This month, we're blogging about the healing power of love.
I like to think of that as how one woman can completely turn a guy around. Make him a man. Make him commit.
In one of my newest releases
Surrendering to the Beast, that happens with Daemon when he meets Heather. You see, Daemon's a satyr, a creature of lust and good times, while Heather's a good fairy who isn't into anything naughty...or fun.
When they meet, worlds collide. Not only does Heather find her fun side, Daemon learns the power of love and that opening your heart to another person is truly when the good times roll.
Here's the blurb and a brief excerpt.
OCTOBER 13 - AVAILABLE FOR PRE-ORDER
Book Two - Taming the Beast series
Erotic Paranormal/Romantic Comedy
Blurb:
When she’s good, she’s very good. But when he’s
bad, she’s better.
Taming the Beast, Book 2
As a good fairy, Heather is empathetic and chaste
to a fault. No bad language, no dirty thoughts, flirting and no sex. But when a
satyr named Daemon steps up to her reception desk at From Crud to Stud, she
finds herself on the fast track to exquisite corruption.
Daemon is the total bad-boy package with a kiss straight
from the dark side. Though he’s here for a supernatural makeover, Heather can’t
imagine why any red-blooded woman would want him to change.
A disciple of the god of wine, Daemon has had his
share of good times. But sex has never been this good. Heather brings out a new
side of him, a side that makes him want to protect as well as pillage.
But Daemon needs a little creative backup to help
set his fairy’s naughtiness free. And that means bringing in Mistress Jin.
Under the genie’s tutelage and Daemon’s shameless lust, Heather is about to
learn what it means to let loose.
Warning: Not your
typical bedtime story. May lead to indecent behavior, a taste for voyeurism,
discipline, bondage, m/f, m/f/f and f/f action, which will result in screaming
orgasms. Proceed with caution.
Excerpt:
Heather
steeled herself to do battle with Satan. Cautiously, she faced her webcam and
his image on her computer monitor. This evening, he’d assumed the form of a
European playboy, a snifter of cognac held casually in one hand, dark hair
slicked back, his blood-red ascot contrasting nicely with his white shirt and
navy blazer.
He
certainly knew how to dress.
“Cara
mia.” Heat smoldered in his voice and dark eyes. “What can I do to you?”
“For
me,” she corrected gently, wondering when he’d ever get that right.
Grinning,
he focused on her white peasant blouse and jutted nipples, her areolas
tightened from the chilly weather, not him. Tonight was damp and cool thanks to
a spring storm that continued to rage in the French Quarter. Lightning flashed
and the office lights flickered.
Flames
flared briefly in his pupils. “We’ll do many things to each other, no?”
Heather
smiled politely, a knee-jerk reaction for a good fairy. Needing to get tough,
she held up his overdue bill, hoping he’d look at it rather than her chest. Her
hand shook so badly the paper rattled.
“How
you tremble,” he cooed. “How pale you are. Allow me to put some color in your
lovely cheeks. Heat that will last an eternity.”
Her
skin got even clammier. “Please, just pay your account.” She waved the paper
and talked fast before losing her nerve. “Your grandson failed to show for his
last two appointments. I’m sure he had a good reason. Unfortunately, he didn’t
call to cancel.” She offered an apologetic smile and pressed on. “Because
you’re the cardholder, we had to charge you for the time. I’m so sorry, but it
is the rule.”
One
she was honor-bound to enforce as an employee of From Crud to Stud, a makeover service
for supernatural beings. Howls from weres, hisses from vampires and obscenities
from demons poured from the treatment rooms. Those poor souls were going
through proverbial hell to suppress their beasts. They longed to date mortal
women without freaking them out, while also winning their hearts the normal
way. With real charm, not magic, with integrity and love, not lies and
manipulation.
But
these makeovers took the staff’s valuable time and clients needed to pay for
the effort. Even Satan should understand that.
He
gave her an indulgent smile. “What charges?”
Gasping,
she dropped the flaming paper in her trashcan before it burnt her fingers.
“Later,”
he said and killed the call.
Hurriedly,
Heather put out the small blaze, chiding herself for letting the account get to
this point. She should have been firm with Satan’s grandson when he signed up
for the service. Determined to make up for being too nice, she brought up her
bank account to pay the charges herself. She was about to transfer the funds when
the lights flickered twice, thunder boomed and the front door flew open,
banging against the wall.
She
flinched.
A
blast of dank air and rain blew inside, followed by a guy who looked to be
thirty or so. He wore a black cowboy hat, snug navy tee, low-slung jeans and
cowboy boots.
Once
he shoved the door shut, he slumped against it, breathing hard.
Heather
stood so quickly her chair rolled into the wall.
He
didn’t notice. He’d closed his eyes and raised his face to the ceiling, his
prominent Adam’s apple bobbing with his hard swallow.
Alarmed
yet intrigued, she regarded the short, dark hairs on his throat and took the
rest of him in. His rain-dampened hair was the color of dark chocolate, thick
and wavy, flowing to his broad shoulders. They heaved with his next ragged
breath. Tall, possibly six-three, he was lean yet muscular. His wet tee clung
to his well-defined pecs and abs, those bruising biceps. Stubble covered his
strong jaw, upper lip and cheeks. His bronze skin spoke of days in the sun.
Even
from where she stood, Heather smelled his scent. Clean and masculine, a woodsy,
fresh fragrance along with something else…the unmistakable odor of liquor.
Uh-oh.
It wasn’t often that mortals, drunk or otherwise, happened upon this place.
When they did, Heather had ironclad rules to follow. First, buzz Constance, a
voodoo priestess who could remove memories by laying her hands on someone’s
head. Following that, Heather was supposed to buzz Becca, a half-mortal witch
who owned this place.
Heather
leaned over her desk to press the intercom button.
The
guy turned to her, blinked slowly and stared.
Her
hand stalled.
His
eyes were amazing, the color of Lipton tea, ringed by long, sooty lashes, his
attention riveted as he drank her in. Given his slow, sexy smile, Heather suspected
he was undressing her with his eyes.
She
swallowed and was about to press the button when he groaned suddenly and
mournfully, the sound of someone in serious pain.
Heather paused and decided not to call for
anyone just yet. “Are you all right?”
DROP BY FOR MY SURRENDERING TO THE BEAST RELEASE PARTY ON FB
ALL DAY OCTOBER 13 - TONS OF AUTHORS AND PRIZES
WIN 5 FULL-LENGTH, AWARD-WINNING, BESTSELLING ROMANCES IN MY RAFFLECOPTER CONTEST TO CELEBRATE SURRENDERING TO THE BEAST
___________
ALSO RELEASING OCTOBER 13
11 ALPHA DOMS - 99¢ box set
Blurb (for box set):
11 ALPHA DOMS
TO ROCK YOUR WORLD
From New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Authors and
more!
Are
you ready for 11 alphas that will make you sigh, make your toes curl, and make
your panties wet? You won’t be disappointed! We have military, menage,
contemporary, and a dash of paranormal romance that will send you right over
the edge.
Jump into the action and suspense and find out now how these alphas take
care of their women!
Blurb (for Tropic of Pleasure):
The one woman
they shouldn’t want. Two Doms she can’t resist. A sizzling weekend beyond their
wildest desires.
Bondage,
submission, punishment, oh my. Cara’s wanted Hud and Ryder forever. They’re
Alpha to the core and love a wicked good time, which has her ready to sign up
for their brand of BDSM.
Although
Ryder and Hud haven’t been immune to Cara’s charms, they don’t have a death
wish—her billionaire daddy is a major investor in their high-end construction
firm. When she insists it’s no problem and offers to be their sub, visions of
blindfolds, collars and her sweet surrender dance in their heads, along with
the longing they’ve fought.
Oh baby. The battle’s just begun during a
smoking-hot weekend on a private island.
