Cerise DeLand's Blog, page 51

HIS DELECTABLE COOK: in the dining room, on the kitchen table, on the floor...

I am so delighted to debut my cover for my late Regency-early Victorian, HIS DELECTABLE COOK. Don't you think this is wonderful? Lickable? Tempting?
The story stars a young woman who answers an advert for a position as cook to the new earl.
Does she know he is such a rogue?
Does she anticipate that he likes to share his women with his staff and his younger brothers?
Might our little cook relish the very idea?
You must come and learn.
No date yet for this single release. But it is in the anthology, AT YOUR SERVICE, for Total-e-bound.com to be released June 30!
Need a nibble?
Of course you do!
Copyright, Cerise DeLand 2013.

     Bess Deveraux stood before her new employer, prim as a blushing bride, which she most definitely was not, and proud as the virago she wished to become. And all because the man she faced was precisely the type of master she had yearned for since she first discovered the joys her body could give her six long years ago. He embodied all the essential qualities she desired in a lord and master: He was handsome, self-possessed, filthy rich and scandal-ridden. At the moment, he was also astonished at her appearance before him. The tick in his left cheek told that tale.     “Mrs O’Brien assures me you are qualified for my household.” Lord Taryn Wentworth sat, loose-boned, maddeningly louche, in a large leather chair examining her from across his sun-dappled library. Betty flushed with pride at her accomplishment to jump the gauntlet of the acerbic housekeeper and appear before him as the woman’s choice for the cook’s position. The servant had riddled her with questions for hours about her previous experience and her employers.   “She informs me you are experienced with supper parties and balls.” One long well-muscled leg across the other, Wentworth pursed his full lips together as his searing sapphire eyes assessed her chin, her throat and her bosom in the cook’s shapeless white attire.   At his gravelly base voice, Betty refrained from shifting on her feet as her nipples peaked high and hard against the rough cotton of her new uniform. She was so right not to have donned a corset this morning. Nor worn any pantalets. After all, she had taken this position to be free of all social restraints.   “Betty!” Mrs. O’Brien chastised her to respond to the man who had recently inherited this Mayfair house, an older pile in Dorset, an earldom and twenty thousand a year income. “Do answer his lordship.”   Betty locked eyes with him, the rogue. “I was not aware it was a question.”   “Careful, girl,” O’Brien growled.   Betty caught his lordship fighting a smile. “Yes, of course. Pardon me, Went— “ No, not so familiar, Bess! “Sorry, my lord. I am very accomplished at preparing party menus. Game, beef, puddings.”   “Red snapper?”   Betty suppressed a chuckle at his lewd reference. How like the scoundrel to try to make her laugh. “I have it on good authority that my fish is superbly prepared. Always in a savoury sauce.”   He rubbed his lower lip with the tip of one index finger. “How are your sweet things?”   When properly prepared? “They melt in your mouth.”   “Tempting,” he conceded with a tour of her body from generous breasts to tiny waist and the length of her legs. She had heard his eyes could scald and titillate. Her cunny swelled with the proof. “And what of your cakes? Do you work with chocolate?”   “I can bake one for you, my lord.”   “Frosted?”    Irritable and commanding this morning, are we, my lord Wentworth? Hmm. “Of course. Marzipan. Vanilla glaze. Whatever you—“   “What do you do with strawberries? Peaches?”   The devil. Her nipples pebbled like strawberries. Eager to have those luscious lips of his sucking them. And her peaches? She squeezed her pussy walls together. Yes. Her peaches were plump and ready to be bitten into. “Such delicacies, I offer ripe and sugared with—”   “Ices?” he cut her off with a narrowing of his sparkling eyes and a shift in his chair.   Uncomfortable, my lord?  This is your fault, you realize. You did ask. “Yes. Sculptured, my lord. Swans, birds and—“   “I see,” he said though what he was looking at was her nipples peaking against the muslin uniform.    “Where did you learn to carve ice?”   “In the house where I grew up, my dearest friend was the cook.”   His cool façade fell from his face at hearing this tidbit. “Was your friend, the sculptress, also expert with her dishes?”   “A fine chef, my lord. My father became enchanted with her finesse and claimed no one could make a soufflé that compared. I learned much from her.”   “Such as?”   Ah. You taunt me at your own risk, Wentworth. “She declared if one fed a man what he loved, he would return, hungry forevermore.”   “Astute of her.” He, over the shock of gazing at her heart-shaped face and limpid eyes, grew more relaxed. Even jovial.    “True, my lord.” Betty rocked back on her heels, bolder now that she had him in conversation. “She was most particular instructing me on how to prepare any organ from a large animal, most especially his brain.”   He arched a brow at her. “For example, what?”   “How to tenderize a big piece of meat.” She used her hands illustrating her passion to pull and draw on one specific part of a male animal.    O’Brien cleared her throat.   Betty clasped her hands behind her back, rising on her toes and thrusting out her heavy breasts. “I roast a succulent duck, as well. Do you like duck, my lord?”   “I appreciate all things succulent, Betty.” He flashed a smile at her, a rueful twitch of that libertine’s mouth. One Bess had to trace and taste very soon. “Leave us, Mrs. O’Brien.”   “My lord, I depart here in the morning for the house in Dorset as you requested,” the housekeeper bit off her words, miffed at her dismissal from this interview, “but I have not yet discussed the menu with her for tomorrow evening and with a new butler and footman—“   “I will tell her what to serve.” Wentworth waved the woman toward the door, though his gaze locked on Betty’s. “She will inform you after I am done with her. You may go to your duties, Mrs. O’Brien.”

Downloading books for free? What do these robbers gain?

Three hundred million Euros. Approximately $270 million.
Yes.
That is how much money piracy in Spain amounts to, according to a recent analysis there.
In the United States, currently the total reaches an astonishing $3 billion.  (See: http://venturebeat.com/2010/03/02/book-piracy-costs-u-s-publishers-3b-says-study/ )
Yes, B for billion.
But in my own pocket, or I should say out of it, I see an OUCH factor that amounts to THOUSANDS of dollars.
THOUSANDS.
I am not alone.
So many of my friends/colleagues have the same problem.  Whenever one person downloads one novel, they steal approximately $1.50+ from me. If they then email that book to someone else, the amount multiplies.
Now, I can say that I write for a living. My colleagues do too.
Recently, I saw that one book of my novels on one pirate site had been downloaded 496 times. (And I have sent take down notices to this site before, so they have robbed me multiple times!) So for that one book, I have been robbed of $744.00.
That is not chicken feed.
What could I do with that money?
Pay my grocery bill. Help pay my mortgage. Save it in my bank account for my old age.
What did the thief do with the $3.99 he/she deprived me of?
Buy a bag of chips?
Buy a new mascara in the dime store?
Reading a novel is one of the most inexpensive and long-lasting entertainments. For a very small sum, a reader gets to enjoy many hours of pleasure in a quiet, serene way. Is that not worth something more than being ripped off?????
This craziness has got to stop and the only way to do it is to write about it CONSTANTLY. To download an author's book for free is a crime. It is larceny. Theft.
I am out to catch thieves. EVERY DAY.

Today 25% off, CUFFED TO HIM, my newest in SHARING THE BILLIONAIRE altho!

OOOOUUIE! Am I thrilled to be among these fabulous authors in this new anthology from www.TOTALEBOUND.com
BUY HERE: http://www.total-e-bound.com/stb.asp
25% off Feb. 25 only!
Yes, these are all menage or multiple partner stories in SHARING THE BILLIONAIRE!
Wow.
My fave fantasy.
In my case, my gal knew her two billionaires back in the day when they were...yes, no one!
Trouble is, she was someone and she carelessly lost her standing as a hot reporter. Now she wants back into the profession, and figures the best way to do it is to profile her former two best friends.
Trouble is, these guys are recluses.
Wealthy. Hunky. Recluses!
Join me for CUFFED TO HIM.

CUFFED TO HIM, my newest in SHARING THE BILLIONAIRE altho!

OOOOUUIE! Am I thrilled to be among these fabulous authors in this new anthology from www.TOTALEBOUND.com
Yes, these are all menage or multiple partner stories in SHARING THE BILLIONAIRE!
Wow.
My fave fantasy.
In my case, my gal knew her two billionaires back in the day when they were...yes, no one!
Trouble is, she was someone and she carelessly lost her standing as a hot reporter. Now she wants back into the profession, and figures the best way to do it is to profile her former two best friends.
Trouble is, these guys are recluses.
Wealthy. Hunky. Recluses!
Join me for CUFFED TO HIM.

Want to hook up with 2 billionaires? Tomorrow it can happen in SHARING THE BILLIONAIRE antho!

Yep. Tomorrow a yummy BDSM anthology debuts, SHARING THE BILLIONAIRE. I have the honor of being among the contributors!
My story? CUFFED TO HIM. Be there.
http://total-e-bound.com

Regency gardens and…Oh hell, we all know it’s all about steamy sex.

 Okay. I’ll admit it. I’m not a fan of gardens. There are bugs and worms and (blech) dirt. Besides, foliage kind of sets my teeth on edge. (If you’ve read my horror short, Rising Green, you’ll understand why. Plants are so…quiet. And…creepy. You just can’t trust them).  But while I was working on Dark Fancy, I nearly changed my mind. James Tully, the Earl of Darlington, poses as a gardener to seduce an alluring runaway he found hiding on his estate. What James doesn’t realize is that his quarry isn’t a servant girl as he surmises. She’s a Lady. And the very Lady to whom he’s betrothed. By the time he’s figured it out, she’s run away again. (Yes. She does that.) At any rate, in the course of said seduction, James torments Helena—the girl he knows only as Eloise—with a rose, drawing such tantalizing bliss upon her body, she cannot resist his charms. It was such a fun scene to write, I started to rethink my prejudices. Can flowers actually be romantic? I wondered. I’m still not convinced. But it leads me to ask, have roses, or other flowers played a role in one of your seductions? Oh, do tell. In the meantime, here is a snippet of Dark Fancy, available February 22ndfrom Ellora’s Cave.
Dark Fancy by Sabrina YorkThe sizzling prequel to Folly When Lady Helena Eloise Simpson flees an unwanted marriage to a revolting lord, she finds refuge with James, a charming, handsome man unlike any she’s ever known. Helena concocts the perfect solution to her problem. She asks—begs—James to ruin her. Surely her betrothed will repudiate her if she is no longer pure. And if all her efforts fail and she still ends up married to a horrid man until the end of her days, she will—at least once—have known true passion. But James is not all he seems. He is, in fact, a wicked lord with a dark fancy. When Helena awakens his desire, he becomes determined to take everything she has to offer and more. No matter the cost.
An excerpt from: DARK FANCYCopyright © 2013 by Sabrina York, 2013All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing , Inc.
By reading any further you are stating you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary for you to exit this site.
 James stared at Eloise, brave, proud, innocent Eloise. He could relate to the passion in her plea. He had a sudden desire to be released from a betrothal himself. He fiddled with the corner of his napkin. “There is always the chance your betrothed won’t care if you’re ruined.” Some men did not. Her lashes fluttered. When they rose again, there was a look in her eye that sent lust coursing down his spine. It settled in his cock. “If I’m to be married to a bilious flounder of a man for the rest of my life, I should like to know passion just once. Just once, James.” “J-just once?” His voice cracked. Her smile blossomed. “Perhaps more than once.” He had to laugh, although this was clearly no laughing matter. “My dear. I would be happy to oblige.” “Excellent!” She clapped her hands with glee. Unfortunate, that, because it made her look, once again, like a little girl. But then she picked up her cup and ran her pink tongue around the rim, lapping at the wayward drops. He reached for the second bottle. She held out her cup for a refill. “You will need to show me what to do.” He almost forgot to stop pouring. Hell yes. He’d love to show her what to do. He’d love to instruct her—in elaborate detail—what, precisely, to do. Something snarled in his belly.  His palm itched. He forced down that decadent desire. Chained the beast. For God’s sake. She was an innocent, a virgin. If he opened with that card, not only would she truly be ruined, she would probably hie off to the nearest nunnery and spend the remainder of her life in seclusion. Oh, he would bed her. He would despoil and beguile her, but only in the very gentlest of fashions. But his fantasies, the darkling imagery of what he would truly like to do, simmered. “Are you…” He cleared his throat. “Are you ready for your bath?” “Heavens, yes.” Once again, she clapped her hands. The childlike gesture was off-putting since, at the moment, he was thinking of sinking his cock into her body and swallowing her moans with his mouth. But he liked her enthusiasm. It also made him desire—very deeply—to tie those hands to the bedposts. So she couldn’t clap them. Why that thought made him salivate, he didn’t know. Ah hell. Of course he knew. Despite the lust snarling through him, he managed a modicum of chivalry, although it was perfunctory at best. “I’ll fashion a curtain.” Her next words nearly unmanned him. “You don’t need to.” “I b-beg your pardon?” “You don’t need to bother with a curtain.” For a shy and demure innocent, she had something of a brazen streak. “I mean, if we’re going to…you know…” “Make love?” “Yes. If we’re going to make love, you will see me naked anyway.” A frown crossed her brow. “Won’t you?” He chuckled. “Most certainly.” “I thought so. But people are not very forthcoming when one asks about such things.” “Really?” That had not been his experience in the slightest. Then again, she was a girl. The world sought to save and protect innocence. Until it ravaged it. He did not know why he trembled as he poured the heavy buckets into the tub. He was a man of the world. Jaded and used to much more decadent fare than initiating virgins to the delights of the flesh. He should hardly be nervous about the prospect of having her. Then again, maybe it wasn’t nerves. Maybe it was just pure, seething desire. He had planned to seduce her—expected it to take hours of sweet whispers and furtive caresses.  Never in his wildest dreams could he have anticipated this—that she would gaze at him across the dinner table and politely ask him to ruin her. She was, altogether, a different kind of woman. Unlike any lover or mistress or professional girl he’d ever been with. And the prospect delighted him. He swished his fingers in the water and added another bucket of cold to balance the temperature. He didn’t want her delicate skin burned because he was in such an all-fired hurry to get her naked. “There. Perfect.” “Thank you, James.” Her voice was low, melodious. It sent a ribbon of pleasure through him. “Are you ready?” “I cannot tell you how ready.” He swallowed. Yes. He felt the same. His pulse thrummed in his temple. And elsewhere. “Milady, your bath awaits.” He gave a great flourish, his gaze firmly fixed on her. She reached for her hem and then stilled. “Could you turn around?” Disappointment raked him. “Of course.” “I’ve just never disrobed before a man before.” “I understand.” Damn. Damn, damn and damn. He turned his back. Every rustle of fabric grated on him. He wished—oh so fervently—that Babbage had a mirror. He so would have liked to watch. A small splash. He winced. His pulse pounded. God. She was in the water. Naked. She sighed. Moaned. His cock lurched. “Is it good?” His words were, at best, a strangled rumble. “Oh yes. Yes.” He had to look. He couldn’t not. The sight he beheld was exquisite. Eloise had leaned back in the water to wet her hair. Her breasts, delectable pink islands in the sea, thrust up. The nipples were fat and hard, distended. He swallowed around the tight ball in his throat. His nails scored his palms. Though he was rooted to the spot, determined to give her some modicum of privacy, his imagination ran rampant. What he wouldn’t like to do to those tempting tips. “James?” Her soft call wrenched him from a delirious fantasy. Her expression was tentative, shy, but he could see the light of determination flickering there. “Y-yes?” “Do you suppose there’s any soap?” He blinked. Soap? He had trouble interpreting the word. His mind was occupied elsewhere. “Ah. Soap.” He rummaged around in Babbage’s cupboard, cursing himself for not remembering soap. He found a thick chunk of lye soap and brought it to her. How he hated that it wasn’t something more delicate. Something lilac-scented. “Thank you.” She didn’t take his offering. Rather she peered up at him with those beautiful emerald orbs and said, “Will you wash my hair?” His breath stalled. Would he? He fell to his knees at her side—unmindful of the puddles on the plank floor—and looked at her. Her nipples pebbled even more at his perusal. His mouth watered. “James?” He dragged his attention back to her face. “Y-yes?” “My hair?” God. Yes. He made a lather and scrubbed it into her hair. It was glorious, golden, smooth and silky. He worked the soap through the strands and as he did, massaged her scalp. She closed her eyes and groaned. Thusly freed from her inspection, he allowed his attention to wander. He nearly expired when it lit on that tempting triangle of fair curls at the crux of her thighs. He imagined her touching herself there. Then imagined him touching her there. Then imagined opening her and stroking. Licking— “James?” “Huh? What?” “Are you finished? I’d like to rinse.” “Of course.” Reluctantly, he drew away. And she submerged. This time he could not resist.About Sabrina YorkSabrina is an award winning author of erotic romance with over a dozen titles available, ranging from sweet & sexy erotic romance to BDSM to erotic horror. Connect with her on twitter @sabrina_york or Facebook. Check out Sabrina’s books and read an excerpt on her webpage(www.sabrinayork.com) or explore on Amazonor at Ellora’s Cave.·   Dark Fancy: Erotic Regency·   Folly: Erotic Regency·   Adam’s Obsession: Contemporary Erotic Romance  ·   Extreme Couponing: Contemporary BDSM ·   Pushing Her Buttons: Contemporary BDSM  ·   Rising Green: Steamy Erotic horror ·   Training Tess: Contemporary BDSM  ·   Trickery: Magical Domination  ·   Tristan’s Temptation: Contemporary Erotic Romance  
Win a Tiara From Her Royal Hotness!  Don’t forget to enter to win a gorgeous tiara by signing up for Sabrina York's Royal Hotsheet. Send an email with "Enter Me" in the subject line (this is erotica, after all) to sabrina@sabrinayork.com. The drawing will be March 31, 2013. One entry per person.Tell your friends about Sabrina York, Her Royal Hotness. If they sign up for Sabrina's Hotsheet you earn another entry, plus a chance at a Referrals Only drawing for more bling. (NOTE: They must tell me that you referred them in the message box so I can give you credit). Good luck!!!

UNTIL THE DAWN, new e and print cover, hubba hubba!

http://amzn.to/VG4SGx UNTIL THE DAWN, the first in erotic romantic thriller series NEMESIS, is out in print!
And the cover?
Lickable!
Don't you agree?
This series is now hot hot hot in sales with thousands reading it. Hence, the print release. In fact, Desiree Holt and I are signing it in NEW YORK at BEA in JUNE!
Are you going?
You need a copy. I know you do!
Buy links:
http://www.ellorascave.com/until-the-dawn-1.html
http://amzn.to/VG4SGx

VICTORIA VANE debuts her new lush Georgian, TREACHEROUS TEMPTATIONS and a GIVEAWAY!

As a true-blue history geek and Georgian Junkie, I consistently seek my writing inspiration from history. This is equally true of my characters, as all of my stories incorporate both real and fictional people. In Treacherous Temptations, both Lord Hadley Blanchard and Mary Edwardes  were closely modeled after real people. The primary character I looked to for Hadley's archetype of dissolute nobleman, was the very real Philip Duke of Wharton, who lived during the same era and experienced many similar personal trials as Hadley. Philip was the only son of a very influential Whig politician, Thomas Marquess of Wharton, who died when Philip was only sixteen. Raised from the cradle to follow in his father's political footsteps, Philip was highly educated, eloquent, and notoriously witty, but left to his own devices at such a tender age, went wild. After an elopement and subsequent failed marriage, Philip began his Continental travels, during which time he met the exiled "Pretender" and developed strong Jacobite leanings. Philip, duke of WhartonBecause Philip was such a popular figure of his time— wealthy and tiled, and an eloquent and powerful orator and writer, George II attempted to win back his allegiance by raising him to a dukedom. Philip was only 19! Unfortunately, he was as profligate as he was talented, and soon ran into financial difficulties which he attempted to resolve by selling his Irish estates and investing all of his capital into South Sea stocks. When the bubble burst, he was completely ruined, and once more went abroad where he subsequently slipped into a completely dissolute life. Philip died tragically of alcoholism at a remote Spanish monastery. He was only thirty three.As depicted in my fictional story, the real character of Mary Edwardes was also tied to the South Sea company. In her case, however, her commoner father had made a fortune leaving Mary one of the wealthiest women in England with an income estimated at fifty thousand pounds per year. The real Mary also made a bad marriage— to a profligate nobleman but rather than suffer in silence, chose to take matters into her own hands by choosing the stigma of illegitimacy in order to protect the inheritance of their infant son. Mary EdwardesBecause the couple had been wed in an "irregular" Fleet wedding, it was no great difficulty for her to have their marriage records destroyed. She then baptized her son under her maiden name, claiming that she was only the mistress and not the wife of her noble husband. Her scheme worked. Mary protected her fortune for her son, became a noted patron of the arts, and never re-wed.After reading of these two people who had less-than-happy endings, I was also inspired take matters into my own hands by re-writing their histories. Although their road to happiness is twisted with treachery, the fictional counterparts of Philip and Mary do eventually find their happy-ever-after. This is romance after all!MY GIVEAWAY:Winner's choice of any e-book from my backlist
ABOUT VICTORIA VANE A lover of history and deeply romantic stories, Victoria combines these elements to craft romantic historical novels and novellas for a mature reading audience. Her writing influences are Georgette Heyer for fabulous witty dialogue and over the top characters, Robin Schone, Sylvia Day, and Charlotte Featherstone for beautifully crafted prose in stories with deep sensuality, and Lila DiPasqua for creative vision in melding history with eroticism.
AWARDS & ACCOLADES 2012:
THE DEVIL DEVERE SERIES Library Journal Best E-Book Romance 2012
LR Cafe Best Series Nominee 2012
A Wild Night's Bride 
• Night Owl Reviews Top Pick 
• Amazon Top 100 Best seller 
The Virgin Huntress 
• Night Owl Reviews Top Pick
The Devil You Know 
• Night Owl Reviews Top Pick
• The Romance Reviews Top Pick
• LR Café Best Historical Romance nominee 2012
The Devil's Match 
• Night Owl Reviews Top Pick
• The Romance Reviews Top Pick
• LASR Reviews Book of the Month December 2012
• Swept Away by Romance Best Historical Romance of 2012
• LR Café Best Author Nominee 2012
• Swept Away by Romance Favorite Author 2012
A Breach of Promise  • Night Owl Reviews “Top Pick”
• Reading Romances 5 flames and “Pen Award” 
• TBR Pile 5stars/Book of the month winner September 2012
• LASR Erotic Reviews 5 STAR/Book of the Month Nominee
• The Romance Studio 5 Sweetheart Nominee
• TRS CAPA Nominee 2012 
CONTACT:
victoria.vane@hotmail.com
Web: http://authorvictoriavane.com
Blog: http://victoriavane.wordpress.com
Twitter: @authorvictoriav

VALENTINO's DELIGHT, Cerise DeLand's BE MINE!

http://amzn.to/VCiq8l
Why shouldn’t an eligible man like Jason Sherwood plan a Valentine’s Day merger with a woman whose elegant body melted at his touch last year on February fourteenth? A mysterious woman who disappeared like a wraith. A vibrant creature who came apart in his arms like only the right woman does for the right man.
But Mara Richardson left Jason for a good reason…and after a year of looking for her, he still doesn’t know why. But he has to learn. Has to get her naked, wild for him again. Give her those little sugary candies that say, Be Mine, and show her that, despite only hours with her last year, he needs her to be his. Forever.
Excerpt, Copyright Cerise DeLand 2012, All rights reserved.A sharp knock at the door had her jumping. She glanced at her watch. Two o’clock. Time enough to listen, dicker and still catch her plane. Mr. Capitol Communications better have a swell counter-offer or we’re both dead meat.She swung open the door. “Hello, Mister–“Her throat closed. Her heart pounded. Her nipples beaded reminiscent of that night when that savage hungry mouth had shaped them and sucked them. Her pussy gushed, memories consumed her of how this man had used those firm lips to lick her clit and give her the best screaming orgasm of her entire life.“Sherwood, Mara. Jason Sherwood,” said the incomparable creature outside her door. His blue eyes wore an appealing apologetic look. His mouth tried for a smile but couldn’t quite make it. He was nervous. He was apprehensive. He was so very damn good looking. And he was determined to come in. “May I?” He nodded toward the conference room. “I brought some things. Hungry? I am.”She stepped backward. For a former press aide who ate journalists for breakfast and a media trainer who taught people how to tick off talking points like time bombs, she was for once in her lonely life utterly speechless.And the only thing she cared to do was look at him. Absorb him into her skin. Treasure him.His sea blue eyes. His sun-kissed hair. Wet from snow. His pink cheeks. Chapped from the icy wind. His comforting height. Five, maybe six inches taller than she. And stepping right up to her, drinking in her confusion and her delight at his sudden appearance, growing confident now. Grinning down at her.“Hi, baby,” he whispered, one big fist sinking into her chignon and destroying it. “I missed you something fierce. Let me kiss you. Now that I’ve found you, I’m not letting you go until we know so much about each other, you’ll either hate me or never leave me again.”

Tracey Devlyn brings her new CHECKMATE, MY LORD

Checkmate, My Lord is set in 1804 England and is the second book in my Nexus series. The series is about a group of international spies trying to stop the French from consuming Europe and England. The hero in Checkmate is Sebastian Danvers, Lord Somerton. As the a spymaster and Chief of the Nexus, he has learned to trust no one. But his managing neighbor, Catherine Ashcroft, gives him a glimpse of what his life could have been had he not put his country before all else. If only he could figure out why a respectable mother and widow living in the country would put her reputation on the line for a few nights in his bed…
“I believe you wanted to see these.” Catherine held out a packet of letters, tied together with a black ribbon. The ribbon trembled.“Thank you.” He studied her face as he accepted the bundle, but her even features gave nothing away. “I know how hard it must be to share your private correspondence.”“Yes, but worth it if they help you find my husband’s murderer.” She swallowed. “Did you learn anything from the others I gave you?” She turned the full force of those beautiful eyes on him.“Unfortunately, no.” He held up the new stash. “We need to decipher these in order to fully understand Ashcroft’s message.”“I see.”“Tell me, Mrs. Ashcroft.” He stepped closer, his gaze sliding over the delicate contours of her face. “What will you do if it’s decided that your husband’s death was an unfortunate case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time?”Her eyes widened a fraction, but her answer came swift and determined. “I’ll take the letters to someone else.”Sebastian’s body went hard. Desire like nothing he had ever felt before rushed through his veins. Not for the first time, he wondered what it would be like to have such a fierce champion. “Are you this loyal to everyone you care about?”“What can you mean, sir?” she asked. “Would you not do the same for a wife?”“I have never been married, madam. Therefore, I cannot answer your question.” Closer now, he drew in a long, slow breath until her scent drenched his senses. Tantalizing and fresh. Understated, yet feminine. His chest expanded around another deep inhalation. “But I find I like the idea of a wife defending my cause. No matter the obstacles placed in her path.”“You make me sound heroic.” She folded her hands in front of her. “I assure you, I am not. Merely practical.”He studied the pulse point on her slender throat, noted its frantic rhythm. Blood streamed into his extremities. “I don’t believe you. My tenants provided several testimonials yesterday that would make you eligible for sainthood.”“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said in a breathless voice. “Unlike your tenants, I had nothing to lose by holding Mr. Blake accountable for his actions.”“Yes, Mrs. Ashcroft.” He raised his hand and brushed the backs of his fingers along the curve of her neck. “Unlike you, not everyone would have bothered to right the injustice.”“M-­my, lord, what are you doing?”He settled a hand on her waist, bringing their bodies closer together. His gaze transfixed on her lush full lips. Lips that would mold to his in an exquisite embrace. His insides curled into a tight knot of anticipation. He shouldn’t want her, his agent’s widow, but he did, with staggering force. Ashcroft’s final request faded behind his fevered desire.It was then he knew she was in danger. And perhaps so was he.
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