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R.R. Morgan's erotic adventure series, Sons of Rome , returns. Book II: The Wild Lands , recounts Tamara's lusty affair with the mighty centurion, Junius Agrippa, the grieving lover of Tamara's murdered friend, Cassia. Bound by their common vow to punish Cassia's killer (the heartless Praetorian, Marcus Sabinus) the fledgling lovers travel deep into the northern climes, plotting their revenge and dreaming of an unlikely future, while assassins and soldiers dog their trail.
Though Tamara and Junius must cross a vast, uncivilized wilderness, facing dangerous foes and increasingly perilous
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Produktbeschreibung
R.R. Morgan's erotic adventure series, Sons of Rome, returns. Book II: The Wild Lands, recounts Tamara's lusty affair with the mighty centurion, Junius Agrippa, the grieving lover of Tamara's murdered friend, Cassia. Bound by their common vow to punish Cassia's killer (the heartless Praetorian, Marcus Sabinus) the fledgling lovers travel deep into the northern climes, plotting their revenge and dreaming of an unlikely future, while assassins and soldiers dog their trail.

Though Tamara and Junius must cross a vast, uncivilized wilderness, facing dangerous foes and increasingly perilous odds, they desperately seek out every opportunity to make love beneath that wide, indifferent sky, Tamara falling more and more in love each time.

Meanwhile, their enemies are multiplying, and hatching plots of their own. Bloody battles, unseen betrayals, and murder soon follow, while the erotic intensity that is the touchstone of this series ever smolders beneath the surface.

Once the final drops of blood and sweat fly, Tamara's past is revealed, her destiny forever altered, and her fate sealed. She will never be the same, and she will never forgive. Where this tale ends, Tamara's story truly begins.


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Autorenporträt
I'm schizophrenic in my literary tastes. I love westerns, historical fiction, contemporary romance, hard-boiled pulp stuff, detective yarns, mystery, even sci-fi and fantasy. I write the way I read: churning out fiction according to whichever genre currently holds my fancy. I care nothing for niche notoriety. Writing in the same genre, the same way, with the same sorts of characters would be, for me, a fate worse than hell. Where's the spice? Where's that rush of diving into completely uncharted territory and doing something new?

I love sex, everything about it, and I weave lusty encounters into nearly every tale I write. Most of us do it, most of us love it, and life would be so much less wonderful without it. Sex. Sex. SEX! I love just writing the word. If that makes me a part of the "erotica" genre (perhaps the clumsiest moniker for such a vast and varied literary pool) then so be it. I'll accept the title, but I don't have to embrace it.

I don't write about sex for money, or for fans, or to live out my own twisted fantasies (although that last bit does have its rewards). I do it because so few writers will. They're too afraid, saddled with an innate fear of being set at the foot of the literary table, or being looked at as a deviant. I don't give a damn. Everything good in life: love, children, family, community, tradition, all have some connection with sex. I celebrate that. I uncover that. I use crude words, I describe taboo acts, and I never hide behind flimsy euphemism. I present sex the way I think it should be: hard, passionate, uninhibited, and always intense. If that's not your cup of tea, well, there's always Harlequin.