Good
news for audiobook fans who also love steamy BDSM ménage
romances—Eyes Wide Open
is now available to listen, thanks to the amazing talents of Frankie
Holland! Enjoy her dulcet tones as she takes you on an adventure
through the swankiest parts of England’s capital city.
Blurb
A
chance meeting opens Fiona’s eyes to some very sexy possibilities.
Recent
graduate Fiona Gillespie is stuck working in a grimy pub in London’s
East End, and living in a horrid flat. It’s only while she figures
out what she wants to do career-wise, but that’s easier said than
done.
When
she sees an advertisement for a job at a plush Mayfair hotel, she
jumps at the chance. Determination and a spot of luck land Fiona her
dream role—and it comes with accommodation included.
Her
job and living situation sorted, things are on the up. Unfortunately,
her personal life is lacklustre. It doesn’t bother her, though—not
until she meets businessmen James and Logan, and her head is well and
truly turned.
When
a misunderstanding leads Fiona to James and Logan’s sumptuous
top-floor hotel suite, she has no idea what she’s about to uncover.
Her imagination runs wild, but not wild enough to get to the
truth—James and Logan are a couple, and they’re into some
seriously intriguing activities.
Fascinated,
she launches herself into a whole new world with the two men. But is
this just physical, or is their arrangement set to become something
more?
Excerpt
Fiona
Gillespie wiped a damp cloth half-heartedly over the surface of the
bar. It was a pointless exercise. The pub’s fittings and fixtures
were so old that no amount of scrubbing would remove the grime that
had been ingrained in the wood over the decades. That and the next
time she served one of the old drunks who frequented the place, it’d
just get beer spilled on it again.
Glancing
at her surroundings in distaste, Fiona stifled a derisive snort when
she caught sight of the swinging pub sign through the window. It had
never really registered before, but The Royal Oak? There was nothing
remotely royal about the pub in London’s East End where she worked.
If an actual royal—even a minor one—so much as stepped foot
across the threshold, they’d run screaming in the other direction.
A shame, really, as a chance to try to woo Prince Harry would not go
amiss. She was sure those mischievous eyes and smile hid a multitude
of sexy sins. His grandmother would not approve. And besides, he was
spoken for now.
Abandoning
her cloth with a sigh, she reached for a newspaper one of the patrons
had left behind. There was hardly anyone in, as usual, so no glasses
to collect, tables to wipe, or bowls of nuts to refill. A flick
through the paper was her only source of entertainment. Or at least
the only thing to stop her going completely out of her mind with
boredom.
It
wasn’t quite where she’d seen herself when she’d decided to
take a chance and move to London after graduating from university.
But while she figured out her next career move—or any career
move—this would have to do. It served a purpose—paying her a
paltry wage, just enough to cover the rent and bills on her scummy
flat, and food. There really wasn’t much left after that, so her
social life mainly consisted of vegging in front of the TV with her
flatmates.
They’d
club together their miniscule amount of disposable income to buy some
cheap, supermarket own-brand lager and swap stories, either about
their pasts or about how their current situation was just
temporary—just a stepping stone on their way to success, to
high-flying, ridiculously well-paid jobs in the banking world, the
publishing industry, in PR, advertising, acting, production, tourism…
The list went on.
Fiona
was absolutely determined to get a foot on the career ladder. She’d
rather scurry back home to her parents in Birmingham with her tail
between her legs than stay in this dump for much longer. The only
trouble was, the others at least knew what they were aiming for,
which particular ladder they were trying to grab hold of. She’d
graduated with a first class honours in creative writing and didn’t
have a clue what to do with the damn degree now she had it.
Nobody
got approached just for having a degree in creative writing, then
were given a ton of money and told to sit down and write a book. It
simply didn’t work like that—more was the pity. Even the world’s
most famous and successful writers had had to start somewhere. And
she wasn’t sure fiction writing was the way to go, anyway.
A
cough, accompanied by a whiff of stale smoke and booze, alerted her
to the presence of a customer.
Fixing
a smile on her face, she turned to him and said politely, “What can
I get you?”
A
white-haired, grizzled old guy with yellowing teeth—the teeth he
still had, anyway—squinted at her. “Pint, if you’re not too
busy reading the bleeding newspaper.”
Holding
the smile so firmly in place it hurt her now-gritted teeth, she took
the proffered glass and filled it. After placing it back on the bar,
she picked up the money that had been left. The exact right amount.
This guy bought enough pints to know. She murmured her thanks as she
deposited the money in the till, but she needn’t have bothered. The
grumpy old sod was already halfway back to his table, precious beer
in hand.
She
rolled her eyes. Then, after double checking there was nothing that
needed doing, shifted her attention back to the newspaper, figuring
it was better than wondering about a career she couldn’t even
imagine.
As
it happened, the paper wasn’t all that engaging. It was several
days out of date, so she knew about all the big news pieces already,
and the weather and TV listings were now obsolete. But her interest
was piqued when she reached the jobs section. She’d never looked in
this particular publication for jobs before, thinking the online
searches she did on various websites were more targeted, more
relevant. But then, how could you target a role you didn’t even
know you wanted?
Skimming
through the ads, she immediately dismissed many of them. She had no
wish—or the qualifications—to drive an HGV, look after sick or
old people, cold call, sell advertising, work in retail or become a
model. But amongst all that was something interesting. Something that
maybe, just maybe, she could do.
She
wasn’t entirely sure what being a PR assistant entailed, but it
sounded like a very posh job title, and she could sure as hell tick
the box of the phrase in the ad that had caught her eye in the first
place. We’re looking for someone with creative writing skills.
As
she read through the information again, excitement bubbled in her
stomach. The role was at a top London hotel—in Mayfair, no
less—offered live-in accommodation, a generous starting salary,
access to all the hotel’s amenities and, best of all, career
progression. It was clear they wouldn’t employ just anybody and, if
Fiona was honest with herself, they were probably looking for someone
with more experience than her—which wasn’t difficult—but she
had to give it a go. She had nothing to lose. If she didn’t get it,
then she’d have gained some valuable interview experience—if she
even got that far, that was—and if she did, well, then she’d have
well and truly grabbed the bottom rung of the career ladder she’d
been striving for.
It
was only on her third read-through, when she was mentally picking out
key words and phrases she could use to help tailor her CV to the role
and to write a spectacular covering letter, that she noticed the
closing date for applications.
For
fuck’s sake! How typical was that? The only job advert she’d seen
since arriving in the capital that had got her genuinely fired up,
and she’d missed the bloody date by one day. One. Single. Day.
Lucy
Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels
Stately
Pleasures (named
in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That
You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes
Wide Open (winner
of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an
Amazon bestseller), The
Persecution of the Wolves, Hiding in Plain Sight
and The
Heiress’s Harem series.
Including
novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 170 publications to
her name. Find out more about her writing at
http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk,
or on Twitter or
Facebook.
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