I love my naughty stepbrothers! And I think I could keep writing them forever. For me, they’re all different. This one was especially fun to write. A woman who works for her stepbrother has to help him flip a client and convince this other man to invest in their family company. This Russian’s background is a bit sketchy. He’s scary big, speaks in a heavy accent, and doesn’t suffer fools easily. My heroine, Lila, gets trapped, by the Russian and her brother, into accompanying Fedor on a trip. Now, she’s completely at his mercy… Hope you enjoy the excerpt. She’s no shrinking violet, and he has limits to his patience… With His Client releases on Tuesday! So you don’t have long to wait to read the rest of it! And as always, if you love this story and want more of my couple, you have to tell me so! I can be convinced…

A woman tempts a Russian strongman to save her stepbrother’s company…

Pre-order you copy here!

An excerpt…

The bedroom where he left me to change was gorgeous. The rug was an antique Persian, the colors softened with age. Blue, green, and gold medallions against a deep brown. The bed was covered in a rich brown brocade comforter and looked sumptuous, but I tried not to look there. It was large enough to accommodate his body with tall posts on each corner. All seating in the room was upholstered in a dark, buttery-soft leather. The bathroom was enormous with a walk-in shower with many heads and tiled in natural stone. The bathtub was copper on the outside and coated with an ivory enamel on the inside. I’d need to use the steps beside it because the sides were so deep.

I heard rustling in the bedroom and hurried back into the room to find a servant, dressed casually in a cotton skirt and tank, emptying my suitcases. She was pretty and young, and her smile flashed white against her dark skin. “I’ll only be a minute, miss.”

I cleared my throat. “Fedor…Mr. Medved…?”

“He’s waiting for you in the living room. Dinner is being prepared. He thought you might like a drink before eating. He wants you to wear this,” she said, sliding open a closet door and pulling out a dress that was more like a filmy caftan.

The material was so thin, I knew my shape would be revealed. Underwear would look ridiculous beneath it. The dark filigree pattern against a blush background would play peekaboo with my nipples and the dark hair cloaking my crotch. “I don’t suppose he included a slip…?”

She giggled, and her smile stretched wider. “He included sandals.”

“Of course,” I said, my mouth going dry.

When she left, I didn’t let myself think about what I should do—which was select one of the outfits Brian had packed. They were short but covered me. Instead, I stripped and pulled the caftan over my head. I spent a few minutes repairing my makeup, brushed my hair, then slipped on the dark sandals. As I walked from the bedroom, the thin silk fluttered against my hot skin, gliding against my nipples, between my legs. The caftan was as much of a tease for me as it would be for him.

By the time I found him, I was already aroused, and there was no use pulling at the fabric that caressed my tight nipples to try to hide that fact.

He faced a wall of windows overlooking a long strip of pristine beach. He’d removed his jacket, and I noted that his white dress shirt was perfectly tailored, forming to his broad shoulders, lean back and waist. His slacks hugged his rounded buttocks.

He had to know I was there; the soft leather soles of my sandals slapped on the tiled floor. I came up beside him and looked out at the view. From the corner of my eye, I watched as he glanced sideways, his gaze raking over my body. I couldn’t help drawing a deeper breath that lifted my chest—and my tight nipples.

“Why didn’t you just ask me to come naked to you?” I said, glancing his way.

He turned his body then lifted a hand to finger the silk at my waist. “Do you like how it feels?”

His voice was different. Deeper, smokier. My breasts quivered as I drew a shuddering breath. “Yes,” I whispered.

He gave a nod. “Your pleasure is important to me.”

I pressed my thighs together in an attempt to stopper the moisture wetting my sex. “Why should my pleasure matter?” I asked, lifting my chin.

His mouth quirked, and I stared at that small smile. “I am not an ogre, Lila.”

“You forced me here.”

He canted his head. “Did I?”

“You knew I couldn’t refuse.”

“You mean, your brother wouldn’t let you refuse. You could have said no…or simply left my limo waiting at the curb. But here you are—wearing my gown.”
I dropped any pretense of pride along with my chin and gazed down at our shoes—his polished loafers, my scanty sandals. Drawing in a breath for courage, I said, “You’re right. I wanted to come. I guess…I was…curious…”

Fedor’s hands reached out, palms up, and moved slowly toward me.

I could have stepped back, but instead, allowed him to cup my chin. He raised my face. “Before we met, I knew who you were. I have…friends…inside your company, who told me of your frustration with your brother. That you warned him long ago of where his excesses would lead him.” His dark eyes narrowed as he stared down at me. “You are lovers.”

“We…are.” But looking at him, I knew that was no longer true. “Were,” I whispered.

He gave a crisp nod. “I don’t share, Lila.”

“This is… I’m not…” I shook my head at my dithering. “I still don’t understand why I’m here. Is it to punish my brother—or play some game?”

“I saw you before…at a gathering at your country club.”

I shook my head. “That’s not possible.”

One eyebrow arched.

“I would have remembered,” I said, lowering both of mine. And it was the truth. The first time I’d looked at him through the screen in the restaurant, he’d taken away my breath. He was too large, too commanding to miss.

“I watched from a distance while you walked with your brother. His hand against the small of your back. I knew then that the rumors of your affair were true. But you were as much mother as lover, trying to steer him toward the people he should speak with, your eyes narrowing when he drank too much. I thought your…attentions…were wasted on one so unworthy.”

“Brian isn’t unworthy,” I said, frowning.

“He’s a child.”

I drew another deep breath, ready to argue, but he was right. Brian was spoiled. Unprepared for his role as CEO. His father had thought he’d have time to groom him.

“I remember thinking how remarkable it was that you were the same age. Both lovely to look at, but he’s empty and immature. While you are…too good for him.”

I shook my head. “I’m not. My mother married into wealth, but I—”

“Had the same opportunities, to a point. I understand. His set is privileged, with advantages they never earned. I could care less about their privilege.”

I sighed. “I don’t get it. You sneer at him. You refused his request. You don’t care to partner with him, I get it. So, why am I here?’

“It’s simple. I want you.” He pursed his mouth and tilted his head in a sideways nod. “And I want your shares. I will not invest my money with a fool. He cannot retain control.”

Disappointment chilled me. “Your shares, alone, wouldn’t give you control, and he wouldn’t give you controlling shares.”

“I will work with you. You are sensible. Smart. You wouldn’t balk at instituting a program of austerity to rebuild your company. You will tell him that I will accept thirty-three if you are given thirty-four.”

“Why would he give up control?”

“Because he has no choice—and he believes you will give it back to him.”

“And I would.”

Again, Fedor raised one wicked brow. “Would you, even if you thought it wasn’t in his best interests?”

I paused, unsure now. “You want a partnership, and you think that I’ll go along with you when it comes to voting. Is that why we’re here? Are you trying to seduce me into giving you control over my shares?”

“I wanted a chance to talk to you. To go over some ideas I have for saving your company and for moving forward. But I could have accomplished that over a private business meeting. No, I told you already. I want you.”

I barely stopped myself from stomping my foot. He was infuriating. “You said you want me, and you want my shares.”

He grunted. “Perhaps I didn’t say that right. I want you. With me.”

I widened my eyes to glare at him. How many ways could he tell me he wanted my damn shares? “You want me—with you—so you’ll have power over my brother.”

He gave me a darkly fierce frown. “I don’t want power over yourr brother. Just leverrage.”

Suddenly, I wanted to laugh. His frustration was making his accent thicker, his Rs sounding like growls. His anger spiked my own. And again, that quickly, I was aroused. I tossed back my hair and gave him a harder glare. “You want to seduce me to gain leverage over my brother.”

“I would seduce you anyway.” His jaws ground together. “I do not want to fuck yourr brother. I want to fuck you.”

My mouth twitched, and I fought not to grin. Pushing him had been fun. Which probably wasn’t very smart. The man had earned a rep for his fists. I guessed it was time to give him a break. I cleared my throat and nodded. “Just so we’re straight. I don’t like being played.”

A tic pulsed beside his eye. “I am not playing you. I am being straightforward. You arre not.”

I lifted my brows.

“You are wearring my gown.” His hands clenched at his sides. Then he stepped closer, towering over me. “You wanted me to see you.”

Well, yeah. But I didn’t like that he read me so easily. “I wore what you provided because I thought it was part of the deal.”

One dark brow rose. “You would sell yourrself to me?”

“I was ready to do whatever was needed to save Brian’s company. We’re family.” I tilted my chin.

He gave a sharp shake of his head. “Not blood.”

I felt my bottom lip push forward. “He’s the only family I have.”

“And he was only too happy to give you to me,” he said, lowering his face toward mine.

I swallowed. “Only because he knew…”

“You arre trrying my patience,” he whispered. “What did he know?”

God, my nipples hurt they were so tight. “That I want you.”

His hands shot up and gripped my hips. His face lowered. The moment our mouths touched, it was as though a match scratched. We ignited.

For those of you who don’t know, my sister Elle James and I started out writing stories together. We were busy learning the craft and leaning on each other’s strengths. One of us was better at dialogue, the other better at description…one of us was better with love scenes…  In the end, we wrote several stories together before heading off in our own directions. One thing we loved writing together was romantic comedy. When we brainstormed a new story, we’d have each other in stitches from laughter. We wrote a series of comedies, all set in Texas (we were both living there at the time!), about friends who’d made it big but hadn’t yet found their true loves. This post is just a reminder that there’s an entire series of fun awaiting you…

Here are all the Texas Billionaires Club stories…

  Click on the covers to learn more!

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Tarzan & Janine

See what happens when a secret billionaire and an aspiring actress get a little wild in Texas

A man with a soft spot for women…

Closet Texas billionaire, Tanner Peschke has three months to prove he can make a profit at the family used car dealership or he will lose his job, disappoint his father and break his promise to his dying mother. The root of his problem is women. He can’t resist them—any of them. All it takes is the scent of delicate perfume or a misty-eyed gaze from an elderly woman with a sob story, and he becomes silly putty in the hands of his feminine customers. Until, with a stroke of luck and a buck of a mechanical bull, he hires Janine Davis to star with him in the dealership’s live TV ads.

A woman who won’t let a handsome cowboy get in the way of her dream…

Determined to make a name for herself, Janine needs to pay the bills between acting jobs. The offer to do a series of commercials for Peschke Motors is a chance to get her face “out there”. Recognizing a player when she sees one, Janine agrees to co-star with her handsome employer fully intending to keep their relationship strictly professional. First break she gets, she’s heading to Hollywood.

Their jungle-themed commercials take a crazy twist, and Tanner finds himself falling…from a sales banner while chasing a monkey. But more importantly, he’s falling for Janine. She’s just the one woman to tame this cowboy’s wild heart. Convincing her to stay with him might be harder than catching a mischievous monkey.

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Excerpt

“It’s time, Miss Davis,” came a male voice, not Tanner’s, through the hollow panel of the bathroom door.

“I’ll be right out,” she called. Alternating between tugging down the hem of the bottoms to cover her fanny, and pulling up the top to cover her breasts, she stormed out of the bathroom, across the showroom floor, and out into the lighted car lot.

Judging by the gauntlet of wolf calls she passed through to get to the television crew, every salesman in the dealership must have stayed late. They all wanted to witness the live filming by a group of college students Tanner hired to keep the budget low. As part of the crew’s curriculum requirement, the commercial would air live on the university’s public television station.

A man carrying a spider monkey approached and shoved the critter into her arms. “This is Spunky. You need to keep a hold on the monkey at all times, or he’ll take off. Catching him will take us hours.”

“Hey! Nobody said anything about a monkey.” Janine pushed the little guy back at his handler, but the jerk turned and trotted to a position beyond the spotlights. Her chances of being taken seriously as an actress slipping through the seams of her skimpy costume and the busy fingers of the monkey, Janine suppressed the urge to scream.

“Quiet, everybody. Two minutes to take,” the young director’s voice boomed through a megaphone. “Where’s Tanner?”

The animal handler called to Janine from the sidelines. “Remember, whatever you do, don’t let go of the monkey.”

“Right, don’t let go of the monkey.” Janine’s head swiveled side to side in search of the nutcase who’d talked her into this crazy commercial. She’d felt more in control on the bucking mechanical bull at the convention than she did right now.

Suddenly, the crowd of used car salesmen parted. Tanner strode toward her with his long, loose-limbed gait and all the confidence and charm of a professional actor. Tanner, dressed casually in his ever-present blue jeans, chambray shirt, cowboy hat and cowboy boots, smiled as he worked his way through the crowd of onlookers.

Janine snorted. I’ll bet he’s never ridden a horse a day in his life.

He walked right up and turned the full force of his smile on her.

Damn. Her knees went weak, complementing the butterflies in her stomach and the monkey fidgeting in her arms.

As the cameras moved into position, panic filled her. “You never told me what my lines were. What am I supposed to say?”

“Just stand over there and look beautiful. I’ll do all the rest.” He adjusted his hat with enough confidence for both of them. “And smile when I introduce you. That frown makes you look mean.”

Janine opened her mouth to carve his enormous ego down to size and remind him she was an actress, not a model.

Before one word could cross Janine’s lips, she was cut off by the cameraman. “Mr. Peschke, I hope you’re ready because this is not a rehearsal, you’re going live in five…four…three…two…” He pointed ‘one’. The camera was trained on Tanner, the red button lit, and the feed was direct.

Without missing a beat, Tanner smiled, looking completely at ease in front of the camera. “Howdy, folks. It’s a jungle out there. We know how difficult wading through the gimmicks and sales jargon is when buying a used car.”

She had to admit he sounded charming and genuine. After sabotaging her job with BS-Squared, he’d conned Janine into taking this job. She bet he could sell ice to Eskimos.

Spunky’s hairy little hand slipped beneath the bra of her outfit.

Janine slapped at his hand, eliciting a shriek from the monkey. “You must be a male,” she muttered, wishing Tanner would fall on his pretty face in front of the camera.

“Are you sick of the new car prices and immediate depreciation when you drive a car off the lot? Let us take the monkey off your back…” Tanner swung an arm in her direction.

Spunky crawled up on her shoulders and played with her hair. How about getting this monkey off my back? Crap. She’d spent hours trying to fix her hair beautifully for the commercial. Great, when they finally get the cameras on me, I look like the monkey.

“…and show you what we’ve got in low mileage, pre-owned vehicles at rock-bottom prices.”

At that moment, the creature latched onto the strings holding her halter-top in place. She felt her boobs dip and her stomach knotted.

“Stop that, Spunky,” she whispered, making a grab for both of his tiny, dexterous fingers and the tail that seemed just as facile.

The monkey ignored her, chattering happily, hands and tail dodging her flailing attempts.

“Join us this weekend for our ‘Monkey Off Your Back Sale.’ We’ll be servin’ free banana milkshakes to all the folks who come out.” Tanner’s voice kept up the running monologue despite the monkey’s antics, true to form for a car salesman.

Janine simmered as she struggled for control. Let’s get this over with before this monkey craps on me.

When we’re reading a romance, the question in the back of our minds is usually if not always: Will this relationship work out?Because if that isn’t in doubt, where is the tension in the story?

I’ll be referring to “hero and heroine” since that fits the examples I’m using, but this tension can also come from additional protagonists, such as from a love triangle, exes, or other main characters involved in the plot.

Characters show up in a story with enough personal history and emotional baggage to carry the book. But a plot with a workaholic hero or heroine can layer in lots of extra tension.

After all, how do you get a person’s attention when he or she is completely focused on the job? Or maybe worse, when there’s a line you can’t cross because that person is your boss?

I’ve written each of these storylines—in standalone books—in my Snowflake Valley series of sweet romances.

And honestly, I didn’t write these back-to-back storylines intentionally.

The first book (Snowbound with Mr. Wrong) tells the story of exes who had broken up over his workaholic tendencies. Ironically—and obviously, from the title! LOL—they’re now snowbound together. On Christmas Eve. With a trio of unrelated kids who, depending on their age, are scared, bossy, and hormonally cranky. Recipe for disaster, for sure.

The second book (One Week to Win Her Boss) features the first heroine’s sister, who works for the owner of a private ski lodge and has fallen hard for her boss. And who, unfortunately, has to agree to a fake dating relationship with him.

Believe me, in each book, the hero and heroine have each other’s attention! 😉

So, I’m not making it up when I tell you these books were amazingly fun to write.

Below, I’ll share an excerpt from Snowbound with Mr. Wrong (which my publisher has priced for 99 cents this month!).  First here’s a peek at the back cover of the book:

Snowbound with Mr. Wrong

Worst. Day. Ever. After Lyssa Barnett’s sister tricks her into reprising her role at Snowflake Valley’s annual children’s party, she doesn’t think anything can be worse than squeezing into her too-small elf costume. Then tall, dark, and way too handsome Nick Tavlock shows up to play Santa…and an unexpected storm leaves them snowbound in the isolated lodge.

The last thing Nick wants is to spend a cozy Christmas Eve with a trio of kids and the woman who dumped him. But as much as Lyssa frustrates him, he can’t stop thinking about her. And soon, he’s fighting very un-Santa-like thoughts of kissing a certain sexy Miss Elf under the mistletoe. As Nick starts to fall for Lyssa all over again, he knows it will take nothing short of a miracle to have Lyssa in his arms on Christmas Day.

Excerpt:

Lyssa plopped the large bowl of popcorn in the middle of the coffee table and distributed the thread and needles she had found in the linen closet upstairs. At this rate, she would have to make a list of items to replace for Amber.

Mollie and Tommy went to work enthusiastically, and even Brent pitched in without a word of complaint. It was watching Nick, though, that made her heart melt. Making Christmas decorations might not have been his “thing,” but he definitely had some skill at working with kids.

He helped Tommy thread a needle, guiding the little boy’s hand until he had slipped the thread through the needle’s eye. Flushed by his success, Tommy proudly insisted upon threading everyone’s needle himself.

When Mollie groaned in frustration after trying to add a half-dozen kernels to her thread, Nick showed her how to pierce the thickest part of the popped corn to prevent it from breaking.

And when it came time to drape the strands on the tree, he asked Brent’s opinion as to the best placement. She had never heard the quiet teen talk and laugh as much as he had in this short time.

She could so easily see Nick with children of his own…and hers… But she had already decided there was no point in dreaming about a future with him. Considering his single-minded focus on work, he could never be the man for her.

She got to her feet and, forcing a smile, said, “I think it’s time for some hot chocolate.”

Four voices rose in agreement, and she escaped gratefully to the kitchen. The more she saw of Nick connecting with the kids, the harder it was for her to watch and the more she wanted to stay away. Yet she knew this trip to the kitchen was only a temporary reprieve.

She just hadn’t realized how temporary.

She had barely started heating the milk in a pan on the stove when Nick entered the kitchen. He came to lean against the counter beside her. “Need something?” she asked brightly.

“Yeah. To tell you I forgot how much fun it is being around you. It’s been a great afternoon.”

She flushed. “No thanks to me. That’s all on the kids. They’re quite a bunch.”

“And you’re quite a woman.”

“No, I’m—”

He reached up and touched his finger to her lips. “Don’t do that, Lyssa. Don’t sell yourself short.” He moved his hand to trace her chin. A shiver tickled along her jaw. “You know what else I need?”

“Hot chocolate?”

“That, too. And this.”

He leaned down and brushed his mouth against hers. He tasted so like the man she had fallen for months ago. His kiss was so tender, so sweet, she couldn’t help but want more.

Another thought hovered at the edges of her mind, a thought she felt sure she didn’t want to know. Not now. Not here. Not when his taste and his touch and his total concentration on her were all exactly what sheneeded.

Book Links:
Amazon:  https://bit.ly/swmw-amz
Amazon Canada:  https://bit.ly/swmw-ca
Barnes & Noble:  https://bit.ly/swmw-bn
Entangled Publishing:  https://bit.ly/swmw-pg
iBooks:  https://bit.ly/swmw-ibooks
Kobo:  https://bit.ly/swmw-kobo

About Barbara

Barbara White Daille lives with her husband in the sunny Southwest. Though they love the warm winters and the lizards in their front yard, they haven’t gotten used to the scorpions in the bathroom. Barbara also loves writing, reading, and chocolate. Come to think of it, she enjoys writing about those subjects, too!

Barbara wrote her first short story at the age of nine, then typed “The End” to her first novel many years later…in the eighth grade. Now she’s writing contemporary romance on a daily basis. Sign up for her newsletter to keep up with the latest in her writing life:  https://barbarawhitedaille.com/newsletter.

And don’t forget to check out Snowbound with Mr. Wrong, sale-priced at $.99 during November!

Social Media Links:
Website  https://www.barbarawhitedaille.com
Newsletter  https://www.barbarawhitedaille.com/newsletter
Facebook  https://www.facebook.com/barbarawhitedaille
Twitter  https://twitter.com/BarbaraWDaille
Amazon author page  https://www.amazon.com/Barbara-White-Daille/e/B002J6B0QQ
BookBub:  https://www.bookbub.com/authors/barbara-white-daille
Entangled author page  https://entangledpublishing.com/category/barbara-white-daille/
Harlequin author page  https://www.harlequin.com/shop/authors/23759_barbara-white-daille.html

One in three women and one in four men in the U.S.have experienced some form of physical violence by an intimate partner. Seventy-four percent of people in America personally know someone who’s a domestic abuse victim. If you’re into numbers like Gillian, the main character in Becker Circle, that’s more than 9.5 times the population of Texas. Wow.

Fewer people seek help from domestic situations around the holidays. The experts suspect people want to enjoy the holidays so they try to get through it the best they can. After New Year’s Day, hotline calls and shelter walk-in visits increase as people seek to start a new life.

The good news is we always have a way out. In Becker Circle, Gillian orchestrated a scheme to graduate Harvard early and move out of the apartment she shared with her abusive boyfriend while he was away for the holidays. She didn’t care where she ended up as long as she had a job waiting for her, and it was far away from Boston. She brought with her an old car, enough money for the apartment deposit, and a fierce will to be strong, independent, and never let anyone control her again. Help from her best friend, quiet moments connecting with her deceased mom, and her own inner strength and determination helped Gillian successfully escape to her new beginning.

Fresh starts almost always come with doubts, but those doubts are rarely worse than what already happened. Like Gillian, we’re never alone. There’s always help from friends, family and co-workers, local police, and organizations like Hope’s Door New Beginning Center.

Here’s a scene from Becker Circle about how Gillian grows stronger in her fresh start.

 BECKER CIRCLE EXCERPT

“That’s what I hear.” I pour another round of shots. “Be right back. Just going to deliver these.”

On my return, I run into Bradweiser coming from the bathroom. “Give me a hug.” He opens his arms and squeezes me. It’s uncomfortable. When he loosens his grip, he slides around where his arm wraps around my throat. Tight.

I gasp for breath and my tray crashes to the wood floor breaking the somber near silence.

Everything rushes back. The night Connor left huge bruises on my neck then dragged me across the floor by my hair. All because I wasn’t ready to get engaged.

This time I’m not afraid. I’m ready to fight. Feet firm on the ground I wrap one leg behind Brad and slam my knee into the back of his. His knee bends and I twist out of his tight hold.

“What the hell are you doing?” I pick the tray up off the floor and step back to a safe distance, my heart still racing.

“I’m sorry,” he begs. “I’m so sorry, Gillian. I just wanted to hug you.”

“Gillian, are you hurt?” Steve asks, stepping between us with Joey right behind him.

“I’ll make it up to you. The best restaurant in town. Sunday?”

I don’t care how much Brad’s sleepy eyes beg, it’s not happening. “I don’t think so, Brad.”

“Brad, time to go home.” Steve leads him to the door. “I’ll close out your tab.”

 Rule seven of my new life—violence is a deal breaker. No exceptions.

About the Author

Addison Brae lives in Dallas, Texas on the edge of downtown. She has been writing since childhood and continues today as an independent marketing consultant. She addicted to reading and enjoys jogging in her neighborhood park, sipping red wine, traveling the world, collecting interesting cocktail recipes, binge-watching TV series, vintage clothing, and hanging out with her artistic other half and their neurotic cat Lucy.

Connect with Addison Brae on her website, Tirgearr Publishing, Twitter, Facebook,Instagram, or YouTube.

Buy links:  Amazon US, Amazon UK, Smashwords, iTunes,Kobo, B&N Nook

Philosopher George Santayana is quoted as saying, “Those who cannot remember the past are doomed to repeat it.” I believe it’s true that if we don’t remember the mistakes of the past we’ll repeat them, but I also believe there are things in the past that are not only worth remembering, but repeating as well. Case in point: Arthur A. Schomburg.

For instance, what can you tell of someone’s past from their name? My real name is Anna Taylor Sweringen. Except perhaps that I’m female, what would you guess about me? From the way Sweringen sounds (swur-in-gen) would think Dutch or German? My husband’s family name was originally van Swearingen, so if you guessed Dutch you were right. But without meeting me, would you have guessed by that name I’m African American Manhattan born and Brooklyn bred?

What about Arthur A. Schomburg? Male? Maybe with some Latinx ancestry? Some European? You’d be right on all counts. Arturo Alfonso Schomburg was born in 1874 in Canegros,Puerto Rico of African and German ancestry. I first learned of Mr. Schomburg when as a teen I visited the Schomburg on 135th Street off Lenox avenue in Harlem. I remember learning there that one of Schomburg’s teachers told him black people had not contributed anything to history, that black people had no past to remember. Schomburg spent his life dispelling that myth. In 1926, the Carnegie Corporation gave the New York Public Library $10,000 to purchase his collection of books, artwork and other materials that by then exceeded 10,000 items. Mr. Schomburg served as the curator of the collection until his death in 1938. In 1972, the library’s collection was moved from its 135th building to a brand new building next door on the corner of Lenox Avenue and became the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture. The Center is now a National Historic Landmark and houses over eleven million items.

I’m now 62, but I’ve never forgotten the wonder and pride I felt in my youth as I walked from one end to the other of the original 135th street building looking at the sculptures, the paintings and the books created by people of African ancestry. I’ve always loved history in general, but I’m sure the seeds of my love for African and African American history in particular can trace their roots back to those visits. The Center is sowing similar seeds in present generations through their Junior Scholars and Teen Curators programs. One current exhibits includes work by the teen curators, combined with work by anthropologist Melville Herskovits, who like Schomburg also argued against the myth that those of African ancestry had no past.

If remembering the past leads to revelation and reverence in ways that uplift and inspire the better angels of our nature, then that’s a past I don’t mind being doomed to repeat. If you ever visit New York, make the Schomburg a must-see stop. Until then, enjoy it online at https://www.nypl.org/locations/schomburg.

One Breath Away

Sentenced to hang for a crime she didn’t commit, former slave Mary Hamilton was exonerated at literally the last gasp. She returns to Safe Haven, broken and resigned to live alone. Never having been courted, cuddled or spooned, Mary now fears any kind of physical intimacy when arousal forces her to relive the asphyxiation of her hanging. But then the handsome stranger who saved her shows up, stealing her breath from across the room and promising so much more.

Wealthy freeborn-Black Eban Thurman followed Mary to Safe Haven, believing a relationship with Mary was foretold by the stars. He must marry her to reclaim his family farm. But first he must help her heal, and to do that means revealing his own predilection for edgier sex.

Then just as Eban begins to win Mary’s trust, an enemy from the past threatens to keep them one breath away from love…

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God created something unique from Africa’s ebony clay when He made this one. Eban’s broad nose and high cheekbones belonged on a statue in a museum for all to enjoy. Legs long enough to cross the length of Texas in five strides brought Eban in her direction. An expensively tailored jacket hung off shoulders that could span the banks of the Rio Grande. A ruby glinted in his left earlobe and conspired with his shaved head to give him an air of mystery and menace.

Mary closed her eyes and again tried to resist his allure.

The devil often appears as an angel of light.

She sucked in a breath, opened her eyes, and gnawed her lip. This angel of light hadn’t stopped his approach. Clenching her thighs hadn’t stifled the desire swelling within her privates.

Hadn’t smothered the hope reviving in her heart.

Felicity slanted her head to the right. A coy smile gave the angle weight.

“And what brings you to our side of the room, stranger?” She repeated her breast-swelling move and grinned, peacock proud. “See something you like?”

Eban tapped a finger in salute at his brow. “More than like, miss.”

His smile turned up the heat in his gaze. Mary frowned, painfully aware the smell of her passion lingered in the air, despite the woolen barrier of her skirt.

He stepped forward so his hand-stitched boots stood toe-to-toe with Mary’s second-hand shoes. “Eban Thurman, at your service, Miss Hamilton. May I get you something to drink?”

At her service? The air congealed. Mary gasped, trying to suck in air too solid to inflate her lungs.

“No—no, thank you. I’m not thirsty.” Her stutter mimicked the tremor between her thighs. She clasped her hands and planted them hard against her lap.

“It’s a really hot night.” He turned his hand palm up in a silent plea. “Perhaps you’d find a waltz more cooling.” He eased his fingers into her clenched hands. “May I beg the honor of this dance?”

“Beg?”

“Yes, Miss Hamilton.” He tilted his head, slanting his smile to the right. “Beg.”

“You don’t strike me as the begging type, Mr. Thurman.”

“To everything there is a season and a time for every purpose under heaven.” He tongue-swiped his full lips as if he’d just tasted something he wanted to taste again. “I know when it’s time to beg.”

Buy links:
Wild Rose Press: https://bit.ly/2Oog1Ny
Amazon: https://amzn.to/2DmrZWC

About the Author

A native New Yorker, Michal Scott is the pen name of Anna Taylor Sweringen, an ordained United Church of Christ and Presbyterian Church USA minister. Using the writings of the love mystics of Begijn for inspiration, Michal Scott writes Christian erotica and Christian erotic romance (i.e. erotica and erotic romance with a faith arc), hoping to build a bridge between the sacred and secular, spirituality and sexuality, erotica and Christ, her readers and a well-written spiritually-stimulating and erotically-arousing story. As an African American, she writes stories to give insight into the African American experience in the US. She has been writing romance seriously since joining Romance Writers of America in 2003 and had her first novel published in 2008. She writes inspirational romance as Anna Taylor and gothic romance as Anna M. Taylor. You can connect with Anna on Twitter @mscottauthor1 and learn more about her and her writing at her various websites: www.michalscott.webs.com, www.annamtaylor.webs.com and www.annataylor2678.webs.com.

A Reminder about CONTESTS!

These contests are still open!

1. Contest Roundup! Reminder to Authors! And a Very SEXY Excerpt!
2. Diana Cosby: International Food Bank Food Drive Challenge (Contest)

African-American History Exhumed

If asked to place African-American slavery and freedom geographically, most people automatically cite the South with the former and the North with the latter. But did you know slavery existed in the North as late as 1860? I’ve spent many enjoyable hours unearthing the hidden and not so hidden history of African slavery in the North. One of my best resources is The African Burial Ground National Monument (ABGNM) at 290 Broadway in lower Manhattan, which not only instructs but inspires.

ABGNM’s exhibits show the lives of northern slaves had much more in common with their southern counterparts than that of Boston slave poet Phillis Wheatley. The 24-foot high Ancestral Chamber—designed to resemble a ship’s hold—provides a place for remembrance and prayer. The walls of the Ancestral Libation Chamber’s Circle of the Diaspora surround you with symbols from Africa, Latin America and the Caribbean as you spiral down a processional ramp that brings you “physically, psychologically and spiritually close to the ancestors and the original interment level.”

Rarely do we realize how we are witnesses to history in the making. I received a blast from my native New Yorker past as I read ABGNM’s timeline and the five scrapbooks that chronicle the community activism I witnessed on the news and read in the local papers that ultimately led to the creation of this national monument.

In 1989 before excavating to build a new federal building, records showed the proposed site was once an African burial ground. It is estimated that 15,000 free Africans and African slaves were buried in the “Negros Buriel Ground” from the 1690’s until 1794. Government researchers concluded that “after 200 years there are no remains, but recommended archeological testing.” Test excavations proved the assumption wrong. Untouched human remains protected by 25 feet of soil were discovered.

A whistle blower call to the office of then State Senator David Patterson revealed that the government was going to do a “backhoe” excavation, i.e., use a backhoe on the grounds decimating whatever was there. The caller asked could their office do anything to stop it. Community indignation and activism combined with political will resulted in the halting of excavation on the site. Meetings were held, enabling the community to give input on how to go forward. The result was the creation of the African Burial Ground National Monument in 1993. A multidisciplinary research team, African Burial Ground Project, recorded and measured the remains of 419 men, women and children. The project concluded in 1999 and the remains were re-interred on the site in handmade coffins from Ghana.

The African Burial Ground National Monument is an amazing amalgamation of videos, interactive exhibits and displays that show the effectiveness of community activism, strengthen my sense of African American pride and stimulate my historical romance writing imagination.

How about you? Where and when has a museum visit, a book or a conversation sent you on a journey of discovery?

Follow this link for more information on the landmark itself: https://www.nps.gov/afbg/planyourvisit/basicinfo.htm.

*~*~*

Better To Marry Than To Burn

Freed Man seeking woman to partner in marriage for at least two years in the black township of Douglass, Texas. Must be willing and able to help establish a legacy. Marital relations as necessary. Love neither required nor sought.

Caesar King’s ad for a mail-order bride is an answer to Queen Esther Payne’s prayer. Her family expects her to adhere to society’s traditional conventions of submissive wife and mother, but Queen refuses. She is not the weaker sex and will not allow herself to be used, abused or turned into a baby-making machine under the sanctity of matrimony. Grateful that love is neither required nor sought, she accepts the ex-slave’s offer and heads West for marriage on her terms. Her education and breeding will see to that. However, once she meets Caesar, his unexpected allure and intriguing wit make it hard to keep love at bay. How can she hope to remain her own woman when victory may be synonymous with surrender?

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Excerpt

She locked her legs and glared with her hands on her hips. Defiance flashed in her eyes like a bronc not yet broken. “I haven’t agreed to your terms.”

“Yet.”

“I’ll be honest with you then. You’ll have to force me.”

He crossed his arms. “That’s not the way I want it.”

She crossed hers. “That’s the only way you’ll get it.” The impudence of a Black who had never known the overseer’s whip ripped through her tone.

He blinked into her glare. Would she really make him force her? He wanted her willing submission, but what if he couldn’t obtain it? The anticipation of the struggle, of her eventual surrender flipped his stomach.

And not in a bad way.

“I will, if you make me.” He grabbed her upper arms and pulled her tight against his chest. “Remember, I’m no gentleman.”

The soft but firm press of her breasts more than pleased. He flicked his tongue behind her ear, tasted lemon soap, perspiration and enticement.

She broke away, chest heaving. “You have to be one hell of a negotiator, Mr. King to get me to yield on that point.” She’d spoken rapidly, breathily. He heard capitulation in her panting, despite the insolence in her glare.

“I’m known in these parts as a mighty fair horse trader, Mrs—”

He froze, stunned by the sight of Queen squatting. She reached between her spread thighs and withdrew a dark rubber phallus. He gawped, amazed how the strange contraption mirrored his aching member in size and shape.

“Wha—what in the name of heaven are you doing with that?”

“Preparing me for our first time.”

He groaned, captured by thoughts of the dildo priming her for his use.

“You are full of surprises, Mrs. King.”

She walked to the washstand, doused the phallus with water and laved it with his own sage-scented soap. A vision of her doing the same to his cock knocked him back a step. Yes, dinner could definitely wait.

Suddenly, he stiffened. The meaning of her earlier words penetrated.

There are many ways to prevent your seed from taking root, Mr. King.

“Wait a minute.” He pointed a shaky finger at the dildo. “That wasn’t in your sex when I fingered you in the wagon. I’d have felt it.”

*~*~*

Buy links: https://amzn.to/2JyLKu1, https://bit.ly/2DHdb0x
Website: www.michalscott.webs.com
Twitter: @mscottauthor1

UPDATE: The winner is Keri Richards!
*~*~*

A Quick Note about CONTESTS!

These contests are still open!

1. Procrastination is my middle name… (Contest)
2. Cynthia D’Alba: Two SEALs in Paradise (Contest)
3. Today’s! (Details below!)

A Reminder to Authors!

Call for Short Story Submissions!
(Click on picture to learn more!)
Deadline November 15th!

A Sexy Excerpt!

The walk to her bedroom was as slow as she could manage. She didn’t want him knowing how badly she wanted this. He’d think her completely desperate.

But when she crossed the threshold, he was already stripping. Just as eager, just as breathless as she was.

The sight of his bared chest left her gasping. Wide-set shoulders with thick mounds of muscle on top and at the corners of his shoulders.

Breasts bulging, rippling as he flexed involuntarily with the clenching of his fists. “You sure about this?”

Maybe he asked because she’d halted, and her mouth was hanging open. She toed off her shoes, stripped her tight tee over her head and unclasped her sports bra before she looked at him again. A good thing, because he was naked, and the lower half of him was equally ripped, equally breath-stealing. His huge, ridged cock made her mouth water.

It turned upward, as thick and imposing as the rest of him. She couldn’t wait to feel the pinch of his girth stretching her from the inside as he crammed inside her. But first, he rolled a condom down his length.

She shoved down her shorts and briefs and headed straight for the bed, pulling back the coverlet and exposing the clean sheets she’d swapped for the drenched set she’d woken in earlier.

Here was a more appropriate, licentious fuck. She didn’t have to feel guilty about wanting it. Didn’t have to worry about losing everything she valued, including herself respect. She climbed onto the bed, knowing he was staring at her ass and rolled to her back, before slowly spreading her legs in invitation.

A low groan, sounding more like an animalistic growl, rumbled from him, and she smiled and reached down to trace the edges of her folds.

He stomped forward, staring down at her sex, then gripped her ankles hard and pulled her toward the edge of the bed. When her legs draped over it, dangling toward the floor, he knelt between her thighs, spread her with his fingers, and bent to run his tongue along her damp slit.

Gillian closed her eyes on a sigh and lifted her legs over his broad shoulders, snuggling her bottom closer the end of the bed as he continued to lick and suck, his teeth capturing an inner fold and nibbling on it for a moment before his tongue stroked into her entrance and swirled.

She moaned, and her chest rose faster with her labored breaths. Like she’d run miles. When fingers joined the teasing strokes, she heard the wet sounds as her inner lips clasped moistly around his thick fingers, and then she smiled because he burrowed deeper at her body’s lewd invitation, pumping inside her, stretching her with a third, and then a fourth finger.

When his lips latched onto her clit, she couldn’t suppress the cry he surprised from her. Thick digits continued to sink inside her, stretching her, making her pussy pulse as she began to undulate her hips, climbing toward the apex.

But then he pulled out of her and backed away, abandoning her when she’d been ready to let go. He gripped her hips hard and shoved her up the bed. His knees landed on the mattress between her spread legs, and she lifted them high, but he nudged her bottom roughly to scoot her higher. When he was satisfied, he grabbed her legs and urged them around his hips, then prodded her sex with the blunt, round head of his cock. His gaze locked with hers, his hands flattened on the mattress beside her shoulders. When he had her undivided attention, he took a deep breath and stroked deep.

She was wet, ready, but not prepared for his size. She cried out, and then bit her lip, not wanting him to stop or even slow the forceful motions that thrust his cock deeper and deeper into her body, until his balls slapped her tender perineum.

There was nothing smooth, nothing easy about the way he made love. He powered into her, grunting at the end of each thrust, forcing an equally unfeminine grunt from her lips that pleased her primitive, primal core.

She’d feel bruised, sore, used when he was done, but satisfied like she’d never been before.

Her arms wound around his shoulders, and she pressed her cheek against his hot throat, feeling tears leak from between her tightly squeezed eyelids. She didn’t know why she cried, but he forced powerful emotions from her just as he forcefully, brutally took her body.

Her bed thudded heavy against the wall, the sound pulling her away, giving her something else to think about rather than how shattered she felt, and she laid back her head, opening her eyes to meet his fierce gaze.

“Did I hurt you?” he growled.

“Yes. Please don’t stop.”

A gust of laughter shook his chest, and he hiked her legs higher around his waist and slammed harder, his strokes shortening, quickening.

She couldn’t catch her breath. And she was quickly flying apart. She raked her fingers down either side of his spine, digging deep.

He grunted again, gathered his knees closer to her, laying his chest on top of hers and resting his forehead on the mattress beside her face.

Gillian skimmed her lips along the edge of his ear, licked a trickle of sweat sliding alongside his cheek and nuzzled closer, waiting, waiting….until the tension he built with his hard, sharp strokes finally coaxed her orgasm into full bloom. She gasped into his ear, clung hard to him, and gave a keening howl as it ripped through her.

His release came quickly on the heels of her own. His choked breaths and gasps added texture to the slowing staccato of his last strokes. Then he was falling over her, wrung out, his cock jerking inside her as his breaths rattled through his chest.

*~*~*

Be looking for this one, coming soon! It’s the sequel to Sin’s Gift, and a very sexy paranormal!

Contest: Do you watch paranormal television shows? What’s your current fave? Answer for a chance to win a free copy of one of my recent releases!