Erika Rhys's Blog

Just then, he appeared in the entrance to the dressing room. It was the first time I’d seen him shirtless, and the sight shot an unexpected bolt of lust to my groin.

Dressed in navy sweat pants that hung low on his trim waist, the perspiration on his brow and the dampness of his dark hair testified to the strenuousness of his just-finished workout. Heat and a trace of musky male scent reached my nostrils, and my lips parted as I took in the thick, defined muscles of his shoulders and chest, which carried a light sheen of sweat. My gaze dipped lower, following the ripples of his corded abs, tracing the line of hair that led downward, before I caught myself and tore my gaze away from the generously sized package that his sweat pants did little to conceal.

With unsteady hands, I resumed stacking my clothes, hoping that he hadn’t noticed me gaping at him.

“Like what you see?” he said.

Annoyed that he’d caught me, I forced myself to meet his eyes. “Looks like you worked up a sweat.”

His expression told me that he hadn’t bought my cover-up. “Isn’t that the point of working out?”

Links:

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UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B076JBTPDW

AU: https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B076JBTPDW

CA: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B076JBTPDW

Now that my new fake marriage romance, Heir of the Hamptons, is finished and on its way to the editor, here’s a sneak preview! Unlike previous books, Heir of the Hamptons is a standalone novel featuring dual hero/heroine POVs. As soon as I have a final release date, I’ll announce it both here and on Facebook.

In the meantime, here’s a glimpse of Ronan…just before he meets his match!

RONAN

New York City

“Why don’t you just get married?” my sister Cara said.

“You can’t be serious,” I picked up my water glass and downed half of it, hoping that its icy contents would stimulate my brain into sparking a fresh idea. In the aftermath of my latest loan rejection from Bank of America, I needed a new plan to save my company, Kingsley Technologies, and I needed it fast. Either that, or I’d be forced to lay off most of my employees, which was a betrayal I wasn’t ready to contemplate.

Not that I expected Cara to solve my problems over lunch at Bar Six, a mellow West Village bistro that I hit up regularly for its savory Croque Monsieur sandwiches. I adored my outspoken younger sister, but her art degree and career as an aspiring painter hadn’t given her a lick of business sense. Still, she was the only one in my family who was always on my side, which was why I had just told her about my financial dilemma. Cara’s unwavering support gave me strength, which was exactly what I needed right now.

Cara flicked a strand of her long, straight blonde hair away from her face and fixed me with her bright blue gaze. “Your share of Grandfather’s trust is around fifty million,” she said. “Isn’t that enough to solve your problems?”

“It’s more than enough,” I said. “But there’s no way to tap that money until I’m thirty-five.”

“Think creatively,” she said. “Under the terms of the trust, we get unrestricted access to our money when we turn thirty-five, when our father dies, or when we marry—whichever happens first.”

“I’m two years away from thirty-five, our father is in perfect health, and marriage is out of the question,” I said. “When it comes to monogamy, I’m my father’s son. You know that about me.”

“You’re nothing like our father,” she said, dipping her fork into her arugula-and-parmesan salad. “He’s a chronic liar and cheater—you’re neither.”

“I know who I am,” I said. “Like our father, I’m not a one-woman man. Unlike him, I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

“You wouldn’t have to,” Cara said. “Not if your marriage was purely a business arrangement.”

I stared at her. “What?”

She rolled her eyes. “Come on, Ronan. I can’t believe you haven’t thought of this yourself. You’ve only dated half the women in New York—there must be one of them who would be willing to take a big fat check to marry you.”

“It would never work,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Lots of reasons.”

“Such as?”

“There’s no point in even discussing it,” I said.

“Then consider this a theoretical discussion,” Cara said. “I’m curious. Why are you so sure my idea couldn’t work?”

“Two words,” I said. “Job qualifications. No woman in her right mind would sign on to be my fake wife. Any woman crazy enough to take it on would lack the brains to carry off the amount of acting involved.”

“I get that your fake wife couldn’t be just anyone,” Cara said. “She’d have to look convincing to Dad and Veronica. She’d have to be trustworthy and intelligent.”

“Convincing our father and stepmother would only be scene one of the farce you’re proposing,” I said. “This imaginary fake wife would have to live with me for two years, pose as my wife in public, and not fall in love with me.”

Cara screwed up her face at me. “Ewww. I can’t believe you just said that.”

I shrugged. “Women like me—they always have.”

It was no less than the truth. The genetic lottery had gifted me a handsome face and a muscular six-foot-two body, which I kept toned with regular workouts. And while no woman had ever tempted me to consider a long-term relationship, I had the short-term thing down. Be a nice guy, make the woman I was with feel beautiful, and attend to her pleasure as much as my own. I didn’t do commitments, I didn’t make promises, and three nights was my self-imposed limit—although in practice, I rarely took it beyond one. Manhattan was filled with gorgeous, single women, which made it the perfect playground for a guy like me.

Cara sighed. “I love you, Ronan—but you’re a pig.”

I flashed her a grin. “Maybe I am—but at least I know who I am. Not every man is cut out for marriage, and those of us who aren’t should be honest about it. That’s my philosophy.”

“Philosophy won’t save your business.”

“Neither will a fake wife. Veronica’s a bitch, but she’s not stupid. She’d spot a fake in a minute, and when she did, she’d convince Dad to block my access to the trust.”

“Can he still control your trust?” Cara said. “Even if you get married?”

I leaned back in my chair, looked at my sister, and a wave of affection for her swept through me. While her fake marriage idea was crazy, her desire to help meant everything to me. Life hadn’t been easy for Cara, but she had the biggest heart of anyone I knew.

At twenty-seven, my little sister had grown into a beautiful woman with a strong resemblance to our mother, who had died when Cara was born. At least I’d had our mother for the first six years of my life. All Cara got was her name—Caroline—and a photo album.

“Dad’s the primary trustee,” I said. “If he filed a lawsuit claiming that I’d faked a marriage to gain access to the trust, the money would be frozen until the lawsuit was resolved. And if I’d already put some of the trust money into Kingsley Tech, my company could be dragged into court as well.”

“To recoup the money?” Cara asked.

“Exactly.”

“I guess that makes sense,” she said. “And lawsuits can go on forever.”

“Now you’re seeing the big picture,” I said. “Until we turn thirty-five, our father controls the trust. Neither of us can touch it or borrow against it without his approval, which thanks to Veronica, we’ll never get. Remember when I wanted to borrow against my share of the trust to start Kingsley Tech?”

“How could I forget?” Cara said. “Veronica shut that down in a heartbeat.”

“She’s got Dad under her thumb—in every area but one.”

“Don’t remind me,” Cara said with a shudder. “I’m almost certain he’s screwing his new secretary, who’s totally younger than I am. If Veronica wasn’t such a bitch, I might actually feel bad for her.”

“Don’t,” I said. “She married our father for his money and lifestyle. The estate in the Hamptons. The house in Aspen. The townhouse on Sutton Place.”

Cara leveled me with a look. “True—but enough about Veronica. Aside from getting married, do you have any other ideas that could save you from laying off your employees?”

“Not yet,” I said. “But I’ll think of something. I always do.”

The Gentlemen’s Club, vol. 2 is now available on Amazon. It is also FREE for Kindle Unlimited subscribers!

US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N103Q0A/

UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01N103Q0A/

CA: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B01N103Q0A/

As you know, it’s been a long time since I released a new book. I apologize to all of you for the time that it’s taken me, and feel that you deserve to know why.

In 2014, my aunt was diagnosed with cerebellar ataxia, a debilitating neurological condition that gradually stole away her ability to walk and care for herself. From fall 2014 through spring 2016, I spent an increasing amount of my time and energy caring for her. As her condition worsened, my writing time shrank, and then dwindled to nothing.

When my aunt’s condition progressed to the point that she required around-the-clock care in a professional facility, I handled the move, dealt with emptying her house of a lifetime’s worth of memories, and readied the house for sale.

When all the above came to an end, my body broke down.

I was more deeply exhausted that I’ve ever been in my life, my immune system crashed on me, and my allergies—normally a minor nuisance—spiraled out of control, forcing me to stay zonked on Benadryl for weeks. But over two months of rest and long walks on the beach, I healed, I came back into myself, and I returned to full-time writing in Summer 2016.

So now, I’m back. Since summer, I’ve finished writing volumes 2 & 3 of The Gentlemen’s Club, and am now outlining my next book project.

Once again, I apologize for taking so long to complete The Gentlemen’s Club. With all my heart, I thank you for your understanding, your patience, and the many kind wishes I’ve received from those of you who were aware of my situation.

A few more things:

The Gentlemen’s Club, vol. 1 is FREE on Amazon for the next few days! Tell your friends

The website has received a much-needed facelift, and should now look and work better on tablets and phones. If you should come across anything that doesn’t seem to be working, please let me know by emailing erikarhysauthor at gmail dot com!

He cocked his head at me. “How about a lap dance?”

Fuck my life.

Why couldn’t my first lap dance have been with someone old or ugly? Fat, bald, nose hair. Something like that. Something that would be pure business. But oh, no. It had to be with someone who could give Channing Tatum a run for his money.

I’d prepared for this moment. I’d imagined what it would be like. But my imagination hadn’t included the possibility that my first-ever lap dance would be with an attractive man near my own age, let alone the likes of Nick Santoro. If just looking at the man across a table got me hot and bothered, what the hell would bumping and grinding against his body do to me?

But then I checked myself. The average song was only three minutes long. Surely I could hold myself together for three minutes. If I couldn’t, I had no business being in this business. Santoro might be the first, but he surely wouldn’t be the last. Other handsome clients would surely come along.

“Of course,” I said.

He reached into his jacket, took out his wallet, removed a hundred-dollar bill, and held it out to me.

I stood, accepted the money, and tucked it into my garter. As I did, I couldn’t help but notice that both Ember and a girl whose name I didn’t know were giving lap dances to men at nearby tables, and that another table of cigar-smoking guys was openly watching me. One of them grinned and waved his cigar at me, as if to urge me on.

This feels really weird.

Nick leaned back in his chair and spread his knees apart as the DJ segued into the next song, which I immediately recognized as Madonna’s “Like a Virgin.”

How appropriate. I’m no virgin, but damned if I don’t feel like one right now.

“Make it a good one,” he said. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Can I be honest with you?”

“That’s rare in this place, but sure.”

“I’ve never done this before.”

“All right. Fair enough. Then we’ll work through it together.”

I stepped between his legs, reached over his shoulders, and braced my hands against the back of the heavy leather armchair. Then, I arched my back, and rotated my torso, holding a position that put my ass in the air and gave him a close-up view of my cleavage.

Too close. As I moved, I inhaled his scent—clean and masculine with a subtle note of the Scotch that he’d been drinking. His warm breath wafted against my exposed breasts, which I had to admit was a turn-on.

When he tipped his head back and met my gaze, time stopped. The tiny gold flecks in his hazel eyes caught the light from the stage and glittered with an intensity that inflamed me. With each heartbeat, each breath, each brush against him, I became increasingly aroused. My pounding heart, rock-hard nipples, and the growing ache between my thighs warned me that my response to him was dangerously close to spiraling out of control.

I needed to distance myself somehow, so I changed my stance. I moved into a standing position between his legs and swayed my hips from side to side. Then, I tossed my hair into his face, arched my back, and ran my hands over my breasts, hips, and abdomen. As I did, I couldn’t help but note the impressive erection that tented his black trousers.

Bianca had said that he was hung like a horse.

“Like what you see?” he said.

I felt my face flush, but kept my tone light. “There is a lot to look at.”

“I could say the same about you. And by the way—you’re doing well.”

I turned, hovered above his crotch, and moved my ass across it in slow circles. This position had the advantage of letting me turn my face away from him, but it also meant that my traitorously throbbing vajayjay was way too close to his hard-on.

“Would you like to take this to a private room?” he asked.

And all I could do was look at him, wondering how I would survive that, when I’d barely survived this.

If you’d like to receive a free ARC of The Gentlemen’s Club in exchange for an honest review, be sure to sign up for my mailing list here: http://eepurl.com/GlIzj

Now available on Amazon! Both volumes of the Over the Edge series at a discounted price.

US: http://www.amazon.com/Over-Edge-Complete-Boxed-Set-ebook/dp/B00Z99BTW0/

UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Over-Edge-Complete-Boxed-Set-ebook/dp/B00Z99BTW0/

All individual titles in the series are available through Kindle Unlimited.

Description:

When her alcoholic father’s abuse escalates, eighteen-year-old Mia flees the only home that she’s ever known. She needs to run far and fast, and to start a new life for herself. After a lifetime of dysfunctional, Mia just wants normal–and safe.

Love is the last thing on her mind–until a sexy stranger enters her life.

Tattooed, pierced Damien Barlow is everything Mia’s mother warned her against. Innocent and naive, Mia has little experience of life, let alone romance. When Mia and Damien’s mutual attraction flares into passion, will she play it safe–or will she follow her heart?

Subscribe to my email list to find out when: http://eepurl.com/GlIzj

He held the glass out to me. “Here. Try it.”I reached to take the glass, and for a moment, our fingers touched. When they did, a rush of electricity jolted through me. It was as if his touch had flicked a switch in my body that called every nerve to attention. I felt exposed, acutely aware of my nipples pressing against the inside of my corset, and the narrow G-string between my thighs.

Maybe I do need a drink.

I slowly pulled my hand back, brought the glass to my lips, and took a sip. A burst of liquid heat flooded my senses and then receded, leaving a warm afterglow in its wake.

As I took a second sip, Nick leaned back in his chair and looked me up and down. Appraised me.

When our eyes met, a shiver rippled through me, and I began to understand why so many women had gotten their panties in a twist over this man. From his penetrating gaze to his aura of control, from the sensual curves of his full lips to his flawlessly fitted tux, everything about him radiated power—and sex…

A determined young businesswoman who turns stripper to pay for the surgery her mother desperately needs.

A wealthy playboy who doesn’t believe in love.

Sparks fly. Heat builds. Conflicts emerge…

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