Taste of Passion
Authors: Renae Jones
Taste of Passion
By Renae Jones
Fedni, an empath who can taste emotion, was once a highly
desirable courtesan. But the conquering New Earth Federation has abolished her
temple, forcing her into early retirement and making her struggle to find her
place in a transformed world.
Lonely and bored, she visits her ruggedly handsome new
neighbor, an off-worlder doctor named Rasmus whose strange ways and delicious
body arouse more than her curiosity. Hot, hard lust flares between them, and a
series of steamy encounters reveals to Fedni a generous lover.
But incredible sex can’t keep their cultural differences at
bay. Rasmus is disgusted by the temple system, and Fedni leaps to defend her way
of life and to show him the beauty of her traditions. As their heated arguments
make them each question their long-held beliefs, Fedni must reconcile her
newfound knowledge and her pride in her past, or risk losing the man who stokes
her passion to new heights.
21,000 words
Dear Reader,
It’s possible I say this every year, but I love October. To
me, this is the month that signals the start of a season of hot apple cider,
evenings by the fire, and curling up on the sofa with a good book, dressed
warmly in sweatpants and a comfy shirt and snuggled under my favorite fuzzy
blanket. We at Carina Press can’t provide most of those things, but we can
provide the good books, and this month we have more than a few good books!
In
Running Back
, the highly anticipated sequel to Allison Parr’s
new-adult contemporary romance
Rush Me
, Natalie
Sullivan is on the verge of a breakthrough most archaeology grad students only
dream of: discovering a lost city. Her research points to a farm in Ireland, but
to excavate she needs permission from the new owner:
the
Michael O’Connor, popular NFL running back.
If you’re like me, there are certain tropes in romance that
you fall for every time. One of mine is the main theme of Christi Barth’s newest
book,
Friends to Lovers.
(Gee, can you guess what it
is?) Daphne struggles with revealing her longtime lust for Gib, sparking it all
off with a midnight kiss on New Year’s Eve—only Gib doesn’t know it’s Daphne
he’s kissed! Also in the contemporary romance category is
First and Again
by Jana Richards, which has a special place in my
heart because this emotional story takes place in my home state of North
Dakota.
For months, this Red Cross head nurse has been aiding Allied
soldiers caught behind enemy lines, helping them flee into the neutral
Netherlands. It’s only a matter of time until she’s caught in
Aiding the Enemy
, a historical romance by Julie Rowe.
If you’re a fan of
Downton Abbey
, be sure to check
out the rest of Julie’s historical romances.
We have two mysteries for readers to solve this month.
British crime author Shirley Wells returns to the sleepy northern town of
Dawson’s Clough with her popular Dylan Scott Mystery series in the next book,
Deadly Shadows.
And in Julie Anne Lindsey’s
Murder by the Seaside
, counseling is murder, but
it’s never been this much fun.
Erotic romance author Christine d’Abo brings us the story of
Alice’s obsession with a brooding lawyer at her firm, which takes Alice on a
journey of self-discovery through the rabbit hole and into the world of BDSM in
Club Wonderland.
Also this month, the
Love Letters
ladies, Ginny Glass, Christina Thacher,
Emily Cale and Maggie Wells, round up five sizzling-hot stories to finish off
their sexy stampede through the alphabet with
Love Letters
Volume 6:
Cowboy’s Command.
Edgar Mason is losing Agamemnon Frost despite everything
they’ve been through—the passion, the torture, the heat. Frost’s fiancée
Theodora is back, and Mason can feel his lover gravitating toward her. Every day
he sees them together, it tears at his heart. Don’t miss
Agamemnon Frost and the Crown of Towers
, the conclusion to Kim
Knox’s male/male historical science fiction trilogy.
Because October is the perfect month for the paranormal, we
have a wide selection of fantasy, urban fantasy and paranormal to share with
you. In Jeffe Kennedy’s fantasy romance,
Rogue’s
Possession
, neuroscientist Gwynn’s adventures in Faerie continue in
the long-awaited sequel to
Rogue’s Pawn.
And in the
sequel to
Soul Sucker
, a powerful magic user is
stealing people’s faces in San Francisco, and empath Ella Walsh and shifter
Vadim Morosov have been called in to investigate in
Death
Bringer
by Kate Pearce. Also returning with another book in her Blood
of the Pride series is Sheryl Nantus, with her paranormal romance
Battle Scars.
Combining futuristic fiction, fantasy and urban fantasy,
Trancehack
by Sonya Clark is a compelling
cross-genre romance. In a dystopian future where magic is out in the open and
witches are segregated, a high-profile murder case brings together a police
detective and a witch with unusual powers that combine magic and technology. But
dangerous secrets, a political cover-up, and the law itself stand between them.
Don’t miss this exciting new world of witchpunk!
Carina Press is pleased to introduce three debut authors this
October. Science fiction erotic romance author Renae Jones gives us a
Taste of Passion
when lust strikes hard for Fedni, an
empath who can taste emotion, but her off-worlder neighbor is horrified by the
caste system that the former courtesan holds dear.
Two urban fantasy authors debut with us this month. In
Kathleen Collins’s
Realm Walker
, a realm walker
hunts a demon intent on destroying both her and the mate who left her seven
years ago. Also debuting in urban fantasy is Joshua Roots with his book
Undead Chaos.
When warlock Marcus Shifter performs a
simple zombie beheading, he soon finds that the accidental framing of an
innocent necromancer, falling in lust, and burning down a bar are just the
beginning of his troubles.
Regardless of whether you’re discovering these books in
October or in the middle of summer, any time is the perfect time for reading,
and I hope you enjoy all these titles as much as we’ve enjoyed working on
them.
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your
thoughts, comments and questions to
[email protected]
.
You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter
stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
www.twitter.com/carinapress
www.facebook.com/carinapress
Dedication
To Sam Sanford, the man who trolled before it was even a thing.
You changed the course of my life for the better, by being a friend and a roommate.
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank my friends Miriam and Laurie for the encouragement, long talks, read-throughs and, well, friendship. Long before I thought this one might get published, you didn’t treat me like a crazy.
Thanks are also due to Alissa Davis, Angela James and Carina Press, not just for publishing my first story, but for being amazing, professional and friendly resources for me and the writer community at large.
My final thanks goes to the entire digital-first publishing industry, past and current. You hooked me on reading again after years away, introduced me to the romance genre and fed my fascination with the intersection of publishing and digital. You’ve given a voice to thousands of wonderful little niches that would never have found their glory with an expensive print run. And you’ve been an amazing example of a female-led field kicking butt in the business world.
In a riot of delicate white flowers and shrubbery so dark it was nearly black, Fedni glided on golden platform heels through her own front garden. Her modest retirement townhome sat behind her, a small white square with a subtly domed roof and a wide porch.
She took twelve measured steps on the public walkway, and turned up another path.
Now she walked through her neighbor’s neat but spare yard. He’d moved in four months ago, then put in some clover all by himself (to her utter horror), then left it to just...be clover.
That had marked the beginning of the strange off-worlder habits, each a little more plebian than the last. He did like her legs, though. Every time they crossed paths, his eyes would dart toward her legs, his desire strong enough to ping her empathy.
That might be why she’d chosen him as the test subject for her new dress. He would definitely notice―and she would gauge his reaction, and decide if it was adequate.
Next week’s dinner party was her first serious invitation since reeducation had hit the district, and it was essential she make a spectacular impression. Sitting in her home like a hermit, week after week, had hurt even more than she’d expected it to. Former friends and lovers had forgotten she existed the minute she was no longer for hire, even the ones who had never bought her services. The glamour of knowing her had evaporated.
However, she was still a fantastic party guest. A strong enough reminder of that might start the invitations trickling in.
She thumbed the chime on her neighbor’s front door.
The off-worlder answered a moment later, his well-chiseled face sporting the full scruff of a man who didn’t shave on the weekend. His hair was dirty-blond, his jaw wide, his eyes kind, his lips full and his smile more a sardonic twitch. Scruff looked good on him.
His gaze swept up her body in turn and she noticed the tingling taste of attraction. Her dominant psychic sense confirmed beyond doubt what any woman could guess by the gleam in his eye―the man liked what he saw.
The dress had promise, then.
“Sir, good day. Could I ask you for some sweetener? I am tragically short.”
She held out a cup of dark, spiced liquid in helpful illustration. She had sweetener at home, of course, but she could hardly tell him she was there to gauge his reaction to her dress.
He looked a little befuddled. “No, I don’t have sweetener. I have sugar.”
“Sugar would be wonderful, if you have some to spare.”
“Of course.”
Her smile grew, and she stuck out her hand in the Federation way. “I am Fedni.”
“Rasmus.”
He returned the gesture, extending his hand—a quaint and intrusive but delightfully useful custom. When they touched, she concentrated, getting a psychic taste for him while they shook.
He tasted clean, crisp―no deep hidden secrets or mental illness. It was like muddled mint, though, or ozone after a rain. He knew sorrow, and was not entirely happy. Over that she tasted the rich sweetness of a man who liked to laugh, and a deluge of tastes she associated with her childhood. This was a man who cared deeply for others, a good man. A better man than all but a few she’d met in years of service.
He tugged gently at her hand, an answering smile on his face. “Please, come in.”
He stepped back, his bare feet padding softly on tile. She followed slowly, carefully aware of every rug and step in her path. Walking on seven-inch-high platforms required close attention.
Her neighbor had a trim build, and wore the supple slacks and tunic of a well-off laborer, but he was not muscled. His wrist computer and short, neat haircut were that of an executive, but he wore no jewelry. She could not guess his caste—not that off-worlders had them—nor his profession.
In his kitchen, still decorated in the soft greens of fashion gone out ten years ago, he grabbed a canister of sugar. He carefully poured her a small scoop, dry granules slithering in the calm silence. His eyes darted another peek at her dress.
She stepped back, giving him a good view. The all-important dress was a short golden sheath, tight like a second skin and intricately embroidered. The dress flared to a puff of barely-opaque silk around her bosom, and the sleeves hung in wide triangles down her thighs. It was a masterpiece of native Xanian silk, chemically gilded thread and the art of dressmaking.
It was also sickeningly trendy. She’d spent hours scrolling through tomes of Old Earth animal life, looking for inspiration. The embroidery featured the animals that had never been seen on their young little planet. She had squirrels frolicking on her hem and swallows hidden in the pattern of her wide belt. There was even a delicate crest of gold-and-purple feather glued to the top of her ears, evoking the plumage of a peacock.
It was disgusting, really. They were conquered by the New Earth Federation, then four years later society was emulating them even in fashion.
And she was disgusting too. This was her first invitation in months. She was desperate to impress the luxury caste glitterati, to win some sort of compliment or a second invitation, through any means at her disposal. Once, she’d been above this pandering and trend chasing.
If she didn’t manage to win back a few of her old friends and acquaintances, she didn’t know what she would do. The possibility of always being lonely had gaped at the edges of her thoughts for weeks. She felt lost even as she schemed.
But thinking about it would make things worse, not better.
“Do you like it?” she asked suddenly. “My dress? I am wavering. Perhaps too short.”
She drew her hand along the outside of her thigh, showcasing just how short it was. That wasn’t the way to get an honest opinion, but by his decorating she doubted he had much of an opinion on Xanian fashion anyway.
The man swallowed.
“No, I... I like your skirt. Very, um, elegant.” He paused, though, staring. “Are those squirrels?”
“Yes,” she laughed. “It is the fashion. They seem cute.”
He nodded as if agreeing, but said, “They’re little rodent thugs.”
She peered at her hem.
“But very elegant, of course,” he insisted.
Thugs? She didn’t know anything about squirrels, just that they were furry and cute. They didn’t look as trite as peacocks did, and those stupid birds were the biggest fad to hit the luxury caste since body glitter.
Remembering her cup, he used the spoon to carefully stir the chai she held between them.
“Yes? More?” he asked.
She pushed the little spoon out of her way and lifted the rapidly cooling chai to sip. It felt gritty to her, with the sugar, but it wasn’t hideous.
“It’s very good. It’s perfect.”
Then she carefully licked a drop of tea from her lip while her neighbor avidly watched. It was a low trick, but worth it. Holding a man’s complete, total attention was a thrill she cherished.
He stared. “I’m glad I could be of service.”
“Oh, I thank you. I can hardly face a day without chai.”
“That’s because the sweetener is an addictive substance. Even more than the caffeine.”
Oh, didn’t she know it.
“Ah, but what joy would life have without our little indiscretions?”
He grinned, and reached for the spoon she held out to him.
She canted a flirtatious smile at him, and pretended to give it up reluctantly. He let his hand linger on hers, and she concentrated again―this time, not on his personality, but on his current mood.
If he was affected by the dress, she would know. Her gift of empathy was exceptionally strong and she could pick up on most strong emotions, but passion was her calling. It would always be the easiest for her to taste. Lust, attraction and pleasure affected her taste buds nearly as strongly as a mouthful of food.
The taste of his mood was something even headier than his personality had been. He wanted. After long denial, he wasn’t just aroused by her―he was salty with desperate need. He wanted to do things to her that sizzled across her tongue like a shot of hot cayenne in a dark, sensual mocha.
She swallowed a gasp.
An answering need crept through her skin faster than thought. She was long used to being desired, even demanded, but the uncivilized way he needed was startling and tempting.
She’d stood too long, sorting her impressions. He was looking at her oddly.
She took another sip of her chai, achingly aware of her sensitive perked nipples and the warmth pooling in her core. With bemusement, she realized she was perhaps just as desperate as he was. She’d been too long without clients, and too proud to take a lover that didn’t properly value her.
She cast about in her mind, fruitlessly trying to remember where the conversation had been going.
“You are an off-worlder? You do not drink chai?”
He stepped back to the counter, covering his sugar canister. “Yes, an off-worlder. Either that, or a giant.”
Rasmus referred to his height. Of course he was an off-worlder. When Xana was colonized a few hundred years before, the members of the first religious sect had been short, and her people had only grown shorter since. She was known for her height among female acolytes, and wearing her tallest shoes, and he was still looking down at her.
“Yes, I’d thought,” she laughed. The taste of Rasmus’s desire turned like warm sage honey on her tongue. Her laugh aroused him.
She was a bit surprised that he was so pleasant. Once, she had expected the arriving Federation workers to be monsters, a conquering horde. So far, they’d been normal—weird, but normal. Coming from more than a dozen planets, all they had in common was a debt, and a conscription.
“Have you been here long?”
“No, not yet half a year.”
“And are you in the civilian service?”
“Yes. I went to university that way, and my mother went too. Now I’m working on the bill.”
Fedni nodded.
The off-worlders were like that—a ravening horde of nice people making sacrifices for the families or worlds they valued. It was a bit anticlimactic.
When the off-worlders first arrived, she’d seen Xanians cross the street to snub their proximity. She’d even seen someone spit at a woman’s feet—a despicable act, completely uncalled for.
The occupation bureau, though, the solders in uniform and tall polished women in severe black pantsuits, were the Federation personified. They worked directly for the Federation government, pulling pay from how efficiently Xana adjusted to the new “humane and scientifically sound” transition laws. They could all die alone in the cold and dirt, if she had the last shelter on Xana.
“They’ve started accepting civilian service contracts from Xanians, you know.”
Fedni shuddered.
Yes, she knew. An opportunity for the lowest of the low to get a full education in a field once reserved for the most refined castes. The tests were harsh, though, crushing dreams and ruining reputations when word inevitably leaked that someone had taken one. Like that, the world knew they were looking to violate tradition and the pacts of society, setting themselves up as better than their own neighbors.
“And leave Xana for so long?” she mused demurely.
Rasmus shrugged. “I suppose homesickness is inevitable. I’ve been feeling its touch myself.”
He hesitated, then pulled out a chair at his small kitchen table. “Would you care to sit?”
She nodded, and distracted herself by stepping right up against him when she sank into the chair. He drew a breath, surprised by her nearness, and she rated her ploy successful.
This meeting was full of cheap tricks, wasn’t it? Borrowing some sweetener, overdressing, gratuitous licking, stepping too close. Her instructors back at the temple would have been horrified.
Rasmus moved into his kitchen, preparing barbarian-style coffee for himself though it wasn’t even afternoon. She hid her grimace. The man must have no taste buds left.
“I’m sorry to hear that you miss your home. Xana is wonderful, but yes, if it’s not home...” She shrugged. “I know how homesick feels. I know it well.”
His expression was surprised.
“Well, we are a small world, but not that small. I miss the temple where I grew, the dormitories, my mother. I do not visit her so much lately.”
“Ah, your budget has tightened,” he said sympathetically, toting out the polite phrase used on the conquered world to refer to the disruptions in daily life―the energy rationing, the fluctuating wages, the government sustenance checks stretched thin despite an influx of Federation funds.
She hated that phrase. Her budget hadn’t tightened―it’d been ripped away. Her profession was illegal, her temple was labeled whores. Her options were to scrounge for laborer jobs or live precariously on the funds of a painfully early retirement.
She nodded, though. He didn’t dismiss the economic problems of the Xana population like so many foreigners seemed to, and that she appreciated.
“And you? Will you be able to visit your home?”
“Probably not. The expense... I could find the money, but the distance is too great. I couldn’t take two months off to make it home for a proper visit. My contract here is only two years, though.”
“Oh. You have a year and a half still.”
In the wake of her words, she tasted bitter hurt and chalky longing, like lemon peel grated over an under-ripe banana fruit. The man was indeed homesick.
“Yes.”
He returned to the table to sit across from her, but an issue quickly became obvious. His table was tiny, surrounded by two chairs but meant for one person, and Rasmus’s legs were very long. When he tried to fold himself into the space left, his knees were pressed against hers. His bare foot briefly brushed her ankle.
She shivered. From another person, that would constitute a horribly rude invasion of personal space. Every time his skin touched hers, his need made itself known.
Instead of inspiring objections, his touch stoked the answering desire in her body. He was very handsome, and so sweet―a “nice boy.” The type of man to make you soup when you were ill. Such men were like candy to her.
But this man didn’t taste nice. Not while looking at her like he wanted to devour her.
A spicy, thick syrup of his arousal danced beneath strong pepper jolts. He wanted her. He wanted to have her, fast and hard. He wanted to master her body beneath his, to satisfy a need that left no room for nice.