Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 488
June 10, 2012
Sunday Report Card & a Sneak Peek!
The winner (by random number generator of the free download of Handy Men is…#6: Nina! Nina, send me an email to arrange delivery of your prize!
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Sunday Report Card
Not a stellar week. I completed two chapters on my paranormal story and one chapter for the Samhain Western. I put together the After Midnight Fantasies newsletter and participated in a “Live Chat with the Pros” for ERWA. And I’ve been working on promo for my upcoming releases, She Shifters and Cowboy Lust.
This next week, I need a minimum of 4 chapters’ progress on the paranormal. Three chapters on the western. If I don’t, I have to do the walk of shame, because I’ll be boxed into a corner with my deadlines. So send those positive thoughts!
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Sneak Peek at Fournicopia
First, isn’t it the greatest title ever?! How about this logline?
Here’s what happens when a cop meets the doughnut girl of his dreams…
and she’s a Domme…
Did it make you smile? Intrigue you? Then it worked!
How about this cover?
Not the handsomest guy, but I love that he looks like he’s surrendering to her. That’s what Gus does in this book. Want to meet my boy? Read on…
Unedited excerpt from Fournicopia:
Gus Taggert knew it was a cliché. A cop in a doughnut shop. The officers waiting for him to arrive for the sergeant’s morning meeting didn’t like making the run because of the inevitable roll of the eyes or smartass grin they’d get standing in line.
However, he didn’t mind being the “doughnut guy”. The plus for being the brunt of any jokes was that he ate for free. That was okay with him. He took any pointed looks or lame jokes in stride. He was an affable guy. Hard to rile.
He’d learned long ago to stifle his anger and look for the good in people, even when they messed up. Being oversized and strong, he’d always had to be more careful throwing his weight around. People could get hurt, and that wasn’t why he’d been drawn to law enforcement. He wasn’t a bully in a uniform.
Gus liked being a cop. Liked what it stood for. Loved the dark navy uniform and the camaraderie of his brother cops. He didn’t mind that his closest buds were all moving on to bigger and better things. He liked being a beat cop. Liked patrolling the neighborhood he lived in and getting to know the people he protected.
His father had been a small-town cop, and his father before him had been the sheriff of their little Arkansas berg. But then his mom had moved to Memphis—not because she’d wanted to, but because when his mom and dad divorced, she’d wanted to start fresh where everyone didn’t know her business and didn’t whisper to her ex about who she was seeing next.
Gus had missed his old school and friends, but had a natural gift for making new ones. That he was big and brawny, quick on his feet despite his size, had made him a natural for the football team.
And that’s where he’d met Jackson Teague and Craig Eason, who surprisingly enough wanted to be cops, too, when they graduated.
They’d all gone to college together, applied for the police academy and been accepted. That’s where they’d met the remaining members of their current posse, Beau McIntyre and Mondo Acevedo.
So, Gus was never lonely. He had his peeps, a job he loved, a city that kept him on his toes. And today, he was on his way to explore a new doughnut shop.
Mondo, although now in vice and no longer attending the station-house morning meetings, had given him a roll of bills the night before. “Treat the guys to doughnuts. On me.”
Gus had glanced at the roll. “This is too much.”
“Not for the place I want you to go.”
He should have known from the gleam in Mondo’s dark brown eyes that something was up, but Gus liked to think the best of people. Maybe Mondo really did just want to treat the guys to something special.
Well, it was special all right. Not like any doughnut shop Gus had ever seen before. He stood on the street in front of the small store front, eyeing the painted glass window with its pink awning, and felt the first rumbles of misgiving.
Cornucopia. He’d had to Google it the night before to get the address and see what the name meant. A horn of plenty. A familiar Thanksgiving ornament. But there weren’t ears of corn or squashes spilling from the dark pink horn painted on the glass. Doughnuts looking like Christmas presents, painted with ribbons and sparkling with stars, spilled from the mouth of the horn.
All the pink and frothy cuteness made him itch. However, he’d been given a wad of cash and a mission to buy a couple dozen doughnuts from this specific shop. For once, his face burned at the idea.
Hitching up his utility belt, he blew out a deep breath that billowed his cheeks, and pushed the glass door. A bell at the top tinkled.
Inside, the shop was pretty much what he’d expected—pale purple tiled flooring, white-painted iron bistro tables, boxes decorated in frou-frou paper and ribbons stacked at one end of the sparkling clean glass-front counter.
Thankfully, the shop was empty. Maybe he could back out, say it’d been closed when he came by, and he could hit a Dunkin’ Donuts on the way to the station house.
As soon as he’d made up his mind to leave, he heard a stirring from the back, and rather than be caught with one foot still on the sidewalk outside like he was scared to come in, he stepped through the door and held the bell so it didn’t chime again.
“Have a thing for bells?” came a husky feminine voice.
His gaze darted back to the counter, his cheeks filling with heat. A woman stood there, every bit as pretty and dainty as her little shop, with dark red hair, pale-as-dinner-china white cheeks and large brown eyes. The kind of woman he avoided like the plague because he always felt like a lumbering bear beside them.
What had she asked? Oh, yeah, the bells. He didn’t have a thing for them, he’d only wanted to be quiet and not charge into the place like a bull in a china shop. “No, ma’am.”
“That’s a nice start,” she said, her voice dropping again into a sexy, shivering whisper.
Gus’s cheeks burned hotter, because he knew she’d just made a joke and he didn’t understand it. Further, meeting her amused gaze proved surprisingly difficult. He had the urge to duck his head. To wait for permission to come closer.
Her amusement faded. “Come in, officer,” she said with brisk efficiency. “Can I help you with something?”
He cleared his throat, scuffed his boots on the doormat, like that was why he’d paused coming in, and stepped deeper inside the shop. “I’m just here to buy some doughnuts.”
“I don’t sell just doughnuts.” Her voice sharpened.
Had he insulted her somehow? He came closer to the counter. “They’re pretty doughnuts.”
“I’m a trained pastry chef. These are gourmet doughnuts.”
Like he’d said, they were pretty, but he didn’t get what it was she expected him to say. He thrust his hand into his pocket and took out the roll of bills Mondo had given him. “Mondo said you’d fix me up.”
“Mondo…” Her eyes sparkled for a moment, then narrowed. “Show me which you’re interested in.”
He reached out to point at one confection sitting on a tray atop the glass counter. The doughnut looked more like a pretty cupcake and was covered in glaze with star-shaped silver beads glinting on the top. “Some of these?”
Her hand shot out and slapped the top of his. Not hard, but the loud crack it made startled him. “Ma’am?” he asked, startled she’d dared smack an officer of the law.
“Correct response again,” she said, an edge to her sexy voice. “However, I think you need to come around the counter and make your selection.”
Right about now, he knew his face was beet red. And the collar of his shirt was tightening like a noose, cutting off his air. “Beg your pardon?”
“Come. Now.”
His body reacted to the firm tone with an instant surge of heat straight to his groin. With his balls drawing up, he thought he might embarrass himself further if he got too close to the pretty pastry chef. “Uh, a couple dozen’s all I need,” he said swiftly. “Whatever you want to put into a box.”
The redhead narrowed her eyes. “Mondo’s a friend of mine. He said he was sending me someone special. Don’t disappoint me.”
Mondo was her friend. The way she’d emphasized the word put this strange conversation in a new perspective. Her tone, the hardening glint in her pretty eyes, the stubborn tilt of her chin—good Lord, she was that kind of friend, someone from Mondo’s club, which Gus had visited a time or two out of curiosity first, then growing wonder.
He swallowed hard, beginning to sweat, then slowly made his way around the glass-front counter toward her, seeing the rest of her lovely, slim frame. When he stood a couple feet away, he ducked his head, dropping his gaze. Waiting now, for what he didn’t know, but he knew instinctively she was pleased, because she sighed.
“You’re bigger than I expected.”
Oh hell, what was she looking at? Had his erection become noticeable?
“And you’re better looking.”
He gave a little smile, letting her see it, but still not raising his glance. The parts of her he could watch were fascinating anyway. Her breasts were small but round, and the tips were beginning to poke through her pink-buttoned blouse and lacy bra. Her pale trousers were cinched at the waist with a white leather belt, and it was a tiny trim waist that offset the feminine flare of her hips. Legs proportionate with her body stretched below to pink-tipped toes that peeked out of sandals she wore. His mouth filled with drool. He’d give a week’s wages for the privilege of sucking on them.
She slid open the door to the back of the counter and waved for him to have a look.
Gus wished like hell she’d move back, because standing this close, he got a whiff of her light, floral scent. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead.
Feeling clumsier by the minute, he bent to glance inside the shelves at the array of fancy doughnuts. Sheesh. Not a single plain glazed one. The guys were going to razz the hell out of him.
Suddenly, she stepped behind him, her hands landing on either side of the cabinet to trap him.
He gulped hard. “Ma’am?”
A knee climbed along the inside of one of his thighs, then snuggled against his balls. He froze—blood surged south, filling his cock. Then she slid her knee down and tapped his feet with one of hers, urging him silently to widen his stance.
Which he did. No question or quick denial came to mind. He braced his hands against the glass like a perp ready for a pat-down, dreading and yet eager for whatever she’d do next.
Her hand cupped his balls. “Anything you like?”
Afraid he’d bleat like a goat if he tried to answer, he nodded.
Her fingers closed around his sac, and she gave him a gentle tug. “Me too.”
Then just as quickly, her hand fell away and she moved back.
Gus pushed from the counter and turned.
Her eyes were softer, her expression pleased. She laid a palm against the side of his face. Her thumb stroked his bottom lip. Her gaze dipped to his name tag then back up again. “When I see you next, Officer Taggert,” she whispered, stepping closer, “don’t say a word. Take off your clothes and be ready for whatever I want next.”
His tongue felt glued to the top of his mouth. Sure he wouldn’t manage more than a caveman’s grunt, he nodded again.
A small hand cupped his cock through his uniform pants and rode the length trapped against his thigh inside his dark trousers. “There’s more to you than shows. I like that. Look at me.”
He raised his gaze, stopping on the faint curve of her full lips, then rose again to lock with her gold-flecked brown gaze.
She reached up, stuck the nail of her index finger under his chin and pulled down his head until their faces were level. Then she leaned forward, her cheek sliding alongside his. Her warm breath gusted against his ear, and he shivered.
“I’ll give you a box. You can take as many doughnuts as you can fit inside. Take your time. Compose yourself. I’ll see you tonight.”
Gus held his breath until she released him and moved away. She bent to retrieve a box from beneath the counter then gave him a slow smile and turned on her pretty pink heels to walk through the doorway leading to the kitchen.
When she was gone, he let out the breath he’d held and grabbed for the edge of the counter to keep from swaying. Thank God, he’d parked right out front. His dick tented his pants leg.
Swallowing to wet his dry mouth, he slid open the glass and carefully plucked two dozen doughnuts from their trays, not caring what he chose because the sooner he got out of there the better.
When he caught up with Mondo, he’d chew him a new asshole for not warning him what he was walking into.
However, he still felt the warmth of her slap against the back of his hand and—despite his embarrassment—smiled as he exited the shop.
June 9, 2012
Saturday Snippet: How can you mend a broken heart?
Answer: Revenge Sex. Nuff said, right?
“Ok, first I am going to contact Delilah and see if she has the number for “Handy Men” because I have some things I just know they can take care of.” ~ 5 Stars and TOP PICK!, Night Owl Reviews
“Delilah Devlin’s stories are always fun, entertaining and totally hot. Bringing together unsuspecting people is what she does best. No one even can come close. Grab the lounge chair, put on some SPF 40 and spend some time with her sexy, sweaty and provocative playmates. You won’t regret it!!” ~ 4 Cherries, Long and Short Reviews“Ms. Devlin has eroticism dripping from the pages of HANDY MEN!… HANDY MEN is sexy, sizzling and sinfully good!” ~ Joyfully Reviewed
“HANDY MEN packs a lot of punch with very few pages. The characters are three dimensional, well developed and their sexual encounters are off the charts.” ~ Lynette’s Two Cents
Two very handy men mend a divorcée’s broken heart…
Rather than cry over spilt milk, a newly divorced woman throws caution to the wind and decides to seduce her neighbor’s handsome handy man.
Jeff isn’t stupid—Pamela tossed those screws into her sink to get his attention! The fact she’s beautiful and vulnerable convinces him she needs “special” attention. When he has her hot and horny, he surprises her with his partner Casey and a threesome.
What starts for Pamela as a wild, no-holds-barred fling quickly gets stickier as the guys push for something longer lasting.
The impulse came like a flash of lightning—hot and searing—all the way to the bone. An idea born of a need she hadn’t felt in a long, long time…and inspired by one red-hot handyman in butt-hugging jeans and a t-shirt.
The man fired the militant gleam in her eyes as she brushed bronzing powder across her cheeks and swiped carmine “eat me” red lip stain across her mouth. She didn’t give herself time to rethink the decision, reaching for the phone before her usual, cautious self reasserted control. No more couch potato cry-ins for her. No more self-imposed exclusion while she figured out what to do with the rest of her life. Today, a new Pamela Dwyer was reaching for the damn gusto.
The anger felt good. Especially after the shock she’d received moments ago when she’d surfed the web for the latest gossip about her ex.
One glance at Andrew’s Facebook page, and Pamela’s confusion over what the hell had happened to her life dried up. He’d blocked her from his page, but his profile picture had been changed from Andrew’s handsome, craggy face to the soft innocence of his newborn son’s.
The picture said it all. And no doubt every one of their friends here in Austin, who’d rallied around her when he’d left, would now pour out their congratulations to him while privately agreeing he’d done the only thing he could do to be happy.
Tears had stung her eyes, but she’d refused to let them fall. Instead, she’d blinked them away, closed out the screen and glanced through the blinds at her immaculate lawn. The perfect lawn and landscaping to surround the perfectly appointed house she’d won in the divorce settlement.
But back to that lightning strike…
Across the street, a man had stood atop a ladder while he fished leaves from old Mr. Johnson’s gutters. It wasn’t the fact the old man had spent money to hire someone to do odd jobs around his place that caught her attention, although that was plenty unusual all by itself. It was the way the sunlight glinted on the younger man’s hair. Glints of gold she could see from over thirty feet away. And once her attention was snagged by that nagging glow, her gaze couldn’t help but trail down the long, lean, buff lines of his healthy frame.
From the back, the man was perfection. Then he’d turned to the side, no doubt to say something to Mr. Johnson who hovered at the bottom of the ladder. The old skinflint would supervise the handyman to make sure he got every nickel’s worth of his money. However, not a hint of irritation shone in the handyman’s expression. His smile had been quick—a flash of white teeth against a tanned face.
Pamela had breathed deeply, enjoying the surge of heat flowing through her veins. So much better than the cold, hollow feeling in her womb. Arousal had bloomed, fresh and unexpected, washing over her, lapping away the disappointment. Leaving her…expectant. Feeling younger than her thirty-eight years.
There were times in a woman’s life when she had to grab the bull by the horns or she’d never taste passion again. Pamela decided then and there that her time was now.
Twenty minutes later, the doorbell chimed.
Christ, do I really have the guts? She’d had twenty minutes to get icy-cold feet.
She held her hand in front of her face and blew against her palm then sniffed. Mouthwash still works.
Before opening her door, Pamela bent over, shook her head then straightened, giving her straight blonde hair an extra fluff. She pasted on a smile—not too wide or eager—one she’d practiced in front of the bathroom mirror to make sure it reflected just the right amount of casual interest. She didn’t want to scare him away. At least not before she had a chance to practice being a femme fatale.
However, after opening the door, her smile faltered just a bit. Up close, the repairman was more of a rangy lion than a bull, and even more attractive than her secretive glances through the blinds had revealed. Thickly muscled arms and a broad chest stretching a green Handy Men tee filled her vision.
Maybe she should have targeted someone more in her league—and at least fifteen years older. However, when she’d seen him working on the rain gutters of her neighbor’s house, watched the way he moved gracefully up and down the ladder, a plan had begun to form. One she was too invested in to back out of now.
“Your neighbor said you were havin’ trouble with a garbage disposal?”
Her greedy glance shot up to meet his, and she noted the crinkles of amusement at the sides of his eyes. Blue eyes with golden coronas around the pupils. Yum.
Realizing her mouth hung open, she snapped her jaw closed. “Uh, yes. Trouble with the disposal. That’s why you’re here.”
It was the truth, so she didn’t stutter over it. However, she didn’t mention she’d thrown a handful of screws into the sink to make sure the old disposal seized. Her plan to lure him into her house was working like a charm. She wished her ex could see her now. Plain Pam, reliable Pam, boring, defective Pam had a few tricks left.
“I’m Jeff McCaffrey,” he said, and held out his hand.
Blowing out a little breath to release her tension, she gave him her hand and shook. “Pamela,” she said quickly.
His palms were calloused and large. She slid her hand slowly from his, enjoying the scrape. Even if things didn’t work out, she’d have plenty of sensory details to savor later to go along with the lovely picture he made.
“Um…” He lifted the toolbox with a flex of impressive biceps and raised his eyebrows.
It took a second to register that he needed her to move away from the door. Feeling flustered, she stood back and waved him inside. She closed the door behind him and followed eagerly on his heels into the hallway.
He halted abruptly.
Unable to stop her forward momentum, Pamela held out her hands to brace herself—and cupped his ass.
His head swiveled to glance back at her, a slight, dazed smile curving his mouth.
She paused a second too long before removing them, but his ass was too much temptation. “Sorry about that,” she muttered, palms and face burning. Lord, she was thirty-eight, and he had her blushing like a teenager. Her flirting skills were woefully rusty.
He cleared his throat and pointed toward the door on the left. “The kitchen?”
“Yeah,” she said, sounding a little winded, but her fingers tingled and her skin felt on fire. She hadn’t wanted to come on to the younger man like a cougar in heat, but he was fine-fine-fine.
He swung open the door and walked to the counter, setting his toolbox beside the sink. “What sort of noises was it makin’?”
“Crunchy?”
“Crunchy?” His lips twitched.
She shrugged. He was the “Mr. Fix-It”. He’d figure out soon enough what the problem was. Maybe he’d think the screws in the disposal had gotten there by accident.
He reached beneath the cabinet next to the sink and flipped the switch. Metallic grating made her wince. The poor thing ground worse than her ex’s teeth.
Without looking back, he said, “Don’t touch the switch. I don’t have my tongs, so I’m gonna stick my hand down there to see what’s happenin’.”
In his hand went, and he turned slightly to the side, his gaze meeting hers while a frown drew his honey-brown brows together. When he pulled free, he held a screw. “Wonder how that happened?” he drawled.
She grinned brightly. “Serendipity?”
“Wha—?”
So maybe not a brain surgeon, but the calculated stare he returned told her he wasn’t stupid. He pulled out another and laid it on the countertop, and then another. “Somethin’ you wanna tell me, Pamela?”
She held her breath, ready to blurt the truth, but then she’d sound exactly like what she was—a woman desperate for a man’s attention. Instead, she pouted. “You’re not my doctor. I don’t have to tell you the truth.” Then she shrugged, overwhelmed by the urge to blurt something cute. “I needed a screw.” Sweet Jesus, I did not just say that!
He grunted, lips twitching again, and reached for the switch. The metallic grinding had stopped, but the little motor seemed to miss, and the gears gave a rhythmic click. He shook his head regretfully. “Don’t think I can save her.”
Was he still talking about the disposal? “I’m not attached. Got another?”
“Not with me. Let me hit the reset button, just in case.”
He knelt beside the sink, his eyes giving her bare legs a quick once-over.
Thank God, I had them waxed. Any smoother and they’d be porcelain.
Then he dragged his gaze away, opened the cabinet and stuck his head inside. “Man, this unit’s ancient,” he said, his voice sounding hollow. “Probably as old as the house.”
Ancient? The disposal was as old as the house, which was seventeen years old. She’d lived there all her married life.
Feeling a little deflated, still, she couldn’t help but admire the view as he bent deeper. His t-shirt pulled free of his pants, revealing a strip of tanned flesh and a hint of dimples just above his buttocks.
Her thumbs would fit nicely in those little grooves.
“Want an upgrade?” he asked, backing out again.
“I wouldn’t mind,” she said, fanning her face until he turned. She curled her fingers and gave him a quick smile.
As he stood, his gaze narrowed, sliding down her body. “I’ll have to come back.”
“Just tell me when. I’ll make myself available.”
Perhaps she sounded a little too chipper because he slowly folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter. One side of his mouth curled up. “You’re not the least shy, are you, ma’am?”
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Be sure to check out the snippets on these other authors’ blogs:
Megan Hart:Read in bed!
Rhian Cahill
Eliza Gayle
Jody Wallace
Mandy M Roth
Lissa Matthews
Leah Braemel
Mari Carr
McKenna Jeffries
Myla Jackson
Taige Crenshaw
HelenKay Dimon
Shiloh Walker
TJ Michaels
Lauren Dane
June 8, 2012
Guest Blogger: Myla Jackson
Many years ago, my family went on a ski vacation to Breckenridge, Colorado. Between Denver and Breckenridge is a small town by the name of Idaho Springs. There’s not much there and it’s perched on a steep hillside, but the history of the town fascinated me. It’s an old gold mining town where miners came to sell their gold, bed a whore (women were scarce), and buy supplies they’d carry back up in the mountains.
In 2010, my husband, daughter and I returned to the gold mining hills of Colorado for a four-wheeling trip through the old gold mining ghost towns up around Silverton, Colorado. So many abandoned towns and mines dot the hillsides. It’s amazing. If you haven’t been, put it on your bucket list, it’s a must.
In the BOUND AND TIED print anthology releasing June 1 at Samhain Publishing, my stories HONOR BOUND and DUTY BOUND are based around Idaho Springs in the 1860′s when the gold rush was in full swing. The third story in the series takes one of the characters back east to another romantic historical place that has fascinated me all my life…the Mississippi River during the era of steamboat transportation.
The stories were fun, the characters funny, sexy and heroic. I hope you enjoy reading about them as much as I enjoyed writing them.
by Myla Jackson
They say bad luck comes in threes. Love just might prove “they” are wrong.
Honor Bound
On the run from an Indian captor, Honor is hungry and desperate. Yet when she stumbles upon two men touching each other in a scandalous way, she’s mesmerized—and aroused.
Gold prospectors Zach and Jake can think of only one way to silence the panicked little thief’s babbling. Kiss her senseless. Then show her that pleasure isn’t necessarily the devil’s work.
Duty Bound
Desperate, KC appeals to a sensual stranger, Rosalyn, to teach her the womanly skills to make a deal with the devil. AKA Jake—the man who holds the marker on her family’s ranch.
Jake has a better idea: her for the ranch. Then reality sets in, leaving him saddled with a mail-order bride, a deflowered virgin, and an unexpected desire to make things right with KC…forever.
River Bound
When Rosalyn steps aboard the Marie-Dearie, she unexpectedly meets James, notorious bounty hunter and old lover…who’s only too happy to help her find her murdering, thieving fiancé.
Convincing James he’s innocent is easier for Dalton than winning Rosalyn back, because she seems to be enjoying the competition for her affections a little too much. There’s only one place to work out this dilemma. In bed.
Product Warnings
This title contains hot ménage a trois scenes, man love, bondage, females out to settle a debt right proper, a woman with bordello-bawdy desires, and a whole lot of lovin’!
About the Author
The YOUNGER sister of the queen of the sex scene, DELILAH DEVLIN, the equally stupendous MYLA JACKSON pens wildly sexy adventures of all genres including historical westerns, medieval tales, romantic suspense, contemporary romance and paranormals with beasties of all shapes and sizes. When not wrangling words from her computer with the help of her canine muses, she’s snow-skiing, boating or riding her ATV. To learn more about Myla Jackson and her stories visit her website at www.mylajackson.com. Also see Myla’s romantic suspense alter ego Elle James at www. ellejames.com
June 7, 2012
Join Us Tonight (Plus a winner!)
From the ERWA website:
EVENT ALERT!
GLBT Live Chats with the Pros
Who: Delilah Devlin, accompanied by Ily Goyanes and Sacchi Green
When: June 7th, at 8:00pm EST, (5:00pm PST; 1:00am GMT)
Where: ERWA chats are held on the ShadowWorld chat server, channel, #erachat. (Follow the link above. On screen you’ll see ‘Connect o ShadowWorld IRC’. In the Nickname box, key in your name. Leave the channels box at #ERAChat, and click ‘Connect’. A chat text box will appear at the bottom of your screen)
GLBT erotica is a genre to be reckoned with. ERWA will help interested authors with a “Live Chats with the Pros.” Delilah Devlin, Ily Goyanes, and Sacchi Green will be on hand to answer questions, offer advice, and exchange ideas with authors of GLBT erotica. Whether you’re penning your first gay fiction, or are a spicy-seasoned pro, don’t miss these opportunities.
Delilah Devlin is a prolific and award-winning author of erotica with a rapidly expanding reputation for writing deliciously edgy stories with complex characters. Ms. Devlin has published over 100 erotic stories in multiple genres and lengths. She is published by Avon, Black Lace, Kensington, Harlequin, Atria/Strebor, Cleis Press, Ellora’s Cave, Samhain Publishing, and Berkley. If you want to know how to do the deed, Delilah is the lady to talk to. This is your chance to chat live with her. Read about Delilah at www.delilahdevlin.com
Ily Goyanes is a journalist, food blogger, culture critic, publisher, and sex enthusiast. She has been writing and editing professionally since 1993. Her first lesbian erotica anthology, Girls Who Score: Hot Lesbian Erotica, is being released in August 2012 by Cleis Press. You can sample her salacious stories in Best Lesbian Erotica 2012, Lesbian Cops: Erotic Investigations, Spankalicious: Erotic Adventures in Spanking, and Power Plays. Follow Ily on Twitter @realily and check out her publishing house at ampersandeditions.com.
Sacchi Green‘s stories have appeared in a hip-high stack of publications with erotically inspirational covers, and she’s also edited eight erotica anthologies, including Girl Crazy, Lesbian Cowboys (winner of a 2010 Lambda Literary Award,) Lesbian Lust, Lesbian Cops, and Girl Fever. Find her at sacchi-green.blogspot.com or on Facebook (as Sacchi Green)
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Out of 138 entries, the winner (by random number generator) of the Dragon Cup Contest is…ELF!
ELF, be sure to email me with your mailing address so I can get your
prize into the mail. Congrats!
June 6, 2012
Guest Blogger: Melanie Atkins
This week is a killer. I’m trying to finish a book with my deadline looming, and I have so much other stuff to do. It’s frustrating. A lot of my time revolves around taking my ninety-year-old mother to her doctor appointments, to get her hair done, etc. I don’t mind; I love the time we spend together, and I’m thankful for it. Except it doesn’t allow me enough time to write.
Disrupted schedules are the bane of a writer’s existence. I love having big arcs of time so I can dig deep into my story and get into a rhythm, but then I have to stop and take my mom to the eye doctor or her dentist or maybe even keep my granddaughter for a couple of hours. The next day is what I call “hair day”, that lovely weekly appointment marked for my mother’s beauty salon appointment from now until eternity. Hair appointments are non-negotiable. At least I can take my laptop with me and write in the back of the shop while she’s getting beautiful. Then the next day…
You see how it goes. And then there’s the lack of sleep caused by my furry little friends. My sweet, innocent, unassuming little feline pals. The three wicked, crafty little minxes that wake me up an hour before my alarm goes off — usually by playing with the window blinds — because they either want to go outside or they need water or food. Seriously, who needs to eat at four a.m.? I do love those cats, I really do… but their kitty alarm clocks need to be reset and I haven’t figured out how to do that yet.
What about you? How do you cope with disrupted schedules? I carve minutes out of all the busy days, minutes in which I can at least jot down a few plot points or make character notes. I’m interested to find out what you do about time management… and if you, too, have an annoying little kitty alarm clock.
Somehow, amid the chaos, I do manage to find time write. My genre of choice is romantic suspense with hot cops and big guns. Please check out my latest ebook release from Desert Breeze Publishing, DELIVERANCE FROM EVIL, the fourth book in my Keller County Cops series. In this book, Tessa Doucet studied mortuary science because the dead can’t hurt her. Then a monster from her past turns up on her embalming table, and she’s forced to confront the demon she thought she’d put to rest. Disturbed by the case Tessa stirs up, Detective Cash Starkey finds himself falling for her, even though he swore to keep his distance. He doesn’t want a relationship, especially not with a woman running from her past. Yet when Tessa’s life is threatened, he runs into the fray, and together they defeat her demons and put the past behind them.
Buy link: http://stores.desertbreezepublishing.com/-strse-301/Keller-County-Cops-Book/Detail.bok
Also… hope you’ll check out my new free author apps for the iPhone, the iPad, and most Android devices available now in the iTunes store and the Android market. Such an easy way for my readers to keep up with all my books, connect with my social networking sites, and get updates on new titles and where I’ll be signing. I’m really jazzed about this!
And please look for these upcoming titles from Desert Breeze later this year:
Emily’s Nightmare — August
Haunted Memories — October
KKC Book Five: Written in Blood — December
Website: http://www.melanieatkins.com
Blog: http://melanieatkins.wordpress.com
Facebook: http://www.face-book.com/melanie.atkins
Twitter: http://twitter.com/melanie_atkins
June 5, 2012
Two Hot New Releases!
Since I’ve filled my blog calendar with luscious guesties, I’ve barely had time to post my own news. And you know there’s always lots of that. Today, I’d like to talk about two anthologies that released early from Cleis. Two different flavors of erotica for my eclectic readers—you’re bound to find something to suit your tastes!
For those of you who think you don’t like anthologies, think of them as a chance to meet new authors or a collection of bedtime reads—just long enough to get you in the mood, but short enough you can actually have time to do something about it! Click on the covers if you’d like to head to Amazon to purchase.
From my story, “Ignition Switch”…
I have a hyper-sensitive clit. Touch it with a callused finger or the scrape of a nail and I come out of my skin.
Men don’t get it. I can demonstrate how I like it touched, but most think arousal dulls the nerves, because the more aroused they get, the harder they rub and press—like my clit’s a damn ignition switch and all they have to do is push it more insistently to get me revved.
I explained my problem to my best friend Morgan one night over drinks. She studied me with her smoky grey eyes. “Do you mind my asking why the hell you go for dick?”
The question shocked me. The answer was on the tip of my tongue, but I held it there. Why indeed? It isn’t as though I truly craved a man.
Her lips curved—just the corners. “I bet if you showed me, I’d get it right.”
The suggestion tantalized. I raised my Bellini and took a quick sip, stalling before I replied. Morgan was attractive. I liked her full curves. I’d had the usual feminine curiosity about what she looked like nude, but never allowed myself to go there.
I swallowed, bubbles tickling the back of my throat, then forced a smile. “Are you teasing me?” I asked, surprised by the huskiness of my voice.
Her eyes narrowed, and she sat back in her chair. The glide of a toe up the inside of one calf made my breath catch. “Does it feel like I’m teasing?”
From my story “Tailgating at the Cedar Inn”…
I stepped out of the shower onto chipped and cracked aqua blue tiles with grout so dingy it was hard to tell what color it had been. Not that the bathroom was dirty, thank god. Just old. Like the rest of the 60’s-built motel I’d found on the little back country road.
I toweled my hair then shook my head like a dog, not caring where the droplets landed. It wasn’t a mess I’d have to clean up. For one last night I could be irresponsible, messy, even if it was only in a small way.
I draped the towel over the edge of the old white tub and sauntered naked into the small room with the double bed. It smelled of tobacco and industrial cleansers. The bedding looked clean if a little nappy from wear, but I peeled back the quilt-top and tossed it on the floor anyway. Pristine white sheets beckoned.
Just as I lay back, sighing with relief, sounds from outside the room jarred me from my happy haze. Tires squealed, masculine laughter bellowed through the thin walls, and car doors slammed.
I sighed and stared at the bared rafters above me. The laughter faded. I reached across to flip off the switch to the nightstand lamp with its yellowed shade. Lying in the darkness, I willed my body to relax, one limb at a time. I’d driven three hundred miles that day. I’d have gone another fifty for a decent hotel, but the shorter route my Garmin had found led me through narrow two-lane roads deep in the Ozark Mountains. I doubted I’d have found anything nicer.
I should have stuck to the Interstate, but I’d wanted to shave some miles. Little did I know that the route would keep my foot busy pushing on the gas pedal then the brake the whole way. Exhausted, nerves shattered, I’d seen the crooked Vacancy sign outside the Cedar Inn and made my decision on the spot, swerving into the empty gravel parking lot. Not until I’d opened the door to my tiny, musty room did I have second thoughts about my decision. But how bad could it really be? I’d turned on the swamp cooler set into a window frame and felt my hair frizz instantly.
Not that I’d really cared. There wasn’t anyone around to impress. Other than the clerk at the front desk, a skinny, twenty-something redneck with puppy dog eyes, the place was deserted. I’d shivered a little bit at the thought, double-bolted my room door and checked the locks on the remaining window. Visions of the shower scene from Psycho didn’t put me off taking a long, lukewarm soak to wash away the road grime and sweat.
The cooler purred, spilling muggy air into the room. The sheets felt clammy. Still, I grew calm as my body warmed the sheets beneath me, then a little horny when I wondered if the room might have little peepholes for the clerk to watch me. He’d been cute if a little skinny. I wouldn’t mind if he watched—at least not in my fantasies. Who knew how long it would be until I felt comfortable enough, private enough to indulge in a little one-handed play when my grandmother slept in the room next to mine.
I slipped a hand between my thighs and lazily trailed my fingers through my cleft until my breath caught and heat pooled. I raised my knees and let them fall open, tilted my hips and thrust two fingers inside my pussy. I wasn’t in a hurry. I wasn’t even that eager to come. The motion soothed and excited, allowing my mind to let go of my troubles—the firing, the break-up, the move to my grandmother’s house—and focus only on the pleasure curling deep inside my core.
When the blare of a TV sounded from outside, I had third and fourth thoughts about my decision to stop here for the night. What the hell? Why had someone moved their television set outside rather than watch in the seclusion of their room where the sound would be somewhat muffled.
I gritted my teeth, swung my legs over the side of the bed and reached for shorts and a tee, slipping them over my nude body and the keys in my pocket before I stomped to the door and flung it open.
Not that the two men sitting on the truck noticed me—at first.
Under the single flood light that illuminated the parking lot, I noted the construction company logo on the side of the pickup backed up to the door of the room beside mine. Then I eyed the large men seated on the sides of the truck bed, their shirts gone, faded jeans stretched over thick thighs. Their attention was glued to the basketball game, blaring from the small screen of the TV they had set in the bed of the truck on top of a white ice chest. They held Budweisers in their grips.
At last, one of the men’s heads turned. He spotted me then whistled at his friend. Soon both their gazes peered down.
I felt foolish standing in my bare feet with my wet hair spiked around my head. Why hadn’t I simply put a pillow over my head to muffle their noise? But I was testy. Moody. I’d lost my job, had a blow-up with my boyfriend over the fact I wouldn’t be splitting rent with him for a while, and cut my nose off to spite my own face by breaking up with him. Homeless now, I had no options. Grandma’s in Little Rock was my last resort.
Tonight would be my last night of freedom before I moved under her roof and abided by her rules. She’d pay the bills—if I knuckled under and went back to school. Something I resented after being on my own for a couple of years, living by my rules.
Which might have been exactly why I remained, rooted to that spot. The men seated on the truck would never meet Grandma’s high standards.
Sweat gleamed on their naked chests and both of them were thickly muscled and a little dirty—as though they’d come straight from work without the benefit of a shower.
The shine only served to emphasize the depth of the musculature and their starkly masculine features. Their tanned, leathery skin stretched across cheeks and jaws that were sharpened to rough edges by hard work.
Both their gazes homed on me, and while I knew the smart thing would have been to retreat without a word to my room and relock the door, I tilted my chin and thrust out my chest. “Can’t you watch the game in your room?”
“We botherin’ you, sweetheart?” the one closest to me said, sliding off the truck to land in front of me.
I peered a long way up and frowned into the face tilted my way. We stood close enough I could see the bristles of his evening shadow. He wore a ball cap that shadowed his eyes, but glints of blond hair shone beneath it. “It’s late. I was trying to sleep.”
“It’s not that late,” he drawled. “Join us for a beer?”
I glanced behind him and noted the grin on his buddy’s face. He was bare-headed with shaggy brown hair and a devilish quirk to his firm lips. The game seemed to have lost its fascination. Their gazes drank me down like I was long cool drink.
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I’ll post the winner of the Dragon Cup contest later today, along with news about a new contest!
June 4, 2012
Guest Blogger: Heather Long (Contest)
Today’s the last day to enter the New Dragon Cup contest!
Click on the link for the entry rules! ~DD
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Why A Ménage
First let me thank Delilah for hosting me on her blog today. I might get a little deep because it’s been that kind of a week.
Have you ever had a fantasy? Men and women are different. They have different kinds of fantasies. To be perfectly honest, women are different—they have different kinds of fantasies. So have you ever had a fantasy? Do you fantasize that you’re famous? Or maybe that you’re the go to girl or go to guy for someone who is famous? Do you want to be a sports star? Do you have to have Josh Hamilton’s batting record? Do you have a fantasy to be a rock star or actor or let’s just get down to brass tacks, do you just fantasize that you’re rich?
Fantasies are important because fantasies are goals. They provide us with an innate sense of reaching for more than who we are or who we want to be. Sometimes they are simply escapes. An escape from our ho-hum life and too many errands and schedules and bills and frankly, who doesn’t want to fantasize their way out of the long lines at the grocery store on a weekend when you’d rather be sleeping in?
So if “those” kinds of fantasies are healthy, what about sexual fantasies? Aren’t they healthy, too?
Not if you’re a woman…
There seems to be a common misconception in our culture that women shouldn’t have sexual fantasies. I mean there are booty and booby magazines by the hundreds, half-naked women on cars for men to lust after so they will go and shop for that vehicle and more—because retail and Hollywood figured out a long time ago that sex sells. But that’s okay, because it sells to men.
Then along comes a little book call 50 Shades of Grey and suddenly “Mommy porn” is born and it’s astounding just how many readers gobbled it up. It became the numbers 1, 2, 3 best sellers (with its two sequels) in weeks. It blew the top of this frothing pit of sexual fantasy for women from college co-eds to soccer moms to silver-haired grandmas and I know for a fact at least one great-grandma in a wheelchair.
As a romance reader for more than three decades and an author, was I shocked by this? Of course not, what is a romance novel but a variant of a sexual fantasy? What is the BDSM sub-genre but a sexual fantasy? What about a ménage?
But you’re not supposed to talk about it…
It’s 2012 and we’re not supposed to talk about liking sex. Apparently according to some people, we’re not supposed to talk about sex at all. Some people believe that if you add enough sex to a story it will sell no matter how good that story is and some believe that if sex isn’t an extension of an organic relationship between the characters (whether it’s an MF, MFM, MMFM, MMF, or MFMMMMM – yes ladies, those books do exist) then it’s just porn written to sell.
Wanna know a secret?
It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t. I promise you that two years ago, I used to say “I can’t write sex scenes.” It wasn’t a matter that I couldn’t write them, I was just embarrassed by it. Yes, embarrassed. Like so many women I felt that if I said I “liked” to write sex scenes or that I wanted to write them, it should only be said quietly to those people who knew me very well and who would, of course, keep it private.
Because we’re really not suppose to like sex or talk about it.
When I was little, my grandmother always edited the sex scenes when she read her Harlequins to me and that makes sense, because seriously – who is going to read sex to a kid? Exactly – really creepy people. But for years, she referred to it as “cleaning” or “taking a nap.” Even when I was an adult, she wouldn’t say the word sex – but I guarantee you that the books she was reading had loads of it in there.
We’re embarrassed by this because we’ve been told that in our society it’s not okay to like sex. I mean, you can, but only if you keep it to yourself.
I think I’m tired of keeping it to myself. I like sex. I like to read good sex scenes and I like to write them. I recently released a book in February called Cassandra’s Dilemma that featured a polyamorous relationship. I wasn’t really sure how that would go for me, but the characters refused to be anything else and I believe in going where my characters take me. But when it came to promoting it, I kind of choked a little—why?
Because it had sex and a lot of it.
I didn’t really think about that until recently when I finished Jacob’s Trial in edits and had it queued up for its release date. It’s the second book in the series after Cassandra’s Dilemma and it has sex – lots of sex in it. And you know what. I am thrilled about this book and I don’t feel any of those twinges that I felt with Cassandra’s Dilemma. In part because I realized that even though I’ve never been particularly shy about the subject, I was still trying to look at myself through the lens of a conservative culture that frowns and labels books with open sexuality “mommy porn.”
Why a ménage?
I started off calling this blog why a ménage and I’m going to answer this right now. Because it’s a great sexual fantasy to imagine two, alpha males who care about you so much that they put aside some of that innate, biological competitiveness to be with you emotionally, mentally and yes, sexually. The physical intimacy in a ménage is just the tip of the iceberg, but it’s a healthy fantasy and I loved writing Jacob, Cassie, and Helcyon’s journey to finding each other and finding a balance in that relationship.
Are sexual fantasies worth it? Absolutely. Because a sexual fantasy is all about you and that’s why we like to read books that explore the fantasies we might have and why many authors like to write them. Your fantasy is healthy, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
I like sex. I hope you do, too. Because sex feels good and sexual fantasies should, too. Without our fantasies, life would be pretty dull.
I’d love for you to leave a comment on anything you feel like saying on the subject. I’m not going to ask you if you have sexual fantasies or what they are, but I will give away one copy of Jacob’s Trial to one lucky commentator and I’ll announce that here in the comments on Thursday, June 7!
June 3, 2012
Sunday Report Card
The winner (by random number generator of the free download of Bitten in the Big Easy is…#2: Betty Hamilton! Betty, send me an email to arrange delivery of your prize!
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Ongoing Contest
Don’t forget! The New Dragon Cup Contest ends this Tuesday! Click on the link for details! Keep posting those comments!
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Mailings
If you’ve followed me for long, you know I’m up to my ears and depend on my assistant (my daughter, actually!) to put together my mailings. I have just over a month’s worth of stuff to send out now, so she’ll be working in my office this week to get them wrapped!
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New Releases this week!
Yes, multiple! Crazy, I know. But something for everyone, I think! Click on the covers to read excerpts!
1) June 6th — Charmed in the Big Easy
Charmed includes these two connected stories:
“Under the Rainbow” by Paisley Smith
When novice witch, MeLeah McKinney is sent on a mission to retrieve a talisman from the grave of famed Voodoo Queen, Marie Laveau, she’s not sure how she’ll be able to perform the sex magick ritual required for energizing the relic. Especially given that it’s been a long time since she’s had sex. She decides to gather energy at a live sex show on Bourbon Street. But she isn’t prepared for a little help from Celestine Laveau’s ghost who’s crossed the rainbow bridge to spend one night in the arms of a beautiful woman.
In order to defeat the ancient vampire who endangers them all, just one talisman is hardly enough…
“The Mambo’s Door” by Delilah Devlin
Ingrid Kassel is a fledgling witch, uncertain and not in complete control of her powers, especially after drinking a double-shot of vampire blood. With the same instructions as MeLeah—retrieve an object buried with a daughter of the Voodoo Queen—she angers the spirit guarding the tomb and finds herself entering a shadowy limbo, where she meets beautiful Marie, living in fear of a demon who also desires the black magic candle infused with the powerful mambo’s blood. In desperation, Marie tricks Ingrid, capturing her and seducing her to charge the candle for her own bid for freedom.
2) Available Now! — Suite Encounters: Hotel Sex Stories
This released earlier than its official June 12th date
(includes my story, “Tailgating at the Cedar Inn”)
SUITE ENCOUNTERS features hotel erotica in all its forms, from honeymooners having sex on the beach to loving couples on vacation to coworkers heading downtown for secret quickies, not to mention exhibitionist thrills (and chills) of getting it on in the pool on the roof at The Standard Hotel in front of everyone! The award-winning editor of the Best Sex Writing series, among many others, Rachel Kramer Bussel knows the winning formula of stories of sex in every possible setting — luxury hotels, seedy motels, spas, SRO’s and everything in between.
3) Available Now! — Girl Fever: 69 Stories of Sudden Sex for Lesbians
This released earlier than its official June 12th date
(includes my story, “Ignition Switch”)
GIRL FEVER is Short fiction at its best from rising erotica star Sacchi Green, whose LESBIAN COWBOYS took the top award at the 2009 Lambda Awards. This big book of lesbian quickies satisfies on every level with stories from top-notch contributors that evoke the heat, the urgency and the “gotta have it” moment of the quickie. There are long-time companions, one night stands, meet-cutes and meet only once stories to fuel your fantasies in this only book of lesbian quickies on the market today.
Sudden sex, when your need is too great wait. Sex in planes, trains and automobiles, and roller coasters, carnival rides, elevators, and ferries as well; and if a bed is handy, that’s fine too. Shanna Germain’s “Answering the Call” shows us games EMTs play in an ambulance, while Victoria Janssen’s “The Airplane Story” crams us into the metal-walled bondage of an airliner restroom. Sommer Marsden makes the very best use of “An Hour,” Allison Wonderland gets it “Off and On” in under ten minutes, and Tigress Healey offers “Six Minutes or It’s Free.” But there’s more to it than speed, and the sixty-nine pieces in Girl Fever by skilled writers Cheyenne Blue, Rachel Kramer Bussel, Delilah Devlin, D.L. King, and scores of others offer characters you’d love to fuck, evocative settings, and well-rounded stories that can intrigue and surprise you along the way to seduction.
4) Sometime this week — Dragon’s Desire
An ancient dragon sends a loyal knight on a quest to find a virgin to ease his curse. Who knew a virgin would be so hard to find?
I have to come up with a decent blurb for this book THIS WEEK.
Suffice it to say, it’s menage (m/f/m and m/m/f). There’s an ancient curse that started way back when, a dragon with a problem, a loyal knight who seeks to “slay” the dragon’s appetite, and a modern, unsuspecting, but surprisingly adventurous virgin. There’s magic, danger, humor, some light BDSM. Oh, and tons of nasty sex.
As soon as I get it back from the formatter, I’ll post the Amazon link and let you know it’s out!
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The Wild Ride Continues
Thanks so much to everyone who purchased Two Wild this week! You put it at the top of Samhain’s Bestsellers’ list, and you have it rising up the chart at Amazon!
If you read it, there are a couple of things y’all can do to help me—if you have the time and inclination.
1) “Like” and “tag” the book on Amazon.
2) Post a review at Samhain, Barnes & Noble and/or Amazon. Let another reader know whether you consider the book to be worth their time and money.
3) Okay, one more than a couple! Tell someone about it.
I appreciate all your support.
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Live Chat this week!
Cleis Press freelance editors Delilah Devlin, Ily Goyanes, and Sacchi Green will host a chat about LGBT writing on June 7, 7 PM EST, on the ERWA site. We’ll be discussing writing, answering your questions, and generally having fun talking about our favorite genre. Drop by, toss us some questions and prompts, and we’ll all have a good time. http://erotica-readers.com/ERA/AR/Erotica_Authors_Resources.htm
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Sunday Report Card
Notice I left the SRC for the very last? That’s because this was not the productive week I’d hoped it would be. I did edits and edits—Fournicopia is done! Dragon’s Desire is done (except for the formatting). I’m still wrapping up the last read through of the galley for Cowboy Lust. I did add two strong chapters to my paranormal for Montlake, but I wanted four! Let’s hope this week rolls along without any family drama or publisher interruptions.
If you see me goofing off online, you have permission to spank!
June 2, 2012
Saturday Snippet: Every Breath You Take (villain, alpha male, etc)
On June 6th, the next story in the Femme Noir series will release! Since today’s theme is all about strong men, I thought I’d let you meet Baron Samedi, the loa of the crossroads between the worlds of the living and the dead. Enjoy a little taste!
“Under the Rainbow” by Paisley Smith
When novice witch, MeLeah McKinney is sent on a mission to retrieve a talisman from the grave of famed Voodoo Queen, Marie Laveau, she’s not sure how she’ll be able to perform the sex magick ritual required for energizing the relic. Especially given that it’s been a long time since she’s had sex. She decides to gather energy at a live sex show on Bourbon Street. But she isn’t prepared for a little help from Celestine Laveau’s ghost who’s crossed the rainbow bridge to spend one night in the arms of a beautiful woman.
In order to defeat the ancient vampire who endangers them all, just one talisman is hardly enough…
“The Mambo’s Door” by Delilah Devlin
Ingrid Kassel is a fledgling witch, uncertain and not in complete control of her powers, especially after drinking a double-shot of vampire blood. With the same instructions as MeLeah—retrieve an object buried with a daughter of the Voodoo Queen—she angers the spirit guarding the tomb and finds herself entering a shadowy limbo, where she meets beautiful Marie, living in fear of a demon who also desires the black magic candle infused with the powerful mambo’s blood. In desperation, Marie tricks Ingrid, capturing her and seducing her to charge the candle for her own bid for freedom.
A crash sounded. The bedroom door splintered, exploding inward.
“Well, well,” came a deep voice, at once dry, rasping and crackling with anger. “Ma’man has been busy. She sends me presents, then fails to deliver ’em into my hands.”
Ingrid couldn’t help it—she tore her glance from Marie’s to stare up at the figment striding toward the bed.
He was tall, so slender he looked nearly skeletal, with skin stretched so tightly over prominent cheeks that she saw only shadow in the hollows beneath. His eyes were black and flat, the pupils narrow slits. It was the top hat, a crazy affectation, that identified him as Baron Samedi, loa of the dead.
“I’m not a present,” she said, lifting her chin and wondering where she found the courage to defy him. Maybe it was the last trace of vampire blood, maybe it was the trembling of Marie’s fist beneath hers. Whichever the cause, anger burst hot inside her.
“Not a present. Also not dead,” the loa said, leaning down to sniff the air around her. “How delicious.”
Ingrid narrowed her eyes. “Also not a meal. Your wife gave me access to this realm.”
“Do you think that protects you?” His thin mouth stretched wide. Large white teeth gleamed in the near-darkness.
“I think she’s jealous of the time you’ve spent with Marie.”
His smile disappeared, replaced by a sneer. “My wife must learn her place. If she wishes to lure me to her side, she shouldn’t place such lovely temptations within mah reach.”
His hand rose and his thin, spindly fingers reached for Ingrid’s hair.
She jerked back. “You are not to touch me.”
His head canted. “Do you dare think you can command me?”
“I think that we have something you want.”
Marie coughed, but Ingrid refused to look her way.
“You’d barter with the mambo’s candle?” the baron drawled.
She hadn’t thought that far ahead, but his assumption held a glimmer of hope. “A trade. Two knobs and we’re returned to the crypt.”
He grunted. “All of it, and I let you leave. You alone.”
She shook her head. “The candle is charged—with her mama’s blood, with her sex magick and ours. Maybe I should use it now.”
His expression turned from irritation to reluctant admiration. Then his eyelids dipped. “And then you’ll have nothin’ left to take with you. Do you forget why you’re here?”
“Of course not, it’s why I can spare only part of the candle. It’s more than you will ever get from her,” Ingrid said, jerking her chin toward Marie, who sat with her head bowed before the loa.
Ingrid squeezed Marie’s hand, forcing her to meet her gaze. She widened her eyes at the other woman in silent warning.
Marie straightened her shoulders and gave her a subtle nod. “You’ll never have my mother’s candle. Not a single piece.”
The loa straightened. His gaze went from Marie to Ingrid. His horrible eyes narrowed to frightening slits. “Done.”
He agreed so quickly that Ingrid worried she’d done something wrong.
“We leave now,” he said, smiling.
“But it’s dark,” Marie gasped.
Ingrid dug her nails into Marie’s skin. “So long as we walk with him, we’ll be fine. Isn’t that right, Baron?”
The baron continued to smile. “Must keep up,” he said, his voice lilting strangely.
Ingrid shivered. “Let’s dress.”
The women dressed one at a time, the other clutching the candle securely in her hand. When they’d finished, Ingrid indicated for the baron to precede them out of the door, then swiped the lantern from the bedside table.
“Clutch my coat,” he said, turning his head to look over his shoulder. “Don’t let go—no matter what.”
Ingrid hesitated, remembering the warning from his wife. “Marie, you hold his coat. I’ll hold your hand.”
The baron sighed. “Did she tell you?
“Tell me what?”
“That with one touch, yo’ mine?”
Ingrid had never been so glad that for once, she’d followed instructions.
The baron strode toward the front door of the cabin. When he opened it and stepped through, Marie whimpered but didn’t let go of the tail of his long frock coat.
Ingrid’s eyes widened.
Even in the dim light from the sputtering lamp, she could see the gray-faced figures standing on the porch. Their heads swung her way, mouths agape, jagged teeth gleaming in the darkness.
Hands reached, but they swept past them, climbing down the rickety steps and into the black swamp below.
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Be sure to check out the snippets on these other authors’ blogs:
Megan Hart:Read in bed!
Rhian Cahill
Eliza Gayle
Jody Wallace
Mandy M Roth
Lissa Matthews
Mari Carr
McKenna Jeffries
Myla Jackson
Taige Crenshaw
HelenKay Dimon
Shiloh Walker
Shelli Stevens
TJ Michaels
Lauren Dane
June 1, 2012
Guest Blogger: Elle James
People are always asking me where I get all my ideas. The answer is…everywhere! The Thunder Horse brothers grew out of several encounters. An interesting name of a Marine Corps Officer who happened to be a Kiowa native from Oklahoma, a story about the wild horses in the Badlands and my time spent in North Dakota, traveling across the plains and visiting the Badlands. Put all those elements together, add murders, bad guys and there you have it!
Thunder Horse Heritage
Harlequin Intrigue
June 2012
They once exchanged their wedding vows. Now he vows to keep her alive.
She’d been his wife for barely a day and now FBI agent Tuck Thunder Horse was responsible for identifying her body. So he was more than shocked when Julia Anderson turned up very much alive-and on the run. Julia confessed to witnessing a murder and now needs Tuck to help her stay alive…and protect the baby he hadn’t known she’d had.
Julia and Tuck’s marriage might not have lasted, but there was not time for recriminations with a killer on their trail. As Tuck struggles to put their painful past behind them he can’t help but find himself overwhelmed by his love for his little daughter…and his still-burning passion for Julia. Unable to trust anyone but each other, they know working together is the only way to safeguard their child. Could their one-day marriage turn into a life-long adventure?
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THUNDER HORSE SERIES:
HOSTAGE TO THUNDER HORSE
THUNDER HORSE HERITAGE
THUNDER HORSE REDEMPTION
About the Author:
Elle James spent twenty years livin’ and lovin’ in South Texas, ranching horses, cattle, goats, ostriches and emus. A former IT professional, Elle is proud to be writing full-time, penning intrigues and paranormal adventures that keep her readers on the edge of their seats. Now living in northwest Arkansas, she isn’t wrangling cattle, she’s wrangling her muses, a malti-poo and yorkie. When she’s not at her computer, she’s traveling, out snow-skiing, boating, or riding her ATV, dreaming up new stories.
You can reach Elle James at www.ellejames.com or email her at ellejames@earthlink.net. Also see her sexier alter ego Myla Jackson at www.mylajackson.com.
