Authors: Lise Horton
Words of Lust
Words of Lust
By Lise Horton
Serafina Luca, straitlaced Manhattan professor of erotic literature, isn’t one to blush at a few raunchy words, but her experience in the bedroom is hardly bestseller material. She’s not sure the passion in the books she teaches is possible in real life, let alone for her. But then she meets Nick Stellato.
The construction foreman may look like a guy’s guy, but he knows how to treat a woman. One look at Serafina’s luscious figure, and he wants to prove it to her. One dinner date and their sizzling chemistry is undeniable. Soon, it’s the professor getting a lesson or two...and Nick is a willing teacher. What surprises him is how much he enjoys the time he spends with Serafina
outside
the bedroom—and how easily he can imagine a future together.
Before long, Serafina is falling hard for Nick, too. But how can a timid academic with virtually no past fulfill his dreams of an adventurous future?
88,000 words
Dear Reader,
Usually I begin these letters with some chatty information, but I’m departing from my norm this time to give you the opportunity to talk to me. At Carina, we’re always discussing our books and making sure we’re meeting your needs—not just with story and content, but also in the way they’re put together. This month, I’d like to reach out to you and ask your opinion on how the Carina Press books utilize the front and back matter. Do you like having the dear reader letter in the front? Would you prefer if it were in the back? Is there something more—excerpts, book lists or other information—we could be providing after the books? We welcome your comments and hope you will reach out to us with your thoughts at
[email protected]
.
In the meantime, it’s business as usual here at Carina Press headquarters, and that means a lineup of excellent books (no bias here!) for the month of September. We welcome author Jael Wye to Carina Press with her science-fiction fairy-tale retelling,
Ice Red
, in which the tale of Snow White plays out on the deadly and beautiful planet Mars 300 years in the future. Joining her in launching a new series is return author Nico Rosso, who grabbed my attention the first time he pitched this series to me as “demon rock stars.” Misty is thrown into rock star and immortal demon Trevor Sand’s supernatural world of music, monsters and passion in
Heavy Metal Heart.
More unique voices this month include urban fantasy author R.L. Naquin’s newest Monster Haven novel,
Fairies in My Fireplace
, as well as
Agamemnon Frost and the Hollow Ships
, book two of Kim Knox’s male/male science-fiction trilogy.
Sandy James wraps up her Alliance of the Amazons series with
The Volatile Amazon.
The Water Amazon leads the Alliance as they face their archenemy in their last and greatest fight. Veronica Scott joins Sandy in the paranormal category with Egypt-set
Warrior of the Nile.
We have multiple releases in the erotic romance genre this month, including
Love Letters Volume 5:
Exposed
, in which the Love Letters ladies strip away everything but the hot truth, and four couples see each other in a tantalizingly revealing new light.
Forbidden Obsessions
by Jodie Griffin features Bondage & Breakfast owner Gabe McConnell, who finally gets his chance at love when he meets a novice submissive who touches a part of his dominant heart no one else ever has. In Lynda Aicher’s
Bonds of Hope
, former America’s sweetheart Quinn Andrews has an opportunity to revive her career by playing a sexual submissive in a highly anticipated new TV series. Quinn is ready to throw herself into the role, and sex club The Den is the ideal place for a crash course.
Also in the erotic romance genre, we’re pleased to welcome author Lise Horton to Carina Press with
Words of Lust.
A career spent teaching erotic literature does not prepare brainy Professor Serafina Luca for NYC construction foreman Nick Stellato, but his lessons in lust promise to fulfill her wickedest desires, and his promise of love, her wildest dreams.
For historical romance fans, Alyssa Everett offers up
A
Tryst with Trouble.
The arrogant heir to a dukedom and a blunt-spoken spinster take an instant dislike to each other, but must join forces to solve a murder mystery in this clever regency romp.
Kaylea Cross returns with another edge-of-your-seat romantic suspense novel,
Lethal Pursuit.
An air force pararescue jumper and a female security forces officer are locked in an intense battle of wills, but when they’re captured by an enemy warlord, it takes everything they have to survive and fight their way back to friendly lines together. Check out the other books in this series,
Deadly Descent
and
Tactical Strike.
We’re excited to present
Corroded
, the next book in Karina Cooper’s St. Croix Chronicles. Now fixated on revenge, bounty hunter Cherry St. Croix must bend all her intellect on catching a murderer—no matter whose help she must ask, and to whose demand she must submit.
Last, I’m thrilled to announce the release of three debut authors this month. Rebecca Crowley’s contemporary sports romance,
The Striker’s Chance
, gives us passion on and off the pitch when ambitious PR manager Holly Taylor has to revamp the playboy image of sexy, stubborn professional soccer player Kepler de Klerk. Michelle Witvliet breaks onto the romantic suspense scene with
Breaking Protocol.
She can’t let go of a tragic past; he faces an uncertain future; so they live in the moment and discover all they really need is each other. And in our new adult lineup, debut author Melissa Guinn offers a new adult romance novel about first love, second chances and learning to let go in
Headfirst Falling.
I hope you enjoy this month’s releases as much as we have, and find them satisfying, remarkable and memorable!
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to
[email protected]
. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
www.twitter.com/carinapress
www.facebook.com/carinapress
Dedication
In memory of my hero, mentor, muse and beloved friend, Milton T. Burton, storyteller extraordinaire.
Miss you, big man.
And for Mom.
You and me against the world.
Acknowledgments
This is my first published novel and there are many people in my life who helped me get here, and who have my thanks. Several, however, deserve a solo bow. My friend and fellow author, Lisbeth Eng. From my inspiring day job at Frankfurt Kurnit Klein & Selz, to lawyers Lisa Davis, Mark Merriman, Amy Nickin, Maggie Pisacane, Tom Selz and Jean Ward, my thanks for their enthusiastic support, and especially to Richard Hofstetter for his unflagging encouragement.
I must also give a special shout-out to the group of current and former FKKS attorneys whom I call My Benefactors. They gave me the gift of a laptop and a vote of confidence in my dream. My thanks to Tim Craig, Salil Gandhi, Ben MacLean, Drew Patrick, and my love to the incomparable Victoria Cook.
And to my Carina Press editor, Alissa Davis, who championed my diamond in the rough and helped me make it shine.
“...I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.”
—James Joyce
Ulysses
Contents
Chapter One
“Woo-hoo, baby!”
“Come to Papa, hot mama!”
“I got something big and hard for you, sweet cheeks!”
Serafina Luca fumed as she marched stoically past the line of construction workers. It was unfortunate her morning timetable required her to leave her building just as the laborers were taking their break. They sat around on the temporary barricades, stuffing egg sandwiches or doughnuts into their mouths, washing down the food with coffee, sodas or Red Bull.
She stared straight ahead, ignoring the rude bellows, and hefted her perpetually overloaded leather satchel higher on her shoulder.
“Nice legs!”
“If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?”
They weren’t even imaginative in their misogynistic catcalls. She’d have given them points for originality if they hadn’t just rolled out the same old drivel she’d been listening to for months.
It hadn’t been quite so bad during the blustery winter months. By then they’d completed the exterior of the building, and were at work on the interior, so the men had stayed inside during breaks to keep out of the wind. She’d bundled up with her hat down low over her face and barreled past any of them who happened to be braving the weather for a smoke. With the April weather bursting out all over, they’d emerged. The Big Apple was basking in the moderate temps and she’d pulled on a deliciously light dress. Now she found herself longing for pants and an overcoat as the men leered. It was an ugly feeling to be objectified.
One of the men heaved to his feet and thrust himself into her path. The protective barricades around the sidewalk, coupled with the width of the man’s beefy frame, effectively cut off any escape. She dispensed with any idea of turning and retreating back up the block. She lifted her chin, her expression studiously chilly, and looked up at him.
“Excuse me.”
“Ooh, don’t you just talk pretty. But I like my girls talking nasty to me—that gets me going. How ’bout you say something nice and dirty? Tell me how you like it, huh? You like it nasty, I bet. All you fancy ladies like it nasty.”
He moved closer. It seemed he wasn’t a fan of mouthwash. Or deodorant. He loomed over her and fear took hold. There was no one as far as she could see. Her early class started at eight a.m. and now at seven-thirty, her neighborhood was still deserted. Worse, the entire block between 50th and 51st Streets had been gutted for the construction, so there were none of the typically crowded delis or coffee shops in the area. She took a small step back as he came closer. The man’s nostrils flared and he looked more like a predator by the minute.
He reached out and took hold of the strap of her bag, giving it a yank.
“Watcha got in here, lady?” She clutched her bag and fought back the lump of fear in her throat. She looked at the other men. Some seemed disconcerted, but none appeared willing to stand up to the guy.
“Hey, Boxer, you asshole! Back the fuck off.”
She blinked as her harasser was pulled backward by a guy even bigger than he was.
“What the fuck?” Boxer turned, an expression of incredulous fury on his face. When he caught sight of the man who had grabbed him, however, his face fell into a mask of angry belligerence.
Freed from his meaty grasp, she took a step backward and turned to look at the worker who had intervened. He was red with rage and so powerful he actually managed to shake the behemoth who’d accosted her.
“Boxer, that’s it. I told you last time, harass one more woman, you’re out. And I can smell the beer on you and that’s an automatic firing offense. So you’ve screwed the pooch coming and going and that’s it.”
“You can’t fucking fire me! I’ll call the union.”
“I’ve already reported you half a dozen times to your union rep and trust me, buddy, he’s not in your corner. Drunk on the job is a safety issue and the mayor’ll ream any operation that has an accident. After those crane accidents a few years ago, he’s doing exactly the right thing. So you got a complaint, talk to him. See if he wants to have a sexual harassment lawsuit on his hands while you’re at it.” He shoved the guy away. “Get your gear and leave the site. Or I’ll have the cops remove you.” He turned his back on the guy, who looked ready to blow. A few of the other workers stood and looked at him coldly, which seemed to decide him. With another curse and stomping indignantly, he went into the building and out of sight.
Her rescuer turned to one of the biggest workers. “Bob, go with him. Make sure he doesn’t fuck with anything before he leaves. If he gives you any trouble, beep me and I’ll call the cops. I am so sick of that dumb ass.”
Then he turned and looked down at her with a dark, intense expression.
Her knees wobbled. No longer from fear but from an electric awareness that caught her completely off guard.
“Are you okay? I know it’s not much, but I’m sorry for Boxer. He’s a jerk, and he’s gone. Best I can do.”
“I appreciate you stepping in, but may I ask why someone like him still has his job? He wasn’t just harassing me—he’s obviously dangerous. I live in this neighborhood and I’ve spent months with all of these men harassing me.” She waved her hand at the line of workers, who had the decency to look abashed. Her annoyance growing, she addressed them. “Would you want your sisters, girlfriends, mothers subjected to this sort of harassment? What would you do if your daughter came home and said some guy wanted to give her something big and hard?” The guy who’d made the remark turned beet red and looked at the ground. She turned back to her rescuer and was surprised to see him fighting a grin.
“This isn’t funny.”
“I’m not laughing at you, lady, I’m laughing at them.” He waved his hand at his men. “Guys, how about you apologize to the lady?” There was a mumbled chorus of “sorry” and then he took her by the arm. “Walking to the subway? I’ll be your escort.”
She didn’t seem to have a choice, but was pleasantly surprised when he grabbed her satchel and slung it over his own broad and heavily muscled shoulder. He had an obviously legitimate air of authority and walked slowly to accommodate her shorter steps. Her head only came up to the middle of his chest and he was the kind of devilish, compelling man who featured prominently in her fantasies. The sort who made a woman completely aware of her femininity. He could have slung her over his shoulder and walked just as easily down the street.
“Really, I’m sorry about the guys. I don’t know what the point is. It’s not like some lady ever runs up and begs them to jump her bones. But boys will be boys.”
“That’s a sorry excuse, and you know it. I don’t expect someone like you to understand what it’s like to be tormented day in and day out, treated like a side of beef.”
He sighed, and nodded. “Point taken. But what do you mean, ‘someone like you’? Because I’m a guy?”
“Because you are a massively tall, powerful, intimidating guy whom I suspect has never had to back down in a fight.”
“You’re right there—at least not since I was five.”
“So feeling powerless isn’t an emotion you experience often. But every morning I get the same hassle and I have to wonder, and be a little afraid, if one day it’s going to get out of hand. Today it almost did. If you hadn’t been there, I’m not sure what might have happened.”
“The other guys would have stopped him.”
“I disagree. None of them stepped in.” She came to a stop at the entrance to the E train. “Look, I have to get to class. I’m already going to be late. But thank you for intervening.”
“Intervening?” He grinned down at her. “Fancy word. Let me guess, you’re a teacher.”
“Professor. Wharton College.”
“So what do you teach, Professor?”
“Literature. Fiction and poetry.” She took her satchel and settled it over her shoulder. “Thank you for what you did.” She smiled. It was nice to have a defender for a change. And a gentleman at that. “I’m sorry I have to rush. You were very kind, but I need to catch a train.”
“Wait.” He grabbed her by the arm. “Do you have a card or something? I’ll let you know what happens to Boxer. I’m pressing charges against him with the union this time.”
“I don’t really care what happens to him as long as I never see him again.” But she fished in her purse and pulled out a card. It only had her name, a phone number and an email address on it, so it wasn’t as if he’d be able to find her apartment and stalk her or anything.
“Great. Look—I’m really sorry about my guy.” He touched her shoulder gently with one large hand. His smile was warm as he leaned a bit closer. “You’re okay, right?” His low, intimate tone left her a bit breathless.
“I’m fine. Just late. Goodbye and thank you again.”
She hurried down the steps, hearing the squeal of the train pulling into the station, his faint “you’re welcome” barely audible as she rushed through the turnstile, leaped onto the train as the doors closed, then settled into a vacant seat with a sigh.
She put her hand on her rapidly beating heart and smiled. Tonight her dreams might well include a knight in shining armor. Or out of it.
* * *
Nick Stellato left the locked-down site after six. Despite how warm the day had been, it was still only mid-April and the sun had disappeared behind the buildings, leaving it colder and darker, and he sighed with exhaustion. Stupid Boxer, with his bullshit behavior, had kept him on the phone with the union all afternoon. The rep had sworn up and down Boxer had too many strikes against him, from job after job, and would undoubtedly lose his union card. He hoped the guy wasn’t making nice to save himself some aggravation. Meanwhile, Boxer’s buddy had been a pain all afternoon, muttering and trying to stir up trouble. Fortunately, most of the guys were sick of the both of them and hadn’t played along.
He pulled on a sweatshirt as he headed away from the site, glancing at his watch. He was too late to get home to his parents’ for dinner—if you were late, better not come at all was his mom’s golden rule, so he figured he’d stop at D’Agostino’s and pick up a steak or something. He needed a nice cold beer or three, too. There was probably something on TV, and one quiet night at home wouldn’t kill him.
In the end, though, he spent way too much time thinking about The Professor, as he’d started thinking of her as he’d watched her hurry down into the subway, all that gorgeous flesh moving real nice under the silky dress she was wearing. Something to be thankful for when it came to early springtime, for sure. She’d had a snooty expression in the beginning, but after he’d apologized for Boxer, she’d lightened up. And then she smiled and man, oh man, his dick saluted like she was a four-star general. A walking, talking green-eyed wet dream.
Who’d have thunk it? A big lug like him, hard as cement over an egghead college professor. He loved reading, but she wasn’t teaching crime fiction and the only poems he knew usually started something like “There was a girl from Nantucket.” But even if she was out of his league in the book department, they’d had a serious spark. When you got down to basics, attraction was about a man and a woman. The rest wouldn’t matter. And he’d liked the way she looked right at him, and the way she smiled. He wanted to see her relaxed and laughing, enjoying herself, and he’d love to be the man who got her to let her hair down. He thought about her all night long, as he flipped from Spike to the History Channel and surfed until he was bored, then shut off the set. He couldn’t get the memory of her out of his mind and when he’d finished his second beer, he dug out her card. It was plain white with her name, Professor Serafina Luca, a phone number and an email address. He called but got her voicemail, so he left a message saying he’d like to make it up to her for that morning’s altercation and apologize again by taking her out to dinner. Not very original, but a guy had to start somewhere.
A hot shower helped ease the knots from his shoulders and back, but he should have taken a cold one to take the steel out of his dick. He closed his eyes and recalled images of her round ass and those world-class breasts, envisioning her incredible mouth wide open. He fisted his soap-slick palm around his cock and began to stroke himself. She had the kind of lush lips he loved to kiss hard, feel against his skin, the kind that looked amazing around his dick. Sucking and licking, while he held on to her head, guiding her to take him deeper and deeper down her willing throat. He imagined the suction from a hot mouth, the humming moan as he thrust harder. She’d be kneeling at his feet, the water streaming over her luscious breasts, and down across her stomach and pussy, the curling hair sparkling with drops of water. And her own juices as she got wetter and wetter for him. She’d flick her little tongue and he’d come, hard and fast, and she’d swallow it all while she stared up at him, those big green eyes begging for everything he’d give her. He tightened his grip and gave a few short, hard jerks and shot his load across the shower. It felt damn good, but real satisfaction would require Serafina Luca’s presence. In the flesh. The gorgeous, sweet, round flesh.
The aggravation of the day had worn him out, but he wasn’t ready to hit the sack yet, so he sat down at the computer and Googled the good professor and Wharton College. Figured a little reconnaissance wouldn’t hurt his cause if she actually agreed to go out with him. Then maybe he could hit the bookstore and buy a couple of the books the site mentioned were part of her curriculum so they’d have something to talk about. Maybe he could impress her.
Like his baby sister Gia said—you had to have goals.
Professor Serafina Luca was listed as a newly tenured professor in the English Department. Wharton College—named after “Manhattan’s own female literary icon, Edith Wharton”—was some super-small private college on the Upper East Side. Lots of pictures of artsy-looking girls on the streets around the old buildings that apparently made up a kind of patchwork campus. Certainly no Columbia, but it looked nice to him. He’d taken all his courses at City College but hadn’t done anything with his bachelor’s degree afterward because all he really wanted to do was work with his hands. It had made his mom and pop proud, though, so it was worth it. And a bachelor’s in architecture made an impressive addition to his resume, and had helped him get the supervisor slot with Hocking & Delouise.