Manhattan Millionaire’s Cinderella

Please welcome my fabulous writer friend, Sun Chara, on my blog today. Sun has published two books with Harper a Impulse. Let’s take a look at MMC.

Will their wedding night be a one-night stand or a merger for keeps?
Global real estate mogul, Cade Sloan should’ve listened to his own advice: trust no one, and never a woman…especially not his 24 hour bride gone AWOL with his millions. Nina, mousy secretary turned sexy vixen, will repay every penny with interest…
When Cade gears up for a takeover, there’s sweet hell to pay. Nina owes her husband a wedding night and he’s hell bent on collecting… his way, his time, his pleasure.

Hmmm. Sounds super sexy and romantic. Let’s have a look at the excerpt.

EXCERPT: Manhattan Millionaire’s Cinderella
Cade Sloan—Manhattan’s hotshot bachelor on the brink of bankruptcy.
Cade read the headline and hurled the newspaper into the trashcan, the
taunting words searing his brain. Prowling to and fro his high-rise office, he paused in stride and zoned in on his secretary, sitting ramrod straight, her fingers flying across the computer keyboard.
“Ms. McLow—” The words dissolved on his tongue, and he
scratched his head. What was her name anyway?
“Ms. McLow—” He cleared his throat and tried again. “Ms.—”
“McLowsky.” She lifted a shapely brow and tossed him a glance
through her coke-bottle thick lenses, a blush on her cheeks. “Nina
Did she just click her tongue in disapproval?
Just his luck. She came with attitude.
“Of course.” He swiped a finger around his shirt collar, and his chest tightened. “Nina McLowsky.” Scrambling to regroup, he seized the
Coffee-mate from the counter and filled a cup with coffee.
She looked like she had walked out of a 1950’s Norman Rockwell painting, an epitome of diplomacy and efficiency. He stroked his throat, and then shook his head, amazed. He was actually flirting with the idea of a merger …with her.
At least with her, there’d be no emotional tantrums. The thought had him breaking out in a sweat. He never let any woman get close enough to
get a glimpse beneath the surface, to know what made him tick. ‘Never trust
a woman’ was his motto.
A cab horn blared amidst the congested traffic on Madison Avenue and ripped through his thoughts. He flinched in annoyance.
He hadn’t felt this bridled since he was a boy, and, he had vowed
never to feel like this again. But he was running out of options. He had to score a mega hit or he was going to cave. Fast.
And that rankled his pride.
“Here you go.” He plopped the coffee cup on her desk, and a huff of air burst from his mouth, ruffling a wisp at her temple.
She squinted at the steaming brew, then up at him, her baby blues all innocence and perplexity. “Thank you.”
His gut flexed. He frowned and dismissed the unsettling feeling.
“Careful, it’s hot.”
She peered at him above her thick lenses, a hint of a smile on her mouth, her fingers never missing a beat. Maybe if he focused on the dimple
on her cheek, he could go through with the transaction.
“Take a moment, Ms. McLowsky.” The smell of caffeine gave him a boost, and latching onto his own mug, he shot her his killer smile.
“Well…uh…” he began, words sticking in his throat. “Drink up.”
“Yes, sir.” She picked up the steaming cup, blew on the liquid and took a sip, fixing her gaze on him over the rim.
Was that a glint of amusement in her eyes?
She blinked and it was gone. “Is that it, sir?” She set the cup on the desk.
“No.” He lifted his mug to his lips, took a gulp of the black brew and scorched his tongue. He swore, a muffled sound.
She heard and raised that well-defined eyebrow again.
He tautened his abs iron-hard.
“There’s a new position in the company.” He stepped closer and hitching up his jean-clad leg, propped his hip on the corner of her desk. “You’re the best match.”
“What is it?”
“A merger of sorts.”
At thirty-three, Cade was not averse to a challenge, it was the coercion
tactic he abhorred. His lifelong nemesis that he booted from the boardroom
tossed him a curve to the tune of three million—problem was—the deal included a stipulation to muzzle…er…marry him off.
Cade was under no illusions his uncle’s offer was iced with ulterior
motives, but in no position to refuse, he had to take the bait. A pittance, but it’d swing him from the red into the black, and buy him some time. He’d expand his global holdings, complete the mega development in Cyprus,
triple his profits and—his heart turned to stone—catch the hacker
embezzling company funds.
The con was about to demolish Cade into a heap of rubble.
…read more Ch 1 on wattpad


Author: Sun Chara
Book Title: Manhattan Millionaire’s Cinderella – sexy, hip ‘n fun contemporary romance
Book Image: Attached
Publisher: HarperImpulse
Purchase: Amazon US
Amazon UK
Amazon worldwide & all other eretailers
*Now available in paperback
Facebook Link:
Twitter: @sunchara3


About the author:

Sun Chara, a multi-published, JABBIC winner Manhattan Millionaire’s Cinderella, keys sexy, hip ‘n fun contemporary romance, high adventure historical romance, and any genre that knocks at her imagination. Globetrotting for lore while keeping tabs on Hollywood leads…she loves the challenge of creating stories for book and screen. Designer frappuccinos with whipping cream and sprinkles on top make everyday a celebration! – See more at:



Rachel Valentine is Back

Thanks for having me on your blog today to talk about my first release under the name Samantha Allard. The Dark of the Moon started life as a short story series under the name Ella Grey. When I got the rights back the story was expanded and heavily revised. I believe it’s stronger for it. Rachel Valentine has always been one of my favourite characters, a snarky teenager who is willing to go above and beyond to save her brother and bring her family back together. Throw in wolves and a boy who annoys and intrigues her in equal measures and you get a story of accepting your past and growing as a person.
I’ll be taking part in a bigger blog tour next month, so keep an eye out for that to be in for a chance to win eBooks. Join my page on Facebook to keep updated.

Here’s what the book is about. . .

A missing brother, werewolves at war, and she’s stuck in the middle. Rachel might not be your average girl, but even she has her limits. Three years ago her brother disappeared, and Rachel went off the rails quite spectacularly. Now she is trapped in a nunnery because she accidently blew up half the science department at her old school. One night she sees her long-lost brother in the crowd behind a reporter on television. There’s no mistaking who he is, but getting her parents to believe her is a different matter. It leaves her one option: break out of the nunnery and travel to London to track him down.
She’s about to find out that things are never that simple and there are some secrets that are impossible to believe.

I drop the box at my feet, then rummage through it. The book I need is wedged in deep.
Thank God the nuns hadn’t searched through any of the books I brought. I specifically chose the Stephen King, figuring it was the safest one. It took me ages to hollow it out. There’s enough money in here that no one would notice the slight difference in weight. I flick through the wad of money, stopping when I catch sight of the fake ID, which adds a few years to my age. I use the blue rucksack stuffed into the box. I add the things I need inside. First the book, the money and ID still hidden away. A few items of clothes follow them, a skirt, a dress, T-shirts, and jeans. I’m looking forward to getting out of this stupid uniform. Hell, I’d burn it if I had time.
Just leaving the cupboard, I notice a name on one of the boxes. Susan Towers. What had she told me about herself? Pausing at the door, I think. Come on, Rachel, think. She said something about makeup. She’s a makeup student. There might be something I can use in her box. I slide the box down. One quick search through it and then I’ll go. I nearly jump when I brush my hand against something soft and brown.
What the hell is that?
A smile unfolds on my face when I realize what it is, hair. A wig. I fight against the urge to break out in a dance.
This is perfect. I can definitely use this.

A little about me. . .

Once upon a time, in a galaxy far away, passed the farthest star in the sky and where the horizon meets for its kiss with the land, Samantha battled evil drones. The drones were six feet tall, had three sets of hands, and it was best if you didn’t mention the third eye. (They don’t like it when you bring it up.) She wields words like a sword in her hand and cuts down her foes with the skill of a ballerina wearing flip-flops and juggling chainsaws. (She knows how to multitask.)
Take a trip into her worlds (yep, plural) as she writes young adult with a touch of wolves and anything else that takes her fancy.
Buy Links



Cherish is my first published ebook. It’s a YA story set in KZN and has a few futuristic and paranormal elements. Have a look at Armando’s POV and let me know what you think.

“I swear my father lost his mind the day I grew up. I mean where does he come up with crazy plans to rule the world and ruin people’s lives. Not that I’m exempt. Two weeks ago he told me to watch a girl. Sarah Parker. He said she’s my enemy. The girl who’d mark my end. Like really. I have yet to meet a girl powerful enough to destroy me.

Dad’s weird predictions ceased to amaze me years ago. Girls were not created to destroy me. In fact, Sarah Parker is the only girl who completes me. There’s absolutely no way I’ll destroy her. Even if it means defying my father.

The worst part about Dad’s latest epiphany is sending me back to school. Dolphin Coast High is pretty awesome though – a private school with expensive facilities and lessons like life coaching. Definitely a rich kids school. At least I don’t have to rough it out at a down market public school. I’ve done my fair share of roughing it out. Anyway back to the present. I’m on my way to school. Being the new kid sucks. And trust me – I’m a veteran when it comes to being the new kid. My father’s line of work ensures we move around the universe a lot. Starting over has its ups and downs. Being assigned to end someone’s life doesn’t.”




Personal Rant

Someone obviously doesn’t like me. Over the past few months this person has been subtly attacking my car. First there was a ballpoint doodle across the bonnet. Next, multiple scratches with a sharper object – enough for me to notice but also cover up. Then there was the missing caps on the pressure valve things on the wheels. The latest – digging out the rubber on the windscreen. I told a cop friend of mine about the incidents and I have to admit I never considered this possibility. These are subtle threats against my life. This person probably can’t stand the sight of me. The windscreen coming loose while I’m driving will definitely cause major damage to my face and probably cause me to lose control and veer off the road. How can someone be such a psycho? I’m posting this on FACEBOOK not as a threat but that in the event of a more serious attack, someone looks back on this to catch the suspect. Those so you close to me know who HE is. Yes, it is a man.

I’ve had to deal with numerous insults over the last couple of months. Mostly because I am an intelligent, successful woman who knows my shit. I am a published writer, a Masters student and I have a wonderful career that presents me with more joy and countless opportunities to bring joy into the lives of the students I work with. I do what I love and I am incredibly blessed. Why some people cannot accept this, God only knows. These individuals have gone to the extent of making my life such a misery that I requested my workload be changed. I’ve been called stupid and my students have been told I don’t know how to teach but I still have excellent pass rates. All of this points to jealousy.

This post is not just a rant. The attacks on my car are an indirect attack on me. I’m posting this story on all my social media networks so that if I am ever attacked, the police and my family will know that this was pre meditated.

A man who can stoop so low is not a man at all. He doesn’t have the balls to make himself a better person. He doesn’t have the guts to face me so he goes after my harmless car. My car that minds nobody’s business. My car which was bought PURELY with my own hard earned cash. See, I don’t need to sponge off my spouse to get the things I want. I either earn it myself or I do without. Although material things mean little to me, my car holds a special place in my heart. It is my first sign of independence. It is also something my late Mom always wanted me to get but her body didn’t allow her to stick around to witness it.

The jibes at my SINGLE status – all I. All I can say is, Dude where is it biting you if I’m not buckled. How is that any of your business? Why should I explain myself? Am I suppose to jump in your pants? Sorry to break your heart but apart from the fact that you’re not my type, you’re also a coward.

I know you stalk me on the Internet. And just because you can’t get enough of me – here’s a few pics you can wank to.




Promo – Author Ember Leigh

Please welcome author Ember Leigh who has a brand new release due tomorrow.

Casey and Carlos

Releasing from Breathless Press on September 12th, 2014.

Casey hasn’t seen Carlos in four years, but a business trip brings the ex-lovers together, making them question whether the spark is still really there.

Blurb: Recently divorced, Casey has been longing for a man’s touch. So when business brings her back to Carlos, the one that got away, it has to be fate. The four years apart have only done him better, and all she can think about is having his arms, and body, wrapped around hers. But Carlos is not the same man he was four years ago, and Casey too is feeling the weight of too much time gone by. Can Casey help reignite his fire or has time left them behind?


Her breath caught as she followed him up the staircase, tucked to the far side of the house. Carlos had always been fit enough, but it looked like he’d taken up some new form of exercise in the past four years. He was beefier, yet still lean. His ass moved round and tight in front of her as they climbed the stairs. At the landing, he gestured in front of them.
“This is my studio, but it’s all yours for tonight.”
It was a rec room that took up the whole second floor, and far more standard male than the ground floor alluded to. Movie posters, gaming systems, books scattered on floors and coffee tables, and, off to one side, the trumpet, asleep in a bed of sheet music. In the corner there was an overstuffed couch just about as wide as she was long – it would be great to sleep on, even better if he could bend her over that armrest and fuck her until dinner was ready.
She cleared her throat, deciding adult friendships could be fun, even after four questionable years. “I thought I’d be sharing a bed with you?” She tried to keep her tone playful as she sauntered toward the couch. She tossed him a smile and she caught a glimpse of him looking very stricken. Shit. Too far. Things are too different now. Abort!
Maybe too much time had passed in general. Maybe he was courting a girl and wanted to take it slow with her. Maybe he no longer found her attractive, four years becoming the dagger in the heart. Maybe he’d become celibate, or found her life too normal and boring. There was a whole list of reasons why she shouldn’t make the first move.
“I was just joking,” she said after a moment, rolling her eyes. “Come on, lighten up.”
He exhaled slowly, looking down at the ground as his tongue found the corner of his mouth. “I know it was a joke, Case.”
“In case you forgot, we used to share a bed.” She looked at him pointedly, already horrified that the words were coming from her lips. What was the getting at? Who had authorized this dialogue?
He squeezed his eyes shut and laughed softly. “Oh, I remember.”


Breathless Press:

NOW’S THE TIME…Get to know Ember Leigh’s work!

During September 10th – September 17th, get Ember Leigh’s erotic romance novel ‘Jaded’ for half off at Breathless Press.


Ember Leigh has been writing erotic romance novels since she was far too young. A native of northern Ohio, she currently resides in South America with her Argentinean partner, a detail she uses to justify her Bachelor’s degree in Latin American Literature. In addition to romance novels, she also writes travel articles, maintains three blogs, and continually attempts to complete a mildly-gripping short story. In her free time, she practices Ashtanga yoga, travels the world, and eats lots of vegetables.

Find her on Facebook:
Twitter: @EmberLeighAuth



Chapter One, Rescue Me

Hi Everyone,


I’m looking for opinions on my revised chapter.






“You did what?” Bree,  my best friend stares at me, stunned. Her brown irises remind of little chocolate buttons against the white of her eyes. A strand of spaghetti dotted with chilli sauce hangs out her fuchsia pink lips.

“I told my parents I want my trust fund,” I tell her calmly. “They offered it to me after I graduated and I told them I’d let them know when I needed it.”

Bree shakes her head and glares at me as if I’ve committed the ultimate sin. She sucks in the spaghetti. “You shouldn’t have been so hasty, Lana.”

We’re at a tiny Italian restaurant in Ballito – Pavarotti’s – Bree’s favorite eatery on the Kwa-Zulu Natal North coast. I haven’t told Bree the rest of my news yet. God only knows how she’ll react.

“I wasn’t hasty. I felt the time was right to use the money to live the life I’ve always wanted.”

“I don’t believe you. Anyway tell me what you’re going to do with so much money?” Her wild, red curls tremble when she mock shudders at what I could possibly have in mind.

I shrug.  “Settle down.”

She twirls spaghetti around her fork and eyes me surreptitiously. “Settle down? You’re only twenty. Whatever happened to the plans we had to travel the world?”

 “I’ve decided I prefer stability.”

“Stability? What the fuck’s gotten into you?” Spots of color appear on Bree’s cheeks. She points her sauce tipped fork at me. “Is there something you’re not telling me? Did you and parents fall out?”

“No.” I shake my head. “This is something I’ve been thinking about doing for a while.”

Bree pours herself more wine. “I swear you’ve been kidnapped by aliens or something.”

“We were supposed to take a gap year, remember?”

“I’m taking my gap year now.” I look away from her when emotion threatens to fill my eyes with tears.

“Now?” Bree stops eating. “Why? I know you love attending school full time.”

“I need a cha –” a sharp jolt of pain paralyzes me. Shit. Why now? I hold my head between my hands and concentrate on my breathing for a while.

“Lana?” Panic rises in her voice. “I’m calling a doctor,” she screams when I don’t respond immediately to her.

“No,” I gasp, “It’s nothing –” Please let her buy my lie, I pray. The blinding spasms cease after a few minutes leaving me weak and nauseous.

“Have you even been to a doctor?”

“Yes,” I nod.


“He ran some tests.”

“Shit, you’re shaking like a fucking leaf.” She holds a glass of water to my lips. “Drink.”

I manage to take a few sips. The headaches strike when I least expect it. There’s no particular pattern, warning or interval. They just happen spontaneously.

Bree calls for the bill. “I’m going to drop you off at home,” she insists after she’s paid. She stands up and holds my hand, ready to catch me if I fall.

“No. I…” Bree doesn’t know I moved out last weekend. She wants to drive me to my parent’s place.

She narrows her eyes. “Why don’t you want to go home?”

I might as well tell Bree the truth and get it over with. The nausea fades away and most of my strength returns. “I moved out.”

She sits in her chair with a heavy thud. “What the fuck did you that for?”

“I needed space and time to focus on my writing –” it’s partly true. My freelance writing career’s really kicked off in the last few months. “And since Beauty Bulletin decided to make my column a permanent fixture, I decided I needed more space to focus on my career…” Beauty Bulletin is one of the most popular magazines in South Africa.

Bree sighs and shakes her head. “I don’t know what you’re not telling me but I can promise you one thing, Lana. Whatever it is you’re hiding– I’ll find out sooner or later,” she vows. She watches me closely as I wake up. “You could tell me now and get it over with,” she pleads.

“I’ve told you everything.” Bree’s a tough cookie to convince. “My parents have been really supportive of my decision. Dad even bought me a car so I could be more independent.” The car was a gift from Dad when Beauty Bulletin told me they’d decided to make my column a permanent part of their magazine but Bree doesn’t have to know that.

Bree eyes my Ford hatchback. “What? Damn, you’re lucky.” Bree borrows her brother’s VW Golf to move around.

“Yeah.” My dad and I have always been close. I’m grateful he didn’t ask me too many questions when I told him and Mom I wanted to move out. Dad’s always been supportive of my decisions.

She shakes her head. “There’s more to this. I feel it in my bones.”

“Your bones are wrong,” I insist even though I know Bree’s bones have never lied. Bree and I have been close since fifth grade. We’ve cried with each other over failed crushes, shared fashion disasters and each other’s happiness. Lying to Bree is more difficult than lying to my family.

“My bones have never been wrong.” She looks up sharply. “Are you sure this isn’t about Zane?” Her brown eyes darken.

“Positive,” I assure Bree on our way to the parking lot. Zane and I dated briefly. He’s a model and fitness fanatic with a heart of gold. After two dates both of us agreed we were better off as friends.  

Bree sighs. “I’m happy things are working out your way, Lana, but I know you’re hiding something from me. She places her hands on either side of my shoulders. “Just because I’m dropping the topic now doesn’t mean I’ll forget.”

Our eyes meet.

“So where did you move to?”


She stares at me blankly. “Where the fuck is that?”

“About twenty minutes from here.”

Bree still has no clue what I’m talking about. “North or south?”

“North.” She’s going to freak out in five seconds. I count down mentally in my mind. Five, four, three, two, one…

“Are you kidding me?” She’s about a head shorter than me. Bree stands on tip toes to look me straight in the eyes. “You moved to the fucking heart of a sugar cane farm. I don’t believe this. You’re twenty. Not sixty. Sugar cane farms are for retirement – not starting out.”

“There’s barely any sugar cane farms left. Besides it’s on the beach. I love it there.” I try and sound as convincing as possible. “It’s quiet and peaceful and good for my writing.”

“Don’t use your writing to cover up. You’re going there to hide.” She leans against my car. “Are you pregnant?” she asks suddenly.

“What?” I laugh. “By who?”

“Zane,” she whispers. “I wouldn’t blame you for messing around with him. He’s got a great body and personality.”

I shake my head. “Zane prefers messing around with guys.”

“Shit. I’d have never guessed he was gay.” She shakes her head. Her phone rings then cutting our conversation short. “Fuck. I forgot I have to pick Mom up from the mall.”

“No problem.”

“I’ll call you later.” She promises before she gets into her car and takes off.

Thank God I didn’t get caught this time. I sigh in relief before driving to my new home.


My rented house overlooks Blythedale Beach. Lucky for me this section of beach isn’t busy and I have a clear, uninterrupted view of the Indian Ocean. The natural vegetation on the shoreline hasn’t been touched and provides a stark, green contrast to the golden beach sand. The standard, two bedroomed house has an open plan kitchen and lounge and a decent sized bathroom. I had my stuff moved here a few days ago and unpacked most of it yesterday. I sink onto the double bed and stare at the ceiling.

My own place. Tears burn my eyes. I always imagined moving into my first house would be a wonderful, joyous celebration – dinner followed by drinks with my closest friends and family. Instead here I am alone with the sound of the Indian Ocean for company. I lie on the bed and doze off for about two hours before my stomach growls. The fridge and cupboards are empty because I haven’t had a chance to do any grocery shopping yet. The joys of independence. My stomach rumbles louder. I have to eat before hunger makes me insane. There’s a restaurant on the beach – I recall seeing it on my way to my new home. I grab my car keys and move so fast I’m dizzy by the time I’m in the driver’s seat. I take a moment to calm down before driving.

The restaurant is quiet – it’s nearly nine p.m. and the sun’s last rays cast a dim glow over Blythedale. I rush inside Nando’s as if there’s a crowd behind me – I’m that hungry. Thankfully the restaurant isn’t busy. The smell of freshly grilled chicken permeates the air. My mouth water. I make my way to the cashier to place my order first.

“I’d like a regular chicken burger.”

“Anything to drink?” The waitress asks me.

“Yeah. Lemon water please. And could you please make that a take out?”

“Sure.” She smiles and confirms my order.

“Your order will be ready in about ten minutes,” she tells me.

“Thanks.” I take a seat in one of the vacant booths while I wait.

The atmosphere here is incredibly laid back – even the beach is quiet at this time although it’s the heart of summer. I plan to eat alone on the shore while watching night fall. Although there aren’t any signs of security guards or police fear is the last thing on my mind when I walk to the shore. I clean my hands with a wet wipe and dig into my burger. Eating alone isn’t so bad after all. Anyway I have to get used to it.

I’ve never eaten a burger that fast in my life. Something rustles behind me on my way to the bin.

“Who’s there?”

The parking lot is lit but the thick clusters of trees forming a part of the natural riverine forest casts a dark shadow over almost everything in front of me. Night falls in five seconds flat and my heart sprints. Holy honey coated crap. Suddenly being out on the beach in the dark doesn’t seem like a good idea at all. I’m shaking so badly the paper bag falls on the ground instead of inside the bin. I’m too scared to pick it up. My car’s parked a few meters away from me. I count to five and prepare to run just as someone steps in my path.

“Going somewhere?” It’s too dark for me to make out his face but I can see he’s heavy set and he’s not alone.

“Home,” I whisper and step backwards when he advances towards me.

“Aw. So soon? I thought you’d stay and keep me company.” He sounds like he’s smiling. Evil smiling. Fecal eating fuck nugget.

 The guy turns away from me when he hears a car. I contemplate running to my car while he’s distracted.  

Okay, Lana, run on the count of three, I tell myself, one . . . two . . . three . . . I brace myself for my getaway from this thug and his friends. They’re quicker than me though. Before I have a chance to suck in a deep breath they surround me. There are four of them and they’re just as heavy as the first guy.

“Are you new here?” One of the others wants to know.

I read somewhere that not responding to would be attackers makes them more aggressive.  

“No.” Fucktard, I add silently.

“We haven’t seen you around before,” another one sneers, “where were you hiding?”

“Um…I was away at college for a while.” How the hell am I going to get out of here? I’m outnumbered four to one. There’ll be no more dinners on the beach for me – if I make it out here alive. You and your free spirited ideas, I tell myself.

“So what’s a pretty girl doing here all alone?” The leader asks. They move around me as if they’re animals circling their prey.

“Dinner,” I whisper. These assbags aren’t going to leave me alone anytime soon.

“And you didn’t invite us,” the third one says.

“You will make up for that, won’t you?” the leader half – whispers. It’s more of a statement than a question.

I wish I’d taken self-defense classes or something. I contemplate kicking one of these douche bags in the balls but what good will that do when there are three others? Crap. Now what? I catch a brief glimpse of star splattered sky and wish Superman would soar out of the atmosphere and to my rescue. If only Superman were real.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” The leader asks.” Are you afraid of me?”

The others snicker.

“I’m thinking.” There I go again – speaking out the first thing popping into my head.

“About what?” He asks in a low voice as if he’s suddenly taken a keen interest in me.

At least my spur of the moment responses bought me some time. If I can keep him talking and carry on walking backwards I’ll reach my car in about thirty seconds. The keys are in the right hand pocket of my jeans. They’ll need excellent night vision to see my every movement.

“Dinner,” I reply when I realize he’s waiting for my answer.” I could buy you something to eat –”

“How about we skip dinner and go straight to dessert?” The Leader of the Fucktards suggests.

My butt grazes my car door. I slip my hands inside my pocket and press the button. The car unlocks silently. I reach slowly for the door handle. My hear picks up speed. Sweat breaks out on my forehead and my throat dries up. Leader’s hand grabs mine just as I press the lever to unlock the door.

“Going somewhere? Or do you enjoy it in the backseat?” The leader presses his body against mine. He reeks of alcohol and sweat. Nausea races upwards and pauses in my throat.

Oh fuck. This is the end of me. I close my eyes and pretend this isn’t happening. Oh God why couldn’t Superman be real – just this once.  If only he’d appear out of nowhere and pull this smelly bastard off me. A bike roars in the distance. I focus on its sound and imagine Superman is on that bike. Within seconds the sound of the bike is the only thing my mind holds onto. Leader’s hands tighten around my waist. His ugly breath clogs my nostrils.

Forget him. Superman will rescue me. Where do I come up with candy floss shit for dreams? Hello? I’m about to be eaten by a bunch of twat waffles.

Crazy thoughts race through my head as I squeeze my eyes tight and clench my hands into fists bracing myself for the impact of his mouth on mine while at the same time trying to shut him out altogether. Somehow the shutting out part works. The leader’s hands loosen on my waist and his pungent alcohol breath gives way to fresh sea air.

“Fuck!” He gasps suddenly before the sound of bones breaking sickens me to the pit of my tummy.

Instinct forces my eyes open. We’re surrounded by a group of bikers with bikes so shiny the moonlight reflecting off of them blinds me temporarily. One of the bikers punches the leader on his jaw. The others circle the remaining would-be attackers.

“I didn’t touch her.” Leader winces.

“Liar,” mysterious Biker says in a deep voice, “Didn’t your mama teach you to always tell the truth?”

My spine tingles at the sound of his voice.

“I warned you about stepping on my ground, Skull.”

My ground? This sounds like a movie script gone real life. To mean it means one thing. I found Superman. Unless this is a dream. And none of this is really happening., Shock probably stupefied me. Or I’m dead and I’ve stepped away from my body…I shut my eyes and pinch myself. Fuck. That hurt. No, I’m not imagining any of this. The bikers are really here and one of them is teaching Skull a lesson he’ll never forget.

“I want you to take your pack of vermin rats and get the hell out of here.” Superbiker  says.

Skull and his gang don’t need to be told twice. They disappear into the shadows so fast nobody would have guessed they were really here.

“Did he hurt you?” I’m stunned at how quickly my wish was granted. I asked for Superman and I got a Superbiker. My chest tightens. If only all my wishes were granted so easily…

Warm hands cup my face. I catch a glimpse of a shiny bracelet on his right hand. His left thumb is partially covered with a band aid.

 “Hey? Are you okay?”

Superbiker’s talking to me. Say something, Lana. “Yeah…I’m fine.”

He’s standing so close to me I smell his aftershave and cologne – the scent is woodsy, earthy and incredibly sexy. He’s pushed the visor of his helmet up but a clump of clouds block out the moonlight making it impossible for me to even catch a glimpse of my savior.

“You’re new here,” he says.

“You can tell just by looking at me?” Damn he’s got skills.

“No. The license plates on your car.”

Hmm. He’s an observant guy.

He steps away from me. “You shouldn’t hang out here this part of night,” he says, “tell me where you live and we’ll escort you home.” He opens the car door for me.

“What’s your name?” I blurt.

He pauses. Perhaps my question’s caught him off guard. “Why?”

I shrug. “It’d be nice to know.”

He leaves me standing outside my car and jumps on his bike. “Get in the car. My boys and I don’t have all night to wait on spoilt little rich girls who have nothing better to do than invite trouble upon themselves.”

Strangely his words sting. “I’m not a …” Oh why bother. I get inside my car and roll down the window. For a moment there I’d assumed he’d really cared when he’d asked if I’d been hurt. I guess whoever my mysterious biker rescuer is – he’s just doing his job. Hope and romance take a back seat.

They follow me home. Superbiker  pulls up beside me when I stop outside the gate and gestures for me to give him my keys. He unlocks the gate and waits for me to park. I roll down the window and wait for him to leave before jumping off. He pauses next to me while reversing out the driveway and lifts up the visor. Invisible waves of his seductive cologne and aftershave engulf me. It’s still too dark for me to see him properly.

“Thank you,” I tell him.

“For roughing up your haters?”


“You’re welcome.” A brief silence follows. “Tell you what, princess. If you can find me in the daylight I’ll tell you my name.”

“Deal,” I reply. Challenges are definitely my thing. I’ll find him all right even if the sound of his voice is all I have to go only have more though – his smell, the bracelet on his right hand and his built. Superbiker’s tall, broad shouldered and not even the darkness can hide his pert ass. I take in his silhouetted and hope he sticks around a few more seconds so I absorb more details about him. . Lucky I have an excellent memory.

“Good.” He sounds like he’s smiling as he reverses and roars away into the night.