bwwm pregnancy romance

Dark Romance Books | The London Brotherhood Book #1-Book#3 | BWWM Mafia Romance Novellas

the london brotherhood interracial mafia romance

the london brotherhood interracial mafia romance

Happy 2019 everybody! This year, I'm going to be starting off with a BANG. And a GANG. Okay, I know some of you aren't into the uber-bad boys, so you'll need to be a little patient. If you're a lady with a dark side who loves kinky sweet romance and a black woman taming a white gangster into exposing his heart of gold, you'll LOVE the story of Sierra St. James and Ollie Cook. As you may have guessed, this new release is set in London -- perfect for BWWM fans who want romance novels set in England or romance novels set in London. 

The London Brotherhood Books #1, #2 and #3 are the first three books in a LONG series that will have TEN books and completed by June of this year. Book #1-#3 are interconnected mafia romance novellas, but Book #4 will be a standalone Navy SEAL Romance novel so that the angels and good girls among you can get some love too. 

For now, I invite you to indulge in this free romance novel excerpt of a mafia romance for black women who love romantic stories, read BWWM online for free and may enjoy stories from inspiring authors like Amarie Avant or Theodora Taylor.

 If you have any questions about this series, please leave a comment below and I will answer any and all questions as soon as possible. 

Before diving into this free sample, consider checking out the trailer. Click here to watch the trailer.

Free Romance Novel Excerpts | The London Brotherhood I

Chapter One

SIERRA ST. JAMES

“He took my mate’s girl, you get me? So I ‘ad to do something about it. I pushed ‘im up against the wall and ‘e started squealing like a pig. I took my knife and I pressed it up to him. He started shaking, scared like a little girl. I leaned in and laughed. I couldn’t ‘elp it. ‘E looked so weak. How am I supposed to respect ‘im. I didn’t do nothing though. I walked away. ‘E was scared enough.”

“Do you think there was any other way to handle him, Malik?”

“‘E disrespected me, innit? I ‘ave a right to defend myself.”

“I understand. It doesn’t feel good to be threatened, does it?”

“No Miss St. James. It doesn’t. I ‘ad to teach him a lesson, innit?”

“Was there any other way you could have handled him, Malik?”

“Let me tell you something, alright? Niggas like him get mad hench and think they can talk any way they want on the estate. You can’t show them weakness, innit.” 

“I understand. But Malik, you have to remember what we discussed last time. It isn’t always the best response to jump straight to violence.”

“You think these pagans understand conversation?” 

“Well, have you tried?”

He snickered.

“Miss St. James, I’m sorry, but it just wouldn’t work. I’m dealing with niggas darker than you could imagine.”

“Right.”

I paused, scribbling a note about Malik’s latest encounter in my record book, filled with accounts of tens of similar incidents, which had become progressively worse, not better throughout the course of our counseling.

“For example,” Malik continued, unprompted by any of my questions, “I’ve got bare problems on the estate. I’ve got beef. Real beef. I can’t show weakness. Last week, Butcher got my sister up against the wall with a gun to ‘er ‘ead. What do you think he’d do if I showed weakness.”

“So you’re doing this for your sister?”

“Yes. Maybe. Sort of.” 

“You think if your sister got free of her boyfriend you would feel safer?”

“Absolutely.”

For a child who raced to violence and responded emotionally to any perceived slight, I could always be surprised by Malik’s calm and rational nature that breached his estate programming during our sessions every once in a while.

“Is there anything you can do to get her away from him?”

“I could shank him.”

“Aside from that.”

Malik shook his head.

“No. He wants me to join…”

I raised an eyebrow. Malik had always been cautious with me not to reveal what I’d suspected since we started our sessions together. The brotherhood had been circling. My manager at the centre had warned us to look for the signs, underestimating the fact that our wards knew what we were doing and maintained a deep self-interest in keeping any potential gang activity far out of our sight.

Malik trusted me, and he’d just let his guard down enough for me to get information that I wanted. If the brotherhood was closing in on a new recruit, I’d have to tell someone.

“Join what?”

“Nevermind.”

“Malik, you can talk to me.”

“Oh I can, can I? So you won’t rat me out to Gemma?”

“Well—”

“You can’t lie to me. You’re too good.”

“I’m obligated to report to my superiors. That’s never been a secret.”

“Fine. Report me. But you don’t ‘ave to worry.” 

“Why?”

“Mandem can’t make Malik join a gang if ‘e don’t want to, innit?”

“Right.”

“Then nothing to worry about.”

“What sort of pressure are you under? Do you think you can withstand it?”

“Me an’ Butcher ‘ave an understanding. That’s about it. I help ‘im out, sure. But ‘e knows I’m only doing it for my sister, you get me?”

“Of course. If you need any help, Malik, that’s why we’re here.”

“I know.”

“Why are you here Malik? You don’t have to come in for counseling. What do you want from us?”

“I want to make sure my sister is alright. I don’t want to do anything that gets me killed. I don’t want to do anything dangerous. I want to be the man she needs. I want her to get away from that Irish bastard.” 

“Violence won’t solve anything with him. The brotherhood’s pockets run deep. Remember that.”

“That’s bait.”

“Right, but you just told me about how you handled things before. Something like that won’t fly when you’re dealing with dangerous, dangerous men.”

Malik smirked and put his feet up, a cocksure grin plastered across his seventeen year old face. His russet brown face was too wise for his age. He shouldn’t have had to deal with the cards he’d been dealt — seventeen, living on the estate with his sister and a crazy asshole who would have the brotherhood circling Malik like vultures if they could find any good use for him at all.

“What do you know about dangerous men?” Malik taunted me.

“I know enough to know that you don’t want to mess with them.” 

“Something’s different about you, Sierra,” Malik said, using my first name and leaning forward, his chin propped up on his hands as he stared at me, “You ain’t like the other counselors in this joint. You’ve seen things.”

“We aren’t here to talk about me.”

“I’m right though, ain’t I?”

“If I tell you something about me, will you answer my question honestly?”

“Sure, Miss.”

“I had a brother who was involved in gang activity.”

“Prison?”

“No. But you’ve had your answer, so now it’s time for you to answer my question.”

“Fair enough.”

“When they come knocking, when they come calling for you, will you tell me the truth? Can you promise me that, Malik?” 

“Fine. I promise.”

“Good.”

“Our session is finished today,” I announced, glancing at the old, loud clock in the corner of my office.

“Perfect.”

I rose and stuck out my hand to shake Malik’s. He lunged forward, embracing me in a tight hug. Hugging him made me realize how skinny he was for his age, how frail he was, and how a boy so young should never have his childhood on the line the way that Malik did.

“Can I walk you to your car?”

He wanted to talk more, I could sense it. One hour a week was hardly enough to push past all the barriers he had rightfully erected around people like me — people he saw as posh, people who didn’t understand the life he’d been born into on the estate.

“Do you have more to say to me?”

“Only about Butcher and what ‘e’s doing to ‘er.”

“Sure. Tell me.”

“Promise you won’t make things harder on her?”

“I’m only obligated to disclose gang related activity as it pertains to you.”

“Right. But you ‘ave morals innit. If you get all offended, maybe you’ll think about calling someone and make life harder for her.”

“I promise you, Malik. You can trust me.”

“Fine. Butcher ‘as gotten worse. It’s been harder to deal with, and I don’t know what to do about ‘im.”

“What’s happening?”

“He could really kill her, Sierra.”

I didn’t stop Malik when he called me by my first name. Accepting any bit of relatability those teens could throw my way was the only way I could relate to them. The more comfortable they felt with you, the better. That’s what I’d found out throughout the past five years. 

“What is he doing?”

“She’s terrified of him. ‘E keeps saying ‘e wants her to convert for ‘im, and ‘e’s more than willing to force her to.”

“Your sister is Muslim, right?”

“She converted for the last wasteman, I don’t see why she ought to convert for this one.”

“Butcher is a total idiot. He doesn’t get it and she’s out of her mind in love with him. She doesn’t care that he’s dangerous. That he’s a gangster. Last weekend, they got into an argument about ‘er scarf and he threatened to send her to Russia on a spaceship. ‘E’s fucked in the head.”

“Has he hit her?”

“Not recently. But she’s been behaving. It will start up again, mark my words.”

“Is he using?”

“Yes. MDMA, pills, everything ‘e can get ‘is ‘ands on.”

“He’s meaner when he isn’t using?”

“’E’s a mean bastard all the time.”

I walked towards the door of my office with Malik in tow. He held the door open for me, and we poured out into the centre. Hymns spilled out into the youth centre hallway, off-key, as usual. The choir director’s screech followed a particularly horrible note in Amazing Grace. 

“NO, NO, NO! YOU HORRIBLE IDIOTS, WE’VE BEEN OVER THIS!”

“’E’s got a bee in ‘is bonnet,” Malik muttered with a grin.

“I’ve got to pick up my things at the locker. You coming?”

“Sure thing, Miss St James.”

We walked for a few feet down the hallway before Malik tapped his hand on my shoulder.

“Miss St James?”

“Yes, Malik?”

“You mentioned your brother was involved in the gangs.”

“I did.”

“Will you tell me what happened to ‘im?”

“Will it scare you off joining if I did?”

“Probably not.”

“Right. Then I don’t see the point in bringing it up.”

At my locker, I slipped into my peacoat and changed my short heels into plain, black converse sneakers. Malik held my purse as I dressed.

“Same time next week, then?”

“Absolutely.” 

“Good. I’ll talk to Yasmin, then.”

“Keep in mind, she’s scared, and no matter what he’s done to her, she loves him.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“How can she love a pig like ‘im? ‘E’s done horrible things, and ‘e’s an absolute bastard to ‘er.”

I shrugged. 

“Human beings aren’t logical creatures. We struggle to defy our conditioning.”

“That’s all there is to it then? You grow up on the estate, you end up with a roadman?”

“We all make our own choices, but some of us are more prone to certain choices than others.” 

“You ain’t makin’ any sense, Sierra.”

“It’s complicated. People are complicated.”

“Can I ‘elp you with that?”

I handed Malik my purse, which he slung over his shoulder without a second thought. How could this child be so sweet to me, yet tell stories about the horrors he inflicted on other people, from holding them up at knife point, to selling MDMA at raves, or ganging up on teachers after school to steal money and cellphones. Malik was two people at once: a child who wanted to fit in, and be kind and loved and excepted, and a man on the verge of making the decisions that would influence his entire life.

He stood at a crossroads, and I stood with him with the power to influence his choices. The weight of his decisions kept me up at night. He wasn’t the only teen I counseled at the centre, but he was the most vulnerable — not because he was weak, but because he had a fierce sense of where he had landed in the world and he was braver than most. He was more willing to press a knife to someone’s gut or to jump into fights with fists flying madly.

Malik held the door to the centre open and the frigid London air blew stiffly through the doors, whipping my wig nearly clean off my head. I wrapped my coat tighter around my waist. The weather in London was always a bit shit this time of year. Chilly October rains left a slick wet coat on the sidewalk. Puddles formed outside the centre, stinking of hot piss and cold mud. 

Malik held my arm as I stepped around a puddle.

“Where’d you park the whip today?”

“A few blocks up. Let’s hope the meter didn’t run out.”

“I’ll sort it if it has,” Malik offered, a smile cracking across his dark, face.

“You don’t have to Malik.”

He pulled his hood up over his head, and for a moment, I saw the Malik from East London, feared by his peers at school and stalked by gang members who saw his terrifying potential. 

“No. I do. I want to thank you, Sierra.”

“I’m only doing my job.”

“No. You get it. You may be posh, but you get what it’s like so when you talk to me, you don’t look down on any of us. With Gemma, it’s hard. She’s from the North end. She doesn’t get what it’s like in my ends, you get me?”

“Gemma tries her best,” I replied, defending my coworker publicly, but in secret agreement with what Malik said. 

He was correct about Gemma. She didn’t get it. I, on the other hand, was raised like Malik. I understood how he thought the way he did, and I understood why he couldn’t see a way out of the life he’d been raised into, especially without a mother or father to guide him, and with a sister so wrapped up in her own drama that she couldn’t see the pain of the young blood she was responsible for.

“Gemma’s right peng, but she’s stupid,” Malik continued.

I stifled a chuckle, and instead chided him for his comment.

“Malik! She cares — about all of you. She’s only a bit naive.”

“A bit daft, rather.”

“Come on you,” I laughed, linking arms with Malik.

He smiled as we stepped over puddles and braced ourselves against the city cold. Businessmen raced past us, shiny suits and shinier loafers carrying them into their Beemers and Audi cars. They lived in a different London from the one that we lived in. They lived in a London of cocaine, money, riches, and relative ease. Life on an estate like the one where Malik was raised didn’t feel real to them. They lived in the London shocked by Grenfell Tower. We lived in the London where we knew it could happen to any of us, and the city council would hush it all up and cover it up with excuses and blames.

Two cities, two groups of people. The city’s diversity could feel like a myth.

As we approached my car, Malik continued to chat me up about Gemma, and the other youth counselors. Effie, the drug counselor had made a fool of herself recently since she’d shown up to a rave where a few of the teens had seen her drunk as a skunk and high off her ass on MDMA. Taking her seriously had become much more difficult after that. Nick, the athletics director, had made himself an enemy of the brotherhood recently, and according to Malik, rumor had it that one of the enforcers showed up at his house and forced him to back off their latest recruit.

Outside of my office, Malik spoke more freely than he ever had. He kept his walls up around himself, and even as we approached my car, I got the distinct sense that he might never open up to me. No matter how hard I tried to reach him, there would always be a wall between me and him which would lead to him joining the brotherhood. I could lose him the same way I’d lost my own brother. The thought settled in my stomach with unease.

You can get the extended, 10,000-word sample of this romance novel before the book launch 100% FREE by clicking here: GET FREE 10K SAMPLE NOW . The book is live now and discounted for all of 2019. Grab your discounted copy right here 👉 smarturl.it/londonbrotherhood

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Zaddy: Interracial Pregnancy Romance | BWWM Romance Books

zaddy interracial pregnancy romance novella bwwm romance by jamila jasper cockygate author

zaddy interracial pregnancy romance novella bwwm romance by jamila jasper cockygate author

⚠ONLY READ IF YOU LOVE FILTHY, REAL INTERRACIAL ROMANCE⚠

Zaddy... 

The man who has it all:

★A big, long, throbbing, thick, back-breaking, rock hard... ego.

★All the money in the bank to treat his black queen like royalty

★KIDS that he takes care of without being asked. ZADDY loves kids and he protects all of them with his strength.

★He LOVES single mamas and worships at the altar between their thighs

We may call a man "daddy" but "ZADDY" is something different...

Someone wilder...

Someone hotter...

Someone stronger...

This steamy hot interracial romance novella drips with filthy hot scenes that will make you sweat your weave out as you fantasize about the ZADDY you desperately crave to fill all the holes in your life. With 35,000+ words of spicy action, you'll love this kinky BWWM novel. Don't believe me? Take a peek inside and see what this novel has to offer...

Here's the trailer for this novella, 100% FREE on YouTube: smarturl.it/ZaddyTrailer

What do you think of the POPPIN' description to this brand new, upcoming interracial romance novella? If you dare take a peek before the launch, hit the "read more" to read the first chapter 100% FREE. 

Romance Novel Excerpts | Zaddy: BWWM Pregnancy Romance

A successful cooking blog, two children and an escape to a home in Miami, had all been conjured up out of a big fat pile of B.S. Eliza considered the fame a blessing or at least a respite from every damned thing she’d put up with over the past decade. Life had been hard. Two kids, who she’d never regretted, had been harder and at thirty-five, she loved her daughters, her home, and life in the bustling, diverse Florida city. Eliza watched her daughters playing together on the newly carpeted floor of the living room, taking great care to avoid spilling their crayons onto the fresh, white carpet.

Karen and Sylvie wore their hair in matching afro puffs that spiraled towards the sky from their tiny brown foreheads. Sylvie was always more animated when they played, her large, dark brown eyes gleaming with mischief and excitement as her sister went along reluctantly with their new game.

Eliza looked at her watch before leaving the house. The solid rose gold watch had been her first big purchase when her blog had first sky-rocketed to success and reminded her of how hard she’d worked to build this life for her daughters — too hard. It should have been easier and she shouldn’t have done it alone but a hardworking woman knows how to get shit done — and she does it. Always. 

5:00 p.m. After a long day of answering emails, talking on the phone and editing a lengthy recipe for bouillabaisse on her blog, Eliza had the responsibility of getting food for her girls. The irony was that running her cooking blog left little time for simple cooking for her daughters, especially on busy days like this one.

“Karen! Watch Sylvie for a minute. I’m headed ‘round the block to get some jerk chicken.”

“Yes mama!” Karen called back.

“And don’t forget Grams is just across the way.”

Eliza wouldn’t have left the girls alone if she didn’t share a duplex with her parents. It was just enough space that she could have privacy without worrying too much about her girls being alone up in that house.

She left the house and bustled towards Jemma’s Jerk. The streets were noisy, the Miami heat beat down on the tops of her thighs, causing sweat to pool between Eliza’s legs and her hair to stick to her neck before she got halfway down the block. She fingered the bills in her pocket, reviewing her order and pondering deeply whether or not she wanted one type of jerk sauce or another.

Food was Eliza’s life — her whole life — and even a decision as simple as what to order could zip her away to another world. A world where she wasn’t hiding out in Miami, on the run from her past and struggling to be the type of mother that she’d never planned on being: alone.

Eliza hated that her kids needed a daddy — and she hated even more that she couldn’t have a man around to take away the daily pressure of raising a family and running a business and working her ass off. There wasn’t any man who could live up to Eliza’s standards anyway. At least not in Miami. But she could still hope for the day when some magical stranger would just… whisk her off her feet.

There didn’t seem like there was much of a chance of that happening, but Eliza never lost hope. 

Eliza arrived at the place two blocks away from her house faster than ever. Even if she’d been away from Trey for three years, she still couldn’t stop looking over her shoulder anxiously when she left the house alone. There was no way he’d trace her to Miami. She’d started using her middle name “Eliza” after the divorce and she’d started using her mama’s maiden name, Rice. 

The line for jerk was long. Eliza silently cussed herself for not knowing better than to show up so late. The place was steaming hot; there was no air-conditioning to give the customers respite from the Miami sun. Eliza wrinkled her nose at the smell of the other customers’ sweat. She knew she must not have smelled too hot herself and she folded her arms, self-consciously swaying as the unabashed stinkers debated about their upcoming orders. There were still five more people in line before her.

Eliza folded her arms and popped in her headphones, listening to some D’Angelo while she waited in line. This place had the best jerk chicken in all of Miami but damn were they slow. 

As Eliza waited, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the store window. 

I look tired. She thought to herself. 

She’d looked tired for years now. Eliza remembered when she’d first moved away from Miami. She was seventeen and she’d run away with her boyfriend Trey Lane. Trey had convinced her that her family was no-good and he was the only person in the world that could love her. 

They’d lived in Mississippi for a year until Eliza had turned eighteen. She hadn’t even graduated high school; Trey convinced her that she wouldn’t need to ‘cause he would take care of her. Looking back, Eliza realized how much of a fool she’d been to believe him. When Eliza turned eighteen, they got married and she’d gone from Anna-Mae Eliza Jackson to Anna-Mae Lane. 

After they got married — a quiet, private service in Trey’s living room — life started to get worse for Eliza. Trey had lied about everything. He was over $120,000 in debt; he had no way of taking care of Eliza and he hadn’t quit his lifestyle of drinking and crime. Everything he’d sold Eliza on was a lie.

In quiet desperation, at 20, she’d had her first child, Karen. 

Having a baby had only made things better for a little while. Trey had stopped having violent outbursts and he’d stopped drinking for a spell. He promised Eliza that things would get better, that he’d start making more money and really start to provide for them. 

That “change” hadn’t lasted long and Eliza had started to fantasize about escape. That wasn’t so easy. She had no high school diploma. Trey refused to allow her to get a GED or a job, she was estranged from her family and too ashamed to tell them that she’d been a fool. Plus, she knew her mama would flip if she found out that she had a baby. 

So Eliza stayed, even if she knew Trey could kill her without a second thought. He’d certainly threatened it enough and Eliza could still smell the whiskey on his breath as she remembered him threatening to cut her body up and throw her into the swamp. Trey’s drinking kept her hooked. He’d convinced her that he couldn’t survive if she left. He’d convinced her that he’d find her and kill her if she left. He convinced her that if she weren't such a gold-digging whore, he’d be able to find the motivation to get a better job.

So Eliza stayed.

At twenty-eight, Eliza felt like a shell of her former self. With an eight-year-old daughter around, Eliza feared that she was ruining her daughter’s life. Trey never hit Karen, and by God, he never touched her, but he had no problem slapping Eliza up in front of her. Eliza wanted to escape. She’d started to make plans and had everything all set up to run in the middle of the night.

Then Trey found out. He held her down on their marriage bed, threatened her life, and as she screamed, that’s how he’d given her Sylvie. 

Luck had set Eliza free in a morbid kind of way. Trey had been out late drinking one night and he’d gotten into a car accident. When Eliza got the call from the hospital, her hands shook and she had promised him that she would be there soon. She took her one year old child and her nine-year-old and all the cash she had to rent a car.

That was how Miami started.

She had never looked back, never checked on Trey, and she’d left a life behind with no clue how the hell she was going to keep going forward. Eliza had to keep going because that’s what strong women do… With the protection from her mama and papa, she’d filed for divorce. Eliza’s Southern cooking blog had started to really take off right after she’d arrived in Miami. After a long, traumatic legal battle, Anna-Mae became Eliza. Mrs. Lane became Ms. Rice. She was free. 

Recovery had been a long hard road and Eliza hadn’t dated anyone else seriously since Trey. It wasn’t just out of fear, but because of her daughters. Eliza’s ultimate motivation in life was to keep her daughters safe from their ain’t shit daddy forever. Karen had already suffered enough watching her mama get beat up by Trey. Eliza knew what she had to do. She had to stop.

When her blog started to make bigger and bigger bucks, Eliza had found a way to hustle her way into a duplex. Her mama and papa shared one half; she lived in the other with the two girls. Eliza had bought herself a nice 2013 Ford Focus and she was working her ass off to save more and more cash for a rainy day. With Trey out there still, a rainy day could come any time, a fact that Eliza was painfully aware of.

The line grew shorter ahead of her, but the Jamaicans were always slow with the service and all the huffing and puffing you could do wouldn’t make a damned difference when it came to dealing with them. Eliza tapped her fingers on her thighs, still stuck in the past. 

Physically Eliza had changed a lot since she was that skinny 17-year-old that Trey had snatched from her home. She’d gained about fifty pounds so her body had a little shape to it. Having two kids had definitely affected Eliza’s figure. Even if she ate right and exercised, she had plenty of stretch marks all over her tummy and legs. 

By some stroke of luck, her large breasts still sat up perky in her top and her face still had the youthful look of a woman in her early twenties, despite the fact that her thirty-fifth birthday had only just passed.

As a regular at Jemma’s Jerk, Eliza just hoped she’d be able to get out of that place soon. Beads of sweat were starting to build up on her forehead and Eliza worried she’d sweat her wig clean off.

The girl at the cashier yelled, “Next customer!” 

Eliza peered around the line. Her favorite cashier Kelly was working. That would definitely mean her food would come faster. The Jamaican girls working at Jemma’s Jerk weren’t afraid to play favorites.

“Ay pendejo!” Two of the people in line in front of Eliza started arguing and mumbling to each other in Spanish.

Eliza sighed and smiled. Sometimes, she just had to appreciate the slow pace of this part of Miami. The city was incredible diverse and everywhere she went she met Cubans, islanders and other immigrants. The city bubbled and broiled with heat, energy, and spices. 

The door to the jerk joint bust open with a bang. All the customers jerked their necks around, unafraid to let the aggressive entrant know they were watching him closely. 

The man who entered was tall, white and buff. He wore a black tank top and denim shorts. His arm was covered in a black ink tribal tattoo that wrapped around his bulging biceps.

“KELLY! YO KELLY!” He yelled running to the front of the line, practically pushing the customers out of the way.

Kelly kissed her teeth, “Wha’ di rass Brett? Get di hell outta ‘ere!” 

“Naw. I ain’t leavin’ till you give me a straight answer.”

Kelly started yelling, “Lemme come ‘round this counter, an’ I’ll buss yuh ass.” 

“You’re full of shit Kelly. You don’t know a damned thing about what happened and I swear to god if you mess with me again—”

“Get di FOCK outta mi restaurant!” Kelly yelled.

“Fuck you Kelly! Just fuck you!” 

“Mama! Jemma!” Kelly screamed. 

An old dark-skinned Jamaican woman erupted from the back of the jerk joint.

“Get di fock outta mi restaurant Brett!” Jemma screamed.

“Fuck you both. I ain’t leavin’ till you tell me why Destiny called the fucking cops on me!” 

Jemma glared, “Watch yuhself white boy.” 

Kelly folded her arms and smirked, “Yuh ‘eard ‘er. Get di hell outta ‘ere!” 

Brett looked from left to right and noticed that all eyes in the restaurant were glued to him. His face was bright red and he slammed his hands on the counter staring Kelly right in the face. Kelly kept smirking and she hardly flinched.

“Fockin’ waste man,” She spat.

“Watch yourself Kelly. If you fuck with me ever again I’ll show you how much of a fucking deadbeat I can really be.”

The man turned around and left the restaurant. As he did the tension melted away. Eliza slunk back into her position in line. Phew. That was crazy. The Miami heat could sometimes bring out the worst in people. She rolled her eyes and exchanged glances with a couple other customers. What a psycho.

Finally, Eliza arrived at the front of the line. Kelly smiled. When she wasn’t angry her hard Jamaican accent softened up quite a bit.

“Hello dearie Eliza. How are you and the children?”

Eliza smiled, “They’re good. Picking up two jerk pork and one jerk chicken.”

“Extra spicy?”

“Only on one of the jerk porks.” 

“I got you girl. That will be $15.” 

Eliza fished into her wallet for fifteen dollars and glanced behind her. The restaurant had emptied faster than she realized.

“What was going on with that guy?” Eliza asked as she rest her money on the counter.

Kelly kissed her teeth again, “Brett? He just come ‘round here lookin’ for trouble with me and mine. Waste man…”

“I was worried shit was ‘bout to pop off.”

Kelly loved drama, and Eliza knew it. But that guy had more darkness than the usual bad boys that Kelly was always embroiled in altercations with. 

Kelly rolled her eyes, “He’s all talk. Just mad ‘cause he can’t handle business.”

Eliza smiled, “An ex?”

Kelly rolled her eyes and kissed her teeth again, “Oh hell no! Not an ex. Just trouble.”

After a few minutes, she brought out the jerk pork orders and the chicken.  Kelly bagged up all the takeout containers.

“Drinks?”

“Can I get a Ting? The girls would love to split it.”

“Sure thing,” Kelly answered, reaching into the fridge for an ice cold Ting.

“One dollar.”

Eliza reached into her pocket for four quarters and put them on the table. 

“You tell the girls I say hi. Next week mama’s bringin’ some special patty and coco bread.”

“I’ll be sure to stop by. Thanks Kelly!” 

Armed with dinner, Eliza burst out of the hot restaurant into the slightly-cooler Miami air. 

She saw the man who had raised the scene inside of Jemma’s Jerk standing on the corner. Without the raging, Eliza noticed that he actually looked pretty attracted. He reached into his pocket for a box of cigarettes and Eliza tried to avert her gaze quickly. She didn’t want any “incident” before arriving home.

Eliza didn’t go unnoticed despite her best efforts to keep her head down and away from this mad man.

“Ma’am! Excuse me, ma’am!” 

She tried to keep her head down but Brett ran behind her and gently tapped her arm.

“Sorry, didn’t hear you,” Eliza mumbled as she turned around to face him.

She continued, “Listen, I don’t have any money.”

Brett grinned, “Name’s Brett. Not hustlin’ you for money ma’am. Just lookin’ for a light.”

As Eliza fished around in her pocket for a lighter, Brett kept talking.

“So what’s your name ma’am?”

Eliza shot him a sideways glance.

“Sorry ‘bout all that commotion… That’s not the man I really am.”

“Okay.”

Eliza didn’t want trouble and she got the distinct sense that disagreeing with this man would bring trouble. 

“What’s your name, pretty lady,” he said, a broad smile plastered across his sun-tanned face. 

“Eliza.” 

“Eliza… Wow… Eliza… That’s a beautiful name.”

Brett flicked the lighter once, twice and then finally got his cigarette lit. Eliza tried her best not to enjoy the fumes wafting in her direction. She’d quit smoking the day she left Trey and she’d never looked back.  The lighter in her pocket was an old habit that she’d never managed to quit.

“Thanks.”

“Live around here?”

“Why should I tell you where I live?”

Brett chuckled, “Sorry ma’am. It’s just… you’re awful pretty and I wanted to walk you home.”

“It’s only a couple of blocks.” 

“So you won’t stay and talk to me here then?”

Eliza rolled her eyes. 

“Maybe for a minute…”

Brett’s face lit up. Eliza saw his bright smile and wondered if maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. Brett was tall and he had a body built with the brute strength of a farmer. His biceps bulged out of his tank and his denim shorts were worn from the work of an outdoorsman. 

Brett had a classic Southern look. He had longish dark brown hair with streaks bleached from so much time in the sun. His face was soft and kind, with a few light wrinkles around the corners of his eyes and the area of his mouth that cracked into a smile. 

“So what was Kelly so mad at you for?” Eliza asked.

Brett shrugged, “Ain’t nothing important. Just got mighty heated over an argument we had over some mutual friend.”

“Must have been a pretty big argument for you to cuss up a jerk chicken joint.”

“Hell, I know I got a temper on me. It’s the Irish blood. Sorry you had to see it. I promise, that’s not the man I am.”

“Yeah,” Eliza replied nonchalantly, “I knew a man who would say the same thing.”

She tried to rid herself of the sad look in her eye. There was no need to drudge up all the messiness of her divorce with a total stranger who was obviously trying to flirt with her.

“So what do you do for a living Eliza?” 

Eliza answered, “I’m a chef. Cooking blogger now, really. My parents are Jamaican but I was born and raised in the South so I do a blend of Southern and Jamaican cooking.”

“Well I oughta have you cook for me,” Brett teased.

“Yeah, right…”

Eliza continued trying to feign interest, “What about you? What do you do for a living?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Brett whispered.

Eliza rolled her eyes. Okay, this guy had to be full of it.

“Try me.”

“Sure you’re ready for this?” 

“Yup, I’m sure.”

“I’m a millionaire. So now I just invest in a few projects here or there, keep my portfolio stable.”

Eliza folded her arms, “You’re right. I don’t believe you.”

Brett let out a full-bellied laugh as if her disbelief were the funniest thing in the world.

“Why don’t you believe me?”

Eliza pursed her lips. She wasn’t going to get trapped like this. She was sure that this was Brett’s idea of a joke but she didn’t find it particularly funny.

“I don’t know.”

“Oh c’mon. You know. You don’t believe a man who talks like I do and who dresses like I do could be a millionaire.”

Eliza shrugged. Brett was right but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“Well I’ll tell you how I did it if you let me walk you home.”

“Nice move,” She began, “My kids must be getting hungry anyways. You can walk me home. But I still don’t believe you’re a millionaire.”

Eliza started the walk home. Brett offered to carry her bag with the jerk chicken cartons, so she let him.

“Well, my mama’s the daughter of some Atlanta multi-millionaires. They didn’t want a damned thing to do with her when she married my paw. He’s a poor farmer, owned a place ‘bout fifty miles outside of Miami. So they cut my mama out of the will and when my granddaddy died, all his money went to his grandchildren.”

Brett took a drag of his almost-finished cigarette.

Then, he continued, “Well my granddaddy banked on my aunties havin’ kids but none of ‘em did. Both of ‘em got hitched to other women and fled up north. I was the only grandkid left kickin’ round. My granddaddy died ‘bout eight years ago and I inherited everything he had.”

“What about your grandma?”

Brett shrugged, “She died a week after he did. From grief. Can’t figure out why. He was an old bastard…”

Eliza flinched at Brett’s harshness but she had to admit that she found him appealing. She wasn’t sure if she believed his story. It could have been true or it could have been some well-crafted tall tale to impress her. Either way, she nodded along as if she believed him.

“So you’re a multi-millionaire.”

“Yup,” Brett nodded, “My mama’s part of the Colton family in Atlanta.”

“Hold on… Like Colton Hardware?” 

Brett nodded, “Yup. My granddaddy sold the place years ago but that’s us.”

“Holy shit.”

“But you aren’t…”

“Naw, I ain’t a Colton, bless the Lord. I’m Brett Carver and I thank the Lord I’ve had a normal life. There was a reason my mama wanted to escape Atlanta and I’m glad she did.”

“That’s crazy…”

Brett grinned, “What’s crazier is how beautiful you are.”

“Whatever,” Eliza replied, unimpressed.

Smooth talkers like Brett ran the south and they left babies everywhere their sweet-talk worked. Eliza wasn’t so stupid to find herself falling for cheap lines from tanned Southerners with cigarettes hanging from their mouths.

“Are we close to your place?”

“Yes.”

He followed his compliment with a deep, penetrating stare as if he was searching for something in Eliza’s eyes. She hadn’t realized how attracted to him she felt until she the heat started rising to her cheeks and she felt her bosom heaving with desire. What the heck? 

Sure, he was good looking, strong and he had a certain amount of charm. But Eliza knew better than to pursue every twinge of attraction she felt for a man. After Trey, Eliza knew that she had to be careful. All those years of pain meant she’d learned a valuable lesson about letting men into her life just because of the way they made her heart flutter. Something about Brett put a pause on her desire to suppress every positive sensation stimulated in her by a man.

“So tell me more about yourself, Eliza?”

Eliza’s heart quickened with a mixture of fear and excitement. Why did he want to know? He wouldn’t give it a rest if she didn’t answer; Eliza could tell that much. 

Eliza sighed, “Well I got two kids, my own business, own a duplex that I share with my parents and by the time I’m forty-five I want to retire.”

Brett grinned, “Two kids?”

“Yup. Sylvie and Karen.” 

“Pretty names.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Are your daughters as beautiful as you are?”

Eliza grinned, “Yes. They are.”

“You shy, Eliza? Don’t get complimented like that often?”

“I get complimented just enough thank you very much.”

“Quit the sass ma’am, just tryin’ to find out if there’s any other dogs barkin’ up your tree.”

Eliza wrinkled her nose, “No, there aren’t any dogs barkin’ up my tree. And that phrase is disgusting by the way.”

“Just part of my Southern charm…”

“We’re only a few houses away from my place.”

“Lemme guess, that gorgeous white house is yours.”

Eliza was surprised that he’d actually guessed.

“Yes…” She admitted, “What are you, some kind of stalker?”

Brett laughed.

“Naw. I can tell you’re a classic kinda woman. You wouldn’t belong in any other place but that what. It’s nice, Southern and fit for a Queen.”

“Oh yeah?” Eliza teased, “So a ‘millionaire’ like yourself doesn’t look down on my humble little abode.”

“Just ‘cause I’m rich don’t make me a snob. I never knew money my whole life,” Brett confessed with a shrug.

Jada wasn’t sure that a single part of her believed him. Just ‘cause he kept saying it, didn’t mean he was truly rich. Brett reached into his side pocket and pulled out another cigarette. Then he reached into his back pocket for a lighter.

“Found yourself a light huh?” Eliza asked.

Brett threw up his hands, “You caught me… That was just an excuse to talk to you. I noticed you standing in Kelly’s and damn, even if I was mad as hell you caught my eye.”

“Well your little ploy worked… But I’m at my place so I’ve got to leave you now Mr. Carver…”

“And I guess I’d better leave you Mrs…”

“Not Mrs. I’m Eliza Rice. Miss Eliza Rice.”

“Alright Miss Rice. Are you sure I can’t come in?”

Eliza shook her head.

“Sorry Mr. Carver, my kids are up there and they are hungrier than a pack of coyotes.” 

“Well maybe I can see you again some time?”

A date. He was asking her on a date all up front like that. Eliza was intimidated by how forward he was. All of this had happened so suddenly. Moments ago, he was causing a scene at Jemma’s Jerk and now he was asking her on a date? 

In theory, it seemed like a bad idea. But Eliza had enjoyed her walk home with Brett. He pricked her nerves, but he also made her heart race in that warm and delicious way that happens when there is new love. She’d enjoyed his stories, his liberal compliments and the gentlemanly way he’d carried her food all the way to the door. Eliza wasn’t a fan of the smoking but she could tolerate it. At least it was better than drinking. As usual, drinking made her think of Trey, which served as a sober reminder to slow down when it came to men — especially men who could turn on the charm like that.

“I don’t know…”

“I know you want to say yes,” Brett asserted.

He was right too. Eliza did want to say yes. Even if it was unconventional for her to go out with a man she’d met off the street. He made her want to say yes. 

“You’re right. I do want to say yes,” Eliza started, “So yes, yes we can see each other again.”

“Next Friday?”

Eliza nodded, “Sure.”

“I’d better give you my number then,” Brett said.

He reached into his back pocket for a his wallet and a ballpoint pen. He scribbled his phone number on an old receipt and handed it to Eliza.

“You know where you can find me,” Brett added with a wink.

“Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

“No trouble at all missy,” Brett said, “See ya later.”

Eliza waved goodbye and then entered her house. Karen and Sylvie sprinted towards her. They’d been waiting quite a while for their dinner and they were voracious. Eliza sat them down and shared out the heaping portions of jerk pork and chicken. She sat around the small dining table with her daughters and they started to eat.

“Did y’all call grandma and grandpa?”

“No mama,” Karen said.

“And you minded your sister?”

Sylvie’s face broke out into a mischievous grin.

“Karen fell asleep!” Sylvie announced.

“Sylvie shut up! You such a damn snitch!”

“Hey! No cussin’,” Eliza chastised Karen.

Her daughter glared at Sylvie who stuck out her tongue in retaliation.

“Y’all better fix your mood once you eat that jerk. I don’t wanna see no more of this fighting.”

“Yes mama,” They replied in unison.

Eliza felt blessed by her daughters’ ability to get along with each other. There were many difficult aspects to being a single mother but her daughters made life both easy and worthwhile. As she ate dinner and listened to her daughters talking, Eliza’s mind wandered to her pending date with Brett.

She’d been so focused on their first meeting that she hadn’t really thought about it. She might have first caught Brett at a bad time but he wasn’t broke, he was handsome as hell and he had a daredevil attitude that made Eliza’s heart race. 

A date with a man like Brett` would be a very interesting change of pace.

Continue reading this novel by clicking the link here: http://smarturl.it/ZaddyBWWM

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

CHAPTER ONE

“Miss Jackson, it’s handled.”

 

“What did they say?”

 

“They asked about the funeral.”

 

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

 

“I said they were lost at sea.”

 

“Good.” 

 

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

 

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

 

“We always have a choice, Dinah.”

 

“Not me.”

 

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

 

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

 

“It’s not your fault.”

 

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

 

“Elsa misses you.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Is she beautiful?”

 

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

 

Stephanie chuckled, “She looks colder every time.”

 

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

 

“I don’t know. Years. Not since Wy—”

 

“You can say his name, Stephanie.”

 

“Not since Wyatt was around.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“I will.”

 

“Good. I gotta go now.”

 

“Be safe, Dinah.”

 

“I will be. You know that.”

 

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

 

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

 

“Bye, Dinah.”

 

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

 

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

 

“Closing in, Jerry?”

 

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

 

“I did.”

 

“You ready?”

 

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

 

“Good. Good.”

 

“I’m gonna miss you, Jerry.”

 

“Don’t believe that.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Thanks.”

 

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

 

“It’s only a three hour flight.”

 

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

 

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

 

Jerry snorted at the mention of Stephanie’s name. 

 

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

 

“She wants me to stay.”

 

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

 

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

 

“Bundle up, missy.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“I know. I know.”

 

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

 

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

 

“Promise me you’ll stay in touch.”

 

“I will.”

 

“And stay out of trouble.”

 

“I will.”

 

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

 

“No. I can handle it.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Bye, Jerry.”

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

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

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

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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!” 

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

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Romantic Comedy Novels: French Kissed | BWWM Pregnancy Romance

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

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

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

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

Romance Novel Excerpts: French Kissed

Chapter One

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Young lady…” 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“I know.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Earl huffed and then twirled his mustache. 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“No talking about mama I guess?”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Papa!”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Ready to hit?”

 

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

 

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

 

“Lucy… That was awful,” he chided.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“No. He doesn’t.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“I agree.” 

 

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

 

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

 

Lucy glared at him again.

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

“Hm.” 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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