Family goof-off and all-around playboy Dante has been tasked with finding the missing branches of the family tree. It’s a big tree, but luckily he’s a trained investigator. What he finds instead is Geena. Only she doesn’t understand how important she is to him and she’s slipped through his fingers. Now he wants to drop all his responsibilities and track her down.
Geena’s traveling companions are the trifecta of feminine beauty. They are thin, rich, and stylish. Everything she is not. She’s shocked when the hot guy starts hitting on her. What she doesn’t know yet is that Dante isn’t just a guy. And to him, she’s not just another in a long string of women in his loose past.
Dante has seen the mate glow and he knows what it means. He needs to convince Geena that this time he’s serious. At the same time, he needs to keep his new family members in check before they blow the family lore wide open and expose their secret.
Wolves of Wet Waterfalls is a sexy hot reverse harem novella series.
The three stories in the novella trilogy are Stealing Joy, Finding Home, and Ending Torment.
Available for presale!
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I didn’t know how to express the feelings I experienced. Hell, they barely felt like feelings. They felt like exhaustion, commitment, obligation. It was slogging and difficult work.
Anything and everything I had done in my life for the past eight years I revisited with tweezers and magnifying glass scrutiny. How could I have changed the outcome? Why didn’t I have the outcome I thought I wanted. How could I go back and change everything?
I began having dreams where I could time travel and now-me would tell past me to make little changes.
I would wake up because I couldn’t breathe.
My apartment felt confining, constricting. I ran outside just to breathe more than once. I had waking nightmares of dropping Myrna. At those times I would look into the side crib, assure myself that everything was alright, and then stay up for hours just watching Myrna breathe. She was here, she was safe.
I hadn’t forgotten to feed her or change her diapers. I hadn’t left her someplace and then not been able to remember.
I started to look up my foibles so many times. Each time I either couldn’t complete filling out the search field, or I would not click on the links.
When I finally clicked on one of the links I fell down a rabbit hole of patient cure thyself bull. Blogs that looked like they had useful articles denied the existence of postpartum depression, others tried to sell me essential oils to get out of my funk. And too many of them assumed I had a partner who could help me with my burden of guilt.
©2019 Lulu M. Sylvian,currently untitled from the Phantom Stars Trilogy
This year I finished NaNoWrimo with 54,114 words.
I am miles and mile from where this story needs to be, so I’m excited to keep working on it.
This one doesn’t have a title yet. It’s a paranormal romance between a set designer, a hot actor, and the ghost of a different hot actor.
Here is a sneak peek:
The street view of his house wasn’t anything much, mostly a garage door, a small entry and a solid wall of grey stucco. Once through the entry there was a tiny courtyard with a fountain, and then the entry into the house. Stunning didn’t adequately describe his home. Inside everything was hard angles, concrete and glass modern. Outside it was all air and view.
I hated the inadequacy I felt pulling into Liam’s neighborhood. It was that cosmic slam of not being able to properly provide for my daughter. The universe reminding me again, that I lived in a garage, and I would never be able to afford a home like this even though I had a good job that paid well. It’s not like I even wanted to live here. Sure the house was great, but this really wasn’t a neighborhood, it was a street with access to houses. No yards, no sidewalks, and no parking. Liam was lucky because he actually had a small driveway with off-street parking.
©2018 Lulu M Sylvian
I quietly walked over to where Liam stood and showed him the can. He nodded. I might as well do my job while Glenn was on a tear.
“Why are you still doing that?”
I jumped at Glenn’s loud tirade now directed at me. “He hasn’t gotten any sun for days now.”
I looked at the man like he had lost it completely. I held up the can. “Right, it’s working because I put sunscreen on him throughout the shoot.”
Never considered that Sunscreen Consultant would be a job I held. Glenn just stared at me, holding my gaze. So far it had been an odd week, starting with him pulling me away from my job on set to manage Sebastian Hale’s pale skin.
Every morning I met Liam and applied thick creamy lotion to his ridiculous shoulders and ticklish knees. And every morning I had to insist he do his own chest and abs. I let my hands glide over his skin and up and over the ridges of muscle in his arms and back, probably enjoying the touch a bit too much. He stood there oblivious to my presence, focused on his phone, thumbs flying over text messages.
He wasn’t exactly impolite, he was just used to having people wait on his snobby ass hand and foot. If he wasn’t a job, I wouldn’t even attempt to speak to him. But I did have to tell him how to stand and move so I could rub him down. And why not try to get as much enjoyment out of a job as possible? It’s not like anything would ever happen between us. I seriously doubt Liam James would be able to pick me out of a lineup of tall black men, and I am most definitely not tall or a man. And I’m about as far from black as you can get without being an albino.
Glenn nodded and I was allowed to go back to my little chair in the back and wait until the next time I needed to spray down the star.
©2018 Lulu M Sylvian, currently untitled from the Second Endings Trilogy
This time last year my published work of fiction was released!
The Twelve Strippers of Christmas was the result of an epic challenge, and being the slightly competitive person that I was, I stepped in it.
Most authors will tell you, they are tempted by the “Oh shiny” prospect of the next story, another idea in the middle of a deadline. Two years ago my distractions kept coming in the form of male strippers. They were dancing in, and flexing muscles and demanding my attention.
I described this problem to a few writer friends, and the solution to write short stories to “get these guys out of your hair” was proposed. Which somehow led to a discussion of when to release for holiday novels, which led to:
How could I not prove her right?
As far as Bobby is aware, he is the only one of his kind—a true lone wolf. He fills his days with running his bar, and his nights with emotionless encounters. After all, hooking up with him, the self-proclaimed town man-whore, is as easy as crashing into his buggy in the grocery store. Everything changes when he sees an angel.
When new math teacher Ramona moves to town, Bobby sees a glow around her and is convinced she’s the angel he can finally trust with what he really is. He just has to get her to trust him first…
Ramona is no angel; she’s run away from a relationship gone bad in the big city, to a small town where football is king. The last thing she needs or wants is the town playboy pursuing her. She doesn’t want a man. Doesn’t need one. Her focus is on making sure the star quarterback passes high school math. Her plans fly out the window when Bobby makes an oddball request.
Bobby finally finds a way to be with her—convincing her she can teach him how to be friends with a woman—he’s put himself in the worst position. He has Ramona, but not the way he wants. She’s learning to trust him, but his reputation is holding her back. Can Bobby trust her with the secret he’s managed to keep his whole life? Or will his past put Ramona in danger?