Romance Excerpts Only Blog

By day, she takes care of his kids. By night, she takes care of him.

Oh, there are a million reasons Theresa should keep her paws off Larry.  For starters, he’s her uncle.  In case that’s not enough, she’s been playing nanny to his kids ever since their mother ran off.

When Theresa surprises Uncle Larry at the office, she can’t wait to get his pants down.  But wait… his workplace has an open-concept design?  Now where are they supposed to get their afternoon delight?

Larry can’t resist his naughty niece in a sexy summer dress.  Maybe he’ll just have to take her in his boss’s office, press her up against the plate glass window, and give the whole city a look at her naked, nubile body.

Either way, his co-workers can’t find out what’s going on.  It’s too taboo…

At The Office With Uncle Larry

By Lexi Wood

(Available from Amazon as “At The Office With Taboo Larry”)

EXCERPT:

Theresa glanced around, and when she was pretty sure nobody was looking, she ran her hand down the front of her uncle’s pants, cupping his crotch.  “Show me your boss’s office.”

He squealed, squirming away.  “Okay, okay, just let go of me.”

They walked past the office workers, mostly young and depressed-looking people.  Uncle Larry guided her around a corner and into an office.  It wasn’t the aged leather and dark wood she was expecting.  The office had a couch in it, and a glass desk that looked like a coffee table.  The whole place reminded her of someone’s living room.

Larry closed the door and let out a sigh.  “Teri, what are you doing here?”

Now that she was alone with him, away from the boys, her palms started sweating.  She cleared her throat.  “I’ve just been thinking a lot about that time in the pool, and I…”

“Teri, we can’t.” His voice was loud and firm.  “We said that night it could never happen again.”

“I know, but…”

“I’m your uncle.  You’re my niece.”

“I know, but…”

“I’m more than fifteen years older than you!”

She looked past him, out the big wide window and out on the city below.  It was actually kind of beautiful, in its own urban way.  And then she looked back at him, knowing tears were welling in her eyes, and when their gazes met, his softened from anger to… something else.  She didn’t have a name for it. Not yet.

And then that softness hardened into something she did have a name for: lust.

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THREE WEEKS WITH A BULL RIDER 

An Oklahoma Nights Romance

Cat Johnson

New York Times & USA Today bestselling author

“The Oklahoma Nights series is a must read.”

—New York Times bestselling author Lorelei James

Excerpt PG-rated

With a huff, Tara spun on the heel of her cowboy boot, bound for the building. She stepped from behind her car and into the path of a truck going way too fast for a parking lot. It skidded in the gravel and rocked to a stop as she leapt back. After a second, the maniac behind the wheel swung the vehicle into the empty spot next to her car.

The driver's side door opened and that's when Tara recognized both the truck and the man who'd almost flattened her.

Jace Mills. That figured. Chief idiot and number one annoyance from among her brother's roster of friends, and now he'd nearly run her over. "Jesus, Jace. You coulda killed me. Slow the fuck down."

"You kiss your momma with that dirty mouth, Tara?" Jace raised one sandy brow high above his hazel eyes. "And you stepped right out in front of me. Look where you're going from now on."

Tara clenched her jaw and tried to control the string of obscenities she'd love to let loose on him.

"I was distracted, but you should still be more careful. There are families walking around here with kids and stuff." She frowned at the empty cab of Jace's truck. "Tuck's not with you."

"That is an excellent observation, Tara. I always knew you were smarter than you look."

Couldn’t this man cut her even one little break? Every tiny piece of information she got out of him was a struggle. "Why isn't Tuck with you?"

"That is a very good question."

She rolled her eyes in frustration. "Do you have an answer?"

"I do, and it's a doozy." Jace waggled his brows. "Wanna hear?"

"Dammit—yes, Jace. I wanna hear." Tara would need dental work from gritting her teeth if she continued this painful conversation with this obnoxious, frustrating, annoying man who made her want to scream.

A wide grin stretched across Jace's lips. "He's at a wine tasting with Becca, and Emma, and his BFF Logan."

Tara's gut twisted at hearing Logan's name. Having Jace mention it in the same breath as Logan's new wife made it even worse. She'd loved Logan for as long as she could remember, and Becca's sister Emma had swooped in and stolen him from her. She swallowed away the bitter taste in the back of her throat, nauseated all over again by the memories of her last conversation with Logan. It had been on the day of his wedding. He'd told Tara he'd never loved her and never would. That he loved Emma.

She needed to focus on the situation at hand, and not her broken heart. Tuck's sudden interest in wine over rodeo left Tara stuck without a ride. "Crap. I needed Tuck to be here tonight."

"We're going to have to talk about that potty mouth of yours, young lady." Jace folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the truck. "But before we do, why did you need Tuck here? And come to think of it, why are you here?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I'm working with the sports medicine team to fulfill my internship requirement for graduation."

"Sports medicine? That's what you're going to school for?" Jace frowned. "Hmm. I thought it was veterinary studies."

"You're so observant." Tara rolled her eyes.

Jace's only response was to lift one shoulder in a shrug. Unfortunately, as much of an idiot as Jace was, it looked like he was also her only hope of a ride. Both her parents' house and school were too far away to go there, but if Jace would drive her to Stillwater she could crash for the night at Tuck and Becca's place.

"Can you tow a car with that thing?" Tara eyed the monster behind him. A man with a truck that large must be severely lacking in other areas.

He hooked a thumb at his vehicle. "This thing? Tow a car? Uh, yeah. I could tow a tractor trailer if I had to. Why?"

"My car is dead." She tilted her head in the direction of the piece of crap behind her. "One of the stock contractors took a look at it for me and suggested I tow it to the local scrap yard and junk it."

Jace eyed the vehicle and let out a long slow whistle. "That bad, huh?"

"Apparently. And then, I also kind of need a ride to Tuck's place." She'd play on her brother's sympathies when she got to Stillwater. Maybe she could convince Tuck to loan her his truck for the next few weeks.

It's not like he needed it. He and Becca both worked at the same damn place. They should carpool. Save the environment. Reduce their carbon footprint, and all that good stuff.

A smug smirk appeared on Jace's face. "So what you're saying is, you need my help."

"Forget about it. I'll find another ride." Tara let out a huff. She'd just keep calling Tuck until he answered.

"I didn't say no. Stop pouting. God almighty, you're such a child."

Gasping at the worse insult he could have thrown at her, Tara had no words except to deny it. "I am not a child. You're a—"

"Tara, stop. If you'd shut up one doggone minute and listen you'd hear I'm saying okay. I'll help you. I'll take a look at your car and if it doesn't look fixable, I'll tow it to the scrap yard and drive you back to Stillwater."

This man was so infuriating, she'd love to plant the toe of her cowboy boot right where the sun didn't shine, but he was willing to help so she'd have to play nice. "And what would I have to give you in exchange? I'm warning you. I've got hardly any cash on me. Not even enough to help pay to fill that monster of yours with gas. Seriously, like next to none. I emptied my account for that piece of shit car."

"What's with the Jenkins family that y'all always assume I'm destitute?" Jace scowled. "I don't need your money. I have plenty of my own to pay for gas, thanks."

That comment confused her. She honestly didn't think or care about Jace's finances, but whatever, she still didn't trust him as far as she could throw him. He wouldn't do her a favor for nothing. He must have some ulterior motive. "Then what do you want?"

"Hmm, let's see. What do I want?" Jace stared up at the sky and tapped one forefinger to his chin. "I know. You have to be nice to me. No name calling. No smartass comments. None of your usual bullshit. Think you can do that?"

Not likely. "I don't know. For how long?"

"Until we get to Stillwater. Starting now."

"How about starting the moment we get inside the arena, for until we get in your truck to start the drive to Stillwater?"

"You're unbelievable." Laughing, Jace shook his head. "All right. It's a deal."

Jace extended one big, rough hand and though she'd never willingly touched him before, Tara shook it to seal the deal on this unholy alliance.

Available in eBook & Paperback

http://CatJohnson.net

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True confessions of a real-life high school student on the cusp of a new millennium.

On the eve of the year 2000, high school student Giselle struggles with spirituality, ambiguous friendships, a family dealing with the aftermath of substance abuse, and deepening feelings of attraction toward her English teacher, a married man more than twice her age. Over the course of one school year, she shifts from seeing Lawrence as a father figure to falling obsessively in love. Is Giselle making a total fool of herself, or will her teacher return her affection?  Having an affair with a student would easily cost Lawrence his career, his wife, and his kids, not to mention his sanity.  Will a by-the-books teacher sacrifice everything to indulge Giselle’s teenage crush?

LIKE IT’S 1999 is the actual, unabridged, honest-to-god diary of a teenager in love with her teacher.

Need Non-Fiction? Adore autobiography?  LIKE IT’S 1999: Diary of a Teenager in Love with a Teacher by Giselle Renarde is now available!

LIKE IT’S 1999: Diary of a Teenager in love with a Teacher requires an introduction more than anything I’ve ever written.  Why?  Because unlike everything else I’ve written, this is NOT fiction. It is the actual, honest-to-god diary from when I was 18 years old.

In the summer of 1999, when this diary bursts into being, I was just heading into my fifth year at high school, called OAC—Ontario Academic Credits.  At that time Ontario’s school system required an extra year’s education if you were planning to attend university.  The OAC year doesn’t exist anymore, for those of you keeping score at home.  Everything changes.

I was an intelligent teenager, but also a bit hippie-dippy, as you’ll quickly discover.  As you’re reading these diary entries, feel free to laugh or shake your head or roll your eyes, or all of the above.  Trust me, I did, as I transcribed my hand-written journal.  Seems like I spent so much time being introspective that I’m not sure how I accomplished anything else. 

And yet, for all my introspection, I’m actually incredibly dense. I can’t see the forest for the trees. You’ll likely learn more about me from the dreams interspersed throughout this book than from the diary entries themselves.  They work together to paint a more fleshed-out picture of who I was on the cusp of a new millennium.

If you start reading and think to yourself, “Ugh! I can’t stand this girl!” trust me, you are not alone.  That’s how I felt, reading this diary fifteen years after writing it.  Just hold tight and keep going. Soon enough you won’t be able to put it down.

When you can cast aside the New Age veneer, you’ll find beneath it a naïve, inexperienced young woman who is deeply infatuated with an English teacher. I started writing this journal in the summer of 1999, while waiting on a letter from this man, whom we’ll call Lawrence. He was away with his wife and family, visiting his in-laws. He’d already written me one dull letter, with promises of another.  I was so sure he’d profess his true emotions in that one.

Seems like forever ago that we actually put pen to paper to convey our thoughts, then sealed them in an envelope and pressed a stamp to the corner. Nothing was quite so instantaneous as it is now. We had to wait.

And that’s where this diary begins: me, waiting.

Reading back, I shake my head at how off-the-mark 18-year-old me was in interpreting my own life, not to mention my dreams. You’ll see what I mean when you read my take on the first one, about receiving a birthday card from Oprah. 

If I could say anything to this younger version of Giselle, I’d tell her, “You are a silly and self-involved child, and you won’t realize it until you re-read these words in another 15 years.” I doubt if she’d believe me, though. She’d probably slam her door, cry on her bed, and then write a journal entry about it.

Just a note that names have been changed to protect the guilty and innocent alike.

Okay, enough procrastinating. If this reads like a 60-year-old huckster imitating a teenaged girl, sadly it’s not.  These are unmodified journal entries, apart from the name changes. Even the punctuation is original—I would never use so many semi-colons now.

You start reading. Enjoy your time in my mind. See you on the flip side.

Giselle Renarde

***

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Giselle Renarde is an award-winning Canadian author and contributor to more than 100 short story anthologies from such diverse publishers as Chicken Soup for the Soup, Oxford University Press, Simon and Schuster, and Cleis Press. Her book The Red Satin Collection won Best Transgender Romance in the 2012 Rainbow Awards. Giselle loves a geeky girl and lives with two bilingual cats.