Welcome to the MFRW Steam Hop – where authors of erotic romance share their spicy excerpts to entertain and entice. Don’t forget to click on the links at the bottom to travel to the other marvelous participating authors!
About Our Story
Does your family history contain scandal? Ours does, as recently as my mother’s grandfather, who was born a bastard in an era when that status carried far more stigma than now. His mother – a logger’s daughter who served as a camp cook – was shunned and shamed for much of her life. On the other side, my husband’s grandfather was a bigamist. A threshing crew foreman in the early 1900s, he married and had children in Missouri, then married again in Kansas. My husband’s grandmother divorced him when she learned of the other family; their son, my husband’s father, was ten years old.
We blessed—or perhaps cursed—our Through the Lens heroine with elements of these scandals. Naturally, she’s heard some of the stories. Through the Lens chronicles her struggle with these long-forgotten roots. Will she claim them, or run the other way?
Prairie roots can be deceptive. Will Ellen Jeffers cling to the sedate past that’s familiar, or will she embrace a different version of her history—one that includes tragedy, scandal, fortitude, and freedom?
It’s 2002, and South Dakota third grade teacher Ellen Jeffers has signed up for a photography summer course and assistantship at an art academy in Minneapolis. Thirty-three, divorced for nearly a decade from her college boyfriend, she’s not seeking major change. She just hopes the course will enhance her teaching skills and her resume.
Aaron Brewster comes from privilege, and he has used that status to flaunt his family’s values and carve out a successful career as a photographer specializing in black and white erotic portraiture. Has he ever loved? His love is for beauty, sensuality, eroticism. His new uptight teaching assistant will never fit that vision. Should he send her packing? For reasons he cannot fathom, he takes her on as a challenge.
Aaron’s frontal assault shocks Ellen, but it also triggers something deep inside she’s never been willing to acknowledge. Is her beloved prairie a safe refuge, or will it become a crucible for transformation? The choice is not merely Ellen’s.
Wow, what an incredible book! Not only is The Merry Widow a gripping, romantic suspense but the heat level is hotter than Death Valley… The ending took me by surprise and I was a little sad to see it end. I grew attached to the characters and wanted to stay in their world a little bit longer. The Merry Widow will be on my keeper shelf and one I will be re-reading again and again. Highly recommend! N. N. Light
Their romance is hot in all the right places…If you love romance with more than two people, you’re going to love this book! Seducing Cat is a must read! The TBR Pile
Filled with warmth, blazing hot sex, well-developed characters and an interesting plot…not for the faint of heart. If you are looking for an interesting story filled with scorching hot erotica, author Adriana Kraft’s novel Vegas Gambler is the book for you. Romance Junkies
Ms. Kraft has a gift for pleasing the reader with vivid imagery and erotic language. Fasten your seat belts – Cherry Tune-Up is one hot ride that you don’t want to miss. Romance Junkies
Definitely recommended The Reunion sizzled as two incredibly sexy women and one gorgeous guy form a super hot triad, eventually. These three are by far and away the best smoldering trio I have read about. Oh, bring on more of this, but read this one first! Rainbow Reviews
Tina never spoke a word. She half perched on the stool and raised her arms above her head with a fan in each hand, then held that pose and pouted at the class.
“Remember to look through your cameras,” Aaron said. “This isn’t a strip show.”
Ellen gasped and ducked behind her camera. By the time she had Tina in focus, Tina had placed the fans in one hand by her side, and her other hand was tucked in under her robe, probably covering a breast. Ellen swallowed as she heard cameras clicking around her. Tina smiled at her as she snapped a picture.
Ellen tried to breathe as Tina worked through a series of poses showing leg, lifting her long black hair above her head, sliding a hand suggestively under the robe and up a thigh.
Tina’s eyes sparkled. She stuck her tongue out at the group before turning to face away from them. Slowly the robe slid down to her waist. Tina held that pose as cameras clicked, and then the robe fell to the floor.
Ellen inhaled sharply as Tina bent over the stool, showing off a tight rump and sculpted thighs and legs. Before she could focus, Tina had moved a fan to shield her butt from view. There was a groan from the class.
“Sometimes subtle is more erotic,” Aaron pointed out. “And sometimes not.”
Tina turned around to face the group with the fan hiding her loins. Her long hair hid one breast. The other stood free and open to view. Its nipple stood at attention. Tina teased it with a strand of hair.
Ellen focused her lens on the nipple until it nearly filled her viewfinder.
“Goodness,” she muttered under her breath. It was as if the nipple winked at her. It was still tightening. Did that fleshy nodule know it had her entire attention? She clicked off several shots. Her own nipples were straining.
“You doing okay?”
She didn’t trust herself to take her attention off the camera to look at Aaron.
AN ALL-NEW STANDALONE FROM NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR JULIA KENT COMPLETES THE DO-OVER SERIES!
I never thought my perp walk would lead to true love.
Then again, I never thought I’d be arrested on RICO charges and hauled away in zip ties on camera for the world to see, minutes after closing the most amazing deal of my career.
And all of it in front of my biggest rival, billionaire wunderkind Ian McRory.
I am broke.
I am disgraced.
I am alone.
I am a sucker.
But the worst part? I have to go back to my hometown and live in my bedroom filled with relics from my childhood.
Lisa Frank never made me so mad before.
Just when I needed a rescue, I got one — in the form of help from my biggest rival.
He can’t bring back my money.
He certainly can’t bring back my reputation or my pride.
But there’s one thing he can bring back to me.
A sense of hope.
Maybe even love.
Ian sees something in me no one else does, and he’s relentless about making me see it, too. As we grow closer, I’m starting to see that while my entire life used to be a lie, the truth is staring me in the present — and it’s a truth I like very, very much, hot eyes and gorgeous smile and all.
But I have to be careful.
I can’t be too —
The final book in the USA Today bestselling Do-Over Series (Fluffy, Perky, Feisty), as Mallory’s sister, Hastings “Hasty” Monahan gets her turn at a happily ever after that starts off with an arrest.
I know people say that, and they mean it, but they don’t mean this. My best day is better than anyone else’s. Trust me.
I’m sitting at a table at Essentialz, a five-star restaurant in San Francisco. Everyone at the table watches me as I tuck the signed paperwork away in my black Bottega Veneta woven leather brief bag.
I, Hastings Monahan, just signed a nine-figure investment deal on behalf of the venture capital firm I work for.
Full partner, here I come.
Of course, lawyers will handle the majority of this. The signatures are symbolic as much as they are legal. But the fellow diners at my carefully crafted table will go back to China with an exciting opportunity for their company, Zhangwa Telecommunications, to enter the North American market with climate-change technology projecting yields that are the best aphrodisiac ever.
As I sip from my glass of Montrachet Grand Cru, I catch the eye of Ming Bannerton, a consultant with Zhangwa whose father is a high-ranking U.S State Department official in China, a woman who has a hunger for financial success that I can spot in anyone in three seconds flat. There’s something special about a fellow hustler–and when I use the word hustler, I don’t mean it pejoratively.
People who hustle get things done.
We connect. We network. We pattern match. We ruthlessly apply what we intuitively feel to what we operationally know in order to produce optimal outcomes.
In short–we hustle.
And we win.
But in competition, there can only be one winner.
Tonight, I’m it.
Her smile mirrors mine, red lips stretched over perfectly white teeth that are as straight as a new picket fence. The smile doesn’t reach her eyes, but an intensity infuses her. She’s about five years younger than me, with a knowing eye that tells me we need to stay in touch. Someday soon, she may shoot past me, and that’s where all the legwork pays off.
In this business, you network down as well as you network up, if you want to get anywhere.
And the manila folder resting in my brief bag, the one that feels like a warm gold ingot pressed against my lips? That, ladies and gentlemen, is how you get somewhere.
“Where is Burke?” Mr. Zhao Bai asks, his head at a slight tilt, a gesture of genuine curiosity as his eyes survey me, looking for information that doesn’t come directly from my mouth. He’s the youngest of the four men at the table, a fast talker who looks around the room like he’s a mob boss. Negotiating with him took a steady hand I didn’t know I possessed, but now I understand.
Burke is part of the deal, and I didn’t realize it.
The contracts are signed, though. That makes my husband an off-the-books addendum. No matter what, this is my accomplishment.
My husband, Burke Oonaj, is one of the hottest market makers in finance right now. Even he will have no choice but to be impressed by the deal I’ve just put together.
But the inquiry about my husband makes my uterus fall.
And it’s not like he’s around to catch it.
“Good question,” I say before taking another sip of wine, needing to buy myself a smidgen of space and time. I only need a split second.
For some reason that I can’t explain, my emotions are tangling in my mind, and that’s an unpredictable variable I have to weed out.
My heart feels strangely heavy in my chest, a sense of dread filling me that has no right to be here. This is MY night, I tell that sense of dread. This is MY deal. This is my culmination of six years of careful work, all coming together, right now.
Go away, dread.
But Mr. Zhao’s question is a good one, because Burke isn’t answering any of my texts or emails or phone calls, and hasn’t for the last three days.
My husband has disappeared.
Not literally, of course, because husbands don’t just do that. Business travel can be intense. Plenty of stretches of time have gone by without hearing from him. They involved twenty-four hours or less, though.
Not eighty-one hours and thirteen minutes.
Not that I’m counting.
I can’t admit any of this to anyone at this table, of course, so instead, I give what my pattern-matching brain tells me is the optimal answer, designed to make me look good.
“Burke’s fine,” I say with a grin, the glass of wine still full enough to make more sips look like an appropriate response. “He sends his best regards. He would have been here tonight, but… you know.”
Two of the men share a look I don’t like. It’s a fleeting glance, the type that is practiced and meant to look like nothing. You think I’m paranoid, that I’m inventing it all?
I’m in a state of hyperarousal.
No, not the sexual kind. Haven’t felt that in a long time, at least not with Burke. My hyperarousal is based around the stress hormones pumping through me from the excitement of what I just accomplished.
Me. Myself. Alone.
Independent of Burke.
As workday smiles stretch to become the more casual, intimate grins of people enjoying bottle after bottle of excellent wine, I loosen up. The answer I gave them sufficed. We can move on.
My body feels numb and excited at the same time. I’m on top of the world. The pinnacle.
I am Peak Hastings.
Which is why, when the maître d’ approaches my side, I don’t pick up on the gravity of his whisper. No one would. Because learning that my credit card has been declined for this business dinner is definitely not part of the plan, and the areas of my brain assigned to processing language literally can’t comprehend it.
“It’s what?” I whisper, standing carefully, legs still steady, my alcohol consumption measured, even if my tablemates have made their way through more wine than an entire wedding party back home.
The maître d’, José, gives me a wide-eyed but polite look. “I’m sorry, Ms. Monahan. This has never happened before when you’ve dined with us. But the credit card company was very firm. You cannot use this one.”
Mr. Zhao gives me an inquiring look. My stomach sinks. Did he overhear?
“Will you all excuse me?” I tell them, hating the disruption, my legs turning into two steel beams covered in chilled skin.
“Something must be wrong with the credit card processor,” I snap at the maître d’ as I hurry away from my group. I want to get the taint of this failure out of the way and get back to my stellar success.
Once we’re out of sight of my table, I rifle through my purse and find another business credit card. “Use this one. And let me be very clear, to you and to your boss, that this is absolutely, abjectly unacceptable.”
He inserts the card, chip side in. “I realize this, Ms. Monahan, but we cannot…”
He stares at the credit card terminal.
I read the display upside down. “Declined!” I hiss. “This is impossible! That card has no limit!”
“Perhaps you’ve had your identity stolen, or there are fraud alerts on your account? Perhaps you’re the victim of a financial crime?” José suggests.
“I can’t be the victim of a financial crime!” I snap at him. “I’m a financial expert! This doesn’t happen to people like me. Here!” I shove a third company card at him. This one better work.
I only have one more.
My mind races ahead, conjuring contingency plans, even as my cheeks burn with shame.
Why would I feel shame for someone else’s mistake? And yet, there it is, and I have to override it fast. Because if I don’t, it gets a toehold.
And that is the fastest way to lose your edge.
José closes his eyes and lets out a sigh through his nose, a split second before the display terminal beeps.
“Your computer system is down,” I declare, pulling out the fourth card and my phone, texting my office manager. Maybe something went wrong. Maybe José is right. Maybe we were hacked. But this is surreal enough to let the dread come inside me and have a seat, as it decides whether to become an overnight guest.
It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m staring at a mid-four-figure bill that I owe, right now, and have no way to settle.
This cannot be happening.
As he runs the fourth card, the main door opens. My spine straightens, calves stretching tall, and not just from the five-inch heels I’m wearing.
I know that man.
I hate that man.
And he’s the last person on Earth I want to see in the middle of this debacle.
Ian McCrory cannot see me like this.
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. Since 2013, she has sold more than 2 million books, with 4 New York Times bestsellers and more than 19 appearances on the USA Today bestseller list. Her books have been translated into French and German, with more titles releasing in 2020 and beyond.
From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men’s room toilet (and he isn’t a billionaire she met in a romantic comedy).
She lives in New England with her husband and three children where she is the only person in the household with the gene required to change empty toilet paper rolls.
Molly Delavine thinks she’s in heaven spending an idyllic summer getaway on a secluded cove on the English coast, and when she spots a gorgeous Adonis walking naked on the beach, she knows she is. But what is this gorgeous guy doing on her private beach?
Coastal Ranger Julian Keswick is on conservation duty when he finds a woman shacked up in his favorite cove. He’s fuming, and confronts her, but his natural instinct to protect comes to the forefront during an incoming storm.
As the wild summer storm brings these two opposites together, the natural elements take charge of their mutual destinies. But Molly has to return to her business world in London, and her wild holiday romance with a ranger is soon to become a memory. Opposites attract, but for two people so very different, is destiny one week, or forever?
Molly hadn’t seen another soul on the beach during the whole time she’d been there. The cottage had been advertised as having a private beach, and –so far—that’s exactly what it had been. Who the hell was he?
Annoyed, she reached for her T-shirt and held it against her boobs, still lying close against the ground. The clumps of beach grass lining the top of the dunes gave her cover, but she wanted her T-shirt to hand in case she needed it.
It really was a man, and he seemed to be alone.
A very attractive man.
He was tall and well built, with closely shorn hair, left longer on top. He wore loud shorts and a threadbare, faded T-shirt. He had the look of a beachcomber, but this was England and the only beachcombers Molly had ever seen were on TV, on Australian soap operas. His legs were corded with strong muscles, and she eyed them as an artist, and more, as a woman—a woman subconsciously hungry for such a sight.
Perhaps she’d been away from people too long. A few trips to the local village for supplies obviously wasn’t enough to keep her in touch with the real world.
Torn between the urge to march over there and ask what the bloody hell he was doing on her beach, and the equally compelling urge to continue secretly observing him, she tried to figure out what to do.
Glued to the spot, the desire to continue observing took the lead.
As the moments passed she noticed again how supremely well built and attractive he was. She smiled to herself, watching as he kicked off his sports shoes and walked barefoot toward the edge of the shore.
As she watched, he walked into the water and dipped a long plastic tube into the surf. He lifted it and looked at it in the light, then sealed it with a plastic cap. She wondered what he was doing. He walked back to where he’d left his shoes and deposited the tube.
She could hardly drag her attention away, but it was her beach, it said so in the advert. Private, secluded beach, the perfect getaway. So what was he doing here? Who did he think he was? She had to remind herself she was from a city and things were different here. Along the wild coast in Northumberland roaming beachcomber types might be the norm. She was enjoying the privacy of the place though, and felt provoked to defend it.
Then he began to strip off.
Molly’s eyebrows lifted, astonished as she was by his actions.
He pulled his T-shirt over his head, giving her a look at his perfectly shaped torso as he did so.
“Wow,” she whispered approvingly.
If she was looking for inspiration, she’d surely found it today. He was a handsome specimen all right, gorgeous looking, and with a very impressive physique. The guy worked out, that much was obvious. He had amazing, powerful shoulders and a six-pack to match. He stood on the edge of the surf as if he owned it—it was as if Neptune himself had just walked out of the waves.
Molly’s eyebrows shot up when she realized he wasn’t stopping at the T-shirt.
He was busy undoing the tie at his waistband and was about to drop his shorts.
She glanced around, half expecting to see somebody else running over to accompany him. But, no, he appeared to be alone. And she was trapped there, clutching her T-shirt to her chest as she observed him, unseen…
Saskia walker is a British author of erotic romance, an award winning writer and a USA Today bestseller. Saskia’s short stories and novellas have appeared in over one hundred international anthologies and magazines including COSMO, PENTHOUSE and BUST.
After writing shorts for several years Saskia moved into novel-length projects. Fascinated with seduction, Saskia loves to explore how and why we get from saying “hello” to sharing our most intimate selves in moments of extreme passion. Her novels DOUBLE DARE and RAMPANT both won Passionate Plume awards and her writing has twice been nominated for a Romantic Times Magazine Reviewers’ Choice Award. She has lots more stories in the pipeline! Saskia lives in the north of England, close to the beautiful Yorkshire moors, with her partner, Mark, and a houseful of felines. Visit her website for more info: www.saskiawalker.com
“a highly entertaining and delightfully steamy tale of a lusty holiday romance… opposites can attract and electrically so! 5 Angels and a Recommended Read! Fallen Angel Reviews.
“SUMMER LIGHTNING is an excellent book that takes readers away to their own deserted island. The love scenes are sensual, passionate and readers will find themselves glued to the pages. SUMMER LIGHTNING is the first story that I have read by Saskia Walker, but I can definitely say that I will be on the lookout for more of her work in the future.” 4.5 blue ribbon rating. Angel, Romance Junkies.
“I really recommend this book if you like steamy scenes and romance thrown into the mix. I can’t wait for the next one.” Fresh Fiction.
“a heat rating out the charts.” 4.5 star rating. Fantastic keeper. A top pick at Romantic Times Magazine.
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