Saturday, June 2, 2012

Last Request by author Arlene Webb

Sci-fi, paranormal, suspense, indefinable, Arlene Webb is an author who adds sweet and spicy layers of romance. She was born in upstate New York, land of cows, snow, drizzle and sometimes a ray of sun. Second oldest with four siblings, she spent childhood reading everything she could get her hands on. Adolescence found her questioning the validity of everything she read, along with acquiring the usual scars of high school.

Early twenties, she headed for the Pacific. A stop off to visit a friend turned into years in Tucson, Arizona. Arlene worked as a waitress, bartender, greenhouse worker, greyhound trainer, while swapping a psych major for one in plant sciences at the University of Arizona. Fired for skipping employee meetings at restaurants, employee gambling at the dogtracks, refusing to use live rabbits as bait, it fell to planting cacti and bartending to pay her way through college.

Arlene’s late twenties found her running family owned greenhouses and florist shops in New York. When the reality of retail life became too mundane to handle, she began an obsessive love of creating more interesting worlds.

Last Request is part of Decadent Publishing's one night stand series and is scheduled to be released on April 27th.
Secrets: Joan not only knows how to keep them, she hoards information. After all, blurting truths could prolong life and that’s not something she’s willing to allow.
As a renowned journalist, exposing lies is Wesley’s job, but being honest extends to revealing his own agenda as well. He admits on the application he’s been asked to write a story kicking up any dirt he can on Madam Evangeline’s dating service.
Desires: Joan has a reputation to uphold. Labeled a promiscuous monster, authorities shouldn’t be surprised her offer to finally tell them where the skeletons are comes at a price. One date, one night, one final fling.
Wesley doesn’t need one date, one night, a simple fling. Women eyeball him all the time. He knows some hookup service can’t find him his heart’s desire, a sweetheart to cherish for a long and committed lifespan, but he won’t make it a slam-dunk for them by saying otherwise.
Warning Notice: If secrets stay buried, desire is feared instead of embraced, electricity will flow and not in a good way.

Idiot. Way to console the condemned woman. “Right. You’re my wife.” He reached, took a hold of her sash and untied it. “And I am your husband.”
Her breath hitched as he jerked his belt loose and shrugged his arms free. Her gaze dropped as his dick reared out. He wadded up blue material, flung the garment, and turned back to her. She stared at him, his cock, and if he didn’t have a respectable amount of inches waving hello, pre-cum dripping, he’d be concerned. Except, maybe he should be. Was that fear in her eyes?
“Sweetheart, you sure about this?” More important, how sure was he that a trial of Joan Bennett’s peers had either been tampered with or composed of gutless sheep, pressured to put an end to the clamor for justice? Maybe Madame Eve held a voodoo doll of him in her hand right then.
Right. Blame about to have sex with a killer on anyone or anything but the dick that held him by the aching balls.
Joan’s tremulous murmur pushed him to focus. “Can I…touch you…taste you?” she asked.
Oh God, oh God, oh, hell yes. He carefully dropped his fingers to caress her stomach. “Not yet, baby. I’ve been primed and loaded since the moment I saw you. If you do that, I won’t last a second.” Her chest didn’t move, her lungs frozen as he slipped his hands under her robe and spread the material aside.
She stared at him, her eyes shining. “I want you to be fast. Like I’m your wife, remember?”
He smiled. “Yes, dear. You’re telling me you have a headache?” He eased his knee to position himself over her. Her chest heaved, she squirmed toward him and he clasped breasts that felt tailor made, perfect size for his hands.
“Headache?” she gasped.
“Teasing, but really? No fondling, no savoring, no—”
“No more waiting,” she whispered. “Please. Hard and fast.”
Wesley lowered himself, propped on his elbow and took her mouth with his. He swallowed her moan, and rubbed her nipple. It became pebble hard beneath his thumb and it was his turn to moan.
Thank you!
Arlene Webb

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