Dark Designs

by Madelynne Ellis

Genres: LGBT Bisexual; Contemporary Romance; Erotic & Steamy Romance; menage; wedding; gothic

Synopsis

A deliciously steamy gothic romance for fans of EL James and Sylvia Day

Remy Davies is under pressure, as the designer for an opulent gothic wedding. There's the over-stressed bride, a trinity of vampire-obsessed bridesmaids, a wayward groom, and then there's the best man . . . Silk looks like he's been drawn by a manga artist; beautiful, exotic, and with a predatory sexuality. Remy has to have him, in her bed and between the pages of her new catalogue. Remy is about to launch herself into the alternative fashion world, and Silk is going to sell it for her whether he knows it or not. But Silk is nobody's toy, and for all his androgyny, he's determinedly heterosexual. Pity, since Remy's biggest fantasy is to see him making out with her Japanese biker, sometime boyfriend, Takeshi.

Release date: September 30, 2010

Publisher: Virgin Digital

Print pages: 272

Sample

1

 

He wasn’t sure what had first drawn his attention, the girl, or the word yaoi being bandied about the tiny provincial comic shop. She was visually stunning; there was no question of that. From the red dip-dyed ends of her black hair to the toes of her buckled boots, she was simply too stylish to dismiss with a casual glance. But the word itself had its own powerful attraction.

‘Yaoi,’ he whispered, rolling the syllables over his tongue. It had a unique taste – bitter dark chocolate surrounding a sweet liqueur centre. A taste he associated entirely with seduction and the sort of man-on-man action he could expect from one of the manga being discussed. In his Japanese homeland, the gay-themed books featuring huge-eyed androgynous-looking men were considered an entirely female province. After all, what could possibly be the appeal of heartbreakingly beautiful men engaged in complex, romantic and exceptionally tortuous relationships to an ostensibly heterosexual man?

He grinned, and absent-mindedly picked up a comic from the rack. Why did everything in the world have to be viewed so starkly? Wasn’t there room for a few shades of grey? He liked the uncertainty of monochrome, the way in which one shade bled into another. He liked the uncertainty he felt right now about this woman. It buzzed at the back of his brain, an exotic tickle like a premonition. She was important somehow. His admiration and the attraction he felt were more than just high points on an otherwise dreary Saturday.

He moved closer to her, paused a few feet from the counter and pretended to scan his randomly selected title. To his dismay, it turned out to be a superhero pin-up special. He flicked through the images of scantily clad women in the western comic, but there was nothing to compare with the woman at the counter, whose eyes, now he was close enough to see them, were wide and luminous. She turned her back to him, so he stared at her bum instead. It was heart-shaped and pert in her cropped black jeans, framed by the hem of her black, ostentatiously braided military jacket and a belt of silver links, hung like a charm bracelet with occult pendants and objets d’art. He wondered whether they jingled when she walked, and how they’d sound against her hips as she writhed otherwise naked on a bed of black silk strewn with rose petals. Would the gentle tinkle mimic her sighs as she came? He could see her. The yaoi novel open on the pillow, her hand between her thighs as she imagined herself sandwiched between the two male leads of the book.

‘They’re perfect,’ she said, holding the graphic novels up to the light. There was a man on the front of the foremost one, with large, striking, green eyes and a veritable sea of blond hair.

‘That’s a relief,’ said the shop owner, ‘after the effort it took to get them. Colour fan translations, rarer than Swamp Thing 37. First appearance of John Constantine,’ he explained, when she failed to make the appropriate ‘ah’ noise. ‘Mind, they cost more too.’ He watched her peer at the price tags.

‘Bit more than I’d expected.’

The man behind the counter shrugged. ‘I did say I couldn’t guarantee the prices.’

She nodded, causing the red tips of her hair to bounce, then fall in a sharp line against her cheek. So they were special imports. There weren’t going to be any duplicates he could buy, which meant there was only one way he could guarantee a closer look, since striking up a conversation was never a given. He watched them go into a shop carrier. Four in total, pristine in their plastic envelopes. The proprietor took her card and slotted it into the machine, then waited while she punched in her number. The bag was just lying on the counter; its handles pointed conveniently outward, just waiting to be picked up. It would guarantee her attention. It would be easy, the work of seconds. It might even be fun. The premonitory thrill he’d felt earlier spread to his fingertips, and tugged his lips into a smile. It had been a while since he’d been such a bad boy. He dropped the pin-up book, and took a step forward.