Top Pick!

“Opening a book from Sasha White guarantees a deliciously decadent storyline, and once again, she doesn’t disappoint …”

“My Prerogative is the perfect title to explore this intense tale of a naughty woman seeking love, but refusing to settle for the wrong man in her life. We engage with Kelsey as she interacts with people who don’t really “get” her, and we giggle with glee as she meets the man who knows exactly what she needs to find eventual fulfillment…”Ms. White grasped the concept of a woman’s needs and weaved a wonderful tale of realization. My Prerogative is an insightful and thought provoking page turner that I know you’ll enjoy.” “

Read the full review at Nightowl Romance

MY PREROGATIVE
Berkley Trade
ISBN-10: 042522340X
ISBN-13: 978-0425223406
Genre: Contemporary
Release Date: September 2, 2008

She does what she likes…
…and what she likes is absolutely wicked.

Kelsey Howard is happy with the single life. She has great friends, a fun job tending bar, and a nice apartment. Not to mention the freedom to enjoy a few wild sex games with strangers—the riskier the better. But what she’s really looking for in the darkness is love.

Then Kelsey realizes she’s got an annonymous stranger watching her every move—and every move she makes is arousing them both. In fact, not only is she not scared, she thinks she may have finally found her soul mate. Especially when she meets the mischievous mystery man in the flesh. That’s when the fun and games really start, and Kelsey realizes just how far she’s prepared to go for love.

Excerpt

When I got home late Saturday afternoon I was feeling frisky and ready to shake things up. I’m used to people watching me while I work, a bartender is just as much an entertainer as drink master, and I had plenty of flare experience to keep people watching. But in the past week I’d started looking at any guys in the club that were six feet or taller and wondering if it might be my watcher from across the street.

It was time to introduce myself.

As soon as the sun set that night I flipped all the lights in my apartment on, and began to dance, alone in my living room. Wearing a black button up blouse and a flowing black summer skirt that swayed with my movements I closed my eyes, let myself feel the music, and imagined him sitting right in front of me.

Raising my arms above my head, I started out like a belly dancer. I swayed, I twisted, I swiveled my hips and let my hands run down over my breasts and up my thighs, lifting my skirt and then letting it drop. The music filled my head and flowed through my veins as, with slow deliberate movements I undid each button, one by one. The blouse hung open as I moved, my fingertips trailing over my bare skin, teasing me, teasing him. I’d enjoy giving my watcher a lap dance. Oh yes, I’d make him sit and watch while I moved above him and he couldn’t touch. It would be delicious.

Sweat rose on my skin in the heat and I let the blouse fall from my shoulders to the floor. Still dancing, I let my hands play upon my thighs, lifting and dropping my skirt as I moved — flashing more skin. No, a lap dance would be too crude. I’d want to dress up in some fine lingerie, and do the burlesque routine. The art of the tease is so much sexier than the crude bumping and grinding of modern strippers.

Although crude and raw certainly did have it’s place.

I dropped my skirt so I wore only my electric pink bra and thong set. Reacting to the change of music, I gave up the sensual tease and did some bumping and grinding against an imaginary lover until the urge to strip completely and dig out my toys was throbbing through my system. Then I opened my eyes and looked beyond my balcony and directly across the street.

He was there.

Without hesitation I spun on my heel and picked up the piece of cardboard I’d written on earlier … and held it up for him to read.

555-6541

Excitement ripped through Harlan. She was giving him her phone number.

He set his camera down and stepped back from the window. The question is … why?

He glanced around the loft, seeing the images of her he’d already worked on. Should he call her? His gut clenched and he remembered the way she’d looked standing out on her balcony, lost and alone. There was no should or shouldn’t to it. He couldn’t not call her.

Lifting the camera he zoomed in and re-read the number. Where the hell was his phone? His worktable was a mess. It was an organized chaos though and he knew the phone was on there somewhere. He just wasn’t sure exactly where.

Muttering the numbers over and over he shuffled some paint tubes and brushes around, pushed aside an old canvas and finally found the phone beneath a dirty cloth that stunk of turpentine.

He punched the numbers into the phone and arrived back at the window in time to see her answer.

“You’ve been watching me,” she said. And it wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Did he even know why? Sure, she’d been the muse that got him painting again, but it was more than that. He’d always been a people watcher, but he’d never taken it to this level before. He’d never spied on anyone.

“You’re beautiful,” he said simply.

“It’s more than that, isn’t it?”

She knew. This woman who was so innately sexual somehow knew that there was more to his watching her than just a quick thrill. Did she feel the connection between them?

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