BWWM Billionaire Erotic Romance Novella With Mature Content for Readers 18+
"Rafe’s first thought was that he wanted to paint her as a Nile River goddess, her shimmering dreadlocks fanned around her head like sunrays."
Shawna Franklin’s life is challenging… taking care of her teenage brother and working hard in low paying, part-time jobs that barely covers the rent. It’s worth it though. She’s determined Jamie won’t end up like their deadbeat, druggie mother, or worse.
Each month, she earns a few extra dollars posing nude for a SoMa art studio. A proud and stunningly beautiful African American woman, she doesn't like exposing herself to strangers like that. But it's legitimate work and she’d do anything for her kid brother.
Rafe Adams has it made. A former marketing executive, he’s a handsome white male who cashed out early and will never have to work another day in his life. It’s all about the finer things in life now, with plenty of money and time to pursue what he loves, including his passion for art. There's only one thing missing, and money can't buy it.
When she disrobes in Rafe's class that first time, Shawna's grace and mystery grabs him and shakes him to the core. He has to have her, has to know her. He doesn’t know why. He just does.
She's overcome, too, by her own attraction to this striking man, but suspicious. What's his true motivation? Will he be just one more jerk who thinks she’s a toy to possess, to play with until he’s bored then tosses it away? Or… could he be the one?
Their worlds are as different as her black is to his white. Is it possible for such differences to come together and make something beautiful? Should she stay proud and independent, or take a risk on love and reach for her dreams?
Of course, choices are never that easy.
Read an excerpt:
Shawna watched him watching her. His pale grey eyes swept over her bare skin like the softest of caresses. Same as last week. And the week before that.
She’d noticed him that first time. How could she not? She didn’t think she’d ever seen anything like him… at least, not up close before. Six foot three, maybe four, broad shouldered and narrow hipped. His jaw was square, and his nose was straight and strong. He was clean-shaven, but his black hair was mussed despite the neat cut. As if he ran his fingers through it a lot.
He’d strolled into the classroom wearing jeans that weren’t worn or ratty at the hems. The fabric didn’t look stiff or tight—though compared to the baggy, sagging jeans she usually saw around the neighborhood, she supposed it was—but they were clearly new. Or maybe expensive. The material clung to his muscled thighs with understandable tenacity. Over the jeans he wore a button-down dress shirt in a deep blue-black, untucked, the long sleeves rolled up to his elbows, baring forearms dusted with curling hair several shades lighter than what was on his head.
Despite his relaxed posture and obviously casual attire, he looked like he could step into a press conference or a boardroom or something. She’d spent the last two weeks, since that first modeling session, trying to imagine what a guy who looked like some banker or CEO was doing taking classes at an art school in SoMa.
And why did he look at her like… well, Shawna didn’t exactly know what was in the looks he constantly aimed her way, but it sure as hell wasn’t just artistic interest. She’d done this gig at least fifty times already. Anywhere from ten to twenty people a class. Over a thousand eyes had looked at her naked body.
But she’d only felt his gaze. Like a warm hand on her skin, trailing everywhere he looked. And he looked everywhere. The sensation made the tiny hairs on her skin stand on end, sent twisting curls of lightning deep into her belly, made it hard to maintain the stillness of her poses. It was unnerving.
A couple of men, and even a few women, had looked at her with lust in their eyes during class in the past. She was familiar with what that looked like. It didn’t bother her much. None of them had made so much as a comment in her hearing, or acted at all out of line. And, if she was honest, there was a tiny part of her that enjoyed their frank appreciation. As long as they weren’t rude about it, which none of them had been.
None of them had looked at her the way he did, either. It wasn’t lust. Or not just lust. Whatever it was, Shawna had no yardstick by which to measure it. No one had ever looked at her like that.
And the drawings! After the last class, she’d managed to maneuver herself into position to sneak a peek at his sketchpad while he was talking to Rob. A couple of times in the past, she’d had the chance to see the sketches other artists had done of her. It was always interesting.
His, though, were… Well, it felt somewhat conceited to say so, but they were gorgeous.
Shawna knew she was good-looking. She had a nice body, good skin, a pretty face. She was confident in herself; she enjoyed being in her own skin. Men responded to that. But the way he drew her made her look like more than just some hot chick.
Looking at the charcoal lines of her face as he’d rendered them made something in her chest grow tight. He’d drawn her eyes staring out of the paper, wide and gorgeous and… captivating. He’d made her look strong, sexy, and powerful; and he didn’t even know her.
It was as if, when he looked at her, he was seeing more than just her skin. He was seeing into her. The bones and the will that made her up. Her soul. It was disturbing and… okay, kind of hot too.
Hello, Dear Readers!
I am a small-town country girl with big-city ambitions. Muscled hunks are my thing! I love reading bewitching tales of seduction and romance and passionate lovemaking with stunning men.
My first little girl thrills were from seeing the sexy studs in the underwear catalogues my gay uncle had lying around his cabin in the mountains. How come none of my boy classmates ever looked like that? But as all of us women know, a handsome male face and body are only part of the attraction. Hotness is the spice; imagination, kind words, inner strength and confidence, a romantic nature, and the hint of a naughty, bad-boy streak are the main course.
My fantasies take me all over the world, from walking hand in hand with a gorgeous guy in the moonlight on the ramparts of Mont St-Michel as the tide rushes in, to candlelight dinners with a dark, broad shouldered man in a tux in the splendor of 1920s San Francisco, to leaning back into the strong embrace of a rock hard and warm-skinned river guide after going over a Class V rapid on the Pacuare River in Costa Rica, to riding horseback on a dude ranch with lusty wranglers under a blue Montana sky that goes on forever.
You never know where I might go next. I invite you to come along with me and imagine the life of your dreams.
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