G'day, ,

If you're here because you downloaded the Valentine's Day anthology, HUSH, welcome, and thank you for choosing to stay connected. I'm so happy that you're here.

How was your Valentine's Day?

I know not everyone celebrates, but I am a romance author, and my hubby and I always like to do something together on Valentine's. This year, we decided to try a new Indian vegetarian restaurant that opened nearby. Now my hubby is Burmese, so we eat curry quite regularly, and while I'm not a fan of spicy, spicy, I do enjoy a mild to medium heat.

We didn't quite know what to order, so we asked the waitperson to help us, and she recommended the mildest dish for me. Well ... it WASN'T mild! 🤣 My mouth felt like I was eating lava! It reminded me of the time when my hubby cooked me a hot Vindaloo to try to impress me when we first started dating.

And to add to my humiliation, all the young children in the restaurant were happily eating the same meal I had. I was in awe of their ability to devour such spicy food even though I was highly embarrassed. 🤣

Speaking of Valentine's Day, did you grab HUSH yet? Featuring thirteen brand-new short stories about secrets AND Valentine's Day, it's a perfect read for February (the month of love). It won't be around forever, so grab it while you can.

Grab it here: https://BookHip.com/HMTBASR

** By downloading a copy, you are agreeing to sign up for each participating author's regular newsletter. **

IF you've already grabbed your copy and read my story, Loving Winter, I hope you enjoyed meeting Donovan and Amelia. And if you did, have you grabbed the Bonus Epilogue I ALWAYS include at the end of my stories?

If you missed it, you can read it here:

https://debrastjamesbooks.com/loving-winter-bonus-epilogue/

I'm so close to finishing the first draft of my novella for The Trouble with Bad Boys Anthology releasing in June, and to celebrate, I thought I'd share a little with you. Of course, this is unedited and subject to change and as usual, please don't share it anywhere else.

1 Sophie

I bounce into the kitchen, kiss Dad on his bristly cheek, and grab a green apple from the fruit bowl. Without looking up from his newspaper, he smiles as I take a noisy bite of the crunchy fruit. “What are you up to today, Soph?”

“I have a job interview.” Butterflies erupt in my stomach when I say the words. This could be the beginning of my dream come true.

His eyebrows rise and he drops the paper to the table. “Whereabouts?”

I swallow. “Fine Line Art Studio.” I try to put on an air of nonchalance and take another bite of my apple as I wait for him to forbid me from going.

He rolls back from the table with a proud smile and then pushes himself toward me. “Well, I wish you luck. It’ll be fantastic to see you putting your art degree to good use.”

I blow out a relieved breath and carry James’s breakfast dishes to the sink. I don’t know how many times I’ve asked that kid to clean up after himself. “Thanks, Dad. I’m a little nervous.” Obviously, he doesn’t realize what type of studio it is—a small blessing.

His bushy brows dip. “Why on earth are you nervous? You graduated top of your fine arts class. Any art studio would be lucky to have you. You’ve been wasting your talent working as a receptionist at On the Fringe.” I know, but at least Marina gave me a job even though I had no clue about hairdressing.

My heart expands with his praise. “Thanks, Dad. You’re the best.” I lean down and wrap my arms around his shoulders. “Anyway, I’d better get going.” I grab my portfolio and my backpack, tossing it over my shoulder.

“Good luck!” he calls as I close the front door behind me.

With giddiness erupting in my stomach, I skip down the ramp, throw my stuff onto the passenger seat, and climb behind the wheel of my car. Taking deep breaths to calm my racing heart, I put my car in drive and head for the city, blasting my favorite playlist to distract myself from my impending interview at one of the best tattoo shops in the city. I want this job with a desperation I haven’t felt in a long time. Art is my passion and pieces of my soul have been slowly crumbling away with every phone I answer and hair appointment I book at the salon.

I pull into the parking lot down the road from Fine Line and grab my stuff before locking my car. Walking into the mall, I head straight for the bathroom and step into an empty stall. Dragging my ripped jeans out of my backpack, I slide my feet out of my ballet flats, and replace my A-line skirt, then strip out of my button-up sweater and cotton blouse and push my arms into my black silk shirt, tying it to show a sliver of my stomach. I shove my feet into my purple Converse high tops, then mess around with my dark hair, adding volume and making the waves look messy and unkempt. Once I’m happy with that, I add kohl around my eyes and a red stain to my lips. I carefully pack everything back into my bag to ensure it’s not creased because I’ll have to change back into them before I go home.

When I look at myself in the mirror, I almost don’t recognize myself. It’s been a long time since I dressed like this. Almost nine years if I’m counting. Nine years ago I tucked my true self away after getting pregnant to my high school boyfriend and disappointing my father. I became the straight-laced, well-behaved daughter he deserved and have worked my ass off to be the best mom I can be. I never wanted to see that look on my father’s face again and I promised myself I would always toe the line and make better choices. When I applied for this job, I worried that if I were to be successful in the interview I would disappoint my father again but I’m struggling to suppress the real me; I feel like my soul is dying little by little. My church-going father frowns upon people who have tattoos, judging them harshly based on the art they have adorning their bodies. I, on the other hand, adore tattoos. I love how individual they are and the stories they tell. How the gorgeous designs shift and change as the muscle moves beneath the flesh.

I suck in a long breath and blow it out slowly, then head back to my car to dump my backpack and grab my portfolio.

Here goes nothing.

I walk down the sidewalk with confident steps—fake it ’til you make it, right?—and pass a tall guy, like probably more than a foot taller than me leaning against the red brick wall while he talks on his phone. Large windows next to him give me a view of the shop and I pause to take a look. My lips tip up with approval. I’ve seen some dingy tattoo places but this one is classy; all clean lines, modern design, and soft edges created by greenery.

The deep timbre of the guy’s voice causes a shiver to run down my spine and has me glancing toward him. His dark curly hair has fallen forward, shielding him from my view, but I can see enough to know he has just the right amount of facial scruff. He’s dressed in black from his combat boots to the black T-shirt stretched across his broad chest, leaving his arms exposed, one of which is covered with a tattoo. Stepping around him, I open the door to the studio and walk inside, breathing deeply and working to maintain an air of confidence. I stop at the counter and readjust my portfolio tucked beneath my arm.

“Linc will be with you in a sec.” I spin in the direction of the voice and come face to face with a bald man sporting a beard that could rival Santa’s. “Take a seat, doll.” He winks at me, then drops his head to focus on the ass he’s tattooing. One cheek is rather hairy, so I’m assuming he had to shave the one he’s working on. I shudder a little on the inside. But I’ll have to take the good with the bad, right? I’ll finally be using my art daily and people will be inked forever with my designs. I can put up with a dude’s hairy ass now and then.

The guy who was on the phone outside storms in through the door, banging it loudly behind him. Anger and frustration radiate from him as he passes, making the air around me vibrate. His mood matches the color of his clothes and I wonder if it was the phone call that upset him or if he’s always an angry storm.

“Hey, Linc. Can you help our visitor?” The older tattoo artist calls out. Linc glares at me over his shoulder with a furrowed brow and I sit up straighter, holding my portfolio tightly in my lap like a shield.

Linc—Lincoln.

He’s the boss.

He’s the one I’ve been dealing with via email.

The one I’m here to see.

I swallow past the lump in my throat and try to fight my nerves. He seemed so … easy going over email but there’s nothing easy going about him in person. He’s downright intimidating. Damn it. I don’t know if I can do this.

C’mon Soph. This is your dream job. You can do this. He’s probably a soft teddy bear beneath all that angry energy, black fabric, and heavy boots.

Lincoln steps through a doorway and disappears from my sight and I collapse against the back of the green velvet-covered couch, blowing out a harsh breath. I don’t understand how his mood seemed to follow him through the place like a wave cresting and crashing on the shore. There was a violence about him that was impossible to miss and I frown at my lap as I consider the possibility of working alongside someone with so much negative energy.

Maybe he’s just having a bad day.

“Don’t worry, doll. He’s mostly all bark,” the older guy calls across to me.

I try to smile and laugh at his obvious attempt at a joke, but I don’t think I pull it off.

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The trouble with bad boys...

They're not the forever type, but the chemistry is too intense to ignore. Their touch sets you on fire. Their kiss makes you crave more. They'll draw you in with their sophisticated charm, break the rules... and your heart. Everything about them is wrong, yet you can’t stay away. 

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She’s the new property manager. He’s the new maintenance supervisor. They rub each other the wrong way—until they start to rub each other the right way.

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A second chance romance. I know how much you guys love those.

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This is book two of a duet about a bad boy nightclub owner and a woman who only believes in one-night stands.

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Happy reading until next time,