Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 471
November 28, 2012
Guest Blogger: Nikki Duncan
Dreams come to us in different shapes and ways. Sometimes they’re movies in our minds while we sleep. Something they’re things we want either in our head or heart. Sometimes we come up with them on our own, or they may show themselves after they’ve become firmly rooted as a result of someone else.
In P.S. I Love You (a Gerard Butler flick, based on a book), the dream was the last kind. A woman thought she was living her dream with the man she loved at her side. Then he got sick and died. She decided she was finished dreaming and allowed herself to dig a deeper and deeper rut of grief until she received a letter.
Unlike other letters, this was a letter her dream wrote before passing away, and in the letter he told her of his dream. He asked her to move on, to embrace life again. When she did, she discovered a new dream.
November 27, 2012
Guest Blogger: Robyn Bachar
There’s always a story in my head waiting to be let out. Some start with a single line or idea, and those are the stories that I tend to figure out as I go along. I’m pantster who became a plotter after years of doing National Novel Writing Month and being frustrated when I inevitably hit a block at about 30k words. Having an outline to follow allows me to make it past that block, because if I’m stuck on one scene I can skip it and move on to the next. It also helps me to plan my daily word count and better gauge how long it will take me to finish a first draft.
But it doesn’t always work that way. Sometimes a scene or a particular character will get stuck in my head. Patience, the heroine of Fire in the Blood, was like that. Once she popped into my head she refused to leave. That was a problem, because her book wasn’t next on my schedule. She may be named Patience, but she really doesn’t have any to speak of. She wanted me to tell her story, and she had it all planned out from beginning to end. Patience wasn’t leaving until I wrote Fire in the Blood.
I tried ignoring her. I tried sticking to my schedule and forging ahead with the book I was supposed to be working on. I wanted to be the boss of the voices in my head, and I was losing that battle. So I tried a new tactic—I gave in. But only a little. I gave her two weeks, and then I switched to the book I was scheduled to write. It got the urge to work on her book out of my system and it allowed me to get back on track. Once I finished that book (Poison in the Blood, which will be out from Samhain next year), I returned to Patience’s story and finished it up.
The process taught me that sometimes it’s okay to give in to your inner voices. Plot bunny bothering you? Maybe you should chase it—but just for a bit. We all go a little mad sometimes. Writing the idea down can stop that plot bunny from stalking you, and it might even learn a little patience.
Patience Roberts is the last summoner standing between magiciankind and certain demon invasion. After banishing two or three demons a day for too long, gods know she’d like nothing better than a little down time with her number one distraction—Faust.
But with vampires, hunters and assassins lined up to take her out, who has the time? Still, she has to admit her resistance to the amorous faerie is wearing thin. Not that she’ll ever let on—after all, faeries are notorious for their short romantic attention spans.
Faust, a Shadowspawn faerie, watched as his outcast clan dwindled to nothing. Determined to hold on to the woman he loves, he’ll do whatever it takes to protect Patience. And one day build a life with her.
When an old demon enemy punches through the barrier between the worlds, Patience must draw on every ounce of her reputation as a cast-iron bitch to temporarily banish him. To get rid of him for good, she’ll have to sacrifice one too many pieces of her soul to leave room for love…
Warning: Contains a hero and heroine so hot they’re literally on fire, naughty faerie sex, post-coital cuteness, angsty magician drama, and yet more gratuitous violence against vampires, demons, and innocent furniture.
Fire in the Blood is available now from Samhain, Amazon, and Barnes and Noble. You can find out more about Robyn’s writing at her website, Facebook page, or Twitter.
November 26, 2012
Guest Blogger: Sable Hunter
When I heard Larry Hagman had died a few days ago, I felt a sense of loss. It was as if I heard of the passing of a friend. And in a way it was. Larry Hagman played J. R. Ewing (John Ross Ewing, Sr.) on the television show, “Dallas.” I was born in 1980 and if I had been born a boy, my name would have been John Ross. My mother was completely enamored with the show DALLAS. I guess I should be grateful my name isn’t Sue Ellen or Miss Ellie.
Mom’s penchant to watch the show about Texas cowboys and free-flowing oil may be the reason she married a Texan nine years later and we moved, lock, stock and barrel, from Louisiana to the Texas Hill County. I grew up hearing that tune—the theme from Dallas—and it sorta resounds in my blood—TADAH—TADAH—DUM DUM DUM DUM. . . well, it doesn’t translate well here, but I have attached a you-tube video to remind you of how catchy it was.
One of the things that I grew up hearing about was some of the wild twists that the writers of Dallas would pull on its viewing audience. One of those was when they killed off one of the more popular characters—perhaps the most popular—Bobby Ewing. America went into a complete uproar and the producers listened and when the first episode of the next season emerged, we were all partly pacified and partly horrified to find out that the entire season before had been a dream.
But the biggest, most successful stunt they ever pulled on Dallas was the cliffhanger—“WHO SHOT J. R?” The 1980 season ended with the attempted murder of J. R. Ewing, being shot twice by an unseen assailant. Larry Hagman had started out as a secondary character, but he ended being the indisputable star. From the episode that showed the shooting till the new season began, a summer to remember transpired. There were “Who Shot J.R.?” t-shirts everywhere. That’s one of the reasons that I know about it because I slept in my mom’s “Who Shot J. R.?” T-Shirt every time I got the chance. “I Shot J. R.” t-shirts were prevalent also. During the 1980 Presidential campaign, one of the Republican buttons proclaimed that “A Democrat Shot J. R.” and Jimmy Carter said he could completely finance his campaign if he knew the answer to that pressing question—“Who Shot J. R?”
The Queen Mother of England was caught up in the mystery. The Turkish Parliament was allowed to go home early so as not to miss the revealing episode and Larry Hagman was offered $100,000 if he would reveal the culprit, but he didn’t know who it was. No one did—it was sorta like when is Jesus returning—only the Father knows. HA! But Vegas laid odds—the whole western world and some of the eastern was caught up in the mystery of “Who Shot J. R?”
Larry Hagman profited. He refused to film the revealing episode until he renegotiated a contract that gave him $100,000 per episode and rights to all J. R. merchandise. Once the long-awaited episode did air, it was a surprise to everyone that Kristin had shot J. R. He didn’t press charges, however, because she told him she was pregnant with his child. Kristin was played by Mary Crosby. Who would have thought that J. R. Ewing would have been shot by the daughter of crooner Bing Crosby?
Jess, my brother, and I, really got into the new DALLAS this season. I had wanted to watch it because of my early memories and because I had linked another of my books to the show—BOBBY DOES DALLAS. I made several Dallas and Ewing references in that book and even mentioned the song was played when Bobby Stewart would run out on the field.
One night while we were watching an episode with all of those sexy new Ewings—John Ross, Christopher and others—Jess got a glint in his eye. He turned to me and smiled. He said—“Let’s do something like that with your books.” I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about, so he explained.
I have a series, “Hell Yeah!,” that has become quite popular. It is about a family of six brothers—the McCoys—who live on Tebow Ranch. Their names are Aron, Jacob, Joseph, Isaac, Noah and Nathan. And while each book has been well received—most love Aron the best. He is just sexy as hell. I laughed once and shared with a reader that I really had no intention of these books becoming a series. I wrote Cowboy Heat and it took off so I decided to expand. I’ll be honest with you, if I had known this was going to be a series I would have picked different names for the brothers. When they received their first names, I had just gotten through reading my Sunday School lesson and everyone got a biblical name. All of them are pretty good–except Noah. I giggle. Every time I say Noah, I just think of a guy with a robe and a long beard leading animals two-by-two onto an ark. But my Noah McCoy has turned out to be a sexy guy. Who knew?
Anyway, Jess’s idea was to create a mystery surrounding Aron. I have written five “Hell Yeah!” (the newest, I’ll See You In My Dreams, will release this week) and two cross-overs in a series called “Cajun Spice” and in every one of these books the lives of the brothers and their loves continue to unfold. The stories are connecting and some even overlap and in the last Cajun Spice, Forget Me Never, it is revealed—dun dun DUN!!!! that Aron is missing! He went missing on his honeymoon. I had no idea how this would go over but I have received dozens and dozens of emails from readers wanting to know what the heck is going on – ARON IS MISSING??????????
I love it. In the latest “Hell Yeah!,” we learn more, and more will be revealed in Noah’s book—Hell Yeah VI and in the next two Cajun Spice books. A lot of time in the “Hell Yeah!” universe won’t have elapsed because the books take place rather quickly, timeline wise. But like Jess thought, the idea that Aron is missing has caused quite a stir. My street team just made me a Café Press store. Maybe I ought to do t-Shirts—WHERE IS ARON???
Thank you for listening to me ramble. Like I promised, the YouTube link is attached for Dallas and the newest “Hell Yeah!” cover is attached. I’ve linked it back to my website where the purchase information will be made available as soon as possible. Today, HOT ON HER TRAIL—the 2nd in the Hell Yeah! series is free on amazon. Check it out. I have also attached my website link and my fan page link and I do answer every email.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4rJCJM5jr8o
An excerpt from the new book is attached and – oh yeah – one more thing.
REST IN PEACE, LARRY HAGMAN, YOU WILL BE MISSED.
EXCERPT FROM “I’LL SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS”
Link - http://sablehunter.com/books.html
“Touch me, please.”
“Where, Presley?” Her desperation just fueled his passion. Being desired and needed was incredibly addictive.
“My breasts,” she whispered.
“I am touching you,” he crooned to her, suspecting what she was really asking.
“With your lips,” she said so softly he almost couldn’t hear. “If you don’t mind – that is.”
Sinking to his knees, he pushed her tits together and molded them in his hands, caressing and shaping them – rubbing his thumbs over the nipples. “You want me, don’t you?”
“Please,” she begged. He didn’t make her wait any longer. Zane wrapped his arms around her waist and took a nipple in his mouth and began to suck. Presley couldn’t help but watch his face, his lips as they worked at her nipple. The sensation was exquisite. She clasped his head and stroked his hair as he nursed at her breast. “That feels so wonderful, Zane,” she praised him.
He switched to the other breast to suck and let his hands explore. Her waist was small, and her hips flared just right. He traced her curves and the image in his mind of her gorgeous body made his lust rise even higher. He opened his mouth wider and drew hard on her breast and exulted in the moan that escaped her lips.
Presley pressed her thighs together, she was so very wet. Hunger for him consumed her. More than anything she wanted to ask him to touch her between the legs but she couldn’t bring herself to ask. What she was receiving from him was more than she had ever expected. He was licking all around her nipple, nipping and nuzzling and his hands were now moving lower, skimming over her thighs and down her legs. Zane was learning her body.
Pulling back, Zane sought for control. “You’re beautiful. Your body is perfect. I can’t believe how fuckin’ perfect you are. Presley Love, you have long, smooth, supple legs that I can’t wait to feel wrapped around my waist, a spank-able, lush, little bottom, a tiny waist and tits that a pin-up girl would die to have.”
Zane thought she was beautiful. To Presley, his words were a miracle. Of course, he couldn’t see her face, but right now that wasn’t important. She caressed his shoulders, loving how his powerful biceps flexed. He was holding back. “What’s wrong?”
“I want you so much,” he ground out the words. Standing up, he took her by the hand. “Let’s get in the shower, I want to kiss you.”
Presley didn’t want to complain, but a kiss was a bit anticlimactic. But she went, simply put – she’d follow him anywhere. The shower was huge, at least eight foot by five foot. And she counted an incredible fourteen sprayer heads. “This is more like a spa. I’ve never seen a shower like this.” The tile was cream colored with ornate accent tiles and a see-through glass door gave the illusion of privacy. She didn’t get any more time to examine her surroundings, because Zane pulled her against him and began kissing her voraciously – deep, drugging kisses. Pushing her against the wall, he rubbed his cock back forth against her front, letting her know how aroused he was.
“Are you wet for me?” he fingertips danced over her lower belly, delving between her legs.
“Yes, I’ve been wet for you for days,” she admitted her weakness.
“Good, because you know I’ve been hard for you. Even when you slipped up to the couch to watch me sleep, I got hard for you.”
His revelation made her gasp and squirm. “How did you know?” God, she was embarrassed.
“I could hear you; I could detect soft, little footsteps and shallow breaths that caught with excitement.” He trailed his lips over her shoulder and took the cord of her neck in his mouth and bit it, gently. “And I could smell you – not only your natural sweet scent and perfume – I could smell your arousal.”
“Oh, God,” Presley wasn’t sure how to feel. Truthfully, she could only feel. He had stolen her ability to think.
“Oh yeah,” he growled as he dipped his fingers in her folds. “You’re wet. And I fuckin’ love the way your pussy feels. I like it that you’re not bare, but you’re soft and downy, trimmed short. I’m gonna love moving my lips back and forth over your treasure.”
Presley’s womb contracted with need as he made a come hither motion with his fingers, spreading her juices from back to front. Her clit throbbed with anticipation and she was so overwhelmed with arousal that her whole body jerked in response.
“Lean back, I’m going to pick you up.”
“What?” The next thing she knew, Zane had placed both hands under her bottom and lifted her up – and up.
“Put your legs around my neck.”
“Oh my God!” she grasped the ledge at the very top of the shower and held on for dear life. Her legs were splayed open and her pussy was right in his face. “I’m too heavy, what are . . .” And then he transported her to paradise as he began licking and kissing her slit, his tongue rasping over the tender flesh, singing it with each touch..
“Zane!” Presley cried out as she arched her back and pressed her shoulders against the wall, pushing her pelvis more fully in his face. “I need you, please,” she moaned. This was pure heaven. It was unadulterated ecstasy. “More, more,” she pleaded. What Zane was doing to her was the most pleasurable thing she had ever known in her whole life.
Lord help, she tasted good. Zane flicked his tongue around the perfect berry of her clit and reveled in the honey he lapped up with his tongue. Presley wanted him. She wanted him – the blind man. He was pleasing her; he was making her pulse with joy. “Cum for me, Doll. Let me know how much you want me.” He closed his lips over her clit and began to suck and hum and she went wild. Tightening his grip on her waist, he held her steady while she bucked and jerked in his arms.
“God! Yesssss! Zane! Please!” Sweeping, sweet arcs of pleasure whipped through her body as she panted and strained to get closer to him. Even in the dampness of the shower, perspiration beaded up on her body and it was because she was on fire – literally on fire for a man for the first time in her existence. “I don’t think I can stand it,” she whimpered.
Oh, yes she could. He was going to give her everything he had and then he was going to take all she would give him. Zane ached. His very soul hungered to become one with this woman. His cock was so swollen and distended that precum was leaking from the tip. If he didn’t get some relief soon, he would explode involuntarily just from giving this incredible woman sweet pleasure.
Moving one shoulder farther under her, he freed one hand to play with. Flicking his tongue on her clit as he suckled, he pushed two fingers inside her tight little canal and eased them in and out – in and out and when he did she screamed – she literally screamed and it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. Zane Saucier had brought a woman to a raging orgasm and he felt like a fuckin’ king.
Stars exploded and galaxies collided as Presley felt for the first time an orgasm she didn’t give to herself. He held her while she quivered, letting her down slowly, her body sliding against his. “Thank you, Zane. I loved it, thank you so much.” Her adoration and gratitude couldn’t be contained.
“It was my pleasure, Presley,” and that was no lie. Cradling her next to him, he loved how her body molded to his. When her little hands edged between their bodies and found his cock he almost went to his knees. “God, yes,” he groaned.
Presley sank down, unsure of what she was doing, but determined to do it anyway. She held his member and caressed it, rubbing her cheek against it. This was part of him and therefore it was beautiful. She held it upright and licked it from bottom to top. For every little move and touch she gave him, he rewarded her with a moan or gasp. Clearly, Zane was not unmoved by her attention. With a tiny smile, she studied the head of his cock. “Can I taste you?”
“Yea,” he growled, the only word he could manage to say.
Presley was desperate for him; her lips trembled as she licked them. Could she do it? He was big and hard, heavy in her hand, the base so thick that her thumb and second finger wouldn’t meet. The huge mushroom head was dark red and throbbing and she couldn’t resist swiping her tongue across it. The drop of clear liquid at the tip was salty and tangy and she wanted more. Fitting her lips tightly to the top, she slipped them down and over, sucking the end of his cock into her mouth and swirling her tongue around it.
“Ah, damn,” he groaned as he held her head, tangling his fingers in her hair. “That’s so good. Suck me, Baby.”
Ecstasy made Zane’s toes curl. The muscles of his legs became like stone. All of his concentration was on his cock as it was enveloped in the wet, hot haven of Presley’s mouth.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
What the hell?
Presley, bless her heart, was so into sucking him she couldn’t hear whoever was beating down his front door. Hell! God, he was close. This little angel was sipping at his cock like it was the finest wine and if he had to. . . . BAM! BAM! BAM! “FUCK!” he bellowed and Presley jumped.
“What’s wrong?”
BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!
“There’s somebody at the damn door and they’re not going to go away.” Shit! “I’m sorry, Baby.” He stepped out, grabbed a towel and stalked out of the bathroom. “Somebody better goddamn be dying.”
Presley stood up and stepped out of the spacious shower. She took a towel and dried off and slipped back into her clothes. What had happened? She heard voices.
“Who is it?” Zane asked gruffly as he swung the door open. “This better damn well be something important.” He had just walked away from a beautiful woman and a blow-job and he was not happy.
“Zane, God, Zane, we need you. Why didn’t you answer your damn cell phone?”
It was Noah.
“I was busy,” he expected Noah to realize he was standing here in a damn towel and get the idea that he might possibly have feminine company.
But he didn’t. Instead Zane heard him hit the door facing with his fist. “Get in here. What’s wrong?”
“He’s missing, Zane.”
“Who’s missing?”
“Aron. Aron’s missing.”
“What? How?” Zane felt a horrible feeling in his gut.
“He and Libby went snorkeling and when she came up – he didn’t.”
“God, are you sure?”
Noah’s voice cracked. “Yea, I’m sure. Zane, can you come help?”
“Let me get my pants on, we’ll be right behind you.”
* * * * *
Thanks for reading and thank you Delilah for having me.
Sable Hunter
Author Page – https://www.facebook.com/authorsablehunter?ref=hl
Email – sablehunter@rocketmail.com
November 25, 2012
Another winner, and the Sunday Report Card!
I have another winner in the Random Act of Winning Contest to announce, but you have to read to the end to find out who! First…
Sunday Report Card
The past week I added 6100 words to my current WIP, but that wasn’t nearly good enough.
Below is my To Do list of projects I started in April. Everything in green is written. I still have 6 things to try to plow through before the end of the year. I’m going to come up short because I’m runnin’ out of steam. 
1
Mammoth Book of Futuristic Romance short story
2
Fournicopia
3
Dragon’s Desire
4
Licks anthology
5
Shattered Souls-1
6
Smokin’ Hot Firemen short story
7
Smokin’ Hot Firemen anthology
8
THB: Laying Down the Law
9
A Perfect Trifecta
10
Tarzan & Janine
11
Wild at Heart short story
12
Wild at Heart anthology
13
Sex Objects short story
14
Sex Objects anthology
15
Shattered Souls-2
16
PITBE
17
THB-2
18
BDSM-1
19
CM, Installments 1-3
20
STTA
I had hoped NaNoWriMo would give me the kick in the butt to power through the end of the year, but the trip to DC was a huge mistake, and then Thanksgiving took me by surprise, because in the past, I’ve been able to play hermit throughout the first part of the day then surface to visit for the afternoons, but this time, there was no productive time I could find. I let myself accept any old excuse I could find—I have to visit with my brother whom I only see once a year; I need to catch up on promo for the projects I have out; I need a nap…
This week, I will be looking for sprinting partners, so if you are out there and need a buddy to keep your butt in the chair like I do, catch me on AIM (DelilahDevlin)!
Winner!
Thursday is the last day of this contest! Check out the link at the top of this page for rules, but basically, you have to post a comment on a blog between now and Thursday to be eligible. The random winner today is…Melissa Porter! Melissa, email me with your choice of any of my downloadable, backlisted Samhain stories!
November 24, 2012
Guest Blogger: Sabrina York
Delilah, I had so much fun writing sexy Dom, Mark Connor for our Smokin’ Hot Firemen anthology, I just couldn’t stop! The result of this lustful tryst with my keyboard is a scorching novella entitled Training Tess with a dark, dreamy Dom, Jared Mittlebank. And Holy Hanna, is he a hottie!
When Jared spots his sister’s very vanilla assistant in a BDSM club, he can hardly believe it. He’s lusted after Tess for years but didn’t think she could handle his darker needs. Like his predilection for cuffs. And whips. And spanking. Hell, for domination of every kind. But as soon as he sees her wearing a collar, he’s lost to his desire. He vows to claim her for his own.
For Tess, dressing up as a sub while researching an article she’s writing is a lark—until she sees Jared in the club. She may be new to the Dom/sub scene, but she knows what she wants. With Jared—and only Jared—can her deep, primal desires come to light and be fulfilled. Let the lessons begin.
Training Tess is available for preorder on Amazon and Barnes and Noble and will be available at Ellora’s Cave (and everywhere else) on November 28th.
Want a little more? Here’s an excerpt. If you dare!
An Excerpt From: TRAINING TESS
Copyright © SABRINA YORK, 2012
All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.
Edging past him—careful not to touch—she sat at her desk. She tried to ignore the ominous sensation that she was a butterfly pinned to a board by a vaguely curious entomologist.
“Two years.” He set the paperweight on the desk in front of her. She put it back where it belonged. It was warm from his touch. “Two years.” He leaned back and grinned. She didn’t see it—couldn’t look at him—but she felt it. A trickling warmth. “Two years and I never had a clue.”
She froze. Driven by the dark thread thrumming in his tone, she snapped her gaze to his. His eyes were beautiful. Mesmerizing. Ice blue ringed in black, feathered by girlishly long lashes. But he wasn’t girlish. Not in the least. Those eyes burned with a predatory light—one any woman with a pulse would recognize.
“N-never had a clue about what?” But, God help her, she already knew.
A muscle bunched in his hard, dusky cheek. A responding wash of wetness burbled between her legs. There would probably be a damp spot on her task chair.
This man was definitely not workplace appropriate.
“So we’re going to play games, Tess?” Her name slithered from his lips. “Do you…like playing games?”
She shivered. She could only imagine what kinds of games he had in mind. Oh, dear God. At the thought, more cream oozed out. Yep. Definitely a damp spot. His nostrils flared as though he could smell her arousal.
He probably could. That made her shiver again.
He straightened and stepped behind her. The heat of his body rolled toward her in waves. The cloud of his scent surrounded her as he bent lower. “You looked…very nice last night, Tess.” His voice was a low, sibilant whisper warming her ear.
Ah, God. He had seen her.
He’d seen her and it had awakened something in him. Tess knew it was stupid to play with fire, especially a fire burning this hot. But she couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t pretend his interest, his posture, his presence, didn’t launch her mating instincts into overdrive.
She wanted him. In every way a woman wanted a man. And then some.
Mostly she wanted him in. Deep inside her, massaging her, filling her, swamping her with sweet, sticky cum. She wanted to belong to him.
And, damn it all anyway, she wanted him to want it too.
The thought scared her to death. The worst thing in the world would be to offer Jared everything—even her secret soul—and have him laugh and walk away.
He laughed and walked away a lot. Tess had cleaned up more shattered hearts than she could remember in the past two years. It was why Marla forbade him from dating her employees.
Still, when he edged around to her side to perch on her desk once again—way too close—so he could stare down at her with a small smile playing on his lips, she couldn’t resist.
Play with fire? Hell, she’d light the match.
She met his gaze with a nonchalance that doubled as a lie. “You looked…very nice too.” She turned back to her computer and began typing determinedly. Oh, they weren’t words. Just typing. She hoped to God he wouldn’t look at her screen.
After a bit, she glanced up at his face and her heart seized. No. He wasn’t looking at her screen. He was looking at her.
Once he had her attention, he licked his lips. A shudder scudded down her spine and lapped at her weeping cunt. God, he was gorgeous. She tried not to fixate on his wide, lush lips, on the scruff on his cheeks or the dark rings around his irises. She failed miserably.
But then, he was fomenting that failure. It was there in his intent as he leaned closer, in his heat, his energy. He wanted to draw her in. Wanted her.
She tried not to come at the thought. She’d wanted him since the moment she set eyes on his handsome, too-playful face. But he’d never showed her a flicker of interest. Until now.
“I had no idea you were into that kind of scene, Tess.”
She sniffed and pretended to reach for a pen but it was more to tease him than to flaunt her disinterest. Hell. There wasn’t a disinterested bone in her body. Besides, instinctively she knew. She knew he liked the chase.
“It’s hardly something one puts on a résumé.” She faced him then, solemnity weighing her tone. “My private life is just that. Private.”
He swallowed heavily, studied her in silence as though sifting through the visions of just what form her private life took. His response sent wildfire along every nerve ending. “None of those men were Dom enough for you, pretty thing.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me.” He pulled a card out of his pocket and drew the edge of it very slowly across her nipple. She gasped as sensation scorched her through the silk of her blouse. “If you want to find out how good it can really be, show up at this address tonight at seven.” He leaned closer, so close she tasted the lust on his breath. “Wear this suit but nothing underneath.”
And then with a sultry glance in her direction, he stood and headed for the small boardroom. It gave her some comfort to see his gait was a bit crooked. But not much.
Because her body was on fire.
* * * * *
Check out all Sabrina’s books, her contests and blog posts at SabrinaYork.com or friend Sabrina on Facebook or follow her on Twitter @sabrina_york.
November 23, 2012
Guest Blogger: Chandra Ryan
I think few things define a person more than their community. Whether your community is your family, religion, or even hometown, it shapes you and has a profound affect on the person you become. I’m from a small town and I’ll probably always be a small town girl at heart even though I live in a city. My community had a profound influence in making me who I am. And I’d like to think that in some small way, I might have left my mark on my community as well. ‘Cause that’s what makes each community special…unique. As it’s shaping you, you’re shaping it.
So what happens when your community disowns you?
That single question sparked the birth of my newest heroine, Nicola Lillian Rathe. When she was twelve years old, just after the death of her mother, she was cast out of her community. To make matters worse, with no family or home, she was forced into human foster care. Most children would find this to be a traumatic experience but for Nikki it was more than that. It was shattering. Her community was not just her family and friends. And it was more than her home. It was her race—her own kind.
Nikki’s Community was made up of people of magic. Some could shape-shift (take on any appearance at will), some could manipulate fire, some were empaths, and some were compulsors. And Nikki? She was one of the rarest and most dangerous of them. She was born a seductress. Able to bend a man until he broke with a single touch.
But just because she no longer had a place in her Community, didn’t mean they no longer shaped her. And it most certainly didn’t mean she no longer shaped them. They might not want her, might be afraid of her, but they still need her. And when a handsome enforcer tricks her into a blood bond, she discovers she might still need them as well.
Excerpt:
Nikki heard the low growl of impatience, but it took a second for her to recognize it as her own. “You talk too much.” She covered his mouth with hers, silencing him.
The kiss was filled with challenge and desire, making it both hungry and vulnerable at the same time. His arms closed around her back as she deepened the kiss, pulling her closer, until every inch of her body was pressed against his. The feel of his skin under hers was intoxicating.
Pushing him away, she sat up and stared at him for a moment before lowering her mouth to his neck. Her tongue sought out and found his racing pulse. Savoring the lightly salty taste of his skin, she started working her way down to the sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder. Biting him teasingly, she heard him moan as his hands clenched her thighs.
“You taste good.” Her voice was husky, seductive—intentionally so. Here, she was in her element.
“And what if I want to taste you?”
God, this was just what she needed. “Feel free.”
“No, I mean all of you.”
There was no mistaking his meaning. Their magic lived in their blood and, although she’d never shared hers with anyone, she’d heard it was an aphrodisiac. One hardly ever offered because it could also be used to enslave another.
But he couldn’t enslave her—couldn’t evoke the blood bond because he didn’t know her name. There was no way to bind another without their name. Also, a person could only place one blood bond in a lifetime. No one would waste something that precious on a one-night stand. She’d be safe. And the thought of his blood on her tongue made her quiver with need.
“Will you bleed for me?” she asked, her voice heavy with desire.
“Sounds fair.”
Sitting up, he pulled a small knife from a night table and ran it across his wrist. When he’d cut enough to provoke several drops of blood he held it out to her. The magic in their blood prevented blood-borne diseases, so she didn’t have to worry about that. But still, she felt suddenly nervous. She had no idea what to expect. The wave of desire that hit her at just the tangy smell of his blood was enough to overcome her nerves, though. Leaning forward, she touched the blood with just the tip of her tongue. His magic was a mystery, but the power of it rushed through her. She was flying with his strength, the constant anxiety and fear that ate away at her, gone. If this was how her sister felt on heroin, she could almost understand Izzy’s addiction.
“My turn?”
Even with her head buzzing, she felt a small measure of her earlier concern return but she quickly brushed it away. He’d lived up to his end of the deal. And if he meant to hurt her, he’d had plenty of time not to mention opportunity already. But he hadn’t harmed her in any way. In fact, he’d given her one of the most pleasurable experiences she’d ever had.
“Your turn.” She held out her wrist to him boldly. Nothing in her entire life had ever felt this good. Not even the knife slicing through her skin was enough to dull the sensation, especially when the warmth of his mouth covered the wound. She’d been wrong. Having him take her blood was even better than taking his.
He sucked in a ragged breath as the warmth of his body left her. Opening her eyes, she stared at him as confusion began to chase away her desire. She’d never wanted to be closer to another person than she did with him at that moment. Why was he pulling away from her?
“Nicola Lillian Rathe, I bond you to me with the power of your own blood.”
It took a moment for the words to sink through the heady desire that was wrapped around her, but when they finally did, white-hot anger killed what was left of the seductive warmth throbbing through her and made her breathing hard and ragged with disbelief. “What?”
“You’re mine.” He said the words triumphantly, but there was a sadness in his eyes. Refusing to see it, she leapt for the knife he’d left foolishly close to her.
“Like hell I am.” Her fingers closed around the sleek handle of the blade. She wasn’t an expert on blood bonds by any standard of measure, but she did know if you killed the holder, it’d set the slave free.
“You can try.” He held his arms out, giving her a clean shot at his heart. She’d never killed anyone, but if it was to free herself she was pretty sure she could. She tried to force the knife toward him, but as excruciating pain exploded in her head she dropped it again. “But the bond won’t let you hurt me.”
Cursing, she brought her gaze to meet his. “Bastard!”
His sigh was exaggerated. “If you can’t say anything nice, then don’t say anything at all.”
The word asshole sat on her tongue, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t say it.
“That’s better.”
The condescending prick was going to pay. Maybe she couldn’t hurt him directly, hell, now she couldn’t even call him names, but she’d figure out a way to make him pay.
===============
If you’d like to read more about Nikki, Isaac, or the Community you can find the blurb to the book on the Ellora’s Cave site or my website:
http://www.jasminejade.com/p-10478-bond-betrayed.aspx
www.ChandraRyan.com
And on Amazon as well:
http://www.amazon.com/Bond-Betrayed-ebook/dp/B00A4E7FYQ/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1352997685&sr=1-1&keywords=bond+betrayed
November 22, 2012
Happy Thanksgiving!
We’ll start our celebration tomorrow because my brother won’t be here until midnight (he started driving this morning!). But I’ll be thinking of you, and hoping you stay safe and enjoy a really good meal with great company! HAPPY THANKSGIVING! ~DD
[Don't worry! This image was free from this site: Moyea]
November 21, 2012
Guest Blogger: Amie Louellen
I have to admit that my husband is taking a lot of flack over my latest release, Ten Reasons Not To Date A Cop. See, my real life hero is a peace officer. We have been together for over twenty-five years (why, yes, I was ten when I met him ) and I started this book long before he ever thought about entering law enforcement.
But he’s had a great time at work boasting that his wife is a romance author. They’ve taken to calling him Murtaugh after Danny Glover’s character in the Lethal Weapon Series. He’s told everyone how he’s my inspiration and if only they would read that scene on page 136…
But his limelight is diminishing. Ten Reasons Not To Date A Cop? He hates the title, fusses about it on a regular basis, and swears he won’t tell anyone at work about it.
I didn’t bother to point out that most of his friends at work are my friends and fans on Facebook and they already know about Ten Reasons. Nor did I inform him that titles aren’t always created by the author. I do remind him that Ten Reasons is a romance and well, Kaylee (the heroine) comes to terms with her reasons and finds a place in her heart for a policeman.
Living with a police officer does have its benefits as far as research goes. Even when he gets mad at me for interrupting the football game (yet again) with questions about police ethics, guns, and investigation proceedings. And then there’s the matter of that scene on page 136… Research people. It’s a necessary endeavor. And he’s always willing to “take one for the team” when it comes to that.
Maybe I should name the next book, Ten Reasons Cops Make Fabulous Lovers/Husbands/Heroes. Surely he can’t find anything wrong with a title like that.
Here’s a look at Ten Reasons Not To Date A Cop—
Luc sat for a moment in the cool interior of the Beemer and watched the woman shift from one pretty leg to the other. He made no move to get out of his car. He wanted her to wait. Or try to run. She shifted again.
His informant had been quite specific in his description. Their target was a female, very short with arrow-straight, platinum blond hair. She wasn’t reported to be armed, nor was she considered to be particularly dangerous. She drove a beat-up blue Nissan and wasn’t above using her feminine wiles to get what she wanted. But Matthias hadn’t told Luc she was a memory, all grown up and prettier than ever.
Little Kaylee Stephens. My, my, my. She was the last person he had expected the K. Stephens to be. When he’d heard the name, she hadn’t even crossed his mind. It had been what…? Ten…fifteen years? He mentally did the math. Sixteen. It had been sixteen years since he had seen her. And she’d looked a sight different now. Back then she had been the awkward, tag-a-long sister of his two best friends. All pigtails and braces and now…well, now she wasn’t.
She checked her watch, then cast a frustrated glance in his direction. She had to be smothering in that raincoat. The temperature was at least a hundred and three. She looked as if she had something to hide, bundled up the way she was. The statue? A weapon?
Luc had glanced into her car while he wrote her citations, but the interior of the Nissan looked like a twister had recently blown through. He would have to search it if he was going to find what he was after. Damn what a day this was turning out to be.
She whirled around as he opened his car door. Her silvery hair contrasted starkly with the black of her raincoat, and he wondered how it would look splayed against his chest. How it would feel.
Luc quickly steered his thoughts from that direction. He needed to keep his mind on the business at hand, a priceless, pre-Columbian statue. Terribly ugly, reportedly cursed, definitely stolen.
“Amarillo PD has reason to believe you have stolen property in your possession. Would you mind if I take a look inside your car?”
“Stolen? I—is this some kind of joke?”
“Not at all.”
She shifted in place and eyed him suspiciously. She opened her mouth, then obviously thought better of it and closed it again. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Are you saying you’re not going to let me search your vehicle?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, pulling the coat even tighter around her. “Not without a warrant. Do you have one?”
He’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this. “No.”
She nodded her head as if to say, So there you go.
“But I can get one.”
Her satisfied smile faded. “But it’s Sunday, and that might take—”
“All day,” he finished. “I thought you were late.”
“I am, but—”
“I’ll go make the call.” He had only taken three steps toward his car when her musical—but clearly annoyed—voice stopped him.
“Fine. Search the car. But hurry.”
Luc opened the passenger side door and resisted the urge to close it again on the chaos that ruled inside. No matter how messy she kept her car, he still had a statue to find.
A bright yellow envelope lay on the passenger seat next to a headband with a pair of furry white rabbit ears attached. He picked up the headband and almost tossed it aside.
Rabbit ears?
He cast a glance back at Kaylee.
Her nervous fingers played with the lapels of her coat, keeping it closed almost to her throat. A trickle of perspiration ran down the side of her face.
Luc looked back to the ears, then tossed the headband to the driver’s side seat.
The floorboard of the passenger side revealed nothing out of the ordinary, except for a set of pom-poms and a lasso.
“Yee-haw,” he muttered under his breath and redirected his attention—and fantasies—back to the search at hand.
Full-blown helium balloons secured to a small gift box filled the back seat. Luc opened the box. Inside was a crystal paperweight of a large mouth bass. Expensive, but a far cry from pre-Columbian.
“Hey,” Kaylee protested. “That’s for—Oh, never mind.”
Aside from a paper sack containing finger paints, an unopened package of Oreos and a large cardboard box piled high with someone’s casts offs, the back seat of the Nissan held nothing suspicious.
“Will you open the trunk, please?”
She rolled her pretty blue eyes heavenward, perhaps praying for the rain she obviously expected, but did as he asked.
“What are you looking for?”
“A statue.”
“Statue?”
“A very valuable statue,” he said as he ducked under the trunk lid. “Cursed pre-Colombian. Want to tell me about it?”
“Seems like you know all there is to know.”
Luc grunted and turned his attention back to the search.
Surprisingly, the trunk had been spared from the catastrophe that reigned inside the car. He made quick work of his search, but the statue wasn’t under the spare tire or in any of the nooks and crannies the space harbored.
There was only one place left it could be.
“Kay—Ms. Stephens, I have reason to believe you may be hiding the statue on your person. We’ll need to go down to the station and request a female officer conduct a search.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No.”
She shook her head. “I’m not going to the station with you.”
“If you won’t come to the mountain,” he muttered. “I’ll radio down and have an officer meet us here.” He paused. “If you’d rather do this on the side of the interstate.”
“I’d rather not do it at all.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not one of your options.” He kept his tone business like and impersonal. Tomorrow he’d be removed from the case, but tomorrow might be too late. Matthias said she was moving the statue today.
“No.” She said the word with such conviction that Luc had trouble remembering the question.
“We can do this here or at the station.” He removed his sunglasses and pinched the bridge of his nose to stay the beginning pangs of a headache. “The choice is yours.”
“Then I choose not at all.”
“Will you cooperate, or should I handcuff you for the ride?”
Seconds ticked by with the speed of ice thawing at the North Pole. Then with a growl of aggravation and frustration, she reached for the belt of her shiny black coat. She removed it with lightning speed and flung it at him. It hit him square in the chest.
Almost nothing could have prepared Luc for the sight of what she wore underneath the raincoat, and that’s what she wore: almost nothing.
Car horns honked. Tires squealed. Traffic slowed, and Luc’s breath quickened. He felt himself grow hard.
Her legs were long for her height, their smooth lines emphasized by sheer black stockings. Lord, he loved black stockings. The remainder of her ensemble was black as well and reached from the apex of her slender thighs to barely cover the tops of her breasts. There it ended in a wisp of white ostrich plumes that only enhanced the creamy satin of her skin. The fabric, slick and clingy from her own perspiration, molded itself to her every curve. Luc could only stare. Had he said something about handcuffs?
“Hel-lo.”
“So that’s what the ears are for.” His voice was near a whisper. And if that’s what she did with bunny ears…. His mind wandered to fingerpaints and lassos.
“You can forget it right now.” She stamped her foot for emphasis, sharply snapping the heel off her left pump.
“Forget what?”
“I don’t do parties.”
Too bad. “That’s not what I was thinking at all.”
“Sure.” She rolled her eyes, then glared at him. “Are you going to search me, or are you going to stand there and gawk?”
Gawking sounded like a fine idea. So did a search. A long search that lasted all night and into the dawn. Instead, Luc tore his gaze from her slender form, cleared his throat and began to look through the pockets of her coat.
Finding nothing, he held it out to her, hooked on the end of his finger. It was obvious she didn’t have anything concealed on her actual person. “You can put this back on now.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to frisk me first?”
Frisk her? He ought to arrest her. It should be against the law for a woman to look that good.
“No,” he muttered instead, turning his head in delayed chivalry.
As she reached for her coat, a car whizzed past, trailing a shrill wolf whistle behind on the fumes of its exhaust.
Kaylee jerked her coat away from him and hurriedly shoved her arms into the sleeves.
“I’d like to apologize again for your delay.” Luc tore the citations out of his ticket book and handed them to her without looking her in the eye. Little Kaylee had grown up nicely. “It was good to see you again.”
He didn’t wait for her nod as he turned and walked stiff-legged back to his car.
He opened the door, but stopped before folding his length into the luxury interior. He couldn’t leave without knowing. “Where did you say you worked?”
She flashed him another of her gigantic smiles. “Self-employed,” she replied. Then she reached into her car and placed the furry ears on the top of her head. “I’m the Easter bunny.”
Many thanks to Delilah for having me on today. And thanks to everyone for checking out Ten Reasons Not To Date A Cop. Don’t forget to hug a police officer today!
Amie Louellen—Bio
Amie Louellen loves nothing more than a good book. Except for her family…and maybe homemade tacos…and shoes. But reading and writing are definitely high on the list. When she’s not creating quirky characters and happy endings she enjoys chauffeuring her hero-in-training to league baseball games and guitar practice. Born and bred in Mississippi, Amie is a transplanted Southern Belle who now lives in Oklahoma with her deputy husband, their genius son, a spoiled cat, and one very hyper beagle.
Amie Louellen—author FaceBook
http://www.amielouellen.com
www.twitter.com/@AmieLouellen
email amielouellen@gmail.com
Other books by Amie Louellen:
Brodie’s BrideLove Potion Me, Baby
November 20, 2012
Giving thanks early!
First, thanks to all of you who have written to tell me how much you enjoyed A Perfect Trifecta! Your support put APT in the #1 spot this week at Samhain! Thank you!
But there’s more good news! APT rocked its first review! Here’s a snippet from Night Owl Reviews:
“Wow! A very hot story that will keep away those winter chills as the inventive Doms and subs who frequent the same BDSM club continue to explore each other’s limits. There is quite a range of sexual activity explored including sadism and masochism as the dance of attraction plays out between two determined males who are encouraged by the woman who loves and wants to submit to them both. This author definitely knows how to pen a scorching and stimulating tale that provides insight into the various men who protect and serve in their professional lives and play hard in their personal relationships. A very entertaining (and eye-opening) addition to the series.”
My family is celebrating Thanksgiving on Friday. My brother who lives in Iowa is driving down Thursday, so we adjusted. We’ll have a dozen people at the table and flowing into the sunroom. Five generations represented! There will be turkey and two kinds of stuffing (bread dressing for the northerners, cornbread for the southerners), and all the usual side dishes. My favorite is the green bean casserole. I hate green beans, but dress them up with mushroom soup and crackly onions, and my mouth waters.
Are you celebrating? If so, what are your plans?
November 19, 2012
Guest Blogger: Berengaria Brown
So the company I work for sent me to a resort for a week….
There I was surrounded by half-naked delicious men lying beside one of the swimming pools or wandering through the gardens. There were two different restaurants and a pool-side bar as well, with every imaginable kind of yummy food.
The sun shone brightly every day and the staff were amazingly friendly and helpful.
I bet you’re all jealous of me, right? Ready to turn bitchy and scratch my eyes out with jealousy?
Well don’t bother. I was wearing a prim, navy blue business suit, with the jacket buttoned up, hunched over a table, stuck in meetings for sixteen hours a day and too exhausted to do much more than have a shower, a meal, and sleep the other eight. I only got to swim in the pool once the whole time I was there and that was on the last day, because I figured I could sleep on the plane going home.
But instead of sleeping on my flight home, I got to thinking, “What if?” and “Resort Romance” was born.
Imogen agrees to accompany Gage and Liam to a resort for a week’s vacation and some extra hot ménage sex. The gardens are beautiful, the meals are delicious and the facilities are excellent, especially the three swimming pools. The men are delicious too, but Gage is bossy and Imogen is not going to be anyone’s sex toy.
But the men are awfully yummy and Imogen is having a wonderful time. Until Gage makes a few autocratic decisions which remind Imogen of her manipulative father. Then Imogen has to decide whether the best orgasms of her life are worth risking potential heartbreak.
Buy link: Resort Romance
Berengaria Brown
http://berengariasblog.blogspot.com/
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