Welcome to author Shewanda Pugh
Shewanda Pugh is a native of Boston’s inner city, though she now lives in sunny Miami, Florida. She has a bachelor’s degree in Political Science from Alabama A&M University and a Master’s in Writing from Nova Southeastern University. Fueled from a young age, her passion for crossing societal boundaries like race, class and culture, is the inspiration for both her cluttered bookshelf and her writing. When she’s not busy obsessing over fiction, she can be found traveling, nursing her social networking addiction or enjoying the company of loved ones.
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Shewanda has brought along her book
When an insecure, bi-racial woman begins a cloak-and-dagger love affair with a Japanese American man, she is intent on keeping her bigoted family in the dark—albeit with devastating consequences. On the night of her brother’s murder, Deena Hammond stumbles upon Takumi Tanaka, lost and on the wrong end of a .32. After rescuing him from the certain fate driving through the hood in a Porsche will bring, a sweet kind of friendship begins. A balm for her grief. Maybe, Deena likes to think, it happened the day her white mother killed her black father. Or maybe, it was always a part of them, like DNA gone bad. Whatever the case, Deena knows that her family would never approve, hell, never acknowledge her fast-growing love for Takumi. And had he never made love to her that way, in that unraveling, soul-searching sort of way, she could’ve done the same. But love’s a devil that way. So, their game begins. One where they hide what they are from everyone. Anyone. And Tak understands this—for now. After all, Deena’s career hinges on the favor of her mentor and boss, his hard-ass of a father. And the Hammond family is already stretched thin with grief. Yet, each step Deena takes toward family and career brings her closer to an acceptance she’s never had. And away from him.
Read an excerpt
When Deena reached the Westin, she tore across the lobby in slippery sandals, nearly plummeting in her distress. At the elevator, she jabbed the UP button, caught sight of Tak, and dashed for the stairs.
“Deena! Deena, please! Would you wait?”
The sound of his voice only fueled her hysteria. She burst into the stairwell, gut-wrenching sobs seizing her like violent gusts of wind. Up three flights they went, as her hair, her nose, her lips dripped with rain mingled with tears. Her vision blurred, as behind her, Tak’s footsteps thundered. She reached their floor, their door, and fumbled to unlock it.
“Deena, please. Listen to me.”
He was there, beside her, as she trembled with emotion. He reached for her, and she recoiled.
“Don’t. Just—don’t make it worse.” She turned to the door, fumbling.
“God, would you listen?”
She began to mutter to herself, enraged with the lock that wouldn’t open.
“I’m so stupid,” she whispered. “I had no reason to think you loved me. No reason to hope. I just—” She dashed away tears.
“She’s my agent, Deena. That’s all.”
He reached for her, turned her, and she went stark still.
“Now, are we done playing games?” Tak whispered.
Deena closed her eyes. Attempted to swallow fear. “I don’t know what you mean,” she mustered weakly. Something in her burned with the lie.
He snatched her to him, brought his mouth down hard on hers. She opened to meet him, willing, and a moan escaped. Resolve, resistance, rationale—all gone. When he finally withdrew, he was smiling.
“That’s what I mean.”
He returned to her mouth, his kisses demanding, impatient. His hands found her back, her waist, her ass in greed. Deena was breathless with fear, anticipation, and arousal as her body told her what her mind had feared—that it was his. That it always had been his.
Blindly, he fumbled with the lock and opened the door before backing her into the suite. She clung to him, whimpering, as his tongue ravished her mouth.
He pulled away her blouse, exposing two bronze breasts, clad in frilly white.
“Jesus,” he whispered.
His mouth came down on hers again, swallowing, consuming her whole. He found her skirt and tossed it to the floor, before pulling at his own clothes with impatience. She helped him, trembling fingers at the buttons of his shirt, near desperate to feel him.
Tak lifted her and instinctively, Deena’s legs wrapped his waist. Their mouths met with abandon as he lowered her to the bed.
“You want this?” he whispered.
Deena blinked back tears. She felt so many things in that instant—alarm and passion, nervousness and desire—and yes—she wanted him that bad.
She brought a hand to his cheek and nodded, hoping he couldn’t feel the tremble. Tak kissed her, a soft kiss, before lowering his mouth to her body. He trailed lips to her thighs, parted them, and licked. Deena yelped, back arched as she gripped the sheets and thrashed beneath him. Hot waves swept her, drowning her, drowning her completely. With a flick of the tongue, he’d humbled even her most impassioned dreams, relegating them to mere mediocrity.
He climbed atop her. Her breasts crushed beneath him, soft and round, supple and yielding under hardness. His lips found her mouth again for a soft, sweet, and lingering kiss. Deena closed her eyes, relishing it, and was met with a thrust.