New Release: MaryDee Night by M.S. Tarot

In the publishing world of erotic romance, M.S. Tarot possesses the rare ability to combine real emotion with transgression.  He's trying something new with his upcoming release, MaryDee Night, which drops October 3rd from Deep Desire Press and is currently available for pre-order on Amazon.

Here is the blurb:

For Oliver West, the local night clubs are his kingdom. Glittering palaces filled with music and erotic delights for all the senses. Known by the nickname “O”, he is a benevolent ruler, forsaking nothing in his quest to slake the desires that decent people hide. Like an angel fallen from heaven, he left decency and innocence far behind him long ago. Or so he thought. Enter, the lovely Paige Turner. With her mane of Cruella de Vil hair and a smile more wicked than any witch, she could tame the club-hound “O” if she wished. With a request for a single red rose and a wink that promises things he never dreamed of, fate is showing him that Paige can be the Queen to his King. But, given his past, will Oliver be able to do what he has never imagined himself doing to be worthy of her?

And an excerpt:

Living is making choices. Lying there in a military hospital for

the weeks that followed, my broken body held together with

plaster and steel rods, I made choices. Some were good, some were

bad, most were simply a different choice than what I would have

normally made. Some of those choices I made by myself.

And to be honest, some were made for me. By doctors

delivering medical reports to my superior officers. Reports that

testified about how I would never be a soldier again, but then I

could have saved them the time. I had no intentions of ever

marching another step, whether I was ever going to be capable of

marching again or not. See, that time in that grave in such terrible

pain, clawing at mud, begging for my life and for the pain to end, it

showed me what nothing had been able to show me before.

I was not alive. Oh, I breathed and I walked and I talked, but I

was not really alive. I was not living a life; oh no, I was, in fact,

trying to live a life over. My father’s life. And I had to

acknowledge that there, in that hole, I was not him.

Benson West had been a highly decorated war hero. Then a

mud-on-his-boots construction worker, slaving for pennies

building bridges in third world countries. Now in his late fifties, he

was a tough-as-nails, general contractor. A man known to drink his

weight in beer a week, to fight at the drop of any hat, and he would

still brag of the women he had fucked … sometimes even within

my mother’s hearing. A man’s man! That was my father.

That’s what I had wanted to be.

But I wasn't. Not even close.

Oh, I had tried to play the part. Only too late did I realize that

all I could ever be was a little kid with his tiny child’s feet stuck in

his dad’s oversized shoes. It took a lot of pain to come to realize

that, to accept that image. By the time I had my casts cut off, and

the crutches were more for help than for absolute movement, I was

decided. No longer was I going to be a fake person. Whatever

came to mind was going to be what I did. No matter what.

Happy reading!