I’m delighted to be able to tell all my loyal readers about ‘The Secret Library,’ a new initiative by Accent Press. I’m proud to be part of this wonderful collection of novellas and already several readers have commented on what a refreshing change it is to see books so beautifully packaged. My story ‘Silk Stockings,’ heads one particular book in the collection and I’ve been delighted at the comments. Thank you all so much. I have to admit all the stories are great. There are some terrific authors here, take for instance Lucy Felthouse, Liz Coldwell and the wonderful KD Grace. KD’s story ‘Migrations,’ is such a fun read and as always she delivers her stories with aplomb and great writing skills. You can find her story in the book ‘Trading Places.’
I wanted to write something different with ‘Silk Stockings.’ Yes, I adore erotica and passion but I also love the notion of romance in all its different guises. I think it always had to be a Berlin setting for this saucy tale of intrigue and romance. Together with Paris, Berlin is such a seductive location and it suited Imogen who is a struggling burlesque dancer very well. I think you’ll enjoy the tender little twist in this tale as Imogen who is scared to love again and is on the run from her dark past, has to face up to her passionate feelings for American lawyer Michael. Can she overcome her fears and give into the passion and love she feels or will she flee yet again? I won’t give any more away. However….here’s a little taster below…..
Silk Stockings is available with the rest of the collection at www.amazon.co.uk and all good online booksellers in both print and ebook. Also look out for the individual stories to be released soon online. As the stories are retailing individually to avoid confusion you will find Silk Stockings as ‘A Seduction in Silk.’
Now enjoy a snippet of Silk Stockings….and if you like this check out the work by my incredible fellow authors.
Michael was astute, he’d been trained as a lawyer after all, and in a few seconds he’d sized Imogen up. He liked her thick natural blonde hair, which Imogen had piled stylishly high on top of her head and which was fastened with two tortoiseshell combs, and he liked the way the hair which was swept away from her cheeks, accentuated her lustrous blue eyes.
At that precise moment Hermann Meier, who was fresh out of a club with his latest mistress, came into the bar shaking raindrops off his coat and then, taking his hat off and shaking that too, he left the woman sitting at a table and noticing Imogen came over to her. ‘Looking good as always,’ he said gruffly. ‘Boy, you were so hot tonight you were sizzling.’
Imogen laughed. Meier had power in the Berlin entertainments industry. He scouted clubs such as her one, and recruited women for his special photographic sessions. He was well known for his daring photography, which some said verged on the pornographic, but being daring got his models noticed. Some had become stars and even ended up in the movie industry in Hollywood, a fact which Hermann had made plain to Imogen. Sure, he could make her a star too. She didn’t need to think about it twice though and she’d turned him down. A public profile didn’t suit her and the fear welled up like a volcano, but Meier never gave up, he knew something special when he saw it. Meier, who was also obsessed by her legs, was staring at her stockings and looking her up and down.
‘Thought I’d find you here, why the shit do you still come into this sleazy joint?’ Imogen shrugged, she had a very good reason. How could she tell Meier, indeed, how could she tell anyone, about the fear which constantly licked at her heels and nibbled away at the fringes of her tattered nerves? The fear that, one evening, that shadow would come closer and she would go home and find another plain brown envelope pushed under her door. It was bad enough having to go home at all, to face the cold apartment which was really little more than a single room and where the wind whistled between the cracks. She hated it, with its smell of cabbage and the constant thump of Frieda the whore as she pounded the floor above her. Her only escape was thinking of Anni, Anni wrapped up in her snug little room at Helga Streiber’s.
‘You realise I could still make you that huge star, cookie? Just think about it, a fraction of the work and 50 times more dough. I’m determined I can wear you down and you’ll see sense.’
Imogen’s attention snapped back to the present. ‘Don’t I know it, Hermann and you know the answer to that.’ She was distracted: she still had her eye on Michael, who was watching her quizzically
Imogen felt warm drenching feelings of sexual arousal start as Michael stared at the silk stockings. She hoped Michael was dreaming of placing his finger on the cool silk and rubbing it between his fingertips, because for once she thought she’d like that rather a lot.
‘What’s the matter with you? You look goddamned distracted. You got a boyfriend?’
‘Hermann, when would I have the time for a boyfriend? Besides, you know I don’t date.’
‘Sure, sure I do. Cold fish ain’t you?’ He stroked her cheek and Imogen smiled, she was fizzing from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair and her heart was beating like an African tribal drum. She wanted to tantalise Michael, she thought as she darted a glance at his bowed head. For the first time in ages she wanted to feel his finger coming up her exquisitely shaped thigh and she wanted to feel herself contracting her strong thigh muscles around his hand as he sunk his fingers inside her and they built up some skin on skin friction. Then she fantasised over how she’d drive him crazy in bed, dressed only in the silk stockings and how the abrasive friction provided by her stockings against his legs and cock – as he pumped in and out of her warm woman’s glove – would make him roar like a lion.
Hermann put his hand on her thigh. For some reason when he put his hand there she never felt it was offensive. Naturally, he wanted to stroke her legs in her expensive silk stockings, all guys did. In fact, the legs and the stockings created a scene of such erotic perfection the need to do it was overpowering.
‘Shit, there’s no other woman on the planet who can make a pair of silk stockings look like you do, you take a man to jerk off heaven. You know, babe, I’ve puzzled and puzzled over it. I mean a lot of dames look good in hose, and, hell, I’ve seen a million dames in silk stockings, but you, God it’s weird and I still can’t figure out that weird alchemical magic you got going. Those goddamn stockings cling to your legs as if it’s all one thing and made to go together, you know like strawberries and cream or, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Now, babe, if you got that kind of magic, why don’t you milk it, why don’t you make a million from it? That’s what I can’t understand!’
‘I told you, I got my reasons.’
Hermann nodded. ‘You got balls of steel, you know that. Whatever it is that drives you, honey, I’d sure like to know what it is? I’ll be seeing you, babe.’
‘And, I’m gonna break you down, babe.’
‘I doubt that.’
Hermann left and Michael, seeing his opportunity, pulled his stool even closer to the irresistible silk force, while Imogen studied him cautiously out of the corner of her eye.
He had a gentle smooth face and his long, brushed back hair folded carelessly around the collar of his shirt. She felt a wave of lust, a hot shafting pulse of desire.
‘Hi,’ Michael said, without looking at her. ‘You seem to have been waiting here a long time. Can I buy you another drink?’
The warm jolt fizzed through her like electricity; she liked to be engaged in the thought of love.
‘I’m not a whore, you know!’ There was more than a hint of sarcasm added as a final drop of poison to her words. ‘I’m a respectable girl, in case you wondered. If you want a whore you can go to some other place,Berlin’s full of them.’
Her voice possessed a mellifluous quality embellished with a husky undertone; she had a thick German accent but spoke fluid English, her mother having insisted on it. Her mother had wanted Imogen to have every advantage. She’d had a nice apartment and sent Imogen to a good school.
Michael’s fingers moved tirelessly, stroking his fine wool pants as, occasionally, he glanced at her legs. Yes, he had that strange affliction most men had, she thought with amusement, he was determined to pursue his quest of touching the silk stockings and he was wondering how close he could get.
She twisted around a little on the bar stool and flexing her foot she rested it back on the footrest. She was deliberately teasing him. Beneath the silk she wore a small silver bracelet around her slim little ankle. She knew it looked tacky and gave her the appearance of a whore, but Jake had given it to her and she liked to be a little bit wicked after all. She wanted to see how hard men would stare at the silk stockings as they imagined peeling down the silk to look at her bare legs.