Lexxie Couper's Blog, page 17

The Trinity Masters – A New Erotic Series from Lila Dubois and Mari Carr

Authors of awesomeness (a self proclaimed title) Lila Dubois and Mari Carr have a new book out! They’ve finished their first menage story (heh–that sounds dirty) and I have them on the blog today talking about it.

Thank you for having us! We’re really excited about this book. Not only is it our first collaboration, but it’s the start of a great new series called The Trinity Masters.

Elemental Pleasure, focuses on Carly, Preston and Lance, who are members of the super secret society the Trinity Masters. A secret society that demands the members be in menages are picks out their love interests What could go wrong?

When Carly Kenan joined the secretive Trinity Masters in college, she knew that one day she’d have to pay the piper. That day has come. Returning to Boston, Carly meets former Marine Lance Glassco, a mathematician for DARPA, and Preston Kim, a celebrated chemist. Though on the surface they have nothing in common, it’s clear the Grand Master thinks that together the three of them can do something amazing. And that’s why he’s declared that Carly, Lance and Preston must unite. In a ménage.

Tempers flare as they struggle to understand each other, but their physical attraction is explosive, and the sex leaves all of them begging for more. Pushed beyond her limits, Carly runs from Lance and Preston. What she doesn’t understand is that she now belongs to them, body and soul…and they belong to her, too. When Lance uncovers a dangerous crime in Preston’s firm, Carly is caught in the crossfire and the struggling lovers are forced to move beyond desire…to trust.

The Trinity Masters have the power to make careers and change lives, but there’s a price. All members know that the day will come when the Grand Master will select them, and pair them with two others. For the Trinity Masters the strongest bond isn’t a pair, but a threesome.

This book has sex, mystery, sex, adventure, sex, and two men who are alpha males in completely different ways.

Here’s where you can get the delicious Elemental Pleasure:

Amazon

B&N

Smashwords (all other formats)

Here, just for you, is the prologue and first chapter. Yum!

Elemental Pleasure

Copyright 2013, Mari Carr, Lila Dubois

Prologue

The Grand Master sat as his desk and studied the files lying there. Three people. Three lives. Their destinies lie in his hands.

Leaning back in his leather chair, he let his gaze travel over the portraits on the walls—paintings of the men who’d served in this position before him. Men who had been called to lead one of the most powerful organizations in the world. They had taken their position seriously, understood the gravity of their choices. His decisions, like theirs, could influence the future and bring fate to its knees.

The Trinity Masters were a secret society, as old as the U.S. sect of the Masons, but unlike them, the Trinity Masters were still a secret. It had been started by some of America’s founding fathers as they sought to replicate the networks and relationships that drove European society in America, a country that was wild and new. Hundreds of years later, the Trinity Masters counted some of the most powerful people in politics, science, the arts and even religion among its members. It was credited, though only in secret, for developing the relationships that had driven much of America’s success.

Being a member meant access to people, money and power.

In exchange, you gave them your future. And that future was the Grand Master’s to decide.

He looked at the pictures again. A pretty, dark-haired woman. Brilliant, creative. An attractive, serious-looking scientist, driven, powerful. And the final, a soldier. Strong and courageous.

Yes, he decided. All the pieces were there. He sealed the letters, prepared them for the messenger. It was time. Together, they would make a powerful bond.

A perfect trinity.

Chapter One

She’d made a deal with the Devil, and now the Devil had called to collect.

Carlene Kenan pulled her scarf up around her neck. At home in California it was a sunny, warm seventy degrees, but early March in Boston was still winter, and the wind whipped down Boylston Street as she stood outside the imposing Boston Public Library.

Carlene rubbed her cheek against the baby soft cashmere of her scarf. It cost more than her parents had made in a month when she was growing up. Those days were long gone, thanks to a deal she’d made nearly ten years ago. With her dark hair pulled up in an elegant chignon, a black wool coat, cream scarf and knee-high black boots she looked exactly like what she was: a beautiful, successful woman.

Had it been worth it? Her success had surpassed even her wildest dreams, but all her success had come at a price. Now it was time to pay up. She wouldn’t know if had been worth it until she went inside.

The city moved around her, everyone with somewhere to go, something to do. Another minute ticked by, but Carlene still couldn’t bring herself to mount the steps and face the consequences of her achievements. Someone bumped her, forcing her forward a step, and she hitched her designer bag higher. The man who bumped her, chatting away on his phone, turned to glare. When he caught sight of her he stopped mid-word, fumbled out a smile, then slunk away.

She mounted the steps. It was something she’d done a hundred times before while a student at Harvard. A computer science major, the public library had always been a chance for her to get away from her electronics, and to honor the lineage of scholars and invention that had been trailblazers to the world she knew.

And in her junior year the library had started to play a new, and secret, role in her life.

The grand hallway, with its arched and illustrated roof, was bustling with people, though the noise was muted, the hush of a library. The heels of her boots clicked against the stone floor as she made her way to the elevator. She rode it to the top level, where there were fewer people. By the time she reached the rare book room she was alone in the quiet hallway that smelled of books and secrets. There was a keypad on the door. She paused, realizing his instructions hadn’t included a code. Surely it wasn’t the same one the society had used when she was in college?

Pulling off her leather glove, she folded and tucked it into her pocket. As she reached out, she noticed her fingers were trembling. She curled her hand into a fist, willed herself to be calm, then reached out again.

333

There was a click as the door opened. Carlene turned the handle and let herself in, careful to close the door behind her. The code was the same. She wondered what else would be the same.

The rare book room was small, with each rack dedicated to a subject. There were a few tables, each with a box of cotton gloves placed precisely in the center, so the rare books could be handled without picking up corrosive oils. Behind a section containing maps and diaries said to belong to members of the semi-secret Masonic Temple was a section of wall with a triangle inscribed into the plaster. She touched her scarf, which hid the chain she wore with the same symbol hanging from it. Below the triangle were three words. “Mitimur in Vetitum.”

“We strive for the forbidden,” she whispered, tracing the words.

Her stomach clenched and her fingers trembled. She was terrified of what she’d find beyond that door, of what she’d discover in the temple of the Trinity Masters.

With their help Carlene’s company was now one of the fastest growing in the industry, and at only thirty-two she was well on the way to becoming very, very wealthy.

Taking a deep breath, she placed both hands on the triangle relief and pushed. A section of wall popped in, and then slid to the side, disappearing into a pocket. She passed through and waited in the darkness on the other side as the door shut, sealing her inside.

Once the door was fully closed the lights clicked on.

The small foyer was exactly as she remembered. The room was small enough to be mistaken as a closet, if anyone who was not a member ever found their way in here. The walls were paneled wood, the floor the same carpet as the outer room. An empty book cart took up a third of the floor space. Turning to her right she examined the panels there. There were numbers etched into the wood, seemingly at random.

The Grand Master’s instructions had said she was to open box thirty-one. Pressing her finger against the number she felt a click. When she pulled her hand back a small tray popped out of the wall. Reaching in, she took out a key and a small piece of paper.

You’ll find garments in room C. Right hand corridor.

Wait until you hear the bell.

-Grand Master

The note was written by hand, and Carlene shivered a little. The Grand Master was the head of the Trinity Masters, and a man of unspeakable power and influence. No one knew who he was, though there were plenty of rumors. At the Trinity Masters annual gatherings, hidden inside library benefit galas, Carlene had done her share of gossiping about who he might be.

Now she wasn’t curious, she was afraid.

Note and key in hand she moved the cart out of the way and, with another push, opened the door hidden in the back wall. It revealed a narrow elevator. When she pressed the button, the door opened and Carlene stepped in. She took a moment to gather herself as the small, wood paneled elevator took her down to the sub-basement. When the elevator stopped and the door slid to the side, she bit the inside of her cheek to center herself.

A long marble hallway stretched out in front of her. Columns supported the double-high arched ceiling, which was a smaller replica of the grand hallway above. Her footsteps rang as she made her way along the hall, the sound bouncing off the walls to echo down to the grand double doors at the far end. There were no books here to muffle the sound. At the midway point there were openings in the walls, one to the right, another to the left. She’d been in the left hallway before. There were changing rooms there, elegant as the locker rooms in a fancy spa. For ceremonies all members wore robes to protect their identities, and those with the most need for secrecy had private dressing rooms.

As she turned right she wondered if that’s where she was going—to a private dressing room. Now that she had been called to the altar by the Grand Master, she supposed she’d earned a private dressing room.

After all, she was about to meet her husbands.

Or maybe it would be husband and wife.

Her hands shook, and it took her a few tries to get the key into the lock on room C. Once in she found a small but well-appointed room. A white robe waited on a hook. Normally they wore gray.

Setting her purse on the vanity she touched the robe. “It’s like a wedding dress,” she whispered.

It would be the only wedding dress she’d ever wear.

In exchange for the Trinity Masters’ help, she’d given up her future, specifically her choice of whom she would marry.

Throughout history the world had been secretly controlled by relationships that defied societal standards. Some of those relationships had come to light, the most famous of which had been Vice-Admiral Horatio Lord Nelson, who’d been in a relationship with Lady Emma Hamilton and Sir William Hamilton. The gossip papers of the nineteenth century had called it an affair between Lady Emma and Lord Nelson, but it had been so much more. The three-way union between them had helped end the Napoleonic wars, and both Emma and William had mourned Lord Nelson after his death.

The Trinity Masters believed that when three people were united it created a bond far stronger than the pedestrian two-person marriage, and that these marriages, if made between those with power and intellect, had the capability of changing the world.

Carlene slid out of her clothes, leaving on the corset-bra, panties and garter set she’d bought especially for today.

She’d joined the Trinity Masters as a college junior, at age nineteen, when the idea of some crazy secret ménage marriage had seemed like a fun lark. In her twenties she’d enjoyed herself, knowing that there was no need for her to worry about falling in love or getting married. By the time she was twenty-eight and her friends were married, some expecting children, she finally understood what she’d really given up.

However, the consequences of crossing the Trinity Masters were too dire to contemplate, and so here she was, waiting to meet the people she’d share the rest of her life with.

She checked her hair and makeup in the mirror before raising the hood and tugging the chain out from under the robe so it lay on her chest in plain sight, the triangle glinting in the low light.

Taking a seat on a velvet chair, she breathed deeply, trying to calm herself.

A bell rang, the deep sound vibrating through her. She looked up as a door in the wall opposite where she sat opened.

Rising to her feet, Carlene took a breath and walked through.

Preston Kim stretched and then slowly sat up as the bell rang. He was in one of the Trinity Master’s private dressing rooms. It wasn’t the first time he’d merited the honor of one of the private rooms, but it was the most important.

Preston smiled and rose to his feet. He pulled the black hood over his head, hiding his dark hair and eyes.

It felt like Christmas morning. Anticipation hummed through him, and yet he didn’t want to rush. He wanted to savor it, wanted to remember every detail so that he’d one day be able to tell his children how dad had met Mom and Mom, or Mom and other Dad.

The same way his parents had told him.

Preston was a legacy to the Trinity Masters. His parents—Dad and both Moms—were members. His biological mother had married his father in a traditional ceremony several years after the three had been married by the Grand Master. He and his sister were raised by all three parents. He’d grown up knowing he was the child of something special, powerful, and secret. His Dad, Mother, and Imo—the name he and his sister used for their other mother, which was a bastardization for the Korean word for aunt—were now all immensely powerful in the world of education. They’d been joined together by the Trinity Masters at a time in their lives when it seemed they had nothing in common—an electrical engineer, a junior political aide and a mathematician. Many years and two children later, his father, the engineer, and Imo, the mathematician, owned an educational company that developed much of the technology and curriculum used at the country’s leading science magnet schools. His biological mother was a lobbyist, who worked to keep the money flowing to education no matter what happened to the national budget.

And now it was Preston’s turn to meet his partners.

The call from the Grand Master had been both welcomed and poorly timed. Though he’d been waiting for years to be called to the altar, his company was having financial trouble, with lower profits than projected in the last quarter. He’d walked away from a financial report—which was far from his favorite reading material—to fly to Boston. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to put work concerns away. Today was too important.

The door opened and he stepped through.

The room on the other side was small, intimate, not the massive gathering room with its stone altar. The floor and walls were marble. Three high-backed wing chairs sat in a semi-circle, facing a large metal medallion in the center of the floor. A rectangle of lighter colored stone led him to the chair farthest to the right. A soft sound made him look left, and he saw two other robed figures, one in black and one in white, emerging. Turning his attention to the center, he followed the path in the floor and took a seat in his chair. There was the rustle of fabric and the pad of feet as the other robed figures took their places. In the shadow of his hood, Preston grinned.

Light illuminated the bronze medallion with the Trinity Masters symbol and logo, as well as the chairs, but the corners of the room were cast in darkness. It couldn’t have been more than a minute before a patch of shadow detached from the wall and came forward to stand in the center of the medallion. He wore a black robe trimmed in gold. A heavy chain draped his shoulders.

The Grand Master.

Preston sucked in a breath. He’d been introduced to the Grand Master as a child, and seen him at the galas and initiation events, and yet he still scared Preston. He knew, from hearing his parents’ whispered conversations, that if crossed, the Grand Master was ruthless. It was said that he’d not only ruined members who disobeyed their laws and ignored their vows, but had them imprisoned, sometimes even killed.

“Welcome.” The Grand Master’s voice was deep, commanding. His hood moved from side to side as he looked at each of them. Preston thought he caught a glimpse of a nose or chin in the darkness off the hood, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Grand Master,” he murmured in greeting. He heard the others do the same.

If the robe colors hadn’t given them away, the voices would have. There was one man and one woman. He felt a small moment of disappointment. Secretly he’d hoped for two women—he’d always thought his father’s life seemed more than agreeable, but growing up as he had made him more open-minded than most. He would accept the other man into his life, and into his bed, if they were attracted to each other.

Preston had never been with another man, but there was a first time for everything.

“When you joined the Trinity Masters, you made a vow. You pledged your lives to our cause and our traditions. The time has come for you to meet your partners, your lovers, your spouses.”

The words rang, echoing off the walls. He thought he heard a small sound of distress from the woman, hidden in her virginal white robe.

“When I call your name, stand and remove your robe.”

Preston’s belly lurched. This was it.

Lance Glassco’s fingers tightened on the arms of the chair. The wood groaned as his knuckles turned white. He wanted to jump from his chair and pull down everyone’s hoods. He hated the secrecy, hated not knowing what was going on.

Hated not having control.

Joining the Trinity Masters had been a blessing. Without them stepping in at several key points in his career, he would probably be dead, another fallen Marine in some desert. As it was, he was a proud United States Marine Corps Reserve Officer, and mathematician for DARPA, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, the research and development arm of the Unites States Armed Forces.

Personal relationships weren’t his strong suit. He needed rules and guidelines, and relationships—or more accurately women—didn’t come with either. Knowing that the Trinity Masters would someday step in and tell him who to marry had relieved him of the burden of worrying about it.

It wasn’t until he’d gotten the letter from the Grand Master that he realized exactly how much control he’d given up. He had no say in who he’d marry, and he didn’t even get to pick if they’d be men or women. Since receiving the letter, his frustration had grown to the point that he could now feel it boiling under his skin.

“When I call your name, stand and remove your robe.”

Lance froze, his shoulders cramping from the tension in his arms and back.

“Carlene Kenan.”

To his left the figure in the white robe rose from her chair. Her hands were slim with painted nails.

He was glad at least one of them was a woman.

She threw back her hood and Lance jerked in his seat. She was beautiful, with creamy pale skin and dark hair. Reaching back she did something so that her hair fell down around her shoulders in pretty waves. He wanted to bury his hands in her long tresses, to taste those pink lips. Her gaze met his, though he doubted she could see his face under the hood. Then her face moved from him to the other man, before looking at the Grand Master once more.

The Grand Master raised a hand, and Lance frowned when he noticed he wore gray gloves. The Grand Master motioned to her, the twitch of his fingers impatient.

The woman, what was her name? Carlene, that was it.

Carlene’s fingers moved down the front of her robe, undoing the small hook and eye catches that held it closed. As she did, the robe fell apart a bit, giving him teasing glimpses of flesh.

When the robe was open, she grasped the edges. There was an expression on her face that Lance couldn’t read.

He sat forward, anxious to see what she hid under the enveloping material. Her gaze focused on him. She raised her chin and dropped the robe.

Lance was sure he’d break the chair he gripped it so hard. She had long legs and full, lush breasts. She wore some lacy thing over her belly and breasts. A tiny pair of panties covered her sex, and garters held up dark stockings. Her face was beautiful in a way that made him think of the porcelain dolls his mother collected, but her body was lush and soft, made to be touched and stroked.

Lance sat back, his frustration gone, replaced by a need to have her.

He grinned.

And have her he would. She was his.

“Preston Kim.”

Lance had been so wrapped up in imagining what he’d do to Carlene that he’d forgotten this wasn’t just about the two of them. He looked to his right, where the other figure in black now stood. The hood fell back to reveal a tall man with a lean handsome face. He had dark hair and slanted eyes that probably meant he was at least part Asian.

Preston’s gaze focused on Lance, and Lance felt the challenge.

Black velvet dropped to the floor. The other man wore a pair of dark boxers. He was trim and muscled. Lance was sure he could take him in a fight, but it wouldn’t be easy. Preston reminded him of some jungle cat, maybe a black panther.

“Lance Glassco.”

Finally it was his turn to stand. Lance rose to his feet. Impatient he stripped off his robe, throwing it to the floor. He looked at Carlene, saw her brows go up as she caught sight of him. He’d kept up with his physical training while in the reserves. He wasn’t vain, but he knew that physically he was a good specimen. And his Mama always said he was handsome.

“You now belong to one another. Come forward.”

Barefoot, they approached the Grand Master, stopping when they too stood on the medallion. He grasped each of their right hands, bringing them into the center. Taking the chain from around his shoulders he bound their wrists with it. Lance saw Carlene shiver as the cold metal touched her.

Lance’s hand was on top of hers, and he squeezed her fingers. She looked at him, and Lance smiled. She tentatively returned the friendly gesture.

“Preston,” the Grand Master said.

The other man stepped forward, his hand, which lay atop Lance’s, tightened, and Lance tensed. Reaching out with his free hand, Preston cupped Carlene’s face. Her eyes widened as Preston pulled her head to his.

He kissed her long and deep, their cheeks only inches from Lance’s face. Desire warred with jealousy. Lance wanted to be the one kissing her, and yet he liked seeing Preston touch her. That didn’t make any sense.

Lance hated things he couldn’t make sense of.

The instant Preston pulled back, Lance jerked Carlene to him. Burying his hand in her hair he nipped her lower lip, demanding she let him in. When she took a breath he pressed his tongue into her mouth, tasting her sweet flavor.

Preston touched his bare back, hand sliding over skin and muscle. Startled, Lance ended the kiss when Preston reached for him.

Lance knocked his hand away. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Dark eyes examined him. “The same thing we just did with Carlene.”

They stared at each other, right arms held awkwardly, hands still bound together by the chain.

“Don’t touch me,” Lance snarled. It wasn’t that he had a problem with men touching each other, but if anyone were going to do the touching, he would initiate. Not Preston.

Preston raised one brow. “You must have known there was a chance you’d be placed with another man.”

“I did, and that changes nothing. We have a woman.”

“Oh, you must be fucking kidding.”

They both jerked, then looked at Carlene. Her lip was curled. Lance wasn’t good at reading people, but he was pretty sure the look on her face was one of disgust.

“You have a woman? I really hope you don’t mean me.”

Lance frowned. “You are our woman.”

“I’m not your fuck toy, or some baton you’re going to pass back and forth.” She jerked her wrist free of the chain and took a step back, rubbing the marks it had left.

“Carlene.” The Grand Master’s voice was menacing and dark, dripping with warning.

She stopped in her tracks.

“You are incorrect. You are theirs…and they are yours.”

The Grand Master reached out and undid the chain from their wrists. Preston and Lance both stepped away.

“Your relationship is yours. You will choose how to live your lives, but there are rules. No one must know about the trinity and you may never stray outside your marriage.”

The Grand Master focused on Lance. “You have one month. At that time you will return here and be formally bound in the marriage of the Trinity Masters.”

The words echoed in the suddenly hushed space.

“Now, go.”

Amazon

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Weigh-In Wednesday – Week Two

For Week One click here.

Oh. My. God.

My arms divorced me sometime last Wednesday. Around the time my brain realised my body had done a gazillion tricep dips. My abs abandoned me mid-Friday after I spent a good amount of time twisting and turning them into submission. But by Monday, I was feeling amazing and brilliant and only a tad sore. And interestingly, I haven’t been hungry. Well…not that hungry.

What I have been this last week (apart from sore and a little peckish) is positive. Sure, I hide it in my usually self-deprecating sarcasm, a quirk I suspect is driving my personal trainer, Brendon, crazy, but positive I’m feeling. So positive, today I bought something I never ever would have bought before I began this transformation. Something I intend to wear in May when I hit my second goal (my first is 74 kgs by March 1). There is no way on God’s green earth I would ever wear this “something” at 84kgs but I know – know – I won’t even be in the 70s come May so it’s completely okay to buy this now.

Want to see it?

Thanks to my new healthier eating and exercise routine, I will be the sexiest Aussie in Kansas City come the Romantic Times Readers Convention in May. I WILL be.

Week Two Details

Weight – 86.1kg

Nickname for Brendon – Brendon the Balanced

Thing I’m craving the most – Hot chips and gravy

Mood – Confident

 

Exclusive Excerpt from Muscle for Hire

Yesterday I promised I’d post a snippet from Muscle for Hire and today I deliver. Here we find Rowan dealing with her unexpected physical response to Aslin after some very physical activity has taken place. Enjoy…

Exclusive Excerpt

Rhodes insisted on taking her to the hospital, which really was damn annoying because her body still burned with the memory of his touch. Still craved for more.

Sitting behind him on his bike, she held onto the rear grab handles in a death grip, determined not to lean into his back. She couldn’t risk any more body contact with him. Not if she wanted to keep her sanity. And dignity.

All it would take was the feel of his strong muscled back pressing to her breasts and she would be gone.

So she clung to the Ducati’s rear handles, anchored her weight to the pillion-passenger seat with her inner thighs and prayed for a smooth, red-light-free journey.

What was only a twenty-five-minute trip felt more like a lifetime of exquisite torture, her body thrumming with sexual need, the powerful vibrations from the motorcycle between her spread legs sinking into her already stimulated clit. By the time they pulled into the hospital’s parking area, she was damn near on the cusp of an orgasm.

She practically threw herself from Aslin’s bike, her pussy throbbing, her pulse pounding, her nipples so hard they hurt.

Thank God Chris was waiting for her in the ER. If it weren’t for that simple fact, she’d probably do something completely stupid like beg Aslin to fuck her there and then.

Again.

She didn’t bother to slow down as she hurried toward the hospital’s access elevator. Nor did she check if Aslin was following her. He was. She not only heard his footfalls behind her on the concrete—long strides that echoed around the underground parking area like a slow tattoo—she felt his gaze on her back. Steady. Direct.

Intense.

It made her pussy squeeze. Damn it.

A childish part of her wanted to break into a sprint, dash to the elevator door and get inside before Aslin could join her. It would be easier than standing in the small, confined space with him.

She didn’t know what unsettled her more, the way her stupid body was behaving around him, or that he hadn’t tried to broach the subject of what had occurred in the alley between them before Chris called.

Either was bad enough.

For Christ’s sake, woman. Control yourself.

Easier thought than done, especially when his hard, tall body brushed against her back, his oh-so-perfectly muscled arm extended past her and his index finger depressed the elevator button just as she was about to jab at it.

She sucked in a sharp breath.

Control. She needed to find her control. And her focus. Her brother had called for help. That’s what she needed to concentrate on, not Rhodes and his sexy-assed muscles, sexy-assed accent and sexy-assed…everything else.

It wasn’t until the door closed, imprisoning them both in the small metal space, that she realized she was still holding her breath. Or maybe it was when Aslin moved with silent speed to stand directly in front of her, both hands pressing to the wall behind her head, his intense dark stare capturing her.

“This isn’t finished, Rowan.” His British accent sent shards of wet tension into her sex. “So don’t think it is.”

She swallowed, the pit of her belly a churning, twisting mess that had nothing to do with the elevator’s rapid ascent to the ER level. “W-what isn’t?”

His nostrils flared. “What started in the alley. It’s not finished.”

Before she could respond, the elevator bounced to a halt, a soft chime screamed through the heavy silence and the door slid open with a clunking jolt.

***

Muscle for Hire will be available January 29th.

You can pre-order it from Samhain, Amazon, Barnes and Noble.

 

 

Review Round-Up – Muscle for Hire

In only 15 days the sequel to Love’s Rhythm will be released. Muscle for Hire is Aslin Rhodes’ story, the ex-SAS British commando who was Nick Blackthorne’s personal bodyguard for fifteen years. Now Nick is retired, Aslin is at a loss. Nick sends him to Sydney to act as an advisor on a Hollywood action blockbuster being filmed there and things get…well, let’s go with “explosive”

Muscle for Hire has already received some amazing early reviews. Here’s a just a few…

From Sensual Reads: “Entertaining read, loved that Aslin was a bodyguard and he is an intense alpha male who can read Rowan like an open book even though she tries to keep it closed.   Rowan is an intriguing character, she is a tough woman but she has a vulnerable side that she doesn’t reveal, but Aslin has a way of burrowing past the hardened exterior and finding it.  Excellent story.”

From Slick Reads: “Once again Lexxie Couper has written an engaging story filled with colorful and entertaining characters, an interesting plot line, witty and intelligent dialog, and enough raw and steamy sex to keep you highly entertained and of course wanting more. I love how Lexxie always manages to intertwine characters from her other books into her current one. It unifies her writing and makes it all that more special to those who have read her before without making someone feel like they must read all her previous works to enjoy this one. I didn’t think Lexxie would be able to top Love’s Rhythm and Nick Blackthorn and while Nick still edges out Aslin just a smidge, I think this is one of her best solo pieces of work. Well done!!

From Fresh Fiction: “MUSCLE FOR HIRE is a one hot read that holds you glued to the pages all the way to the end then leaves you wanting more. Aislin and Rowan are sizzling almost from the moment they meet and Lexxie Couper has a way with words that has your imagination flying. I enjoyed all the aspects of the storyline, with the backgrounds of the main characters coming in as you go along, the different secondary personalities that have you wondering if one of them could be the culprit, right up to the unexpected ending. I can’t wait for more from this author.”

From Night Owl Reviews: “This action packed story kept my interest. I love Lexxie Couper’s work and I love how so many of her secondary characters end up with books of their own.” Top Pick Award

I’ll be posting an exclusive excerpt from Muscle for Hire here tomorrow to whet your appetites some more

You can pre-order Muscle for Hire at Samhain, Amazon, Barnes and Noble.

If you haven’t met Nick Blackthorne yet, you can check him (and get your first glimpse of Aslin) in Love’s Rhythm (click here for links).

Weigh-In Wednesday – Week 1

I started with a personal trainer on Monday. Four mornings a week, I will be sweating, grunting and (most likely) cursing my way through thirty minutes of intense cardio and muscle-sculpting torture to rediscover the healthy, fit person I used to be. Okay, it’s not quite that bad. Take out the word “torture”. At the moment, I’m enjoying it, even if I can barely lift my arms after a woefully pathetic number of tricep dips on Monday.

Brandon at WellFit Personal Trainers is my task master. Every Monday to Thursday he is going to push me to my limits and beyond as I work toward my goal. What is my goal? Apart from outrunning the zombies come the Zombie Apocalypse? Simple: once upon a time, in my twenties, I used to be fit, healthy and happy with my body and my self. Here I am in my forties and, along with being prime zombie fodder, I’m not setting a good example for my girls. Frankly, I’ve been hypocritical. I tell them not to eat junk food and encourage them to exercise and then I scoff a packet of Tim Tams down while sitting on my ever-growing butt, exercising only my fingers.

I want to spend my forties and fifties running around parks and beaches with my girls as they grow, not sitting on my arse panting after one little game of Frisbie. I want to catch glimpses of myself in the reflection of shop windows and feel happy about what I see, not cringe. I want to wear a pair of shorts in public. I want to be healthy, damn it. Healthy.

So four mornings a week, I will be working my butt off to meet this goal. I have an awards dinner to attend on March 2 in Brisbane, and a sexy little red dress I bought a week after I got married I want to wear. I haven’t been able to wear that dress since 2000. I WILL be wearing it March 2. I will.

Every week on Wednesday, I’ll keep you up-to-date on my progress. Words of encouragement welcome.

Starting details

Weight – 86.5kg

Nickname for Brendon – Brendon the Benevolent

Thing I’m craving the most – Chocolate

Mood – Postive

Aussie Author Showcase

During the month of January the Down Under Divas are having our first ever Aussie Author Showcase. That’s right, we’re bringing the world some of the best, newest, shiest (is that even a word? Shyest? Hmmm), most brilliant Australian romance authors out there.

We’re going to introduce you to some authors you might not know yet. Some have been published for a while, some are brand newbies to this author thing.

We’d love it if you came on over to the Down Under Divas and joined in the month long party.

Powerplay: Hot Down Under. It’s All About Who Is In Control…

My very first adventure into BDSM erotica, Powerplay, is now available. It’s also my very first Momentum Publishing release. It’s also only $1 on Amazon! Yay! What else? Oh, it has the BEST ending I’ve ever written. Ever. Yep. Ever. Do’t believe me? Go check it out here (the book. Not the ending. You’ll have to read it to get to the ending *grin* Sorry)

Sam and Nicky White are a typical contemporary power couple.

She’s a ball-busting vice president at the country’s leading bank, he’s the trophy husband she wears on her arm at executive dinners. Except when they are in the bedroom.

In the bedroom, their “games” of sexual domination have Sam firmly in the position of power. Nicky, however, is ready to bring the game to an end but Sam has other ideas.

During a night of domination and submission in their isolated country cottage, an unexpected guest drops in on the couple. A dangerous guest. And for Sam and Nicky, nothing will ever be the same again.

Want to read an excerpt? 

Goddamn, his wife’s arse was hot.

Sam watched intently as she bent over before him, sheer black-stockinged legs straight, stiletto-clad feet spread wide. Her glorious mane of midnight-black hair brushed the floor as she folded her body further over, slowly wrapping her burnished copper-tipped fingers around her ankles as she looked up at him through the V of her legs. Deep sapphire eyes flirted with him from behind lowered lids. “I’m yours, master.” Her voice was like honeyed velvet. “Do with me what you will.”

Bam! Just like that his cock was a throbbing steel shaft of hot-to-trot hunger.

His straining erection rubbed the silk of his boxers, tenting the front of his work trousers. His balls grew heavy and swollen, like they’d been pumped full of liquid metal. Stepping forward, he pulled at his belt buckle, the snick of the fine leather whipping through the loops of his trousers sending a shiver through him. Dominating his wife was the biggest turn-on he could imagine. Dominating her with leather was like lust incarnate. Wicked and intoxicating. And wow, what a power rush. Until the night she’d confessed to the fantasy of being a submissive, he’d never realised how fucking arousing it would be to treat her like his sexual slave.

Until she’d allowed him to treat her rough in the bedroom, to control her every sexual response and action, he’d never realised how inferior he felt to her career success.

What a fucking shame she only let him do it once in a blue moon.

His eyes roamed over her perfect, jutting arse, following the black line of her crotch-less leather G-string as it disappeared between the crease of her cheeks, down the seam of those black stockings, to her smouldering eyes. “Please,” she mouthed, her full lips glossed. “Use me any way you want.”

With a fluid arc he raised his folded-over belt and brought it down. Right on that firm, smooth and oh-so-perfect butt.

Her squeal of pain sent molten heat straight to his balls and cock. If he thought he was hard before, that was crazy, because he was really hard now. He stared at the new red welt marring Nicky’s flesh. Holy fuck. I think I’m going to shoot my load here and now.

“Don’t make a sound,” he ordered, smoothing his hand over the welt.

She caught her bottom lip with her teeth and, her eyes shining, nodded.

With another swift down-stroke, his belt slapped flesh. Harder.

With another squeal, Nicky squirmed, rolling her hips so her arse wiggled.

Want to read the rest? Here’s the Kindle link.

Happy New Year from the Land Down Under

Thank you, everyone, for making 2012 so wonderful. Here’s to an amazing, brilliant, awesome 2013.

 

Love,

Lexxie

xoxox

Best Writing Advice I’ve Heard For A Long Time…

The Second Chapter – Serendipity 7C

I posted the FIRST chapter of this little Christmas tale over on the Down Under Divas’ blog. Click here to read it before reading this one

Chapter Two

 

Holly. The name slipped into his ear like a warm wisp of breath. A tingle rippled down his spine and his balls grew tight. He grinned back, and before he knew it, he’d taken her hand into his own. “Jack.”

Her palm felt like soft velvet against his, the innocent and yet somehow provocative contact sending his pulse into overdrive. He gazed into her eyes, unable to look away. They were so light they seemed to shimmer with a silvery glow. Almost hypnotic. Unusual. Unlike any he’d seen before.

Holly stared back at him, still holding his hand before, with a little tug on his fingers and a slight twist at the hip, she turned, indicating he should enter her apartment.

Without breaking eye contact, Jack did just that, the warmth of 7C wrapping around him instantly the second he crossed the threshold.

“Just place your bag anywhere,” Holly said, slipping her fingers free of his hold as she closed the door behind them. She walked past him, and for the first time Jack noticed she smelled like vanilla ice cream. Vanilla ice cream with a pinch of cinnamon. He pulled in a deep breath, the scent making his mouth water and his cock twitch.

Easy, easy. He growled the silent command to his hormones and his stomach. Fifteen minutes. That was all. Long enough for a cup of coffee, if she offered him one. At least long enough to call a cab to take him to a hotel. Maybe Holly could recommend one.

“Would you like a beer?”

Her voice floated to him from somewhere in the apartment, and Jack blinked, realizing he’d been standing on the spot fantasizing about how goddamn delicious she was. He scrubbed at his face with his hands. He really must be jet-lagged. He shot his watch a quick look, the timepiece still set to Sydney time. Two p.m. tomorrow. No wonder he was a bit loopy. He hadn’t slept for almost two days. He was far from everything he knew and sleep deprived.

“Was that a yes to the beer?”

Holly’s voice jerked him out of his fugue. Again. “Yes,” he called back, directing his voice to what he guessed might be the kitchen. “Thank you.”

He heard a chink of glass, a soft little pfisst, and another, before Holly emerged from a side opening with two bottles of beer in one hand and what looked like a bowl of crisps in the other. She walked toward him, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t ignore the gentle, graceful sway of her hips. Hot eager blood pumped into his cock and he ground back a curse. Ah, shit, he was in trouble here.

“Here you go.” Holly handed him a beer, the sides of her eyes crinkling with laughter. “It’s not Fosters, I’m afraid, but at least it’s not Millers either.”

Jack laughed, taking in the yellow label on the bottle. Shiner Bock. “That’s okay. Real Aussies don’t drink Fosters.”

Holly cocked an eyebrow at him, her lips curling as she chinked the neck of her bottle to his. “To real Aussies,” she murmured, lifting the beer to her lips and taking a mouthful. One. Two. Three.

Jack watched her throat work as she swallowed the amber liquid, his blood growing hotter with every mouthful she took, his cock growing harder. Her neck was long, swanlike. Her skin smooth and golden and absolutely flawless. He wondered what it would be like to touch? To feel under his lips? Would it be like silk, or satin? Would she taste like she smelled like his favorite dessert on a scorching summer’s day? Would she –

“Not cold enough?”

Jack blinked. “Huh?”

“Your beer.” Holly smiled at him. “Not cold enough? I’ve heard you real Aussies like your beer icy cold.”

Jesus, Jack. Get your head out of your pants, will you.

“Want to have a shower?”

Jack dropped his beer. The glass bottle shattered at his feet, splashing his jeans and Holly’s floor with cold beer. “Fuck!” he burst out. “Bloody hell, I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, her gray eyes shimmering silver again as she laughed. “Don’t apologize. I know what long-haul flights can do to a person.” Pulling open a cupboard, she withdrew a roll of paper towel and a dustpan and brush. “Go have a shower while I’ll clean this up. It’ll make you feel much better, and then we can have a conversation and I won’t have to worry about you wrecking the rest of my home. Yes?”

Feeling like an idiot, Jack nodded. A shower, a cold shower was definitely what he needed right now. He needed to get these extremely carnal thoughts about his Good Samaritan host out of his head. Scooping up his backpack in which, thankfully, was a clean pair of boxers and small toiletry bag, he gave Holly an apologetic look.

“It’s okay. Really,” she said, nodding to the hallway to her right. “Now shoo. Second door on the left. Watch out for the faucet. It’s a bit wonky.”

He’d stripped off and was in the shower cubicle, cool-ish water streaming over his body before he realized he hadn’t locked the door, nor located a towel. “Bloody hell.”

All right, Jack. Time to take a reality check. Holly’s not going to come in here and I’m sure there’s a towel hanging on a towel rack within reaching distance. Sticking his head out past the shower curtain, he spotted a thick, fluffy white towel edged with embroidered tiny red berries hanging beside the vanity. See? He slipped back under the water. Towel. Now stop being a moron and enjoy your shower.

He closed his eyes and bent his head forward, letting the invigorating water pour over his head. It felt good. Helped clear his head of the craziness. As soon as he finished, he’d thank Holly for her kindness and find his cousin.

An image of apartment 7C’s occupant filled Jack’s head and, before he could stop it, a groan of appreciation rumbled in his throat. His cock, already semi-erect, twitched, growing thick and long with hot, new blood.

Jack ground his teeth together. Stop it, Jack. Get your head out of the gutter.

But his head wouldn’t listen, and neither would his body. His balls swelled tight with base desire, his breath grew quick. The image of Holly smiling, her grey eyes twinkling with that cheeky merriment he already found intoxicating as she reached for him, her long, slender fingers brushing his jaw, his chest, his stomach, his –

Jesus, Jack. Stop it!

He snapped upright, fumbling for the faucet. Cold water. He needed cold water. A lot of it.

His hands connected with the shower’s unfamiliar tap in a hasty, entirely desperate blow and a violent surge of water struck Jack’s chest. Scalding hot water.

“Bloody hell!” he yelped, leaping backward. His heel skidded on the soapy water beneath his feet and he tumbled, his head smacking the tile wall behind him. “Shit!” he shouted, flailing his left arm about as he grabbed for the back of his head with his right.

And snared the shower curtain instead.

There was a sharp tearing sound, a rapid series of pops, and suddenly the wet plastic sheet came free of the shower rod, tangling around Jack’s arm to throw him completely and totally off balance.

He came down with a crash and a shouted “fuck!” — pain exploding in his head and over his skin as his skull whacked the ceramic tiles and the hot water splashed his naked body.

“Damn it.” Scrambling to his feet, embarrassed frustration making his gut twist, Jack reached for the faucet.

“Are you okay, Jack?”

Holly’s voice made him freeze. He turned his head, watching the bathroom door open. Staring in stunned dismay — and illicit excitement — as Holly stepped into the steam-fogged room.

“Oh.” The soft little nonsensical sound fell from her lips as her gaze fell on him, standing naked, dripping wet and completely exposed by the absence of the now crumpled shower curtain at his feet. She studied him from the doorway. A long, slow and very thorough inspection that finished somewhere south of his naval. Her white, even teeth pulled on her bottom lip and, to his absolute horror, Jack’s body reacted to the simple action.

His cock grew hard. Long. Erect.

Standing frozen in the cubicle, he stared at Holly’s face. “I’m not doing a very good job representing my country, am I?”

Slowly lifting her gaze from his burgeoning erection, Holly smiled. “Oh, I think you are doing a fine job.”

She stepped into the room, crossing the tiled floor on silent, bare feet, her long slender fingers dropping to the buttons of her fly. “A very fine job,” she murmured, releasing the top button, the second, the third.

Jack’s pulse detonated. Unable to move, he watched her undo the last button of her fly and slide her jeans down over her hips, past her thighs. The soft, worn denim pooled at her feet on the bathroom floor, revealing legs just as long as he’d imagined and a skimpy pair of white cotton knickers that made his mouth dry and his balls ache.

He jerked his gaze up to Holly’s face and found her gray eyes smoldering with desire. Without a word, she reached for the tap and stepped into the shower cubicle.

Two things happened immediately. The water’s temperature lowered to a pleasant warmth and Holly’s white T-shirt and knickers became a semi-transparent second skin. Plastered to her exquisite body. Molded to the curve of her hips, her rib cage, the toned flatness of her belly, the upward thrust of her breasts.

Jack swallowed. God, she wasn’t just gorgeous. She was a goddess.

A goddess offering herself to him. A wet, clumsy, lost Australian with a broken heart and a missing cousin.

A moan rumbled in his chest and he raised his gaze to meet hers.

Just in time to watch her step toward him, tangle her fingers in his stringy, damp hair and pull his head down to hers.

***

Now I’m going to be very very horrible.

Leave a comment here about your favourite Christmas surprise. In 24 hours time, FOUR people will receive a free copy of the WHOLE Serendipity 7C.

If you can’t wait 24 hours to see what happens next, you can head on over to Changeling Press and check out Gingersnaps: Serendipity 7C

(See, how’s that for being horrible? I suck you in and then BAM! Sorry ’bout that.)