Lexxie Couper's Blog, page 20

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“You may now kiss the bride.” (And the bridesmaid. And the Best Man. And the photographer. And brother of the bride. And a visiting British rake. And a…oh hell, just come to the wedding!)

It’s been a long time coming, but Mack and Aidan‘s big day is here.

If you’re not sure who Mack and Aidan are, well, they are the bride and groom of the biggest wedding of the year. The wedding taking place at the stunning, tropical Bilby Island, at the gorgeous, luxurious Bandicoot Cove resort.

And to celebrate, we have written three sexy, romantic love stories to make you go ‘Aaaaaaaah.”

And “Oooooh.”

And maybe “Ooooooh, yeah!”

So without further ado (because we really want you to get to the Ooooooh, yeah! parts) here they are. The three books that make up Bandicoot Cove: The Wedding:

A second chance at love is worth fighting for.

Bandicoot Cove: The Wedding, Book 1

Bianca Rogers is one signature away from finalizing her divorce. And she will finalize it just as soon as she gets home. But for this weekend, she’s putting her troubles aside and enjoying the gorgeous, sunlit luxury of Bandicoot Cove, the resort where her brother is getting married. The last thing she expects is to be knocked off her feet—literally—by gorgeous Brody Evans.

The fireworks are instantaneous. Brody is just her type: sexy, warm, friendly, and in the same boat as her: in the process of getting a divorce.

Spending time together is a mutual no-brainer. Attraction quickly grows to full-blown lust. But flying sparks come with increasingly personal conversations, and soon neither of them can ignore their past mistakes or the circumstances that have led them to the island.

Now it’s time to determine whether old hurts and sudden doubts will prevent love from leading them to a whole new happily ever after.

Warning: If you don’t believe in second chances, never thought it was possible to fall in love again and aren’t interested in scrumptious, hot love scenes, then this story probably isn’t for you. You’d be missing out – big time – but yeah…it’s probably not for you.

A photographer, a firefighter, a rake. Let the debauchery begin!

Bandicoot Cove: The Wedding, Book 2

When Kennedy bolted after a mind-blowing one-night stand with a sexy Australian firefighter, she never expected to be standing in front of him four months later on a tropical island resort. Naked, thanks to her phobia of butterflies.

Trouble is, she’s equally turned on by Luke and his hunky British cousin. Not exactly how she’d intended to spend her first day as Bandicoot Cove’s official photographer.

Luke never planned on falling for the feisty, flirty American he met at a New York bar. Now that he’s face to face with her again, he has two questions. Why did she run? And why can’t he stop thinking about sharing the woman of his dreams with his cousin?

Addison invited himself along on his cousin’s trip for a weekend of no-strings-attached sex. But he wants to get to know Kennedy on all levels. Seriously, this is no way for a rake to behave. And how the hell is he going to tell his cousin he’s interested in the very woman Luke can’t get out of his mind?

Warning: The setting sun isn’t the only thing heating up Bandicoot Cove, because when the word “threesome” gets thrown into the mix, it’s seduction on a global scale. (Note: No butterflies were scorched during scenes of burning passion.)

A new lover, an old flame, sultry moonlit nights. Why let inhibitions stand in the way?

Bandicoot Cove: The Wedding, Book 3

Two years ago, Hayley Bryant left Australia on a round-the-world odyssey that changed her life, and her attitude. After that, coming face to face with the man whose rejection sent her packing shouldn’t affect her at all, right?

Except there’s one thing that hasn’t changed—her former boss Mitchell Wood makes her burn as hot as ever. The difference is, Hayley’s now a grown woman who knows how to get what she wants, and she wants Mitch. Trouble is, she hasn’t come to her friend’s wedding alone. Her very sexy friend with benefits, Ty Butler, might pose a problem.

Business was always Mitch’s first love…at least until he hired his little sister’s friend as an intern. Pushing her away was the right thing to do, but now his sister’s wedding has Hayley re-entering his life—and the empty place in his heart. Soon he’s acting less like the consummate workaholic and more like a man crazy in love. But Hayley’s “plus one” is an unexpected obstacle.

Fortunately, Mitch has never been one to shy away from a little competition…

Warning: Bilby Island’s sensual spell strikes again. Book contains hot lovin’ made in beautiful tropical surrounds, some exhibitionism, voyeurism and bondage. Best read with a margarita in hand and the fan switched to high.

You can buy the Bandicoot Cove: The Wedding books at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Samhain and all other awesome ebook resellers.

Sunset Heat – Chapter One (Part Two)

Sunset Heat, Book Two of the Bandicoot Cove: The Wedding series releases on the 4th of this month. YAY!!

So, to whet your appetite, here’s the second half of Chapter One (the first half is over at the Down Under Diva’s blog HERE). Enjoy…

(continued from HERE)

Kennedy Collins hated butterflies. She knew it was a stupid, ridiculous phobia, but there it was all the same. Lepidopterophobia. The fear of butterflies and moths. Not spiders or snakes or sharks or axe-wielding psychopaths, but butterflies. Freaking flittery-fluttery little winged things no one in their right mind would be scared of. Kennedy was scared of them, though. Absolutely petrified of them. And Australian butterflies were worse. Who knew if they were as deadly and dangerous as the rest of the godforsaken wildlife in the country? Which meant she ran like a demon was on her tail when the multicolored little flittery-fluttery winged thing had flittered and fluttered its malevolent way into her suite through the open patio door just as she was about to go have a shower.

Ran like the petrified lunatic she was, leaving her recently worn yoga clothes on the floor behind her, her heart racing, her mouth dry, her pulse pounding. Fled her suite like a wimp, away from the unpredictable menacing butterfly, any hope of rational thought destroyed by unhinged terror.

Unhinged terror that now saw her standing—naked as the day she was born—outside her suite. Outside her suite, for Pete’s sake. Outside her suite naked and in the direct path of two tall, stunned men. Well, one stunned man and one grinning…

Kennedy’s flustered thoughts screamed to a halt. God save her, the stunned man was Luke Beasley.

Her heart—already smashing into her throat with abject terror—smashed some more. “Luke!” she burst out, throwing herself into the massive Australian’s arms. It didn’t matter that she’d snuck out of the guy’s hotel room four months ago after a night of wild sex and hadn’t spoken to him since. It didn’t matter that he probably didn’t remember her, due to the copious number of drinks they’d consumed in the New York bar in which they’d met. It didn’t matter, because there was a goddamn butterfly in her room, a goddamn butterfly, and he was a firefighter, and firefighters saved people, and she needed saving, and he was going to save her, and she was—

Two strong hands wrapped around her upper arms, and Kennedy yelped. Her heart continued its wrecking-ball attitude in her throat and she plastered herself against Luke’s hard body. The butterfly? What if the butterfly—

“Kennedy?”

“You know her, convict?”

Another voice joined Luke’s rumble, deep and cut with a crisp British accent, but Kennedy didn’t care. “Luke,” she all but cried, “there’s a…oh God, help me there’s a…” An image of the butterfly flashed through her mind, malicious and demonic and tiny and colorful, and her throat seized up. She clung to the man she’d had the most wicked one-night stand with four months ago, her mouth working but nothing coming out of it.

Serious brown eyes gazed down at her. The hands on her arms tightened. “Jesus, Kennedy, you look terrified. What’s going on?”

She tried to tell him. Tried to vocalize the words, but at the mere thought of the winged creature in her suite her belly knotted, her tongue thickened, and all she could do was shake her head and cling to him.

“Is there someone in your room?” Luke’s expression turned dark. Dangerous. “Did someone attack—” His fingers dug into her arms with brutal pressure for a split second and then he was letting her go, spinning away to barge into her suite.

Followed immediately by the other man.

Kennedy staggered back a step. Her blood roared in her ears. A rational part of her mind knew they thought she’d been attacked by a person. That they’d stormed into her suite looking for a rapist. Instead they would find a butterfly and—

Butterfly.

Ice-cold terror sank into her belly, and she staggered back another step. Only to squeal and leap forward when her naked ass brushed against something soft and—

Butterfly.

“Kennedy?” Luke bolted from the room, his stare swinging wildly around her. “Where is he? Where—”

She jerked her stare from the fern frond behind her and shook her head. No, her whole body shook. She stared at him, knowing she was naked, knowing she was ridiculous, but incapable of doing anything but shake. If only she could—

“Umm, cousin?”

Luke spun to face the other man appearing at Kennedy’s suite door. “Did you find anything?”

The other man, a leaner version of Luke with dark hair instead of blond and blue eyes instead of brown, gave Kennedy a quick look. His eyebrows pulled together. “Not exactly.”

Kennedy’s belly rolled. She tried to step away, but Luke stopped her, one large, muscled arm snaking around her waist, his other covering her breasts. If she weren’t so sick with fear she’d be grateful. “What do you mean, not exactly? She didn’t just run out of her room naked for nothing.”

The other man flicked her a sorry look, his eyebrows knitting together some more. “Not for nothing, cousin.”

He lifted his arm. Kennedy cried out, fighting against Luke’s arms, squeezing her eyes shut. No. No, no, no. She had to get away. From the butterfly. From the—

“Steady, love,” the Brit said. “It’s just a towel.”

Kennedy opened her eyes and stared at the wide strip of fluffy white toweling in the man’s extended hand.

She let out a wobbly breath, reaching around Luke to take the towel. She gave the Brit a slow smile and wrapped the towel around her body. Her heart still thumped hard in her throat, her blood still roared in her ears, and her belly was still knotted so tightly she wanted to throw up. But somehow, with Luke holding her, his massive body just as hard and solid as it had been four months ago, maybe more so, she could hold her ground.

Just.

Luke’s fingers pressed beneath her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “Kennedy, what’s going on?”

“She has a fear of butterflies, cousin,” the Brit said, his voice smooth and gentle.

Luke’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “A what?”

She trembled. Oh man, this was not how she’d anticipated her first day at work. When she’d accepted the job as official photographer on Bandicoot Cove, a job vied for by more than one professional photographer she knew, she’d never imagined the job would come with dangers. Nor bring her face to face with her greatest fear and Luke Beasley. All on the same day.

“A fear of butterflies,” his cousin continued. “Otherwise known as lepidopterophobia?”

Luke twisted about to frown at him. “Lepidowhatia?”

The other man’s eyes twinkled with mirth, and despite the ludicrous situation, Kennedy felt a tight heat low in the junction of her thighs. She bit back a soft gasp. It had to be the situation causing it. The adrenaline rush, the fact she was naked under the towel, Luke’s reappearance in her life…what else would explain it?

“Lepidopterophobia, convict,” Luke’s cousin repeated, his gaze holding Kennedy’s. “A fear of butterflies.”

Luke swung his stare back to her, the tension in his face and body softening. “Really?”

She nodded, a single, jerky dip of her head. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t…” She stopped, the shameful truth of the situation slamming into her.

Oh God, she’d run from her suite as naked as the day she was born and thrown herself into the arms of an Australian she’d known for a grand total of four hours and forty-two minutes.

And his cousin—a complete stranger to her—had witnessed the whole thing.

“I have to go.” Fire flooded her face, and she ducked her head. Or tried to. Luke’s fingers under her chin made it impossible. She looked everywhere but at the two men. “I have a meeting to get to.”

Luke’s fingers slipped from her chin. “A meeting?”

She wrapped her arms around her waist and stepped back from him. She wasn’t in control of her body at the moment. Fear and adrenaline were messing with her. What other reason for the way her pulse quickened to a frenzied pace at his closeness?

Because he fucks like a demon, and you haven’t been able to forget—

“I work here,” she blurted out, killing the unsettling thought. “I’m the resort’s photographer.”

Luke’s nostrils flared. “Since when?”

Kennedy swallowed. Why did his question sound strained?

“Yesterday. I mean, today. I…I arrived yesterday and…and start today.” She looked at his cousin, her heart thumping faster in her chest. “Can…can you get rid of the but…butterfly, please?”

A slow smile curled the Brit’s lips, and a distant part of Kennedy’s mind, the part not unhinged by the damn thing in her suite, noticed how sexy he was. “Your wish is my command, my lady.”

He bowed at the waist, a grin playing with his lips, and then disappeared back into her suite.

She stared at the open doorway. Partly because she was petrified the butterfly was going to swoop out at her on silent wings and flutter near her head if she didn’t. Partly to avoid looking at Luke Beasley. What did she say to him? I’m sorry I screwed your brains out and took off while you were having a shower?

“Are you going to look at me, Kennedy?”

Kennedy’s throat squeezed tight at his low question. Her breath grew shallow.

“I mean, you do owe me an explanation, after all.”

She gnawed at her bottom lip and tugged the towel higher up her chest.

“One second we were talking about ordering room service, the next you were gone.”

Dragging her stare from the cavernous interior of her temporary residence, she turned her attention to the hulking Australian firefighter beside her.

His gaze was fixed on her face, his jaw bunched. He crossed arms the size of tree trunks over his equally muscular chest. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought we had a connection.” He paused, a moment of discomfort flickering on his face. “Apart from incredible sex, that is.”

Kennedy’s pussy constricted at his words, uttered with that sexy Australian accent that had drawn her to him in the New York bar all those month ago. Incredible was an understatement. The man had taken her to places she believed existed only in porn films. In fact, she was ninety-nine percent certain the people in the hotel room next to Luke’s had thought they were making a porn film, what with the noises Kennedy was making. But the night she’d met Luke was the night she’d been dumped by her boyfriend of two years for being too “kinky”, and Luke was Rebound Guy. Rebound Guy wasn’t meant to be Incredible-Sex-and-Unexpected-Connection Guy. He was meant to be See?-I-Am-Desirable-So-Stick-It-In-Your-Ear Guy. That’s what Rebound Guy was all about. And then Luke had gone and asked her if she wanted to visit the Statue of Liberty with him the next day and the word “yes” had been so damn close to forming on her lips she’d freaked out.

Freaked out and run away.

And now here she was, with him again. Thanks to freaking out and running away.

There was a perverse irony in that fact, but she was too freaked out to analyze it.

“Are you going to say anything?”

The rough edge of anger in Luke’s voice scraped against her fraying control. She lifted her chin, meeting his stare.

Damn, she wished she hadn’t. His gaze was as intense and focused and…and…as sexy as it had been four months ago.

Her throat grew thick. Her pussy grew tight.

“You were Rebound Guy.”

The confession slipped from her before she could stop it. Luke’s eyes widened. His shoulders straightened. So did his spine. He studied her, a muscle twitching in his jaw, his stare unreadable as he opened his mouth to say…

His cousin chose that exact moment to exit Kennedy’s suite.

“Got the little bugger.” He stopped at the door, his hands cupped together, his grin wide. “A red-bodied swallowtail, to be pre…” A frown pulled at his forehead. “What did I miss?”

A dry snort tore from Luke, and he shook his head, stepping back from Kennedy. “Nothing.”

His cousin obviously didn’t believe him, based on his own snort—this one so close to a laugh Kennedy almost smiled herself.

Almost.

But she couldn’t. And not just because of Luke. Because of the creature in his cousin’s hand.

Oh God, Kennedy. He’s got it. It’s there. Just there in his…

She flicked her stare to the Brit’s long-fingered hands, still cupped in front of his chest. Inside that prison of palm and fingers was a butterfly. The butterfly that had sent her fleeing.

Her pulse thumped hard in her neck. She licked her lips, jerking her gaze from his hands, to his face, to Luke’s face and back to the Brit’s hands again. “Can you…will you take it away…?”

His lips curled. The mirth in his eyes turned to a smoldering interest Kennedy couldn’t miss, no matter how scared she was. “Of course.” He leaned one bent elbow on Luke’s broad shoulder, his hands shifting slightly as he did so. Enough for Kennedy to make out movement behind his fingers. Her heart leapt into her throat.

And then pounded harder and faster when he said, “For a kiss.”

Her stare snapped to his face.

His grin turned languid. Sexy.

“For us both,” he finished.

***

For the first half of Chapter One, head on over to the Down Under Divas’ blog HERE :)

Check out the other books in the Bandicoot Cove: The Wedding series by Jess Dee and Sami Lee.

Go on. Who can say no to a tropical island resort?

Gif of the Day

Five for Friday – Copping a Feel

Five for Friday time. Ready?

[image error]Chapter One

Newcastle, Australia

 

Darci Whitlam stared at the handset of her phone like it had grown a set of arms and was trying to feel her up. Well, not feel her up as such, but grab her nipples through her t-shirt and bra and twist them until she cried uncle. What the hell had she just heard?

Her frown pulling hard at her eyebrows, she returned the handset to her ears and said, “Excuse me?”

“I want to bend you over the sofa and pump your sweet, tight cunt full of my hot cum.”

Darci blinked. “Umm, yeah, that’s what I thought you said.”

Face igniting in red heat, she clunked the handset of her phone back in its cradle and chewed on her bottom lip. Bloody hell, that was the third dirty phone call she’d had this morning! Each from a different man, each describing in great detail what the caller wanted to do to her. What the hell was going on?

Turning back to the phone, she picked up the handset and stared at it.

It’s not going to give you the answer, Darci.

That was true, but she had to do something. For starters, find out why three men thought she, Darci-Rae Whitlam, an unassuming high school English teacher in a small city on the East Coast of Australia, was, in fact, a telephone sex worker. How the hell did they get her private number? Not even the smartest student at school had unearthed that number, and Terry Cahill had been trying since Year Nine.

Shouldn’t you be more worried about how everything that last caller said made you feel?

She pulled a face, dropping the handset back into the cradle once more and blowing at the fringe of her bangs. Probably yes, but two things kept the worry at bay.

A) She was a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and could, if needed, kick some serious ass.

And B) The explicit nature of the phone calls made her, well…kinda horny.

Okay, that’s it. You’re officially insane. This is why Vivian calls you oversexed. You get, let’s face it, a mildly disturbing call and instead of being scared, you’re bloody well excited.

Darci blew into her fringe again, a frustrated exhalation that did nothing except contribute to the unruly mess of curls falling over her forehead. She shouldn’t have thought of her older sister. Whenever she thought of Viv, she got antsy. Viv was the achiever in the family—the famous literary novelist who followed in their father’s famous shoes. Viv had the doting doctor husband, the two med-school-grad children, the well-trained, pedigree King Cavalier Spaniel and the three-story mansion overlooking Sydney Harbor.

Darci, as Viv often pointed out, was a forty-year-old, unmarried high-school teacher who still went out to bars on the weekend, wrestled on the beach with her totally untrained mutt, Jay Jay Jones, ate carbohydrates until they came out her ears, drank beer straight from the bottle and often forgot where she’d left her one tube of lipstick.

Darci also, much to Viv’s dismay and shame, had no qualms about her relationship with Mr. Tibbs, her rabbit (the vibrating variety, not the furry kind) and still enjoyed flirting when given the chance, especially with sexy young men.

Which is why she calls you oversexed. God, if she knew you were getting excited over an obvious case of mistaken identity, she’d throw a pink fit.

With one more huff into her fringe, Darci walked away from the phone. She probably should do something about the calls, but not now. Now she wanted to connect with someone who didn’t care if she flirted with strange—but always handsome—men in bars.

Dropping into the worn comfortable leather recliner tucked under a low reading lamp in the far corner of her living room, Darci woke her laptop and opened iChat. If she was lucky, Rachel would be online. The American knew how to make her laugh and didn’t care one iota if she owned a rabbit. In fact, Darci was pretty damn certain the physical therapist owned one herself.

Rachel, however, wasn’t online, her little Bugs Bunny avatar just a ghosty-gray image in the buddies list, which probably meant Rach was still in bed. Darci pulled a face. “Bum.” She dragged her hands through her hair, which disturbed the curls even more than her earlier melodramatic hyperventilating. She should close her laptop and get to marking assignments. She had a pile the size of Ayres Rock waiting for her, itching at her subconscious, but she just wasn’t in the mood. For starters, the three phone calls this morning were still affecting her and she just felt…unsettled.

Don’t you mean horny?

Rolling her eyes at her own ridiculousness—oh yeah, that’s a polished, elegant word an English teacher should use, Darc—she shut down iChat and opened her email instead. She’d check her inbox, answer what needed to be answered and then give Jay Jay a bath. The pair of them had spent yesterday afternoon surfing and the dog still smelled like a seaweed farm.

“Ah,” she murmured, spying Rachel’s name in the From column. “Talk about freaky.” Wriggling her butt deeper into the recliner, Darci toed off her flip-flops and opened Rachel’s email, the mysterious subject header making her grin—Go here now!

The email opened, and Darci’s eyebrows lifted. Unlike Rachel’s normal emails, which provided lovingly detailed descriptions of what Rach had been up to, what book she was currently reading as well as what hero she was currently in lust with, all info Darci loved to read, this email contained just two things.

A web address.

http://temptthecougar.blogspot.com/

And the words, You’re invited to become a Cougar, Darci. Join us.

Darci frowned. “What the hell?”

Moving her finger over the laptop’s trackpad, she clicked on the link.

And double blinked when a website unlike any she’d been to opened.

“Bloody hell, Rach,” she muttered, her gaze flicking over the various images of very hunky, very naked young men filling her screen. “Where have you sent me?”

She studied the men before her, her pulse quickening. There was text to go with the images, but for the moment it may as well have been ancient Mandarin for all it meant to Darci. What held her attention were the men.

The young men.

She shook her head, unable to drag her stare from her screen. “Oh, my…” Sculpted muscles Michelangelo would have been proud to create defined bodies free of any middle-age spread. Artfully messy hair tumbled over foreheads free of wrinkles, not a gray strand to be seen in the thick, glossy locks. Clear, direct eyes gazed out at her, blue, black, green, hazel. Eyes smoldering with open desire and seduction.

Darci sucked in a sharp breath. “Twenties. Can’t be any older than mid-twenties.”

And so yummy your knickers are growing damper by the second.

The unexpected thought took her by surprise and she sucked in another breath, this one a little less sharp and a little more…ragged. Pulling at her bottom lip with her teeth, Darci read the blog’s header—Tempt The Cougar—and then the first post. She half-frowned, half-grinned at a section of the first paragraph.

 

“…women who dare to take the challenge and experience the delights of sex with a younger man. Women who cast off their cloaks of conventionality and indulge their inner wild woman.

“Stay tuned for updates!”

 

“Oh, Rachel Bridges,” she chuckled, returning her attention to the gorgeous men clearly a decade younger than her. “You bloody naughty girl.”

The last time she and Rachel spoke, she’d mentioned—in passing, mind you—how cute the fresh-out-of-university Phys. Ed. teacher just appointed to her school was. Rachel had giggled, her broad New York accent still evident in the joyful sound, and changed the subject. Until this very moment, Darci thought she’d embarrassed her friend. Now…

She shifted in the recliner, pressing her thighs together in a vain attempt to squelch the growing throb between her legs. The young men on her laptop screen were delicious. She couldn’t think of another word.

Oversexed and now under-vocabbed ? What would Viv say?

“For starters, she’d point out there’s no such word as under-vocabbed,” Darci muttered, gazing at one particularly fine young thing with bulging muscles, piercing blues eyes, skin the color of toasted honey and thick, black hair messed-up in such a way her fingers itched to mess it some more. She swallowed, the throb between her legs growing more insistent. Demanding attention.

Closing her eyes, Darci leaned back in her chair, her pussy constricting with impatient want. An image popped into her mind of the dark-haired young man from the site and she let out a soft moan.

Jay Jay was outside gnawing on an old bone. The house was hers alone for a good half hour. All she needed to do was imagine how wonderfully smooth and taut Mr. God I’m Gorgeous’ skin was under her palms, how hard and perfect his biceps were, how sublime the undulations of his abs were beneath her lips and she’d be more than halfway to an orgasm. With a little help from her fingers, she’d be at the moaning destination with some extra mileage thrown in for gasping, heart-hammering fun.

She slid her fingertips under the waistline of her shorts—

And her phone rang.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” The exclamation burst from her on a strangled breath. She jolted to her feet, her pulse pounding, her sex thick and heavy with expectation. Hurrying to the phone, she snatched it from its cradle and rammed it to her ear. “What?”

“Is that the thanks I get, Ms. Whitlam?” Rachel’s accented chuckle slipped through the connection and Darci bit back a curse. “Or have I interrupted something?”

“Ha,” she shot back, fighting to get her heart rate back under control. At her age, she couldn’t afford to get too excited.

God, now you sound like Viv. What the hell is wrong with you, Darci? You’re forty, not eighty.

“Ha?” Rachel echoed, her voice slightly tinny with the miles between them. “That’s it? Where’s the sarcastic Australian wit I know and love so much?”

“Busy.” Darci shot her still-open laptop a quick look, a pang of disappointment stabbing into her core at the sight of her screensaver activating. She caught a fraction-of-a-microsecond glimpse of her man, with his sculpted muscles and piercing eyes, and then an image of Jay Jay jumping into the surf after a seagull filled her screen and she let out a frustrated sigh. “Sorry, Rach,” she said, turning her back on her laptop to give her American friend her full concentration. “That wasn’t nice of me.”

Rachel laughed, the sound throaty and infectious. “I recognize that tone, Darci-Rae. You have received my email, haven’t you?”

Darci rolled her eyes. “Bloody hell, am I really that much of a deviant? What made you think I—”

“Because I did almost the very same thing when Cam first sent me the link.” Rachel laughed again. “It’s okay, hon. There’s nothing wrong with tending to your needs. Especially when the view is oh so fine.”

Darci suppressed a snort. Rachel was a true wordsmith. She’d love to see her uptight sister have a conversation with the New Yorker. “The view was very fine indeed,” she admitted, feeling her cheeks heat. Blushing? For the second time in one morning? There really was something wrong with her.

Rachel burst out laughing. Really laughing. If Darci didn’t know it was physically and geographically impossible, she’d have sworn she felt the planet shaking with Rachel’s mirth. “I knew it! Aren’t they gorgeous? Tell me, which one took your fancy?”

Darci dropped to the floor and stretched out on her back, crossing her ankles on the edge of the phone table. “Black hair, the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, a body so divinely perfect it must be illegal and shoulders so broad I doubt he’d fit through my door.”

“Ah,” Rachel answered. “Rico. Yeah, he was Monica’s favorite too.”

Darci rolled her eyes. Rico. Of course. What were the odds she’d fall in depraved lust with someone called George or James or…or…Jim? None.

Oversexed, under-vocabbed and now exotically clichéd? Viv’s sniffed voice whispered through Darci’s head. Where will all this end, sister of mine?

“In the bedroom with Mr. Tibbs. Now shut up.”

“What?”

Rachel’s laughing question made Darci blink and she slapped a palm to her face. Damn it, she’d said that aloud?

“Sorry, Rach,” she hurried, dropping her ankles from the table and pulling herself into a sitting position. Who was she kidding? Lying on the floor? Like a teenager?

“Is that your absent sister you’re talking to, Darc?”

Rachel’s question tickled at her ear through the connection, the American’s obvious enjoyment at the situation turning each word to a husky chuckle. She let out a sigh, giving her laptop a lingering look. Images of Jay Jay running about on the beach slowly scrolled over the screen, hiding from view the delightful Rico and his young, firm, entirely too-desirable body.

And that’s the way it has to stay, Darci Whitlam. Fantasies are all well and good, but you have to live in reality.

She pulled a face. “How is it you know me better than my own flesh and blood, Rach,” she began, crossing her legs, “and yet we’ve never met? Are you stalking me?”

Rachel laughed again. “Stalking? No. Giving you a kick up the— How do you Aussies put it? Aah-ss, yes.”

“A kick up the arse?” Darci’s eyebrows rose. “About what?”

“There’s a reason I sent you the invite to join the blog, Ms. Whitlam,” Rachel answered, and for a second Darci swore she could hear something close to pride in her friend’s voice. “It’s time I laid down a challenge.”

Darci’s eyebrows shot up higher. “A challenge?”

“You are one of the most flippant, unconventional women I know, Darci-Rae. You have multiple degrees in literature and yet you devour erotic romances and pulp horror books like they’re becoming extinct. You look like a model and wear jeans tighter than a teenager, you can probably kick anyone’s ass and still have enough breath left to sing an opera—but you’re afraid to live.”

Before Darci could respond to the ludicrous statement, Rachel continued, her American accent broader with each word. “The shadow of your famous family keeps you trapped in the dark; the voice of your older sister prevents you truly going after what you long to experience and it’s about freakin’ time someone did something about it. I’ve decided that someone is me. So here’s the challenge, Darci. As of this very moment—three a.m. New York time—you are on the hunt. I dare youto find yourself a younger man and live the fuck out of every fantasy you’ve ever had and be damned what Vivian thinks.

***
Buy the book from Ellora’s Cave, Amazon, Barnes and Noble?

Want more first five pages? Visit…
Mari Carr
Bianca D’Arc
Jambrea Jones
Rhian Cahill
Lila Dubois

5 Tips on Describing Your Setting

I’ve stolen this from The Writing Box, an amazing Tumblr site for writers. The reason I’m posting it here is because when I read it, I thought “Oh man, YES! All these are soooo important. I need to do this!”

So essentially, I’m blogging this so I can remember. Hope it helps other writers out there.

Head on over the The Writing Box for more brilliant writing tips.

5 Tips on Describing Your Setting

Your reader wants to know where they are, but they don’t want pages and pages of intricate details about your setting. You need to choose what’s important and give your reader a few specific points. They can fill in the rest.

Here’s five tips for making your description say as much as it can in as few points as possible:

Think about what’s important to the story: Think about specific landmarks, individual items or the general layout of the land. If your character needs to be able to see a certain doorway from their armchair, make sure they can.
Think about what’s important to the characters: What in the setting reveals more about the characters that live there? Look at unusual things – it’s more interesting for a character to have no family photos in their house rather than having their walls filled with them.
Think about revealing backstory: What in your setting has been influenced by what happened before the beginning of your story? A statue in a town square or the name of a street can reveal important historical facts.
Think about revealing culture: Certain items can reveal interesting points about your world’s culture and traditions. The way the houses are built, or particular religious items in a room.
Think about revealing time and place: Particular items can instantly let your readers know what point in history and where in the world your setting is. A harbour full of tall ships instantly ages a place, a line of coconut trees along the beach gives a hint at possible locations.

A Snippet…and a Tease.

By now, those that come here often have probably figured out I’m a bit of a tease. Well, I’m in fine teasing mode today, because I’m doing a double-banger tease.

Both are from Muscle for Hire.

Both will probably make you want to hit me.

Ready?

The first tease is the cover.

What do you think?

The second is a tease from the book itself.

He took another drink. “The stories aren’t all true.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Really?”

Sooooo, who wants to hit me?

Hee hee hee

Muscle for Hire will be available in January from Samhain. Yes, I truly am that mean.

Psssst….wanna see a gorgeous cover?

It’s the cover for my very first non-erotic romance, Suspicious Ways (the novel I mentioned in my interview with Morgan on yesterday’s post). Here’s the blurb and an excerpt…

Tame their desire? Better to try and tame the wind.

Four years after her father’s tragic death, Ali Graham is still trying to piece together her shattered life. However, with her mother’s worsening illness and mounting medical bills, Ali is in danger of losing her inherited yacht-chartering business. Things can’t possibly get worse—until the man who broke her heart sails back into her life.

After that night when desire to comfort spilled over into lovemaking, Jackson McKenzie’s crushing guilt drove him to say things he didn’t mean, to leave when he wanted to stay. But when he discovers Ali is partnered with Sydney’s most notorious entrepreneur, he has no choice but to step in.

If Jackson thinks Ali is going to let him swoop in and claim Wind Seeker as his own, she has a news flash for him. She can take care of herself, and as much as her traitorous body still craves Jackson’s touch, she’ll fight for her father’s legacy, tooth and nail.

Suspicion and distrust slice through their reignited passion like a gale force wind through the rigging. But failing to weather the storm risks more than a second chance at love. Their very lives could be at stake.

Product Warnings

Love is never easy. Especially when revenge, guilt and scorching desire all fight for control of the helm.

EXCERPT

“I have to say, that’s some colorful language you’ve got there, Ms Graham.”

Ali froze, cold terror slamming into her at the deep, smooth and entirely too-familiar male voice sounding behind her. Her heart smashed into her throat and she squeezed her eyes shut, terror turning to stunned disbelief. You’ve got to be kidding, she thought. He can’t be back in Australia. He can’t be.

Entirely uninvited, an image of the owner of the voice filled her head and her pulse quickened. She hadn’t seen Jackson McKenzie in four years, but that made little difference. His image was just as clear and sharp and vivid as if she’d only seen him an hour ago. And just like it had four years ago, her body was reacting as if she was a silly teenage girl with a sillier crush—her nipples pinching hard, her breath growing rapid and her mouth going dry.

Maybe that’s because four years ago you were a teenage girl. Well, three months out of being a teenage girl. Now, however, you’ve got no excuse. You’re twenty-four years old and—

“Are you going to turn around any time soon and say hello?”

The voice—his voice—caressed her senses some more, each word thrumming with sardonic humor. The same sardonic humor she’d loved so much back when she’d been a naïve idiot.

She ground her teeth and closed her fist tighter on the cleat. Am I going to turn around and say hello? How about I turn around and break your nose instead?

“Ali?”

She dropped her gaze to Wind Seeker’sdeck, following its line to the bow. It was a beautiful boat, a majestic forty-five-foot sloop designed and built by her father ten years ago—a gift for her mother as a wedding-anniversary present. The yacht had been her father’s passion. Since his death, it had been her passion too. And her livelihood.

“Ali?”

He’s not going away. You know that, don’t you, Ali?

With a sharp sigh and a muttered “shit”, Ali turned, directing her churlish glare away from her still-throbbing toe to the tall man standing on the jetty beside her boat. She jutted out her chin, letting him see her contempt. “What the hell are you doing here, Jack?”

Jackson McKenzie, her father’s best friend and once business partner, cocked a thick golden-honey eyebrow. “That’s an interesting way to greet your old sailing buddy.” Sea-green eyes pinned her from behind thin gold-framed glasses and a small grin played over lips that were entirely too kissable. He chuckled. “Anyone would think you haven’t missed me.”

Ali scowled. “You were my father’s sailing buddy, Jack. Not mine. And I haven’t missed you. Not in the slightest.”

Jack’s chuckle met her ears again, the relaxed, somehow far-too knowing sound igniting a flare of anger in her chest and—God help her—a blossom of heat deep between her thighs. His grin stretched wider, flashing white even teeth at her. “Liar.”

Ali bit back a scream. “What are you doing here, Jack?” she repeated, fighting like hell to ignore the unnerving sensation stirring in the pit of her belly. He didn’t turn her on any more. He didn’t. “And don’t tell me it’s a social visit, because I’m not that gullible anymore.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “It’s been a while, Ali.” He ignored her question—again. “You’ve grown up.”

She gave him a flat look. “You’re right. It has been awhile. Four years in fact. My father’s funeral. I wore black, remember?”

As if she hadn’t mentioned the horrible day, Jack’s mouth played with a smile some more. “Are you going to invite me aboard?”

Ali raised her eyebrows, crossing her arms across her breasts. “Hmmm, let me think… No.”

Jack’s smile turned mocking and he shook his head, those green eyes of his never leaving her face. “Still the spoilt teenager, I see.”

Renewed frustration and anger rolled through Ali. She jutted out her chin some more. If she wasn’t careful, the way she was carrying on she’d put her neck out. “I’m twenty four, thank you very much,” she snapped. “Not a teenager.” Damn him, why did he make her so flustered so fast?

Jack suppressed a laugh. “And yet so easily provoked. Nothing has changed.”

Ali’s breath caught in her throat. Goddamn it, Ali Graham. She gave herself a savage mental rap. Get a grip. Do you want him to see you like this? Do you want to give him the satisfaction?

With forced bravado, she turned her back on him, her heart a wild trip-hammer slamming against her breastbone. “I’ve work to do,” she flung over her shoulder, determined to sound indifferent as she pulled on the boom’s rigging. “It was…nice…to see you.”

There was a moment of silence long enough for Ali to decide he’d left. She let out a soft sigh. Oh man, why did she wish he’d stayed? Why did she wish he’d ignored her and climbed aboard her boat? Why did she wish he’d slid his arms around her waist and drew her close to his body like he had all those years ago?

Damn it. He still did it to her. Still messed her up even after what he’d done.

“Two missed payments, Ali?”

A chill cut straight to Ali’s heart at Jack’s soft question. She tightened her fists on the rigging, the steel rope biting into her flesh.

Damn it. He knows. He knows about the loan.

Of course he knew. Why else did she think he was there? To say sorry for four years ago? To beg her forgiveness? To make love to her again?

***

You can pre-order Suspicious Ways here at Samhain (and soon at Amazon and Barnes and Noble)

I’ve Been Interviewed by Romantic Times

Check me out. Oh man, Morgan is awesome. Oh maaan, my accent is sooo Australian.

Five for Friday – Savage Transformation

Five for Friday time. Ready?

Prologue

New York, New York.

Four months ago.

The woman stared at Marshall Rourke, her expression both guarded and menacing. Don’t try it, her clear amber eyes said. Don’t even think about it. What “it” was, Marshall didn’t know, but he’d bet his left testicle it’d be fun finding out. Fun and dangerous. Probably painful too. A grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t mind danger. And when it came down to it, a little bit of pain wasn’t too bad either. A certain type of pain, that was.

He studied the still image on his laptop, his grin stretching wider. This one would bite. Of that, he had little doubt. In both the metaphorical and literal sense of the word. Frozen in millions of vivid coloured pixels on his computer’s screen, the woman stared back at him, those striking light brown eyes of hers sharp and piercing despite the fuzziness of the photograph and the distance from which it was taken.

She stood in a busy city street, surrounded by pedestrians dressed in an array of business suits, jeans and short summer dresses. She could be standing in any big city in the world, but the short note accompanying the image told him she was in Sydney, Australia.

Marshall raised his eyebrows. That was not where he expected her to be.

He ran a slow inspection over the distance-blurred image, noting the confident straightness of her shoulders, the slim but athletic frame, the confident way she held the Glock 9mm in her hand.

She wouldn’t be easy to capture. He didn’t need to read the short dossier attached to know that.

He dragged his cursor over the image, zooming in on her face. Something about her eyes intrigued him. They were intelligent, almost arrogant, but somehow haunted as well. Like she’d witnessed events more than one lone female should, and had made her judgment.

He thought of the Glock, held so loosely in her long, slender fingers, of the menacing expression on her face. Of the coiled tension in her slim frame. What type of judgment had she cast to cause her to become what she let the world see?

Flicking his gaze to the printout beside his laptop, he scanned the dossier he’d already committed to memory. Family. Foster family she no longer had contact with. Relationships. None of any significance. There was one close girlfriend living in the small island state of Tasmania and one ex-lover living on the opposite side of Australia in Perth, but that was it. There was no one she was close to in Sydney. No real weakness to exploit.

Marshall rubbed his jaw, a distant part of his mind noting the stubble there. He’d have to shave before the hunt began, otherwise he’d look like an animal by the time it was done.

The absurdity of the thought struck him and he chuckled, returning his attention to his laptop’s screen and the woman on it.

How long would it take for Einar to hunt her down?

Marshall narrowed his eyes. It would be fast. The bastard never wasted time when hunting prey. The question was, would Marshall be able to find her faster?

He let his gaze move over her, noting the subtle feminine curves beneath the utilitarian suit, the glossy softness of her chestnut-brown hair, the fullness of her bottom lip. What would that lip feel like against his own? Between his teeth?

Something tightened in the pit of his gut and he scowled. He had to stay focused on the task, no matter how appealing her petite little package. Scowl growing deeper, he closed his laptop and stood, picking up his own Glock as he crossed his private suite to stare out the large window overlooking Central Park West. He knew what she looked like and he knew where she was. That was all he needed. Now he just had to get to her.

First.

 

Chapter One

Launceston, Tasmania. The bottom of Australia.

Sydney Detective, Jackie Huddart stood motionless in the swarming, laughing, shouting, jostling airport-terminal crowd and cursed her best friend. She wished she had her gun. Not that she wanted to shoot someone, although the creep with the wandering hands and bad body odor walking behind her as she’d disembarked from the plane would have been her first choice. No, she wanted her gun because it kept her temper under control. And right at this very moment, her temper was well and truly on its way to snapping. Why the hell had she let Delanie organise her flight home? Delanie couldn’t organise a booze-up in a brewery.

Maybe your bad temper has nothing to do with Del? Maybe what you really wanted to do was stay in Sydney and track down who killed Detective Vischka?

A sudden image of the murdered detective flashed through Jackie’s head, followed just as quickly by an image of Vischka’s hulking bear of a partner, Detective Peter Thomas.

She released a sigh and hitched her bag higher up her shoulder. Detective Peter Thomas would find Vischka’s killer, of that Jackie had no doubt. Not just because that’s what the homicide detective did—his arrest rate was phenomenal—but because he and Vischka had been more than just partners on the force. When you killed a cop’s lover, you could start counting down your days.

Besides, if she started poking her nose around in a homicide case, she’d have to start dodging questions she wasn’t willing to answer.

Fixing her sights on the closest car rental kiosk, she began shoving her five-foot-three, one-hundred-and-fourteen-pound, wringing-wet frame through the horde of arriving and departing passengers and their grinning, hugging associates. She’d hire a compact and get out of Dodge, or in this case, Launceston, immediately. She didn’t have anything against the city, but when she’d agreed to come home—home. Such a dangerous concept—she hadn’t expected to be stood-up by her best friend.

Casting a quick look around the busy airport terminal, she shook her head. God alone knew where Delanie was. Probably buying another pair of shoes. Or getting her bikini line waxed. The life of a test consumer/shopper was not, if anything, boring.

Finally reaching the rental desk, Jackie crossed her arms on the counter and blew at her fringe. “I’ll take whatever you have that’s cheap and will get me to Pyengana without breaking down.”

The clerk raised her overly plucked eyebrows. “Pyengana? Why would anyone want to go to Pyengana?”

Jackie ground her teeth. Even in Tasmania the small coastal town of three hundred souls was derided. It was known in the state for its historic cheese factory. It was known on the mainland for one thing only: the last possible sighting of the very extinct thylacine. The Tasmanian tiger, an animal of ancient beauty and mystery, now just a symbol of Australia’s barbaric past.

As if the clerk read Jackie’s mind, she pursed her lips in a condescending smirk. “Going hunting, are we?”

Jackie bit back a low growl. Damn. It was a good thing she didn’t have her gun. “No,” she stated calmly. “Going home actually. To a funeral.”

Bright red heat flooded the clerk’s face. She stared at Jackie, mouth opening and closing like a drowning fish for a few moments, before she dropped her head and focused her entire attention on her computer terminal. “I have a Mazda convertible that I can do for the same fee as a compact. GPS unit and premium insurance free of charge.” She darted Jackie a quick, furtive look. “Special offer today.”

Jackie smiled, letting the woman see her teeth. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

It would take an hour and forty minutes to drive to Pyengana from here. One hour and forty minutes through some of the most lush and beautiful terrain on the planet. As tempting as it was however, she couldn’t risk putting the top down. That level of concentrated sensory exposure would call to the very spirit within her. The one she’d spent the last twenty years trying to suppress. She couldn’t risk that. It was too dangerous. Too—

“Heya, Huddart!” A loud but somehow husky voice called behind her. “What the bloody hell are you doing renting a car?”

Jackie chuckled. Rolling her eyes, she turned away from the clerk to watch a tall, willowy redhead weave her way through the crowd still amassed in the airport terminal. Well, weave probably wasn’t the correct word. The crowd seemed to melt away from the redhead’s path, the men gazing at her as she passed by, the women scanning her five-foot-nine frame for any sign of cellulite the snug denim short shorts and an even snugger white T-shirt she wore may reveal. Of which, there was none. Delanie McKenzie was every inch perfect.

She was also every inch the perfect pain in the arse, and Jackie’s best friend since they were little girls with scraped knees and snotty noses.

“What the bloody hell am I doing renting a car?” Jackie cocked an eyebrow at her friend and folded her arms across her chest. “Maybe it has something to do with the fact my ride left me in the lurch.”

Delanie laughed, the sound full and throaty and completely contagious. “Not in the lurch. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Jackie hitched her bag farther up her shoulder and gave her friend a pointed look before going up onto tip-toe to kiss her cheek. “Two hours late.”

Delanie kissed her cheek back before straightening. “And you expected differently?”

With a snort, Jackie shook her head. “I should have known better.”

Delanie grinned, her wide mouth stretching wider to reveal white, perfectly even teeth. “Yes, you should have. But I’m here now. Ready to hit the road?”

“Only if I’m driving.”

Delanie laughed. “Of course you’re driving. I’ve just had my nails done and I so very much miss your blatant disregard of the posted speed limit.”

Jackie laughed. “I do not speed.”

Delanie chortled. “No. Of course not. That’s why you came first in your driving skills component at the police academy, correct?” She nodded at the clerk behind Jackie. “Sorry. We won’t be needing you.” Giving Jackie a quick grin, she threaded her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll go get the car. Grab us a latte each from the cafe, will you? I need a caffeine hit before we get on the road.”

She turned on her heel and made her way back into the fray, once again parting the crowd like Moses parting the Red Sea. Jackie watched her go for a while, realizing how much she’d missed her friend since moving to Sydney. Delanie was a perfect example of ADD, and so extroverted she made a puppy Fox Terrier look calm, but she was honest and loyal and knew all of Jackie’s secrets. All of them.

Buy the book from Samhain Publishing, Amazon, Barnes and Noble?

Want more first five pages? Visit…
Mari Carr
Bianca D’Arc
Jambrea Jones
Rhian Cahill
Lila Dubois