Guest Post- An Interview with D D Byrne

July 8  |  eBooks, News  |   Kay Jaybee

I’m delighted to be able to welcome fellow Cariad, Xcite author, DD Byrne (aka the poet Daryl Baldwin), over to my site today to answer a few questions about his extremely busy writing life!!

Thanks Daryl!

What sparks your imagination first, a character, a word, a sound…?

My creative process can be sparked by any of the above. For example, when I wrote my erotic romance novella Drawn, my inspiration came from a Mary Chapin Carpenter song called What if we went to Italy. As soon as I wake, I check out the day’s emails and news channels. Then I play film soundtracks to listen to whatever I’m writing at the time. Sometimes there is a phrase or news ‘sound bite’ that catches my attention, but usually it is just in the everyday mundane routine that sparks a creative splurge.

 DD Byrne cover

You write stories, poems and screen plays- which is your first love and why?

That’s a really interesting question because that has changed over time. I’ve always enjoyed writing but scriptwriting was the first serious attempt at writing in which I wrote a Thomas Hardy biopic called The Torn Letter. However, since then, I’ve dabbled in and honed my writing voice in poetry and fiction.

I have an extensive movie collection; modern, classic and world cinema. For me it’s all about the characters and their stories. For example, Lawrence of Arabia is my favourite movie and how the character is in love with the desert. Casablanca is also highly watched because of its sharp dialogue; not one word is wasted and that to me is poetry. So, for me, there is no first love any more. If there is a story, I write it in the medium that will achieve its maximum potential.

Of all of your pieces, which do you most resonate with and why? Name the story/poem and where to find it.

That would be a poem called ‘Reflection’ in my poetry collection Angles from an amber glass. It was one of those moments when I looked at my son and could see him growing and turning into me. But as I thought about that, it wasn’t a joyful experience because I’d also turned out to be like my father in some ways. I love the brevity of poetry and how so much can be said in so few words. I’m sure most people can tell by the tone of a lover’s voice and facial expression how much is meant by the three words ‘I love you’

 DD Byrne glass

 Please give a short outline of your writing process.

A typical writing day begins whenever I wake up. There’s usually a thought or image from the story I’m writing, or maybe for a totally new story. There’s no time wasted and I get it written down. Sometimes, it could be 3.30 a.m. and the muse will strike. Writing is like breathing. I have to do it!

If it’s poetry, I just write off the cuff until I finish. Then I edit like I’m cutting meat from the bone. With a novella or novel, I like to write scenes and see where my ideas are taking me. Then I stop and see what is good. Then I make detailed plots on what I’d like to keep and where the story may end up. I guess that’s where the filmic plotting comes in . . . I do tend to use the three act system as a focus point for my storytelling.

What are you currently working on?

I have two novels in progress. One is a family drama spanning five decades and how one word can betray a person’s trust, which almost leads to tragedy. The second, which will be penned under DD Byrne, is a contemporary romance, written from a female POV about the graphic design industry.

Would you like to share a sample of your work?

I’d like to share the opening to Drawn because it’s the first novella in print and holds a special place for me.

Clasped in her partner’s arms, the woman gazed at the bay of Naples. Neapolitan lights surrounded the bay and the blood orange full moon’s reflection rippled on the sea. Across the bay, the black hulk of Mount Vesuvius stretched toward the darkening sky.

I laid the open travel brochure on my bed. Maybe I should treat myself to a holiday. Without Tom by my side, there wasn’t much to look forward to. Was there anything exciting about a woman in her 30s touring alone? As I flicked to the next page, I could almost taste the food, savour the smells emanating from rustic backstreet grocers, and soak in the sea, but there’d be nobody to share it with. A sigh rose from my lips as I glanced at the couple in the photograph, imagining what they would do next. They’d enter a swanky restaurant where they’d order a spicy meal with an exotic name that meant nothing to them, while drinking wine they could buy in Asda. The intoxication of Naples would satisfy them and they’d lose themselves in sexual heat before they slept in each other’s arms. But at least they’d have each other. A holiday is exactly what you need, I told myself. It’ll get you away from here … even if it’s only for a short time. And you never know; you may even find a man who’d do all that for you. Hah! There was more chance of Vesuvius erupting.


 You can find all the buy links for Drawn here- 


You can find all the buy links for Daryl’s poety here- 



Huge thanks for coming over today Daryl- wonderful interview. I totally relate- writing really is like breathing!! Without it I couldn’t function!

Happy reading everyone,

Kay xx





Guest Blog: Scored by Lily Harlem

July 2  |  Book Publications, eBooks, News  |   Kay Jaybee

Love it or have it, you can ‘t ignore it! The World Cup is upon us once more- and what better way to celebrate it (or hide from it), than with a dip into Scored, a brilliantly hot tale from my dear friend, and fellow Brit Babe, Lily Harlem.

Over to you Lily… 

Thanks so much for inviting me over today, Kay, it’s great to be here. I’m so excited about the FIFA 2014 World Cup because along with hockey and tennis, football (soccer to you US guys) is one of my favourite sports to watch – though on occasion I have been known to roll up my sleeves, show off my ball skills and get involved in the odd tackle! LOL

SCORED small

Scored isn’t about the World Cup but the European Cup, specifically the 2012 European Cup hosted by Ukraine. I watched it avidly and was so inspired by all those sexy athletes shooting up and down the pitch that I created an England captain all of my own – enter Lewis Tate. Yum! He’s the perfect combination of alpha male, considerate English gent and single-minded athlete.

The heroine in Scored is a sports journalist, and a serious one at that. She isn’t interested in the gossip and the scandal surrounding the players, she wants to give the lowdown on the formation, the starting line up and the on-pitch skills. Yes, of course she does, she also can’t help having a major crush on Lewis, and despite some of her Bridget Jones’ ways, it seems he kinda likes her too!

I love one particular scene when she’s grabbed a new white bikini from her suitcase and headed down to the hotel pool. It’s all very lovely and part of a spa and she thinks she has the place to herself… but oh no. It soon becomes clear that she has an audience, it’s also apparent that the new bikini is transparent! Keep reading to enjoy an excerpt…


Okay, so I eat, sleep and breathe football and reporting the beautiful game is my dream career. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have time for a major crush on the England captain, Lewis Tate. The bloke is sex on legs, hot with a capital H. Add in his awe-inspiring talent, his brooding good looks and what’s not to lust after?

So my excitement is sky-high as I set off with the official press team to cover England’s battle for the European Cup. But when a series of unfortunate, or as it turns out fortunate events, attracts Tate’s attention my way, who am I to say no?

Add in a misogynistic manager, an over-zealous colleague, two blue silk ties and some incredible ball-handling skills and it becomes clear the road to victory, for me, will be an intensely erotic journey. Determined to savor every moment, I hang onto my sanity as best I can while living the fantasy and wondering if it can ever become reality. Because once Lewis Tate has taken me to heaven and back, its clear no one else will ever compare.

Here’s THAT excerpt…

I dragged a white bikini from the side pocket of my case. It was a designer brand, bought in a retail outlet for a fraction of the price it would have been sold for originally in some swanky London store. I’d been waiting for an opportunity to wear it for the first time.

I nipped into the bathroom, freshened up using the complimentary lemon and neroli fragranced toiletries, then slipped into my bikini. Pulled a big, fluffy robe around myself and checked the hotel map in the information booklet. I only had to get to the elevator and head down to the basement and I’d be at the spa. I was sure plenty of people just wore robes when moving between their rooms and the pool.

I was just about to leave when a thought hit me. Damn. How could I go to the pool now? Lewis had been holding trunks and goggles when I’d seen him. If I showed up for a dip he would definitely think I was tailing him. I clicked my tongue on the roof of my mouth in irritation. I’d been looking forward to stretching out in the water after my long day. Letting those nice hydro-jets pound onto my aching shoulders.

A sudden noise in the hall outside caught my attention. Footsteps, a door being opened. A few seconds later the loud thud of it shutting.

Great. That sounded directly opposite. Lewis had obviously finished his swim and gone back to his room. That would leave the pool free for me to use, and of course, anyone else in the hotel, but as long as it wasn’t him that was fine. The last thing I needed was to bump into him for a fourth time in less than twenty-four hours. A restricting order would be knocking at my door faster than I could say penalty shoot-out.

After dropping my robe onto a wicker lounger with deep cream cushions, I waded down the steps into the pool. Cool water wrapped around me, caressing my aching limbs like soothing hands. Bliss. Even more blissful because I had the place all to myself.

There were voices coming from the terrace. Three double doors were flung open to the sunshine and the breeze. I couldn’t hear what was being said, just the low hum of conversation.

Kicking out, I swam on my back toward a large silver tap-like jet and watched the shimmering reflections on the roof. They shivered and shook, the sunlight rippling across the ceiling in sparkling waves. Sighing, I moved beneath the jet, let the blasting water jostle and jolt me, bash against my travel-weary shoulders.

I shut my eyes. The heavy pounding was heavenly, massaging away several days of stress and strain. I tipped my head back, smoothed my hair from my face and allowed the water drag the sodden strands over my scalp and down my back. Later I would use the luxurious-smelling shampoo and conditioner in my hotel bathroom and tame my curls ready for tomorrow’s match. I was bound to see Phil there. I hoped he wouldn’t ask me too much about the Donbass and the players. Likewise, I hoped Reg wouldn’t give me a hard time later when I just did a report about the architecture and history of the hotel rather than a detailed account of my meeting with the team captain.

Just the thought of Lewis conjured an image of him in my head. His smile had had a devastating effect on my lusty hormones, sending them skittering this way and that. Prodding and poking me, and reminding me that it had been just over a year since I’d taken a man to my bed. How blessed was Naomi to get her hands on his hot body? She must know she was the luckiest woman on the planet.

I rubbed my fingertips over my shoulders and chest, blindly making sure my bikini was still covering my modesty. Sure Lewis was drop-dead gorgeous, but he was also a really nice guy. He’d been kind enough to make sure the press conference was fair, polite enough not to use the word vibrator in the elevator, and then more than happy to help out a stranger struggling with a keycard. And to top it all, he went to church like a good boy. He was perfect, there was no other way to describe him. I wondered what he saw in Naomi, whose reputation as a diva preceded her. Perhaps it was all for show and beneath the veneer she was a sweetheart.

Somehow I couldn’t imagine it.

I sighed and decided to relax on one of the soft loungers and let the breeze tickle over me as I dried.

Opening my eyes, I stepped out of the blasting jet.


Standing at the side of the pool were four England players staring straight at me.

Suddenly I was glad of the extra support the water gave me. My knees felt weak, and my stomach turned a cartwheel.

What the hell?

Neil Bryers stood at the far left, his dark skin gleaming and a wide, white grin on his face. Next to him was the goalie, Ted Hatton—he was tall and skinny, famed for his big hands, and right now he also had big eyes. Then came Liam Taylor; the baby of the team at only nineteen, he wore bright orange flowery swim trunks and was gripping a towel at crotch level, twirling it around his fingers. Finally, Lewis stood with his hands on his hips and his mouth slightly parted. He didn’t have the soft, smiley expression he’d had in the mental image I’d been enjoying. In fact, he looked beyond pissed off.

Damn, I really should have stayed in my room. I could hear that restricting order winging its way toward me.

But what could I do? I was here now, in the water, and they were there, waiting to get in.

I took a deep breath and waded toward the steps, wishing there was a little more support in my bikini top. I could feel my breasts shifting as I moved. With each step they bounced and jiggled. There wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

The players stayed stock still and continued to stare. I wondered about flashing them a smile then decided against it. That would just make me look like a footy groupie. And I certainly didn’t fall into a WAG-wannabe category. I was a serious reporter, here for the game, not the players.

Gripping a steel bar, I exited the pool, the water splashing away from my body as I rose. Typical that was where they were standing and I had to walk right past Lewis to reach my robe. I caught his eye briefly. He’d pulled down his brows, narrowed his eyes and was gnawing at the inside of his cheek. I dropped my gaze and admired, for the shortest pocket of time, his broad chest and the scribble of blond hair at the center that led a tantalizing trail downward, past his naval to the waistband of his shorts.

I reached my robe and used it to dab against my face, wiping away the drips. Thankfully, I heard the shuffle of feet, someone mentioned the sunshine outside, and I was aware of the players moving out of the pool area.

Dropping the robe onto the lounger, I took a deep breath and sagged my shoulders.

“It’s see-through, you know.”
Standing directly in front of me was Lewis.

I was shocked to see him when I thought I was alone again.

“Your bikini, it’s completely see-through.”
I pulled in a sharp intake of breath and glanced down.

Oh fuck! He was right. My white bikini was opaque. My nipples were dark and erect, poking at the pathetically thin material, and my little strip of pubic hair…fuck, you could make out every strand and the first indent of my labia.

“Shit.” I scrabbled for my robe, but Lewis was already holding it open for me. “Here,” he said.

“I, er, thanks.” I shoved my arms in and pulled it tight around my body. Every millimeter of my flesh prickled with embarrassment. “Shit, I didn’t know, it’s new, I—”

“Hey, these things happen. Trouble is, these guys are all on enforced celibacy. Seeing a beautiful woman standing in a see-through bikini underneath flowing water might just tip them over the edge, if you know what I mean.”

Oh my God. Had I heard him right? Had Lewis Tate just called me beautiful?


Poor old Nicky, but it does get better for her, much better! Against the wall, in the bath and tied to the bed better! Here are a few reviews of Scored

Lily Harlem’s story of a famous footballer and a hardcore sports writer is one of the best happily ever after erotica novels I’ve read.”

“Explosive, and oh my god wow, that’s all I can say. I could not put the book (Scored) down till I was finished. A must read!”

“From strangers to friendship to lovers, Nicky and Lewis were amazing. It felt like real life and I could picture all the events taking place. This is a must read!”

“An amazing story.”

“This is a must read. 123 pages of yummy goodness.”

And if you like Pinterest this might be right up your street…

Scored-golden nib

Scored is available from all good ebook retailers including


Amazon UK



Barnes and Noble



Find out more about me and my work on my website follow my blog for daily musings and subscribe to my newsletter for information on new releases, freebies and contests

Thank you for inviting me to your blog, Kay.

Lily x


Okay- so forget the World Cup- I’m off to read Scored!!

Thanks again Lily.

Happy reading everyone,

Kay xxx 

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Guest Post from Sallyanne Rogers: Try Everything…Including Morris Dancing

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June 30  |  eBooks, News  |   Kay Jaybee

I’m chuffed to bits to have the wonderful Sallyanne Rogers with me today- and she has a very important message for us, so over to you Sallyanne…


When I first started telling people the next book was about sex and Morris dancing, the reactions were about what you might expect. There were plenty of comments about beardy old men and silly hats and balloons on sticks and how the hell could anyone find that sexy? I’d usually counter by pointing them in the direction of certain photographs of very nice-looking young men with pert bottoms and tight-fitting trousers. Then maybe I’d add a few anecdotes gathered over the years from fellow Morris dancers about the amount of misbehaviour that’s been known to go on at the average festival or weekend away: when you’ve been dancing and drinking and admiring other people’s fancy footwork all day and you’re away from home, let’s say there are opportunities. People who are good dancers are sexy, no matter what style of dancing they go in for: you know they have a sense of rhythm and are comfortable with their own bodies. And they probably have plenty of stamina, and good breath control as well.

There are certainly a lot more young Morris dancers than the lazy stereotypes would have you believe: between cult film A Life With Bells On (2009) and David Owens’ wonderful art piece 5000 Morris Dancers (2010) which mixed live dance performances with a display of pictures combining iconic pop culture imagery such as Imperial stormtroopers and Geri Halliwell’s Union Jack minidress with Morris accessories, it’s something more and more people are getting into.


It was very much a conscious decision to have my main characters, Robbie and Cath, meet for the first time in an indie/goth club rather than at a Morris event, and I decided quite early on to start with Cath choosing to keep her hobby a secret from the gorgeous man she’s just picked up, in case he takes the piss out of her. The rest of the story kind of evolved from there, but I’m happy to admit that one of the themes is the way mainstream culture still likes to portray Morris dancers as the opposite of sexy, and how that simply isn’t true any more – and never really was.


(Cath has just met Robbie for the first time. Her friends already know that she is going to be featured in a documentary about Morris dancers and have been teasing her about it.)

If watching him dance had attracted me initially, actually dancing with him was the thing that finished the job. It was as though we were reading each other’s minds: even though we hardly touched each other at all, every move we made was in harmony. We stayed on the floor for another two tracks and then the DJ put on some awful doom-laden death metal thing, and we looked at each other and headed back toward the bar.

‘Let me get you a drink,’ he said. ‘I got paid yesterday.’

I said yes, thanks, gin and tonic, and then excused myself and bolted off to the loo. I was so turned on I was almost scaring myself. My face felt hot, and I could feel how hard and erect my nipples were, and wanted to check they weren’t poking too obviously through my bra and shirt.

Of course, when I got there, Joanna and Meg were propping up the sink and having a gossip, and both of them wanted to know how I was getting on.

‘We saw you dancing with Eric the Viking, or whatever he’s called,’ Meg said with a grin. ‘Does he know you’re nearly famous?’

‘Oh, do fuck off,’ I said, but not nastily. ‘I told you, no one’s going to see the bloody thing, if it ever gets broadcast. It’ll be on the Single White Insomniac channel at four in the morning, you wait.’

‘And all over YouTube the next day,’ Joanna said, and I growled at her. They dropped the subject after that, but at least it had reduced my physical state to something more like normal, and neither my face nor my chest gave any indication that only a few moments ago I’d been seriously wondering if I was going to come just from standing next to him.


When Cath meets Robbie for the first time, she decides to hold back on telling him she’s a Morris dancer who’s about to be featured in a TV programme about contemporary British culture. She’s not expecting more than a one-night stand in the first place, so there’s no need to complicate things. However, what started out as a bit of fun looks like it could turn into something more, as the two of them find their mutual attraction too strong to resist.The documentary crew are on the hunt for juicy controversies in the run up to the May Day festival at Waterleigh Bridge, and it seems that Robbie has a secret of his own. If he and Cath find out the truth about one another, will it bring them closer or tear them apart?

Thanks Sallyanne!! That sounds like a really fun, sexy read!! Perfect for this summer weather! Kay xx



Sallyanne Rogers has written articles for adult magazines including Forum in the past, and has previously worked on market stalls selling vintage clothes and magazines. This inspired her first novella for Xcite, Midwinter Heat. She has also been a morris dancer for about 15 years.

Her website is and she is on Twitter @dswsallyanne and on Facebook as Sallyanne Rogers (there is more than one person by that name, though)


Thanks again Sallyanne,

Happy reading,

Kay xx


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A Weird Way to Make A Living

June 26  |  News  |   Kay Jaybee

I was walking around the ETO Show with four of my fellow Brit Babes last Sunday, when (as you’ll know if you’ve read my ETO blog), an extremely nice young woman from System JO came up to us asking if we’d like an ice cream. It was a very warm day, so how could we refuse? It was only when she asked what flavoured lube topping we’d like on it, (think Mr Whippy style raspberry or chocolate sauce), when it hit me…

Eating Lube Flavoured Ice Cream!!

Eating Lube Flavoured Ice Cream!!

This really is  weird way to make a living! I was stood in a large show hall surrounded by semi clad folk modelling bondage equipment, looking at the latest line in metal cock harnesses, eating lemon flavouring on top of an ice cream- and no one was batting an eyelid. At what point in my life did this become normal? And how fantastic that it is so- well, ordinary (I say this in a good way)!!

Sex is fun. An overly simplistic sentence; but so true. And there I was, surrounded by people who are dedicating their entire careers to ensuring that it stays that way- that sex gets better- that every living person has the chance to have a better erotic experience; be they straight, gay, lesbian, large, small, able bodied, disabled, and so on… No one is excluded. The playing field is open and fair, and the air feels full of openness- how sad that an industry dedicated to make people feel good and happy, is so often shut behind closed doors. Anyway…

…there I was, eating this ice cream (I went for lemon and peach lube on mine- DELICIOUS- something I would normally say about lube), when I started to think about all the other things I’ve done, and all the things I’ve seen, that I’d never have experienced if I wrote any other genre but erotica.

If I wrote murder mysteries, I’d never have been invited to the wonderful Sh Woman’s Store, to stand around tables of vibrators, reading passages from The Perfect Submissive or Not Her Type. I would never have been picked up by a nice young man from Vanity Studios in London (not as dodgy as it sounds) to do a photo shoot in Soho- which lead to another one the following year.


There would have been no trip to Erotica 2013, to sell my books to some of the friendliest people in the world- many of whom had forgotten to put all of their clothes on…There would be no Brit Babes, and there would be no Brit Babe team cheering us all on- unthinkable!!

BB antho- SJWIT_1

All this ‘ETO time’ musing. lead me back to my hotel room where, lying in a ridiculously hot bath, I began to giggle (no- not like that- you are so RUDE!!). If I didn’t write erotica, perhaps I wouldn’t look at any and every object around me and automatically change it into some sort of sex toy- without even registering I’m doing it. (At the moment it’s coffee syrup and frozen peas- you’ll see in time!!) Perhaps everyone I speak to wouldn’t take every innocent sentence I say as a come-on or an innuendo…?

I’m as sure as I can be that I wouldn’t get to stand in a public building and spank people, as I did At Smut by the Sea last week!!!

Spanking Lucy

I know for a fact that my life wouldn’t be so full or so friendly. Okay, I get a few negative comments, and I could do without the occasional bit of stalker stuff, but WOW- it’s SO much fun!

It might well be a weird way to make a living- but it makes people happy. I’m not sure I’d have been able to say that if I had stuck with my very first job-working in a Welsh Hat factory….

Happy reading,

Kay xx



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Calendar Men: Mr June – The Other Brother by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985)

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June 25  |  eBooks, News  |   Kay Jaybee

I’m delighted to be able to bring you some hot new release news from my dear friend, Lucy Felthouse!

Other bro promo pic June

Calendar Men: Mr June – The Other Brother by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985)

Photographer Melodie Carr moved to New York City to escape and make a fresh start. Her soldier fiancé was killed in a friendly-fire incident in Iraq, and she has been struggling to come to terms with it ever since. She still feels strongly about needless death and those left behind, so when she sees a call for photographs for a calendar of topless men, with profits going to the Hero Family Fund, she’s eager to help out. Unfortunately, she doesn’t know any men that fit the profile, so she gives up on the idea. That is, until Patrick Brogan—her late fiance’s brother—turns up in New York. Seeing him brings up all kinds of memories, but she’s determined to push them aside and be friends with Patrick. She also realizes he’d be perfect for the calendar. But can she persuade him to take part?

Buy links:

Add to Goodreads:

Calendar Men freebies:




Melodie Carr reluctantly clicked delete on the e-mail with a disappointed sigh. She couldn’t contribute to the charity calendar for the Hero Family Fund, a cause very close to her heart, because she didn’t know anyone suitable to photograph. Although her photography work varied—from children to pets, landscapes to portraits, she’d done a bit of everything—she got the impression the call for calendar models sought hunky guys to create a collection to make women swoon. Unfortunately, she didn’t work with professional models and therefore had to give up on the idea. A cute dog, something she had plenty of images of, simply wouldn’t cut it.

She might not be able to contribute, but resolved to find out when the calendar would be available and do her bit to help by buying a few copies. Some eye candy on her wall would definitely not go amiss, and her friends Poppy, Lola and Charis, and her grandmother, Joyce, would no doubt appreciate it. She grinned. Joyce, always good fun, said, there’s no such thing as too much eye candy. The saucy old broad.

Her smile faded. She missed her, having not been back to Boston to see her friends and family for a while. She should ask Joyce to come and visit her in New York—she hadn’t traveled much, and would love the hustle and bustle, the endless opportunities to people watch. Maybe Melodie and the rest of the family could buy her a ticket for her birthday. She’d have to give it some thought. It sure would be nice see a familiar face, other than via Skype.

Someone pressed the buzzer to her apartment and she sighed again. It was probably a delivery driver trying to get into the building. It wouldn’t even be a package for her.

Taking her time getting to the intercom, she hoped whoever it was would go away. No such luck—the buzzer squawked again. She inhaled deeply, trying to rein in her annoyance and avoid being rude or abrupt.


“Hi,” a male voice said. “Are you Melodie? Melodie Carr?”

“I am.” A caller looking for her? Had she ordered something and forgotten about it? “Who’s calling?”

“It’s Patrick,” the voice replied. “Patrick Brogan.”

“Patrick….” Speechless, she laid a hand on the wall to steady herself as the bottom dropped out of her world. Evidently, running to New York—albeit under the pretense of a good career move—hadn’t been enough. Her past still followed her, still tried to flood her with reminders of what she’d lost.


Damn, the man’s persistent. She never should have admitted her identity before asking his. She could have told him he’d gotten the wrong place and sent him away.


Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more at Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at:


Happy reading everyone,

Kay xxx


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