Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 541

Real Fortune Cookie Wisdom

On Friday night, I ate Chinese food with the fam. Not my favorite cuisine. I like a lot of spice. However, it's always fun to get to the end of the meal and open those crunchy shells to read the fortunes inside. This time, mine made me smile.

Every job is a self-portrait of the person who did it.

Autograph your work with excellence.

How strange and appropriate was that? I'm not one to dwell on what's not real. Yes, I did stand in the dark during that last eclipse at 2:00 AM, hoping to soak up a little magic. Yes, I have been known to do a "hand spell" when I can't sleep because I'm waiting for something to happen. Heavens, I've even been known to talk to the air, hoping some entity is listening and will grant me solace or a wish. What I don't do is put too much stock in anything other than my own strengths.

However, every now and then, I get those little wake up calls. Those little coincidences that surprise, amuse and make me wonder. I told you about the feral cat I met and befriended on the night of that lunar eclipse. The last time I did a hand spell, I got a contract with Berkley. My confidence has been a little shaken lately, but now, I have an answer from the ether. Autograph my work with excellence.

Snippet Saturday: Love Scene

I'm off to Memphis for the weekend. I'll be back with pics! Enjoy the snippets! ~ DD

A love scene is empty unless supercharged with emotion. And I'm not so particular whether that emotion is anger, lust, want, or need. However, when there's sorrow in the mix, somehow the sex transcends. Read on and see what I mean. I fell in love with True here.

"I have a definite soft spot in my heart for the strong silent type and True in this story…that's my kind of guy. A little rough around the edges that loves as hard as he works. Can I PLEASE have a True? Man alive." ~ Taryn Elliott's blog

"I thought the story behind True was fascinating; he is a captivating character. A delightful read." ~ Sensual Reads

Two men plus one woman equals three bodies on fire…

True Wyatt's hands are going to be full enough keeping the herd alive through the dead of winter. The last thing he needs to hear is that his brother Lonny has rented out their isolated hunting cabin to a reclusive writer—especially a sassy, disaster-prone brunette. Who has the time to babysit a city girl until Spring?

With a deadline looming, erotica writer Honey Cahill is looking forward to six distraction-free weeks to finish her next book. However, between Lonny's flirty sensuality and True's hard-edged intensity, the Wyatt brothers set the stage of her imagination for a winter of wicked delights.

The fire that destroys the cabin, though, is as real as it gets. Forced to seek a bed under True and Lonny's roof, the temptation to experiment—all in the name of research, of course—is overpowering. One night in their arms doesn't feel like enough; it feels like more. Particularly with one cowboy who fires all her cylinders…

Warning: It's a Devlin ménage—expect men with stamina and not an ounce of mercy to behave like sex gods, and the lucky woman to love every minute of it. A little domination goes a long, long way…

Everywhere she looked was so masculine, so hard, that her fingers tensed and her mouth grew dry.

But it was his cock that made her want to weep. Thick, long and so aroused it lifted proudly from his groin—it reminded her of everything she'd lost. She missed sex, missed feeling a man thrust deep inside her body. Missed the heat, the gentle violence.

"You're doing it again."

His gruff tone coaxed a smile from her. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Killing the mood."

He sat on the edge of the bed. "Does it look like I'm worried?"

"Nope." She flipped back the covers, inviting him to lie beside her.

He eased into the bed, coming to his side, facing her, but not touching. "So tell me."

Honey drew in a breath, fortifying herself to say it. "I was married."

He nodded, but held silent.

She took another breath, but this time her chest didn't feel quite so tight. "He was a school teacher, but joined the Guard. Army Guard. His unit shipped to Iraq."

True scooted closer and clasped the hand that lay between them. His thumb swept up and down the back of her hand, soothing her as she breathed deeply, trying to put to words the pain of her loss. She cleared her throat. "He died three years ago. Shot in an ambush. I usually spend my winters holed up at the beach house I bought with the insurance he took out. I couldn't face it this year. Thought I needed to get away. It's so different here. The air's fresher. The cold…it's nothing like home."

"It sounds like you're not over him, Honey. You sure this is what you want?"

She met his gaze, but tears caused her view of the hard edge of his jaw to waver. "I have to let go sometime. And I have. Mostly. I thought if I could stay busy, maybe I wouldn't dwell on it. I felt so happy, moving in, meeting you and Lone…I felt ready."

True let go of her hand and combed his fingers through her hair, pushing it behind her ear. "We don't have to do anything."

She sniffed and shook her head. "That's not it. I want you. It's just the getting naked part that freaked me out a little. I haven't been with anyone else. And then Lonny kissed me and I felt happy, horny again." She wrinkled her nose, knowing she shouldn't be talking about his brother when she lay next to him in bed, but hey, he'd wanted to know. "He made me laugh, made me forget about how awkward it can be."

True's brows lowered. "I made it awkward?"

She swallowed hard, recognizing that something about his quiet intensity was actually turning her on. In fact, every spike in her arousal appeared to be directly linked to his increasing tension. "It's awkward only because I'm realizing how badly I want this to be good."

"Are you sure you should be in bed with me?" he rasped.

Honey quivered at the raw sound. "I'm attracted to you both. I've already admitted that. Can't stop thinking about some really naughty things, but I need you, True. I need you to be the first. And I know how that sounds. But I can't help what I feel, what I need."

He nodded, but his expression didn't close up, didn't look disapproving. He moved closer, pulling her flush against his body. His cock was there between them, hard and pulsing. She tilted her hips to rub her belly against it.

A muscle flexed at the edge of his jaw; his nostrils flared. "I'll tell you what, sweetheart," he whispered. "I'll be your first. And then we'll talk about what's next. I thought I was the only one with issues. Makes me feel like a selfish bastard that I got so wound up about you choosing me. I had a wife, but she's still alive and kicking. Married to someone she likes a whole lot better than me."

She gave him a weak smile. "I can't believe that."

His mouth curved. "I'm not the easiest person to live with."

Her smile widened. "Imagine that. Did you bark at her too?"

"Never." His smile dimmed. "But then again, I didn't talk to her much either. She hated the silences, hated being alone when I was out working cattle. What was his name?"

She didn't have any trouble following his segue. "Kenny."

"What did he think about what you do?"

"Are you kidding?" Her smile didn't dim, but his face shimmered in the tears welling in her eyes again. "He was my biggest fan."

The tears did it. He couldn't be jealous of a dead man, but the fact she cried over him, the fact she'd really loved him, made him ache. For her.

He reached out slowly, slid a hand around her waist and pulled her closer. When her head settled on his arm, he breathed easier, taking in the sensations—the scent of her hair and skin, the softness of her cheek on his arm, her tightening breasts against his chest. Yeah, he was hard, but he could stand the discomfort. It was her sadness that nearly killed him.

She sighed and snuggled closer, easing her thigh higher over his hip. Her hand made a tentative glide over his belly then stopped liked she'd realized what she'd done.

Her breath held for a long moment.

And he couldn't help it. He swore silently to himself, because his cock surged, nudging the back of her hand.

He held his breath, counting, wanting to be strong, willing his body back under control, but she turned her hand and glided her fingers down his shaft. It was just a light skim of her fingertips, but it was enough to make his pulse leap.

Her hips moved, surging against him. "True," she whispered.

He kissed her forehead. "Baby, be sure."

"I am. I swear. Please."

He cupped her cheek then curled his fingers under her chin. He slid his lips along her skin as he tilted her face higher. When his mouth touched hers, she sighed and melted closer.

Slowly, he moved away, just far enough to give them both room to look. He stared down between them, at her hard, cherry nipples, at her soft belly that quivered against his rock-hard cock.

Honey raised her thigh, setting her foot against his leg, opening herself. She watched him just as avidly as he smoothed a palm over her hip, rubbing her thigh to knee, then slid to her inner thigh and trailed his fingers upward to search between her legs.

She was wet, her sex steamy. He thrust two fingers into her and watched her eyelids dip, her nostrils flare.

He dragged in the steamy scent of her and swirled his fingers inside her.

"True," she groaned.

He thrust deeper, rubbing the pad of his thumb over her clit, relieved to discover it was hard.

"True," she said, her voice higher, more urgent.

He kissed her forehead again, smiling softly to himself. "What, baby?"

She nuzzled his cheek then whispered in his ear, "Got a condom?"

He pulled his fingers free and rolled to his back, stretching to reach the drawer to the nightstand. He pulled it open and fished for a packet, cursing when the drawer slid farther out and tilted downward. But his fingers closed around a small square just before the drawer crashed to the floor.

He came back to her, bit the foil and ripped it open. "I need two hands."

"Let me?"

He gritted his teeth, wanting to cloak himself, because her hands were shaking and her fingers were cold, but he gritted his teeth and waited, watching while she plucked the center of the circle to stretch the tip, then placed it over the head and began to slowly roll it down his length.

Either she wasn't very skilled or she was nervous. She only rolled it halfway down his shaft.

"Been a while," she said, then bit her lip.

"You're doing fine."

Her fingers were too tentative and the latex stubborn.

Finally, he pushed away her hands and gripped himself, gliding the condom downward until he was sure it wouldn't come off when he began stroking her. Then he rolled and came over her.

Her breaths gusted in shallow huffs. Her hands gripped his shoulders.

He nudged her apart with his knees, but rested on his elbows so he wouldn't overwhelm her with his weight. "Put me inside you."

She fisted him. This time her fingers closed tighter around his shaft. On his knees, he reared back a little, gave her room to position him, then he flexed his hips and thighs, pushing forward and finding her center. He thrust slowly inside.

Her hand drew away, slid over his side, scooped at his lower back then traveled lower. Her fingernails scraped over his ass and dug into his flesh.

"True…"

"Yes, sweetheart." He pulled back, leaving just the crown inside her.

Her head tilted back, digging into the mattress. "Fuck me," she said, her voice deepening. "God, I ache for you. Please, don't tease. Don't be gentle."

Pulsing forward once, he bent to rub her lips with his. "You sure you're ready?"

Her nails dug in harder, her head rolled side-to-side, her hips surged upward, trying to capture him as he pulled away again. "Bastard, just do it."

He almost smiled, but his desperation made it a grimace. He sank, sliding deeper and deeper, and then hooking at the end to force her hips to move with his. When he was as far as he could go, he ground hard, moving side-to-side, stretching her, drilling—needing to be as deep as he could go, wanting to force her to recognize how well he filled her—giving in to the primitive, primal urge to imprint her with his masculinity.

Honey didn't seem to mind. Her body shivered against him, her hips bucking under him. Her thighs crept around his waist and held tight, giving him a glimpse of her own possessive urges. She pressed her lips against his shoulder then bit him there. "Move, please," she groaned. "I need you to move."

He came up on his arms, peering down at her, his gaze raking her spiked breasts, her undulating belly, then staring down at where their bodies joined. He eased from her, watching his cock, reddened and glazed pulling from her lips, before stroking in again, screwing her slowly.

Honey's features blurred, her cheeks reddened, her breaths became jagged. "Talk to me," she gasped.

True shook his head. "What?"

"Talk to me. You're staring, but what do you see?"

"Beautiful. Baby, let me talk…after."

"I need you to talk, to help me relax. I'm hot…hurting even…want to come, but I'm too tense."

"Not a good time." He bent and skimmed his mouth along her jaw, but she turned away and her fingers curved around his shoulders, holding him back.

He leaned his head on her shoulder. "This something he did?"

"Yes."

"I'm not him."

"I know that. But I'm…"

"Are you scared?"

"A little. I want this so much, but I can't let it happen."

He drove into her again, but her legs weren't squeezing around him now. She wasn't lowering them, but she wasn't participating anymore. "Dammit."

"You say that a lot."

He grunted and slowed his motions, trying to gather back the frayed edges of his control. If she needed him to comfort her, he'd give her that. However hard it was for him to do this. He wasn't used to talking during sex. Didn't quite know how to start. "I'm not an easy man."

"I think that's one of the first things I noticed about you," she said breathily. "The fact you weren't easy. I thought you didn't like me much."

"I didn't not like you. I just didn't want you on my mountain."

"Because I'm a girl."

"Yeah. It wasn't anything personal."

"Do you still feel the same?"

"Guess I do. It's a hard place in winter."

"And yet you're fucking me."

True snorted and ground into her. "I'm a man."

"And I'm available."

He pulled out and thrust in again. "It's not like that."

Honey's lips thinned. "Yeah, maybe we shouldn't talk."

"You promised you wouldn't get bent out of shape."

"I wanted something I've been missing, something you can't give me. Obviously. Let's just fuck. That's all you want anyway."

"Dammit."

Her smile didn't hold an ounce of humor.

Feeling as though he'd failed a test, he pumped harder inside her. "Yeah, maybe we shouldn't talk too much. We can't manage to do that without having an argument."

He'd bet she never had that problem with her paragon of a husband, but as soon as he thought it, he felt guilty. The man was dead. She'd loved him.

He was jealous of a dead man.

True pulled free and pushed her legs off his hips. "Turn."

Her eyes widened, but she did as he said, turning slowly onto her belly, then coming up on her knees in front of him.

This view of her body took his breath away, made him so hard he could barely squeeze a breath from his lungs. Round, peach ass, soaked, reddened labia. Her slender back quivered.

True tucked his fingers inside her, coaxing more of her natural lubricant down her channel then removed them. Fisting his cock, he fed it into her cunt, pushing deep.

Finally, clasping her hips, he rocked forward and back, faster and faster.

When her head dropped between her shoulders, he reached around her and swirled his fingers on her clit, circling relentlessly while he hammered her.

Her back arched, her bottom thrust against him, backing up to take him deeper. He had it right now. Could give her this if he couldn't give her anything else of what she seemed to need from a man.

When her pussy clamped hard around him and she mewled like a kitten, he clutched her hips again and hammered faster, harder, not relenting until she gave a muffled scream.

True said his own hallelujahs in silence and pumped twice more before emptying himself inside her. He rocked in and out, milking every last sweet convulsion until she'd wrung him dry. Then he pulled free, settled on his side and dragged her into his arms.

He might not be the man she wanted, but he was the one holding her now.

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

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

Eliza Gayle

Emma Petersen

HelenKay Dimon

Jody Wallace

Lauren Dane

Leah Braemel

Lissa Matthews

Mari Carr

McKenna Jeffries

Shelli Stevens

Taige Crenshaw

TJ Michaels

Catch me at Access Romance!

Today, I'm blogging at Access Romance about, what else? Vikings!

Join me if you can. I'd love the company.

Access Romance

Ass-sitting

"The biggest sin is sitting on your ass." ~ Florynce Kennedy

I'm hoping she meant that figuratively or I'm screwed.

It's the day after Snowmageddon. We got a paltry five inches. Not that five inches isn't enough to halt all traffic (including school buses!). Yesterday, I had the hellion and her kids here because they were "bored". Like I'm the entertainment? Little high-pitched voices screaming, "She hit me!", "No-ny! No-ny!" (she can't say Nina), and the sounds of things crashing to the floor, sent the muse into hiding. I should have unpacked the Pack 'n' Play and given them both boxing gloves.

Still, no excuses. Today, I will pay the price with double the pagecount to make up.

I'm sure what Florynce meant was that the greatest sin is doing nothing. Doing nothing when it's time to speak. Doing nothing when it's time to act.

Well, I'm acting now. Just on my ass.

Why my vampires are never bats…

Yeah, disturbing, huh? But wait, if you look long enough you… No, never mind. I don't know why that picture seemed to call to me today.

I've been back in my vamp world the past few days, writing a quickie for Moses Brown from the My Immortal Knight series. No bats there either. The story's coming very naturally. It's fun, it's sexy. I'm hoping to get to scary, but sexy might be all that Moses has. Poor man's been waiting a long, long time for his Happy Ever After.

Snowmageddon's supposed to be happening right now. Forecast keeps saying 6-8 inches, and that's surreal for this part of the state. I'm hoping we keep our power, because being cooped up due to bad roads is bad enough. Being cooped up without Internet or TV—with two little ones—well, just shoot me now.

Guest Blogger: Nikki Duncan

Small Town Charm

By Nikki Duncan

Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name.

Sometimes you want to go where no on knows your name.

Sometimes the "where" doesn't matter as long as one particular person knows your name.

In the Whispering Cove anthology, that place is the same for all our characters. It's the small town of Whispering Cove, Maine where a group of friends shared good times and bad before splitting up to build their individual lives.

A couple of our characters never left that small town where old men sit on a street corner gossiping, where the town doctor still makes house calls, where the waitresses know the favorites of all the customers, and where secrets are non-existent. Others escaped to the "big city" with zero, or limited, intentions of returning…until three scheming granddads use a high school reunion to get their runaways home.

A fun part of this anthology was seeing the transformations the different characters made. In WICKED, my heroine Danica left Whispering Cove as an awkward girl wrapped in shyness. With a desire to return to her roots and raise a family with the values she grew up with, she's returned with her medical degree, bought the town practice and has gotten a new look that's helped her build a new confidence. When the plans for the ten year reunion get started, she gets excited about the prospect of seeing old friends…especially her high school crush Braydon Mitchell.

Braydon never suffered low confidence or for a lack of female companionship, but he really thrived once he left town, bought a sailboat to travel and live on, and became a regular fixture in the water sporting world. Extremely comfortable in his bad-boy image with a strong penchant for no-strings relationships he's returned home for the reunion and a visit with his favorite grandparents. The last thing he expected was finding a knock-out doctor with the shy girl he'd barely known in school wrapped inside, or that she would remind him of the adventures a small town offered.

Planning and writing about Whispering Cove reminded me of my youth and growing up in a small town. So, when you're reading stories about small towns, what's the appeal for you?

Chat with Nikki and be entered in a drawing to win a digital copy of her backlist (winner's choice). WICKED is currently available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Smashwords. And at Smashwords, it's on sale 50% off until the 13th when you use this coupon code: SM42G.

Check out more about Nikki by visiting her website at www.NikkiDuncan.com. You can also find Nikki on Twitter at www.Twitter.com/NDuncanWriter.

Sometimes you hit it…sometimes, not so much

I've been seeing some very nice reviews for True Heart!

"…The tenderness and erotism Honey, True and Lonny produce is so spectacular that I can't help but embrace the lovingness they have for each other. I love how Honey and True openly confess their tormented past, shedding the painfulness in their lives yet produce some clarity and calmness for what the future holds for them. I love how these characters are not your usual cookie cutter characters…"~ Just Erotic Romance

"…All and all this was a great quick, hot read filled with two very sexy cowboys. I will be putting it in my keeper pile…" ~Whipped Cream Reviews

"…True Heart is an enticing tale that quickly weaves it way into a compelling story about finding your way to a second chance of love. I thought the story behind True was fascinating, he is a captivating character. A delightful read…" ~Sensual Reads

"I have a definite soft spot in my heart for the strong silent type and True in this story…that's my kind of guy. A little rough around the edges that loves as hard as he works. Can I PLEASE have a True? Man alive." Taryn Elliott's blog

And then there's this little story I started that stalled out at chapter five because my heroine's a bitch, but so's one of the heroes. I'll prove it to you. PLEASE don't hold this little snippet against me. It's unedited and very raw, but you will see my dilemma.

The little red Miata ground to a halt, kicking up caliche to pepper the porch's underskirting like bomb shrapnel.

Joe Halloran suppressed a grin and tipped up the cowboy hat riding low over his brow with a lazy finger. Minutes ago, when the sound of an engine screamed down the long private drive, he'd groaned because this was his first break of the day, and he really wasn't up to company. But as soon as he'd seen who it was, he settled deeper into his rocking chair.

Trouble had arrived. And about damn time.

He slid his boots inches to the left on the porch railing to get a better view as the driver ground the gear into park.

Joe glanced to the side. "What the hell do you suppose she's doin' here, Cam?"

His buddy grunted from the beneath the hat he had dipped low enough to shade his entire face. "Not a clue. Suppose her old man didn't tell her?"

Joe gave a snort, lowered his brim again and settled deeper into his rocking chair, ready to play. What had been the end of a hellacious day had suddenly taken a mighty interesting turn.

A car door slammed. Between the porch slats, he watched a pair of long legs scissor with brisk precision. High heels tapped on the steps.

Still, he didn't give a single indication he'd heard her. Instead, taking a deep breath and scratching his chest.

A fingernail dug into his forearm. "Hey, cowboy."

He muttered, but didn't move a muscle. She knew his damn name.

Her nail poked him again. "Cowboy, wake up."

The hint of irritation in her silky voice gratified him in a way that didn't bear too much introspection. He leaned back his head and squinted at her. "Peaches!" he exclaimed, a grin stretching his mouth. "Long time, no see."

Stormy Jordan's gaze narrowed into a mean glare. Yeah, she hated the nickname because she knew he'd given it to her based on the shape of her delectable ass. To make matters worse, the name had stuck like glue when her daddy began calling her it too. Funny, she'd never told him why she detested it so much.

"Cowboy," she said, her voice dripping with syrup. "How 'bout you move your butt and go get my bags?"

Again, he tipped his hat up to stare into a pair of silvery-blue eyes that cut him like the Ginsu knife. "You talkin' to me, ma'am?" he said, deliberately slow because he knew it irked the hell out of her.

Her dark brows lowered over that cold stare. "Well, who the hell else would I be talkin' to? My bags? I'd like to get a shower. I've been on the road since dawn."

Still, he didn't move. He let his gaze slide over her curves, taking a slow detour downward then up again. When his gaze reached her reddening face again, one side of his mouth twitched. He could almost hear the steam hissing.

A toe tapped impatiently. "Since you don't have anything better to do…"

He arched a brow and bolted forward in his chair, rising so swiftly she didn't have a chance to move back. "Sure thing, ma'am," he said, crowding her against the rail. "I'll get on it right away, ma'am." Only he made another slow perusal of her body to make sure she knew he was talking about more than her damn suitcase.

She cleared her throat and side-stepped him. "Cowboy, don't get 'em dirty."

"Now sweetheart, that would be a cryin' damn shame."

Cam hid a smile as Stormy stomped to the far side of the porch, and Joe ambled down the steps to her car. Those two had always been at each other's throats.

Watching them spar was more exciting than any UFC fight and far bloodier.

Still, as much as they poked and prodded at each other, he'd never seen either of them back away. And Stormy always came back for more, so he assumed she liked it.

Their own interactions were quieter, but no less intense. The woman had a way of setting a man's libido on fire even while she did her best to make him feel two feet tall or like he had two left feet. It was a talent. One that had kept the boys flocking all over this very porch when she'd been in high school. Which had kept Joe mean and edgy because he'd wanted her, even back then when she was still jail bait.

The years hadn't dulled the edge of her attraction. Sun streaked blond hair was held up in a clip, exposing her delicate neck and ears. Her black tee was two sizes too small, emphasizing the swell of her B-cup breasts and revealing the sliver of bare skin between the shirt and the top of her tight jeans. That hint of firm belly was enough to make him hard enough to hammer a nail.

He recrossed his legs and interlaced his fingers to let them rest above the swell of his cock. If she looked close enough she'd know how she affected him. Even after all this time.

Two years ago, he'd made the mistake of surprising her with a kiss. He could still remember the softness of her lush mouth, the way her curves had fit against him. Something he'd never told Joe and never would.

The kiss hadn't meant a thing to Stormy. She'd probably only been experimenting and forgotten about it long ago. But he hadn't. And sometimes, late at night he pulled out that memory when he needed release. Her face, that mouth, had inspired many a late night fantasy. However, he knew she wasn't for him. Stormy Jordan was destined to be some rich man's trophy, not some cowboy's girl.

Joe popped the trunk and walked around to the rear of her car. Two cases, both leather and with a designer logo stamped all over the hide, lay inside. He picked up the first and set it on the ground beside him, then hefted the second, larger case. Footsteps clicked down the steps, but he didn't glance around the open trunk door. He placed the large case on the gravel road and slammed down the trunk.

He bent to pick it up, but it slid to the side, landing hard, dust billowing up and laying a fine powder over the burnished leather. His fingers wrapped around the handle, but before he lifted the case to right it, a foot landed on the back of his hand, the heel grinding.

Joe pursed his lips, then aimed a glare at the woman whose features were set, her eyes alert. "Better lift that shoe, sweetheart, or more than your suitcase is gonna be sittin' in the dirt."

"I told you to be careful," she said softly.

"Darlin', sometimes I can be," he murmured. "But I think this thing needs a firmer hand." He let go of the case and twisted his wrist to grab her ankle, then slowly slid his hand up her calf and over her knee.

She didn't pull away. Didn't gasp or flinch. Joe kept on going, rising up her inner thigh. When he was inches from feminine heat, she called him on his bluff, her hand reaching down to shove it away. "Think you can handle it from here, cowboy?"

Joe drew in a long slow breath, inhaling her spicy scent. "Why don't you just wait and see?" Then he lifted the bag, reached for the smaller one and turned on his heel.

Behind him, he heard the crunch of her heels. His gaze lifted to Cam's, and he arched a brow.

Cam's expression was neutral, and he glanced away.

Joe trudged up the steps, Stormy right behind him.

They had Stormy to themselves, but she didn't know it yet. His mind spun with the possibilities. Ones that didn't have to leave Cam in the dust—if he was willing to play along. But mostly thinking about how soft her skin had felt beneath the scrape of his callused palm, and the little quiver he'd detected before she'd snatched away the prize.

He had years of "Stormy" fantasies stored away. A whole damn menu of acts he wanted to perform—some not legal in most southern states. If she gave him even the slightest hint she was interested, he wasn't going to let a little thing like the fact she was daddy's little girl get in the way.

I don't think Joe or Stormy deserve a happy ending. How about you? Have any ideas how I can salvage these two unlikeable people? Or should I consign this stinker to the manure pile?

Sunday Report Card

A view of the pond in the back yard…

For a week that played out the way it did, I was surprisingly productive.

I spent two days driving the folks back and forth to Little Rock for surgery appointments, in not so great weather. However, I brought along pen and paper and scribbled out two proposals for new anthologies. Clever ones, I think.

Then the weather turned worse and we had our second snow storm of the season. The red-headed hellion's pipes burst, and suddenly, I was covered up in children 24/7. That should have been it, but somehow (maybe because it was a mental escape!), I managed to get nearly halfway through a new novella. So for those writers out there—there really are no excuses!

Summing up accomplishments:

* I completed two proposals for short story collections to follow up Girls Who Bite.

* I revised a synopsis and shipped it to an editor at her invitation.

* I brainstormed a fresh idea for a Kindle novella and am 42% through the manuscript.

The weather thawed enough yesterday that my daughter was able to get her pipes fixed. Hopefully, the repair will hold. This next week I want to finish that short novella, finish a free short story, and begin a new novella for Ellora's Cave. If my wordcount meters don't start filling in quickly, give me a nag!

Saturday Snippet: Winter Wonderland

Psst! Yesterday's winner is at the bottom of this post!

What an appropriate title! Did Lauren curse us? This morning, the snow is still deep enough to warrant UGGs. Not that I have any ambitions beyond snuggling deeper into my Snuggie and watching cartoons with the kids. Maybe I'll find my ambition again after a round of Fairy Odd Parents.

"…ARCTIC DRAGON is a captivating fairytale…"

4 Kisses, Two Lips Reviews

"…Delilah Devlin is an awesome author who knows how to get a reader's attention and keep them coming back for more…Ms. Devlin has written a fantastic story that explodes right off the pages…"

5 Angels & Recommended Read, Fallen Angels Reviews

Headstrong, and seeking a little respite from a suitor's relentless wooing, Queen Larikke rides the arctic wind far beyond the bounds of Northland, only to have her horse bolt at a shot from a hunter's gun. Her "rescuer" is a handsome, mysterious man who lives alone in the wilderness, his cabin filled with erotic images of women.

Rather than fearing her fate, Larikke sets out to seduce him, hoping for one last fling before she settles down to do her duty and wed. Thinking he was saving a life, Drake dragged a very strange woman home, stripped her, and warmed her by his fire. Now he finds his long, self-imposed isolation may have made her allure impossible for him to resist and that he'll endanger her when he shares his special kiss.

A blanket of fresh powder muffled his footsteps. For a moment, the bitter cold wind died down. The stillness invited him deeper into the clearing. Something in the air alerted him, an intuition that was part of his true nature told him to wait.

Wind had blown snow against large tree trunks, forming deep banks where the tall green sentinels stood close together. Everywhere pure, pristine white dusted the tops of branches, cloaking them in rich, thick wonder. Precious sunlight peeked from behind a dark gray cloud and refracted like a billion tiny prisms on frozen crystals that gilded the uppermost layer of the snow.

His breaths seemed loud, intrusive and he concentrated on being quiet so that he didn't disturb—not that anyone was would hear him this deep in the wilderness.

Rather, all was hushed, expectant. Quiet like he preferred now. Content at last with his own company.

The first few months had been the worst. The silence had nearly driven him nuts. Now, he barely noticed. Sounds other than voices, the hum of electricity or the roar of a passing engine were replaced with softer, more predictable ones—the rustle of pine needles as a breeze swept through outstretched branches, the resonant creaking when snow weighed the branches down. The rustle of animals as they scratched in the snow for food.

The voices inside his head had also faded. The strident ones that had called him a freak and the startled screams—well, they couldn't reach him here.

If he missed the company of a woman—so be it. Other parts of his existence flourished in the solitude. Almost filling the aching void. The decision he'd made had been the right one. He'd spend the rest of his life—however long—alone.

Do no harm.

He lived by that rule now. At least in regard to people.

For now, he had a stew pot to fill, and he'd tracked a lone deer through the forest to this spot. A soft snort, and he found the doe digging with her hooves to uncover whatever she could still forage beneath the snow.

Drake tugged off his mittens and raised his rifle, setting the stock snug against his shoulder. He had the doe in his sights and slowly pulled back on the trigger, when an unexpected tinkling sound, like bells carried on the wind, drew his attention. His gaze strayed for only moment. As his attention returned to his quarry, a sudden icy wind swept up snow, obscuring his view.

The shadow of the deer still in his scope, he pulled the trigger, jerking the barrel upward at the last moment when he realized he wasn't looking at a doe at all—but a woman on a bay-colored horse!

The shot went wild, but the horse gave a high-pitched whinny and reared, dumping the woman to the ground before bolting.

Drake threw down his rifle, swearing silently as he clomped on unwieldy snowshoes toward the figure lying like a spill of red paint against a white canvas. Her fur-lined scarlet cloak fanned around her slender body. He knelt in its folds to reach for the woman who had yet to open her eyes.

He ran his hands over her body, checking for broken limbs, cursing himself for a horndog for noting generous curves beneath her dark gold gown. But it had been a long time since soft curves had yielded beneath his palms. Not much in the way of padded layers of clothing protected her from his inspection, just the soft fabric. What in hell was she doing wearing a costume in the wilderness in winter, even one made of heavy velvet?

Finally, she stirred, moaning softly.

He sat back on his haunches, noticing at last the luster of her mink brown hair and brows and the thick lashes that fanned the rims of her delicate eyelids. They fluttered then lifted, revealing gold-flecked brown eyes.

Struck by her beauty, he stared. Her eyes were wide set and large; her nose elegant and straight. The shape of her face was slightly triangular with a small chin that took no attention away from the sweet curves of her soft, plump mouth.

"Who are you?" she asked, with a voice as light and sweet as the bells he thought he'd heard before.

He shook his head to clear away his lustful thoughts. "The idiot who nearly shot you," he said, his own voice thick and rusty from disuse. He cleared his throat. "Can you move? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, I think."

"What the hell were you doing out here?"

She gave him a distracted frown. "Riding." Then rising on her elbows, she glanced around her, blinking. "My horse, Windancer…"

"He bolted when I fired."

Her confused stare returned to him. "He's gone?" Her eyes widened until the white surrounded the brown iris. "We must find him."

No "I must find him". She'd included him, without even wondering if it was wise.

Snow had begun to fall again—thick, fat flakes that swirled in the rising wind, a blast of arctic chill. Knowing it was the wrong thing to do, but seeing no other choice, he said, "I'll look for him after the snowfall ends. We need to get you inside."

Oh hell. He'd have to take her to his place. Something he'd sworn he'd never do. She might not be any safer there. He'd lived alone too long. With her lush beauty, she was too much of a temptation.

Her mouth opened, but then closed, her lips forming a thin line. "I have to find my horse. I can't stay here," she said, casting a wild glance around them.

"In a few minutes, we won't see more than a few feet in front of us. A storm's coming in."

"You don't understand—"

Although, it was the last thing he should do, he held out his hand. "Come. We'll talk later. After I get you out of the cold."

* * * * *

Larikke stared in dismay. She couldn't go home with him. They'd be alone. Her, alone with a human? Unthinkable! Humans were so short-lived and violent. Think of the scandal it would cause!

"We'll both freeze if we don't get out of this weather," he said slowly, as though speaking to a child—one not so very bright.

Only she knew she wouldn't. Freeze, that is. This is what she got for her stubborn bid for freedom. Stranded in a wild land—with a man. Her mage would no doubt cluck like a hen when she recounted the tale of how she'd ridden the wind and landed on her backside in a snow bank before a human as handsome as any damnable frost faerie.

She'd only wanted to put Thure firmly in his place. Remind him who was in charge of her destiny—that she had a will of her own.

And maybe to inspire him to anger and to let go of the firm hold he kept over himself whenever they were together. She wanted to see the powerful male beneath his princely trappings.

Rather like the prime specimen before her.

Oh, why couldn't this human have been as hairy as a polar bear? Or as ugly as a walrus? Oh no! His eyes were a crystalline blue. His hair was silvery blond and fell well past his broad shoulders. Clean-shaven, his jaw was sharp-edged and strong. His brows, although drawn together in a fierce frown, were full and nicely shaped but hooded piercing eyes. Despite the layers of clothing he wore, she could tell his frame was tall and thickly muscled.

The few humans she'd met long ago, thickheaded and thick-bodied warriors stopping on their journey to Valhalla, didn't compare. A crude, ungifted species, they'd never aroused much interest. But this one, with his rumbling voice and burly frame, nearly stole her breath away.

Perhaps she was simply addled by her spill. Or maybe she was just feeling the familiar, deepening need for something different from her prescribed future—something wicked and deplorably wrong. She cleared her throat. "I must insist we find my horse."

He rolled his eyes and tugged her to her feet. Then before she could brush away the snow clinging to her mantle and give him the setdown he deserved for daring to handle her so familiarly, he bent and swept her over his shoulder.

Larikke's mouth gaped. Now, this was a view of the world she'd never seen. Upside down, suspended on the shoulder of a barbarian, several long moments passed before she could gather the breath to do more than sputter in feigned outrage—for his rough handling of her person was…intriguing. "What do you think you're doing?" she gasped.

"What you haven't the sense to do yourself," he grumbled, as he trudged through the snow.

Blood rushed to her head and temporarily northern parts, filling her with a breathless expectancy—something the Prince of the Frost Faeries had never managed to do with his polite wooing. Larikke gave a huff, but didn't bother to struggle against his firm hold.

Instead, she brought her fingers to her mouth and issued a piercing whistle. The expected whinny never came. Could Windancer truly have deserted her? Was he even now making his way back to the palace without her? Gudvin would have his guts for garters!

Well, there was only one thing to do. Since she was truly at his mercy, she might as well play nice. Pressing her hand against his lower back, she arched up. "I accept your hospitality, sir. You may put me down now."

"We're already there," he said, his voice deliciously gruff. He set her on her feet next to what looked like a snub-nosed metal sled.

"It looks as though you've lost your horses too," she sniffed.

His startled gaze landed on her.

She shrugged. "You really should have let me wait for my horse. He'd have no trouble pulling your little sled."

Proving his barbarian pedigree, he grunted. "Climb on." He pointed to a leather saddle atop the odd conveyance.

Only to humor him, Larikke gathered her clothing and clumsily straddled the sled then tugged her skirts to straighten them around her. When she glanced up, he shook his head.

"What?"

"Scoot back."

When she hesitated, he swung his leg wide, climbing over the sled, just behind its steering handles, then he pressed backward, nearly sitting in her lap. Larikke slid as far back as the seat would allow, but still found her front plastered to his back—and her thighs snug alongside his.

Before she could voice an objection to his proximity, the conveyance roared to life, jerking forward, and then skimming over the snow fast as a seal in water. Hastily, she grasped for something to hold on to, her hands sliding around his waist to grip him hard.

She pressed her cheek against his shoulder and squeezed shut her eyes as they sped past trees that blurred the faster they went. Just when she was beginning to enjoy the heat of his body pressed close to hers and the vibrating rumble between her legs, the sled hurtled over a crest and left the ground, only to land with a thud on the far side before speeding away again.

The idiot would kill them both! Her immortality seemed a mite more finite by the second. "Will you please slow down?" she shouted above the roar of the invisible horses.

"Already there," he said, this time sounding suspiciously smug.

"You said that before," she muttered.

The sled slowed, and then drew to a smooth halt.

Larikke peeked around his shoulder to find they'd stopped in front of a rough log cabin. "I was wrong. Not a human. A troll," she muttered.

"What did you say?"

"Never mind. I assume this is our destination?"

He climbed off the sled and looked at her expectantly.

She stared, wondering when he'd offer her a hand. When he didn't appear to take the hint, she decided to outwait his bad manners and gathered her skirts, willing strength into her trembling legs.

"For fucksake." The blond barbarian bore down on her, his hands outstretched.

Larikke squealed when he gripped her waist and lifted her from her seat. He deposited her next to the sled and raised one eyebrow. His message was clear. He'd carry her again, if she refused to move along.

Gathering her considerable pride, Larikke gave the invisible horses a wide berth and headed toward the house, now only a looming shadow behind the whirling white snow.

She realized with a start that the pale sunlight waned. The day had been short, but not surprisingly so, given how close to Northland they were. Would anyone at home even notice she was missing?

Nearer the door, she saw the outline of figures lining a pathway in the snow. Sentries? Around a hovel? Only when she drew nearer she realized they were encased in ice, their skin, hair and clothing translucent. Frozen solid!

Was he a powerful mage? She darted a glance over her shoulder and found him alarmingly close. Would he enslave her thusly if she didn't do as he bid? Thinking she may have been captured by a very gifted creature indeed, she was surprised she wasn't more afraid.

Then again, he'd thought only of her safety. Her comfort. He'd brought her out of the cold to rescue her after all. Not that she really needed rescuing. Only he didn't know that, did he? He had no clue as to her identity. If he knew, what would he do? Ransom her to the frost faeries? She shivered at the thought.

Thure would expect a large reward in return—rule over her kingdom. Her flight into the artic wind had been to escape his attentions in the first place.

The barbarian mage reached around her, thumbed the latch on the crude wooden door and swung it open. Dark as a cave inside except for the red embers of a smoldering fire in a hearth, the cabin smelled pleasantly of wood smoke and a strong pine scent she couldn't place. She waited patiently while he shut the door behind them, dropping a board into a brace to lock them inside.

"I'll get the fire going. Make yourself comfortable," he said, roughly, not looking her way.

She strode further inside, surprised to find the room larger than she had originally thought. As he lit lanterns on the table and above the mantle, she took stock of her surroundings. Thick braided wool rugs in a riot of vibrant colors covered the floor. Deep-cushioned leather couches flanked the fireplace. Dark cupboards, shining from a fresh application of beeswax, reflected the warming glow of the fire. A cozy room despite the cabin's rustic exterior.

However, what drew her fascinated gaze were the paintings gracing the crude log walls. In colors deep and vivid, they depicted nude women, lying atop disheveled beds and green meadows on coverlets of crimson, royal blue and yellows as vivid as the rare roses her winged suitor brought her during the midnight sun. The colors were alive, sensual, the whirling textures of the paint itself drawing her to touch, but the poses of the women disturbed her.

Legs splayed wide, palms cupping generous breasts, fingers sliding into glistening sexes. Her body stirred at the images as she imagined them tempting the barbarian with their naked flesh. Arousal rose swift and urgent inside her.

Had she landed in the lair of a mage who used sex magicks? The thought should have horrified her, but she'd seen proof of his powers in the sentries guarding the door. How else could she explain her response to the pictures and to him? She should have been horrified—or at the very least deeply embarrassed.

A footfall behind her made her stiffen.

"Let me take your cloak," he said, his voice gruff.

"Will you enslave me in ice?" she asked, glancing warily over her shoulder.

His eyebrows drew together in a frown, and his gaze swept over her. "Enslave you?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Like the poor creatures guarding your door."

"Damn." Suddenly, he gripped her shoulder to turn her toward him. Then he reached for the frog closures at the top of her cloak and plucked them open. He slid the cloak off her shoulder to let it fall to the floor.

She found herself being pulled toward the fire, but his hands didn't stop their wicked work. "Stop that!" she said, swatting at his dexterous fingers as they made quick work of the buttons at the neck and along the side of her gown.

"I won't harm you," he said, between tight lips. "You're suffering from hypothermia. Your dress is wet. I need to get you out of it."

"Hypothermia?" What was he saying? "Is that a curse?"

"It will be if we don't get you out of those clothes and warm," he said, his voice steady, but roughening.

Had he already used his magick? She was certainly growing warmer by the moment. Allowing him to finish stripping away her gown, she stood in front of him with the fire warming her backside.

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

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

Eliza Gayle

Emma Petersen

HelenKay Dimon

Jody Wallace

Lauren Dane

Lissa Matthews

Mari Carr

McKenna Jeffries

Shelli Stevens

Taige Crenshaw

TJ Michaels

The winner of yesterday's contest is…Marika! Marika, you have two days to email me regarding delivery of your prize!

Flashback: Uncovering Navarro

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

for a free download of this book!

I chose this excerpt today because Moses Brown's on my mind. You see, he didn't get a happy ending in Uncovering Navarro, and I think he needs one. In fact, I'm writing his story right now. And you won't have to wait months and months to read it. But more about that another day. Enjoy this glimpse of Moses and his FB. Then be sure to comment so that you're entered to win!

"UNCOVERING NAVARRO is an action packed, fast paced, scorching, erotic thriller. With delicious love scenes, wry humor and non-stop thrills, UNCOVERING NAVARRO is a guaranteed page turner that'll delight the reader."

5 Drops of Blood, Vampire-Erotica.net

"I highly recommend this book to anyone who enjoys stories of vampires and things that go bump in the night. UNCOVERING NAVARRO is an extraordinary read by an extraordinary author."

5 Cups, Coffee Time Romance

Sidney Coffey, Seattle 's "News at Nine" girl, uncovers the scoop of a lifetime and her ticket into "serious journalism". The only problem is — without proof, no one's going to believe the victims of recent gang killings are in fact "undead" and vampires!

With her gut telling her there's an even bigger story lurking beneath the surface, she decides to beard a reclusive vampire master in his den for an interview. But meeting the master only complicates things. For a woman with a voracious sexual appetite, the tall, dark and gloomy vamp proves an irresistible challenge.

When a reporter trespasses on his estate, Navarro is at first amused, then annoyed that the little baggage is close to putting together the pieces of a dangerous plot involving an old enemy and a group of murdered geneticists. To keep her safe, Navarro issues an invitation he won't let her refuse.

"Sid, get that cute, little tail of yours behind the yellow tape, now!" Moses Brown bit back a grin at the look of pure irritation that crossed Sidney P. Coffey's face.

"Hi there, Moses. Long time, no see." She ducked back under the crime scene tape and turned, taking a moment to pull the white cuffs of her shirt from below the edges of her leather jacket.

She was stalling. Moses could almost see the gears turning over in her head. The woman didn't know when to give up.

When she glanced his way, a smile was plastered on her face. "By the way, congratulations on the promotion, detective. The new suit makes your shoulders look even broader."

His gaze narrowed. The only time she wasted a second on small talk was when she wanted something—bad. "Sid, you're not gettin' inside that house."

Her blue eyes widened. "Do you think I was trying to—"

"Uh-huh. Don't give me that Miss Innocent look. I know you, sweetheart."

Her eyebrows rose, and her sexy mouth formed a pout. "Not even for an old buddy, like me?"

Moses folded his arms over his chest. "Old fuck buddy—let's keep that straight."

She huffed, and her eyebrows drew together in a disgruntled frown. "That sounds so crass."

"I'm just repeating what you told me, baby."

"Well, I was only being honest."

That was the thing he liked about her best—beyond her slim body and cute tush. She didn't mince her words. A man knew exactly where he stood.

She was also the only woman he knew who could keep a secret. Even though they often stood on opposite sides of the tape—him a cop, her a reporter—he could trust her. If he told her something couldn't make the evening news, she kept the tip close to her chest. Her soft, curvy chest.

She nodded toward the house, lights ablaze as the forensics team scoured it for clues. "How 'bout I promise to keep out of sight—"

He shook his head. "You know damn well the chief'd have my ass in a sling if I let you in there."

"But it's such a fine ass," she purred. Her glance gave him a once-over that left his skin burning.

He straightened and dropped his voice, "And don't you know it."

Her smile was genuine this time. "Maybe you need to refresh my memory." Her gaze slipped over his shoulder again. "What's going on in there?"

"You weren't listening to your police scanner?"

"You know I was." She wrinkled her nose. "Come on, give! A triple homicide? Who was it? More teenagers bite it?"

The little lady was too bright for her own good. He schooled his face into a mask. "I'm not at liberty to say."

"Not now anyway, huh? You know, the police aren't going to be able to keep this killing spree under wraps much longer.

People are going to put two and two together. When they do, your chief's fanged friends won't be able to hide in the shadows." She sidled up close. "Later, maybe? We haven't talked in a long time."

Moses could feel his defenses crumble. Her fine blonde hair shone bright as sunshine under the streetlamp. Her flowery perfume tugged at his cock. He slipped his hand in his pocket and handed her his key. "I could be a while, sugar."

"Just wake me up." She walked past, deliberately rubbing her jeans-clad thigh against him.

He watched her hips sway as she walked away, until she turned the corner of the street. "Moses," he muttered to himself, "what the hell do you think you're doin'? That little woman's gonna wring you like a dishrag."

* * * * *

Sidney heard the creak of the apartment door as it opened. With a satisfied grin, she settled back against the satiny comforter.

Moses hadn't made her wait long after all. And soon she'd get her scoop—after a little play, of course.

Of all her recent fuck buddies, Moses was her favorite by far. His appetite for sex matched hers. Best of all, he didn't cling, didn't make more of her sharing his covers like some did. He knew the score—knew she liked her sex as most men did. Dirty, nasty—and often.

For her, sex was a purely physical release. An addiction she craved like some women craved chocolate. She ached with need. Already her nipples beaded, and her pussy oozed cream. Just the thought of his large cock sliding inside her had her blood humming in her veins.

To ease the ache between her legs, she slipped a hand between her thighs and stroked her cunt.

Moses pushed open the bedroom door. "Couldn't wait for me before you started the party?" His generous lips were stretched into a grin.

Glad she'd left the lamp atop the nightstand on, Sidney smiled and opened her legs so he could watch her play with herself. "I'm just priming the pump, honey."

He hadn't wasted any time himself. His dark chest was bare. His hands were already busy shoving his pants down muscled thighs. His cock sprang from confinement, huge and veined.

"Baby, you know I got a terrible thirst." His dark gaze smoldered as he watched her fingertips slide into her wet slit.

"I was counting on that." She dipped two fingers inside and swirled them in her juices, then she painted her nipples.

He strode to the end of the bed and crawled onto the mattress, his expression taut. His hands circled her ankles and jerked her legs wider apart.

Sidney yelped, but thrilled to his sheer physicality.

His face came down between her legs, and he made a growling sound as he sucked her lips into his mouth.

She hissed air between her teeth and lifted her hips, eager to accept his sensual kiss.

"Oh man, you know I missed the taste of you, girl," he said, rolling his face in her pussy. His large hands skimmed up her inner thighs, and his fingers spread her labia.

"Oh Christ," Sidney moaned. "Eat me, Moses." Her hands smoothed over the crown of his shaved head, and her fingers curved around his ears.