I’ve always been on my own. My life used to consist of nothing but work, keeping Allen out of trouble, and if I had time, sleep. Then I became their maid.
Every day more than half a million people tune in to watch my show. They trust me. I know it’s because I’m the only son of the prominent Emerson family. However, I like to believe it because I’m honest no matter what story I report on. I’m honest about everything but the man I’ve been f**king for the last four years… and now her.
I want three things: First, Maxwell Emerson and Jane Chapman both in my bed. Second, to be the best bloody chef in the country. Third, to figure out how to simultaneously get the first and second things I want without any of us getting hurt.
ONE LOVE STORY….
I can’t sing enough praises about this book. The dynamic between two lovers is hard enough, but add in a third, and it is explosive. Jane, Max, and Wes are three very different characters with three VERY different personalities. But somehow it all clicks. Their relationship is not a traditional one to say the least, but it is amazing to watch it all unfold. One wounded soul, one out and proud man, and one closeted man…this already has the making of trouble, and yet, somehow it works. Amelia LeFay has given the book world a small taste of her talents, and I cannot wait to see what else she has in store for us all!
PS~ It gets very steamy!!
And far too many hours to count.
That’s how long I had been cleaning the penthouse at 2829 W Rowling Street without having any idea who lived there. If it weren’t for the damn laundry left for me every week, I’d think I was working for ghosts. The penthouse was never that dirty. True there may be a tie or sock left somewhere, or a cup left on the table or in the sink plus the normal dust, but other than that, I had never actually met the owner. There weren’t any pictures, and I couldn’t stop my imagination from running.
There was something about the forbidden room hidden behind the cream-colored door that kept me guessing, so I had come to irrational conclusions: I was working for a serial killer, or one of those men who secretly collected blowup dolls.
It could be anything, I thought—anything creepy enough to keep me from going inside.
“Maybe he’s a rich doctor who harvests human body parts?”
I muttered to myself. I had only realized it was a he because of the boxer briefs in his laundry.
I bobbed my head to the Bon Jovi blaring through my headphones before perfectly folding the newly ironed white shirts. I wasn’t expecting anything or anyone and was so focused on my little world that when I did turn around and saw him—them, I nearly screamed.
“Take my hand and we’ll make it…” The music rang in my ears as I stood frozen in the hall.
I was unable to tear my eyes away from them as they ripped each other’s clothes off. It was two men—no, better make those two models I must have dreamt up.
Well-over six foot, one with dirty light brown hair, the other’s jet black, shirts off, ivory arms locked around each other, their sculpted chests and abs rubbing together.
They kissed like they needed to breathe through each other’s mouths while their tongues circled. The dark haired one reached into the pants of the other and grabbed the other man’s cock, which was now standing proud and thick…and tall. He kissed the side of the other man’s cheek and down his neck.
Amelia LeFay is a character of my own imagination. She’s a single woman in her mid twenties in love with sex. Dirty sex, rough sex, sex of any type. She’s not a whore or a slut. She believes a woman should be allowed to sexually express herself anyway she wishes. She stands for Gay Rights, Women’s Rights, the rights of Minorities, and Environmental protection. She can be a bitch but doesn’t think there is anything wrong with that. She has uneven boobs, stretch marks on her ass, astigmatism, and thighs that rub together as she walks. (Which means no pair of jeans last as long as she wishes they would.) But most importantly Amelia is a Dreamer…she has dreams so big it scares even her, because if she fails…if she can’t make it…she feels like nothing.
“LIFE IS TO BE LIVED, NOT CONTROLLED; AND HUMANITY IS WON BY CONTINUING TO PLAY IN FACE OF CERTAIN DEFEAT.” ~RALPH ELLISON