My writing partner, Eleanor Bruce and I are going to be posting a 5,000-10,000 word story over the coming weeks as a free read leading up to the publication of our new book by Total E Bound, Doctor, Doctor, due out in late January.
The story is called The Law of the Jungle and is about a shy farm boy from Nebraska and a worldly millionaire playboy in New York City and how they meet. The amazing cover art is by Erin E. Keller. We thank her for doing this for us.
So, one week, I will post between 500-800 words, the next week, Eleanor will be posting and we’ll continue with that until we are done. Since we are in the process of completing this story right now, the plot could change week to week. Therefore, check back at her blog and mine for weekly updates! Comments also help us decide how the story will eventually end up. So, feedback is awesome!
When done we will be putting up as a free read on ARe, Goodreads and Amazon in ebook format. Without further ado, The Law of the Jungle:
Blake Martin surveyed his domain as a lion stalks his game right before the kill, cautiously and stealthily; waiting for that one perfect moment so he could jump out and seize his prey from the herd and make him his own.
This particular target was special. Unique. Blake could see that even from his perch overlooking the dance floor of his club.
From the moment the tall man had strolled into The Acropolis nightclub with a few friends forty-five minutes ago, Blake had been fascinated with the bronze god. The dark-headed man sat to the right side of the dance floor watching his friends dancing, nursing what looked to be a Sprite.
Twenty-seven years of growing up mostly in New York had hardened Blake to the majority of things, including the ‘beautiful people’ of his world. One gold-digging ex-wife had cured him of the notion of love and the ability to trust people. And while this man was incredibly striking to look at, there was something else that Blake couldn’t put his finger on that was drawing him in. Call it charisma or an aura, but the stranger was making him feel things that were unacceptable to Blake, feelings long since denied.
It was scary.
But, it was also exciting and Blake had never been one to resist the lure of the unknown.
Unable to withstand temptation any longer, he turned away from the floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased one side of his massive office, and walked over to the small refrigerator that he kept well stocked and grabbed a bottle of Cristal champagne. Then, gathering two glasses, he started to leave the room, pausing so he could check his appearance in the mirror next to the door. He gave his dark blue silk shirt the once over and his linen trousers a slight pat with his free hand, brushing away any lint he may have picked up in his travels around the club and restaurant. Now he was ready.
Blake knew he wasn’t your typical GQ model type. His face was too strong, his mouth a little too thin, making him look younger than his twenty-seven years. Plus, his blond-ish hair a little too dishwater brown to compete with the beautifully coiffed social butterflies in his set; but Blake knew he had a few things those pretty boys that graced the covers of GQ didn’t have: brains, ambition, power and money.
Those four qualities flowed through him and attracted people to him like a magnet to steel and over the years he had learned they were a more powerful aphrodisiac than the prettiest of faces or bodies. But it had been the Martin name and money that had facilitated his welcome him back into New York high society circles after years away at boarding schools, then college; holding open all the doors that should have been slammed in his face years ago after his millionaire father’s untimely death in a freak plane crash when Blake was fifteen.
Brains and ambition had helped him through his years in boarding school, later at Princeton as an undergraduate and two years ago when he’d graduated from Harvard Business School with his MBA.
The Martin name had made The Acropolis a success beyond his wildest dreams. Blake had only opened the club six months ago and already it was the hottest spot to party if you were young, wealthy and lived in New York. It was the Studio 54 of its time. There was a two-month wait list to get into the restaurant on the bottom level where the chef, imported from France, had turned the menu into a culinary feast of delights that drew raves from every food critic in the city.
The dance club on the upper levels above the restaurant was packed to capacity every night. His doorman could pick and choose who to let in or tell to go home. The restaurant had even gotten a positive review in The New York Times — no small feat in a newspaper that had reviewed some of the best 5-star eateries in town. Personally Blake preferred burgers and fries to the nouvelle cuisine they served at his own restaurant, but to keep up with appearances he ate downstairs at least once a week to keep up with his social crowd. Then, snuck out to Five Guys to get a more fulfilling meal.
Yes, Blake Martin had finally arrived. The prodigal son had returned home triumphant. Smiling at himself, Blake was ready. The man wouldn’t know what hit him.
Closing and locking his office door behind him, Blake let his eyes adjust to the dim lights of the club. Pounding techno music blared from the $500,000 sound system as he gracefully crossed the metal catwalk to his private elevator. Getting inside he hit the down button, which would take him to the main dance floor and the object of his hunt.