Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 533

Snippet Saturday: All About The Girl (Female Protagonist)

I hope you enjoy today's snippet. I'm off to Little Rock for my monthly RWA chapter meeting. I really, really hate the drive, but I love to see my friends. Wish I could convince the lot of them that they need to come to my podunk town for the meetings.

I didn't get a lick of work done yesterday. (What does that phrase mean anyway? A lick of work?) Daughter and I spent the day together. We hit a rock shop. Uh huh. Picked up stone "power wands" and a couple of new worry stones. I bought another of my animal totem carvings. And now you know how thoroughly strange I am.

Y'all have fun today. Enjoy your weekend. I hope the excerpt gives you just the right start!

"…loved everything about SIN'S Gift…the way Delilah Devlin sets up her world makes it feel like nothing I've read before…"
5 Angels and RECOMMENDED READ!, Fallen Angels on SIN'S GIFT


"…A turbulent relationship and sexy, spooky thrills await readers in SIN'S GIFT…This is a well written and engrossing tale with complex characters who have hidden depths. Enter into other realms with the highly recommended SIN'S GIFT."
Jennell, RRT Erotic on SIN'S GIFT


"…Wow, I loved this novella. It's fabulously exciting and a fast, exhilarating read…I recommend this book to everyone that loves hot, sexy paranormal story. I love Delilah Devlin's books and this is one of her best yet…"

5 Hearts, Abi, The Romance Studio on SIN'S GIFT

Police Officer Sinead O'Rourke returns to duty months after being shot in an incident that also claimed her partner, Danny. Despite being cleared of any negligence, Sin knows her fellow officers wonder whether she's partially responsible for his death. One more problem is that everyone knows she claims she's seen Danny. After months of rehabilitation and counseling, and lying like hell about the fact she's not seeing spooks anymore, Sin's determined to get back into the saddle. But her first day back in the patrol car, Sin sees something more horrifying than the ghost of her dead partner and enters a deadly new world. Jake doesn't want to partner with Sin. Been there, done that—couldn't keep his hands off her the first time around. She's too much of a distraction and her penchant for rushing into trouble scares the hell out of him. Despite wishing she'd quit her job, he's still deeply attracted. When an armed robbery goes down and something happens that rattles Sin to the core, he's right there—ready to cover her back and her sweet body.

"Sure you're ready for this?"

Sin stifled a groan. How many times would she hear that today? She especially didn't want to hear it from Jake Chapa's lips. Lips she knew the texture and taste of all too well.

She didn't respond, still fuming because he hadn't even offered to let her drive. That had been only one of the bitches she'd had partnering with him before. He'd never trusted her. Not with the car. Not with his back.

Now he'd been just fine playing house with her for a while, but he was too much of a chauvinist to ever accept her working at his side.

She'd looked him over when she strode through the garage to the car. He hadn't changed a bit. Same thickly muscled frame, hair so "high and tight" a Marine DI would weep, same sensually charged expression that always made her stomach clench. He'd been a god in bed, but a total asshole as a boyfriend. What was the lieutenant thinking? She thought she knew the answer.

He hoped she'd wash out in a week, and he wouldn't have to worry about her getting anyone else killed.

Only everyone should have known that wasn't what happened. The review board had cleared her—and Danny, posthumously—of any negligence.

Memories too painful to face for months came flooding back. They'd just finished lunch and were arguing over who had to pay the bill. Danny had lost a round of pool the night before, but claimed she'd cheated when he turned his back.

She had. He knew it. She knew he knew it, but he hadn't caught her. A fair loss in her books. A win was a win.

The argument had been lighthearted and one they'd had before. However, when they stepped from under the restaurant awning, they'd walked right into a pair of masked gunmen.

Her hands held a doggy bag. She dropped it and reached for her gun. Before it even cleared her holster, an explosion rocked her off her feet.

She'd woken in the ambulance, EMS shoving fluids in a vein, blood stinging her eyes.

Danny whispered in her ear, "You're gonna make it, Sin. Hold on. Don't go to sleep."

When she'd swum up through the anesthesia after surgery, Jake sat beside her. Danny stood right behind him.

Jake's face had been gray, his expression haggard.

"You look like hell," she croaked, her throat feeling raw. Thick bandages taped across her cheek and under her chin limited the movement of her tongue, which felt thick and dry.

She glanced from Jake to Danny. "Glad to see they didn't get the drop on you too."

"Wasn't anywhere near when it happened," Jake said, his lips tight.

"Not talkin' to you."

Danny's gaze held hers for a long moment, and then he backed away—melting into the wall.

Her screams left her voiceless for days afterward.

Worse, Jake hadn't come back to see her.

Not that she'd missed him. They'd been over a long time before the day Danny bled to death on the pavement. That he'd been Jake's best friend, his high school buddy, had to make it that much harder for him to look at her.

She could hardly stand the sight of her own face. The scar where the .22 caliber bullet tore through her cheek was a daily reminder not to get too close. Ever again. She'd let down her guard, joking with a friend and sharing a smile instead of looking where she was going.

Jake made a turn onto an arched stone bridge, and then slid back into traffic at the next intersection, passing a cop on a bicycle. The cop started to lift his hand in greeting until he spied who sat on the passenger side.

Sin sighed. She had a long way to go. She's been cleared—and that might have been the end of the suspicions—but add the fact she'd lost it and no one wanted to trust her. She'd do like the psychiatrist and the counselor after him recommended. Ease back in. Win their trust slowly through solid police work.

No one could ever know she still saw Danny everywhere. She'd taken the meds for a while, seen a shrink twice a week—and lied like a bitch every time. About Danny, about her insomnia. She hid the dark circles under eyes with makeup and pasted on a smile. She was fine. Just fine. Ready to get back into the saddle.

Only she'd woken that morning feeling sick to her stomach, ready to puke, her hands trembling. She'd shaken some of the antidepressants she hadn't been taking into her palm and swallowed them dry. She'd make it through the day if she had to crawl to the end of it. And Jake would never know what it cost her to sit beside him in silence.

She'd missed him. After they'd broken up, she'd still seen him often. As Danny's best friend, they spent time together after work, unwinding over a pool table and beer. Although she'd pretended she'd been okay with it, she was starved for his company. Waiting for a glimpse of his gaze sharpening on her as though he was trying to crawl into her mind. He'd known her well, but she'd gotten to be an expert at a teasing quip or a nasty barb to deflect him. No way would she let him know how much their breakup had hurt her.

Still hurt. And now, he thought he had to baby-sit a nut job. He hadn't looked at her once since she slid into the seat beside him. "How's Johnny?" she asked, knowing he wouldn't be able to resist talking about his little brother. Johnny had joined the force three years after they had. She'd sat beside Jake at his graduation.

"Fine. He's working at the east substation."

She waited, hoping he'd say more, but his jaw tightened and he glanced into his mirrors, a clear signal he didn't want to make small talk. It was gonna be a long night.

The setting sun cast long shadows as it dipped behind the buildings lining the roads. They turned onto Broadway and passed a bus stop. She glanced inside to the shaded bench and caught a glimpse of a man wearing a tattered military fatigue jacket; the side of his jaw facing her was stubbled with gray hair. When they drew past him, she gave him a nod, and then stared as they pulled away.

Her heart tripped, her stomach knotted. The half she hadn't seen on their approach had appeared blurred—not through physical injury. The left side of his face had looked as though a painter had streaked the colors, muted the edges. The outline of his cheek and jaw had bled away in gray and red strokes. His eyes, however, had been piercing, distinct—and glowing.

Suddenly, Sin thought that maybe everyone had been right. She wasn't ready for this. The bullet that had lodged in her face must have done some real damage to her brain. Rattled it. Jumbled up the signals. How else could she explain the weird things she'd been seeing?

Her stomach lurched and she wished she'd eaten lunch. She thought she might puke and decided to ask Jake to stop the car, but the moment she opened her mouth the radio squawked. An armed robbery was in progress not a block away.

"Gonna respond, O'Rourke?" Jake asked, his tone clipped.

Knowing she should say something, tell him she couldn't do it, that she thought she'd be sick—she reached for the mike, telling the dispatcher they were on their way.

Jake hit the switch, sending the blue and white lights swirling and the siren blaring.

Sin gripped the edge of her seat, girding herself for what was coming. This was something she'd done before. Armed men she could handle. She wasn't unprepared, wasn't carrying her damn lunch. But she hoped like hell her hallucinations would wait until the danger was past.

Just let me get through this. I'll tell the lieutenant I'm through. Christ, I can't let Jake down.

They weren't the first unit to arrive. Jake halted in front of another car turned sideways in the street to block traffic. Out of old habit, Sin hit her mike to let the dispatcher know they'd arrived and slammed open the door, ducking low like the officers who kept their gazes on the shop across the street.

"What do we have?" Sin asked between tightly clenched teeth, hating that her nerves were kicking in.

"Robbery inside that coin shop. The store owner's inside. Maybe one customer. He tripped a silent alarm."

"Any shots fired?" Jake asked, his voice steady and cool.

"None, but there hasn't been any movement either. SWAT's on the way."

Jake took a deep breath, then shot a glance her way. She could read the hesitation in his gaze.

She narrowed her eyes, daring him to voice his concern.

His mouth tightened. "Let's go cover the alley behind it. You follow me."

For once, she didn't mind his taking charge.

With their weapons drawn, they backed away from the other officers, not straightening until they were out of the line of sight of anyone inside the store, then took off at a dead run to the end of the street, turned and headed toward the entrance of the alley that stretched behind the row of small shops.

When they reached the corner of alley, Jake raised an arm, blocking her. "Sin, you ready for this?" he asked. His face had lost its hard-edged reserve. Worry darkened his gaze.

She swallowed and nodded, determined not to let him down. "I have your back."

For a moment longer, he held her gaze, and then his shoulders lifted as he took a deep breath. "Let's go." He flattened his back against the wall of the building and edged closer to the alley to peek into the darkening space. "It's clear." Then he was off.

Sin followed, her gaze darting into the shadows. They sped along the alley, using trash bins to hide behind as they gave each other cover, finally arriving at the back door of the shop.

Jake clicked his mike. "We're at the back door," he said quietly.

"Hold your position."

Dragging deep breaths as quietly as she could to calm her heart, she plastered her back to the opposite side of the door, keeping her gaze on Jake's face, waiting for him to signal her should they need to enter.

He gave her a tight smile, and then something in his expression alerted her. The sound of scuffling feet from inside the shop stopped just the other side of the door. Jake placed a finger over his lips to tell her to stay quiet, then stepped away from the wall, raising his weapon.

Sin kept her back to the wall, lifting her own weapon to point toward the opening.

Two men dashed out, the long barrels of their shotguns pointing outward.

"Drop your weapons," Jake shouted.

The man nearest her lowered the barrel of his shotgun, aiming it straight at Jake. Sin leapt forward, grabbed the barrel and slammed it upward, sticking her own weapon against his side. "Drop it or I swear I'll shoot."

A low growling sound, like that of a trapped mountain lion, erupted from the man whose face she couldn't make out in the shadows. In a movement so fast she didn't have time to even pull back her trigger, he twisted away, let go of the shotgun and shoved her back, taking off in the opposite direction from Jake.

Mad she'd let him get away, she hesitated, gave Jake a quick glance and saw he had already wrestled his subject to the ground. Jake's brows drew into a fierce scowl as his gaze followed the fleeing suspect.

She knew if he could have, he'd have handed her his suspect and taken chase himself rather than let her go. "I've got it," she said, glad he was safe and already speeding past him.

"Don't get your ass hurt!" he shouted after her, the charged words accompanied by the snick of handcuffs encircling his man's wrists.

Sin dropped the shotgun she still held and sprinted down the alley, following the footfalls clapping so fast, she wondered if she had a chance to overtake him. "One's heading south down the alley," she barked into her mike. "Chapa's got the other cuffed. Need backup."

Glad she'd been working out, running miles to rebuild her strength, Sin trailed the man, just keeping him in sight. She concentrated on her breathing, listened to the steady but rapid beat of her heart. While her body shoved past her endurance, her mind calmed. Jake was okay. She had an unarmed man to take down, or at least to track. She could handle this. Maybe she really was ready to be back.

More sirens whined in the distance. When the robbery suspect turned onto another street, she kept on his tail. "He turned north on Brooklyn." She felt strong, not even winded yet. Maybe she was ready for this after all.

The sirens drew closer. "Where ya gonna go, bastard," she said more to herself than the man sprinting up the block ahead of her. At the corner of an intersection, he paused to check traffic, glancing back at her.

Her heart thudded heavily in her chest.

Caught in the light from a streetlamp, half his face blurred away—same as the homeless guy at the bus stop. Golden eyes glowed.

"No. Goddamn it, not now," she whispered.

She didn't let her steps falter or slow, forced herself to ignore the warning clambering in her mind. She kept on his ass, ignoring the blare of horns as he ran into the traffic. She darted right behind him, keeping her gaze on him, not the cars blasting their horns or squealing their tires.

She wasn't gonna lose him because she'd lost her mind.

When he ducked into a space between two buildings, she almost smiled. She had him cornered. The end of the narrow space was the back of another building. No exit. All she had to do was wait him out. She relayed her location. Another officer was only a minute away.

She ducked into the channel, too narrow to drive into, but wide enough for two men to walk through shoulder to shoulder. Still running, she shouted ahead, "You can't make it out of here. It's a dead end."

His steps didn't slow.

So he didn't believe her, and she wanted to see his face again, wanted to look closely and erase the blurred image she held in her mind. She kept running. Gaining on him, she reached out for the back of his shirt, grabbing a wad of cotton and jerked. The building at the end was just ahead. All she had to do was swing him around and she'd take him down.

Only he was strong. He kept moving forward, dragging her behind him. She tried to dig in her heels to slow them down, but he wouldn't let her. At the last moment before they slammed into the wall, she raised her other arm to brace for the sudden stop, knowing it would hurt like hell.

The man growled again, the low, grating hum sounding like a big cat's squall, and leapt the last few feet, jerking her off her feet and through a hole that glimmered at the edges before it flickered out.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

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

Emma Petersen

Jody Wallace

Lauren Dane

Leah Braemel

Lissa Matthews

Mari Carr

McKenna Jeffries

Selena Blake

Taige Crenshaw

TJ Michaels

Travel Bug Bites

I'm still making great progress on that BDSM story. Yeah, it's sex, sex and more sex—but with a really yummy hero and a very messed up heroine. Cross McNally is just the sort of warrior-hero that knocks me off my socks every time. I'm hoping to be done with it tomorrow. My EC editor won't know what to do with herself—having me turn in two stories so close together. Then it will be onto a mad rush of revision as I get a short story expanded into a short novella. Never any rest for the very wicked.

I was looking at the titles of the email in my spam filter:

Save with our cruise specials!

Italy travel deals!

Vacation in Hawaii!

Looking for an exotic vacation?

How'd they know I'm getting restless? Sure, I have a trip planned for nearly every month this year, but they are writing-related conferences. Maybe I'm feeling restless because my sis and family are headed to Italy today. I'm seriously jealous. It's been forever since I was in Italy. I'd had dreams of going to Iceland with the hellion this year, but her life has gotten busy really, really fast, so that's not an option, and I don't want to go alone. What's a girl to do?

What sort of trips do you have planned? Anything close to home? Or are you going pretty far afield for your next adventure?

Dreams

Dreams are extremely important.

You can't do it unless you imagine it.

~ George Lucas

Speaking of dreams, I had a doozy last night. And it feels familiar, like I've had it before.

I lived in a house in the very exclusive Dominion area in San Antonio, Texas. The house was huge with a pool just outside the door. I sat at a glass table eating breakfast and reading ads from the newspaper. Only these ads were "live" ads that talked and described the items on sale at a department store. I wondered aloud when they'd make ads interactive so I could ask useful questions like, "Would that TV fit in my entertainment system cabinet?" The Progressive woman looked up from her ad and said, "Well, have you measured the space?"

I have to put that in a book.

Yesterday, I got my butt in gear. I wrote nearly a chapter. All of it sex. And I really, really liked the sex I wrote. My hero's a big dude with very commanding ways. *sigh* I'd like to finish the story today or tomorrow, but I can't keep them in bed forever, so today's likely to drag as I figure out what they'll say to each other when they aren't acting like bunnies.

Guest Blogger: Anitra Lynn McLeod

Psst! Yesterday's winner is named at the end of this post! ~DD

Using Romance Clichés for Fun and Profit

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

You'll never believe what inspired my erotic Onic Empire series . . .

wait for it . . .

a romance cliché.

Yep.

You know the one where the woman is almost always a virgin and the man is a total slut? Yeah, that always bothered me because all the guys must be banging one very tired (and IMHO one very lucky) woman.

Now, this cliché has really gone by the wayside, but when I started reading, this was practically a standard part of romance novels.

So, I was thinking about virginity, and why it's so sacred for a woman but not a man, and then I got to thinking about what if everyone lost their virginity in the same manner at roughly the same age, and what if the act of taking virginity was a religious rite?

And so the Onic Empire was born.

It'll take more than one man's love to tame her wild heart.

Bithia, newly crowned empress of Diola, indulges herself with as many men as it takes to satisfy her voracious passion. Now that it's time to continue the family line, though, her advisors expect the unthinkable: for her to submit to one man from a sexually primitive planet.

Drahka disobeyed his tribe's strict sexual rules once. The shame still haunts him. He longs for a fresh start, but breaking one cardinal rule—a man gives, a woman takes—is not an option. His struggle to learn local customs is complicated by a mentor whose eyes hunger for the empress…and for him.

Viltori is exhausted. He's tried to teach Drakha that there are many ways to find pleasure, only to be met with anger, even violence. Touching the handsome primitive only sharpens his unbearable lust for Bithia, making him wonder if execution for failure wouldn't be a blessing.

When Bithia witnesses the results of Viltori's training, she realizes only these two men can fill her empty heart, inspiring her to take command of the throne at last. Except those who've held the reins thus far have a sinister reason for keeping Bithia—and her new consorts—in their place.

Warning: This erotic romance contains a lusty empress, a primitive alpha male, a dedicated acolyte with domineering tendencies, copious amounts of hot m/m and m/f/m sex, secret torments, burning desires clashing with duty, and a little bit of meddling by future gods.

Read an Excerpt

Yesterday's winner is…Dawn Jackson! Dawn, congrats, and email me about your prize!

Flashback: Jacq's Warlord

If you post a comment today, you'll be in the running

for a free download of Jacq's Warlord!

Nice, eh? THE WARRIOR will be out May 1st! And it's a time travel back to an ancient time when women were in charge. And since we're on the topic of time-travels, here's the only other one I ever wrote (along with my sis, Myla)…

"…Set in the time and in the battles fought as Henry takes the English throne, the combination of battle action and sexy romance makes this story a standout." 5 Stars, Just Erotic Romance Reviews

"…if you are looking for a book full of action, adventure and lots of humor I recommend that you suspend your disbelief and find yourself drawn into the vibrantly portrayed world of JACQ'S WARLORD…" 4 Crystals, Erotic Escapades

With proportions that would make Xena weep, Jacqueline Frazier despairs of ever finding a lover she can't intimidate. Until the day she ignores an itty-bitty warning regarding the use of a family heirloom, and finds herself swept off her feet by a knight in not so shining armor, back to the twelfth century. Forced to accept the protection and sexual attentions of the overbearing, beast of a man, Rufus of Rathburn, Jacq struggles to find her place in the past while searching for a way back to the future. In the meantime, she aids Rufus's war cause with a little 21st century ingenuity. Nothing like shaking up the warlord with lessons in bomb-making, guerilla tactics, and the Joys of Sex.

At first unwilling, and downright ungrateful, Rufus begins to see merit in Jacq's odd ways. Through Jacq's eccentricities and willfulness, Rufus learns she is a woman to be reckoned with, not to mention she is a lusty handful in bed. Will his admiration of her cunning, strength and uninhibited sexuality grow into a love that breaks the barriers of time? And will their love be strong enough for Jacq to plot a different future in the past?

"Damnation!"

Rufus landed on his rear at the entrance of his tent. He saw the silvery glint of stars for a moment before he realized the flashing metal was the water ewer bouncing away. Instinct saved him a second knot on his forehead as his arm came up to deflect the next object lobbed at his head. He rolled to his knees and lunged upwards to face his angry adversary.

His breath caught. She was magnificent! Her hair was in disarray around her shoulders and her chest heaved with fury. Bright blotches of color stained her cheeks, and the determined set of her chin and narrowed eyes warned him this would not be an easy conquest.

And she had prepared well. His two war chests were stacked one on top of the other, and he saw a number of objects on the ground beside her feet—ammunition for the battle to come. The chests stood as a shield between them.

"I take it you're upset," he said mildly.

Her lips curled back in a feral smile, as she hefted the copper water basin in her hand.

Aware of her intent, he feinted to the left.

Jacq modified her aim before the bowl left her hand.

The copper vessel spun through the air and caught Rufus directly at his midsection. "Oomph!" He rubbed his stomach. She certainly didn't throw like a girl. "You were placed under guard in this tent for your own protection," he began, trying to reason her out of her present course of action. He could easily overpower her but didn't want to cause her harm, and hoped that the physical venting would aid both their libidos.

Her left hand balanced his helmet.

"Now see here," he protested. "I haven't a smith with me to repair that."

Her arm came back, and the helmet flew at his shoulder.

Instead of ducking, Rufus reached out to catch the heavy armor. While fumbling with both hands to keep the helmet from crashing to the floor, Rufus didn't see her take advantage of his preoccupation to rearm. He felt another painful thud against his back and saw a stone roll away.

"Enough!" he roared. His patience quickly dwindled as the bruises to his skin and pride accumulated.

He leapt toward the barricade.

The tantalizing tempest circled, remaining just out of reach.

With a powerful swipe of his arm, the upper chest flew across the tent. He jumped over the remaining one only to stumble to his knees when her foot connected with his ankle. His curses blistered the air.

Then she had the nerve to laugh out loud, spinning out of reach.

Donald's voice called to him from outside the tent, "Rufus, do you need aid?"

"Stay out of this, Donald." He heard muffled guffaws and felt his face grow hot. He'd been tolerant long enough. "Cease, woman." He rose to his feet expecting another impact.

Instead, she faced him with his own sword held between her two hands.

"Don't be foolish. If you choose to use that you will not take two steps outside this tent without being cut down."

She faced him calmly, her breath slowing as her hands moved on the pommel of the sword. Despite her bravado, her upper arms trembled with the effort of holding the weapon aloft.

"You will explain to me why you have made a shambles of my tent, and why you attacked me," he demanded.

"You put that beast on me as a guard," she yelled back.

He was relieved she had at last broken her silence. Her quiet determination had begun to unnerve him. "I placed Beast there for your protection." He needed to keep her talking while his mind sought a solution to this present coil.

"That's his name?" she asked, looking appalled, then she shook herself. "He never left me."

Irritated she didn't seem to appreciate his care, he gritted out, "Those were my orders."

"You ordered him to stay with me, even when I relieved myself?" she asked, her voice rising toward the end.

Ahhh…he understood now. Her woman's sensibilities had been offended. "His orders were to keep you in his sight at all times."

"Well, your protection stinks. I don't accept it any longer. You'll provide me with a horse and weapons. I'm leaving."

"You may leave when you tell me who you are and what you were doing on that battlefield yesterday. That is your only choice. And do not think I will let you ride out of here without escort."

Her eyes narrowed and her hands tightened around the pommel. "Then you'd best be prepared for a battle because I don't accept the terms under which you hold me captive."

"Woman, did this morning not teach you a lesson?" he asked, frustration pounding at his temple. "You need my protection. Or did you enjoy cavorting naked before a company of men."

"Augh!" At last, her anger made her careless. Lunging toward him with his sword, she managed a creditable swipe of the blade. He dodged it and stepped around the tent to keep outside her reach.

"Rufus, what is going on in there?" Donald's worried face appeared at the opening of the tent.

Jacq turned toward the sound.

Rufus took advantage of her distraction to edge farther along the circumference of the tent. "Not now, Donald. As you can see I am busy."

She swung back, here gaze narrowing, her hands shifting on the hilt.

Donald's eyebrows rose as his glance fell on the woman. "Well, Rufus, I will leave you to your game. Shout, if you need assistance."

"Go!" Rufus ordered.

Donald's face disappeared behind the canvas, his laughter ringing out clearly in the early evening air.

Odds were, the whole camp would know in minutes that a woman held him at bay—with his own sword! "It seems, lady, we are at an impasse."

"No, you'll agree to my terms or I'll run you through." Her face appeared set, and he wondered if she truly had the courage to try.

"Donald," he yelled.

"Yes, Rufus?" came his answer through the tent walls.

"If the woman walks out of this tent first, you will not allow her to leave this camp."

Donald's voice held amusement, "If that woman walks out of the tent on her own two feet, I'll wed her myself and breed sons on her."

Rufus' gaze never left hers, but he allowed an eyebrow to quirk upward.

Jacq's face reddened and her eyes betrayed a hint of moisture. "I can do this."

"Madam, you have the advantage at the moment, but it is only because I allow it."

"You allow it? I hold your sword." Her voice shook along with the hands drooping under the continuous strain of holding the heavy weapon.

"You have one more chance to put my sword down and talk to me about this or I will take it from you."

"I dare you to try—"

That was all the encouragement Rufus needed. He lunged.

Jacq stepped backward only to catch the backs of her knees on the overturned chest directly behind her. She flailed her arms outwards, choosing to lose the sword rather than risk impaling herself. The weapon thudded against the hard-packed earth. But Jacq never hit the ground.

Rufus caught her and pulled her up tightly against his chest.

Before her mind could tell her she should resist, her back was to the square wooden beam that served as the center tent pole. She was trapped once more by his overwhelming strength.

For a few moments, she struggled. Eventually, her puny attempts ceased and she conceded, slumping wearily against him. She dragged air into her lungs and forced her gaze up to meet his, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing defeat stamped on her face.

He held her easily, subduing her, and she recognized the awesome power of his muscled arms and thighs. She'd never stood a chance.

"Rufus, talk to me. It's too quiet in there. Is all well?" Donald asked.

"Yes, I have her now."

"Well, then I'll go on to dinner, unless, that is, you need help…"

"No, I have everything well in hand," he answered evenly. His gaze remained on her, his face betraying no emotion.

Jacq worried now the fire of her self-righteous anger was banked. What reprisal would he seek against her for the attack?

His breathing was even, and other than a slight flush across his cheeks, he appeared unaffected.

She wished she could say the same, but that odd combination of fear and excitement thrummed along her veins. Her breaths shortened and her body softened, yielding to his. Molten liquid dampened the juncture of her thighs, and she was helpless to stop the slight undulation of her hips.

His nostrils flared as if sensing her ripening arousal.

When he leaned ever so slightly closer, her head fell back to grant him access to her mouth. Through half-closed eyes, she watched him stare at her mouth, and she wantonly slid her tongue in a circle to wet her lips. She heard his groan a moment before his lips slammed down on hers.

For an angry kiss, it was a doozy. She learned his taste while battling for control of this joining. They parried—mouths open, tongues stabbing.

Then something happened that shifted the kiss from another battle between steel-willed adversaries to a burning need to brand and possess each other.

His palms captured her cheeks and held her captive while his mouth ate hers, his lips dragging over hers in drugging circles.

Jacq mewled and tugged at his hair, her tongue sliding against his, lapping, sucking, until they were both breathless.

When he ground his ripening cock against her lower belly she relented, widening her legs to make room for him to step between. His hands raked her skirt upward, then his knees dipped slightly, and her feet left the ground.

She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and lifted her legs to encircle his waist. They both groaned into each other's mouths as their bodies met with only the fabric of his braies separating their straining loins.

Held high against him, her body open to his, she rubbed her moistening pussy along his length, entering a rhythm matched by their circling mouths.

Jacq's world narrowed to that burning juncture where Rufus rutted against her, the fabric chafing her tender flesh. Animalistic grunts and groans rose between them.

Mindless now, Jacq forgot why she shouldn't be doing this with him. She forgot she didn't like even him—her body adored him.

His hands cupped her buttocks and squeezed and released, over and over, encouraging her to rub frantically, up and down against his cock until clothes were too confining, and she was desperate to feel the steel of his shaft inside her.

She broke the kiss. "Please!" she gasped, even as her hips rolled again.

The muscles of his buttocks bunched beneath her heels as he straightened with her in his arms and walked the short steps to her pallet. He knelt, holding her pressed to him, and lay her down amid the furs.

She writhed against him and repeated in a long keening wail, "Please, now, Rufus."

He rose up on his knees and dragged her bliaut over her head. Then he rent the neck opening of her borrowed shirt to the waist, shoving the ragged edges aside to expose her breasts.

Rufus leaned over her and nuzzled her breast. "Jacq," he groaned, and his mouth opened over one straining crest. He sucked it hard into his mouth.

She nearly screamed from the pleasure. But there were still too many clothes between them. She wanted to touch skin.

As she struggled clumsily to free her arms, his mouth never stopped its ministrations, except to trade breasts. Bare now to the waist, she grabbed the hem of his surcoat and slid it upward.

He released her breast with an audible pop and he leaned away to finish pulling the coat over his head.

Jacq's hands were already busy with the tie at the waist of his braies, but he pushed her away and stood, toeing off his boots and sliding pants and stockings off together.

Missing the contact of his flesh on hers, Jacq came to her knees. At the sight of his fully aroused sex, Jacq's breath caught in her throat.

His cock strained upward from his groin, thick and straight. Her eyes fixed on the part of his body that had figured too frequently in her night and day dreams. She reached for him, her hand almost circling him with her long fingers. She squeezed.

Rufus groaned and his hips pulsed.

Jacq leaned forward and glided her cheek along his sex, enjoying the satiny skin that stretched taut over the hard shaft. She nuzzled him with her face, breathing in the musky scent of him, then slid her tongue along his length, painting him with the moisture of her mouth, worshiping him.

So this was passion.

"Mother of God," Rufus moaned, and pulsed against her again. Exquisite ripples of ecstasy coursed through him.

When her mouth closed over the head of his cock, he feared he'd spend himself then and there.

Jacq took him deep inside her mouth while her hands, lubricated with the moisture of her tongue, began to twist gently around his shaft, following the ebb and flow of her hot mouth.

His fingers scraped through her hair, then tightened at her nape, tugging her mouth away. He wanted to be inside her when he came, and he was moments from release.

Her face turned upward and their gazes locked, then she stuck out her tongue and continued to tease the circumference of the plump head of his cock.

"Witch!" He felt his entire body tighten as he fought the urge to fuck her sweet mouth. "No more. I cannot wait." He pushed her roughly away and grabbed her at the waist, flipping her onto her belly. He ignored her yelp of surprise and pressed his knees between hers.

Jacq came up on her arms and spread her knees wide apart on the furs as he knelt behind her. "Hurry," she said her voice trembling.

"This will be no gentle taming," he whispered in her ear as he leaned over her.

"Taming? I'm no horse, you bastard," she retorted, but her voice quavered.

"Ah Jacq, if ever a woman needed taming…" Rufus grinned. The woman didn't give an inch. Pushing her hair forward, he bit the nape of her neck at the same time he slid himself between her legs, nudging his cock against her moist folds.

His hands smoothed down the outside of her thighs then came up, pushing against the inside of her knees to widen them farther. He leaned back, hands now on her lush buttocks, kneading. He could see her cunt, glistening wet for him. With the tip of his cock pressed there, he dipped into her.

He felt her tense and try to push back against him to deepen the penetration, but he held her away, his hands pressing on her rump. Again and again, he pressed in and out just wetting the head of his cock with her creamy response.

Her hands clutched fistfuls of fur and her breath rasped in ragged sobs.

He leaned over her until his mouth was at her ear again and whispered, "Witch, tell me what you want."

"You," she responded, followed by a long loud moan as he continued to tease her with his shallow movements.

"No, tell me how you want me."

"I want you deeper," she gasped.

He flexed into her, one quick, deep teasing glide. "Like that?"

"No, all of you now… Please, Rufus… Now, harder!" She was nearly screaming, urgency making her voice ragged.

Rufus changed his mind about how he wanted to take her this first time. He wanted to watch her face as he pressed deep inside her. He pulled out and rolled her to her back. Her arms were already reaching for him, but instead he knelt between her legs, hooking his elbows beneath her knees to raise her buttocks off the ground.

Poised at her entrance, he waited for her to open her eyes.

Her green-eyed gaze met his for one charged moment, then slipped down his body. Her quim pulsed against his head and her back arched off the furs. "Rufus, now!"

He slammed inside her, driving all the way to the hilt.

She came. He knew she came, for she screamed long and loud, her head thrashing from side to side while he pumped in and out of her, his hard thrusts lifting her higher. The sounds of skin slapping skin and their loud panting breaths filled the tent. Her back arched again as another tremor tightened her passage, rippling along his shaft as he rode her.

Suddenly he was mindless as well, insensible to anything except the quick, rhythmic slapping. He felt his climax come from his toes, tightening his thighs, his balls, bursting from him in a flood of warmth to bathe her womb. He didn't want it to end.

Afterward, he collapsed on top of Jacq, breathing hard against her neck, still flexing to drive inside her although he was spent. The sensation of her hot, rhythmic pulsings was too exquisite to give up.

Her breaths grew shallow beneath his weight, and he groaned.

Rufus pushed up on his arms and stared down at the beautiful woman lying beneath him, still connected to his body in the most intimate way. Her mouth was slackened, slightly blurred from his kisses, her skin dewy. Her passion belonged to him—she would not be able to deny it now.

Back with a new free chapter!

I have pics from the booksigning in Shreveport, but I'm lazy today. It was only a three-hour drive back, but I'm still tired from all the schmoozing. We recluses drain like a battery when we're around so many people. Loved it though. The NOLA folks fed us well.

Click on the cover and find chapter five of the next installment of Bad Moon Rising! It's interesting how this serialized story is working out. I try every time to make sure the chapter will hold your interest (meaning I have to cram it with sex for all you sluts!), but also move the plot forward. Hope you enjoy! Those of you who have been participating in helping plot this one will note I didn't get our girl, DiDi, to the island yet. Sorry about that, but I couldn't seem to get her out of bed with Mason…

Leave a comment and let me know how you like the story so far!

Guest Blogger: Taige Crenshaw

Spin on Reality

By Taige Crenshaw

One of my favorite parts of writing is being able to put my own spin on reality. Taking something that is not of the real and making it so. Making it real to this world that readers want to live in that world. Be a part of the story as it unfolds.

To do this I can make it up totally in my thoughts and build it or take pieces of history, folklore and other interesting tidbits and molding it into what I want to. Doing this is a powerful aphrodisiac. The balance of creating a story that brings a person into it is just like a seductive dance. First you have to let them get a feel of your rhythm. Once they do then you move to the groove. Spinning it around. Weaving that reality to bring them deeper into the reality you've built. This is what I strive for in each world I build.

In the world and myths of my upcoming release Indigo Rain this is what I've done. I've taken many parts of history, folklore and other interesting tidbits to create the world of the story. In writing the book I sank into the myths that I was creating. It was fun to bring in various things I find fascinating. Kalina Erutan, my heroine is an Amazonian Warrior and I was able to create a mythology of her. This mythology is embedded into the very earth. Ryne Garon, my hero is a firebird and I put a major spin on what they are. I'm being deliberately vague about both because I don't want to give away anything too much about the story. In building the world of the Phoenix Intelligence Agency there are so many beings and things to explore. I'm having a wonderful time laying down the layers of the world.

Each time I write a new book I wonder where I can go next. That is the thing with writing you get to do a spin on reality.

****

Taige Crenshaw is a multi-published author with books available at Ellora's Cave Publishing, Liquid Silver Books, Loose Id, and Total-E-Bound. Taige has been enthralled with the written word from time she picked up her first book. It wasn't long before she started to make up her own tales of romance. With novels set in today, in alternate dimensions, or in the future she writes with adventure, fun sassy heroine's, and sexy hero's. Always hard at work creating new and exciting places Taige can be found curled up with a hot novel with exciting characters when she is not creating her own. Join her in the fun, frolic, interesting people and far reaches of the world in her novels. You can find out more about Taige at her website: http://www.taigecrenshaw.com or blog: http://www.taigecrenshaw.com/blog.

To save the world and humanity from extinction from a being that can herald Armageddon a woman must trust a man whose race destroyed the people she held most dear. There's more at stake… their hearts.

Buy March 14, 2011 at Summerhouse Publishing.

Saturday Snippet: All About The Guy (Male Protagonist)

I'll be the first to admit, I'm a sucker for warrior. You know they guy. He couldn't sweet-talk or romance himself out of tight spot, but he's the one you want on your side when danger's around. I love him because he's hard, proud and it takes him a long time to figure out that there's more than lust going on when he sets his eyes on "the one." Tetrik from Warlord's Destiny is just such a warrior. When he falls, he falls hard. It's a lovely thing to watch.

[image error]

"…In Delilah Devlin's WARLORD'S DESTINY, a strong man is brought to his knees by an equally strong woman. Interesting, attractive personalities make this read especially powerful."

Nominee for Best Paranormal Erotic Novel of 2005 by Romantic Times BookClub Magazine!

TOP PICK! 4 1/2 Stars, Page Traynor, RT BOOKreviews on FATED MATES

"Watching these two grow is both amusing and touching… I found Warlord's Destiny to be a very well-written novel, and ultimately a very entertaining story to read."
Book Review Network on WARLORD'S DESTINY

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

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

So, that's what Kronaki warriors look like!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"May the Goddess save us!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're short." A frown drew his dark brows together in a daunting scowl.

Mora drew back. "I am tall for a Mellusian woman."

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

"But we've prepared a banquet," her mother's voice quavered behind her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He turned then to her mother. "Fetch it. Bring it to the mage's chamber."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

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

Emma Petersen

Jody Wallace

Lauren Dane

Leah Braemel

Lissa Matthews

Mari Carr

McKenna Jeffries

Selena Blake

Taige Crenshaw

TJ Michaels

Guest Blogger: Margaret Rowe (Contest!)

Psst! See my note at the bottom of this post! ~DD

Thanks so much to Delilah for the chance to visit! I write hot Regency romances as Maggie Robinson for Kensington Brava and hotter ones as Margaret Rowe for Berkley Heat. Since March is Women's History Month, I've been thinking a lot about my historical heroines and the difficulties they face simply because they are women.

Some readers complain when a fictional character exhibits too much of a 21st century sensibility, but it's easy to see why a writer rewrites some boundaries. We've sure come a long way, baby. A Regency era wife could own no property of her own; anything she might bring into the marriage belonged to her husband. And even if he was head-over-heels in love with her, he could only leave her money after he was dead, but not gift her property in life. If they were not head-over-heels, a wife could not sue her husband for divorce, even if he was unfaithful or beat her. After 1857, he could sue her, though. If they did separate, the kids belonged to him, no matter what his sins might be. A husband and wife were considered one person in law, and woe to the independent woman who did not marry. Her father would be bossing her around instead.

Sounds pretty grim, doesn't it? And we're not even talking about voting. No wonder I don't want to write about these poor creatures who were totally dependent on men. So my heroines sometimes walk on the wild side of the street, perhaps historically inaccurately, but I can't help it. They're not sitting in the parlor stitching samplers waiting for a suitor to come to dispel the boredom, marry him and then die in childbirth.

My current heroine Frederica Wells in Margaret Rowe's erotic March release Any Wicked Thing is a medieval scholar who writes (accurate) history books, but she finds herself the ward of her childhood friend and adult nemesis Sebastian Goddard, Duke of Roxbury. Devilish Sebastian is the last person in the world who should be in charge of demure Freddie, so sparks fly. Pretty soon Goddard Castle is on fire as Sebastian teaches her all the things he's learned while she stayed home. But Freddie is a quick learner and gives as good as she gets, doing any wicked thing and then some. .

Which Regency ladylike activity would you excel at? Sewing, singing, playing the pianoforte, painting, archery, riding or perhaps something else? Comment to win a copy of Any Wicked Thing!

One disastrous night…

At twenty-one, Sebastian Goddard, heir to the duke of Roxbury, desperately sought diversion from a life smothered by peerage and position. His quest led him to one night of reckless passion, resulting in betrayal by his oldest friend Frederica Wells, and the discovery of his father's darkest secret. Reeling from the devastation, he embarked on a ten-year debauch that well earned him the nickname–"Lord of Sin."

One delicious bargain…

Now Sebastian has returned to find his late father's estate in ruins and Freddie more seductive than ever. He's determined to drive her from Goddard Castle to pay her back for her deception and to protect his own dark secret. But Freddie makes him an offer he can't resist…she'll be his mistress for a month if he'll consent to sell her the crumbling castle afterward.

Everything he could desire…

The Lord of Sin plans to shock and scandalize Freddie—to tease her every desire and leave her wanting. But his fiery-willed lover soon teaches him the past may not be what it seemed, the present more tempting than he could have imagined, and the future filled with more promise than he dared dream. For thirty-one nights is not nearly enough when you've been given a license to do any wicked thing…

www.margaretrowe.net

www.maggierobinson.net

[It always happens! My Access Romance blog doesn't follow a regular schedule, so I couldn't plan this in advance. Maggie's my guest today, but you can also find me at Access Romance, with a pretty picture for you to "Tell Me a Story". Be sure to say hello to Maggie before heading over to the Access Romance blog. ~DD]

Guest Blogger: Cindy Spencer Pape (Contest!)

Hey there! I'm heading out of town for a conference, so I'll only have spotty access to email and this blog. To keep you entertained, I have guests arriving every day. Check out the schedule!

Thursday: Cindy Spencer Pape

Friday: Margaret Rowe

Saturday: Snippet Saturday (moi!)

Sundy: Taige Crenshaw

Enjoy! ~DD

IF THE SHEATH FITS

A brief overview of condom history

By Cindy Spencer Pape

A question that often arises among romance authors is whether or not to have their heroes suit up. Dress the soldier. Wear a raincoat. In other words, use protection, act responsibly, practice safe sex. The condom has become one of the more debated aspects of the romance genre, especially erotic romance.

Arguments on both sides can be fierce. Many authors and readers argue that it's irresponsible of fiction to not show characters engaging in (and presumably enjoying) safe sex. Others maintain that the romance novel is inherently a fantasy, and to interrupt the moment with mundane precautions would detract from the reader's enjoyment. While both sides have valid points to be made, the decision gets even trickier when writing a historical romance.

Condoms have been available, in one form or another, for a long, long time. Whether or not our historical heroes would have had ready access to them or any inclination to use them depends on a lot of variables: when and where the hero lives being the most important. Wealth, religion, educational level—all of these can factor in. And of course, depending on how it was made and what it was made of, the efficacy varied wildly. So to get it right, an author actually needs to know a little bit about the origins of the little foil packet.

When I started writing Marry Me, Marietta, for a special Ellora's Cave project a few years ago, I had to do some serious digging to find out what my Victorian physician hero would have access to and use. Of course, once I started, I became fascinated by the research and had to know more.

Nobody knows exactly when the condom was invented. There are Egyptian hieroglyphics roughly 3000 years old that show a man wearing what looks like a linen sheath over his penis. Nobody is sure if this was to prevent disease or pregnancy, or just for decoration. There are rumors of the Romans using this or that for contraception, but no definite references to what could be considered a condom. Cave paintings in France dated to around 100 AD again show men wearing a colored sheath, but again, we have no idea why.

However, people have been trying to not get pregnant, for one reason or another, almost as long as others have been trying to get pregnant. And it's just common sense to put a barrier between the sperm and the womb. So the use of homemade condoms could go back—well—as at least as long as humans have been making sausage. Given the obviousness of a length of sheep gut with a knot tied in it, it seems likely that these relatively risky versions have been used for a very long time. Keep in mind though, that most of Europe was Catholic through the Middle Ages, and that the Catholic Church considered contraception of any kind (even withdrawal) a major sin. So while the concept may well have existed, it probably wasn't discussed publicly or in common use.

The first written reference to what we now call a condom was by an Italian scientist named Fallopio (yes, as in Fallopian tubes) in 1564. He claimed to have "invented" a device to prevent the spread of venereal disease. The description isn't very detailed, but apparently it was a linen sheath that fit over the glans—basically a little bonnet that tied on just over the head of the penis. He actually tested it on 1100 men and none of them became infected. So the condom for disease prevention isn't a recent phenomenon. Another doctor published something similar in 1597.

From there forward, there's a pretty clear record of condom use and innovation. They're mentioned in a French play from 1655, maybe in the correspondence of two French noblewomen from the late 1600s and quite extensively in the memoirs of the legendary Giacomo Casanova, published in 1797. The famous lover didn't much like them and there's an engraving in the book of he and a friend inflating them like balloons to entertain a pair of ladies, thus starting a proud tradition carried out by high school boys to this day.

The word condom dates in print to 1706, in a poem, but the origins of the word remain a mystery. Legend says that a Dr. Condom introduced them to Charles II of England as a means of preventing additional illegitimate offspring, but no support of this has ever been found, and it's now assumed to be a myth.

By the late 1700s you could find prophylactics made of hand sewn goat, sheep, or cow intestine, tanned fish skin, oiled silk, or even very fine leather. Some covered the whole penis, others were caps or "capottes" that just covered the glans, and most had a drawstring at the base to hold them in place. Condom technology really took off in the 1800s. They had great names like cundums, French Letters, French Preservatives, Male Safes, English Armor, and "Patent Circular Protector."

Early experiments with rubber were fairly unsuccessful, until Goodyear and Hancock (separately) in about 1844 invented the vulcanization process. The new technique allowed for much more durable protection, though the resulting condoms were thicker than those made of skin. They were also designed to be washed out and reused until the rubber started to crumble. The first advertisement for rubber condoms appeared in the New York Times in 1861, so we know they were widely available by then. In 1873, the Comstock Act prohibited the sale of contraceptives by mail in the US, so for many years, they became harder to get with relative anonymity. The reservoir tip was added in 1901, and a method for making them without seams was discovered in Germany in 1912. In 1930 the latex condom was introduced, thus creating the rubber we know today.

Condom history often parallels the mores of society. The strict moralism of America in the early 1900s led to concentrated efforts to restrict condom use. As a result, during WWI, US soldiers had the highest venereal disease rate of any country, over 70%, by some sources, and by WWII, the US military had come around and begun actively promoting safe sex. In 1949, Japan produced the first colored condoms, and lubricated rubbers debuted in the 1950s. In the 60s, polyurethane condoms were introduced, but were quickly pulled from the market because of their high rate of breakage. Spermicidal lubricant was first introduced in 1975.

The late 1960s saw a downturn in the condom business. Between the introduction of the pill and antibiotics taking the fear out of syphilis and gonorrhea, the idea of a sensation-dulling barrier lost a lot of its appeal. This turned around dramatically after the world learned about HIV in the 1980s, and the discovery that condoms dramatically reduced transmission of this incurable disease. Suddenly condoms were big business again. The wild 1990s saw the introduction of sized condoms, along with novelty products like flavors, ribs, studs, and even glow-in-the-dark rubbers. Polyurethane was reintroduced, with newer technologies solving the old issues of breakage. Condom innovations continue, as safe-sex becomes more and more a prominent social issue. And, for those with latex allergies, or who just like things old-school, be assured you can still buy condoms made of animal gut. They're available on line or in your favorite drugstore—right next to the magnums and the ones ribbed for your pleasure.

So should we take time in a romance for our heroes to put on a condom? That question remains up to the author and the reader. Feel free to leave your opinion in the comments below, I'd love to hear them. But if you're going to write it, do it right. Learn a little about the history of this marvelous invention. Make the condom fit the place, the time, the story—and, of course, the hero.

References:

 Youssef, H (01 Apr 1993). "The history of the condom". Journal of the Royal Society of Medicine.

Link: article

 Brodie, Janet Farrell, 1997. Contraception and Abortion in Nineteenth Century America, Cornell University Press.

Link: article

 "Trojan Condoms History (Including a History of Condoms)" from the Trojan Condoms website: Trojan Condom History

 "The History of Condoms" from the Everything-Condoms.com: history of condoms

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

(& contest!)

I want to thank Delilah for having me here today and letting me share the fun. I most recently used this research in my Steampunk/Fantasy/Romance, Steam & Sorcery, Book 1 of a brand new series called The Gaslight Chronicles at Carina Press. It just came out this week, and you can read an excerpt here.

To celebrate the new release, I'm running a contest. Comment on any (or all) of the blogs I visit on my blog tour this week. One entry per person, per blog stop. You can visit my blog to find the other stops. After the final stop on Sunday, March 13, I'll draw one winner for a free download of Steam & Sorcery, or their choice of my other available titles. Happy Reading!