Thanks, Lia, for having us at Books Amour. We love your blog! We're going to talk a bit about the re-release of our erotic space opera Sasha's Calling. Space opera's conjure pictures of movies like Star Wars and Battlestar Galactica. These are sagas on a galactic scale that typically take place off world—that's off Earth for anyone new to the term. Also, we're talking high adventure in space operas, and that's what you get in Sasha's Calling. Our heroine is out to save her father, her planet, and any other worlds that can benefit from the technology that she knows the Centorians are hiding from the rest of the universe. This is erotic romance, so the story is definitely sexy, but Sasha's Calling is romance all the way. Sasha must save her people, but along the way she encounters a snag: Dirk Roscoepilot. Yep, that's his name, and accounting is his game…or so he says. He works for the powerful Ethan Syndicate, and Sasha knows that anyone working for the most powerful syndicate in the galaxy is never who they appear to be. The problem is, she needs him to accomplish her mission. Getting him to agree, however, isn't as easy as she'd hoped.
by T.C. Archer
Spy for hire Sasha Smirnov has stolen classified data. One man stands in her way of escape: sexy diplomat Dirk Roscoepilot. A sizzling kiss burns him into her memory—and her body. She stows away on a spaceship, only to find Dirk is the pilot. She doesn’t count on the passion that explodes between them, or the choice that forces her into his bed. If she is to save her planet, Sasha must get as far away from Dirk as possible.
~~ Excerpt ~~
She skidded to a halt, glanced left, then right. The empty corridor curved out of sight in both directions, as if wrapping around the generator room she had just crossed.
Which way? Which way? Her gut said left. She turned right. Nothing had gone as planned on this mission. Sasha slowed to a quick stride as if late for a meeting, but anyone who recognized the Omegatron strapped to her thigh wouldn’t be fooled. This was what she got for carrying a weapon that wasn’t standard issue on any planet in the empire. Omega radiation was the cutting edge of weaponry. She’d won the oversize pistol with the lucky draw of a straight flush instead of sitting on a pair of aces. That was the kind of luck someone like her needed. But she believed in making her own luck.
Sasha slid the zipper on her bodysuit down and exposed enough cleavage so that a man would stair at her chest and wouldn’t pay attention to her gun. Upsizing her breasts to double-Ds might have been the smartest move she’d made on this mission.
Numerous footfalls running in double time echoed from around the curve behind her. She glanced back and startled at sight of a woman dressed much like her, standing in front of a door and staring in the direction of the commotion. The door in front of the woman swished open and Sasha quickened her pace around the curve before the woman could face forward and see her.
A man waiting for an elevator came into view up ahead. Sasha slowed. A nervous flutter closed around her heart. If the Pinks got too close, she might be able to use this man. His golden hair cut precisely at the nape of his neck gave him a surgical look that didn’t—couldn’t—detract from broad shoulders emphasized by the fashionable lime green Nauru jacket he wore. He stood a head taller than her one and three-quarter meters. A triwheeled robot like those ambassadors used as aides waited two paces behind him.
The man shifted and Sasha slid the bodysuit zipper down another fraction of an inch as he turned. The bot followed suit, stupidly mimicking the movement. The man’s gaze met hers and her breath caught. The ambassador either wore contacts or had surgically implanted chrome irises, but the polychrome eyes that followed her approach didn’t disguise the intense stare. Despite the fact her breasts strained against her suit, his gaze never wavered from her face. Damn her luck. She’d encountered the only male on Centor who had morals.
The footfalls of the Pinkertons behind her grew louder and more footfalls sounded from around the curve ahead. She flicked a glance down the corridor. No doors or branching hallways were visible, only the elevator that hadn’t yet arrived. Her pulse spiked. Trapped.
~~ About the Author ~~
T. C. Archer is comprised of award winning authors Evan Trevane and Shawn M. Casey. They live in the Northeast.
Evan puts his Ph.D. to good use by writing about alternate realities, and Shawn channels the mythology and philosophy she studied during her wasted youth into writing about exotic places and times.
Evan and Shawn write romantic sci-fi, paranormal romance, and romantic suspense.
Visit them on the web at www.tcarcher.com