Noel Tierney thought she’d have enough time before the predicted storm to make it to her holiday retreat, but the snow hit sooner than expected. Caught unprepared on a treacherous pass, poor visibility and icy conditions lead to a crash. She lay immobile in her vehicle, stranded in a ditch in the most remote leg of her journey.A faceless hero comes to her rescue and Noel has no choice but to wait out the blizzard in her rescuer’s unique cabin nestled in the woods. Everything about Grayson James peaks her curiosity—his valor, air of mystery and most of all, undeniable attractiveness.
For three days and nights, passions are unleashed and unexpected emotions are brought to life. When the storm breaks, Grayson vanishes into thin air, but not before revealing startling news that leaves her questioning her sanity.
Fast forward years later and Noel is in the southernmost part of the United States. She’d come seeking solace after her husband’s tragic death, but what finds her in Key West is more than she ever anticipated.
In the sultry summer, her unbridled winter’s ecstasy resurrects.
And so does the Vampire.
“In the depth of winter I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.”
Born and raised on the Hawaiian island of Oahu, Maya could be seen at her favorite beach, Lanikai, performing with an all-girl band where she played keyboards, guitar and provided vocals, working as editor in her high school’s yearbook and volunteering her time at a humane society through UH of Manoa civic groups.
In 2006, Maya relocated to Colorado. Her crystal blue oceans, waterfalls and eighty-degree year-round weather were traded for four season weather, enchanting forests and majestic mountains, which led to her rekindled love for vampires.
In winter of 2010, she penned her first manuscript and by 2011, Flesh Fantasy was under contract and released by Siren Publishing. To date, Maya’s titles includes Flesh Fantasy, Veil of Seduction, Blood of Luna, and Dark Companion, with Fire and Ice and Crimson Snow being added to her bookshelf by the end of 2014.
Aubrey Wynne’s here today to talk about her delightful book, Merry Christmas, Henry.
Please give her a warm welcome, and be sure to read on for contest details!
Henry, a shy and talented artist, moonlights as a security guard at a museum and loses his heart to a beautiful, melancholy woman in a painting. As his obsession grows, he finds a kindred soul who helps him in his search for happiness. On Christmas Eve, Henry dares to take a chance on love and fulfill his dream.
“The museum will be closing in five minutes. Please make your way to the nearest exit.”
Henry tore his gaze from the painting, and looked around at the weekend crowd hurrying by. No one noticed him. He always blended into the background. Henry the Trifling—that would have been the title of his self-portrait. A soft sigh escaped as he pulled his gray coat over the frayed cuffs of a cotton shirt. There were extraordinary people and there were ordinary people. Henry considered himself less than ordinary. He was insignificant.
“You’ll never amount to nothin’. Just like your worthless father.”
He shrugged off the memory of his mother’s nagging image and looked toward the last group of art enthusiasts headed in his direction.
This was his favorite part of the day. In a crush of people, everyone was equal. No one stood out in the sea of indistinguishable faces. There was no pressure to make witty or charming conversation. Henry liked people but had never been good at interaction. The anonymity of a crowd gave the illusion of belonging. For a man as painfully shy as Henry, it was the only way to mingle in a city like Chicago.
Casting a last wistful look at the lady in the painting, Henry took a deep breath and eased into the middle of the exiting crowd.
Aubrey Wynne resides in the Midwest with her husband, dogs, horses, mule and barn cats. She is an elementary teacher by trade, champion of children and animals by conscience, and author by night. Obsessions include history, travel, trail riding and all things Christmas. She is a proud member of the Coffee Talk Writers. Her debut story, Merry Christmas, Henry, was published in November 2013 by Melange Books, LLC and won E&P Reader’s Choice Best Short Romance 2013.
Hey there, aspiring authors! Ever wondered how an author plots and writes a book?
Wonder no more! Suzie deMello is here to tell you the secrets, or at least a few of them.
Plotting and Planning is Suzie’s second writing treatise, following the best-selling Write This, Not That!
Here’s the blurb:
Another engaging, witty writing primer from Suz deMello, whose Write This, Not That! was an Amazon bestseller. Plotting, point of view, character creation, conflict and much more are examined in this brief but pithy writing manual. A must for the serious writer who wants the basics without boredom.
Says bestselling author Kylie Brant: “Sue has written a concise manual that is valuable for both beginning and seasoned writers. Going to write a book? Read this first!”
From Silver James: “Suz deMello’s PLOTTING AND PLANNING is a concise, informative, and entertaining look at writing a novel.”
Here’s an excerpt to pique your interest:
How does an author write a book?
Unfortunately for aspiring authors, this is not an easy question to answer. It’s tantamount to asking, Where do authors get their ideas? which, believe me, is our least favorite question. I often tell people I get them at Sears—they’re sold by the dozen in the basement between the barbecues and the bikes.
In reality, I get my ideas from almost anywhere. Maybe a magazine article about a place or event. Perhaps someone I meet or something a person says may trigger a train of thought that will eventually lead to a book. Maybe travel to someplace new ignites the creative spark that will inspire me.
Here’s a better question: What are the building blocks of plot and story?
If you like what you read, here’s where you can buy the ebook:
Best-selling, award-winning author Suz deMello, a.k.a Sue Swift, has written seventeen romance novels in several subgenres, including erotica, comedy, historical, paranormal, mystery and suspense, plus a number of short stories and non-fiction articles on writing. A freelance editor, she’s held the positions of managing editor and senior editor, working for several including Totally Bound and Ai Press. She also takes private clients.
Her books have been favorably reviewed in Publishers Weekly, Kirkus and Booklist, won a contest or two, attained the finals of the RITA and hit several bestseller lists.
A former trial attorney, her passion is world travel. She’s left the US over a dozen times, including lengthy stints working overseas. She’s now writing a vampire tale and planning her next trip.
Rolf Margenau is here today to tell us about his exciting book, High Andes. He’s also hosting a contest – woot!
More on that later, for now here’s Rolf.
by Rolf Margenau
Wylie Cypher, suffering from a mid-life crisis, decides to challenge fading youth by taking a trekking vacation across the Cordillera Blanca (White Mountains) of the High Andes in Peru with his daughter, Mercy, just graduated from college. It is 1981.
While working with legal clients in Lima, he inadvertently acquires documents that contain explosive and damning evidence about the Peruvian government’s extreme interrogation techniques. He learns that something is amiss when police detain and torture him. He loses his little toe. A series of misunderstandings precipitate a heart-pounding chase across the high mountains as two sets of villains – government thugs and members of the communist guerrilla Sendero Luminoso – seek out the Cypher group with murderous intent. Combat in the thin air of the mountains, deceptions of numerous sorts, hairbreadth escapes, torture, action in underground caves populated with mummies, and unexpected plot twists fill the pages of this book.
It is in the United States’ national interest to observe the growing communist threat in its hemisphere, so C.I.A. agents are involved. While Wylie and his cohorts are running for their lives, the author also reports on international smuggling of historical artifacts, the fate of a 600-year-old child mummy, and the ancient spirit of the mountains, Pachamama.
The special child seemed almost weightless in his arms as he approached the niche in the rocks where he intended to place her. Ayar continued to gauge his ascent carefully, constantly scanning the path below and the horizon. Special concern was necessary, as the Chimu had not yet settled the war between their nations. They still sent out raiding parties even as far south as Huaraz.
The body of the four-year-old girl he carried was the daughter of Cuca, wife of Maita Capac. Cuca herself was now sick with the plague that lay like a dark hand on the people of the White Mountains. That disease had quickly taken the life of her firstborn, the lively and adored Cocohuay, named for the turtledoves kept in a dovecote outside her window.
The sickness spread almost faster than the noble runners could report. There was news about strange white people at Tumbes in the north. They wore silver jackets and sat on four-legged beasts three times the size of the largest llama. They had huge wooden houses that went on the sea, and sticks that carried thunder.
The plague began at Tumbes, and the wooden houses left two of the strange men there and sailed away. Huayna Capac sent to have them brought to him, but they were lost along the way. Now the ruler’s people in Chavín de Huántar were dying. The embalmer’s services were in high demand.
Cuca called Ayar when her little daughter died. As wife of the regional administrator, Cuca was highly placed and her demands took priority. Not that the embalmer would have denied her. Once he saw the frail little child carefully arranged on the low table among sweet-smelling grasses and flowers, and noted the florid flush of her face and body, his heart went out to the grieving mother. He would do all he could to prepare the little girl.
The author of Public Information has had a varied career. He has been a scrub nurse in an operating room, a professional photographer, a soldier during the Korean War, a correspondent for the Pacific Stars and Stripes, an attorney specializing in international corporate law, a volunteer executive running a not-for-profit dedicated to housing the homeless, a manager of large and small businesses and, lately, an author and Master Gardener.
He first published short stories as an English Major from Yale. Finding the double-digit pay for that work insufficient to support a wife and one and a half children, he went to law school in hopes of finding better paying work. Fortunately, that proved to be the case.
When the author discovered that his wife kept all the 300 plus letters he wrote her from Korea, he decided to use that material as the basis for a novel about the Korean War. It was a story he had wanted to tell for many years.
Public Information is based on his experiences as NCO in charge of a combat Infantry Division Public Information (hence the title) Office in Korea. It tells the story of Wylie Cypher, a hapless young soldier who arrives in Korea in the midst of bloody combat. Wylie manages to survive his sixteen-month tour of duty as Margenau recounts in gory, ribald, poignant and accurate detail. His adventures are recounted in military jargon and his sometimes abrasive involvement with the “Army way” describes the good, bad and incredible of life in the military. Along the way, Wylie manages to find and lose love.
Other veterans have found the story authentic and highly illustrative of the background and details of the Korean War. Publisher’s Weekly commented on the author’s ability to create a sense of time and place. During the summer of 2012, Public Information became an Amazon.com Kindle best seller.
Pistils and Poetry is the author’s second book. It is a compilation of Margenau’s favorite Elizabethan poems (Shakespeare, Marlowe, Donne, and numerous others) juxtaposed with the author’s photographs of flowers. It is a rich and engaging poetry book, enhanced and complimented by luscious photos of flowers. The book is considered as an elegant way to tease reluctant poetry readers into an appreciation of the beautiful sentiments and language of long ago masters of the English language.
Encouraged by the reception for his first novel, Margenau published Master Gardener, his second novel, in March 2013. It is a story that explores conflicts between the benefits of engineered crops and their potential for ecological disaster. Wylie Cypher, the hero of Public Information, is now seventy-five years old. He uses his life and legal experience to defend one of the women in his life, Anne Proctor, against the machinations of malevolent BIG AG. Senior citizens band together as eco-terrorists to save the monarch butterfly, and Dick Geier, the ruthless and profane CEO of BIG AG, engages in corporate shenanigans that reflect current headlines. The story is set in Middletown, New Anglia, not too far from Philadelphia, and episodes along the Amazon River in Peru bracketed by episodes along the Amazon River in Peru..
His third novel, published in August 2014, is High Andes. The central narrative follows Wylie Cypher, in his mid-forties and suffering from a serious mid-life crisis, and his daughter, Mercy, as they try to elude various villains chasing them across the White Mountains of Peru. The story deals with armed insurrection by Maoist guerillas, smuggling ancient artifacts, “disappearances” of troublemakers, a five hundred year old child mummy, and the CIA.
Rolf Margenau lives in rural New Jersey with his wife, three dogs, a 1932 Chrysler convertible, and a flower garden favored by monarch butterflies. He is now working on his fourth novel. Tentatively titled National Parks, the story recounts what happens, in the near future, when Congress decides to nationalize America’s National Parks.
I’m pleased to have Callie Gold here today to give us a sneak peek into Ash’s Fire, and there’s a contest!
More on that later. For now, here’s Callie…
by Callie Gold
On sale at Amazon for 99 cents!
Smart and successful Attorney Jordan Cohen didn’t expect Sam, her husband and best friend, to invoke their old pact for non-exclusivity. But after twenty-some years together, he did.
A chance meeting with Ari Ash, the tall-dark-and-yummy internationally renowned concert pianist, sends Jordan into his arms. Ari’s mysterious ways and magical lovemaking pull the conflicted Jordan into a whirlwind affair.
When Ari is implicated in an execution-style murder, she wants to believe Ari is innocent, but one troubling fact after another keeps popping up. Jordan turns to the only man she can trust with her lover’s life – her brilliant criminal defense attorney husband.
Is Ari a killer?
When Ari is charged, Jordan fears the worst: a life sentence for her lover, exposure of her affair and the ruin of her law firm and irreparable damage to her husband’s reputation. But she can’t let go of Ari’s love…
With the trial just days ahead, Jordan races to save her lover, her husband and herself.
Desire, suspicion, love and loyalty all clash in the fast-paced Mediterranean city of Tel-Aviv.
“What I should have told you earlier,” Sam looked at her intently, “was that I need to explore some stuff on my own, and that I’m interested in going out with one of the exercise instructors from the health club. I’m not asking you for permission. I’m just letting you know because I don’t want to sneak around, behind your back. But I do need to do this, to see what it feels like.” All these incomprehensible words he blurted out in one breath, and then he took a sip from his glass and closed his mouth. Done.
Jordan stared, trying to make sense.
“You want to fuck your gym coach?” she finally asked.
“Don’t be crude,” said Sam the Fastidious.
“From the health club I signed you up for? So you won’t lose what’s left of your muscle tone?”
“Jordan, stop it.”
“Answer my question,” she snapped.
“I want to have sex with another woman, yes,” Sam sighed.
Jordan saw the hunger in him.
“Spare me your clean-speak,” she said. She stared some more, her hurt rising like vapor from a radioactive swamp. “Why? What’s wrong with the sex we have?”
“Nothing,” Sam said, a little too quickly. “I just can’t live with the idea that you will be the last woman I ever sleep with. And the opportunity presented itself.”
“Opportunity presented itself?” Jordan said, anger solidifying into sharp crystals in her chest.
“Jordan, please. We’ve talked about this many times before. You were okay with it. It was your idea, actually, if memory serves.”
“Theoretical idea,” Jordan said. She knew he was right, but still.
“I don’t want to lie to you,” Sam said. “That’s just something we don’t do. And yes, I want to try something different, I need some variety. We have great sex together, but—”
“But what?” Jordan snapped at her husband of twenty-five years.
“But it’s the same. Has been for years. And I met this woman and she courted me and she’s attractive and we talked, and she invited me and I want to go.”
“So you said yes,” Jordan said, waiting to wake up wrapped in Sam’s arms.
Sam rolled the lazy liquid in his glass. Then he gulped what was left of it, put it on the coffee table. “I love you,” he said.
“Don’t,” she said, and curled tighter into her blanket.
“And I want to know you’re okay with this.”
“You want me to sanction it.”
“Yes,” Sam said gently.
“You petted me like a dog,” Jordan said, her eyes threatening to leak again.
“I didn’t mean it that way, I’m sorry,” Sam looked at her, shaken. “That’s what you felt?”
“I’m really sorry, Jordan,” Sam said. “I should have just told you.”
Callie Gold is an Israeli married to an American. She admits that marrying her husband was the smartest decision she has ever made in her entire life. Together they have raised three beautiful children.
Callie is a lawyer, and a Jew, and what’s worse – an Israeli. That means that she’s an in-your-face kinda gal. There is no Hebrew word for ‘subtle’. Callie’s husband says that she has too many opinions, and he’s right. But she’s also open and friendly and very curious, and is known to start intimate conversations with the Falafel guy.
Since she stopped litigating, Callie’s husband says she’s become a much nicer person (Callie’s husband is almost always right, which makes living with him really good and seriously annoying, all at the same time).
When she’s not writing, Callie does divorce mediation and marriage counseling, which, she believes will save her a good seat in that place up there. She also cooks and bakes and you will always find home-baked bread in her freezer, next to the chocolate gelato that her husband makes.
Callie writes because writing creates another life for her, a life in which she can do whatever she wants. In order to write she has become a time thief.
Above all, Callie is a lover of people and she can never get enough of human interaction. So feel free to start up a conversation with her!
Oh, these are good! Kelsie has two titles to show us today – the covers are awesome!
Please give Kelsie a warm welcome, and leave a comment to show your love.
The White Witch’s Legacy 2: Eryn
Eryn Lancaster is grieving the loss of the only family she’s ever known, her grandmother Clarisse. She wants to sell their little business and move away from the village she has lived in all her life, in order to get over the pain of loss. Then a gorgeous business man walks into her little bookstore-cafe with an offer to purchase and turns her whole world upside down. But Eryn is in for the shock of her life when she finds out who she really is and just why Asher Valentino sought her out.
Ash is on a mission to help his brother’s girlfriend, Raven, find her long lost sister, in order to defeat an evil sorcerer. But when he finally finds the enchanting beauty called Eryn Lancaster, the mission becomes the last thing on his mind. He wants her and he plans to have her by any means necessary. He plays a dangerous game of deceit by omission that almost gets him the prize he desires most, Eryn’s body. But he soon learns that lies and lust could cost him the prize that he needs the most, her love.
A Siren Erotic Romance
Eryn knew it was rude to stare, but she couldn’t help herself. God knew it was very rare that such a fine specimen of manhood even passed by the threshold of this antiquated store.
Of their own will, her eyes traveled down from his face to peruse the rest of him, and she was not disappointed in the least. He was tall, at least a good foot or so taller than her petite frame, with lean muscles that spoke of strength without unnecessary bulk. She could only imagine how absolutely fantastic he would look without the black button-down shirt he was wearing. The long sleeves were cuffed to his elbows, the fabric stretching across his chest, and she imagined that, if removed, it would reveal sinuous muscles and not an ounce of spare fat on his frame.
“Hello?” the stranger said. His smooth as silk, raspy voice broke into Eryn’s reverie and snapped her back to reality. That’s when she realized that he was staring at her so intently that his gorgeous eyes were literally smoldering. Heat suffused her face in an instant, the fire in his eyes sparking a yearning within her that was totally unexpected. She blinked rapidly in a bid to pull herself together, and hoped to God there wasn’t actually drool oozing out of the side of her mouth.
“Oh! Um, yes, hello,” she stuttered in a rushed, breathy voice that made her blush as she heard it. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Please forgive my rudeness. You must be the gentleman that’s interested in purchasing the store, right?”
There was a slight pause and Eryn noticed a flicker of confusion cross his face, but it disappeared so quickly that she couldn’t really be sure. “Ah…yeah, that’s right! I came to take a look around,” he replied, almost as if he’d forgotten why he was here. That struck Eryn as odd, but she didn’t dwell on it, although it would be too bad if such a gorgeous man wasn’t altogether right in the head. She almost chuckled at that thought.
“Well then, right this way, please,” she told him, stepping aside to allow him to enter the small store.
He stepped across the threshold, his steps faltering almost imperceptibly as he did so. He quickly regained his equilibrium, though, making her wonder again if she was imagining things. He walked confidently into the cluttered room so she could close the door behind them. She watched closely as he shoved his hands into his pockets and looked around the room several times before turning back to her.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Asher Valentino,” he said with a devastatingly disarming smile.
He withdrew one slender yet strong hand from his pocket and leaned over to offer it to her. Eryn licked her unexpectedly parched lips before reaching out to accept his gesture. The moment he enclosed her small hand in his firm grip, heat shot up her arm and her whole body began to tingle with a sensation she’d never felt before in her life. Every nerve ending seemed to come alive, the hairs on her neck prickled, and her eyes flared with an awareness that was almost tangible. Utterly unnerved by the strange occurrence, she quickly pulled her hand out of his hold, offering a feeble, apologetic smile for any offense he might take to her response.
“Um, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Valentino,” she told him, then had to clear her throat when she realized how husky she sounded.
His smile remained in place, but his eyes narrowed slightly as he continued to study her. “Oh no, Ms. Winthrop, the pleasure is definitely all mine. I must admit, though, you aren’t who I was expecting when I saw the name Clarisse Winthrop.”
Eryn froze for a second at the mention of her grandmother. It was still surreal to think of her in the past tense, but she took a deep breath and pasted as bright a smile as she could muster onto her lips. “That’s probably because my name isn’t Clarisse Winthrop. I’m Eryn Lancaster. Clarisse was my grandmother. This place belonged to her before she passed on.”
The minuscule widening of his eyes was the only indication that he was surprised by the information she had just shared. Then his face took on a look of genuine sympathy, compassion shining in the depth of his lovely eyes. “Well, Ms. Lancaster, please forgive my assumption. And I’m very sorry for your loss. Were you two very close?” he asked.
She should probably have been taken aback by the frank question, but somehow, it didn’t strike her as the least bit odd. Her lips curled in a sad smile and she turned away from him, not trusting herself to be strong in the face of the compassion she saw in his eyes. “Yes, actually. She was my only family. I lost my parents a long time ago.” She heaved in a huge breath in an effort to shake off the morose feeling that had enveloped her. “Anyway, Clarisse lived a full, happy life, so mourning for her would be pointless. Why don’t we get on with that tour you came for?”
He gave a rueful smile, acknowledging her wish to change the subject with a brisk nod. “Of course. Lead the way,” he told her.
Instantly, his hands found her drenched pussy and began to caress her. Then he was leaning down, his head settling between her spread legs and his mouth finding her hot sex. She quivered and moaned as his tongue swiped along the swollen slit of her opening, delving into her as it passed back and forth.
“Lift your blouse and fondle your breasts,” he commanded, easing his mouth off her pussy so he could speak. She quickly did as she was told, pushing her blouse up to expose her generous boobs and taking them into her hands.
“That’s it baby,” he whispered his encouragement. “Squeeze those tits. Make your pussy flood for me.”
She expelled a long, low moan as his mouth returned to her pussy and began the sweet, torturous licking again. She pinched and tweaked her nipples, then rubbed the sensitive tips with her palms. The sensations created by the cool wind wafting across her skin, her smooth palms gliding over her nipples, and Ash’s mouth sucking on her clit were almost unbearable, and soon she was writhing in pleasure on the hard surface of the hood. Her pussy fluttered and pulsed, liquid fire oozing out of the hot hole as Ash’s expert mouth pleasured her sex. She continued to stimulate her breasts with her fingertips, adding to the sensations already overwhelming her nerve endings. Soon Ash was pushing her legs even wider and, sliding his stiffened tongue in and out of her entrance in a maddeningly deep tongue-fucking.
“Damn, Ash! I want more,” she cried, releasing her breasts to thrust her fingers into his hair, not caring two hoots anymore who might hear or see her. “Please, baby, I need your cock.”
He didn’t hesitate to grant her wish, pulling back to gently drag her off the car by her legs as soon as he heard her desperate plea. “Turn around and bend over,” he told her, unsnapping his jeans as he waited for her to obey his command.
Her skirt still bunched up around her waist, she bent forward until the tips of her breasts touched the cool metal of the car. She gasped when she felt Ash spreading her legs wider to accommodate him between them and then his heavy cock was at her entrance, pressing forward to ease inside her body. She groaned as he slid into her slickness, his shaft stretching her pussy, causing a twinge of discomfort to the still-slightly-sore tissues.
“Oh God, yes!” she cried, loving the feeling of being stretched to capacity, completely filled with his massive cock.
“Feels good, huh?” he asked, his voice a breathless groan, as if he was barely hanging onto his control. “So goddamn good!”
When Xander Kane meets a delectable exotic dancer in a bar, he is instantly drawn to her striking beauty. He knows he has to have her, but when he finally convinces her to let him take her home, she disappears without a trace after they share an electrifying night together. He never thought he would see her again, but when fate takes her right back to his doorstep he is intent on making her pay for running out on him like she did. But Raven is not what she seems, and the secrets she hides, coupled with his own dark skeletons, threatens to destroy any hope that Xander harbored for them.
Raven embarks on a perilous journey to protect her mother’s legacy and finds herself fighting for her life at every turn. When she meets Xander Kane, he is everything she wants in a man and everything she cannot afford to let herself have right now. Will they be able to overcome the obstacles that confront them at every turn and find their way to love?
Kelsie Belle wears many hats – wife, mother and teacher are just a few but the erotic romance writer hat is by far her favorite. Kelsie is wildly gregarious by nature. She considers herself ‘forever 21’ and enjoys reading contemporary romance, Science fiction and fantasy, listening to music and dancing like there’s no tomorrow. A caffeine addict that lives life from one coffee mug to the next, she’s always on the go, ready and waiting for the next adventure.
She has been a storyteller for as long as she can remember, her characters live inside her overactive mind and a thousand stories come to life in her head every day. This novel is the first in her three book paranormal series The White Witch’s Legacy. It promises to be an exciting trip into her wild imagination and she hopes her readers will enjoy the experience of taking a ride outside the ordinary with her.
Realizing there’s a third person in her marriage, Devvy Jacques is stunned. Discovering her husband’s lover is a man, she’s horrified. Learning that man is Alexei Ivanov, the internationally renowned scientist behind the cure for cancer, she’s…
Being part of a ménage wasn’t in any of her fairy tales as a kid, but the more she’s with hubby, Sebastien, and new lover, Alexei, the more she realizes it’s a dream come true.
Around them, between them, under or above them, Devvy flourishes, becoming the woman she was meant to be before life did a number on her.
With the ménage flourishing, and love growing every day, it takes a twisted blackmailer to derail it all. Raking up past secrets Alex wants to remain hidden, and exposing their unusual household to the world’s eye, the trio face enough challenges to unravel apart.
Will life work its mischief or will they still have what it takes to be perfect, Ménage Material?
Serena Akeroyd is a romanceaholic. She won’t touch a book unless she knows there’s a happy ever after at the end of it. Pathetic as it may be, because of this addiction, Serena decided to craft her own tales, stories that suit her voracious need for raunchy romance. After all, a love story ain’t a lurve story without a bit of raunch!
A citizen of the world, Serena is a nomad at heart, and her novels enable her to travel the globe and all behind her computer desk. Naturally, she’d prefer the option of a private jet, but still, if wishes were horses, eh?
The author behind the Naughty Nookie series, available on Amazon, Serena has plenty more to offer. Most of them involving threesomes! Watch out for Sci-Fi, paranormal, and historical ménage à trois!
Always feel free to connect with Serena, she’d love to chat with her readers, as well as fellow raunch addicts!
Lips tugging at her clit, a tongue prodding and piercing her pussy, teeth nibbling at the sensitive wet flesh of her cunt, were her alarm call.
She luxuriated in the sensations rolling through the lower half of her body for a few moments before surging into wakefulness. The languor coursing through her was almost drugging, but it felt so damned good. Bastien was taking his own sweet time about pleasuring her. Gentle tugs, little sips, tiny bites. Each one intended to drive her higher and higher but not take her to the brink of orgasm.
The lack of haste was, in itself, pleasurable. The lazy sleepiness of the moment had her hips wriggling against the mattress and she sighed as he clamped his hands against her thighs and held her down.
“Bonsoir, chérie.” The words were mumbled against her clit and the vibration had her squealing, thighs lifting her hips into the air only for them to fall back down, her toes digging into the bed. Wishing he’d removed her skirt so she could spread her legs wider, Devvy reached down and grabbed his head, smashing his face into her cunt. His chuckle only made the ache worse, and what had once been lazy and drugging suddenly became intense.
She groaned when he moved away, pulling her hands off his head. Glaring at him, her voice was hoarse as she bit out, “Where are you going?”
His grin was wide as he grabbed her hips and tossed her over onto her belly. Before she even had a chance to squeal, he’d arranged her….
Shopaholic Kyra Mays decides to shop for a rich man on her Jamaican vacation. Instead, she meets Justin Lance, a white reggae singer who’s nearly as poor as the orphans he devotes his life to helping. Overwhelmed by his magnetism, she decides to have a fling with him.
All that matters to Justin is being a perfect Rastafarian. He vows to avoid succumbing to temptation with the dark beauty at all costs. Unable to keep their hands off each other, they forge a bond that is just as emotional as physical as they explore their differences on the lush island of Jamaica. But Justin’s secret will put their ability to compromise through an impossible test.
Afton Locke is a USA Today Bestselling Author who prefers romantic fantasies to everyday reality. Fantasies take her to different times, races, places, and beyond. She lives with her husband, dog, several unnamed dust bunnies, and a black cat that can be scary or cuddly, depending on the current book. When she’s not writing, Afton enjoys hiking, cooking, crafts, and reading.
“You’re even more beautiful than I imagined,” he whispered.
His hungry gaze bathed her with warmth. Clearly, he wanted her more than he ever had. Telling him she’d experienced poverty earlier must have been the magic words. Ever since, he’d looked at her as if they were on the same team…as if they could have a relationship. But why? What difference did her background make?
Her thighs trembled in response to his heated stare, anticipating the sensation of his tongue on her folds. Instead of lowering his head, though, he looked away, shaking it.
“Am I really doing the right thing?” he asked. “I can justify it by saying I’m giving you pleasure, but I can’t help getting pleasure out of it as well.”
Kyra’s jaw tightened as she cupped a palm over her cleft to hide it. “Justin, this back and forth business is driving me crazy. A little pleasure isn’t going to make the world end.”
“The Rasta way of life is important to me,” he said. “I have to stay true to my faith every minute of every day, not just when I feel like it.”
She sighed. “I respect that. Hand me my pants so I can get dressed.”
Instead, he lowered his head. His blue eyes, clear with his decision, sought hers on the way down. Apparently, he planned to continue. A shiver of anticipation she couldn’t have suppressed if she’d wanted to coursed through her.
“Yes, Justin, yes,” she whispered. “It’s all right.”
He kissed the insides of her thighs first, as gently as he’d massaged her feet earlier. His slight beard brushed her tender skin, igniting icy-hot flames everywhere it touched. Devon used to take her fast and hard. Foreplay was usually as compressed as his busy schedule. Closing her eyes and surrendering to the titillating sensations, she wished Justin had been her first lover.
Maybe her only lover.
He gripped the undersides of her thighs and the bed squeaked as he shifted position. He must mean business. Perspiration broke out across her forehead and she opened her eyes. If he changed his mind, she swore she’d scream.
“I want to feel your hair…on me,” she demanded.
Where had that come from?
Without questioning her strange request, he gripped one of his locks and held it in front of his face with reverence. “Do you
know what the dreadlocks signify, Kyra?”
They signify something hot and sexy I want on my body. Now!
“They stand for everything natural and good. No scissors, combs, styling gadgets, or dye touches them. According to the Rasta faith, those things are the work of Babylon.”
Babylon must be the name of her hairdresser because her hair was cut, straightened, and highlighted. Before she could reply, he grasped the end of one lock and brushed it across her mound. It probably went without saying that her bikini wax was also up Babylon’s alley. She watched, breathless, as his hair mingled with the scanty tuft of hers.
Then he lowered the tantalizing lock, brushing it across her clit. She cried out as each of his silky hairs brushed her nerve endings. How could the man be so spiritual one minute and scorching hot the next? The combination was more potent than fire and gasoline.
Antony Love is the quintessential responsible oldest brother of a boisterous, Italian/Irish family, placed in charge at a young age by his parents who are busy running the family business. He manages his siblings with a fair but iron hand, until his life is shattered by personal tragedy leaving him the shell of the man he once was.
When outspoken matriarch Lindsay Halloran Love becomes ill, the youngest brother Aiden shows up at Antony’s garage, having dropped out of school (again), needing work and a place to crash. Antony provides both, with three caveats: “Don’t smoke in my truck, don’t be late for work, and don’t mess with my girlfriend.”
But Aiden Love, budding novelist, gets one glimpse of Rosalee Norris, young widow of Antony’s lifelong best friend and all bets are off.
Set in horse country near Lexington, Kentucky, The Love Brothers Series is a saga of family devotion that runs as wide and deep as the Ohio River–except on Sundays when brothers Antony, Kieran, Dominic and Aiden work out their frustrations on the basketball court, Love brother style.
The Love Brothers: A family saga with humor, heat and heart—not to mention beer, bourbon and basketball.
Love Garage Excerpt:
Love Garage opened bright and early the next morning, a Saturday, a day Aiden had hoped to spend recovering.
“I get so many oil changes and random small jobs on Saturdays, it doesn’t make sense to be closed and let the jackasses with the Quickilube at Walmart get the business,” Antony insisted when Aiden groaned with dismay upon being awakened after two hours of drunken sleep. It didn’t help that the awakening occurred at the business end of a thrown pillow. “Get up, Romeo. You owe me rent money.”
He did, slowly, queasily hitting a shower, sore all over, his skin mottled from bug bites. But nothing topped the glorious agony of a bourbon hangover like the one that had him firmly in its evil grasp.
He slouched out the door, cursing Antony, cursing Tricia, cursing her ex-husband for throwing her in his path last night. But mostly cursing his own weak-ass uselessness. He rested his head against the cool comfort of the truck window until Antony hit a bump or two, which sent extra pain jolting down his spine.
“Sorry,” his brother muttered, glancing over at him.
“No, you’re not.”
“Got me there. And you’d better warn me if you’re about to toss your cookies. I won’t have that in my vehicle, got me?”
Aiden rubbed his neck and nodded, swallowing the urge to throw up all over the pristine interior on principal. “Why d’you hate me so much? You used to like me.” He stared over at his brother, heart thumping, ears humming, throat closing up with nausea. He despised waking up still drunk.
“I don’t hate you.” Antony turned onto the main road headed into town.
“Could’ve fooled me. You’re a real asshole anymore. Worse than Dom.”
Antony merely shrugged, not rising to that tried-and-true bait. So they spent the rest of the ride to the garage in silence. Once there, Antony sat gripping the wheel. Aiden waited, hoping he’d get something out of him—something he would assure him that the man he thought he remembered as the protective, funny, and loving guy he’d grown up with still existed inside the guy walking around wearing Antony’s skin.
Finally, he let go of the wheel, exhaled, and squared his shoulders as if prepping for battle. Aiden made a mental note to talk to Kieran about how badly Antony had descended into his life of non-stop mourning and jerk-hood.
“So, Rosalee, not putting out for you or what? You need to get laid maybe? Knock the edge off?”
The glare Aiden got for saying those particular words did make him worry Antony might punch his aching head through the passenger-side window.
He clenched his jaw in the way Aiden remembered from their childhood. “That is so far outside the realm of your business as to be in another galaxy. Get to work and don’t say her name to me again.”
And with that, Aiden was left with the fleeting thought that mentioning Rosalee directly was probably not a good idea. He surely didn’t need Antony to guess that her name was on his lips, or front and center of his mind.
He shook his head—a Bad Plan because it summoned the pounding agony back with a vengeance. Groaning, he climbed out and shuffled over to the door.
The smoldering intensity of first love ~ the forbidden fantasy of temptation ~ the cold hard facts of real life.
When one man’s hopes are dashed apart in a split second after years spent chasing a dream, he returns home to Kentucky furious at the world and everyone around him.
Kieran Francesco is the middle son of the volatile, tight-knit Halloran-Love family. His role as peacemaker and the one true athlete is well established. He now faces life devoid of the sport he adores after a horrific, career-ending accident, which places him in a new and entirely uncomfortable position—that of the brother with no future.
Over the course of a few tumultuous months Kieran is plunged back into life at the center of the Love family, where he must cope with one self-destructive brother, one ill-timed reconnection to an old flame and a series of bad choices that land him in more trouble than he’d ever known existed.
COACH LOVE, book 2 of The Love Brothers, a family saga of sibling loyalty that runs as deep and wide as the Ohio River—at least until Sunday, when Antony, Kieran, Dominic and Aiden work out their frustrations at the weekly Love brother pick-up basketball game.
Coach Love EXCERPT:
As he drove the twenty or so miles from his parents’ house into town Kieran’s head began to clear. The windows were down and the tunes cranked. The sun shone. Signs of summer–one of his favorite seasons–were all around him. Parks packed with families, all the basketball courts and swimming pools overflowing. The sight of a gaggle of boys on bikes riding alongside him for a while, singing along with whatever random, crappy rap song currently polluted the airwaves made him smile.
“Hey, it’s Kieran Love!” one of the punks shouted after a few blocks. “Can you come over and shoot a few with us?”
He waved and drove on, gratified but sad, the sound of their cheerful unhappiness at his refusal filling his ears, taking the stretch of four lane road at seventy miles an hour, pressing the gas pedal to the floor, the throaty, powerful roar of the car’s engine revving him from head to toe.
It would be all right because he and Melinda loved each other. They had from the moment they’d met. He passed some grandpa in a Toyota, as the deep green fields surrounded by picturesque white fences and dotted with horses filled both sides of his vision.
He’d been home and recuperating from radical knee surgery with the best prognosis he could hope for after such a nasty break–to walk normally, much less play the occasional pick up game. His depression had been deep, wide, and terrifying. He woke every day at his parents’ house, unwilling even to get out of bed, not that he could without help for the first few weeks.
Antony had tossed a laptop computer at him one day when he’d been sulking, unshaven, and eating an entire bag of potato chips, something he’d not done since the age of ten when his fate–bound for basketball fame and fortune–had been determined.
“Here, find a job, find a date, find something,” he’d said before yanking the empty chip bag away and smacking Kieran’s head hard enough to make his ears ring.
“Ow. Leave me alone, asshole. I’m grievously injured,” he’d said, not caring about the swear-free zone he inhabited.
“That’s three dollars young man,” his mother had called out from the kitchen.
“You live with this, jerk, and see how you feel about finding ‘a date.’“ He’d hooked his fingers around the words, heart in his throat at how badly he’d wanted to call Cara right then.
But by the next weekend he was caning and limping his way toward the door to some faux-fancy Italian restaurant in Lexington, rubbing his freshly shaved face and trying not to sweat through his dress shirt. The woman from the internet site sat at the bar, twirling an olive-laden swizzle stick in her martini glass, long, slim, bare legs crossed, feet encased in sky-high patent leather heels. He’d exhaled, beyond relived that he’d not been cat-fished by some troll, or worse, a dude.
He’d hesitated then, something in him telling him to turn around and leave, fast. But at that moment, she’d flashed him the whitest, most perfect smile he’d ever seen and he’d been hooked. He still didn’t know how. They’d gone out for three weeks before she let him kiss her. It’d been another three weeks before he got anywhere near her tits. It had been a solid four months before he scored but that encounter had been, in a word, epic.
Melinda liked to talk dirty, wear heels and a garter belt while he fucked her. Loved doing it with all the lights on and in semi-public places. She gave head like a pro at first, before he’d given her an engagement ring.
Her bitchiness had come across as extreme decisiveness, sort of hot in way, he’d admit, since he tended toward the spontaneous and unplanned–”wishy washy” as he now understood it thanks to Melinda’s re-categorization of his personality. Her tight grip on her emotions and her surroundings, the OCD way she ordered her life did grate on him at times but he figured she tolerated his innate sloppiness and willingness to wake on a Sunday without a plan in place for the rest of the day. When he realized he sat across from her at some overpriced, hipster restaurant near her office after going out with her for eight months, ready to present her with a ring he could barely afford, it had shocked him without seeming to even faze her.
“Well, of course I’ll marry you, but you’ve got to find a better job,” she’d drawled as she sipped her champagne.
“A new job?” He’d gotten the teaching gig at his old high school and couldn’t imagine any job he’d want or like better. She made six figures for Christ’s sake, at least he thought she did.
Elated, drunk with lust and achievement, he’d tried to get his long legs adjusted under the small table jammed between all the others and covered with small plates of “tapas” which, best he could tell were “appetizers” only twice the price and half the helpings.
“I’ll do anything you want, Melinda. You saved me, honest to God you did.”
She’d fluttered her inky black lashes and gazed at him with an expression that convinced him he’d made the drastic move for the right reasons. The following year had been a combination of frustration, anger and high school level blue balls. The double drama Antony and Aiden had foisted on the Love family during that time hadn’t helped but it had distracted him. He’d taught his classes, helped out with the basketball team pro bono without telling Melinda and had been happier than he’d ever been as a pro athlete.
The fact that she maintained her uber-bitch persona around his family killed him. But he was hooked.
Every family has one—the black sheep, the problem child, the prodigal. But Dominic Sean Love could teach all of those guys a lesson or two. Stuck in the middle of a boisterous group of siblings, he’s given “acting out” a new meaning from the day he drew his first breath.
While he’s the one son who follows his strict father’s footsteps into the Love family business, he’s also the one who butts heads with him the hardest. Their epic clashes are the stuff of family legend. But they have made peace and work side by side to take Love Brewing to the next level of success.
Until Dominic does the one thing his father can never forgive.
Diana Brantley has been Dominic’s friend, girlfriend and ex-girlfriend so many times she’s lost count. When he shows up at the farm she’s slowly transforming into a wildly popular farm-to-table resource for restaurants all over the U.S. her first impulse is to shoot first and ask questions later. But she doesn’t. And their lives entwine once more, for good, bad and ugly.
Working (pre-edited) Excerpt:
Dominic would give anything be able to talk to Kieran. They’d gotten close in the last months since he’d required a rather alarming rescue from a jail down in Georgia and his brother had shown up, very few questions asked. But no, Kieran had his own issues and likely at that very moment was busy trying to convince his high school girlfriend to marry him, even as she was poised and ready to marry someone else.
“You need dry clothes,” Diana said, interrupting his pity party.
He shrugged and kept his gaze fixed on the view of rain. “Your garden looks like shit. When’s the last time you bothered to pull weeds?”
She snorted. He smiled. He used to love it when she’d do that. He’d honestly had no intention of showing up here today. The Brantley farm remained way off the beaten track, if the track around Lucasville could be considered “beaten” in any way. When he’d raced out of the stifling hot sanctuary and hotwired Kieran’s car he’d driven off without a single thought in his addled head other than “escape.”
But when he’d finally released his death grip on the steering wheel he’d looked through the windshield and found himself facing the old two-story farmhouse where he’d lost his virginity—not to Diana but to her sister Jen, an older version of the girl he’d been hanging around with since God was a boy. The whooshing sound that had deafened him for the last couple of days had receded ever so slightly at the sight of the place.
He’d not been anywhere near it in over six years, ever since he’d run out here to get solace from Diana when Gina had bolted for New York. Her reaction to his surprise visit had been decidedly less hostile then. He groaned and ran a hand down his wet face.
No one to blame but yourself for this reception, numb nuts.
As if on cue, one of the dogs whined and bumped his leg with its huge muzzle.
“Bossy bitch,” he said softly, giving her another scratch behind the ears. The animal gazed at him adoringly.
Yeah, at least dogs always loved him.
He glanced up and caught sight of Diana tugging on something dry that looked way too big for her. The sight of it sent a thrill of something he didn’t want to acknowledge as jealousy down his spine.
You have less than no place being jealous of anything about her, he reminded himself. She stared at him as she buttoned up the light blue, obviously man-sized shirt. He had to restrain himself from blinking too fast at the onrushing memories threatening to mow him down.
“Put on a few pounds eh Di?” he said, leaning back against the rough barn wall. The dog practically crawled up onto the hay bale and laid its head in his lap. Damn thing weighed over eighty pounds and smelled like rancid pond water, but he didn’t stop it.
“Fuck you,” she said, turning away and giving him a lovely view of the backs of her slim, tanned legs. “Come up to the house and get some dry clothes on, you dumbass.” She stood there, wearing that shirt that made his chest tight, pondering where it had come from, her legs bare and beautiful. It made him want to weep. He set his jaw and turned away from her.
“I missed you and your ladylike ways,” he said, almost absently, as he turned back to study the rain pounding against the window. “Ow!” The towel pop flicked his neck, then his thigh. “Damn girl, you on your period or what?” He rubbed his leg and noted that he was, indeed, soaked through and could use a change of clothes. Too bad he hadn’t thought of that when he ran away from what remained of his former life.
“I can feel your crybaby BS from clear across this barn,” she said. “Makes me wanna laugh.”
He turned fast, angry at her words. But her gaze comforted him. And suddenly, he realized why he’d found himself here, on what could be labeled as the worst day of his sorry-ass thirty years.
“How’d married life work out for ya,” he said, shoving the dog off his lap and getting to his feet.
“How d’you think? I mean, I’m sure it was the talk of the town.” She kept staring at him, not moving. For a split second, Dom found himself headed toward her, needing to feel her skin, taste her lips. But he stood, keeping the four or so feet between them, the dogs milling around their ankles making worried noises. An errant drop of water fell from a lock of hair over his eyes. The moment felt fraught and he cursed himself for causing her pain, again. And again.
“Well, I guess the guy was lucky to escape with his balls intact,” he said, finally. “You’re still as ugly as homemade sin,” he lied.
The corner of her lips lifted. He let himself exhale.
It was on now. And he knew she’d let him stay here as long as he needed.
Amazon best-selling author, beer blogger, brewery marketing expert, mom of three, and soccer fan, Liz Crowe is a Kentucky native and graduate of the University of Louisville currently living in Ann Arbor. She has decades of experience in sales and fund raising, plus an eight-year stint as a three-continent, ex-pat trailing spouse.
Her early forays into the publishing world led to a groundbreaking fiction subgenre, “Romance for Real Life,” which has gained thousands of fans and followers interested less in the “HEA” and more in the “WHA” (“What Happens After?”). More recently she is garnering even more fans across genres with her latest novels, which are more character-driven fiction, while remaining very much “real life.”
With stories set in the not-so-common worlds of breweries, on the soccer pitch, in successful real estate offices and at times in exotic locales like Istanbul, Turkey, her books are unique and told with a fresh voice. The Liz Crowe backlist has something for any reader seeking complex storylines with humor and complete casts of characters that will delight, frustrate and linger in the imagination long after the book is finished.
Don’t ever ask her for anything “like a Budweiser” or risk bodily injury.