Dani Collins's Blog, page 37

Bites Of Books - The Consequence He Must Claim

When I completed and submitted my thirtieth book, I decided to celebrate by offering a taste from each one. Enjoy!

The Consequence He Must Claim is Book Two in my very popular baby swap duet, The Wrong Heirs.

Sorcha is PA to Cesar, always had a crush, and the day she quit gave in to desire, accidentally getting pregnant. That same day, he crashed his car and lost a week's worth of memory. While he's in hospital, his family follows through on the engagement they had arranged for him and Sorcha winds up having the baby alone in London. Except, the baby is swapped and sorting it out requires a DNA test. They call Cesar and he is very surprised. In this scene he has caught up to her at the hospital.

~ * ~

“Why,” he said aloud, moving over to her and switching to Valencian so they could speak with some privacy. “If I’m his father, why did I find out like this? Why didn’t you say something sooner? Why not stay and force me to face it? Why not ask me for support?”

She’d always been good under pressure, rarely revealing her thoughts or feelings, but a vulnerable anger flashed across her expression.

“I tried to see you. I asked your father a dozen times, went to the hospital, but I wasn’t allowed up.” Her face hardened. “It was a difficult time for your family and you were in very bad shape. I wanted to be compassionate about that. When I heard you’d lost your memory…” She searched his gaze as though still having trouble believing it.

So did he. He flinched, angered all over again at his own fallibility. He turned away.

“The circumstances weren’t ideal,” she continued behind him. “You were engaged to Diega even if it wasn’t official—” She sighed. “We talked a lot that day and you confided your reservations about marrying. I thought it meant you were deciding against going through with it or I never would have…”

He glanced back to see her dip her head, smoothing her brow with a troubled finger.

He strained his brain, searching for what he might have said to her. Yes, he’d had reservations about his engagement from the time he was twenty and his mother identified Diega as a suitable future wife, but his parents had a perfectly civil, successful arrangement. This was how his family conducted themselves. You didn’t achieve long-term professional success by chasing “love.” You built a satisfying environment by partnering with people of similar minds and means. He had resolved himself to doing his part in expanding the family’s standing and fortune.

And doing right by Diega’s family.

So he had ignored the feeling in the pit of his gut and approved the plan to engage himself when his mother had pressed him.

Privately he acknowledged that in those weeks leading up to the party, he had begun to feel like the walls were closing in. He wasn’t sure why he would have opened up to Sorcha about it, though. Postcoital lowered defenses or not, that was a more personal thing than he would typically confide even to her.

“I wanted to tell you first, obviously,” she said with a despairing sigh. “But I couldn’t get in to see you. What was my alternative? Tell your father? He would have thought, at best, that I’d done this on purpose. I didn’t, Cesar. We used a condom. It failed. I can see you barely believe me. Your father wouldn’t have, either.” She looked away, cheekbones flushed with indignation while sadness tugged at the corners of her pretty mouth.

What had it felt like to kiss her? As good as he’d always imagined?

His hand closed into a fist and a fresh wave of feeling cheated gripped him.

“I didn’t expect you could believe me, if the memory was gone. In every scenario, when I imagined convincing you or anyone else that Enrique was yours, I saw myself being paid off. I don’t want your money.” Her eyes met his, as steady and truthful as he’d ever seen her. “The only reason I gave your name on the forms here was because it was an emergency. If I hadn’t made it through the surgery, I didn’t want my mother burdened with the cost of raising Enrique. At that point, yes, I would hope you would open your wallet.”

A chill moved through him at her saying “hadn’t made it through.” He brushed aside the thought of such a disturbing outcome and latched onto her other shocking admission. “So you never would have told me?”

She looked down, chewing the inside of her lip. “Never is a long time.” Her gaze flicked up uncertainly. “Enrique might have had questions. I was going to wait and see.”

He was flabbergasted.

He reminded himself the boy might not be his, but damn it, he’d spent three years entrusting Sorcha with confidential information, decisions that affected stock prices, personal opinions that he hadn’t shared with anyone else… Aside from leaving him when he’d been at his lowest point, she’d never let him down. From their first meeting, she’d been disarmingly frank, in fact.

So had he. She knew exactly how he felt about people who lied and kept secrets and messed with his scrupulously ordered life.

“I’m not ‘waiting to see,’” he growled, aware that despite a lack of hard evidence he did believe her. “I called off my wedding.”

She took that in with a stunned expression, then recovered with a shaken little shrug. “Well, I didn’t ask you to. I don’t have designs on you myself, if that’s what you’re worried about.” She made the claim firmly enough, but her lashes trembled as she flicked another look at him.

Like she was trying not to betray that, on some level, she’d entertained the idea.

That didn’t surprise him. He was a rich, titled, healthy man. All women took his measure and often made a play. According to his sister, it was basic biology. He had the kind of power and resources that appealed to fertile women looking for a mate to provide for her young.

And that was what Sorcha ought to expect if he was indeed the father of her child.

“Really,” he said skeptically, folding his arms, taken aback, but when had Sorcha not surprised him?

“Really,” she affirmed. “If you want to make provisions for your son, that’s your choice, but I will proceed as if I’ll be supporting Enrique alone.”

Of course he would support his child. That wasn’t even something he had to consciously decide, it was such a no-brainer. What kind of man failed to provide the basics of life to his offspring?

The natural progression of that thought—how he would provide for Enrique—was a more complex decision he was holding off contemplating.

All his life, he’d had a perfect defense against ambitious women: he was tied to an arranged marriage of his parents’ choosing. Now, for the first time in his life, he was free of that encumbrance, yet morally bound to at least consider marriage to Sorcha.

If Enrique was his.

That odd rush of longing for the boy to be his rose again, stronger this time, bunching his muscles with anticipation as though he could physically fight for the outcome he wanted.

“I wasn’t trying to trap you that day,” Sorcha continued, brow wrinkling. “We had some champagne and talked about personal things. I felt—” She flushed and swallowed, but forced her chin up to meet his gaze with defiance. “I felt like we were friends. That’s why I slept with you.” Her expression darkened to one of hurt and betrayal. “But when I came to the hospital to see you, Diega told me you called me your last hurrah.”

Sorcha’s gaze took a scathing sweep that sliced across him. Slash, slash, slash, like Zorro’s sword dissecting him into pieces.

“She said I had become a challenge. A conquest—her word—that you couldn’t stand to let get away. I’ve been so comforted all these months, Cesar, knowing you had a good laugh at my expense right before you nearly died.”

~ * ~

Amazon: US | CA | UK | Aus | Nook | Kobo | iBooks | GooglePlay

Be sure to look for Book One in The Wrong Heirs, The Marriage He Must Keep.

Want to be the first to see an excerpt of an upcoming book? Join my newsletter! You'll auto-magically receive a link to download Cruel Summer, a short ebook romance I wrote exclusively for my subscribers.

Bites Of Books - The Marriage He Must Keep

When I completed and submitted my thirtieth book, I decided to celebrate by offering a taste from each one. Enjoy!

The Marriage He Must Keep is Book One in my very popular baby swap duet, The Wrong Heirs.

Alessandro's cousin is the villain, responsible for the swap. Octavia and Alessandro have grown apart through the pregnancy and she's not ready to resume their marriage. They're in London, out for dinner, and he's asking her to go back to Naples with him.

~ * ~

But if she kissed him now, it would imply agreement.

Doubts continued to float and burst like rainbow-colored bubbles around her, but her gaze dropped to his mouth. She was giving in. She could feel herself surrendering the fight…

Because she really, really wanted him to kiss her.

His head lowered.

She expected a crush of ownership. Triumph even.

He kissed her like he had that first time. Lightly. Sweetly. Gradually coaxing her to part her lips and let the heat and dampness spread.

She was the one who slid her arms around his neck and leaned in and encouraged him to increase the pressure. She opened her mouth and fisted her hand in his hair and punished him for making her wait so long to feel alive. She had missed the sexual energy, the rush of excitement, the provocative differences in their bodies that stimulated her in ways she couldn’t even explain. She kissed him hard and drove her tongue into his mouth and made a noise of anger and relief.

He locked hard arms around her, holding her tight, just short of squeezing her. His hands moved with possessive familiarity, one splaying under her bottom and angling her hips into his groin.

She rubbed against him, inciting him with the grind of her hips and the scrape of her teeth against his lips. She wanted to bite him. Hurt him.

He grunted, kissing her harder as he took control, holding her with restrained power just short of crushing her while he pulled at her lips and ravaged her mouth.

To hell with her recovery and the tenderness across her belly. She wanted him. Her body went weak, signaling her willingness to be taken.

She felt the reaction in him, the gather of his muscles as if he would pick her up and carry her to the nearest surface. The floor. He had in the past.

He tore his mouth from hers instead, one hand moving to the back of her head to tuck her crown under his chin where he held her as though protecting her from the fireball that had exploded into flames between them. They panted, hearts slamming.

To her eternal shock, she realized they were in a restaurant. Voices drifted over the music from the other rooms.

She closed her eyes, needing this moment to collect herself. That had been raw and voracious. Alarming. They’d never been like that before. It made her a little frightened for when they could make love again. They might shred each other to pieces.

“It hurts,” he said gruffly. The hand low on her spine pressed just enough to make her aware of the iron-hard muscle digging into her tender abdomen. “It hurts to touch you and not have you. To smell your hair and feel you against me and kiss without having the rest. It damned well hurts, Octavia. That’s why I stayed away. But I’m not letting you leave me.”

Fine trembles gripped her as she tried to think and couldn’t. She just wanted to feel. She wanted him. She wanted to believe this was something they could build on.

“You haven’t even said you’re sorry,” she managed to say, forcing herself to pull back enough to see him. Pathetic as she was, she needed his support to stand, even as her voice cracked with suffering.

Remorse convulsed his features.

“I am sorry.” It wasn’t an apology. He wasn’t trying to convince her. It was a statement. “Deeply sorry. I took you for granted and underestimated my cousin. But how can I ask your forgiveness when I’ll never forgive myself?”

She’d never heard that particular scrape in his voice before. Never seen such a bleak, devastating anguish leech out all the green to completely gray his eyes. His fingers on her arms were gentle, but she felt pain from them. His pain.

An urge to comfort pressed her heart toward him, giving her a flat, aching sensation against the inner wall of her chest. She wanted to tell him it was all right, but it wasn’t. And he knew it. He felt it. He wasn’t as oblivious as she feared, which filled her with that wretched, misguided hope that kept sparkling before her like a lure.

He very tenderly caressed her cheek, fingertips smoothing her hair back and tracing a line down her jaw. The backs of his knuckles grazed under her chin and down the delicate, pulsing cords in her throat.

“We’ll save sleeping together for when we reach Italy. I want you to rest as much as you can while we’re here. Heal.” His touch, the look in his eyes, made it sound as though he wanted more than physical repair for her. As though he understood her heart was fractured and needed time.

The first tendrils of mending began as she glimpsed the man who’d turned her inside out on a three-week honeymoon, concerned and focused and with a touch like magic, thumb grazing her bottom lip so it felt puffy and incapable of anything but kissing.

Their next course came, but they just stood there, looking into each other’s eyes. After a long moment, he dropped one more very, very gentle kiss on her mouth and slowly released her, leaving her burning as he drew her back to their table.

~ * ~

Amazon: US | CA | UK | Aus | Nook | Kobo | iBooks | GooglePlay

Be sure to look for Book Two in The Wrong Heirs, The Consequence He Must Claim.

Want to be the first to see an excerpt of an upcoming book? Join my newsletter! You'll auto-magically receive a link to download Cruel Summer, a short ebook romance I wrote exclusively for my subscribers.

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Bites Of Books - Playing The Master

I recently completed and submitted my thirtieth book. I'm celebrating by offering a taste from each one. Enjoy!

Here's another spicy bite, this one from Book Two in my Pleasures In Disguise series. It's erotic romance, but the excerpt is safe for work.

When I sold Mastering Her Role, they asked for a second book to go with it. In Mastering Her Role, the hero has an alter ego. I had always wanted to write a companion novel about a woman who disguises her identity and that turned into Playing The Master.

Here Porter comes out to stop the dogs barking at Ann. She wears middle-eastern garb because she grew up there, under her even stepfather Cain, but she's English. Porter is marrying her to finalize a business contract. He doesn't know what to think of her. Note: The 'dressing room incident' was Ann watching Porter's ex-lover, Eloisa, making love with someone else. She then caught Ann in the closet and a reckoning for that is on its way...

~ * ~

One of the doors onto the veranda opened. Porter Navarro’s long legs descended the wide stone stairs next to her.

She stood, not looking at him. No longer looking for the puppy either.

“Are they scaring you? They shouldn’t be barking at guests.” Walking around her, he spoke sharply and made a hand gesture.

The dogs circled once, offered a final yelp, but a stern word sent them away.

Paralyzed by his dynamic presence, Ann waited for him to go back into the house. Porter hadn’t acted differently last night from before and after the dressing room incident, only finding her once to say, “For what it’s worth, my mother is responsible for this circus. Not only does she make everything about her, she rightly suspects it’s her only chance to play mother of the groom.”

Ann hadn’t known what to say. His mother was a beautiful woman who dressed provocatively, drank excessively and flirted without constraint. Erico Navarro, Ann had observed from a quiet vantage of a recessed window, had taken a blonde into one of the guest rooms and stayed there for an hour. Another knee-trembler, she suspected.

Ann still didn’t know what to say to Porter and silently willed him to go inside so she could look for the puppy.

“It’s raining,” he told her.

Yes I know that, she wanted to counter, but didn’t have Eloisa’s audacity. She felt his gaze on her like another muffling layer over her hijab and abaya. Like last night, a sharp longing rose in her to show him she wasn’t really this plain. Beneath the dull olive powder that flaked on her cheeks and made her look unhealthy was a lovely English complexion. The narrow flatness of her lips was a habit she’d developed to keep her mouth pressed closed around Cain, since she wasn’t allowed to speak unless he asked her a direct question.

Would Porter even care if he saw her as she really was? She couldn’t compete with those leggy supermodels he seemed to prefer. He’d basically said so.

A branch trembled and a black nose poked out from beneath it. Pleading eyes stared up at them for a few seconds. The puppy whined once and worked himself out of his hiding spot, belly on the ground, head low.

“Is that what stirred them up,” Porter said with mild disgust.

Ann’s throat closed over an automatic protest. It wouldn’t be worth arguing with Cain if he wanted to kill the dog then slap her for feeling empathy toward it, but she didn’t know what to expect from Porter.

He crouched and held out a hand, beckoning the dog with a light snap of his fingers.

The poodle crawled forward, badly shorn, filthy and trembling with cold.

Porter picked him up and checked each of his limbs, his handling sure and gentle, but thorough.

“You’ll have to keep him in your room. Mother will have him thrown in the river if she sees him.” He handed her the dog.

His flat statement startled her into glancing up through the rusty-water hue of her glasses. He broke the eye contact as soon as her gaze met his, looking with pity at the dog, but she’d glimpsed into his soul and realized that even though it appeared black and empty, it was merely hidden in a very deep cave.

His mother was not a kind person, something Ann had already guessed, but she hadn’t considered what that would mean for a boy growing up. Now she sensed something not unlike her own adolescence.

Having pain in common was not the sort of connection Raina had meant when she’d assured Ann that she would one day find a man who was her perfect match, but emotional agony was a surprisingly strong and quick binding agent. Recognizing a like soul made her heart burst into a frightened beat like a panicked bird’s wings when it was unexpectedly snared. She didn’t want to feel anything for him. It was a trap, she was sure.

Nevertheless, cradling the wiggling, licking animal, she recognized that her first stirrings of physical attraction had taken a giant step into something more elemental and personal.

Nothing so dramatic happened on his side, though.

“Bathe him. Warm him up,” he said, and walked away.

Watching his economic movements, weakened by yearning and relief, she realized she hadn’t managed to conjure one word from her dry mouth.

~ * ~

I'm afraid this one is exclusive to Kindle at the moment. I'm hoping to load it to all platforms by spring of 2017. Watch for it!

Amazon: US | CA | UK | Aus

Do you like hot reads? Also check out:

Mastering Her Role
Taken By The Raider
The Secret In Room 823

Want to be the first to see an excerpt of an upcoming book? Join my newsletter! You'll auto-magically receive a link to download Cruel Summer, a short ebook romance I wrote exclusively for my subscribers.

Bites Of Books - Mastering Her Role

I recently completed and submitted my thirtieth book. I'm celebrating by offering a taste from each one. Enjoy!

I wrote Mastering Her Role at least ten years before I made my first sale. At one point I had an agent and even a contract for it. Long story short, it stayed on the hard drive until it was published as a two book collection by the short-lived HarlequinE. Then I was able to get my rights back and now it's self-published as Book One in my Pleasures In Disguise series. Book Two is Playing The Master.

Both stories are about alter-egos. In this one, the hero, Jason, has a Dominant side as Dominic. His neighbour, Arianne, has a crush on him, but once she hears he has this super-sexy side, she's intimidated and asks to meet Dominic, so she can take some lessons on how to up her sexual game.

~ * ~

ON THE TELEPHONE he had sounded like Jason with a British accent. More or less.

The relationship between the two men was something of a mystery. She’d pressed Celine after the woman said with haughty amusement, I thought he would have introduced you to Dominic by now. But she’d only received a smirk in response.

Arianne wondered how much he’d be like Jason as she stood outside the hotel-room door. Until Jason had yanked her into his arms and spoken so explicitly, she’d only suspected what kind of man lurked beneath his quiet exterior. The idea of giving herself over to someone like that made her breath stutter, urging her to back out of this crazy stunt and retreat down the hall.

It didn’t matter how desperately she wanted Jason. He was a man who enjoyed highly sophisticated sex play. She’d never reach his level. This was—

The door opened.

The man who filled the open frame wore black from silk shirt to snug leather pants tucked into tall, well-worn boots that reminded her of Jason’s. She couldn’t be sure of his identity by looking at his hands or face. He wore leather gloves and a silky kerchief thing, cut with eyeholes. It hid the upper half of his face and hair, like a pirate.

Below the mask was a blond goatee. Jason’s hair was dark as a raven’s wing. This man was about as tall as Jason, but Jason had green eyes, while the ones staring at her were brown.

Stop comparing him to Jason, she scolded herself. He looked like the kind of man who wouldn’t put up with that sort of divided attention.

“Too timid to knock? Come in,” he said in that subtle accent, so crisp with authority. He braced the door with a straight elbow, remaining in the space so she would have to duck beneath his arm and brush his body to get by.

Her purse felt slippery in her grip, and she was pretty sure she was going to faint.

When she hesitated, he said, “Would it help to know I don’t intend to touch you? You wanted to meet me, so we’ll talk.”

She managed to swallow and nod then pressed through the tiny opening, feeling the brush of soft silk against her bare shoulder. She hadn’t known what to wear and settled on this lacy little sundress. It was too virginal, she realized. It screamed of inexperience. Timid. Newbie.

But she was here now, looking around the elegant suite. This was a chic boutique hotel, and he’d booked them into one of the best rooms, a suite on an upper floor. It had a lounge area, a small bar and a door to the left that would be the bathroom. The bed sat on a platform three stairs up, next to the hollow of a three-sided window alcove. Across the foot of the ornate king-size bed draped a fringed, peacock-blue sheet. A footstool, also ornately carved and upholstered in red velvet, stood beside the bed next to a discreet black suitcase.

Wondering what the case might contain made her abdomen tense. She jerked her gaze to the drawn sheers, which over the window that allowed some of the afternoon sun to penetrate, bringing a glow to the polished wood detailing above the empty fireplace. The room was comfortably warm. The air-conditioning, off. No hum. No music, either, just silence as he waited behind her.

She knew she ought to turn to face him, but it was easier to continue studying the room. In one corner stood a screen, black, with an inlay of tile chips. Perhaps it belonged to him, since mosaic nudes in Kama Sutra poses decorated it. Something red hung over the top of it. The rest of the furniture appeared to be hotel issue. Lovely, but not provocative—not like that screen or the suitcase.

“I said I wouldn’t touch you but I have a custom, Arianne. People who play sexual games need signals between them to express readiness to begin and closure at the end. It builds trust. You will kiss me now and again when you leave.”

Was he kidding?

She pivoted slowly, trying to find something reassuring in the cut of his jawline, but he was pure wickedness, lounging so negligently beside the door. She didn’t think she could do it.

“I was under the impression you wanted to reset the boundaries you’ve placed on your sexuality. Have you changed your mind?” His hand was still on the doorknob and he twisted it enough for her to hear the click.

Reasoning that she would have to cross the room to kiss or escape, she did that much on legs that felt numb, not certain until she reached him which option she would choose. Then she was eye level with his lips, their shape a close match to the ones she’d memorized over dinners and drinks.

Brothers, she fleetingly thought, or maybe cousins. At the same time, she was surprised how badly she wanted to kiss him, regardless of who he was. His mouth looked so carnal and masculine. And it was only a kiss. She couldn’t screw that up.

Like taking a leap off the high board, she gathered her courage, held her breath and stepped closer. Lifting slightly in her low sandals, she pressed her lips to his with gentle pressure. His mouth was warm and firm with a faint prickle from the goatee. Closing her eyes as an unexpected shiver of pleasure tickled down her spine, she lingered for an extra second to examine it, then scolded herself for acting so slutty.

She dropped onto her heels.

When she opened her eyes, she saw one corner of his mouth curled up in amusement. “Do I bear a strong resemblance to one of your maiden aunts? Kiss me properly, Arianne.”

Horrified, she looked at his hand on the doorknob, but he released it. The heavy hotel lock clicked into place. He raised his gloved hand to her chin, tilted up her face and lowered his head so his mouth covered hers in a slanting possession.

Hot, damp and thorough. She hadn’t expected that, but oh, when he flicked his tongue into her mouth, it sent a lightning bolt all the way to her center.

He drew back slowly, his gloved fingers caressing her throat. “Hello, Arianne. I’m Dominic. It’s lovely to meet you. Do you speak at all?”

“Of course.” She spoke to the middle of his chest. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

“Is it? We’ll see. If you don’t kiss me on your way out the way I just kissed you, I’ll know for sure.” He walked past her into the room. “I prefer you to wear what I give you. Try on the red dress behind the screen.”

“I—” Undress? That was quite an icebreaker.

“You…?” he prompted.

“I thought you wanted to talk.”

“I thought you wanted to explore your sexuality.”

She could change or she could leave. He offered the choice with silent patience.

~ * ~

Amazon: US | CA | UK | Aus | Nook | Kobo | iBooks | GooglePlay

Do you like hot reads? Also check out:

Playing The Master
Taken By The Raider
The Secret In Room 823

Want to be the first to see an excerpt of an upcoming book? Join my newsletter! You'll auto-magically receive a link to download Cruel Summer, a short ebook romance I wrote exclusively for my subscribers.

Bites Of Books - The Secret In Room 823

I recently completed and submitted my thirtieth book. I'm celebrating by offering a taste from each one. Enjoy!

I was shopping with my sister when I picked up an email from my editor, asking if I would like to write an erotic short for the Chatsfield series. I was given a premise of an aristocrat meeting her lover in a hotel room on the sly and this time she leaves her case there. Uh oh.

My sister and I wandered down the street to the adult toy store where I picked up some inspiration. The wig, the web, and the pendant necklace that doubles as a toy were all window shopped that day.

Here's the opening pages of The Secret In Room 823.

~ * ~

Gwen loved this walk from the elevator, when the slippery lining of her trench coat caressed her bare skin and the only sound was the crush of carpet beneath her heels in the quiet hallway. Occasionally she passed another guest, but this time of evening most had already left for their dinner and entertainment.

Her senses sharpened as she drew closer to her own entertainment. Her deep inhalation caused warmed satin to shift against her nipples. Tingles of anticipation flowed down behind her navel into the place already heating between her thighs.

This was becoming an addiction, she knew that, and like every addict, she didn’t care about anything except getting her fix. She knocked on the door.

He didn’t keep her waiting. He never did. Not for the opening of the door, at least. Once they were into it, he could be a complete bastard and torture the hell out of her with making her wait, but she was always on time for their appointment and so was he.

Which a part of her wanted to interpret as him looking forward to their sessions as much as she did, but she was a realist, not a romantic. Her life was about rules and protocol and being polite instead of revealing your true feelings. Therefore, she found herself fighting the beaming grin that wanted to break across her face and offering him her cool Lady Hamilton-Smythe barely-there smile.

That was, after all, the bitch who was meant to be exorcised tonight.

But appearing aloof was hard when his mouth pulled into a sneer of dismay at her white wig with its prism of color streaked over her left eyebrow.

Call me Hayes, he’d said at their first meeting. She didn’t know if that was because of the deceptive color of his eyes, shifting between brown and green with his level of arousal, or whether it was his real name, first or last. She only knew that she’d looked into those clear, steady eyes at their initial meeting and trusted, blindly and probably very stupidly, but here she was. Again.

He was only wearing his jeans, as if he’d thrown off his shirt in a fit of overheating. Another hint that she affected him as strongly as he affected her, but she squelched the yearning for an emotional connection and focused on the physical. Tanned skin stretched taut over gorgeous shoulders, hard pecs and washboard abs as he hooked one disgusted hand at his waist, the other continuing to hold the door open.

Behind his fly, he was hard, making her pulse lunge into a gallop.

‘No,’ he said flatly, demanding that she lift her gaze to his uncompromising stare. She took in the whole of his face with his stubbled jaw set in displeasure, his black hair getting long again and messy, as if he’d run his fingers through it. His mouth, dear God that erotic mouth with the stern peaks on his upper lip and the wide thick line of his lower, shortened at this moment into a statement of dictatorship.

He almost always treated her like this, like he was one of the many arrogant, titled SOBs who ran her life, only occasionally softening into something that was so warm and melting and dangerous, she refused to dwell on it.

‘I can do what I like,’ she scoffed, saying exactly what she always wanted to say to all those aristocrats and traditionalists. She walked past him into the room, deliberately leaving her case in the hall.

She liked to do that sometimes, treat him like a stable hand. When she wanted to provoke him. After the hellish week she’d had, she was looking for not just a fight, but a war.

He released the door and let it slam shut without retrieving the case.

Her stomach plummeted in dread. Wrong day to take this stand. Her whole life was in that case at the moment. Not just new toys, but a personal item she’d retrieved from her anonymous post box here in London. She hadn’t had the nerve to open it, but she hadn’t felt comfortable leaving it in the boot of her car either. The paparazzi were on her badly enough as it was. If they got hold of that secret, she’d be destroyed.

‘We’re not doing this then?’ she asked testily, fighting panic as she heard herself issue an ultimatum she couldn’t live with. She needed this.

Him.

Oh God, what a lowering admission. She prayed he didn’t realise how much.

His eyes narrowed in a small flinch and she thought he stopped breathing a moment as he debated his response.

‘Take off the wig,’ he finally said, and folded his arms.

A flood of relief went through her. His demand for payment before he’d fetch her case told her he didn’t want to end this either. That was good, but she didn’t obey him. Her attention was splintered, half of it screaming with urgency that the case be brought inside the locked door for safety, but she refused to give in to any sort of weakness in herself. Plus, she hadn’t even brought out her best weapon yet.

Calmly unbuckling the belt on her coat, she opened it and slid it down her arms, then threw it on the foot of the bed. She spent hours on her fitness beyond her daily rides. She was as well-honed as her mount when she went into the ring. Aside from the occasional bruise, there wasn’t a flaw on her long limbs or a badly proportioned curve from her full breasts to her firm backside. Men responded very well to this body.

She cocked herself into a Wonder Woman pose, shoes set apart, hands on hips, spine proud and chin up, giving him a What now lift of her brows.

Without taking his eyes off her, not even adjusting himself even though he seemed ready to burst through his fly, he reached to open the door and held it that way, saying, ‘Get it yourself.’

Oh he was a bastard and she love-hated him for it, the same way she love-hated Black Satin for his stubborn, fierce spirit that challenged her every second if she wanted to stay in the saddle.

She was glad to see the case still there, however, and nodded at it. ‘I brought some new things that interested me.’

‘So did I,’ he responded, making a fear-laced excitement curl in the pit of her belly.

She searched for a clue in his expression, but he only held that confident look of being entirely in control of the moment.

That was the source of his power over her, she realised. She held onto her control twenty-nine days out of thirty and this was her time of release, when she let go and relaxed. She only did it here, though. Behind this door, where he was the only witness. She abandoned her tense grip on her control and after complete collapse, she slowly found herself, gathered her strength and took up the load again.

His holding of the door was a dare to take that beyond this room. She wouldn’t. Couldn’t. It stayed here. Just between the two of them.

So even though she loathed him to the core for forcing her into submission, she peeled the wig off her head and threw it towards his bare feet.

~ * ~

Find all the links for The Secret In Room 823 here.

Do you like hot reads? Also check out:

Playing The Master
Mastering Her Role
Taken By The Raider

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Bites Of Books - Vows Of Revenge

When I completed and submitted my thirtieth book, I decided to celebrate by offering a taste from each one. Enjoy!

Vows Of Revenge was one of those books that hung around in my brain a long time before I was able to write it. Those are both a blessing and a curse. They torture you, and then when you go to write them, you discover that certain scenes don't work on the page as well as they do in your mind. Such is the eternal struggle of a writer, I think.

But when all was said and done, this became one of my favourite books. I love Melodie and Roman is wonderfully aloof, yet deep. I hope you enjoy it.

~ * ~

She still hated him, he’d seen immediately, judging by her lack of a smile.

Then he’d seen her date touch her arm and something had snapped awake in him, an emotion that was blade sharp and ferocious. He suspected it was jealousy, because for a moment he’d been blind. All the hairs had lifted on his body and his blood had pumped in anticipation as he had prepared to shove through the crowd to get to her.

Sense had prevailed, albeit very weakly. He hadn’t been able to dump his date fast enough and get back to Melodie once she’d opened the borders and spoken to him. Now her scent filled his nostrils and his muscles twitched to clamp his arms around her. He was primed to throw her over his shoulder and steal her from the room while fighting off rivals.

He was damned close to doing so. The bitter look she gave him was filled with acid and ate away at what control he had.

“Do you think I wouldn’t control this if I could? That I don’t hate you for affecting me like this?” He threw the words at her.

Her head flung back as if he’d slapped her.

“No, it doesn’t feel very good, does it?” he gritted out, skin threatening to split under the pressure of containing himself. “It’s not me doing this to you, Melodie. It’s us. I’m this close to having you against this damned wall with the entire room watching. It’s that powerful.”

“Even though you hate me.” She turned her face to the side, eyes glistening.

“What do you want me to say? That I love you?” The word caught like a barbed hook on the way out, snagging in his chest and the back of his throat. It wasn’t a word he even understood beyond its bastardized use. I love this car. I love crème brulée.

“I wouldn’t believe you if you did, but I want the man I sleep with to say it,” she said with a break of anguish in her voice. “I want to feel it. It’s the only thing that’s kept me going all those years, believing I’d make better choices with men than my mother did. I’m so lonely I want to cry, but I can’t bring myself to believe any of you anymore.” Her lips trembled. “You broke me, Roman. That’s why I hate you.”

He sucked in a breath that felt like razor blades.

“I hate being this person. I hate being skeptical and negative,” she went on, skimming trembling fingertips beneath her eyes. “I hate using words like hate.” She sent a quick, desperate glance toward the exit. “I need to go to the ladies’ room.”

Because she was falling apart.

He thought he might. Hell.

Catching her arm, he used his height and confidence to muscle through the crowd to where a bellman was checking names at the door. “You have something for me. Roman Killian.”

“Of course. Right here, sir.” The bellman handed over a small folder with a number on the inside cover. It contained Roman’s room key and the credit card he’d handed to a member of staff on his way back into the ballroom after dropping off Greta with a handshake.

He hadn’t intended to book a room here until he’d seen Melodie.

Melodie gave a muted sniff and turned toward a sign pointing out the facilities, but he drew her across the atrium toward the elevators.

“I can’t leave,” she said, accepting Roman’s handkerchief as he hustled her along. Then she paused to lean into her smudged reflection in an etched panel. “Actually, I should go to my room to fix my makeup.”

The elevator doors opened and he pressed her into the car.

“Six,” she said.

He ignored that and pressed the P.

“Roman—” She started to poke the six.

He stopped her. “We’re going to talk, Melodie. Clear the air once and for all.”

“There’s no point,” she insisted, voice husky and fatalistic. “You’re right. We do goad each other and bring out the worst. That means we should stay as far away from each other as possible.”

Her words spiked into him, making him fearful to draw breath, knowing it would burn. “Do you really think that?”

A rush of emotion welled in her eyes and made her clamp her lips together. She dropped her gaze.

“I didn’t listen to you that first day. We might not have damaged each other so badly if I had. This time we get it all on the table. Neither of us can move forward until we do.”

“I damaged you?” she asked with disbelief. “How?”

“You made me question whether I’m a worthy human being.”

~ * ~

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Bites Of Books - Blame The Mistletoe

When I completed and submitted my thirtieth book, I decided to celebrate by offering a taste from each one. Enjoy!

Blame The Mistletoe is Book Two in my Love In Montana series. I loved Liz and Blake right from the start. They're very down to earth. In fact, Blake is in an elite club among my heroes. He's flat broke and is seriously worried about keeping his ranch.

I don't want to give too much away, but I'll excerpt the scene where they just made love on the couch. Liz and Blake are both divorced. Liz's ex-husband is the brother of Blake's ex-wife, so their kids are cousins on that side.

~ * ~

Then slowly, as gently as the snow fell outside, they relaxed. He left her for a moment and came back with a blanket.

“I thought we were going to decorate,” she murmured as he stretched out alongside her, shifting her so he was mostly under her and she was draped across him beneath the scratch of the wool blanket. Their feet pointed to the tree that remained almost as bare as they were.

“Go for it,” he said, but his arms tightened around her, like he wouldn’t let her move if she had the energy to try.

She sighed, completely relaxed and content. Sleepily, she stroked her fingertip against the silky hair on his breast bone, mind wandering as Bing switched from Dreaming of a White Christmas to Silent Night. When the lyrics reached ‘mother and child…’ she whispered, “Are you asleep?”

“I’d like to, but I should check the weather,” he said in a low rumble. “I spent the last day and half buttoning up for that storm they promised and I think it’s finally coming. Hear the wind?”

She did, in the chimney and against the window.

“Will we lose power? Should I worry about Nola’s place?”

“It should be fine. We’ll have to dig out the driveway, but Curly’s here, so what else is there to worry about? No, you can stay right here.” He settled her even more firmly against him.

“Mmm,” she hummed in agreement, then cautiously asked, “Can I ask you something? Don’t take it as pressure, okay? I’m just curious.”

He tucked his chin to frown down at her. “Okay. What is it?”

“Do you ever think about marrying again and having more kids?”

“Yes,” he said, solid and firm. “All the time. Having more kids, anyway. I love Ethan so much. But Crystal and I fell apart almost as soon as we came together and since then... What do I have to offer a woman, Liz?”

His words squeezed her heart.

“You,” she said firmly, rolling against him, so their nude bodies slid deliciously beneath the blanket. “Don’t undersell yourself.”

He dismissed that with a kick of his brow and a curl of his mouth. Then, he snagged her gaze with a solemn, penetrating stare. “What about you? Do you want more kids?”

She nodded. “I do.” Looking toward the tree, feeling as though she were wishing on its empty top, she said, “I’m trying not to make it a goal. Like a task that needs to be ticked off a list, but I think it’s easier for a man to just let something like that happen naturally. As a woman, I’m constantly thinking of my age and...” She sighed. “Honestly, I’m not fishing for anything. I was just wondering whether you did.”

“Liz, I—”

The door to the mudroom clapped open and feet stomped.

Blake’s arm tightened around her as he sat up, bringing her with him, both of them looking over the back of the sofa. Liz scrambled to keep the edge of the blanket across her naked breasts.

“Who’s there?” Blake barked, making Blue heave himself to his feet and woof once before he wandered toward the mudroom with his tail wagging.

Curly went crazy, but almost immediately evolved into a bundle of wiggles and excitement, telling her both dogs must know who—

“It’s me,” a young man’s voice said, adding a sarcastic, “Dad,” before Ethan appeared from the mudroom and halted in his tracks at the sight of them.
*
Blake knew his son. He hadn’t seen him this red-faced, tense and confrontational, since the first pulses of high-grade testosterone had begun pumping through his body a few years ago. Things had leveled out in the last year, but today, Ethan looked like liquid nitrogen, ready to explode.

His derisive use of Dad put a barbed hook in Blake’s chest, but he wasn’t ready to face what it might mean. His brain focused instead on how the hell this could possibly be happening.

Ethan’s aggressive posture seemed to expand as he took in that Blake had company. That it was a woman. That they were naked.

“Auntie Liz?” Ethan blurted, peach-fuzzed jaw dropping in shock.

Liz inhaled sharply, just as a second pair of feet moved from the mudroom. A pretty teenager Blake barely recognized because she’d changed so much since he’d last seen her, appeared behind Ethan.

“Mom?” Petra said.

Liz swore. Petra goggled big blue eyes.

Ethan swung his gaze back to Blake’s and it was the worst look his son had ever turned on him. It was a mixture of contempt and confusion and such a depth of hurt it clenched a fist around Blake’s heart.

“Who are you?” Ethan asked.

~ * ~

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Download The Russian's Acquisition Christmas Epilogue here.

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Bites Of Books - The Russian's Acquisition

When I completed and submitted my thirtieth book, I decided to celebrate by offering a taste from each one. Enjoy!

One of the most common feedback I received on The Russian's Acquisition was that readers wished there was an epilogue--so I wrote one! It's a short story that takes place at Christmas and shows them with their new young family. The link is below the excerpt. I hope you'll check it out.

Aleksy has taken over all the assets of his enemy, including Clair's home, and believes he has 'acquired' her as well. Here Clair negotiates her terms. (Brighter Days is a charitable foundation she's trying to get off the ground.)

~ * ~

“What makes you think I want to sleep with you?”

“You’ve managed to convince me you’re capable of honesty, Clair. Don’t start lying now. You want me.”

He could tell? How? Humiliated, she avoided her own eyes in the mirror opposite, not wanting to see the flush of awareness he obviously read like a neon sign.

“That bothers you, doesn’t it?” he mocked. “That you’re attracted to more than my fat wallet?”

“What wallet?” she scoffed, ducking an admission that she was reacting to anything. “All I heard was an offer for one night in exchange for what, one more day here? You said I was selling myself short earlier. Surely a man in your position could do better than that.”

Her words didn’t take him aback, only provoked a disparaging smile. “You want the penthouse.”

“I didn’t say that,” she protested.

“Good, because the sale closes tomorrow.”

Her insides roiled. She really was homeless. She didn’t let him see her distress, only blurted, “You work fast.”

“Believe it.”

Her belly tightened at the resolute way he said it, and quivered even more when she saw the gleam of ownership in his eye.

“Well,” she breathed. “I can hardly ask you to share this bed if you can’t arrange for me to stay in it, can I? Pity.” Her false smile punctuated her sarcasm.

“I’ll provide you a bed. One that’s bigger and…sturdier.”

A jolt of surprise zinged all the way to the soles of her feet. He wasn’t supposed to take this seriously. She wasn’t.

She clenched her hand around the edge of the laundry basket as if it were a lifeline that would lift her out of this conversation, but for some stupid reason, her gaze dropped to his open collar where a few dark hairs lay against his collarbone. She imagined he was statue perfect under that crisp fabric, with sharply defined pecs and a six-pack of abs. His hips—

Good grief, she’d never looked at a man’s crotch in her life. She jerked her gaze away, mind imprinted with a hint of tented steel-gray trousers. She blushed hard and it was mortifying, especially when she heard him chuckle.

“I don’t even know you,” she choked, wanting it to be a pithy rejection, but it was more a desperate reminder to herself that this was wrong. She shouldn’t be the least bit interested in him.

“Not to worry, maya zalataya. I know you.”

That yanked her attention back to him and his supremely confident smirk.

“You’re waiting for me to meet your price. Let’s get there,” he said implacably.

“That’s so offensive I can’t even respond.”

“It’s realistic. If you were looking for love, you wouldn’t be living off an old man, allowing people to think you belong to him. I don’t need hearts and flowers either, but I like having a woman in my bed.”

“Your charm hasn’t landed you one?”

He shrugged off her scorn. “I’m between lovers. The takeover has kept me busy. Now I’m tallying up my acquisitions, preparing to enjoy the spoils.”

“Well, I don’t happen to come with this particular acquisition.” She kneed the side of the mattress. “I didn’t have to share this bed to sleep in it and I had a paycheck besides. Don’t throw that look at me!” she snapped, hackles rising when he curled his lip. “Victor was going to underwrite the foundation, and it—”

“By how much?” he broke in.

“Pardon?”

“How much was he going to donate toward ‘brightening your day’?”

“He— You— Oh…” She ground her teeth, glaring at his impassive expression. Planting her hands on her hips, she stood tall and said clearly, “Ten.” That ought to make him realize how seriously Brighter Days had been taken.

“Million?” His eyebrows shot toward his hairline.

“Thousand,” she corrected, startled. She could dream of having millions at her disposal, but Victor’s promised funds would have been enough to keep the doors of the home open until she raised more.

Aleksy removed his mobile from his pocket. “You do sell yourself short. We’ll add a zero to that and call it a deal.”

“What?” she squeaked, but he was already connecting to someone, speaking Russian, then switching to English.

“Daniels, yes. You have her details through payroll? Perfect.” He ended the call.

“What did you just do?” she gasped.

“The transfer will complete in the morning.” He pushed his mobile back into his pocket. “Come here, Clair.”

She stayed where she was, aghast. Infuriated. Was it wrong to be dazzled and elated, as well? Oh, what she could do at Brighter Days with a hundred thousand pounds!

“That’s—” She cleared her throat, recalling he was under the impression he’d just bought her. Her stomach turned over, except…well, it wasn’t with the repulsion she expected. It was like peaking on a roller-coaster track and feeling the car drop away while she hung suspended and breathless. She bottomed out quickly, though, rattled by the way the world began whirring by as the situation picked up speed. She didn’t know which way was up. She wanted off.

“That’s a very generous donation,” she choked, blindly scrabbling up her folded T-shirt. She snapped it out and creased it into a messy rectangle against the bedspread. “I’ll issue a proper receipt for the full amount after I’ve moved it into the trust account.”

“Do whatever you want with it. It’s yours. Now let’s find more pleasant surroundings. I’ll send someone to finish packing your things.”

“The transfer hasn’t cleared.” Terror provided the quick retort, but it felt incredibly good to lob it at him. Better than revealing how thoroughly he mixed her up. “And given that you repulse me—”

“Do I?” He launched from his lazy slouch in the doorway. She only had time for one backward stumbling step before he’d clamped hard arms around her, pulled her into the wall of his chest, then crushed her mouth with his.

Claw his eyes out, she told herself, but aside from the fact that her arms were trapped between them, the sensation of his mouth closing on hers was too remarkable to reject. He was domineering and inexorable, but this wasn’t punishment or force; it was—

Hot. Sexy. Enticing. She instinctively parted her lips under the angle of his firm ones, and his tongue speared wetly into her mouth, shooting such a jolt of pleasure through her that her knees buckled.

~ * ~

Amazon: US | CA | UK | Aus | Nook | Kobo | iBooks | GooglePlay

Want more? Here's a #TeaserTuesday from when the book released. You can also read through a string of #SampleSunday posts here.

Epilogue

Download The Russian's Acquisition Christmas Epilogue here.

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Bites Of Books - Hustled To The Altar

Free on Instafreebie!

Claim Here

When I completed and submitted my thirtieth book, I decided to celebrate by offering a taste from each one. This book in particular is available on Instafreebie as a free download when you join my mailing list.

Not sure yet? Read on for a sample.

Hustled To The Altar was the first book I finished that earned enough recognition I thought I might actually have a shot at a publishing career. It finaled in several contests, including the Golden Heart, and got me an agent.

Alas, one thing and another happened and all of that fizzled, but I always believed in this story so I eventually self-published it. It does, however, stand alone in my repertoire. It's very shoe-shine-shuffle zany with a fast-paced plot where all the action takes place in one day.

As such, the chapter headings are times of day. This is what happens at 1:45 p.m. Note: Renny is engaged to Jacob, for many wrong reasons, and Con is her ex.

~ * ~

Her reasons for resisting him became foggy and, besides, he had surprised her. Con was fun and exciting and wickedly charming when he wanted to be, but he used humor to keep people at a distance. He said things like “You’re beautiful,” and “I want you,” never “I need you.” He had come close just now. He had told her he valued their relationship, had implied he would have come after her. It seduced her as thoroughly as the feel of his pulse in his neck hammering against her palm, compelling her to keep him close and hold onto the moment.

When he moved to find her lips, she intended to resist, but he didn’t come at her like he had something to prove. He slid his fingers into her hair like he was gathering up something precious and he paused—waiting to see if she would reject him, she realized. When she didn’t say anything, he didn’t laugh, didn’t narrow his eyes with triumph. He let his eyes half close and tilted his head as he parted his lips over hers.

His lips were warm, damp, oh so nice to rub her own against. He waited until the fit was sweet and perfect, increased the pressure, and gently invaded.

She let him in. She opened her mouth and absorbed his taste and stroked his tongue with hers because she had missed this. Before Con, she hadn’t considered herself a particularly sensuous person, but he was so tactile, constantly touching and stroking and nuzzling, so that when they finally did make love, it was often a combustible end to a full day of foreplay. She discovered deprivation had the same effect on her. Kissing him after months of abstinence made her greedy for the whole package. She slid her arms around his neck and sank into the pleasure they gave each other.

The kiss changed from sweet to passionate, from tentative to fully involved. He braced her back against the window and became more the man she knew, intensely focused and uninhibited. Sweeping his hands down her body, he bunched the hem of her dress up to her waist, exposing her thighs to cool air and anyone at street level who cared to look up.

“People can see—”

With a soft grunt, he lifted her so she was at his eye level and guided her legs around his waist, turned, and took a dozen steps away from the window before sinking to his knees. She felt the carpet beneath her and the weight of him settling between her legs, and pulled his head down to kiss and kiss and kiss him.

This was so like Con. Not a bed, not even a sofa. The floor, the windowsill, the edge of a bathtub. And it had been so long, too long, since they’d been like this. Hot and breathless and God, he excited her. Her hands roamed over his shoulders, into the neckline of his shirt, seeking the hot, hair-roughened skin she adored. When she didn’t find enough of it, she yanked at the tail of his shirt, but their bodies trapped it. She wiggled her fingers.

He let out a shocked laugh and lifted. “No tickling.”

She pressed her smiling lips against his. “Don’t stop kissing me.”

“Quit talking.”

“You’re stopping.”

He laughed and chased her moving lips, both of them grinning and kissing with wet noises.

“I’ve missed this,” she said, not able to admit it was him she had missed. She clasped his head and kissed him all over his face, pushing her fingers into his hair and forcing him to lift his head and expose his neck. She tasted his skin and made him shudder and felt drunk.

“I can’t touch enough of you.” Braced on one elbow, he pushed the rest of her skirt out of the way and dragged his shirt free so the bare skin of his waist met the inside of her bent leg. Instinctively, she lifted her hips, pressing herself against the shape of his erection, rolling her hips so they both groaned.

She skimmed her hands over his chest, up his sides, raking her nails gently and feeling him go taut.

With a growling noise, he scraped his teeth against the upper slopes of her breasts, biting lightly and licking and kissing the valley between them. “I’ve wanted to do this all day.”

“Touch me here.” She guided his hand from the back of her knee to the crease of her hip.

“Oh, Ren, it’s going to be hard and fast.” He slid his fingertips beneath the elastic of her underpants and curled his hand into a fist as he prepared to tear them off. “I haven’t been with anyone else. Are you still on the pill? Open your eyes and tell me it’s okay.”

“Me either. I am. It’s ok—” She opened her eyes and saw the jamb of the broken bedroom door above them. She frowned, starting to realize this was wrong, wrong, wrong.

There was a funny clicking sound and Con froze, too. His expression went grim and his hand flattened on her stomach.

As her muddled brain clued in that she was hearing the outer door opening, she pushed at Con’s chest.

He stayed where he was, between her legs, pinning her to the floor with his immovable shape so she could only raise her head. She did, looking over Con’s shoulder to see Jacob standing at their feet.

“Renny?” he asked warily.

Con hitched himself onto his elbow and looked up at Jacob. “I guess you’re wondering how we’re making out.”

~ * ~

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