beautiful romance novels

Dark Romance Books | SEAL's Captive | Book #1 BWWM Captive Series

seals captive dark romance books bwwm bad boy military romance us navy seal romance novelThe first installment of the BWWM Captive Series, SEAL's Captive was nothing like what I had expected. I first published this book under the title Bringing The Heat. The only issue? There was no heat. I got everything wrong and the book was a total flop.

I could have given up, but I didn't want to. I loved the story, and I knew with some more work, I could bring you a book that you would love just as much as I did. I made big changes. I consulted with a cover designer and told her that I wanted the best look for my readers. She came up with this cover you see here. But that wasn't enough...

I had to tweak to the story so I did. I made it hotter. I added in details and I opened the story up to further exploration in Book 2 and Book 3 of the trilogy.

This is the beginning of a story that's about both love and sisterhood. Three black women are connected by a father that they barely know and his death sends the heiresses spiraling into a dark world that they'd grown up knowing nothing about. In this extraordinary world, they find men capable of loving them more than they'd ever anticipated and from the darkness that they are thrust into, they find a beacon of light...

These stories aren't "too serious" either... I made them plenty steamy with hot new locations for hanky-panky that will have you heading out to experiment with hubby TONIGHT. Don't believe me? Check out this free sample and read the available books in the trilogy. You'll have a WILD time, I promise.

Romance Novel Excerpts: SEAL's Captive | Book #1 BWWM Captive Series

DADDY'S FUNERAL

Gigi barely knew her father. She knew that he was wealthy and that her mother had been knocked up at nineteen years old by a man a decade older than her.

 

Jerome Jackson had always been a mysterious absentee figure. To Gigi, he was daddy, the person who paid for her education, the person who sent her to horseback riding camp,  he'd sent her on trips to Mallorca and Bangkok, but he'd never been there.

 

Gigi could count on her hands the number of times she'd seen him in person.

 

Gigi stood next to her two half-sisters looking down at the body of the man she barely knew. Jerome Jackson — born June 11th, 1958, died February 14th, 2017.

 

Dinah was the one who had found him. As she told it, he’d been sitting in his study with his hand clasped around a glass of whiskey.

 

Gigi stood next to the sister that she barely knew and slipped her hand into hers. Dinah was crying, but neither Gigi nor their third sister Tyra could muster up tears yet. Neither of them knew Jerome quite the way that Dinah did. Dinah was the only one who had grown up with him.

 

The funeral would start in forty-five minutes. Strangers would fill this room and gawk at her father’s body. Most of them would probably know Jerome better than Gigi ever had. Her father, the stranger.

 

Even if he had been a stranger, Jerome had ensured Gigi had the best of the best. She’d attended the best private day schools in New York and then she’d been shipped off to a New England boarding school for high school. All on her father’s dime.

 

In her community, Gigi’s life had caused whispers. Despite her expensive education, she had grown up in a small two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. Her mother’s job as a public school teacher could never have afforded her all the luxuries she had growing up.

 

She’d only met and hung out with her sisters three times in the past. When Gigi was eighteen years old  — Tyra, sixteen, Dinah, fifteen — Jerome persuaded Gigi’s mother to let Gigi join him for a special summer vacation. He thought it was important for all his daughters to know each other. After much pleading, Gigi remembered her mother reluctantly allowing her to go.

 

She remembered being eighteen and standing in line at JFK, ready to meet her father in person for only the tenth time in her life. She remembered the image she had constructed of him from his letters alone and filled in by her active imagination. She remembered picturing her sisters in her head; she imagined they would all be perfect copies of her, the best friends she’d been searching for her whole life.

 

Gigi cracked a smile as she recalled that vacation. It had been far from perfect. Tyra and Dinah were nothing like her and they were used to being “only children”. Jerome hadn’t been the perfect father either on that vacation. Instead of spending time with them, he’d given them each a credit card and sent them off on their own. Gigi and her two sisters had an insane month in Paris together followed by a month in London. There had been laughter, shopping... and more fighting than ever.

 

Those were some of the best and worst memories Gigi had of Jerome. She reached out and touched his stiff hand in the coffin. Those tears finally found their way out of her eyes. Dinah squeezed her hand tightly and rested her head on Gigi’s shoulders.

 

“I don’t know if I can do this today,” Tyra whispered.

 

“Well. We have to.”

 

“I know,” Tyra replied, “But I think I’ll need a drink.”

 

“Don’t drink too much,” Gigi warned.

 

“Easy for you to say,” mumbled Tyra.

 

“I think I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

 

They walked into the other room. It felt strange having the funeral out of Jerome’s house, but that was what he requested. He'd been specific too. He wanted the viewing, the repast, and funeral in the foyer downstairs and then he’d be cremated later that week. Each of his daughters would get 1/3 of his ashes and 1/3 of his assets.

 

He might have been more absent than not, but he’d always provided financially, even in death.

 

Dinah had hired an event coordinator to manage the entire affair. They approached Jerome’s bar and each ordered a drink. Tyra ordered a stiff whiskey on the rocks (Jim Beam, just like her father drank).

 

Dinah ordered a glass of white wine. Gigi ordered cranberry juice with a splash of vodka in it. She wanted the presence of mind throughout this entire affair. She wanted to remember — even if remembering would hurt like hell.

 

She felt sad that Jerome had died but not from missing him. Heck, she’d grown used to missing him her own life. What really gnawed at Gigi’s heart was all the time she didn’t get to spend with her father. She realized all the things she didn’t know about him. She knew that he’d made millions of dollars in investment banking and investing in technology. She knew that he was a renowned womanizer who hadn’t just dated their mothers but a number of celebrities.

 

But Gigi didn’t know how he liked his coffee. She didn’t know what her father liked to do in his downtime. All she knew was that he’d worked, provided and then died. His personality would always be a mystery to her. His death was so painfully final. She downed as much of her drink as she could manage, her racing mind causing her to rethink her abstinence from alcohol.

 

“What happens next Dinah?” Tyra asked.

 

Dinah morosely took a sip of her wine before answering. By some cruel fate, the youngest of them had been completely responsible for putting all of this together. She was the only one of them who really knew Jerome. She’d grown up in this very mansion and ultimately, she’d been the one to find her father’s body. It was like Dinah was suffering just for being the only one of Jerome’s children he’d paid any mind.

 

“I meet with the estate lawyer and the accountant. You guys don’t have to stay here. Once you send me your banking information and addresses, I should be able to sort it all out.”

 

“Jesus,” Tyra mumbled.

 

“It’s a lot of money,” Gigi confirmed.

 

Dinah smiled, “I guess it is. I’m just so used to all this, you know?”

 

Tyra nodded, “Lucky you. I grew up in East L.A. Daddy provided for me but mama would have never let any of this get to my head.”

 

Dinah furrowed her brow a bit.

 

“Don’t mean any offense.”

 

“None taken. It’s just… Sometimes I wonder how daddy could have left y’all across the country. Why me?”

 

Gigi shrugged, “My mama had me at nineteen. It was a long time ago. Maybe with you he just wanted things to be different.”

 

“I guess. But it still bothers me. Doesn’t it bother you? That we didn’t grow up together?”

 

Tyra and Gigi exchanged glances. Yes, it did bother them. Of course, it did. Their father was internationally renowned and incredibly wealthy but for a reason, neither of them knew, he’d only picked the youngest of them to take care of properly.

 

To them, Jerome was a more of an idea than a person. Dinah was the only one of her sisters who had grown up with a real father.

 

“I guess it bothers me,” Tyra mumbled.

 

“Well, we have a chance to get to know each other now,” Gigi offered.

 

Dinah sighed, “But how? After this… you’ll head east and Tyra’s going to head west.”

 

“And then you’ll be the baddest bitch left in Costa Rica,” Tyra grinned.

 

The three of them laughed. It was the first time that the three of them had shared a proper laugh since they’d arrived at Jerome Jackson’s tropical mansion. This was the country that Dinah had grown up in while Gigi was away at boarding school and while Tyra had attended a private day school in California.

 

“Well, since we only have a few minutes, why don’t we just have another drink,” Dinah said.

 

They were starting to realize that like it or not, they would have an emotionally exhausting day. They ordered second rounds of their drinks as time ticked towards the start of the funeral service.

 

“Do you remember Paris?” Gigi asked.

 

Dinah cracked a smile.

 

“Yes, I remember Paris. It was insane… The drinks, the shopping…”

 

“The fighting…” Tyra finished.

 

“What did we even fight over?”

 

“Everything,” Gigi smiled.

 

“It all seems so silly and so far away,” Tyra replied.

 

Dinah nodded, “Daddy barely even spent any time with us that vacation. We had no clue about anything but we ran around the streets of Paris like little African princesses.”

 

Gigi had never really thought of herself as African, but Dinah wasn’t wrong to refer to them as such. Their father, Jerome Jackson was an African immigrant who changed his name when he was eighteen years old to the alliterative, Americanized name Jerome Jackson.

 

Gigi had no clue who her father had been before he’d changed his name. Growing up in Brooklyn, she was utterly cut off from her Nigerian heritage. She never even thought about it. As far as she was concerned she was just a regular African American girl. Tyra felt the same way.

 

“Have you been to Nigeria?” Tyra asked Dinah, letting Gigi know that they were probably thinking the same thing.

 

Dinah pushed the hair from her wig out of her face and she nodded.

 

“Yeah. I went last year to daddy’s mansion in Maitama. It’s beautiful out there.”

 

“I can’t believe I’ve never gone.”

 

Dinah shrugged, “Maybe we should go there sometime. After the funeral.”

 

“If I can get time off work,” Tyra answered.

 

Gigi wondered if Tyra was serious.

 

They would each be inheriting something to the tune of $42 million dollars each. They would co-own his mansion in Costa Rica, his apartment complex in Chicago and the mansion in Maitama.

 

For the rest of their lives, they could sit back and relax. With a team of investors to manage their portfolios, accountants, and lawyers, they would never have to work again. Gigi always knew her father had money, but she didn't realize it was this much until he'd passed.

 

Once learning about the inheritance, she struggled to imagine working again and heading back to the daily grind.

 

She’d struggled in her adulthood since graduating from college and she didn’t feel ashamed about putting an end to that struggle, whether or not she earned the money to do it. Tyra was different.

 

Maybe things are easier out in California, Gigi thought to herself.

 

They sat back and they reminisced about Paris. They reminisced about the boy that Gigi had fallen for in France — a black twenty-year-old Parisian named Christophe. They reminisced about the time Dinah drank so much they had to sneak her into the apartment through the back entrance. They reminisced about how Tyra had almost had them kicked out of a nightclub because she tried to fight a loud-mouthed bully on Dinah’s behalf.

 

As they reminisced, they did everything to try to forget the fact that their father’s body was dressed up in a custom Italian designer suit only a few feet away.

 

They tried to forget the fact that this might be the last time they all saw each other. They tried to forget about all their anxieties about growing older, about love, happiness and the lot of it.

 

“Are any of you married?” Dinah asked.

 

Gigi and Tyra both shook their heads.

 

“Nope.”

 

“Nah.”

 

“Do you ever want to be?” Dinah asked.

 

Tyra shrugged and Gigi nodded.

 

“I do. But I’ll need to meet the right guy. Maybe I’m getting too old though.”

 

“Nonsense!” Tyra said, “There’s no such thing as too old.”

 

Dinah replied, “Well, I don’t think I want to get married. I watched daddy go through three wives in my childhood. None of them could have kids and none of them lasted very long.”

 

They were silent again. Even if they tried, they couldn’t help but think of Jerome. The good, the bad, the ugly — they were forced to confront all of it now in his death.

 

“I never knew he was ever married.”

 

Gigi knew about her father's other children but she didn't know enough about him to know he'd had spouses.

 

“After I turned eighteen,” Dinah said, “But I still lived here after college and during vacations. So I got to see a lot of it. I wonder if any of them ever really loved him.”

 

“Are any of them coming today?” Gigi asked.

 

Dinah shook her head, “They all made excuses when I called.”

 

They were silent again as they were forced to confront another unpleasant truth. Jerome had a string of women on his arm but his actions had also made him many enemies throughout his life.

 

They talked until guests started to pull into the driveway. Black cars manned by mixed race Costa Ricans with thick dark curls and walnut brown skin pulled up and then all manner of Americans and Nigerians descended upon the Jackson mansion for Jerome’s funeral.

 

Gigi, Tyra, and Dinah waited by the door, playing the part of perfect daughters and loving sisters. They greeted everyone who came. A man gripped Gigi's hand with tears in his eyes and told her that her father was the most loving man he'd ever known. Gigi couldn't muster up tears in response, but it moved her to know that her father had impacted someone like that.

 

Maybe he wasn't all bad. Maybe he just couldn't do family the traditional way, she mused.

 

The house was filled with upwards of 100 guests who all fit into the viewing room. The priest arrived somewhere in the middle of the pack and Dinah pulled him aside to discuss the proceedings. Gigi took in the room before making her way to the reserved seats in the front.

 

The room smelled like new leather and designer perfumes. Gigi had never been surrounded by so much wealth in her life. The odd venue for the funeral bothered no one. The ultra-wealthy are accustomed to eccentricity.

 

Gigi's mind wandered as she waited for the priest to begin. She'd never understood what Dinah’s life had been like until now. In Paris, she remembered thinking Dinah was clueless, some barely-black Oreo who couldn't possibly understand what she'd been through. Now, she empathized with Dinah, for having to be enveloped in such a cold, stiff world.

 

The start time of the funeral drew near. Tyra joined Gigi in the front and their eyes moved over to Dinah as they waited for her to join them. The priest stood in the front of the room waiting to officiate and Dinah stood off to the side talking to a short, gently tanned latino man.

 

When Dinah finished speaking to him, she joined the duo.

 

“Who was that?” Gigi whispered to her.

 

“Luciano.”

 

“Who?”

 

Dinah whispered, “A friend of my father’s. He helped me get everything together today before you guys arrived.”

 

“Oh. I see.”

 

Before Gigi could ask any more questions, the funeral service started. The priest began to speak about her father’s life. Gigi started to learn things that she’d never known about Jerome. She learned about his childhood in Nigeria, where he'd been the smartest of his brothers who were now all dead.

 

His parents had pegged him out for success and he'd attended Oxford for two years before dropping out to begin his enterprises.

 

Enterprise was a good word for it, Dinah thought to herself. Neither her sisters nor the guests knew as much as she did about what her father had done to make his money. Except for Luciano, of course, the bearer of her father's secrets, the guests were ignorant.

 

When it came time for Jerome’s eulogy, Luciano was the one who stepped up to the podium to speak. Gigi drew her eyes to him, hopeful that she could gain some final lasting insight into the man her father was.

 

Luciano spoke with a thick Spanish accent, but he eulogized Jerome well. He spoke about their memories together in Costa Rica and all the times that Jerome bailed him out of trouble. He spoke to the heroic image of her father that Gigi had always carried with her (whether intentionally or not).

 

The image Gigi had of her father persisted as a Nigerian man that loved laughter, liquor, and making love with equal vigor. He had been boisterous, untamable and loyal to a fault once he decided you were worthy.

 

Gigi could feel tears spilling out of her eyes involuntarily. Dinah was weeping softly and Tyra sat up stone-faced. She never allowed her grief to be on display in the room full of people. Dinah and Gigi couldn’t help it. They all gripped each other’s palms as Luciano said his final words.

 

“…And I want to say a final goodbye to you, amigo. I promise that I will carry you in my heart forever and I will make sure that nothing happens to your beautiful daughters. Adios.”

 

Luciano left the podium and Gigi watched as a single tear streamed down his face. The room was filled with people who were either weeping or looking sullenly forward. The priest continued with the rest of the service and when the collection box was passed around, people dropped $100 bills into the box as if it were nothing.

 

Everything about that day had felt utterly surreal, including the ease with which a room full of people parted with what would total up to a year’s worth of her rent.

 

Gigi made mental notes of everything going on so she could remember to tell her mother. Her mother had declined the invitation, but Gigi promised her she'd spare no details about what happened.

 

Towards the end of the service, they sang and a friend of Dinah’s played the piano. And just like that, the funeral service was finished. The gangly events co-ordinator led the guests to the other room for a small wake while Gigi and her sisters said their final goodbyes to Jerome.

 

The end drew closer. Jerome's requests would be followed and carried out by his team of assistants. Their lives would change and three regular black women who barely knew each other would become heiresses overnight. Jerome would be cremated and the ashes would be split in three and shipped priority mail to Gigi and Tyra. This was it — their last time with their father.

 

Gigi’s chest balled up like a fist as she stood above her father’s body for the last time.

 

“Goodbye,” She whispered through her tears.

 

Tyra handed her a handkerchief which she used to dab beneath her eyes. Dinah planted a kiss on their father’s forehead and Tyra just stood there staring at him. Gigi thought her head seemed like it was swimming with thoughts. There was a lot to think about and a lot to mourn.

 

When the funeral home arrived and the coffin closed for the final time, Gigi felt the fist around her heart clench even tighter. They had to go back out there and face the folks who had all come expecting to see the three of them after the funeral.

 

“I’m starting to think the next part is what’s going to be the hardest,” Gigi said.

 

Dinah sighed, “You’re right. But… We can do it. I know we can.”

 

“At least we’ve got each other for this next bit.”

 

“Let’s go then.”

 

They pushed open the doors into the next room and walked out into the…

READ THE NEXT 17,000 WORDS 100% FREEhttps://dl.bookfunnel.com/wz7aor768f

Okay, I told you this book was going to get BUCK WILD and I will 100% deliver on that promise. All you have to do is click the link to keep reading: https://amzn.to/2rrCeRu 

If you're not an Amazon customer, you can get the book on iBooks, Nook and Kobo by clicking on this link instead: smarturl.it/sealscaptive

Do you want to check out the rest of the trilogy too? Bookmark this page and come back so you can read the next two books:
Book 2 | Ex Con's Captive: smarturl.it/exconscaptive

Book 3 | Hitman's Captive (available after Dec. 21st 2018): smarturl.it/HitmansCaptive

Dark Romance Books | Hitman's Captive | Book #3 BWWM Captive Series

hitman's captive jamila jasper interracial romance dark romance story bad boy bwwm romance novelsThe third and final installment in the BWWM Captive Series is finally here. We'll be closing out the novel with the final installment to this rockin' trilogy that follows the crazy stories of Gigi Jackson (Book 1, Seal's Captive) and Tyra Jackson (Book 2, Ex Con's Captive). These sisters have taken us around the world, okay?! In Book 1, we found ourselves in Costa Rica and in Book 2, we went all the way to Nairobi, Kenya with some part of the book in Uganda (Kampala) and Tanzania. 

It's been an incredible journey to Book 3 for me and I've spent many months tweaking the ending that I originally wanted to write a story that wasn't just about Dinah, but tied in the other three sisters so that you can all get final CLOSURE on the girls we have come to love throughout this year... 

What I can promise you in Dinah's book is that she's nothing like the reserved and shy Gigi or the loud-mouthed troublemaking Tyra. She's a breed of her own thanks to her upbringing by her CRAZY RICH father. This book explores what that life on the "dark economy" is like. 

Did you know that it's common for many rulers in ancient times to only surround themselves with female guards because they believed women are more trustworthy? There was no better woman for Jerome to trust than his own daughter so he turned her into the woman he needed her to be... a cold-blooded assassin. And yes, Jerome technically recruited "child soldiers" to protect his multi-million dollar fortune. This book delves into the depths of what this wealthy man left behind and how his daughter will manage to pick up the pieces of having grown up stronger than any woman she knows and struggling to let other people -- especially men -- into her life.

I don't want to spoil how the story ends for you, so without further ado, thank you for reading this far and I hope you enjoy the absolutely delicious teaser I'm posting below. Warning, you WILL be teased, so expect to end the sample wanting more (desperately).

Romance Novel Excerpts: Hitman's Captive | Book #3 BWWM Captive Series

 

CHAPTER ONE

“Miss Jackson, it’s handled.”

 

“What did they say?”

 

“They asked about the funeral.”

 

“There’s not going to be a funeral. My remains are…”

 

“I said they were lost at sea.”

 

“Good.” 

 

“With all due respect Miss Jackson, due to the short notice of your departure, I cannot guarantee that the truth will stay hidden from them at all.”

 

“I understand, Stephanie. But you know that I don’t have a choice here.”

 

“We always have a choice, Dinah.”

 

“Not me.”

 

“You’re Jerome’s daughter. I understand that. But your father is dead…”

 

“Exactly. And just like people came after Gigi and Tyra, they’ll come after me. You and I both know that I’ve done far worse than being Jerome’s daughter.”

 

“It’s not your fault.”

 

“I know. Consider this a semi-permanent retirement. When trouble has died down, I’ll consider coming back.”

 

“Elsa misses you.”

 

I leaned back in the red velvet seats on the jet, trying not to think of Elsa.

 

“Elsa is a dog. She doesn’t understand anything. She’s just happy as long as she gets her food every day.”

 

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

 

“Listen, Stephanie. We’re about to land. I’ll be back on the grid in twenty.”

 

“Is she beautiful?”

 

“Yes, the island looks the same. But somehow colder.”

 

Stephanie chuckled, “She looks colder every time.”

 

“When is the last time you’ve been back?”

 

“I don’t know. Years. Not since Wy—”

 

“You can say his name, Stephanie.”

 

“Not since Wyatt was around.”

 

“Yeah. Let’s hope he doesn’t think to look for me here.”

 

“He won’t. We took measures to ensure that he’ll never find you.”

 

“Promise me, Stephanie, you’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

 

“I will.”

 

“Good. I gotta go now.”

 

“Be safe, Dinah.”

 

“I will be. You know that.”

 

“Yes. But you have a funny habit of getting into trouble, don’t you?”

 

“I’m my father’s daughter. I can’t help that.” 

 

“Bye, Dinah.”

 

“If you don’t hear from me in three days, worry.”

 

Stephanie hung up and I wandered down the aisle of the jet, popping into the pilot’s cabin.

 

“Closing in, Jerry?”

 

“Yes. It’s tough landing her today. Snowstorm comin’ in tomorrow, I’m sure you heard.”

 

“I did.”

 

“You ready?”

 

“The house survived the winter of ’09 just fine.” 

 

“Good. Good.”

 

“I’m gonna miss you, Jerry.”

 

“Don’t believe that.”

 

“We’ve flown all over the world together.”

 

Jerry shrugged, “Coulda been any other lug Mr. Jackson hired.”

 

“But you’ve always been my pilot. Always.”

 

“You’ve grown up into a fine young lady.”

 

The plane approached the ground and I grew quiet as I watched Jerry take her in closer, flying the private plane smoothly to avoid bumps and discomfort. Our first flight together had been a nightmare compared to this one. With daddy dead, all of us would scatter to our little corner of the globe and hope that we could live without trouble for once.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“If you need me, call my place in Hafnarfjörður.”

 

“It’s only a three hour flight.”

 

“Exactly. I’ll miss ya kiddo. But it’s for the best.”

 

“I know. That’s what I told Stephanie.”

 

Jerry snorted at the mention of Stephanie’s name. 

 

“She still think you should stay in the tropics so they can hunt you down like deer?” He asked gruffly.

 

“She wants me to stay.”

 

“Not a chance. YOu’re too smart for that. And you’re right to come here. Nowhere is safer than Avalon.”

 

I didn’t respond and a few moments later, the plane landed on the strip, a mile away from the island’s main house. 

 

“Bundle up, missy.”

 

I wrapped my scarf around my face and pulled up the hood on my jacket so it warmed my ears. Jerry opened the plane doors and walked me down the stairs. He stared at me for a moment on the tarmac with tears in his eyes.

 

“Years. You’ll be here alone for years, Dinah. I just… I can’t imagine what your father would think.”

 

“He would understand. This is what he would have wanted.”

 

“I suppose you’re right. I suppose it’s safest.”

 

“If I’m with the rest of the world, they’ll track me down and when they’re done, they’ll kill all my sisters. I have no choice.”

 

“I know. I know.”

 

He hugged me and salty tears ran down his stubbly cheek onto my cheek as we pressed our faces together. I squeezed Jerry tightly, not wanting to let go. For a split second, I realized he was the last remaining parental figure that I had and I would have to say goodbye to him and to everything I knew. 

 

I finally pulled away, sniffling and disguising my own tears from him.

 

“Promise me you’ll stay in touch.”

 

“I will.”

 

“And stay out of trouble.”

 

“I will.”

 

“Sure you don’t want me to drive you to the house?”

 

“No. I can handle it.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Bye, Jerry.”

What happens next?! This month, you can find the extended version of this chapter as well as TEASER #2 on my Patreon. For as little as $1.49/month gain instant access to the rest of this sample, as well as 100+ posts with previous eBook samples, private blog posts, full-length short stories, and some full-length short audiobooks.

Take the plunge and join the private Patreon family here: www.patreon.com/jamilajasper

Just want to take a look at some more 100% FREE content? Check out the trailer to this book here: smarturl.it/HitmanTrailer

Get more information about this book or click to buy after December 21st: smarturl.it/HitmansCaptive

Our Best Contemporary Romance Novels: Black Bride White Baller (BWWM Basketball Player Romance)

bwwm pregnancy romance swirl pregnancy basketball romance by jamila jasperOur best time of year for contemporary romance novels has just come around and I have something fresh and hot to share with you. This basketball + pregnancy romance is perfect for fans of Love And Basketball, Basketball Wives, or any fans of NBA teams. This book follows the fictional Kansas Sundevils player, Rex Irving and his romantic relationship with the last person on earth he expected: his best friend's pregnant ex-girlfriend.

This book drips with lust and love that you expect from amazing romance novels with African American characters. Lydia Lowell, the female main character is a dark-skinned ex-model with flawless skin and a struggle to carve out a stable life for her unborn child. If you love beautiful romance novels saturated with the best contemporary fiction out there, check out this story between a black woman and a white man in a world that's darker and grittier than either of them could have ever imagined.

Here's the official book description: 

REX IRVING

My three interests are fighting, drinking and f##king. 

When my best friend’s pregnant ex-girlfriend turns up at my doorstep, getting involved is the last thing on my mind. 

Lydia isn’t like other women.

She doesn’t care what any man thinks of her, least of all me. 

No one says no to Rex Irving.

I don’t care if she promises to never date another baller again. 

I know just the way to change her mind. 

Black Bride White Baller Romance Novel Excerpt: 

Lydia Lowell 

 

Hank’s fingers snaked through my braids and he yanked my head to the left, slamming my body into his apartment wall.

 

“OUCH! You’re hurting me!”

 

“SHUT UP AND I’LL LET GO!” 

 

“Fuck off, Hank!”

 

“I’ll make you pay, Lydia, I swear to God…”

 

“I’m pregnant with your child. I dare you nigga! I dare you!” 

 

He punched the wall next to my face. I screamed and ducked, running down the hallway of Hank’s apartment, racing for the bedroom where I could barricade myself in when he calmed down.

 

“I swear to God, Lydia…”

 

I reached the bedroom door before him, but at seven feet, three inches tall, Hank could grab me from across the room, and he did, grabbing the back of my neck and yanking me back.

 

“Where. Is. It,” he growled.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

 

“You know, Lydia. You knew where it was.”

 

“Can’t you get a new one made?” 

 

“No!”

 

“I swear, I didn’t take it.”

 

“I left it right inside that vase. Right there”

 

“Maybe one of your side-pieces took it!” 

 

“Watch your mouth.”

 

“Let go of me.”

 

He released my arm from his grip and I grabbed it, rubbing the area where his fingers had pressed into my skin.

 

“This is how you treat the mother of your child?”

 

Hank sighed.

 

“I’m sorry, Lydia.”

 

“You’re always fuckin’ sorry.”

 

“I mean it,” Hank said, walking to the kitchen and pouring himself a full glass of Hennessy.

 

“Want any?” 

 

“No. I want you to stop drinking.”

 

“Shut up, Lydia.”

 

He drank and my heart quickened. I’d come here with a plan. As usual, Hank had gone crazy on me, and I was having second thoughts. Only this time, I’d practiced for every scenario with my best friend, Tiana. She was just a phone call away in case Hank went crazy.

 

“You have a game tomorrow. What do you think your coach will say if you show up drunk?”

 

“I said, shut up.”

 

I reached for my keys inside my bag, pushing them between my fingers in case I needed an easy weapon.

 

“Why do you even need that key?”

 

“It’s none of your business.”

 

“I didn’t take it.”

 

“Whatever, Lydia. I don’t want to talk about it. Now get dressed. I told the team we’d meet them at the club.”

 

“Which one?”

 

“I said get dressed,” Hank snarled.

 

“No.”

 

“What did you just say to me?”

 

“You heard me,” I replied, my hands trembling as I gripped my keys fiercely.

 

Hank polished off his Hennessy and approached me, the cognac on his breath churned my stomach.

 

 

“What did you say, Lydia?”

 

“I’m not going to the club.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because it’s over, Hank. I’m dumping you.”

 

He laughed. It wasn’t a polite or awkward chuckle but a deep laugh with a vibrato that shook Hank Humphries’ high ceiling kitchen.

 

“Very funny.”

 

“I’m not joking. It’s over. And I’m leaving.”

 

“You’re pregnant. Where the hell are you gonna go?”

 

“I dunno,” I lied. 

 

Hank snickered, “Great plan. Pregnant ex-model homeless in New York City. I’m sure you’ll have clients lining down the block.”

 

“That’s not funny, Hank. And anyway, I don’t care what you think. I’ll send Tiana on the weekend to collect my things.”

 

He glanced over at me and saw my pursed lips and shaking arms. 

 

“You expect me to stop you?”

 

“No,” I lied.

 

“Good. Get out of here. You’ll just be a trash whore knocked up by Hank Humphries. It’ll be the best fucking thing that ever happened to you.”

 

I saw him for the pathetic man he was and for a moment, I nearly felt sorry for him.

 

“Try to quit drinking, Hank.”

 

“Get out. If you’re leaving, get out.”

 

I walked towards the front door of his apartment but before I could reach the door to the penthouse, Hank was behind me. I reached for the front door and he grabbed my other hand, throwing me up against the wall again. I cried out as my head slammed against the wall.

 

“Ow!”

 

“Why are you doing this now, huh Lydia? Are you sleeping with one of my team mates? Are you choking on another guy’s cock…”

 

“Let me go…”

 

“Tell me,” he growled, “Now.”

 

I stared into his deep brown eyes with resentment.

 

“No. I promise.”

 

“Good. Because that pussy is mine. Whether you like it or not, it’s mine forever.”

 

He let go of me forcefully and I nearly lost my balance.

 

“Get out of my house, whore.”

 

“Goodbye, Hank.”

 

“Whatever.”

 

I made it to the hallway and breathed a sigh of relief. After five years, I’d managed to shake Hank Humphries, and its as all because of my baby — all because of her. I touched a hand to my stomach and smiled as I walked away. No more Hank. I’d finally done it. Once I got closer to the elevator, I felt freer. 

 

I walked outside and prepared to walk the mile or so back to my place. I reached for my phone and called Tiana as soon as I was on the street.

 

“I’m alive.”

 

“Thank goodness!” 

 

“Yeah. It’s surreal. I finally did it.”

 

“Good. Did you bring up Bali?” 

 

“No.”

 

“Fuck him. Did he lay hands on you?” Tiana asked.

 

“No… Well, yeah. A little bit,” I admitted. Tiana made me promise I’d stop lying about when Hank went too far with me.

 

“Fuck that bastard.”

 

“He’s still the father of my child,” I reminded her.

 

“Ugh.”

 

“I could do worse. He’s in the NBA.”

 

“He’s a deadbeat,” Tiana reminded me, “They’re all deadbeats.”

 

“Right.”

 

“So fuck them!”

 

“Right.”

 

“Are you home?”

 

“Not yet.”

 

“K, I gotta go so call me once you’re home?”

 

“Gotcha.”

 

“Love you girlie!”

 

“Same.”

 

Tiana left me in bliss for the walk home. Yes, I’d caught my man cheating on me while I was four months pregnant with his baby, after we’d gone through so much to have this kid, but that wasn’t even the worst part of our relationship, just the straw that broke the camel’s back.

 

My feet were heavy as I climbed the stairs up to my apartment, much smaller than Hank’s on a sketchier, more fragrant side of town. As I approached the door, I noticed a piece of paper stuck to it. 

 

These Jehovah’s Witnesses at it again, I thought to myself. 

 

I didn’t mind the kind old ladies and their faith so much as I wished they would stop leaving pamphlets taped to my door. As I got closer, I got a sinking feeling that Jehovah’s Witnesses didn’t have red pamphlets and “EVICTION NOTICE” probably wasn’t one of those obscure books of the Bible either. I grabbed the piece of paper and ripped it off the door, rereading it over and over again. 

 

“This serves as notice that you have been evicted from the premises, effective immediately. Please speak to the manager to begin the process of moving your belongings. Your presence on this property without permission of the manager is a crime, and the authorities will be called.”

 

Bullshit. I paid my rent on time, every month and I’d never so much as smoked inside the building. Evicted? Like this? No way in hell. I chucked the paper on the ground and stuck my key in the lock. I rattled it. 

 

“What the hell,” I muttered out loud to myself.

 

I rattled the key in the lock again. The key didn’t budge. I picked up my cellphone and called my landlord, a chubby, short white woman who lived in yoga pants, messy buns and twenty year old New Balance sneakers. 

 

“Kathy? It’s me, Lydia.”

 

“Oh hey Lyd, what can we do for ya?” 

 

“I just uh… showed up at my apartment after a day away and there was an eviction notice pinned to my door and uh… my key won’t work.”

 

“Okay…”

 

“Well uh. This has to be some sort of mistake. Can you check?”

 

“Jerry’s out of town, but he’s got a whole system, I’m sure it’s not a mistake.”

 

“Is your husband here in LA?”

 

“Uh huh. He must have changed the locks.”

 

“Could I call him, get them changed back? Kathy, you can check the direct deposits, I’ve never been late on a payment, I swear.”

 

“Call Jerry, 555-4322”

 

“Okay. Thanks.”

 

I hung up, my hands trembling. Kathy’s reaction hadn’t exactly been apologetic or reassuring. I called Jerry.

 

“Heya, who is this?”

 

“It’s Lydia Lowell, your tenant in the Hamilton Estate Complex.”

 

“Oh Lydia! What’s goin’ on?”

 

“I got home today to an eviction notice on my door.

 

“Right.”

 

“I’m pretty sure it’s a mistake. I’m not behind on rent or anything.”

 

“According to Ryan in accounting, you are.”

 

“I’m not though. I pay by check every month. The money comes out of my account.”

 

“Hm. I’ll have to look into that. I’ll call you back tomorrow and we’ll see if we can sort it out.”

 

“Tomorrow? Jerry, listen, maybe you don’t understand… My key doesn’t work. I can’t get into my apartment. At all.”

 

“What about that fella of yours, the Sundevil.” 

 

“Hank and I broke up.”

 

“Oh, sorry to hear about that ma’am.”

 

“Jerry, where am I supposed to go tonight? Can’t you call your guy and find out what’s going on?”

 

“No can do. I got a business dinner with some developers from Denver.”

 

“Thanks, Jerry. Thanks.”

 

I hung up and slammed my phone against the wall with a frustrated groan, lucky that I didn’t crack it. Great. I couldn’t go home, I couldn’t go to Hank’s and I was getting tired of standing on my feet. The first trimester had been hell and so far the second wasn’t any better. 

 

I called Tiana.

 

“Hey girl, I’m home. But I have some bad news.”

 

“Is it Hank?”

 

“No. There’s been some kind of fuck up with my landlord and they served me an eviction notice, changed the lock and everything.”

 

“Damn girl, what happened?”

 

“I don’t know. It’s a mistake. I just — I’m pregnant. I can’t handle this right now!”

 

“Come down here.”

 

“My money’s inside, I only got about $20.”

 

“Uber.”

 

“I told you I don’t use Uber anymore,” I snapped.

 

“Sheesh, calm down! One Uber driver grabs your ass and you’re willing to throw the whole thing out the window.”

 

“Sorry, I don’t want to deal with creeps right now, Tiana. I’m pregnant and hormonal and having the worst goddamn day.”

 

“Okay. Fine. Walk down here then. Can you handle it?”

 

“Yeah. I think so.”

 

“Great. I’ll wait for you. But Felix and I wanted to take you out.”

 

“I don’t want to go out…”

 

“You have to. You got dumped by Hank Humphries, the media is going to be on this shit.”

 

“I don’t care about the media. I’m going to be a mom. I want a good life for me and my baby, that’s it.”

 

“Your baby will never have to worry about a damn thing.”

 

“Fine. I’m on my way.”

 

“Good. But no drinking for you!”

 

“Of course not.”

 

“Ciao, girlie!” Tiana shrilled before hanging up. 

 

I started walking towards Tiana’s place, a long way away from mine on foot. I felt like a fool, adorned in Yeezy sneakers and a Gucci bag but with only $20 in my pocket and an NBA player’s baby. I’d become a stereotype for L.A. Models and the love that I’d been seeking was nowhere to be found. I stomped on the eviction notice, causing the orange paper to rip as I stormed away.

 

At night, the sweltering heat of Los Angeles in the summer cooled to a tolerable but smoggy climate. I walked as fast as I could, hoping to get to Tiana’s place before dark. Dark fell before I’d completely a third of my journey. I reached into my purse for my phone, hoping that I could convince her to meet me at a café a little further away from her place so we could walk together. I pulled my phone out when I heard footsteps behind me. 

 

They were too close and too fast for me to react. I felt the cold steel press into my belly. My baby.

 

“Give me your fuckin’ purse.”

 

My body shook from head to toe.

 

“T-T-T-take it.”

 

“Give me the fuckin’ phone.”

 

He yanked the purse off my shoulder and I handed him the phone, my body trembling as I didn’t dare to move.

 

“Now the Yeezys. Take off the fuckin’ Yeezys.”

 

“No!”

 

He prodded my side with the gun.

 

“Okay, okay, fine.”

 

“These ugly fuckin’ shoes go for about $300, don’t they?”

 

I didn’t bother answering as I shamefully stripped down to my white socks. 

 

“Good. Now you stand still missy and if you dare turn around, I’ll blow your fuckin’ face in.” 

 

“Okay. Fine. I won’t turn around.”

 

“I know.”

 

He ran off in the opposite direction. By the time I dared to turn around, the street was empty and I stood all alone with no way of calling Tiana, no shoes, and no purse. There went my emergency $20. I kept walking, hugging my shoulders and staring off into the distance with a dazed expression. I couldn’t feel the chilly night and my mind was blank as I went through the motions, plodding one foot in front of the other.

 

A loud car horn blared behind me.

 

BEEEEEEEP.

 

 Great, another asshole. 

 

BEEEEEEEEEEEPP.

 

I kept walking and the car pulled alongside me, slowing down.

 

“HEY!”

 

I didn’t turn and look.

 

“HEY! Humphries’ chick!”

 

I jerked my head around. Rex Irving, my ex-boyfriend’s teammate and as I’d guessed, another complete asshole.

 

“Oh. Hey. Didn’t hear you.”

 

“Sure. What’s up, where are you shoes?”

 

“Long story.”

 

“I got time. Where’s Hank?”

 

“Hank and I are finished.”

 

He grinned.

 

“Sorry to hear that.”

 

His grin indicated otherwise.

 

“Yeah, you look sorry.”

 

His grin didn’t falter.

 

“Where you goin’ with no shoes?”

 

“The boulevard. My friend Tiana’s place.”

 

He laughed.

 

“You’re going to walk forty minutes with no shoes?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Why don’t you let me give you a ride?”

 

“Because I wouldn’t get in a car with another NBA player if you offered me fifty-thousand dollars.”

 

“Your girl Tiana’s at the club anyway. Thought you should know.”

 

“What?”

 

“I follow her on the ‘gram.”

 

“Of course you do,” I replied with an exaggerated eye roll which amused Rex.

 

“What? Everyone knows Tiana Wheeler is smoking hot.”

 

“Thanks for the offer, but I think I can handle it.”

 

“You don’t have a purse. Or a phone. Or shoes. Let me guess, mugging?”

 

My cheeks grew hot.

 

“No.”

 

“Why don’t you just go home?”

 

“I got evicted today.”

 

“Damn. And you still won’t accept my offer for a ride? Hank must have really screwed the pooch.”

 

“He did. I’m pregnant.”

 

“Okay, now this is a matter of honor. Get in the car or I’ll honk my horn and I won’t stop until you open that door.”

 

“Rex, no —”

 

“BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE—” 

 

“OKAY FINE!” 

You can grab a copy of the book here: smarturl.it/BlackBrideWhiteBall

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If you loved this free sample and want to read another book opening 100% free, why don't you consider The Biggest Ego? Read the first part of this older woman, younger man billionaire romance here: Click here to read.

Romantic Comedy Novels: French Kissed | BWWM Pregnancy Romance

French Kissed BWWM Interracial Pregnancy Romance Tennis Star Black Woman White Man Romance WMBWRomantic Comedy Novels: French Kissed | BWWM Pregnancy Romance by Amazon best-selling interracial romance author Jamila Jasper. This story is a republishing of The Coach's Baby, a novella briefly published in 2015. This book has been updated to better fit a contemporary audience and many aspects to the story have been expanded upon and changed. 

If you love romantic stories with an interracial pregnancy plot you'll enjoy the story of Milo & Lucy. Their love is complicated. Of course, love can be complicated when you dedicate your entire life to tennis and barely have time for romance. So many of us black women work so hard that we struggle to see when true love is right in front of us. 

Maybe our Prince Charming is right across the court from us! Lucy and Milo slowly discover their love for each other over the course of this novel. We see Lucy struggle with her family and her commitment to tennis. With a baby on the way, the plot only thickens.

Keep reading for a gripping first chapter sample of this steamy interracial romance novel, one of our best contemporary interracial romance novellas of the year. 

Romance Novel Excerpts: French Kissed

Chapter One

Sitting with Earl meant forgoing relaxation. Since Lucy could remember, her father had always required proper etiquette, full engagement, and appropriate dress whenever he requested a meeting with one of his daughters. Lucy still felt a slight twinge of terror when she was meeting with her father, even if he had mellowed out over the years and she was certainly far stronger than him when it came to physical strength.

 

He'd ruled over his daughters with an iron fist and age couldn't change the fact that he was her daddy and daddy's word was law.

 

Lucy waited in the sitting room for her father to come out with “drinks” for the two of them. She wore a deep oxblood dress that highlighted the gorgeous undertones of her dark, mahogany-toned skin. Lucy’s hair coiled densely on top of her head held together in a bun by a strained band. Her dress hit just below her knees and on her feet, she wore a pair of two-inch heels. Anything higher and not only would she tower over her father Earl, but he would be sure to give her a lecture about the impact of high heels on the balls of her feet. She wouldn’t want it to affect her game now, would she?

 

Lucy could hear the blender stirring up a ruckus from the other room. Of course when Earl said “drinks” he meant a protein shake for Lucy and whiskey on the rocks for himself. Lucy would have rolled her eyes if it wasn’t so entirely predictable of him. Lucy crossed her legs at the ankles and waited, silently glancing at her phone to see if her sister had called. There was nothing from her twin sister, Diana. Of course not. She knew better than to try to stick her head in on days when Lucy and Earl met up to talk tennis.

 

Earl finally entered with a frothy white protein shake for his daughter and a glass of whiskey for himself. He grunted as he squished into his chair, the impact of sitting down almost seemed to knock the wind out of him. Lucy noticed how much he’d slowed down over the past ten years. He’d aged faster since his wife had fallen sick… 

 

“Here you go doll,” Earl said, gesturing to the tray on the center table. Lucy grabbed the drink and clamped her lips down around the straw, leaving the light imprint of dark, plum lipstick. 

 

“So… How are you doing papa,” Lucy asked.

 

Earl smiled, “I’m good, doll but you know we ain’t here to discuss how I’m doing.”

 

Lucy nodded and sighed, “I know. It’s about tennis.” 

 

“Recently, I’ve been watching your tapes and I just think something’s off Lucy. Now… The tournament is soon and I just think you should talk to Milo and come up with something new. I’m paying him all this damned money for what?” 

 

Lucy sighed. Having her father as her manager was both a blessing and a curse. 

 

Lucy answered, “I’m fine dad. You don’t have to worry, Milo’s doing a good job.” 

 

Her coach Milo had been with her for the past five years and Lucy wasn’t interested in finding a new one. Especially not so close to a tournament. 

 

“I don’t know if we should trust him…”

 

Lucy replied, “Well you say that about everyone and so far Milo has helped me win. A lot. You’re too suspicious.”

 

“Young lady…” 

 

“I know, I know… I don’t know what to tell you, dad. Milo looked at the tapes and he thinks I’m just tired. I need more rest.”

 

Earl scoffed, “More rest?! You think you win so many matches because you spend valuable training time resting?” 

 

Lucy knew there was absolutely no getting through to her father. She sipped on the remaining drops of her smoothie and sat quietly, waiting for him to continue speaking.

 

“Listen, child. I know you think I’m being a hardass for nothing but winning is how we keep your image good. Winning is how we get deals with Adidas or with Gatorade. You know they aren’t exactly racing to you the way they are with Jenny.”

 

Lucy cringed. Jennifer Winslow was her main tennis rival but she hadn’t managed to beat Lucy once in the past eight years, even if she’d come close a couple of times and had given Lucy a run for her money. Despite her serious losing streak, Jenny had managed to sign deals with Lululemon, Powerade, Nike and more. 

 

Both Lucy and her father knew the reason for that was the fact that Lucy was a black woman. Lucy could dominate on the courts but she had to work twice as hard to get half as much credit as a skinny blonde in the tennis world. 

 

“I’m going to win. I need to win papa,” Lucy said, reassuring her father that she was just as committed to the game as he was.

 

“I know you do, child. I’m just worried. I want you to be the best…” 

 

“I know.”

 

“Where’s that sister of yours?” Earl grumbled.

 

Lucy smiled. Diana might have been right to stay away.

 

“I think she’s out of town today,” Lucy mumbled before trailing off.

 

Earl huffed and then twirled his mustache. 

 

“She never comes to see me you know,” He said.

 

Lucy knew that “never” was an exaggeration but she let Earl have his moment. Ever since his daughters had hit their thirties and spent weeks at a time away from him, he’d taken up exaggerating his loneliness to encourage them to visit more. Lucy was sure he’d made the same desperate plea to her twin sister Diana the last time she had visited.

 

Lucy’s mood shifted as she thought about Diana and then her mother… 

 

“No talking about mama I guess?”

 

Earl shook his head, “You ain’t s’posed to worry about her ‘til you’re done that tournament.”

 

“Y’all are too stubborn,” Lucy muttered.

 

Earl smiled, “Damn right we are. Now, don’t you have practice?”

 

Lucy rolled her eyes, “I think I can keep my schedule in mind on my own papa…”

 

“Why’s your ass still sitting here, then? You need to be committed to winning Lucy. If I don’t see some changes I’ll get rid of that Milo fella…” 

 

“Papa!”

 

“Don’t chastise me, girl. Get down to practice so you can play better,” He said gruffly. 

 

Lucy brought her empty glass into the kitchen and then kissed her father good-bye. Sometimes his criticisms could be too harsh. He’d been managing his daughter since her tennis career began and sometimes the line between manager, coach and father blurred too much. When Earl finally retired from coaching Lucy directly, his grasp on her life had eased up a bit. But these days, Earl was finding creative ways to get an “in” to micromanage Lucy’s tennis career.

 

She drove back home at the tennis court entrance of her house where Milo would be waiting. He was consistently ten minutes early and always carried on with Lucy about her chronic “lateness” which really meant being right on time. 

 

As expected, Milo’s Audi was already parked there. Years of high-level coaching meant Milo could afford more than a couple sports cars with six-figure price tags. Lucy wasn’t impressed by it at all. She always thought guys who drove flashy cars tried way too hard. 

 

“Lucy… You’re late,” Milo said as Lucy walked into her training room adjacent to the courts.

 

She ignored his comment and locked the door behind her. Lucy looked in the mirror at her shapely muscles and curves. After tennis practice, she’d need to hit the squat bar badly. Lucy knew that for most women, her strength would be a dream come true. But the truth was, having a body that looked nearly perfect meant hours and hours of training and sculpting. Sometimes the upkeep could get exhausting. One of the few things keeping Lucy going was the thought that she would be retiring soon. There was no way she would turn forty and still be playing this game… 

 

Lucy changed into her tight white Nike skort that hugged the curves of her thighs and the shape of her thick ass. On her upper body, she squeezed her breasts into a custom-made sports bra. Lucy slipped into her tennis shoes and added a white headband to the entire outfit. She removed her piercings, makeup, and jewelry and then shoved them all into her gym bag. Now it would be time to face Milo’s “wrath” at her lateness and hit as hard as she could. She needed to prove her father wrong. At the very least, that might earn her a real weekend off with no training for the first time in years… 

 

She walked outside onto the court with her recently restrung tennis racquet. Milo was excellent at keeping her equipment in perfect working order. 

 

“Ready to hit?”

 

Lucy nodded. When Milo started a workout nicely, she knew that she was in for trouble down the road. She took a deep breath and started their usual warm up. Today, Lucy’s breath felt thick in her lungs. She knew that things had barely started but her mind was somewhere else, slowing her down. Keep this up any longer and she’d be forced to admit that her father was right about her training.

 

By the time Lucy was done with her workout, she was dripping with sweat. Her outfit still looked pristine and white as she walked to her cooler for a drink of water. Milo followed her with his hands on his hips.

 

“Lucy… That was awful,” he chided.

 

Lucy glared at him as she wiped the sweat off her brow.

 

Lucy nodded, “Earl thinks so too. He took the time out of his day this morning to tell me he thinks I’ve been playing like garbage.” 

 

Milo grinned, “He doesn’t mince words does he?”

 

Lucy shook her head and took a big drink of ice cold water. 

 

“No. He doesn’t.”

 

“Well take an extra five minutes. I think we should talk about this.” 

 

“I don’t need to talk, I need to play,” Lucy replied.

 

Her gaze intensified and Milo caught a glimpse of that fierceness in her eyes that he loved. He wouldn't have it any other way with his clients. Lucy had always been a delight to train.

 

She had that fiery look in her eye that Milo loved. No matter how much Lucy might deny it, tennis was her life. She cared every bit about winning as her father did. This wasn’t a life that he’d forced on her, even if she thought so during her times of weakness. Milo stood across from Lucy with his arms folded, waiting for her to adjust to the idea of actually talking through their strategy together. A part of what made Milo a good coach was his strategy. 

 

Lucy sat down on the bench and glared at the tennis court before her.

 

“Earl thinks we need to change things. He thinks I need to train harder. Or do something different.”

 

“I agree.” 

 

“You're my coach," Lucy scoffed, "Not Earl's." 

 

Milo was used to her harsh tone, so he ignored it and continued, “Yes, I am your coach. And I think that Mr. Walters is right.” 

 

Lucy glared at him again.

 

“Listen, Lucy, you’re training hard but there has to be something wrong.”

 

“Don’t you think I know that?” Lucy snapped.

 

“Well if you know so much, why don’t you fix it?” Milo hit back.

Lucy didn’t respond and took another swig of water. Right now, all she wanted to do was take out her anger at her father and Milo about this. She’d been practicing her ass off but match after match, she could feel that things weren’t getting better.

 

“Maybe I’ve hit my peak… Maybe I’m just getting old,” Lucy mumbled.

 

“Old? You’re thirty-four Lucy. I’m the old one around here.”
 

“Hm.” 

 

“Listen… Why don’t we compromise? We switch up your training but I’ll let you have more input. Earl should be happy and you can build in some more time for rest and recovery.”

 

“You really think he’ll let that slide?”

 

“I’ll talk to him, tell him it’s what’s best.”

 

Lucy grumbled, “Good. And stop riding my ass so hard.” 

 

“That’s what you pay me for ma cherie.”

 

Lucy winced at his use of the word “ma cherie”. She’d begged Milo to stop calling her these silly diminutive names around a thousand times and she was sick of it. Frenchmen were different, he'd claimed. And he'd used his French heritage as an excuse to keep up the diminutive phrase.

 

Milo had more than a French tendency for pet names. He also had French confidence and integrity. He wasn't afraid to push her hard, on and off the court. He understood Lucy's psychology better than anyone. The only person who knew her better was Diana.

 

Every once in a while when Milo let slip one too many "ma cherie"'s Lucy struggled not to bite back. She’d been treated like she was less than men her entire life, even if she could squat more than they could or deadlift more… or tear them apart on the tennis court. 

 

But today Lucy was tired. All she wanted was to end the practice and go visit Diana. She picked herself up off the bench, feeling that itch to get her heart racing and looked Milo square in the face before saying, “Let’s get started. I’ll show you just how much improvement I need.”

 

“That’s my girl,” Milo answered, standing back and watching her walk onto the court.

 

There was something alluring about that woman. No matter how tough and unapproachable she could seem, there was a deep beauty in her strength.

Thank you for reading! The book will be launching October 1st, so stay tuned. Did you know that some people had a chance to read this sample early? Subscribers to my Patreon get oodles of free content and early access. If you love interracial romance and you're impatient to get to your next read, I suggest subscribing. I add fresh content every week including free bonus stories, early chapter previews and early previews to trailers. Get your first look here. 

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.” 

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