Book List

Excerpt from: A Christmas Favour

“Oh, I’m so glad Thanksgiving holidays are over now.” Angela sighed and turned to Mike, gathering a sack of groceries from her car.

Mike took the bag from her. “I know what you mean. Now we’ve got to make it through the Christmas holidays.”

He followed her up the short steps into her apartment.

“I’m going to get my place ready for a spiritual cleansing this week. It’s been a long time,” she continued.

Mike cocked an eyebrow. “You actually do that shit, huh?”

She smirked. “Yes. You knew that about me before we started dating.” She took the sack from him and started putting things away.

“I know. It’s just weird, that’s all.”

Angela frowned. “I thought you liked weird.”

“I do.” Mike reached for Angela’s hand and took it in his. He kissed it as he gazed longingly into her eyes. “I love your eyes, Angela.” He leaned towards her lips and kissed her. She hesitantly pulled away from him.

Mike looked puzzled. “Is something the matter?”

“No. I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night. I think I’d better turn in early tonight. It’s Friday, and I’d like to get some rest. I hope you don’t mind.” She tried her best to look sad, and the puppy dog look won out.

He snorted. “If you’d learn to eat more meat, you’d probably feel better.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “We’ve been over the meat issue many times before. I’ve just never been a big fan of red meat.”

“I know. I’m mostly picking on you anyway, but I am concerned about your health. The protein—”

She pressed two fingers against his lips in slight irritation. “It’s sweet, but I’m fine. I promise.”

His shoulders sagged. “Okay. I promised the boys I’d game with them this weekend, anyway.” Mike tried to mimic the puppy dog look.

“Call me later?” She turned away from him, glancing over her shoulder.

“I sure will. I love you, Angela.” He kissed her, and his smile returned.

“You too.” Angela closed the door quietly. She walked over to the nightstand, picked up a black photo album, and dusted off the cover. Angela found the picture of her and a taller man with long midnight black hair that framed a rough, unshaved face. His arms were around her and they were both smiling. To my best friend, forever and always, Christian, the caption beneath the picture read.

A visit from you would really make my day, she thought. She set down the photo album and went into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea.

Her kitchen was tiny, barely big enough for two people. The rest of her apartment was fairly open—one couch, a few pictures on the walls and some ironwork candleholders over the fireplace that needed cleaning. In one corner, Angela kept a kitty bed for the stray cats she picked up and gave a home to.

After her cup of hot water was boiling, she added the tea bag, stirred it and brought the cup to her nose. The aroma and warmth of green tea helped her nerves. The past week had been stressful. Mike tried to be helpful by coming over to see her, but as usual, he was just in the way. The winter holidays were a mess for her since Christian stopped coming into town. * * * *

Christian picked up his smart phone and pager, stuffed them in his pockets, gathered up his laptop and headed for his car. Work sucked badly when the servers were down in Dallas, because that meant a trip out of town. He could at least call his best friend and former lover. Maybe they could go out for drinks or hang out and spend some time together. He felt guilty. It had been two years since he’d seen Angela and almost as long since he’d last called or written.

Her absence from his life was beginning to bother him, though relationship troubles were routine for him since losing his last girlfriend. It seemed Christian’s very healthy sex drive had interfered with her religious studies and training to be a missionary. She’d always complained about him working so hard in the secular world when he could have been preaching the good faith. He laughed at the idea as he tried to recall her face and couldn’t. He didn’t mind parting with her.

It was still early, but Angela should be at work by now. Chris hooked his Bluetooth earpiece around his ear, picked up his smart phone and dialled her work number, impatient for the phone to connect. The two rings seemed like forever until she answered.

“Hello, Anderson Insurance…”

Her sweet voice was all it took to put him in a better mood.

“Angela, hi.” Chris remembered to breathe.

“Christian…?”

“Yeah, it’s me. It’s uh, been awhile.” He twiddled his thumbs.

“Do you realise how long it’s been?” She sounded irritated with him.

He slumped in his seat and let out a long, slow breath. “Too long. And I’m sorry.”

“You had better be.” A beat passed before either of them spoke again.

“What’s going on? How have you been?” Chris picked up the stylus from his phone, tapped it against the dashboard nervously.

“I’ve been fine. You do remember this is my work line, right?”

He could almost see her smirking at him, the way her eyes narrowed yet still gleamed with desire for him. “Yes, and again, I’m sorry. I only have a moment anyway. I’m coming into town next weekend on business and might be able to get some free time.”

He thought he heard her breath hitch. “Would you like to get together?”

“Sure. I could really use some company.”

Despite the sadness that was in her voice, he was certain he could cheer her up. The thought of smelling her sweet essence, cuddling against her soft skin brought a grin to his face. “All right. I’ll call you as soon as I get in, okay?”

“Please do,” she whispered.

Excerpt From: A Detour Home

“This is going to be so cool!” Cameron exclaimed, his jaw slack with shock, eyes sparkling with surprise and growing excitement as he regarded his best friend’s smug face. “Wait.” His baby blue eyes narrowed. “You’d better not be joking.”

“Nope.” Jon grinned at Cam’s reaction, one he had been anticipating for hours—ever since he got the phone call from his Uncle Dave offering them jobs on his road crew for the summer. Apparently, he had a state highway repair contract to fulfil and needed more warm bodies.

Jon wasn’t under any illusions. He’d worked for his uncle the previous summer, and it was damn hard work, sometimes twelve-hour days, sometimes even more, all in the hot, humid Midwest weather. But it was great money, way more than any other job guys their age could get. And this year Cam could finally go, too, since Dave had a lucrative clause in the contract for finishing early and needed reliable help.

“It’ll be hard work,” he cautioned lightly, knowing Cam wouldn’t care.

“Who cares? Bring it on,” Cameron almost shouted, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in that funny way he had. Jon watched him with enjoyment as he pumped his fist in the air a la Tiger Woods, then collapsed in a sprawl beside him on the couch.

“Wow, on our own together all summer! Drinking beer with the guys, staying at hotels, eating out.” Cam’s leg jostled his and Jon looked down absently to where they pressed together.

“Hey, look at you,” Jon observed with surprise, staring over at Cameron with new eyes. “Geez, your thighs are almost as big as mine.” He exaggerated somewhat, but Cam had filled out quite a bit when he hadn’t been looking.

Excerpt From: A Game of Chances

The light on Marcus Duncan’s old-fashioned answering machine blinked steadily, which was just annoying because he knew who it had to be.

He didn’t know why his ex, Steven, would be calling him, but there was no one else who would—not with Steven getting their friends in the split.

A loud, irritated sigh left him, even as he reached out and pressed the play button, his finger staying there for purposes of immediate deletion. He still didn’t want to hear Steven’s voice, not really. Not even now, two months after he’d kicked the bastard out of his?their?old place.

“Hey, Mar?” the voice started, and Marcus smirked at the beep the machine made when he pressed the button. If only it were as easy to erase the fourteen months he’d wasted on Steven in the first place.

“Sorry, I got cu?” the same voice, and this time Marcus snarled just a bit as he repeated his earlier motion, skipping past the message that was obviously a continuation of the last.

“Got cut off?” he spoke to the machine, feeling just a little bit like an idiot, but also…not. A guy needed to vent sometimes, Marcus figured, even if there was nobody there to hear him. “You’re lucky it’s just your messages I’m cutting off, asshole.”

And that was true enough, even though any action that was more proactive than just putting out Steven?along with his assorted random, but very expensive crap?would have landed Marcus in jail. Marcus still would have liked to have—but that was mean. And petty. And would have implied that Steven had had entirely too large of an impact on his life.

Marcus wouldn’t give the jerk the satisfaction.

One more message from the jackass was skipped, and Marcus’ finger was already starting to press the button again before he realised it was a different voice.

Different and… Oh, just listen to that little bit of drawl. It was charming, really, though Marcus would never say so out loud. Charming wasn’t the sort of word he generally flung about, after all.

“Um, hey. I don’t know if… Look, this might be a wrong number, but I’m trying to find an M. Duncan who used to live at 2437 Endwhisle Place? If… Okay, if this is the wrong number, then never mind, but if it’s not, um…I think you forgot to file a change of address with the post office and I’m getting all sorts of mail for you. Some of it looks like it might be important, so… Um, okay. If this is the right M. Duncan, call me back at…”

Marcus scrambled for a pen, finally digging one out of the pile of receipts and scraps of paper on the table by the phone. Then he had to start again, skipping Steven’s messages a second time so he could copy down the number.

The guy hadn’t left a name, but Marcus supposed it didn’t much matter. He apparently had whatever mail had slipped through the cracks at the post office, because Marcus clearly recalled filling out the stupid form. And giving it to one of the clerks, too.

He’d been getting mail at his new place, but that didn’t mean the postal service couldn’t have screwed up a time or two, and who knew how they managed to find every piece of mail for one single person anyway? Marcus surely didn’t.

And hell, if even one envelope was important, Marcus figured he owed the guy. It would have been so much easier to just throw it all away.

He almost picked up the phone, but his stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Things had gotten kind of crazy at the restaurant bar that afternoon, so Marcus hadn’t had time for lunch, which was possibly ironic, and…well, right at the moment, there was a pizza out there just calling his name.

Or maybe Chinese. Marcus wasn’t sure. Probably whatever was closest. He wasn’t fully certain of what that was, though he’d been in his new place for going on three weeks.

He’d know soon enough, he figured, after quickly exchanging sharp black pants for tight jeans, dress shoes for sneakers, and his sweat-stained T-shirt for a similar one that was definitely clean. He might not have loads of free time, what with the hours he worked, but Marcus always made sure to do the laundry at least once a week.

It was one of the things Steven?with his entirely dry-clean-only wardrobe?had always complained about. He’d been of the opinion that Marcus should have spent those two hours catering to him. He’d wanted Marcus to hire a service, for God’s sake. As if doing his own laundry was a sign that Marcus was inferior or something.

Well, maybe he was, but not to Steven. And doing his own wash was necessary, not to mention a skill that had taken Marcus months to get right, even with the advice from his uncle’s housekeeper—and hadn’t Connie gotten a laugh from that?

Marcus had never even seen a washing machine until he’d been twenty-three, and being able to handle his own day to day needs made him feel accomplished. Normal. Not that Marcus had ever bothered to explain that to his now-ex, which sort of implied that they really had been just as badly suited to each other as Marcus had feared, just a few months in. But he’d stuck it out, mostly because he’d never been good at being on his own. He was starting to get good, though—more comfortable with his own company, anyway.

None of which was bringing him any closer to being fed, Marcus reminded himself with a wry grin as he scooped up his keys and headed out the door.

Excerpt From: A Game of Chances

The light on Marcus Duncan’s old-fashioned answering machine blinked steadily, which was just annoying because he knew who it had to be.

He didn’t know why his ex, Steven, would be calling him, but there was no one else who would—not with Steven getting their friends in the split.

A loud, irritated sigh left him, even as he reached out and pressed the play button, his finger staying there for purposes of immediate deletion. He still didn’t want to hear Steven’s voice, not really. Not even now, two months after he’d kicked the bastard out of his?their?old place.

“Hey, Mar?” the voice started, and Marcus smirked at the beep the machine made when he pressed the button. If only it were as easy to erase the fourteen months he’d wasted on Steven in the first place.

“Sorry, I got cu?” the same voice, and this time Marcus snarled just a bit as he repeated his earlier motion, skipping past the message that was obviously a continuation of the last.

“Got cut off?” he spoke to the machine, feeling just a little bit like an idiot, but also…not. A guy needed to vent sometimes, Marcus figured, even if there was nobody there to hear him. “You’re lucky it’s just your messages I’m cutting off, asshole.”

And that was true enough, even though any action that was more proactive than just putting out Steven?along with his assorted random, but very expensive crap?would have landed Marcus in jail. Marcus still would have liked to have—but that was mean. And petty. And would have implied that Steven had had entirely too large of an impact on his life.

Marcus wouldn’t give the jerk the satisfaction.

One more message from the jackass was skipped, and Marcus’ finger was already starting to press the button again before he realised it was a different voice.

Different and… Oh, just listen to that little bit of drawl. It was charming, really, though Marcus would never say so out loud. Charming wasn’t the sort of word he generally flung about, after all.

“Um, hey. I don’t know if… Look, this might be a wrong number, but I’m trying to find an M. Duncan who used to live at 2437 Endwhisle Place? If… Okay, if this is the wrong number, then never mind, but if it’s not, um…I think you forgot to file a change of address with the post office and I’m getting all sorts of mail for you. Some of it looks like it might be important, so… Um, okay. If this is the right M. Duncan, call me back at…”

Marcus scrambled for a pen, finally digging one out of the pile of receipts and scraps of paper on the table by the phone. Then he had to start again, skipping Steven’s messages a second time so he could copy down the number.

The guy hadn’t left a name, but Marcus supposed it didn’t much matter. He apparently had whatever mail had slipped through the cracks at the post office, because Marcus clearly recalled filling out the stupid form. And giving it to one of the clerks, too.

He’d been getting mail at his new place, but that didn’t mean the postal service couldn’t have screwed up a time or two, and who knew how they managed to find every piece of mail for one single person anyway? Marcus surely didn’t.

And hell, if even one envelope was important, Marcus figured he owed the guy. It would have been so much easier to just throw it all away.

He almost picked up the phone, but his stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Things had gotten kind of crazy at the restaurant bar that afternoon, so Marcus hadn’t had time for lunch, which was possibly ironic, and…well, right at the moment, there was a pizza out there just calling his name.

Or maybe Chinese. Marcus wasn’t sure. Probably whatever was closest. He wasn’t fully certain of what that was, though he’d been in his new place for going on three weeks.

He’d know soon enough, he figured, after quickly exchanging sharp black pants for tight jeans, dress shoes for sneakers, and his sweat-stained T-shirt for a similar one that was definitely clean. He might not have loads of free time, what with the hours he worked, but Marcus always made sure to do the laundry at least once a week.

It was one of the things Steven?with his entirely dry-clean-only wardrobe?had always complained about. He’d been of the opinion that Marcus should have spent those two hours catering to him. He’d wanted Marcus to hire a service, for God’s sake. As if doing his own laundry was a sign that Marcus was inferior or something.

Well, maybe he was, but not to Steven. And doing his own wash was necessary, not to mention a skill that had taken Marcus months to get right, even with the advice from his uncle’s housekeeper—and hadn’t Connie gotten a laugh from that?

Marcus had never even seen a washing machine until he’d been twenty-three, and being able to handle his own day to day needs made him feel accomplished. Normal. Not that Marcus had ever bothered to explain that to his now-ex, which sort of implied that they really had been just as badly suited to each other as Marcus had feared, just a few months in. But he’d stuck it out, mostly because he’d never been good at being on his own. He was starting to get good, though—more comfortable with his own company, anyway.

None of which was bringing him any closer to being fed, Marcus reminded himself with a wry grin as he scooped up his keys and headed out the door.

Excerpt From: A Gift of Daybreak

Andy managed to keep the sneer off his face until he left the room the wedding had taken place in. What a sham it’d been and only because the little viper had gotten herself pregnant. A rush job for the sake of propriety. Not that Reece had any sense of propriety and surely the little viper whore didn’t have any, either. Why his cousin had to live dangerously, let alone why he had to make Andy go to Vegas for the damn thing, Andy would never know. The place was so hot. Andy might be a snake, but he liked cooler more temperate temperatures. Of course, he could have made his excuses and turned down the invite, but he’d accepted for some reason unknown to him.

Truth was, Andy was growing bored. Maybe it was that his cousins were now mated and had children or maybe he was just getting to that age. He needed something new in his life. Certainly not a mate or child but something different, perhaps he needed a new yacht. He considered the idea as he walked the halls to his room. Knowing Remy and Reece’s penchant for practical jokes and their drive to make him the butt of every one, he’d requested to be put as far away from them as possible. He was an easy target for them, seeing himself as above such childish pranks.

He’d been glad of the decision to move after seeing the colour of Reece’s hair for the wedding. Dye in his hair gel apparently did wonders. Normally a dark blonde, it’d been coloured into a stunning purple, a colour that didn’t go with his seething face. He did match rather well with Remy who’d been dressed up as Elvis for the occasion. For a moment, Andy had almost felt sorry for their mates, but the girls didn’t seem to mind.

Maybe, I shouldn’t go back down at all, he thought to himself as he fetched his key card from his wallet. It had been a mistake to go into Vegas in the first place. It was full of crime and sleaze. All one had to do was watch the TV to discover that.

He’d just pack his bags and leave, his cousins wouldn’t miss him. He’d already shown face, and the boys would no doubt figure that he’d gotten lucky. That was only if they don’t think too carefully about it, and Andy had never accused his cousins of thinking.

He slipped the card into the lock, opening the door and ready to pack his case. Stopping short, he caught a whiff of scent from his room. There was a female inside. Groaning inwardly at Reece and Remy, he opened the door carefully, scared of what he’d find. He wouldn’t touch a woman from Las Vegas with Reece’s cock, let alone a ten foot pole.

A stately woman dressed in a green safari dress with her hair done up in a multicoloured turban and wearing large, tortoiseshell glasses that spanned above and below her eyes sat in the centre of the room. She was the colour of light coffee, with large berry-coloured lips, and her hands, adorned only with a large diamond ring, sat in her lap.

This was no hooker.

She uncrossed her legs and sat up a little more. “And a good morning to you, Mr. Derrell.” she said in a soft voice, thick with a Mexican accent.

“If your here for turning down service, I’ll pass. Leave the mint on the pillow,” he quipped lightly, leaning against the wall. This woman, whoever she was, was Ophidian, a weresnake, just like him, and she was very unwelcome.

“Your attempts at levity are dry and rather uncalled for,” she said and took off her glasses. She blinked large, almond-shaped, green eyes at him. “And such flip from a snake who grew up in the system… I would have thought Archon Rizdon would have taught you better.”

He felt his eyes narrow. “True she did, but she also taught me manners. One does not simply encroach into another’s territory without permission. I’m staying in this room for however long that may be. Bad form to break into another’s room.”

“You speak about territory when you’re actually in mine.” She stood and went to the window. “I came here for a quiet chat and you feel the need to challenge an Archon?” She shook her head.

“Archon?” he blinked, mentally chastising himself. “Of course, I meant no disrespect. I would be a fool to offer any such challenge, and I assure you I’m not a fool.” He stepped away keeping more of a distance. If this was indeed her territory then she could be only one woman. Olivia. A viper in every respect and a most dangerous woman. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? The happy couple is downstairs, if you wish to offer them your congratulations.”

“And I already have. My mate is conveying my felicitations. I am here to speak to you.”

“Excellent.” The word sounded forced even to him.

Excerpt From: A Legend Arises

“Emma!” Ailig Bennett bellowed as he left his horse in the care of his squire and rushed into his keep. Behind him, the ocean crashed against the shore at the foot of the hills where his keep had been built. He cared little for it or the oncoming storm. He pulled off his leather gloves as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior of the great hall.

Servants scurried around, lighting torches to break the oncoming darkness.

“Emma,” he called again. He headed towards the doorway at the back of the wall which would lead to the stairs spiralling to the upper chambers housed in the north tower. The solar was there and no doubt Emma, as well, as she bent over her stitching. He smiled at the thought of pulling his new bride into his arms and unravelling her carefully braided hair.

Would she welcome him with as much vigour as that which coursed through his veins? He’d left her behind on their wedding day, answering the urgent call of his king. On that day he’d hated his liege, but with King Henry’s contingent of messengers waiting, he had been unable to tarry.

Today, finally, he would be one with his bride.

Reaching the floor above the great hall, he strode towards his thinking chamber. Another set of stairs within it lead to the solar. “Emma,” he called more gently as he crested the top of the stairs.

His bride stood in the large chamber, her back to him as she stared through an arrow slot at the waves below. His breath caught at the sight of her long brown braids cascading to her slim waist. He could not wait to give the bride gift he had purchased for her on his journey.

She spun at the sound of his voice, a smile lighting her face.

Perhaps he could wait to gift her. He would wait until after they’d united. His manhood stirred beneath his heavy knee-length mail, lengthening and thickening in his need for his wife. He had waited so long for her, more than the months this latest call to duty had required. Emma had long ago caught his eye. He had curried her favour in the ways he had learned in the king’s courts until her green eyes shone with the love he felt in his middle.

“Ailig,” she exclaimed, dashing towards him. Her arms closed around his neck as he lifted her into his embrace. His mouth took hers as one hand lifted to bury in her hair, already pulling loose strands free. She tasted of honey and Emma. He groaned as his lips pushed hers apart and his tongue delved inside, scraping along hers as he reclaimed her sweet mouth. How he’d dreamed of the pleasure while he had been away, this one pleasure he had indulged before they were wed. This one pleasure he’d taken many times after they were wed, the last moments before the king’s messengers had dragged him away to his duty.

Emma made a small sound and pressed into him, her arms tightening around his neck. Unlike many noble marriages, theirs was a love match. Indeed, Emma had not been a noble until he’d taken her to bride. She’d been the daughter of a merchant in the village a short distance from the keep. Though he was noble, it had taken some time to claim her. Emma had feared marrying a knight and losing him to battle. As if to feed that fear, the king had called him away immediately. It had ripped at Ailig’s gut to see the terror in her eyes.

Excerpt from: A Legend Accomplished

Emily Harteger looked up from the text she’d just scrawled in her notebook, glancing around her as a powerful wave surged up the shore and puddled around her bare feet. She smiled, the warmth of familiarity creeping over her. Before long, the water would surround the stone where she sat. How many times had that happened when she’d been distracted?

She blinked. What was she thinking?

That had never happened to her. She’d never been to this beach before today.

Being here was like déjà vu or something equally weird. For the last fifteen minutes, it had seemed as if she’d finally arrived home. She knew this place.

Everything was familiar—the crash of the waves on the rocks jutting from the ocean. The trees lining the shore. The castle overshadowing the beach as it stood high above her on a rocky hill. Even the wind seemed to carry a familiar scent of ocean and wood smoke.

Yet she’d never been here. She’d never been out of the United States before this week.

She looked up at the shadowy castle, wondering if the interior would be as she’d seen it in her head. Likely not. She was just a romance writer with an overactive imagination. Wasn’t it that imagination that had drawn her here to the northern shores of England?

Another wave engulfed her ankles while she watched the water hypnotically lap at the shore. She breathed in the heady scent of the salty sea air and closed her eyes. This was the sort of place where Ailig and Emma, the hero and heroine of her latest novel, had fallen in love. She imagined what it had been like for young Emma when she’d fallen in love with Ailig. Emily could see her sitting on this rock, waiting for him to arrive so they could have a few stolen moments before her parents realised she was missing.

“My love,” he’d whisper as he knelt beside her knees and cupped her cheek with his work-roughened hand.

Emily jerked as her imagining became so vivid she felt his hand. Her eyes popped open, and she choked back a surprised scream as she stared into a pair of dark blue eyes.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, his voice a deep rumble of concern. “The tide is coming in, and I was afraid you’d fallen asleep.”

Hastily, she stuffed her notebook in the bag beside her and yanked the tote’s strap up her shoulder. “I’m fine. Thanks.” She attempted to smile and soften her snapped words. She didn’t mean to be abrupt. It was just—

He was the very embodiment of the man she’d envisioned as Ailig. Tall and sturdy with dark brown hair and blue eyes. Full lips, prominent cheekbones, muscles made to make a girl feel safe…he had it all. Granted his hair was shorter than Ailig’s whose hair fell to his shoulder blades, but aside from that difference and the modern jeans with a knit shirt, he could be her knight.

Excerpt From: A Marriage of Convenience

Michael Taylor had been talking on his cell phone when he’d stepped into the busy beer tent line. A jostle from behind had almost shoved him into the woman in front of him. His hand had swiped across the bottom of her back and in that second, everything else had faded away. Electrical currents had showered him. The second her soulful brown eyes had landed on his, it was as if he’d just hit mach one in his jet.

He’d stood still as her eyes had travelled hungrily over him. Part of him had wanted to preen while more of him had wanted to lift her up, carry her away from everyone and kiss her senseless. And keep going from there.

What the hell am I thinking? I don’t know this woman, but damn if I don’t want to.

She wore a purple open-backed shirt that perfectly offset the nutmeg hue of her skin and a pair of hip hugging black jeans. He saw sandals on her feet and if he moved his head just so, he could see the dark purple on her toenails.

While their physical connection was over almost immediately, the ardent impression still lingered between them. He wasn’t blind to the desire swirling in her eyes no matter how she tried to pretend indifference.

Paying for her beer along with his, it seemed only natural to settle his large palm against the smooth, dark skin of her back as they left the overcrowded beer tent.

He had no problem following her. The gentle scent on her skin reached out and wound around him, making him yearn for more of her. He craved to find out if her perfume was just around her neck or if the tempting smell went all the way to her feet.

When she stopped to allow a group of people to pass, he leaned forward and murmured, “Michael,” into her ear.

Her head turned, positioning her full tempting lips a hairsbreadth from his, and she whispered, “Ayanna.”

He kissed her. He had no choice. Her mouth had teased him as it formed her name and challenged him to sample her lips. She tasted divine.

The innocent kiss quickly evolved into something more. Michael hungered for all that this woman offered. He dominated the kiss, using his tongue to sweep throughout the recesses of her mouth.

His cock swelled and dug into her side as Michael plundered her mouth. He groaned his pleasure as the kiss lengthened.

The roar of jets in the sky rumbled around them and put a miniscule distance between their bodies as he struggled for restraint.

Ayanna’s lips were swollen from the force of their kiss.

“I want you,” he stated bluntly as he watched the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She ran her tongue over her lips.

“Yes,” she breathed huskily.

“After the show.” Taking her hand, he led her to a vacant spot on the ground. They watched the show like any other couple, holding hands, exchanging kisses, and occasionally staring into each other’s eyes. As the park had begun to empty after the show, Michael kept one muscled arm around her, anchoring them together. They’d stopped at the entrance. Pressing her against the cool wall of a ticket booth, Michael ran his hands through her short hair. Strong legs settled on either side of her thin body, eliminating any means of escape.

Excerpt From: A Pint Light

There must be an easier way. Valerian grimaced as he retracted his fangs, sealed the punctures with a flick of his tongue, and let his inebriated, middle-aged snack slide down the wall to rest in a heap at his feet. After a moment of wrestling with his irritatingly overactive conscience, he bent to prop the fellow up comfortably against the brick wall of the alleyway. Well, as comfortably as one could be, considering the lucky donor was not only drunk, but also a pint light. With one last glance around to confirm he was still unobserved, Val re-entered his club through the heavy metal door he had left propped open with a dairy crate. Low tech solution to the automatic lock mechanism, but anyone who knew Val also knew he wasn’t one to waste magic on trivialities. Not that he had power to waste anymore. Middle-aged for his kind, it was getting harder by the decade to take enough blood to keep his power level up. Middle-aged? Ugh. Val shook off the disturbing thought.

That need currently sated, he was free to concentrate on the current crisis. Or crises, he corrected himself resignedly. Damn problems never came one at a time. No, they hammered at him like the waves on the North Shore of Maui. He stopped in his tracks at the tempting thought of Hawaii, and whipped out his cell phone, sending a brief text to his travel agent. With a bit more spring in his step, Val resumed his path through the back of the club, winding smoothly without pause past customers and employees alike as he headed straight into the office.

“Get that lightweight tossed out, Val?” Killian, his oldest friend and business partner, quipped from the couch.

Val rolled his eyes at the lame joke, but restrained the comeback K was obviously looking for, instead using a tiny push of magic to shove Killian’s feet off the coffee table as he slammed the door behind him.

“Geez, relax Valerie. What’s got your knickers in a twist?” Killian took a moment to stretch his endless, jeans-clad legs out in a quiver in front of him before dropping his heels right back on the table with a thump.

“Don’t call me Valerie,” Val automatically replied, before his gaze narrowed on Killian. His copper-haired friend looked entirely too innocent, and Val knew there was nothing more dangerous than K with that sweet look on his face. He gave a mental nudge, found nothing, and gave up with a grunt.

The ennui was starting to really get to him, but he also didn’t need the upheaval that was about to land on his doorstep. “K, don’t you ever tire of making the same tired jokes over and over again?” He began pacing back and forth in the confined space. “And sitting here night after night scuffing up my table with your damn boots before finding some overly endowed bimbo to take home and swap bodily fluids with?”

Killian stared at him with a sincere frown creasing his pale forehead. “Are you okay, Val? You seem a little, uh, tense.”

Excerpt From: A Pirate's Passion

“Fuck.”

The heavy jolt catapulting her from the pilot’s chair told Tera that a tractor beam had locked onto her ship. Her small, fast, yet admittedly stolen, scout ship.

“Fuckfuckfuck.”

She righted herself and, bracing her stance with widespread legs, hunched over the controls, skimming the readouts with disbelief. She was well and truly caught, her chance at thumbing her nose at the Republic evaporating with each second of the beam’s grip. It was only a strike destroyer that held her—one of the smaller ships in the Space Fleet’s arsenal—but her getaway was even smaller, without any mass she could leverage to break free.

So close. She had been so close...

A second jolt almost sent her tumbling to the floor again and this time she didn’t waste a moment. She knew the feel of a tractor shear when she felt one. She mumbled as she seated herself, her fingers flying over the console, marrying words to the commands she had to execute on an unfamiliar board. Rotate. Dive. Accelerate. Turn. Again.

Despite the scout’s anti-grav unit, acceleration pushed Tera further back into the thick upholstery, sliding her from one side of the seat to the other. She used the relative stability of a brief respite in gyrations to lock herself into the chair’s harness then—with a savage grin—started a series of manoeuvres that would take her to the edge of blacking out. But would also, if she was as good a pilot as she thought she was, speed her out of the destroyer’s—and the government’s—grasp.

She didn’t know why the shear had kicked in. Maybe her pursuer had burnt out one of its tractor units. Maybe it had suffered a cascade failure. Whatever the reason, Tera d’Olzon wasn’t hanging around to find out. She spared a glance at the sensor display and smirked against the changing g-forces at what she saw. The Republic ship was falling behind—already it was a little over two light-seconds away from her, and the gap was slowly increasing—although it was trying valiantly to catch up.

They wouldn’t. Tera knew exactly what kind of craft she’d stolen when she jacked the scout from Tor Gamma’s B Cluster shipyards, and it didn’t fail her as she lengthened the distance from her enemy.

It was all her fault and she knew it. If she hadn’t been so complacent after her last crease-jump, she would have detected the flicker of screen-noise that indicated a camouflaged Republic craft out on patrol. And, instead of staying sharp and crafting an avoidance plan, she bought trouble. Even now, she knew she couldn’t divert any of the ship’s precious memory to planning a possible hyperspace crease entry. Not yet. She wasn’t far enough away to ensure that the destroyer wouldn’t also tag her along the same exit path, and didn’t want to lose her edge in post-crease disorientation.

The distance from the destroyer lengthened to ten light-seconds—almost enough for her to chance an initial calculation—when her ship got hit by another tractor beam.

Where had that come from?

Sensor maps showed nothing, except for one minuscule blip on the edge of a screen, big enough only to indicate a small comet or meteor. But whatever whacked into her ship held more punch than a large rock and, judging by its tenacity as she again threw her little craft into another series of extreme movements, more power than the destroyer she had left behind.

After ten minutes of fruitless struggling, Tera gave up. Whatever had her in its grip was not about to let her go. And considering that it was already travelling at high velocity, pulling her along like a recalcitrant toddler—with more than enough energy to burn—it would be futile fighting against it any longer. Her engines had redlined five minutes ago and the temperature in the small cockpit was rising as the life-support systems tried to compensate for a battery of overheated equipment.

With a sigh, she powered down the engines, and jolted sharply once more before the tractor adjusted to her sudden lack of resistance. Whatever had nabbed her wasn’t Republic—they valued their privacy for one, still masquerading as an inanimate piece of rock as they dragged her through the sector at a phenomenal velocity—but, at the moment, any other player might be equally as dangerous as the galaxy’s renowned bully. She would need to be on her guard.

Excerpt from: A Present Christmas

Agnes sighed heavily as she made her way to her sister’s cottage. No doubt, she’d have to listen once again to the litany of criticism Esmeralda always had for her on these visits. Hopefully, Judith wouldn’t be there to regard her with the faint sneer that always seemed to hover around her thin lips whenever Agnes was in the room.

It was that time of year again, when the world was in rhyme—or so the song went—but all it meant for Agnes and her sisters was that they would be meddling in other people’s affairs in the hope that they could make them see the error of their ways. It was something Agnes had not excelled in for the last couple of years. Particularly last year—oh, that had been nasty. After Agnes had failed to move the miserable old bitch from her miserly ways, it had taken all of Judith’s threats of hellfire and damnation to scare the woman into including her young grandson in her will. And even then, it had been done with ill grace. Agnes hoped she didn’t have to deal with someone that belligerent again.

Esmeralda was standing in the doorway as Agnes walked slowly up the garden path that led to the little cottage in the woods. Like Agnes, Esmeralda was not tall, barely five feet in heels. Their sister, Judith, was the tall one. Esmeralda had once remarked that Judith had to be tall for the future was limitless, whereas the past and the present took up much less room.

“In fact, dear,” she’d said with a patronising air, “I wonder that you have to be almost as tall as me, when the present is so fleeting.”

Fleeting maybe, Agnes had groused to herself, but it could still be a giant pain in the neck! She forced a smile to her pixie-like face as she came within a few feet of her sister.

“You’re late, Agnes dear.” Esmeralda’s pursed lips said it all. It was going to be one of those afternoons.

“And good afternoon to you, too, sister dear,” Agnes said. “Is the kettle on for tea?”

“Of course. Come along in—there have been some changes made to this year’s business.”

“Oh, pocks weed!” Agnes plunked herself down on one of the cosy armchairs by the fire. “What kind of changes?”

“Language, dear. We’re not going to be working together this year. You’re on your own.”

Agnes’s eyes widened. “On my own—but why?”

“Because the young man you’re to help is only too painfully aware of the past, and if you do your job properly, the future will take care of itself.”

“Oh, dear,” Agnes murmured. “So it’s all up to me?”

“It really shouldn’t be too hard, even for you, Agnes.”

“Huh! Thank you for that vote of confidence. And what will you and Judith be up to, may I ask?”

“Someone in the White House needs a lot of help this year—end of an era, and all that.” Esmeralda handed Agnes a cup of tea. “She’s having to give up a lot, and gain very little in return, I’m afraid. It’ll be my job to help her forget most of the horrors of the past eight years, and dwell only on the good times. I’m sure there must been a few, at least.”

“And who have I got?” Agnes asked. “William Calder, twenty-seven years old.” Esmeralda picked up a file from the kitchen table and opened it. “Five ten, one hundred sixty-five pounds, eyes blue, hair dark blond…you can take this file with you, but from what I see here, he’s recently out of a relationship and a job. Very low self-esteem, is hating the prospect of Christmas on his own—and frankly, the Boss is a little concerned that he may be contemplating suicide.”

“Oh, my. Doesn’t he have family?”

“An only child to elderly parents—both deceased, it says here.”

“Poor boy.” Agnes held out her hand. “Let me see…” She took the file from her sister and flipped it open. “Oh, but he’s so cute. Stunning eyes. Boy, those are baby-blues all right—and what a lovely smile—nice teeth.”

“And he’s gay, Agnes.”

“Oh…well, at least, he’ll smell nice.”

Her sister rolled her eyes. “Agnes, be serious. This is an important mission for you—so don’t mess up…”

Excerpt From: Mistress of the Damned

“I think I’m in love with your wife.”

Jackson Downing stood ramrod straight, and steeled himself for the blow he knew would come. He deserved to be pummelled by Jacob and they both knew it. His brother had warned him that his attraction to Camille was more than just attraction. But he’d sworn to Jacob he was over her, that he’d accepted their marriage and was moving on, but he had lied. He was certain Jacob had known he’d lied, but his brother had said nothing at the time.

A tense silence permeated the room as they regarded each other warily. He had to admit he was a little surprised Jacob hadn’t launched over the desk and beat the shit out of him as soon as the words left his mouth. Jacob had inherited the infamous Irish temper of their maternal grandfather, more so than any of the Downing brothers. So, he took it as a good sign that since Jacob hadn’t resorted to violence, he still might be open to talking this out.

“I know,” was all Jacob said, his already harsh face giving away nothing as he sat behind his desk, his entire body rigid.

“I figured you knew, which is why I’m leaving.”

Jacob sighed. “And I had a feeling you were going to say that.” He stood up from his chair and Jackson met the identical dark sapphire gaze of his brother.

“I don’t want you to go, but I know this has been hard for you.”

Jacob had no idea. Watching the woman he’d spent the past seven months falling in love with walk down the aisle with the brother he was closest to, was more than hard?it was excruciating.

“I know you’ve been itching to get back down south to oversee the drilling project on Natalie’s old land in Hockley but with the wedding it had to be pushed aside…”

“And now you want to go in my place.”

Jackson shrugged. “It could take a while to get the pipe in place, months even. You’re a newly wed and it just doesn’t make sense for you to be gone for months away from Camille when I can go instead.” He wanted to add that he needed this trip more than anyone else, but he didn’t. They both knew how desperate he was to get away from Macon, Texas.

“It’s going to be a tough job and you’re going to have your hands full with a foreman who is pissed that we’re the new owners. I haven’t met him, but he hasn’t returned any of my calls and our email exchanges have been less than polite?”

“I don’t care. I’ll deal with it.” He knew Jacob wouldn’t deny him this. Besides they were well aware that with his laidback attitude and easygoing demeanour, Jackson had always been better suited than any of his brothers in dealing with business conflicts and handling negotiations.

“Alright.” Jacob nodded. “If you want to go then the job is yours.”

Jackson released a drawn out breath. Separated by just two years, Jackson knew his brother well, and could tell from the strained expression on Jacob’s face that he really didn’t want him to go, at least not like this. But, they both knew he had to.

There was no way he could remain in Macon any longer. Being away and dealing with the distraction of getting the pipeline running would hopefully give him the time he needed to get over Camille.

It had all seemed so simple. For six months Camille would serve his sexual needs and those of his three brothers, and when her time was up they would all walk away. Then, Camille would get her ranch back when it was over. But at some point along the way, Jacob and Camille had raised the stakes by falling in love. It was just unfortunate that he’d fallen in love with her too. He didn’t begrudge his brother or Camille for finding happiness with each other. But he would be lying if he didn’t admit that he hadn’t taken it so well when Camille chose his brother over him. That she’d fallen in love with his brother and not him.

One of the hardest things he’d ever had to do was to stand beside Jacob and watch as he said “I do” to Camille. Ever since that day he’d been distant and withdrawn from Jacob, and it pained him to think their relationship would never be the same ever again. That had been the deciding factor for him. He had to leave and at least try to move on for all their sakes. He’d lost Camille and if he didn’t learn to get over her, he would lose his brother too.

Excerpt from: A Sexual Spark

“Oh…shit,” I muttered under my breath. Something wicked had just walked through the door, and I knew like any woman—even a mutt like me—knew deep down in her soul when a predator neared. A hush fell over the dimly lit bar, the hairs on my neck rose and my body tightened as if a heat wave suddenly blasted down it.

My every nerve awakened screaming, big, bad, and dangerous had entered the bar, yet I couldn’t stop myself from swinging around on my heels, letting my eyes sweep through the haze of smoke and shadows until they landed on his large form.

He had to be over seven feet tall, owning the space as he walked. The crowded bar separated for him like Moses parting the Red Sea. I wasn’t the only one who sensed the predator in him. The man was nasty on two well-sculpted legs that flexed and bunched with ground-eating strides, he took to the only empty booth near my station, then easily slid that big frame of his into it. He dominated the space around him. A man who knew no equal, he reminded me of a deadly panther—powerful and sleek.

He wore dark, exotic wraparound sunglasses and dressed all in black. His pants were indecent as hell, leaving nowhere for me to look but at the bundle prominently covered by luscious, black, shiny leather. I wasn’t sure what size shitkickers he wore, but damn that man had the biggest feet I’d ever seen. Ripping my eyes off his crotch, I made my way up over the boundaries most would call a chest, yet on this dangerous creature, it seemed more like stacked mounds of muscle forming very wide and impressive shoulders, twisting and rippling beneath his leather jacket as he moved. The kind of shoulders a girl could wrap her legs around and ride his face for days.

I could only describe his hair as a thick messy shag of pitch-black that teased around his face, brushing just past his broad shoulders. It had that ‘I just got fucked’ look that only someone like him could wear and still look wickedly handsome. Now, if I rolled out of bed with that kind of hair and did nothing with it, I bet the first person who saw me would start barking. Not really smart, but I always say some people have shit for brains, too. Hey, I might have been half human, but the other half was wolf, which made me a bitch to begin with, so I wouldn’t push it.

His face, what I could make of it with those damn shades on, looked like carved granite for as much as the man ever changed expressions. His face must’ve had one expression—harsh and deadly looking. High-cut cheekbones and a cruel mouth made me think of whips, blindfolds and handcuffs. Now that might be my own fetishes coming into play, but I seriously doubted it. His aura cloaked him in a dark malevolence and, for some sadistic reason—one that I couldn’t explain—it totally turned me on.

My hands felt clammy, and I resisted the urge to rub them down my slick leather skirt, which would’ve been hard to do with the bottles of beer hanging off my fingertips of one hand and a full serving tray balanced on the other. To say the man made me a tad bit nervous would have been an understatement. Then, a deep smug male chuckle flitted through my mind. I squinted, trying to get a clearer image of Mr. Dangerous over there, and wouldn’t you know it, his face broke into a big-ass grin. Why that telepathic, broadcast-snatching bastard. I closed off my mind like locking up the vault to Fort Knox. One thing I really didn’t care for was a man that knew he was all that and a candy bar. It really rubbed my fur the wrong way.

No man, no matter how good-looking, was going to throw this girl off her game. Then he cocked a finger at me, motioning me over. Like I’d run panting to his side. Not happening in this lifetime. I just gave him a cool nod of my head to show I’d seen him, and turned away, making sure to put an extra swing in my ass, as I made my way to the bar to rid myself of the empty beer bottles. What I really wanted to do was wipe that cocky male grin right off his face. But no…I took a deep breath instead, gathered myself together, pulled my shoulders back; I let my twins lead the way towards his booth. I stopped right in front of him, giving him my best bored face and cocked a hip for added effect.

Excerpt From: A Wicked, Wild Three Day Affair

“There he is!”

Monica Peterson peered over the shoulder of her best friend, straining to catch her first glimpse of Soledad’s soon-to-be husband, Drake. “Where? I don’t see anyone.”

“Right there,” Soledad exclaimed, and Monica followed her lithe frame with curious eyes as she raced through the crowded airport to fling herself into the arms of an extremely handsome man.

Her eyebrows knitted together as she raked her gaze over Drake Bradshaw, who was the much talked about and well-lauded love of her friend’s life.

“Well, she told me he was white,” she muttered under her breath, navigating her way through the bustling, baggage-claim area towards them. But she hadn’t quite been expecting the Stetson wearing, blond-blue eyed hunk who looked more like he’d stumbled off the last rodeo circuit and less like he was the CEO of a midsized computer software firm.

“They’re definitely making computer geeks in prettier packages these days.”

As she drew closer to the couple, she realised Drake hadn’t come alone. Her gaze slid over the tall, distinguished man, his large frame encased in a custom-tailored, charcoal grey suit that fit him perfectly. He stood off to the side, his handsome face twisted into a dark frown as he stared straight at her with piercing green eyes that bore into her so deeply she almost swore he could see straight to her soul.

Her steps faltered, and she cursed her four-inch, spiked-heeled sandals, but she knew her shoes had nothing to do with her stumble. It was the way he looked at her, that probing, searching stare of his that caused a curious stirring in her belly.

Whoa. What the hell? He was certainly good looking. Okay, very good looking but she tamped down her body’s instant and completely unexpected attraction to him. He didn’t like her. She could tell by the way he openly glared at her, and when his arrogant gaze roamed over her before abruptly glancing away, she knew she wasn’t going to like him, either.

She shook with barely controlled anger. He’d just dismissed her. The jerk. He didn’t even know her, yet he’d already written her off, which left her to ponder the identity of this mysterious and bad-mannered man.

“Monica, this is Drake,” Soledad gushed with a bright smile, dragging Monica’s attention to the beaming couple.

Shaking her head, she bit back a tiny grin. She’d never seen Soledad like this, but she was happy for her best friend. She certainly deserved a good man, and it seemed as if she’d found one in Drake.

“Hello, Drake. It is certainly a pleasure to finally meet you.” She stuck out her hand, but he ignored it as he tugged her into his arms for a burly hug.

She was so taken aback by his friendliness that for a moment she just stood there frozen with shock.

“Soledad talks about you all the time,” Drake said. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, too.”

“Honey, you’re suffocating her.”

“Oh, sorry,” Drake said, his arms relaxing around her.

“It’s fine.” She smiled as she patted his back, grateful she could breathe again when he released her.

Excerpt from: Afternoon Delight

Savannah Claymore turned her head to look at her friend and condo mate, Lori Avondale, and said, “This really sucks big time.”

She saw Lori lift her sunglasses and glance sideways at her. “What could possibly suck? We’re out here on our private patio, the sun is shining gloriously on our nude and freshly waxed bodies, your favourite jazz is in the CD player, and we’re sharing a pitcher of orange mimosas. Even better, we don’t even have to think about work for two whole days.”

“No men.”

“Excuse me?” Lori sat up and swung her legs over the side of the chaise. “Did you say no men?”

“You heard right. Oh, we’re not exactly without them.” Savannah picked up her mimosa and sipped at it. “We’re just sort of between them. Right?” she sighed, and sipped at her drink. “But I do miss them.”

“Wait. I’ll run to the wall over there, wave my tits down at the sidewalk and see if I can rustle up one or two.”

Savannah burst out laughing. “You would, too.”

Lori studied her friend for a moment. “Having adventures is fun, but do you ever wish you could find that one special man? Someone who could fulfil all your fantasies and you’d be satisfied to settle down with?”

Savannah stared. “Settle down? Why would I want to settle down? I’ve got a great career, a great condo mate and a fantastic sex life. Give that all up?”

Lori shrugged. “You wouldn’t have to give up anything except the other men.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Oh, and one of us would have to find another place to live.”

Savannah finished the drink she held. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve never really thought about it. Have you?”

Lori nibbled her lower lip. “Not a lot. But every so often I get a feeling inside as if, oh, I don’t know, a piece of me is missing.”

“What we need is a new man. Actually, I was thinking of a specific man.”

Lori inclined her head towards the adjoining patio. “Our new neighbour? The hunk next door?”

“You bet. Have you taken a good look at him?”

“Oh, yeah.” Lori wiggled her eyebrows. “Yum yum.” Savannah licked her lips. “Yum is right. I’d like to get my mouth around him. But I swear, I think he’s either gay or blind. If you had two women lying outside in the nude practically in your face, wouldn’t you at least show a little curiosity?”

“I can show curiosity without the hunk next door.” She moved to sit sideways on her lounger next to Savannah and fished two orange slices out of the pitcher. “I’m curious how you’d look with a little decoration. Shall we see?”

Savannah giggled. “Exactly what do you have in mind?”

“You’ll see.”

Excerpt From: All or Nothing

“Wow, he’s hotter than I remember.”

Shannon Delaney followed her friend’s gaze and frowned. Holly was checking out Zac Malloy—best friend to Shannon’s husband and their current houseguest.

“I wonder what he looks like in uniform. You know I love me a military man. Is he involved with anyone?” Holly asked.

Shannon turned back to her friend. Holly stared at Zac like she could she was starving, and he was exactly what she craved.

“Hol, be careful there,” she warned. “He’s hot, no denying that, but the man is just…” she struggled to find the right words, “intense.”

“Intense can be good.” Holly chuckled, but sobered when she met Shannon’s gaze. “What’s up? Has he been bothering you or done something to piss you off?”

“No, nothing like that. Hell, he doesn’t really talk to me. He’s been here for a couple of weeks and he’s maybe said five words to me.” Shannon shrugged. “Sometimes he’ll just stare at me, like he’s going to say something, then nothing. He seems happier on his own, that’s all. I mean, look at him now. Everyone’s here, enjoying the barbeque, and he’s standing away from the group, all by himself. He’s not even making an effort to fit in.”

She glanced back towards the man in question and, as if he knew they were talking about him, found his gaze on her. Her heart skipped and her stomach tightened. That was the real problem—how she reacted to the stares. He watched her so intently. She half-expected him to pounce on her, and the sad part was the thought of it excited her. And that made her feel guilty as hell.

“Have you talked to Nate about it?”

At the mention of her husband, Shannon felt her face heat, and she looked away from Zac quickly.

“No, of course not. Zac’s his best friend. I’m not going to whine about him looking at me. Besides, he’ll find his own place soon and will be out of here. So it really doesn’t matter.”

“You know, maybe you’re being too hard on the guy, Shan,” Holly said. “He’s been out of the country for the past year and a half. Maybe he’s just doesn’t know what to say or how to start a conversation with you. Heck, he hardly knows you. You’ve been married to his best friend for a year, and the only time he’s ever seen you was when he was on leave for the wedding. Maybe it’s just awkward for him.”

Shannon thought about it. Everything Holly said was spot on, and it wasn’t like Shannon had gone out of her way to welcome the man. Guilt settled heavily in her gut. This was her husband’s best friend, and she hadn’t even made an effort. She sighed.

“You’re right. I’ve been a real bitch about the whole thing,” she admitted.

“Well, no time like the present to change,” Holly said brightly.

“What?”

“Looks like the man is out of beer. Bring him a fresh one, and be your wonderful charming self. If not for Zac, then for your man.” She gave Shannon a small shove.

Excerpt From: All Roads Lead to Ripon

See Jane. See Jane run. Did it count as running when the reason for fleeing the country was self-preservation? Jane Templeton had been asking that question for a week and a half, ever since she’d gotten on the plane in the Pittsburgh airport and left her old life behind forever. She wasn’t sure where she’d end up starting over but it certainly wouldn’t be anywhere near Pittsburgh. She’d throw herself off a roof before she let herself get sucked back into that life again.

Jane took a calming breath and stared blindly out the train window. She shouldn’t be thinking about that now. She had almost three months to come up with a plan and there was no way she was going to waste the entire time dwelling on it. Not when she was finally taking the trip she’d dreamed about. True it was ten years later than originally scheduled but she was determined to enjoy it as much as possible before facing the reality of her new life, whatever that may be.

Noticing the passing scenery, Jane sighed. The Yorkshire Dales. As pretty and inviting as she remembered. Soon she’d be in Harrogate, a place that held many fond memories. Unfortunately none of her friends lived there anymore but the quaint town itself still held enough appeal to draw her back even without them.

The train pulled into the Harrogate station. Jane grabbed her military surplus duffel and made her way to the exit. She stepped onto the platform with a smile. She was almost there. A day in Philadelphia, six in Toronto, three in London, four planes, two trains and now just a short hike from the station to Agate’s Guest House and she would finally be able to let herself relax. She really was going to make it. All on her own. Without any major disasters. Without even getting lost. Her smile grew. See? She was competent enough to accomplish this so that meant she was more than capable of looking after herself the rest of the time too. Didn’t it?

Walking along Leeds Road, Jane was more than tired, but in a good way, for the first time in what seemed like years. She’d started coming back to life four months earlier when she walked out of the Mount Lebanon house that had become more of a prison the last few years than a home. As it turned out, leaving the structure hadn’t severed her tethers as she’d expected. Once she accepted that, she knew the only way to truly end things with her former jailer was to put enough distance between them to make any continued harassment impractical because she knew there wasn’t a place on earth she could go where it would be impossible. There was a slim chance that having an entire ocean separating them would make it so inconvenient that it would manage to discourage him, or so she hoped. She’d left some false trails along the way and hadn’t told anyone her final destination. She’d have at least a little reprieve before he located her. Not that there was any doubt he would sooner or later. Maybe, with luck, he’d have decided it really wasn’t worth the effort and give up before then. Luck. She was definitely due for some of that since she’d had absolutely none for several years now. She shook her head. There were two things she’d never understand. One, how the man she’d lived with for almost seven years knew so little about her and two, why it had taken her so long to realise that.

Jane turned the corner onto St. Georges Road and stopped to stare at her intended residence. It was a three story stone building, partly covered by ivy, definitely imposing-looking but not at all menacing. To Jane, it seemed protective and welcoming. Sighing, she shifted her bag to her other hand. It felt heavier than it had when she’d claimed it in the Manchester airport earlier, even more so than when she’d checked it in London. She knew it was an illusion, but she’d been travelling for days after months of building tension following years of stressful living. It was a small miracle that she was still standing at this point. And a major triumph.

“Good evening.” The clipped greeting startled Jane from her thoughts.

“Oh. Hi,” she responded, gaping openly at the impeccably dressed man by the impressive car she hadn’t noticed, even though she was standing within touching distance. With a curt nod, he got in and drove away. “Wow,” she whispered when she finally managed to move from the spot, long after he’d gone.

When she’d called from London about availability, Jane only reserved the room for a week since it was sight unseen. The inside made her feel instantly comfortable so she asked about extending her stay to two months when she checked in. After a lengthy assessment, her request earned her a very enthusiastic reception from the owner, Mrs. Agate. Her room assignment was switched from the second floor with shared facilities to the third with a private bath. Apparently she’d passed some unspoken test which rated what she was sure was an upgrade at a reduced rate. If her hunch was correct, her stay in the guest house now also included a tour guide, local historian and pseudo-mom. Jane hadn’t revealed anything other than the required personal details, but she suspected that it was only a matter of time before Mrs. Agate knew everything there was to know about her. Not that the woman was blatantly nosey. It was more that she was so peppy and outgoing with her infectious cheerfulness, that Jane suspected she wouldn’t be able to resist the standing invitation for a cup of tea and a bit of chat once she had her bearings.

She’d probably still be downstairs if she hadn’t pleaded exhaustion and promised to join her the following afternoon.

Excerpt From: All Tied Up

From her place of concealment deep in the shadows, Naymeen watched the little man nervously pace the tiny landing bay. It was obvious, from the way he stayed out in the open, he wasn’t a soldier. No soldier would have made himself such an easy target. Lucky for him, no one was even aware of his arrival. Lucky for him—but luckier for her.

He whirled as she moved forward from her hiding place. A look of alarm crossed his face as he took in the black torso armour and the gun in the holster on her hip. His voice trembled as he spoke. “You’re not the person I’m supposed to meet.”

She shook her head.

He stepped back.

She snorted at his attempt to put some distance between them and advanced on him.

His face paled, the colour leaching from his flabby skin. “Are you here to kill me?”

He didn’t know that wasn’t to be his fate, that he was only a means to an end.

A tight smile lifted her lips. Yet it must have done little to reassure him, as his voice quivered when he asked again, “Are you going to kill me?”

She gave him his reprieve. “Not this time.”

He looked relieved—but not for long.

“I’m well aware you’re here from Jaehdang,” Naymeen went on, “a planet that is under sanction by the United League of Veluvian Planets, to enter into clandestine negotiations with Mr. A. C. Blackshott, one of the wealthiest men in the galaxy. Therefore, you are definitely persona non grata here on Gheldar.”

If possible, he grew even whiter as she revealed the details of his supposedly covert mission.

“Do you really think the League would allow a meeting to take place between an envoy from a hostile planet and a man with an unlimited cash flow?” Naymeen shook her head for emphasis. “It just doesn’t seem like a good thing. So that’s why I’m here.”

Her leather boots nudged his fancy shoes as she invaded his space. “It’s my job to encourage you to go back home. Or, if necessary, persuade you a bit more forcefully.”

Now she was afraid, from the look on his face, the poor creature was going to faint.

“I’m not a killer, Mr. Chengalie. At least, not this time.” He started, but whether at her use of his name or at the reference to her status as a ‘sweeper’ for the League, she couldn’t be sure. Yet she wondered why he was surprised. It was obvious she knew everything about his task, and it also was obvious that, considering whom he was meeting, the League would send in an enforcer, a cleaner-upper of the situation, as it were.

Naymeen was still annoyed they hadn’t allowed Blackshott and the envoy to get together so she could find out the purpose of the meet, but the group seemed more concerned with prevention. She knew that kind of short-sighted thinking often came back to bite one in the arse—with a vengeance. She hoped they were prepared for that possibility.

But now, it was time to perform her duty. “Let me put it to you this way. It would be better for everyone, especially yourself, if you were to turn around and head back home without delay.”

As the realisation apparently took root in his brain that her purpose really was to rout but not kill him, a smidgen of boldness crept into his backbone. He puffed himself up in protest. “But I can’t leave.”

Naymeen wanted to laugh at his sudden burst of indignation. “Anyone from a sanctioned planet is banned from Gheldar—and from every other planet within the jurisdiction of the League. You need to leave, immediately.”

Excerpt From: Along for the Ride

Chapter One

The paintbrush splayed out across her nipple. Georgie focused steadily on the canvas that Cal was working on, but felt the touch of the brush dart through her body like a lightning bolt, as if it were her skin that was being touched, rather than his painting of it. She looked away from the canvas and lifted her hair from the back of her neck, where the skin prickled with anxiety.

Cal was totally focused on the painting, his eyes narrowed as he worked. Just looking at his strong bone structure and the firm line of his mouth gave her a physical thrill. Standing by his side, her body was throbbing, and a cloying heat had long since gathered between her thighs. Georgie had to face it—she was horny as hell.

She pulled her kimono into place and toyed with her empty coffee cup. She dipped her finger into the crystals of sugar clinging to the bottom of the cup to distract herself, idly sucking them off her fingertips.

Cal lifted the brush from the canvas and turned toward her. She reached over to the tray and handed him his cup. He looked at her intently as he swallowed the fragrant espresso.

“Blimey.” She nodded her head at the painting.

“You don’t like it?”

“Oh, yeah.” She chuckled. “I mean, what’s not to like?” Georgie took another look at the painting. “It’s very flattering.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.” He smiled. It had a devastating effect on her. Her heart rate notched up another level; her core was on fire.

“But...do you really see me that way?”

“Undoubtedly.”

Another wave of heat coursed through her body.

“It’s not so important what I see, but what I’m trying to make others see in you, the subject.” He gestured at the canvas. “Why don’t you tell me what you see?”

Georgie blushed violently. Talk about putting you on the spot. She shook her hair out and tried to focus on the painting. The sense of identification she felt was uncanny. Yet the way he had depicted her, she looked like a sated harlot, one who was staring blatantly at the onlooker as if eager for more of the same. The image was so blatant. Her naked body lounged out across the rug and cushions, totally on display. Seeing it had immediately stirred something deep and pent-up inside her: sheer, rampant lust.

If that was how he saw her, she must be downright obvious when she wanted a man. She hadn’t realised, although an ex had once said being assessed by her across a nightclub was like being hunted down by a lethal laser beam. She had laughed at the time, thinking that he was just saying it to flatter her.

“I see...um.” She fidgeted with her hair. “Passion, or even lust, I suppose.”

“That’s good. That’s what I want.”

Georgie threw him a look of amused accusation.

He shrugged. “Well, it means we’re getting nearer to what I want...” He gave her a quick, suggestive smile. “Let’s get back to work.”

“You’re a real slave driver, aren’t you?”

“You’d better believe it.” His eyebrows flickered. There it was again. He was flirting with her. Her heart missed a beat. She’d told herself over and again that she was simply modelling for him, but he persistently confused her by making remarks that kept her on edge. Her body simmered with arousal.

She wandered back to the pile of cushions and rugs, slipped out of the kimono, and got settled. She ran her hands over her aroused breasts as she took up her pose, briefly answering their need for contact. She sighed. Modelling for Calvin Rolf was turning out to be even more challenging than she had imagined it might.

He put the cup down and ran his hands through his hair before picking up the brush and returning to the canvas. His expression was keen. His eyes were almost indigo in their strange blueness—intense and brooding, they followed every movement of her body.

Georgie was getting used to seeing him from this strange sidelong viewpoint, and she watched him as he worked. The large studio, so sparse and simple, was more than filled with his presence.

He was different than any other man she had known. He had an air of control and exuded self-confidence. The other students at college thought him attractive but eccentric, with his maverick ways and his distinctive Austrian accent. He was a very good-looking man, with strong facial bones and angular features. He had a narrow goatee, and his dark blond hair fell from his distinctive temples in light waves. His body was strong, lithely muscled, and fit, with a coiled energy about it that was decidedly sexual. He reminded her of a panther on the prowl.

His work was renowned. A leading contemporary artist, he worked across many media and had pioneered large physical sculpture using synthetic resins and heat moulds. He was best known for the work he did in the realist tradition, depicting the human form in such a manner as to examine the soul, its very essence, through the image. To be chosen as a model by him had been an honour. Not to mention a complete turn-on.

Excerpt From: Amuse Me

Wilmington, North Carolina

I sat at my computer stuck in a writing rut and listening to the Eagles on my iPod. My boyfriend had left me at the same time I was due to turn in my latest erotic romance to my editor—and I had nothing.

I massaged my temples hoping something would strike a chord in my brain. A mere spark of an idea that would be fun to write, fun to read and leaving my fans breathless and begging for more. The more I thought about it, the harder it was to convert my thoughts to the blank computer screen.

The blinking curser mocked me as I stared at the white page. Dammit, Rich may have fucked my life up but he wasn’t going to take a way my passion for writing. I wouldn’t let him, no matter what it cost.

In high school, young love blooms like tulips in the spring—sometimes developing into loving, lasting relationships and sometimes setting one up for heartache. Rich, I thought, would be the loving lasting relationship kind of guy but, boy, was I wrong. We’d dated throughout high school and college. I’d heard sex changed the relationship, but I was stupid and naive. Rich was a sexual being and aroused feelings within me no other man had. If only those feelings had been mutual.

I’m twenty-five years old and it took me seven years to discover the man I’d thought I loved—the mushy, gushy kind of love—had cheated on me. Not once or twice—no that was too easy. He’d fucked every girl he’d come in contact with.

For six months he’d been out of my life, yet he still haunted my dreams. I’d found out two days ago, from my best friend, that his latest conquest was having his baby. The more I thought about it, the more I hated him. I wanted payback. I needed it for some weird reason.

I started typing, letting my anger fuel the words on paper, my fingers flying across the keyboard as my thoughts sputtered from my brain. For once in my life,

I was taking all the writing advice I’d thought was crap and putting it to good use. I wrote what I knew.

I made my real life story an act of fiction.

A few hours later I’d plotted, planned and brainstormed about all the events I’d experienced and a few from my imagination as well. I had a five-page plan of events, a storyline and the perfect ending. Funny, how something so obvious was hidden right under my nose.

My side of the story mixed with a little imagination would be my vengeance. After all, paybacks always were hell…

Excerpt From: Apollo's Choice

Apollo looked at his temple. Marble stone columns stood tall with a slight influence from Thrace architecture. He knew it was odd to mix cultures, but a party was a party. And Mother Nature shared her bounty with multiple species, right?

The mere splendour of his temple was a sight to behold. Ornate purple cloths hung on the walls, framing exquisite tapestries woven with the finest of silks. Gold adorned everything from goblets to his throne. A fountain stood in the middle of an open space. The statue of Apollo playing his lyre while surrounded by beautiful women reminded him of his love of music and sex. Many of his followers had worshipped at this temple, drinking from this very fountain. Hell, last night’s party with Dionysus had ended with an orgy of him and six beautiful women who’d had a little too much of the fountain’s gifts.

What a wonderful way to forget an affair that had gone awry.

Now, he lay across a chair, legs thrown over the sides with a drink in hand. His blond hair fell over his face, hiding his eyes and the smile he still wore from last night.

Sighing, he remembered this one buxom redhead who had offered herself completely to him. He took her in every imaginable position, let her do anything to him she wanted. They’d both come several times and still, after several hours, he wasn’t satisfied. She, of course, was out cold. Tired, being human and all.

Being the fertility god as well as god of wine had certain advantages. “Who wants to be god of war when we can drink and fuck for eternity?” Apollo laughed aloud.

He’d decided to send a message to his followers that another festival was to be held in his honour this evening. Zeus and the other gods be damned, but Apollo was really becoming accustomed to having the masses worship him. Apollo was the god of Nature, of wine. The two were related. From nature came grapes. From grapes came wine. From wine came indulgence.

He scoffed at the mere thought that Zeus had even the kindest thought for one of his sons, let alone one who actually served a purpose. It seemed that both humans and gods alike shared the problem of discarding unwanted children.

Those weren’t the worries of Apollo though. His biggest concern was trying to figure out just how many women he could fuck in one night. It didn’t matter to him who, as long as fun was had by all.

Hell, he even wondered if some of the other gods would show themselves tonight. To see Hera drunk and dancing could be a total mess, or it could be great fun. He was betting on the latter.

He knew his little redhead would be present tonight. She’d been so intoxicated from his love and wine that he sent her home with Hermes, the messenger god, just to make sure she arrived home safely.

He yawned. A nap was in order. Even the gods had to rest from time to time.

Excerpt From: At Her Service

Winter, 1207.

Cumbria, The Marches, England.

The smoke from the tapers made her guests’ eyes water, and though she brushed a finger under her lashes to rid herself of one tear, Elise Dumond could still see Simon de la Poer at the back of the great hall. God preserve her, she would see him if her eyes were closed. If she were blind. Indeed, if she were dead, she would see him in hell. And, oh, would it not be sweet succour to die and know she would remain in his company forever and end this torture of being parted from him for all these endless years?

She fiddled with the stem of her goblet and drank back more red wine. Then drank again, unnerved by the sight of the man who had taken her in his arms as a youth and put his firm, hot lips to her own with sweet promises of a lifetime of love.

Who had he delighted like that these past twelve years?

Ha! She took another draught.

Who had he not ravished in his bed? In Londontown, the fabled knight Simon de la Poer was reputed to have bedded any woman of noble birth desirous of spreading her legs for him and paying him her weight in gold to compensate him for his services. Elise caught back a sob of jealousy for all those women he’d touched, for all those he had kissed and to whom he’d whispered pretty words of devotion as once he had to her.

She put forth her cup for the maid to refill. The girl scurried over, understanding her mistress was in the mood to drink. Drink myself to distraction. Drink myself to oblivion.

Unbidden, her eyes drifted towards the back of the hall, past the tiny man and the tall, dark Oriental who were Simon’s odd companions. Her gaze locked on the man she wished she did not see.

Christ in His Glory, this man was unmistakably the warrior they called Knight Divine. Simon de la Poer, who had earned his moniker attacking the Infidel in Jerusalem with his lord King Richard of England, possessed all the imposing aspects of a man with whom any woman would desire a night in heaven. He had matured to a massive build. Tall as the sconces, broad in the chest as two men, muscular in his black velvet tunic, his grey hose hugging his bulging calves, he seemed Herculean.

She wished she could tear herself away from eating him up with her eyes. Wished she could ignore his quicksilver stare that met her own. Wished she could refuse her husband’s order to offer up her immortal soul to keep what was hers here on earth. Yet she had no choice but to obey her husband and strip herself bare then lie down with her noble lord in their marriage bed tonight—and invite Simon de la Poer to join them.

Her future depended on her cooperation. Her ability to continue to live here until she died, in the grand keep with retainers and serfs to do her bidding, required it. Aye, she had ranted and raved against her husband and his plan these past two months. Still, Alphonse, earl of this estate and master at Atherton, brooked none of her objections. He had written to London, summoned Simon here to the wild, frozen north-western climes. And now tonight, she faced climbing into bed with her husband of twelve years, a randy but dying man, then giving herself to the famed knight, who once was her childhood friend fostered in her father’s castle.

Excerpt From: Attitude Adjustment

“Five hundred hours of community service and suspension of your driver’s license until it’s done.” Judge Blackbird slammed the gavel down.

“Five hundred…?” Linc protested under his breath. “I wouldn’t have gotten caught if that damned old biddy hadn’t pulled out in front of me!”

His lawyer, Harvey, tugged on his arm, trying to shut him up.

“Old biddy, huh?” The judge looked down at him from behind thick spectacles. His gaze swung to the court reporter. “The Court retracts the sentence it just gave this young man.”

Linc’s chest puffed up, feeling vindicated.

“Mr. Parrish, the older citizens of our community should be revered, not blasphemed. Your license is suspended and you now have one thousand continuous hours of community service. At the Aviary.”

He pounded the gavel. “Case closed.”

“This is a bird sanctuary?” Linc asked as his lawyer turned off the highway at Desert Springs and drove up and around the curved drive. Desert palms and a variety of flowering plants graced the front of a magnificent two-storied stucco house with tall white columns across the front. “I can hang out here for awhile. No sweat.” Harvey had explained that continuous service meant Linc had to stay there, but he had access to his cell phone and laptop, which were about all he needed to do his job.

“You just don’t get it, do you, Linc?” Harvey asked.

“Get what? I only had a couple of drinks and was driving home minding my own business. I got a ticket because some old lady pulled out in front of me. Otherwise, the cops would never have checked my breath.”

“No, I mean about being here.”

Linc shrugged. “How hard will it be to watch a bunch of birds for a month or two?”

Harvey laughed. “You’re on your own, boy.” He tossed Linc’s duffle on the ground beside the car. “Remember, no driving, and you’re stuck here for the duration.”

“No problem. I’ve got it covered.” Linc picked up the duffle, slung his laptop strap over his shoulder and sauntered up the steps. “I can handle birds; it’s that old bat who caused my problem.”

He walked into a foyer larger than his entire condo in Ventura Beach. All this for a bunch of birds? He shook his head, thinking some old lady with too much money must have left it all to her parakeet when she’d died. He didn’t really have anything against old people. After all, he had a grandpa in a retirement home nearby, but shit… Money like this could buy a good quarterback for the Forty-Niners football team.

He bent over to look at a directory that was attached to the wall only about four feet off the floor. A hand slid across his butt, lingering where his legs met his crotch. He jerked upright, whirled around and then had to glance down to find the culprit.

“Nice firm butt. Betcha got a lot of muscle under there.” A hunched-shoulder, old lady, not more than four feet tall, grinned lewdly up at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Copping a feel. Don’t tell me you didn’t like it?”

“Oh sure. Every guy likes getting felt up by some ninety-year-old lady.”

“Seventy-three, and honey if I ain’t dead, I still got working parts.” Her gaze slid over him, stopping at his crotch.

“That’s really gross.” He quickly looked around the entry, trying to figure things out. “Why is this directory so low?”

“Have you noticed the residents? They’re either short, in wheel chairs, or hunched over with age. How do you expect us to see it up at your altitude?”

“Residents?” Linc asked, a horrible suspicion making its way to the front of his brain. “I didn’t know birds could read?”

The old lady snorted. “Birds? You must have been sent over by Judge Blackbird.”

“Yeah, so?”

She laughed outright, shaking her head. “Gotta give Blackbird credit. You’re not the first youngun who didn’t know where he was going. Welcome to the Aviary.” She swept her arm in an arc to encompass the entire place. “A sanctuary for old birds and biddies, like myself.” She continued laughing as she walked toward a door in the centre of the far wall. “I’m Florence – just call me Flo -- Campbell. Come on. I’ll take you to Suni.”

Stunned, Linc followed her through the door and across a large open area awash with light from the windows on both sides. An area to one side held a television, piano and a couple of love seats and overstuffed chairs. Pink and white crepe paper streamers draped the archways and doors, and red paper hearts were taped haphazardly on the walls. Acid churned in Linc’s stomach. Birds didn’t celebrate Valentine’s Day.