Category: Spotlight Feature

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Spotlight Feature of Crossfire of Love by Ella Jade

Crossfire Of Love
Can an arranged marriage lead to love?
Recent college graduate Gabriella has finally married the man of her dreams, the older, charismatic attorney Lorenzo Martinez. She’s had a crush on him for as long as she can remember and always imagined they’d one day find their happily ever after. Unfortunately, they enter into a union arranged by their fathers.
Lorenzo is charming, protective, and loyal to his crime lord father Carlo. When Carlo asks Lorenzo to marry Gabriella he jumps at the opportunity. He’s been drawn to her for many years and knows by marrying her he’s helping to protect her father.
Gabby is resentful and won’t be Lorenzo’s charity case. But sparks fly and the couple soon gives into their desire, realizing they were meant to be together.
What happens when Carlo’s enemies threaten their future? Will someone get caught in the crossfire?
Content Warning: graphic sex, some violence

Excerpt
Lorenzo walked up the porch steps, turning to stare at her. “Are you coming, Gabriella?” No one but Lorenzo and his father called her by her full name. She liked when Lorenzo said it. He’d always made it sound so formal and sexy.
These were the first words he had spoken to her since they left the courthouse. They were married in the chambers of the prestigious Judge John Cartwright. He’d been a family friend of the Martinezes for many years. He was their go-to man whenever they needed something done fast and legally. Well, legal in her new father-in-law’s eyes anyway.
She hurried up the steps and followed Lorenzo inside their new home. It was built within a matter of months after she’d agreed to marry him. Carlo wanted them to have their privacy, but he also wanted to keep them close. He didn’t trust she’d hold up her end of the bargain, and keeping her on the property was the best way to ensure she wouldn’t run.
It was silly, really. How could she run from a family like this? They had ties all over the world. There wasn’t any place she could escape to that they wouldn’t know about. She was a woman of her word. She said she would marry Lorenzo and she did. She’d find a way to cope. She always had.
Lorenzo pulled his jacket off, poured himself a scotch, and then loosened his tie. “Would you like a drink?”
“No, thank you,” she said.
Most brides would be dancing the night away and drinking champagne by this point in their wedding night. She didn’t think that was part of Lorenzo’s plan.
“I didn’t think you’d go through with it.” He sipped the amber colored liquid as he looked her over.
“I said I would.”
“I know, but when push actually came to shove, I thought you’d run.”
“You don’t know me that well,” she said. “I don’t run.”
“Good.” He smirked as he put the glass to his lips.
Gabby couldn’t take her eyes away from those lips. She’d never had the pleasure of having them on her own. Judge Cartwright hadn’t asked him to kiss his bride. She hated herself for thinking about him that way.
“You could’ve stopped this. Why didn’t you?” she asked.
As they stood in front of the judge, she kept hoping he’d put an end to the charade and stop the wedding. It didn’t make sense to her why he had agreed to marry her. She didn’t have a choice. Her father’s gambling debts made sure of that. But she didn’t understand why he’d allowed things to get as far as they had.
“I was just as trapped as you were.” He downed the rest of his scotch.
She didn’t believe that. She knew he respected his dad, but she didn’t get why he wouldn’t have put his foot down and said no to such a life-altering decision.
“You could’ve told your father no from the beginning. Why would you agree to marry someone if you didn’t have to?”
“Look.” He shook his head. “It’s done now. We’re going to have to make the best of it.”
“Make the best of it?” She plopped down on the leather sofa. “I’m twenty-two years old. I just graduated from college, and you want me to make the best of it?”
“I know this isn’t what you might have wanted, but it is what it is. You agreed, and now it’s done. You can’t go back on it now. My father won’t forgive that.”


Bio: Ella Jade has been writing for as long as she can remember. As a child, she often had a notebook and pen with her and now as an adult, the laptop is never far. The plots and dialogue have always played out in her head, but she never knew what to do with them. That all changed when she discovered the eBooks industry. She started penning novels at a rapid pace and now she can’t be stopped.
Ella resides in New Jersey with her husband and two young boys. When she’s not chasing after her kids, she’s busy writing, attending PTO meetings, kickboxing and scrapbooking. She hope’s you’ll get lost in her words.
Website / Facebook/ Twitter

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Spotlight Feature of Hunter’s Rise by Shiloh Walker

Hunter’s Rise
The Hunters #14
By Shiloh Walker
Release date: 4/3/12
Order here:
B & N | Amazon | Indiebound | Book Depository | BAMM 
His past is a mystery, even to him-a werewolf with memories so lost in a fog that even the Hunter’s healers cannot help him. More than a century ago, Toronto awakened on an unfamiliar street, naked and alone- and dogged by the unanswered questions of his enigmatic existence.
The vampire Sylvia is no Hunter. She’s a mercenary who just barely skates this side of what the Hunters consider acceptable. All she wants is to hunt her quarry, and make a lot of money. Her newest prey is a devious killer. But her newest complication is of a more intimate sort: a blonde, blue-eyed werewolf who interferes with her plans in so many exquisite ways.
Excerpt
Snippet (warning… Toronto is something of a smart-ass)
Not the ideal place for a fight. He’d done it before and managed to avoid human casualties, but he suspected that Sylvia James was a different breed from what he was used to. Ferals fought to live, so they could kill—by nature, most of them weren’t always clearheaded. Sylvia, like him, was a trained killer. She would be clearheaded. It would make a difference.
He hunted the ferals.
She hunted for money.
In the end, he’d win, because he was stronger.
But he didn’t want to have to fight her. He wanted to have sex with her—down and dirty sex, maybe up against a wall, in the light so he could watch her. Then on a bed, her body under his, or over . . . his hands tangled in that dark, silken hair.
“You know, most men would at least bother to introduce themselves before the guy starts picturing the woman naked,” she drawled, coming to a stop eighteen inches away.
Toronto smirked. “That’s bullshit. We see a woman, we frequently picture them naked. We mess with the names when we want to actually think about getting them in bed. Some of us, at least.” He skimmed a look over her body, taking in the sleek muscles, the powerhouse curves. Then he focused on her face again, smiled slowly. “So. What’s your name?”
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Spotlight Feature of Obsession by Tamaria Soana



Obsession
Is there anywhere safe when you’re the object of someone’s obsession?

Alexandria Stevens is a New York Times best-selling romance novelist. After she makes a guest appearance on a popular TV talk show, she creates a Twitter account. Within a few short weeks she meets a fan, and they become fast friends…or that’s what Alex thinks. When Alex finds herself being stalked, the person she least suspects is her new friend Jillian. What she doesn’t know is that Jillian has been obsessed with her for years. She wants everything Alex has, even her husband.
Content Warning: sexual situations, adult language, violence



Excerpt
Alex went into her study to answer some emails and go over the script for her movie again when the doorbell rang. Knowing Hudson was on a conference call, she went to answer it. She looked out the window to find a deliveryman with a long, white box. Her heart melted, Hudson had flowers delivered for her. He was always so romantic and thoughtful. God, she loved him.

Alex opened the door and signed for the flowers. As she took them to the kitchen to place them in a vase, her mind wandered to all the ways she could thank Hudson properly after his conference call was over. Her favorite one involved her being down on her knees. Alex couldn’t wait to see and smell the beautiful flowers. Giggling, she untied the ribbon and anxiously lifted the lid.
She screamed and dropped the box. It was filled with a dozen black roses, a purple plastic butterfly attached to one stem. Fear rocked through her body as she remembered the note left on her car. Like a butterfly, a wild butterfly. I will collect you and capture you.Alex fell to the floor and wrapped her arms around herself.
“Alex, oh my God. Are you okay? What happened?” Hudson asked as he placed his arms around her trembling body.
She pointed to the black roses. “I thought you sent me flowers,” she stuttered in between her sobs.
Hudson looked at the roses with confusion, then Alex pointed to the butterfly and told him about the note she’d found on her car and how Colleen said it was nothing, probably a sick prank.
“You should’ve told me, baby. I’m calling your father, this isn’t just a prank.” Hudson dialed Anthony, Alex’s father and a police detective. Hudson held her tight and assured her that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her and they would find out what was going on.
Anthony was at his daughter’s side within fifteen minutes with two policemen in tow. He asked a few questions and took the flowers for evidence. Alex just clung to Hudson as her father lectured her for not telling anyone about the note that had been left on her car. He was upset that the note had been destroyed, because there could’ve been forensic evidence on it that would help them figure out who was doing this.
Alex looked into her father’s eyes, he looked both angry and conflicted. She knew this had to be hard on him. He had to be both her father and the detective on the case. He assured them he would try and keep a lid on it for as long as possible. Alex let out a moan knowing what would happen if the media found out about it.
Hudson asked Anthony about the possibility of the police providing some sort of security for Alex. She objected, saying she didn’t want to be babysat. Her father quickly dismissed her objection, stating it was a good idea and he would arrange regular patrols of the street. He swore to her that he would catch the psycho who was stalking her. He hugged her before he left, which took Alex by surprise because he never showed emotion.
When everyone was finally gone, Hudson got Alex some water and two sleeping pills. Soon she was in bed wrapped in Hudson’s arms. Although she was both emotionally and physically exhausted, she felt safe next to him. She sighed and snuggled as close to his warm body as she could as she wiped away a tear and drifted off to sleep.
Alex woke to her cellphone ringing over and over again. Who the hell keeps calling? She moaned as she grabbed her phone from the bedside table. When she looked at the screen and saw who the caller was, she rolled her eyes.
“Mom?”
“Oh my God, Alexandria, are you okay? Why do I have to find out from the media that someone is stalking my daughter?”
Alex just let her mother rant—no good would come out of trying to stop her and explain things until she had it all out of her system.
“And a movie deal? Why am I the last to know everything? Well, I’m waiting.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I was going to call you today. Things have been a bit crazy. What do you mean you heard it from the media?”
“It’s all over the entertainment news.”
“Christ!” Alex took a deep breath. She needed to focus and find out what was being said. “Mom, I have to go. I promise I’ll call you later and fill you in on everything. I need to find out exactly what has been leaked.”



Tamaria Soana is middle aged, but just feels like her life has begun. She resides in Western New York. Cuddling up with a good book under an electric throw has always been her way to escape the cold Buffalo nights. Growing up she always loved to write, mainly short stories and poetry. She’s married with two beautiful young girls and one very spoiled lab mix.

Website / Twitter / Facebook / Goodreads / Beachwalk Press

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Spotlight Feature of Rock Killer by Evan Townsend

Rock Killer
by Evan Townsend
Space Resources, Inc. (SRI) mines asteroids for the riches a populated Earth needs without degrading the planet.  Yet there are those opposed to progress in whatever its form such as the Gaia Alliance, a front group for eco-terrorists.  During a violent attack on the Moon, the terrorists steal an exploration ship, arm it, and rename it the Rock Killer.
Charlene “Charlie” Jones of SRI security is trying to infiltrate the Gaia Alliance’s cabal to find evidence linking them to the murder of her fiancé.  But a run-in with the law threatens to reveal her identity to the dangerous men of the Alliance.
Simultaneously, SRI Director Alexander Chun is traveling to the asteroid belt to bring a kilometer-long nickel-iron rock back to Earth orbit to mine for its valuable metals.  Following him and his multi-national team is the Rock Killer.  Without armaments, millions of miles from help, Chun must stop those who threaten him and the lives of his crew.

S. Evan Townsend is a writer living in central Washington State. After spending four years in the U.S. Army in the Military Intelligence branch, he returned to civilian life and college to earn a B.S. in Forest Resources from the University of Washington. In his spare time he enjoys reading, driving (sometimes on a racetrack), meeting people, and talking with friends. He is in a 12-step program for Starbucks addiction. Evan lives with his wife and two sons, aged 17 and 20, and has a 22-year old son attending the University of Washington in biology. He enjoys science fiction, fantasy, history, politics, cars, and travel.
Website/ Facebook / Twitter / Trailer

Excerpt:
DeWite moved into the observation room and Prince followed.
The room looked almost exactly like a bar since it was a VIP lounge for watching ships land and take off. A large window looked over the shipyard, where various types of spacecraft were resting on the lunar dust. The window, made of Crysteel, invented by SRI’s orbital laboratories, began about half a meter from the floor and extended to the ceiling and was about five meters wide. Crysteel, made in a factory in Earth orbit one atom at a time, was almost as strong as aluminum. Its one weakness was a very high index of refraction due to tightly packed oxygen atoms. It made great lenses but was not good for use where a clear view was needed such as spaceship windows and pressure suit helmets. But the picture window in the lounge would have been impractical without the Crysteel.
Four pressure-suited figures were moving across the plain. The suits were not SRI issue and they were carrying submachine guns. DeWite recognized them as a South African made 9 millimeter caseless that were favored by criminals who bought them on the black market.
One, carrying a 40-millimeter recoilless rifle, knelt just a few meters from the window and aimed. Fire shot out of the rear of the weapon, dying almost immediately in the airless environment. A flame licked a small intra-lunar shuttle followed by an explosion. The ship’s skin crumpled and it folded in on itself in a slow, macabre death dance. An explosion marked the rupture of the fuel tanks. Fire burned until the oxygen ran out.
“Goddamnit!” DeWite exploded. “We need to get to the airlock.”
Just then one of the four figures outside noticed the two Security guards. He tapped the others on their shoulders and pointed. The other three turned and again the recoilless rifle spat a fleeting flame. DeWite dived behind the bar—an easy task in the low gravity. The window exploded inward. Prince was thrown against the rear wall, his body shattered by the impact. Then the window exploded outward as the room decompressed. Prince’s body was slammed against the bottom of the window and sucked out into the harsh sunlight.
DeWite heard the emergency door slam shut locking him in the room. He knew it would never open until the pressure in the room equalized with the pressure in the hall.
He stood, aimed his shotgun, braced his leg behind to compensate for the low gravity, and fired. He was surprised he heard it at all. Must still be a little air in the room, some part of him thought.
The figure with the recoilless rifle was thrown back and blood ejaculated from its torn body. It was freeze-dried before it hit the lunar plain. The remaining figures turned with their weapons firing. DeWite barely heard the bullets hitting the wall behind him. His ears felt as if they were going to explode. He screamed, not in fear, but to empty his lungs to prolong his already forfeit life a few more seconds.
Pump, FIRE, Pump, FIRE, Pump was DeWite’s whole existence. Another figure crumpled, spouting blood. Then the bullets ripped into DeWite. Blood flowed like a fire hose. FIRE—DeWite could no longer stand, even in one-sixth gravity. He sank to the floor and died in a puddle of his blood that was boiling and freezing simultaneously.
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Guest blogger: Blair McDowell


Show, Don’t Tell

Who among us has not seen those dreaded words in the margin of a manuscript?   It sounds so easy.  “Show, don’t tell. ”
Those of us who are, shall we say, of more mature years, are programmed to tell.  Our parents and grandparents told us stories.  Charles Dickens and Jane Austen and Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie and Dostoyevsky all told their stories.  And they were very good stories indeed.
But the times have changed.  The shift in reader expectations from passive to active involvement in stories began, I believe, with motion pictures in the early decades of the twentieth century.  Movies pulled people into their stories in a way print never had.  For the first time stories were made visual.  Of course, plays existed before.  But only a minute proportion of the population ever went to the theater.  With the advent of movies, suddenly drama was available to everyone.
Then came television.  Living other people’s stories was no longer a once-a-week movie experience, it became a nightly event.  Drama came into people’s living rooms and captured an audience far beyond that of most books. Plots moved fast.  They had to.  There was only a half hour or hour time slot in which to draw[L1]  the audience into the story.  The story was visual.  The actions observable.  Emotions were shown, not described.  No imagination was necessary on the part of the viewer.  It was all there to see and to hear and to identify with.  
Video games came next.  Action at the speed of light with the players in charge of the story.
A result of all this recent history is that we as writers must adapt to a very different set of reader expectations than our predecessors.  Today’s readers expect to see the story.  And a natural corollary of this is that they want their stories to move faster, to be shorter.  Where the 90,000 to 110,000 word novel used to be the norm, now shorter works are more in demand.
            Stories [L2] must pull readers quickly into the experiences of the characters.  From the first page they must feel what our characters feel, see what they see.  Hear, smell, taste, touch, vicariously what our characters see, hear, smell, taste, touch.  The use of all five senses is vital to helping readers live our stories.
I rely heavily on the five senses in my stories.  In The Memory of Roses, the scent of that flower is a connecting link between the two love stories and forms a continuous thread from the beginning to the end of the novel.  In Delighting In Your Company, the ghost hero sings and whistles the tune, Greensleeves from the first pages to the last.  Abigail’s Christmas is replete with the sights, sounds and scents of Christmas.  Using the five senses is one of the easier ways of showing.  
 We cannot simply say that a character is sad, happy, nervous, tense, anxious.  We must show what the character is doing that physically expresses the emotion he/she is feeling.  This is not always easy.  But this is what “Show, don’t tell” means.
Here are two ways to tell whether we’ve slipped into telling where we should be showing.  
The first and most obvious is the use of the words “feel” “feeling” and “felt”.  If any of these words is present in a sentence, we’re probably not showing, we’re telling.  A computer search of the manuscript for these words will let us know immediately where we need to revise.
Amy felt deeply saddened as she looked around her father’s empty study.  
Clearly, this is telling.  What actions could we have Amy do that would show the reader she is sad?  If she were an actress with no lines to speak in this scene, what could she do to let us know how she feels?
She could sigh.  She could brush her hand across his desk and shake her head.  If she is deeply distressed she could cry.  She put her head in her hands.  Her body might slump.  We need to tap into the physical actions, the behaviors that indicate sorrow.  
Another area where it is easy to fall into “telling” rather than “showing” is the point in the story at which we describe what our hero or heroine looks like.
Telling: Amy had short auburn hair that never looked quite combed.  
Showing: Amy ran a brush through her short auburn hair and shrugged.  She knew it never looked combed but she really didn’t care.  
Telling: Andy had well-muscled shoulders and a broad chest.
Showing: Amy leaned against Andy, taking comfort from his strong arms and the solidity of his chest.  
Telling: Amy set about cooking breakfast for the kids.
Showing:  The bacon began to sizzle.  Amy turned to the stove, cracked four farm-fresh eggs into the hot bacon fat and watched as the edges began to brown.  Three pajama clad boys tumbled into the kitchen.  Amy smiled.  Nothing like the smell of bacon and eggs to rouse the troops .
Hearing, seeing and smelling were all a part of the above example.  When we draw on the five senses in a scene we always come closer to showing.
Any time we name an emotion we are telling rather than showing.  Almost any time we use a word with an “ly” ending (gladly, sadly, grudgingly, happily, etc.  etc) we are telling, not showing.  I regularly do a computer search for ly.  Sometimes I leave the word.  But usually I try to find an observable action that will express the behavior indicated by the “ly”.
Show, don’t tell means that we must live inside our character’s minds and have them behave in ways that demonstrate their feelings and thoughts, their reactions to the situations in which we place them.  Above all we must make it possible for our readers to become involved in what’s happening in our stories, to be a part of our hero’s journey.



Blair McDowell wrote her first short story when she was eleven and hasn’t stopped writing
since. After many years producing non-fiction professional books in her field, Blair decided to
exercise her rich imagination and write novels of mystery and romance set in places she knows and loves, peopled with characters drawn from her experiences in those locales.
One of her favorite places in the world is Greece, the setting for ‘The Memory of Roses’, Blair McDowell’s latest novel. While in Greece Blair was inspired by the ancient culture, friendly people and the picturesque settings, and the plot for the ‘Memory of Roses’ was born.
Blair has a home on a remote island in the Caribbean where the local lore of the ‘Jumbie’ (‘the dead who walk’) formed the basis for her novel of that name.
The setting for Blair McDowell’s book, ‘Sonata’, is the spectacular city of Vancouver with its
vibrant multicultural population and its rich musical life. In ‘Sonata’, Blair McDowell’s love of
music comes into play, and is intricately woven into this story of mystery and romance.
Blair is a member of the Romance Writers of America, Romance Writers of America (Greater
Vancouver Chapter), and the Romance Writers of America (Women’s Fiction).
Website / Facebook
Buy Links: Amazon / Nook / All Romance / Ebookstrand

The Memory of Roses
The Greek island of Corfu unearths the enduring love stories of two generations of the
McQuaid family. First, renowned archaeologist Ian McQuaid meets the love of his life while
recuperating from an illness contracted during a dig in Crete. Even though he is married, his wife had not been a passionate partner for many years, and the appearance of the stunning Maria Calbrese was a miracle sent to him at the lowest point in his life.
Then a generation later, Ian’s daughter Brit travels to Corfu after his death. He left Brit a note
disclosing that he owned a villa on Corfu, and that when he was there he had fallen in love with a
woman named Maria while still married to Brit’s mother. He asked Brit to deliver a package to Maria, who he thought lived somewhere in Venice. Determined to fulfill her father’s requests and return quickly to the US, Brit’s plan is soon derailed. She meets archaeologist Dr. Andreas Leandros who looks like the Greek gods of ancient times, and her own damaged heart begins to come alive.
What does the mysterious package contain, and how will Brit find Maria as requested by her
father? Will finding her change Brit’s life? Will she manage to preserve her bond with Andreas, or will she return to the US to live out her life without him?
Excerpt:
It was on June eleventh that he met her. He had gone to Adriatika for his evening meal. It was a
week night and he had lingered over his late afternoon swim. By the time he arrived, the few other diners were well into their meals.
“What have you for me tonight, my friend?” he asked.
“Ah! You are in luck. We have Rabbit Steffado and I’ve kept a portion back for you.”
Ian settled into his chair at his regular table and opened his book. He’d long had the habit of
reading in restaurants until his food arrived. It kept him from feeling lonely.
He heard a commotion at the door and glanced up from his book to see a stunning young woman in conversation with Yiannis.
“Of course you are not too late, Signorina,” Yiannis was saying as he showed her to a table. “We
always look forward to your return in June. Did you have a pleasant journey from Venice?”
“Pleasant enough, Yiannis. I hope you have some of your Rabbit Steffado for me tonight. I’ve been looking forward to it for months.”
“Alas, I am afraid the last portion was just ordered by someone else,” he said, nodding in the
general direction of Ian’s table. “But I have a very nice fish if you’re interested.”
“Hmm. I’ll think about it. Meanwhile, if you could bring me a pitcher of your good house wine…”
“Of course.”
Ian went back to reading his book. Suddenly he sensed that he wasn’t alone. He looked up to see
the woman who’d just entered the restaurant standing at his table, a brimming pitcher of wine in her hand. She was tall and full breasted, her long ebony hair swung loosely to her shoulders and her eyes were dark and lively. Her face could have come from a Botticelli painting, beautifully oval, classically Italian. She wore a low necked blouse that seemed to fall off one shoulder and a full skirt that emphasized her small waist.
He realized with a shock that she was speaking to him in English and that he hadn’t heard a word
she had said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said I assume you speak English since you’re reading a book in that language. If you’d rather, we could speak in Italian. My Greek is a bit primitive.”
Confused, Ian managed to stutter, “English will be fine.”
“Good. I have a proposition for you.” She smiled.
Ian thought whatever it is the answer is yes. He merely nodded.
“You,” she resumed accusingly, “you have ordered the last portion of Rabbit Steffado. I’ve been
looking forward to Rabbit Steffado for months. I propose that we should enjoy that rabbit together. There is always enough for two in Yiannis’ portions. Meanwhile we can order some of Catarina’s eggplant and a salad to start and,” here she held up the pitcher, “I already have the wine.” She waited expectantly.
Ian threw back his head and laughed for the first time in months. “Please,” he said, getting up
quickly and pulling out a chair for her, “Be my guest. I’m Ian McQuaid.”
Over the eggplant she told him she was from Venice and that her name was Maria. “I always spend six weeks here at this time of the year. And this is my favorite restaurant on Corfu. I always came here on my first night back.”
They worked their way through the appetizers laughing and chatting about their experiences on
Corfu as if they were old friends.
The rabbit arrived at the table, steaming and aromatic in its rich sauce. Maria ladled it on to their
plates. “So what brings you to Corfu?”
Ian somehow didn’t want to admit his recent illness to this young woman who was the picture of
health and vitality. “I was working on Crete and I decided to take some time off. A friend suggested Corfu.”
“What do you do on Crete?”
“I’m an archaeologist. My special area is Bronze-Age societies, the Minoans in particular. Knossos, on Crete, is one of the best preserved Minoan sites in the world. I’ve been working there off and on for some years.”
“You’re an American aren’t you? Your accent isn’t British.”
“Yes. I’m a professor at Stanford University in California. But I spend half of every year in Greece.”
They continued to chat and laugh their way through the rest of meal.
Ian could hardly take his eyes off of her. She was so utterly alive. Her mobile face telegraphed her every thought and mood. When she laughed at his stories her whole face lit up. When she was serious,her eyes held the reflective calm of a mountain lake. He found her utterly entrancing. By the time they’d finished dessert he was wondering how he could prolong the evening, how he could arrange to see her again.
Then he reminded himself that he was still married, that he’d no right to become involved with
this young vibrant creature sitting at his table. And that surely she would have no interest in him, a middle-aged man graying at the temples and many years her senior. Regretfully, when Catarina began closing the shutters, he moved to pay the bill. “Please allow me,” he said. “You’ve given me so much pleasure tonight.”
She nodded and rose to leave.
Outside the restaurant, she paused confused, and looked around. “Where’s your car?”
“Actually, I don’t have one. I haven’t found much need for one here. I walk everyplace. The house I’m renting is just up the hill a mile or so.”
“Please let me drive you home,” she said. “I insist. It is small payment for that lovely dinner.”
Ten minutes longer with her, Ian thought. Ten minutes more of her lovely voice and beautiful
face. “Of course,” he responded.
She drove efficiently and competently. He watched the shadows and light fall on her face as she
navigated the curves of the narrow, winding country road.
“Turn here,” he instructed as they reached the open gates to the property. She came to a stop at
the circle in front of the villa. The fountain was splashing, its dolphins alive in the moonlight.
“What a beautiful spot.” She said. They sat in silence for a moment, neither quite willing to end the evening.
“You could come in for a brandy,” he suggested.
They got as far as the front door. Later they could neither of them remember who moved first.
They were in each other’s arms, tearing at their clothing, stumbling up the steps toward the bedroom. Frustrated with their slow progress Ian swept her up into his arms and carried her to his bed, covering her with his body. They made love wordlessly, frantically, as if their very lives depended on their being together in this way at this moment.
When the storm had passed, Ian tried to speak. “I had no right to do this,” he said. “I’m married.”
“Of course you are,” she replied. “No man as attractive as you could be single. Not at your age. I
came to you willingly, I asked for no commitment. We have here and now. We have tonight. Let’s not ask for more.”
He buried his face in her fragrant hair.
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Spotlight Feature & Giveaway of C791 by Eve Langlais


C791
by Eve Langlais

Machines aren’t supposed to feel, but this cyborg can’t help falling in love.
Assigned as a specimen collector for a captured cyborg, Chloe is intrigued by the machine disguised as a man. Kidnapped during his daring escape, he takes her on an erotic adventure and shows her that despite the chip in his brain, his humanity is not completely lost.
Formerly known as unit X109GI, Joe is on a quest to discover his origin. While he doesn’t find the answers he’s looking for, he does discover that affection and lust aren’t just for humans. But when it comes to a battle between logic and love, which side will the cybernetic organism–once a man–choose?
Evaluating his feelings will have to wait though, because the military isn’t done with Joe. When they threaten the one thing he wants above all else, he’ll discover something shocking that will rock the new cyborg nation—and fuel a desire for vengeance.      
Excerpt (Adult Content Ahead):
The sight of Chloe and Seth so at ease with each other, and worse, touching each other set something off inside Joe, a combination of irrational anger sprinkled with a covetousness he’d not experienced but had heard of. Jealousy.
Whatever the name for the emotion, he found himself unable to halt it as he ripped Seth away from Chloe’s side and sent his fist into the grinning face. He maintained enough control to not beat his friend to a pulp — barely — but he couldn’t stop himself from slinging Chloe over his shoulder and stomping off to their room.
“What the heck was that about?” she exclaimed as she dangled down his back.
“You seem to have forgotten who you belong to.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment. “Are you jealous?”
“No.” Yes!
“It’s normal to feel that way. It just never occurred to me you would.”
“I don’t. Jealousy is a human emotion. I am a cyborg. We are above such petty wastes of our time.”
“Really. Well then, someone should probably explain that to Seth’s face,” she drawled.
“This is not entertaining. You were practically inviting him to take ownership of your body.”
“I was not,” she exclaimed, and a small rational part of him knew she spoke truly, but he’d lost the ability to decipher logic from madness where she was concerned.
Arriving at their room, he tossed her onto the bed and quickly tore at his clothes.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her eyes wide, but not with trepidation if the protruding nipples through her shirt were any indication.
“Showing you who owns your body.”
“Me.”
“Wrong answer,” he growled. “I do. And it seems I must show you.”
He fell on her, and despite her previous defiant answer, she welcomed him with open arms and a fierce kiss. Her legs spread wide to accommodate his body, but while he’d denuded his frame, she remained dressed. Their hands met at the closing to her pants, their impatient battle to remove them more of a fumbling parody. When he finally managed to strip them from her, he was ready to sink himself into her. He retained enough wits though to realize she required preparation for his penetration. With sex bots, that never proved a concern as they arrived to service pre-lubed. Human females however, according to his studies, required stimulation to achieve the same state. He slid a hand between her thighs and, to his relief, found her already soaking wet. It pleased him, on a level he did not understand, that Chloe achieved this state around him without means of manipulation.
He wasted no more time. He propped himself above her and thrust into her sex. Oh, the exquisite, unexplainable feel of her channel clamping tightly around his cock. He would never tire of it. Never tire of her. But did she feel the same about him? He had to know.
“Tell me who you belong to.”
Her eyes opened part way, her lids heavy with arousal. “Why do you care?”
He rammed into her hard. She gasped.
A growl left him. “Do not toy with me. You are my female. Not Seth’s. Not anyone else’s. Say you belong to me.” He almost roared the words, desperate to hear her say it.
For a moment defiance flashed in her gaze. “And if I don’t?”

Giveaway:  To enter for a chance to win an e-copy of C791 please fill out the Rafflecopter below. 


Continue reading “Spotlight Feature & Giveaway of C791 by Eve Langlais”

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Book Features:Steaming & Slack Tide by Vanessa Barger


Vanessa’s Bio:
I am a Young Adult author who teaches high schoolers all about technology education (and yearbook!) in rural Virginia along the Chesapeake Bay. I am the owner slave to one cat, Molly, who looks a little like a cow when she gets a haircut, and write in my free time. I am actively involved in the YA Fiction Fanatics critique group, which is dedicated to helping its members produce the best MG and YA novels they can write. I’m also a member of the SCBWI (Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators).
I’ve currently finished six manuscripts, and I’m working on several more. I love writing, and my goal is to be able to do this full time someday – or at least as a published author enjoy it as a second job. I’m always open to talking with readers (because I’m one of those too!) about not just my books, but books in general. I also love long walks on the beach discussing Shakespeare while sipping large fruity drinks with little umbrellas.
Website / Facebook / Twitter / Goodreads
Steaming
At a time when most girls are worried about prom dresses, Lorelei Stamper is worried about losing her skin — literally. Receiving a sealskin from her Aunt, her world is changed. Not only is she a selkie, but she holds the key to breaking a curse affecting all selkie.
Now monsters are stalking her, forcing her to decide if she will end the curse before she even really understands what’s happening. When Declan, one of two bodyguards sent to protect her, wakes her sleeping heart, she must try to balance love, surviving her senior year, and deciding whether she wants to be human or not. No matter what she chooses, the fact remains that breaking the curse demands blood. Hers.
Excerpt:
Clockwork earrings highlighted the graceful curve of her neck. Red satin swirled around a tiny figure wrapped in a black suede corset. Dark eyes swept the room with only a hint of apprehension. Thick jet hair winked with stones as the angel turned toward me.
I nearly swallowed my tongue.
“Cornelius Latimer! What the devil is wrong with you?” My best friend, Anthony DeSalvo, frowned and followed my gaze. “Bloody hell.”
“That didn’t come from Hell,” I whispered. Around the crowded, gas-lit ballroom, other men stopped mid-sentence and faced the angel gracing the entryway. I was not the only man enthralled. The world paused and the throbbing pulse of distant steam engines mimicked my heartbeat.
Anthony snorted and tossed back his punch. “A pretty face that will be forgotten in a week.” He studied me, one eyebrow cocked at my lack of attention. He hooted with laughter. “Finally, one of the sacrificial virgins has caught your eye!”
I elbowed him. “I don’t mock you about your conquests.”
He chortled, straightening his silk waistcoat. “That’s because I have so many. This, this, is a special occasion.”
He remained silent a few more moments. I assumed he watched as she moved through the crowd like Moses. I spared him a glance, noting the intense stare he sent in her direction. Unreasonable jealousy clouded my senses. Just when I opened my mouth to comment, he pulled a large coin from his waistcoat pocket.
“I’ll flip you for her.” His tone turned serious.
That got my full attention. A strange gleam lit Anthony’s eye, one I had never seen before. “What?”
“You heard me. Even if she is your first crush, every man out there will be after her. At least if we’re both pursuing her, we’ll double our collective chances. But when we catch her, who will keep her?”
Slack Tide:
My name is Cornelius Latimer, and I have fallen in love.
The object of my affection isn’t tall and blonde with all the right curves.  It isn’t even human.  My love belches steam and breathes fire.  My world runs on steam and hard metal, and I am a master of both.  My Uncle, Rufus Harrison, has funded my expeditions.  He’s gifted me with a lab containing all the parts and space I could possibly need.  For weeks I have been toiling over my journals, crafting my biggest and best creation yet.  It’s heady, this feeling of power.  But I made a fatal error.  I told a friend about my machine.  And now someone who should not know, does.  I should tear everything apart, but I can’t.
Love does strange things to people.
Excerpt:
Dear Lorelei,
This is a family heirloom. It’s sealskin from your great-great grandmother. Whatever you do, don’t lose it. Always keep it hidden, and above all else, never put it on.
Someday I’ll tell you the story behind it. Until then, keep it safe.
Love,
Aunt Celeste
I snorted and put the note aside. Sealskin? Why on earth would anyone wear it anyway? Wasn’t that illegal?
I peeled away the paper, revealing a soft, mottled brown pelt. As I brushed the short hair, a tingle moved up my hands, flowed over my body, as if I’d walked through a field of static electricity. The scent of the sea intensified, and I had the uncanny urge to pick up the skin and rub my face on it. It was like being handed a piece of a dream I couldn’t quite remember. But I knew I liked it.
“What did Celeste send this time? Something—” my mother, Miranda Stamper, stood, mouth hanging open, unable to finish her sentence. She stared at the skin like it was a snake, poised to strike.
“It’s sealskin. I don’t get it. Her gifts are usually weird, but this really tops all.” The nonchalance in my voice sounded strained, even to me. I offered the article to my mother, though I didn’t want to. My arms shook with the effort of ignoring the urge to cradle it to my chest.
“Put that back in the box, Lorelei. Never take it out again.”
My mother trembled, her eyes never leaving the fur in my arms. She looked fearful and backed up a step, brushing a hand over her eyes. Her voice shook. “I said, put it away.”
Shoving it back into the box, I couldn’t resist dragging my fingers over the skin one last time as I closed the flaps. As soon as it was out of sight, the compulsion to touch it lessened, but didn’t leave. I could still feel it, thudding like a strong bass beat in my chest.
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Spotlight Feature of Falling in Danger by Kaylie Newell

Falling in Danger

A journalist stumbles onto the story of a lifetime. And finds herself falling in danger…
When young, naïve reporter Jessica Brady is kidnapped and held for ransom by the head of an illegal dog fighting organization, undercover police officer Ian Cole realizes he’s got his hands full. He’s on the verge of busting the ring when he’s assigned to babysit her, which isn’t an easy feat. She’s neurotic, feisty, and also happens to be scared to death of dogs. Now he has to figure out a way to get them both out alive.
Jessica has no idea the thug she’s becoming attracted to is actually a cop, but it’s clear he’s not like the rest of the men in the organization. Particularly Albert Mancini, the disturbed only son of the ring boss, who has an appetite for alcohol and women. Especially Jessica.
When Ian’s cover is blown, he’s forced to bust the ring early. Weeks later, Jessica can’t stop thinking about the experience that has changed her forever. She wonders about the tall, sexy detective who saved her life. And the mobster’s prize-winning pit bull, Bruta.
An idea for a story is born. What if these dogs were given a second chance at life?
As Jessica digs deeper into their troubled world, she ends up falling for the police officer who rescued them. And discovers layers of her heart she never knew existed.
But when Albert escapes from jail, her happiness turns to terror. He hasn’t forgotten about the detective who put him behind bars. Or the beautiful young woman whose every move has become his obsession.

FALLING IN DANGER EXCERPT
“This way.” Fitz pulled her down another hallway until they reached a door at the end. She limped along, her arm rigid in his hand.
“What are you planning on doing to me?”
Fitz eyed her as he opened the door. “Come on.”
Jessica leaned to the side, looking directly down an obscure flight of stairs which led God knew where. “Down there?”
He didn’t answer, but tugged on her arm, taking the first step down.
She locked her knees in place, her one useless Jimmy Choo sliding maddeningly on the tile. “I’m not going down there.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.” Her voice cracked.
“Yes. You are.”
She yanked, but it was no use. He held tight.
Full-fledged alarm finally lit her up like a firecracker. She kicked and clawed, while strange noises escaped her throat. She was vaguely aware of an arm wrapping around her waist, even as she arched away, bucking like something wild.
“Stop it,” he hissed. “You’re only going to make it worse, do you understand me?”
In reply, she turned and sunk her teeth into his shoulder.
“Shiiiit!”
He snatched her up, this time not seeming to care if he hurt her in the process. Again, she was slung over his shoulder as he made his way down the staircase. She twisted around, desperately trying to get a look at what was waiting at the bottom. Her heart slammed in her chest, and she couldn’t catch her breath. Being upside down wasn’t helping. Where was a paper bag when you needed one?
Fitz slowed and reached over to switch on a light at the base of the staircase, never easing his grip off the back of her legs. A weak, yellow glow overtook the room, and she looked up, shoving her hair out of her eyes.
It was sparsely furnished, and dim. She peered into every corner, trying to make out the details. The tangy, sweet smell of marijuana made her nose wrinkle, as well as something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Something vaguely familiar…and unsettling.
“If I put you down, are you going to be a good girl?”
She gritted her teeth, and mumbled.
“All right then.” With that, he leaned over and deposited her into a heap on the floor.
Glaring up at him, she scrambled to her feet, too overcome with fear to stay where she was.
She looked around again, stepping closer to Fitz, not knowing what should scare her more; him, or whatever was in the room with her.
Then she heard the unmistakable sound of a chain dragging in the corner. She whipped around and took a step backward, bumping into the wall of a man behind her. She flinched at the feel of his skin on hers, but couldn’t move away.
“What was that?” Her voice was no more than a squeaky exhale of air.
“That?” He took her arm and pulled her away from the shadows she gaped at. “That was Bruta.”
For Kaylie Newell, storytelling is in the blood.  Growing up the daughter of two gifted writers, she knew eventually she’d want to follow in their footsteps.  While she’s written short stories her whole life, it wasn’t until after her kids were born that she decided to shoot for the moon and write her first romance novel.  She hasn’t looked back since!
Kaylie lives in Southern Oregon with her husband, two little girls, an elderly Chihuahua mix, and two indifferent cats.
FACE BOOK / TWITTER / WEBSITE / PIXI PROJECT
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Spotlight Feature of Annabel Lost Witch of Salem by Vera Jane Cook

From the Salem Witch trials through the Nineteenth Century and beyond, Annabel Horton is pursued by the devil’s disciple, Urban Grandier, the demonic priest from the incident at Loudon. She must take the bodies of those that the devil favors to protect her family. She must uncover the motive behind the illusive Ursula/Louis Bossidan, the scandalous cross-dresser who is pursuing her beautiful granddaughter, and she must learn, being one of God’s most powerful witches, how to use her power. But will it be enough to save her husband from Urbain’s fiery inferno? Will it be enough to save her children from demons greater than themselves? Read on, you will learn more…..
Website / Facebook / Musa / Amazon
Excerpt:
When I am not in the form of flesh, I live in the confines of shadow. The psychics of your dimension have said that I can be seen floating between the kiss of dusk and the evening moon. Yes, some of you can actually see me, though you are unaware of what I am. You usually ignore me because I vanish so quickly. I simply blend into the surface of your world and disappear,  into objects, into trees, into the soft fur of a sleeping squirrel, into anything that will have me.
 Before I begin my tale, you must know this: I can also blend into a human body. I can steal your flesh if I choose. But before you judge me, you must understand my loneliness. You have no idea how desperately I desire the physical senses you so cavalierly take for granted. But please, do not fear me. I will not harm the innocent. Hear me out before you cast any stones. There are secrets in my tale worth knowing.
The snap of my neck appears to have granted me immortality as a captured soul, doomed to live over and over again in stolen flesh and blood. Therefore, I take bodies in exchange for my freedom. I want you to understand that if I were to ever choose your flesh, I would mean you no harm. I would simply borrow the luxury of your language and take comfort in the pleasure of your warm, beating heart.
The process of my abduction is painless. You see, the earth holds time. When I consume a body all I do is absorb time. It is quite simple. My soul moves out of one perception and into another. Let me reassure you that though I can take any one of you, I prefer the flesh of those whom the devil favors, and I do not have to go very far to consume the devil’s own.
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Spotlight Feature of The Iron Heart by Leslie Dicken (& giveaway)

The Iron Heart
By Leslie Dicken
Buy here: AMAZON | B & N | SAMHAIN
Sexy, Victorian Steampunk!
One woman swears to avenge the savagery of a ruthless killer loose on the streets of Lundun; if only she can stay one step ahead of an inventor who fears his greatest work, a labor of love, has turned on humanity.
Grieving the loss of her beloved cousin, Ella Wilder is determined to catch the murderer. Infuriated by the fumblings of the constable, she seeks the assistance of a handsome Noble who seems to be looking for his own answers, and who’s reluctance tells her he has something to hide. Over time, hesitant intimacy grows into fiery passion but brings them no closer to finding the madman.
As the killer reveals darker inventions that blur the boundary between man and machine, Ella fights the fear he may be after her next. Can Ella trust her heart to the man who refuses to share his secrets yet swears to protect her? Will Bennett be able to choose between keeping terrifying family secrets…or losing Ella to the iron-hearted killer who stalks the night?
Excerpt:
When they reached the top, Bennett stopped. Past this point there would be no turning back. She must realize this.
“You do understand you are bringing a man into your bedroom?”
Ellie dropped his hand and turned to face him. Low fires burned in her eyes. “Every move I make is done with full deliberation. I am no simpleton.”
He swept his gaze down her smooth neck to the straining fabric at her breasts.
Lord, was it only a few hours ago that he had her pushed up against the table, pressed his body against hers?
She opened a door. “Tell me what’s happened. You look as though you are in dire need of a friend.”
Light from inside the room illuminated beneath her dress. The features of her body outlined for his viewing pleasure. He could see every round curve, each flare and indentation.
It was becoming evident he needed more than just friendship from her tonight.
With his returning libido came a comforting sense of control. Weakness and vulnerability he could not tolerate. Seduction and yearning pulled him back to strength. He pushed aside the weighty drag of helplessness and the overwhelming ache for casual comfort.
Ecstasy would return him to full health again. Surely.
Bennett closed the door behind them. He glanced about the room. It was smaller than his servants’ rooms. A bed against each wall, an old wardrobe, small dresser and a fireplace. In the center of the room, a tub of still-scented water.
The thought that her naked body was just in there sent quivers down his spine. And a flush of hot blood to his groin.
Ella motioned to the chair beside the fireplace. “Won’t you sit? Perhaps tell me what is going on?”
Bennett continued standing. Sitting in a chair across the room from Ella was not at all in the plans.
Just a short time ago he’d have told her everything. What he’d done to his brother to create this monster, why it was so hard to capture him again.
He swallowed the pitying desire to have her brush her fingers through his hair, to have her hold him close to her heart.
It was the thrilling rush of pleasure he needed. Yes. It must be.
She shrugged and lowered herself to a bed. “Are you going to talk to me or have you just come to see if I was still awake?”
Bennett grinned, the first smile in hours.
“I came because I need you.” He glanced at the bathwater then back at Ella. “But I have found that my needs have changed since I arrived.”
A flush raced up from her chest to the tips of her ears. Once again he was charmed by her passionate blush.
“That is not the reason you came back to my door.”
“No,” he admitted, leaning against the wardrobe arms folded. “As much as my body yearns for you, it is never the initial motivation for me seeking your presence.”
She blinked, unable to answer.
“However, as seems to be the case with each time, my first cause slips away as I am drugged by your heavenly scent and seductive gaze.”
Her hand clenched a fistful of her nightdress.
“You are correct in that I came to you tonight because I was in dire need of a friend. I could not stomach the thought of spending the next few hours in futility. But that has now changed.”
Her chest rose, strained against the fabric. He could make the small outline of her nipples. A shot of electricity blasted to his groin.
Bennett licked his lips. He crossed the room in a few short strides. “You see, once again the sight and smell of you has brought me to my knees.” He sat on the bed next to her. “My body hungers for you.”
Her mouth opened then closed, as she seemed to search for the right words. And then, “Yet you stop us each time.”
He pulled off his gloves and tossed them to the floor. Next he shook his coat off and then his shoes.
All the while she watched with wide eyes and a nibbled lip.
“Yes, Ella, I have halted our progress us each time. And since I am still a gentleman, I will stop if you ask me to. Although it will be with great difficulty.”
He brushed his fingers across her chin. “But this time it will not be me who puts an end to the fire between us. As I stated, I need you. I hurt for you. I need the intimacy that only you can provide me.”
His face was just inches from hers. He could see her eyes searching his, her mind working. She tried to find reasons to put him off, to deny her desires. But she wouldn’t be able to. Ella was a passionate woman. She desired him as much as he yearned for her.
She drew in a deep breath. “Are you waiting for my permission?”
His lip curled. “No. I wanted to make the situation quite clear to you. We are on your bed. I have no intentions of leaving until I have found bliss inside your body.”
Her breath caught. It was the only invitation he required.
Bennett’s fingers went to the knot on her wrap. He quickly untied it and the thin cotton fell to the bed. Her creamy shoulders came into view and on impulse he pressed his lips to the round curve of her skin.
Ella whimpered.
Heat blasted through his blood, hardening his flesh and increasing his pulse.
His hand slid down to her knees. She jumped but did not move away. The cotton was rough on his fingers, not the soft muslin of Noble women. Ella had made herself a Commoner. But it would not stop him from wanting her.
He scrunched up the fabric until it bunched under his hand. Then, to distract her, Bennett pressed his lips to her hair.
“Lord, you smell delightful.” Soothing and stirring, the lavender hummed in his blood.
He kissed his way down her forehead, over her nose, and finally to her lips.
“Bennett?” she said against his mouth.
“Hmm?” His hand slipped between her knees. The skin there was soft, so very soft.
“I-I thought we would go on the dirigible tomorrow. We might…”
“Are you asking me to stop? To wait for the morrow?”
Before she could answer, Bennett slipped his tongue between her lips. He angled his head to press deeper, and in doing so, she lost her resistance.
Her ramrod spine softened, shoulders bent. Bennett gently leaned her back, his mouth never leaving hers, until her head was upon the pillow.
He scooted next to her and pulled her legs up, skimming higher up her leg as he did so. Now they both lay upon the small bed, he partially on top of her, one hand between her thighs, his lips locked onto hers.
Her full body touching him sent the dizzying fog of lust to his brain. Like a bull rutting, need charged through his veins and clouded his mind. He could no longer be gentle.
Bennett thrust his tongue deep to find hers and his hand up beneath her night dress.
She moaned beneath him, responding as she did every other time they were together. Ella didn’t want his tenderness. No, she craved the urgent, desperate fire like he did.
Her tongue brushed his, pulling him further into her. She arched her back, pressing her breasts to his chest.
His fingers skimmed past the treasure between her legs to grasp a delicious mound of sweetness. Her nipple was hard against his palm and she cried out when he flicked it with his thumb.
His erection throbbed, hurt for release from the tight trousers. Soon, he promised, very soon.
Bennett tore his mouth from hers and kissed his way down her throat. He nibbled on a sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulders. She squirmed, but did not pull away.
His lips pushed down on the dress to find the swell of her breast. The shift would not go any lower. He must take it off of her.
“It has to come off,” he whispered. “Lift your hips.”
Her eyes opened and she stared at him. He waited for her to obey, but then she sat up. Instead of removing the night gown, Ella maneuvered herself from under him and got off the bed.
“What are you doing?” He reached out. “Come back.”
She took a step back. “I-I can’t.”
He must not have heard her properly. Ella was always the one urging him to continue. “You can’t? Why the hell not?”
Find Leslie here:  Website | Facebook | Twitter | Good Reads
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Spotlight Feature & Giveaway of Bess, Nicholas & A Dog Called Bones by Tessa Armytage

Bess, Nicholas & A Dog Called Bones
by Tessa Armytage
Amazon | B&N 
Bess Saint Clair is about to lose everything and the only man who can save her is Nicholas Blake. It’s just a pity she can’t stand him.
Nicholas is a record industry hotshot with a reputation for being a Big, Bad Wolf. That’s okay by publicist Bess – she’s the sort of Little Red Riding Hood who eats wolves for breakfast. From the moment Nicholas and Bess clap eyes on each other they share a common bond: they want to tear each other’s throats out.
When Nicholas discovers that the man he has hired for the job is a woman, he’d like nothing better than to boot her out of his office. When Bess discovers he is one of those creatures of prehistoric legend – a male chauvinist – she’d like nothing better than to flip him the bird and turn on her heel.
But he needs her talent and she needs his money.
Each is hell bent on teaching the other a lesson. Both are about to learn a lesson they’ll never forget. The battle over who will wear the pants will be fiercest when neither is wearing any.
Funny, tender and deeply sensual, Bess, Nicholas & A Dog Called Bones is set in a picturesque valley vineyard and features a heroic, shameless sausage extortionist of a dog who is almost as human, and every bit as unforgettable, as Nicholas and Bess.
  
Excerpt
The bedroom door slammed shut.  Bess jumped and whirled around.
Nicholas leaned back against the door, his arms crossed and one knee bent, his foot upon the door.
“This rule of yours.”
He had on the shirt she had touched in his wardrobe.  It was open at the neck and he had nothing on beneath it and he was bright-eyed from rest and clean-shaven and fresh from the shower and Good God, he was glorious.
“What rule?” she breathed.
“The one about no making love with a man you’re not in love with.”
He pushed himself away from the door.
Her legs wanted to run.  Bess didn’t know – to him or past him – only that they wanted to run somewhere.
“Oh, that one.”  The words were barely audible; her lungs were bellows.
Nicholas took a step toward her.
“Does it apply to… kissing?”
Her mouth went dry. He advanced another step.
“I… hadn’t thought about it.”
One more step. He towered over her.  Bess looked up into his face. 
“No?”
“Strictly speaking… kissing isn’t lovemaking.”
“It can be.”
“You think s–”
One kiss – one soft, warm, hungry-making kiss – and then he was gone, just beyond her reach, his tilted face hovering above hers, his lips parted.  Somehow she had come to be balanced on her tiptoes.  Bess swayed toward him.
“I know so,” he breathed, and his eyes closed as his lips found hers once, twice, thrice he caressed her mouth with a seeking gentleness that breathed sweet life into her mouth, and she tilted her chin and reached for him as his arms swept around her and gathered her into his embrace.
His lips were tantalising, his kisses so soft, so meltingly, deliciously soft, they made her ache and they made her thirst and she tilted her chin higher and reached for more, and sweetly, tenderly, Nicholas answered her need, his fingertips drawing a feathered trail over her throat.
One more – the softest of kisses, it was a billowing cloud against her lips – and then he withdrew almost imperceptibly; his lips, touched to hers, became still.  Bess opened her eyes.  Amber eyes, flashing and dancing in the firelight watched her.   Her fingers curled into his shirt.
“Please, sir,” she whispered, “May I have some more?”
He covered her mouth with an appetite that shocked her.  
Hungry as she was, her appetite was no match for his.  She gasped into his open, seeking mouth and, overwhelmed, she tried to turn her face away, even as her hands gathered his shirt into her clasping fingers.  He arched her back and deepened his kiss, dipping her back to receive him.    Bess closed her eyes and took her medicine.
He pulled away.  She held onto his shirt for support.
Nestling his cheek against hers, he nuzzled the words into her ear.  “What say you, Miss Saint Clair?  Was that lovemaking or kissing?”
“Kissing–”
Seized by the hips she was borne up and around; Nicholas held her aloft, then, holding her eyes, he slowly slid her against his body until her dangling feet touched the floor.
He unclasped her fingers from his shirt and drew her arms around his neck, pressing her chest to his. Without a word, he studied her upturned face, his eyes alight with swirls of burnished copper.  He covered her mouth, kissing her deeply, then drew away.
Suddenly grasping her hips he parted her legs with his hips and thrust her back against the door.
Bess swallowed the cry that rushed to her lips.  She had asked for more, she’d bitten off more than she could chew, and…
Damned before she’d admit to it.
She held Nicholas’s eyes, her chest heaving against his.
A half-smile toyed devilishly with his lips.
His tilted head came down slowly, inch by inch by tormenting inch. His lips a whisper away from hers, he stopped.
“How about that, Miss Saint Clair?” he murmured, “Was that kissing or lovemaking?”
“Strictly speaking–”
Swiftly he descended and how eagerly she rose to his mouth, but at the last moment his lips glanced off the side of her face and lit on her neck. He set to work with breathtaking purpose, his pulsing lips warmly provocative, a living electrical current on her throat.  Her legs were having trouble holding her up.
His hands were under her cashmere sweater; his fingers were cool and long, their delicate stroking utterly sumptuous.  Her head fell forward, she was drowning in sensation: his body was hard, his touch was soft, his lips were electrifying and she could stand no more; Bess took a ravenous taste of that damnable jaw before she placed her lips to his ear and whispered her plea to be kissed.
He smiled against her neck.
Understanding flashed with blinding clarity – once before, she had deflected his kiss.  He was punishing her.
She turned her head to make it easier for him.
Caressing her shoulders he pulled her away from the wall and bent her backwards; further parting her thighs to accommodate him, he pushed himself between them.
He took to her throat like a honeyeater awash in a wealth of nectar.
Bess gasped silently and shuddered beneath him.  Nicholas paused, his lips on her throat, his breathing ragged against her skin.  He seemed to be having trouble speaking.  “Kissing…” he drew a breath, “…or lovemaking, Be–”
“Just… kissing.”
His head flew up.  His eyes were lightning.  “Just–”
Bess shrieked as Nicholas hefted her from her feet and swung her against him, her legs astride his waist.
His forearms brandishing steel against her back, Nicholas carried her to the bed.
The eiderdown rustled loudly as he threw it back.  The bed rocked wildly as she was tossed onto it.
Nicholas knelt above her.
Author Bio:
When Tessa Armytage isn’t writing, she likes to take long solitary walks near her country home, thinking about cooking, writing and whatever else tickles her fancy.  Bess, Nicholas & A Dog Called Bones is her second book.
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Siren’s Desire by Devyn Quinn

Siren’s Desire
(Dark Tides #3)
by Devyn Quinn 
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After defeating the covert agency that threatened to destroy her and her sisters, Addison Lonike grudgingly resumes her life as an EMT in Maine. She would love nothing more than to take on the dangerous Mer queen, Magaera, who is hell-bent on destroying them. But with two baby nieces on the way, she can’t take the risk. That is, until Mason McKenzie arrives…

Captain of the naval task force on the hunt for Queen Magaera in the Mediterranean, Mason sees the perfect recruit in Addison. But while at sea, the pair is pulled under a wave of passion that threatens their independent natures—and their mission. An encounter with a new race of male sea-shifters further complicates Addison’s desires. Now, she must choose between a life of the sea, or fulfilling the deepest longings of her heart…



Excerpt: 

This one is trouble with a capital T, some inner voice of preservation warned. Keeping her at arm‘s length was going to be hard, but he‘d just have to bite the bullet and keep everything that occurred between them on a professional level.
Mason immediately forced himself to crush the attraction he felt toward Addison Lonike. She definitely had charisma, that special something that most would define as flesh impact. In the back of his mind he briefly wondered what it would be like to hook up with a mermaid…
He cut the thought short with practiced precision. Why the hell was he even thinking that way? He hadn‘t come here to propose to the woman, for God‘s sake. He‘d come to talk her into joining a vital mission that might well determine the way Mer and humans regarded each other in the future.
Mason coughed discreetly into his hand. “With all due respect, ma‘am, I have to let you know I‘m not interested in your, ah, finer attributes.”
The playful spark immediately left her eyes. Uncrossing her legs, she sat up straight. The air around her chilled more than a little. “Okay, cut the bullshit, shall we? What does the government want with us now? Except for that little slip-up today, I haven‘t done anything wrong. And thanks to the wonders of medical science, the victims who saw me today won‘t even remember it once the docs get finished playing mad scientist.”
In lieu of an immediate answer, Mason indicated the chair across from her. “May I?”
She nodded. ”Knock yourself out.”
Mason sat, placing the briefcase he carried within easy reach. “In order not to waste any more of your time, ma‘am, I will let you know that acting on orders from the Secretary of the Navy, I have been sent to inquire about your availability to serve your country.”
Addison Lonike‘s eyes widened.  “Are you asking me to join the Navy?”
Mason nodded. He opened his suitcase, pulling out the folder he‘d been given. “The Secretary is offering you a civilian‘s position as an MTA, which would be Mer Tactical Advisor.” He handed over the folder. “The details are inside, along with the financial compensation and what your first assignment would entail.”
Addison eagerly accepted the folder. Flipping it open, she quickly scanned the few pages she‘d been given. Her face darkened as she read. “Gee, you guys don‘t pay very much,” she commented. “I make more as an EMT.”