When I speak of dressing up for work nowadays, this usually means I’m actually going to put on pants. I wasn’t always this casual. I used to be a lawyer, and I showered every morning, styled my hair, put on make-up and real clothes and everything. But my daily meeting with my laptop just doesn’t require me to “bring it” to quite the same degree. It’s kind of a nice perk of the writing gig.
And yet I probably spend more time clicking around online shopping sites now than I ever did when I needed a wardrobe. Why? I’m shopping for my characters, of course! And frankly, they are much more fun to shop for. I’m not limited by styles, shapes and colors right for my size, age, gender, or body type.
In my latest Brazen, LIGHT HER FIRE, for instance, my heroine is southern belle Melody Merritt. She needed an eye-catching running ensemble to snag the attention of smoking hot fire chief Josh Bradley, so I hurried over to the Victoria’s Secret website to pick out something appropriate from their sports section. Then, of course, I had to give equal time to Josh, so I hit the Pump Underwear site. That’s my excuse anyway. Could be I just really like the website. Don’t judge me.
I have learned the hard way to do the shopping during the daytime hours. If I wait until the evening, then I find myself in a precarious situation—online shopping while drinking. This has, on occasion, led to actual purchases, which I may or may not remember making until the boxes start arriving at the house. It’s like Christmas! Then the Visa bill arrives, and it’s like that scene in “Gone, Girl” where Ben Affleck sees his credit card statement and completely freaks out.
How’d my online shopping expedition work out for Melody and Josh? You be the judge!
I don’t know about the rest of the men in Bluelick, but you took care of me in half a lap.
Melody laughed and then looked back at the fire station to see if she could spot Josh anywhere. Nope. Still grinning, she typed, You dirty pervert. Get your head out of your pants.
He texted back immediately. Wasn’t my head in my pants. It was something a bit more…handy.
The thought of him, watching her and…ahem…handling himself, sent her head straight into her pants. Don’t you have an engine to buff?
The engine is buffed. I buffed it for the better part of 3 minutes, thanks to you prancercizing in that outfit.
Red tank top over a jog bra and red running shorts? This is a perfectly ordinary running outfit.
Her incoming text signal dinged immediately. From the Nike “Cock Tease” collection. I sat here in all kinds of agony watching your tits bounce while you jogged around the square, remembering how it felt to be lodged between them. I’m not even going to tell you what the sight of your ass in those running shorts does to me. It’s begging to be spanked. I counted 5 laps. You do the math.
She tripped over her own foot, caught her balance, and looked around again. Still no sign of him, but she felt the heat of his gaze as profoundly as a touch. Her skin tingled. Her system hummed. She fought off a naughty urge to run five more laps. Not that she could. This time she’d know he was watching—which brought a whole new meaning to the term “runner’s high.”
The firehouse stood to her right, in all its historic redbrick glory. She boldly faced the building, put her hand on her hip, and sent the structure a defiant stare. When that didn’t produce any response, she typed, I feel so objectified. Is that all you see when you look at me? Tits and ass? Fine with her. High time someone did.
He sent a new picture over—of her staring at the firehouse. I notice every goddamn thing. Look at your long, toned legs. I might actually get bruised when they’re wrapped around my waist and you’re losing control. I’m also thinking, just for once, you be the firefighter and I’ll be the citizen in distress.
It took a lot not to laugh out loud, but she didn’t want to stand there laughing to herself in the town square like a crazy lady. Keeping her eyes on the screen, she typed, Is this before or after the spanking?
My shift ends at midnight. I’ll be on your doorstep at 12:05 and then you’ll find out.
He’ll show this good girl the thrill of being bad…
Good girl Melody Merritt is ready to be bad. Fresh out of an unsatisfying ten-year engagement to the town golden boy, she’s determined to make up for lost time. And who better to burn her sterling reputation to the ground than Bluelick’s sinfully sexy new fire chief whose wicked gaze promises complete and utter domination?
Corrupting the prim and proper Little Miss Bluelick is the most action Josh Bradley’s seen since he transferred from Cincinnati to fast-track his career. He won’t let anything or anyone—not even the delectable Melody Merritt—trap him in this Kentucky-fried Mayberry, but when their searing chemistry yields an unexpected result, he realizes he’s started a blaze that’s completely beyond his control…