David Family Saga: Bayou Rogues
Let the David brothers whisk you away to the bayou country and captivate your senses as they heat up the humid Louisiana nights.
short life may be rendered even shorter if fortune doesn’t turn her wheel. Unfortunately, most of what she needs is out of her control. The one thing she can control is the quantity and quality of her sex life. She dreams of connecting with a dominant male, one who knows how to take what he wants, one who can deliver the kind of illicit sex that will make her feel desired and dirty and totally satisfied.
In spite of the fact that he goes home with a different girl almost every night, is all too happy to give Bailey what she wants. But after he gets a taste of Bailey obsession takes hold. He wants her, and while he’s never been in an exclusive relationship, Bailey has him pondering monogamy. Problem is, Bailey’s not interested. In fact, she goes to great lengths to prevent the development of deep feelings between them.
Parker senses a raging tide boiling beneath Bailey’s surface and he intends to find out what she’s hiding. When Bailey’s camouflage is removed, Parker is compelled to make the ultimate sacrifice.
He took the blankets and then lifted her arm, turning the inside toward his gaze. Worry lines formed as he took in the sight of her abused veins. Intense eye contact followed and his mouth gaped, full of questions he’d never ask. He probably thought she was an avid drug user, but she preferred that to the prospect of sharing the truth with him. She pulled her arm away to hide the bruises from his concentrated stare.
Outside somebody was whistling. She could hear footsteps as whoever it was descended the stairs. Shadows hampered her ability to focus on the body descending into the boat cabin.
Julian—the nice guy she’d met at the club a few weeks ago who had taken her on a very traditional date. They’d been to dinner and a movie, though she couldn’t remember the name of the flick. This was way beyond embarrassing. She looked down at her toes, “Hey, Julian.”
Walk of shame indeed.
“Your name is Bailey?” Her eyes grew large as she turned toward Parker.
“Yeah you fuck trumpet, her name is Bailey,” Julian answered as he shot daggers at Parker.
“Yeah. Um, I better go. See you around.” She couldn’t get out of there fast enough. In her haste to retreat she stumbled at the stairs.
Parker caught her bare upper arm. “Easy.”
By day I’m training young women to become speech therapists. At night I sip red wine, dial down all distractions, and sink into the fictional worlds I create. Good tunes on my iPod are a must. I get so caught up in my characters that I truly wish the male hero would materialize in the flesh; especially when I see the cover image…I swoon.
I have spent the past several years working as a university instructor. My students are young adult females so I’m constantly running plot lines and book covers by them. They make a great beta team! I love my job at the university but there is something I love even more. . . romance novels. I'll read any genre as long as there are steamy sex scenes and the standard issue HEA ending. Initially I was drawn in by the escape and sweeping emotion of it all, so much so, I began to create my own fictional world.
Since I worked during the day my nights were consumed with writing. I was powerless to stop the stories that wanted to be freed from my mind. I actually started to get mixed up. I would think something I wrote at night was something I had said during the working day and vice versa. My friends were worried for my sanity but I assured them I had not gone mad, I was just writing. Once I started I wrote upwards of 3,000 words per day.
It was in the early millennium when I became brave enough to share my stories with others. I began to post my stories on fiction websites and then something marvelous happened—I was followed by hundreds of eager readers. I loved my followers and their kind words helped motivate me.
These days I am writing books and I’ve learned some things about myself during the process. I like to write series novels because I have trouble letting go. I like a little plot with my . Call it what you will, but I have to have a good story in which to sink my teeth. If I start writing a story I have to finish it, even if it’s terrible.
My dog is my muse and when he tilts his forehead at me and blinks his large black eyes questioningly at me, I think he is worried I've been sucked into the wormhole of the very fiction that I write. I appreciate his concern but I have yet to fall down the rabbit hole. Here's to everyone else in my boat, may our voyage become a permanent destination.