Alison Kent

My agent has talked in the past about having to apply triage to her triage when she gets swamped with work. I’m feeling that way today with a ton of promo things to write up, mail, link to, etc., for MAXIMUM EXPOSURE, this while finishing my copy edits for NO LIMITS and writing on my Texas Ranger book. Copy edits will go out today, so that will be off my plate, and those had to come before everything - which is why I never managed to make a post yesterday. While my virus software was rebooting my pc this morning, I made a list of all the things I have pending because I need to release that brain space for writing, and it’s quite the intimidating one. Let’s just say, a busy busy busy three weeks then total relaxation for the last two of the year. A perfect holiday season ahead, whoo-hoo!

I’ve blogged before about loving to write secondary romances. I don’t mean sequels, but smaller love stories within the main book, a sub-plot tied into the main one. In MAXIMUM EXPOSURE, “Roland” the hero of my secondary story, is the employee of the boutique owner heroine Olivia, and the mark of the P.I. hero Finn. Jodi, the heroine of my secondary story, is the employee of the man who hired Finn, the same man who is one of Olivia’s best friends. Since “Roland’s” true identity is revealed in the second chapter, it’s hardly a spoiler to say he’s not who everyone else thinks he is.

DEA agent Roman Greyle had been living undercover as Roland Green now for close on twelve months. He had no problem with the role he’d taken on for the duration of Operation: Bebé Bust.

Assuming an identity so far removed from his own, was no big deal. This was what he did. What he’d been doing for six years out of his ten with the agency.

But if he wasn’t careful, as in eyes in the back, top, and bottom of his head careful, he was going to blow a year long investment of highly trained talent and government resources because of a distraction with ash blonde hair, long limber legs, and an infallible gaydar.

Secondary stories are a hard balance to pull off, kinda a three bears, Goldilocks, too hot, too cold, just right porridge thing. Some readers, like Jen at Book Talk with J & J, wanted less focus on the secondary couple, saying in her review:

Roland and Jodi got a lot more time than I felt a sub-plot (and one that wasn’t even mentioned in the blurb) deserved.

Other readers, like Kat who reviewed the book at Wit and Sin, found the weaving of the secondary with the primary to be just right.

Roman and Jodi’s storyline was every bit as engaging as Finn and Olivia’s and I enjoyed seeing how the two plots converged.

And yet other readers, like Ayla at AJ’s Place, might even have wanted more.

What this [back cover copy] doesn’t mention is the other couple, and for me, they’re what make the story. Roland (Olivia’s store manager) and Jodi (assistant to said love sick gallery owner) have an awesome relationship.

Thanks to Jen, Kat, and Ayla for the awesome reviews and for taking the time to read! (More review links are coming!) So how do you guys feel about having more than one story in a romance novel? Too much? Too little? Just right? Or, as with so many things, is it all in the execution? I’ve posted a Roman and Jodie excerpt from MAXIMUM EXPOSURE after the break, but it is rated R for language and innuendo. ;)

Tonight Roman had come to the gallery alone. Sure, he was meeting Jodi, but doing that here was a lot more convenient than picking her up and hauling her back to her place at the end of the night.

Not to mention a lot safer than having her and her legs and all that blonde hair in his car. Having her sunshine scent linger to tease him every time he climbed behind the wheel was more mind game than he wanted to play.

His head was already fubar because of her. Yeah, he knew who he was, knew his place, his role and his goal. Work was not a problem, and he wasn’t going to let her make it one. That didn’t mean his personal deal with her wasn’t giving him the devil’s sort of hell.

“There you are,” said his object of X-rated lust, her voice at his shoulder, her fingers closing around his biceps and squeezing, her breasts pressed to his back. “What do you think about the show?”

He searched for the right response, hoping for a high note to bring his mind out of the gutter. “I think the photographer has a lot of explaining to do.”

Jodi’s laugh rocked through him like a gunshot. He felt it where she held his arm, where she held herself to his back. He felt it against his ear where she pulled in a breath and exhaled, a feathery breeze.

He ground his jaw, flexed his fingers when he wanted more than anything to fist his hands and knock the shit outta himself. He had no business being here. No business being with her, even if his being with her was only a farce.

“It’s not that bad, is it? I mean, it’s not my cuppa either,” she admitted. “But I can see the artistic appeal, the use of color and lighting, the juxtaposition of the felines with the females.”

Talk about a bunch of bullshit. “Can you see the challenge the photographer had to get the cats to sit still? How they’re begging for the treats they’ve been promised?”

“There is that, I suppose,” she said, slipping forward several steps to stand next to him. “I had no idea about your soft spot for animals.”

He saw strands of her blonde hair flutter in the breeze from the overhead fans, but he saw that in his periphery because he refused to look her way. Right now, he feared he give himself up if he did.

That’s how soft he was feeling. “How does your boss feel about you less than wholeheartedly embracing his gallery’s exhibit?”

She waited for a moment as if counting out beats, then lowered her voice and dropped a bomb. “I think the more important question is how do you feel about my boss?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Roman had made sure that Roland never spoke a word about his love life, so if that’s what Jodi was digging to find . . .

“He’s got it bad for you. Almost as bad as I have it.”

He did not want to have this conversation. “The two of you should see a doctor about that.”

“It’s true,” she said, then let the clink of glasses and low buzz of chatter fill the silence between them.

He didn’t know what to say, whether to leave things alone and let them die without further acknowledgment, or be the friend he’d agreed to be and talk. He went with the first, the one that wouldn’t trip him up and get him in trouble. The one that was the easiest and required no commitment that he’d regret.

“He told me earlier this week,” she said, taking his silence as an invitation rather than a lack of interest. “I stayed late one night, finishing some things I hadn’t had time for with all the prep for the show. I mentioned that you were escorting me tonight. He admitted that he’d like you to escort him, and then the floodgates opened.”

She paused as a server approached.

“Would either of you care for champagne?”

“Thank you,” he said, reaching for two drinks, handing one to Jodi, finally catching her eyes as they sipped.

He tried to look away, to not get pulled into what he was seeing, but he had been using her in his head for so long, getting off to her when he needed relief, that all he could think about was doing her with her eyes wide open and focused on his.

It wasn’t a safe fantasy to play with. The atmosphere in the room pulsed with a grinding vibe. If he grabbed Jodi up against him and pulled her hem to her waist, he imagined the small gathering around them would scatter but no one would be surprised.

She lowered her flute, rubbed the rim against her bottom lip then moved the glass away. “Well?”

“Well what?” he asked, shrugging as he belted back half of his drink.

“Do you return Dustin’s . . . affection?”

“My private life is private, Jodi. I’m not going to discuss my affections.” If he did, she might not find this conversation to her liking.

“Did you know how he felt? Before now?”

“I still don’t know how he feels. He hasn’t told me.”

“Would you like him to? I can go get –”

“No,” Roman said, the low-spoken word gruff and gritty as he grabbed the wrist of the hand she’d used to gesture.

She made no effort to pull away. Instead, she arched one brow and glanced down to where he held her.

“No,” he repeated, more softly this time, taking too long to release her. Goddamn but her bones felt so fragile, her skin like paper he could easily tear. “Let it go. I’d just as soon not see anyone. I’m not in the mood for polite chatter.”

“I’m wondering if you’re in the mood for polite anything,” she said, then finished off her champagne.

Christ. What the fuck. He rubbed at his forehead. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so harsh. I’ve had a bad couple of days, and tomorrow’s going to be the same.”

“I’m sure Dustin wouldn’t mind helping you feel better.”

“That’s not even close to funny.”

“Would you rather I help you feel better?”

“I’d rather the weekend get here.” It wouldn’t be the same relief as the end of this job, but right now? He’d take it.

Jodi moved close, fingered his jacket’s lapel. “I really can help, you know. That’s what friends are for.”

He was not this much of a sucker. Really, he wasn’t. “What can you do?”

“Actually, several things come to mind. A good massage for one,” she said as he grabbed for another drink. “Would you like that? If I were to knead your muscles? Help work out the kinks?”

His balls twitched. His cock followed, thickening. He’d started this. He deserved whatever torture she delivered. “Thanks, but I can work out the kinks at the gym.”

“Hmm,” she murmured, giving him a studious once-over and walking a circle around him. “Maybe kinks wasn’t the right word. I’m thinking knots? Or tightness? The type that has you aching to stretch? Surely you get tight with all the stress your under.” She was in front of him again, facing him. “Tight and swollen? I know could help with that.”

“That so,” he said, surprised he was able to push even that much out through his constricted throat. She was wearing a man’s jacket when she’d told him she’d bought a dress especially for the occasion, and all he could think about was yanking it open and sending the buttons rolling across the floor.

“Oh, yes. It’s all about using my hands.” She held out her free one, wiggled and flexed her fingers that were slender but so clearly strong. “I can rub and stroke, help ease that tension. It’s not good, you know, to let it build up. You need a way to relieve it.”

If she only knew how many times he’d let it go into her mouth while he showered. “You don’t say.”

She widened her eyes as if some grand solution had just come to her. “We could go to my office if you’d like. I’ve got a visitor’s chair with no arms. You could straddle it in reverse and let me start with the muscles in your shoulders and neck.”

Or she could straddle his lap and start with the part of his body that was the tightest of all. “Your boss won’t miss you if you cut out for awhile?”

“Me, no. He might miss you,” she added with a sound that could’ve been a snort or a chuckle. “But we won’t be gone long. Not unless you’re wound up enough to need a lot of time.”

He was such a fool. Such a fool. He swallowed the rest of his champagne, then before he could stop himself, said, “I’d say that I am.”

Her eyes glittered with excitement, and for a moment with what looked like tears. “Should I give Dustin our regrets? Tell him you’re not feeling well and I’m going to see you home?”

He shook his head. It was too late for that. “I can’t wait that long.”

She didn’t say anything else. All she did was hook two of her fingers around two of his and lead him to his doom.

**********

Don’t forget! You have until Sunday evening to comment to win a copy of MAXIMUM EXPOSURE at both Laurie’s Laudanum and Stacy’s Place on Earth.