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Deeper Than Perfect cover Deeper Than Perfect

Is your love deeper than perfect?
Genre: time-travel romance/women's fiction
Release Date: 07 November 2015 --  

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Desi Warner is ready to end her life after an accident disfigures her face and destroys her modeling career. Instead, she goes back in time to 1974 to meet her destiny—R&B superstar Bernie Benson. Although her scars vanish, she and Bernie only have one month before a car accident will supposedly claim their lives.

The enigmatic singer ignites her senses, but her restored beauty is an illusion she can’t trust. Abandoned by his mother in childhood, Bernie has his own trust issues. Obsessed with completing his album, he’s just as hooked on his perfect singing career as Desi is to modeling.

Although they open each other’s eyes to different paths, change is not easy. When the fated day of the crash arrives, they must choose between life and perfection. A love that is deeper than perfect may be their only key to survival.

Deeper Than Perfect - Reviews

Deeper Than Perfect - NICE Excerpt
Copyright © Afton Locke, 2015

Sweat broke out across her chest. “I believe I resemble one of his girlfriends a little.”

“More than a little,” he argued. “And Desi wasn’t any old girlfriend. She was the love of his life. His soul mate.”

“Really?” The ground seemed to shift under her feet. She felt more haunted the longer she stayed here. Part of her longed to hear the complete story of Bernie’s love affair and the other part was too terrified to listen.

Calvin wiped his forehead. “They were only together a month, but they were joined tighter than Siamese twins. They even died together. Can’t get more romantic than that.”

She’d read about the deadly car crash—another odd coincidence to add to the mounting list. Hers hadn’t been deadly, but sometimes she wished it had.

“You look as pretty as she did.” He tweaked the edge of her scarf. “You shouldn’t hide your face. No wonder you’re overheated.”

She gripped his fingers, but she was too late. His pleasant features recoiled in the usual horror, which hit her harder than a slap to the face.

“My God.” He clapped his hand over his mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry. I mean—”

She yanked the scarf back into place. “It’s all right.”

He stared at his feet. “W-well, the bus leaves in fifteen minutes.”

Desiree’s eyes stung with tears. She’d been a total idiot to travel here, believing she could escape her nightmare. For some reason, the burden weighed especially heavy in this place, and wearing a scarf in the heat was the least of it.

Most of the tour group had already boarded the bus. She stared at the left corner post of the porch, realizing this was her last opportunity to touch it.

Might as well get it over with.

Would her clothes travel with her through time? What about her purse? Roxanne should have given her an instruction manual. Just in case, she shoved her driver’s license, money, and smart phone into her pockets. They’d probably be useless in Bernie’s era, but because she was so used to having them, they gave her a strange sense of security.

Drawing a shaky breath, she pressed her left hand against the wrought iron, so warm from the sun it almost burned her. Her fingers gravitated toward the openings in the metal.

It was a good thing she held onto something because the green, tropical surroundings spun around her, faster and faster. Bands of nausea tightened, squeezing her forehead and her belly. What was going on?

“Help me,” she whispered, too weak to talk.

Was the metal poisonous? What had that crazy psychic gotten her into? Finally, her hand slipped free of the post and she crumpled to the ground.

“Are you okay, miss?”

She recognized that voice. Desiree rubbed her forehead and rose with the man’s assistance.

“Thanks, C-Calvin.”

Returning to help her was nice of him, but when had he changed into a bright-orange shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest? And why did he appear so young? His hair was all black and his face was wrinkle-free.

She brushed the loose grass off her white shorts and flowered, sleeveless blouse. Her purse must have been flung off during her fall because it was nowhere in sight. Her shorts pockets, however, rustled with everything she’d shoved into them.

Had she passed out for a while after her fall? She’d touched the post in mid-afternoon. Now, it was evening. Funky soul music pulsed through the air. Some kind of party was in progress, but she didn’t recognize anyone from the tour group.

Each guest wore clothes from the seventies. Not to mention the hair. She’d never seen so many Afros except on classic TV shows. Was this a reenactment? If the party was part of the tour, why had everyone headed back to the bus earlier?

“Did Bernie invite you?” Calvin asked her.

How could he when he was dead? “I-I don’t know.”

“If not, I’m sure he’ll want to meet you.” He looked her up and down with an appreciative smile.

Wait a minute. Why didn’t he recoil in horror as he had before?

He pointed to a table under a palm tree. “Help yourself to the punch and refreshments over there.”

Desiree took a huge breath, relieved when the man left. She needed some time alone to figure out the situation. By habit, her left hand drifted to her cheek to smooth her scarf and ensure it lay in place. With so many people around, she wanted to make sure her scars stayed completely hidden.

The scarf was gone! She searched the ground around her but found no trace of it. How could she lose something so important? She slapped her palm over her cheek. Why did her skin feel so smooth?

Needing to see her face, she walked to the refreshment table and stared into the punchbowl. The candles didn’t provide much light, but from what she saw reflected in the ruby-red liquid, those wretched scars were gone.

She was healed! The psychic knew her stuff after all. In the mood to celebrate, she poured herself a cup of punch. Now, she could return home and resuscitate her modeling career.

A male laugh distracted her from her celebratory mood. The sound resonated with the enticing rasp she’d heard in so many songs. In slow motion, she turned her head.

Bernie Benson stood with a group of other men, laughing and joking. Plenty of attractive women buzzed around him, too. Desiree stared in disbelief at the lithe, athletic frame and kissable caramel-colored skin of her dreams. He wore bell bottom jeans, and the matching vest with no shirt showed off the muscular definition in his arms.

Wow! This tour was worth a lot more than she’d paid. Where in the world had they found someone who looked and sounded like the late singer?

“That concert was far out,” one guy told him.

“The ladies sure dug it,” Calvin added. “You were the best ever, brother.”

After some jovial high fives, Bernie’s dark eyes glanced in her direction and locked onto her. She ducked her head, piled some chips on a plate to busy herself, and took a big swallow of the strongly spiked punch.

This was too bizarre. The good-looking man couldn’t be him. Maybe he was one of his relatives. She sensed his approach, and the cells in her body went on full alert. When a firm grip encircled her arm, she couldn’t suppress a gasp.

“You’re crashing my party.”

Turning, she faced the man who’d spoken to her. His hair, a bushy lion’s mane of indistinct spikes, cast exotic shadows on the candlelit table. Heat raced through her, melting everything in its path.

Seeing him so close dissolved all her doubts. He was Bernie. Time slowed to a crawl as she explored the planes of his lean face with her eyes. The tiny scar through his eyebrow.... His expression.... His voice.... Nobody could possibly duplicate all those things.

One of the stories she’d read on the Internet leaped to mind. Bernie had met Desi at a party after one of his concerts in May of 1974. Apparently, he’d jokingly accused her of crashing it. According to rumor, their passionate love affair began that night.

Or tonight? My God. Am I Desi?

“What year is this?” she blurted out.

“It’s 1974.” He eyed her cup of punch with suspicion. “Maybe you should go easy on that. It’s strong.”

So are my emotions. Not to mention my hormones.

“Is it really you, Bernie?” she whispered.

“In the flesh.”

If you want a naughtier excerpt, keep reading...

Deeper Than Perfect - NAUGHTY Excerpt
Copyright © Afton Locke, 2015

He cocked his head toward her hand. “What have you got there?”

The forgotten photo nearly burned her fingers. Why hadn’t she returned it before he walked in?

“Is this your mother?” she blurted out.

Ten more walls went up around his serious face. “Yeah. I thought I’d put that away.”

“Why? Are your parents still living?”

He took the picture from her. Instead of placing it back on the bookshelf, he tossed it into the top desk drawer, which he closed with a resounding click.

“My father is. She died when I was ten.”

“I’m sorry.”

He sat on the desk and crossed his arms. “I should have asked you to wait in the kitchen instead. Have you eaten?”

“Yes. Bernie, you clearly want to be alone. Why didn’t you let me leave earlier?”

The corner of his mouth turned downward. “Because I don’t want you to.”

Desi’s sandals clicked on the hardwood floor as she paced in a tight circle. “What do you want?”

He dropped his arms and stood. “You.”

What? The man made no sense today. Before she could say anything else, he embraced her and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. As usual, the texture of his sculpted mouth hardened her nipples to rigid peaks.

When she gazed into his eyes, they were warmer. So was her belly. Even without his erection pressing against her short scooter skirt, she had no trouble heating up her nylon panties after that kiss.

“I’m so confused, Bernie.” She rested her palms on his shoulders. “Why did you shut me out earlier?”

“Now you know how it feels,” he said quietly.

“What are you talking about?”

He held her closer, staring over her shoulder. “You were someone else at the photo shoot. Somebody I couldn’t have.”

“I was just doing my job,” she protested. “I loved knowing you were there, though.”

“They wouldn’t let me see you.” His hushed voice was especially raspy. “Those assholes turned me away like I was nobody.”

Now his earlier coolness made sense. The fact that he’d wanted to be with her so much filled her chest with melting warmth.

“I’m sorry.” She tweaked his mouth, coaxing a grin out of him. “I guess neither one of us can be ourselves when we’re working.”

“You’re probably right.” His hand perched on her hip and rubbed the curve of it. “You looked so beautiful in that bikini. I wanted to rip it off of you so bad.”


His fingers curled around the hem of her skirt and tugged. “I wish you were wearing it right now.”

“Bernie, I told you I’m not ready for a sexual relationship.”

His hot mouth seared her skin as he kissed and nipped the side of her neck where it met her shoulder. “Then when, Desi? How long do I have to wait?”

Her pelvis throbbed with an insistent pulse. Having his mouth and hands on her, especially after his puzzling coolness, was more than her body could take. If they had less than a month left to live, they might never make love again. Thinking of it filled her veins with ice water.

“Can’t we kiss?” she asked.

He gripped her chin. She gasped when his mouth devoured hers, whipping her head from side to side with the force of it. Despite herself, she found the opening of his soft shirt and skated her hand across hot, caramel-colored flesh. Her fingers tweaked his nipple before she could stop them.

“I need you, Desi,” he whispered with a half-cry.

How could she ignore such a desperate plea? She only had to remember the sight of Cole’s back the night he walked out of her apartment the last time.

But staying here and torturing Bernie with lust wasn’t fair either.

“I-I should go.” Her heart beat so fast with passion, she could hardly talk.

Instead, he lifted the backs of her thighs until they sandwiched his slim waist. Because they were similar in height, it couldn’t be easy for him to carry her that way, but he managed to deposit her on top of the desk.

The length of her canal swelled and filled her with delicious sensations of anticipation. She probably wanted him inside her again even more than he wanted to enter her.

After pressing her legs together, he lifted them by the ankles until they extended in front of her and rose toward her head. She reached behind her to support the straight-legged pose. If she hadn’t practiced yoga and pilates for years, she’d never be able to hold this position.

His tongue glided down the length of one and then the other. Her skin melted under the insistent, wet heat of his mouth. Keeping her legs together instead of spreading them took every shred of her willpower.

“Bernie, you have to stop.”

He slid her buttocks close to the edge of the desk and rubbed his erection against the damp crotch of the shorts built into her skirt. His head dropped back as he bumped her fabric-covered slit with his hardness. Stars prickled behind her eyes as her core swelled even more.

“I respect your decision,” he said, gripping his crotch, “but I need to have you right now. Somehow.”


“Please, Desi. Don’t turn me away like those people did today. Let me have you, some kind of way.”

She bit her bottom lip when he unzipped his jeans and pulled out his erection. His fire-and-rain scent, mixed with sexual musk, tickled her nose and put each nerve cell in her body on alert.

With his eyes squeezed shut, he stroked himself with ferocious intensity. The sight of it accelerated her heart so fast she could hardly breathe.

She caught his fingers with hers—to stop him or rub that delectable cock—she wasn’t sure which. Unable to resist touching him, she stroked the tip, which was covered with a pool of clear fluid.

“Yes, Desi,” he moaned. “Feel me.”

She had to make love to him again but not yet. With her fingertips, she circled his shaft and rubbed. She loved having this mysterious, elusive man in her palm—even if only for the moment.

Bernie meme

Last Updated: 18 April 2017
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