‘Bulging’ rock star a standout in steamy story stakes
COME-hither curves, lean muscled thighs, an endless kiss and undeniable passion — is it getting hot in here, or are the winners of our DARE romance novel competition sending the mercury soaring?
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MEET the winner of our DARE Search for a Romance Writer competition, check out her winning story and the runner-up entries, then vote for your favourite.
For Jo Bailey of Cooranbong, NSW, life is a fine romance.
The married mother-of-two is overjoyed to be the winner of the DARE Search for a Romance Writer competition run by News Corp and Mills & Boon.
Mrs Bailey knocked out more than 120 hopefuls with her entry extract Fashionable Love — a pulse-racing romance between Jessica, a pert-bottomed interior designer and her “bulging” rock star client, Chad.
Asked if the long-limbed Jessica, who “sways” into the opening scene “with a full body come-hither” was modelled on herself, Mrs Bailey giggled.
“Gosh, no!” she exclaimed.
For the mother of two teenage boys, steamy celebrity encounters are a long way from her reality — working in admin for the transport company she shares with her husband Derek, 50.
But that’s exactly the point.
“It’s escapism because it’s something different. You know, like a rock star, you know it’s never going to happen. But you’re not breaking any rules. And it’s usually a happy ending,” said Mrs Bailey, 49, who is approaching her 21st wedding anniversary.
Although family and financial pressures put her initial youthful dreams of becoming a writer on the backburner, Mrs Bailey never gave up, rising early to write before work.
And when she’s not writing hot-blooded romance she’s penning children’s stories.
For now though, she’ll be focusing solely on Jessica and Chad’s adult fairytale ahead of her masterclass with a Mills & Boon DARE editor and author, her prize — along with a Mills & Boon pack (valued at $531).
“The old Fifty Shades of Grey, I’ve got that in my mind,” said Mrs Bailey, referencing the erotic novel-turned-film by author E.L. James.
She’s also done a lifetime of research, estimating she’s read more than 50 erotic novels and watched tear-jerking love story The Notebook “55,000 times”.
And it’s paid off.
“The winner’s entry really stood out,” said a Mills & Boon spokesperson. “The writing was strong and her story exemplified the contemporary urban setting and empowered, fun and fearless heroines that are synonymous with the Mills & Boon DARE series.”
By Jo Bailey
Jessica sashayed through the white ceramic-tiled lobby, well aware of the admiring stares that were either fleeting or open-mouthed awe. She couldn’t help it, her body flowed effortlessly and if she was honest she had no intention of demanding her long limbs to behave. The curve of her buttocks after years of yoga triggered her entire torso to sway side to side, a full body come-hither.
The glint of the ocean reflected against the glass elevator and didn’t stir any emotion from Jessica as she checked the details for this meeting. She normally stayed away from stars of this magnitude. In her experience their egos and need to constantly change ideas always presented challenges. At this stage of her career she could pick and choose her clients, but his female assistant had assured her the rock star himself had personally requested her. Since his ex had deserted him for New York, his Harbour penthouse required an overhaul. The brief was straightforward. All memories were to be erased and therefore money was no object.
My favourite type of assignment, she thought, flashing a smile at the young man opening the suite’s office door.
Dismissing the two, jean-clad males sprawled on the navy sofas with a perfunctory nod, Jessica scanned the room for the one person she wanted to put at ease before the star arrived. She knew women either loved or loathed her. She didn’t care which as long as they respected her.
“Nice to meet you, Sandra,” Jessica said, offering a firm handshake.
“Hello Jessica, he shouldn’t be too much longer,” Sandra said, with a half-hearted shrug. “You know how men can be. Once we wrap up here we can duck over to the penthouse if that suits,” and the office door slammed open behind them.
“All right, how’s everybody today? There she is! The woman I am hoping can rearrange my life or at the very least, my abode.”
Before turning around, Jessica reached across the desk and placed her cream ‘Marc Jacobs’ handbag in the centre, ensuring her booty couldn’t be missed. She lifted her right arm above her head to twist waist length, curly auburn hair over her shoulder, exposing the gentle, tanned curve of her back peeping through the cut-out of her white dress. Jessica felt a slight tug in her lower stomach as she devoured the magnificent view standing in front of her. The broad shoulders, tattooed biceps and famous bulge in tight pants which hugged his hips yet give the impression they would fall off at any moment.
I hope so, Jessica mused.
She tilted her head and gave him her look, alluring yet stand-offish, signalling ‘appreciate but unavailable’. A hint of a smile touched her lips when he faltered, just for a second, to soak her up before he extended his silver-ringed hand.
“Hello Jessica ... Chad,” he said, his Australian accent teased like his cobalt-blue eyes. “I’d say the pleasure is all mine.”
By Eliza Carmen
The classroom was desperately hot, full of artificial light and the thick hum of an ancient airconditioner. Celeste Anderson looked at the clock. The exam was set for one hour, and already she could feel the sweat gathering between her breasts. The soft trickle inside her bra made her nipples stand erect, and she knew he would notice. She looked down at her white shirt cursing her outfit choice, and instinctively met his eye. He held her gaze. His blue eyes turned deliciously dark and she could almost feel him undressing her. She urged herself, begged herself, to look away. She was a Professor for god’s sake. She was in charge. But she was also a hot-blooded woman and there was no part of her that wanted to take her eyes off him.
He put down the pen and slowly moved his hands under the desk. She felt her lips part as he gently rested them on his thighs. She breathed out luxuriously, deliberately, trying to slow the beating of her heart. Her eyes followed his hands as they rubbed up and down the length of his black jeans. His legs parted slightly and she held onto the desk, hard.
Emery Myer knew he had her attention.
The room was full of students furiously scribbling with their heads down, but he had his eye on the real test. He knew she noticed him the first time she saw him. And his life had basically changed the minute he laid eyes on her. He wasn’t expecting the Professor of Palaeontology to be young, female and sexy — but Celeste Anderson walked in the room with her long legs and heels and all his schoolboy fantasies exploded.
He watched her command the packed room with ease, opening with a joke about dinosaurs and smiling warmly as she introduced herself. He studied her, her body was insane, she was wearing a tight fitting skirt with a men’s business shirt tucked in and he immediately imagined her naked underneath, with the buttons undone. Her brown hair was held loosely in a bun, and he could almost feel it’s silkiness between his fists. He was lost in a fantasy of taking her on the desk, her legs wrapped around him, when she met his eye. He swallowed hard, trying to control the lust in his expression. She smiled slightly, her eyes flicking down to his erection and then back to her presentation like nothing had passed between them. He should have been embarrassed but he was so turned on.
By Margarita Mill
Palm Beach, Sydney, 2017
Eva Black’s mobile screeched making her jump. She had lived alone since university and liked her own company. The youngest child of two doctors, Eva had learned violin and horsemanship from age five. From each she developed perseverance, resilience, patience and discipline. Eva also knew she would not marry a musician.
“Hey, you busy?” A lawyer, Isla got countless invitations to prestigious events. Eva only ever played these gigs for wages.
“What’s up?”
“Champagne, polo and hunks. Interested? Good, pick you up at ten. Dress up. We’re in the Moet marquee.” Isla hung up.
Dante Cruz was eight when his father left. Unable to afford rent in Buenos Aires, his mother Lucia moved Dante and their puppy Chico to a rundown cottage in the seaside town of Mar del Plata. Working two jobs, Lucia taught Dante to be kind and loved him unconditionally. A year later his uncle gave him a pony to ride along the beach to school. Dante adored Astor and taught him to chase an old polo ball which Dante would hit with a broomstick. His talent was undeniable and huge.
White Capri pants, espadrilles, pale grey knit top, new lace underwear, loose ponytail, lip gloss, MAC fairy dust and Eva was ready. Bugger marquee code.
Isla screamed to a halt, yelling at the driver whom she’d just cut off. Forty minutes later sleek ponies and spectators mingled in the muggy January heat, salty sea air thick with the heady aroma of hay, manure, perfume and money.
A smoky Latin accent wafted over, “Poor girl, she’s sore, Please saddle Burrito instead.” Eva spun. Oh bugger. Bending over the foreleg of a sweet looking mare were the most perfectly formed male hind quarters in pristine white breeches, lean muscled thighs disappearing into muddy, battered polo boots.
Her mobile rang and he leapt up crashing his head on the front of his saddle.
“Maldita chica!” he swore as the mare lurched sideways into a parked car. Grabbing the reins he yanked her out of the path of another.
“Don’t yell at that horse you arrogant bully” Eva shouted. “You can’t jerk her head like that when it was your bloody fault!”
Fierce eyes glared out from under his coal black, dirty fringe and slowly took in Eva’s furious red face, beautiful hostile body and lovely clean silky hair. He groaned and grabbed a saddle blanket to hide his massive hard on.
“I was cursing you, idiot rich girl. Your ‘bloody’ phone spooked us.”
Eva stared at the devastatingly sexy face. God, he was something, cruel piece of s***. She was grateful for the espadrilles because her legs were shaking. She inhaled his dangerous animal smell. Privileged, rich, spoiled, brute a**hole! Aroused, she marched into the marquee smack into Isla. “I need a drink.”
“Sure. Hey guess what? The Argentine, Dante Cruz is playing today and we’re invited to his post-match party right here. Cool eh?”
By Michelle Searer
The door to the restaurant closes behind me, cutting off the laughter and chatting of my work mates. It’s been a great night, and I smile to myself as I make my way through the car park to my cherry-red Ducati, proud of what we’d accomplished — landing a major construction contract, a definite cause for celebration. Even though civil engineering is a heavily male dominated field, nights like tonight make my persistence worthwhile.
Leaving the city behind, the traffic thins and I pass onto suburban roads dotted with the odd lone street light. As I round a corner, my bike splutters. Not too far from home, the engine cuts out and I roll to a stop. I exhale in annoyance, fogging up my visor. I nudge the kickstand in place and dismount. My gaze darts around before I remove my helmet and gloves.
The road is quiet and the solitary street light is broken. I grab my phone and switch on the flashlight. As I squat to see what the problem is, another bike roars by. The rider stops a few metres ahead then turns around and heads back my way. A tingle of fear goes through me. I glance around for something I can use as a weapon. The rider cuts the engine. I hear boots scuffing towards me. They stop directly beside my bike. As I stare up at the dark figure, my heart skipping into a jog, I suddenly feel warm. The rider flips up the helmet visor, leans over the bike and appraises me.
“Hi there. Need some help?” he asks while removing his helmet to reveal dark brown wavy hair and a strong jaw line.
“Umm,” I stammer, stumbling slightly as I stand up. “I think it’s the fuel pump.”
“Maybe you picked up some dirty fuel. Want me to take a look?”
“It’s okay,” I say, anxious to have him so close, even though he seems nice. “I don’t live far from here.” It’s then that my eyes catch the way the material of his shirt stretches over his biceps, and I catch a waft of his aftershave, both of which practically have me drooling.
“I’ll walk with you,” he says as he stands up. “It’s late, and dark.”
“Okay,” I reply, still unsure but willing to give him a chance.
We make our way through a few streets, casually chatting while I push my bike. As we reach the intersection near my house, I stop.
He looks at me questioningly. “What’s wrong?”
“Umm … thanks for walking with me, but I’m nearly home. I can walk it from here.”
It takes him a second, but he gets it. “Oh, you don’t want me to see where you live?”
“Yeah, I don’t really know you.” I look up at him apologetically.
“That’s okay, though I’d like to get to know you more. So if you won’t give me your phone number, then I’ll knock on every door in this suburb until I find you.” He grants me a smile that warms my soul, and I can’t help but give in.
By Mary Walker
He looked delicious standing there. His T-shirt was tight against his body, showing the faint outline of his muscular arms. The thought of being encircled by his strong, firm arms was enough to turn Claire to jelly. She shifted her gaze to Jack’s face. His ginger hair was short and messy from his hands pushing through it during the day. He looked dishevelled, but in a way that reflected hard work and manual labour. His face was smeared with dirt and Claire imagined what he might look like standing in her shower as the hot water washed the grime and sweat from his body. She shuddered slightly at the thought and a flush crept up into her cheeks.
Her eyes dropped to his mouth. Jacks perfect lips were full and soft. She remembered how they felt on hers, so soft and tender. Even crushed against hers, devouring her, they were still so soft. Claire bit her lip at the memory and a flush of desire washed over her, she lifted her gaze to his eyes. They were the colour of dry moss, mostly a pale brown, with flecks of green that caught in the light. She could get lost in his beautiful eyes. She smiled, genuine in her happiness to see him, but also in an attempt to cover the lust that she knew was clearly painted on her face.
So many emotions were coursing through her body. Her heart was pounding so fiercely that she was certain Jack could hear it from where he stood, casually leaning his shoulder against the bricks of her front veranda. Claire stepped towards him and it was all the invitation he needed. Jack stepped towards her and within mere seconds he had her tight against his body. Claire’s head felt light and a hot flush travelled swiftly from her face to her toes, knocking the wind from her. She gasped slightly as he took her by surprise, before she caught her breath and responded with equal desire. Her arms laced around his neck and she stumbled backwards as Jack walked through the door, their lips still desperately devouring each other.
Claire pulled him towards her bedroom and Jack, with his arm still firmly around her waist, gently lowered her onto her bed. Their endless kiss continued, his lips only briefly leaving hers to pepper light kisses along her jawline and neck before hastily returning to the moist warmth of her mouth. A small moan escaped Claire’s throat as she tipped her head back revelling the feeling of his lips over her skin. She pushed herself harder against his body and with a leg wrapped around his waist, pulled him tighter against her. Jack pulled away from her then, panting with lust as he felt the warmth of her body grinding against his. He searched her eyes, looking for confirmation that he was reading her right. Claire laid her head back, her body alight with pure exhilaration at his undeniable passion for her.
Originally published as ‘Bulging’ rock star a standout in steamy story stakes