I recently sat down with Killing It Write, my fabulous editor for my Asian Male Black Woman romance, The Chaebol’s Wife. Check it out! https://www.killingitwrite.com/post/multicultural-romance-author-dei-araujo
Camille Jacobs appreciated a gorgeous man.
Especially one that was strong and tall, leaving her head raised, neck arched, and gut tingling as she gazed up into a pair of arresting eyes.
Why wouldn’t she? She was still a hot-blooded—okay, warm-blooded—woman with a healthy sex drive, even though it had been a while since she’d gone for a ride. Starting her own skincare company, Naturally You, and maintaining its continued success had wreaked havoc on her libido.
But when life brought her an Adonis who filled a business suit better than David Gandy, she couldn’t help but take notice. Especially after slamming into the rock-hard wall of his chest on her way out of the women’s restroom.
Her fingers flexed into the quality fabric of the suit jacket as she inhaled the intoxicating scent of his cologne.
Shock reverberated through her like an earthquake, and she froze. She recognized that voice.
His smooth, cultured tone held the hint of an Asian accent. It was a voice Camille had prayed she’d never hear again, one she only heard in her dreams.
“Seung-ju,” she gasped.
She drank in his appearance for her parched eyes. Six feet with an athletic build. Camille forced her fingers not to run the length of him. His hair was cropped short, shorter than she remembered, and facial hair graced his upper lip and chin in the style of a goatee, framing a full of set lips that Camille longed to kiss. His mouth pursed, sharply defining the laugh lines and dimples in his cheek. He had slanted, hazel eyes fringed by thick long lashes that often concealed what he was thinking—except for now. There was no mistaking the anger that flashed in those eyes, darkened now by the dim light. Camille peered closely into those magnetic orbs and nearly gasped at the passion that overwhelmed the anger and took center stage.
“I always loved how you say my name,” he said, “how it sends a thrill straight to my—”
Camille slapped a hand to his mouth to keep him from finishing his comment. A woman, tipsy from one too many cocktail drinks, rammed into her, causing Camille to stumble once more. Seung-ju grabbed her shoulders, preventing a fall and eliminating any chance for her to turn tail and run.
“You know you’ve got some explaining to do,” he murmured.
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“No, I think you’ve got plenty,” he said before turning her around and pulling her down the darkened hallway toward the exit. She dug in her heels, determined not to go anywhere with him. Undeterred, he wrapped a steely arm about her waist and hoisted her up against his side as if she weighed no more than a down pillow. She inhaled, prepared to give an earful of words that would surely redden the ears of a priest, when he tightened his grip, siphoning off her air supply.
“As much as I’d love to hear you scream, now is not the time.”