BLURB: Grace Murphy is the local psychic medium who dreams of her
soulmates –Nico White, a bisexual American Indian musician, and J.T. Santiago,
an ex-Navy SEAL and former cage fighter with PTSD on top of the guilt that he’s
still carrying from other lifetimes that they’ve shared. J.T. is a dominant, but he’s never had a male
submissive and Grace and Nico are a package deal. It’s a learning curve for all of them, with
J.T.’s initiation into MMF and MM relations and Grace’s introduction to
BDSM. With Grace’s yin, J.T’s yang, and
Nico’s center balance, the three of them come together as far as J.T.’s PTSD
will allow, but forging a future means healing the past, however painful it
might be, in an interracial paranormal MMF ménage BDSM
erotic romance.
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LINKS:
Amazon
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Amazon UK http://amzn.to/1NYepnG
Barnes and Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/something-else-nia-farrell/1122571287?ean=2940151122504
BookStrand http://www.bookstrand.com/something-else-mmf
Dark Hollows Press http://www.darkhollowspress.com/#!something-else/c1tdc
EXCERPT:
With the appearance
of him, I feel the shift in my own energy, like he’s a generator crystal
that’s amplified every sense, common or otherwise. My zipped perceptions are
razor sharp, dead on accurate, and delivered with lightning speed. When half
hour readings go to twenty minutes, I start giving discounts and the line never
ends, not until the ten minute warning that the fair doors will be closing
soon.
At five p.m., one of
the New Age shop assistants starts walking the aisles, clearing the crowd and
the room’s energy with a ringing pair of Tibetan tingshas. I smile my thanks
when she manages to herd the last hopeful from my queue. Smile bigger yet when
I see that my Latino angel has returned.
“Hi,” I say,
sounding rather shy for someone who’s had no problem all day, delving deep into
other people’s lives and issues.
His lips tuck upward,
and he nods his head toward the back of the room. “I promised my cousin I’d
help her. Lena says it’ll take an hour.”
Lena. Pretty face,
rocking body, bedroom hair, tats. Amazing silver jewelry and unique leather
goods. “I like her.” Actually, I envy her. I have gifts, but Lena has the
skills to make her visions a reality. It’s what sets her stuff apart.
“She’s got to get
home. Sick kid,” he explains. “Daddy’s challenged enough when Ariana’s a
healthy two-year-old. I’ll be free once Lena’s on the road. Will you be around?
I can meet you somewhere. We could grab a bite to eat. Talk. If not tonight,
then later.”
Déjà vu. Six months ago, I’d said nearly the same things to Nico.
I suggest O’Toole’s,
two blocks east. “Do you know it?”
He nods grudgingly,
clearly not a fan of the Irish pub. Sensitive to his inner turmoil, I offer an
alternative. “Or Jerry’s?” It’s a local bar and grill, edgier than sports and
just shy of biker bar.
God, his smile. I
feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven.
“Jerry’s,” he says.
“In an hour or so.”
I’m still processing
when Nico comes to check on me. He’s moved our vending van and already has his
stuff loaded, and I’ve done almost squat.
“Hey.” He touches
me, sliding his darker fingers up my ivory arms until they reach my elbows.
When his thumbs start rubbing circles in the bend of each arm, my root chakra
kicks into overdrive, and my fucking knees grow weak.
“He’s here,” I
whisper, damn close to trembling. “He’s meeting us at Jerry’s after six. Help
me pack so we can go get a table.”
That time of night,
on a Saturday, there’s usually a line out the door one or two blocks long. I
know I have spiritual helping hands at work when we get there and are seated at
a booth in the quieter back with only a fifteen minute wait.
I’ve said nothing
more to Nico about Lena’s cousin. It occurs to me that I never asked and he
never offered his name. We’ll all know each other soon enough, and way beyond a
first-name basis.
Just thinking about
what’s coming makes my panties wet enough to stick my dress to the worn wooden
bench beneath me.
Our waitress,
Cherry, slides coasters on the table and sets down our drinks, a bottle of
pseudo beer for Nico and a glass of orange juice for me. I don’t want anything,
either brewed from nature or crafted in a chemistry lab, to dull my senses
tonight. No alcohol. No soda. Juice and water it is.
A menu sits to my
right, waiting for him to show. Across from me, Nico scans both sides of the
laminated page and sets it down, his decision already made. I take longer,
wrestling with my baser meat-loving self when I know I should shun it, but
really, where’s the fun in that? I turned vegan once in high school. It lasted
all of two weeks, but I stayed quasi-vegetarian for three years. Dairy, eggs,
and seafood gave me the protein I craved, but it took cutting out the warm
blooded meat to raise my vibration and get it to where I needed it to be.
Because that’s when the dreams started. Visions of the past lives we’ve shared.
Memories of the three of us.
Poised on the brink
of our next go-round, I have to wonder why we keep coming back like this, like
frigging musketeers. Is it because we’re stronger together, or dysfunctional
apart? Jesus, I’d like to think I don’t need them, but I know how much more,
how much stronger I am since meeting Nico. My body thrums to think of what it
will be like to have both of them with me.
In me.
Fuck.
AUTHOR BIO:
Nia
Farrell has been writing for pleasure since junior high. Now that she writes about pleasure, she can share the fantasy worlds she visits and
introduce readers to characters who remain with her long after their tales are
told.
When
crafting a story, Nia draws upon a rich diversity of life experiences, which
include singer/songwriter, prize winning needle artist, private pilot, Reiki
Master/Teacher, crystal healer, psychic fair reader, jewelry maker, physician’s
assistant, factory worker, waitress, genealogist, period reenactor, and
children’s author. If this life isn’t
enough, there are plenty of others to choose from. Otherwise, she devotes hours of research to
subjects outside her realm, determined that her stories ring true.
Nia
lives on a farm in Southern Illinois (far, far from Chicago, in the heart of
“Little Egypt”). A seventh generation
Illinoisan, she is descended from Mayflower Pilgrims, American soldiers from
the Revolutionary War to World War II, and Scottish nobility. She enjoys playing in the past and visits Ren
fairs and historical reenactments in period attire, sharing her love of history
and her passion for music. While her
husband and two grown daughters may only read her nonfiction work, she
appreciates their support in pursuing her dreams, one of which is being
published in erotic romance.
Author
page on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-Nia-Farrell/1678898589004941?fref=ts
Author page at Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/Nia-Farrell/e/B014HAAWLK/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_2?qid=1440769158&sr=8-2
Author page at Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Nia-Farrell/e/B014HAAWLK/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1440767213&sr=1-1
Author page at Dark Hollows Press: http://www.darkhollowspress.com/#!nia-farrell/c1mop
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