UPDATE: The winner is Armenia Fox!

* * * * *

Today’s guest is missing, so I thought I’d give you a little sexy creamer to go with your coffee…

Sorry, did you just snort your coffee? Was that too crude? I’m in one of those moods today. I have to make one final pass through my latest Stepbrothers Stepping Out story—this one is “With His Friends”—before I can ship it to the formatter. The plan is to have it on Amazon this Friday! But in the meantime, I’m “suffering” (LOL!) through a sexy foursome. Yes, I know the cover makes it look as though it ought to be a fivesome, but there’s only a hint of that in the story. Here’s a sneak peek at the cover:

And while you’re waiting for Friday to roll around, I’m sharing a sexy snippet from another naughty stepbrother story. If you’d like a chance to win a copy of With His Professor, answer me this:

If you read them, what do you like about menage stories?

An excerpt from Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His Professor…

When a stripper confronts a professor about her stepbrother’s grade, she’s determined to find a way to change his mind. Making the grade has never been sexier…

Outwardly, the clothing I wore was respectable. But underneath, I wore nothing except for the straps Darien had fastened around my waist and upper thighs, which held the vibrator in place.

His idea. The remote was in his pocket.

We strode down the long, dark hallway, not glancing at each other directly but from the corners of our eyes, and I knew he could see the smirk kicking up one side of my mouth.

A hum sounded, and a vibration shot through me, causing my jaw to sag and my lids to lower.

Darien clicked off the remote, clamped a hand on my ass and pushed me forward.

We’d decided to play. No plan really. But we were ready in case there was even a flicker of interest from the handsome professor. Just the thought of what was under my short skirt was enough to fuel our excitement.

His door creaked open, a student stepped out, his gaze going to Darien, to whom he gave a nod, and then I drew his attention, and I gave him a sultry smile. He halted in his tracks, and I turned my head to watch him as I passed, enjoying the fact that he continued to stare after me.

I knew I looked good. Short black skirt, flirty knee-high boots, a powder blue sweater with one large button fastened between my boobs that hugged my upper chest, and it was obvious from the pout of my nipples I wasn’t wearing a bra.

Darien knocked on the door. The sound within was muffled, but my brother pushed inside then held the door to let me precede him.

Professor Allcock’s expression tightened, his gaze going from Darien to my chest, and back to Darien. He settled deeper in his chair and regarded both of us with a wary gaze.

I took a seat.

“I’ve finished the paper,” Darien said, and bent over the professor’s desk to slide it across. From the side, the sight of his erection tenting his pants made me grin.

When I raised my gaze, I found myself caught by the professor whose eyebrows were lowered. He knew he was being hunted. But I couldn’t read him to know whether he was into this, into us, or just irritated.

“You must be warm this evening,” he said, his gaze going to my sweater.

My heart  began to pound, because I understood his unspoken command. “I am warm,” I said, and flicked open the button. The sides parted, but only revealed a bare strip down my middle.

And because, for the moment, I had his undivided attention, I leaned back and opened my legs.

Darien coughed, which sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

The professor’s frown stayed in place, but his gaze snagged on the sight I revealed.

A hum began, so loud there was no chance the man across the desk missed it. Pleasure quivered through me. I gasped, settled deeper in my chair, and parted my legs farther.

The professor cleared his throat then pulled the paper closer.

The men commenced talking about the paper while I grew warm and wet and squirmed a little on my seat. When I leaned back, I opened my sweater fully to let the cool air tease my nipples. Exposed, my desire quickly ratcheted up.

Darien reached across and pinched my inner thigh. His head turned, and he gave me a blistering glare. “Not until I say.” Then he returned to the conversation.

The professor seemed to take it all in stride, his gaze skimming the paper and asking questions, but now and then, he’d glance at my pussy.

Was he afraid I’d wet the upholstery? Did he like what he saw? The mystery fueled my desire, and I took short breaths through pursed lips to hold onto my composure.

The professor slid open a drawer. He held out a hand toward me. “You left these the other night.”

My sequined pasties lay on his palm. I picked them up, letting my fingers slide on his skin, but he drew calmly away, as though he’d just handed me a pencil.

The vibrator’s speed increased, and I bit my lip, fighting the urge to climax.

“May I?” the professor said, holding out his hand.

Darien handed him the control.

And now, any pretending they were actually talking about the merits of Darien’s paper disappeared. Both males stared as I gripped the chair’s arms and scrunched my features because I was close. So fucking close.

The vibrator stopped, and I widened my eyes. His gaze was narrowed. His cheeks flushed. He leaned to the side, and the sound of another drawer, this one lower down and sliding open, filled the small room.

When he straightened in his chair, he held a pointer, a long one he would have used to point to a screen as he lectured. He passed it to Darien then swung his gaze back to me. One brow rose—a challenge thrown down?

I pushed up and stood on wobbly legs. Then never letting my gaze stray from his, I raised my skirt to my waist and bent over his desk. He was deprived of the sight of my ass and swollen pussy, but he didn’t seem to mind. He leaned back in his chair, wearing a small, tight smile.

The first stroke of that thin wooden wand made me gasp. It felt like a switch. Stung like a bitch. Another stroke, and I cried out. The professor held out the remote, his thumb hovering over the button.

My gaze locked with his as another strike stung me, and then he hit the remote, and the vibrator quivered to life. My pussy closed around it, making a wet, slurpy sound.

His gaze dropped to his crotch.

Mine followed.

His cock strained against the fabric of his dark slacks. If he’d opened them, I’d have begged to suck him, but he merely rubbed himself slowly, as he hit the trigger again and quickened the hum.

Darien slashed me one last time, and I couldn’t stop myself, I bit my lower lip to muffle a cry as my orgasm slammed through me.

Slowly, I came back to awareness. Darien was wiping my thighs and pussy with tissues the professor handed him. What was said between the two men, I didn’t care. The professor stood, and Darien pulled me upright, fastening the button of my sweater and tugging down my skirt to cover my sex and my ass. He rubbed my bottom, and I gasped at the welts he’d left. Welts my customers would see when I danced the next night. But I didn’t care.

*~*~*

Check out more sexy stepbrothers erotic romances:

Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His Partner
Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His Boss

Reunions.

What does that word bring to mind? Gathering for a family picnic on the Fourth of July? Losing a few pounds before you party with people you haven’t seen since high school graduation? Running into a former crush while you’re in your oldest sweats with no makeup on and standing in the line at the grocery store?

Any of the above situations can make for a great story filled with peril…or promise.

Who hasn’t heard about feuding cousins who buried the hatchet and became friends at a family reunion? Or the high-school sweethearts who found each other again—and tied the knot—after thirty years apart?

Romance novels often revolve around a reunion plot. I love that story line and include it in many of my books.

Obviously, one of the most important elements of a story, especially a romance, is getting and keeping the main characters together in a believable, uncontrived way. A reunion is a great way to accomplish that.

But this type of story is so much more than a ready plot device, a handy trope, a fallback for characters who need a quick and maybe cute intro.

One of the things I love best about a reunion story is that it brings together characters who have a past in common. Just think of the possibilities in that: two people with a history together.  Shared memories.  Unresolved conflicts.  Unforgiven and unforgivable hurts.

If that’s not good material for a relationship story, I don’t know what is!

In my opinion, a reunion plot makes for a richer, more complex story. It gives us a chance to see how two people who once walked away from each other can grow and change and improve. And best of all, it lets us see how those people who once made a mistake get a second chance.

My first published book, The Sheriff’s Son, is being reissued in new formats today. (Info on that below.) Just for fun, I’ve included before-and-after covers with this post.

The book is—you guessed it!—a reunion story. Sarah and Tanner were high-school sweethearts until the night of graduation, when he broke her heart. Here’s a clip from the beginning of the book with that all-important first meeting:

If one more straw would snap the camel’s back, as Daddy used to say, then one more debt, one more unplanned doctor visit, one more call from Kevin’s school ought to bring down a whole herd of cattle.

The thought of her son made Sarah sigh again. It was only a few weeks into the new school year, and in that short time, he’d given her more grief than in all seven years of his life combined.

At the sound of the bell over the bookstore’s front door, she smoothed the loose curls escaping from her braid and, ran a hand over the front of her dress. Halfway through the office doorway, she froze. Her mouth hung open, the greeting she’d intended to call out shriveling on her tongue, sliding back down her throat, curdling in her stomach.

Her “one more straw” had arrived.

A man stood at the front of the store, framed between a pair of ceiling-height bookcases.

Tanner Jones seemed to fill her vision, standing taller and more broad-shouldered than she ever remembered, but looking, unfortunately, all too familiar. Except for the deputy sheriff’s badge decorating his chest and the gun resting on his hip.

A frown rumpled his brow and his hand gripped the back of a bright blue T-shirt, pulling up with just enough pressure to keep the boy inside the shirt dancing on tiptoe.

A single mother’s worst nightmare. Doubled.

The son she never wanted to see in trouble.

The man she’d once loved. Once lost. And never wanted to see again.

~~

Hope you enjoyed the clip. I would love to hear your thoughts about reunion romances!

I’m giving away one reader’s choice of an autographed print copy of this book in the original version or one of my available backlist titles. (US mailing addresses only, please). To get your name in the hat, share a reunion story—one of your own or of someone you know.

Leave your comment by Friday, and a winner’s name will be posted in the comments over the weekend.

About the Author

Barbara White Daille lives with her husband in the sunny Southwest. Though they love the warm winters and the lizards in their front yard, they haven’t gotten used to the scorpions in the bathroom.

Barbara’s new series, The Hitching Post Hotel, features a matchmaking grandpa determined to see his three granddaughters wed. The series began with The Cowboy’s Little Surprise, and the latest book is The Lawman’s Christmas Proposal (just released in December). Cowboy in Crisis will debut in July 2016, with other books in the series to follow.

Her first book, The Sheriff’s Son, has been reissued (today! J ) in both larger print and a new e-book version, available exclusively from Harlequin:  https://bit.ly/TSS-LP-HB.  The original version is also still available at most major e-tailers, including Amazon: https://www.amzn.com/B00N79F94I.

Find Barbara online:

Website  https://www.barbarawhitedaille.com
Newsletter  https://www.barbarawhitedaille.com/newsletter
Twitter  https://twitter.com/BarbaraWDaille
Facebook  https://www.facebook.com/barbarawhitedaille

Can you believe the first month of 2016 is almost over? Yeah, it’s all over except the weeping. I blew my goals for January. And I’m not sure why. I felt good after December’s little health hiccup. But February presents a new challenge and a chance to catch up!

What did I accomplish in January?

1. I wrote 1/2 of one book.
2. I wrote the opening chapters of another then put it away because I hated it.
3. I revised an older title and published it.
4. I compiled a short story collection of my own and published it.

And that was freaking it.

Just so you didn’t miss those newly published titles, here’s a reminder…

January Releases

Bent on catching her cheating fiancé in the act, Frannie Valentine got sidetracked by a little thing like dying. When she awakens, Frannie learns her pampered life will never be the same, so she turns to the man responsible for her undeadness and demands he take on the responsibility of giving her a little job training—in the PI biz.

Niall Keegan never intended to make himself a mate, but Frannie’s string of minor disasters, which ended with her dying in his arms, took the decision right out of his hands. While the mating part isn’t bad, making the disaster-prone Frannie a PI may just be the death of him.

Purchase here!

* * * * *

From New York Times bestselling author, Delilah Devlin, comes her third naughty collection of bedtime stories–enough for a week’s worth of sexy inspiration!
Included in this volume are… 

Big Brass Buckle — Caught in a sudden thunderstorm on a lonely stretch of Texas highway, I pull into a dingy little diner to wait out the rain, never dreaming the cowboy of my dreams would follow me inside…

Pitch Black — Passion lights the way for an ex-marine corrections officer rescuing a female CO trapped in a prison block during a blackout…

The Pleasure in Surrender — After the lady of the keep bars her gates to the barbarian the king commands she wed, the half-Viking knight scales the walls of her heart…

One-Track Cowboy — After tracking two lost hikers, a park ranger and a local rancher lose themselves to a wild passion…

How to Train Your Skjaldmaer — A Viking jarl tricked into marrying a shieldmaiden sets out to tame his fiery bride…

Johnny Blaze — A firefighter moonlighting as a male exotic dancer gives a librarian a birthday spanking she’ll never forget…

Red Dawn — A colonist living on a lonely Martian plain receives her new mate, a man culled from among the newly transported convicts…

Purchase here! And remember, RIGHT NOW, it’s just $0.99!

What’s coming in February?

Contest

Answer this to win a small Amazon gift card…

What story are you most eager to see from me next? The next SEAL? Another fireman? Cowboy? Werewolf? Witch? Stepbrother?

I’ll be sending out a new newsletter later today and announcing this month’s winner of a gift from me. If you aren’t already a subscriber to my newsletter, go here: Sign up for Delilah’s Newsletter!

UPDATE: Four winners are announced in the comments!

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If you’ve followed me for long, you know I love, love, love writing short stories. I love to read them. (I don’t really have time to read much else!) I write so many, I am now publishing my third Strokes edition! Here comes the sales pitch… And what a deal I have for you! If you bought each of these stories individually, you’d pay $6.93. TODAY, you can buy this anthology for just $0.99!

There are seven stories, no cliff-hangers—these are self-contained short stories with a beginning and a Happy Ever After! And they cover a wide range of themes, from Vikings to Cowboys to Men in Uniform to a lovely little romance set on Mars… Seven stories designed to give you a week’s worth of bedtime pleasure!

I hope you’ll rush to Amazon and get your copy, because no kidding, that price won’t last long.

Comment to tell me which of the seven stories you are dying to read (click on the cover to head to Amazon for the list!), and you will be entered to win one of the previous editions of Strokes. And I’ll be choosing three winners!

Lately, I’ve become a bit more analytical in my thinking about books. One of the things I’ve considered is what I like in a romance hero and who writes that hero best.

Linda Howard is the first author who comes to mind who writes the heroes I love. They are uber-alpha, supremely capable in every situation, and yet (often) completely befuddled by their attraction to and adoration of females who don’t necessarily make sense to their male minds.

My first Howard novel was Midnight Rainbow starring Grant Sullivan, secret operative extraordinaire, and a feisty rich woman. I don’t remember much about her, but I do remember that Sullivan was pretty darned swoon-worthy, especially considering I was a teenager when I read that book. But Sullivan’s not the only one. John Medina, who finally got his own woman in All the Queen’s Men after having cameo appearances in previous books, is another super spy who doesn’t break a sweat while the bullets are flying around him.

Howard’s heroes don’t have to be mercenaries or spies – though I’m certainly not complaining! – but they will be men who can maintain control of 99% of their environment. Ben Lewis, the Amazon guide in Heart of Fire, and James Diaz from Cry No More (one of my desert-isle keepers) are two men who may take questionable moral stances in some situation, yet they are 110% devoted to the safety of their women, even when they don’t understand what the women are planning or why.

She has also written two of my favorite cops (though I do adore Nelson deMille’s John Corey, but those aren’t romance, so we’ll save those for another day) in the hilarious Sam Donovan from Mr. Perfect and Dane Hollister in Dream Man. Honestly, who can resist a man who ends up with sympathy labor pains?

And speaking of Danes, or Dains as it were, I have to add Sebastian Ballister, the Marquess of Dain, from Loretta Chase’s Lord of Scoundrels to my list. Not only is Dain another uber-alpha male completely confounded and besotted by Jessica Trent, LoS is simply one of the best romance novels ever written. Ever. Seriously. I’m pretty sure there are scientific papers quantifying that.

And one more author whose heroes I love? Laura Florand. If you haven’t read her chocolate or perfume series, get on it! She creates these gorgeous French men (and gorgeous French settings!) who are tough and rugged on outside, but molten chocolate on the inside – sweet, dark and delicious. Dominique Richard from The Chocolate Touch is my favorite of Florand’s bad boy chefs, but Gabe and Patrick are chocolatey heartthrobs as well (The Chocolate Rose and The Chocolate Temptation respectively). Honestly, though, if you’re going to read Florand’s books, just start at the beginning of the series with The Chocolate Thief and know that the books get better and better the more you read. Full disclosure, the first book in the series is actually my least favorite…though I do love that hero as well, Monsieur Sylvain Marquis.

Tl;dr (too long;didn’t read)—I dig supremely capable alpha males who are drop-kicked by love!

Tell me who your favorite heroes are.

On Monday, February 1st, I’ll randomly choose one commenter to win a free digital copy of one of my novellas. Winner gets to choose between Three Little Words and One Night in Savannah. Very different heroes in those two stories, but I love them both!

About the Author

Taylor Reynolds writes hot, contemporary romance that often features active military or veteran characters. She is a native Californian who currently lives in Northern Virginia with a dog and a cat.

UPDATE: The winner of the free download is…Deb Daniel!

* * * * *

This is for those of you currently buried in snow. Pretty, isn’t it? I’d love to lie in a hammock tied between those two bent palms and hang a foot outside to rock myself in the warm island breeze…

But then, they’re leaning so badly that the moment I managed to ungracefully climb into the rope hammock, they’d both be uprooted and topple onto me. I’d spend the rest of my vacation in intensive care at the island hospital where a mosquito would bite me and I’d contract dengue fever, which would turn into dengue hemorrhagic fever (because I always have to be a 1%-er, right?)…and then I’d die…

Yeah, I’m ready for winter to be over. No one can make me smile…except maybe you! Ready for a fun contest?

Take the same concept—you, doing something ordinary, and then adding “…and then I die…” Make it over-the-top or completely deadpan. Have fun! Every comment counts as an entry to win! And since you’re snowed in with enough accumulation on the roof to cave it in, you have a great place to start!

Oh, and the prize will be a free book—a download of any of my most recent releases. Have fun. And stay warm!

UPDATE: The winner of the contest is…Julie!

* * * * *

First, thank you to everyone who purchased Frannie and The Private Dick! If you haven’t already done so, NOW’S THE TIME, because very shortly I will be raising the price to where it really belongs for the length of work it is. But thank you, you early purchasers. We writers don’t just appreciate kind words written in reviews, we appreciate you spending money for our stories, so that we can continue to afford to spend our time writing more stories. It’s just a vicious circle! 🙂

By the way, what do you think of that title? My daughter thinks I sometimes go too far—to which I reply, “Is there such a thing?” Maybe. I have a title for this smutty little office-sex-slave short-story series that might be too much. It will be coming after I finish all the “With His…” stepbrother stories.

For the Stepbrothers Stepping Out, so far I’ve done:

1. With His Partner
2. With His Boss
3. With His Professor

Right now, I’m writing With His Friends and I already have a sexy cover for With His Team. And then, I’m out of “With His…” titles.

Unless… You have suggestions… 

One lucky titler (yes, a made up word!) will
win a small Amazon gift card!

Have fun! ~DD

*~*~*

And while you’re thinking, here’s a little taste of With His Professor…

With my brother Darien’s paper crushed in my hand, I marched down the dimly lit hallway of the English Department, heedless of the fact I hadn’t changed after work. My four-inch heels clicked on the tiled floor like mini hammers.

From the moment he’d sat across from me in the club, his shoulders slumping and his expression dejected, I’d been alerted something was seriously wrong. Darien hadn’t wanted to worry me. Didn’t I have enough on my shoulders, supporting us both while he finished his degree? When I’d finally wormed the source of his distress out of him, I’d seen red.

I’d stared at the paper—recognizing the terse handwriting telling my brother that his work wasn’t good enough. The 57 points the professor had given him meant my brother would have to repeat the class, which he’d needed to pass because it was a prerequisite for another. And now, his graduation date was at risk.

Not without a fight. And since Darien was the quiet one, it was up to me to confront Professor Allcock.

“Don’t you want to change first?” my brother had asked, eyeing my costume.

“Does he still stay in his office until nine to see students?”

“Yes, but—”

“It’s eight-fifteen. No fucking time left for me to change.” I slid across the vinyl seat and reached for my furry coat. It only reached to the top of my hips, but the skirt of this particular costume at least covered my ass. “Can you walk home?”

He slid the keys across the table. “I should go with you.”

“You have a chem test to study for.” I bent and gave him a quick kiss on the mouth. “Dare, I’ve got this.”

I’ve got this. The adrenaline that had fueled my drive here fizzled. My steps slowed. I glanced up and down the hallway, then reached for the hem that peeked from beneath my coat and tugged it lower.

Good lord, I was walking into his office wearing pasties and a tear-away skirt. Standing in front of his door, I paused. The smells were the same—floor wax, polish, old books. His door was exactly the same thick wooden door. I’d spent several sessions in his office during my very short college career, begging for second chances, for him not to give me a bad grade because my dad would kill me.

I’d even opened my blouse, thinking I might be able to bribe him with a peek…or more.

Would he even remember? As handsome as he was, he probably had more coeds flashing their tits and asses than a construction worker on payday in a tittie bar—which was where I now worked. And I was the one flashing the dude with concrete dust in his hair and grime beneath his nails, hoping he’d ask me for a lap dance because I needed the money.

My hands fell to my sides. What could I say that would change his mind? Back when I’d been the student, unbuttoning my blouse had only gotten me shoved out his door with a stern reprimand. I glanced down at the paper I held again. I wasn’t here to beg for me. I was here to beg for my brother, for our future.

I raised my hand, preparing to knock when the door swung open. Caught by surprise, I blinked and stepped backward. The young man coming out of the door gaped at me, his gaze sweeping the expanse of my legs, my overly made up face. “Professor, you have another…student?”

I edged around him, getting through the door, then held the knob, waiting for him to move out of the doorway. At last, he shook himself and grinned. “Delta Zeta, right? Damn, girl. I’ll see you at the kegger.”

I took a deep breath and slowly turned to face Professor Allcock. I’d hoped he’d gone bald. Grown a gut. My heart fluttered in my chest as I stared across at the man I’d crushed on when I’d been a student here.

“Can I help you?” he asked in his deliberate way—softly spoken, but clearly enunciated. I’d always wondered if he’d commanded his women to bend over and take it in exactly that tone of voice.

I took a deep breath and raised the hand that still clutched Darien’s paper. “I’ve come to talk to you about this,” I said, my voice sounding uncertain, even to me. Which pissed me off. I tilted up my chin, and strode toward his desk, depositing the paper in the center.

He sat back, his gaze going to the crumpled sheets. “This is Darien Koslow’s paper. Why are you concerned?”

“I’m his sister.”

“And he has you to fight his battles?”

“He’s not…into confrontation.”

“And you are?” His eyebrow rose, and his gaze skimmed my thick coat and thin, short skirt.

“It’s a division of labor,” I muttered.

His gaze narrowed on my face. “Do I know you?”

Something about the way he said it, like he’d never in a million years know a piece of trash like me, fired my blood. “You might remember these,” I said, and tore open my coat, flashing him my boobs with the sequined stickers covering my nipples.

“Ah. Yes,” he said. “Miriam White. You were in my class…five years ago?”

“Four,” I said, slowly closing my coat. So, he didn’t quite remember my face, but he remembered my boobs? “I had to drop out.”

“A death in the family, I recall.”

“Two deaths. My father, Darien’s mother.”

“He’s your stepbrother? Half?”

“Step,” I said, beginning to shake because my anger once again was beginning to retreat, and I was tired and my brother was about to fail this class, and I couldn’t fix this. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“Have a seat, Miriam,” he said then tapped the paper. “Let’s talk about this.”

“You don’t give second chances. I remember that.”

“And I remember you. It was early in the semester. Still time for you to turn around your grade. But you wanted a quick fix.”

“You told me to read the damn book.”

His mouth twisted then straightened into a firm line. “What did you come to ask me for tonight?”

“I wanted you to let Darien resubmit the paper. He’ll do better. I promise.”

His gaze remained narrowed on my face.

I felt a blush creep across my cheeks.

“I have to ask…”

“Yeah, I’m a stripper.”

“Not what I was going to ask, but good to know. I was disappointed when you didn’t reenroll after your parents’ deaths.”

“My priorities changed,” I said, glancing at his bookcase, his diploma-covered walls, anywhere but at his all-too-keen eyes.

“I might be inclined to give your brother a second chance…”

My gaze shot back to him. “Really?” I sucked in a quick breath then stilled.

His gaze had dropped to my chest.