Nicole R. Locker's Blog, page 4
July 3, 2018
Two Man Red Release Prize Pack Giveaway (ends July 31, 2018)
June 30, 2018
My Top 5 Romance Reads (so far) of 2018
June 7, 2018
#BookReview – Rebel Heir by Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward
June 6, 2018
My Ebook Store is Now Live! #Romance
May 28, 2018
Vlog Episode 01: New and Upcoming Books + Project on #Diversity
April 12, 2018
#BookReview – The Protector: Men of the North Book 1 by Elin Peer
“I can’t wait to meet the women who would inspire two such magnificent warriors to do something this stupid.”
[image error]
The Protector by Elin Peer
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
Wow… where do I even begin?
This book was fantastic. I’ve had it on my TBR list for quite some time, and it took me a while to finally take the plunge, but when it was released recently in Audio, I snapped it up and devoured it in every spare (and possibly not-so-spare) moment I had.
This book is based on a futuristic, almost post-apocalyptic type society (which I seem to really like, judging from how much I also loved In Blood We Trust by Elodie Colt). In this book, Parts of the world that are still inhabitable include the Motherlands, and then the Northlands. In the Motherlands, women outnumber men 14 to 1, but women are no longer attracted to the men who are there, for reasons I’ll let you read for yourself.
Then there’s the Nmen, the Men of the North, where men outnumber women 100,000 to 1. These men are virile, strong, and masculine – everything that men from the Motherlands are not, and the people of the Motherlands have been taught to fear them because of their crude and violent natures. The borders between the two lands are guarded, and no one is allowed to cross them without approval that is not easy to come by.
Now, enter the romance. Historian and Archaeologist, Christina Sanders, volunteers to be sent to the Northlands to excavate for books to preserve history. What she finds there is Alexander Boulder who’s charged by Khan Aurelius, their ruler, to protect her. They clash on so many levels, but the chemistry between them is magnanimous and explosive.
There were so many parts in this book where these two argued over how things ought to be, each with their own, opposing opinions of what was right or proper, and I found myself saying… neither of them are wrong… and how fitting that is in the society we live in now where it seems everyone has such a strong opinion about every stupid little thing.
I loved this book. If 5 stars is the limit, I’d give it a 6, especially with the two who narrated the audio. They could not have done a better job. This is one of those books I can see myself re-reading when I’m in a funk and can’t find anything that speaks to me.
March 27, 2018
Romance Book Club
Do you like reading romance? This might be for you!
I’m so excited to share this with you guys!! A Romance Book Club for lovers of romance reads, to include an online Live Chat at the end of each month to discuss the book, share your thoughts, and hear what others have to say.
Members get to nominate and vote for which books we read each month.
There’s no cost to join. The only expense will be grabbing your copy of the book each month. (Now might be a good time to subscribe to Kindle Unlimited or the Audible Romance Package!!)
So what do you say? Are you in?
February 22, 2018
Don’t Date Dorian – Chapter 2 (#FlashFiction)
[image error]
Two weeks. It’s been two nerve-wracking weeks since that night at Dorian’s – the night we made out like horny teenagers on his living room sofa, high on wine, lust, and his intoxicating scent, while his kids slept soundly upstairs. We parted ways that night with such sweet promise, but since then, the only taste I get is my early morning views of him from my bedroom window.
Maybe I just imagined the intense attraction between us, the unmistakable chemistry, the scorching heat that had both our bodies on fire and aching to take it just a step further, even though we somehow managed to keep it at kissing. Okay, and a little dry-humping. I mean, I was straddling his lap with his strong hands on my hips, guiding my movements up and down, back and forth across the thick, luscious bulge of his jeans. Yes, he drove me crazy with desire, but I hadn’t intended for it to go that far that soon, and when I’d whispered as much against his mouth, he’d put on the brakes, undoubtedly for my sake. Maybe to keep my imagined virtue intact. Who knows?
What I do know is, the taste I had of him wasn’t enough, but I haven’t had a single window of opportunity to construct another run-in, nor has he made the next move. Normally, I wait for the guy to make the first move, so the fact I made the first move in this scenario should tell you just how much I wanted something to happen with this guy. Now that I’ve made the first move, though, I’d be breaking every rule in the book to make the second one.
Who the hell ever liked rules, anyway?
A week ago, I started hitting the treadmill extra hard at my gym, in hopes that I can run into him on one of his morning runs soon and be able to keep up, instead of just watching him like some pathetic, desperate weirdo. Yes, the thought has crossed my mind that he may already think I’m a nut job the way I watch him every morning, but then if that were the case, why would I get that hint of a wry smile and that small wave I get every day from him since our little sample night? Why wouldn’t he run in the other direction instead of past my house, or keep his head down like he doesn’t see me sitting there drinking in the sight of him?
I feel the sharp end of a towel whipping at my butt just as Ashley, my best friend and partner in crime, jumps onto the treadmill next to mine in the brightly lit, near-empty cardio center of our local health club.
“Looking good there, Nic. You’re sweating like a parolee at a drug screen, but your form is on point, sister.” Ashley quips as she punches at the buttons on the dash of her own machine, getting it started.
“Thanks,” I huff out, slowing my speed. I grab for my towel to wipe the sweat from my forehead and back of my neck.
Ashley leans over to get a look at my stats. “Damn, girl. Since when did you get so serious?”
Still panting, I answer, “I’m just trying to be on my game.”
She gives me the side glance. “Yeah, I invented that game. Spill,” she demands.
I give her a sly smile, but instead of answering, I face forward, punch the up arrows to jack the treadmill speed back up to a full sprint, and feeling pretty smooth for having avoided her grilling questions, spare a small glance back at her. I notice she’s giving me that unimpressed eyebrow lift, but there’s no time to worry over it when there’s work to be done and progress to be made.
“Mm-hmm, I see how this is. You know, you can’t run from me forever,” Ashley mumbles beside me. Then, louder, she says, “Hey, isn’t that him?”
Overcome by my sudden curiosity, I turn my head just enough to see where she’s pointing to near the front entrance, my eyes darting from left to right in search of the gorgeous man I call my neighbor. Despite my raging heartbeat already pounding from my sprint, I feel adrenaline pulse through me in heavy spurts, just enough to push my limits and cause me to lose my momentum. I feel my ankles begin to wobble, and before I know it, I catch air, watch the belt of the treadmill beneath me that I’m suddenly somehow parallel to – that can’t be a good sign – and I push my arms out in front of me to attempt to break what I know is going to be a treacherous fall.
As soon as my outstretched hands hit the rapidly moving belt that my feet should be on and not my face, I hear the “Oomph!” escape me when the weight of the rest of my body bears down on my hands that the treadmill, still moving at sprinting speed, sends shooting down the way. When my palms reach the edge of the machine and collapse the several inches down to the floor, it catches me off balance once again and my chin bounces off the edge of the still spinning contraption I’ve now deemed a deadly weapon of mass destruction.
I manage to push myself up the slight amount so the belt won’t continue rapidly rubbing a burn on my chin, and about this time, I begin to notice the shooting pain radiating up my left arm beginning at my elbow.
“Oh, shit, Nic!” I hear Ashley yell in conjunction with the rapid beeps of her hitting the Emergency Stop button on her own machine, then mine, and she hurries to crouch down next to me on the floor.
Panicked that she really did see Dorian come in, and that there was even the slightest chance he just watched me completely and royally bust like that, I look around to see who might be watching and quickly try to compose myself and rise to stand.
“Are you serious? Did you really see him?” I ask quietly, unable to spot him in the crowd of faces who all seem to be staring straight at me. Fantastic.
Ashely works to contain an indeliberate chuckle, covers her mouth with one hand, and shakes her head. “No,” comes her muffled reply.
This makes me angry. Is she kidding me? I just completely busted ass in the middle of the gym like some bad YouTube video and didn’t even have the wherewithal to play it off with a pushup afterward, and it was all from a joke?
“Not cool, Ash. Not cool,” I accuse, using the arm that isn’t throbbing at the elbow at the moment to reach up to cup my chin. Bleeding, of course, and now that I make myself aware of that, it starts burning, too.
She takes the towel hanging from the arm of her machine and tries to approach me with it to help me wipe the dripping blood away as I hear some gym employee, probably a personal trainer of some sort, inch closer and ask if I’m okay. I wave him and her both off with my good hand that’s now covered in chin blood and start making my way to the door.
Ashley follows. “I didn’t know you’d tank like that. I was just teasing you. Wow… I’m really sorry. Seriously, are you okay? Do we need to have someone call a medic to look you over or something?”
“No! No medic. I just need to get home and lie down for a minute.” I start feeling a bit woozy, but I’m certain it’s the heavy dose of reality that hit, or the massive shock of embarrassment I feel at the moment like some kind of public stage fright. I grab my keys from the hook they hang from next to the exit and wipe my hand on the thigh of my workout pants, smearing the blood across the tight, thankfully black fabric before pushing the door open with the same, good hand.
We get outside, Ashley trailing right on my heels, and I try to make a beeline to my car, albeit a crooked one, judging from the way my head is now spinning.
“Seriously, you don’t look so good. Do you maybe need some water or something? Are you sure you should drive right now?”
I lean against my car to steady myself for a moment. My arm is throbbing. My chin burns and blood still trickling down from it has me feeling plain old nauseous at this point. I open my mouth and draw in a breath to push out a rebuttal, but my rebuttal never makes it past my lips. Little dots start forming around the edges of my vision and they start closing in, forming a tunnel that starts going dark.
*
The doors of what look to be the inside of an ambulance open wide, letting bright lights of an emergency room flood my waking vision as I am rolled into a hospital. Oh, my goodness, y’all, could it really get any more humiliating at this point?
I try to sit up, but it’s this moment that I notice my left arm has been stabilized against my side, making it hard to gain the momentum my body needs to do such a menial task as get myself upright, go figure. I feel a big wad of gauze taped to my chin, which I can only assume will be a barrel of monkeys to pull off later – and consequently, I am now kicking myself for not opting to wax my facial hair, peach fuzz though it may be, because that’s going to be a fun time peeling away ultra-sticky medical tape from.
“Nicole? Are you awake? Is she awake?” I hear Ashley call to one of the paramedics wheeling me down a corridor and into a curtained off space in the back area of the ER department.
“I’m awake,” I say groggily.
I see her head pop up next to me as they park me and kick the stopper down on the wheel of my roll-away gurney-bed. I assume her eyes are wide with worry. That is, until she looks over to her left, my right, and my eyes follow her line of sight.
No…
Seriously, no…
Oh, fresh hell, y’all, please tell me I’m still unconscious and having a treadmill concussion-induced nightmare.
“Nicole?”
Yep, if there was any mistaking that gorgeous face and that tall, well-formed body wearing a pair of light-blue scrubs walking directly my way, the sound of his voice would be a dead giveaway.
A nervous chuckle escapes me when my eyes lock on to his. “Dorian…”
Did you miss Chapter 1?
[image error]Read the first chapter here!
February 13, 2018
#FlashFiction – Valentine’s Day Fantasy of a Single Romance Writer
[image error]
There he was. Dorian Le Blanc, the man who played the star role in all my wildest dreams. The hot, recently divorced, finally single dad I’ve been pining away for since he moved in next door two years ago. Two long years, people.
Let me put this into perspective for you. That tall, dark, mysterious, and handsome romance Hero in all the best, steamy, romance novels? Yeah, that’s him. The one with the perfectly messy, full head of dark hair you just want to grab tight, lecherous handfuls of. The perpetual five o’clock shadow you can just tell he could easily grow into a full beard if he ever let it go for a few days. Dark, brooding eyes like deep pools of promising, morning sunrise, like magical telescopes with the power to see straight into your soul. A body like sex in the flesh that’ll have any hetero female crooning Shakira’s “Underneath Your Clothes.” A deep, growly voice, the tone of which shoots hot, aching desire down into all your girly bits. Yep, that’s him.
[image error]
This is a guy who, every morning, before the world wakes, I drag my blankets with me over to my bedroom window and curl up on the bench to lean my head against the pane and watch. Just like clock work, he will emerge from somewhere around the back of his house, and his feet hit the pavement. Heavy sweat pants hung softly from his waist, dark hoodie with the hood covering his head. And he runs.
Voyeuristic as this may be, I can’t help myself. For one, it’s one of the few chances I get to really see him, when he doesn’t know I’m watching. But seeing his physical prowess, his powerful strides, the way his body seems to relax, even amidst the physical exertion. I wonder what kind of struggles must weigh him down so much for the rest of the day that those brief moments in the not-quite-light hours of the morning are the only time I see the strain and worry fall away from his gorgeous face.
Ever since I found out two months ago that he’d filed for divorce – yes, the fight that ensued when he’d apparently broken the news was probably something everyone on our block either witnessed or quickly heard about – I’d been dreaming of ways to somehow, “randomly” run into him. Ask him to hang out sometime. Do people still do that now at our age?
But tonight, I had the perfect idea, and my stomach flutters with nerves just thinking about putting said plan into action.
[image error]
That’s why I’m standing here now in the soft glow of the light on his front porch, seeing the soft outline of him sitting on his living room sofa through the blurry glass of his front door, as I’m holding a bag of takeout in one hand, a paper bag with wine and dessert in the other, and psyching myself up to reach forward and press the doorbell. I waited for the lights to go out in the kids’ bedrooms before walking over, and I know I’m making a bold move here that could go one of two ways – one being a pleasant reward to my courageous gesture, and two being a phone call to a realtor tomorrow.
I channel all the inner Wonder-Woman vibes I can muster and lift the arm holding the wine and dessert, reaching a finger to press the doorbell and seal my fate.
[image error]
My heart begins to pound violently in my chest, and I have to work to keep from rattling the bags in my hands from shaking with nerves, but there I see him stand from the couch and walk this way. Excitement swells in my chest the closer he gets. This is it! The door opens, and his dark, questioning eyes pierce me, his full lips twitching up in the faintest hint of a curious smile.
I smile back. “Hi, I’m Nicole. I live next door.” I look over my shoulder toward my house and then back to him, just in time to see him nod, still clearly confused about what I’m doing here, so I continue. “My date kind of cancelled on me tonight, and I have all this food. I thought I’d come by and share, if you’re up for it.”
Okay, so there was no cancelled date, but it wasn’t really George Strait’s chair, either, and look how that turned out for him.
He looks down at the bags I’m holding, probably smelling the soft aromas of warm food I carry in my left hand, then to the top of the wine bottle poking out of the bag in my right hand. Then his eyes meet mine. “What kind of date stood you up?” he asks with disapproval of the imaginary guy as he opens his door wide and gestures me in.
[image error]
I smell him as I walk past him inside his home, my nerves prickling across my skin as I sense his closeness. He smells so good, like he’s recently showered, and he’s wearing a long-sleeved, cotton shirt with a worn pair of jeans hanging comfortably at his hips. He looks good, y’all, and he smells even better, like pure, sexy man.
“We didn’t really know each other well. I guess something just came up. I didn’t see any reason to let all this go to waste. Do you like braised chicken?” I ask as he takes one bag from me and then the other.
“Usually,” he says. “I’m Dorian. It’s… nice to meet you.” An apologetic smile crosses his lips and gives just the slightest hint of a rosy tint to the apples of his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I guess I don’t know many of my neighbors. I should probably be better about that.”
He motions for me to follow him into the kitchen of his nice, open concept home. I trail behind him, disbelieving of my awesome luck so far, and watch as he lifts the bags onto his counter.
“I understand. You seem like a busy guy. I hope I’m not bothering you,” I offer, and ladies, you know damn well I’m hoping he’s going to tell me I’m not.
“Not at all. I’ve already put the kids to bed,” he replies, and the smile on my face lingers as he begins to unpack the contents of my offerings.
I grab the bottle of wine and hold it up in a silent question to see if he wants some.
[image error]
“Here, let me get some glasses for that,” he offers as I begin to untwist the metal wire caging the cork onto the bubbly brew. He sets the wine glasses down in front of me before taking the bottle and uncorking it with a loud pop and begins to pour.
“Thank you,” I say, smiling like a Cheshire Cat, taking the glass from him. “You know, I’ve wanted to come by and introduce myself for a long time now. I guess the timing just wasn’t ever right.”
“Really?” he asks, sounding surprised. “You should have. It’s a nice surprise,” he admits, and he gives me a look… Y’all know that look – one that says he’s flirting back with me! It sends a rush of excitement through my veins, and it emboldens me to settle into a mindset that this night is definitely taking a turn for the better.
[image error]
We have some light conversation over the impromptu dinner. I’ve just about already fallen in love with the way he laughs, and as I help him clear away plates and glasses, he offers to pour me another glass and move the party into his living room.
“I was just about to settle in and find something to binge-watch on Netflix. You’re welcome to join me… unless you’ve got to get back.” He watches and waits for my response.
I shake my head. “No, I don’t have anywhere else to be tonight. I’m all yours!” And I mean all yours, Dorian Le Blanc.
“Good,” he says, and I swear, I can see a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes that tells me he’s thinking as naughty as I am. I can barely contain the excitement bubbling up and trying to spill over out of my chest.
[image error]
I take my topped off glass of wine and follow him to sit on his sofa. He waits to let me sit down first, and I’m unsure of which seat exactly to take… The end seat? Somewhere toward the middle where I’m closer to him? I want to get closer to him, but I don’t want to come on too strong and end the night way too soon. I err on the side of caution, taking the spot at the end, and he takes the other end but angles his legs toward me and reaches an arm to rest across the back of the couch.
He gets the show going, and we exchange a few playful comments. The next thing I know, we’re both leaning toward each other like we both want to get closer but are both afraid to. Between the dinner, the playful banter, and the chemistry I feel like we’re both feeling between us – at least I hope we’re both feeling and not just me – I decide to engender the bold, courageous woman I know I can be and just go for broke. I straighten in my seat and move my derriere over closer to him.
He watches me move in closer, and I wait to measure his reaction. I’m close enough for him to easily reach out and touch me now, and if he’s going to, now is his perfect opening. He’s quiet for a minute, and I start to second guess myself. Was it too much, too soon? Should I move back over? Should I get up and ask for the restroom to play it off?
[image error]
But then, he reaches to grab my hand and moves in to close the remaining distance between us. He’s staring me in the eyes, and his gaze travels down to my lips that I involuntarily sweep my tongue over in response.
“You smell very good,” he says, his voice even deeper than it had been earlier.
I chuckle softly, caught up in the feel of his warmth wrapped around me. “So do you,” I murmur. I sidle in close to him as his gaze now penetrates mine in the dim light cast by the tv screen neither of us is watching any longer.
“Would you be offended if I told you I’ve been hoping we could meet?” His eyes shift between mine, waiting for the answer, and I can almost feel the wisp of his breath against my face.
[image error]
My own breath hitches at his oh-so-sweet confession, this music to my ears, this food to my soul, and my heart pounds at the thought of making a confession of my own.
“Would you be offended if I told you I didn’t have a date who stood me up?”
Oh, my goodness, y’all. The secret is out, and I hang precariously on the edge of a precipice. He could either grab hold of me or push me over it. Either way, fate is out of my hands now.
I wait for him to say something, anything, as he sits motionless before me, his eyes not leaving mine. Seconds tick by. Shit! Why would I admit this and risk ending it all before it even begins? Why…
[image error]
His lips crash down onto mine, fierce and uninhibited. His hands are in my hair, gripping handfuls and pulling me closer into him. Within seconds, my initial shock wears off, and I lightly moan my appreciation as I kiss him back, my hands gripping tightly on his shirt.
[image error]
His kiss… it’s hungry and needy as his hands trail down my face, brush my hair away from my neck, and slide down the curves of my body, settling at my hips that he locks his fingers onto and guides me up to straddle his lap. Of course, I eagerly oblige, reveling in the explosion of sensations flowing through me with every touch, every finger tip to my skin, every brush of his lips against mine.
*
I wake up the following morning, just before daylight. I look at the soft glow of numbers on my alarm clock and slide out of bed, grabbing the blankets to drag with me to curl up on the bench at the window. I rest my head against the pane and wait.
Thoughts of last night fill my mind, and my heart is giddy at the possibilities. My pulse quickens when I see the familiar rustle of movement and I watch Dorian Le Blanc come jogging around from the back of his house. My forehead presses against the window as I take in the sense of longing, deeper now than it ever has been.
Where this will go? Who knows, but I smile when I see him look up at me and wave.
January 28, 2018
#Vote on the Cover for Big Man Blue
Yesterday, I sent my Newsletter Subscribers a first look at my new cover for Big Man Blue with the opportunity to vote on which one they liked best. Now, it’s your turn to put your vote in!
The differences are fairly subtle, but as you probably well know, the devil’s in the details, baby! So click the one that you would choose… This, or That. (And if you don’t love either of them, seriously, comment below and let me know. I want to get it right!)
THIS or THAT
THIS
[image error] This
THAT
[image error] That
