TWENTY FUN FACTS ABOUT WHITE COLLARED
1. It was inspired by a real Michigan murder.
2. I began writing it in response to the
ill-informed and prejudicial media reports which sensationalized the case due
to the alleged suspect’s involvement in the BDSM lifestyle.
3. I created the sex club, Benediction, from
rumors I’ve heard throughout the years that a similar exclusive club exists in
Metro-Detroit.
4. White Collared is a murder mystery. See if
you can figure it out!
5. There’s a love triangle between the heroine
Kate Martin, her boss Nick Trenton, and her client Jaxon Deveroux. Will you be
#TeamJaxon or #TeamNick? I was rooting for both of them. Together.
6. Kate is from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan,
and while she’s worked hard to get rid of her accent, in her head (and mine),
she sounds a bit like Marge from the movie, Fargo.
7. Kate rides a Harley. To work. In winter.
8. Everybody in the book has a secret. Just
remember that.
9. As I wrote, I pictured Henry Cavill in the
role of Jaxon Deveroux. He’s in Metro-Detroit this summer along with Ben
Affleck (with whom I share a birthday) shooting Batman vs. Superman. I’m
thinking of stalking them.
10. I didn’t write
the book and chop it into pieces to bilk readers out of their hard-earned
money. Trust me, I’m a reader too, and I love reading serials! I wrote it as a
serial to increase the excitement of the reading experience and stimulate both mind and body.
11. I’ve been
watching General Hospital and other television serials for more than
thirty-five years. This book was born out of my love for cliffhangers. Who
remembers the summer when everyone waited for Dallas to return to find out Who
Shot J.R? (Let’s not mention the whole Bobby is alive and the previous season
was a dream fiasco.)
12. Each part is
only $.99 which means its $3.96 total for more than 400 pages.
13. White Collared
is releasing weekly which means you won’t forget what happened in the previous
installments.
14. It’s a
standalone. While I’d love to write more stories for Kate, all the loose ends
of White Collared are wrapped up at the end of the book, and she gets her happy
ending.
15. The title
refers to more than what the murder victim is wearing when she’s found. When
you read it, see how many ways the term white collared is used both
figuratively and literally.
16. It has a
couple of my favorite tropes—forbidden love and older man/younger woman. In
White Collared, it applies both to love interests, Jaxon and Nick.
17. Kate is the
opposite of me. She’s outdoorsy, athletic, and used to love to garden, fish,
and hunt. I prefer the indoors except when I’m laying by the pool, and I kill
flowers, hate fish, and won’t hunt for anything but a bargain on books.
18. The character
Nick Trenton is named after my friend who died our freshman year of college.
19. I don’t use a
pen name.
20. I’m hosting a
forum on my Facebook author page so that readers can post their theories and
talk with each other about the installments. I may pop in now and then to give
hints and exclusive previews!
Book Title: White Collared, Part One: Mercy
Author: Shelly Bell
Genre: Erotic Suspense (Novella)
Release Date: June 3, 2014
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions
Author: Shelly Bell
Genre: Erotic Suspense (Novella)
Release Date: June 3, 2014
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions
The first sexy
installment in Shelly Bell's four-part serialized erotic thriller about a young
law student who must go undercover at a sex club to prove her client is not
guilty of murder.
Driven by
ambition …
Third-year law
student Kate Martin outran her tragic past to become an intern for her idol and
secret crush, the powerful attorney Nicholas Trenton. She is thrilled when Nick
assigns her to represent his best friend and client, millionaire Jaxon Deveroux
… the prime suspect in his submissive wife Alyssa's murder.
Seduced by
desire …
Kate knows they
have only a few days to find the real killer, and since signs point to a member
of the BDSM community, she volunteers to go undercover as Jaxon's submissive at
Benediction—the private sex club where he is a member—to covertly investigate
Alyssa's last few months. For years, Kate has kept her dark fantasies a secret
… but a chance to explore them with sexy, dominant Jaxon is just too tempting to
pass up.
A sucker for a happy ending,
Shelly Bell writes sensual romance often with a bit of kink and action-filled
erotic thrillers with high-emotional stakes for her alpha heroes and kiss-ass
heroines. She began writing upon the insistence of her husband who dragged her
to the store and bought her a laptop. When she’s not working her day job,
taking care of her family, or writing, you’ll find her reading the latest
smutty romance.
She currently writes for
Avon Red Impulse, Loose Id, and Soul Mate.
AUTHOR ENDORSEMENTS
“Shelly Bell is
a fresh new voice in erotic romance. She brings the heat!” ~ Lexi Blake, NYT
and USA Today Bestselling Author
"White
Collared takes you on a thrill ride of danger, murder and lust, leaving you
hungry for the next installment." ~ Stacey Kennedy, USA Today Bestselling
Author of BARED
"A
rollercoaster ride of jaw-dropping sex, heated anticipation, and a perfect dash
of suspense, all tied together with flawless writing. When I wasn't clenching
my thighs, I was frantically flipping pages to find out what would happen next!
I can't recommend this series enough. Buy it. Devour it." ~ Alessandra
Torre, USA Today Bestselling Author of BLINDFOLDED INNOCENCE
After three hours of computer research on piercing the
corporate veil, Kate’s vision blurred, the words on the screen bleeding into
one another until they resembled a giant Rorschach inkblot. She lowered her mug
of lukewarm coffee to her cubicle’s mahogany tabletop and rubbed her tired
eyes.
Without warning, the door to the interns’
windowless office flew open, banging against the wall. Light streamed into the
dim room, casting the elongated shadow of her boss, Nicholas Trenton, on the
beige carpet.
“Ms. Martin, take your jacket and come
with me.” He didn’t wait for a response, simply issued his command and strode
down the hall.
Jumping to her feet, she teetered on her
secondhand heels and grabbed her suit jacket from the back of her chair. As Mr.
Trenton’s intern for the year, she’d follow him off the edge of a cliff. She
had no choice in the matter if she wanted a junior associate position at Detroit’s
most prestigious law firm, Joseph and Long, after graduation. Because of the
fierce competition for an internship and because several qualified lackeys
waited patiently in the wings for an opening, one minor screwup would result in
termination.
Most
of the other interns ignored the interruption, but her best friend Hannah took
a second to raise an arched eyebrow. Kate shrugged, having no idea what her
boss required. He hadn’t spoken to her since her initial interview a few months
earlier.
She
collected her briefcase, her heart pounding. As far as she knew, she hadn’t
made a mistake since starting two months ago. Other than class time, she’d
spent virtually every waking moment at this firm, a schedule her boyfriend,
Tom, resented. To placate him, she’d used her dinner break last Saturday to
drive to his place and give him a quick blow job before returning to work. She
didn’t even have time for her own orgasm.
She raced as fast as she could down the
hallway and found her boss pacing and talking on his cell phone in the marbled
lobby. He frowned and pointedly looked at his watch, demonstrating his
displeasure at her delay. Still on the phone, he stalked out of the firm and
headed toward the elevator. She chased him, cursing her short legs as she
remained a step or two behind until catching up with him on the elevator.
When the doors slid shut, he ended his
call and slipped his cell into the pocket of his Armani jacket. She risked a
quick glance at him to ascertain his mood, careful not to visually suggest
anything more than casual regard.
He was an extremely handsome man whose
picture frequently appeared in local magazines and papers beside prominent
judges and legislative officials. But photos couldn’t do him justice, film
lacking the capability of capturing his commanding presence. Often she’d had to
fight her instinct to look directly into his blue eyes. At the office, his
every move, his every word overshadowed anyone and everything around her.
Standing close to him in the
claustrophobic space, she inhaled the musky scent of his aftershave, felt his
radiating heat. Her trembling body instinctively angled toward him.
Mr. Trenton spoke, fracturing the quiet
of the small space with his deep and powerful voice. “This morning, our firm’s
biggest client, Jaxon Deveroux, arrived home from his business trip and found
his wife dead from multiple stab wounds.”
“I thought you limited your practice to
civil law,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. When his jaw grew
rigid, she internally chastised herself for the mistake. “Sorry, sir. I
shouldn’t have interrupted.”
The silence was deafening as she waited
for him to decide whether to accept her apology. Interns had been fired for
less.
“No, you shouldn’t have interrupted.
However, it was a valid question and, therefore, I’ll let it pass.”
Once the elevator doors opened, they
stepped out into the bustling main floor lobby, and she fought to match Mr.
Trenton’s brisk pace as they headed toward the parking garage. “While typically
I would refer my clients to Jeffrey Reaver, the head of our criminal division,
Mr. Deveroux and I have been friends for many years, and he requested me
personally. Jaxon’s a very private man, but those who are in his circle are
aware of certain . . . proclivities that may come up in the police’s line of
questioning.”
What sort of proclivities? It pained her
to remain silent.
He paused as if expecting her to screw up
by asking another question. She curled the sharp edges of her nails into the
flesh of her palms, the biting pain a reminder to keep her mouth shut. A wave
of peace rippled through her, and her heart slowed for the first time since Mr.
Trenton had requested her presence.
“He and his wife engaged in the practice
of BDSM. Do you know what that is, Ms. Martin?” he asked with a slight upturn
of his lips. On anyone else, she’d believe it was the beginning of a smile, but
since she’d never seen Mr. Trenton smile, she couldn’t be sure what it meant.
There wasn’t a woman in the country who
hadn’t heard of BDSM since the popular erotica novel hit the charts a few years
back. His mention of it awoke that dormant part of her hibernating in the
recesses of her mind during the light of day.
Her cheeks heated, but she kept her tone
professional despite the fireworks launching between her thighs. “BDSM stands
for bondage and discipline, domination and submission, sadism and masochism.
It’s kinky sex.”
They reached the parking garage and
climbed the concrete stairs to the second level.
“For some it is, and for others, it’s a
way of life. Unfortunately, the media has a way of distorting the truth to
their advantage for the sensational headlines. You remember the recent case.”
A metro-Detroit man had allegedly hired a
hit man to kill his wife, but it was the fact that he’d practiced BDSM in a
seedy sex dungeon that the media had latched on to, riding the frenzy caused by
the popular erotica trilogy.
Kate had read the books. Twice. But in
the end, she agreed with the popular opinion that BDSM fiction was nothing but
romantic fantasy.
A bit breathless from her attempt to keep
up with him, she was relieved to slide into the passenger seat of his Mercedes.
Moments later they sped toward the highway.
Weighing the consequences against her
curiosity, she decided to risk asking her boss a question. “In your opinion,
should Mr. Deveroux divulge the nature of his relationship with his wife to the
police?”
He tilted his head as if to think over
the answer, but she didn’t doubt he’d known the answer before she’d finished
asking the question. “At this point, I see no reason why he needs to say
anything about it. What happens behind closed doors is none of their business
unless it’s relevant to the murder. Until someone brings it up in questioning,
I’d advise Jaxon to keep his sex life to himself.”
For the next few minutes, they rode in
silence, and she peered out the window at Detroit’s crumbling houses. The car
proceeded west to the suburbs and the view changed to a large brick wall that
shielded homeowners and businesses from the sight of the expressway. They
exited onto a street that led them into a recently developed upper-class
neighborhood of palatial homes, strip malls, and trendy restaurants.
Mr. Trenton turned the car into the
parking lot of a police station, which was inconspicuously nestled between two
office buildings made of the same dark-brown brick. Had it not been for the crammed
lot filled with police cars and media vans, she would’ve never guessed they’d
reached their destination.
Of course the media had jumped on this. A
white woman from the suburbs was murdered. That kind of juicy story trumped the
mundane coverage of the upcoming November elections.
As her boss searched for a place to park,
she watched four local news crews rushing around, several of them on cell
phones, no doubt calling their contacts for more information on the murder.
Vultures.
Mr. Trenton gripped the door handle. “Did
you take advanced criminal procedure in school, Ms. Martin?”
“No, sir. Why?”
“Some of the details you’ll both hear and
witness today may be graphic. Since the class prepares students by
desensitizing them with real crime photos of stab wounds and gunshots, I
thought you might be more prepared for what you’re about to encounter.”
She bit the inside of her cheek, tamping
down the vivid image of blood-splattered leaves and the sulfuric scent of
gunpowder. “It won’t bother me.”
There was no mistaking that her answer
had caused him to grin. “I didn’t think it would. I wouldn’t have allowed you
to accompany me if I hadn’t thought you were up for it, but I needed to
confirm. It wouldn’t look good if my intern fainted over a couple of crime
scene photos.”
They departed the Mercedes, and this time
Mr. Trenton walked beside her, escorting her inside the police station to the
information desk, where he handed a young male officer a business card from his
pocket. “Please let Mr. Deveroux know his attorney is here.”
The cop picked up a desk phone and
pressed an extension. “Is Mr. Deveroux expecting a Nicholas Trenton?”
She hadn’t stepped into a police station
in ten years, but the memory of that harrowing day crashed into her with the
force and velocity of a gunshot. Her chest tightened as she tried to breathe.
In an attempt to ward off the anxiety attack, she counted backward from one
hundred.
Her boss leaned over and whispered in her
ear. “You’re okay. Breathe through your nose.”
Pressing her lips together, she sucked
air through her nose, expanding her lungs with precious oxygen. How had he
known?
“Thank you,” the officer said into the
phone. He hung up, picked up a notebook, flipped it open, and handed Mr.
Trenton a pen. “You two need to sign in.”
Her boss signed his name before giving
her the pen. Hands shaking, she supplied her barely legible information. After
she gave back the notebook, the officer buzzed them in and pointed behind him.
“Go through those doors to room three, second room on the left.”
As Mr. Trenton stepped in front of her,
she surreptitiously obtained a small pill from her Tic Tac dispenser in her
purse and slipped it in her mouth. When they got to the interrogation room, he
knocked on the door.
Anticipation boiled in her blood.
Something was wrong with how eager she was to meet her client, a man who would
find himself under suspicion of his wife’s murder even if he was innocent of
the crime.
Could she defend a man if she believed he
was guilty?
As the door opened and her sight fell on
the man hunched over a table, she had a feeling she’d soon find out.
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