Archive for the 'Author Friend New Releases' Category
April 22, 2013
Embrace Your Steamy Side
Please allow me to introduce you to my good friend Sara Daniel who just happens to be a phenomenal author. Sara’s here today to share her new thigh-clenching book Haley’s Man . The floor is all yours, Sara!
I wrote the original version of Haley’s Man for a super-hot publishing line that subsequently quadrupled their word count requirements. The story developed into such a fun sexy fantasy that I couldn’t bear to keep it hidden on my hard drive. This is the steamiest book I’ve ever written and will never receive my grandmother’s prim-and-proper seal of approval. I’m okay with that. I enjoy writing the occasional erotic fantasy to compliment my less spicy romance novels. If you’re looking for white-hot heat in your reading material and/or in the bedroom, Haley’s Man will deliver.
will be free on Amazon for five days from May 16 through May 20, 2013. Download a copy
and help me spread the word. Please be aware: This is a steamy erotic romance with very explicit love scenes.
by Sara Daniel
Contemporary Erotic Romance Novella
Free May 16, 2013 – May 20, 2013 only from Amazon
When Haley Miller posts on a sexual fantasies forum that she wants to have an orgasm while surrounded by her friends, one reply stands out. Intrigued and desperately aroused, Haley prepares for the orgasm of her dreams. But when she arrives at her friend’s house, she learns that the man of her dreams, Seth Gardner, is back in town. Now she must decide if she wants to go through with her plans for public pleasure or go after her dream date with Seth, or risk losing them both.
Sara Daniel writes what she loves to read—irresistible romance, from sweet to erotic and everything in between. On the personal side, Sara is a frazzled chauffeur, chef, personal assistant and slave to her children. She’s crazy about country music and the drama of NASCAR. She has her own happily-ever-after romance with her hero husband. She is the author of nearly a dozen romance novels, novellas and short stories. For a complete list of titles, visit her website.
April 15, 2013
Marci Boudreaux is in the House
I’m excited to introduce you to a prolific author who never ceases to amaze me. Marci Boudreaux has a sexy new release you definitely want to read. Several times.
I wrote The Messenger just over ten years ago. I was still riding high on winning third place for unpublished manuscript in a Texas Writers’ League contest. Unfortunately, the world didn’t love the book as much as I did. After numerous rejections, I put it on the shelf and only recently pulled it off to give it another go.
It needed lots of work. Let me say that again: It needed A LOT of work!! Head hopping, showing not telling, repetitive writing…just to name a few.
But I was determined, so I cleaned it up, offered it up and it was accepted by Secret Cravings Publishing. I knew it still needed more polishing and scrubbing, so I turned to some great author friends—Vonnie Hughes, Parker Kincade, and yes, even our beloved Sloane all had a peek at it—to help me get my head on straight and attack this as an editor instead of a sentimental writer.
With their help I was able to rework this story that I’ve loved for so long into something that I hope you will love too!
Evelyn Thomas is tired of being treated like a little girl playing dress-up. Just because she is working at her father’s newspaper doesn’t mean she isn’t a good journalist. All she needs is a chance to prove it.
Unfortunately for seasoned reporter Wes Reilly, that chance turns out to be the exact same story he’s working on.
When the journalists get separate leads on the same insurance scam, they butt heads over who gets to expose it. However, when Eve’s source ends up in ICU she has no choice but to turn to Wes for help.
Every step they take brings them closer towards the truth and each other. But the path to vindication is filled with danger and leaves Wes and Eve struggling to get out of sticky situations and fighting for their lives.
Eve ran her hand along one of the many rows and skimmed the file tags until she got close to the numerical prefix she was looking for. She pushed the files as far apart as the overstuffed shelf allowed and tilted her head down to get a closer look. She went over each name, not finding any files which corresponded with names on the list Jerry had given her.
This was impossible, like finding the proverbial needle in a haystack. She pulled a piece of paper from her shirt pocket to verify the spelling of the name before she pushed the folders apart again in case she had missed what she was looking for the first time.
Suddenly a hand roughly grabbed her shoulder. She spun around, her heart racing and her lungs tight with the gulp of air she had involuntarily inhaled. As soon as she met the angry gaze of the man who had startled her, she let her breath out with a rush and sank against the wall of folders.
Wes pressed his lips together and flexed his jaw muscles as he stared at her. “What are you doing here?”
She looked at the white coat he was wearing with a badge which identified him as Dr. Henderson. “What are you doing here?”
Wes leaned down to get eye-to-eye with her. “Answer me, Thomas.”
“I’m following a lead.”
“I don’t have to share my stories with you.”
He snorted as he leaned back. “Exactly what story would that be? How to properly file medical records?”
She felt the sting of his words go straight to her heart. Defiance set in and she stood a little straighter. “Insurance fraud.”
Wes stared at her for several seconds. He may have been trying to intimidate her, but his glare had nothing on her father’s. She simply cocked her brow in return.
“That’s my story,” he said.
Eve shook her head. “No. I got this tip on my own, Reilly, and if you think you’re going to steal it away from me—”
“Steal it away from you? I’d like to know where you got your tip ’cause I’ve been on this story since last week. You are so unbelievably—”
Eve raised her brows when he stopped mid-sentence and turned his head away. “I’m so unbelievably what?”
“Shut up,” he breathed. Her mouth opened and Wes put his hand over her lips. “Hush.”
Eve gasped when she was quiet long enough to hear footsteps. She grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away. “What do we do?”
Marci Boudreaux lives with her husband, two children, and their numerous pets. She is a freelance writer and video producer for a variety of local monthly magazines as well as a content editor for several small publishing houses.
Romance is her preferred reading and writing genre because nothing feels better than falling in love with someone new and her husband doesn’t like when she does that in real life.
Marci is currently working on her Masters in Publishing and has plans to eventually take over the world.
Learn more about Marci Boudreaux on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter.
November 19, 2012
New Series – New Release
by Sara Daniel
Early this year when Musa posted a submissions call for a series called Finally Ever After, I jumped at the opportunity. The stories were to be short, happily ever romances about lovers who have loved each other and lost. Now, they have a second chance to create the happy ending they didn’t get the first time.
I love characters with a past history, especially in a short word count. They have instant attraction and long-standing unresolved conflict—the perfect elements for a fast-paced, emotion-packed read. <b><i>Zane’s Art</i></b> had all these things coupled with a strong present conflict. The story flowed out of me so fast I knew it was meant to be!
Here’s little from Zane’s Art for your reading pleasure.
A high school art teacher must choose between her students and the artist she never stopped loving.
High school art teacher Julianne Truman’s last chance to save her beloved art department from budget cuts is to sell the old sketches that her former boyfriend—and now famous artist—Zane DeMonde drew for her. But is she prepared to let go of his artwork and the last traces of him in her life?
Desperate to save his artistic reputation from the exposure of his early works, Zane returns to the home town he wanted to forget. He accuses Julianne of profiting from his success and demands she take his art off the market and cancel the auction.
Their high school attraction flares back to life, forcing Julianne to choose between the students who count on her and the man she never stopped loving.
“Cancel the auction.”
Julianne Truman’s head snapped around at the hard male voice. The stapler fell from her hand and cracked open on the floor, as she caught sight of the extraordinary face that went with the voice. Her knees shook as she climbed down the ladder. She hadn’t faced Zane DeMonde in nearly fifteen years. At one time she’d believed he’d be part of every single day of her future.
“Zane, I didn’t expect you to come.” She stepped toward him. His black hair was a little shorter than the last time she’d seen him, but at shoulder length it was still far longer than most men’s. Gone were the black hoodie and ripped jeans of his youth. Now he wore chinos and a sharply pressed blue button-down shirt, open at the neck.
The dark storms in his cobalt blue eyes were exactly the same as the day he’d walked away from her. “Cancel the auction. The sketches and painting are not for sale.”
She swallowed. “I own them. If I choose to sell them, that’s my business.” And it was breaking her heart to part with the only piece of him that she’d been able to hang onto all these years.
“When they have my name on them and you’re getting rich off me, it’s my business.”
Getting rich was so far from the truth Julianne would have laughed if her chest weren’t so tight. “It’s an honor to have you back in town.” At least her students would think so. Her brother would likely burst an artery. And she—well, she couldn’t even begin to process the mix of emotions she was feeling. “Do you have a minute to talk? I can explain what’s going on.”
“I know what’s going on.”
She hoped he couldn’t hear how hard her heart was hammering or sense how desperately she longed to wrap her arms around him and pick up where they left off fifteen years ago, as if he’d never left her. “Then you know that the arts are at the bottom of the school district’s priority list. To have supplies for the classroom, to restore the school mural, to give my students a chance to explore different mediums, the art program needs an alternate source of funding.”
“You’re the Dentonville High art teacher?”
She couldn’t help feeling defensive at his derisive tone. “Yes, and I love my job.”
“Do you? Or have you never moved beyond your high school life?”
To learn more about Sara Daniel and her work, please visit her website and blog. Stay connected on Sara’s Facebook page and her Sara Shafer page.
Remember, Sara is also only a tweet away.
I’ll be back Wednesday with a new menu. Until then…
Amazon Author Page
April 16, 2012
Are You into Speculative Fiction?
Or are you not quite sure what that is? This genre includes science fiction, fantasy, steampunk and more. Musa Publishing has a dedicated line, Urania, you definitely want to check out on their easy to maneuver website.
Among their noted authors is award-winning, multi-published, Mary S. Palmer. Her new release is TIME WILL TELL. This outstanding novel is destined to be a best seller.
For those of you not familiar Mary, she writes beautiful poetry along with fiction and non-fiction books and short stories. Mary makes her home in Alabama and currently teaches English at Faulkner State Community College and Faulkner University.
Mary holds a BA (Cum Laude) in English and an MA in English with a Concentration in Creative Writing from the University of South Alabama.
Among her many awards, she was also selected for Marquis’ Who’s Who Among America’s Teachers in 2002 and in 2005 also for Who’s Who in America (2005)
TIME WILL TELL
Mary S. Palmer
Reporter Mona Stewart finds herself in another world of warring factions and one of them holds the key to immortality and cures for fatal diseases.
In the inner space of outer space, an earthling, reporter Mona Stewart, discovers that living almost forever in idleness, and without challenges, is much worse than having too much to do. The only reprieve from boredom for the Svarians is outwitting the Aliens.
The car skidded, swerved sideways and spun around three times before cascading into the gully below. There were no houses on this stretch of the sparsely populated road in west Mobile County and traffic was light at one a.m., so no one saw the accident happen. The driver lay critically injured at the bottom of the ravine.
Mona Stewart was motionless. Life was rapidly oozing out of her twenty-eight year-old body. The thirty-foot drop had left the little red Volkswagen bug in one piece but all sides were damaged. It landed right on top of Mona and threw one sharp piece of window glass directly through her abdomen. The heavy rainstorm, which had contributed to the accident, continued. Blood and water formed a puddle of red liquid. Pep, her little Beagle who was also in the car, revived and staggered over to his mistress, sniffed around and began to lap at the puddle. It did not suit his taste, so he crawled under the car, snuggled as close as he could to Mona and lay down on the ground to stand guard.
In her unconscious state with her life ebbing away, Mona’s mind reviewed her existence. In flashes she relived the good and the bad, the right and the wrong, her parents’ untimely death in a plane crash, her marriage and divorce. A couple of dateless years for fear of having a failed relationship. Now, in the last hour, she had to face the discovery that her current boyfriend was no longer interested in her. He had even laughed when he left her apartment saying, “What did you expect? I promised you nothing and that’s exactly what you’re getting. There were no commitments.” She should have known this would happen. The notoriously fickle Lee Black, III, was chased by girls because of his rugged good looks and his charming, though superficial, personality. He had never been noted for his loyalty.
Nevertheless, Mona was crushed and outraged. Feeling that she had to get out of that apartment, she’d hopped in her car and sped away into the humid summer night, roaming around aimlessly, not even knowing or caring where she was. When an announcer’s voice blared out of her radio that “Hurricane Dennis is on a path headed directly for Mobile, Alabama bearing one hundred and thirty mile per hour winds; please take heed and go to a safe place—shelters are open now,” thinking that it was no match for the storm going on within her, Mona clicked off the radio. She couldn’t run from either one. Then a sudden downpour made driving hazardous. She’d never been on this road before and did not even see the curve.
Now, strangely enough, as she relived the experience in her mind, she no longer felt resentment toward Lee or anyone else who had ever wronged her. Instead, she felt a sense of forgiveness toward them. A bright light seemed to hover over her. With it came a complete sense of peace.
“Gr-rrr,” Pep growled. Then he emitted a bark that sounded more like a frightened yelp than a threat. But when two people came over to his mistress, raised the car up and lifted her out of the pool of blood, the dog instinctively knew they were trying to help her. He backed off, following as they carried her to a shelter.
Learn more about Mary S. Palmer on her website and her blog.
I’ll be back Wednesday with a new menu. Until then…
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell
March 5, 2012
Good Monday Morning
Today we have Marie Tuhart with us to share her new release HIS FOR THE WEEKEND. Marie’s writing is strong with characters that draw you into their lives. This is an author you want to read.
HIS FOR THE WEEKEND
The Wild Rose Press Scarlet Rose
Cassandra Adams has a problem and its name is Marcus DeLuca. The man is quite determined to have her–on his terms. Cassie has had enough of domineering men in her life, yet she’s drawn to strong, virile Marcus. Tempted to get that man out of her system once and for all, she agrees that she will be his for a weekend only–but then he must leave her alone forever.
Marcus will do anything to get sexy, non-committal Cassie into his arms, into his bed–failure is not an option. He wants nothing more than to keep Cassie in his life, but he senses a secret that keeps her from being able from committing–from submitting–to any man. Will Marcus’s special brand of domination free her to be his for more than a weekend?
“I can’t take this anymore.” Her voice was whisper soft, but he heard the words as clear as if she had shouted them.
His heart leaped—now he could prove to her there was more to him than a co-worker and give their relationship a chance. “What are you willing to give me?”
Her head snapped up and she gnawed on her lip. “Twenty-four hours.”
“Not enough. A hundred and twenty.”
Her mouth opened then closed. Her gaze darted left, then right, before settling back on his face. He could almost see the wheels turning in her head. A good sign—she was willing to be his.
“Too long. Forty-eight.”
He stood and crossed over to her. He needed to be close to her as they negotiated. “Still not enough. Ninety-six uninterrupted hours with you.”
Her nose scrunched up and her lashes swept down, cutting off the view of her expressive eyes. “Sixty—six tonight until six Monday morning.”
He noted the stubborn set to her chin. It wasn’t ideal, but he could do it. He would not fail in winning her over. Leaning close, he whispered, “I’ll take it.”
She exhaled, lashes rising until she stared at him. “What are the ground rules?”
“There are none.”
Her eyes widened. Oh, yes, he had her now and he wasn’t letting go.
“No barriers. No rules.”
Her shoulders dipped, then straightened. She acted like she was preparing for a battle, but it would be a battle of sex. “All right, but when the sixty hours are done, we’re finished. I mean it. No flowers, no gifts, no mention of this weekend. Ever.”
Without another word, she spun on her heels to walk out of his office.
He was quick to cross the room. He captured her by the shoulders, bringing her to a halt. His lips brushed her ear and a shiver shook her. “Remember what I said at the party?”
She didn’t answer him, but her swift intake of breath was the only answer he needed.
“You belong to me.”
“I belong to no man.”
He slid his hands down her arms, past her clenched fists and encircled her waist, bringing her back flush against his chest, her breathing shallow.
She didn’t struggle, not even when he tilted his hips, letting her know how much she aroused him.
“You will belong to me. I promise.”
Escape to fantasy and learn more about Marie and her terrific books on her blog or her website. Marie is also on facebook and Twitter.
I’ll be back Wednesday with a mouthwatering recipe for Eye of Round Roast. Until then…
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell (more…)
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?
Amazon Buy Link
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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
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 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 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