The Black Jack
Gentlemen
A city and a
sport with something to prove—Meet the men who take that challenge.
The Black Jack
Gentlemen—Detroit’s expansion soccer team.
They play hard.
And live harder.
Book 1: Man
On
Book 2: Red
Card
Book 3: Shut
Out
And coming
soon…
Book 4: Set
Piece
Book 5: Hat
Trick
Bad boy of European football, Nicolas Garza is about to hit
American shores with a vengeance. Signed by the Detroit Black Jack Gentlemen as
lynchpin for their expansion club, Nicco only half believes he’s making the
right move. But with a past full of ghosts and rotten behavior chasing him from
his homeland, he has no real choice.
Parker Rollings is a college soccer superstar, but his parents’
plans for their only son do not include professional athletics. When the Black
Jacks approach him to finalize their roster, Parker leaps at the chance to keep
playing, leaving behind medical school, stability and his first and only
college sweetheart.
Nicco and Parker face off as bitter rivals for a coveted
starting spot at midfield and are forced to channel their negative energy into
something positive for the sake of the group—and themselves.
All eyes are on the fledgling team in its debut season. It’s
crucial that the Black Jacks prove all the doubters wrong. They must make a
good showing in the league and with new fans. But player drama,club dynamics,
and misplaced priorities may tear it apart before it even begins.
RED CARD….. FREE during the 2014 World Cup!
Free will makes us human.
Choice makes us individuals.
Love makes us unique.
Metin Sevim has it all. At the pinnacle of international soccer
playing success, he has managed to craft a perfect world for himself along the
way.
When fate strips him of free will and the ability to choose his
own path, he retreats from everyone and everything, destroying his hard-won
career in the process.
Dragged back from the brink by his desperate family, Metin
reluctantly agrees to coach the Black Jack Gentlemen Detroit soccer team but
remains debilitated by memories and loss.When a surprising friendship emerges,
it renews his passion for life, providing much needed solace…and extreme
complications.
A saga of family dynamics and gender politics that cuts across
cultures and circumstance, Red Card illustrates the human capacity for
forgiveness through the life of one man as he attempts to rebuild his shattered
existence.
A submissive once, a submissive forever?
A man on the run from the only life he’s ever known, Brody
Vaughn is poised to accept the Black Jack Gentleman’s newly vacant goalkeeper’s
position. It’s a desperate move, but one he must take to regain his emotional
equilibrium. Reeling from his Mistress’s rejection and on the ragged edge of a
total breakdown, he arrives in Detroit. Numb with thinly veiled grief, he walks
into the club’s front office completely unaware that an encounter with true
destiny awaits him.
Sophie Harrison has seen it all--as Domme, sub, and victim. Now
that her complicated circumstances have landed her as legal counsel for the
expansion Black Jacks team, she holds herself aloof in body and spirit. Nothing
and no one gets past her fiercely guarded walls. Until the day she looks up to
greet the new goalie standing in her doorway, his raw combination of vulnerability
and strength making her breathless.
Two people, horribly scarred by the excesses of the BDSM
lifestyle and hiding from their true selves, meet across a desk over a simple
contract. All bets are off.
CAUGHT OFFSIDE…. .99 during the World
Cup!
Stand alone novella
1Night Stand Series
Decadent Publishing
Ramon Castillo, world famous soccer player and international
playboy has been brought low by a career-ending injury. After the humiliation
of a shattered leg at the World Cup final, he has spent a year enduring
surgeries and painful therapies, the last three months of which are at the
Castillo resort in Las Vegas under the watchful eye of his cousin, Jackson
Castillo and owner of the Castillo hotel chain. But Ramon’s lack of interest in
soccer, women, or in anything besides the blackjack tables has Jackson worried.
Gillian Winter, catering and banquet manager for the MGM Grand
Hotel is nurturing her own deep wounds. Her beloved husband has died
unexpectedly, leaving her with a young son whose one dream is to meet his hero:
Number 17 on the American National Soccer team, Ramon Castillo. When an
apparent chance encounter in the lobby of the MGM reveals Ramon's presence in
their midst, everyone's lives are changed forever.
Can Madame Eve work her magic and bring true healing to Ramon
and Gillian? Or is it too late?
All RATED R for language
MAN ON
A handful of fresh-faced young Americans interspersed in the
group, which made Nicco feel old. Which totally pissed him off. What was Inez
thinking anyway? There were two players per position in the room, two strong
contenders for each spot—except his. He sipped his water bottle and glared at
the Germans. Nervous tension gnawed at his gut but he kept his face calm.
Finally when their temporary coach showed up and flipped the blinds closed, he
relaxed.
So everyone in the room has to fight for their spot except me?
That works.
He dropped his feet to the floor at Rafe’s pointed glance and
propped his elbows on the table prepared to ignore the forthcoming pep talk.
He’d already made plans for the night and wanted to rest up
beforehand. This goofy welcome pep talk would be as good a time as any. Letting
his thoughts wander to the nightclub promising full discretion, he made himself
stop obsessing over the failed therapy session.
The door clicked open and all eyes landed on the tall, blond
man who walked in,backpack on his shoulder, dressed to play. Nicco’s scalp
tingled at the sight of him—strong torso, long legs, firm jaw covered with
several days’ worth of fuzz.
Good Christ but he was a perfect specimen.
Nicco kept his casual stance but startled when the kid’sbright
blue eyes and huge white smile landed on him.He resisted the urge to smile
back. Something about the man made Nicco distinctly uncomfortable. He suddenly
wished he’d held onto the shrink’s business card.
“And Parker will be working with you, Nicco.”
He sat up, knocking his water to the floor as Rafe’s words got
his immediate attention. He stared at the polite hand the kid stuck in his face
then over at Rafe. His throat closed up between the proximity of the impossibly
handsome man andrealization of the fact that the vision of masculine perfection
he’d lusted after for the lastfew seconds wanted to take his spot on the field.
Oh hell no.
He leaned back again and ignored his inner polite self. Instead,
he smirked, ignored the punk, and turned to face their coach as if suddenly
fascinated by what the guy had to say. Parker stood a minute, and Nicco watched
his face turn red before he sat in the one empty chair nearest the door.
Rafe passed out new phones, reminded them of their obligation
to “tweet” and “post profile updates” on Facebook at least three times a day.
All shit Nicco already knew. Rafe’s hot young lady assistant issued key cards
to the ones who’d just arrived,including the kid Nicco studiously ignored but
whose very presence was making the front of his jeans uncomfortable.
RED CARD
“It’s your hips that are the problem.”
Alicia startled at the sound of his now-familiar, sing-song
accent. She’d been kicking a line of balls into the net, one after the other
for about fifteen minutes since she’d been early in her haste to get the hell
out of her house and away from her sister’s loud disapproval.
Taking a breath, she crossed her arms and studied him. Metin
wore a pair of dark blue soccer shorts, plain heather-gray shirt, and cleats,
as easily as he’d worn the dress pants and crisp cotton shirt the night she’d
met him—the night you fucked him, you mean.
He stood, loose-limbed, at ease in his element. His teeth
glowed against his dark skin. The eyes she had melted into not forty-eight
hours ago shone with something she couldn’t identify—happiness? Sarcasm? Lust?
Who knew? Hoping to hide her frustration, she bent down to tie her laces
tighter so he couldn’t see her face flush when her gaze hit the front of his
shorts.
She rose, determined to resist the take-me-now aura the guy
threw her way. He probably didn’t even realize he did it. Not anymore. “Okay,
I’ll bite. What’s wrong with my hips?”
“Come at me.”
She blinked, confused. “Um, huh?”
“Attack, make like you want to score. You know? Like you do in
games?”
“Oh, right.” Dropping the ball tucked under her arm, she
glanced over his shoulder at her target. He let her, trotting backward a few
steps, then made for the ball. She feinted, maintaining possession before
dribbling a few more feet.
He came out of nowhere as she was about to make her final
scoring charge, stripping her of the ball and sending her crashing to the turf.
“Ow. Shit,” she muttered, getting to her feet, a familiar,
angry competitiveness stripping all the horniness right out of her head. “I still
don’t get what….”
“Do it again.” He kicked the ball toward her,harder than
necessary, but she stopped it and placed her cleat on top contemplating a
different strategy.
Shifting to the side, she danced past him, using all the speed
she could muster, and headed straight for the goal. And there he was again,
taking the damn ball away from her as if she were a rookie.
She tried to shield it, putting her back to him and sensing
every inch of his warm, perfect physique against her skin. Forcing herself to
focus, she landed a hard elbow to his midsection and escaped his trap then
traveled down the field alone, turning on all her motors, no longer hearing
anything, way into her zone.
And then, the damn man appeared in front of her again, batting
the ball between her legs and taking off in the other direction, hand to his
side where she’d nailed him.
“God damn it, Metin. What is your point? You’re a pro. I’m an
unemployed college graduate. You’re a man. I’m not. You make money at this, and
I never will. What the hell are you trying to prove?” Her legs hurt from her
workout the day before and she could barely catch her breath. She was, in a
word, miserable. But the sight of him a few yards away, messing with the soccer
ball while he stared at her, brought visions of tackling him, holding him down,
and kissing him right to the front of her overheated brain.She turned away,
ready to escape.
“Once more.” The soccer ball smacked the back of her legs so
hard she yelped. “That’s your fucking yellow card for the elbow. One more and
you’ll sit.”
SHUT OUT
“Vaughn! Goddamn it.”
Brody sat, staring at his feet, ignoring the usual post-match
noise and bustle around him. Most especially he hoped to hide from the voice of
Rafael Inez, the club’s manager. Reminders of how poorly he’d performed today
were not going to help him. He’d been playing soccer in some capacity since he
walked, since he had memories of anything. And today had been among his worst,
ever.
From the streets of Nashville and the hills of East Tennessee,
he’d been on teams, in clubs, trained by himself, trained by pros, the whole
goddamned nine yards. He’d seen every sort of match condition, coaching,
officiating misstep, and parental overreaction. He realized what it meant to
suck serious ass. And he understood why he’d done just that today, too—hence
the dark clouds draping his consciousness
The team manager drew closer, his deep voice joined by another,
as a sort of bonus, really. He leaned against the dark wood lining the walls in
the over-the-top, fancy locker room.
Metin Sevim, the Turkish coach, once a Spanish league phenom,
had had the world at his feet until a horrific tragedy struck, leaving him
drunk and useless for years. Apparently recovered, he had a look on his face
Brody Vaughn caught loud and clear—the “we lost and it is pretty much your
fault but I don’t want to upset you too much” glare that coaches the world over
affected.
Exhausted in mind and spirit, sick of the chewing out before it
even started, Brody gazed at both men. Rafe’s snapping eyes reflected the same
expression as Metin’s. He opened his mouth first, but the Turk put a hand on
his arm. The men regarded each other as the swirl of post-match activity came
to a loud peak.
Players in various stages of undress wandered in and out of the
main locker room, grabbing towels, pulling on the dress pants, shirts, and ties
the club required of them when entering and leaving the facility. One thing
Brody would say about the former-hot-headed,
player-turned-failure-turned-coach, Metin knew when not to talk. He tilted his
head, still pinning Brody with something that faded from this is your fault to
what the hell is wrong with you?
Then he sighed and, to Brody’s surprise, dropped onto the chair
next to him, leaned forward, elbows on knees, and seemed to examine the
expensive, rubberized floor. Brody hadn’t even made it to the shower yet. He
felt so weighed down and lethargic, just lifting his arms to put his head in
his hands took more energy than existed on the planet. He knew why, along with
the fact that there wasn’t a thing to be done about it.
How would he even begin to describe his issue? Heart pounding,
legs aching, shoulder screaming where he’d landed on it, then waved away the
trainer at the sixty-fifth minute. By that time all of the players were pretty
gassed from the late summer heat, but held on, toe-to-toe, with the Canadian
national team in a friendly. The stupid, sneaky forward had seen him wincing,
favoring his left shoulder, and drove the ball in on his newly weakened side.
It had been a simple fifty-fifty ball; face to face. He had blown it, him and
his overpaid, lame ass, wobbly self.
Thanks to his one quick encounter with the front office legal
woman, he’d been left in a quivering, useless, uncertain heap of need. Fuck
that. He had to get a grip.
Her early forays into the publishing world led to a
groundbreaking fiction subgenre, “Romance for Real Life,” which has gained
thousands of fans and followers interested less in the “HEA” and more in the
“WHA” (“What Happens After?”). More recently she is garnering even more fans
across genres with her latest novels, which are more character-driven fiction,
while remaining very much “real life.”
With stories set in the not-so-common worlds of breweries, on
the soccer pitch, in successful real estate offices and at times in exotic
locales like Istanbul, Turkey, her books are unique and told with a fresh
voice. The Liz Crowe backlist has something for any reader seeking complex
storylines with humor and complete casts of characters that will delight,
frustrate and linger in the imagination long after the book is finished.
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