Tour Hosted by FMB Book Tours
Title: Trouble at the Hotel Baba Ghanoush
Author: T. C. Archer
Genre: Science fiction, Erotica
Publisher: Loose Id
Ebook
Words: 35,000
ARe | Amazon | Fictionwise | B&N (Nook)
Book Description
Enforcer
Fontana Marks is on vacation undercover until she has to testify against the
Track Cartel for crimes against the Galactic Coalition. But the cartel is
hiding something, and Fontana
intends to find out what--then make them pay for murdering Jenny, the young
scientist Fontana
failed to protect on a previous assignment.
The last
thing Fontana
intends to do while vacationing incognito on the fantasy resort Sagitariun is
follow the advice of her superior. "Rest, recuperate, and find a
man."
But how can a
woman resist a blond, blue-eyed, chisel-jawed, great-assed man streaking naked
in public when he's obviously running from someone? And why can't she to get
rid of the damned trench coat she stole to rescue him?
Adult 18+ excerpt
Fontana spotted trouble when the man first
burst into Spacer Jack’s Bar and Grill. It wasn’t his chiseled jaw and blond
hair or the way he scanned the joint with his intense blue eyes. No, the
trouble was—he was naked. The towel wrapped around his slim hips had snagged on
the swinging bar door when he entered, and he didn’t look back in his sprint
toward the kitchen. He shot past where Fontana
sat at the bar, his muscular ass bunching with the effort of his long strides.
Her
pulse jumped. If that's trouble, I want
some.
The
naked man disappeared through the kitchen doors. A collision of bodies sounded.
Fontana straightened. How was a woman to mind
her own business when a nude man was in trouble? She shoved off the corner
stool and dashed after the naked man, swiping a man’s trench coat off the
coatrack standing beside the kitchen door. She pushed through the swinging door
and halted centimeters from where the naked man lay sprawled on top of a
waiter. A tray of pasta entrées hovered on its anti-grav suspension, where the
waiter would have been holding it in his upturned hand before the man rammed
into him.
In
all her years of undercover work, she had never come across a situation quite
like this. And probably wouldn’t again.
Fontana seized the naked man’s arm, hauled
him to his feet, and threw the coat over his shoulders as she bolted with him
toward the rear exit. She dragged him through the back door, and they
practically fell into the back alley by the dumpsters. A furry rodent skittered
from nearby tin cans and disappeared behind a stack of pallets. She couldn’t help
a smile. The alley was a replica of mid-twentieth-century Earth, complete with
robo-rats and all.
She
grasped the man’s shoulders and shoved him against the restaurant wall. Her
pulse sped up when the steely muscles beneath her fingers tensed. How was it
possible for his hard body to get any harder? She’d seen Aslothian gladiators
with less muscle. His blue-eyed gaze locked on to hers.
Fontana ignored the tremor that rippled
through her, pressed her body against his solid two meter frame, and demanded,
“What the hell is going on?”
His
cock pulsed against her abdomen and began to thicken. This diversion was
exactly what her superior, Colonel Stephaney Lyons, had ordered. “Find a man and reaffirm life. Let him fuck
your brains out.” The colonel wasn’t usually one for getting quite so
personal or so crude, but she knew how angry Fontana was about Jenny’s death and the
failure of the mission on Rigil IV.
The
naked man grasped her shoulders and drew her closer. “Who are you?” His drawl
belied the intensity of his stare.
Well,
well, a man who knew how to pace himself. Fontana
slipped a hand between them and wrapped her fingers around his erection. Her
mouth went dry. He was hard as a rock. She squeezed the thick rod. He hardened
even more beneath her fingers.
“I’m asking
the questions.” Damn if she didn’t sound like Detective Friday from the
twentieth-century series Dragnet. Dragnet’s brand of law was before the
Criminal Rights Act of 2141.
The
naked man gave a low laugh. “Oh, tough girl.”
“Who
are you running from?”
“Maybe
I should be running from you.”
“Not
while I have hold of this.” She yanked his cock with just enough force to keep
his attention.
He
sucked in a breath.
Now
she had him. “I can play yanky-panky all night.”
His
shaft throbbed, and his warm hands slid down her arms, stopping to rest on her
hips. Long fingers flexed against her carbon-fiber parachute pants. That and
the halter she wore were a woman’s standard garb in Spacers. She released him
when he rolled her mound against his rod. Fontana
grasped his arms and angled her hips so that the steely length slid along her
clit. He groaned, and the sound sent butterflies skittering across the inside
of her stomach.
About the Author:
T. C. Archer
is comprised of award winning authors Evan Trevane and Shawn M. Casey. They
live in the Northeast.
Evan puts his
Ph.D. to good use by writing about alternate realities, and Shawn channels the
mythology and philosophy she studied during her wasted youth into writing about
exotic places and times.
Find the Author:
GIVEAWAY:
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Looks like a good read. :-)
ReplyDeleteWhat an expert! I am looking forward to reading more to find out what happens. Thanks!
ReplyDelete