade says, returning to the topic of the clear-cut, there are still problems with erosion when we get heavy rains.’ He shrugs broad shoulders. ‘We always get heavy rains here, so I’ve designed a new type of ground cover that I hope will help.’

‘And I’m coming along to take a few photos and catch the story.’ Carla says, plopping down next to Wade. ‘Something that’ll fight erosion in a place with massive rainfall is big news.’

‘Almost as big as illegal cage fighting,’ Wade says with a twitch of a smile.

She shrugs. ‘Well if the inventor of the new ground cover will traipse around on the hillside in shiny shorts and no shirt, it would be a toss-up.’

Clyde and I snigger, and Wade waves me to take the floor with a quirk of a smile.

We bowl four games, and by the end, I’ve actually managed two Ding Dongs, a bag of Doritos and a Snickers Bar. Oh, and three strikes! Well a girl needs her strength to keep up with Wade and Carla in Clyde’s bowling alley.

Wade and Carla drop me in the parking garage at the Pneuma Building. I say my good-byes and wish the two well at the clear-cut. They both give me hugs and congratulations. Before they leave, Wade turns to me and offers me a rare full smile. ‘I’m looking forward to Carla reading the next chapter of your book to me. But that’ll have to wait till tonight,’ he glances over his shoulder at Carla who is now talking to one of her fathers security men, ‘Tonight after we’re home alone. It’s the Chinese food chapter, she tells me. Not for public consumption.’ Wade Crittenden actually winks at me … around a heroic blush, then he turns, pulls Carla in close to his side and I watch the two disappear into the Dungeon entrance from the parking garage.

The Interviewing Wade Blog Tour and Giveaway Begins Tomorrow, the 23^rd. For the next two weeks find Carla, Wade and me on these fabulous blogs

Mar 23 L. C. Wilkinson http://lcwilkinson.com/

Mar 24 Jan Graham http://jangraham.blogspot.com/

Mar 25 Lynelle Clark http://lynelleclarkaspiredwriter.blogspot.com/

Mar 26 Nice Ladies, Naughty Books http://niceladiesnaughtybooks.com/

Mar 27 Love Bites & Silk Ties http://www.lovebitessilkties.co.uk/

Mar 30 Books and Banter http://locglin.blogspot.com/

Mar 31 Case Sharidan http://casesheridan.wordpress.com/

Apr 1 Lisabet Sarai http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com

Ap 2 Gale Stanley http://galestanley.blogspot.com/

Ap 3 Illustrious Illusions http://www.illustriousillusions.com/

Interviewing Wade is An Executive Decision novel

(Click Here for Book One | Book Two | Book Three)

Excerpt:

‘What do you want, Carla?’ His abrupt change of subject derailed her before she could get started on her well-deserved rant. Who the hell did he think he was anyway? It was just an act of kindness, nothing more. Surely he wasn’t too stupid to see that. She watched, speechless as he hopped up and lobbed a killer ball that would have been devastating if it hadn’t guttered half way down the lane and rolled benignly the rest of the way to the soundtrack of half-hissed curses that would have hurt a sailor’s ears. She had no idea until last night that Wade Crittenden had such a colourful vocabulary. She watched his shoulders rise and fall in what she thought was the nerd’s last-ditch effort at some calming Zen. Then he took a deep breath and spoke without looking at her. ‘What do you want?’ He repeated.

Thanks to Devon’s poorly-timed call, it was far to late to sweeten him up, so she’d just have to go for it and hope for the best. She took a deep breath and said. ‘I want to interview you.’ She stuffed the notebook back into her shoulder bag, shoved it onto the seat and coming to stand by his side as he waited for the ball to return.

‘No,’ he replied, calmly taking up the ball and this time sending it waltzing right down the centre of the lane for a slo-mo strike.

‘Oh it’s not about last night. You’ve already said plenty about last night. It’s about Pneuma Inc. I’ve already interviewed Dee and Ellis.’

‘Then you don’t need to interview me. They know everything I know.’

‘Oh I got great stuff from them, but people want to know about the genius behind Pneuma Inc, the mystery man. Come on, Wade, I promise I’ll be gentle.’

She gave a little squeak of surprise as he grabbed her by the lapel of her shirt, led her unceremoniously back to the seat and pushed her gently down in it. ‘No,’ he said. Then he grabbed the ball and bowled yet another strike.

‘You’re pretty good,’ she said.

‘I’m better when no one is bothering me.’ He tapped his fingers on the ball return in a definite ‘get-lost-Carla’ rhythm.

‘Look,’ she shoved out of the seat and came to his side again. ‘You’ve been hounding me to be a good girl, to play it safe, to stay out of danger, well…’

He picked up the returned ball and took his stance, with her standing right beside him.

‘What could be safer than me interviewing the mysterious Wade Crittenden of Pneuma Inc?’ She followed on his heels as he positioned himself, took three quick steps and let the ball go. She nearly rear-ended him at his quick stop.

He turned suddenly and she found herself cheek to chest with him. They were both breathing much harder than their little bowling waltz demanded. Then, fuck if he didn’t lift her bodily over his shoulders, carry her back to the chair and drop into it like an oversized sack of potatoes before the ball flattened all the pins. Again. With a hand on either side of the chair, trapping her there, he held her gaze, nearly nose to nose. ‘I may be a lot of things, Flannery, but I’m not safe.’ Before she could protest further, he turned and bellowed, ‘Clyde, Ms Flannery’s leaving. Show her out please. And then lock the damned door.’

Interviewing Wad is available from: