Two New Pepper Pace books; Seduction; An Interracial Romance Anthology Vol 1

When is the last day of summer? Well I have two books will be released BEFORE that date. My friends, blog followers, and fans have been patient while I waited for the return of my MOJO. Now whether it is back or not you will have to decide...but I did promise that you wouldn't see me until I felt as if I've upped the ante in my writing.

I think I've done that. With that said I'd like to provide an excerpt for each Pepper Pace story included in this contemporary IR Romance collection.

TO BE RELEASED SEPTEMBER 2013

Let me introduce you to Author Cece Monet. She has penned a popular series of IR romance books entitled; The Chocolate Chronicles (available on Amazon). Her series are centered on Asian men and black women, and that is not a subject easy to find in the IR genre. Her writing is very smart and her characters are very deep. If you like AM/BW stories the way I do then check her out.

In this collaboration there are a total of six stories, each of us contribute 3 short stories (short stretches the description. This will be a BIG book). As I'm not yet positive which three she will be including I won't name Cece's stories but what I've read is yummy.

My stories are vastly different from one to the next but you will find that in each I have revisited characters from previous stories...and possible foreshadowing of future stories for these popular characters.

1-900-BrownSugar

Monica didn’t know that nice women who were devoted to their husbands and that took pride in their looks and their homes got cheated on just like anyone else. She soon discovers that there is another side to her good-girl persona just waiting to be revealed and her unknown client is just the one to help her discover it…but what really hides behind the voice over the phone?
 
EXCERPT:

Monica’s heart leaped and she took a few deep breaths and then answered the softly ringing phone. “Hello, this is Sugar,” she said in a deep, sexy voice.

“Mmm. Hi sugar. My name is Cal.”

“Cal. I like that name.” Monica closed her eyes and tried to get into the moment. “So, Cal. I hope you like Brown Sugar because I’m feeling very lonely tonight, baby.”

“Well, I’m a little lonely tonight myself Sugar…is that what I call you? Sugar?”

“That’s what they call me, baby. How about we take care of the business first…so we can get down to the fun.”

After they took care of the financial end of the transaction Monica nervously tried to get back into the flow of their earlier conversation.

“So, Cal. What do you do?”

Cal hesitated. “Well Sugar, I was hoping we could talk about what you do.”

Monica grimaced a little at her mistake. This isn’t a date! She reminded herself. “What I’m doing now Cal is lying on my bed,” She should talk about her coochie…“listening to music and…” Say it! Say it! “hoping to talk to someone sexy enough to get me off.” Damnit! She didn’t say it!

“Oh yeah?” Cal said, voice deep with a southern drawl. “What do you look like?”

Monica hesitated, sweat beads popping up on her forehead. She hadn’t thought about that! She decided to be daring. “Well I’m almost six feet tall. Do you like it thick or do you like thin Cal?”

“Thin,” Cal replied anxiously.

“Good because I’m tall and lanky…with big breasts-uh titties,” she added, “and silky long legs. And-”

“Do you have a big ass?” Cal asked in a husky breath.

“Oh yes. My ass is…booyah.”

“Booyah?”

“Uh-huge,” she added quickly. “Have you ever sucked on some big brown titties, Cal?”

“No.”

He sounded like he was a country bumpkin straight from the hollows. He probably dreamed about brown skinned women while sexing his white wife.

She suddenly smiled to herself and in a knowing voice she asked, “Would you like to?”

“Yes!”

A Wrong Turn Towards Love

A darkly comedic adventure befalls a lone black woman that takes a wrong turn, which leads to murder, the Klan and a big sexy mountain man named Bodie. *Warning: strong racist language.


EXCERPT:

...Bodie wasn’t even a mile down the road when he did another U-turn.  His mama always said, ‘God don’t like ugly.’  Also, he guessed he’d be pretty pissy too if he stepped into an all black bar and someone gave him shit.

He pulled back into the parking lot searching until he spotted a beat-up Honda Accord with a slightly less cocky woman sitting behind the wheel.  Bodie got out of his truck and gestured for her to roll down her window.  She did, seeming relieved.

“What’s wrong with your car?”

“I don’t know.  I’ve been having problems with the transmission.  But every time before when it stopped I’ve been able to get it started.”  She glanced into the woods.  Bodie looked over in that direction but didn’t see anything.

“Well pop the hood and let me see what you got.”  He peered inside.  “Turn her over,” he yelled.

She tried but it was dead. 

“You got gas, right?”

She rolled her eyes but hid it quickly.  “Yes; I just pulled over and put gas in it.”

“Great.”  He mumbled.  He slammed the hood shut.  “Listen, I’ll drive you down to the Holiday Inn.  In the morning I’ll come back and tow the car to the garage.”

She glanced again out towards the woods and then back to Bodie, hesitantly.  He smiled then stopped because that would likely scare her more.  He wasn’t used to smiling and figured it would look strange on his face.  He knew that his height and build intimidated some. He reached into his wallet and pulled out his wrecker license. 

“Or if you like, I can just come back with the tow truck.  It might take me an hour or so-”

She opened the door quickly while keeping her eyes on both Bodie as well as the woods beyond him.

“You got a fear of the woods?” he asked, scratching his goatee.  She shut and locked her car. 

“No; a fear of people running around in the woods wearing white hoods.”

Bodie’s expression grew fierce.  “That would be Sully Pranger; him and his buddies are playing games.  The Klan don’t really suit up unless its parade day.” They had probably heard about the lone black woman at Stubby’s and decided to have some redneck fun.

She gave Bodie an amazed look.  “There’s really Klan here?!  I mean I just thought you all were just a bunch of rednecks…” The ‘you all’ comment was not lost on him, but he had to admire the fact that she was more outraged than afraid.  She quickly climbed into the truck and then he did as well...

 

 

 

The Delicate Sadness

The life that Rosia Banks thought she would live came to a crashing halt with the death of her husband. Now a widow at the age of 37 she must either re-create her life or continue existing in the safety of her loneliness. It takes a man that she has never set eyes on and so different front anything she’s ever experienced to show her the way.  

 

 EXCERPT:

Chapter 1

MIMIROSE1989, September 28-I don’t know exactly why I’m writing this. I began this blog two weeks ago and never even made a post. Someone I know suggested that it might help to blog my thoughts. But when I sit in front of the laptop and think about what I should write, all I can think is why in the world would anyone give a damn about what I have to say or how I feel? You don’t even know me so why would you care about this emptiness, this loss that’s so rooted in me that I don’t even remember who I used to be?

But today is a different day. And I’m beginning to realize that what I write about is how I feel and what I think and maybe someone else might need to write about what they feel and what they think. Maybe they can do that here. Maybe we can just do that together. 

So I’ll start by explaining my blog title. I named it The Delicate Sadness after reading an article about Japanese Noh masks. Noh is a traditional Japanese theater where the actors wear masks which depicts their emotions.  One such mask is called delicate sadness and is so elegantly designed that it is meant to illicit a sense of sadness from the audience. But its not just about sadness, because with a tilt of the head, delicate sadness becomes a different emotion; one mask with many different facets.

I think that many of us must wear delicate sadness sometimes. I know that I plaster on a face that doesn’t show just how shattered I am. But how else do we stop people from trying to put Band-Aids on our wounds? As if there was anything that can hold together all the broken pieces…

I am so lost. But I don’t want to wear the mask anymore. I just want to be manic when I’m whipping around my already clean house re-cleaning it for the third time! I want to be a zombie when I can’t pull myself out of my bed even if I’ve already been asleep for 12 hours! I’ll be the nutcase because I take Prozac and then suffocated by loneliness when I wake up in the middle of the night because I caught a smell of my husband on his pillow.

Yeah.

The mask stays on because I can’t stand the idea of my friends and family looking at me with the same sadness that I have been trying so desperately to rid myself of. I will just keep tilting my head, plastering on my smile—but underneath I am still the same sad me.
 I hope you enjoyed the excerpts. I missed you guys!