An amazing story! Definitely a keeper.
A must read. A good page turner.
A enjoyable read. An average book.
A book that has flaws and is hard to finish.
Terrible and couldn't finish it.
Former
CEO and business owner of LRJ Staffing, an Austin based staffing agency frequently
receiving accolades across the state, left behind the corporate world to write
romance. LRJ Staffing had offices in Austin, Dallas, Temple, Waco, San Antonio, and Nashville.
Back
in September it was announced that New York Times and USA Today Bestselling
author Lisa Renee Jones sold her indie erotic series THE INSIDE OUT TRILOGY in
a major deal to by Simon and Schuster.(Louise Fury, L.Perkins Agency) Since
then the highly acclaimed series has sold to ten foreign countries, with more
under negotiation, and now it’s been optioned by STARZ for television (Shari
Smiley, Resolution.) The project is moving forward quickly, with Suzanne Todd (Alice in Wonderland)
producing.
Inspired
by a real journal found in a storage unit during Lisa's eight years buying and
selling units, the series embraces the dark sensuality of Shades of Grey and
the intrigue with storage units that is Storage Wars in one spine tingling
series packed with mystery and passion. The print version of IF I WERE YOU,
book 1, hits stores March 12th.
Goodreads Blurb:
When Sara McMillan finds a stack of journals in a storage unit, she’s shocked and enthralled by the erotic life the writer led. Unable to stop reading, she vicariously lives out dark fantasies through Rebecca, the writer—until the terrifying final entry.
Certain something sinister has happened, Sara sets out to discover the facts, immersing herself in Rebecca’s life. Soon she’s working at the art gallery Rebecca worked at and meeting Rebecca’s friends. Finding herself drawn to two dangerously sexy men, the manager of the gallery and a famed artist, Sara realizes she’s going down the same path Rebecca took. But with the promise of her dark needs being met by a man with confident good looks and a desire for control, she’s not sure anything else matters. Just the burn for more.
If I Were You by Lisa Renee Jones
Fifty Shades of Grey meets Basic Instinct
It all began when my neighbor thrust a key to a storage unit
at me. She’d bought it to make extra money after watching some storage auction
show. Now she was on her way to the airport to elope with a man she barely
knew, and she needed me to clear out the unit before the lease expires.
Soon, I was standing inside a small room that held the
intimate details of another woman’s life, feeling uncomfortable, as if I was
invading her privacy. Driven to find out by some unnamed force, I began to dig,
to discover this woman’s life, and yes, read her journals—-dark, erotic
journals that I had no business reading. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. I
read on obsessively, living out fantasies through her words that I’d never dare
experience on my own. I read onward until the last terrifying dark entry left
me certain that something had happened to this woman. I had to find her and be
sure she was okay.
The dark, passion it becomes…
Now, I am working at a prestigious gallery she’d
worked at, where I have always dreamed of being, and I’ve been delivered
to the doorstep of...him. He is rich and famous, and dark in ways I shouldn’t
find intriguing, but I do. I don’t understand why his dark side
appeals to me, but the attraction between us is rich with velvety promises of
satisfaction. He is damaged beneath his confident good looks and need for
control, and in some way, I feel he needs me. I need him.
All I know for certain is that he knows me like I don’t even
know me, and he says I know him. Still, I keep asking myself — do I know him?
Did he know her, the journal writer, and where is she? And why doesn’t it
seem to matter anymore? There is just him and me, and the burn for more.
THE FIRST JOURNAL
ENTRY THAT CAPTIVATED ME AND STARTED IT ALL
Sunday, March 7th, 2012
Dangerous.
For months I’ve had dreams and nightmares about how
perfectly he personifies the word. Sleep-laden, alternate realities where I can
vividly smell his musky male scent, feel his hard body against mine. Taste the
sweet and sensuous flavor of him-–like milk chocolate with its silky demand
that I indulge in one more bite. And another. So good I’d forgotten there’s a
price for overindulgence. And there is a price. There is always a price. I was
reminded of this life lesson on Saturday night. And I know now, no matter what
he says, no matter what he does, I cannot--will not--see him again.
It started out as any other erotic adventure with him.
Unpredictable. Exciting. I barely remember where it all went wrong. How it took
such a dark turn.
He’d ordered me to undress and sit on the mattress, against
the headboard, my legs spread wide for his viewing. Naked before him, open to
him, I was vulnerable and quivering with need. Never in my life had I taken
orders from a man; most certainly I had never thought I would quiver with anything.
But I did for him.
If Saturday night proved anything, it was that once I was
with him, under his spell, he could demand anything of me, and I’d comply. He
could push me to the edge, to unbelievable places I’d never thought I would go.
Exactly why I can’t see him again. He makes me feel possessed, and what is so
disconcerting about this feeling is that I like it. I can hardly wrap my mind
around allowing such a thing, though I burn for it. But when I saw him standing
at the end of the bed Saturday night, all broad and thick with sinewy muscle,
his cock jutting forward, there was nothing but that need.
He was magnificent. Really, truly the most gorgeous man I’ve
ever known. Instant lust exploded inside me. I wanted to feel him close to me,
to feel him touch me. To touch him. But I know now not to touch him without his
permission. And I know not to beg him to let me.
I’ve learned my lesson from past encounters. He enjoys the
vulnerability of a plea far too much. Enjoys withholding his pleasures, until I
am nearly quaking with the burn of my body. Until I am liquid heat and tears.
He likes that power over me. He likes full control. I should hate him.
Sometimes, I think I love him.
It was the blindfold that should have warned me I was headed
toward a place of no return. Thinking back, I believe it did. He tossed it on
the bed, a dare, and instantly a shiver chased a path up and down my spine. The
idea of not being able to see what was happening to me should have aroused
me-–it did arouse me. But for reasons I didn’t understand at the time, it also
frightened me. I was scared and I hesitated.
This did not please him. He told me so, in that deep, rich,
baritone voice that makes me quiver uncontrollably. The need to please him had
been so compelling. I put on the blindfold.
I was rewarded by the shift of the mattress. He was coming
to me. Soon, I knew I would come, too. His hands slid possessively up my
calves, over my thighs. And damn him, stopped just before my place of need.
What came next was a
shadowy whirlwind of sensation. He pulled me onto my back, flat against the
mattress. I knew satisfaction was seconds away. Soon he would enter me. Soon I
would have what I needed. But to my distress, he moved away.
It was then that I was sure I’d heard the click of a lock.
It jolted me to a sitting position, and I called out his name, fearful he was
leaving. Certain that I’d done something wrong. Then relieved when his hand
flattened on my stomach. I’d imagined the sound of the lock. I must have. But I
couldn’t shake the subtle shift in the air then, the raw lust and menace
consuming the room that didn’t feel like him. It was a thought easily forgotten
when he settled heavy between my thighs, his strong hands lifting my arms over
my head, his breath warm on my neck--his body heavy, perfect.
Somehow, a silk tie wrapped around my wrists and my arms
were tied to the bed frame. It never occurred to me that he could not have done
this on his own. That he was on top of me, unable to manipulate my arms. But
then, he was manipulating my body, my mind, and I was his willing victim.
He lifted his body from mine, and I whimpered, unable to
reach for him. Again silence. And the whisk of fabric. More strange sounds.
Long seconds ticked by, and I remember the chill that snaked across my skin.
The feeling of dread that had balled in my stomach.
And then, the
moment I know I will die remembering. The moment when the steel of a blade
touched my lips. The moment that he promised there was pleasure in pain. The
moment when the blade traveled along my skin with the proof he would be true to
his words. And I knew then that I had been wrong. He was not dangerous. Nor was
he chocolate. He was lethal, a drug, and I feared…
@lisareneejones
Contact:
Diego Harrison
719-242-3755
Diegohar@aol.com
You can find Lisa
Website: www.lisareneejones.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/LisaReneeJones
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Lisareneejones
Be sure to visit Lisa’s contest page for a chance to win
many prizes in celebrating the release of If I Were You. http://www.lisareneejones.com/contest-page/
1 comments:
I love Lisa's books. Thanks!
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