Dungeon Dreams is my novella in WEDDING FAVORS. Here is an excerpt from chapter one:
Kendra Madden battled an erotic chill.
This, of course, made no sense. But nothing in her head constituted logic, not since the dreams had started.
Dreams of a dark, gothic place with brick walls, iron shackles, and rough-hewn devices with leather restraints. A place that made her dangerously aroused. A place vastly different from where she was now.
Confirming her soft, fanciful whereabouts, she stopped to study the mansion in front of her. Nothing could be more whimsical, more gingerbread, more Queen Anne Victorian than the Bonswa Inn, an extravagant bed-and-breakfast located in New Orleans’s Garden District. The pink, lavender, and white structure boasted curlicue details and frosting-style scrollwork.
So why did she have goose bumps? Why did this fairy-tale structure create a sex dungeon sensation?
Because she was losing her mind, damn it. Because those dreams were interfering with her sanity. Whenever she awakened from one of those episodes, all she thought about was kinky sex: bondage fantasies, acts of debauchery, things she’d never craved or even considered before.
She took one last look at the fancy exterior of the building. Then, determined to behave as normally as possible, she proceeded to the entrance. The wheels on her basic black suitcase bumped up and over the porch steps, making a soft, thudding sound.
Summers in New Orleans were hot and humid, or so she’d been told. But today the weather was warm and pleasant.
She went inside and entered an impressive foyer that served as a reception area. Decorated with rose-motif armchairs and painted side tables, it presented a colorful invitation. Seated at a carved writing desk was a middle-aged woman with fluffy auburn hair and sparkling jewelry. Flamboyant in her own right, she fit the environment.
She stood up, showcasing her full figure, and said, “You must be Kendra Madden. I’m Claire. The the innkeeper’s assistant.”
Kendra smiled and said hello. She wasn’t surprised that Claire presumed who she was. Her arrival time had been pre-arranged. Kendra was a bridesmaid at a wedding that would take place at the inn. She’d booked her reservation a day early because she was anxious to get out of Los Angeles. The rest of the wedding party would be filtering in tomorrow and were only scheduled for a short stay. Kendra had decided to combine this trip with a much-needed two-week vacation.
Claire said, “I’ll let the innkeeper know you’re here. He’ll get you situated.”
While the assistant called her boss, Kendra noticed that the reception area led to a parlor. She caught glimpses of crushed velvet settees and marble-topped tables.
A few minutes later, a man emerged from that direction, and Kendra could do little more than stare. He owned this place? She’d been expecting an older gentleman, but he was about her age.
Mercy me, she thought.
Although he sported casual business attire and carried himself in a professional manner, he was tall, dark, and hot. Stylishly mussed straight black hair, caramel-colored skin, and strong-boned features illustrated a wildly ethnic quality.
Was it any wonder? She’d read on the inn’s Web site that this was a Creole-owned establishment, and from what she understood, the Louisiana Creole hailed from French, Spanish, African, and Native American roots. Or at least some sort of combination thereof.
Kendra had a fair complexion, blue eyes, and natural blonde hair, but she’d always been intrigued by exotic men. Not that she’d ever been with anyone who looked like him. Her ex was blond and blue-eyed, too.
Their gazes met from across the room, and she sensed that the attraction was mutual. He glanced away first, but the male-female ritual had already begun, creating an awkward moment.
He apparently did his best to recover. As he moved closer, he played the perfect host and smiled. But that only made things worse. His smile was slow and naturally sexy.
He closed the gap between them, and she waited for him to speak, wondering if he would greet her in a local accent.
“Hello, Kendra,” he said, making polite use of her name. “Welcome to the Bonswa. I’m James Rideau.”
He didn’t speak in the “Nawlins” way. In fact, aside from reciting Bonswa and Rideau with a gentle French inflection, he sounded as West Coast as she did.
Even more intrigued, she extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
He reached out, too. “The pleasure is mine.”
Oh, no, she thought. No. Pleasure was the wrong thing for him to say. The very instant they touched, the tie-me-up hunger associated with her dreams slammed straight into her.
She wanted to pull away, but she followed through with the handshake, pretending that her heart wasn’t sticking to her throat.
“Would you like a tour of the inn?” he asked. “Or would you prefer to go to your room first?”
“I’d like to see the inn.” She was too nervous to enter a bedroom with him. She needed time to get a grip on reality, to clear her mind of forbidden fantasies.
