Cerise DeLand's Blog, page 47

Liked HIS DELECTABLE COOK? TRY my Regency series! THE STANHOPE CHALLENGE

BOOK ONE, The Stanhope ChallengeRegencies are hot hot hot!
Mine are scalding!
Read any?

You should, you can. THE STANHOPE CHALLENGE is a quartet about 3 brothers and one bastard who have problems with their love lives!

LORD STANHOPE must marry! He has aspirations to political power, you see, and he needs a wife. A comely, biddable wife. What he gets is a hellfire in his bed...and in his heart!
BOOK TWO, The Stanhope Challenge
The second oldest brother is a cavalryman. Or rather, he was. Now he hides himself away in the family hunting lodge, only to be found out by the one woman he has desired...and who now he refuses to marry. LADY FEATHERSTONE, however, has other ideas and follows him to his lodge. Note too that in this book is an extra story about the Stanhope's illegitimate sister. LADY RAMSEY has a special problem. She adores her staff. All men, you see. And the only way to read this story is to read LADY FEATHERSTONE.

Book THREE, Jack's storyThe oldest brother, Jack, has no intentions of marrying anyone. Never has. The family is cursed you see. They say none of the unions is ever happy. In fact, all are quite dreadfully unhappy. But one night Jack is waylaid in his carriage by a young minx who offers...well, herself. She wants to be ruined, you see. Ruined by Jack, a most notorious rake. She is charming, lovely, devastated and once she explains her reasoning, Jack is more than intrigued. He is determined to free her from her nemesis, a man of utterly horrid repute.

THE BASTARD of the family is half English, half American, all privateer. When he goes to England, he finds himself enchanted by a lady who would never accept a untitled illegitimate man for her husband. So then what is she doing hiding in his hold after he sets sail? And why can't he keep his hands off her? And how in hell can he keep her from harm when a Moroccan pirate seizes his ship and abducts her?
All are available on Amazon, ARe, Kobo and more!

Lord Stanhope’s Improper Proposal http://amzn.to/VKW3us
Lady Featherstone Fervent Affair http://amzn.to/VCk9e2
MISS DARLING’S INDECENT OFFER http://amzn.to/VKVlxj
Lady Varney’s Risque Business: http://amzn.to/103KPsh
The Bastard’s Passionate Prize http://amzn.to/Uxd8cq

Visit my website for more of my Regencies!
http://cerisedeland.com

Based on a true event in King John's era, WITH HER KISS shows you why John got very bad press!

Based on an actual tragedy in English history, WITH HER KISS is the 3rd in my Swords of Passion series and tells the tale of one woman who failed to curry favor with King John.

In fact, this incident aroused the barons so mightily that women's rights (or specifically heiresses', widows' and noblewomen's rights) were addressed in the Magna Carta.

This often overlooked fact is an intriguing one. The incident involved William de Braose's wife Maud and their eldest son, both of whom were imprisoned by John, shoved into a hole in the floor of a dungeon and starved to death. While historians debate where this occurred, they are agreed it did. The barons' outrage at John's treatment of Maud provided the impetus to forge an alliance among them. They forced their liege lord to agree to the document proclaiming women's rights as well as many others.

I hope you enjoy WITH HER KISS.
BUY HERE:   Kindle • Total-E-Bound • All Romance Ebooks

Defying his king, Geoffrey St. Claire invades a dungeon to save the woman he loves from cruel death. This time, he vows, he will save her and make her love him—or die trying.Countess Katherine Harleigh knew her refusal to become King John's lover courted his punishment. But she never thought he'd try to starve her. Cast into a dungeon—widowed, alone and disgraced—Kat fears no one can save her. Not even the one knight who always promised to love and protect her.Geoffrey St. Claire serves his Sire as loyally as a sane man can. But when John imprisons the one woman Geoff has always adored, he risks his lands and his life to ride to her rescue. Yet, he knows she will never welcome his aid. She hates him too much for deserting her years ago. But he will not leave her this time. Book 2 in SWORDS OF PASSIONNow, Geoff plans to save her from death and despair, nurse her back to health and then persuade her to love him as wholly as she once did. Seduction in her bath, her bed, her chamber is his only method and he prays he can restore her love for him before John appears with an army to take her from him once more…this time, forever.
Book 1 in SWORDS OF PASSION*****
In this series, you glimpse all the challenges a woman faced in that period.
AT HER SERVICE tells the tale of a woman whose older titled husband is dying...and who must bear an heir "by him" or lose her rights to hold his land after his demise. Who does her husband choose to sire his successor? None other than the man whom she once loved and who was forbidden her.

In the second book in the series, FOR HER HONOUR, you see the challenge of a woman who has inherited her husband's lands and title (different type of inheritance rules in this earl's family) and now she is forced by King John to marry a younger man, actually a callow youth. When she shows her reluctance, John sends one of his retainers to escort her to the wedding. What ensues?
Ah. You must read them all!

Process vs Passion with my guest Imogene Nix!

Gah... I promised Cerise a guest post and time and life keep getting in my way.  But that's an authors life. 
Forget the high profile feted ideas you might have (a la Castle!) Most of us are wives, mothers and fully employed in life on a day-to-day basis...
But, back to the matter at hand, something I find hard because daily life keep getting in my way, this morning.  Taking the kids to school, feeding the animals, making the bed...
But life is just one big process after another.  Sure we get passion, but it’s the day to day stuff that can clog the arteries of a writer.
Think of it as artistic atherosclerosis. One many can suffer from, when writing sex scenes (among other things, but I’m an erotic writer, so it’s something I write a few of! Lol).  Don’t get me wrong!  I love writing sex scenes... when I’m up to them in the story.  Beforehand though I dither around like a crazy cat on a hot roof.  Do I have another one in me? Will it be process but no passion? Will it draw the reader in?
It’s a constant battle to make sure books featuring intimate scenes are passionate, exciting and worth reading. And I know many others who suffer from the same P.V.P.  (Process Versus Passion) syndrome as I do.  And it’s something I learned right back at the beginning.  Sometimes when a writer is first starting out, it’s easy to be so caught up in the process of writing the scenes that they fail to include the passion and focus instead on the process of part A fits into part B.
What do I mean? Let me show you.
She put her hands around his neck. She leaned in and kissed him on the lips.
Now I read that and go “Meh!” The words are there... The process is there but I’m not feeling any passion...
Let me see what I can do with it...
Carla slung her hands around his neck. Her body vibrated as it rocked against him and she shuddered. “Oh Reid! I need you...” Her words trailed away as she leant in.The whisper of his breath teased her lips and she had to wet them.  Sensual delight spun a web around her as she inched closer. Her eyes fluttered closed and finally, their mouths touched.
This time I’m feeling the passion .
How did I change it to include the passion? That’s not quite as simple as knowing which words to add... but it’s a matter of painting the world around them, concentrating on the emotions and feelings. It’s about making the reader able to feel the actions and emotions the characters are experiencing.
Have I read stories with process and no passion? I sure have. But you know the problem with that? I walk away feeling dissatisfied... like I’ve waited for my caffeine hit, only to get a... Decaf!  Urgh! (See?  Can’t think of anything worse – well so says me as I sit here with my cappuccino in hand.)
Anyway, to be honest, I did think that at some point writing these scenes would get easier.  That I’d be able to scroll them off... instead I’m just as concerned as my first.  Why? Because now I have the added concern of ensuring they are fresh. Sigh.
So far, I haven’t found a cure for PVP. If you do, be sure to tell me, right?
Don't forget to pop in and visit my latest party, the Not A Release Day Party on 9 September! http://www.facebook.com/events/1404732399743476/?fref=ts

Bio
Imogene is the author of many books, including Hesparia's Tears, Tomorrow's Promise, A Sapphire for Karina and the Edible Delights Anthology Vol 2.
Wife, mother and nutty bookstore owner all describe Imogene Nix, but the real secret is Science Fiction, Paranormal Romance with a hefty dose of Romantic Suspense is what she adores.
She is dedicated to high quality romance, with a dollop of erotic interactions, and has dipped her toes into Science Fiction, Contemporary Romance and Paranormal Romance featuring feisty headstrong female leads and the odd   Romantic Suspense.
She lives in Rural Queensland where she happily raises 2 daughters, lots of chickens a couple of cats and her super pup Teddy. When she isn’t writing or reading, she’s hanging out with her husband, acting like a techno-geek or cooking and making wine.
Links—where to find Imogene Nix: Facebook    Twitter    Goodreads    Google+    Blog     Hotter Than Hades            Website Blurb
What will happen when the past catches up? Galan is from Hesparia, where the females are dying out on his pacific agrarian planet.Jessa has a past, one she hasn’t earned but cannot escape from. What will happen when opportunity knocks? Galan travels to earth, hoping to plead the case for Hesparia. He doesn’t expect Jessa or The Quickening.Can he make the case for women to migrate to Hesparia and arrange a Diplomatic Alliance? Can they trust one another with their hearts. And can Jessa really escape her past? Hesparia’s Tears. Excerpt
The spaceship entered orbit and Jessa watched the tracking on the television. Since learning of the existence of extraterrestrials, it was about all she wanted to do. See where they were and where they planned to land.
The reporter came back on the screen. “We believe they will make their landing somewhere on the continent of Australia. There have been no further radio communications from the craft, however. So it is, at best, an educated guess right now.”
Jessa giggled at the sober face of the young, twenty-something reporter standing outside the Parkes Observatory and the inane follow up comment made by the thirtyish female news anchor.
“Jessa, it’s time for bed!” her mother yelled again.
She sighed dramatically. At twenty-four she was no longer a child, even though her parents seemed to struggle with that small fact.
Maybe it’s time to move out. As quickly as the thought had crossed her mind, she dismissed it. Leaving home meant more expense than she could possibly afford. The thing that really irked her was paying an outstanding legal bill for something she hadn’t even done. It was a refrain that had played through her mind over and over again since the event had taken place. It may have happened years ago, but she continued to pay for her youthful indiscretion. One she had long regretted.
Jessa stood, before heading down the old hallway to the bathroom. Living at home meant sharing a bathroom with her little brother, Ben. Of course, being a boy of sixteen, he was disgusting. There were used razor blades, splashes of water, foam from his recent shaving experience and hairs in the sink. Knowing it would make no difference complaining about it she carefully picked up the discarded detritus and placed it in the bin beside the vanity unit, wiped away the mess and began her own night-time ritual.
Emerging from the bathroom, she spied her mother, standing at the end of the hall in her fluffy blue dressing gown with matching slippers, and her blonde hair sitting high on her head in soft curlers. It was the same scene every night. “Night, Jessa.”
“Night, Mum.” What else was there to say? In a funk, Jessa entered her room, before closing the door then sat down on her single bed. She breathed deeply, letting the oxygen flow through her system, before slowly levering herself down across the mattress. Her blinds were open so she had an excellent view of the star-studded sky. It was a major positive to living on the edge of town, the absence of bright lights.
“Whoever you are, I certainly hope you’re friendly,” Jessa muttered, before closing her eyes, rolling onto her side and willing herself to sleep. For some reason, an excited thrill ran through her system.
Finally, visitors from the stars. No longer was it a figment of someone’s imagination or something from a science fiction novel. The time had come for them to have contact with another species. That was a sobering thought. The Prime Minister had sent a radio message to the ship. God, I hope the Prime Minister didn’t act like a pompous dick. Jessa snuggled down under the covers, waiting for the touch of sleep. Her mind wandered and she drowsed.
Her mobile, sitting on the bedside table buzzed and vibrated. Jessa muttered in the dark, groping for the device. She reached out and found the red leather covered item and dragged it to her ears.
“’lo?”
“Jessa, it’s me. Seth. Can you come to the office at the telescope? I need you.” His voice was excited.
She squinted. “I was asleep, Seth. Besides which, I’m off duty until Saturday.” The room was gloomy and she screwed her face up into a scowl, knowing sleep would probably elude her now. “What could be so important that I need to come in right now?” Jessa pushed back the covers, swung her legs over the side then slipped her feet into her old grey slippers beside the bed.
“I can’t tell you over the phone.”
“What?” Something was happening. An agitated thrill filled her chest and for an instant her mind warred with the interest that spiked.
“Jessa…”
He didn’t need to plead. Jessa was already getting up to hunt out clothes. “Sure. Yeah, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Thanks. You really won’t regret it.” The delight in his voice was contagious.
Jessa hurriedly tapped the end call button.
Buy Links
Amazon http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00EFB82A0
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Today! WITH HER KISS, Book #3 in Swords of Passion series debuts!

OUT TODAY!A woman imprisoned...A love redeemed...Revenge, rich and rewarding...WITH HER KISS www.totalebound.com Prologue


Castle HarleighSouth Wales, The MarchesMarch 1211
Shuddering, bone cold, Kat huddled down into her cloak. She rocked, her teeth chattering, her jaw aching. Her fine wool cape caught on the jagged points of the dungeon’s walls as she slid to the damp earthen floor. The chill shot up her spine. Her toes curled and she clamped a hand over her mouth to fight back a cry. Her guards must not hear her despair. Cringing, she turned her face to the rough stones to stifle her outrage.She understood why she sat here in this miserable hole. Of course she did. She had refused her king. A noblewoman close to his own blood, she had denied his requests to give him land and pay higher taxes for more than a decade. Then, when he had returned to demand more, she had rebelled with disdain for the vain tyrant he had always been. She recalled him on his last visit to her in the autumn, standing in her own solar, shaking with indignation, self-righteous—the cur—to his bones.“You will not yield?” John had bellowed at her, then backhanded her to the wall. “How dare you!”“It is my right to deny you,” she had managed, her hand to her bleeding lips as she struggled to her feet.“Mine to take from you what I want!” he had sneered at her.“You may try.” She had cast her eyes towards her two guards, who had been subdued by two of his. She needed to preserve the lives of her men. They would spread word of what had happened here and the audacious orders of her king. Her men’s loyalty was her last bulwark against John’s outrageous demands that she go to his bed. “What comfort will it gain you?”“I could have you persuaded by each and every one of Ferrer’s men, followed by my own,” he threatened with a grin. Her head had spun at the threat of being raped by so many. Ferrer was but John’s toady, attempting to bully her, take her land for John and take her body for the notoriety. As for the submission John required of her, she knew how to best him by brandishing against him his droit de seigneur. “Women should love you, should they not?”“By all means,” he had agreed.“A noble lord is our king,” she had said, purring as if she were truly complimenting him. “Worthy to climb between any woman’s legs.”He had nodded. “Ah. Of course. A lady should welcome the royal cock inside her.”“’Tis an honour to be well fucked by such a man,” he had preened.“I see here no such creature.”One of his men had gasped at her insult.John had glared at her, his black eyes demonic. “Your blindness may kill you.”A smirk had thinned her lips. “Better to live in the dark than have my eyes assaulted by a monster.”“You prefer the dark? Do you? We shall order it,” he had bellowed, his nostrils flaring. He flicked her away with his hands as if she were no more than a fly.And here she was, thrown into this dank and miserable dungeon by his royal machinations.

WITH HER KISS a knight steals a woman from King John! An excerpt!

OUT TODAY!A woman imprisoned...A love redeemed...Revenge, rich and rewarding...WITH HER KISS www.totalebound.com Prologue


Castle HarleighSouth Wales, The MarchesMarch 1211
Shuddering, bone cold, Kat huddled down into her cloak. She rocked, her teeth chattering, her jaw aching. Her fine wool cape caught on the jagged points of the dungeon’s walls as she slid to the damp earthen floor. The chill shot up her spine. Her toes curled and she clamped a hand over her mouth to fight back a cry. Her guards must not hear her despair. Cringing, she turned her face to the rough stones to stifle her outrage.She understood why she sat here in this miserable hole. Of course she did. She had refused her king. A noblewoman close to his own blood, she had denied his requests to give him land and pay higher taxes for more than a decade. Then, when he had returned to demand more, she had rebelled with disdain for the vain tyrant he had always been. She recalled him on his last visit to her in the autumn, standing in her own solar, shaking with indignation, self-righteous—the cur—to his bones.“You will not yield?” John had bellowed at her, then backhanded her to the wall. “How dare you!”“It is my right to deny you,” she had managed, her hand to her bleeding lips as she struggled to her feet.“Mine to take from you what I want!” he had sneered at her.“You may try.” She had cast her eyes towards her two guards, who had been subdued by two of his. She needed to preserve the lives of her men. They would spread word of what had happened here and the audacious orders of her king. Her men’s loyalty was her last bulwark against John’s outrageous demands that she go to his bed. “What comfort will it gain you?”“I could have you persuaded by each and every one of Ferrer’s men, followed by my own,” he threatened with a grin.Her head had spun at the threat of being raped by so many. Ferrer was but John’s toady, attempting to bully her, take her land for John and take her body for the notoriety. As for the submission John required of her, she knew how to best him by brandishing against him his droit de seigneur. “Women should love you, should they not?”“By all means,” he had agreed.“A noble lord is our king,” she had said, purring as if she were truly complimenting him. “Worthy to climb between any woman’s legs.”He had nodded.“Ah. Of course. A lady should welcome the royal cock inside her.”“’Tis an honour to be well fucked by such a man,” he had preened.“I see here no such creature.”One of his men had gasped at her insult.John had glared at her, his black eyes demonic. “Your blindness may kill you.”A smirk had thinned her lips. “Better to live in the dark than have my eyes assaulted by a monster.”“You prefer the dark? Do you? We shall order it,” he had bellowed, his nostrils flaring. He flicked her away with his hands as if she were no more than a fly.And here she was, thrown into this dank and miserable dungeon by his royal machinations.   

Women's rights, the compelling reason for the Magna Carta? Yes, read WITH HER KISS

WITH HER KISS, A novel of love restored, revenge complete, a king laid low.Book 3 in medieval erotic romance, SWORDS OF PASSION series by Cerise DeLand.Copyright 2013, Cerise DeLand. Excerpt, All rights reserved.          Buy Link: TEB  http://totalebound.com Buy Link: Amazon  http://amzn.to/UxdKPk She screamed, the torment of being jostled gnawing at her bones and sending raw pain of a thousand needles through her flesh. What hell was this? She saw stars, a velvet sky. Moonlight seared her eyes and she clamped them shut. Too long in the dark. Too long without hope of light. What use to take her away if she could not see? Or could not talk? Or, worse, had lost her mind?Some strange ties bound her arms. She struggled and stilled, knowing the fight useless. Dreaming. I fantasise. I wish for release and find it only in my mind!Did men whisper? Aye, she heard footsteps. Boots, men’s boots tromped across sodden grass, the sucking noises reminiscent of her watery cell. The clank of swords, the stomping of horses’ hooves in that same wet earth that met her ears. Someone manhandled her.Christ, let me go! She tried to beat upon the broad chest that bound her tightly to a wall of warm flesh. But she could not lift her hand and her head lolled back.“She’s fainted,” a man murmured.No, no! She worked at words and found no sound possible.“She drifts in and out of her mind,” said another.Was that the same man who had spoken Latin? The same one who had urged her to speak?“Here, hold her while I mount.”No. That is another man, his voice so familiar and so dear. So hated. Geoffrey?Bounced from one tight embrace to another, she gritted her teeth to quell the pain. Let me die, she urged whoever was her newest captor. Her limbs afire, her heart racing, she panted for breath. No more, she begged. But whoever he was, he did not listen. Instead, she felt herself passed from one set of bonds up into the grasping arms of another. The first man who had held her, found her and spoken to her in the dungeon held her again. Geoffrey? No. This cannot be he.She dared to lift her eyelids a fraction. Dark hair, shining oddly auburn in the moonlight. Hair, curling at his ears. The eyes, the same soft solace as Geoffrey’s. His face, lined with years and worries.Her heart pounded with the similarities. Hope, so brittle, broke inside her, a hundred fragments, sharp and small.No, this is not he. Impossible for this man to be Geoffrey. He is an angel of death, please be to God, come to claim me.“To ride will hurt like the hounds of hell, ma cherie,” he told her, his lips to her ear, his arms like iron straps around her shoulders and her knees. “A litter would slow us. We have no alternative.”She felt a jolt of his massive body. Envisioning a man who rode his horse like wind upon water, she gazed at a man with tousled hair and a strong jaw. She felt the jolt as he dug his spurs into the flanks of his stallion. And off she rode with him, clasped to him as if forged. A thrust, a bolt, a gallop tore at her insides, yet she was clutched to him by his rope-like arms while the ground thundered beneath his animal’s hooves. The breeze was raw, crisp in her hair and against her skin. She shivered, yet inhaled the fresh air of night. The stars danced above her. The moon darted between menacing clouds. The night stretched out around them, for indeed there were more to this party than simply she and her abductor. The others were no fantasy. She heard their mounts. The hooves as they struck the ground, churning, clinking on stones. She heard the men. Their grunts as they dodged tree limbs and shouted to their companions of dangers ahead. She felt the care of the man who held her and above that pain that seared her mind, she remembered one man who had held her so tightly, so dearly, so briefly. Strange. He had felt the same as this man. And smelled the same as this man.But he had not cared for her as well as this man.BUY all 3 in the SWORDS OF PASSION series!!Buy Link: TEB  http://totalebound.com Buy Link: Amazon  http://amzn.to/UxdKPk

Escorting a countess to her wedding, this knight has one problem: He adores her! FOR HER HONOUR, Book #2 in SWORDS OF PASSION medieval series

     T'was the custom in medieval England and France for an heiress to be escorted to her betrothed by a knight. But when the woman is old enough and wise enough (and widow enough) to know that her much younger bridegroom-to-be will become more of an irritant than a true and worthwhile husband, she is inclined to refuse the journey.
 
Will Dunwick, Earl of Greystone, knows this full well but he is bound by duty to his liege lord, King John to perform the horrid task...until he falls in love with the beautiful, fiesty Blanche Bergeron.

BTW: Yummy cover, oui?

Need a nibble? Of course you do!
(Copyright, Cerise DeLand. All rights reserved.)


1210, The Western Marches, England
 Men did not mesmerise her. Ever. Yet, William Dunwick, the Earl of Greystone, was so much more man than Blanche Bergeron had been told to expect that she had to snap her mouth shut at his appearance. Indeed, he was so huge, so much more handsome than the rumours of his glory that she found herself agog at his appearance here in her great hall.   To collect her dignity, she had to sit taller, smile like a gracious hostess and bid him approach her. Amazement—she scolded herself as she settled back into in her dais chair—was not the emotion she wished to convey to this emissary from their ruthless King John. True, she’d heard it said that their regent’s loyal adviser was tall and broad. Blond and ruddy. Impaired by the loss of his left eye. Yet suave as a troubadour with men, and seductive as an oriental sultan with women. Blanche had steeled her mind against him. After all, he was sent by that tyrant John to carry her off to marry a man she was too wise to want and too old to need. But to gaze upon John’s emissary—this legendary Crusader and adviser—was to admit to herself that, in some things, her assumptions could be wrong. And her tactics to save herself from Greystone’s charms, she knew now, must change from obstruction to some other course that might escape this wise man’s piercing sight and perception. “Good day, my lady.” Greystone walked forward with the magnetic self-possession that truly powerful men exuded. Clad in his black tabard emblazoned with his own stag crest and Crusader cross on one shoulder, he wore on his chest the Anjevin leopards rampant to denote the sovereign he served.  He filled her vision with the breadth of his shoulders, the symmetry of his jaw, the black leather patch over his left eye and a dancing light in his remaining sea blue one. “You do us honour.” He bent a knee to her. “My lord, you are welcome,” she lied as she extended her hand. He took her fingertips with his warm ones and led them to his mouth.  Debonair bastard. At his familiarity, she held her breath as he reverently brushed his soft lips upon her nails. She shivered in the warmth of September. Such frivolities are for younger women, Blanche. Women who sigh at a comely man’s regard and know not how boring they will be in bed. He smiled up at her, his one blue eye assessing her as if she were a sweetmeat. “I am most grateful for your kind reception of me and my men,” he told her in a voice so low she felt her breasts bead in silly long–dead desires. She tore her gaze from him towards the four men arrayed behind him. Like their lord, they were of enormous size. Meaty hands and arms, they had impossibly huge chests in black tabards bearing only Greystone’s chest and, underneath, chain mail. With tree trunks for thighs, they flanked their master, standing astride like giant Norsemen. Surely, she could not allow the five of them to carry her off to London for she would never escape their strength. Or their determination. “I am happy to welcome you, Lord Greystone. We are simple people here in the marches but we do try to match the etiquette of London.” “I have been told of your hospitality, my lady Bergeron.” He rose to his full height. Even now, one step below her, he was taller. Such presence she had never seen in a man. Her dead husband had been a head shorter than she. Shorter still in other myriad ways. An unsatisfying collection of skinny bones, thin intellect and tiny wit, Mortimer Bergeron had also possessed a penis of such insignificant size that she marvelled she had conceived two children. What does your cock measure, William of Greystone? His mouth curved into a knowing smile. “May my men be shown to their accommodations?” he prodded her from her reverie in a hushed voice. “Aye!” She raised her right hand to summon her steward form the back of the hall. “Alfred, take Lord Greystone’s retainers to the knights’ quarters. Forgive us, we are not quite ready for you. We expected you to arrive in a fortnight or more.” Her serf hastened forward and beckoned to the four men. Only when Greystone nodded his consent at their leaving, did they turn, prepared to go. Blanche stopped them by calling to her steward. “You may also show Lord Greystone to his room.” “Nay, my lady,” Greystone pivoted to fix her with his one good eye. “I wish an audience with you.” The breach of protocol was novel, too. To kiss her hand was one pretty thing, but to counter her in her own home was a bold opposite.  She brought herself up into her full imposing stature. “You should rest, my lord.” Her gaze descended over his splendidly fit body. His pale gold curls dipped over his brow, framing his face and scraping his collar. His chain mail and short breeches bore the dust of the roads he had travelled. His boots were worn and caked with mud. “And you must wish a bath and a bed.” “I do, Madame.” He leant towards her and she caught a scent of manly sweat that made her nostrils flare in rare appreciation for male musk. “But nothing is more important than that we talk.”  “We shall this evening over supper.”  “Nay.” He took a step towards her. Again, his personal odour swept over her and added to the imperious effect of his demand. “Now.” Her serf watched. So did his men. She had never been so countered in her own home. Not since her husband died eleven years ago and she became the lady who controlled the largest fief on the western marches of John’s kingdom. Power had its privileges. It also had its responsibilities. And proprieties. “We shall talk then. Briefly.” She waved her man Alfred away with Greystone’s four and rearranged the fine azure linen she had donned when she’d been told the Earl of Greystone stood at her gates.  “What will you, my lord?” she asked him when the thick wooden doors to her hall finally thudded closed. “May I sit, my lady?” he asked, tipping his head towards a chair at her left hand. She inhaled. “Nay.  This interview will not be long, my lord. I have a harvest to direct. I pray you, say quickly what you wish to me. We know what it is you want, without the conversation, don’t we?” “There is no need, my lady, for rancour between us,” he offered in a voice that flowed over her like warm honey. Her nipples chafed against her gown. Then rose to reach out to him. Her mind rebelled at the attraction. “You think not?” She flung out a hand. Licked her lips. She was letting her temper rule her—and she despaired her loss of control. What was wrong with her? “I apologise, my lord. It is my nature to command here. I find it rare that I am contradicted.” “So, I see,” he said with earnest commiseration in his tone. “I wish not to make your life more difficult.” “By your very nature, you turn my life to rubble!” She rose from her chair, her long red hair escaping her netting and spilling over her shoulders. “You come to me early. You come with four giants as your guard. And you come demanding an audience in my own home in front of my own servants.” She bent over, her face so much closer to his damn handsome one, that she sensed his minted breath and even white teeth. She pulled away, astonished at her attraction to him even amid her outrage. “I will not brook your impertinence again like that, my lord. Tonight, you will become a grateful guest. Compliment our food and our fine beer. Talk gaily with me of nothing consequential. And as days go on, we will speak of substance.” He nodded, flowed closer and fixed her with his eye. “Forgive me, Madame, if I seem an ungrateful guest in your domain. I will repair what I can in that regard. I do not wish to tarnish our relationship with any such behaviour. Nor do I wish to damage your reputation with your minions. My goal here is to accomplish my king’s intent and to do so quickly.” Her natural fire consumed her. She was mistress here! “Without regard to me and what I want!” He frowned. “Not entirely true.” Fists on her hips, she leaned over him, closer still to the power that attracted her and frightened her with its strength. “Tell me, please, what say I have in this plan of your lord and master, John Plantagenet? Bah! He’d do me the dishonour to wed me to a man twelve years younger? A mere child with less land and weaker blood bonds to his majesty’s royal family than I own?” “I understand your anger, Madame,” this diplomat offered with equal parts compassion and finesse. “Do you?” she challenged him with rough despair. “Have you any idea what I have done here?” He tipped his head once. “I have heard the tales.” “Really? Of what? A red–haired harpy who flogs her serfs to plant and sow and reap with regularity?” “Nay. That is not you.” But she was in high dudgeon. “A witch who uses herbs and plants to tend her serfs, heal them of their boils and headaches, their childbirth and the frailties of their aging bones?” “No witch does that.” “Aye! I wager you have not heard of the fifteen–year–old who came here as a bride to lie down in a bed of filthy straw because her father and her king demanded it. Nor have you heard how I improved this aged keep with demands for cleanliness and warm fires. How I fought my husband’s slovenly neglect. How I developed the wheat and barley crops and made the best beer in the marches. How I bore with his whining and gambling.” Greystone stared into her eyes, his countenance serene. “Aye, my lady, I have heard all that of you and your husband.” “And still you think I will come willingly to marry a pimple–faced youth of eighteen?  A boy who is reputed to prefer wine to work and men to a woman?” “I am not here to ask what you prefer, Madame.” His composure had her seething. Not the way to dissuade him from his course, Blanche. She whirled away and ran her fingers through her hair. The netting came loose and in a fit, she tore it off and cast it to the rushes. She ticked off a minute’s time to chill her blood. She was getting nowhere with this man, so cool, so controlled in all his glorious containment. She squeezed her eyes shut to find some resolve and once more faced him. “Hear me, my lord. You and your retainers are welcome here to rest and repair. My serfs are at your convenience. My larder is open to your appetites. My stables, too, for your horses. But you will leave here as you came. In two days’ time. Without me.” Greystone got a hard gleam to his eye. “You think to thwart the will of his highness the king of England?” “I do.” “My lady Bergeron, ‘tis folly of the highest order.” “I will not let you take me from my own home. To marry me to another who will squander what I have built. To shame me with his decadence. For what? To please a man who dares to call himself king?” “John aligns you with a family who has been loyal to him.” “And I am repayment? Absurd! Let John pay his own debts.”  Greystone set his jaw. In the move, a cleft in his chin appeared and she stared at his face, overcome with a mad need to press her lips to his perfection there. Was she mad? She dared for fight here for her life and livelihood with a man whom she’d known for five minutes. A Norse god whom she coveted between her thighs. “My lady,” the man crooned to her, “you must know that John cannot pay his debts. He has fought too many wars.” “He has coveted too many women and plied them with jewels and silks.” Greystone pursed his lips. “My lord king is in constant need of money. He can only gratefully acknowledge service to himself by using what rights he does have as a sovereign.” “He is not sovereign here,” she pointed out. “But he is your sovereign, Madame. By right of inheritance from your husband, you are John’s liege. He will have you marry Hugh de Morency and do so in six weeks time. You are to come with me with whatever baggage and your household serfs you wish to bring.” “And did your noble lord also decree who will administer my estate while I make my way with you to London and wed this child?” “Nay, Madame. He said you would know best whom to place in charge.” She blew a gust of air out of her mouth. “The one true thing John can mutter.” But there was no one here who could replace her. No one with the knowledge. Or the dedication. Or the power. Everything she’d built here, every convenience, every prosperity, would wither with her departure. Her serfs were good folk, but lazy left alone. Without her prodding to tend the fields, without the profits from the sale of Bergeron’s good beer, they would soon die for lack of food and money with which to buy from others. She fisted her hands at her sides. She surveyed once more William of Greystone, diplomat, courtier, earl and wealthy landowner. Loyal to a king who had proven how disloyal, how ignoble he could be to his subjects. Including, and especially, women. “My lord,” she whispered in a beseeching tone, unnerved by Greystone’s implacability and her own attempt to bribe him, “what may I offer you to excuse me from this curse?”His features fell to a lax sorrow. “Nothing, Madame.”She expected that answer. Still, it riled her. “Noble lord Greystone, who has never been bought. Never been false to his king. Never been left idle from the performance of another and yet another errand of John’s perverse mind. Do you not find service to him beneath your vaulted honour?” He blinked, his lush mouth thinning at her persistence. “Madame, were I able to loose you from this marriage, I would. Trust me, I have tried. My liege is adamant. You shall wed de Morency. With haste, if not with grace.” “And if I don’t?” “I vow you will.” “I must find a way,” she murmured, caught like a mouse in a trap. “None exists, Madame,” he said with sorrow. “Have you heard the tale of what happened to his niece the heiress, Lady Esme Montague?” Blanche rubbed her upper arms. “Aye. She refused to marry John’s choice and ran off with her lover.” “John caught the man and had him castrated.” “Then John put Esme into a dungeon at Corfe, where she withered and, five years later, died.” “Blanche,” this man seemed to be pleading with her, “do not underestimate John’s resolve. Marry the boy. Return here with or without him. Resume your duties. Live your life.” “Or lose it.” “My lady, we are all creatures of our circumstances.” “Even you, my lord? The most honourable man to serve his king will do his will despite the dishonourable nature of it?” Greystone seemed unpricked by her barb. “Aye. My work for eleven years has been to bring my king to a just rule. I work where and when I can for justice for all. But in some instances, I am powerless to change his mind.” Her gaze locked on his and in that moment, she knew the truth of what he declared.  “I have argued for you, Madame. To no avail. I know when to concede. And when to press. In this matter, I have failed to change my liege’s thinking or his dictum. And you will become the Countess de Morency within six weeks. Prepare yourself. We leave in two days’ time.”
The sequel, WITH HER KISS, Book 3 in this Swords of Passion series, debuts Sept. 6 at http://totalebound.com. You can order it now at the lesser pre-order price!

In times of old when knights were bold and safes were not invented...a woman needed to produce an heir! AT HER SERVICE, SWORDS OF PASSION #1

   
AT HER SERVICE, #1 in my Swords of Passion medieval series from Totalebound.com, stars a knight you will not forget. Simon de la Poer once fell in love with a charming girl who was soon married off to another. That man was old and ruthless...and now years later, the poor fellow needs an heir. FAST.
     Who better to aid the man and supply his services than the man who once loved the lady beyond reason? 
This is the story of AT HER SERVICE, the first in my trilogy about three knights who served King Richard the Lionheart—and who find themselves at odds with his ignoble younger brother, King John.

Here, a lovely childless countess must bear an heir—or lose her lands, her honor—and her life. The man sent to sire a child with her is none other than the one who grew up fostered in her father’s castle as a boy—and the man Elise has yearned for lo, all the lonely years since he left.
A nibble of AT HER SERVICE! (Copyright, Cerise DeLand. All rights reserved.)
Circling up, up, up the winding tower that was the back entrance to their private rooms, she heard no one behind her. She breathed deeply in relief for that. Simon would not dare to come to them in full view of Alphonse’s retainers and servants. Simon might be under her husband’s thrall, but he would not leave the hall after her and, thus, make the servants aware of what his mission was.  She pushed open her husband’s bedroom door. It creaked, an eerie sound that sent shivers up her spine. But the warmth of the hearth fire, always blazing in the winter’s snow, rushed out to bathe her face and welcome her inside.  “Close the door, Elise.”  At the distinctive husky tone she could still identify after all these lonely years, she paused with one foot upon the threshold. She watched in amazement as Simon unfolded himself from the chair nearest the door and stood to his ungodly height. Anger flooded her at Simon’s impertinence of speaking to her before her husband bid her enter. Her gaze shot to Alphonse who lay beneath a pile of woollens and silks, snoring, his thin face grey, his mouth lax, his once manly frame reduced to a skinny child’s.  Simon took a step forward and extended his hand to the chair opposite his. “Come.” His rough bass voice flowed across the expanse of the chamber like thick molasses over her senses, her body warming to his sensuous tone. Simon’s merest words could entangle and enslave her.  Against his allure, she braced her spine. “How did you get in?”  Mere feet away, she noted how his silver eyes shown like the hard coin he would take for his service to her. “Your husband gave the order to his steward.”  “He should have told me, asked me,” she objected without regard to wake her husband, clenching her fists in fear at Cleve’s knowledge. Her voice bore her outrage that she could not countermand the great earl of Atherton, even as he lay dying in his bed.  Simon strolled forward, his head high, his expression earnest and pleading. Beneath his breath, he spoke to her alone. “The steward put me in the room below.” He nodded towards her alcove and the private winding stairs down to his tiny room. “We must talk.”  “No.” What good was talk? She was chained to Alphonse’s bargain and bound up in a torment wanting Simon de la Poer but knowing she should not have him. Yet she would take him to her to please Alphonse. Aye, and in the taking, she would also surely please herself. She snorted, stepped fully into the cosy apartment and shut the door to the world below.  “You need to know—”  “I want to know nothing.”  “That,” he whispered as he stepped close to her and threaded his long, supple fingers under her wimple up into the coil of her hair, “is a lie.”  She flinched backwards, wrenching to escape his reach. “You must do as I say. Agree or this will not happen at all.”
September 6 WITH HER KISS, the 3rd in my Swords of Passion series, debuts! You know you need it!
 Buy Link: TEB http://totalebound.com
Buy Link: Amazon http://amzn.to/UxdKPk

Would you put aside your feud for love? Sascha Illyvich tells us how!

Would you put aside your feud for love?  That's the question Kerian has to ask himself when he finds out his lover's other paramour is HIS ex-boyfriend and rat bastard! Both wolves love Iolite, and their combined intelligence plus wolf DNA and a dose of magic may help aid the wolf packs from the disease spreading throughout Albuquerque, NM. 
BUY LINK:


Buy Link:  http://www.amazon.com/Torn-To-Pieces-... We spend so much time in our lives over fighting and random BS that we often forget the true power of love, which is partially why romance is such a hot genre.  Authors provide an escape from the harshness of reality and even invite ourselves into your bedroom with the ability to grant illusions like the ménage a trois.
For Iolite, she gets the feel of two strong alpha males, both vying for her bed, and she wants them both to win, but if Kerian's not able to see past the mistakes Jackob made, the threesome and the fate of the wolves overall are doomed.
The fun of a ménage lies in the extra opportunities for experimentation and sexual gratification, feeling not one but two hearts beating against your body if you're the woman in the middle of a studly ménage, or just more fun if you're the guy. 
In another ménage story I wrote for Decadent Publishing, there wasn't really any fueding, but negotiations had to take place because the two men in question weren't lovers, though they loved the same things and shared the same women.  The D/s aspect threw things into a different light. 
Even though Jackob and Kerian are both alpha males there isn't a direct D/s aspect to alter the dynamic slightly, Kerian naturally acquiesces to Iolite's wants and needs. 
The excerpt I'm sharing from Torn to Pieces is the first time Kerian and Jackob meet at Iolite's loft in downtown Albuquerque, NM.  I think it captures the tone of the story perfectly, how about you? "Full of emotion and lust and hot sex." - that's how The Forbidden Bookshelf describes the romances of Sascha Illyvich.

Iolite is a witch in love with two wolves, wanting, needing both to fulfill her life. Both of them are two halves of the same being who she loves. Jackob and Kerian are former lovers turned enemies by pack law, but without the witch’s solution for the disease ravaging the wolves, both packs will certainly die. Both want Iolite, both want to love again but are uncertain of the consequences. Can Jackob and Kerian get past their emotional baggage to help heal Iolite’s broken heart as well as their own in order to save their packs?

Jackob would slaughter him.Rage consumed him.  Rage at Iolite's choice in wolves.  If she'd have brought in any other wolf, Kerian would be willing to be understanding.  "That fucking prick is your other lover?" Kerian stammered against the wall, setting a hand out for balance.  Iolite strode forward, ire in her eyes.  Kerian smelled the cayenne pepper and chili spice from her, indicating her level of anger.  She frowned.  "I wanted to ease you into the idea at first, before springing the announcement."  His groin tightened at the sight of Jackob in midair, hovering and eyeing him with a predatory gaze.  "But he's a thief!" And my former boyfriend. "No.  That prick is my other lover." She crossed her arms over her ample chest and leaned back against the wall.Kerian pushed himself away from the opposite wall.  "I see." He glared at her.  "You think one of us will impregnate you?"The rise and fall of his chest matched hers almost perfectly.  She stared hard at him, the steady resolve in her eyes emphasizing her point.  The pack badly needed this baby.  "I do."Kerian drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly.  Slowly, he closed his eyes and put a thumb to his chin.  "I see."  He paused, blinked and then stared back at Iolite.  "Does Jackob know? Can he hear us?"She nodded her head.  "Yeah, he can hear us.  I thought I'd tell you first, since you're the level headed of the two." She spat the words out vehemently.  He nodded.  Hands out to his sides, he stepped back from Iolite, her apparent need for breathing room almost strangled him.  "But this assho – guy's a thief.  He'd rob his own mother and sell her blood for cash.""How do you know?" She stepped forward, poking a fingernail into his chest, punctuating every word.  "What proof do you have? I've seen the news.  Do you honestly think I'd be with a brute?"He coughed, "I uh, well no!" Kerian glanced at the frozen Jackob.  His hair remained spread out behind him, the dangerously sensual gaze, and that perfect mouth, he reminded Kerian of too many things from the past.  Or so he thought.  Jackob still had beautiful lips.  He remembered kissing them many a time; after work, first thing in the morning.  First thing before bed.  They weren't as soft as Iolite's, but still inviting, nonetheless.  "Then what's the deal, Kerian? Why the instant hostility?""Hey, he attacked me," Kerian crossed his arms over his chest.  "So ask him." Kerian turned away.Iolite huffed, "Fine.  Jackob, I'm going to unfreeze your head.  You will answer me?"Kerian looked at Jackob and saw him blink.  Iolite snapped her fingers.  Instantly, ice disappeared from Jackob's head.  "What the fuck, Iolite? Why did you–"She raised a hand and pointed a finger in his direction.  Jackob shut up."Now," she stepped over to him.  "You're my beautiful lover too.  A gorgeous alpha any woman would be proud to have, just like Kerian.  Why attack him and disrespect my home?" Her voice dropped a few notches.  Jackob snickered.  "He probably didn't tell you, did he?"Iolite faced Jackob, nodding.  "About the stealing, yes.  And I defended you."Kerian couldn't believe Iolite used her seductress voice on him, at a time like this.  Jackob tried to move, but peered down at his body, still frozen in ice.  He rolled his eyes and looked back at Iolite.  "No, silly.  Don't you wonder why we know each other, intimately?""No," she shook her head and looked at Kerian.  "What is he talking about?"Kerian bit his bottom lip.  "Tell him, Kerian.  Or are you still ashamed of our past?" Jackob spat the words out.With a clenched fist, Kerian stepped towards Jackob.  "I was never ashamed of us!" Kerian growled.  "Hah," Jacob scowled.  "You never told your pack about us.  You never came out of the closet." Jackob's words loomed in the air for a moment.  Kerian swallowed the lump forming in his throat.  Jackob lowered his head.  "At least I made some in my pack aware of our affair.  They didn't give me shit about it."Kerian's shoulders fell.  "You don't understand.  I don't have the–"Jackob scoffed.  "Same moral fibers I have.  Or the same pride.  Right.  Iolite, let me go from this ice."Iolite arched a curious brow, while biting her lip.  "Promise you'll behave?"Jackob nodded.  With a wave of her hand, the ice from Jackob's body melted and disappeared, as though never present.He landed, bending down on one knee.  Jackob bowed low, swept up the mess of hair that fell in front of him, then stood to his full height.Kerian's breath caught in his throat.  His heart hammered in his chest.  Jackob's long, dark, mane still managed to enhance his ruggedness, and cause blood flow to divert south.  Iolite's gaze never left Jackob's body.  Jackob strode across the room and stopped in front of Iolite.  He placed his mouth on hers, nibbled her bottom lip, while circling her waist with his large arm and pulling her to him.Damn him! Ire surged through Kerian's veins at the sight.  He'd have to accept another male in her life, it wouldn't be right to leave her for long periods of time without contact from him.  But .  .  .  Jackob?  The kiss dragged on.  Kerian tapped his foot.  "Ahem."Jackob broke from the kiss.  "Oh yeah.  I haven't forgotten you, my proud wolf." Long legs crossed the distance in two steps, until Jackob stood close enough for his scent to fill Kerian's nose.  Jackob's nostrils flared.  "You haven't changed, babe."Heart still thundering against his ribs, Kerian arched an eyebrow.  Before he could react, Jackob reached for his head, yanking his mouth against his.Jackob's lips pressed hard against Kerian's, hot and hungry, demanding.  A thick, wet, tongue invaded Kerian's mouth, swirling over teeth and tongue, lower lip.  Sucking in a breath, Kerian set his hands on Jackob's well-chiseled chest, but his efforts to push the other wolf off died the moment he made contact.Hips bumped against Kerian's, grinding his rather large cock against Kerian's body.Jackob pulled back, captured Kerian's lower lip and nibbling with his lips, before he dragged his teeth across the other man's tongue.  Kerian tasted darkness, wild, suggestive things, still present between them.  His mind warred with his hardened body, prick throbbing, heaving between his legs.  Jackob's massive size seemed to surround Kerian's body.  The pad of Jackob's tongue slid over Kerian's lip, tracing a pattern down his jaw, as fingers tangled in his hair and tugged him into the kiss.Knees weak, Kerian didn't have to be dragged, really.  Not now anyway.Kerian sucked in a breath, setting his hands on Jackob's shoulders, and enjoyed the feeling of Jackob's canines working a path of heat down his neck and over his clavicle.  Iolite stood off in the distance, her hands wandering over her body.  Kerian saw her caressing her breasts, teasing the nipples into tight points.  God, what he wouldn't do to have those breasts in his mouth, while Jackob fucked him from behind.Kerian squeaked, feeling a pair of teeth drag across his taut nipple.  Jackob straightened and looked him in the eye.  "I thought so." He smiled, stepped back and took a bow.  He turned toward Iolite.  "Babe, I'll see you later.  Bring the pup if you want.  We'll talk about this stupid disease, and how your wolf's blood can help us."
Buy Link:  http://www.amazon.com/Torn-To-Pieces-...

REBOUND by my pal Sabrina York out in all formats! Do. Not. Miss. It!

Rebound by Sabrina York is out now in all formats!Did you miss this yummy book?Do. Not!Why?When a kiss on a dare from her long-time crush suddenly flares into something more, passion explodes.A Tryst Island Erotic Romance (Book 1)Don’t miss Book One of the Tryst Island Series. Sizzling erotic romance from award winning author Sabrina York.
Need more of a nibble? Of course, you do! When Kristi Cross realizes Cameron Jackson, her long-time crush has a thing for her,  as long as she could remember, but she knows she’s not his type. She’s nothing like the women he dates. So when he suggests they play for a kiss over a game of Hearts, Kristi can’t resist. Even if she loses, she wins. Because she’s finally going totaste him. Of course, one kiss can quickly become something altogether steamier, especially when both parties are on the rebound…#1 Amazon Best selling Erotic Romance in May Fall in Love on Tryst Island When a group of friends share a vacation house, wild hijinks, unexpected hook-ups and steamy sex ensue. And true love. Did I mention they all find true love?  About Sabrina YorkHer Royal Hotness, Sabrina York, is the award winning author of hot, humorous stories for smart and sexy readers. She has many titles available which range from sweet & sexy erotic romance to BDSM to erotic horror. Connect with her on twitter @sabrina_york, on Facebook or on Pintrest. Visit her webpage at www.sabrinayork.com to check out her books, excerpts and contests. THANK YOU!!! Sabrina YorkHer Royal Hotnesswww.SabrinaYork.com@sabrina_yorkfacebook.com/SabrinaYorkBooks