Fever!
BUY LINKS for Exit Strategy:
SUMMARY
Ex*it Strat*e*gy (noun) 1. A preplanned means of extricating oneself from a situation that is likely to become difficult or unpleasant. 2. The method by which a venture capitalist or business owner intends to get out of an investment that he or she has made in the past.
Will Keisha and Tristan exercise their elaborate EXIT STRATEGY and end their unorthodox arrangement?
Assailed by demons she thought she had conquered, Keisha Beale has uttered the words to end her tumultuous relationship with Tristan White. Separated, they grapple for a time with their personal
demons. However, when their lives apart become unbearable, a credible threat brings them back together prematurely.As they seek to discover who is responsible for the threats, several seemingly unrelated incidents throw them into a tailspin. Will Keisha's youthful indiscretions or Tristan's un-reconciled feelings for an ex derail their tenuous arrangement?In the meantime, trouble in Nathan and Jada's paradise send dramatic ripples that hint of future difficulties in the idyllic pairing.
Nothing Ventured...
Tristan uses his vast wealth and connections to correct a gross miscarriage of justice, while Keisha makes herself utterly vulnerable to Tristan and fears he has chosen to exercise his own exit strategy.
...Nothing Gained!
Will this be the end of the indecent proposal that became a fairy tale? Or will Keisha and Tristan reveal the trauma from their pasts so they may heal and completely embrace their relationship?
Sensual, suspenseful, and still infused with the riotous levity of Triple-G and Fairy Hoochie Mama, the Ghetto Girl Romance Quadrilogy departs from full parody with a distinctive take on love, loyalty, sacrifice, redemption, and acceptance.
EXCERPT
“Tell me again why you can’t stay?” he says as we stand in front of the elevator.
“Because it’s just not a good idea. And I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Actually, you do,” he says. “Mrs. Naven found some things in the laundry after you left. Problem solved.” He takes both my hands and backs up into the sitting room.
“Tristan, we still have some things to sort out. Tonight was great, but I still don’t think I’m cut out to be your submissive.”
“Just my submissive?”
I drop my head. “No. Anyone’s.”
“You’re afraid you’ll have panic attacks again, aren’t you?”
I feel like I’m about to be swallowed up by the sincere blue eyes tracking and pinning mine so effectively I can’t look away. “Yes. And I’m no use to you if I can’t endure the scenes, particularly the occasional disciplinary consequences.”
“What if there was a way you could?” His finger traces a gentle path down my cheek.
“What do you mean?” “Just what I said. If there was a way we could work around the panic attacks, would you come back? For good?”
“You mean until you perfect your exit strategy? That’s what you venture capitalists call it, don’t you?”
“Ah, someone’s been paying attention at our semiannual business meetings?”
“I have a rather exacting mentor who insists on being heard.”
“Asshole,” he says and pulls me close. I place my hands on his chest in an effort to sustain some emotional equilibrium, but he doesn’t let me go. “I’m the one who’ll be ass-out when you lose confidence in your investment and decide it’s time to diversify your portfolio again.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon, Keisha.” He draws me closer, palming my hips, and I get his point. Pun intended. “I can’t seem to get enough of you.”
I slip out of his arms and put some space between us. “Chemistry has never been an issue for us, Tristan. I know your lifestyle is important to you, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep up.” The truth is, I’m hopelessly in love with a man who hasn’t given me any indication that he will ever want a real relationship. Nothing has changed on that front. He still just wants just a Dominant/submissive relationship, which might enjoy a longevity his other arrangements haven’t had, but it will eventually end. Can I really do this? I certainly don’t think I’ll become any less in love with him over time. Reentering a sexual relationship with Tristan now would be exceedingly counterproductive to the reasons I left in the first place, but I am hard-pressed to make myself walk away again.
Tristan moves so close behind me that I can feel the warmth of his skin, his breath wafting over my ear as he speaks. “We’ll take things slow—again.” He runs a finger along my arm, and gooseflesh sprouts like ivy in its wake. I feel a pull toward him that can only be described as magnetic—my body eager to be reunited to his. Even though it could conceivably be more painful for me this time around, I’m not sure if leaving him again is within the realm of possibility. I can’t rationalize staying, but leaving becomes increasingly more difficult with each second I remain in his presence.
I turn to face him. “Slow isn’t necessarily going to keep the attacks at bay.” Or guard my heart if he decides he’s done with me.
“We’ll figure out a way to do that together.” He takes me into his arms again. “These three weeks have been ... just please stay.”
I look into his eyes, and all I want to do at that moment is kiss him senseless. He may not have given me a declaration of love, but somehow I know this is as close as I’m going to get with a man like Tristan White. For now. As an answer, I stand on my tiptoes, throw my arms around his neck, and kiss him with everything in me.
“Because it’s just not a good idea. And I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Actually, you do,” he says. “Mrs. Naven found some things in the laundry after you left. Problem solved.” He takes both my hands and backs up into the sitting room.
“Tristan, we still have some things to sort out. Tonight was great, but I still don’t think I’m cut out to be your submissive.”
“Just my submissive?”
I drop my head. “No. Anyone’s.”
“You’re afraid you’ll have panic attacks again, aren’t you?”
I feel like I’m about to be swallowed up by the sincere blue eyes tracking and pinning mine so effectively I can’t look away. “Yes. And I’m no use to you if I can’t endure the scenes, particularly the occasional disciplinary consequences.”
“What if there was a way you could?” His finger traces a gentle path down my cheek.
“What do you mean?” “Just what I said. If there was a way we could work around the panic attacks, would you come back? For good?”
“You mean until you perfect your exit strategy? That’s what you venture capitalists call it, don’t you?”
“Ah, someone’s been paying attention at our semiannual business meetings?”
“I have a rather exacting mentor who insists on being heard.”
“Asshole,” he says and pulls me close. I place my hands on his chest in an effort to sustain some emotional equilibrium, but he doesn’t let me go. “I’m the one who’ll be ass-out when you lose confidence in your investment and decide it’s time to diversify your portfolio again.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon, Keisha.” He draws me closer, palming my hips, and I get his point. Pun intended. “I can’t seem to get enough of you.”
I slip out of his arms and put some space between us. “Chemistry has never been an issue for us, Tristan. I know your lifestyle is important to you, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep up.” The truth is, I’m hopelessly in love with a man who hasn’t given me any indication that he will ever want a real relationship. Nothing has changed on that front. He still just wants just a Dominant/submissive relationship, which might enjoy a longevity his other arrangements haven’t had, but it will eventually end. Can I really do this? I certainly don’t think I’ll become any less in love with him over time. Reentering a sexual relationship with Tristan now would be exceedingly counterproductive to the reasons I left in the first place, but I am hard-pressed to make myself walk away again.
Tristan moves so close behind me that I can feel the warmth of his skin, his breath wafting over my ear as he speaks. “We’ll take things slow—again.” He runs a finger along my arm, and gooseflesh sprouts like ivy in its wake. I feel a pull toward him that can only be described as magnetic—my body eager to be reunited to his. Even though it could conceivably be more painful for me this time around, I’m not sure if leaving him again is within the realm of possibility. I can’t rationalize staying, but leaving becomes increasingly more difficult with each second I remain in his presence.
I turn to face him. “Slow isn’t necessarily going to keep the attacks at bay.” Or guard my heart if he decides he’s done with me.
“We’ll figure out a way to do that together.” He takes me into his arms again. “These three weeks have been ... just please stay.”
I look into his eyes, and all I want to do at that moment is kiss him senseless. He may not have given me a declaration of love, but somehow I know this is as close as I’m going to get with a man like Tristan White. For now. As an answer, I stand on my tiptoes, throw my arms around his neck, and kiss him with everything in me.
GIVEAWAY
L.V. LEWIS'S CONTACT INFO
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
L. V. Lewis has one foot in South Georgia and the other in North Florida. She's been blessed with a husband who's put up with her for a lot of years and has given birth to four children, two of whom she has raised to adulthood and one to near adulthood. She delights in her almost empty nest status so much that she writes the kinkiest novels she can conjure up.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thank you for your comment. It will be added after the administrator screens for spam.