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Welcome to the Braille Club, where blindfolds are mandatory and members play sensual games of pleasurable endurance. Three couples take part in this exclusive, secret club for very different reasons…with very different results.
Benedict Harrison was a master of detachment…
Benedict’s first experience with the Braille Club changed his life forever when a mysterious woman reawakened his emotions and his passion. He encounters the darkly erotic Siena Waters again, and they begin a tumultuous affair and a business partnership, but what will happen if the true nature of their relationship is discovered?
Gabriella Ballantyne’s marriage is in trouble…
Her husband Max has grown cold, and Gabriella seeks out the Braille Club and its decadent delights in an effort to reawaken their hearts and strengthen their marriage. But when she presents him with his own membership card, she sees only revulsion in his eyes. Gabriella must use everything she’s learned from the club in a last-ditch effort to reconnect with Max and resurrect their love.
Abbey Marshall needs an escape from her cheating husband…
Abbey begins sensory lessons at the Braille Club, hoping it will help her regain control of Steve and prevent his straying. When the unthinkable happens, she is consumed with the need to learn the identity of Steve’s latest mistress. Left reeling and with her sanity in jeopardy, a chance visit from her husband’s former teammate might be her last chance to find the answers she needs.
At the Braille Club, the elite membership walks in the dark in order to find the light…they need to be blind before they can see. They’re ready—are you?
Abbey was sitting on the bed completely naked when Steve burst into the room. Startled, he stopped in his tracks. She uncurled her hand with the blindfold ribbon.
“You’ve got one chance, and I want you to do exactly as I say.” Steve went to talk, but Abbey put a finger to his lips.
“Do you see this bell? You can’t let it ring; you need to keep still, Steve, that’s very important.”
She pulled the basic blindfold ribbon over his eyes.
“I’m going to put these over your hands.”
“Hey,” he gasped.
“That’s the second thing, Steve, you mustn’t speak. I want you to think about my naked body.”
“I’m lying here below you, exposed and laid bare to you. However, you can only have my mouth, nothing else… What will you do with my mouth, Steve?”
“Do you want to kiss me? Crush your lips against mine? Take my mouth and push your way inside?
How does it feel?” Abbey’s mouth was close to his ear now “You’re so good with your tongue; I can feel it pushing my lips apart, thrusting its way inside.” Abbey sighed, caught up in the story.
Welcome back to the Braille Club, home of blindfolded sensory delights designed to unleash your passions. New wonders await to heighten every sensation, for those adventurous enough to try…
Benedict Harrison and Siena Waters struggle to rebuild their lives…
Siena and Benedict—owner of the secret, exclusive Braille Club—face the trial of the man who brutally attacked her. Already fragile, crucial DNA results send Siena reeling, leaving her future with Benedict uncertain. Will their shared devotion to the Braille Club be enough to keep them together?
Guy Walker has spent two years trying to forget Anna Dunbar and their volatile affair…
Managing the Braille Club in Benedict’s absence, Guy is shocked when Anna applies for membership. Their dark desires are reawakened, but Anna resists, determined to remain faithful to her husband. When a desperate call from Anna sends Guy rushing to her door, he’s completely unprepared for what he finds.
Ford Munroe will help bring the Braille Club to a whole new level…
Tasked with developing new technologies to enhance the club’s erotic pleasures, Ford enlists engineer Esme MacDonald to assist him. As they test the devices, the attraction between them intensifies, delighting Ford but leaving Esme perplexed about her sexuality. Her revelation rocks Ford—is Esme really interested in him, or only the Braille Club?
Model Niven Fraser joins the Braille Club to exorcise her demons…
Left emotionally scarred by her step-brother Toby, Niven hopes to find healing through the club and her emerging friendship with Siena. But her past is about to catch up with her, bringing new dangers and old vendettas, putting her life and those around her in grave danger.
A blindfold can enrich an experience, but deadly threats are best faced with your eyes wide open. You decide—is it worth the risk to indulge in the Braille Club?
She had her back to him while speaking into the handset as he looked her over. Her pencil skirt seemed to hug every curve. It accentuated the narrowness of her waist and roundness of her buttocks; the fabric moulded to her flesh, the slit sexy and enticing. He remembered the feel of those buttocks pushing into him and closed his eyes. Her high heels showcased her shapely calves. The cream blouse she wore was so fine the outline of her underwear was visible. Guy licked his lips, he liked what he saw.
JA (Julie Ann) Kerr was born in the spring of 1967 at Paisley's Ross Hospital in Scotland and grew up in, Glasgow. She was an office administrator and latterly a recruitment consultant before marrying and relocating to The Netherlands with her husband. After two years, she relocated to Cheshire where her first child was born and returned to work part-time. Her final move took her back to her home town of Glasgow where she welcomed the arrival of her second child. She raised her family whilst harbouring dreams of becoming a writer. In September 2013, she started her first book and has just finished the second book in the series, The Braille Club Unbound.
When does our past stop picking at our scars and start letting them heal?
Can we see beyond our wounds to the possibilities the future holds?
How do we let ourselves become vulnerable enough to trust the love that’s right in front of us?
Fate. She’s a fickle, wily bitch that slaps us in the face every opportunity she gets. Sometimes it’s a taunt, but sometimes it’s a goddamn wake-up call to pay attention. Take what’s rightfully yours without shame or apology. So when destiny put me straight in Alyse Kingsley’s path once again, I knew this was one slap I wasn’t ignoring. I’d let her get away once. I wouldn’t again. She was mine and I was takin’ her, kicking and screaming if need be.
Alyse ~ Deceit and betrayal. Every single person who was supposed to love me committed one of these.
Incapable of letting people see the real me, I hold them at arm’s length. But Asher Colloway is relentless and it doesn’t take long before I cave to his pursuits. The big question is: can I let him in where it counts most? Before ghosts from my past come back to haunt me in ways I can’t possibly fathom? Before it’s too late?
Asher ~ Trust. Forgiveness. Impossible concepts, having been fucked over by a woman I’d loved before. But those aren’t my only personality flaws.
I have a secret kink.
I want Alyse. All of
her. She shows people the shiny, untainted surface. I want the murky, damaged depth. The shadows. I want in all the way. Just when I think I’ve made it, fate cruelly bitch-slaps me again. And this time I don’t see it coming. The question now is: what am I willing to do to keep the woman I love by my side? And can Alyse accept me the way I am, faults and all?
Before his lips touch mine, I see my plea reflected. Asher has a past, maybe as painful as mine, maybe not, but a past nonetheless. We all do. We all walk with our own story, our own secrets, our own damage, our own scars. Internal and external. Some of us just carry them better than others.
It’s apparent someone hurt him, broke his trust. Broke his heart, even. And I want to know about her. I want to know who turned such a caring, romantic, handsome man who could have any woman he wants into someone who can’t commit.
But can he commit now?
As Asher kisses me long and deep, the questions and doubt fade into nothingness, powerful lust and longing easily taking their place. Just like every other time he touches me. Nothing feels more right than when his lips are on mine.
He’s like gravity.
He keeps me grounded in the present and out of my own head, where my personal demons try to torment me.
Mouth never leaving mine, Asher pulls me across his lap and suddenly I wished I’d worn a skirt for easy access, because I desperately need his hands on me. Instead I have dark, tight jeans and a clingy, black long-sleeved blouse, which shows off the swell of my breasts, courtesy of the deep purple push-up bra I’m wearing.
“Alyse,” he mumbles against my goose-pebbled flesh. “Tell me what you like, what you want.” His hands tightly grip my waist, hot tongue traveling slowly down to the base of my throat. His rock-hard erection pulses beneath me, throbbing, keeping time with my own beats.
What do I want? So many things. So many dirty, wicked things. Things I’ve never wanted with anyone else. I know Asher can show me. I’ve been with several men, but I almost feel like a virgin with him. Not in the physical sense, but the emotional one. I believed him when he said he would own me. God help me, I want that. I’ve thought of nothing else than what it would be like to be completely and wholly his in every sense of the word.
I will the chains I’ve secured tightly around my heart to loosen. I imagine the lock clicking open and slack taking up the links I’d wound so tightly, so securely that no one could penetrate them. It’s terrifying. It feels foreign, naked, like taking off a piece of jewelry you’ve not removed for years, the imprint of the precious metal leaving a visible mark behind.
And then I do the one thing that feels right in this moment, but goes against all that I’ve tried to protect myself from over the last eight years.
“I want you to own me,” I beseech. Beg. Implore.
All of me. Not just my body.
My voice echoes loudly in the darkened room, like I’ve yelled those six words at the top of my lungs for the whole world to hear and judge versus barely uttered so that they sound distant, even to my own ears. I’m not even sure Asher heard me.
But he did.
His lips still, his body tenses, and his grasp becomes almost painfully tight. When he pulls back, the insatiable lust swirling in the depths of his striking blues causes my stomach to drop like I’ve just been tossed off a five-story building.
Burning eyes never leaving mine, one hand pushes underneath my blouse, traveling up to palm my breast. He pulls down the cup, his nimble fingers tweaking my hardened nipple. Pleasure ricochets off every cell like a pinball machine, landing squarely between my pounding thighs. My eyes drift closed on a moan until I hear his dark command.
“Look at me, baby.” His fingers never stop pulling and pinching and twisting, each movement sending another sharp zing on a fast track south of the border.
I finally comply, but my blinks are long and heavy.
“Fuck, I want to corrupt you in the wickedest of ways and completely ruin you in the best possible ones.”
He’s asking for permission, even though I already gave it.
He’s asking for trust, when it’s already his.
He’s asking me to be sure.
Letting a small smile tug the corners of my lips, I reassure him.
I’m just a regular ol’ Midwest girl who likes Game of Thrones and is obsessed with Modern Family and The Goldbergs. I run, I eat, I run, I eat. It’s a vicious cycle. I love carbs, but there’s a love-hate relationship with my ass and thighs. Mostly hate. I like a good cocktail (oh hell…who am I kidding? I love any cocktail). I’m a huge creature of habit, but I’ll tell you I’m flexible. I read every single day and if I don’t get a chance…watch the hell out, I’m a raving bitch. My iPad and I: BFFs. I’m direct and I make no apologies for it. I swear too much. I love alternative music and in my next life I want to be a badass female rocker. I hate, hate, hate spiders, telemarketers, liver, acne, winter, and loose hairs that fall down my shirt (don’t ask, it’s a thing).
I have a great job (no…truly it is) outside of writing. My kids and my husband are my entire world and I’d never have made it this far without them. My soul mate husband of nearly twenty-eight years provides unwavering support and my two grown children know the types of books I write and they don’t judge their mom anyway (and my daughter is a beta reader even…yes, that can be awkward…very).
I’m sincerely humbled by each and every like on my Facebook page or sign-up for my newsletter or outreach from someone who has read and loved my books. I still can’t get over the great support. The romance book community is a wonderful and supportive one. I’ve made more friends in the last year than I’ve made in my life and I’m a pretty affable person. It’s surreal. I’m pretty sure it always will be.
Beth Parker Stone knows what it feels like to be alone. She just didn’t expected to feel that way only three months into her perfect marriage.
Ayden Stone is a
man who has everything, except the one thing he needs most: the only woman he has ever loved. Fearing for her life, he has to send her away; knowing he has the fight of his life on his hands to save himself and, more importantly, his family.
He must do things he knows will jeopardise his marriage and bring him close to breaking point, but with his back against the wall, he has no choice … he must do whatever it takes.
The French connection deepens, opening old wounds, creating emotional scars which Ayden must endure alone. New enemies from their past close in, threatening their relationship and their very existence.
With everything to fight for, they must make a stand to safeguard their lives and their love … or risk losing it all.
Awoken from a restless sleep, I find myself entangled in a fantasy of my own making, lured into a sensual scenario by the seductive chords of West Coast by Lana del Ray. I’m screwing my eyes tight, holding the vision in my mind’s eyes, keeping it alive. I see a face, not imaginary but familiar, so real it makes me gasp.
The rasp of warm breath in my ear stimulates my body into spontaneous arousal. I allow his heat to envelop me, to wrap itself around me like wings, taking me far away from here, taking me home.
A whimper leaves my lips, and I call out into the darkness, “Don’t leave me.”
“I’m here. Hush, now,” he whispers, softly.
He soothes my fear with words of comfort. The sounds of my distress disperse until all I hear is the hoarseness of my breathing and the ebb and flow of a serene sea.
“That’s it. Good, girl.”
Stirred by his words, I fall back onto the sheets restless and in need of his attention. He explores my body with unhurried movements, hands and lips and tongue becoming a charismatic cocktail to stimulate and seduce. With masculine hands he kneads my breasts, rolling my nipples between forefinger and thumb until they are hard pebbles. With an outstretched palm he circles my stomach; fingertips skimming my pubic bone, teasing, tantalizing with the promise of immeasurable pleasure.
He roams my body with covetous eyes that speak of possession. I’m his—my body, my heart and my soul belongs to him. He knows what I need.
I need him to make me forget, to make me believe he is mine, and mine alone.
With the lightest of touches, he traces the line of my thigh, making his way to his desired destination, inching my legs apart, leaving me vulnerable and at his mercy. Imagining his warm fingers stroking and circling my swollen clitoris causes my breath to quicken. As my body temperature rises, so the heat building in my groin becomes a throbbing pulse only he can ease and bring to an orgasmic heaven.
My body is alive.
I hear his voice, husky, pleading, “Come back to me, baby.”
I want to, I have to. My breathing turns to moans as his movements quicken. I pull at my hair with my free hand, picturing a mass of dark curls positioned between my legs, bobbing to the beat of a rhythmic chorus. My orgasm builds until it’s a rippling tide rolling me over and over, scattering my thoughts. Like an unstoppable wave, it seeks out the darkest corners of my soul where fear lives, engulfing my loneliness.
A searing glow radiates through my body, until I am scorched by it, unable to speak or move. So profound is the intensity of my husband’s gifted lovemaking.
When I open my eyes, my fantasy disappears likes morning mist, leaving only shadows and memories that seem to have gathered around me like unexpected bedfellows. Turning onto my side, I wrap my arms around myself, feeling the warmth fade.
Sydney Jamesson is an English teacher by day and bestselling author of romance by night. She is nocturnal by nature and loves nothing more than staying up late, listening to music and being inspired to write. She has always scribbled things down; in her home is one enormous waste paper basket full of discarded phrases, opening lines and pieces of dialogue that have hit her like lightning in the middle of the night or whilst parked up at a set of traffic lights. Her bestselling trilogy, The Story of Us is available worldwide, and she’s thrilled to continue Ayden Stone and Beth Parker’s epic love story in her upcoming The Story of Us Series: Into the Blue.
Throwing a blow-out bash for hot rockstar-turned-music exec Ace Carmichael should be as easy as pecan pie. It’s my chance to prove my party-planning skills, but this bad boy client isn’t making life simple with his broody looks and aversion to shirts. If only he'd stop tempting me to jingle all the way...to his hot tub...this could be my big break.
But thanks to four feet of snow, the event of the year is suddenly a party for two. So deck the halls with a dangerously sexy tattooed rocker, a dozen cases of champagne and…me.
When the snow melts, Santa might not be the only one who’s coming. So what’s it going to be this year: naughty or nice?
I give a very theatrical, hopefully convincing yawn. “Wow, it’s late and I’m beat. Time for bed.” I click off the television as Ace stands and helps me to my feet.
He doesn’t let go of my hand. We’re close enough that I can feel heat radiating from his body. I breathe in the scent of him, pine and snow. He’s only wearing a thin black tee shirt, and I’m pretty sure I can pick out the definition of every part of his body.
He still hasn’t let go of my hand. Lightly, he runs his thumb across my palm.
“I don’t know if you got the full tour of the house. Best thing about it, in my opinion, is the spa hot tub. It’s just outside.”
“Oh?” I should take my hand away, but my body won’t do what I tell it. “It’s a little cold out there, isn’t it?”
“Once you’re in, you won’t even notice. I’m planning on a midnight soak.” He pulls me a little closer, mischief in his expression. “Why don’t you join me?”
“I.” There’s nothing I can say that’ll make sense. Ace grins. It’s a wicked smile, that’s the only way to describe it. “I don’t think I should,” I manage. “There’s a perfectly functional tub in my bathroom, anyway. So. I’ll just take a raincheck. On the hot tub.”
“You don’t want to try it?” He lets go of my hand and touches my face. “Or is it that you’re afraid of me?” He trails his fingertips across my cheek. “Which is it? Door one or two? One of them leads to a fabulous destination vacation.” His voice drops to a lower register. A sexy one. “You should loosen up, party planner. It’s just hot water. And I promise you’ll still be your tough and capable self afterward.”
My breath hitches in my throat. I’m almost ready to say something stupid, like ‘I don’t have a bathing suit’ or ‘which way to the pitch black snowy outdoors?’ when common sense crashes through the window to truss me up, sling me over its shoulder, and race away.
“It’s going to be a long day tomorrow. I should get some sleep. Good night.” I break away from him as not-awkwardly as possible and head upstairs. I have to stop halfway up, though, and lean against the railing and close my eyes. My heart is still racing, and all the heat in my body has pooled, not so unwelcomely, between my legs.
I told the truth—I do have to grab a shower and go to bed. But the thought of Ace out there in the hot tub, stripped down, his muscles relaxing under the beat of the jets…
I’ll probably need to make it a cold shower.
Amazon bestselling author, queen of the short-reads, and expert at playdough, Lila Monroe loves to read and write tales of sexy Billionaires. Combining her love of writing, sex and well-fitted suits, Lila Monroe wrote her first serial, The Billionaire Bargain. Lila enjoys writing, as it gives her a flexible schedule to spend time with her kids and a wonderful excuse to avoid them. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband, who strips out of his well-fitted suits nightly.
Justin Simms joined the Army to distance himself from his family and the painful secret he’s hiding from them. When he has to travel home for his brother’s wedding, he worries they’ll find out he’s not as happy as he pretends to be.
Justin notices Annie immediately. She’s smart, beautiful, and recently out of a relationship—all the traits he looks for in a woman. She’s also wholesome and openly looking for Mr. Right—two things that scare the crap out of him. Yet, spending time with Annie makes him happy. He doesn’t have to pretend.
Annie’s a strong, intelligent woman who is successful in every way except for one. Her first sexual encounter with her teenage boyfriend was a disaster and has haunted her ever since. Annie just knows that if she finds true love, her insecurities will fade away. She isn’t ashamed to admit she’s looking for love. Her parents have had a happy marriage, so why should she settle for anything less? When Annie meets Justin, she thinks he might be the one she’s looking for. Will Justin realize that meeting Annie really was fate and deal with his past before it’s too late?
I live outside Washington, D.C. with my wonderfully supportive husband and two daughters, one of
which is approaching her teenage years. Help us all! If that isn’t enough, we have a Great Dane and an English Bulldog to keep us on our toes. It’s crazy around here and I love every minute of it!
Writing is my third career. I didn't set out to be a writer, it was just meant to be. My Mechanical Engineering degree from Virginia Tech prepared me well for my first career as an Engineer/Program Manager. My second career was in Human Resources. Long story, but I figured it out. I believe the best start for a writing career is to be a reader first and I’ve been an avid reader my whole life. I've loved to read ever since I picked up my first Nancy Drew mystery in the fourth grade. Now I love reading just about everything, but I don’t read sad books and I don’t watch sad movies either for that matter, no matter how many awards they’ve won. Life’s too short and who needs all that strife to bring us down?
Many of my words have been penned late into the evening, which explains why I’ve never viewed whatever television show you recommend to me. I would, however, love to hear your recommendations for a great read!