For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a hopeless romantic. Yes, it’s cliché, but I am a dreamy idealist to the core. Fresh picked flowers and slow walks holding hands with my man light up my day. Gentle kisses and endearments whispered while sharing ice cream warm my heart.

Everlasting love…

As a young girl, I lived on a ranch at the outskirts of Elk Grove, California. Nestled along the base of the sierra foothills, our ranch was about five miles out of town. Every once in a while, I’d ride my horse to my girlfriend’s house through acres of wheat fields, past a quince orchard and cat-fish farm, and across two country roads to arrive in town. After securing my horse, we’d walk to Hilltop Cemetery, established in 1878, to explore.

In the 1980’s the cemetery’s cracked earth and summer-dried grass surrounded numerous embedded markers. Some of the upright headstones had fallen over, but many still graced the departed. While exploring, I’d conjure up stories in my mind about the deceased, their struggles and triumphs, marriages and births and love, religious beliefs, and such. I’d pretend their whispers rode the breeze.

One plot in particular drew my attention: the double plot of a husband that had preceded his wife’s death by decades. Now at peace, I would imagine them returned to their youth-filled selves, reuniting, embracing, and skipping off toward the Cosumnes River in the distance bliss-filled.

Everlasting love…

In 2005, the cemetery received a makeover. The headstones are upright again and surrounded by manicured lawns, new trees, and concrete pathways. A wrought iron fence wraps around the site and an archway welcomes guests. Many visitors place balloons and flowers, and stop to pay their respects to people they never knew in life.

Everlasting love…

In my debut short story A Promise Worth Keeping, which hit No.1 in free kindle Short Romance and the Top 100 paid lists, my childhood imagination sprang to life as I explored the irrevocability of lasting love through a newly hired groundskeeper’s predicament.

Clayton has a real mess on his hands. Not only have garden vandals threatened the Remy Estate’s Valentine’s Day celebration, but Clayton’s girlfriend, Sarah, has proposed to him despite knowing he doesn’t believe in lasting love.

By hunkering down in the garden all night, Clayton hopes to at least solve one of his problems and catch the vandals in the act. Instead, will Clayton finally face his fears and become a man worth loving?

Do you believe in everlasting love?

Leave a comment for a chance at a $5 Amazon gift card.

Happy reading and writing,

Cyndi Faria

Leading the way to happily ever after…

Cyndi Faria is an engineer turned romance writer whose craving for structure is satisfied by plotting emotional and cozy paranormal romance stories about cursed spirits, lost souls, harbingers, and even a haunted coastal town. “Cyndi Faria writes with passion and her stories touch the heart,” says Virna DePaul, Bestselling Author of paranormal romance and romantic suspense. On and off Cyndi’s sexy romance pages, this California country girl isn’t afraid to dirty her hands fighting for the underdog and caretaking rescued pets. Find her helping fellow writers and leading readers to happily ever after at www.cyndifaria.com.

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Good Morning Everyone,

I’m so excited to show a peek at my upcoming 1NS Trading Up Releasing 4/18/13!

If you haven’t ever read a 1NS series book you are missing out! I don’t even know the exact number of books out from various authors we have at this point. I’d like to say well over a hundred stories as we have a 1NS Paranormal and 1NS GBLT line as well.  I never thought I could work off of a detail sheet with to create a story….but here I am on my third 1NS. My previous 1NS stories are Tell Me No Lies a paranormal 1NS and Burn Me if You Can, an IR 1NS.

There is just something so mystical about Madame Eve that makes me want to keep creating characters that need her assistance in finding love, and if not finding the love of their live, opening themselves for a chance to find love in the future.

I also wanted to do a story with some sensory deprivation, and I’d never done more than a short scene with one sense taken away. I really enjoyed the challenge of taking it to the next level and really having fun.  Not to mention taking away the first moment a couple meets in person where they decide prematurely what will and won’t happen with the date.

Camilla’s deal breakers make finding a man to fit her wants, needs, and desires darn near impossible. For years she’s been primped and primed to be the perfect political daughter, when all she really wants to do is let loose a little without her world collapsing.  When a friend sends her Madam Eve’s way she figures she may just have the chance to explore a bit without being outed.

Jonah Black’s career is heading for a change. While his friends have dubbed him married to the military, he can’t deny that his focus has been off centered. While they enjoy the pleasures of life and wives, he has nothing to come home to.  When offered the chance for a 1NS, he signs up and is unprepared for the exotic woman picked for him.

The flames licking inside her were too much to take, along with his roaming hand.  She leaned forward and grasped the chilled wine goblet as a lifeline. When he nudged her lips to take a second taste, she pressed the together, holding her finger up and then laughing because he couldn’t see it in the dark. She took a long cool sip, more from Jonah’s effect on her than the food. She licked her lips then tucked herself against him, momentarily satisfied.

“Better?

“Mmm.” Cam sighed. “When’s it your turn? I’m having all the fun.”

“I’m having a good time feeding you.”

“You’re not hungry?” In the dark, his heart pounded against her cheek.“I’m hungry, all right. Ravenous, even.” Jonah caressed her thigh. Cam had no doubt his eyes would scorch her to her very soul. His lazy trail along her skin left her smoldering in need. She let him ply her with another skewer to distract from the throb at the apex of her thighs. She sucked a piece of pineapple he held between his fingers. Juices trickled down her chin. He mopped the stream of liquid with the pad of his thumb and heard him  nosily sucked it off.  Holy bananas, she wanted a taste of him now. Her mind kept rewinding to the feel of his finger parting her lips.

“I uh- need to use the ladies room.” Cam pressed the button on the table for assistance. Cesaire instructed.  Seconds later, her guide assisted her out of her chair and slid it back in.

“Here we go, Ms. Knox.”

She stepped awkwardly away from the table.  Along the way, she heard soft sighs and giggles. Definitely some hard-core kissing action. The idea of giving in to the dark side and making out in public heightened her ardor. A loud bang startled her. She jumped, almost losing Cesaire’s grasp.

“Don’t worry Ms. Knox. Almost there.” A few more steps and he ushered her into a space where dim lighting burned her dilated pupils for a moment before her eyes adjusted. He sat on a lounge chair between two doors marked Men and Women. The dim glow brought her normal self-conscious thoughts raging forward. In the dark Jonah couldn’t see her physical flaws. Would that change once he saw the real her?

Comment and leave an email address I’ll pick a winner for some swag!

This bundle of Mahalia’s books is available now for only $5.88!

Psst! Rhonda, you won the Venetian mask! Please contact Lexi at lexi.post@yahoo.com to arrange delivery of your prize!

* * * * *

Wherefore art thou, Inspiration?

Writers find their inspiration in many places.  For some of my friends, they have a dream and ta-da, the beginnings of a story. All they need to do is get to the computer and write it down.  For my critique partner, EVERYTHING is inspiring.  She sees two people interacting in the park and she gets idea. She takes a tour and she gets another idea.  An item in a gift shop, a page on an historical website, a song on the radio, an old John Wayne movie and she’s got four more stories! For me, it is a lot more controlled, but no less exciting.  For my erotic stories, I find inspiration in the classics.

Yup, I do. Now before you shake your head, let me explain. For example, my debut release with Ellora’s Cave is called MASQUE. This story was inspired by Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Masque of the Red Death,” first published in 1842. In Poe’s story, Prince Prospero seeks to escape the Red Death by gathering his aristocratic friends and sealing them off from the rest of the town in a great abbey, leaving his other subjects to live or die as fate decrees. On the night of the prince’s Masque, which is held in his seven colored entertainment rooms, when the great clock in the Black Room strikes midnight, a figure enters the party in a mask resembling a victim of the Red Death. When the prince attempts to kill the intruder for such audacity as to remind them all of the sad state of affairs outside, the prince falls dead, as does everyone else in the abbey, and the clock ceases.

So my thought was, what if the intruder had been a friend who hoped to sway the prince to do what was right by his people, only to have everything go wrong? How would that friend feel when everyone dropped dead around him? I’m thinking he might feel just a tad bit of guilt. But what if it was made worse by the fact that 73 inhabitants, all except the Prince, weren’t able to cross over and continued to exist in a ghostlike state becoming more solid with the full moon and disappearing all together with the waning moon.

And don’t forget that the Prince, in Poe’s story, had seven entertainment rooms, each of which was a different color. I couldn’t ignore that, because to me, it appeared that those rooms were made specifically for a different sexual experience that a live woman, let’s call her Rena, would need to experience to complete the Masque which would allow the trapped souls to cross over.  See where I’m going here? But that might make it too easy. I mean, who wouldn’t want to complete the Masque with the hero, Synn, a Mr. Darcy with more muscles and longer hair? So I thought, what if Rena must turn the abbey into a haunted bed-and-breakfast to prove to herself she can and to solidify her income.  Ah, now here we have a problem.

So you see, there really can be inspiration in classic literature. My current, almost ready-to-go, WIP is based on Nathaniel Hawthorne’s “Rappaccini’s Daughter.” What is fun for my readers is that they can read my erotic romance knowing nothing (except what is in the author’s note) about the classic piece and still enjoy it.  And for those readers interested in reading the original, they will find another whole level of meaning in the happily ever after.  So you see, finding inspiration in the classics really isn’t that strange, is it?

For a chance to win this beautiful Venetian mask made in Italy, leave a comment.

I’ve included a short excerpt from MASQUE. Enjoy. Lexi

Rena Mills plans to turn an abandoned abbey into a haunted bed-and-breakfast to prove she can be successful without her ex-fiancé. What she finds inside is Synn MacAllistair, the distinguished, self-proclaimed Ghost Keeper. Her dreams soon fill with sexual cravings for him. But are they dreams?

Synn, born in 1828, is determined to free the souls of the resident spirits, blaming himself for bringing the Red Death that killed them. When Rena steps into the old Pleasure Palace, he’s sure he can take her through the after-midnight Pleasure Rooms and stoke her passion to complete the Masque so the souls can cross over. Her innocent fire makes him crave more, but it’s far too late for him.

As Rena begins her erotic journey, her heart becomes more involved with every sensual caress until she discovers by completing the Masque she would lose her ghosts. Synn’s betrayal wars with her compassion for her ghostly friends. Torn, she must make a choice between her financial security and freeing seventy-three trapped souls. Either way, she could lose her Synn.

Buy Links: Amazon | Ellora’s Cave | Goodreads

An image of the lone man standing on the battlements crowded her head. “Do you mind if I run upstairs? I really want to see the sunset.”

Valerie took three loaves of bread from the first bag. “Yeah, yeah, go. But don’t expect me to make dinner.”

“That’s a deal.” Spinning around, Rena ran up the stairs to her wing of the Abbey. Striding through the hallway toward the back, she found another set of stairs leading to the floor above, which had a similar hall. By the time she reached the end of that hall, she was at the front of the Abbey again, only here there was a stone spiral staircase. Carefully, she ascended.

At the top, a wooden door stood open and she stepped outside into the fading light of day, but it wasn’t the sunset that arrested her attention. Synn stood, one foot braced on an embrasure, one hand resting on the crenellated stone of the battlement. The breeze lifted his long brown hair away from his face and off his shoulders…his very bare shoulders.

Oh shit. She hadn’t expected his back to be so broad and muscular. His biceps stood in stark relief as if he worked construction. Below his narrow waist, his firm ass and muscular thighs were outlined by his tight gray pantaloons, if she had the term right. She’d bet the boots he wore were Hessians because those were the only nineteenth-century boots she’d heard of that rose to the knee. To call the man handsome would be to belittle his sculpted perfection, and her heart increased its beat as raw, sexual attraction rifled through her limbs.

He brought his arm down, causing the muscles in his back to ripple before he turned to catch her staring.

Her gaze shifted to his eyes and for a moment they revealed such heartbreaking anguish that all sexual heat fled and her stomach tightened into a sorrowful knot. He shuttered his gaze and smirked. “Were you looking for something?”

Confused, and more than a little distracted by the man’s emotions and his highly defined pectoral muscles, one of which had a fist-sized dark spot, she grasped for logic. “Yes, the sunset.”

“Ah, then you are just in time.” He stepped to the side, bowed and swept his hand toward the battlement. “It’s ready for you, my lady.”

She searched his eyes for any sign that he made fun of her, but found only sincerity. “Thank you.”

She stepped up to the place next to him as indicated and gazed across the town. As she suspected, the ocean was a few blocks past the shops and it glittered red as the setting sun shimmered off its dark surface, its waves lifting and lowering the dazzling color as it moved.

“This is breathtaking.”

“Yes, it is.”

His tone made her glance up, and she found him staring at her. She swallowed.

He released her hair from its clip and the breeze swept it from her face. She couldn’t have looked away from his eyes even if the sun had turned green.

He cupped her jaw with his hand. “You are exquisite.”

Her breath hitched at his words, but her mouth parted as his face drew closer to hers. When their lips were but a breath away, he spoke again. “You are made for passion, Rena.”

She let her eyes close, his words shooting pure desire through her, and then his full lips were upon hers. It was not a gentle kiss, but neither was it harsh or demanding, simply controlled. The hand holding her face encouraged her to open her lips and she did.

She grasped his biceps as his tongue swept into her mouth to explore. He tasted like cinnamon spice but not sweet. When his arm snaked around her waist and pulled her closer, she entwined her arms around his neck, her body tight against his hard one. Unable to stem the growing need building inside her, she pressed her hips into his. A long, hard cock greeted her. She wanted him.

Synn groaned and released her, stepping away.

She grabbed at the embrasure to keep herself from falling on her ass. What the hell was that?

He turned toward the sunset again, his body in perfect profile, his hands clenched at his sides.

Not sure if she was upset because he stopped the kiss or because he started it in the first place, she gritted her teeth. Her body ached for release and she wanted him to provide it, no matter what her mind said. Her sexual frustration gave her a bravery she rarely had. “Why did you stop kissing me?” She had hoped to sound matter-of-fact, but hurt crept into her voice. Did he find her beneath him?

He remained motionless, speaking to the horizon. “If I didn’t stop now, I wouldn’t be able to. You are not ready for me yet.”

* * * * *

Bio of Lexi Post

Lexi Post spent years in higher education taking and teaching courses about classical literature. From the Medieval work “The Pearl” to the 20th century American epic The Grapes of Wrath, from War and Peace to the Bhagavad Gita, she’s read, studied, and taught great classic literature.

But Lexi’s first love is romance novels. In an effort to marry her two first loves, she started writing erotic romance inspired by the classics and found she loved it.  Lexi feels there is no end to the romantic inspiration she can find in great classic literature.

Lexi lives with her husband and cat in the Caribbean where gorgeous sunsets, warm weather, and driving on the left are the norm.

Website |  Blog | twitter | Facebook

Thank you very much for having me today, Delilah!

I would like to share with the world, my VERY FIRST book, Sword’s Call (King’s Rider’s Book 1).

This story is very close to my heart because I literally had a dream about it about thirteen years ago. I have been writing since I was a teenager, but over the years I would go back and forth, not really writing consistently. Until a few years ago when I decided to “get serious” about it and got back to this story, wrote, re-wrote, edited and finished it. Ultimately, I sold it to my AWESOME publisher, Gypsy Shadow Publishing.

Post a comment today and one lucky winner will win their choice of a swag pack (including a tee or totebag) or a copy of my book, in e-book format.

For generations, the Ryhans, ruling family of the Province of Greenwald have been keepers of a sword rumored to possess enough magic to defeat kings. Lord Varthan, a former archduke and betrayer of the king, covets the sword and invades Greenwald.

Lady Ceralda Ryhan, daughter of the murdered duke, gains the sword and flees, trusting only her white wolf, Trikser—magically bonded to her. Cera needs nothing more to aid in her fight.

Jorrin Aldern, half elfin and half human, left his home in the mountains of Aramour to find his human father who disappeared twenty turns before, but finds Cera with Varthan and his shades on her tail instead. His dual heritage and empathic magic will tempt Cera in ways she never thought she’d desire. But can he convince her trust and love can pave the path to redemption or will the epic battle end in tragedy and evil conquer them all?

“Tell me about it,” Jorrin encouraged.

“I pictured our magic as a rope and wrapped it around us. I stepped into him, making us one. I concentrated and I saw you. But then I saw me, too. My eyes were closed, and I felt like I was sitting beside myself. It was…unsettling, at first. But then Trik must have moved his head, because I saw into the woods…he turned, right?”

He grinned at her. “Yes, he did. You did do it.”

“His eyesight is so sharp. It was a wonder to see.” Their eyes locked and held. Air ruffled her hair, causing gooseflesh to rise on her neck as a substantial breeze kicked up.

Trikser made a noise in his throat but she ignored him.

Jorrin looked so wild and beautiful with the wind in his dark hair, his high cheekbones flushed with color to the tips of his slender tapered ears. Her heart skipped as his blue eyes darkened and she read intense heat there.

Last night he’d been in her dreams. Try as she might, Cera could no longer deny that she was attracted to him. That she’d liked that kiss he stole what seemed ages ago.

Would he kiss her again? Heat crept up her neck and burned her cheeks.

The way he was looking at her right then made her lose her train of thought and her worries.

“Tell Trikser to move.”

“What?” But Cera already sent the mental command. Her bond slipped off her lap with little encouragement. He’d caught sight of a rabbit, and took off after it.

Jorrin grabbed her hand and tugged forward. She fell onto his lap, moving to him instead of away, ignoring mental cautions that this wasn’t a good idea, despite her dreams, her admitted attraction.

Their lips met in heated rushed. Cera’s arms shot around his neck and she pressed closer. His body was hard against hers and a tremor shot down her spine.

Her breasts pressed into his chest as he pinned her against him. Jorrin shoved his tongue into her mouth and groaned. She clung to him, moving her mouth under his

When she touched her tongue to his, he moaned, his hands shooting down to cup her bottom.

Cera wiggled in his arms as an unfamiliar warmth enveloped her like an embrace. Jorrin’s erection pressed into her hip and she clutched his tunic with both hands.

When he kissed her harder, her head spun. Feeling his urgency, confusion rushed her. She moaned, fighting the sensation of his warmth, his strength as he squeezed her against him. Her desire for more. Her desire for him. She couldn’t lose control.

Yanking back, she panted against him.

Jorrin’s chest heaved into her breasts as they both struggled for breath. “What’s wrong?” he croaked.

WHERE YOU CAN FIND IT!

Gypsy Shadow | Barnes and Noble | Amazon |Amazon UK | ARe|Smashwords

About me:

Sword’s Call is C.A.’s first book, and is the first in the King’s Riders Series. C.A. also has a Romanic suspense, Collision Force, published by Total-E-Bound Publishing and will be released July 1, 2013.

C.A. is originally from Ohio, but got to Texas as soon as she could. She is married and has a bachelor’s degree in Criminal Justice.
She works with kids when she’s not writing.
She’s always wanted to be a writer and is overjoyed to share her stories with the world.

Where to find ME online:
Blog: www.caszarekwriter.blogspot.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/caszarek
Twitter: @caszarek
I LOVE to hear from readers: caszarekauthor@gmail.com

Today’s theme is “City as Setting.” And what does that mean? Well, writers always try to paint a picture of where the story is set—enough so the reader can climb into the scene and live with the characters. Sometimes, a setting becomes a character itself, in the sense that the place has its own tone and personality. Just after Katrina hit, in the days when the city was filled with people who’d come to help put it back together, NPR and the TV news ran stories incessantly about the cleanup and what New Orleans looked like. I’d been to New Orleans several times before the storm hit, so I knew what it was like before, and it wasn’t hard for me to picture the dismal atmosphere during the months following the storm. In Silent Knight, I created a hero just as depressed and dismal as the city streets he walked—someone equally in need of rescue. Take a look…

If you post a comment today, you’ll be entered to win
a free download of this book!

“…The perfect holiday read! Delilah Devlin took a Christmas tale to a whole new level when she crafted SILENT KNIGHT.” ~5 Stars, Heather, eCataRomance

“…[SILENT KNIGHT] is a sizzling hot vampire story that will take you on a short escape — the perfect read for a busy holiday season. Sexy and fun, make sure Silent Knight is on your holiday “must read” list!” ~4 Kisses, Romance Divas

“Erotically decedent and thrillingly carnal, Noelle and Magnus’ story is enough to make a person self-combust with want.” ~4 Roses, A Romance Review

In the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, Noelle Moyaux questions her gift of sight until a chance encounter with a mysterious stranger sets her on a path to save his soul.

Magnus Thornton is a millennium-old vampire who has found evidence of an old foe’s evil at work in the demolished city of New Orleans . Weary of the fight, he decides to greet the coming dawn after a night reveling in his favorite things–a bottle of Bordeaux and a willing woman.

Noelle seems the answer, but she quickly creeps into his heart-the vampire, so jaded from life he never speaks, must now persuade Noelle to flee the city before it’s too late.

Noelle Moyaux flicked off the battery-powered Christmas lights that ringed her metal cart, folded her purple tablecloth into a small tidy square and tucked it and the folding table inside the cart before latching the lid closed.

She wheeled the cart across the busy street and waved to her friend Gerard, the owner of a small Cajun restaurant. Continuing around the back of the eatery, she stowed her palmistry kiosk in the storage unit she’d rented from Gerard since before the troubles.

Today’s earnings were slim, despite the unseasonably warm weather that allowed the thin-blooded residents of the city to roam the streets in light jackets. No one believed in a future amid the chaos—and some questioned her ability since she’d received no divination of the coming catastrophe. Indeed, Noelle questioned her gift daily as she sat beneath her umbrella in front of the embroidered cloth advertising “Noelle’s News”.

If not for the little nest egg of money she’d saved from substitute teaching before the flood, she’d be in dire straits.

Clutching her purse close to her side, she headed down the street toward home.

One last night. One last chance to lose myself in The Hunger, a fine glass of wine and the body of a willing woman. Before my last sunrise—the first I will see in nearly a thousand years…

Noelle heard the quiet, fleeting thought as she passed through the crowd ambling along Bourbon Street and spun to find the owner. The inner voice that accompanied the thought was masculine and raspy. Added to the familiar spark of connection when her skin had brushed against his was a wash of the blackest melancholy she’d ever sensed. It nearly drowned her in despair.

But whose? No one stood out among the evening crowd of construction workers, disaster-junkies and uprooted residents looking for diversion from the daily serving of desolation New Orleans had become. Was he an out-of-town contractor lonely for his home and family during the holiday? Or a N’awlins native who’d lost his friends and community to the terrible storm with the pretty name?

Whichever, she had to find him. She’d spent months second-guessing her place in the world, wondering if her gift served a higher purpose or just provided a distraction from true contribution. This brief glimpse into another’s pain seemed the answer she’d been seeking.

Filled with a renewed sense of purpose, she reminded herself God didn’t give away special gifts without expecting extraordinary sacrifice. The man was clearly demented. He believed himself a thousand years old. And he meant to end his life—with a sunrise?

Perhaps he only felt a thousand years old, so great was his sadness. And maybe she hadn’t understood the flash-burn of light and the acrid scent of singed flesh that accompanied the dour thoughts. But if someone intended to blow himself up or set himself ablaze, it was up to her to save him. He’d touched her. Now his fate belonged to her.

She walked back the way she’d come, letting her hand drift out from her side, skimming the tourists and garbage collectors, finding nothing darker than desire for the buzz of alcohol and a quick, illicit screw. Then she touched him again and instantly recognized his painful soul.

She paused, suddenly overwhelmed. Dark, erotic pictures blurring like an out-of-focus film spooled through her mind—limbs sliding sinuously apart and together, lips and fingers gliding over sweat-slick skin, powerful, full-shaft surges into warmth so tight and hot Noelle’s nipples beaded in response to the lustful images.

A finger trailed down her cheek, taking away her breath, and she blinked back into focus. He stood close. Large, black Spanish boots, polished so well they reflected lamp glow, were braced apart.

Afraid to look up, she swallowed, tempted to continue past and forget all about trying to save his soul from a terrible sin.

Then he lifted her chin, dragging up her face until their gazes clashed.

Amid the bustle, called greetings and the jazz blaring from several bars, a blanket of quiet fell around her, around him, as she stared at his stark, rugged beauty. She blinked, unable to hold his steady blue gaze and instead let hers drift over him.

Lamplight reflected against curling brown hair with glints of gold interwoven in the shoulder-length strands. His height and the breadth of his shoulders made her wonder how she’d ever missed him in the crowd. Clad in black from head to boot, he must have seemed like one big shadow. A square jaw and blunt nose emphasized the strength evident in his frame.

But those blue eyes disturbed her most. Bleak, wintery blue that pierced the space between them, drawing her closer like a fishing reel—only she was the trembling catch.

When she stood so close his breath stirred her hair, she drew a shaky breath.

His gaze dipped to her mouth, and Noelle felt the heat of his glance lick a searing path across her lips. She touched them with her tongue, half expecting to feel blisters.

His eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, and his hand slipped around her wrist.

You’ll do.

His lips hadn’t moved but she read his intent. His head dipped and she found herself incapable and unwilling of resisting while he dragged firm lips across hers.

Eyes wide open, she shivered, unable to break the spell holding her immobile. A shallow gasp broke from her lips and he deepened the intimate caress, rubbing his lips on hers, sinking strong fingers into her hair to bring her face closer still.

When he drew away, she realized they stood with bodies pressed as close as lovers, a thick-muscled thigh thrust between hers, anchoring her quivering frame. The heat of that masculine thigh pressed through her cotton skirt and she rocked her hips, rubbing on it like a cat.

Come.

Suspended on that thigh, she stood limp in his arms. “I will,” she whispered, and realized he may not have heard her. “Don’t stop.”

Not here. Where?

“Close, I’m close.” And she was. Warmth pooled between her thighs, her breasts tightened against his solid chest.

He chuckled—not a lighthearted sound, but dry and raspy as though his voice was seldom used.

His thigh slid from between hers, and he snagged her wrist again.

Now.

Swaying on her feet, Noelle fought the haze of desire that fluttered around her body and mind like a wispy curtain. How had he done that? Made her forget herself and her mission?

Then she remembered—he’d wanted a willing woman for one last night.

Despite the sensual languor he’d built, she pulled free of his hold and straightened, lifting her chin. “Not so fast, mister.”

He stood still as stone, the slight breeze lifting his hair the only motion. You followed me.

“I thought you…” Wait a minute. She stared at his lips. They hadn’t moved—and she wasn’t touching him.

Don’t think too much. I won’t harm you.

She shook her head, a frisson of fear prickling her spine.

Even without the physical connection, his voice slipped inside her mind like a stealthy wraith. You followed me. You want this too.

She shook her head again. Her gift led her to him. “I wanted to…save you.”

A mirthless smile curved his lips. Too late. I’m already damned. He stepped back and gave her a short bow. I’ll not keep you.

That old-fashioned courtesy struck her as odd. As did the sadness tightening the smile on his lips. As he turned to leave her, the quiet that had enveloped them lifted and the jarring sounds surrounded her again, disconnecting her from the compelling figure disappearing into the crowd.

Then she remembered the deep searing pain she’d felt when she’d first encountered his desolate soul. This last night she’d been placed in his path to find him. Just because the saving might require an intimate surrender to slip inside his walls, she shouldn’t be dissuaded from her mission. And she was honest enough to admit he’d stoked her curiosity as well as her libido.

“Wait!” she called out to his rapidly disappearing figure. “Don’t go!”

He halted but didn’t look back.

Slowly, her steps faltering as her heartbeats increased, she reached him and slid her palm along his. Only when his fingers curved around her hand did she take a deep breath. Enveloped again in warmth and the odd quiet, she let him lead her down the street.

* * * * *

Be sure to check out the snippets on these other authors’ blogs:

Leah Braemel
Caris Roane
Eliza Gayle
McKenna Jeffries
Selena Blake
Taige Crenshaw
Felicity Heaton
HelenKay Dimon
Shiloh Walker
Lissa Matthews
Myla Jackson
Lauren Dane
Jody Wallace

“With amazing suspense, and hot, dominant lovin’ this cowboy and his high school sweetheart take the reader on an amazing emotional journey… Once again, thank you, Ms. Devlin, for stealing my heart with complex and witty characters, hot sex and riveting suspense!” ~5/5 Books, Reviews by Molly

“Devlin has done it again! I pretty much gobble up anything she writes and “Laying Down the Law” is another hit… Fun and fast, “Laying down the Law” is great for fans of western romances or someone looking for that great next “hot” read!” The Brunette Librarian

“I LOVED it! …Sexy heroic intelligent somewhat domineering man (preferably a cowboy) rescues a sexy, smart and sassy heroine… and she rescues him right back! How can you beat that? And Ms.Delilah is the Queen of Smart and Sexy…a win-win-win!” ~SnifferWalk

Seeking sanctuary could be the hottest mistake she ever made.

The TripleHorn Brand, Book 1

A lifetime ago, Zuri Prescott kicked the dirt off her boots and ditched her small-time small town for the glam city life—and lived to regret it. When she’s framed for a bank job, she lights out for home, seeking refuge with her old high school sweetheart while she figures out her next steps. Only she discovers that the boy she left behind is the last man she should trust.

Sheriff Colt Triplehorn knows trouble when he sees it, especially when it comes in the form of a familiar trespasser, caught naked between an angry bull and her underwear. Sure she’s up to her usual no good, he grants her sanctuary at his ranch—the better to keep an eye on her, and purge her from his system once and for all.

Reconnection is sweet and hot, but the heat can’t hide the truth. When Colt inevitably finds out what Zuri’s running from, it’s too late to put the fire out, and he’s got a career-compromising choice on his hands. Follow the letter of the law, or follow his heart.

Product Warnings: When a sheriff captures the girl who got away, expect revenge so hot it leaves brands on two lonely hearts…

Colt jammed the truck into park in the middle of the road and yanked open his door. Two more county trucks pulled in, spitting gravel from beneath their tires, forming a barrier at the highway intersection. He’d used graveled ranch roads and a cutoff to get here quickly. He’d planned for just such an eventuality, coordinating with the sheriff from the next town over.

Wade stepped down from his truck. “If he makes it through this road block there’s another forming on down the road.”

The radio squawked. “Colt? Colt?”

Colt cussed under his breath. Gabe had never got the hang of the police radio.

“Got his taillights in front of me now. We’re about a quarter mile from you. Get ready.” Read the rest of this entry »

The winner of the free download (chosen by random number generator) is commenter #2: Charley! Charley, send me an email to arrange delivery of your prize!

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I’m feelin’ lazy today. Like I don’t want to spend the day tappin’ the keyboard, so maybe I’ll be here, but maybe I’ll watch all those Longmire episodes I have TIVO’d. While I’m deciding whether to be a grownup or to blow the day off, you can get busy reading a naughty spippet. Be sure to comment! Then go check out all the other author who are playing today! Today’s theme is whatever the hell the author wants it to be!

If you post a comment today, you’ll be entered to win
a free download of this book!

“With amazing suspense, and hot, dominant lovin’ this cowboy and his high school sweetheart take the reader on an amazing emotional journey. ” ~5/5 Books, Reviews by Molly

“Devlin has done it again! I pretty much gobble up anything she writes and “Laying Down the Law” is another hit… ” ~The Brunette Librarian

“I LOVED it! Now, in fairness, it is my kind of book – Sexy heroic intelligent somewhat domineering man (preferably a cowboy) rescues a sexy, smart and sassy heroine… and she rescues him right back! How can you beat that? And Ms.Delilah is the Queen of Smart and Sexy…a win-win-win!” ~SnifferWalk

Seeking sanctuary could be the hottest mistake she ever made.

The TripleHorn Brand, Book 1

A lifetime ago, Zuri Prescott kicked the dirt off her boots and ditched her small-time small town for the glam city life—and lived to regret it. When she’s framed for a bank job, she lights out for home, seeking refuge with her old high school sweetheart while she figures out her next steps. Only she discovers that the boy she left behind is the last man she should trust.

Sheriff Colt Triplehorn knows trouble when he sees it, especially when it comes in the form of a familiar trespasser, caught naked between an angry bull and her underwear. Sure she’s up to her usual no good, he grants her sanctuary at his ranch—the better to keep an eye on her, and purge her from his system once and for all.

Reconnection is sweet and hot, but the heat can’t hide the truth. When Colt inevitably finds out what Zuri’s running from, it’s too late to put the fire out, and he’s got a career-compromising choice on his hands. Follow the letter of the law, or follow his heart.

Product Warnings: When a sheriff captures the girl who got away, expect revenge so hot it leaves brands on two lonely hearts…

Zuri breathed, taking in his crisp male scent. No man had ever smelled like that. Of horse and sage and his own male musk. Wearing his clothes had cloaked her in it, even freshly laundered. When she was surrounded with that smell, she couldn’t help but remember all the times they’d been like this, waking in the dawn, weak morning sun casting rays to chase away the shadows that made their loving something private and secretive. Something she could handle because he couldn’t see every expression flitting across her face.

Mornings revealed, inspiring fresh passion as well as fear. She worried over how she looked. Could he see the wrinkles beside her eyes? Would he think she’d grown old? Did he compare her to other women, more generously endowed women?

But mostly, she feared the honesty light revealed. With him, now, she couldn’t put on a careless face. He’d see how much every little caress meant, how wild he made her.

He came up on an elbow. Morning was more than kind to the man. Dark stubble on his jaw and chin added a dash of danger to his appearance. His large hand cupped her small breast and his callused thumb rasped the tip.

She bit her lip against a moan. Lazy heat burned between her legs. She angled toward him, unable to resist the challenge in his gleaming eyes. Reaching beneath the covers, she cupped his erection in her palm. “Have to say, Sheriff Triplehorn, you do know how to get a lady’s attention.”

His cock surged against her hand, and she wrapped her fingers around his shaft, loving the steamy heat and the soft satin feel of the skin surrounding his steely hardness. She gave him a gentle stroke, strumming her fingers over his length.

A deep growl rumbled through his chest, and he slipped the hand on her breast around her hip to cup a buttock. “Don’t tease if you don’t mean to do something about it. I’m in a world of hurt here, Zuri.”

“And it’s my fault? All I was doin’ was sleepin’.”

“You breathed, baby. That’s all it takes.”

This time when he leaned in to kiss her, she didn’t demur. Her mouth opened, her tongue slipped out to lick his bottom lip, then slid inside. The moist warmth she found fanned the flames building in her core. “Colt?” she whispered against his mouth.

“Anything, baby. Say it.”

“Fuck me. Jesus, fuck me hard.”

Abruptly, he rolled, covering her chest to toes, his hard cock trapped against her belly. She would have opened her legs, welcomed him inside, but his knees settled at either side of her and kept her closed.

“That’s not how this works,” she said, angling her head to trace the edge of his strong, square jaw with her tongue.

His stormy-gray eyes glinted before he scooted down her body, moving quickly but not missing a spot as he licked and nipped his way down to her breasts.

And as she had learned long ago, her breasts might be small, but they contained all the necessary nerve endings. Already engorged, the hard points tingled as his tongue flicked, shooting sparks south to warm her core and release a wash of arousal that dampened her sex.

She wound her fingers tightly in his hair and pulled and scratched while shivers shuddered through her. Her head thrashed, her pelvis bucked.

When he bit her nipple, she screamed, creaming in an instant. “Colt, Colt…”

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