I fell head over heart for Max, Lauren, and Steve in Three and couldn't wait to read more of them in Four. I fell even more for them in this part of their story. There is passion and drama as we pick up with these three wanting to make four. I loved the idea of them making babies. What fantastic fathers Max and Steve would make, but nothing is easy for them. Someone comes into their lives from Steve's past and is a complication and someone who eases them at the same time. I swooned and cried and fanned myself quite a few times during this part of their story and so enjoyed visiting them again.
I give Four 4 hearts!
I give Four 4 hearts!
It’s
been a year since Max and I overcame our commitment fears and chased
away our demons, a year in a blissful poly relationship with Steve.
And now we’re all set to become four.
It
should be the best time of my life, of our lives; trying for a baby
with the two hot men who keep me warm at night.
But
when Steve’s friend James arrives from London, an
over-the-top-theatrical scene player with his own agenda, and a whole
lotta history just waiting to reignite, Steve suddenly doesn’t seem
like the guy we fell in love with.
He’s
changing, morphing into a different man before our eyes.
***
Lauren
Price is happy living with the two men she loves and life couldn’t
be any sweeter. What started as just a little fun a year ago –
a girl, two guys, and a whole lot of sex –
has
become a deep three-way love she hopes will last forever.
They
want to be a four – Max, Lauren, Steve and their unborn baby.
That’s what they said, that’s what they planned.
But
life in love doesn’t follow the rules, and soon four
doesn’t look quite like the three-plus-one Lauren intended it to
be.
***
Although
a sequel to THREE, S. C. Daiko’s first Erotic Menage Romance, FOUR
is a standalone story and, like its predecessor, contains vivid
erotica. 18+ only. If you’re looking for a sexy, emotional read
then FOUR is definitely your number.
There’s a sudden shift in the atmosphere as Max and Steve
move their attention toward something behind me. Not something. Someone. I turn
and stare, my mouth opening and my chin in danger of hitting the floor. The man
approaching has long dark-brown hair that falls in waves, reaching to the top
of his shoulders. Symmetrical features: an oval-shaped face, topaz-colored eyes
(accentuated with eyeliner), and perfectly proportioned bow-shaped lips. He’s
wearing shorts that barely cover his pert ass, and his shapely legs are shaved
and tanned. James isn’t much taller than me, I guess, and I’m only five foot
four. My gaze lingers over the tattoos on his bare arms, the same tats as
Steve’s. Shit!
“Good evening,” James’ voice is surprisingly deep for such a
compact man, and he speaks with a plummy English accent. “I apologize for
keeping you waiting.” It’s like he’s some kind of celebrity making an entrance.
Steve envelops James in a bear-hug. “Let me introduce you to
Max and Lauren.”
“Haven’t we met before?” James says to Max. “At Club
Complicit, wasn’t it?”
Max laughs. “I’m surprised you remember.”
James’ eyes rove up and down Max’s divine body. “I would
never forget a hottie like you.” And he winks, the nerve of the guy!
I clear my throat, and James decides to notice me. “So this
is little Miss America, is it? Delightful.”
A blush blooms up my neck. “Pleased to meet you, James,” I
lie. “Welcome to Tivoli. I hope you’ll love it here as much as I do.”
“I’m sure I will, darling.” Dahling indeed! James sure is
over-the-top theatrical, and I bet there isn’t a sincere bone in his body.
“So, what can I offer you? Prosecco, perhaps?” Max lifts the
bottle from the wine cooler. “This is Cartizze from Valdobbiadene.” He pours
James a glass. “It’s a match for any champagne you’ll come across. Try it and
tell me what you think.”
“We have champers too,” Steve interjects, “but this fizz is
fantastic.”
James lifts the flute to his lips and takes a sip. “Mmm.
You’re absolutely right. By far the best prosecco I’ve tasted.” And he smiles,
a smile that lifts the corners of his mouth but doesn’t engage his eyes; it’s
like he’s had a Botox injection.
“So, my dear,” James gives my dress a disapproving look. “I
was hoping you’d know the best shops for Italian fashion.”
S.
C. Daiko, aka Siobhan Daiko, lives with her husband and two cats in
northern Italy, in a converted artist’s studio with gorgeous views
across the Venetian plain. Originally from the UK, where she was a
languages teacher, Siobhan occasionally leaves her writing cave when
she has visitors, and likes nothing better than plying them with
prosecco
and introducing them to the dolce
vita.
An avid reader of all genres of romance, she loves writing about
strong heroines who know what they want and aren’t afraid to go for
it, and hot alpha males with loving hearts.
She loves to be stalked, and you can find her on
and Goodreads
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