Sasha White's Blog, page 14

Heat from Charlene Teglia

I can not say enough good things about my next guest, Charlene Teglia.  This woman has been around, writing hot and sexy romances before they became popular, and doing it fabulously. She was the first of our kind to have her novel featured in Cosmo magazine, and I’m honored and proud to call her friend for so many reasons.

Only Human is her offering for the Summer Heat Giveaway. It’s one of her older stories, but never doubt it’s a goody. Check it out, and comment to be entered to win a loaded up eReader.

Workaholic Elaine Llewellyn’s enforced vacation leaves her at far too loose an end for her peace of mind. With all that time on her hands, memories and longings she’s been repressing threaten to break free. Her solution? Distract herself by playing tourist on a just-busy-enough road trip through Maine.

A storm and a blocked road send her to an unscheduled stop at Damon Thorne’s private retreat. Instead of the B&B she?s expecting, the man who’s world famous for his surreal paintings of psychic visions has been expecting her and all of her careful plans are washed away with the rain.

Trapped in the house while the storm rages outside, Damon sets out to break through Elaine’s barriers, physical, mental and emotional. When the storm ends, she’ll have to make a choice: go back to the life of denial she’s been living, or come to terms with her own psychic gifts, her passionate nature, and the second chance at love she’s been offered.

Excerpt:

Elaine retreated to her room before she lost her mind completely and asked her host if he wanted to join her. She’d heard him say it was early for bed and flashed on another image, this time both of them naked. Him on top of her. Inside her.

It had been so long. She didn’t want a lover, but a stranger, a night of uncomplicated sex, that much, maybe she could have.

She wanted to feel the solid weight of him over her, the heat and hardness of him inside her. She didn’t have to guess what kind of sex partner he would be. He wouldn’t be the gentle, undemanding kind. Not inconsiderate, but if she got naked with him she knew how she could expect to be taken.

Hard. Fast. Repeatedly.

Elaine finished her tea while she paced the room, wavering. She could do it. She could satisfy her body’s craving with this man, safe in the knowledge that she’d never see him again. She could go on with her vacation, then back to her life. And she should remember to buy herself a vibrator or something so she didn’t let the pressure build up to this point again, where she was seriously contemplating a one-night stand with a total stranger.

She’d never gone off the pill. It had seemed easier to just keep filling the prescription instead of having to make the decision to do something different.

That made the idea seem even easier to contemplate. She really could do it, give herself permission to have a night of lust without any fear that it would lead to unwanted consequences, emotionally or physically.

And maybe satisfying her sexual needs would help her keep a lid on the rest of Pandora’s box.

That factor decided Elaine. She didn’t want everything she’d buried to break free and overwhelm her. Sex she could handle. The rest…no. Unthinkable. Unbearable. Sex was far safer.

Besides, she couldn’t believe a man who fed her tea and sandwiches because the storm had blocked off any other hope of dinner and brought her a flashlight so she didn’t stub her toes in the dark would be a poor choice to sleep with. That, and every vibe he gave off practically screamed virile male.

Virile, but not the type to overstep the line or put her in a position she’d be uncomfortable in. He’d done nothing to make her feel threatened. He’d been careful to put her at ease. The way he’d looked at her and his attentive manner indicated interest, but he was clearly leaving it up to her to decide if she wanted to approach him.

How exactly to go about approaching him stymied her. She was out of practice in more ways than one.

Elaine started running various lines through her head before she realized how ridiculous she was being. He was a man. What was the saying? Women needed a reason to have sex. Men just needed a place. If she walked up to him and kissed him, or maybe just starting taking her clothes off, he’d probably take care of the rest.

Determined, she set the empty mug on top of the dresser and went back downstairs.

She found him in the kitchen, tidying up.

He looked up when she walked through the doorway. “Did you need something?”

Yes. She needed something. She just didn’t know how to ask for it.

Elaine started to answer him and then hesitated. Was she so out of practice that she’d misread his signals? What if he wasn’t interested at all? What if the idea of a guest making a pass offended him?

Only one way to find out. She took a deep breath and looked directly into his eyes. “Yes. I need something.”

Hoping she wasn’t making a complete idiot of herself, she pulled her shirt off and let it fall to the floor.

He didn’t look shocked or offended. He just looked, his expression turning intent. “Take off the bra.”

Elaine complied, her hands fumbling with the front clasp. Her fingers seemed to tangle in the straps, but she eventually managed to get the bra off. Then it joined her shirt on the floor. Her hands went to the button at the waistband of her pants next, but he stopped her.

“No. Let me.” He walked towards her and hooked his fingers into her waistband, using it to draw her closer to him, until her naked breasts touched the soft fabric of his shirt. He undid the button, unzipped her, and let her pants slide down her hips to pool around her ankles. He placed his hands on her waist and lifted her free of the material, wearing nothing but a pair of panties.

Elaine glanced down and realized she was wearing plain white. Well, too late to try for the seductive look now. She’d have to hope he didn’t care.

He caught her look and asked, “Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure. I just, well, didn’t expect. Um. That is, I didn’t plan. I mean, white.” She waved in the direction of her underwear. “I think it should probably be black lace.”

“If the color bothers you, we can get rid of them.” He slid his fingers under the waistband at each hip and tugged downwards. Her panties rolled down her hips and he bent his knees, balancing in front of her to pull them all the way down.

For news and excerpts, visit www.charleneteglia.com

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Lynn LaFleur’s Summer Heat story

It’s day 10 of my Summer Heat event, and I think we’ve had some great guests so far. Isn’t this eReader promising to be full of lots of yummy reads?

Today’s guest, and story contribution, is from Lynn LaFluer. This lady’s been around for a while- and by that I mean she’s penned a lot of great stoires for you to check out. *g* One of her most recent is Perfect Pleasure, her contribution today. Check it out!

Lust grabs Damien Beauvais the first time he sees Cassie Reid standing on the beach. He hasn’t reacted so strongly to a woman in three years, not since the incident that changed his life.

From the moment Cassie meets Damien in his aunt’s bakery, fantasies of the two of them naked fill her mind. When a romantic dinner produces a sexy kiss but nothing more, Cassie seeks help from the local witch.

A love potion slipped into Damien’s drink leads to the most perfect pleasure Cassie has ever experienced. A relationship can’t be built on a lie, yet if she tells Damien the truth about the potion, she could lose the only man she’s ever truly loved.

Excerpt:

Cassie knew the potion wouldn’t work. It had been stupid of her to pour it into Damien’s tea in hopes that he’d fall for her. Magic and love potions didn’t exist. How pathetic of her to try it. She blamed her stupidity on loneliness and her yearning to share her life with someone.

Curling up in the corner of the couch, she opened her book and settled in to read for the rest of the evening. She read two pages before her doorbell rang. How odd. She wasn’t expecting any company.

Cassie laid the book on the end table and walked to the back door. It shocked her when she opened it and saw the object of her thoughts standing on the other side. “Damien.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Of course.”

She stepped aside so he could enter. His face looked flushed, his hair windblown as if he’d ridden his motorcycle without his helmet. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Yes.” Blowing out a breath, he ran one hand through his hair. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Butterflies took off in her stomach at his confession. Before she jumped to any conclusions, she asked, “Is that a bad thing?”

“In a way.” He took a step closer to her. Now she could see the heat in his eyes. It sent a shiver of awareness down her spine. “Cassie, I haven’t made love with a woman since Marva died.”

She suspected intimacy with a woman hadn’t happened very often for Damien, but never in three years? “No one?”

Damien shook his head. “I haven’t wanted to be with anyone.” He ran one fingertip down her cheek. “Until you.”

With some men, it could’ve been a line to get her into bed. Cassie didn’t believe that about Damien. He had no reason to lie to her. She’d shown him Sunday how much she wanted to be with him.

Perhaps she hadn’t shown him enough.

Cradling his face in her hands, she rose onto her bare tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. He seemed to freeze a moment before he clasped her waist, tugged her closer to him. A loud groan came from his throat. He tilted his head, deepened the kiss. One arm snaked around her waist, drew her right up to his body. The hard bulge behind his fly pressed against her lower belly.

He kissed her as if he was starved for her taste. His mouth slanted left, right, left again. The thought flew through Cassie’s mind that she should tell him she’d put a love potion in his drink. Then his tongue swiped across her lips and she lost any ability to think. She could only feel.

He backed her up to the door, lifted her arms over her head. His body touched hers from chests to thighs. She whimpered when he ground his cock into her mound.

It had been months since she’d felt that fascinating hardness deep inside her pussy. In a moment of weakness and loneliness, she’d had a one-night stand seven months ago with a handsome tourist. The sex had been good, but left her feeling guilty the next day. He’d made no promises to call her or see her again, and that suited her fine. She’d wanted to forget the incident as soon as possible.

She didn’t want to forget one moment with Damien.

Cassie could taste a hint of wine on Damien’s breath. She wondered if his lack of control came from too much alcohol.

Or the potion.

She gulped in oxygen when his kisses moved down her neck. “Damien?”

He responded with a low grunt and a nip to the pulse in her throat. She arched her hips to bring her clit into closer contact with his shaft. With him pressing her to the door and holding her hands above her head, she could do nothing but accept whatever he did. Which wouldn’t be a bad thing if she didn’t suspect something drove him besides desire. “Damien,” she said, stronger this time.

He lifted his head, stared into her eyes. His heavy breathing mashed his chest against her breasts with every inhale. “What?”

“Are you drunk?”

“No. I had one glass of wine.” His gaze dipped to her lips, her breasts, then back to her eyes. “I know exactly what I’m doing. And unless you say no, I’m not stopping until my cock is buried deep inside you.”

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Eden Bradley Summer Heat

I’ve been a fan of Eden Bradley’s since I read her very first novel, The Dark Garden. The fact that she also writes as Eve Berlin just tells you that the woman is talented and prolific. No matter what name she’s writing under, this lady rarely disappoints, so I highly recommend you check out any and all of her books!

Eden’s Summer Heat contribution is Summer Solstice…take a peek.

This summer is going to be twice as hot…

The view from Leigh’s front porch was never this nice. In fact, her hunky new neighbor is sparking all kinds of naughty ideas about how to beat the heat. Much to her delight, the feeling is mutual—as long as they keep things light. Her divorce left her a little lonely, but far from needy.

Jared doesn’t plan to spend much time in his new place before jetting off on his next photojournalism assignment. Leigh’s classic, California blonde looks are any man’s fantasy. A little flirting, a little playful, neighborly car washing, and it isn’t long until their summer fling is in full swing.

Neither can imagine the sex being any hotter—until Jared’s sometime roommate and lover, Matteo, comes to town. In the arms of two men, Leigh brings her ultimate fantasy into scorching reality.

Jared revels in the chance to command his two lovers’ every move, but when he gets the call for his next overseas gig, he’s not so sure he’s ready for the fireworks to end. And even as Leigh gives her two lovers the most precious gift—their freedom—she wonders how she’ll find the strength to say goodbye.

EXCERPT from SUMMER SOLSTICE:

Leigh’s meeting had gone well. She was in a good mood, humming to herself as she slipped her dress down over her head. It was a lightweight, pale green cotton knit that matched her eyes and hugged her body. Not that it would stay on long. Her clothes were never on for long with Jared. She’d stopped wearing underwear entirely unless they were going out, as they were tonight. She paused in front of the mirror over her dresser to pin up her blonde hair and add some lip gloss and a pair of silver hoop earrings, then slipped into her sandals before locking her door and walking across the street. Her pulse fluttered, knowing she would see Jared in a few moments, even though he’d been in her bed just this morning.

Silly of her. But she couldn’t help it. She liked him.

She knocked on his screen door and he called out for her to come in. She stepped inside and he was walking down the stairs, pulling a black T-shirt over his head.

“I’m ready. Are you hungry, darlin’?”

“Starved.”

He kissed her cheek, then her mouth, his lush lips hot on hers. “I appreciate a woman with an appetite.” He growled, nipping at her lip.

“Oh, don’t start or we’ll never get any dinner.” But she flicked her tongue out to lick his lip and he came in for another quick kiss.

“My poor, deprived girl. How about Mexican food? I thought we’d go to La Serenata on Fourth.”

“That sounds perfect.”

He led her outside and helped her into his truck, then came around the other side. It was only a few minutes’ drive to the restaurant. They parked and went in, ordering a pitcher of margaritas once they were seated at the booth.

Leigh sipped at her drink, letting Jared order their food, as he often did. It was a small thing, but she loved it when he took control. Something about the way he did it—he never made her feel as if her opinion wasn’t important. Instead, it made her feel taken care of.

“So,” he said when the waitress had walked away, “I have something to tell you.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” He picked up his drink, took a swallow. “I have a friend…well, he’s more than a friend. Matteo is a musician. He plays a beautiful Spanish guitar. He travels a lot. And in between he often comes to stay with me. He sort of lives with me part time. I’ve never mentioned him because, well, I didn’t realize at first that we’d spend so much time together, you and I.”

He was watching her, his dark eyes serious.

“Jared, did you think I’d be bothered by it? That you have a sort-of room mate?”

“No. But maybe that I haven’t told you sooner.”

“As you said, there wasn’t any reason to.”

“And because he’s not a room mate, really. He’s my lover.”

“Oh.”

Had she intruded on a relationship? But why would Jared have slept with her if that was the case? He hadn’t struck her as the sort of guy who would do anything dishonest. She felt oddly let down.

“Does this mean… Are you and he…together?”

“Ah, it’s nothing like that. We’re together when we’re together. No strings. Is that your only concern?”

“Well, that and whether or not I’ll see you while he’s here.”

“Those are your only worries?”

“What else should I be worried about?”

“That I’m bi.”

Her response was instinctual. Honest. “Are you kidding? The idea of seeing you with another man is pretty hot, actually.”

He smiled at her then, his dimple creasing his cheek. “Oh, you are a dirty girl, aren’t you?”

“But you like that about me.”

“I do.” He took her hand, turned it over and stroked her palm with his thumb, sending shivers up her arm, into her body. “I’m glad you won’t mind Matteo being here.”

“When does he arrive?”

“Sometime tonight. I only found out a few hours ago. It could be late. I’m not certain. You’ll like him. The girls always do. He’s Spanish and Irish. Passionate. Stubborn. Beautiful. An irresistible combination. And he’ll like you.” He raised her palm to his lips, laid a soft kiss there, let his tongue flick onto her skin, his gaze on hers. “As much as I do.”

“I’ll look forward to meeting him.”

She was going wet, loving the sensation of his lips, his hot tongue, on her hand. And at the thoughts his words, his actions, inspired. Two men… Could Jared be implying what she thought he was? That Matteo could end up in bed with them?

The idea made her shiver. Having two men at once had been a long-time fantasy. Watching them together another one. Both at once was almost too much to think about.

Her body was heating up and she could hardly wait to finish dinner, to get back to Jared’s place. To get him into bed. And maybe, to see one of her fondest fantasies brought to life.

They ate quickly, and Leigh wondered if Jared was anxious to see Matteo, if he was thinking about the possibility of a ménage, if he was concerned about whether she and Matteo would get along.

Stop worrying so much.

Yes, she needed to just see what happened, not think about it or she was going to over-think it. Either she and Matteo would mesh well or not. He’d find her attractive or he wouldn’t. And vice versa. She still wasn’t entirely certain that Jared had been hinting what she thought he was. What she hoped.

By the time they got back to his place her body was on fire, buzzing with possibilities. They pulled into the driveway and found another car already parked there, an old, hard-topped Porsche. Jared turned to smile at her.

“He’s here.”

She smiled back, nerves lighting up her skin, making her stomach flutter as Jared came around to help her from the big SUV, led her up the flagstone path to the front door, opened it.

He was sitting on one of the overstuffed chairs, his legs swung over one arm, an acoustic guitar in his hands. He was as beautiful as Jared told her he would be. Dark hair waving to his shoulders, his skin a gorgeous golden-brown. And his eyes were green, darker than her own, a deep shade of moss. Electric. He had his shirt off, and she could see that while he was more delicately built than Jared, he was still all muscle, long and lean. And his chest was perfectly smooth, his skin sleek, his nipples dark. He was smiling at them, his gaze assessing her.

Jared crossed the room in a few short strides, taking Leigh with him, her hand in his. He reached out and pulled Matteo to his feet, his arm wrapping around his neck to pull him in close. The two men kissed, and heat shot like lightning through Leigh’s body.

Jesus.

There was something almost terrifyingly erotic about those two masculine mouths meeting. She’d never seen anything like it, this intimate caress of lips between men, not this close up. Not with Jared holding onto her hand, as though she were a part of it.

They pulled apart, and Jared pulled Leigh closer.

“This is Matteo.”

“Hi, Matteo. It’s nice to meet you.”

Matteo was smiling at her, his teeth a brilliant white in his wide, lush mouth. He really was beautiful. He took her free hand in his, his long fingers wrapping around hers. His palm was warm, his fingertips calloused from playing guitar. She couldn’t help but imagine what those rough fingers would feel like on her skin…

“And you’re Leigh.” His accent was purely American, surprising her for some reason. “Jared told me his new neighbor was a beauty, but I had no idea…” He turned to glance at Jared. “I hope you weren’t planning on keeping her all to yourself.”

“That’s entirely up to her.”

Matteo’s smile widened into a grin as he turned back to her, and she went hot all over as he gave her hand a squeeze. “I’ll have to work hard to charm you then, Leigh.”

She smiled back. He was charming enough already. And she understood fully that the invitation was there, for them all to go to bed together. Would it be too much if she simply screamed yes?

“Can I get you two anything? A beer?”

“We just came from dinner and a few margaritas. Have you eaten?”

“I stopped on my way from the airport. I didn’t want to waste time eating once I got here. I have a new piece I’ve wanted to play for you. Do you mind, Leigh?”

“No, not at all. I’d love to hear you play. Jared says you play beautifully.”

“I hope you like it. Come, sit next to me.”

Matteo was still holding onto her hand. He pulled her down next to him on the dark leather sofa. Jared sat on her other side.

Matteo began to play, his fingers fluttering over the guitar strings, making them sigh. The tempo built, a lovely rhythm that was sensual, sexual somehow. He was watching them, Leigh and Jared both, his green eyes gleaming, some sort of challenge in them. Or was she imagining that? He could certainly play. The music was gorgeous, Spanish-style guitar mixed with a bit of Caribbean flavor. She turned to look at Jared, and his gaze was on Matteo, but quickly flicked to her. He smiled, his dimple flickering in his cheek, and he took her hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb as they listened. The music, Jared’s touch, was sending heat spiraling into her system. And Matteo’s beautiful face, the intensity of his expression… What sort of lover would he be?

When Matteo was done he set the guitar down on the floor carefully.

“What do you think?”

“Brilliant,” Jared answered.

“You always say that.”

“It’s always true.”

“And you, Leigh? Did you enjoy my playing?”

“Jared’s right. That was brilliant. Gorgeous. So soulful.”

“Ah, I like this one, Jared,” he said, lifting her hand to kiss it, his soft lips lingering.

Jared was still stroking her other hand, and he moved his palm up over her arm, stroking her shoulder. She was shivering with need, with the sensation of the two men touching her at once. With the exquisite anticipation of what might happen between them all.

Jared moved closer, his mouth next to her ear, until she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. “Leigh, tell me what you want.”

It was a command, and yet she knew this was up to her. Knew she’d be crazy to turn this opportunity down.

“I want you both.”

Copyright 2010 Eden Bradley

Visit Eden online!

Websites: EdenBradley.com -or- EveBerlin.com

Twitter: twitter.com/EdenBradley

Facebook: www.facebook.com/AuthorEdenBradley.EveBerlin

Pinterest: (lots of shoes, cute animals and tattoos!) http://pinterest.com/edenandeve/

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Fancy Moore Summer Heat

Todays guest is a brand new author. So new in fact, that her book hasn’t even released yet, so the winner of this Summer Heat Giveaway will be one of the first to read her Debut Story…The Roper

She’s chosen to do her Cover Reveal here, for the first and second of her cowboy books. What do you think? Is there room in your library for a couple of hot cowboy stories?

The Roper Release Date: August 6, 2013

The Bronco Rider Release Date: September 10, 2013

The Bull Rider Release Date: September 24, 2013

From THE ROPER

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Summer Spying with Gemma Halliday

Gemma Halliday is a talent to be reckoned with. After leaving Dorchester Publishing she went indie with her High Heels mystery series and has become a NYT Bestselling author. Not only is she talented, and very generous in sharing her time and knowledge with other authors, she’s a sweetheart.

Spying in High Heels Is her first donation to the Summer Heat Giveaway. If you think mysteries aren’t for you, I dare you to give this series a try, because it will hook you!

Excerpt:

I was late.

And I don’t mean the kind of late where I spent too much time doing my

hair and was now stuck in traffic. I mean I was late late. The kind

of late where the 99% effective warnings on the side of condom boxes

flashed before my eyes as I white knuckled my way down the 405,

silently screaming, why me? Why, oh why me? I’m a new millennium

girl. I took copious notes in 6th grade Sex Ed. I carry just-in-case

condoms in the zippered section of my purse. And, after that first

singularly awkward experience in the back of Todd Hanson’s ‘82 Chevy

after junior prom, I have been meticulously careful. Me. I was late.

And I was not taking it well.

“Dana?” Silence. “Dana, I need to talk to you.” Silence. “I swear

to God if you are screening me I am never speaking to you again.”

I switched my cell phone to the other hand as I changed lanes,

narrowly avoiding a collision with a pick-up that had “wash me” carved

in opaque dust, before continuing my desperate pleas into my best

friend’s answering machine.

“Dana, please, please, please pick up? Please?” I paused. Nothing.

“All right, I guess you really aren’t there. But please, please,

please call me back as soon as you get this message. I mean pronto.

This is a serious code red, 911 emergency. I need to talk to you

now!” I punctuated this last word by laying on my horn as a bald guy

in a convertible cut me off then had the audacity to give me the

finger. Welcome to L.A.

I flipped my phone shut, breaking a French tipped nail in the process,

and counted to ten, trying to remember some of that calming yoga

breathing from the one class Dana had dragged me to last month.

Unfortunately, at the time I’d had my full attention focused on not

falling flat on my face during a downward facing dog, and I think I

was beginning to hyperventilate.

I merged onto the 10 freeway, glancing down at the digital readout on

my dashboard clock, and realized with a twist of irony that I was now

not only late, but late. As in not on time to meet my boyfriend,

Richard Howe, for lunch. He’d made one o’clock reservations at

Giani’s and it was now twelve fifty-eight. I eased my suede ankle

boot (which had maxed out my Macy’s card, but was so worth it!) down

just a little harder on the accelerator, after checking the rearview

mirror to make sure the highway patrol was nowhere in sight. Not that

I was speeding. Much. But considering the day I’d had so far, an

encounter with the CHP was not on my list of to-do’s.

As I checked for motorcycle cops, I also gave myself a quick once over

in the mirror. Not bad considering I was having the freak out of my

life. My ash blond hair was still tucked into a flattering half

twist, a few flyaways but the messy look was in, right? I pulled out

a tube of Raspberry Perfection lip-gloss and applied a thin swipe

across my lips, ignoring the obscene gestures from the guy behind me.

Hey, if a girl in a crisis doesn’t have her lipstick, what does she

have?

I’m proud to say I only got flipped off two more times before pulling

my little red Jeep (top up today as a concession to my hair) into the

parking garage on the corner of 7th and Grand. I fastened The Club

securely on my steering wheel and prepared to hoof it the two blocks

to my boyfriend’s firm where I was supposed to meet him… I looked down

at my watch… damn. Twelve minutes ago. Well, on the up side, as soon

as I told him about being late, I had a feeling he’d forget all about

my being late.

A conversation I was seriously dreading. In my mind it went something

like this: Hi Richard, sorry I’m late, by the way I may be having your

child. Insert cartoon sound of Richard hitting the door at

roadrunner-like speeds. Ugh. There was just no good way to ease into

information like that. We’d only been dating for a few months. We

hadn’t even made it to the shopping at Bed, Bath and Beyond stage yet,

and suddenly we had to have this conversation? I adjusted my bra

strap as I walked, tucking it back under my tank top, trying like

anything to present the appearance of a woman with it all together.

And not a woman trying to remember which pregnancy test commercial

touted early results with digital readouts.

Exactly fourteen minutes behind schedule I walked into the law offices

of Dewy, Cheatum and Howe. In reality the firm was called Donaldson,

Chesterton, and Howe. But I couldn’t resist the nickname.

Considering the type of clientele they represented (the Chanel and

Rolex crowd) it fit like an imported, calfskin glove.

Beyond the frosted front doors maroon carpeting yawned across the

reception area, muffling the sound of my heels as I made my way to the

front desk. The large oval of dark woods stretched along the back

wall of the spacious room, flanked on either side by more frosted

doors leading to the conference rooms and offices beyond. The faint

clicking of keyboards and muffled conversations billed at three

hundred dollars an hour filled the background.

“May I help you?” asked the Barbie doll behind the desk. Jasmine. Or

as I liked to call her, Miss PP. As in plastic parts. Jasmine spent

two thirds of her salary every month on cosmetic procedures. This

week her lips were collagen swollen to Angelina Jolie standards. Last

month it was new boobs, double D of course. As usual, her bleached

blond hair was moussed within an inch of its life, giving her an extra

two inches on her already annoying height of 5’6”. I’m what could be

referred to as a petite person, topping out at an impressive 5’1 ½” on

a good day. I was lucky if I made the height requirement on half the

rides at Six Flags.

“I’m here to see Richard,” I informed Miss PP.

“Do you have an appointment with Mr. Howe?” Her blue eyes blinked

(with difficulty due to the brow lift two months ago) in an innocent

gesture that I knew was anything but. Jasmine’s sole entertainment

here at Dewy, Cheatum and Howe was wielding the power of entry to the

sacred offices beyond the frosted doors.

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Yes. As a matter of fact I do.”

“And you are?”

I tried not to roll my eyes. I’d met Richard here for lunch every

Friday afternoon for the past five months. She knew who I was and by

the tiny smile at the corner of her Angelina lips, she was enjoying

this all too much.

“Maddie Springer. His girlfriend. I’m here for a lunch date.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Springer, but you’ll have to wait. He’s with someone

in the conference room right now.”

“Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?” I mumbled as I sat

in one of the tan, leather chairs punctuating the waiting area.

Jasmine didn’t answer, smirking instead (which looked a lot like an

Elvis lip curl in her new super-sized lips) as she opened what I’d

guess was a game of solitaire on her computer and pretended to look

busy. I picked up a copy of Cosmo from the end table and began

flipping through the pages of drool worthy designer clothes I could

never afford. Or fit into if I was actually pregnant. Oh God. What

a depressing thought.

After what seemed like an eternity of listening to Jasmine’s acrylic

nails click against her keyboard, Richard walked into the reception

area. Despite the anxiety building in my stomach, I couldn’t help a

little yummy sigh at the sight of him. Richard was six foot one and

all lean muscle. He was a religious runner, doing 10k’s for all the

charities in his spare time. Muscular dystrophy, autism, even the

breast cancer run last April. When we first started dating he tried

to get me to run with him once. Just once. My idea of a cardio

workout was elbowing my way through Nordstrom during the half-yearly

super sale. Running was something I didn’t do. Besides, I figured if

the heels were high enough, walking the two blocks from my apartment

to the corner Starbucks burned almost as many calories as running,

right?

Today Richard’s blonde hair was perfectly gelled into place in a

casual wave, a la early Robert Redford. He was wearing a dark gray

suit, paired with a white shirt and tasteful paisley printed tie. He

looked downright delish and I resisted the urge to throw myself into

his arms, unloading all my worries onto the shoulder of his wool suit.

Another man exited the offices with him, the two of them deep in

conversation. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but whatever

it was had Richard’s sandy brows drawn together in a look of concern.

The other guy was dressed in Levis, worn with faded patches along the

thighs and seat, and a navy blazer over a form fitting black T-shirt.

His shoulders were broad and he had the sort of compact build that

made you instantly think prizefighter. A white scar cut into his

eyebrow, breaking up his tanned complexion. Dark hair, dark eyes and

the sort of hard look about him that usually went along with prison

tattoos. I hoped Richard wasn’t branching out into criminal defense.

I waited until they’d shook hands and the other guy had walked out of

the lobby before approaching Richard.

“Hi honey,” I said, standing on tiptoe to place a kiss on his cheek.

“Hi.” He was still staring after the felon, his tone distracted as if

I’d just interrupted him during football season.

“Who was that?”

“Nobody.”

The way Richard was still staring after Mr. Nobody led me to believe

that wasn’t exactly true. However, I had bigger things to think about

than Richard’s latest client. Like being late.

“You’re late.”

“Huh?” I whirled around, panic rising like bile in my throat. Good

God, could he tell already? Insanely I looked down to my abdomen as

if it might have grown six inches in the last thirty seconds.

“We had reservations for one.”

Oh. That late.

“Sorry, there was traffic on the 405. We’ll just go somewhere else.

How about the Cabo Cantina?”

Richard was still staring at the closed glass doors where Mr. Nobody

had exited. I wondered again who the man was. He didn’t look like

Richard’s typical clients and he certainly didn’t give off that new

car scent of another lawyer.

“I, uh, don’t think I’m going to make lunch today after all.

Something’s kind of come up.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Am I a totally bad person that I was actually a

little relieved? At least we didn’t have to have that conversation

now. At least now I had a little time to come up with a better way of

dropping the bombshell than, “Richard, we’ve got to buy stronger

condoms.” Hmm… I wondered if I could sue Trojan over this?

“Sorry, Maddie. I’ll call you later, I promise.”

“That’s okay. I understand. I’ll talk to you tonight then?”

“Sure. Tonight.” He gave me a quick peck on the cheek before

disappearing back through the frosted doors and into the bowels of

Dewy, Cheatum and Howe. Jasmine looked up just long enough to give me

an Elvis smirk before going back to her solitaire game.

Buy now on Smashwords.com Amazon.com, or B&N.com

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Summer Heat from Sasha

This is Day 6 of my Summer Heat Giveaway and it’s time for me to step up and give you anexcerpt of my own…

Oh, Do you know what the Summer Heat Giveaway is? Let me refresh your memory first.

Every day from July 1st- 14th there’s an excerpt from a fabulous author like Saskia Walker, Cathryn Fox, Joey W Hill, Eden Bradley, Charlene Teglia, Devyn Quinn, Vivi Anna and many more who have donated stories that will be part of the prize. What is the prize? An eReader!

All you have to do to enter the draw is comment on the excerpts. Each comment will get you one entry into the draw with a maximum of one entry per day. (for a total of 15 entries if you comment every day)

For anyone interested in more information on the eReader itself, you can read a review of it from Geek.com here

One Weekend was my first true menage story. It’s just a short one, and when I wrote the intent was to give readers a short, sizzingly romp of a story. It’s perfect for the SUmmer Heat giveaway, especially since the sequel ( ONE CHOICE ) to it will be releasing in August!

 

Three lovers. Two days. One bed…

Angie Wilson is a lucky girl. She loves her job, her life, and her man, Rick Craig. What red-blooded woman wouldn’t revel in the attentions of a good-looking, athletic boyfriend who’s secure enough to encourage her most adventurous appetites?

One of the worst heat waves in memory has hit town, and by Friday Angie is ready to really let loose. Craig and his best friend, Mark, are chilling on the patio with cold beer when she gets home from work, and the three get comfortable. As the night moves on and the talk turns to sex, Angie longs for more than just cool air on her bare skin.

And the heat’s making her just crazy enough to go for it.

 

“One Weekend is a hot, erotic romp from the talented imagination of Sasha White. Ms. White has long been one of my favorite authors, and One Weekend only cements her place on my list of auto-buy authors and “to be kept” shelf.”~ Joyfully Reviewed





“HOT HOT HOT! I want more!

Once again Sasha White has hit the mark in her latest release, One Weekend which should be retitled to, One Smoking Hot Weekend Not to Miss!” ~ Cathryn Fox, author of INSTINCTIVE

 

EXCERPT

To set this up, Angie has come home to find her boyfriend and his best friend having beers on the balcony. After some drinking, and conversation that always seemed to center around sex, Angie and Mark get into a debate about women liking/not liking giving head-which leads to her actually giving him head while her boyfriend watchs….this is the start of their weekend together.

 

 

I leaned in close and planted my hands on Mark’s shoulders. Fully aware of Rick watching my every move, I arched my back, and bent from the waist as I lightly scraped my lips down Mark’s naked torso. Like Rick, he was fit and firm and deliciously male. Nibbling on a flat male nipple I sucked the musky scent of man into my lungs. He smelled different than Rick, not as dark or as spicy, but just as tasty.

Saliva pooled in my mouth, and I swallowed a moan of desire. Going slow was torture, but it was such a mouth-watering tease I couldn’t resist. Blowing softly on Mark’s belly button I slid a fingertip into the waistband of his jeans and looked over my shoulder. “Are you sure about this?”

He’d always enjoyed watching me flirt with other men, but this was more than that; more than flirting, and more than simple enjoyment I was seeing in the tension in his body. Rick stared at me, eyes glowing in the near dark as he watched me kneeling between his best friends legs, and a slow sexy grin lifted one corner of his mouth. “Oh, yeah. Enjoy yourself, and I’ll enjoy the show.”

Fingers on the snap of Marks jeans I looked up at him and smiled. The thick column of hardness under my hands told me he was good to go. “Guess I don’t need to ask you if you’re okay with it.”

Mark looked at Rick, then at me, and put his hands behind his head. “I’m all yours,” he said with a big grin.

“Oh, goody.”

With a quick tug I had his jeans unsnapped and slowly pulled the zipper down over his bulging package. “Tighty whities?” I asked when I saw the plain cotton straining against his hard-on.

“I like the way they cup me,” he said with a small shrug.

I reaching into his jeans and palmed his balls. “What about the way I cup you?”

He sighed with pleasure. “Oh yeah.”

I pulled my hand out and reached for his waistbands. Mark lifted his hips and with one move I pulled both jeans and underwear to his knees. Mouth watering, I stared.

There was no way to stop myself from comparing. His cock had to be at least eight inches long. Rick was no slouch in the size department, but never had one extra inch made such a difference. When I wrapped my hand around him my fingertips almost touched, but not quite. Which made Rick slightly shorter in length, but bigger in width.

Pulling his cock back from his belly, I slowly licked up the underside from balls to tip, thrilling at the groan that rumbled out of Mark.

He sank deeper into the chair, sliding down and spreading his legs wider as I began to really tease. My hands stroked, my fingertips tickled and I followed each touch up with a lick or quick nibble. Sliding one hand between his thighs I cupped his sac and fondled with one hand while leaning close to breath hot breath on the shiny head. When his thighs started to tremble I finally took him in my mouth. Parting my lips I swallowed him down until my nose pressed against his neatly trimmed pubes, and the head of his cock brushed the back of my throat. Eyes closed I relaxed my throat and massaged the underside of his dick with my tongue.

“Christ,” he groaned, his hands cupping the back of my head, fingers flexing gently in my hair.

“She’s good isn’t she?”

Rick’s voice so close behind me told me he’d left his chair, and I hadn’t even heard him move. I opened my eyes and caught a glimpse of him in my peripheral vision, leaning against the patio railing less than two feet away. He’d moved so he could see more than my back. He could watch my mouth on his friend and see everything I was doing.

That made me hotter. I squeezed my thighs together and fought the urge to reach between my own legs and diddle a bit. Knowing Rick was there, watching me, enjoying it all, made it much more enjoyable. It might be me on my knees, but it was us enjoying the experience.

As if reading my mind a large hand stroked up and down my back for a moment. “You’re doing great, baby.”

Circling the base of Mark’s cock with one hand I pulled back and began to work him. Up and down, sucking gently, adding a twist with my hand every now and then. Our rhythm slowly picked up speed as slick juices began to spread over his cock and down my chin.

Mark’s cock throbbed against my tongue, and his fingers tightened in my hair, pulling. I whimpered and he let go quickly. Rick chuckled. “That was a whimper of pleasure, buddy, not pain. She likes it when you pull her hair, don’t you, Angie girl?”

I moaned and sucked harder. Mark’s fingers tangled in my hair once again pulling tight as he thrust his hips forward, shoving his cock deeper into my mouth.

Bracing my hands on his hips I closed my eyes and concentrated. Mark’s dick throbbed hotly in my mouth, and my heart pounded. Pulling up a bit I focused on the head. Sucking hard I bobbed my head up and down fast, using my tongue to stroke the sensitive underside. When his cock jerked and his grip on my head tightened I knew he was almost there.

Opening my eyes I tried to see Rick. I saw his body shift, but I couldn’t get a look at his face. A small whimper slipped past my lips and as if he understood he spoke softly. “That’s it, baby, take him deep. Make him come and swallow it all.”

I sank down on Mark’s cock and sucked hard, twirling my tongue and bouncing the head against the back of my throat. My breath rasped in and out through my nose, the scent of raw sex and sweat filling my head as his cock swelled, jerked and hot come filled my throat. Mark’s loud groan of pleasure echoed over the deck, and my pussy clenched. God, I loved the sound of a man losing control.

Seconds later his body went slack and his grip loosened. A second later he began to stroke my hair softly and I ran my hands up and down his thighs slowly and licked him clean.

When he was clean I sat back on my heels and looked at him with a grin. “Well?”

He lifted heavy eyelids. “Best ever,” he confirmed.

I looked to my left and met Rick’s gaze cautiously. The part of me that had wondered at his not only being okay with it, but encouraging me was put to rest by the heat in his chocolate eyes. My heart pounded. Only when he was super turned on did his eyes darken to midnight like that.

“My turn,” he said, grabbing my hands and pulling me to my feet. He wrapped his arms around me, held me tight to his chest and slammed his mouth down over mine. My knees buckled, and I clutched at his shoulders, thrilling at his strength and the power of his desire.

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Alison Tyler’s Sizzling Summer Heat story

If you like well written erotica that gets your heat racing and your juices flowing, then  you should be familiar with Alison Tyler’s writing. And if you’re not, then get on it, because you are missing out!!

Her donation for the Summer Heat giveaway is BANGING REBECCA

(PS: She’s also a fabulous editor who puts together some very steamy, naughty and downright raunchy short story collections.)

Banging Rebecca is a dirty rock and roll story about a girl, a band, and a wicked desire. The 21 pp novella is filled with the type of kink that Alison Tyler fans love best: bondage, spanking, exhibitionism, and hardcore s-e-x!

And a one, and a two…

When you date a drummer, you know what you’re getting into. There is no confusion about schedules or lifestyles. Right from the rim shot, your world is thrown off beat. I didn’t go in with my eyes closed. (Sure, I’m blindfolded at this moment, but my eyes were open from the start.) After all, I’d met Sean at a concert. I knew his nights were spent playing the drums for a local art house band called Daemon 7. I understood he was often up until three in the morning, because that very first night, he was up with me. Up in the alley behind the Pico Boulevard venue, pressing against me, pawing his way into my little black satin shorts, flicking open the silver buttons on my buffalo plaid shirt with a dynamic rhythm.

I could almost hear the drum beat in my head.

“Saw you in the front row,” he told me, mouth to my ear, hot breath on my skin. “I knew you saw me, too.”

While most of the girls in the crowd oohed over Derrick Jacobsen, the feline lead singer with the mane of white hair, I had been captivated by Sean. He wore a sleeveless chrome-gray tee- shirt, and the muscles in his arms flexed and danced when he beat the skins. He was a man possessed, eyes glazed, body moving as he kept the band on track. Yet apparently, he’d felt me watching him, had seen me through his tangled mess of caramel curls.

That night, he tore down my midnight shorts and stared impatiently until I stepped forward—leaving a tiny ripple of black satin on the gravel-strewn ground. I was wearing thigh- high fencenet stockings and no panties, and he hesitated only long enough to bend to his knees on the pavement and lick my clit. His face burrowed into me, and I gripped onto his ripped shoulders—my fingers slipping on his bare skin—and sighed. Although the urge was there, I didn’t toss my back head or close my eyes. I wanted to see everything, wanted to watch as he parted my nether lips with his thumbs and went in tight for those dreamy circles around and around my clit.

“Fucking god,” I hissed.

We were in a groove right from the very start, no stammering, no struggling. But when he sensed my impending climax, he stood up, lifted me up in those steady arms of his, pinned me against the brick wall, and slammed inside of me.

I cried out at the first thrust of his cock, driving hard and fast into my pussy.

“You like that.”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me why, girl.”

I had to slow down, to really look at him—unable to believe he had hit on one of my top fantasies so quickly. Making me talk when words were failing. Making me tell him what turned me on when I could hardly find the ability to open my mouth. We were still strangers: fan and musician, groupie and rock god, even if he was only a rock god to a pierced and tattooed crowd of seventy-five. How had he known what to ask me?

“Because…” I stuttered. “Because anyone could see.”

He gripped my dark hair in his hand, balancing my weight with on his thighs. “See who you really are?”

He didn’t even know my name, but he seemed to understand my soul. “Yeah—” I murmured.

“What a dirty little slut you are?”

“Oh, god, yeah.”

He pulled out then, gripped my hips and moved me up and down slowly, so that he was fucking my clit with the shaft of his cock. I became entirely still, letting him manhandle me, knowing that he was going to make me come like that, from fucking my clit with the girth of his cock. He didn’t climax, himself. He let me reach my outer limits, biting my lips, trembling all over, and then he set me gently down on the ground.

My skin was scraped raw afterwards, bricks an unfriendly excuse for a bed, but the feeling of being pounded—quite literally between the rocklike wall and a hard place of the drummer—had me flying.

“I’m Sean Mitchell,” he said, after he’d managed to tuck himself back into his jeans, grinning as I shook out my little shorts and stepped back into them. Every part of my body felt abused. My legs were weak, the insides of my thighs slippery wet.

“Rebecca,” I told him, and I couldn’t help but laugh as he took my hand, flipped it, and kissed the inside of my palm, like a gentleman, tracing the lines in my hand afterward, sending a fresh shiver through me.

I was sure he’d thank me for the tryst and leave, drive off to wherever he lived, turning me into one more conquest on a string of kinky memory beads. But he didn’t. My hand still in his, he led me to a glossy black truck and opened the passenger side door. “I’m not letting you out of my sight,” he said, when I gave him a questioning look. “You’re too precious.”

I slid into the truck’s bed, and wondered what I’d gotten myself into.

Turns out, I got myself into Sean.

 

Can’t wait to read more? I don’t blame you. Buy It Now.

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Kate Douglas’s Summer Heat story

Kate Douglas’s name will always bring Wolf Tales to mind for me, and I’m sure I’m not the only one. However, this lady has so much more to offer an avid reader than just those famous stories. Take a peek at her first contribution to the Summer Heat Giveaway, Cowboy in my Pocket. (And be sure to come back on the 13th to see what else she’s offering up. It’s worth the revisit, I promise.)

If you like your cowboys sexy, your heroines forgetful and your marriages convenient, this gentle parody of cowboy romances will leave you with a smile on your face and a sigh on your lips. Discover romantic comedy at its best in this captivating tale of a woman who finds her one true love and the cowboy hero afraid to give his heart.

Michelle Garrison is a prolific romance writer whose career is suddenly on a downslide. Her plots are boring, her writing is stale and her readers are fleeing for greener pastures. Desperate to revive her career, Michelle sets out to write a bestseller, and who could make a more worthy hero then a cowboy.

Force-marched to a dude ranch by her editor, Michelle soon finds herself trudging along a mountain road with no memory of who she is or where she’s going, but thanks to the quintessential sexy cowboy hero, Michelle is saved. Swept up in her cowboy’s arms even Michelle can see the parody in her own story: “Everything she’d read about cowboys must be true, she thought, almost hysterically. No wonder they made such popular heroes in romances.”

“Kate Douglas bills her romance as a ‘gentle parody of contemporary category romance’ but in doing so creates a delightful love story that proves there’s a good reason why certain plot devices become cliches–they really work on an emotional level . . . the author might have thought she was poking fun, but the romance reader has the last laugh with this sparkling romantic comedy!” 

–Gerry Benninger for ROMANTIC TIMES MAGAZINE

“MICHELLE, DARLING, it’s good to see you. How’ve you been?”
     ”Cut the crap, Mark. You, of all people, know how I’ve been. Forget the pleasantries. Why did you reject my story?”
     ”Let’s order first, sweetheart.” Mark Connor, never one to make eye contact in the first place, studied the oversized menu in front of him. Michelle Garrison seethed and drummed her freshly manicured fingernails on the damask tablecloth. Suddenly she realized she was tapping the toe of her left shoe in the same staccato rhythm. She took a deep, struggle-for-some-semblance-of-control breath that ended in a frustrated sigh. The waiter appeared, leather-bound notepad in hand, to take their orders.
     ”Michelle?” Mark smiled at her.
     ”I’m not hungry. You order.” Michelle glared at him, imagining large winged crows pecking his eyes. No, buzzards… buzzards made a much more impressive image.
     ”We’ll both have the luncheon salad…Roquefort for me, the low-fat house dressing for the lady.” Mark returned Michelle’s glare with an innocent look. “Well, you have put on a few pounds, darling. You need to exercise more.”
     ”I haven’t had time, darling. I’ve been sitting in front of my computer without a break for the past six weeks, finishing a manuscript for you to reject. The same manuscript I wrote following your ‘suggestions,’ using your ideas for plot and characterization. Now, before my healthy, low-fat lunch arrives, would you so kindly tell me why you aren’t buying my western?”
     Mark smiled beatifically, the smile Michelle had once thought attractive until she realized he used that ubiquitous expression to hide everything going on behind those pale blue eyes of his. She waited for what seemed hours for his answer, returning his smile with a scowl.
     Finally he tapped his fingertips together in a little steeple, pursed his lips, opened his mouth, shut it again, hmmmm’ed as if pondering a new amendment to the Constitution, then said, “Well, you have to understand…”
     ”No, Mark. I don’t understand. I did everything you asked. ‘Put a cowboy on the cover, it’ll fly off the shelves,’ he says. ‘Marriages of convenience are always popular, the readers love them,’ so it’s got a blasted MOC. Mark, I did it all, right down to the baby. Remember telling me, ‘If it’s got a baby in it, the story’s gonna be a gold mine?’ Well, it can’t be a gold mine if it doesn’t get published. I want to know what gives!”
     Mark unfolded his napkin and spread it across his lap, ignoring Michelle and smiling politely at the waiter while the young man placed their salads on the table and departed.
     ”I’m waiting, Mark.” Michelle picked up her fork, thought briefly how it would look imbedded in Mark’s impeccably white shirt somewhere in the vicinity of his breastbone, then stabbed a large section of tomato instead.
     ”Sweetheart…”
     ”Don’t give me that ‘sweetheart’ crap.”
     ”Michelle.” Michelle swore silently. She practically heard the gears engaging in the gray matter behind his high forehead. Mark always considered every word so carefully. Another irritating editorial trait, she thought. Right up there with rejecting her western. “Michelle, you have written forty-three books for us, and almost all of them have had an impressive return. All, that is, except the last three.” He paused, resting his lips against his forefingers. “How can I say this without being blunt?”
     ”Go ahead, Mark. Be blunt…it suits you.”
     ”Yes, well, it’s my job to be honest. So, to put it bluntly, your ideas are tired, darling. Your characters all sound the same. That’s why I wanted you to try a western.”
     ”Well I did, dammit!” Michelle impaled a large piece of lettuce. How dare he find more fault with her story? “I worked hard on that western. My hero is a tall, dark and sexy cowboy; my heroine is an even sexier single mom with a disgustingly adorable little baby girl. They live on neighboring ranches, they ride horses, they chase cows around the field, they…”
     ”They don’t know a thing about being cowboys, they’ve obviously never been in Colorado, where your story is supposedly set, and I might as well have been reading about an insurance agent as a cowboy. Our readers aren’t stupid. When you write a scene about saddling a horse and you don’t know that the pommel’s at the front and the cantle’s at the back, or how to tighten the cinch so the saddle won’t slip, well your reader is going to laugh—at you for writing it, and us for publishing it. Look at the stupid name you gave your heroine! Lee Stetson? Come on. I’m sorry, Michelle. Westerns are hot right now, and you don’t have a clue how to write them. You even have the hero make love to the heroine while they’re riding a horse. That’s physically impossible, darling. It hurts merely to think of it.” His pained expression might have been funny under other circumstances.
     ”But it’s a really sexy scene…it’s…”
     Mortified, Michelle stared into her perforated salad. Mark loved her stories, he loved everything about her writing. Now he was saying it was awful? Worse than awful, embarrassing? She thought Lee Stetson was a really cute name. The hefty advance that was going to pay off Michelle’s VISA bill suddenly dissolved into a puff of smoke and faded away. She gazed longingly after the imaginary cloud. She blinked and the cloud disappeared. “Wait a minute,” she said, leaning forward. “How do you know the difference between a pommel and a, um, kettle?”
     ”It’s a cantle, Michelle. That’s what I’m trying to explain, if you’d only pay attention.” He waved a glossy magazine under her nose. “I spent two weeks at a dude ranch. It was a terrific experience. All these western manuscripts suddenly started making sense. I want you to go. Just two weeks at the Columbine Camp in Colorado. That’s all. You’ll learn everything you need to know about horses and cows and cowboys and the great outdoors. Trust me on this, darling. It’ll be good for you. You need a break, it’s not that expensive and besides, you can write it off. We want to keep you in our stable, Michelle…” He grinned, obviously impressed with his play on words.
     ”You want me to go to a dude ranch? I don’t think so.” Michelle jabbed her fork in Mark’s direction, inordinately pleased when he backed away. “I don’t even like horses, and I’m certain I’d like cowboys even less. I imagine they’re both smelly, ill-tempered and impossible to control. I’ll just do a little more research, maybe watch an old John Wayne movie or two. Trust me, Mark. I’ll have my revision to you in, oh, about two weeks.”
     She pushed away from the table. “Now, thanks for lunch, and have a really nice…” Mark reached across the table, lightly grabbed her wrist, and stopped her. She sat back, stunned. Mark was never forceful, not ever. There wasn’t a trace of humor, or even sarcasm in his voice.
     ”No revision, Michelle. This comes down from the senior editor, and we all know she takes her orders from marketing. Either you spend two weeks at Columbine Camp, which includes riding instructions…yes, dear, don’t look so surprised…on a real horse, and an authentic dusty trail ride following authentic, smelly, dusty cows, or you find someone else to buy your stories. Competition’s too steep, and there’re a lot of hungry writers out there willing to take a lot less money. My advice is to jump through the hoops and learn what you can. Then write the freshest, most knowledgeable romantic western ever.”
     ”You’re not my agent, Mark. You’re my editor. I thought you were my friend.”
     ”I am, Michelle. That’s why I bought you this issue of  Western Horseman  to read on the plane.” He held the thick magazine up in front of her and smiled broadly, his blue eyes sparkling and his dimples dimpling until he looked more like a cover model than a book editor. Michelle thought seriously of telling him the effect was totally wasted on her. A dude ranch…cows and flies and dust, and waking up with the chickens, and more charges on the VISA bill…
     ”I can’t do this Mark. It’s impossible. I…”
     ”You’ll do it, Michelle. Call me when you get back. Don’t forget your magazine.” He flipped the brand new issue of  Western Horseman open to a glossy spread of photos and text. “Read it, sweetheart. Besides a great article about Columbine Camp, it’s just full of information about rodeos and barrel racing and horses and cowboys and cowgirls…you’re gonna love it. Have fun. Think western. I expect you to come home with a drawl.” He winked and smiled, flashing perfectly straight, white teeth.
     Michelle stared at the photos in the magazine. Her breath caught in her throat. “That’s him,” she whispered. She pointed at a photo of a dark haired cowboy with a devil-may-care smile. “That’s my hero, the one you rejected.” She glared accusingly at Mark. “That’s exactly how I described him, tall, dark and handsome with broad shoulders and a sexy grin, and you tell me I don’t know what I’m writing about? This should prove to you that I wrote about a real cowboy. How could you reject my story?” She slapped the magazine down on the table, but couldn’t take her eyes off the man staring back at her. Actually, she hadn’t pictured her hero as quite so, well, elemental, but Mark didn’t need to know that.
     Mark glanced at the photo, then grinned at Michelle. “His name’s Taggart Martin, and according to this article he lives right next door to Columbine Camp, on a huge ranch called the Double Eagle. Go, Michelle. Meet a real cowboy. Maybe you’ll be able to write a real western for a change.” Mark tipped an imaginary hat and sauntered out of the restaurant.
     Speechless, seething with resentment, Michelle glared at his retreating figure. Then she glanced at the table, littered with the remnants of their lunch. Damn him! He’d left her with the check.

Want to read more? Check out CHapter 1 on Kate’s Website.

or, BUY NOW 

TRIVIA FACT: The couple on the cover of this book are actually Kate’s son and his then-girlfriend. They’ve now been married for ten years. *g*

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Vivi Anna’s Vampire Heat

 

 

 

 

There are a few authors who I truly consider friends, and Vivi Anna is one of them. An amazingly talented storyteller she sucks me in no matter if she’s writing contemporary, sic-fi, or urban fantasy. The Vampire Affair is only a sample of what this lady can do, so be sure to check it out, even if you’re not the winner of this giveaway.

Makayla Bradley risks everything including her first job as a journalist to get the goods on billionaire playboy businessman Jonathan Devane. A man who enthralled her from a single passionate kiss months prior in a Toronto nightclub. A man who makes her blood race and her insides throb. A man with dark secrets…

Buy Now

“Vampire Affair is a fresh, delicious and addictive take on the (new adult) genre. Packed with emotional and erotic intensity, it’s a story that will leave you wanting more.”

-Lauren Jameson, author of Surrender to Temptation and Blush

Part 2 also available now!

 

Chapter One

 

The Toronto International Film Festival was a huge event that I was covering for Hot Gossip, a Calgary entertainment magazine. It was my first major assignment. So it was definitely a big deal. The editor was relying on me for some juicy gossip.

So far I’d found it boring as hell and I’d gotten nothing either juicy or gossipy.

After an uneventful day of stargazing, I decided to take in some nightlife.  My best friend Serena, who was also the magazine’s photographer, accompanied me to a well-known place downtown.  Hopefully, I’d spy someone famous and get some juicy tidbit for the front page.  Tired of my stories always being on page seven or ten, right after the tampon advertisement, I hoped for something scandalous.

The gig at Hot Gossip was my first real writing job. The managing editor, Carmen, had hired me right out of college. At twenty-three, I was her youngest writer on staff. And I planned to do the best damn job ever.

So, we set up camp at the bar.  It had a good view of the entire club, and good maneuverability, in case I had to chase after someone.  I had taken the first sip of my Pomtini, when I spotted him.

The first thing I noticed was his eyes.  They flashed like uncut sapphires.  Even from across the room, their intense appraisal drilled me right to the core.  I nearly choked on my drink, when I realized he was smiling at me.

“What’s wrong with you?”  Serena asked as she patted me on the back.

“I think I just saw a vision.”

“What?  Where?”  Serena craned her long neck, quickly scanning the room.

“Across the dance floor.  To the right.”

As Serena turned, I grabbed her arm.

“No, don’t look.”

“Well, how can I check him out if I can’t look at him?”

“Just don’t make it obvious.  I don’t want him to think I’m desperate.”

“But you are desperate.”

“Yeah, so.  He doesn’t need to know that yet.  Let him work that out on his own.”

Serena swiveled on her chair casually to glance in his direction.  I looked too.  He was busy lighting a cigarette for a long, lithe woman with sleek, red hair.

“Damn, girl.”

“He smiled at me,” I squealed.

Serena’s chocolate brown eyes narrowing to slits. “Are you sure? He is across the room.”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

She laughed and slapped my arm. “That’s not what I mean. I don’t doubt he would smile at you, you’re a drop dead gorgeous bitch.”

“Thank you.” I giggled.

“You’re welcome. Now what are you going to do about that fine piece of maleness? It’s been like six months since you got laid.”

“Really? It’s been that long?”

Serena nodded in sympathy. I wanted to hug her right there and then and confess to her that it had been much longer than that. Try two years. But he had broken my heart and my trust and I hadn’t been able to get it back.

Nick and I had gone to school together. Both journalism majors. And he had fucked me over for a job. He’d used me and my connections to land a great position at Maclean’s. It had hurt something fierce and I think I was still nursing the wounds.

No man since had even been tempting enough to lower my guard.

“Huh, are you sure?”

“Yes. And now you need to do something about that. Go get ‘em tiger.”

I set my drink down on the bar, and slid off the stool.  I smoothed down the sleek line of my short skirt and adjusted the strap of my new Victoria’s Secret water bra.  “I’m going to dance.”

“If you need any help, just yell.”  Serena giggled.

I shot her a dirty look and pushed my way onto the crowded dance floor moving my body to the rhythm of the techno music.  I casually made my way across the floor to end up dancing beside a trio of men dressed in spandex and sequins when I made contact again.

His eyes locked on mine, like laser sighting.  I couldn’t look away.  From this close proximity, I could clearly see his full luscious mouth, his straight white teeth, and the dimples that winked at me teasingly.  Saliva pooled in my mouth.  He was almost too good-looking at this close range.  Maybe I made a mistake.  I couldn’t possibly get his number.  I probably couldn’t even get his name.  Except, he did seem interested.

The music’s tempo slowed.  The sound, sexy and deep like Barry White’s voice.  I started to sway to the vibration, my hips moving seductively.  His gaze traveled down my body, devouring every inch. I could feel my inhibitions melting away.

The male trio had moved, so he could see me clearly.  I was seduced by the moment, and didn’t care what he saw.  I moved my hands over my body ever so slightly.  He watched my actions, licking his lips.

I imagined it was his hands on me and his body heat melting my insides.  I kept dancing.  Eyes locked with his.  I let the seductive music take over.  Swaying and grinding, and feeling myself up, I made love to him from across the room.  At that moment, I had never felt so decadent, so free from judgment.  For the first time in my life, I felt liberated and uninhibited.

Damn Nick, how had he hurt me so badly. I was desirable. I wasn’t a prude.

The music abruptly stopped, and all eyes landed on me.

I looked around.  Various men and women were smirking; others were gaping like fish out of water.  My cheeks reddened, then I turned and ran from the floor without another glance in his direction.

I ran to the washrooms.  Snide comments followed me out as I turned into the hallway.  There was a crowd hovering around the doors.  Turning the other way, I went down a poorly lit deserted hall.  It wound its way to the back exit.  I stopped and leaned against the cool cement wall.

I banged my forehead against the concrete.  What was I thinking, acting like a complete idiot? I could never go back in there.  What would Serena say?  I would never live this down.  Maybe I could play it as if I was really drunk and didn’t realize what I was doing.  Then the only person who would really think me a fool would be myself.

Oh God, I’d never been so embarrassed in my entire life. I couldn’t believe I’d done that. It was as if something had possessed me. Nudged me into a compromising situation. I had barely even had one drink.

I stiffened as I sensed a presence behind me.  Quickly turning my head, all I saw was electric blue, like in a clear summer sky.

 

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Joey W. Hill Summer Heat Story

Joey W. Hill is well known for her character driven stories. I, for one, will read anything written by this lady, and her Knights of the Boardroom series is a smorgasboard of  yummy alpha men and fabulous BDSM elements, but if you think that’s all there is to her stories, then you’re in for a surprise. I don’t think I’ve ever read a Joey W. Hill story that hasn’t also and brought me to tears at some point, touched my heart,  and left me full of hope that everyone will have their own Happily Ever After in life.  

 

   Janet Albright prefers her men submissive, her relationships confined to a club environment. Which is why her attraction to former Navy SEAL Maxwell Ackerman doesn’t make a lot of sense. There isn’t a submissive bone in his honed, muscular body, suggesting that her interest in Kensington & Associate’s head limo driver is best indulged as a private fantasy. The problem is, after a crisis situation reveals a different side of them both, the attraction becomes mutual and undeniable.

They take the plunge, willing to see if the give-and-take of their unexpected relationship can satisfy their deepest desires. Unfortunately, ghosts from their past might take the reins from them both, destroying the balance of power before their love can find a way to tip the scales.

 

 

 

EXCERPT

Background: In this scene, Max and Janet are in the room where she teaches ballet dancing to teenage girls. It’s after hours, the girls have all gone home, and they’re alone. Janet and Max have gotten tangled in an erotic embrace on the floor that is rapidly becoming more intense…

 

He shed his T-shirt. He’d never thought too much about his body from an aesthetic viewpoint. It was a tool, a weapon to keep honed, but he found he responded strongly to how much she appreciated it. Her avid gaze said she wanted to touch, so he came down to her, closing his eyes as those demanding fingers caressed and scraped his upper torso. They lowered to the jeans, tugged on the belt. As he was unbuckling it, she dipped into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet.

Bemused, he sat back on his heels, watched her open it. She flipped past his commercial license, his concealed carry permit, his single credit card. Then she dug into the interior pocket and retrieved a condom, giving him a sultry look. “Always prepared?”

“Always. There are a couple more in my coat.” He nodded toward where he’d left it hung on a hook on the wall.

“Hmm. And ambitious. When was the last time you had sex, Max?”

“Not so long ago that I don’t need that.” He regretted having to say it, but though it had been infrequent, there’d been the occasional hook up with other lonely people. Always protected, but he wouldn’t risk Janet for the possibility of error.

She handed the wallet back to him with a reserved expression that made him wonder if he needed to make up for lost ground, but then she dispelled that concern. “Get tested, and you won’t need to use it while you’re with me. My tubes were tied long ago, and sex…” She paused. This time, he wondered if her imperious look covered something more vulnerable. “You’ll be the first in quite a while,” she said at last.

“Then I’m honored. Mistress.”

He pushed the jeans to his thighs. She didn’t object to him not taking everything off, her eyes dark and lips parted, eager. Though urgency beat between them like a bass rhythm, things had slowed down as well. He lowered himself down onto her, and her legs slid around his hips, heels caressing the backs of his knees beneath the jeans. She put her hands on his chest like bird wings, spreading her fingers wide and making him feel like she was learning him, tugging his chest hair, tracing the shallow indentations between ribs as she worked her way downward.

He took care of the necessary evil of the condom, but he was going to do as she’d said. He wanted to feel her without that barrier. When he guided himself to her wet cunt, he led with two knuckles, rubbing against the labia, feeling the slick give before he moved his hand out of the way and pushed inward, lifting his gaze to focus on her face.

She was staring at him. In that hushed silence, his gradual progression into her body, he felt something indescribable. With every inch he sank into her, it was as if he’d found something he’d lost. She’d unclipped her hair and it waved around her face, softening it. It gave him a momentary pause, her parted lips, the yearning expression. Then he was all the way in and her eyes closed, her body lifting up toward him in reaction.

He caught the back of her head, bracing his weight with his other hand as she moaned softly against his lips. The feminine noise set him on fire, the hushed moment giving way to something more edgy and dark, needy. He parted her mouth with his own and plundered, taking over with tongue and teeth. He lifted his hips, partially withdrawing, but only to increase the friction, push into her harder. This time when his eyes opened, hers did as well, and he saw the challenge in her gaze. He dove back into that kiss.

She reached for the stick, sliding it across his upper thighs to grasp the other end, notching the length of it into the crease between his buttocks and thighs. When she tightened her grip on it, he surged back into her, plunging deeper, harder, feeling the insistent pressure of the bar as it pushed against his ass, urging him on.

“Fuck me,” she muttered against his ear, taking a sharp bite. He caught his fingers in her hair, tightening enough to pull on the scalp, and her nails dug into his flanks. He plunged forward again as she met him, impact for impact. Pressing his mouth against her temple, he pinned her down with his body, working himself in her like a man determined to stake his claim. He had no idea when the need to possess her had taken root in him, but now it was here in full, raging glory.

He kept kissing her even as he thrust and she urged him on with the pressure on that stick, but then her mouth broke away. “Stop,” she whispered.

Complying with such an outrageous request was like sawing back on the reins of an eight-horse stagecoach heading full tilt toward a cliff. He was enough in tune with her that he managed it, however, pushing his body up off her with one arm, breathing heavy, everything tight with lust. When she lifted a hand to his face, he sucked on her fingers, kissed them, nipped.

“After you went down on me in your truck the other night, did you jack off?”

“No.” He adjusted deeper, not a thrust, but a response of its own. When she swallowed, he locked on to that reaction. Did it again.

“Stop,” she said, a bare whisper of reproof. “Have you given yourself relief since?”

“No.” He could tell that surprised her, because he wasn’t what she was used to having, and she’d expected him to act according to his nature, not hers. But just because he wasn’t a sub didn’t mean he didn’t understand what she wanted, needed. “I wasn’t going to come until I was inside you.”

“What if I commanded you to pull out now, tonight, before that happened? What if I don’t want you to come inside me until there’s no condom between us?”

“I’d say you’re a sadist.” His cock pulsed inside her, rebelling against the idea quite adamantly. A quiver ran up his arms when she slid her hand over one of them. The edge of the stick now followed the back of his thigh, to his knee, his calf. She tapped him there, lightly, then harder, making him flex in reaction.

She let it roll away with a clatter, replacing it with her hand on his ass, her nails scraping him. “I’m imagining you being flogged while you’re inside of me,” she whispered, her pupils dominating her dark eyes. “A Mistress is standing behind you, striking on every thrust, the strands of the cat sliding off your gorgeous back and ass. It would be a barbed cat, but I know you wouldn’t even feel it, Max.  You’d only feel my cunt, squeezing down on your cock. You wouldn’t notice the people watching, everyone in the dungeon coming to watch this magnificent, muscular male animal fucking his Mistress.”

He dropped back down on her, elbows on either side of her face, his fingers curling into her hair to hold her. He worked his hips in deeper, earning a parting of those glossed lips, a tiny, shuddering breath. “Does that idea excite you?” he rumbled, teasing between them with the tip of his tongue.

“You know it does. The question is, does it excite you?”

“Yeah. Because while you were talking about it, your pussy rippled around my cock and your nipples got tighter, harder. I want to see you fucking mindless, Janet. If being a Mistress gets you there, sends you flying, I’ll take that trip with you. But it’s you, everything about you, that gets me hard.” He paused, locking gazes with her. “And if it keeps you from doing it with other men. Fair warning, I’m moving into that zone. I’m not the sharing kind.”

“You want to see me mindless? Then pull out of me and take that thing off. I want to see you jack off over me.”

He shook his head, moved his mouth down to her throat. “No. I want you too damn much like this.”

Janet let out a cry as he covered her breast with his lips, pulling on the nipple hard, even as he thrust into her again, underscoring the point. He could take over a woman’s senses. He was good at it, could overwhelm her, take her flying, and he wanted her helpless, screaming his name and raking his back with her nails.

That had been the goal with every woman he’d ever had beneath him. Giving them both what they wanted. At least for that one moment.

As that thought sunk in, he let go of the nipple, but gave it a teasing lick before he lifted his upper body once more, bracing his other hand on her hip. Her skin was flushed, breath rapid, but her eyes hadn’t changed focus. She wouldn’t fight him. She understood that this was a give-and-take game between them, not the prescribed boundaries she had at the club. But his expanding knowledge of how her mind worked in moments like these, what she might truly want, was a potent form of self-restraint.

Still, he had his own desires, and he wasn’t yet ready to withdraw. Sliding a hand beneath her waist, he put a palm on her buttock and brought them into a sitting position, her straddling his lap and him still inside her. It changed the angle and thrust, winning him another gratifying gasp, a lovely shudder through her toned body, but he forced himself to focus, cupping her face.

“How about a compromise? You want to use that stick on me, I can tell. How about you do your worst with it, and then you can sit me down on my sore ass in one of these straight chairs, and ride me until you climax.”

She arched a brow. “How about you?”

“My Mistress says she wants me to come inside her without a rubber.” He lifted a shoulder, gave her a tight smile. “Sounds like I won’t be coming tonight, then.”

“And if you do anyway? If you can’t hold back?”

“Then she gets to dish out another punishment sometime in the future. That’d be a win-win for her.”

Janet managed a wry chuckle, but when he tightened his arm around her waist, holding them even closer together, her face folded into a more serious expression. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing her face into the side of his where he couldn’t see her face. Brow creasing, he cupped her skull, holding her with cock throbbing but heart tilting at the sudden desperate measure.

“You’re a rare combination, Max,” she whispered. “You’re caring for me, even as you offer to serve me. Protector and servant both. You’re a new experience.”

“Same goes, Mistress.”

She smiled against his temple. “You’re also the first man who’s ever called me that as an endearment instead of an honorific. I can tell the difference, you know.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“If it was, I would have told you. I’m not shy.”

 

Would you like more? Visit Joey’s website to read Chapter One !

Note: Willing Sacrifice is part of the Knights of the Board Room series, but can standalone.

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