I’m just jumping in to remind you that there are several exciting things, still ongoing, that you can enter! Here’s a list to keep it simple…

1. Readers and Authors: What do you want to see next? (Contest) —Win an Amazon gift card!
2. Kimberly Dean: Flash Fire or Slow Burn? (2-FREE Reads for KU Subscribers!) — Everyone can win with 2 FREE-KU books!
3. Flashback: Cain’s Law (Contest) — Win a sexy Texas cowboy book!

UPDATE: The winner is…Debra Guyette!
*~*~*

For a chance to win your choice of one of these Cowboys
on the Edge stories, answer me this!

Do you love cowboys who are also firefighters and lawmen?

(Click on a cover if you’d like to learn more!)

Don’t know what you’re missing in this cowboy series? Read a sexy excerpt…

Cain’s Law

When love is on the line, a cowboy will risk everything…

Texas Lawman, Cain Whitfield, has been burned before by a beautiful brunette with dark doe eyes. He won’t be fooled again. But fate has a rotten sense of humor when he discovers the latest stranger to arrive in his small Texas town is a former mob enforcer’s girlfriend–something he learns when the cabin she rented goes up in flames and her boyfriend tries to run them both off the road. Now, he’s got to keep her alive and under wraps long enough to arrest the bastard. Resisting his attraction to the drop-dead gorgeous brunette proves impossible when they’re forced to share a safe house while the sheriff and the other deputies double patrols to keep her safe.

Even though she knows they’re all wrong for each other, Carina Black can’t help her attraction for the proud lawman. She’s done with the glitz and glamour of her former life, but can she convince Cain to look beyond her past to trust she’s ready for life in a small town? As her former boyfriend closes in, she worries too that her poor judgment could bring harm to a decent man.

The longer they’re together, the hotter their passion burns…

Get your copy here!

She tugged her hand away then straightened her shoulders. “I’ll go. I know it’s the smart thing to do, and you’ve already done so much. But, I have to know…”

Cain felt his belly tighten in rejection, because if she asked, he’d tell her. And God help them both.

Her gaze dropped to her hands, which were curved into fists on her thighs. “Do you… could you ever…see yourself with someone like me?”

“Dammit, Carina,” he said, his voice rasping. “You’re so damn young.”

Her chin shot up, and her eyes flashed. “Too young for you?”

“Fuck, you deserve better than me.” His jaw clenched.

“If you’re looking for excuses for me to go, that’s not the best one to use. I’ve had money. I wore clothes that I would bet cost more than you make in a month. But, I wasn’t happy. And I didn’t like me.” She dipped her chin. “I feel safe with you.”

“I can’t be your bodyguard. Not forever.”

“I’m not talking about that. I feel safe—I know you won’t hurt me. That you won’t hurt anyone who doesn’t deserve it.” She lifted her gaze, locking it with his. “I can’t imagine letting anyone else touch me.” She stopped short and turned away her head.

Cain sat beside her, not breathing. She’d imagined him touching her. She’d flirted. Outrageously, but he hadn’t taken her behavior seriously.

She’d imagined being with him.

Cain straightened. What he should do was tell her she’d find another man. Someone good. Someone who could give her things. But his nobility could only stretch so far. He reached for her hand, but she pulled it back again, so he gripped her by the waist and pulled her over his lap.

Her body shivered against him. Her palms pushed against his chest.

He kept his arms around her, loosely. She could escape if she wanted, but with every second that passed, he watched her grow calmer. Watched rose creep across her cheeks, her tight lips relax.

When she leaned toward him, letting her ripe nipples scrape across his chest, only then did he move. He laid his palm against her cheek and rubbed his thumb across her plump bottom lip. “Stay with me.”

Carina made a noise, something between a sob and laugh, and pressed closer, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, and pushing her breasts against him, because she needed to feel his hardness. She craved so much more. Had since she’d lain alone that first night with the sounds of him walking circles around the house, knowing he would keep her safe. Alone with the smell of his lovely, manly musk on the sheets, she’d let that feeling grow over the past days, wondering whether this was how being in love felt. His care for her was as close as she’d ever experienced to being cherished. But since he hadn’t acted on any of the many invitations she’d offered with her eyes and “accidental” peeks at her ass, she’d begun to wonder if he considered her damaged goods—because of whom she’d lived with and what he’d done.

But there wasn’t any mistaking the look he gave her now with those clear blue eyes. No misunderstanding his raw tone. Stay with me. Before she’d let him reconsider, she reached for the hem of the tee she’d ruined with paint and pulled it over her head.

His gaze fell to her full breasts. “Jesus.”

“They ache, Cain. I ache. For you.” She felt breathless. Her heart skittered wildly.

Slowly, he raised his hands to palm her flesh, and she closed her eyes, loving the heat, loving his gentle caresses.

He bent his head and trailed his mouth across her shoulder, then lower, pushing her back so he could kiss the tops of her breasts. The moment he latched onto a tingling nipple, she cried out, so joyous was the feeling flooding her body with warmth.

Suddenly, he drew back. His hands gripped her bottom, and he rose.

She wound her legs around his waist as he walked to the bed. “I’ll get paint on your sheets,” she whispered.

“We’ll both get dirty, sweetheart. I’m not worried.” He set her down beside the bed then knelt to open her jeans and slide them down her legs.

Nude, she held her breath as he glanced at her sex.

His gaze dropped to her feet, and he held down her pant legs as she stepped out, leaning on his shoulders for balance. Then he stood, and she went to work on the chambray shirt he wore, unsnapping the buttons down the front, and then parting the sides to get her first look at his broad chest. He had far less hair than Joey, and it was brown and silky. She raked her fingertips through it, plucking. When he gave a little groan, her mouth curved. So, she nuzzled his nipple, loving the way he gently cupped the back of her head and rubbed her scalp. Lord have mercy, she loved the taste of his skin, the soft texture of his flat brown nipple. With her teeth, she teased it into a point then fluttered her tongue against the tiny bead.

“Witch,” he muttered.

She glanced upward, her gaze snagging on his hooded eyes. “I want you, Cain. All of you.” She backed away, sitting on the edge of the bed before lying full-length and stretching, her gaze going to his still-clothed body.

He didn’t need another hint. His clothing flew off. And then he was climbing over her, his large, long body inches from her skin, but still warming her, breast to toes.

He held still, braced on his arms as she raked his body with her searching gaze. Everywhere her gaze touched was tanned and hard. His stomach was firm, muscled, his arms and thighs bulged. Sweet heaven, his cock was lovely—reddened and engorged, straight with a plump, round head.

Her pussy clenched. Fluid rushed to wet her channel. She squeezed together her legs to hold it inside.

“I don’t want to scare you, baby.”

“I’m not a baby, Cain. And Joey humiliated me, but he didn’t leave me damaged. I swear, I want this. I want you.” Slowly, caught in his intense gaze, she inched apart her legs and raised her knees. Then she reached downward and wrapped her fingers around his cock. “Come inside me, Cain Whitfield,” she whispered. “Fill me.”

UPDATE: The winner is…Kimberley Bailey!
*~*~*

I love working on anthologies: crafting the call for authors’ submissions, reading their entries, selecting the stories that “fit” best together, editing them, and then, seeing them go out into the world for readers to enjoy. Getting to know authors—some old friends accepting a fun challenge, newbies who are excited about their first publication—is hugely rewarding for me.

So far, these are the books in the Boys Behaving Badly series. I want to continue with this overarching theme, because it’s fun! And for readers, it’s a great deal! All of the books are stuffed full of sexy short stories and only $0.99 per download! So, they’re not a huge moneymaker, but that’s not the goal here. We, the authors, want to be read!

So, now that my latest, Stranded, is out in the world, I’m ready to start thinking about what’s next…

I could use your help.

I have one idea that a friend and reader, Fedora, gave me for “First Response”, which would be about cops, EMTs, firefighters, Flight for Life folks, Coast Guard teams, etc. I think there’s plenty of good stories authors could have fun with there. Thinking about it, I can imagine what a first responder in a galactic rescue might look like, or men passing buckets during a fire in the 1800s, so the theme doesn’t have to limit the genre.

But I would like to consider other options as well. So, my challenge to you is help me find my next anthology theme. If you have a new idea, great! If you want to approve Fedora’s “First Response” idea, that’s great, too!

And authors, if there’s a theme you’d love to write a short story for, offer up the idea! Let’s have some fun!

Contest

Comment for a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card!

These contests are still open!

Be sure to check out these posts and enter to win the authors’ contests!

1. Michal Scott: “Put It in a Book” from STRANDED (Contest) — Closes Saturday! Win a free download!
2. Sam Heathers: “Too Deep” from STRANDED (Contest) — Closes Saturday! Win a signed copy of a book!

UPDATE: The winner is…Flechen1!
*~*~*

I am so excited to be included in Stranded: A Boys Behaving Badly Anthology. For the most part, I don’t consider myself a fiction writer. I’m a lawyer. I started working with fiction as a way to improve my legal writing. But the more I do it, the more I love it. I saw the call for submissions just three days before they were due, and my mind started racing with different ideas. That night, I couldn’t fall asleep because I was mulling over scenarios and concepts, most of them involving heroines being professionally stranded.

Then, the nugget of an undercover officer popped into my head.

I wish I could say I had a classy, magical inspiration for the idea. I didn’t. It was a movie. A bad one. Like, one that’s so bad I’m a little embarrassed. It was 2 Fast 2 Furious. At least it wasn’t Tokyo Drift.

Fortunately, that meant that when the idea of an undercover officer came to me, an image of a heroine came with it—Eva Mendes’s character. I jotted down the idea (I knew I wouldn’t fall asleep if I didn’t) and laid back down.

As I waited for the bus the next morning, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to submit the story. I’d never done anything like this before, and I was nervous about trying to get a story together in just two days. But I couldn’t get the idea out of my head. I figured I had to give it a shot. I hopped on the bus, pulled out a notepad, and mapped out the beats on the way to work.

My writing process wasn’t anything special either. After work, I sat down at my computer and started following my outline. It was a late night, but productive—I got the first draft done a little after midnight. The next day, my significant other read the draft and loved it. We chatted about ideas and edits, and I spent the second night fixing the draft up. The next morning, I did some fine-tuning and sent it in.

The one thing I would say was different about this, was how much fun I had. In a sense, I write for a living day-in and day-out. It can be difficult to come back home and keep writing. I’ve been in the middle of writing a few different novels for ages, and it’s tough to find the energy to return. But with an idea I knew I liked, a tight word limit, and a quick turnaround, I was excited the entire time. When I finished, I felt like I had a fun, enjoyable romp, which is everything I wanted from it.

Sam Heathers

Excerpt from “Too Deep”

When an undercover officer loses her handlers in the outside world, she must trust the top lieutenant of a gun-running gang to survive

“Pick up, pick up, pick up.” I paced the park walkway with a burner to my ear, trying to will Frank to answer. Five rings. Ten. After the twentieth, the phone system cancelled the call. This had already happened twice in the last ten minutes.

Frank hadn’t shown up to a meet for three weeks. For the last two, his voicemail had picked up after four rings. This week, no voicemail.

I glanced around the park as I sat down. Normally, I opted for the cheaper flip-phone burners. But with Frank’s disappearance, I bought the more expensive smartphone and a data card.

After opening an Internet browser, I typed FRANK HASNA and hit search. Random results, nothing helpful.

I drew a deep breath and added…OBITUARY.

The first link delivered a nightmare. The article was from three days ago. Frank was dead.

Shit.

I dialed the number for the local Bureau office. “Agent Drew Bowers,” I said before the operator finished answering.

After some clicks and annoying hold music, another voice answered, “Vice Unit.”

“Agent Bowers.”

“Agent Bowers isn’t with the Bureau anymore.”

Frank hadn’t told me that. Why the hell hadn’t Frank said anything? “Where did he go?”

“Can I help you?”

“You can tell me where the fuck Agent Bowers went.”

“I’m not at liberty to—”

I hung up.

Shit. I was stranded.

Stranded. That’s what we call it when an undercover cop is left without contacts. When I went undercover, I gave up everything. What I got in return was a new identity. New social security card. New driver’s license. New rap sheet. The point was to make the old me disappear.

Two people knew who I really was: Frank Hasna and Drew Bowers. Frank was my primary contact—my old Captain. Drew, my Bureau contact. If anything happened to one, I could reach the other. They were the only two people who could get me back to my real life.

But once in a while, agents’ contacts died, leaving the agents to fend for themselves. Sometimes, they made it back alive. Other times, the script stops being an act—the undercover embraces the life and is lost. And sometimes, the jig is up. That’s when we get killed.

My other phone buzzed and brought me back to reality. I looked at the burner, hoping. No such luck.

Meet at the warehouse in an hour.

I put my phone back in my pocket, took the battery out of the burner, and threw it in the last trash can on the way out of the park. I carried the burner another block and tossed it in a dumpster.

Shit.

Get your copy of Stranded: A Boys Behaving Badly Anthology here!

Contest

Head to Delilah’s Collections to enter to win a signed copy of this book! 
Rogues: A Boys Behaving Badly Anthology!

UPDATE: The winner is…Debra!
*~*~*

Note from DD: My scheduled guest was a no-show today, so I’m recycling a post from the Collections website that appeared there yesterday. I’m sharing excerpts from all the stories in Stranded to help you make the choice to purchase a copy of your own! There’s an amazing variety of themes, genres, settings, but all are very, very sexy. Enjoy the excerpt, enter the contest, then head on over to the Collections site to read more about this anthology and meet the authors! ~DD

*~*~*~*

My writing journey resembles a spiral that took me from writing for newspapers through seminary and ministry to writing romance in retirement. I have a journalism background and worked as a stringer for awhile. Writing fiction during that time had always been a way to make the world come round right after a day of covering stories when everything in the world was all wrong. When I became involved in the church, writing remained a hobby, but I did it less and less.

Then I became an X-Files fan, and I entered the heady fun-filled world of fan fiction under the name Rev. Anna. I really enjoyed myself making up stories again. A challenge from my mother-in-law to put my energy into writing my own characters came at the same time the radio program “This American Life” did a segment on Romance Writers of America national meeting in NYC. Jeanette’s challenge and that segment lit a “Why not?” fire in my writing soul. I joined RWA in 2003, joined chapters, entered contests, won a few, and finally got published in 2008. By then, I’d attended a retirement seminar that encouraged us to start thinking now about what we wanted to do in retirement. Another “Why not?” flame ignited, and now here I am an erotic romance writing retired minister.

Michal

Excerpt from “Put It in a Book”

Trapped in a book by a sorcerer for rejecting his sexual advances,
an ex-slave’s daughter discovers one hope of rescue – a nosy thief

Aziza, if you want to hide something from Black folk, put it in a book.

If her father had said this once, he’d said it a hundred times. As the daughter of a freed slave, Aziza Williams had resolved with every book she’d read, with every bit of content she’d memorized, no one would hide anything in a book from her.

How ironic the adage was being used against her now that she lived in the Free and Independent Republic of Liberia. Only someone as evil as Dulee Morlu could leave her stranded in a book.

Each time he removed The Story of Aziza from its shelf in his library, he’d badger, cajole, even plead with anyone present to read it.

“This book will change your life,” he’d say in a tone, always enticing, sometimes seductive, but never serious enough for anyone to take him up on the offer.

When they’d gone, he’d pressed his mouth to her image on the flyleaf. “No one will ever read your story,” he whispered with snake-like malice. His laugh bruised her heart each time he congratulated himself on his ingenuity. “You will remain hidden in these pages until you give yourself to me.”

Never had been her answer when he’d propositioned her a week after she’d arrived in Liberia. Never was her answer when he’d caught her pleasuring herself by the river’s edge after her morning swim. Never remained her answer from the day she’d awakened entombed within the pages of her own story to this.

How often had hope flared at the possibility of someone opening these pages and setting her free?

Too often.

How many times had Morlu’s possessive grip caressed her prison’s spine, his wet thumb sliding down the edges of its pages?

Too many.

“Everyone I’ve imprisoned yielded within a day. You’ve resisted for thirty,” he exclaimed. “I must dedicate a chapter to your resilience.”

He splayed his fingers across her prison’s pages, too accurately mimicking the spreading of her thighs. Her captive limbs shuddered. His calloused finger slid along the book’s gutter. Her inert hands tensed, unable to shield herself from the erotic—albeit vicarious—chafing his touch provoked.

“Your opposition makes your eventual capitulation that much sweeter.” He slid his finger faster, deeper between the pages. “And make no mistake…you will surrender.”

Each time he placed her back on the shelf, he planted a cold kiss on the book’s spine. Aziza quivered against the chill, unable to staunch the revulsion roiling in her throat—or at least, where she imagined her throat might still be.

“Until then,” he whispered.

Her spirit cringed at those words. She’d escaped from plantation owners eager to punish her for secretly teaching slaves to read. Her spirit had remained unbowed after fourteen harrowing weeks crossing the Atlantic. Even the hardships that had killed more than three-quarters of all who had emigrated to Liberia hadn’t vanquished her. If neither threats to her life nor dangers at sea nor the high mortality rate could defeat her, she’d be damned if this self-serving sorcerer would.

Still…

Her imprisonment seemed an unending stream of consciousness, punctuated only by Morlu’s uninvited intrusions. Thirty days. This sudden awareness of time weighed on her spirit and threatened to undo her.

How much longer could she hold out?

Get your copy of Stranded: A Boys Behaving Badly Anthology here!

Contest

Comment for a chance to win a copy of Michal Scott’s eBook,
Better to Marry Than to Burn.

I’ve always heard “there’s a time and place for everything.” Well, in romance… every time and every place is how it can work… but it’s not always easy to make it happen. Bedrooms… Well, they have beds. Houses, lots of flat surfaces.

But what happens when the right moment put you in a place that isn’t so easy to make it work. (Felt like I channeled Tim Gunn for a minute).

When I was writing Playing With Fire, I had a lot of fun, but part of the fun was finding my characters in a rather unconventional locale—the heroine’s old model VW Rabbit.

Now, I will admit to a certain affinity for this diminutive car. My first vehicle was a 1981 VW Rabbit (I bought it in 1991), and the poor dear wasn’t in the best shape, but it got me all over California during my last three years in college. And while Jefferson Automobile and I had a good time together, I thought it might be a challenge for my hero (six-feet-plus) to attempt a little sexy time in such a petite auto.

So what does any author do when confronted with a question?

That’s right… LOOK IT UP!

Sooo many articles online… Even one that gave suggestions for positions based on Auto Model that included SOUNDTRACK suggestions… *wink* So when you’re planning the “spur of the moment” sexy times…be prepared…

Playing With Fire
St. Raphael, CA Book 2

When Finley tells him that she’s given up on love and done with men in general, Jackson sets out to prove that he’s not only the man she was meant to be with, he’s a firefighter who knows how to heal her heart and soul. Is he Playing With Fire?

Get your copy here!

Excerpt

Finley slipped her hand between them, and curled her fingers into her pocket, withdrawing a small foil packet held loosely between her fingers. “We don’t want to waste this, do we?”

She felt him stiffen against her, and it wasn’t just the hard ridge in his jeans; it was every single inch of him and she smiled. She’d turned the tables on him, taken his impromptu admission to heart.

“Finley, this isn’t the place-”

“It’s the perfect place,” she argued back, taking a quick look around, “there’s no one out here, and even if they were, the trees are so overgrown no one could possibly see us.”

She worked her hand over his length. His open-mouthed groan muffled her soft satisfied laugh.

“You can’t do this to me, Fin.”

“To you? I’m hoping to do it ‘with’ you.” Her next pass along his length brought his zipper down with it, and he leaned into her touch.

It was addicting, she decided, having this power over a man as strong as Jackson. And as she released the button on the waistband of his jeans she heard him swear under his breath.

“I’m sorry,” she asked him in a sweet and playful tone, “I didn’t hear that. What did you say?”

“Dammit, Finley,” his voice ground out between his teeth as he drew in one breath after another, “don’t tease me. There’s no way we’re going to fit in your car.”

“Well,” she flattened her palm over his stomach and slid it down under the waistband of his briefs, “you fit on the drive up here.”

He turned them, bracing his hands on the top of her car on either side of her body. The shift in their positions added enough friction to make him hiss. “That stick shift is going to make one of us very uncomfortable.”

“You have to think creatively.” She leaned closer, pressing her lips against his chest, and wondered if that was really the speed of his heart or her own. “Or you could put yourself in my hands.”

She felt him swell against her palm and licked her lips. “Then again, looks like you already have.”

Reaching out with her free hand she tugged open the passenger door. A moment later she was busy fiddling with the seat. Behind her, Jackson leaned heavily against the car his jaw tightly clenched.

“Finley?”

She heard the impatient edge in his voice and couldn’t help but smile hoping he couldn’t see. “Just a minute.”

“Hurry up.”

The snap in his tone made her laugh outright. “If you want to hurry so much, you could get rid of those jeans.” She heard the rustle of fabric and turned a moment later to find Jackson gloriously naked in the moonlight. She pulled her lower lip into her mouth, enjoying the sharp brush of her teeth against the soft flesh. “Wow.”

His shoulders rose and fell as she looked at him, from head to toe and back again, with a long curious pause in the middle.

“Why did you take off the shirt?” Mentally she kicked herself. One didn’t question a panty-melting man about why he took his clothes off. One just enjoyed the view and said, “Thank you.”

Oh my god. “Did I really say that out loud?”

His broad grin was answer enough. But then he opened his mouth and made her go weak in the knees. “It’s going to get hot in your car, Finley.” He gestured at her with a gleam in his eyes. “I think you might want to get rid of all of that.”

She reached for her waistband and pulled it down over her hips, her panties caught up in the motion ended up tangled at her feet. The long hip-length tunic she wore kept her covered in shadow.

“That’s not fair,” he growled the words and moved closer, his hands reaching for the hem. “I think it’s only fair that I get to see all of you too.”

She wanted to cross her arms over her chest and back away, but that would be silly given the number of times they’d been together over the last few weeks.

Once you’ve had a man naked in your kitchen, your legs wrapped around his waist as you tumble half the spice rack into your sink, it’s silly to hide yourself from him when you’re alone and in the dark.

Jackson reached over and slid his fingers under the hem, brushing the back of his hand against her stomach. “Need some help?”

She shook her head. “Get in the backseat and I’ll take it off.”

It took only a second or two for him to climb into the backseat of her car, tucked into the corner with one leg bent and the other leg stretched out the door.

Against the aged upholstery, Jackson sprawled like a mythological god. And when he held out a hand, crooking his finger to draw her closer, she grabbed the hem of her azure tunic and pulled it off, the beaded neckline brushing over her face, another layer of sensation prickling along her skin.

Ducking into the car, she ended up straddling his leg. The heat of his thigh between hers set her skin aflame.

About Reina Torres

Who would have thought that I’d start off as a painfully shy child writing stories and end up as a painfully shy adult writing books and publishing them for others to read? Crazy? That’s me!!

When I was a little girl, I read every book I could get my hands on and if I didn’t have one available to read, I’d get out my pencils and paper and write down stories and scenes. Waiting for my mom to finish working, I’d duck into the ladies’ breakroom and use the typewriter. I’d feel like Jessica Fletcher, happily tap, tap, tapping away until I got to ‘The End.” Couldn’t quite get the flourish after that and end up tearing the paper, but it was cool and scary to sit down and read the book or give it to my friends to read.

Now, my ‘typewriter’ doesn’t clack the same way and the I don’t even have paper to pull out of it with a nod of satisfaction, but I have the joy and excitement of sharing my characters and books with people all around the world!

I hope you’ll enjoy reading my books, because I’m going to keep writing as long as the characters are feeling chatty!

Amazon Page https://www.amazon.com/author/reinatorresromance
Bookbub https://www.bookbub.com/authors/reina-torres
Reina Torres Facebook Page https://www.facebook.com/ReinaTorresRomance/
Reina’s Readers https://www.facebook.com/groups/ReinaTorresReaders/

CONTEST

Tell me your favorite car/vehicle. Either one you’ve owned or want to own… and what was its name?/would be its name?

Prize—Two winners, for an ebook of Playing With Fire or any other of my St. Raphael, CA books