THIS IS A RE-RELEASE OF A PREVIOUS BOOK THAT WAS PART OF A BOX SET.
At the time, it was titled, Three Dark Hours.
SALACIOUS FANTASIES. HIDDEN AGENDAS. A STARTLING HERO.
As Isobel Parker, excited and enthusiastic, walks into the classroom for her first night in a creative writing course, she is shocked to see her dream man. His name is Patrick Doyle, and he has black tousled hair, sizzling blue eyes, and muscles bulging under this thin white shirt. For her first assignment, Isobel decides to pen her wicked fantasies, hoping her hunky teacher will see it as an invitation.
Wanting a critique, and claiming it was written by a friend, she nervously gives it to her boss, a straitlaced editor named Brad Saunders, but she suddenly finds herself on the spot. Brad unexpectedly insists he meet her talented and mysterious friend. A short time later, still rattled, she hands the erotic essay to Patrick, and to her delight his reaction is a dream come true, or is it?
Has Isobel bitten off more than she can chew both at work, and with the deliciously decadent Mr. Doyle? Follow Isobel through this sizzling page-turner, and find out the surprises fate has in store for her. Pick up your copy today.
SHORT, SEXY, SNIPPET
Isobel paused, lifting her eyes from the page. Heart skipping she reached for her coffee and took a large gulp. The heat was wet between her legs causing her thighs to squeeze, and she took a deep breath. Longing to read more, though almost afraid to, she dropped her eyes back to the page.
I’m sitting on the bed resting my back against the soft, brown, suede headboard. I would like to be naked so I can feel her writhe against my penis, but there is something compelling about remaining in my business suit while she is nude; this has always been a particularly pleasing habit of mine. Her soft, yielding body is laying across my lap, and I have removed my jacket, my tie is loose around my neck, the top button of my shirt is undone, and staring at her perfect backside I begin to roll up my sleeves.
This small act has stirred every woman who has gratefully succumbed to my spanking hand, and I have learned that the longer I take to fold the fabric up and over itself, the faster her breath becomes; the goosebumps that sometimes follow I consider an added bonus.
“Are you going to spank me very hard?” she whimpers turning her head to look up at me.
Her eyes are so wide, so full of need and questioning, I pause the shirt-rolling-up to smooth my palm across her glorious, full bottom.
“Hard is a relative term,” I reply. “Hard for one, isn’t so for another.”
A delightful crease draws two short vertical lines between her eyebrows as her quizzical look glows up at me.
“I don’t think so. I think hard is hard. I mean, I guess there is some relativity about it, but if you spanked me until I was wriggling a lot, that would be hard.”
I am so taken by the earnestness of her answer and its obvious flaw, I break into a smile.
“If I were to use wriggling as a judge, I could be manipulated. I certainly can’t allow that.”
BARNES AND NOBLE