Sink deeper into the passionate world of The Prophecy – #UrbanFantasy #NewRelease #SteamyRomance @tinadonahue.bsky.social

Blurb

Unrestrained desire…and danger without end.

The Prophecy, Book 2

In the relentless war between their clans, they’ll risk all for their forbidden love.

With Zeke Neekoma, Liz found shameless passion. She indulged in her most wanton needs, drowning in his male heat and exquisite strength. A traitorous act. Zeke is her clan’s most hated enemy, a seer whose prophecies they wish to exploit. Enraged by her betrayal, the leader of her clan murdered Liz.

Reanimated by her father—her clan’s most powerful healer—she’s determined to fight on Zeke’s side, using her healing gift to help his people. Liz aches for a future with Zeke, to always know the ecstasy of his touch, the thrill of his body imprisoning and pleasuring her.

Zeke desires the same. However, the reanimation changed something within her. Now when Liz heals, she grows weak. Fearful he may lose her forever, Zeke forbids Liz to use her gift.

There’s no other choice. Her clan’s leader launches his next assault, a merciless plan that will test Zeke’s humanity, risk Liz’s life and threaten their timeless bond.

AMAZON: https://shorturl.at/Qrvi0

 

Excerpt (Steamy)

Determined to delight her, Zeke focused on her pussy. He lathered her delicate curls, the same chestnut shade as her hair, and ran his fingers down the length of her slit.

She moaned.

A wondrous sound that told him far more than words ever could.

He washed this part of her well, too long in fact, then concentrated on her precious little clit.

Her breath stalled as he finally stroked it. For seconds, Zeke lavished his attention on her nub, then ran his fingers down her delicate folds to keep her from too much arousal, not wanting her to come immediately.

She groaned.

“Something wrong?” he whispered.

“You’re not rubbing my clit… You keep missing it.”

“Do I?” Giving her no chance to answer, Zeke touched it once more, stroking, manipulating, teasing.

The delay in doing this had accomplished his goal, making her even more sensitive to his carnal touch.

Liz’s jaw tensed as she gritted her teeth. She released her weight into him and rolled her forehead over his shoulder, her body shivering as he continued to stroke her nub. Already primed for her climax, she came within seconds, huffing out her breath.

Those small bursts of air warmed his chest more than the heated water and the room’s toasty temperature. Zeke ached to experience moments like this for the rest of his days. He hoped they’d be long. Right now, an eternity didn’t seem adequate enough. He caressed Liz far more gently than he would have liked, fearful of harming her. His desire was that acute. “Tired?”

She muttered, “Don’t you dare make me lift my arms.”

He chuckled. “I won’t.” He kissed the top of her head and her damp temple. “This time, I want you to lift your legs.”

“Oh, screw that.”

“Come on, be a good girl.”

She didn’t respond.

“Or be bad,” he joked. “In fact, I think I’d like that—”

He didn’t finish, couldn’t as Liz dropped to her knees.

Zeke grabbed her arm to break her fall—if that was what it was—but her skin was slick with water and soap, not allowing him a firm grip. His throat tightened with panic, rasping his voice. “Hey, are you all right?”

She sat back on her heels, the water bubbling around her breasts, and tilted her face to his. “What do you think?”

Zeke couldn’t answer. First, she’d stolen his breath because he thought she’d fallen from dizziness or worse. Now, she cupped his balls in one hand and cradled his cock with the other.

He inhaled sharply.

She murmured, “My turn to wash you.”

She ran her tongue up his length, tracing the prominent veins on his shaft. Zeke felt those licks clear to the top of his head and the tips of his toes. A strangled sound burst from him.

It clearly encouraged her. She swirled her tongue over his crown, pausing to explore the small slit at the top before moving to the bumpy skin on the back.

So many sensations dashed through Zeke, he made noises that sounded more animal than human.

Liz sighed contentedly, then took his full length into her mouth, not stopping until the tip of her nose touched his dark curls.

Zeke gripped her hair, tugging it as he groaned his approval. Every part of his body registered his delight.

She intensified it, fondling his balls, working her mouth up and down his rod, encouraging him to climax. When he resisted, wanting this to go on for days—willing to settle for a few hours—Liz resolved the matter. She stroked his anus, then worked the tip of her forefinger into the tight ring.

Holy mother, goddamned—

Zeke bellowed his delight, his climax explosive.

Far more subdued and fully in charge of his body, Liz accepted his come, drinking it eagerly. When there was no more, she released his cock, pulled her finger from his anus and suckled his right ball.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Don’t,” he sputtered, then growled, “I can’t stand it.”

Immediately, she released him. “I know.”

His shoulders trembled with his heaving breaths. In between them, he coughed.

Liz watched as he settled down. “Better?”

“Maybe.” He shuddered and filled his lungs again, then sighed the air out. “Yeah.”

“Sure?”

He was finally. “Uh-huh.”

“Good.” She took his left ball into her mouth.

Crap. “Stop.”

This time she did not, suckling him at her leisure, loving this part of him with her hot mouth and deliciously wet tongue.

He pulled his hair this time, not caring if he tore it out. She was fucking killing him. He cursed and groaned, then bitched some more when he couldn’t drag in adequate air. Breathing was just too fucking hard. His muscles ached from all the tension. He’d locked his knees to the point where bending them again might prove impossible.

Still, Liz continued. Her licks slow and sensuous, her hands roaming up and down his thighs, over his ass, in the furrow between the cheeks.

Jesus. When Zeke thought he might die from too much pleasure, Liz finally finished. She wrapped her arms around his legs and rested her head against his thigh, her embrace as needy as his when he’d caressed her earlier.

A wonderful moment, simply miraculous.

Eventually, they’d ended up in his bed with him on top of her. For Zeke, only the missionary position would do. During the following hours, he’d taken her three more times, remaining inside her sweet, tight cunt as he rested. He needed to see her face, gauge her reactions, assure himself that she continued to be all right.

With each act of love, they’d both grown more weary. However, their attention never strayed. They regarded each other in silence that they interrupted with nothing more than a few gentle smiles. The quiet intimacy not only felt right but comfortable.

About the Author

Tina’s an Amazon and international bestselling novelist who writes passionate romance for every taste – ‘heat with heart’ – for traditional publishers and indie. Booklist, Publisher’s Weekly, Romantic Times and numerous online sites have praised her work. She’s won Readers’ Choice Awards, was named a finalist in the EPIC competition, received a Book of the Year award, The Golden Nib Award, awards of merit in the RWA Holt Medallion competitions, and second place in the NEC RWA contests. She’s featured in the Novel & Short Story Writer’s Market. Before penning romances, she worked at a major Hollywood production company in Story Direction.

On a less serious note: she’s an admitted and unrepentant chocoholic, brakes for Mexican restaurants, and has been known to moan like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally while wolfing down tostadas. She’s flown a single-engine airplane (freaking scary), rewired an old house using an ‘electricity for dummies’ book, and is horribly shy despite the hot romances she writes.

MeWe: https://mewe.com/i/tinadonahue

Bluesky: @tinadonauthor.bsky.social

Website/Blog: https://tinadonahuebooks.blogspot.com/

Newsletter: https://tinadonahuebooks.blogspot.com/p/newsletter.html

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/tina-donahue

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/146988.Tina_Donahue

Twitter: https://twitter.com/tinadonahue

Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/tinadonahue

Amazon author page: https://amzn.to/1ChWFkO

Sweet ‘n Sexy Divas: https://sweetnsexydivas.blogspot.com/

Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/AuthorTinaDonahue 

Luscious original book covers – stock up for the new year! #BookCovers #Romance #Sale

Contemporary Romance

My friend, author and cover artist Amber Daulton, asked if I could help her spread the word about her annual year end sale. If you write romance, don’t miss this opportunity to purchase her wonderful art work (she’s responsible for some of my most popular covers), at a bargain price.

I should also say that she gives great service to her customers.

But I’ll let her tell you more...

My annual END OF YEAR sale is here at Satin Rose Designs!

Purchase as many PREMADE romance ebook covers as you want. Each one is 60% off ($20 USD) all month long in December.

My site homepage: https://satinrosedesigns.amberdaulton.com/

My main gallery: https://satinrosedesigns.amberdaulton.com/gallery/

Enter my awesome contest (win a FREE paperback or audiobook cover): https://satinrosedesigns.amberdaulton.com/contest/

 Paranormal/Fantasy Romance

How to purchase a premade romance ebook cover? --- That’s easy. Just email me via my Contact page and let me know which cover(s) you want. Or click the Premade Cover Request Form on the product page. Either way works! If I receive multiple requests for the same cover, I’ll pick the earliest one. (All the covers are removed manually, which takes time to do. I apologize for the inconvenience.)

Chick Lit

But I don’t need an ebook cover right now? --- No worries. Just purchase one or more covers, and I’ll send you a receipt along with a watermarked jpg cover with the temporary title and “author name” still on it. Then whenever you’re ready, email me and tell me what title, name, and optional tagline you’d like placed on the cover. That way, you can own the cover and use it later when you need it.

LGBTQ Romance

What happens next? --- Once I know the premade ebook cover(s) you want, I’ll touch base with an email and then send the Paypal invoice, which needs to be paid in full by December 31 to lock in this great deal. It may take me 3 business days to respond since my Internet access is limited.

  Contemporary Romance

What about extra stuff? --- Optional custom paperback covers, custom audiobook covers, custom ebook covers, 3D box set covers, author and/or series logos, and social media graphics are available for an additional fee. See the Format Options page on my website for details.

 

Rom Com

Do you make covers for other genres, besides Romance? --- Sometimes, if inspiration strikes. I usually stick with romance since it appeals the most to me. If you have an idea for a romance or non-romance ebook custom job, hit me up. I might be able to take on the project.

The sale applies ONLY to my premade ebook covers and ends on December 31st.

Questions? Message me. I’m looking forward to working with you!

 

A Christmas fling? #LaterInLife #HolidayRomance #MFRWHooks

hristmas is less than two weeks away, so I thought I’d get in the spirit with an excerpt from one of my favorite holiday stories, Gray Christmas. The heroine is an arthritic senior citizen – like me – who just happens to write BDSM erotic romance – also like me. I guess you might say that this story is a bit of a personal holiday fantasy.

Blurb

You’re never too old for some holiday naughtiness

Widowed author Emma Granger has reconciled herself to spending Christmas Eve in snowy Boston, with a nice bottle of Pinot Grigio and her cat Vronsky. Her daughters have their own lives on the West Coast. Emma knows she can’t expect them to visit every holiday.

A loud crash from the apartment above her overturns her plans for a quiet evening at home. When she investigates, she meets Nick North, an energetic iconoclast with a gray ponytail, a silver earring and bright blue eyes that kindle feelings she’d thought were gone forever. Nick is her own age, maybe older, but his lean body and impish grin affect her as if she were a horny teenager.

Although Emma makes her living writing spicy romance, sex with a stranger seems ludicrous when you’re an arthritic grandmother in your sixties. Still, the attraction she feels for her charismatic upstairs neighbor appears to be reciprocated. A Christmas fling might be just what Emma needs to brighten her holiday.

Excerpt

I peered out into the gathering gloom, blinking away tears. Velvety fur brushed my hand, drawing my attention from the wintery scene to the unblinking green eyes fixed on mine.

“Yes, I know, Vronsky. I shouldn’t feel sorry for myself.”

“Mrreow,” he agreed, as I stroked the underside of his chin. Cats are so wise. Plus, he was probably hungry.

“Don’t worry, I have plenty of cat food. Would you like tuna for your Christmas Eve repast?”

In answer, the sleek gray feline leapt to the floor and headed for the kitchen. Half way across the room, he paused, swiveling his ears in my direction.

“Okay, okay. I’m coming!”

Trying to ignore the twinge in my hip, I unfolded myself from my cramped position on the upholstered sill and followed Vronsky toward the back of the apartment. I was emptying a can into his dish when a loud crash from overhead made us both jump.

“What the heck?”

Another sound came from the apartment above, a solid thud as though something heavy had hit the floor. The Russian Blue and I both froze, listening intently, but only silence followed.

“I should probably go upstairs to check on what’s going on.” The cat stared at the bowl in my hand. Taking the hint, I set it down in front of him. “Bon appétit. I’ll be back in a minute.”

My narrow brick building had once been a single family home. Now it contained three condos, one on each floor. Though I’d been in the second level unit for more than five years, I didn’t know the third floor occupant. There was a name on the mailbox, but whoever lived there was so quiet that the apartment might as well have been empty. That made the ruckus from above all the more alarming.

With as much speed as I could manage, I negotiated the winding staircase and knocked on the red-painted door.

“Hello? Is everything okay?”

“Humph—um—yeah.” A man’s voice, muffled, possibly in pain. “Yeah, I think so. Come on in. It’s open.”

The brass knob turned easily. I opened the door to a scene of chaos.

The living room had the same layout as my own, and like mine, was lined with bookshelves. Where I had my worn but treasured Persian carpets, the wooden floor here was bare. Across the planks, its base near the front window and its top-most needles almost brushing my sneakers, stretched a fir tree so tall and bushy I couldn’t imagine how it had gotten there.

A tinsel garland looped around the top, then trailed off over the furniture. A few ornaments still clung to the branches, but most had been scattered to the far corners of the room. Fortunately they appeared to be wood or clay rather than the fragile glass confections I recalled from my childhood.

The scent of balsam hung in the air. Evergreen needles littered the floor. A coffee cup, apparently knocked off a table by the falling tree, lay in a brown puddle near the fireplace.

“Made quite a mess, haven’t I?” A chuckle came from the far side of the room, an area hidden by the massive tree. “I should know better, at my age.” A male figure rose from behind the curtain of green, shaking his head and rubbing his elbow. “Banged myself up a bit, too. I always tend to overdo things.” He flashed me an apologetic smile. “Sorry to disturb you with all the noise.”

“That’s okay,” I replied automatically. “I wasn’t disturbed.” But I was disturbed, profoundly so, as I surveyed my upstairs neighbor. He had to be at least my age, but he exuded a kind of vitality rare even in men decades younger. His lean, wiry body seemed ready to leap into action. He’d pulled his gray-streaked hair into a low ponytail. The style gave him the look of an artist or maybe a revolutionary. His silver earring, Che Guevara tee shirt and faded jeans heightened that impression.

Webs of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and his mouth suggested he smiled often. Certainly he was smiling now, as he righted the metal step-ladder he’d been using to decorate the tree and used that to maneuver his way over the wall of bristling green that separated us.

“I’m Nick.” He offered his hand. I just stood there, speechless—me, the wordsmith who always had something to say—transfixed by the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. Sensations I’d almost forgotten flooded my body. My cheeks burned. My nipples knotted under my sweater. A sweet pressure throbbed in my pelvis. My sensible cotton panties might even be damp, inside my sweat pants.

Uncharacteristically nervous, I ran my fingers through my cropped gray curls. If only I hadn’t listened to Jacquie. She’d insisted that long hair looked silly on a woman of my age. How did I end up with such a conservative daughter?

“Are you all right?” my companion asked, his voice full of warmth and concern. I shook myself out of my trance. I didn’t want him to think I was an idiot.

“Um—yes, sorry. I’m just amazed. By your tree, I mean.” I grasped his outstretched hand, noting the strength in his long fingers. “How did you ever manage to get it up here?”

He shrugged. “A friend and I wrestled it up the stairs. And of course they trussed it up in rope so we could take it away. It looked a lot smaller on the lot.” He gave me a rueful grin that made those astonishing eyes sparkle. “Guess I should have gotten a more heavy duty base.”

I glanced around the room, going into the problem solving mode so familiar from plotting my stories. He had a bay window like mine, which was where he’d been trying to set up the tree, but no window seat. Wrought iron tieback hardware protruded the window frame on either side, the remnants of some long-vanished fancy draperies. Just the thing.

“Do you have any rope? We could stabilize the trunk using those brackets.”

“Great idea!” I felt blessed when he beamed at me. “Let me dig around in the kitchen. Meanwhile, see if you can find someplace to sit—I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name…”

“Emma. Emma Granger. From downstairs.”

“Delighted to meet you, Emma. Be right back.”

He strode off toward the back of the apartment, all energy and muscle. I perched on a stool near the door, taking deep breaths and trying to calm my racing heart. My reaction to Nick’s physicality astonished me. I’d thought I was long past this sort of crazy arousal.

Buy Links

Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N6JJIQD/

Amazon UK - https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01N6JJIQD/

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/691291

Barnes and Noble - http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/gray-christmas-lisabet-sarai/1125380853?ean=2940153925790

Kobo - https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/gray-christmas

Apple Books: https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id1189334886

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/33550862-gray-christmas

Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks.

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The man who broke her heart into a million pieces - #KU #SecondChanceRomance #BDSMRomance #ChristmasRomance

When Christmas is Cancelled is the latest release from romance author Lucy Felthouse. It is available in eBook and paperback from Amazon, and will be in Kindle Unlimited for 90 days only. After then it will come out of Kindle Unlimited and go onto other retailers, so if you wish to read it as part of your KU subscription, add it to your shelf ASAP.

Blurb

When Rosie does a good deed on Christmas Day, she's not expecting to come face to face with her very own ghost of Christmas past.

Rosie Kilbride's festive plans are derailed when her mother calls on Christmas Eve to postpone their family get together due to illness. Left with a surplus of food and no one to eat it with, Rosie contacts Ingrid, a local café owner, to find out if she still needs volunteers for the charity Christmas meal she's organising. Ingrid jumps at the chance, and on Christmas morning Rosie heads out, anticipating a busy but pleasant day doing something nice for others, followed by a meal of leftovers with her fellow volunteers.

Unfortunately, on being introduced to the café's kitchen staff, she discovers the head chef is none other than Luke Adams, the man who broke her heart into a million tiny pieces ten years ago. And she's got to work with him. Despite her inner turmoil, there's no way she'll let Ingrid and the diners down, so she's determined to grin and bear it. It's just a few hours, after all.

When the day is almost done, tiredness and hunger kick in, and emotions start to run high. Can Rosie get away unscathed, or will she be forced to deal with Luke and all the feelings his presence has dredged up?

When Christmas is Cancelled is a standalone M/F steamy contemporary romance with second chance, age gap and BDSM themes.

Buy Links

Amazon/KU: https://books2read.com/wcic

Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/218589869-when-christmas-is-cancelled

Add on BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/when-christmas-is-cancelled-a-m-f-steamy-contemporary-second-chance-romance-by-lucy-felthouse

Excerpt

As was usual for their part of middle England, there was no white Christmas. Just a sky full of gloomy grey clouds, which were letting loose a weak, persistent drizzle. Preferable to p***ing it down, I suppose. She made her way into town, her mood lifting at the sight of the festive lights strung on the homes and businesses, the cheery decorations and Santa Stop Here signs stuck into people’s front lawns and flowerbeds. Excitement would no doubt be reigning in those homes, as young children pounced on their piles of presents and began an unwrapping frenzy, while exhausted, bemused parents clutched mugs of strong coffee and watched on from the sidelines.

Of course, not everyone was so fortunate, which was why Ingrid’s scheme was such a good one. A desperately needed one, in some cases. People ended up by themselves on Christmas Day for a multitude of reasons—she was a testament to that fact. Some might even prefer it. But for those who didn’t, those who would cherish—possibly even be desperate for—the company as much as the food, today’s event might well be the highlight of their festive season. The only bright spot in an otherwise dull, lonely few days.

She smiled. Her own Christmas plans might have gone t*ts up, but being even a tiny cog in a machine that would make a collection of deserving people happy was something to feel good about. She’d also been able to answer her mother’s anxious question about where she was going truthfully: “To Ingrid’s. She’s already got a big group in, so one more wasn’t a problem. Should be a damn good spread.”

She’d scurried off then, hoping if her mother’s virus-addled brain allowed her to actually remember what Ingrid had been doing on Christmas Day for the last few years—and she definitely knew, as she’d donated money each time—it’d be too late to pass comment.

Granted, she’d be helping to serve forty people their meals before getting so much as a crumb of a roast potato herself, but that was a small price to pay.

Conscious she was already a little behind schedule, thanks to her mother’s wittering, she put her right foot down a smidgen harder. Soon, she pulled up outside the front door of the café. The town, unsurprisingly, was completely deserted, so she didn’t worry about anyone complaining about her parking. It was only temporary, while she unloaded all her goodies. She gave a couple of light bips on her car horn before killing the engine, taking off her seatbelt and getting out of the vehicle. She closed the door, then zipped her coat and pulled up the hood against the cold and wet. By the time she was around at the boot, opening it to reveal tinfoil-covered trays and plastic containers galore, Ingrid appeared beside her, looking every inch the festive host, in her sparkling boots, glittery leggings, snowman-festooned knitted jumper, reindeer earrings, and headband with a sprig of mistletoe hanging off it.

“Morning,” Ingrid said with a warm smile, before wrapping her in a hug. “Merry Christmas. I’m really sorry about your mum and dad not being well, but I’m definitely not sorry you’re here. We were already stretched, and now one of my waitresses has phoned, saying she’s poorly and can’t come. So your extra pair of hands is very much needed—and appreciated.”

She returned her friend’s embrace, then let go and stepped back. “Merry Christmas, Ingrid. I’m glad to be here. Sorry I’m a bit late. I’ve just dropped some food parcels off at Mum and Dad’s, along with their presents, so they’re all set for a couple of days. Poor things are still feeling rough as anything. Food wise, whatever was left that I couldn’t safely freeze, or was way too much for me to eat alone over the next few days, I brought. So there’s a lovely joint of beef, potatoes, vegetables, a chocolate roulade, and a bunch of mince pies and jam tarts. The last three are homemade—not shop bought.”

Ingrid narrowed her eyes. “You made chocolate roulade, mince pies and jam tarts? You surely didn’t need all that just for the three of you? I know folks like to stuff their faces at Christmas, but come on…”

“All right, all right,” Rosie said with a laugh, holding her hands up. “You got me. I’d already started on the roulade when I got the call from my parents to say they were ill, and was going to make a batch of mince pies, since they’re my dad’s favourite. But in the disappointment of having my plans derailed, I drowned my sorrows in baking. Happy now?”

Ingrid responded by reaching into the car boot and scooping up two big containers. She licked her lips exaggeratedly and wiggled her eyebrows. “Bl**dy ecstatic. I love mince pies.” With that, she turned neatly on her heel and hurried inside.

Chuckling to herself, Rosie followed suit. The warm, cosy café was already a hive of activity with the tables being set, Christmas crackers added to each place setting, and people whizzing here, there and everywhere. The place had been decorated for the festive season to within an inch of its life since early December, but Rosie spotted at least a handful more decorations she didn’t recognise from when she’d popped in a couple of weeks earlier to drop off hers and her customers’ donations for the very meal she was now helping with—as well as treating herself to coffee and a slice of cake. She was normally a more regular patron, even if it was just a takeaway, but the run up to Christmas had been hectic in the shop, so she hadn’t had the chance to pop in.

“Leave them there, hon,” Ingrid said, pointing to the counter, where she’d already deposited the two boxes she’d carried in. “We’ll get everything in pronto, so you can park your car, then I’ll introduce you to everyone and get you all set up in your role for the day.”

“No worries,” she replied, setting her load down and following Ingrid back out the door to her car.

It wasn’t long before she slammed her boot closed and gave Ingrid a wave as she slid into the driver’s seat and drove to the car park at the end of the road. Her vehicle safely parked and securely locked, she hurried back to the café—picking up her pace and hunching deeper into her coat as the drizzle turned heavier.

She burst through the front door to the sound of Christmas music blaring out. Some of the other helpers were singing and dancing as they worked. It looked as though the party had already started—and the guests weren’t even expected to show up for another couple of hours.

“Ah, there you are,” Ingrid said, appearing from nowhere. “Let’s get your coat and bag hung up out the back. I thought given you enjoy baking, you’d be particularly useful in the kitchen, if that’s all right with you? Unless you’d prefer to be at front of house?”

“No, if you need me in the kitchen, I’m totally fine with that. Use me however you see fit.”

Her belongings stowed, and her own funky headband—a tiny, jaunty elf hat with an even tinier jingle bell affixed to its pointy end—settled in place, she straightened her oversized jumper, a knitted affair with gingerbread men and candy canes all over it, as she followed Ingrid. After being introduced to the wait staff she didn’t know—the others worked in the café normally, so they were already acquainted—she and Ingrid made their way towards the kitchen.

Ingrid pushed open the ‘in’ door to reveal a bunch of people already working hard, despite the fact there weren’t yet any diners. The clatter of trays, the rhythmic tapping of vegetables being chopped, and the whir of food processors filled the air—as did intense heat and the delicious scent of roasting meat.

“I’ve left the organisation in here entirely to my head chef for the day, since he knows what he’s doing. He’s the best there is. He works in some fancy place in the city, but somehow managed to wangle today off to help us out. Let’s go and introduce you, and he can decide where he needs you the most, okay?”

Rosie nodded, then tailed Ingrid as she made a bee-line for a man in a white chef’s jacket, and black and white checkered trousers. Rather than the tall, white hat one would usually expect a head chef to be wearing, he had on a Santa hat. He was tall, dark-haired, and had his broad back to them as he worked away at something on one of the stainless-steel surfaces.

“Hey, Chef,” Ingrid said as they drew close, “got your last pair of hands here. She’s good in the kitchen and ready to work.”

The man stopped what he was doing, wiped his hands on a tea towel and turned to them with a smile, which quickly faded as recognition kicked in.

“Rosie,” Ingrid said, indicating her head chef, “this is—”

“Luke Adams,” she interrupted, staring in disbelief at the man who’d broken her heart into a million pieces a decade ago. The very same heart which was now skipping like a rabbit on speed and sending heat rushing into her cheeks. F**k. Merry f**king Christmas to me.

About the Author

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award), The Persecution of the Wolves, Hiding in Plain Sight, Curve Appeal, Not That Kind of Witch and The Heiress’s Harem and The Dreadnoughts series. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 175 publications to her name. Find out more about her and her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/linktree

Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.

 

You’re in luck! #FridayThe13th #Giveaway #Superstition

Happy Friday! So, it does happen to be the 13^th of December. Some people believe that when the 13^th of the month falls on a Friday, bad luck or disasters will ensue. Well, I say: humbug!

Believing this sort of superstition can be a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you expect to be unlucky, you’ll see even minor setbacks as evidence of the day’s evil omen. All too often, what we expect, we receive. Or looked at another way, we see what we receive through the lens of our expectations.

Anyway, I’m determined to make Friday the 13^th lucky for you. So I am giving away a PRINT COPY of Raw Silk to one person who leaves me a comment on this post. I’ll send you the book via Amazon, so you must be willing to share your postal address (privately of course). Also, you need to include an email in your comment so that I can contact you if you’re the winner.

Not sure if you want a copy of the book? Check out my MFRW Book Hooks post from last Wednesday. https://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2024/12/like-morning-mist-off-river-mfrwhooks.html

Don’t let good luck pass you by!