Sometimes the biggest risk a lady can take is not battling an evil planetary emperor with questionable taste in muttonchops, but in baring her heart to the alien she loves. And his tail.
If you’re a bounty-hunting diva with a stellar rack, what do you do when an evil despot is hell-bent on your destruction?
Stage a coup of his planet, of course.
Juliet Lawrence’s plans for defeating King Bob the Nefarious are going better than her relationship with hunky alien ship captain Ragnar Manscape. Oh, the sex is great. His pecs and their laughs are top notch. The meeting with his parents goes… somewhat worse. It’s always a bad sign when your boyfriend’s folks choose the family spider over you.
The secret Juliet’s been keeping from Ragnar doesn’t help — uncomfortable conversations about “feelings” are not her forte. Fortunately, Juliet has lots of time to plot the downfall of King Bob’s intergalactic concubine slave trade once Ragnar unceremoniously dumps her.
Can Juliet defeat King Assface with the help of her computer genius ex-boyfriend Erit, their flying toilet, and her brand new nun habit? Will Ragnar leave Juliet to the space wolves or go along with her crazy plan to topple a government using hairpins with sparkly do-dads on the end? And can Juliet really have it all while maintaining bouncy, manageable hair? Find out in RAGNAR AND JULIET 2: CONCUBINE BOOGALOO, the sequel to RAGNAR AND JULIET
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Available from: Amazon.com, Liquid Silver Books, B&N, AllRomance.com, iTunes, Sony.
The setup: Ragnar and Juliet have hit a rough patch, but Juliet’s plans to overthrow the evil, concubine-enslaving government of King Bob, ruler of New Los Angeles, proceeds despite their wounded hearts. Erit and Pippy are their partners in freedom fighting.
The next day, Ragnar didn’t mention their conversation. Neither did Juliet. They tried to out-nonchalant each other until it was a wonder anyone stood upright.
The group congregated on the Compass, currently towing the Bobo and the D’ebonair, and proceeded apace toward New Los Angeles.
“So, what are we doing?” Pippy asked over a meal of sandwiches and beer.
“Oh! Crime,” Juliet replied with perhaps too much enthusiasm. “Dr. Martin Luther King, a great freedom fighter of Earth, once said ‘One has a moral responsibility to disobey unjust assholes.’”
Ragnar raised an eyebrow.
“I might, perhaps, be paraphrasing.”
“It’s called Calamity Concubines Cause Catastrophe,” Ragnar said between chews.
Erit, on the other side of the table from his favorite person, Ragnar, said, “What is?”
“The plan.” Juliet took a huge bite of Kantikan pork and jalapeno cheese on rye. It tasted better than it sounded. “Once upon a time Ragnar had great faith in my ability to be catastrophic.”
Her Alutian ex-lover’s eyebrows joined forces. “I just didn’t know your catastrophe would be so … direct. But I’m here now, aren’t I? Helping you write a terrorist threat to call into New Los Angeles so they ground their air traffic. I believe in the mission.”
“Mostly,” Juliet added helpfully.
Ragnar smirked and winked at Pippy, sitting beside him. “Mostly.”
It was true; Ragnar had come ’round to the idea of the mission. He couldn’t seem to decide about her, though. Oh, they were still kaput. But his gaze lingered over her with enough barely restrained heat to make her jittery with want. A meltingly gentle elbow caress to steady her here, a seductive sweeping of her hair from her eyes there. His seeming inability to treat her like an aloof friend was Karmic retribution.
She knew what she was missing. So did he.
She fidgeted, having trouble concentrating on the task at hand. When Ragnar stared at her across the lunch spread, her pelvis thought any minute now, he’s gonna lift my skirt! It was degrading to constantly teach your lady bits the finer points of unwanted celibacy. What if they went on strike? Even her favorite vibe had lost its appeal as of late. The situation was practically an emergency. She’d call out the intergalactic guard, but if its officers weren’t named Ragnar, she didn’t want to have cheap and dirty sex with them, no matter how snazzy their uniforms were.
He looked amazing today. He’d donned all black—black V-neck tee and tight, tight, tight black jeans. It was on purpose, the bastard. They’d enjoyed a picnic one time when he’d worn that same outfit. It was made from polymers that actually repelled grass sex stains. What a marvelous modern age they lived in. Why would he wear such a thing if he didn’t want her to notice and think dirty things?
“Let’s focus on being fake terrorists, okay?” she said.
“Actually, I believe we’re real terrorists,” Erit commented, drolly.
Juliet took another bite of sandwich. “Freewom fightews,” she grunted, her mouth full. She dragged the note pad to her, smearing mustard on it in the process.
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