Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 298

Love wolves? Try LONG HOWL GOOD NIGHT!

Ready for another Night Fall tale? Love werewolves? Well, maybe you’ll want to give Long Howl Good Night a try! It’s set in the Night Fall world, but outside my vamp/were timeline, so it works well as a standalone. You honestly don’t have to read any other story in the series to enjoy this. It’s set back on Dark Mountain in North Carolina, a place I visited in Night Fall on Dark Mountain. Fertile were-lassies are rare and highly prized. Therein lies my heroine’s dilemma. She doesn’t want to be wanted for her ovaries alone. Admittedly, the story is a sex-fest. But with handsome, droolworthy were-males, that’s okay, right? Enjoy!

Long Howl Good Night

Werewolf Aila Mack is ready to get her groove on during a full moon. Because she prefers to keep her liaisons strictly about the sex, she’s a part-time were-hooker. She’s had a taste of were-domination, but now prefers to be in charge of her own destiny.

Brothers Kynan and Jack Parker are on a mission. When their Dark Mountain clan finds an agency dealing in female werewolves, they aren’t happy learning that women are selling their bodies to satisfy their monthly howl. However, they have to take action once they discover there’s a fertile female in the agency’s stable. Their species is in dire need of breedable females.

Kynan and Jack are given the job of bringing home their mate, but they quickly discover there’s more going on beneath the surface than simply a stubborn female who refuses to be collared. Aila’s tempted like never before, as the brothers, one gentle and one fiercely intense, peel away the hard shell surrounding her Wolfen heart.

Get your copy here!

Excerpt from Long Howl Good Night …

With a shake of her head, Aila Mack tousled her curls then gave her mouth one last swipe of lipstick. Nothing spelled “hooker” quite like cherry-red lipstick and a skirt so short a sneeze would show off the half-moons of her ass.

And that’s exactly what she was—for this weekend, anyway. As tawdry as that sounded, some things couldn’t be left to Mother Nature. Not if she wanted to maintain the life she’d fought so hard to live. Sure, working as an executive assistant to bank manager wasn’t what she’d dreamed of when she was younger, but the job paid her bills, and living hidden among humans kept her free.

She stepped out of her car, tugged down the hem of her black skirt, and vamped to the door of the mountain cabin where she’d been directed by the agency.

Light glared around the edges of the curtains; smoke billowed from the chimney. The remoteness of this particular client didn’t worry her. If things got a little rough, they could easily take the action out of doors.

After shooting one last glance around the moonlit clearing, she took a deep breath and knocked.

The heavy tread of a man’s footsteps sounded on the other side, and the door swung open. Aila glanced up…and up…locking gazes with one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen—not handsome in a pretty-boy way, but his angular, hard-edged features appealed like no other’s she’d ever seen.

Coal-black hair was brushed back from his forehead and fell well past his shoulders. Chilly blue eyes gleamed as his gaze slowly raked her body. A broad, muscular chest above lean hips and powerful thighs made her hopeful that, this time, she’d find her own pleasure in the mating. She was almost envious of the soft chambray shirt and wash-softened blue jeans that hugged his large frame.

He shifted to the side and silently waved her into the room.

All that brawn. Mmm-mm.

She wished he wouldn’t speak and ruin it.

Aila walked inside, set her purse on a table next to the door, and studied the rugged log walls and heavy, masculine furnishings. They suited the man.

“Any trouble findin’ us?” he asked, his deep voice softened by a Southern drawl that rasped across her skin like a caress.

Then she realized what he’d just said. Her head swung toward him. “Us?” she asked, her voice rising.

His frosty eyes narrowed. “My brother and I contracted you for the weekend.”

Her heart began to thud against her chest. “I wasn’t told there’d be more than one client. This’ll cost more.” Wear and tear from one lusty animal was bad enough.

His lips twisted, but he gave a sharp nod. “Come into the kitchen. Kynan’s makin’ dinner. Have you already eaten?”

“I’m not hungry,” she said, half tempted back toward the door and make a hasty escape.

His mouth stretched into a predatory smile that bared his white teeth. “Not hungry? Now, that’d be a waste, sugar.”

She snorted. How like a wolf…

Still, a job was a job, and she needed the hookup for more than the money. The full moon crept slowly across the sky, pulling her libido along in its wake and making it hard to concentrate when a healthy, attractive male was within arm’s length. She drew in his spicy scent and let the unique smell of his lupine pheromones feed the arousal burgeoning between her thighs. A crude reminder of the one part of her life she hadn’t been able to replace in the human world.

What would happen tonight wasn’t any mystery, but she didn’t have to end the chase at first scent. She wouldn’t offer him that satisfaction.

Without giving him another glance, she rolled her hips side to side, followed the unmistakable sound of a knife thudding against a cutting board, and left the hungry male growling in her wake.

 

Jack Parker blew a silent whistle and followed the woman who looked like any wolf’s wet dream into the kitchen. The skirt hugged her bottom lovingly, rising and dipping with every step, teasing him with a shadowy hint of cheek.

Since he’d already seen a picture on the website, he’d known the blonde was pretty, but he hadn’t expected her body to rate a ten on the heart attack scale. Heavy breasts, a slender waist, and best of all, long, sleek legs, shimmering with a light application of lotion that teased him with an image of those strong thighs clutching his waist while he fucked her.

Hell, just the scent of her feminine musk alone, not masked by any perfume, was enough to make him as hard as a tree trunk.

She halted at the kitchen door, and he cupped the notches of her hips to steady her as he plowed into her backside. “Whoa, there,” he murmured against her hair, giving her a nudge. “Didn’t want to run you down.”

Her head turned, tilting upward. Her sharp green gaze narrowed.

But he didn’t remove his hands. He’d paid good money to touch that hot little behind. His gaze lifted to Kynan, who stuck the knife into the butcher board then stood with a dishtowel over his bare shoulder and his jeans-clad hip cocked against the counter.

Kynan’s gaze ran slowly down then right back up the woman’s brick-house body. His brother seemed every bit as mesmerized as he’d been at first sight. That was, until he felt the chill of her frosty demeanor. Weren’t whores supposed to be friendly?

“Might help break the ice,” Jack murmured into her ear, “if you told us your name.”

“You can call me Aila,” she said, still sounding huffy.

“That your real name?”

“It’s what I’ll answer to.”

One of Kynan’s brown brows arched. “I’ll answer to Kynan.”

“And you can call me Jack,” he said, squeezing her hips and rubbing his dick against her backside again.

Her spine stiffened like a poker, which only made him grin. He hadn’t realized it until that moment, but he didn’t mind she wasn’t the friendliest bitch he’d ever met. He liked a woman with a bit of fire in her. Made the inevitable surrender all the sweeter.

He nuzzled her ear and followed when she bent her neck away.

“I just got here,” she bit out.

“Why waste a minute?” he drawled, giving her drumming pulse a lick. “Clock’s tickin’. Want my grand’s worth out of your hide.”

Kynan cleared his throat, no doubt wondering why he was acting like such an ass.

Jack couldn’t have put his reasons into words even if he’d wanted to. Everything about the woman sparked all his cylinders. His intense attraction complicated things. He didn’t want to think too much about what she felt, what she wanted. He wanted to lose himself inside her. She didn’t deserve more from him—and she shouldn’t expect it. Not selling herself as she was.

The thought of any she-wolf resorting to prostitution to hook up with a male during the full moon made him feel slightly sick. Aila could be his sister. He’d be furious if he ever caught Deirdre doing something as dangerous as this.

He pulled her in closer, smoothing his hands down her sides then up again, while he ground his thickening cock against her soft backside. A growl rumbled at the back of his throat.

Kynan reached out and snapped the towel at his shoulder. “Give her room to breathe. We have all weekend to get to know each other.” The sly arch of his brother’s brow said they had the weekend to turn Aila inside out and make her wish for a pack to provide for her needs on a full-time basis.

Lone bitches fought the natural order of things but always succumbed to hormones in the end. Independence wasn’t all it was cracked up to be in the harsh reality of a sterile human world.

Jack bit her shoulder then pushed her from him.

She whirled and wobbled on her tall heels, a fierce scowl screwing up her features.

Kynan moved in to steady her with an arm around her waist. “Easy there,” he said, his voice soothing her. “We don’t want you hurt.”

“Afraid you won’t get your grand’s worth?” she snarled.

“No,” Kynan said slowly. “I don’t want you hurt.”

Her gaze locked with Kynan’s, and Jack felt satisfaction warm him. Kynan could be her friend and make love to her.

He’d be the one to challenge her and fuck her brains out.

They had the plan all worked out. They’d have her every way a man or a wolf could. They’d remind her of what was missing from her day-to-day existence. A life among humans, dating men who politely asked her to open her legs, couldn’t compare to existence among a pack where she would be protected, her every need fulfilled.

A wolf promised a bitch so much more than respect. He’d give her what she needed. What she craved. Make her love it. Beg for it.

Jack rubbed his dick through his jeans and followed the other two into the living room.

“Any problems findin’ us?” Kynan asked.

Jack grinned. He’d asked her that same exact question before, but she hadn’t answered. Did she know how close to Wolfen territory she’d strayed?

Aila aimed a glare his way then forced a smile for his brother. “No, the agency’s directions were clear.”

“Was it a long way to come?”

Suspicion darkened her expression, and her gaze narrowed—this time on Kynan. “I didn’t tell you where I started, but it’s why you’re paying mileage, too.”

Since he didn’t want Kynan being the bad wolf, Jack snorted, hoping to distract her. “Everything has a price?”

Her chin lifted, but her expression turned from hard to sultry in under a second, making his lust quicken. “Some things are all-inclusive,” she said, her voice husky. “I won’t make you choose an act from a menu.”

He licked his lips. “We can do pretty much what we want?”

“So long as I can walk out of here on my own on Monday.”

Jack’s chest lifted around a deep inhalation. He dragged her sweet scent deeper, letting it curl inside his chest. “That leaves us a lot of room.”

Her lush mouth pouted. “Let’s not pretend I‘m fragile.”

He barely suppressed a deep, rough growl. He wished he could dip down and smother those lips, but he held back, knowing the trap was already set. Instead, he would savor watching her fall under their complete control. “What’s the matter? Human boyfriends not rough enough?”

Her lips tightened into a thin, stubborn line. Apparently, her life outside this cabin wasn’t up for discussion.

Kynan raked a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. “How about a drink before we get to know each other?”

“Sure,” Aila said, turning her body toward Kynan in a gesture meant to tell Jack she was ignoring him for the moment.

Fine with him. Meant he could look his fill without having to do it politely from the corners of his eyes as Kynan was.

Kynan might be playing nice, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t just as ready to jump her bones, too.

The moon was rising high, and Jack felt the elemental pull. Testosterone spiked, hardening his body. Blood surged, filling his cock, readying him for a rut.

By the sharp edges of Kynan’s cheeks, he had to be feeling it, too. Kynan’s brown eyes darkened and swept down the woman’s body again. This time, it wasn’t a subtle glance.

Yeah, Kynan had to be every bit as hungry as Jack was to take Aila to the floor and ruffle her spiky fur.

Kynan crossed to the bar and opened the fridge, returning with a glass of red wine for Aila and a beer for Jack. Then he snagged another beer between two fingers, and a napkin, before taking a seat on the couch beside the woman.

Jack sat in a deep leather armchair, content for the moment to watch. His gaze slid from her shoulders to her ass, noting how her skirt had ridden up beneath her. He couldn’t help a smirk that lifted one side of his mouth. Her bare bottom had to be warming the leather couch. He’d noted the narrow bands of a thong at her hips when he’d felt her up.

He wondered how strong the moon tugged at her arousal and whether she was wet. Some women, barren women, could resist the monthly curse. A wolf was lucky when he found one ready for a howling.

Kynan handed Aila the napkin with a slight smile, and her eyelids dipped for just a second before she blotted away her red lipstick. How did his brother do that? Get her to follow his instructions without even saying a word?

Jack drew on his beer, trying to catch the train of the conversation. She was relaxing at last, sitting back against the couch instead of looking ready to bolt for the door. What had Kynan just said to her?

“How did you find the agency in the first place? It’s not like they advertise,” he asked her.

Aila waved a hand. “A friend of a friend. She told me there was another way to live.”

“So, you hire out to strange men?”

Her expression remained neutral. “Once a month, yeah.”

“Do you take repeats?”

She shook her head. “Never. I don’t want a relationship. I’m not looking for a pack. This is less…messy.”

Kynan’s brows lowered. “But it’s dangerous.”

“Howl at the Moon is pretty exclusive, and as Jack, there, probably found out,” she said, darting a hard glance his way, “membership isn’t an easy thing to land. They do background and credit checks—and they keep track of the girls. Expect a call sometime during the weekend. They’ll want to talk to me to make sure everything’s fine.”

Kynan glanced at Jack, giving a subtle blink of his eyes.

Jack didn’t know whether to believe her or not, but it didn’t really matter. By the time the agency dispatched someone to find them they’d be long gone.

Sliding his arms along the cool leather arms, he propped his feet on the coffee table and crossed them, pretending to relax while he studied the woman whose life he was about to change forever.

 

Adriana Kraft: How old should an erotic romance hero be?

For those who don’t know, Adriana Kraft is the pen name under which my husband and I write erotic romance, among other things. Baby boomers ourselves, we often feature characters in their 40s, 50s, and even 60s and beyond. If that’s not what trips your trigger, this book isn’t for you – but, with any luck, all of us will reach these ages eventually, and we hope our readers do so with vim, vigor, and yes, a vibrant and active sex life. We like to think some of our characters can light the way.

Zachary Cullen is just such a character. Here are some snippets about him from our heroine’s point of view:

Not for the first time, Josie wondered why the highly successful fifty-something entrepreneur invested so much time and money trying to find the next Broadway star…

Lost in her own thoughts, Josie startled at the gravelly sound of Zach’s deep voice. It was that slow, strong drawl that had appealed to her since the first time they’d met. That, and his burning eyes that seemed capable of peering into her soul…

She had to admit his broad shoulders and tapered hips triggered her own lusty imagination. Damn. She hated the fact that she had difficulty ignoring his manliness, and he never even looked at her as a woman. Apparently, he only saw her as a conduit for helping his protégés advance their careers.

A Woman for Zachary

Meghan’s Playhouse, Book Two

Four Flames: Explicit sex, MF, FF; Ménage, FFM, FMF

Erotic Romance: 26,000 words

Extasy Books: August 4, 2017

BUY LINKS: http://www.extasybooks.com/a-woman-for-zachary/

It’s New York! Broadway beckons, but Meg has more fun keeping an erotic triangle going with her current flame, Zach Cullen, and her drama coach, Josie Patrice.

Zachary Cullen has ignored Josette Patrice’s overtures for years, but she agrees to take on his latest protégé-slash-arm-candy Meghan Keenan in her off-Broadway workshop theater. Though the girl has incredible talent, Josie would stake her reputation on that little thing being a switch-hitter, like herself, and she doesn’t want Zach to be duped. Josie sets out to seduce Meg and expose her for what she is, but all bets are off when Meg turns the tables on Josie to hook her up with Zach.

EXCERPT

Josie was shaking her head back and forth before Zach finished speaking. “That’s not enough.”

Zach closed the distance between the two of them.

She pressed her back against the wall, and he placed his palms against it, framing her head. She licked her lips.

What was he doing? She’d imagined him being this close countless times, but not in this way. Not in anger. Not struggling with his sense of fairness over sharing another woman. She kept her arms locked at her sides.

“That’s exactly what Meg said. What is enough? Do we draw lots for her?”

Josie shook her head.

“Maybe I can have her even days of the month and you odd days.”

“That might work.” Josie could hardly breathe. Zach’s male scent was overpowering. She’d agree to almost anything, if he just stayed where he was. She should be afraid of him, but she wasn’t. This was a man she’d known for a decade. He might be very angry, even deeply pained, but he wouldn’t hurt her—at least not physically.

“It works for parking cars in the winter. It’s a beginning, I guess.” His eyes darkened with a passion she couldn’t decipher. She watched his eyes shut and re-open.

And then his mouth was crushing against hers. She tried to breathe through her nostrils. His muffled groans filled her mouth. Tentatively, she lifted her hands to his shoulders. It was as if he was in a trance. She sighed and pulled him closer. Maybe she was, too.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Winner of the 2014 Bisexual Book Award for erotic fiction, author Adriana Kraft is a married couple writing Sizzling Romantic Suspense and Erotic Romance for Two, Three, or More.

One man, one woman, danger and intrigue – always a happy ending, but oh, what a ride! Readers can count on our Romantic Suspense line for “warmth, blazing hot sex, and well-developed characters” (Romance Junkies Reviews) as our hero and heroine battle outer threats and inner demons to stay alive and fall in love.

A man, a woman (or two), or another man, threesomes, foursomes, what’s your fantasy? We write our Erotic Romance stories to entertain, of course, but most of all we write them because we believe in happy endings for all who fall in love, whatever their gender, sexual orientation or numerical combination. Here you’ll find multiple partners, three-way, four-way and more, swing lifestyle, lesbian, bisexual, ménage and polyamory, in both contemporary and paranormal settings: “scorching hot…refreshing…something to read when you want straight up hotness” (Long and Short Reviews)

Together we have published more than forty romance novels and novellas to outstanding reviews. We love hearing from readers at adrianakraft99@yahoo.com, and here is our website:

When It’s Time to Heat Things Up http://adrianakraft.com

SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:

Blog: http://www.adrianakraft.com/blog

FaceBook Page http://www.facebook.com/pages/Adriana-Kraft/182846025133440

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GoodReads http://www.goodreads.com/author/list/1578571.Adriana_Kraft

Newsletter http://eepurl.com/uRvCr

Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.com/author/adrianakraft

Google+ https://plus.google.com/102791537641895264573/posts

Cailin Briste: Price Drop! It Takes a Cat Burglar 99¢ – a thief in love suspense romance!

It Takes a Cat Burglar is now $0.99 permanently. That’s right, the price drop is here to stay. It’s available now at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iBooks, Google Play, and Kobo.

It Takes a Cat Burglar: A Thief in Love Suspense Romance

By Cailin Briste

Buy Now: https://books2read.com/cat-burglar

Add it on Goodreads.

When Darcelle Lebeau throws off the invisible chains that keep her bound to her family, she discovers a new vocation. Tempted to enter the illegal playground of a man she nicknames Matou, she becomes a cat burglar in training. Deeply ensnared with each task he entices her to fulfill, she fails to discover his identity and true intentions.

Sebastian St. Croix, a wealthy businessman, has a dark side. He’s a thief, a cat burglar who steals art and historical objects. For one year, he trains Darcelle to become his assistant, remaining incognito, observing her from afar. His admiration grows along with his desire for her with every phase-one challenge she completes. Phase two will test the limits of his control. Hands-on personal training? Yes. Sex? No. With his sister’s happiness at stake, nothing, not even the tempting Darcelle Lebeau, can interfere with accomplishing the biggest break-in of his career.

Excerpt:

DARCELLE STEELED HERSELF before entering the study. She’d been shocked to discover her own clothes laid out for her. This stranger had insinuated himself deep into her life, and she was determined to find out why.

He was seated at a large desk, hands behind his head, long legs stretched before him, and feet propped on the desktop. Arrogant man. Before her strides brought her to stand across from him, he pointed at a chair positioned at an angle to the desk. It was straight in line with his gaze, so he could study her at his ease.

“Sit there.” He returned his hands to the back of his head.

Darcelle ignored the command, stopping at the edge of the desk. “Who are you?”

A glimmer of heat flashed. “If you want your questions answered, you will sit. Do not defy me. There will be consequences.”

Unmoved by the threat, she pressed her lips in a tight line and narrowed her eyes. If it was a battle of wills he wanted, she’d be happy to oblige.

He stared pointedly at her. “Do you want answers?”

She balled her hands into fists. He had her. Without looking at him, she sat.

“Good girl.”

She shot her gaze up to him. Gods. I’d like to wipe that smirk from your face. Or kiss it away. What the hell was wrong with her? She should look out for herself not sink deeper under his thrall.

He abruptly dropped his feet to the floor and sat forward, his gaze aimed so sharply at her that she jerked back.

“There’s a price for my services. It’s time for you to pay.”

Buy Now: https://books2read.com/cat-burglar

About Cailin

Cailin has been writing fiction for six years and non-fiction for two decades. Her non-fiction work has been published in magazines and in a non-fiction anthology. She’s a member of Romance Writers of America, the RWA Fantasy, Futuristic and Paranormal Chapter, and the RWA Passionate Ink Chapter.

Cailin likes to flip convention on its head, creating a universe in which each planet is a study in different what ifs. What would happen to alpha men on a matriarchal planet? How would society handle it if girls born on their new planet developed empathic senses?

She is currently writing the third book in her Sons of Tallav sci-fi erotic romance series. Shane: Marshal of Tallav and Maon: Marshal of Tallav were released in 2016 by Loose Id. Educated by the Master, a Sons of Tallav novella, will be released in October in the Cosmic Love Cabaret anthology.

For information about Cailin’s new releases, sale prices, and giveaways, sign up for her newsletter.

Social Media Links:

Website http://cailinbriste.com/

Blog http://cailinbriste.com/category/all-posts/ 

Street Team http://cailinbriste.com/cailins-street-team/

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Bookbub Author Page https://www.bookbub.com/authors/cailin-briste

Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.com/Cailin-Briste/e/B00GSX9QVW

Witches are coming!

I’m ready to write some more witches. Are you ready to read ’em? I had this little series started for Samhain before they closed their doors, and I never got a chance to finish it. I have the first two of five books written. So, if you haven’t already read them, you can start here—well, on September 14th, anyway! Read the opening of this story to get a flavor of my witches.

Once in a Blue Moon

In Jefferson Parish, deep in the bayou, is a place called Bonne Nuit. Off the beaten path, isolated by swamp and connected to the sea, there the Beaux Rêve Coven thrives. Five witches… Too many demons to count…

Bryn Cavanaugh and her coven like that the community they live in is isolated thanks to a storm that destroyed the bridge between them and the outside world. Now the state wants the bridge rebuilt. When the construction crew checks into the inn, Bryn begins to suspect something about the crew’s boss isn’t quite…human.

Bridges are Ethan Thorne’s thing–after all, he’s a troll—so building a simple span over a remote canal in backwater Louisiana shouldn’t be this much of a problem. When he follows the pretty little innkeeper to a midnight rendezvous, he discovers why his crew keeps running into trouble. Bryn’s a witch, and her coven is casting spells in the moonlight.

As a troll, Ethan feels the sting of his low place in demon hierarchy. But finding an unprotected coven of witches in the middle of the bayou could lead to all sorts of adventure. And it is better to keep your enemies close…

Pre-order your copy here!

Read an excerpt from Once in a Blue Moon…

Bryn Cavanaugh stirred the contents of a large black pot, breathing in the rich aromas scenting the air.

“With your blessings, come weal and bounty,

With our efforts, come fortunes plenty.”

The spell was short and to the point. She doubted the Powers That Be felt slighted. The Beaux Rêve women worked damn hard and never took their blessings for granted.

She dipped a spoon into the broth and tasted it, closing her eyes as she sampled the spicy mix. “Delicious.”

She turned off the flame beneath the large pot of shrimp gumbo she’d begun the night before. For now, it could steep in its fragrant roux. When she returned, she’d light the burner again to let it simmer slowly until it was ready for tonight when her sisters gathered for the evening meal. Satisfied, Bryn left her large, airy kitchen and headed toward the front door of the inn.

Cooking the large stew had been time-consuming. A task that had taken her mind off the trouble that was brewing. Today, the sisters faced enemies, and she was determined to remain calm, study their adversaries and determine their weaknesses while smothering the interlopers with kindness. Her totem was the rabbit, a symbol of abundance and comfort, and her element was the Earth. She would need to channel both to remain steadfast and calm.

She paused to rifle through the stones in the bowl beside the door. Some were polished and some raw crystals. She found her two favorites—a polished amethyst carved into a worry stone with a soft indentation for her finger to rub against when she grew agitated and a piece of raw witch’s amber. One for cleansing her spirit of stress and the other for deflecting negativity. These she’d also need this morning.

She put both in the pocket of her long flowing skirt and stepped off the porch, barefoot today, because she wanted nothing between herself and the Earth. Freshly cut grass tickled her insoles. She smiled, her first in days since news had arrived that outsiders were descending on them.

“Mornin’, Bryn.”

Looking to her right, she caught sight of Father Guidry watering his small garden beside his tiny clapboard church. She gave him a wave, her silver and beaded bracelets jangling on her arms, but didn’t stop to discuss his plantings. No doubt he’d say this year’s success was due to prayer. Oh, and he’d be right.

She didn’t have the heart to tell him she’d snuck into his garden every night for weeks to pray to the Goddess for her favor. The elderly priest was a kind man, and he tolerated the sisters of the Beaux Rêve coven while continuing to hold out hope they’d see the error of their strange ways.

Tolerance was a blessing, and something the folks of Bonne Nuit, Louisiana, gave in abundance. Sure, they’d been suspicious of the women when they’d first arrived in their tiny hamlet. But the prosperity the women had brought—the jobs and self-sufficiency—had earned them, if not acceptance then at least a place in this isolated community. However, the isolation, something the coven considered their greatest blessing, was now threatened. Progress had arrived.

She stayed in the grass beside the sidewalk, skirting Main Street and walking toward the river where her sisters were gathered. But as she neared the canal, she found they’d been joined by gawkers. Nearly all of Bonne Nuit was there.

Radha and Darcy stood glaring at the gathering on the opposite bank while Aoife and Miren stared at the clouds above them.

“You’re blind,” Miren said. “It’s a scimitar. A reminder we aren’t without weapons for this battle.”

Aoife shook her head, a frown bisecting her pale brows. “It’s the Reaper’s scythe. We’re doomed.”

Bryn rolled her eyes. She didn’t need to read portents in clouds. All she had to do was look straight across the divide at the big machinery and the crew of strangers there to operate the earthmovers, crane and dump trucks to know they were in real trouble.

“I take it the injunction was lifted?” she asked the group.

Radha nodded. “Last night. I’m sure they paid a judge to do it in the dark of night. Demons do their best work in the dark.”

Bryn took her gloomy response with a grain of salt. The witches were ever vigilant of demons, but the more likely culprit was simply the state’s schedule for recovery from the last hurricane. The bridge that had connected Bonne Nuit to the rest of the world had been swept away three years ago. Something the town had taken in stride since it was a cyclical occurrence. This part of Jefferson Parish was prone to flooding. And Gus Hearn, a local with a Duck Dynasty beard and an old ferry boat, provided transport across the water when needed.

Gus’s boat was already docked on the opposite bank, and he was loading two vehicles, a green construction-company pickup and a delivery truck bringing supplies to Darcy’s crafters’ cottage.

“We can’t take this lying down,” Darcy said, shaking back her long red hair. “Tonight’s a blue moon.”

Bryn stiffened. “The last time we asked for intervention didn’t turn out so well. Remember, we asked for rain for our summer planting? We got a deluge that nearly wiped out the entire crop. Perhaps we should let things be. They’ll build their bridge, and the Goddess will send another storm.”

Darcy’s frown was fierce. “But strangers will walk amongst us. What if we’re found?”

“So far we’ve been lucky. Blessed,” she said, her tone even and filled with conviction. “But we knew this day would come. We’re stronger now. If demons find us, we’ll simply show them we’ve grown a backbone, and that we don’t need their counsel or their manly protection.”

Darcy shrugged, but her green eyes still flashed with fire. “I don’t think we’ll bring bad luck if we ask for intervention and cast a banishing spell. I vote we meet tonight.”

The others glanced around their circle and slowly raised their hands. Four to one.

Bryn sighed. They had no leader, no high priestess, so majority ruled—a policy they’d adopted the moment they’d fled upper Michigan.

Tonight, they’d meet under the blue moon.

And while she’d scoffed at Miren’s and Aoife’s attempts at aeromancy, she felt a little guilty withholding her own confusing portent that had invaded her dreams the night before. The cloud above them wasn’t shaped like a scimitar or a scythe. If her dream was right, it was a penis. The dream filtered through her mind again…

Moonlight gleamed through curtains. Large, callused hands stroked over her back and buttocks as the man in her bed waited while she sank slowly on his cock.

She’d felt the pressure inside her, smelled his earthy musk. But while moonlight illuminated his brawny frame, his face had remained in shadow.

She’d interpreted the sex as meaning that her privacy was about to be invaded. That she’d be tempted to set aside her vow to remain celibate and autonomous while she constructed a self-sufficient life.

But the intimacy of the dream could also mean she’d been alone long enough. The company of her sisters couldn’t fulfill her innate need as one connected to the circle of life, to Gaia the mother—the need to bear children. Children would ensure their future as a coven.

Perhaps the fact she’d been unable to see his face meant that any man might serve her need. When they’d fled their previous life, they’d foresworn true love because a witch could only know love once in her lifetime. A human male could provide his seed, but only a demon could hold her heart. The danger of mating with a demon, of becoming enslaved to his desires, was too dangerous to her freedom.

Reaching into her pocket to rub the amethyst, she concentrated on her blessings—on her sisters and this quiet place, on all the bounty they had brought to the community with their works. Her finger warmed the stone, and it began to vibrate, sending warmth up her arm and through her shoulder before spreading down into chest.

Calm again, she squared her shoulders and stared across the water at the ferry bringing the first wave of strangers. Perhaps she’d been too quick to paint their arrival as something black and ominous. She’d wait and see. And tonight, when her small coven drew down the moon, she’d offer a small prayer to the Goddess for a sign.

Kat Henry Doran: Paying It Forward

A little over a year ago I had one of my short stories published with a series called Candy Hearts and released by the Wild Rose Press. Each story in the series revolved around Valentines Day, and each had to contain reference to the heart-shaped sugar candies with the goofy sayings on them like: Love U Forever; Be Mine; Take Me, I’m Yours. You get the picture. My story was titled For Keeps and it was a lot of fun to write.

When it came time to promote the story, the other Candy Hearts authors were willing to visit my blog but they only wanted to give me what they called a Media Kit. If I wanted to visit their blogs to promote For Keeps, I had to supply a Media Kit. Known among my friends and family as the Woman Who Needs to Get Out More, I had no clue what to do and was ready to hang it up.

So I asked and one of the authors very kindly showed me how to create a Media Kit. Step by step, cut and paste, be imaginative, she said. And whaddya know, it worked. Within one year I was teaching others how to create a Media Kit for each of their books. I call that Paying It Forward.

Now we come to Twitter, Tweeting and other similar social communication which do not involve dialing a phone. Up until six months ago I had no clue what Twitter or Tweeting meant, beyond a classroom of giggling eight year-olds who recently discovered Justin Timberlake or that man-child Bieber person. Okay, I’ll admit to hearing about tweeting when I tuned into Mike & Mike on ESPN every morning. These two guys tweet their . . . posteriors off several times a day. And it works—for them. Not me, I swore. I’d swallow my tongue before I did this “at hash tag whatever”. Like that’ll work.

Then I was invited to join a group of six authors to create stories for a box-set anthology set in a casino-resort near Niagara Falls in Western New York. One of the rules was each participating author was expected to tweet often, like daily. Okay okay, I grumbled. I’ll do this if I have to. If it kills me. I researched, I practiced, I learned. Now I’m helping others tweet. Wahoo. Let me tell you, I can re-tweet anyone’s butt off.

Facebook? Learned that one, sort of, after much trial and error. Then passed it on.

Pinterest? That, I learned, is soooo much fun, just like friends had been telling me for years. I now have Pinterest boards for each of my books, and I’m scheduled to present an on-line course in the value of creating Pinterest boards—not just for authors but for anyone interested.

By far, the best Paying It Forward concept I now employ is making seat belt cushions for patients who undergo chest surgery [mastectomies, pacemaker insertions, PICC line insertions for chemotherapy]. What began as a simple survival technique to stop the whining from the back seat, “this strap hurts my neck, Nana. Can’t I take it off?” evolved into helping others infinitely less fortunate than I.

Paying It Forward. It works for me.

Hey, you never know.

*~*~*~*

I love to hear from readers.

You can find me at:

KatHenryDoran@yahoo.com

my blogs:  www.WildWomenAuthorsx2.blogspot.com

www.ApronsWithAttitude2.blgspot.com

Pinterest:  www.Pinterest.com/KatHenryDoran

Facebook: www.Facebook.com/WildWomenAuthors

Thanks for inviting me to stop by, Delilah. I appreciate it very much!

Kat

Vivien Jackson: The Dreaded Blank Doc of Oh No You Can’t

Hey, I’m Viv. Thanks, Delilah, for letting me come in here and couch-surf in your pretty online space. I write sexy sci-fi romance and just recently started working on a new book and thought, hey, this nascent end of the book-writing process might be interesting to some people. Maybe? Hopefully.

 

The Dreaded Blank Doc of Oh No You Can’t
A Love Story

It’s just a straight line, blinking in a backlit sea of white. It doesn’t speak, doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even present a memeable visual. Yet it mocks me.

“Hello, cursor at the head of a brand new book,” I say brightly.

Blink.

“Hey, now, that wasn’t necessary. We’re pals. I mean, aren’t we? After last year, we ought to be.”

We wrote two full-length books* together in 2016, this computer and I, and we revised another.** I stroked these keys, teased magic from them, warmed them with the friction of creation and the ballsy lack of a cooling fan.

Aaaand…blink.

“What sort of answer is that? Can we at least talk this out? I kind of thought we had something, you know, special.”

White is not a pretty color. An artist pal insists that in an additive situation like a computer screen, white is the presence of all colors. When it disguises itself as a story, trust me, white is the absence of all hope.

“Okay, fine, yeah, I might’ve ghosted or mumble-mumble-didn’twriteformonths-mumble. My bad. But! I never stopped thinking about you. Swear. Check out this notebook full of research nibblets and theme notes and character descriptions and story beats. I effing dreamed about you.” Whew. Just managed to hold back the expletive there.

If you’d asked before today, I would have sworn a blinking cursor could not look patently disbelieving or just a little bit pissed.

And yet.

It gives the minutest of pauses before the next blink. Sarcastic little turd.

“Look, I’m okay with a reboot on this relationship. How about… I dunno, a hundred words today? They don’t even have to be good words. Just a start. What say?”

I don’t wait for an answer, just type***.

Nina struggled to give each a proper space in memory, but all the thousands of worlds blurred together. On one, a red-dust surface and giants who exhaled fire. On another, twelve-legged mothers beneath a canopy of blue leaves, stringing cradles for their newborns and slinging poison to the hunters who came for them in the longest night. A moon of blood-veined ice and people who sang to stars, hoping for rescue and receiving annihilation.

Blindly, apologetically, with a backbeat of I-missed-you and a promise of it-will-get-better. Just hang in there with me.

Failures. Every world she’d visited had been a failure, and she’d watched trillions suffer punishment for their sins.

Cradles, falling. Giants, weeping. Hunters in the dark.

The blinks come faster now, as if the document pants, strung taut and ready for the next word. I long to make it breathless, unable to stand even a moment disconnected from my hot little fingers, and suddenly I’m swimming in hope.

This is what it’s like to start a new book. This is how it feels. At least, for me.

And I love it so hard.

* One of those books is Perfect Gravity, available November 7, 2017 and pre-orderable now.

** Wanted and Wired, a sexy cyberpunk action story with lots of kissing (actually available).

*** Complete typing vomit, first-draft nonsense not even read by my critique partners. (Hi, you guys. This will be coming at you soon. Promise.)

What a day!

So, I have this goal every year that I won’t miss a single day posting something new on this blog. It’s maybe a silly goal, but a girl has to shoot for something. Anyway, I was up so dang early today—5:45—that I didn’t get a chance to post before I left because I had to get to my dd’s. I promised myself I’d post once I got there, but then I was covered up in kids and dogs, and I only got home a few minutes ago. So, here I am!

Some of you may remember the 7-year-old, now 8, who’s had cancer in her leg twice. Well, today was her latest six-month check-up, which was why I was holding down the home front while my daughter zoomed up to Little Rock for her appointment at Children’s Hospital. After the last time her cancer appeared, she had her tibia removed and replaced with a donor bone. Then it was filled with her own bone material in hopes it would grow with her. The center of the top of the bone filled in nicely, but the ankle area wasn’t progressing as well. Today, the doctor says there’s been progress—slow, yes, but enough so that when she goes to school next week, she doesn’t have to be in a wheelchair. She’ll wear a “clam cast”—one she puts on and takes off—to protect her, and she’ll use a cane, but she’s on her feet! Which also means she’ll be able to ride the bus—something she’s yearned to do.

That’s my “real life” news. Tomorrow, I’m hoping to remain at my desk long enough to get some actual writing done. We’ll see. There’s always something.

And don’t forget. I posted a contest yesterday. It’s still open, so be sure to check it out. And tonight after midnight, Reined In releases! So be sure to get your copy! Good night and thanks for all your support! This tired woman’s heading to bed. ~DD

It’s gettin’ hot in the Delta! (Contest)

On August 21st, all kinds of yummy goodness will release all over online bookstores. That sound a little too graphic? Well, that was on purpose, because the stories in both series, Delta Blue and Delta Heat, are hot, raunchy sexfests that include BDSM and menages with friends. Both were previously released with Samhain, but have found new homes with Entangled. So, if you haven’t read them before, you’re in for a treat! And if you have, no worries because there’s more to come!

For a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card, answer me this…

Which is your preference for hero? Blue or Fire?

Delta  Blue

Click on the covers below to pre-order your copies!

  

 

Delta Fire

Click on the covers below to pre-order your copies!

  

Susan Saxx: The storm was a bitch, approaching near gale… (Contest & Excerpt)

Excerpt:

The hero, Dare Logan, is in the midst of a tropical tempest, on a cruise ship. His ex is on the small tropical island he’s just left. And he can’t stand where he is.

The storm was a bitch, approaching near gale.

Dare leaned into the railing around the hurricane deck, his fingers white-knuckling the cold metal, the relentless wind buffeting him and forming his jacket and pants so hard against his body they were like a second skin.

Freezing. He was so damn cold.

The wall of wind, unyielding.

He sucked in a breath through his nose, lips clamped together. He’d opened his mouth a moment ago, and airborne spray and some marine concoction had hurtled in as the torrent of air had whipped his breath away. No, thanks.

He stared, gaze narrowed, at the boiling sea. Watched the waves dancing crazily, froth bursting into life then gone from existence the next second as new sections of briny ocean reared. Strained to see the island he’d left just a few short hours ago, and made out the grey shapes of palms in the distance bowing in the ferocious wind.

“A mess.” One of the crewmen appeared at his side, and he felt strangely comforted by the presence of another human. “Captain wants everyone inside.”

Dare didn’t answer, just kept his eyes straight ahead. A thousand possibilities cycling through his mind. Considering.

The relentless storm. What the gale force winds were doing to the water. Heaving it, slashing it into sharp lines that could cut.

How a bunch of tiny humans could protect themselves on land against Mother Nature’s evil bitch step sister.

His cellphone dinged, and he turned, huddled away from the conflagration. He palmed his phone protectively within the confines of his slicker, checked.

A text from Mack.

Keeping his lower half pressed against the bulwark, he made his way to a tiny shielded section and ducked inside. While he could still hear the wind, its effect on him was momentarily reduced to zero. Except for the cold. He was still so damn cold.

Everywhere.

Inside and out.

He peered at the screen, drew the configuration to unlock it and was greeted by Mack’s latest communiqué.

How’s paradise, jerkface?

Mack. Buddy extraordinaire. And another Jack’s Bay boy.

He’d gone to Mack for help with increasing his cash flow for some costly and unexpected equipment for the latest job he’d taken on for his crew. Mack had given him sound advice that had taken into consideration his current need while barely adding to his mounting loan. Smart as hell with numbers, dude was. Dare swore he got it by osmosis. His dad made money in consumer goods and the Stones never lacked for the latest Pagani roadster or designer vacation.

But it didn’t change who Mack was. The truth was, whatever he could do to help a buddy, it was done. The guy was often a pain in innumerable ways and he certainly couldn’t help it if every woman within ten kilometers of him went ape-shit for his good looks, and dropped her panties on command. Made him the world’s lousiest wingman.

But if you needed him, it was done. Without fanfare. Mack didn’t want accolades. Just knowing you were his buddy seemed to be enough, though he’d never say it or even hint at it. Just a clipped, brief, “I’ll get back to you” followed by him getting back to you with what you needed, no embellishment.

All Mack wanted was your friendship.

And yeah. All the warm pussies. Which he always got. Damn babe magnet.

He clicked his response. Storm. A mess. You?

Read that. U safe?

Yeah.

A long pause, where the wind howled around him, blew past him like a deranged bat out of hell.

But his eyes were fastened to the screen as his gut wrenched in anticipation. Wait for it, he told himself. And it came. Bastard.

How is she? Safe?

A sigh expunged from him as something deep in him pinched razor sharp. I don’t fucking know would be honest, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—admit that. It would cut him into tiny bits that would never heal, bits that, though they were bleeding, didn’t let him feel. Couldn’t.

Bleeding, yet numb. His new normal.

He couldn’t very well say Dunno. I blew her off for a job.

His breathing accelerated, and he forced himself to put the reality out there. He always forced himself to face the truth, or at least, he tried. He texted the awful acronym.

IDK.

A pause, then the rest of the text came, damning in its brevity.

WTF?

And the vile taste in his mouth overwhelmed him and something jolted through him.

Fuck him, fuck Mack. Fuck the lousy job he needed and Tabby’s medical shit, the mountain of bills. Fuck the asshole that left his mom after promising her the moon.

Mostly, fuck himself.

He clicked off the cell with a flourish, was just about to jam it into his inner pocket, when he heard the querying ding.

“Fuck it. What does he want now?”

We’re thousands of miles from each other and a few words can still split me open.

Customer. Gotta go. Hang in there bud.

And just like that, dead space reigned as relief spilled into him, and the cell was cloistered away.

He turned his face back to the crazy that was in motion all around him, the wildness that he’d had a brief and somewhat unwelcome respite from him. Stepping into the wind, his clothes suddenly streaming behind him in weird lines, the harsh air blasted the sudden moisture from the rims of his eyes.

Damn it all, the internal voice yelled within him. You need this job. You need the money. Not just for the pay. With the connections, you could expand your crew, take on work internationally. You could be setting yourself up for life. Take great care of your mom, your sis. Set yourself up for…

The wind suddenly punched him with a wicked blast he couldn’t have foreseen and he almost let go of the railing. Almost fell backwards to smash into the iron bulwark behind him.

The question echoed in him, the punctuation of everything he’d been mulling, that had been roiling around in his gut.

Set yourself up for…what exactly?

The echoing emptiness inside clawed at him with ragged strokes. And he no longer had a defense against it all. And finally…

…felt. With Mother Nature screaming around him.

As fucking bad as when she’d first left. When he thought there was supposed to be oxygen in the air, but somehow he’d fallen into a part of the world where the parts per billion had been drastically reduced. To a part of the world where color had been sucked out of the universe, and his own cells were no longer properly aligned—at least not in the configuration they’d been in before. Suddenly, they didn’t fit, and everything bumped up against everything, abraded raw. It hurt just to look at their livingroom, when he’d loved it before, their clumsy bohemian approach to what they laughing called decorating obvious. To walk in the park. To order a cup of coffee at the diner, alone.

Nothing made any fucking sense any more.

And that feeling swirled around inside him again.

You have a life, the responsible dude inside him screamed. She left you, a-hole. You had no choice but to claw your way into a new thing you then called life. Try it on, make it fit. And some parts of it had been okay, had fit some. Not great, but ok.

But nothing fit in that one part. It was like the room was barred off, closed, boarded up. The furniture covered with dust piled on it, frozen in time like that old hag’s room in that so-called classic he’d been forced to read back in school. Haversham? Something like that.

And he’d tried to build a new room, God knew he had. Tried to open it to prospects but it hadn’t felt the same, had felt like shit and he’d shut that down. Lost himself in taking care of himself and his crew. His new family. And Ralph. Their mutt.

Ralph, who loved her as he did, and would go crazy protecting her.

And a thought flashed into his mind, as a particularly nasty, high wave broke onto the deck, a few meters away. Crashed into a million dirty jewels, breaking around him, then gone, as if it had never existed, in the next wild second.

Ralph would eat his nuts if he knew he’d left her on an island, in a storm.

What the hell was he doing here?

Protecting a business so he could be…alone? So she could possibly—and terror seized him by the throat—never come back?

“Enough. I’m done.” He strode off to find the crewman he’d so roundly ignored a few minutes earlier. Found the dude, made him talk to him. Was taken to the captain, made his case. Signed the fucking release for them to let him go on a shifting bar.

If the storm had been any fiercer, it would have meant the loss of life and limb almost certainly, and he would have been shut down. But something, somewhere, held for him. Even though all hell was breaking loose around him, the elements held themselves in stasis, didn’t wind up further until he was lowered onto the boat and slapping the cruiser through the rough seas at a demented horsepower, still too slow for him.

He didn’t know where he’d land. He’d been advised to go to a cove he’d seen briefly, but he hadn’t really paid attention and wasn’t really sure quite how to get there. Rocks to watch out for. Stuff like that.

But hell.

And though an errant monster of a wave could wash him over and he be lost, and she’d never know he was coming—something in his heart clenched, yet, incredibly, sang at the same time. All those cells within his ravaged body came back into alignment.

He was on his way back for his girl.

*~*~*~

Contest!

Today, I’m giving away one copy of Real Deep to a randomly chosen commenter below! All you need to do is:

Follow me on Amazon and sign up for my newsletter, and let me know in the comments that you did J . Also, let me know what struck you most about Dare, in the excerpt!

Giveaway ends on Monday at midnight, so let all your friends know!

Real Deep

Sexy Small Town Military Romance

Real Men #2

Amazon |  Kobo, B&N, Nook, iBooks, Inkterra & Other Retailers

Real Men

A new, small town military romance series. Featuring full-length stories and shorts. 

Read the entire series to fall in love with the men of Jack’s Bay!

About Susan

Susan Saxx writes sexy, unexpected, heartwarming romances. Her REAL MEN series focuses on a band of Canadian military reservists and the strong women they fall in love with. Join her mailing list for exclusive teaser stories and release updates!

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Beverley Bateman: By Design

Thanks Delilah, for having me.

We’re snowbirds. Every year when it gets cold up north we head for the sunny south. Our resort has multiple activities and crafts.  Each year I try something new – watercolor painting, ukulele, and two years ago I tried glass fusion, and now I’m addicted.

Glass fusion is the technique used to join at least two glass pieces together by partly melting the glass at high temperature in either a small kiln or a large kiln.

I started by making earrings. I thought they would be easy. I learned to find a design, pick the glass and the colors. Since you need at least two pieces of glass it’s usually a color plus a clear piece either on top or underneath. You need to find or make a pattern and the two pieces have to match up when placed together. For jewelry they are placed in a small kiln for over four hours. After they cool down you add the backing or posts.

Last year I advanced to trays, serving dishes and bowls. The process is the same, just on larger surfaces. I’m a panda person so my favorite piece is my panda  plate. I used a decal which you put on prior to fusing. I do it for fun, but many people do it and sell their pieces. I didn’t use glass fusion in my last book but I’m considering adding it to a new one. My latest book, By Design, came out in June. By Design is about cloning.

*~*~*~*
By Design

 

Nurse Evie Dalton succumbs to greed and a chance to work with sexy Dr. Adam Marsden. She accepts a position at an isolated hospital with an onsite animal farm, screams in the night, and mysterious limos arriving in the dark. People disappear and turn up dead. There’s no way to leave and no communication outside the town.

Dr. Adam Marsden left his past behind. Now he has it all; a great job, money, and a chance to buy his own hospital. But he hadn’t counted on Evie Dalton. Because of him, she’s at risk and might be the next victim.

Excerpt

A slender woman, maybe in her mid-thirties, wearing a simple, but very expensive designer black suit and hat, stepped out and tripped up the stairs in her four inch heels. Diamonds flashed on her wrist and her ears.

The driver closed the back door.

When she reached the top step she turned toward the driver. “Charles, check with my husband in about a week. I should be ready by then.”

“Yes ma’am.” He nodded, slid back behind the wheel, and turned the key. The engine purred quietly as it slid down the driveway. The taillights disappeared into the night.

Grethe Byrne watched the car fade away.

“You have what we want?” the woman asked.

“Of course, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Nurse Byrne snapped.

“No. I mean exactly. Do you have exactly what we ordered? White blonde hair, sky blue eyes, IQ of at least 130?”

“Yes. Don’t worry. It will be exactly what you ordered. Did you bring the balance of your payment? In cash and small bills?”

“Yes of course. I’ve kept my part of the arrangement. You had better keep yours.”

Buy Links:

Amazon

https://www.amazon.com/Design-Beverley-Bateman-ebook/dp/B0711TRG13/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1495487690&sr=1-1&keywords=By+Design+by+Beverley+Bateman

iTunes

https://itunes.apple.com/ca/book/by-design/id1237611343?mt=11&ls=1&ign-mpt=uo%3D4

Kobo

https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/by-design-12