Monday, March 31, 2014

Faith, Sex, and my Novel Experience

So, I'm pretty active in my church.  It's really the only relatively social event I participate in.  I'm on some committees, in some groups, and I attend every Sunday.  I'm facebook friends with my Associate Pastor, and I read his thought-provoking blog posts and usually comment on them.  He's a friend of mine as well as a spiritual leader.

I also write romance novels.  With sex.  Not too much sex.  There isn't sex every chapter, like some of the novels I read (and my preacher preaches against, I'm sure it's based on media hype surrounding Fifty Shades).  But the sex is explicit, mostly because I enjoy writing it.  And I also feel that sex is an important part of romance books.  I know not a lot of people feel that way about Romances.  They feel the chemistry and emotions can be portrayed another way, but personally, I like books with sex in them, so that's what I write.  I think the emotions and thoughts that run through peoples' heads during sex are a great way to get certain aspects of the story out there.  Because that's a really pivotal part of relationships, and romances without the sex seem lacking to me in some way.

I also write characters that are dealing with Faith-based problems.  This doesn't necessarily make my books Christian Romance, because that's not what they are.  But I think lots of people go through these issues in life, and I want to include them in my attempt at writing real characters.

So, when I'm having a Facebook conversation with my associate pastor, and it comes up that one of my characters is having issues with her faith, and overcomes those issues though a loving relationship (there was more to the conversation than that, but in the interest of brevity, I'll gloss over the details), he expressed an interest in reading the book when I'm finished.

So, now I've got a conundrum.  I actually lost sleep at night over this a couple of times.  I don't want him suddenly adding me to his prayer list for my "sins" but at the same time, I've been working really hard at "owning" my writing.  I've blogged about it in the past, and it mostly had to do with people at church, and how I downplay what I write for them.  So, I'm asking you guys this question:

Do I give him the original copy of my book to read?   Or do I give him an "edited" version, where I take out the sex?   It's about Human trafficking and has a lot of deeper thematic elements (at least I'm hoping it will, when I finish it).  I'd be really interested to hear others' opinions on this matter, if you'd leave me a comment and let me know.  I'm torn on the issue and would like some constructive feedback.

Sunday, March 30, 2014

Knights and Kink - Jill Elaine Hughes

by Jill Elaine Hughes

Check out
this AMAZING boxed set of four hot alpha-male romance novels by renowned indie
author and award-winning journalist Jill Elaine Hughes. KNIGHTS AND KINK
ROMANCE BOXED SET is a super ebook bargain that offers FOUR full-length novels
for the rock-bottom price of 99 cents.
These novels
are a sampling of Jill Elaine Hughes’ diverse writing talents, and offer either
swashbuckling, sword-wielding knights, BDSM kink — OR A COMBINATION OF BOTH. You’ll
be up all night reading these books, who have some of the hottest, sexiest book
boyfriends you’ll ever encounter.
Sexy heroes,
smart independent heroines, passion, kink, historical settings, even time
travel. No matter what kind of romance stories you like best, you have your
choice of many different options with this set. These edge-of-your-seat,
action-filled romance plotlines and alpha males are sure to keep you hot and
bothered. Almost 300,000 words of reading enjoyment for less than one dollar!

contains the following books:


 A contemporary
erotic romance that blends BDSM elements with American politics, Secret sex clubs, backroom dealings between sexy aides and hot young
congressmen, bondage, submission, ménage a trois, and more.

“This is an inventive work of erotica
with a wonderful storyline." --Coffee Time Romance


A red-hot sex farce
that blends paranormal time travel with contemporary romantic comedy.

“Knight Moves is a tantalizing romp
peppered with inferno-heat level sex, saucy humor and a good sprinkling of
action.”--- Joyfully Reviewed


It’s the year 1101, and England is still
reeling from the Norman conquest a generation earlier. Lady Sabina of Angwyld
is fleeing an unwanted marriage on her way to become a nun at Glastonbury when
she meets Robert de Tyre, a swashbuckling Norman mercenary. Sparks soon fly!


forewoman and Dayton, Ohio resident Lisa Marie Smith’s co-worker and best
friend Pegeen Palmer forcibly drags her to an event showcasing Pegeen’s latest
hobby---the Society for Creative Anachronism (SCA), a living history
organization that specializes in the Middle Ages. Lisa is skeptical at first,
but pretty soon she falls for Sir Phillip Reginald of Whitestar, a
swashbuckling SCA Knight and top favorite to become the SCA’s most important
new King.

“Very fun romp through the SCA. Really
enjoyed this!!!”----Vanessa Barger, Bestselling Indie YA/Paranormal Author


(coming soon)

the Author:


Friday, March 28, 2014

Terry Maggert - Mask of the Swan

Title: Mask of the Swan (The Fearless, Book Two)
Author: Terry Maggert
Genre: Urban Fantasy/Thriller
Release: March 2014

Okay, so I was supposed to review this, but I didn't get it in time to finish it on time, so I have yet to have it finished.  So, when it's finished, I'll come in and leave a review, so stay tuned.  In the meanwhile scroll down, look around, and see what you might like.  Check it out anyway.  BTW, my April newsletter is about to come out, so head over to the contact me page and sign up.  I'll go have coffee now.

Killing immortals is easy. Becoming
one is hard.
When three lovers (Ring,
Waleska, and Risa) take a vacation after losing a fight with an elegant monster
named Elizabeth, their time for healing is cut short by a new threat, and this
time, innocent blood will spill.

Reaching for the crown of Hell,
Elizabeth gathers Archangels around her to fuel her power-mad ascent—but she
has powerful enemies who will fight her every step of the way, including
Delphine, the 2400 year old succubus hooker who knows that inside her beautiful
body rests a very human soul. Joined by an honorable priest who finds himself
in the middle of a war he never knew existed, and a demigod and his partner,
the stage is set for another round in the battle to determine how much of Ring,
Waleska, and Risa is still human, how tough their immortal side can be—and how
far they are willing to go to protect the people they love from the reaches of
a creature who would burn their world to ashes.


The Archangel Enoch
“Dr. Mpemba, this
arrived for you.” A mousey student worker placed the heavy box on the
professor’s desk as he dismissed her with a wave. He inspected the parcel and
saw the description as air mail, originating in Ireland according to the label.
Ahead of schedule, as always. I am an
excellent customer, and it is good of her to show me proper respect.
eyes glittered with greed and something more primal as he closed his office
door, locked it, and sat for a gravid moment, savoring the innocuous nature of
the brown box. It was a Friday, which meant that he would not have to wait to
use his newest acquisition as the club would be crowded with veterans and
newcomers and the undecided who had not yet sampled his unique brand of
experimentation and discovery.
Enoch Mpemba had
arrived in South Florida two decades earlier, leaving the killing grounds and
hierarchical bloodbaths of his native Liberia behind without a second thought.
A naturally industrious student, he had quickly demonstrated superior math
skills as well as an uncompromising need to explore the relationships between
religion, economics, and all of internecine warfare that those forces could
cause. Less than a decade later, he possessed degrees in all three fields,
earning his doctorate in economics with surprising ease, a discipline that would
prove a boon to someone who had a rare combination of intellect, will, and the
depravity to use all of his gifts for purposes known only to him. A handsome
man with the deep brown, even coloring of his ancestors, Enoch had striking
cheekbones and eyes of impenetrable depth that women found compelling, and
later commanding. He quickly realized upon becoming a professor that women
were, for him, a wholly renewable resource, limited only by his finances, which
were meager even for someone of his title. Enoch changed all of that in one
single evening, when he discreetly taped a young student doing unspeakable acts
in his living room, her flawless, youthful body on display as he defiled her in
every possible way, even finishing his performance with a hard slap to her
mouth, felling her, and laughing at her shock. He had not even disguised the
act of turning off the camera that had filmed the entire sporting affair, and
two weeks later, he had arranged to see her at a local coffee shop. He
cheerfully informed her that he would be showing the footage of her
enthusiastic participation to her xenophobic parents, who he had discovered,
showered her with regular checks as their only, precious child finished what
was, in his eyes, a meaningless degree in nursing. During the encounter, each
salacious wiggle of her youthful hips were punctuated with animalistic groans
that were at odds with her solidly demure exterior, a fact that he valued in
the amount of $500 per month, until she left school. After that Enoch had serenely
informed her she could be assured that he would destroy the digital film. He
was, after all, an honorable man, he had asserted, watching the uncontrollable
sobs jerk his victim’s shoulders up and down like a piston. The memory of her
submission was as erotic as any of her orifices had been during their play, and
he had pleasured himself often at the recollection of her tears. Until the next
victim, and the next. Eventually, the professor who had lived in a small
apartment had purchased a townhome on a lake in a gated community. Still, his
appetite for the flesh had not dimmed, so he began to expand his search.
Finally, emboldened by his exploits, Enoch forayed into the fringes of society,
where he found that the sexual appetites of others could be safely expressed,
even augmented within the subculture known simply as The Lifestyle.
What an inadequate word, he mused,
thinking of the blossoming that he had witnessed within his own libido. Moving
quickly within the accepted participants of the clubs and private parties,
Enoch began to find simple promiscuity lacking, even with married women whose
husbands watched, craven, impotent in the face of his sexuality, but still
titillated by their very weakness. It was a feeling that grafted to his needs
at once, and he began an immediate exploration of that new and welcome addition
to his encounters. The final piece of his sexual puzzle arrived in the form of
a dominatrix visiting from Ireland, or Denmark—he was never truly certain, but
he did recognize the moment she began
to unpack her beautifully constructed leather goods, all custom-made,
purpose-built, and designed to inflict shame and heighten his orgasms in ways
he had not dreamed possible. After an evening of enthusiastic debauchery with
her, he confirmed two salient facts that would shape his actions from that
moment forth. He had not one ounce of submission within his body and spirit,
and the surest means to physical pleasure of the highest order, for Enoch, was
to visit shame and degradation upon others until even their safe words could
not grant them respite from his lust.
So before him sat a
package, unopened for the moment, with a new device of his own design, crafted
by the Irish or Danish scrivener who was virtually enslaved to the woman who
had taught him that pain and pleasure are fruit of the same tree. A careful
knife cut along the edge of the parcel, feeling the contents shift ever so
slightly, and he spilled the paper-wrapped item onto his desk. He then
discarded the box onto the floor with the same disdain that he showed his
special students, and swallowing once in anticipation, feathered the heavy
paper apart.
Flawless. It was art of a largely unseen
quality in this discipline, and he turned the codpiece over gently, almost as
if handling a new lamb, admiring the sullen gleam of the wine-colored leather,
the metal thread holding everything perfectly with nary a scratch on the heavy
hide. But it was the ring of custom-crafted studs surrounding the open crotch
that shone like nightshade, each dense, bronze stud forged separately and then
freed from burrs with hand tooling. There were twenty-nine in all, a symbolic
number mocking the amount of years he waited until he began to feed his true,
inner passion. He had no doubt that with each thrust, the metallic punishment
of the codpiece would result in a unique calling card, cicatrices of the
initials GM branding the recipient as
just another conquest in the memory of a man who was slowly but surely, edging
ever closer to the abandonment of what little conscience he had left. He felt
an awakening in his groin, and the pressure against his linen pants quickly
grew nearly intolerable as his hand moved to his lap to reassure his cock that
soon, they would begin their night’s work. “Oh, they will have to wait their
turn when I wield this. Yes, all of the soft ones will give me a turn.” He
spoke quietly, his words clotted with arrogance and lust.
“I see your newest
addition has arrived. Mind if I give you my professional opinion?” She asked
him this with the familiarity of an old friend, and he was startled, but only
for an instant. Enoch leapt back in his chair, drawing himself up with operatic
intent as he began to open his mouth and berate the woman who dared interrupt
him in his office. That speech was truncated as one of her gloved hands
snatched the codpiece from his desk and the other struck him on the temple, a
deafening blow that made his vision flash white as he sagged to the floor,
slipping from his chair without resistance.
“Now, Enoch. I asked
you nicely, and yet you’ve proven to
be quite boorish. Those are hardly the manners one would expect from a doctor, are they?” The invasive woman
somehow made the honorific an insult, leaving him awash with anger, disgust,
and an inability to act. I’ve been cuckolded
in my own space. Who is this creature?
Looking up from the floor, he saw a
stunning woman in her thirties, dripping with confidence and wealth. Her brown
eyes were flecked with gold, and she had her dark hair pulled away from a face
that Enoch was certain could make men capitulate to her every wish. She
extended a regal hand to him, waving for him to accept it and rise, but as he
reached for her, she kicked him once, hard, in the testicles, crushing the wind
from him in a shocked gasp. He doubled sideways, white hot pain gripping him
from balls to brain, and through it all, he heard her calmly speak to him as
one would address a naughty dog.
“Gather your things, Doctor. Your erstwhile careers are
henceforth concluded, and I have need of you. If, that is, you prove your worth
to me. Have you been to New Orleans?” Her voice was conversational, friendly,
and utterly without haste. For the first time, Enoch knew true fear, and he
also intuited that this was an emotion wielded easily by this woman. Struggling
to a sitting position, she knelt daintily, looking at the leatherwork that had
dominated his thoughts so soundly she had slipped into his office unseen. Or had she?
“May I arise, Miss—?”
he began in his most diplomatic tone given his excruciating discomfort.
“Elizabeth. You may
address me as Elizabeth, if we’re being familiar. I will inform you when we are
not being familiar. You would do well to pay attention to my tone. So much can
be gleaned from inflection, don’t you think?” She smiled wickedly at him.
“Yes, Elizabeth.” He
recovered some shred of confidence quickly and made as if to stand. Her hand
lashed down and out, striking him soundly in the mouth, and he fell again, but
this time he had the sense to remain still.
Seeing his intentions
to stay on the floor, she turned to the door and tossed the codpiece at him,
striking him in the face. “Bring that. I will have need of it later, on the
plane. You training will begin immediately.” She paused for a thoughtful
moment. “You may want to consider some stretching exercises, Enoch. I intend to
shed light on your innermost secrets.” She laughed a musical, repugnant noise
from a beast that is in complete control of an underling. It was a sound that
Enoch knew very well indeed, but from the other side.

Enoch stood,
shivering. He did not think that she was referring to his past, and his body
began to anticipate a most unwelcome night.

Buy Now

Book 1 in the Fearless Series



Born in 1968, I discovered fishing
shortly after walking, a boon considering I lived in South Florida.  I had the good fortune to attend high school
in idyllic Upstate New York, where I learned the meaning of winter-- and how to
seize the whole of summer.

After two or three failed attempts at
college, I bought a pub. That was fun, because I love beer. However, I
eventually met someone smarter than me (a common event), but in this case, she
married me and convinced me to go back to school -- which I did, with great
enthusiasm. I hold a Master’s Degree in History, and live near Nashville,
Tennessee with the aforementioned wife, son, and a herd of various critters. When
I’m not writing, I teach history, grow wildly enthusiastic tomato plants, and
restore my 1967 Mustang.

Social Media:

Author’s Blog:

Contact author directly via Facebook, or

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Thursday, March 27, 2014

Author Spotlight: Katherine Rhodes and Consensual, Book one and two

Today, I'm doing a spotlight on Katherine Rhodes.  These teasers are HAWT, and once you read her bio, if you're like me, you're going to want to hunt this lady down and share a bottle.  Fishtian Grey...*snort*

Consensual Blurb

Book 1 in the Club Imperial Series

From the moment Nathaniel laid eyes on Emmy Westerly, he wanted her in his life. He would do anything to get her there and keep her there. To his surprise, Nathaniel found himself quickly pulled into Emmy’s dark world of whips and blindfolds, kink and submission. He was intrigued not only by the thrill of it, but by the enigma which led Emmy there as well.
Emmy could not resist Nathaniel Walsh. She couldn’t deny the electricity between them, the utter animal magnetism she felt for him. Emmy was mystified by someone as honest and uncomplicated as Nathaniel allowing her to lead him into the dark. She adored having him at the tip of her lash.
But Emmy had secrets - deep, cruel truths which led her to Club Imperial, and staying with Nathaniel would mean telling him everything. He wasn't ready for that.
Neither was she.
** Content Warning: Contains explicit content with BDSM, Erotica, and strong language. Not intended for all audiences. 18+ Audience

Consensual Excerpt

“Consensual: A Club Imperial Novel, Book 1”

He followed Emmy down the hall to the kitchen, where he found her with her face pressed into the flowers, inhaling deeply. His blood pressure rose as he openly stared at her backside, shapely and firm in the gorgeous blue dress. It was all he could do to keep from walking up to her and cupping that incredible heart-shaped ass in his hands. She had put the two desserts on the breakfast bar, and her coat was tossed over the chair.
With a sigh, she stepped back from the flowers, but didn't turn around. “I never got flowers, ever, and now three times in the past three months.”
“I'll buy you flowers everyday if you want them,” Nathaniel said, walking up behind her and putting his hands on her arms, trailing up and down.
“They make me feel like...” Her voice drifted off. She turned and smiled at him. “Dessert?”
“Oh, yes,” he said. God, no. No. I want to strip you out of this dress, lay you on the couch and have you for dessert.
She walked around him, going to the fridge. “Wine?”
He turned and looked at her. “Actually, do you have a beer?”
She pursed her lips and sighed. “I do, but...”
“But what?”
“I don't have normal beer,” she said. “I don't drink macro-brewed piss water. It's Troeg's Flying Mouflan.”
His jaw dropped. “You know beers?” She nodded. “And you keep Troeg's in the house?”
“It's in rotation,” she said.
“Oh, dear God, marry me.” He laughed.
“I thought you liked wine?” Emmy asked.
“I like good wine just fine, but I'd rather have a beer when I'm not eating at exclusive restaurants,” he said. “I didn't peg you as the kind of woman who would enjoy beer.”
“A good beer can be just as complicated as a good wine,” she said, pulling out two bottles and putting them on the counter. “And you have to know how to pair the flavors and styles with the food. Troeg's is a great after-dinner beer.” She handed him the bottle opener and Nathaniel opened the two bottles as she turned to get the plates for the dessert.
He watched her lean up to grab the plates and her leg popped up off the ground. The shoes looked so incredible on her feet. She had lovely long legs and he found himself dreaming about licking them from her ankles to her pussy. He took a deep breath and stilled himself. Down. Down. Not yet.
She plated the fruit and chocolate desserts and joined him at the table. Looking around, she laughed. “I almost never eat here. I prefer the den.”
He stood from the stool. “Then let's eat there, if that's where you're more comfortable.”
“So agreeable. I like that.” She smiled and hopped back down, leading the way from the kitchen to the den where there was a coffee table for them to put their plates on. Emmy took the over-stuffed chair and with a private note of disappointment, Nathaniel sat on the love seat. She picked up a remote and turned on the sound system. An achingly gorgeous aria wafted out of the speakers, and it took Nathaniel a moment to place it.
“Ach, ich fühl's?” he asked.
“Very good,” she said. “I sang this at one of my recitals. This and Gretchen am Spinnrade are two of my favorite pieces.” She ate a piece of the confection with an unnerving grace.
“You sing too?” he asked. She nodded with her mouthful. “Dear God, Emmy. The cello and a voice?”
“It's not a good voice,” she said. “It's merely adequate.”
“If you can sing Papagena, I don't think you're merely adequate.”
“Well, no one seemed to agree with you.”
Again he could hear the bitterness in her voice, the sound of someone who had been always left behind and ignored by those around her. She had run a business where she had only been an admin for three days. That was not a woman who was incapable, or merely adequate. He cut off a piece of the dessert and chewed it thoughtfully for a minute, letting the voice from the aria fill the room.
“Oh, damn!” Emmy exclaimed. He looked over and found the latest forkful had cascaded down the front of her dress, leaving a huge chocolate and raspberry stain. “Oh, damn.” She put the plate on the table, and stood. “I have to change, I'm sorry.”
“No, no,” he said. “Go get it off before the raspberry sets.”
She walked out of the room to the bathroom just on the other side of the den. “I'm sorry,” she called.
“It's fine, Emmy,” he said, sitting back and taking a sip of the beer.
“I was...going to ask you about Imperial,” she called a moment later.
He shrugged, confused. “What about it?”
“Did you like it?”
“I think I was too pissed at Jillian to really care,” he said. “I saw some things that were intriguing, but...well, I have to consider my place in the community. Mostly, though, I was pissed at Jillian.” He paused. “It was a beautiful building on the inside. If I remember anything from that night, it was that woman...”
“You liked her?”
He shook his head. “What's not to like about leather and lace? But it was more than that. It was the way she walked across that floor, consumed with such fiery anger. She knew who she was and someone had crossed her. She took steps.” He took a sip of the beer. “The outfit was just the icing on the cake.” He took a quick bite of his dessert, and didn't want to think about that woman. She was an untouchable in a place he didn't want to make a habit. And was tainted by Jillian. He turned down his lip.
“Would you go back?” Emmy asked, the question floating down the hall.
“I don't think I will,” he said. “It was kind of a bad ending to a bad week.”
He paused, and looked at Emmy's dessert. “I can't say never,” he replied. “I don't want to think about it right now. It's probably a very nice place for an interesting distraction.”
“Do you remember what she looked like?” Emmy called.
What is going on here? “Emmy, don't tell me you want to go there.” She didn't answer right away and he could feel himself cringing. He heard a heel click on the wood flooring and then another, then two more. She stopped just out of view. “Please, don't tell me you want to go there,” he said.
“Well, no,” she said. “I was just thinking I could bring a bit of that here.”
She stepped out from behind the wall and Nathaniel dropped his fork loudly on to the plate.
“Fuck.” He gasped.
Emmy was wearing the same black silver-button-up boots, black lace and satin outfit, opera gloves and choker. Her hair was now up, and the only things missing were the whip and the crop.
He stared for a long minute, then rose and walked over to her, where she stood, arms folded, waiting for some sort of response from him. He looked straight into her eyes. “It was you. You were there.”
She nodded once. “It was me.”

Book 2 continues the A Club Imperial Series
After the vicious attack on Emmy, Nathaniel has enlisted the help of his brother and Club Imperial’s owner to make sure her secret life doesn’t make the headlines, or interfere with the justice her attackers deserve. And to make matters worse, Emmy wakes up with absolutely no memory of what she has been through.
Recovering from her injuries at Nathaniel’s sprawling estate, Emmy deals with all of the changes in her world: new friends, a different lifestyle, a new boyfriend and a brand new threat.
With a simple phone call, her past crashes head-long into her present. Her mother suddenly reappears in her life and brings with her all the terrible things she thought she’d left behind. Old scars are ripped open and Emmy’s not sure she can survive the pain again.
She has to let Nathaniel go to protect him from the hell of her past…
But he’s not walking away.


The car turned off the road to a paved driveway that disappeared through the trees. They wound through the greenish midday light and the trees disappeared from her side of the car to reveal Nathaniel’s North Hills estate. Her jaw dropped.

There were acres of manicured lawns between them and the house. There was a stand of trees half way there with a pond surrounded by carefully maintained cattails and native grasses that were starting to perk from their winter rest. She thought she saw a spigot in the middle for a fountain.

Beyond was an enormous white and brick Jacobean-style mansion. Three floors tall with huge windows over-looking the lawns, the front door was set back from the driveway, giving the house a u-shape to the front. There was tower—a tower—above the main entrance which rose to a fourth floor. The top of the house was lined with white cement railing and each of the two front wings had a parapet on the corners. She started counting chimneys and finally had to stop at twenty-five. As they drove further, she caught glimpses of the depth of the house, and there were more chimneys she hadn’t seen earlier. All of the windows were three panes wide and seemed to be floor to ceiling. Part of the back of the house looked newer, but had been added on in the style of the original. It had the traditional white puzzle cornering and there was some ivy on one wing, but it was carefully maintained.

Emmy looked at him. “Is there a ballroom?”

“Of course,” he said dismissively.

“You live in this?”

“Quite.” He smiled. “I’ll give you the whole tour when you’re feeling up to it. Your room is in the back overlooking one of the gardens and the pool house.”

“Pool house,” she mumbled. “You have a pool house.” She turned back and pressed her hand to the window. “It looks like Hatfield House.”

With that thought, the pang of loss hit her so hard she had tears streaming down her cheeks before she even realized what was going on. It had been years since she had thought about Hatfield House and the sudden realization that it was the last time she saw her father was like a bolt of lightning.

“Oh, my God.” Nathaniel pushed over to put his arm around her. “What’s wrong? Holy crap, please stop crying.”

She tried, she really did. But she couldn’t stop the gasps and hiccups that went along with the emotion. She looked at him. “You want to know more about me? The last time I saw my father was at Hatfield House outside of London. We were there for a benefit to try and save the Ukrainian Symphony Orchestra. He was there with Sarinya and had just proposed to her. I left the next day to go back to Boston, and he was killed in a car accident three months later, after playing out the season with the London Symphony. They were going to see Sarinya’s family for holiday, and he never made it.”

He just held her a moment while letting her cry. “I’m so sorry, Emmy.”

“I didn’t think a stupid house could do this to me,” she said, smearing the tears away indelicately. “I mean, I like your house, I just didn’t think it was going to make me think of my dad and get me all worked up like this.”

“You have had a very traumatic two weeks, Em.” He tried to console her. “I suspect most anything will set you off.”

“I hate being emotional,” she hiccupped.

“I can’t imagine why.” He smiled at her.

She smiled back, starting to feel a little more balanced. “You have a beautiful house.”

“I’m glad you like it.” He lowered his voice and continued, “But you can’t go in the West Wing.”

“Why not,” she asked, confused.

“Because that’s where I keep my secret magical rose.” He laughed. “And sometimes the teapots talk.”

Emmy giggled. “So you’re telling me this is a reverse fairytale castle? What does that make Quinn? Or you for that matter?”

“I’m a handsome equine.”

“Oh, so you’re full of horseshit.”
Amazon Consensual
Amazon Broken Bonds

Bio  Katherine Rhodes
Author of erotica, light BDSM erotica and paranormal erotica. Expert in the profundities of bad movies and awful literature. Armed with her Bachelors of English, Literature she has set her mind to writing erotic romances which are kinky, dirty, and fun. A lackadaisical laundry goddess, Katherine resides in Philadelphia with her husband, three cats and a betta named Fishtian Grey.

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Twitter @Mistress_KayR

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

CA Szarek - The Tartan MP3 Player

Today, I've got my buddy CA Szarek with her latest release The Tartan MP3 Player.  This is a Scottish time travel  bunch of goodness.  Okay, I'm talking out my butt there.  I haven't read it, but I've read some of Crissy's other stuff, and she writes well.  Couple that with the book description, and the fact that I said it's Scottish and involves time travel...No brainer.  I this:

Claire gets sucked into 1672, naked and scared. Duncan rescues her only to realize she's the key to finding his brother who was kidnapped by the Fae. Can they work together and both get what they want? Will sudden passion for each other change their goals?

Book One in the time travel, fantasy romance trilogy, Highland Secrets!
She never believed in magic…
Claire McGowan, Scotophile and historical romance novel addict, finally saves up enough for her dream vacation to Scotland.
She never imagines she’ll get sucked back to the seventeenth century while running on the beach—that’s what she gets for exercising when she should be relaxing.
He knows with a harsh certainty magic exists...
The Fae have taken his brother—Laird of his clan. Duncan MacLeod finds a bonnie naked and confused lass. He’s convinced Claire arrived in 1672 through the Faery Stones—a magical portal he’s been scouring the lands for over the past six months.
At last, he has someone who’s been through the Faery Stones and can help him find them—and get his brother back.
Duncan promises to help Claire get home, even though his desire to have her wars with his vow.
Torn between familiarity of the present and what she wants in the past, can Claire help Duncan find his brother and get back to the future? Will she even want to?

“I’m going with you.”
A week had past and neither of them was closer to what they wanted.
Home for Claire and Alex for Duncan.
She still couldn’t remember anything before ‘waking up’ on the beach of Skye. Or how she’d got to his time. Even though he was convinced she’d travelled through the Faery Stones.
And Duncan was supposed to leave in the morning to continue his quest for them.
He laughed long and hard. “A lass on a pirate ship. Sorry, but it’s not a pleasure cruise. I’ve told ye what I seek. We’ll figure out another way ye can help.”
“Right.” Claire took a deep breath. “Your purpose is my purpose. You want to find your brother, and I want to get home.”
But did she?
Claire was already fond of this huge Highlander.
More than fond?
Her heart stuttered, but she ignored it. Duncan had been nothing but kind and honorable with her, even if his whole clan—his whole family—assumed she was sleeping with him.
Sleeping yes—as in his bed.
Every night.
Not so much.
God, I wish.
Duncan said nothing, but he stared at her like he always did.
Claire took a step toward him, closing the distance between them in his office—ledger room—he’d called it. “We’ve talked about this. You need my help, and I want to help. Besides, maybe I can sense something, or something will jog my memory. And I can figure out how I got to that beach. It’s worth a shot.”
His massive chest rose and fell as he let out an audible breath.
Claire was holding hers.
Duncan was her familiar in this very foreign land of the past since she’d been here. She couldn’t imagine being left in the castle while he was gone for possibly months.
She adored his sister, liked his father all right, and of course little Angus, but… the thought of Duncan leaving her churned her stomach.
Historical romance novels hadn’t covered just how difficult life in this time was. Hard work, and boring with no TV, movies, not even her damn MP3 player. What was worse, she couldn’t read or speak Gaelic or Latin, so the books here were out, too.
No automation. Everything was manual labor, even cooking and laundry. Being a guest, she wasn’t expected to help Janet and the female staff with the castle day-to-day, but she didn’t want to sit around and be useless.
So Claire had been scrubbing floors on all fours, using a washboard to clean clothing and bed linens. Even smacking the dust out of tapestries.
She was a decent cook, so the previous night she’d helped in the kitchens, preparing a stew the men had seemed to enjoy, but she’d drawn the line at killing, even if she’d cooked and eaten the meat.
The archaic defined roles of the sexes were irritating but not a surprise.
On the other hand, the simplicity of life here appealed. And smiles meant the same. Love was the same.
Duncan’s people were kind and had welcomed her. Not even questioned her presence at Dunvegan, or in his rooms…in his bed.
“I see yer wisdom there.” He crossed his arms. “I don’ like it. My men…are ruffians.”
His thick brogue, leaving off the t whenever he said ‘don’t’ still made her heart beat harder. The man was pure sex.
Claire took two more steps. She could feel the heat coming off his body. “You’ll protect me.” She wanted to inch even closer. If he reached for her, she could be in his arms in seconds. A tremor shot down her spine.
“Will I now?” One corner of his mouth shot up. Amusement wrapped Duncan’s words and Claire’s heartbeat kicked up another notch.
“Aye.” She winked as she said his word.
Duncan smiled, and her stomach fluttered. “How’s that?” He bent his head low.
She gasped.
His lips hovered over hers.
Please, God.
Let it happen finally.
Please kiss me.
“Because you’re going to tell them I’m yours.”
Duncan growled—honest to God growled. Then his mouth crashed down on hers.
Claire moaned and moved into his chest as well as into his kiss.
He forced his tongue into her mouth, but she had no intention of fighting him. She slanted her lips under his and kissed him back as Duncan wrapped his arms around her.
She’d not bothered with a chemise that morning, and the stupid wool of her skirt made her thighs itch as it brushed her skin.
His massive hands cupping her ass and lifting her scattered Claire’s thoughts and she whimpered into Duncan’s mouth.
He slammed his pelvis into hers and she melted, pushing right back.
God, she wanted him.
Burned for him.
Sleeping in his bed, but not in his arms just left her with blue balls, especially the two nights he’d held her instead of avoiding contact.
Was it finally going to happen?
The Highlanders in her damn books never had as much control as Duncan MacLeod.
Unless he didn’t want her—scratch that. An erection was pressing into her stomach.
Claire rocked into him, kissing him harder and squeezing her arms around his neck.
“Jesu, lass.” Duncan yanked away from her mouth, resting his forehead against hers. His hard chest pushed into her breasts as he panted. His high cheekbones were flushed with color.
“Duncan, I want you.”

Buylinks for the Tartan MP3 Player:

Where to find C.A.:
Twitter: @caszarek

Collision Force (Crossing Forces Book One): OUT NOW
Cole in Her Stocking (A Crossing Forces Christmas): FREE READ OUT NOW!
Chance Collision (Crossing Forces Book Two): Jan 31, 2014
Calculated Collision (Crossing Forces Book Three): June 9, 2014

Sword's Call (King's Riders Book One): OUT NOW!
Love's Call (King's Riders Book Two): COMING SOON!
Fate's Call (A King's Riders Novella): COMING SOON!

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