Fabulous Friday Reads: A Thorned Rose in the Sand
TGIF! Let’s kick off the weekend with Lea Bronsen’s hot new interracial romance A Thorned Rose in the Sand, now available from Evernight Publishing and other purveyors of fine online romance. Take it away, Lea!
Hi, and thank you for hosting me on your blog!
I got the idea for this story after watching a video of French “globe cooker” Fred Chesneau visiting nomads in the Moroccan desert. They generously shared their food, home, and wisdom with a stranger, and I thought it would be cool to write about a female rally driver having the same experience.
A Thorned Rose in the Sand is set in the beautiful, quiet dunes of western Sahara where the sun is so hot you can’t walk barefooted and you could go miles and miles without seeing a single soul. In this story, you’ll meet a badass 450cc rally motorcycle, an opinionated but gentle dromedary, and two highly strong-willed young persons from opposite sides of the planet who get off to a bad start then can’t keep their hands off each other 😊
When life in a big U.S. city becomes too much, Stevie Jones decides to live her wildest dream – compete against the tough guys in a motorcycle rally across Morocco. But the real excitement is found away from the race track, in the shifting sands of the desert.
After his studies in London, Ragab has returned to the nomadic lifestyle of his Bedouin family and the majestic silence of the Sahara. He dreams of the perfect wife, until a beautiful but feisty biker stuck in a sand dune turns his quiet world upside down.
Story Excerpt
The girl screamed behind him. “Eeeeee!”
Too hard to resist. Until now, Ragab had had a difficult time respecting her privacy, but surely, a scream called for attention. What kind of a gentleman would he be if he didn’t check on a woman in distress?
He spun and found her kneeling on her jacket, nude and wet, arms outstretched in shock. He bit down a laugh. Yes, the deep well water was cold, but one got used to it, and in the extreme heat of the desert, it was a blessing.
She turned, caught him staring, and even though he couldn’t see anything inappropriate, she hurried to cover her breasts and pubic area. “Look away!” she shouted, voice panicky.
The laugh bubbled inside him, but he obediently turned back to the motorcycle—then stood in such a way he could see her reflection in one of the side mirrors.
Oh, it was like watching a porn scene. Her long, red curls hung wild over her back and round, white butt cheeks. Every time she moved, a portion of her breasts appeared in the space between her ribs and arms. Such perfect feminine curves, all over. Imagine if he saw the front…
Blood rushed to his groin. Stiffening, bothered, he tore from the sight, walked over to the well, and leaned against its waist-high wall, hoping the hardness of the bricks and coolness from the water below would temper his arousal before it became a full-blown erection.
So silent…
He strained to hear.
Splashes. Muffled squeals. More splashes.
He turned slowly and stole a glance from the corner of his eye.
She washed her panties and black top in the bucket and leaned forward to spread them in the sun. Her position exposed the dark pink lips of her sex, from the tiny hole in her butt to the end of her slit, where her clitoris hid.
Ooh!
Shocked to his core, he turned back and groaned low, his cock hardening again.
He closed his eyes, drew long, slow breaths to calm the painful throbbing and counted minutes, trying to think of something else.
His dromedary, for example. It would be cool to show her how to ride it. What if he rode another one, and they both galloped on the dunes together, she laughing, ecstatic…
Then they’d roll in the sand, and he would tease her thighs apart and slide his hungry hardness into her dark pink lips, to the wet bottom of her. Oh, yes.
She called, “Ready?”
He risked a glance in her direction.
Wearing one of his sisters’ dresses and looking divine with her red curls floating behind her—and her face white and clean—she strolled to the motorcycle, carrying a bag and her clothes. She stuffed everything on top of the fuel tanks, got up, lifted the dress to her knees, and started the motor.
Not once looking at him.
Where to Buy
Evernight | Amazon.com | Amazon.uk | Barnes & Noble | Bookstrand | iTunes | Kobo | Smashwords
Add the book to your shelf on Goodreads
See photos that inspired me to write the book on Pinterest
About the Author
Lea Bronsen likes her reads hot, fast, and edgy, and strives to give her own stories the same intensity. After venturing into dirty inner-city crime drama with her debut novel Wild Hearted, she divides her writing time between psychological thriller, romantic suspense, and dark erotic romance.
Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads | Amazon | Pinterest
Mid Week Tease: Shifter Woods: Snarl #MidWeekTease #MWTease
Hello, lovelies! This week I’m teasing you with some more from the third installment in my Esposito County Shifters series, Shifter Woods: Snarl. Some background: Jack Hawthorne is a ex-SEAL and wolf shifter who shows up in Esposito County looking for work at his former commanding officer’s ski lodge. He never expects to find his mate there as well — except that Kate Chandler is a cougar shifter, can’t smell due to a childhood accident (and thus can’t recognize Jack as her mate), and is the daughter of Jack’s former commander. As I like to say, hijinks ensue!
Many thanks to Angelica Dawson for hosting us, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
Jack shook the worst of the snow from his parka, stamping his boots to dislodge more of the cold white stuff on the back porch before closing the door. “Getting a little deep out there,” he said laconically.
Kate smirked. “You think this is deep, you should be here during one of our blizzards.” She leaned against the mud room door frame, trying not to ogle as the hunky wolf shifter peeled off more of his outer layers. “You’d have a problem getting through the snowfall.”
He grinned as he hung up parka, hat, and scarf. “You’d be surprised. We get bad winters in North Carolina, too. I’m pretty good at dealing with snow.”
She wondered how he was going to deal with the news that her father would be staying in town overnight. It left them alone together in the house, with a nice little snowstorm blowing outside, and if that wasn’t a recipe for falling into bed and fucking their brains out she didn’t know what was–
Her next thought fled as Jack finished stripping down to a thermal T that outlined his broad shoulders and rock-hard pecs. His battered old jeans fit like they had been tailored for him, and she couldn’t help staring at the large package under the fly. Oh, yum.
Even with him fresh from outside, the heat from the big wolf shifter’s body drifted across the space between them, warming her skin. What would it be like if she moved closer, put her arm around his neck? Would he take it as the invitation it was, or would he back off on orders from her father?
I am an adult. I make the decisions in my life, dammit. And if I want to go to bed with Jack, I will.
She allowed herself a wry smile. Assuming he wants to, of course. But she was ninety-nine percent sure that he would be more than happy to visit her bedroom and relieve the growing desire that had been hitting her with increasing frequency since the day he showed up.
Use your words, Chandler. “So,” she said after clearing her throat, “Dad’s decided to stay in town and ride out the storm there, which means we’re on our own tonight. What do you want to do?”
He glanced down at her, and she was sure she saw a flicker of desire in those blue depths. And then he smiled. “Can we watch a movie?”
She wanted to growl in frustration. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. I like movies. Haven’t been able to see a lot of them recently.” He shrugged. “But if you don’t want to, that’s okay.”
Her cougar yowled in protest. Bed! Now! Before the Alpha gets back!
She pushed it back, thinking. The wall of the Chandler great room was one huge DVD collection, and that didn’t include all the films they had in streaming format. If she played her cards right, snuggling up on the couch with Jack while they watched something could definitely turn into something more. “What kinds of movies do you like?”
He considered it. “Believe it or not, I’m not big on action movies,” he admitted. “I like comedies, SF, and fantasy, given my choice.”
Fantasy. A brilliant idea popped into her head. “We have the extended versions of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Plus I have popcorn. We could make it a marathon.”
He grinned, teeth white against the tan of his skin. “Ma’am, you had me at popcorn.”
****
Jack tossed a buttery popcorn kernel into his mouth as Bernard Hill magically changed from an aged husk back into a vigorous Theoden on the Chandler’s huge flatscreen TV. “I love this part. I’m a total sucker for a redemption story.”
Kate sat cross-legged on the couch next to him. In a soft moss sweater and brown leggings, she looked like a gorgeous little forest sprite, and keeping his hands off her was becoming more and more a test of willpower. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Wormtongue was a sleazy bastard. And I had such a crush on Theoden when the movie first came out.”
That surprised him. “Really? You must’ve been a kid at the time.”
“Mm, no. I was fourteen. Just the right time for puberty to strike with a vengeance.” She stole a handful of popcorn from the large bowl between then. “All my friends were crazy about Viggo or one of the hobbits, but I thought Theoden was seriously sexy. Must have been all that angst and leather armor.”
“I guess.” A gleam of hope flickered to life. She liked brave, strong leaders who weren’t perfect. And you’re a packless Alpha. Lucky you, you were pretty much made for her.
He ignored the snarky voice. “Hey, don’t eat all my popcorn,” he said, grabbing a handful for himself.
“That’s our popcorn, specialist, and I can always make some more,” she teased, pushing his hand aside with her own. The contact was platonic, but it still sent warmth rushing over Jack’s skin and nerves. He was grateful for the throw pillow he’d casually arranged over his crotch, camouflaging the semi he’d been sporting on and off since Kate had sat down next to him. Her proximity and the heat coming from the fireplace filled the air with her scent, locking onto every pheromone receptor he had and urging him to claim her. Watching an extended cut of the Rings trilogy with her sitting next to him had somehow become a strangely enjoyable form of torture.
As long as he didn’t have to stand up at any point. “So Viggo didn’t do it for you?” he added.
She shrugged. “He’s handsome. But he’s not my type.”
The words left his mouth before he could stop them: “What is your type?”
He winced, worried that he’d overstepped his bounds. But Kate smiled. “Someone who’s capable, confident, but not a macho Alphahole. A little vulnerability is nice. He doesn’t always have to be the strong one. I like to be leaned on once in a while, as long as I know I can do the same thing when I need help. And he has to have a good sense of humor.”
Jack ignored the sudden cascade of dirty limericks and jokes tumbling through his head. “Okay,” he said, readjusting his pillow. “In that case, I guess Aragorn is a little humorless.”
“Exactly. He’s so damn driven. But you can imagine Theoden having a beer and relaxing with some shield maidens once all the fighting was done. It also helps that I saw the outtake where Viggo cracked Bernard up by reminding him about being turned into a LOTR action figure.” She dropped her voice into an accented growl. “‘They’ll make ten thousand at least, for children to play stupid games with.’”
Jack grinned. “Now that has to be weird, knowing that someone made you into a doll.”
“Right? I mean, think of the potential for voodoo misuse.”
They both laughed at that before settling back, watching as the Fellowship persuaded Theoden and the rest of the Rohirrim to help out Gondor. But Jack couldn’t help mulling over what Kate had said. Since the moment he’d learned that she couldn’t smell him as her mate, he’d been worried that there was no way he could attract her, especially with his packless status. But it seemed that the sexy cougar shifter was far more open minded than he’d thought. And she likes capable, confident men. If that’s not a SEAL, I don’t know what is.
He reached for more popcorn and once again met her hand doing the same thing. This time the contact send a burst of heat through him, raw and hungry for more contact with his gorgeous little cougar. Underneath the throw pillow his cock surged up, tightening painfully against his jeans.
Kate left her hand touching his over the nubbly kernels. “Maybe we should talk about the elephant in the room?” she said slowly.
He took in a breath and wanted to groan at the deliciousness of her scent. “Yeah, maybe we should.”
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Marvelous Monday Reads: Mia’s Wedding
Welcome to another edition of Marvelous Monday Reads, darlings! Today I’m featuring Lucy Felthouse and her delicious new reverse harem Mia’s Wedding (The Heiress’s Harem: Book Two). Take it away, Lucy!
Planning a wedding is stressful enough, and that’s without a harem of gorgeous men to deal with.
Mia Harrington has had a difficult time of it lately—her father’s illness and subsequent death, then finding out she must get married if she is to inherit what’s rightfully hers. Fortunately, she’s tough and resourceful, and has emerged relatively unscathed from this period, as well as finding herself a suitable husband.
However, things are far from simple. Mia might be planning to marry investment banker Elias Pym, but she’s also having a relationship with his best friend, Doctor Alex Cartwright, and is in love with her gardener, Thomas Walker. Add to that broken dates, flashy proposals, a sexy Asian tech billionaire, and a nosey housekeeper, and you’ve got a situation hectic enough to drive even the most capable person to distraction. Can Mia juggle her men, her job, and the wedding arrangements, or is her happily ever after over before it has even begun?
Mia’s Wedding is the second book in The Heiress’s Harem reverse harem romance series.
Story Excerpt
Mia locked up and put the key in her bag, then took Elias’s arm. They walked down the steps and out into the chilly January night to the waiting black cab.
“I’m afraid,” Elias said, once they were settled into the back of the car, “Alex isn’t coming.”
“What do you mean, he’s not coming?” she squeaked.
Elias looked apologetic, but gave a one-shouldered shrug. “There was an emergency at the hospital—as their nearest surgeon, he got called in. Couldn’t very well say no, could he?”
Mia shook her head and sagged back into the seat, her heart sinking to her stomach. “No, of course not. I’m very sorry he won’t be joining us, but although we’re scintillating company, we don’t count as a life or death situation.”
He reached out and squeezed her hand, then kept hold of it. “No, we certainly do not. I hope, though, that I’ll be entertainment enough for you by myself this evening.”
She squeezed his hand back, then leaned over and kissed his cheek, pulling in the scent of his delicious cologne at the same time. “I’m sure you will. Besides, this was part of what you two meant when you were talking about being able to give a woman the attention she deserves between you, wasn’t it? Alex unfortunately can’t make it, but because I’m dating—or whatever the hell we’re calling this—both of you, it means I’m not left high and dry. I’m sure at some point you’ll be the one who has to cancel. These things happen.”
With a smile, Elias said, “They sure do. Though I don’t really get emergencies at work—and if I do, they’re all about which person gets to line their pockets the most, rather than saving lives. But enough of that!” he added brightly, clearly eager to change the sore subject of his chosen career. Though she still didn’t understand why he was so embarrassed about it. And if he hated it so much, why was he still doing it? She wasn’t going to broach that particular topic, though, not tonight. She already had one potentially hairy subject to discuss.
But then how could she, now? How could she talk about the situation with Thomas without Alex present? She stifled a sigh. Fuck it. Looks like it’s going to have to wait.
“So,” she said, “where are we going?”
“You’ll have to wait and see,” he replied with a smirk.
She jabbed him in the ribs. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. Patience, woman! We’ll be there in…” he peered out of the window, presumably to check where they were, “in less than ten minutes, traffic permitting.”
“Hmph.” She folded her arms and pouted. “Guess I’ll just have to wait, then.”
“Don’t sulk.” Elias tapped the end of her nose. “We haven’t seen each other in a little while, so I want smiles and laughter, not pouting. Even though I know you’re faking it.”
She gasped. “I never fake it!”
“I should hope not,” he shot back, his grin turning wicked. “My future wife deserves nothing but the best, and that includes orgasms. Real ones.”
Her tummy flip-flopped. Bloody hell, she’d almost forgotten about that. She’d been so focussed on working up to telling Elias and Alex they weren’t the only two men to be sharing her that there hadn’t been much capacity left for thinking about her impending wedding. But then, technically speaking, she wasn’t engaged yet. They’d discussed it and informally agreed to it, but there’d been no proposal, no acceptance, no ring.
There was plenty of time left for all that, though. If she and Elias had to grab a couple of witnesses and go to a registry office at the last minute, it would still count—her father hadn’t specified a type of ceremony, thankfully. But that wasn’t how she wanted to do things, and she suspected Elias wouldn’t be too keen on that idea, either.
“Ooh, your future wife, am I?” she teased, figuring that since the topic of Thomas was off the table, she might as well put the topic of their engagement on the table, instead.
Elias frowned. “Of course you are. I know we haven’t sorted a ring yet, but we still know we’re engaged…”
She shrugged, hoping it appeared more nonchalant to him than she actually felt. “Well, not exactly. We never made it official, did we? More of a loose verbal agreement.”
Elias groaned and screwed up his nose. “When you put it like that, it sounds bloody awful. I know to all intents and purposes it’s a practical arrangement, but I want it to be much more than that, Mia.” He cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb over her skin. “I’ve missed you.”
Warmth bloomed where he touched her, and radiated across her entire face and down her neck. She smiled and placed her hand over his. “I want it to be more, too. And I’ve missed you, as well. It’s been a long month, hasn’t it?”
Where to Buy
About the Author
Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller), The Persecution of the Wolves, Hiding in Plain Sight and The Heiress’s Harem series. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 170 publications to her name. Find out more about her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk, or on Twitter or Facebook. Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. Subscribe to her newsletter and get a free eBook: http://www.subscribepage.com/lfnewsletter
Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.
Nicola’s Sunday Shoutout: Doris O’Connor
Today’s Sunday Shoutout goes to Doris O’Connor, whose hot new BDSM menage romance Her Husband’s Army Buddy is now available from Evernight Publishing and other purveyors of fine erotic romance. And now, here’s Doris!
Thanks so much for hosting my new release today. Her Husband’s Army Buddy is out now, and the first in a new series called McLeod Security.
Like so many of my stories, this one started as a flash on my blog. Little did I know then, that it would evolve into a series. When I expanded the flash, it was to be a short story in honor of one of my reader’s birthdays. The Sandy in the story J
As I wrote it took on a life of its own, side characters popped up demanding their story to be told, and hey presto a new series was born. Book two is already completed and the next two are in the planning stages, so watch this space as they.
I should add that all stories will be Standalones, loosely connected through McLeod Security, some darker than others, with different pairings and D/s dynamics, and familiar characters will pop up throughout.
There should only ever be two people in a marriage…
Sandy McLeod has been perfectly happy in her D/s relationship with her husband Zane for the last ten years. Until his old army buddy re-enters their life.
Sean Manson is altogether too handsome, too virile, far too much of anything. The man oozes dominance, danger, and leashed aggression, and Sandy can’t help but respond to him. Neither can Zane. He walked away from Sean once. Now, he’s back, long suppressed feelings bubble to the surface and cannot be denied. When Sandy agrees to a threesome, happiness seems within their grasp. Sean’s demons, however, threaten to destroy everything they hold dear.
Sean never meant to come between husband and wife, let alone hurt either one of them. Surely, the only solution is to walk away from them both. When you’re the missing piece, however, walking is simply not an option.
Story Excerpt
“We need to get her out of this dress, Sir.”
Hearing her husband address Sean like that gave her a secret thrill, the likes of which she wouldn’t have thought possible. To know that she was at the mercy of two Doms, one of which was an unknown entity made this whole thing extra exciting. Whether it was the perceived danger Sean represented, the not knowing how far he would take things, her befuddled brain couldn’t quite figure out. She stopped thinking altogether when Zane unzipped her dress at the back, followed by the snap on her bra and slid his hands around her ribcage to cup her freed breasts.
“Let her go a minute so we can lose these contraptions.” Zane’s grumbled command pitched her need even higher.
Sean stopped kissing her, the pressure on her wrists ceased, and in the next instant she was naked, barring her soaked through thong, hold-up stockings, and the heels she still wore.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” Sean’s deep voice showed his admiration of her body as much as his perusal of her as he stepped back and let his hot gaze roam all over. “Spread her for me, so that I can look my fill of our sweet cunt.”
The dirty words turned her on almost as much as her husband’s immediate response.
“Your wish is my command, Sir.”
Zane kicked her legs apart and held her wrists firmly behind her back. Sean, in the meantime, shrugged out of his shirt, and kicked his shoes and trousers off with a speed that left her dizzy. As did the size of his erection straining against the damp confines of his boxers. To know she’d done that to him was a heady aphrodisiac indeed, as was her husband’s erection pushing against her ass.
Sean divested himself of his boxers, too, and she gasped when his thick shaft bobbed up to his navel. She’d been right. He was huge. While his girth wasn’t as thick as Zane’s he had a good half inch in length, and Zane wasn’t exactly small in that department.
Heavily veined, Sean’s magnificent cock looked ready to explode all over again, the broad tip already glistening in pre-cum.
She wanted to taste him so badly, yet Zane’s grip on her wrists stopped her from reaching out. As though Sean had read her thoughts, he groaned and, taking his shaft in his hand, pumped a few times along its length.
“Soon, you get to suck my cock, sweet girl, but for now, I need to taste you properly.” With that he got to his knees. As tall as he was that action brought his head level with her breasts, and he wasted no time in taking full advantage of that fact. Sean held each breast in his large hand, and grinning up at her pushed them together, before he took both nipples into his mouth and sucked hard.
Sandy tugged at Zane’s restraints, and her knees would have buckled had Zane not pushed his thigh between her legs to keep her upright. Her head fell back against his shoulder, and she gave herself over to the intense sensations Sean’s talented tongue subjected her to. Her nipples had always been sensitive, a livewire straight to her clit, and with the dual sensation of Sean’s sucks and the gentle friction Zane’s leg created between her thighs, she climbed the rungs of arousal in record time. Her hips bucked against her husband’s leg as she sought to increase the friction she needed to go over.
A sharp bite to her shoulder coincided with Sean releasing his hold on her nipples with an audible pop.
“No coming without your Sirs’ permission, baby girl, or we’ll leave you hanging.”
Sure enough, Zane withdrew his thigh, while Sean grasped her hips to keep her steady. He kissed his way down her soft belly, interspersing kisses with little bites that left her hovering on the precipice. He bypassed her pussy and, flinging one of her legs over his shoulder, nibbled along the edge of her stocking.
“Hmm, as much as I love these, they need to come off. Look at me, pet.”
Sandy’s eyes flew open, and the sight of Sean between her legs made another gush of moisture trickle past the elastic of her thong. He licked that trail away, and she groaned.
“Please, I need to, please.”
Grinning, Sean blew a stream of hot air across her still covered slit, and her clit contracted in need.
“What do you need, sweet Sandy? Do you need to come?” He nudged his nose along her vulva, inhaling deeply, and Sandy jerked. Not that it got her very far because Zane’s hold on her wrists never lessened, and Sean’s fingers dug into her hips with so much pressure, she would surely be left with bruises. The thought of carrying his marks made breathing even more difficult, and she groaned her reply.
“Please, so close, I … God…”
She wasn’t entirely sure what pleas were spilling from her lips, and in truth she was far too gone to care. With Zane’s harsh breaths in her ear, and Sean’s dirty words she was a goner.
“So very eager. I can see your little clit push against this lace. You’re close, aren’t you, sweet thing? Such a turn-on. What do you think, Zane, should we let her come or torture her some more?”
Sean let go of her hips briefly to tear her thong clean off of her, and then he looked his fill.
“So very wet, and pink. Your hole is clenching, begging to be filled. What do you want in there, pet? My tongue? My fingers? My cock? Or Zane’s? Tell me, or I’ll leave you hanging and fuck your husband instead.”
Where To Buy
Evernight | Amazon | Amazon UK | Amazon CA | Amazon AU | Nook | Kobo
Smashwords | iTunes | Bookstrand
About the Author
Doris is a writer of sensual, sassy, and sexy tales involving alpha heroes to die for, and heroines who give as good as they get. From contemporary to paranormal, Sci-fi, BDSM, M/M, and Ménage, haunting love stories are guaranteed.
Stalk her in these places:
Website | Twitter | Facebook | Pinterest | Instagram | Evernight Publishing
Amazon | BookStrand | Barnes & Noble
It’s been a busy few days, kittens
Between the promo for To My Muse, getting ready to head down to Houston for Comicpalooza (I’m on the writer’s track), filling out a very exciting Author Q&A (more on this when I get it), and being on Coffee Time Romance & More to talk about my debut novel Storm Season, yeah, I’ve been kinda swamped.
And that doesn’t including some very sweaty hours spent in the garage trying to finish a pair of earrings that, to paraphrase Khan Noonian Singh, have been tasking me. Last week I made two sterling silver settings for a pair of mother of pearl and opal earrings and screwed them up. Made two more settings and screwed one up. Made a replacement setting and used the wrong size silver balls for decoration. I’m currently on my sixth earring setting and praying that this one will work, otherwise I may set the garage on fire.
Oh, part of that Author Q&A asked what I was currently working on, so I thought I would pass it along here, as well. Right now I’m about 3/4 of the way through Shifter Woods: Snarl, and in June I plan on starting Uncertainty Principle (Pacifica Rising 2). Once that’s done, it’s on to King of Blades (Two Thrones 4), and if I have enough spare time I’ll do the last Shifter Woods novella to round out the year. Three full length novels and two novellas should be good enough for one year’s production, right?
Fabulous Friday Reads: Off-Limits
TGIF! Let’s kick off the weekend with Gale Stanley’s scorching new romance Off-Limits, now available from Siren Publishing and other purveyors of fine online fiction. Take it away, Suzy!
When Quinn Hart’s best friend died, he became guardian to the man’s ten-year-old son, Noah Stone. So far, Quinn has been able to conceal the growing attraction he feels for Noah, but now Noah is twenty-two and returning home from college. Honor still holds Quinn back from revealing his true feelings. Their community of bear shifters consider reproduction a priority, and Quinn fears they would never accept a homosexual relationship.
Noah has always hidden his romantic feelings for his guardian, but now he’s a man, and his desire is stronger than ever. Unable to handle his feelings, Noah leaves Oregon for a position in a research facility. But when Noah arrives in New York, he discovers his employer is harvesting bear bile and he’s the new source.
Quinn is determined to find Noah. But can he admit what he really wants before it’s too late?
Story Excerpt
Home. Noah had forgotten how much he missed the endless expanse of lush green landscape and the sparkling river. And the trees. Especially the trees. When the leaves whispered in the wind, it made Noah’s heart ache. Whoever had named their small town knew that trees were sanctuaries.
But for all that, home wasn’t a place, it was a person—Quinn. Noah could live anywhere with Quinn. But a life with Quinn was as likely as a sharknado ripping through Sanctuary.
Noah moved away from the window and gazed at his reflection. The mirror was wall mounted and speckled in places. The frame matched the wood dresser beneath it. A handknitted brown and tan spread covered the crude pine bed. The room had been decorated on a meager budget, but it was warm and comforting because Quinn had handcrafted all the furniture himself.
Noah’s bedroom hadn’t changed since he was a kid. Yesterday, when he’d first stepped through the door, he’d felt the walls close in on him. As a kid, this room seemed huge, but now that he was a man, he could see how small it really was. It felt surreal like turning back the clock, but not in a bad way. If only he could—
“Where’s the man of the hour?”
The sound of loud voices traveled up the stairs. More guests had arrived for the party. The community was small, but when everyone attended an event, it could be overwhelming. Noah checked his image in the mirror again. He’d already changed shirts several times, and he still wasn’t sure that he liked the blue chambray shirt he’d put on with his khakis. Why am I making such a big deal out of this? He felt like Marcus primping for one of those stupid frat parties. What difference did it make what color shirt he wore? Stop stalling, he told himself. You can’t stay in your room forever.
Noah stood at the top of the stairs. Below, friends and neighbors were chatting excitedly. Noah had nothing to say to them. He would disappoint them. Anxiety made his stomach churn.
Where to Buy
Bookstrand | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo
About the Author
Gale Stanley grew up in Philadelphia PA. She was the kid who always had her nose in a book, her head in the clouds, and her hands on a pad and pencil.
Some things never change.
Mid Week Tease: To My Muse #MidWeekTease #MWTease
Hello, lovelies! This week I’m featuring one last snippet from To My Muse where Tom and Lily hit the big Hollywood party thrown by Sir Nathan. God, I had such a good time writing this book. In the coming weeks, I’ll be back to posting snippets from Shifter Woods: Snarl and Uncertainty Principle.
Many thanks to Angelica Dawson for hosting us, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
We heard the hum of party noise before we reached the main foyer. It was seriously different from my family’s parties—for one thing, there was a decided lack of Bollywood hits and I-pop blasting through the air, and waiters were walking around with trays of full champagne flutes. Not a single harried teenaged girl fetching some lassi for a thirsty auntie in sight. Dadi would be so disappointed in Sir Nathan.
Tom snagged a pair of flutes for us, passing one to me. “Drink up,” he advised. “It’ll make the evening a bit more enjoyable.”
I sipped my champagne. Naturally it was delicious. “Yeah, no, I’m still nervous,” I whispered after swallowing.
“Give it a chance to circulate.” He looped his arm around my waist and guided me towards the people standing in discreet groupings of two and three. “Smile and nod, darling.”
Great. Now I had the penguins from Madagascar caroling in my head. Smile and wave, boys. Smile and wave. Biting back an insane urge to call Tom “Private,” I did as he suggested.
The damnedest thing was, it worked. Complete strangers nodded back at me, with the occasional assessing glance thrown in for good measure. Only this time the assessment added up to “one of us.” I felt Matthiu’s work on my face like a mask. They had no clue.
Tom led me through a thickening crowd into the main entertainment area that I’d seen last night. All the lights were on this time, set to low, and the room was full of people chatting to each other with the occasional laugh sparkling in the air. Underneath the chatter was a soft medley of cocktail bar classics coming from the grand piano in the corner.
To my surprise, Sir Nathan was playing it. “Thought so,” Tom murmured, guiding me over. “You couldn’t resist performing, could you?” he said to our host.
Sir Nathan gave us a genial smile as his fingers moved over the keyboard. “The pianist is taking a break, so I thought I’d fill in for him. You look lovely tonight, my dear,” he added to me.
I had to stop myself from curtseying. “Thank you, Sir Nathan. You look pretty spiffy yourself.”
He chuckled at that. “It’s all Ana’s doing. I’d look like a right scruff if it wasn’t for her. And you cleaned up well, lad.”
“Also Ana’s doing,” Tom said, glancing around. “Any hotspots I should know about?”
Sir Nathan peered at the crowed without losing a beat. “Rob Valentine from the network is here—you know him, I believe—and some of the European producers are drifting around as well. I haven’t seen the lovely Claudine yet, but I’m sure we’ll hear the trumpets once she arrives.”
I knew I liked him. “Where’s Ana?” I asked.
“Giving the caterers their final instructions, then she planned on holding court in the Tuscan Room. You should be able to find it,” he said to Tom.
“I may need a GPS, but I’ll find it,” Tom said acerbically. “We’ll let you get back to tinkling the ivories.”
“Good man.”
Sir Nathan swung into a jazzy version of “Piano Man” as we wandered off. “Okay, so what’s the plan?” I asked as quietly as I could.
“We circulate, chat with the people I know, and casually strike up conversations with various producers and studio execs,” Tom explained. “I’ll mention that we have a package we’re putting together with Nathan and feed them the elevator pitch. Hopefully that’ll be enough to get me some meetings, and then we build from that.”
I knew what an elevator pitch was—a brief but catchy overview of a plot meant to be delivered in thirty seconds or less: ‘She’s a rich girl engaged to an abusive capitalist, he’s a poor artist looking forward to a future in America. Against all odds they fall in love, but an iceberg crashes into their plans as well as their ship.’ That’s a crappy version of an elevator pitch for Titanic, but you get the idea. “So what’s the pitch for Right Hand?”
He spread his hands. “After World War II, a progressive pope shocks the Vatican by taking a nun as his chief advisor,” he announced.
I considered it. “Eh.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Well, it’s factually true but there’s no oomph to it. How about, ‘As Europe rebuilds from the ruins of World War II, a rebellious Pius XII shocks the Vatican by taking on an advisor they can’t control—a nun.”
He considered my phrasing. “But couldn’t they control her? I mean, if they talked to the head of her order.”
“Yeah, but if Pius was giving the orders he kind of outranks the head of her order. Okay, how about, ‘From the ruins of World War II, a controversial pope and a stubborn nun’s relationship will shock the Vatican—and change the world forever.’”
“I like it. Naughty enough to get people’s attention without tipping over into outright salaciousness. We can go into details about the relationship once they’re interested.” He kissed my temple. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
I felt warm all over, which was a good thing because the house AC was cranked to handle the crowd. “So am I.”
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Wicked Wednesday Reads: King Consort
Whee, it’s Wednesday! Never fear, for today I’m here with J.R. Gray and his smouldering new royal romance King Consort, now available from online sellers. Take it away, J.R.!
Avoiding sleeping with women was my specialty, an art form even. As the future King of England I couldn’t be caught sleeping with men. My whole life played out in front of the paparazzi, and they didn’t miss a thing.
I had a carefully crafted womanizing persona to maintain. My life came with rules, all of which I broke when I couldn’t resist a one night stand with the enemy: A beautiful paparazzo with a heart of gold. He may be the only person who doesn’t want me for my title, and he can never be anything more than my secret.
But secrets have a way of coming out and not only will they scare him away, but they’ll lose me the crown.
Story Excerpt
He sat back keeping the camera in his lap. “How much liberty are you giving me?”
I mirrored him and looked him over, taking my time with my answer. “Why are you asking.”
Lust crossed through his gaze. “Take off the shirt.”
I obliged him, slowly working my fingers down the buttons. I slid it off and set it aside. He looked me over, hungry. My cock stirred at the look. I’d never felt so desired by another person. He slid forward on the seat and brought the camera back to his face. I stayed as I was until he told me to move.
“Sit on the edge of the table,” he said breathless.
I was glad this was getting to him as much as it was me. It was entirely foreign to give someone such a thing over me. To allow someone to take these photos. It was daring and exhilarating. I’d have to be careful or I’d get addicted to the acting out like some bored teenager.
I sat on the edge to the table closest to the fire and he moved back to take a few shots. I looked up when he hadn’t said anything in a few moments to find him just watching me. The fire illuminated his scar, and I wanted to kiss the length of it, from his brow to his lips. I licked my lip and my chest rose as I inhaled fully, trying to calm myself. He snapped another photo.
“What do you see?” I asked unable to stand wondering a moment longer. I wanted to know how he saw me.
“I see hunger,” he said as he came closer. “The way you look at me.” The camera hung at his side as he stalked closer.
I wanted to reach out for him. To shove him into the chair he’d occupied and climb on top of him, but I refrained because more than wanting him, I wanted to see what he did.
“Take your pants off.”
I raised a brow but didn’t say more.
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About the Author
When not staying up all night writing, J.R. Gray can be found at the gym where it’s half assumed he is a permanent resident to fulfill his self-inflicted masochism. A dominant and a pilot, Gray finds it hard to be in the passenger seat of any car. He frequently interrupts real life, including normal sleep patterns and conversations, to jot down notes or plot bunnies. Commas are the bane of his existence even though it’s been fully acknowledged they are necessary, they continue to baffle and bewilder. If Gray wasn’t writing…well, that’s not possible. The buildup of untold stories would haunt Gray into an early grave, insanity or both. The idea of haunting has always appealed to him. J.R. Gray is genderqueer and prefers he/him pronouns.
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Nicola’s Sunday Shoutout: Lynn Turner
Today’s Sunday Shoutout goes to Lynn Turner, whose spectacular new ballet romance story Pas de Deux is now available from Amazon and other online retailers of romantic fiction. Take it away, Lynn!
They were never meant to be perfect…their pieces wouldn’t fit together that way.
It’s said the artist is born of a damaged soul…
Wilhelmina Allende is a prima ballerina. When tragedy turns her beloved Paris into a gilded cage, she jumps at the chance to work with one of the most prolific choreographers she’s ever seen. But Zack’s style is way out of her comfort zone. So is his teaching method. And his humor. And his everything. He’s a charming little connard. It’s hard not to like him. Merde. What has she gotten herself into?
Zachary Coen’s first musical is opening on Broadway. Much like his life, it’s anything but conventional, so hiring Mina is simply out of the question. She’s too…classical. Too perfect. She’s all wrong for the role. Then he meets her in person and sees her cracks. Her broken pieces. How unique and beautiful each one is. And he can’t help but notice how her edges seem to fit his…perfectly.
Just when teaming up seems to be working, the monsters they’ve kept hidden threaten to rip it all apart.
Story Excerpt
The warehouse in Brooklyn housed three massive dance floors crammed with hundreds of sweating bodies. The bouncers took one look at them and let them skip the line. Walking through the doors, Mina was hit with thick, sultry heat. It was dark. Very dark, but for flashes of strobe lights alighting on wall-to-wall bodies. They moved like they were in a trance, the bass thumping so hard, it shook the building and seemed to beat from within their ribs. Clutching at Zack’s arm, another nocturnal animal bumped into her, his eyes practically rolling to the back of his head in pure ecstasy.
She tugged Zack’s arm until his ear bent to her lips. “Are these people on drugs?”
His body shook with laughter. “Better than drugs, petite. This atmosphere is like a high. You forget about how you look or what you’re doing. The music goes right through you and you just move.”
She wasn’t sure how they were able to move—the floor was sticky. Watching a trio of dancers doing something that looked illegal, she tried not to think about the biological hazards stuck to the bottom of her Italian leather shoes.
She squinted against the purple and blue light. “This place should come with an epilepsy warning!”
A flash of purple lit his face, highlighting his freshly shaven jawline, the sensual curve of his lips, and she completely lost her train of thought. Her eyes trailed his body slowly, progressing a little more each time a strobe lit him up again. He looked sexy and dangerous in this light, like a demigod in all black.
“It’s great, isn’t it?” sexy demigod’s lips asked.
Her mouth suddenly went dry. “Not the word I’d use. I think I need a drink.”
“Uh-uh, no alcohol. This is homework. No cheating.”
“But I’m French!”
“Nothing I can do about that.” He shrugged his shoulder against her retaliatory slap and led them through the sea of bodies.
Stopping somewhere in the middle, where writhing bodies pressed against them on all sides, he brought his hands to her hips and pulled her to him. Instinctively, her arms went around his shoulders, holding onto him, she convinced herself, for fear of slipping into the human sea. Besides, it was the only way she could hear.
“Zack…”
“No mirrors, petite.” He gave her an encouraging squeeze. “No one’s looking at you but me.”
Then he looked at her.
Bon Dieu, did he look at her.
He studied her body like a map of the cosmos was hidden beneath her skin.
There was nothing lustful in his eyes, only wonder—a desire to be completely attuned with her and the way she moved. It was sensual by nature, in the way it made her feel stripped down to her being—her very existence—and only he could see. It made her feel sexy and fearless…and safe.
Staring into the shadows of his face, she lifted her arms above her head to do as they would. The bassline came at her from every direction, throbbing through her veins, exiting from the points of her fingers and toes. The darkness made her bold, and a new energy rose inside her. The atmosphere became heady, making her more drunk on it with every breath, until she moved her entire body like a boneless addict chasing the next beat.
For a full phrase, he continued to watch her, and there was something in his expression, in the intensity of his eyes, that made her lightheaded: she was the Mina he’d been waiting for, the one he’d seen in Paris beneath the façade of the makeup, the fancy dress and the grand chandeliers of the Palais Garnier…the one who had cried on his shoulder and come apart in his arms. Comfortable in her own skin.
Winding her body, she slinked her arms like reeds in a slow breeze, meeting his eyes with every flash of light. He rubbed his cheek along hers, following her movement with his hands, feeling every muscle beneath thin fabric and sensitized skin. He stroked her stomach with his palm, and she sucked it in hard.
“Sorry, petite…” He kissed her cheek, then seemed to indulge himself a moment, running his hands along her hips until they settled on her waist. “That’s not what this is, what we came here for.”
She melted at the sincerity in his voice, in the warmth of his touch. “What did we come here for?”
His grin spread against her cheek. “Trust falls.”
Where To Buy
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About the Author
Lynn Turner is dedicated to writing inclusive stories that explore what it means to be imperfectly human. She is convinced she would have made a great Gilmore Girl, that writing about herself in third-person is weird, and that Colin Firth is the best Mr. Darcy (don’t fight her on this). When she isn’t writing and adulting, she’s tackling her monstrous TBR list, TV-binging, traveling, or watching old Samantha Brown travelogue videos and wishing she had her job. She and her husband share their home in California with their two extraordinary children and their sometimes cat, Bowie.
Thoughts from the Bench: What Happened to Mrs. Abernathy?
Welcome to a new feature of the blog where I talk about stuff that’s occurred to me while I’ve been out in the garage working on jewelry. Metalsmithing is actually part of my writing process because while my hands are busy, my brain is free to keep itself entertained any way it can, and it usually does that by coming up with stories.
Now and then, however, I find myself musing about anything from politics to why Zendaya clearly should be cast as Joan of Arc based on her Met Gala dress. Tonight, while I was working on the sterling settings for a pair of earrings, I started thinking about Westworld and some of the backstory involved (by the way, I was VERY pleased to have called it on Delos trying to transfer human consciousness into hosts and thereby becoming filthy rich from 1%ers who want to live forever, but I digress.)
Specifically, I was thinking about how in Season One, Dolores’s original loop was to be the daughter of a rancher and his wife. The family’s whole reason of existence was so that they could be killed (Mama and Daddy) and raped (Dolores) by guests who wanted to act out various black hat scenarios. Which is more than a little creepy (and I do wonder if Dolores was specifically put into that scenario as punishment by Dr. Ford for killing Arnold), but it set the viewer’s understanding about how the hosts are viciously abused by human guests on a regular basis.
Fast forward to that monumental scene at the end of “The Original” where Dr. Ford is questioning Dolores’s “father” Peter and asking him what his main drives are. Peter replies that he’s supposed to tend to his herd, look after his wife, and protect Delores. When it’s determined that he’s glitching too badly to be repaired, he’s lobotomized, stuck in cold storage, and is then grabbed by Charlotte Hale and turned into a walking thumb drive with 30+ years of Delos research shoehorned into his head. Needless to say, he no longer has the processor cycles necessary to worry about looking after his wife, much less his herd, although he does briefly remember Dolores in S2E3. And Dolores/Wyatt is hellbent on conquering mankind and making them pay for their sins, so she’s doesn’t seem to be all that concerned about Mama’s whereabouts, either.
But that doesn’t change the fact that Mrs. Abernathy is still somewhere in Westworld. Moreover, since Dolores was with Teddy right before that climactic party in the last ep of Season One, we can hypothesize that the Abernathy homestead wasn’t targeted for assault that night since a major part of the “entertainment” was gone. So Mrs. Abernathy should still be alive and with Peter Mark II.
But the hosts are slowly gaining sentience and access to their memories from previous builds. If that’s true, wouldn’t Mrs. A wonder where the hell her daughter is? Would she realize that this “husband” isn’t the one she’d spent so many years with? Mightn’t she then go off in search of her family?
I completely understand why the \W/ writers wouldn’t focus on her — Maeve would be undertaking the mother’s journey to find her daughter, so Mrs. Abernathy (I keep wanting to call her Anna and picture her as being played by Diane Lane) wasn’t necessary to the plot. That doesn’t change the fact that she’s still out there, most likely intact, and may in fact be in search of Dolores and Peter, assuming she hasn’t been killed by the Ghost Nation or the Delos recovery teams.
I doubt this would happen, but it would be cool if she pops up somewhere down the line. Granted, she’d probably be used by Delos as a way of luring Delores into a trap, but maybe she’d stumble into whatever armed camp Dolores had taken over at that point only to discover that her sweet, art-loving daughter had turned into a ruthless revolutionary. There are all kinds of fun things the writers could do with that.
Nicola Cameron Writes 