Thursday, December 26, 2019

The Doctor ~ Lana Brazen ~ New Release



The Doctor Will See You – release information
By Lana Brazen
Contemporary romance/erotica
Release Date: December 26, 2019
Release Special: 99 cents until 12.31.2019
LINKS:
#Free in #KindleUnlimited

BLURB:
He wasn't a doctor, and she wasn't a patient.
But she had needs, and he fit the prognosis.

Lana Blasen is a forty-something, divorcée frustrated by dating in the modern age. 
A chance encounter in a coffee shop introduces her to an awakening she hadn't ever considered.

Dr. James Lubton works wonders as the third person in a party of three.
But what happens when he wants to be the other side of only a pair?

In a passionate relationship, when role-playing becomes more than an act,
a deeper connection is diagnosed,
and emotions could be a side effect when the doctor will see you…

‘The Doctor Will See You’ is a quick and steamy tale of pure pleasure.

AUTHOR LINKS:

AUTHOR BIO:
Lana Brazen is the alter ego of a bestselling contemporary romance author who believes romance doesn’t need to end just because you crossed over forty. In a fantasy life, she was an anthropologist, a journalist and a world-famous novelist on the level of F. Scott Fitzgerald. None of that has happened. Instead, she’s written over twenty romances, mothered four children and remains with the one and only. Sometimes, she likes things a little hotter, spicier, raunchier than contemporary trysts, and so begins this chapter.


EXCERPT:

The Doctor Will See You (excerpt) by Lana Brazen
I didn’t know what I’d gotten myself into. Recently divorced, I’d met a young woman who just listened to me rant. I didn’t know why I felt the need to expound my current sexual status on her, but the dating apps had frustrated me. Who could you trust on there? Singles adventure clubs? The annual fees were high, and only half the activities interested me. And then there were the simple singles bars, which I entered once before turning right back around and leaving.
Being unmarried sucked in this aspect. The issue was I still wanted sex. I didn’t want to be alone with only my fingers. I wanted the feel of a man—the wet of his tongue, the curl of his fingers, and the strength of his hands on me—and I was getting desperate.
“Have you ever considered swinging?” she suggested, and I nearly fell off my chair. A southern Florida coffee shop seemed like the last place to have this kind of discussion and with a stranger, no less, but she didn’t look like a social deviant. In fact, she looked normal. Average in height, dark brunette hair, the body of someone still youthful, with friendly eyes, and a wedding band.
“Never thought of it,” I said after choking on my tea.
She paused for a moment as if she were assessing me and then added, “Not everyone who swings is married. Some are in relationships, and some are single. People participate in all manner of combinations. Couples who want a third party or a single participant looking for a couple who shares. Sometimes, it’s just a mutual agreement between three, but the term comes more so from those looking to experiment within a relationship.”
I stare down at my paper placemat, uncertain how to respond. It sounded crazy and a bit obscene, but I wasn’t one to judge. I was jealous, in a way. Maybe if Stan and I had experimented more or been a bit more adventurous, things wouldn’t have gotten to the point where they ended. Especially with him in the bed of his secretary.
“Here’s my name,” she said, offering it on a paper napkin along with a phone number. “If you have any questions. Otherwise, I’d recommend contacting this number. He’s a doctor.” She winked after handing me the napkin, and I took it, smiling good-naturedly even though I knew I’d never call.
However, the numbers haunted me, and a week later, when I was cleaning out the old receipts in my purse, the napkin remained intact with her perfect script and two phone numbers, the second marked with an asterisk.
“Dr. Lubton’s office,” a masculine voice answers on the second ring, and the professional confidence in his voice surprises me.
“I…I’m looking for the doctor.” I swallow back the sudden stutter. “Jessica DeMarco suggested I call.”
A heavy pause of silence weighs through the phone for a second, and I wonder if I’ve lost the connection. “Hello?”
“Were you looking for a full exam?” he questions, and I remember Jessica mentioning to request such a thing. I nod, and then recall he can’t see me.
“Yes.”
“And will your husband be joining you?” I blink down at the napkin, pinched between my fingers.
“I don’t have a husband.” Silence falls again, and after another weighted second, I ask, “Do I need one?”
A soft chuckle fills the line, reassuring instead of mocking. “No.” Pause. “But may I ask if this will be your first exam of this sort?”
Closing my eyes, I think, What am I doing? I’m no longer certain, and not certain how to answer, so I go with the truth. “Yes.”
“I see, and for the purposes of an initial consultation, would you prefer an assistant be in the room?”
Did I want someone else present? A witness to my humiliation? Again, I wasn’t certain what exactly I was getting myself into, any more than I knew how to answer the question. Deciding that embarrassing myself in my lack of knowledge should best be done alone, I reply, “I think I’ll be okay without one.”
“Very well.” There wasn’t a hint of a smile or frown in his tone, but the continued smoothness of a true doctor. Good bedside manner. I want to laugh out loud at the pun. Instead, I wait for his instructions on how to proceed.
“I have an eleven o’clock on Thursday open.” It’s strange to consider he does this more than one time a day with more than one person, possibly more than one person at a time, and I realize I’m at great risk of making a fool of myself. Not to mention, can I muster my libido midmorning on a weekday? Remain open-minded, I remind myself. He called it a consultation. Maybe he really is a doctor. Maybe we only discuss options. Maybe he can explain what’s happening to me at forty-five as a single woman, previously married, and desperately seeking pleasure.
“Thursday would be fine,” I say, knowing my calendar is flexible. I’m a real estate agent. The southern Florida market ebbs and flows based on weather predictions and the hurricane season. I’m mildly successful but wish I was doing better. Older people are a key to my accomplishments, and I fear one day I’ll be classified as one of them. Old.
“Please dress comfortably and be prepared to sign a consent form.” The instructions surprise me, and once again, I nod. “I look forward to meeting you.”






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