Award winning romance novelist, J. P. Barnaby has penned over a dozen books including the Working Boys series, the Little Boy Lost series, In the Absence of Monsters, and Aaron. As a bisexual woman, J.P. is a proud member of the GLBT community both online and in her small town on the outskirts of Chicago. A member of Mensa, she is described as brilliant but troubled, sweet but introverted, and talented but deviant. She spends her days writing software and her nights writing erotica, which is, of course, far more interesting. The spare time that she carves out between her career and her novels is spent reading about the concept of love, which, like some of her characters, she has never quite figured out for herself.
Fans of Teaser Tuesdays know what’s going to happen here:
I’ll post a snippet from one of J.P Barnaby’s books with the character names asterisked out.
Your mission is to guess which of J.P.’s books the excerpt comes from! Email your answer to me, zamaxfield (at) zamaxfield DOT com. Please be sure to put “Teaser Tuesday” in the subject line! I’ll draw a random winner each week. Winner gets an ebook. It’s that simple! Come play along…
HERE’s the snippet:
“Do you know what one of the best parts of sex is?” I asked him as I traced his lips with a finger. He looked at me, waiting. “Anticipation.” Leaning in, I let my lips just touch his chin, our breath mingling with no space between us. “I want you desperate and begging for me.” He surged forward, covering my lips with his, and moaned into my mouth before he pulled away.
“Too fucking late,” he said, with an implied ‘I’m already desperate’ almost too quietly for me to hear.
“I promise, it will be worth it,” I told him as I took his hand in mine and pulled him off the couch. It didn’t take much effort because he and I were about evenly matched in the size department. He might have had an inch and maybe twenty pounds on me, but we both had dancer builds—slender, wiry, and compact.
“Where are we going?” he asked, looking hopeful when we had to go toward the bedroom on the way to the front door.
“But I’ve already… I…” **** stammered, but seemed completely unable to finish the sentence, so I took pity and helped him out. After all, I wanted him to feel comfortable. It was all part of the service—and I have excellent customer service skills.
He nodded, his face passing pink all together and teetering right on the edge of red.
“Me, too. We can have salads, but I have to know how someone who seems to have more money than God and the looks to match can be so shy,” I said and did the slap tag to make sure I had my wallet and phone. **** did the same, smiling to himself, and when he passed to go out the hotel room door, I checked out his ass.
God damn, I love my job.