A Tempest of Passion on the blog today as author Elyzabeth M. Valey tours with her new release #erotic #shifter #regency romance

A Tempest of Passion

Emily Bunsbury is most definitely not a fainter. She prefers to leave that sort of shenanigans to young debutants and to those desperate to land a husband. She is neither.

Except last night she passed out and was rescued by none other than the town’s most eligible bachelor: William Dalton.  Of course, she wants nothing to do with him, but her heart and body don’t seem to be in agreement…

Banished from his pack for a crime he did not commit, William Dalton does not have the desire or the time to court women, yet, when he meets Emily Bunsbury he is incapable of staying away. Certain that it is nothing more than a passing fancy and not the mating pull, he pursues her.

However, as the unknown threat that expelled him from his pack strikes again, William realizes that Emily means much more and he must keep her safe. Now, if only she’d agree to his terms…

As danger grows with each passing day, will the couple learn to trust each other or will their love be nothing more than a temporary tempest of passion?



A word from Elyzabeth about her top ten things to love about the story
Two years ago I had an idea for a novel. It included a wolf shifter and the regency period. A Tempest of Passion was born and here are ten things I think you’ll like about it:
  
1. The regency era. I just love historical romance.

2. Courting. The magic of regency era courting. Writing Love letters.

My dearest Emily,
The sun is barely rising and I find myself at my desk attempting to put into words the emotion that pierces my heart every time I think of you.

3. Shifters. Wolf Shifters and their own special rules.

The mating pull would be stronger, more violent. He’d be unable to escape it in any manner.   

4. A heroine that uses her brain and knows what she wants. 

She knew he was referring to her, but she couldn’t look at him, couldn’t succumb to a man she didn’t understand.

5. A hero that won’t take no for an answer.

“I don’t take kindly to broken promises,” he whispered gruffly.

6. Dancing. Regency dancing. Did you know the waltz was prohibited in many places? Fortunately for our protagonists Brookenshire was not one of those places. *grin*

7. Kisses. Smoldering kisses.

Emily whimpered. The sound came deep from within her as he brushed his lips against hers once more.

8. Danger.

The panic whinny of a horse sounded in the distance. William’s blood curdled.

9. Love.

“Love, Ms. Bunsbury. That intense feeling of affection mingled with passion that leaves you breathless and yearning one moment and content and sated the next. That heart wrenching emotion that you think you can exist without but that in truth you are nothing without.”

10. Passion it wouldn’t be called A Tempest of Passion if there weren’t any. *wink*
 Author Bio:
Considered weird by normal standards – what is normal anyway?- Elyzabeth M. VaLey enjoys making up songs about mundane things, doodling stars and flowers on any blank sheet of paper, talking to her Lab whenever he feigns interest and coming up with love stories to make readers dream.
From contemporary to historical or fantasy, she enjoys writing stories about good and evil, love and passion and all that comes in between happy ever after.
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Excerpt:
“Perhaps you can enlighten me. You’re an accomplished dancer as far as I can see and you seem to enjoy it, even if you did tell me you didn’t particularly like it. Why don’t the other men ask you to dance? Must I be on the lookout lest you do something outrageous?”
They reunited on the floor. Emily extended her right foot forward allowing her weight to rest on it before closing her other foot and hopping. She bit back a smile.
“I think most men in town surrendered in their pursuit for me to dance,” she admitted after a moment. “I refused all of them for what I spoke was the truth. I am not fond of dancing.”
“Yet, you’re not chewing on your lips or pulling them in as you have a habit of doing when carrying out unpleasant duties.” William chuckled.  “Just like that. Why always so serious, Ms. Bunsbury? Is my company such a heavy weight on your shoulders that you cannot gift me with a smile?”
“Life is serious business, Mr. Dalton,” she replied, going around him in a circle. “There is nothing more odious than being forced to smile.”
“Of course, I know it well.” His friendly smile vanished, his eyes losing their luster.
“I did not mean to upset you,” Emily hurried to clarify, suddenly desperate to see the gay light present in his eyes again.
William’s lips curled upwards, though the gesture did not reach his eyes.
“It was not your fault, Ms. Bunsbury. You inadvertently awoke some sad memories. Life is serious business,” he conceded, twirling her, “but that is precisely why we must enjoy the precious good moments such as these, for we never know how long they will last.”
“Your opinion of good moments is definitely low if you count this to be one.”
She was teasing him. By God, she was teasing him and though it took him a moment to realize it, she was glad at the sound of his rich laughter. Her lips twitched and she found herself smiling in response to his boisterous mirth. 
“Of course I do,” he said after a few seconds. “I am dancing with a beautiful woman on a fine autumn day. It cannot get much better than that?” He winked, reminding her of his ulterior masculine motives and causing her cheerfulness to vanish. “Though you probably think differently,” William added.
“Indeed.”
The melody having come to an end, Emily curtsied and turned to walk away from William Dalton. She’d barely removed herself from the center of the room, when he gripped her elbow. Emily bit back a gasp. Every time he touched her something inside her awoke with a hunger that could not be appeased. Tilting her head back so she could look him in the eyes, she chose to ignore the way her heart leapt. 
“That was only one dance, Ms. Bunsbury. You promised me two.”

“Surely, you wouldn’t want to waste your good moments dancing another tune with me, Mr. Dalton.” She made to leave but his fingers on her arm tightened. Anger flared in his eyes and his good-natured smile vanished.

“You think little of yourself, Ms. Bunsbury. I am surprised.”

“You are in the wrong, Sir,” she said as politely as she could muster. “I simply believe that another woman would enjoy your attentions much more than myself.”

Pulling her arm from his grasp, she veered around, desperate for some fresh air. Faster than she could muster, he stepped in front of her, blocking her path. Curling her hands into fists, she fought against the urge to shove him out of the way.

“Mr. Dalton—!”

“Ms. Bunsbury.”

Emily’s eyes flew to his face at the warning in his tone, her wroth vanishing and scattering into the wind as their gazes clashed.

“I don’t take kindly to broken promises,” he whispered gruffly.

Her breath caught as he reached for her hand, his fingertips sliding sensually over her gloved wrist. Her pulse raced, urging her to move or succumb to the persistent throbbing between her legs.

 “You may think yourself fast as a rabbit or cunning like a fox, Ms. Bunsbury, but I am a hunter and catching prey is my favorite sport.”
Evernight Publishing ~~ All Romance Ebooks ~~ Bookstrand ~~ Amazon.com ~~ Amazon.uk

#Coverreveal on the blog today for Savannah Sins from author Jenna Fox


TITLE – Savannah Sins
SERIES – N/A
AUTHOR – Jenna Fox
GENRE – erotic/horror
PUBLICATION DATE – March 3rd 2015
LENGTH (Pages/# Words) – 15,300 words
PUBLISHER –Dark Hollows Press
COVER ARTIST – 3 Rusted Spoons
Her prison became his hell.
The only thing standing between Beverly Price and a prison cell is her well connected attorney, Jackson McNabb. Jackson pulls some legal strings, getting Beverly sent to his family’s plantation to work out her sentence at an isolated setting- the perfect place for sexual escapades. When Jack and Beverly act on the pent-up lust burning between them, their passion rouses an angry spirit, setting off a series of frightening paranormal events and sending Beverly fleeing the arms of her lover, leaving Jack to fight for both of their lives.
Where will you run when your sins come back to haunt you?

EXCERPT

Beverly’s libido was assailed at being around a man she wasn’t totally immune to and she shivered when Jack got behind her, bracketing her sides with his arms. She stood still as her scantily clothed skin absorbed his body heat, trapping it between them. She took the cutting knife, and he covered her hand with his, directing the chopping mechanisms. The close proximity was pressing on her, making her question everything she thought she knew about herself. He was teaching, but she wasn’t listening, only slipping into feelings she’d never meant to feel with him.
They were nearly meshed together when Jack’s hands wrapped her waist and he guided her toward the sink. He washed and she dried while a play-by-play reverie of Jack stripping her down and bending her over the counter projected in her head like a movie screen. Beverly’s breath caught in her throat when the bulge in his pants skipped across the back of her thigh.

AUTHOR BIO

Jenna Fox is a civilized hillbilly, mother, wife and multi-published author of erotic romance residing in Eastern Tennessee. Besides juggling a busy family life, Fox reviews and critiques for other authors and crafts her own dark erotic tales. Stories always feature a mysterious alpha male with unexpected twists to shock the reader. She believes in HFN and HEA endings, although not always in a romantic or conventional way.
Her work is born from real life experiences, an overactive imagination and a consuming caffeine addiction. Fox is a listener of bad-ass music and a watcher of classic slasher films. In short, she’s a multi-tasker – a writer, a storyteller, able to make a boo-boo all better with just one kiss and a proud, world class expert at screwing up recipes and scaring away closet monsters. She believes in ghosts and God and is absolutely convinced chocolate soothes the savage beast.

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The 'c' word and not the one that ends in 'k' #amwritng #eroticromance

I write romance in several sub genres, paranormal, fantasy, contemporary, suspense, and mystery. These days I'm writing my first Sci-Fi romance among other stories that are littered across my computer desktop in folders that sport working titles. Usually my stories are erotic romance. That means they contain graphic sex in the love scenes. They have complex plots and developed characters, and always have a happy ending. That's what makes them erotic romance and not erotica.

As a romance writer I use some pretty graphic language, but there's a word I simply can't use.

The 'c' word. It's not cock. I have no trouble using that. It's the word that refers to the female genitalia.
When I was growing up, and now around me the word, cunt, was and is used as an exceptional denigration, and one of the worse curse words imaginable. I even use it at the most extreme of times, usually prefaced by the more acceptable to me anyway, 'fucking'. More often I'm throwing the 'f' word around.

I hear the 'c' word almost every day as guys tote heavy and sometimes difficult sized and shaped items around the place I work. This stuff is often valuable and some of the building is like a maze, with narrow corridors and flights of steps. It can try peoples' patience. It's nothing to some of them to call the huge heavy wooden dresser by the 'c' word and it trips off the tongue with no thought whatsoever. Some of them turn around and say sorry as if they've offended me with their swearing. They haven't. I swear like a trooper, as the saying goes in the UK.

This does mean, though, that I can't use the word in my writing. I can't have my dominant alpha hero using the word to his love interest in their sex talk. It's just not erotic for me. 

Lots of erotic romance writers use the word. I've got no problem with them, really people can write as they wish, but I have trouble reading a sex/love scene where the guy says what he's going to do to her, 'c' word, or that her 'c' word is his. It's less than erotic, sexy, or loving to me. 

Laughing my head off now, but all the same I started to think about why I can use the curse word, fuck, in the sex and love scenes. 
I have no real answer.

So what's the origin of the 'c' word? I Googled it and found an extensive page of information about the word on Wiki, which is really interesting and worth reading. Here's the opening paragraph.
Cunt /ˈkʌnt/ is a vulgar term for female genitalia, and is used as a term of disparagement for females and males.[1] The earliest known use of the word, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, was as a placename for the London street Gropecunt Lanec 1230. Scholar Germaine Greer said in 2006 that cunt "is one of the few remaining words in theEnglish language with a genuine power to shock."[2]
Use of the word as a term of abuse is relatively recent, dating from the late nineteenth century.[3] Reflecting different national usagescunt is described as "an unpleasant or stupid person" in the Compact Oxford English Dictionary, whereas Merriam-Webster has a usage of the term as "usually disparaging and obscene: woman",[4] noting that it is used in the U.S. as "an offensive way to refer to a woman";[5] and the Macquarie Dictionary of Australian English gives "a contemptible person."[6] When used with a positive qualifier (good, funny, clever, etc.) in BritainNew Zealand, and Australia, it can convey a positive sense of the object or person referred to.[7]
The word appears to have not been strongly taboo in the Middle Ages, but became taboo towards the end of the eighteenth century, and was then not generally admissible in print until the latter part of the twentieth century. The term has various derivative senses, including adjective and verb uses.

Then there's this interesting post, but still it doesn't persuade me to use the word in my romance writing.

I guess society has done a number on me. There's a whole school of socio-psychology that explores that sort of influence.

This train of thought got me thinking about what other words I don't use in my romance writing. 
So, I don't use the 'd' word either, and that does end in 'k'. Why do I use cock and never dick? That must be because where I come from and in my life so far the word, dick, is a denigration ... 
I can't have my gorgeous hero doing anything with his dick ... as for prick, well we all know what that means.
Hilarious.

After all that cursing (LOL) here's a sweetie teaser from Rescuing Cade












The fab April Zyon has a new Massey Texas #series novel out, Forever Mine, erotic #western romance #giveaway


Release Date: 2/25/2015
Publisher: Evernight Publishing
Evernight Buy Link:
Author: April Zyon
Series: Massey Texas

Author Stalking Links 
Author Website: www.april-zyon.com

Blurb:
When handed the Intel on a potential threat Martin Carver had no idea it would be what led him back to the town of his birth. At age nineteen he’d left Massey, Texas in his dust. But now when the life of someone he loves being threatened even the claustrophobic town won’t keep him from protecting her. And God help those after her.
Taking over her father’s practice had always been in the cards for Athena Rhodes. What she didn’t expect was to take over from him was the baggage that came along with the business. Law abiding woman that she is, Athena reaches out to get some help. Not in the cards was having the only man to ever hold her heart walk through the door, and tell her he was there to get her out from under the mob.
Everyone has always believed Martin to be the classic do-gooder. Building homes in third world countries, off saving the whales from drilling platforms, or any number of stories that have filtered through Massey through the years. To find out every single one of those stories were nothing more than fairy tales is one thing, to find out he’s actually an FBI agent will take some getting used to.
Athena’s running out of time, the mob having set a time limit on what they require her to do. If she fails to follow their demands to the letter it will mean her father’s life. Unsure what to do she will lean heavily on Martin, and hope he doesn’t let her fall.
The clock is against them to keep the woman Martin loves and her dad safe. He’ll do whatever it takes to end the threat rising against them. Because he’s got an all or nothing plan. What could go wrong? 

Excerpt:
County Line
Massey, Texas
He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there staring at the sign announcing, “Welcome to Massey, TX Population 5,609 and growing!” but the hood under his ass was cooling, and the sun had reached its highest point. Hell, it was starting the slow slide toward the horizon.
It had been a long, long time since he’d been home. The last time he’d been there he’d flown in for his pop’s funeral, stuck around for the meal, and then got the hell out of Dodge. Since then, he hadn’t been home once. He called, though, every single weekend right after his mother had finished breakfast on Sundays. They would chat for exactly one hour and fifteen minutes. No more, no less. The woman always had enough gossip to fill that time, so he rarely had to say much of anything.
Yet, here he was. Staring into the abyss of the quintessential small town. Ranches and farms spread out as far as the eye could see and beyond. Nestled in the middle was Massey. His hometown, and the place he’d burned rubber to get away from the moment he’d turned eighteen. Unlike his brothers, Martin had always hated coming back. To him, it had felt claustrophobic. Whether from his family’s expectations, or from his own uncertainty about the future, he didn’t know.
This time was no different. So, there he was, sitting on the hood of his ‘66 Mustang. While she maintained her shape, he’d given her a few tweaks over the years. A new paint job when he was eighteen, and a new hemi engine when he was twenty-two. There were a few other not exactly legal additional elements to Eris, named after the goddess of chaos, strife, and discord. His brothers had actually named his car, but he’d let it stick. Hell, he’d even gotten a little name plate that was attached to the dashboard right over the speedometer.
Martin shook his head, leaning back on his hands as he continued to stare in the direction of the town. He remembered back in high school a rumor Frank had told him about. His older brother had apparently also started it, but he denied it with a smirk every single time Martin confronted him.
According to the “rumor,” if a girl managed to talk Martin into taking her out a date, she prayed he’d be driving Eris. If he showed up in his pop’s old pickup truck, then she knew she would be getting walked to the front door, given a peck on the cheek, and he’d promptly leave to never call her for another date. But if he showed up in Eris, the girl would be getting a tour of the backseat, on her back, and things would be a rocking.
Not once had Martin ever taken a girl out in Eris. There’d been one he’d thought about, right before leaving town for good, but she’d been too young, and he definitely hadn’t needed that sort of thing to follow him or her around for the rest of their days.
Athena Rhodes. Named for the virgin goddess of reason, intelligent activity, arts, and literature. A more perfect name for the woman in question there never would be. She’d always had an ethereal quality about her, always thinking before leaping, and was the one woman who still had him jolting up out of bed in the middle of the night from the dreams she starred front and center in.
Not the teenage version of Athena Rhodes either. Nope, he knew exactly what she looked like as of four weeks ago. Hell, he even had her photo in the folder sitting on the passenger seat of his car. The rest of what was in the folder was why he was there, despite digging in his heels with the director of the FBI. Fucking bastard found it funny that Martin didn’t want to go home for a visit and deal with the trouble Athena found herself in. In the director’s mind, it was two birds, one stone. In Martin’s, it was a colossal fuck up in the making. Especially if Athena was anywhere near it.
Athena, bane of his existence. She’d been just starting to come into the woman she would one day be when he’d left Massey. Now she was more than he could ever have imagined. Five-foot-seven, long, rich red hair the color of a wine with hints of copper and strawberries. Green eyes that could lighten with amusement or darken like a coming storm. Athena had the stereotypical redhead temper, though he knew from his mother’s gossip she rarely showed it any more. So she’d gotten it under control. Should be interesting to test that theory.
Pale golden skin, just a hint of a tan, with a smattering of freckles over her nose and upper curve of her cheeks. A slightly rounded face with amazing bone structure, straight nose, slightly pointed chin, gave her face a heart-shaped look. A long ,elegant neck he’d imagined nibbling on in his quest to discover if there were freckles anywhere else on her body. His dreams said yes, but Martin didn’t think he’d really ever find out.
To top off his perfect woman’s image, Athena had some meat on her bones. She was built like a woman, sturdy, and not like one of those twigs from Hollywood that would blow over if you sneezed in their direction. She was, quite literally, his dream woman given form. Or maybe, he should say, she was the woman of his dreams, if only he had the nerve to tell her.
His other problem with the woman. She got him all twisted up inside, and turned him into a babbling fool. Or she had. Martin really hoped she still didn’t have that particular effect on him. ‘Cause that would just be the fucking icing on the cake for this whole damned trip.
The sound of an engine pulled his attention back, and he let out a sigh when the truck got close enough for him to recognize it. All the time in the world seemed to have passed, and the damn pickup truck that was used around the Carver Ranch was still exactly the same. Squinting slightly at the reflection off the windshield, he waited for his brother to swing it around and park it behind the Mustang.
The crunch of boots to gravel told him where his big brother was, yet still, he waited. Only when the other man slid onto the hood next to him did he give a nod. “Frank,” he said quietly.
“Martin.” That was it, nothing else.
Course they didn’t really need to say much of anything else. Despite rumors to the contrary, ones sort of started by him, he and Frank had worked together more than once. They even talked on a fairly regular basis. While Frank had worked for a different branch, and under different mandates for the US government, Martin had always been his brother’s contact inside the bureau.
“Eris is looking good,” Frank said after another ten minutes of silence.
“She held up well on the drive. Only got a bit cranky with me outside of Dallas. But a quart of oil and she was purring like an overgrown kitten again.”
Frank snorted out a laugh at that. “I can’t believe you still have her.”
“Dude, she’s family. Quit trash talking my car.”
Hands up, Frank cracked a grin. A real grin. As in teeth and everything. While Martin was staring in shock, he missed what his brother was saying. “What? Sorry.”
“I asked you how long you plan on sitting out here. According to Willard, you’ve been here since eight this morning. It’s now nearly two in the afternoon.”
Heaving a sigh, Martin shoved his hands through his pale blond hair. Out of all the Carvers, his was the lightest in color, but his eyes were the darkest. The oddities of the familial gene pool. “Working up the nerve to drive across the county line is all.”
“Uh-huh. You do know that Mama’s already heard you’re here. And the fact you are sitting here, and not at her kitchen table where she can smother you with all that built up motherly love, means you are in seriously deep shit, little brother.”
Martin winced at that. Yeah, his mama would hug him, weep all over him, and then likely bean him with her rolling pin. Theresa Carver was in no way a pushover. She might play the part occasionally to lure the unaware in close, but then she struck. She could make a grown man in a full rage cry like a little girl in under two minutes. Without even batting a lash. She was that good.
“So, what has you here?” Frank asked.
Normally, he wouldn’t discuss it, but Frank still held his beyond top secret clearance level, and likely would as long as he was still breathing. “Athena Rhodes, or rather her dirty, lowdown scoundrel of a father.”
Frank’s head whipped around to look his way. “Shit. You got handed that one?”
“Yup.”
“Well fuck me.”
Yup. Pretty much Martin’s exact thoughts on the matter.
 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A small aside about the series, Massey Texas, from the author...

I’ve always been fascinated with Cowboys. I know, most people are but to me there is just something super sexy about a man who is willing to work his ass off for a living. Something that’s incredibly hot about a man who knows how to work the land with his own hands.
When I originally started Massey Texas with Rhys Hollister and Gwen Baker I never dreamed that one of the families central to the story would stand up and take center stage, but they did. The Carver Family stood out pretty much from the get go in this series and they had to have their stories told.
Massey Texas has been a wonderful thrill-ride fro me, each time the characters spoke they tended to throw me for a loop, so to speak, and I loved every single moment of it.
While I’m tentatively ending this series at this book, the 9th in the series, it doesn’t mean that I will never revisit it one day in the future. After all, there were a couple of babies born to the Carver family that might eventually need their stories told!
I truly hope that you have all enjoyed the Massey Texas series as much as I have, and I hope that you will continue to read the books that I put out as either April Zyon, or Honor James.

~~~ Peace and love my friends, and be good to each other!

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#MWTease and Rupert is murderous #vampireromance

From the Club Coven series and April 2 release, The Confession Box

His anger wouldn’t go away. He fretted as he watched Julianne fall further under the warlock’s spell. He seethed at her response to Finn as she smiled and touched the silver-eyed man’s hand. He swore softly when Finn began trailing his fingertips up and down Julianne’s bare shoulder.

“Fucking hell.” I’ll kill him. She likes him. Didn’t she just get through flirting with me? Didn’t I just save her ass from the vamp roadies? She looks very beautiful tonight. That dress is sexy. Those stockings … Crap, what’s the matter with me? I should be thanking Finn for taking her attention away from me, for giving me a break from her hanging on the bar, on my every word. I don’t want her do I? Do I?

He served another group of people. He glanced repeatedly at the dreadful sight. Finn has her wrapped around his finger, or will by the end of the night. He’ll fuck her tonight and then she’ll crave him forever. She’ll join the never-ending line-up of girls waiting for him to call, to visit, to do his every bidding. Fucking hell, I can’t take it. She needs a good shake.


Rupert walked to them. “Can I get you anything else?”


Warrior and the Wanderer from Elizabeth Holcombe a Scottish #historical #timetravel #romance

Warrior and the Wanderer - Banner

BOOK INFO

TITLE – Warrior and the Wanderer AUTHOR – Elizabeth Holcombe GENRE – Scottish historical romance/time travel PUBLICATION DATE – December 23, 2014 LENGTH (Pages/# Words) - 249 pages PUBLISHER – Amazon Kindle COVER ARTIST – Fiona Jayde Media Designs

BOOK BLURB

An impossible adventure. A fierce, undeniable desire.
Infamous Scottish bad boy, Ian MacLean, takes a road trip to sort out his mess of a life and lands five hundred years in the past. He is taken hostage into what he is certain is a band of extreme Highland role players. The only bright light in this strange situation is his insanely beautiful warrior-princess captor who wields her claymore as well as her fiery feral charms.
To gain a strong ally for her clan, flame-haired Bess Campbell reluctantly married a powerful Highland chief who had no intentions of uniting the clans. After murdering her clan chief, he chains her to a rock condemning her to die in the rising tide, until a strangely dressed but startlingly handsome man emerges from the waves like a mythical selkie and rescues her. Bess learns her most odd savior has the same name as her murdering husband—MacLean—and makes him her prisoner.
Fearing she may have captured a madman, Bess forces Ian to journey through Scotland chasing down a killer. She finds Ian’s strange ways oddly endearing and uncommonly useful to her quest for revenge. Ian struggles to find a way back to his time, while being pulled deeper into his role in the past and his undeniable attraction for the fiery Highland warrior princess, Bess Campbell.
Warrior & Wanderer - Book Cover

EXCERPT

She knelt at his feet and began smoothing the plaid across the cold stone floor, felt him watching her every move. “Ye’d best pay close attention,” she said, “because I’m no’ gonnae do this for ye again.”
“Too humiliating?”
“Should be humiliating for ye, to have me show ye how to properly dress yourself.” “Actually, I find it charming, in a weird sort of way.”
Bess ignored the last comment and folded the bottom third of the plaid into thick pleats. She slipped the rope under them.
“Lay on the plaid,” she said. “Place yer waist at the rope in case ye’ve forgotten.” “Oh, yer sarcasm tears me apart, Blaze.”
“If it would help to tear down yer arrogance then we’d be better served, and stop calling me Blaze.” He grimaced as he folded his body down to kneel beside her.
“Your wound…,” she began.
“Is nothing,” he said behind clenched teeth as he lowered his body on top of the plaid.
He rested supine before her. Bess drew in a deep breath. She hovered over him, grasped the ends on the rope in her fists, tied it about his waist, and then adjusted the pleats under the belt.
Ian moaned from far back in his throat. Perspiration glistened across his forehead.
“Ye claim your wound is nothing, d’ye?” she chided, loosening the rope belt. Ian gave her a small forced smile.
She continued to dress him. Her fingers smoothed the wool over his hard waist, over his lean hips, and down the ridge of muscle on his thighs. Feigning indifference was the most difficult part of her task.
“Ye may stand now,” she said. “I’ll help ye.”
“No thanks,” he said struggling to sit up, “you’ve done quite enough.”
She ignored his protest.
“Bursting your stitches is no’ a sign of bravery, ’tis a sign of stupidity.” She took up his left arm and placed it over her shoulders. “Stand with me.”
“I can do it on my own,” he said.
“Ye’re just another arrogant bastard, a typical MacLean,” she said helping him anyway.
“Have you ever thought that all MacLean’s aren’t forged from the same iron as your husband?” he asked.
“Ye betrayed my trust, so aye, I do think all MacLean’s are alike,” she said.
“But what sort of man would I be if I didn’t try to escape?” he asked.
She paused. He had her there. Of course she expected he would try to escape. That was why she had chained and tied him up in the first place.
Ian on his feet, Bess took a step backward. She could not help but allow her gaze to fall down the long length of his body and discovered her task was not complete.
She bent down, and scooped up the rest of the plaid dangling from his waist and tossed it over his shoulder. He remained silent, a blessing, as she tucked the end of the plaid under the rope belt. Task done, Bess surveyed Ian, and her knees suddenly weakened.
Dear God, she thought, he’s the Highlander of my dreams, of my heart. He is the one who could make love possible, if he wasnae so arrogant and odd, and I wasnae so bound to my clan. If ‘twas another time…

AUTHOR BIO

Elizabeth Holcombe’s background includes Bachelors and Masters Degrees in Fine Arts and Art History from Virginia Commonwealth University in her hometown of Richmond. She has taught elementary school and adult education courses on architecture in Rochester, Minnesota, and then worked as a fine arts museum registrar at the Flint Institute of Arts in Michigan.
Although she’s been writing since age ten, it wasn’t until after the birth of her son that she began penning book-length fiction. A past president of Washington Romance Writers, Elizabeth has also organized two highly successful seminars on romance for The Smithsonian Associates.
Elizabeth’s first published Scottish romance novel, Heaven and the Heather (originally published by Berkley/Jove of Penguin Putnam), was a finalist for Best Historical Romance in the Holt Medallion, nominated by Romantic Times
Reviewer’s Choice for Best First Historical Romance and the Dorothy Parker Reviewer’s Choice Award.
Elizabeth lives in Falls Church, Virginia with her husband and son. She is also the proud owner of Dime Store Chic, ranked in the top 50 for vintage shops on Etsy.com. When not writing or crafting her mixed media creations, Elizabeth frequents local estate sales and flea markets.
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Author M. Levesque drops by the blog with new release, 'The Fox and the Hound', Bailout #series #erotic romance


From the author:
The Fox and the Hound is book two in my Bailout Series. In book one, Backwoods Bailout, the main character Lacy was swindled into buying a house that technically didn’t belong to the person selling it. As we come to find out, the person who sold it to her was leading man, Marcus’ ex-girlfriend, Holly. It was a bitter break-up, what can I say? Anyway Holly rights her wrongs before heading into the sunset…but it seems she’s been too lucky for too long and Karma has come a knockin’ in the form of Peyton Shepherd. This is their story…
 
Blurb:
Holly is just restarting her retirement from a life of white collar crime when an old friend finds his way back to her. Peyton Shepherd, AKA The Reaper, is the bad guys’ number one retrieval expert when they are looking for someone, and right now they’re looking for Holly.

She usually doesn’t worry about these guys because she can con her way out of pretty much anything but Peyton has apprehended her before. This time he is a little more motivated to bring her in because the last time she left him handcuffed naked to a headboard, borrowed his identity, and stole his favorite car. Holly didn’t think a year was long enough for him to forgive and forget but if he did finish the job, she knew it wasn’t a meeting she’d walk away from. 

Read an excerpt:
I found Peyton sitting at the small desk. He curled his finger at me and I made my way across the carpet, wearing the bathrobe provided with the room.
When I stopped directly in front of him, he was staring up at me.
“What?”
“I’m sorry I said those things to you.”
“I know you might not think very highly of me, Peyton, but…”
“I didn’t like the fact that you…were with Marcus,” he finished. “I shouldn’t have said that to you. It wasn’t fair.” 
Why did he even care that I had been with Marcus?
“If it makes you feel any better, I screwed that one up, royally,” I said honestly.
“You didn’t screw it up. You were just trying to protect him. He’s a nice guy. He’s not like us.” 
I shrugged and looked away, but immediately felt his hand snake its way between the folds of the robe and come to rest on the bare skin of my side. I looked down at him, but when I didn’t move away, he pulled me closer so that I was standing between his knees. He tugged gently on the robe and it fell onto the floor with a whispering of fabric across skin. He seemed to be memorizing every inch of me, and just that was the sexiest thing I’d ever watched a man do. He urged me forward again, bringing his face even with my breast before nipping me gently, his eyes rolling up to meet mine, as if asking permission to continue.
I reached out and ran my fingers through his hair. I lowered my mouth down to his and he immediately stood up, carrying me with him to the bed. Still clothed, he lowered himself between my legs and, from the feel of things, he enjoyed being there, very much.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.” I whispered. 
“You’re right,” he answered, pulling his shirt off and lowering himself back down until we were pressed warm skin to warm skin. He bit my earlobe and I completely forgot why I was supposed to be stopping him. He curled an arm around my waist and pulled me tighter against him with a happy growl and more kisses. In truth, I didn’t have the will power to stop him. After the daily regret of leaving my needs unmet the last time, I didn’t want to stop him again.
My breath caught in my throat when he rolled me over. He placed tickling kisses from the back of my neck down the length of my back, following the feminine curve of my spine. He got to my ass and bit me hard enough to send a shock through my entire body. He growled out his satisfaction and trailed one of his hands up between my thighs, tickling his fingers over the sensitive skin there for a moment before easing me onto my back again.
He stood over me, looking both dangerous and completely captivated by me. I wasn’t sure I’d ever been looked at by a man like this before. He slowly removed his clothes, taking his sweet time and driving me nuts.

I whimpered as he removed his boxer briefs. He smiled at me before lowering himself onto the bed, his body covering my own. “What’s your hurry?” he teased, rubbing his nose along the length of my jaw. “I know you’re a thief, baby, but I have to teach you the difference between instant gratification and real satisfaction.”
Buy the book:
 
 
 
Links: Backwoods Bailout Book One