Bianca Sommerland's Blog, page 24

Lover's Scare Contest-Annabel Joseph Lily Mine

Lily Mine
By Annabel Joseph
"Ghost Stories! Oh, James, how absolutely wonderful. Might we read some right now?"

"Of course. Let's read now, in the dusk, before Hanover lights the lamps. It will be wonderfully spooky. I hear this book is the most terrifying volume in the shops just now."

She pretended a shiver and they began the first story. She read aloud as he listened. The ghost tale began in a couple's parlor. Wind was dashing rain against the windowpane and a black fog was driving in from the wood.

"Every moment," she read, "the view without grew more and more de-so-la--"

"Desolate. Do you know what that means?"

"Scary?"

"Yes, in a way. Deserted. Forbidding."

She nodded and continued. The young husband of the ghost tale bade his wife come away from the glass, but she refused. When finally she turned away, her face was pale, her nerves unstrung.

"Darling," said the wife of the tale. "Isn't there a superstition--of course it's only a superstition--that when somebody is walking over your grave, you shudder invo-lun--"

"Involuntarily."

"Tonight," Lily read on, "somebody is walking over my grave--and somehow, somehow, I feel as if it will not be long before I fill it."

James chuckled softly. How charming she was, getting into the spirit of the reading, voicing the disquieted wife with perfect drama.

"Nonsense," the husband replied on the page. She did the husband's voice with a hilariously gruff tone he sincerely hoped was not based on him. "Your nerves are unstrung, dearest. Come away now."

At that point in the story, the wife began to stagger around and tremble in quite the most frightening way. The husband rushed from the room and the possessed wife gave a shriek and cry. James could feel Lily's own nerves draw up tight as she read the chilling prose. She was fully engrossed in the story when some imp inside him decided to use a dangling ribbon from her hair to tickle the back of her arm. Lily gave her own shriek, one that no doubt rivaled the shriek of the unfortunate woman in the story, and leaped headlong into James' lap. He caught her, quaking with laughter, as Hanover came running in ready to take arms. He took one look at the entangled pair and his expression changed from alarm to embarrassment.

"Er…pardon me, sir and miss, I'll just be--"

"No, Hanover," James said with a grin. "Come in and light the lamps, please. All of them. We have been reading ghost stories and I'm afraid Lily is quite spooked."

She pushed away from his lap with a frown. "I was not at all spooked until you played that silly trick on me. I thought it was a ghoul come to breathe down my neck."

"A ghoul? You wound me."

A giggle finally escaped as she smoothed the skirts of her gown. "You are a rascal, James. You pretend you are not, but you are through and through, and it's a true farce to put forward your stern, serious face when you are nothing but a lark underneath."

James looked at her thoughtfully in the new lamplight, barely noticing as Hanover left and closed the door behind him. He was captured by the glow of her skin, the twinkle in her eye. She flirted with him. More than that, she had figured him true. The sober man who was a secret rogue and profligate.

He pretended pique. "My stern, serious face is supposed to impress you."

She snorted inelegantly. "Each day it impresses me less. You are not the hard man you pretend to be." She slid a look at him. "I mean, well…I do not mean to speak disrespectfully."

He knew he was staring, unnerving her, probably. He couldn't help it. She spoke so candidly for once, it completely undid his reserve. He wanted to do the same before the moment passed, before the walls went up again between them. "I want you to speak openly, even disrespectfully if you wish, Lily. Tell me what type of man I am, if you know it."

She swallowed and looked away, blushing.

"I…I do not know. I do not pretend to know. I was just teasing. I'm sorry."

"No." He took her bare hand in his, an impulsive gesture that he could see shocked her, but she didn't pull away. "No, I am not chastising you. It is only that you are right. I am not a hard man. There is a lot in my--my heart--" He stopped. Would he start spouting poetry now? He felt wildly out of control. At any moment he feared she would pull away and bolt, but she didn't.

"I know," she said instead, quietly. "I can tell there is a lot in your heart. There is a lot in my heart too. I only wish…"

She looked down, biting her lip. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to pull her close and embrace her. Her hand tightened in his.

"What do you wish, Lily?"

"I cannot say. I cannot."

"Tell me, please."

"I only wish… I wish truly, in my heart, that she--that she would never come back. And that her unfortunate sister will take years and years to marry." She looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes. "I know it is a terrible thing to say. I wish you happiness and a resolution to this snarl you're in, but I can't stop feeling that way, I just can't--"

Her words cut off, smothered by his impulsive kiss. He tasted salty tears as he pressed his lips to hers with the intensity of desire too long denied. He held her close, slanting his head over hers, kissing her and then parting her lips gently to tease her. She melted against him, so sweet and trusting. He drank in her soft gasps and felt the small tremble before she pulled away. She looked down at her lap in silence. He still held her hand, finding it too difficult to let go.

He leaned away with a regretful sigh. "I am terribly sorry. To force myself on you that way--it was grossly inappropriate. Forgive me."

"Please..."

She touched her lips. He swallowed hard. "Please what?"

"Please, would you…would you kiss me again?

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Lover's Scare Contest-Ranae Rose Taken Hostage

Taken Hostage
By Ranae Rose        She made to step past him, toward the car, but he grabbed her wrist. She turned to face him. They were so close that she had to tilt her head back to look up at him. His blue eyes met hers, locking them in a hold that seemed more real than the grip he had on her arm. 'Want to go for a hike?' he asked.

                Her heart skipped a beat, and then sped up dramatically, as if to make up for the lost time.

                He didn't wait for an answer. He moved forward instead, maintaining his grip on her wrist. She trailed close behind him, filled with a strange combination of trepidation and excitement. Flash-fantasies peppered her mind in a rapid assault, and she stopped trying to hold them back, promising herself that she would resume her practicality momentarily.

                His palm was hot against the flesh of her forearm, and she remembered, not for the first time, the feel of him pressed against her. His heat had been faint then, masked by the barrier of their clothing. She wondered what it would be like to feel him pulsating against her again, in time with his heart, and perhaps hers too, with nothing between their skins. And his hand – she imagined where it might venture, if it were not clenched around her wrist as solidly as a steel manacle.

                These thoughts warred with a sense of dread that was perhaps more appropriate, given the situation. Did he still have the gun?

                She hadn't seen him without it since he'd robbed the bank. Was he taking her out into the forest to shoot her, where no one would see or hear? Was he going to ensure that there would be no one to tell the police what kind of car he was driving, or what direction he was headed in? Would her body be discovered by unsuspecting hikers, or by a bear?

                She broke into a sweat as she followed him, trampling undergrowth and small saplings. Her work heels were hardly suitable for the activity; she stumbled several times, while sticks and plants pricked her feet. She vacillated continually between the urge to break free and run, and the urge to seize her captor and do something that would have both shocked and filled Alicia and Cindy with livid jealousy.

                Finally, they stopped in a small clearing. The gunman released Tiffany's wrist, and she felt strangely bereft at the loss of contact with him. She longed to reach out and touch him, to establish her own grip on him, for the first time. Instead, she reached down and pulled a twig from one of her battered shoes.

                'What are you going to do to me?' she asked.

                'That's up to you,' he replied.

                She arched an eyebrow, much as he had the day before – that seemed ages ago.

                'You have a choice,' he commented.

                'Well, what is it then?' she asked, uncharacteristically blunt. She was panting slightly, and her wrinkled work clothes were now sweat-stained in places. Her feet were bleeding where they'd been pricked and scraped, and there were leaves stuck in her hair. On top of it all, she was hornier than she'd ever been, and it was all his fault. She was in no mood for playing games.

                'I can leave you here,' her kidnapper said. 'You'll find your way back to the road, but not before I do – not in those shoes anyway.' She scowled at him. 'Then you can wait at the turnaround and flag down a police car, or anybody who will let you use their cell phone,' he continued.

                'Gee, thanks,' Tiffany spat. She was glad that he hadn't said that he was going to shoot her, but she wasn't about to remind him that that was a possibility. 'What's my other option?'

                'You can come with me,' he said, 'not as my hostage, but my partner.'
                'What?' Tiffany felt her eyes bulge.

                'You heard me.'

                Being kidnapped at gun point and held hostage for a day had taken its toll on Tiffany, and she did something then that she never would have imagined herself doing the day before. She drew back her hand and slapped him across the face, hard, thinking of how he'd thrown her against the Mustang.

                He grunted. The palm of her hand burned as she drew it back to her side, but she refused to show any sign of pain. He had no such reservations, and raised a large hand to cradle his cheek. She smiled smugly, and regretted it almost immediately as she realized that she wanted to comfort him. For one brief second, she was tempted to pull down his head and hold it against her chest, as she had imagined earlier. And then, she realized that she wanted to hit him again.

                'Was that supposed to be an answer?' he asked, rubbing his jaw. 'If so, I think I'm going to need you to translate.'

                Tiffany glared at him. 'You want me to come with you as your partner?' she asked incredulously. 'Like Bonnie and Clyde or something?'

                He shrugged. 'Something like that.'

                'That's ridiculous. Are you serious?'

                'Look,' he said flatly. 'There's a reason I took you as my hostage instead of one of those bimbos you work with.'

                'And what's that?' she asked.

                'Because you wanted to go,' he told her. 'You wanted to get out of there – I could tell. And,' he paused dramatically, 'it seemed like there was a spark between us.' He glared at Tiffany defiantly, daring her to deny his assertion.

                She didn't. Instead, she stared back at him, open-mouthed in her surprise.

                'You don't have to go back,' he murmured.

                Her anger had slowly begun to seep away. Without it, her desire for him expanded and filled her to the extent that it scared her. What he was saying was crazy. But it was also true.

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Lover's Scare Contest-Cherise Sinclair Capture Gardens Excerpt from Make me, Sir

Capture Gardens
Excerpt from Make me, Sir
By Cherise Sinclair
"Marcus, I didn't know you planned to play tonight." The silver-haired dom smiled. His pale blue eyes examined Gabi. "That's a pretty yellow outfit. Might as well match it." He picked up three yellow plastic sticks and flexed them until they glowed. "Give me your arm, girl."

She held her hand out. He fastened one around her wrist, one on her ankle, and the last on Marcus's wrist. "The colors are a safeguard so the dungeon monitors can check that a dom grabs the right sub. In other words, only Master Marcus may claim you, Gabrielle. Clear so far?"

========

Her breasts bounced painfully as she ran, and she slowed quickly. As the plush golf-course-length grass tickled her feet, a sultry night breeze wafted against her bare skin. It felt strange—wrong—to walk around outside with no clothes on.

Rubbing her arms, she continued on. Hedges loomed on each side, opening into secluded areas with menacing shadows. "Give Master Marcus a good hunt," Master Raoul had said, so she turned down a smaller path, working her way deeper in. Other glow lights twinkled here and there, reminding her she wasn't the only submissive in the game.

What a beautiful place though. The moonlight paled the curving flower gardens. Fountains splashed and gurgled everywhere, and lights under the water glowed. White fog drifted through the humid air and swirled around her ankles. Fog? She glanced up at the cloudless night sky and frowned, then realized the fog came from the fountains, spilling like thick mist over the sides.

They created fake fog, just for fun? She shook her head, trying to be amused, except the stuff made the place really eerie.

A man's voice broke the quiet. "Lords and ladies, the hunt is on. Find your slaves and do what you will."

Oh my God.

Multicolored glow sticks danced like fireflies through the darkness. People ran here and there. Some of them. Other lights moved slower, more deliberately. The doms. Stalking their slaves.

And the sounds… A scream from the right. The slap of flesh on flesh and whimpering—someone getting spanked. Gabi turned her head and heard wet sounds and simultaneous grunts from the left—someone getting taken. Hard.

She had a quick image of Marcus grabbing her, forcing her to her knees, and driving into her. She sucked in a breath. He wouldn't. That wasn't what she wanted. Yet her nipples peaked, and her body dampened again.

He'd be out there somewhere, searching for her yellow glow stick. Hunting her. The air seemed to heat, wafting over her skin like a hot breath.

===

She bolted toward the thicker bushes. If she got around those—and she did—he'd have a more difficult time spotting her bracelet. Panting, she stopped and spun in a circle—and spotted a yellow glow stick. A few feet away. Perfectly still.

"Run."

Her heart hammered even before she sprinted across the path. He—What was he going to do when he caught her? He really was a cat, toying with his prey. She veered around a hedge and ran straight into him, a solid wall of muscle. "Oooph!"

He chuckled and set her on her feet. "The next time, sugar, I'm taking you down." He stepped back a pace. "Run."

The low-voiced threat sent excitement churning through her, making her aware of the cool fog against her ankles, the way bushes scraped on her naked body when she got too close, the way her breasts jostled as she ran. A corner. Another. She popped into a secluded spot to catch her breath, and back out and--

He grabbed her from behind.

"No!" Instinctive terror blasted her. She twisted and shoved at him frantically.

Marcus… It was Marcus, not a stranger. Okay. Okay. Using her head now, she pulled and sidestepped, and his hands slipped off her oily body.

"Li'l brat." He made another grab for her.

I'm a greased pig, all right. Giggling, she dashed for the far side of the clearing, gaining only a few yards before his hand closed on her arm—and she yanked out off his grasp. No hitting or scratching, she reminded herself.

"You are a slippery little thing, aren't you?" he said, his southern accent markedly increased. The bastard grabbed her hair.

"Ow!" She turned to hit him—rules be damned—and he moved faster than she'd thought possible. Setting an arm behind her shoulders, the other up between her legs, he yanked her hips forward, tipping her backward, then dropped down on his knees with her in his arms. Before she got her balance, he rolled her onto her stomach.

No way. She got her feet under her and lunged forward.

With a low laugh, he caught her ankle and yanked her back, then set a knee on her butt. His weight pinned her, making her feel…odd. Excited.

Yet the second his powerful hands closed on her shoulders, terror engulfed her in a cold, mindless fog. She froze.

He stilled. Waited. She caught a whiff of his musky amber scent, and warmth dissipated her fear. It was Marcus touching her. Knowing his weight trapped her, made all the difference. She wiggled and couldn't resist taunting him. "You rat-bastard dipwad, let me go."

Chuckling, he tightened his grip. "Mouthy little sub." The wrist cuffs snicked off his belt. "I am going to enjoy what I do to you."

Oh God. Under the growing tension, unable to help herself, she squirmed, and he simply put more weight on her. Controlling her.

Despite her thrashing, he firmly buckled one wrist cuff on and the other, then clipped them together behind her back. When he removed his weight, she thought he'd pull her to her feet. Instead his knee pushed between her thighs, keeping her legs apart.

His jeans scraped against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. For a minute, he didn't move. And then he stroked her legs, traced the crack between her butt checks, squeezed her waist. He ruthlessly touched her how and where he pleased, and her skin burned under his calloused hands until it seemed she might set the grass beneath her on fire.

He set his palm between her legs to cup her heat and gave a satisfied, "Mmmmh. You're nice and wet, darlin'."

His touch roused her, yet…she felt too naked, too restrained, too vulnerable. Needing to escape, she wiggled. Helplessly.

"No, Gabrielle." His voice deepened, a smooth threat as his hand pressed on her ass cheeks, holding her in place. "Stay put, sugar. I want to examine my prize."

The commanding voice, the knowledge he wouldn't let her move, melted her inside. This was what she wanted, needed. Someone to take the control from her. She turned her head and rested her cheek. The cool grass scraped and tantalized her bunching nipples, an erotic contrast to his warm hand on her bottom.

"Good girl." His unyielding hand held her down as with his other, he touched her intimately, caressing her folds and sending heat lancing up her center. When he slowly pressed a finger through her puffy tissues and up inside her, pleasure boiled up so violently that her eyes almost crossed.

His finger slid out, then pushed in deeper. He made another pleased sound. "Yes, Li'l Sassy, I'm going to tie you down, spread you open, and see how much of me you can take."

www.CheriseSinclair.com

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Lover's Scare Contest-Lucy Felthouse Weekend at Wilderhope Manor

Weekend at Wilderhope Manor
Excerpt
By Lucy Felthouse
Another creak, closer this time. Stopping in her tracks, she spun round. She wasn't sure if it were someone trying to freak her out, or steal clues and information from her. Either way, she wasn't impressed.

"Who's there?" she barked, irritation coming off her in waves. "I know you're there. It's impossible to creep around in these old houses. Something will always give you away. And when I catch you, I'm not going to be happy."

There was no response. Shaking her head, she went on her way. If someone wanted to play silly tricks that was their prerogative, though it clearly would've been a more suitable idea for tomorrow. Tonight was murder mystery, tomorrow was trick or treat. Didn't they know the difference?

Entering the library, she was immediately in awe. Letting out an audible "ahh," she was in love. The large room had bookshelves lining all four walls from floor to ceiling, with a series of ladders dotted about for those tomes that were out of reach. She was actually kind of surprised they let the general public in here, unsupervised. The books looked old, very old, and valuable. Obviously, she wasn't going to damage any of them, but she also knew not everyone would have such consideration.

Having done two admiring laps of the room, peering at all the books and wishing she could have her own library just like it, she remembered why she was here. Clues. Yes. Large bay windows were at each end, and each nook had a sofa and a table.

She headed to the area farthest from the door and began to search. She wasn't entirely sure what she was looking for, but then, if it were too simple, the game wouldn't likely be a "mystery."

As she riffled through a sheaf of assorted papers, Stephanie heard another noise. Less of a creak this time, but more of a swish. She now knew someone was definitely following her. They must be after her information, because if they were genuinely planning to search the library, they'd have just walked right on in and announced themselves.

Putting the papers down, she grabbed her own notes and sat on the sofa. It was

surprisingly squishy, and she made a noise of surprise as she sank into it, her feet barely touching the floor. She felt grateful she wasn't wearing a skirt or dress at that point, otherwise, she'd probably be flashing her knickers to…well, absolutely nobody.

No one had entered the room. Frowning, Stephanie resolved to sit there a little longer. The mystery person was close enough for her to hear the noise they were making, so they must be right outside the door, perhaps peering around the frame to see if they could see what she was doing.

She waited. And waited. Then, just as she started to disentangle herself from the sofa, a whirlwind entered the room. Or at least, a very whirlwind-like Jenny did. She ran as fast as her heels would allow and dashed into the room, whipping her head around to look behind her. She shoved herself forcefully off the seat and ran toward

Jenny, ready to get very annoyed with whoever chased her as she could tell her girlfriend was genuinely terrified. Turning to face the door, she saw nothing. By now, even she began to wonder if there was any truth to the haunting rumours.

Jenny launched herself at Stephanie and squeezed her tightly, babbling nonsensically. She could just about make out something about "so glad you're here" and "was so scared," but other than that, she was none the wiser. Pulling Jenny gently out of her arms, she pointed her in the direction of the sofa she'd just vacated, then strode across the room. Looking out into the corridor, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. She shut the door and walked to where Jenny had sunk awkwardly into the sofa.

She had been right about the flashing. Jenny's dress was long enough that there

was no underwear visible, but there was a decent portion of milky thigh, and she

couldn't help but look. Reluctantly tearing her gaze away and sitting beside Jenny, she gently stroked her girlfriend's hair. After she'd calmed down a little, she prompted, "So what happened? Was there someone following you?"

Jenny looked at her, her face still flushed, but slowly returning to normal. Her girlfriend shrugged. "I don't know. At first, I thought so, because I heard a noise, but

then, I remembered old houses are creaky. So I ignored it. But it happened again--

closer to me—and I just freaked. Sorry."

She slipped her arms around Stephanie who returned the embrace, all the while wondering about the odd noises and what could be causing them. Jenny's experience sounded almost identical to hers, except Stephanie had attempted to confront the person. They'd obviously stayed hidden—perhaps Jenny's appearance had stopped them from slipping away down the corridor. She refused to believe it could be anything supernatural.

Either way, she'd let them get on with it. The idiot was just trying to scare people. If she found out who it was, she'd get them back big style tomorrow. But for now, she had a beautiful girl snuggling into her neck and planting little kisses on the delicate skin there. Stephanie shivered with pleasure. Jenny was obviously feeling better.

Craning her neck to look down, she grinned as Jenny returned her gaze. "You all right now, sweetheart?"

Jenny nodded. "I'm fine. I was just being silly. Me and my overactive imagination. I watch too many TV shows. Though I wouldn't say no to a bit of comfort."

Jenny's wicked grin and jauntily raised eyebrow left Stephanie in no doubt as to what she meant. "Oh, I'm sure I can manage that."

Pushing herself out of the sofa's cushiony grasp once more, she slipped to the floor and knelt in front of Jenny. A hot rush of lust washed through her body. Earlier, she'd mentioned how much she'd wanted to shove up Jenny's dress and get at the

gorgeous pussy beneath. She hadn't thought it would happen until it was time for them to go to bed, so an illicit encounter in the library was unexpected, but very welcome.

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Lover's Scare Contest- JS Wayne AETERNUS

Let the sexy scares begin...
AETERNUS
By J.S Wayne
The photograph in the elaborate silver frame slipped from Bianca's nerveless fingers to crash to the granite-tiled floor beneath. The glass protecting the photograph immediately developed a fine spider-web pattern of cracks on impact.

Maybe it was her imagination running away from her. But she could have sworn that Jake's face, frozen forever in the smile she loved so much in the picture, took on just a hint of accusation at her clumsiness.

A tear slid down her cheek, unbidden. She had promised herself that she'd stop doing this to herself, break out of the endless cycle of recrimination that she hadn't tried to keep him from leaving the house after that last, absurd fight. He'd been drinking, just a little, but enough. If she had stopped him, the potent cocktail of anger and alcohol in his system wouldn't have spurred him out the door and into the path of that oncoming bus.

Everyone, even his own family, had said the accident wasn't her fault. His mother had hugged her close at the funeral and wept with her. Wept with her son's murderess.

The guilt had torn at her to such a degree that she had become a virtual hermit. She had found a job that she could do from home and left her well-paying career as an advertising artist without looking back. She couldn't bear to look around the office and the empty desk down the aisle where Jake had sat, like an exclamation point on her guilt, drawing her eye no matter how much she wished to avoid the painful reminder.

But now Bianca cried out in anguish at the desecration of the only physical evidence she had left to her that Jake had ever existed. That he'd ever loved her, and been loved in return.

She knelt beside the frame and picked up the photograph reverently, as tears she swore to the outside world she was past shedding rained down onto the glass in a thunderstorm of grief, beading on the glass forlornly. One teardrop traced a jagged crack in the glass that followed the inside curve of Jake's cheek, as if he mourned for the life he'd once had no less than Bianca herself did.

Heedless of the splinters of glass that poked out of the simple silver frame, she cradled the picture to her glass and sobbed.

"I'm so sorry, Jake. I wish I'd been strong enough to stop you."

She sat there on the floor, curled around her misery like a gray ball of despair, while the grandfather clock in the corner ticked out its melancholy, dirgelike rhythm. Time seemed to leave her behind; in its wake was left only the remorseless promise of a colorless, cold, lifeless life that threatened to spin into eternity beyond endurance, and then further still, until she begged for a release that would and could never come. All that warmed her was the tracks her tears left on her face. Without them, she felt like an ice sculpture done in flesh.

A soft tapping at the door brought her head around, and she swiped at the tears on her face. She paid no attention to the havoc she wrought on her makeup, or what her unknown caller might think of the distress on her face. Everyone knew well enough to leave her alone, so whoever was waiting on the stoop was unlikely to be anyone she wanted anything to do with.

Bianca sucked in a deep breath, made a half-hearted attempt to make herself not look like she'd been mourning the destruction of her world, and walked to the door. She could feel the wavering, watery smile struggling to slip off her face as she opened the door to find . . . no one.

A chill, damp breeze that smelled of dead leaves and forsaken hope greeted her, eddying past her into the house. Suddenly furious, she slammed the door and screamed, "Fucking kids!" As if an invisible switch had been flipped, the tears began again, and Bianca whirled away from the door. Right into an impossibly warm, solid chest, where a second earlier there had been only empty air.

The first thing her gaze met was a black leather jacket. She'd always been a sucker for the bad-boy look, with its zippers and faintly ominous aura. Her eyes trailed down to faded blue jeans and biker-style cowboy boots, and then up past the white T-shirt and the narrow but strong neck.

Past the jaw, shadowed with stubble, and the graceful nose, to the blue-grey eyes she had stared at a thousand times in a photograph and the unruly shock of dark hair that always looked slightly windblown no matter how short it was cropped.

She flinched back, her heart hammering with terror. This was the fare of the stories she'd read back when she cared, before she entombed herself aboveground in her own home as penance. But the dead didn't really come back. Did they?

Not trusting her voice, she reached out to touch him experimentally. The leather jacket creaked and flexed at her touch, but otherwise didn't yield, or fade into smoke, or anything else she might have expected. It felt too real to her senses, unaccustomed these days to reality, and she felt the world spinning around her madly as conflicting urges arose in her.

One was a mad desire to go with him and find out what lay . . . Beyond. Another was the terrible certainty that this was a dream. And still another was to wish to be naked and feel him against her, one last time, to say with her body what she just had no words to convey.

Terror mingled with lust as she grew damp, staring up into those sad, loving eyes and the gentle, handsome face that framed them. Her mouth opened, to beg him to leave or stay.

Before she could say anything, he pressed her against the door, branding her mouth with his hot lips.
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Intro to the Lover's Scare Contest

Scary can be sexy. Don't believe me? Well, I've challenged 14 authors to prove it. Using either original flash fiction or excerpts from their published work, they will show you how erotic and thrilling fear can be. From edgy games to love that reaches beyond the grave, these authors will make this Halloween to remember.

And if that's not enough, there will be ton prizes and plenty of chances to win! Vote for your favorite and comment with your email to be entered. The more often you comment, the better your chances!

To find out who's participating and what some of the prizes are, click on the picture to the left.

Now, since I'm holding the contest, I'm obviously not participating, but I figured I'd throw in a short excerpt just for fun. I've had this story shelved for awhile now, but I'm planning to take it back out soon and finish it.Comments on this will count as an entry for the grand prizes, but as with the comments throughout the length of the contest, you must include your email to qualify.

I hope you enjoy this and all the other excerpts! Exclusive Excerpt From Royal Pain
Copyright 2011 Bianca Sommerland

The stillness caused gooseflesh to rise all over her. She felt as though all the powers of the earth were focused on her, waiting for her to obey. Wind rustled the leaves over head and birds twittered, much like the ladies in the hall.

"Carly."

Oh, she didn't want to listen to him. She couldn't. No man, not even the one she loved, ordered her to do anything. He could ask, but. . .

No, he'd said he wouldn't ask.

She dragged her slippers through the dirt and leaves and went to him. Hand on one cocked hip, she tossed her head. "Yes, My Lord?"

He clucked his tongue. "This won't do, my dear. How am I to enjoy myself if you behave as though I am beneath you."

"I didn't—"

"Silence." His eyes narrowed and she pressed her lips together. He circled her, putting a firm hand on her shoulder when she tried to keep him in sight. "You are beneath me—and will be beneath me—until sunrise." His hand slipped up to the nape of her neck and squeezed. "Your answer?"

Her nipples drew taut under her bodice and she sucked in a breath. Answer? For a moment she couldn't remember. She glanced up at the sun, already angling towards the west. They couldn't possibly remain in the woods all night long. Granted these trees hadn't fallen victim to Archne's shadow yet, they were all lush and green. But they wouldn't be if the spiders caught wind of fresh meat. The trees would die and her and Malkyn would be reduced to bones before the sun rose.

"You must mean until sunset?" She stared at him when he shook his head. "But—"

"You trust me so little, love? I will keep you safe. Do you believe me?" He waited until she nodded, then arched a brow. "Then what is your answer?"

Her answer . . .ah yes. There could be only one. "Yes, My Lord."

"Very good." He came to a stop in front of her and tugged as the ties the Earl had done up earlier that day. When she lifted her hands to help he pushed them down to her sides. "Don't move."

A little quiver ran from her belly to the juncture of her thighs, as though her body was the string of a harp he'd plucked. The dress was loosened and lowered. The soft summer breeze seemed to play a high tune on her nerves as she stood there, naked before him. Not for the first time, but this was very different than any time before.

Trembling, feeling so very exposed, Carly gave a little start when Malkyn put his hands on her arms. He rubbed them and gave her a warm smile.

"Whatever happens, I want you to keep one thing in mind. You trust me. I will never hurt you in a way you will not find pleasure from."

Sweet goddess. "But—"

He put a finger to her lips. "Hush." He pointed at something behind her. "Sit there and do not move until I say you may."

There was a big old tree with huge, craggily roots covered in thick moss. Carly approached it, trepidation rising as she felt Malkyn's gaze between her shoulder blades like a firm hand urging her on. She perched on an arched root the width of Malkyn's thick thigh. He shook his head, stepped up to her, then took hold of her ankle and pulled until she was seated between two roots with her legs spread wide and her bottom on a large lump at the base of the tree.

"Arms over your head." Malkyn watch her lift her arms and nodded in satisfaction. "Perfect. I will bind you now."

"What?" Carly squeaked as vines snaked up from beneath the roots and wound around her thighs above her knees. More vines bound her arms to the trunk of the tree, from her elbows to her wrists. The cool, slick skin of the living rope tightened until the bark of the tree dented her flesh. Her heart stuttered a panicked beat in her chest as she strained against the vines.

Malkyn made a shushing sound and put one hand on the trunk over her head. "You're fine, little one. Exquisite, actually." He ran his fingers down her cheek and she found his praise soothed her, as did his touch. "I have dreamed of having you just like this for years. And I'm not the only one."

Unexpectedly Sexual

By Margie Church

To celebrate the release of my newest book, and in keeping with my topic: unexpectedly sexual, I offer
you this.

Close your eyes and take a deep breath. Grass and wildflowers fill the air with their sweet scents. Picture
yourself sitting on a grassy bank next to a stream. You watch the water weaving its way around large
rocks peppering its path. A happy gurgle comes from the river as it defies the stones and then dashes
on. The sun is warm. The quiet trickles and swishes of the water lull you into a peaceful, relaxing state.

Now, you're sitting on the shore of a large lake. There are not many people around. A breeze cools your
skin on this warm day. Waves tumble to shore, one after another, moving faster than the playful stream,
but in an uneven rhythm. You clutch your knees and rest your chin atop them. A wave reaches your toes
and gives them a cool lick before retreating to the depths. You wiggle your feet in the sopping wet sand,
appreciating its silky texture. Digging deeper down, your toes become cold. A wave covers your foot and
nearly reaches your bottom. Sunlight glints on the water in chaotic patterns as though winking at you
before running away. Closing your eyes, you raise your face to the sun and don't care whether the next
wave gets you soaking wet. A sea bird cries above your head. The next gust of wind brings the water to
you. You flinch, but don't move away when your bottom becomes soaked.
You've moved to the ocean. The offshore breeze is brisk, making your skin pebble even though the day
is quite warm. Waves crash into each other in an even tempo eliciting an extended, crunching sound.
The white-capped rollers draw your eyes, your ears to them. Rising and falling, one after another, they
undulate against the shore. They're ceaseless, breathless, unrelenting. The air's salty humidity is ocean-
scented. You breathe deeply, taking in the ocean's rich essence. Each crackling wave is the relentless
stroke of Neptune on your body.


[image error] EXCERPT: Nopeming Shores, by Margie Church with J. Andrew Lockhart. A sensual paranormal (ghost)
romance

In his spirit state, Gabe heard and watched the entire scene between his wife and Jana. He stood behind
Lily while she said goodbye to Jana. He walked out of the building with Lily to the car. The wind caught a
wisp of her hair, and he wished he could tuck it behind her ear. He used to love stroking Lily's soft, wavy
tresses.

Not yet. She wasn't ready to know he was close by, trying to help her cope. Hell, he was trying to cope,
too. God had given Gabe a chance to help Lily, and himself, but it was all in the timing. Gabe wouldn't
get long. The Shepherd of Souls had been very clear about that.

Lily drove out of the parking lot, but instead of taking her usual direct route to the base exits, she drove

through the grounds.

In his spirit form, Gabe followed her.

She slowed down near one of the park benches.

We met there. Gabe recalled seeing Lily with her brown-bag lunch when he'd gone jogging on the
historic base. She'd caught his eye immediately. Her long, graceful limbs and full lips captivated him.
When she smiled, the sun seemed to dim. Her charming demeanor wiped out all his defenses.

She'd shaded her eyes to speak to him. "I've never seen you before."

"I was in Seattle for some training, but I'm stationed here. Are you visiting your husband?"

She'd giggled this wonderful, heart-warming sound, and her face turned the loveliest shade of pink.
Gabe knew in that moment, he was pretty much a goner.

"No, I'm not married. I started working at the commissary last week."

"Well, if you have lunch in the park, I'll be seeing you. I jog through here almost every day."

Gabe didn't usually take that route, but he was darn glad he had that day, and every day after. Lily had
waited for him, sometimes bringing along an extra bottle of water or a piece of fruit for him. They'd talk
for a little while, then he'd finish his run, although his mind was never on physical fitness after he saw
Lilianna Carston.

Now Gabe sat on that same bench, remembering the delight in her eyes when he'd asked her to dinner
the first time. They'd been almost inseparable after that date. They thought they'd have a lifetime
together.

He turned toward her car and saw the strain on her face.

He watched her shoulders rise and fall in a deep sigh before she drove away from the curb.

Gabe didn't get off the bench and follow her. Being dead wasn't exactly halos and fluffy clouds for him.

CONTEST: Tell me about something that turned unexpectedly sexual and you could win a copy of
Nopeming Shores.

Buy link: https://www.nobleromance.com/Books/335/Nopeming-Shores

Margie's page on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&search-
alias=digital-text&field-author=Margie%20Church

Margie's website and blog: www.RomanceWithSASS.com

Guest Post-The Worst Hero Ever

By Ranae Rose

 I love a good hero and a good heroine. Who doesn't? Most readers also have specific character traits they love to hate, and I'm no exception. Today I'm talking about the sort of heroes and heroines that make me wish I should jump into the story and slap some sense right into them! If you read romance, you probably know exactly what I'm talking about. Feel free to use the comments section to tell me what sorts of heroes and heroines drive you crazy.

  The offending heroes:

  The Cheater: Maybe he's a playboy, or maybe it's a one-time thing. I don't care either way – I can't stand an unfaithful hero. Once he's found his true love, he'd better not stray. I'm more than willing to close the book on a hero who can't keep it in his pants when he's with anyone other than his partner (or hey, maybe even partners if the story is like that).

  The Macho-Bot 2000: This guy has no feelings north of his belt. When he's not ogling the heroine's boobs, he's probably thinking up new ways to replace the blood in his veins with extra testosterone. His lack of emotion makes him a bore to read about.

  The Clueless One: He's not sure what he wants, other than instant gratification. He may be a commitment-phobe whose fear of settling down endangers his relationship with his partner. He's the opposite of the sort of hero I really love – the guy who knows exactly what he wants, sticks by his partner and does anything necessary to make it work. The clueless one will probably come around eventually, but by then I usually think he's an ass for being so reluctant to act on his true feelings.

 

  The offending heroines:

 

  The Ball-Buster: This girl never gives the hero a freakin' break. She's constantly busting his balls, giving him a hard time and generally making it clear that she hates him. Of course he's really into her and she secretly has the hots for him, but God forbid she let the relationship take its natural course. These bitchy heroines are infuriating and tiresome to read about. I usually end up feeling sorry for the hero and wishing the heroine would just fall off a cliff so he could find someone more deserving of his affection.

  The Boyfriend-Stealer: Fortunately I haven't come across too many of these nasty heroines, but they are out there: the women who just can't seem to resist finding a taken man and then proceeding to seduce him away from the partner he's already got. They always justify it to themselves somehow, but they'll have a hard time getting this reader on board. It's not easy for me to like a character that goes around stealing somebody else's man.

  The Material Girl:  She spends half the book buying things, namely to expand her designer wardrobe. A third world country could probably be fed off the amount she drops on clothing. I just can't relate, and reading about it gets old quick.

  What about you? What traits can't you stand in a hero or heroine?

**** 
Tiffany isn't the type to waste time daydreaming about men, but when a hot stranger smoking – in more ways than one – on the steps of the bank she works at takes her breath away, she can't help it. He catches her attention as she exits the building on her way to lunch break, and she leaves fantasizing about helping the bank's newest customer-to-be with much more than just his finances. When he finally approaches the counter, it's not to open a new account, but to demand that Tiffany fill a pillowcase to the brim with cash – at gunpoint. The gorgeous gunman takes Tiffany on the run as his hostage, and her fear can't stand up to her attraction. When he offers to let her return to safety unharmed she realizes that there are many things she wants to do to him, but that walking away isn't one of them.

"A totally gripping, sexy thrillride...the perfect combination of adventure and eroticism." - Lucy Felthouse

Excerpt from Taken Hostage:

After exiting the Mustang himself, he walked around the front and opened Tiffany's door for her.  She was overcome by a sensation of déjà vu – she'd imagined him doing the same thing in her fantasy. Now, in their current situation, it seemed absurd.

She stood uselessly as he tossed the pillowcase full of cash into the Saturn's trunk and covered it up with the blankets and emergency roadside kit that were already stashed there. The ordinariness of her captor's car and the contents of its trunk were intriguing. Who was this man, who apparently robbed banks after smoking on their steps and flirting with their tellers for half an hour? It wasn't as if he could expect any of the plentiful witnesses to forget his face – it was only slightly too rugged to look like it belonged on the cover of GQ, or on a billboard in the city.

What in the world was he planning to do next?

 Tiffany eyed the nearby woods speculatively. They were in the middle of the New York wilderness, half an hour from town. She had nowhere to run, and there was probably no one to hear her scream if she tried and he caught her. She dared a glance at her captor, who'd tucked the gun into the front waistband of his jeans. The bulge of the barrel beneath the denim reminded her of the similar protuberance she'd felt there when he'd pinned her against the Mustang in the bank parking lot. She no longer felt horrified by the memory – a fact that sent heat flooding into her face.

Once he'd finished packing the Saturn he opened the passenger door. 'Ladies first,' he murmured in a tone she'd heard already in her fantasy.

She sank into the passenger seat gladly, for her knees had begun to feel as if they might give out. 'Where are we going?' she asked as he turned his own set of keys in the ignition.

'Far away,' was all the reply he gave her.

She couldn't stop asking questions. Now that her fear was beginning to ebb, a strange curiosity seemed to be replacing it. 'If this isn't your house, why'd we come here?'

'Because the owner leaves every morning for work at 7:15 and doesn't come home until at least 5:45 in the evening. So it should be at least that long before they discover the abandoned Mustang and figure out that I'm driving something else. We'll be long gone by then.'

Tiffany noted his use of the word 'we' with a sudden rush of half-amazed, half-frightened anticipation. 'You had this all planned out?'

'Of course.' He pulled the Saturn back out onto the road. 'What'd you think, that I'm just some idiot who decided to rob a bank on the spur of the moment?' He grinned at her, and she had to fight the sudden urge to grin back.

She shrugged instead.

He reached down, pulled out a hat from the small compartment on the driver's side door and pushed it down on top of his head, hiding his hair.

'Shouldn't you make me lay down in the back seat or something?' Tiffany asked. That was how the bad guys always did it on the crime dramas she liked to watch on TV.

He looked away from the road for a moment, turning the full force of his gaze upon her. His eyes were intense, but one corner of his mouth was pulled up in an amused half-smile. 'Do you really want me to?' He spoke in the same husky voice that'd starred in her pre-abduction fantasy.

She dropped her gaze, too abashed to maintain eye contact. What she saw when she looked down only deepened her embarrassment – though her kidnapper had removed the gun from his waistband, the fabric of his jeans was just as strained quite near where it had been.

Copyright © Ranae Rose, 2011

****

Taken Hostage is available from major e-book retailers, including:

Amazon – http://www.amazon.com/Taken-Hostage-e...

Barnes & Noble – http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/taken...

All Romance – http://www.allromanceebooks.com/produ...          Ranae Rose is a multi-published author of red-hot romance. Believing that true love knows no bounds, she's not one to confine herself or her characters to a single genre. She enjoys writing contemporary, historical and paranormal romances. Living on the US East Coast, she's also an avid reader and animal-lover. When she's not writing she can usually be found in the saddle or with a good book. You can find out more about Ranae and her books and get free reads at: www.ranaerose.com

****

I'm No Angel Saturday Snark: Rosemary Entwined

No posts since that last snark! Oh I've been neglecting you all! But I promise, the time's going to good use ;)
Here's a fun bit of one of my favorite scenes from Rosemary Entwined:

"This is me, Rosy. You might not know everything about my past, but you know me. Do I look miserable? Like I feel used?" He held still as she studied his face. He looked exactly like he always did, full of life and loving every minute. He grinned when she shook her head. "Well, you're wrong. I do feel used, by you…" He crossed his hands over his chest and gave a dramatic little sigh. "And Sophia, and Mary, and…"

Rosemary laughed and smacked his arm. "You're a pain. I don't know why I ever worried about you, you're never alone long enough to feel neglected."

"Were you worried?" He rolled his eyes when she nodded. "Silly girl. As long as we find a way to keep you from being a slave to the hunger, I'll be fine. I don't need any big proclamations." He stood and picked her up, sliding her down his body as he swayed to the music. "I know how you feel about me."

One hand gliding over his leather-covered ass, Rosemary peered up at him hopefully. "Does that mean we can…?"

"Not tonight." He tapped her nose with a finger and spun away from her. He caught her hand and twirled her to the dance floor. "But I'm on the menu for lunch tomorrow."

Follow this link for more snark! http://mariesexton.net/saturday-snark-2

I'm No Angel Saturday Snark: Deadly Captive

Came across this cool idea and figured I'd give it a shot. Tell me what you think!
From Deadly Captive:

"Lydia."

The abrupt way Joe said the name sent a frisson of fear straight through me. My eyes shot to the door. There was no one there.

Joe chuckled and deftly shot to his feet. "Well, that answers that question."

I bit my lip and shook my head. What question? Why suddenly say a name when no one was . . . ?

Lydia. I mouthed the name, rolling my tongue around it, and waited for a spark of recognition. I felt nothing. But he would know my name, wouldn't he?

My eyes narrowed. "You were testing me."

Shrugging his shoulders backward in a lazy stretch, he nodded. "Yes, but you passed. Don't worry about it."

*If you enjoyed this, make sure to let me know. I may make this a weekly thing and start including my WIPs.*
Follow this link for more snark! http://mariesexton.net/saturday-snark-2