Kinsley Griffin is a psychologist and best-selling self-help author. Feeling exhausted by her big-city fast-paced life and hearing the call of her childhood home she considers slowing down and reconnecting to her small-town Southern roots when a book tour stop in Tennessee opens a door.
He’s been living his life for his daughter . . .
Jared Adamson is preparing for an empty nest at his Tennessee farm as his 21-year- old daughter prepares for her future and plans her launch into adulthood. A widower of four years, he’s now facing a quiet life of solitude.
A scenic detour leads to a chance meeting . . .
A chance encounter brings them together when Kinsley finds herself needing Jared’s help. As the detour turns into an extended vacation, they discover that life has much more to offer than they knew. But is it wise to start planting roots so soon?
They turned the horses back toward the barn. The storm was moving faster than expected. They hadn’t made it halfway home when raindrops began to tap their heads. By the time they were at the barn’s entrance, the rain was coming down in sheets. Jared’s hat had deflected most of the rain from his head, but wet clothes clung to both of their bodies.
She hugged her shoulders and felt a strong sense of calm. Unlike most people, she preferred gray, rainy days to sunny ones. The rain put her into a meditative mind and made her feel more in touch with the world. It was cleansing and peaceful. Out of the rain now with the wind blowing into the barn, a chill caused a shiver to ripple down her, and she hugged her arms closer.
Suddenly a warmth radiated into her back and covered her bare arms. She leaned backward into Jared’s chest as he rubbed the cold bare skin of her upper arms. His hands moved down the sides of her arms and traced to her hands. Crossed over each other in front of her, Kinsley’s hands laced themselves into his and she felt his breath on her neck, hot and urgent. He softly touched his lips to her neck and along her collarbone, then to her ear. She turned her face toward him and their lips met, softly at first. When she tentatively pushed her tongue past her lips to taste the rain on his, he groaned against her and pulled her closer, moving his hands to her stomach, where his thumbs brushed upwards to feather along the bottoms of her breasts.
He stood quickly and grabbed his jeans, pulling them on while looking out the window. Then he turned back and, with an eerily calm tone, said, “Call 911.”
He was grateful that she didn’t waste time asking questions but immediately grabbed her phone and ran to the window, trusting his reaction. He stepped into a pair of boots and ran, bare-chested, down the stairs and out the back door.
The flames were still confined to one area of the barn, but he knew that it would be engulfed soon given how long it would take the fire department to arrive. While he ran toward the burning barn, his eyes glanced around and his mind raced into triage. He was relieved for a second when he remembered the horses had not been put back into the barn after the party. They were the closest to the fire so he shifted on the ball of his foot and ran around the side. Kinsley was right behind him when he reached the fence.
She looked at the handsome man and decided she had a good reason to put off that last event now.
Maybe Ethel had done her a favor after all. She felt the warmth she had come to accept would be a constant feeling while she was near this man. It pleased her that he was playing along with her.
Her breath caught in her throat and her insides melted. He leaned down to her and she welcomed his kiss, immediately throwing her arms around his neck and pulling herself into his body. Everywhere he touched, it scalded. His kiss was deep, urgent, passionate. His desire for her was strong and obvious in his touch and how closely he held her, as well as the growing hardness pushing into her thigh.
Charlene Bright is the author of several contemporary western romance novels. She’s a lifelong resident of the American South and currently residents in southern Oklahoma on a family-owned cattle ranch. She greets each morning with a hot cup of coffee and an optimistic smile. Traveling to America’s national parks is her favorite pastime. After rearing her two daughters, she and her husband recently became empty- nesters. With the peace and quiet that comes with that, she began to hear the characters in her head begging for their stories to be told which is when the author inside her was set free.
Harmony McMahon, Mensa member and computer genius needs an escort for her ten-year high school reunion. A nerd wallflower in high school, she wants to flaunt her adult financial and professional success. Her problem? She’s still a nerd wallflower.
When wounded warrior Marine Corps officer, Major Conner Talbot, offers a day and evening with him in a fundraising auction, Harmony knows he would be the perfect impressive date for her reunion. She can bask in his reflected glory. Conner falls for the woman Harmony hides behind the wallflower exterior. But his ex-wife fell in love with him because he was in the military. Can there be a happily-ever- after with another woman who only sees his uniform? And if he can’t get back into fighting shape after his injury, he might not be wearing it much longer.
Bio: Cynthia VanRooy, a three-time finalist for the San Diego Book Awards, a finalist for the Independent eBook Awards for Romance, and a finalist for the PASIC Book of Your Heart Award, came by her love of books early. She grew up the daughter of a career army officer and moved often. By the time she graduated from high school she had attended eleven different schools! It was difficult making new friends every other year or so, and she spent a lot of time happily curled up alone with a book. She would no sooner finally have friends, than it was time to move again. All she needed to relieve the loneliness was a library where she could always find her favorite authors.
She was living in Hawaii when she met her husband, a handsome young naval officer who swept her off her feet in the best romance-novel tradition. In fact, their first date was New Year’s Eve on Waikiki Beach. Life was setting her up to write romance novels, She just didn’t know it yet. And she was still moving every two years. Hawaii, Scotland, and Japan are just a few of the places she has called home.
She loves writing romance. In her books, she likes to explore the difference between what the characters think they want and what they ultimately discover they really want, a personal journey to which most people can relate. She finds the innate optimism and happy endings in the genre uplifting. Cynthia believes there is enough misery and despair in the world without putting it on the page. Romance is her small effort to bring a higher love vibration to the planet. It’s called light reading for a reason!
“I know when I pick up a Cynthia VanRooy romance, I’m getting a book with characters I really care about and a compelling story.”−Victoria Johnson, author of All I Need to Know in Life, I Learned from Romance Novels
“Cynthia VanRooy writes clearly drawn, appealing characters in a sexy love story that captivates the senses.”−USA Today bestselling author, Christie Ridgway
“Cynthia VanRooy’s richly developed characters don’t read like fiction, but rather real people who just happen to live on the pages of her books.”−Dr. Judythe London, Ph.D., author of Dating the Write Way
“Cynthia VanRooy’s books are good!!”−Barbara Mark, co-author of the Angelspeake series.
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Amy fought to keep her mouth from overriding what she felt. Her instinct was to say something sarcastic, something to deflect from the intensity of the moment. Instead, she said nothing. She didn’t know what to say. Love at first sight wasn’t something she had ever believed in. Still, she couldn’t deny the strong pull she felt toward him. She told herself that it was just the heat of the moment – an effect of the situation and the close quarters.
“I don’t know,” was all she managed.
“I do,” he replied, leaning in to kiss her.
Flames shot to life within her. An almost involuntary moan escaped her lips, vibrating against his lips as they quickly lost themselves in one another. Her hand drifted to his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat thump heavily against her palm. She knew that hers would only match it in speed as her excitement grew and their kiss grew more heated. Amy decided she wasn’t going to fight it. Regardless of what it did, or didn’t, mean, it felt amazing.
The loud wail of dismay that emanated from the dragon leader’s core seemed to shake the clouds around them as he once again turned and attempted to catch Aaron between his mighty jaws. Aiden’s long neck swung heavily into Aaron’s side, pushing him downward toward The Circle, but they were still well above the horizon and Aaron wasn’t about to let that happen. Whirling around, he swung his tail forcefully, sending it thudding into Aiden’s side before jetting forward further out over the water.
Aiden’s growl filled the sky behind him as he continued in pursuit, chasing him across the water as Aaron climbed ever so gradually higher into the air again. As they continued to climb, Aaron became aware of other dragons in the air. He could see the emblems that were routinely stamped into their scales, a rite of passage for anyone who joined their ranks. He hadn’t anticipated Aiden playing dirty if he brought him out here alone.
His hand roamed down her lean legs. They were smooth and delicate, but he knew that, as a dragon, they possessed a power greater than their diminutive size. The thought of it only made him want her more as he began kissing his way upward across her calf and along her inner thigh as she moaned beneath him.
Their passion carried them away as they became entangled within one another, their bodies taking over while the stars came out and the moon reappeared from behind the clouds. Kara panted beneath him, begging him for more as he continued to tease her with his mouth and his hands. He wanted her in the worst way, his urges primal, his inner dragon begging for release.
Coffee addict. Nature lover. Voracious reader. That is Sarah J. Stone in a nutshell!
Born and raised in the mountain town of Aspen, Colorado – Sarah spent her childhood exploring the great outdoors. She often got into trouble by wandering too far but always had a large family around to keep a watchful eye.
The majority of her career was spent at the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation, where Sarah travelled the world helping address rural health issues. During this time books became the one constant in her life, so much so, she started to create her own worlds. What was once a pastime evolved into a full-time job and these days Sarah can be found sitting by the fireplace writing her next paranormal adventure.
She adds sugar to her coffee and shifters to her literature.
Blurb: James McGowan is a legend. The renowned tattoo artist has a face to die for, a body to kill for, and a way with ink that’s unmatched.
He’s back in his hometown for the first time in years, finally ready to open Exile Ink, the tattoo studio of his dreams. When he sees a friend with a new piece—a watercolor tattoo done with such skill even he’s impressed—James has to meet the artist.
Cam Ellison hasn’t had an easy life. Orphaned just after her eighteenth birthday, she’s done everything she can to keep her and her little sister going. Even if it means working under a tyrannical boss who doesn’t appreciate her tattooing style. After all, a paycheck is a paycheck.
When James sets up an appointment as “Jay,” Cam has no idea she’s about to meet a man whose tattooing she’s admired for years. She never imagined he’d want a tattoo designed by her, or that when they’re face to face, sparks don’t just fly, they sizzle. After a steamy session in one of the private tattoo rooms, it’s impossible to deny the pull between them.
James is a man who knows what he wants, and he’s all in, but Cam’s got a lot to lose.
Is she willing to risk everything—her heart and her career—on the man behind the ink?
There’s a rumble in his voice, the promise of something Cam didn’t even know how to want, that lit her nerves up like a sparkler. She could feel every inch of her skin, her nipples hardened against her bra, the texture of the lace doing nothing to alleviate the sensation.
Hell yes, she saw something she liked. She saw everything she liked. Lydia wasn’t joking when she referred to him as a lumberjack. James was one hundred percent pure, Grade-A Mountain Man. He had the kind of muscle that doesn’t come from a gym—but from chopping firewood and hauling trees through the snow. Her glance couldn’t help but linger on his chest hair as he tossed his shirt on the bench behind him, the dark smattering that narrowed into a trail, its end hidden by the low-slung jeans that did nothing to hide his beautifully cut hipbones.
She wanted to melt right there. But she couldn’t. She wasn’t some tattoo groupie and this was her chance. To add a piece for James McGowan to her portfolio was priceless, and just as valuable was the feeling—unusual for her—of pride and confidence because he’d chosen her; he recognized her ability.
Bio: Skylar Hill writes steamy romance about once-in-a-lifetime love.
She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her very own lumberjack/soulmate. When she’s not writing, she’s hiking one of the trails around her beautiful city, or drinking chai lattes in a cafe and eating way too many cinnamon rolls. She has several tattoos…but in places only her husband gets to see!
With a Skylar Hill book expect a touch of angst, a bit of sweetness, and a lot of steaminess. While you’ll find plenty of the delicious drama you love, you’ll NEVER find a hero or heroine cheating and every book–series or standalone–ends with a HEA or HFN….guaranteed!
Anger and lies can lead to destruction, but passion and control can lead to love.
I met my soul mate, but she’s married to someone else.
Every fiber of my being screams she belongs to me.
He saved her, but he doesn’t deserve her.
If I’m being honest, neither do I.
I didn’t know I was settling until he showed me what I was missing.
He promised to maintain control, but I pushed him and he destroyed us both.
Now I know what I need, but am I what he wants.
Harrison’s anger and Brooklyn’s lies push them both toward destruction. Can passion and control SALVAGE their love?
Salvage Him is a passionate romance with BDSM elements by Sydney Aaliyah Michelle. If you like a strong alpha male, scorching sex scenes and a connection that makes your heart and body quiver, then you’ll love Sydney Aaliyah Michelle’s latest stand alone HEA romance.
Pick up Salvage Him and read how Harrison and Brooklyn find each other today!
What Others are Saying about Salvage Him:
Your book is the closest to the truth of what happens in the Dom/sub lifestyle that I have ever read.
OMG! Wholly wet balls batman! What a steamy and delicious read!
Absolutely fell in love with Harrison and Brooklyn in this story. How could you not.
This was the first time I’ve ever seen this subject material (BDSM) covered in a somewhat realistic way.
His arms flexed as he adjusted the armoire in the corner. He wiped his hands on his thin t-shirt. It rode up as he picked at something on the door. He ran his hand through his shaggy light brown hair. He stood back and rubbed the stubble on his chin.
I watched him as he reached out and caressed the wood.
I felt it on my cheek.
He leaned in and rested his forehead on the wood.
I leaned in too.
His beautiful lips whispered something to the wood.
I felt the wisp of air on my earlobe and shivered.
He made a fist as his forearms flexed and knocked twice.
“Come in,” I whispered and gasped.
I placed a hand on his abs to push him away, but when I touched the immovable force, BAM, a chill hit me again, and I stopped breathing. He must have felt something too. He exhaled and looked down at our hands.
“Wow,” he whispered and dropped my hand.
I held in a whimper from the immediate loss and turned back to my table. I could feel his presence behind me. Not physical, like when I fell into his arms, but no less powerful and consuming. I exhaled myself.
“Brooklyn,” I said and reached for the handle of my suitcase.
God, the way he said my name.
His tone pleaded for me to turn around.
“I really need to get set up here.” I didn’t recognize my own voice.
“Can I help?” He reached around and brushed his fingers over mine. Of course, I would have the book labeled bedroom in my hand. I would have giggled at the irony if the thought of him in a bedroom didn’t cross my inappropriate mind.
His powerful aura, for lack of a better term, felt familiar. Not that I had been near him before, but I knew his type. He commanded everything around him. His being alone demanded your attention and devotion.
I shook the thought out of my head.
“I’ve got it covered,” I said with more confidence than I felt.
The disappointment rolled off his body and engulfed me.
I’d disappointed him.
He was displeased with me.
I shook it off again. I had no allegiance to this man. We had never even met before.
She rolled her eyes and gave me an, oh, please look.
“Not an acceptable response. That’s one.”
“One what?” I asked.
“One spanking. I’ll ask you again. Spanking?”
“Hard limit.” Her eyes grew wide.
She licked her lips.
I unbuttoned and unzipped my pants.
She hesitated but whispered, “Soft.”
She responded to me choking her earlier. I wasn’t sure if it were something she’d played around with before.
“Yes, but . . .” She stopped.
“No suspending me from the ceiling and leaving me for days.” She shivered.
“Okay.” I let my jeans fall to the ground.
Her eyes sparkled. She strained to watch.
I ran my hand over the bulge in my shorts and held in a groan.
“Anal,” I said.
“Yes.” No hesitation.
That’s my girl.
“Humiliation,” I said with a raised eyebrow.
“Soft.” She drew out the word.
“What’s your concern?” I kneeled on the bed.
“It’s not important. We can discuss it later.”
“I wouldn’t have asked the question if I didn’t want to know.” I ran my hands up her legs.
Her eyes grew wet as she blinked to prevent her tears from falling.
Seeing her cry hit me in the gut. I laid down and cupped her cheek.
“What is it? Brooklyn. Tell me.”
“Malcolm . . .” She blinked. “He used to call me names, and I liked it, but then his friends would do the same, and I didn’t. I don’t know.” Her tears flowed.
“Maybe you’re right. This isn’t the time to do this.” I laid a hand against her cheek.
“I’m sorry.” She blinked.
“Brooklyn. You have nothing to be sorry for. I want to know you. Every part of you. Even the stuff you’re ashamed and embarrassed about. All of it made you into this incredible, beautiful, sexy woman.” I kissed her. Tasted her tears on my lips. I moved a hand down to her tits and unhooked the clasp on the front of her bra. Her tits were real and firm, her nipples hard. I took one in my mouth and pinched the other.
I teased her with my teeth and my tongue.
Her moans told me she liked them both.
My hand traveled down her stomach and into her panties. I ran my fingers through her folds, her pussy wet and swollen from me touching her before.
She moaned and squirmed against my touch.
I pressed a finger inside her.
She squeezed her pussy around it.
I pushed in two.
She ground against my hand.
“Sir,” she said against my mouth.
“Yes, my sweet sub.”
She smiled a sweet grin, with a little mischievous gleam in her eye.
“Will you please fuck me now?”
The smile fell from her lips.
I removed her panties and climbed between her legs. I slid on a condom and laid down; our bodies flush against each other, my full weight on her. I reached up and clasped my hands with hers where they were cuffed together. I lifted her thighs over my hips, grabbed my cock, and pressed into her in one motion.
“Oh, fuck.” We both growled. If I had any doubt this woman was made for me, the moment I entered her for the first time, confirmed it. I memorized everything about how it felt. Me, deep inside her, my cock squeezed in the most perfect way, and her eyes staring into mine.
Sydney Aaliyah Michelle is a Contemporary Romance writer, a voracious reader, tattoo lover, and movie fanatic who hails from Texas.
After surviving 5 1/2 years living in China, she had the courage to finally pursue her passion and become a writer.
She identifies the sci-fi action flick “The Matrix” as the best representation of her life in the past. She is now blessed to be awake and doing what she loves.
She can recite the entire script from the 80’s teen comedy/drama “The Breakfast Club” and loves any and everything associated with the Avengers Movie, especially Tony Stark.
When it come to books, Sydney reads different genres, but some of her favorite writers are Stephen King, Alex J. Cavanaugh, J.A Huss, M. Never & Emily Bronte. Under the Dome, The Great Gatsby & Wuthering Heights are her favorite books.
To stay up to date with Sydney, join her newsletter, and connect through social media.
Mickey Jacobs and Alexandra Stotts have known each other since they were kids. Outwardly, living childhoods full of joy and laughter but privately both experiencing their own kinds of pain and disappointment.
Alex had always been taught what happens behind closed doors stays behind closed doors. The outside world saw her life as idyllic and picture perfect. But of course, things are never what they seem.
After watching his philandering father tear his family apart and break his mother’s heart time and time again, Mick vowed to never cause another person that kind of pain. Keep it simple. No relationships.
But then there was the sweet, exotically beautiful Alex. There was always Alex. With her…things were never simple. She was forbidden fruit. His sister’s friend. Off limits.
Alex was head-over-heels for Mick the moment her twelve-year old eyes landed on him. She knew at this young age that they could never be. Even if he wasn’t her best friend’s brother, he was still Mickey freaking Jacobs. Now, all grown up, Mick is gorgeous, the life of the party and an eternal bachelor. He’ll never be able to give Alex what she needs, and she’s not sure she could risk the pain that giving Mickey Jacobs her heart would surely inflict.
Can Mick and Alex find a way to heal themselves by loving each other?
I put my not quite empty beer bottle on the bar and turn to make my way through the crowded dance floor to say goodbye to my best friend. The problem is I can’t move. My feet are frozen to the spot. This just can’t be. She’s only nineteen, how the hell did she get in here? Things here at Lola’s just got a lot more interesting. I tuck myself as far back from the crowd of dancing bodies as I can and settle in to enjoy the show.
This is what I have always done. Watched.
Alex is one of my sister’s best friends and therefore off limits. It doesn’t mean I haven’t lusted for her for years now. There is no denying she is, without a doubt, the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. She doesn’t look like every other girl in Portland and tonight, just like every time I see her, she stands out from the crowd. The fact that she’s just under six feet tall helps in that department but it’s also her exotic look. Her dad may be whiter than my Irish ass, but her mom’s family is from India. This combination has always made her look somewhat exotic with her light brown skin, long dark hair and dark brown eyes. She looks like she should be wearing a pair of bedazzled wings and be walking down the runway for a freaking Victoria’s Secret runway show.
Watching her out there on the dance floor, singing along to her favorite band, with that rare smile on her face is something to behold. She’s always been so quiet and shy when I’ve been around her. I would hear the girls in Emily’s room giggling hysterically or singing and dancing, but as soon as I would enter the room Alex would always clam up and seemed to be in a constant state of embarrassment. As the girls got older, and a little less giggly, she opened up a bit and would actually talk to me, but she always seemed shy. This is a new side to her that I’ve never seen. I like it.
I know I could ruin her evening and make her leave since she’s clearly not of age, but I’m enjoying the show too much right now. God, she looks good in her tight jeans and that crop top that shows just a sliver of skin. I feel like a perv standing in the background watching her, but this isn’t anything new. I have always watched Alexandra Stotts. She’s the one girl I have always wanted but never had, and I’m a guy who tends to get what I want.
When one of my favorites starts playing, and I see her swinging her hips in a slow motion that matches the beat of the classic Biggie Smalls tune, I find my feet are walking me out onto the dance floor and up behind the hottest ass in a pair of jeans I have ever seen.
I reach her, and just as I do her friend’s eyes widen. I put my finger to my lips and beg her not to say anything with a slow shake of my head. Her friend does me a solid and stops her reaction just in time. Before I know it I’m directly behind Alex, and my hands naturally go to her hips and I start to sway in time with the music. I feel her stiffen and try to turn around but my hands hold her in place. That’s a good sign. I’m glad she doesn’t just let random guys come up and touch her.
Putting my mouth next to her ear I take in the intoxicating smell of her hair before I say, “Alexandra Stotts, funny seeing you here. How old are you again?” I hear her gasp my name as she tries to turn around, but once again I stop her. “Dance with me, Alex, and your secret will be safe with me.”
She turns her head so she can look at me and the moment our eyes meet we’re both transfixed. Damn! There has always been something there, but being this close and having my hands on her has me feeling much more than I ever expected. She tries to say something in protest but I silence her when I say, “Just dance with me, Alex.”
With my order given, she starts to sway to the rhythm again. Within a matter of seconds her ass is gently rubbing on me in a way that I am more than certain gives her an idea of what she’s doing to me. To my surprise her arms come up, and she puts her hands behind my neck and exposes even more of her skin as her shirt lifts. My hands instinctively move to touch her. I leave one hand splayed across her lean stomach and the other I slowly slide up her side and then her arm. I use this move to turn her around so that she’s facing me. We don’t miss a beat and our eyes are locked on each other.
Fuck, she is more than I ever thought she would be. Who knew that the beautiful Alexandra Stotts could move like this? Who knew she could exude sex appeal like she is in this moment? It’s almost like she’s wanted me all these years, just as much as I’ve wanted her. I’m so lost in her eyes, her touch and in the moment, that I don’t even realize that there’s a new song playing. We haven’t changed our rhythm though. She straddles my leg, my arm is around her waist keeping her tight to my body and we continue to move together like we’ve done it a million times before.
It’s starting to get a little warm out here on the dance floor, and as if she’s reading my mind, she pulls her hair up in her hands and cools her neck. Shit, even her neck is sexy as fuck. She drops her hair once again and lets it all fall over one of her shoulders, leaving the other exposed. Not thinking, just acting on natural instinct, I lean down and kiss her neck and its quite possibly the softest skin my lips have ever touched. The moment I touch her, I feel her hands that were on my hips grip my shirt as she takes in a deep breath of air. Looks like she is just as affected as I am.
All too soon though she breaks the spell when she yells over the baseline that I feel pounding in my chest. “Mick, what are you doing?” I lift my head from my new favorite spot and can’t help but grab her by the back of the neck and rub my thumb over the spot that my lips were just kissing. As soon as our eyes meet, I can see the worry shining back from hers.
“Sorry, Alex, but I have always wanted to do that. I just couldn’t help myself,” I reply honestly into her ear.
Sounding shocked and confused she asks. “What do you mean, Mick? You’ve always wanted to do what?”
Shit, why did I have to open my mouth? I don’t know if it’s because I’ve known her for so long, or if I feel close to her after that night at the hospital, but I don’t seem able to lie to her when I say, “I’ve always wanted to touch you, Alex. You’ve always been that forbidden fruit that I knew I wasn’t allowed to taste. I couldn’t resist you tonight.”
“You’ve always wanted to touch me?” She looks beyond confused and is looking at me like I have three heads. Okay, she may be sexy as shit but she is cute as hell too.
He stands in my doorway with his hands in his pockets, his chest heaving up and down but silent.
“Mick, what’s the matter? What’s happened?”
“You. That’s what happened, Alex. I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. I know that you said that you
wanted to keep things the way they are but I know you don’t mean it. You want me just as badly as I want you
and you can’t keep denying it. I know you, Alex. I can see your body react and hear your breath catch when I
brush up against you. You know you want this just as badly as I do and I’m here to prove that to you.”
He rushes through the door and kicks it shut with his foot. I can feel the built up tension radiate off his body as
he stalks me like his prey. Before I know it, my back is against the wall and he’s standing in front of me but not
touching me. His chest is still heaving up and down and he almost seems angry.
“Alex, don’t say no.” His hand comes up to my face as he gently holds my cheek in his hand and lightly drags
his thumb over my bottom lip. My breath hitches as I await his next move. I don’t have to wait long as his hand
moves to push my hair behind my ear. After my hair is in place he leisurely takes his forefinger and barely skims
the skin of my neck, down to my collarbone, over my heart and to my breast.
Lisa Shelby is a contemporary romance author who calls the Pacific Northwest home where she resides with her husband, their son and two dogs. Reading has been an obsession and writing has been a secret passion of hers. It was that passion that led her on the journey to write a book for her husband. What began as a gift turned into an inspiration of love, and with the encouragement of family and friends the desire to share that love with everyone.
Victorian London, 1898: by night, Lord McCaulay falls under the enchantment of Mademoiselle Noire, and her theatre of sexual exhibitionism. Humiliated by her before his peers, he becomes intent on revenge, but is drawn only further into her web, entering a dark spiral of erotic obsession. Meanwhile, by day, Lord McCaulay’s path intersects that of young aristocrat Maud, as she struggles to assert her identity against the domination of men.
Recommended by Stylist Magazine: sexiest reads of 2015
He can smell the musk of her skin and see the pulse at her throat. Her décolletage is barely covered by the flimsy chiffon, breasts rising with each breath. He touches the end of the crop to her chest, brushing the silk covering her delicate nipple.
He pulls the ribbon, so that the fabric falls away, revealing bare flesh in earnest: her belly, dark bush and legs.
The blood rises within him and his tongue grows dry in his mouth. His feelings are all confusion, thanks in part to the stirring of lust in his loins.
His hands clench against the stem of the crop, itching to reach out and seize the abundant camber of her breasts, to thrust his mouth at them, to devour them, to wrench his teeth at those ripe nipples, to bite them until she cries for his mercy.
He would graze his mouth down her belly and bury his face in her bush. He imagines its plump wetness and the taste of her juices. His desire to consume her near chokes him.
‘I’m waiting,’ she prompts, her voice silken.
Her eyes have grown dark with hunger. ‘There is a wild intoxication in being watched, knowing that every man is waiting for me, their impulse holding them captive.’
Her voice, so close to her ear, is almost a hiss.
‘At those moments, I control them, through their eagerness to take possession of my flesh. I satisfy their desires and my own, relishing that which others would consider barbarous.’
‘Lord McCaulay, I must be convinced that you can honour your part, allowing me to invite others into our bed.’
At this, she returns to the mirrored door and opens it wide, beckoning two to join them: the huge African and the young Zeus. Both naked, one ebony dark and the other golden, they exhibit strength and beauty such as no man can deny.
Knowing McCaulay is watching, she flicks her ostrich feather over her new lovers’ bodies, her eyes and touch roving to their tight buttocks, their biceps, and their toned abdominal muscles.
Emmanuelle de Maupassant lives with her husband (maker of fruit cake) and her little scruffy terrier (connoisseur of bacon treats and squeaky toys). She enjoys marzipan and sushi, and wild, windswept walks on Scottish beaches. Gin and tonic, always.
“When your dreams become reality, being cursed can be a real nightmare.”
Like a punch in the face, eighteen-year-old Maeve O’Malley’s visions knock her off her path. The pirate queen stalking Maeve in her dreams killed her mother years ago and now, the villain is coming for her. Maeve’s decision to ditch Boston College takes everyone by surprise as she packs her bags, leaves America, and heads to the west coast of Ireland to chase her dreams – and end them.
Maeve uncovers an ancient family curse that refuses to remain silent until she accepts her predestined role in what many thought was only a legend. Her Irish history professor – a man she shouldn’t be falling for – is the only person who understands the origins of her torment.
Maeve’s journey becomes a medieval treasure hunt through Ireland’s castles and ruins as she tracks the wrathful pirate queen who has her marked for vengeance.
I peeked over Mom’s headstone. The wind had whipped up without warning, flinging mist and twigs at me like shrapnel, making me squint and shield my face. My hair twisted wildly and my jacket flapped against my body, raising alarm in every nerve. I gripped the top of Mom’s stone, straining to see past the wind, trying to figure out who was out there.
A thick smell of iron coated my throat and I wretched. Blood was in the air, mixed with rage in the violent gusts and fear burst into my heart. I could swear I heard my name swirling in the blasts, sounds of an unknown or dead language, and pressed my hands over my ears to stop it. I fell back, wiping the assault from my face and searched Mom’s stone, eyes wide with panic.
Desperate for a response, I stared into her monument like looking into her safe, nurturing face. I blinked for better clarity, leaning in to it, when somewhere deep in my mind, her voice exploded as she commanded me—
Snippet # 2
In a knee-jerk response to Gram’s call, I tripped on zucchini vines and landed at the base of the St. Brendan statue in the middle of the garden, my face nearly hitting it.
“Jesus!” The accusation rang clear. I blamed him for a lot more than nearly breaking my face on one of his anointed ones.
A handmade shelter enclosed the three-foot whitewashed statue of Brendan on three sides. From the back, I couldn’t see the religious icon but knew its every feature by heart: peaceful, bearded face, robe-like clothing, cross in one hand, gesturing to the open expanses with the other. Always mocking me.
He was Brendan the Navigator. A courageous mariner, in search of paradise or the Garden of Eden. My grandmother’s bedtime stories retold St. Brendan’s Voyage, his epic travel to the promised land, a million times, engraving his fearless curiosity onto my soul.
White paint peeled down in delicate rolls from the outer back wall of Brendan’s enclosure, moving my eyes toward its stony base. And there, in the statue’s foundation, was a hidden metal door the size of the long side of a shoebox, with countless coats of paint, rusty hinges, and a small, aged padlock.
My eyes widened. How could a little door be here all this time and I never noticed? I cupped my palm around the lock to inspect its tiny designs: Irish artwork, Celtic-type swirls and knots pulled me in, whispering their secrets too quietly for me to hear.
Snippet # 3
I called out for Rory while holding the back of my sore head. My voice was gone, lost in the chaos, and I tasted the evil bile of dread rising from my belly. Lifting my gaze, the green fields and stone walls came into view—fading in and out of focus.
Then I saw her.
My captain. From my nightmare.
She loomed ahead of me, sword drawn back and dappled with light. Her eyes blazed and her delicate features twisted into a snarl. An avenging angel sent to destroy me.
She raced toward me from within the fort, sword held high, teeth bared on her savage, grief-stricken face. Panic coursed through my veins, freezing me to my spot. In her rage, her long black hair and layered shoal flew around her, giving her the appearance of a goddess; one of destruction and death. She was charging toward me with clear intent to kill.
I froze in place as she came at me, her expression contorted. I braced myself for the heinous blow of her sword but felt only wind. She moved through me like a shiver and continued beyond to the outer point of the fort, her violent intent still clear.
Jennifer Rose McMahon has been creating her Pirate Queen Series since her college days abroad in Ireland. Her passion for Irish legends, ancient cemeteries, and medieval ghost stories has fueled her adventurous story telling, while her husband’s decadent brogue carries her imagination through the centuries. When she’s not in her own world writing about castles and curses, she can be found near Boston in the local coffee shop, yoga studio, or at the beach…most often answering to the name ‘Mom’ by her fab children four.
When Sarah’s best friend Tammy invites her to a brunch, of course she has to go. But little does she expect that the guest of honor will find her as attractive as she finds him.
A psychology professor from the local university, Scott is celebrating the publication of his first book: a psychological thriller. Unlike the guys she’s recently dated, he has a more mature approach to life, with interests that range from his passion for dissecting the intricacies of the human mind to appreciating German art.
This is a six book serial that follows Sarah Pilsner, a successful, young, thirty-something CEO of her own advertising agency. She’s a self-made woman, happy with what she’s achieved, but realizing that being successful has come with a price.
Sarah gets a wake-up call when her secretary’s fiancé sends a beautiful bouquet of flowers and the entire office goes ga-ga. Sarah can’t help but realize that as a workaholic, she has no social life, and no matter how well she’s done with her business, the rewards feel hollow. There is no one in her life to celebrate her successes with, except her best friend Tammy. And Tammy has her own life with Chaz.
Determined to change her status by her birthday, a mere six months away, she decides to step outside her comfort zone and find someone to help share the celebration of her journey and her life. Join Sarah on her journey to discover a life beyond her current state of living with her nose to the grindstone.
Here’s what reviewers are saying about the Seducing Sarah series:
“This series has really captivated me! I like reading these short stories about Sarah trying to find love.”
“Ami has a way with drawing you into the story and making the characters feel like friends you have known your whole life. I can’t wait to see the journey Sarah is about to go on through this 6-part series.”
“The way Ami writes is just amazing. Sarah is portrayed just like the rest of us 30-somethings… who are out here trying to navigate the dating field. It isn’t easy and you sure do have to kiss a lot of toads before you find the one person who just gets you.”
Like most romance writers, Ami LeCoeur is a romantic at heart, but in her heart, it’s the classic romanticism of the late 18th and early 19th centuries.
She is a painter, glass artist, and award-winning poet, as well as a writer.
When she isn’t traveling, she lives on California’s Redwood Coast with her husband and two kitties. She loves her wonderful ocean view, and when the fog comes in – as it always does – she’s either curled up with a good book or busy writing.