a look at Lucy Felthouse & ‘Good with His Hands’ #DownandDirty #Anthology @cw1985 @romancerebels69 #ParkRanger #BlueCollar #Romance

Today we have author Lucy Felthouse visiting. Welcome!

What would you like to tell readers about yourself?

* Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller), The Persecution of the Wolves, Hiding in Plain Sight and Mia’s Men (The Heiress’s Harem Book 1). Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 160 publications to her name.

A look into Good with His Hands in the Down and Dirty anthology

~ Blurb ~

* Layla is enjoying a beautiful moorland walk in the English countryside when suddenly, clouds start to roll in. The weather was forecast to be fine all day, so Layla is woefully unprepared when the heavens open and her visibility is reduced to next to nothing. Trying hard not to panic, she carefully makes her way towards a remote hut she spotted before the fog descended. When she arrives, though, she discovers park ranger Stuart already there, and luckily for her, he’s much more prepared than she is, and they soon find a way to pass the time until the storm blows over.

~ Excerpt ~

* Anticipation seeped into Layla’s body, increasing with every second that ticked by. Each handhold she groped for, each push off with her feet brought her that bit closer to the moorland plateau she’d been wanting to explore ever since she’d seen photos of it in a Facebook group. She was a keen hiker—or walker, she’d never really understood what the difference was between the two—but she’d always stuck to places she knew well, or had at least visited a couple of times before, mainly because she always walked alone, and getting lost was bad enough without doing it by yourself.
* But one Sunday evening, after a flurry of yet more stunning photographs of the area had been uploaded to the group, Layla made up her mind. The following Sunday, she would join the seemingly scores of people that headed up to the dramatic-looking gritstone edge in Derbyshire’s Peak District every weekend, no matter the weather. Hikers, climbers, fell runners… they all raved about the place, despite the crowds. And if she did get lost, well, she’d just ask one of them for directions. No problem. Then, providing it was indeed as amazing as the photo-uploaders proclaimed it to be, she’d add it to her list of regular haunts. It’d make a refreshing change from her usual low-level trail walks.
* Now she was beginning to understand what all the fuss was about, and she wasn’t even at the top yet. After leaving the relative familiarity of the car park, she’d trekked through some dense woods—surprised to pass only one or two small groups of people on the way. She’d half expected it to look like London’s Oxford Street but with outdoorsy folk in hefty boots and backpacks instead of shoppers with umbrellas and carrier bags. The moment she’d stepped from the shadow of the woods, the landscape had opened up in front of her and she’d got a real sense of how special it was. Then she’d glanced up and to her right and, taking in the height of the edge she had yet to climb, realized she hadn’t seen the half of it yet.
* With one last push to get her onto a particularly large boulder, then a small step, she was there. On the gritstone edge, the moorland plateau—whatever you wanted to call it. As she took a couple of tentative steps forward and looked around, she decided she wanted to call it heaven. It was like nowhere she’d ever been before—so removed from everyday life that she was half convinced she’d stepped onto the moon, except it was unmistakeably England. Wild, untamed, rugged, but England nonetheless. How had she never been up here before? And were there more places like it? She suddenly felt like the worst kind of ignorant city dweller—her walks up until now had made a mockery of wearing walking boots. She may as well have done it in flip flops.
* She turned at the sound of voices behind her, and moved aside to let a group of three men in their early twenties pass. They had enormous, weirdly-shaped bags strapped to their backs, and yet strode along—exchanging smiles and nods with her when they drew level—as though their burdens weighed nothing.
* Layla shook her head incredulously and started to follow in the footsteps of the men. She didn’t need to consult her walk instructions yet—there was only one path, keeping footfall to a concentrated area for conservation purposes, according to a snippet of text she remembered reading on her printout. The trail stayed close to the edge—not so close as to be dangerous, but close enough to afford the most amazing views. The ground beneath her feet was made up of rough grasses, rocks and boulders in shades of gray, brown, and black, scrubby bushes, and what she suspected was heather. To her left, the stunning countryside went on for as far as the eye could see, with delightfully twisted trees in the foreground, followed by brown and green fields, woodlands, moorlands, and more fields, broken up only very occasionally by a road—often only identifiable by the moving glint of light that passed along them—vehicles highlighted by the reflection of the sun off their metalwork. It’d be easy to forget civilization even existed while up here.
* To her right, the moorland, a wash of browns and oranges stretched out—a haven for wildlife, no doubt.
* And ahead was… what was that? She squinted, trying to block out some of the bright sunlight so she could make out what she was looking at. She was still none the wiser, but after a minute or two she’d gotten close enough that she thought she knew. Set against the bright blue sky were a series of enormous… what did you call something that was bigger than a boulder? Bigger than a car, even! Amazed, she hurried closer to see the gigantic gritstone rocks, which she quickly realized had been where the men that had passed her earlier were headed. She now knew their oddly-shaped backpacks had contained climbing equipment, which they were currently sorting through in preparation for their chosen pastime. She took the opportunity to stop and have a drink of her water as she watched other climbers who’d arrived earlier scaling the rock faces, displaying incredible skill and physical strength as they navigated overhangs, seemingly impossibly smooth surfaces, and all manner of physical challenges.

~ Down and Dirty anthology ~

Releases: May 22, 2018 | Publisher: Romance Rebels Publishing | Cover Artist: Sinfully Sweet Designs

* Get in, get down…and get filthy with these sexy, hardworking, blue-collar heroes who don’t mind when things get a little dirty while at work or at play. This collection of 22 brand new stories from USA Today and International Best-Selling authors is full of scorching hot romance tales that will be sure to leave you breathless for more. These men work hard, and play even harder.
* From cops to mechanics, and miners to brewmasters, they aren’t afraid to go all in. At the end of the day, when they find the woman who completes them, they learn that love and life can be just as messy as their day job…and they wouldn’t have it any other way.
* Featuring stories from: Lori King, Maia Dylan, Sarah Marsh, Elena Kincaid, Cecile Tellier, London Saint James, Bella Settara, Rose Nickol, RL Merrill, Ashley Malkin, Lucy Felthouse, Scarlett J. Rose, Sydney Lea, CR Moss, Samantha A. Cole, Danielle James, Ava Campbell, Eva Moore, Kimberlie L. Faye, Sabrina Sol, Nikki Prince, and Mia Hopkins! Visit the Facebook Page

Want more by Lucy Felthouse? Check out her story Mia’s Men…

~ Blurb ~

The Heiress’s Harem: Book One
* Mia Harrington’s father just lost his brave battle with cancer. Naturally, she’s devastated. With her mother long-since dead, and no siblings, Mia has a great deal of responsibility to shoulder. She’s also the sole beneficiary of her father’s estate. Or so she thinks.
* Unbeknownst to Mia, her father made a change to his will. She can still inherit, but only if she marries a suitable man within twelve months. If she doesn’t, her vile cousin will get everything. Determined not to lose her beloved childhood home, she resolves to find someone that fits the bill. What she isn’t expecting, however, is for that someone to be into sharing women with his best friend. In the meantime, Mia’s friendship with the estate gardener has blossomed into so much more.
* She can’t possibly plan to marry one man, while also being involved with two others …or can she?

~ Excerpt ~

* Mia Harrington thanked James, her father’s butler—her butler now, she supposed—as she stood from behind her father’s desk in the estate office—now also hers, to welcome her visitor.
* “Mr Lenton. Thank you so much for coming, and on such short notice. Please, come in, and take a seat. Would you like something to drink? Tea, coffee, water?”
* The grey-haired, bespectacled man gave a tight smile and bustled over to the chair Mia had indicated. “Thank you, Miss Harrington. A glass of water would be fine.” He took a seat, then began removing files and papers from his briefcase and placing them on the desk.
* Once Mia had delivered two glasses of water to the desk and taken her own seat, the solicitor fixed her with what was undoubtedly an often-practised solemn expression. “Thank you. May I firstly offer my sincere condolences on the loss of your father? He was a wonderful man, and he will be greatly missed.”
* Mia barely resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. She’d received so many condolences and expressions of sympathy in the last thirty hours that she was in danger of drowning in them. In many ways, of course, she deeply appreciated them—it was heart-warming and offered the merest sliver of comfort to know that she wasn’t the only one who’d loved Edward Harrington and genuinely mourned his loss.
* It was the sound-bite condolences that drove her crazy, from people that had barely known him, and those she’d never even heard of, let alone met. How could it possibly help Mia to know that Mrs Pipes from the post office in the village was terribly sorry for her loss? And it would only get worse once the death announcement went into the newspaper.
* She mentally shook herself. While Mrs Pipes might not matter, Mr Lenton most definitely did. He had been her father’s solicitor for many years now, and was here to discuss her father’s will with her. And, although she’d much rather not be dealing with the fallout, would much rather Edward Harrington was the one in the office with her right now, poring over paperwork; in the absence of a time machine or a magic wand, she had no choice. She had to hear what her father’s wishes were, and carry them out to the very best of her ability.
* Her remaining family members—distant as they were—thought it odd that Mia didn’t already know her father’s wishes. It wasn’t as if his death had been a surprise, after all. The man had been valiantly fighting cancer for two years, and finally it had won, leaving Mia devastated. Just because she’d known it was inevitable didn’t make bearing his loss any easier. In fact, the only thing that made it remotely tolerable was knowing he was no longer suffering from what, especially towards the end, had been horrific side-effects and discomfort.
* It was that overwhelming love and admiration, as well as simply not wanting to contemplate the “after”, that resulted in Mia’s refusing to talk to her father about what he wanted to happen once he was gone. Years ago, when he’d re-done his will following his wife—Mia’s mother’s—death, he’d basically told her she was the main beneficiary, as well as the executor, and that his funeral wishes were all there in black and white. With that knowledge in the back of her mind, Mia saw no need to further distress her father, or herself, by discussing something she wished with a fervent—albeit pointless—hope that she would never have to deal with. But here it was.
* “Thank you, Mr Lenton. I appreciate that,” she lied.