Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 469

My Artsy-Crafty Revolution

Psst! Don’t forget! The Merry Christmas to You Contest continues!

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I never considered myself artistic. I can’t draw convincing stick figures. I can’t arrange pinecones to look like anything other than grubby pinecones stuck in a bowl. When I discovered I could write, I figured that was all the artsy goodness I had inside me. My mother is the artist of the family. She paints in water color and oil. Lovely things. And she belongs to an art guild. Well, I joined because she can’t drive at night and thought, well since I’m going to be there…

I’m not even sure how it started, but watching other folks who claimed they weren’t artistic, but were willing to experiment to find something visually creative they could do, inspired me to try as well. I’m a jewelry hound. So naturally, when I discovered Etsy, I combed the sight and found some things I wanted to try. I began with domino and scrabble tile altered art pendants. With paper, rubber stamps, alcohol ink blotches, glue, glitter, jewels, and tons of patience, I’ve made pendants I actually love wearing. And I’ve sold them to other people!! Talk about encouragement—someone else likes what I do! Then I branched into metal stamping and glass fusion. Nothing that requires that I draw a straight line, but I have discovered I’m terrific with color and layering things together. Now, I’m looking at crocheted and beaded bracelets.

I finished this domino pendant yesterday. This one’s very simple. Just paper and glitter.

If you’re on facebook, you’ve likely seen other pendants and decoupage projects I’ve worked on. My daughter’s been there every step of the way, and shared the journey. We’ve found something we love doing together, and we’re constantly conspiring to create new things.

Finding balance between the writing and jewelry-making is becoming a new challenge. For the longest, writing was all I thought I wanted to do. Who knew?

So what about you? Do you enjoy arts and crafts? Don’t tell me you don’t have

that gene. Is there something you’ve thought about trying?

Oh! And this is something simple too. A way I am able to blend my writing and crafty worlds together. I’ll be giving these away when the book releases end of January:

Guest Blogger: Sandra Jones (Contest)

Sandra Jones’s Casting Couch

I’m so excited to be a guest on Delilah’s blog. We’re in the same RWA chapter, and I can tell you, she’s a fabulous lady.

I’ve been writing the first draft of a new historical, and I’m spending countless hours online researching to get all the historical details correct. By day, I’m a librarian, so I find research half the fun anyway—I’m just weird like that, I know!

One thing that I can’t resist is finding pictures of actors who best fit the characters I envision. My current hero is based on a fairly popular actor, so finding pics of every angle and expression he wears is a breeze. Admittedly, I’m kinda crushing on him…but I think we’re all supposed to fall in love with our heroes at least a little. J

If I ever sell one of my stories for a movie, I’d be tempted to offer a few suggestions for the stars. For my casting couch, I’m looking for men who look great in chainmail, kilts, or cravats. Think Mr. Darcy, William Wallace, or Lancelot. Would the actor look alpha in a ruffled, unbuttoned shirt? If so, he’s my guy! Here are a few of my current obsessions:

Taylor Kitsch

Joe Maganiello

Gerard Butler

Ian Somerhold

Who would you want to see on a casting couch? Leave a comment for me on Delilah’s blog, and I’ll give one commenter a copy of the ebook!

The Author

Sandra Jones is the author of sensual historical romances. She worked as a bookseller and as a librarian, where she indulged in her love of old books. When not researching or writing, she enjoys being with family, reading, and watching British TV. A self-proclaimed history geek, she currently lives in a 1905 Greek revival home in the Mississippi Delta.

Sandra loves to hear from her readers: visit her website www.sandrajonesromance.com or on Twitter: sjonesromance Facebook or Pinterest

Sandra’s latest is HER CHRISTMAS KNIGHT, a medieval romance story included in FIVE GOLDEN RINGS: A CHRISTMAS COLLECTION, available in ebook now from Avon Impulse and in paperback in January.

FIVE GOLDEN RINGS

by Sophie Barnes, Karen Erickson, Rena Gregory, Sandra Jones, Vivienne Lorret

The holidays are a time for wishes, magic and, of course, love. Celebrate the season with this delightful collection of Christmas tales. What better way for Connor Talbot, Earl of Redfirn, to spend the holidays than convincing Leonora Compton that the only match she needs to make is with him!

The Duke of Ashton has had three years to plan for his perfect Christmas present—the Lady Eleanor Fitzsimmons as his wife. Now, all he has to do is convince the reluctant lady …

Phin Baldwin does not believe in Christmas magic … until the clever and beautiful Ginny Overton gets it into her head to show him how wonderful it can be when wishes come true.

Just returned from the Crusades, marriage is the last thing on Sir Caerwyn’s mind. But will he be able to resist Lady Nia, the thief of his boyhood heart, when she tempts him yet again?

Responsible Ethan Weatherstone is determined to save Penelope Rutledge—and her reputation—from her silly scheme, but can he save himself from the temptation of her lips?

Excerpt

He stepped away, leaving her still half-swallowed in the unfastened chain mail. God but she still stirred him, even dressed in pounds of armor. The shapeless form forced his eye to her beautiful face and made him long for the rest of her body hidden beneath. “Aye, you’ve become an excellent rider, skilled with a lance. But underneath all Padrig’s trappings, you’re still female.”

“I practice at the quintain more days than not, and I’m a good horsewoman. There was no combat in the event, so I was never in any danger. You must admit I convinced you.” Her face brightened and she stood straighter. “I’m sure you would say it was Serena’s influence again. Just like three years ago, the last night in our keep, before you left. You and I were to meet. When you arrived I wasn’t alone…”

His chest tightened. He’d kept the memory at bay for too long to let her remind him. He barked, “Now you want to tease me! Aye, you deceived me today, and you betrayed me then. What point are you trying to make?” Mayhap she enjoyed pushing the knife deeper into his heart.

 “Caerwyn, you’ve never believed me, but I’ll say it again. I’ve never been with another man. Look,” she turned her back to him, gathering her braids in one hand and twisting them up to hold on top of her head. “Do I look like a woman from behind now?”

“You know you do not.”

“I practice in mail often. My father disapproves, of course. Serena’s worn it only once. In armor, she would look like a man from behind, don’t you think?” She moved closer to the bed, took hold of the thick banister. When she glanced over her shoulder at him, the sight of her posture, so sensual, so seductive, yet so unpracticed…sweat glistened on his brow.

“Aye. I suppose…”

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Guest Blogger: Shayla Black

A huge happy holidays to everyone, and a special thanks to Delilah for having me here so I can talk about my latest release, One Dom To Love. It’s the first of a new, super-sexy serialized tale called the Doms Of Her Life, about one tempestuous woman thoroughly in love with two men and their fight to see which Dom will come out on top. These characters are very special to me, and I had SO much fun writing this with my co-authors Jenna Jacob and Isabella LaPearl. We hope you enjoy them, too.

Since it’s December, and I know some of you are probably a little chilly (don’t even get me started on how much I hate winter), I thought I’d heat you up with a little blurb and excerpt from the book:

Raine Kendall has been in love with her boss, Macen Hammerman, for years. Determined to make the man notice that she’s a grown woman with desires and needs, she pours out her heart and offers her body to him—only to be crushingly rejected. But when his friend, very single, very sexy Liam O’Neill watches the other Dom refuse to act on his obvious feelings for Raine, he resolves to step in and do whatever it takes to help Hammer find happiness again, even rousing his friend’s possessive instincts by making the girl a proposition too tempting to refuse. But he never imagines that he’ll end up falling for her himself.

Hammer has buried his lust for Raine for years. After rescuing the budding runaway from an alley behind his exclusive BDSM Dungeon, he has come to covet the pretty submissive. But tragedy has taught him that he can never be what she needs. So he watches over her while struggling to keep his distance. Liam’s crafty plan blindsides Hammer, especially when he sees how determined his friend is to possess Raine for his own. Hammer isn’t ready to give the lovely submissive over to any other Dom, but can he heal from his past and fight for her? Or will he lose Raine if she truly gives herself—heart, body, and soul—to Liam?

EXCERPT

Raine drew in a shuddering breath. “You heard my argument with Hammer. I’m not very good at being submissive, I don’t think. When I lose my temper, I’m awful at controlling what I say. I mean to be good… I think I’m doomed to disappoint you.” For whatever reason, that thought nearly made her cry again. Her throat closed up. Embarrassment stung. “For my own selfish reasons, I want to say yes. But you’ve been beyond fair. I can’t be less so. The truth is, I probably can’t be what you want or need.”

He smiled gently. “We’ll never know unless we give it a whirl. I’ve the desire and patience to help you. What have you got to lose, lass?”

Hammer was already lost to her. “Nothing, I guess.”

“Precisely. We’ll have an enjoyable battle of wills, you and I. I promise, you’ll not be bored.”

A tremor passed through her when his broad hands surrounded her waist. This man could never be boring, not when he ignited every red-blooded cell in her body with a single touch.

“Take a chance, Raine,” he coaxed. “Have you not shed enough tears from these lovely eyes? You could do worse than a big bastard like me.” He chuckled, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “I’d try my best to make you feel good about yourself and the two of us together.”

With every word he spoke, she grew more tempted—and confused. He said all the right things. He echoed so many of the sentiments she’d longed to hear from Hammer. Raine wondered if she should pinch herself…or wait for the punch line. But no denying that Liam made some great points. The idea of taking a chance with him made sense, even though it scared the hell out of her.

“I hear you. I just I don’t know how to take you. You sound like you’re for real, but I keep coming back to the question, why me? You must want a proper submissive. And I… Look, if you just want sex, that’s easy. I’d be interested. We could do that now and call it a day. You don’t have to take me on as a ‘project’ for that.”

Raine couldn’t pass up the chance to feel good and focus on nothing but the pleasure Liam could give her for an hour. She reached for the hem of her halter top, ready to yank it over her head. It wasn’t like Hammer would care.

“Now hold up there.” He stayed her with a light grip on her arm and a shake of his head.

She froze. Shame flooded her. Crap, she’d done it again, thrown herself at a man who had no intention of taking her up on her stupid, impulsive offer. Once more, she’d been put in her place. Though Liam had done it differently than Hammer, the result still made her feel the same. Rejected. Embarrassed. Uncertain. She’d thought Liam wanted her, but…

“I-I’m sorry. Oh, god.” She felt sick. “I d-didn’t mean to presume… I’m going to go.”

When she tried to scramble to her feet, he tugged her back against him. “Stop. I want you, lass, something fierce. But if it were just a fucking I sought, do you think I’d even be talking to you now, hmm?” He cocked a brow. “Why would I seek out a distraught woman for sex who’s been through the wringer when I can find a compliant sub?”

With that deep, lilting voice that turned her on, he made a really good point.

“What are you saying?”

“Let’s go about this the right way, shall we?” Liam lifted her from his lap. “Strip and kneel on the floor here at my feet.”

Raine hesitated. “B-but I was stripping.”

“Carelessly and without a single thought of submission in your head. That’s not acceptable. That’s not how it’s going to be. Go on now. I want to see you bonny and bare.”

With trembling fingers, she locked her gaze on his as she lifted her shirt over her head. Then she eased her skirt down her hips. With a pounding heart she sank, naked and on her knees before him. Breasts thrust out, she knelt with legs spread.

Liam silently praised her with a soft hand down her hair. She could feel the heat of his stare all over her. “You look lovely. What’s your safe word?”

She barely had time to bask in his praise before his question hit her. She blinked. “Do I need one? Are you going to…hurt me?”

“You always need one, no matter what. Tell me yours.”

Her mind went blank. She’d never needed one before, and she’d heard many over the years of working here at Shadows. It had to be something she could say easily, but not something she’d shout in the midst of pleasure or pain. “Paris?”

He raised a brow. “Beautiful city. Is that why you picked it?”

“I’ve never been, but I’d like to go someday. It just popped into my head.” She shrugged.

“Paris it is.” A little smile played at his mouth. “Now, tell me why the devil you would think you’re a project. You’re a woman, beautiful and feisty. But you don’t see that in yourself, do you?”

She grinned a little. “Is that your polite way of saying I’m pretty but a brat…Sir?”

“Maybe a wee bit.” His rich, deep laugh caressed her before he fell serious again. “Raine, you know I can only take what you give me. Submission means you have the control. Always. Like now. Stand up and turn back around. Look at yourself in the mirror. What do you see?”

His voice turned deeper, more controlled. Finding the courage to look in the mirror was difficult. She couldn’t force herself to face her own reflection. She bowed her head, fretful that she’d annoy or displease him. Something in her seemed to shrivel up at the thought.

He walked across the room and flipped on the bright, glaring lights overhead. In the terrible hush, she didn’t know what to say. Feeling his silent will, she followed his command and raised her head. She frowned as she got a good look at her tear-stained face.

“Oh my god, I’m a mess!” Raine couldn’t stand to look at her splotchy cheeks, swollen eyes, and wild hair under those intense lights for a second more. She glanced away.

“No, none of that, lass. You’re a beauty. Look again, past the tears. What do you see?”

“I don’t know,” she murmured as she forced herself to gaze at her own reflection, trying not to flinch. “Someone lost. Someone who’s been lingering where she probably shouldn’t. Someone everyone in this club probably thinks is pathetic.”

Liam cupped her face in his hand, raising her chin. Side by side, their faces reflected.

“There’s a wee bit of a lost soul here, but you’re no longer the frightened child you once were. You’re a woman grown, and you need more than Hammer has allowed you. But you haven’t found the Dom willing to give it to you.” He wrapped an arm around her. “Until now.”

Maybe Liam could give her more. Hammer had watched over her, helped and protected her, which was more than she could say for her own family, but he hadn’t nurtured her as a submissive or a woman.

Liam palmed her heavy breasts. She sucked in a shaky breath as his thumbs lightly brushed over her nipples. As she liquefied beneath his touch, she watched the heat grow in his eyes.

“There’s my beauty, right there. Just a little trust… Give me that, and I’ll make it better.”

Or make it worse. In seconds, he’d set her entire body aching and yearning.

“Liam,” she whimpered, arching her back, legs shifting restlessly, silently begging for more.

“There now. Softly does it, lass. Put yourself in my care. I know what you need and I want you to let the longing you’ve kept inside you free. But you’ve got to be still for me.”

Damn it, that voice of his deepened again, turning her on even more. As his fingers pinched her tight nipples, she writhed. Her hips bucked. Her pussy wept. She wanted to close her eyes and savor every sensation, but his demanding stare held her prisoner.

Suddenly, his hands settled gently on the curve of her waist. “I know you’ve been hurting. But if you want me to help you, you’ve got to be still and give yourself over to me.”

It wasn’t easy, but Raine forced herself to relax, stop her movements, and look at the two of them in the mirror.

His smile made her glow. “Excellent. For your effort, you deserve a little reward.”

He lowered one hand, aiming between her thighs. His caress brushed down her abdomen agonizingly slow…

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Shayla Black

MINE TO HOLD – June 5 | OURS TO LOVE  – May 7

THEIR VIRGIN CONCUBINE – Sept 8| ONE DOM TO LOVE – Dec 4

www.shaylablack.com | www.facebook.com/ShaylaBlackAuthor

Twitter.com: @Shayla_Black

Snippet Saturday: Winter

The weather here will be in the 60′s today. Warmish for this time of year. It’s looking rather doubtful we’ll see snow for Christmas. But here’s a scene that should put you in the holiday mood!
If you enter a comment today, you’ll be entered to win

a free download of this book!

“…ARCTIC DRAGON is a captivating fairytale…” ~ Two Lips Reviews

“…Delilah Devlin is an awesome author who knows how to get a reader’s attention and keep them coming back for more…Ms. Devlin has written a fantastic story that explodes right off the pages…” ~5 Angels & Recommended Read, Fallen Angels Reviews

Headstrong, and seeking a little respite from a suitor’s relentless wooing, Queen Larikke rides the arctic wind far beyond the bounds of Northland, only to have her horse bolt at a shot from a hunter’s gun. Her “rescuer” is a handsome, mysterious man who lives alone in the wilderness, his cabin filled with erotic images of women.

Rather than fearing her fate, Larikke sets out to seduce him, hoping for one last fling before she settles down to do her duty and wed. Thinking he was saving a life, Drake dragged a very strange woman home, stripped her, and warmed her by his fire. Now he finds his long, self-imposed isolation may have made her allure impossible for him to resist and that he’ll endanger her when he shares his special kiss.

A blanket of fresh powder muffled his footsteps. For a moment, the bitter cold wind died down. The stillness invited him deeper into the clearing. Something in the air alerted him, an intuition that was part of his true nature told him to wait.

Wind had blown snow against large tree trunks, forming deep banks where the tall green sentinels stood close together. Everywhere pure, pristine white dusted the tops of branches, cloaking them in rich, thick wonder. Precious sunlight peeked from behind a dark gray cloud and refracted like a billion tiny prisms on frozen crystals that gilded the uppermost layer of the snow.

His breaths seemed loud, intrusive and he concentrated on being quiet so that he didn’t disturb—not that anyone was would hear him this deep in the wilderness.

Rather, all was hushed, expectant. Quiet like he preferred now. Content at last with his own company.

The first few months had been the worst. The silence had nearly driven him nuts. Now, he barely noticed. Sounds other than voices, the hum of electricity or the roar of a passing engine were replaced with softer, more predictable ones—the rustle of pine needles as a breeze swept through outstretched branches, the resonant creaking when snow weighed the branches down. The rustle of animals as they scratched in the snow for food.

The voices inside his head had also faded. The strident ones that had called him a freak and the startled screams—well, they couldn’t reach him here.

If he missed the company of a woman—so be it. Other parts of his existence flourished in the solitude. Almost filling the aching void. The decision he’d made had been the right one. He’d spend the rest of his life—however long—alone.

Do no harm.

He lived by that rule now. At least in regard to people.

For now, he had a stew pot to fill, and he’d tracked a lone deer through the forest to this spot. A soft snort, and he found the doe digging with her hooves to uncover whatever she could still forage beneath the snow.

Drake tugged off his mittens and raised his rifle, setting the stock snug against his shoulder. He had the doe in his sights and slowly pulled back on the trigger, when an unexpected tinkling sound, like bells carried on the wind, drew his attention. His gaze strayed for only moment. As his attention returned to his quarry, a sudden icy wind swept up snow, obscuring his view.

The shadow of the deer still in his scope, he pulled the trigger, jerking the barrel upward at the last moment when he realized he wasn’t looking at a doe at all—but a woman on a bay-colored horse!

The shot went wild, but the horse gave a high-pitched whinny and reared, dumping the woman to the ground before bolting.

Drake threw down his rifle, swearing silently as he clomped on unwieldy snowshoes toward the figure lying like a spill of red paint against a white canvas. Her fur-lined scarlet cloak fanned around her slender body. He knelt in its folds to reach for the woman who had yet to open her eyes.

He ran his hands over her body, checking for broken limbs, cursing himself for a horndog for noting generous curves beneath her dark gold gown. But it had been a long time since soft curves had yielded beneath his palms. Not much in the way of padded layers of clothing protected her from his inspection, just the soft fabric. What in hell was she doing wearing a costume in the wilderness in winter, even one made of heavy velvet?

Finally, she stirred, moaning softly.

He sat back on his haunches, noticing at last the luster of her mink brown hair and brows and the thick lashes that fanned the rims of her delicate eyelids. They fluttered then lifted, revealing gold-flecked brown eyes.

Struck by her beauty, he stared. Her eyes were wide set and large; her nose elegant and straight. The shape of her face was slightly triangular with a small chin that took no attention away from the sweet curves of her soft, plump mouth.

“Who are you?” she asked, with a voice as light and sweet as the bells he thought he’d heard before.

He shook his head to clear away his lustful thoughts. “The idiot who nearly shot you,” he said, his own voice thick and rusty from disuse. He cleared his throat. “Can you move? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, I think.”

“What the hell were you doing out here?”

She gave him a distracted frown. “Riding.” Then rising on her elbows, she glanced around her, blinking. “My horse, Windancer…”

“He bolted when I fired.”

Her confused stare returned to him. “He’s gone?” Her eyes widened until the white surrounded the brown iris. “We must find him.”

No “I must find him”. She’d included him, without even wondering if it was wise.

Snow had begun to fall again—thick, fat flakes that swirled in the rising wind, a blast of arctic chill. Knowing it was the wrong thing to do, but seeing no other choice, he said, “I’ll look for him after the snowfall ends. We need to get you inside.”

Oh hell. He’d have to take her to his place. Something he’d sworn he’d never do. She might not be any safer there. He’d lived alone too long. With her lush beauty, she was too much of a temptation.

Her mouth opened, but then closed, her lips forming a thin line. “I have to find my horse. I can’t stay here,” she said, casting a wild glance around them.

“In a few minutes, we won’t see more than a few feet in front of us. A storm’s coming in.”

“You don’t understand—”

Although, it was the last thing he should do, he held out his hand. “Come. We’ll talk later. After I get you out of the cold.”

* * * * *

Larikke stared in dismay. She couldn’t go home with him. They’d be alone. Her, alone with a human? Unthinkable! Humans were so short-lived and violent. Think of the scandal it would cause!

“We’ll both freeze if we don’t get out of this weather,” he said slowly, as though speaking to a child—one not so very bright.

Only she knew she wouldn’t. Freeze, that is. This is what she got for her stubborn bid for freedom. Stranded in a wild land—with a man. Her mage would no doubt cluck like a hen when she recounted the tale of how she’d ridden the wind and landed on her backside in a snow bank before a human as handsome as any damnable frost faerie.

She’d only wanted to put Thure firmly in his place. Remind him who was in charge of her destiny—that she had a will of her own.

And maybe to inspire him to anger and to let go of the firm hold he kept over himself whenever they were together. She wanted to see the powerful male beneath his princely trappings.

Rather like the prime specimen before her.

Oh, why couldn’t this human have been as hairy as a polar bear? Or as ugly as a walrus? Oh no! His eyes were a crystalline blue. His hair was silvery blond and fell well past his broad shoulders. Clean-shaven, his jaw was sharp-edged and strong. His brows, although drawn together in a fierce frown, were full and nicely shaped but hooded piercing eyes. Despite the layers of clothing he wore, she could tell his frame was tall and thickly muscled.

The few humans she’d met long ago, thickheaded and thick-bodied warriors stopping on their journey to Valhalla, didn’t compare. A crude, ungifted species, they’d never aroused much interest. But this one, with his rumbling voice and burly frame, nearly stole her breath away.

Perhaps she was simply addled by her spill. Or maybe she was just feeling the familiar, deepening need for something different from her prescribed future—something wicked and deplorably wrong. She cleared her throat. “I must insist we find my horse.”

He rolled his eyes and tugged her to her feet. Then before she could brush away the snow clinging to her mantle and give him the setdown he deserved for daring to handle her so familiarly, he bent and swept her over his shoulder.

Larikke’s mouth gaped. Now, this was a view of the world she’d never seen. Upside down, suspended on the shoulder of a barbarian, several long moments passed before she could gather the breath to do more than sputter in feigned outrage—for his rough handling of her person was…intriguing. “What do you think you’re doing?” she gasped.

“What you haven’t the sense to do yourself,” he grumbled, as he trudged through the snow.

Blood rushed to her head and temporarily northern parts, filling her with a breathless expectancy—something the Prince of the Frost Faeries had never managed to do with his polite wooing. Larikke gave a huff, but didn’t bother to struggle against his firm hold.

Instead, she brought her fingers to her mouth and issued a piercing whistle. The expected whinny never came. Could Windancer truly have deserted her? Was he even now making his way back to the palace without her? Gudvin would have his guts for garters!

Well, there was only one thing to do. Since she was truly at his mercy, she might as well play nice. Pressing her hand against his lower back, she arched up. “I accept your hospitality, sir. You may put me down now.”

“We’re already there,” he said, his voice deliciously gruff. He set her on her feet next to what looked like a snub-nosed metal sled.

“It looks as though you’ve lost your horses too,” she sniffed.

His startled gaze landed on her.

She shrugged. “You really should have let me wait for my horse. He’d have no trouble pulling your little sled.”

Proving his barbarian pedigree, he grunted. “Climb on.” He pointed to a leather saddle atop the odd conveyance.

Only to humor him, Larikke gathered her clothing and clumsily straddled the sled then tugged her skirts to straighten them around her. When she glanced up, he shook his head.

“What?”

“Scoot back.”

When she hesitated, he swung his leg wide, climbing over the sled, just behind its steering handles, then he pressed backward, nearly sitting in her lap. Larikke slid as far back as the seat would allow, but still found her front plastered to his back—and her thighs snug alongside his.

Before she could voice an objection to his proximity, the conveyance roared to life, jerking forward, and then skimming over the snow fast as a seal in water. Hastily, she grasped for something to hold on to, her hands sliding around his waist to grip him hard.

She pressed her cheek against his shoulder and squeezed shut her eyes as they sped past trees that blurred the faster they went. Just when she was beginning to enjoy the heat of his body pressed close to hers and the vibrating rumble between her legs, the sled hurtled over a crest and left the ground, only to land with a thud on the far side before speeding away again.

The idiot would kill them both! Her immortality seemed a mite more finite by the second. “Will you please slow down?” she shouted above the roar of the invisible horses.

“Already there,” he said, this time sounding suspiciously smug.

“You said that before,” she muttered.

The sled slowed, and then drew to a smooth halt.

Larikke peeked around his shoulder to find they’d stopped in front of a rough log cabin. “I was wrong. Not a human. A troll,” she muttered.

“What did you say?”

“Never mind. I assume this is our destination?”

He climbed off the sled and looked at her expectantly.

She stared, wondering when he’d offer her a hand. When he didn’t appear to take the hint, she decided to outwait his bad manners and gathered her skirts, willing strength into her trembling legs.

“For fucksake.” The blond barbarian bore down on her, his hands outstretched.

Larikke squealed when he gripped her waist and lifted her from her seat. He deposited her next to the sled and raised one eyebrow. His message was clear. He’d carry her again, if she refused to move along.

Gathering her considerable pride, Larikke gave the invisible horses a wide berth and headed toward the house, now only a looming shadow behind the whirling white snow.

She realized with a start that the pale sunlight waned. The day had been short, but not surprisingly so, given how close to Northland they were. Would anyone at home even notice she was missing?

Nearer the door, she saw the outline of figures lining a pathway in the snow. Sentries? Around a hovel? Only when she drew nearer she realized they were encased in ice, their skin, hair and clothing translucent. Frozen solid!

Was he a powerful mage? She darted a glance over her shoulder and found him alarmingly close. Would he enslave her thusly if she didn’t do as he bid? Thinking she may have been captured by a very gifted creature indeed, she was surprised she wasn’t more afraid.

Then again, he’d thought only of her safety. Her comfort. He’d brought her out of the cold to rescue her after all. Not that she really needed rescuing. Only he didn’t know that, did he? He had no clue as to her identity. If he knew, what would he do? Ransom her to the frost faeries? She shivered at the thought.

Thure would expect a large reward in return—rule over her kingdom. Her flight into the artic wind had been to escape his attentions in the first place.

The barbarian mage reached around her, thumbed the latch on the crude wooden door and swung it open. Dark as a cave inside except for the red embers of a smoldering fire in a hearth, the cabin smelled pleasantly of wood smoke and a strong pine scent she couldn’t place. She waited patiently while he shut the door behind them, dropping a board into a brace to lock them inside.

“I’ll get the fire going. Make yourself comfortable,” he said, roughly, not looking her way.

She strode further inside, surprised to find the room larger than she had originally thought. As he lit lanterns on the table and above the mantle, she took stock of her surroundings. Thick braided wool rugs in a riot of vibrant colors covered the floor. Deep-cushioned leather couches flanked the fireplace. Dark cupboards, shining from a fresh application of beeswax, reflected the warming glow of the fire. A cozy room despite the cabin’s rustic exterior.

However, what drew her fascinated gaze were the paintings gracing the crude log walls. In colors deep and vivid, they depicted nude women, lying atop disheveled beds and green meadows on coverlets of crimson, royal blue and yellows as vivid as the rare roses her winged suitor brought her during the midnight sun. The colors were alive, sensual, the whirling textures of the paint itself drawing her to touch, but the poses of the women disturbed her.

Legs splayed wide, palms cupping generous breasts, fingers sliding into glistening sexes. Her body stirred at the images as she imagined them tempting the barbarian with their naked flesh. Arousal rose swift and urgent inside her.

Had she landed in the lair of a mage who used sex magicks? The thought should have horrified her, but she’d seen proof of his powers in the sentries guarding the door. How else could she explain her response to the pictures and to him? She should have been horrified—or at the very least deeply embarrassed.

A footfall behind her made her stiffen.

“Let me take your cloak,” he said, his voice gruff.

“Will you enslave me in ice?” she asked, glancing warily over her shoulder.

His eyebrows drew together in a frown, and his gaze swept over her. “Enslave you?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Like the poor creatures guarding your door.”

“Damn.” Suddenly, he gripped her shoulder to turn her toward him. Then he reached for the frog closures at the top of her cloak and plucked them open. He slid the cloak off her shoulder to let it fall to the floor.

She found herself being pulled toward the fire, but his hands didn’t stop their wicked work. “Stop that!” she said, swatting at his dexterous fingers as they made quick work of the buttons at the neck and along the side of her gown.

“I won’t harm you,” he said, between tight lips. “You’re suffering from hypothermia. Your dress is wet. I need to get you out of it.”

“Hypothermia?” What was he saying? “Is that a curse?”

“It will be if we don’t get you out of those clothes and warm,” he said, his voice steady, but roughening.

Had he already used his magick? She was certainly growing warmer by the moment. Allowing him to finish stripping away her gown, she stood in front of him with the fire warming her backside.

His intent expression didn’t fill her with alarm. Instead, a glowing warmth from within left her breathless. What did he see when the soft undertunic slid to the floor? How did she compare with the women mounted on his wall?

He knelt and skimmed down her thin stockings, making a disapproving noise. “These won’t keep you very warm.” He pushed them to her feet and removed them along with her slippers, then slowly stood.

Finally nude, she shivered in anticipation of what he’d do next.

His gaze slid quickly over her, his cheeks reddening—but he turned and swept up a throw from one of the couches and drew it over her shoulders. “I guess you’re fine. Your skin’s warm enough.”

Her skin prickled and she shrugged off the throw, letting it sift to the floor. “It itches.”

“It’s wool,” he said, his jaw tightening. “It’ll keep you warm until your clothing dries.”

She wrinkled her nose. “It itches.”

One eyebrow rose. “You’d rather be naked?”

She drew a pillow from the sofa and sat on it before the fire, wrapping her arms around her knees, pretending his presence didn’t trip her heartbeat.

He sighed. “I’ll take that as a yes.” His feet shifted on the floor beside her.

She stretched her legs, lifting her toes toward the fire and studied the way the firelight limned her legs, all the while aware of his gaze sweeping their length like a heated caress. Did she dare give into temptation? Shouldn’t she fight his seductive allure?

He drew a ragged breath.

She glanced up and found his dark gaze roaming her body, landing on her legs, sliding upward to her hips. She tossed back her hair and let him stare at her bared breasts.

“Would you mind if I sketched you?” he asked softly.

Her glance darted toward the paintings. Is this how he seduced the women? First, he captured their souls on canvas? She remembered his roughness as he’d forced her over his shoulder, his strength when he’d lifted her from the sled. He’d brooked no argument from her. Would he be the same way when he came over her in lust?

Thure’s lovemaking had been gentle. He’d treated her respectfully, even when he thrust inside her, begging her first for the privilege. Somehow, she knew this barbarian wouldn’t be as deferential toward her rank. The thought of just how ungentlemanly he would be had her breasts tightening and a heated glaze seeping from her pussy.

“I won’t mind,” she whispered, holding his hot gaze.

He turned away, striding stiffly toward a cabinet in the corner and drew out a thick sheaf of paper and black sticks. Setting them on one of the leather couches, he unbuttoned his jacket and shrugged out of it, then rolled up the sleeves of his red shirt.

Larikke forced her stare back to the fire and tried to relax as he scratched the paper with the black sticks. She’d never watched a man create a painting—only seen the finished products which the faerie folk traded for in the faraway land. Her gaze lifted to one of the paintings, this one of a woman with her head thrown back, her teeth buried in her lower lip. She looked pained, but Larikke recognized the source as passion.

Thure was skilled and had brought her a gentle release a time or two, but she’d often yearned for something a little wilder. She wanted to be swept outside herself, frightened by the power of her desire.

Perhaps this interlude was her chance to taste true freedom from the expectations placed upon her. Soon, Gudvin would know she’d not returned from her ride. He’d mount a rescue, scouring her usual trails. When those proved futile, he’d search his golden orb to locate her.

She couldn’t stay here. But she might use the time spent here to learn her true nature—and explore the passion that even now rose up to cause her breaths to catch and her nipples to swell.

The scratching paused. “Would you touch yourself?”

Larikke blinked. If she did something so decadent, could she tempt him to show her his barbarian side? “Like her?” she asked, tilting her chin toward the painting.

He shook his head. “Do what pleases you.”

She dipped her head, embarrassed she didn’t really know what that might be. “I’m not sure…”

“Start with your breasts, then.”

* * * * *

Be sure to check out the snippets on these other authors’ blogs:

Lissa Matthews

Rhian Cahill

Leah Braemel

Myla Jackson

Caris Roane

Jody Wallace

McKenna Jeffries

Taige Crenshaw

HelenKay Dimon

Shiloh Walker

Eliza Gayle

Lauren Dane

Felicity Heaton

Shelli Stevens

TJ Michaels

Guest Blogger: Cynthia Sax

Thank you Delilah for inviting us to cause chaos on your blog today. This is a release day for three of us and we can’t think of a better place to spend it! We know you love SciFi erotic romances as much as we do!

We thought we’d start from… well… the start, talking about the very first words readers see – our titles. Names are so important and the name of a story is no exception.

Christine d’Abo – Lust Rebooted

My story is a mix of erotic sci-fi, adventure with a dash of comedy. The main challenge that the heroine Zoe is faced with is the arrival of a sexbot named Sam and the jealous reaction from her sentient computer, Rupert. One wants what it can’t have, and the other has what it can’t appreciate. Zoe is faced with the choice of having to save one over the other when their computer mainframe is infected with a virus. I wanted a title that would show both the erotic nature of the book, and still somehow capture the computer elements.

Ria Candro – Bonded

I came up with the title for Bonded once I discovered the plot of my story. The heroine, Inara, has a mission to complete, and discovering she’s meant to be mated to a pod of Spygians goes against everything she’s planned. Much as she’d love to indulge with these dreamy hunks, she can’t afford to be sidetracked.

Here’s a brief excerpt from the story highlighting her dilemma:

Ah, that was right. How could she forget about the Spygian mating ritual? She didn’t know much about it, other than that all pod members were to be present. The thought of what it might possibly entail sent a shiver of lust raging through her body. She almost wished she truly was his mate…

Forcing herself to stand straight and strong, she looked him in the eye. “I’m afraid we have a problem then, for I cannot promise anything more than a night of bliss.”

She barely had time to see his face fall in clear disappointment before the leaves crackled and Valeron appeared in the clearing, his arms full of dead branches. Reading the tension in the air, he stopped cold, his gaze going from her to Neichon and back again.

Finally he moved toward the center of the clearing and dropped the branches to the ground. “We’ll probably need another batch.”

“It’s already growing dark.” Neichon’s gaze lifted upward, to where the pink and purple fingers of dusk already crept across the sky. “I’ll get some more wood and check for sight of the Malucons while I’m at it.”

As Inara watched him leave the clearing, she fought the unaccountable feeling that she’d just let something magical go. That was a ridiculous notion. She had her own destiny, and it was not to be bonded to a pod of barbarians. No matter how sexy, delicious, and utterly f***able those barbarians might be.

Of course her Spygians are determined to convince her she’s right where she belongs.

A.M. Griffin – Dangerously Mine

Dangerously Mine was originally a self-pub called Taken: Eva. When I got picked up by Ellora’s Cave I had to change the name because they already had a book named Taken. Per their policy, they don’t publish books with the same title, which is a really good policy. I can’t be expected to compete against Jaid Black.

I have to admit, titling didn’t come easy for me. Many of my author friends actually have expressed joy with titling their works (which makes me want to hurt them).

Mine was easy to come up with. Eva Smith is taken from Earth and sold into slavery to an alien. She’s petite and feisty, so being anyone’s slave was not sitting well with her. Throughout the book she is constantly reminding Taio (her owner) that she is not his slave. Taio of course doesn’t believe a word of it. Regardless of what Eva thinks or says, Taio has claimed Eva for himself.

Dangerously took more work to come up with, but when it finally popped into my head it clicked. Eva is a martial arts expert and as I said before, doesn’t want to be owned or controlled by anyone. She finds herself in a couple of fight scenes, one of which she ends up killing one of Taio’s Royal Guards.

Hence, the title Dangerously Mine was born!

Cynthia Sax – Warlord’s Bounty

Khan, the hero of Warlord’s Bounty, is the Warlord of Chamele 2, the richest and, in Khan’s opinion, the best planet in the Chamele system. This has made Khan a target. He has a huge bounty on his head, placed there by his enemy. Zeta, the heroine, is a feisty bounty hunter, seeking to collect the bounty on Khan. Although she is aware of the saying “the bigger the bounty, the more dangerous the fugitive”, she needs the credits for a bounty-hunter school she supports. She’s determined to get her big, bad male, in more ways than one.

Warlord’s Bounty was the perfect title, a marriage between the careers of a strong heroine and an even stronger hero. It was also a nod to Delilah’s wonderful Warlord’s Destiny which I absolutely LOVED. Lord Tetrik was a yummy hero, very much a Warlord.

Writers, what are the stories behind your titles? Readers, what are some of the best titles you’ve read?

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Lust Rebooted

By: Christine d’Abo

Zoe is all alone on an outpost monitoring a lonely quadrant of space. It’s nearly Christmas and all she has for company is her computer AI, Rupert. She isn’t expecting a present from Xion Corporation to help pass the time, but when she opens the box to find a sex bot, a whole world of steamy entertainment possibilities come to mind.

When Zoe activates Sam she doesn’t realize the trouble she’s in for. Sam takes Zoe to sexy new heights and Rupert does a stellar impersonation of a jealous boyfriend. Zoe struggles to ground herself in reality despite her growing lust, but it’s becoming more and more obvious she’s falling in love. But with who—Sam or Rupert?

When a computer virus is unleashed on the outpost, Zoe must choose—or risk losing them both.

Buy Link:

http://www.ellorascave.com/lust-rebooted.html

Christine d’Abo’s Website:

http://christinedabo.com/

 

Bonded

By: Ria Candro

When Inara crash lands on a deserted planet, the last thing she expects is to run into two stunning men from the planet Spygia—who claim she is their mate. While she’d love nothing more than to indulge in a steamy encounter—or two or three—with these gorgeous hunks, she’s on the run from the barbaric Malucons who decimated her home planet of Chivea. And she’s on a mission to find her cousin, the only other Chivean survivor. Nothing, not even the promise of paradise to be found in the Spygians’ arms, is going to stop her.

When Inara refuses to be bonded to them, Neichon and Valeron strive to uncover what secrets she’s hiding before they unveil a few of their own. How will their reluctant mate react when she learns she’s destined for, not two, but four Spygian men?

Buy Link:

http://www.ellorascave.com/bonded.html

Ria Candro’s Website:

http://riacandro.wordpress.com/

Dangerously Mine

By: A. M. Griffin

After aliens invade and conquer Earth, Eva is transported to a distant slave trading planet. Escape and freedom are her only priority, but none of her martial arts training prepared her for what she faces. She finds herself enslaved to the warrior King Taio. Eva’s drawn to this sexy alien male who ignites her heart and body.

Taio is disgusted with the idea of owning a slave—until now. From the moment he sees her, he knows Eva is his for the taking. Torn between lust and duty, Taio knows nothing will stop him from protecting his little warrior.

Buy Link:

http://www.ellorascave.com/dangerously-mine.html

A.M. Griffin’s Website:

http://www.amgriffinbooks.com/

 

Warlord’s Bounty

By: Cynthia Sax

The bigger the bounty, the more dangerous the fugitive.

Khan, a Chamele warlord, has a huge bounty on his head. His enemy is willing to pay an outrageous amount to secure him. Khan wants to be apprehended, especially if the bounty hunter capturing him is a brown-eyed female with razor-sharp daggers and an even sharper tongue. He’ll allow her to subdue him sexually, his passion and prowess not inhibited by restraints, and when she collects her bounty, he’ll collect his revenge, killing his enemy and claiming his little bounty hunter forever.

Zeta doesn’t do forever. She captures the worst scum in the galaxy and trades them for credits. Khan is fierce and sexy and the most dominant male she has ever encountered, but he is also a fugitive, and once she sates herself with his body, she’ll betray him. It is her job.

Buy Link:

http://www.ellorascave.com/warlord-s-bounty.html

Cynthia Sax’s Website:

http://cynthiasax.com/

Flashback: Warlord’s Destiny (Contest)

I haven’t had space in my calendar for a while to do a ”flashback” day, but a guest dropped at the last-minute.  This story was originally part of the Fated Mates anthology that Ellora’s Cave published back in 2005. In 2010, the story was finally separated and offered as its own novella with this lovely cover. It’s a very traditional trope—an arranged marriage between kingdoms, a sister substituted at the last-minute. What made it fun for me, was imagining this all taking place on another magical world. The perfect blend of history, sci-fi, and fantasy.

Post a comment today, and you’ll be in the running to win a free copy of the book!

“…In Delilah Devlin’s WARLORD’S DESTINY, a strong man is brought to his knees by an equally strong woman. Interesting, attractive personalities make this read especially powerful.” ~ Nominee for Best Paranormal Erotic Novel of 2005, TOP PICK! 4 1/2 Stars, Page Traynor, RT BOOKreviews

“Watching these two grow is both amusing and touching… I found Warlord’s Destiny to be a very well-written novel, and ultimately a very entertaining story to read.” ~ Book Review Network

Promised in marriage for a decade, Mora has no illusions she is anything other than the sacrificial lamb to ensure peace between her peace-loving planet and the warlike world that demands her union with one of their own. No great beauty, she resigns herself to a loveless marriage with a man who will only do his duty by her. However, when she meets the rugged warlord who will be her husband, Mora feels an immediate stirring of lust. She decides in that moment to win his heart—she’ll settle for nothing less!

Lord Tetrik finds his bride more than the scrawny handful he had expected. She has hips to breed him strong, sturdy sons, and intelligence that is a gift worth more than a pretty face. When he suspects his wife harbors tender feelings for him, he wonders if he can be the husband she desires. After all, love for a woman is a frivolous thing—and not a Warlord’s Destiny.

So, that’s what Kronaki warriors look like!

Every story ever whispered about the fearsome warriors came rushing back to set Mora’s body trembling. How they fought like ravaging beasts, cutting bloody swaths through Graktilian mercenaries during the war. How they lived in rough stone fortresses made of blocks carved from their frozen mountains. How they fostered their children to rival clans so they would be raised without gentleness.

How they fucked with such fury their women’s screams echoed throughout their valleys.

Mora felt a tremor rumble beneath the polished, marble floor of the great hall, so explosive was the swell of conversation that arose at the warriors’ arrival.

They were seven, dressed in furs and leather, armed with bows slung across their shoulders and scabbards at their sides.

She couldn’t drag her gaze from the man at the head of their formation, striding toward her—her husband in name, if not yet by deed. Although she had never seen him before this day, she knew it must be him, for he looked the fiercest, the strongest—only one such as he would be chosen to rule from amongst their ranks.

He was from a race of barbarians, seemingly as proud of their reputation for brutal warfare as their orgiastic sexuality. The latter Mora could well believe for the man stalking her now looked every inch a sensual marauder.

A shiver of awe bit the base of her spine and trembled upward until the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood erect.

Taller by a head than any Mellusian, his broad shoulders nearly blocked out the sight of the two heralds dogging his steps as they attempted to halt him. He seemed not the slightest bit interested in following protocol by waiting for his name to be addressed to the assemblage. As if anyone attending the ceremony hadn’t already guessed who he was!

He’d also eschewed the fine wedding tunic Mora’s mother had personally designed—an embroidered silk affair that would have stretched absurdly across his bulging chest and arms.

No, he wore a vest of gray animal pelts that parted at the front, no doubt to tempt a woman’s gaze to ogle his obscenely muscled chest and follow the dark arrow of hair down his hewn abdomen. The black sueded leather that encased his legs strained over thickly corded thighs and the alarming swell of his manhood.

Mora’s heart tripped and then fluttered like the wings of an aradil.

Her mouth dry, she forced her gaze upward to look at his face but found no comfort there.

Lord Tetrik of Kronak—his name was as harsh as the angles of his square jaw and the sharp blade of his nose. His hair was dark like a moonless sky and worn like the old warriors in the paintings in History Hall—hanging past his shoulders with small braids on either side of his inflexible face. But his eyes frightened her most of all—chips of blue ice froze her in place as his gaze found hers across the noisy hall.

He would have to know she was his bride. She wore her wealth and importance in the weighty jewels studding her hair and gown and encircling her neck. She saw fury in that first glance. Had he already guessed he’d been cheated of the true prize? That her rich adornment was a ruse?

Her mother moaned behind her. “His ambassador said he was too busy to attend such an insignificant event. You should have worn the pink gown!” her mother hissed.

“It was covered in dirt, mother,” Mora whispered, keeping her gaze pinned on the man walking straight toward her. “It’s too late now, anyway. The ceremony is over.”

“He may still repudiate you. Oh, what were you thinking, digging in the garden on your wedding day?”

“I wanted a tuber rose to take with me to my new home.”

“As if a rose will grow in their rocky soil,” her mother said, her voice becoming thin and breathy the closer the warrior drew.

Mora hoped her mother didn’t choose this moment to faint. She suspected the Kronaki leader would scorn a woman frightened by the mere sight of him.

“That green makes your cheeks sallow,” her mother lamented, working herself into a high state of agitation. “You look as though you’re attending your own funeral.”

Mora couldn’t resist delivering a little dig. “Am I not? What do you think he’ll do once he finds himself wed to the wrong sister?”

“You should have worn the pink! It would have shown you to advantage.” She sounded on the verge of tears.

Her mother’s diatribe wore on Mora’s nerves. “Mother, it doesn’t matter if I wear the pink or the green, I’m no beauty. He will know. And by the look of that scowl he wears, he already does.”

“May the Goddess save us!”

“Hush, Hespha!” Her father finally intervened. “You frighten our daughter.”

Only that wasn’t quite true. Her mother’s words had the opposite effect, reminding Mora that by rights, her older sister should have been the one sacrificed to honor The Promise. But her sister had been deemed too delicate and hidden away when the day came to repay the decade-old debt owed the Kronaki. “She’d never survive the rigors of life on that harsh planet,” her father had said.

Her mother had been only too eager to agree to the substitution. Her delicate, slender little flower wouldn’t be surrendered to the barbarian. Instead, Mora stood in her place. She was anything but delicate—a fact that had pained and embarrassed her parents to no end all her life.

A flush of anger heated Mora’s cheeks. Try as she might, she couldn’t suppress the primitive emotion. Her parents thought so little of her they were willing to marry her to a beast. A black-haired beast that grew more enormous and intimidating as he approached the dais upon which most of the members of the Mellusian royal family stood.

Mora straightened her shoulders. Jewels and a fine gown would not deceive the man. She was dull quartz against the bright, blonde diamonds glittering inside the hall.

He stopped in front of the dais. The room fell silent while all in the assemblage strained to hear what he might say. His cold gaze raked her from head to toe. Even standing on the raised platform, she had to tilt her head to meet his glance.

Panic had her body tightening. Mora raised her chin another notch, unwilling to let him see her fear.

He lifted one dark brow, and his gaze swept her face, lingering over her lips. “What is your name?”

He knew! “Mora. I am Mora,” she said, surprised the words escaped her tight throat. Would he reject her? Strangely, she wasn’t certain she’d feel relief if he deemed her unfit. Humiliation at his hands would be the harder emotion to swallow.

His gaze cut to her father, and he nodded once. “It is done,” he said, his deep voice terse. Then he turned and offered her his hand.

As Mora realized his curt statement meant he would accept her as his bride, emotion pricked her eyes. He would have her. Although she wasn’t the beauty he’d been promised, he accepted her as wife. She blinked and drew in a deep breath. She’d not shame herself by giving way to tears. Although she might be the least favored daughter, she was wed now—and to the fiercest warrior of the covenant worlds. She placed her hand inside his and stepped down beside him.

Immediately, she felt swamped by his tall, broad body, a sensation foreign to her, living all her life among the slender elegance of her people. She lifted her startled gaze.

“You’re short.” A frown drew his dark brows together in a daunting scowl.

Mora drew back. “I am tall for a Mellusian woman.”

He snorted and glanced down her body again. “We leave now,” he said, letting go of her hand.

“But we’ve prepared a banquet,” her mother’s voice quavered behind her.

“We’re leaving now,” he said again as though grinding his teeth, his ice-cold gaze never leaving Mora.

She sensed a question in his statement and nodded her assent. Best not to annoy him so soon in their marriage. That would doubtless come later.

He raised his arm, and she placed her hand atop his forearm. His skin was warm, the hairs dusting his arm crisp—the muscle beneath felt hard as stone.

“But her trousseau!” her mother cried. “Her things must be packed.”

“I will see to her clothing.” To Mora, he asked, “Is there anything else you would bring with you?”

She thought of the small bundle containing her personal treasures and the bundled roots of her tuber rose. “There’s a package on my bed.”

He turned then to her mother. “Fetch it. Bring it to the mage’s chamber.”

Her mother was so startled, she didn’t question his authority to command her. She swept up the train of her gown and rushed from the hall.

Lord Tetrik strode out of the room, past the glittering assemblage without so much as a sideways glance.

Mora found herself enclosed at the center of the formation of tall warriors and lengthened her stride to keep apace. So tall were they, she was denied her last glimpse of her home, only catching a glimmer of gold leaf from the panels in the ceiling. Too soon, she was descending the steps to the mage’s chamber in the dark, ancient dungeon beneath the golden keep.

As they stepped inside, the shadowy cavern seemed, for once, cramped. Her escorts fanned out around the perimeter of the room, their legs braced as if for battle.

Gwimmel, the castle’s mage, turned from the cooking pot suspended above a crude wood hearth. His gaze darted to Mora’s, and he raised his bushy, white brows. “That was rather quick. I had thought there would be celebrations above.”

“Lord Tetrik desired to depart immediately,” she murmured to her one true friend, aware of her husband’s scrutiny. “And since the ceremony took place before his arrival…”

“Ahhh…” Gwimmel nodded. He straightened as far as his hunched back would permit. “Lord Tetrik, it will only take a moment to reopen the passage.”

Mora glanced to her husband, whose scowl grew darker by the moment. If Gwimmel doesn’t hurry, he’ll change his mind! Disaster has not yet been averted.

Suddenly, her mother rushed into the room, halting to catch her breath as she spied the warriors. She stepped timidly into their midst and thrust the bundle into Mora’s arms and hugged her. “Despite how it may seem,” she whispered into her ear, “I wish you well, daughter.” She squeezed her and stood back. Then she smoothed a hand over her perfectly coiffed hair before turning to her new son-in-law. “We have your promise you will return her if she so desires?”

“I keep my bargains,” he said, the words spoken so slowly his true meaning could not be misinterpreted. He had kept his bargain—the Mellusians had not! “She may return after spring comes to the mountains if she so desires—and if she does not carry my child.”

Although her mother strove for a regal nod, her hands pressed her stomach, betraying her unease. “Well, I wish you good journey.” Her liquid gaze met Mora’s one last time before she turned and departed the chamber.

Mora let out the breath she’d been holding and tried not to shiver at the chill encasing her heart at her husband’s words. If she does not carry my child… With a husband so virile, how would she not?

“Mage!” Lord Tetrik spat the word, impatience apparent in his tone.

“Oh, yes, yes. Just a moment.” Gwimmel bent and lifted a stone from a basket of magical stones beside the hearth.

He opened his palm and a rough-cut yellow diamond caught the flickering light from the hearth, bending and fracturing it until rays spread in a fiery prism—yellows, reds and oranges bursting like a tiny sun. Then he closed his eyes and murmured an incantation that sounded more like the gurgling of a river than any spoken tongue. The slivers of fiery light curved into a shimmering circle, becoming liquid, the radiance dimming at the center.

“Come, it is time,” her husband said, gripping her elbow. He led her to the circle and ducked inside, pulling her along.

Winners and a New Contest!

Winners Announced!

Following are the names of the winners of the Review-Happy Contest! Congratulations, all!! Please email your snail mail addresses to: delilah@delilahdevlin.com!



Cowboy Lust

Betty Hamilton

Fedora

Marika

Melissa Porter

Sharon Chalk

 

She Shifters

Christine Houser

Crystal Trent Dawson

Gayle Latreille

Karen

Kathleen

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The Merry Christmas to You Contest!

So many of us on Christmas day are happy with our gifts, but sooooo over wrapping paper and tinsel. How would you like one last little surprise when you find that moment of peace to check out what’s happening on the Internet?

What can you win? On Christmas Day, I’ll give away an Amazon.com gift certificate worth $25.00.

What do you have to do to win? Simple. Comment on my blog. On any posting, between now and Christmas Eve. I’ll choose one winner at random from among all the comments. Good luck!

* * * * *

To get the conversation rolling, tell me what plans you have for the holidays!

Are you traveling, having company?

Are you going to have a quiet, snug celebration at home?

Guest Blogger: JoAnne Kenrick (Contest)

Eeks! I was supposed to post this on Sunday, but you know I’ve been working so hard it completely slipped my mind! Sorry, JoAnne! The blog tour continues…

* * * * *

Irish Kisses Pub Quiz – post 3

Today’s Question: Band-Aid’s Do They Know It’s Christmas, the UK Christmas chart-topping record was to raise funds for… what?

 

HOT WINTER KISS Released 30th November 2012

Book four in the bestselling Irish Kisses series.

Tasty treats await you.

PARINGS: m/f

FLAME RATING: four

GENRE: contemporary romance

PUBLISHER: www.decadentpublishing.com

PAGE COUNT: 47

CONTENT: May to December / Tinsel Play / Irish Castle / Snowed In / Holiday Romance

 

Hot winter kisses to warm broken hearts….

Sick of tending to everyone else’s needs around the holidays, divorced barmaid and granny Sandra ferries it from London to Belfast. All she wants for Christmas is some peace with a romance story in front of a roaring fire in a remote Irish castle. What she gets is a most unexpected Christmas present from her friends at Bell’s—A 1Night Stand with a young Irishman.

Can she hack it in the real world of romance, or are life’s complications and treacherous snowstorms best left to the pages of a book?

Newly widowed Ardan Draighean owns Ballygalley castle. Once run as a hotel with his late wife, the stone building now serves as a home for him and his son. After hearing about Madame Eve’s matchmaking skills, he contacts her in search of the perfect match. Although much older than him—by fifteen years—Sandra is his ideal woman. He be damned if he’ll let a good story get in the way of his happy ever after with her.

Hot winter kisses are all this couple needs to stay warm this Christmas, but will the heat stay long after the magical season of mistletoe has finished?

AMAZON US: http://www.amazon.com/lm/R2WFCBFWNDA9ZI

MORE BUYLINKS: http://www.joannekenrick.com/p/hot-winter-kiss.html

HOT WINTER KISS Chapter one, part two

She refused to head back to London to spend her time off babysitting her grandchildren while her daughter and son-in-law enjoyed themselves, as she did every year. She loved the little ones, but this once, she’d decided to put herself first. Shaun—her boss back at Bell’s Irish Pub in London—may have thought himself clever by suggesting Irish castle hopping, but he hadn’t considered Sandra’s Law. If anything can go wrong, it will.

She pulled out her mobile—she had programmed in the number for her hotels in case of an emergency—and hit speed dial. An Irish lady on reception answered and rushed to arrange a car to pick her up from nearby Laverty’s pub. The driver would take maybe an hour and a half to reach her, but she’d be waiting in the warmth and be at her destination before hot cocoa time. The lady had even offered a bowl of soup upon arrival, although the kitchen had closed.

With the promise of peace ahead of her again, she immersed herself in the seasonal spirit surrounding her. Even threw a couple of pound coins in the Salvation Army’s collection box and requested they play “White Christmas.” The group in their stern navy outfits and funky hats changed sheet music and piped out her request. Stupid idea. She cursed herself for wallowing in holiday misery and tried to block the image of her ex-husband down on one knee while he presented a ring box to her on Christmas Eve. Seemed like only a year had passed since she last kissed him. Other times, it was as if he’d been gone forever.

She clutched at her empty ring finger and a shudder raced over her. “Too fanciful. I expected a ‘fairytale romance,’ he said. Pft, what does he know? Romance does exist…and not just in storybooks. I will find love. I will.”

Four children scurrying past her with grins and rosy cheeks nearly knocked her to the ground. A woman lagged behind, weighed down by dozens of bags. Sandra offered to help, but the lady moved past, her face a mask of stress, and didn’t respond. Maybe she was mentally checking she had the stuffing and trimmings for the family feast. Heck, she’d usually be in the same shoes this time of year. Instead, she’d nothing but herself to think about. She tugged the woolen scarf tighter around her neck before turning the corner and crossing the road to Laverty’s.

To be continued in Irish Pub Quiz post 3, Laura Kaye’s blog (link in rafflecopter)

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About the Author

Born n bred Brit, JoAnne Kenrick grew up in a wee sea-side town in North Wales and has enjoyed a variety of vocations such as holistic healer, window dresser, and ghost tour guide. Having lived in Wales, England, and Scotland with her dear family, she finally escaped the dull British summers to reside in sunny Australia. After two years, they moved to the States where she endured three harsh winters in Minnesota. She now lives in North Carolina with her husband, two kids and two puddy cats. When they aren’t demanding her attention, or jumping on her head, she strums away on the keys of her little laptop, creating worlds and adventures she could only ever dream of. Come across the pond and faraway….with JoAnne Kenrick! www.joannekenrick.com

Get exclusive sneak peeks at her new and upcoming releases by signing up to her quarterly newsletter here: http://tinyletter.com/joannekenrick

Guest Blogger: Sidney Bristol (Contest)

Thanks so much to Delilah for hosting me!

Wednesday, my fifth book comes out! It’s a little surreal to think that in my first year of being a published writer, I have five actual books people can go out and read. Last week, my twin brother actually emailed me to say that while walking around on the base he’s stationed at, he saw a woman reading my novel Under His Skin. It’s crazy to me to think that there are people out there who are reading and enjoying my books! Sorry for my thinly veiled excitement, I’ve been bouncing in my chair for a month now.

Part of that excitement is that Bound with Pearls releases in just a few days!  I might be counting down the hours and minutes until I can flip through the digital pages of this book. It’s one of those I never thought I’d write and now that it’s done and about to be out there, just makes me all the more excited about it.

As the cover and blurb suggest, this book lives on the kinkier side of things. The heroine and hero have a decidedly Dominant/submissive relationship. Daniel takes the alpha role a step farther in the bedroom, which is exactly what Christine is looking for in her man. Through the story, they discover who they are as a Dominant and submissive, but also who they are as individuals away from the kink. I wanted to write about real people, who just happen to be a little, or a lot, kinky.

I can hear you now: So what do pearls have to do with whips and chains and all that scary stuff?

The art department at Ellora’s Cave really did a fantastic job with this book cover. Can I just gush a moment about it? I love the contrast between the beautiful, classic pearls and the black leather cuffs and whip. It’s such a visual statement about the character’s relationship.

I’ve always loved pearls. I think it has something to do with that old country song with the line, “You wore blue jeans with your pearls/That’s when I knew you were my kind of girl.” My fascination with this gemstone has grown the older I’ve become. While I still wear them with jeans and a t-shirt, I appreciate them in a more classic kind of style. I love the retro, housewife image of a woman with her full skirt and a string of pearls. I might be guilty of owning several such strands. In varying colors and lengths.

Do you see a fascination here? Besides simply looking beautiful, there’s a lot of neat history behind pearls, such as…

Did you know pearls are the only gem that’s made by a living creature? Okay, so we can debate how a live an oyster or a mussel is, but it fits the basic parameters. There’s no other precious stone that’s made by something. Sure we can make some synthetically now, but not like the pearl.

Pearls take their coloration from the inside shell of the creature they’re “grown” inside. They can be white, gold, purple or black, all depending on the color of the shell!

Some of the earliest jewelry we’ve found, dating back to 520 BC, is made from pearls.

There are several historical occurrences of entire military campaigns being funded by selling a few pearl earrings. They’ve been that highly valued through history!

I could go on, but you get the gist. Pearls are diverse. They’re a hardy gemstone, and they’ve stood the test of time. They’re beautiful, classic and more than a little unique. I mean, no two are the same. They’re as individual as your fingerprint.

I’d like to think that the characters in Bound with Pearls emulate some of those characteristics. Their kinky lifestyle can be beautiful or hard, they’re both unique individuals from pasts that are diverse and complicated, and they reflect the colors of their history. I think pearls are the perfect symbol for them. And maybe their future?

You can purchase Bound with Pearls and see how exact my description of them is on December 12th, but I’m going to give one commenter a copy of the book! Just tell me what your favorite gemstone is and why!

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The Author

It can never be said that Sidney Bristol has had a ‘normal’ life.  She is a recovering roller derby queen, former missionary, and tattoo addict. She grew up in a motor-home on the US highways (with an occasional jaunt into Canada and Mexico), traveling the rodeo circuit with her parents. Sidney has lived abroad in both Russia and Thailand, working with children and teenagers. She now lives in Texas where she splits her time between a job she loves, writing, reading and belly dancing.

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads

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Bound with Pearls, purchase December 12th from Ellora’s Cave!

The last thing Christine wants to do is another favor for her sister, but Lucy always gets what she wants. This time it’s Chris playing sub to a demanding Dom. Their relationship begins with a power exchange and progresses to time spent between the sheets. Now emotions are getting complicated and the Dom isn’t just a hunky guy in black.

Daniel’s expectations are turned upside down when he meets Chris. She’s more than a well-trained submissive. She’s a woman with a body he wants to memorize. He’s willing to spend as much time as it takes to learn her, because she might be his match and his muse. He’ll make her come so hard he’s imprinted on every inch, and then he’ll offer her the most precious thing he can, himself.

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Excerpt

Christine’s mouth closed with a snap. Her jaw hurt from clenching. Her hands ached from gripping her wrists. Blinking rapidly, she looked at the Dom’s broad back. He was getting ready to leave.

She’d failed, completely blown it, and he was right. Her attitude sucked. This wasn’t like her. She’d hit a low point and didn’t know how to dig herself out of this one.

Pinpricks of pain stabbing the backs of her eyes heralded tears. Screwing things up seemed to be her specialty today, from the reports at work to forgetting her entry fee for the charity race, and now it was going to cost her. Lucy wouldn’t give her the pearls when she found out the Dom had left, rightfully disgusted with her.

The muscles in her chest constricted until she was panting for breath. Her vision blurred with tears she had to dash away.

“Wait,” she said, her voice sounding strained and too high to her own ears.

The Dom glanced over his shoulder, unmoved. It shouldn’t get her off, but the idea of a man with such control was a turn-on. She’d been ready for someone big and scary or maybe on the scrawny side with a penchant for pain. Finding him a fairly normal guy unsettled her.

Fairly normal was an understatement. Sure, most women might not notice him. He had nondescript brown hair and his features were handsome enough. It was something else about him that drew her.

“Why should I?”

She took a deep breath to calm herself. “You’re right. My attitude sucks.” Another deep breath. She couldn’t think of a good reason to give him, except the truth. Her shoulders slumped. She hated airing the dirty laundry between Lucy and her. Sisters should be close, they should have a bond. All she and Lucy shared was a last name and some DNA.

“I’m not involved with Nate. Lucy’s my sister and she—she’s afraid of you, so she probably whined to Nathan until he suggested trading me for her.” She could feel her cheeks burning. “I wasn’t going to do it. I-I don’t know you, I’m not entirely comfortable with this, and Lucy knew that. When I said no, and I meant it, she—”

Her throat constricted around her words, cutting them off. Squeezing her eyes shut, she balled her hands into fists and let the wave of emotion wash over her. She was angry and upset, hurt that her sister cared so little, but it was no different than any other time Lucy had conned her. The only person she could blame for this situation was herself. She drew in another slow, deep breath. “She told me if I’d come here, she’d give me our mother’s pearls. She’s dead, and they’re one of the only things we have left of hers.”

Her gaze locked on the floor. She knew she should stop talking. This man was as disgusted with her as she was, but her mouth kept working. “I loved them. I wore them to prom and graduation. I’d borrowed them for luck every now and then. Lucy never wanted them. They didn’t sparkle enough, they weren’t flashy. But when I wore them to her funeral, Lucy started yelling and crying about how I got everything. I gave them to her to shut her up and I’ve never seen them since.”

She hiccupped around her words. No doubt her face was red and splotchy. She didn’t cry delicately. No, when Christine cried her nose turned red, her eyes got big and puffy and she turned into a fountain. She hated crying and dumping ugly family business on a stranger. She couldn’t wait for him to leave. She could curl up on the bed, cry herself out and slink home where she could camp out on the couch with a pint of ice cream.

“Shhh.”

Hands gripped her shoulders from behind. Her stomach dropped right before the ground disappeared from under her. The Dom picked her up effortlessly.

“What are you doing?” She gripped his shoulders, expecting to land on her ass any second.

He crossed to the chaise and sat down with her cradled in his lap. She tried to slip onto the bench, but his hand clamped on her thigh. It was natural to obey the unspoken command. This close she could see the deep blue of his eyes, the strength of his jaw and feel the power of him. There was no doubt under the black t-shirt and jeans he was every bit as strong as he looked.

“What are—?”

“I’m the one who gets to ask the questions here.” His voice was stern, but unlike his reprimand from before there was a warm quality.

She relaxed against the curved arm of the chaise, comforted by his commanding nature. Let someone else call the shots for now, she was too tired of it all.

“Here.” He handed her tissues from an unknown source and she snatched them up.

Bowing her head to let her curls fall over her face was as much privacy as she could get to clean herself up. The Dom didn’t touch her except where their bodies nestled together, which was one small relief.

She hated crying, but she was better for getting it out. It felt good to be honest, even if the recipient of her words didn’t care what she said.

Tossing her head back, Christine met his gaze. Her breathing was shaky and her eyes and nose raw.

“Feel better?” His voice was the deep, rumbling kind that spoke directly to her pussy. The whole situation would have been easier to write off as one huge mistake if he hadn’t been attractive. Now it was salt to a wound.

She nodded.

He quirked a brow and her blush became more intense.

“Yes Sir,” she mumbled. How could she already be blushing on command for the man?

“You agreed to take your sister’s place because she has something of sentimental value you want, correct?” He looped his arms around her waist, settling his hands at her hip and thigh.

“Yes Sir.”

“I’m going to be frank with you. Would you prefer I wasn’t?”

“No Sir. I’d prefer the truth.” She braced herself for a pat on the head and a goodbye.

“I don’t care for your sister. She’s spoiled. I was, and still am, a little apprehensive you’re too much like her—”

“I’m nothing like my sister.” Memories of cold Thanksgiving meals and waiting for Lucy to show up at Christmas with their father stabbed her. All the times when Lucy should have been there but never was. Their father made excuse after excuse for her—she was busy, being young and carefree. Christine knew better.

The Dom quirked a brow at her again. Her blush felt as bad as a sunburn, stretching across her cheeks, down her neck and gripping her chest.

“Sorry, Sir.” The urge to lean into him and kiss his jaw in supplication was strong.

“I don’t think you’re sorry about that admission.”

She shook her head. “No Sir, I’m sorry for interrupting you.”

“That, I believe.” The hand at her hip swept down to her knee, treating her to the first sensual skin-to-skin contact.

“Sir?” Christine bit her lip and focused on the collar of his shirt.

“Yes?”

“I don’t know your name. I just—”

He squeezed her thigh and she shut her mouth. Another unspoken command she read perfectly.

“Daniel,” he growled. “Christ, she didn’t even tell you?”

She shook her head, curls sweeping over her shoulders. His anger didn’t scare her, though she would be lying to herself if she said some part of her wasn’t pleased someone recognized her sister for who she truly was.

Daniel. Dom, Master, Sir Daniel. It fit him—understated and powerful.

He swept her hair over her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her neck, not quite in the sweet spot, but close enough to make her shiver.

He wound a stubborn curl around his finger and leaned back against the cushions, pulling her against him. She wasn’t accustomed to being handled, but in comparison to him she was small, which didn’t happen often.

“So how did your sister and you get involved in the scene?” The hand at her knee stroked up her thigh and back down, distracting her from his question.

She had to marvel at how well he managed her. She probably wasn’t what he’d expected, and still he pulled pertinent information from her. Something about him put her at ease, which, considering his size and what she wanted him to do to her, was a questionable assessment.

“Um, I had a boyfriend in college who, who liked to tie me up. It was fun.” She lifted a shoulder. “After we broke up I did some research and decided I would try to meet someone new who could—could teach me.”

“How does your sister fit in?”

She wrinkled her nose, wishing he would drop that particular line of conversation. She looked down at his tanned arm. The muscles and veins she could trace with her fingers made such a stark contrast to her pale skin.

“Lucy has always done what I do. Same schools, degrees, even where I used to work. She has to do what I did and try to do it better. When she found out I was into BDSM, she got into it.”

“Did you mentor her?”

Her gaze leveled with his. “Have you met my sister? She showed up one night in a slutty cocktail dress, whined her way through the orientation meeting and attached herself to my Dom.”

“What did he do?”

“Brandon and I were not in an emotional relationship, so he was free to do whatever he wanted. He tried to help her for about a week before he washed his hands of her.” It had been one small victory following many losses. “Lucy attached herself to someone new, and here she is today.”

Nodding, he continued to stroke her leg, his fingers edging higher, disappearing below the hemline of the romper.

“So what happened to you? I’ve never seen you here before.”

She took a deep breath and fought the urge to open her legs and push his hand against her pussy. Any man could be attractive but it took a special man to dominate a woman with a look.

“I’ve been busy between work and our father, and it hasn’t been worth it to compete with her here. I know how people look at me when they know I’m her sister.”

“Are you seeing someone?” His question was casual but his hold on her knee was not.

“Of course not. I wouldn’t be here if I was.”

His hand continued its lazy caress of her leg. Her stomach fluttered. How could she be embarrassed and turned-on at the same time?

“Relax,” he said, jostling her with his legs.

“I’m heavy—”

“What did you say?”

“Uh, that—that I was—um,” she continued to sputter, her mind going blank.

He sighed, his hand rubbing against her knee in a circle. “I’m going to have to punish you for that. I’ve been generous, but I’m not your therapist. Stand up, take off your—” He pinched the hem of the romper. “Take this off and lie over my lap.”

Heat flooded her body, emanating from her pussy. She loved her figure, but baring all in front of a man she’d met fifteen minutes ago wasn’t normal for her. But he wasn’t sending her away. She’d willingly take whatever punishment he wanted to give her.

Sunday Report Card

The winner of yesterday’s contest is pc (commenter #4)! PC, email me to let me know

you saw this.  I’ll ship you a copy of A Four-Gone Conclusion! Congrats!

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I’ve had my head down, ignoring the emails piling up in my inbox, ignoring the family as I finish up my current book. This morning, I wrote THE END. I still have to read through the book and figure out how to plump it up with 3000 more words to meet my word count requirement, but for all intents and purposes, it is finished! And thankfully, I love it. The characters are ones I fell in love with in the first story, Shattered Souls. Cait’s brittle and grouchy. Sam’s a rock. She softens in this book. Acknowledges the fact she can’t live without him. She’s put through a sequence of events that cements her love for him. And there’s humor woven in with the dark parts. I think you’ll like it.

I’m toying with calling this one Lost Souls . What do you think?

While I wrap this one up, I have to think about the next story that’s due way too soon. I’ll be rushing through it, and hope I like the results as much as I did for LS. We’ll see. It’s too early in the story to know. Needless to say, I’ll be buried in writerly stuff for a while longer.

For all you writers, my sister and I are starting the next round of “Write 50 Books a Year.” If you’re not on the loop, follow the link. Want to learn how to be a more productive, more focused writer for the new year? This is the class for you. Join today! Best part—it’s free!