Archive for 2011
October 28, 2011
TIME TO HOWL
about NATHAN’S ANGEL. This is a new release for uber creative Melisssa Bradley available at Amber Quill Press – Amber Heat. If you’re reading pleasure includes Gay, Dark Fantasy, Werewolf, or Shapeshifter, then you’re going to love this compelling story.
ISBN 13: 978-1-61124-191-4
Sometimes, the laws of Heaven were meant to be broken…
When his soul mate is stolen from Paradise and reincarnated, Ramiel, angel of death and transformation, defies Celestial Law to find out why. As punishment for his crime, he is banished to Earth in human form without his powers. His only hope lies in recovering the grace he lost in his fall from the Divine Realm…
Nathan, a beta werewolf, knows all too well what it’s like to be vulnerable and at the mercy of unfair people and situations. He is considered weak in the eyes of the alphas of his pack. Ramiel literally falling into his life changes him. Determined to help the sexy angel, he takes charge of the situation and to his surprise, begins to exhibit some rather alpha behavior…
As they search, a white hot, forbidden fire ignites between them, an inferno that sets them ablaze, fusing them body and mind. A passion that makes them question everything they’ve ever known. But when Ramiel’s grace is found, will they have the strength to let each other go?
The angel stiffened and bowed his head. “I do not know what overcame me. I am weakened and in a form I have not taken in millennia. I have no control, I…” He trailed off, exhaling sharply.
Nathan tugged at Ramiel until the angel turned to face him. “No matter what you are, you’re human now and close quarters plus attraction equals lust, desire, whatever you want to call it. Trust me. I’m half human and half animal, if anyone can understand, it’s me. ‘Your reaction was quite understandable.’” A half smile quirked the side of Ramiel’s mouth as Nathan repeated the angel’s own words back to him. Apparently not all humor was lost on the angel, then.
He stared at Nathan through the gold silk of his bangs and Nathan’s chest went tight. Without thought, he reached up to palm Ramiel’s cheeks. The lost look in his eyes hit Nathan deep and he was overwhelmed with the desire to kiss him, to ease the loneliness Ramiel must surely be feeling, exiled from his own kind. He raised up, tilting his head…
Ramiel’s mouth crashed onto his, a hungry, elemental force that caught him by surprise. Pent-up need emanated from Ramiel and Nathan speared his fingers through Ramiel’s hair, dragging the angel deeper into the kiss, letting him know it was all right, that he could take whatever Ramiel had to give.
With a low growl, Ramiel hauled Nathan tight against his big body, his hands grabbing Nathan’s ass. Ramiel’s tongue licked along Nathan’s lips, then plunged deep inside, stroking and twining with Nathan’s.
Ramiel’s taste was a wild kaleidoscope of flavor. Spicy and sweet with a hint of the meaty burger he had just eaten. It teased at the back of Nathan’s mind, a long forgotten treasure rediscovered. Pleasure overrode any more coherent thought like a tsunami and Nathan was swept up in its wake, drowning in sensation. His erection pulsed behind his zipper, a primitive, throbbing heat that tightened his balls.
Nathan wanted nothing more than to be skin to skin with Ramiel, exploring every plane and hollow of him. He needed to be closer, with no barrier between them.
Ramiel groaned, stumbled and the two of them nearly toppled over. Nathan clutched him, balanced on his feet and averted disaster. He locked eyes with Ramiel, their breath coming in rough gasps, and noted the pallor of the angel’s skin beneath the sex flush.
“Come on. I think we need to get you into bed for some serious rest.”
Ramiel stroked a finger along Nathan’s jaw, with a banked fire in the silvery depths of his eyes. Nathan regretted saying a thing.
“I have no desire to sleep. I prefer very much to continue what has begun.”
Learn more about talented Melissa Bradley and her other exciting novels on Melissa’s Imaginarium.
I’ll be back next week. Until then…
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell
October 21, 2011
DO YOU HEAR THE VOICES?
Today we have the awesome award winning author Beth Anderson with us promoting her latest book RAVEN TALKS BACK, the first in the new Raven Morressey series and a dynamite read.
Beth is a dear friend and multi-published in several genres, including romance and mainstream crime fiction. A full time author, she lives in a Chicago, Illinois suburb. Beth has appeared on Chicago’s WGN Morning Show, The ABC Evening News, as well as numerous other radio and cable television shows. She has guest lectured at Purdue University and many libraries and writers’ conferences. She loves music, particularly jazz.
RAVEN TALKS BACK has received outstanding reviews. Here’s one of many:
Five Stars! “Can’t wait for the next in the series of Raven Morressey’s mysteries. Three murders in one little Alaskan village, a family torn apart as bodies are discovered, an 8-year-old fun-loving boy unable to speak from the shock of seeing the first body, a cop mystified by dead bodies turning up, and town people so defensive, keeps this book quite exciting. There are many twists and turns as you wonder who is really guilty. I’ve read several of this author’s books but this one outdoes them all and I highly recommend it to anyone looking for a good mystery” -Bingo0605
RAVEN TALKS BACK
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Raven Morressey lives the good life. Nice home, husband, three healthy children, and it’s finally summertime, when life is again lovely in Valdez, Alaska. All this explodes one morning when builders, digging up her back yard, uncover a recently murdered headless, handless female body covered with scarification—hundreds of colored designs cut into the skin to resemble tattoos. As if this isn’t enough, where the corpse’s head should have been is a large rock with a face painted on that resembles an Alaska Native mask.
Raven’s eight year old son, Timmy, is the first one to see the body and is suddenly unable to walk or respond in any way. On that same day, Raven hears the voice of her long dead Athabascan father coming from Timmy, who is unaware of the ancient hunting chants he sings in his sleep and the words he suddenly speaks in Raven’s native tongue—a language he does not know.
Jack O’Banion, Valdez’s Chief of Police for the past few years, faced with his first murder case in his city, begins his official investigation. Everywhere he goes he finds nothing but deception. The town seems to have closed into itself and nobody will tell him anything that might help him solve this case. Then one murder quickly morphs into two, then three, and the Alaska State Troopers are hot on his back to find the killer now.
Between Raven’s voices and the visions she develops, and Jack, whose career as well as his contented life in Valdez are on the line, they know they have to find the killer and restore some sanity to the town—not to mention their own lives, which are quickly unraveling out of control.
The thought had never entered my mind that I might find myself standing in my back yard shuddering with nausea and disbelief, staring down at a nude female body with no head or hands, and equally horrifying, a painted rock close to where her head would have been. The only other thing missing was blood.
Mark Taylor’s men had graded and leveled our yard the previous week, ready to set the foundation for the attached greenhouse my husband, Red, had been promising for years. Alaska winter days are so short and dark that nothing grows without a heated greenhouse and ultraviolet light. Of all the things I longed for in the wintertime, I missed fresh flowers most.
As was often the case in Valdez, things got done whenever they got done no matter which day it was. I hadn’t known they were coming on Saturday. Mark and his men had simply pulled into the driveway and started working.
My eight-year-old son Timmy stood under the tall pine in the northeast corner of the yard with his thumb in his mouth. I froze when I turned and saw him because he hadn’t done that for three years, ever since he’d started school. I hurried over to him, pulling him close. He shivered when my fingers brushed over his arm and his skin felt cold, although it was quite warm that morning and the fog was already beginning to dissipate over the Sound.
“Timmy, are you hurt?” I forced my voice to stay calm because his black eyes were ringed with white and his lips were a bluish tint.
He pointed toward Jack O’Banion, our chief of police, without making a sound. I frowned, puzzled by his silence. Timmy had never had a problem speaking; he’d been talking nonstop since he was eleven months old. Now he just shook his head and looked back down at the ground.
Alice, my daughter, was still at the door, where we’d brushed past her in our rush to get outside after she’d awakened us from a sound sleep a few minutes before. I beckoned for her to come.
A surrealistic film seemed to float over the yard as she headed my way. Although she was only twelve, she was constantly swiping her long black hair away from her eyes the way girls did on TV, and lately she had taken to walking in slow motion, her hips moving in a deliberate way that made me nervous. Her voice, shrill with fear before, was now flat and emotionless. “I don’t think he can talk. He saw it first.”
I glanced down at Timmy again. One of the straps on his overalls had come unbuttoned. His black hair hung down over his eyebrows, reminding me as it always did of my father and his father before him when they returned, sweaty and exhausted, from their caribou hunting trips.
His feet were bare, as usual. They were never cold until after termination dust, first snow, appeared on the surrounding mountains early in September, when the temperature would dip below twenty degrees at night. Other than that he went barefoot everywhere, but today his feet were blue and mottled. I tried to pick him up to carry him into the house where I could warm him, but he seemed to have gained twenty pounds overnight. I could not lift him and he could not move.
“Red,” I called, “I need help here. Come carry Timmy into the house for me, will you?”
Red turned to face me. “Why can’t he walk?”
“I think he’s in shock, Red. He’s ice-cold.”
At that, Jack strode over to us and knelt, lifting Timmy’s chin with his finger. “You okay, son?”
I’d never before heard such a compassionate tone of voice coming from Jack. I’d always thought him distant and unreadable, but this time even the look in his eyes had softened somewhat, a real departure from his usual all-business behavior, and for the first time I found myself drawn to him, whereas before there had been nothing to like or not like.
Timmy turned away from him, still silent.
Jack felt Timmy’s forehead then glanced up at me. “He feels clammy. You’re probably right, I’m pretty sure he’s in shock. Mark told me he was watching while they were loosening up the dirt a little more and he saw it first.”
My heart almost stopped. “What did he do?”
“They told me he ran over to the tree where you found him and hid his eyes with his hands. He hasn’t made a sound. Let’s get him inside so you can call Doc Martin. Tell him I said to get on over here, he can check Timmy first and then I’ll need him out here.”
Timmy shuddered. Jack picked him up without effort and slung him over his shoulder. What a picture they made, Jack in his silver-tipped snakeskin boots and cowboy hat, long legs striding across the lawn toward the house, worn leather holster moving as he walked, and my sad, silent little boy lying limp on Jack’s shoulder with his eyes closed.
I followed them into the house but found myself glancing up into the nearby mountains as if someone were crouched, hidden from sight with binoculars trained on us, watching our every move.
Someone had to be watching. I could feel the certainty of it snaking along under my skin. Otherwise, why had the body been left in our yard?
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Learn more about Beth Anderson and her alter ego Hotclue on her website and blog. Beth also has all her lectures posted for those of you interested in writing.
Have a great weekend. See you next week. Until then…
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell
October 18, 2011
Life is Good
I am very happy to tell you all that yesterday’s mail brought me a most welcomed gift. Aspen Mountain Press owner Sandra Hicks has returned all rights to my ten books once published with them and for this I am grateful.
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell
October 16, 2011
Into Every Life a Little Rain Must Fall
But this has turned into a tsunami. I’m talking about Aspen Mountain Press and its problems. As most of you know, AMP has struggled for a long time. Their difficulties include no royalties paid, no statements, website taken down for questionable reasons and the evacuation of key personnel.
My last royalty came in April of this year and no statements since the fall of 2010. There are many other contractual breaches suffered by most of the AMP authors. If you check their websites and blogs, you’ll learn all about their grievances. Mine specifically are books being sold by AMP that are out of contract which equates to pirating. I cannot abide such a practice. Writing is not a hobby for me, I rely on my royalties to pay my bills.
I have ten books with AMP. I reclaimed my rights on them all October 8, 2011, but have yet to receive the official letter or email from the AMP owner Sandra Hicks. And it doesn’t look like it will come any time soon. Before I sent my email to Sandra, I removed all the AMP books from my website and contacted all third party vendors to remove those same books from their sites as they were being sold illegally. All but Fictionwise and Mobipockets were happy to comply.
Today Sandra Hicks posted on the AMP authors loop that we should check the site and if our books were removed we would receive the much needed rights reversal letter. I checked and found no one can buy my books, but the covers are still posted. This means I am still in limbo with ten books that took a great deal of energy to write, perfect and promote and unable to move forward with a professional publisher.
Thank you for reading my little story.
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell
April 22, 2011
Born in England, Margaret West moved to the Kent countryside five years ago to get away from the busy life in London. She’s married with two grown children and has worked in various fields. She is a Clair-knowing medium, Crystal Therapist, Parapsychologist and Psychic development tutor.
Margaret has been writing for over 20 years and has numerous short stories, novels and articles published. She writes romance and paranormal novels, incorporating her spiritual experiences, into her books.
Below is a sample from her latest release.
ISBN 978-1-61572-282-2 E-Book
ISBN: 978-1-61572-283-9 Print
Patricia is a mother who refuses to stay out of her daughter’s life even when she dies. Sally can hear her mother, but she can’t see her spirit. At first she welcomes her return, but as the month’s progress she starts to feel increasingly peeved by her mother’s constant interference in her life. When she tells a few white lies on a dating application form, Patricia sets out to prove that lies are not a foundation for a healthy relationship.
Patricia sabotages a relationship between Sally and Emilio to prove her point, not realising her interference has caused a catastrophic chain reaction in the spirit world. The children allocated to Emilio and Sally can no longer be born. It is now down to the spirit of Emilio’s grandmother to put things right. But has Patricia caused too much damage for her to mend?
Sally opened her eyes and sat up. She wished for the courage to say, come in and scrub my back, darling. Although her thoughts were filled with erotic images, her life was more ordered and mundane. She got out and dried herself off, combing her fingers through her curls, knowing they would erupt on her head in a mad tangle of tiny springs as they dried. With her underwear washed and drying on a radiator, Sally wrapped a towel tightly around herself. Conscious of her nakedness, she left the bathroom. She saw Emilio seated on a biscuit-colored sofa, looking freshly showered and dressed in a clean, white shirt and blue trousers.
You are a sexy goddess, she told herself as she walked toward him.
She sashayed closer and an effervescent pleasure washed over her as Emilio’s eyes widened. She dipped her eyes and flicked her lashes, which she hoped looked provocative. Sally met his smile with a slow one of her own.
“I’ve ordered breakfast. I hope you don’t mind. I chose a selection. We can eat while we wait for your clothes to come back from the laundry. In the meantime, you might be more comfortable in this.” He handed her a heavy, blue, shapeless bathrobe.
Disappointment pushed the smile from her face. Her attempt at seduction failed miserably. She might as well wear a dust sheet. Embarrassed, she snatched it from his hand and stalked to the bathroom.
Learn more about Margaret West and her thrilling books on her website and blog.
Have a great weekend and a Happy Easter. I’ll be back Tuesday with a new teaser. Until then…
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell
April 20, 2011
KC Kendriks has created another sizzler in her outstanding Southern Cross series. TAMING TRITON, book two, is a strong compelling story and written with heart.
Southern Cross series Book Two
Amber Quill Press – Amber Allure
Austin Michaels accepts his brother’s standing invitation for a Caribbean vacation at his island resort. Some time in the sun is just what he needs to map out a plan for his future. He gets lucky and meets a handsome teacher willing to have a little vacation fling with, as long as they can keep things fun.
Steve Guthrie’s secret longings have haunted him all his life. It’s time to face his questions and find the truth of who he really is beyond a staid college professor. His love of the sea prompts him to take a vacation at a Caribbean hide-a-way for relaxation and reflection. A sexy stranger with a tattoo tempts Steve to abandon his plans, enticing him to share a vacation romp.
Now Steve’s the student in a high stakes class of one, and to pass the course, he has to tame his very own Triton.
“You’re early. I need to get a shower.”
Austin’s grin widened. “I’ll come wash your back, Steve.”
I put my hands on my hips and stared him down. “You’ll go get something to open that bottle later. It won’t take me long to get rinsed off.”
He set the bottle on the table, opened a drawer, and held up a corkscrew. “They think of everything at the Southern Cross.”
“I’ve known you six hours, and you’re not climbing in the shower with me, Austin.”
His gaze locked with me, gluing my feet to the floor as he stepped in front of me. “Me thinketh the lad protesteth overmuch.”
My heart stuttered, then beat faster. I wondered if he could hear it. “I’m not protesting. I’m taking a shower.”
His right hand reached out, coming to rest on my shoulder, briefly, before his fingers slid into my hair. The breeze coming through the open window cooled my heated face and brought the light scent of his aftershave to me. No musk for Austin, the fragrance was clean and icy crisp, like snow.
My knees started to shake as he leaned closer to me. His eyelids fluttered closed as his warm breath caressed my cheek. A drumbeat pounded in my ears, deafening me, as his mouth touched mine.
I wrapped my arms around him and held on tight.
There was a soft knock on the door. I didn’t need a rocket scientist to tell me who it was.
What did I want from him? An explanation? Or did I want to tell him to go have a nice life? I opened the door and took in his worried face. Austin stared at me, and his expression shifted to wariness.
“Steve, what’s wrong?”
Men lie to men all the time. Well, not me. I wasn’t sliding into that gutter. Ever.
“I saw you being very cozy with Colby Denton’s boyfriend.”
He flinched at the accusation, at my sharp voice, but his hand snaked out and grabbed my wrist.
“It’s not what you think. Let me come in…”
“Men lie to men–isn’t that what you said? Should I let you in so you can lie to me?”
“Babe, you should let me in so the neighbors on their terrace don’t get a good laugh, or call the front desk and complain.”
I hesitated a half-second too long, and Austin pushed past me into my suite. “Call Colby and tell him what you saw. Go ahead. Let him tell you didn’t see Theron and me sneaking around.”
Austin jumped as I slammed the door shut behind him. I rounded on him. “I fucking saw what I saw, Austin!”
“Yeah? You saw my brother give me a kiss. Is that really a big deal to you?”
The hot rage of his betrayal died in my belly, cooling as if it had never even existed. His brother? He’d mentioned a brother. My knees threatened to give out on me and I plopped down on a dinette chair. Austin took the seat next to mine and held out his hands, palms up.
“Steve, I’m sorry. I’d have gotten around to explaining how I know Theron and Colby tonight. I didn’t think…I mean I didn’t see any reason to tell you my total life story right away. There’s a lot we don’t know about each, and most of it won’t make any difference while we’re having vacation fun.”
I wanted to believe him, I really did. “So tell me about your brother now, and don’t leave anything out.”
That wary look he had teased at his features, a clear indication he had something to hide. If this Theron were his brother, there shouldn’t be any problem, but the trapped look on his face said more than words ever could. Anger licked at my guts again.
“Lie to me, Austin.”
He shook his head. “No. I won’t. Theron is my foster-brother. Let’s walk over to the main building and you can ask him to verify it. Just don’t cross-examine him because you don’t have the right, and his nerves can’t take it.” Austin reached out and took my hand. I yanked away.
Damn him. “Let’s just go our separate ways, Austin. I can’t trust you.”
Very slowly, he reached for my hand again, wrapping his fingers around mine. This time, something in the earnest way he looked at me, his posture, kept me from pulling back. He took a deep breath.
“I don’t remember my mother. She’s just a name on my birth certificate. I was put into the child welfare system early. So was Theron. We ended up with the same foster family, one that understood gay teens.”
“That’s the real short version, isn’t it?”
To his credit, he didn’t deny it, merely nodded. I had a choice to make. Accept his explanation, or ask him to leave. I knew I didn’t have the right to know every detail of his life story based on our short acquaintance, sex or no sex. The other side of the coin–I’d not told him anything about my life, either. I looked down at our hands. His grip tightened for an instant.
“Okay. So I’m an ass to jump to conclusions and have a little fit.”
Austin’s other hand gripped my knee. “No, you’re not. Theron and I are pretty close. The first time I came for a visit, I thought Colby’s head was going to explode when he caught us…You don’t wanna know yet.”
“The hell I don’t! You’d better spit it out now, Austin.”
“We, um, got a little drunked up. Colby came up to my suite and found us flopped on the bed together, giggling like fools, talking about old times.” Austin flashed me a sheepish look. “Babe, he was not pleased.”
A thought formed, growing stronger as a flush stained his cheeks. I closed my eyes, then opened them slowly. “Jeez, Austin, you and Theron were each other’s first, weren’t you?”
He didn’t attempt to deny it. It wouldn’t have worked on me if he had.
“Steve, it was a long time ago. We were two lonely teenagers with the same big secret-we were queers. Somehow the universe gave us to each other to take care of and made us brothers. He and Colby are all the family I have.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “I get it, Austin. I really do. I’m sor…”
His fingers pressed to my lips. “Don’t say it. Not for this. You don’t know me, so you’re right to question me.”
“For what it’s worth, I just learned a lesson about jumping to conclusions. Never too old, right?”
He leaned forward and kissed me, a tender pressing of his lips to mine. I kissed him back, more relieved than I should be.
This was a vacation thing. I needed to keep it that way.
Learn more about the awesome books by KC Kendricks on her website and blog. Follow KC on Twitter and check out her MySpace page. Be sure to join KC’s mailing list for the lastest details on her new releases and appearances.
I’ll be back Friday with a new release from Margaret West. Until then…
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell
April 15, 2011
Jenna Howard is here today with her electrifying new release SCORING LACEY, the consummate cougar novel.
For those of you who aren’t familiar with this awesome author, here’s a little on how her career began.
In sixth grade Jenn had to keep a journal as a class project. One assignment was “What do I want to be when I grow up.” Young Jenna carefully printed out, with her tongue sticking out between her teeth (no doubt) that she “wanted to be a writer.” Those words would guide her towards writing teen angst stories in high school to erotic romance, a genre her mother is soooo comfortable with. She currently resides in Calgary, Alberta, Canada.
Liquid Silver Books
Lacey Magerin never expected her husband of twenty years to leave her for a twenty-two year old. She never expected her fifteen-year-old daughter to blame her for the divorce. Lacey also never expected Shayne Donnelly. The NHL goalie is her brother’s best friend and is ten years younger than her. Neither of them know the rules in this new game but that’s not stopping either of them from playing or finding love in the least likely place – on home ice.
The olive green shirt made his eyes greener as it hugged all the muscley goodness that was Shayne. He took a chip loaded with cheese and peppers. Planting his elbow on the table, he offered the bite to her. “I’m not hungry.”
“Don’t want you passing out on me again when my hand goes down your jeans. Eat.”
She dipped the chip into the small bowl of salsa and studied Shayne. “Think that’s where it’s going, hm?”
Instead of answering, he leaned back in his seat, his eyes smirking his answer that that’s exactly where his hand was going to be later. She wondered what had brought him here. “What brings you to the Box?”
He took another sip then found the right chip he wanted. A thin strand of cheese stretched to the plate before he broke it with a swipe of his finger. He scooped a large amount of salsa and guacamole onto the chip then ate the entire thing. He sipped his soda and set his foot on the edge of her seat by her hip. “You.”
“Followed or summoned?”
His eyebrow went up in answer. Summoned. “What did my baby brother say to have you don your superhero cape?”
“That you were a pitiful mess who was into her cups and cheese.” Shayne pressed his foot against her hip and she toyed with the small cuff of his jeans. “Are you a pitiful mess?”
“Yeah,” she sighed, feeling a little morose.
“Wanna go hit a few pucks?” He nodded his head at the door. “Come on.” He grabbed his glass as he stood up, waiting for her to move her self-pitying ass.
With a sigh, she took her glass and followed him out into the night. Two people sat on the bench against the wall as they smoked. A goalie net that had seen better days was against one wall. A couple of hockey sticks were in an umbrella stand along with a bucket of tennis balls. There was even a goalie glove that had seen better days. “Hey,” Shayne said, greeting the smokers, then set his drink down.
His foot tapped the bucket, spilling balls over the concrete pad. He tossed a hockey stick at her and she stepped back so it didn’t smack her in the face. The sound of the wood clattering filled the space and she went to set her glass beside Shayne’s. When she turned, he had the glove on and was smacking the sides of the goal in a head nod to the hockey gods. “Okay, Magerin, bring it.”
She picked up the stick, using the blade to draw a ball towards her. The odds of her scoring on Shayne were as high as Carmen giving her hug right now. Her shot was pathetic and the ball rolled sadly to him.
He stood up straight and his sigh was loud as he kicked the ball back at her. “Jesus, you’re a Magerin. Hit the damn ball–don’t nudge it.” Once again he crouched down, his body relaxed in the pose.
That was annoying. Lacey hunched down like him and looked him in the eye. “And the puck is dropped. It’s Magerin versus Payne. Magerin grabs the puck and it’s a break away.” Shayne snorted as he grinned. “She goes left dodging Payne. Right. Left. Now it’s two on the ice. Can she do it? Can she score on the great Donnelly?”
She grabbed the front of her shirt, flashed him her lacy bra then shot. “And she does it! Ladies and gentlemen, Magerin has scored on Donnelly. The crowd here is insane.” She lifted a hand to her mouth and imitated a crowd roaring as Shayne looked behind him at the green tennis ball resting against the netting then at her. Even the smokers were cheering. Though she assumed it was for her bra and not her hockey prowess.
“I can’t believe you…” he tossed aside his stick and began to stalk her. “You flashed me!”
She was laughing by the time he grabbed her by the waist and dragged her out of the small zone.
“Way to go, baby!” One of the smokers shouted.
She heard the other one. “Can they play again?”
Shayne pushed her against the side of the building, the bright lights spilling right past them at the patio. “I can’t believe you flashed me.” His hands settled on her hips as he crowded her against the wall. “Let’s see that bra again.”
His mouth was on hers before she could grab the bottom of her shirt. He tasted of all things sinfully delicious in the dark.
Learn more about talented Jenna Howard on website and blog.
Have a great weekend. I’ll be back Tuesday with a new teaser. Until then…
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell
April 13, 2011
from Summerhouse Publishing? Two excellent paranormal romance books with sensual loves scenes and graphic language.
Ella Vines creates strong characters and a world you won’t want to leave in her historical HER DARK FAIRY.
Multi-published Mina Carter lives up to her reputation for writing “hot erotic romances with heroes to die for and heroines that can kick your ass with words alone” in her contemporary THRILL OF THE NIGHT.
Read on for a short tease on these two fiery stories.
HER DARK FAIRY
In October of 1858, a walk through the Mississippi woods behind her home changes Lucia Marks’ life forever. When she twists her ankle and blacks out, a gorgeous winged creature comes to her rescue, an alluring being of legend that haunts her days and nights. But what does he want from her, and who is he? More importantly, will he be part of her future?
He moved closer and her heart thudded. “I have been alone so long that I don’t remember family or friends. I have disguised myself and moved amongst you all virtually unseen for years. I never had a reason to show myself until I saw you.”
Lucia lurched back a step. He stood too close. She smelled the mingling of cinnamon and honey on his skin she had come to associate with him. If she reached out her hand, she could touch him.
“I don’t think I can—” She stopped as he moved closer, putting a finger to her lips.
“Don’t speak. I only want to be near you, to be able to talk with you from time to time. I know you have your life to live, and I have mine. Whatever may be…” His finger parted her lips as he nudged it into her mouth, over her teeth.
Heat seared through her, and she moaned without thinking. No man had ever touched her this way before.
“Please, come with me to my cottage for just a while. The sun hasn’t yet set.” His pale eyes glimmered, and she felt her body respond to his request.
“I suppose so—just to talk. But I can only stay for a little while.” She talked to herself as much as to him, remembering the story Hettie had told her. Had Berrigan told her the truth about his origins, or had he been in the forest for longer than he claimed?
THRILL OF THE NIGHT
Part time diner waitress and hotel manager, Gwen’s days are filled with serving locals and making sure the sleepy back-road motel doesn’t have a crisis of epic proportions…like running out of clean towels. She’s a woman with a routine, a cleaning roster and that’s the way she likes it.
But Gwen is a woman with a past. A past which involves guns, knives and a whole lot of weird shit like vampires and werewolves. A past she gave up three years ago for the mediocrity of normal life.
She’s not sure she’s ready to go back to it but then a mysterious customer turns up in her diner. Hot and sexy as all hell, he sparks all kinds of erotic fantasies in Gwen’s sex-starved brain.
When she finds him bleeding from a were’s claws, can Gwen walk away? Or will she give into her carnal urges and risk being pulled back into her old life?
“Got a name, handsome?” I asked as I snapped gloves on. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t give a shit about AIDs, I’ll probably be dead long before anything like that puts me six feet under, but were infection? Not even going to risk it.
He sucked a breath in and glared at me as I irrigated the wound with swift, efficient movements.
“Oh, behave. Anyone would think a werewolf just tried to kill you.”
My voice was amused as I set about gluing the gashes in his skin and setting the butterflies in place. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve dressed wounds like this. Like I said, life on the road was hard. A hunter without scars was either new to the game, or…um, yeah, new to the game.
“Yeah. I’m freaking irresistible, aren’t I?”
He chuckled. It was a rich, low rumble that sent a ripple of awareness down my spine. I dropped my head a little, hiding behind the curtain of my hair. There was no way he was going to be interested, and after a were attack, probably wouldn’t welcome knowing how hot I thought he was. Life was a bitch, and then you died.
Fuck it. What did I have to lose? And, besides, I think we already established I’m not the sort of chick to take the sensible option.
I didn’t look at him as I considered my handiwork. I’ve always been a neat hand with a needle, all that practice stitching up my mother as a kid. I was nine before I realized “needlepoint” mean stitching on fabric.
“I wouldn’t kick you outta bed.”
Be sure to check out Summerhouse Publishing for a great selection of well-written books at reasonable prices.
I’ll be back Friday with a new release from Jenna Howard. Until then…
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell
April 12, 2011
The Naughty Ladies of Nice
Aspen Mountain Press
Straight-laced children’s author, Rachel Conklin, awakens on a deserted island wrapped in the arms of a sexy pirate. Convinced she’s in a dream conjured from the pages of her breakout novel, Rachel casts her inhibitions to the wind. Guilt-free, she seduces the handsome sailor and rides the waves of passion.
Pediatrician Henri Bernier wasn’t quite sure what to do with the sexy mermaid he’d pulled from the sea. Then she started kissing him and sent his libido soaring. Now the good doctor is ready to practice anything.
His mystery woman wiped mist from the cheval mirror. In the cleared glass, Henri caught her image. He stood in the bathroom doorway, frozen, staring at her through their shared reflection. She smiled at his shocked expression, probably enjoying the fact she had him at a disadvantage.
The bath towel dropped from her fingers, exposing her firm breasts. Her large, dark nipples drew him like a siren to the sea and his dick sprang to life. The desires to lave and suckle her flooded over him while his stiff cock demanded he bend her over and fuck her until he came.
Droplets glistened on the ringlets of her long hair, reflected by the late afternoon sun. Several beads gathered, then made a slow descent down her spine. He stood mesmerized by the rivulet, staring as it glided to the sleek curve of her hip, following it lower until it disappeared between her firm cheeks.
With her good hand, she pulled thick strands of wet hair off her back and draped it over a shoulder, exposing her delicate neck. She held his gaze and bent over at the waist, offering him a seductive view of her pink labia. In slow motion, she drew a pair of red panties up her legs, then did a little hip wiggle and tugged them into place.
The shiny panties caressed her rounded ass cheeks midway on her derrière, accenting the creamy bare skin and framing the lower portion. His hands itched to cup her, squeeze the firm muscles, but his arms were frozen at his sides.
The kissable white flesh rounded above legs that went on forever down to trim ankles and slender feet. He imagined those long limbs circling his waist, better yet, wrapped around his neck as he watched his cock slide in and out of her.
“Magnifique.” The word slipped out hoarse as struggled for oxygen.
He walked closer, his movements dreamlike. The honey shampoo aroma filled his lungs when he finally reached her.
“You are beautiful.”
“Merci, Henri.” A smile twitched her lips.
“Your wrist should be in the sling.” He held up the black cloth with his other hand.
“I agree, but there’s time for that later.”
She leaned into him and reached back for his free hand, hanging limp at his side, then laid it across her bare ribcage. Her smooth skin felt warm against his damp palm.
“I intended to hang it on the handle, but the door popped—”
“Henri, isn’t there something else you’d rather do right now than talk?”
His sex-engrossed brain finally registered her words. “Mai oui.”
He laid a soft kiss on her shoulder, nipping his way along the side of her neck until he reached the tender area behind her ear lobe. Her nipples pebbled with his gentle touch, encouraging him to explore more of her.
His fingers played across her abdomen, sending prickles of anticipation up his arm as they climbed higher. He cupped her breast, massaging the firm mound until soft moans slipped past her parted lips. The entire time he watched her reflection in the mirror while his thumb made slow, teasing circles around her areola.
She wrapped her warm fingers over his other hand and guided it across her body. The combination of soft skin and firm muscle was the most erotic sensation of his life.
Dieu, how he wanted to dip into her hot pussy, His cock, with drops of pre-cum seeping through the slit, demaded relief.
With shaking fingers, she guided his other hand lower until she stopped at the elastic band on her wet panties. He grazed the fabric across her mound and stopped, then moved his hand to her thigh and edged toward her nub. She wrapped her fingers around his forearm, encouraging him to travel beneath the thin cloth. Anxious to please, he glided his fingers under the damp fabric and into her wet hairs, searching for her clit. After a moment of teasing, he slid first one finger, then a second into her hot, wet channel and watched her expression turn to ecstasy.
“Come for me, ma petit.”
Her trembling body tensed. She clutched the basin rim, squeezing her thighs tightly around his hand, grinding her hips against him. Shivers coursed through her. Her whimpers turned to a scream of pleasure as she sprayed hot cum onto him. A unique feeling of joy settled in his heart.
He turned her limp frame in his arms, his fingertips skimming across her tender nipples. She melted against him, pressing her breasts into his chest hairs…
I’ll be back tomorrow with Ella Vines. Until then…
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell
April 8, 2011
THE TEMPORAL MAN
To successfully write a time travel or fantasy takes a special mindset. Few authors are so gifted. Lucky for readers, Robert Appleton is a genius in the field. His latest book, THE TEMPORAL MAN, is an awesome example of Rob’s amazing talent.
THE TEMPORAL MAN
Have you ever wondered what it’s like outside of time? For disillusioned young waitress Rebecca Green, those words become startling reality when a mysterious stranger arrives to literally turn her world upside down.
Sam Morrow is on the run. He’s being pursued across time by four dangerous men from his past, including the deadliest swordsman in France. But now that he’s found the girl of his dreams, it might just be time to stand and fight. Rebecca has an idea—to recruit the best swordsman in eighteenth century England—but will aristocratic Percy Torrance dare miss his wedding on Monday for an unprecedented time travel journey?
Pulse-pounding duels, sea battles and a daring mountain rescue punctuate this tale of romance on the edge. From the distant past to the far-flung future, there’s no hiding from fate. Hold on tight to The Temporal Man.
(From Part 2: 1798)
There was a boyishness to his every gesture, a sandbox joie de vivre in the way he handled the sword. As Sam sparred with him, I knew instantly that this was not someone we ought to remove from the natural order of the world. He was much too promising. Life loved him as much as he loved life. Quality informed the tiniest twitch of his blade, and in a smile both perennial and genuine, I saw rarity. Grace. A man the nineteenth century would need. Though he was by far the best swordsman we’d found in England, I didn’t want to recruit twenty-two-year-old Percival Torrance. Not for a fight to the death.
“What do you think?” I whispered to Sam, after Percy won his seventh point in a row.
“He’s bloody marvellous. I’m no hack with a foil, but he’s got the jump on me every time.” Sam wiped his sweaty forehead with a tissue-thin, silk sleeve, enlarging the wet patch he’d already made. “This is hot work.”
“Sam, I don’t want anything bad to happen to him.”
“To him? He’s kicking my time travelling derriere. You should be more worried about me.”
“I mean if we brought him with us…and he got hurt. I’d never forgive myself. He’s too sweet.”
“I know. But what if we give it to him plainly, and let him decide for himself. This was your idea, remember? You said to find the best swordsman in England. Here he is.”
I nodded reluctantly. After all, Percy was my best hope for keeping Sam alive.
It was a humid afternoon, sometime in the month of August, seventeen ninety-eight, in the reign of His Majesty, King George the Third. We had learned of Percy’s swordsmanship by reputation, three of the five best fencing academies in London having sung his praises. The youngest son of a revered Admiral in His Majesty’s Navy, Percy was looking forward to his first posting upon being accepted to the rank of Lieutenant, something he was utterly confident of. “I know every knot and rivet,” he assured us, “and that’s just in the old man’s wooden leg. But seriously, anyone can be a seaman. It’s the thinking on your feet that trips so many up. Lucky for me, I’ve always been pretty agile in that regard, like the old man used to be.”
Stunning deep green covered the thirty-acre garden at the back of the Torrance estate. Cone-shaped, evergreen trees populated the grounds like giant arrowheads pointing to the sky. As Percy parried attack after attack with perfect alacrity, even nonchalance, I went dizzy. A realisation swarmed about me. I knelt to catch my breath. This had all existed over two centuries ago. The pollen, the gust, the evergreens, and young Percy Torrance. All had had their inkling on time’s unfurling scroll. His dreams, realised or failed, were already writ as historical fact. Nothing he could say or do would alter my past, the nineteenth century I knew. It was as if I held the answers to all his questions, the clasps over all his uncertainties, both naturally and unnaturally, for I sensed he would jump at the chance to do something extraordinary. And our being here, drinking his brandy, was nothing if not extraordinary.
After winning ten straight points in a row, he shook Sam’s hand and led us inside the house.
“Now then, Rebecca and Sam, might I ask what prompted your delightful visit? Your letter mentioned something about a singular proposition. I was intrigued. And if it does not involve money, I cannot even imagine what it could mean.”
His face was quite thin, with a small mouth and attractive, hazel eyes. His nose was aquiline, and his chin was finely cleft and very masculine. I couldn’t tell the colour of his hair, as he wore an expensive grey wig, but from his dark eyebrows and the few black hairs showing on his chest through his partially open shirt, I guessed at either black or mousy brown. He had a slim, almost wiry athleticism that gave him tremendous balance. I could picture him climbing up a ship’s rigging in record time, and then fighting a duel on the topgallant.
In other words, he would make an ideal ally in our fight against the Delgados and their Frenchman.
“First, I’d like to say that you’re the best swordsman I’ve ever come across,” Sam answered. He took a sip of brandy and then glanced around the exquisite living room for a few moments, his stare finally resting on the portrait of a lady on the wall above a mahogany sideboard. “Lovely.”
“My Aunt Sylvia. She taught me the piano…before she passed away.”
“You remind me of her, Rebecca,” added the youngster. “You possess a similar incongruity.”
“Oh?” I didn’t like the word when pointed at me. It sounded so…trigonometric.
He grinned. “That was a compliment, madam. I meant to refer to the time we live in.” Someone walked over my grave. He blithely went on, “The eighteen nineties have been so prosaic, don’t you think? One has to go out and find excitement. But you, madam, light up even this stuffy mausoleum. Aunt Sylvia was the same.”
I blushed. Either he didn’t have a clue how charming he was—quite probable, in this era of etiquette—or he just didn’t care that I was in love with Sam. We had announced ourselves as a couple in the letter, but either way, he wielded compliments as skilfully as he did his blade.
“Percy, we’ve come to ask you something…equally incongruous.” Sam cleared his throat.
To learn more about Robert Appleton and his intriguing books, visit his website, or swing by his blog. He’s also on Facebook and Twitter.
Have a spectacular weekend. I’ll be back Tuesday with a new teaser. Until then…
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell