Tag Archives: Portia Da Costa

Teaser Tueday Exclusive Excerpt: The Accidental Bride by Portia Da Costa

Oh my. Is it could outside? Because this should warm you right up. As you see we have ALBTALBS friend Portia Da Costa back with us today sharing quite the steamy excerpt from her upcoming release, The Accidental Bride.  Enjoy. 😉

The Accidental BrideNow living together, Lizzie Aitchison and multi-millionaire businessman John Smith enjoy a state of blissfully uncomplicated pleasure, and an increasingly tumultuous sex life in their luxurious new home. Physically they’re a perfect, loving match…

But John is still a man of emotional secrets, and when an old flame from the past turns up unannounced, his and Lizzie’s relationship is suddenly thrown into question… even though he’s asked her to marry him and join his aristocratic family.

Despite his proposal, Lizzie still finds it difficult to tell exactly where John’s heart really lies and whether he’s able to abandon the past and start anew. In the craziest of circumstances, she accidentally fell in love with him… but will it be just as easy to accidentally lose him?


Lizzie knows an interesting secret that she’s not yet divulged to John. The fact that she’s been keeping this intel from him becomes the prompt for a playful BDSM scene…


‘Again?’ he said softly. He’d read the lust in her face, her reaction to him. ‘Aren’t we forgetting something?’

‘No, master.’

‘I should think not. Now, why don’t you lie on your lounger, face down, so we can do the deed?’ His tongue peeked out again, sweeping over the firm, velvety curve of his lower lip. Oh, the devil, he was so enjoying this.

Ungainly with her swimsuit around her thighs, Lizzie got down onto the lounger and spread herself upon it like a sacrifice on a slab. She curved her fingers round the top edge, holding on tight, anticipating what was to come. Her toes curled of their own accord against the thickly upholstered cushion beneath her, and she turned her face boldly towards her master.

John sat there, watching her, taking his time, as yet not inclined to move. Again, he cupped his crotch, gently fondling himself. Lizzie was hypnotised by the tiny movements in the tendons in the back of his hand. He seemed intent on stretching out the tension, making her wait, ramping up her reborn desire, and the strange amalgam of fear and longing that preceded a spanking.

After what seemed like an age, he reached for his towel and solemnly proceeded to fold it into a toweling pad, which he set beside her lounger. ‘Got to protect the old trick knee,’ he said conversationally as he slid onto the towel, on said knee and the non-trick one, next to where she lay.

‘There’s nothing wrong with your knee, you old malingerer,’ she said pertly, ‘It’s as fit and fabulous as the rest of you.’

John sighed, segueing into his old weary mentor with wayward pupil act. ‘Lizzie… Lizzie… Lizzie… When will you learn respect for your elders … and your master! You really are the most useless sub on the planet. It’s a good job you’re the most beautiful, desirable, adorable woman that ever lived, because as an obedient slave, you leave a lot to be desired.’

She loved the laughter in his voice. She loved the lightness and the playfulness of him. Oh, he’d spank her hard, yes he would. And she might even shed a tear or two. But it’d be fun too. With John, it always was.

His hands settled on her, on her back, on her bottom, fingers spread. Slowly, he caressed her, assessed her, savoured her. Stroking. Teasing. Visiting each inch. Telling her how he cared for her as he sampled her skin and the musculature beneath it.

‘Perfect,’ he breathed, ‘Absolutely perfect.’

Would he use his hand? He most often did. They did use toys and devices, but time and again they returned to the intimacy of skin on skin. Simple. Classic. Uncontrived.

But the way he seemed to hesitate seemed to suggest he might mix it up a bit today. She sensed him casting around, devising something. It didn’t surprise her when he reached for one of the rubber flip-flops that she’d been wearing on the poolside.

Ooh, that might hurt. Indeed it would hurt. The flip-flops were quite chunky and substantial. She could feel the weight of the one he’d chosen as he laid it against her buttock, introducing her to it. He let it rest there a moment, then…


Before she’d even had chance to realise he’d started, he’d laid the damn thing on with quite a wallop. It felt twice as solid and substantial as she’d expected it to be, like a length of wood rather than moulded rubber, knocking the breath out of her and instantly filling her bum with heat.

Oh, it hurt! It hurt! Only one spank, and her left bottom cheek was roaring. And at the same time she was already grinding her pussy against the lounger.

‘Hush, be still,’ he commanded, soft of voice and hard of intent. The flip-flop crashed down on her other cheek and she yowled again, mashing her crotch against the upholstery beneath her as her fingers gouged it too, above her head.

It was either that or push her hand between her body and the cushion and masturbate as he spanked her. She was tempted to do it. After all, he’d reminded her what a willful sub she was, so she might as well fulfill his expectations.

‘Oh no you don’t, madam,’ he warned, as if he’d read the thought.

She squirmed again, and yelped too, as he brought the flip-flop down in two fast strokes like thunderclaps, one on each cheek. Oh, the delicious agony!

‘How the fuck do you do that?’ she demanded.

‘What? Spank you? It’s like this…’ Wallop! ‘And this…’ Slap, on the other cheek!

‘Not that,’ she croaked, her voice distorted by the burning heat that seemed to be in all her body, not just her buttocks. Her nipples were aching stones against the cushioned surface beneath her. ‘The thing … the way you seem to know what I’m thinking all the time. It’s just weird, and a bit scary. Especially if I happened to be thinking something rude about you.’

‘How rude?’ He slapped again, inciting inferno, and again. ‘How rude?’ he demanded, pausing, then inclining forward over her, pressing his crotch against her bottom, rubbing himself on her heat. His empty hand curved around her hip, holding her steady as he massaged her with his cock. That hurt too, but she lifted herself, pressing back against him.

‘Oh … just stuff. About what a horny pervert you are, and how colossal that thing is that you’re jamming against me.’

But it was more than that, and more scary. He could see her heart, when sometimes his was opaque to her.

‘Sweetheart,’ he whispered, as if he’d read that thought too.
For a few moments he just rested against her, as if enjoying the stimulus of the warmth of her punished bottom cheeks on his aroused flesh. Then he swirled his hips again, rubbing, rubbing. Was he going to come?

But then, he straightened up. ‘I’m going to spank you for just a little longer, my darling, because the way you wiggle and moan, and the gorgeous cherry glow in your bottom is so divine. And then you’re going to tell me what this secret thing is you’re keeping from me.’ He laid the flip-flip against her right buttock, as if retrieving his ‘sighting’ of it, ‘Because despite your claims that I read your mind all the time, missy, I have absolutely no idea what the devil it is.’

Right? I told you!

Anyway, you can read more about the book here. (I think, the website is blocked at court XD) And of course, you should definitely buy your copy. Now. 😉

Guest Author & A Giveaway: Portia Da Costa

Hello friends! Today we have the lovely and wonderful Portia Da Costa visiting with us! She’s been a part of the romance community for some time, and knows a lot about the changes, and is one of the star Black Lace authors. And she has stories with numerous other publishers as well. If you’ve never read a book by her before, you’re missing out – but no worries – here’s a chance!

THE STRANGER – Not Your Typical Hero

Portia Da Costa

In a publishing landscape of dominant billionaires, vampire warriors, Navy SEALS and other tough male leads, the eponymous ‘stranger’ in my new release from Black Lace, The Stranger, isn’t a typical hero, at least on first impressions. Paul – the name he later remembers – is something of a little boy lost, despite the fact that he’s a grown man in his twenties, or maybe early thirties. Turning up suddenly in the life of widow, Claudia Marwood, he’s an amnesiac in fancy dress, confused, clearly far from his home and his life, and grateful for shelter and a place to stay. The only things that are familiar to him are his senses and his body.

Claudia is a woman dwelling in loneliness, somewhat lost herself after the death of the older husband she loved, but after a period of mourning, she’s ready to embrace life and its pleasures once again. One look at the handsome stranger, who she first sees bathing naked in the river near her house, and her passion and her desires spring to life again in full flower, and she yearns to offer him solace and reassurance with her touch, and her body.

In this scene Claudia comes to the bedroom where the stranger is sleeping, ostensibly to check on him and make sure he’s not worried by a thunderstorm outside; but really, she’s drawn irresistibly to the sensuality and mysteriousness of the beautiful younger man who’s suddenly wandered into her life. It’s not long before she discovers that despite his amnesia and confusion, the stranger’s physical vigour and his powerful sex drive are still intact!

N.B. Something of a period piece now, The Stranger is a reprint of a title first written in the early 1990s, and thus predates a lot of the familiar technology we take for granted today e.g. mobile phones, high speed internet, GPS etc.

*** *** ***

Once she had got over the initial shock of the young man’s nudity, Claudia allowed herself to breathe properly again…

When Claudia finds a sexy stranger near her home she discovers that he has lost his memory along with his clothes.

Having turned her back on relationships since the death of her husband, Claudia finds herself scandalising her friends by inviting the stranger into her home and into her bed…

‘My name is Claudia Marwood.’ She twisted their fingers into the conventional grip of greeting, and her companion did the honours, shaking her hand.

‘And I’m…’ He grinned and shrugged.

‘The man with no name?’

He smiled again, then scrunched up his face, as if a physical effort might prise free elusive knowledge. ‘Is that from a film?’

Claudia nodded.

‘Well, I’ve just remembered my first fact. Thank you.’ Leaning forward, he suddenly touched his lips to hers.

It was like being hit by the lightning outside. The fleeting contact of his mouth was electric, and filled Claudia with such a wave of passion that she couldn’t breathe for a moment.

This is insane, she thought. She was making a complete idiot of herself. ‘I’d better go now and let you get some rest,’ she said, and made as if to get up from the bed and run for it.

The hold on her hand turned to steel again. A carefully gauged, velvet covered steel, but steel nevertheless.

‘Stay.’ His voice was husky, already changing, ‘Please!’

She should have asked ‘why’, but she knew why. In the dim light, his blue eyes were steely too, almost polished; alive with a message that was unmistakable.

‘Are you sure?’ she asked, then had to smile, knowing that under any other circumstances this was a question the man would ask.

The stranger nodded, answering her smile with a beautiful and very male one of his own. ‘At the moment it’s the one single thing in the whole world I am sure of.’

Claudia was imprisoned by him. At the centre of their stillness, she felt the balance of power tilting on its fulcrum; her lost boy had found his way, and taken command.

‘Let me turn the light out,’ she said faintly.

‘Must you?’ His voice was teasing now: deep and intense, but flirtatious.

‘Yes, I think I must,’ insisted Claudia, fighting not to go under entirely. She drew a deep breath when he released her, then she reached out and flipped off the lamp.

‘I can imagine you,’ he said as she slipped off her robe, feeling glad of the darkness to hide her confusion. It was a long time since she had bared her body for a man, and even longer since she had been naked before a new man, a lover, not her husband.

The stranger lifted the covers, and shaking with nervousness and longing in equal parts, Claudia slid into bed beside him.

‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said, and then she was in his arms, her bare skin against the cotton of his pyjamas, her mouth sought by his for their first true kiss.

Expecting boyish haste, she was astonished when he began to kiss her quite slowly. His lips were gentle and mobile against hers, the pressure they exerted complex. Without thinking, she opened her mouth and his tongue darted forward, accepting her gift, searching and finding her own tongue with its tip. He tasted strongly of spearmint, the toothpaste she had left for him, and she wondered why she had never realised how such a common flavour could seem so exotic.

His hold on her was measured too, hands flexing just enough to keep her against him; no grabbing, no groping, no force. His body was warm and firm through the cotton that covered it, his erection a hot brand against her thigh.

Suddenly, his self-control seemed to rip away the years from her. She became the impatient adolescent, surging against him, anxious to explore his body, to touch and caress it. She scrabbled at the buttons of his pyjama jacket, trying to bare him, wanting to taste him, to devour him.

‘Hush!’ he whispered, reaching between them, taking both her hands in his. ‘There’s no hurry… I’m not going anywhere.’ He gave her fingers a little squeeze, then eased her onto her back and made her lie still, her arms at her sides.

‘You’re very lovely, Claudia,’ he said, letting his long hand settle at last on her breast, ‘So soft and warm. You make me feel so safe to be here.’

His fingers cupped her curves, first one, then the other, as if he were weighing and assessing her, the touch light and infuriatingly playful. Claudia longed for him to squeeze her, to be rough and forceful, to take her breath away, to ravish her. She shifted her thighs, trying to rub herself against him.

The stranger laughed softly. ‘I never realised I was so desirable. Did you want me this much when you were watching me by the river?’

Read more about The Stranger here

*** *** ***

Portia Da Costa is a veteran British author of romance, erotic romance and erotica, who’s been published since the early 1990s. She loves writing about sexy, likeable people in steamy, scandalous situations, and has penned novels, novellas and novelettes for Black Lace, Harlequin, Samhain Publishing, Carina Press and a number of other houses, plus over a hundred short stories for magazines and anthologies. Best known for writing BDSM themed stories with modern settings, she’s also written Victorian erotic romance for HQN. Her contemporary erotic romance IN TOO DEEP was a recent Sunday Times Bestseller.

When Portia isn’t writing or reading she loves to chill out and watch the television, or spend time online, chatting with friends on Twitter, and on message boards and elsewhere.  She lives in the heart of West Yorkshire with her husband and her adorable cat Alice.

TwitterWebsite, Blog

So! As I said – we have two giveaways today! One lucky commenter will win a signed copy of The Stranger as soon as Portia gets her author copies. In the meantime, another lucky person will her/his choice from Ms. Da Costa’s self published books! (You can check them out here.) Whee!

Also – this was supposed to be a GA&AG interview… but you all know how things have been going, so I didn’t get those to her, so I have a challenge for all of you! To enter the drawing – respond to Portia, and also, I want to see what crazy questions you come up with asking her! You know how these zany interviews normally are. The crazier and more off the way the question is, the better! 😀

Teaser Tuesday: Fire and Ice by Portia Da Costa

Today we have the lovely Portia Da Costa sharing an exclusive excerpt with us from her story Fire and Ice.

Surrender to sexual healing…
Super efficient P.A. Cally Hobbes is head over heels in love with her handsome boss, the urbane and delicious Innes McKenzie. Day after day, beneath her cool, businesslike exterior, she’s simmering hot for him, and she knows he’s not entirely immune to her either, despite their perfect, above-board working relationship.

Icy weather, a broken central heating system, and a dose of twenty four hour flu suddenly change everything. With Innes alone and laid low in his frozen flat, Cally’s golden chance to get close finally arrives. Innes is freezing, and she’s burning for his touch, so what else can a girl do but climb into her boss’s bed to warm up his chilly limbs with a loving application of body heat?

An overnight recovery quickly leads to a very different kind of therapy, one that makes all Cally’s dreams of passion flame into life. Sex with her beloved Innes is everything she’s fantasized about, and more. Much, much more.

But will their mutual desire and tender feelings survive a return to office propriety? Working together as P.A. and boss again, can Cally and Innes share the lasting glow of love?

On the landing, I locate his door. Raising my hand to knock, I pause then try the handle. The door’s unlocked and I push it open and step inside – where the meat locker chill hits me in the face. Along with another shock.

I don’t know what I was expecting. I’ve been envisioning the sick Innes as still looking suave and immaculate, as always. I’ve pictured him in jeans and a beautiful sweater, maybe with a scarf as a concession. Or maybe a sexy, high end robe – thick and deluxe, very masculine, worn over classy sweat pants or something.

But reality, he looks like a deranged wild man shambling through a disaster zone of tissues, abandoned blankets and empty coffee cups and half drunk glasses of Lemsip.

There’s even a tangle of forlorn, un-hung Christmas decorations on the coffee table. “Oh my God, boss, you look terrible!”

It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it, and Innes scowls as if it’s hit home. He does look dreadful, though. For him.

“Well, thanks for that.”

To offset the biting cold, he’s wrapped himself in the duvet off his bed, and he’s padding around in his feet bare, the idiot. His usually immaculately groomed black hair is all mad curls and tufts and his handsome face is frighteningly pale, but with hot flags of a fever flush across his cheekbones. Even so, he somehow still manages to look gorgeous, devastating virus or not.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that I’ve never seen you ill and you look… different.”

He hitches up his slithering duvet. Oh God, he’s shaking. “Well, come on in and shut the door. Wouldn’t want to let the heat out, would we?” he finishes savagely, grabbing me by the arm and hauling me inside.

“But this place is like a deep freeze. What’s happened to the heating?” I set down my tote bag in a chair and move aside some cups and newspapers and a bunch of tinsel to put the files he asked for on the coffee table.

Innes throws himself down in another chair, as if he’s finding it hard to stay on his feet. “Everyone in the building’s gone away for Christmas, including the landlord.” He rearranges himself inside his makeshift tent-come-shelter and pulls it up around his ears. “The guy who usually does the central heating has got an emergency job on, and none of the others I’ve rung will come out until after Christmas.”

“But don’t you have a gas or electric fire?” I look around. The place as obviously been remodeled from its original configuration and I can’t see a fire.

“If I had one, I’d have it on, obviously.” His voice sounds really odd, and I realise his teeth are chattering.

Poor thing, he looks so miserable. How awful it must be for a confident, self sufficient man like Innes to be rendered so powerless by illness and circumstance. Innes shrugs in his cocoon and suddenly gives me a shamefaced grin that melts my heart and sends a sensation like warm honey seeping along my veins to pool in certain places.

Dear God, I’m a horrible person! I’m getting the hots for a man who’s probably quite seriously ill!

“Sorry I’m being such an ungrateful bastard,” he rasps, “Forgive me, Cally. You’ve been really helpful and I’m being an arse.”

Helpful? I suppose so. But I’ve got other motives. I can’t believe my luck that circumstances have brought me here, alone, and put me in this strange position of power over the very man I adore.

“You are a bit, but I’ll forgive you because you’re poorly.” I stride across the room and take him by the arm, “Come on, where’s the bedroom? Let’s get you to bed.”

Wearily he hauls himself up, but for a moment a brighter glimmer flares in his eyes, and they look even bluer than normal. It might be the fever… but it might be something else. He might be ill, but he’s still a man. My heart thunders.

“Now that’s a very tempting offer.” His voice doesn’t have its usually strong, decisive ring, but there’s a lot more life in it than there was a moment ago, and suddenly he waggles his dark eyebrows at me. “Sorry, Cally. Must be the lurgi talking. Forget I said that.”

“No problem. Now show me where your bedroom is.” I’m smiling as I follow his shuffling steps. Surely he wouldn’t have said what he said, if deep down a part of him didn’t mean it.

We navigate our way out of the living room, along a little corridor and into his only marginally tidier bedroom, where the denuded bed reveals the home of the duvet. I hustle Innes towards it, but he hesitates. He looks vaguely perplexed in soft light from a couple of wall lamps.

“Come along then. What are you waiting for. Get in and I’ll spread the quilt over you.”

He gives me an odd, almost wicked look. “Okay, Nurse Ratchet.”

I flap the sheets, still waiting for him to comply, but when he shucks off the duvet to climb underneath them, it’s my turn to get a shock of chills and fever.

All this time, he’s been stark naked beneath his quilt.

So what’d you think? Have you read anything by Portia Da Costa before? Do you read or like stories written in first person? And… to sweeten the pot Ms. Da Costa is offering one lucky commenter their choice of one of her print back list books!

Teaser “Tuesday”: Portia Da Costa (Birthday Edition, Twice as Nice!)

Okay, so it’s not my birthday anymore… but it’s the last day of my birthday month which, is still good, right? It’s actually 3:03 AM on my birthday now as I type this, which is entirely my fault as Portia sent me the excerpts on the 21st. Alas. So, as you see, today we’ve got snippets from Portia Da Costa! Anyway, she sent two exclusive excerpts, because she’s frankly doubly awesome – right? Portia Da Costa is a dear and I’m so glad she’s featured today! I hope you enjoy these exclusive excerpts!

The Power of Three

It’s no fun being dumped almost at the altar, but newly not engaged Laurie decides to make the best of things and enjoy her honeymoon at an exotic Caribbean resort all on her own. The plan is to lie in the sun, read a book, do a bit of bird watching and exploring… anything to take her mind off her rat of an ex fiancé and the bimbo he got pregnant.

But it’s not easy to forget about love and sex when everyone around her at the resort is getting in on. Pretty soon, she’s using her binoculars to spy on creatures a bit higher up the evolutionary scale – the hot threesome in one of the adjacent cabanas, and the gorgeously hunky gay couple who are also staying just across the courtyard.

These delicious men especially fire her senses and make her forget her romantic woes, and when she realizes that they’re watching her while she’s watching them, what else is a girl to do but accept the invitation of a lifetime, and become part of a threesome herself?

But what if her luscious faux honeymoon ménage is only the beginning of better and hotter things to come?


But this was completely different. A desire and an adventure she’d never be able to overlook or forget. If only she had the boldness to reach out and grab it.

Do you dare?

Yes, I do! I do!

Reaching up, she dug her fingers into Denny’s silky curls, and opened her mouth to his, meeting his tongue when it plunged in, warm and hungry.

Yes! Not two but three silent voices seemed to chorus the word; those of the men, cheering her on, and her own inner voice proud of her own courage.

Denny kissed hard, kissed hungry, kissed dominant. Again, savoring his onslaught, Laurie almost wanted to laugh at the misleading quality of appearances. His fey, pale clothes and golden looks concealed the heart of a predator, and even the fact that

he’d “received” last night probably only meant he’d demanded that his partner service his needs.

He held on tight to her, a hand at the nape of her neck, another on her shoulder, making her accept his kiss in a thrilling, primal way. He tasted of wine and honey and new beginnings.

And all the time, Ed was at work too, at first gently kissing her hand as if it were a holy artifact, but then, suddenly, on the move. As Denny kissed and subdued her, Ed began exploring. Still kneeling, he settled his hands on her thighs, one each, on the outside surfaces, slowly sliding them upwards, then down again, and then up, tantalizing her. Laurie sighed into Denny’s mouth, feeling the urge to open her legs, and lift her bottom, to allow Ed more access.

“Good girl,” whispered Denny, his lips starting to roam too, as he gently pushed her so she was leaning against the woven back of the settee. He kissed her brow, her cheek, and a sensitive spot beneath her ear, then tracked down the side of her neck, on and on down until he nipped at a spot just above her collarbone. As his sharp teeth plagued her, Ed’s hands were down below, sliding between her thighs, urging her to open her legs, and to open her heart and self to the pair of them.

“Relax,” urged Denny, still nibbling. Laurie could feel his fingers at work at the nape of her neck, then before she had time to stop him — not that she wanted to — he unfastened her halter top. Peeling it down, he exposed her breasts in her flimsy strapless bra.

A momentary dark cloud drifted into view. Melanie had huge boobs, and she imagined Jim, who was a breast man, fiddling and playing with them. Laurie’s own breasts were smallish, nicely shaped, but not an enormous handful. But as if he’d sensed her qualms, Denny uttered a hungry masculine rumble of appreciation.

“Mm… so nice, so very nice…” Cupping her, he ran both thumbs over her nipples, teasing her through the lightly forming Lycra of her bra. “Look, Ed, aren’t these just the most beautiful breasts you’ve ever seen? Oh God, I love women with pretty little tits… and wicked hard nipples.”

Laurie closed her eyes and rolled her shoulders, loving the way he teased and played with her, and silently begging for him to bare her breasts completely.

“Let’s have this off, shall we? And get a better view.”

Despite the fact he had a male lover it was obvious that Denny knew his way around a brassiere. In less than a second, hers was unhitched, whipped off and flung cheerfully across the room, out of the way.

“Yes, that is better. Much better… Much, much better…” His fingertips drifted over her flesh, teasing each nipple, flicking at them, and then suddenly, he was reaching behind her, gripping her upper arms, drawing her shoulder blades together so that her breasts were lifted and presented.

Laurie’s eyes shot open. The move wasn’t what she’d expected, but it was stunning, thrilling. The sense of exhibition reminded her of what she’d done last night, showing herself to them. Only this time she was being shown, exposed and offered to Ed’s hungry lips. She saw the quickest of glances pass between the men, and he came up on his knees and leant forward, drawing her left nipple into his mouth and sucking hard.

As he did so, Denny nipped at her neck again, teasing delicately with the edges of his teeth. “Isn’t this nice?” he murmured, between nips.

Portia asked me if “naughty” excerpts were allowed. So – what do you guys think? Yea or nay? Should I start requesting they be PG? 😉 This next book, A Touch of Heaven, will be out on July 5th – so you’ve got a preview, you lucky ducks!

A perfect stranger with a heavenly touch.

Miranda’s first glimpse of her neighbors’ house sitter nearly takes her breath away. He’s everything she likes in a man—handsome and naked. She can’t resist the impulse to introduce herself to this intoxicating stranger.

She quickly finds out he’s more than just looks. His miraculous massage brings relief to her aches and pains, then pleasure that explodes into the sweetest, most erotic experience of her life. Yet with each encounter that follows, her confusion grows. Unlike other men she’s known, he fulfills every secret desire, yet demands nothing in return.

Patrick is holding back more than a scrap of vital information. He is an angel on an earthly mission of kindness, bound by an unbreakable code. Miranda must not know that her wit, gentleness and womanly curves only sharpen his secret longing to live—and
love—as humans do.

And Patrick faces an agonizing choice that could bring them everything they’ve ever wanted…or separate them for all eternity.


“The sun is very hot. Would you like me to rub some sun lotion on your back?”
Ooh, yes, you can rub whatever you want wherever you want, you gorgeous creature.
I don’t say that, of course. “Thanks, but I think I’m okay for the moment. I just put
some on.” I barely have to pause. “Would you like me to do you instead?”
He beams. Ah, what must it be like to be so adorable and know you’re so adorable?
“Thanks, but it’s okay. I’m okay for the moment too.”
Disappointment must be writ large on my face. I’m so pathetic. I told myself I’d never do the ooh-I-fancy-you, do-you-fancy-me dance ever again.
“But maybe in a little while,” he adds, with that little eye-narrow again. He’s wise. He knows what’s going on. “Can I offer you something else in the meantime?”
I can’t help but laugh. The cheeky so-and-so. He has the grace to laugh too, as he starts rummaging through his hoard of drinks and snacks, all the time watching me out of the corner of his twinkling eyes.
He offers me crisps, cheesy this and that, cupcakes, cans of full-sugar fizzy drink. He’s a generous host with his smorgasbord of junk food, and against my better judgment and my intention to eat healthy I’m soon putting away crisps by the handful. Oh, they’re so delicious and salty, and allowing the very devil to get into me, I speculate on other treats that are delicious and salty too.
Yes, I’m sneaking glances at his penis again. I try to be discreet, but every time I think I’ve managed to eyeball him without him noticing, I look up and he’s watching me.
“Okay, I admit it. Gerry Johnson always keeps his clothes on, so I’m not used to seeing buck-naked men in my next door neighbor’s garden. Can we get past that?”
He quirks his eyebrows at me. They’re as beautiful as the rest of him, sandy-gold and expressive. “I can go inside and get dressed, if like. I don’t want to embarrass you, Miranda.”
“No, it’s all right. Well, I don’t mind if you don’t mind.” I’m turning brilliant pink now, a rather fetching shade of cherry that’s much like the pop he’s been drinking and nothing to do with the sun. “It’s just that I can’t seem to stop myself looking at you.”
“No problem,” he says. “I can’t seem to stop looking at you either.”
Whoa! Surely you jest, young man?
I look down at myself. If I’m honest, I’m not really a total ruin, but he’s still getting the worst of the deal. I’m a bit fatter than I’d like, and a bit older than I’d like, but all things considered, I’m just about managing not to slide into total decrepitude. Even so, compared to him, I’m far from the pinnacle of desirability.
“Yeah, right…”
His stern look shocks me. “Why do you say that, Miranda? You’re a beautiful woman, and of course I want to look at you.” He abandons his beverage and wipes his lush mouth with the back of his hand in a gesture that does terrible, wonderful things to me, right down in the pit of my belly. “In fact, I’d love to see you naked too.”
I drop the crisp bag and a few spill out, but we both ignore them. I haven’t got the slightest idea what to say, but my mind goes mad, deluging me with a lush erotic picture show.
First, I see Patrick and me in bed, him looming over me, golden and beautiful as he prepares to fuck me. I can almost feel the tip of his gorgeous young cock pressing against my entrance. A second later, I’m lying wide-legged at the edge of the bed, and he’s kneeling between my thighs, his tongue delicately extended and ready to lick my pussy.
My face is pinker than ever now and even though I try to look away from him, I can’t. I’m hypnotized and I feel as if I’m falling into those heavenly blue eyes of his. The way he slowly smiles tells me he’s seen what I’ve seen…or some kind of approximation. I know he knows I’m thinking about sex with him.
“Now I have embarrassed you, haven’t I?” He doesn’t look sorry, just a bit like a naughty boy, who means well and isn’t afraid of mistakes. “I shouldn’t be so forward.” Suddenly he reaches out and takes my hand again. He holds it loosely in his, so easy and natural. “It’s just that I’m not used to being around women. And I tend to mess things up.”
How can a man who looks like Patrick not be used to women? It seems bizarre. And yet he looks so sad for a moment, and wistful, that my heart twists. I still desire him, but his mysterious sorrow touches me too.
“Ditto,” I answer wryly. “I’ve got out of the habit of being around men. I’ve been sort of off them…and it’s difficult to get back in the game.”
Patrick’s hand is warm, the skin smooth and very soft. I wonder what he does for a living; if he does anything at all. He’s been out here three afternoons running when most men of his age would normally be at work.
Good grief, is he a gigolo? I dismiss that one immediately though, even though he’s got the looks and the body. A male escort would be around women all the time.
Another frown pleats his flawless brow, and I shudder. I could swear he’s mind- reading me again.
“Are you cold? I could get another blanket, if you like?”
“No, I’m fine…just a funny feeling, you know?”
He nods and his blond curls bob in the sunlight. It seems he does know, even if I’m not quite sure what the hell I’m talking about.
“Did someone hurt you, Miranda? Was it a man?”
Yes, a man hurt me. I turn away. Those clear blue eyes are too searching. And yet suddenly, against my natural inclination, I start to talk.

So what’d you think? Do you read erotica? Or erotic romance? Ever read Portia Da Costa’s work before? Are you sad my “birthdaypalooza” is ending? 😛