Friday, 22 November 2013

New Release Sneaky Peek - Faustina and the Barbarians by John McKeown

Rome wasn't built in a day but Faustina Maxima, antithesis of the passive Roman matron, can screw herself out of a threatening situation quicker than you can say, “Veni, vidi, vici!” This statuesque beauty, descendant of a famous emperor is a one-woman sexual killing machine that eats savage Goths and Saxons for breakfast—and is also partial to a Pict or two—while lunch, dinner and supper is any Roman who takes her fancy. Like any great general she's blessed with imagination, and open to every possibility for maximising pleasure. For, as she writes to her daughter-in-law Flavia, the lucky recipient of her mother-in-law's unblushing exploits among the barbarians, “what is life without ever fresh adventures?”

Warning: This title contains graphic language and is suitable for adults only.

'Faustina and the Barbarians' is a 21.000 words historical erotica novella

Published by ahotterstate.com

Excerpt

To: Flavia Maxima, Rome
From: Faustina Maxima, Amorgos, August 410

My darling daughter-in-law, what thrilling news! The Barbarians at the gates of Rome, at last. You and your friends are in for the time of your lives. I’m green with envy, exiled as ever on this barren Grecian rock with nothing but goats and wizened goat herders for company; not to mention that boring, obnoxious bag-of-bones, your father-in-law Flaccus. As soon as you hear Alaric’s Gothic cavalry pounding down the street, get outside and scream for attention.

I know you won’t do that, of course, but I hope this letter of mine will persuade you to stop being such a shrinking violet and have some fun with the gorgeous Goths before they’re completely Romanised. You really must make the most of them, my dear. All disrespect to my darling son, but you must be bored stiff in the bedroom. He’s just like his wimpish father; prefers a blowjob from a eunuch to fulfilling his conjugal duties.

Darling, in all earnestness, the Goths are just the influx of virility the women of Rome are crying out for. I speak, as always, from experience.

Twenty years ago, when the Goths first began seriously troubling our northern borders, Flaccus, appointed Legate by the Emperor Valentinian, was sent to keep an eye on them. I, of course, having the ear—and more vital organs—of His Imperial Majesty, was allowed to accompany him. I was a very excited twenty-year-old, who couldn’t wait to feast her eyes upon those blond giants from the far north.

When we arrived it was high summer, and the forests of Germania were steaming, and not just with fires from Barbarian encampments. Disguised as an officer, I rode with my valiant husband into the centre of the Chief’s camp to parlay. Darling, I simply couldn’t see what threat the Goths posed, for all their energy seemed to be spent in fucking their buxom-arsed women, and often each other, senseless. As we rode in, my saddle was damp with the sights we saw. They were fucking against trees, on the ground, and, one couple I remember, were shafting each other precariously balanced in the boughs of an oak. And what beauties they were! As Flaccus did his ‘fearsome Roman’ bit with Chief Athalaric, I let my eyes take in the tall blonds who surrounded our mounted embassy. Long blond hair turned to gold in the slanting rays of the sun, gemstone eyes set above rich, red mouths sculpted for kissing. And do you know, as I sat, looking as martial as I could, one of them met my eye and made a very provocative gesture with his closed fist. That night I lay in our tent stroking myself and feeling those strong fingers probing inside me.

I was well on the way to coming when I heard Delicia, my hand-maiden, scream. The curtains around my bed were torn back and there stood a gang of young Goths laughing, swords unsheathed.

“Oh Aphrodite, don’t let me wake up now,” I prayed as they gathered close, their eyes bulging with lust in the lamplight.

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About the Author


John McKeown is a British writer based in Dublin. He lived in Prague where he was a teacher and freelance journalist and part of the ex-pat literary scene in the 1990s, then moved to Ireland in 2000 becoming a columnist for the Irish Examiner, and arts feature writer for the Irish Times. He was theatre critic for the Irish Daily Mail from 2006 to 2008 and is currently reviewing theatre for the Irish Independent and UK online theatre magazine Exeunt while raising his daughter Julia. His erotic short stories have been published by Xcite Books in the UK, who have also recently published his first novella Gooseflesh Abbey. JMS Books in the US is publishing two other erotic novellas, also in 2013, Prague Memoir and The Time Sex Machine. In addition to erotica John has four collections of poetry in print, the last, Night Walk published by Salmon Press in Ireland (available from Dufour Editions in the US). He has also collaborated with Leo O’Kelly of Irish folk-rock duo Tir Na nOg, on an album of songs entitled Will released in 2011 on Life and Living Records in the UK.

Wednesday, 20 November 2013

New Release Sneaky Peek - The Exhibition by Grace Marshall

Blurb:

Successful NYC gallery owner, Stacie Emerson, is ex-fiancĂ©e to one Thorne brother and ex-wife to the other. Though the three have made peace, Ellison Thorne’s friend, wildlife photographer, Harris Walker, still doesn’t like her. When Stacie convinces Harris to exhibit his work for the opening of her new gallery she never intended to include him in her other more hazardous plans. But when those plans draw the attention of dangerous business tycoon, Terrance Jamison, Harris comes to her aid. In the shadow of a threat only Stacie understands, can she dare let Harris into her life and make room for love?

The Exhibition, is Book Three of The Executive Decisions Trilogy.

Available from:
eBook:  amazon.co.uk   amazon.com

 Print:    amazon.co.uk   amazon.com

Excerpt:

She stood to put her pack back on, and he came to his feet and caught her by the shoulder, not wanting it to end like this, not wanting her to leave until they were good again. When she tried to push him away, he pressed her between his body and the stone of the cliff face. ‘You can’t just shut us all out, Stacie.’

‘I never wanted you involved in the first place. I never wanted any of you involved but you couldn’t leave it alone,’ she jerked back against him but there was no place to go. ‘You couldn’t just let it go.’

He moved in closer until his body pressed up against hers, holding her tightly against the stone. ‘No, I couldn’t, and I can’t and neither can anyone else who cares about you and neither would you if the situation were reversed. So whether you like it or not, I’m here to stay. We’ve already discussed this, so get used to it.’ He punctuated his point with a harsh kiss that couldn’t have been very pleasant for her, but then he was angry, worried, scared for her. Instead of shoving at him as he’d expected her to do, she curled a hard fist in his hair and ravaged his mouth with every bit as much ferocity as he had given her, pulling him still closer, rubbing her body against his, making him instantly and startlingly erect.

She snaked a hand down between them and savaged his fly until he feared for what lay beneath, until her fingers wriggled and dug their way into his walking trousers to possess his cock with a tight grip as though it were a weapon, one she were about to use to do serious damage.

He fumbled to return the favour, with her ripping at her own fly to make room for him, to guide his fingers down over her mons. Her eyes locked his in a devastating gaze that felt as though she could see right through him. ‘I need you to touch me there.’ Her voice was a breathless whisper. ‘Where I’m wet, where I’m open, where I’m always, always hungry for you.’ Her breath caught; her eyelids fluttered and she sucked her bottom lip as he found her cleft, wet and open as she’d promised. ‘You can’t tell me you don’t want to be like those cats.’ She guided his hand still further and manipulated it until first two, then three fingers pressed up into her. ‘You can’t tell me that when I present myself to you all hot and ready and begging for it, you don’t want to service my need. You can’t tell me you don’t want to get a little primal with that cock of yours.’ She gave him a hard squeeze and drove her hand up and down his length, thumbing the already abundant pre-cum over and around the tip until he gritted his teeth and held his breath while his hips bucked hard against her efforts.

He scissored her deep with three fingers and raked the silky slickness of her up and over her clitoris, and the sounds from the back of her throat easily resembled the sounds the female cougar made when the male mounted her. They wildly, madly fucked each other’s hands. The wind had risen and even on the clear morning, the chill left no doubt about lingering for more than the quickest of releases. Then she shifted, pressed her back hard against the stone and rested both of her hands on his shoulders. Before he could protest the removal of her fingers from his cock, she wrapped her legs around his waist, her still clothed crotch rubbing tight and insanely hot against his exposed cock as she began to rock and gyrate, and it was all happening way too fast.

‘Stacie I --’

‘Shut up, Harris,’ she spoke between chattering teeth. ‘I need to come, and so do you. You can fuck me properly when we get back to the SUV. It’s too damn cold to linger.’ With each sentence she ground against him, baring down with the extra leverage the cliff at her back afforded and, almost before the words were out of her mouth, she convulsed. Her spine stiffened and her shivers had nothing to do with the cold. Harris could stand no more. He felt the eruption deep in his groin. It might have been embarrassing had the circumstances been different, but as he tried to cover himself, tried to hide the results of Stacie’s hard ride, she shoved his hand away, pushed him back and practically fell into the space between them positioning herself so that she caught his release, all of it in her mouth. What could he say to that? What could he do but hold her there, helplessly grunting the weight of his need into the back of her throat. It was an act as intimate and as primal as the cougars mating on the rocks minutes ago. And sex, any kind of sex, with Stacie Emerson was worlds apart from any other sexual experiences he’d ever had. As she stood and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, the look of hunger in her eyes, the promise of more sex to come in the SUV before the trip home couldn’t help but lighten the mood. As they straightened and tucked and donned their packs, he wondered if that was maybe why she did it. Whatever her reason, it definitely worked for him in ways he was still trying to get his head around. 


About Grace Marshall:

Grace Marshall lives in South England with her husband and the growing gang of hooligan birds who frequent their feeders. When Grace isn’t busy writing something sexy and romantic, she’s busy digging in her ever-expanding veg garden or walking across the British countryside. She finds inspiration outdoors in nature, and most of her best story ideas come to her while she’s walking or gardening.

Grace is the author of the fast paced, quirky Executive Decisions Trilogy published by Xcite Romance. An Executive Decision, Identity Crisis and the final instalment of the trilogy, The Exhibition, are all now available at all your favourite book sellers with lots of romance and thrills served hot.

Grace Marshall’s alter-ego, K D Grace writes critically acclaimed, best-selling erotic romance. Whether it’s sexy romance or romantic sex, between The Graces, there’s a story for you.

Find Grace Here:

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Monday, 18 November 2013

New Release Sneaky Peek - A Dead Man's Debt by Grace Elliot

After publicly humiliating a suitor, Celeste Armitage is sent from the ton in disgrace. Exiled to the country she discovers a sketch book of nude studies and is shaken to discover the artist is her hostess’s eldest son, Ranulf Charing, Lord Cadnum. This darkly cynical lord is exactly the sort of dissipated rogue she most despises – and yet her blood heats at the thought of him!
Ranulf Charing, Lord Cadnum is being blackmailed over his late brother’s debts. Whilst visiting his mother, he discovers her new companion, Miss Celeste Armitage, to be a woman of unusual perception and starts to fall in love. But then the jealous fury of the blackmailer is unleashed and Cadnum must cast Celeste aside in order to protect her. However, in underestimating her resolve to clear his name – Cadnum places his true love in mortal danger…

Available from

Amazon US      Amazon UK     Smashwords

Excerpt

So be it.  Cadnum gritted his teeth as he grasped the leading leg and pushed.  It was like fighting against a brick wall, the calf barely moving.  A lamb was difficult enough; how much more so a calf?  Just as he was wondering if one man was strong enough, a shower of pebbles rattled down the bank.  Concentrating on the calf, he barked to whomever approached, “Don’t just stand there.  Get down here!”
            “I beg your pardon!” a woman’s voice answered.
            With a flash of annoyance, he glanced upward.
            A wide eyed young woman wearing a straw bonnet peered down.  “I say, is everything all right?”
            “Does it look all right?” he muttered under his breath.  All he needed was some sensitive miss fainting on him.  “Go!  Fetch help from the house.”
            He saw her hesitate, biting her top lip.  “But you need help now.”
            A contraction clamped around his arm as the cow’s tail switched across his face, stinging his eyes like a cat-o-nine-tails.
            In a flurry of muslin and lace, the miss slid down the bank, landing with a thud in the ditch.
            “Ouch.”  She rubbed her ankle.
            Cadnum glared back, dark eyes flashing.  “You should have gone to the house.”  Damn it all, she could make herself useful then.  “Hold the tail aside.”
            Pulling a face, she limped over.  His gaze lingered; up close, she merited a second glance.  Of middle height with a tidy waist and curves where God intended them, she appeared quick-witted and bright-eyed.  Without further ado, she stripped off her gloves, throwing them onto a bramble bush.  Long, sensitive fingers grasped the muddy tail.
            Practical, he thought, silently impressed.  “Why didn’t you go for help?”
            “There isn’t time.”  Her bonnet slipped backwards, revealing a quirky face with a pointed chin, her lips finely drawn with an arched cupid’s bow.  The sort of face an artist could lose himself in; all shades of the sea were found in deep emerald eyes framed by a tangle of chestnut hair.
            Cadnum tightened his grasp and pushed.  Sweat beading his brow.  The calf retreated an inch.
            “What are you doing?”  Her voice was gentle and calm, if somewhat deep for a woman.
            He guessed it would be husky in bed, whispering over a pillow after a night of passion.  Her eyes were on him, deep green eyes, lively and entrancing.  He suddenly remembered that he was undressed to the waist, her curious gaze on his skin as he imagined those lily-white hands gliding over his naked chest, her almond shaped nails digging into his skin.  He shook away the thought, trying to remember her question.
            She watched with innocence and interest, blushing faintly in a charming way; and yet, he realized, she was no wilting flower.  He shook his head.  The woman had asked a question; damn it, he would answer.
            “The calf is breech,” he grunted. “I need to push her back into the womb to turn her.”  He wanted to shock this stranger, to test how bold she truly was.
            She stared back, biting her top lip, exaggerating her snub nose.  “Ah!”  Her gaze met his.
            “Think of the calf as a carriage in a narrow driveway.  To turn it around, you push it back into the stable yard.”
            “What can I do to help?”
            “Nothing,” he growled.
            Throwing him an angry look, she anchored the tail with a log and scrambled around to the beast’s head.  After a moment’s thought, she placed her pelisse under the cow’s head, stroking the broad nose and crooning words of comfort.
            “She’s relaxing.”  Cadnum’s arm was numb from the contractions.  He fell forward as the first leg finally slid back into the womb.  “That helps.”  His hair had come free from the ribbon, falling thickly about his shoulders.  He glanced at the woman.  She was leaning forward, her bosom straining a tight bodice, a satisfying cleavage between her breasts.  He swallowed hard.  She was odd looking, he decided, not exactly beautiful but eye catching nonetheless.  Her face showed character and determination.  Her complexion was too healthy to be fashionable, all rosy cheeked and peppered with freckles.
            The woman glared at him now, her skin glowing bright pink.  Had he been staring?  His heart raced as he returned to the calving.
            Timing his efforts, he used all his strength to push the second leg back.  His shoulder felt as if it were being ripped from the socket.  With gritted teeth, he found a slippery hoof and clung to it, guiding it from the womb into the birth passage.  Grimacing with the effort, he found the other foreleg, dragging it forward to match its mate.  Pulling first one leg, then the other, he inched them forward.
            The muscles of his back burned as he braced, digging his heels into the damp earth.  He pulled in time to the cow’s weakening contractions, but as her effort became more feeble, even that assistance was lost.  The beast lay stretched on her side, head extended, breathing erratically and growing weaker by the second.  It was going to be a close thing; all the effort would be for naught if he couldn’t pull the calf out soon.
            After minutes of heaving, two small cream hooves presented themselves.  Cadnum sat back on his heels, sweat dripping into his eyes.  So intense had been his concentration that he’d completely forgotten the woman.  But there she was, slightly pale but watching him intently.
            “I need your help…” It wasn’t so very difficult to say.  The woman nodded silently, her face so serious he almost laughed.  “The cow’s spent, she can’t push any more.  I need you to pull with me.”
            Licking her lips she nodded weakly.
            “Come here.  Grasp my waist.  Pull when I say.”
            She stood and, with a whisper of skirts, was at his side.  As her arms wound hesitantly around his waist, he suppressed a shiver of excitement.  Her hands where peach soft and cool.  She smelled of lemongrass.
            “Hold tight.”
            The thin feminine arms around the hard plain of his belly made his body ache unexpectedly.
            “Pull as hard as you can, when I say,” he barked more gruffly than he intended.  “Now.”
            Digging his heels into the dirt, his muscles strained as he struggled to keep hold of the slippery hooves.  But his attention was not wholly on the calf as he became aware of the press of her breasts against his bare back, of her sweet warm breath against his neck.  If he wasn’t mistaken, he could feel her heart hammering against his ribs.
            With a desperate heave, he pulled the calf and the woman pulled him.  The calf moved another few inches, the forelegs exposed to the wrist joint.
            “Again,” he urged.
            Another pull and half the forelegs were out.
            “Stop.  I need to check if the calf’s head is coming nose forward.”
            The woman released him.  Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed her pink tongue darted out of her mouth to moisten her dry lips.
            Turning back to the cow, he knelt, feeling inside, satisfied that he could feel a muzzle lined neatly along the forelegs.
            “Nearly there.”
            The woman’s arms circled back around his waist, wiry with feminine strength.  This time they fitted snugly, her cheek against his back.  A ringlet had broken free of her chignon, brushing his skin.  His groin tightened—much to his annoyance.
            “Ready?  Heave!”  Never had he been more glad of the distraction from a woman’s unnerving affect on his body.  He noticed her soft mossy eyes and sweetly tempting curves, yet her bravery and determination excited him most.  Innocent, yet bold.
            The calf slithered free with a slippery suck, sliding to the ground in a flood of fluid and membranes.  Man and woman rolled backwards.  Cadnum landed on her skirts, pinning her down.  Her face was flushed, her pupils large.  He stared into her eyes, which were framed with thick dark lashes now modestly brushing her cheek.  He noticed her breathing heavily, a sheen of sweat on her neck, chest heaving.
            Neither moved.
            The temptation to lean forward and claim a kiss was dizzying.  It was like looking up at a high church tower against scudding clouds, making him giddy.
            Scowling, he turned away.  When had he become such a cad that he’d consider taking advantage of an innocent stranger?  He deserved to be horse whipped.  It didn’t help that the throb in his groin reminded him of his weakness.
            “The calf?” a small clear voice questioned.
            It was a bull calf, steaming slightly in the cool morning air.  Hooking a finger in the calf’s mouth, he cleared away the mucus.
            “The cord.  I need to tie off the cord.  Quick, find me something.”
            With a whisper of satin, she held out the ribbon from her bonnet.
            “Will this do?”
            When she didn’t immediately release it, it occurred to him that she was waiting for him to say thank you.  He acquiesced.  With a humph she handed over the ribbon.
            As he worked, she stood, regarding the newborn with wonder.  For some inexplicable reason he wanted to hold her tightly in his arms and smooth her hair, to kiss that perfect oval of a mouth.  Damn her for distracting him!
            Cadnum rounded on her, squaring his bare chest.  She recoiled, threatened by his unabashed maleness.  She shrank back, making Cadnum angry at himself for frightening her.
            “Well don’t just stand there, now go and fetch help!  Tell them to send men to the ditch between the five acre field and the hazel copse.”  Her presence had become intolerable, eating away at his self-control.  “Look sharp about it!”
            She jumped and scrambled up the bank with a flash of neat ankle, but not before giving him on last angry glare. 
            A wave of heat washed over Ranulf, who silently gave thanks that her back was turned.  It was not his habit to ravish complete strangers, especially those so obviously gently born.  But for some reason that was exactly what he wanted to do to this mysterious chestnut haired stranger.  Only as she disappeared over the brow of the hill did it occur to him to inquire who this practical Miss was and what she was doing on his land.

About the Author

Grace Elliot leads a double life as a veterinarian by day and author of historical romance by night. She is housekeeping staff to five cats, two teenage sons, one husband and a bearded dragon (not in order of importance)
Fall in Love with History (blog) http://graceelliot-author.blogspot.com
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Twitter:  @Grace_Elliot


Wednesday, 13 November 2013

New Release Sneaky Peek - Run For Your Love - Annabeth Leong

Blurb:

Shotguns seem to be everyone's favorite accessory for the zombie apocalypse, but Zach Paul believes he can survive without hurting anyone—not even the zombies. An elite-level runner, he plans to speed away from every danger. Then Zach meets a woman he can't bring himself to leave behind, and staying beside her tests all his principles.

Viola Ortiz fought free of her controlling boyfriend just before the zombies came, but now she believes her macho ex is the only one who can protect her. She sets out to reunite with him, only to encounter Zach instead. The tall, lean runner is everything her ex is not, and Viola is shocked to find he turns her on as no man has before. Viola's ex, however, isn't willing to let go of her, and soon it's clear that other survivors are as dangerous as the zombies.

Zach and Viola can run, but they must find safety before they lose their humanity in the struggle to protect their lives and growing love.

Excerpt:

It may not have been too crazy for me to think I could keep clear of the zombies in the Quarantined Area. On the news everyone kept saying these are "slow zombies." They're dangerous, diseased, and mostly impervious to pain, but not the sort of terrifyingly speedy hunters that have been popular in movies lately. My plan to run in there was risky, but I like to think not completely doomed. I planned around my talents instead of just deciding I'd somehow figure out how to execute a standing long jump of multiple feet once I found myself staring down at concrete two stories below a rooftop. I trusted the only thing I've been able to rely on my whole life—my legs.
What I didn't take into account were bullets—as in projectiles whizzing past my ears as I booked it down the sidewalk. Why the hell does everyone think the zombie apocalypse gives them a license to act like Rambo? I'm not just talking about what happened once zombies actually appeared in the middle of our city, eating brains, shambling, and whatever else they do. I'm talking about all the years of excitement about zombies—Facebook quizzes predicting whether your relationship would survive an outbreak, the sudden popularity of YouTube videos about parkour, and a pervasive cultural obsession with shotguns. I think people watched zombie movies and decided it would be great for the rule of law to break down to the point that they'd be allowed to solve problems by shooting first and asking questions later.
It's not the most macho position to take, especially not in the neighborhood where I grew up, but I guess it's clear by now that I'm a pacifist. Some other guy might respond to the looters by taking cover behind an abandoned building and pulling out his own gun to trade shots. That's not my style.
Instead, I shouted, "What the hell?" and tried to run faster.
Two days into societal breakdown, street cleanliness had already suffered. Trash bags, newspapers, and other detritus littered the road, and I swear the pavement had more cracks than usual. It took all my concentration not to slip or break my ankle.
I don't have experience dodging bullets, so I wasn't sure if I'd be harder to hit if I tried to zig-zag or not. Since I didn't know, I ducked my head, picked up the pace, and hoped for the best.
The guy with the gun shouted, "Drop the backpack!" Apparently, he thought bullets made good punctuation.
"There's nothing in it!" I screamed back. Which wasn't strictly true. I didn't have any money or valuables, which I assumed was what they were looking for. On the other hand, the backpack had everything I thought I needed to survive in the Quarantined Area, so I didn't want to give it up.
"Like hell it's empty!" The guy chasing me squeezed off a few more shots.
The fact that he hadn't managed to hit me yet confirmed one of the points I'd like to make about guns, which is related to a couple of the things I've already ranted about. A lot of people think you can just pick up a gun and go to town. That tells me that most people have never actually held a gun, much less fired one.
I've been to the shooting range a number of times with my older brother Dominic, and once, before a birthday party he celebrated one year in Vegas, that included firing machine guns. Before I'm accused of hypocrisy, I'll add that Dominic spent a long time trying to get into the police academy, and I provided moral support while he studied and trained. Anyway, after several good tries, I learned that if you can hold a gun without your hand trembling uncontrollably, you're doing well. And it takes training before most people can manage to hit, say, the broad side of a barn.
The looter chasing me might think he was tough, but he'd obviously never gotten the chance to practice with a gun. I promised myself I'd say a prayer of thanks as soon as I got out of range of him and his burly friends. I almost looked forward to the zombies at that point—at least I'd understand their motives.
Someone cried out behind me, and I risked a glance over my shoulder. One guy lay on the pavement clutching his ankle, probably a victim of one of the cracks I'd noticed earlier. Two of the others seized the excuse to quit running, squatting beside him clutching their sides, gasping, panting, and coughing. I allowed myself a satisfied smile. The guy with the gun hadn't tired yet, but he would, as long as he didn't manage a lucky shot before I finished putting him through his paces.
I lengthened my strides. It felt good to take my body to its limit, to dig as deeply as I could into the inner reserves I'd built up over the years... Right up until I realized I'd forgotten to keep an eye on the littered road.
My foot tangled in a plastic bag, and I went down hard. It was like something out of kindergarten—bloody knees, bloody palms, and pain that brought stinging tears to my eyes. A bullet hit the asphalt a mere foot away from me.
"Let up, man!" I made my voice as threatening as possible, despite my vulnerable position. "I got nothing!"
"Give me the backpack!"
Adrenaline forced me to my feet. I took a deep breath, preparing to push myself back into a run despite the stiffness already settling into my knees.
That wasn't to be, because my fall had allowed the big guy catch up with me. He may not have known how to use his gun, but he sure as hell knew how to use his hands. He demonstrated on my trachea as soon as he got hold of me.
I hate to say it, but I froze. I thought about trying to stomp on his foot or something, but I didn't really expect that to work, and I didn't want to die a traitor to my own pacifist ideals. I helplessly pondered what to do as he squeezed my neck tighter, and I started to feel chilled and light-headed.
That was the first time I saw her, and considering how little oxygen was reaching my brain at that moment, you can probably understand why I thought she was some sort of apparition. She was beautiful. Sexy? Yes. She had the sort of curves that make a man want to spend long afternoons in bed just tracing the shape of them. Lips to match and ringlets of black hair that I immediately wanted to feel across my bare chest. But she was also beautiful in a holy way—some kind of light in the eyes or glow to the skin that reminded me of pictures of La Virgen. She was dressed all in blue too, which contributed to my impression that she wasn't entirely of this world—my mother taught me that blue is Mary's color.
Her small, compact body hurtled into me and my captor with force far beyond what I would have expected from her weight. She screamed that he ought to let me go, and his grip loosened, I think because he was so stunned. Neither of us knew where she had come from or what she had to do with me.
Unfortunately, the deranged looter's first instinct after letting go of me was to go after her, specifically by hooking a finger through one of the big gold hoop earrings she wore. I stretched my own rules a little and jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow, hoping to distract him enough that my rescuer and I could both escape.
She didn't have the kind of qualms I did. Out of one pocket, she produced a can of pepper spray and proceeded to administer a healthy dose straight into his eyes. I covered my face in time, but he gave a high-pitched scream and clapped his palms to his cheekbones. The gun hit my foot then the pavement. The woman screamed too, and I wondered if he still had her by the earring.
I dropped to the ground and crawled a few feet away, moving through the pain in my knees and palms. A glance at the woman showed she'd gotten herself free of her opponent's grip and had grabbed the upper hand by far. She administered a series of precise and painful-looking strikes to his abdomen.
Any second, more of the looters would join this fight. I didn't feel good about running away when she'd gotten involved in the first place because of me.
Pushing myself to my feet, I went over and grabbed her elbow, wincing when my scrapes contacted her skin. "We have to get out of here," I told her. "Try to keep up."
She rolled her eyes but didn't answer me. I took off running, feeling so much adrenaline by then that the pain in my knees didn't really bother me.
She wasn't next to me.
I whirled without stopping, in time to see her scoop the looter's gun off the sidewalk and toss it into a glittery backpack she carried, slung too low to be entirely practical.
I took my own turn rolling my eyes. Just what I needed. Another Rambo wannabe. "Come on!" I shouted.
I have to admit that despite annoying me by going for the gun, she'd impressed me so far. The next thing she did really caught my attention. She grinned at me, as wicked and gleeful as if we'd gone out racing to settle a bet. Then she covered the distance I'd put between us so fast it took me a moment to realize I was being outpaced.
She shot past me and tossed another smile over her shoulder. "You better hurry," she said, with a Puerto Rican accent and not a trace of effort. "Ahora, chacho. Those guys look mad."
Buy Links:




About the Author

Annabeth Leong has written romance and erotica of many flavors -- dark, kinky, vanilla, straight, lesbian, bi, and menage. Her titles for Breathless Press include the contemporary werewolf erotic romances Not His Territory and Not the Leader of the Pack, and Run for Your Love, a romance set in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. She lives in Providence, Rhode Island, blogs at annabethleong.blogspot.com, and tweets @AnnabethLeong

Buy One, Get One Free Offer:


Did you miss Annabeth's previous titles with Breathless Press? Not to worry. E-mail proof of purchase of Run for Your Love, such as an Amazon receipt, to annabeth dot leong at gmail dot com and let her know your e-book format of choice. Annabeth will buy a copy of her werewolf novella, Not His Territory, for anyone who sends this information before November 12, 2013. 

Tuesday, 12 November 2013

Author Hot Seat Welcomes Shiloh Saddler

The author hot seat specials are designed to help readers get to know both popular and up and coming authors a little better. The questions are broken into four sections - About your writing, about you, fun stuff and finally. Some of the questions are easy, other may need a little more thought and some may cause our author friends to hesitate before answering. Still, they all always answer. 

Today I'd like to welcome new author Shiloh Saddler, her f/f erotic romance novella, The Virgin Madam has recently been released and as part of her promotional blog tour Shiloh has dropped by to answer our hot seat questions. She is also giving away an ebook copy of her novella to one lucky reader (please check entry details at the end of the interview).

About your writing:

How many books have you written during your career so far and which is your favorite?

The Virgin Madam is my debut novella. I have two more novellas contracted this year and another novella sitting completed on my hard drive so that would be four completed to date. I hope to get a couple more done by the end of the year. I’m addicted to writing! My favorite book is always what I am working on at the time. I enjoyed writing The Virgin Madam because I love westerns.

Have any of your books received negative reviews and how did you handle the criticism?

I’m still waiting for my first review to come in. I know negative reviews are inevitable. Art is subjective and it is impossible to please and entertain everyone. I appreciate all reader comments, but if I write the story the best I can I know there is nothing more I could have done.

Do you believe in writer’s block and if so, how do you overcome it?

I used to believe in writer’s block. Recently I’ve learned it is really mind over matter. I’m surrounded with deadlines. I can’t just let a story sit. I power through the blank page. A lot of my writer’s block is prompted by reluctance to write a scene and the only way to overcome it is just to get the first draft done. I know it will likely suck but that is what editing is for!

What is the one genre you would never write and why?

I will never write a mystery.  I love watching crime shows on TV. The unexpected turns always excite me, but I doubt I could write enough into a mystery story to satisfy the reader. They’d be able to guess the murderer by the end of chapter three.

Have you ever written a book that you’ve regretted publishing and why?

No. And I hope I never will. I am beginning to experiment in other genres. My writing partner and I are dabbling in fantasy and science fiction. I’m not as strong in those genres, but I am having a lot of fun stretching myself. I hope my readers will enjoy these stories, too.

If a reader said they wanted to write a book, what advice would you give them?

This has already happened to me. I first asked if they wanted to write for their own pleasure or if they wanted to publish this book. If they want to take writing seriously, I would tell them to read all the writing craft books they can, take writing classes, and network with other writers. Writing is hard work. After you overcome  your fear of the blank page it gets a little easier.

About you:

Tell us what a typical day in your life is like?

Warning, I think I live a boring life! I wake up, make a cup of coffee, eat breakfast and walk my dog. When I get home I check my emails and then reread what I wrote yesterday. After being reacquainted with my story I write until my stomach tells me it is lunchtime. My dog always demands my attention. After I’ve worn him out playing fetch I return to work. I might edit or read a book if I need a break from writing.

What sort of things put you in a bad mood?

When my muse takes a vacation and I wake up not feeling creative. Or when the Seahawks lose a football game.

Do you have a bucket list and what’s one thing you still want to do that you haven’t done?

Yes, I do have a bucket list. I want to see a Broadway show.

What makes you laugh?

A funny TV show or a good comedy movie. Castle is always good for a laugh.

What is the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?

Got lost on a nature walk during a date forcing us to walk ten miles to get back to the car.

Do you like to read and what are you reading at the moment?

I love to read. I would hope all authors are readers first. I am currently reading Color me Bad by Oliva Waite

If you couldn’t write anymore, what would you do instead?

I’d be a librarian. I need my books!

Fun Stuff:

What is the strangest food you’ve ever eaten?

I’m not a very adventurous eater. I’d say okra.

Would you rather have a classic 1969 convertible Mustang or have the use of a beach side condo any time you want?

I’d take the beach side condo even if it meant I had to take the bus everywhere, lol.

And finally:

Would you rather survive an apocalyptic event (yes, even a zombie apocalypse) or die instantly without knowing what happened to your family and friends?

That’s an easy question. I’d rather die instantly. If the world is going to be invaded by aliens or zombies I don’t want to be around!

Giveaway: 

One lucky commenter will win a copy of The Virgin Madam in any ebook format they choose. Please leave your comment below along with your email address. The winner will be chosen randomly at the end of the blog tour (midnight 15th November, 2013).

Blurb:

After a vicious outlaw murders her father, Laura Rutherford sees no future beyond running the family brothel and kowtowing to the local gang. Not even marriage offers escape. No man can compete with the beautiful women who dance the can-can for her each night...at least not until a gentle stranger sweeps in and opens her eyes to desires too long denied.

Joe Bascum stumbles into Bitterroot Flats looking for a place to hide from a gunman out for blood. When the innocent Madame from the local brothel offers a bed and bath, Joe accepts hoping to show the buttoned-up beauty just how right forbidden desire can feel.

When danger escalates, can Laura help Joe defeat the famous Fletcher gang, or is she destined to live a lonely life as the virgin madam?

Buy Links:




About the Author:
Shiloh Saddler likes to do research for her steamy romances first hand. She has invented a time machine and travels back to the 19th century on a regular basis. There are experimental settings on her time machine which could propel her into the future and even other worlds. She believes love and a good book makes anything possible.

Social Media Links:
History in the Hot Lane Blog: http://shilohsaddler.blogspot.com/



To see where else Shiloh is appearing please check out her blog tour dates by clicking the link below:


Saturday, 9 November 2013

Where did all the sexy book covers go?

I love wondering around my local book store, or browsing for new books online although over the last 12 months that joy has declined somewhat and I blame 50 Shades of Grey. Yes I know it's been blamed for a lot of things and criticized a lot, but I think I have a legitimate gripe here. 


Part of the pleasure of looking for new books used to be looking at all the covers, now, thanks to the above mentioned book, I'm left cold a lot of the time. I admit, I've never purchased a book based solely on the cover art (although I have heard some people do) but I like looking at them, they do tweak my interest and often make me pick the book up to read the cover info. So imagine my disappointment now that there are hundreds of covers filled with inanimate objects like tie, masks, shoes and God forbid, one I've seen recently even has a lamp on the cover, nothing else, just a lamp. Really, seriously, WTF?


What the friggin hell is happening in the romance world?

I bet Fabio is turning in his grave. Oh wait, maybe he's not dead. Well, whatever, I bet he's shaking his head just like me at the sudden rise in footwear and other nondescript stuff gracing the covers of romance novels world wide. Bring back the hot sexy men Fabio and I say.  I want shirtless hunks, preferably with tats, to lure my attention, draw me forward with their penetrating gaze and seduce me into a purchase. Not a man's grey tie laying clumsily on a cover, all a tie does is remind me of cleaning up after hubby (god rest his sole) when he used to drop clothes on the damn floor for me to pick up. I mean please publishers, where has the sexiness gone? If I'm going to read a sexy book I want a sexy cover. 

I want a cover that screams this man  is going to show you the most erotic time of your life, not that there's a sale on at the local shoe warehouse.  I want fantasy fodder, a hint at the sexiness I'll find on the pages within. I don't want to stare at the cover and wonder why a book on household furnishings or men's wear is in the romance section. I mean PLEASE, give a girl a break.


To be helpful, rather than just stamping my foot and demanding, here's a few little insights for publishers flooding the market with copycat covers. There are readers out there who didn't like the 50 shades series so copying the style of cover and putting stickers on books that say things like Hotter than 50 shades isn't an incentive to even pick the book up for many of us, nor is the cover art. If you're going to have a pair of shoes on the cover have some sexy legs in them, if you're putting a ribbon, scarf or tie on the cover then bind someone's hands with it, give the reader a hint of sexy or erotic try a reach the readers like my friends and I who want something of a human factor represented on the cover. I mean the books are about a relationship, a love match, not what's in my closet. 


So...rant over. Now it's your turn. What does everyone think about the latest trend in covers? Am I being too picky? Does it really matter what's on the cover? Are you happy to see the end of the buff body?  

Thursday, 7 November 2013

Cover Reveal - Bring on the Heat

Just for something a little different, today we have a cover reveal for a boxed collection called Bring on the Heat - A scorching collection from ten of today's hottest authors. 

Oh Lordy, I'm fanning myself just looking at this cover, I can't wait for the January release.


Title: Bring On the Heat
Genre: Erotic romance
Length: Approx 263k words
Release date: January 6, 2014



Bring on the Heat Boxed Set includes the following authors:

Eden Bradley: Breaking Skye
Cassandra Carr: Caught
Stephanie Julian: An Indecent Proposition Part I
Amber Kallyn: Burned
Keira Kohl: Laundry day
Adriana Kraft: Cherry Tune-Up
Emma Lai: Riding Romeo
Anh Leod: Clockwork Captive
Ann Mayburn: First Kiss
Cari Quinn: Jingle Ball