Flashback: Ultra Strokes, Vol. 1 (Contest & Excerpt)
I like to remind you from time to time that I have stories you might not have read. Some are anthologies filled with my short stories—sexy tidbits for those of you with busy lives who need a quick read every now and then. I hope you’ll pick up a copy of Ultra Strokes, Vol. 1. It includes two stories previously published inside Penthouse Magazine! It also includes my very favorite short stories, “Red Dawn” and “Zombie Love.”
Anyway, I hope you enjoy the snippet at the bottom. For a chance to win a FREE download of the book, comment below about whether you are a fan of short stories! I’ll choose two winners!
Ultra Strokes, Vol. 1
From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Delilah Devlin, comes a sinfully hot collection for your reading pleasure…
From Delilah:
“This compilation includes twelve stories I believe are among my very best. Most are contemporary stories, but there are futuristic, historical, steampunk, and paranormal tales included in the mix. The collection is intended for bedtime reading. Read the stories while you’re alone or with your partner. Read them to your partner.
I hope you enjoy the stories as much as I enjoyed writing them. Bon appétit!”
This compilation includes:
Tailgating at the Cedar Inn
The Morning Ride
Big Brass Buckle
Pitch Black
Red Dawn
Nip ‘n’ Tuck
Zombie Love
Lily’s Last Stand
Dr. Mullaley’s Cure
The Pleasure in Surrender
The Butler
The Long Ride Home
A snippet from “The Butler” inside Ultra Strokes, Vol. 1…
Grant came with the fine fieldstone house I’d purchased with my first, fat royalty check. One of the many amenities the previous owner had willingly dumped when she’d decided she was tired of cold Virginia winters and purchased a villa in Italy.
Something I’d never understood—how a servant could be passed from one owner to the next along with a deed. But Grant was a “legacy”—a fourth generation butler at Parker House.
I remember reading through the inventory of buildings and barns, tractors and horse tack, and then stumbling when I came to one name, Grant Preston. “Seriously, I own a butler now?” I’d asked the lawyer who drew up the contract.
“You’ve bought his contract. It’s yours to break, but understand that if you do, you’ll have to purchase the remaining years.”
“That sounds like indentured servitude.”
“It’s how it’s done here, ma’am.”
I’d learned later that he’d exaggerated. Grant was responsible for the language of the contract. He’d insisted on the verbiage with his previous employer, his way of assuring himself long-term employment in a highly fluid and dying career field.
And Grant had no interest in finding employment anywhere else. He’d been raised at Parker House. He was as much a part of the house’s history as the yellow stones and old furnishings. The three storied, twenty-one room house was his home, if not in name. I’d come to understand that the first week after I’d moved in. I’d purchased every stick of furniture along with the house, but when I’d mentioned selling pieces to replace them with more modern furnishings, his back had stiffened. And after listening as he’d regaled me with every story behind every piece I wanted gone, I’d relented. How could I sell history?
It wasn’t until I’d retreated, deflated, to my rooms that I realized he’d manipulated the conversation. Very politely and with a small, seemingly genuine smile, but I hadn’t been willing to douse the light of pride that shone in his eyes when he’d spoken. A simple maple desk chair had somehow become a treasure I’d be gauche to remove, cruel even. I didn’t want to disappoint him.
At first, when I realized his game, I was angry. But as he slowly “educated” me regarding the history of the furniture and the house, and then gently but firmly guided me to an appreciation of the surrounding lands I’d purchased, I’d grown amused. Admiring, even. Grant was the true treasure of Parker House. Its living defender.
Not that he didn’t understand the need for small changes. The claw foot tub in my bathroom might have been used by a famous movie star or a president, but I’m short, and using stairs to get into the deep thing wasn’t practical. I wasn’t a bath sort of person anyway, so the tub was moved to another bathroom, and he oversaw the construction of a large shower, tiled with natural stone from the fields, a lovely thing with nozzles at different heights to assure my pleasure.
When he’d let me see the final result, I’d blushed, realizing he’d had it fitted to my measurements, and the colors of the stones reflected my blonde hair and gray eyes. He’d personalized it to me, and I had now become an integral part of the house’s history.
However lovely and subtle that manipulation had been, I wasn’t ready to concede the larger battle for control of the house. Especially after he’d introduced me to the “butler’s buttons.”
The post Flashback: Ultra Strokes, Vol. 1 (Contest & Excerpt) first appeared on Delilah Devlin.
