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Saturday, April 30, 2016

A Newsletter Update Means a Unique Opportunity for Readers

I don't know about you, butI have a tendency to forget things. If I don't have a list, or someone to remind me, important things tend to get overlooked.

That's why I think that, as an author, having a newsletter is so important. It allows me to keep in touch with my readers and remind them about important things going on in my writing life. Whether it be a new release, an appearance, or a contest, my subscribers know that they can count on me to get the most current information. Yes, social media and a web presence are important, but with so much competing for our attention, these things can often get missed. I love being able to communicate with my readers via email. 

Over the past month, I've been updating and overhauling my newsletter. It has a new look, a new provider, and is a tad more personal. Now, not only do readers get to learn about my professional side, but they learn a little bit more about me. Readers love to feel involved in the writing process, so I'm also starting to introduce polls that will help me get feedback on my books and which series they love most. In addition, adding exclusive contests and free content to my newsletter schedule so that these readers know just how special they are to me.

Sound time consuming? It is, but my readers are important to me, and I think they're worth it. ;) If you want to sign up for my newsletter and join the fun, you can do so here.

How about you? If you're an author, do you use a newsletter? If you're a reader, do you subscribe to any author newsletters? What are some of the most creative things you have seen authors do with their newsletter subscribers? Tell me about it in the comments section. I want to know!

~ ~ ~

Now you can get all three Jungle Heat books in one complete set! Purchase now and get it 30% off buying each book individually. See what these bad boy Latino shifters are up to in this exciting, erotic series by NYT and USA Today Best Selling Author, Suzanne Rock!

This three-book boxed set includes Cria, Conquista, and Corazon.

Kindle | Amazon UK | Nook | iBooks | Kobo

About the Author:
A lifetime New Englander, Suzanne married her college sweetheart and has been with him for over twenty years. Every summer she drags her husband and two daughters to Maine on a quest for the perfect lobster dinner. Every fall she can be found down in Foxboro, Massachusetts cheering on her favorite football team. In between those trips, she’s a chauffeur, a maid, a chef, an event planner, a hairdresser, a wardrobe stylist, a tutor and a sometimes masseuse. To keep her sanity, she often drinks copious amounts of coffee and stares at the blank screen of her laptop, dreaming of great adventures. Sometimes she even writes them down for others to enjoy.
Suzanne is represented by Deidre Knight of The Knight Agency and writes mainstream romances under the pen name Ava Conway.

Connect with Suzanne online:

Amazon UK Author Page
Amazon Germany Author Page

Friday, April 29, 2016

Looking back - a sexy, hot pirate novella #RB4U #MFRWauthor

I thought it might be fun to look an old title not many readers are familiar with, despite it being a ton of fun! I created this one almost ten years ago, built a cool world around the concept, and have long thought it would make an awesome fantasy novel. Not likely to happen now, but if you'd like to read a novella that is sexy, romantic, adventurous, and a whole lot of fun, you just might love this one!

The Gates of Infinity
(Erotic fantasy/adventure novella)

Thaer is a world that mirrors our own, but in many ways it is both the past and future of Earth. Magic and sorcery are commonplace, and beneath the vast sands of Cairos and the waters of Venicia lie secrets that may hold the key to travel between worlds and time itself. All things are tied to the presence of a legendary pirate captain, a skilled mage, and a sorceress who has never known her true origins. As the spells weave amid treachery and betrayals, the tempestuous storm gates are opened and salvation or destruction looms in their swirling, fiery depths. Will time be turned inward, or can the Fate of two worlds truly rest on the success of a terrified reporter from modern day New York? A woman whose fate was written in another world and time, and who now holds the key to the unpredictable power contained within the Gates of Infinity?

CONTENT NOTES: Paranormal, Magic, Witches, Wizardry, Urban Fantasy, Adventure, Pirates, Erotic Romance



It began several hundred years from now. Life conspires to take us where we are meant to be, even when we do not ourselves know the direction in which we are traveling. Thus it was that my uneventful existence began, and ended, with a single drop of blood, spilled unsuspectingly on a honed and gleaming pirate blade. In the now distant year of nineteen hundred ninety-nine, in the town of Avalon Inlet, somewhere in the hidden coastal regions of Northern Maine, I encountered the capricious Lady of Destiny. It is, even now, an incredible tale of adventure and, yes, of romance that is the stuff of dreams. My name is Verity, Veranna, or even Verianya--and if you will let me, I will tell you of my assignation with a magical and thrilling life forever altered by the whims of Fate...

* * * *

"The entire place is a work of art," Verity Mathison said with genuine reverence. She'd been stranded in the picturesque town since the previous evening, when her car had quite inexplicably decided it didn't want to go any further. Being a journalist/novelist did have its advantages; in this case, as a freelancer, she tended to not keep 'office hours'. Finding the small town with the fanciful name of Avalon Inlet was a writer's dream come true. Not only was the place not on any map, it was something out of a time long passed into history.

The young shop girl smiled, the expression pretty with pleasure at the compliment.

"We're a small community," she said, voice soft with a slight lilt. "Things don't change much from year to year."

"Is everyone here of generations past, or does the town have any new blood?"

"Once in a while strangers find us and decide to stay," she answered, still smiling, though with less sincerity than before.

"Why aren't you on the map?" Verity wondered, looking around the crowded antique shop. There were vast riches in this place, the writer mused, examining a display of weaponry that had to be at least a couple of centuries old. Since she had entered the shop, a tiny thrill of excitement had been growing stronger within her as the minutes passed. In spite of the lack of sense in it, Verity felt as though she'd found some lost part of her soul reflecting back at her as she examined the array of artifacts that filled the quaint shop.

"How much is that one?" she asked, pointing to the shiniest and least ornate of the swords that were arranged on a wall behind the counter.

"It's not for sale," the clerk told her, eyes now sharp, thoughtful, and unmistakably wary.

So that's your game, Verity thought with cynicism. The price had just jumped considerably, she knew. But, like everything else, it would have a price.

In spite of her decree, the girl reached up and lifted the shimmering blade from its place amid the other swords. Motion fluid and graceful, she spun the cutlass and offered it to the curious stranger, hilt first.

With a combination of near-fear and undeniable excitement, Verity stared at it. The lurch of her stomach was eloquent testimony of her surprisingly intense nervous state. With a will of its own, her hand rose and she watched in detached fascination as her fingers closed around the well-worn grip of the archaic weapon. As soon as her hold was solid, she was forced to drop the sword; heat seared her flesh and she cried out, cursing furiously as the pain pulsed upward along the length of her arm.

The shaken clerk stared at her as though she'd gone mad.

It wasn't the pitying look one gave a lunatic, however. There was sincere terror in her eyes as she watched the other woman, and Verity knew she didn't help the situation by glaring at her in unjustified accusation. That didn't lessen her anger, of course, because somewhere inside her, she did blame the hapless girl for not warning her of the potential threat in accepting the sword from her hands.

Not waiting for comments, or assistance, if the girl was indeed planning to offer any, Verity turned on her heel and left the shop. As she glanced back, she caught the name of the place, The Mahjrah Treasure Chest. She was now quite unimpressed with the pirate's plunder.

* * * *

The following day, fool that she sometimes was, Verity returned to the Treasure Chest and again was drawn like a magnet to the rack of weapons on the back wall. The sword hung in its place, seeming to stare back at her in subtle challenge.

"Have you come back for old Ehtionne's sword, miss?"

The girl from the previous day was gone; in her place was an ancient man, stooped and weathered by time. But, his eyes were sparkling with vitality and shrewd intelligence. As Verity gazed into those keen dark eyes, the sensation of edgy excitement began churning deep within her.

"Ehtionne?" She repeated, at a loss to form more than the single word query.

He nodded, then hobbled around the counter and gestured for her to follow him. They stopped in a small alcove that was separated from the main area of the shop by a curtained doorway. Once inside, Verity discovered a tiny gallery of aging paintings. The old man pointed to the largest of the collection and her heart felt like it wanted to grow wings and leave her body as she stared at the face of a stranger who'd haunted her dreams from childhood.

"My God!" she breathed in unequivocal shock. "He's real."

The old man looked inordinately pleased, and she tried not to resent him; there was no reason for such emotion.

"You recognize him."

It was more a statement of presumed fact than any form of real question.

Verity shook her head.

"No," she denied. "I must have seen his face in books. I've researched this area's folklore and pirate legends." Even as she made the assertion, and tried desperately to believe it, she knew it to be a lie. The old man knew, too, she could read it in his steady brown eyes.

"There are no photos of Mahjrah in any of your books, miss," he assured her in a soft, almost regretful tone.

As she had the day before, Verity ran. This time she didn't escape the confines of the shop. When she flung aside the curtain and would have bolted for the doors, she ran straight into the young girl who'd been there the previous day.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, her voice and eyes glaring with anger.

"Leaving," Verity snapped, her responding irritation more reflex than anything genuine.

"That part of the shop is not open to the public," she informed the visitor. "It's our storage room."

"Storage room?" Verity repeated stupidly. Anger flared in the next instant, and she glowered at her. "The old man took me in there," she told the annoying girl. "And it sure as hell doesn't look like a storage room!"

The clerk was giving her that disturbing look of pity and fear again.

Verity was furious.

"If you don't believe me," she snarled at the shop girl, "he's still back there." She turned, yanked aside the curtain, and was met with the solid presence of a heavy door, the sign in the center of it proclaiming that it was to be used by 'Employees Only'.

"If you'll wait, ma'am," the girl said, ice in her tone now. "I'll allow you to speak to the manager."

Gawking at her, Verity numbly trailed her back into the main room, then watched her disappear behind another door. Silence engulfed the shop and she continued to look at the partially revealed doorway that had led to the small gallery.

"Are you still interested in the cutlass, miss?"

The voice went through her, and she was enraged anew. She whirled around and the old man smiled benevolently.

"What the hell is going on here?" she demanded, taking a step toward him.

He calmly walked to the other side of the counter and took the sword from its mounting. He twirled it with remarkable skill and Verity took an involuntary step backward when he held it out for her to take.

"No, thanks," she assured, sarcasm in the tone. "I've already had that experience once, and it's quite enough."

He appeared amused all over again and wrath rose in her throat as a bitter bile. He was laughing at her!

"All right," Verity snapped viciously. "Give me the damn thing."

Her fingers closer over the hilt and she braced for pain.

It never came.

Enthralled by the feel of the weapon in her hand, she stared at it. Her other hand rose to stroke the smooth, cool metal of the saber and a whisper of something powerful trembled along the length of her arm. Oblivious to anything else, she touched the edge of the silvered blade with the side of her thumb. A prick of pain warned her that she'd tested well-honed metal rather foolishly. Blood welled and spilled onto the blade, a single crimson teardrop of life.

The reaction was immediate, and terrifying.

The polished metal clouded, became translucent, tinged with the scarlet of blood; then the images began to coalesce before her spell-bound gaze. The small shop in Avalon Inlet no longer existed. Her head felt like it was spinning, and reality growing ever more distant, yet closer, as well. Someone screamed as Verity fell into the chaos that she'd glimpsed in the gleaming blade of the sword...

Thursday, April 28, 2016

ABOUT FACE—A COVER STORY by Andrea Downing #CowboyRomance #RB4U

You, dear reader, most definitely recognize the name and are conjuring up the flowing hair, the square jaw, and the open shirt displaying a musculature only rivaled by Arnie’s. But Fabio hit his stride in the ‘80s and ‘90s, years of Dynasty and Dallas, big hair and big shoulders, and, apparently, big men.  Now pushing sixty, Fabio has long been in retirement, but his wannabes roll on, it seems. Jimmy Thomas, now thirty-five and weighing in at 220, claims he has graced more than eight thousand romance covers. Somewhat in the Fabio mold, his bared broad shoulders and come-hither eyes have been a huge success. But is this what women really want?  Maybe we want the eyes concentrating on only us, the longing that’s been made evident there, but is that really the body we long for in our beds?
For me, it’s a definite ‘no.’ The thought of some well-oiled muscular body in my bed is not at all enticing.  For openers, doesn’t all that breadth of thigh and chest make the part of the anatomy that really matters look incredibly small?  Lost even?  And do I want someone with longer hair than mine, hanging in my face as he lies above me, wisps finding their way into my mouth?  I think not. No, I don’t want flab and I don’t want someone thinner than my good self, but neither do I want to find myself in bed with Robo-man, some cartoon character or washboard/six pack combo who I’m afraid might smother me should the idea strike—and whose brain is, in ratio, smaller than his abs. I ask you, what is the attraction?
To research this post, I checked in at  Top 10 Hottest Cover Models?  Well, there was one I was actually attracted to:  Hollis Chambers.  Looks like my kinda guy:  buff, handsome, athletic, but not overly muscled.  I’d have him in a Stetson—and my bed—any day of the week. The same could be said of man of the moment, Jason Baca, who graces the cover of Come Love a Cowboy. Fit. Nice looking.  Not overly large. So is my aversion to the Mr. World, Atlas kind of guy an unusual repugnance—am I alone, or have I got cohorts in this apparent peculiarity?  Do women want Fabio back in the picture or was that a passing fashion just as Jean Harlow and Mae West gave way to Jane Mansfield and Marilyn Monroe and they, in turn, have given way to the anorexic coat-hangers of today. For the answer, I turned to my fellow authors in the anthology, Come Love a Cowboy. And there seems to be something strange going on here. 
Best-selling author Keta Diablo seems to agree with me; she tells me she’s “never gravitated toward body-builders or muscular men. Seems I've always been attracted to lean men of average height or somewhat taller. They can have muscle, but not the ones you see with huge biceps and massive chests.” Best-selling author of  ‘The Snowbird Series,’ Hebby Roman, says the same:  “My body type for a guy is muscular but not muscle-bound.” And Patti Sherry-Crews is of like mind:  “I don't go for the big muscular guy, and whenever I see a character described as having "thick thighs" it's a turn-off for me, but I believe I am in the minority on this since I see it so often as a turn-on. So, yeah, in choosing a cover I might go with bulky-muscled guy since that seems to be what the reader wants.”  Is it what the reader wants? Award-winning author Julie A. D’Arcy seems to think so, although, again, that sort of man is not her type. She says, “I married an average height, rugged looking, muscly shouldered, football player with a good sense of humor.…I am not that wrapped in seeing half naked muscle bound guys on covers, but they seen to appeal to a lot of women that buy romance novels.” Kathleen Ball, author of numerous best-selling western romance novels, also sees this dichotomy—“In real life I love a fit well groomed man. On my covers I love 6 pack abs. A big smile and a cowboy hat…" 
     Other authors seem to prefer—no surprise here!—the same man they married, or would date.  Best-selling and award-winning author Caroline Clemmons says, “I like clean shaven, clothed even if the shirt is partially unbuttoned, dark hair, blue eyes, nice shoulders. That is the type that also appeals to me individually (my husband).”  But perhaps it was Margo Bond-Collins who had her finger on the pulse.  Margo told me, “I adore the hard-bodied men on the cover of many romance novels--at least in an abstract, appreciating-the-aesthetics kind of way. I think they're lovely to look at. And hot bodies and hard muscles are great in fiction. In my own life, I don't care what people look like. I am attracted to kindness, to generosity, to intelligence, to wit, and to strength of character. I find that the people I love become beautiful to me, regardless of whether they fit into any culturally approved standard of beauty.” 
So perhaps the answer is that we, as authors, are selling fantasy and the fantasy is that the muscles, broad shoulders and Greek god looks personify the strengths we seek in a partner. We wouldn’t necessarily seek out a man who looked like that, but those attributes are symbols, on a book cover, of the inner strengths, care, protectiveness, love and attention that we do want in our men. 


Eight stand-alone Contemporary Western Romance novellas from Bestselling and Award Winning Authors.

From firefighters, bronco busters, and wealthy ranchers to bad boys, we have them all for you!  If you've ever wanted to fall in love with a sexy, alpha cowboy of's your chance.

A savings of more than 75% if the books were purchased separately.

Luke’s Fate by Kathleen Ball
Meg O’Brien hoped never to lay eyes on the one man who broke her heart. To her dismay, Luke Kelly arrives at her ranch a much different and broken man. Can Meg ever forgive his callous treatment of her and help Luke become the man he used to be?

Grant Me The Moon by Caroline Clemmons
All Tory Fraser intended was to show her high school history club students a local archeology dig. How could she know the excursion would involve a murder?

Three for The Win by Keta Diablo
Hollis should have known better than to fall for a bone-melting man like Stede. He’s gone now and Eli is left to pick up the broken pieces of her life.

Border Affair by Hebby Roman
When his partners’ daughter is kidnapped in México, a self-made millionaire must confront his feelings about their affair and the future of their relationship.

Leaving Necessity by Margo Bond Collins
Mac has one week to convince his ex-girlfriend Clara not to sell his oil company. In this high-pressure reunion, can they strike love again?

The Shape of Destiny by Julie A. D’Arcy
A young male shape shifter. A beautiful female ranch owner. Can love be born in a web of deceit?

Bad Boy, Big Heart by Andrea Downing
She’s a New Yorker escaping her parents.  He’s a Wyoming cowboy supporting his dad. One summer, two young people—three months to find love.

Desert Heat
by Patti Sherry-Crews
A single mother struggling to keep her guest ranch puts her own desires on hold. When a handsome and persistent fireman sets his sights on her, she must decide how much she’s willing to give.

Universal Link:

Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Research Trip by Janice Seagraves

I had been writing so many stories about a desert or desert worlds that I thought it was time to refresh my memory. I hadn't been to the desert since I was in the sixth grade.

So hubby and I packed our bags and headed out to the Mohave desert.

We stayed in Palmdale, in a good central location, and took day trips out to see the desert. I also took tons of photos. Here are a few.

We saw a lot of Joshua trees.
 At the Prime Desert Woodland Preserve, we saw a warbling Desert Wren
 Lots of Spotted Lizards. This one is taking a nap on the Joshua tree blooms. 
The funny thing was I didn't know Joshua trees bloomed.
 Lots of bunnies
 And did I mention lizards?
 We also went to the Antelope Valley California Poppy Reserve, but no poppies.
On the way back, we stumbled across a antique store that reminded me and my husband of the old Sanford and Son show. We spend a delightful hour exploring there.
And we spend one day at the Santa Monica Pier which is a two hour drive from Palmdale. The direction we had said it was an hour and a half drive but it lied. The traffic in L.A. is terrible.
A nice Russian girl took our photo at the Marisol restaurant, located at the very end of the Santa Monica pier, and she made us this card. 
We had a great time. 
Wish you were here.
Blurb: Megan and Seth are finally rescued off their little island, but things are far from idyllic as they’re treated to one nasty surprise after another, which puts all plans of a wonderful future in jeopardy.
Will they ever get back together again or see the life they envisioned?

“Megz, I thought you were going home?” Seth chided as she took the seat across from him at the old beat up wooden table.
“I have a flight in two hours. Time enough to see you before I leave.” She blinked back tears.
This is so unfair. This can’t be the last time I see him.
Megan folded her hands on the table. “We already checked out of the hotel, but I brought your luggage. The commissioner gave me the okay, so now you have a change of clothes for when you go in front of the judge. I also bought you a few necessities. Since soap and such are not provided, I was told it’s customary for family members to buy those items for the inmates.” She sat a white plastic bag on the table. “These have already been cleared for your use.”
He eyed the bag. “Did your boys pay for it?”
This is the last thing I can do for him, and he doesn’t want it? “Don’t you argue with me, Seth Dawson. You need these.” She fisted her hands. “I also put some money into an account here at the jail for anything else you might need.”
“Ta fer that, love. I’ll pay your sons back somehow.” Seth took one of her hands and uncurled her fingers. “I did want to see you one last time. I didn’t reckon with us parting this way. You to yer rotten bloke, and me here on charges.” He smiled. “Cuddling up on one of your siblings’ sofas sounded nice.”
“Crowded maybe, but we would’ve been together.”
“I heard you made a statement.”
“I did.” She sighed and looked down. I’m not sure what good it’ll do, Seth.
“Thanks for trying, love,” Seth murmured. “I don’t reckon on it being much since you didn’t know Bill before he died.”
“The commissioner said most of my statement is hearsay.” She shrugged. “The only thing I could really tell them was: Bill was dead when we found him and looked the same as the other drowning victims. Also, you never said a bad word about him and showed genuine grief at seeing his body.”
“Not much to go by.” Seth rubbed his thumb across her knuckles.
The slight touch sent a tingle through her, and she wanted to throw herself across the table at him. “The commissioner said he was going to contact the harbormaster where the Dinki-Di had been birthed to see if you two had gotten into any fights.”
“We didn’t.” Seth shook his head. “We got along.”
“Maybe he’ll make a statement too.”
“Gawd, I hope so,” Seth said. “I don’t have enough character references, being from out of town.”
“No, just me.” She tried to smile.
“And old Bill who’s gone.” He lifted her hand to kiss her fingers.
“Times up,” said a guard.
Megan stood and stared at Seth wanting to remember him. Not like this in the black and white jail clothes, but the way he was on the island, happily rumpled in his threadbare outfits.

Buy Link: Amazon USA
Buy Link: Amazon UK

Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Meet RB4U's Newest Member

Hey there! I’m RB4U’s newest member, Michele Zurlo. I’ve followed the blog for years, and I’m geeked to be part f the RB4U family. I’ll be here every month on the 26th to share my thoughts and opinions about issues related to being a romance novelist. This month, I thought I’d introduce myself because if you’re like me, you’re probably thinking, “I know you from somewhere. You kind of look like my aunt.” Chances are I’m not your aunt, so here are a few things about me that may set me apart.

1.   Daytime: I’m a middle school English teacher (or, as my wife says, crazy) and a mom to very active twin teens. Around the edges of all that, I’m a writer. My goal for 2016 was to become more involved in the writing world. To that end, I’ve taken part in the Dominant Persuasions anthology, signed up to appear at my first conference (Midwestern Book Lovers Unite) in October, and I became an author member of RB4U. I’d say I achieved my goal, and it’s only April.

2.   Personality: You can tell from “Daytime” that I’m methodical and goal-oriented. I’m also an introvert, and I used to be a rule-follower. Turning 40 cured me of that need. People call me quirky when they’re trying to be nice. Like many writers, I’m a bit OCD, but I’m flexible. For example: The blinds in my classroom need to be hanging at the exact same height, but I don’t care what level that is. Also, I’m all about grrl power. I insist that my heroines be intelligent, and then I get frustrated when they don’t behave the way I expect. In my current WIP, my heroine insisted on having two heroes as her love interest instead of the one I had originally chosen. But I guess I’m the person who often wants a choice that’s not on the list too.

3.   Writing: I love to write. When I was young, I used to do it all the time, but somewhere around the time I was forced to adult, I stopped. I started again when my kids were little (for sanity breaks) and I haven’t stopped. I found success in the BDSM genre, and lately I’ve encountered a positive reception for my Doms of the FBI series. Re/Leased (DFBI 5--with the heroine who insists on two heroes) comes out this summer, and I have plans to launch a spinoff series tentatively called SAFE Security, in early 2017.

That’s me, Michele Zurlo. Here’s a little kiss from Re/Bound (DFBI 1) to send you off:

She paused at a door three-quarters of the way down the hall. Her gaze fell to the floor. After the awkwardness had passed, the rest of the night had gone well. He had kept the conversation on innocuous topics and had learned a lot about her relationship with Victor Snyder. The prick had her thoroughly and completely snowed. She considered him a friend and a benefactor.

He hooked his finger under her chin and encouraged her to meet his gaze. When she complied, he rewarded her with a smile. Without a doubt, she was one responsive submissive. Yataines had trained her well.

He cupped the side of her face and traced his thumb over her eyebrow. Adjusting the position of his hand, he repeated the caress along her lower lip. She trembled a bit, but she clearly awaited his command. His earlier intention had been an impulsive act of  affection. It had taken all his willpower to keep his cock from saluting her submissiveness.

“I had a nice time tonight, Darcy. Thank you for making this trip worthwhile.”

Her eyes widened a bit, and he knew she wanted to ask if he’d decided against seeing her again now that he’d found out about some of her baggage.

He replayed his caress of her lip. Suddenly he needed to taste her lips more than anything in the world. “Can I kiss you?”
She began to nod, but she caught herself in time. She swallowed and licked her lips. “Yes, I’d like that.”

Malcolm had never once taken the trust of a submissive lightly. Part of him wanted to play the gentleman and leave her alone. A larger part of him needed to know the flavor and texture of her kiss. He recognized the blurring of the line between his cover identity and his real self, and he couldn’t keep from crossing it.

He feathered his lips over hers, a reverent caress that teased a small sigh from her. That tiny sound proved to be his undoing. He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, and she  opened for him. He cradled her head with one hand to hold her close, and he snaked the other around her waist to press her body closer.

She moaned and leaned into him as he directed with the pressure of his hand on her back. He tasted her lips and teeth. He sampled the roof of her mouth and tangled his tongue with hers. A piece of his heart he’d never before used came to life. It beat a furious staccato rhythm he felt echoed in her chest. Blood rushed to his cock. He thrust a knee between her legs and ground against her.

She mewled, and her fingers dug into his shoulders. Inflamed with her flavor, he moved his lips to sample her neck. She moaned and threw her head back.

The sharp crack of it hitting the door brought Malcolm back to his senses. He had shoved her against the door, and he had ravaged her with everything in his arsenal. He released her abruptly, keeping one hand close in case she needed more than the door to hold her up.

She gazed up at him, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire and blurred by shock. She took a deep, ragged breath and pushed away from the door.

Malcolm ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. You consented to a kiss, not a public mauling.”
A little laugh escaped before she could bite her lip to keep it inside. “Now I’m wondering what will happen if I consent to a public mauling.”

The visions she evoked meant he would need an icy shower before going to sleep. Wisely he changed the topic. “I’d like to see you again. Can we have breakfast together? I could swing by around eight, and we could walk down together.”
Malcolm didn’t know whether he asked her for the mission or because the pounding heart
in his chest wanted to shrivel up and die at the thought of not seeing her.

She nodded. “I’d like that.”

Links of Importance:
Dominant Persuasions:
Midwestern Book Lovers Unite:
Twitter: @MZurloAuthor

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