Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 385

Madeleine Oh: Who reads your stories? (Free Story)

I think writers of all genres get asked this from time to time and, if one writes erotica, the question sometimes comes with an implied ‘What sort of weird/depraved/ plain odd/ person reads these?’

I have two utterly and totally true stories I love to tell in reply.

First one was shortly after my very first erotic short story was published in Best Women’s Erotic 2000. (Yes, we are going back a bit.)  I was at some corporate function or other – before the dh retired I went to quite a few as I am a really nice wife.  Anyway I was talking to a group of similarly really nice wives, when a young woman, I’d only just met said, ‘I understand you write erotica.’ Now, all I knew about her (other than that she was also a company wife) was she’d once been a Baptist missionary. So, bracing myself for some sort of lecture or snide look, I replied in the affirmative, and waited.  She asked the title of the anthology. I told her, keeping my voice as neutral as I could but biding my time to pick up the cudgels, if necessary. Then, to my astonishment, she went on the tell me how, by the time they got their three small children to bed, she and her dh were exhausted and to liven things, they used to read each other erotica to ignite the spark.

After I closed my mouth, I couldn’t help myself smiling and almost hugged her. I think I offered to send her a signed copy.

Second story was some years on. I was at a group book signing organized by my publisher in a Borders in Akron.  (The fact it was a Borders rather dates this too.) This lovely, old lady came up to the table and picked up a copy of Power Exchange. Now, when I say ‘old’ lady I don’t mean someone in her 60s. Her hair was totally white, she was slender but had the no waist no hips, body shape some really old women have and in addition, her skin had that translucent quality I associate with extreme old age. At a guess, she was in her mid-eighties if not older. And there she was with a copy of Power Exchange in her hand and all I could think was ‘Dear Heaven! If she reads that, the poor old soul will have heart failure.’

As tactfully as I could, I said, “That’s BDSM erotica.” She gave me the most gloriously, wicked smile and said. “I know dear, it’s it best, isn’t it? I love your books and my online friends have been saying I must get this one. “ She went on to tell me she’d been a widow for 20 years and never had been one to troll the bars looking for men but, with a nice, sexy read and her vibrator, she was a very contented and satisfied woman.

She went down the table, bought an armload of books and went off. I decided I wanted to be like her when I grew up.

So, for whom do I write? I write for twenty-something Baptist missionaries who are worn out after running after preschoolers all day but still love and desire their husbands, and I write for eighty or ninety something widows who still feel the need.

And everyone in between.

And for a taste of my naughty short stories, I invite you to try Three Short Stories or one of my companion volumes of shorts. Links to buy at:

http://madeleineoh.com/shortstories.html#threemore

And meanwhile, here’s a sample story:

A String of Pearls

©2014  Madeleine Oh

“For you.”

When  Robert speaks, in his slow, deep, ‘I’ve got a surprise for you,’ voice, he gets my undivided attention. Chicken with Holy Basil can’t compete.

This was our wedding anniversary and I expected a surprise. But what? A bright, red butt plug with a green ribbon round the base?  A pale-as-the-inside-of-an-oystershell, vibrating egg?  Quilted, purple silk restraints? That had covered Christmas and Easter and my birthday.

Our first wedding anniversary could be anything.

He set a black, velvet jewelers box on the table. Had Robert turned conventional? Buying me a string of pearls or perhaps an add a bead necklace. Possible but highly improbable.

He nudged the box closer to my wine glass. “Open it.”

I had it opened just enough to glimpse the white satin lining in the lid, when our waiter reappeared. All he wanted was reassurance our meal was perfect but I almost slammed the lid on my finger. Maybe it was matinee length pearls but you can’t be too cautious in public. Not when you’re married to Robert Kelly.

Checking to make sure no solicitous waiter or maitre d’ loitered, I snapped open the velvet lid. It was pearls alright but I’d never wear these to the opera – I hoped.

Nestling against the velvet padding and almost reflected in the gleaming satin lining of the lid, were six, large pearls: strung on a fine twisted cord, one end sporting a polished metal ring, plenty big enough for hooking and tugging with a strong middle finger.

I did an involuntary kegle exercise imagining how they’d feel pushed one by one up my asshole.  Knowing how a butt plug stretched and stimulated as Robert pulled it out, my stomach churned jasmine rice and holy basil imagining six round beads exiting my tight opening one by painful one.

I was so wet thinking about it, I was scared I’d leave a damp patch on the upholstered seat. Wearing no panties didn’t help in the least. I should be used to that by now, but I wasn’t. I never crossed the street without thinking about my mother’s warnings in case I got run over.

Sitting in the Thai Pavilion, smelling my own arousal while Robert smiled promises at me across the pink linen table cloth, I wanted to shove back my chair, grab my husband’s hand and drag him home to bed. But Robert ordered mango mouse and sticky rice which  I ate, one tiny bronze spoonful at a time, and never tasted a thing.

By the time he’d sipped the last of his decaffeinated  espresso and finished signing the credit card slip, I could feel myself soaking though my skirt and I was the next best thing to panting as I settled on the spot leather upholstery of Richard’s, Merc. Only ten minutes drive, fifteen max if every light was against us, and we’d be home.

I was ready and willing for whatever Robert had in mind, even six gleaming pearls up my asshole.

What Robert had in mind was having me strip in the garage. I half-expected him to fuck me over the hood of the car but no, while I was stepping out of my shoes and getting ready to roll my lace-top stockings down, he grabbed me by the waist and tossed me over his shoulder. Head hanging half-way down his back, face rubbing against his tussore silk jacket, while he held my ankles in one hand and stroked my butt with the other, I was tempted to wriggle and complain, but with my ass, literally under his hand, decided against it. That part of me was going to get enough attention tonight, no point in getting it reddened as well. Besides, I was more worried about one of the neighbors seeing as Robert carried me across the breezeway into the house.

Once inside, Robert eased me down his body. Every inch, from my shins and knees to my boobs and my face, rubbed the warm, rough surface of his jacket as he lowered me until my feet touched the cool, tiled kitchen floor.

“Happy Anniversary,” he said and kissed me.

Lord! This fucker of mine can kiss! Slow and sure, with the unhurried confidence of an expert, he pressed my lips apart and caressed then with his tongue until I let out a little sigh. He delved right in. His tongue poked, pushed, stroked, pressed and teased until I tried to push away. He’s made me come with kissing before now and I wanted to last.

“No,” Robert muttered into my mouth and set to with enthusiasm. I wrapped my arms round his neck, mashed my body against his and gave as good as I got. Now, he was the one moaning. He’d been hard when we started, now his cock felt like an iron pipe inside his tropical wool slacks.

“I’m almost coming,” I managed to get out between groans.

“Good,” Robert replied, bringing his hand to my breast.

I gave up thinking, forgot speech. His fingers tweaked and pulled and rolled one nipple then the other until he whipped me into a frenzy of need and wanting and… his mouth clamped down on mine as he gave my nipple one hard twist and I came with a shout that resounded in my head, echoing like the spasms of heat that radiated from my cunt. I’d have collapsed on the Mexican tile floor if two strong arms hadn’t held me. As it was, my cries sent the dog off in a yapping frenzy.

“He’s upset because he isn’t getting any,” Robert said, holding me with one arm, as he reached for a doggie treat to keep the mutt quiet. While Hercules chewed on his milk bone, Robert dipped into his pocket and brought out my anniversary pearls, his finger through the loop as they dangled right in my line of vision. “Hold them,” he said and dropped them in my hand. “While I carry you.” He scooped me up in his arms, head against his chest instead of down his back this time and carried me across the house to our bedroom.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he said, as he plonked me on the bed.

As if I would when I had the chance to watch the best striptease in town. Robert played soccer in college and he still moves with the almost balletic grace of a world class player. Even mundane things like hanging his jacket up or unbuttoning his shirt, he performs with grace and as for unbuckling his belt or sliding down his zip with a slow scritch – riveting might be a good word. But the ultimate exhibition is what I wait for,  his wonderful, hard cock jutting out for me to hang my hopes on. Looks are great but taste is better and I was licking my lips as Robert came towards me. I needed to taste that beautiful cock, my beautiful cock, and feel it between my lips.

Robert paused by the night stand for a tube of jelly, (should have expected that, given what I was still clutching in my hot, little hand) and a bottle of massage oil. “You’re looking tense,” he said. “Roll over and I’ll help you relax.”

After that climax I was about as tense as a marshmallow. But who’d turn down an offer like that? I rolled on to my belly and closed my eyes as Robert poured warm oil between my shoulder blades.

It trickled down my spine in a slow stream and he was pouring more. It ran down the side of my waist and pooled in the hollow of my back. Then my husband got busy. Hands flat he spread that spicy, scented oil all over me, anointing me from my shoulders to my thighs. His practiced fingers found tension in my shoulders and the top of my neck where it met my skull. He gently stroked and smoothed until all I wanted was to spend the rest of my life in bed under Robert’s expert hands.

Then he blew on my skin and I knew at once he’d used the Kama Sutra oil! Heated trails flowed over my skin in the wake of his breath. Was it possible to be utterly relaxed and aroused? You bet! I swear he huffed and puffed over every square centimeter from the back of my knees to the nape of my neck and while by skin still glowed, his hands began again.

Fingertips at first, five on each butt cheek, tracing ever-widening circles on my ass. Soothing and stimulating at one and the same time. His hands gently flattened, pressing and opening my cheeks apart. His fingers stroked my crack and then dipped between my legs.

“You’re sopping wet,” he whispered against my skin, starting another warm shiver with his breath. “Now, what am I going to do about that?”

“You could fuck me,” I suggested. “Fill me up with your lovely, hard cock.”  Saying it aloud had me soaking,

“Oh, I will, my love, later.  Right now…” he paused and I gave a little gasp as cool lubricant oozed between my ass cheeks. This wasn’t warm but as he rubbed it into my asshole my body accepted the cool. He held my cheeks apart, opening me wider. The metal tip of the tube kissed my opening as a rush of gel surged inside. Robert’s finger followed, gently pushing, circling, stretching and opening until my sphincter relaxed. I was passive, anticipating the intrusion, while my mind whirled. Would it hurt? How tight would it feel? Would it, heck, they, stretch more than the Christmas butt plug or Robert’s cock? Would it…

One soft gasp as my butt hole stretched and I felt… not much different but one pearl nestled inside me. I exhaled.

“How’s that feel?” Robert asked.

“Okay.” I’d barely spoken when the second slipped inside.

I hardly felt it once it was in. It was pushing past the muscle wrought wild sensations. The third seemed bigger, tighter. They were nestling inside me, and the fourth nudged them deeper. How big was I in there? How far would they go? What if they got stuck?

“Easy, easy,” Robert’s hands stroked my head and shoulders. “It’s okay. We’re half-way. I wish I had a camera handy. If you could see these beads disappearing up your ass.” With that another popped inside.

Robert ran kisses up and down my spine, awakening the last traces of heat in the oil drying on my skin. As I murmured my contentment, the last two pushed inside.  I knew they were there:  Stretching, filling, pushing, warming.  The cool of the gel faded and all I felt was heat that sent my cunt flowing and little soft groans rising from deep in my belly.

Robert rolled me on my back and reminded me what a great mouth he had. He licked from fore to aft with tantalizing slowness until my hips moved of their own accord and little groans became big ones.

He stopped, Damn him! Sitting back on his heels and grinning. “Okay, love, now it’s my turn to lie back and enjoy it.”

Turn about is fair play, and heck, sucking Robert’s cock isn’t my idea of hardship… hardness, maybe …but not hardship. He leaned back, a pillow behind his back and I went to it between his legs, softly circling the smooth head of his cock with the tip of my tongue. Taking him between my lips, fluttering his hard muscle with my tongue until he ran his hands through my hair, pushing me lower.  I took most of him in, running my tongue up and down then warm skin at the side of his cock. Lifting back a little to flicker round his ridge again and again until he groaned. I let up a little – but not much. Down and up I went in a smooth rhythm, enjoying the taste of him and the magnificent scent of aroused male. Nothing like knowing your own power.

“Easy,” he said at last and pulled my head away. “Let’s fuck!’

I grinned up at him. “Brilliant idea.” I didn’t wait to be asked twice. Shifting to kneeling, I scooted up the bed until I was squatting over his thighs. As Robert’s hands on my waist steadied me, I impaled myself on his wondrous erection.

And gasped. I’d married a big cock but not this big! I was stuffed, packed tight with solid erection and hard, round beads. As I rocked gently, I felt Robert press inside until he rubbed the beads through my cunt walls. I took a deep breath and rocked again.. and again…  Incredible! Wonderful! I gave up thinking adjectives and concentrated on sensation as I worked my cunt up and down Robert’s cock.

I watched him. Saw the pleasure soften his face and the heat glimmering deep in his eyes. I wasn’t the only one spiraling to the outer galaxy. I leaned forward so my clit felt more of the pressure and rocked up and down until Robert moaned. I was close to coming now, breathing hard as sensation built and grew and..

“Nearly there?” Robert gasped.

I nodded. Groaning as passion turned my brain chemicals to boiling pitch. I let out a long, slow moan as the nerve endings in my cunt drew up for the leap into joy. The first waves of orgasm rippled through me as Robert pulled out the first bead. A wild yell of delight burst in my chest. My whole body roared and the next one came, and the next. My body awash, my mind drowning, I shouted and groaned and sang the wildness that flooded me. I lost balance, collapsing on Robert just as he came, his heated spunk bursting into me as my last vibrations slowed and calmed.

I lay on top of him, as his warm jism oozed out of my cunt and the last sweet spasms of pleasure faded to gentle ripples. I rolled off him, nestling beside him, my head on his chest. The beads in his hand glistened with lubricant and I still throbbed deep inside.

Robert opened his eyes and grinned. ‘Happy Anniversary.’

I can’t wait for Halloween.

A Question… (Contest)

A friend of mine found me two dolls that she just knew I had to own. Sure enough, I bought them. How could I not? It’s Chucky and his bride!

The first night I owned them, I was surprised by how nervous I was going to sleep. I love being creeped out. But just as I was falling asleep, I thought I heard tiny skittering footsteps on the floor—and I had to sleep with the light on for the rest of the night. They no longer reside in my bedroom. I placed them at the entrance of my office. Yeah, the little ones do not like rushing past the creepy dolls even if they’ve never seen the movies!

So that got me thinking. I love haunted houses. But they really aren’t any fun unless I have someone with me to share the creepiness. Here’s my question. Answer for a chance to win a free download of Once in a Blue Moon.

What would it take for you to spend a night alone in a creepy old haunted house?

N.J. Walters: Welcome to my World

Setting is an important part of every book. It helps create the mood and can add texture and layers to the plot. As an author, I’ve set books in well known cities such as Chicago and New York. All I have to do is mention either of those places and the reader automatically envisions a bustling urban setting.

One of the things I like best about being a writer is that I get to create my own worlds. I can stretch my imagination and be as wild and bold as I please. Or I can pull from the past as I did in my Tapestries series when I patterned the fictional world of Javara after Medieval England, but with a twist. I created a history and mythology for Javara that included a lack of women, which was the driving force behind my ménage a trois series.

I’ve also created two rural towns—Jamesville, Maine and Salvation, North Carolina. Jamesville is loosely patterned after a town I lived in during the 1990s. It could be any small town in rural USA or Canada. There’s the diner where everyone eats, a hardware store, a general store and, of course, the sheriff’s department. Salvation is similar but the wider wilderness is more important for the Salvation Pack, my group of werewolves who just happen to reside there.

The books in my Hades’ Carnival series have been set in various states across America: Washington, North Dakota, North Carolina and Louisiana. In this series, I got to play with mythology as well. I took what is known about the Greek gods and put my own twist on it, creating a war between Hades and a lesser known goddess—the Lady of the Beasts. Of course, there had to be a curse on her faithful shapeshifting warriors. And there had to be a way to break it. Being a romance that meant only very special women could free the warriors and break the curse.

Flame of the Phoenix, a Hades’ Carnival novella, is being released from Samhain Publishing on April 14th.

Flame of the Phoenix

Hades’ Carnival, Book 6

Tilly Ledet has long been a friend of the immortal, shape-shifting warriors who follow the Lady of the Beasts, a willing helper in their battle against Hades. But now that Hades is free and unable to touch the warriors, Tilly is fair game.

When Phoenix shows up insisting she drop everything to go into hiding, Tilly balks. Phoenix is strong and courageous, but when she imagines being in his arms, the protective barriers guarding her heart slam down.

For the first time in his immortal life, Phoenix feels fear. Not for himself, but for the woman whose beauty and forthright nature heat both his mind and body. While one kiss easily ignites her passion, claiming her as his own will take more than heat.

It may require a sacrifice that could send them both up in flames.

Warning: This steamy love story may cause overheating and the possibility of bursting into flames. Read at your own risk.

Samhain Publishing: https://www.samhainpublishing.com/book/5398/flame-of-the-phoenix

Amazon: http://tinyurl.com/pd263t8

What are some of your favorite fictional worlds? Be sure to share.

N.J. has always been a voracious reader, and now she spends her days writing novels of her own. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, time-travelers, seductive handymen, and next-door neighbors with smoldering good looks—all vie for her attention. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it.

Visit me at:

Website: http://www.njwalters.com

Blog: http://www.njwalters.blogspot.com

Newsletter Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/awakeningdesires/

Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/N.J.WaltersAuthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/njwaltersauthor

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/NJWalters

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/author/njwalters

Ann Jacobs: Changing Direction

What happens when an author realizes she’s gone too far off the path of sensual romance, to the point that she’s gotten away from the stories that made her love the hero-to-die-for and the one woman who’ll teach him all about love while he schools her in the sensual arts?

A grinding halt, that’s what happened to my muse more than a year ago, when it took many stops and starts and even more tortuous rewrites of my last of nearly a hundred books and novellas for Ellora’s Cave Publishing—a romantic suspense cum BDSM elements that just wouldn’t come together the way my stories used to.

Why? Because Lanie and JD just weren’t up for more than the mildest BDSM play—and her marriage that wasn’t one didn’t work until I decided that she was a beard for her older, gay politician husband. The result? a story that only met EC’s sex quotient with a couple of gay, BDSM scenes between the politician and his lover—and overemphasizing JD and Lanie’s interest in kinky sex when their love life was sensual and loving, not really meant for handcuffs, whips and chains.

FATAL AFFAIR made me think, and go back to some of my first erotic romances. Truth was, most of my early EC books were strictly sensual romances—one man, one woman, working through conflicts to find their happily-ever-after endings.

I took a break and did some thinking–Ann, you write sensual romances, not erotica or even erotic romances unless the erotic part is inserted kink, sometimes more credible than other times. You shy away from menages whenever possible, substituting dystopian, scary stuff in your futuristics for kink that EC readers eat up.

That realization made me realize I needed to go back to my roots. Writing “Rand,” a novella for the MEN OF CALDER COUNTY boxed set last fall was fun, because I wasn’t pushing to get in an unwritten but very real quota of kinky sex and four-letter words. It was the first fun I’d had in years!

Since then I’ve gotten rights back on many of my old EC books, and found that revising them back to what I’d envisioned them to be has been a long journey that has the first two of a seven book series releasing April 6, with thanks to Beyond the Page Publishing, which re-edits and releases authors’ backlists. The first two books are CAPTURE ME and THE CLOSER WE GET. Don’t miss them!

Revisions, both these and five others that I’ve re-released on my own as two single-titles (A VERY SPECIAL FAVOR and BLISS HOUSE) and a series set (ROPED, HITCHED & LASSOED) have been extensive, but I’ve come up with a method that I recommend for any authors who’re trying to clean up (sanitize?) erotic romances that, if not for the forced revving up of the kink factor, would qualify as sensual, sexy but heartwarming romances that fit today’s mainstream guidelines.

Here’s my method:

1) Open the PDF file of the final draft in Word. Delete the cover, credits and end material.

2) Read through the reverted book. Note and fix any egregious errors that made their way into the final draft. Trust me, you will find some unless you had final approval of the FLE or copyeditor’s changes.

3) Use the “Find” function and look up every vulgar sex word you may have used, or that the copyeditor may have inserted without your knowledge. I’ve nothing against using a few, but over a hundred incidences of “fuck” in one novella is a bit excessive.  Change all but the most fitting and necessary ones to something less repetitious. In many cases, I found that any reader could surmise from what was going on that they were having sex—substituting “him” or “her” in many cases for “cock” or “cunt” read smoother and kept the scene from sounding as though I’d tried to prove how many times I could use these words in the space of one sentence or paragraph!

4) Read again, carefully. There are some sex acts that don’t need to be repeated ad nauseum. There are also likely to be sex scenes that are pure sex, little or no emotional connection, and practically no furthering of the story, unless you count the fact that they pad word count. Either make the scenes work in context of the story or cut them out.

5) Finally, self-edit what you’ve done. I wrote a little book, SELF-EDITING FOR WRITERS, that you’ll find helpful, both with using your software to make the job easier, and finding your pet mistakes and fixing them the simplest ways possible.

Reinventing myself has given new life to my joy of writing romance! I hope these tips will be of help when you’re trying to revise and reissue your backlist, whether you’re heating up sweet stuff or cooling down erotic romances into mainstream-acceptable stories.

Thanks for letting me hijack your blog!

Ann Jacobs

http://annjacobs.net

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A Question… (Contest)

I’m writing like my hair’s on fire today—head down, fingers a-flyin’! Hope you have a more restful Saturday!  

Post a comment today, and you’ll be entered to win a free download from either my Lone Star Lovers series or my Triple Horn Brand series! Here’s the question…

If you could acquire any fictional item for realz, what would you want and why?

Not so easy right? Do you choose Harry Potter’s cloak of invisibility so you can stalk your favorite movie star without being detected? (I have no clue why that popped into my mind first—cough, Chris Hemsworth naked in the bath!) Or how about Sherlock Holmes’ pipe? (I want whatever he was smoking!) And there you go. Have fun!

And just a reminder, I do have a sexy, new story out there right now…

Here’s a short excerpt from The Runaway Bride!

Jackson Lowry cussed softly when he spotted the blue lights spinning at the roadblock just ahead. Too late to turn back now. He’d only draw more attention.

Squaring his jaw, he rolled down his window and forced a polite smile as he peered into the darkness at the sheriff’s deputy checking IDs with a flashlight.

As soon as the deputy waved the car in front of him to move along and turned to watch the black pickup roll forward, Jackson’s tension eased a fraction.

Maynard Colby’s expression turned from crisply professional to worried in a second, as soon as he recognized Jackson. “Dammit, Jackson, where have you been?”

“Around. Why?”

A soft moan sounded beside him, and Jackson reached surreptitiously beside him to tap the tarp covering his precious load.

“You didn’t hear?” At Jackson’s vague expression, Maynard stepped onto the truck rail and leaned toward Jackson. “It’s Sammi Jo. Her car was found in Shooter’s parking lot, the door wide open. No one’s seen her. Looks like she’s been snatched.”

Jackson cleared his throat. “How serious is this gettin’?”

“It’s only been a couple of hours, but Sammi Jo’s daddy is buckin’ to get the sheriff to call in the FBI, the CIA, the ATF—and whatever other agency his money can buy to find her. I tried callin’ you, but your phone kept goin’ to voicemail. After the way things went down at the weddin’ last Sunday, I don’t blame you a bit for layin’ low, but I thought you’d wanna know.”

Another sound, this time a snort, sounded beside him.

Maynard’s gaze cut to the dirty tarp folded over a moving bundle on the floor of the cab. A ruddy eyebrow shot up. “What’s goin’ on, Jackson?”

Jackson rolled his eyes then pulled up the corner of the tarp to reveal a bound and gagged Sammi Jo whose eyes glittered furiously back at both men.

Maynard barked a laugh then tightened his lips. “This time you’ve gone and done it, boy. This is seriously fucked up.” He laughed again, then tipped his hat to Sammi Jo. “No disrespect meant, missy.”

Jackson cleared his throat. “Don’t s’pose you can forget about this?”

Maynard’s gaze shot to Sammi Jo again, raked her once as though ensuring she didn’t look to be in any real danger, then tipped back his cowboy hat. “Tell ya what. I’ll put a bug in the sheriff’s ear, but she better come walkin’ through the po-lice house doors come Monday mornin’.”

“Not a word to her daddy?”

One corner of Maynard’s mouth crooked up. “Man’s already caused enough problems. Deserves to cool his heels a couple o’ days. Don’t do nothin’ I’ll have to arrest you for.”

With a nod, Jackson rolled up the window and pulled past the barricade. In his side mirror, he watched as Maynard crossed to the other deputy’s car and both men bent over laughing.

“See that, Sammi Jo?” he murmured, not expecting an answer because he’d made double-damn sure he’d tied some serious knots and gagged her pretty mouth. “I’m not the only one who thinks you need a good paddlin’.”

*~*~*~*~*

If you’d like to check out more of my recent short story releases…

// ]]>Amazon.com Widgets

 

B.J. McCall: Fur and Fangs

I’ve been writing paranormal erotic romance for several years. My heroes and heroines have been werewolves, vampires, dragons, angels and demons.  This year, I’ve added a mountain cat to my list of shifter characters.

Mountain lion, cougar, puma and catamounts are common names for the big cats native to North America. The large cats are fierce predators. They hiss, growl and scream. They are tawny in color, resembling a lion. My heroine is a Catamount, the name shortened from cat of the mountain.

I like cats and creating a cat shifter heroine is exciting. Big cats are sleek and powerful, agile and quick, quiet and elusive. I like those attributes in a heroine.

Shifter characters have features, abilities and attributes beyond a human. A cat shifter has fur, fangs, whiskers, tail, paws and claws. A shifter characters has two forms, the human and the paranormal. The essence of the character lives in both forms. While in human form I want my shifters to exhibit the abilities of his or her animal form. My werewolf shifter has an extraordinary sense of smell, my dragon shifter blow smokes and my cat shifter purrs.

In my new series, Thunder Wolves, my shifter characters live in a world shared by humans. My hero is a werewolf. Werewolves and mountain cats are natural enemies and usually avoid one another. The intense mutual attraction between my hero and heroine defies the accepted rules of their shifter worlds.

I like breaking the rules.

The first book in my Thunder Wolves series is Thorne, a story about my werewolf hero falling for Madison, a human empath. The second book, Clay, introduces Kissa, my mountain cat heroine.

Thunder Wolves: CLAY

Kissa Troy mistakenly believes she’s safe in her identity as Beth Smith. No one knows she’s a mountain cat shifter and hiding from the Catamounts, a dangerous shifter cult. One day, a sexy alpha wolf walks into her life. Shaking off a determined wolf isn’t easy. When she’s tracked down by the Catamounts, Kissa turns to the wolf for protection.

Wolves and mountain cats are natural enemies, but all it takes is one breath and Clay Thunder is hooked. The sex is hot. The attraction is undeniable. She may be a cat with trouble on her tail, but she’s the one.

Still. A wolf and a mountain cat?

Excerpt from Clay

Beth. Her life was a lie. Another reason not to get involved with Clay.

He held out his arms. “I promise not to bite.”

She wanted to be held, to lose herself in his arms, to experience passion, to feel alive. Would a couple of hours in his bed prove more heartbreaking than satisfying? He waited until she stepped toward him. He was warm and she found comfort in his strong arms. Kissa inhaled, slowly, deeply. Her blood sang.

Clay cupped her face in his hand and ran his thumb over her lower lip. She knew he wanted to kiss her. A smart cat would move away, but she was caught in the spell of his scent. She lifted her chin, offering her mouth. The moment his lips touched hers, she was on fire.

He didn’t grope her or pull at her clothing. He simply kissed her, slowly, thoroughly and that was her undoing. Her blood burned. Her heart pounded. Her pussy throbbed. She was lost. Her doubts slid away and her fears were overpowered by desire.

Clay lifted his head and took a deep breath. “You feel it. You smell it. It’s more than arousal.”

“It just pheromones. Physical chemistry.”

“It’s stronger than that, but you didn’t want to go out with me. Yet, you called. What made you change your mind?”

“Wolf. Cat. Had to think about it.”

“But that’s not the reason you called.”

“I like your scent.”

“I like yours, but it wasn’t arousal I smelled when you climbed on my bike. I know the scent of fear.”

She stepped out of his arms. “You know how to ruin the moment.”

“I want the moment. I want it bad. What are you afraid of?”

Kissa hated to lie, but her life was series of false identities and phony backgrounds. Using the wolf for a few hours was bad enough. Dragging him into her troubles was unforgivable. The Catamounts would kill him for giving her shelter.

“There have been break-ins in my area. I thought someone was in my apartment, so I got out of there.”

“Why didn’t you go back to Murphy’s?”

“I thought about it, but I was curious about you. So I called.”

Clay pushed his fingers through her hair and cupped her head in his hand. “You’re safe with me, Beth.”

Safe. She had begun to believe that true safety was an illusion.

“If you don’t want to talk, fine, but don’t lie to me.”

The wolf was too perceptive. He wanted the truth. “I’ve never been with a wolf. It should feel wrong, but it doesn’t.”

A smile teased his lips. “I’ve never been with a cat.”

“What should we do?”

He slipped his hands around her waist and drew her close. “Satisfy your curiosity.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

B.J. McCall is published by Changeling Press, eRedSage, Cobblestone Press and Ellora’s Cave. Her books are available at Amazon, Kobo, B&N and Are.

www.bjmccall.com

Clay available at Amazon: http://ow.ly/K7H96

Sarah Castille: It’s All About the Story

Once upon a time a directionally impaired author got lost in her own city. Since she’d forgotten her phone, and her vehicle pre-dated the existence of onboard navigation, she was forced to resort to the age-old method of finding her way home: asking for directions.

She pulled up at an unremarkable, shoebox-shaped building in a commercial district at the far edge of town. Pen and paper in hand, she pulled open the heavy metal door and stepped into a land plucked from her wildest fantasy.

OK. Maybe it wasn’t quite her wildest fantasy, but for the sake of keeping this PG-13, we’ll pretend that it was.

No, friends. She did not behold unicorns and rainbows, rivers of chocolate, or lollipop trees. There were no castles, fairies or handsome princes on white horses. Nor were there big couches surrounded by piles of books and waiters bearing snacks so that books could be read start to finish without interruption.

However, there were fighters. Lots of ‘em. Enough for her to share with all her friends, if she had been the sharing type. Which she wasn’t.

So entranced was she by the sea of glistening pecs, hard abs, taut bottoms, and tight shorts, that she barely registered her surroundings. There may have been carpet on the floor. It may have been brown. The gym may have smelled strongly of stale sweat and the florescent lights above her head may have flickered, bathing the gym in a greenish glow. She also may have licked her  lips and tasted pure liquid desire. But who really cares about scenes and settings at times like these. Not her.

“Um…hi.” She spoke with the eloquence of an author who has mastered dialogue technique while wishing she had written herself some new clothes. Maybe not her husband’s plaid lumberjack shirt and those leggings that shrank two inches above her cankles the last time she put them in the wash, which, now that she thought about it was two years ago. And damnit. Sure those Birkenstocks were comfortable, but HELLO. PEDICURE. Overgrown toenails and chipped polish were just so passé.

Six shaved heads jerked up. Six tatted and ripped bodies turned in her direction. Twelve eyes (most in pairs) studied her from beneath the fringes of lashes.

She put one hand on her hidden muffin top, and one on her head, pretending to be toying with her hair while tugging out the pony tail holder and simultaneously smoothing the frizz.

“I’m lost.”

And just like that, she was sucked into the vortex of an alpha-male testosterone frenzy.

Woman. Alone. Lost. Dark. Needs. Help. Can’t. Resist. Must. Protect. Save. Woman.

Her fairy godmother appeared and she dropped twenty pounds, lost the grey and her clothes were magically transformed into skin-tight gym-wear that showed off her taut, honed body. The fighters attacked each other, trying to prove themselves worthy of helping her find her way home.

Soon (but not soon enough for her) only one fighter remained standing: the dominant alpha male. He stalked across the gym and pulled her against his hard, sweaty body. Then he leaned down and sealed his mouth over hers, claiming her with a punishing kiss that took her breath away (as punishing kisses from alpha males often do).

“Mine,” he growled.

And they lived happily ever after.

OK. Maybe it didn’t happen that way. Maybe a skinny teenager at the front desk let her use his phone to check out the best route to get home.

But, damn. It gave her a good idea for a series about sexy alpha male fighters and the women who capture their hearts.

And really, in the end, it’s all about the story.

FULL CONTACT, the third standalone book in my Redemption erotic fighter romance series, is available now, and Ray “The Predator” Black, the ultimate alpha male, is awaiting your pleasure.

 

Ray wraps his arms around me and holds me tight as if something terrible has happened and he doesn’t want to let me go.

Full Contact. This is how Ray speaks when his emotions overwhelm him. I melt into his stillness. His body is hot and hard, his breath warm on my neck. He smells of leather and sweat, sex and sin. Nothing can tear me away.

When you can’t resist the one person who could destroy you…

Sia O’Donnell can’t help but push the limits. She secretly attends every underground MMA fight featuring The Predator, the undisputed champion. When he stalks his prey in the ring, Sia is mesmerized. He is dominant and dangerous and every instinct tells her to run.

Every beautiful thing Ray “The Predator” touches he knows he’ll eventually destroy. Soft, sweet and innocent, Sia is the light to Ray’s darkness—and completely irresistible. From the moment he lays eyes on her, he knows he’s going to have to put his dark past behind him to win her body and soul.

The Redemption Series

Against the Ropes

In Your Corner

Full Contact

Excerpt:

Except for the White Buffalo’s cover of “House of the Rising Sun” playing in the background, there is no sound except the rasp of Ray’s breath as his chest rises and falls under my hand. Although I’ve done shoulder and pec tattoos countless times, the intimacy of this position sends a shiver through my body. Longing grips me hard and fierce, and I scramble to regain some semblance of control. Maybe a little conversation.

“So, did you catch your bad guy?”

“No. Still after him.”

When I look up, Ray is watching me. He is so close I can see the stubble of his five o’clock shadow, the thickness of his lashes, his eyes deepening to an azure blue. I force myself to look into them and swallow hard. “Everything okay?”

Apparently not. Jaw tight, muscles quivering, he captures me with his glance. “Your hair.”

I give my head a slight shake and my ponytail swings back and forth. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Take it down.” He fingers a loose tendril beside my ear, his authoritative tone sending a wave of heat raging through me.

“I keep it up so it’s out of the way.”

“Down.”

“I’ll have to take off my gloves first, and then I’ll have to…” My words die in my throat when he strokes his hand over my hair, front to back. With one sharp jerk, he tugs out my ponytail holder and my hair tumbles around my shoulders.

“Beautiful.”

Trembling, painfully and desperately aroused, I pick up the razor and shaving gel from my tray. “I…have to shave you.” My voice drops to a throaty whisper, and if that doesn’t tell him what he does to me, nothing will.

Another curt nod. But then he’s not a talkative type. I’ve never seen him hanging out with the other fighters after the gym closes for the night, and not once has he ever joined us for drinks after a fight.

Taking a deep breath, I steady my hand, then smooth the gel over his skin. But when I dip the razor, Ray tenses, his fist clenching and unclenching beside my hip.

A smile tugs at the corner of my lips. “Don’t worry. I’ve never cut anyone. I’ll be gentle.”

“Man lives the life I’ve lived, he’s not used to gentle.”

Tilting my head to the side, I meet his gaze. “You never had anyone be gentle with you?”

“I usually scare the gentle ones away.”

“I can’t imagine why.” My hand relaxes and I stroke the razor across his skin. Stroke and dip. Stroke and dip. The rhythmic movement calms my fraught nerves, but with every touch, tension builds between us until it is almost a living, palpable thing. “You’re not so scary.” I tease the blade around his nipple and Ray sucks in a sharp breath.

“Sia—” He chokes off his words so I continue talking, keeping my voice low and even, soothing the savage beast trapped in my chair.

“I have to admit, in the ring, you’re pretty terrifying. You have so much power and yet you keep it so tightly leashed. But when you let it go”—I look up and my cheeks heat—“I think it’s thrilling. But you keep it in control. You never go too far. That’s where I see the beauty.”

Ray stares at me as if entranced, heaving his breaths, his gaze focused, intent. Even when Slim walks past to grab some supplies and then heads back to the private rooms, Ray doesn’t take his eyes off me.

“Slim ink the butterfly too?” He leans forward and lightly touches the butterfly tat on my shoulder. I yank the razor away in case he becomes my first ever casualty.

“Yeah he did. I have one on the other shoulder too. Slim’s a real master. When he was finished with the roses and thorns, I felt like something was missing. I wanted hope and freedom. And yellow, because it’s my favorite color. He came up with the butterflies.”

“Would have thought black was your favorite color.” He gestures to my clothes. “You always wear black.”

“Yellow is my secret favorite color.” I give him a half smile. “Not many people know.”

Ray gives a grunt of satisfaction, and I feel a little tingle at the thought that I’ve pleased him. He traces the outline of the little butterfly and pleasure ripples through my body.

“Looks just like a butterfly I caught when I was a kid. I watched it for hours. Learned a hard lesson that day. I wanted to touch it and I was too rough. Must’ve broken its wing. When I let it go, it couldn’t fly.”

“You can touch me. I won’t break.”

His jaw tightens, and I curse myself for being so flippant about what was probably an upsetting moment in his childhood. What the hell is wrong with me? He shares an actual piece of personal information and I show no sympathy at all. Not only that, but now I’m begging for his attention.

After a few more strokes with the blade, I wash him off, then I spritz him with disinfectant. In my zeal, I spray not only the area to be inked, but the rest of his torso as well. Damn klutz side strikes again. “Sorry. Forgot to reduce the nozzle.” Grabbing a sterile cloth, I dry his chest then work my way over his rippled abdomen. His muscles quiver beneath my touch as I pat along the soft, dusky trail of hair, following it down to his belt. Imagining where it might go.

He tenses when I near his buckle and gives a strangled grunt. “S’good.”

My gaze drifts below his belt, to the bulge in his jeans. He is fully erect, his shaft straining against his fly. A naughty thrill of excitement shoots through my veins. He’s aroused because of me.

“Um…do you want to take a break before I apply the stencil?”

He shakes his head, then leans forward and sweeps his hand through my hair, letting the strands slide through his fingers. A sigh escapes my lips as delicious sensations sweep through my body. I am on fire. And although I’ve been with men before, I’ve never been immobilized by a single touch.

“So soft.” He runs his hand over my hair again, this time trailing his fingers along my shoulder. His thumb glides over my throat and he curls his hand around my neck. “So fucking delicate.”

I am burning. Consumed by fire. A burst of need drives a whimper up my throat, and I choke it back as his thumb circles the sensitive hollow at the base of my neck. Firm. Unyielding. Dominant. With one squeeze, he could break me. The way I was broken before. The way he broke the butterfly. And yet nothing could tear me away from this moment.

Order Links:

Amazon US http://bit.ly/Full_Contact

Amazon UK http://bit.ly/FullContactAMZUK

iTunes http://bit.ly/FullContactiBook

B&N http://bit.ly/FullContactBN

GooglePlay http://bit.ly/FullContactGooglePlay

I love to stay in touch with readers. Stop by and say hello!

Website http://www.sarahcastille.com

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Wendi Zwaduk: You’re Listening to What?

{Photo attribution: By CEphoto, Uwe Aranas (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/b...)], via Wikimedia Commons}

I want to first thank Delilah for having me on the blog today. I’ve been a long-time fan of hers and this is a very cool experience to be here.

Now about the post. Odd title, eh? I thought it was, but I’m often asked what I’m listening to when I write. I’ve written many different stories with all sorts of themes. So do I use a particular playlist for each book? Or am I a quiet writer?

Neither. Honest.

I used to be the type of writer who needed specific songs for the story for flow. That’s still true to a degree. If I want a certain feel for the story, like tense, then I’ll pick loud music or something that makes me feel tense. If I want romance stuff, then more soft rock.

But as I said, that’s not always the case.

Sometimes I listen to a movie when I write. I can’t see the movie—usually because it’s on my laptop and the document is over top of it—but that doesn’t mean I’m not paying attention. Something about the talking and the white noise soothes me and helps me get into the zone. The Avengers, Captain America, The X-Men, The Beatles’ Help!, and the Goodbye Girl are all ones I’ve used frequently. Something about the movies makes it easier for me to write.

Then there are times when I need music. You’ll never guess the main thing I’ve been listening to lately—instrumental music. Like? Like the music played in the movies. Soundtracks. The tension, romance, action and so forth are all in those songs. I get lost in them. Another thing I love to listen to right now is instrumental big band music from the 1940’s. I guess it’s because those types of songs aren’t played now or maybe because they remind me of my grandparents. I’m not sure, but I do love them. Right now, while I type this blog post, I’m listening to old Glenn Miller songs. J

Now I have a question for you. What gets you in the mood to read? Do you have to have music while you’re reading? (I do.) Or complete silence? What are some of your favorite songs? Let me know. I’d love to chatter music with you.

Here’s a little bit about my latest release, Stealing Home.

Stealing Home by Wendi Zwaduk

Book 3 in the Complicated Series

M/F, New Adult Romance, Contemporary

Novella

From Resplendence Publishing

T he last person she expected to fall for her just might be the one she’s been looking for all along.

Bliss McMahon isn’t looking for love. She’s got a degree to complete and a life she wants to live. Besides, love isn’t looking for her. The last and only time she’d tried dating, the whole situation had ended in disaster. Being twenty-one and never going beyond second base doesn’t exactly endear her to the guys, but the one guy she never expected to notice her has. Will she give him a shot or run the other way?

Evan Phillips has a way with the ladies. He can charm them just as easily as he hits homeruns, but this ballplayer has a problem. He won’t be able to pass art history without help. Enter Bliss. Sure, he’s dated her roommate, and yes, Bliss can’t stand him, but he’s not about to back down from the challenge of getting her help. She’s spunky, out of his league and just who he wants. Can the ballplayer convince Bliss he’s up for more than one inning or will she forfeit before the game begins?

He’s ready to steal home in order to win the woman of his dreams.

Warning: Contains a dangerous combination of fragile new love, bone-deep angst and desperate rivalry that will consume you with throbbing, out-of-control passion.

Available from Resplendence Publishing: http://www.resplendencepublishing.com/m8/740-978-1-60735-861-9–stealing-home-complicated-book-three-by-wendi-zwaduk.html

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Stealing-Home-Complicated-Book-3-ebook/dp/B00UW1VCDQ/ref=sr_1_7?ie=UTF8&qid=1427238260&sr=8-7&keywords=stealing+home

AllRomance Ebooks: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-stealinghome-1765610-149.html

Excerpt:

©Wendi Zwaduk, 2015, All Rights Reserved

Evan steered her to the building’s courtyard. The space, filled with various plants and trees, was meant to encourage the students and to provide a welcoming place to study. With the LED lights draped from the small fruit trees and fake snow surrounding the plants, the space looked festive. The play of light and shadow set a certain mood, especially after hours of activity in the building.

He glanced over at Bliss. A smile curled on her lips.

“What’s on your mind?” Evan slowed to a leisurely pace. “You ran away from me yesterday.”

“I’ve got lots on my mind.” She sighed. “I’ve got a couple of finals coming up, I don’t have a place to stay and I refuse to take incompletes because of my living arrangements. Does that work for you?”

“Stay with me.” He’d been rash, but the answer would work. “I’m on the fourth floor, and I’ve got room. Rick’s trying to get a single.”

“I can’t. You know they won’t allow co-ed rooms. Just co-ed buildings.” She stopped. “Besides, I can’t.”

“Why? I don’t have a disease.” Evan faced her. “I’m housebroken.”

“I just… I can’t.” She closed her eyes.

“Bliss, talk to me. I’m not going to bite you or flip out.” Evan clasped both her hands and kissed her knuckles. “I’m pushing too hard, but I like you. I’m screwing everything up by coming on strong, but I don’t know how to be anything else. Come here.” He led her to one of the benches and sat her on his lap. “Talk to me.”

Bliss opened her eyes. “I’m… I don’t have a lot of experience with guys.” She tensed on his thighs. “I’ve only dated once, and it was a disaster.” She covered her face with her hands.

“Okay.” Evan rubbed her back. “Who cares? Some people don’t date much.”

“I’m a virgin,” she said around her hands.

“Cool.” He respected her conviction. He’d lost his virginity the night he turned eighteen. At the time, he’d thought he was doing the right thing. Looking back, he hadn’t meant much to the girl he’d slept with.

“Cool?” She moved her hands and stared at him. “You sound like I’m a prize to be destroyed. You want to be the guy who can claim he’s taken my virginity.” She scooted off his lap. “I don’t play that way.”

“Wait. Bliss.” He jumped from his seat. “Stop.” He grasped her hand again, keeping her from leaving the courtyard. “Listen. Do I want to date you? Yes. Sleep with you? Eventually. I’m attracted to you and want to see where things can go. Am I going to push you? No.”

“Evan.” The muscle in her jaw tensed.

He navigated through the courtyard to the gazebo set up in the middle of the area. “Sometimes, a good thing is staring right back at you.”

*~*~*~*

Here’s a little bit about me:

I’ve always dreamt of writing the stories in my head. Tall, dark, and handsome heroes are my favorites, as long as he has an independent woman keeping him in line.  I love playing with words and letting the characters run wild.

NASCAR, Ohio farmland, dirt racing, animals and second chance romance  all feature prominently in my books.  I also write under the pen name of Megan Slayer. I’m published with Totally Bound, Resplendence Publishing, Changeling Press, Liquid Silver Books, Turquoise Morning Press, Decadent Publishing and Ellora’s Cave. Come join me for this fantastic journey!

If you like my work, tell your friends and email me. I love hearing from readers!

Email: theauthorwendizwaduk (AT) gmail (DOT) com

Site: http://wendizwaduk.com/

Blog:  http://www.wendizwaduk.net/

Wordpress blog: http://wendizwaduk.wordpress.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/WendiZwaduk

Fan page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Wendi-...

Amazon:  https://www.amazon.com/author/wendizwaduk

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On Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/wendizwaduk/

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Tell me a story… (Contest)

I’ll admit it. I’m shallow. Show me warm colors and a pretty man holding a whip and wearing a cowboy hat, and I melt like butter. So when I found this photo, I had to have it for the cover of the short story I’m releasing this coming Friday (or sooner, depending on Amazon—I’ll let you know).

I know what The Runaway Bride is all about, but I’d love to hear what story this picture tells you. Doesn’t have to be a story. It can be one scene. It can be a line of whatever she’s telling him as he gives her a hard or hot stare. It’s your story. Have fun.

And if you decide to play, there’s a reward—for one lucky person, anyway. I’ll give the winner a free copy of The Runaway Bride. 

Megan Mitcham: Secrets (Contest)

Can you keep a secret? I can. The first novel I wrote, For All to See, I kept secret from everyone—except my husband, mom, and grandmother—until I typed THE END. So, maybe I can’t keep a secret. Darn it.

And here I am again, sharing my secret. You see, I never though this book would see the light of day. Not because the story wasn’t great, but because—even though I’d written one—I knew zilch about writing a novel.

I discovered I had to share my secrets to learn and grow as a writer and person. You know the old adage, “Nothing ventured, nothing gained?” We still use it for a reason. It’s true.

Five years, two writing groups, five classes, hours of research, six novels, eight short stories, one novella, and two re-writes later Madelyn’s story of tribulation and triumph is ready for readers.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” You don’t have to tell me your secrets, but tell someone who can help you on the path to your dreams!

For a chance to win a digital copy from one of my backlist titles…tell me…in a no limits world what would you love to do? If I could do it well, I’d sing all day every day. But this isn’t fiction. If I did, someone would have me arrested for disturbing the peace.

FOR ALL TO SEE

Bureau Novel 1

Pristine waters and purified evil.

Two by two, dark-haired beauties vanish only to reappear as hanging, plundered corpses. The Virgin Islands boast diamond-white beaches, lush green mountains, a rich cultural heritage—and a brutal killer.

Three years on the “Field-Dresser” case and Special Agent Nathan Brewer is days away from catching the bastard—if he can convince a certain brunette to trust him. Only the woman is more likely to take a casual stroll on the surface of the sun.

After fleeing her troubles in the United States for the quiet life of a school teacher on the island of Tortola, Madelyn Garrett never imagined she’d be fixated upon by pure evil.

In a fight for her life—with a dwindling number of friends—she must rely on her cunning and Nathan’s skills for survival.

Amazon | iBooks | Kobo | Google Play |B&N | All Romance

Excerpt

The tough-as-titanium woman placed her hand in his as though she were as fragile as fine China. A primal need to shield her from harm thrashed its way to life, annihilating every reserve he’d clung to over the past few days. Some things weren’t worth fighting. Fighting the need to possess Madelyn was like wrestling a hurricane. He battened down and dug in the best he could. When that didn’t work he ran like hell. But one gust knocked him flat on his ass. One wave swept away the world he’d known. And he was done fighting the one woman who could rearrange his priorities.

Hand on the grip of his gun and the other wrapped around something far more dangerous, Nathan led the way to her Jeep. They rode in silence for a while. The echoes of their argument rang in his ears. He’d pushed her, but no further than she could handle. But now her head sagged against the leather rest. “I’m—”

“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry,” she interrupted.

Still tough.

“I was going to say, I’m thinking steak for dinner.”

“I guess it’s a good thing you’re a terrible liar.”

“It’s no lie that having a whole cow spit roasted and served on a platter has crossed my mind a time or fifty in the last few days.”

“Gross.”

“Delicious.”

“You can eat whatever you want, in my house or out. I want a shower and bed.”

“Good luck getting rid of me.”

“The craving will get you sooner or later.”

“A different craving takes precedence.” Nathan caught her gaze for the first time since he’d released her hand and closed the car door.

“You’re on the job. Isn’t there a policy against that?”

“There’s a whole handbook against it. Not to mention my own policies, which have held firm all the way up until you bullied your way into my life.” He gave her a sideways grin and turned back to the road.

“Bullied?”

“Yep. You refused to leave. You refused a protection detail and a free vacation in Miami. You got me.”

“Can I renegotiate my terms? Miami sounds nice.”

“If you really want to, yes. I’ll have you on a plane tonight.” He didn’t want her to go, but he wanted her safe more.

“What was it you said? Good luck getting rid of me?” She looped her tote over her shoulder and prepared to exit the Jeep.

“How about you wait and let me go in first this time?”

“If you insist.”

“I do.” He killed the engine and waited for her to join him. “Stay behind me.”

“I thought your people were watching this place 24/7.”

“They are.”

“But you don’t trust them?”

“People make mistakes.”

“Some bigger than others,” she said wistfully.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the house. Shock of shocks, she didn’t jerk away. Deacon greeted him with a muzzle to the crotch.

“Should I leave you two alone?” Madelyn whispered.

Nathan poked her gently in the ribs and addressed the dog. “Buddy, we’re going to need to set up some personal boundaries. But if a bad guy shows up, that’s the perfect spot to bite. Now come on, let’s go find a bad guy.” They walked room to room, clearing the space. Deacon gave up in the living room and flounced onto his bed.

“It’s just you and me.” Madelyn’s quiet voice bounced off the tiles and smacked him in the nuts.

Yes, it was just the two of them in the bathroom with nothing but time to pass until they caught the serial killer. His hand slid from the gun and he turned. Her hand hid her sweet mouth from view.

“I didn’t mean…it’s just you and me. I meant…there’s no boogie man lying in wait.” Her cheeks flushed that unmistakable shade of pink that set off the lightly toasted tan of her skin.

“Mmm-hmm.” He took the hand from her mouth and glided his up her naked arm.

Her breath hitched. Long, dark lashes veiled her gaze, which followed the trail of his fingers. He’d happily chance a shot to the balls to kiss her, but she wasn’t ready yet. He lifted the bag from her shoulder.

“You have a nice bath.” Mounting every bit of strength he possessed, he turned and walked out the door.

 

About the Author

Megan was born and raised among the live oaks and shrimp boats of the Mississippi Gulf Coast, where her enormous family still calls home. She attended college at the University of Southern Mississippi where she received a bachelor’s degree in curriculum, instruction, and special education. For several years Megan worked as a teacher in Mississippi. She married and moved to South Carolina and began working for an international non-profit organization as an instructor and co-director.

In 2009 Megan fell in love with books. Until then, books had been a source for research or the topic of tests. But one day she read Mercy by Julie Garwood. And Oh Mercy, she was hooked!

Megan lives in Southern Arkansas where she pens heart pounding romantic thriller novels and window steaming erotic romance. Follow her on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest & Goodreads!

 

—

Megan Mitcham

Sizzling Suspense – Are you sizzling yet?

The Base Branch Series

The Blacklist Series

Anthologies

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