Oh, You're One of Those People

“Oh, you’re one of those people.” I hear this phrase so often. Not just because of one passion, but because of two passions.

First, I’m an erotic romance writer. I love writing hot sexy paranormal romances. It’s been my passion for the past ten years. But sometimes when I explain what I write, I get that look. If you’re an erotic author, you know what I mean. It’s the “Oh, you’re one of those people” looks.

But the other reason people refer to me as “one of those people” is because I’m a dog person. You know the kind of person I’m talking about, don’t you? No? Then let me explain.

As a child, I had six dogs. In the middle of a major city. In a very small home. Brought into our home without my parents’ prior approval. But could I help if it dogs followed me home? Especially if I just happened to have a pocketful of sandwich ham? What was I supposed to do once they’d followed me to my backyard? Let them starve or sleep out in the rain and wind? No self-respecting human would. Besides, the dogs got along great with my rooster, lizard, cat and bunny. My dad brought home a horse once—again in the middle of a major city—but that’s a story for another time.

As a teenager, my parents tried to stem my tendencies to bring home animals. During those teen years, I only had two dogs. One was a dog I’d found abandoned on the side of the road, so I had no choice but to bring her home. The other, arriving two years later, was its offspring. Two dogs wasn’t so much, was it? Of course not. But I’m not saying a word about the ten neighborhood cats I’d feed through my bedroom window, hoping Mom and Dad wouldn’t catch me.

As an adult, however, I no longer had to resort to picking up strays or luring dogs home with treats in my pocket. Now I could decide to have as many animals as I wanted. Or at least I thought so until the apartment complex owners frowned on having more than two pets in a one-bedroom apartment. So, to keep from getting rid of my furry loved ones, I asked my other loved ones (Mom and Dad) to adopt several more of my pets. Again, the dogs got along great with the five cats I’d dropped off at their home a month earlier.

Then I got married and I managed to narrow down my animal obsession to keeping only dogs. To this day, my husband won’t let me go near a pet store, contact a breeder, or even look at the cute puppies and kitties at an adoption fair. Cruel, huh? Not so much. He loves our dogs as much as I do, but the man has his limits.

So now I have only four dogs. I’d love to have more, but can’t, so I compensate by writing stories about werewolves, werebears and more. My dogs are, as I tell other authors, the best writing partners I’ve ever had. Every day they sit in my office, two of them claiming my feet as pillows and the others snoring away on the dog bed. I love them as my four additional “kids”—after my real human daughter. Three are Shih-tzus and one is a tiny poodle. But they’re all family to me.

So tell me? Are you one of those people, too?

 

Sex with a Hex

by Beverly Rae

Available from Samhain Publishing

Also available for the Kindle and the Nook

 

BLURB

Meg Tristan is spontaneous, spirited, outspoken and beautiful—and she enjoys every second of it. She can have any man she wants, with or without casting a spell. Too bad she hasn’t found one who can keep up with her non-magical sex drive, much less handle her hexual prowess.

When he’s not caring for his patients, Dr. Chance Dannigan spends his off hours getting acquainted with as many women as he can in his new town. None hold his attention—until he catches Meg’s flirtatious glance across the bar. One drink later, he’s sure he’s found the one woman who can stimulate both his heads.

Sensing a kindred spirit, he challenges Meg to a daring competition. Each must choose a random partner for the other, and the one who fails to seduce the target, loses. And to keep it honest? The opponent must witness the act.

Winning each round proves almost too easy. The ultimate challenge is figuring out how to handle their unexpected attraction to each other…and how to end the game without both of them coming out losers.

EXCERPT

For one of the few times in her life, Meg was flummoxed. He obviously wasn’t as enamored with her as she’d thought he was. But even so, she hadn’t expected him say such rude—not to mention incorrect—things about her. “Not choosy? Me? Listen, you jerk—” she stabbed a finger into the middle of his chest and enjoyed his responding move backward, “—I can have any man I want. Anytime, anywhere, any way. And I’m damned selective in who I take to my bed.”

“I’m sure you are.” Chance took a sip and looked away.

Oh, my stars and moon. Is he placating me?

“I am,” she protested, then cringed at the whine in her tone. She was off balance, disturbed and…damn it all, curious as hell.

He turned toward her again, the challenge written on his face. “Right. So, have you taken any of these guys to bed?” He tipped his head toward the crowd.

Meg scanned the people dancing, drinking and having a whole lot more fun than she was having. Yes, she’d had sex with a couple of them. Okay, more than a couple. And, she had to admit, not all of them were winners. But a girl with needs had to do what she had to do, right?

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I know a couple of them and they’re all very nice men.” Ugh, did that sound as lame as she thought it did?

“Right.”

“Will you stop saying that? What point are you trying to make, anyway?” She thought about pushing him off the seat and storming away, but knew it wouldn’t prove anything. Like a spectator drawn to a car crash, she had to see where the conversation led.

“Right. Oops, sorry. There’s that word again. My point is that you can have any man you want.” He cleared his throat, then continued, “As long as that man isn’t too much man for you.”

“Too much man?” Meg scowled, her mind reeling with confusion and disbelief. Did he mean in the bedroom? Was such a thing even possible? Especially if she used magic?

“You know. As in…out of your league.”

“Out of my league?”

“Do you always repeat what people say? Or is what I’m saying upsetting you?” His concerned expression seemed as fake as a three-dollar bill. “I’m sorry if it is, but sometimes the truth is hard to hear.”

A trickle of perspiration crawled down her spine. Had Tom turned off the air conditioning in the club? Or was Chance’s assessment of her—his so off-the-mark assessment—making her sweat? “Are you frickin’ kidding me? Hell, yeah, you’re upsetting me. But not in the way you think.”

The twinkle in his eyes beckoned to her, teasing her, thrilling her against her wishes. “Oh? Then I’m upsetting you in some other way?” His smile grew bright. “Perhaps in a more basic way?” His gaze dropped to her lips.

She sucked in a breath and fought against the sudden desire to pull his mouth to hers. In no way would she let him get the better of her. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

His smile faded, replaced by a brief moment of indecision flickering across his features. “I wouldn’t dare. But I stand by what I said. Still, I apologize. I tend to be blunt even when I shouldn’t.”

Anger, more intense than ever, flared, taking her past the edge of reason. She lost control, no longer caring about anything other than proving him wrong.

Almost as quickly as the argument had started, Chance leaned back, his voice taking on a more conciliatory tone. “Hey, I’m sorry I’ve upset you. I certainly didn’t mean to.”

Meg unclenched her hands, noticed how they shook, then fisted them again. Maybe she should cut him a little slack since he was new in town. Just this once. “Yeah, well—”

“Listen, there’s no shame in going home alone. I mean if you strike out, you strike out.”

Then again, maybe she shouldn’t. “Let’s get this straight, Doc. I never strike out. And no one is out of my league.” She threw back her shoulders and tossed her hair, ready to take the discussion to whatever length she had to. Anything to get him to admit he was wrong.

For a few blessed moments, they sat in silence. How had she ever found this guy appealing? He was one of those men who looked great on the outside but was awful on the inside. Like the mud-filled pies she used to trick her sisters with when they were kids. So why was she letting him get to her?

“You know what? Never mind. Just move over and let me out. I don’t know why I agreed to sit with you in the first place.” Meg shoved him, giving him no choice but to do as she demanded. She scooted out of the booth as fast as she could.

“Oh, I see. So you’re afraid.”

She’d already started to fast track away from him but had no alternative but to turn and face him again. “Me? Afraid? Of what?”

“Of the truth, of course. Of finding out that you can’t get any man you want.”

She stomped back to him and wagged a finger in front of his face. “Is that so? Well, what about you? Can you say the same, Mr. Sweet-Talker? Can you get a smokin’ hot woman every night? I don’t think so. Not with your mouth.”

“Well, I don’t want to brag, but I’ve never been turned down.” Chance flashed his pearly whites at her again.

“Really? Never?” She scoffed, narrowed her eyes and aimed for the jugular. “Prove it.”

“I will if you will.”

Chance leaned away from her with a confident expression that sent a shiver down her spine. Suddenly, she really was afraid. Of him? Definitely not. Afraid of having bitten off more than she could chew? Maybe.

And yet she couldn’t deny what was happening inside her. She hated it, but there it was. She was more turned on than she’d been in years. Hell, in forever.

She shook off the feeling and concentrated on studying him. He’d dared her, but was that really what he wanted? Or was he baiting her for a different reason? Still, she’d never backed down from a challenge and she wasn’t about to start now.

“You’re on, Doc.” A tickle of excitement at the idea of a competition with the handsome doctor filtered into Meg’s irritation, defraying a small part of her anger. Someone needed to bring him down a peg and she was just the woman to do it. Yet when his cat-ate-the-canary smile grew into a wide grin, she couldn’t help but think she’d gotten cornered.

“Great. Game on. Of course, we’re going to need a few rules.”

She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Of course. And why do I get the impression that you already know what those rules are?”

He lifted his drink to her in a toast. “You’re not only beautiful, but smart. And, if my judgment serves me, also very clever.”

“Well, at least your judgment isn’t always out of whack.”

He laughed, the sound drawing the attention of the few women in the room who weren’t already drooling over him. “Okay, here are the rules for our little game. I choose the men you have to bed and you choose the women I have the pleasure of seducing. The first one who fails to get the selected subject in bed loses.”

“Wait. You’re going to choose the men I take to my bed?”

Those dark, soulful eyes glittered at her, sucking her in. “And you’ll choose the women I take to mine. That’s fair, isn’t it? How else can I be satisfied that your sex partner is up to snuff and not just some pushover you’ve already slept with?”

Now he’s calling me a cheater. Meg drew in two slow breaths, resolved to maintain control. Of course, if she slipped and accidentally kicked his shin she couldn’t be held responsible, could she? Instead, she gritted her teeth, grinding out her words. “And I choose the women so you don’t slip in an old girlfriend or a partner-for-pay.”

He flattened his hand over his heart. “Would I do such a thing?”

She arched an “oh wouldn’t you?” eyebrow. “And no matter who I choose, you have to get her to have sex with you. Have I got this right?”

“You do. Of course, you’ll want to select gorgeous subjects just as I’ll choose men I consider to be not only handsome but—hmm, how should I put this?—discerning. Then, as I mentioned, the first person who fails to seduce the chosen subject loses the challenge. Simple really.”

Meg narrowed her eyes at him, unable to shake the feeling that she’d gotten trapped into his game. A game he knew all too well. Yet, from her perspective, he was the poor schmuck who didn’t know what he’d walked into. She didn’t doubt her charms, but she could always use magic—if she had to. “Okay. But one thing. What do I get when I win?”

She had to admit she liked his laugh. Even when he was laughing at her.

“You’re that sure of yourself, huh?”

“I’m sure of myself for good reason. So how about this? When I win, you have to come back to the club, climb up on top of the bar and announce to everyone that I am the sexiest woman in the world who can get any man she wants. Plus, you have to tell everyone that you’re brokenhearted—” she paused for full effect, “—because I don’t want you.”

He chuckled, giving her a taste of his compelling laugh again. “Done. And when I win, you have to cook and serve me dinner at my place. Dressed in a French maid’s uniform.”

Meg grimaced at the image. “I don’t have a maid’s uniform.”

“Then I suggest you’d better buy one.”

“Now who’s sure of himself?” But why should she worry? She had this competition all sewn up, hands down. “Never mind. I don’t have to worry about losing. Is that everything or are you planning on bringing in referees?”

His chuckle was low, throaty and as sexy as they come. “No need for refs. But there is one other condition.”

Ignoring the signals of desire her body insisted on sending her, Meg fisted her hands on her hips and put on her best evil smile. He had a trick up his sleeve, no doubt. “I should have known. What now?”

“You can’t simply say you had sex, you have to prove it.”

A wave of heat swept through her, almost melting her knees and bringing her to the floor. Down, girl. He may be hot as hell, but he threw down the gauntlet and you have no intention of losing. Remember: He’s the competition. “And how do you suggest we prove it to each other?”

“Easy. We get to watch.”



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Beverly Rae
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