Boston Avant-Garde 6: Chiaroscuro

Phoenix Flying
Phoenix Flying


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strung out


Strung Out
Boston Avant-Garde #1
Contemporary m/f Erotic Romance
Now Available from Loose ID
E-book & Print

Who said money can’t buy everything?

Erik Aasen has never failed to get what he wants. If money equals power and power equals influence, then Erik is on top of the world. Until he meets a sexy classical musician named Talia.

Growing up with nothing means understanding compromise. But the only thing Talia has is her self respect and that isn’t for sale at any cost. Not even when Erik is the buyer and the pricetag is millions.

It doesn’t take Erik long to realize that one night with Talia is worth whatever he has to pay. But a lifetime together might be more costly than either one of them expected. When worlds collide and the sheets catch fire, both will have to place a value on love, trust, and loyalty.

Read Excerpt



“You, Dylan, are an asshole. This is, what, the fourth time I’ve caught you with your hand up some waitress’s skirt?”

“Nothing happened. I said she had a great ass. She offered to let me cop a feel. That’s it.”

“Oh my God! Why am I even surprised that you don’t see anything wrong with that scenario?”
“Hey, baby, I’m a musician. Women love me.”

“You’re a viola player, Dylan. I hardly think playing the viola is going to get you a reality TV dating show.”

A muted chuckle was Talia’s first clue that their conversation wasn’t completely confidential.

A dingy yellow bulb overhead cast the only light. Sounds of traffic and people drifted into the alley on Boston’s cool night breeze. Talia hadn’t chosen the spot on the back steps of the reception hall because it was private. She’d chosen it because she was mad as hell but couldn’t see losing a paycheck over causing a scene inside the building.

The telltale flicker of a cigarette burned in the darkness only a few feet away. Moments later she caught the scent of spicy smoke. It was too late to find a private spot. Their relationship had been living on borrowed time for too long already.

“You’ll get your cut from tonight’s gig, Dylan. But after that you’re on your own.”

His smirk made her blood boil. “Yeah, because a string trio sounds terrific without the viola.”

“Don’t kid yourself, nobody will notice for the thirty minutes left of this job. Besides, you’re easier to replace than you think.”

“Name one person.”

“Jen’s dying to take your spot on a permanent basis. She’s just been waiting for Leslie to get fed up with your bullshit, which she is. You’re done embarrassing her and you’re sure as hell done disrespecting me.”

His cocky smile faltered. “Where you gonna live if you try to replace me, baby?”

“You live with me. My name is on the lease, remember, Bad Credit Boy?”

There was a chuckle from the general direction of the cigarette smoke.

“You’re going to regret this.”

“I don’t think so. And you’d better get your shit out of the apartment before I get home tonight, or it’ll be on the curb by morning.”

“Fuck you. You’re going to be sorry you screwed me over like this!”

“Not gonna happen.”

He crowded her into the wall and pointed his index finger in her face, taking a breath to say something else. A disembodied voice from the darkness cut him off.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Fuck off! No one asked you.”

Talia caught her breath as a man emerged from the shadows. He gave the cigarette in his hand a casual glance before elegantly flicking it over the railing onto the pavement. At six feet tall, his frame was slender, but the leonine way he carried himself said it all. He wasn’t cocky. He was confident. And there were probably more than a few reasons why.

Dylan took one step toward the stranger, hands fisted at his sides. “This is a private conversation. Why don’t you step off?”

“Correction—it was a private conversation.”