“If you ever get a book published, I’m gonna buy myself a Harley.”

Yes, you read that right. With the kind of twisted masculine logic women struggle to understand, the Hubs decided to reward my achievement by buying himself a present. In his mind, if he is happy, he can make other people happy, and what can make anyone happier than the classic tribute to steel and chrome. Little did I know I would find inspiration in his passion, and a fondness for the heavy vibrations of the Harley Road King Classic.

Unfortunately publishing success meant that the Hubs acquired not one but two Harley Davidson motorcycles within a short period of time. They now have pride of place in the garage, meaning cars, bicycles, wives and children must be rearranged to accommodate not just the Harleys but the “buffer zone” that ensures the Harleys may be seen but not touched.

Of course, it wasn’t enough to just buy the Harleys. Oh no. He needed the leathers, and the helmet, then the gloves and boots. Rain gear, winter gear, heated gear, bags and luggage, keychains, eyewear and chaps. And don’t get me started on the accessories: racks, bars, pegs, race tuners, headers, slip-ons, stage one mods. It never ends.

We visited a dizzying array of bike stores and as a reward for my patience, the Hubs offered to buy my choice of biker T-shirts for my pillion rides: “Daddy Rides a Hog, “Biker Bitch”, “This Bitch Doesn’t Fall Off”, “All Bitch. No Pleasure”, and my personal favorite, “Biker Bitches do it Best”.

Of course he couldn’t ride alone. So I did what all biker bitches do. I put on my “Best” T-shirt and climbed on for a ride. And then another. And another. And another. There is something to be said for having over 800 pounds of vibrating metal between one’s thighs while plastered to the back of a leather-clad weekend warrior. Already the seeds of an erotic romance had been planted in my dirty l’il mind.

But it wasn’t until we drove several hours out of town to a well-known biker bar that Barely Undercover came to fruition. We sat in a corner, drinking our iced teas, watching the “real” bikers come and go. I was entranced by their confidence, the creak of worn leathers, the tight bonds they had with their “brothers” and their total disregard for any biker wannabees who tried to take up the stools. Oh…and did I mention the chaps?

Desperate to get to the heart of biker culture, I discovered that the best way to meet bikers is to join the mutual bike appreciation society. This involves studying another biker’s bike, nodding many times, and then asking questions like: What polish did you use on your chrome? Stage one mods? Who did the artwork on the fender? In return, the biker will “appreciate” your bike which gives a quick-witted author the opportunity to ask a few choice questions about biker life, from work to relationships, accommodations to…er…grey zone activities.

Now that it’s winter, the bikes have been polished until they shine, parked and covered and I’m hard at work on my next biker romance. The Hubs has been banned from purchasing additional Harleys, gear or accessories, except for passenger pegs for my feet and a nice pillion backrest for those moments when I just can’t take any more vibrating and need to sit back and enjoy the ride. Oh…and he bought me a new T-shirt: “Biker Writers write it Best.”

About Barely Undercover

With passion at full throttle, there’s no turning back.

When private investigator Lana Parker follows a dangerous biker into an underground sex club, James Hunter is the last man she expects to see. But there he is, all dark looks and chiseled charms, ready to break her heart all over again.

Danger is the name of the game for an undercover cop. And the last thing James wants is for the fiery beauty to come anywhere near the notorious biker gang he’s trying to take down. Yet Lana has no intention of giving up her case, which means he’ll have to keep her close to keep her safe. A risky proposition—especially when their blazing sexual chemistry reignites an unforgettable passion.

But when a dark terror emerges from the past, Lana goes on the run…and James gives up everything to save her. Backed into a corner, Lana must face her fears, including the one thing that frightens her most…her overwhelming feelings for the man whose searing glance sparks her most hidden desires, the man she should not trust, but cannot resist.

Warning: The book contains violence, explicit sex, light BDSM, heavy swearing, motorcycle sexytimes, bad-ass biker naughtytimes, and an exceptionally hot hero who will get down and dirty anywhere but under the covers.

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About Sarah Castille

Recovering lawyer, karate practitioner, and caffeine addict, Sarah Castille worked and traveled abroad before trading her briefcase and stilettos for a handful of magic beans and a home near the Canadian Rockies. Her steamy, contemporary romantic tales feature blazingly hot alpha heroes and the women who tame them.