The Sweetest Taboo

Erin Thatcher figures there’s no reason she can’t have a hot fling with the wrong kind of guy while she waits for the right one, should he ever cross her path. So when she spies a magazine article about Men To Do before saying “I do,” her imagination goes wild! Her sexy but reclusive neighbor is part of her nightly fantasies. Now it’s time to see what he’s like in the flesh….

Sebastian Gallo is a man obsessed. A bestselling author, he uses a pseudonym to ensure his privacy, keeping the real world out. But his gorgeous neighbor has consumed his thoughts—in his bed, in his shower—to the point where his writing is suffering. He just can’t ignore the heat that exists between them whenever they meet. But can he risk revealing his true self?

“An outstanding tale of passion, sensuality and a dark fascination, Ms. Kent’s romance turns up the heat with two captivating characters and a slightly different twist to happily-ever-after.” — RT Book Reviews

There are shades of Robin Schone in Ms. Kent’s emotion-filled scenes, and that’s not a bad thing.” — Fountain Pen Diva, Amazon reviewer

The black cat did her damndest to sneak up on the pigeons that fluttered on and off the loft’s windowsill. Rats with wings, to Redrum’s way of seeing things. To Sebastian’s, too.

Reaching the bathroom enclosure-the dressing area and separate custom-designed shower space nearly half the size of his bedroom, he shucked off his jeans and long-legged briefs, scratching all the body parts needing scratching before stepping beneath the blistering spray that rained down from three separate shower heads on three separate walls.

For the past sixteen years, since his release at age eighteen from the lock-up where he’d spent his formative years, Sebastian had considered his showers as much about relaxation and clearing his mind as about cleaning his body. When he’d finally convinced himself he could deal with permanence, he’d made sure to allow the money and the room for the bathroom he needed to accomplish those goals.

For too many years he’d been allowed but a fifteen minute shower four times a week, a shower shared with other boys considered a threat to society or to self. At least one out of each week’s four soap-and-self-defense sessions resulted in a fight, a near riot . . . or worse. Sebastian had managed to escape unscathed and undetected.

Because the day he’d been taken from the street where he’d lived alone since the scrappy age of eleven, he’d made a promise to himself, a promise that he would never look to another human being for security or sustenance or support.

He chuckled to himself, wondering if he’d really been eleven at the time he’d been picked up by social services. Or if he’d been closer to twelve. He’d changed his age with the changes to his body, finally deciding on sixteen when his voice dropped and his balls dropped and the hair on his face began to grow as thick as that in his crotch.

He hadn’t given a damn what age the courts declared him. He’d made up his own mind, relying on remembered images of candles and crushed cupcakes and little toy trucks and counted forward.

Even now he had no idea how old he really was. All those ages and dates were as much a part of his imagination as Raleigh Slater.

Or as much as the fictional fantasies he wove of Erin Thatcher.