Friday, October 10, 2014

Jax, Jax, Jax...

Unedited Excerpt...For Mature Audiences Only

“I knew you’d be fierce,” he rasped as he swept his hand up and down her back, stopping just short of the curve of her behind. Mercy, it felt so good.

Jax slanted his mouth over hers and claimed her tongue like a hungry shark at feeding time. Damn, he was potent. At some point she latched her hands onto his shoulders before weaving her fingers through his thick, dark hair. It was so short it didn’t even cover her digits, but touching the silky stands was a sensual act in itself. Every atom of her femininity demanded she get next to this man, this stranger who seemed to have some magnetic pull over her. She didn’t have a choice. Of their own accord, her stiletto-encased feet carried her toward him.

“More. I need more,” he said in a husky command.

A breathy moan left her lips when he licked the artery pulsing wildly just below her ear, following it down her neck to her shoulder blade. At the same time, his large palms cupped both her butt cheeks and pulled her flush against his hard length. Oh, the heat. The fire he generated over her entire body was so intense the emerald green gown she wore mimicked the texture of rope fiber instead of fine silk. He pushed the bodice aside to expose her hard-tipped breast to the cool night air. The relief was immediate. The flames returned ten-fold though when he latched his lips onto her puckered nipple and sucked.

“Oh, God,” she choked out. She grabbed the back of his head and pushed her chest forward until his mouth widened over her entire sensitive mound. Not a single thought was given to the possibility that someone could happen upon them in such an intimate embrace. With every deep pull of his mouth, a corresponding blast of pleasure worked through her core, making her throb. When he ground his hard length against her center, moisture saturated her miniscule panties.

“I knew you’d feel amazing,” he moaned between licks and soft bites against her rigid crest. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Mila’s eyes popped open and she pushed against Jax’s shoulders with both hands.

“Get out of here? And go where?” Her breath came in spurts and her head was packed with cotton but she wasn’t so far gone she didn’t have any common sense.

Jax frowned as he looked down at her. His mouth was so plump and sexy after their kiss she longed to feel it again, but now wasn’t the time.

“My place, yours, a hotel, I don’t care. Anywhere we can finish this.”

Mila stepped out of his arms and propped her hands on her hips. “Let me get this straight. You actually think I’m giving you some pussy tonight and I just met you all of three seconds ago?”

Wednesday, July 9, 2014


According to Merriam-Webster, the definition of 'FOCUS'-
noun: focus; plural noun: foci; plural noun: focuses
  1. 1.
    the center of interest or activity.
    "this generation has made the environment a focus of attention"
    synonyms:center, focal point, central point, center of attention, hub, pivot, nucleus, heart, core, cornerstone, linchpin, cynosure
    "schools are a focus of community life"

I have quieted many of the ever-present voices in my head constantly clamoring for attention. I've even chastised the more aggressive ones (they capitulated, by the way). I have defined my goal, narrowed my creative energies, and called on my muse. I've embraced ideas from supporters, and having absorbed lessons from critics, prepared my tools for battle.

I am now FOCUSED on Jax and Mila-"I Do...Unless I Don't", in tune with them to the exclusion of all others. This wonderful couple now solely commands my attention. When I'm done, hopefully you too will want to focus on them...

In the meantime, please let me hear from you:


Monday, June 30, 2014

From the Cutting Room Floor 5

More conversation between Rye's Parents (At their house after Rye found out about Lacey's date)

“Does your son know it’s the middle of summer,” Emily Ann asked absently as she tried once again to curl a stubborn sliver of chocolate into a flower petal. When it broke into several tiny pieces, she threw up her hands, her frustration obvious.

“Why don’t you take a break and try again later? You’ve been working on that one section for an hour,” Jackson advised gruffly, looking over the top of his newspaper.

He and Emily Ann were in the kitchen, him at the breakfast table, her at the granite-topped island, both periodically peering out the picture window at Rye in the backyard. His son, donned only in an old pair of old basketball shorts, was chopping his second cord of firewood of the day. It didn’t seem to matter that it was early June. Sunday after returning from their visit with Jensen in New York, they’d discovered Rye holed-up in the woodworking shop. Today was Tuesday, and Rye hadn’t once ventured over to spend any time with them. Emily Ann was about to drive him insane with her worrying.

This morning for his daily walk he just happened to end up next door, spotting John gathering vegetables from the garden. As Jackson had suspected, John relayed there had been some friction with Rye and Lacey on Sunday. Enough said. His son had woman problems.

“Are you going to talk to him?” Emily Ann asked for the hundredth time as she agonized over the instruction sheet for the curling set. “I don’t understand why I have to keep prodding you to check on your own child. I would talk to him myself but obviously it’s not something he needs his mother for.”

Jackson sighed and turned the page of his paper. “He’s a man, Emily Ann. Sometimes you have to let a man work things out in his own time,” Jackson muttered even as he cast another concerned glance at his son.

“Yes, and I know a man who’ll have to work some things out all by himself, too, unless he checks on my baby,” Emily Ann said, sending a pointed look at his crotch. Then she returned to studying the instructions laid out in front of her, as if she hadn’t just brought out the biggest gun she owned and aimed it at him.

Suddenly, as if he was on fire, Jackson walked out the patio door to the backyard. As he walked, he shook his head and berated the weakness of his flesh, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Friday, June 20, 2014

Writing Process Blog Tour

I got tagged by the phenomonal Nia Forrester, author of prolific works ‘Afterwards and ‘Afterburn’, to take part in a blog tour of authors, discussing their “writing process”. Here goes:

What am I working on?

Currently, my main focus is my second release, ‘I Do…Unless I Don’t’. The full-length novel follows Mila Vincent, a former supermodel set to marry her unexpected love, Jaxon “Jax” Hawthorne—that is, if he can keep his rogue father in check.

I’m also working on another stand-alone novel, ‘Unraveled’, which follows the emotional journey of Jace and Jasmine. The bond between the pair seems solid…unshakeable, until it’s dismantled—one layer of deceit at a time.

As soon as those two novels are finished I will begin a stand-alone offering based on a supporting character from my debut novel, Taste of Lacey. A reader contest will determine who will get her book first, Lisa or Monica.

How does my work differ from others of its genre?

I’m so new to writing that I haven’t quite defined my ‘style’ yet. I love a mix of romance combined with a hint of intrigue, a heaping of sexiness, and bit of multi-cultural spice. I’m probably a little different from others because I throw all those ingredients in at the same time. I also try to incorporate ethnic differences in a manner that is not stereotypical, but in a way that adds complexity to the characters.

Why do I write what I do?

I write what feels good, and right now, that is unequivocally romance—specifically interracial romance. The looks, the sighs, the touches, and all the subtleties of falling in love fascinate me.  I love happy endings, though I throw in a few bumps and bruises getting there. The majority of the conflict my characters face is internal in nature, so there’s a lot of pressure to make it believable. Very rarely will I incorporate suspense or mystery into my books. My goal is to open windows or doors that gives readers a view of the intimate side of adult relationships.

How does my writing process work?

There is no rhyme to my reason. I am constantly writing, though not every idea lands on paper. I am the most creative when I’m driving and listening to my favorite playlists. I’ve been known to complete a scene on the back of an envelope after I’ve left the post office! I can pen as much as 10K words a day or zero, depending on whether my muse graces me with her presence. I get frustrated because I cannot write a short story to save my life; I cut almost 30K words from my first novel, Taste of lacey. Also, I cannot write out of sequence, which makes my process tedious and slow at times. I’m most productive when I work on several projects at once—probably not the best method, but it works for me.

Now that you know the method to my madness, please check out my picks for the blog tour:

Blake Haugen, author of the bestselling ‘Full Circle Trilogy’.

I’ve read and enjoyed both these authors’ works, and I’m sure you will, too! Happy Reading!

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

From the Cutting Room Floor 4

Proceed With Caution, For Mature Readers Only!

God, I must look a hot mess, Lacey croaked, reaching up to smooth her wild mane of  hair. If they kept this up, Rye would have to get better acquainted with her wrapping scarf that she could not do without.

You look beautiful, Rye mumbled, nipping softly at the curve of her shoulder as he worked his hand between her thighs.

Umm, you do this every time. You know I have to go, she protested even as she wiggled her bottom against his growing erection. Since you kidnapped me last night youve got to take me to my house so I can change clothes and get my car.

Ill tell you a secret, Rye rasped as he lightly pulled her taut nipple. Your overnight bag is in the bathroom closet along with your magic little hair iron and a change of clothes, so we don't have to go by your house. I can take you straight to the reception hall and that means more time forthis.

You packed a bag for me? How? When?" she asked, shocked by his thoughtfulness. And his sneakiness.

"Yesterday when I was running errands.

"Thats so sweet, but did you get a uniform? Ill never hear the end of it if the boss isnt dressed properly.

Rye quickly shifted their positions until he lay on top of her, balancing himself between thighs. Her legs automatically bent at the knees to cradle his lean hips. With one hand, he reached for her phone and sent a quick text to Monica requesting that she bring Lacey's uniform, which consisted of her standard wheat slacks and white blouse. Within seconds Monica replied that she would.

Problem solved, he said, grinning. Lacey just smiled and shook her head at Ryes tenacity. The man was crafty when he wanted his way, or when he wanted her. Already wet, she looped her arms around his neck, wrapped her legs around his waist and crossed them at the ankles, entrapping him. He gave a wolfish grin before grabbing a condom. The laughter stopped when he caught and held her gaze, and without further warning plunged his hard shaft into her moist tunnel, causing her breath to exhale rapidly from her softly parted lips.

Never taking his eyes from her Rye worked his hardness inside her pausing when he could go no further. It was so good that Lacey closed her eyes to absorb the erotic sensations working through her entire being.

No. Open your eyes, Rye commanded, his breath coming in fast, raspy huffs. Look at me taking you, you taking me.

Instead of plunging hard and fast, Rye twisted his hips in rigidly controlled thrusts, barely moving at all. Slow and deep.

God Lacey you are melting me. Youre making me feel so good that I want to come right this second. He continued his shallow strokes. They became quicker and deeper, but he never pulled completely out of her sheath. Over and again he moved, angling himself so that he hit her sensitive spot and sent shards of pleasure down her spine. "Yes, just like that, baby. You feel so good."

Rye, Lacey groaned, almost coming to pieces right then. She hadnt known it was possible, but Rye was owning her as much with his words as with his hard length buried to the hilt inside of her. And the ever increasing look of agony on his face wasn't helping her situation. He held her eyes so she could see everything he was feeling, multiplying her own pleasure.

Thats it baby. Look at me, feel me about to explode. Know its you making me feel so damn good, Rye whispered in the same choked rhythm that he swiveled his hips inside of her.

Lacey couldnt help it. The prickly sensation that started at her oversensitive clit branched to her every nerve ending. Her nose flared with the effort to get enough air and her lids refused to stay apart. Immediately Rye grasped her chin and directed her eyes back to him. "I know you're feeling it too. You're so wet. So hot."

Her eyes moved to close again after his sensual words.

No. Look at me and we will come together. Right now. Come hard Lacey, he demanded, his voice deep and gravelly.

She tried to scream but couldnt make a sound. She could only feel. Feel the tremendous physical ecstasy of an earth-shattering climax. Feel the overwhelming sensation of him seeping into her soul, taking her over. The feeling was so intense that tears ran from her troubled brown eyes as she lost herself in the deep blue sea of his. Sinking.

Thank you!

One month ago, I put my babies on stage, and you welcomed Rye & Lacey with open arms. I cannot thank you enough! Much love ~ Linden

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Meet Jax...

I Do...Unless I Don't Coming Soon...

Jax strode down the hallway to find his fiancée. He didn’t give a good damn if the three Vincent intruders were offended by his rudeness or by his near nudity. This was his house.
           Propped against the doorway of the bathroom, arms folded, he watched as Mila dropped several toiletry items into an overnight bag.
           “So you’re leaving?”

Her face was an unyielding mask as she picked up a small bag and placed it beside a larger one on the granite countertop.

“I need some time with my family to think things over. You need to do the same.”

For a long moment he examined every inch of the woman he loved. Fresh from her shower, with no makeup and her hair slicked back, she was so beautiful it made his breath burn in his lungs. He freely admitted her physical attributes had been the initial hook for him; hell, his addiction to her brown skin and lithe body started on day one. Beyond the combination of high cheekbones, angular chin and plump lips instrumental in making her an international beauty icon, he was drawn to her strength, her unshakeable convictions. Her loyalty. Her caring nature.

Just being in her presence was like receiving repeated oxygen boosts after having the wind knocked out of him. He wanted to give her everything he owned, but she had to be willing to accept it. And forget about trivial nonsense.  Thick disappointment lodged in his throat at the thought of her running away but he refused to beg her to stay.


She hesitated for a moment, but then continued pulling from the few clothes in the closet.

“I didn’t ask your permission Jaxon.”

“I’m sure you didn’t, Miss Vincent,” he said, sighing as he entered the spacious enclosure. Pulling a folded black sweater from the shelf, he worked it over his head and then stepped into a pair of slate grey slacks before slipping on socks, shoes and a belt. When he went to his bureau and slapped on a hint of the sweet-spicy cologne she’d given him, her eyes grew round and her packing halted.

“Are you leaving?”


“Where are you going this late at night?”

“Out,” he replied, draping a black wool sports coat over his arm.

Grooves of a scowl lined her forehead. “But…I thought you were tired?”

“Yep. And don’t forget hungry and horny.” He patted his pockets, satisfied when he felt the prickle of his keys. Then he checked his wallet for the essentials. He deliberately left the mobile phone on the valet stand.

“What did you just put in your wallet? And why aren’t you taking your phone?” Mila almost shrilled as she followed him to the hallway between the closet and bathroom. “Are you’re still hungry? And horny?”

He turned and made sure to give her a cordial smile, much like one he’d give a stranger on the street.

“My needs were the least of your concern just a little while ago. Don’t start worrying about me now.”

Sunday, June 1, 2014

From the Cutting Room Floor 3

Rye and Lacey, after a concert, at Rye's condo:

Lacey left Rye to sort his mail and listen to his messages, making her way through the tastefully decorated corporate residence to the master bathroom. Of course she’d been there many times before, but since she and Rye were intimate now she looked at everything in a new light. She smiled as she surveyed his closet, knowing he liked things neat but wasn’t compulsive about it like she was. He wasn’t a clotheshorse, but had plenty of quality, items, and they were organized for the most part. She was also glad to know that the apartment, especially the bedroom, wasn’t strictly a utilitarian bachelor spot. Thanks to either Emily Ann’s or Jensen’s influence--and she hoped no other woman’s--the place had a homey feel. The modern furniture pieces were of neutral tones, but colorful accents were strategically placed for cohesion. She liked it. Before, she wouldn’t have given the dynamics of his living conditions a second thought, now she couldn’t help think how well their tastes and styles would merge.

            She had no business thinking about such things.

            Muttering a self-reprimand, she opened the sink doors and found a bottle of body scrub and prayed it was Jensen’s and not some hoochie’s. She sighed in relief when she discovered the seal on the fruity blend hadn’t been broken yet, a virgin bottle. Surely a shower would help wash away her angst and doubts about Rye’s ability to be in a committed relationship. Earlier, at the concert, it had been tortuous to watch the desire and longing on Dana's face as the woman gazed at Rye. Lacey had seen that look a dozen times before, but this time was different because Rye was hers. It made her sick to know that Dana knew Rye intimately, had felt his touch, could describe what he looked like when he came.

            “Oh, God,” Lacey groaned, cupping her hands over her face. How was she going to get past this insane jealousy? It was so not becoming of a progressive woman and business owner. Rye had told her he belonged to her; why was it so hard to believe it?

           She’d never been bold and outspoken like Monica or assured to the point of cockiness like Lisa, but she’d always held her own. No, she hadn’t dated in a while before Rye, but not from lack of opportunity. Men desired her; she’d just chosen to be alone because as Mark had proclaimed, she preferred The Thymes as her bedmate. That was then. Now she was with a man she couldn’t get enough of, who was desired by lots of women. Thicker skin on her part was definitely in order.

            She toweled dry after stepping out of the shower, noticing that at some point Rye had taken her clothes away. He must have put them in the washer. Determined not to parade around his home buck-naked, she rummaged through his dresser until she found a plain white t-shirt neatly folded in the fourth drawer she opened. Donning the smallest one she could find, she smiled when she saw it fit rather snuggly around her breasts and backside to stop midway her thighs. Rye would like that; he loved anything that drew attention to his favorite parts of her anatomy. On second thought, her sweet stuff was giving her boobs and butt hell in competition for Rye's favor.
          Making her way to the living room, she found him sitting on the sofa wearing only a pair of boxers. His skin was a bit flushed and his hair stood on end. He must have showered in the second bathroom.

            “Better?” he asked in a low husk, his eyes burning a trail from her damp hair to her bare feet. He’d opened the curtains, revealing floor to ceiling windows and giving them a perfect thirtieth floor view of the city. Then he just stared.
            She nodded, her voice forgotten, so entranced was she by the heat in his eyes. Had she bothered with panties, they would be worthless right now; she was already wet from his visual attention alone.

            “Take the shirt off,” he ordered softly.

            Without hesitation, she crossed her arms and caught the fabric at the hem, then lifted it over her head. The the material fluttered soundlessly to the floor and she stood naked in front of him, awaiting his next command.

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From the Cutting Room Floor 2

At the McKay's home during the rainstorm:

While Jackson lit pillar candles, Rye shocked Lacey by scooping her onto his lap before leaning back against the sofa. At first she felt uncomfortable in such an intimate position in front of his family, but when no one else seemed to think much of it, she eventually relaxed and enjoyed being close to him. As they listened to Emily Ann and Jackson share stories about their courtship, Rye commenced to putting Lacey in a tortuous state of arousal. As his parents talked, he ran his knuckles up and down her arm with one hand and worked his thumb in the center of her back with the other. Periodically, he nipped at her neck or shoulder, sending shivers of pleasure down her spine. To make matters worse, he arched his heavy, throbbing manhood against her behind and let her feel what touching her did to him. Finally when panties were so damp she felt in need of an underwear change, she grabbed his muscled thigh and with pleading eyes, begged him to stop .

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From the Cutting Room Floor 1...

A conversation between Rye's parents after the rainstorm:

On the other side of the house, Emily Ann waited anxiously for her husband to come back with a report.

“Where’d they end up?”

“In the den, on the sofa.”

“I knew it!” Emily Ann exclaimed. “I knew he couldn’t make it through the whole night without her. I’m so excited,” she said, clapping her hands together.

Jackson crawled into the bed and gathered his wife in his arms. “I’m a little disappointed, though,” he said with a sigh.

“Why?” she frowned.

“At least I made it half the night when I was in the same situation at your parent’s house.  The fruit of my loins couldn’t even hold out for two measly hours. He’s in more trouble than I thought.”

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Friday, May 16, 2014

Lacey reviews are in!

How country is this? I'm all excited because I actually have reviews on!

Customer Reviews

    5.0 out of 5 stars
5.0 out of 5 stars
4 star
3 star
2 star
1 star
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful
5.0 out of 5 stars Hot!! May 14, 2014
Verified Purchase
Wow! Just read this exceptionally well-written IR and can't wait for this author's next book! First time out Ms. Hughes hits it out of the park!! Please update your amazon page and tell us what you are working on next.
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful
5.0 out of 5 stars LOVE, LOVE, LOVE THIS BOOK!!!!!! May 14, 2014
By Nikkie
Verified Purchase
This book took me by surprise. I didn't know what to expect, but boy was I happy I took the chance on this book. Ryder or "Rye" was the man. He told it like it was, and later,for the rest. He was everything you would want in a hero of a book. Lacey kept me on pins & needles towards the end, but she regrouped and got her act together. I hope we see a book about Monica, and Lisa I would love to read about them. If this was the authors first book awesome job!!!!!
5.0 out of 5 stars Loved This Story! May 15, 2014
By Lisa P
Verified Purchase
I loved Rye and Lacey's story so much that I did not want it to end. It was love unexpected with the normal trials and tribulations of a relationship. Even if those trials are self-made, love always finds a way.

I recommend this book to anyone who wants to read a good romance story.

I really like Linden Hughe's writing. I like it so much, I think the author needs to write a story for Lisa, Monica and Monica's mother. I would be ready to read them all!

Excerpt Taste of Lacey

It was over! The fund-raiser dinner for the mayor of Atlanta and five hundred of his closest contributors ended without a drop of tea spilled or a single cold-food complaint. Not bad for a twenty-nine-year-old black female, and she was just getting started.

The top item on Lacey Bishop’s “things to do before turning thirty” list was to have her own business. A year ago, she’d opened the Seasoned Thymes Catering and given her mother heart palpitations at the same time. “Why, pray tell, would you snub a job at the realty office or at your father’s construction company in favor of menial labor? And why do you always have to go against the grain?”

Despite her mother’s accusations and loud, headache-inducing objections, Lacey’s parents wrote a fat check, giving the Thymes a much-needed capital injection. Her mother even brokered a deal for Lacey to purchase three adjoining buildings in a growing area for less than a song. After a quick rehab of the neglected properties, the Thymes began operations in the middle unit. Lacey liked to think the investment was a sign of unwavering support, but she knew better. More than likely, the cash was a bandage to minimize the bleed of potential embarrassment to her mother. It wouldn’t do for Lena Bishop’s daughter to operate in a low-rent area and be a “glorified cook.”

The words--spouted in anger by her mother and later recanted--were forgiven but not forgotten. In fact, they served as Lacey’s motivation to become the caterer to Atlanta’s elite. To date, accomplishments toward her dream could fit on a dime, but tonight’s event and picking up five more contracts hadn’t hurt. Too bad her love life wasn’t coming together as well. A man was the least of her concerns anyway. As soon as she became a catering mogul, she’d put “have a successful relationship” on her to-do list. That would make her mother happy. Maybe.

A janitorial service had handled the majority of the postevent cleaning, but family and friends also pitched in so Lacey could tie up loose ends and at least try to leave before dawn. As expected, her sister, Lisa, cut out before dessert, but the antics of that drama queen weren’t enough to dampen Lacey’s spirits.

As soon as Troy, the head chef, finished loading supplies onto the company van, she’d collect the payment, and they could leave. With the exception of a couple of security guards and the mayor’s assistant, everybody else was gone already. Lacey didn’t mind; she needed the solitude to help her absorb the enormity of the night’s event. Even her parents and brother left, but only after Lacey had threatened them with bodily harm. Lacey shook her head and smiled. Oh, the irony. After giving Lacey pure hell for once again being the “family traitor,” her mother frequented the Thymes gigs like a groupie, often dragging her father along.

Tonight was the gig that counted, though.

Her savvy marketing skills and an impressive culinary degree had put Lacey’s foot in the door to bid on the contract for the mayor’s dinner; her outright refusal to cut corners had made her a contender. She’d gone up against quite a few experienced, well-established caterers, but their mistake was promising and delivering cheap. Anyone wanting cheap need not look Lacey Bishop’s way--a philosophy she’d embraced long before opening the Thymes. She realized watered-down, tasteless food would do nothing to spark donors’ generosity, which was the main goal. Plus, the seafood gumbo and smoked salmon at the tasting had caused the mayor’s rotund assistant to smack his lips and moan out loud. Thank goodness the mayor’s office chose quantity and quality--and awarded the job to the new kid who happened to be the highest bidder. Now he was about to fork over a pretty penny for a fabulous Thymes experience. Yes.

Lacey wasn’t normally a very demonstrative person, but a loud, rambunctious scream was close to her vocal chords, rearing like an Olympic sprinter to break free. She’d pulled off an event for the mayor of one of the largest cities in America! Restraining the fist pump also threatening to escape, she calmly headed in search of the mayor’s assistant when the lobby doors swung open. Expecting Mr. Hubbard, she couldn’t hide her surprise when Ryder McKay, or Rye, her brother’s best friend, strolled in. Rye, his parents, and several neighbors from their old subdivision had attended the dinner in support of the Thymes. To say she was humbled would be an understatement.

“What are you still doing here?” she asked, smiling.

He gave a lopsided grin and ran his hand over his thick, close-cut blond hair. “I was out back helping Troy arrange your fancy catering apparatuses in the van.”

“Rye! When I invited you, I had no intention of putting you to work, and not on a dirty job like handling chafing dishes.” It was enough he’d come at all, considering he was constantly on the go with his demanding job.

“It’s no big deal. I even washed my hands afterward like Emily Ann taught me,” he said, referring to his mother. He held his palms up and wiggled his long fingers for inspection. “Plus I’m your ride home. Let’s go.”

“Whoa. What?” She frowned so hard her eyes squinted. “Troy’s supposed to be dropping me off.”

“He was, but that van is packed tighter than a can of sardines. I told him I’d take you.”

The smile making its way to her lips froze. Hands on her hips, she pinned him with her gaze. “Wait just one darned minute, McKay. Is the top up?”

His knowing grin put his even white teeth on display. “It is now.”

“Good,” she said, her mirth not far from the surface. “It’s nice to know you listened the few hundred times I told you no black woman really wants the wind blowing through her hair, especially if she just got it done. I don’t care if you have the biggest and best vehicle ever made. It’s still a convertible.”

“I think the many times you refused to ride with me over the years were lesson enough,” he said with a wry twist of his full lips.

She laughed. He was absolutely right. “You know what? I don’t care what Kyle says; you’re all right with me. How’d you manage to get separated from him and a night on the town anyway?”

Rye lifted one lean shoulder. “I wasn’t up for it after just getting in this afternoon and having to leave again tomorrow. I told him I’d stick around and make sure you were all right, so he let me off the hook.”

She leaned closer to him, noticing the lines bracketing his mouth and his tired-looking eyes. She felt guilty because instead of resting, he was stuck helping her. “I appreciate it.”

“Hey, the gumbo alone was worth the trip.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s all about the food.” When they’d both still lived at home with their parents, if she was experimenting in the kitchen, he seemed to appear out of nowhere to be a taste tester. She hoped he knew how valuable his input was.

Mr. Hubbard entered through the double doors with a big grin on his face. “Miss Bishop, everything was wonderful! The service was impeccable, and the food was divine.”

“Thank you. It was our pleasure.”

“The balance due on the contract,” he said, handing her an envelope. “The mayor was so pleased he included a nice bonus. You’ll hear from us again for sure.”

She clutched the envelope and didn’t move an inch until Mr. Hubbard was out of sight. As soon as the doors to the outside of the building closed, she took a quick peek at the check. It had lots of zeroes, and it was made out to her company. Actually, as the company’s operator and sole stockholder, it was hers, but she wouldn’t split hairs. Her hardworking staff deserved much of the credit, and nothing would have been accomplished without them. She’d been paid for a real job not at cost or a freebie to get her name out. Her smile was so wide she was sure her tonsils showed. She started jumping up and down, stilettos and all, shrieking like she’d just won the lottery. Every emotion she’d been holding back came out in full force.

“We got paid!”

She grabbed Rye’s neck and planted a loud kiss on his whiskered cheek, but lost her balance on the way down. Instinctively, she circled her arms around his neck and clamped her legs around his waist to keep from falling. Rye’s grip on the fleshiest part of her behind held her in place.

The first thing she noticed was how solid his body was. His shoulders were packed tighter than granite, and it didn’t stop there. From where her chest melded to his, down to the ominous area around his lean hips, he was chiseled muscle. Like she was touching a steel beam under the Atlanta sun, his heat permeated her very bones.

Bit by bit, her laughter faltered and then faded away. Her gaze collided with his, and arousal rushed through her. Over the years she and Rye had exchanged friendly hugs or pecks on the cheek, but they’d never been quite this cozy. They fit like a train to a track.

She looked on, amazed, as his cornflower-blue eyes darkened to a warm indigo. The phenomenon sent electric jolts of desire to her center. Had his mesmerizing orbs always looked like ten layers of cloudless sky? She couldn’t be certain; her brain was scrambled from the sensation of his substantial manhood pressing into her center. Instead of alarming her, the first contact with his erection made her pulse hammer. And her panties wet.


Yes, she was on a natural high after the success of the dinner, but surely she wasn’t hallucinating.

Was she really in Ryder McKay’s arms, and was he really kneading her behind like it belonged to him? At this moment he wasn’t Kyle’s best friend but a tall, hard man she desperately wanted.

Rye lowered his head, and she allowed her eyes to drift closed. The first touch of his lips against hers was gentle and fleeting, like the brush of a cloud. Her lips parted, and he deepened their connection, flicking his tongue into her mouth to tangle boldly with hers. Damn, he could kiss. And he tasted so good, minty and sweet at the same time. All of a sudden, her breasts grew heavy, and her nipples hardened as if begging for his attention. Her mind struggled to dismantle the reasoning behind her visceral response, but Rye spread her ass cheeks, and all thought ceased. An insistent heat she hadn’t felt in years rushed to her vagina, and she gasped at the pleasurable burn.

An acute sense of loss took her by surprise when he broke their connection. Excitement replaced disappointment, though, when he nibbled a trail down her neck toward her bosom. The closer he got to her rigid buds, the more they tightened, beckoning him. He answered, pushing her sturdy cotton bra beneath one needy globe and then lowering his head.

“Rye,” she moaned, almost in a panic. At first she was scared he would suck on her trembling mound. Then she was afraid he wouldn’t. When he did, the need generated by his seesawing jaw was so powerful and wicked it made her pussy throb.

Oh goodness. She’d referred to her female bits as her pussy, a word she’d always found utterly distasteful. Under the current circumstances, it fit. No nice, genteel expression could describe the plump, dewy flesh Rye had awakened. Tightening her legs around his lean waist, she rotated against his hardness. They were in the middle of a huge dining area at a public convention center where security could come along at any time, but there she was, grinding on him like a nympho.

“Damn, Lacey. Where the fuck you been hiding all this fire?” Rye whispered roughly.

In slow increments, she slid down his muscular body to stand on legs that had the fortitude of cotton balls. She was dazed and confused. One minute she was celebrating a major milestone for her company; the next she was on the verge of begging Ryder McKay to make her come. He was her brother’s best friend and their neighbor. When Kyle had broken his leg and couldn’t drive, it was Rye’s job to pick her up from school every afternoon for a month. This man was on her “family” Christmas list and was as familiar with the nooks and crannies of her parents’ home as she was, yet he’d turned her panties into a soaking mess.

Her behavior was so out of character she didn’t know exactly how to react. Her normal practice was to write everything down, twist it, turn it, and evaluate it before taking the first step. Well, she didn’t feel that way tonight. She wanted Rye. Bad.

According to her ex-fiancé, she was “a cold bitch with a frozen pussy to match.” She’d believed him because he hadn’t done a thing to thaw her out. But as far as she could tell, her pussy worked just fine, because it was on fire for Rye.

“I don’t know,” she finally answered.

“This is what I know: I’m going to take you home, and either I can leave you there and we forget this ever happened, or,” he continued in a hard, menacing tone, “you’re going to invite me in, and we’re going to fuck until neither of us can walk.”

At the possibility of him filling her with his hardness, she was no longer dazed or confused. She was hot as hell. Lacey Bishop, independent, logical black female, was about to fuck the white boy next door. She’d question her sanity later.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Although she was standing much taller than her normal five feet six in her high heels, he bent until his ear was close to her mouth.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’m going to invite you in,” she said, her voice firm.

“For what? I need the words, Lacey.”

“Ryder Jackson McKay, I want you to take me home so we can fuck until neither of us can walk.”

She strutted out of the building, check in hand.

Copyright © Linden Hughes

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Tuesday, May 13, 2014

Excerpt "I Do..."

This watered down excerpt is for mature audiences only. Some may find the language offensive.

          Jaxon Hawthorne exited the low-swung Mercedes and rose to his full six-feet-four inches. Rounding to the passenger side, he intended to assist Mila but her icy glare screamed she’d rather kiss a rattlesnake than take his extended hand.
          Frowning, he looked down at her. “What? You don’t want to touch me now?”
          “Move Jax.” The succinct command was the most she’d spoken in the last hour. Bypassing him, she grabbed the door handle and stood to those lust-evoking high heels on her own before prancing down the long walkway toward the house.
           Their house.
          The one construction crews were working double time to complete before their wedding in five weeks. The guest cottage was already finished so he and Mila had bunked there the last few weekends to oversee construction progress of the main residence. The other stays had included plenty of hot, sin-filled romps with his thoroughbred of a fiancée, but her pinched lips and the sinking feeling in his gut hinted this time may be different.
           Jax watched the play of Mila’s tight backside as she climbed the steps to the house. With each rise of her leg—even under her cashmere topcoat—the damnable split in her dress revealed a little more honey-brown skin.
           When she made the last little push to reach the threshold, the wind caught the hem of the gauzy, reddish-orange material, making it wave like a flag. Was that…?
           He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes to get a better look. Yep, that was the actual curve of her ass. If he could see that much skin there was no way in hell she had on panties. Thanks to his father’s antics earlier tonight, Jax wouldn’t be invited to investigate the situation for himself. Usually going sans underwear was her way of giving him a treat but right now it only served to torture his imagination. Just that quick he was hard enough to drill through concrete.
           “Aw, hell.”
            Every time. Every damn time she sashayed that fine ass in front of him, his shaft jumped up and turned summersaults. Even after seven months together just the sight of her skyscraper, cinnabrown legs made breathing more difficult, and he could swear a perpetual trail of drool rolled down his chin. No amount of discipline in the world could stop him from imagining them knee-deep in sheets, her flat on her back, him knocking the top off the best tunnel to ever grip his—.
            He winced when the door almost shook off its hinges after Mila’s forceful push.
            He should be in heavy pursuit of his gorgeous fiancée knowing he could persuade her to end their evening in a more… pleasurable manner. Tonight however, he lagged behind, lamenting the possible loss of her affection for the night. This morning’s hot, quick session seemed days ago instead of hours. A pained groan rose from his chest and he shifted his rigid member from beneath his zipper to rest along his thigh. Then, head bent, and with both regret and consolation, he spoke to the insistent sole representative of his manhood.
           “You might as well calm down; having the door slammed in my face and leaving my ass in the freezing cold probably means you will not be getting lucky tonight.”

Copyright © Linden Hughes