BLURB:
Shawn Torien is a
handsome, arrogant bassist with the groove rock band Bloodless. At thirty four,
he’s seen everything, been everywhere, and all is handed to him on a silver
plate—groupies included. His rock star attitude is questioned when the record
company’s young webmistress Samantha joins the band to cover their life on the
road.
Since she has crushed on
Shawn for years, he takes great pleasure in teasing her and pushing her away...
until he learns about the woman beneath the surface.
BUY LINKS:
AUTHOR BIO:
Lea lives in Europe with her husband and
three children. She's a fan of intense reads, the same way she loves intense
sports, music, and rides. She has written adventure, mystery, and action-packed
stories from an early age. In addition to the erotic romance short story “My
Biggest Fan”, she recently published the crime drama novel "Wild
Hearted" and has the thriller sequel “Carnivora”, the erotica novella
“Risky Fever”, and a mystery/romance collaboration novel coming soon.
MEET LEA:
Email: leabronsen@yahoo.com
EXCERPT:
The
backstage room is filling with people. Band members, roadies, management, and
special guests such as family, media, and a few pre-selected fans. The place
buzzes with chatting and chuckling, and I stop in the door to assess. Don’t see
any eye-catching hotness yet.
Sweat
runs from my head, along my back, and down my abs. My soaked shirt glues to my
skin, and I stink of hour-long transpiration. I need a shower, but there’s so
much else I want to do first: get a drink, a smoke, and some pussy before the
tour bus leaves. None of these are allowed on board. I’m electrical, high. I
need to move, and my whole body thirsts to get higher.
Next to a
merchandise booth in a corner stands a table with plates of sandwiches and cut
fruit, a selection of mineral water bottles, and alcoholic drinks.
“Shawn!
Shawn!” Strangers rush me with expectant smiles, probably wanting me to sign CD
covers or something.
But I’ve
made up my mind. Ignoring them, I stride to the table, grab a can of cold beer
and down it in one take. The icy beverage rushes through my throat and
refreshes me. The sweaty hairs on my arms rise as if chilly air blew on them. I
open another, gulp down the beer, and grab a third.
“Hey,
Shawn,” a female says behind me.
I hate
being interrupted, but I’ve heard that voice before. Beer in hand, I spin
around.
Oh,
Samantha from the record company. I don’t know if that pleases or annoys me.
She’s cute, though, with long brown tendrils at shoulder-length, and hazel eyes
glowing with warm intelligence.
The
alcohol makes me a little tipsy; I can’t resist the want to tease her. I give
her the can with a grin and proceed to take off my soaked shirt, as if it’s the
most natural thing. Damp body heat and the sharp smell of sweat emanate as I
lift my arms in the air, struggling to remove the wet fabric, groaning.
Once
done, I drop it to the floor and cross my arms, making my well-trained muscles
protrude, and scrutinize her reaction. Offering a little male sexiness has
worked on most females before.
Flabbergasted is the best word to describe her
face. I flash my teeth as her gaze runs over my torso. She can’t possibly be
aware of her nostrils’ tiny movements, revealing her inhalation of my scent.
I let a
moment pass, then ask, pointing at the can in her hands, “You gonna have that
beer?”
“Oh.” She
straightens with a deep breath, regains composure, looks at the brand logo on
the can, and shakes her head. “No, I don’t drink alcohol at work.”
I like her
voice. It’s soft, comforting, reminds me of my mother’s. But when she hands me
my drink, the wolf in me wants to play. I cover her hand and tug while taking a
step closer, pulling her toward me. She wears a discreet perfume, the scent of
prairie flowers, I think. Her cheeks blush as she lifts her chin to meet my
eyes, and her pupils grow feverish. She’s holding her breath. With my other
hand, I grab her round, firm butt and press her stomach against mine.
All
sounds around us vanish; the talking, the laughter. I focus on the girl in my
arms. She’s not really my type, but knowing her infatuation, she’ll be an easy
fuck. That’s all I need before getting on the bus. Tomorrow, it'll be someone
else.
I glance
at the KISS patches on her chest. Gene Simmons once declared we’re all in this
business for sex, and whoever says he does it for the music is lying. Besides,
the girls beg to be screwed senseless by celebrities, so they can brag to their
friends. Shawn in Bloodless slept with me! Squee!
Maybe she
thinks I’m going to kiss her, but I’m not. Call me crazy, but there’s a little
romantic in me saving that for a special girlfriend—if such a thing is in the
cards for a guy like me. Instead, I move my hands to her denim jacket and start
unbuttoning it from the top.
“You seem
to need a little help with that,” I joke.
Damn,
we’re so close, and her feminine heat makes my blood boil. I picture bringing
her to a dark corner behind the stage curtain and having her hands on my cock.
I suggestively push my hardness against her warm thighs.
She
frowns and takes a step back.
No? What
is it? My beer breath? I withdraw as well. Too fucking bad.
Eyes
shimmering, she opens her mouth, but I turn and grab a new can. I mean, who the
hell do you think you are to turn me down like that?
I gulp
the whole drink, release a solid burp, and take what must be the fifth can
before leaving.
_______________________
Thanks so much for having me, Iyana!
ReplyDeleteIt's my pleasure!
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