__Drats!

All right, moving on. What do you consider the most erotic fruit?

The obvious answer would be a banana, but I am going to go with anything small and intensely flavoured that can be hand fed to me by a man: strawberries, grapes, even slices of blood orange would be equally sexy in my book because taste heightens all the senses.

Name a historical figure you admire. Explain why.

Wow, we just got serious. I would say Sojourner Truth, who was born and raised a slave but later became a voice for both freedom and women’s equality in a world where both were denied her. Though she is often quoted as saying, “Ain’t I a woman?” Her actual words had a greater and more positive influence on her audience than those so frequently misquoted. “I have heard the bible and have learned that Eve caused man to sin. Well, if woman upset the world, do give her a chance to set it right side up again.”

What mythical creature would you want to be?

A fairy – laughter, mischief, a gorgeous home in the woods, and the ability to fly – seriously, how cool would that be?

Beer, wine, or spirits?

Spirits – a little tequila in my margarita, aged brandy in my eggnog, or spiced rum in my Coke, and I am a happy woman.

If you had to choose between an angel and a vampire, which would you choose? Why?

Angel all the way. Powerful – come on the whole smiting with the hand of God thing how Dom sexy is that – compassionate, able to fly, and well not wanting to feed on me – yep, that last is a biggie. I like my blood where it is thank you very much.

Most people would say uniforms are sexy. Do you agree? Which is the sexiest in your opinion?

I agree one hundred percent. I would have to say I appreciate any of the armed forces, but probably my favourite is the U.S. Marines; however, a fireman works too, oh, or a police officer, and have you seen the ice-cream parlour guy—absolutely lickable. ;-P

What’s your favourite action movie? If you don’t have a favourite, name one you didn’t hate.

That’s easy – The Transporter with Jason Stratham. High action, a little humour, a bit of romance and a really clever hero. Yum.

Name your favourite cookie. No, seriously, tell us what it is and give it a new name.

LOL – uhmm peppernuts (pfeffernüsse) because they are delicious, and I used to make them with my grandmother. A new name? Spicy Rock-hard Balls

Who’s your favourite cartoon character? What do you like about them?

Willie E. Coyote – no matter what goes wrong he keeps on trying. That is certainly admirable.

What is the name of the last book you wanted to use as kindling?

Anything by Earnest Hemmingway. His writing is just so naturally arrogant – which is probably why he was a hit with men, but his voice pisses me off for some unfathomable reason. I apologize to literary critics everywhere.

What songs would you choose for the soundtrack of your life?

Tough one. How about a really cheesy one that a friend of mine just reminded me of the other day. Theme song to the 1970’s sitcom “One Day at a Time” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M82CUd6isyY

Of all your characters, which one do you think would be best in a crisis?

Selleck Mathews [Ginger Snaps for Two] because his primary concern is those he loves and protects. He would take charge and maintain order no matter how crazy things became.

Author Bio:

LC Dean has lived all over the United States from the glorious South to the freethinking West Coast, but returned to the Midwest over a decade ago and now resides in the fantastic state of MN. LC’s main goal professionally is to push the boundaries her often puritanical upbringing created. Writing about love that does not need society to define it, has been a freeing experience for her and her characters, and she hopes that readers find a similar joy in the reading.

The Hangout (LC’s Blog) http://lcdean.blogspot.com/

Buy Link: http://www.decadentpublishing.com/advanced_search_result.php?keywords=L.C.+Dean&osCsid=jtnkg6kekgcfrnjn1bil4ipos6&button=search

Facebook connection: https://www.facebook.com/authorLCDean?sk=wall

By Margie Church

To celebrate the release of my newest book, and in keeping with my topic: unexpectedly sexual, I offer
you this.

Close your eyes and take a deep breath. Grass and wildflowers fill the air with their sweet scents. Picture
yourself sitting on a grassy bank next to a stream. You watch the water weaving its way around large
rocks peppering its path. A happy gurgle comes from the river as it defies the stones and then dashes
on. The sun is warm. The quiet trickles and swishes of the water lull you into a peaceful, relaxing state.

Now, you're sitting on the shore of a large lake. There are not many people around. A breeze cools your
skin on this warm day. Waves tumble to shore, one after another, moving faster than the playful stream,
but in an uneven rhythm. You clutch your knees and rest your chin atop them. A wave reaches your toes
and gives them a cool lick before retreating to the depths. You wiggle your feet in the sopping wet sand,
appreciating its silky texture. Digging deeper down, your toes become cold. A wave covers your foot and
nearly reaches your bottom. Sunlight glints on the water in chaotic patterns as though winking at you
before running away. Closing your eyes, you raise your face to the sun and don't care whether the next
wave gets you soaking wet. A sea bird cries above your head. The next gust of wind brings the water to
you. You flinch, but don't move away when your bottom becomes soaked.

You've moved to the ocean. The offshore breeze is brisk, making your skin pebble even though the day
is quite warm. Waves crash into each other in an even tempo eliciting an extended, crunching sound.
The white-capped rollers draw your eyes, your ears to them. Rising and falling, one after another, they
undulate against the shore. They're ceaseless, breathless, unrelenting. The air's salty humidity is ocean-
scented. You breathe deeply, taking in the ocean's rich essence. Each crackling wave is the relentless
stroke of Neptune on your body.

EXCERPT: Nopeming Shores, by Margie Church with J. Andrew Lockhart. A sensual paranormal (ghost)
romance

In his spirit state, Gabe heard and watched the entire scene between his wife and Jana. He stood behind
Lily while she said goodbye to Jana. He walked out of the building with Lily to the car. The wind caught a
wisp of her hair, and he wished he could tuck it behind her ear. He used to love stroking Lily's soft, wavy
tresses.

Not yet. She wasn't ready to know he was close by, trying to help her cope. Hell, he was trying to cope,
too. God had given Gabe a chance to help Lily, and himself, but it was all in the timing. Gabe wouldn't
get long. The Shepherd of Souls had been very clear about that.

Lily drove out of the parking lot, but instead of taking her usual direct route to the base exits, she drove

through the grounds.

In his spirit form, Gabe followed her.

She slowed down near one of the park benches.

We met there. Gabe recalled seeing Lily with her brown-bag lunch when he'd gone jogging on the
historic base. She'd caught his eye immediately. Her long, graceful limbs and full lips captivated him.
When she smiled, the sun seemed to dim. Her charming demeanor wiped out all his defenses.

She'd shaded her eyes to speak to him. "I've never seen you before."

"I was in Seattle for some training, but I'm stationed here. Are you visiting your husband?"

She'd giggled this wonderful, heart-warming sound, and her face turned the loveliest shade of pink.
Gabe knew in that moment, he was pretty much a goner.

"No, I'm not married. I started working at the commissary last week."

"Well, if you have lunch in the park, I'll be seeing you. I jog through here almost every day."

Gabe didn't usually take that route, but he was darn glad he had that day, and every day after. Lily had
waited for him, sometimes bringing along an extra bottle of water or a piece of fruit for him. They'd talk
for a little while, then he'd finish his run, although his mind was never on physical fitness after he saw
Lilianna Carston.

Now Gabe sat on that same bench, remembering the delight in her eyes when he'd asked her to dinner
the first time. They'd been almost inseparable after that date. They thought they'd have a lifetime
together.

He turned toward her car and saw the strain on her face.

He watched her shoulders rise and fall in a deep sigh before she drove away from the curb.

Gabe didn't get off the bench and follow her. Being dead wasn't exactly halos and fluffy clouds for him.

CONTEST: Tell me about something that turned unexpectedly sexual and you could win a copy of
Nopeming Shores.

Buy link: https://www.nobleromance.com/Books/335/Nopeming-Shores

Margie's page on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&search-
alias=digital-text&field-author=Margie%20Church

Margie's website and blog: www.RomanceWithSASS.com

By Ranae Rose

 I love a good hero and a good heroine. Who doesn’t? Most readers also have specific character traits they love to hate, and I’m no exception. Today I’m talking about the sort of heroes and heroines that make me wish I should jump into the story and slap some sense right into them! If you read romance, you probably know exactly what I’m talking about. Feel free to use the comments section to tell me what sorts of heroes and heroines drive you crazy.

  The offending heroes:

  The Cheater: Maybe he’s a playboy, or maybe it’s a one-time thing. I don’t care either way – I can’t stand an unfaithful hero. Once he’s found his true love, he’d better not stray. I’m more than willing to close the book on a hero who can’t keep it in his pants when he’s with anyone other than his partner (or hey, maybe even partners if the story is like that).

  The Macho-Bot 2000: This guy has no feelings north of his belt. When he’s not ogling the heroine’s boobs, he’s probably thinking up new ways to replace the blood in his veins with extra testosterone. His lack of emotion makes him a bore to read about.

  The Clueless One: He’s not sure what he wants, other than instant gratification. He may be a commitment-phobe whose fear of settling down endangers his relationship with his partner. He’s the opposite of the sort of hero I really love – the guy who knows exactly what he wants, sticks by his partner and does anything necessary to make it work. The clueless one will probably come around eventually, but by then I usually think he’s an ass for being so reluctant to act on his true feelings.

 

  The offending heroines:

 

  The Ball-Buster: This girl never gives the hero a freakin’ break. She’s constantly busting his balls, giving him a hard time and generally making it clear that she hates him. Of course he’s really into her and she secretly has the hots for him, but God forbid she let the relationship take its natural course. These bitchy heroines are infuriating and tiresome to read about. I usually end up feeling sorry for the hero and wishing the heroine would just fall off a cliff so he could find someone more deserving of his affection.

  The Boyfriend-Stealer: Fortunately I haven’t come across too many of these nasty heroines, but they are out there: the women who just can’t seem to resist finding a taken man and then proceeding to seduce him away from the partner he’s already got. They always justify it to themselves somehow, but they’ll have a hard time getting this reader on board. It’s not easy for me to like a character that goes around stealing somebody else’s man.

  The Material Girl:  She spends half the book buying things, namely to expand her designer wardrobe. A third world country could probably be fed off the amount she drops on clothing. I just can’t relate, and reading about it gets old quick.

  What about you? What traits can’t you stand in a hero or heroine?

**** 

Tiffany isn’t the type to waste time daydreaming about men, but when a hot stranger smoking – in more ways than one – on the steps of the bank she works at takes her breath away, she can’t help it. He catches her attention as she exits the building on her way to lunch break, and she leaves fantasizing about helping the bank’s newest customer-to-be with much more than just his finances. When he finally approaches the counter, it’s not to open a new account, but to demand that Tiffany fill a pillowcase to the brim with cash – at gunpoint. The gorgeous gunman takes Tiffany on the run as his hostage, and her fear can't stand up to her attraction. When he offers to let her return to safety unharmed she realizes that there are many things she wants to do to him, but that walking away isn't one of them.

"A totally gripping, sexy thrillride...the perfect combination of adventure and eroticism." - Lucy Felthouse

Excerpt from Taken Hostage:

After exiting the Mustang himself, he walked around the front and opened Tiffany’s door for her.  She was overcome by a sensation of déjà vu – she’d imagined him doing the same thing in her fantasy. Now, in their current situation, it seemed absurd.

She stood uselessly as he tossed the pillowcase full of cash into the Saturn’s trunk and covered it up with the blankets and emergency roadside kit that were already stashed there. The ordinariness of her captor’s car and the contents of its trunk were intriguing. Who was this man, who apparently robbed banks after smoking on their steps and flirting with their tellers for half an hour? It wasn’t as if he could expect any of the plentiful witnesses to forget his face – it was only slightly too rugged to look like it belonged on the cover of GQ, or on a billboard in the city.

What in the world was he planning to do next?

 Tiffany eyed the nearby woods speculatively. They were in the middle of the New York wilderness, half an hour from town. She had nowhere to run, and there was probably no one to hear her scream if she tried and he caught her. She dared a glance at her captor, who’d tucked the gun into the front waistband of his jeans. The bulge of the barrel beneath the denim reminded her of the similar protuberance she’d felt there when he’d pinned her against the Mustang in the bank parking lot. She no longer felt horrified by the memory – a fact that sent heat flooding into her face.

Once he’d finished packing the Saturn he opened the passenger door. ‘Ladies first,’ he murmured in a tone she’d heard already in her fantasy.

She sank into the passenger seat gladly, for her knees had begun to feel as if they might give out. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked as he turned his own set of keys in the ignition.

‘Far away,’ was all the reply he gave her.

She couldn’t stop asking questions. Now that her fear was beginning to ebb, a strange curiosity seemed to be replacing it. ‘If this isn’t your house, why’d we come here?’

‘Because the owner leaves every morning for work at 7:15 and doesn’t come home until at least 5:45 in the evening. So it should be at least that long before they discover the abandoned Mustang and figure out that I’m driving something else. We’ll be long gone by then.’

Tiffany noted his use of the word ‘we’ with a sudden rush of half-amazed, half-frightened anticipation. ‘You had this all planned out?’

‘Of course.’ He pulled the Saturn back out onto the road. ‘What’d you think, that I’m just some idiot who decided to rob a bank on the spur of the moment?’ He grinned at her, and she had to fight the sudden urge to grin back.

She shrugged instead.

He reached down, pulled out a hat from the small compartment on the driver’s side door and pushed it down on top of his head, hiding his hair.

‘Shouldn’t you make me lay down in the back seat or something?’ Tiffany asked. That was how the bad guys always did it on the crime dramas she liked to watch on TV.

He looked away from the road for a moment, turning the full force of his gaze upon her. His eyes were intense, but one corner of his mouth was pulled up in an amused half-smile. ‘Do you really want me to?’ He spoke in the same husky voice that’d starred in her pre-abduction fantasy.

She dropped her gaze, too abashed to maintain eye contact. What she saw when she looked down only deepened her embarrassment – though her kidnapper had removed the gun from his waistband, the fabric of his jeans was just as strained quite near where it had been.

Copyright © Ranae Rose, 2011

****

Taken Hostage is available from major e-book retailers, including:

Amazon – http://www.amazon.com/Taken-Hostage-ebook/dp/B005E4W0UK/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1317059716&sr=8-1

Barnes & Noble – http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/taken-hostage-ranae-rose/1104729022?ean=2940011432422&itm=3&usri=ranae%2brose

All Romance – http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-takenhostage-581905-144.html         

Ranae Rose is a multi-published author of red-hot romance. Believing that true love knows no bounds, she’s not one to confine herself or her characters to a single genre. She enjoys writing contemporary, historical and paranormal romances. Living on the US East Coast, she’s also an avid reader and animal-lover. When she’s not writing she can usually be found in the saddle or with a good book. You can find out more about Ranae and her books and get free reads at: www.ranaerose.com

****

By J.S Wayne

*Cue tranquil music*

When I hear the word “cartoon,” it takes my back to my misspent childhood of He-Man, Transformers, and GI Joe, and the associated toys and action figures. I think about the cumulative years of imagination that contaminated me to the point where I’m wholly unsuitable for a 9-5 desk jockey’s job and that helped create a neophyte writer STOP THE MUSIC!!!

The first inkling the American mainstream had that cartoons were not solely the province of children and emotionally-stunted adults was the wildly imaginative animated movie Heavy Metal. Featuring a hard-driving metal soundtrack and incorporating nearly every genre from sci-fi horror to erotica to fantasy, Heavy Metal was a wake-up call for a generation. I remember it because it was the first cartoon I ever saw featuring exposed breasts and nipples, which as a healthy nine-year-old male made it a REALLY BIG DEAL to me. (Yeah, the caps are intentional: I’m amazed my palms aren’t furry because of the chick with the white hair.)

The way the women were dressed, in a whole lot of not much mostly consisting of a complicated series of straps that barely covered the essentials, was echoed in most of the comic books I started reading around the same time. The women either wore form-fitting bodysuits that in the real world would be so snug you could see their labia or a few wisps of leather or latex not a great deal more modest than the gauzy material that some jurisdictions require exotic dancers to wear around their hips. Don’t believe me? Go over to your local Mecca of Geekdom (aka the comic-book store), grab a random comic book, and open it up. If there’s a woman in the story, 9.9 out of 10 times, she’s wearing this kind of outfit, give or take a cape, a crown, or some kind of accessory designed to do thoroughly unpleasant things to anyone in its path and featuring an elaborate semi-divine back story a la Excalibur. 

Now, let me back this bus up for a second before it builds any more momentum and someone gets all the wrong ideas. I’m not saying comic books are bad or are loaded with subliminal messages; far from it! Comic books and movies like Heavy Metal were specifically intended to cater to the budding sexuality, natural curiosity, and feelings of social isolation that plague adolescents. (Oh, yeah, there’s plenty of eye candy for the girls, too. All the guys look like they’ve been dressed by dommes or are so ripped they look like they can bench-press refrigerators.) Comic books offer that little thrill of the forbidden, wrapped up in heavy morality tales and liberally peppered with punches, kicks, slashes, and blasts from various exotic weapons to make them palatable. “It’s a comic book! Little Timmy won’t learn ANYTHING about sex from this.” (Although I myself had some fairly “torrid” fantasies about Marvel Comics’ Psylocke. I say “torrid” because while they were pretty randy for a thirteen-year-old, they were positively pedestrian compared to what I write on a daily basis now!)

And now, here’s the kicker: The point of this little diatribe is that if you read between the lines with a knowing, adult eye, you’re likely to find all kinds of little kinks and fetishes hidden in comic books. The meaning and metaphor will most likely be wholly lost on the kiddies, who just see a good or not-so-good story. They’re not as likely to focus on the exposed “naughty bits” as they are the number of explosions or “Hey! Did you see how Wolverine/Superman/Batman sliced up/blasted/beat up that Sentinel/rogue missile/bad guy?” Thinking on Batman: The whole joke about what REALLY happened behind the scenes with Bruce and Dick has become a little shopworn, but still bears consideration.

A disclaimer: Everything that follows is off the top of my head and the ones I am aware of from personal experience and knowledge. I’m sure that I’ll miss some, but this is by way of example, not the encyclopedia. Any fetishes that I didn’t give specific references for, you can find online with a little research, but trust me: They’re out there. Also, I’m not weighing the relative “goodness” or “badness” of any particular fetish or proclivity; I’m merely acknowledging their existence.

In the broad sweep of the comic book world, you’ve got shadings or blatant mentions of BDSM (Batman, Spider-Man, Wonder Woman), GLBTQ (subplots of The Green Lantern, Superman), necrophilia (Not touching this one), voyeurism (Spider-Man, Superman, Batman. . . need I go on?), an entire host of bestiality fetishes (Batman again. . .  what’s up with this guy?), and sado-masochism (Insert your favorite comic villain here. If they weren’t getting off on getting pounded on, why would they insist on pissing off the people most likely to push their faces into their brainpans?).

So what does it all mean?

Comic books are a great medium. They have layers to appeal to their nominal target audience, and the messages they convey, of tolerance and justice and being the one to stand against the darkness, are timeless parables written to be accessible to the tween and up set. But if you scratch the surface and take a closer look, somewhere in the colorful costumes and explosions, you can find yourself looking back from the eye-catching pages.

And in the grand scheme of things, that’s the entire point of ANY medium of writing: To see ourselves in a glass, darkly, either an idealized or debased reflection of our own personas, beliefs, and desires. No matter how extreme or well-tolerated, we ultimately just want to be accepted for everything we are, and a truly good book will leave us feeling, at the end, a little less isolated. And that includes our own peculiar kinks, too.

Thanks to Bianca, and all you terrific readers, for letting me come by again and shoot my mouth off. It’s been fun! I look forward to seeing YOUR takes on this notion.

Until next time,
Best,
J.S. Wayne

by Paige Turner

Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.

Scenes of dubious consent in erotic romance novels are a hot-button topic – a kink for some people, and a definite squick for others.

But let’s face it, dubious consent scenes are nothing new in romance. The traditional (and rather dismissive) view of romance is the Barbara Cartland bodice-ripper. All steely-eyed heroes and manly embraces on one side, all heaving bosoms and swooning on the other. Although Barbara Cartland’s later novels had little in the way of saucy scenes, her heroes were dominant and her heroines were virginal – and often had to be coerced or even forced into the hero’s arms. Of course it was what they really wanted deep down and everyone lived happily ever after. But if that isn’t dubious consent, I don’t know what is.

I think the difference today is that we write dubious consent scenes with a little more self-awareness. We write dubious consent scenes not dubious consent relationships.

In old-fashioned romances, the hero is cruel or angry. He crushes the heroine to him and his kisses are hard, relentless or punishing. He is supremely confident that when the heroine says no, she means yes. The power dynamics are always in favor of the hero – the pirate and his captive, the Earl and the governess, the billionaire boss and his secretary. Old-fashioned bodice rippers aren’t playing to a kink – they come from a world where men are our masters, and women are wilting violets with no minds of their own.

Romance readers today demand more from their characters. Whether male or female, they want them to be three-dimensional with strengths and flaws. They don’t want dim-witted heroines and emotionally distant heroes, because they recognize that a bully and a nit-wit are unlikely to live happily ever after, even in the fantasy world of erotic romance.

While it’s possible to argue that bodice rippers were the original dub-con, it’s more accurate to say that dubious consent is the bodice-ripper all grown up.

If you like the sound of a story where the power dynamic is firmly in the heroine’s favor, leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of Temporary Trouble and a Paige Turner teddy bear to snuggle up with while you read.

Blurb: When jokes in work time turn into serious playtime.

For Ben and Aaron, bored of the same old temping assignments, playing practical jokes makes the job a bit less boring and keeps them out of more serious trouble. That is, until their female boss catches Ben on the photocopier with his trousers down, and sees the sexual tension the boys haven’t quite admitted to themselves.

A good boss has to discipline her staff, and Ben has been a very naughty boy indeed. And what better job for her other temporary office boy, Aaron, than to help her administer the punishment Ben deserves?

Reader Advisory: This book shows naughty boys having their bottoms warmed and exploring each other’s sweet spots.

Excerpt: Ben dropped his trousers and peeled his boxers down his thighs, allowing them to puddle at his feet. Aaron tried not to stare. He wanted Ben, really wanted him—he was honest enough to admit that much to himself—but he wouldn’t risk their friendship for anything. Not even for the chance to kiss that cynical mouth and run his fingers through the dark, close-cropped hair. But how could he help staring when Ben had his cock out, right in front of him? It was thick and curved and, Aaron couldn’t fail to notice, slightly erect, as though Ben was turned on by the mischief they had planned, turned on by breaking the rules.

The photocopier room wasn’t really much more than a storage cupboard. Its photocopier was an outdated model that had recently been replaced with a high-tech monstrosity, and mainly it was used for storing packages of paper and boxes of toner cartridges. The chances of anyone popping in for supplies this early in the morning was remote, and anyway part of the thrill was the risk of being caught.

The plan was to replace the paper in every printer and copier in the building with photos of Ben’s arse—Ben’s tight, round, glorious arse, the one that featured so prominently in Aaron’s late-night fantasies and fumblings with himself. On more than one occasion he had got so carried away he had groaned Ben’s name, and had to pass it off as a nightmare when his flatmate had come padding through, bare-footed and tousle-haired from sleep, to make sure he was all right.

“…I said I’ll take the first two floors and you take the executive offices, HR, all that lot, okay?”

Nobody would notice them replacing the paper. Unless there was a boring job that needed to be done, temps might as well be invisible.

Ben braced his hands on the photocopier behind him and boosted himself up onto it, wincing as he settled his bottom on the cold glass.

“O-okay,” Aaron stammered, averting his eyes from the tempting sight of Ben perched on the photocopier, where Aaron could so easily put his hands on his strong thighs, part them and step between them, running his hands up and under the lap of his shirt, exploring the planes of his belly and chest as he leaned in and…

“Come on, then,” said Ben, wriggling impatiently.

And Aaron almost swallowed his tongue before he realised Ben wanted him to get started loading paper and pushing buttons for the thousands of copies they’d need to pull off their practical joke.

His palms were sweaty and his legs didn’t want to hold him up as he crouched to load the paper trays. And as he stood and started pressing buttons for dozens of copies—as many as he estimated the machine would spit out before he had to load more paper—he caught a whiff of Ben’s scent. With his head bent over the copier, he was at eye-level with Ben’s lap, and the smell of him filled his senses—heady and musky and masculine. His mouth went dry. He was overcome by a desperate urge to lick the crease where Ben’s thigh met his body. It seemed as though, this time, the joke was on him.

He looked up, despite knowing his want showed in his eyes, and met Ben’s gaze. The look on Ben’s face was surprised, questioning…lustful?

They locked gazes in silence for a moment, and Aaron allowed himself to hope that Ben wanted him in the same way he wanted Ben.

Aaron startled upright and Ben almost toppled backwards off the photocopier as the door banged open, rebounding off the wall, and their boss—their temporary boss—walked in.

“Gentlemen,” she said, as Ben scrambled to pull up his trousers, hopping on one leg in an ungainly, embarrassed dance, “or should I say boys?” Aaron opened and closed his mouth, but no sound came out. “You have a disciplinary meeting in my office in ten minutes.”

She turned and walked out, heels clicking on tile, as Ben overbalanced and tumbled into a box of toner cartridges.

Bio

Paige Turner likes to write love stories with a difference. Whether it’s boy-meets-girl, boy-meets-boy or werewolf-meets-vampire, she thinks everyone deserves a happy ending. She lives partly in England but mostly in Cyberspace. She enjoys dreadful puns and naughty stories, and believes the best way to have a good time is by being bad.

Pre-order link for Temporary Trouble
http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?strParents=&CAT_ID=&P_ID=1391