Hi everyone. Happy Monday to you. After the wretched Sunday (thanks to the twin terrors), Thank God It’s Monday!
Let’s focus on my fellow author London St. James and her brand spankin’ new book, The Good Sister.
Trinity fell in love with the fantasy of Reid Addison, but will she gain her desire? Or find what she never imagined possible with the handsome Lord Archer?
Trinity Lane Winslow feared everything and lived her life vicariously through others. She dreamed of the impossible, yearning to be the kind of woman men desired—especially Reid Addison.
Reid Addison feared nothing, except how the mousey little blonde daughter of his housekeeper made him feel. Even though Trinity Winslow wasn’t his type, there was something intriguing about her.
Lord Ashton Archer lived a fairy tale life with property all over the world, was heir to a ducal dynasty, and had women fawning all over him. Anything a man could want, he obtained by the snap of his fingers.
By a twist of fate the three of them find their way into the same illicit world of the infamous Madam Jacqueline Claudette Rousseau. But will they find what each of them truly desires? Or will they always long for the forbidden?
**Warning** The Good Sister contains, voyeurism, bondage, rough sex, anal sex, and conversations about rape.
I walked to the staircase, rubbing at the back of my neck. I made my way down to the second floor. I stopped for a moment to stretch before reaching out to the door of my room. Strong hands wrapped around the tops of my arms, pulling my body back into a muscular chest.
“Why do you haunt me?” he whispered against my ear.
Goose bumps traversed my skin. My body, my reactions would give me away. I must find a way not to react to Reid.
“Please, speak to me,” Reid urged, “I need to hear your voice for my own sanity.”
I turned the doorknob, took Reid by the hand, and led him into my room. I turned off the lights, leaving us in dimness. The fire was low, no longer raging, but I would need to be careful. If I moved him to the settee by the dressing area there would be very little light, and he would not be able to fully see me. With his hand in mine, I took Reid to the settee. I pressed upon his chest, urging him to sit. I placed my fingertip to his lips, indicating not to speak. Reid sat. I unbuttoned his shirt one button at a time.
“There is something about you which haunts me, calls to me, makes me think—” I stopped him with my lips.
I felt his fingers on the back of my neck, urging me to stay. I pulled back, took his hand, turned it palm up, and with my index finger I wrote: NO.
“Please, tell me who you are?”
I closed my small hand over his, giving him my final answer.
Ashton bulldozed through my thoughts. Something about this made me feel guilty, but I need not be guilty. I’d come here for Reid. All of this was for Reid.
Reid shrugged out of his shirt. I skimmed my hands over his chest then over his rippled stomach without reservation or hesitation. He was my goal, my focus, what I wanted, what I had always wanted. My hands moved to the buttons on his jeans. I popped the first button and ran my fingertips over the strength of his stomach once more, circling his navel. His stomach muscles responded with a flexing jerk.
Reid placed his nose to my hair and sniffed. I made it through the button fly of his jeans, and slipped my hand inside the denim to feel Reid iron hard beneath my hand. I stroked him, squeezed him, took in every inch of him. Reid groaned. I gripped at his pants, pulling.
Reid stood up, and removed his pants. Once they were gone he sat back down. I fell to my knees, at his feet, slid up between his legs, grasped his hard cock in my hand, and placed a kiss to the tip of him.
“Shit,” he muttered.
I lifted my hand. He quieted. I kissed his cock, and stroked his balls, but I knew he wanted hard and fast. I remembered how he pleasured himself in the shower. How he fucked Breeze. Rough. I had to be prepared to give him what he needed. It would be nothing like Ashton. I thought about Ashton again,but I plucked Ashton from my thoughts. Reid was why I’d come to France. Reid was who I desired. I couldn’t desire two men, could I? But something about Ashton was different. No, I cannot have feelings for Ashton. I mouthed the ridge of Reid’s broad head.
Reid snapped. He thrust his hips, thrusting his cock deep, grabbing at the back of my head, pushing my head down upon him, entangling his fingers into my hair, fisting.
I didn’t struggle. I breathed through my nose, relaxed my throat.
“Fuck,” he muttered. He let loose of my head.
Reid got up from the settee, grabbed his shirt then stopped. He was silent for a long moment. I watched as he pulled on his jeans, securing them. He walked to the door. In the dim light I saw him run his fingers through his hair, stopping to scrub the back of his neck. He gripped his shirt in the other hand. I wondered if I should go to him. I stood, walked to him, and reached out. I placed my hand to his muscled back.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a whisper.
Then Reid was gone.
London wrote her first short story in the second grade. Her teacher informed her parents London had a big imagination, but having a big imagination wasn’t necessarily a good thing as far as he was concerned. Without watering that seed of imagination, London placed her vivid characters, her childhood stories, along with her imagination on the shelf, where they would wither for a while. At the urging of her eighth grade English teacher, London pulled her imagination off that shelf and wrote her second short story. To no surprise, it was a love story which was inspired by a song. With encouragement, London began to write once again. She fell head over heels in love with writing, the power of words and the journey we all take when we read a great story. Then as life does it moves on, so yet again London placed her imagination on the shelf to wither for a while. She needed to do the “sensible thing.”
In doing the sensible thing London earned a degree in Psychology but Philosophy, History, Theology, English Literature, Politics, Art History, Economics and other similar studies contributed significantly to her education and continue to interest her. While in college she traversed into writing once more, was encouraged by a couple of professors to peruse that endeavor and wrote. In doing so, she lit that spark of imagination which she thought was long dead. She was surprised to find people liked what she wrote but yet again life moved on and she did the sensible thing. You see to follow her passion was a pipe-dream, or so she had been told by some, so she placed her imagination and her passion upon that old familiar shelf. London has held some rewarding jobs, had a career which was sensible but found herself scribbling stories on scratch paper as an outlet. So one day she said, “Enough of the sensible thing.” She pulled her imagination along with her laptop off the shelf, dusted them both off and began to seriously write.
London writes erotic romance, from sweet to downright naughty. She is a member of the Romance Writers of America and Passionate Ink. She currently resides in Colorado with her dogs, her books, her writing and her imagination.
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There you have it, London St. James. Thanks for coming by today. Don’t forget to come by on Thursday for my interview with Honey Jans.
Romance Book Junkies not only interviewed me, but reviewed both books. Check it out here, here, and here respectively!