Friday, December 26, 2014
Monday, December 22, 2014
Today, I'm featuring A KISS FOR MISS KINGSLEY, a new Regency short story by best-selling author Collette Cameron.Olivia Kingsley didn’t expect to fall in love and receive a secret marriage proposal two weeks into her first Season. However, one dance with Allen Wimpleton, heir to a viscountcy, and her fate is sealed. Or so she thinks until her eccentric and ailing father, unaware of Allen’s proposal, announces he’s moving the family to the Caribbean for a year. ... In two days.
Here's the blurb:
Here's the blurb:
Allen begs Olivia to elope to Scotland, knowing her father will refuse his offer of marriage after such a brief acquaintance with Olivia. Having recently lost her mother, and fearing for her father’s health, she refuses, pleading with Allen to wait for her until she returns to England. Angry at her hesitancy, and unaware of her father’s ill health, Allen demands she choose—him or her father.
Heartbroken at his callousness, but thankful he’s revealed his true nature before she married him, Olivia turns her back on their love. The year becomes three, enough time for her broken heart to heal, and after her father dies, Olivia returns to England. Coming face to face with Allen, she realizes she never purged him from her heart and once again the flames of love ignite, but is it too late? Does Olivia have any hope of winning Allen’s heart once more, or has he found another?
Here's an excerpt:
“This is a monumental mistake.” Fingering the ruby pendant hanging at her neck, Olivia Kingsley peeked out the window as the conveyance rounded the corner onto Berkeley Square. Carriage upon carriage, like great shiny beetles, lined up beside an ostentatious manor.
Guests in their evening finery swarmed before the grand entrance and on the stairs as they waited their turn to enter Viscount and Viscountess Wimpleton’s home.
Trepidation dried her mouth and tightened her chest. Yes, attending the ball was a featherbrained solicitation for disaster. No good could come of it.
God’s toenails, what was I thinking, agreeing to Auntie Muriel’s addlepated scheme?
Olivia flattened against the sky-blue squab in the corner of her aunt’s coach and vehemently shook her head. “I cannot do it.” A curl came loose, plopping onto Olivia’s forehead.
She shoved the annoying tendril beneath a pin, having no doubt the tresses would work their way free before evening’s end. Patting the circlet of rubies adorning her hair, she assured herself the band remained secure.
Her pulse beat an erratic staccato, and she searched for a plausible excuse for refusing to attend the ball after all. “I ... We,” she wiggled her gloved fingers at her brother, Bradford, lounging on the opposite seat, appearing as contented as their fat cat, Socrates, after lapping a saucer of cream, “were not invited.”
Terribly gauche, that. Showing up at a haut ton function, no invitation in hand.
“Nonsense, darling. It’s perfectly acceptable for you to accompany me.” Aunt Muriel, the Duchess of Daventry, patted Olivia’s knee with her plump hand. “Lady Wimpleton is one of my dearest friends. Why, we had our come-out together, and I’m positive had she known that you and Bradford had recently returned to England, she would have extended an invitation herself.”
Not if she knew the volatile way her son and I parted company, she wouldn’t have.
Here's Collette’s Bio:
Her motto for life? You can’t have too much chocolate, too many hugs, or too many flowers.
She’s thinking about adding shoes to that list.
Here are Collette's stalker links:
Blue Rose Romance Blog: http://blueroseromance.com
Amazon Author Page http://www.amazon.com/Collette-Cameron/e/B00CWLYXL2
She’s also on Pinterest, Google+ and LinkedIn, Embracing Romance Blog, Romance Writers Weekly Blog, and Romancing the Era’s Blog too!
Here are the buy links:
Sunday, December 7, 2014
Today I'm featuring SIA, the newly released fantasy novel by Kia Carrington-Russell.
Here's the set-up:
Eighteen years have now passed since the Great Phantom Wolf, Sia, overthrew King Taleb’s rule. The dishonorable monarch was responsible for befriending a human, whom he then used to curse Sia and slaughter her pack. Sia then faced her greatest challenge when she was forced to kill her lover, Kiba—the rightful heir to the throne. Sia murdered Taleb for his transgressions, before resting in peace among her Spirit Pack. Their sacrifices were not forgotten by those whose lives they had defended.
Saith and Keeley now rule over the Kingdom, endeavoring to restore peace and allegiance throughout the land. Their actions are clouded in secrecy so that their daughter—whom they named Sia—should remain protected and unaware. But what are they preparing for?
Sia, now almost eighteen years of age, fights for her independence against her inexpressive guard, Trim, who protects her because of a promise he made to the late Phantom Wolf. Sia must face her own journey to discover the mysteries her world has to offer. Her curiosity is piqued by the fear that shadows all wolves: the threat of the humans. So what happens when she comes across one?
Mistrust and lies decay the Kingdom’s solidarity. Sia must learn whom to trust in both the living and the Spirit World. Where will this lead her? Will her love for Trim be returned? Or will he always cringe when he hears the name that reminds him too greatly of the love he once held for the Great Phantom Wolf?
Here's an excerpt:
Trim walked protectively behind me, on guard after our confrontation. I dropped to my knees beside the young doe, gliding my hand over her nose and soothing her. I reached for the arrow and put her out of her misery. She squealed softly before her breath against my hand ceased. I looked to the blue sky, apologetic that she had been killed too soon. I gave thanks to her for the food that would feed my pack. I turned to Trim, grateful for his presence. “I neither like them nor trust them,” I spoke honestly.
“If you need me, you know I will be close,” Trim said, offering his hand to me to help me stand.
Here's a little about the author:
Kia Carrington-Russell is a young author working on her first series: "The Three Immortal Blades". Kia began writing at the age of fifteen in high school- finding that all her warped and strange dreams were giving her a fantastic new world- and since then she has never looked back.
Kia was born in a small town in Australia, moving around a lot at a young age until finding a stable town where she finished her schooling. Kia found herself enjoying and expressing herself through poetry, short stories and writing, photography, painting and drawing. All these mediums help Kia express the different world that she is so fond of.
In 'Senior Art' Kia focused on feminism and female empowerment; exposing through her work issues and concerns that many people would rather just "sweep under the rug".
In one art installation, Kia made a bed out of Pokémon cards- the concept being that when she slept a new world would come to life and it was the only one she saw and constantly lived in.
Kia now focuses on her photography, writing and self-help blogs on her website: 'Precious Living'. Kia is now keenly working on "The Three Immortal Blades" series knowing that this book has to be shared with the world and that is what she aims to do now.
Kia writes in her Australian home, trying to focus at times on simply what is running through her head, as her cats either terrorize her legs as scratching posts or her puppy barks in her ear for play-time. And as she continues her series, they grow with her book.
Kia is strongly supported by her friends and family and thanks them dearly for being with her along the bumpy road and nothing would please her more than having your support as well.
Here's where you can stalk Kia:
Here's where you can find the book:
Saturday, December 6, 2014
Ayden K. Morgen: Cover Reveal! Devil in Duke's Clothing by @NinaMas...: Forbidden fruit is always the most delicious... Devil in Duke's Clothing , a highly erotic historical romance set in Scotland during t...
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Isn't this a gorgeous cover?
What's inside is just as wickedly delicious.Devil in Duke’s Clothing, an erotic historical romance set in Scotland in 1680, tells the story of an innocent bride's struggles to come to grips with her new husband’s eccentric erotic tastes amidst the instability and hedonism of the reign of Charles II. The book is coming in January from Nina Mason, the author of The Queen of Swords and The Tin Man. Book One in the Royal Pains Trilogy, Devil in Duke's Clothing is highly erotic, features scenes of voyeurism, bondage, flagellation, and a voyeuristic menage.
Here's the blurb:Maggie York, a convent-raised foundling, knows the Duke of Dunwoody’s sexual tastes are a shade or two darker than normal, but marries him anyway—partly because she has no other prospects and partly because, try as she might, she can’t seem to exorcize her desire for the dashing ducal devil. Two years ago, she watched him swive and spank her lady's maid, luring her from the garden of innocence into the orchard of fleshly delights--and she's been hungry for more ever since.
Robert Armstrong, the duke, is a Roman Catholic whose extreme devotions as a child warped his desires as a man. He’s also a slave to the times in which he lives--and to his king. Everything he is, everything he holds dear, depends on staying in Charles II’s good graces. Unfortunately, Maggie isn't the bride the king selected for him. Now, to make amends, the duke must choose between the lesser of two evils: whore his wife or be reduced to a penniless commoner.
Whose interests will Robert choose to serve, his own, the king’s, or the woman he loves?
Here's the trailer (18+ only, please):
Here's an excerpt from the Prologue:
Maggie York had not set out to be a spy.
She’d only come into the housekeeper’s closet to look for a bootlace. It had finally stopped raining and she was eager to escape the musty, smoke-choked prison the castle had become over the past se’nnight. Sick to death of books and needlework, she yearned to be out of doors picking flowers or stalking rabbits, but could do neither of those things until she’d replaced the broken lace on her boots.
Her abigail, as usual, was nowhere to be found, so Maggie had ventured below stairs to apply to the housekeeper for aid. To Maggie’s vexation, Mrs. McQueen was nowhere to be found, either, and, too impatient to await her return, the young ducal ward elected to hunt for the needed item herself.
Now, she was where she should not be and someone was coming. Two someones, actually. If they caught her here, she’d be punished the way she’d been several years past when she’d broken the vase belonging to the duke’s mother. The old duke, the young duke’s late father, had tanned her hide so severely she hadn’t been able to sit down for a full week without wincing.
Fear pumped through Maggie’s veins as the larksome duet drew nearer. The lady was her absent abigail. The gentleman’s laughter she could not place. The duchy employed several male servants—footmen, a valet, a coachman, a gardener, and a handful of strapping young grooms--but the baritone tenor was unlike any of theirs. Neither was it the laugh of the duke’s younger brother, who’d been blessed with a cheerful disposition. The sounds of Hugh’s gaiety echoed so often through the castle’s corridors, she would have known it anywhere.
There was, however, one gentleman residing at Balloch who’d never laughed within range of her hearing. Once or twice, he’d deigned to grace her with a smile—and, Lord bless her—what a thing of beauty ‘twas to behold. Like the sun breaking through the clouds on a gloomy day. The merest glimpse made her bones feel like they were made from tallow. What a pity he was so seldom cheerful.
The laughter grew still louder. As the door opened wider, panic erupted in Maggie’s chest. She could not let them find her snooping like a common thief. Pulse racing, she closed the French doors betwixt closet and room as swiftly and quietly as circumstances permitted.
As luck would have it, the door’s linen curtains were arranged in such a way as to allow her to see into the room without being observed. The man came in first.
Her breath caught when she saw ‘twas none other than the duke himself—in naught but his kilt and shirtsleeves!
Mistress Honeywell, her lady’s maid, soon followed in her usual tartan dress but sans shoes.
Why were they both half undressed? What could they be about?
Maggie bit her lip as she watched in breathless silence.
After locking the door, the duke dropped the key into his sporran and led Mistress Honeywell to a long sofa facing the closet. Maggie’s heart leapt into her throat. She drew back and held her breath. If he saw her, she was doomed.
The maid sat quietly whilst he filled the antimonial cup with Mrs. McQueen’s medicinal whisky. Was the duke ill perchance?
His grace returned to the sofa and handed Mistress Honeywell the whisky. Was it the maid who’d taken ill? If so, why apply to the duke for physick? Maggie could not reason it out.
He stood over the maid as she drank the whisky. Since his back was to the closet, Maggie could not see what passed between them. After a spell, Mistress Honeywell rose and they turned to face one another, providing a perfect view of their full-length profiles.
Maggie expected them to embrace, but they did not.
Instead, Mistress Honeywell set about unlacing her bodice whilst he watched with rapt interest.
The maid wore no stays, but clearly had no need of their support. Her paps, though large, stood as proud and sure as a pair of cockerels.
When Mistress Honeywell was down to her shift, the duke stepped forward, untied the neckline drawstring, and reached inside with both hands.
Maggie swallowed a gasp when he seized both the maid’s breasts and proceeded to knead them like dough. Mistress Honeywell, astonishingly enough, offered no reproach. She only tipped back her head, parted her lips, and emitted a breathy sigh.
How could she abide, let alone enjoy, such exploitation? If a man ever treated Maggie thusly, she’d slap him so hard he’d see stars for a week!
The duke swept the shift off the maid’s shoulders. The thin garment slipped down her body to her ankles. To Maggie’s astonishment, Mistress Honeywell appeared to be unashamed--either by her nudity or his grace’s covetous stares.
By the light of Our Lady’s brow! Such impiety was not to be borne. How could they be so wicked? As Roman Catholics, both had to know what they were doing was sinful.
Here's a wee bit about the author:
She has two books out at present: The Queen of Swords, a darkly erotic Scottish paranormal romance/urban fantasy, and The Tin Man, a political thriller.
Ms. Mason is currently at work on two new series': an erotic historical trilogy titled Royal Pains and a four-part erotic paranormal/fantasy series titled The Knights of Avalon. Devil in Duke's Clothing is book one in Royal Pains. Starry Knight, book one in the Knights of Avalon will be released on August 4, 2015 by Lyrical/Kensington>
When not writing, she works as a communications consultant, doll maker, and home-stager. Born and raised in Orange County, California, Ms. Mason currently lives with her husband, teenage daughter, two rescue cats, and a Westie named Robert just north of Atlanta, Georgia.
Here are the author's stalker links:
Nina Mason's website
Amazon Author's Page
Nina Mason's Blog
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
1 lb. butter (the real deal)
1 full cup sugar (granulated or powdered, depending on your preference--if using powdered, check the quantities on substitution)
3.5 cups all-purpose white flour
Cream butter and sugar. Then add 3 and 1/2 cups flour, 1/2 cup at a time.
Mix well and knead thoroughly. Add more flour if needed. The more you knead, the tastier the shortbread will be.
The easiest way is to simply pat the dough into a round, square, or oblong pan (don't grease the pan; the dough is oily enough), prick with a fork all the through, bake, and cut into pieces after its cooled. I prefer to make individual cookies, so I roll out the dough on a floured surface, cut it into small circles or hearts, and prick with the fork. This year, though, I'm going to use the shortbread cookie press my husband gave me last Christmas to imprint a design into the tops of the cookies.
If you like thicker shortbread, use an 8 x 8--just watch that the bottom doesn't brown. If you like it a little thinner, an 11 x 7.5 x 1.5 (deep) is ideal.
Bake in 300 degree oven for 45-60 minutes--but don't let shortbread get brown on top.
I don't know about you, but I can't wait to see what the other romance writers in the circle had posted. J. J. Devine is the next link in the chain. Here's her blog address: http://definingjjdevine.weebly.com/ramblings-of-a-writer
Don't miss the Romance Weekly Stocking Stuffer Event, which starts at noon today on Facebook. Great authors and awesome giveaways all day long. I'll be hosting at 6 p.m. EST. Here's the link: https://www.facebook.com/events/755193317849577/?ref_dashboard_filter=upcoming
Happy holidays everyone!!
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
I'm back--after a long hiatus brought on by my failure to remember to sign up for the blog circle by the Monday deadline each week. This week, I didn't forget, and I'm so glad because this week, being Thanksgiving and all, the theme is gratitude. What am I grateful for? Where do I begin?
I don't pause often enough to think about all I have to be thankful for. It's so much easier to focus on problems and the lack we feel in the daily grind, so I welcome this opportunity to remember what's good in my life. It's been a tough couple of years for me and my family. I lost my business and, unable to find a job, was forced to sell my house at a sizable loss. I also sold or gave away approximately half my worldly possessions, including some of my prized collections. We needed the money to survive. Our savings was in that house, so, it was a painful thing. With no income, buying another was virtually impossible, so, there were times in the past two years when I wondered if I'd have a roof over my head or enough food on the table.
So, I'm grateful I have a house--a considerably smaller one, but I'm satisfied--and food on the table. After we finish dinner every night, I think (and sometimes say aloud), "Well, nobody's going to bed hungry tonight." We're better off than lots of people, sure. And for everything I have, I am grateful.
I'm grateful for my mother, who's generosity made it possible to buy my house and pay the mortgage when we couldn't otherwise. I'm grateful for my husband, who contributes more than I give him credit for most days, and I'm grateful for my daughter, who's brilliant and funny. I'm grateful for my dog, who keeps me company all day when I write, and I'm grateful for my Facebook friends, who support me and bolster my spirits and are just there when I need someone to talk to.
I'm grateful for my talents, mediocre though I think them, but the drive to create burns within me and I'm glad to have different vehicles for its expression. Otherwise, I'd be bored to tears.
Well, that's probably enough for this week. Happy Thanksgiving, everybody.
Now, off you go to see what Xio Axelrod has to be grateful for. http://www.xioaxelrod.com
Monday, November 24, 2014
Damned Sinner by Jami Denise
(The Jayne Series), Book Three,
can be read as a stand-alone
Here are the links:
Here's the blurb:
Vince Donovan has lost a lot in his life. He has lived life under a code of greed, lies and crime - never allowing anyone to get too close. After losing the empire he fought to build at the hands of a psychotic man in pursuit of revenge, Vince vows to rebuild what he once had. Along with his once protege and now partner, Jayne King, he sets out to create an empire that is based on beautiful women, sex and sin.
Kelsey Franklin is young, beautiful, sexy and should be forbidden. Kelsey is also the one woman that Vince has vowed never to have and yet is the one woman he wants and needs.
When love happens in the unlikeliest of circumstances Vince must ask himself - Is love fit for the damned and the sinner?
Here's an excerpt:
Her lips were glossy and covered with a thick sheen of red. I stared at her mouth while dragging a finger across them and let the paint follow a path down her chin, over her neck, and down her chest. The stain coated the light fabric of the white dress—spoiling it, just like I was spoiling her.
“You can see right through this,” I said roughly and dragged a finger underneath the neckline of the dress. Your little pink nipples are pushing right through it—aching and ready for someone to bite them.”
I let my teeth snap in her ear and then sucked the soft skin into my mouth. “A man like me sees a woman in a dress like this, and that’s what he wants. To touch the nipples you so willingly show off, to bite, pull, tug, and suck on them. He wants to pull those sweet little tits into his mouth, let his tongue run over them until your nipples are so hard they hurt.”
She was shaking, but I wasn’t going to stop there. As if to show her exactly what I was talking about, I moved the palm of my hand over her shoulder and down to her chest. I cupped one of her ripe tits in my hand, squeezing softly at first, and then wrapped my fist around it tightly and pulled.
She whimpered, and her knees shook. I was testing her, and so far she failed. As badly as she thought she wanted what I had to give, she had no fucking clue what it meant. She wasn’t ready.
I released her from my grasp and ran my hand over her clavicle, smearing the rotten red mess all over her chest and the top of the dress before moving it down over her belly.
“I could see the valley between your legs when you walked down the hallway,” I growled in her ear. “I could see your little pussy, the sweet V where I’d sink my cock. All I could think about was your long, skinny legs wrapped around my back while I fucked you right there in the hallway.”
She whined. “Please, oh God.” She grabbed the collar of my shirt and tried to pull me closer. “Fuck me, Vince.”
My cock jumped in reply, but I ignored her and went on with my ministrations. I reached the hem of her skirt, and with a swift rip, I yanked it up over her hip. There wasn’t much of it there in the first place, so it was no big task. That pissed me off even more. There were maybe three inches of lift and I could see her pussy.
Rubbing my coarse finger over her soft, silky mound, I stood back and watched her face. I was testing her, but I wasn’t going to push her. If she showed an ounce of regret, I was done. But I had to see where she stood once and for all.
Her eyes fluttered open as if she could read my thoughts. They were as wide as a newborn chick, scared and astonished, but surprised and exhilarated.
But definitely not ready to leave the nest.
I gave her pussy one more swipe of my finger and then a light slap. The shock showed clear in her eyes, and her mouth fell slack with pleasure. I could feel that she was into it, slick and warm and malleable in my hands.
“That’s right, baby,” I said gruffly. “I want to tear this pussy up. I want to make this pussy cry. You have no idea what I want to do to you, and if you don’t stop teasing me, you’re bound to find out.”
She bucked her hips stubbornly, and I narrowed my eyes. Folding my fingers, I gave her clit a hard flick with enough force to knock a dog on its ass.
“You’re not ready for this—or me,” I said, lowering my voice. “I want to defile you in so many ways, but that’s not what you want.”
“Yes,” she said. Her voice shook, and I could feel her heavy heartbeat through her dress.
“I care about what happens to you, Kelsey,” I said as evenly as I could. “That’s why I took you home—where you belonged. If you think walking around in Jayne’s clothes will do you any good, you’re completely wrong. What I want to do with your body is the same thing every other man out there wants. The only difference is, they won’t stop.”
“Don’t stop,” she said weakly, tears sprouting from her eyes. “I can handle anything from you. I love you, and you damn well know it.”
She dropped to her knees abruptly and raised her hands to undo my fly. I had a brief moment of euphoria. This was a regular fantasy of mine to have her on her knees with her mouth on me. It was too fresh and way too clear for me to think straight.
I jerked her up by her shoulders and pinned her back against the wall. “Stop!”
She snarled and fought against my hold on her. “If you don’t want me, why do you care if someone else does?”
I slammed her lightly against the door and leaned forward again so we were eye to eye. “I do want you—that’s not the problem. I want to fuck you. There’s a difference.”
Here's the Jayne Series reading order:
See Jayne Play (The Jayne Series, Book One)
Queen of Hearts (The Jayne Series, Book Two)
Damned Sinner (The Jayne Series, Book Three)
And last but not least, here's the author:
Jami Denise is a romance writer from Southern California. While she waits for the next felon to come along and sweep her off her feet, she writes about swoony bad boys and sassy gals that make them squirm. She also loves cats, cars, cupcake flavored lip balm, and cherry limeade.