I’d like to congratulate the new releases at Total E-Bound which came out yesterday. Please check them out!
Carol Lynne Campus Cravings: A Biker’s Vow
Desiree Holt Beg Me!
Lyn Cash Big O
I am totally excited that Total E-Bound has contracted three of my stories.
The first one, Vampire’s Captive, is due out in the Heatwave Anthology in July.
“ It’s Sierra Wolfe’s second time around wedding day but the groom failed to show up. Dejected, she strolls out onto the old Carnival Pier only to find her ex-husband following her. He wants to console her but can a vampire who has made one mistake, prevent himself from making another?
Brett Wolfe divorced Sierra in the hope she would be happier with a mortal man. Watching a melancholy Sierra in her wispy wedding gown on the pier, he regrets his decision and wants her back . . . But can old circumstances be made new between a vampire and his captive heart?”
And here’s a short excerpt (unedited) from Chapter 1:
The moon bathed the ocean and the dilapidated carnival on the pier with its silvery glow and cast the forlorn woman in her long wedding gown in breathy, expectant shadows. Brett's guilt washed over him for the hundredth time since seeing his ex-wife step out of her fancy, expensive heels and without giving them a backward glance, stroll dejectedly onto the beach, her shoulders slumped and her back hunched forward. He’d wondered for a year, five months, two days, and five and a half hour (give or take a couple of minutes) if he'd done the right thing in divorcing Sierra. He was an eternal vampire and she was a mortal, although a devastatingly lovely mortal with sleek dark hair that swept her waist and an innocent, beguiling expression that lured jaded, hardened men from their complacency about the fair sex. And yet the man she loved hadn't even bothered to make it to the altar today, had left her standing in the annex holding a wilting bouquet of pale pink roses and baby's breath and a heart that had been hurt far too many times. Brett didn't believe in God but tossed a short prayer into the air asking that Sierra forgive him for what he was about to do.
He spoke her name softly, like a dry leaf scudding along the sidewalk. "Sierra."
She didn't jump as he expected. She merely turned to gaze at him over her shoulder, then without a spark of recognition, returned to her survey of the pounding waves and the invisible horizon darkness had obliterated. He knew he shouldn't have come, should have stayed away from her, but how could he when she felt betrayed, as if her whole world had collapsed? First him and then this man she thought she could spend the rest of her life with.
He took a deep breath, seized her wrist, and spun her around to face him. "Look at me."
She was exquisite in the off-the-shoulder gown. Bare neck, bare shoulders. She blinked several times. "What do you want Brett?" she asked in resignation.
He heard the unspoken accusation, wanted to take her in his arms and make her forever promises but the tears rolling down her cheeks one by lonely one, stopped him.
She frowned. "So? You're not often left speechless. A man who must have a great deal of experience with all types of women. Why did you come?" Under the jeweled bodice, her breast rose and fell. Anger simmered near the surface, waiting with eager tentacles for the wrong words to leap into life.
Brett didn't want her to be alone. Or ashamed at being left at the altar, which was partly his fault. If he hadn't divorced her, would she be happier with him? "I wanted to see if you're okay." Now that was lame but the best he could do.
"Really?" She would have turned away but he grabbed her other wrist and held her at a distance in case she decided to fight him and perhaps knee him in the groin. He didn't want the night to end before it began.
How could he tell her he'd made a mistake? She was in the throes of rejection and this wasn't a good time to mention his deepest regrets. "I want to be your friend."
"Why? So you can jilt me like Ade did? Or better yet, divorce me after you promised me the moon?" Sierra laughed at that, a high-pitched nervous laugh. "Promise the moon and you know what you end up with? Broken promises and a hurt that sinks so deep, you can never get rid of it." She kicked sand towards him with her bare foot attached to a slim, shapely ankle that got his heartbeat racing with desire.
He'd come partly to console her, partly to get her back into his bed. He missed her warm presence, the laughter of delight and the sensuous woman usually hidden under clothes that didn't do her perfection justice. Breasts small and firm to fit beneath his palms, a tiny waist, and thighs as soft as spun silk but as strong as steel during their passionate encounters. "If I admit I'm a sleazeball, will you forgive me and give me another chance?"
Her nostrils flared. She squinted her eyes shut as if thinking, flashed them open and asked, "For what?" Bitterness enveloped the words. Her eyes met his, questioning, determined not to be hurt again and yet hurting at a fathomless depth he could only imagine.
Then the truth kicked him in the nuts with a womphh. She still loved him, had never stopped loving him. The gaping chasm of loneliness tore at him. The only women he'd ever loved and he'd pushed her away, alienated her, perhaps forever. He could try to persuade her with every method he knew but once her mind was made up, he knew from experience, it was almost impossible to change it. Almost.
The second, Shotgun Bride, is the first in a historical western series set in 1870s Missouri, titled Ride Shotgun! Due out in August!
“Life in a small town brothel has been difficult for beautiful Emma Brewster. When she sets out on a stagecoach for her new life in Kansas City, she rides away from the only man who treated her with respect. But Branson has other ideas and is only too willing to teach her a lesson about leaving him behind . .”
A teaser (unedited) from Chapter 1:
"Careful for your step, Ms. Brewster."
Emma lifted her silk skirts with one hand and set the other in the stagecoach driver's bulky paw. This was the beginning of a new life, she thought with a mixture of enthusiasm and fear. She guessed he probably knew who she was but she didn't care as she tipped her head back and gave him a wide smile. It was the first time in eight years she'd actually smiled at a man without offering sex in the brothel where she'd spent that time.
Her heart sang as he returned her smile with a careful gruff upturn of his chapped lips. "Are you sure you're up to this trip, Miss?" he asked solicitously. "Them Indians ain't no white man's friend."
Emma settled herself facing forward on the hard, damask covered seat and regally spread her dark mauve skirts about her. She was no longer beholden to any man. She was free. "I'm not afraid of anyone," she said, eying the driver with a full gaze.
"Right," he muttered, giving her the distinct impression she didn't know what exactly she was getting herself into. "We're off then."
Moments later, the vividly painted stagecoach lurched forward and Emma was off to her new life. The interior sported delicate gold trim and outside the coach was painted a vivid red with bright yellow trim. On the door was a delicate hand painted landscape. The sun cast short early afternoon shadows on the narrow dirt streets but no one waved farewell although a young boy ran alongside hollering and whooping. The wheels rattled and dust billowed under the hooves of the four horses pulling the vehicle. In Kansas City, with her savings Emma vowed she would go into business as a respectable seamstress. She'd be able to hold her head up high and look friend or foe straight in the eye.
She couldn't say she would miss anyone in the brothel. Not that anyone had mistreated her but she'd had her share of drunken louts groping her body. Only one of the dozens of men had caught her fancy, and briefly, a few minutes at most, she imagined herself in love with the tall, dark stranger who'd bestowed flowers, small trinkets and fancy chocolates on her. Branson had never treated her with anything but respect, had never drank to excess or presented himself as uncouth or foulmouthed. He'd been a rare gentleman, the kind of man a woman, a well-bred one, could easily love. If the woman believed in love and hadn't had a past. Emma didn't pride herself on servicing the needs of the miners in the small town but she'd done what she had to do after she'd been kicked out, at seventeen, from the orphanage she'd barely survived in. If there was a thing called love in the world, it hadn't made its appearance in hers.
The coach left the small town behind and jolted into the desert-like country. Tall reeds waved rhythmically in the breeze. Black-eyes Susans dotted the edge of the dirt road. Dust rose from the dry ground enveloping everything, including Emma in her silk gown. However, she didn't regret wearing the finery one bit. She was a lady and would act every bit like one.
Her thoughts returned to Branson. She hadn't told him she was leaving, had never even discussed the possibility with him. She hadn't felt the need and she supposed, was reluctant to tell him anything personal about herself when he shared nothing about who he was. She'd heard, from another one of the brothel women, that he was on the make, but Mel hadn't been able to tell her more than that. Emma guessed that like herself, many in the small town stayed only as long as they made a buck, and when the marshal went after them, or the going got rough, they left without warning.
Branson didn't strike her as the kind of man who fled the law. She remembered gazing into his eyes one night, and finding herself holding her breath. The man was strikingly handsome. And big in all the right places. She was tiny compared to him, with a slim waist and small breasts, easy enough for him to "palm her delicate beauties", he'd told her once with a wicked twinkle in his eyes. When he strolled into a room, he owned it with a presence that dominated everything and everyone around him.
That day, he caught her watching him as he purportedly slept after what had been an unusually demanding sexual escapade. She reached out with a forefinger to touch his lower lip and as her flesh met his, his eyes flashed open.
"Show me your pussy," he demanded as she guiltily jerked her hand away from his face. For a rapidly vanishing moment, she yearned for the comfort and companionship of a man in her life. A man who wasn't quite the reliable, old shoe type but who wanted the fun and joy inherent in her concept of marriage. A child or two, a man who cared not only about her body but her mind, and a big, drooling dog.
He didn't seem to notice her flushed cheeks or hand yanking up the white bedsheet up over her breasts. "Why?" she asked stupidly. Love and marriage weren't for her, she reminded herself disgustedly. She'd been raised in an orphanage where the even the semblance of love was as impossible as grabbing a shining rainbow in her fist.
With a lightning movement, he sat up, rolled her on her back and pulled the sheet away. "You're not ashamed of what you've got, are you?" he rasped.
She shook her head from side to side. Usually his voice was low and gravelly but once or twice in the last year he'd visited her, twice a week and paid for the whole night, he spoke with a gruffness that surprised her. What was he thinking when his voice changed like that? His eyes, a piercing blue, didn't change. Only his voice. His breathing stayed soft and even.
"Good. There's nothing for you to be ashamed about. Now show me your pussy."
"I love it when you talk dirty," she murmured, closing her eyes and spreading her thighs. He was the only one of her clients she let talk dirty and for some reason, his hoarse voice and the barely uttered commands aroused her in a way no one had.
And the third, due out in November, is the second in the Ride Shotgun! series, Wanted!
“Maddy Haynes is the sheriff of small town Plains Junction, Missouri. This is her town where vigilantes, outlaws and criminal types aren’t welcome. Yet when one handsome outlaw rides back into her town, the sparks fly between them once again. Now how is she supposed to uphold the law?
Jeb McIntyre has a reason for everything he does, including taunting the lady sheriff. He’s on the Most Wanted list but on Maddy’s list, he’s listed twice. On her list of criminals to slap in jail, and on her short list of men to bed.”
An excerpt (unedited) to tease you:
Plains Junction, Missouri, 1874
Maddy Haynes rode through the one street town, keeping an eye out for any man, be he lean, mean or just ornery, who spelled trouble. Plains Junction was her town. The brothel above the saloon was quiet at this hour, the women having entertained their customers for the night, gone to bed for the day. Across the street, John's Mercantile was open for business as was the small post office with grizzly haired Gotch puttering around behind the counter.
The mid-morning sun hovered behind her, warming her back through the light brown leather vest and cotton shirt. Some folks in the town had a problem with a lady sheriff but she'd always sworn a woman could do exactly what a man did. Often better. She'd had no trouble keeping the law she was sworn to uphold. Courtesy of a father who had wanted a son but got a daughter, she'd learned to ride and handle a gun by the age of fourteen better than most grown men did. The Plains Junction people generally liked her although the men often cursed her behind her back for lording it over them.
Maddy kept riding, enjoying the slight breeze toy with her collar and in under her shirt against her hot bare skin. Mid-July and the heat was already more oppressive than in the nearby foundry. Maddy didn't like the heat much. It reminded her of Jeb McIntryre, the only outlaw she hadn't been able to lock up behind bars, as he deserved.
She cantered past the Plains Junctions bank, debating whether to look in on the young clerk and the early customers. A deep, very masculine voice interrupted her orderly thoughts.
As her horse snorted, she spun around in the saddle desperately searching for the owner of the voice. He didn't belong in this town. Or if he did, he belonged in her jail, locked in and throw away the key.
Unbelievably, she'd missed him as she rode along, buried in her thoughts. She'd missed seeing Jeb McIntyre, the most wanted man on her list of fugitives. The shadows had been so long, and her eyes unaccustomed to the dark, sheltered places under the rickety balcony of the bank, she'd missed him!
She reined in her horse with some difficulty. The beast apparently didn't like McIntyre any more than she did, although she admitted reluctantly that that hadn't always been the case.
"Don't bother getting off your horse, Maddy," he said, his voice holding a threat the same way a man held a gun to the head of another man. "You know I won't stick around long and I'd be gone before you could even holler 'sheriff'."
Maddy blinked several times. How could she have missed him leaning against the wooden post as casually as if he belonged there? In her town? The man, if he hadn't been the most wanted, would have made her want a night or two in his bed. Dark brown hair caught up in a ponytail with a leather band, haunting coffee-colored eyes, a sensuous mouth she'd kissed with erotic pleasure, and tall, muscular frame, dressed in black. He wore his hat tipped over his face but he couldn't hide his too male arrogance.
That's why she'd missed him. He'd been dressed to blend with the shadows. Maddy imagined his naked body pressing hers into the quilt-covered bed in her room. His rough hands scoring rivets of desire over her swollen breasts. His tongue rasping trails of molten fire up and down the tender skin of her inner thighs. She had to stop these erotic thoughts that had no hope of going anywhere.
Aurora Rose Lynn
Romance Is Only a Fantasy Away