Price: $ 15.95 (suggested retail price)
Where to buy:
So what happens when love meets sex? Erotic love is that delicious blend of hearts and minds and bodies, a combination of sweet and dirty, romantic and sexy. Sex by itself—hot, steamy, sensual sex—is one of the best things this life has to offer. But then, so is love. First love, new love, renewed love; love that has stood the test of time, love that has conquered every obstacles.
"Erotic Romance, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways… Here in this collection you have sixteen ways. Read the stories by writers who perfectly understand the intersection of the physical and the emotional. A steamy and emotionally fulfilling read...these writers take us right into the heart of a relationship. Savor and enjoy."
–from the foreword by Saskia Walker
Read an excerpt of my story Three Days Before The Wedding here:
She hated the sheer idea of it.
She hated the thought of having to feign enthusiasm over some greasy Latin lover stripping on her lap. She hated that she was supposed to be thrilled to touch his oily skin when all she could really think about was the warm, slightly dry skin of the man she loved. And she hated the drunken cows outside who had brought her into this situation.
The forced fun of bachelorette parties hadn’t held any particular appeal for Imogene ever since the first sparsely leather-clad crotch had been shoved into her face on her cousin's party seven years ago.
Then, she had been appalled. Now, she was seething. And somewhat humiliated.
“Get off – damn it!” In another fit of fury, she rattled at the handcuffs that bound her to a stylish wall radiator, its horizontal pipes shimmering in tarnished gold against the dark crimson wall. She stomped her foot and cursed as she tried to no avail to wriggle her wrists out of the metal rings.
It must have been the stupidest idea she had ever heard. But her bachelorette bunch, consisting of two future sisters-in-law and their friends, had insisted.
Imogene sniffed a little. Her own girls would never have done this to her. But they were on the East Coast, and what could you do about your fiancé's kinfolks? She counted herself lucky they had at least enough money to throw her a bachelorette party in a luxurious Las Vegas hotel.
After another apprehensive glance at the door, she took in the room. In its corner stood a plushy antique chair. The walls were adorned with gilt framed pictures of 1920s vaudeville girls. In the corner of her eyes, she could spot part of a velveteen curtain that separated the room from a small vestibule.
It was a fancy room. A men's restroom, mind you, but fancy.
Still, the guys trying their luck in the hotel's casino weren’t so different from the regular players in any low-grade arcade. A shudder ran down her spine at the thought of whatever drunken jerk might walk in on her, defenseless, abandoned by the party hosts, who were probably enjoying themselves at the blackjack table right now. The men that had been around while the girls had tied her up, cheering and laughing at her protests, weren’t the kind of guys she had any desire of encountering again. She wondered how long it would take before they summoned all their wasted friends to have a feast gawking on the little lady chained up in their rest room, dressed in a cheap veil and a shirt that was so slinky her breasts looked ready for the centerfold. To complete her misery, she would have to persuade one of these boozed-up morons to pay her ransom. That was the deal.
For sure the stupidest idea that Michael's family had come up with in the preparations that would lead to their wedding next Saturday.
Imogene froze as the door was flung open and quick steps rushed into the vestibule. A man in a hurry. She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, wondering if she would have to listen to him peeing before she could ask him to pay whatever ransom he would be willing to spend on her. He entered the room, and she heard him exhale.
Well, she had to give it to him – it wasn’t often that you found a sluttishly attired girl chained to the heater in the men’s room.
“Excuse me, could you... um...”
He walked over to her, his steps slowing, and she bent her head, but her arms restricted her view of the entrance. She peeked down underneath the pit of her arm. The handcuffs bit into her wrists as she tried to turn, and yet the only glimpse she could catch of him were leather boots and the beginning of slender legs in black pants.
“Wow,” he said, and his voice made her shudder. It reached something deep inside her and rolled through her veins, aiming directly at her core. “That must be the most wonderful thing I've seen all evening.” His boots clicked on the marble floor as he stepped behind her and stopped at the basin stand next to the radiator. “And you can see a lot of pretty things on a night in Vegas,” he added in a low, friendly voice.
“Surely not in a men's restroom,” Imogene murmured, more to herself than to him. He chuckled a bit.
She decided to cut right to the chase. “I need someone to ransom me.”
“Have you been naughty to deserve this?”
She held her breath. “Are you flirting with me?”
She heard the rustling of jeans and saw him crossing his feet. She could practically feel his eyes all over her body. His scent was warm and smelled of fresh soap and cardamom. Imogene exhaled. “Don't you think that would be taking advantage of my situation?”
“Would you pay my ransom if I flirted back?”
Imogene rested her head against her arm. “Sounds fair.”
He circled around and leaned against the wall in front of her. “That's what I think. But even if you didn’t consider it fair, the way I see it, you’re not in much of a bargaining position.”
“That’s not a very gentleman-like thing to say.”
“I’m not a gentleman then. How fitting that your shirt is too tight to belong to a lady.”
She rolled her eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
He laughed, abandoning the smoldering tone that had thickened his voice until now. “You're pretty cheeky for someone tied to a radiator.”
“There must be something about you that makes me trust you.”
The guy whistled. “I see. But what would your future husband say?” He threw a quick glance at the short pink veil attached to the rhinestone tiara in her hazel hair.
She matched the look in his dark eyes as they turned to her face again. “He wants to see me walking down the aisle in three days, so I guess he wouldn't mind.”
He tilted his head and puckered his lips into the hint of a smile. “With all due respect to the lucky guy, he's not taking good care of you.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You think?”
“Uh huh.” He reached out his finger and traced it down the line of her arm. Imogene held her breath as her eyes followed the trail of his tease. “If I were him, I'd make sure you'd be tied to...” He ran his long finger up her arm again and, in a playful gesture, moved it over the metal ring and drew a circle in her palm. “…nothing but my bedpost.”
She bit her lip. “He never does things like that.”
“Maybe it's time for him to experiment.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Maybe.”