Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 484

A Question…

The winner of yesterday’s One-Day-Only Contest for a free download of any Lone Star Lovers story is…Jennifer! Jennifer, be sure to email me with your choice of story!

Since I didn’t accomplish a whole lot last week, I’m skipping my Sunday Report Card. Too depressing!!! Instead, I’ll offer you a question…

If you could become fully enlightened instantly on any one subject,

which subject would you choose? Think Neo entering The Matrix .

What “plug-in” app would give you the most satisfaction?

Snippet Saturday: We are Family (Contest)

I’m on my way this morning with my sister, Myla Jackson, to attend the Diamond State Romance Authors meeting. Another kind of family meeting from the one you’ll read below! The Logans lives change from this pivotal moment when they come to a decision as a group. Has your family ever had one of those “pivotal” moments?

Post a comment today and win a free download of your choice of Lone Star Lovers stories!

“A FOUR-GONE CONCLUSION is a prime example on how a novella should be written; fast and fun, touching characters that pull you in and a story that is completely fulfilling.”
~ 4.5 Cherries, Long and Short Reviews

One devilish night…or a chance at heaven?

Sam Logan’s foster sons have a bad rep in Two Mule, Texas. Most of it earned. When it becomes clear they don’t plan on giving up scootin’ after ever pretty pair of boots in town anytime soon, he issues the one thing he knows they can’t resist: a challenge. Find a wife.

The oldest, Johnny, is actually grateful. He’s had his eye on Mean Ellie Harker for a long time, and Sam’s challenge is the kick in the pants he needed to ask her out. Except before he can make his move, his brothers kidnap her right out from under his nose. Now, instead of being one question away from victory, he has to compete for the woman of his dreams.

Ellie thought she’d be a dried up old spinster before Johnny finally untangled his tongue long enough to ask for a date. But instead of teaching him better uses for that tongue, his brothers have whisked her away to the ranch. At first she’s furious…then intrigued when she starts to wonder what it might be like…

Warning: Four handsome cowboys. Four choices. Would it be a single sordid night or a chance at heaven as she savors every luscious inch of the Logan brothers?

“It’s time you boys found yerselves a wife.” Sam Logan made his pronouncement then waited, watching the four younger men seated at the table from the corner of his eye. He didn’t have to wait long for his words to sink in. They exploded in the room with the force of a silent grenade.

Johnny’s jaw closed with a snap, and he laid his spoon down on the scarred oak table. His black winged brows drew together, nearly meeting over his dark eyes as he raised his head.

Sam suppressed a smile. That look could make the toughest hombre gulp, but Sam wasn’t the least bit concerned. Johnny tended to look mean when things changed. His oldest boy hated any kind of change.

If any other man had said what he had, Johnny would have cussed under his breath and aimed a piercing, silencing glare. However, he respected Sam, trusted him as much as he could anyone. That trust and respect were the only things that kept his butt on the bench beside his brother Killian.

For his part, Killian’s eyes narrowed. The corners of his lips twitched. Likely he was amused by Johnny’s reaction and didn’t want to let him off the hook too quickly, but was already lining up all the reasons why Sam’s idea was ludicrous. He was quick that way.

Sam calmly ladled the hearty stew he’d made into his mouth and let his gaze roam to the twins. Jason was coughing into his napkin while Mace gave him “helpful” taps between his shoulder blades.

Mace caught his stare and grinned. “A wife, did you say?”

Sam grunted, ignoring the one word that had caught his son’s attention. “This is the third time this week we’ve had stew,” he murmured. Not to change the subject, but to point out a glaring fact.

“I like stew just fine,” Johnny muttered.

“This house misses a woman’s touch.” There, he’d said it. Sat the big gorilla in the room right at the dinner table. Impossible to ignore.

“Gracie can’t be replaced,” Killian said softly.

The permanent ache next to his heart echoed that truth. Sam nodded. “She’s gone. Three years. I miss her every day. Know you do too. But life goes on. You’re men now. You have an obligation. Ranchin’s a family business. Y’all need families.”

Johnny cleared his throat. “No disrespect intended, Sam, but you didn’t get sons the old-fashioned way.”

“Not because Gracie and I didn’t try. And in the end, we had no regrets. We both loved you all like you was our own.”

“So, you’d rather saddle us with—”

Sam aimed a quelling stare. “Think I felt like Gracie was a noose around my neck?”

“No sir, but…” Johnny’s hands fisted on the tabletop. “Hell, how’re we to find someone like her?”

Sam understood what he meant. Gracie’s passing had left a hole in all their hearts. The boys had loved her. Took to her the very first day he’d brought each of them home. Gracie had been born to be a mother, and she’d showered them all with the things they’d needed most—acceptance and unconditional love.

“Boys, Gracie wasn’t born a rancher’s wife. Truth is, she didn’t know a bull from a cow and damn near poisoned me with the first meals she cooked. But she learned. Find a woman willin’ to learn, one you kin love and who’ll love you back.”

“You said, ‘a wife’.” Mace wasn’t gonna let that slip of the tongue go.

Sam shook his head and gave the twins a faint glimmer of a smile. Those two could always see the humor in any predicament. “Thought I’d give you two options. I know one can’t piss without the other goin’ too. And there are damn few single women to go around these parts. ’Nough said?” When all of them nodded, he cleared his throat. “I’ll be out of town for the next four days. Auction in Abilene. The house is yours.”

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

Megan Hart:Read in bed!

Leah Braemel

Jody Wallace

Eliza Gayle

Mandy M Roth

Lissa Matthews

Mari Carr

McKenna Jeffries

Myla Jackson

Taige Crenshaw

Shiloh Walker

HelenKay Dimon

Lauren Dane

TJ Michaels

Guest Blogger: Sidney Bristol (Contest)

The Four Year Rule

Hello! And thanks to Delilah for hosting me today!

Excuse my excessive use of exclamation points today, my book just came out this morning and I’m pretty excited. I mean, I know as an author I’m going to be excited about every book, but this is my first book in my first series, and it’s about something I really love.

Tattoos.

I know, looking at me you’d never guess I like a little ink, would you? I knew at a young age, probably around fourteen, that I wanted tattoos. Thankfully I did not share this almost certain knowledge with my parents. They’re still reeling from a very recent revelation that I have tattoos. And by recent, I mean they found out about a month ago, and I’ve had them since I was twenty-one.

There’s something about tattoos, the expression of art and personality on one’s very skin that’s always fascinated me. I knew from an early age what I wanted my first tattoo to be, but at about sixteen, I recognized that I was young and stupid and prone to making rash decisions. Somewhere in that time period I came up with a rule.

The rule.

The four year rule.

It’s simple really. I have to want a tattoo for four years before I get it. My reasoning has always been that if I can settle on an image for four years with only minor tweaking, it must be something I really want and will be happy with in the long run. A big part of this is also getting an artist who can not only execute what I want but also bring it to live on the skin.

To date I’ve gotten five (or seven depending on who you ask) tattoos. With the exception of one, the four year rule has held steady. The one that was not planned in detail was planned in spirit. I don’t suggest people get matching tattoos or names typically, but my brother and I did get matching tattoos located on our under arm. A very sensitive place!

So what tattoos do I have? I have what’s called a backpiece, one big tattoo that stretches from my hips to my shoulders. A half-sleeve, which is a single tattoo that goes from my shoulder to just above my elbow. My sibling tattoo that’s about the size of my palm. In the picture above you can see my two pair of tattoos. I have Hebrew on each shoulder, and in the hollow on each shoulder I have half of the claddagh. Each tattoo means something. I’m a fan of doing tattoos that mean something or tell a story. It’s always fun to be approached by a complete stranger interested in the stories on my skin. I guess in a way, ink was the first medium in which I published a book.

I have quite a few in the works for the future. I want to get my left half-sleeve done, and a smattering of smaller tattoos, only two of which have met the required four year rule. So who knows, maybe next year I’ll be sporting some new ink?

So what about you? Do you have tattoos? Do you like them? Do you want them?

Tell me about your tattoo dreams! One commenter will win an ebook copy of my book, Under His Skin.

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Sidney Bristol

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

Website *~* Twitter *~* Facebook

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Under His Skin, So Inked #1, Pricked Series   Ellora’s Cave | Barnes and Noble | Amazon

A woman who doesn’t believe she deserves love…

Toe-curling kisses and enough sex to fill a weekend were all Pandora wanted from a fling with her teenage crush. She’s never forgotten how he played the knight in shining armor to her damsel in distress. She’s ready to say thank you in several naughty ways, so long as she can walk away when it’s over with her heart intact.

A man moving on from tragedy…

Brian has no intention of allowing the feisty tattoo artist to leave him after one taste. He hasn’t had enough of her inked curves. The packaging might have changed, but Pandy is the woman he hasn’t been able to excise from his memory. He’s ready to put together a new life, one that includes her. But he’s not the only one vying for her attention. Someone else wants her, dead or alive.

Pandora swirled the glass of Tuaca and downed it in three gulps. The smooth brandy slid down her throat and sent warm fuzzies coursing through her body. She couldn’t get drunk fast enough.

“Hey.”

A weight settled against her waist. She squeezed her eyes shut, chanting, No, no, no!

“Why aren’t you up there getting ready for the awards?”

She turned on the stool, keeping one hand on the bar for balance. She should never have allowed the girls to dress her up in the first place. The red wiggle dress fit her like a second skin, and the underwear served only to annoy her. She’d never understood garters.

At least focusing on that distracted her from what Robert had done this time.

“We were

disqualified,” she said, slurring her words only slightly.

Brian’s jaw dropped. If she had the coordination, it would have been the perfect opportunity to kiss him, but she didn’t trust herself leaning that far forward.

“What? How?”

“I drew the tattoo on you. I didn’t make a stencil first.”

“That’s bullshit.” The way his eyes flashed and arms flexed as he clenched his hands into fists made her a little hot. Then again, there wasn’t anything about Brian that didn’t turn her on. What would her ex-fiancé think if she told him it had been Brian she thought of when they’d had sex?

“Yup. I said that too. The rules are written all vague and shit. Robert and the West Coast Shop assholes pressured the organizers. All of us who drew instead of tracing are disqualified.” If she was able to string that many words together and slur only a little, she wasn’t drunk enough. Turning to the bar, she signaled the bartender for another.

Brian wedged himself between her stool and the next. “There’s got to be someone you can complain to.”

As she reached for her new glass, Brian picked it up first and sniffed.

“That’s mine.” She made a wild grab for the glass.

He caught her wrist, making a shackle of his fingers. “I think you’ve had enough.”

“Have not.” Releasing her hold on the bar, she made another attempt to snag the brandy.

Brian lifted the liquor out of her reach and forced her other arm up while trying to grab her flailing appendage with his fingers. She pitched forward, sliding off the barstool. Her heel fell off the rung and her skirt trapped her legs. Stumbling forward, she winced, already seeing herself sprawled across the floor. Instead, she planted her face directly into Brian’s chest. He wrapped his arm around her waist, squeezing her against his untattooed side.

She wasn’t drunk enough not to want to wither and die from mortification. Placing her hands against his shoulders, she shoved. But she might as well have been pushing a brick wall for all the good it did her. Brian pivoted, putting the bar to her back, and leaned against her. She could feel his hips and the bulge of something else.

“Let go of me,” she growled.

He turned his face away and downed her drink.

“Hey, that was mine.”

Setting the glass on the bar, he wrapped both arms around her. Though she’d been up close and personal with him the day before, that had been in a professional situation. Without alcohol. Slightly inebriated and plastered against his lean chest was a new experience. The urge to lift her chin and kiss his jaw, suck his lips and thrust her tongue into his mouth was strong. She hadn’t been able to put the fantasy of him to rest, but neither could she bring herself to close those final few inches and make it a reality.

Over his shoulder, she glimpsed Butch take the stage, microphone in hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to announce the winners.”

Ducking her face, she pressed it to his shoulder. Her back ached from spending yesterday hunched over Brian’s tattoo. She had a tension headache, and now her stomach rolled from the brandy.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she muttered into his t-shirt.

He said something she didn’t hear and took her hand. As Butch began acquainting the audience with one of the smaller contests, Brian led her through the press of people crammed into the ballroom. Focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, she didn’t question why she was following him. It was nice not to have to sit at the bar by herself. She hadn’t yet been able to face the other girls after her public disqualification. Escaping with Brian was preferable to the alternative.

Exiting from the ballroom-turned-bar, she sucked in a deep breath and squinted in the bright lights of the lobby. Brian kept a firm grasp on her hand, leading her across the foyer to a comfortable nook with contemporary leather lounge seating built against the walls. He pushed her down onto the edge of one of the couches and hovered.

Pandora cradled her face in her hands, her elbows two painful points digging into her knees.

“Can I get you anything?”

“A beer? I’m not drunk yet.”

“I think you are. How about some water?”

“This is tipsy, not drunk.”

Where the ballroom had become stifling with the press of bodies and the pulsing music, the foyer was cool and the music at least muted. She wanted to drink away today, but it would require a greater amount of alcohol than she’d consumed to do more than make her a little loose.

Her gaze focused on Brian’s worn Converse, the way each shoe sported twin worn spots behind the rubber toe where the shoe would crease when he knelt.

“Hey.” The shoes creased and his right knee hit the ground.

Sighing, she straightened and pushed her hair over her shoulder. She’d curled it for nothing. “I’m fine. A little dramatic, but I’ll be okay.”

“Pandora, Pandora, fly away home.”

She whipped her head around and glared at Robert, flanked by her former coworker Juan and a man she didn’t recognize. He had his thumbs hooked into his belt and glared at Brian. She hated how often Robert said her name.

“Fuck off, Robert.” Her voice lacked the heat, the fiery quality of her hatred for him. It took effort to be that mad, and she was beaten down enough not to care.

“Slumming for a new boyfriend, Pandora?”

Her blood boiled. Shoving to her feet, she took two steps toward Robert, jabbing her finger at him. “What? Or go back to being with you? No thank you.”

“Hey.” Brian stepped in front of her, blocking her view. “Back off.”

She peeked over Brian’s shoulders. Robert’s face had transformed from his typical, cocky grin to full-on crazy. His eyes glinted, the pupils larger, his nostrils flared and color high in his cheeks. All he needed was a vein popping out of his forehead to complete the picture. She’d seen him like this before, and he’d demolished a Vespa because it was in the spot where he usually parked.

“Or what?” he said in a low voice that had goose bumps breaking out down her arms.

Looping an arm around Brian’s chest, she pulled him back. She didn’t know what Robert would do, but he was crazy and getting into it with him was not how she wanted to spend the night.

“Let’s just go, please?” She pressed her front to his back, her hand splayed over his stomach. She wasn’t tipsy anymore.

He flattened his hand over hers, rubbing his fingers across her knuckles.

Robert turned his head to acknowledge someone calling his name. Pandora took advantage of the distraction to grab Brian’s hand and lead him to the bank of elevators. She pressed the button and allowed him to push her into the first available lift. She tottered to the far wall, grabbed hold of the bar mounted at hip height and faced the glass. She liked to watch the ground drop away suddenly, as if she were flying. At the first pull of gravity as the elevator rose, her stomach rolled and protested.

“You okay?”

She glanced over her shoulder and nodded. “Yeah.”

Leaning back, her back hit his chest. Brian paused and she thought he would step away from her, but he wrapped his arms around her waist. Allowing her eyes to shut intensified the disorientation, but Brian steadied her.

“You can’t antagonize him like that.”

His breath was warm against her neck. “You did.”

“Yeah, well I almost married him. For some reason I get away with fighting with him. I think he likes it. But you? I think he would go berserk.” She knew he would. Though she hadn’t seen it happen to a person, Robert was one small step away from making that leap.

“You were going to marry him?” The disbelieving growl surprised her.

She looked over her shoulder, wanting to soothe her hero. “I was in a bad place the last year I worked for him. I’m not proud of who I was then, and I regret every second I was engaged to that deranged, self-centered dipshit.”

His features relaxed and he leaned against her. Their breath mingled, scented with vanilla and brandy. She could kiss him right now. He squeezed her hip and circled her waist with his other arm to splay his hand over her stomach. The press of gravity lessened as the lift slowed to a stop.

“Where are we going?”

She shrugged. “I already checked out of my room.”

“This is my floor. Come on. I can get you some water.”

They walked hand in hand down the hall, with its pretentious gold-plated sconces and busy patterned carpet. They could be any couple returning to their room together for the night. Brian led her into one of the rooms not far from the elevator, swiped his card and pushed her in ahead of him. The darkness swathing the room was comforting, easier on her eyes. Even when he flipped the lights on, bathing the room in a muted glow, it was better than the harsh glare downstairs. Besides a suitcase sitting on the desk, there wasn’t any evidence he was staying in the room.

“How you feeling?”

She turned to face him. It was like being eighteen again and going back into the piercing room to make out with him, only this time it was actually Brian. As if to remind her it wasn’t a dream, his hand brushed her arm.

Flinching away from the touch, she headed for the armchair next to the window and sank down in it. The curtains blocked out all but two lines of light at the top and bottom. Closing her eyes, she tried not to listen to the rasp of his jeans as Brian walked across the room, following the path she’d taken but much slower. She could hear his breathing and smell the cologne that had rubbed off on her skin the day before. Dropping her head back against the chair, she dug her fingers into the armrest to give them something to do.

Brian was not Robert. He wasn’t like the guy kicked out of his band. He wouldn’t hurt her, at least not physically. But neither was he the kind of guy that dated a girl like her.

Large hands grasped her knees, his thumbs swiping over the fishnets that were already slicing into her toes.

“Hey.”

The gentle word might as well have been a command. Prying one eye open, she looked at him kneeling in front of her.

He appeared serious and stark without the long hair. He’d aged, and not in a bad way. “How you feeling?”

“Like shit.” She massaged her temples.

“Want some water? Something for a headache?”

“All of the above?”

The corners of his mouth turned up. “You got it.”

He left for a few moments, then came back with a glass and a package of pain relievers.

“Thanks.” She downed both, folding her hands around the glass. She held it in her lap and stared at it to keep from looking at him. “I should go back downstairs. The girls will be looking for me.” She pushed to the edge of the seat until her knees bumped his chest.

He put a hand on her thigh. She could feel the pressure from each individual finger through the sateen skirt. “Do you think Robert’s going to give you a hard time again? You don’t have to go. You can stay here for a bit.”

Lifting her gaze to his face, she searched him for some sign, some intangible something she couldn’t name. One side of her mouth hitched up and she put a hand against his arm. The muscles tensed under her fingertips. He might be scarred, but he was a strong, virile man. “Was this your plan? Get me up here and see where it goes?”

“What?” He snatched his hand back and she missed the reassuring weight of him immediately. “That’s not what this is about.”

“I’m kidding. Bad joke.” She squeezed her temples with her fingers.

He shook his head, the scowl still firmly in place. “Fuck. If I could go back and erase what happened to you, I would.” He leaned forward, planting his hands on the armrests and invading her space. “I wish I could, because I want to kiss you, but I feel like trash for something I didn’t even do. If that’s not screwed up, I don’t know what is.”

Her heart kicked into double time. A spike of adrenaline overrode the pain between her ears.

She sat up a little straighter. Licking her lips, she whispered, “So kiss me already.”

His face hovered near enough she could see the every eyelash ringing his eyes, the thin scar on his brow and his chipped front tooth. “The problem is, I don’t want to stop with kissing you. But you’re drunk.”

She laughed and draped an arm over his shoulder. “Not really. I had a buzz, but it’s gone.”

New Call for Submissions: Sex Objects (super alpha stories!)

Please pass this along to all your writer friends out there! ~DD

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Sex Objects: Hot He-Man Erotic Romance for Women

Editor: Delilah Devlin

Publisher: Cleis Press in Fall 2013

Deadline: October 1, 2012 (although sooner is better!)

SEX OBJECTS: HOT HE-MAN EROTIC ROMANCE FOR WOMEN is open to all authors.

Editor Delilah Devlin is looking for hetero “super alpha” stories for a romantic erotica anthology tentatively entitled: SEX OBJECTS: HOT HE-MAN EROTIC ROMANCE FOR WOMEN.

What is it about heroes like Superman, Iron Man or Thor that revs our engines like no other? Is it the suit? The manly physique? Or is it the courage they display, wading in where others fear to go, to save the damsel, the city, the Earth?

Are there real-life heroes who inspire the same lustful fascination? Kickass iconic heroes who enter danger zones in the name of duty, honor, country—or maybe love—who conjure images of hard, chiseled bodies, deadly glares and camouflaged features?

Sex Objects will seek stories that satisfy the reader who craves the romantic idea of that “super alpha” man. The stories will be contemporary. While traditional themes are likely to be featured, writers are encouraged to imagine greater in order to create tales that, while featuring this iconic hero, may also surprise.

Imagine the Navy SEAL sent on a suicide mission; the damaged Army Ranger home from war; the para rescue team member jumping into frigid waters; a SWAT team member entering a human trafficker’s den… These “super alpha” heroes can be military members and based in far-flung places around the world or the smoke-jumper living next door. Then imagine the romantic possibilities of being held against that massively muscled chest by a man whose mission is to protect and serve…

Published authors with an established “super alpha” world may use that setting for their original short story.

The stories may be as kinky or vanilla as the writer wants—but a deep sensuality should linger in every word. Exotic locations and scenarios are welcome. Keep in mind there must be a romantic element with a happy-for-now or happy-ever-after ending. Strong plots, engaging characters and unique twists are the ultimate goal. Please no reprints. We are seeking original stories.

How to submit: Prepare your 1,500 to 4,500 words story in a double-spaced, Arial, 12 point, black font document with pages numbered (.doc, NOT.docx) OR rich text format. Indent the first line of each paragraph half an inch and double space (regular double spacing, do not add extra lines between paragraphs or do any other irregular spacing). US grammar (double quotation marks around dialogue, etc.) is required.

In your document at the top left of the page, include your legal name (and pseudonym if applicable), mailing address, and 50 words or less bio in the third person to sexobjectsmanlyerotica@gmail.com. If you are using a pseudonym, please provide your real name and pseudonym and make it clear which one you’d like to be credited as. Authors may submit up to 2 stories. Delilah will respond in January 2013. The publisher has final approval over the stories included in the manuscript.

Payment will be $50.00 USD and two copies of the published book upon publication.

About the editor: Ms. Devlin has published over a hundred erotic stories in multiple genres and lengths. Her published print titles include Into the Darkness, Seduced by Darkness, Darkness Burning, Darkness Captured, Down in Texas, Texas Men, Ravished by a Viking, and Enslaved by a Viking. Her short stories are featured in Zane’s Purple Panties, and Cleis Press’s Lesbian Cowboys, Girl Crush, Fairy Tale Lust, Lesbian Lust, Passion, Carnal Machines, Dream Lovers, Lesbian Cops, Best Erotic Romance, and Girl Fever. She is published by Atria/Strebor, Avon, Berkley, Black Lace, Ellora’s Cave, Harlequin, Kensington, Mischief, Running Press and Samhain Publishing. In Fall 2011, she debuted her first anthology with Cleis Press, Girls Who Bite. In 2012, Cleis Press releases She Shifters and Cowboy Lust.

Direct any questions you have regarding your story or the submission process to Delilah at sexobjectsmanlyerotica@gmail.com.

Brand New Contest…and a Question!

Sorry I wasn’t here yesterday. I’ve been under the weather with a mother of a headache. But I’m back now!

The winners (by random number generator) of The Pretty Pendant Contest are…Karen Roma and Mary Preston! Congratulations, ladies! Be sure to hit the link and choose a pendant. Then send me your choice and your mailing address so I can get your prizes mailed!

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The Fugly Bottle Contest

What can you win?

This bottle is so hideous I almost hate giving it away! I have a thing for oddities, and all my friends know it. So when this one popped up in her consignment shop, Christi knew just who would want it!

It’s from Bolivia, is a real bottle with a cork stopper, and has real cowhide around the back. I imagine it’s the face of a Chupacabra. Don’t you just have to have it for your very own? Or doesn’t your mother-in-law need this resting on her mantle?

How can you win it?

Post a comment on any blog posting until the contest ends. Each entry counts as another chance to win!

This contest ends July 31st!

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The Question

Have you ever “drunk-dialed” or “butt-dialed” someone and said

something you wished you could take back?

Guest Blogger: Sabrina York

What’s a Nice Girl Like You Doing On A Bookshelf Like This?

Wow. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that line.

And usually from my own mouth. To myself.

Yes, I admit it, I talk to myself.

As an erotica author in an ultra-conservative world—living as it were, a double life—you can see why I might turn to myself for companionship. Why I might occasionally wonder—why erotica?

The fact of the matter is, I love it. And not just because I get to think about sex all day and research sex all day and Google sex all day and pin sex-a-licious pictures of hot men on my Pinterest page all day—although there are perks.

I LOVE erotica because it is a genre within which almost all other genres fit.

I’ve written lots of other genres—romance and women’s fiction and sci-fi and fantasy. I am so all over the map that a very successful writer friend once sat me down and said, “Sabrina, dear. Pick one!”

The thought appalled me. I didn’t want to pick one. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my natural life in Regency England wearing gloves up to my elbows and sitting through wretched dinners with overblown Barons who spat in my soup when they sputtered.

I liked visiting, though.

What I really wanted, more than anything, was to write a Regency Romance. And then move on. Maybe a Medieval legend. And then a Viking adventure. And then an epic fantasy. And a mythological fairy tale. A creepy sci-fi or a sexy space opera. A pirate yarn.

Have I mentioned I have ADD?

The problem with being this kind of flibbertigibbet as a writer is that readers have silly little things called expectations. And unmet expectations will KEEL you as a writer. You gotta write what your readers want or they will stop buying your books. There are plenty of other authors out there just panting for the opportunity to please them.

Trust me, I’ve Googled them all.

The fact of the matter is, in the publishing world we are not selling books as much as brand. And to have a brand you have to have an identity, something that consistently satisfies your customer. Brand consistency (in content and quality) on an author’s part will equate to brand loyalty in a customer. If your identity resembles Sybil’s, you may have a problem keeping your customers happy. Folks you beguiled by your sweet soft romance may take umbrage when your heroine shows up in clown makeup with a butcher knife in her hand and starts jabbing your hero.

Sadly, my friend was right. You cannot write all over the map…at least not under the same pen name with the same brand.

Unless you stumble upon the illusive unifying brand.

“What the hell is that?” you may ask, especially if you studied marketing, because it’s a concept I just made up.[i]

A unifying brand is a brand that supersedes and saturates all other brands. It is an element of a product that successfully translates to like products and links the diverse threads. So while I write erotic romance as Sabrina York, I don’t lose my identity if I sneak over to Ellora’s Cave’s Shivers line and write a horrific erotic horror featuring an alien plant with very disturbing reproductive habits…or over to the Aeon line and write my sexy space opera. Readers will follow me. And hey, I may pick up some new readers who like my writing enough to follow me back to Asgard.

Sabrina York is my brand, my identity. Erotica is my unifying brand.

What my readers expect when they buy one of my books is sizzling sex and lots of it. They want twists and turns and characters that are going to make their heart flip-flop and make them get all restless. They want something that’s gonna make them stop reading and hunt down some double A batteries or a man or a kitchen whisk or something.

They don’t care if the action happens in Regency England, on a pirate ship in the Caribbean or on a barren moon in the crab nebula.

So how did a nice girl like me end up on a bookshelf like this?

Because on this bookshelf, I can be everything I want to be, and still be me.

Also, I love to write about sex.

Keep it hot, baby!

Sabrina

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Sabrina York is an award winning author writing for Ellora’s Cave. She specializes in writing hot, funny romances with lots of steam, but has been known to wander down the dark path and flirt with alien sex and BDSM. Her debut novel, Adam’s Obsession, released to rave reviews followed quickly by the second book in this duet about a pair of tormented, sexy brothers, Tristan’s Temptation. Pushing her Buttons, winner of the 2011 Distinguished Novella Award, is coming soon.

Connect with Sabrina on Twitter at @sabrina_york or on Facebook. If you’re feeling brave, check out her naughty postings (definitely NSFW) on Pinterest. Of course, you can always check out coming books or read an excerpt at www.SabrinaYork.com.

Contest: Sign up for Sabrina’s newsletter to enter her contest to win a sexy pair of rhinestone handcuffs at www.SabrinaYork.com. Drawing Date: September 1, 2012.

* * * * *

Check out Sabrina’s newest release, Rising Green. Forget happy endings and get ready for steamy erotic horror that will shock you even as it turns you on.

 

Chaos erupts for the members of a scientific expedition on a remote island in the Pacific when the team’s botanist, Sage Green, is impregnated with the spores of an alien plant form. She’s always been the crew’s Ice Princess, but now something’s changed. Now, something is driving her, raging through her, compelling her to screw every man on this desolate rock. Again and again and again.

What the very appreciative men don’t realize is that each illicit interaction, each hedonistic comingling, will take its toll on them as well. And no one can survive the torturous pleasure unscathed.

 

Rising Green Excerpt

Copyright © SABRINA YORK, 2012

All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

From the middle of the thicket, a thick stalk topped with a bulbous bud rose. It was reminiscent of Pinguicula grandiflora, but instead of purple it was a blood-red hue with bright-yellow streaks.

Sage set down her rucksack and pulled out her sample kit. Carefully, she sliced several cuttings into vials and dropped them into the sack. Then she pulled out her camera. She started with several long shots and then moved closer, stepping carefully on the leaves and vines for a tight shot of the flower. Its petals were tightly folded with a waxy velvet sheen. They shimmered in the weak sunlight. Smelled like poppies.

She stepped closer. Stroked.

It was silky-soft.

As though reacting to her touch, the petals began to curl back, unfurl. Sage stared in fascination as the stamen was revealed, long and thick, bright yellow and heavy with pollen. A swollen pustule throbbed at its base. She leaned closer, pulling her camera up for another shot.

And the bud exploded.

In a great puff, it ejaculated a cloud of tiny seeds. A thick haze surrounded her. Seeds crawled up her nostrils and clung to her lips. Her hair was dusted with them.

“Shit,” she said under her breath as she backed away. Coughing and sputtering, she brushed the spores from her shoulders, her chest.

A strange flutter danced through her belly, followed by a wave of dizziness. Her vision blurred and weakness washed through her. Her thighs trembled and she stumbled, unable to negotiate her own feet. Fighting unconsciousness, she dropped to her knees.

And then she fell into the embrace of a soft bed of leaves.

 

She awoke to a dream. A misty, murmured haze.

Struggling to rouse herself out of the muddled cloud, she shook her head. The infinitesimal motion made her reel. She closed her eyes against the miasma, the exotic thrill skating through her. Her heart beat, distinct thuds pounding in her ears among a rushing tide.

Somewhere through the haze, she sensed movement. She wasn’t sure if she was moving or if the world moved around her. She felt as though she were floating, suspended, lighter than air.

A soft, questing tendril stroked her ankle. She tried to look at it but she couldn’t move. She couldn’t move at all.

The tendril tightened and another licked at her, on her other ankle.

A nip, gentle and oh so soft. Warmth blossomed at the spot, blossomed and rose within her until it flooded her being. A feeling of excitement—and impending doom—swamped her.

The tendrils at her ankles twined slowly, making their way up her calves. With each pass, they nipped again and the warmth expanded. A vague awareness of myriad movements captured her attention. Other tendrils twined slowly over her body, everywhere. They were on her face, her torso, her abdomen. They crawled and curled under her shirt, questing.

One of the tendrils found a nipple. As the soft, furred vine passed over the sensitive tip, it pebbled. The tendril froze. Returned. Made another pass.

Sage moaned and tightened her muscles, trying desperately to move away. But she was frozen, frozen in place, a statue.

A sacrifice.

 

[i] Technically, I did not make up the term, I just made up what it means.

Sunday Report Card, Contest Reminder…

Blog Talk Radio

I was the guest at Lette’s Chat this week. Carlette asked me questions about writing, we talked books, etc. If you’d like to listen to the interview, here’s the link: Lette’s Chat

* * * * *
Three New Releases

A busy week for me, huh? In case you missed the announcements, here are the three new books I’ve added:

Shapeshifters—beings both human and animal—ignite our imaginations with visions of primal passions and insatiable hungers. Most commonly seen as dark, masculine demons, these sixteen stories investigate shapeshifter myths from around the world, and add fur and claws to a fresh girl-on-girl blending of physical power and inescapable desires.

Embrace your wild child as you journey through worlds of unexpected delights with some of today’s hottest erotic romance authors, including Sacchi Green, Christine d’Abo, Adele Dubois and Myla Jackson. Fly atop the Tower of London in Paisley Smith’s “The Night Crow.” In Anna Meadows’ “Verde,” feel the burn of a hot Mexican summer. Experience the raw lash of a dragon’s tail in “Scorched Retribution,” then linger in the sensual delights of a furry convention in “She’s Furry Yiffy”.

Prepare to be embraced inside the warm, feathered wings of a phoenix, race through a rain forest morphing from tiger to kingfisher, and watch your lover surrender her seal’s pelt to walk hand-in-hand with you along a cold and lonely shore. In She Shifters, love comes running, slithering, flying—in all shapes of desire.

* * * * *

Gus Taggert knows a setup when he sees one. When one of his police officer buddies sends him on a doughnut run to one particular doughnut shop, Cornucopia, he hesitates. It’s too frilly and pink. However, the woman behind the counter serves him more than a couple dozen gourmet doughnuts, she gives him a mini-lesson in submission%mdash;something he’s eager to learn more about. When she orders him to see her that night at the BDSM club, La Forge, he’s more than eager to obey.

Newly vetted Domme, Aislinn Darby, has a sub she’s eager to take for a test run. The large, burly cop is the kind of alpha guy she’s been dying to tie up and spank. However, after she takes him through his paces, she finds herself more than willing to let him take control, something she hasn’t enjoyed with a man before. Gus’s brand of loving is addictive, but now she’s doubting herself and her own ability to control a scene. She has to have him back for one more go, only this time, she’s going to do it with a crowd around them to ensure he doesn’t forget who’s in charge. She bribes him into submission. Accept her dictates, and he can have her any way he wants as reward.

What Gus wants is Aislinn in the middle of a scene he orchestrates himself with the help of three of his best friends.

* * * * *

From National Bestselling Author, Delilah Devlin, and Amazon Bestseller, Paisley Smith, comes LICKS, a collection of eight scrumptious lesbian tales, ranging from succulent and sensual to tempting and taboo.

Climb aboard a Harley with a butch beauty in “Riding Bitch”. Satisfy your craving for unrepentant girl-on-girl sex in “The Out-of-Towner”. Travel back in time to 18th century Paris in “Bordello”. A sexy femme submits in “The Hired Hand”. Celebrate a first lesbian encounter in “My Best Friend’s Birthday” and take a wild ride with your favorite toy in “The Only Game in Town”.

These irresistible stories and more invite the reader to savor that delectable flavor of the ultimate in lesbian erotica.

* * * * *
Contests

Don’t forget! The Pretty Pendant contest continues! Click on the link and follow the rules! Basically, all you have to do to enter is keep on posting! I’ll choose a winner this Tuesday!

Yesterday’s winner of a free download from among my Ellora’s Cave backlist is…Kimberly Hoefs! Kimberly, congrats! And send me an email with your choice of downloadable stories from my Ellora’s Cave backlist.

 

Sunday Report Card

Remember back in May when I told you I have 18 projects to get out the door by January 2d? The current list looks like this:

4 3 full-length novels (2 1 paranormal suspense, 2 BDSM)  — Shattered Souls, done!

3 1 novellas (1 Delta Heat, 1 Western, 1 TBD) — Delta Heat: Fournicopia, and Laying Down the Law done!

3 2 short stories — “Red Dawn”, done!

2 1 anthologies I have to edit — Smokin’ Hot Firemen done!

4 novels to extensively edit & expand (it’s a secret!)

1 novella to extensively edit and publish — Dragon’s Desire, edited! Publishing soon!

1 short story anthology to edit and publish — Licks, done!

Likely, I’ll be adding one more thing to the list. Cleis Press has given the green light to another anthology. This one filled with yummy Super Alpha males (think SEALs, Delta Force, SWAT, Smoke Jumpers, etc). I’ll be working on getting a “Call for Submissions” out the door early this week!

Also this week, I knuckle down to work on the next full-length novel. Send me good thoughts, wishes, vibes, prayers. I’m having a hard time starting. Have to push past the opening and get into the sexy middle. I’m sure it will come to me as soon as I get my hero and heroine horizontal.

Snippet Saturday: Midnight Rider (Contest)

Today’s round of snippets is all about the bad boys. They’re sexy as sin and know it. They wade into danger with a flare. They tempt good girls into doing very naughty things. My favorite bad boy is Quentin. In this scene the heroine meets him, up close and personal. Enjoy!

Post a comment today, and you’ll be entered in a drawing for a free download of any of my backlisted Ellora’s Cave books!

“…congratulations to Ms. Devlin for creating a masterpiece. This story has all the elements that a Gold Star book has in it. The novel has intense suspense that was thrilling and delightful…”

~Gold Star Award, Susan Holly, JERR

“… LOVE BITES is a delicious, emotional romp of a story, a tale that builds powerfully on the old, often-used love triangle and succeeds beautifully in creating something new and exciting.”

~Ann Leveille, Sensual Romance

On the trail of a serial killer, vampire Quentin Albermarle is mistaken for the killer by a police special task force. Once the smoke clears, Quentin finds himself in a delicious position-atop one of the unit’s crack officers, Darcy Henry.

In need of Quentin’s access to the vampire sub-culture, the task force leadership invites Quentin to join the crime unit as a special advisor, much to the chagrin of the men in the unit, and especially, of Darcy.

A no-nonsense cop with no time for romance, Darcy suddenly finds herself embroiled in a steamy love triangle between her mortal partner, Joe, and the handsome vampire. Going from abstinence to wantonness, she is unable to resist the two men’s relentless seduction or her own sensual curiosity about a vampire’s special “kiss”.

When the real killer threatens the life of someone close to her, Darcy makes a choice that forever binds the three of them together.

“He’s coming in. Get ready,” Joe’s voice jerked Darcy Henry to wakefulness.

Berating herself for dozing off during a stakeout, she fumbled for the switch on her night vision goggles. Instantly, the landscape before her was awash in shades of luminescent green. She scanned the water’s edge. The crests of the ebbing tides rolled onto the beach, unbroken by any sign of “Bat-boy.” Had she already missed her opportunity?

“Where do you see him?” she whispered into the mike on her headset, glad the roar of the incoming surf masked their voices.

“Ten o’clock. Get cocked.”

She reached for her crossbow and drew back the linen cord with both hands and latched it in the spring clip. Then she slid a steel-tipped arrow onto the track. Sighting down the shaft of the arrow, she braced the bow in her left palm and dug her elbow into the sand. With the stock snug against her shoulder, her right forefinger slid around the trigger and she turned her sights back to the water’s edge—just in time to see a tall figure stride out of the surf.

He fit the description of the new vamp in town she’d purchased from the barman at the “blood bank.” Only the barman hadn’t filled in all the details. Darcy stiffened against her body’s sudden surge of attraction and firmly reminded herself the vamp’s body was like any other man’s. Yeah, right.

Her gaze flickered over him, inventorying his characteristics—for her After Action Report. Broad-shouldered, leanly muscled, just over six feet tall. Blond, she could tell, despite the fact his hair was plastered to his head. Handsome, too. With broad prominent cheekbones, a longish straight nose, and lips that appeared permanently curved in a smirk.

Unable to resist the temptation, she adjusted the lenses of her goggles to zoom, and her gaze slipped lower. His package was as fine arriving as his ass had been going into the water. His long, uncircumcised cock dangled between his legs. Something not mentioned in the barman’s description—and definitely not something that would make it into her AAR.

“Cease!” Joe said, impatience clipping his words. “A civilian’s in your line of sight.”

Darcy lowered the bow, cursing under her breath. “Where? And how the hell did we miss that?” she whispered angrily.

“She had to have been here when we arrived,” Joe replied. “If I hadn’t seen her hand rise above the dune…”

Nothing was ever as simple as it seemed. A vampire spotted on Vero Beach just happened to meet the description of a suspected killer they’d circulated that day.

This night’s stakeout might be a bust after all. They’d have to track him to his lair and try to take him out while he slept. Dusting a sleeping vampire never sat well with Darcy. Too unsportsmanlike. Asleep, even a probable serial killer like this one wore a face like an innocent.

She burrowed deeper into the wet sand at the bottom of her shallow foxhole, prepared to wait it out. This time she wouldn’t doze, no matter how balmy this November night grew. Too many late nights and too little sleep, were taking their toll on the whole team. Instead, she concentrated on how uncomfortable she was with damp sand working its way into her clothing and the smell of rotting seaweed all around her.

Having a target to observe helped. Hopefully, the vamp wouldn’t make a meal of his host or Darcy would be forced to intervene. Hand-to-hand with a vamp was a last resort. Humans almost always lost to their superior strength. No matter how many degrees of black belt one had earned.

Joe let out a low whistle. “Damn! How’d a ghoul like that get a such a fine piece of ass?”

A woman sat up near the top of a dune, her arms outstretched, revealing a slender back, rounded hips and a cascade of long, dark hair.

The male vamp went down on his knees and leaned over her.

Darcy tensed, ready to spring to the woman’s rescue at the first sign of fangs.

Instead, the woman’s back arched to offer her breasts to her lover. His mouth closed over a beaded tip and the woman’s loud groan of approval was discernable over the rumble of the incoming tide.

Joe’s soft laughter sounded in Darcy’s ear. “Better take notes, Darc. See what you’re missing?”

Darcy knew better than to answer her partner. Any response would only add fodder to the ribbing she’d receive at the Special Unit’s outbrief in the morning. Her lack of a social life was already a favorite topic.

As it was, she was glad the guys weren’t “wired in” to her goggles. Joe’s fed the monitor in the van parked further down the beach.

Maybe she’d get even luckier and the vamp would move his tryst indoors.

Instead, he released the woman’s breast. With his hands braced on either side of her, the tops of his shoulders rippled as he “walked” down her body, his head circling as he kissed a path across her belly. Then he moved lower.

Darcy squirmed. When was the last time a man had buried his face in her pussy? God, had it really been three years since Manny had transferred to Miami-Dade?

The woman’s hips lifted and her hands dug into the sand. When his face reached the juncture of her thighs, she shouted and her head thrashed from side to side.

Darcy wished she could roll to her back and give the couple their moments of privacy—and herself a reprieve from an unwanted rush of desire. Tight as a spring, it wound inside her belly. She was helpless to stop the flush of heat that swept from her face to her breasts. And thankful for the darkness so no one on her team would see her blushing.

When the vampire rose to kneel between the woman’s legs, Darcy’s heart thudded dully in her chest and increased in tempo. His cock fell onto the woman’s belly, engorged and enormous, just before he hooked his arms beneath her knees and lifted her buttocks off the sand. The woman reached for his cock and guided it to her pussy. Then his hips slammed forward, hard.

The woman arched into the sand and shouted again.

No man had ever made Darcy shout, a thought that niggled her feminine pride while it aroused her curiosity. Although with his super-sized hardware, the shout might not have been one of ecstasy. The thought cheered her for the moment, and then she noted the woman slamming her hips upward to meet the vamp’s thrusts.

From Darcy’s angle, she had a perfect view of the long gliding action of his hips as he pumped into the woman’s body. Darcy’s legs widened and she dug her knees into the sand, shifting her hips to relieve the itch between her legs.

“I’ll bet you twenty she comes before he does,” Max’s voice broke in.

“You’re on,” said Joe. “What man wouldn’t come all over a woman like that?”

“Ahem. Just a little reminder, guys,” Darcy said, hoping to dampen this particular line of conversation. “Captain will be reviewing this feed, too. Joe, you better not have your zoom on.”

Soft chuckles sounded from the guys, but they soon quieted and hunkered down to wait—and watch.

Darcy’s attention returned to the couple further down the beach. The woman’s legs straightened, her toes pointing toward the moon, and her long moans indicated she was fast approaching the big ‘O’. The vampire ground his hips into hers, and the woman screeched.

Joe groaned.

“You owe me twenty,” Max said.

“Damn,” Phil whispered. “Wonder if the wifey will be up for a little tickle in the morning.”

“I’m telling Bets you called her that,” Darcy said, her mouth so dry the words almost cracked.

The woman’s legs jerked up and down, and the vamp flung back his head and thrust faster.

Suddenly, he stopped, his nose lifting into the breeze.

Realizing the wind had shifted, Darcy hugged the sand and held her breath.

The vamp opened his eyes and stared straight at her.

Darcy froze, hoping he hadn’t really seen her. But a grin stretched across his face.

“Fuck, Darcy!” Joe shouted into her headset. “You’re made. Get out.”

Darcy couldn’t risk a shot with the woman downrange. She ditched her crossbow, ripped off her goggles, and sprang from the foxhole. Running straight for the road a hundred yards in front of her, Darcy felt the world slow. Her feet mired in the sand. Her heart drummed loudly in her ears.

Then she heard bare feet pounding in the sand and knew he was gaining.

“I’ll try to get off a shot,” Joe said, his breaths coming short and fast, “but he’s moving in on you. Pick up your feet. You’re running like a girl.”

Anger and a spurt of adrenaline increased her pace. She leapt over a hummock of tall sawgrass and hoped it scraped his balls. The road was fifty yards away. The headlights of the approaching van swept the beach in front of her.

“He’s too close. I can’t get off a shot,” Joe said. “Hold him off, I’m coming.”

Twenty-five yards and uphill, now. Her boots sank ankle-deep as she climbed a dune. She reached the top, and then her feet left the ground as a heavy weight knocked her through the air.

They rolled in a jumble of twisting limbs to the bottom of the dune. When they stopped, his long, hard body stretched over hers, anchoring her limbs to the ground.

Darcy opened her eyes, expecting a vampire’s mask and a row of jagged teeth. Instead, the vamp’s handsome face hovered inches from her own.

“Well, well, well,” he said, his voice a low, rumbling purr. “A she-cop. A dangerous species, indeed.”

“You’re English,” she blurted. Something else not in the report. Was he even a vampire?

Despite the layer of clothing separating their skins, Darcy burned from his heat. She struggled against his restraint.

He stretched and hooked his ankles around hers and his hands held hers easily to the ground.

Finally, she let her head fall back in the sand. “So, how’d you know I was there?” she asked, already knowing the truth, but needing to distract him.

His face lowered, and he sniffed along her neck and the collar of her shirt. “I could smell your arousal.”

Darcy jerked, that hadn’t been quite the answer she’d expected, and then noted that up close he smelled of the sea and the other woman’s perfume.

Noise from a half a dozen pairs of booted feet hurtling down the dune filled the air around them. When the sand settled, the clicks of rounds chambering in pistols sounded loudly.

The blinding glare of multiple flashlights trained on Darcy and the vampire lying in the trough of the dune fully illuminating his features. His wary gaze held Darcy’s.

“Get off her now!” Joe shouted.

“Now, gentlemen,” the vamp responded, his voice calm, “why would I give up my only advantage?”

He leaned close and Darcy forced herself not to flinch. Christ, he’s going to bite me. Expecting teeth to sink into her neck, she was surprised when his warm, rough tongue lapped her instead. So that’s what their tongues feel like!

“Just in case,” he whispered.

When she could organize her scattered thoughts she realized he’d prepared her skin—used saliva from the special glands in the back of his throat to deaden the nerves. Why bother?

“I give you my word. We won’t harm you if you let her go,” Joe continued.

“And our long standing relationship assures me your word to a vampire is your bond?” Wry humor laced his words. “No thank you. I think I’ll stay right where I am. Besides it seems a fair trade. I have an interesting bit of woman-flesh beneath me to replace the bit you chased off.”

Joe cursed softly.

The vamp’s gaze drilled her into the sand. “I’m sure you’ve wondered what it’s like. From where I’m sitting…er, laying…it’s pretty damn sweet.”

Which reminded her his sex nestled between her legs. Awareness stiffened her belly and thighs. Darcy glared at him—vampire or not—she was getting pretty mad.

“You son of a bitch,” her partner growled.

“Joe,” Darcy said, trying not to strangle on her words, “Let’s not piss him off. Remember, I’m the one with a naked vampire squashing the breath out of me.”

“Yeah. Captain’s gonna have your ass,” Max said.

“Somehow, I think that’s the least of my worries,” she murmured.

“Well folks, it looks like we got ourselves an old-fashioned Mexican standoff,” Joe said, disgust in his voice.

“You’re fucking Cuban,” Max pointed out.

As a smile stretched across his face, the corners of the vamp’s eyes wrinkled. “Is this what you have to put up with every day? Poor girl.”

Darcy’s breath hitched. He’d been handsome before, but smiling, his attraction was lethal. Even with a crowd of her buddies standing with fully loaded weapons trained on them, Darcy’s body responded to the vampire’s sensual pull. Her breasts tightened and her nipples pressed painfully against her sports bra.

“We should probably put this to a swift end,” he said, lowering his head to nuzzle her neck.

That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Bracing for violence, she was unnerved when he raised his head. He still smiled.

In fact, his smile was so broad she could detect the state of every one of his pearly whites. Darcy stilled, her mind racing. He wanted her to know he was in control. Not the action of a blood-crazed vampire.

But still a vampire.

With her mouth dry as a desert, Darcy said, “If you keep your mouth next to my neck, we could sit up and talk with the guys about what to do next.”

His gaze flickered to her lips and back up. “Do you really want your friends to see what you do to me?”

Confused, she felt something nudge her inner thigh and remembered his erection. Heat rushed to her cheeks. The whole crew would know a horny vampire pinned her to the ground.

“Shy?” he whispered.

Her eyes narrowed. “Performance problems? Couldn’t get it off before?”

“She bites!” Louder this time, “I’m going to move behind her slowly. So that we can talk.” He winked.

This was a big joke to him. In that moment, she knew he wasn’t the killer. Vamp or not, he wasn’t going to harm her.

With his mouth against her neck, he lifted his body off hers, and she followed him up, sitting in the sand. He slid around her, until she was between him and six raised weapons. When he settled, his long bare legs stretched alongside hers and an arm held her back against his belly, his cock snug between them.

“Our little secret,” he whispered.

She was getting damned annoyed with the whispers that raised the hairs on the side of her neck. “Not so damn little. And definitely not a secret.”

“Glad you noticed.”

* * * * *

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

Megan Hart:Read in bed!

Leah Braemel

Jody Wallace

Eliza Gayle

Mandy M Roth

Lissa Matthews

Mari Carr

McKenna Jeffries

Myla Jackson

Taige Crenshaw

Shiloh Walker

HelenKay Dimon

Lauren Dane

Shelli Stevens

TJ Michaels

Guest Blogger: Mina Carter

So, one of the questions I, and I’m sure every author out there gets asked, is where we get our ideas from. My answer is usually “how do you make the ideas stop?” but for my latest release, Aries Revealed, there were a few specific triggers. I’ve already mentioned on the blog tour (redzworld stop) that the film Soldier with Kurt Russell laid a major seed for the Zodiac series (and, as it happens, the species idea for the Sargosians from Taming the Wildcat) but Soldier just laid the seed. It wasn’t until a friend showed me this image from Magic Mike (of course, I didn’t have a clue what it was at the time)

So, after I stopped drooling on the keyboard (this friend has a habit of sending me images like this just to see me stop what I’m doing and drool. Her favourite subjects are Alex Pettyfer and Jensen Ackles *whimpers* Both of which I am extremely susceptible to, and ceases word production immediately) I started to think about strippers in a sensible, writerly type of way. Okay, okay…AFTER I got over thinking about Channing Tatum and Alex Pettyfer taking their clothes off, I started thinking about things sensibly and just how I could use a stripper character in my cyborg series. I love convoluted storylines and new angles on things so it got me to thinking what if the stripper with the cyborg act really was a cyborg? He’s pretending to play a human who plays a cyborg? The idea was just too much fun NOT to write and thus, Aries Revealed was born!

I would like to point out that there was a second image sent to me shortly after the first, but this one just shorted out my brain so I can’t really claim it helped with the creation of Aries any. But it provided a good hours viewing pleasure

So, now I’ve gone around the houses and up the garden path, let me leave you with some info on the story our lovely lads from Magic Mike inspired!

Sometimes the best place to hide, is in plain sight…

Johnny makes a living on the strip circuits. His most popular routine? The Aries 7000. Bronzed and oiled, he pretends to be the scourge of the universe, one of the deadly and outlawed zodiac cyborgs. But Johnny isn’t really a stripper playing a cyborg. He’s a cyborg playing a stripper.

Milly, a freighter captain, has had a thing for the sexy stripper for months. But when Johnny, the subject of many of her hottest fantasies, asks her out to dinner, she runs. All is not lost, however; a chance encounter yields an Aries 7000 sexbot, hers for a weekend of pleasure.

It seems too good to be true. Sex with the man of her dreams without risking her heart. But Milly’s bot has some secrets…secrets that could save her life when the past returns to haunt her.

Available from: Ellora’s Cave | Amazon | Amazon UK | ARe

* * *Mina Carter was born and raised in Middle Earth (otherwise known as the Midlands, England). After a slew of careers ranging from logistics to land-surveying she can now be found in the wilds of Leicestershire with her husband and young daughter…the true boss of the family.

Suffering the curse of eternal curiosity Mina never tires of learning new skills which has led to Aromatherapy, Corsetry, Chain-maille making, Welding, Canoeing, Shooting, and pole-dancing to name but a few.

A full time author and cover artist, Mina can usually be found hunched over a keyboard or graphics tablet, frantically trying to get the images and words in her head out and onto the screen before they drive her mad. She’s addicted to coffee and Nutella on toast.

Where to find Mina…

Twitter

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Lette’s Chat Tonight!

Don’t worry if you try to click on the widget below and it doesn’t work. If you click on the picture, you can head over to where it really does! I posted the picture so you’d know about tonight! I’ll be the live guest at Lette’s Chat, an online radio talk show, at 8 PM ET. You’re welcome to call in questions, but if you miss the chat, I’ll post a link on my site so you can listen in and hear what happened!

Is there anything you’d like me to work into the conversation? Something you’re dying to know?