Message From The Author

Author's Message

Imagine walking down a long and lonely dirt road through the Yucatan jungle. It’s dusk, and you’ve just missed your tour bus. The last tour bus.

The darkness crawls toward you, devouring every ounce of bravery you’ve managed to fake. And to top it off, you’re suffering from what has to be worst margarita hangover known to man. Or, in this case, woman.

Worst vacation ever? Oh yeah. And it’s about to get even worse.

Suddenly you hear a deep, dark voice beckoning you to enter the forbidding, dense the jungle. You’re unable to resist even though your rational mind knows this is bad. Very, very bad. Yet, somewhere, hidden underneath those layers of fear telling you this will be the end of your life, you want to follow. You need to follow.

And finally, when you reach the dilapidated ruin, your heart pounding and sweat dripping down your back, you see him lying there on an ancient stone altar, asleep. His long, dark hair flows like a wave of midnight. Every inch of his body bulges with muscled perfection right down to his…ehem! His…uh…man gear.


He’s naked?

And why is he in a giant room filled with gold coins, priceless treasures, and…a Thighmaster? And why is there a giant neon sign on the wall that says “Piggy Bank”? This has to be a dream! Right? Because there’s no other possible explanation for the bizarreness of the situation.

And just when you think you might wake up, that gripping voice commands you to cover the tip of your finger with your own blood—which there’s plenty of, given you’ve been stumbling around the jungle and have cut your knee—and then kiss him.

Once again, you find your body and your mind in a battle of the wills. You mentally fight and claw with everything you’ve got, wishing and hoping you’d wake up or escape this dark, dusty chamber that looks like game show graveyard.

Sadly, your mind loses and you watch in terror as your fingers reach out and coats the beautiful man’s sensuous lips with blood right before your mouth makes the journey to connect with his.

The wind kicks up and the moment you realize the altar is empty is the moment you feel his breath on the back of your neck.

So, let’s meet your new man. Shall we?

- Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

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