**For mature readers only(18 +)**

Stewart Realty Series: Life in the House Lane

Love is an easy word to use, a hard one to demonstrate, and sometimes impossible to trust.
The Stewart Realty series is a sweeping epic, encompassing over ten years in the lives of two people who know how to love with their bodies, how to please and get pleasure, to control and be controlled. When it comes to the deeper meaning of the one word they both need however, their strong personalities get in the way. While their physical connection sizzles they continue to disappoint one another emotionally.
Jack Gordon has it all–money, success, a string of women—but sustains a deep longing for something more. When he thinks he finds it with Sara Jane Thornton, his world is never the same again. Sara releases his natural Dom, a side of him he’d thought buried out of frustration and unhappiness. Sara learns a true submissive must trust implicitly, something she cannot associate with him, no matter how many times she tries, and he fails.
With a rich cast of secondary characters, including a young man who presents a near-perfect foil to Jack’s intensity, and who falls hard for Sara; the Stewart Realty series is a romantic saga with an emphasis on contemporary life and love, with a healthy dose of white-hot eroticism. Modern, busy, driven characters living lives of purpose and real-time stress, seek the ever-elusive and highly coveted combination –a friend, lover and trusted advisor who will be there for the long haul.


Floor Time (Stewart Realty Book 1)

Jack Gordon is Ann Arbor’s most delectable bachelor. At age thirty-five, he’s made millions as a top-selling Ann Arbor real estate broker and has the right connections to close a deal by any means necessary. With his rugged good looks and compelling personality, he has a virtual black book most men would kill for and he uses it often, never settling for one woman for very long.
While his D/s past remains buried, exactly where he wants it, an undercurrent of boredom and dissatisfaction runs through his life now. A disastrous experience years earlier made him swear off the whole scene, but the more Jack suppresses his natural Dom, the more his frustration grows. (Continued)

Sara Thornton, a rookie in the real estate game, has fast-tracked herself to the top of the Ann Arbor market. Her life reflects a disciplined and focused routine, exactly the way she wants it. However, as her career takes off, the fulfillment she seeks remains inexplicably out of reach. The one thing she knows for sure, she will not join the Jack Gordon groupies in her company, no matter how tempting that might seem.
A chance encounter, then a difficult transaction, throw Jack and Sara together and the sparks fly high and hot and often. Forced to confront the compulsions that gain momentum with each sizzling encounter, their relationship seems to spiral out of control until Jack finally admits what he needs, and shows Sara what she’s been missing.


Sara Thornton, a rookie in the real estate game, has fast-tracked herself to the top of the Ann Arbor market. Her life reflects a disciplined and focused routine, exactly the way she wants it. However, as her career takes off, the fulfillment she seeks remains inexplicably out of reach. The one thing she knows for sure, she will not join the Jack Gordon groupies in her company, no matter how tempting that might seem.
A chance encounter, then a difficult transaction, throw Jack and Sara together and the sparks fly high and hot and often. Forced to confront the compulsions that gain momentum with each sizzling encounter, their relationship seems to spiral out of control until Jack finally admits what he needs, and shows Sara what she’s been missing.
Sweat Equity (Stewart Realty Book 2):

Jack Gordon thought he’d finally made it. He had a wildly successful career, money in the bank and even returned to his life as Dom, putting an end to a string of unfulfilling sexual encounters. Now that he’s made the ultimate commitment to Sara Thornton, he believes all is right in their world. However, a series of misunderstandings and a dose of self-fulfilling prophesy bring his perfectly crafted house of cards tumbling down around him, forcing him to confront lingering misgivings about marriage and trust. Could those be the only two things he can never achieve?
Sara struggles with her intense need for Jack and her desire for less volatility in her busy life, two goals which appear to be mutually exclusive. Although willing to put in the time and emotional effort to make their relationship work, she finds it futile and frustrating, littered with clashes thanks to near-identical personalities and temperaments. Given Sara’s history, easing back into the comfortable status quo becomes easier than fighting a war with the one person who should be her safe haven. But will the easier choice satisfy her the way only Jack can? Is her “war” one that comes from without or within?
Buffeted by circumstance, temptation and distraction, Jack and Sara’s tenuous relationship crumbles, sparking a continuous quest for the ever elusive: trust, love and acceptance. By the time they rebuild a foundation for renewal, fate has other plans. This leaves them both reeling, once again questioning their destiny.


Closing Costs (Stewart Realty Book 3):

Love conquers all? Not likely, according to Sara Thornton. She’s spent eight years coming to terms with the new parameters of her life while resigning herself to the idea that “happily ever afters” are best left to fairytales. Sales manager for her successful real estate office and juggling an added element of responsibility she never thought she’d face, Sara continues to struggle with the men in her life. Love, for her, has only meant hurt, broken trust and anger; all of which she’s completely banished from her life, so she claims.



Jack Gordon has come a long way since his early days of obsession with Sara. As the general manager of Stewart Realty, his own level of responsibility for the well-being of others has ramped up. He’s even honed his caretaking skills, now that he has someone who loves him unconditionally.
Continuing to invest effort and rebuild their relationship, he and Sara grow close as friends. Despite this, his ultimate question remains unanswered; the one he keeps asking, no matter how many times she says no. Sara isn’t prepared for the keen focus of his need–to have her back, once and for all. Her stubborn resistance nearly rips both lives apart
The third installment to the Stewart Realty series, Closing Costs brings Jack and Sara truly full circle. Proving that the heat of lust and obsession; the need for control and to be mastered in many areas of life can lead to love —surprising you when you least expect it – if you will only allow it.

Essence of Time (Stewart Realty Book 4):

For years, Rob Frietag has resisted anything resembling a true emotional connection, preferring instead to explore life, and his own desires, without committing to anyone for very long. The reason remains known only to a few, among them Jack Gordon, his college cohort in female conquests, and life-long friend. At thirty-seven, while he is close to achieving his career goal, head chef at a five-star restaurant in Chicago, he is still very much alone.
After an intensely emotional relationship with Suzanne Baxter in Ann Arbor, Blake’s heart is left shattered. Completely broken by what he believes was his one true love, he arrives at a Chicago food and beer festival, prepared to drink his sorrow away. When the two men meet, their lives change forever. But time is of the essence. When Rob acknowledges his true feelings, he will stop at nothing to keep them together, including finding a surrogate mother for the child Blake so desperately wants.
Lila Warren is recovering from a nasty divorce, needs cash and believes carrying their baby will fulfill her in ways marriage never did. None of them could suspect that the connection they share would provide the final emotional key to their life-long puzzle. When Rob’s secret is revealed, time becomes the one luxury they don’t have, setting in motion a chain of events that destroys the fragile illusion of happiness for them, and everyone who loves them.

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“Essence of Time”:


Before he knew it he stood at the door as mouthwatering smells drifted past him. Garlic, oil, something tangy, all reminded him he had not really eaten much that day. Rob’s advice about finding the breadiest possible food had been well taken, but the reality of an event like today’s meant little time to yourself, and certainly not much to eat. His body pulsed like one huge, exposed nerve ending. And he wasn’t positive which urge was the strongest, to eat or to fuck.

The door swung open and Rob stood, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, the delicious odors following him, spatula in one hand. Blake took a breath, “Hi.” He barely managed even that. The vision before him was one of tall, male, blond perfection and Blake had to bite his tongue to avoid begging him for a kiss. Instead, he followed him into the kitchen, accepted a glass of rich red wine and leaned against the counter. Alt rock flowed around them from unseen speakers. The sounds of a busy Chicago street filled in around the edges. Blake had a split second of sheer joy, imagining the amazing vision of this man in the kitchen, wine, music and shared happiness on a regular basis.

Oh hell, get a grip. He invited you over to **** you, remember?

At that thought, his body responded in kind and he moved closer to Rob’s tall frame hunched over a couple of large cast iron skillets. Sounds faded as he leaned in to sniff the incredible mix of fresh vegetable and what looked like scallops. “Hmm.” He reached across and stuck his finger in the mix, putting it to his lips, never taking his eyes from Rob’s. The moment spun out between them. “Needs more garlic.”

Rob frowned, stuck his own finger into the perfect blend of ingredients and tasted it. Blake stepped back, then was surprised when Rob smiled, grabbed what looked to be another four or five cloves already minutely chopped beside the stove and tossed them into the pan. Blake sipped his wine and shrugged.

“It really is the simplest meals, made with the fewest, freshest ingredients that are the best.” Rob’s words interrupted his mental fantasy loop of mutual nudity.

“Yeah, I agree. Same with beer, frankly. All this faddish ginger root, saffron-infused, chamomile tea, Muscat-grape bullshit makes me want to hit somebody. If you can’t do something interesting with water, malt, hops and yeast, you need to find something else to do.”

Rob glanced over his shoulder, making Blake shiver. He forced himself forward, plucked a plump, buttery scallop from the pan and popped it into his mouth. It coated his tongue with richness, slid down his throat with garlic infused perfection. “Needs something…” He couldn’t help himself. Ignoring Rob’s frown he opened the giant fridge and pretended to poke around seeking the perfect addition while his body cooled from the whoosh of air. Rob’s hand on his shoulder made him jump.

“What about this,” Rob’s arm stretched in front of his face, reaching for something, Blake no longer cared what, as long as his amazing skin was close to his lips. He pulled back, holding a bottle of capers. “I mean,” he opened the jar, dipped in and plucked out a few of the salty tidbits and threw them into the skillet. A delicate vinegary essence underscored the symphony of odors already suffusing the air. “I think you’re right. It needed…something.” He smiled, setting the jar on the granite counter. Blake nodded sagely, as if he would have chosen that very thing.

“Since you are such an expert, tell me what you think of that.” Rob pointed to a bowl of perfect-looking guacamole alongside what had to be homemade pita chips.

“Where did you get it?” He teased knowing damn good and well the labor intensity behind a decent guac. “Whole Foods?”

Rob scowled at him turning back to flip the scallops once more, throwing another splash of what had to be fifty dollar olive oil on the mix of rich shellfish, zucchini, sweet onion, red pepper and sun dried tomato. Blake looked around and took in the pasta press, the floured surface of a stainless steel section of countertop. “You don’t **** around with this do you?” He dredged a crisp pita chip in the mix of avocado, and tomato, loving the explosion of flavor on his tongue.

Rob poured him more wine before turning back to pull the pasta from the stove. “Check that will you? See if it’s properly al dente?”

Blake nodded, rising to the challenge. He tasted, found it perfect. “You know, it probably could have used another minute or two.” He sipped and watched the blood rise in Rob’s fair cheeks. He had no idea why he felt a need to provoke but loved it. “I’m sure it will be fine.” He turned away, lest he yank the tall handsome god-like man to him and do something foolish. The table was set, with no-fuss white ceramic dishes, simple flatware and one candle.

They shared a few anecdotes about random drunk idiots that peopled every decent beer festival as Blake sat on the couch and tried to summon self-control. He had no business here. The odd connection he felt with Rob was surely born of nothing but simple lust. But while his body continued to thrum with erotic anticipation of what would no doubt be an amazing lay, his heart had relaxed its tight, anxiety-ridden contraction for the first time in nearly a month. This man might be exactly what he needed, on a physical level at least, but the promise of more gave him some pause.

By the time Rob emerged from the kitchen, a bowl of the pasta tossed with the amazingly prepared simple fish, vegetables, garlic and cheese in one hand and a basket of no-doubt fresh-baked bread in the other hand, Blake had to grip his knees to keep from launching across the room at him. He stood, slowly, stretching, trying to stay non-committal and uninterested.

They sat in uncomfortable silence, clinked wine glasses and sipped. Blake was relieved that Rob seemed as flustered as he was, at least for now. Once they started eating and the true supremacy of the man’s kitchens skills became apparent, Rob seemed to visibly relax. He speared a fat scallop, held it to Blake’s lips. Blake took it, bit down and let the oily, sweet, rich concoction fill all his senses once more. He shut his eyes, chewed, swallowed, then opened them.

“Pretty good. But a bit over salted, wouldn’t you say?” He grinned and kept eating, breaking bread into small bits and dragging them through the garlic oil at the edges of his plate.

Rob frowned, then lifted his chin, eyes narrowed. “You’re a smart ***, you know it?”

“Yeah. So I’m told.” Blake ate two entire plates of the amazing stuff, and they relaxed into conversation about beer, wine, food, the restaurant business, segued into Blake’s gastro pub dream for a moment. Finally, they pushed their plates away, appetites for food sated.

“So, after years of training, practice and food science I stand by the mantra: the simpler the better,” Rob declared, holding his wine glass up to the light, letting it catch the thick legginess that slid down the inside of the bowl. Blake nodded, allowed himself a small second of contact between their legs at the small table before leaning back so he could better observe the man with whom he was prepared to … “Except of course,” Rob interrupted his reverie. “When it comes to dessert.” Rob stood, put a hand on Blake’s shoulder. “Because real desserts are truly a perfection of complexity.”

“Of course, there is the simple perfection of a strawberry dipped in chocolate.” Blake insisted, the contrarian in him rising to the bait. Rob chuckled, and emerged with two ramekins of crème Brule and a blowtorch. Blake grinned.


“What a showoff,” he mumbled, standing and cupping a hand behind Rob’s neck. “Now kiss me before I’m intimidated by your kitchen prowess and run screaming into the night.”



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