Liz Crowe's Blog, page 16

Hard Truths. A Missing Brandis & Blair Scene

Hard TruthsA Stewart Realty Extra SceneFrom Good Faith, part 3MAJOR SPOILERS INCLUDED!!!! *****warning********if you have NOT read Good Faith all the way through, please wait to read this scene!
I am not kidding….go and read that last book. Then join me here, as I share a scene that got stuck in my head like a popcorn kernel in my back teeth after a movie….
By Liz Crowe All rights reserved


Brandis Robert Gordon parked the truck a few spaces down from the construction trailer and threw it into park. He’d only had the thing for six months but it already had over twenty thousand miles on it, thanks to the newly expanded scope and range of Keystone Construction’s projects.
He’d wanted it that way. Had spent seven years working in every single area of the place all the way from his initial lowly framing and sheetrock hanging, up through plumbing, and electricity once he got his license for that. God knows the twelve months he made himself run a paint crew nearly killed him, if only from the ghostly memory of a long-lost summer.
But he endured it all—the heat, the cold, the two broken fingers, the lifting, hauling, hammering, nailing, the scraping, painting and running of wires. Now, he was in year two under his Aunt Maureen’s wing, learning the office crap. The sales, the payrolls, the balance sheets, the office politics, and the asshole clients.
No, scratch that, the people who paid his family’s company good money to either build or renovate their homes and offices. They were, at times, assholes. But as his aunt liked to remind him when he’d grumble after they left offices or kitchen tables, he should consider each and every one of them the only reason he had clothes on his back, gas in his car and money in the bank.
Such as it was.
He had figured something out about himself in the past decade. He had more Jack Gordon in him than he had ever realized, or perhaps wanted to acknowledge.  He was good with people. Even the assholes who made endless changes then griped when the foreman presented them with their “change order” that meant they owed more money. Brandis could nearly always soothe them into remembering they had agreed to pay for change orders, back at the contract signing table.
 But he loved nothing more than the days he got to spend one hundred percent on a job site, with a crew, using his hands to earn his living.
Jack had been like that too, Brandis knew for a fact. He figured himself for one of the few people who did know that about his semi-famous father. Brandis smiled into the empty cab, letting pleasant memories soothe him as he recited the AA mantra. Because right now, this morning at nine a.m. what he wanted more than he wanted to breathe, or to make love to his girlfriend, was a drink. A lot of drinks. He could taste it so clearly his mouth was already watering.
He let familiar, soothing images of his father fill his brain. Jack poking around under the hood of one of his cars. Or doing his Sunday fix-it jobs—the garbage disposal, the attic insulation, the leaky bathroom pipe, the squeaky leg chair. Whatever it was, Jack insisted on doing it no matter he had any number of top notch fix it guys at his disposal. “I am not spending good money on shit I can do myself.” Problem was, he was busy at the real estate brokerage or the soccer team or, later, on the campaign trail. It sometimes took him months to get to the leaky faucet. But Brandis’ mother Sara had learned not to nag. She knew from direct experience that if she hired somebody to do the various small jobs out of frustration Jack would lose his famous temper all over the Gordon household.
It was a delicate balance of power, his parents’ marriage—one that had been negotiated over the course of years between two very strong and stubborn personalities. One he did not understand, but respected the hell out of.
 Jack Gordon had been a multi-millionaire, self-made thanks to his savvy sales skills, management abilities and what his family called his “inner cheapskate.”  “He could squeeze a nickel out of a rooster’s ass,” Blair’s father Rob liked to say about him. But Brandis knew the truth about that. Jack would go full frontal fury every time he got the family credit card bill, one that Katie shared while she was in college and that Brandis, briefly, had access to during his short career as college student athlete.
No, do not go there. That particular road is a dead end for you right now. As his Big Book AA meetings reinforced for him: We will not regret the past or shut the door on it. But Brandis wanted to slam it, latch it, pad lock it then burn that mother fucker down while he cheered. But he was not allowed to. It was part of the ongoing, never ending, chattering and coffee-drinking recovery.
And apparently, no matter how much like his father he was relative to his love of tinkering, building and fixing things he was his opposite in that whole “nickel from a rooster’s ass” thing. Money slipped through Brandis’ fingers like excrement through a different large bird. It was one area of his life he had very little control over, for reasons he just couldn’t grasp. He controlled everything else though. Tightly. He was wound so tight and so wedded to his routines that slight variances from them made him batshit crazy. So much that even the concept of a “vacation” with family, friends or his long time girlfriend made him twitchy and nervous. As a result he had not taken any sort of significant, get away break from his routine for the better part of ten years.
He sighed and put his aching head on the steering wheel. The cab was cooling, matching the exterior March air. Why had he driven here today anyway? This job was well underway. He and Maureen had negotiated for half of the lots in a new, upscale Northwest Ann Arbor neighborhood. It was a risk, but Allen and Drew, the guys in charge over at Stewart Realty, his father’s other super successful business assured him: the recovery was the real deal. Time to start building top quality homes for the right prices. “Build them Brandis,” they said. “We will sell them, guaranteed.”
His crew, with a new guy in charge, had already gotten occupancy permits for the two spec houses and were finishing them now. The places were bursting at the seams with the latest in retro, low-profile furnishings, shades of blue, brown and green paint, stainless steel, granite, marble, cork floors and fully outfitted, teen-dream basements.  These were houses for discerning tastes and very big budgets.
He saw the interior decorator lady’s Lexus parked in the driveway of the first house. She was a real go-getter, and hot as shit. Brandis spent a fair number of pleasant minutes in her company, letting her flirt with him. He never lost that edge, he figured. But at times, watching her, the graphic images of what he’d like to do to her, if given half the chance, made him have to turn away distract himself. 
Alcohol was but one of his addictions. He’d had to admit that too, to a whole different roomful of losers.
This past week had been particularly bad. He knew himself well enough by now to acknowledge that it was the late season snowfall they’d gotten over the weekend. The Gordon family had always taken a family trip up to their ski condo for the public school spring break. But he had not gone there since he’d been given the property. He couldn’t face it. He paid a company to rent and maintain it, which allowed him to only think about it the four times a year he wrote a check to said company or when rent money was deposited in his savings account.
“Oh, shit…” he muttered, still frozen in his seat. Memories of Blair’s angry face that morning lingered, reminding him of his ongoing loser-status.
“Brandis, you have to let me handle some of this,” she’d insisted, clutching her coffee cup and staring at her laptop screen full of his bank and credit card accounts. “I mean, I know we only have one account together but…Jesus, honey.” She’d sipped, staring, judging him. Like everyone did. “You can’t…I mean, there’s money to pay this in your trust but…I’m worried that you’re losing control over this.” She gave him that look. The one that made him want to scream and run out of the house, straight to the nearest bar and get blind drunk. The sympathy look. The “Oh, Brandis will never be all right,” one.
Everyone waited, breath bated, whatever that meant, for him to fuck up again. He had not. At least not that “everyone” knew about. The few times he had, he’d admitted it to the one person he truly loved and owed it to, then doubled up his AA and Sex Addicts meetings and moved on. Blair wanted it that way too. “You only answer to yourself. But when you’re doing that, you answer to me. That was our agreement, remember?”
He’d only really messed up one time. It had been a doozy though. And Blair had moved out for a month, leaving him to “think about his commitment to his own recovery,” or some shit. Which he had. It had sucked so bad he knew he’d never put himself through it again.
Yeah, he remembered. He loved Blair. Asked her every other month or so to marry him. Had done so, just last night. She’d refused again. Obviously, even she would never trust him. And why should she? He’d ruined her health, broken her heart over and over again during their teenage years. It was a stone cold miracle she was even anywhere near him, as his best friend—and Blair’s brother—Gabriel liked to tell him on occasion. Much less his “girlfriend.” All in the interest of keeping him grounded, he figured.
“Holy shit,” he nearly jumped out of his skin when a sharp rap hit his ears. Frowning, he looked over, and let his death grip on the steering wheel release. It was her, the hot decorator woman… what in the hell was her name anyway?
He took a breath, grabbed his keys and opened the door, wiping the light sheen of sweat from his forehead. The woman did her usual devour his six foot, four inch, denim and flannel clad form with her huge brown eyes which gave him a quick thrill.Ellie, that was her name.
“Hey, Ellie. What’s up?” He leaned on the truck door, gathering his senses for the day ahead.
“Can you come and look at something with me? I’m not sure but I think the water heating system is busted. And there’s standing water in the basement utility. The Realtor told me she had people coming today so I’m busting my ass to get it ready…” She trailed off, glanced up at him through her lashes, cocked her hip and flicked her long blonde hair over one shoulder. Brandis knew a mating dance when he saw one. He let himself enjoy it. There was no harm in that, was there?
He smiled, pushed up off the truck and led the way without a word. They hovered around the tankless hot water system a while as he did a system check. She leaned over his shoulder, her breasts resting on his arm. His body reacted, like any red-blooded male’s would. He shut his eyes, recited various mantras, opened them and stood up.
She backed away, eyeballing him. Then, before he could blink she had her arms around him, her lips were on his, and those breasts he’d just been contemplating were pleasantly mashed against his body. He grunted as she shoved him back, her small, minty tasting tongue invaded his mouth. He let her do it. Grabbed her ass, gave a split second’s worth of satisfaction to his overworked lizard brain.  It did not help matters when he felt her hand, cupping his cock that now strained against the zipper of his jeans in a sickeningly painful way.
“Stop,” he said, then, pulling her arms from around his neck. “Ellie. I mean it. I’m…”
“Brandis,” she whispered. “Come on…you’ve given me enough hints. Don’t pretend you don’t want it. Let’s fuck,” she said, making him blink and then stare as she whipped off her shirt and stood in her skirt, shoes and tiny bra. Oh dear god give me strength not to, he said to himself. His hands clenched into fists. Hints? What hints? Was that ingrained in his DNA too? The unconscious flirtation with the nearest pretty face or hot body that promised more? Thanks Dad, for that.
His brain fuzzed over again. Blair was being so god damned bossy lately. Her hormones were raging too and she was sending not very subtle signals about how much she wanted to join the ranks of the mommies in their lives. All of their friends and sibs were reproducing like rabbits, in a mockery of Brandis and Blair’s own sterile state. Yeah. Your fault that too, lover boy.
He willed his body to a parade-rest and smiled at the half naked interior decorator, then turned and walked away up the stairs, out into the bracing cold air and into his truck. He hit the phone button on his steering wheel—another thing he had in common with Jack—a love of great vehicles and the toys therein. “Yeah?” Blair said, curt. She was not known for her ability to let go of arguments easily. And he’d not been nice to her. They had not been nice to each other, that morning.
“Meet me at the condo. I need to…we need to talk.” Then he hung up. He knew she’d do it. He’d used his “Brandis needs support” tone. The one his loved ones ignored at their peril.
He parked in the basement, took the elevator to the top floor of one of the five downtown buildings his father owned, that he and his sisters and aunt now did, in varying amalgamations. Jack had sold the building that housed Blair’s parents’ brew pub to Blair’s dad Rob almost ten years ago. He’d told Brandis about it and at that time, Brandis had been in no position to argue or talk him out of it given Jack’s condition and Brandis’ relative precarious position within what remained of the Gordon family structure.
So Jack had accepted a crisp dollar bill from his oldest friend, signed over the deed to him and that was that. Blair now managed the restaurant and the real estate above it. It was one of their ongoing arguments too, what to do with those pretty amazing spaces. Brandis wanted to renovate and sell them. Blair did not.
But this building his sister owned, technically and she let him use the condo at the top. A unit he’d also wanted to sell but that his other sister, the smarty pants doctor, insisted he never do, that it meant too much to their family. He and Blair lived there now, while he and his crew finished her dream house out on Scio Church Road. He unlocked the door, tossed his keys on the kitchen counter and started to call for her.


“Whoa,” he said as the Blair-shaped torpedo hit him in his chest. She was petite, his girl, over a foot shorter than he was. They fit together. Perfectly. And had for a damn long time. She had her arms and legs wrapped around him now and he held her up, cupping her ass and kissing her as he walked her to their bedroom. “Hey,” he said around her lips as she stripped him out of his clothes and he fumbled with hers. “I said…oh…maybe we’ll talk later.” He groaned as she dropped to her knees and took him in her mouth, teasing his balls with her fingernails. The exquisite suction, her tongue and the near danger of her teeth combined to bring him straight to the edge, fast. But he stopped her, pulled her up and stared into her familiar, beloved, dark eyes.
“I love you,” he whispered, his heart in his throat. He would not fuck this up. Ever.
She smiled, tugged him down onto the bed and on top of her. They fit together, he thought as he slid into her body. He wanted no one and nothing else but her. She sighed and wrapped her legs around him, letting him take his pleasure. But then, he stopped again. He was getting good at that. He smiled down at her flushed face. “Want a ride, baby?” he said, his voice hoarse.
She nodded, and squealed as he rolled and pulled her with him. “Now,” he said, settling in to suck at her nipples as she took what she wanted. He liked this position too. It made her come so hard it drew monster orgasms from him as well. This time was no exception. He felt it, hovering around the corner, just as he grabbed her ass once more and ground up against her. The spasms around his cock, her sweet moans, the taste of her flesh in his mouth made him cry out with pleasure.
“I love you too,” she sighed into his neck, their bodies still moving, still connected. “I’m sorry.”
He chuckled then picked her up and settled her into the crook of his arm. “Me too. Hey, will you marry me?”
“Not yet,” she said, her voice slow and sleepy. “But don’t stop asking me.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t. But I can’t nap. I gotta meet the architect in a few…ow!” He grabbed her hand, which had reached over and pinched his nipple. “Fine. Roll over.” She did and he scooped her into his arms and held her close, as close as he could get. Because she was his lifeline and he knew it. “I want a baby too. If that’s any consolation.” He said, his eyes burning suddenly with frustrated tears.
She reached back and touched his face. “I know you do. We’ll talk about it more later.”
“All right,” he said, satisfied but setting his mental clock for thirty minutes. He did have that meeting. But he could wake himself up. Another thing he’d learned from his father.
“I love you Branids,” she said, half asleep.
He kissed her shoulder. “Sleep now. I know you didn’t get much last night.”
But she was already there. He held her, not sleeping, but content. Then got up, covered her, then sat and watched her breathe for a few minutes. Finally, happy, or at least on reset mode, thanks to Blair, he started his day over again. He pondered the ring box he kept in his glove box. And figured it was about time. The house was done. They were already packed and ready to move. She had some kind of overseas beer conference to go to in June, right after they figured they’d be moving in.
 He smiled to himself. He’d make her marry him. Then they’d figure out the baby thing. He was determined to make that happen, to give her that one thing she wanted more than she wanted anything. A goal—those were important to guys like him. So he set it. Blair needed one thing to make her happy. And Brandis' prime directive in life, he'd learned, was to make her happy. It might seem weird, but it kept him focused.
When he arrived at the architect’s office he grabbed his phone and tapped out a text. “Let’s go up to Boyne, a long weekend. I want to ski.”
She replied after about an hour, not acting surprised at his sudden breaking of his own apparent rule against changing the routine. “Sure. Sounds like fun. Do we bring the whole gang?” He pondered that a moment, thinking it would be fun to have his friend Gabe Frietag and his wife Lillian, Blair’s best friend around, along with their little girl Sara. But then he thought better of it.
“Nope. Just us. I want to ski. Then fuck you, a lot, all over the condo. Could get awkward if the rest of the Frietags are hanging around.”

He grinned, tossed his phone in the seat and drove to his office.

Across the Beer Bar With A.L. Parks

Today I welcome self-published author and New Adult reviewer/blogger A.L. Parks to the beer bar



Welcome to my beer bar. What can I pour for you to start? Well, I better try the house specialty while I’m here – Gulo Gulo, please.Aw…so cute when they suck up. Here ya go. My favorite, I will join you…whoops! I can't. I'm going alcohol free for at least a month. My liver was complaining too much at the end of the year.
So, self-publishing...tell us about that choice. Do you recommend it for everyone? Why or why not?
I ventured into self-publishing a bit impulsively. I wanted to publish, but was very disheartened by the process of traditional publishing. Specifically, I hate writing query letters, and waiting months to be rejected. I had a fellow author and friend help me learn the ins-and-outs of self-publishing, so I went for it.
Would I recommend it for everyone? Not just no, but hell no. It is a lot of work. Self-publishers are responsible for 100% of all aspects of publishing; cover design, book formatting, finding a reputable editor that shares your vision, what outlets to publish through, purchasing paperbacks and then selling them. The worst part for me is marketing. I hate marketing. It takes up a huge part of my day. I feel like I am constantly on Facebook and Twitter. My daughter helped me set up Instagram, which I like because it posts to FB and Twitter – two birds, one stone. I would love to have a marketing department that reminded me a couple times a day to post something on all the social media sites, find blogs and reviewers for my books, just generally get the word out. Until that day, I am trying to keep up.
There is also that little dream I think all authors have – walking into a bookstore and seeing your book on the shelf. Not going to happen with self-publishing, as it stands right now. Some smaller, indie booksellers may take a chance on self-published authors, but the biggies (cough – Barnes & Noble) will rarely look at a self-published author until an author is picked up by a publisher.
There are benefits – you are in control of everything - when to publish, what to publish. And it is seriously fun to hit the PUBLISH button. You also get 100% of the profits.
Yes, well unless you are Hugh Howey I guess. I still don't quite get how that guy's series got so much play and then picked up, big time. Anyway…trust me when I tell you that "a publisher" is no answer either. Having a small publisher definitely helps with some of the back end editing/formatting/uploading/therapy/blog tours/reviews work but you are still 100% on your own with marketing and reminding yourself to tweet and otherwise annoy people with your non-stop promoting (I know this for a fact).
Tell us a bit about your first book.
I published Strangers on my 45th birthday, this past September. It originated from a prompt challenge that I participated in last January (and am doing again this year). I cannot remember what the prompt was, but Abby and Bryce came to life and never really let me go. It went from a 300 word prompt to a 3,000 word short story, then to the full-length novel. I added about 23,000 words two weeks before it published. Nothing like getting it in just under the wire.
The story deals with how two people grapple with tragic loss in their lives. Abby’s fiancé was killed in a car accident on their wedding day. Nightmares of saying good-bye to him in her blood soaked wedding dress are a near-nightly occurrence, even after four years. She meets Bryce, who lost his wife to cancer, and is still grieving for his soul mate after five years. Abby and Bryce understand each other’s grief, and help each other through the ups-and-downs of daily life. It’s not long before they become best friends, and, inevitably, start to develop deeper feelings for each other.
That leads to other issues of guilt and fear, and how they navigate those waters.
Oh look! empty glass, what can I pour for you next? ‘Tis the season…better go with the Wolverine Winter.Sorry, we're out of that. But I have this lovely version of same, aged in bourbon barrels.
You also have a blog where you review "new adult" books. You and I have had some discussion about this concept before. Do you consider your books "NA"? If not, what genre are they? What is the whole "NA thing" anyway, to your mind, based on the reviewing and interaction with authors you have had?
My books are more contemporary romance, and do not fall within the New Adult/Coming of Age genre. Strangers would probably be the closest novel that would fit in that category, because they are the youngest characters I have in my current stories. But that is about as close as it comes to being a new adult novel. The characters are hardly coming of age, at thirty. And I do not have an over abundance of sex scenes. In fact, I was told by one editor that I needed more sex in it – I think she made that suggestion in every chapter.
And, unfortunately, I fear that is what is beginning to define the new adult genre. What was once a promising sub-genre of romance seems to have morphed into “first love erotica.” I think there are still some excellent authors that hold true to the original format of the new adult novel. Amy Harmon’s newest release, Making Faces, blew me away. It was a coming of age that had intense sexual tension, and engaging intimate moments – but the characters never actually have sex through a graphic sex scene. I was amazed at how powerful the story was, and never once missed the lack of three or four pages of sex scenes. Don’t get me wrong, I’m good with 3-4 pages of sex in a book. But when the book is just one sex scene linked to the next with a story thrown in every once in a while, it can get a bit repetitive. There are only so many ways to have an orgasm before the reader is bored and skipping over it. My best friend skipped half the sex scenes in the last two “Fifty Shades” books. According to her, there are only so many times you can read about how they had the most earth-shattering orgasm, at the same time.
I think in the future there will be another shift in New Adult, perhaps a sub-category of New Adult (because that wouldn’t be confusing at all) that will separate the traditional NA from this new hybrid of borderline erotica for the young adult. I think there are many authors that write the coming of age novel as erotica, but do not want to be labeled as an erotica author. That is what we are dealing with now – this unknown of what type of NA the reader is actually going to get when purchasing a book. Is it a coming of age novel, or does it skirt the erotica line?
Who are some authors who inspire you and why?
I love no-nonsense, no apologies authors. They write the story they want to write, give the good with the bad, and make the reader love and hate and love their characters. They also make the reader question where the lines of acceptability are, as they are usually blurred. Leah Raeder, Unteachable, scared the crap out of me, because I have a daughter who is a senior in high school – and of the age of majority. I wasn’t sure if I could handle a teacher/student romance, but she did a phenomenal job. Amy Harmon, as explained earlier. I also like Ryan Winfield’s style, and never thought I would become so engaged in a “cougar” storyline, but Jane’s Melody was a truly beautiful story of a woman grieving her daughter by learning about how to love again – with a man her daughter’s age. Again, not something I thought I would have enjoyed, but loved it. And, of course, you fall in that category (really not trying to blatantly kiss up). I read Paradise Hops, and after I got over wanting to kick your ass, I could appreciate your style of story telling. You were different than any author I had read (up to that point), and the first author I ever contacted for an interview. Again, no-nonsense, no apologies, take it or leave it. Probably why Good Faith didn’t make me want to kill you or myself.
well, you redeemed yourself at the end there, I won't kid you…kidding! (maybe)Oh, and I love a decent cougar story myself.
And your most recent release, what is that about?
The Return was released on December 6th this year, and is a Christmas romance. It has now become a three-book series. I actually wrote this last year, and dragged it out of mothballs, re-worked the crap out of it, and published it in time for Christmas.
The characters are older, and have had life experiences. There are a ton of books out there that deal with first love in the twenty-something sect. I barely remember my twenties, so I write about characters I can relate with, and hope I can find a market for them.
The Return takes place in Colorado over Christmas. Eve has returned to the family vacation home in the hopes of selling it. It is the place where she and her husband would take their two daughters every year to celebrate the holidays. It is also the place where she found out that he was leaving her for a younger woman. Her children are grown, and no one seems to want to travel to Colorado any longer, so she decides to sell.
While there, she meets Jake, her handsome neighbor. The two discover they have a great deal in common, and become involved. The problem is – Eve does not believe in love or happily ever after, and plays the relationship off as a fling. Jake believes he has found “the One” and tries to convince Eve to stay in Colorado. Both of their insecurities and demons of past failed relationships rear their ugly heads, and make it impossible for them to see what the other is saying.
I think that is life. We are all self-absorbed, and sometimes fail to see what others are dealing with, or have the ability to truly understand what they may be going through that makes it impossible to move on. Jake is so wrapped up in feelings of never being good enough, that he cannot see that Eve feels she is unworthy of love. This is just their journey through those murky waters of issues leftover from divorce.

Ok, nightcap time. What's your poison?
In honor of Jake Wright from The Return, I’ll have his favorite - two fingers of Macallan 25. Damn. And you were doing SO WELL! Remember, NOTHING BUT BEER HERE. Have some water, you should hydrate anyway.
Thanks so much for having me. It has been great spending time with you and your readers.
About A.L. Parks:Born and raised in the Rocky Mountains, A.L. Parks has spent the last 25 years moving all over the United States. Married to the Navy - well a man in the Navy - Parks has lived in various places throughout the United States. Now she resides in the Washington D.C area, and loves every minute. She has four children, and one spoiled German Shepard.
2013 marked her debut in publishing. Her first novel, Strangers, released on her 45th birthday. She was amazed at how many people fell in love with a story about two people dealing with grief, and finding love again. Abby and Bryce were the perfect couple to introduce Parks as an up-and-coming author.
Her second novel, The Return, released in December 2013. A wonderful Christmas romance, it is the first book in a series. Book Two is set to release in Spring 2014.
Links to find her:website: www.alparksauthor.comFB: www.facebook.com/ALParksAuthorTwitter: almparks2012 

Buy links: AmazonStrangers: http://goo.gl/UyYM0mThe Return: http://goo.gl/Pg0TA0


Carry on folks. Liz

Wrong Place. Wrong Time. The Serial Continues. The Plot…thickens.

Who's missed Lucas and Alexa? Raise your hand….c'mon….you know you are dying to know what's happening next in this particular sexy suspense story ….
Welcome back to the Liz Crowe Serialized Novel Project:
Wrong Place. Wrong Time
Catch up with the links below….

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3 
   
Part 4

Now….let's see what these 2 are up to now, shall we?

CHAPTER SIX


Alex woke with a start, sitting straight up in bed, sheet clutched to her neck as the nightmare faded, slowly, smoky tendrils of it wafting around in her brain long enough for her to remember it and have to bite her lip to keep from screaming. "Kristin," she whispered, wiping the sweat that beaded her upper lip. "Jesus." She flopped back onto a pile of pillows, heart slowing some, but still so loud in her ears it deafened her. Covering her eyes with one arm, she groped the side table for her phone on autopilot.

"No, remember, we said 'no devices.'" The low voice startled her. She sat again, staring around and realizing this was not her bedroom. It was Jay's. Oh shit. Right. She'd had to carry on the charade after the quick and dirty in the conference room. His eyes were narrowed at her a little too much once he regained his composure, zipped up and realized his phone was not where it was supposed to be. 

Forcing herself to smile at the bastard…the very handsome, very fit, very naked and aroused bastard…she feigned a scream when he yanked the sheet off her equally naked body. Of course, his phone had been on the floor, where Lucas had shoved it under the door of the conference room so it had been a non-issue, more or less. But she knew Jay's body language, the way his shoulders stiffened and frown line deepened as he looked around for the damn thing. The distinct sensation of "he knows I know" had nearly made her pass out at that moment. So she'd ad-libbed like mad, and insisted they come back here, to his place, where she very rarely ever slept over.

The nightmare disappeared in a whirl of flesh, lips, fake moaning and a very real burst of orgasmic energy at the end, thanks to a fantasy of Lucas doing to her what Jay was doing. Once they were spent, she got up and ducked under a strong, nearly scalding hot shower, her hands propped on the expensive tile wall, trying to get her head around what in the hell she could possibly do to get away from him today. It was Saturday, the day they would usually go out to an expensive dinner. But if she had to be around the lying asshole another minute she would scream.

She had it again then--the flash image of her daughter, held hostage by some unseen entity. Her huge blue eyes had been full of tears. A dirty rag covered her mouth. Until someone yanked it off and she'd stared right at Alexa, begging her…please…for…what? God damn it. She grabbed Jay's shampoo and tried to force the whole thing away, to wash it off in a vigorous scrub. By the time she'd finished, and stood wrapped in a huge, soft, towel, Jay appeared in the doorway, dressed in work trousers, a crisp blue shirt, open at the neck. He was frowning at her, fastening his bulky expensive watch. 

She pretended to look unhappy that he was apparently leaving her in favor of a Saturday at the office. Her body felt raw, exposed and sore and her nerves were jangling so loud she was surprised he couldn't hear them too. She needed to talk to Lucas, to see him, be soothed by him.

No. He's not yours either. He's just trying to help you sort out this fucking mess Jay is drawing you into. 

"Ok you sex fiend you," Jay's face had relaxed into a smile by the time she focused on him again. "I need to take a few meetings with the team in the Emirates. At the office." His voice sounded a little tight, forced. She batted her eyes at him, as her brain registered that the Emirates meeting was not on her calendar until Monday. Ok. So, he's trying to escape you. Probably needs to transfer more company money into your bank account, remember?  "I guess it's probably too much of a good thing to expect you to be here, just like this, when I get back?" He trailed a finger across her damp shoulder, pressed his lips to her neck, making her shiver. 

"Yes. It is. I have a ton of stuff to do too, but I'll work from my home office." She assured him, letting him kiss her and having a fleeting moment of "what if." They guy was a class-A lover, rich, powerful. Why did she reject him anyway? Oh. Right. He's a serial cheater. Once he has you, he'll be off stalking his next prey, remember? "See you…around." She molded herself to him then stepped away, winking, as she walked out into his bedroom to locate her clothes. 

*****

"Lucas? Baby?"

Ebru's voice was soft, silky, just like her pussy. Lucas groaned and rolled over, pulling the pillow over his head. He was such a shit head. He should never have let her stay. She was getting pretty territorial about him, he could tell. Stopping by his desk a lot during the day, lingering, letting herself touch him. This whole set up thing he had concocted with Alexa was going to put a real dent in Ebru's efforts to mark him as hers.

"Mmmm…." she said, cradling him from behind, letting her hands roam up and down his bare torso, linger at his hardening nipples, then reaching low and stroking his half-hearted morning wood to full attention.  He kept his back to her, hating himself, but letting her tease and tug at him until he was about to blow. Then he rolled fast, pinned her arms up over her head and plowed into her hard. She cried out, wrapped her legs around him and let him do what he wanted. He came, his brain a muddle of lust addled guilt--he was not the sort of guy to take and not give. And frankly, he pictured Alexa beneath him the whole time, taking him and yelling his name.

He fell down beside her, pulled her into his arms. "Sorry," he muttered into her lavender-scented hair. "That was pretty selfish of me." 

She snuggled in close, which made him want to smack her. She should not take that sort of bullshit from him. "It's okay baby." Running her hand up and down his arm she finally tilted her face up to his. She was a knock-out by any man's standards. And nearly as insatiable as he was. A nice match. What was his problem? "I like it hard sometimes. I like knowing you need me so badly you…just take me."

He nodded, suddenly needing a lot of distance from her. After kissing her lightly, he disentangled and hit the shower, willing her to take the hint and scram. "I need to head in for a few hours," she called out. "Got to get ready for the Prague presentation." 

Lucas sighed in relief but he pretended to look sad when she opened the shower door and leaned in for a good bye kiss. "Prague?" he asked, feigning half interest. Then his brain clicked in, shaking off the post orgasm cobwebs. "That's not for a couple of months. What's got to be done this early?" 

"Oh," she waved a hand then turned to his sink and swished her mouth out with some mouthwash. He turned off the water and grabbed a towel, admiring the lovely heart shape of her ass. "You know, the usual grunt research for the power point gods." A vague answer, to match the vague look in her eyes he caught over her shoulder in the mirror. 

"Oh. Okay. Well, I'm gonna head to the gym I think. My boss is working from home today so I get to play like it's a real Saturday for a change."  

Ebru turned and shot him a pointed, very odd look. Lucas' skin prickled in alarm. "Think they'll do it?" she asked, as she pulled on some slim black jeans and fastened her barely-there bra. Lucas cast around for what she possibly be talking about. "You know. Your boss lady and the big man?"

"Uh, not sure what you…" He used the excuse of drying his hair and face to break eye contact with her. 

"You know…will she be the next Mrs. Jay Boss Man?" 

Lucas grunted in surprise at the feel of Ebru's hand on his flaccid dick. It sort of hurt. "Hey, watch it. Don't damage your toys like that." But something about it felt…good.

She stood close, their lips nearly touching.  Her silk covered breasts grazed his bare chest. The first feeling Lucas had was the opposite of turned on. "Just remember something, baby." Her accent deepened as her lips and teeth trailed down his neck. He stood, frozen, his cock still her her tight grip and, damn the thing, staring to respond. He stood still, trying not to shiver. "Alexa is out of your league." She bit then, hard, right where his neck joined his shoulder. He now had a full on raging erection. He gulped. "I know how you like it Lucas. She never will." She lapped at the bite mark, then kissed him, shoving her tongue into his mouth and giving his hard on a few strokes before stepping away, winking and walking into the bedroom.

The tattoo he liked to lick when they were doggie style--the image of a snake that trailed across her upper back--was sinister. A sudden image hit him--Ebru with a whip, in high heels, using her teeth on him. Jesus man. Since when are you into that shit? His body jangled with need though, in a direct contraction to his brain.

Lucas watched her go, still gripping the towel, his head clanging with warning signals, and his dick ready for action. Oh boy. For the first time in a while, he thought he just might be in over his head. He heard her click her way down the hall, open the door, shut it. The he lunged for his phone, needing to talk to Alexa and reassure himself she was okay. But really, just to hear her voice and force the terrifying images of him begging to be topped by the lovely Ebru out of his mind. That was one distraction he definitely did not need.





to … be…continued…..

New Year's Day: A Stewart Realty Short Story

Happy New Year!
Love, Liz


New Year’s DayA Stewart Realty Short StoryBy Liz Crowe All rights reserved12/31/13


I never, ever, ever considered myself that girl. You know, “that” one.. the “other” one. Nope. I’m The One, plain and simple. Well, I was, until recently I suppose.
It’s snowing again. I sip tea and stare out into the near white-out occurring right outside my condo window. The tear that slips down my face surprises me. Then pisses me off. I swore I would not do this. Jesus, it was over half a year ago for Christ’s sake. I gotta stop acting like the loser teenager without a prom date. Get a grip on yourself girl, seriously.
Turning from the window, I march back into my kitchen, set the still half full cup down on my granite counter with a firm thunk.  I brush off the urge to picture his face, under the cup, where I’d just as soon break the god damned thing as look at him.
No. No. No. Stop it. You have work to do…a website to update…a blog to fuck around with…pictures to upload….clients to farm. You do not need to be thinking about him still. I jump when my phone bleeps with an incoming email. Frowning, I pick it up, already forcing my traitorous thoughts away from the man who dumped me and onto the work I should be doing…for him. Given he is still my boss and all.
Sighing, I flop onto the couch and scroll through the emails that have been filling up my inbox in the last few hours I’ve been pouting. Buyers, sellers, people trying to sell me new leads, new lead generations, new this’s and that’s. Fucking asshole. He’s still there, right behind my eyes, voice in my ear, telling me what I needed to hear.
“That’s it Shannon. There. Now. Isn’t that better?”
Those words, spoken barely above a whisper in his rough, raspy, distinctive voice still have the power to move me. I jump up and start pacing, clenching my jaw and berating myself for being such a naïve sap. He was never yours, Simon. You knew that going in. You claimed it was fine. And you told him as much when he cut you loose for her. Now, are you going to claim that was all a lie?
“Yes,” I choke out, and let the tears fall, and lean my forehead against the cold front window glass.  I can feel him, taste him, smell him—him and his leather, metal, cotton and commands. Dear Jesus but the man found every submissive button I posses and pressed them, hard, within, like, an hour of meeting me at the club.
“Fuck!” I whirl, glaring around for my phone, recalling that I had an invite for tonight’s session if I wanted it. I’d been avoiding The Suite since…since the last time I went there with Him. The man I honest to god thought was the One—Mine. That I would be His, forever. We fit together in ways I figured only existed in romance novels—that should have been my first warning. Nothing ever works out like that. Ever.
I should just go there. I needed to purge him, to jump back into the club scene. I had been fine doing that, once. I knew it would be tough, but it had to be done. I set my jaw, hit “reply” to the invite with a positive RSVP then pulled on my running shoes, tights, shorts and layers up top. I needed air. I needed space. I needed Jack. But he was no longer mine. He was with her, where he belonged. And you…you were a convenient diversion, a willing submissive, someone he could practice on, hone his skills, use. Like a fucking Kleenex or condom…or…
Stop. It. You know he didn’t view you like that. He’s talked to you plenty since and you claim you are just fine and wish him the best. You’ve ooed and ahed over that stupid baby when he brings him around. You are nice to Sara. You have no choice. But you have got to start living the words you are claiming as truth. That, or leave Stewart Realty so you don’t have to see the damn man every fucking day of your life. But you won’t ever do that, will you Shannon? Oh no. Not seeing him would be, in a way, worse. You have to lay eyes on Jack Gordon every single day or you might stop breathing.
The run was brutal, but I needed it. I only wiped out once on the snowy sidewalks. Landing hard on my ass, biting my tongue hard enough to make it bleed really did a lot to clear my head and make me anticipate what I needed—a session at The Suite. One that would clear memories of Jack out of my head once and for all.
“As if that’s going to happen Shannon,” the inner, weaker me kept whispering as I trudged home, lips frozen and eyes streaming with tears. “You will never be over him. He was Your One. Your Master. The one man who fucking GOT you. And you lost him. Why keep trying?”
I ignored it best I could as I showered, then sat down in the tub and watched it fill. Mesmerized by the way the water poured into the tub, unable to stop remembering his hands and lips and tongue and that god damned voice, that thing he used better than anything on me. Used to soothe, to command, to possess me. The steam swirled around me, the smells of the light, lavender oil I used filled my nose and I laid back on the bath pillow with a warm cloth over my eyes, trying like hell to imagine a new man, tonight.
After about ten minutes I was sweaty and pissed off, horny as hell and more in need of him than ever. God damn that fucking self-centered asshole. God damn me and my need for him, right now. I could practically hear him, taste him right this minute. “Stop it!” I screamed, startling even myself. “Stop it right now!” I sobbed then, really let lose like I hadn’t ever, yet.  “Jack you fucking….oh… shit.” I hiccupped, got up, and wandered into my bedroom, feeling marginally better for the emotional waterworks.
I was not a crier. Never had been.  I was tough, in control, knew what I liked, what I wanted and it included being dominated in the bedroom. I loved bondage, craved the exquisite pain of nipple clamps and tights ropes on my wrists and ankles. I wanted the sweet bite of the flogger and the whip. I don’t know when I got this way but it had grown totally out proportion the few months I spent as Jack Gordon’s submissive—his girlfriend, I suppose. While he pined for the woman he was now married to. 
Ugh. You are such a loser.
I grabbed a leather skirt and sheer silk blouse from their hangers, put them on, slapped some makeup on and slid my feet into sky high expensive leather pumps. Not even bothering to do a quick mirror check, I ran a brush through my hair and let it flow around my shoulders without bothering with my usual hour or so coiffing efforts. Fuck it. I don’t care. I need to get laid. Hard. The way I wanted it. I’d get that for sure tonight. Hell I might take on two Doms. If that didn’t work it out of me, I don’t know what would. Nothing would, probably.
What a depressing thought.

                                    *****
The place was the same as always; subdued music, classy furniture and art and flowers and odors of leather mixed with a subtle underlay of something…else. Something that sent a jolt of emotion straight through me when the elevator doors slid open at the top floor of a mostly abandoned Detroit building. The Suite, owned by Kyle Summerlin, former NFL star turned super Dom and rich mother fucker if the popularity of this place was any indication.
Unwanted and aggravating tears sprang to my eyes. God damn it, I will not let Jack turn me in a weepy mess. I squared my shoulders, flicked my hair back and strode into the foyer, slamming straight into a wall of memories so strong, so fucking real they made me gasp and stumble. Jack…this place had him all over it, like he’d imprinted himself on me via this space. I had the get the hell out of here. Now.
My skin tingled and flushed hot as I turned and started back towards the now closed elevator doors. Escape. I had to escape. I would never purge him. I should just face that hard fact now. I deserved this, and nothing more.
“Shannon?” A low voice spoke, but I ignored it, hitting the down button through a haze of tears. My heart pounded so hard it hurt. I bit my lip. “Hey, I didn’t expect to see you…here again.”
I turned and glared at him, Kyle, Jack’s friend. The asshole who had thrown us together, had forced me to … no, he didn’t force you to do anything any more than Jack did. You chose this. You chose him that night. You chose all of it. Including this moment. This moment which, as I looked at him in his dark blue suit, crisp white shirt and red tie over what I knew must be a kick ass body coalesced all of a sudden.
 “I need…you.” I ground out through gritted teeth. He blinked. It was so comical I couldn’t help but smile, but I knew it must not be a pleasant looking thing. He frowned then and crossed his suited arms over his wide chest.
“Explain.” He said.
I stood up straighter, flung my hair back, stuck my tits out and cocked one hip. I knew my own power over men. He blinked again. Yes. That. “I need to be topped. Hard. And I am pretty sure you,” I pointed in his direction, knowing better than to touch him,   “are the only man in this building up for what I need tonight.”
He cocked a dark eyebrow and let his eyes trail down my body, taking me in, sizing me up, deciding.
“Please. Sir.” I said, dropping my gaze to the floor at his feet. “I need your help.”
He grabbed my elbow and shoved me into the hall off the foyer. I’d never been down this one before. My mind started to clear, just a little. I had not come here with a mind toward having one of the most well-known BDSM Masters around take me as his tonight. But the second I saw him, I knew it was what I wanted. The hall was pitch black. I stumbled but Kyle’s hand on my arm kept me from falling. Thank God. Thank God. Thank…
He shoved me against a door with a harshness I did not expect. His lips were so full, so different, yet so wonderful on mine. He shoved his tongue between my lips, making me take it. I forgot myself for a minute, and went with what felt right—wrapping my arms around his neck, going up high on my tiptoes to reach him, and pressing my whole body against his. He was much bigger than Jack, broader, taller, more muscular—just like you’d expect from a pro football player. Just as I was settling into the gloriousness of the make out session in the dark he stopped, stepped back, so far I could only see the strange grey color of his eyes. They were not pleased looking.
“I want you Shannon,” he stated, his soft accent like a balm to my aching soul. “But..” He stopped, and looked away from me. I bit back the impulse to beg, to go down on my knees and plead with him. He captured my eyes again with his gaze. “I want all of you. Do you understand? I’ve wanted you since the first day I laid eyes on you, a year and a half ago. I’m not sure I can stop myself if I…if we…” He gulped.
“But…why didn’t you, I mean, you know that first time, when I came up here and you put me on the stage in front of…of…” I did my own gulp, sucking a big breath of air trying to reconvene my senses.
In a second he was back in my space, filling every sense I had. I felt myself melting slowly, inexorably, perfectly. His huge hand cradled my face. “You were his then. I could tell. But now…” He kissed me again, like a lover, making me moan and press against him. He broke away. “Now, tonight. You will be mine, finally.” He leaned to one side, flicked the door open I’d been leaning against and pushed me inside. “Strip.”
The room was dim but not dark. I could make out a huge bed, and nothing else, no cross, no bench. My hands shook but I did as I was told. I was fairly humming with need. I could smell my own lust and his…it was deep, dark and a little scary. But I wanted it. I required it so I could move on. Or…something.
“Put your shoes back on,” he said, that syrupy British accent hitting me low and making me shiver. “And stand there. I want to look at you.”
I did as I was told again. Standing, legs slightly spread, hands at my sides, letting the light above me show him what he wanted. “You are perfect,” he said, making me smile. I could hear metal clinking and my libido rose to meet it. He was behind me now, still talking as he reached around and caressed my breasts, cradled them in his huge hands, stroking my nipples to erect peaks. Then he clamped them, gently, making me moan and nearly topple over. “Shh…shh….my dear….it’s fine.”
He lifted my hair, pressed his lips to my neck again and again, then fastened the collar there. It was scary for a second, then it was fine. I knew I would be safe here, with him.
“Now Shannon, fall back.”
I hesitated. I’d stopped in the middle of the floor. If I fell...
“Why are you waiting?” His voice was loud, not whispery like Jack’s. It demanded. I obeyed. My body dropped into a sling-like hammock made of butter-soft leather. “Better.” He said, disappearing into the gloom again. I shivered, waiting for him to return.
When he did, it was between my legs, which he shoved apart and then nibbled his way up one, latching onto my clit long enough to make me squeal. Then he moved up the other leg, teasing, biting some, including on my sex, hurting me but in way he knew I wanted, that I needed. Then, he was gone again, leaving me breathless, panting, and on the edge of a monster climax.
He pulled me up then, turned us, then sat, and draped me over his lap. I squirmed in anticipation, the nipple clamps bit hard, the collar was hard against my larynx. “You are such a bad girl Shannon,” he said, his voice low now, but still at a conversational decibel level. His huge hands passed over my ass, my back, my shoulders, tangled up in my hair then back down. “Coming in here, telling me what to do. Tell me to take you as if you got to make that call. I never do this anymore, did you know that? This room,” he kept up his end of the conversation as if I were not draped over his lap, bare-ass naked and ready to come all over the place. “I never use it. Not since…” He stopped talking. The room was quiet but for the hiss of the heater. I stayed still.
The sensation of his palm hitting the flesh of my ass was sheer perfection. He did it without speaking, once, twice, three times. Then I lost count. “Come for me Shannon,” he commanded. I obeyed. Then the white space descended, finally shutting out Jack, shutting out everything but Kyle, his hand and his voice.
In a daze, I felt him turn me over, cradle me to his huge chest as he unclamped my nipples, putting first one, then the other in his mouth and making my back arch in the agony/ecstasy combination I forgot how much I missed. He was gentle now, crooning to me, caressing me as he laid me back on the bed before standing up and looming over me. I stared up at him. This was not my usual. I went in for much more than this. I required whips, bondage, harsh commands, much more than just…this. But I was already ready for him. I wanted him, just him.
“Please,” I heard someone whisper before realizing it was me. “I need you.”
“I know,” he said, stripping out of his jacket, tie, shirt, and trousers. “I know exactly what you need Shannon.”
Starting at my feet, he massaged and caressed and loved his way up my legs slowly bringing every single inch of me to attention. He lapped at my sex, drew my clit into his mouth, sucked and bit just a little. I gasped, feeling the collar’s clamp around my neck. He kept moving up, kissing, licking, biting his way up my torso, paying attention to each aching nipple then my fingers, hands, arms and shoulders.
By the time his lips found my neck I had both legs wrapped around his hips and could feel his erection hard and hot next to me. I had never felt this way. Ever. It was sublime. A bit of white space, romance, eroticism and pure raw need for the man’s cock inside my body. I could sometimes go entire sessions without actual penetration, had been known to come so hard, so many times at the end of a well-handled whip or flogger I had nothing left and my Dom of the night would have to masturbate to his own release, usually across my tits or my ass as I lay, drained and satisfied.
Jack changed that dynamic for me. He never had to whack off to finish. He was always inside me…somewhere. But it was in a way that was more urgent, more animalistic than what I was feeling now. This felt…slow, and easy and perfect. Like I could lie here with Kyle’s huge body over mine, his lips fluttering around my flesh, his cock poised, ready to enter me for hours, days…weeks. “Shannon.” Kyle’s voice was rough now, harsh. His muscular arms shook in way that I knew was not from exertion. “Open your eyes and look at me.”
I obeyed him. What I saw there shocked me to my very soul. The sort of emotion most men hide from you, sometimes their entire lives was etched in his face, was clear in his eyes. I gasped, an involuntary sound I regretted. He dropped down beside me, taking his warm body with him, making me whimper. I had screwed up.
But he kept touching me, cupping my breasts, trailing his large fingers along my stomach, teasing my sex and my upper thighs then touching them to my lips.  He sighed and flopped back, leaving me lying there confused. Finally after what felt like an hour of silence I sat up, quivering with frustration. I wanted him so badly but just…sort of vanilla right now. He would never go for that.
He unfastened my collar. It made a soft thud when it hit the floor. I stood, shaking, hoping he would call me back. “You should go.” He said instead. “I was not what you needed tonight. I’m sorry. I never should have brought you in …here.” His voice broke a little on the last word but I kept my back to him until he allowed me to turn. “Go out to the main room. I’ll find someone more able to take care of your needs.” His voice was so flat. Tears threatened again. I shook my head, got redressed and left the room, got on the elevator and into my car while holding my breath. I sat behind the wheel of my expensive car, shivering, furious with him, with me, with all of this shit.
                                                *****
The next day was a new year. A year I had to get my shit together, personally or I was going to spin out of control. I woke on the couch, my face stuck to the damp leather, my head pounding from a stupid hangover. Yeah. A whole bottle of wine on a nearly empty stomach was a bad idea. At least I passed out before I drunk dialed or texted him.
The hot shower felt great but my stomach rolled, greasy, and pissed off at me. I stood there until the giant hot water heater emptied then wrapped myself in one of my favorite ratty robes and ancient slippers, my hair turbaned up in a towel. Tea. Water. A nap. All of the above. In that order. I winced in the light of the kitchen’s glare. My jaw hurt. I put my hand to it, realizing I’d been clenching it since I woke up. Passing a hand across my front, the ghost of the nipple clamp pain made me shudder, then frown, then want to scream, or cry. Damn men.
I dropped into a tall seat at my kitchen bar, slumped over the steaming, minty tea and moped, cried some and tried to understand just what had happened last night. What had I done wrong. He obviously didn’t want to finish. Although his body spoke a different story. I shivered again at the memory of the one glimpse of his long, dark, cock, hard and ready. But not for me. You sure do know how to turn ‘em off Shannon. You’d better figure out a different way to pick up men.
Leaving the tea on the counter I grabbed a water bottle and went back to the couch, flipping on the tv as I dropped into its soft leatheriness. I don’t know how much time passed but when the doorbell rang I was slumped back over on the couch arm. I jerked up, heart pounding, face wet with drool. Who in the hell would be here? Just when I decided I’d dreamed it I heard it again.
Groaning, I got to my feet, tightened the belt robe and pulled the towel the rest of the way off my hair. I looked thru the peephole and saw nothing but a huge, red flower. “Who is it?” I asked, running my fingers through damp tangles. “Quit fucking around.” I said, unwilling to open for some kind of New Year’s Day prank, or serial killer posing as a flower delivery boy.
“It’s me,” Kyle said. I stood up straighter, hand over my lips. I glanced down at myself in dismay. Comfy, ratty robe? Check. No makeup? Check. Face covered in leather couch arm prints? Check. Bad breath? Double check. Je-sus please us.
“What do you want?” I asked, shaky, my body moving into hyperdrive, readying itself for him.
“You.” He said. “Open the door please.” He said mildly, as if asking for something simple.
“Why?” I asked, marveling at myself. This man I wanted as … my Dom was telling me to do something while I stood here and argued with him? “You don’t want me Kyle. Don’t placate me with some kind of mercy fuck, or flowers. I hate flowers.”
“I have every intention of placating you Shannon. More than once. Now. Open the fucking door.”
I obeyed him.
“Nice look,” he said, standing there in his suit, holding a single rose. He held it out to me. “You look beautiful. May I come in?”
“I’m not sure. I know I look like day old shit and have dragon breath. You are a terrible liar.” I ignored the rose.
“Well,” he leaned in the doorway, his lips turned up in a smile. God…those lips… “Tell you what. Go brush your teeth. I’ll wait for you. But leave the robe in the bathroom, will you? We have some unfinished business, you and I.” 
I glared at him and stood still. He leaned and simply raised an eyebrow.
Muttering under my breath, knowing I wanted him so badly I’d do anything he said, I stomped back to my room, brushed my teeth, rejected putting on make up and left on my robe. Turning and heading back out, determined to tell him to get the hell out and stop messing with me, I ran straight into a hard, dark wall of bare man. He grabbed my arms, lowered his lips to mine and shut out all protests. I pulled him to my bed, dragged him down with me, our lips locked.  The robe had disappeared along the way, somewhere.
He stopped me just as I was wrapping my legs around him, desperate to have all of him, to have him inside me. “Wait,” he said, running his hand down my face. “I need you to understand something.”
“Anything.” I tried kissing him again, desperate, gasping, needy and empty.
“I mean it Shannon.” He leaned on an elbow, the incredible, light mocha hue of his skin and the sculpture like perfection of his muscles making my mouth literally water. “You have to know something about me right now. I’m not prepared for anything with you that’s half way. But I know you are coming down off the relationship with Gordon. I know you are rebounding hard. So we have to have some kind of understanding about this. I’m going to finish what I started last night but you will be honest with me about your feelings. I am done messing around. I wanted you. I still want you. I waited for you. Now I have you---I could have you. But I won’t have just part of you, do you understand me?”
His voice was so intense, his eyes glimmered with feeling. I bit my lip. “I don’t know how I feel about you yet Kyle. But,” I slid my hand up his arm reveling in its firmness, “if you don’t finish what you started I will never know. I mean it. I’m…rebounding yeah, and that’s why I chose you. I need your strength. I may have known how you felt about me on one level. But…mmmff.” He shut me off with his lips, his tongue his hands, laying me back.
“Sh,” he said into my lips. “Too much talk.” He smiled, kissed my nose. “Now, where were we?” He grinned, and my heart melted.
“Down there,” I pointed. He went. Within seconds I had my legs draped over his shoulders, my heels digging into his back, my back arched into his face and fingers.
“Come for me, Shannon. Now.” He muttered, moving quickly and finally taking me fully, entering my body and bringing on an orgasm of such epic proportions and burst into tears even as my body raged and pulsed around him.
“Holy shit, my god I’m….” He groaned in to my shoulder and kept thrusting hard, over and over as I felt him come.
We lay, panting, connected. He lifted his face from my breasts, a goofy smile on his handsome face. I took it between my hands, pulled him to my lips and we kissed and kissed and kissed until I lost myself in him. He rolled to his back, taking me with him, his cock still hard, hips hips moving again thrusting up as he pinched my nipples hard.
“I’m good to go again. I practice Tantric. But you are about to make me blow, big time. So grind down my love,” he said, smiling. “Take what you need. Come. Again.”
I obeyed him. And he joined me.
When we woke it was nearly five p.m. and the snow was falling again. I opened one eye and saw it, then snuggled down into Kyle’s side again, making him sigh and pull me even closer. I could feel his hand on my hair, my back. I was sore. He was pretty damn big. But I was ready and wanted him again.  I never wanted to leave this bed, this space, this man. I swallowed and looked up at him. He was already gazing down at me.
“That was…amazing. Thanks.” I said, for lack of anything coherent or useful.
“That…” He tugged at my arm until I was straddling him again, our lips close, his spicy, unique scent up my nose. “Was only the beginning. I hate to tell you this but…” He kissed me, fondled my breasts making me squirm sigh. “You are going to have a hell of a time getting rid of me now. Gordon rebounding be damned.” He smacked my ass, hard, making my whole body shift into overdrive again. “We clear?” He smacked my ass again, then grabbed it and I tilted my hips, taking him deep once more.
“Oh dear god!” I shuddered at the amazing emotion and sheer physical pleasure coursing through me. I could love this man. That was scary. “Gordon who?” I grinned down at him before putting a hand on his photo-shopped perfect torso and ran my fingers across the dark disks of his nipples. He shuddered along with me. But he frowned and yanked me down to face him.
“I mean it Shannon. I do not share. Not here,” he shoved deep, making me grown. “Not here,” he kissed my softly on the lips, the nose, the forehead even as our bodies moved, fucked, brought pleasure and pain.
“I know Kyle,” I whispered. “I get it. And you won’t be sharing me, ever.”
He closed his eyes then put his hands on my hips and lifted me up and off him. “But…” I whimpered.
He grinned, and pushed me back. “I want to taste you again. I want to taste me, in you. I want you to come all over my face. Shannon.”
I obeyed him.
Best decision I ever made, it turned out. Funny how things work like that.
"Hey! Connor!" I yelled, snapping out of my day dream and snagging the small boy as he tried to sneak past me, his face and hands covered in mud from the creek that ran across the back of our property. "What in the hell…?"
"Mum!" He protested as I tucked him under my arm and headed for the bathroom. "I couldn't help it!" About half way back I had to drop him and grab my stomach. I was such a lumbering cow anymore. Rubbing the tiny elbow back into place and away from whatever organ it was hurting, I smiled down at the little boy as he dashed into the bathroom and climbed into the tub stripping his clothes off as he went.
I sat on the edge and watched him splash around, peace in my heart, but heartburn rising in my windpipe. "Ugh." I got to my feet awkwardly. "Hey! Come wash this kid. I gotta take some more tums."
Kyle stood in the door, grinning at us. He cupped my belly as I passed, rubbing my back with his other hand. "You wanted this, remember." He whispered, moving a hand up to my full breast. "Mmmm….need some relief yet mama?"
"Soon," I pointed over my shoulder. "Clean up your kid. Get him in bed. I'll be the one waiting for you, unless I fall asleep first."
"Ah but I know the best way to wake you my love." He kissed me then. 
Yep. Good decision that New Year's Day. Solid. "Ouch." I yelped when the baby whacked my kidneys again. "Hurry up! I need to be distracted."

The End

On The Eve Of Something Great

As the year 2013 shleps towards a close I sit in a strange place, literally and figuratively.  It's a little chilly where I sit, relatively speaking. I mean, I AM in Orlando for New Year's, having come down for the Wenchling's National Soccer Tournament. It's one of those "showcase" ones--where the place is crawling with college coaches all seeking The Next Big Thing for their women's soccer teams. It's a stress ball for everyone concerned, most especially we parents I daresay, as we eyeball tuition increases, club fees and…well, you know, "going to Orlando for New Year's so daughter can play in a tournament and get seen by coaches."  

Yeah.  Vicious circle anyone?  

I've vented about the whole "soccer thing" before. We are on the inside looking outward now as the team has made the National League and so gets invited to premium tourneys like this one. But I'm here to tell you, now that she has the very real possibility of being recruited by at least a Division 2 school, the stress has multiplied by a thousand.  The girl loves the game. She wants to continue playing it in college. So…here we sit.

On a more philosophical level, I sit in a very strange place as well. The year has been so very odd with regard to my writing career. I wrote and released a shit ton of books. I got some new fans. I managed to alienate and piss people off without even realizing it or being told what I did that made any sense to mature adults. I had a bunch of folks attempt to totally ruin the release day of my first major mainstream novel. I killed some characters. And now….I'm moving onto some new projects and arenas.

One thing I am going to do is focus bit more on myself in 2014, health wise. I let myself slip and this year I can't do that. 

The Big Goal is to Find The Agent with a couple of mainstream projects (a thriller and a mystery). I'm also going to shed the 40 pounds I lost and re-found in the last 3 years. I plan to eat partially vegetarian and eliminate alcohol for at least the first part of the year. I know myself well enough to know that I should do that as well.

It's a tough thing to face. But I wrote about a kid who had an addiction problem (Good Faith) and realized something serious about myself in the process of experiencing that young man's rise, fall and rise.  

To thank all my loyal fans I will be writing a free Stewart Realty snippet on this blog tomorrow afternoon. It will be something completely new, about a side character we all love.

Happy New Year's Eve Liz Fans.
Make it a fun and safe one!
Go Jags!

On The Road Audible Book Reviews

Greetings from the road, Interstate 75 to be precise.
The whole "personal hot spot" thing is, like a miracle on the order of velcro and duct tape to my mind. And that is the truth, not some kind of lame attempt at double entendre.


So, from the road I want to share some thoughts about a few books I listened to this year. Most recently I listened to a cast of "actors" (as they call "narrators" these days in audible book-land) read WE ARE WATER by Wally Lamb to me.  To my mind Mr. Lamb is one of the best authors willing to take on tough topics in a way that doesn't make you want to throw a book/e-reader/mp3 device across the room (a la Jody Piccoult, the queen of aggravated assault on your angst-buttons). 

I've been accused of writing "unlikable" characters, which, in the romance genre where many of my books are shelved, is Verboten with a capital V. Mr. Lamb, having no such rules or formulas around his writing career Totally Goes There. For example, I find very little redeeming about Annie Oh, bless her heart. When you first meet her she is whining--a lot. Whining about her husband's job keeping him from helping out with their twins (whom she is lukewarm about even having). Then when they have another child (an accident, because he "never bothered with" a vasectomy) she has more whining to do. Add to that her newly found love for creation--not books but large, over-the-top art assemblages--and she has a lot to bitch about. No time for herself, no time for her art, no help from her workaholic husband.

Ok, Ok, I'll admit it. Not only did I not like her I related to her. Big time. Which made me flinch.

So enter the husband's side of the story. He is put upon in his job (in a career which he sort of didn't want) but is a total caretaker--to a fault. 

Of course, later, you find out that both of these people have dealt with serious dysfunction in their growing up. Especially Annie. And they proceed to fuck up their 3 kids in ways that are benign, but real. Oh so very real.

Of course, Annie had been sexually abused by an older cousin, which, through her intimations and hints at her "motivation" for her "angry art" you get. 

But in an incredibly ballsy move as an author, we get the pedophile's perspective.  Ick. You say. Well….ok, yeah. But … damn.

So, as an author who has "gone there" which is to say gone where I'm technically forbidden to go as a pseudo-romance author seeking readers not locked into the romance formula, I am in awe.

That said, I felt the book ended beautifully, if a bit slowly. It could have done so in fewer words. But Wally Lamb's words are gorgeous. Well done, sir. And thank you.


I also listened to a much-touted novel, SOMEONE by Alice McDermott. This one frustrated me to death. It jumps around in a way that feels affected, over done, as if she's trying too hard to show how deep the story is by the very fact of it's jumping around. Skip it.



Finally, I listened to the Oryx and Crake trilogy by my #1 favorite author Margaret Atwood. By the time I hit Madd Addam (which just came out this year) I was unable to function unless I was listening to it. In her usual clever fashion, Ms. Atwood has created a world you can completely envision, no matter how "out there" the concept is. Between genetically engineered Pigoons, fake franken-food like Chickinobs and the deliciously apt descriptions of selfish wealthy people in "compounds" (basically built around pharmaceutical research businesses) "rejuvenating" themselves pretty much to death, the trilogy is chock full of humor, and thought-provoking moments. And of course, her characters are so vivid, as always, you can't help but get sucked in, stuck in and roll around in the sheer creative genius of such a layered "speculative fiction" epic.

Sure, there are a few dangling plot lines that bug me a lot. But contemplating the "Crakers" is worth the very few moments where I had to stop, rewind and listen again.

Go get them. The cast of readers is excellent.

So far 2 of my books in the Stewart Realty trilogy are available on audible.com. 
Floor Time  & Sweat Equity will be joined by Closing Costs (the "Jack and Sara Trilogy") soon!


Have a lovely week.
Liz

A Gordon Family Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through Gordon house
Not a creature was stirring not even Billy the Hamster
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care
Or with those annoying, cutesy, hangers that spell a word in our case: Peace
(Yes please, Santa, bring that!)

The spawn were nestled all snug in their beds
Visions of car keys, Barbie townhouses, and trips to the Rose Bowl Dancing in their heads
What? I don't know what the hell a "sugarplum" is.
Mama in her ratty college sweatshirt and I in my altogether
Had just crawled under the covers hoping to get lucky (well, I am the one writing this damn thing)

When out on the lawn their arose such a clatter
I cursed, told her to "hold that thought" and had to get up and see what was the the matter
It's a dad thing, I protect the family from raccoons and deer and burglars and shit.
Still cursing I opened the French doors to see what the hell had interrupted me getting laid.

The moon on the breast (snicker) of the new fallen snow
Gave a luster of midday and nearly blinded the crap out of me
Then what to my wondering and squinty eyes should appear
But a miniature sleigh and a bunch of deer with huge antlers…or something.

When a dude in a really nice suit (I notice things like this) so lively and quick
I figured in a few minutes of blinking it might be St. Nick
He climbed out of shiny red Porsche 911, leaned on it and nodded towards the deer
"You don't hunt, do ya pal?"

"On Dasher, on dancer on prancer on vixin."
He waved a hand. "Comet…um…Lysol…erm…Lincoln and Nod?"
To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall
Now….beat it, so I can talk business with Mr. Gordon, will ya?"
(I swear this is how it happened)

As dry leaves that before my gas powered leaf blower fly
When they meet with an obstacle, mount up to the sky and force me to get the kids out to rake
Up to the house the deer looked then over at the suit guy like he was crazy
He shrugged at them and walked to me holding nothing but a bag from REI.

And then in a twinkling we were suddenly inside
I just stood there, dumbfounded, and half naked wondering if I had been roofied
The Stewart Realty formal dinner dance was just a few hours over
I could probably still be considered "drunk.'

He was dressed in Versace from his head to his foot
I know because I have a suit similar, but I look better in mine (again, my poem)
Another bag of stuff had materialized by his side
He looked like a guy pissed off shopping with his wife, stuck carrying bags

His eyes how they narrowed! His dimples how … non existent.
His cheeks were like a model's, his nose like a patrician Roman.
His GQ quality mouth was turned down in a frown.
The stubble on his chin was the right amount (not too much, not too little).

The stump of an expensive smelling cigar was clamped in his fingers (hey, how did he get into my stash?)
And the smoke encircled us both, making me a teensy bit queasy
He had broad shoulders and a … oh fuck I can't make the "round little belly" work here

He was imposing, an Alpha in his own right
And I frowned back when I watched him in spite of myself (or because he was in my territory)
Then with a sigh, he relaxed and dropped into my favorite chair
Which gave me to know he wasn't here for my woman or the rest of my cigars

He spoke lots of words and I tried to absorb them
Things about "being present, not giving presents"
and not forgetting I had three kids who all loved me but needed me fully
Plus never taking my bride for granted, ever, no matter how much she made me crazy.

"Remember tonight," he said, dropping a set of car keys in my daughter's stocking,
"With Sara, at the dance. How lucky and happy you felt with her in your arms."
He set up the Barbie townhouse and propped bowl tickets on the mantel
"And know that it's up to you Jack, to keep them all from harm."

"Wow, no pressure, dude, thanks." I watched him work, full of wonder.
But he chuckled then stood over me, puffing on the stogie.
"Oh you're up for it Gordon. Of that I have no worry." He dropped a box on my lap.
"Now take this and go back to your bedroom and stop sleepwalking. It's weird."

Laying a finger aside of his nose and giving a glance up the chimney he turned
then walked to the front door and left leaving me stunned and holding
a gift I had no memory of buying.
So I stood, blinked at the Christmas tree decked out in presents, cursed that last bourbon and headed for bed.

After kissing each Gordon child I heard him proclaim as he drove out of sight
"Happy Christmas Gordon family! And to all a good night."
So I stripped back down to bare, tucked the box under her pillow
Then gathered my wife close, whispered "I love you" in her ear and thanked God for my life.

THE NEXT MORNING:

"Um, honey?" Sara sat, holding that mysterious jewelry box in her hand.
I grinned and dragged her back down, and we welcomed Christmas Day early in our special way.
Afterwards she grabbed the box and frowned at me. "We said no big gifts this year remember?"
I shrugged and struggled with the urge for a nap, clueless as to what was even in the damn thing.

She opened it, gasped, put a hand over her lips and started crying.
"What?" I shot up and grabbed it from her, confused and freaked out completely.
It was a medium sized, gold locket, opened to a small near perfect photo of her and her late brother, Blake. I stared at it, unbelieving. I remembered Katie suggesting that as a gift but hadn't managed to pull it off this year.

"Oh honey, it is perfect." She pulled it up and out and I fastened the light, elegant looking chain at the back of her neck. "So perfect." She kissed it, kissed me. "I love you so much. Thank you." Her gorgeous green eyes shone. "Let me show you how much," she whispered, shoving me onto my back and making me grateful of the gods of Cialis--and that guy, that…Santa or whatever, in Versace in the Porsche. He surely had my back this year.

Birthday List and the 2014 Liz Challenge

It's that time of year again.
Time to take stock…

review one's successes and failures…

Talk about what worked and what didn't…

And try not to be bothered that the number 5 and 0 are hovering on the near horizon.

Yeah. It's another birthday. And if you know me (or like to think you do) you know I roll around in the birthday goodness for as much as I can. I like to think of it as BIRTHDAY WEEK really, full of celebrations, toasts, pats on the back and presents.

This year I am kinda, sorta subdued however. A lot has gone down this year including but not limited to the huge list of books I wrote and summarily got published with all the attendant work and eager, frustrating  watching of sales numbers. My brewery added something to its mix I was not really sure we needed but so far, the sandwich menu is causing sales to go up (at least for the first week). It's been stressful and those things mentioned above were sort of the "easy things" at least on the face of it.

I've managed to piss off more people than I pleased it feels like or perhaps just because those people like to use the internets and whatnot to remind me how much I pissed them off.

On the other hand (and to repeat myself) I wrote, edited, cover art-approved, revised, re-edited, and released 6 books this year. Six. Seis. Sechs. I'm counting one that came out 12/31/12 so sue me. 



Two of these "projects" were long-epic-opus-style novels, Mutual Release and Good Faith. One I write for "free" to "thank" my "fans" -- the Jack Gordon back story prequel House Rules.

I guess any type of success measured by how many people you angered for reasons beyond your comprehension could be called that: successful.  I got to write and release 3 books about a fictional, Detroit-based soccer team. Man On, Red Card and Shut Out represent some of the more intense writing I've done, up until Good Faith, or course. 

So for whatever reason--hormones most likely but that's always a handy excuse isn't ladies--the Birthday Week is something I have approached with about as much fear and loathing as Hunter S. Thompson mustered for most anything nice. I got told I'm "too negative" but you know what I am sort of a cynic at heart and when I tried to be 100% hearts, flowers, puppies and rainbows online it made me want to stab myself in the hand with a pencil. So I slowly eased back into my "real self" take me or leave me. I ended up with a tad more takers than leavers.

Let's talk Best Of's shall we:
Liz's Best of List for 2013, In No Particular Order of Importance or Relevance

BEST BOOK I READ: Hands down, THE HUSBAND'S SECRET by Lianne Moriarty. This book was recommended to me by me mum, who is my #1 book recommender. She handed me a lot of great ones this year. But this one? Damn. I loved it so much I didn't even have a second of that writerly "shit I wish I'd written it." Go get it and read it now.
2nd Place: THE DINNER, by Herman Koch. Dark, evil and twisted and wholly in the mind of a parent of a teenager who has done a Very Bad Thing. DAMN I do wish I'd written something like it!
3rd Place: THE ART OF HEARING HEARTBEATS by Jan-Phillip Sendker. Another mom-recommend and a beautiful one about the sort of "love" most romance writers wish they could convey.
I did enjoy the Book Everyone is Raving About (the one about teenagers with cancer by John Green) but I've been a John Green fan for a while now and this one felt like something pretty special but all of his books are to me. Hence the kudos, the movie and the whatnot.


BEST TV SHOWS I WATCHED:
SHAMELESS, the Americanized Version. No where is raw dysfunction better represented than at the house of the hapless Gallagher family. Frank is the drunk-ass Pater Familias to a crowd of kids with their own sets of weaknesses but whose mission is to hold the family together by hook, crook and sometimes murder. I don't think this version will have the sticking power the British version did (something like 13 years running) but we Americans have tiny attention spans and require "endings" so that we can move on to the Next Big Thing. In the meantime, check this one out. It's on premium cable, yes, but also available on NetFlix and all the usual tv watching websites.

MAD MEN, once again a highly stylized glimpse into office and family politics vis a vis Don Draper, the uber dysfunctional yet delusional Alpha Male of the pack.

MASTERS OF SEX--a fabulous cast (and one I wondered about given Michael Sheen's previous incarnations as Tony Blair and Brian Clough--i.e. he's so "British" as to be painfully so to my mind but which was punched up by adding my Hero Alison Janney as the cougar-ish wife of the gay man University Chancellor) that does an an excellent job of portraying "sex" EXACTLY like Americans see it: simultaneously erotic and embarrassing.

BEST MOVIES I SAW:
I am not a huge movie goer. It's horrifically expensive and sort of a chore to my mind since in my house we have TVs the size of the smaller "theaters" within the mega plexes (not my choice but I'm not the Audio/visual picker-outer at the Crowe abode).
I did finally see THE LIFE OF PI which will always and forever be one of my Top 10 Books Ever Written. It was well done, scary in the right places and very well acted. To my mind, about 80% of books "turned into movies" suck ass. This one did not.
I recently enjoyed CATCHING FIRE although I sure do wish the fact that people are starving to death more or less in the Districts (hence the name of The Games) would be a bit more obvious. I don't mean make Jennifer Lawrence scrawny. I'm not jumping on that band wagon thanks. She is awesome to my mind and when I grow up I want to be her and kiss Bradley Cooper in a movie or two. I just think the entire concept of "hunger" was lost from movie #1 and to my mind it was such an important theme in the books I found its lack jarring in the movies.
Speaking of books made into marginal movies, I was excited to see THE GREAT GATSBY turned into the sort of movie I believe F. Scott Fitzgerald would have envisioned had R&B music and technicolor over-the-top-party scenes been possible in his time. I love Leo DiCaprio and thought he was the perfect amount of eager and weak, just like Gatsby was meant to be seen.
I will also say that a movie I saw on DVD stuck with me: THE BEST EXOTIC MARIGOLD HOTEL was just beautiful. Go rent it. Now.
Honorable mentions: WARM BODIES (zombie teens with a twist), MONSTERS U (I'm a sucker for a great Pixar flic) and HEAT (Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy together made me pee my pants).
I plan to see GRAVITY and AMERICAN HUSTLE before the end of the year...

THE YEAR'S HIGH POINTS (in no order other than how they come to me): 
1. Writing, finishing and releasing the final novel of a successful series (Good Faith) and having 90% of the people who've read it "get it" for what it is meant to be: a novel of fiction, NOT a tied-up-with-a-bow fantasy story. Click here to see the 37 5-star reviews after just a month.

2. Wenchling Numero Dos' high school graduation and party

3. The Louisville Cardinals winning the NCAA National Basketball Championship! Which was a totally weird moment since they played the Michigan Wolverines in the final game. My team won. A bunch of fans of losers paid me a ton of money for beer that night. Win. win.

4.  Starting a totally new book project and working with an inspirational yet challenging mentor to whip it and my skills into shape. I plan to finish this one (thriller) and start another (mystery) and shop the hell out of them in hopes of snagging the attention of a Big Time Agent who can help me take the next big step in 2014.

5. Highlighting all 25k of the above mentioned first project and dumping them, then starting over more or less from scratch. (Oh wait, that's a "Low Point")

6. Wenchling Numero Uno making the Honor Roll at College.

7.  Realizing that one of the Poodle Muses who was literally knocking at Death's Door this past summer was going to live.

8.  Seeing one my brewery's beers (and my personal favorite) Gulo Gulo IPL make Draft Magazine twice---> ONCE being named as one their TOP 25 BEERS OF 2013. 

9. Being invited by Barnes & Noble Ann Arbor to read and sign Good Faith in their store.

10.  Reigniting my goal to NOT be a 50-year-old slouch who never exercises, drinks too much and makes nothing but excuses about all of the above. I've got my Bikram mojo back and feel great!

Low points? Well, there were a bunch. But you know, it wouldn't make me value the loyal fans I have if were not for all the ones who were definitely NOT, either, for whatever reasons they had.

SO, to celebrate the wild, crazy, over-the-top, gut wrenching, whiplash inducing, emotional roller coaster of a year that ends with a car trip to Orlando, a football bowl game and National Soccer League games I am giving out yet more great stuff for my fans.  

If you leave me a comment in the next 2 weeks on this post you will be entered to win a signed copy of GOOD FAITH.  

And additionally, I am issuing a challenge and reward. Let's get sales of Good Faith (which has rave reviews and it's own fun little hate group) up to 700 total units. WHEN that happens, I will release a super secret never-before-revealed Good Faith "extra scene." It will take the form of a short story, likely posted here, on the Brewing Passion blog. Help me push sales, you get what you've been asking for since November 15, 2013!  The full story of "what happens next" will be told in HAT TRICK, the next Black Jack Gentlemen book which releases in April 2014. But this epilogue…well…let's just call it "Liz's Dream Alternate Ending" shall we?

Happy Birthday to me!

Liz

Wrong Place. Wrong Time. The Serial Novel Continues….

As a thank you to my fans, I'm continuing the Liz Crowe Serialized Novel Project!

Get caught up … (live links to the earlier installments)
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

And now…Part 4:


Chapter Five
Operation Seduce Jay Reynolds was in full swing by seven p.m. the next night. The poor guy was nearly panting in anticipation by the end of the meeting. Alex sighed to herself.  It was too easy really. Men were such simple creatures. She smiled at him once more, let her hand trail up his thigh as they listened to the droning monotone of the marketing team giving their latest dog and pony show to the VPs and up team. She’d barely slept the night before, staring out across the Bosporus, marveling at how her life had turned in a mere twenty-four hours. And with the memory of Lucas’ hands, lips and voice searing into her like a physical brand on her soul. Damn she was in trouble. Needed to distance herself from him as soon as she could—reestablish control over her inner cougar or something. Jay cleared his throat as she clutched his lean inner thigh, made some asinine remark to the marketing group to cover for it, then leaned back and put a hand over hers, encouraging her to move higher. Which she did. She looked down at the mobile phone he had laid on the table in front of him. “All right then folks, that’s it for tonight,” the marketing VP declared, rising to his full six foot six, blond glory. Alex gulped, remembering what Lucas had said about him. Then she glared at the SOB from operations across the table. She knew his wife, liked her a lot. The fact that the entire room represented some sort of fucked up ex-pat Peyton Place pissed her off.  But she smiled, stood, shook hands, lingered, and palmed Jay’s phone as he bid everyone good bye and good night, telling them to hit the lights as they left, he had a few hours of work left to do. She met him at the door, desperate to distract him before he did his usual smart phone check before attending to her. He grunted with surprise as she wrapped herself around him, started tugging at his tie, his shirt, his pants. He put hands over hers, his blue eyes questioning but growing darker with lust. “What is this about Alex?” He tried to talk but she jumped on him again, reaching down to hit the button on her phone signaling Lucas to start the fifteen minute countdown.She maneuvered them towards the dark alcove between the conference room and the large foyer. “I’m just, I don’t know.” She faked a gasp as he cupped her breast. Public displays were anathema to her libido. And she’d told him that before. Now she needed to put on an Academy Award level acting job to prove otherwise. “Oh, Jay…” she groaned and tugged her phone from her pocket, looking at it over his shoulder as he groped her. A blank text from Lucas shone on the screen, acknowledging her heads up. She sighed and pulled Jay backwards more so she could drop his phone then, then unbuttoned her shirt, enticing him, doing a slutty strip tease in the foyer so he wouldn’t realize he hadn’t looked at his phone for nearly five whole minutes. “Baby,” he growled, grabbing her around the waist and tugging her back into the room. “I don’t know what’s come over you but,” he nipped at her neck, laid her back over the large mahogany table, “I like it.” She shivered as her body reacted. He’d been with her enough to know all the buttons to push. But the overall goal kept interrupting her, that, and Lucas’ dark eyes, his slim body, firm lips. She closed her eyes, imagined him, and groaned as Jay kept working his magic. Mentally counting the seconds she clutched his hair, kissed him, did her distracting duties, her mind awash with confusion as she tried to stay separate, distant. It nearly worked. “Oh God,” she groaned as a fairly legit climax hovered around her consciousness. The guy did have some talents. But he was framing her for major corporate larceny she reminded herself as he entered her, and she allowed herself the orgasm, her brain full of Lucas.

Lucas tapped away at Jay Reynolds’ laptop attaching the tracking device, then ducked out and grabbed the phone Alex had dropped in the foyer outside the conference room. He stood, state-of-the-art smart device gripped in one hand and heard her, the low groan of satisfaction and had to grab the door knob to keep himself from rushing in there. He was screwed. He tried to focus on the phone as he walked away, hoping to put distance between him and the sounds of Alex’s pleasure. His entire body clenched with a fight or flight primal reaction. But he overrode it. He’d done that plenty of times before. Installed the tracker on Jay’s phone and laid it back on the floor, creeping out to the sounds of an orgasm that, if she were faking, would have certainly fooled him.He slipped into the elevator, hands shaking as he pushed the button for the ground floor. Everything in him, ever single alpha male conduit and molecule in his possession was raging, yelling at him to go up there, yank her out of that crook’s arms and arrest the guy. But, he knew better. And finally he wrestled both his caveman and his libido back into their respective caves. Taking a deep breath of the slightly polluted air outside the building, he raised a hand and hopped into the first taxi that screeched to a stop for him.By the time he’d flopped onto his rented couch in his crappy, shitty-view flat in Bebek he was ready climb out of his own skin. He kept his phone clenched in one hand, willing her to contact him. Finally, using the excuse of keeping up appearances, he sent her a text: “Feeling sort of lonely. Can you come over?”Blowing out a breath and trying to sort out just exactly what he thought he was doing with this slightly harebrained and more than a little selfish concept, he jumped to his feet when the sickly sounding doorbell rang. How in the hell did she get here so fast? Smiling in anticipation of seeing her gain, he yanked the door open.“Well, that was quite an Oscar-worthy performance.” He froze at the sight of Ebru, the marketing local woman he’d been banging with regularity and enthusiasm. “Um. Okay,” she said, brushing past him and slipping off the raincoat she’d been wearing. “Not sure what you’re talking about but….I’ve missed you…Lucas.”
He shook his head at himself, shut the door and turned to find her in all her luscious, olive-skinned naked glory, making her way towards him. He let it happen, and prayed that he would not call out Alexa’s name at any point in the next hour or so.

To be continued……….

BOOK BLAST: The Girl From Long Guyland

The Girl from Long Guylandby Lara Reznik
~~~~~~~~~~~~~NOTE: THE GIRL FROM LONG GUYLAND WILL BE ON SALE AT AMAZON FOR 99 CENTS ON DECEMBER 7. 
$50 Amazon gift card will be awarded to one randomly drawn commenter. 
BLURB:
Laila Levin enjoys a successful marriage and a thriving career as an I.T. executive in Austin, Texas, but she can't quite shake her lifelong sense of not truly belonging anywhere.
When her company announces a major layoff, Laila finds herself caught between an unscrupulous CEO and her promiscuous boss. Then news of her college roommate's suicide stirs up a dark secret involving three devious friends from her past. One has betrayed a vow, another wants to rekindle their romance, and the third is out for revenge.
Suddenly for Laila, it's 1969 again. She's only seventeen, and she's left her sheltered home in Long Island for college in Connecticut. Amid protests of the Vietnam War, she's tempted by the sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll that rule her generation. Laila gets swept up in a deceptive love triangle with two older locals and initiated into their unethical hippie family. Too late she realizes her search to belong has led to tragedy.
Laila must now juggle the demands of her perplexed husband and her baby boomer past forcing her to make choices that endanger her survival and challenge her conscience.
She learns that the lines between right and wrong are often blurred, and sometimes you have to risk everything to be true to yourself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Excerpt 


Lost in Texas
Austin, Texas, 2012
A couple dozen stars and the eye of a yellow moon pierce light through a sky filled with smoke. I look out the broken window to the ground below. Crumpled in the weeds is a lifeless body with red-flecked eyes, a bushy mustache, and sweet smile.        Vapor seeps into the room. I can barely breathe. Ben wraps his arms around me as I weep. Denise lies in a catatonic state perched on the bed. Why is she only wearing her bra and panties?         Chris stumbles inside the room. His eyes glow like diamonds. He cranes his head out the window. “We gotta do something, man.”        “I’ll call for an ambulance,” I say.        Ben gulps, “That’s not a good idea.”   “We have to,” I insist. “For Godsakes.”
He’s dead, Laila,” Chris says.        Tears sting my eyes.
WITH A JOLT, I awake whimpering. The nightmare has infested my dreams for years. It may be time to see a shrink.         The anxiety subsides when my husband Eduardo arrives with a cappuccino and the morning paper. “Are you okay? It sounded like you were crying.”       I clear my throat. “No, no, I’m fine. Just a dream, I guess.” I’ve never discussed these recurring nightmares with him. Eduardo’s got his own problems. He was recently laid off in a corporate downsize and refuses to talk about it. There’s lots of tension in our home right now. Maybe we should both see a shrink.



AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Lara Reznik grew up on Long Island but escaped to New Mexico in 1970 in a Karmann Ghia that she and her boyfriend jump-started cross-country. As an English major at the University of New Mexico, Lara studied under esteemed authors Rudolfo Anaya and the late Tony Hillerman. She also attended a summer program at the prestigious Iowa Writers Workshop.            Ambidextrous from birth, Lara preferred her right-brained creative side, but discovered she could make a better living with her left-brain skills, so entered the I.T. field in 1985.           Lara published her first novel, The Girl From Long Guyland in November 2012. The novel ranked #1 during its recent Amazon Kindle promotion and has over 115,000 Kindle downloads. In addition to her novels, Lara has written and optioned three screenplays that have garnered semifinalist and finalist wins in the Austin Heart of Film, Southwest Writers, TV Writer, Chesterfield and Writer's Digest contests. Currently, Lara is working on a new novel based on her screenplay, The M&M Boys.
LINKS
AMAZON LINK:
http://www.amazon.com/Girl-Long-Guyland-ebook/dp/B00A45OYD0/ref=sr_1_1_bnp_1_kin?ie=UTF8&qid=1369930673&sr=8-1&keywords=THE+GIRL+FROM+LONG+GUYLAND
FACEBOOK
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WEBSITE
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