He’s a six pack. She’s fine champagne.
He’s the race track. She’s the theatre.
Madge Everson, a committed commitment-phobe has an elaborate series of rules and regulations around dating, all designed to keep Mr. Right far, far away. But she didn’t bank on Jacques de Villiers, a supposed playboy who keeps her on her toes, negotiating her emotional barbed wire. Just when she thought it was safe to trust again, she finds out that he has an ex in his closet…not only a woman she knows but a woman she strives to be.
Releases 31 July - Christmas in July!
This is Charlie’s sister’s book. (Yes, this was a looooong time coming).
Once upon a time, I wrote up a vision of my wedding day. It’s still there in my dreamcatcher journal and still sounds like exactly the kind of wedding I’d like to have one day. (There were two pointers to the guy that I remember squinting at as I wrote…let’s see what happens.)
What does this have to do with ROSA’s fabulous new anthology, Wedding Season, releasing July 18? Plenty. I’m not a big believer of marriage. I’ve seen far too many implode, and even more than that hang on in some sort of grim desperation for kids/money/one to die (yes, someone said that). I’ve seen far too many weddings as well where it was apparent from before they even said ‘I do’ that they really should have broken up after one month of solid shagging. But, they didn’t and all the flowers, fine food and photos couldn’t make up for the nothing of a relationship that was ‘joined together’.
Yet, there are the exceptions to this – I wrote Priest for them.
These are couples who are happy together many decades later, whether they were high school sweethearts, second time arounders or blind dates set up by work colleagues. They were the enemies to lovers, the friends to lovers, the opposites attracting, and the how-the-hell-did-that-happen’ers. They’re a team, a port in the storm, a safe haven. As my wise friend, Mandy, said, “Some folks get married and start to chip chip away at each other, when in actual fact, they should be building each other up.” That’s what I’d like to think about Max and Billy…if they can even make it to the altar.
Be sure to pre-order Wedding Season here.
I wrote this book because I was getting tired of dating. Wouldn’t it be so much easier to have a robot who could do all the heavy lifting? Well, yes, possibly, but then where’s the humanity in that? But, this also got me to thinking, if there was a companion robot (and it looks like we’re really close to this being a reality, so it’s not sci-fi anymore), what would that robot be like? Good looking and ripped, sure, but what about the other traits?
Around this time, there were heaps and heaps of articles on classic Alpha-hole traits and how these can rapidly turn toxic. So, the protective man coupled with insecurity quickly becomes the obsessive jealous man. What was once seen as ‘adorable’ is now terrifying. And sometimes it’s really difficult to tell if your man has that ‘flipswitch’.
Marry these two ideas together, and add in an adventuring hero who has all the commitment phone traits you’ve come to love and expect from a romance hero, and The Romeo Prototype was born.
You can download a copy here.
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And I listened. Want to know what happens next to Billy and Max? Their follow-up arrives July 2019 (summer wedding, perhaps?)
#contemporary romance #erotica #eroticromance
What Goodreads' readers have said:
"Dance of Desire is sexier than any tango”
"Once again, Jefferies delivers a super sexy piece of art.”
"This deliciously intense read might be short, but it was super sexy, and delivered on both story and emotion."
A reminder - this is a short story, not a novella, and not a novel! Pre-order now here.
The dreams stopped when I slept next to him. Nothing - only silent blank spaces. No words. No monsters. Funny really, now that I think of it. My monsters were chained, tamed, even. But it was his that billowed smoke and ripped us apart in the dark. Stealthy. Deadly.
I’m supposed to be writing something light, fun and bubbly for a summer anthology, and that’s what I started out with instead. It’s difficult to find the warmth in pain.
Yeah, I think Miley gets it. On repeat repeat repeat
When headstrong state prosecutor, Sarah Ratchett, gets a glimpse of opposing attorney, Warwick Findlay-Brown, on the dance floor, she is surprisingly tempted to follow his lead. He's dominant, in charge, and she longs to surrender. Her nemesis in the courtroom can't be the man she's been waiting for...or can he?
#erotica #eroticaromance #contemporaryromance #tango #wildrosepress #shortstory
The big upset of the Golden Globes was Bohemian Rhapsody’s win, snatching it from front-runner A Star is Born.
I wasn’t surprised.
Bohemian Rhapsody is actually a pretty shite film. It’s so obviously someone’s version of what happened and not what did, in fact, happen. There was drama in getting it made, controversy dogging its every move, and critics hated it. A Star is Born is way better in many respects.
But, it didn’t have him.
Freddie Mercury. On. The. Big. Screen. Or rather Rami Malek as Freddie (and it’s so damn close it could almost be.)
The man is a legend. And has tons of fans. Who cares that the film bobbled along on well-worn biopic tracks? Who cares that big chunks were left out? Or that canned drama took the place of character development (sorry, John Deacon, but you are clearly awesome and all anyone can say is that you were played by the kid from Jurassic Park).
Watching Bohemian Rhapsody, we get a little closer to his and their ‘kind of magic'.
I know a lot of people comment that there’s an irrational amount of grief for superstars we never knew. What aboutery abounds.
I remember when Freddie died. It was the same day our Grade 11 marks were returned. I sat sulking, waiting for my cue as a shepherd in the nativity play rehearsal. Rain clouds threatened and all I could think was that my life was over as I’d ploughed Afrikaans, again. And then, the shattering news arrived. Freddie. Gone.
We used to sing Flash Gordon in the lounge to my dad’s tape. The Innuendo album played on repeat when we were racing yachts just outside Durban harbour. Whenever I felt shite about my expanding arse, I’d turn to my personal feel-good anthem, Fat-Bottomed Girls.
Queen sang to me, bolstered me up, made me feel I could be a ‘Prince of the Universe’. An ally. A friend. An icon.
This year hasn’t started well for me. My heart is broken. My dreams in tatters. I have no idea what this year will bring and I hope for kindness, but somehow, that’s not always what will transpire.
I cannot think of a better song, from a band and a man who fill me with such inspiration I can barely breathe.
Hope 2019 is good to you.