Sasha White's Blog, page 13

Ideas flying by

I really wish I had my brain hooked up to a recorder when I slept. I have the BEST dreams, and then I wake up and by the time I get dressed, hit the washroom, and then get to my desk I can’t remember what they were. All I remember is that man, they were good.

Now, don’t go thinking they’re all sex dreams. Just because I write and publish erotic doesn’t mean it’s all I ever want to do. Sometimes my dreams, and story ideas, veer into areas that surprise even me. I do want to write other stuff, and I’m going to, someday. But i have to admit, last nights dreams did revolve around a romantic situation. I remember it was sort of a reunion situation, with some new people thrown in, and a couple of those new people were brothers. Twins to be exact. Now this is very surprising to me because I’ve read a menage story or two where the guys were brothers or cousins, and it’s always sorta creeped me out. However, I have to say in my dream, it wasn’t really a menage so much as triangle…and what woman doesn’t want to be wanted by two delicious men?

So, in thinking about dreams, and fantasies, and all sorts of stuff I thought I’d ask you guys….what did you dream about last night? Do you remember?

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What I did during July

I worked very hard during July. Yes, I know it doesn’t seem like it since I’ve not been here, but trust me, you’ll be happy with what I’ve been doing.

Did you enjoy the Summer HEat Giveaway? Aza has claimed her prize, and the loaded up eReader will be going into the post tomorrow.

One of the other things I’ve been doing is getting ready for the Authors After Dark convention. It’s in Savannah, Georgia this year, and I’m looking forward to it. Summer ‘s been a bit lame here so far this year. Or maybe it just feels that way to me because I haven’t had time to lay out on my balcony, *blush* Anyway, AAD starts on Wednesday, August 14th, and on the very first even ing of the convention, Joey W. Hill and I are hosting the Erotic Trivia Hour with Joey & Sasha. Yeah, I know, real original title huh? Can you tell we’re creative types?

No matter our simple title, this even is gonna kick ass. Joey and I have devised a trivia game thats a cross between Who Wants to be a Millionair and Jeopardy. Categories with questions will be Books, or General Erotic Knowledge.   (The book questions will center around mine and Joey’s books, so you might want to refresh your memories of our stories.) We’re gonna have 2 rounds, and even those who don’t make it up to the front as contestants can get a chance at winning some of the great swag we’re bring for prizes.

I’m also one of the authors sponsoring the BDSM Bingo event on Friday, which among other things, means I’ll be providing a prize basket. You’d think putting together a thing like that would be easy, but it’s not as easy as it seems. Not only do I not want to put anything to drastic in it, but I have to carry this stuff through customs on my flight down, so I don’t really want to give the security guys at the airport any wild ideas. ;)

I could go on to tell you about the panels I’ll be doing as well, but let’s skip that as there’s really n preparation for those.  Moving on to whats kept me busy…WATCH ME is going to be releasing soon. The official release date is August 13th, but if you watch carefully, it might be up as soon as early next week. :)

I’ve got a secret project going on that I hope to be able to share news on soon, but for now I’m just gonna tease you. WATCH ME has made me really want to tease. ;)

Oh, and I’m working hard on getting ONE CHOICE done so I can release it in September. So for those of you that have been waiting, thank you for your patience. I’ll do my best to make the wait worth it.

 

Now, it’s the weekend, and I have to work all weekend, so I’ve decided I need some inspiration. I figure if I’ve got this guy hanging out on my computer to keep me in just the right frame of mind, things will go very well. What do you think? ;)

Have a good weekend!

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Cover Reveal

Watch Me

Releasing August 13th

What is it about the tease that’s so hot?



Bethany Mack has it all – a job she enjoys, a best friend who keeps life interesting, and a man she loves deeply. It’s hardly fair for her to complain about Grant, her husband, working too much when he’s doing it to make their life together, a better one. Right?

So she doesn’t.

Instead, she starts to explore a surprise exhibitionist streak. Bethany figures it’s a harmless way to relieve her growing restlessness, but how will Grant react when he discovers what she’s been doing?

WATCH ME was previously published by Berkley. I’ve revised and expanded it for this publication, fleshing out some bits, and adding another layer to a story that I was already in love with. I know readers don’t often think of romance stories being about a married couple, and in all honesty, I think many married couples worry about the romance being gone in a relationship… which is how Bethany and Grant’s story originally came about.

PS: I’ll to have shiny new print copies to sign at the Saturday Booksigning in Savannah Authors After Dark!

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News Flash:

Wanna See one of my surprises for y’all? Check out The Scortching Book Reviews Blog today. They’re revealing my August release!

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WINNER Summer Heat Giveaway!!!

All right everyone, here’s how the winner was picked. Randomly. :)

 

Seriously, there were over 200 comments made, I tracked and counted them all, subtracted the ones form myself, or the authors who guested, and only counted one per person per day (even when they commetned mroe than once, was still apreciatted , especially when chatting wiht or complimenting the guest authors, Thanks you!.

 

Then I entered the numbers in Random.org’s machine, and got a winning number and tracked back through the comments, and found the right numbered commenter….that person is the winner.

So who is it?  Winner is…….Aza Thompson

 

Aza, please use the CONTACT LINK to claim your prise. Email  me your info so I can ship the eReader to you. You have one week to claim your prize. If I don’t hear from you by next Tuesday, the 23d, I’ll pick another winner.

 

 

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Summer Heat roundup.

I hope y’all enjoyed all the guest excerpts, and even if you’re not the winner of the loaded up eReader, that you’ll be giving some of those authors a try. They are all fabulous ladies, with amazing talent that are worth getting hooked on.

The last story that will be added to the eReader Prize is my LUSTY LADIES collection of short stories. I know readers often get frustrated with short stories, and I feel that happens when they read ones that are written to tease the reader in you. But I love writing short stories, I really really do. And I think I’m good at it. (as are some of the others you saw here these past two weeks – Alison Tyler and Saskia Walker are in my top three favorite authors to read short stories from.) Maybe because when I write them I’m not writing them to tease the reader in you, but the libido in you. I think Alison and Saskia do the same because their stories sure get my libido going. *grin*

Anyway, because I love writing short stories, I still do it, when I can, and when I have enough I put them together in a little collection. LUSTY LADIES was my first of all mine. I’m thinking another one should be about ready in early 2014 too.

So, to tempt and tease your libido, I’m sharing one of the short stories here, and I hope you’ll enjoy it enough to give Lusty Ladies a try.

Enjoy

 

Connection

As a go–go dancer at a busy club, I’d get hit on a lot. Young guys, old guys, ugly guys and gorgeous guys. You’d think they’d hit on the strippers that worked the main stage of the club, but it seems those that only tease, and don’t show everything are more attractive to the men. The strippers made more money, but the go-go dancers got more propositions. Imagine that.

Anyway, I’d never actually accepted a proposition because it took more than a handsome face, or even a big tip, to gain my interest.

It took Carter.

He didn’t do anything to stand out from the crowd of people who came into the club, he was just your average Joe that dropped in for the occasional drink, but when he watched me shake my booty…the gleam in his eyes made my heart pound in my chest and my nipples stand at attention. It took three months of him watching me, heating my blood with the heat of his gaze for me to give up on him ever moving off his bar stool and making a move. Then he came over and asked me out for a drink. Not being an idiot, I jumped at the chance to get him alone.

That night I took special care with my preparations until there was no doubt in my mind that I was completely sexy and desirable. After picking out an outfit that I thought would encourage my quiet date without being too trashy, I called a cab, and tried not to think too much during the short ride to the pub.

The Zodiac was a neighborhood pub; full of the familiar sounds and smells that most drinking establishments have, and I was immediately comfortable when I entered the dim room. Carter was already there, in a booth near the back of the room.

“Hi there,” I greeted him as I slid my bottom across the vinyl bench.

“Elise, I’m glad you could make it.” His deep voice rolled over me, and tiny bumps jumped out on my skin. Why does he affect me so strongly? I wondered. It’s as if my body already knows him.

Unable to stop myself I skimmed my own hands up and down my arms, needing to feel skin touching skin. With what I hoped was a sultry smile, I leaned back in my seat and tried to concentrate on having a normal conversation.

Before long I was engrossed in our discussion about traveling and what being alone in a foreign country can teach a person. Conversation turned to how people kid themselves about who, and what, they are and about what really makes them happy.

“When you’re surrounded by friends and family it’s too easy to let yourself want what they want or be happy with whatever makes them happy, instead of digging deeper to what you really want out of life.”

“Knowing oneself is essential to finding true happiness,” Carter told me.

As open and honest as our conversation was, I felt as if he was hinting at something I wasn’t quite grasping, so I changed the subject. Lightened things up.

“So . . . why did you wait so long to ask me out?” The question came out sounding very blunt, and not at all like the flirtatious query I’d intended it to be. My cheeks heated and sent hot blood humming through my body, making my sex throb.

Carter’s full lips titled into a sly smile, as if he could read my mind. It was almost as if he knew all my innermost secrets and desires, and was just waiting for me to realize it.

My impatient nature got the best of me, and I gave up on pretending I wanted anything other than the hidden promises I saw in his dark gaze. After taking a deep breath, I invited him back to my place for another drink.

Carter quickly agreed.

He may have seemed quiet and mild-mannered when we were in the pub but the minute we entered my apartment his whole demeanor changed. He took charge immediately. He pulled me to him and kissed me so passionately I practically crawled up his body in an effort to pull his clothes off.

Large masculine hands ran over my body, cupping my ass and pulling me tight against him to feel his hard-on press into my belly. I rubbed against him wantonly and he skimmed his hands up my back and around to my breasts. He cupped their heaviness and pinched my pointed nipples through my shirt, making me gasp.

Suddenly, he gripped my hips, spun me around, and bent me over the couch.

“Such a wonderful ass you have,” he said as he lifted my skirt up and smoothed his hand over my rounded ass cheeks lovingly.

With one sure, swift motion he had my panties down around my ankles, and I kicked them away. I was so hot already that all I did was brace myself against the sofa, and spread my thighs in invitation for a good fucking. But Carter ignored my silent invitation and continued to firmly stroke his callused hand in ever-widening circles over my ass until I whimpered. I tilted my hips, brazenly trying to get him to slide a finger between my thighs, or better yet, his cock.

“What do you say?” he asked me in a strong voice.

I hesitated briefly but I couldn’t contain my lust and the words spilled wantonly from my lips. “Fuck me.”

His hand lifted away from me and came down sharply on my right cheek. I jumped in surprise and looked over my shoulder at him. “What the hell was that for?”

Then I saw the glint in his eyes and my pussy clenched greedily. He was silent as he rubbed his hand smoothly over my cheeks again before slipping his finger between my thighs and discovering how wet I was. His fingers delved into me and teased my pussy for a few minutes before he pulled out. He gripped my hips with both hands, and slipped his cock into my hungry cunt.

He pumped into me hard and fast while I squealed with pleasure. After the first few strokes one of his hands left its home on my hip, I felt a sharp sting on my ass cheek and a loud slap echoed in the room.

The slap didn’t really hurt, and his cock was still pumping into me, so I just arched my back and wordlessly asked for more. This multi-tasking approach surprised me but not in an unpleasant way. As long as he kept thrusting his hard cock in and out of my pussy, I was in heaven.

The slapping continued as he fucked me and soon I wanted more. Blood rushed to my bottom and everything tingled delightfully, making all my reservations disappear until I was moaning in pleasure like a little slut.

It felt so good, so why not go with it?

Every few strokes Carter lifted his hand, slapped me briskly on the ass, and another cry would leap from my lips. My ass was on fire, my inner walls clenched hungrily around him, and every time the flat of his hand landed heavily on my bare cheek, a thrill shot through me.

My tummy tightened and my cunt followed suit as I came. Every muscle in my body tightened and my insides milked the throbbing shaft buried deep inside me.

We crawled into bed and had sex again. This time it was in the modified missionary position with my knees up against my chest and him so deep inside me I swear his cock was tapping on my womb. After a screaming orgasm we cuddled up, and prepared to sleep.

I lay beside Carter that night and my thoughts turned to stories I’d heard about people enjoying spanking as a form of foreplay, or as a sex act in itself. There had been something different about the way Carter had watched me, and that something was the reason I’d agreed to go for drinks with him. The second bout of sex was good, but I decided then that I wanted more of that crazy bad girl feeling I got when he was slapping my ass and fucking me from behind. I didn’t say anything to Carter but as I drifted towards sleep my imagination gave birth to a wonderfully naughty idea.

Since Carter had the typical Monday-to-Friday day job he’d left my bed early, while I was still sleeping. I wasn’t expecting him to come into the bar to see me again that night after working all day, so it was a nice surprise when he walked in and pulled up a stool at the bar. I kept working, and shook my ass naughtily whenever I felt his eyes on me.

When the song ended I took a quick break and went over to him. “Hi,” I said, fighting the urge to blush.

“Hello, Elise.” He leaned over and pressed a light kiss to my lips.

I could tell by looking at him that he was tired but his intense gaze, combined with his comfortable manner, made me confident that he didn’t regret our all nighter. We chatted for a bit, me leaning against the bar, and getting closer to him. It was an erotic tease to be so close to him, yet to not be able to touch him.

“Time’s up,” I muttered, seeing one of the other girl’s wave at the clock. I nibbled on my bottom lip for just a second before I pressed between his knees and put my face close to his. “Tomorrow is my night off. Would you like to come over for dinner?”

Heat flared in the depths of his eyes and his thighs tensed beneath my hands. Our connection was solid. Just like that he knew I had something more than cooking for him in mind. And he knew it wasn’t just getting naked.

The night passed uneventfully after he left. The whole time I danced, and other men tried to pick me up, my mind was full of Carter. Plans and ideas swirled around in my head about how to let Carter know I wanted to explore the unique hunger he’d stirred to life inside me.

The next afternoon I made a special trip to the Adult’s Only shop downtown, and picked up a few things to help me out. I rushed home and put together a cheese and fruit tray, before jumping into the shower. Washed and shaved, I stepped out to smooth scented lotion all over my body, and dressed in a skimpy pair of black stretch lace panties, a slinky black wraparound dress, and four inch fuck me heels.

The doorbell rang just as I finished lighting the candles I’d set out around my bedroom.

Like I said before, Carter wasn’t what I would normally describe as a good-looking man but when he stepped into my apartment that night he looked so yummy that I creamed in my panties.

“Everything’s ready.” I said as I stood back from the open doorway and let him enter the room.

There was a glint of appreciation in his eyes as he pulled me to him for a hard and fast kiss. Then he glanced around the apartment before quirking an eyebrow at me. It was obvious I hadn’t been cooking dinner. “Everything’s ready?”

With a sassy wink I took his hand and led him into my bedroom. Once in the center of the room I turned to gauge his reaction as he looked around the room.

It was dim and shadowy with the lights off, but enough candles spread about that only the corners of the room were completely dark. Carter took in the set up, the fruit and cheese tray on the dresser next to a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses, the candles, the toys on the bedside table.

He eyed the flogger and the paddle for a moment, and when he looked back at me his lips were twisted into a small smile. That wicked glint that had attracted me to him in the first place was in his eyes again, and my pussy clenched in response.

Unable to resist the yearning building inside me I wrapped my arms around his neck, and kissed him. Food was forgotten as our tongues touched and our breathing became labored. I slipped my hands between us, cupped his hard-on through his pants, and sighed into his mouth. Strong fingers encircled my wrist, pulling my hand away from his dick as he stepped back. I looked into his face and an uncharacteristic thrill rippled through my body.

“You’re a bad girl,” he said sternly.

I looked up at him and licked my lips teasingly. “Uh huh.” I tried to reach for his cock again, but he had a good hold on my wrist and wasn’t letting go.

He stepped further away from me, crossed his arms over his chest and said one word. “Strip.”

I untied the string at my waist and opened the dress up so he could see that all I had on underneath were panties. The dress slid down my arms and dropped to the floor leaving me standing in the candlelight wearing only my high heels and a scrap of black lace.

“You are such a bad girl.” Carter smiled at me. “You need to be punished for teasing me, and dressing like such a slut.”

Arousal swamped me at his words. I’d never realized just how badly I’d wanted a man to take control of me. Not 24/7, I would never be able to handle that…but having a man take control of my body, for just a short period of time, was such a pure release.

I wanted to be a slut for him. I wanted to suck his cock, to let him fuck me any and every way he could think of. He saw that in me, I think that was why I’d been attracted to him from the first.

Carter pulled the straight-back chair away from the desk in the corner and set it in the middle of the room. Sitting on it he motioned to his lap and said, “Assume the position.”

I clumsily laid myself over his lap, his erection pressing into my belly through his jeans. A firm hand smoothed over my ass, fingertips tickling the sensitive skin at the bottom of my cheeks where the lace stopped and bare skin began. My head dropped forward, my long curls creating a curtain, cutting of my view of the room. Bracing my hands on the floor, I closed my eyes and spread my feet a bit further apart.

Arching my back I felt the stretch lace of my panties rub against my hairless pussy lips and my juices gushed some more. If Carter dipped his finger just a bit lower he’d feel just how turned on I was. His hand left my ass, and I held my breath as I heard him pick one of the toys up from the bedside table.

“This is a very nice toy, my dear.” He placed the palm of one hand in the middle of my back.

Which one was it? What was he going to use first? Something tickled across my half bare ass cheeks and I gasped at the sensation. It was the flogger!

“But I don’t like toys. I like to use my hands.” Smack!

A sharp slap landed on my ass.

“This is for not cooking me a proper meal like you promised.” Smack! “And this is for not telling me before how badly you needed to be punished. You must always tell me what you want. If you ask nicely, you just might get it.”

More slaps were quick to follow and soon there was no denying that getting spanked turned me on more than ever before. I squirmed in Carter’s lap, pressing myself against him, rubbing against his hard on, and spreading my thighs in blatant invitation to be touched. Carter’s slaps softened a bit and lowered so that his hand was landing on the under-curve of my cheeks and his fingertips were landing on my swollen pussy-lips. Then his hand stilled on the curve of my ass, and a finger slipped under the lace to test my wetness.

“Oh yeah!” I sighed with pleasure.

Taking the hint Carter thrust his finger deeper inside me briefly before pulling it out and lifting me off his lap. His hands worked his zipper before he lifted his hips and slid his pants down enough to free his throbbing cock. I licked my lips as I watched him and dropped to my knees in front of him.

“Not this time,” he said and pulled me up to straddle him. Shoving aside the crotch of my panties he thrust deep and true.

With him in the chair, and my feet reaching the floor, I rocked my hips and rode him smoothly . . . easily rising and falling so that his cock pulled out, then thrust in deeply each and every time. My nails dug into his shoulders when his hands cupped my tits and he pinched my nipples. My startled cry of pleasure echoed through the empty room until it was cut off by Carter’s mouth slanting across my own.

Our tongued dueled and our teeth clashed in a decadently carnal kiss. My sensitized ass cheeks brushed against the gathered denim across his thighs and the pleasure/pain mix had my orgasm approaching fast. I picked up the pace, riding him hard and fast in an almost uncontrollable race to the finish line. He ripped his mouth from mine and a completely male groan of satisfaction echoed in my ears as his hot come flooded my cunt and pushed me over the edge. Every muscle in my body tightened and my inner walls clenched, milking every last drop from him.

We sat like that for a few minutes, catching our breath and simply looking into each others eyes. My heart swelled in my chest and a contentment I’d never felt before settled in deep inside my soul.

Soon Carter stood and carried me to the bed. He dropped me on it, shucked his clothes, and crawled onto the soft mattress next to me. We drank the wine, fed each other cheese and fruit and grinned stupidly the whole time.

We’d uncovered a connection that went beyond how we looked and to how we felt, to who we truly were. A connection that let us be ourselves, with no pretense’s.

I was holding a juicy piece of fruit to his lips when his gaze flicked to the flogger and the paddle and I knew then that we were only just beginning on the path to more adventurous, and loving, things.

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Devyn Quinn brings the heat

Fellow Aphrodisia author Devyn Quinn has offered up a fabulous story for the Summer Heat giveaway.

WHen some readers hear that Devyn’s books are a bit on the darker side of romance, they might hesitate to give them a try….and they’d be wrong to. This woman does write with a dark edge, but she never fails to give you the hot sex and sweet emotion romance readers crave. Check out the excerpt below, and get hooked on Devyn Quinn!

Julienne Blackthorne grew up in the school of hard knocks. A near brush with death leaves her broke, alone and scarred for life. Her future is in ruins, and her soul little more than ashes.

The chance to begin anew lures her back to the family home her mother abandoned over twenty- one years ago…and straight into the unwelcome embrace of the man Cassandra Blackthorne feared most.

Morgan Saint-Evanston.

Dark. Brooding. Sexy as hell. He’s everything a woman desires, yet his own frightening secrets have tainted his heart and blackened his soul. He is a man Julienne will dare to take as her lover, even as he plunges her into a cultic realm where swords and sorcery still rule, and human souls are open barter.

Excerpt: Echoes of Angels

Morgan nodded. His dark gaze skimmed her body. She was acutely aware of his appraisal. His penetrating stare under hooded eyes was an intimate one. He didn’t conceal the fact he was examining her closely, with a slight smile and the devilish expression in the depths of his eyes.

“You like what you see?” She offered her best profile, giving him plenty of time to look her over. Eat your heart out over something you’ll never have.

He rewarded her with a flicker of interest that seemed sincere. “I will admit you are a vision to behold.”

“I’m surprised you’d compliment me,” she said, offering a shy, relieved smile. Maybe, she prayed, she was off the hook.

“I can give credit where it is due,” he retorted then continued, with a shattering precision of insult, to parry his compliment. “But you are still a long way from what you were. I daresay overly thin women are not attractive.”

Dismay flooded through her. She’d thought he was pleased to see her yet his words indicated differently. Knowing what she’d been through, he had the gall to make such a cruel remark. In heels, she might have stood taller than he did, but somehow he had a way of making a person feel two inches high.

Julienne frowned. Apparently, what Danielle Yames had told her was true. Morgan simply didn’t care if people liked him or not. “I’m not going to stand here and listen to you hurl insults at me,” she said.

“I am not detaining you from leaving.” He stepped aside, affording her ample space to pass him. “I shall not delay you further.”

“Good.” Deciding to try for a bluff and see if she could get by him with her hide and her dignity intact, she set her body in motion. Sighting squarely past him, she started on her way. Twenty little steps and she could be safely past the den of the lion. Out of danger, free to go.

Freedom was not so easily gained.

Morgan’s hand shot out, seizing her arm and jerking her maliciously to a stop. His grip was none too gentle, and his black eyes seemed to slice right through her hastily erected defenses before he hooded them.

He cocked his head toward Ashleigh’s bedroom. “Goaill soylley coimhead?”

Julienne lost all her pretended composure. His words didn’t have to be spoken in English for her to understand their meaning. He had asked her if she enjoyed watching. He knew she’d been standing behind the door. She felt his hand burning through the thin material of her sleeve. She bit back a cry of pain as his fingers dug deeply into her arm, perceiving the willful savagery in his grasp. The air around him sizzled with the sheer animal maleness he projected.

She licked her lips, drawing in a quick breath. Oh, he was so damned gorgeous, from the careless tousle of his black hair to his fathomless night-colored eyes that held the promise of pain…and of pleasure. Coiled, crouched like an untamed beast, muscles sinuous under his impeccable clothing, he made her shiver. His very touch aroused her, and it took all the willpower she had to fight her attraction to him.

How could a man she half-despised do this to her? He was the kind who took women, used them then threw them away after he’d had his way with their bodies. Emotions didn’t figure into his equation. He was cold, calculating and utterly ruthless in the way he manipulated people.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she flared, pretending to be insulted by his accusation. “I didn’t see anything.”

“Too bad. You missed the best parts.” The pressure of his hand grew stronger, surer. “Might have been more interesting if you would have come in and joined us. You look like the kind of woman who takes pleasure from fornication.”

Julienne violently twisted away from his grasp. He had a way of phrasing his words so they would dig deep, inflict the most damage. For the first time since arriving, she remembered the sex-tapes he’d purchased, the ones James Hunter had tried to sell out from under her. Had he…watched them? Stupid question! Of course, he’d looked at them, appraising the value of his purchase. One million, five hundred thousand. That’s what James had demanded for the DVD’s. And Morgan Saint-Evanston had paid his price.

“I’m not interested in threesomes,” she mumbled through uncooperative lips, refusing to look at him. How could she? She knew what he was hinting at.

Morgan shrugged and stepped back. “You might have learned something.”

“Not from you!” Julienne flung, narrowing her eyes in anger. She clenched her hands, pressing them to her sides. “Besides, by the look of that lip,” she quipped. “You couldn’t satisfy one woman, much less two.”

His hand rose to his mouth, and he rubbed his slightly swollen bottom lip with the tips of his fingers. “Ashleigh likes the taste of fuil, of blood.”

She smirked. “Oh, yeah? Well, too bad she didn’t wait until she got her lips around your co—”

Morgan silenced her with a single finger cutting through the air. “Let us not go there.” His frigid eyes glittered with offense.

Julienne moistened her lips so they would shine enticingly. Judging by his expression, she’d gone far enough. Almost. Fearlessly, she returned his scowl with a widening of her artificial smile. She pretended to glance around, as if looking for someone.

“Where is Ashleigh?” she asked, lacing her tone with a dose of saccharine she didn’t feel. “I hope she isn’t ill.”

He rewarded her with a suspicious scowl. There were times when his eyes became like sharp chips of living black obsidian that longed to gouge and cut, and this was one of them. “She will be joining us shortly.”

“Smiling, I hope.”

“Why would she not be?”

“Well, if I had just been fucked by you, I know I wouldn’t be.” Delighted that she’d managed to pluck the needle from her skin and jab it in his, she steeled herself for the slap she was sure she was about to get.

Hearing the words, delivered in such a baby’s-breath voice, Morgan threw back his head and laughed. The firm line of his jaw relaxed; and for the first time, he delivered a true, almost dazzling smile.

“Very good!” He applauded, dropping his aura of inflexible and unnatural composure. “There is bone in your spine after all.”

Morgan reached into his vest pocket and slid his cigarette case out. Opening it then selecting one, he planted the brown cylinder of tobacco between his lips, sliding his free hand into his trouser pocket for his lighter. Giving it a firm shake, he flicked it, lifting it to the tip of his cigarette. Drawing in a deep breath, he exhaled through his next words. “I was beginning to doubt you belonged to this clan.”

Julienne leaned into the fragrant, curling smoke. The twinge in the back of her throat became a nagging ache. Oh, the love of a cigarette! Just what she needed to calm her nerves. And here I’ve gone and insulted the hell out of him. Why can’t I keep my fat mouth shut? Maybe he’d be a good sport and shrug off her cutting remarks.

“Can I have one?” It was worth asking.

Morgan reopened his case and peered inside before snapping it shut with a resolute click and returning it to its place.

“No.” That said, he turned and walked away without a backward glance.

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Kate Douglas Suspense Style!

Last week you got a sample of Kate with her Cowboy In My Pocket excerpt, and today we’re going to show you another side of this very talented lady.

Rose D’Angelo knows that insuring high-level shipments is a risky business, but when hijackers start lifting loads and injuring drivers and the string of thefts seems squarely targeted at her clients, she starts to feel the heat. Especially when all the signs point to her as the primary suspect.

To investigator Mike Ramsey, it looks like a clear-cut case of an inside job. Working undercover and posing as a trucker with valuable cargo, he sets himself up as the hijacking ring’s next target, hoping to catch the thieves—and Rose—in the act. 

As the two are thrown together to find out who’s behind the dangerous crimes, each harboring doubts about the other, their suspicions mount even as an undeniable passion grows between them. But what neither of them realizes is that the hijackers are closing in, and Rose and Ramsey will be forced to trust each other and join forces or risk losing everything, including each other.

Lethal Deception was originally published under the title Honeysuckle Rose.

Chapter  1
Monday morning, Pittsburgh

“I KNOW, MR.  Hannibal.  Please, you must understand why we have to add a five percent risk premium to your usual rate…Mr.  Hannibal, there’s no need to be rude.  Acme Insurance has paid out a substantial amount…I realize those thefts were unusual…yes, Mr. Hannibal, I agree, otherwise you…I understand you’re upset, Mr. Hannibal.  As I said, I agree, you do have an excellent record.”
Rose DeAngelo arched her back and ran tense fingers through her heavy twist of dark hair.  It didn’t help a bit.  Blast it! Headaches like this one generally didn’t start until after lunch.  
A second light on the phone flashed.  Rose stared at the little orange square, peripherally aware that it blinked in perfect time with the pounding in her head.  
“Mr. Hannibal.” Rose clenched her teeth against the blossoming pain in her skull.  ”There is no other option.  I’m sorry.  I’m going to switch you back to my secretary.  You’ll pay the additional five percent? Fine.  Please give Denise the route information.”
Rose took the next call, groaning audibly the moment she recognized the patronizing voice.  Sighing, she reached into her drawer for two aspirin.  James Dearborn was the last person she wanted to talk to right now.  
Not a promising sign, Rose.  She ignored the quiet voice in the back of her mind.  Now was not a good time for analyzing relationships.  Rose gulped the aspirin with a swallow of tepid coffee and grimaced at the bitter taste.  
“James…hello.”  She twisted the large marquis-cut diamond on her left hand.  Why was it, lately, all her conversations with James made her ring finger itch?
“Please, James.  I don’t have time to discuss this right now.” Rose glanced through the glassed wall of her office into the waiting room beyond.  Her boss leaned over Denise’s desk, waving a large stack of folders under the young woman’s nose.
“You want to what?” Line two blinked hypnotically.  Line three quickly joined in.  She couldn’t possibly have heard James right.  What did he say? Set a date? Rose furiously scratched the raw skin under the offending ring.  ”No,” she said, well aware of the sense of desperation in her voice.  ”I absolutely refuse to plan my wedding because your mother has a free weekend in July!  No James…absolutely not…no, we can’t discuss it at lunch with your mother.  I don’t have time for lunch today…are you giving me an ultimatum?” Rose pulled the ring off her finger, scratching frantically.  
Denise, precariously balancing a huge armload of folders, opened the office door with her shoulder.  Frank Bonner, the company president, glared through the open door into Rose’s office, then rudely signaled for her to join him in his.  James’s voice droned on, bouncing around inside Rose’s head, thumping in time to the pounding behind her eyes.  
Denise set the pile of folders on the corner of Rose’s desk, then quickly backed out of the office.  As she closed the door the stack gradually slipped to one side.  Rose stretched full length across the large oak desk, holding the phone to her ear with one hand, grabbing for the top of the pile with the other.  She felt the snag in her new black stockings open up then run the length of her leg, crawling up her inner thigh at precisely the same rate of speed as the folders slid to the floor.  
“We’ll have to talk another time, James.”  Rose took a deep breath and broke the connection.  She knew she’d hear about her behavior later, but there was no way she could deal with him now.
She signaled for Denise to take the call on line three, then punched the button for line two.  James’s mother.  Could this day possibly get any worse?
Alicia Dearborn’s shrill voice crackled into Rose’s ear.  ”No, Alicia.  I can’t go to lunch with you and James…I’m sorry too.  I’ll have to call you back.” Rose gritted her teeth.  ”I’m very busy.  No, nothing special.  Just a typical Monday.  Good bye.”
Sighing, Rose replaced the handset.  She stared at it a moment, daring the phone to ring, then picked the scattered folders up off the floor and piled them on her desk.  
She couldn’t put off her meeting with Bonner any longer, no matter how unpleasant the prospect.  It had to be about the recent hijackings.  Acme Insurance had paid a bundle in settlements the past few months and pressure around the office had been steadily building.
Most of that pressure had come from Rose’s office.  
Insuring special loads for long-haul trucking companies had its risks, but lately it appeared as if someone had it in for her clients.  Even Hannibal Trucking’s perfect record had been compromised with two major thefts in the past two weeks.  
Rose glanced at the heavy oak nameplate on her desk, the one Mr.  Bonner had presented to her the day he’d promoted her to manager.  ”It’ll make a dandy bookend,” she muttered.  She stared at the etched letters of her name a moment longer, then headed out the door for the inevitable dressing down from the boss.  
“Ms.  DeAngelo.” Denise held up a stack of notes to catch her attention.  ”That last call was from your Aunt Rosa.  She left you a message, said you must be really busy since she was on hold so long.” Denise flipped through the notes, then held one out to Rose.  
“I wish I’d known it was her.” Rose took the slip of paper.  ”She’s a lot more fun to talk to than James’s mother.”
Denise laughed, then shrugged her shoulders philosophically as the phone rang again.  She turned to answer it.  
Rose unfolded the note, suddenly aware of a lump in her throat.  She hadn’t talked to Aunt Rosa for over a week.  
Please tell Rose the honeysuckle’s blooming.  And tell her I love her.  She’s working too hard.  Rosa DeAngelo.  
The honeysuckle’s blooming and I haven’t seen Aunt Rosa in two years.  The sweet scent of honeysuckle filled Rose’s mind, the memory of the massive vine covering the porch at her aunt’s bed and breakfast inn out in California a balm to headaches, frustrating clients, angry bosses and disappointing fiancés.  
Rose looked through the window into Frank Bonner’s office.  He paced back and forth and gestured violently as he argued with someone over the phone, his angry words muted behind the soundproof glass.
Denise answered her phone again, at the same time indicating to Rose she had a call waiting.  Rose ignored the blinking light, mesmerized by the ugly shape of Frank Bonner’s mouth twisted in anger, visible but silent behind the glass.
She took a deep breath in a vain attempt to ease the tension in her neck and shoulders, then turned around to take the call in her office.  As if mocking Rose, the marquis diamond twinkled at her from its resting place in the paper clip bowl.  She picked it up, staring absentmindedly into its icy blue depths before answering the phone.  
The door to the outer office opened.  Rose paused with her hand over the headset and looked up to see James guiding his mother through the tastefully decorated foyer.  
“Why me, God?” she muttered.  How had the two of them gotten here so quickly? Lunch was beginning to look like a set-up, with wedding plans as the main course.  
She knew better than to think Alicia would ever take no for an answer.  Or James, either, for that matter.
Why should he? He was just like his mother.  
In fact, Rose had never noticed before how much the two of them resembled one another.  Not a flattering observation at all since she thought Alicia Dearborn looked exactly like the ugly little Pekinese tucked firmly under the woman’s left arm.  
Suddenly it all fell into place:  the rhythmic pounding in Rose’s head, Alicia Dearborn’s strident voice, James’s placating tones, even Frank Bonner’s flailing arms as he carried on his argument via speakerphone in his spacious, soundproof office across the hall.  
Then it all drifted away as, once again, the sweet memory of honeysuckle filled Rose.  Drawing a deep breath, she inhaled the peaceful, calming scent of her childhood, not the antiseptic, filtered air of her Acme Insurance Company office.  Aunt Rosa was absolutely right.  She was working too hard.  
Rose drew her hand back from the telephone and all its blinking lights, picked up her heavy leather purse, slung her raincoat over her arm and quietly walked out of her office.  She closed the door behind her and straightened her shoulders at the solid sounding “click” as the latch caught and locked her chaotic morning behind her.  
Ignoring Alicia’s imperious command that she explain herself, Rose smiled calmly at her secretary.  ”Hold my calls, Denise.  I’ve decided to take the afternoon off.”
“Well.  It’s about time you came to your senses, Rose.  I’m glad you’ve decided to join Mother and me for lunch.  We have to talk.”
Rose turned to James.  Why, when she looked into the eyes of the man she’d promised to spend her life with, did she feel nothing stronger than regret?
“You misunderstand, James.  I’m taking the afternoon off by myself.” She fumbled for the right words, finally deciding honesty was best.  ”Please, I’d like for you to take this back.” She held the heavy gold and diamond ring out to him.  ”We both know it’s never going to work.  We’ve known it all along.”
He didn’t move.  She looked at his face, searching for whatever had made her think she loved him.  She’d once been so enamored of his dark blond hair and finely chiseled jaw, in awe of his elegant manners and cultured speech.  But the man she thought she loved didn’t exist at all.
I imagined you.  The thought struck like a bolt of lightning.  Am I that desperate? Self awareness brought a sad smile to Rose’s lips, followed by a sudden urge to giggle.  James and his mother, her secretary Denise, even that disgusting little Pekinese, all stared at her with their mouths open!
Finally, a way to silence Alicia Dearborn.  Feeling almost giddy with power, Rose tucked the ring into the breast pocket of James’s custom tailored Armani suit, then quietly left the building.  It didn’t even bother her that James hadn’t asked her to stay, hadn’t reached out to her, hadn’t disagreed with her.  No, it didn’t bother her at all.
     Somewhere, a peaceful country road beckoned.  

Read the rest of Chapter One on Kate’s Website 
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Double the Heat for Summer

Today there’s two feature excerpts. Yes, TWO!!

Both of these fabulous ladies have offered up two stories for the eReader, so I’ve no doubt the winner of this event is going to be one happy camper. :)

 

I featured Kate Douglas’s  Western earlier , and now you get a peek ayt  her suspense. You also saw Gemma Halliday’s High Heels story earlier, and now you get a look at one of her other series, with Unbreakable Bond.

 

CHeck them out!

Lethal Deception

Monday morning, Pittsburgh

 

“I KNOW, MR.  Hannibal.  Please, you must understand why we have to add a five percent risk premium to your usual rate…Mr.  Hannibal, there’s no need to be rude.  Acme Insurance has paid out a substantial amount…I realize those thefts were unusual…yes, Mr. Hannibal, I agree, otherwise you…I understand you’re upset, Mr. Hannibal.  As I said, I agree, you do have an excellent record.”
Rose DeAngelo arched her back and ran tense fingers through her heavy twist of dark hair.  It didn’t help a bit.  Blast it! Headaches like this one generally didn’t start until after lunch.  
A second light on the phone flashed.  Rose stared at the little orange square, peripherally aware that it blinked in perfect time with the pounding in her head.  
“Mr. Hannibal.” Rose clenched her teeth against the blossoming pain in her skull.  ”There is no other option.  I’m sorry.  I’m going to switch you back to my secretary.  You’ll pay the additional five percent? Fine.  Please give Denise the route information.”
Rose took the next call, groaning audibly the moment she recognized the patronizing voice.  Sighing, she reached into her drawer for two aspirin.  James Dearborn was the last person she wanted to talk to right now.  
Not a promising sign, Rose.  She ignored the quiet voice in the back of her mind.  Now was not a good time for analyzing relationships.  Rose gulped the aspirin with a swallow of tepid coffee and grimaced at the bitter taste.  
“James…hello.”  She twisted the large marquis-cut diamond on her left hand.  Why was it, lately, all her conversations with James made her ring finger itch?
“Please, James.  I don’t have time to discuss this right now.” Rose glanced through the glassed wall of her office into the waiting room beyond.  Her boss leaned over Denise’s desk, waving a large stack of folders under the young woman’s nose.
“You want to what?” Line two blinked hypnotically.  Line three quickly joined in.  She couldn’t possibly have heard James right.  What did he say? Set a date? Rose furiously scratched the raw skin under the offending ring.  ”No,” she said, well aware of the sense of desperation in her voice.  ”I absolutely refuse to plan my wedding because your mother has a free weekend in July!  No James…absolutely not…no, we can’t discuss it at lunch with your mother.  I don’t have time for lunch today…are you giving me an ultimatum?” Rose pulled the ring off her finger, scratching frantically.  
Denise, precariously balancing a huge armload of folders, opened the office door with her shoulder.  Frank Bonner, the company president, glared through the open door into Rose’s office, then rudely signaled for her to join him in his.  James’s voice droned on, bouncing around inside Rose’s head, thumping in time to the pounding behind her eyes.  
Denise set the pile of folders on the corner of Rose’s desk, then quickly backed out of the office.  As she closed the door the stack gradually slipped to one side.  Rose stretched full length across the large oak desk, holding the phone to her ear with one hand, grabbing for the top of the pile with the other.  She felt the snag in her new black stockings open up then run the length of her leg, crawling up her inner thigh at precisely the same rate of speed as the folders slid to the floor.  
“We’ll have to talk another time, James.”  Rose took a deep breath and broke the connection.  She knew she’d hear about her behavior later, but there was no way she could deal with him now.
She signaled for Denise to take the call on line three, then punched the button for line two.  James’s mother.  Could this day possibly get any worse?
Alicia Dearborn’s shrill voice crackled into Rose’s ear.  ”No, Alicia.  I can’t go to lunch with you and James…I’m sorry too.  I’ll have to call you back.” Rose gritted her teeth.  ”I’m very busy.  No, nothing special.  Just a typical Monday.  Good bye.”
Sighing, Rose replaced the handset.  She stared at it a moment, daring the phone to ring, then picked the scattered folders up off the floor and piled them on her desk.  
She couldn’t put off her meeting with Bonner any longer, no matter how unpleasant the prospect.  It had to be about the recent hijackings.  Acme Insurance had paid a bundle in settlements the past few months and pressure around the office had been steadily building.
Most of that pressure had come from Rose’s office.  
Insuring special loads for long-haul trucking companies had its risks, but lately it appeared as if someone had it in for her clients.  Even Hannibal Trucking’s perfect record had been compromised with two major thefts in the past two weeks.  
Rose glanced at the heavy oak nameplate on her desk, the one Mr.  Bonner had presented to her the day he’d promoted her to manager.  ”It’ll make a dandy bookend,” she muttered.  She stared at the etched letters of her name a moment longer, then headed out the door for the inevitable dressing down from the boss.  
“Ms.  DeAngelo.” Denise held up a stack of notes to catch her attention.  ”That last call was from your Aunt Rosa.  She left you a message, said you must be really busy since she was on hold so long.” Denise flipped through the notes, then held one out to Rose.  
“I wish I’d known it was her.” Rose took the slip of paper.  ”She’s a lot more fun to talk to than James’s mother.”
Denise laughed, then shrugged her shoulders philosophically as the phone rang again.  She turned to answer it.  
Rose unfolded the note, suddenly aware of a lump in her throat.  She hadn’t talked to Aunt Rosa for over a week.  
Please tell Rose the honeysuckle’s blooming.  And tell her I love her.  She’s working too hard.  Rosa DeAngelo.  
The honeysuckle’s blooming and I haven’t seen Aunt Rosa in two years.  The sweet scent of honeysuckle filled Rose’s mind, the memory of the massive vine covering the porch at her aunt’s bed and breakfast inn out in California a balm to headaches, frustrating clients, angry bosses and disappointing fiancés.  
Rose looked through the window into Frank Bonner’s office.  He paced back and forth and gestured violently as he argued with someone over the phone, his angry words muted behind the soundproof glass.
Denise answered her phone again, at the same time indicating to Rose she had a call waiting.  Rose ignored the blinking light, mesmerized by the ugly shape of Frank Bonner’s mouth twisted in anger, visible but silent behind the glass.
She took a deep breath in a vain attempt to ease the tension in her neck and shoulders, then turned around to take the call in her office.  As if mocking Rose, the marquis diamond twinkled at her from its resting place in the paper clip bowl.  She picked it up, staring absentmindedly into its icy blue depths before answering the phone.  
The door to the outer office opened.  Rose paused with her hand over the headset and looked up to see James guiding his mother through the tastefully decorated foyer.  
“Why me, God?” she muttered.  How had the two of them gotten here so quickly? Lunch was beginning to look like a set-up, with wedding plans as the main course.  
She knew better than to think Alicia would ever take no for an answer.  Or James, either, for that matter.
Why should he? He was just like his mother.  
In fact, Rose had never noticed before how much the two of them resembled one another.  Not a flattering observation at all since she thought Alicia Dearborn looked exactly like the ugly little Pekinese tucked firmly under the woman’s left arm.  
Suddenly it all fell into place:  the rhythmic pounding in Rose’s head, Alicia Dearborn’s strident voice, James’s placating tones, even Frank Bonner’s flailing arms as he carried on his argument via speakerphone in his spacious, soundproof office across the hall.  
Then it all drifted away as, once again, the sweet memory of honeysuckle filled Rose.  Drawing a deep breath, she inhaled the peaceful, calming scent of her childhood, not the antiseptic, filtered air of her Acme Insurance Company office.  Aunt Rosa was absolutely right.  She was working too hard.  
Rose drew her hand back from the telephone and all its blinking lights, picked up her heavy leather purse, slung her raincoat over her arm and quietly walked out of her office.  She closed the door behind her and straightened her shoulders at the solid sounding “click” as the latch caught and locked her chaotic morning behind her.  
Ignoring Alicia’s imperious command that she explain herself, Rose smiled calmly at her secretary.  ”Hold my calls, Denise.  I’ve decided to take the afternoon off.”
“Well.  It’s about time you came to your senses, Rose.  I’m glad you’ve decided to join Mother and me for lunch.  We have to talk.”
Rose turned to James.  Why, when she looked into the eyes of the man she’d promised to spend her life with, did she feel nothing stronger than regret?
“You misunderstand, James.  I’m taking the afternoon off by myself.” She fumbled for the right words, finally deciding honesty was best.  ”Please, I’d like for you to take this back.” She held the heavy gold and diamond ring out to him.  ”We both know it’s never going to work.  We’ve known it all along.”
He didn’t move.  She looked at his face, searching for whatever had made her think she loved him.  She’d once been so enamored of his dark blond hair and finely chiseled jaw, in awe of his elegant manners and cultured speech.  But the man she thought she loved didn’t exist at all.
I imagined you.  The thought struck like a bolt of lightning.  Am I that desperate? Self awareness brought a sad smile to Rose’s lips, followed by a sudden urge to giggle.  James and his mother, her secretary Denise, even that disgusting little Pekinese, all stared at her with their mouths open!
Finally, a way to silence Alicia Dearborn.  Feeling almost giddy with power, Rose tucked the ring into the breast pocket of James’s custom tailored Armani suit, then quietly left the building.  It didn’t even bother her that James hadn’t asked her to stay, hadn’t reached out to her, hadn’t disagreed with her.  No, it didn’t bother her at all.
     Somewhere, a peaceful country road beckoned.  

Read the rest of CHapter 1 here:

 

UNBREAKABLE BOND

Her name is Bond. Jamie Bond. And her life is about to be shaken and stirred in a cocktail of sex, lies, scandal, and one very dead body.

Jamie Bond is a former cover model who switches gears to take over the family business: The Bond Agency, a high-powered P.I. firm located in Los Angeles that specializes in domestic espionage – catching cheating husbands. Jamie’s assembled a team of other disenchanted former models to help her take names and kick derrieres among L.A.’s wealthiest philandering husbands. Her current client: Mrs. Veronica Waterston, the young, distraught wife of superior court judge, Thomas Waterston, known for his tough sentencing, right-wing leanings, and his fondness for blondes with double D’s. Easy target. But Jamie’s simple case takes an unexpected turn for the worse when the not-so-good judge winds up on the ten o’clock news with a bullet through his head. It’s clear that someone has set Jamie up, and suddenly she’s on the run, under fire, and in serious jeopardy of losing it all. With a hot A.D.A. on her trail, a killer on the loose, and her life on the line, Jamie must prove once and for all that nobody messes with a Bond.

Excerpt

“Pick one.”

Two eight-by-ten glossy photos dropped onto my desk.

I looked up. “Excuse me?”

Paul Levine, my weedy looking attorney, sighed, then sank into the

imitation leather chair opposite my desk. “You’ve been running in the

red for the last three months. You’ve got a balloon payment on the

business loan coming up, and this month you pulled in fifty percent

less revenue than last. Unless you want to drown in your own debt, you

need to fire someone.” He gestured again to the two photos. “Pick

one.”

I glanced down at the two pictures. A leggy brunette and an

all-American-girl blonde. I shoved them back across the desk.

“No way.”

Levine did another deep, theatrical sigh. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

“Look, business is just a little slow.”

“It’s a tortoise, Jamie.”

“It’s been the off season.”

“There’s an ‘on’ season for infidelity?” he asked, doing air quotes

with his fingers.

“We’ll take out some ads.”

“Which cost money. Something, my dear, that you don’t have.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’ll think of something.”

Levine leaned forward, the overhead lights shining unattractively off

his bald spot. “Let’s face it, people just aren’t getting divorced

these days. With the economy the way it is, women would rather turn a

blind eye to their husbands’ indiscretions than try to exist on half

his income. It’s cheaper to stay together and pretend to be happy.”

“No one can pretend for that long.”

“Pick. One,” Levine enunciated.

I looked down at the two photos, which incidentally consisted of 50%

percent of the Bond Agency. The problem wasn’t that I’d over hired.

The problem was I knew jack shit about running a business.

Men. That’s what I knew.

When I was seven years old Chad Fischer’s Mom packed him a Snickers

bar in his lunch. And not those fun size suckers. This was a

king-sized log of nougat, caramel, and sugar induced highs that would

last well past the end of afternoon cartoons. I wanted it. Every kid

in second grade wanted it. But I tossed my blonde hair over one

shoulder, batted my baby blues at Chad, and promised that he could

stand underneath me while my little pink skirt and I did flips on the

monkey bars at recess. I got the Snickers. That was my first lesson in

how easy men were.

Fast forward a few years, and my fifteen-year-old self was hanging out

at the Northridge mall slurping a Jamba Juice when I’d been spotted by

Maurcess DeLine, owner of the world renowned DeLine Models. Suddenly I

wasn’t just working the boys at my school; I was working every guy

that bought a magazine with my body on the cover. And getting paid

handsomely to do it. I’d been DeLine’s top model for over a decade

when Maurcess had started to drop hints that my fresh innocence act

wasn’t cutting it anymore. I was twenty-six. A dinosaur in runway

years.

That’s when I moved back to L.A. and decided to take over the family business.

Domestic espionage.

Really, there was very little difference between making love to a

camera and making a married man forget his vows. In fact, this was

sometimes even easier. Men with adultery already on their minds were

simple targets. It was like taking Snickers from a second grader all

over again.

Unfortunately, getting their wives to pay was a whole other matter.

I glanced at the two photos staring up at me. Truth was, I needed both

of these women.

“Cutting back on personnel only means I can handle fewer cases. I

don’t see how that’s going to help me expand the business,” I argued.

“We’re not talking expansion here, Jamie. We’re talking staying

afloat. We’re talking not filing for bankruptcy.”

“I’ve got a big client tonight. Judge Thomas Waterston. Superior

court. If things go well, I guarantee his wife will have her entire

bridge club in here by the end of the week.”

“Well, you’d better hope that’s true,” Levine said, rising. “Because

your balloon payment is due on the 1st. You’ve got two weeks, then…”

He tapped the photos. “One of them’s got to go.”

*  *  *

“Caleigh?”

“What?” She swiveled in her desk chair, turning her wide eyes my way.

“You’re on the Peters case. Care to give us an update?” I tapped open

the schedule app on my phone and leaned an elbow across the conference

table.

She cleared her throat and shuffled the notes in her lap. Caleigh

Presley hailed from the south, claiming she was some distant cousin of

Elvis’s. Blonde, blue-eyed and bubbly, she’d cornered the market on

perky. I’d met Caleigh while doing a Sports Illustrated swimsuit shoot

in Cancun. She’d smuggled a bag of fat free Cheetos onto the set, and

we’d bonded instantly. Three years later Caleigh foolishly agreed to

go out on a date with Nigel Owens, the top fashion photographer in

London. I say foolishly because everyone but Caleigh knew about his

particular fetish for bondage and tickling. When Caleigh refused to be

molested by his feather duster, Nigel had refused to work with her,

calling her “difficult”. News that quickly spread to other

photographers, her agent, and every high profile account in the

fashion world. They’d dropped her like a skydiver without a parachute.

Luckily for her, that had been just about the time I’d taken over the

Bond Agency, and I’d hired her on the spot.

Not, mind you, that I’d hired her out of any sort of pity. Despite her

innocent-little-thing looks, Caleigh spoke five different languages

and had the computer know-how to hack into the pentagon. Dumb blonde

she was not.

“Right. Peters.” Caleigh cleared her throat again. “Well, so far I’ve

followed him to the Venice Boardwalk, Element, and out to dinner twice

at Formaggio’s.”

“And?”

She shook her head. “Nothin’. I’m beginning to wonder if his wife

isn’t paranoid. So far the guy’s a straight arrow. Both the dinners

were business meetings, and he didn’t so much as glance at a bikini on

the boardwalk.”

I picked up my coffee cup and swished the dregs around in the bottom,

trying to remember if Mrs. Peters had seemed the paranoid type when

she’d come in last week. Or, more importantly, the type who would balk

at the amount of billable hours we’d spent with nothing to show for

it. “What about the club? Element?”

Again, Caleigh shook her head. “Sorry, boss. He ducked in for a drink

with a buddy, danced a little, then ducked back out. No funny

business.”

“Fine. If we don’t have anything by Monday, we’ll call it off. But

take Sam with you this weekend,” I said, gesturing to the woman

sitting next to her, “and tag-team him. Every man has a breaking

point.”

Caleigh nodded and made a note on the yellow pad in her lap.

I turned to Sam. “Where are we with the Nortons?”

Samantha Cross had come to me from Brooklyn last year. Long legs,

perfect mocha latte skin, and thick dark curls, Sam had been a

finalist on the first season of the reality show America’s New Hot

Model and quickly become the darling of the cover girl world. Until

five years later when her boyfriend, Julio, had knocked her up. As if

taking a nine month hiatus from modeling hadn’t been enough to kill

her fledgling career, it turned out Sam wasn’t one of those lucky

ladies whose bodies miraculously snap back after pregnancy. While she

was still a knockout among normal people, the two ounces of fat

hanging around her lightly stretch-marked belly put a decisive end to

her bikini days. So, Sam had packed up the munchkin (Julio was long

gone at that point) and headed out to California to make a career

change. One I was happy to facilitate. Sam had legs long enough to

make husbands forget their vows and, thanks to her military-brat

upbringing, knew more about guns than the NRA. And her aim was

flawless. Sam could shoot the balls off a fruit fly at fifty yards.

“Mrs. Norton’s lawyer,” Sam said, “has requested all of our notes.”

“Which we will gladly copy for him. Mrs. Norton has gone through three

husbands with the agency. What Mrs. Norton wants, we give.”

“Of course.” Sam nodded. “I think Mr. Norton’s lawyers are close to a

settlement.” Her brown eyes lit up, and she leaned in close. “They

offered a 60/40 split plus the house in Aspen.”

“Good for her.” She deserved it. Especially after her husband had

offered to pay Sam fifty dollars for a blow job in the back of his

Jag. Sam had been so insulted that he’d offered less than a hundred,

she’d actually hauled off and punched him. I made a note in my

organizer to edit that part out before handing the footage over to

Mrs. Norton’s lawyers.

“Okay, so get the Norton files to her lawyer, then work Mr. Peters

with Caleigh.”

Sam nodded. “Will do.”

“So… new cases this week?” I asked, turning to the woman on my left.

Maya Alexander handled all of the admin for the agency, including

scheduling appointments with prospective clients. And if her face

looked a little familiar, it was because she was March’s Playmate of

the month. Lucky for me, not many men recognized her with her clothes

on.

“Uh-huh. Two possible new cases. Mrs. Shankmann, who claims her

husband, and I quote, ‘shtupped the freakin’ au pair,’ and a Rachel

Blake who wants us to test her fiancée before the wedding.”

Caleigh raised her hand and bounced in her seat. “Oh, me, me. I love

doing bachelor parties.”

“Done.” I noted it down. “I’ll take Mr. Shankmann if we get the

account. Right. On to tonight. Judge Waterston.”

All three girls leaned forward in their seats.

“We all know how high profile, i.e. high dollar, this account is.”

Three heads nodded.

“So, this needs to go off flawlessly. Mrs. Waterston is a big name.

She has big friends, who all have big cash on the line should they

decide they need our services to bust their pre-nups.”

“We’re hitting him at the party?” Sam asked, checking her notes.

“Black tie benefit at the Beverley Hilton. So, I want everyone to look

sharp, okay?”

Again with the nods.

“I’m personally running game on this one. Sam, you’re camera one.

Caleigh, I want you on two. Danny will direct from the van.” I paused.

“Girls, we need this guy. We can’t fuck it up.”

I didn’t add because without him, one of them was looking at unemployment.

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Saskia Walker heats up the Summer.

For many years I’ve been a fan of Saskia Walker’s writing. Knowing her personally only makes me more of a fan because she’s got a sharp intellect and warm, and very naughty nature. *grin* Take a peek at this excerpt, and you’ll see exactly what I mean.

Willingly bound and seduced by two masters…



Two men have walked in to Monica Evans’ life, and it isn’t ever going to be the same. Owen Clifford and his lover, Alec Stroud, are investigating fraud at Monica’s place of work, a luxurious London hotel. From the moment they meet, the chemistry between the three of them is off the scale.

But Monica has a secret, and it isn’t anything to do with fraud. Like her sisters, Monica is a psychic. In Monica’s case the gift is psychometry—when she touches objects or people she can experience their sexual history. Can she ever truly share that with a lover, let alone two bisexual lovers? Something about Owen and Alec captures her though, literally. Willingly bound and seduced by two masters, Monica opens up to them, physically, emotionally, and psychically.

Owen and Alec have been looking for their third and they believe Monica might be the one to complete their lives. But Monica’s secret isn’t the only barrier these two have to break down in order to win their woman. Fraud, duplicity, and mysterious threats add to their complications. For Owen and Alec, the challenges are stacking up and the race is on.

Excerpt:

Owen had moved even closer, despite her warning. Alec, his assistant, looked amused. Monica attempted to shift away, but she was in such a state she managed to do the opposite and gave him an excuse to touch her hip when she brushed against him.

“Oh, what have we here?” His hand was against her jacket pocket and for one long moment Monica grappled with reality.

What was it? Then she remembered – the cuffs. The jewelled handcuffs. Her eyes closed. Shit.

He pulled them out of her pocket, slowly, and held them up for his cohort to see. Light glinted off them and flashed around the mirrored walls.

“They aren’t mine.” She pressed her lips together, denying the urge to snatch them back.

“Not yours? Aww, I’m disappointed.” His eyes flashed seductively. “I was hoping you’d give us a demo.”

The flame of sexual interest that had faltered when he’d quizzed her too intimately flickered quickly back into life, her pussy aching in response to his words.

“The item is lost property from one of the suites. I have to log it.” Her statement was almost vague, fascinated as she was by the way he looked holding the glamorous cuffs aloft, so powerful and so easily attuned to the suggestive object. “It’s part of my job.”

“But you kept them.” He gave her a thoroughly wicked smile, his glance moving from the cuffs to her and back again.

It made her heart pump. “Actually, I was on my way to secure them when I was summoned to meet you.”

He twisted them in his hand, looking at them with speculation. “I bet they made you curious.”

She shrugged, secretly thrilled by the way the conversation was going, unable to resist following. “Maybe.”

“Maybe? Don’t even attempt to deny it, I can tell.” He glanced over her again, top to toe. “I can read your body language.”His stare was both slow and deliberate. “And I’d put money on the fact you wanted to keep them.”

He couldn’t know that, she was sure of it. He was just guessing–taking a chance, had to be. But the very fact he was taking that chance fired through her, making a deep, intimate connection. He really was flirting with her, right in front of a man who she knew to be his sometimes lover, and it set her alight.

She shook her head, trying to do it with nonchalance. “I can’t keep them. But I can’t help admiring objects like that if they pass through my hands. Is that so wrong?”

“No, not at all.” He looked as if she had proven him right.

A shout came from above, and the lift jolted into action.

“Ah, the cavalry. What a pity.” He made the comment under his breath and with regret, tucking the cuffs back into her pocket, patting them in an almost fond and intimate manner. “You’ll have dinner with us tonight, and when you do you can tell us why it is you don’t like to be touched.”

“You really have no shame,”she murmured, deliciously shocked by his insistent attitude, despite the sure knowledge that she should resist the temptation of anyone getting that close to her secret.

What is wrong with me today? It was his fault.

His eyebrows lifted. “Personally I can’t think of a single reason why you wouldn’t want to be touched. You’re the sort of woman who should be put on a pedestal, and adored. Don’t you agree, Alec?”

Monica’s heart raced. He’d finally drawn in his cohort. She glanced at Alec. He was leaning back against the mirrored wall of the lift, smiling a Cheshire cat smile. The silent, watchful observer. The right hand man. His secret lover.

“Absolutely, ” he responded. “You should give it a try.”

“Give a try,” she repeated.

“Being put on a pedestal,” he clarified, and his gaze covered her, speculatively.

She remembered the image of the woman they had shared when she held his keys. Her clothing felt tight and restrictive, her legs weak under her. The doors of the lift slid open, and there was a maintenance man in a boiler suit standing outside expectantly.

It was with some effort that Monica peeled herself away from the wall and stepped out into the corridor. With them both close behind her, logic was hard to keep hold of. She paused and thanked the maintenance man, trying to get a hold of herself. Jesus, I don’t even know what floor we’re on.

“You’ll have dinner with us,” Owen repeated, and he was so close against her that she felt his breath against the side of her cheek. His hand hovered a hair’s breadth from her hip. It seemed to lure her with its heat, with its promise of pleasure.

Glancing back at him, she saw from his expression that it was an instruction, not an invitation. His eyes glinted with wicked humour, as well as essential male power. “Off the clock, okay?”

Off the clock? Monica didn’t know exactly what he meant by that, but she didn’t respond, because part of her loved that thrill – the thrill of not knowing. It was so rare, and so tempting…

Get to know Saskia better by visiting her website. http://www.saskiawalker.co.uk

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