Steel Dominance – Dankyo’s Story

By Cari Silverwood (Guest Blogger)

The third book in my Steamwork Chronicles is out soon, on January 15^th, and this is the story of Dankyo, my Dom who emerged from Iron Dominance. I had never intended for that to happen, or at least not until I wrote the end of that book. I was even surprised at how many readers wanted to see his story told. This made it hard for me to write! I blame all you readers for my lack of fingers. I’m sure I gnawed a few down to the bone.

Dankyo was not an easy man for me to understand. To make a good story, I needed to know his weaknesses, and he wouldn’t cough up and reveal them for months and months. I persevered. I even found the perfect woman to suit his damn stubborn and introverted temperament. She’s stubborn too, a bit of a steampunk geek, yes there is such a thing, and yet she’s also craving the dominance of a man like Dankyo.

They have some nice fiery encounters, such as this one.

****

The door clicked shut behind Sofia, and Dankyo strode past. He sat on the bed, making it dip and creak, and crossed his legs, showing black socks above his black shoes. As if she wasn’t ready to strangle, emasculate, and claw him to pieces, he unlatched his suitcase, pulled out a revolver, and proceeded to check its mechanisms.

The pistol made her pause only a second. He wasn’t going to shoot her. “If that’s for me to kill you, I don’t need it. My fingernails will do.”

He grunted and unloaded, then reloaded the gun.

Two sleeping places.

Wrong, wrong, wrong. Alarms rang in her head. “Um…” She almost didn’t want the answer. “Where are you sleeping?”

“Here.” He raised one eyebrow. “I’m here. You are there.” He pointed at the bedroll.

When she only frowned and pulled a face, he added. “Again, you are pretending to be a slave. I can’t do otherwise. There’s no other room in any case. And there are servants and passengers here. I trust no one.”

So she had to sleep in the same room as him? As this gargantuan man with muscles like rocks and a body as wide as a river barge? Surreptitiously, she flicked an assessing look over Dankyo. He was nicely built. Her mother would no doubt approve. God. Snap out of it. Stop drooling. My boyfriends, when I have them, are far less…dangerous than this.

Blurb for Steel Dominance:

A brilliant researcher, Sofia must unravel the ancient puzzle of the Clockwork Warrior or her career will be in tatters. Yet the tomb of the warrior is in the dangerous city of Byzantium, inside the harem of the Emperor. She knew she’d have to pose as a slave—but not that her “owner” would be the incredibly bossy, gorgeous bodyguard she’s been assigned.

A life of military duty has left Dankyo unprepared for Sofia. He’s never met a woman quite like this. She’s smart and beautiful, and she’s something that he’s finding almost irresistible—despite the way she fights against masquerading as his slave, she’s submissive right down to the bottom of her soul. And that’s bringing out every dominant instinct in his body.

But even as he realizes she’s captured his heart, the city explodes into madness. Surviving seems impossible. Can love and a Dom who will never give up overcome sheer bloody-minded evil?

****

And here is a little sexiness to show that they do have chemistry between them as well as pistols, napalm, and hissy fits (Do Doms have hissy fits?).

This excerpt is set on the airship, Princess Kay.

****

A loudspeaker came on. “Time for disembarkation in twenty minutes. Passengers are advised to have their baggage in order.”

People either side of them moved away, and when only a few were left and Dankyo hadn’t said a word, she made to follow them. He stopped her. His hands tightened on her neck, and he shifted behind her until his lower body pressed into her buttocks.

“Stay.”

She stiffened.

Then he nipped her ear and spoke in a warm, rumbling tenor. His breath carried his words in deep to curl inside her mind and paralyze her with their power.

“This is Byzantium, where slaves do as their Masters bid them. Where no one will know if you surrender yourself to me. Not your friends; not your family.” As he spoke, he slid one hand down her front, following the curve of her breast, then lower, until the flat of his hand rested on her belly. He pulled her back against him, gentle but sure.

“Sofia, will you let me take you to the edge and beyond?”

****

COMMENT below to be in the draw to win an eBook copy of Steel Dominance.

You can increase your chances of winning by also commenting on my Release Party post on the Guilty Pleasures Book Review site on the 16^th January.

http://www.guiltypleasuresbookreviews.com/

OR on Shay McLean’s site at

http://thewickedmusetavern.wordpress.com/

I’ll be pooling together all the comments to pick the winner of the book.

Link to my books page on my website where I will put buylinks such as one to Amazon, and a link to a longer excerpt:

http://www.carisilverwood.net/books-by-cari-silverwood.html

facebook: http://www.facebook.com/cari.silverwood

twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/CariSilverwood

Sunday Snog: Reunion

I've been buried in edits, trying to get my new novel ready for submission. And I just sent it off! I'm so tempted to share one of the many kisses in Rajasthani Moon, but I don't want to tempt fate. I almost never share uncontracted work, and I already broke that rule once this week!

Instead, I'll give you the first kiss in my romantic BDSM tale, Reunion. You'll find this story in my collection Just a Spanking. It's also available as a free read on my website. 

After you savor my snog, go visit Victoria Blisse, the queen of snogging, and read her kiss and those of the other authors who are joining in the fun this Sunday!

Three years since I last saw him, and now his plane is late. I perch on the edge of the chair across from the American Airlines desk where he told me to meet him, tension winding me tighter with every moment.

It's always like this. My chest aches. It's difficult to breathe. My nipples are as taut and swollen as if he already had them wrapped in elastic bands. I try not to be distracted by the stickiness between my bare thighs. I glance at the arrivals screen. His flight has just landed. Ten minutes, fifteen at most, before I can expect him. I fill my lungs deliberately and try to slow my racing pulse.

I hover between joy and terror. It has been so long, too long. What will he think of me, the strands of gray in my hair, the new wrinkles? What will he ask of me? Will I be able to give him what he needs? I remember other reunions, too few, too short. No time for more than a few kisses, a few playful swats on my bared butt.
I remember lying on his lap in Golden Gate Park, my skirt flipped up around my waist. I can precisely recreate my shame and my excitement. I recall slouching down in the front seat of his car in a dark, sweltering parking garage, while he unbuttoned my blouse and dabbled his fingers in my cunt, naming me as his slut. A few hours every few years is all we manage, a country and my marriage separating us even as our history and our fantasies draws us together.

Today will be different. I've booked us a hotel room, in this city where neither of us live. We have the entire day. My husband waits for me at home, while I wait here in the airport for my master.

I don't call him that to his face. He'd mock me, his voice bitter. "If I were your master, I'd simply order to you leave him and come to me, and you would." He doesn't give me that order, although I suspect that he's tempted. He refrains, out of respect for me and my choices, or maybe in fear that his power over me is not as great as he would like to imagine. He spares us both, and I'm grateful, though now, waiting, burning to see him again, I almost wish that he'd put me to that ultimate test and take away the awful yearning that I feel when we're apart.

Every one of my senses is on alert, yet he manages to surprise me. I'm looking toward the gates. He comes from the other direction and calls to me softly. "Sarah."

I start and then laugh nervously. When I stand up, my bag tumbles off my lap to the floor, toys clattering inside. "You're here!" I feel clumsy, silly, stupid, but when he bends to kiss me, everything but the joy disappears. I'm flooded with it, gasping, overwhelmed.

In his limbs I feel his pitiless strength. His lips, though, are gentle, questioning. Am I still his? I melt, open my mouth and my mind to him. Does he sense the answer? Sometimes I am certain that he reads my thoughts. He laughs ironically and calls me suggestible. I don't know what to believe, which suits him perfectly. He wants me a bit off-balance.

I struggle to act normal, as if I were just meeting an old friend. "How was your flight? Did you have trouble with your connections? What about your baggage? Is that the only jacket you have? October here can be kind of chilly..."

"Hush," he says, laying a blunt finger upon my lips. "Don't chatter. Take me to the hotel."

More Than Just the Blues

By Lily Sawyer (Guest Author)

Thank you Lisabet for hosting me today. I’d like to talk about a subject that is very personal, one that I felt so strongly about that I wrote about it in my latest release From the Depths.

Depression…far from an easy subject to talk about, especially for someone who is suffering from it. It was hard for me to come to terms that I suffer from depression. I just thought it was stress and anxiety from day to day life, and that the times I’d feel all sad and like life was not worth living was something that would just go away. What is worse is not knowing who you can turn to to talk about what you’re going through. I’d been dealing with this on my own for most of my life. It wasn’t until 2002 that I finally had enough. I found a pamphlet that had contact information on it for local counseling groups. I contacted one and was assigned a counselor. It’s hard to find someone to talk to and it takes time to establish a report with a counselor. I went through several counselors to find someone that I feel comfortable with.

I went to some support groups. One of the common denominators that was brought up was how frustrating it is to try to get others to understand this is not something that is all in your head. This isn’t the blues and that all you need to do is snap out of it or decide that you’re not going to feel this way. One guy’s own counselor wasn’t being supportive either. I told him he should get another counselor, it’s hard especially if you don’t have health insurance. They tend to just stick you with someone and if you want to change to someone else they will say that you need to communicate more with the one you have and tell them what you need. That doesn’t ways work. Believe me I’ve tried it, I left one counselor because she seemed more interested in adjusting her air conditioning, using a remote control on the unit, than listening to what I had to say. It felt like I was bothering her or she had better things to do…uh, not what you’re getting paid for lady.

I don’t have any easy answers as to how you’re supposed to talk to someone who is depressed. Every depressed person is different, the only thing I can say is to try to deal with the person with compassion, understanding and most importantly, patience. And don’t try to belittle their condition by making light of it.

Two things that are currently helping me is a book on cognitive therapy and my weekly meditation class.

They say that in writing you should write what you know, or at least do that some of the time. And I thought it was finally time to write something very personal to me and that was how my latest book From the Depths came into being. It was not an easy book to write. I debated on how much I wanted to expose. I look at it now and think that either I exposed too much or not enough. I could have gone into some of the very dark places that my mind has taken me, but then I was concerned about not being able to come out of it after the writing was done. I might revisit this topic again and perhaps go to those dark places and peel back the layers, much like an onion, into a condition that many have but is hardly addressed.

Here is a blurb and excerpt from my book:

Blurb

To the world, Harry Goldberg appears to be a ordinary, happy-go-lucky man. He has a great job working at Nosh Deli on Long Island. His co-workers and customers love him. But Harry has a secret--he suffers from depression. No one understands what it's like to live life on the edge and not to be able to let anyone know for fear of driving them away. That is how Harry has led his life, alone except for his faithful cat. But things change when a new delivery man shows up at the deli; one that he finds himself attracted to. But there is no one who can love someone with so much emotional baggage like him--is there?

Excerpt

Harry had a wonderful job; he worked at a deli on Long Island. He loved to watch the looks customers gave him when he served them his special mile-high sandwich. Despite the huge piles of hot pastrami and corned beef on rye with a pickle and coleslaw on the side, they somehow left a clean plate.

The people around Harry told him that he was a likeable kind of guy with a great sense of humor. All his co-workers loved him. Truth was, he had them all fooled. When he left the deli at the end of the day he went home to an empty apartment; his only company, aside from assorted houseplants, was his cat. Tom was a grey and white shorthair Harry had rescued from the local pound. No one knew about Harry's lonely existence, just like they didn't know he suffered with depression. The only ones who knew, aside from his immediate family, were his counselor and a support group he went to from time to time.

Most people thought it was just the blues; at least that was what his parents thought at first. His mom was the worst. When Harry was fifteen, he'd buried himself in his bed and wouldn't come out. She kept telling him stop being lazy, get his ass out of bed, and snap out of it.

Unfortunately, they didn't understand what it was like to feel as he did. No one knew how much Harry wanted to be normal; he didn't want anyone's pity. No one could know the deep pain he felt. Some days it got so bad he just wanted to lie down, go to sleep, and never wake up.


* * * *


Nicholas could never stand being cooped up inside some stuffy office building. Nope, that was never going to happen. So when his uncle offered Nicholas a job with his delivery company after he graduated high school, he jumped at the chance. That was almost ten years ago--driving a truck was in his blood now.

Stern's trucking specialized in delivering kosher food to all the Jewish delis and kosher markets on Long Island and in the five boroughs of New York City.

He checked the manifest; there was a new restaurant on the list. He'd been to Carle Place before but never to Nosh Deli. But a job was a job. He'd done so many deliveries he could do them in his sleep.

He loaded up his truck in Queens Village and headed east to Long Island. He took the local roads, completely avoiding the Long Island Expressway.


* * * *


Harry was handling the lunch-hour-rush crowd. He'd lost count of how many pastrami and corned beef sandwiches he'd made and how much homemade coleslaw and potato salad he'd scooped out onto the plates.

"Can I have a chicken on whole wheat bread, please?" Harry stopped his automaton-like movements, taking notice of the customer behind the voice--a blonde woman who appeared to be in her thirties, dressed in business attire.

"Bless you. Thanks for breaking the monotony."

She laughed. "You must get tired of the same old orders every day."

Harry was on the receiving end of that brilliant smile. The woman seemed to be flirting with him. He had to admit she was an attractive woman. He noticed there was no ring on her left hand. There was one problem, though--Harry was gay. He'd known that girls didn't do anything for him that way since he was fourteen. It was one more thing his mother had nagged him about--dating women--until he came out to his parents. He couldn't say they were thrilled, but at least they didn't throw him out of the house. They just didn't talk about it. Besides, Harry hardly ever went out. He had one experimental encounter with a buddy in high school. They had given each other a hand job and that was that.

Harry's self-esteem was in the basement. Who in their right mind would want to date a guy who was a killjoy? Depression robbed Harry of being able to really enjoy life. He was glad no one at work was aware of the sad sack in their midst--and no one would find out if he could help it.

He buried himself in work, fixing orders for people like the woman who stood before him--he wouldn't let anyone get too close.

Buy Link https://spsilverpublishing.com/from-the-depths-ebook-p-1329.html?zenid=368346276b6202643d8d9839804b80a5

Bio: Author: Lily Sawyer
Website: http://lilysawyerbooks.blogspot.com/

Lily Sawyer has to credit her late mother for her interest in reading and writing. She used to take her to library and opened up to her the world of books. She took a writing class in an adult enrichment program and got hooked. She started off writing stories set in various fandoms she was interested in like Star Trek and Brokeback Mountain. After getting some encouragement from family members and friends, she finally decided it was time to write her own original stories. Lily recently returned to drawing and was in an art class. Also loves to garden and loves everything about nature. Including going to the beach and looking up at the stars.

Very New Indeed

Today's the start of our Something New, Something Naughty Blog Hop. You could win one of our grand prizes – a $60 gift certificate from EdenFantasys, or one of two $25 gift certificates from your favorite bookstore. Every comment you leave on a blog hop post between today and the 13^th of January counts as an entry toward the grand prizes.

In addition, every single one of the thirty five authors participating is offering a prize to one person who comments on her particular post. In fact, if you visit all the authors, you're almost guaranteed to win something. You find links to all participants blogs at the end of this post.

 

For my personal prize, I'm offering your choice of three recent anthologies in ebook form, each of which includes a story by me:

Switch – BDSM, includes my M/F tale Mastering Maya.

Treble – Music themed ménage, includes my M/F/M story Wild About That Thing.

Seeing Stars – Science fiction, includes my award winning M/F/M ménage Bodies of Light.

Just tell me, in your comment, which you'd prefer.

So today I have something quite naughty, and extremely new, to share with you. I just finished (yesterday!) my latest novel, entitled Rajasthani Moon. And I suspect it's quite different from anything you've read before.

Those of you who follow my blogs know that I sometimes rail against genre labels as being too restrictive. Readers come to have specific expectations for a particular genre and they get upset if those are violated. Furthermore, some readers stick to only one or two genres, never bothering to find out what they are missing.

Rajasthani Moon began as a lark. I wanted to see how many different genres I could combine in a single story. I didn't expect the effort to turn into a novel, but the more I wrote, the more ideas I had. I just couldn't fit them into the ten to fifteen thousand words I originally thought I'd produce.

What genre is this novel? Steampunk – Bollywood – BDSM – Ménage – Shapeshifter – Rubenesque. I considered adding some M/M interaction but I've found that readers of M/M really get bent out of shape when I mix gay romance with heterosexual romance.

I'm usually superstitious about sharing excerpts from unpublished (or at least uncontracted) work. However, I'm making an exception for purposes of the blog hop. Here's the blurb and an unedited naughty excerpt from Rajasthani Moon. After you read it, leave me a comment telling whether you think I'm crazy or not, writing a book like this. Be honest! I promise to draw the winner at random.

Blurb

Neither kink nor curse can stop a woman with a mission.

When the remote Indian kingdom of Rajasthan refused to remit its taxes to the Empire, Her Majesty imposed an embargo. Deprived of the energy-rich mineral viridium, essential for modern technology and development, Rajasthan was expected to quickly give in and resume its payments. Yet after three years, the rebellious principality has not knuckled under. Cecily Harrowsmith,secret agent extraordinaire, undertakes a difficult journey to the rugged, arid land of the Rajputs to determine just how it has managed to survive, and if possible to convince the country to return to the Empire's embrace. Instead, she's taken captive by a brigand who turns out to be the ruler's half brother and delivered into the hands of the sexy but sadistic Rajah Amir, who expertly mingles torture and delight in his interrogation of the voluptuous interloper.

Cursed before birth by Amir's jealous mother, the prince/bandit Pratan changes to a ravening wolf on every full moon. Cecily uncovers the counter-spell that can reverse the effects of the former queen's hex and tries to trade that information for her freedom. Drawn to the fierce wolf-man and sympathising with his suffering, she volunteers to serve as the sacrifice required by the ritual – offering her body to the beast. In return, the half-brothers reveal Rajasthan's amazing secret source of energy. Cecily has accomplished her mission. But can she really bear to leave the virile brothers and their colourful land behind and return to constraints of her life in England?

Excerpt

“Stop there, Miss Harrowsmith.” The voice was deep and mellow, with a lazy, smoky quality that reminded her of full moons and autumn bonfires. The man’s English was practically perfect. His lilting accent only added to the charm of his utterance. She found herself almost eager to obey orders delivered in such a lush voice.

“Kneel up. Let me look at you.”

Cecily tried to keep her gaze averted as she complied, though she was desperately tempted to see if the ruler was as handsome in the flesh as in his portrait.

His chuckle sent a shimmer through her, something like shame but hotter and sweeter. “Very nice indeed. If all of Queen Victoria’s minions were as delectable, we might be more willing to return to her fold.” He laughed again at his own pleasantry. “Guard – the shackles.”

One of the male attendants flanking the throne strode forward, holding two cuffs of embossed leather. A slender, silvery chain about a foot long trailed between them. In a few breaths, the restraints encircled her ankles, leaving her hobbled.

“Well, Miss Cecily Harrowsmith – look at me, woman, don’t stare at your hands like some servant girl – what have you to say for yourself? Are you ready to confess? Do you admit you’ve infiltrated our realm to spy out our secrets and force us back under the thumb of your ambitious Queen?”

The Rajah leaned forward in his chair, no more than a half-dozen feet from her. A welcoming smile lit his clean-shaven face, but his eyes were black as coal and sharp as obsidian. Jet curls adorned his forehead, peeking out from under his turban of gold brocade, and jewel-studded ornaments stretched his earlobes. His sensitive mouth and smooth cheeks made him seem somehow softer than his brother - younger, fresher, less jaded. However, the intelligence she read in his gaze quickly dispelled any notion that she was dealing with a callow youth.

Cecily struggled to muster her thoughts in the face of such outrageous male beauty.

“Sir – ah – Your Highness – I must beg your pardon and ask for your indulgence. It’s true that I came to Rajasthan to discover how your country has managed since your ill-advised refusal to share your revenues with the Crown. Her Majesty was concerned that without a steady supply of viridium, your people might well be suffering.”

Amir burst into a merry laugh. “The Queen is concerned about us poor Rajasthanis, is she? Well, as you can see, we are not suffering in the least. You can report back that her concern is misplaced. Better she should be concerned for your well-being, my lady spy.”

Cecily remained silent, suspecting that the clever Rajah would twist her words regardless of her excuses.

Amir rose from his throne to loom over her kneeling figure.

“You may know that Rajasthanis are renowned for their ferocity. The usual punishment for espionage or treason involves a distinctly unpleasant combination of branding, disembowelling and then being left out in the desert to die.” He cupped her chin and raised her eyes to his. “It would be a pity to subject such a lovely creature to that sort of - indignity – but still, there’s no question that you deserve it, is there?”

His smile grew broader but his eyes remained hard.

She swallowed her rising terror, striving for a rational, conciliatory tone. “Please, Your Highness – I’m not a spy, merely the Empire’s envoy. The Queen sent me to reopen diplomatic relations. She would like to re-establish contacts with Rajasthan, a connection between equals...”

“Really? If you’re on an official diplomatic mission, why were you travelling in disguise?”

“As you note, Sir, your countrymen are known for their violence and lawlessness. A woman openly journeying as Her Majesty’s representative would be especially vulnerable to attack by brigands and highwaymen...” Cecily stopped short, overwhelmed by memories of her time with Pratan. Her nipples knotted under the thin silk of her bodice and moisture painted her thighs. Once again embarrassment heated her face. She tried to tear her eyes from the Rajah’s but he would not allow it.

He shook his head. “I really don’t know what I should do with you.” He flipped the gauzy train of her sari off her shoulder, exposing the swollen nubs that strained the fabric of her top. “Though I imagine I’ll think of something.”

For an instant she expected him to reach for her brazenly erect nips, to pinch or twist them. She knew he’d be cruel. A shudder of anticipation raced through her. She sucked in her breath, expecting – no, craving – the debasement.

He didn’t touch her. Instead, he favoured her with an ironic grin and settled back into his chair. “Sit here, then.” He indicated a nest of pillows piled to one side of the throne. “For now, I shall pretend that you’re telling the truth, Cecily, and treat you as the honoured representative of a foreign monarch.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” Cecily released the air she’d been holding in her lungs. A bit awkward, she crawled past Amir’s feet to curl up among the cushions, her legs tucked under her. The silver chain tangled in her sari. As she tried to remedy this, she gave it a quick tug to test its strength. The delicacy of the chain was misleading. It seemed as unyielding as the robotic bonds Pratan had employed.

“The festival will begin as soon as the crescent moon rises above the palace walls.” He favoured her with another brilliant smile, his eyes softer now. “It’s quite a spectacle.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” she answered, since he seemed to expect a reply. Leaning a bit closer, close enough that she could feel the heat emanating from his silk-clad form, she lowered her voice and loaded it with honey. “But Sir – is it really necessary that I be shackled like some common criminal?” After all the effort I made to get to Rajasthan, to obtain an audience with Your Highness, do you really think it’s likely I would flee?”

“I don’t plan to give you the opportunity, my lovely. In any case, I like seeing you in chains. They suit you.” And now he did touch her, flicking a jewelled finger across one of her still-taut nipples.

A blade of pleasure sliced through her. She couldn’t control her gasp.

“You’ll find that’s one of the many things my brother and I have in common – a fondness for rendering beautiful women helpless.”

As if conjured by the Rajah’s words, a door swung open behind the thrones – Cecily could see now that although the canopy was temporary, the tiered viewing platform was built into the wall – and Pratan stepped onto the platform.

“Amir! I see that you’ve already made Miss Harrowsmith’s acquaintance, Your Highness.” Apparently heedless of royal protocol, the bandit prince bestowed an enthusiastic hug on his brother. “Be careful. She’s a caged tiger. Good evening, Cecily...”

Pratan crouched in front of Cecily and without the slightest warning, fondled her breasts.

“I – you - release me this instant, you...” Cecily sputtered, fighting the arousal that flooded her. “How dare you?” she added when he didn’t obey, only too aware of the contradictions between her words and her reactions. She gripped his arms, trying to tear his hands from her hungry flesh and noticing despite herself the way his biceps flexed under his satin tunic. He simply ignored her, crushing her aching nipples in his palms. One hand traced the line of her hips then wandered across her belly, finally coming to rest near the juncture of her thighs. All the while, he held her eyes – challenging her to deny her irrepressible lust.

Amir could scarcely contain his laughter. “Ah, brother, clearly you know our guest far more intimately than I do. But I plan to remedy that soon.”

Pratan cupped Cecily’s pubis for a moment longer. He teased a finger back and forth along the damp fabric covering her cleft before he rose to seat himself beside his brother. Cecily choked down her cry of frustration. “You’ll find it well worth your while, Amir-ji, but don’t let down your guard.”

***

Let me know your thoughts. Don't forget to leave your email address as part of your comment, and also to tell which anthology you would prefer.

Participants in the Something New, Something Naughty Blog Hop

Adriana Kraft Adriana Kraft	Alisha Paige/Ruby Vines Addicted to Genre Bending	Ann Cory Ann Cory
Cassandra Carr Hot Blogging with Heart	Cherie Noel Great Expectations	Diane Thorne Diane Thorne - Erotic Romance Author
Donna George Storey Sex, Food, and Writing	Donna Michaels Romaginative Fiction-Donna's Dish	Elise VanCise Gladiator's Pen
Harlie Williams Harlie Williams, Writer	Helena Harker Open the Door to Your Fantasies	Jennifer Wright Jennifer Wright's Blog
Justus Roux Where Love and Erotic Know No Boundaries	Kayelle Allen Unstoppable Heroes	Kelli Scott Lip Service
Kendall McKenna Love and Dog Tags	Lisabet Sarai Beyond Romance	Lisa Carlisle Lisa Carlisle's News
Lyndi Lamont Lyndi's Love Notes	M. S. Spencer M. S. Spencer Tale Spinner	Marie Sexton Marie Sexton
May Water May Water's Erotica	Michelle Moon Ink Dipped Moon	Mona Karel Mona Karel Blog
Naomi Bellina Naomi Bellina Adventurous Erotic Romance	Nicole Morgan Bringing Passion To Life	Rose Anderson Calliopes Writing Tablet
Roz Lee Roz Lee	S. Dora S. Dora	Sapphire Phelan Sapphire Phelan's Passion Corner
Stormie Kent Stormie Kent's Musings	Suz deMello Fearless, Fast-paced Fiction	Synithia Williams Synithia Williams
Victoria Pinder Victoria Pinder Romance Author	Virginia Nelson Virginia Nelson, Author

Manless in Montclair

['Tis the season for buying books, so I'm bringing you another sneak peek. Manless in Montclair by Amy Holman Edelman is free today at Amazon! ~ Lisabet]

Link: http://www.amazon.com/Manless-in-Montclair-ebook/dp/B00AI2FNV6/

Blurb
Being short with big boobs means living life off-balance. Isabel knows this all too well; at five feet nothing with a tendency to tip over in heels, she's struggled for twenty-five years to make clothes, careers and boyfriends fit. Enter Michael. Divorced father, recovering alcoholic and fifteen years her senior--he was the last guy she thought would make the cut. But when he proposed over a pastrami sandwich in a NYC deli on the anniversary of their first date, Isabel knew, improbably, that he was the one.

Fifteen mostly happy years and two kids later, Isabel walks into her living room to discover her husband dead on the floor, leaving her a widow at forty-one. At Micheal's funeral, a guest solemnly informs her that the official mourning period for a Jewish widow is thirty days. At the moment, Isabel can't imagine a time when she will stop grieving. Not helping the process is this: as a single mom living in the very married suburbs, for the first time in fifteen years Isabel once again just doesn't fit in.

It takes her four year-old daughter's request for a new daddy to set Isabel on a journey through online dating, shifty matchmakers and painfully orchestrated single dinners. But after endless dates, a torrid affair with an unemployed, passive-aggressive neighbor and a story on page three of the New York Daily News, Isabel begins to realize that another man may not be the answer and, surprisingly, that's when things begin to change for the better...

Excerpt

Charlie put down his drink and took another tack. “Are you familiar with that Nietzsche theory?”

“Which one?"

“The one that says ‘Whatever doesn’t kill us makes us stronger’?”

“I’ve heard it, yes. Why?”

“I think that whatever doesn’t kill us just eats us alive...bit by bit…until at the end, all we need is a dent in the car or…” He looked directly at me and continued: “…a lousy-ass guy to push us over the edge.”

“So what? Are you saying you’re a lousy-ass guy? Or are you just afraid I’ll end up with one?”

He paused for a minute. Then, as if in answer to my question, he sat up, leaned over, and kissed me. He was hesitant at first, as if his lips were trying to find exactly the right place to settle on mine.

And then they did.

The kiss was passionate, needy, questioning. I breathed him in as if he were oxygen. He put his arms around me and pulled me to the floor, his hands touching my face, my breasts, my hips. I held on to him for dear life while the rolling Cuban rhythm of Buena Vista Social Club wafted in the air like perfume.

Bio

Amy Holman Edelman lives in New Jersey with her husband, children and Irish Jack Russell, Roxy.  She is the also author of The Little Black Dress ('97).

Change and Teaching an Old Dog New Tricks

By Mary Marvella (Guest Blogger)

Good morning, Lisabet. I love your name!

2013 hit with a bang. Actually, 2012 ended that way. So much to do and so little time to do everything. A couple of years ago I jumped into the self-publishing pool. I had a dozen manuscripts “gathering dust under my bed”. Well, not really under my bed, but occupying space on my computer. Some of them have moved from three or four computers. I had piles of hard copies I finally tossed. They weren’t helping my dust allergies. I kept the paper rejections, because I need the reminders that I have tried to sell my novels and how long I have been at the writing game.

In 1991 self-publishing meant paying someone to print copies of your books and then selling them from your trunk. I know folks who did that and are now rich and famous. They invested money, which I didn’t have, and worked like crazy to sell copies to folks other than family and best friends and people they barely knew. The authors taught workshops and gave speeches and sold their books at every venue possible. I wasn’t willing to try that since I KNEW I could sell my books to the New York Publishers. It didn’t happen. Small presses printed small print runs and then digital books came out and smart people sold disks and CD’s of books. I wasn’t ready to try the new tricks. When someone suggested I self-publish my books I laughed!

I’m a Mac person and am not technically inclined. (I am computer challenged! Typewriters hated me and gremlins lived in my computers and printers) The idea of e-publishing held no appeal to me. (It scared me shitless!)

Then two years ago I’d had enough rejections. I read so many emails on so many loops about how anyone could do it, that I was willing to try to publish my first e-book. I cried, and whined, and cussed, southern style, and called smarter friends who talked me off the roof and out of tall trees. I’d have jumped otherwise. Learning to reformat my manuscripts from the years of the dinosaur and blue disks strained my brain beyond belief. And then I did it again and again, glutton for punishment that I am.

Why would a stranger care what I did and why or how? For the same reason I cared when people changed their dreams instead of dumping them. I wanted my dreams to come true, even if I had to adjust them.

Now the old lady is on two group blogs and has a website of sorts.

Facebook and Linked-in don’t scare me. (Now that’s a lie!) I do try to play on their turfs, though.

And the BIG one, I finally sold a book to an e-publisher. I haven’t signed the contract with Sizzler Editions yet, but I have choices now.

What are your dreams and are you willing to change them? Are you willing to learn new tricks?

If you would like to win a free download of

Forever Love https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/57300

The Gift https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/101492

or Christmas Best Bet, Humble Pie https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/114302

all you have to do is comment and then tell me which one you want. (Include your email!)

The above books are also available at Barnes and Noble and Amazon.com

Available at Amazon.com only:

Haunting Refrain http://amzn.to/UzzatH

Margo’s Choice http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008M0U8CU

www.MaryMarvella.com

www.Pinkfuzzyslipperwriters.blogspot.com

http://99centebooks.blogspot.com

Bio

Mary has been a storyteller for as long as she can remember.  She made up stories for the other children and created the details for their “play like” or “let’s pretend” games. Sometimes the details were so real they scared Mary.

Mary taught language arts for 15 years, perfect for her BA in English.  Her M.Ed in Counseling served her well during her years as a school counselor and as a teacher later.

Now she tutors, teaches writers, and edits. Her inner English teacher loves the editing part. Her daughter is her cover artist now. She doesn’t read Mary’s books. Something about TMI.

A Ghost for Christmas

[It's Monday, sneak peek day, and I've got a romantic holiday ghost tale to thrill you - A Ghost for Christmas, by Kacey Hammell. Enjoy! ~ Lisabet]

A Ghost for Christmas

Kacey Hammell

Paranormal erotic romance from Evernight Publishing

ISBN# 978-1-77130-211-1

Blurb

After receiving a long weekend at an elegant hotel beside the majestic Niagara Falls as a Christmas gift, Jodie Gibson is determined to do nothing but relax and enjoy the scenery. And, okay, just maybe meet someone who makes her toes curl.

Sebastian is sophisticated, tall, dark and gorgeous--everything a woman fantasizes about. But he's also an 18^th century ghost. He haunts the halls of the hotel, seeking the one true love that can help him find peace… 

Excerpt

As she peered into the reflective glass, a face appeared behind her. Jodie whipped around and fell back against the window.

Oh my fucking God!

Before her, in what looked like a shimmering bubble, stood the most breathtakingly beautiful man she’d ever seen. Dressed in a white shirt and black pants, he had dark unruly hair and striking, magnetic blue eyes that held her in place.

Jodie blinked, uncertain, scared and breathless.

How was it possible? She’d read the newspaper clippings, yes, but it was unimaginable to think ghosts might actually walk among the living.

Not everything made sense. She only believed in things that could actually be seen, felt and touched. This seemed surreal.

Stunned by the apparition before her, dressed in what looked like centuries-old clothes straight out of Esquire, he seemed to look straight through her, and his smile warmed her clear to her toes. Lord, she was in trouble.

“Hello.” Soft and gravelly, his voice alone seduced her…all the way to her toes. Her body quivered and her center tightened.

Whoa. What the hell am I thinking? There’s a ghost in front of me and I’m ready to jump his bones. Not bloody likely.

“What are you doing here? Get out. I don’t care who you are, you’re leaving, right now.”

He frowned. “No need to be frightened. I’ve been here for centuries.”

Jodie laughed, and not one to wilt like a scared little girl, stood tall. “This is all a joke.” She looked around, up and down, and all over the room. “Are there hidden cameras somewhere? Hey, Ashton, if you’re behind the camera, you can come out now. I’ve been Punk’d good. Thanks and all, but I’d like to get on with my evening without you.”

“Who is this Ashton? What is a punk? A rake, perhaps?” he asked.

Jodie squinted. “A rake?” She hadn’t ever heard that term spoken, but had read it in historical romances. No one talked like that these days. “No. Never mind, it’s not important. Listen, I just want you to go. I want to enjoy my evening.”

His smile was gentle. “I’m sorry, my dear, but this evening every decade is the only time I am visible to the human eye. I never miss a chance to watch the Falls.”

Every decade…

“You’re telling me you do this every ten years? How old are you?”

“I was born in 1781. That makes me—”

“Two hundred thirty-one,” Jodie whispered, legs weak. She grabbed the back of the chair nearby and sat down. Were such things even possible?

Jesus.

An eighteenth century ghost stood before her.

Merry Christmas to me.

Available at…

Evernight Publishing

Amazon US

Amazon UK

All Romance Ebooks

Readers can learn more about Kacey’s books/contact her via …

Website / Facebook / Facebook Author Page / Twitter / Amazon / Goodreads / Pinterest