Sugar
by Lydia Michaels
ebook, 300 pages
Expected publication: September 29th 2020 by Bailey Brown Publishing
ASINB08DJ3VPPS
Avery Johansson is borrowing against her youth and beauty to afford a better future by working as a sugar baby. Men think she’s everything they desire, soft, delicate, and able to stroke their fragile egos with a mere sweep of her lashes. The more they pay, the sweeter she becomes. If only they knew the woman behind the façade. Oh, she could bring them to their knees, make them beg, and unburden their minds to a point of ecstasy. The true Avery doesn’t care for roses. She prefers the thorns. Because behind her beautiful exterior, she’s more leather than lace, and beneath the sugar there’s nothing but spice. The only thing missing is a strong and submissive man to make everything nice.
Noah Wolfe is used to getting exactly what he wants when he wants, and as he sets his sights on Avery Johansson, nothing will stop him short of having her. He’s determined to bury himself in her mind and body, and plans to unravel every dark secret she hides.
As two dominant hearts collide in an explosion of sin and secrets, boundaries come tumbling down. But their future lies in someone’s surrender, a sacrifice neither is prepared to make—and everything their happiness depends on.
Excerpt:
I could feel his stare weighing on me, heavy and warm like a blanket I didn’t ask for but appreciated all the same. He watched from across the hall, watched me like a man who saw something he fantasized about possessing. A beautiful car, a valuable company, a woman, either way, I was only an object to him. That was fine. Impersonal, the way I preferred my relationship with neighbors.
My hand trembled as I slid my gold key into the slot of the deadbolt, securely locking my door. The ornate moldings throughout the building imposed a sense of security as well as a sense of lavish luxury, so my sudden unsteadiness wasn’t due to fear, but rather the result of my hot neighbor’s nearness in our shared, narrow hall.
This man should not stir the feelings he roused inside of me.
Don’t look…
Sliding the ornate key into the narrow pocket of my Dior clutch, I tried to hide my body’s response to his attention. He pretended to sort a handful of mail outside of his apartment door, his tailored, bespoke clothing the usual high-end office attire, but he didn’t strike me as a self-important snob. Just a result of good circumstances.
Regardless of his background, he got up and went to work every weekday and sometimes on weekends. The golden stubble covering his jaw was proof of yet another long day’s work.
Snapping my clutch shut, I pretended not to notice him, and fought the urge to dissect him with my eyes.
No one read their mail in the hall. They grabbed it from the lobby and dumped it on their counter when they walked through the door. Yet he eye fucked each envelope with the same intensity one reviewed a life or death contract. I doubted he read a single word.
Bingo. With a flick of his thick lashes, blond enough to give his blue eyes a dramatic gilded fringe, his gaze left the mail and landed on me. I looked away because there wasn’t time to play the demure flirt, and the last thing I needed was another man in my life.
I could feel his stare weighing on me, heavy and warm like a blanket I didn’t ask for but appreciated all the same. He watched from across the hall, watched me like a man who saw something he fantasized about possessing. A beautiful car, a valuable company, a woman, either way, I was only an object to him. That was fine. Impersonal, the way I preferred my relationship with neighbors.
My hand trembled as I slid my gold key into the slot of the deadbolt, securely locking my door. The ornate moldings throughout the building imposed a sense of security as well as a sense of lavish luxury, so my sudden unsteadiness wasn’t due to fear, but rather the result of my hot neighbor’s nearness in our shared, narrow hall.
This man should not stir the feelings he roused inside of me.
Don’t look…
Sliding the ornate key into the narrow pocket of my Dior clutch, I tried to hide my body’s response to his attention. He pretended to sort a handful of mail outside of his apartment door, his tailored, bespoke clothing the usual high-end office attire, but he didn’t strike me as a self-important snob. Just a result of good circumstances.
Regardless of his background, he got up and went to work every weekday and sometimes on weekends. The golden stubble covering his jaw was proof of yet another long day’s work.
Snapping my clutch shut, I pretended not to notice him, and fought the urge to dissect him with my eyes.
No one read their mail in the hall. They grabbed it from the lobby and dumped it on their counter when they walked through the door. Yet he eye fucked each envelope with the same intensity one reviewed a life or death contract. I doubted he read a single word.
Bingo. With a flick of his thick lashes, blond enough to give his blue eyes a dramatic gilded fringe, his gaze left the mail and landed on me. I looked away because there wasn’t time to play the demure flirt, and the last thing I needed was another man in my life.
About Lydia Michaels:
Lydia Michaels is the author of over thirty-five novels and the consecutive winner of the 2018 & 2019 Author of the Year Award from Happenings Media, as well as the recipient of the 2014 Best Author Award from the Courier Times. She has been featured in USA Today, Romantic Times Magazine, Love & Lace, and more. As the host and founder of the East Coast Author Convention, the Behind the Keys Author Retreat, and Read Between the Wines, she continues to celebrate her growing love for readers and romance novels around the world.
Lydia is happily married to her childhood sweetheart. Some of her favorite things include the scent of paperback books, listening to her husband play piano, escaping to her coastal home at the Jersey Shore, cheap wine, 80’s pop culture, coffee, and kilts. She hopes to meet you soon at one of her many upcoming events. You can follow Lydia at www.Facebook.com/LydiaMichaels
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