Hola! Como estas?
I’m Rafael Miguel Inez, “Rafe” to my friends and family. I have been playing futbol (soccer) since I could walk, and played as high up as the Spanish league and major league soccer in America.
I am from Argentina but moved to the U.S. when I was drafted to play professional soccer at the tender age of 23. I am divorced from a woman who I basically married because we looked good together and my agent wanted to promote a wedding. She was Latina and I guess we looked good together and she was no slouch between the sheets. But beyond that I felt nothing for her and when she availed herself of an opportunity cheat on me I caught her and we were summarily parted.
Four years ago I was playing in a World Cup quarterfinal and had my shin snapped in two by a high-cleat, red card foul. I can assure you that short of child birth, I’m guessing, there is not a whole of things more painful. After being carried off on a stretcher and watching my beloved Argentina lose in the final game from a hospital bed, I decided that I wanted to go back to school and finish my degree. I could have rehabbed and played again, but something made me want to take a different path. So I finished my sports medicine degree and worked for several years as a physical therapist at the U of M hospital.
But I love the beautiful game and always will. And thank God for that because if I had not taken the job as a coach for an Ann Arbor premiere soccer club I would never have met my beloved Maureen. I was coach for her daughter Ella’s team and the second I laid eyes on the woman–with her long, jet black hair, porcelain skin and tall, sexy body I was crazy for her. We had a few close moments but I knew she was still mourning her late husband, the man who was her first love and father of her twins, Ella and Adam. So I tried to go slow…but finally, after many evenings talking and getting to know each other and hours spent trying to convince her I wanted to so very badly to get to know her better…her brother, Jack Gordon ended up hiring me to be the manager for his expansion soccer league team project for Detroit.
Yeah, so I was not sure how I felt about the man for a while. He’s successful, compelling and a take charge guy to the point of annoyance for me–I’m a traditional Latin man, not at all short on machismo so his bossiness and nosiness when it came to my relationship with his sister really rubbed the wrong way for a while.
So I thought I’d share a very hot scene with you — the first time Maureen and I finally connected. Not exactly the set up I wanted, but I pulled that off later.
THIS POST CONTAINS A NEVER BEFORE SEEN RATED XX FOR 18 AND OVER HOLY CRAP CAN YOU PUT THAT ON THE INTERNET EXCERPT FROM ESCALATION CLAUSE.
ESCALATION CLAUSE: STEWART REALTY BOOK 6
It was her turn next. She stood, straightened her skirt, lifted her chin and strode past the glaring sets of parental eyes lining the hall outside the conference room. It was nothing more than four walls of utilitarian grey, with AstroTurf, a rickety table and two chairs. Rafe stood in the doorway, his dark eyes at once full of meaning and neutral, benefiting the group. She latched onto them, let them be her beacon through the haze of antsy terror for what was yet to come.
Her legs shook and when he touched her bare elbow she nearly fell over into the lap of the nearest soccer dad. But he held onto her. All the gossip, all the whispery rumors about the hot soccer coach, and here he was, waiting for her to make the next move. It was utterly surreal. But she was so horny she was rendered almost useless by it. She gulped and let him guide her into the room.
The heavy door shut with a thunk. She stood, frozen, trying to imagine how in the hell this would work, how she could possibly go out with him, to dinner or anything else. He was so…fucking perfect. His deep bronze skin was highlighted by the light blue club shirt, his dark hair pulled back as usual, emphasizing the amazing bone structure of his face. He grinned, indicated the metal folding chair opposite his. She gripped her purse, then let it drop to the floor. He was at her side in a second, picking it up for her. He stood close, holding the small leather bag, the strength and power of his body barely concealed by the tee shirt and soccer shorts. She watched, as if detached from herself, as her hand reached up, tugged the leather tie from his hair. It tumbled around his shoulders in an ebony waterfall. He kept his distance, but set her purse on the table, never taking his eyes from hers.
Mo was chilled and burning hot at the same time. The tip of his tongue touched his upper lip. “Rafe,” she said, her voice a ghost of itself. “I’m…”
He was in her space in an instant, his hand grasping the back of her neck, his lips mere centimeters from hers. “What, Maureen?” he asked. A simple question, and one she was prepared to answer. “Tell me what you want.” His lips brushed hers. That tore it.
“You.” She gripped him, threaded her fingers in his hair and ended all the teasing all the flirting and all the agony in one firm press of lips. He ran his hands up her sides, reached back to flick her bra open and cupped her breast in a quick second. “Oh,” she exhaled, leaning back against the wall. He propped one hand beside her head and ran a finger down her face, around her jaw and touched her lips.
“You sure about that?” his voice sang in her ears, added fuel to the fire already smoldering in her. Something in his voice, in his eyes, or in the firm torso mere inches from hers made her blink, then suck in a breath and let it go. Let it all go. To give in to the present and everything it represented for her. She nodded, and he kissed her, really kissed her, and she let him. The room disappeared—all she knew was this man, his lips and his hands and his words. “Maureen,” he sighed into her ear, when he broke the delectable contact, making her whimper and want his lips back on hers. “I was saving this for later,” he groaned when she slipped his shorts down. So convenient really, these easy access soccer clothes. “Mi amour,” he groaned. “Quiero cogerte.”
He tilted his hips. The exquisite velvety sensation of his flesh in her hand made her sigh and groan all at once, embarrassing. Until he spoke.
“I want to hear that noise all night. That one you make. I love it. And I plan to hear it. A lot.”
He slid a hand up her thigh, found her panties, brushed them aside. She groaned, gripped his neck and looked into his eyes. “Rafe, I’m…I’m not this person, you know, I… Jesus.” She groaned when his fingertip found her clit and rubbed with intent. She held onto his bicep, and tried not to collapse against the wall. He grabbed her leg and pulled it up, kissing her, stroking her, yanking her shirt up, sucking her nipple. His hands and lips were everywhere, all over her. But she knew what she wanted. “Inside me,” she gasped as he yanked her other leg up, pinning her to the wall, his strong legs holding them in place.
“No…protection…” he gasped.
She wrapped her arms around his neck as their breathing combined in her ears, deafening her. “I’m clean, and I’m safe. And if you don’t fuck me right now I may die.” He licked her lips, moved his hips at the same time and she looked up at the ceiling as her entire universe was split in two by the man now here with her. Not Brandis, but something new, something that would let her live and be happy and …. “Ah, God!” She cried out as he pinched her nipple and lowered his lips to her neck. He bit down on her flesh, held her ass with one hand and filled her with an amazing combination of man—his cock, tongue, and bright emotion. A tear slipped out but she let it and met him thrust for thrust, needing him, wanting his release more than she needed to take her next breath. The orgasm made her shudder and ripped a cry from her throat. He put his hand over her lips and she bit down on it as fireworks exploded across her vision.
His breathing got ragged as she pulsed and gripped him tight. “Mi Dios” he gasped and shivered with the intensity of his climax. He found her lips, and the world stopped spinning for a split second at the sensation of him, his real self, his body and soul with hers. Sex, Maureen. It’s just….sex. And some amazing sex at that.
And don’t forget! Liz will be awarding prizes to three randomly drawn commenters during the tour: a signed copy of the new release (either ebook or print); $100 Amazon gift card; and a gift of Stewart Realty (Zazzle) swag of choice.
Young love burns hot and bright. Soul mates are found, then lost in the blink of an eye. When young widow Maureen Gordon Taylor meets her daughter’s sexy soccer coach, her body and heart slowly unthaw. But will holding tight to the past cost her a future?
A devastating blow shatters a family’s fragile happiness. Rob Freitag and Lila Warren now confront life without the emotional glue that once bound them, but a shared goal brings them back together. Is it enough to make them whole again and become the family they were meant to be?
Mutual trust is hard won for the Gordons. When tragedy strikes, Jack and Sara’s lives are sent into a tailspin. To keep her family from falling apart, she must force Jack to admit his deepest fears. After everything they’ve been through, can they revive the spark and move to the next stage of marital fulfillment?
The sweeping saga of the Stewart Realty series continues as long-time friends learn to rely on each other, and to grab hold of happiness before it’s too late.
***Escalation Clause: Stewart Realty book 6 is NOT meant to be read as a stand alone novel. The other 5 books are needed to give solid background but never fear! They are best sellers and award winning and I do not think you will be disappointed by starting with book 1 (Floor Time) and working your way through to book 6!
Microbrewery owner, best-selling author, beer blogger and journalist, mom of three teenagers, and soccer fan, Liz lives in the great Midwest, in a major college town. Years of experience in sales and fund raising, plus an eight-year stint as an ex-pat trailing spouse, plus making her way in a world of men (i.e. the beer industry), has prepped her for life as erotic romance author.
When she isn’t sweating inventory and sales figures for the brewery, she can be found writing, editing or sweating promotional efforts for her latest publications.
Her groundbreaking romance subgenre, “Romance for Real Life,” has gained thousands of fans and followers who are interested less in the “HEA” and more in the “WHA” (“What Happens After?”)
Her beer blog a2beerwench.com is nationally recognized for its insider yet outsider views on the craft beer industry. Her books are set in the not-so-common worlds of breweries, on the soccer pitch and in high-powered real estate offices. Don’t ask her for anything “like” a Budweiser or risk painful injury.