Snippet: Fiona Love #interracial #erotic #romance

Here’s a snippet from my book Fiona Love. I love this story. It was the first book I ever published, and I’ve since written, or am writing, about many of the characters introduced within its storyline. In this scene Fiona and Dane meet for the first time, and the chemistry between the two is immediate and fabulous. The cover is the first one I did. I have since retooled it, but I still like this one. Enjoy!

“Let the skeptics tell it, Fiona Love is the hot new thing. One of those multi-hyphenates who’s suddenly popped onto the scene and is enjoying a rash of success.

“It isn’t true. She may seem like she sprang fully garbed in silk Valentino couture from some carefully crafted middle-class ocean, but that came late in life. She’s worked for more than a decade as a model, lately as an actress and most successfully, as a singer.

“Are you gonna read the whole article?” Cleo asked.

Fiona rustled the magazine’s pages irritably. “Maybe.”

Her cousin rolled her eyes. “What do I have to do to get a drink around here?” Fiona Cover

“Stop muttering and call the waiter,” Netty told her, doing just that. “Corona no lime, two lychee mimosas and a fuzzy navel, strong but not nasty.”

He bowed slightly and melted away. The service at Japonais was fabulous. Very authentic. It was the only reason Fiona agreed to come. God knew she had no great love for sushi.

“Lemme read, Fifi, I was listenin’,” said Sugar when her boss put the paper down. “Fiona Love is no dummy,” she read. “She’s quick, has good old-fashioned common sense, and has built a cache of work other starlets envy. Of course, they envy more than her work. There’s her creamy skin,” – Sugar grinned over this part, since she was the beauty girl. “Worth at least a score of angry phone calls to agents inquiring why she won the role they were perfect for. Then there’s her height…”

The article went on to chronicle Fiona’s supposedly meteoric rise to fame with a pictography. By turns smooth or smart or sweet, in each photo she retained this seething undercurrent of, something. Sexy was too simplistic. Hypnotic smacked of the surreal, and Fiona had an earthy sensuality. Whatever it was, most of the great female entertainers had it. That hodgepodge of flaws and virtues that draws the eye like a crash on the expressway. There was a hint of Audrey’s frailty, a whiff of Marilyn’s desperate need for love and a bucket full of Josephine’s unique appeal and determination.

And like all of those great entertainers, she took her appeal for granted.

“Some of the best ass the city has to offer, not to mention the outta towners, and I’m goin’ home with a bunch of girls,” Fiona said.

“We’re here to celebrate you taking a well earned vacation,” Cleo reminded. “Besides, you hate industry men.”

Fiona grunted. Her cousin was right, but a woman still had needs. It had been a long time since she’d had sex. Like damn near her daughter Flora’s conception long time. To quote Carrie Bradshaw, she missed the weight of a man on her.

“You see somebody here you wanna take home?” Cleo teased.

“No. Wait. Who’s that?” Fiona said gesturing to the tall, dark man who’d just walked in.

“Isn’t that the model from the Ferragamo window on Michigan Avenue? Dane C-something,” Cleo said. “He’s picking up some food looks like. He was at your New York premiere.”

“Yeah? He’s a model?”

Her cousin’s eyes narrowed. “He’s more than a model,” she said, and regretted it.

“Go ask him if he wants to join us.”

Cleo rolled her eyes again. “What are we, in high school?”

“Fuck you.” Fiona rose gracefully from her seat and raised her hand.

Half the restaurant craned around to see who she was waving to; the other half was already facing that direction. One of the nosy, helpful patrons got up to tap Dane on the shoulder.

“What else does he do?” Fiona asked, watching him approach on long denim-clad legs and handmade black Italian leather shoes.

“He was in a movie a while back. And he was in that perfume commercial you liked the last time we went to the show.”

“That was him during previews?”

“Where do I know that guy from?” Netty asked, catching up. She’d been engrossed in the menu with Sugar.

They all watched him come to a stop before them.

“Hi,” he rumbled.

“Hi,” Fiona answered.

My, my grandfather. What a deep voice, stubbled jaw, and sparkling green eyes you have.

He had full, bubble gum pink lips too. The upper was slightly bigger than the lower. It added a little bit of oomph to an already sensuous face.

“You’re not from Chicago.”

“Nope. Just workin’ and visitin’ friends. You the welcome wagon I shoulda got at the airport?”

Fiona laughed. His New York accent was delicious. “Sure. Have a seat, and me and my girls will see what we can do to make you feel at home.”

He motioned to their waiter and handed off his takeout to be made into table food. Cleo took over the introductions.

“Dane Craig,” he said, shaking hands around the table. Fiona never introduced herself, and her girls knew better, but there was never any doubt who she was.

Fiona Love was a star.

People stared. Some discreetly, others avidly. The restaurant manager checked on their table frequently, and their waiter didn’t seem to have any other tables, he was that attentive as Fiona picked at a small salad. She ignored most of the tiny plates the chef sent out to tempt her. She didn’t like eating in public. Who knew what they did to your food? Once she’d eaten Chinese food in a popular new restaurant and woken so bloated from the salt she’d had to fake sick and cancel a photo shoot.

After she began to eat some baked fish dumplings with sesame sauce, the waiter slid into the back, and Dane saw the chef peek out to watch the food disappear into Fiona’s big, pouty mouth.

Next the man offered two tiny, sardine-like fish that had been pan-seared and rolled in a dusting of lightly seasoned bread crumbs. He presented them on crisp romaine lettuce leaves with an elaborately carved lemon garnish. Fiona daintily ate these too.

A fist-sized dish of rice appeared. Tinted yellow with saffron, it held slivers of chicken so aromatic everyone at the table sniffed in appreciation. Fiona ate it all, patted her stomach and laughed while Dane watched.

And watch he did. Not only did her lush brown skin shimmer under the restaurant lights, he couldn’t actually recall seeing another female celebrity enjoy her food so much. Fiona was so dainty and thorough about eating each morsel he wanted to take a bite out of her.

She told the waiter, “Tell the chef I need another hit of those last two to take home. And please tell him I appreciate the size of the portions. He’s obviously very sensitive, judging by the flavor of his food and the care with which everything was presented.”

The chef came out to personally deliver the takeout, thank her, and kiss her hand – as a discreet photographer snapped a single picture – Fiona just laughed, then engaged the man in such flattering conversation the manager had to pry him away from their table to get back to work.

When the chef had finally been led away smiling, Dane entertained them with funny tales from an earlier meeting, imitating one of the city’s most fabulous and unabashedly gay designers with shameless flair.

Fiona watched him charm her girls. She knew exactly what each was thinking. Sugar, used to a steady diet of Black men from the south side, was enthralled by his looks, and Dane’s presentation was faultless in what Fiona knew were extremely expensive casual clothes. Cleo assumed everyone who got near her wanted something. She was usually right. Netty assumed that anyone who got close either wanted something or was crazy and potentially dangerous. She was right more often than Fiona liked. But neither had to worry. Dane would be a temporary distraction. The stick with which she scratched a very annoying itch. She was looking forward to it. He was something new, and she hadn’t had a one-night stand in years.

Much later she realized she half fell in love with him that night when he didn’t call his boys for backup. He ordered several rounds, held it down at a table full of women for more than two hours and reveled in it. He quickly picked up on some characteristic of each to play to. Then, before the last laugh had a chance to fade, he slipped the waiter a black card and paid for everything.

“Class,” Fiona whispered to Cleo.

His baritone and New York twang were hilarious and hypnotic, and the girls hung on every word of the rich, full sentences he offered like they’d never heard a man speak before. For Fiona his phrases were short and choppy. Rumblings from a handsome lone wolf sizing up its prey with large, crystal green eyes. She just smiled, her own voice a soft purr, her occasional touch on his arm, easy.

She asked him if he wanted a ride to his hotel. He accepted. She asked him if he wanted to ride to her place. He said yes again. Then took her keys and drove the Benz home without asking permission. She fucking loved it.

Cautious Cleo tried to cock block and ride in the back, but Netty shepherded them all into the Range she and Sugar arrived in and deliberately took a long time getting home. She even stopped for gas, God bless her closet-romantic heart.

“Next one’s on me,” Fiona said and let him pull her out of the car. He shifted from foot to foot impatiently while she unlocked the front door and said nothing. “You don’t believe me?” she asked.

His head lowered, and Dane kissed her like her mouth was an exam he had to ace. “‘Course I do,” he said, still nibbling her lips as they made their way up the stairs. “Don’t care though. I like spending money on you.”

Their hands clasped naturally outside her bedroom.

“I wasn’t offering ‘cause you bought dinner,” Fiona teased, clicking on the light.

“Please,” he laughed, and gently bit her neck. “I grew up in a two-bedroom apartment with a French mother and three sisters. No father. If you were all raging bitches you still couldn’t scare me.” And he led them straight to her bed…


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