Her Pirate Adventure — a novella

Thoroughly disappointed with her expensive cruise ship vacation, Burgess Carter has one night left to find the adventure she craves. She looks up from her dinner at a seaside restaurant to see someone who might make her dreams come true. A man stands at the prow of his sailing sloop as it glides up to a nearby pier. A man like she’s never seen before, tall, dark, gorgeous and maybe a pirate. A man she absolutely has to meet.

Morgan Rand has a lot on his mind. Tomorrow will be the last day of a massive project that he and his crew have been working on for months. With any luck, he’s about to become incredibly rich. He’s nervous, exhilarated and exhausted, but not too far gone to catch the stare of an enchanting female watching him from the deck railing of his favorite restaurant. Good thing he plans to eat there. He’ll make his move on this intriguing lady and discover if she’s up for his dare.

What happens when Burgess decides to stow away and see if this pirate is real? When he decides to blow up her entire concept of adventure?

Delicious story! Amazon Smashwords

EXCERPT:

 “Umm.” Burgess was having the most incredible dream. Big rough hands caressed her breasts. A warm mouth suckled the tight nipples and kissed the hollow of her throat. “Oh,” she moaned.

If only dreams could be real. This one felt perfect.  Heat radiated from his skin. He smelled of bay rum and salty air.

“Are you awake?”

A generous deep voice rumbled in her ear, so incredibly masculine. She arched toward him, urging the dream to continue. His hand slid down her belly, brushed over her damp center, then traced a light circle around her stiff clitoris sending gooseflesh down her legs.

“Oh, please,” she moaned.

The sound of his chuckle startled her awake. Light from the galley met her barely opened eyes. A dark room. A man.

She stiffened. “Oh! My god, what …”

“I assume this means you’re awake now.”

That voice. Her eyes flew open. One of his hands remained between her legs. The other lingered on her breast, gently teasing her aching nipple and sending electrifying sensations down her stomach. He loomed over her in the shadows, sitting beside her on the bed. Faint light outlined his broad shoulders.

“Did you get lost on the way to your hotel?”

Oh, God, it was him. She swallowed.

“I, uh, just—wanted to meet you,” she stammered.

“Enchanting way to get acquainted,” he said, still circling her rigid clitoris with his finger. Heat spiraled low in her belly and burned up to her cheeks.

“I thought it was a dream,” she whispered. “Ohh…”

“All real,” he said. “Including the fact that you’re trespassing on private property. What do you think I should do with a naked stowaway?”

Was he going to stop? What he said concerned her but just barely. Briefly, she worried what he meant to do. But the pressure of his touch intensified and her thighs clenched. She might die if he stopped now. As if he knew her thought, he slipped a finger down her slick crease and slid inside her.

“Ohhh. I don’t know.” She groaned. So close. Her body felt poised at the edge of a cliff. “Wha—Whatever you want. Just… please… don’t stop.”

“So wet,” he muttered, stroking in and out.

She couldn’t help the movement of her hips in response. He lowered his mouth to her nipple, sucking hard as his finger pushed inside. His hand moved in the most incredible way, delving inside her to tease for a few strokes then circling her clit until she throbbed at the brink of orgasm. Then sliding back inside.

An intense burn spread through her belly and hips. The last remnant of thought escaped her. Close, so close, to something amazing. Something life changing. Every fragment of her consciousness centered on his touch, on the incredible sensations spiraling out from his hands.

Two big fingers drove inside as his palm crushed against her clitoris.

“Ohhh!”

Her hips thrust up as an explosive orgasm shattered through her. She grabbed his neck, his shoulders as sparks flew against her eyelids. He rode her through it, easing out with slow strokes and gently shocking brushes over her pulsing clit.

Soaking Pirate by Iyakoo on DeviantArt

Captives of Desire — a short story collection

Rape, pillage, plunder. Those were the bywords of life in the British Isles from the time of the Romans in 50 AD until the Norman invasion in 1066. Captives of Desire includes stories drawn from each phase of these invasions, women who in one way or another found themselves caught up by men of conquering armies, women who met such invaders with courage, fear, and not a small amount of pleasure. One woman, one man, the blood of battle forgotten… worlds meshed and new generations sprang up from true love.

Five works of historical fiction in one tidy bundle! Buy at Amazon or Smashwords

Excerpt: TRIGGER WARNING Dubious Consent

The latch on the heavy cottage door rattled. Nefyn’s neck hair rose. She turned from her churning, thinking of the other villagers who, like her, had lingered in spite of the threat. Were they all caught off guard? Her ears strained. No shouts of warning rang out. But she knew the invading Saxons sometimes emerged from the forest like silent ghosts.

Another rattle, and the door yielded to his shoulder. His eyes, black as winter night, locked with hers. His round shield bore the image of a red dragon and a longsword glinted in his fist. Blood roared in her ears as she stood momentarily paralyzed in fear.

How foolish she’d been to wait! Loath to remove the last of their belongings from the home of her family, she’d clung to the comfortable place where her children were born, where her beloved Bedwyr might return for a brief time and she could touch his face and know that he still lived. One more day, she promised herself, before she burdened the cow with bundles of bedclothes and meager portions of foodstuffs and drove the beast up into the mountains to join the others.

Too late. Her heart pounded in her ears in the brief moments she surveyed his dangerous presence.

Luminous morning mist layered through the greening valley, and against that brightness, this man’s tall form loomed dark in the opening. Supple leather marked with dents and scrapes of battle clad his broad chest and girded loins. A baldric ornamented with gold medallions draped from his muscled shoulder, a gold torque encircled his neck. Every inch of him bristled with menacing strength. After an instant frozen in his stare, Nefyn dropped the plunger into the half-churned butter and turned for her escape.

The whole of southern Britain bled. Whatever the people did, however fiercely their strong men fought, the Saxons kept coming. By land, by sea, the horde of invaders drove west through the forests beyond the standing stones. Women, children, old and young died on their long knives and brutal axes. The ruthless bastards torched homes, barns screaming with precious livestock, whole villages.

Weary and scarred, the brave men of Briton stood to fight. They marched, fought, won, lost, fell back, regrouped, marched again. The rest of the people—families, villages, the old and infirm—fled before the invaders like hares from burning fields.

Clearly she had tempted fate too long. This morning, postponing her departure yet another day, she had set a fresh stew over the fire pit and turned to her tasks. Yet something of the day already pricked her nerves, whether the heat of summer or the long quiet wait for news. A premonition, she knew now.

His long sword and heavy shield clattered to the worn boards of the table and in two steps, his strong hands seized her, locking her breath in her lungs. Gooseflesh raced up her arms as he pulled her back against him. She felt his arousal hard against her buttocks as his iron muscled arms captured her waist and hips. In moments, he had torn away the cloak fastened at her shoulder and ripped open her linen robe, exposing her breasts to air.

“I mean to have you,” his dark voice rasped at her ear. “In every way.”

Shudders of trepidation plunged from her dry throat to her quivering belly. She swallowed, unable to form words as his rough hands bruised over her sensitive skin. The flesh of her breasts burned under his touch and swelled against his palms. Her body’s quick compliance enraged her.

“Mercy,” she gasped, struggling to free herself.

“No mercy,” he growled, yanking at the lower parts of her garments.

His fingers plowed into the thick curls between her thighs as she fought. She swallowed roughly, afraid to cry out.

“You resist,” he said, whispering in her ear as he fingered her. “But a man is what you need.”

His scarred fingers strummed the moist crevice, pausing over the stiff pleasure knot to circle and press until her hips responded in involuntary thrusts. One big finger slid inside, and she moaned.

“Oh! No, please.”

“Yes, sweet flower,” he muttered. “Cry for me.”

The width of his hand spread her legs. His fingers stroked inside her, teasing out the growing tide of fluids, thumbing over the stiffened morsel so that Nefyn jerked and begged. Lunged and twisting, she grappled with his arm that clasped her tight against his hard chest. He held with iron strength, his hot breath gusting against her ear.

With a growl, he shoved her forward over the table and threw her skirt up and over her back. One hand gripped her hair, causing her eyes to leak tears. As he squeezed her buttocks, his thumb found her center, drew her moisture as he spread her open. She heard the shift of his clothing as his baldric fell aside, and then the hard knob of his hot cockhead probed between her trembling legs.

“Oh, please!” she cried.

“Quiet, woman,” he grunted in a hoarse voice. “I will have you.”

He shoved hard and drew in sharp breath as he entered her. Thick and long, his rigid organ drove deep into her belly. With her waist in the firm grip of his hands, she steeled herself to his plundering as he drew back for another thrust.

His to Lose — 2 days free!

The last thing Randy Hammond expected to barge into his New Year’s Eve was the irrepressible Lucy Duncan. But she’s got a rough customer on her heels, and Randy’s not the kind of guy to let that pass. When she agrees to go home with him for a private but platonic celebration, he’s amused, charmed, and a little bit hesitant. After all, the last woman he trusted gutted him with a rusty knife.

Lucy Duncan has buried herself in her art, a safe refuge from the nightmare she endured in high school. She’ll never go back to that kind of vulnerability even if the risk comes in the gorgeous form of Randy Hammond. After he proves to be irresistible, she decides a bit of dabbling won’t hurt, since she knows he’s close friends and business partners with the Cannons.

Neither of these two lonely people are prepared for the challenges they’ll face as fate draws them closer.

Is it worth the risk to try again?

Great romance! Grab it at Amazon free September 28, 29, & 30

Excerpt:

…This was a new day, and a woman he really admired wanted to sketch his body, and he was going to enjoy the hell out of it. Even if it killed him.

She busied herself with dragging a stool from his bar then laying out some pencils on the mantel and opening a big sketch pad to a blank page. With a last glance at her, he shoved his jeans down and then his boxers, letting his erection bob free. Heat rushed up his chest, and he knew his face was red.

“Sorry,” he said hoarsely. “This happens to be your fault,” he added, motioning toward his looming arousal.

“Oh, please. That big guy is nothing to apologize about. I admit I’m flattered,” she said mildly.

He thought maybe her mild tone belied the truth of her reaction, since her cheeks had blushed red. Damn awkward, this art business.

“You said you’d sketched nudes before,” he said, his jaw clenching as he imagined hunky naked men lounging around a room while she sketched. “How do they do get away with that?”

She waved her hand, setting the sketch pad onto the stool and taking a couple of steps toward him. “It’s part of arts education. Models get paid, and it’s a decent amount, so art instructors have no problem getting models. They don’t necessarily have the perfect body, but it doesn’t matter when you’re trying to capture the human form. So here,” she said, intent on her pursuit. “I want you on your side, propped on one elbow…”

She was standing over him, pointing, and he caught a whiff of her scent and knew she was wet. That just about did him in, but he swallowed a groan and stretched out on the couch and tried to position himself as she described. She just stood there, looking at him, angling her head to one side then the other.

“That couch is too soft,” she said, chewing her lip. “Your hip and elbow are sinking. Damn it.”

He watched, amused, as she stalked around the room, muttering to herself. He watched the shift of her breasts as she moved in that yellow blouse that caressed her torso with every move, and the play of movement was wreaking havoc on his self-control. He could solve both their problems by simply dragging her to the bedroom, peeling off her clothes, and having his way with that epicurean feast of a body.

He could, but he couldn’t. This get together wasn’t supposed to be about sex. He needed get that out of his mind.

Yeah, tell that to his dick, all out there and ready. A renewed flush of embarrassment heated his face.

“Would you be okay with lying on the carpet, like maybe on a sheet or blanket?”

It took another fifteen minutes for her to settle on his position. He now lay on a sheet spread artistically over the carpet in front of the couch, which they had moved away from the spot where she insisted he must be in order to capture the best light—something about sharp shadows. His head rested on his right fist, his right arm propped on elbow. They had started with his legs straight out but now she wanted his left knee bent and raised. His cock had relented slightly in the process, but now that she had resumed her seat on the bar stool to study him, a fresh surge of interest had him embarrassed all over again.

“This isn’t the right position,” she said, standing to move the stool. Several more iterations of that process resulted in her sitting on the floor, an angle that finally satisfied her, and she took up the sketch pad to start making lines.

An hour later, Randy’s right arm burned and quivered, and his whole body felt like he’d been assaulted with rubber hoses. At first, Lucy had been working furiously, her curls tossing and trembling as her hand flew back and forth across the paper. Then her movements became more concentrated. She frowned as she worked, her tongue darting out to skim her lips. Her fine white teeth nibbled and tugged on her bottom lip. He resisted the urge to talk, afraid to disrupt her intense concentration.

He wanted to talk, wanted to explain why things between them could never work out, why she needed to forget about him, why she’d be better off without him. But that would be incredibly presumptuous. She’d never said she wanted a ‘thing’ between them. She’d picked him up, and they’d had a great New Year’s Eve, and then there had been some shared concerns about the Ames job. She’d invited him to see her art, and they’d fallen into bed together. That did not constitute a relationship.

Reckoning — House of Rae Book 4

Josh Carter knows what he wants and that’s Anne Norris, Anne with her flyaway blonde hair and pale blue eyes that make him think of angels. Anne with her intense intelligence that has landed her in a top-ranked master’s degree program where she can prove her theories and help save the world from the plague of carbon infection. But he’s not good enough for her and he knows it. He’ll make do with what he can get, serving her sexual needs and providing support as best he can. It’s all he deserves.

Anne can’t wait to start her studies at UCSC, the golden opportunity of a lifetime. But once she arrives, the program can’t seem to get off the ground. The more she pushes, the firmer the resistance. Josh Carter, well, he’s a great companion and he’s there for her when she needs him, but her work demands her full attention. Too much is at stake for her to listen to his precautions – until it’s too late and she finds herself in more trouble than she had ever imagined.

Available at Amazon and Smashwords

EXCERPT:

Her gaze shifted away from him and she frowned. He turned to look through the doorway into the other room. Anne was standing by the table with Etheridge leaning over her shoulder, brushing her hair back and whispering.

“He’s such a jerk,” Tess said.

Josh hardly heard her. Without consciously deciding to move, he found himself striding across the room. He reached Etheridge and grabbed his arm, whirling him away from Anne.

“I’ll have a word with you,” he growled, holding his face close to Etheridge, so close he could smell his overpowering cologne and the fumes of whiskey. “Now.”

“What the… Who the fuck are you?”

The man’s speech slurred as he jerked his arm away from Josh.

“I’m someone you desperately need to talk to,” Josh said between clenched teeth. “Otherwise you’re going to have a terrible accident.”

He took a tighter grip on Etheridge’s arm, steadily propelling him toward the door onto the now deserted deck. Other than a brief stumble over the threshold, Etheridge moved along as Josh pushed him.

“How do you know?”

“How do I know you’re going to have an accident?” Josh shoved him into the shadows by the railing. “Because I’m going to cause it. I’m going to punch your ugly face and make your nose bleed then I’m going to slam you against the wall and pound your gut until you lose your dinner.” Josh glanced around to make sure no one could hear him. “Then – I don’t know, I might lose control of myself and actually kill you with my bare hands.”

The man’s face had lost color and his eyes bugged wide. “Are you insane? Who the hell are you? If you touch me…” He looked down and ripped his arm away from Josh. “How did you get in here? Do you know who I am? I’ll call the police.”

“I’ll tell you who I am and you better not forget it. Next time I see you touching Anne, even get close enough to breathe on her, I won’t give you any warning.”

Etheridge narrowed his eyes. He huffed. “Anne’s big bad boyfriend, huh.” He looked Josh up and down and waved his hand as if shooing a fly. “You’re not good enough for her.”

Josh seized Etheridge’s flailing hand and squeezed until he felt tendons pop. “I’m a thousand times better than you. Don’t forget. I’ll be watching.”

“Josh?” Anne’s tentative voice penetrated his fury.

Was he making a scene? Hell yes. “Yeah?”

“Hey, there you are.” Anne stood in the doorway, her cheeks flushed. “I lost you.”

“Your Dr. Etheridge and I have been chatting about boundaries.”

“Really?” Anne released a short nervous laugh as she hugged up next to Josh.  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you with that gabfest out there.”

“No problem.” He put his arm around Anne and hugged her close. He tried not to react as Etheridge sidled away and careened back inside.

“What was that?”

“Just a little chat.”

“He’s drunk,” Anne said. “But yeah, he’s a creep. What did you say?”

“Just guy talk. I told him if he touched you again, I’d kill him.”

She inhaled sharply, a shocked look on her face. But then she cut her eyes, smiling at him then looking at Tess who had also appeared in the doorway. “Great guy,” she enthused.

“I see that,” Tess replied dryly.

He cleared his throat as his cheeks heated. “Okay, enough.”

The three of them ambled back into the main room where the intense discussions had broken up into several small clusters of conversation scattered around the room. Etheridge was nowhere to be seen. Josh thought he might have found it necessary to visit the toilet to scrape out his underwear. He took some pleasure in that idea.

Anne pressed her body against him. “Hungry for you,” she whispered.

He grinned and grabbed her arm. “I’m past ready.”

Denial — House of Rae Book 3

Martin Bernard has spent his life becoming one of the world’s wealthiest and most powerful men. But that’s not helping him now that his criminal son-in-law Ned Argenta has gone rogue, putting Martin’s empire on the block in order for Martin to ensure his daughter Marie’s safety. Weeks, months fly by as Martin tries to control this nightmare, leaving his lover Mohana in the sidelines. He just wants to get control of things and then he’ll make it up to her.

Mohana James isn’t waiting any longer. At her friend Giselle’s urging, she visits the Paris House of Rae to find some pleasure. The pleasure partner there doesn’t disappoint, but the entire experience stirs up her grief about Martin. Is he ever going to call? Should she forget him? If she does hear from him, is she going to slap him and walk away? She’s pretty sure that’s all he deserves. But her heart is breaking and she’s not sure she can forget him.

Buy it! Amazon Smashwords

EXCERPT:

Shortly after, a man approached. She’d been staring at her hands, fighting her fear, and only noticed him when she saw his legs. Her gaze slowly lifted, taking in the tight fit of fawn-colored breeches over strong thighs and the notable bulge at his groin. A thrill shot through her before embarrassment overwhelmed her. Swiftly shifting her gaze up to his face, she found no relief from the heat scorching her cheeks as she met his amused expression.

Christ, he was gorgeous, dark expressive eyes watching her as his cruelly sensual mouth curled in a smile. He bowed, shocking her with a mocking lift of his eyebrow.

“Mademoiselle,” he said. “Bonjour. I am Henri, here to serve you. Shall we?” He waited while her mind stumbled through a thousand refusals, excuses, and worries. Finally, she placed her hand in his. He helped her stand then lifted his elbow, waiting for her to accompany him.

She licked her lips, searching for a suitable reply. She didn’t have to reply.

“Yes, merci,” she said stiffly, placing her hand on his forearm. How odd, this sampling of a former time when gentlemen served ladies in exactly such a manner. But of course it wasn’t the same. Now it was the woman who determined the partner, the time, and the nature of the exchange.

All she could think as they entered the elevator then walked down a hallway was how stunning he was with his powerful masculine physique. His dark blue cutaway coat fit him like a glove, the seams straining to enclose his wide shoulders and broad chest. A gold satin waistcoat fit snugly across his lean stomach. His high white cravat brushed his clean-shaven jawline and covered his neck, making her hungry to see the line of his throat.

All of it was silly, this entire charade of play-acting another time, an amusement for women with sufficient fortunes to pay the price not to mention sufficient brass to contemplate such an encounter. As he entered a keypad code to the door where he’d led her, she took a deep breath, fighting panic and a renewed urge to run.

Cherie, let me ease your mind,” Henri said, his voice a rich baritone that sent chills down her arms. “I am here to serve you. Whatever desires you have named, I will fulfill them. And some perhaps, that you did not name, oui?” He winked, his lips twitching with another curbed smile.

He motioned her into the room and closed the heavy door behind them before guiding her further into the room. From the far wall, muted sunlight filtered through sheer white curtains framed on either side by heavy dark gold drapes. An enormous bed with mounds of pillows and pristine white bedding perched high off the floor, its massive corner posts and headboard of dark wood. Lush carved rugs in shades of pale gold lay on either side of the bed while a sitting area around yet another rug included a settee and chairs of dark wood and gold upholstery. A large oil painting hung over a small regal fireplace featuring a nude man and woman entangled in each other amid a mass of sheets.

Mo was afraid to move. Even if she wanted to move, she didn’t know whether to just rip off her clothes and fling herself onto the bed, or wait for some instruction. Or what. She chewed her lip, aware that her hands were perspiring. Hell, she was probably perspiring all over.

How seductive, she thought bitterly. This had been a truly stupid idea.

“May I?” Henri said, taking her purse from her sweaty grip and placing in on a small table by the door.

“Oh, yes, of course,” she said, hardly aware of what words came out of her mouth.

“You are nervous,” he said softly, coming behind her to grip her shoulders with big warm hands. “I will help you relax.”

“Oh, but…”

He nuzzled her neck, holding her long dark hair to the side as he kissed under her ear. She shivered. Would she enjoy this? Or would the entire experience end up haunting her with humiliation for the rest of her life?

She stepped away from him and turned, her hands tightly clasped against her stomach. “I have never done this before,” she said in a hoarse voice. “I’m too old, I think. I should leave.”

“Too old?” Crinkles appeared at the sides of his eyes as he smiled. “Who told you that? You are perfect. Beautiful, in the full blossom of your life.” He touched her cheek then the corner of her mouth. Each spot he touched burned and tingled. “I will make you smile, ma cherie. If you will let me.”

“I – I don’t know…”

“Come. Sit with me for a moment.”

He led her to the settee then walked to a nearby chiffonier where he splashed some amber liquid into a small stemmed glass.

“This will help,” he said, handing her the glass then sitting beside her. His scent came to her, a whiff of cedarwood and perhaps a hint of lavender, but underlying that wafted a fragrance that surely was Henri alone, musky and pungent in ways that caused heat to curl down her belly.

Well, that was unexpected. Her mind stumbled for something to say. Her hand shook as she lifted the glass to her lips. The liquid rolled over her tongue and burned a path to her stomach. Sherry, one of the best she’d ever tasted. She took another bigger sip, savoring.

He brought up irrelevant subjects, whether it would rain, the latest movies. A short time later, after she had drained the glass, he took it and set it aside, then lifted her hand to kiss her palm. Little tingles of excitement raced to her stomach. She could only stare at his golden skin and long fingers, nicely manicured nails cut square and blunt.

“I’m sorry, I’m just…”

“Hush now,” he said, placing a finger on her lips. “You are wonderfully desirable. Your lips are lush, begging for my kiss.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers, leaving little kisses at either corner of her mouth.

“And your breasts. So beautiful,” he said, his voice lowering as he traced a finger down the front of her blouse to slide across the tops of her breasts. “I want to taste you, Mohana. May I?”

Reprieve — House of Rae Book 2

House of Rae franchisee Marie Argenta is on the run after her estranged husband Ned inflicts unimaginable tortures. Leaving her Paris House to hide out in the U.S., she ends up at the San Francisco House to serve as temporary manager. The very first day, her gaze lands on the most arrogant man she has ever seen, Adrian Velasquez. He’s also the most compelling devastatingly attractive, over-the-top pleasure partner the universe could ever conjure, which makes her think twice about the rules forbidding employee relationships.

Adrian knows what he likes and this new House manager Marie ranks above and beyond anything he’s ever imagined. Too bad his life is already crammed too full of family troubles, work overload, and finishing his law degree to even consider stretching the rules with this irritating woman. But a touch here, a kiss there, might be too delicious to refuse and she’s, well, she wants him. He knows it.

What Marie and Adrian are soon to discover is that Ned knows where Marie has fled and plans to take her back no matter what.

BUY IT! Amazon Smashwords

EXCERPT:

As she rounded the court in her return route toward the entry, a couple of men splashed to the edge of the pool, evidently completing a race from the other end. Laughing, they grabbed the steel ladder at the same time.

Water sluiced from the first man’s body as he slung himself up the steel ladder and onto the deck at the same moment she tried to hurry past. They slammed into each other and if he hadn’t grabbed her arms to steady her, she would have fallen. His wet chest crushed against the front of her tidy gray suit. Her pulse fluttered in her throat like a captured bird. Adrian.

Struggling to catch her breath, Marie tried to speak. But words did not form. Water dripped from his dark eyebrows as his glittering blue eyes stared at her. Her mouth went dry as she stood immobilized against the virile lines and planes of his muscled body. He was wet. Heat poured off him, warming her through every point of contact.

She wrenched away from his grip and stepped back, trying to regain her composure. But her mind blanked as her gaze haplessly skimmed down his body. Then back up. Impossibly wide shoulders tapered to trim hips. Tendons wreathed his forearms from his hands up to his bulging biceps, and from there his broad chest tempted her to touch its scattering of dark hair and tiny brown nipples. His abdomen rippled with waves of muscle, taut and smooth before leading her eyes inexorably to the tiny strip of black cloth stretched over his … Mon Dieu, son encroyable excitation.

She licked her lips at the thought of tasting him, and the monstrous prize encased there grew even larger until its continuing entrapment in that band of black fabric defied the laws of physics. Her eyes flicked up to see him watching her, a brooding fire of awareness burning in his blue eyes. Her body instantly responded with a rush of liquid heat to her center.

Gasping, she put a hand to her flaming cheek and without uttering a word, turned to hurry past him.

He grabbed her arm, his grip burning through the fabric of her clothes. “Did you see what you needed to see?” he growled, his voice vibrating through her body.

Monsieur, s’il vous plait.” Her words came out thready and weak, as if she already lay under him with nothing but hot skin between them. Her mind had reverted utterly to the French language, unable to stumble through the process of translation. Really, she seemed unable even to think of what to say next, or of how to extricate her wrist from his iron grip, or of even whether she could possibly tear herself away from him when she wanted nothing more than to be pressed against him. He was hot, hard, and towered over her like a conquering lord, his blue eyes glimmering down at her, his nostrils flared.

The corner of his mouth curled in a seductive half smile. “Do you like it?”

Mon Dieu, he must have such an ego to brag like this, to think just the sight of him would cause a woman to swoon. Never mind that she was in fact in a kind of swoon. She would not let him take advantage of the situation. This time when she jerked her arm away, he let go. She took a step back and brushed down the front of her clothing where the dark gray marks of his wet embrace remained.

Marie leveled her most chilling gaze on him, eliciting his amused grin.

“Well played,” she said, hot anger rushing up her cheeks. “That is, for someone who needs constant adoration, évidemment.”

He laughed, a deep robust laugh that sent chills down her arms and peaked her nipples. “So you adore me?”

She huffed, straightening her jacket and aligning the cuffs of her blouse. “That is not what I said,” she sputtered, “but of course you will hear what you need to hear. Coureur de jupons,” she finished under her breath as she turned to walk away.

Don’t miss this free promotion for Tangled in Two — September 7, 8, 9

This is a full length novel with plenty of sexy twists and turns, the second stunner in the Cannon Company series.

Alex Cannon confronts the worst experience of his life when he discovers money, and lots of it, is missing from company accounts. He’s a little heartbroken over the loss of Bryn in the intimate threesome he and his cousin Dan shared with her. He blames himself for being distracted so much that Cannon Company has suffered. When he hires CPA Riley Montgomery to track down the money, the last thing he expects is to find himself completely distracted by the woman.

Riley can’t afford to venture off into unethical dalliance with a client, even if the client is the devastatingly handsome Alex Cannon. She tries to stay focused on the pact she’s made with her old friend and current lover Lucy Duncan after failed relationships caused both women to swear off men. When she meets Alex, however, she discovers a man that’s a whole order of magnitude different. Whatever he says, she insists on remaining in control.

Things go from bad to worse when Riley discovers where the money trail leads and Lucy decides that the sparks flying between Alex and Riley require some friendly intervention. That’s when things get tangled!

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Salvation — House of Rae Book 1

Rae Stewart, whose mid-21st century sex houses for women have become a worldwide phenomenon, has a problem. His name is Lucas, and he is her second in command – among other things she’d rather not think about. His green-eyed potent appeal sits like a burr under her saddle especially when he tries to override her decision about a new hire, Josh Carter, who – she admits – violates all the House security protocols. She wants Josh anyway – he’s young, gorgeous, and carries exactly the kind of explosive masculine arrogance that House clientele adore.

Lucas Haverson also has a problem – how to keep Rae from endangering herself and her enterprise. He’s ready to walk away, leave Rae and their embattled relationship behind him. Forget his regular clients who depend on his intimate services and park his life in a remote cabin somewhere far away from this constant aggravation. Just a few more days and he’ll have the Homeland Security investigation he needs to expose young Carter for what he is – a terrorist.

But what if he’s not?

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EXCERPT:

He threw the rest of the whiskey down his throat and carefully set the glass on the table as her words washed through him. “Why is that Rae? Isn’t your life complicated enough? Do you truly not understand the risk?”

Predictably, her chin lifted, and he couldn’t help noticing fine lines creasing her throat. It wasn’t what he wanted to see. Maybe it was the fucking light making her look old. He’d never thought about her getting old. But shit, if he was feeling the tick of the clock, she had to be getting there, too. Her blue eyes shot fire as she stared at him. That was Rae, hot and ready to fight.

He had to admire her strength, even if she took stupid risks. Nobody needed that kid on this trip. Except Rae, of course. Rae and her unending need for conquest. Or whatever it was.

“What fucking risk?” She spread her hands on the table. “I’m satisfied he’s not a terrorist. Will you get over it? What’s he going to do?”

His temper boiled over. “What about everything else?” he shouted. “The new hit list. New Orleans. Does any of this add up for you?”

She slammed her glass down, splashing whiskey over her hand and onto the table. “Lu, I’m not here to get permission. I’m not going to be a fucking prisoner in my own house. The sons of bitches have no idea where I’ll be from one day to the next.”

She stood up with an angry jerk, stalked to the sink, and grabbed a paper towel. “I just need to get on the highway and watch the miles slip by. I need it, Lu.” She shoved the towel under the glass and cleaned the spill. She stood there with the crumpled towel in her hands, her body rigid in anger. “I have my gun. I know how to use it. Okay?”

“No!” He jumped up, knocking his chair over backwards as he stalked toward her. “Not okay. You’re being stupid. Stubborn. Why? Is it about fighting with me, like you have to have total control?”

“Ha! Only you would come up with that.” She leaned toward him, her face flushed. “It’s not about you, Lu. I know that’s a concept you might find difficult to understand. And I’m not Sara, okay?”

He felt the blood drain from his head. A roar started in his ears. “How dare you bring Sara into this?” His words came out strained.

“She’s always in it, Lu. You carry her around like some kind of fucking armor.”

“Really? Then what is this?”

He grabbed Rae’s arms, dragging her against him and crushing her lips under his as she squirmed to get away from him. “Did you forget about this? Is Sara in this?”

She cursed him, jerking her mouth away, but he took her again, his tongue pushing for an opening, forcing its way into her mouth. He stroked the velvet of her tongue in long slow thrusts.

He shuddered as his body responded to the feel of her soft breasts pressed against his chest. She softened, melding to his form. A quiet moan—his? Hers? He had no time to think, no capacity for it as he let go of her arms and pulled her tight against him. His hands roamed down her back, over her hips and soft buttocks. The kiss changed, meeting her as she responded, their lips coaxing, caressing.

He could feel the heat of her body, knew without doubt that she was wet, ready. Pressed against her belly, his cock had gone hard as granite. He shook with the need to lay her down and plunge deep into her slick warmth.

Her hands came up to his shoulders, stroking his neck, threading through the long strands of his hair. Every fiber of his body strained toward her, aching with a need that he’d tried for so long to deny. What the fuck was he doing?

He thrust her away from him, panting.

“Why Rae? Why can’t you just listen to reason? Please.”

She jerked away, wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist. “Was that just to soften me up? Goddamn it, Lu, I don’t answer to you.”

Dominatrix at Work

With everything she cared about gone, Dominatrix Macie Fitzgerald has built a new life in service to those seeking pain and submission. She takes pride in her success. So when she accepts Jarrod Bancroft’s application to her next training session, she acknowledges the risk. The ten years that have passed since he was her high school history student have only made him more magnificent in every way.

Life has been too easy for Jarrod Bancroft—rich parents, football star, law degree, high powered job, women by the score. Something is missing. He wants whatever Stonybrook Academy can dish out, much as it scares the hell out of him. And he was right to be afraid. He never imagined this. And the voice behind Madam’s mask sounds familiar, but after days of torture and deprivation, Jarrod’s only thought is to obey.

Macie faces her biggest challenge as she struggles to fulfill her professional obligation to give Jarrod what he wants. What he needs.

Will Santa leave anything under the tree for her? And if he does, can she bear to open it?

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Excerpt:

After what seemed a long time, with Jarrod straining to recognize sounds or other clues to their location, the car crunched to a stop. He heard the driver’s window run down and the beep-beep of buttons being pushed. Gate controls. The car rolled forward and after another short drive, came to a stop.

His door opened.

“You may remove the blindfold now, Mr. Bancroft,” Carson said.

Jarrod squinted against the afternoon glare as he slid the cover off his eyes. A high white sky promised snow and cast the surroundings in a garish fluorescent haze. A low gray-stone wall encircled an enormous expanse of closely trimmed lawn, in the center of which, surrounded by stately evergreens and small manicured gardens, stood a gray-stone, three-story mansion complete with a tower.

Probably a basement with iron shackles, too, he mused to himself. He managed to keep from smiling, but he felt like a little boy on Christmas Eve. Too damn good to be true.

Wind buffeted his quick walk as he followed Carson alongside the house to a side entrance hidden behind an ivy-covered stone archway. Shivering in the cold and growing anticipation, Jarrod ducked through the entry into a small warm room. Coats and hats hung from a wooden rack. A long wooden bench sat to one side.

“Set your things there,” Carson said. “Someone will be with you shortly.”

Jarrod let his bag drop on the bench and looked around as Carson quietly let himself back out the side door. High ceilings, soft green walls, lighting from a suspended old-fashioned lantern. Suitably gothic. He hung his jacket with the other coats and turned around, startled to see a woman who somehow had entered the room without making a sound. Her big brown eyes rested on him like weight. He swallowed, trying not to let his stare wander from her face, but he couldn’t avoid the obvious fact that she didn’t have on a stitch of clothing. Long brown hair brushed her shoulders and curled at the ends just above her dark nipples. Without exactly looking, he saw the hair had been removed from her pelvic area to expose puffy vulva lips and its enticing slit. His cock hardened instantly.

“Mr. Bancroft,” she said softly, “you’ll follow me.”

With pleasure, he mused, watching the flare of her hips as she led him out of the room into a shadowy hallway. They passed several doors, most of them closed but one slightly ajar enough that he could see part of a four-poster bed. He hadn’t considered accommodations, whether he’d be comfortable or well-fed. Ever since Mr. Patterson had first described Stonybrook Academy and the services offered, the only thing Jarrod could think about was the actual training. How would it be to have restraints on his body, to be whipped and subjected to extreme pain, to be taught how to respond only to commands, to subdue his autonomy? His cock stiffened even harder in anticipation. Naked female staff—could it get any better?

She opened the door to a small room. A warm fire blazed in the fireplace and a soft Persian rug nestled under his boots. A large bed stood at the far wall. With a shock, he realized that shackles and other hardware fastened to the bed posts. Quickly, he looked around the room for more evidence of what might be in store. Bars on the windows. Christ.

“You’ll remove your clothing, everything,” she said. “I’ll wait.”

A slow burn rose up his cheeks as he slipped off the boots and socks then pulled his sweater over his head. He wasn’t used to someone watching him undress, unless of course she was naked—okay, she was naked—and waiting on his bed. This one? Not so much. His breath came faster as he pulled off the t-shirt and released the buckle on his belt. He let the slacks fall to his ankles, struggling with the conspicuous fact that his erection strained the front of his shorts. Exhaling, he hooked his thumbs in either side of the waistband and slid the silk boxers down his legs.

His cock jutted forward in front of him, swelling even more in its embarrassing exposure. With clenched buttocks, he awkwardly gathered up the belongings into a halfway-folded stack before transferring them to the girl’s—woman’s—waiting arms.

“You’ll remain standing,” she added, “until your trainer arrives.” Without another word or sound, she turned and walked out, closing the door behind her. He heard the lock throw.

This wasn’t quite what he had in mind. He scanned the room looking for cameras. How would they know if he remained standing? Plenty of porn sites had crossed in front of his eyes since his adolescent years, and none of them mentioned standing naked in a room with no idea about what would happen next. Women in black corsets and black leather boots, riding crop in hand, or kneeling submissives with their hands cuffed behind their backs, yes. He blinked nervously.

Time passed, he lost track. The house had its own faint soundtrack, floors creaking overhead, the scrape of limbs against the window as the wind tugged on the bushes, the occasional snap or hiss in the fireplace. They didn’t say he had to stand in one place. He walked to the window, which looked out from what he assumed was the back of the house. A narrow paved lane led to two rambling outbuildings some distance away.

His brief examination of the window bars assured him that no one would come or go through that opening, and the massive door probably wouldn’t budge on its lock either. Somehow the knowledge that his ability to leave had been firmly removed helped him relax. Hadn’t he struggled with this decision long enough? Hadn’t he made up his mind to find out who Jarrod Bancroft really was?

This is it, fuck head. Get over it.

~~~

Love in the Moment, a short story collection

One moment she dared. Stepped outside of yesterday and tomorrow. Took what she wanted even if she didn’t want to want it.

Love in the Moment gathers eight stories of those moments, when a stranger’s smile and a glint in his eye speak to a previously undiscovered part of the soul, when each second ticks past with the wealth of a thousand years.

“Encounter at the Elevator”

I tell myself no. No, Keri Majors, no, no, no. A chorus of reasons scroll in my head—that I don’t know him, that we are standing in a hotel hallway waiting for an elevator. Anyone could walk up. Additional major point: accosting a stranger simply isn’t something I do.

Still, he’s damn fine and my body is going crazy thinking about how fabulous it would feel to be up against him.  

I argue with myself. God, what else is there to do? This elevator is taking forever.

He’s not my type. I go for the slightly shorter, less sinewy man whereas this guy looms several inches taller with an almost lanky yet muscular frame. My tastes range from blond and blue-eyed to dark and dangerous. I’ve never given much consideration to men with light brown hair and eyes that are—what, amber? I steal another glance.

Damn. He notices my brief examination. One of his eyebrows rises slightly, asking. Maybe a little amused, judging by that slight curve at the corner of his mouth. Oh God, that mouth. I quickly look down and break out in a little sweat. Damn damn damn.

The handle of my heavy briefcase itches against my sweaty palm. I could assign this momentary insanity to fatigue. Like all such conferences, this one turned into a three-day blur of classes on everything from specialty cost coding and catastrophe adjustment to the latest on defining a collapse under a property insurance policy. I’m past ready for home, a long hot soak in my tub and a mindless couch session with a bottle of wine and my cat Winston at my fingertips.

But this guy. My body responds to his attention. There’s this nonstop urge, whatever recess of hell it springs from, that causes my thighs to clench. I lick my lips, hoping my libido will tuck its tail and slink away. Maybe if I give myself a few more minutes and a couple of deep breaths…

What the hell is up with this elevator? I check my watch. It’s been two minutes.

Deep breaths? Nope. Not working. He’s still there exuding male hormones that my body seems programmed to read. Jesus, how does anyone exude such powerful sensuality?

Is he watching me? I can’t avoid another furtive glance. His lips fascinate me, halfway between full and thin, sensual with a little flare at the bow and now curling upwards at the corners. Because he sees me looking. God, I am lame.

Tan and weathered skin, prominent cheekbones and a bold jaw. Straight nose. I can’t look again to really examine the color of his eyes, but I feel them on me. Oh and his throat, which happens to be directly in my line of vision—its intriguing cords and hollows disappear into the open collar of his white shirt.

I can almost taste the salt on his skin. Feel the pulse in his throat against my lips. My mouth waters.

I realize now I’ve seen him around the hotel, once passing along the corridor when I arrived for the first day of the conference, another time on the other side of the cocktail lounge where I hid at a dark corner table and sipped my wine. He’s been alone each time. Obviously I noticed. Actually fantasized that he would appear at my table and I would allow him to join me and we would sit smiling in the dim light to pursue witty conversation with just enough innuendo. I refused to imagine what would happen afterwards, but I dreamed about him that night and woke up wet.

What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve been around. Mild wear and tear, enough to consider any potential hook-up through slightly jaded eyes. No big hope left that some special ‘one’ lurks out there for me.

Now this? I want to slap myself for being ridiculous.

But, damn, here I am at the elevator with my body disconnected from my brain and doing what it pleases no matter what I think or what kind of rules I’ve sworn to live by. I’m so wet.

Fucking elevator. I briefly consider taking the stairs, but this is like the eleventh floor and I don’t have a death wish. Maybe if the place was on fire, I go down eleven flights of stairs.

Shouldn’t I be thinking about the conference, all the new stuff I’ve learned, how to apply it to make more money? A new list is what I need, reminders to publish notice of my new training, maybe offer a workshop, stuff like that. What the fuck ever. I care nothing about my career right now.

I check my watch and think maybe it’s not working. I’ve got plenty of time to catch my flight. It’s not like I’m going to miss it.

Maybe it’s that we’re both leaving and I’ll never see him again. Really, it isn’t a choice I make. I’m standing here with my briefcase gripped in my hand and a garment bag slung over my arm, my other hand seized on the handle of my wheeled travel case so tight my knuckles ache. Hands sweating. Knees trembling. Wanting a stranger so much I’m about to embarrass myself in public.

He’s standing a couple of feet away, really kind of edging into my personal space. He’s looking up to watch the elevator numbers frozen on floor twenty. He too has a garment bag over one arm and his travel case handle in his other hand, looking so incredibly fabulous in that simple white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up those tan sinewy forearms and wearing khaki slacks that look a little wrinkled. I even check out his shoes, expensive cordovan loafers, winey brown color, well-polished and clearly loved.

I almost hear the switch flip in my head. Brain clicks off. Instinct takes over.

I turn into him holding my gear on either side of me, planting my forehead against his collar bone. Well, his white shirt. There.

Neither of us says a word. He accommodates me by holding his luggage away from his body, welcoming me to his chest. His lovely wide warm chest so hard with muscle it takes my breath. I register on his amusement, his welcome. As if we have known each other forever and this is going home.

I nestle my full length against him like I could climb into him. My lips brush against his neck, and oh god he feels so good – the smooth skin with his slightly rough beard shadow, the warmth, the beat of his pulse. At every point of contact, which actually is the entire front of me, he feels like every erotic fantasy and wet dream I’ve ever had. The strength of his thighs, the solid press of his loins and yes, his obvious arousal — oh my. His neck—Jesus Christ, he is chocolate and musky wine and that skin, that soft velvet flesh that has served its time in the sun, warm and strong and scented with a heavenly fragrance of aftershave and soap and him.

My lips savor him in that brief moment as I nuzzle. I can’t help myself. He’s right there against me, holding his own, not backing away. My lips brush along the column of his neck as if he is my last sip of water in a searing desert. In these few seconds—minutes?—that I stand there pressed against him, I have no sense of shame, no regret, no worry, no question. My mind stands still. I want never to move.

Millennia exist between us, former lives, lost memories. A tremor passes through him. Or maybe it’s me. We know each other. Nights we have held each other. The touch of his lips against mine. Joys and agonies, the raw force of life energy surging through us, time after time.

All that could ever be exists again in this moment, in us. Children. Stormy nights wrapped in his arms, soup bubbling on the stove. Old age bestowed gently as we held hands.

And then it ends. I try to adjust, accept that it’s ending. Maybe it’s the elevator. A musical ‘ding’ and we move apart. I’m in agony.

On the way down, I fight to overcome the searing embarrassment of what I’ve done. That’s what I’m supposed to feel. The rules of engagement. One minute I’m in full body contact with a man I don’t know, oblivious to anything but him, and the next minute we’re on opposite sides of the elevator with a crowd of people between us including two kids and a dog.

The elevator reaches the lobby. People file out and I don’t dare look up. I’m back in the rule book, mildly heartbroken, shaken. Wondering as I start toward the door to hail a taxi.

He’s standing there in the lobby, waiting for me as if we’d made a plan, a promise. My heart lunges against my ribs. Had we? Can it be that simple? Is this what we promised in a previous lifetime?

I pause. Will he say ‘Wait’? Touch my arm, smile, introduce himself?

No. He doesn’t move. Isn’t waiting for me. A hole expands inside me.

The doorman opens the door and I walk outside. Bright sunlight hurts my eyes. Another doorman glances my way, extends his arm to hail a taxi, and a yellow cab zooms to a stop in front of me.

Is this it? I’m heartbroken, energy draining from my body. Of course it’s been a long conference and too many brief meaningless chats with people I should remember, industry contacts and all that, but I never will remember them. I relinquish my bags to the cabbie, step toward the curb.

“Wait!”

I hear his voice. I know it’s him. Is it?

I turn, slow motion as my brain tries to process. He’s standing there then striding toward me.

“Hey,” he says, stopping in front of me, his breath heavy like he’s been running. “Got time for a cup of coffee?”

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