By Cerise DeLand (Guest Blogger)
You like more
than one man?
Ah. Who doesn't?
I give you lots
of them in my EC series KNIGHTS IN BLACK LEATHER series in the
little Texas town of Bravado!
First, we had
Rope Me In when one woman found bliss with three brothers.
Then,
Tie Me Down, where a shibari master learned that the woman he
wanted most, he'd tie down...permanently.
Then we had the
prequel to all this in Steal Me Away when a Comanche stole an
Anglo woman and kept her as his loving wife!
Now we have Bind Me Close with Sheriff Wade Saxon, a man who never lets any woman
bind him...and who doesn't believe in sharing a woman with another
man.
Too bad, isn't
it, that the one woman he craves wants menage with a man whom Wade
doesn't care for. The men have a past. One wherein Giles Benedict,
the local doctor, got too close for comfort to the only other woman
Wade liked.
You'll want this
next story in the town where the men are good and plenty and the
women wear only a smile!
All of these
three previous are available right now on EC's page as well as on
Amazon and other vendors.
The story?
Willow Turner
is a big beautiful woman on a mission to research her famous Bravado
ancestors for a family history she’s writing. But when a robber
steals her rental car, she gets swept away by the big beautiful town
sheriff. He’s gruff, he’s tough and surprisingly appealing. She
loves surprises so nothing is more startling—or sexually
exciting—than getting naked and partying privately with Wade Saxon.
Wade's a Dom who never gets involved
with the women he plays with at the local BDSM club. But sassy Willow
fascinates him and he yearns to bind her to him.
The question is can he break his own
rules and give her the three-way and exhibitionism she craves?
Because if he can’t, he won’t keep this independent lady in his
bed for a few nights…let alone forever.
A nibble of my new cherry?
The scene:
Sheriff Wade Saxon of Bravado County has just picked up Willow Turner
whose car was stolen outside town by a jewel thief. As Wade chases
the culprit, Willow and he get to know each other very well.
Hint: Willow
has come to town to research the Turner-MacRae family history. She is
a descendant of Fancy Turner and Bull Elk, Chief of the Comanche
tribe in my prequel to the contemporaries Steal Me Away.
Streaking past them going in the
opposite direction was a white flash. Willow gasped. Certainly that
was her car.
Saxon did a hand-over-hand circle of
the steering wheel.
Willow grabbed at the dashboard and
caught no traction. Jesus.
They fishtailed, then off they
zoomed. Right on the tail of her hijacked Honda. Then, as if the
thief had put wings on her car, it sped ahead and disappeared over a
hill.
The crash they heard was
mind-jarring.
Saxon rammed on the brakes. “Grab
the roof handle!” he yelled at her as they crested a hill.
As they cleared the rise, Willow
spotted her car to one side.
Tumbling over and sliding, it
crumpled like an old tin can. It teetered on its passenger side,
slammed into a tree, the roof crushed. Smoke rose from the wreckage.
Willow clamped her hands over her
mouth. “Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.”
Saxon screeched his truck to a stop,
tail-spinning in the rocky soil. He put a hand to hers and crushed it
tight. “Stay here!”
As he ran toward the Honda, he
yelled into his dispatch radio and Willow could imagine what he said.
Come. Get an ambulance.
Where’s Harris?
Willow just sat where she was and
shook. The adrenalin rushing through her was the wildest blast she’d
experienced in years.
By his dashboard clock, Willow knew
she waited for the wreck to clear for over three hours. Rapt, she
just watched Saxon and his team of emergency responders as they tried
to pry the driver from the front seat of her car with the ugly jaws
of life. Firemen came, too, in two different trucks to put out a
blaze that began in the engine. Willow watched there, knowing her
suitcase and her laptop were either burnt or water-logged. She
counted her blessings. She really did, happy the thief had stolen
only her car and hadn’t tried to take it with her in it. But she
was at a loss what to do without transportation, clothing or her
security blanket, also known as her laptop.
Shit. Damn. Hell!
Drained like an old dish cloth after
so many wild minutes of the chase, she soon stopped cursing in
self-pity. She watched Sheriff Saxon talk on his cell to god knew
who. Finally, he returned to his truck and climbed in beside her.
Tossing his Stetson to the rear seat, he smoothed his unruly hair,
then reached for her hands and held tight.
“I know this is quite a blow to
you.”
“Yeah. A big one.”
“Sorry it took so long.”
“No, no. I’m grateful he got
some help. He looked alive when they put him in the ambulance. Is
he?”
“At the moment. But he’s a
mess.”
I am too.
Tears scalded her eyes.
“Hey,” he said so softly that
she was shocked a man with so much timbre in his voice could speak so
low. “Cry if you have to, but please don’t worry.”
“Worry?” she blurted, sad and
appalled and angry. She felt like a serrated knife was sawing at her
insides. “I’m…just so…stunned! I’ve got no car and no
clothes and— Oh, hell. I never blubber.”
But she did. Her eyes shed crocodile
tears. Her nose ran. Her lips quivered.
And he slid over to her and wrapped
her so close in those big bulging biceps that she wilted like a
picked flower in the mid-day sun.
He dug a handkerchief from his
pocket and put it to her nose. “Blow.”
She honked right into it and
sniveled her thanks. Male comfort was such a rare benefit for any of
her troubles, that she wound her arms around his torso and loved the
feel of his rock hard abs. She wondered how to stay here in his arms.
Keep crying? Jump his bones? Worry about a Mrs. Sheriff Saxon?
Hell, how could she think of such
things after she had just lost everything?
She groaned.
He cuddled her closer and ran his
hands over her hair. “It’s been a long day.”
“Crazy,” she agreed, roping in
her wild emotions and pushing away to reclaim her dignity.
“Look at me.” He caught her chin
between two fingers and made her glance up at him. And god, he was
the most fabulous male creature she had seen since she’d watched
Bradley Cooper get a hangover in Bangkok. But this man was not on a
silver screen. He breathed. He grinned. He filled her view. Broad
shoulders, sun-bleached hair, sea green eyes that caressed and
consoled. “I’m gonna fix you up, best I can. I just talked with
Cara MacRae and Samantha Turner. Told them what happened to you.”
“Oh. That’s so good of you.
Thank you. They were expecting me tonight.”
“And they still are.”
“Oh, I can’t. I don’t have
any—“
“Yes, you can go.”
“How? I have nothing! No clothes
even. Look at me, Sheriff.”
His gaze flicked over her, but it
was no cursory exam. It was long, lingering and appreciative. Her
breasts beaded. Her pussy pulsed. Her panties got wet. And every
nerve in her body sang a halleluya chorus. When he caught her gaze,
he said, “My name is Wade and you are going tonight.”
Why? Will you be there? How can I
care if you are? What the hell is wrong with my logic meter?
She ran a hand over her hair. “Sorry. Stolen cars and high speed
chases and fires are not part of my usual day.” “Believe me. I
can’t go.”
“You will. Cara and Samantha are
seeing to it you have clothes. Cara owns a women’s shop in town
and—”
“I’m hard to fit.”
“Not from where I sit.” His
extraordinary colored eyes danced over her once more.
If he didn’t stop that, she’d
leave a wet spot on his fine leather seat from her soaked panties.
Jazzed by his sexy looks and his sweetness, she had to be logical. “I
am not your average—“
“Size four?” He arched a wicked
brow. “No, thank god, you definitely are not.”
“I’m more like—“
“Size 16. Breasts a good 40? D?”
She stared straight ahead. “I will
not ask you how you can estimate that.”
“So I’m right?”
“You have a good eye.”
He smacked his lips. “Hips, 40.
The rest of you, all nice and tight in all the right places.”
Wow,
he was such a player, but was she complaining? Only,
if he has a wife.
* * *
* * *
Twitter:
@cerisedeland
Facebook:
Cerise DeLand
