Author Archives: Nicola Cameron
So it’s the early morning of Day Eight of NaNoWriMo and I have a question
I’m taking a break because I’ve been writing for the past six hours and my brain is a bit melty at the moment (that being said, I’m currently at 20,126 words and Act One is pretty much done).
So I decided to take a break and wander around the NaNoWriMo forums a bit, see what everyone else is saying, and stumbled across something interesting. Apparently one writer just interviewed an editor at Liquid Silver about what selling in erotic romance at the moment, and one of the big things is gay werewolves.
Now, I don’t write werewolves — I have no problem with them, but they just don’t do much for me. That being said, I do have a M/M shifter novel, Trickster, which has been my bestselling book to date by far despite the fact that it’s ridiculously short. I also have a lot of backstory in the Trickster universe, plus three other books set in it that are floating in the back of my mind.
And since I have to decide now what I’ll be writing next month (I’m OCD that way, just work with me), I thought I’d throw the question out to you all — would you like me to work on a Trickster sequel in December? I have further adventures in mind for Delaney and Mark, namely a business trip to a convention in Las Vegas where Delaney pulls double duty as the Trickster clan’s representative at a shifter conference. Things get complicated when a clique of 20something shifters sting casinos along the strip, setting Mob enforcers on their tails. If that wasn’t bad enough, Delaney runs into an ex-girlfriend, and Mark winds up playing counselor for another shifter/human couple.
Interested? Let me know!
Nominations for the Second Annual Evernight Reader’s Choice Awards are now open!
Okay, my lovelies, I have a huge favor to ask of you. Writing is its own reward, but I’ll freely admit that exterior validation is nice, too. 😀 So if you like my work and want to fill me with the creative spirit (or just make me giggle like a three-year-old), nominating my works in the Second Annual Evernight Reader’s Choice Awards is the way to go! Plus, if you nominate works you’ll get a chance to win a $25 Evernight GC!
https://www.surveymonkey.com/s/P6C3KQ2
I’m eligible in the following categories (eligible works are listed):
1. Evernight Book of the Year: Two to Tango, Planet Alpha: Assassin, Trickster (my personal favorite is Two to Tango)
2. Favorite Evernight author: Nicola Cameron
3. Best Evernight series: Since Olympic Cove 2 isn’t out yet, I would suggest Planet Alpha.
4. Favorite Evernight Hero: Rory MacLellan or Dmitri Grigoryev from Two to Tango; Delaney Smith or Mark Fellows from Trickster; Peter Loeffler or John Quincy from “The Art of Grant Management” in Executive Assistant: Manlove Edition; Taric, Zhan, or Duncan Shea from Planet Alpha: Assassin (my personal favorite is Rory MacLellan)
6. Evernight book with the best HEA (Happily Ever After) ending: See #1 (my personal favorite is Two to Tango)
7. Best Evernight cover: See #1
11. Best in Category: Anthologies: Executive Assistant: Manlove Edition
14. Best in Category: Erotic: See #1
15. Best in Category: Fantasy: Trickster
16. Best in Category: Futuristic: Planet Alpha: Assassin, Two to Tango
17. Best in Category: Gay: See #1
23. Best in Category: Menage: Planet Alpha: Assassin
26. Best in Category: Paranormal: Trickster
28. Best in Category: Sci-Fi: Two to Tango
33. Best in Category: Planet Alpha: Planet Alpha: Assassin
Now go forth, my pretties, and nominate!
Mid Week Tease: Deep Water #MidWeekTease #MWTease
Happy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with another wonderful Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. I have to be honest with you — I’m hip deep in NaNoWriMo and I didn’t really have time to find a sexy teaser to share with you.
Soooo — I’m sharing a scene from my NaNoWriMo novel with you. And what is it, you ask? Why, its Book Three of the Olympic Cove series, Deep Water! (If you want to see the very first scene in the book, page back a blog post.)
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
Poseidon, God of the Sea, has spent millennia alone due to a single terrible act — a drunken assault on his agapetos, or fated mate, shared with his consort Amphitrite. His queen has sworn never to forgive him for his actions, and he must live with the knowledge that he drove an innocent girl to a dreadful retribution.
But when one of the Olympic Cove cottages gets a new occupant with an all-too-familiar soul, Poseidon discovers that the Fates have given him a second chance. Now he must try to right the wrongs of the past and win back both his beloved consort and the mate he betrayed.
Assuming, of course, that the Mad Nereid Thetis doesn’t interfere…
Heather contemplated her newest acquisition, absently tapping a purple feather duster against one thigh as she pondered. Now where should I put it? Garden statuary? Library decor?
For a junk store masquerading as an antique shop, the Lady’s Touch held some genuine treasures for those willing to search through its many, many shelves. Heather was relieved that few of the mortal shoppers who came in to browse ever noticed that the interior dimensions of the store didn’t quite match the exterior dimensions (except for that nice Englishwoman, she thought fondly, Verity something. Such a good eye for spatial differentiation).
As the interior size of The Lady’s Touch developed a certain elasticity over the years, its display system had become rather haphazard as a result, and now she wasn’t quite sure where to store the bust currently sitting on her counter. Perhaps Halloween decorations?
A warm, familiar presence bloomed at her back. “Hy, do you have time for some tea?”
She turned. Behind her stood a tall, lovely woman with long dark hair caught up in a tidy chignon. The woman’s casual but tasteful clothing — designer jeans, silk shell top, and Jimmy Choo flats — didn’t quite fit with the t-shirts and jean shorts of the local tourists, but didn’t make her stand out terribly either. She looked like a rich young matron slumming it in a seaside junk shop.
Until Heather looked into her eyes. They held an ancient pain that seared the soul.
“Oh, crumpets,” she said, tossing the feather duster onto the counter. “What’s he done now?”
“Nothing exactly, but—” The Nereid stopped, staring at the bust. A flash of bitter emotion flickered across her face. “Where did you get that?”
Damn, damn, damn. She hadn’t even thought about the bust. “I bought it at an estate sale,” she said. “It’s genuine marble, you see, and the woman who sold it said it had been sculpted by her uncle, some sort of local artist. It’s really rather well done, but I didn’t know you were coming in, otherwise—”
Amphitrite gave her a pained look. Heather realized she’d been babbling. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Er, I’ll just put it away, then.”
“No. It’s all right.” The Nereid reached out to the bust, one fingertip trailing over the creamy stone. She traced a high cheekbone, a beautifully full lip, the wide, strong brow.
Heather noticed she avoided the sinuous shapes curled around the bust’s head. “It doesn’t really look like her, of course,” Amphitrite said absently. “But then again, that’s hardly surprising. Most people never look beyond the snakes.”
With a sound she desperately hoped was supportive and not as grunty as she suspected it really was, Heather hefted the bust and bustled off. Halloween decor it is.
When she returned, the store was empty. She stepped to the door and flicked the OPEN sign over to CLOSED, then headed to the tiny office tucked in the building’s front corner. She dropped her disguise as she did; the curly red hair and green glasses disappeared, replaced by her true form as the Nereid Hyacinthe.
She entered the office, pleased to see that Amphitrite had found her electric kettle and filled it. A teapot, a bottle of milk, two mugs carrying the shop’s logo, and a plate of snickerdoodles were already out on her desk.
“Hope you don’t mind,” Amphitrite said as the kettle clicked off, wisps of steam rising from its spout. “I just really need some tea. Or wine, if you have it.”
“Not at the moment, sorry,” Heather said, thinking about the bottle of merlot upstairs in her apartment. The last thing Amphitrite needed was to start drinking this early in the day. “Let me just mash this up and we’ll have a nice talk, yes?”
After the tea had been poured, the sisters settled on either side of the desk, mugs and snickerdoodles in hand. “So, Poseidon,” Heather prompted. “What’s he done now?”
“Well … nothing,” Amphitrite said slowly. “Not exactly, anyway. I was at the cove this morning for a therapy session with Nick Gardiner and his mers.”
Once again Heather was impressed by the breadth of mortal training her sister had picked up over the millennia. “Nice to see you using your psychology degree again,” she said over the rim of her cup.
The Nereid shrugged. “Yes, well, afterwards I went over to the boys’ cottage to ask Aphros about a recipe, and Poseidon was there with Bythos and Ian. I assume they were having some sort of war council.”
“Did Poseidon say anything to you?”
“He offered to step out so that I could speak with Bythos.”
“And?”
“That was it.”
She weighed her next words. “Did you want him to say anything else?”
Amphitrite slumped in her chair. “I suppose it’s childish of me to want him to grovel every time I see him.”
“A bit, yes.”
The dark-haired goddess nodded gloomily. “We’ve done so well, avoiding each other for all those centuries. And now we wind up meeting twice in six weeks.” She grimaced. “I mean, I knew it would be possible if I agreed to be Nick’s therapist, but there’s a difference between knowing something intellectually and actually having it happen to you.”
“I know,” Heather said sympathetically. “Perhaps the two of you could set up some sort of schedule so that you don’t have to run into each other?”
Amphitrite raised a curved eyebrow. “Custody of Olympic Cove? That’s a thought. Although I can’t see him holding to it.”
Heather made a muffled noise of agreement into her tea. She’d been the sea god’s sister-in-law long enough to know that he’d ignore an agreement if it suited him. “You sure he didn’t say anything else to you?”
“No. Just stood there like a self-important martinet and looked constipated. Although I do think he tried to smile once.” Amphitrite pursed her lips. “I’m surprised his cheeks didn’t crack.”
The other Nereid chuckled at that. “Well, why don’t you arrange to meet with Nick, Aidan and Liam somewhere else? You could always use my apartment for day sessions.”
Amphitrite let out a slow breath, studying the tan liquid in her mug. “That’s very kind of you, darling, but I don’t feel comfortable bringing the mers into a human settlement,” she said finally. “Things are rather tense between them and their grotto as it is. I don’t wish to add more stress if I don’t have to. I’ll just have to bite the bullet and accept that I may see Poseidon now and then. It won’t kill me, after all.”
“Yes, one of the benefits about being an immortal, I suppose.” Heather took a quick nibble of her cookie. “Of course, it might not be a bad idea, you know. Talking to him, I mean. I think the mortals call it ‘getting closure.’”
The air in the small office grew chillier. “I don’t see how I could achieve closure with Poseidon,” Amphitrite said evenly. “Unless he did something really spectacular, such as, of, I don’t know, immolate himself in a volcano. I might be willing to watch that.”
Heather winced. “Ammie, you know I’m on your side with this. What he did was cruel and utterly heartless. But that was also thousands of year ago. At some point, you have to let it go, for your own sake.” Her voice gentled. “Tell me truly — do you even remember how she looked?”
Those sea-blue eyes clouded over, looking inwards at something Heather could only suspect. “I will always remember how she looked,” Amphitrite murmured softly. “She had large eyes, light brown, like those of an owl. Her nose was small and straight, and turned up at the tip. When she laughed, the entire room seemed to light up. And even though she was small she always stood up straight, modest and attentive, the perfect handmaiden.” Her expression hardened. “Until Poseidon betrayed her. And me.”
Heather flinched from the grief and rage in the Nereid’s eyes. “I’m sorry, sister. I didn’t mean to dredge up more pain for you.”
The dark-haired goddess shook her head. “You didn’t. That’s the problem. I carry it with me always. And that is why I cannot achieve closure with Poseidon. The bastard drove our agapetos away, and I can never forgive him for that.”
“Even though you miss him?” Heather regretted the words the moment they slipped out.
But Amphitrite simply nodded. “Even though I miss him. And I’m not sure who I hate more for that. Him, or myself.”
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Happy NaNoWriMo!
Of course I’m doing NaNoWriMo. And for all you Olympic Cove fans, there is reason to rejoice — not only is Breaker Zone coming out late this month or early in December, but this year’s NaNoWriMo book is Book Three in the series (the working title is Deep Water). I’m currently closing in on 7K and hope to have the entire 100K first draft done by November 30. So you might actually get Poseidon’s story early in 2015. I’m a giver that way, you know.
And because I’m in such a good mood, here’s a completely unedited teaser from Chapter One:
Three gods sat in a tidy cottage kitchen, sharing a bottle of rather fine wine.
This wasn’t an unusual occurrence for the cottage, or even the kitchen. With mid-afternoon sunlight playing on its rack of copper pots and aged wooden cabinets, the room radiated a certain welcoming homeliness that could make even a divine entity feel comfortable. No, the only odd thing was the *identity* of one of the gods currently sitting around the retro kitchen table.
If pressed, Poseidon (Ruler of the Sea, Earth-Shaker, Lord of Horses, et al.) was willing to admit that he felt surprisingly comfortable in his sons’ oh-so-human dwelling. And he definitely appreciated the vintage he was about to receive. He admired the play of sunlight on crystal and liquid as the level of wine rose in his glass, nodding when it had reached an acceptable amount.
The storm god across from him stopped pouring, putting the wine bottle back on the table. Poseidon found the simple act somewhat amusing. After millennia of being served by daimons, the invisible spirits of the air that tended the gods of Olympus, he wasn’t used to corporeal hands doing something as mundane as pouring him a glass of wine.
Especially when those hands belonged to Ian West, first of the new Atlantian Gods. *And, by an incredible concatenation of events that even I find hard to believe, my son-in-law.*
He covered his distraction by taking a sip of wine. The rich, earthy taste of an excellent Bordeaux rolled over his tongue, and he swallowed with genuine pleasure. “From your wine cellar, I take it?”
The other occupant of the table, a lean redhead with grey eyes, nodded. “I thought it would help, considering what we’re here to discuss,” the sea demigod Bythos said.
“Mm. So you have new information about the cause of Thetis’s madness?”
“We do. Nick was able to analyze some of her venom while she had him at her lair. He said it contained some kind of nanotechnology. That’s—”
“I know what nanotechnology is,” Poseidon said crisply. “That … is a surprise.” Thick red brows furrowed as he thought. “But it does explain how she has been able to turn various creatures into monsters.” He glanced briefly at his son, whose face had gone taut at the memory of being poisoned by the Mad Nereid’s venom. It had almost turned Bythos into a deadly monster, but Ian, guided by Gaia, had been able to purge him and save his life. “Do you know how she obtained this nanotechnology?”
Bythos shook his head. “If we still had a sample Nick might be able to study it in more depth, see if it had some sort of logo or marking symbol on it.”
“But Nick never physically had any of the venom,” Ian pointed out. His friend Dr. Nick Gardiner had arrived at the cove a week ago after fleeing a deadly lover, and had become the Bearer of the Rod of Asclepius in the process. “He did his analysis through Pythia and the Rod. As for Thetis’s lair,” Ian raised his hands and twitched both index and middle fingers at the last word, “it’s currently sitting under Barnard Whitfield’s yacht. I doubt there’s anything usable left.” The grim look left his face, replaced by sorrow. “I just wish I’d known—”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Bythos said, covering his mate’s hand with his own. “Thetis played us all cleverly, beloved. And there’s no guarantee you could have saved Claire. From what Nick said, the venom was much farther advanced in her than it was in me.”
Ian sighed. “I still wish I could have tried, dammit.”
Poseidon leaned back in his chair, long fingers toying with the almost full wine glass. Thetis’s latest move in their ongoing battle had been to go beyond the mutated mermaids known as ilkothella and turn more powerful creatures into twisted versions of themselves. Ideally these creatures would still maintain their original intelligence, but follow Thetis faithfully. With that in mind the Nereid had poisoned a sea goddess named Claire with the intention of turning the resulting monster into a leader of her army.
But the brave goddess had defied Thetis, choosing to end her life and return to Gaia rather than become one of the Nereid’s minions. A new coral reef had blossomed instantly on the site of Claire’s sacrifice, forever memorializing her courage. While this was a setback in Thetis’s plans, Poseidon had no delusions that it would dissuade the Nereid from her course of revenge.
Mid Week Tease: Trickster or Treat #MidWeekTease #MWTease
Happy Hump Day! This week we Mid Week Teasers are celebrating Halloween with teasers from our paranormal works. And since Delaney and Mark have been on my mind recently, here’s a special Halloween scene from my Trickster series (yes, there will be a sequel).
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
With care, Delaney decanted the hot cider from the pot into two glass mugs, inhaling the crisp, fruity steam with relish. It was rare that Dallas got chilly enough for spiced cider before December, but a cold front had pushed through the area along with a handful of thunderstorms, bringing autumnal temperatures just in time for Halloween. His coyote wanted to be out in the fields that still dotted the outer edges of the Metroplex, hunting the last of the rabbits and enjoying the crackle of browning foliage under his paws before the earth put itself to bed for winter.
Barring that, a monster movie marathon with his mate was a more than acceptable alternative.
He grabbed the mugs and carried them carefully through to the living room. The lights had already been turned down and Mark was in his spot on the couch, idly spinning the remote in one long-fingered hand.
“That took long enough,” he commented, accepting one of the mugs. “Coffee would have been fine, really.”
“Hell, no. I’ve been waiting for this for months.” Delaney took a seat next to Mark, deftly keeping the cider from slopping over while he slid an arm around his mate. “Try it.”
Mark rolled his eyes but obeyed. And blinked in surprised appreciation. “Wow.” He smacked his lips. “That’s got quite a kick.”
“Now you know where all the rum’s gone.” Delaney took a careful sip from his mug, savoring the hot fluid rolling over his tongue. “God, I love this kind of weather. So what are we watching?”
Mark squinted at the stack of DVD cases on the TV stand. “Our marathon kicks off with your favorite and mine, Re-animator.”
“Stuart Gordon, black humor, and gore — oh, my,” Delaney said, taking another sip of cider. “What else?”
“After that we have An American Werewolf in London, and then I thought we’d wrap it up with Dracula.”
“Lugosi, Langella, or Oldman?”
“Oldman — I’m in the mood for something OTT.”
“Works for me,” Delaney said, pulling Mark closer as the smaller man hit PLAY. Only part of his attention was on the screen as a maniacal Herbert West briefly brought his mentor back to a gruesomely eye-popping life. The rest of it was on the irresistible smell rising from Mark’s skin, a combination of salt, clean musk, the faint tang of alcohol, and a hint of spice and fruit. He leaned over and nosed a curl away from the lobe of Mark’s ear, inhaling.
“I thought we were going to watch horror movies,” Mark said, sounding amused.
“Mm, maybe I just wanted to get you on the couch and ply you with alcoholic cider,” Delaney admitted, brushing his lips against the sensitive patch of skin under Mark’s ear. Goosebumps rose on his mate’s skin, and he licked them gently. “You don’t mind, do you?”
He pulled back to judge his mate’s expression. Storm-blue eyes met his own, turning dark with the need that always crackled between them when they were alone. “Not really,” Mark said, grinning. “Should I stop the DVD?”
“I don’t think Mr. West will mind,” Delaney said, plucking the mug from Mark’s hand and putting it on the end table with his own before pressing closer to his mate’s welcoming heat. “Now, then, where was I…”
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I’m visiting blogs, yes I am
My fellow Planet Alpha author Beth D. Carter has me on today to talk about the influences that went into Assassin and how I develop my character dynamics, so if you want to find out why Zhan is the way he is, head over to http://bethdcarter.blogspot.com/2014/10/planet-alpha-author-nicola-cameron.html.
And to put a cherry on top, Assassin is currently at #20 on the All Romance eBooks Bestseller list, earned a category bestseller silver star, and is on two category bestseller lists over at Amazon. It’s also doing quite well at Bookstrand, and I’m hoping to get some reviews in soon (remember, if you read it, reviews are love!).
Right now, I’m finishing up my anthology entry for Evernight’s uniform fetish call, and then it’s back to work on Iron Cross. And for tomorrow’s Mid Week tease you’re going to get an exclusive scene from Trickster to celebrate Halloween. Woohoo!
So, Planet Alpha: Assassin is out…
And after a weekend of social media promo and talking it up wherever I could, it’s on the All Romance eBooks Romance Bestseller list (currently #28) and on two category bestseller lists at Amazon, all of which makes me very happy (and people teasing me on FB about selling the movie rights and who could play Taric, Zhan, and Duncan is even more delightful. For the record, my dream cast would be Colby Keller as Taric, Paddy O’Brian as Zhan, and Levi Karter as Duncan. Cockyboys and Men.com, take note).
Of course, the annoying thing about being a writer is that you re-read your newly published works and wish to God that you could have one last crack at editing them. Nothing major, just a sentence here and there that makes you think, “Why did I phrase this so clumsily?” or “Aw, crap, I already used that word in this paragraph.” (Apparently this happens to Neil Gaiman of all people, so I don’t feel that bad about it, but still.)
And the funny thing is, almost no readers will ever comment on these little infelicities, or even notice them. It’s just the writer, that OCD perfectionist who wants his or her story polished to a high gleam before it sees the light of day, who spots the occasional smeary fingerprint and winces at it. So I just need to shut up and enjoy my sales, basically.
Nicola’s Sunday Shoutout: L.D. Blakeley
Today’s Sunday Shoutout goes to the charming and hilarious L.D. Blakeley, whose new Romance on the Go™ story Judging a Book By Its Cover is now out from Evernight Publishing. If you’re in the mood for a sweetly sexy story about a bashful hottie and the smoldering editor-in-chief who discovers something delicious under that shy exterior, this is for you!
Agonizingly shy Emory North has his life mapped out for him: finish his business degree, go to work for his father, and one day take over as CEO of North Star Publishing. More at home amongst stacks of books, Emory has little to no interest in his lot as ‘North Jr.’, but has never had the courage to follow his true passion—writing.
Brash and ballsy Bryce Palmer, editor-in-chief of ECLIPSE magazine is known for bedding and discarding PAs like yesterday’s newspaper. He’s up against a serious deadline and down two staff members. And the last thing he has time for is babysitting the spoiled rich son of a CEO. But when Pierce Barclay North insists now is the time for his heir apparent to get his feet wet in the company waters, Palmer’s hands are tied.
But looks can be deceiving. And, sometimes, passion can spark in the most unlikely of places…
Story Excerpt
By 6:30 Monday morning, Emory sat at his desk nursing a steaming hot cup of strong, black coffee. It was far earlier than he should rightfully be at the office. But his internal monologue was making him crazy and he’d hoped work might, at least, distract him from the situation. Torn between anger — at Bryce for his wrongful intrusion — and mortification — also directed at Bryce (but more at himself) for that stolen kiss — Emory was fit to be tied. Did he confront Bryce about the email and risk his ire? Or should he avoid both subjects entirely? Emory knew his father would give him some variation of the I Assumed As Much speech, if Bryce were to fire him. Would he, though? Would Bryce fire him for last night’s indiscretion? He’d seemed well enough into it at first. So maybe Emory could call him out on the manuscript without risk of being upbraided like a child for the kiss — or worse, fired.
Before he had time to become completely unhinged with his thoughts, they were interrupted with the arrival of their main source of strife.
“Morning,” was all Bryce muttered as he breezed past Emory’s desk and into his office.
Seriously? That’s it? Emory was at a complete loss. Now what? Act like nothing out of the ordinary happened Friday and he hadn’t spent the entire weekend fretting? March into Bryce’s office and demand an explanation for the email? Before he was able to decide one way or the other, his phone lit up — Bryce’s extension.
“Emory speaking,” he finally managed after picking up the phone and hesitantly clearing his throat.
“I should hope so — I did dial your number.”
“Oh, um.”
Bryce sighed and Emory was positive there had been an accompanying eye roll. “Are we back to nervous monosyllables again?”
“No, I…” Emory heard Bryce chuckle before he could manage to spit out the rest of his sentence.
“Would you please come into my office, Emory?” This was it. He was about to be tossed out on his ass and onto a pile of jilted former PAs… and he hadn’t even managed more than a drunken kiss!
“You wanted to see me?” Emory stood in the doorway of Bryce’s office, not entirely sure what to do or say. A million things came to mind: curse the man out for taking his story; apologize for his behaviour after the gala; kiss him one more time just to see if it was as scorching hot as he remembered. He chose none of the above and timidly avoided eye contact.
“Would you please come in?” Bryce appeared to be finishing up an email, his fingers flying across his keyboard. “Shut the door behind you and have a seat.”
Emory did as he was told and sat facing Bryce. Before he could change his mind, he managed to muster up more temerity than he’d ever thought possible, and spat out “I’msorryaboutFridaynight,” as though it were all one single word.
“Sorry about… what, exactly?” Emory was surprised to see a smile on Bryce’s handsome face.
“The wine?” Emory started worrying at his thumbnail once again.
“I didn’t mind the wine, to be quite honest. Made you much more… conversational.” And didn’t that sound laced with… undertones. Emory could feel his face burning.
“But that wasn’t what I wanted to discuss.” And there it was. Emory braced himself.
Where To Buy
Amazon Canada
Amazon UK
Amazon US
ARe
BookStrand
Evernight Publishing
About L.D. Blakeley
A pragmatist with a romantic soul & a dirty mind, L.D. is a fan of horror movies, hot sex, and Happily Ever Afters. Easily distracted by shiny things, she’s a slightly neurotic, highly ambitious dreamer who enjoys dabbling in photography & pretending she can carry a tune.
In another life, L.D. was a newspaper reporter, an entertainment & music writer, travel writer, website content editor, and a marketing shill. Now she prefers to spend her time writing hot, steamy fiction (with a healthy dose of romance) about intriguing, sexy men. Of course, whether these pretty boys end up between the sheets with other gorgeous lads or up against a wall with a spicy and spirited heroine, all depends on which direction her imagination takes her on any given day.
Although she dreams of living some place isolated with an endless supply of wine and an infinite number of titles on her eReader, she currently lives in down-town Toronto with her husband and their rock star cat.
Where to find L.D. Blakeley
Fabulous Friday Reads: The Perfect Shoot
Today I have the talented Lea Bronson on the blog with her pyroclastic new erotic romance The Perfect Shoot, now available from Evernight Publishing and other purveyors of fine erotic romance. Here are a few words from Lea on the origins of the book:
Thank you so much for having me on your blog!
Who hasn’t been infatuated with a sexy poster boy – actor, pop star, or football hero – even though he was unobtainable? The heroine in my Hot Model Mine series is a thriving author and hard-working mother nearing her forties. Tough, independent, and having long ago lost faith in love, she dismisses her crush on the cover model of her book to protect herself. What then can she do when that gorgeous young man surprisingly falls for her, too?
I hope you enjoy this tale of ‘impossible’ love, dead-honest and written with my heart.
When Andrea Johnson, writing as author Cindy Vega, signed up for a Meet & Greet with the cover model of her latest book, she didn’t expect sparks to fly. Yushka is dangerously good-looking and too young for her. But their connection is instantaneous, and during a photo shoot with the two, the photographer picks up on their growing attraction. Seeing the potential for the cover photo of the century, he decides to push their comfort limits…
Story Excerpt
An assistant calls Yushka’s name. Bare-chested, the Asian hunk appears from a group of models, strolls to the spotlights, and waits in front of the camera with the confident stance of a professional.
The whole place quiets as if in awe. He’s unbelievably beautiful with his tanned, bulging muscles and washboard-abs-to-die-for. When photographer Lemaître asks him to undo his hair, a black waterfall lands on his shoulders and down his back. A few muffled feminine squeals fill the silence.
One by one, authors whose books he appears on get a few pictures taken with him in flattering positions, wrapping their arms around his back or swallowed up in his embrace, beaming like schoolgirls at their first prom.
Jealousy rips through me so violently I can barely breathe, but my time is up soon, and I hate that even more. I’m non-photogenic, and seeing pictures of myself makes me sick. I’ve chosen a sexy, black top and matching short skirt for the occasion, but looking my best doesn’t help. My stomach ties in a knot.
“Cindy Vega,” an assistant calls.
Fuck, that’s me. I’m dead.
“Go,” Laurie says, giving me a small push.
All muscles tense, I leave my safe corner and join Yushka. He greets me with a placid face, but from the warmth in his pupils, I get a feeling he’s glad to see me. Side by side, narrowing our eyes from the piercing light, we face Lemaître and wait for orders.
Damn. Being so near Yushka’s naked torso is unbearable, as is the heat from the lamps shining on us. Sweat beads roll down the sides of my chest, between my breasts. He endures, too. A thin film of sweat coats his golden skin, making it glow, but he doesn’t seem bothered.
Lemaître clears his throat. “Bon. Stand a little closer. Cindy, this is for Eden Luna Publishing’s website. Officially, we want authors happily meeting their cover models, but off the record, we want sensual, we want heat. Readers will get off seeing your pictures like they do reading your books.”
Stiff as a rod, I nod agreement. I’d half expected this. Problem is, I hate being in the spotlight with so many people watching, and I hate the notion of having my photo all over the internet.
“Sooo,” he continues, “I will ask you to just stand like this, facing me, and smile. That is all. Yushka knows what he has to do.”
“Okay.”
Turning to my side, Yushka puts a hot hand on my stomach and the other on the small of my back. Though light, his touches destabilize me, as does the warm, musky scent sneaking to my nostrils.
“Closer,” Lemaître orders. “Bodily contact.”
Shit, I’m fucked.
The stud radiates heat as he approaches, sweaty chest sticking to my arm, heart beating against my skin. His crotch barely brushes my hip, but each pore in my body becomes acutely aware of him, on high alert. As last night’s intense arousal replays in all of me, my inner thighs clench with renewed want.
Whispers and low chuckles sound from both sides of the vast lobby. I try to forget the hundred eyes following my every move, but can’t help being distracted, bathed in full light and painfully self-conscious.
“That is better.” Like a shooting gun, Lemaître’s camera clicks and the flash blinds me repetitively. “Now, give him a smile, Cindy. You know the kind I want.”
My throat so dry I can’t speak, I turn to Yushka.
He’s very near, inches from my face, black pupils gleaming with mischief. Sweat pearls on his face, making him look sexier than ever. Long, black hairs glue to his forehead and cheeks. He smells of soap, his close shave making him look baby-faced.
Seemingly at ease, the heaving of his chest regular, he stares into my eyes. I can’t believe his confidence. Modelling is his profession, but how does he stay so fucking calm?
“You wanna give me a smile?” he whispers, warm breaths brushing my chin. Behind me, his large hand sneaks lower and palms my butt cheek. With that and his other fingers splaying on my stomach, he pulls me to him, making me feel the entire length and…hardness…of his cock on my hip.
I suck in a breath.
His lips curl up in a self-satisfied grin. “Hm, Andrea? You wanna give me a smile?”
Oh my fucking God. I can’t help but obey while my insides go up in flames.
Flashing his teeth, he kneads my ass with a strong hand and pushes his full erection against me. He knows what he’s doing, the devil. He knows slowly rubbing me with his cock turns my pussy to burning liquid.
Somewhere, a feminine gasp breaks the silence, followed by contained laughter.
“Très bien, we have a smile,” Lemaître says, camera clicking, flash shooting. “Thank you, Cindy, that will be enough. Next!”
Still grinning and holding my look, Yushka slowly backs off, leaving chillier air between us.
I’m frozen. In shock, lust, need.
“Come on, move it!” Lemaître calls. “We don’t have all day.”
No shit.
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Evernight
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About Lea Bronsen
I like my reads fast, hot, and edgy, and strive to give my own stories the same intensity. After venturing into dirty inner-city crime drama with my debut novel Wild Hearted, I divide my writing time between psychological thriller, erotic contemporary romance, and dripping erotica.
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Mid Week Tease: Behind the Iron Cross #MidWeekTease #MWTease
Happy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with another wonderful Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. This week, I’ll be sharing a teaser from Behind the Iron Cross, my historical MMF romance set in 1923 Berlin. No sex in this one, sorry, but let’s explore Sam and Kat’s relationship a bit more, shall we?
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
In the aftermath of World War I, Berlin has become a hotspot of decadent pleasures, and American millionairess Kat Tracy is determined to enjoy each and every one of them with Sam Hellman, her late brother’s lover and her convenient “fiancé.” But when the two of them meet Friedrich von Bader, a former German Army officer turned reluctant prostitute, their wicked games take on a new meaning.
Kat wandered out of her room, humming to herself. The various negotiations were going well, even better than she’d hoped. Schoengraff was still being stiff-necked about meeting with them, but Arthur was looking for ways to convince the board to come to the table. The telegram she received from the headquarters of Tracy Electrics that morning was brief and to the point: BUY ANYTHING NEW FOR WEDDING?
Uncle William had no trust in modern technology, or the people who kept it running, and had already sent her a series of coded telegrams that would make little sense to the telegram operators who sent the messages. She smiled when she told the operator to send a reply telegram with BOUGHT SOME LOVELY THINGS. STILL LOOKING FOR PERFECT GOLD RING. He would understand the precious metal was a reference to Schoengraff.
To her surprise, she saw Sam seated by the fireplace, chin propped up on one hand as he stared into the flames. She stretched out on the sofa, warming her feet. “I would have thought you’d be in bed by now,” she said.
He shrugged. “I’m not tired.”
“Mm.” She stretched her arms over her head languorously. “Tonight was fun. Those dancers were delicious, weren’t they?”
Another twitch of his shoulders. “I suppose.”
She made a moue. “Well, that doesn’t sound very enthusiastic. You certainly seemed to be enjoying yourself at the time.”
He turned from the fire, his expression drawn. “Yes, the dancer was great. I came like gangbusters. Are you happy?”
Kat blinked at the unexpected tongue-lashing. “I — I’m sorry. Is something wrong?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I’m going to bed.”
“Sam.” He stopped in mid-rise, and she hesitated over her next words. “Please, darling, talk to me. Perhaps I can help.”
He sank back onto the chair. “You’re good, kitten, but you can’t help with this. Nobody can.”
The expression on his face was painfully familiar. She got up and crossed to him, sinking down to the floor so that she could rest her arms on his knee. “You haven’t called me kitten in years,” she pointed out.
“That’s because you bit me the last time I did.”
“I was ten. I thought it was a baby name.”
He reached out and stroked her hair. “You always were the fierce one, weren’t you? Bart and I never stood a chance with you around.”
She took a deep breath, aware that she was treading on tender ground. “I know you miss him. So do I.”
“I know.” He turned back to the fireplace. The flickering light played across his face, revealing the slight glassiness of his eyes. “I was wondering what he’d think of us. What we’re doing.”
“You mean getting married? I think he’d understand.”
“No, not that. What we’re doing here in Berlin.”
“Oh.” She rested her chin on her crossed arms. “I don’t think he would mind. He’d want you to be happy.”
“That’s the thing. I’m not.”
She paused, unsure of how to proceed. “Is it … are you unhappy with me? I thought you didn’t mind my little games.”
He shook his head again, taking her hand and holding it. “It’s not that, kitten. I enjoy playing with you. It’s just…”
And then the pieces came together. “It’s the colonel, isn’t it?”
Sam gave her a weary smile. “I know I’m being ridiculous. He’s just as normal as he can be, after all. And he’s only doing this for the money. It’s all just fun and games. Stupid fun and games, nothing more.”
The misery on his face was tangible. She wanted to throw her arms around him and protect that huge, gentle heart from getting hurt yet again. “Oh, Sam. I’m so sorry.”
“So am I.” He shook his head. “I keep telling myself this is temporary, that he doesn’t feel the way I do. That he doesn’t want me. So I should just enjoy what I can get, right?” The glassiness in his eyes increased. “It’s not helping, though. I keep wondering what Bart—”
He cut off a sob. Kat jumped to her feet, gathering him in a hug as her own tears started. His arms unexpectedly wound around her waist, pulling her into his lap. She realized why when he buried his head in her shoulder to muffle his tears. “Oh, my sweetest boy,” she whispered, stroking his hair. “I’m so sorry.”
She remembered when the two Army officers had showed up on Uncle William’s doorstep with the telegraph from the War Department. Uncle William had taken her into his study an hour later, his eyes bloodshot from unshed tears, and informed her that he’d given the Army permission to busy Bart at Flanders Field. Sam came home soon afterwards, his right leg amputated, a lost and broken shell of the man she’d remembered and her brother had loved.
For Bart, she’d gone to the Hellmans’ home on her own every day without fail, climbing the grand staircase to the second floor where Sam lay like a corpse in his narrow boyhood bed. All the hours reading to him, talking to him, trying anything she could think of to bring him out of his shell. When the doctor finally gave him permission to try walking on his wooden leg, she was the one who had cajoled him to stand up, take the first few steps. Slowly, his body healed, although he would never again look like the happy boy he’d been with Bart. His mind eventually followed, finding its way out of the fog left by the war.
His heart, though, was still bleeding over Bart’s loss. Sometime during his recovery he carefully built a briar fence around it, thick brush and dagger-like thorns shielding himself from anyone but her. He’d had dalliances here and there since the end of the war, often with her complicit assistance, but all the men were nobodies, working class types or low-ranking soldiers passing through Bridgeport on their way home. He wouldn’t let himself love anyone, not the way he’d loved her brother, and when she proposed marriage she’d seen the flash of bitterness in his eyes. She knew she was the closest he would ever come to being back in Bart’s arms, a consolation prize that was no prize at all.
They sat there for a time, united in their love for a dead man, with the soft crackling of the fire the only sound in the room. Finally Sam gave a shuddering sigh. “I don’t know why you put up with me, I really don’t,” he said.
She smiled against the soft brown strands. “I could say the same about you,” she murmured. “It’s probably why we’re such good friends.”
“I think you’re right.” He leaned back, rubbing at his eyes. “Sorry about blubbing all over you.”
“Don’t fret. I’ll dry.” She touched his face, wiping the traces of moisture away from his eyes with a careful thumb. “Do you want to go to bed?”
“Eventually.” A corner of his mouth quirked. “Oh. Were you inviting me to sleep with you, kitten?”
She forced a fierce look. “It’s Kat now, darling. Don’t make me bite you. Again.”
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Nicola Cameron Writes 