Romantic Comedy Novels: Naughty Nurse (BWWM Workplace Romance)

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I republished a previous title with BIG changes and edits to better fit today’s audience. Today, Naughty Nurse is a super steamy high-heat romance novella featuring a goody-two-shoes nurse who meets up with a daring rebellious bad boy, Austin Romero. Playing by the rules hasn’t always worked out for Nereida. Her boyfriend is a total ass, her boss is in need of #MeToo exposing, and her best friend seems totally oblivious to all the ways her life is going down the drain. What Nereida needs is permission to be bad… or at least get a little naughty. Keep reading this free sample of the book to dive into Nereida’s story. By the end of the sample, you’ll be dying for this nurse to get a little naughty.

Romance Novel Excerpts: Naughty Nurse (Interracial Romance Novel)

Nereida enjoyed the usual quiet of the night shift. In their small sleepy city that hadn’t yet been discovered by hipsters of gentrifiers, there wasn’t much to disturb the peace. But on rare occasions where some hurricane level disaster managed to puncture through their regular world, the hospital could shift from as silent as a graveyard to a bustling ants nest. There would be screaming, nurses running down hallways, doctors yelling.

What was one peaceful would be thrust into furious chaos. Nothing could calm the angry energy except death -- the dull flatline of a heart monitor would be the cue for the chaos to stop. Out of respect. Out of defeat.

On rare occasions, when there was a late night emergency, the noise wouldn’t just cease but it would slow down to a quiet simmer. When a late night emergency was accompanied by a little bit of luck and instead of a casualty, the hospital was blessed with a miracle. 

Nereida Kelly sipped hot earl grey in the waiting room with her closest friend on shift that night. She never rushed her tea. The rule of a place like this was that you had to steal what little joy you could. The two women enjoyed a rare moment of peace in the hospital -- something rarely afforded to nurses. Krista was going on and on about her recent engagement and Nereida was listening attentively, longing for the time when she would have something equally inspiring to share. She wasn’t sure it would ever happen with Rashad. She was thirty-two, he was nearly forty, yet he’d still shown no interest in making an honest woman out of her. She’d been hinting for years. Nereida had gone so far as to stuff his car with old wedding catalogs that were about to get dumped from the hospital waiting room. Rashad hadn’t even noticed.

Nereida knew it wasn’t her looks that stopped him from proposing. Mahogany, red-boned, somewhere between dark and medium brown, her complexion was a perfect chocolate. Her kinky, curly hair was long and touched the middle of her back. At work, Nereida kept it pulled back in a ponytail for professionalism. 

With her hair pulled back you could see the bright round apples of Nereida’s cheeks which were further highlighted by the smile she wore plastered on her face. Nereida’s one way of spoiling herself was her french tip nails which she got done every two weeks like clockwork. Her eyes were a deep dark brown color that reflected the depth and darkness of her beauty. Nereida was most definitely beautiful and graceful whether or not she was aware of it. She had this near magical ability to make other people around her feel calm and safe with her. That’s why she made such a good nurse.

Nereida’s listening skills had a dark side, evidenced by the fact that Krista blabbered on without letting her girl friend get a word in. She knew that it was cruel to talk Nereida’s ear off about this constantly, but she just couldn’t help that her friend was such a good listener. Krista had blonde hair — natural, and she wouldn’t let you forget it —  that fell down the middle of her back and giant bright hazel colored eyes. 

As Nereida tried to actually listen to Krista’s words, a message from her boyfriend Rashad flashed on her phone. He was angry with her — again. These days their relationship was more hate than love. Nereida thought he was tripping, but Rashad always found a way to make their screwed up relationship her fault. 

Maybe he’d change, Nereida thought, despite no evidence that he would. Krista kept telling her that she should jump back out into the dating world, but Nereida couldn’t handle the cesspool of online dating. Swipe where?! 

Rashad was a pain in the behind, though. That  much was true. He was constantly complaining that Nereida didn’t care about anything except her work. What was she supposed to do? Her dream had always been to have a great job where she could care for other people and nursing just happened  to be what had called her. Nereida couldn’t help that she worked night shifts; she wasn’t even sure what Rashad wanted from her since he didn’t seem to want to marry her. Well she knew but it just wasn’t practical. Rashad wanted her to quit work and just start having his babies and caring for him around the house — without a ring. Nereida loved him, but she just couldn’t give up her dream for him. Not to be his baby mama. Maybe with a ring… 

Her mother had always told her, “Don’t let any ain’t shit mutha-fucka control the money in your house, girl.” 

Nereida didn’t often think her mother had the best advice but that piece had stuck in her head. In her adulthood, she just knew that she couldn’t resign herself to being a servant to Rashad. Somehow, she knew that Rashad couldn’t support her on his own. He certainly thought he could but even now, Rashad made less moolah than she did. It was another sore point in their relationship. He couldn’t handle the thought and he was in denial about it. 

Nereida tuned in to what Krista was saying. That chick still hadn’t realized that Nereida had just track of her conversation. Nereida shook her head, another gesture that went unnoticed as Krista prattled on.

“So, Nereida… What do you think? Should I let her come or should I just tell him that I don’t want his ex-girlfriend’s cousin’s ex-husband’s new girl at my wedding? And should I let them bring their huskies?” 

Before Nereida could give her input on Krista’s latest wedding planning drama, their beepers went off and the break cut short. Krista and Nereida leapt into action and made their way to the E.R. where two stretchers were going in. 

* * *

“Kelly!” Dr. Allen called Nereida to his side and Krista took her cue to follow Dr. Hatfield. Nereida followed the stretcher that surged down the halls at breakneck speed as she prepared to stabilize the patient that had just been wheeled in. It all happened so fast. By now, this ritual should have been swift and automatic. Nereida could never calm her nerves, the adrenaline that pumped through her veins as she rushed down the hall administering shots and oxygen as the doctor on call barked commands at her. You had to keep a cool head. You had to forget about all your problems going on outside: no weddings, no Rashad. 

The patient had burns, pretty severe ones too that charred his skin and peeled away his flesh. The kicker had been two gunshot wounds. He might not have called 911 without them. Nereida didn’t think this one would make it. She’d seen cases less serious than this one where the patient hadn’t made it to the operating room in time before conking out. We have to save him. The thought intruded into her head.

He was in pretty terrible condition and Nereida followed the doctor and yelled back information. The EMTs had managed to stop some of the bleeding but there was still quite a bit of work to be done before this patient was anything near stable. They moved him into the O.R. and everyone suited up to get to work on him.

* * *

It was well after two a.m. by the time the patient was stable. Throughout the surgery, Nereida learned that the patient’s name was Austin Romero. She wondered what on earth had happened to land him in the hospital with two gunshot wounds and third degree burns all over his body. She hadn’t even caught a look at his face but based on how well insured he was, there was no way he was a common street criminal or the type of guy you’d expect to be in here like this.

Nereida’s fascination with this patient was beyond normal and she knew it. From the moment she prepared to leave the operating room, Nereida felt a pang of guilt at leaving him behind for another nurse to wheel into recovery. She couldn’t figure out why he produced such a strange response in her. Austin Romero. The name sounded like it belonged to someone famous, someone who didn’t belong in a small nowhere city like hers.

Strange. Nereida was changing out of her operating scrubs in the locker room between the operating room and the hospital when she heard the surgeon on-call’s heavy breathing behind her. Dr. Finger tapped Nereida on the shoulder as she stood there in just her bra and her clean pants.

“Yes doctor?” Nereida answered politely.

Internally she was thinking, “Here we go again.” She knew that Dr. Finger didn’t have the world’s best established boundaries and he was constantly hitting on the younger nurses, even if he’d been married for over fifteen years.

“Well that was some great work in there,” he said, breathing heavily like a caged ox.

His eyes eagerly lingered on Nereida’s bosom. He licked his lips, not bothering to pretend that he wasn’t leering at her. She shot him a glare and threw her shirt on.

“Thanks,” Nereida mumbled.

She hoped that he would just leave her alone after that. She had a boyfriend and she was here to work… Not pick up guys. She knew that some of the younger nurses made the mistake in thinking that older doctors were “in love” with them and would eventually leave their wives. But it never happened quite like that. Nereida didn’t want a reputation at work. Or anywhere. And she didn’t want a creepy old guy leering at her like a piece of prime rib.

“So Nereida… What are you doing after this shift?” He shifted his junk in his pants. Nereida resisted the urge to scream at him and risk getting her butt fired.

“It’s two in the morning doc,” Nereida said.

Did he really think that she would be so easy to get in bed? She struggled not to laugh in his face.

“Uh, I know it’s two a.m. Nereida. You’re really filling out these scrubs well aren’t you. I like my women with nice bazookas. Great nipples too.”

He licked his lips again. Nereida’s heart raced and her mouth went dry as she plotted her escape route. Even if she reported him, Dr. Finger was the best surgeon in the entire state. They’d never get rid of him so long as patients wanted his gifted hands working on them. 

Nereida glared at him again and tried to push past.

“Not so easy miss. I’m not letting you leave until I get a date.”

“Please… I have a boyfriend, Dr. Finger. Let’s just forget this happened and I’ll head home.”

“Nereida. I’m very discreet. I know you’re seeing some young chap but can he really provide you with everything you want in life? I mean… I’m a doctor.” 

Nereida wondered for a moment if that line had ever worked. She was depressed by the fact that it probably had. Dr. Finger had probably convinced many poor nurses who were just looking to be cared for that he could change their situation or do something to improve their lives. Nereida had been around the hospital too long to even take him seriously. Who did he think he was? These doctors were too arrogant and all thought that someone owed them just because they happened to sit through school for a few extra years.

“Dr. Finger, it’s late and I would really appreciate going home right now.”

“So you’re playing hard to get?” He said. An impish grin broke out across his face.

Nereida was getting frustrated and she was already exhausted. She was about to head home to a boyfriend who was likely waiting for her angrily and she didn’t need this.

“NO! I’m not playing hard to get! I want you to get the hell out of here. I don’t give a damn how much money you have or how bad you think you are okay? This is unprofessional and I want you to let me leave!” 

Dr. Finger seemed taken aback. He wasn’t used to being rejected so flatly and Nereida could see a flash of anger blaze across his eyes. 

“Nereida. Let’s not forget I’m your superior here and I expect at least the basic amount of respect.” 

Nereida was about to lash into him again, fueled by anger at his entitlement when Krista knocked on the door and opened it.

Did you enjoy this free sample? Click here to finish reading the rest of the novella.

Romance Novel Excerpts | Book #7 | Parisian Billionaire Brotherhood - Interracial Billionaire Romance Novel

Romance Novel Excerpts | Book #7 | Parisian Billionaire Brotherhood - Interracial Billionaire Romance Novel

Romance Novel Excerpts | Book #7 | Parisian Billionaire Brotherhood - Interracial Billionaire Romance Novel

Romance Novel Excerpts: Book #4 | The Navy Seal Brotherhood | BWWM Brotherhoods Series

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Coming this February is something a little new for all of y'all. You may have read London Brotherhood Book I, Book II, and Book III. This month, Jamila Jasper presents Book IV: The Navy SEAL Brotherhood. So uhhhh... Why are you doing this? You might be asking yourself. Not everyone loves mafia romance and in 2019, I wanted to write a LONG interconnected series so we may not say "final" goodbyes to our characters and we can cherish them all year long. I also wanted to build a connected universe where events in one part of the series may play a big impact later on.

That being said, I know why y'all are here. Hell, it's why I'm here. We love romance stories. We love steamy scenes, sexy white men, and all the thrills that come with it.This book will have all of that. And the bonus? You can read this as a standalone or continue the series. You won't be missing out. OK, I've chatted a lot about this book. All of this to say that if you're looking for what is expected to be one of the top romance novels of the year from Jamila Jasper, a Navy SEAL bad boy romance or if you just love romantic stories, you'll want to check this one out. Read the FREE sample below.

Watch the trailer here first: http://smarturl.it/navysealbtrailer

Romance Novel Excerpts | Book #4 | The Navy SEAL Brotherhood 

MACE HARWOOD JR.

“I don’t want to hear another word of complaint. Usmanov is paying us each five figures for a two day trip and I know all of you motherfuckers need the money.”

We stood shoulder to shoulder, at attention, as Tyrese walked back and forth in front of us with a mean look in his eye, desperate to convince us that this mission was worth an iota of our time.

“CHUBB!” Tyrese barked, “With the gut you’ve been putting on, I know you need money for more food.”

Chester Chubb’s sallow cheeks turned scarlet. Tyrese stopped in front of Robbie next.

“PEÑA! Your mamá needs her rent paid and we all know it. If you stopped spending money on liquor and girls, maybe you wouldn’t still be here.”

Robbie didn’t flinch at Tyrese’s denigrations. By now we were all accustomed to his method of motivation. Tyrese’s boots crunched into the earth.

“HARWOOD! You don’t need the money, but you’re a crazy motherfucker and we can’t do this shit without you.”

“YES, SIR!” I replied.

Tyrese continued.

“ELLIS! We need you ‘cause you’ve got a kid in every country your sorry ass set foot in and when these ladies come knocking on your door for child support, you’ll need every dime you can get.”

“YES, SIR!” Bubba Ellis shouted, with a vigor that only a man who has successfully dodged child support in multiple countries for a decade could muster.

“ZHANG! Stand up straighter, boy. We need you more than anybody ‘cause you’re the only motherfucker who can keep these bastards in line. NOW, DOES ANYONE HAVE ANY MORE COMPLAINTS?”

“NO, SIR!” We responded in unison.

“Excellent. At ease gentlemen. Let’s review the mission after training tomorrow. I want all of you there at 0800 sharp.”

“YES, SIR.”

“Good. You’re dismissed.”

An intense morning workout left all of us dripping in sweat. Six months ago, we’d begun our work as a team rooting out Muslims in the desert and tracking Syrian ex-pats who might have been spies out in Kuwait. Our last teams had… disintegrated so to speak. Tyrese and I were the only ones to survive a mishap out in Iraq, and he’d been promoted to team leader of this new band of America’s most dangerous soldiers. SEAL Team Gamma formed six months ago and since then we’d been on mission after mission in the desert, interspersed with week-long training camps in the harshest climates in the world from the Australian outback to Siberia. When we heard about Tyrese’s latest plan for us while we waited for our next government contract, none of us were thrilled.

In the locker room after our intense workout, we stripped down, except Ellis, who never showered after workouts, and lathered up. Peña was pissed. So was Chubb. Zhang never let anything ruffle him and didn’t talk much anyway.

“Lorde has lost his damn mind,” Chubb grunted with his harsh Georgia twang.

“A princess,” Peña sneered, “We’re Americas most dangerous soldiers and he expects us to transport a fucking princess.” 

“He’s lost his damn mind,” Chubb replied.

Zhang added calmly, “We’re getting paid, at least. Well.”

“Fuckin’ chinks only care about money,” Chubb sneered.

“Watch your language,” I retorted, “That ‘chink’ is your brother.”

“Whatever,” Chubb replied, “Ain’t like he minds.”

Tim Zhang remained quiet, coating his body in soap. We’d lost our shyness about showering together during bootcamp. It made no difference who was naked and for how long anymore. We’d seen too much together and been in too many situations where showers were never an option to be too particular about it.

“We leave tomorrow too. A Russian princess, what the hell does she look like you think?” Chubb asked.

Peña snickered, “I’m sure you’d like to give it to her but you’ve got to get through Ellis first.”

Chubb hollered, “Ellis? That motherfucker can’t have any more kids without his wife losing her damn mind on him. See I know women, Penny, I know women, and she’s had it up to here with his cheating.”

“What do you know about women, Chubb?” 

“Hey, I’m married motherfucker. I’ve been married. More than you can say.”

“I don’t need marriage to get what I want from women.”

“OHHH, burn!”

“Shut up, Penny,” Chubb snarled.

He’d never learned to pronounce Robbie’s last name right so he called him whatever his little Southern mind told him too — often some butchered version of Robbie’s actual name. This week he’d settled on “Penny”. 

“She’s a spoiled Russian princess,” I reminded them, “It’ll be over and done with in two days. It can’t be that bad.”

“I’m sure she looks like Ivanka,” Chubb said, practically drooling.

Robbie and I wrinkled our noses in disgust.

“Ivanka Trump looks like the bottom of my shoe,” Robbie snickered.

I couldn’t help but crack a smile, knowing that it wouldn’t take more than that to get under Chubb’s skin. He threw a punch, and Robbie dodged it easily. Robbie tossed the soap to me and I lathered up, cracking a smile as I watched the two idiots try to wrestle each other naked. Robbie at least, seemed to be enjoying himself. Chubb finally caught hold of him and threatened him, but before he could land an actual punch, Robbie managed to diffuse the guy’s anger and he let go.

“Fuckin’ beaner,” Chubb muttered under his breath.

“Careful, Chet,” Robbie replied.

Chubb scowled, but he didn’t push Robbie any further. We left the locker and went our separate ways. I didn’t say much, but I had my own questions about what Tyrese was playing at. He didn’t explain it too well when I asked him privately. All I heard was that he owed someone — not the Russian — and that this man, some Oliver Cook, had saved his ass a long time ago. He owed him, and now, we were about to fly some Russian chick from New York City to Europe. This wasn’t exactly in the purview of the SEALs usually, except this woman’s father was a Russian oligarch and a US diplomat with enough clout in the country to make it a matter of national security. It didn’t make much sense to me, but Tyrese said all he was gonna say about it and it’s not my place to question my team leader. Start doing that and the whole team falls apart quick.

We had all we needed to know: One Russian chick needed to be brought safely from point A to point B. We had permission from Tyrese and high command to do the job, and once we were done, we’d get paid enough money to kick back and relax.

The next morning, I woke up at 0400, did calisthenics until I couldn’t breathe and then I pumped iron until my muscles shook. An easy mission like this meant busting my balls in the gym so I didn’t get lazy. I finished my workout a 0630 and downed breakfast: a protein shake with raw eggs, spinach, goat milk and ice. A day hasn’t begun until I’ve worked myself to the bone. The addiction to the endorphins kept my ass out of all the trouble liquor tried to get me into.

I showed up at the meeting place at 0745. Zhang was the only one there. He crouched outside the building in a squat with his eyes closed.

“What are you doing, fuckin’ meditating?”

Zhang opened one eye.

“Good morning, Mace.”

“Where are the guys?”

“Not here.”

“Not even Tyrese?”

“No.”

“Mind getting on your fuckin’ feet?”

Zhang rose slowly out of his squat, balancing on one foot before putting the other down.

“You’re a fuckin’ freak show, Zhang.”

“Thank you.”

“Wasn’t a fuckin’ compliment.”

“I know,” Zhang replied.

Man that guy didn’t let anyone ruffle his feathers. Not even me. We waited a few more minutes. Robbie showed up next, then Tyrese, then Chubb, then Ellis. Our six man team assembled right at 0758 — early enough not to cause Tyrese to blow a fuse.

“Now that you’re all here, we’ll go to the office across the street. Look smart fellas. Usmanov is a tough guy and despite his protected status by our government, don’t think for an instant that he isn’t dangerous. Any perceived slight and I can’t control what happens to you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir!” Our voices sounded in perfect unison, like our training had taught us. We were one voice and one brotherhood whenever we wore the uniform. We walked in single file, steps in line with one another across the street. This part of the city was barely awake. An old Jewish woman selling roses was the only sign of life. She pretended not to be eyeing us curiously, but I could sense we were an unusual sight for this part of the city. Tyrese rapped his fists against an old wooden door.

A voice barked back in Russian. Tyrese responded some mumbo-jumbo I couldn’t understand and then the door opened. A dark haired man with icy blue eyes glowered at us and spat a single English word.

“Identification.”

“Fellas, pull ‘em out,” Tyrese commanded.

We pulled out our IDs and the Russian checked them like he meant it. One at a time, he allowed us in. They were all armed, though if we’d meant business, their weapons wouldn’t have done any good. Each of us could take down three grown men, weapons or not. We were warriors. Guns were just a bonus. We walked down a long hallway. The deeper we got into the house (if you could call it that) the stronger the stench of vodka. At the end of the hallway, the fella who led us there pushed the door open and we entered a large study. Tyrese whistled and the six of us stood shoulder to shoulder in order of rank. 

It was clear who the Russian was, but I couldn’t figure out where his daughter was. He had a young woman standing next to him. I assumed she was his mistress. Her skin was dark, so dark that it was almost purple. She was tall, too. And skinny. 

“Mister Usmanov, thank you for agreeing to meet with us. These men are the proud soldiers of SEAL Team Gamma. They’re brave, smart, and best suited for the protection of your daughter.”

Oleg nodded.

Spasibo.”

His soldier left the room. We stood at attention, looking Oleg Usmanov dead in the eye. 

“Introduce yourselves,” he commanded, taking the reins of leadership from Tyrese effortlessly.

“Robert Pena, sir.”

“Thomas Zhang, sir.”

“Mace Harwood, sir.”

“Chester Chubb, sir.”

“Bubba Ellis, sir.”

Oleg nodded.

“Milena, step forward.”

The dark-skinned woman standing next to him took a step forward.

“This is my daughter, Milena Aminata Usmanov.”

The dark-skinned girl bowed her head.

“Hello,” she said quietly.

None of us dared say a word, but we were all thinking it. How the hell could a man the color of a fresh snow have a daughter as dark as a blackberry. Tyrese held his head high, as Oleg stared at each one of us, analyzing us with a vicious stare. I could smell the vodka on his breath, but he was by no means drunk. He walked down the line of us, just like Tyrese did.

“I want you to take my daughter away tonight. Do you understand?”

We paused for a beat. Tyrese nodded.

“Yes, sir!” 

“If anything happens to her, I have your names. I know your families. Even you, Mister Ellis, I know how many children you have. I can name more of your children than you can. Da?”

“Yes, sir!” We repeated.

“Take care of my daughter. If not, I do not need to say what will happen. Da?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Good.”

Oleg rested his hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

“Aminata, you are to go with these men.”

“Papa!?”

“Aminata, we discussed this. You are in danger. I promised protection.”

“I expected bodyguards, papa, not this.”

She still hadn’t looked us in the eye. Oleg rested a hand on his daughter’s shoulder and she brusquely brushed him off. 

“No, papa. I will not go with them.”

“This is not discussion, Aminata,” he growled, his English slipping as his daughter’s disobedience turned his cheeks a flush mauve.

“I don’t see why I have to leave.”

“It is not safe,” Oleg growled, visibly unamused to have his word questioned in front of his fresh hires.

“I am not going to leave, papa. You can’t make me!”

Her accent was surprisingly cosmopolitan. Except when she said papa, she would have sounded completely American, but with a nondescript accent that only comes from picking up the sounds of intonations of Americans from Texas to Boston. 

Oleg removed his hand from his daughter’s shoulders forlornly.

“I’m sorry, Milena.”

Her expression softened.

“Papa—”

Oleg interrupted her before she could continue.

“Gentlemen, are you ready to prove you’re worth the money I spent?”

We waited for his command.

“Take her.”

“Sir, take her?”

“By any means necessary — without harming her,” he added the last bit as an after thought.

Hearing her papa suggest that she was now at our mercy sent the poor woman into what can only be described as a fit of madness. Her eyes widened and she turned away from us, forgetting the dignity and manners that had made her seem so poised and collected before. She screamed at her father.

“Papa, are you crazy!”

“I’m sorry, Aminata.”

“You’re crazy! None of you will tell me what’s going on. Not Vasily! Not Feodor!”

Tyrese nodded and Bubba Ellis lunged forward and grabbed the woman around her waist.

“AIIIEEEEE! PUT. ME. DOWN.”

Oleg nodded and muttered, “Gentlemen…” before exiting the room. I guess he wanted us to do the dirty work but that didn’t mean he had to sit there and watch it happen before his very eyes. His daughter’s squealing hadn’t let up. Despite his size, Bubba struggled to hold onto her.

“PUT. ME. DOWN.”

“PAPPPPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

Robbie jumped in to help Ellis, and kicking and screaming, we took her out of the building and tossed her in the back of the car. The old Jewish woman was no longer selling her flowers, and the streets were empty. In the back of the soundproof vehicle, Robbie and Bubba sat on either side of her. I hopped into the driver’s seat and Tyrese in the passenger side. The other two followed in their own car. We put up the partition between the two of us, drowning out her sound even further.

Despite all that, she screamed for a full hour before she must have tired out and fallen asleep. Ellis put the partition down just a tad after she was quiet. Yes, she was definitely asleep.

When the book is live, you'll be able to find it here: smarturl.it/navysealb. You can buy the book directly from my website. Click here to buy direct. Thank you for reading through this excerpt. You can find a longer excerpt 100% FREE here: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/8nkrobrqgk

Romance Novel Excerpts: Jealous Ex-Husband (BWWM Romance Novel)

jealous ex husband wmbw interracial romance novelThis novel will be coming out new this month and I'm excited to share Jealous Ex Husband with all you interracial romance fans out there. The trailer just dropped on YouTube and y'all have been sharing the love in the comment section to enter and win an advanced review copy. If you love books similar to 50 Shades of Grey with an interracial BWWM twist, you'll love this full-length novel which maps out the crazy story of Quetta & Vlad.

As I said in the trailer, divorce isn't easy and this story is about finding love after divorce. If you like romance novel excerpts, love romantic stories and enjoy reading free romance novels online, keep reading to enjoy the first preview of Jealous Ex-Husband... 

Book Description:

Divorce ain't easy...

It's even harder when your ex-husband is famous...

And vengeful.

Jealousy, back-stabbing and Hollywood materialism threaten Quetta's joy after divorce.

The one man who makes all her troubles disappear is the one man Quetta must stay away from...

Or she'll risk losing everything.

Romance Novel Excerpts: Jealous Ex Husband (BWWM Romance Novel)

 

 

DIRTY LAWYER

Vlad Romanov had tired of Tati.  She was not only another boring, fake model filled with silicon at every point of injection, but she was another reminder of his tendency to make horrible decisions with women. On his quest for “the one”, Vlad found himself surrounded by the perpetual stream of plastic women in Los Angeles whose only obsessions included Botox and Birkins — nothing else. Sure, she was sexy enough but was that really enough?

 

The biggest issue with Tati, besides her empty blue eyes and her desperation for material objects was the fact that the second they’d slept together she had become clingier than a piece of gum beneath a table. She didn’t get the idea that Vlad had no time for her. No. Fucking. Time. Vlad was one of the highest paid divorce lawyers on the West Coast and although he loved passing time with these wannabe models, strippers and shallow rich chicks, he reviled interruptions, especially while he worked. 

 

“What the hell is it Tati?”

 

“I love you Vlad…” She purred in her heavy Russian accent. (Vlad wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t faking it. She claimed to be from Moscow but he knew without a doubt, her parents had immigrated in the late 80s.) 

 

Vlad rolled his eyes. They’d slept together once. And Tati wasn’t naive. She might have been twenty years old but she had been around the block. She’d starred in around fifty blue movies before “retiring” and attempting to become a professional girlfriend. Sugar babies were as common as bus drivers in the city.

 

“Listen… Tati… I can’t handle this right now. I’m working on a case…”

 

Tati hit back, “You’re always working Vlad. Always working. Why don’t I stop by your office and I wrap my lips around your cock. We’ll see how busy you are.”

 

Vlad cringed. There was no way in hell he was going to let Tati know where he worked.

 

“Listen… Tati, I’ve got to go. Why don’t you go find some other way to occupy your time. I promise I’ll see you later.”

 

“You are a terrible boyfriend Vlad. Perhaps I should call another man to occupy me this afternoon.”

 

Vlad ignored her obvious attempt to make him jealous. “Perhaps you should. And I’m not your boyfriend.”

 

“What are you afraid of Vlad? You hate commitment.” 

 

Vlad scoffed. He’d known Tati a grand total of eight days. Afraid of commitment or afraid of crazy Russian chicks? 

 

“I don’t have time for this.” 

 

“Fine! You’re a fucking scumbag Vlad! I spread my legs for you and what do you do… you shit all over me.” 

 

Click! 

 

Tati hung up. Vlad smirked. She was so dramatic. He knew she’d be crawling back for more later anyway. He really didn’t have time for her. Vlad’s latest celebrity lawsuit and his work had always taken priority over bimbos. The deeper and deeper Vlad got into his work, the less he had time for women. 

 

Of course, all the women his age wanted nothing more than to tie him down and start milking him for money and babies. Vlad was still looking for fun. Crazy as she might have been, Tati was fun. 

 

Vlad’s receptionist paged his office. 

 

“Mr. Romanov? I have your two o’clock.”

 

“Send her up.” 

 

Vlad downed the glass of vodka he’d kept sitting on his desk. His latest clientele wouldn’t appreciate how much he drank on the job. He adjusted his lapels and sat up straight, pulling out a gold pen and a sheet of thick card paper to take notes on. He’d been up all night, working on his latest case and the dark bags under his eyes betrayed his exhaustion. 

 

Vlad’s piercing eyes were brilliant greenish color that glowed like emeralds. The green picked up the deep chestnut brown color of his hair, giving his eyes an occasional champagne color. Vlad sat up in his office chair and straightened his orange and black Princeton tie. Breathe. 

 

His receptionist had hinted that this client wanted to remain anonymous before they met. She had “security concerns”, which wasn’t uncommon for his clients. Vlad wondered who it would be… Some celebrity bodyguard hoping Vlad would get them a big cash payout from alleged mistreatment? A woman with a botched boob job? 

 

A knock on his door interrupted Vlad from his fantasizing. 

 

“Come in!” 

 

He coughed and sat up straight, prepared for anything.  

 

When the door opened, Vlad’s jaw might have dropped if he hadn’t had so much practice maintaining his composure under all manner of surprising encounters.

 

“Good afternoon, miss,” He greeted her. Of course, most people on the West Coast knew who she was but people who were famous preferred the pretense that they could maintain anonymity. Instantly, Vlad noticed how much more beautiful she was in person…  

 

Quetta Blackburn noticed the same things about him. Quetta wondered if she’d come to the right place at all. The man sitting across the desk from her looked more like a professional athlete and bodybuilder than a high-powered lawyer who had been personally responsible for bankrupting a number of high profile men. His office stank of vodka and cigars, but other than the smell, was perfectly clean and tidy, almost acetic in its appearance.

 

“Good afternoon Mr. Romanov.” 

 

“Good afternoon, madam.

 

Quetta stuck out her hand to shake his. Vlad maintained eye contact with her, his gaze piercing into hers as he assessed every detail about her, gripping her hand in a firm, powerful handshake. Her diamond tennis bracelet jingled as she shook his hand and her manicured fingers dug into his thick meaty palm. She released his grasp quickly and smoothed her tight dress, sitting with her legs crossed before invited.

 

“So… What are we speaking about today Miss…”

 

“You know who I am…” She said, “But don’t call me Mrs. Blackburn. Call me Quetta.” 

 

“My husband and I are getting a divorce. I forced him to file the papers and I need a lawyer who can help me get what I’m worth,” Quetta said flatly. 

 

Quetta’s cool impressed Vlad. Most divorcées were withering messes, unsure of what they wanted and more interested in salvaging what politeness they could from their spouses. He could tell Quetta wasn’t that kind of woman. Her dark, copper colored skin glowed with the effortless beauty of a woman who lived without stress. Vlad picked up on her intense gaze.

 

He was the best, everyone agreed he was the best. But Quetta was still skeptical when she saw him. Vlad still looked more like a pretty boy than a renowned lawyer.

 

“What do you have in mind?” Vlad asked.

 

She didn’t pause for a moment before speaking her mind.

 

“I want at least half… More than half if I can get away with it. It’s just… I’ve been through a lot with him and I’m afraid of what my husband will try to do.” 

 

Vlad looked Quetta up and down. She didn’t look like your usual basketball wife gold digger, but she had some of the trimmings of one. Every part of her was perfectly manicured from her straight black weave, her body hugging dress and her manicured fingernails. Every inch of her that could dripped in jewelry. Her Prada bag on the table was the final touch in a made-for-TV outfit. 

 

Vlad was certain she didn’t leave the house without consulting a stylist. Still, despite her manicured state, she was dressed properly. There wasn’t a hint of cleavage and her skirt fell far below her knees. Quetta Blackburn seemed just as wholesome as her TV image.

 

“May I ask the reason for the divorce, Mrs. Blackburn? Before taking on new clients, I need to know that I can win.”

 

“This conversation will be confidential, right?” 

 

Now, Vlad was curious. He leaned forward, itching to have another drink as he listened to a story that promised to be intriguing.

 

“My husband…” she sighed.

 

“My husband hasn’t been faithful,” she confessed. 

 

Quetta pursed her lips after the confession. Her calm exterior was only slightly ruffled, but Vlad was good enough at reading people to see that she had been. She twirled her fingers around and fiddled with the clasp of her bracelet. 

 

Vlad raised his eyebrow. Even he wasn’t resistant to such a delightful piece of gossip. Kareem Blackburn was a famous NBA player whose entire image as a celebrity was constructed around his Christian faith and his love for his Christian wife that he’d been with since college. Vlad couldn’t believe that the pure and wholesome family man could actually be a philanderer. A part of him wondered if Quetta was telling the truth.

 

“Listen… Mrs. Blackburn. I’m not sure what you’re looking for,” Vlad replied with a smile.

 

Quetta’s expression changed. She could tell that he wasn’t taking her seriously. She stopped fiddling with her bracelet and she grabbed her purse off his desk. Her eyes narrowed and she spoke to Vlad in a stronger voice than she’d ever managed to muster up.

 

“Listen Mr. Romanov. I’m a serious client asking you to negotiate a multi million dollar divorce. I don’t know what impression you have of me but I can pay your fee and I want your services. I’ve heard about you… a lot about you… And I know that you’re the only man who will be able to get me what I want. Everyone knows that you’re a sicko in the courtroom and you’ll do what it takes to win. I want that… I need that. So are you really going to say no to money on the table?”

 

She opened her purse and took out a checkbook. She wrote, in dazzling neat script and ripped the check, sliding it across the table. Vlad’s eyes popped open at the amount, which far exceeded his usual exorbitant retainer. 

 

For someone who played the meek, innocent wife during TV interviews, it was clear that Quetta was no innocent. She was ready to play hardball. The check was all he needed to see. 

 

“Listen Mrs. Blackburn, my tactics as a lawyer have been described as wily… devious and by some men, illegal.”

 

“I don’t care. All I want is to walk away from this divorce with exactly what I’m worth.” 

 

“And exactly how much do you think you’re worth Mrs. Blackburn?”

 

“At least $200 million.” 

 

“Alright. Tell me more about what’s happening with you and your husband.”

 

Quetta sat down and began to tell Vlad about everything that was happening with her husband. It was a shame how quickly everything seemed to deconstruct. She had grown accustomed to the idea of a forever with Kareem but everything had turned sour fast. Getting drafted in the league had seemed like a dream come true at the time. Now Quetta was wondering if her relationship had been ruined the moment Kareem signed his contract. Everything had changed. The moment he’d gone from her man to a media darling, her life was completely different.

 

“Kareem and I met in high school. I was part of the Christian Students Association and back then I’d taken a vow of chastity which included not dating any boys until I turned eighteen. Kareem honored my promise to wait and I supported his dream to play basketball. We started dating our first year of college. I still kept my promise, no matter what people thought. And he remained committed to me. I still remember after practice every day, we would hole up in my dorm room with our Bibles and talk about the word of the Lord…”

 

Vlad was trying to focus on Quetta’s story but reading the Bible together was not how he thought this was going to start. But Quetta was making a good point: when had it all gone wrong? How could a perfect couple that was so committed to each other fall apart so fast? Was the allure of money, cheap sex and power so great that it could break a bond made between two devout soulmates?

 

Quetta was continuing, “When Kareem signed his contract I was so happy… We had just been married and I’d just entered into a perfect relationship with my perfect man. I’d done everything exactly the way God had asked of me. Kareem was reaping the blessings of his faith too. I felt like nothing could go wrong. But it was only about a year or so before things began to change.” 

 

Now this was the good stuff… Vlad thought to himself.

 

“He started lying to me. I didn’t know he was lying to me but I could tell. Our relationship with each other and with God was starting to falter. I hated it… I hated playing the perfect couple for the cameras and at all the ball games while knowing he was lying to me. It hurt so much to have to be that person who was being dishonest. But I didn’t dare let up the image. After a while, I started doing my research. If I’d found out it was just one time…” Quetta started tearing up. 

 

Vlad waited, stoic for her to continue. A part of him felt for her but another part of him wondered what on earth she expected with a man who played in the NBA.

 

“If it was just one time I could have forgiven him. God would have wanted me to forgive him. But that wasn’t it. It was more than one time, with more than one person and after I tried to forgive him, he lied and did the same thing all over again. God wants me to forgive, but he doesn’t want me to ruin my life for a man who don’t love me no more. Kareem might think he still loves me, but he don’t. And when he realizes that he don’t, I’m gonna suffer. Are you capable of helping me Mr. Romanov?”

 

Vlad nodded.

 

“I’ll help you Mrs. Blackburn. But… Please, call me Vlad.” 

This book will be coming to Amazon very shortly. I hope you enjoy the free sample. If you want to stay updated on the book, join my mailing list and you'll be the first to find out when it drops! Click here to join the list. When the book is live, I'll update this blog with the links to where you can find the book. This book will be included in Kindle Unlimited. To read more chapters free before the book drops, check out my Patreon

Everything You Need To Know About The Cocky Trademark Scandal

So if you've been following anything in Romancelandia online in the past two weeks, you will have surely heard about "Cocky Gate", the trademark scandal that while hilarious on the surface reflects deeper questions about trademark laws in the United States and the future of romance as a genre.

The makings of  #CockyGate happened long before I received the "Cease & Desist" letter that would spiral this scandal in the romance industry into the spotlight.

Here's the letter I received. I shared this screenshot on Twitter after hearing allegations from fellow authors that Faleena Hopkins claimed she was being "bullied" by authors after sending kind and respectful letters to them. Here's the exact text of the kind and respectful letter that I received:

This response blew up on Twitter and I received an outpouring of support from fellow authors and requests to buy my offending title: Cocky Cowboy.

However, due to the nature of the Cease & Desist email, I decided to err on the side of caution and unpublish my book Cocky Cowboy to avoid further action by Ms Hopkins.

This act was later portrayed as an attempt to be nefarious on my part but that was never my intention. In fact, despite being upset, I did agree to comply with Ms Hopkins request and was sure to request that she never contact me again:

In my haste, I made a slight error in this email and I actually had the idea in January 2017 and definitive plans to publish in March 2018 by the middle of the summer in 2017.

After my screenshot blew up on Twitter, authors and readers alike requested permission to buy my title, Cocky Cowboy. However, I am very cautious about possible Amazon terms of service violations so I knew I had to get the book up there under a different name.

This is how "The Cockiest Cowboy To Have Ever Cocked" came to be: 
 

You can find this title here on Amazon if you're interested: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07B9MCHW7

This is identical in every way to my previous release except for the title and cover. It's an interracial romance story set in the Midwestern United States that has a little bit of a mystery element to the story. It's not your stereotypical bad boy romance in any way and as a Black author, my story centers around an African American woman.

My response to this controversy was not born out of spite but rather my belief that every negative situation has a positive side to it. Yes, it hurt to have to spend extra money on the cover, it hurt to no longer sell copies of my paperback book and of course, it hurt to see my hard work compromised because of someone else's accusations and to have me portrayed as nothing more than a copycat -- which I am not! 

It's exceedingly common in this industry to have similar titles to other authors. One of my close friends in the writing world and I both published a book entitled "Father By Choice" for example and we both laughed it off. My title had come long after hers but I had completely forgotten. I had even promoted her book back then! She was another interracial romance author who didn't take it personally because this is so NORMAL. (By the way, my version of the book was recently published on audiobook and you can find it on Amazon, Audible, and iTunes.)  

For most of us, a brand is more than a title and it's certainly more than a common word. At the end of the day, I bear no hard feelings towards anyone involved with this, but I do want to share my side of the story as I've done and I want to express my gratitude towards everyone in the indie community and in the romance reader community. Your support has done me a world of good in keeping me motivated and inspired to keep writing and to trust that I can connect with others. 

It hurts to be attacked and it hurts to have your integrity questioned but at the end of the day, I chose to make lemonade out of those lemons (just like Beyoncé taught me!) 

Here are some of the things said about me online from an author who I had never encountered before receiving the email first posted on this blog:

(Disclaimer: I haven't actually read these slam posts until today while making this post because I am not interested in their content. I did get someone to pick some funny parts for my book description for the relaunch, but until now I never read them in full.) 

I also want to share some great articles on the entire situation that give a holistic perspective on what happened. My story is important, but what's more important is how the rest of the romance community has banded together to share the truth and to support authors that have been affected.

Here are some articles that summarize the situation: 

https://www.vox.com/culture/2018/5/15/17339578/cockygate-explained-romance-publishing-faleena-hopkins

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2018/may/08/romantic-novelist-trademarking-of-word-cocky-fameela-hopkins

https://slate.com/culture/2018/05/cockygate-and-the-romance-writing-trademark-war.html

https://nastygalbookreviews.wordpress.com/2018/05/08/cockygate-2k18-wild-ride/

Here's the author page to one of the author authors affected, Tara Crescent: 

https://www.amazon.com/Tara-Crescent/e/B00FY426O0

I would like to thank all the journalists who reached out to me with such grace and politeness about the situation. I greatly appreciate the way you've handled the situation and your kindness when reaching out to me. Thank you so much. 

Here was my final Facebook post response to the subject which summarizes my final position on the situation: 

Thank you for reading through this and I hope you have a wonderful day. You can find me on social media on these social networks if you're interested in reading more of my work or staying in touch: 

🎥 YouTube: http://bit.ly/2CdKJUM

📸 Instagram: www.instagram.com/bwwmjamila 

🐦 Twitter: www.twitter.com/jamilajasper

💰Patreon: www.patreon.com/jamilajasper 

👍 Facebook: www.facebook.com/bwwmjamila 

💌 jamilajasperromance@gmail.com

🌎 www.jamilajasperromance.com