Salvation! and it’s free… (two days only)

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?

First in a four-book series, Salvation races into a future world where women’s sex houses offer unexpected pleasures. And unexpected dangers.

5 star reviews: “I loved every minute of it!” “Great Read! I enjoyed this book so much!” “Beautifully written!” “A very well crafted page turner!”

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EXCERPT:

A quiet tap hit the doorframe. “Lu? Can I come in?”

Rae. He hesitated a split second. He didn’t need this, whatever she was up to. He sighed, flipped on the light, and held the door open without a greeting. She grazed past his chest as she walked in, her unmistakable scent drifting behind her. Damn it. Whatever she was going to say, he already knew he wouldn’t like it.

Her hair was down, probably meaning she’d come as an afterthought. The loose caftan she wore didn’t define much of her body, but in his mind, he could see everything under it. Her full breasts. The curve of her waist and hip. Those fabulously long legs and the beautifully moist flesh between them.

Her gaze surveyed his bare chest as heat came into her eyes. Just that, and his goddamn cock sprang to attention. He pulled out a second chair at the table. “Whiskey?” He didn’t wait for a response but took another glass down from the cabinet, retrieved his from the sink, and poured a jot into both glasses.

“Long night,” he said, handing her the glass then easing into his chair.

“You look tired.”

“Thanks.”

“I don’t mean it like that, just, you know…” She took a sip and grimaced.

Nadine made repeated passes against Rae’s leg, reminding Lu that there was something about Rae the cat liked, even after all this time. Nadine never came out for other visitors.

“So…Deshawn tells me you’ve been down there talking about Josh Carter.”

“Yep.”

“Any particular reason?”

He stared at her. “As in, the security warning wasn’t enough?”

Her eyes blazed. “We already talked about this.”

“As a matter of fact, yes, we did.”

“And?” Her voice rose along with a pink flush in her cheeks.

“And?” His hands clenched, resisting the urge to haul her up against him and kiss her senseless. “And I felt it in the interest of the House and its personnel that your security chief beef up security until we’ve had enough time to see if this guy is as harmless as you think.”

“Well, I’d already asked Deshawn to do that so your efforts are redundant. And FYI, you’ll have a least a week to relax, because I’m leaving for Albuquerque in the morning. Frank thinks the contracts are in jeopardy because of the New Orleans incident,” she said, her eyes glittering defiantly. “He thought it would be good to meet personally with the buyers.”

“Sounds like a great little trip. What security is going?”

“None. I’m not stuffing security up my nose on this trip. I need a break.” She spun the glass then let it sit. “Maybe have a little fun. I’m taking Josh.”

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?

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.

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.

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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.

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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.

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.

~~~

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Now through November 14, Refuge in His Arms will sell for only 99¢ on pre-order status. On November 15, the release date, the price on this full length (no cliffhangers) contemporary romance novel will go to its regular price of $3.99.

Even in her sleep, Mackenzie Kilpatrick remembers this is a dream she has dreamed before. She snugs her forehead against Sid’s neck and inhales his familiar scent. His strong arms clasp tightly around her, pressing his heartbeat through the thin cotton t-shirt. She strokes the back of his neck as her face nestles in the curve of his shoulder.

The dream shifts and changes. Sid’s husky voice comes from a distance. “Get out of L.A., Mac. Get out now.”

“Sid?” She strains with her dream-shout. “Sid!”

He stands in front of her, his close-cropped hair caught under his camo hat, his tanned forearms framed against his dusty uniform. Behind him, bare gray mountains rise high along the horizon. The armored Hummer sits several yards away bristling with weapons and antennae. Other troops duck as gunfire explodes around them. Sid stands there unflinching like he always does, staring at her from the shadow of his hat brim.

She knows he is dead.

Then she’s awake, gasping, tears on her face, her throat tight in the contortion of dream screaming.  She throws back the covers and sits up in the dark room. The dream has never been like this. She draws a shaky breath. The digital clock readout says 5:40 a.m.

Mackenzie’s day gets worse from there. Within the hour, her parents call from Oklahoma, warning that overnight, the sun has ejected a massive solar flare that’s hitting Earth. Her phone stops working mid-call. The television sputters and goes to static. With Sid’s dream warning and her parents’ plea for her to come home, she throws things into her car, loads up her dog Captain, and starts out of the drive.

She’s halfway out of the garage when the ground shifts. Walls tumble, cracks open in the roadway, and she barely makes it to the other side of the freeway when a traffic jam from hell stops her. She sees a way out—if she can maneuver down the sidewalk. Then she’s stuck. And there’s this guy waving his arms, shouting.

This guy…David Evans…not a man she would ever want to know. But there he is in all his devastating, overpowering presence leaning in her passenger side window telling her what to do and here she is stuck between a fence and a light pole, and well, it could actually be the end of the world.

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