Selling Out (The Lost Girls, #2) by Amber Lin
Genre: contemporary romance, suspense, erotica
Buy the book:
"Shelly Laurent escapes her life as a high-class escort, but against her better judgment she takes the scared young Ella with her. In retaliation, her pimp and his dirty cops frame them both for murder. On the run, Shelly turns to the one man who could be her salvation: Detective Luke Cameron. She doesn't know if she can trust him or if he's just a mirage, but she needs his help to free them all.
With a heart forged in fire and irreverence born of necessity, Shelly fights Ella's demons--and faces her own. She throws light on the shadows of Chicago's underworld, challenging everything she knew and the man she's come to love. Together, a prostitute and a cop fight for truth stronger than secrets, hope deeper than deception, and a bond more enduring than betrayal."
Interview with Amber Lin
Hi, Glass! Thank you so much for having me on Way Too Hot Books.
For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Amber Lin, author of Giving It Up, which RT Book Reviews gave 4.5 stars and called “at once, scary and sexy in all the best ways.” I’m here to share my new release, Selling Out, featuring a high class call girl and a by-the-book detective with the Chicago Police Department.
Why did you choose to write books with erotic elements?
I love writing sex. There, I said it.
Sometimes I think if I could write sex all day, it would be the most perfect job. Of course, an erotic author is pretty darn close, but not all the way. To tell the full story, there is plenty of non-sex writing. There’s also publication and marketing and a whole lot of other things. But I live for those moments when the words are flowing and the fictional sex is hot.
When you think about it, what is art? It’s a way to express your emotions, your experiences through some tangential medium. That’s what erotic writing is to me. Of course, it’s also just fun and sexy, but that’s what it means to me. It’s expression of far more than how to people get off in a broom closet, it’s about life and love and hurt and even hate. Sex and love touches on (heh) so many aspects of our lives.
Plus, life is just more sexy with erotic books:)
Who is your favorite author and role model?
There are SO MANY.
But let’s pick one for today. As erotica authors go, Charlotte Stein is comparable. Her writing blows me away, so funny and sexy and sharp. Her characters are fantastic. I first discovered her after reading Control, which I will recommend to anyone and everyone. Since then I’ve read almost everything she puts out. She’s an erotica genius.
She also happens to be on the kindness people you’ll ever meet (on twitter), so that’s a lovely bonus.
If you could pick to be one book character who it would be and why?
I generally like to read books that are dark and edgy, which means I don’t necessarily want to be the character. I just love reading about them:)
But thinking about books that are more realistic… I really love Jack Travis from Lisa Kleypas’s Smooth Talking Stranger. I think he is both an amazing hero in terms of the romance fantasy but also a down to earth, strong alpha male that might exist in the real world. Well okay, maybe not the billionaire family part, but the sexy way he was with her, his confidence… oh yeah.
Oh wait, we weren’t answering the question about hero we’d want to bang?
Right. Yeah. *coughs* I mean, I would want to be Ella from Smooth Talking Stranger. Because she’s confident and fun and she gets to bang Jack Travis.:)
Thanks again for having me on the blog today! Check out the blurb and excerpt below for my latest release, Selling Out.
“Shh,” I murmured, stroking his back.“Shelly, goddammit.”
But his protests fell away as I pressed my breasts to his arm and my tongue to his ear. His harsh inhalation sounded broken, shattered, or maybe that was me.
I tasted salt and man, earth and spring. Slow licks alongside his lobe and upward, more suggestive than sensation, but for a man like this, anticipation would be everything. Or so I had imagined, all the times I had dreamed of it.
A small sound escaped him, somewhere between a grunt and groan. I took it as encouragement and smoothed my hands along the hard planes of his shoulders, his chest. Not anywhere near the bulge in his jeans, because this wasn’t about pleasure—it was about wanting.
Anything to get closer, I let my knees slide apart around his side, the faint heat of his body a shock to my core. His hands clenched and opened on his knees, and again, the muscles rippled beneath his darkly tanned skin. Was he restraining himself from touching me or pushing me off?
“Baby, no,” he groaned, letting his head fall back onto my shoulder.
No, I would never deserve to have him as more than a sex partner. And he had never fucked me, though I knew he wanted to. Every time he saw me, his eyes would darken and my stomach would bottom out, but we’d never touch. But maybe for one brief inconvenient moment, while the door was open and the young woman beyond it needed help, we could pretend. Maybe it could be enough.
I shut my eyes tightly and pressed a kiss to his temple. Pretend, just pretend. I would give him the sex he had craved, and in return, he’d give me memories. It would be a payment, just the same.
“You want this,” I whispered.
He shuddered in my arms; it was like hugging a wild animal, one who could just as easily maul me as cuddle.
“Can I touch you?” he whispered. “Please.”
It unraveled me, that plea. As if he understood that a little bit of my soul slipped away every time someone touched me. As if he would cherish the part I gave him.
I scrambled away from him as if burned, breathing hard. No.
No one understood, which was exactly the way I liked it. I ran a shaking hand over my face to smooth away the panic.
Sure, he knew the score better than most people. He had worked the beat as a patrol cop and then as a detective. Life as a high-priced escort wasn’t glamorous; it was sweat and blood sprinkled with glitter. But he didn’t know the full extent, and I prayed he never would. Henri didn’t sell bodies; he gutted them.
I panted against the headboard, unable to walk away but unwilling to beg. Luke remained carved in stone where I’d left him sitting on the edge of the bed. The air pulsed with doubt and longing—with sex.
“I want it to be real between us.” He spoke low and hoarse.
A quiet sound escaped me. Every caress, every pinch. Every slur ever spoken. “It’s always real. That’s the problem, Luke. It’s always too damn real.”
He hung his head, and I thought for a moment I heard him say I know, but the moment slipped away, the sweet intimacy sailed away like clouds on the horizon—never really mine.
Amber is giving away a $75 gift card to Amazon, B&N, or All Romance. Winner will be selected by Rafflecopter.
Blog tour schedule
Until next time,