The mercury is soaring, and it's the perfect time to dive into a pool of uninhibited sensuality. Take a break from the heat with this collection of steamy summertime encounters featuring four of today's most popular African-American women writers.
Going south for her summer break, a high school math teacher puts her assets to work as an exotic dancer in Maxed Out by Brenda L. Thomas. But when her secret double life follows her home to Philadelphia, things swing wildly out of control as she tries to walk the line between sexy woman and sex object.
Worlds collide when a street-smart beauty scores with a multimillionaire during a summer that climaxes with the New York City blackout. Crystal Lacey Winslow captures the edgy thrills -- and the dark side -- of carnal pleasures in Sex, Sin & Brooklyn.
In Rochelle Alers' Summer Madness, a sexy brother with a mysterious past turns a pretty librarian's play-it-safe Hamptons vacation into a torrent of sensual delights. But can she trust him without knowing his whole story?
A jilted bride is on the Rebound in ReShonda Tate Billingsley's tale of passion in unexpected places. A Houston attorney goes solo on the Belize honeymoon she was supposed to share with her husband -- and makes a sizzling connection with a handsome stranger in paradise.
There are no customer reviews available at this time. Would you like to write a review?
March 31, 2006
Number of Print Pages*
Adobe DRM EPUB
* Number of eBook pages may differ. Click here for more information.
Excerpt from Four Degrees of Heat by Rochelle Alers
What the hell was I doing in this place? Bad enough they'd screwed up and chosen the right club on the wrong night. Or so they said. It was clearly not ladies' night. Now here I was in a backroads country club taking shots of Crown Royal whisky. I looked around at the club full of women. They were expecting to be entertained by a stage full of dancing men, but unfortunately there were only about ten men in the club, including the ones that worked there. I hadn't wanted to come in the first place; exotic dancers played out years ago. But this was the South, and I suppose everything came late down here.
This was certainly not how I'd planned to spend the first month of my summer vacation. My mother had summoned me from Philly to Charlotte, where she'd been taking care of my grandfather for the last three weeks while he recovered from hip replacement surgery.
Mom kept reassuring me that Charlotte had changed since the early eighties, which was the last time I'd been there. After being cooped up in a Philly classroom with teenagers all winter, I didn't think the trip to Charlotte would be so bad. To add to my southern social life, Mom dredged up a few of the old girlfriends I used to play with as a teenager during my summer visits. This would be great. I could bond with a bunch of fat, ill-dressed, gold-teeth sisters.
As I sat across the table from them, I had to admit they weren't all that bad. Rita, Darla, and my favorite, Country Girl, were far from what I expected. Country Girl was probably even better off than me. At twenty-six, she was married to a physician and the mother of three children.
When the strip club went dark and the stage lit up with red and green flashing lights, I turned my attention to the runway. For an hour we watched as women strutted up and down the catwalk, wrapping themselves around a slippery pole, supposedly dancing. We were sitting near the front of the stage, so they could hear us cackling about how bad they were. They especially heard me when I said, after seeing one of the men put a twenty in a dancer's G-string, "Oh, hell no. I can dance better than that. Shit, I'll make him give me fifty."
The big-butt dancer flared back, "You think so, huh? I dare you to bring your high yella ass up here."
Embarrassed, I was just about to apologize when Country Girl spoke up.
"You damn right she'll come up there. And I got twenty dollars to say she'll outdance your fat ass."
Wide-eyed, I looked at Country Girl and whispered, "What the hell are you talking about? I'm not going up there."
The stripper stopped dancing, posted her hands on both hips, and shouted over the loud music, "Well, then, she needs to shut the hell up."