Enjoy learning about Marianne Rice’s new book! Have a great rest of the weekend! ~DD
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WILDE FOR YOU by Marianne Rice
The Wilde Sisters, Book 3
Publisher: Limitless Publishing
Release Date: May 31, 2016
||| SYNOPSIS |||
Event planner Sage Wilde has lots of lists and no time for a relationship…Precise to a fault, Sage plans everything—meetings, meals, and sex. But when she learns her youngest sister can’t carry a child, she steps up and commits to the role of a surrogate mother. It’s not out of sentiment, because Sage doesn’t do love or touchy-feely, but out of practicality. She doesn’t plan on marrying or having children, so why not rent out her unused space, right?Luke Riley is a sexy firefighter who’s looking for love in all the wrong places…
Luke’s morning gets a little brighter when he’s called to a clinic and spots a blonde beauty wearing killer red boots. Though she doesn’t seem interested, he manages to introduce himself. It’s unusual for a woman to push away his advances, but Luke is attracted to her confident nature and strong personality. It’s not long before he wears her down, and she finally agrees to a date.
Who says you can’t mix work with pleasure?
Sage blames her growing affections for Luke on pregnancy hormones. But one last hurrah before her belly swells sounds like a well-deserved thrill. After a few passionate nights, the line between love and lust begins to blur—leaving her more confused than ever.
Luke is mesmerized by her keen wit and social charm. She may claim not to want children, but when she befriends his troubled foster sister, it proves there’s a heart inside of Sage waiting to be loved.
Will Sage’s surrogacy unlock her willingness to commit? Or will Luke stand by as the woman he loves plans a future without him?
Marianne Rice writes contemporary romances set in small New England towns. Her heroes are big and strong, yet value family and humor, while her heroines are smart, sexy, sometimes a little bit sassy, and are often battling a strong internal conflict. Together, they deal with real life issues and always, always, find everlasting love. When she’s not writing, Marianne spends her time buying shoes, eating chocolate, chauffeuring her herd of children to their varying sporting events, and when there’s time, cuddling with her husband, a drink in one hand, a romance book in the other.
I’m rushing through my morning. Despite the icky rain outside, it’s “family day” today, and we’re loading up and finding something we can do—other than sit in front of the TV—to spend time together and have some fun. I like to do recaps of the month, on my newsletter and here, just in case you missed seeing something I put out there. If it’s icky and rainy where you are, maybe you’ll want to cozy up with something written by me. 🙂
May was wonderful! Thank you, thank you for embracing my new books! Keep reading. Below, I have hints of what’s coming in June, and I can’t wait to share covers from upcoming stories. Let me know what you think of them!
Thanks again! I have the best readers! Thanks for your emails! You really do give me a lift every day. And one last reminder! Yesterday’s contest is still open. Comment here for another chance to win!
A Glance Back At May
Cain’s Law Cowboys on the Edge, Book 3
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…
Rogues! Even the word conjures a special sort of hero–a playful bad boy with a heart of gold–at least when it comes to his lady love. This volume is filled with the Jack Sparrows of old–pirates sailing the high seas, Regency-era highway men, modern-day jewel thieves, like Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief–men doing bad things, bending or breaking the law, but in a very sexy way.
With fourteen stories sure to satisfy the reader who craves that ultimate bad boy, prepare to have your heart stolen!
Ex-pirate, now Governor Cantor Marlowe is drowning in femininity. Perfumes assail him morning, noon, and night. And the voices! High and trilling when calling to attract his interest. Low and throaty when whispering dark and sexy promises in his ears. Loud and strident when bringing their never-ending complaints for him to resolve.
As colonists on a new world, Cantor and his fellow pirates have entered a pact to set down roots, self-govern without Dominion interference, and raise families on an uninhabited planet at the edge of the known universe. Who would have thought the female convicts they’d liberated to make their wives would have so much to complain about in paradise? It’s no wonder he itches to be free and return to pirating.
Martha knows how to pick a lock. What the little thief can’t figure out is how to steal Cantor’s heart. When Cantor’s head is turned by the arrival of an innocent harem girl, Martha fears she’s lost her chance at love–until the young woman turns to Martha for a little lesson in love.
While Martha and her new best friend set out to seduce the stubborn pirate, Cantor discovers a dragon lurking in paradise…
When temptation flares hot, the only casualties could be their hearts.
Gage Eastwood races to the burning apartment next door and discovers a woman trying to put the fire out herself. As a professional, he can overlook the fact she’s in her underwear, except there’s a nosy neighbor snapping cell phone pictures. And soon everyone knows he rushed into action buck-ass naked.
Not many people know that shy, mild-mannered Viviana Moore is a bestselling romance author. But once the pictures of her scantily clad backside guarding the sexy firefighter’s dignity go viral, the entire city of Memphis wants to know if he’s the muse for all her heroes.
When Vivi accepts Gage’s invitation to his sex club, La Forge, she can’t bring herself to admit that while she writes about kink, she’s never done anything kinky. But soon she has more than enough material for a whole new series. And Gage is wondering if just one manly muse is enough to satisfy her…curiosity.
Next up will be another Stepbrothers Stepping Out shorty. Thanks for participating in my Stepbrother Poll! With His Pack (paranormal) and With His SEAL Team were at the top, so one of those two is coming in June!
Hopefully after that will be Utra Strokes, which will be my largest compilation of short stories to date, all written by me, and one I will release in print, too! Pretty cover, right? And if I can manage to squeeze it in, I’ll publish The Pleasure Bot, which lives in the same ‘verse as my Planet Desire series!
I’m in editing mode today. Working on someone else’s wonderful pages. When I finish, I’ll go back to wrapping up my next Uncharted SEAL story, Baby, It’s You. Love SEALs who are cowboys? Yeah, that’s what’s next. In the meantime, the excerpt below is a reminder of what came before… Enjoy!
Comment for a chance to win one of these stories!
Her Next Breath
Ex-SEAL Jackson Keller’s first mission with the Charter Group’s spec ops unit is a bust. Instead of capturing a drug lord in his Mexican compound, he finds a beautiful, naked woman. But she may have information they need to nail the narco-terrorist, so he takes her, sealing his fate. She’s his to watch, his to “manage” until the op’s done.
Suri McAnally’s made some mistakes—mainly trusting her college roomie who just so happens to be the son of one of Mexico’s most dangerous drug lords. If Jackson can save her, she’ll do whatever he says, mirror his moves, and try to keep her insta-lust under control. Her next breath depends on it.
When Suri awoke, it was to discover she was resting inside the curve of Jackson’s arm, her thigh draped over his, her head on his chest. She didn’t know who’d moved the blanket. Maybe they’d both naturally gravitated together. She hated to think she might have been the one to cross the line demarking their personal space.
Partly because she didn’t want to wake him, and partly because it was a new experience lying inside a man’s embrace, she held her breath and remained perfectly still. She breathed in his scent, which was a sagey musk combined with the remaining odor of the paint he’d worn on his face. His skin was smooth, warm, tanned and cloaked a hard, very muscular frame. Her fingertips tingled, and she very nearly gave into the temptation to run one tip over his hard abs. Instead, she curled her hand into a fist.
Last night when she’d seen him fully for the first time—without the paint, his body nearly nude—she’d felt her knees wobble. He was devastatingly handsome, not in a pretty-boy way. He was too manly, too large, all hard angles and lovely bulges, with short, nearly dark-brown hair and those cloudy gray eyes. Even the stubble on his chin made her thighs clench.
Suri hoped she didn’t sleep beside him for many more nights or she’d grow accustomed to his physique. Any man she met after this little adventure would pale in comparison.
Her glance traveled downward to the sheet barely covering his hips. Maybe it was the fold of the sheets, but the fabric was tented.
“Playing possum?”
She raised her head and met his gaze, blushing because she’d been caught staring at his sex.
“Didn’t want to disturb you.”
“You’re breathing, aren’t you?” he muttered in a graveled tone.
She frowned, not understanding, and then pushed away from his body although she instantly regretted the loss of his warmth. When she’d first awoken, she’d felt sheltered, safe—and not just from Diego and his henchmen. She’d felt…cherished.
Ridiculous, she knew. And slightly pathetic. Was she really so needy for human connection that she was romanticizing over Jackson?
But in the morning light, his face wasn’t quite so hard-bitten. Scruffy, dark bristles covered his chin and jaw; his gaze rested on her rather than spearing her.
His glance cut away, and he looked at his watch. “Chow’s nearly over. We should dress.”
“I’m starved.”
The corners of his mouth twitched.
His first smile?
And then his features grew remote again, his mouth firmed. “Get dressed. I need to check in with Teague.”
Aware his gaze followed her still, she rose and stretched her arms high, and then headed to her pillow case.
“You do that on purpose, don’t you?”
She aimed a grin over her shoulder. “Why, whatever do you mean?”
His gaze narrowed, but a one-sided smile curved.
Feeling as though she’d accomplished something noteworthy, she entered the bathroom, closing the door against the temptation that was Jackson Keller.
I closed the Which Stepbrother Story Next? poll. Here are the results. With His Pack was at the top for so long, I had my cover artiste (also known as sister/Elle James) get to work designing it. Who knew With His Seal Team would come in at the end for the steal?
Which Stepbrothers Stepping Out title interests you most?
With His SEAL Team (20%, 25 Votes)
With His Pack (paranormal) (19%, 23 Votes)
With His Wranglers (12%, 15 Votes)
With His Pride (paranormal) (11%, 14 Votes)
With His Warriors (historical) (10%, 13 Votes)
With His Biker Club (8%, 10 Votes)
With His Roommate (6%, 8 Votes)
With His Starship Crew (sci-fi) (6%, 8 Votes)
With His Mistress (6%, 8 Votes)
Total Voters: 47
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I’ll keep the order in mind as I go forth, but it really does hinge on whether my muses agree with the ranking. 🙂
In the meantime, I have work to do! I’m wrapping up my story for the next SEALs of Summer collection, working on edits for another author, and I need to step it up with promo for the Rogues authors (anybody up for a Facebook party?). Real life has been intruding on my workdays big time. It’s summer, the pool calls, medical issues with the kids require my involvement. And very soon (NEXT MONDAY), I’ll be starting up my next Rose’s Plotting Bootcamp. BTW, here’s a sneak peek at the cover for that next SEAL book…
So, that’s what’s pulling at my time for the foreseeable future. What’s pulling at yours?
Hello Delilah fans! It’s Lizzie Ashworth here, bringing you another short fiction.
We romance lovers look forward to sexy scenes and heart wrenching love stories. What we don’t like are stories of the downside. But sometimes those stories need to be told.
In this little piece, I explore the moment when a woman has to face reality about the man she loves. It’s a crisis point, perhaps familiar to many of you from similar real-life experiences. The story starts before this scene and ends long after this scene. But we can imagine all the rest just from this part.
~~~
The storm door rattled in its latch. The broken pane trembled and not for the first time Augusta thought the glass would pop out and shatter to the floor. She withdrew her hand from the handle and stepped back.
Branson hadn’t stood up. His muscled frame hovered on the wooden chair as if waiting. As if not firmly caught in the direction he’d taken. As if he might spring up any second, slam his fist into something, shove her against the wall and assault her with his mouth, his body. A tremor ran through her belly. As if.
Calmly, he twisted off the cap on the half pint and emptied the last of the whiskey into his mug. She wanted to challenge him, argue, yell, throw things, stare him down. But her angry gaze caught on the black eye patch, the eye that wasn’t there, the eye that she had never realized was the place her glance went automatically, some habit of engagement with another human when your dominant eye seeks out its counterpart in the other person. She’d never known how that worked. Now, it seemed like the only damn thing that happened consistently with Branson.
Forcing her gaze to focus on his other eye, his only eye, she met his calculating, sardonic gray stare, his expression of contempt, or challenge, or whatever the hell it was that he felt.
“Go on,” he said quietly. “Get the fuck out.”
She stifled the words that sprang to her lips and turned again to the door. The cracks radiating out from the fist-sized hole blurred with the yellow residue of tape that had long since fallen away, victim of hot, cold, wind, rain. She remembered when the last of it peeled away and hung by a thin edge, curled and brittle. Once it fell, he had allowed it to lie on the threshold for weeks.
“You need to fix this glass.” She regretted her words the minute they left her lips.
Why didn’t she just leave? What was it about him that reached into her chest and held her like a fist? She had shed all the tears, tried everything. Except leaving. Maybe that’s what it would take.
“Why?” he questioned, his voice dry and expressionless. “Everything else around here is falling apart.”
He said it like he would comment on the weather to a stranger. On invitation of his words, Augusta looked around the familiar place, the tiny living room where a layer of dust coated the window sill, coffee table, the top of the television. A blanket on the couch where he spent most of his days. And nights. The floors needed cleaning. Prescription bottles, empty crumpled cigarette packs, an Elvis zippo worn to bare metal where the neck should have been, and dirty dishes littered the little table where he sat.
Spring wind hit the glass again, another sharp rattle as the door latch heaved in and out against its little catch. What would happen if she threw it open, let it bang against the outside wall, let the glass fly into glittering shards to cascade over the wet sidewalk and ground? She shook her head slightly. She knew what would happen. The glass would stay where it fell. He’d walk over it like he walked over everything that used to mean something in his life.
Cautiously, she brought her gaze back to his face, his chiseled handsome face with its gritty beard shadow and the scar by his temple and the angry gray eye, watching. His big hands turned the mug in short increments like the minute hand on a clock.
“Okay, damn you.” Her throat choked on the words. But she was right. Her gut told her. She had to leave. She had tried everything else.
She grabbed the door handle, popped the latch, and stepped outside. The wind caught her hair and whirled it into the air. Cold pellets of rain splattered her cheek. She turned briefly to force the fragile storm door closed, surprised to see him standing there like a ghost on the other side of the glass.
A fresh flurry of rain dashed against her face and she hurried toward her car. If she looked one second longer, she would lose any hope of leaving. The car ignition sent its gentle ding-ding into the noise of rain and wind. A crashing sound shattered across the yard, and she knew what she would see before she cast her gaze toward him. He stood there in the open doorway, his arms crossed, his gray stare burning across the distance until she could almost see the bloodshot rim, the slightly puffy lid. The storm door lay flat against the outside wall with one last large section of glass hanging at a forty-five degree angle and the rest of it in a thousand pieces on the ground and concrete walk.
She wanted to cry out, beat his chest with her fists. Tears burned her eyes as she slid into her car seat and closed the door. Methodically, she turned the key in the ignition. With great effort, she did not look at the doorway as she backed down the drive and slowly pulled away.
~~~
I live in the wilds of the Ozark Mountains with my cats, hound dogs, and whichever child has taken up temporary residence between grad school and relocation. I’ve been writing my entire life and can’t express how wonderful it is to share stories with readers like you. Everything I write comes from my heart in the hopes that you’ll find a bit of pleasure within its pages. Thank you for your kind words and appreciation! You make it all worthwhile.
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I’ve written a few firefighters. Even produced an anthology of sexy firefighter stories. I understand the allure, despite the ugly, baggy pants. It’s the suspenders, right? 🙂
Just kidding. Mostly. I love the fact they rush into fire and other hellish situations while others flee. It’s that primitive, primal attraction hardwired in us to seek the mate most likely to protect and feed us. I understand that, but it doesn’t explain why I always envision firefighters playing dirty in a BDSM club. Which is how Firehouse 69 came to be. Me imagining. Letting the old muses (three of them, you know) boss me into telling the story their way.
Rapid Entry’s the third in my Firehouse 69 series, which was a spinoff of my Delta Heat series. Enjoy the excerpt!
Rapid Entry
When temptation flares hot, the only casualties could be their hearts.
Firehouse 69, Book 3
Gage Eastwood races to the burning apartment next door and discovers a woman trying to put the fire out herself. As a professional, he can overlook the fact she’s in her underwear, except there’s a nosy neighbor snapping cell phone pictures. And soon everyone knows he rushed into action buck-ass naked.
Not many people know that shy, mild-mannered Viviana Moore is a bestselling romance author. But once the pictures of her scantily clad backside guarding the sexy firefighter’s dignity go viral, the entire city of Memphis wants to know if he’s the muse for all her heroes.
When Vivi accepts Gage’s invitation to his sex club, La Forge, she can’t bring herself to admit that while she writes about kink, she’s never done anything kinky. But soon she has more than enough material for a whole new series. And Gage is wondering if just one manly muse is enough to satisfy her…curiosity.
Warning: Contains a firefighter who doesn’t hesitate to throw himself into harm’s–or pleasure’s–way. And a writer who’s about to discover hands-on is the best approach to research. Keep an oxygen mask handy if you’re prone to shortness of breath.
Excerpt…
Gage Eastwood opened the door of his apartment and let out a sigh. Dead quiet greeted him—pure bliss, after sharing space with his firehouse buddies, no matter how much he liked his crew. A man needed quiet, time to screw his head on straight before facing another busy shift where a moment’s groggy hesitation could cost him his life. He closed his door, flipped the deadlock and began peeling his dark t-shirt over his head when he got a sour whiff of Sunday’s Chinese takeout that he’d forgotten to deposit in the dumpster before he’d left for his last shift.
Sighing again, this time in irritation, he tugged his tee back into place and headed to his trash can. On the way, he quickly sorted his mail, tossed unopened letters, not bills, into the sack (no one he knew would be writing him anyway—had to be junk mail), and tightened the ties. Then out the door he went, quickly making his way down the steps to the parking lot below where he chucked the sack into the large green dumpster. When he turned, his gaze moved from his apartment’s windows to the windows beside his. A figure passed in front of the glass. A woman with dark hair, wearing black-framed glasses and appearing to be talking to herself.
Did Herman have a houseguest? The old codger next door never had visitors. Something that didn’t surprise Gage because he was the most unfriendly person he’d ever met—which made him the ideal neighbor. He minded his business.
The woman passed again, this time closer, and her gaze shifted to him in the parking lot. Rather than politely looking away, she leaned closer, her lips still moving quickly as she stared down at him.
Gage smiled, slowly, as more of her came into view. Creamy skin. Dark brown hair that touched her shoulders. Despite the ugly glasses and plain sweatshirt, she was cute, and her interest was apparent as her gaze perused his firehouse uniform. He lifted his hand to give her a little wave, and she jerked backward, her eyebrows rising.
Hadn’t she known he was looking her way? He shrugged. Any thought of knocking on his neighbor’s door fleeing as she left the window. Just as well. He was beat. The last fire hadn’t wrapped until nearly three that morning—a house fire that had left only charred remains, although everyone in the family had escaped unscathed. And that was what counted. A “good” fire meant no casualties. He could rest easy knowing he’d done his job, and that no one, not the family left homeless, not any of his crew, had been lost.
As he traipsed back up the steps, he thought of Danny Truitt, the friend he’d lost the previous year when the roof he’d been venting collapsed beneath him. There weren’t any days that passed that he didn’t think about him. His picture was prominent in the hallway entrance to the firehouse and on his own foyer wall. The only way to honor the fallen was to remember them.
The brunette all but forgotten in his gloom, he entered his apartment, tapped the picture of his buddy, standing in uniform beside their truck, and headed down the hallway to his bedroom.
Sometime during the night, Gage kicked at the sheets twisted around his legs. He’d been dreaming about the fire that had taken Danny. Once again, Gage had been rushing up the ladder, his heart in his throat, trying to get to him and Coop who’d been standing next to Danny when the roof sank beneath his feet.
With the lieutenant shouting in the radio to get off the fucking roof, he’d grabbed the back of Coop’s jacket to drag him away from the hole. Fire was licking at the opening. There was no hope of rescuing Danny from above.
With smoke building, Gage wrapped his arms around Coop to tear him away.
This is a dream. A dream. Wake up!
He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of his bedroom while he remembered to breathe. He hadn’t had that nightmare in a while. Why now?
Then he smelled it. An acrid scent you didn’t have to be a firefighter to recognize.
Fire!
Kicking back the covers, he rushed from his room to the kitchen, tore open the doors of the cabinet beneath his sink, and reached for the fire extinguisher. Then he loped to his door and flung it wide. He ran along the covered walkway, but didn’t have to go far to find the source. Bright flames flickered in Herman’s kitchen window. When he reached his neighbor’s door, he pounded on the thick oak. “Herman! Fire! Herman, you in there?” When there was no response, he turned sideways and rammed the wood with his shoulder, hoping he wouldn’t pop the ball from the socket. But the frame gave, and he was inside. Light, softened by the haze of smoke, gleamed from the kitchen. The fire alarm was blaring. Sounds of soft curses, interspersed with desperate, No, No No’s alerted him that Herman wasn’t the source of the cries.
No matter. There was a fire. He was a firefighter. “Ma’am, you need to get out of here,” he called out, crouching as he entered the smoky interior.
More coughing sounded, and he moved forward, only to smack head-on with a soft cushion of fluffy hair. He reached out, felt a bare shoulder and pulled the woman past him, then went to his knees and headed toward the fire flickering in the dark haze. Slipping the pin from the handle of his extinguisher, he stood, aimed the nozzle at the blaze and depressed the lever. In moments, the fire was extinguished, although smoke still billowed. Covering his nose with his arm, he reached for the window over the sink and opened it to allow the smoke to escape.
When he could draw a deep breath, he turned toward the figure huddled against the wall.
His jaw dropped. Her pretty features were so far from Herman’s wrinkled old mullet, he couldn’t help but stare. He locked glares with smoke-reddened green eyes through big black frames a second before he took in the rest of her lush, pale curves. It was the brunette he’d seen earlier, dressed in the sexiest lingerie he’d ever seen on a woman. The satin and lace was the same color of the creamer he used to lace the bilge water coffee the rookie at the firehouse made at the station, and still darker than her ivory skin. And the bookish glasses only made her sexier. He’d always had a thing for librarians…
Remembering his manners and the situation, he reached downward. “Ma’am, let me give you a hand.”
She tried to swat his hand away, but he grabbed hers, forcefully tugging her upward.
Her gaze landed on his chest, darted to the open window, and every place in between, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. He supposed she had a right to be embarrassed at being caught in her underwear. “Don’t be shy,” he said gruffly. “I’ve pulled naked women from their beds in a fire.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” She rolled her eyes. “I almost burned down this building trying to boil water.”
His mouth twitched. “Maybe you should stick with the microwave.”
In the distance, he heard sirens and the sounds of shouting.
“Over here! The fire’s here!”
And then, the voices were nearer. “In here!”
Gage glanced downward and tightened his jaw.
The woman’s eyes widened, and she quickly glanced downward as well. Shit.
A moment later, three men pushed into the kitchen, all wearing helmets and turnout gear.
“Damn, Gage,” Billy Sorensen drawled. “You’re supposed to put out the fires, not start ’em.”
“You put it out with your pants?” Tiger Murphy said, a grin stretching across his face.
Gage drew the woman closer. “Don’t move,” he said under his breath.
“You protecting my dignity or yours?” she said, a smile beginning to lift one corner of her very sexy mouth.
Gage grimaced, knowing there was no way in hell his buddies from the other shift were ever going to let him live this one down. “Someone find me a towel?”
“Should we come back later?” Moog said, his dark face split by a wide grin.
“A towel,” he said, gritting his teeth as Moog shouldered past him to lay down more foam on the stovetop.
“Doesn’t appear to be much damage to the wall, but we’ll have to tear it out anyway to make sure there aren’t any embers inside.” Moog glanced over his shoulder to give Gage a waggle of his eyebrows. “Might wanna wait next door while we finish up.”
Knowing his buddies weren’t going to help him out, he turned the brunette to face away but kept his hands on her hips. “Just walk. They’ve seen it all anyway.”
Outside her apartment, he heard laughter below from relieved tenants as they lined the walkway. Flashes nearly blinded him. “Son of a bitch,” he ground out.
Her shoulders shook, and she gave a laugh.
He was surprised by how casually she was taking the fact they were doing a walk of shame from her apartment to his—her in her underwear, him in his birthday suit.
She had to be in shock.
At his door, she halted and quickly spun. “Wait, my laptop.”
“Don’t stop now,” he said, gritting his teeth and turning her again to push her toward his door. “Naked, here.”
“But my laptop—”
“Will be fine,” he gritted out.
“You don’t understand.”
“Let me get some clothes on. I’ll get your damn laptop. Open the door.” When she still dug in her heels, he leaned closer, not caring his cock was mashed against her ass, and turned the doorknob. Once across the threshold, he pushed her further inside before closing the door behind them.
“I guess I should thank you,” she said, but her gaze wasn’t on his face.
Gage might have cupped himself to spare her, but her avid gaze only increased his irritation, so he let her stare while his cock slowly filled and rose.
“Fire always affect you that way?” she murmured.
“No, ma’am.”
A dark brow arched. “Rushing into burning buildings has to get the blood going. It doesn’t ever—”
“No. It doesn’t.”
“Oh.” She slowly dragged her gaze upward, past his chest, which she seemed to measure with side-to-side darting glances.
When she reached his eyes, he gave her a scowl.
Which only made her lips twitch.
Gage let out an exasperated breath, and strode past her. “I’ll find some clothes.”
“Don’t, on my account,” she said, laughing.
“Lady, don’t you have any shame?” he threw over his shoulder.
Stella Stonewall exposed her scaly side to save the man she loves, the soulful and sexy Ewan Bristol. But her troubles have only just begun. A treacherous betrayal at the hands of a trusted confidante leaves her running for her life.
An Impossible Choice
An unlikely savior offers Stella a way out, but it means leaving everything—and everyone—behind. Can she give up the only home, the only friends she’s ever known to save herself?
A Chance to Have It All
Stella learns of an ancient curse that, if lifted, could change everything. To alter the course of history she must trust her former lover Rowan Gresham, and she must trust the machinations of fate: that she may be the key to it all.
Betrayal Foretold is a fast-paced, emotional ride through the mesmerizing world of Thayer. This third book in the Descended of Dragons series, a new adult fantasy romance, is a can’t-put-it-down story of loss and self-invention, of survival, and of the selfless pursuit to secure the happiness of friends.
Excerpt
Time spent alone is precious.
It’s cleansing, it’s rejuvenating, it’s fortifying—until it’s not. I had soul-searched and introspected until my deficiencies clung to me like a throng of specters.
Over the last few days, the people of Thayer had learned dragons were not, in fact, wiped out hundreds of years before, and word had spread like wildfire that I was a member of the notoriously villainous species. My world turned upside down in a flash, and the capricious tide of public sentiment turned against me.
I sat, licking deep emotional wounds in the primitive cabin deserted only days before by the three Drakontos dragons—and my relatives—my Grandmother Bay, my Uncle Eiven, and my cousin Stryde. An official Radix committee and the Thayerian authorities conducted searches and quizzed my known associates to learn both my whereabouts and the extent of their knowledge.
My friends had proved faithful and generous in the days since I’d fled our magical grad school, Radix Citadel for Supernatural Learning, or The Root, as most commonly referred to it. But my friends couldn’t be expected to spend every waking moment at my cabin hideaway. Ewan, Boone and Timbra, and sometimes Layla visited when there was no risk of being followed, but it hadn’t been frequently enough to stave off my loneliness.
My arms hung at my sides as I stood in the center of the cabin, too restless to sit, to read, to think. The absence of sound was so prevalent that every tiny noise seemed to roar in contrast: the scratch of a branch against the roof, the drag-tick of an old clock, the whistle of wind through the dense forest.
“Hello,” a deep voice called from outside. “Stell?”
Ewan. Thank God. I raced through the cabin door and found him standing just beyond the front porch. Ewan Bristol rarely deviated from wearing black, and when he did, it wasn’t far. A dark blue V-neck lent contrast to his skin, which tanned easily and well.
I crashed into him, holding him close, and delighted in the solidness of him. Ewan always smelled of the forest, of juniper or fir, and I inhaled his scent while I had the opportunity; before he could leave again. I closed my eyes and absorbed the comfort of his arms, of his warm body.
It wasn’t just that I was so lonely I’d begun talking to the furniture. I missed the sexy squint his eyes took on, the uneven slide of his lips when he thought I was funny or clever. I missed the way his mouth went slack when my top slipped to reveal too much cleavage. I missed his level-headed advice and unyielding support. I missed the way people stopped and listened when he spoke. I missed Ewan.
“Hi,” I said and beamed up at him. His pleasure mirrored mine. It was there for me to see, completely unguarded in the depths of his dark eyes.
He kissed me high on the cheekbone before finding my mouth. Think me arrogant if you like, but I’ve always considered Ewan and me the best kissers ever to lay lips on one another. My mouth fit perfectly against his, his full lips complementing my smaller ones. With a groan, he pulled me so tightly into him I gasped for breath. He had missed me, too.
My Radix-issued personal interactive assistant, which I’d named Pia, chirped from the cabin just as I felt a buzz through the fabric of Ewan’s shorts.
“Stella,” Pia called, “you have received a message from Dean Livia Miles.” I shot a questioning glance at Ewan, who shrugged and fumbled in his pocket for his own device.
When I didn’t answer right away, Pia repeated the notification. “Stella, you have received a message from Dean Livia Miles.”
I hurried inside to see what Dean Miles could possibly be sending. The last I’d heard, she was on a vicious rampage to condemn and disgrace me.
When I emerged from the cabin, still scrolling to access the message, Ewan’s posture was bunched, coiled. A toy soldier wound too tight.
I dropped my arms to my sides, still clutching Pia in one hand. “Ewan? Ewan, what’s wrong?”
When he looked up, his dark eyes were black holes within his blood-drained face.
Someone died. What else could produce such a severe response?
“She…” Ewan cleared his throat. “She sent the entire school your journal entry.”
“What? Who did? What are you talking about? What journal entry?”
His face held such pity. “Dean Miles. She sent the entire campus a student journal entry you wrote detailing your dragon, your family…everything.” Ewan whispered the last. He walked to the fire pit and slid onto a log seat.
Though she grew up on a working cattle ranch, Jen Crane has been into fantasy and sci-fi since seeing a bootleg tape of The Princess Bride.
Jen has a master’s degree and solid work histories in government and non-profit administration. But just in the nick of time she pronounced life too real for nonfiction. She now creates endearing characters and alternate realms filled with adventure, magic, and love.
Jen is happily living out her dream in The South with her husband and three children, striking that delicate balance between inspiration and frustration.
Book 2 in Jen’s new fantasy romance series, Descended of Dragons, was selected by iTunes/iBooks as “Our Pick” in fantasy/sci-fi.
WILDE FOR YOU by Marianne Rice
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The storm door rattled in its latch. The broken pane trembled and not for the first time Augusta thought the glass would pop out and shatter to the floor. She withdrew her hand from the handle and stepped back.
Though she grew up on a working cattle ranch, Jen Crane has been into fantasy and sci-fi since seeing a bootleg tape of The Princess Bride. 
