Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Happy New Year!


 Wishing everyone a healthy, happy, prosperous and successful 2014!
 May all your dreams come true!

Landra Graf's WHAT YOU NEED

Coming in January...a 1Night Stand story from Decadent Publishing by Landra Graf
What You Need Blurb
Royce is looking for a woman who won’t cringe at the words “sexual submissive,” and a chance for all his fantasies to come true. The 1Night Stand he signed up for was supposed to be simple with no attachments, but when his match is his ex-best friend, simple goes out the window. He can’t stop seeking the answers to why Victoria left or deny his new-found attraction to her.
Victoria has loved Royce forever, but his rejection of her affections eight years ago caused her to walk away from everything. She’s not the same girl from college, and no longer naive and willing to run too just anyone. A sexual dominant born from her mistakes, she wants a chance to start a relationship based on her terms. She’ll settle for one night, but she’s planning on forever.
Author Bio:
Landra Graf consumes at least one book a day, and has always been a sucker for stories where true love conquers all. She believes in the power of the written word, and the joy such words can bring. In between spending time with her family and having book adventures, she writes romance with the goal of giving everyone, fictional or not, their own happily ever after.

Check out Landra at:

Sunday, December 29, 2013

Looking back...and forward

Buh-bye, 2013. 
All things considered, not a bad year for me, writing wise. 
So let's reflect... 

2013 saw the publication by Decadent Publishing of two  of my 1Night Stand stories, FROST and HEAT WAVE, and of BLIZZARD,  a story for Decadent's The Edge line. All of those, along with two 2012 1Night Stand stories, LIGHTNING and THUNDER, were collected in the SLEEPY HOLLOW anthology which came out in late August, as a digital edition and as a paperback!

Not too shabby.

What will 2014 bring?  I've committed to writing three books for some new lines. One of those is in the can, written and submitted and I'm waiting to hear back from Decadent on whether it's been accepted. I've begun another, for a different publisher and a different secret new line, but the deadline's not until the summer so I'm playing around and procrastinating. The third project is barely a glimmer in my eye. Sadly, it doesn't seem that any of those will be published in 2014. So it may be a slow and depressing year for me, while waiting for those calendar pages to flip by.

And trying to curb my book envy when peeps I know announce new contracts and show off dazzling new covers.

But in May, I'll be visiting New Orleans (my bucket list city) for the Romantic Times con.

Which brings me to my game plan for 2014. (Notice how I didn't say "resolution" there? I'm funny that way. I also know myself.)

In 2014, I hope to plan better. And not make myself too crazy doing it!  How about you?

                                            Happy New Year!

Friday, December 27, 2013


Sidelined Afterlife by Joya Fields
 A contemporary romance with a ghostly twist.

Short Blurb:

Communicating with ghosts has only ever brought Veronica Matthews pain and grief. Afraid to love and lose again, Hunter Anderson needs her help, but she resists risking her heart. Can a ghost help them break through a barrier of mistrust and guilt? 


Psychic and medium Veronica Matthews hates being able to communicate with the dead and the nearly departed.  What good is it if she can’t lead the police to the victims of violent crimes before they die? But when her neighbor comes to her for help, she’s torn—until she understands that the ghost haunting him is more dangerous than any she’s encountered….

After losing his wife in a tragic accident, ER doctor Hunter Anderson’s only solace is his work and a ghost is jeopardizing that. Turning to his neighbor seems like his only choice, but spending time with the passionate woman, and her sassy attitude, might do more than save his life…

She can’t risk her heart. He’s afraid to love and lose again. Can a ghost help these two souls to live again?


   “I am an idiot. The biggest idiot ever. If you want me to pierce something for you, to prove I’m an idiot, I have some sterilized instruments upstairs in my apartment.”

   Her tongue poked against her cheek, signaling a laugh that wanted to erupt. Suddenly, he really wanted to be the one who could make her laugh. “Maybe I could do your lower lip?”

   Her short laugh erupted. A sweet, melodic sound that filled the small apartment.

   His gaze stayed on that full mouth and he lifted his fingers closer, compelled to touch her.      She stared at him with wide eyes as he traced the corner of her mouth lightly with his finger.

   “I’m a liar. I could never tarnish something as beautiful as this.”

Christ. What a line. Where had those words come from? But he meant it.

   Her breath was hot against his finger as he traced the line of her lower lip. Her gaze held his. His stomach growled again, breaking the spell, and she blinked and leaned against the sofa.

   “You know what? We never had dessert,” she said.

He had room for dessert. But not the food kind. He swallowed to quell his appetite for her. “Uh…how about I make an ice cream run? Then we’ll get to work.” Enough of this temptation. He needed to get away from her, from this pull she had on his body and emotions.

Buy: Amazon | Barnes and Noble | Decadent Publishing | All Romance eBooks


Joya’s Bio:
     Joya Fields has had over 100 stories and articles published in local and national magazines. Her debut novel, a romantic suspense, was a NJRW GOLDEN LEAF WINNER FOR BEST FIRST BOOK OF 2012 and was nominated for RT Book Reviews 2012 Indie Press/Self-Published Contemporary Romance award. Since then, she’s published four more books with even more on the way.

Connect with Joya
Twitter: @joyafields
Facebook Author Page

Saturday, December 21, 2013

Ring in the new! Calendar Giveaway

I've got some Affaire de Coeur 2014 calendars to give away to five lucky winners!

SLEEPY HOLLOW is featured for October.

Tell me why you need a calendar and which of my books you liked the best in the comments section below. And use the Rafflecopter to enter.

I'll keep the giveaway going until the end of December.

(Sorry, costs of postage will cause me to limit this to U.S. entrants only.)

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Wednesday, December 18, 2013


Divided Loyalties, Ashwood Falls, #4
By Lia Davis

Trained to hunt rogues and protect the human race from the threat of shifters, Christa Baker is beginning to rethink her career choice. Especially when her niece and nephew—who she’s raised on her own—end up in the crossfire. Now she’s looking for a way out and disappear off Shield’s radar for good. She never thought her out would be a gorgeous wolf who kidnaps her after raiding Shield HQ.
Hayden Raines has always followed the rules. As the Ashwood Fall wolf Marshal, he has to set the example for those working under him. When he sets his sights on the beautiful human hunter things go downhill, fast. Fate has a funny way of turning things inside out—because the woman he kidnaps, the enemy he might need to protect his family from, just happens to be his mate.
Warning: Contains one woman on a path she’s not ready for, a man who thought things would be different, and a heated exchange that turns out to be the best thing ever. 

Excerpt: Something didn’t ring right with Christa Baker as she sat in the conference room listening to the new leader of Shield rattling on about rogue shifters. He said they were growing in numbers, yet he hadn’t provided any physical proof. Sure a few humans had gone missing, most of whom were homeless, and according the police, their disappearances weren’t that unusual.
She failed to see his point because shifters were born, not created. So why would they need to kidnap humans?

Her new boss had gone on and on for the last several weeks about an increase in shifter sightings. Again, no proof. Christa had checked.

She could pull up anything from the Internet. Social networks like Facebook and YouTube were the best places to look for the weird and unusual.

There hadn’t been a human attack by a shifter since she’d killed the beast in her home eight years ago. It had been her first encounter with what she now knew was called a mutant, a half-animal, half-human creature with no regard for life—its own or others’.

However, Vance Miller believed a civil war was raging among the breeds that had spilled over into the human world. There was something he’d left out, something bigger than he wanted her and the others in Shield to believe. So what if the shifters were at war with one another and killing themselves? Was it the mutants? If so, then they deserved what they got. They’d created the damned creatures; they could all go to hell as far as she cared.

It wasn’t Shield’s place to get involved in the shifters’ civil war. Shield was a human-run group of rebels that went above the law to protect mankind from the were-kind or shifters, as they liked to be called. She didn’t care what they called themselves as long as they left the humans alone. So far, in the eight years she’d been with Shield, the shifters had. However, there was the occasional mishap—like the mating-gone-wrong situation her sister had suffered.

Mary didn’t have the chance to run when her mate turned on her in a fit of jealous rage. Or at least that’s what Christa believed happened. Her niece and nephew, fraternal twins Brenna and Bryce, had been only eight at the time and thankfully not at home to witness how their mother died.

However, Christa had been the one to ID the body.

From that day forward, Christa had fought for Shield to protect humans from the shifter races.

Up until a few months ago, Shield hadn’t attacked innocents or started wars between the shifters, but then Vance had stepped in as the new leader of Shield. He’d changed the way the others thought, more like manipulated them into believing his load of bullshit. She wasn’t sure how he’d done it, but the others just bowed down to him and believed every lie out of his mouth.

How could they be so blind to his cause?

Then again, the other soldiers couldn’t detect a shifter like she could. Sure, they all had training to know what to look for. Eye color was the biggie. Most shifters had an unusual coloring, and when they were challenged or provoked, their eyes seemed to glow. Plus the pupils were reflective like the animal that lived within.

Christa had lived with two shifters for the last seven years. She’d been there when Brenna and Bryce shifted for the first time. She’d also helped them control their wolves, thanks to the information her sister had shared with her when she was alive. 

“My sources tell me that the rise in shifter attacks points to a hybrid Pack of wolves and leopards called Ashwood Falls,” Vance said then tapped on the table to get her attention.

She met his gaze and held it until he looked away, but not before she caught the flashing shift of color in his irises. Satisfied she wasn’t being paranoid about what he was, she asked, “How trustworthy is this source? Why haven’t we heard about attacks from our police contacts? It should be all over the Internet.”

Vance set his jaw and turned away from them to study the map on the wall. “The shifters are very good at hiding these things from humans. You, of all people, should know that, Christa.”

Fucking ass

What she really wanted to say was, “Like you, asshole,” but she refrained and squashed her temper down before it got her in trouble. Again. “How sure are you?” she asked in a slightly softer tone.

See? She could be calm and cool.

He peered at her over his shoulder and smiled one of those smiles that held no humor or amusement. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were protecting the shifters.”

She narrowed her eyes and wished she had the gift of pyrokinesis so she could light his ass on fire. Okay so maybe that was a little extreme, but she didn’t trust or like him. The darkness he held around him put her on edge every time he was near. “I wouldn’t want to go in and destroy the wrong den when there could be a bigger threat out there. I just like to be sure.”

The truth was Vance had taken all the control of research and strategy from her when he took over the unit. That annoyed the hell out of her, and it also left her feeling as though she was going into an OP blind.

She swore he let out a low growl before he called the meeting to an end. Gathering her notebook and pen, she moved toward the door, only to stop when Vance stepped in her path. She fisted her free hand by her side and silently counted backward from ten. One corner of Vance’s lips lifted. She wanted so badly to punch that smirk right off his face.

Or just shoot him.

If there was a rogue, it was him for sure.

“What’s the rush?”

She stared into his dark brown eyes and squared her shoulders. “I skipped lunch.”

He moved to the side, and she stepped forward. He gripped her biceps and leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Tell the brats to stay safe.”

She jerked out of his grip and stormed down the hall to the lobby of Shield HQ, away from the bastard shifter-acting-human. Only then did she allow her heart to pound uncontrollably and let fear consume her.

Pulling out her phone, she sent a one-word text to an untraceable cell.


A few seconds later she got a reply.


Relief flooded her system and threatened to make her knees give out. She had to get a grip. The twins were safe and very smart. But still she insisted on the text codes for her own piece of mind.

Although Vance had just threatened her niece and nephew. At least that was what she took it for, a threat. Maybe he knew they were wolves. No. He’d never met—or even seen them.

She had to get out of Shield and disappear. Fall off the radar for good.

But how?

When she reached the lobby door, she jerked back as it flew open to reveal a large man with black hair and bright green eyes that bored into her as he moved forward. She sidestepped him, but he was too quick. He snaked one arm around her waist, drew her into the hard length of his side, while he held a gun straight out, and fired at everyone around them.

She screamed, but no one heard her over the gunfire. Shield soldiers came from the back offices, weapons drawn. Two more men stepped up beside her and her captor then rushed the wall of Shield soldiers, killing them with ease like trained assassins.

Christa twisted and kicked with no results. The man had a death grip around her waist. “Let me go. We don’t have money in here.”

He didn’t reply, which was no surprise to her. She didn’t expect him to. Think, Christa. She scanned the large lobby, and her heart ached for the men and women she’d worked with for the last eight years. They were giving it their all, but it wasn’t good enough. One by one, they fell.

And she was helpless, trapped in the arms of the murderer.

One of her captor’s allies, an auburn-haired man, advanced down the hall. He came back a few minutes later and said, “He’s not here.”

The man holding her firmly to his body growled. “Let’s go.” He shot the last soldier before turning her around to face him.

She gasped. No fucking way. He was a shifter.

The way his eyes reflected off the light told her that. Frantic, she shoved against his chest. He wouldn’t budge. “Let me go!”

He lifted a brow and studied her for a moment or two as though he was trying to read her mind or something. Oh, no he wouldn’t. She yanked her knee up and connected with his balls, hard. He cursed and let go of her as he doubled over.

She didn’t waste time. She ran for the door, only to skid to a halt as the auburn-haired man appeared in front of her. What the fuck? A teleporter? No, he hadn’t materialized in front of her. She’d seen it done before. Fucking shifter speed was what he’d used to reach her so fast.

Christa patted her hip. Damn. She’d left her gun in her car because it was always too tempting to shoot Vance if she took it into the meeting.

She tried to fake a left and then moved right to move around him when the other man gripped her by the arm. A sharp stick in the arm made her jerk. She peered at the man as he pulled a needle out of her arm.

Son of a bitch.

Her vision blurred, and her legs wobbled, no longer able to hold her up.

“Bastards,” she managed to say before everything went black. 

About the Author:
Lia Davis is a mother to two young adults and two very special kitties, a wife to her soul mate, a paranormal romance author, and co-owner to Fated Desires Publishing, LLC. She and her family live in Northeast Florida battling hurricanes and very humid summers. But it’s her home and she loves it!
An accounting major, Lia has always been a dreamer with a very activity imagination. The wheels in her head never stop. She ventured into the world of writing and publishing in 2008 and loves it more than she imagined. Writing is stress reliever that allows her to go off in her corner of the house and enter into another world that she created, leaving real life where it belongs.
Her favorite things are spending time with family, traveling, reading, writing, chocolate, coffee, nature and hanging out with her kitties.

Sunday, December 1, 2013

A hint of FROST

Just because I love and adore Max, my fire-sex demon and erotic artist...a little G-rated Sunday sumthin' from FROST:

Standing beneath the shower, as cold as he could get it, he waited for the frigid water to slice over his skin, controlling the burn. Making a trip into the mountains wouldn’t help. The new Queen of the Succubi wanted him too badly, although she hid it better than had her deceased predecessor, a fountain of pure evil. Still, he doubted he’d return from a run to Demon Hall.

By the time he slid into his seat at the head of the long, formal dining table, he’d managed to clamp a lid on the furnace broiling within. Not that he considered himself human, even on the best of days. But the shower had brought his temperature down. He glanced at his reflection in the back of a soup spoon.

“Your eyes are lighter,” Blackburn confirmed. “Almost normal.”

“Yeah, if normal is the color of dirty snow. Or ash.”

“Opaline gray.”

“As a matter of fact, I could use a new tube of Opaline gray, if you’re ordering. Also, Mars black. I’ll get you a list.” Raines dipped his spoon into the bowl of chilled gazpacho Blackburn had served, but looked up when the majordomo remained silent. “What?” His razor-thin patience wouldn’t tolerate social diplomacy today.

Blackburn cleared his throat. “You could use a woman, sir, is what you could use.”

“Yeah. Don’t go there. You know the drill. Unless you want to sweep Opaline gray ashes off the sheets?” His stomach grumbled and he turned to the cold, delicately spiced mélange of tomatoes and peppers with gusto.

When the silver utensil clattered against the delicate china, Blackburn sighed and whisked the empty bowl away. He returned a few minutes later with a crystal goblet filled with ice and ringed with an artistic array of shrimp and lemon wedges.

“I sense a theme.” Raines speared a jumbo shrimp on a tiny cocktail fork and squirted it with lemon.
“I didn’t think hot and sizzling would be your preference."

Saturday, November 30, 2013

Lisa Fox

Please welcome today's guest author, Lisa Fox, announcing her new release:
Sinfully Yours Release Blitz & Giveaway!!
Hi Everyone!
I am thrilled to announce the release of my Quickie erotic romance SINFULLY YOURS!

To celebrate, I am giving away a copy to one lucky commenter on my blog. Head over to LISA FOX ROMANCE (http://lisafoxromance.wordpress.com/2013/11/30/sinfully-yours-release-blitz-giveaway/) between now and Monday, November 25, 2013 to enter!

Mardi Gras is a time of debauchery, the “last hurrah” for all the sinners before Lent begins on Ash Wednesday. Bailey is on a mission to wallow in some serious carnal delights, and Bourbon Street is chock-full of options.
When a handsome military man appears at her side, she knows he’s the one for her. Beads are exchanged, flesh exposed, but their night of sinfully wicked lust ends with the coming of the dawn.
Bailey has the chance to keep the passion alive, as long as she has the courage to take the chance of a lifetime.
A Romantica® contemporary erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave 


Copyright © LISA FOX, 2013

All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

A roar of cheers and applause exploded from somewhere down the street and Bailey smiled. Someone must have shown something very, very good. She toasted the night with the remnants of the cocktail she had picked up before hitting Bourbon Street. The sharp kick of cheap vodka burned pleasantly as it slid down her throat. She put the empty cup aside, balancing it on top of a garbage can already heaped with at least twenty others. The alcohol went straight to her head, and she laughed as beads rained down out the sky. Music blasted from the Cat’s Meow speakers, a pulsating beat that commanded the crowd to dance. With no desire to resist, she moved her hips to the rhythm, letting herself get carried away.
“I think I just found my new favorite song,” a man said from somewhere beside her.
He had a deep voice, a panty-melting baritone, and she was already smiling as she turned toward him. What she found only made her smile wider. He was tall, well over six-feet, with close-cropped caramel-brown hair, and blue-gray eyes. With his ramrod-straight spine, firm body and air of tightly controlled dominance, he had to be military. She met his gaze and a prickly thrill tiptoed down her spine. This was a most fortuitous turn of events.
Buy Links

About Lisa:

World-renowned neurosurgeon, jet fighter pilot, secret member of American royalty, seducer of legions of beautiful, outrageously sexy angels and demons and vampires and werewolves and the occasional pirate, Lisa Fox has done it all…in her own mind. In reality, she can generally be found at her desk with a cup of coffee close at hand. Or maybe a martini. It really depends on the day.
Feedback, comments, opinions, words of wisdom, chocolate cake and the addresses of super hot men are always appreciated and encouraged. Please feel free to contact Lisa any time.

Twitter: @LisaFoxRomance

Monday, November 25, 2013

Jan Meredith's debut: PLAYING DOCTOR

So pleased to have Jan Meredith drop in on me today, to spotlight her debut romance novel, PLAYING DOCTOR for Entangled Flaunt!

PLAYING DOCTOR/Entangled Flaunt
By Jan Meredith

When a fellow RN jokingly predicts that Beth Roberts will meet a tall, ripped and totally lick-o-licious stranger who will fulfill her deepest desires, it’s supposed to be from across a crowded room, not giving CPR to a wedding guest. Given her tragic love life, Beth has no desire to become involved again, but who could have predicted the ponytailed doctor with the mischievous smile would break through her defenses?

Dr. Gabriel North blamed himself for his wife’s death. Now, after two years of battling guilt and meaningless hookups, he’s ready to move on. When he sees the sexy brunette at his friend’s wedding, his attraction is swift and strong, and he wastes no time in pressing his advantage. One night with the woman who makes him feel alive again isn’t enough, but gaining her trust is going to take more than medical school has prepared him for.
He worked the button at her waistband free, pulled the zipper down and drove his hand inside. His fingers slid over her sex once, twice, and then plunged deep. Her body quaked, her inner walls grasped and squeezed at his fingers, but it wasn’t enough.
“More,” she moaned. “I need…I’ve got to have my hands on you.” Beth tugged his shirt free of his slacks, keenly aware of the thick column of his cock pressing against his fly. She plunged her hands under the soft fabric, smoothed her palms up the firm ridges of his abdomen. She pressed her hand to his chest, just over his heart, felt the gallop and pitch of it beneath muscle and bone.
For her.
She was in so much trouble and she didn’t give a flying fig. Right now, at this moment, all she cared about was this man, and that he was here, standing before her. Wanting her.
            His forehead fell to hers, his breathing ragged and uneven. He pulled her hand from his cock, grasped her hips and dragged her in, grinding his erection against her upper abdomen. “I’ve dreamed about you, woke up with the taste of you in my mouth.”
            Her breath caught in her throat. “I’ve dreamed about you, too. Of your mouth, your tongue on me.” She shuddered against him.
            “God, Beth.”
            “I came, but it wasn’t enough. It’s not enough now. I need you…inside me. Right here, right now.”
            “Fucking hell!”        
Had she not known it was lust that caused his fingers to bite into her hips, Beth would have been frightened, but she knew she was safe. By the way his eyes burned with it, the way his shoulders heaved as he fought for control, by the way his touch gentled, she knew. The hollow feeling in her chest filled to overflowing, sealed over, and healed. A new sensation crept in and tapped at her heart. Open up, it beckoned, and see what awaits.
Fabric shifted, just enough to accommodate. Beth toed off her shoes, slid her slacks and panties down to kick one leg free. Gabe fought his belt open, yanked down his zipper and shoved his slacks over his hips. His cock sprang free, heavy and full.
He bent his knees, cupped her ass in his hands and hoisted her up. “Hang on to me. I’m sorry. This is going to be fast,” he apologized and reached between them to align the rigid length of his cock between her thighs. “Ah, damn, you’re so wet,” he gritted, and then slid into her.
Beth buried her face against his neck, ran her tongue along the line of his jaw. His body shuddered. She wrapped around him, wound her arms around his neck, squeezed her legs around his hips and held him there. He was thick and hard and she thought she’d come from the sheer bliss of having him inside her again. He pulled back, all the way to the tip, and, when he thrust back in, the door rattled on its hinges.
They both froze.
Beth sucked in a breath. “Oh, God, as much as I’d love for you to do that again—”
Gabe’s forehead banged against the door. “You’d hate to get fired for getting fucked  against my office door.” He turned, moved to the side and braced his back against the wall.
Beth glanced around the small room, her gaze landing on the desk. Gabe laughed, causing his cock to flex and pulling a moan from her throat.
“Baby,” he rasped, “there’s nothing I’d like more than to bend you over that piece of furniture and take us both to heaven, but unless it’s nailed to the floor…”
“Oh, God.” The image he painted, pushing over the desk, driving into her…her pussy clenched.
“Ah, fuck! Squeeze me like that again,” he panted. “Just…hold on to me.” Widening his stance, Gabe grasped Beth’s hips and lifted her, angling his pelvis up as he brought her back down hard on his shaft. Then he did it again.
“Gabe, that’s…oh, I…just don’t stop!” Each pause was punctuated with another lift and thrust.
“No way in hell. Just don’t scream when you come.” And then he moved, lifting, lowering, rotating his hips to find that sweet spot that drove her wild.
It started in the soles of her feet—that sizzle of electricity signaling her orgasm. It snaked up her legs, curled around her inner thighs, and with a low keening sound, Beth buried her face in Gabe’s neck and welcomed it as it speared her clit with an orgasm that clung to every inch of Gabe as he drove into her. He was right with her, his breath a harsh hiss against her ear as he thrust deep and held her tightly against him.
The soft brush of Gabe’s lips over her sweat-dampened temple was in stark contradiction to the choppy breaths lifting his chest against hers. “I’ve missed you, missed this,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Me, too.” After a moment, when she’d caught her breath, Beth lifted her head and said, “We really…”
“Need to talk,” he sighed. “I know.”

Buy Links: Amazon | B&N 

Jan Meredith has been a romance junkie since her teens. When she isn't penning steamy stories about strong-willed, independent women and the sexy men who love them, she works as an Infusion Therapy nurse. She lives near Mammoth Cave, KY with her husband (and former high school sweet heart) Tommy.
You can learn more about her at her web site: http://www.janmeredithauthor.com 
Follow her on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jan.meredith.121
Twitter: https://twitter.com/JanMeredith21


Saturday, November 23, 2013

A little FROST for your pumpkins...

Let's visit with the super sexy HOT-tastic Max Raines today...just...because...

Everyone needs a hunky fire-sex demon in their lives, don't you think?

 Chapter Two

“You must come in, sir.”

Max Raines stared at his canvas through narrowed eyes, not quite absorbing the words of his majordomo. Fever clouded his head; his body temperature spiking off the charts. Desperate for release, he stood, legs apart, atop the windswept bluff comprising the only wall-less boundary of his compound in Sleepy Hollow. Below, the green waters of the Hudson boiled. The stark cliffs of the Palisades, fringed with ragged trees, rose with dark majesty from the banks on the other side of the river, to the west and south, jutting into cloud-filled heavens. An ominous gray sky seemed low enough to touch. He couldn’t capture any of it. Not in any way that satisfied him.

“Damn it. Still not right.” A gust swirled the tails of his paint-spattered linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his biceps, in a manner more suited to the dog days of August than the chill gloom of February.

“You haven’t eaten in two days. And the wind’s kicking up. Nor’easter brewing.” Bryce Blackburn put more iron insistence into his words this time. “Time to call it a day.”

Max tore his gaze away from the unacceptable painting at last. Irritated, he tossed his brush, a No. 10 bright, the hog bristles thick with cadmium green, onto the palette. Only the unfinished landscape stood between the predatory beast pacing with increasing agitation inside him and the rest of the world. His muse had deserted him.

“You picked a fuckin’ fine time to leave me, Lucille.”

Christ. Channeling Kenny Rogers? Who’s next, Justin Bieber?

Instead, the hard-driving intro of the Stones’ classic, “Satisfaction,” popped into his head. The unwelcome earworm taunted him. Yeah. He couldn’t get no. That’s for fuckin’ sure.

Raines dragged a finger around his collar, popping open the top button. If he couldn’t achieve release soon, he’d go mad. Jacking off into his fist gave him insufficient gratification. Human women proved too delicate and fragile, too breakable. Demons glommed onto him, far too needy, attaching themselves with the tenacity of barnacles, draining him of inspiration and clinging long past their expiration dates. He’d learned from bitter experience he could crisp any woman he touched. The infamous Maxwell Raines: a six-foot-six, two hundred twenty-five pound hunka burning love. And now I’m channeling Elvis.

Odd, all things considered. Usually he exhibited no more of a musical bent than he did humor. And in light of the bland landscape he’d committed to canvas, he had nothing to be whimsical about.

His heat, his ardor, his raging libido—all of them had to be expelled from his head and his body and poured into his work. But the painting before him remained flat, emotionless, devoid of his usual sensuality and passion, further frustrating him but offering no relief from the devils that plagued him and the sexual beast that howled within.

Standing patiently beside him, Blackburn shifted from foot to foot, clearly aware of his inner turmoil. The majordomo stamped his boots on the frost-glazed lawn and blew on his knuckles. At least one of them couldn’t get warm enough.

Without Blackburn, he’d be a total recluse. But the other man had been with him for years, knew his secrets, his needs, served him in every capacity from butler to valet to nanny. More family member than servant. He even acted as manager and art agent, most recently arranging the exhibit at the Night Gallery.

Now, he held out his employer’s overcoat, a muffler and a pair of leather gloves. Max turned to face him and met the other man’s eyes full on.

Blackburn whistled, but had the good grace not to recoil. “They’re red.”

“Can’t cool down.”

“Not a good sign.” Blackburn removed one of his own gloves and touched Raines’ bare forearm, then drew back as if his fingers had been singed. “Fever again.”

“Through the fucking stratosphere.” He brushed his hand through his hair.

“You’re getting worse, Max.”

Raines acknowledged the other man’s statement by packing up the art supplies. He hoisted the easel onto his shoulder. “Mind carrying my coat?”

“I’d carry you if I thought that would help.” Though no 90-pound weakling himself, no one would mistake Blackburn for The Incredible Hulk either. The smaller, slighter man eyed his employer up and down, craning his head to do so. Raines had at least half a foot on him and a lot of muscular poundage. “But I doubt I could without my knees buckling.” He stuffed Raines’ gloves in a jacket pocket. “There’s still some decent light in the studio…if you must keep at it.”

Max snorted but didn’t reply.

“The painting’s not helping?”

“Not going well.” He shifted the easel to a more comfortable position on his shoulder.

Blackburn opened his mouth then shut it again. But they knew each other too well. He considered his assistant a friend.

“Spit it out, man.”

The majordomo frowned. “You realize the paintings are getting darker and darker? More—”


“I was going to say sexual.”

“Same thing in my case, isn’t it?”

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Saturday, November 16, 2013

Howdy, Pilgrim Cornbread Puddin'


1 can creamed corn 
1 can kernel corn
1 c. sour cream (8 oz.)
3 beaten eggs
1 stick butter (or margarine)
1 box Jiffy corn muffin mix

Preheat oven to 350
°. Grease 1-1/2  or 2  qt baking dish.
Pour butter and corn into mixing bowl (or the casserole you'll bake it in; it doesn't really matter, unless neatness counts!)
Blend in sour cream.

In separate bowl, beat eggs and stir into corn mixture. Add muffin mix and mix.

Bake 1 hour (or less) at 350.°

Don't burn it. Keep checking. It's better moist and creamy inside, golden brown, with slight crust on top. It's done when the center is firm and a knife or toothpick comes out more or less clean.

Friday, November 8, 2013

HEAT WAVE in Affaire de Coeur!

Last month Affaire de Coeur magazine featured a contest for scaries book cover.  Most of my covers are smokin' hot couples....soooooooooo not scary! But SLEEPY HOLLOW DREAMS features a raven perched on a cemetery headstone. Not an enormous field of entries but 127 votes later... and it won!


I thank all of you who helped out with your votes!

The prize was a featured chapter preview in the November Affaire de Coeur.

I picked HEAT WAVE, Book 4 of my SLEEPY HOLLOW 1Night Stand series. The chapter needed to be G-rated. And that was not easy!

Here's the full chapter excerpt: 

Zena had not been to Duyvil Tand in ages and had forgotten how intimidating Devil Tooth could be.

Upon their arrival outside the Grand Hall of the Queen's court, twin heralds blew an unsettling fanfare on goats' horns. Bhyrne escorted her through the enormous double doors hacked from granite and inlaid with carved ore and semi-precious stones in a mosaic of cryptic demon symbology.

Banners embroidered with the devices of the noble families hung from the ceiling. Tapestries depicting scenes from the Antynonium, the underworld book of history and theology, graced the walls. Torches burned in sconces set like sentinels at uniform intervals. Acrid hints of sulfur and brimstone masked by vague perfumes of incense wisped up her nostrils.

The dark, majestic effect intimidated and inspired awe. But most sinister and hideous of all were the scores of demons lining the cavernous room, undisguised by the veneers-sometimes called glamours-of the human forms they so often adopted. Their expectant gazes riveted upon her with something akin to bloodthirsty glee. And arousal. In more cases than she had the fortitude to count, several demonic hands grasped groins, jiggling erections that tented robes and other creepy underworld attire.

Upon a raised dais that increased her dominion and authority over the gathering, Queen Velda perched on a throne constructed of skulls, iron spikes and, a bit incongruously, jewels.

That can't be comfortable.

"Approach." Velda beckoned her closer with an imperious gesture, but held up her hand when Bhyrne also stepped forward, Zena's arm tucked securely within the crook of his. "Not you, savaghy. Your service with regard to your current assignment is, for the moment, concluded."

"I would stay, My Queen." He inclined his head briefly.

Her sharp gaze narrowed as she examined him from head to toe. "Your state does not escape me, savaghy."

A muffled titter from the cluster of demons ringing the room confused Zena. She tamped down her gag reflexes and shut her eyes to the pool of drool disgorged onto the marble floor by an expectoritus demon, apparently overcome with lust. Gah. She sidled away from the growing slick of slobber and stepped closer to the sweating fire-sex demon beside her.

Her action drew a pointed frown from the queen, who fixed her attention on the enforcer once more. "Attend to yourself," she rebuked him. The pitch of her voice lowered an octave. "Or I will." The husky quality of her tone left no question as to the form the queen's ministrations might take.

"I will remain until this audience is over." The guardsman's voice, deep and iron-willed, rose above another ripple of titillated amusement from those in attendance, defying the direct order. "Your Majesty."

"You will be disciplined for your disobedience, savaghy."

"So be it."

"Go, Bhyrne," Zena urged in a soft whisper. "Whatever this is, I can handle it. I don't want you punished because of me."

"Too late for that, princess. You'll torment me for eternity."

She barely heard his murmur as the queen once more raised her hand and compelled her forward. Zena's hand slipped away from the enforcer's forearm, as if it had a will of its own. She took three steps forward. The same compulsion forced her to her knees before the throne, her face bare inches from the spread thighs of the queen's consort, a forest demon whose wood bulged beneath loose trousers.


Despite the charmed hold, she managed to crab-creep backward, putting more space between her and the royal consort before she raised her head to look at the queen.

The other succubus, once insanely beautiful and possessed of the ability to drive mortals to madness, remained a handsome female still. She'd aged well, but wore her history like an ermine robe. Her dark eyes drilled knowingly into Zena. Power encased her.

"Your ingenuity, creativity, energy, and drive have pleased us in the past, moshula. You have been a credit to the family, beloved get of my late sister."

Great. Maybe she'd survive her present circumstances and the queen's summons didn't portend something so bad after all. Although the reminder of her mother, the former queen who had more than dabbled in evil, and whose fate had not been pretty, served as a cautionary tale. Had Zena not been sent to the Nights for fostering, and had the Nights not adopted her and raised her as their own, along with Lily and Dagney, she might have been wasting away in demonville for decades, searching for her lost shaker of salt. And hell knew what might have become of her then.

"Thank you, Majesty," Zena whispered, momentarily chastened, presenting the picture of a respectful subject.

"But you've done nothing to fortify or ensure the future of the royal line. You are aging. You have no consort. No one will lie with a succubus grown so long in the tooth. You will be unable to provide me with the mortal souls and energy I require to survive."

Long in the tooth! Why, I'm barely-Zena shut her eyes, suddenly certain what would come next.

"You thirtieth birthday fast approaches."

She nodded dumbly, uncharacteristically robbed of words. A faint rustling came from somewhere behind her, as if the fire-sex demon shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"Have you taken a mate?" The queen's words fell like thunder.

"You know I have not, Your Majesty," she said, her mouth drained of moisture, so dry her ability to achieve speech remained a mystery.

"Then you must choose."


"From one of the males now assembled in the throne room."

An eruption of shouts and applause thundered from the peanut gallery, battling for ascendancy with the hissed inhalation of breath from the enforcer behind her. Somehow, he had stepped forward without notice during the explosion of excitement greeting the queen's pronouncement.

Zena dragged her gaze around the grand hall, resting her eyes on the assembled demons, one being more repulsive than the next. So that explained their excitement, the barely contained evidence of their arousal.

"They have come far and wide, from every corner of the demon realms, to vie for your hand, you lucky girl."

The array of eligibles horrified her. Without their veneers, they were a cornucopia of scales and wings, webbed feet and horns, plates and scabs, oozing sores and festering blisters, of slaver and other filth, of slime and slither, and fangs longer than the Washington Monument. She'd retch if she had to touch one of them. Bed one? Mate one? Never. She'd never survive.

The air sapped out of her lungs, depriving her brain of oxygen, making her light-headed and dizzy. Please don't let me faint. Please don't let me faint.

"I've got your back, princess." Bhyrne rose like a monolith behind her. A hot, living wall of security separating her from the gruesome collection of would-be suitors. "Always."

His words-and the recollection of his own recent defiance of the queen-lent her sudden strength. Could she take him at his word? Could she outwit Velda somehow?

Bhyrne is one of the males in the room.

Could she mate him? Make him her own? Would he be willing? Could she convince Velda to let her try?

"I still have a little time then, don't I? My birthday is not for two days."

"Yes, yes." The prime leader of the succubi waved her hand with impatience. "That is my point."

"So you will allow me two days to choose my consort?"

Velda sighed, as if she'd been deprived of her evening's entertainment. "Forty-eight hours. But you'd better make it snappy. You're not getting any younger, Zena."

Zena paced the length and width of her luxurious suite in the royal apartments of Duyvil Tand, her teeth worrying her lower lip in panic.

Where had they taken Bhyrne?

Immediately following Queen Velda's decree, two of her regal guardsmen had seized him, dragging him from the throne room. To his credit, he'd struggled and shouted, but even a male of his generous size could not overcome the strength of the soldiers, each even brawnier and beefier than he. Plus, they were fully armed. Even if the fire-sex demon had hidden an entire arsenal beneath his damp and wrinkled Hugo Boss suit, they'd bent and twisted his arms behind his back, restraining him so he'd never be able to reach any weapons. She did not want to think about the punishment they might be inflicting on him.

Goddess. The way he'd stepped up to the plate for her and defied the queen, knowing, as an enforcer, the full consequences of his disobedience...such an absolutely worthy male. So incredibly, effin awesome.

Her own predicament faded as she contemplated his. She'd never met anyone like him in her life. Solid. Strong. Dependable. Protective. Sexy. And gorgeous. Hotter than a blazing inferno.

She had to find him. Save him, if possible. Have him whiff them both the hell out of Demon Central. She would not rest until the massive doors of Duyvel Tand thumped them both in the ass.

After pacing back and forth a few more minutes, trying to concoct a game plan, she decided to contact her sisters. Cell phone service in her room, deep within the mountain, faded in and out at best, but she dared not stroll around the palace seeking more bars and a better connection-and encouraging sex-crazed demons to pop out of the woodwork and jump her bones. After a few fits and starts, dropped words here and there, she managed to get Lily on the line and communicate her circumstances.

"Let me patch in Dag and call you right back," her youngest sister said.

The return call came a few minutes later, with both succubi on the line.

"Here's what we're going to do," Lily said. "Remember how you and Dag staged that ‘intervention' in my office and signed me up with the 1Night Stand agency? Thanks to you guys and Madame Evangeline, I found Campbell again. Well, Dag's contacted Madame Eve. We've registered you with 1Night Stand. Because this is an emergency and time is of the essence, and because Madame Eve was so successful with Dag and Max, and me and Campbell, and because we've vouched for you, Madame Eve has agreed to forego some of the details in the questionnaire. We've already filled in the parts we could for you. You're all set up. It's a definite go. The date will happen ASAP. We know you'll find a mate."

Okay. Not exactly what she had in mind, but...Dagney and Max, and Lily and Campbell, were outstanding together, the best evidence that the exclusive dating service worked, no matter how grave or complicated the problem. In all matters of love and sex, Madame Eve came to the rescue. Results guaranteed. Zena heaved a sigh of semi-relief.

"Thanks, you guys. Best. Sisters. Ever." Pausing, she took another breath. She might be set...but the enforcer remained in danger. "Is Max there?"

His deep voice rumbled in her ear. "Right here, Z."


"Ran down some connections and found Bhyrne for you. As luck, fate and happy coincidence would have it, he's in the same wing, on the same floor."

This time her sigh held every grain of hope she'd ever dared dream.

"Though they did have him in the dungeon awhile, according to my sources." Max's voice wavered slightly. "He's been worked over pretty good, Z. So take it easy with him. Here's the passcode for the door." He murmured a series of numbers, which she scribbled onto a gum wrapper she found in her purse.

"And Zena?" Max cleared his throat. "I don't know if you've noticed how hot he is...."

"Oh, hells, yeah. I've definitely noticed that."

"Not what I mean. I'm talking about his actual body heat...not his, um, looks. Because of what he's going through, I set him up with 1Night Stand when you guys visited us. I'll let Bhyrne tell you why. Madame Eve just texted us. You've got a date."

"With Bhyrne?" Her heart suddenly ran through an Olympics gymnastic floor routine.

"Listen to me, Z. He's in a fragile state."

"Bhyrne is?" Yeah, so a parrot had apparently taken up residence in her mouth. But the idea of Iron Man having the vapors, no matter what his physiological or mental condition, seemed too ludicrous to require a laugh track.

"Yeah. Bhyrne. My cousin. It's important you don't mess with him now. So if you don't think he's the one, you'd better decide that pretty fuckin' quick. And get the hell away from him if it's a no-go."

 HEAT WAVE ©Taryn  Kincaid 2013 

HEAT WAVE is available as a single title ebook or as part of the SLEEPY HOLLOW anthology, available in paperback and digital editions

Heat-Waveweb.jpg (150×225)        SleepyHollow.jpg (150×225)

HEAT WAVE: Decadent Publishing | Amazon: US | UK | Canada | ARe | CTR |
 Barnes & Noble | Smashwords

SLEEPY HOLLOW:  Amazon US | Canada | UK | DE | Decadent Publishing |
  ARe | Barnes and Noble | CTR