Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 477

Saturday Snippet: Dragon’s Desire

Enjoy the excerpt from my latest self-pub release! And if you post a comment today, you’ll be entered in a drawing to win a download of my last dragon story, Arctic Dragon!

An ancient, cursed creature, Drago, Lord of Drakkenberg, dreads the anniversary that marks the moment he must devour a virgin or visit a plague of destruction on the world around him. Once every century, he becomes a dragon…

Angela has been blindfolded…

Angela shivered at the delicious growling texture of Lord Drakken’s voice. So he wanted to taste her? She didn’t think he was talking about a kiss. And despite how strange this whole interview was, she wasn’t really afraid for her virtue. He seemed willing to seduce her. And yet, a “taste” sounded so depraved. If the liquid heat wetting her panties was any clue, her body certainly wasn’t in opposition to the idea.

Yes, she was a virgin, but she wasn’t entirely clueless. “A taste, then you’ll give me what I want?”

“Entrée into a dungeon? Yes.”

She swallowed hard, intrigued, but wasn’t ready to fold without making sure of just what would be expected. “What do you want me to do?”

“Not a thing. Let my man prepare you.”

His man. The handsome “knight” she’d approached in the first place. He had plied her with a drink while he charmed her into relating her life story. How had he guessed she was a virgin? Was she that bad of a kisser? Or was it the ring on her finger?

He’d smiled. And then told her a bit about himself. Or only the bit about who employed him. She’d likely lit up like a Christmas tree, telegraphing her excitement. After that, she hadn’t paid close enough attention to the conversation because her mind had been abuzz with the possibilities. Entranced with who he worked for, as well as his handsome face.

For twelve long months since her aunt’s death, she’d waited for the chance to write something other than ads selling washing machines and yorkie-poos. She’d hired on because of the carrot the editor had held out, promising her a shot at feature writing. Excitedly, she’d accepted the minimum wage job to get her foot in the door, sure she’d be writing features in no time, and not caring about what. Even if all she got was a chance to cover the local high school game or a spread for the Sunday paper with pictures of the winner of the Garden Club’s Best Rose contest, that opportunity would be her start.

But she’d languished in her cubicle. She’d led such a sheltered life, she didn’t know the town or the people. Unfortunately, she’d never learned to mingle, preferring to spend her time after work alone at home, reading. Truthfully, she didn’t possess the necessary knowledge to make the connections she needed to find just the right story to launch her career.

On occasion, she’d dabbled with the idea of writing fiction. A stumbling block was knowing where to begin or whether her imagination was big enough to dream up the grandiose stories she preferred of vampires seducing innocents for the blood, of demons finding redemption when they found true love.

Sure, she knew about desire, had felt it a time or two, inspired by the heroes in her favorite stories, but she’d never been tempted. Not like she was now. Two men surrounded her while she was blindfolded. So much like the naughty BDSM scenarios she’d read with shock, then growing arousal. But she hadn’t known where to go to sate her curiosity.

A large hand cupped her shoulder again. “Are you brave enough?” Guy whispered beside her ear.

A fresh quiver shook her body, and she understood that what was being asked was something dark and sensual. Lord Drakken spoke of being satisfied simply by attempting to seduce her. It was up to her to remain strong—or to give into her curiosity.

In any event, she trusted she wouldn’t be harmed, not when they were the new local celebrities in this tiny mountain town. Their every move was watched and gossiped about. She’d been seen in the company of the Lord Drakken’s man. She was safe, her virtue hers to keep or give away.

Angela cleared her throat. “What do you want me to do?” she asked, surprised by the husky texture of her own voice.

“Nothing,” Guy said from behind her, his hand gliding on her shoulder. “But I’ll remove your clothing.”

Her heart stuttered, then thrummed to a quick beat. “You’ll both see me?”

“Yes.”

Goose flesh rose along her skin. “This won’t be a reciprocal thing?”

“The blindfold remains.”

She turned her head closer to whisper, “Is he scarred? Homely? Not that I guess it matters, but I’d like to understand the need for this,” she said, pointing at the blindfold.

A chuckle gusted against her cheek. “He’s handsome. Women throw themselves at him.”

“When? He never leaves the castle.”

“When he’s comfortable here, he will. After he’s been fed.”

Fed? Her body warmed, imagining a sensual feast of luscious fruits, exotic meats and fine wines. She shook her head again. “You speak in riddles.”

“And you are a curious sort. Take a leap,” he said, his voice nearly purring. “With us. We’ll take care of you, Angel.”

Someone taking care of her for a change. How she longed for that. Only they weren’t talking about anything beyond this moment. Certainly not the forever kind of love she’d read about and yearned for. Still, the experience might be helpful to her education as a woman to understand real desire and passion. “You’ll stop whenever I say?”

His hand tightened on her shoulder then slid down to rest atop her breast.

Shock held her still. When he thumbed the tip of her breast through her clothing, her breath left in a whoosh. A tingling sensation tightened the bud and it expanded. When his fingers plucked it, she felt an answering tug in her womb.

His hand withdrew, and the cushion lowered beside her as he knelt. His hands settled at her waist, then pushed up the tee. Before he asked, she raised her arms above her head, trembling as the garment slid upward then away. She dropped her arms.

Fingers slid beneath the snaps of her bra, twisted, and the cups fell away, leaving her breasts exposed. She knew how she looked, her hair disheveled, her nipples beaded, likely flushed a deep cherry. Trembling with a wild mixture of fear and excitement, she curled her fingers on the chair, fighting the urge to cover herself.

“You’ll have to stand,” he murmured.

She would have liked a little praise, a remark to let her know whether her appearance pleased them. But she swung her legs forward and stood, despite the weakened condition of her knees.

Hands gripped an ankle and she reached out, grabbing muscled shoulders to steady herself as he removed first one then the other shoe. When he tucked fingers beneath the waist of her jeans, she sucked in a deep breath, but let him unbutton and unzip. Next, he dragged away her jeans and panties, and again she gripped his shoulders to step out of the clothing.

When she was nude, she reconsidered the impulse that had kept her compliant. The air around her felt charged with excitement. The only sounds she could hear were her own heartbeats thudding inside her chest.

Then footsteps neared. Lord Drakken’s.

Angela straightened her back and released her grip on his man’s shoulder, feigning a more confident air than she felt.

“She’s lovely, Guy.” His voice held a roughened gritty note. “You chose well.”

“No choosing involved,” Guy said, amusement in his tone. “She approached me.”

“She is right here,” Angela bit out, feeling her skin retract in gooseflesh because she felt the first stirring of unease. “Guy, you were hunting for a woman today? Someone to bring to your master?”

“We were…hopeful of meeting the right woman.”

“Singular?” Blood thumping in her ears, she turned to where Guy had been. “Do you share your conquests?”

“Always,” Lord Drakken said. “I need Guy here to curb my impulses.”

Impulses? Her stomach clenched. “I don’t understand.”

“And it’s better that you do not. May I taste?”

She tilted her head upward. “Why do you even ask? I’ve already conceded so much.”

Hot breath, scented with mint, brushed her mouth. “Do you like being at my mercy?”

She was nude. Her nipples sprung by arousal so strong, her body trembled. Lying now would only feel foolish. “I find that I do.”

a

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

Rhian Cahill

Shelli Stevens

Anne Rainey

Jody Wallace

Mari Carr

McKenna Jeffries

Myla Jackson

Taige Crenshaw

HelenKay Dimon

Lauren Dane

Shiloh Walker

TJ Michaels

Leah Braemel

Guest Blogger: M. Marie

Love Letters

First off, thank you for having me, Delilah!

It’s a pleasure to be guest blogging here, although I have to confess I was nervous trying to think of a topic to write about. Although I love reading and writing erotica, I don’t consider myself a very romantic person, but luckily my partner inadvertently provided me with the perfect topic to write about…

This morning I woke up and found a love letter waiting for me on my computer. Literally. A small, folded square of notepad paper was taped to the corner of my monitor with my name neatly written on the front in elegant cursive.

Now, I’ve received countless affectionate emails and sweet texts from lovers in the past, and every single one made me feel loved, but there’s something different about receiving a handwritten love letter.

My heart caught in my throat as I plucked the note off my monitor and carefully unfolded it. It was short and straightforward:

 

I love you. Remember that. Even if your meeting is a disaster, I love you and everything will be fine. Just do your best. Try not to get too nervous.

I’ll be working late tonight, but you can call my cell if you need to talk. I’ll call home before I leave the office and pick up dinner on my way back.

Love you,

Dahlia

PS – Bring an umbrella. It’s raining today.

It was by no means a flowery or beautiful declaration of love and devotion. My partner’s penmanship was neat and her message was brief. The letter had been written on the notepad we keep on the desk to jot down quick reminders or memos. The top edge of the paper was ragged where she had torn it from the pad.

I was moved by her letter, though.

I found myself blinking back tears as I reread her message. My index fingertip traced over the writing; her pen had left indentations in the thin paper. Looking at it more closely, there were hidden, heartwarming hints of Dahl’s personality in her note. Some of the words on the left side of the page were slightly smudged from the heel of her palm because she writes left-handed. She had originally written the word ‘crazy’ at the end of her first paragraph, but crossed it out and replaced it with the word ‘nervous’. The postscript was written on a slant and the words were scrawled in a loose manner that didn’t match the rest of the letter. I could easily picture her leaving the apartment, discovering it was raining outside and rushing back upstairs for her umbrella. She hates being late, but despite that, my partner had taken the time to stop at the desk and add this extra reminder for me, before rushing out of the apartment again.

After rereading her note, I folded it carefully along its original creases and slipped it into my bag for safekeeping.

If I had received this message in an email or text, I would have been grateful and touched, but I doubt I would have been moved to save the message. I would have simply read it, sent a thankful reply, and then erased it. Because I received her words in a physical letter, however, I held on to them. I tucked her words into my purse and carried them with me all day. Even though the letter wasn’t in my hands as I made my presentation, I still felt I was holding her message close throughout my meeting and it gave me strength.

In fact, when I got home from work, rather than throw out the letter, I tucked it into the small box in my closet where I keep my sentimental items and keepsakes.

There’s a certain magic in handwritten letters, beyond the meaning of the inscribed words themselves. There’s the unexpected surprise and excitement of receiving a mysterious, sealed envelope with your name written on the front. There’s the tactile experience of unfolding the letter, smelling the ink and paper, and feeling the weight and texture of the note in your hands.

There’s also the intimacy of knowing the sender touched this letter, held it and bent over it as they addressed it with their thoughts and feelings for you. They deliberately chose this paper, this envelope, this stamp, and these exact words for you.  There is no spell checking or auto-correction in handwritten notes. The writer can’t easily edit their words once they are marked, in ink, on the page. There is no opportunity to rephrase a thought or restructure a paragraph, and there’s no option to right-click and browse through a drop down list of synonyms for a better word.

I believe there is an unspoken, almost subconscious, message of love written between the lines of handwritten letter.

The words are more sincere, their intention is stronger, and there’s a certain permanence to their message. Each word in a handwritten note is deliberate and thoughtful, and together they carry more meaning because of the method in which they are shared.

Despite how rare it’s become in this digital age to send or receive handwritten letters, I sincerely hope that each one of you knows the feeling I’m talking about: the sweet thrill of finding an unexpected, mysterious letter waiting in your mailbox, addressed just to you. J

About the Author:

M. Marie lives in the heart of downtown Toronto and she is both an erotica writer and enthusiast.

She’s also a huge supporter of the arts – opera, the theatre, fine arts and textile arts, in particular – as well as a big fan of video games, animation, comics, and writing of course!

As a freelance writer, who has very recently begun writing erotica, she is finding the experience challenging, but exciting. It has made her discover new sides to herself, led her to strengthen her personal relationships, and is constantly pushing her to critically examine boundaries she didn’t even realize she had.

M. Marie blogs at: www.mmarie.ca

Winners Announced!

A quick note! Today’s stops in my book blog tour are:

Krystal Shannan – Where Love and Destiny Collide 

Reviews by Molly

There’s an Amazon.com gift certificate up for grabs!

* * * * *

I’m a little late getting this together today! It’s been a busy week. Today, I have to do another round of edits for A Perfect Trifecta, the next of the Delta Heat stories. Did I mention this one’s all about sex? I don’t know how I managed that, but then again, maybe I do. Craig, Aiden and Jenn are pretty insatiable people. And if I had a Dom like Aiden calling the shots, I’d never want to leave the playroom either!

I’m also working on a YA story for a charity anthology. I know. You’re scratching your head over that one. More about that later though.

I have winners named below for my latest contest, and I’ve extended the date for the Promo Ho contest. I won’t post a new giveaway until I get the past two contests’ winnings mailed. I’m a horrible procrastinator, but the stuff is piling up on my contest shelf, so I really do have to take a break and get it cleaned up. My personal assistant, um my daughter, has been overburdened with schoolwork, but I will make sure she carves out an hour or so to come help me.

But you don’t want to hear about my problems, you want to know who won, right?

* * * * *
Voodoo Doll Contest and Promo Ho Winners!

The winners of a voodoo doll or a Mardi Gras-style Voodoo necklace, plus assorted promo items are:

* Stacy Wilson (Sep 13)

* Mary Preston (Sep 16)

* Vanessa P (Sep 17)

* Judy Keim (Sep 21)

* Kathy Lewis (Sep 23)

Congratulations, winners! Be sure to email me to let me know what your snail mail address is!

The “Promo Ho” winner of the latest $25.00 Amazon gift certificate is…Kim Matlock! Congrats, Kim, and thanks for your support!

* * * * *
Ongoing Contest — The Promo Ho Contest

What can you win? One $25.00 Amazon.com gift certificate, given to a new lucky winner every week of the contest!

What do you have to do to enter? See the covers below? These books are in sore need of online reviews by readers. So I’m offering a tempting bribe. You know there won’t be as many entries for this contest as for the Voodoo Doll contest, so you stand a better chance of winning! And wouldn’t you like to have some cash to spend on new books? And who knows? Maybe you already have these stories sitting on your TBR pile. Time to move them to the top!

Give an honest review for one of these stories on one of the online bookstores. Send me the link at del…@delilahdevlin.com. It can be the same review on three different sites, but send me three separate messages with the different links. Doesn’t matter if the review is on Samhain’s or Ellora’s Cave’s website, Amazon or Nook—send me the link to the review. Easy as that. Send me the link!

This contest end date is extended to October 11!

 

 

Guest Blogger: Maggi Andersen

Two things to remember!

1) A comment here today for Maggi Andersen earns you a chance to be one of five Voodoo Doll Contest winners TOMORROW!

2) It’s not too late to follow me as I continue on my book blog tour! The prizewinner won’t be announced until the day after the tour ends! Here’s where I’ve been and where I will be today!

September 24:  My Odd Little World

September 25:  The Brunette Librarian

September 25:  Delighted Reader Book Reviews

September 26:  SnifferWalk

* * * * *

Book Title: A Baron in her Bed

Author: Maggi Andersen

Series: The Spies of Mayfair Series

Genre: Historical Romance (Regency Romance)

Publisher: Knox Robinson Publishing

Paperback/Ebook

Expected Publication: September 6th, 2012

Book Description:

“London, 1816. A handsome baron. A faux betrothal. And Horatia’s plan to join the London literary set takes a dangerous turn. Now that the war with France has ended, Baron Guy Fortescue arrives in England to claim his inheritance, abandoned over thirty years ago when his father fled to France after killing a man in a duel. When Guy is set upon by footpads in London, a stranger, Lord Strathairn, rescues and befriends him. But while travelling to his country estate, Guy is again attacked. He escapes only to knock himself out on a tree branch. Aspiring poet Horatia Cavendish has taken to riding her father’s stallion, “The General”, around the countryside of Digswell dressed as a groom. She has become bored of her country life and longs to escape to London to pursue her desire to become part of the London literary set. When she discovers Guy lying unconscious on the road, the two are forced to take shelter for the night in a hunting lodge. After Guy discovers her ruse, a friendship develops between them. Guy suspects his relative, Eustace Fennimore is behind the attacks on his life. He has been ensconced in Rosecroft Hall during the family’s exile and will become the heir should Guy die. Horatia refuses to believe her godfather, Eustace, is responsible. But when Guy proposes a faux betrothal to give him more time to discover the truth, she agrees. Secure in the knowledge that his daughter will finally wed, Horatia’s father allows her to visit her blue-stocking aunt in London. But Horatia’s time spent in London proves to be anything but a literary feast, for a dangerous foe plots Guy’s demise. She is determined to keep alive her handsome fiance, who has proven more than willing to play the part of her lover even as he resists her attempts to save him.”

Purchase Links:

Pre-Order Amazon: : http://www.amazon.com/Baron-Her-Spies-Mayfair-Series/dp/1908483342/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1340246757&sr=8-2&keywords=a+baron+in+her+bed

About the Author:

Maggi Andersen and her lawyer husband are empty nesters, living in the countryside outside Sydney with their cat and the demanding wildlife. Parrots demand seed, possums fruit, ducks swim in the stream at the bottom of the garden, and the neighbors chickens roam their yard providing wonderful eggs. She began writing adventure stories at age eight. Three children, a Bachelor of Arts degree and a Master of Arts in Creative Writing degree later, her novels are still filled with adventure and suspense, but are also passionate romances. Georgette Heyer among others, brought inspiration to her seductive Regencies .

Find Maggi Andersen at:

Website: http://www.maggiandersenauthor.com/

Blog: http://maggiandersen.blogspot.com/

Twitter: @maggiandersen

A Question…

Today, I’m headed to Little Rock for an appointment. I won’t be checking in until I get home, so I’ll leave you with a question…

If you could own any prop that was used in a movie, which prop would you choose?

Guest Blogger: Wendy Soliman

Anyone for Tennis?

Don’t know about you but I was glued to the coverage of the US Open, just as I am to all the Grand Slams. I so admire the dedication of the players and the excitement of seeing new blood come up through the ranks. Andy Roddick bowing out was pretty damned emotional, don’t you think?

As an author I find it far easier to write about what I know. Saves on all that pesky research and lends authenticity to the author’s voice. I was involved in a local tennis club for years, so I feel qualified to write about the sport – in a fictional capacity, of course. Tennis clubs are hot beds of gossip and intrigue, a bit like any group of people from different walks of lives thrown together by a common interest tends to be. There are natural leaders, bullies, suckers-up and cynics by the dozen. Sound familiar?

In Topspin, just released by Musa Publishing, we get to know the members of an up-market tennis club on the Isle of Wight in England. It could be anywhere in the world though since the above principles apply.

Jack Regent is a reformed gangster who’s retired to the Island to spend his time playing tennis, drinking too much and brooding. A bit of a hunk, he’s a magnet for all the single women, and some of the married ones too, but Jack isn’t interested in long-term relationships. Still married to Tania, the love his life, he’s smarting over her adultery and doesn’t want to go down that road again.

Then there’s Claire, the most attractive woman at the club, married to an older, successful Cardiologist. Outwardly the devoted spouse, she has voracious sexual appetites which she satisfies through a series of supposedly discreet affairs. Part of her knows it will all end in tears but she can’t seem to help herself, until it’s too late to stop the rot.

Angie is tight-lipped about the father of her fourteen-year-old twins, until he turns up unexpectedly, with devastating consequences for more than just Angie. And we mustn’t forget Ed, who bullies his wife and is determined to take control of the club for his own financial gain.

When the new coach turns out to be the man Tania cheated with, Jack is forced to confront the issue he’s worked his way through countless bottles of scotch trying to forget. Reunited with Tania under the most violent of circumstances, for the first time he has reason to doubt his position as the injured party. He’s spent years trying to hate Tania for what she put him through. That’s never going to happen, but is it too late to put the past behind them and start again…

Topspin by W. Soliman now available from Musa Publishing or Amazon.com

Find out more about me and my books at my website: www.wendysoliman.com or on Facebook at Wendy Soliman – Author. Follow me on twitter @wendyswriter.

Thanks so much for having me here.

Wendy

Guest Blogger: Cathryn Fox (Contest!)

BOYS OF BEACHVILLE AND CONTEST!

I’m very excited to be here today to tell you how my Boys of Beachville series came about.  Good at Being Bad and A Lick of Flame are both now available at Samhain Publishing with Bad Girl Therapy coming in December!

Last Christmas I was walking through our local market and spotted the cutest (youngest!) firefighters selling calendars to raise money for the burn unit here in our hospital.  I stood back (after I got my autographed copy of course) and watched the way they interacted with passing women, and as they engaged the crowd I started to wonder more about these guys.

Who were these local heroes when they weren’t working?  What were they like when not in their uniforms?  And most importantly, what kind of woman would these guys fall for?

With those questions in mind, I sat down and plotted out three stories, for three different local heroes who were all involved in a charity calendar event.

 

In my first story, Good at Being Bad, my hero is a cop and my heroine is a public relations specialist in charge of the marketing campaign.

Public relations specialist Allison Cooper is more than ready to handle a career make-or-break assignment: to develop and market a charity calendar featuring hot men. Her only problem is Mr. July, a sexy cop who happens to be her ex-lover.

Trying to keep his image squeaky clean—a must for her promotion—raises all sorts of challenges, especially when this bad boy is throwing a little kink into her plan.

Image is the last thing on Carter James’s mind. He agreed to be Mr. July on one condition—that during his promo month, Allison never leaves his side. He wants her back, and to make that happen he needs her undivided attention to teach him good from bad. Unless bad is what the lady wants….

 

In A Lick of Flame I had to have my firefighter, of course, and the woman he falls for is an ex cop who is now a private body guard.

No man lights Madison Kelly’s fire quite like Sean Adams, the firefighter she’s been hired to guard during the Boys of Beachville calendar shoot. Though he stars in her hottest, steamiest fantasies, he’s the last person she’s going to tell. An accident left its mark on her, body and soul. But when she catches Sean looking at her like she’s water for a man dying of thirst, she wonders if it’s possible he might see the girl beneath the scars.

Ever since he pulled Madison from the fire that injured her, Sean’s been hot for her. Too bad she clearly has no interest in him-or so he thinks, until he sees a spark in her eyes that says she burns for him as much as he does for her. No more tiptoeing around the matter-a blatant seduction is in order.

Soon they’re igniting the sheets, but come morning Madison’s old fears and insecurities threaten to snuff the flames to ashes. Except Sean’s fuse has been lit, and he has no intention of letting her put it out. Ever.

 

In Bad Girl Therapy my hero is an injured sports star and the girls he falls for is his rehabilitation therapist.

Pro soccer star Cole Landon has women at his fingertips, but there’s always been one who was untouchable. Haley Jones, the high-school crush from the right side of the tracks—and way out of his league.

Sidelined with an injury, he’s cooling his heels in Beachville when he discovers his physical therapist is none other than the perennial good girl herself.

Bored with men who pay more attention to their smartphones than her, Haley longs for a summer fling that won’t risk her reputation. When Cole shows up in town, her hormones tell her he’s the one man who will scratch her itch without tarnishing her good girl image.

No one’s more surprised than Cole when Haley suggests his private beachside cottage is the best place to begin his…therapy. Apparently money really can buy love. She wants to play? Then play he will.

As hot days turn to scintillating nights, Haley begins to realize there’s more to this playboy than meets the eye. Until Cole gets news that could put them once again on opposite ends of the playing field.

 

For more information please visit, www.cathryfox.com and for a chance to win an ecopy of Wet in Whispering Cove, please leave a comment!

Saturday Snippet: Summer’s End

Sad, sad, sad… Summer’s over. No more pool time. How about one last taste of sweet summer heat before you unpack your sweaters?

Post a comment today, and you can win a free copy of this short story!

Afraid to spoil their friendship, Emily had been reluctant to act on her attraction to the two sexy men next door. However, when she’s caught spying on them, the men decide a little punishment is in order…

From National Bestselling Author, Delilah Devlin, comes a sexy little story sure to become one of your favorite one-handed reads!

Warning: This 6800-word short story contains elements of voyeurism, m/f/m ménage sex, oral sex, and light BDSM.

Beads of condensation, glittering jewel-like in the sputtering candlelight, ran in rivulets down the sides of Jason’s ice-cold beer.

Detail I shouldn’t have been able to note, given the fact I was thirty feet away.

As I lowered my nephew’s toy binoculars, I reflected that I had indeed sunk to a new low. You see, my bedroom window conveniently overlooked Jason and Robert’s backyard. A fact that probably never registered with the previous tenants, but one that proved too delicious to ignore after the arrival of the handsome duo. Privacy fencing, which ran down to the pier that jutted into the lake, separated the row of houses where we lived. It was high enough the neighbors on either side of ours couldn’t see into their yard, but lucky me—I had the perfect view.

Upon discovering this, I had began a furtive surveillance. One that had me cringing in embarrassment each time I greeted them in passing and feeling even more ashamed when we struck up a friendship.

We’d shared meals, drinks, late afternoon swims, watched football games together on their wide-screen TV. And still, I peeked into their backyard, waiting for those moments when they popped outside to mow the lawn or catch a few summer rays. Their bodies gleamed with sweat while raw lust warred inside me, along with the fear that I’d mess up our relationship if I let the guys know how I really felt.

My convenient perch on the windowsill afforded me a window into their private lives, and from the very beginning, I was hooked. They’d become an obsession, one frustrated by the fact they treated me like a kid sister, rather than a woman one of them might desire.

And therein lay another problem. I’d resisted the urge to seek a deeper relationship because then I’d have to choose. My libido was completely fickle, lusting after Jason’s muscled physique, then sighing over the possibilities of what Robert’s tall, bony frame and large feet hinted at. That their personalities were perfect bookends, fierce and funny, confused my heart as well.

Lucky, lucky me. I licked the sweat gathering on my upper lip while this night one of the handsome men living next door tilted his bottle and took several long sips. The look of pure bliss that softened his otherwise stern features made my chest ache.

I watched the movement of Jason’s throat as he worked it down, imagining him sipping at my overheated flesh. My skin began to tingle. My nipples beaded, crowding uncomfortably against my lace bra. My thighs clenched as a delicious wash of arousal seeped to wet the crotch of my plain panties.

The sigh he emitted as he set the bottle on the table was echoed by my own painful groan. Watching either of them had never caused my heart to skip a beat like that hint of a moan sliding on the tail of Jason’s long exhalation.

Sure, it was hotter than hell out there. I too felt the effects of the enervating heat. Record temperatures had strained the region’s resources and planned service interruptions began that night. But something about that sigh felt…un-subtle, exaggerated, maybe even dramatic. And Jason was too straightforward a man for that.

I blotted sweat from my forehead, asking myself again, What am I doing?

Only this time, my peeping hadn’t been deliberate. I’d rushed home from work and showered quickly to beat the scheduled brown-out. Then I’d stripped to my underwear, pulled back the curtains, and opened the window, hoping for a breeze to cool my skin. Sitting limply on the sill, I waited for the world to flicker into life again.

That’s when I’d noticed him, sitting in a lounge chair alone in the dark.

He wore his usual work “uniform”—khaki trousers, white shirt and a tie. Tonight, the tie hung loosened and askew, his collar opened beneath it.

Despite the lack of electricity, I could see it all. Moonlight silvered his dark hair and reflected bright as a beacon against the white shirt. The golden light from the large Citronella candle leant warmth to his skin and the amber bottle he held between his hands.

As always, he was lovely to watch, but tonight, his expression drew my attention more than his breath-stealing features. A sullen slanting of his brows, a bit of pout plumping his masculine lips, an edgy energy to his slight movements—he was either irritated or aroused.

Wanting an answer to the “either-or,” I watched. My forte is observation; my people-radar exquisitely tuned to body language and a voice’s tonal cues. My curiosity and my lust were caught. No way could I back away from my window now. The bottle tapped the table as he set it aside. A long-fingered hand tugged the knot of his tie, dragging it from his neck.

When he began to undo the row of buttons down the front of his shirt, I settled deeper on the sill, leaning closer, but taking care to keep my pale body hidden behind the sheer curtain.

The edges of the shirt parted over a broad, nicely muscled chest. My gaze zeroed in on taut lean abs dusted with dense fur the same color as his close-cropped black hair that stretched nipple to nipple then ran along a thin dark line to slip beneath his zipper.

His hand stroked his chest, scratching through the hair, the faint crinkling sound causing my own chest to tighten, my nipples to surge.

A light sheen of sweat glimmered on his chest and belly. Again, my tongue swept my lips, tasting salt, and I imagined I lapped the dew right off his skin.

When a lazily roaming hand slid over his belly, I tensed, fascinated as he swept the flat plane. Would he be hard or desk-soft? His stomach looked firm. So, I enjoyed fantasizing that he was and touched my own stomach, following his path.

His hand slid down to the knot bulging behind his fly, and he cupped it. Squeezed.

My own hands itched to replace his and grew still, clenching against the fantasy of holding his burgeoning cock as it roused. My cheeks heated and my breaths shortened. No need to tease my own body into arousal, moisture already soaked my panties.

The buckle clanked open, and the belt slid sinuously from the loops as he lifted his hips and pulled it free. A flick of his thumb and the button at the waistband of his trousers opened. His zipper rasped as it slid down.

Dark fabric formed a vee-like shadow as his hand rooted beneath his waist, and then he slipped the long, gleaming column of his semi-aroused sex from the flap at the front of his boxers and wrapped his fingers around it.

I swallowed the liquid pooling in my mouth. I blinked to moisten eyes that had grown dry and scratchy as I stared, wide-eyed. My breaths grew ragged, a little choked, and I must have made a noise, because suddenly his head swung my way.

His gaze narrowed on my bedroom window.

Holding my breath, I froze, hoping his gaze couldn’t penetrate the darkness.

But a crooked smile slowly stretched his lips, and his hand tightened around himself and began to pump up and down the thickening rod. All the while, he stared at me.

* * * * *

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

Rhian Cahill Anne Rainey

Mari Carr

McKenna Jeffries

Myla Jackson

Taige Crenshaw

Lauren Dane

Shiloh Walker

Guest Blogger: Mary Marvella

When I write sexual tension I hope my readers will want to push the heroine aside and take her place. In the first scenes I have a woman who doesn’t want to desire/love her ex-husband. Their history would make having sex with this man unwise. Therefore I wanted to make him difficult to resist. 

Scene 1

I got the cake, thin layers of cake with raspberry mousse fillings between. A loud flapping sound and a rough ride announced the death of a tire as I neared Dee’s school.

Well, Hell. I’d planned to wait in the car. Some days Dee saw me as an okay mom. Others she didn’t want to be seen with me. I popped the trunk and prepared to lug the spare and the jack out. My cell rang in my pocket. What now? I half rose, banging my head on the trunk lid. Stars filled my vision while pain made me feel faint, a tad nauseous.

“Need any help?” A deep voice resonated near me, the masculine drawl familiar as my own.  God, I really hit my head hard. That voice can’t belong to Jay. Most of the men in this part of Georgia had the same charming drawl, so much more pleasing than some I heard every day. Other drawls didn’t send shivers up my spin the way Jay’s did.

I opened my eyes and saw long, muscular, denim-clad legs

near the back fender. Heat spread over my face as my attention followed the legs to thick thighs, then the worn placket over the zipper. What a package, so far. I should straighten and look the man in his eye, but my stiff back had been bent too long.

A deep, masculine chuckle made me blush as I placed my hand on my back and tried to escape the position that made studying his lower body too easy. By the time I managed to straighten, the man’s chuckle stopped.

“Sonovabitch!” His expletive wasn’t loud, but he hadn’t whispered it.

Jay looked shocked. I felt like climbing into the trunk and pulling the lid closed.

Now I’d bet I had no color. “What the hell are you doing here?” Of all the people I’d have expected to see here, he wasn’t one. He wasn’t supposed to be in town on leave yet.

He glared at me as if I were in the wrong place. “Rose asked me to pick her sister up from school and bring her to …”

“Why would she send you here? I took the afternoon to get Dee and the cake and gifts to Mama’s house for the party.”

“Rose …”

I interrupted him, using my superior teacher’s voice. “She’s called herself Electra for the past six months.” Don’t you know anything?

He frowned, as if he knew nothing about that. “My daughter’s name is Rose and that’s what I’ll call her. You let her get by with way too much.”

I didn’t have time to argue with GI Jay, so I reached for the jack again, but one large, tanned hand reached past me and grabbed it first. The man’s other hand grabbed the spare tire as if it were a donut.

“I can do it,” I insisted.

He shook his head at me, loosened the lug nuts in a few twists, then positioned the jack and raised the car in seconds.  “You don’t need to do it with me here to help.”

I glared at him. “I work out. I’m not helpless.” With my hands fisted at my waist I felt like a kid throwing a tantrum, but I couldn’t back down. I’d have let any other man change the tire and thanked him, but it bugged me that my Ex didn’t think to ask me if I needed help. While other men would have offered, he just took over, as he always did.

“Don’t argue,” he said as he made quick work of changing the tires faster than I could have jacked the car up.

He tossed the flat tire into the trunk as though the thing weighed nothing. I knew better, since I’d changed tires before.

He closed the trunk and eased around the car.

I heard books hit the ground and Dee’s squeal. “Daddy!”

My heart ached when my daughter threw her arms around the waist of the man who didn’t believe she was his child. Dee’s heart was in that hug and I was willing to hit him with the tire.

Scene 2

Lady Luck sometimes deserted me and tonight she laughed at me. Jay met my car in the driveway before I could get out. Calling ahead hadn’t helped, after-all. I sat with my door open and Jay squatting to put us at eye level. This afternoon he looked so much like the boy I knew in high school and college. His white tee shirt stretched across broad shoulders. His arms stretched so he could grip the window frame and his grin made the corners of my own mouth twitch to answer his smile with one of my own. Instead, my teacher demeanor, read prim and proper, made me feel aloof and confident.

“Hey, Mags, need something?”

He could make a simple greeting sound like an invitation to have sex. Or did I just hear that because I hadn’t had sex in at least three years. Yeah, that was it, I was just horny.

“Just my daughter.”

His flinch said I made a bulls-eye, ten points for me.

“So, if you’ll move away, I’ll say hello to your folks and take Dee home.”

He said nothing as he straightened, but he didn’t move away. His hands still griped the top of the car above me. Again, he presented me with a great view of his jeans zipper placket and a bulge that looked like he was horny, too.

Of course, he always seemed determined to get into my panties so he could say I was easy and available. My throat went dry at the memories of us hot and sweaty and wrapped around each other.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and pushed my seat back so I could get out. Moving past him wasn’t going to be easy, but I couldn’t let the jerk think he could trap me like a frightened kitten.

The body contact as I twisted up and flush with him sent shocks through me and through him, too, judging by his expression and the way he caught his breath. So close I could count his eyelashes and the gold flecks in his eyes, I sucked in a needed breath. Yep, my breasts pressed into his chest and his shock changed to desire. Good.

“Excuse me,” I forced the words past my parched lips. Then I licked them before I ducked under his arm and called out to anyone who could hear me.

“Hey, where’s everybody? Dee? Dad Lake?

“Witch,” Jay’s low voice sounded for my ears only.

“Jerk,” I answered and smiled. “You do have to play your childish games, don’t you?”

His laugh sounded pained. “Nothing childish about the way you make me think about hot, sweaty sex. You can’t tell me you don’t think about us that way. What would it hurt?”

Angry, I turned to him. “I wouldn’t have sex with you again, even if I did have an itch, even if you were the last man in the world. You’re way too easy.” Try that one bub.

Scene 3

Drinking her second cup of coffee and munching a third warm donut, she spotted a Harley pulling into the parking lot. The man on the machine made it look like a toy. Everything about him screamed bad-ass. Black hair streamed down his leather-clad back. His muscular arms were bare and thick. Something about the way he straddled his bike spoke to her. Oh, yeah. Maybe because she was tired? Maybe because he’d make great eye-candy calendar material.

He dismounted and his long-legged stance made her choke on the last swallow of coffee. That man owned the world, or at least the part he wanted. When he turned toward the wall of glass window she swallowed hard. He removed his helmet. Watching him run tanned hands through his dark hair brought a groan she hardly recognized as her own. He was one fine looking man.

Mirrored sunglasses hid his eyes. Sipping her coffee, she forced myself to glance around the room instead of watching the motorcycle god come inside. Of course she didn’t miss a step he made, outside and inside. Biker guy exuded sex and danger.

She got a good look at the wicked grin spreading across his rugged face. God Almighty. This man looked barely civilized.

Carrying two coffees and a paper bag, he sauntered toward her table. With each step his single earring swayed and his grin grew. “Mind if I sit here?”

He sat before she could answer. His large hands delved into the bag and brought out glazed donuts that looked miniature in his grasp. The green serpent tattoo on his forearm moved with his muscles as he held the donut toward her”

Buy you a drink?” He offered a Styrofoam cup.

He was flirting with her and she felt a stirring she needed to tamp down. “That’s okay.” But she took it anyway. After all, he’d ordered what she was drinking. “Thanks.” She opened a yellow sweetener packet and added its contents. She stirred the mixture, then ran the stirring stick across her lips, savoring the cream.

“Been around here long?” he asked, his voice deep, a little hoarse sounding. He took two bites and the donut.

She didn’t need the distraction of this man who made her want to research the theories about correlation of feet, hands, nose, and penis size.

Mary Marvella

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Guest Blogger: Denise Rossetti

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* * * * *
Cheaper than Therapy, but Loads More Fun!

Thanks, Delilah, for letting me hang out at your place!

Don’t know about you, but books have always been my friends – a solace and a refuge when Real Life was bleak. But it wasn’t until I started writing that I realized that fiction was cheaper than therapy – not to mention a helluva lot more fun. *grin*

To illustrate… Many years ago, when I was a baby writer taking my first tentative steps onto the page, I met a Very Senior Manager (from another section) at a work function. Very Senior Manager was good at his job and respected for his ability and ruthlessness. He was also on the short side and suffered from one good lunch too many, so he resembled a well-groomed toad in a business suit. I recall that his tie was an odd green/yellow colour.

We were chatting politely, as one does, when I noticed that he wasn’t looking at my face, but at my chest. He appeared to be counting – one…and ah, yes, there’s the other one. Yay, two!

I guess I’m naïve, but I tend to take people as I find them. I glanced down, expecting to see that a button had popped or that I’d dropped a blob of chocolate cake on my front. Nope, all buttoned up and pristine.

Very Senior Manager met my startled gaze and smirked. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t need to, the creep! In fact, I think he was looking forward to blandly denying any assertion I made.

Fuming, I excused myself and made sure I was surrounded by others for the rest of the event.

I seethed over that incident for months. I’m perfectly well aware that on the harassment scale, it was a flea bite, and that I hadn’t been injured or even threatened. He didn’t belong to my part of the organization, so he had no direct power over me. But, oh my goodness, I was sooo incensed – especially when I discovered that he only played this trick on subordinate women. I think it was the nasty smirk that really did me in, knowing how much he’d enjoyed my discomfiture. I’d say it was adolescent, but that gives decent teenagers a bad name.

What did I do? I wrote Very Senior Manager into my first manuscript (it still lives in the sock drawer). Unlike my place of employment, that book was a place where I had complete control, where I was the puppet mistress and the deity all rolled into one. I didn’t make him the villain, oh no, I made him the villain’s inept sidekick. The character was fat, complacent and clammy-handed. He was also stupid, cowardly and came to a Very Bad End.

That’s right, I killed him off and it was wonderful! From the moment I typed the last word in that scene, all my fury and frustration just…evaporated. Pfft! Gone! It was amazing how different I felt.

Since that day, I’ve loved living through and with my characters. The good guys are infinitely more resourceful, braver and stronger than I’ll ever be – and so much sexier and better looking! The bad guys all come (eventually) to horrible ends. Ah, I love the fantasy that is a good romance!

In The Dark Rose, the fourth in the Four-Sided Pentacle series, we have a heroine so exquisitely lovely Very Senior Manager would have slobbered all over her, but Rose is as devious as she is beautiful. She would have made him pay, I know it!

Here’s a short, sexy excerpt, but you can read the whole first chapter on my website.

Purchase from Amazon  or Barnes & Noble.

Denise Rossetti

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Even beautiful things cast dark shadows…

Rosarina of the Garden is the most desired courtesan of her time. She is also a spy, sent on a deadly mission to Green IV. She cannot afford to trust anyone, least of all the Quintus, a Technomage with his own agenda – and the unnerving ability to crack her cool composure.

Rose is a challenge Quin can’t resist. He’s a threat she’s been ordered to…eliminate.

Duty and passion are a dangerous combination in the paranormal world of the Four-Sided Pentacle.

Thank the Sister. He’d signed the contract. Rose let out the breath she’d been holding. Gods, Quin was a dangerous man. Last night’s kiss had been a near disaster, so overwhelming, so intimate, she’d very nearly forgotten her name, let alone her purpose. She couldn’t afford the risk. Never again, not if she was to keep her head. Even now, the force of his personality, the intensity of his focus, made her a little dizzy.

As if he’d heard the thought, he caught both her hands and drew her flush against his hard body. “Finally!” he said, sounding so aggrieved Rose hid an involuntary smile against his shoulder.

She suspected he could probably charm the birds from the trees if he set his mind to it, but he wouldn’t waste his time with subtlety, not Quin, not when he had other ways of doing things, impatient, demanding ways.

Through the thin shirt, his body was furnace hot, unyielding. He smelled . . . strange, a not unpleasant blend of man and soap and . . . was that machine oil? She’d know him anywhere, she thought, even in the dark. Her stomach flipped.

A big hand traveled down her spine, molded the curves of her bottom, pressed her into muscled thighs and an unabashed erection. “Gods, you feel good,” he muttered.

Steadying, Rose drew back. “Give me a minute and you’ll feel even better.”

She got a wolfish grin. “You bet I will.” His brow furrowed with concentration, Quin lifted his right hand to brush his knuckles over her throat and cleavage. A pause while his tawny gaze flashed up to her hers and he detoured over the full curve of one breast, the nipple peaking so swiftly beneath the sheer silks, Rose was hard put not to gasp.

“Ah,” he said, and she would never have thought Quin could croon. “Look at that. Pretty.”

He fumbled with the sash of her gown, the one the color of the sky at dusk.

“Wait.” She placed her hands over his, feeling the strange contrast between warm and cool, right and left.

“But I want—”

She pressed her fingers to his lips. “We’ll get to that, I promise. You hired a professional. Let me show you what I can do.”

Smiling, she tilted her head to one side. “Have you ever been pampered, Quin?”

He snorted with amusement, then nipped at her fingers. “What do you think?”

Rose’s smile widened. I think I’m the one in control now.[AK1] 

Holding his eye, she skated her fingertips over his smooth chin—he’d shaved recently—down past the pulse beating hard in the strong column of his neck, over the strut of his collarbones. She paused, her palm flattened over his heart, the beat rapid and strong.

“Garden courtesans are famous for the erotic arts of the bath,” she murmured.

Quin frowned, his cheeks flushed. “We can bathe after.”

“The longer you hold out, the better it will be.” Rose drifted her palm lower, over a solid ribcage, down to his waistband and a flat belly. He stopped breathing.

Merciful Sister, there was no give in the man at all. He was all muscle and bone and rock-hard flesh. She could swear the she felt his erection radiating desperate heat, a magnificent bulge brushing the heel of her hand.

She unleashed a glowing smile. “I can make you come harder than you have in your life. I guarantee it.”

His brows rose and he cupped her shoulders in his palms. “Is that a dare, my beautiful Rose?”

A chuckle bubbled out of her before she was even aware of it. “I’m yours,” she purred. “You can order me to do whatever you like.”

Dropping her hand, she molded it over his shaft and her eyes opened wide. Gods. Startled, she tightened her fingers and Quin grunted, thrusting into her grip. He was a big man; she should have expected it. No problem, she had oils in the nightstand to make the way easy, to enhance his pleasure and hers.

She sent him a look from under her lashes. “But I wouldn’t want to bore you by being too obedient.”

Quin chuffed with amusement.

With the tips of her fingers, she traced a broad flaring head. When she scratched ever so lightly with her nails, Quin groaned and caught her wrist in a bruising grip.

“Hellion,” he said with deep appreciation. “Tease me at your peril.”

Rose laughed, her whole body tingling. “But Quin, it’s so much fun.”

Quin chuckled, the sound deep and wicked. “Ah, sweetheart.” With a deft twist of his fingers, he released the comb that held her hair and the mass of it tumbled down her back, as far as her waist, blue-black in the gentle light of the glowglobes.

His face—ah, Sister save her, his face! For a split second, his expression was unguarded, joy and awe and even a sort of rough affection mixed in with the lust.

Everything low in her belly tightened, a silvery clamp of desire, as sudden as it was unexpected. There’d be no need for oils; she was shamefully wet, slick and throbbing, soft and ready.

“You’re going to kill me, woman,” he said ruefully.

Very likely. Unless you kill me first.