Dallon: A Simple Need Story
What started out as a pretty typical day, quickly spiraled when Dallon saw her. Buttoned up, full of curves, with a voice smooth as honey and eyes so innocent the flames of Hell warned him to keep on moving.
But then she walked into his bar, out of place and full of determination, and asked him to teach her all the things a downy, pure girl like her didn’t need to know.
What’s a guy like him supposed to do when temptation herself exits the Heavenly Highway straight onto Sin Street? He does the only thing he can do …
Warning: What’s done with a beer bottle in this little story may be illegal in forty-eight out of fifty states…and at least two territories. But they won’t tell, if you don’t.
Author’s Note: This novella was previously published by Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc. It has been lightly revised and edited from it’s original version.
This is such an incredible book. It’s steamy and erotic. It’s emotional and heartbreaking. It’s simply incredible and you definitely want to read it!
Buy Links can be found below the excerpt!
He’s silent––but his touch speaks louder than words.
At first sight, Savannah is drawn to the harsh appeal of a man who refuses to talk to her. Keenan’s hard stare is arrogant and unapologetic. The quirk of his sensuous lips is cocky and in control.
But there’s more. There’s something deeper he’s trying to hide behind those steely grey eyes––a slight hint of vulnerability which captures her intrigue.
She’d been warned, told that his silence hides a myriad of lies capable of affecting her career and relationships with loved ones. Only she can’t help herself. Testing Keenan’s defenses is an addiction she can’t deny.
Falling in lust is easy. Learning his secrets comes with a price. The cost? Her broken heart.
The man was still at the end of the porch, a beer bottle now visible in his hand as he leaned over, resting his elbows on the banister. He didn’t acknowledge her presence. She supposed a man with arrogance ebbing off him in waves didn’t have to. His dismissal gave her the opportunity to appreciate his ass stretched in well-worn jeans and the perfection of how his black jacket rested at his hips to give her an unhindered view.
“Hi,” she offered for a second time.
He didn’t move, didn’t even spare her a glance as she approached the bannister. He continued staring straight ahead as he lifted the beer bottle to his lips and took a long pull.
“It’s a lovely night for a family dinner.” Was he a distant relative? God, she hoped not, otherwise Dominic’s inbred tendencies were rubbing off on her.
He replied with a jut of his chin. A jut of his god damn chin.
What an asshole. And wasn’t she just the stupidest set of ovaries to walk the earth, because it only made her itch to push his blatant need for solitude, to poke at him with questions until he acknowledged her with the respect she deserved. The respect any human deserved.
“So…you like beer…” she drawled, glib as hell.
The corner of his mouth twitched as he continued to focus on the street. But still, no answer.
She could smell him, could practically taste his delicious aftershave on her tongue with each inhalation. He was a taunt to all her senses…well, except her ears because the pretentious ass wouldn’t say a word.
He took another swig from his bottle and straightened to face her. She could see his eyes now, the steely silver, almost blue, that made her shiver with their ferocity. He was tall, too. At least an inch above her even with her heels.
She pulled the pre-mixed bottle from her jacket pocket and twisted the lid to keep her hands busy. She could see two outcomes eventuating. Either he would smile, knocking her off her feet with the brilliance of his appeal. Or he was going to pull a gun from the inside of his jacket and blow her brains out.
Playa or gangsta. He could totally pull off both.
“I’m usually a wine drinker myself.” She raised the bottle of bubbly red liquid in her hand, slowly tilting it to her mouth. She took a sip, licked the alcohol from her lips in a deliberately seductive provocation, then lowered the bottle again.
Still, he gave her nothing. Noth-ing. He was the most accomplished jerk she’d ever come across, and yet she still couldn’t ditch the intrigue and walk away. Without a word, he had her tied around his little finger, begging for attention.
“I like your jeans.” She ogled his crotch, wanting to return the discomfort of how humiliating this one-sided conversation was becoming. “They’re snug.”
His lips quirked, giving her a glimpse of straight white teeth. Asshole. Asshole. Ass-hole! He was gorgeous, the faintest hint of humor turning his dangerous eyes playful. She lifted the bottle to her mouth again, this time ignoring any pretense of seduction as she gulped at the liquid.
“Are you always this charm—”
The front door creaked open and she turned to find Dominic eying them both skeptically. “What’s going on?”
She smiled, the biggest, fakest smile she had in her arsenal. “I’m having an in-depth conversation with this lovely gentleman.”
“Really?” Dominic frowned, his brows pulling deeper with every passing second.
“Yep.” There was gushing amounts of sarcasm in her tone. “First we spoke about our drinking habits, then fashion. I was about to bring up the topic of politics and world peace when you rudely interrupted.”
She glanced at the man in the corner, an arrogant smirk now curving those sensuous lips. He wasn’t the only one capable of being a jerk.
“Well, that’s strange…” Dominic came closer. “Because Keenan doesn’t talk.”
It was her turn to frown. “What do you mean?” Her skin prickled with goosebumps as the weight of both their attention focused on her.
“I mean, Keenan doesn’t talk.” Dominic shot his friend a questioning look, but she was too focused on her cousin and shocked from his words to bother with the silent stranger’s response. “At all.”
Keenan cleared his throat. It was deep and gravel-rich, demanding her attention. When she turned to him, he raised a brow, throwing the rudeness she’d been wordlessly accusing him of right back in her face.
The muted accusation sent a shiver of unwelcome stupidity down her spine. She became uncomfortable in her own skin. Ashamed. But who the hell did he think he was? Just because he couldn’t, or didn’t want to, speak didn’t mean he lacked the skills to communicate his inability.
“Oh.” She smiled sweetly. “That clears things up.” She turned her attention to Dominic. “I thought he was just an asshole.”
Her cousin snorted. “Don’t worry, he is.” He bridged the distance between them and flung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. “Savvy, this is Keenan. He’s practically family. And Kee, this is Savvy, she actually is family, so stop being a prick and treat her nice.”
Her throat tightened and the moisture coating her mouth evaporated. Keenan stood there, taking another long pull of his beer, suave as hell, before placing it down on the bannister and holding out a hand.
She could already sense the exhilaration his touch would ignite. Her arm was tingling, all the way down to her palm and through her fingers. She stepped forward, sliding her hand into his, and tried to appear unfazed by the jolt that followed the brush of their skin. His mouth was mesmerizing. Both lips equally lush and soft. She wondered what he would look like when he smiled. A full, beaming smile. Would his eyes light up? Would the dark mysteriousness wash away?
“So you don’t talk?” She pulled her hand back even though a little part of her wanted to keep the connection.
He shook his head. Once. Stilted.
He definitely didn’t overcompensate for his lack of speech. Everything he did was calm and controlled—a jerk of his chin, a curve of his lips, a tilt of his head. The asshole knew he was intriguing. It was probably his calling card.
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I placed a kiss on her shoulder and pushed inside her. She was still tight, still wet from the all night sex – in every position on every available surface – marathon. Dawn was just breaking the sky.
I’d taken one look at her last night in the restaurant bar and made an instant, insane decision. I’d already been stood up by my business partner and didn’t feel like going home batting zero for a thousand.
No, I’d wanted the woman standing nearest the door, looking for all the world like she was ready to bolt. And I’d gotten her. Money could do a lot of things and where one day I was just another geeky four-eyed nerd in a lab, the next I was rolling in so much green I could had a different woman knocking on my door every evening.
Nothing about her said one night, though. Nothing about her said me. Instead, everything about her said please and right now and delicious.
I’d read her right.
But I might have gotten it all wrong, too. I wouldn’t think about that now. Now was all about her slick heat grasping and clinging to me, sucking me in, pulling at me. Now was all about her straining beneath me, and her bound hands tugging at the headboard.
You can pre-order The Billionaire’s Heiress now from Amazon. The official release date is April 26th…
Oh, right. I don’t have one. That was discussed back at the beginning of January in my list post.
I write a paranormal book, and thankfully, people come out of the woodwork to pimp that. Put out a contemporary and it’s like crickets. That’s not good for sales. Not in a culture where it takes hours to pimp a book. Days to pimp a book.
People have shared my posts and I am more than grateful to them for it.
I tried a Facebook ad, but Facebook rejected the ad because the cover was too objectifying. I’m thinking an ad with blueberry pancakes is next. That’ll probably be considered too objectifying as well.
I have a 3 Chapter Sneak Peek available on Instafreebie. It hasn’t led to any sales, but it’s gotten me a few Newsletter subscribers in the last few days.
And I sent out the Newsletter to 633 subscribers, which, did not result in even half that amount in sales.
There are other things to try. Other things that cost money. A lot of money.
Or hell, if you can get a handful of rabid readers to talk about the book from morning to night, that helps loads. But, I don’t have those readers. I’ve watched those readers and they’re fantastic for authors. But I don’t have those readers.
Because I don’t write the stereotypical books that have universal appeal.
I don’t have the stacked keywords in the title or the blurb. I have what the story is, and what the story isn’t.
I don’t have BBW in the title because it wouldn’t work for this book, even though the heroine is curvy and past body issues are briefly discussed within the pages.
I don’t have billionaire anywhere on this book, because well… Jared isn’t a billionaire. He’s blue collar, works in an automobile manufacturing plant.
I don’t have BDSM in the title. It’s mentioned in the blurb, but again…
I’m not writing young, college aged angst. You know why? Because those of us in our 30’s and 40’s and 50’s and beyond have angst and drama and pain and loss and happiness and fucktons of orgasms and our stories need to be told. Our stories are worthy of being told. And there ARE readers in their 30’s, 40’s, 50’s who want to read the stories I write. I just have to find them. Find more of them. Build a brand around them that is sexy and seductive and erotic and romantic and wonderful in celebrating them and their strength and their beauty.
Then, there’s the other of the biggest detractors for me and that is that I don’t finish a book months in advance usually or even weeks in advance. For me, it’s usually mere DAYS in advance. I write down to the wire. Otherwise, I tweak the damn thing to death. I’ll re-write chapters in the time it’s sitting there, waiting on release day. I then have to upload a different file all over creation because I’ve changed half the book. Writing down to the wire, doesn’t give me that opportunity. I write raw. I write real. And it’s usually the best work. But… It doesn’t allow for advanced marketing. It doesn’t allow for ads in all the right places. Not that the bank account would allow for it, either. That’s totally on me and I get that. I’m working to change my writing habits, but I’m not sure how when I know how I work best for the book itself.
The book competition in the contemporary world is incredible. Some awesome books. Some awful books. It’s finding the niche you fit into. It’s having the money to promote (and at times having the Facebook gods on your side). It’s having the fan base that helps spread the word, that talks about the books, that pushes the author’s name out into the world. Buzz and word or mouth is crucial. So damned important.
So, I need a village. I’m not sure where to find the village. But, I need one…
Two to Spark ~ Marie Harte: When a psychic predicts that a faulty toaster, a black cat, and the wrong address will bring Cooper together with Ms. Right, he shrugs off the notion as crazy. But before long, fate has something else in store for the sexy firefighter when a spark of attraction ignites into true love.
I don’t really know Marie Harte and after spending a lot of time on her website lately, I’m thinking I need to remedy that. Especially given her contemporary series, McCauley Brothers. It looks fun and hot and yummy. She’s got some incredible looking shifter series’ too that I’m going to delve into.
Her latest is book 4 in her McCauley Brothers series… (more…)