A man looking for a new beginning
Hunter Donovan is a writer who dreamed of penning the great American novel but settled for a job running the family business, Donovan Books. Trapped publishing other people’s stories, Hunter buries his frustrations in vodka and an endless parade of one-night stands.
A woman with a secret
Cary Anderson is the perky, petite, and staunchly determined editor who is well versed in erotica fiction. But Cary has a kinky side that she is struggling to keep hidden from the world.
Fed up with dwindling sales, Hunter hopes to breathe new life into his publishing house by breaking into the risqué world of erotica. He hires Cary to rescue his company and she is keen to show her new boss everything she knows. But what starts out as a lesson in sexual fiction turns into an unexpected roller coaster ride of disastrous romantic encounters. And just when Cary helps stir Hunter’s creative voice, he uncovers the truth about her wicked ways.
Some ties that bind can cut right to the heart in…The Bondage Club.
The veil of evening was reaching across his office window when Hunter’s cell phone on the side of his desk rang. Checking the caller ID, he frowned when he saw that the number was blocked.“This is Hunter Donovan,” he barked into the phone.“Do you always answer the phone in such a cheerful manner?” a seductive female voice reprimanded.“That depends on who this is.”“Cary told me of your little meeting today, and your interest in my next book. You don’t waste any time do you?”Hunter’s heart skipped a beat. “Well, well, Ms. Slut. Nice to hear your voice again. I hope your time at the Book Expo was worthwhile.”“You were the highlight of my trip, Mr. Donovan.”Hunter smiled as he sat back in his creaky desk chair. “I’m so glad. I was beginning to think you didn’t like me.”“Have you ever met a woman who didn’t like you?”The question made Hunter chuckle. “Which answer will get me your next book, Ms. Slut?”A high-pitched tinkling laugh came through the speaker of his iPhone, making Hunter’s stomach flutter ever so lightly. “I like a man who doesn’t waste time with sweet talk. Check your email. I just sent you the manuscript. It’s called The Bondage Club, and if you’re interested, e-mail me a contract, and I will look it over.”“Can I ask what it’s about? I mean, with a title like that I can guess, but….” His voice faded as his curiosity rose.“There are many different kinds of bondage, Mr. Donovan, that don’t involve ropes, chains, or even handcuffs.”Hunter gaped at his cell phone. “I don’t get it.”“Love can be a form of bondage,” she explained. “We can get tied to someone just as easily as we can be tied up by someone. The book is about bondage in all of its forms.”“Then I look forward to reading it.” He paused as he thought of an idea. “But why not come to my office? We can discuss the details of the contract over lunch,” he pursued with a hint of insistence in his voice.“I don’t think so. Lunch with you would be dangerous.”Hunter coyly smiled. “For which one of us, Ms. Slut?”“I’m not your type, Mr. Donovan.”Hunter’s body rippled with the hint of a challenge. “You never know; if Donovan Books handles your novel, we may grow on each other.”“I hope not. Getting involved with the man who publishes my book would complicate matters. I’m also a very demanding author. I might get on your nerves after a time.”“I have a lot of demanding authors. You would fit right in.”“Do you usually try and date your authors, or will I be the first?”He fingered a corner of the manuscript open on the desk before him as his imagination began to wander. “You would be the first. I never date clients.”“I heard a nasty little rumor to the contrary, about your brother and Monique Delome. They were engaged and then she up and married some Texas oil man. Lucky girl.”“Lucky to be rid of my brother,” Hunter returned, pushing the manuscript in front of him to the side.“Oh, do I detect a note of sibling rivalry, Mr. Donovan?”He leaned back in his chair and turned his eyes to his arched window. “Rivalry, nah. More like deep-seated hatred. And if I’m going to bare my soul to you, you should start calling me, Hunter.”“Let me guess, Hunter.” Her voice was throaty and delicious, spurring on his desire. “He stole your Legos when you were six and you have never forgiven him.”Hunter ran his hand over his face, feeling the conversation was getting a little too personal. “Never mind my brother. Let’s talk about you.”“I make it a practice never to talk about myself. The less people know about me, the better.”“I don’t agree, Ms. Sl….” Hunter crinkled his brow. “What else can I call you? Ms. Slut is too—”“Call me Smuttie, if you like.”“Smuttie…don’t you have a real name?”“Smuttie is all you need to know.” The sound of voices in the background broke in. “Let me know what you think of my manuscript, Hunter. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.” Then the line went dead.
Alexandrea Weis is an advanced practice registered nurse who was born and raised in New Orleans. Having been brought up in the motion picture industry, she learned to tell stories from a different perspective and began writing at the age of eight. Infusing the rich tapestry of her hometown into her award-winning novels, she believes that creating vivid characters makes a story memorable. A permitted/certified wildlife rehabber with the Louisiana Wildlife and Fisheries, Weis rescues orphaned and injured wildlife. She lives with her husband and pets in New Orleans.
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