black women white men

BWWM Books: Redneck Rebels | A WMBW Interracial Romance Novel

I’m not exactly new to the Reverse Harem trend. A couple years ago, I published an insanely hot series of reverse harem books although at the time, I called it a menage series. Currently, all five books are available for purchase on eBook and audiobook. Since it’s been SO LONG, I decided to bring the reverse harem books trend back with my upcoming release, Redneck Rebels. If you enjoyed my book Cocky Cowboy or you liked Anaconda, Python, Mamba, etc. you will LOVE this story…

Here’s what you can expect to find:
💞3 SMOKIN’ hot & loyal alphas all bonded to one woman

💞STEAMY interracial scenes unlike any you’ve read before

💞DEVOTED beefy men with huge muscles and bigger c*cks working to end segregation in a small town

💞Symbols of hate DESTROYED by 3 hot men and 1 brilliant woman with a mission to change the past…

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Redneck Rebels

“The three of us men are kin. We share everything… especially her — Caroline Coulson, the woman we ain’t s’posed to love…”

3 alpha male country boys…

1 Black intellectual woman…

A segregated town that isn’t ready for interracial love.

Exposing town secrets & scandals threatens all four lovers in this interracial reverse harem.
Can Caroline keep the quad together, or will she have to choose between the strapping men who love her, and her career in politics?

If you’re new to this kind of romance… give it a try. If you love interracial romance and enjoy bwwm books or wmbw books, you’ll love this!

I posted the free sample below. It’s not gross, it’s female centered passion and the HEAT between these characters will blow your mind. Read the excerpt below and get excited about the upcoming release.


Romance Novel Excerpts: Redneck Rebels

Travis took his hand and pulled a hairpin from Caroline’s head. Thick black curls draped down over her chest, covering her small, perky B-cup breasts. The cop car parked beneath a magnolia tree a mile away from the town’s well. Here, it was quiet enough and isolated enough that no one would notice a dirty beat up police car parked beneath a tree with the windows up and the air conditioning blasting to stave off the summer heat. 

Caroline was naked, sweat pooling at her brown despite the air conditioning, and for the first time in weeks Travis was finally alone with her. He took his pale hand and pressed it to her sepia colored cheek, drawing her in for a kiss. Magnolias bloomed around this time of year like a storm. Their pink and purple petals fell to the ground beneath the trees, littering every inch of the sidewalk and the earth with these sweet scented reminders of the springtime. Old Town breathed with life again, and the Southern winter was finally over.

A fresh southern breeze blew across the town, past the white Evangelical Church and over the train tracks past the Black Baptist church where Caroline’s mother sang every Sunday. That woman could have been a star, people in Old Town said. Old Town was always going to be so quintessentially American. Each house hung a large American flag, the stars and stripes floating in the breeze and marking Old Town as a home for true patriots. There would always be two sides to the town. There would always be the side with large houses, old antebellum mansions with their pillars and acres and acres of old plantation land. On that side of town, sometimes the flag had the stars and bars instead of the stars and stripes. Southern pride, they said. Caroline knew different. Tufts of cotton floated on the breeze at the height of growing season, landing on the porches and cars of the townspeople. The train tracks would always be in the same place, cutting the town in two. On the other side of those train tracks, the town was different. There were no more columns or large swathes of land that stretched out for acres and acres. Small wooden houses were built not too far apart from each other and on the other side of the tracks, the houses centered around a deep well that had watered that half of the town for decades.

That morning Caroline Coulson twisted her long kinky black hair into a top bun. While the other girls in her office could get away with "messy buns”, Caroline did not share that privilege. Using stiff black hair pins, she pinned down every strand of hair lest she be accused of being unkempt. It was the first day since Buchanan’s victory as Mayor and the most important day Caroline would have in the office. The new administration would probably be making changes to the staff and getting rid of anyone unfriendly to the Buchanan leadership.

Caroline ate a small bowl of oatmeal for breakfast that morning before meeting Travis, drowning out the noise of her family members, all of them crowded into their two room house. Nobody noticed how quiet she was at breakfast. They were all busy and in a rush to get to work. Only Caleb seemed to notice. And he didn’t say anything until after he watched her put her bowl into the sink. Caleb chased after her and offered to walk Caroline to work.

"Travis is already giving me a ride," She said to her brother, reassuring him that she would make it without his help, even if the factory was past the Mayor’s office and they usually did their walk to work together.

In the car, with Travis, Caroline began to regret not leaving with her brother that morning. Travis looked at her with that worried look in his eyes.

"I hate when you look at me like that,” Caroline complained.

Travis’ eyes as blue as a prairie sky softened. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, then her lips. 

"I can't help it, Caroline."

"Find a way to help it. I wasn't worried about today before, but now I am with all your staring and ogling."

Travis pulled her in for another kiss. His lips were soft and Caroline swore she could smell magnolias on his skin. His cropped blonde hair was just wet from a shower and he smelled like cinnamon and Axe deodorant. Caroline straddled his lap and ran her hands over his head and his neck, burned red from the strengthened sun on his morning run before work. She didn’t want him to stop kissing her but they had already wasted enough time. These morning romps had become their morning ritual of late. They were just old friends, going for a small drive in his car. That was how it started at least. Now, they kissed and kissing lead to other things. Caroline slipped into her clothing, hoping that her bun could be twisted into its former glory. Travis stuck the last hairpin in.

"Before we leave, let's just have one more round," Travis suggested, his eyes wandering to her breasts as he helped her fix her hair one last time.

Caroline was powerless to his suggestions. He kissed her and then pushed her back up against the seats. The door handle dug into the middle of her back, but Caroline didn’t care. Travis spread her legs wide and undid the zipper to his cop uniform, pulling his hardness out again. His member was large and thick, throbbing with anticipation before he even pressed the tip up against her silky dripping entrance. 

Even if this was their third round for the morning, heat never subsided between them. Travis thrust every inch between her legs with one stroke and Caroline moaned as she accepted his firm pulsing cock between her legs. He took her hands over her head, pressing them into the window. He plunged into Caroline deeply, making love to her in the back of his police car until she screamed in pleasure and the windows fogged up. Her toes, raised in the air, traced the fog on the window and pressed up against it as he pounded her. It was a good thing no one really came to this part of town. Travis new all the good spots — chalk it up to him being the starting quarterback at their high school and having plenty of girlfriends to take out into these abandoned fields. 

Once Caroline finished in a loud, euphoric climax, Travis erupted between her legs causing her to shake and tremble as his seed filled her slippery honeypot. 

Once they finished for the third time that morning, Caroline buttoned his shirt and help him tuck it in his starched blue pants. Travis Montgomery grinned. He loved their morning ritual. And Caroline? Well he always loved her. Since they were teenagers, they had been best friends. When Caroline went to college, Travis was convinced that she would never come back. Now, he worried that Caroline was trapped in this town, like he was, and he regretted ever wishing that this smart brown-skinned beauty would come back. Old Town didn’t deserve a woman like Caroline. He kissed her forehead again, unable to resist doing so.

"You're way too pensive in the morning. Lighten up. I'm already going to have a hellish day at work," Caroline complained, smacking Travis's shoulder with a teasing expression on her face.

Travis grinned and rolled his eyes, countering her complaint with one of his own.

“I’m going to have an even more hellish day.”

“What, the Old Town hooligans going to egg another old lady’s house?”

“You know what I mean, Caroline," he said.

"Right. It's our dear mayor’s first day on the job."

"Speaking of which, I had better get you to work. You button up that shirt,” he commanded.

Caroline liked when he made demands like that. As a police officer, Travis was used to to telling people what to do. And since he became an officer, it was a welcome change. When they were kids, Caroline ran the show. It was nice that Travis grew up to be such a good leader. People really looked up to him — and not just because his daddy is the sheriff.

The truth is, Caroline had an ulterior motive for asking him to drive her to work. It wasn’t just that their morning romps were some of the few things she still looked forward to. It wasn't just because Travis was smoking hot with a perfect toned body that he diligently maintained. It wasn’t even the fact that his sky blue eyes were filled with such soul, and that his Southern manners made her feel like all hope wasn’t lost. 

There was something else that she wanted from him today. It was almost hard to admit to herself that she needed anything from Travis. When she first left for college, she was convinced that she didn't need anyone in this town, least of all Travis. Now, she needed her old friend more than ever, especially since she had taken that job in politics hoping that she would be able to make a difference in Old Town.

Travis drove Caroline from the Black side of town, the only safe place they could meet and canoodle like that, across the train tracks to the center of town where the mayor's office stood as if it were a castle. To be a mayor of a town that small may not seem to be such a big deal to you or me. But in towns like Old Town, people cling to whatever power they can find and they hold onto it as if they were despots in small foreign nations. 

Travis offered to stop at Dunkin' Donuts for coffee. Caroline declined. She'd been trying to quit coffee for sometime now with limited success. Travis stopped anyway and the smell was tempting enough that Caroline ordered a decaf. Travis was amused with her latest attempt at good health and he teased her about her “water coffee”. He noticed that Caroline didn’t seem to be her usual chipper self. She was still outspoken, true, but there was a faraway look in her eye, like she had something on her mind. It must be something going on at work. Ever since the mayor won the election, Caroline had been acting strangely.

"Are you going to bother telling me what's on your mind or will have to guess?"

"I need your help, Travis,” Caroline confessed finally. 

"I know. That's why am driving you to work."

"I need more than that. You know my opinions about Mayor Buchanan. It's a total mistake to let him assume power. We have to do something."

"Buchanan won the election fair and square, Caroline. I don't know what you expect me to do.”

“Use your daddy for help,” Caroline insisted. 

Travis continued, ”Daddy helped Buchanan's campaign. He's not going to help you out."

“Well, I know that there has been wrongdoing and I'm going to prove it no matter what it takes."

"Ever heard of the phrase you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar?"

"I'm not trying to catch any flies. I'm trying to get rid of them,” Caroline replied stiffly. 

"You know what I mean Caroline. This town is old-fashioned. Traditional."

"You mean it's segregated and racist?"

"There you go again with that race stuff."

"It's not a race stuff, Travis. It's my life. And Buchanan is going to make that life and the lives of other people like me way worse when he assumes power."

What did you think of the free sample? Comment down below. Come over to Instagram and Facebook to learn more about the book, play fun games about the characters and read free bits and pieces…

Dark Romance Books: American Alpha Soldier (WMBW Interracial Romance Novel)

American Alpha Soldier

A dangerous love story between a former racist on the path to redemption and a black woman skyrocketing towards fame.

An alpha male soldier with a dark past…

His dream woman, desperate for a gospel music award…

Their hearts weren’t prepared for a head-on collision like this.

A white man journeys towards healing and sheds his dark past by falling in love with an African American woman.

This page-turning ultra-steamy story of atonement, true love, kinky lust, and real redemption will change the way you think about interracial love.

Hi everyone! I have been working to make some changes and re-release my book previously published as Rock Hard Soldier under a different title. Finally, the book is ready and on sale. I have to warn you that this book has very sweet romance mixed with dark themes and if you feel sensitive regarding some of the explicit content in this book, you may not enjoy it. However, the sex scenes in this book are INSANELY hot and I promise you will be scouring bars looking for the military man of your dreams to take you home…

Keep reading here to enjoy the entire first chapter FREE. 👇


Talia leaned over the table, pressing her elbows into the table and squeezing her bosom together unconsciously.

“So how much time do you have left?”

“One last tour of duty. Not sure when.”

“Exciting. So you’ve been all over the world?" She probed.

He sat back and nodded, “All over the middle east at least. Spent some time in Africa.”

“Oohh, Africa. Sounds wild.”

“It was.”

“Well, Damian, I’m glad Imogen convinced us to get together.” 

Damian smiled at the woman sitting across from him. She was the one who’d needed to be convinced. From the moment his buddy’s wife, Imogen Henderson, had brought her stunning friend Talia out for drinks, Damian had been smitten. He’d only said a few, shy words to her, but he was desperate to find out more.

Imogen, eager to play matchmaker, had convinced Talia to see Damian beyond the group setting. Their first date had started off well.

“I’m glad too.”

Talia shrugged, “Though I can’t say I agree with all this war stuff. I’m more of a pacifist.”

“A pacifist?"

Talia nodded.

“I don’t think there’s a single conflict that we can solve better with violence.”

Damian smirked and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Well, we’re all entitled to our opinions, aren’t we.”

“Hey, no judgment,” Talia replied.

“So what about you? What do you do for a living?”

Talia shook her long, curly black hair out of her face. Her sparkly eyeshadow complemented the Ankara print on her dress. 

“I’m a singer."

“What kind of singer?”

“Gospel music. Jazz music. Anything that will pay the bills.”

“No way.”

“Yup,” Talia nodded, “It’s always been my dream to be a big star. Like Etta James. Or Billie Holiday.”

“I love Billie Holiday.”

“There's not a man I trust who doesn’t.”

Damian grinned. He liked Talia so far. A lot. She was on the thicker side, with a nice round buttocks and a set of breasts that he’d pay to suffocate between. Not like he’d be so crude as to say that to her out loud. Her skin, a reddish-brown ochre color had a deep, warm glow. Her smile lit up her face, carving out two dimples in her cheeks. 

Her patterned dress was loud and extroverted, in stark contrast to the shyness she displayed on their date. She was reserved but open at the same time, giving Damian the impression that she valued her honesty.

“So where do you sing?” 

Talia lit up once he asked her about singing.

“I started off singing in church. But then… I stopped going to church. Started getting gigs singing in bars. I put out an independent album and now my agent is working to sign me a record deal.”

“Wow. That’s…impressive?”

Talia shrugged, “Not really. It’s not like I’m rich or anything. But I hope to be some day.”

“Don’t we all,” Damian replied with a smile.

He continued to press her, “So this album, can I listen to it some time?”

“You can buy it,” Talia teased, “Lord knows I need the money.”

“I’ve never been a fan of gospel music.”

Talia clicked her teeth, “I have a feeling I’ll change your mind.”

Damian admired her confidence. She seemed to ooze it, especially when talking about singing. Hell, he could imagine she’d be a good singer too. Even her regular speaking voice was deep and sultry, with a slight rasp to it. He could just imagine how beautiful she looked with her mouth all twisted up, as high notes flew into the air. 

Talia could see him looking at her and she changed the subject again. She found Damian attractive, but she didn’t want to lead him to believe she was ready for something that she wasn’t. A man being fine wasn’t enough of a reason for her to let him in.

“Another drink?” Damian asked.

“Sure thing.”

Damian pulled a waiter aside and ordered another drink for the two of them. He leaned across the table and smiled at Talia. His blue eyes were widened with curiosity. As he smiled, Talia noted how perfectly straight his teeth were, how he smelled of cinnamon and cloves, and how his hair was a gorgeous ash brown color.

“What? Why are you staring at me?”

“I want to ask you something.”

“Then ask it.”

“How good are you at shootin’ pool.”

Talia smiled back.

“I’m pretty damn good.”

“Then you won’t mind if I challenge you to a game after we drink?”

“Mind?” Talia replied, “I’ll whoop you ’til next Tuesday. Won’t be much of a challenge.”

Damian chuckled.

“I love your confidence.”

Talia teased him by winking. Man, she was gorgeous. Where the hell had Dwayne Henderson been hiding a single woman like this from him for so long? It had been such a long time since Damian had been with a woman. Deployment meant there wasn’t much time for romance and when there was, it was usually brief and meaningless.

Now that he’d settled down for a while, Damian could see himself pursuing something more. And with Talia, he could definitely picture it. She was luminous, confident and charming. Her voice was magnetic too.

Their drinks came and Talia pounded hers back quickly. Damian followed suit. She stood up and sauntered towards the pool table.

“Get ready to have your ass kicked,” She teased.

Damian grinned, “Oh no missy, I ain’t about to let you whoop me.”

They grabbed cues and set the balls in the triangle. Talia leaned over the table and squinted one eye shut. She seemed to be making micro-adjustments. As she set up her shot, Damian couldn’t help but keep his eyes glued to her body. Her bosom swung over the table, giant mounds of flesh that distracted him thoroughly.

When the cue cracked into the first ball, sending three solids into the holes, Damian snapped out of his reverie.

“Shit. Nice shot.”

“I know it was,” Talia replied, winking at him.

“You know,” Damian replied, “I’ve never lost a game of pool.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“Not this,” Damian said cheekily.

“Have you always been such a flirt?”

Damian chuckled, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Talia waited for him to make his shot. She was playing hard to get with him, but the truth was, she was trying to convince herself not to take things too far with Damian. In the past, most of the guys she’d dated had tried their hardest to get in the way of her career.

They’d seem OK with it up front, but when they realized just how much work Talia put into her singing and producing songs, they lost interest. Fast. If the guy was a particularly troublesome one, he’d try sabotage. Talia was wary around new guys. Damian was a bit different because Imogen had pleaded with her to give him a chance.

He was Dwayne’s buddy from Afghanistan and they worked out together three times a week. If Dwayne and Imogen vouched for him, that had to be worth something. Damian’s shot wasn’t bad. But Talia was convinced she’d still beat him.

She shot again. And missed. Badly.

“Damn it!” She swore.

Damian chuckled, “They let you sing gospel with that mouth?”

“I’m a singer, not a saint,” Talia replied, “And I really thought I had you there.”

“Guess I’m more of a challenge to beat than you thought.” 

Man, she was sharp. And Damian was finding himself more attracted to that than he expected. It wasn’t just her looks, her sharp wit or her charm. It was something more.

They played one round. Talia won. The smug look on her face didn’t bother Damian one bit.

“Round two?” He asked.

“Only after a shot of whiskey.”

“Gotcha.”

Damian was starting to feel the liquor. The slightly dizzy feeling plus the excitement he felt just being around Talia was starting to make him feel frisky. Damian ordered two shots of whiskey at the bar.

While Damian was at the bar, Talia leaned her weight on her pool cue, waiting for him to return. She knew she could beat him again. Talia was smiling so widely and so distracted that she didn’t notice the two men come up behind her.

“You usin’ this table?” One of the men grunted.

The two men were both taller than Talia. Both with protruding, globe shaped beer guts. One had black hair and the other was bald.

“Yeah. I’m waiting for someone.”

“It’s our turn,” the bald one said.

“Excuse me?”

The black haired one folded his arms and smiled smugly, “It’s our turn. So hand over the pool cue.”

Talia glared. 

“No.”

The black haired man started getting in her face when Damian returned.

“Do we have a problem here gentlemen?” He asked.

The bald one smiled, “We were just watching.”

They stood back and left Talia alone for the time being. With their arms folded, the two men stood against the wall watching. Talia tried to shake the uncomfortable feeling the men gave her. She had a sense that they hadn’t seen the last of them.

“Whiskey?” Damian offered. 

She took her shot.

“And you’re really okay?”

“Yeah. They were looking for trouble, but I don’t think they found any.”

“Good.” 

“Bottoms up,” Talia said with a smile.

Damian grinned and they tilted their heads back, consuming their shots of whiskey quickly.

“Mmm.” 

“Burns.”

“Ready for me to beat you again?” Talia teased.

“Hell yes.”

Damian was willing to let her beat him a second time. He was intoxicated just being near her. The liquor didn’t help. Damian watched as Talia leaned over to take her shot. Again, she looked perfect like this, all bent over with that look of hunger for victory beaming in her eye.

“Your staring is distracting me.”

“A man can’t help looking when he sees something nice.”

“Well try to keep it in your pants, okay?”

“No guarantees,” Damian teased. 

As Talia took her first shot, the two guys cheered and whooped in the back. Damian braced himself. He could tell they were looking for trouble from the moment he’d seen them start piling on Talia. For now, they’d held themselves back. But Damian didn’t know how long that’s last.

He took his first shot. Awful.

Damian stood up and cast a watchful eye at the men up against the wall. They were getting rowdier. At Talia’ next shot, they approached the table to whoop and cheer for her.

Talia was getting visibly uncomfortable. Damian turned to the guys and told them off.

“Why don’t y’all get away from this table.”

“It’s a free country sir. We’ll stay right where we are,” The bald one said.

It’s a date. Don’t give them the trouble they’re looking for. Damian tried to talk himself down from lashing out instantly, despite his urges.

Talia pressed her hand to Damian’s arm.

“Don’t worry about it. Ignore them.”

Damian was finding it hard. Talia was winning the game, whooping him badly. When she bent over to shoot what Damian was sure would be her last shot, the black haired man who’d been watching them waltzed over and smacked her on the ass.

Talia stood up, mouth agape. The bald headed man and the black haired man began laughing at the top of their lungs, their faces turning tomato red and beer spilling out of their pony-neck bottles.

“Did you see the look on the face of that monkey,” The black haired one laughed even harder. 

Damian couldn’t hold back any longer. He rushed towards the men. Talia grabbed his arm, trying to stop him.

“Damian! No! It’s fine.”

“To hell it is…” Damian growled. 

Damian walked over to the two men, getting into the taller one’s face. 

“Why don’t you two get away from here so I don’t have to get my hands dirty.”

“What the fuck do you think you’re gonna do to us?” The bald one grunted, cracking his knuckles.

“I don’t want any trouble. I just want us to be left alone,” Damian replied. 

He could feel his face turning red. He could feel blood boiling in his veins and that old desire to grab onto someone and bash their face in was running strong. Damian tried to resist. 

I’ve changed. I’m not gonna let one douche bag upset me. 

The black haired guy took a step forward, refusing to back down.

“It’s a free fuckin’ country and I don’t have to do shit that a nigger lover like you tells me.”

“What did you just call me?” Damian growled.

Bald head folded his arms with a cocky grin plastered across his face, “I think he spoke loud and clear. He called you a nigger lover.” 

"I already told you to watch your fuckin’ mouth,” Damian growled.

He cracked his knuckles. He knew the type that these guys were. They’d fix their mouth to say anything, thinking that no one would have the guts to stop them. But Damian had already identified their weak points. He could see that the bald headed guy had a slight limp and that the black haired one was too drunk to take a punch. He was prepared to fight them off.

“It’s a free country mother fucker,” The bald one said.

“Please Damian, let’s just get out of here,” Talia pleaded.

She didn’t want this to escalate. But Damian couldn’t stand to sit back and watch somebody spit out the n-word like it was nothing. Damian wasn’t going to listen to her. There was a time to be the bigger man, but it wasn’t now.

He stepped up to bald head and swung. Bald head dodged the first punch but he didn’t see the second coming. Damian’s fist connected with his face and Damian kicked his feet out from under him. Bald head fell, hitting his head on the pool table first. Damian landed another kick.

“Damian! Damian, you don’t have to do this!” Talia screamed.

Damian was too overcome by his fury to stop himself. Hearing the man’s words echoing in his head stung. Rage blinded him. Damian stepped over bald head. He grabbed black hair by the caller and slammed him into the pool table. He bashed his head into it again and again.

“Don’t you dare say that word,” Damian growled, “Don’t you dare say it!” 

The bartender had finally noticed something was wrong. He had called a couple bouncers who were now making their way to where Damian was standing. He slammed the black haired man’s head one last time. Damian stepped back before the bouncers and the bartender had arrived.

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving!” Damian announced. 

Damian dropped the black haired man to the ground. He stepped over both of them and approached Talia.

“C’mon,” He replied, “Let’s get out of here.”

Talia was shaken. She followed Damian, grabbing his hand as they left the bar. The bouncers and the bar keep weren’t too perturbed. Damian had a feeling the men he’d run into were regulars — and regular troublemakers. While they expected him to leave, no one caused him more trouble. 

As Damian and Talia exited the bar, he shook his fist. Throwing a punch hurt. And he hadn’t thrown one in a while. He tried to abstain from violence wherever possible.

“Are you okay?!” Talia asked.

Damian nodded as they walked towards his car which was in a garage a few blocks away.

“Yes. I’m okay. But really I should be asking about you.”

Talia wrapped her arms around her shoulders. The weather was cool enough for a light jacket, but not cold. Still, she was shaken from her experience in the bar.

“I’m… fine,” Talia replied.

Damian shook his head, “I can’t believe those assholes. I know I shouldn’t have blown up. But I couldn’t help it.”

Damian paused and then held Talia still on the sidewalk.

“It’s not okay for people to treat you like that.”

“I know,” She nodded.

“Are you cold?”

“A bit.”

“Take my jacket. I don’t need it,” Damian said.

He took his jacket off and wrapped it around Talia. She fit nicely in the jacket, except for her breasts which prevented the jacket from zipping up all the way. Damian linked arms with her and they kept walking.

“Think they’ll let you back in the bar?” Talia asked.

Damian shrugged, “Probably not.”

“Y’know, I appreciate it. But you didn’t have to do all of that for me. I can handle myself.”

“I know. But why should you have to.”

Talia felt her heart flutter. She hated to admit it to herself, but she found herself painfully attracted to Damian. And while she considered herself a pacifist, there was something sexy about seeing Damian defend her. He'd meant it when he’d said those guys deserved it.

“Well thanks. I appreciate it."

“No problem,” Damian grunted.

They approached the garage.

“Second floor?”

“Yup,” Damian confirmed that she’d remembered correctly.

They walked up towards his car. Damian knew the night was almost over and he’d ended the date on a strange note. Those bastards…

Once they were outside Damian’s car, a restored 1973 Pontiac Grand Am, he stopped Talia.

“I’m sorry that things ended the way they did. I really am.”

“It’s fine, I swear,” Talia replied. 

“No. It’s not fine. When Dwayne told me that you'd actually go out with me, I wanted to make a good first impression. That… wasn’t it. You might think ‘cause I’m military that I'm here to play around. But I’m not.”

“Oh?”

“I’m looking for the real thing Talia. And you’re something… something very fascinating to me.”

“Fascinating? Well that’s new.”

“Sorry,” Damian muttered, “I’ve never been too good with my words.”

He took a step closer to her, forcing Talia to lean up against the Grand Am. The old car, the hot date, Talia couldn’t wait for him to kiss her. Damian started slowly, running his hands along her hips and sitting them right above her bottom.

“You’re beautiful Talia Sherbert,” He whispered.

“Thank you.”

Damian then leaned in, slowly, calculating each motion. He kissed Talia on the lips softly. His lips pressed against hers and their eyes both snapped shut. Talia reached up to touch Damian’s face. Stubble peppering his chin rubbed against Talia’ hand as she kissed him deeply. Damian thrust his tongue into her mouth and supported her as she leaned back against the car.

When he pulled away from her, Talia’ brown eyes were wide open. She looked… pleased. 

“I’ve been waiting all night to kiss you,” Damian muttered.

“Same…”

“Well c’mon then. Let’s not wait here any longer so that those guys don’t come looking for me.”

“Good idea.”

Talia got into the passenger seat. 

“So… Night cap?” Damian asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Wanna head somewhere else?”

Talia fidgeted in her seat like she was contemplating her answer. The truth was, she didn’t want the night to be over, but she also didn’t want to go anywhere else with Damian. The bar had been enough drama for the night. Plus, she was getting more tempted by the second to invite Damian back to hers.

“Why don’t I show you my place. I can play one of my records for you,” Talia blurted out.

She’d gotten ahead of herself. But she didn’t mind. Damian was hot. Smokin’ hot. And even if nothing happened between them but a few kisses, she had a feeling it would be worth it. Plus, he said he didn’t like gospel and she was determined to change his mind.

There was a practical reason for this. Of course. 

“Fine. We’ll go to yours,” Damian muttered, trying to hide his smirk.

For a pacifist, it was clear Talia was turned on by his display. That was the thing with good girls. They always went a little crazy when they bounced up with a bad boy. 

Damian gripped the steering wheel tight and listened to Talia give him directions to hers. As a moderately successful but not-quite-famous gospel singer, she lived in a nice part of town. It wasn’t too far from Damian’s place either. On the ride home, Damian flicked on the radio. Talia changed it to the RnB station.

Alicia Keys’ song No One came on. Talia started to sing every word. It was hard to stay focused when she was singing. When Damian heard her voice for the first time, he was mesmerized. Notes came out of her mouth effortlessly. Her voice had a type of power, a deep soul to it. Soul that put Amy Winehouse to shame. She was clearly a diamond in the rough as her voice was better than most living stars Damian could name.

She even sounded better than Alicia. As Talia sang, she rocked and danced along with the music. Damian could see it written all over her face: her music brought her joy. It was hard for him not to be infected by it. When the song was over, Talia was all smiles.

“Whew! I love that song,” She said, beaming from ear to ear.

Damian was mesmerized. Drawn in by her intoxicating smile and her liquid gold voice, he couldn’t help but hope another song came that would bring Talia out of her shell and cause her to belt out another beautiful tune. But the last few songs before they arrived at her place were dull, unchallenging to her vocals. So Talia was quiet. But still gorgeous.

Of all the time Damian had spent with her, being alone with her had been the best. She’d morphed from “Imogen’s friend” into this full, complex woman and there was so much more he’d noticed about her that had nothing to do with her looks. And well, her looks were magnetic too.

Talia had noticed him looking at her. She noticed the way his eyes tried not to stray to her breasts, yet remained inexplicably pulled there. She noticed the way he gripped the steering wheel tighter when she sang and how much Damian Buckley seemed to be holding back.

Don’t hold back. She wanted to tell him. I feel it too. And I want you…

Talia was far too timid to say this all out loud. She’d wanted Damian from the second Dwayne Henderson had brought him to the bar a few months ago. All that dancing around each other and casual flirtation had finally led to a real date. And even if Damian was no stranger to her, this was all still very new.

It had been a while since Talia had poked her head up from work to notice a man, much less go on a date with one. And Damian wasn’t just a man. He had a stable career, albeit, one she disagreed with. He was athletic, spending hours in the gym with Imogen’s hubby. He had gorgeous blue eyes and a woody, leathery scent to his cologne. 

When they pulled up at her place, Talia felt nervous. If she’d jumped the gun with him, she’d feel like a fool. She still couldn’t tell how Damian felt about her. He felt strongly enough to take on two drunks in the bar, but how far did that extend? What if he was just being a gentleman? And when he found out how much she put her work above everything else, would that turn him away?

He parked the car.

“Your home is… massive.”

Heat rushed to Talia’ cheeks. She’d started off her career renting out a basement bedroom with mold so thick she’d developed permanent hay fever from it. This house was a recent upgrade, and one she was barely comfortable with.

“Thanks.”

“So… Gonna play me one of your records?”

“Unless you’ve changed your mind about coming in.”

Damian leaned over. His face was close to hers, like he was going to kiss her again.

“Trust me… I haven’t changed my mind.”

He pulled away and opened his door, stepping out. Talia exhaled. Damian barely said much, but when he did say something, Talia found herself wanting to know more. For a military guy he seemed more reserved than she expected. All the army guys that Talia had known from high school were loud douche bags. Nothing like Damian.

He was hot and he wasn’t a dick. Not in the least bit.

There was something behind his eyes that told her he’d seen a lot in life. But what was it? What was it that pulled her in, compelling her to know more, compelling her to take a risk for him?

Talia opened the door to her house and flicked on the light. She saw Damian looking around, trying to hide how awestruck he was. She’d looked the same when she’d first walked into the place and when she was first hit with the realization that she could actually afford to live in a place like this.

Crisp minimalism defined Talia’ house. She didn’t have much furniture and nearly everything inside was a stark ivory or a cool grey. Damian was surprised. Given Talia’ colorful outfits, he expected her place to be louder. 

In her living room, Talia had a white shelf, filled with records. Some of them were bargain bin jazz records from the 1960s. Others were brand new. Her Beyoncé record was propped up on the top of the shelf, against her brand new record player. Talia saw her display catch Damian’s eye.

“Everything sounds better on vinyl.”

“Oh really?” Damian replied.

Talia nodded, “If you don’t listen to records, you should start.”

Damian chuckled. He’d never met anyone as passionately into music as Talia was. Her record collection was beyond impressive.

“Got any rock’n’roll?” He teased.

“Of course!” 

Damian raised his eyebrows. Talia was full of surprises. He didn’t mean to hold onto prejudice, but he didn’t know any black women who were into rock’n’roll.

“What’d’y’got?”

Talia had everything impeccably organized. On the middle left hand side of her shelf, she flipped through her rock collection.

“Zeppelin. Beatles. Grateful Dead.”

Damian chuckled, “You listen to the Grateful Dead?”

“Why not?”

“You’re full of surprises.”

Talia ignored his request for the Grateful Dead and instead just flicked on her Beyoncé album. Pretty Hurts started to play. Damian had never heard it before. But it was an album Talia had heard a million times. As she swayed to the music, preparing herself to match Beyoncé’s notes, she felt Damian approaching behind her. He was close now. So close she could feel his warmth.

Talia turned around abruptly. Her logical brain made one last dash to save her from her impulses.

“Maybe… Maybe it’s getting late… And you should go now.”

Damian took a step closer to her.

“Is that what you want?”

Talia tried to hold true to herself. 

“Y-yes,” She whispered.

“Is that what you really want,” Damian replied, firmly.

His hands reached around her hips as he asked. He squeezed her tightly and kept his blue eyes locked to hers. His eyes were fierce, filled with the fires of his lust. He licked his lips like a lion about to pounce. Talia could feel her will getting weaker. Damian was fine. Far too fine. She’d made a mistake letting him this close.

There was no saying ‘no’ to a man like him.

“Yes… It’s what I want.”

Damian smirked, “I don’t believe you.”

“Why not?” Talia sassed.

“Because… I think you’re dripping wet. And I think what you really want is to feel my big cock sliding between your thighs. I think you want to cry my name out and sweat that gorgeous hair out ’til the sun comes up.”

“What if you’re wrong?” 

Talia knew how weak she sounded — how unconvincing. 

“I’m not.”

Damian leaned forward and kissed her. Talia wrapped her arms around him and kissed back. Damian pressed her body up against the wall. Her back tapped the wall with a gentle thud and she flung herself head first into kissing him. Screw it. His lips were baby soft. Each kiss was more tender and deeper than the last.

He was right. Talia could feel wetness pooling between her thighs as her desire for him heightened. Damian’s fingertips pressed against Talia’ skin. Fire surged through her body as he touched her. He pulled away from her for a moment and eyed her body.

“I want you…”

Talia took Damian’s hand and started leading him to her bedroom. She wanted him too, but not here.

“No,” Damian stopped her, and grabbed her hand, pulling her back to him.

“Here,” He growled, “We’re doing it here. Take your clothes off.”

His dominance made Talia wetter. She was used to being in control. At work, she called all the shots. On the stage, she was the center of the show and the center of attention. That’s what she was used to. And in one night, Damian had upended her need to maintain control.

Talia started to pull her dress up over her head. She pulled the printed dress up over her curves and struggled to get them over her large breasts. Once she was before Damian in her underwear, she felt a mix of vulnerability and excitement. She tried to cover her body with her arms.

“No. I want to see you… every last beautiful inch.”

Talia reluctantly let her arms down to her side.

“Fuck… It makes me so hard just looking at you.”

Damian rushed her again. He planted kisses on her lips and neck as his hands ran all over her curvaceous body. He squeezed her hips and her round buttocks and pressed his chest against her breasts. He couldn’t wait to get one of those supple blackberry nipples in his mouth. 

“Mmm, take your panties off,” Damian growled.

Talia took her panties off, exposing her plump, shaved pussy. Damian reached around and unhooked her bra with one swift motion. Talia shivered as the cool air of her living room teased her nipples to hard attention.

“Perfection,” Damian muttered. 

He bent his head to Talia’ nipples and took one into his mouth. Her bosom was warm and her flesh had a gentle vanilla scent. Damian knew he’d have to be gentle with her. The gospel singer with the molasses voice had flushed skin as he touched her. When he kissed her neck, she turned her face away ever so slightly. She was nervous to be like this in front of him. 

Damian planned to change that. He led her over to the couch and bent her over the arm.

“Stay put,” He commanded.

Talia stayed still, quivering as she felt Damian kneeling between her legs. He splayed her thighs apart and dove his nose between her legs. Mmm. Damian inhaled the scent of her freshly shaven pussy and then pulled his face away. Talia had never felt so exposed before, but heat curled down her spine as Damian’s face returned between her thighs.

He spread her pussy lips apart with his fingers and began to kiss all around her thighs, diving his tongue between her pussy lips only so often.

“Mmm, you smell amazing,” He groaned.

Talia shuddered. His lips flicked across her pussy lips again. She buckled, leaning against the couch with all her might. Damian squeezed her thighs and drove his tongue between her pussy lips. He lapped at the full length of her lips, tasting every inch of Talia’ flesh.

“OHHH,” She cried out as his tongue grazed her clit.

Damian began to lick at her folds with more vigor until her knees buckled and her thighs quivered in pleasure. Talia moaned and squeezed her eyes shut as a climax drove her body to orgasm. It was true what they said about white men…

Talia had never had her pussy eaten so passionately before in her life. Damian seemed to enjoy dipping his tongue into every fold and tasting every inch of her plump pussy. When he finally pulled away, her thighs were dripping wet and she was more than ready for him to take his cock and shove it into her.

Damian stood up and fished a condom out of his pants. He stripped naked and rolled the condom onto his dick. Talia glanced backwards, catching her first glimpse of Damian’s naked body. His physique was far more formidable than she imagined. Every inch of his body was pure, cut muscle. His hours in the gym had been well spent. 

Damian’s physique wasn’t the only thing impressive about him. His hardness protruded from his body like a monument. His thickness and hardness looked like it would stretch her wide open. Talia tried to hide her surprise. Damian had been so humble, that she’d never even thought about what he’d be packing between his legs.

But he was big. Really big. She braced herself against the couch as he positioned his hardness behind her. Talia was dripping wet and eager for pure pleasure. She was here for a good time with a good guy and so far ‘good’ was just the beginning of what she felt.

Damian began to press his hardness between her thighs. Talia gripped the couch and grit her teeth as he began to press inside her. His dick head sliding past her entrance was an instant mixture of pleasure and pain. Her knees buckled again and she wriggled her ass to allow him better access to her wetness.

As he pressed into her tight wetness, Talia moaned. Damian felt her pussy gripping him like a vice as he slid between her lips. It was a tight squeeze. Talia cried out again as he pushed his dick halfway in. He gripped her voluptuous hips and thrust the rest of his dick inside her with one swift motion.

“OHHH,” Talia cried. 

“Mmm,” Damian moaned.

He began to thrust into Talia’ tight little love hole. She gasped as his hardness stretched her wide and he started to pound into her furiously. Damian was pounding her pussy hard and fast. With each stroke, Talia could feel fire rising in her chest. Her heart raced and her skin flushed as she drew close to climax.

Damian continued to pummel her, stroking her soft ass cheeks and gripping her hips as he pounded her ferociously. As a big orgasm overcame Talia, she bucked her hips back. Her pussy exploded and juices flowed all over Damian's hardness as her wetness clamped down on his cock, throbbing as the waves of orgasm washed over.

She whimpered and gasped as Damian kept pounding her, close to a finish of his own. Her long hair was stuck to her neck as Damian kept pummeling her wetness. He was getting close too, Talia could sense it. Damian let out a loud groan as he finally finished.

He grunted with his cock buried inside her, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout her body. Damian pulled his dick out and then took his condom off, tossing it into the trash. He returned to the couch, fully nude, as Talia lay on her back, gasping for breath.

She turned to look at Damian who smirked mischievously.

“I can see you enjoyed yourself.”

Talia nodded weakly. She could tell Damian would be eager for round two, but she needed to catch her breath. Damian walked over to her and pulled her up off the couch.

“Round two is in the bedroom…”

“You can’t be serious,” Talia said with a grin.

(She was hoping that he was.)

“Oh, I’m serious. And if you don’t get up… I’ll have to carry you there myself.”

Damian reached for her and Talia playfully swatted his hand away.

“I can get there myself.”

“Perfect. Now which way is it?”

Talia stood up and grabbed Damian by the hand, leading him to her bedroom. Her bedroom was just as tastefully decorated as the rest of her house with a giant, four poster king sized bed sitting right in the middle.

Lace white curtains framed the windows in the room, giving it a sensual and feminine look. Just like Talia. Damian leapt onto the bed first and Talia followed. She kissed and caressed his hair and then his back. She trailed kisses down his back until she came to his lower back.

The tattoo was small but it caught her attention immediately, pulling her out of the moment and turning her stomach.

It sat right there on his lower back. The six lines, twisted into a shape that represented hate, genocide and white supremacy. Talia had just made love to him and she felt sick.

With a shaky voice, she asked, “What the hell is on your back?” 

* * *

🇺🇸HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY! 🇺🇸 I published this day to celebrate BBQ, cookouts, family time and all the other awesome times we have on this holiday. This BWWM military romance is not heavy on military action but you’ll find steamy hot scenes that will rile you up for an incredible holiday weekend.

The book has so many twists and turns you won’t even be able to predict from this sample. Luckily for you, the book is live NOW and you can get your copy easy as pie on any eReader platform of your choosing.

CLICK HERE TO BUY THE BOOK DIRECTLY FROM JAMILA JASPER

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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!” 

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BWWM Books: Cocky Cowboy | Jamila Jasper

Howdy BWWM Books Lovers, hop in the saddle and let's skedaddle over to Omaha, Nebraska, the Western setting for my upcoming March release, what I expect to be one of my top romance novels of the year: COCKY COWBOY.

You've just become privy to a little secret and this is your first glimpse at not only the cover but a gripping free sample of the first chapter. Yeehaw! 

If you love interracial romance stories, or if you don't give a damn about color and you just want some hot cowboy action, this is the book for you. Check out the description and then check out this sample 100% free. When you're done reading the sample, share this page with your friends. 

If you share this with 100+ people (Facebook friends, Instagram followers, Twitter followers, ladies who lunch), email me jamilajasperromance@gmail.com for a FREEBIE! 

 

Description: 

This should have been easy.

Hiding out from my ex in Omaha while helping an old woman on her ranch.

One problem…

Her son Kurt O’Connor.

I should have known better than to get involved.

He’s tall, a pillar of muscle, icy blue eyes… and cocky as h*ll! 

He doesn’t just want my body. 

He wants all of me. 

I must resist.

This is a romance novel between a 45 + year old black woman and a hot alpha male! 

If you think you're in for a wild ride... You're 100% right! 

Cocky Cowboy by Jamila Jasper | Romance Novel Excerpt 

 

 

“I’m not a good man. I’ve killed once before and I’ll do it again in a heartbeat.” 

 

I sat, clutching my cup of coffee and staring wide-eyed at Sam O’Connor as she spoke. Her strawberry blonde hair sat in a loose French braid down her back. Her wrinkled face still carried a few scars and her earthy-brown eyes glowed with fierce intensity.  She shook her head.

 

“He said that to me,” she continued, “And he whacked me so hard I had a black eye for weeks.”

 

She chuckled, then gazed off almost wistfully.

 

“The day he died was the best day of my life,” she mused.

 

I drank the rest of my tea and set the mug down on the hand-carved dining table. 

 

“The boys,” she shrugged, “Well the boys missed their father of course. But I didn’t. Billy belonged six feet under. He’s just lucky I wasn’t the one to put him there.”

 

Helen smiled at me and nodded.

 

“Well, I’m so grateful you agreed to have me ma’am,” I said, pushing some of the hair from my blunt haircut behind my big ears that I inherited from my brown-skinned daddy.

 

Sam smiled weakly, “I’m just hoping you can help me. It’s like Billy’s ghost is haunting me, letting me know that I’ll never know peace, even now that he’s gone.”

 

Her eyes narrowed and she exhaled loudly.

 

“Enough about me. Helen tells me you’re a detective?”

 

“I was a detective. I quit and started working freelance five years ago.”

 

“That pays better?”

 

“Yes ma’am,” I replied, “Plus, my ex-husband was a cop. As we drifted apart, it made sense.”

 

“A cop huh? Did he hit you?”

 

Her forwardness surprised me, but it wasn’t a question I hadn’t heard before and it wasn’t a question I was afraid to answer.

 

“Yes ma’am.” 

 

She shook her head, “These men think as soon as they get a little bit of power they can treat women how they want. So long as you’re helping me out, you can stay here as long as you like.”

 

Helen nodded, “It will be a good long while before she’s ready to head back to the East Coast.”

 

I glanced at her and she nodded approvingly. This was the last thing I expected to be doing, hiding out in Omaha, Nebraska from the man I’d thought I would spend the rest of my life with. But in this room of just women, women who had all been through tough times at the hands of men, I didn’t feel alone.

 

Sam smiled, “I got sons about your age. Maybe a bit younger.”

 

“Two of ‘em,” Helen added, “How are the boys?”

 

Sam rolled her eyes, “Helpin’ me out and causin’ me mischief too.”

 

“Do any of them know what’s been going on?”

 

Sam shook her head, “No. If they know any more than I do, they haven’t let on.”

 

“I see.”

 

Helen grinned, pushing a few of her thin frayed dreadlocks out of her face.

 

“Nicki asks a lot of questions,” she said.

 

“It’s how I get closer to the truth.”

 

“We need some of the truth around here,” Sam replied, “Would you like something to eat dear? You’re awfully skinny. No good food out East?”

 

I grinned, “No thanks ma’am, I’m not hungry.”

 

Helen added, “Nicki used to be a vegan.”

 

“A vegan?” Sam raised her eyebrows as if she found the concept ridiculous.

 

“Not anymore,” I replied, “Anemia.”

 

“Well a good bit of meat never killed anybody. Out here, we slaughter all our own.”

 

“You got animals on the ranch?”

 

Sam nodded, “Yes ma’am. We got pigs, horses, cows, chickens… If you expect to stay ‘round here I’ll expect you to help. I’ll go easy on you. I don’t want to scare you off.”

 

“I’m a tough cookie. I can handle more than you think.”

 

“Well good ‘cause as I’m getting older the arthritis in my fingers acts up something crazy.”

 

She spread her fingers wide and then clenched them together in a delicate fist that hid all the bruises and calluses on her palms from decades of hand washing, roping cattle and tending the earth.

 

Helen touched Sam on the knee.

 

“I only got five minutes dear.”

 

Sam smiled, “When you gonna stop being such a rolling stone?”

 

Helen cracked her caramel colored skin into a smile, shaking her dreadlocks out of her face where they’d once again fallen. The silver and turquoise beads on her dreads clinked together, creating music with every movement of her head. 

 

“When life gives me a reason to settle down, I guess.”

 

At fifty, that had yet to happen. Helen lived out of her VW bus, traveling the country selling turquoise jewelry and tarot readings. Given her dreadlocks, her nose ring and her tattoos, she made a convincing fortune teller. I’d never asked her outright if it was all a con, but let’s just say I didn’t believe in her New Age woo-woo.

 

“You takin’ that rickety ole thing back over to Los Angeles?”

 

“Yes I am,” Helen smiled proudly. We all glanced at the VW bus that had taken me to Omaha parked out in the driveway. At some points on the highway, I wasn’t sure Helen was going to get me there in one piece. But now, she was heading out again, leaving me in a strange land with my suitcase of possessions, my modest savings and a house full of strangers.

 

Anything was better than staying in Boston. 

 

“Just make sure you drive safe,” Sam warned.

 

“I always do.” 

 

“And you stay away from that reefer,” Sam chastised.

 

Helen smiled and then winked at her old friend, promising nothing. 

 

“Take care of this one,” Helen told her, indifferent to my presence, “Make sure she don’t go back out there for a good long while.” 

 

Sam nodded, “Yes ma’am.”

 

“I’ll be fine Helen. I’m grown.”

 

Helen snorted, “You grown… I’ve known you since you were a child. You’ll always be Jamie’s little friend.”

 

Helen’s younger brother, now deceased, was the thread that had held us together. An old friendship from my childhood had been what ultimately rescued me from my husband’s mercy. Her rescuing had taken me further west than I’d ever been and further into the country than I was comfortable.

 

“I’d best be off,” Helen said when she was about to leave.

 

Helen had mastered goodbyes in a way I hadn’t. I teared up while hugging her but was sure not to let any tears fall. I was too old for crying. Too old to put up with a man beating me. Too old… That’s what everyone told me.

 

Sam was worse than I was, weeping about how she wasn’t sure she’d ever see Helen again. My guess was she didn’t get many visitors. We walked Helen out to her bus and she put on her Jimi Hendrix, blaring it from her tinny stereo as she pulled off. A dust cloud billowed into the unpaved road and like that her bus chugged off on the road to nowhere… 

 

Sam wiped her hands on her apron.

 

“That woman is something…”

 

“Yeah,” I muttered, “She’s something.”

 

“Braver than I ever was,” Sam continued, “That’s for damn sure.”

 

I didn’t respond to that one.

 

“I s’pose it’s time I give you a tour of the ranch. But I’ll let you get cleaned up and settle in first.”

 

“Thanks ma’am.”

 

“I got you a nice little suite upstairs. I designed it myself for guests. It’s got its own bathroom, own little balcony and everything.”

 

“I’m sure it will be lovely.”

 

“C’mon in then.”

 

Sam held the screen door open as I marched in beside her. Alone on the ranch with her and the sound of tractors outside, my isolation dawned on me. I hadn’t seen anything suspicious or felt any strange nagging at my gut, but even if I had, I’d now committed to spending at least six months out here. We creaked across the floorboards and up the stairs. Sam pointed to the two rooms at the end of the hall.

 

“That’s Kurt’s room and that’s Dierks’. Mine is downstairs. And yours is right through here…”

 

She pushed open the first door on the left which opened into a room far larger than I’d expected. Sam maintained the farmhouse decor, but a few modern touches like an air conditioning unit for the summer months, a memory foam mattress and a large shower made the space familiar. 

 

“It’s lovely,” I acknowledged, eyeing the well-curated decor of hens, roosters and other farm animals. 

 

The white sheets on the bed had tiny little cow patterns on them and the cozy comforter was ivory and real down. Sam opened up the old dresser, showing me where I could put my clothes.

 

“Now I’ll leave you to it for a minute. I’ll be up in twenty.”

 

“Thanks Mrs. O’Connor.”

 

She grimaced, “Please, Sam.”

 

“Sorry Sam.”

 

Her grimace turned into a smile and she walked out of the room, leaving me to my own thoughts for the first time since I’d entered her home. I peered out the window over the flat rolling fields. I’d expected Nebraska to be flat but the cornfields stretched out for miles and miles creating an almost impressive vista. 

 

The fact that I didn’t know a single soul in Nebraska except for Sam O’Connor was a relief to me. I was tired of answering questions about Dominic. I was tired of the judgmental stares or the whispers about the bruises on my arm. The rumors and the lies had chased me out west and now that I was here, I’d have a chance to start over. 

 

I turned over the events of the past month as well as my week long road trip with Helen. I unpacked my clothes in the drawer and hid my jewelry box under the mattress. I hung onto that box with all those memories of Dominic tucked inside, not because I wanted to remember him but because I’d let go of every other part of my identity. I needed something to remind me of who I was, at least who I’d been when I married him.

 

I unpacked and flopped back on the bed, running my hands through my new haircut, wondering where the heck I was going to find someone to do my hair in Omaha. 

 

A shout interrupted my ruminations. 

 

“BULLSHIT KURT AND YOU KNOW IT.”

 

A bass drawl boomed across the open fields. 

 

Kurt. If I remembered correctly, that was one of Sam’s sons. I glided towards the window and pulled the lace curtain aside just an inch so I could peer through the window without detection. No one had mentioned to me that Sam’s sons weren’t too fond of each other.

 

A deeper, quieter voice responded, “Stop making a damn racket. Ma will be out here with her shotgun again.”

 

The voices came into view. Sam’s “boys” were men, younger than me, but still men. From my estimation, they were both in their mid-thirties. They were young, but not young enough to be considered kids.

 

“I DON’T GIVE A DAMN. Y’HEAR THAT?”

 

“Listen, you need to calm down or I’ll sock you in the mouth.”

 

“I’D LIKE TO SEE YOU TRY YOU LYIN’ BASTARD.’”

 

The brown-haired one spat at his blonde brother. The blonde one rushed him and a knock at my door forced me to turn away from the fight which had now gone silent — at least from the second floor.

 

“Are you ready?” 

 

“Come in!”

 

Sam came in with a smile on her face and flour on her starched white apron.

 

“Baking downstairs. C’mon it’s time for me to show you the ranch.”

 

“Yes ma’am.” 

 

I glanced towards the window but I couldn’t make out where her sons had gone. As we walked through the fields, the pens and the barn, I caught no sight of Sam’s sons. But you bet your bottom dollar I still had questions about them.

 

“How old are your sons?”

 

“Kurt’s 35 and Dierks is 32.”

 

Mid-thirties just as I’d guessed.

 

“They work for you?”

 

“Yes ma’am. Kurt works with the horses and he traps furs. Dierks manages the farm hands.”

 

“Do you have many employees?”

 

Sam shook her head, “Not since the first frost. They’ll start up closer to the start of summer. Right now it’s just Jack.”

 

“How long has he been working for you?”

 

“Jack Wilson’s an old friend of Dierks. He’s a mean drunk but he shows up to work on time and he don’t ask for much money.”

 

Sam’s country accent made her more personable to me and she got real comfortable as we moved around the ranch and she explained what my morning duties would be. I listened to her while absorbing every detail of my environment. This was my new home. Most importantly, this was the site of my newest case. Sam had yet to explain what was happening precisely, but I’d gathered from Helen it was something bad and that I’d need to be alert.

 

“I’ll take you through the fields to meet the Brody family.”

 

“Neighbors?”

 

“Uh huh. Bitches too.”

 

I gasped and stifled a chuckle as I heard Sam cuss. She’d given off the impression that she was a good frontierswoman who minded her manners and kept her language polite. 

 

“What makes you say that?” I asked, both bemused and curious. 

 

Maybe one of those despised Brodys was what had been causing the trouble.

 

“When you meet ‘em, you’ll know.”

 

We eased through the cornfields and came to a small house. A man lay on the porch with a hat over his head. It was only when we approached the porch that I noticed this “man” was a woman wearing red lipstick. She was tan with freckles over her nose. Her hair was dyed black and she had a scowl on her pretty face.

 

“Good afternoon Mrs. O’Connor.”

 

“Hi Emma, is your mama home?”

 

If these people didn’t like each other, you couldn’t tell. Not yet at least. They hid their disdain beneath Midwestern politeness and broad smiles. 

 

“I’ll go get ‘er.”

 

Emma hopped to her feed, brushing her hands on her overalls and looking me up and down with a cheeky grin on her face.

 

“What’s her story?”

 

Sam glowered, “She’s a friend. She’ll be staying with me for a while.”

 

Emma snickered.

 

“Her? Out in Omaha? You warned her yet?”

 

I could tell Sam was getting all hot and bothered, but I could handle myself.

 

“I love Nebraska so far.”

 

“Yeah well, it’s a piece of shit.” 

 

Emma opened the door to her house and stepped inside, yelling up to her mother.

 

“MA! OLD SAM IS HERE! SHE’S GOT A BLACK CHICK WITH HER.”

 

I started to understand where Sam was coming from and why she might not have been fond of the Brody family. Stomping down the wooden steps alerted us that Emma’s ma was coming. The woman pushed past her daughter to stand with us on the porch. Emma stood next to her mother, slouching and slinging her hands into her pockets. She had stretched ears, thick Kohl black liner and a few nose and liprings. Not exactly the “cowgirl” you’d expect.

 

“Hi,” Emma’s mother introduced herself, “I’m Nancy.”

 

“Nicki. Pleased to meet you.”

 

Her palm lay limp in mind as I gave her a strong, confident handshake. I pulled my hand away and she wiped hers on her denim.

 

Nancy and her daughter had the same sharp blue eyes, but Nancy’s hair was a wheat blonde color, likely what Emma’s had been too. She dressed in simple jeans and a t-shirt with her blonde hair falling down to the middle of her back in gentle waves. A kerchief wrapped around her head kept her hair from falling into her face.

 

“Sam,” Nancy said, folding her arms, “Are you here to make accusations again?”

 

“No,” Sam replied, “Wanted to show Nicki a friendly face.”

 

Her sneering look told me that Nancy was who Sam really had problems with. The feeling appeared mutual. 

 

Nancy snorted, “What the heck are you doing out here in Omaha? You look like a real urban kind of girl.”

 

The way she said urban made my skin crawl, but I ignored it. I was too grown and experienced in life to let passive prejudice get under my skin.

 

“I’m helping Sam.”

 

“The problems at the ranch,” Sam continued, “She’ll be investigating. She’s a private eye.”

 

Nancy raised her brows and smirked in disbelief.

 

“Her?”

 

“Yes ma’am,” I interjected.

 

Nancy chuckled, “So you think she’ll help you find out who’s haunting the ranch? Well we all know it’s Billy darling.”

 

“Haunting?”

 

I narrowed my eyes. Sam had led me to believe this was a real mystery, not something paranormal. I’m a detective — a shrewd one at that — I believe in what I see right in front of me. I didn’t believe in hauntings of any kind.

 

“Yes,” Nancy continued, “Didn’t Sam tell you.”

 

I looked at Sam with confusion, wondering what was going on and wondering if I’d come out here for no reason.

 

“You and I both know it’s not a haunting,” Sam hissed, “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

 

“It sure looks like a ghost,” Nancy retorted with a shrug.

 

“And acts like a ghost,” Emma added.

 

Sam’s face reddened and I could tell she needed a way out.

 

“I’m sure you’ll explain the whole thing later,” I offered.

 

Emma chuckled, “Well good luck.”

 

Sam’s face now shifted from red to purple and I thought she was going to smack Emma Brody right in her smug face.

 

Before Sam could say anything else, we heard gunshots. Loud ones.

 

“FUCK. YOU.” 

 

I recognized the voices from Sam’s fighting sons. The gunshots continued and Emma chuckled.

 

“He’s shootin’ at his damned brother again?”

 

Sam’s face went from pale to ghost-white.

 

“Want me to grab my gun and silence ‘em?” Emma asked, gesturing towards the O’Connor house with an imaginary shotgun.

 

“No,” Sam replied, “We’ll be leaving. I’ll deal with the boys myself.”

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Romance Novel Excerpts: 9-Inch Addiction by Jamila Jasper

Romance novel excerpts here give you a preview of what's to come, but this free sample is just the beginning of the action in this ultra-steamy interracial romance novel. If you're a BWWM (swirl romance) fan with a taste for HOT alpha male billionaires and confident black women who can stand up for themselves, you'll enjoy this read.

Make sure you sign up for my FREE mailing list at the end of this email to stay tuned for the release. At launch, this book will be available for 0.99 cents for a limited time and you could miss the deal if you aren't subscribed. 

OK let's hop into it.

DESCRIPTION: 

“I make the rules around here… And you’ll do well to listen to them.” 

CHUCK

My father’s brown-skinned CFO thinks she’s my boss.

I’ll have her bent over her desk begging for more before she knows what hit her.

If anyone finds out about my intentions with her, I’ll be out on street and shipped off back to London.

But I can keep a secret…

I bet she can too with these come-hither brown eyes that she can’t keep off me.

Nobody says no to Chuck Banks.

It’s only a matter of time before she’s MINE.

IDA

My boss thinks I have nothing better to do than look after his son.

Chuck Banks is the type of guy that put me off dating forever…

He’s arrogant...

Demanding…

Bossy…

And one of the only men on the East Coat who can close a $50 million dollar deal at a 100% success rate.

We need him here.

I’m keeping my distance, but I have a feeling he’s trying his hardest to get closer.

Too close, and the career I’ve worked so hard for will come crumbling around me.

I can’t let this happen.

Romance Novel Excerpts: 9-Inch Addiction

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

“No can do.”

 

I folded my arms as I listened to Monty’s three-word response to my thirty minute proposal. That was it? I’d spent weeks crafting the perfect list of reasons I needed a raise, and demonstrating how much I added to the Banks & Wiltshire Group.

 

“That’s it?” I responded, aghast.

 

Monty puffed his cigar and coughed, releasing a cloud of tobacco across his desk.

 

“‘Fraid so.”

 

I’d been with the company for over ten years after the merger. I knew Monty as more than just my boss, the CEO, but as a friend. 

 

“Monty… Are you serious right now? I know what the numbers are saying, where’s all that money going?”

 

He shrugged, “Expenses.”

 

Seeing that I wouldn’t budge, he leaned back and offered me a drink.

 

“Whiskey?”

 

“No thanks.”

 

Not only were we at work but it was hours before noon. Monty Banks helped himself, taking his cool time to unscrew the bottle while he poured it into his glass — no ice, no chasers, straight whiskey.

 

“Sit down, Ida.”

 

I sat. He drank.

 

“Listen, I don’t mean to give the impression that we don’t appreciate you here.”

 

“Monty, you know that I’m loyal to you. I’ve always been that way. I just want to move up. I have goals… aspirations…”

 

Monty nodded and waved as he drank more.

 

“Yes, yes, yes,” he replied, “I understand completely.”

 

“If you understand, why won’t you budge?”

 

Monty cleared his throat and drank more.

 

“Hm… Ida, why don’t we make a deal here?”

 

“What kind of deal?” I raised my eyebrows. 

 

“One where you get some money.” 

 

“I’m listening,” I replied. 

 

Money was what I wanted. Why was I the only one at the company who seemed to be struggling? New York was killing me.

 

“Early bonus.”

 

I folded my arms.

 

“That’s it?”

 

Monty sighed, “I’ll increase by $6,000.” 

 

Now we were getting somewhere. The figure was nowhere near as close as I’d asked for. But it was $16,000 that I needed… bad.

 

“I’ll think about it.”

 

“Think about it?”

 

Monty finished his drink. 

 

“Yes,” I held my voice steady, “I’ll think about it.”

 

Satisfied, Monty poured himself a second round.

 

“I have something else to discuss with you.” 

 

He spoke the way white people did when they were about to ask you to do something. He avoided eye contact. Then I knew he was going to ask me to do something I didn’t want to do.

 

“What is it Monty,” I huffed.

 

“Don’t get short with me Ida,” he glared, winking to let me know he wasn’t serious.

 

“Spill. And don’t add more to my plate.”

 

“Heh,” Monty coughed.

 

I waited. He drank some more and then stalled.

 

“Mind if I get another cigar?”

 

“No problem.”

 

I could wait. Playing to Monty’s good side couldn’t hurt my case for a raise. He took his time, clipping the tip of his cigar and then rolling it between his palms before lighting.

 

“Want a puff?”

 

Monty knew I didn’t smoke. So I didn’t respond. He sat across from me and then started talking.

 

“We value your work in the marketing department here at Banks & Wiltshire. The billboard in Times Square project, the Jamaica, Queens community outreach, it’s all been fantastic. I’ve come to trust you Ida… The day you throw in the towel will be the worst day of my life.”

 

He was buttering me up now, and I knew then whatever he planned to ask me was something big.

 

He smoked, drank a little more and I waited, settling into the chair and staring at him. Monty was getting older. At 60, he was still a silver-foxed scamp. His cigar and whiskey before lunch were only the beginnings of his problems.

 

Monty was cursed with being both too smart and too good-looking for his own well-being. I’d like to pretend his charm didn’t work on me, but he was a difficult man to resist.

 

“I want to entrust you with a matter that’s more… personal.”

 

“Personal?”

 

While Monty and I were friends, there were some boundaries that had never been crossed between us. Most “personal” situations fell firmly within that territory. Monty hadn’t told me about the time his wife lived in their beach house for a year because he’d knocked up their maid. I hadn’t told him about my sister’s third DUI. 

 

We kept our dirty laundry out of each other’s view. In the corporate world, the personal is always just out of reach. No matter how personal you pretend to get with your coworkers, when you head home for the night, they usually just become your coworkers.

 

70-hour work weeks were the only thing that stood between me and more distance between my coworkers.

 

“This is a delicate issue Miss Bell, so I’d appreciate your discretion.”

 

Now my interest piqued. I clasped my hands over my knees, hiding the impatient tapping of my legs and fidgeting with my class ring from Columbia. 

 

“You know I can keep a secret, Montgomery.”

 

Monty nodded, “Excellent. You might want to have a drink.”

 

“No thanks,” I urged again.

 

“Hm,” he responded. 

 

Before he could go on, his phone rang. I could hear Pippa’s voice on the other end, loudly asking Monty if he was free to meet a woman who wanted an afternoon appointment. Monty declined, they had another conversation about Monty’s flights to the Maldives, then he hung up.

 

“Where was I?”

 

“Something personal.”

 

“Yes, yes…” he mumbled, coughing gently and filling my face with tobacco smoke again.

 

“This is a special assignment for you Ida. If you can manage this,” Monty paused to chuckle, “I’ll definitely consider a raise.”

 

“What is it?”

 

I was starting to get impatient and what’s worse, bad at hiding it. Monty tapped his cigar, the ash falling gently into his engraved Harvard ash tray.

 

“My son is flying back from London today. He should be arriving at Grand Central before the stock exchange closes.”

 

“Great,” I replied, unsure how this news applied to me.

 

“He’s coming to work here, for Banks & Wiltshire.”

 

“What?”

 

I folded my arms, ignoring Monty’s smirk. 

 

“I need someone responsible to keep an eye on him.”

 

“You are his parent,” I grumbled.

 

Monty chuckled, “Darling, I’m half drunk before twelve o’clock, I can’t have anymore on my plate.”

 

I hated when Monty called me darling, reminding me that no matter how many decades I’d busted my butt to get here, he’d always believe the company was an old boys club.

 

“Which son are you talking about?” I narrowed my eyes.

 

Monty smirked, “Not Santi.”

 

I averted my gaze this time. Monty rarely acknowledged his illegitimate child and I had no interest in pursuing the subject further.

 

“I’m not equipped for this Monty.”

 

“I believe you are, Ida. No one here knows me better than you.”

 

I frowned, and didn’t respond.

 

“Back when you were new ‘round here, maybe we got in each other’s way a few times, but you know how I respect you.”

 

I said nothing, staring him dead in the face, hoping he’d give me a reason not to walk out of his office.

 

He stood up and walked around to me, touching my face.

 

“Ida, darling, I’m asking you a favor.”

 

It had been years since Monty touched my face like that. We’d shared one kiss — one — at my first office party here. Then I found out he was married. With kids. And for weeks, I hadn’t spoken to him. After putting our differences aside, we’d become friends. Close, true friends.

 

But his hand on my face brought me back to all those years ago when I’d been young and foolish. He’d been a charming, older, executive and for a moment, a brief moment, I’d entertained the notion of what life could be like with a man like him. Even as his mistress, you’d be taken care of. A more careless woman would have plunged into an affair.

 

But I believed in love back then, and I still did, and I knew I wouldn’t find it in the bed of a married man. His touch reminded me of what I gave up for a Prince Charming who’d never arrived. 

 

I turned my cheek away from him, considering for a moment that no matter how angry I was with him, bitterness wouldn’t serve me.

 

“Monty,” I replied, “Tell me what you need me to do.”

 

He dropped his hand and smiled, the gentle flirtatiousness he’d used to get his way was exposed as a ploy, but neither of us minded. 

 

He beamed from ear to ear, towering over my seat looking proud of himself before he walked over to his window and cast his gaze over Manhattan.

 

“It’s Charles,” he muttered.

 

“Charles?”

 

Now that was a name I hadn’t heard in a while. I knew all about Monty’s sons. The eldest, Townsend Banks, worked as a freelance party animal and only left East Hampton once a month to come into the city and collect his check from his father. 

 

He was tall, roguish, with long brown hair and brilliant green eyes like his red-headed Scottish mother. Townsend, the lazy son, wouldn’t have been horrible to look after. He was too lazy to get into trouble and no job he’d had ever lasted anyways. I wondered what good his Cornell education had been.

 

Monty’s youngest son, Santiago, had been born from his dalliance with a Guatemalan maid, a beautiful woman who had been lambasted in the media for her affair with the big-name CEO. Monty took the boy in, easily using his multi-million dollar net worth to sway the courts into garnering full-custody.

 

Santiago, ever aware of his humble roots, wouldn’t have been a problem either. He was the only one of Monty’s sons who hadn’t been kicked out of Andover, and would have been a delight. Of course, Buffy would have never allowed him to work here. 

 

When you’re the one who’s been cheated on, you tend to have the final word in those matters.

 

When I realized Montgomery was talking about Charles, I froze. Was he trying to send me to an early grave?

 

He saw my silent worry and met it with a smile.

 

“He’s mellowed since Yale.”

 

“Oh that’s a relief,” I shot back, rolling my eyes.

 

“His time in London has done him good,” Monty continued.

 

Was he trying to convince me that his son was a good person, or was he trying to convince himself?

 

“I want you to keep an eye on him, Ida.”

 

I joined Monty at the window, my arms folded. The city buzzed beneath us as we stood tall and powerful over New York. At that moment, I didn’t feel powerful. Denied a raise, and then given an impossible task. Monty held all the cards and he knew it. There was no way I was going to quit, risk starting over the career I’d spent decades building.

 

He knew me too well and he knew how to play the corporate game instinctively, like any big success did.

 

“What do you mean keep an eye on him?”

 

“I want you to keep him out of trouble.”

 

“What do you think I can do that you can’t?”

 

Monty looked over at me and smirked.

 

“Get through to him.”

 

I snorted.

 

“You’re tough Ida. You’ve got balls. Charles will respect you.”

 

“Wishful thinking,” I muttered.

 

“What did you say?”

 

“Nothing, Monty.”

 

He nodded, “Good. So it’s settled.”

 

He thrust his hands into his pockets after running them through his silvery gray hair. His eyes reddened from the liquor and the tobacco smoke. He let out another cough and then patted his own chest.

 

“Make sure he keeps his nose clean. No public affairs. No drugs. No fights.”

 

“Sounds like a job for a nanny.”

 

“I’m serious, Ida.”

 

“With all due respect Monty, if he’s so much trouble, why is he working here? We’ve both got a lot on our plate and with the Shanghai deal coming up —”

 

“That’s exactly why we need him,” Monty interrupted, “The Shanghai deal.”

 

“Is something wrong?”

 

Monty shook his head, “No. There isn’t. But Charles managed to do something amazing in London. Working with Vanderbilt & Scott he closed every single $50 million deal with a 100% success rate.”

 

“Whoa.”

 

“He’s damn good at mergers.”

 

Damn good? He sounded better than good. We’d been struggling to close our international markets for upwards of two years. We’d used every top negotiator in the world, including those trained by the FBI and military negotiators who’d served in Iraq.

 

“Why hasn’t he come here earlier then?”

 

Monty cleared his throat and scowled.

 

“Personal problems.”

 

From his scowl, I knew he meant that we wouldn’t be discussing these personal problems and they were likely to do with Charles Banks frequent unfavorable media appearances and his run-ins with the law.

 

“This is a lot to ask, Monty.”

 

“I know.”

 

He patted me on the back.

 

“If we pull through, we’ll all be rich.”

 

I folded my arms and raised an eyebrow. Monty was already rich. He’d been born rich, just like his granddaddy and daddy before him. Not every thought needs to be said out loud so I just smiled and stared out over New York with him.

 

“Thanks, Ida.”

 

I left his office, returning to mine with a sense of confusion. I’d walked into Monty’s office intending to get a raise. I’d received no raise, the possibility of an extra bonus and even more work than I already had. I was swamped.

 

As I sat at my desk, Pippa knocked on my door. It should be easy for you to guess why Philippa Wiltshire worked at Banks & Wiltshire. After failing to find a job and spending half a fortune of her four Masters of Fine Arts, I’d been gifted an assistant.

 

Pippa helped, and she was a sweet girl, although not the brightest tool in the shed for one who had attended Barnard, NYU and Columbia.

 

“Sorry to disturb Miss Bell.”

 

“You aren’t disturbing anything, I just got back from my meeting with Monty.”

 

Pippa turned a bright red to match her shock of red hair when I mentioned Monty’s name. Her tortoise shell glasses fogged up and she took them off to clean them on her button down, pulling it out of the corduroy skirt to use the ends.

 

“What did he say?” She asked, squinting at me as she cleaned her glasses. 

 

“Work, work and more work. Now hurry on up with those glasses, ‘cause I’ve got work for you too.”

 

“Yes ma’am,” Pippa replied, hastily replacing her glasses, tangling some of her red hair in the process.

 

“Oh… Before you start,” she muttered, searching for her notebook in her pockets.

 

“It’s on the desk.”

 

She lunged forward and grabbed the notebook, flipping a few pages before she spoke.

 

“Ah yes. Uh… You have a date tonight with Chad Corbett and he called making sure you were still on.”

 

“Cancel it.”

 

“Cancel it?” Pippa asked.

 

Was my dating life that desolate that a cancelled date sent my assistant into a near panic?

 

“Yes Pippa, I meant what I said.”

 

She tucked her shirt back into the corduroy.

 

“Are you sure? He sounded nice on the phone.”

 

I glanced up from my computer at Pippa. Her naive twenty-eight year old mind couldn’t fathom why an unmarried woman over forty would cancel a date. A few more years on the New York dating scene and I was sure she’d start to understand…

 

“Working late tonight, Monty’s orders,” I replied, passing the blame onto work as I usually did.

 

“Yes ma’am.”

 

“Great. Now I need you to head down to HR and pull up everything you can on that new junior copywriter.” 

 

“Yes ma’am.”

 

“Then I want you to call the New Jersey branch and ask them to send over last month’s financial statements.”

 

“Yes ma’am.”

 

“I want some hazelnut coffee in here by 11 — almond milk, no sugar.”

 

“Yes ma’am.”

 

She stood staring blankly for a while. I toyed with remaining silent myself, just to see how long she’d stand there before getting started. I sighed and instead said patiently, “You can move along now Pippa, thank you.”

 

“Yes ma’am.”

 

Pippa the broken record stepped out of my office. I sighed. No more date with Chad, but at least I’d get my raise early. I opened the top drawer to my desk and reached for my emergency bar of chocolate. At my office, that was a necessity and far better for me than Monty’s emergency whiskey, or emergency cigar.

 

I unwrapped the chocolate when I heard a familiar voice calling outside my office.

 

“Is that chocolate?!”

 

Letty. You couldn’t crack open a soda, a chocolate bar, a sandwich, or anything without her ambling over and asking for a piece. The girl was hopeless. Sweet girl, but hopeless. She entered my office and we shared the chocolate together.

 

Letty was the only other black woman in my office and the only listening ear who could appreciate how much I struggled.

 

“How’d it go?”

 

“No can do,” I snorted.

 

“Are you serious?”

 

I nodded.

 

Letty shook her head.

 

“These white folks… Something’s gotta give.”

 

“I need to stand up for myself,” I replied, “And get out of here.”

 

“Amen to that.”

 

I wondered why I was the only executive in the office who seemed to be struggling to hold it all together. Despite outranking Letty in the corporate structure, she was the only one I could relate to about wanting more for my money.

 

New York ain’t cheap, and it ain’t getting any cheaper. I had to find a way out of this mess and a way to show Monty that I deserved more pay. I just had to. 

 

My phone buzzed.

 

“Whose that?”

 

“Chad,” I grumbled, glancing at my phone and ignoring it.

 

“Sexy Chad?”

 

I glared, “Just Chad.”

 

“What’s up with him?”

 

“Cancelled our date,” I grumbled.

 

Letty raised her eyebrows and cast a shady side-eye in my direction.

 

“Okay girl, you do you.”

 

Her message was clear: She thought I was just as crazy as Pippa did. 

 

Could a woman catch a break around here?

TO BE CONTINUED...

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