Book Title: How to Bed a Millionaire
Author: Dieter Moitzi
Cover Artist: Dieter Moitzi
Release Date: July 7, 2021
Genre: Light M/M Summer Romance
Tropes: Friends to lovers, millionaire and poor student, summer romance
Themes: romance, love, comedy, summer, French Riviera, ritzy
Heat Rating: 1-2 flames
Length: 70 309 words/ 247 pages
This is book #1 of the Light Hearts Trilogy
A sunny-funny summer romance, first in the Light Hearts Trilogy
Take a scrawny French student and a hunky housekeeper; put them in a swanky summer villa; add a pink car named Sean and a ruggedly handsome delivery man—and voilà a sunny-funny summer romance.
Twenty-year-old Trevor is overjoyed. An Australian millionaire offers him the summer job of his dreams: to catalog the library of his summer house in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat—one of the ritziest and most exclusive spots on the Côte d’Azur.
What unnerves him, however, is the presence of a young housekeeper who turns out to be as drop-dead gorgeous as he is stilted, obnoxious, and conspicuously straight. Of course, Trevor’s quirky sass and light-hearted banter soon create an atmosphere of crackling tension between the two men.
What if the housekeeper isn’t as straight as Trevor thinks? What if Trevor is just the kind of person that housekeeper has been looking for all his life? And what if things aren’t exactly what they seem?
Here’s the thing: Dirk is a slut.
No, scratch that. Dirk is the slut.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m saying this fondly. But it’s a fact, and he owns it. He thinks monogamy is the name of a board game.
We hooked up two years ago, you see. That’s when I learned about Dirk being a slut. The hard way. To call ours a brief affair would be an understatement. To say I was crushed when it was over before it had even begun, another. That’s because I’m a hopeless romantic. Meaning that after our first shag—which incidentally turned out to be our last one—I was ready to publish the banns.
Dirk, not so much.
To his defense, he never hides his sluttiness. He’s even very outspoken about it. Gives you the proper warning right from the start. I remember, when we had both climaxed and were mopping up the evidence glistening on our bodies, he told me casually, “Phew—that was great, Tyler!”
“Oh. Right. Trevor. By the way—don’t fall in love with me.”
My reaction consisted of… a great blank. I was speechless. Probably because falling in love was exactly what I’d had in mind.
Oblivious to my emotional turmoil, he went on to explain. “I don’t do long-term relationships. Why, I don’t even do short-term relationships. I normally just, you know, fuck. No strings attached, no follow-ups included.”
I nodded like a robot.
“But I think I like you. We should stay friends, shouldn’t we?”
We shook hands that had shaken other body parts some mere minutes ago, and I left with a poker face. Only back in my tiny, tiny flat did I burst into tears.
Eventually, I got over him. It took me a week, to be precise. Not because I have a heart of stone, but because Dirk made sure my suffering wouldn’t last longer. He did so by calling me several times over the next few days, initiating his habit of informing me in crudest detail about his latest conquests.
After a week, I stated, “You’re such a slut, Dirk.”
“Why, how sweet of you!” he replied, sincerely flattered.
He single-handedly cured me of my romantic streak, then and there. I’m still looking for Mr. Darcy, all right. You don’t change so radically overnight, or overfuck as it were. But I’ve stopped fancying myself in love each time I get laid. Although Dirk thinks otherwise, that happens occasionally. Even blind chickens pick up a grain from time to time, as they say.
Dirk is German, by the way. And he has this annoyingly attractive all-German boy thing going. You know, thick blond hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones, mischievous smile. He’s tall and well built, with bulging muscles and no body fat to speak of. He doesn’t even work out, which, I mean, how unjust can life get? Oh, he’s also very well endowed, if memory serves me.
In other words, he’s a hung hunk. The guy who has it all and enjoys it, as he should.
What about me, you ask? Good question. I’m just your average dude. No one would describe me as hunky. For starters, I’m rather on the slender side. No, make that thin. Zero muscles embellishing my frame, no broad shoulders, just scrawniness wherever you look. I repeat, I do get laid. Some guys out there have a skinny kink, and what can I say? Lucky me.
My best features? Let me think. My eyes, maybe. They’re emerald green and come as a surprise because my hair is dark and my complexion, too. Cappuccino-ish. Americans with their fondness for all things binary and clear-cut would call me black. My mom is American, and darker than I, so I should know. Namely because she calls me black, but hey, that’s Mom.
Here in Europe I’d pass as a Mediterranean guy if it weren’t for the thick lips—“Perfect suck-me-off-lips” according to Dirk—and the very distinctive frizzy hair. The lips are okay. Whether they’re particularly suited for blowjobs or Dirk just had one of his racist moments isn’t for me to say. Never had any complaints in the oral department if you want the truth.
And my hair, well, I just love it the way it is. Hardly ever cut it, going for the good, ole Afro style. You can do so many cool things with a nice Afro, especially now guys have discovered that a man-bun is a thing.
Oh, talking about features I like about myself—let’s not forget my bum. The best thing I inherited from my mom’s far-away African ancestors, it’s firm and bouncy. Wet dreams material for gays with a bum fixation. This may come as a surprise to you, but they’re not in short supply.
Back to Dirk if you will. He’s great fun to have around: bitchy, lively, not a care in the world. Plus, he’s fiercely loyal to his friends. In a way. His way. That’s why he suggested me as his replacement for the Kinner job as soon as he had decided he’d prefer to spend his summer months with his aunt in Greece. That freaky woman has just invested her latest inheritance to buy a house somewhere on the Peloponnese coast and invited him to join her.
“I simply can’t say no,” he told me. “Think of the beautiful landscapes. And the sea. And the food.”
“Think of the beautiful Greek guys,” I muttered.
“Exactly,” he replied. “So, will you go and meet that lady for the interview? Please?”
“All right. I’ll do it.”
I don’t know what shaky lie he told Mademoiselle Destrelle, and I’m not sure I want to know. I’m just glad she didn’t bring it up because there’s a chance Dirk’s mother is supposed to be fatally ill again. So far, she has recovered at least a dozen times from ailments as far-fetched as jugular fever and acute fartinosis. I kid you not. Try to keep a straight face when something like that comes up in a job interview!
About the Author
Born in the early 70s, I grew up in a little village in Austria. At the age of 18, I moved to Vienna to get my master’s degree in Political Sciences, French, and Spanish. Today, I’m living in Paris, France, with my boyfriend and work as a graphic designer.
In my spare time, I write, read, cook fancy recipes, take photos, and as often as I can, I travel (Italy, Portugal, Morocco, Egypt, the UK, and many more places). My literary tastes are eclectic, ranging from fantasy, murder mysteries, gay romances to dystopian novels, but I won’t say no to poetry or a history book either. I’m more a hoodie/jeans/sneakers kind of guy than a suit-and-tie chap.
So far, I’ve published two short-story collections as well as four poetry collections. My first murder mystery novel “The Stuffed Coffin” has been released on January 6, 2019 and is also available in German and French. The French version has won the prestigious French Gay Murder Mystery Award 2019 (Prix du roman policier – Prix du roman gay 2019). My second novel “Till Death Do Us Part” was released on June 24, 2020. You can also find me on Rainbow Book Reviews, where I write book reviews under the pseudonym of ParisDude (for French reviews, have a look at my review site livresgay.fr).
Word Count: 78,512
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
ACTION AND ADVENTURE
CRIME AND MYSTERY
A brilliant Native American archaeology student and her Brit ‘bad boy’ professor find the key to love, hot sex and…what? A lost civilization?
Cocheta ‘Cat’ White Eagle is a Native American archaeology grad student on a mission to prove the existence of her ancestral Lost Tribe. A vision tells her it’s somewhere high in the treacherous mountains of Sedona. The only problem is she’s afraid of heights! Trying to conquer her fear through pole dancing—of course—she attracts the attention of a bad boy Brit. He’s exciting, brilliant and sexy but totally off-limits. He’s her new professor, a hound, and if he recognizes her as the girl behind the mask of ‘The Contessa’, her career will be over before it begins.
Colin Tucker is a drop-dead-gorgeous Londoner who is rocketing to the top of his field. Alas, the sandy-haired, blue-eyed wunderkind has a weakness for sexy women—including the French Ambassador’s daughter, no less. Banished to the Colonies, he finds himself torn between the exotic stripper and his brilliant student. After being put to a sexy test, he gives his heart to Cat, his student. He pledges to help her in her search, they join forces and live hap—
But wait! Smugglers, deception and danger… Oh my! Colin breaks up with Cat to keep her safe, gets arrested for stealing artifacts and helps the thieves trying to thwart her quest.
Is that really how to win the girl?
Reader advisory: This book contains explosions, death threats, outdoor sex and minor instances of racism from a secondary character.
Nick and Rebecca are madly in love, kinky as hell and ready to push the boundaries a little. As her Dom and her Daddy, fulfilling all her desires is both Nick’s responsibility and his privilege, but while Rebecca loves the idea of Nick sharing her with another Dom, she’s not sure if she’s ready to turn her fantasy into reality.
Nick is eager to facilitate the threesome of her dreams, but it’s no hardship to wait until she’s ready…and, in the meantime, maybe give her a hint of just what two Doms can do for her.
With a small taste of the very sexy possibilities, it doesn’t take long for Rebecca to get on board, especially since she’s developed a small, harmless crush on Nick’s preferred co-Top, his good friend and fellow Dom, Cade.
Nick and Cade have teamed up before, so he knows they can deliver on the promises Nick has made. Together, they’ll be sure to give Rebecca a scene—and a night—none of them will ever forget…
Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of erotic humiliation and multiple partner sex.
The tremor in her arm was the first sign Cat was reaching her limit. Her labored breathing was the second. She’d pushed so hard during this climb that every bit of clothing she wore—her long-sleeved gray jersey, her sports bra underneath, her long black climbing tights—was soaked. Sweat ran down from her sopping bandana into her eyes. The salt stung. She clenched her jaw.
I can do this.
The fear she’d fought so hard to ignore disagreed. ‘No, you can’t,’ cackled the demon within.
She fought back.
Hang in there. Stay here for a minute and rest. We’ll be okay. Relax. Just don’t look down.
She took a deep breath and gripped the red-hued rock tighter. Her gloves weren’t thick enough to protect her from its knife-like edge. It bit back. “Ow!” The burn spread through her arms. She kept shifting her right foot to find a more secure foothold.
Better. Worse. Better. Worse. Damn!
The struggle only added to the strain on her upper body. Now both her arms were shaking. Stop! she commanded. They ignored her. She took a series of deep, hard breaths, hoping to get oxygen to her muscles. Her throat burned from the effort.
Put the weight on your left foot to get a better grip.
The black rubber sole slipped off the rock and shot into mid-air. She grunted and instinctively tightened her grip even more, which only increased the pain.
Defying the agony, she pulled herself up a few more inches. Her heart thundered against her chest. Straining, she gasped for air. Safety was within sight. If she could just grab the next handhold, she could regain her balance and give herself a chance. She gritted her teeth and stretched—but it was just out of reach.
She put all her weight on one leg and explored the rough surface with her free foot. Miraculously, she found a foothold that would let her lift herself.
I can do this!
She shifted her weight onto that side.
Stretch! Push! Pull! Fight! Just two more inches.
But the pressure on her leg was too much. The pain in her calf was instant and searing.
Fuck! A cramp!
The muscle tightened with a mind of its own, oblivious to the fact that it was bringing about its own destruction. With her legs now useless, she shifted back to her arms. Drained, they shook. Even her hands had nothing left.
She gulped as dread washed over her. But she still struggled.
It will be okay, she lied.
Her heart pounded as her fate became undeniable. Her throat tightened and her face flushed. She didn’t know which felt worse—the pain in her hands from gripping so hard? The searing burn in her muscles? The terror at being so high? Shame at having overreached and being the author of her demise? Swallowing hard, she knew that, given what was about to happen, the question was academic.
Her trembling arms told her that she had only seconds before her body betrayed her. She closed her eyes tight, clenched her jaw, kept fighting and prayed for a miracle. But her final bit of energy evaporated.
Even as the cold, merciless hand of Death pried her fingers from the rock and pulled her to her tragic destiny, she refused to surrender.
But gravity pulled her backward like a rag doll.
“No! No! Please, God! No!” she screamed into the void.
The sturdy black safety harness snapped sharply around her. She grunted in reply, and her friend slowly lowered her to the gym floor.
Lauren greeted her with a big smile and a warm hug. “Twenty feet. That’s a new personal best, Cat. Congratulations. Of course”—she laughed—“it doesn’t change that you just died again. What is that…five times today? But it’s still an accomplishment. High five!”
Cat’s arms were so spent that she couldn’t raise either one in response. As her friend helped her out of the harness, she hung her head and wiped her face. “I know you’re trying to be encouraging, but being so weak and terrified only twenty feet off the ground is humiliating. I’m such a failure!” She began to cry.
Her friend covered her in an oversized pink towel to sop up the perspiration. “They’ve got the AC blasting, sweetie. You’re drenched from going all out. You don’t want to catch cold.” She put her arm around her as they walked to the locker room.
As she and her friend dressed in the pristine locker room after showering, Lauren pointed to the sopping mountain of heavy, colorless, sweat-soaked fabric in front of Cat’s locker. “That’s at least one problem you could solve in one stroke. You’d be cooler and more comfortable climbing in shorts and a sports bra. All that wet cloth makes you overheat and drains your energy.”
Cat winced. She was a failure as a climber. Now she couldn’t even dress right.
“I’m sorry, Cat.” Lauren hugged her. “You know I’m your biggest fan. I’m just trying to help. Let me treat you to coffee. I’ll even spring for a chocolate croissant. The good news is that since you’re now nearly a ghost, calories don’t count.”
Cat mustered a weak laugh.
“Seriously, it takes real guts to face your fears like this. You should be proud. You’re a fighter!”
“Sure, a fighter without a punch,” she replied dejectedly.
Lauren wrapped Cat in another big hug, and Cat laid her head on the comforting shoulder, took a deep breath and relaxed into her warmth.
“You’re the best, Lauren. I’d have given up weeks ago if it weren’t for you.”
As they left the gym, Cat squinted at the bright sunshine and winced at the heat then she tossed her bag into the trunk of her old canary-yellow Toyota. It was a glorious day in Sedona. The spectacular blue sky perfectly framed the red rocks glistening in the distance. Normally, Cat took comfort in the natural beauty around her—especially the rugged red mountains that reminded her of her heritage and her mission. Today, defeated by the climbing wall yet again, she barely acknowledged her surroundings. Her friend pointed to the mountains. “You have my word,” she said resolutely. “You’re going to own those rocks.” Cat shrugged. She was too tired to argue.
They walked the few blocks to the café arm in arm. Lauren wore cute pink shorts and a tight white sleeveless top. Cat had on long, loose-fitting black track pants and an oversized, long-sleeved, gray, Red Rock University T-shirt. Pressed down by the weight of her exhaustion, the best she could manage was a slow trudge.
As she reached for her coffee on the white stone counter, her arm still shook. She had to use both hands to pick up the red paper cup. She carefully placed it on the sturdy wood table so it wouldn’t spill. As she started to sit down, however, her leg began to cramp again. She lost her balance and jostled the table. The cup rocked, but Lauren grabbed the drink before it could tip over and stain the red-and-white checkerboard tablecloth. Despondent, Cat plopped into a chair and stretched out her leg to stop the cramp. Once the pain had passed, she picked up a sugar packet—but tore it so badly that it exploded over a pair of cute guys walking by. As she brushed the white powder off her gray T-shirt, she noticed that they looked her way then chuckled. She flushed hotly, put her head on the table, covered it with her arms and sighed.
“They thought it was cute,” Lauren said quietly. “Sit up. They’re hanging around. They want to come over and chat.”
Cat sat back up, shook her head and mumbled something incomprehensible.
Lauren caught the guys’ eyes and shrugged apologetically. They picked up their drinks and headed out. “Okay, the coast is clear.”
Cat shook her head in disgust. “See? I can’t even manage a cup of coffee and cute guys. I’m pitiful—a pathetic sack of fears destined for failure. I’m an aspiring archaeologist who’s afraid of heights. Even after presenting at a bunch of conferences, I’m still terrified of public speaking. I hate it when anyone even looks at me. Those guys were gawking at adorable you. They noticed me only because what I did was stupid. I have ‘career fiasco’ and ‘relationship nightmare’ written all over me. I’m hopeless.” She slumped again.
Lauren took her hand and gave her a warm smile. “Are you kidding? Bumping into the table and not being able to open the sugar are signs that you went all out on your climbs. You don’t do things halfway. I admire that about you.” She put her finger under Cat’s chin, raised it and looked directly in her eyes. “Now, tell yourself you’re a fighter…and mean it! That’s an order!”
She sighed. “Fine. I’m a fighter,” she murmured sullenly.
“Cat!” Lauren replied.
“Okay, okay. Despite my unbroken string of miserable failures and despite the obvious futility of continuing to try, I stupidly haven’t given up,” she said.
Lauren laughed. “If that’s the best you can do, I’ll take it. And also tell yourself that you’re a beautiful, sexy woman. I’ve seen you naked at the gym. Those guys were checking you out because you’re hot—even when you insist on dressing like a nun.”
Cat managed a weak smile then the tears started again.
Lauren reached into her white backpack and handed her a tissue. She stroked Cat’s arm gently. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, sweetie, but you actually had a good day. Once you get past the fear of heights, you won’t waste so much of your energy gripping so tightly. And weight work will give you the strength you need.”
Cat wiped her eyes and made a face, recalling how embarrassing her recent sessions at the gym had been. “I struggle so much, even with small dumbbells, that I get that pitiful look from everyone around me. They ask me if I’m okay, like I’m coming back from major surgery or something. I’ve even tried to go when no one else is there, but then the trainers come over. I can see it in their eyes. They’re worried I’m going to hurt myself then sue them. I’m so self-conscious that it’s humiliating.”
Her friend paused, a frown furrowing her forehead, and looked down at the table. She sat quietly for a few seconds, pursed her lips and moved the saltshaker from a red square to a white one as deliberately as if she were playing chess. She glanced back up at Cat. “Maybe…you…” She took a sip of coffee. “It’s just…”
“Nothing.” Lauren looked down and took the pepper shaker this time. Staring in its direction but not really looking at it, she rhythmically tapped it on the table as she pursed her lips.
Cat sighed. “Come on. I can take it. You’re going to tell me I’m stupid to think I can do this. I need to face facts and give up.” She closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands as though someone was going to punch her.
Lauren gently took Cat’s hands and put them back on the table. “Look at me, Cat. I am not going to criticize you. You do that too much already. How do you forget so quickly that you graduated summa, won a great graduate fellowship and are on a fast track to your Ph.D.? Didn’t the school just send you to that conference in Greece where everyone raved over your presentation? You’re awesome! You’re the only one who doesn’t know that. I wasn’t going to criticize you. Actually”—she looked out of the window—“I might…have an idea,” she said hesitantly.
Is there hope?
Looking back at Cat, Lauren sat quietly. She leaned in, lowered her voice and spoke. “I have a thought…about a Plan B…to solve your problems. It’s unusual, but…” She left the sentence incomplete.
Cat leaned forward excitedly. “A Plan B? Really? Tell me.”
Lauren looked into her coffee and stirred. She took a deep breath and sipped. Then her face tightened and turned red. Quickly looking down at the crusty croissant in front of her, she said abruptly, “Boy, this coffee is hot.” Flustered, she tore off a piece of her pastry. “And this looks great.”
Cat was startled. She didn’t believe that hot coffee could make her friend’s face turn scarlet. What is she not saying?
Lauren looked away and pulled her long blonde hair behind her. “Um. Not weights.” She looked down and tapped her fingers on the table. Her face tensed, and—to Cat’s surprise—she bit her lip and held her breath for a few seconds. When she exhaled, she almost imperceptibly shook her head.
After a few seconds, she looked up and glanced out of the window. “I mean, let’s figure out why you’re so afraid first. If we can reduce your panic, you’ll be more relaxed and will climb better,” she said, looking back at Cat. “Then we’ll worry about body strength. So, where does the fear come from? And if you’re so terrified, why are you so committed to learning to climb?”
Everything—Lauren’s cadence, expression, posture—screamed that she’d deliberately changed the topic.
Cat frowned. If there were another way to tackle her fears, she didn’t understand why her friend wouldn’t tell her. But it was obvious that pressing for an explanation was the wrong thing to do. She’d respect Lauren’s wishes. At the same time, she wasn’t ready to confide everything to Lauren yet about her embarrassing fears and weird obsessions—at least not in a public coffee shop where she could be overheard. “I promise I’ll explain—but let’s save it for a day when I haven’t fallen to my death so many times.”
“Fair enough.” Lauren smiled. “But enough with the sad stuff.” She leaned in with a naughty smirk and lowered her voice. “Tell me all about the conference. Any cute guys?”
“I told you I’m not interested in anything that could distract me from my work—and certainly not a relationship until after I have my degree.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Did you follow my suggestion”—she nudged Cat conspiratorially—“and engage in some wanton revelry? God knows you deserve it after how hard you’ve been working.”
“Wanton revelry?” Cat looked puzzled.
“Sorry. Too much Shakespeare. When you got to the conference and unpacked, you must have found my strapless red dress I snuck into your bag. Did it work? Did you get laid? Surely there were any number of hot young studs happy to service you.”
Cat laughed. “Hot young studs? Have you ever seen what archaeologists look like?”
“Sure. Indiana Jones. The hat. The whip. The bedroom eyes. Bedroom hands. Bedroom you-know-what.” She playfully raised her eyebrows a couple of times.
“Sorry,” she chuckled. “That’s the movies. Real life archaeologists are nerd city.”
“Wait a minute. Didn’t you text me that there was some drop-dead gorgeous guy all the women were drooling over? The one who’d made some sort of amazing discovery?”
“Oh, him. The Brit who found an ancient Grecian vase that’s going to rewrite the history of the period. Because my flight got delayed, I got to the conference after his lecture, and he was nowhere to be seen. I don’t believe he was as good looking as everyone said. Nobody’s that handsome! Even so, I wouldn’t be interested. He’s not my type.”
“Not your type? Handsome and brilliant? He’s every woman’s type!”
“No, I mean he’s a hound.” She waved her hand in the air dismissively and grimaced. “He pursues women with the same vengeance he uses to look for artifacts. We’re just prizes for him. The rumor mill said he was bed-hopping the entire conference. Colin Tucker is the last man I’d ever be interested in!”
Jane Colt began writing romances to deal with the stress of a ‘day job’ that’s mainly about examining the various ways people treat one another badly. An incurable romantic, her stories give her hope that we really can live happily ever after—even if only in our imaginations. She writes erotic romances because, having been raised in a morally rigid home, she wants to encourage in her readers a healthier, ‘sex positive’ outlook. She especially wants her heroines to be as sexy and passionate as they desire. You can count on the fact that her couples end up in love and having great sex! … OK, maybe they have the sex first!
Her stories aim to be light-hearted, fun, upbeat—and sexy! No dark, brooding, broken, tortured guys who need fixing. Just great, handsome, smart, sexy, ‘real men’ whose only weakness is being unable to resist the women she pairs them with. Think Lifetime or Hallmark movies plus hot sex!
She’s lived on both coasts of the U.S., recently leaving the beaches of Los Angeles to return home to the glorious autumn foliage of western Massachusetts. Married, she and her spouse are happy to be the devoted servants of two adorable cats. She loves traveling. Favorite cities: San Francisco, Boston, Venice, London, London, London!
By the way, anyone who knows her would be shocked to learn she writes erotic romances. “Jane Colt” is a pen name. So, shhhhhh.
Find out more about Jane at her website.
Enter to win a fabulous gift package and get a FREE eBook from the author!
JANE COLT IS GIVING AWAY THIS FABULOUS PRIZE TO ONE LUCKY WINNER. ENTER HERE FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A LOVELY GIFT PACKAGE AND GET GET A FREE EBOOK FROM THE AUTHOR! Notice: This competition ends on 10th August 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.