Spotlight on Tracy Wolff
I hope you all had a wonderful holiday season and happy new
year! I know I was thrilled to see the clock change to 2017
as my 2016 was a rough one! Which is why I’m so excited to
finally introduce you to Miles and Tori, the couple in my
brand new Ethan Frost book. I know Flawed has been a
long time coming and I really appreciate your patience with
me :-) In fact, to celebrate (and say thanks) I’m giving
away ten copies of Ruined, the Ethan Frost book that
started it all. To be entered to win, all you have to do is
like my FB page here and drop me a message on FB letting
me know you’re interested in a free copy. Winners will be
announced Monday, February 20th :-)
I’ve been wanting to write Tori’s story ever since I first
created her to be Chloe’s roommate. With her ever-changing
hair color and bad girl attitude, I knew she had a story to
tell. And does she ever! Flawed comes out January
17th, but you can pre-order it here
Here’s the blurb:
The bestselling Ethan Frost series introduces a
tantalizing new hero—and the broken woman only he can save.
Discover why Beth Kery once declared that readers of Tracy
Wolff will “fall in love under the spell of a
When Tori Reed loses everything, he sets her free.
I told myself I’d never trust Miles Girard, no matter how
brilliant or sexy he may be. His sister, Chloe—Ethan Frost’s
wife—is my best friend, but I know just how low Miles will
stoop to get what he wants. Now he’s the last thing
I want: my boss.
Growing up, I had it all—except for the sense that I
belonged. And when a mistake from my past surfaces in the
press, my parents don’t hesitate to cut me off.
But surprisingly, Miles offers me a helping hand.
Before I know it, our relationship turns unprofessional in
the hottest ways. Of course, he still drives me crazy. But
when I’m dealt the ultimate blow, Miles is there for me. And
maybe he’s the one I’ve been looking for all along.
And here’s a fun excerpt:
“So, how rough do you like your sex?”
Not sure that the guy across from me actually said what I
thought I heard, I lower my menu a little and peer over the
top into the faded blue eyes of Stephen Blake, mild-mannered
accountant by day and—it appears—closet BDSM enthusiast by
“Excuse me?” I ask, keeping my voice deliberately vague just
in case I did hear him wrong. We are only twenty
minutes into our first date, after all. And it’s a blind
date at that.
“I’m a fair to middling guy, myself. Some spanking, a cat
o’nine tails here and there, maybe a St. Andrews cross—with
shackles, not handcuffs, because they don’t provide much
room for my woman to squirm around when it hurts. Oh, and I
do have a new bullwhip I’d like to try. Along with the
standard nipple clamps and ball gags, of course.”
“Of course,” I answer because who doesn’t like a good nipple
clamp and ball gag?
Oh yeah. Me. I don’t like nipple clamps or ball
gags. And while I don’t mind handcuffs when the mood is
right, I sure as hell am not letting anyone near me with a
“And needles,” he continues, completely oblivious to the
sarcasm in my answer.
“Needles.” I can’t believe this is happening.
“I’m into blood play,” he explains, mistaking my repetition
of the word as a call for further clarification. “Nothing
too severe, obviously, but needles through the nipples are
definitely a favorite. No water sports, obviously—“
“Obviously.” Jesus Christ.
I reach for my glass of cranberry juice and down it in a
couple of quick swallows, wishing even as I do, that it was
something stronger. This is what I get for trying to clean
up my act. Stuck at a table with the nerd version of the
Marquis de Sade in a navy blue suit with a pinstripe tie and
not even a drop of vodka to cushion the blow.
“And breath play. Have you ever tried it?” His own breath
hitches a little as the subject visibly arouses him.
“There’s nothing quite like wrapping your hands around your
partner’s throat while they come. Watching as their eyes go
frantic at the lack of air, then a little glazed as they
start to float away—“
“I have to go to the bathroom.” I stand up so fast my chair
makes a screeching noise across the designer concrete floor
of this very up-scale restaurant that the “very serious,
very nice” Stephen has taken me to.
“I bet.” He eyes me knowingly. “Do you want me to follow?
I’m happy to take care of—“
“I’m good, thanks. I’ve been potty-trained since I was two.”
I grab my clutch off the table then start to walk past him,
but he grabs my wrist before I can take more than a couple
“Take a picture while you’re in there.” His voice has gone
all dark and authoritarian—and definitely not in a sexy way.
“And send it to me.”
Eeew. “Of me going to the bathroom?”
“Of you getting yourself off. That is what you’re going to
do, right?” Before I know what he’s going to do,
he’s pulled my hand into his lap and rested it on what turns
out to be his not-very-impressive erection. Not that that
is exactly a surprise. Then again, at this point in the
dat, I’m not sure anything could surprise me. “While you’re
gone, I can get myself off to it right here.”
I squeeze hard enough to make him gasp—again, not in a good
way—before twisting out of his grip and trying to pretend
the thought of him jacking off to anything about me hasn’t
scarred me for life. Then I reach for his untouched jack
and coke and down it in one long gulp.
Tomorrow is soon enough to start cleaning up—if I’m
over the trauma of this dinner by then, that is.
“Exciting, isn’t it?” he says when he can talk without
squeaking. “When you’re done, take your panties off and
bring them to me. I want to know what you smell like when
I nod jerkily as I walk toward the restroom—and then right
past it and into the kitchen.
“Hey!” someone in a little white coat says, looking up.
“You can’t be in here.”
Unfortunately, it’s not the right kind of little white
coat—and there’s no straitjacket in sight. More’s the pity.
Nice guy Stephen could definitely use one.
Then again, he might take it for some wild, new BDSM fetish
and ask me to photograph him as they strap him in… at this
point, who the fuck knows? Either way, I’m not sticking
around to find out.
“Don’t worry, boys. I’m just passing through.” I snatch a
couple slices of apple off the closest work station as I
breeze toward the back door and then out into the mild San
I pop an apple slice into my mouth as I pull out my phone
and order an Uber. Before I’m done chewing, a black
Mercedes slides to the curb in front of me and I climb in.
Excellent. At this rate, I’ll be home before that
wanna-be-Christian-Gray figures out the picture he’s so
looking forward to isn’t coming.
Then I pull up messages and scroll until I hit my best
friend’s name. I type in seven words.
Me: Chloe Frost, you are a DEAD woman
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Have a wonderful rest of the week!