Showing posts with label human trafficking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label human trafficking. Show all posts

Sunday, November 24, 2019

Charity Sunday: KIND (Kids in Need of Defense) - #CharitySunday #immigrants #legaldefense


Charity Sunday banner

I’ve been really busy this month – as the holidays approach, I suspect that’s true of most of you – but I didn’t want to let November go by without a Charity Sunday post. After all, this is the month where we particularly celebrate gratitude, when we’re more aware than ever of our own blessings, and want to share.

My chosen charity for today is KIND – Kids In Need of Defense. This organization, founded more than ten years ago with support from Microsoft and Angelina Jolie, has a very specific focus: providing legal services and assistance to unaccompanied children caught in the U.S. detention system. KIND organizes pro-bono representation for kids who have been separated from their families, children facing deportation and children who’ve been trafficked. They also work at the policy and education level, for more humane and responsive laws and regulations that do not further victimize migrant and trafficked youth.


My heart aches for the thousands of kids torn from their families and trying to survive in hellish conditions in immigration detention centers. I’m deeply ashamed that my country is responsible for this human rights catastrophe. Of course, none of us can change the system alone, but I believe that every bit helps. Hence, I will give two dollars to KIND for every comment I receive on this post.

Meanwhile, as usual, I have an excerpt for your entertainment and to thank you for visiting. I don’t have any stories about immigrant children in the U.S., but here’s a bit from Refuge, which takes place in a refugee camp on the Thai/Myanmar border.



She found me the next morning. I was sitting on the steps of the barracks, reviewing Daeng’s last letter. I insisted that he write to me, even though we talked by phone once a week. He needed the practice. I always sent his letters back, with spelling corrections. I was determined that, somehow, I’d help him go to university. That was the only way to save him from the trap I was in.

I had expected excitement and gratitude from her, but her face was twisted by worry.

Hello, sir...” she began, tentative.

Nu. You can call me Nu. And your name?”

People call me Preean.” She pronounced it as two syllables.

Pleased to meet you, Preean.” I tried to put her at ease. She stood there with her eyes downcast, her hands knotted together nervously. I stuffed the letter in my shirt pocket and waited for her to speak.

Sir... Khun Nu... thank you so much for the pencil and paper.”

Never mind. I think you needed it more than I did.”

Still—your kindness means a lot, to me and to the children.”

Forget it. Really.”

She raised her eyes. I was startled to see that they were dark blue, like dusk behind the mountains. Also they were glistening with tears. “I need to ask your help again. Something much more serious.”

On impulse, I grasped her hands, gently releasing her tense grip. Her nails were bitten down to the quick. The creases in her palms were embedded with grime. Nevertheless, her skin was deliciously soft. Sympathetic tears pricked at my eyes. “What is it? How can I help you?”

It’s Su. One of the children. She’s very sick. Diarrhea and a high fever.”

Did you bring her to the infirmary?”

They said it was probably just some bad fish. That they couldn’t do anything. I think she needs to go to the hospital. She’s burning up.”

The hospital? In Mae Sot? That’s more than two hours away!”

I went to ask the commander for permission to take her. He wouldn’t even let me into his office.”

She tried to kneel before me. I stopped her, terribly embarrassed, not to mention worried that someone would see her. “Please, Khun Nu. She’s much worse today than she was last night. She doesn’t even know who I am.”

What can I do? I started to answer. I can’t do anything. I’m practically a prisoner here myself. But the desperation and hope I saw mingled in her face stopped my voice.

We would need a jeep...” I remembered when the commander sent Kai and me to town, a month ago, to pick up mail and supplies. Maybe I could convince him that we needed to make another run.

Let me see what I can do. I’ll let you know. Where can I find you?”

If you can get a jeep, tie this around one of the supports on the water tower.” She held out the shoelace that had been securing her ponytail. It has once been red. Her jet locks flowed over her shoulders in a shimmering cascade. A lump gathered in my chest as I gazed at her, so small and vulnerable, so brave. “I’ll meet you at the turn off for Baan Huay Bua, half a kilometer along the road. Around noon.”

But how...?”

She smiled. “There are exits. Gaps in the barbed wire. Places where it’s rusted away. We all know them.”

Then why don’t you leave?” I imagined her, free, dressed in bright, clean clothing, laughing with friends. Teaching in an actual school.

Where would I go? My village across the border? It’s gone, burned to the ground by the generals’ thugs. My parents were murdered. My sisters were raped. I have no idea where they are now. Without an identity card, I can’t get a decent job. Oh, maybe I could make it to Bangkok or Phuket and work in a bar. Flirt in exchange for drinks. Have sex with tourists. Would that really be any less of a prison than here?”

All proceeds from sales on Smashwords 
will be donated to Amnesty International








Don’t forget to leave a comment. 
Every one helps kids stuck in legal limbo.

Wednesday, September 12, 2018

Love, Lust and Murder -- #romance #suspense #hooker #Dominant @maszyd

Saranac Lake, the Adirondacks
Saranac Lake, the Adirondacks

By Mia Frances (Guest Blogger)

If you’re a writer searching the web trying to find what constitutes the elements of a good story, you'll probably come up with character, setting, plot, conflict, and resolution. For romance writers that often translates into boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back, and they both live happily ever after. Nice, but not for me. There is nothing like a little murder and mayhem to spice up a story. 

The romances I write start out normally enough. My heroines are nerdy and inexperienced. My heroes are strict, alpha males drowning in money.

In my In His Keeping series, my heroine, Sylvie, is down on her luck. She came to New York to be a rising star in the publishing industry only to find herself working as a waitress in a greasy spoon that gets shut down by the Health Department for code violations. Unemployed, she's being thrown out of her apartment and is on the verge of starvation. She needs a job, and is willing to take anything she can get. That's how she winds up being the live-in research assistant of surly best-selling author, billionaire entrepreneur Connor Hudson.

I decided to set what I thought would be a stand-alone book in the Adirondack Mts. since I came up with the idea when I happened upon the tiny Westport, NY train station there. Built in the late 1800s or early 1900s, it's a lonely place, set off by itself. The kind of place where a sad, scared, desperate person might get off a train. Riding through the mountains I saw a number of rustic log mansions that I thought might work as my hero's residence in the book. Then I spotted one on a distant bank of Saranac Lake. It was in a clearing carved out of the forest. Isolated, it could barely be seen from the road without binoculars. It was the perfect house for my reclusive billionaire writer.

I had the characters and the setting…so far so good! Now I needed a plot and some conflict. Conflict between the characters? Sure! The reappearance of an old boyfriend or girlfriend? A breakup? Maybe a stalker? No! Not dramatic enough! I knew that eventually my hero and heroine would wind up together and live happily ever after, but the devil is always in the details. How would they get their happy ending? How was their love going to be threatened and tested? That's when I decided to add a touch of murder to their making out.

I'd written about murder before, but it wasn't in a romance novel. Not unless you consider a homicidal maniac librarian who kills people to get the blood necessary to bring her demon lover to life a romance. And you think being dragged off to hell constitutes a HEA. The more I thought about it, the more intriguing the idea of a murder became. Before I knew it my story had morphed into a series; my killer had became a serial killer, who left a trail of bodies in his wake; my rich boy hero was suspected of committing the murders; and my heroine was bound and determined to solve the case. Readers tell me they really like the steamy sex scenes in my books, but what really keeps them reading and turning pages is the mystery. Everybody wants to know who dunnit.

My latest book, Little Girl Lost, was easier to write than some of my others because I knew from the beginning where I was going with it. I'd seen a news show on TV about two young girls being abducted from Ohio and coerced into prostitution. They taken to truck stops and forced to have sex with the truckers. I decided an investigation of an abduction and human trafficking would make a good basis for a romantic suspense novel. I did a lot of research on the topic before I actually sat down to write it.

I'd seen a program on what happens to foster care kids after they age out of the system and wanted to make my heroine, Ali, an ex foster care kid. There'd been an article in our local newspaper about a library in the area that started a free pre-K program for children whose parents were too poor to pay to send there children to a traditional preschool. That's when I decided to make Ali a librarian. I felt I owed it to the profession after the librarian character I'd created in Worship the Night. Ali was bounced from placement to placement as a kid, never having a permanent home. The trauma of it has stayed with her. She struggled to make a life for herself after leaving foster care, working her way through college by taking care of an irascible old lady and then living in a garage so she can save up for a home of her own, a forever home. Hard working and with a heart of gold, she becomes a youth librarian and develops programs at her library for at-risk kids.

That's where she meets up with a young foster kid named Peeky. They form a bond. Ali wants to help the girl just like she'd once been helped by a caring librarian. When the girl runs away, Ali goes after her. She winds up in Douglas, Wyoming, the last place the girl was known to have been before suddenly disappearing.

Peeky had kept in contact with Ali during her cross-country sojourn. She'd sent Ali a picture of the jackalope statue after arriving in Douglas and followed it up with two texts, but after that…nothing!

Ali's determined to find her and when the police seem unwilling to help, she takes matters into her own hands and runs afoul of county sheriff Zac McHenry. He thinks she's a hooker when he catches her sneaking around the local truck stop in a skirt that barely covers her butt. When she mistakes him for an attacker and slams him in the groin with her purse he arrests her. Zac is used to being in control and being obeyed, but he's never gone toe to toe with somebody like Ali before. She refuses to be intimidated. Zac is leery of women and lives like a monk, avoiding the opposite sex. His first wife was unfaithful and walked out on him when he was in the hospital recovering from devastating war wounds that left him scarred both physically and emotionally. Every woman he's met since then seems to be more interested in his money and the prestige and power his name brings than they are in him. He may be a county sheriff, but he comes from one of the richest families in Wyoming and is worth hundreds of millions of dollars.

He and Connor could be brothers. The are both dominant, demanding, and used to being in charge. They make the rules and expect absolute obedience. They find modern independent women, who speak their mind, and follow their own instincts, perplexing. In need of correction and a firm hand. But my heroines are anything but quietly complaint. They're strong, brave, determined women, who'll accept a man's love and protection as long as it doesn't interfere with them thwarting a killer or killers. Neither Sylvie nor Ali flinch in the face of danger. They're smart enough to figure out the clues and follow the evidence. You might be shocked to learn that the heroes in my books don't actually catch the bad guys…the girls do!

Even with all the killers, kidnappers, traffickers, and corpses that turn up in my novels, they're still love stories…tales filled with romance and passion. Sylvie and Ali are like modern day Cinderellas. They've risen from the cinders to find their Prince Charmings and are on their way to a happy ending. How's that for a plot?



In His Keeping: Taken

Sylvie Jenkins has fallen on hard times. She's lost her job, her apartment, and is down to her last can of peas! Desperate, she agrees to take a job with reclusive writer Connor Hudson at his isolated mountain retreat in upstate New York. Sylvie assumes he's a poser, a writer wannabe. She has no idea he's actually a bestselling author and billionaire entrepreneur. Mr. Hudson is a dour, dominant, and demanding boss. He issues orders and expects her to obey them, but Sylvie has a rebellious streak and gives him a hard time. She doesn't like playing power games, especially not with him. She bristles at his condescending attitude toward women in general and her in particular. As far as she's concerned Connor Hudson though male model handsome is a jackass.

Connor can't believe the cheek of this sassy little imp! He's used to women fawning all over him, begging to do his bidding. But his wealth and position don’t impress or intimidate her. He finds her indifference toward him intriguing. He's never known a woman who didn't welcome his advances…until Sylvie. She ignores him, when she isn’t arguing, or cursing him under her breath. This alpha male decides his feisty assistant needs taming. And he’s just the man to do it. He's determined to make her obedient, respectful, and submissive.

Sylvie eventually succumbs to his charms and against her better judgement finds herself falling in love with Connor. But something's wrong. He says he can't love her. Not now! Not ever! He’s keeping secrets. The cops think he's a serial killer. His ex girlfriends keep turning up dead! Is this strict, sexy alpha male a cold-blooded killer?







Little Girl Lost

Wyoming sheriff Zac McHenry is fit to be tied. A new "working girl" just showed up at the local truck stop, ruining his stakeout. There's been an influx of transients passing through the county lately. Bringing an epidemic of drugs, crime, and vice with them. The last thing he wants is another hooker setting up shop in town. He's determined to send her packing. He's 6' 4" and she's a little bit of a thing. How hard could it be? But getting rid of her isn't as easy as he thought.
When he barges into her motel room, she thinks he's an attacker and wallops him with her purse. He arrests her for assaulting an officer and hauls her off to jail.

Zac soon realizes things aren't what they seem. Ali is no hooker…she's actually a youth librarian from upstate New York. Much to Zac's dismay, she's also well connected. She's friends with several state and federal judges who intercede on her behalf. He's forced to let her go. Thinking she'll leave town as soon as she's released, he checks her out of her cheap motel room. But she has no intention of leaving. Ali's staking out the truck stop too. Looking for the man who picked up a 13-year-old runaway named Peeky, there a week ago. The girl attended a teen drop-in program at Ali's library and she's not leaving until she finds her.

There's a rodeo in town and her room's already been rented out. In fact, there are no rooms to be found anywhere in the area for the next several days. Ali's temporarily homeless and its all Zac's fault! There's only one thing to do…she'll just have to move in with the sheriff until she can find another place to stay. Zac thinks his houseguest is a foul-mouthed, ill-tempered hellion. She thinks he's an interfering, arrogant bully. But when they work together to investigate a case of kidnapping, human trafficking, and murder...sparks begin to fly. Is this any way to start a romance?






Excerpt from Little Girl Lost

She had to get into her room and lock the door before he caught up with her….

"Hold up! Hold up!"

"What the hell? Her heart began thumping in her chest. A hold up? Did he mean to rob her? Or worse? Holy shit! He was right behind her! She grabbed the room key out of her pocket and lunged at the door. Hands shaking, she got the key in the lock and turned it. As soon as the door was ajar, a huge paw of a hand shoved it all the way open.

"I'm Sher…" before he could finish, Ali let out a scream, loud enough to wake the dead in the next county.

She quickly slipped the heavy bag off her shoulder and turned on him, first throwing the hot coffee in his face, then slamming the end of her satchel-style purse into his crotch. He bellowed in pain, sounding like an angry moose. The pain was so intense he paled then staggered. She hadn't stopped him, only slowed him down a little. And not for long. He was flailing his arms, one hand trying to wipe the burning coffee from his eyes, while the other reached for his testicles. Before he could move his hands to protect his balls, she swung the bag back, then forward, walloping him again, only this time harder! He groaned in agony, dropping to his knees. A few seconds later, he was howling in pain and making gagging sounds like he was gonna puke. Wanting to make sure he didn't get up again, she swung the bag and hit him upside the head. He felt like his skull was exploding. Stars and sparkles of light danced in front of him as he crumpled to the floor; sprawled on his belly across the threshold.

Ali looked down, trying to get her breathing under control. She was so scared she was hyperventilating. The last thing she needed was to pass out now. She had to get out of here before he came to. She couldn't step around him or over him. He was huge! She'd have to walk on him to make her escape out the door. That wasn't going to be easy…he was writhing on the floor like a snake! She started yelling for help at the top of her lungs.

She grabbed the doorjamb for support and stepped up on his shoulder. From there it was one step to the middle of his back, then another to his ass and then she'd be out the door, safe and home free. She was about to take the next step when she heard an enraged growl. Before she knew what was happening his body shifted, his shoulder lifting. She lost her footing and he threw her off. Ali shrieked even louder as she fell backward into the room. Landing with a thud on her butt and causing excruciating pain in her ankle. She watched in terror as he struggled to his knees. His face was red and contorted in rage, his burning eyes glaring at her with fury. She let out another bloodcurdling scream. "Help! Help! He's going to kill me!" she wailed as she scrabbled back away from him. Her right hand plunged into her purse and began searching frantically for the pepper spray and her stun gun flashlight. She pulled them out and brandished them in front of him, but that only seemed to piss him off more. She was still screaming when she heard running footsteps.

"What's going on here?" a loud, authoritative voice demanded to know. A tall dark-haired man wearing a brown Stetson and a sheriff's badge appeared outside the door.

"This man broke into my room," she choked out. "He tried to attack me!"

"Like hell I did!" He turned his head to face the man.

The officer's mouth gaped open. "Sheriff, what in God's name happened to you?"

"Sheriff?" her eyes widened in disbelief. Oh shit!

"This…this…" he struggled to find the words. "This she-devil happened to me."

About the Author

Mia Frances is the pen name of author Mary Vigliante Szydlowski. She writes across several genres using different pseudonyms. As Mia Frances, she's the author of the steamy romantic suspense novel, Little Girl Lost and the IN HIS KEEPING erotic romance, murder mystery thriller series: IN HIS KEEPING: TAKEN, IN HIS KEEPING: BANISHED, and IN HIS KEEPING: CLAIMED.

Her Science Fiction/Fantasy works include novels: The Ark (Jarl Szydlow), The Colony (Mary Vigliante), The Land (Mary Vigliante), Source of Evil (Mary Vigliante), and a novella, The Hand of My Enemy (Mary Vigliante Szydlowski)

As Mary Vigliante Szydlowski, she's also the author of dark fantasies: Dark Realm and Worship the Night, mainstream novel Silent Song, and seven children's books: Ghoul School, Millie Muldoon & the Christmas Mystery, Millie Muldoon & the Case of the Thanksgiving Turkey-napper, A Puddle for Poo, Kia's Manatee, The Duck in the Hole, and I Can't Talk, I've Got Farbles In My Mouth.

Her short stories, articles, children's stories, essays, and poems have appeared in anthologies, books, magazines, newspapers, and on the web.

She is a member of the Authors Guild, RWA (Romance Writers of America), SCBWI (Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators), and SFWA (Science Fiction Fantasy Writers of America).

Social Media Links










Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Body of Secrets, Body of Lies

By Tori St. Claire (Guest Blogger)

[Lisabet asked: How do you do research for a thriller about human trafficking and Russia? Do you have any experience with this?]

*Laugh!* I’ve been asked and asked about research on Stripped. I love how you presented this to me!

Well, you dig and dig and dig on the Internet. Not just the sites that crop up on an initial search, but digging deeper, looking at old CIA news / reports, looking at similar crimes that have taken place. There’s a lot of information available on human trafficking in general, and that’s an easy starting point. Russia is a bit more inherent for me. My mentor is a Russian immigrant, and I heard stories in general, that fed an early fascination with the country. Another very close friend of mine had a passion for anything Russian and I learned by osmosis – when every other sentence relates somehow to the country, stuff sticks in weird places in the head. Third, one of my college best friends was from a Russian village in Alaska, and that just kept the love of the country alive, plus gave me some stuff to work with for Stripped ;)

One of the things though that’s important to understand, I’m from Kansas City, and just before I was born, Kansas City was a mafia playground. In fact, my earliest years came at the culmination of the power here. Chicago saw its days and is fabled for Capone, et all, but those influences stayed strong in Kansas City. It is nothing like it was now, not in any shape or form, but there’s still “families”. Not so much crime as it was, but those who remember. Moscow, in many ways, still shares that influence. Well… let me back up. Moscow exceeds that influence by leaps and bounds. If you need protection, you go to one of the mafias in Moscow. If you need a “solution” you go to one of the mafias. This just made it an easy link… it then became a task of researching the different Moscow and Russian organizations until I found one that had the capability to fit my fictitious needs.

I don’t have any personal experience with human trafficking, but I pay attention to the media. I know that the USA is more commonly a “destination” country, not necessarily a “source” country, which I had to play with a little to make it fit the premise of my story. That’s frankly why I went with the stripper aspect, but… and I certainly don’t want to delve into stereotypes, but bear with me…

Where I live currently, strippers are not the attractive beauties that you might see in a high-end club in Las Vegas. In fact, and I have no idea if this is still true, but the club that is closest to my home was known for, about 10 years ago, the addiction to cocaine many of the women had, and the physical result of this addition was not particularly pleasing to the eye. I don’t frequent strip clubs, and have recently learned that in some portions of the country strip clubs are a “club” that both men and women go to as I might go to a dance club. (Part of this may be related to the fact that Missouri is still part of the Bible Belt.)

Given my foundation in what a strip club was, I wanted a little more class that what surrounds me. So I ported the setting to the place of fantasies – Vegas – where I could pretty much do what I wanted within reason, in my club. I chose strip clubs, as opposed to prostitution, because I wanted to touch on the stereotype that “If someone’s going to go missing and not be missed” it might happen in the world of stripping. Chances are far higher it would happen with prostitution… but that was too stereotypical for me.

To tie it all together, I needed a place where women taken from the US might hold appeal. The vast majority of places that work with human trafficking use the US as a destination therefore they aren’t going to port women in to the country they operate out of. For instance, the Bratva isn’t going to transport an American to Russia, they’ll transport a Russian to America. Other countries where it’s far more prevalent wouldn’t find an American attractive enough to engage in the habit. But Dubai… now that’s a world of riches and readily embraces Western influences. American slaves fit well with a broad perception.

I did have a few resources I polled about possibilities, theoreticals, and concepts. And like Natalya… if I shared those secrets, I’m afraid I’d have to eliminate you ;)

[Lisabet asked: Do you use your own fantasies in your books? Is there something of you in Natalya?]

(I want to answer this question, because I find it entertaining, but it’s not worth a full blog discussion.)

The short answer is no. But it amuses me how often I’m asked this. I’m a single woman, writing erotic romance. I can’t count the number of men who’ve heard that in an introduction, and within the first ten minutes of conversation find a way to work in this question. The vast majority of them also manage to follow up my “No” with a remark along the lines of “If you need inspiration.” I joined a dating service once, and included in my bio that I was a published romance author. (I write under pen names, no harm no foul). One man even introduced himself with “If you need some help, I’m happy to provide inspiration.”

Granted, it took my boss two months to ask, but even he couldn’t resist. Laugh. (To clarify, so he doesn’t sound like a creep, he’s more a friend than employer, and he’s extremely supportive of my writing career.) Interestingly enough, my guy reads everything I write and has never once asked.


Stripped by Tori St. Claire


Blurb


Body of secrets…

As a member of the CIA’s elite, Black Opals, Natalya Trubachev must live a lie, working undercover as the lover of Dmitri, a Russian mob boss. His business is trafficking vulnerable Las Vegas strippers overseas for twisted sex games. Natalya’s business is to blow the ring wide open and bring down Dmitri and his American contacts. But the stakes are raised when she learns that the next target is her own sister Kate, a dancer in the famed club Fantasia. Only now does Natalya realize how personal her mission has become, and how far she’s willing to go to complete it.

Body of lies…

The manager of Fantasia is Brandon Moretti, an undercover detective who keeps a close eye on his girls, and an even closer one on his sinfully sensual hire. For Natalya, working the club could be the break she’s been waiting for. But for Moretti, Natalya is a possible link to a killer. Only he never counted on her being so lethally seductive or so dangerous to get close to. As every forbidden pleasure between them is stripped away, his own secrets threaten their security, but it’s Natalya’s that could destroy them both.


Excerpt

“Tell me what you want, beautiful.” His breath rasped over her cheek. Featherlight kisses accompanied the whisper, trailing across her skin in a taunting path toward her mouth.

Kiss me. She turned her head in search of lips she instinctively knew would be warm, the words on the tip of her tongue. Kiss me until I don’t care whether I live or die.

Honesty. Just once.

He caught her lower lip with his teeth, the nip nowhere near gentle. But the lazy stroke of his tongue soothed the stinging bite. She parted her lips, dipped her tongue out to touch his.

Brandon’s body tightened like a whip. The pressure in her lower back increased as his fingers curled into her skin. Their breaths mingled. The tips of their tongues met in a slow, sensual dance. As another spasm of ecstasy threatened to send her tumbling into his solid chest, she braced her hands on his shoulders.

And then Brandon was gone, the magic of his fingers disappearing as he stepped back and set both hands on her waist. His gaze scorched in to flood her body with tingles. He waited, his question unspoken, but hanging between them.

Tell me what you want.

Clearly he intended to make her admit she wanted to feel him deep inside her. Wanted to experience the slide of his bare skin against hers. And God, how she wanted to kiss him. To taste the desire that burned in his gaze and the indescribable flavor of hot, aroused man.

Confessing might lead her to an early grave, but for once, her conscious would be clear. She swallowed hard and dug deep for the courage that had kept her alive these last three years. His gaze followed the sweep of her tongue as she moistened her lips.

“Kiss me.” Her senses honed in on her whisper, amplifying it and the ragged fall of their mutual breathing. She became aware of every minuscule sound as she waited for Brandon to either dip his head and honor her request, or shove her aside with a wicked sneer.

He took a step closer, bringing their bodies in contact from chest to toes. One arm wrapped around her waist, then slid up her back to offer support between her shoulder blades. The other tangled in her hair, tipping her head back. Putting her where he wanted her—subtle dominance that thrilled her in places she hadn’t known existed.

Her womb clamped hard, sending another rush of moisture through her pussy.

His mouth descended. Warm lips played against hers, drawing her into the spell his body wove. Pulling her in so deep she struggled for air.

The sudden, brassy ring of her cell phone jolted her out of hazy desire. She froze. With Kate and Sergei due to arrive at Fantasia any minute, there could only be one other person calling at this time of day—Dmitri. It would be almost one in the morning in Moscow. The time Dmitri put aside his work and crawled into bed. He’d want to talk before he slept.

“Don’t answer that,” Brandon whispered against her mouth.

Damn if those lips weren’t compelling. She’d had his mouth on her breast, knew the incredible magic his tongue could create there, but had yet to experience the tantalizing slide of his tongue against hers. The need to feel his mouth on hers, to get lost in his potent masculinity pressed her to ignore the ringing tones.

Duty, however, rose up screaming. If she didn’t answer, Dmitri would get suspicious. “I have to.”

Bio: Tori St. Claire grew up writing. Hobby quickly turned into passion, and when she discovered the world of romance as a teen, poems and short stories gave way to full length novels with sexy heroes and heroines waiting to be swept off their feet. She wrote her first romance novel at seventeen.

While that manuscript gathered dust-bunnies beneath the bed, she went on to establish herself as a contemporary, historical, and paranormal author under the pen name, Claire Ashgrove. Her writing, however, skirted a fine line between hot and steamy, and motivated by authors she admired, she pushed her boundaries and made the leap into erotica, using the darker side of human nature and on-the-edge suspense to drive grittier, sexier, stories.

Her erotic romantic suspense novels are searingly sensual experiences that unite passion with true emotion, and the all-consuming tie that binds -- love.

Tori can be found at:

www.toristclaire.com

www.claireashgrove.com

Twitter: @claireashgrove