Hello, and thanks so much for having me on today! Degree of Resistance is my first foray into cyborg romance, and I had a huge amount of fun building the world of the Pacific Protectorate and discovering Evie and Ben’s story as it progressed (I have to admit, I love these two so much. That scene in Chapter 12 hurt to write) . There are five more books planned in the series with a possibility of two prequels and some side stories as they occur to me, so I can promise you that you’ll be seeing more of Evie and Ben in the very near future.
About Degree of Resistance
A perfect society hiding a terrible secret. A betrayed man condemned to mindless slavery. A woman determined to set him free.
Freelance tech Evie Contreras belongs to the Employee class of the Pacifica Protectorate, the “perfect society” that rose from the ruins of the West Coast. But Evie knows about Pacifica’s festering core and the secrets that keep it in power. And when she discovers that Pacifica has turned her fiancé Ben into a cyborg soldier/slave, she will risk everything to rescue him.
Saving Ben is the first step in a deadly game between Pacifica and a shadowy resistance group known as Rubicon. In return for Rubicon’s help, Evie must retrieve a hidden artificial intelligence that may hold the key to protecting Earth from a deadly new disaster.
Assuming the protectorate doesn’t find Evie first…
Sci Fi Romance, Cyborg Romance, MF
Word Count: 80,000
Series: Pacifica Rising (Book One)
Published by Belaurient Press
Released February 21, 2017
Excerpt from Degree of Resistance
When Evie had war-gamed the plan with Mr. All Caps back in Redding, he’d warned her that Ben might have assumed the persona of Rene so thoroughly that he wouldn’t consciously recognize her. Worse, if his captors had planted triggers in his subconscious it wasn’t impossible that he might try and fight the extraction team. She had to hope that once she got a chance to talk to him in private he’d respond to her and his core personality would resurface.
What she hadn’t expected was him pressing her up against the hotel room door as soon as it was shut, gazing down at her with a worshipful expression.
“You are one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, señorita,” he murmured, running a finger along the curve of her jaw. “You make me feel things that I’ve never felt before.”
As lines went it was ancient, but it still stoked a warm glow inside her. “Such as?”
“I want to tear your dress off, throw you on the bed, and ravish you over and over again until neither of us can move.” The words were delivered with a gorgeously filthy grin that made her knees go weak. “And at the same time I want to take your clothes off slowly until you’re laid out like a goddess on some heathen altar. I want to start at the top of your head and work my way down, kissing each and every inch of your body as I go, and not stopping until I’m deep inside you and you’re screaming my name.” That lovely, sexy grin intensified. “Does that sound strange to you?”
She sucked in a shuddering breath. “God, no.”
His lips came down on hers, and twelve years fell away. He still tasted the same, still smelled the same, still felt the same. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him and drowning in emotions that had been buried for so long. Love, lust, a greedy happiness that didn’t seem like a sin at all. He was back, and she would never let him go again.
She laughed while they kissed and he pulled away, brow furrowing. “What’s funny?”
It was impossible to explain. “Nothing. I’m just happy,” she reassured him.
Another of those amazing grins. “Oh. Well, in that case—”
She whooped as he scooped her up and carried her to the bed, placing her on the embroidered coverlet like she weighed nothing. “‘Scuse me a moment, but I need to divest myself of a few things,” he said, straightening up and undoing his gun belt. It went on the bedside table, along with his hat, jacket and waistcoat. “You might want to do the same, señorita. At least the gown and the petticoats.”
She glanced at the clock on the dresser. 9:18 PM. “I’d love to, Ben, but I don’t think we have enough time.”
His smile remained, but his gaze turned a shade quizzical. “My name’s Rene, señorita. You forgot that already?”
A flicker of apprehension ran through her. Maybe he thinks the room is bugged? “You can drop the accent,” she said, hoping she was wrong. “There aren’t any bugs here. I already checked.”
The bewilderment in his expression grew. “I didn’t think a roach would dare show its face in a quality establishment like this. And what does my accent have to do with it, anyway?”
Oh, shit. She sat up. “Do … do you know who I am?”
He leaned against the bedpost, arms crossed as he considered her. “Well, you said your name was Eva Contreras. Apart from that, I’m afraid you are unknown to me.”
He was serious. She was just some random woman he’d rescued from a couple of thugs.
Her happiness imploded, turning into a scorching despair that made her want to scream. Those fucking bastards. What did they do to him?
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About the Author
Nicola Cameron is an expatriate Chicagoan who has lived in England, Canada, Holland, and Sweden, and keeps a confusing amalgamation of languages in her head as a result. Currently located in the clavicle of Texas, she has finally mastered the proper use of “y’all,” much to her Chicago family’s dismay.
Despite a healthy interest in sex since puberty, it wasn’t until 2012 that Nicola decided to try writing about it. As it turned out, the skills she picked up during her SF writing career transferred rather nicely to erotic romance. When not writing, she wrangles cats, smooches her husband, makes dolls of dubious and questionable identity, and thanks almighty Cthulhu that she doesn’t have to work for a major telecommunications company any more (because there’s BDSM, and then there’s just plain torture…).