This is Day 2 of Publisher Week featuring Boroughs Publishing Group. For the next few days, Romance Lives Forever will showcase this publisher and its authors.
Publisher's Week – Boroughs Publishing Group
Yesterday we had a Lunchbox Romance treat spending time with the Ladies of the Abberly Theater and today we're visiting with our 'Naughty Boys.' You know who they are, the bad boys we can't seem to stay away from, even though we know that they're more work, pains in the butt and downright ornery waaay too much of the time – but the sweet payoff of their true love is a thing of beauty.
Backfield in Motion
A Seattle Lumberjacks Romance - Mackenzie Hernandez is about to learn star running back Bruce "Bruiser" Mackey is more than just a pretty face.
Bruiser knew the drill. He almost made more from modeling than he did football. Plus, he didn't have a modest bone in his body. If they'd asked him to strip, he'd have stripped and given them the full-meal deal. But the league frowned on all-out nudity, so Bruiser's nude modeling had to be tastefully done with the goods disguised in dark shadows.
Bruiser changed his pose, propping one foot on the hay bale.
"Turn slightly. Put your back to me. Good. Good."
Click. Click. Click.
"Now strip off your shorts, hold them with a finger, and cover your package with your hat."
"How does that sell underwear?" Despite Bruiser's immodesty, getting nude fucking irritated him today.
"Do I look like a marketing person? Just another pose they asked for."
Bruiser shrugged and shucked out of his briefs—not easy when wearing boots—and dangled them on one finger as he held his hat over his crotch area. Harold clicked away while Bruiser changed poses and forced himself to stay alert.
"I expected your dick to be so big you'd need a sombrero to cover it."
Bruiser dropped the hat and spun around to face the speaker. Mackenzie Hernandez, known as Mac to all the guys on the team, stood in the barn door. Small and fit, with a nice little body, Mac was kinda cute with her upturned nose, mischievous deep brown eyes, and long, wavy, dirty blond hair, but she downplayed her physical attributes as if she didn't give a shit about appearances.
Mac made a show of looking at his crotch and arching an eyebrow, not the least bit embarrassed. But then, not much embarrassed Mac.
When a playboy pilot meets a beautiful, by-the-book first officer, he'll pit his charm against her icy reserve until a surprising love sends them both soaring.
"Captain Farrell." She extended one perfectly manicured hand. "Ronnie Talbot."
Even through the starched crisp uniform shirt, Flip could tell that underneath there had to be a flimsy piece of lace covering two glorious breasts. He wondered what it would take to make them pebble into hard sweet morsels. She wore slacks but they didn't hide the long firm limbs that tapered into slender ankles. He was disappointed to see feet in sensible low-heeled pumps—he'd been imagining a high-stepping number with an ankle strap. Flip's gaze traveled back up to her face, which now posed confusion.
"You are Captain Farrell, aren't you?"
His throat felt dry, and like an adolescent just brinking puberty, he croaked, "Yees."
"I mean, yes," he repeated in a deeper masculine tone. "Call me Flip." He gave her a smile that had been called dazzling by more than one woman who'd passed through his life at one time or another.
"I'm sorry, Captain. I wouldn't feel comfortable being on such familiar terms when I've just met you."
His grin was not returned. One look at her face made it clear there was no chance her response was a joke. She was strictly business.
The flight attendants greeted the passengers filing into the plane, most of them trying to peek a look at the pilots through the open door.
"When we're loaded, do you want me to do the radio or shall I take the first leg?"
Boy, she cuts to the chase. With his ego—both in his head and below the belt—severely squashed, he took his place in the left seat and reached for his headset.
Another emotion quickly replaced his lust: anger. It wasn't one he allowed himself to indulge at work because it kept him from doing his best. She'd caught him off guard. This is the problem letting women in the flight deck. Damn feminist movement had ruined a lot of good things and this was just about the worst.
Be Careful What You Kiss For
Detective Max Hunter has come a long way from high-school bad boy, and with everything on the line, nothing can stop him…except seeing his first love dancing in the club he's been assigned to investigate. Torn between getting her far away from the place and needing her help as an insider, he knows only two things for sure: Tensley's stirring feelings he thought long ago buried, and a relationship with her would be career suicide. Yet, maybe, just maybe, this was a love meant to overcome the past.
Max grabbed Tensley's arm before she hit the ground, but she shook him off, steadying herself against the back of the building.
Get away from her. Right. He'd tried that before. And it hadn't worked out so well.
She was thinner than he remembered, with a hard, shiny body instead of the softly voluptuous one that had cost him so many sleepless nights as a teenager.
She turned her face upward and his chest squeezed tight. Her eyes had always given her away, always said exactly what she was thinking and feeling, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. What he'd seen in her eyes all those years ago had nearly made him forget about the stupid bet that sent him to the high school library in the first place.
Fifteen years later, her eyes said, I hate you. I don't hate you. Don't go. I hate you. I want you, right here, right now.
Okay, maybe the last part was his dick talking. But this was all he fucking needed. Why couldn't she have acquired a jagged edge of distrust like any other self-respecting stripper?
He stepped back into the protection of the darkness. "You asked me to get you out of here." He wasn't sure what he'd expected from her, but it hadn't been this.
"And then you left." Her chin, held high, began to tremble.
"I couldn't—" He raked a hand through his hair. "Couldn't do anything inside."
"Except watch." She looked away. "And pay."
"What the hell, Tensley." As if that wasn't her job. He'd felt like shit giving her money, but it was pretty much the way it worked. Couldn't tell her why he was really there. At least not yet. "You said you wanted to go. Let's go."
Still to Come
Yum, huh? Tomorrow we'll visit with a different kind of bad boy, the kind that wear cravats and dress in brocade vests – yep, the Lords of Regency are just waiting to steal your hearts.
Are you an author? Fantastic. We adore authors. We're seeking submissions from writers who can deliver the emotional punch readers crave. Space cowboys, gargoyles, the hunk next-door and crusty cops welcome. Boroughs Publishing Group will not limit your imagination; we encourage creative freedom. Stick to the tropes of the genre or push the envelope, as long as you're providing well written incredible story-telling we're game. Read more: http://www.boroughspublishinggroup.com/submit
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