Jack’s Favorite ThingsBy Liz Crowe
Jack Gordon has a few very favorite things. They include:
A hoppy craft beer
A perfect day on Lake Michigan
A tough real estate transaction he can wrestle into submission
Being loyal and reliable for his friends and family
A long, hot session of one-on-one basketball
A competitive soccer match (as a spectator)
When Sara texts him with a “meet me at the condo” message in the middle of the day
Rough sex up against the wall
Tender love making pretty much anywhere
Long kisses with meaning, especially the kind stolen in public
Watching his kids play sports or music
Building things with his own hands
Watching Sara sleep
The “well-fucked” look she gets, a lot
Long walks on the beach
A well-tailored suit
A classic American convertible
House Rules is Jack Gordon’s backstory and I am offering it FREE to everyone, old and new fans alike. I want you to know all I know about Jack, all the history and motivation I had for him for so many years as I wrote the series is now yours to know as well.
Please, dive in, enjoy and get to know him like I do.
It takes a wealth of collected experiences, emotions, successes and failures to craft the personality of a true Alpha Male
Jack Gordon, real estate broker, licensed builder, Juris Doctorate, has had his fair share of strife. His ability to cope, to fall down and pick himself back up has lead him to a place where he believes he has it all. Friends, money, cars, more women than he can count, and a club in Detroit where he can exorcise his inner demons, fill his days and his nights.
When he walks up to a penthouse door on a hot Ann Arbor summer afternoon, frustrated, exasperated and ready to call it quits after hours of condo shopping with a wealthy couple, the last thing on his mind is meeting his destiny.
House Rules: The Jack Gordon Story. A prequel novella of the Stewart Realty Series
The girl he’d been ignoring made a funny, exasperated sound somewhere between a snort and a sigh, breaking his reverie. He glanced at her again and did a double take.
She was curled up on the crappy student lounge couch in a corner of the main law building basement—a place he’d found and scoped out as his own for getting some work done between classes a few weeks ago.
“Yeah,” he said, raking his gaze over her near-perfect form. She had big tits, which were a bonus, but since he was an ass and legs man he waited her out. His newfound inner radar started pinging the second her dark blue eyes met his. “I’m Jack.”
“Hi, Jack. Jenna.” She proceeded to ignore him for a solid hour, and he let her. Because he had already figured something out about Jenna. And knew she’d stick around and chat some more. He smiled when he sensed her nearby, hovering over him. “Um, can you make heads or tails of this?” She pointed to an open passage in her book.
“Maybe. I think I need coffee first. Join me?” He got to his feet and gathered all of his papers. She watched, her eyes widening, then met his smile with one of her own.
“Yeah, sure, Jack,” she said, lingering over his name in a way that made him gulp as she stuffed her book in her backpack and shouldered it. The look on her face confused him some, but her body was sending clear signals that he intercepted and translated.
They walked, chatting about nothing in particular, and Jack got his first full look at her. She was about five foot four in flat shoes, with a curvy form, packed into nondescript dark denim jeans and red sweater that dipped into her impressive cleavage nicely. Her dark brown hair tumbled around her shoulders and her laugh was low, sexy. It rumbled around in his libido in a way that he recognized.
He’d spent last summer learning something about himself that shocked him at first. Then had settled into his new reality as a sexual Dom with an eagerness that made that first girl who’d invited him to club a very happy camper.
The owner of the small place in downtown Detroit was an older guy, good-looking still, and content to show him the ropes…and the handcuffs…the floggers… the whips and ball gags. He’d made a project of Jack actually, grooming him, he claimed, for greatness.
He grinned and took a step closer to the alluring, sexy Jenna as they stood in line for coffee. He could smell it on her like lingering smoke—her plain-as-day willingness to submit to him. She looked up and met his gaze.
The moment that should have been awkward made his cock slam into the back of his zipper. He smiled at the sensation. A corner of her full lips tilted up in a way he thought he understood. He figured that was the final sign. He was no expert yet but well on his way. While sensing the sexual energy of every female in a room was sometimes tiring, now that he could channel it, figure out which of them would actually provide him the outlet he required, it seemed that it all led him to this precise moment. And to Jenna.
She leaned closer to him in a way entirely inappropriate for having just met. Yet it was perfect. “I don’t want coffee, really. I’ve been watching you all semester. Let’s go to your place.”
He swallowed hard. Something was off, or shifted to the left, just far enough for him to sense it and hesitate. He looked down into her deep blue eyes. Saw the way her breathing had ramped up. The pulse in her throat caught his gaze, beating, beating. And those lips…dear god they were tempting.
He forced himself to smile in a friendly, non-committal way. “I don’t know, Jenna. Maybe I’m not ready.” He raised an eyebrow. This was his scene. He was not about to let her call the shots.
“Oh I think you are.” She turned just enough to shield her hand, the one she put right on his crotch.
He didn’t move or shift away. He did, however, narrow his eyes at her on purpose, making sure she got the gist of his displeasure. “I’m not sure I said you could touch me yet. Jenna.” He kept his voice low and slow, but his brain was starting to hum with a familiar sense of rightness. She lowered her gaze, tucked the offending hand back into her jacket pocket, and started to step back.
He gripped her arm, loving the way the heat transferred from her to him, and shot down his spine. “Don’t move.” He glanced around then putting his mouth near her ear, taking in a fresh breath of horny female. “I can sense that you know what I like…Jenna….” Her name felt exotic, unique, on his lips. “But just because you want it does not mean I’m giving it to you. Are we clear?”
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 a successful author.
When she isn’t sweating inventory and sales figures for the brewery, she can be found writing, editing or implementing promotions for her latest publications. Her groundbreaking literary fiction subgenre, “reality fiction,” 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.
For more information on Liz Crowe, please visit her website www.lizcrowe.com or www.brewingpassion.com (her author blog). She enjoys interacting with her fans on her Facebook author page www.facebook.com/lizcroweauthor. Information for all of her books, including eBook and print formats (where available), can be found on her Amazon author page.
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