I’m a busy girl. I rarely have the luxury of time to sit down with novel and read it cover to cover. So, it’s natural I love to read short stories. My love of reading them led me to writing them, and eventually to editing my own collections of short stories. Here’s a snippet from a short story of mine that the British publisher Black Lace published, entitled “Have Sex Will Travel.”

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The Russian’s fingers did it for her.

As annoyed as she’d been with his arrogant set down on the train platform before they’d boarded, one look at his hands as he clutched his newspaper in front of his face and she was mesmerized, unable to drag away her gaze.

He had large hands, shaped like shovels, dark, sparse hairs sprouting below the second set of knuckles. His fingers were long—the tips blunt and thick. His nails were clean, trimmed, but not filed or buffed. He had a man’s large and capable, but unfussy hands.

Evie surreptitiously clenched her thighs. Two of those thick, blunt fingers would equal the girth of the last cock she’d had thrusting up inside her. Three would stretch her to the point of delicious pain. His palms would be slightly calloused, but she could already imagine the feel of them rasping over her breasts. Her boyfriend’s hands had been as soft as hers.

The newspaper snapped, and her gaze shot up to meet his over the top of the pages. The same narrowed glance he’d given her on the platform now seemed to hold a hint of challenge.

Evie’s cheeks grew warm. He’d caught her staring. At his hands. At the long fingers curling tighter around the paper he held in front of him. He probably knew exactly what she’d been thinking.

She glanced away, reaching for the backpack at her feet and pulled out her itinerary to review it for the hundredth time, staring at the pages, but not really reading.

Something deliciously unexpected arced in the air between them. An electric charge of sensual curiosity that didn’t dissipate the longer they sat, side-by-side, on their red-upholstered bench, pretending not to notice their deepening breaths or the number of times they restlessly shifted in their seat. It wasn’t the vibrations beneath them from the train ripping down the track, even though the steady even hum added a subtext to their restless movements.

Evie crossed her legs, wishing she’d worn something less comfortable than her favorite pair of faded blue jeans and a Three Doors Down concert T-shirt. She dressed like a grad school student in a state of arrested development, which she was. Or a teacher who’d saved her meager salary to splurge on museum tickets rather than a holiday wardrobe. Also true.

The Russian wore a dark brown business suit. A summer wool that fit him well without an overly tailored cut that would hug his frame. He’d left off the tie. His dress shirt was opened at the neck to reveal the base of his throat and give a hint of the dusting of dark hair that clothed his broad chest. Comfort seemed to be his priority over style.

The paper lowered to his lap, and Evie suppressed a groan, caught again. His gaze rested on her—telling her silently he knew she’d been watching him.

She lifted her chin. ‘It’s not as if I have anything else to do,’ she muttered, knowing he didn’t understand a word she said.

A soft snort was his response. Then he folded the paper and stuffed it into the handle of his brief bag. He crossed his arms over his chest, then began a slow perusal of her body that left her slightly outraged—and incredibly aroused—beginning with her breasts and sliding slowly down her body.

Was he truly attracted? Or did he think he could intimidate her into giving up her berth? That he hadn’t wanted to share the small compartment with her had been apparent in the low, heated argument he’d had with the attendant who checked their tickets and collected their passports.

Having been shocked that she’d been given such a nice accommodation in the first place, no doubt a mistake but one she wasn’t going to admit, they’d have to pry her cold dead fingers from the sides of the cabin door to remove her now.

She’d withstood her cabin-mate’s irritation, ignoring both men as they spoke and gestured toward her until The Russian had uttered a low curse, unmistakable by his tone, raked a hand through his straight brown hair before finally, grudgingly, taking his seat. He’d made a great deal of noise opening and slamming his case, drawing out his newspaper and raising it so high she knew he wanted to tell her she didn’t matter. He would simply ignore her.

Only it seemed he found it impossible to dismiss her. Was his predatory stare simply his new tactic to drive her out?

Oddly, Evie found herself growing amused. Let him stew. Let the tension grow so thick that neither of them could pretend something wasn’t happening here. ‘I’ll be out of your hair by morning, anyway,’ she drawled.

While his dark gaze lingered on her breasts, she eased back in the seat, straightening her shoulders so that her breasts lifted subtly. If he kept looking, he wouldn’t miss the sight of her nipples beading beneath the thin material of her bra and tee. She unfolded her legs and crossed them again, drawing his gaze down to her long legs. She might not have fully fleshed-out curves, but her slim body did manage to pull male glances everywhere she’d traveled so far.

One asset in particular seemed to hold their attention longest.

Knowing she was being a little devious, Evie bent over to rifle through her pack, pretending to reach deep for something while her cropped tee slid up her back to reveal the upper edge of her turquoise thong.

When she straightened, she caught his glance sliding away from her bottom. Feeling smug, she couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at the edges of her lips and turned her head to lock her gaze with his, returning his challenge without blinking.

Only maintaining that stare proved hard. The longer she looked into his face the more she took note of his strong, square jaw, the dark, slashing eyebrows that overhung deep-set brown eyes, the thin sensual lips that firmed while she continued to look.

Suddenly, he stood, his height towering over her. He shrugged out of his jacket and folded it, laying it atop his brief bag. When he sat and pulled off his shoes and socks, Evie’s triumph wilted, wondering what he was up to now. Without glancing her way, he stood and opened the cabinet above her head to fold down the upper bunk.

Evie quickly ducked to keep from getting bumped. ‘You could have given me a warning,’ she said grumpily.

Another soft snort had her tilting up her face to meet his steady stare. His hands pulled open his belt, unbuttoned the top of his pants, and he efficiently pulled his shirttails free. Read the rest of this entry »

January’s nearly gone and I’m racing toward the finish line with two projects. Which means I have little time to spend here. I write throughout the day, trying to keep my butt in the chair although I am easily distractible. I’ve been spending my evenings unwinding with my dd’s family, enjoying the new baby, and then it’s back home where I putter for an hour or two making things in my art room. Then straight to bed.

Last night was really cold, so my cat who loves being outdoors, joined me in bed. She’s a lovey. Or rather loves to bite. Little nibbles that grow harder the more you pet her. She was a feral cat I adopted a while back. I think I told you the story about her before. I’d fed her over the fence for weeks because she was too wary to come closer. Then one night, during that huge full moon on Friday the 13th, something about that moon hadn’t occurred in hundreds of years… Anyway, I was out there at 2 AM watching that pretty moon in the middle of my driveway when I felt something furry moving in figure eights around my ankles. Scared the crap out of me. Ever since, she’d been mine and stayed close to my back door. She chose me. I call her my familiar. And I named her Pumpkin because she’s the spitting image of my very first cat, Pepita (I love Mexican spiced pumpkin seeds).

And there I thought this was going to be quick. 🙂

First, let me thank you, Delilah, for letting me drag these two love birds over to your place for an interview. This is Eric De Marco and Amy Sizemore, the main characters from my latest release, Incidental Contact, a New Adult erotic romance, set on an eight-hundred-acre peach farm in Upstate South Carolina.  Although it’s the third book in my contemporary romance series, Those Devilish De Marco Men, Incidental Contact may be read as a standalone title and is approximately 93,000 words.

Eden:  What were you doing the day before your story began, Eric?
Eric:  Trying to dodge a boatload of exes, all hell-bent on helpin’ me spend an insurance settlement.
Eden: Why was that a problem?
Amy: Oh, let me take that question. He’s pollinated half the flowers in the county, if you get my drift. Not  one of those women could see past his pretty face, but they were sure ready to help drain his savings account. He is pretty, is he not?
Eden: Meh, if you like tall, dark, handsome blue-collar boys bulging with muscles earned from hard work, I guess he’ll do. What made you different? What did you see in him that no one else did, Amy?
Amy: Well, I’m short, round, and a stone-cold tomboy, so I know how it feels to be underestimated. Eric’s more than a pretty face. He’s smart. He should’ve been an engineer. I take that back, he is an engineer, he’s just self-taught.
Eden: So, how did the tomboy and the bad boy get together?
Amy: He, uh, made me an offer. I was temporarily homeless, so he said if I’d move in with him and help keep the vultures at bay, he’d teach me to feel sexy.
Eric: And I succeeded, too. Just look at her now.
Eden: Yes, she has changed quite a bit. We have time for one final question, Eric, rumor has it, you had a little trouble getting it up?
Eric: Damn small towns. Can’t keep a secret for nothin’.  Okay, if you must know, I did have some problems  keepin’ lead in my pencil, did, but not why you think. Let me explain—
Eden: I’m so sorry, Eric, Delilah’s giving me the sign that we’re out of time.

Incidental Contact (Book #3, Those Devilish De Marco Men)
What if a random kiss with the wrong woman feels like more than incidental contact? What if you sense every mistake brought you to this place, with this person? What if you know you’ll have to clean up your bad-boy past and can’t offer her much of a future, but you’re determined to win her heart? What if you’re also having…performance issues? Welcome to Eric De Marco’s world. First person to say ‘go hard or go home’ gets his ass kicked.

(excerpt)
Cold air made an icy blanket on her wet skin. Her nipples could cut diamonds. When he lowered his eyes, anticipation sent jagged heat streaking though her, leaving thunder subsiding in her core.

She had to hold onto something, so she dared to rest her hands on his shoulders. She felt awkward, unsure what to do next.

“Let’s get that tense look off your face.” She felt his muscular thighs press against her knees, moving them wider.

She stiffened. That’s not bubbles. A strong jet of water rushed against her folds. She tried to shift away from the stream, but he held her fast.

“Relax, Amy. Let it happen.”

The jet of water felt soft, yet the slender stream flayed her clit with insistent pressure. Holding her gaze, he rubbed his lips across one extended nipple. Slowly—oh God, so slowly she thought she’d die—he rasped her aching point. Raising his head a notch, he worried the peak with the stubble on his chin. Each prickling scrape sent daggers into her core. He nipped the hard bud.

The gentle torture made her cry out with frustration until he took a warm, soothing lick. The entire time, that forceful jet of water danced over her clit. His licks mingled with nips until her sensation of being cold disappeared. All Amy could feel was the heat from his tongue and the strong ache coiling inside her—and that jet of water driving her mad.

Purchase Incidental Contact on:  Amazon | B&N| All Romance | iTunes

About the Author:
Eden Connor graduated from Converse College with a degree in Psychology so long ago, her sheepskin is chiseled in stone. She’s been a graphic artist, a bridal photographer and an antique restorer. Since the death of her true love, she raised two children to adulthood and now has the time to return to writing. She writes primarily contemporary erotic romances, the odd bit of erotica and an occasional paranormal piece. Most of her writing is set where she lives, in South Carolina, so expect the handsome stranger to come equipped with a slow drawl. Addicted to hazelnut creamer, baseball and cranberry glass, she likes the music of Motown and when not writing about adults behaving badly, she takes a stab at the occasional needlepoint canvas.
Find her on:
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Old Habits Die Hard

I’ve been pondering some (bad) old habits lately.  Not because of any resolutions I made for the new year, because I quit making resolutions I wasn’t going to keep ages ago.  Just pondering in general.  And not just habits, but maybe things I’ve believed about myself for such a long time that they’ve become habits.  Those kinds of things don’t have to stay habits, if one really wants to change, but once a person has settled into that rut, it’s hard to get out of it. 

Like meeting new people.  Social situations where I don’t know many people make me uncomfortable to the point where I tend to stay to myself and the few people there I do know, whether it’s offline in my ‘real life’ or online in groups I’ve joined specifically to meet new people.  Silly, right?  To meet new people, you have to risk rejection, and it’s much more pleasant to avoid that altogether and just stick with people you know will treat you well, who already like you.  But how many other people are missing out on making new friends because of that same ‘habit’?  I’m fairly certain I’m not alone there.  That is one habit I’ve determined I’m going to change, difficult as it is. 

Or telling myself I’m good at last-minute desperation moments, like at work last week when we found out an unexpected delivery was coming the next day and had nowhere in the stock room to put it.  By the time my shift was over, we had plenty of room for it.  But I was beat, bruised and sore.  And I really am too old for that crap.  But other last-minute situations arise, like something for one of the kids at school, or for myself.  I have to admit, however, that some of those don’t necessarily need to be last-minute situations.  That one is a long-seated ‘habit’, too, since I used to wait till the night before a paper was due at school to write it, or the night before a test to start studying.  Then, there are so many other, more pleasant things to do, so that icky stuff like homework, well, that’ll just wait, right?  But as adults, we’re expected to make better decisions than teenagers.  I wonder if it’s possible to kick habits like that?  Maybe not for a teenager, but as an adult?  I think it can be overcome.  Eventually. 

My messy work area here in the office is another bad habit I should really kick.  I have a towering stack of books on one corner, and paper piles in several other places.  Periodically, I do clear my space, but it never lasts.  I always think I’m going to need this email, or get right back to that list, and somehow, it’s six months later and I can barely see my monitor over the mess.  Too many stories waiting to be told to bother with cleaning.  Too many family things to do to obsess over every speck of dust on my desk.  Wherever the desk is under there.  Maybe.  That habit is actually on my list for this year, as in, regularly clear off the work space.  It’s a really good thing there are eleven more months in the year, because I haven’t made much progress on this yet. 

How many other bad habits like that are there?  Probably more than I can count.  How many of them am I guilty of?  Probably far more than I want to admit to in a public venue. 

I have a heroine in a manuscript I’m working on who is having to change her mindset about some ‘habits’ of her own, which is, I suppose, why I’ve been thinking about my own bad habits.  She has gotten into a situation she never dreamed she’d be in, and her old habits are going to hold her back from getting the one thing she most wants in the world.  Unless she can change her mindset. 

So while I’m helping her change her mindset, I’ve got more work to do on my own.  How about you?  Any old habits you’re trying to break this year?  Or at least modify?  Maybe we can work on them together. 

Elizabeth Andrews

https://elizabethandrewswrites.wordpress.com
Twitter: @elizwrite
Facebook: www.facebook.com/ElizabethAndrewsAuthor

Hunting Medusa, 1/28/14
Samhain Publishing

G’mornin’!  I overslept. And it was totally lovely. There’s nothing better than sinking into memory foam, with a white noise machine making a soft whoosh sound to cancel out the sounds of anyone else moving around the house, to encourage one to linger. I’ve been so busy lately, I haven’t afforded myself that luxury in a while.

Yesterday, I worked through the first set of copyedits for the last book in the Delta Heat series. You remember those books, right? Sultry Memphis, sex club La Forge, five best buddies who also happen to be cops and into BDSM? I had so much fun writing this series. Just the titles make me smile: Five Ways ‘Til Sunday, Fournicopia, A Perfect Trifecta, Twice the Bang… What’s not to love? The last story, Once is Never Enough won’t be out until May, but that gives you time to re-read each of the prequels, one a month until Once releases.  And if you’ve missed a book, well maybe you’ll be lucky enough to score a free copy today!

Post a comment today and you’ll be entered to win a free download
of the reader’s choice from the Delta Heat series!

Playing with pain can put you in a world of hurt…or bliss.

Playing switch in front of a La Forge BDSM club audience was supposed to be a one-time fling. A favor for a friend. Instead, when Craig Eason realizes he’s caught the attention of an enigmatic, powerful Dom across the crowded room, he senses this could be the man he’s been looking for to test the boundaries of his own sexuality.

Firefighter Aiden Byrne is a very private man with strong S&M longings he keeps in check for everyone else’s safety. His sub, Jennifer Callum, thinks she likes it rough, but he can’t let go the way he’d like to. Until one defiant stare from the handsome cop on the La Forge stage causes Aiden’s most dangerous needs to uncoil from the deepest, darkest part of his soul.

With the blessing—and active involvement—of his sub, a seduction is set in motion that ends in a scene that shakes them all to the core…

Product Warnings: Contains a powerful, burly firefighter who plans to take everything a hot cop thinks he knows about himself and send it up in smoke. Please replace the batteries in all your smoke detectors before reading this book. Contains scenes with m/m/f, m/m, spanking, flogging, restraints, and one wild orgy of pleasure.

At the sound of her feminine distress, Aiden sighed, pleased with her. Surprised, too, with how well he and Craig had worked her, together.

Every bit of pride was dashed. Her body trembled uncontrollably. Right this moment, she was beaten. Remorseful for her earlier maneuvering. A sorry now wouldn’t be remiss, but he didn’t expect it. She could barely think, she was so over-stimulated and disappointed.

Now was the time to bring her back. She wouldn’t be looking for any heavy-duty pain, just release. He could be with her the way he needed, the way that didn’t scare him. And Craig would add an extra bonus to let her know that her Dom cared enough about her upset to make it up to her in a grander way.

“Roll the bed from the corner, Craig,” he murmured to the other man, softly enough she couldn’t hear over her harsh, sobbing breaths.

Craig gave a nod. His face was flushed. His body gleaming with sweat.

Aiden had yet to use him as anything other than a helper, but he supposed it was time to reward Craig for doing everything he’d asked while managing to remain suitably dominant during his interactions with Jenn. Craig appeared to naturally glide toward dominance with a woman.

While Craig rolled the bed to the center of the room, Aiden circled the bench and knelt. He unclipped the clamps and set them aside, then unstrapped Jenn’s arms and ankles. She didn’t move. Her face was pressed into the leather upholstery. Tears smeared her cheeks.

Aiden raised a hand and cupped her head, giving her hair a caress. “Are you all right?” he asked, but he knew he hadn’t pressed too far. He waited to see whether she’d lie and berate him or snuffle some more.

She surprised him by sniffing then wiping the tears from her cheeks before turning her head to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you know what you’re apologizing for?”

“For trying to top you.”

He leaned close to press his forehead against hers. “I’m not angry with you. I expect it.”

Her lips curved, slightly. “And I expect punishment.” Her wet, starred lashes fanned downward.

He kissed her temple. “You’re always free to call a halt.”

“I wouldn’t. Ever,” she said breathlessly.

So she always said. She insisted on there being no safe word between them. “Just so you know you can,” he said, speaking slowly to make sure she understood.

She gave a little nod, more of kitten’s caress that rubbed against his hand. Cute. Lord, she was beautiful. Perfect for him. Why hadn’t he fallen in love with her? His chest filled. Grew tight.

He pushed up and walked behind her. He gripped the edges of the plug and slowly pulled it free. Then he opened a drawer in the bench and pulled out a packet of wet wipes. Once he’d cleaned her, he walked to the sink and washed the plug thoroughly, drying his hands on a towel before drawing deep breaths to steady himself.

He turned and faced the two who awaited his next command. She remained lying on the bench, her fingers beside her face. Her skin flushed and gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat.

Craig stood beside the bed, his head bowed, subservient now. Not a partner. By the strength of the arousal that kept his cock erect and pointing upward, he had hopes he’d be put to service in another way.

Well, it was time, wasn’t it?

Aiden schooled his face into a neutral mask, calming his expression while he forced his body, and especially his cock, to follow suit. “Boy…undress me.”

Craig’s eyes, though lowered, glittered with excitement as he strode toward Aiden. He knelt in front of him, then indicated with a hand that he wanted Aiden’s foot.

Aiden raised his foot and placed it on Craig’s naked thigh. Craig quickly unlaced the black leather work boot and pulled it off, tugged off the sock, then indicated for the other foot.

While his new boy worked, his head bent over his task, Aiden let his gaze roam over Craig. He noted the thick blond hair, broad shoulders and lean musculature. Craig was fit with nice definition in his abs. But his movie-star good looks weren’t what drew Aiden’s attention.

It was his precise attention to detail, the tension that rolled off him, as though he held back, knowing the reward would be great. He would submit because he wanted something. Not because he desired to serve.

And Aiden wanted a crack at that. Wanted to break the other man down, knowing in his gut that at the end, Craig was the kind of sub who would only serve one person—that while he played at submission, he wasn’t truly committed. He saw everything as a game with an end—turbocharged orgasms. Something Aiden wouldn’t tolerate from a sub of his own.

Craig dropped the second boot and sock then paused. His shoulders rose around a deep inhalation as he worked up his nerve. Aiden suppressed a smile and hardened his face, waiting for the moment Craig would look up.

Which he did a moment later. His glance skated up Aiden’s body, then met with Aiden’s. Aiden raised one brow.

Challenge issued, Craig’s gaze narrowed and dropped. His hands went to the button at Aiden’s waistband. He thumbed it open, gripped the tongue of the zipper and the fabric between his hands and pulled it down, careful to avoid touching Aiden’s cock. Then, inserting his fingers inside the waist of the pants, he peeled them off.

Goose bumps prickled all over Aiden’s skin at the first touch of the backs of Craig’s fingers against the sides of his thighs. He lifted his feet one at a time to pull free of the leather, then backed away from Craig and walked toward the bed where Jenn watched through the fringe of her dark lashes.

Aiden had intended that both he and Craig take turns petting and fucking Jenn, giving her everything she needed now that he’d broken her down. But it wasn’t going to be enough. Aiden wanted his own satisfaction, and that wouldn’t be achieved without pushing Craig as well. He wanted to see everything the cop brought to play. What he’d observed while Craig played the night before had left an indelible impression.

Aiden walked to Jenn and pulled her up from where she sat on the edge of the mattress. He held her face between his hands and kissed her mouth. A gentle smoothing of lips. She opened her mouth beneath his, and he gave her his tongue, gliding inward to tangle with hers.

Their tongues swept together, bodies not touching. As he drew away, he noted from the corner of his eye the pulsing of Craig’s cock. Aiden cupped Jenn’s chin and turned her head toward Craig. “I want to watch you two kiss.”

A Valentine Romance — Redneck Romeo: Red Hot Valentine

Thanks for letting me take over your blog today, Delilah.

Do you love Valentine’s Day, or hate it? When ten other authors and I decided to combine our Valentine’s short stories into a collection of books, I was surprised by how many authors chose to write characters that disliked the holiday.

I’ve always loved the day, and hubby and I still try to get a little time alone to celebrate it. But so many people don’t enjoy it, or call it crass commercialization at its finest. True, restaurants are overbooked and packed tight on the big day. And card stores and candy shops post giant reminder signs to lure in customers who do not want to forget their loved one on that day.

When my hubby, Kick, and I were newly married and on a tight budget, our evening out on Valentine’s Day consisted of heading to a card shop, picking out cards for each other, and exchanging them – unpurchased – in the store, then placing them back in the rack. I smile now because we must have looked like the nuttiest couple on Earth.

Then we went to a takeout restaurant and grabbed one meal to share, took it home, and stretched it into a multi-course dinner with an appetizer, salad, and dessert. While the supper with candles and cloth napkins was lovely, the time we spent together planning and shopping and cooking became the best part of the day.

How about you? What’s your favorite Valentine’s memory? Or are you a non-Valentines person? Leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of another of my books, Cowboy Jackpot: Valentine’s Day.

When Genevieve Riley sneaks onto the O’Bannon Ranch to return a stolen heirloom, the boy she’d fallen in love with as a teenager, Nick O’Bannon, catches her before she can slip away. The problem is, he’s now a big, rugged cowboy, and those feelings from a decade ago resurface. She can’t concentrate on anything but picking up where they left off.

Nick can’t believe what his dogs cornered. Beautiful ‘Jellybean’ Riley, all grown up and sexier than sin. He never knew what tore her from his life when they were teens, just as their relationship was starting. With the heat radiating between them, he knows he can seduce her, but can he make her stay this time?

Here’s a sexy scene to tempt you:

“You’re not a very patient man, are you.” Genny’s hands rested on his thighs as she looked up at Nick.

“Eleven years is a goddamn long time to wait.”

She laughed, then took pity on him and sucked his head into her hot mouth.

As electric shocks skittered from his cock to his balls and along his backbone, he threaded his fingers in her hair. “Feels good. Don’t stop yet.”

She backed away and let his cock drop from her lips. “Yet?” Thankfully, she came forward again and drew him into her mouth. Her tongue licked a circle around his head, teasing and pushing him closer to climax.

“I don’t want to come yet. I want to make love to you.”

With a sexy hum, she sent vibrations through his cock.

Nick’s brain clicked off and his head dropped forward. “No.” He had to be inside her sweet pussy. Using every last functioning brain cell, he eased his cock out of her mouth and knelt in front of her. “Let me love you, Genevieve.”

The soft smile that curved her lips and the mellow expression in her eyes told him he’d said the right thing.

Wrapping his arms around her, he slid a hand down to the curve of her ass, then lower, cupping the firm globe.

She surprised him by doing the same to him. “Your ass is the sexiest cowboy butt I’ve ever seen.”

He resisted the jealous urge to ask her how many cowboy asses she’d seen. “You’ve got the sweetest tush in Texas.”

Her head dropped back with her laughter. “And knowing Texas the way I do, there’s probably a contest for that, too. Miss Sweet Tush.”

Nick’s heart thudded at her laughter. He hadn’t heard it in so damn long, and now he had her here in his home. “Ain’t no one going to be judging this beauty, but me.” He squeezed both her ass cheeks in his hands, pulling her bare mound onto his turgid cock.

“No.” Her smile left her face. “There’s no one else.”

Her words shot through him like a stray bullet. No one else. He’d like to keep it that way, even if he had to beg.

In one swift movement, he stood, picked her up, and laid her on the bed. “You’re beautiful.” He grabbed a condom packet from the nightstand drawer then lay next to her, caressing her thigh, feeling goosebumps pebble on her skin.

She cupped his cheek. “You’re beautiful.” Her brows drew together as she looked into his eyes. “You’ve become a kind, honest, thoughtful man.” She drew in a shaky breath. “The way you handled the home intrusion earlier, like a gentleman.” She grinned. “You didn’t sic the dogs on me.”

He would have handled it a hell of a lot differently if it had been a man in his house, instead of a gorgeous blonde. “You could’ve just shipped it here. The gun.” Yet, she’d shown up here on Valentine’s Day. “Sent it by courier, or something.” He pushed a lock of her hair from her cheek. “Why did you bring it yourself?”

Glancing away, she shrugged one shoulder. “I think I hoped to run into you.” Her gaze met his. “Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wanted to see you again.” A tiny wrinkle formed between her brows. “Even if it meant you’d see exactly how unscrupulous my father was.”

That was a lot of deep psychology for two naked people to be diving into. “I’m just glad you’re here.” He rolled her onto her side so her breasts pressed against his chest, her nipples poking sensually into his skin. “Let’s save the talking part for later.”

Her hand skimmed along his side to rest on his hip. “Best idea I’ve ever heard.”

Nick’s cock filled with blood, flying full mast again. Leaning forward, he touched his lips to hers. “I have to feel you under me, to hold you here.”

With a soft moan, she returned the kiss, her tongue tracing the curve of his upper lip. “I want that. Want you to make me yours.”

*~*~*~*~*

Redneck Romeo: Red Hot Valentine, is only $.99 and available now! Read the first chapter on my website or pick up your copy at any of these places:

AMAZON US | AMAZON UK | AMAZON CA | AMAZON AU
BARNES & NOBLE | KOBO | ARe | SMASHWORDS

Don’t forget to leave a comment for your chance at an e-copy of Cowboy Jackpot: Valentine’s Day.

Thanks!

Randi
“Rode Hard and Put Up Satisfied”
RandiAlexander.com
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My Books – read the first chapters and find buy links:
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The Sexy Ghost

Happy Medium, the third book in my Ramos Family trilogy, was released by Berkley Intermix on January 21. All three books are ghost stories, and they feature a family of reluctant mediums who only discover their powers when they’re confronted by some nasty ghosts who need to be eliminated.

When I started working on Happy Medium, I’d already used ghosts who wanted someone to avenge their deaths (the traditional ghostly function) in Medium Well and with ghosts who wanted to increase their power by sucking vitality from humans (a slightly less traditional ghostly function) in Medium Rare. So I’d dealt with ghosts seeking justice and seeking power—what else could they be looking for? Sex, maybe?

Succubi (and incubi, the male version), are spirits who get off on sex with humans. This idea has been around for a long, long time—Lilith, Adam’s first wife, is supposed to be a succubus in Jewish mythology, and succubi show up in folklore in a variety of cultures. Succubi are seductresses, who prey on unsuspecting men with their sexual skills. And they’re also shape-shifters, which allows them to assume the form of loved ones, or someone you truly covet.

My hero, Ray Ramos, has to contend with this seductive ghost, but he’s more repulsed than attracted. This particular succubus haunts the house he’s trying to renovate, and she’s set free when he takes part in a séance that was supposed to be fake. Unfortunately, when Ray, a hereditary medium, takes part in the séance, it becomes the real thing. Leaving Ray with a sexy ghost who has definite boundary problems.

But I along with Ray’s difficulties, I wanted to do something slightly different with my particular succubus. She also haunts my heroine, Emma Shea, who has a few self esteem problems. As it turns out, my sexy ghost finds female victims by convincing them her skills can bring them the man of their dreams. It’s a very seductive promise—let me use your body, and he’ll never leave you. My heroine knows better than most that that promise is fatal, but even she finds herself tempted.

In the end, Ray and Emma have to find a way to destroy the succubus without being destroyed themselves, all the while working around Emma’s employer, a phony television medium who has no idea what she’s up against—or even that she’s up against anything at all.

Here’s a little taste of what Emma’s up against:

She closed her eyes. If this room wasn’t safe, what room was?

You’re nothing. You’re less than nothing, the voice whispered. He’ll leave you soon.

Emma stiffened. “I know it’s you,” she muttered. “This won’t work.”

He’ll leave you because you’re nothing, the voice hissed viciously. You’re pitiful. Look at yourself. A fat frump. He doesn’t want you.

Emma’s shoulders tightened. She shook her head.

He’ll leave you. Why would he stay? What could possibly make him want you?

Her breath rattled in her throat, her hands fisting at her  sides.

I could help you. I could make him want you. The voice was smoother now. Almost seductive. Once he’d experienced what I can do, he’d never leave.

Emma shook her head, her heart hammering almost painfully. “Like you helped Amina? No thanks.”

An image flashed through her mind—Ray naked beneath her, staring up with glazed, adoring eyes. He’d never leave. She’d never have to worry. She’d have him always, all hers. No matter how fat she was. No matter how ugly.

All hers. Until the succubus consumed them both.

Emma closed her eyes. “No. I won’t. No.”

You’re nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

She turned toward the door, running, half-blind with tears.

The blurb for Happy Medium:

 

Love is good for the soul… unless it’s one that you’re trying to exorcise.

Ray Ramos has a problem–the King William District mansion he and his business partner purchased for a fast renovation needs more work than expected. Ray could use a quick infusion of cash. Enter Emma Shea, assistant to Gabrielle DeVere, the star of American Medium. Gabrielle is looking for San Antonio houses to use for her televised séances, and Ray’s fixer upper seems to fit.

When Gabrielle does a sample séance, Ray and Emma become the target of a touchy ghost with no respect for boundaries. After Ray learns his family has a special affinity for ghosts, the two decide to investigate the haunted house. It doesn’t hurt that Emma is immediately attracted to the laconic Ray or that Ray is intrigued by the buttoned-down beauty who seems determined to hide her considerable assets behind sober business suits. But can the two of them fight off a vengeful succubus bound to the house while getting a lot closer than either of them planned?

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