September 1, 2010

Spice Up Your Life With Ginger

No, we’re not talking recipes. Today’s blog is to introduce you to the marvelous author Ginger Simpson who has a penchant for words and weaving them into stories you won’t want to miss.

Ginger currently resides in Tennessee with her husband and biggest fan, Kelly. He believes he’s the inspiration for all her romantic scenes, but she won’t verify his claim.

A while back, she retired to devote more time to writing, but her promotional efforts, blogging, tweeting, and interacting with new friends on author’s and reader’s loops have stymied her efforts.

She watches her grandson, Spencer, in the afternoons, and besides seeing one of her books in a real “brick and mortar” store some day, her main goal is to help her little darling overcome his developmental delays caused by Autism.

Since the publication of her first book in May 2003, she has remained avid about adding to her accomplishments. Her favorite genre is western historical, but she has been known to dabble in other areas.

Ginger’s got that “million dollar” book in the works, and one day hopes to haul someone into Wal-Mart, point to her novel and say, “That’s me.” She proclaims that Grandma Moses didn’t make it big until her “golden” years, so why not be a believer that good things come to those who wait…and wait…and wait.

A 2009 EPIC Nominee, Ginger recently won the 2009 Best Historical Novel from Love Romances Cafe. To learn more about Ginger and her terrific books click here or read her interesting blog.

SISTERS IN TIME
Ginger Simpson
ISBN: 9781926704005
Eternal Press

BUY LINK

BLURB:
Two eras collide when a modern day attorney and a pioneer wife find themselves locked in a time not their own.

Mariah Cassidy awakens in the twentieth century. Confined in a pristine environment, hooked to tubes and beeping machines, she’s scared, confused and wondering why everyone keeps calling her Mrs. Morgan. Who is the strange man who keeps massaging her forehead and telling her everything is going to be alright?

Taylor Morgan tries to focus on her surroundings through a blinding headache. The patchwork quilt, the water basin, and the archaic room don’t strike a familiar chord. Her mouth gapes when a handsome man waltzes into the room, calls her darling, and expresses his delight that she’s on the road to recovery.

Clearly something is amiss.

EXCERPT:
Colorado Territory–1872

Taylor’s head pounded with pain. Trying to focus, she opened her eyes and blinked a few times, then propped herself up on her elbows. Everything looked strange. The room seemed bright and cheery, but things appeared very old fashioned. She fingered the patchwork quilt covering the bed, and puzzled over the antique mirror hanging above an old-time washbowl and pitcher across the room. An incessant ache throbbed in her temple.

Where was she? What’d happened to her? A zillion questions raced through her mind.

“David,” she called for her husband. Her voice painfully resonated in her head. “David, where are you?”

She slid off the bed. Her legs wavered beneath her and she clung to the bedpost. Slowly, as she regained her equilibrium, she weaved across the room and peered into the mirror. A massive bandage covered the top her head; black circles ringed her swollen eyes. She didn’t recognize herself.

“Boy, I look like hell,” she muttered.

As she raised her hand to touch the bandage, the door behind her opened, and she spied the reflection of a strange man.

“Mariah, sweetheart. You’re finally awake.” He crossed the room with open arms.

Taylor spun and faced him. Feeling disoriented, she shook her head. “You have the wrong room, sir.”

His brows arched. “Mariah, what are you talking about? What wrong room?”

“Look fella, I’m not Mariah. Evidently you’re in the wrong place if you are looking for someone by that name.”

The stranger rushed over and took her in his arms. “Oh my sweet angel, the bump on your head is worse than Doc Samuels thought.”

Taylor shoved him away. “Take your hands off me. Who is Doc Samuels, and who in the hell are you?”

Suddenly, the room spun. Her stomach turned queasy. Needing to sit, she staggered back to the bed, her gaze still assessing the stranger.

“I’m Frank… your husband.” He followed her, his head cocked, his eyes clouded in confusion.

She swallowed. “Excuse me? My husband’s name is David… David Morgan. I don’t know who you are, mister, but you must be the one who bumped your head if you think I’m your wife.”

“Well, if you aren’t, then just who might you be?”

“Taylor Morgan. I live in Denver. Can you please tell me where I am?”

“You’re in Colorado, about two hours from Denver City. Don’t you remember?”

“Two hours? How in the hell did I get here?”

Frank’s eyes widened. “When did you start cussing?”

“Don’t worry about it, just answer me. How did I get here?” Her last nerve frayed, and he plucked at it.

“Don’t you recall? We were going to town in the wagon—”

“Wagon? What the hell would I be doing in a wagon? A station wagon?”

Frank took a deep breath. “We were going to town, and Jacob needed to pee. I think he disturbed some rattlesnakes and they spooked the horses… Sound familiar?”

Taylor’s mind raced. Who was this loony? Before he spoke again, she assaulted him with a barrage of questions. “Who is Jacob? Wagon? What horses? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Frank… is it? Look, Frank, I have an idea. Why don’t you just call me a cab and I’ll get out of your way.”

She looked down at the tacky nightgown she wore and wondered who had removed her clothing. Tugging at the sack-like shift, she let out an exasperated huff. “If you’ll just retrieve my things, I’ll get dressed and be ready to go when the taxi gets here.”

BUY LINK

I’ll be back later this week. Until then…

Happy Writing!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell

July 30, 2010

On the Edge with Rick R. Reed

I’m excited to have Rick R. Reed back with us, discussing his newest print release ON THE EDGE. This collection of strong stories is filled with an emotional depth a reader rarely experiences. It’s a rewarding read and one you won’t want to miss.

Now, a little from Rick;

This book is especially for you if you’re one of those people who just doesn’t cotton to the idea of an e-book and prefers the look, smell, and experience of a real print book. ON THE EDGE collects eight of my stories that were previously only available in electronic format before. Check out the descriptions of each story below (titles are hyperlinked so you can go to their original publisher page, where you can read excerpts, see reviews, and a more detailed synopsis).

ON THE EDGE
Rick R. Reed
ISBN-13: 978-1-60272-779-3 (Paperback)
Amber Quill Press – Amber Allure
Amazon Buy Link

Synopsis
In Rick R. Reed’s haunting, mesmerizing, suspenseful, and romantic world, his gay male characters live on the edge, often literally as well as figuratively. In this new collection, you’ll take a wild ride with some of literature’s most unforgettable characters. Along the way, you’ll be moved—to tears, to laughter, to uneasiness, and sometimes, to arousal. As Bette Davis once said, “Fasten your seatbelts. It’s going to be a bumpy night.”

Previously available only in electronic format, these eight stories of Gay Erotica and Romance have now been combined for a paperback edition! Included are the tales…

SUPERSTAR A story about promises made, promises broken, and dreams unfulfilled. Yet ultimately, it’s about realizing that love can come along when one least expects it—and in the unlikeliest of places.

THROUGH THE CLOSET DOOR A tale that brings to painful life the consequences of coming out of the closet when you’re married. Gregory’s mask is slipping, pulled down by the allure of a handsome neighbor and the demands of a desire that only gets louder the more he tries to quiet it.

RIDING THE EL AT MIDNIGHT When the gorgeous and twisted Mark boards a northbound el train, he is looking for love in all the wrong places. Finding Julio aboard that same train, Mark thinks, is the answer to his dreams. But are his dreams nightmares?

FUGUE SLIP into the dungeon playroom of a master and his boy. But in the boy’s mind, a dream state takes him places the master could not imagine…places where the established order turns upside down.

INCUBUS Two men, one predator, and a violent crime equal a journey into hellish nightmare territory. This tale merges horror with a tragic love story and the result is…chilling.

MAN-AMORPHOSIS I awoke one morning from uneasy dreams to find my penis had transformed itself into a vagina… Thus begins the story of a very unusual day…

NO PLACE LIKE HOME Trannies and Psychos and Bears…oh my! Burl discovers—in a hilariously bizarre quest—that there really is no place like home.

POTTERY PETE One long hot summer. Three gorgeous men. And a burning triangle set down in the middle of a factory filled with sweaty men with bulging biceps.

BUY LINK

Thank you, Rick, for sharing your wonderful books. As always, it’s a pleasure to have you visit us.

I’ll be back next week. Until then…

Happy Writing!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell

July 29, 2010

Do You Have Demons?

Today we have the uber-talented Rick R. Reed with us. Rick’s writing talent is unsurpassed, and his books are filled with love, horror and suspense. I think you’ll enjoy his step away from the everyday.

Here’s a little from Rick:
Well, it’s finally here and available both in e-book and paperback editions: my fifteenth book (and fourth with MLR Press), A DEMON INSIDE.

This book continues my goal of combining both the horror and the romance genre into one compelling read. A Demon Inside is as much a romance as it is a chilling horror novel. I believe it will satisfy readers of both genres equally.

So here’s a little bit about the book, along with an excerpt.

A DEMON INSIDE
Rick R. Reed
ISBN 978-1-60820-165-5 (print) $14.99
ISBN 978-1-60820-166-2 (ebook) $6.99

MLR PRESS

BLURB:
Hunter Beaumont doesn’t understand his grandmother’s deathbed wish: “Destroy Beaumont House.” He’d never even heard of the place. But after his grandmother passes and his first love betrays him, the family house in the Wisconsin woods looks like a tempting refuge. Going against his grandmother’s wishes, Hunter flees to Beaumont House.

But will the house be the sanctuary he had hoped for? Soon after moving in, Hunter realizes he may not be alone. And who—or what—he shares the house may plunge him into a nightmare from which he may never escape. Sparks fly when he meets his handsome neighbor, a caretaker for the estate next door, but is the man salvation…or is he the source of Hunter’s terror?

EXCERPT:
Hunter Beaumont awakened drenched in sweat, striped sheets twisted around him. His heart pounded and an irrational fear coursed through him, disproportionate to the calmness of the dark bedroom surrounding him.

He sat up, rubbing his hand over his slick face, and reassured himself with the same words countless nightmare sufferers have told themselves since the dawn of time: “It was only a dream; it was only a dream.” But it was that same dream again. The one that was part memory, part horror movie. The one where he was camping with his parents and he can see the glow of the campfire flickering on their faces. It’s a lovely scene, at first, romantic and warm. His parents’ voices are hushed, his mother’s laugh tinkling, as the two of them huddle together, the fire keeping the darkness of the woods at bay. But then a shadow falls over his mother and father’s faces and their eyes turn in an instant from contented and adoring to terrified. Then come the screams…and the blood, all the blood. That was when Hunter always awakened.

But this time something more than the nightmare had awakened him. Was someone knocking on his bedroom door? Yes, there it was again, an almost tentative tapping. In his post nightmare state, Hunter imagined the worst—that a monster lurked outside, something needing to be invited in. And once inside, it would rip him limb from limb, gorging on his flesh and drinking his blood.

Hunter allowed himself an embarrassed laugh and attempted to pull himself together. He sat up straighter against the headboard and used a corner of the top sheet to dab at the beads of sweat still gathering on his forehead. “Yes?” he called out.

With a creak, the door opened a crack and Lori Schmidbauer, his grandmother’s nurse, peered in. Even backlit, Hunter could see the kindness in the woman’s dark brown eyes and the concern and sadness on her face. She glanced down the hall and then back toward him, gave him a tentative smile.
“Hunter? Honey, I’m so sorry to wake you. Can I come in?”

Hunter pulled the sheet up further, covering his chest. A new kind of alarm began inside, the dread beginning to churn like something alive in his guts. “Is everything okay?”

Lori didn’t respond. She simply tiptoed into the room and sat down gingerly on the edge of his bed. Hunter leaned over and switched on the nightstand lamp. Lori still wore her scrubs and her curly brown hair was pulled loosely into a ponytail. She looked tired. Hunter repeated his question and added to it. “Is everything okay? Is Nana all right?”

Lori clutched his hand, squeezed it, and let it go. “I don’t think so, dear.” She stared off at a point over Hunter’s head and he could see her eyes glistened with tears.

It felt like his stomach dropped a couple of feet. He bit his lip. “Is it time?”

Lori drew in a quivering breath before responding. “Yeah. I think it is.” She stood. “You better come now if you want to say goodbye.”

“Okay,” Hunter whispered, barely able to find breath to put behind the single word. For his whole twenty-two year life, his grandmother had been his savior, protector, shield, comforter, mother, father, playmate, and teacher. There actually was a monster outside his door, and its name was cancer. That monster was about to rip all he held dear away from him.

Lori waited on the bed, watching him. He could tell she was trying to gauge his reaction, to see if perhaps he would need a hug. Lori was the kind of nurse that was free with her hugs. A good woman. But right now, Hunter needed a moment to himself and he told her.

“Sure, sweetheart. Just don’t be too long.” She got up and paused at the door. “I don’t know how much time we have.” Sorrowfully, she nodded, her lips coming together in a line indicating sympathy. She took her time leaving his room, then he heard her quickened pace as she hurried down the long hallway to his nana’s bedroom.

Hunter didn’t know if he could do this. Part of him thought if he just stayed here in bed, he could delay or prevent the inevitable. If he could only freeze time at this moment, he would never have to face a world without Nana in it. He shook his head and chastised himself for being weak.

Feeling numb, Hunter roused himself from bed. He slid into the jeans and sweater he had left on the rocker by the window. He looked outside, where the inky darkness revealed nothing, a void. He knew Lake Michigan was out there and in the morning it would reveal itself in aqua or gray, depending on the quality of light, but right now it seemed as though the huge body of water had vanished. The night’s darkness pressed against his windows like something palpable, aching to get inside.

Barefoot, he padded down the hall to his grandmother’s bedroom. Ever since he had lost his parents at the age of five, this had been his home, and suddenly the big old house seemed strange and unfamiliar, as if he were seeing it for the first time. Here was the portrait of his father, painted when Daddy was sixteen, looking young and vibrant, and not that much different from Hunter: the same smile and auburn hair. And there was the old Oriental rug, its pinks, blues, and grays faded, leading the way to the door to his grandmother’s bedroom, which yawned open. Hunter stood for a long while, staring at that doorway and breathing in the smell of sickness that emanated from the room. “Go,” he whispered.

He ducked into the room. Nana lay propped up on her old four-poster bed, the one she had had since marrying Hunter’s grandfather about six decades ago. She looked small and shriveled, vulnerable and nearly lost among the pillows, blankets, and quilts that never could keep her quite warm. Her hair looked like gray straw and parts of her scalp peeked through. A few days ago, they had taken her off the IVs and oxygen, knowing there was no hope. The medical detritus stood in a corner of the room, looking like defeated soldiers.

Lori stood near the bed. When she saw Hunter, she leaned down and whispered to Nana, whose eyes fluttered open at the sound of the nurse’s voice. Although she had not been completely coherent for the past couple of weeks, a combination of the morphine she took to manage her pain and her own failing memory, her eyes brightened when she saw her grandson. She even managed a weak smile, which vanished almost as soon as it arrived, as if the effort to maintain it was just too much for the old woman.

It probably was.

Lori stepped away from the bed and donned a fleece she had left on a chair nearby. She hugged herself and then said, “I’ll leave you two alone. I’m going to run downstairs and call Dr. Blackstock.” She squeezed Hunter’s shoulder as she left the room.

Hunter sat down beside his grandmother on her bed. “Nana?”

“Hunter,” Nana croaked, her voice only an echo of the vibrancy it once had. She tried to lift her hand to his face but it appeared she didn’t have the strength, letting it drop back down to the bedding. She closed her eyes and swallowed; the latter action looked painful and Nana winced.

“Don’t talk, Nana. If it hurts, don’t talk.” He picked up one of her withered hands and covered it with both of his own, trying to impart some of his own warmth to the frail appendage, feeling now as if it had been made of parchment and bird bones. She nodded, staring up at him. She licked her lips. “I just want to go to sleep now. I’m ready. Can you tell the nurse?”

“Sure.” Hunter smoothed her hair away from her forehead and leaned in close. He bit his lips, not wanting to cry in front of the old woman. What if she didn’t know this was the end? He couldn’t be so cruel as to reveal that to her. And even as he thought these things, he knew—deep in his heart—that Nana knew perfectly well what was happening.

“Sleep. That sounds good.” Nana’s eyelids fluttered and closed. Hunter thought she had fallen asleep and simply sat with her for several minutes, holding her hand. Finally, he thought maybe he should creep away, hoping against hope that this was not the final moment. Lori could have been wrong after all.

But then Nana opened her eyes, and Hunter thought he needed to speak while there was still time and before he gave in to the tears and sobs that were clamoring inside. He gathered the old woman up in his arms and pulled her close. Placing his lips close to her ears, he thought for a moment, grasping for something profound to say, but finally decided on only:

“I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Nana whispered. She slumped back against the pillows.

Hunter covered his mouth. Was she gone? But her eyes opened once more, about half-mast, seeking him out even though his face was only inches from her own.

“Beaumont House,” she croaked.

“What?”

“Beaumont House. Promise me you’ll burn it.”

BUY LINK

Want more Rick Reed? You can find him on the internet at his website, blog, Facebook and Twitter. Be sure to check Rick out and learn more about this ingenious author.

I’ll be back tomorrow. Until then…

Happy Writing!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell

July 21, 2010

Murder and Sex – Oh Yeah!

Today’s guest author is the amazing Clare London who writes Man to Man, and no one does it better. Clare has a new release, BLINDED BY OUR EYES. This is a well-crafted mystery that has received stellar reviews and a book you’ll definitely want to read.

For those of you who aren’t familiar with Clare, here’s a brief bio:

Clare took the pen name London from the city where she lives, loves and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home, she juggles her writing with the weekly wash, waiting for the far distant day when she can afford to give up her day job as an accountant.

She’s written in many genres and across many settings, with novels and short stories published both online and in print. Clare likes variety in her writing, while friends say she’s just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, she’s happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic and sexy characters.

Find details of her publications and plenty of free fiction at her website, as well as an invitation to her mailing list. You can also catch up with Clare on her blog. Visit her today and say hello!

BLINDED BY OUR EYES
Clare London
ISBN: 9781426890406
Carina Press

BLURB:

London art dealer Charles Garrett has devoted his life to appreciating and acquiring beauty, both in art and in his companions. His fashionable life is rocked to the core when he discovers the body of a young artist, Paolo Valero, in a pool of blood in his gallery.

As Paolo’s mentor, Charles is haunted by the horror of his violent death. Seeking closure, he investigates Paolo’s past and soon discovers a tangled web of motives and potential suspects, some closer to home than he ever imagined. He’s drawn to Antony Walker, an aggressive, handsome sculptor with unsavory ties to Paolo. Charles is unsettled by Antony’s forceful nature but irresistibly attracted to his passion and his art.

When the evidence points toward Antony’s guilt, Charles is thrown into emotional turmoil. Has he lost his heart to a killer?

EXCERPT (PG):

The sound of a man crying was the first shock. Deep, racking sobs echoing off the smooth walls of my showroom. The whole gallery was usually deserted and cool at this late hour, despite the urban truth that London never slept. Yet tonight something in the air resonated with tension. And huddled in the far corner was a slender, pale young man. Arms clenched around his drawn-up knees, his eyes hot and wet, staring at me through a fringe of bedraggled dark curls. He looked angry and scared, and for the first few seconds it was all directed at me.

Without thinking, I dropped my bag. I heard the thump as it hit the floor.

I’d never seen anyone who wasn’t a woman cry like this. The sound was strange, astonishingly loud and ugly, his breath rasping with each hiccup of anguish. His shoulders rose and fell awkwardly, the bones a shadowy silhouette under the thin fabric of his shirt, his knuckles white against the black fabric of his jeans.

How beautiful he still looked, how miserable yet how utterly fascinating. My thoughts disgusted me, yet at the same time I couldn’t deny them. As I stared back at him, the aggression in his eyes started to fade. Hope glinted there in its place.

Then I registered the blood on the floor around him. How the hell could I miss it? So much blood. It ran along the base of the far wall and pooled out over the floor, a shocking, plum-red stain on the pale wood. It was thick and unnaturally still, an occasional patch of it glistening under the dimmed overhead lights. Coagulated; no longer flowing. I had no idea how long ago it’d been fresh. The residue puddled around his bare feet and under his legs and arse, then slithered along the edge of the wall again, diverting around the base of a display case. I barely glanced at the case. It stood upright, but crooked as if broken, and the objects inside had been knocked over.

I just stared at the blood. Funny how these things strike you when you’re in shock; it was only after I noticed the mess that the smell hit me. Thick and putrid, seeping into my throat, daring me to gag. Why didn’t blood smell like this domestically? When I cut my hand, when I sliced meat? This was human blood in quantity, human life as it spilled. It had its own unique horror. Some of it had oozed between the young man’s toes—the dark crimson colour stark against the pale skin of his feet, a gruesome parody of piano keys. He sat like an island amongst a grisly sea, a pale shadow within the dark, viscous surround. When he put a hand out to the wall and started to ease himself up, I wanted to cry out, to tell him to stay still. I wanted to stop him spoiling the perfect, limpid surface around him, breaking the seal.

It was the shock made me think that way. Of course it was.

“Charles?” His voice was hoarse, as if he’d been shouting. “God, I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life.” He took a couple of shaky steps toward me. His shoes and socks lay in a discarded pile against the wall, soaked red with the blood. I couldn’t take my eyes off the print left by his foot, a dark smudge on the area of clean floor behind him.

“Charles…?”

There were other footprints—messy, scattered marks on the floor beyond the display case. They weren’t all his. A large huddled object lay against the right-hand wall, half hidden behind the furniture. That area, too, was covered in blood. It wasn’t an object, of course it wasn’t. I was ashamed to have thought of it like one of my exhibits.

It was a body. The body of another young man, even paler, even more disturbed. Even more still.

BUY LINK

EXCERPT TWO:

Walker laughed again, but more softly. He’d made his coffee while still doing something with the tools on the table, gathering them up, putting them away in the wooden box. I couldn’t see around his torso, couldn’t see what his hands were doing in front of his body. I heard the bolt snap shut on the box and he turned back around.

“What are you doing there?” I said, too loudly. I didn’t seem to have full control of my voice. “Why are you bothering with that now? I just want to talk to you.” What are you hiding from me?

He just glared at me, his eyes dark and unwelcoming.

I glanced over at his work in progress. “What kind of themes do you work with, Walker? Did you work with Paolo? He’s…he was a very talented sculptor.” Is that why you were together—as artists? Or was your relationship something else? Something fierce…

“He was a shit,” Walker growled, shaking his head.

His bluntness shocked me. “That’s—what the hell do you mean?”

His eyes narrowed. “You think people shouldn’t speak ill of the dead? Paolo Valero leeched off people. He was pretty and he was talented, but for all the time I knew him, he was a liar and a thief.”

I was stunned. “Money?”

“He stole money, yeah. And materials. And ideas.” Walker sighed. “But he stole time and attention, too. From me—probably from you, too.”

“Why are you saying this? Why are you slandering him like this?”
For the first time I saw uncertainty in Walker’s expression. “You have no fucking idea, do you? It doesn’t mean I wasn’t his friend. Though plenty of people in this business will tell you he got everything he deserved.”

“What do you mean?” I nearly shouted.

Walker shook his head. His frown got deeper. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“Is that what happened with you and Paolo?” I persisted. “What did he steal from you? How much?” Maybe too much?

Walker gazed steadily back at me. “You look at everyone like that, Garrett?”

“What do you mean?”

He took a step toward me, threateningly, yet I didn’t move away. I couldn’t identify the expression in his eyes, but it chilled me. “I know guys like you, right? Dealers.” He made it sound like a disease. “You watch other people create, you give your critique, then you pimp the goods. Always on the outside, never really involved. You look around this room with cold eyes. You see a block of stone, you see banknotes, where I see breath and beauty.”

I was furious—suddenly, blindingly furious. “Who do you think you are? You arrogant shit.”

He didn’t even flinch. “And that’s the same look you’re turning on me now. Appraising me.”

I couldn’t speak, my throat was closing tight with the anger. He was right, I couldn’t tear my eyes from him, but it was from anger, not admiration, wasn’t it? Nothing to do with the fierce, sensual attraction that emanated from him, the way his dark eyes caught and fascinated my attention.

“You’re looking at me the same way you look at the stone.” He stepped even closer. A trickle of sweat ran from his throat down the middle of his bare torso. I imagined it pooling above his navel, glistening and bobbing as his belly clenched.
“I’m not.” That’s not me.

“No?” he murmured. He peered at me, sounding puzzled. “Then it’s something else…” His chest was heaving, as if he had the same difficulty breathing as I did. Behind him, the point chisel was still on the edge of the table. He hadn’t locked it away with the other tools. Its handle was a foot from his grasp.

“Get away from me,” I whispered.

He frowned. “Say that again. And this time like you mean it.” He was still searching my face, but now his expression was confused, as if he’d lost whatever he was seeking. And then his eyes slid away from my face to my chest and down the whole of my body, slowly and carefully. When his gaze came back up, lingering for too long on my groin, I blanched. The sexual intent was never in any doubt.

And my body shuddered in response.

He looked back up at me and his hand lifted from his side as if he meant to reach out and touch something.

I stepped back. “Get away,” I repeated, sharply.

His eyebrows rose. He looked both startled and disappointed. “Yeah, just like I said. “Cold. You’re never going to melt that, Garrett, fucking men like pretty, passive Joseph. He’s never going to give you what you need.” He laughed without humour.

I lurched back another few steps, finally released from my strange paralysis. My escape from this room was only a few feet away, in seconds I could be out of the door and back down the stairs to the street.

“I can’t believe all this about Paolo.” I stared into Walker’s eyes, the pupils dilated. I could feel the door frame at my back now, I was brave in the face of my retreat. “Why do you talk about him like that? You want me to be as angry with him as you are. Were. Why?”

“Get out.”

“Were you fucking him?” I cried, and he recoiled. Had I struck a nerve? “Did you want revenge for whatever he’d done to you? Did he make you angry enough to want to hurt him?”

“None of that is your goddamn business,” he snarled. “I said, get the fuck out or else I—”

I dodged back before he could follow up his threat, away from him, my hand reaching blindly for the door handle. I stumbled out onto the landing. Not bothering with dignity or pride, I just dashed down the stairs two at a time. I felt an idiot, and a ridiculously scared one, too.

BUY LINK

I’ll be back tomorrow with information on a wonderful celebration. Until then…

Happy Writing!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell

May 20, 2010

DEAD DONE RIGHT

Lizzie T. Leaf has a comedic talent that carries over into all her work, even death. Unsure? Well, read on my friends for Lizzie’s unique approach to DEAD.

DEAD DONE RIGHT
Lizzie T. Leaf
ISBN: 978-1601682383
Aspen Mountain Press

DEAD DONE RIGHT is the print version of the first two vampire novellas in the DEAD series.

WAKING UP DEAD:
Things change for Deb Stein when she wakes up smelling pine. Thanks to a weird stranger lurking outside the mortuary, the knowledge she is now one of the waking dead doesn’t do much for her mood. Now she’s out for blood, especially the blood of the one who turned her.

DEAD FAINT:
Billie Joyce’s dream trip to the big city ends in her facing death at the hands of a couple of thugs. The face that appeared as she begged not to die wasn’t an angel, but one of the living dead. Now she’s on their team, but there’s a problem—she faints at the sight of her new food source—blood.

AMAZON BUY LINK:

These stories may be purchased as individual E-books.
WAKING UP DEAD BUY LINK
DEAD FAINT BUY LINK

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DEAD HUNTER
Lizzie T. Leaf
ISBN: 978-1-60168-257-4
Aspen Mountain Press

BLURB:
Arie Anne Hews is a trained vampire hunter out for the kill. A chance meeting with the hated beings has Arie in turmoil. Especially, when handsome Dr. Jonas Nickels is on the scene.

Jonas Nickels has no desire to be involved with a mortal, but can’t resist the dark-eyed beauty. Even if he is on her hit list.

Family secrets tinged with evil make an impossible path for star-crossed lovers.

Family secrets tinged with evil make an impossible path for star-crossed lovers.

EXCERPT:
Vampire hunter, ArieAnne has possibly met the man of her dreams, but he triggers her alarm which she chooses to ignore. Is it because of the other emotions he triggers?

Blinded by the driving rain, Arie rounded the corner and slammed into a wall—a wall with arms that reached out to catch her before her ass hit the ground. Steadied against the hard body, she knew she’d scored. The hardness that dug into her stomach shouted volumes about his reaction to their close proximity.

Hot and horny, my two favorite things in a man. Especially when the man is Jonas Nickels.

Jonas transferred his hold on her body to her arm and pushed her toward the door.

“Let’s get inside before we drown.”

She’d be willing to drown if he kept holding her that way, but didn’t resist as he hustled them into the restaurant.

Settled in their seats with their raincoats dripping from two empty chairs, Jonas leaned forward and gave her a look that drove chills and heat throughout her body. “I wish you would have let me pick you up tonight. We could have gone someplace closer to your home and we both would be a little less wet.” He covered her hand with his and smiled.

Arie shifted uncomfortably. The last thing she needed was for a man to ring the doorbell and have Pop answer it. Her father was her best friend but, like all fathers, he seemed to labor under the impression his little girl was an innocent babe-in-the-cradle.

Dating was a subject they’d briefly discussed when Arie was sixteen and it was obvious her father discouraged it.

“You can date when you’re thirty,” he’d joked.

Okay, she was thirty-plus now and still not sure how her old man would react to a member of the opposite sex picking her up for a date, especially when he saw how she was dressed. Her uniform of t-shirt, jacket, loose pants—all in black—with the only contrast her red high-tops, had been replaced by a pushup bra, a scoop-necked mini-sheath and a pair of come-fuck-me stilettos.

And she knew damn well her barely disguised lust for the man she sat across from right this moment, wouldn’t go over with the uptight minister side of her father.

That brought her around to the lust. Why did she feel it so strongly for Doctor Jonas, given her few ventures down that path had been disappointing? The hardness of his male anatomy when they’d collided earlier had excited her. Arie wanted tonight to end with more than a chaste kiss on the cheek like last night. Was she setting herself up for yet another disappointment?

What was wrong with her? She liked men but in bed she hadn’t met one who could ring her chimes.

A squeeze of her fingers pulled her from musing about her lack of sexual excitement. It was time to focus on tonight’s potential. Jonas wasn’t a vampire whose ass she could kick and move on. But then again, there were those chills across the back of her neck. Why did she get such conflicting readings? Did heightened sexual energy play havoc with her system? She’d never experienced this kind of tension before and it was all new to her. A smile played across her mouth at the thought of the possibilities in store for her.

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Here are Lizzie’s links to read more on her DEAD series and her other superb books:
WEBSITE

MYSPACE

FACEBOOK

TWITTER

Thanks to Lizzie for sharing her work with us. My VISA will get a good airing today. I’ll be back next week. Until then…

Happy Writing!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell

May 19, 2010

Cougars and Witches – WOW!

Today we have award winning author, Lizzie T. Leaf as our guest.

Lizzie started life in Kansas, continued her growing in North Carolina, and currently shivers through the winters in Colorado. She has numerous e-books in varying lengths with several publisher, and her first print book, Struck by Lightning, won dual 2007 Beacon awards, in addition to being a finalist in two other contests. Her novella, Dead Faint was a 2008 Finalist for Best Vampire at Love Romances Cafe.

Since discovering the fun of writing paranormal, she plays with creating vampires, faeries and other immortals. Currently, she is working on a full length paranormal novel set in Scotland that brings in Celtic folklore and a couple of ‘godly’ realms. Mix them together and there will be laughs for sure.

When not creating mischief for paranormal beings, or writing another Cougar story, Lizzie loves to read, spend time with her family and travel, as much as time and budget will allow, with her best friend husband.

We have two books to tease you. Butterfly Kisses is a contemporary Cougar Club release and Dogspell unleashes Lizzie’s humor. Enjoy!

BUTTERFLY KISSES
Lizzie T. Leaf
ISBN:978-1-60168-289-5
Aspen Mountain Press

BLURB:
Tony Roberts is a Wyoming cowboy who’s also the head of a successful New York law firm. And he has a secret: he’s had a crush on his favorite artist for years. When he finally meets Susan, his fantasy becomes reality. Problem is, she’s also the mother of of his employee Scott Clarke–who’s also a good friend.

Susan Mayrah Clarke’s life has been fine without a man, so she’s unprepared for the sudden attraction to Tony when her son brings him home for Thanksgiving. Why did Scott have to bring home a cowboy that makes her wish she were twenty years younger? Unsure of what to do, Susan turns to the ladies of the Cougar Club group for advice.

Susan and Tony can’t resist the physical force that brings them together. Will the difference in their ages ruin their chance at love?

EXCERPT:
Why did his touch when he reached out to keep her from falling send shockwaves down her spine? Pulling her arm free, Susan struggled to banish the heat between her thighs.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Once again, a flush surged upward, accentuating his high cheekbones and drawing her attention to his dark gray eyes. The thoughts that danced in her head were not ones the mother of his employee should entertain.

She fought to tamp down the heat that rushed through her body and focus on the mess.

The man may be a wiz in the courtroom, but in the kitchen he is a walking disaster. And tongue-tied.

Where was all the suave glibness Scott raved about when he described his boss? This man reminded her of a teenager in an awkward social moment.

“Why don’t you sit over at the bar with Scott and eat while I take care of this.” The further away from her he was, the safer she felt. There was something about this man that tugged at an emotion she didn’t want to remember right now—lust. She couldn’t deny the thrill that surged through her. His hands on her arms when he’d helped her to stand after they collided left a tingle on her skin that still lingered. She was too old, and too wise, to take a run at her son’s friend, let alone his boss.

It had been a long time since she’d been intimate with anyone, but to have a strange man, a younger one at that, awaken her sex drive was not going to happen. Hell, she’d be one of those Cougars that her sister Renee had gone on about when they talked earlier. Maybe if this was an example of what was in the pond to troll for, she needed to reconsider her sister’s idea.

What the hell am I thinking? Renee is two years younger than me and has always been wilder. I’m not ready to become a card-toting Cougar. At least not yet.

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DOGSPELL
Lizzie T. Leaf
ISBN: 978-1-60435-389-1
Red Rose Publishing

BLURB:
Has Randall McAllister gone to the dogs?

Once again, his witchy teenage sisters screwed up a spell at his expense, leaving him a black Scottie. Doing what comes naturally to dogs, he collides with the car of the town veterinarian. Living with the compassionate Amanda Livingston, he discovers the love of his dreams.

Will he spend his life as a lap dog to the woman he knows is his soul mate, or will he be able to break the dog spell?

EXCERPT:
Rand opened his eyes and groaned. His attempt to move sent pain ripping through his body and someone was using his head as a drum. Not even the dim lights and the soothing croon of Barry Manilow in the background made him feel any better, but at least someone had good taste in music.

Damn, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.

The closing of a drawer drew his attention toward an open door into what appeared to be the bathroom. A woman came into view and stopped. The light behind her made the t-shirt she wore transparent and did nothing to hide the curves beneath it.

“You’re awake.” She advanced toward him, and from the light of the bedside lamp he could see the deep rich honey color of the long braid hanging over her shoulder. “Do you need to go outside, or are you not up to that yet?”

Why the hell did she talk to him like a child? Oh yeah. That’s right. You’re a dog.
Memories of the earlier part of his evening came rushing back. Chasing the yellow tom had been exhausting, but the vehicle slamming into him had been worse. Yeah, guess he had been hit by a truck, or at the very least an SUV.

His sisters were dead when he got his hands on them.

Along with the events from earlier, a fuzzy recollection of talking to a grey and white cat while he was stretched out on a stainless steel table, tickled around the edges of his memory. What was it the creature had said? Right. This must be the vet the cat raved about. The feline beast seems to think this woman is a goddess. I can vouch for the fact she sure looks like one.

EBOOK BUY LINK
PRINT BUY LINK

To learn more about Lizzie and her lively books check out her Website. You can also visit Lizzie on Myspace and Facebook. And if you Twitter, click here.

We’ll be back tomorrow with Lizzie and her fondness for dead. Until then…

Happy Writing!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell

May 17, 2010

When Passion and Life Collide

Today we have author MC Halliday who writes from the heart and will stir yours. Passion and depth are her creed. Well, see for yourself what MC has to say:

I admit!

I often write myself into my books. Beyond the extensive research and plotting, I seem to write my most troubling experiences into my noir mysteries and works of fantasy. One of my issues that show up in these books is the loss of my mother at a young age, my ongoing dreams she lives still or the suffering that ensued without her protection.

In, THE KING’S DAUGHTER, the heroine discovers her mother is alive:

“Solely, I be here to keep you safe.” The woman’s voice was soft, imploring.
Touched by the gentle tenderness, Magaith said, “Bear out the truth in what you say that I might have faith and depend on you.”

“I am your mother, known as Imagael. And you, my daughter to Bascogne.”

Magaith took pause, could this be? She found her voice. “The king, my father, spoke of my mother, long ago gone to the other-world.”

“I speak full truth, I am mother to you.”

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THE KING’S DAUGHTER
MC Halliday
ISBN: 1-59998-033-9
Samhain Publishing

In a medieval Eire where the Druid legacy survives, the bartered daughter of a clan king struggles in a web of dark spells to save herself ~ and her beloved knight ~ while under the watchful eye of a lough wizard.

Due to a lack of guidance but in spite of poor treatment growing up, I remained a terribly gullible, trusting girl even when the actions of others proved otherwise; exactly as the heroine is depicted in my novel of Victorian historical erotica. I could not have written this novel without the insight and courage to weave my own internal struggles through the fictional memoirs, I Came Up Stairs: A Victorian Courtesan’s Memoirs, 1867 to 1871:

“It was this period of weakness and self-doubt that I believe set the stage for what occurred in the coming weeks and months. It was my need for assurance and comfort that caused me to crave love so desperately.”

“The greatest challenge of my life has been to see and accept the actual truth without great pain and struggle against it.”

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I CAME UP STAIRS: A Victorian Courtesan’s Memoirs, 1867 to 1871
MC Halliday
ISBN 9781770650459
Eternal Press

An epic tale of love and lovers, war and heartbreak woven into the erotic memoirs of a courtesan unashamed of her amorous adventures.

Led from filth and poverty by a gentleman in the hopes of gaining coin for his purse, Mae is shaped into a lady and tutored in the arts of pleasure. With raw sensuality, she creates a seductive dance that entices the peerage in puritanical England, and she quickly becomes favored courtesan to Prince of Wales. Her renown and riches ever rising, she continues to romp with gamely men and women of both the nobility and the lower classes. Eventually, Mae’s bohemian ways cause suffering for those she loves and her own heartbreak. Must she conform to Victorian mores, or can she remain true to her sensual desires?

These intimate memoirs reveal a young woman’s journey from the slums of Whitechapel to celebrated dancer of the Victorian music hall, and courtesan to the highest peers of the British realm. From the years 1867 to 1871, Mae recounts her varied lovers and false loves, and her heartbreaking losses in a quest for happiness.

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As much as I write a variety of genres, I believe my books would be less without the depth of my experiences reflected in the character’s challenges and the difficult path to hard won wisdom. My dedication in, The King’s Daughter:
“Everytime there is a struggle, it is a preparation for what is to come.”
Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes from the documentary, The Last Days of Left Eye

“At any place on the road of life we try to do the best we can with the knowledge we have at the time. Our journey is often fraught with rutted cobbles and wide streams but I believe each fall or flounder we might make along the way is a chance to learn, to do better.” MC Halliday

My dedication in, I Came Up Stairs, is one simple sentence:
To my mother, Maureen Grace, long gone and yet, ever the wind at my back.

If you are further intrigued, please visit my website for books currently available and links to long excerpts. I also have trailers on YouTube that might be of interest and regular posts on both Goodreads and Facebook.

We’ll be back tomorrow with another side of MC Halliday you won’t want to miss.:) Until then…

Happy Writing!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell

May 14, 2010

Nice Girl Naughty

is the latest release from Jan Springer, the Queen of Hot and one of her best. Be sure to have plenty of ice water on hand. NICE GIRL NAUGHTY is hot, Hot, HOT!!

Here’s a PG little teaser to set the stage:

NICE GIRL NAUGHTY
Jan Springer
ISBN: 9781419927423
Ellora’s Cave

BLURB:
Someone is murdering red-haired female artists and Summer Colby is smack in the killer’s cross-hairs. Blind since nineteen, Summer is a famous erotic wood carver. When she barely escapes an attempt on her life, family friend and professional bodyguard Nick Cassidy vows to keep her safe.

Hiding together in a secluded wilderness cabin, she’s captivated by Nick’s thick, powerful muscles, firm abs and those hard, yummy male body parts. It doesn’t take long before he’s making love to her up against the bedroom wall and she’s going down on him on her wood carving table.

Nick Cassidy has been working overseas. He hasn’t seen Summer for ten years, since shortly after the accident that left her blind and she told him she didn’t love him. Their sexual attraction is stronger than ever and he discovers she’s still the same passionate woman sizzling with untapped sexual energy he left behind. Sweeping his gorgeous redhead into the erotic filled sex fest they’ve waited for years to experience, Nick realizes their hideout isn’t safe – until it’s too late.

EXCERPT (unedited)
“Hello? Is anyone there?” Summer called out as she heard the nearby alcove door of her California Carmel-by-the-Sea art gallery creak open. She turned to face the soft sound of the footsteps padding into the room where she’d been setting up her newest exhibit of erotic woodcarving.

“Hello? We don’t open until Monday morning,” she called to the intruder. Her assistant, Mary, had left only a few minutes ago to grab them a late night snack so they could finish up tonight and take tomorrow off to do some shopping for more supplies for her next batch of art.

Whoever had entered, it wasn’t Mary because the elderly lady walked briskly, like she meant business. Whoever was there, didn’t respond, but she could hear someone breathing somewhere to her left. Could actually feel her skin crawl as someone watched her. Uneasiness lashed her and she suddenly wished for her assistant to be back here.

Gosh, she hadn’t realized how dependent she was on Mary. Ever since the elderly woman had come into Summer’s life several months earlier, she’d been her eyes, describing the quaint European story book cottages lining the town streets they shopped at or explaining how the blue-green ocean interacted with the rocky coastline when Mary drove Summer to and from her art gallery.

“Hello?” she called out again, getting really nervous at the person’s rudeness for not answering her.

Ever since the accident ten years ago that claimed her vision, she’d learned not to jump at every little sound. Freaking out would only riddle her with unwanted anxiety. She focused on using her other senses. Her ears could pick up sounds a normal seeing person couldn’t hear and her nostrils were definitely picking up the sharp scent of aftershave.

Okay. So it was a man and he possessed a dark dangerous scent she’d never smelled before. Despite not wanting to be, she suddenly felt frightened.

“Are you lost? My assistant can help you.” Despite her fear she managed to keep her voice surprisingly calm. Reaching for the pager she kept strapped in a waist holster, she found herself fumbling with the tight clasp. As it snapped open and her hand touched the plastic pager the man’s harsh voice stopped her cold.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Ms. Colby.”

She froze. Whether it was, because of the heavy way he was breathing or because of his thick, sharp, commanding voice, instincts told her this guy meant her harm. Fear zipped up a few notches and for a brief instant she couldn’t think of what to do, let alone which way to move.

“I’ve wanted you for too long, Summer,” the man whispered hoarsely. His breathing was getting heavier, quicker. She sensed him drawing closer. Moving very slowly. Like the cat getting ready to pounce on the blind mole.

Oh frig. He definitely meant to hurt her.

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To learn more about Jan go to her website and be sure to sign up for her newsletter for contests. You’ll also enjoy Jan’s blog. And since a lady can never have to many friends, check her out at Facebook.

I’ll be back next week. Until then…

Happy Writing!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell

April 28, 2010

Gazing into the Crystal Ball

We predict the future is bright for Selena Illyria with two new books releasing days apart and more contracts for this year and next. Now we this the blog back to our wonderful guest author.

I hope you’ve enjoyed a few peeks into my many words. I had so much fun writing them. One last sneak peek before I go?

Coming April 29, 2010

LAST CALL EUROPE: DOG SLED
Selena Illyria
ISBN: 978-1-60521-402-3
Changeling Press

BLURB:
Werewolf Silvano wants a break from the drama in pack business. A night out is exactly what he needs. He doesn’t count on his rival’s familiar Hexuba strolling into Last Call.
Black Cat shifter and Wizard’s familiar, Hexuba, has always wanted Silvano even though he’s the enemy. One night is all she asks to indulge her wildest fantasies with him. Come morning she’ll be gone.

Will one night be enough?

EXCERPT:
Silvano stood in his bathroom staring at his foggy reflection in the mirror. He drew in a breath and blew it out. Tension sung through his body as he prepared himself for the monthly fuckfest. Or, as his elders liked to call it, the compatibility test. He didn’t buy it for a second. Find your mate by fucking them. He scoffed at the notion but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Either he slept with all the available females in his pack to find a suitable alpha female or he lost his pack. So it was decreed in the pack bylaws, the rules his father had followed as laid out by his father before him and so on and so on, ad nauseam.

As a hormone-driven youth, he’d reveled at the chance to fuck so many willing women. Now, as an adult of thirty-four, with his thirty-fifth birthday right around the corner, he was tired of it. All of it. He’d fucked practically every available woman in the pack. His father had even thought of bringing in women from an allied pack to see if he would fit better with one of them. He’d turned them all down. It wasn’t just the sex that was tiresome, but also the elders and his second lieutenant, the rules, the obligations…

He was alpha, the leader, and yet he couldn’t make up new rules or lead his people the way he wanted. The system was antiquated, governed by laws and decorum that didn’t fit into today’s world of paraphiles, people obsessed with the paranormal and all aspects of it. The young pups lived in a sort of static environment, caught between tradition and the modern age where werewolves could blend in with the normal populace without being shunned for doing so.

The other problem on his horizon was twofold. One was from an ex-pack member, Turk. The man had been begun to dabble in the dark arts, accessing the magick in his blood from his wizard ancestry all in a bid to take over the pack that had exiled him long ago. Silvano feared for his once childhood friend. According to reports, Turk was going insane, being driven by dark forces. There was very little Silvano could do short of killing the man, and he was reluctant to do so. Many in both packs had blamed him for Turk’s current behavior. Silvano had refused to step aside during the pack challenge and let Turk win.

He shook his head. Silvano couldn’t have allowed that. The man was unstable. And now there was the problem of Turk’s black cat familiar: Hexuba. Just thinking her name heated his blood. His cock went from flaccid to semi-hard. He could see her face, the velvety dark chocolate colored eyes. Just a glance made him want to drag her someplace private, away from distractions, and discover what secret places on her body made her cry out and moan.

“Fucking hell.” He fisted his cock at the base and stroked slowly, allowing the arousal to grow. “Hex.” He hissed out her name as his mind painted her image among the wisps of steam. Her delicate nose, high cheekbones and lush, full lips came into view. He groaned again as his thoughts drifted to feeling those lips against his as she explored his body. Silvano could feel the pebbled tips of her nipples scraping across his belly as she moved downward. He wanted to feel her mouth on him, feel her tongue lap at the slit atop his cock-head before swallowing him whole.

The fantasy continued to build as his imagination painted Hex on her knees, lips dragging along his hardened length. The minx would tease him, giving him just enough pressure to send pulses of pleasure up his spine and throughout his body before releasing his cock. She would lap up his seed while pumping him with her hand before returning to torment him with her mouth, and he would love every minute of it.

“Silvano, are you ready?” a high-pitched female voice called out.

The fantasy evaporated just like the steam and he swore. His cock lost some of its hardness as real life came crashing in. With a sigh, he shook his head. “Time to do my duty.”

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Due to release May 5th

BLOOD CLAIM: TAINTED
Selena Illyria
ISBN: 978-1-60737-570-8
Loose-Id

BLURB:
Revenge is what Syrus sought.

Jessye was just trying to adjust to having both a consort and new leader.

Desire burns hot but the past and stubbornness stands between them. Can they work together to stop a madwoman and preserve their new clan? Or will they destroy each other before they can even meet in the middle ground.

Love, lust, need, revenge can all be tainted. Forgiveness and acceptance can heal it all.

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It’s been a pleasure having Se with us this week. You can learn more about Selena Illyria and her fabulous work on her website and blog.

I’ll be back Monday. Until then…

Happy Writing!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell

April 27, 2010

Chocolate, Anyone?

Selena Illyria is back to share insight on another of her exciting books CHOCOLATE SNAKE BITE. Here’s what Se has to say:

I decided to delve into a relationship that I’d mentioned in my books Mudslide and White Russian (both books are a part of the Del Fantasma collection). I had fun writing this story, it was great to finally take a peek at the Snake Demon Court. Like Chocolate Bliss, I had this story rolling around my head for quite awhile and like Chocolate Bliss I planned to write an orgy scene but never really got to it. Somehow it seemed to take away from the true story.

And now for your pleasure is my latest offering to the Del Fantasma line from Aspen Mountain Press.

CHOCOLATE SNAKE BITE
Selena Illyria
ISBN: 978-1-60168-285-7
Aspen Mountain Press

BLURB:
Every relationship has problems and for months now all Dale and Val have been doing is fighting. He wants it to stop. So drastic times call for drastic measures. Dale takes the Love’s Bane potion hoping that Val will be too busy lusting after him to fight with him, but sex can’t solve every problem.

Val doesn’t want part of her lover. She wants all of him, even the dark aspects of his sexual desire. She yearns for his brand but every time she brings up the subject he shuts her down. How can they communicate when he won’t open up?

Will the arrival of his brothers and a trip to the Demonic Snake court help their relationship or hurt it?

EXCERPT:
“Don’t do it,” Cody warned.

Dale looked into Cody’s hard sea blue gaze and nearly reconsidered his actions. His thoughts turned to Val and the last few weeks. He shook his head, path resolved. “I have to do it. There is no other way.”

“This kind of magick isn’t something you just pickup. It’s not something you mess around with. Do you even know what’s in this so-called aphrodisiac?”

Dale winced. “No. Look, it comes from a reliable person. I trust my source.”

“What does Pietro say about this? After all, that kind of potion is restricted to demons.” Cody picked up a glass and started cleaning up. His eyes focused on Dale, making him squirm.

“He doesn’t know…” Dale’s voice trailed off as guilt surfaced for the umpteenth time. Ever since the thought had entered his mind about gaining a small sample of the Love’s Bane, He’d felt guilty. Pietro. King of the Demons, was one of his best friends. If he found out what Dale was up to, Pietro would have his balls.

“Let me remind you why it’s banned. Love’s Bane is an aphrodisiac that is highly addictive. Taken in high quantities it could poison you. If there hadn’t been a pact between demons and warlocks the magickal beings would still be trying to destroy your asses with it. So, I don’t care how bad your relationship problems are. Don’t. Do. It.”

Dale looked away from Cody. “Look, I’m at my wit’s end. I don’t know what to do about Val. She and I have been fighting, a lot. I mean we’re a passionate couple, but it’s just too much lately. I’m starting to worry that she’ll want to break it off with me.”

He loathed feeling so vulnerable. “I’m Dale Thornston, heir to the Serpentine Throne, the fourth most powerful house in all of Demon world and I’m here, sulking in a bar, drowning my troubles in some drink called Chocolate Snake Bites and talking to you about things I would never tell another soul, not even my best friends or brothers. It’s pathetic. I should be home fucking the daylights out of my mate, not here. If she hadn’t had to work late, again…” He stopped talking and dragged a hand over his face. “I’m tired of being alone at home.”
“The why don’t you ask her about her feeling instead of doing something stupid?” Cody asked.

“Such a simple question. Don’t you think I’ve tried that? We either get interrupted or in a fight and I always end up sticking my foot in my mouth. It just feels like we’re never going to stop fighting. It doesn’t help there’s a new guy in her office and it’s very clear that bastard wants what’s mine.” His stomach roiled. Anger boiled in his veins as an image of Val’s new co-worker and boss, a werewolf, rose in his mind. The bastard had made it clear he wanted Val and would play dirty to get her.

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I guarantee CHOCOLATE SNAKE BITE is a thigh-clenching book you’ll want to read several times. We’ll be back tomorrow with more from Selena Illyria. Until then…

Happy Writing!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell