Her Fantasy Men now Available

I have been so busy this Summer that I didn’t even realize Fall was sneaking up on me and we are nearing the corner to all of the wonderful Holidays! I have so many new things to tell you about I am not sure where to start!.

 

Her Fantasy men”, a novella that was once a part of the anthology “Four Play”. Released this week with a spectacular new cover and there’s a hot excerpt on my website!  If you have not had a chance to read this yet, you can find it at Amazon, Barnes & Noble and all of the other usual electronic book retailers.

Speaking of websites- my website is all new! Stop by, let me know what you think of the new design.  It is very interactive and you can post your thoughts on my “Whispers” section as well download the printable book list so you can read in order!

Last month the release of “Their Virgin Concubine ”, co-written with author Lexi Blake was released and so far the reviews are fantastic!  We are hoping to get the 4th installment in the “Masters of Ménage” series, “Their Virgin Princess” out around the end of the year, if not before!

 

Strictly Forbidden”, my latest re-released historical is now available available  in e-book version is available also at Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Smashwords.  It joins the re-release of  “Strictly Surrender” and should be available in print format within a couple of weeks. I am always trying to keep you updated and I am looking for your feedback on my website, as well as doing some fun give-aways! Check www.ShaylaBlack.com for more details.  You can also find me on Facebook as well as Twitter @Shayla_Black

 

 

Blind Destiny now available

 

excerpt…

Just another thing to sour his already black mood, although it was nothing compared to what really had him troubled.
And it wasn’t even Sina.

She had him pissed, she had him horny, and if he was around her too long, he suspected she’d leave him hurting.

The bigger problem was what was going on out there in the village, a problem he couldn’t untangle.

Need to clear my mind, he thought as he turned on the shower, adjusting the spray until it came down in a hot, pulsating blast. This was another one of the pleasures of modern life. Showers. Hot, long showers. He loved them. Plain and simple, loved them.

If the water would hold out, he could just stand in there long enough to clear his mind.

That would be ideal.

Blanking his mind, he braced his hands on the tile wall and dipped his head, letting the water pound on his neck and back, groaning in pleasure.

Need to—

A tingle danced along his flesh. Buzzed through his mind.

Familiar.

Slowly, he lifted his head.

Water dripped off his cheeks, nose and chin, but he didn’t move as he tried to remember the placement, everything in the bathroom. The hotel was worn and rundown, but clean. Nicer than he’d expected, really, considering how the outside had looked.

Somebody had done some updates on recently and they tried to cater to younger couples.

There were mirrors all over the fucking bathroom.

Mirrors.

And as he stood there, the tingling on his flesh grew more intense and in the very back of his mind, he felt a warmth.
Sina used mirrors. The way he used Krell’s eyes, although her ability wasn’t anywhere as keen as his. Whether it was the inanimate object, whether it was because she didn’t practice as much as he did, or what.

Watching me, Snow White?

The idea might have unsettled him at some other time.

But just then, he was feeling just a little mean. Shoving away from the wall, he eased back, bracing himself against the tile. As the water continued to pour down around him, he rested a hand down his belly.

 

read more…enter the contest!

Also! My first German translation…the Ash books are being made available in German. Blinde Wahrheit is the first one-I think it translates to Blind Truth.

It’s available at Amazon.de & Egmont Lyx’s site (& others)

Shiloh

Sometimes, you just want to smile…

I didn’t start out writing sexy books. In fact, I didn’t start our writing alone. I partnered with my sister through five books until we gained confidence and stepped out on our own. However, the four books we left languishing continued to nag at us. We knew there would be a right time to bring them out from under the bed and polish them into blindingly shiny shape.

Luckily, readers are finding the first story and loving it.

“Wildly funny – Surprisingly Sweet!” “A Great Romantic Comedy” “…You’re laughing ’til almost crying…”

But don’t take my word for it. Click on the cover and read what else they had to say.

See what happens when a secret billionaire and an aspiring actress get a little wild in Texas.


A man with a soft spot for women…

Closet Texas millionaire, Tanner Peschke has three months to prove he can make a profit at the family used car dealership or he will lose his job, disappoint his father and break his promise to his dying mother. The root of his problem is women. He can’t resist them–any of them. All it takes is the scent of delicate perfume or a misty-eyed gaze from an elderly woman with a sob story, and he becomes silly putty in the hands of his feminine customers. Until, with a stroke of luck and a buck of a mechanical bull, he hires Janine Davis to star with him in the dealership’s live TV ads.

A woman who won’t let a handsome cowboy get in the way of her dream…

Determined to make a name for herself, Janine needs to pay the bills between acting jobs. The offer to do a series of commercials for Peschke Motors is a chance to get her face “out there”. Recognizing a player when she sees one, Janine agrees to co-star with her handsome employer fully intending to keep their relationship strictly professional. First break she gets, she’s heading to Hollywood.

Their jungle-themed commercials take a crazy twist, and Tanner finds himself falling…from a sales banner while chasing a monkey. But more importantly, he’s falling for Janine. She’s just the one woman to tame this cowboy’s wild heart. Convincing her to stay with him might be harder than catching a mischievous monkey.

Reflected in You – Now Available!

The eBook of Reflected in You is on sale now!

The hotly anticipated second book of the Crossfire Trilogy continues the sensual saga of Eva and Gideon that began in Bared to You…the New York Times bestselling novel of “EROTIC ROMANCE THAT SHOULD NOT BE MISSED” (Romance Novel News).

Gideon Cross. As beautiful and flawless on the outside as he was damaged and tormented on the inside. He was a bright, scorching flame that singed me with the darkest of pleasures. I couldn’t stay away. I didn’t want to. He was my addiction… my every desire… mine.

My past was as violent as his, and I was just as broken. We’d never work. It was too hard, too painful… except when it was perfect. Those moments when the driving hunger and desperate love were the most exquisite insanity.

We were bound by our need. And our passion would take us beyond our limits to the sweetest, sharpest edge of obsession…


Buy this book on:

Amazon Kindle
Barnes & Noble Nook
iBookstore

Blind Destiny & contest news…

Have you entered to win a feather From an Angel’s Wing?  It’s the contest to celebrate the release of Blind Destiny

Prologue

The woman stood alone in a courtyard of blood.

The bodies that surrounded her looked more like meat than anything else.

The man watching her from the shadows had lived through enough slaughters to recognize the one before him now.

These people had been alive not that long ago. If he had only arrived sooner, he could have helped. It made no sense. Why was he here now?

Perhaps whoever had killed them would come back for the lone survivor.

She stood there, drenched in blood, her head bowed.

Frowning, he eased closer, uncaring of the blood and gore. Some would fear it would stain the pristine white garments he wore, but the clothes never stained. Never showed signs of wear or weather. The wonder of that no longer puzzled him, nor did he consider it a wonder. Just another observation in his long, wretched existence.

He stepped in a puddle of blood and not even a drop trailed behind him as he continued forward, his steps soundless on the earth.

He no longer completely moved in this world.

A fact he had yet to fully accept. A fact he’d never completely understand.

Who are you? He eyed her closely, almost willing her to lift her head, to take notice of him.

Who are you…who am I? Why am I here?

And that, if he were honest, was the question that bothered him the most.

Oh, he had a vague idea. He was here because something had led him here, to this isolated home, perched on a lovely mountainside. From a distance, it had been rather imposing, a sign of wealth and power.

Death and hell had waited within. Not too long ago, he never would have been able to sense the evils that had taken place inside here.

But not that long ago, he had been a dead man himself.

Not that long ago, he never would have seen what was about to happen.

It was a knowledge he hated, the way he saw it unfolding in his mind. As though he had split into two people, the part of him that still clung to his mortal coil was terrified and desperate to flee from this hell place. The other part watched was what to come—the way the woman went to her knees, her fingers sliding through the thick, red mess that was blood and earth.

Then both sides of his brain reconnected.

His mind did not understand what she held at first.

But then he saw the glint of the blade, and he knew.

He went to move—

No.

He could even hear the scream forming in his mind.

That was not the answer. No other knew that better than he.

But he could not move.

He physically could not move.

She has to take this step.

He shook his head, denying the voice that whispered to him from within.

Yes. Because once she does, once she is almost past hope, you can reach her. Then, you will offer her the choice.

As she plunged the blade into her chest, finally, he could scream. Their screams mingled as one and as the inexplicable bonds controlling him loosened, he rushed to her side.

He slid an arm beneath her and even as he touched her, he felt it. The buzz of something…more. He did not know how to describe what it was, but he knew it was powerful.

And as her gaze held his, he saw everything…

Everything she was, everything she had ever done.

And she looked into his eyes and saw everything he was. Everything he had ever done.

“No…”

They whispered it as one.

 

Chapter One

There were very few people in the world that Will could say truly knew him. And only one of them could he call friend.

That one person was Sina, and she was almost as old as he was. Just a few short years separated them. A few decades, maybe a century. He had no way of knowing. Those first years had been lost to insanity and he barely remembered them.

They were almost a matched set, he supposed. Ancient creatures, not all right in the head, not then. Not now.

For the longest time, it had just been them, struggling to adapt to what they were meant to do, what they had become.

What would come later, as more and more of them were made.

They’d fought together often in those early days. Bled together. Came as close to dying as they were likely to, as long as they insisted on holding on.

Not that he had much choice.

Too much to atone for.

But Sina could let go. She wouldn’t, though. She’d be here until the bloody end. He knew this, because he knew her.

And she knew him, even without benefit of her oh-so-canny abilities of the mind.

Thankfully, she couldn’t read his mind. Not anymore. She’d been able to, that one time, when she hovered at death’s door and he’d been stunned at what she’d done, what she was.

She’d seen enough, that one night. But that was the only time she’d ever read him deeply.

It didn’t matter. Sina didn’t have to read him.

She knew him.

And that was even worse.

She’d know what was coming if he approached her.

Will was no fool.

So instead of going to her, he decided to approach the matter in a more roundabout fashion. Sometimes the straightforward approach just wasn’t the best way to handle things.

Especially with creatures who were older than dirt and reacted very poorly to change.

 

 

The night smelled of rain.

Honeysuckle.

And wet dog.

Luc laughed as Krell flopped down next to him with a happy sigh after he’d shaken the water out of his fur. “You just can’t stay out of the lake, can you?”

Krell nudged his thigh.

Obligingly, Luc scratched the dog behind his ears. “If you wanted to get wet, all you had to do was wait a little while. It’s getting ready to storm.”

Those words had no sooner left his mouth than it happened, tension gathering in the air. It wrapped around him tighter and tighter while next to him, Krell whined, inching closer. The dog had been around too long not to know what that meant.

Luc sighed. The bad part with not being able to see—he had long since acclimated himself to relying on his other senses, honing it to a fine skill. He could sense Will’s arrival a good two minutes before others could. It had nothing to do with psychic skill and everything to do with the way the feel of the world changed.

Tighter. Hotter. And somehow…brighter. Even though Luc’s world had been wrapped in darkness for hundreds of years.

In the seconds before Will made his appearance, the tension lessened, almost like the calm before the storm. Then it swelled to a crescendo and Luc’s ears popped as Will’s portal appeared.

Not that Luc was watching—he could have. Krell wasn’t just there for companionship. In all the centuries since Luc had become a Grimm, a guardian angel, he’d developed an ability to connect with others and use their eyes. Usually, he limited it to a specific partner, or to his companion animal, but he could use the eyes of anyone he saw fit.

He just chose not to.

Just as he chose not to look at Will. He didn’t need to see the bastard. Actually, he’d rather not talk to him, either.

Will rarely came bearing good news. Curling his hand into the thick fur of Krell’s neck, Luc murmured, “Perhaps you and I should have gone into town tonight, gotten rip-roaring drunk.”

“You can’t get drunk,” Will said.

No, that was true. Pity, that. Something he missed from his mortal years.

The Grimm all looked human enough. Even their fearless leader Will, with his pure white hair and silver eyes—granted, Will looked like a freaky human, but still, human was human.

They had all been human at some point in their lives. They’d chosen to become what they were—taking the step to become a Grimm, fighting against the demons that slid through the veil separating the mortal world from the netherplains.

That change was a drastic one, though. Altering them until the human appearance was just that—an appearance. A wound that would kill a mortal, they could heal in minutes or hours. They could go days, weeks without rest if they had to. And those were just the physical changes.

All of them were reborn into this life with gifts.

One of Luc’s was the ability to connect with others to use their sight.

His other gift—peering into the minds of others—was normally rather reliable.

Of course, he normally didn’t try to peer inside Will’s impenetrable mind.

It was like trying to peer at anything with his sightless eyes…he saw nothing.

“Yet you still can’t help but try to look, can you?” Will asked.

Luc shrugged. “Habit.” Stroking a hand down Krell’s back, he said, “If I hadn’t had that gift to rely on for the past few centuries, it wouldn’t be second nature.”

“True.” There was a pause and Luc could hear the other man coming closer.

As Will sat down beside him, Luc muttered a quiet oath. So the boss wasn’t there for a quick chat. Fuck it all.

Will laughed quietly. “You’re still mad at me.”

“Oh, it’s not so much that I’m angry. I just don’t like you, Will.” The hand stroking Krell curled into a fist. He was angry, though. Not just over the loss of Perci. That was a pride thing just as much as anything else. He was angry at Will, angry at himself, angry with Perci even, for how long they’d let each other suffer.

“If you would but be honest with yourself, you would realize she has been lost to you for a very long time,” Will said quietly.

“Oh, I know that.” He sighed. “Knowing it in here…” He touched a hand to his temple, then laid it against his heart. “Doesn’t make it any easier to accept in here.”

“Truer words,” Will mused. “Does it make it any easier for you to know that she is happy? Happier than she has been for a very long time?”

Luc closed his eyes. “It makes it easier. Yet it hurts like a son of a bitch. I couldn’t help her, and I’m arrogant enough for that to sting. But I love her enough to want her happy, no matter what the cost.”

For the next few moments, no words were spoken. It had been more than six months since Perci had left. Six months. But it had been hundreds of years since he had lost her. They had been married once, long ago. Back in their mortal life. They had come through the change from mortal to Grimm together, but they hadn’t been together as man and wife since their mortal years. The wounds they’d received, the murder of their children, Luc’s torture at the hands of his stepmother, Perci’s abuse—it had left scars that went too deep.

Luc had accepted those losses, and he might have been willing to let go, but the woman he’d loved, he couldn’t help her, and she couldn’t move on. She’d carried those hurts so deeply.

She was happy now, though. With another man. A new Grimm, and a man Luc would like to hate.

It was a bitch that he just couldn’t.

“So what brings you to my humble abode, old man?” he asked Will after the silence had stretched on just a little too long.

“I’ve a job for you.”

“Well, I figured you hadn’t come out just to have a beer.” Luc rose to his feet. “But if you don’t mind, I think I’m going to go have one.”

“Haven’t we already established the fact that you can’t get drunk?”

“I’m not drinking to get drunk—I just like the taste of it. And you can talk while we walk,” Luc pointed out. He snapped his fingers for Krell to join him and reached down, resting a hand on the dog’s head, seamlessly connecting their minds and looking around.

Sure enough, clouds had rolled in. He could feel the wind slapping against him and it had a cold bite to it. Maybe he’d lay a fire at the chalet. A fire, while he had that beer, and listened to whatever insane job Will had laid out for him.

 

 

“Greece?” Luc repeated nearly thirty minutes later.

“Yes.” Will studied the bottle Luc had given him with a mistrustful eye before lifting it and taking a taste. He immediately put it back down. He’d tried rancid wine in his mortal life that had tasted better than that, he was pretty sure. “There’s a house located in a small village in Greece… Kalo Horio. Some of them think it’s haunted. It’s not terribly old, built back in the 1700s. They’ve got a legend they’ve built around it…the seven bloody sisters.”

Luc turned that around in his mind and then shook his head. “Never heard of it.”

“That’s because they invented it.” Rising from the stool, he headed toward the refrigerator and opened it, studying the contents. Junk, he decided. Beer, soft drinks, chocolate milk. For food, there was chocolate, pizza, chips, buffalo wings, hot dogs, bologna. Heaven help him. “Luc, you have the appetite of an adolescent.”

“Yes. And what’s wonderful is the fact that I’ll never gain a pound, I never have to worry about an unsightly complexion, nor do I have to worry about hardening of the arteries, cholesterol, any of those unpleasantries.” He finished off his beer and, without even pausing to aim, tossed it into the recycling bin.

Will blinked. “That’s rather amazing. How do you do that without seeing it?”

“I’ve lived hundreds of years without sight. I’ve picked up a few tricks.” He shrugged. “What does this legend, this house, have to do with us? Are demons causing the hauntings?”

“You’ll have to figure that out for yourself. For now, you’ll have to go see Sina. She’s to work with you on this.”

Luc had been in the middle of getting himself another beer. Now he paused. In the middle of the floor, he turned to face Will. An odd look—one that Will had never seen—crossed his face. He almost looked lost, Will thought.

“Sina,” Luc murmured. “You want me to work with Sina.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Will shrugged. “She’s just the one I know you need to work with. I don’t know why. I do know she’s familiar with the area. Perhaps that is why. You can find her in Las Vegas, I think. She loves that insane city, for some reason.”

 

 

Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it’s off to work we go…”

I watched, amused as all get out as the little men paraded across the screen. Really, it was the most ridiculous piece of work I’ve ever seen, both now, and the other hundred-and-sixty-three times I’ve watched it.

Yes, I’ve really watched Snow White and the Seven Dwarves one-hundred-and-sixty-three times. I love the movie. It’s absurd. I love it for its absurdity. It’s my own fault, I suppose. I’d helped concoct the earliest version’s tale.

I bet you didn’t know that, did you?

My own story is a little more grim than this, but that’s typical for those like us.

There was a knock at the door. I opened my mind to see who it was—just a fraction, of course, because one could never be too careful. I couldn’t penetrate the mind and that made me frown. There weren’t many I couldn’t read. If I couldn’t read them, that meant they were either like me…psychically gifted, not necessarily a Grimm, or one of the few people with just a natural resistance to psychic probes.

It could be Will, I supposed. Even those of us who are psychic aren’t usually strong enough to block me. Will was one, but it wasn’t like him to knock. He just blew his way in, almost like the big bad wolf. Of course, that’s not who he is. That’s a different story entirely.

If it wasn’t Will, who…?

A face flashed through my mind, followed by a rush of heat. Of need. The skin along the back of my neck prickled in warning but I brushed it off.

No reason for him to be here, now was there?

Mentally chastising myself, I silenced the TV and slid off the bed. Whoever it was, the person had the patience of a saint. There was no second knock. Just silence, but he—yes, it was a man, I knew—continued to wait.

Again, that shiver ran down my spine.

Halfway between my bedroom and the hotel door, I called out, “Who is it?”

“It’s Luc.”

A punch of longing rolled through me like waves crashing against the beach. Luc.

Picture your typical fairy tale prince. Eyes of a perfect blue, a chiseled, handsome face with a cleft in his chin, arched black brows and hair that framed a face so perfect even Michelangelo couldn’t have hoped to reproduce it. A long, lean warrior’s body, a smile that could have made angels weep.

Hell, I knew that for a fact, because he has made me weep. And I am angel, even if I am somewhat imperfect.

That was Luc.

He was even a prince. And there were fairy tales written about him. I’d helped write them. But I hadn’t done him justice. Couldn’t do that, now could I? If I’d penned the tale the way I wanted to, some of our brothers and sisters in arms might see things I’d rather them not see.

They’d realize things I’d rather they not know.

I don’t think anybody knew, not even Will. A benefit of being of the old ones, since I was nearly as old as he was. He’d respect it if I told him to stay the hell out of my mind, and I could back that up with walls so solid he couldn’t penetrate them.

So unless he was given some of that uncanny knowledge, our fearless leader would never know how I felt about Luc.

Luc.

Luc. A man I dreamed about, a man I longed for. A man who was in love with his own fairy tale princess…and she wasn’t me.

Luc. The last man on earth I wanted to see. Ever.

Composing myself, I detoured by the bathroom. I’d been munching popcorn while I enjoyed the movie. I wasn’t about to greet him with buttery crumbs clinging to my fingers. While there, I checked my face. Yes, I’m vain. Smoothing my hair back into a ponytail, I glanced down at my clothes and sighed.

Not that I’d let myself primp to meet Luc or anything. The black yoga pants and T-shirt would suffice.

Primping served no good use, anyway. This man would never be mine.

He’d never have his lady’s heart, and I’d never have his. Those were facts I’d long ago accepted.

Enough stalling. With one deep breath, I left the bathroom and made for the door.

I opened it and leaned against the doorjamb, brow cocked. This wasn’t a friendly call, I already knew that.

But I couldn’t see his mind as easily as I could others—he was too well trained for that. I’d been the one to train him.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have done such a good job. A peek inside his mind would have let me prepare myself. And I could have used the advantage.

I never saw this coming…

“What do you know about the seven bloody sisters?”

~*~

Enter the contest

Read more about Blind Destiny… or you can just preorder it. 😉

Amazon | BN | Samhain | iBookstore (BN link not live yet)

(This won’t be out in print for a while…it’s not long enough so it has to be paired up.)

Lusting for Cowboys?

Click on the cover to find the buy links. The book’s brand new and filled with sexy stories by some of the best Western romance authors in the biz! ~DD

There’s a reason Western romance novels never go out of fashion. The cowboy is an iconic figure that embodies the dichotomy of the fiercely independent, earthy alpha male and the male as a nurturer. Given a picture of a man on a horse, wearing Wranglers, chaps, and with a broad-rimmed hat , women melt. Cowboys take care of their women, in every possible way. Wild and wayward women are gentled by the scent of horse, cow, and crisp, clean sweat; the sight of sun-kissed skin; the feel of work-hardened thighs and arms; and the sound of a deep-voiced, Texas drawl. COWBOY LUST satisfies readers who long to be rode hard and put away wet. Risky and risque, these classic stories are set in romantic settings from Montana, Texas, California, Mexico, and the Outback of Australia. Master of the wild west love story, Devlin’s strong and memorable characters range from hunks on horseback to a feisty female gunslinger. COWBOY LUST corralls within its pages a rodeo star, a cop on horseback, and lots of studs in spurs so hot you’ll be ready to take a vacation on a dude ranch!

Read a snippet from my own story, “Runaway Bride”…

Jackson Lowry cussed softly when he spotted the blue lights spinning at the roadblock just ahead. Too late to turn back now. He’d only draw more attention.

Squaring his jaw, he rolled down his window and forced a polite smile as he peered into the darkness at the sheriff’s deputy checking IDs with a flashlight.

As soon as the deputy waved the car in front of him to move along and turned to watch the black pickup roll forward, Jackson’s tension eased a fraction.

Maynard Colby’s expression turned from crisply professional to worried in a second a soon as he recognized him. “Dammit, Jackson, where have you been?”

“Around. Why?”

A soft moan sounded beside him, and Jackson reached surreptitiously beside him to tap the tarp covering his precious load.

“You didn’t hear?” At Jackson’s vague expression, Maynard stepped onto the truck rail and leaned toward Jackson. “It’s Sammie Jo. Her car was found in Shooter’s parking lot, the door wide open. No one’s seen her. Looks like she’s been snatched.”

Jackson cleared his throat. “How serious is this gettin’?”

“It’s only been a couple of hours, but Sammi Jo’s daddy is buckin’ to get the sheriff to call in the FBI, the CIA, ATF—and whatever other agency his money can buy to find her. I tried callin’ you, but your phone kept goin’ to voice mail. After the way things went down at the weddin’ last Sunday, I don’t blame you a bit for layin’ low, but I thought you’d wanna know.”

Another sound, this time a snort, sounded beside him.

Maynard’s gaze cut to the dirty tarp folded over a moving bundle on the floor of the cab. A ruddy eyebrow shot up.

“What’s goin’ on, Jackson?”

Jackson rolled his eyes, then pulled up the corner of the tarp to reveal a bound and gagged Sammie Jo whose eyes glittered furiously back at both men.

Maynard barked a laugh, then tightened his lips. “This time you’ve gone and done it, boy. This is seriously fucked up.“ He laughed again, then tipped his hat to Sammi Jo. “No disrespect meant, missy.”

Jackson cleared his throat. “Don’t s’pose you can forget about this?”

Maynard’s gaze shot to Sammie Jo again, raked her once as though ensuring she didn’t look to be in any real danger, then tipped back his cowboy hat. “Tell ya what. I’ll put a bug in the sheriff’s ear, but she better come walkin’ through the po-lice house doors come Monday mornin’.”

“Not a word to her daddy?”

One corner of Maynard’s mouth crooked up. “Man’s already caused enough problems. Deserves to cool his heels a couple o’ days. Don’t do nothin’ I’ll have to arrest you for.”

With a nod, Jackson rolled up the window and pulled past the barricade. In his side mirror, he watched as Maynard crossed to the other deputy’s car and both men bent over laughing.

“See that, Sammi Jo?” he murmured, not expecting an answer because he’d made double-damn sure he’d tied some serious knots and gagged her pretty mouth. “I’m not the only one who thinks you need a good paddlin’.”

FRAGILE…releases in mass market

If you haven’t read it and you like romantic suspense or contemporary, maybe you can give it a look. I’d appreciate it.  If this one does well, then the follow-up BROKEN will likely be released in mass market, too.

If you liked the ASH books or my FBI psychic books, this one might be right up your alley. Here… snippet!

Under his mouth, her lips were soft and full and her taste was sweet, damn near addictive. On some level, Luke did understand addiction.

He was an adrenaline junkie and that was every bit as addictive as a drug.  ButDevon?  Man, the taste of her could easily beat that.  Screw skydiving.  Just kissing Devon Manning got his blood pumping like nothing he’d ever felt before. Cupping her chin in his hand, he angled her head to the side and deepened the kiss.

He waited for her to pull away.  The hesitation, the caution he’d expected was there but she didn’t pull away.  Luke ached to pull her closer against him, to deepen the contact.  Through their clothes, he could feel the heat of her body and he already knew how silken soft her skin was.  He needed to feel more.

Ached to feel more.

Her body all but vibrated against his, with heat, with hunger–and hesitation.  Luke would be damned if he caused her a second’s fear so instead of pushing for more, instead of sliding his hands under her shirt, instead of letting them roam over the denim covered curves of her hips and butt, he touched only her chin and jaw, his fingers spread wide and holding her still for his kiss.  His other hand, he kept clenched in a fist at his side.

Devonswayed closer.  Luke felt the last of his control slipping away and he either had to take more–or stop.  Luke went with stopping, slowly pulling away so he could stare at her.  “There’s something here,Devon.  You can’t tell me you don’t feel it.”

BAMM | B & N | Book Depository | IndieBound | Amazon | Powell’s

**I’m hoping the Kindle/Nook/ebook pricing will drop shortly.  Please note, I have absolutely NO control over this. Don’t yell at me pretty please.

A Cornucopia of Naughty

I like titles.

Sometimes, I’m lucky enough to hit upon a title that spins the whole story. Five Ways ‘Til Sunday and its sequel, Fournicopia, are two prime examples.

Not that I didn’t know before I started that the stories would revolve around a group of guys, best friends, who happened to Memphis cops. But really, that’s all I had when I started. That, and an idea of a countdown, a smorgasbord of wicked delights, where each man met his match, plucked by love one at a time.

In Five Ways, I had the title, then happened to glance at my personal “vision board” where my bucket list is pinned. Mine includes all the places I want to see, the family experiences I want to share before I die. But what about sexual experiences? Could my heroine have her own naughty little bucket list? From there, the story wrote itself.

Fournicopia came from me doodling titles on a piece of paper. What could I use that had  the word “four” in it. Well, none that satisfied me. Then a slip of the tongue as I was playing with words, gave me the idea. Fournicopia—a morphing of “cornucopia” (a horn of plenty—now there’s a visual!) and “fornication”…

I never said I was into subtle.

Forget the sugar. Send her the spice.

Delta Heat, Book 2

Gus Taggert knows a setup when he sees one. The doughnut shop his police officer buddies have sent him to, Cornucopia, is too frilly. Too pink. Then the woman behind the counter serves up a mini-lesson in submission that leaves him ready and willing to obey her order to see her tonight at La Forge BDSM club.

The large, burly cop is exactly the kind of alpha guy that newly minted Domme Aislinn Darby has been dying to tie up and spank. Yet after she puts him through his paces, she finds herself eager to let him take control—something she’s never before enjoyed with a man.

Determined to find out once and for all if she has what it takes to control a scene, she orders him up for one more go. Only this time, she intends to ensure he remembers who’s in charge. She’s even willing to offer a little bribe: accept her dictates, and his reward is her—any way he wants her.

Except when it’s time for payback, it comes with several twists she never saw coming.

Warning: When a male sub decides to turn the tables on his pretty Domme, he calls for backup from his best friends. Contains scenes with m/m/f, m/f/m, f/f, spanking, restraints, and an orgy of pleasure no woman can resist. 

 

Gus Taggert knew it was a cliché. A cop in a doughnut shop. The officers waiting for him to arrive for the sergeant’s morning meeting didn’t like making the run because of the inevitable roll of the eyes or smartass grin they’d get standing in line.

However, he didn’t mind being the “doughnut guy”. The plus for being the brunt of any jokes was that he ate for free. That was okay with him. He took any pointed looks or lame jokes in stride. He was an affable guy. Hard to rile.

He’d learned long ago to stifle his anger and look for the good in people, even when they messed up. Being oversized and strong, he’d always had to be more careful throwing his weight around. People could get hurt, and that wasn’t why he’d been drawn to law enforcement. He wasn’t a bully in a uniform.

Gus liked being a cop. Liked what it stood for. Loved the dark navy uniform and the camaraderie of his brother cops. He didn’t mind that his closest buds were all moving on to bigger and better things. He liked being a beat cop. Liked patrolling the neighborhood he lived in and getting to know the people he protected.

His father had been a small-town cop, and his father before him had been the sheriff of their little Arkansas berg. But then his mom had moved to Memphis—not because she’d wanted to, but because when his mom and dad divorced, she’d wanted to start fresh where everyone didn’t know her business and didn’t whisper to her ex about who she was seeing next.

Gus had missed his old school and friends, but had a natural gift for making new ones. That he was big and brawny, quick on his feet despite his size, had made him a natural for the football team.

And that’s where he’d met Jackson Teague and Craig Eason, who surprisingly enough wanted to be cops, too, when they graduated.

They’d all gone to college together, applied for the police academy and been accepted. That’s where they’d met the remaining members of their current posse, Beau McIntyre and Mondo Acevedo.

So, Gus was never lonely. He had his peeps, a job he loved, a city that kept him on his toes. And today, he was on his way to explore a new doughnut shop.

Mondo, although now in vice and no longer attending the station-house morning meetings, had given him a roll of bills the night before. “Treat the guys to doughnuts. On me.”

Gus had glanced at the roll. “This is too much.”

“Not for the place I want you to go.”

He should have known from the gleam in Mondo’s dark brown eyes that something was up, but Gus liked to think the best of people. Maybe Mondo really did just want to treat the guys to something special.

Well, it was special all right. Not like any doughnut shop Gus had ever seen before. He stood on the street in front of the small store front, eyeing the painted glass window with its pink awning, and felt the first rumbles of misgiving.

Cornucopia. He’d had to Google it the night before to get the address and see what the name meant. A horn of plenty. A familiar Thanksgiving ornament. But there weren’t ears of corn or squashes spilling from the dark pink horn painted on the glass. Doughnuts looking like Christmas presents, painted with ribbons and sparkling with stars, spilled from the mouth of the horn.

All the pink and frothy cuteness made him itch. However, he’d been given a wad of cash and a mission to buy a couple dozen doughnuts from this specific shop. For once, his face burned at the idea.

Hitching up his utility belt, he blew out a deep breath that billowed his cheeks, and pushed the glass door. A bell at the top tinkled.

Inside, the shop was pretty much what he’d expected—pale purple tiled flooring, white-painted iron bistro tables, boxes decorated in frou-frou paper and ribbons stacked at one end of the sparkling clean glass-front counter.

Thankfully, the shop was empty. Maybe he could back out, say it’d been closed when he came by, and he could hit a Dunkin’ Donuts on the way to the station house.

As soon as he’d made up his mind to leave, he heard a stirring from the back, and rather than be caught with one foot still on the sidewalk outside like he was scared to come in, he stepped through the door and held the bell so it didn’t chime again.

“Have a thing for bells?” came a husky feminine voice.

His gaze darted back to the counter, his cheeks filling with heat. A woman stood there, every bit as pretty and dainty as her little shop, with dark red hair, pale-as-dinner-china white cheeks and large brown eyes. The kind of woman he avoided like the plague because he always felt like a lumbering bear beside them.

What had she asked? Oh, yeah, the bells. He didn’t have a thing for them, he’d only wanted to be quiet and not charge into the place like a bull in a china shop. “No, ma’am.”

“That’s a nice start,” she said, her voice dropping again into a sexy, shivering whisper.

Gus’s cheeks burned hotter, because he knew she’d just made a joke and he didn’t understand it. Further, meeting her amused gaze proved surprisingly difficult. He had the urge to duck his head. To wait for permission to come closer.

Her amusement faded. “Come in, officer,” she said with brisk efficiency. “Can I help you with something?”

He cleared his throat, scuffed his boots on the doormat, like that was why he’d paused coming in, and stepped deeper inside the shop. “I’m just here to buy some doughnuts.”

“I don’t sell just doughnuts.” Her voice sharpened.

Had he insulted her somehow? He came closer to the counter. “They’re pretty doughnuts.”

“I’m a trained pastry chef. These are gourmet doughnuts.”

Like he’d said, they were pretty, but he didn’t get what it was she expected him to say. He thrust his hand into his pocket and took out the roll of bills Mondo had given him. “Mondo said you’d fix me up.”

“Mondo…” Her eyes sparkled for a moment, then narrowed. “Show me which you’re interested in.”

He reached out to point at one confection sitting on a tray atop the glass counter. The doughnut looked more like a pretty cupcake and was covered in glaze with star-shaped silver beads glinting on the top. “Some of these?”

Her hand shot out and slapped the top of his. Not hard, but the loud crack it made startled him. “Ma’am?” he asked, startled she’d dared smack an officer of the law.

Enter a Dark World…

Check the comments for the name of the winner! ~DD

* * *

Do you like a dash of scary with the your paranormal. How about heaping tablespoon of kink? Then here’s a series for you. Femme Noir. Even if you don’t think you’d like a strictly f/f book, these will surprise you, tempt you. And the stories are just too damn intriguing for you not to want more.

Post a comment, and you’ll be entered in a drawing for a free download of the first book in this series, Bitten in the Big Easy. I’ll post the winner here on Friday!

Here’s a snippet from the just released, Charmed in the Big Easy

From “The Mambo’s Door”, part 2 of Charmed:

Ingrid Kassel is a fledgling witch, uncertain and not in complete control of her powers, especially after drinking a double-shot of vampire blood. With the same instructions as MeLeah—retrieve an object buried with a daughter of the Voodoo Queen—she angers the spirit guarding the tomb and finds herself entering a shadowy limbo, where she meets beautiful Marie, living in fear of a demon who also desires the black magic candle infused with the powerful mambo’s blood. In desperation, Marie tricks Ingrid, capturing her and seducing her to charge the candle for her own bid for freedom.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Marie sat on the rickety wooden porch that stretched the length of the cabin on stilts, watching the path atop the narrow bern as she did most days. The bayou was quiet, something that calmed her mind and heart after a night of terrors. She wished she could sleep, to dream of another time, another place. To relive the past and pretend she still had time to change her destiny.

But those who lived in this realm never slept. And daydreams took on lives of their own. So she watched, her eyes unblinking, gazing down the narrow path leading deeper into the dark waters.

For a moment she thought maybe she had drifted into a dream, because the figure striding boldly down the path wasn’t familiar, didn’t belong. It wasn’t Baron Samedi with his top hat perched jauntily on his head, ready to deliver another warning with a smile and his dead eyes.

No, it was a woman, a pretty one, dressed like a man, wearing dark trousers and a shirt that hugged her small breasts. A hat covered her hair, but blonde strands hung beside her face—her very red, sweaty face.

The woman strode toward her porch, not stopping until she stood at the base of her steps. “You Marie?” she asked, tilting back her head.

Marie sat very still, clutching the arms of her rocking chair. A new voice. A new face. A pretty woman. Was this one of the baron’s many tests? She unglued her tongue from where it was stuck to the top of her dry mouth. “Oui. I am. Who asks?”

The woman’s crystal-blue eyes sparkled with life. Her furrowed brows bespoke impatience. “Ingrid Kassel,” she said, her voice brisk. “You have something I need.”

“As do you, chérie,” Marie said, a smile tugging at her mouth. Something she hadn’t done in a long time, but the look of irritation on the woman’s face told her this wasn’t some dead-eyed phantom sent by the loa of this limbo-land.

Ingrid, Marie repeated silently. Not a pretty name. It was as rigid as the woman’s militant posture. Still, the blonde was real, warm, breathing—and so attractive that long-dormant desires stirred inside Marie.

Who was she? What was she doing here? The woman’s pale face and wheat-colored hair betrayed Nordic origins. Why had she not been consigned to their realm, to frigid Hel? Had she somehow angered the baron on her journey to death? Or had she committed some great crime against him? Best to be careful.

“What do you seek?”

“A talisman. A candle your mother gave you.”

Marie startled. “Well, you can’t have it. The candle’s powerful magick. It’s best it stays with me.” The candle was her only weapon, her only hope. This woman would have to pry it from her cold, dead fingers.

Oh yes—she was already dead.

Marie’s interest in the woman was piqued. Her ennui lifted. She rarely had visitors. And to have someone asking about the candle… She wondered again if the baron was trying to get her prize. If so, he was destined to be disappointed. Again.

She grinned at pretty Ingrid’s reddening face.

“I’ve come a long way to find you.”

“Then you must be tired,” Marie drawled. “Why not rest on my porch?”

Ingrid blew an exasperated breath. “Marie Laveau. That’s you, right? The second one?”

What did the girl know? Did she know that “little Marie” had borrowed her mother’s fame, even impersonated her to increase her reputation and the heft of her purse? All without any true calling. Not like her mother had possessed.

“I’m the daughter,” she said with a nod.

The woman climbed three steps. “You performed good works, for the benefit of the people of New Orleans. You’d be doing that again—if you gave me the candle.”

Oh, Marie had performed all right. She’d given grand displays before thousands, using magicians’ tricks to fool the masses. She’d made impotent love potions, performed exorcisms on the mad. For money.

“What great calamity has sent you to this realm?”

“A vampire, Elizabeth Bathory, the Blood Countess herself, is in New Orleans. And she’s using witches, turning them into her minions to increase her powers. We think she intends a bloodbath. To turn the city into her personal hunting ground.”

“I’ve never heard of her. And she’s only a vampire, not a god. She has weaknesses the livin’ can exploit.”

“She’s using magick. There’s no telling what she can do now. We must stop her.”

“We?” Marie said, raising a brow.

“My coven sisters and myself.”

“You seem to be forgettin’ somethin’, gal.”

Ingrid’s sudden exhale billowed her cheeks. “What’s that? Do you need tribute, too?”

Marie swept aside her question. “You’re dead. How can you hope to deliver any talisman to your sisters when you’re trapped here?”

“But I’m not dead. I entreated Ma’man Brigit to open your tomb so I could find the candle. This is where she led me.”

Marie held still while Ingrid’s words churned inside her mind. “You’re livin’? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“I swear it’s true.” Ingrid climbed another step and held out her hand. “You can touch me if you don’t believe it.”

Marie ignored the pale hand. “You can touch me, too. It tells me nothin’.”

Ingrid dropped her hand and rubbed it against the side of her trousers. “You have powers. Use them to discern whether I’m telling you the truth.”

It was on the tip of Marie’s tongue to tell her she didn’t possess any powers or supernatural talents. She wasn’t her mother.

However, the woman standing in front of her did. Perhaps this was her chance to charge the candle and use it for her own purpose.

“You’re a rude woman,” Marie said, hardening her face. “You demand somethin’ from me, somethin’ precious, and yet you offer me nothin’ in return.”

“I don’t have anything to give you.” Ingrid’s mouth clamped shut, then opened again with a quick, inward breath. “Oh, except a flashlight that doesn’t work,” she said, drawing something out of her back pocket.

Marie had no idea what a flashlight was. She gave a dismissive wave toward the cylindrical item the pale woman clutched. “I been alone in this small house for a long time. I have few guests.” Unless you counted the undead things that surrounded her tiny cabin in the darkness. “I can make you tea. You can rest.” She let her gaze slip down the lithe body of the young woman. “Perhaps we can negotiate a price.”

Ingrid’s eyebrows shot skyward. “I don’t have time for this.”

Marie snorted. “Time has no meanin’ here. You have all the time you need.”

The blonde’s head shook. “I don’t understand.”

Marie glanced across the clearing toward the darkening bayou. “Darkness comes. When the light fades, you must be inside this house or you’ll die of a certainty.”

Ingrid darted a nervous glance behind her. “What happens when it gets dark?”

“Do you know where you’ve come?” Marie asked softly, using the voice that had enticed thousands into believing she was magickal.

“Not really.”

“This be neither heaven nor hell.”

“Purgatory?”

“A place of atonement. A place where one learns lessons and where one is judged before movin’ on to her destination.”

Ingrid’s eyes softened in concern. “You’ve been here a long time.”

“There be no long or short time here. Did you not hear me, gal? Time here is measured by light and darkness, just as it is in the land of the livin’. But it has no meanin’. If I meet my maman in some far-off day, she won’t know I lived decades after her death. I died a much older woman than what you see now.”

The softness faded, replaced again with an impatient scowl. “I really don’t have time for this. If it’s going to be dark soon, I need that candle now.”

The sounds of insects—flies and crickets—began to rise. Rustling in the darkest parts of the forest changed to large crashes. Gentle, lapping waves became agitated splashes.

Ingrid looked behind her. “What was that?”

“Night has come. Come inside now!”

“The tomb I came through isn’t far.”

“You won’t make it. Come inside, gal.”

Night fell in an instant, like a curtain suddenly lowering. Marie shoved off her chair, waved a hand in front of her to find the woman, and gripped her arm to pull her up the stoop and through the doorway just as the first of the creatures screeched from the forest’s edge.