Lawson’s review of Sex on the Beach by Susan Lyons
Contemporary Erotic Romance Released by Berkley Heat 5 Jan 10

It’s cold outside. There’s snow on the ground. And my TBR pile is all historicals. I think most of them are set during the winter, or at least the colder months. So I jumped at the chance to read this book, set in Belize, on the beach, and having to do with warmer weather (even if it is set during February, Belize is tropical). Sandy beaches, skimpy clothes and even the cocktail (and the act itself) where the title comes from make for a nice, warm read during the winter months.

Though there are three separate stories in this book, I’m going to keep this a review as a whole, rather than make a distinction between the three stories. They all have the same setting, take place during the same time, and relate because it’s people all at the same wedding wanting a fling in the tropics during winter and end up with a little more.

The three stories revolve around the wedding of Danny and Bella at the Toucan Resort in Ambergris Caye. The first story follows the wedding planner, Sarah McCann and Freeman Lafontaine. Free is trying to save his best friend from making the mistake of marriage and keep living the footloose and fancy free live. Sarah doesn’t like this plan, she sees Danny and Bella as having true, life long love. Sarah and Free are attracted to each other, from the first moment they meet and have a fling in secret. Free keeps trying to stop the wedding and Sarah is working hard to see her clients get their happy week and special day. Though Free does step over the line, majorly, he does redeem himself well.

Perhaps the best part of this first story was the fact that it was about Free’s immature view of how adults behave and Sarah working to show him he was wrong, rather the fact that he’s black and she’s white. The story is sexy and about people, rather than about race. Free would have been better if he wasn’t as immature and single-minded for most of the story, but that was the point of his character and he does get his just desserts in the end.

The second story follows Tamiko Sato and Ricardo Nunez. Tamiko is a fashion model, but because of abuse in her past she’s wary of men. Ric is the resort’s owner and doesn’t like to get involved with guests, but he can’t help being attracted to Tamiko. They both have issues to deal with, one of which being Tamiko is at the wedding as the date of Zane Slade (a famous, but in the closet writer of a James Bond-esque hero) and Ric’s family in Belize. It was a sweet story as Ric helped Tamiko come out of her shell and be a sexy woman. Tamiko also was able to relax and not worry about supporting her family for a week, which she obviously needed.

The story was rather short to deal with the major issues both characters had. It was sexy and both Tamiko and Ric are sweet, sensitive and complex characters, and the length wasn’t enough to make their story seem like it could get the justice it deserved. The last story is different than the first two. Though it takes place over the same time, it’s not as rushed as two strangers are meeting and getting busy before getting to know each other.

The last story is about Bella’s parents, Giovanna and James Moncrieff. They had a sexy and torrid courtship in Italy when they were young, and Giovanna ended up pregnant. With James’ job as a professor, he wasn’t as considerate as he could have been (he really sounded like a selfish jerk) and Giovanna couldn’t see the trouble he was having with his job and supporting his young family and yelled at him alot due to her passionate nature (she did sound like a selfish and immature bitch).

Time has passed and this is the first time they’ve really spent time together in twenty years. The flashbacks to how they fell in love were as fun as seeing these two stubborn, yet very much in love people spar and sizzle across the pages. And the flashbacks are set in sunny and summer time Italy, so the warm weather feeling gets doubled.

All three stories do end with some happiness, though they don’t rush to the alter, which is nice to see. Just people that have a fling and see the possibilities for a future. The shortness of each story did take away from the depth each one probably needed, but the sparks that especially James and Giovanna had made the characters and the setting a fun winter time read.

Grade: B-

Summary:

An exotic wedding turns into an erotic escapade for three unlikely couples who find lust—and maybe even love—on the white sands of Belize. Get ready to get wet!

“War of the Sexes”

When wedding planner Sarah McCann learns that the groom’s best friend, Free Lafontaine, intends to save his pal from the mistake of marriage, it’s an all-out war between the sexes. Turns out, the prize could be much more than either of them expected, and this war just may have two winners.

“Sex With the Proper Stranger”

Model Tamiko Sato comes to the wedding as arm-candy for the groom’s deep-in-the-closet uncle. What’s she to do when resort manager Ric Nuñez proves far too tempting? Ric just might be the man who can help her heal the wounds left by past abuse, and open her heart to love.

“Sexy Exes”

Giovanna Moncrieff and her ex, James, mix as well as Italian olive oil and English tonic water. How embarrassing—and exciting!—to find that their passion for each other still burns hot and heavy. Is it possible to find true love the second time around?

Read an excerpt.

We’re talkin’ up a storm again.  Welcome back to Duck Chat.

Today Beth Kery, writer of some of the steamiest erotic romance out there, joins us to talk about her books and have some fun with us. I’ve read a number of Beth’s book over the last couple of years, I have to say I’m hooked. I have been since I read Exorcising Sean’s Ghost. That remains my favorite Beth Kery book to date, and she’s had some terrific stories released since then. If you’re not familiar with her books, do stop by her website and look around. I think you’ll find something that will call to you and you’ll just have to try it! Of course, Beth is going to give you a chance to win a couple of her books. Give us a meaningful comment and we’ll toss you into the running for an ARC of her upcoming release Daring Time, a print copy of Wicked Burn, and a download of her current release, Flirting in Traffic.

If you have any questions for Beth today, leave a comment, she’s going to stop in now and again to see what you’re all up to.  So now let’s chat!

DUCK CHAT: Beth, your writing has brought about a very quick rise for you in the industry. Wicked Burn was your debut with Berkley Sensation. What’s it been like for you in your dealings with Berkley compared to the epublishing process?

BETH KERY: Hi, Sandy. It hasn’t been all that different, really, as far as the mechanics. You usually need an agent to sell to the New York market, but not always. Otherwise–you make a sale, you do edits and you release your book.

A few differences: For my first three Berkley books, I did paper edits, which was quite an experience—one master copy being shipped across the country. However, Berkley is now going to electronic edits, so there goes that difference. I had to learn different promotional and sales markets for my print book. In general (depending on who you are, of course) you reach a wider market with your print book, so you hear from more people about the book.

DC: If you could retire any question and never, ever have it asked again, what would it be? Feel free to answer it.

BK: Um…probably when did you decide to become a writer? My answer is always a little false, because it was sort of a jump and start, gradual thing for me, not a sudden “Ah ha!” I’m not so sure that I even considered myself a ‘writer’ in my head until a couple months ago, so yeah—kind of an innocent sounding question that’s pretty complicated for me to answer.

I seriously just realized the other day that I didn’t feel bad, slumming around when I went to the grocery store wearing sweatpants and glasses—because I’m a writer. That’s our uniform!

DC: I’ve heard writers often say their stories take them in surprising directions, or dialogue flows from some unknown place. Is it the same with you? Do your characters surprise you sometimes?

BK: Yes, most definitely. I typically ride the hump of the pantster/plotter bell curve. So I have a loose plot in mind, but the characters definitely improvise and grow on the stage I’ve set for them.

DC: Wicked Burn is one hot, sexy read. Tell our readers about Vic and Niall, please.

BK: Thanks, Sandy. Niall and Vic are two people who sort of come together in a sexual cataclysm one night. When things like that happen, it seems like impulse or chance, but in reality, because of their pasts and personal characteristics, there were good reasons that things were so explosive for them. I like to observe human nature and behavior, and it’s always fascinating to me the events and circumstances that lead up to something that seems like it ‘just happened.’ So, while someone might look at Niall and Vic and say they were using sex to get past their wounds or personal traumas, I wonder what it is about that point in time and those two particular people that made it possible for them to begin to heal through at first a physical relationship and then a much more profound one.

DC: Do you ever argue with your characters while you’re writing? Who usually wins?

BK: Hmmm…that’s a good question. I’d love to say I have these down and dirty drag-outs with them, but I usually don’t. That’s not to say that all my characters are always likeable, because they’re not. I’ve just come to terms with where they are at that point in the development of the story.

DC: What is sure to distract you from sitting down and working/writing?

BK: My other job, first and foremost. Beyond that, a sunny day, a certain look from my husband…. a growling stomach.

DC: Some authors eventually phase out of the epublishing world once their “bigger break” comes along. Any plans of doing that yourself?

BK: I don’t have any plans for that, but I’m admittedly a very freshman writer, so what do I know? I’d like to balance both venues. I was extremely busy last year writing books for Berkley, so I’m not sure at this point in time how things will work out. However, I would eventually like to find a comfortable balance.

DC: How do you feel your male or female characters have evolved in your writing? Do you think you write them differently now than you did when you started?

BK: Hmmm, another good question. I’ve started to experiment more with my heroines. My typical heroine is often a contained intellectual whose emotional maturity helps the hero to grow. There are some recent exceptions. Hope Stillwater, the heroine for my erotic time travel Daring Time, which comes out this May, is a spirited, feisty, impulsive suffragette who might be called progressive in any time period. And Esa, my heroine in Flirting in Traffic, is also a departure for me. She’s devoted to her work, sharp-tongued, shaky in the romance and body-image arena, and possesses a loyal, devoted heart.

My heroes are all pretty much bigger than life. One thing I’m always trying to do is find new, exciting arenas for the alpha to show his stuff. I just finished a book called Release for Berkley Heat, and the hero is a private intelligence operative—a.k.a. a spy for hire. I’m so lucky, because I have a friend who is a military intelligence operative, so I got to have a lot of fun researching it. Ryan Daire, my hero in Daring Time, is a cop who is also a boxing champion, so I had a ball researching boxing terms, famous fights, and talking to my ‘fighter’ lady friends (Belinda and Fi). I just started a book where the hero is a neurologist. I realized I’d never done a hero in the medical field, which is weird because I work in the medical field. Fantasy alpha doctors are so yummy. Don’t know where they actually are, though…

DC: Your latest ebook is Flirting in Traffic with Cerridwin Press. I really enjoyed Finn and Esa’s story. Would you tell everyone about them?

Thank you, Sandy. Finn and Esa sort of both have the older sibling syndrome and have been identified as the dependable ones–the ‘rocks’ in the family. Esa is a smart, plucky physician (yeah, I do heroine docs!) who is constantly being told by her sexy, publisher sister and best friend that’s she’s lame and boring. Finn is a dead-sexy architect who’s been burned by a perfidious fiancé and wants some no-strings-attached-rebound sex to get him back in the swing of things. Of course, he mistakenly thinks stuffy Esa is that fun sex kitten, which makes for a bumpy, but very steamy, road to true love.

DC: Is there a genre you haven’t tackled but would like to try?

BK: I’d really like to try young adult. Some day.

DC: What advice would you give to your younger self?

BK: “You have so much going for you, why don’t you savor it…celebrate it?” It must be the curse of your thirties. I look at my nieces, who are stunning, smart, well-educated, and I’m blown away by all their gifts. I had many of those gifts, but, like them, I was saddled by the insecurities of youth. Why can’t we have the wisdom of age and the future (and the body) of a twenty-one year old all at once? Sigh.

DC: Next up for you is the release of Through Her Eyes in April. Can you give us a sneak peek?

BK: Through Her Eyes is actually a re-write of the very first book I ever had published at a small e-press called Aphrodite Unlaced. It may not be my most polished book, but it has characteristics in it that I value on reflection. Daring Time, Sweet Restraint, and Release all have crime and suspense elements, so I think of Through Her Eyes as my first dip into those genres. Or into anything, really.

I was thrilled that Ellora’s Cave said they’d like to publish it. It’s an erotic contemporary with suspense and paranormal elements. Let’s see, a quick (rather sloppy) highlight of the book—an old Hyde Park mansion, a ghost, a psychiatrist heroine who is also a very reluctant psychic, a serial killer, and an extremely sexy special agent hero who is bound and determined to both save the heroine and catch the killer—for very personal reasons.

Oh…and lots of really hot sex. Can’t forget that.

DC: If you had never become an author, what do you think you would be doing right now?

BK: My other job that I still do. I’m very lucky to have two such rewarding careers.

DC: We’ve mentioned your time travel that’s coming out in May, Daring Time. Is this your first time travel? Did you find that paranormal element any more difficult than others you’ve written to date? Or was it maybe easier to write?

BK: I do! I’m probably more excited about Daring Time coming out in May than I ever have been for a book. It is my first time travel, and I cann’t say I’ve ever had so much fun writing a book. I’ve lived in downtown Chicago for the past seventeen years of my life, and Daring Time became kind of a personal tribute to a city that I’ve grown to love to so much. This city has really entered the fabric of my life.

Daring Time is what my editor calls a ‘paranormal light.’ So, the Subtle Lovers series, for instance, has a much heavier paranormal element than Daring Time. Daring Time combines many genres, though, as I suppose many time travels do—contemporary, paranormal, historical, and even a suspense/crime drama.

DC: Would you tell us a little about Daring Time too?

BK: It’s the story of a young vice detective who unexpectedly—and strangely—inherits a Prairie Avenue mansion from an elderly friend. He begins to see an elusive, beautiful woman in the house. His research tells him it’s a woman who was murdered in the year 1906. Desire creates a conduit between them and through it, he travels back to the early nineteen hundreds to save her. There are many parallels between the two time periods—for instance, the man the hero and his partner are trying to bring in for a white slavery operation in the year 2008 is the very same soul responsible for the heroine’s abduction in the year 1906.

I had the opportunity to tour several Prairie Avenue mansions to prepare for this book. The historic district came vibrantly alive for me. I’d love to do a series of time travels associated with the Prairie Avenue district, which to me was as much as a beautiful ‘true’ fantasy as the Chicago World’s Fair and the White City.

Excerpt of Daring Time:

“This professor guy must have liked you a hell of a lot to leave you a mansion,” Ramiro muttered, a hint of envy flavoring his tone.

“I was knocked flat on my ass when Alistair told me what he planned, but there was nothing I could say to change his mind. He insisted I was doing him a favor by taking it. The value of the house is appreciating hugely because of the real estate development in this area. Alistair’s lawyers advised him to reduce his taxable estate with a gift.”

“Some gift. Better he’d left you some cash, though.”

Ryan stepped into a room and flipped on a light. He studied the large spacious bedroom suite, the plaster ceilings and intricately carved mantel. Alistair knew Ryan loved Chicago history. He must have guessed how much Ryan would appreciate the mansion.

“Cash’s got nothing on this place.”

Ramiro snorted. “They broke the mold when it comes to you, Daire. Six foot and four inches of pure pushover. At least to little kids and stray animals. Can’t say the same about you when it comes to assholes like Jim Donovan.”

“You wouldn’t want me any other way.”

“Who wants you? I’m shackled to you,” Ramiro grumbled.

They stepped into the bedroom. Ryan ran his hand admiringly over the carved mahogany mantel. Unlike the majority of the house, this room retained some furniture—stuff that looked to be the same vintage as the house, Ryan realized with a sense of amazement. The green and white floral wallpaper beneath the wainscoting had faded but still retained a fresh, feminine charm. Obviously the bedroom had once belonged to a woman.

The foot and headboard of a brass bedstead leaned against the wall between two antique mahogany tables. Ryan fingered the cool metal thoughtfully. The brass needed to be cleaned but the bed was perfectly intact. An image of himself polishing the brass and putting together the bed for his own mattress flashed vividly into his mind’s eye.

He’d be nuts to even consider moving into this place.

“Look at this. Looks like something you’d have your nose buried in.” Ramiro held up an old leather bound book that he’d found in one of the table drawers. The color of the once crimson leather had faded to a dull dark red.

“Shakespeare’s sonnets,” Ryan murmured. He owned a copy of his own, nearly as well read as this old tome. Ryan had cultivated a love of Shakespeare from his father that had been nourished by Alistair. The book parted to a well-worn gold-leafed page when he opened it. He immediately recognized the one hundred and sixteenth sonnet.

He raised the book toward his face and inhaled. His brow furrowed at the scent of gardenias mixing with the odor of leather and mildew.

“I’ll bet you can get a couple grand for this old chest, Daire. People pay out their asses for antiques. Holy shit, check it out.”

Ramiro moved aside from the opened door of the massive mahogany wardrobe so that Ryan could see the full-length mirror attached on the inner side of the door. The frame had been carved into a meticulous iris design beneath the gilt. Time had taken its toll on the mirror itself. Six or so inches all along the exterior had gone foggy with age. Only the center portion reflected true. Still, the mirror was so huge that Ryan didn’t have to stoop his tall frame to see his face in the reflection.
Only it wasn’t his face that he saw. He started in surprise.

“Jesus.”

He whipped around so fast that Ramiro jerked back in alarm.

“What?” Ramiro asked. The whites of his brown eyes showed as his gaze shifted warily around the room and then back to Ryan. “What’s wrong, man?”

Ryan turned back to the mirror, this time seeing his own bloodless face and greenish-blue eyes staring back at him.

“You didn’t see her?”

“See who?”

“That woman. She was just right here, standing in front of me. I saw her in the mirror.” He quickly inspected the empty wardrobe, scanned the bedroom and rushed to the door.
The hallway stood empty and silent, the dozens of closed doors along both walls reminding him of watchful eyes.

“There’s no one here but us, Daire,” Ramiro said from just behind him.

Ryan shook his head. He knew what he’d seen with his own two eyes: a stunning, lithesome-limbed beauty with pale, flawless skin and a long mane of soft, curling dark hair hanging loose down her shoulders and back.

The same woman he’d imagined briefly in the ballroom, he realized. But this had been different. In the ballroom it had just been like a super-vivid flash of his imagination. This had been real.

Realer than real.

Laughter had curved her lush, dark pink lips. She’d worn a sheer negligee, the bottom of which barely covered the dark nest of hair between her slender thighs. She might as well have been standing there naked for as much good as the nightgown did. The only other thing that adorned her flawless skin was a locket hanging around her neck. Ryan could still see perfectly with his mind’s eye the detail of the filigree carved into the silver and the throb of the woman’s pulse at her throat.

“No. I definitely saw her,” Ryan insisted firmly, but even as he said it, he began to question himself.

He’d seen the front of her in the mirror…as though she’d stood directly before him with her back to him.

His breath froze on an inhale.

There hadn’t been anyone standing in front of him. She’d just been in the mirror, staring out at him as if the space between the gilded frame had been a doorway not a pane of glass. He crossed the room and touched the surface of the mirror. Despite the bizarreness of what had just happened, he didn’t really believe he’d feel anything but the cool, smooth surface of the glass.

Shock jolted through him for the second time that evening when the molecules of his fingers seemed to meld with those of the mirror. He wondered if it hadn’t been his imagination when a second later he pressed his fingertips against a solid pane of glass.

“You really didn’t see anyone?” he asked Ramiro as he turned around.

Ramiro shook his head.

There was no way in hell Ryan wouldn’t have noticed the back of that woman if she stood in front of him. That flimsy excuse for a nightgown wouldn’t have completely covered her bare ass.
Uh uh—not a possibility. As a healthy, red-blooded male, Ryan knew for a fact he would have noticed that.

“Dios, Daire. I think you saw a ghost.”

Ryan shot Ramiro an annoyed look. “I didn’t see a ghost. She was perfectly solid.”

Perfectly gorgeous.

He recalled the startled expression in her velvety black eyes. “She looked as surprised to see me as I did her,” Ryan said.

“What’d she look like?”

A pair of full, shapely breasts and succulent, fat nipples pressing against transparent cloth that did nothing to hide their rosy hue flashed into Ryan’s mind’s eye. The potent eroticism of the recalled image made his cock jerk in his boxer briefs.

What’d she look like? Edible. Delicious. Like an angel on a mission of sin.

“Dark hair. Dark eyes,” he muttered. For some reason he felt hesitant about sharing even a basic description of the woman with Ramiro.

“You saw a ghost all right. This house is haunted,” Ramiro declared as he glanced around, his feet shifting nervously.

Ryan couldn’t help but grin. “I thought you were a big, bad vice detective. Since when are you scared of a little tiny female?”

Ramiro gave him an insulted look. “Ever since the ‘little tiny female’ is dead.”

“She’s not dead.”

Ramiro looked a little taken aback by Ryan’s hard tone. “Whatever, man.” Ramiro shivered and started toward the door. The image of his brawny partner shuddering reflexively struck Ryan as markedly odd, not to mention alarming for some reason.

“The only time I saw you get so pale was when you got shot,” Ramiro said. “Take my advice and sell this place quick as you can. I’ll take the likes of a slimy rat like Anton Chirnovsky any day versus a haunted house. Come on. Crenshaw will be waiting for us at Bureau Headquarters. We’re making sure Chirnovsky has his story straight and is in good voice before we strap the wires on him for Donahue’s downfall this weekend.”

Ryan closed the heavy wardrobe door with a brisk bang, perhaps hoping to shatter the fey spell wrought by the vision of the stunning woman. He didn’t believe in ghosts and he was every bit as eager to nail Jim Donahue for human trafficking as Ramiro was.

Still, he lingered in the doorway, casting his gaze around the empty bedroom warily before he shut out the light.

DC: You’ve quite a number of books published in the last couple of years. Have you found it difficult to come up with storylines, have a problem with writer’s block, or something equally scary? Or has the excitement of it all kept the creative juices flowing with no problem at all?

BK: You know, Sandy, I thank my lucky stars at this point in my life it’s the latter. I realize it likely won’t always be that way, but I’ll have to take my earlier advice and celebrate the moment while it’s here.

DC: What’s next on the horizon for Beth Kery?

BK: My next book is Through Her Eyes from Ellora’s Cave on April 29. I have several books coming out this year from Berkley: Daring Time on May 5; Sweet Restraint on July 7; Paradise Rules on October 6, followed by Release in February 2010. Beyond that, I’d be happy to have the opportunities to keep on writing, if anyone wants to give them to me.

Favorite paranormal author?
Mary Stewart

Contemp?
Sandra Brown

Historical?
Margaret Atwood (also a favorite for futuristic)

Favorite paranormal book?
Probably The Hollow Hills by Mary Stewart. I’ve re-read it a million times.
If Time Travel is ‘paranormal,’ then Time and Again by Jack Finney.

Contemp?
Any old Loveswept or Bantam book by Sandra Brown, like Temperature’s Rising or A Whole New Light. I feel as if I learned romance and steam from Sandra. I like her new stuff, too, but her old stuff creates such a sense of nostalgia and longing in me. I told someone once in an interview, if you want to get most of my stuff in a nutshell, it’s Sandra Brown gone erotic. From my opinion of course, not anyone else’s–like her fans or Sandra herself.

Historical?
Oh, reverting from romance again, sorry. Alias Grace by Margaret Atwood.

Lightning Round:

- dark or milk chocolate?
Milk.
- smooth or chunky peanut butter?
Smooth
- heels or flats?
Heels (although my nieces roll their eyes at me as they look darling in their flats.)
- coffee or tea?
Coffee with cream only.
- summer or winter?
Summer.
- mountains or beach?
Mountains.
- mustard or mayonnaise?
Mustard—spicy.
- flowers or candy?
Flowers.
- pockets or purse?
Purse.
- Pepsi or Coke?
Diet Pepsi

- ebook or print?
Doh! Print probably, until I get used to be my lovely Kindle anyway.

And because we like these:

1. What is your favorite word?
Lustrous.
2. What is your least favorite word?
Was (Yes, I still use it too much.)
3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?
People who are scared, but do it anyway…even if it’s not pretty.
4. What turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally?
People who act like they know everything.
5. What sound or noise do you love?
I live in the city. My white noise machine signals relaxation.
6. What sound or noise do you hate?
Pounding nails, garbage trucks….anything cacophonous.
7. What is your favorite curse word?
Fuck.
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
FBI agent.
9. What profession would you not like to do?
Teacher—not because I don’t appreciate them enormously. I just come from a family of teachers and professors and wanted to do something different.
10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you
arrive at the Pearly Gates?
“I’m so proud of you—you took a real chance to get here!”
DC: Beth, thank you for chatting with us today.  It’s been a pleasure!

Limecello’s review of Riding On Instinct (Wild Riders, Book 3) by Jaci Burton
Erotic romance released by Berkley on 7 Apr 09

Riding on Instinct is the third installment of Jaci Burton’s Wild Riders series, and definitely my favorite thus far. I really enjoyed Riding on Instinct, and I’m really happy about it because I find that Ms. Burton’s writing is only getting better. I’m also becoming more attached to the concept of the Wild Riders, so I’ve definitely been won over. And who wouldn’t love sexy bad boys who are actually the good guys?

While I really do like her, Shadoe Grayson is admittedly was not my favorite heroine ever. She’s smart, capable, and although I wouldn’t mind being her, I wasn’t enamored with her in this book. Let me explain. While I felt that I knew who Shadoe is and understood her personality, I didn’t entirely sympathize with her. I also felt that there were a some slight inconsistencies with her personality. Shadoe is ultimately a professional, and knows what her job is, and that everything she has with the Wild Riders is simply part of her mission. However, all her pragmatism flies out the window in regards to Spence. The way this was approached wasn’t entirely believable to me. (And this is very minor, but Shadoe? Really? I… just don’t like that name, although upon further research I’ve learned it’s a man’s name, which actually makes me like it more than I did initially. Especially for the character/heroine. Ironic.)

Spencer King (what a name!) is a very interesting, albeit normal hero. He’s sexy, a badass, not looking for emotional ties, and has enough baggage to keep Paris Hilton happy on a month long trip. Nevertheless, he’s a fun and likable character. Spence is very good at his job, and knows he’s getting attached to Shadoe. He’s even willing to admit it, but simply doesn’t think anything can come of it, so he doesn’t pursue a relationship with her. I like how he can be possessive, but isn’t controlling. He lets Shadoe be her own person, is supportive, and very honest with Shadoe. I also liked the background on Spence that Ms. Burton provided which made him more sympathetic and human. That, more than anything helps develop him as a person and character, really. He’s also a great government agent and can handle any and every situation and mission.

I’m a little torn – I really like the premise of the story, but don’t really find it believable. In a way, it seems that Ms. Burton wanted to write a heroine who is a stripper, and the situation that required Shadoe to impersonate one was a bit too contrived. Or maybe it’s just I have a hard time believing that someone who has always been rigid and by the book can train and practice for such a short period of time and become the headlining act at a well known establishment. But hey, it’s fiction. And, once you overcome that issue, Riding on Instinct is terrific. (I know it seems like I’m really coming down on the book, but I enjoyed it a lot – I’m simply trying to point out why this isn’t an “A” book for me.)

On to the good. The way Ms. Burton describes Shadoe (as Desi’s) dancing is flawless. The music, the movement, the atmosphere of the club – it makes the reader feel a part of the scene. The nuances and depiction are incredibly vivid, and allow the reader to picture everything perfectly. I love how so much of the action took place in the club, which did give credence to the part Shadoe was forced to play. It also set a nice backdrop to some of the subplots and secondary stories. Edgy, sexy, and fun, a strip club is a great place for bad boy characters to shine. And of course, a lot of shady dealing, which definitely occurred.

Something else I really liked was that Ms. Burton made her characters real. Shadoe and Spence have nicely developed personalities, and histories. Each of them has had a difficult past, which allows them to bond, and I loved how their relationship is explained, and the reasons they fit so perfectly. Their childhood really allows them to connect, and it was nice that there was the emotional tie, because of course the sex is phenomenal. Another kudos goes to Ms. Burton for writing great sex scenes, but more importantly, ones that are natural and really fit into the story and plot. The actual purpose of the mission is also well written, and I liked how all of that played out. (I don’t want to give it away.)

I did become invested in the story, and while I felt the villains were a bit static and predictable, the rest of it was quite enjoyable. I liked that Shadoe was able to shed her stripper personality and shine on her own as a federal agent in the end. It was also nice to have a bit of a cool down period, before Spence and Shadoe decide to cement their relationship. It felt right, and also allowed for some great dialogue between the secondary characters. I have to admit, I’m really curious about the next book – and whether or not Pax and AJ will find their happy ending.

Ms. Burton also does a fantastic job describing and incorporating the bikes. (As well she should!) I have to admit, I’ve become much more interested in biker gangs after watching Gangland on the History channel. And that show always makes me think of Ms. Burton’s Wild Riders. Riding on Instinct is a great book and I definitely recommend it to readers who like some spice and heat in their romance. And especially those of you who like bad boy bikers, along with leather and fun. I can’t wait to read the next story in this series – Riding the Edge. I’m sad it’s only a novella, but at least it comes out this year!

Grade: B+

Read reviews and information about other books in this series by following its tag here.

Summary:
.
Department of Justice agent Shadoe Grayson is out to prove she’s no rookie, and eagerly accepts her first undercover assignment at a strip club in New Orleans. Working with the Wild Riders, a government agency of bad boy bikers, her goal is to bring down a corrupt DEA agent. All she has to do now is learn to strip like a pro.
.
Standing in her way is the arrogant and smokin’ hot Spencer King, her partner and one of the Wild Riders. Spence thinks she looks more like a schoolteacher than a stripper, and doubts her ability to do the job. But when he mockingly challenges Shadoe to strip just for him, he finds out there’s more to the surprisingly sexy agent than by-the-book rules and Government Issue pantsuits.
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Now Spencer has to resist his baser instincts while Shadoe learns that taking off your clothes doesn’t always equal losing control…
.
Read an excerpt here.

Other books in this series:

Limecello’s review of Undercover by Lauren Dane
Erotic sci-fi romance published by Berkley on 2 Dec 08

Undercover put Lauren Dane on the bestseller’s list, and for good reason. I’ve really enjoyed Ms. Dane’s writing, and think that each of her works that I’ve read is better than the last. Make sure you have a lot of time when reading this book, because you won’t want to put it down.

I liked  the world Ms. Dane created with Undercover. I’m not really into sci-fi or futuristic books, but I enjoyed this one despite that fact. (Yes that does make Undercover impressive, doesn’t it?) The description of each ‘Verse (Universe), the communication systems, military, etc. were all done extremely well. I could picture everything clearly in my head. The setting was intricate, but not confusing. I never had to stop and re-read (or read again) sections to make sure I understood everything. I also love how different each ‘Verse was. The setting gives the story layering and depth, but doesn’t steal the reader’s focus from the characters, or plot.

Sera is a great heroine. She’s a tough soldier, but has a wealth and depth of emotion as well. She’s an extremely good person, and admirable. All her qualities make the romance and relationship believable. Many of Sera’s characteristics are understated, and I like that Ms. Dane has you discover Sera for yourself throughout the book, rather than throwing it in your face what you’re supposed to think about her. What also makes Sera special is her vulnerability, and how very genuine she is. She has moments of uncertainty, but overcomes every challenge she meets.

Brandt and Ash are fantastic characters. They’re so very similar, yet at the same time, foils of one another. Both Ash and Brandt are extreme alphas, rich, aristocratic, and officers in the military. Enough said, right? They’re both intelligent, sexy, and able. Yet gentle, and open with Sera. In fact, they push the emotional connection and relationship first. It’s nice to have heroes who are so in touch with their feelings. Yet it doesn’t make them soft, or sappy.

Yes, this book is an erotic romance, it has some elements of BDSM, and is a ménage à trois. While the relationship seems extremely complicated, it isn’t ludicrous. Ms. Dane gives the dynamics of the triangle the attention it deserves, and makes it believable. I really appreciated how carefully crafted every aspect of Undercover was. And yes, it’s hot. Very hot – which only makes the book that much better.

One thing I noticed while reading was some of the dialogue. At times (when Sera spoke), I found the cadence of her speech odd. It didn’t exactly fit with the previous flow of conversation. It felt a little bit like the speech was used as an explanation, or plot device, more than following the previous speech pattern and rhythms. It’s hard to convey, and wasn’t commonplace, it just happened enough for me to notice it.

I recommend this book to those who like sci-fi, erotic romance, and Ms. Dane’s writing. I enjoyed this book a lot, and had to pace myself to draw out the reading experience. I know Ms. Dane is writing another book set in the same universe, and I can’t wait for that. In fact, I can’t wait to get my greedy little hands on any of Ms. Dane’s upcoming works. While waiting, I plan on reading Undercover again.

Grade: A-

Summary:

A sexy debut exploring an erotic future universe of passion, danger, and deceit…

On the battleground or in the bedroom, one woman and two men fight for dominance in a bold, new, and excitingly different direction in erotica…

As a lieutenant of the Federation military, Sera Ayers is accustomed to giving orders, not taking them. Now she must obey the one man she can’t stand—and can’t stop thinking about.

With the enemy Imperialists gaining ground, a covert team is assembled by Ash Walker. Ten years before, Sera had lovingly submitted to Ash’s dominance in the bedroom. But when he was forced into a political marriage, she refused to play mistress. His marriage now over, Ash wants Sera on his team—and back in his bed.

The third team member, Brandt Pela, has an elegance to match Ash’s savage sexuality. And when their undercover plan requires Sera to pose as Brandt’s lover, it ignites a passion among the three of them more dangerous than their mission.

Read an excerpt.

Limecello’s review of Riding Temptation by Jaci Burton
Erotic romance published by Berkley on 7 Oct 08

Isn’t that cover gorgeous? I heard a lot about Jaci Burton’s Wild Rider series – especially the first book Riding Wild – so when the chance to read Riding Temptation came up I jumped at it. The characters are relatively non-traditional, and I’m definitely intrigued. (I’ve also always wanted to ride on a motorcycle…)

Jessie Matthews makes for an interesting heroine, but I’m not entirely sure what I think about her. When the book begins, based on her initial character description I feared that I was about to read a TSTL heroine for the next hundred plus pages. Luckily, that’s not the case. Jessie does make a few mistakes – due to her age (she’s 23) and inexperience, but she owns up to them and sees the error of her ways, which was very refreshing. She was a bit bull headed as for going after Diaz, but she had to. I liked that Jessie could hold her own, and was so pragmatic. I didn’t find her back story entirely believable or sympathetic, but it does give her added layers. Overall she’s a great girl and a likable character.

Diaz Delgado is something of a stereotypical hero. He’s big, bad, had a rough life, has a big chip on his shoulder, and doesn’t believe that he deserves or can have love. Diaz has been attracted to Jessie ever since she became an adult, but tried to tell himself she was off limits because he’s eight years older, and has known her since she was fifteen. Still, Diaz is an admirable man. (After all, he’s been noticing Jesse for the past five years.) Capable, caring, Diaz is quite an emotional person, but simply has a difficult time translating that and sharing his feelings with others. I like Diaz and was glad he pulled through in the end.

I really enjoy the premise of the Wild Riders and the plot. The setting and characters over all were also quite interesting. There definitely aren’t that many books out there dealing with motorcycle gangs and domestic terrorist groups. Ms. Burton definitely has something unique on her hands with a group of men and women who work for the government but even more importantly are bikers. The facts and attention to detail allow the reader to really become a part of the story.

As a matter of fact, the description of the motorcycles, the bike rally, and the numerous get togethers that occurred were some of my favorite parts of Riding Temptation. That, and the banter between the characters. It was fun to read their snappy dialogue and good-natured ribbing. Ms. Burton clearly conveys the character’s lighthearted and fun loving nature as well as the deep affection they have for each other.

However, the romance of the story was a bit flat for me. I found it slightly lacking, and predictable. I knew what the romantic conflicts would be from the start. The main characters also were rather one-dimensional for the majority of the book, which also contributed to the C+/slightly better than average grade. The developing relationship between Jessie and Diaz could have been applied to the characters of a number of books, not just their story. Ms. Burton also used a number of clichés, which made the story seem a bit plastic. However, the interaction between Diaz and Jessie was hot, as well as the initiation scene for the biker gang. (Although there wasn’t quite as much heat as I was expecting.) And the plot details are interesting.

I think Ms. Burton’s writing shows a lot of promise and I’m definitely looking forward to her other books, especially those in the Wild Riders series. I know Ms. Burton has a number of books coming out now, and I’d really like to do a comparison reading. Fans of the Wild Riders will likely enjoy this book a lot.

Grade: C+

He’s a biker working undercover for the Feds. She joined the Wild Riders for reasons of her own. Together, they’re burning up the asphalt and tearing headlong into danger and passion…

Naked under leather.
Ever since runaway Jessie Matthews teamed up with the gang of special ops bikers, the Wild Riders have thought of her as their kid sister. Except for Diaz Delgado. Over the past few years he’s been watching the budding of a ripe young woman. Jessie’s glad somebody finally sees her for who she is—and she’s thrilled it’s Diaz. His dark good looks and killer body have tempted her since day one.
Diaz’s unbrotherly urges have been hard to fight but the last thing he’d want to do is hurt Jessie and break up the gang. But when they both go undercover to infiltrate a group of killer survivalists, he knows it’ll be hard to keep his distance—especially when the mission takes a risky turn. Now Diaz has no choice but to open himself up to the one woman who may be strong enough to take him on.

Read an excerpt here.

We have the first three chapters of My Prerogative to post, a contest and some VJ action from mz Sasha White.

MTV doesn’t have anything on us . Well not that they play videos anymore…. which I do honestly plan to post this weekend along with a contest cuz we just got some in the mail to give away! WooT!

And do check out(again) Gwen’s review if you haven’t already

She does what she likes…

…and what she likes is absolutely wicked.

Kelsey Howard is happy with the single life. She has great friends, a fun job tending bar, and a nice apartment. Not to mention the freedom to enjoy a few wild sex games with strangers—the riskier the better. But what she’s really looking for in the darkness is love.

Then Kelsey realizes she’s got an anonymous stranger watching her every move—and every move she makes is arousing them both. In fact, not only is she not scared, she thinks she may have finally found her soul mate. Especially when she meets the mischievous mystery man in the flesh. That’s when the fun and games really start, and Kelsey realizes just how far she’s prepared to go for love.

My Prerogative by Sasha White

My timing was perfect.

I made my way through the crowded tables of Vantage Sports Pub to the patio where my friend waited. I made it to the plastic deck chair waiting for me mere seconds before the waitress arrived with a fresh pitcher of frozen margaritas.

“How was Jamaica?” Dee McDonald asked as my butt hit the chair.

I thought of Marco and the secluded beach escapade. “In a word … delicious.”

Dee was the manager of an Irish pub near the University and my best friend for the past fifteen years, ever since we met in college. Only two years apart in age, and both working in the hospitality industry, we understood each other in ways that only close friends, and other waitresses could. But even Dee only understood that part of me. She didn’t get that I was always searching for- well, searching.

Hell, even I didn’t really know for sure what it was I was searching for. I just knew there had to be more to life than what was in front of me, and I wasn’t going to find out what it was by living by someone else’s rules.

“Only a masochist would go to the Caribbean in August,” Dee said, distracting me from my thoughts.

The server set frosty glasses on the table and Dee poured us each a margarita from the pitcher while I answered.

“It was cheap, and not much hotter than this. Plus, the occasional afternoon thunderstorm cooled things off nicely.” I eyed her. Dee’s brunette hair was streaked blond and cut in a short bob. “And how were things in McDonald-land while I was gone? I like the new haircut by the way. Very playful and summery.”

“Thanks! Last week work sucked, and Jason fell asleep on the sofa every night, but the weekend was great. We got the backyard landscaped and the basement is almost finished. Oh, and Jason picked up a bunch of fitness equipment, including a cross trainer, so instead of meeting at the gym we can work out in the basement if we want.”

I ignored the twinge of longing at the mention of comfortable married life and focused on the second half of what Dee said.

Jason was Dee’s husband, and gorgeous as that man was, I didn’t want to be working out in any basement.

“Sweetie, you’re forgetting that one of the reasons I work out at the gym is so I can drool over all the hot male hard-bodies that hang out there. What fun would working out in your basement be?”

“Jason will be there, and I know you think he’s hot. He thinks you’re pretty too, so you two can just drool over each other.”

I rolled my eyes. “Get real. Jason can’t see anyone else when you’re around. Not that he’d drool over me anyway.”

It was Dee’s turn to roll her eyes. “You get real, you’re like a cross between a fifties pin-up model and the modern Goth Girl. If Marilyn Monroe was a thirty-something right now, she’d look like you. Well, with black hair. The point is, all you have to do is smile and bat your eyelashes and men drool over you.”

“Yeah?” I couldn’t help myself, Dee had hit a sensitive spot. “First off, I’m not a goth, I just happen to have a unique sense of style. And second, is that why I’m thirty-five and still single? Because I’m so pretty that all I have to do is smile and men drool?”

“No,” she said and waved her hand dismissively. “You’re still single because you want to be single. Anytime a guy tries to get closer to you than your bed, you sabotage the relationship.”

That was because when men found out how much I enjoyed sex that was all they saw. They stopped seeing me as anything more than a real life blow-up doll, and I wanted more than that. I deserved more than that.

“If I wanted to be single, I wouldn’t have put that stupid personal ad online,” I muttered.

“How’s that going anyway?”

“It’s not.” I watched over Dee’s shoulder as the couple at the table behind her leaned together and kissed. It was a slow, seductive kiss, with the guy cupping the woman’s cheek in his hand as he looked into her eyes. It was the kind of kiss I dreamt about.

“Kelsey?”

“Huh?” I tore my gaze away from the couple and focused on the conversation. Where were we? Oh yeah, the online thing. I drained the last of my margarita and made light of it all. “After chatting online to more guys than I thought possible, I gave it up as hopeless about a month ago.”

“Hopeless? Really?”

Well, except for Randy. But Randy wasn’t a boyfriend, he was occasional … exercise. He filled a need, that was it. But I didn’t say that. Dee might be my closest friend, but there were some things even I preferred to keep private.

“Yeah, only a few of the men were interesting enough to actually meet for a drink. And of course, the ones I’m attracted to aren’t interested in me, and vice-versa. It’s easier to just stick with what I have.” Which is a lover who was happy to come when I called, share a drink or two, fuck, then leave.

“What about the gym?” Dee asked.

“No one ever hits on me at the gym.” I caught the waitress’s eye and she nodded. Another drink was on the way.

“Maybe if you didn’t wear headphones someone would try to chat you up.”

“I tried that actually. And you know what I noticed?”

“What?”

“That everyone else was wearing headphones.”

Dee shook her head and I laughed.

“What about the grocery store?” Dee said determinedly. “You love to cook and I know you hit the market at least twice a week.”

I waved my hand. “Urban myth.”

“Ha! You’re just too damn picky.”

That got to me.

“I’m not too picky,” I snapped. “I just know myself, and what I need to be happy. So you’re right, I am single because I want to be.”

“What do you need, then?”

Tequila had loosened my tongue enough that I didn’t even think about it. “I want someone who will see below the surface and be in love with me. I want someone who wants more than to see me happy. I want someone who wants to make me happy.”

“I want someone that makes me want to please him. I know it’s almost archaic but I want someone to cook for. Someone to sit on the couch and veg with as well as someone I can give a look to who’ll be able to read it. He’ll know when I want to kill him, and when I want to ravish him. Or when I want him to slam me against the wall and have his way with me.” And I want him to accept that sometimes, he alone won’t be enough for me.

Dee’s brow puckered. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting the fantasy, Kels. But you have to understand that not everyone gets it.”

“Did it ever occur to you that not everyone gets it because not everyone is willing to wait for it?”

Dee stared at me blankly. I’d shocked her. Shit, I’d shocked myself. My façade was cracking and emotions were starting to leak out. I had to stop that. Now.

All I’d ever really admitted to myself was that I’d rather be on my own than waste my time in a relationship that wasn’t everything I wanted. Everything I needed. Self analysis was good, sometimes it even helped, but I did not need anyone thinking I was some lonely chick who needed a man to make her life complete. I worked damn hard to convince everyone who knew me that I was completely happy with every aspect of my single life. I worked even harder to convince myself.

The shock in Dee’s eyes had faded and I could clearly see concern building. Shit.

Relief swept over me when the waitress set a fresh jug of margaritas down. Dee grimaced. I poured myself another.

“I work in a nightclub, Dee. I see people fucking around and cheating on their partners all the time. That’s what happens when people settle, and I’m not going to do that. I have to believe there’s someone out there for me. Someone who will love the hyperactive, outgoing, and flirty me, as much as the somewhat dark and twisted me. If there isn’t, then I don’t want anyone.” I grinned at my friend. “Not on a permanent basis anyway.”

Dee laughed and shook her head. “That’s probably best. It’ll happen when you least expect it, it always does. Besides, you’re too busy traveling all over and playing sex games with your bed buddies to settle down right now. If you weren’t single you wouldn’t be able to do that. You certainly wouldn’t have been able to pick up some stranger and fuck him on the beach in Jamaica.” She winked at me. “Lucky bitch. How was it?”

I choked on a mouthful of margarita. “How do you know I even did that?”

“You said you were going to, and you always do what you say you’re going to. Now stop stalling and tell me how it was. I’m a boring old married woman, I need to live vicariously through you.”

“Boring maybe, but not old,” I stated firmly. “I’m older than you and I’m not old. So that means you’re not old yet, either.”

Dee raised her glass and tilted her head. “Point taken.”

The waitress came by to check on us and I ordered a couple of tequila shots.

“One shot, and that’s it,” Dee warned. “The last time we got into the shooters, Jason wouldn’t talk to me for the rest of the weekend. Funny how he gets mad at me when I have a few drinks, yet every time he comes home from playing golf, he’s hammered.”

I bit my tongue and took another sip of frosty lime loveliness. Dee had no idea how much I envied her relationship with Jason, and I wanted to keep it that way. There were times when booty calls and bed buddies were fun and exciting, but there were also times when coming home to an empty apartment sucked.

The waitress dropped off the tequila shots and I was quick to reach for mine. “To a man who loves you,” I said and raised my glass in a toast.

Dee raised her glass and clinked it against mine. “To living out the fantasy of fucking a stranger on a beach.”

For the next couple of hours Dee and I talked about work, clothes, Jamaica, Marco, and our hopes for the upcoming hockey season. The pub crowd thinned as time passed and people moved on to whatever plans they had for the evening. Just after four o’clock, Dee announced it was time to go.

“You go,” I replied. “I’m going to stay a while longer.”

She dug some cash out of her wallet and put it on the table beneath her empty glass. “Must be nice. I get to go home and cook dinner for a man who’ll probably just fall asleep on the couch the minute he’s done eating.”

“So wake him up,” I said, tired of her whining.

“Easier said than done, my friend.”

One of my biggest pet peeves is when people complain about something, yet do nothing to change it. Like a wife complaining about her husband falling asleep on the sofa. As far as I was concerned, where there’s a will, there’s a way. And the easiest way was sometimes the best.

“Use sex. He’s a man, that’ll wake him up.”

“Use sex? Hell, I’d be thrilled to have sex tonight. It’s been almost a week, and last time it was barely over before he started snoring.”

“That’s sad.”

“Tell me about it. We had sex more often before we were married. You’re single and you have more sex than we do.”

That really is sad.

If I were married, you’d bet the man would be giving it to me every night. Otherwise divorce would be inevitable – unless he didn’t mind me having sex with others. I could probably live with that.

I gave my head a shake. It was time to focus on Dee. “So liven it up.” I told her. “Wake him up in a way he’ll never forget, and maybe he’ll be a little more energetic for the rest of the night.”

Dee’s eyes lit up and she leaned forward, her purse still clutched in her lap. “Tell me, Oh Wise Wild One, how should I do that?”

Excitement rippled through me.

I loved sex. I thought about sex all the time. Positions, scenarios, certain people, combinations of people, different ways to masturbate, different kinks. Over the years I’d found that there were few problems or issues that either alcohol or sex couldn’t cure.

Temporarily anyway …I was still working on the long term cure.

Mind you, falling asleep on the sofa sounded short term to me. “Do you guys ever role play?”

Her brow puckered. “Role play? As in the Naughty Nurse and her bedridden patient?”

I laughed. “Yeah, that’s one type of role playing. You guys ever do anything like that?”

“We tried it once, but I couldn’t stop laughing.”

Dee and I have been friends for a long time, and while she wasn’t as … open as I was, I remembered our drunk partying nights pretty clearly. She wasn’t as angelic as her big brown eyes led people to believe either.

“After dinner, tell him you’re going to the bedroom, and be sure to give him the look.”

“The look?”

“Yeah. The one that says ‘Follow me, I’m horny.’”

“Oh, that look.” Dee laughed. “Okay. Got it.”

“When you’re upstairs, find some sexy lingerie – matching bra and panties, garter and thigh high’s, baby doll nightgown – whatever you have that you know gets him hard and will make him drool.”

A secretive smile spread across Dee’s lips and I knew she instantly had an outfit in mind.

“If he hasn’t followed you into the bedroom by the time you’ve changed and are ready, then go get out the vacuum.”

“The vacuum?”

“If he’s asleep on the sofa, it’ll wake him up. If he’s not, he’ll still notice you. Just go about the cleaning, as if you had on sweatpants and a T-shirt. Bending here, stretching there.” I gave her a stern look. “But ignore him.”

Dee’s eyes were round and she was grinning like an idiot. “Oh my God,” she said. “That will drive him absolutely nuts.”

“There you go.” I nodded. “The rest is up to you, but I suggest if you have to take out the vacuum, you make him work for it.”

We shared another chuckle and Dee jumped up. “Okay, I’m outta here. I’ll call you.”

“I’m gonna want details.”

We have the first three chapters of My Prerogative to post, a contest and some VJ action from mz Sasha White.

MTV doesn’t have anything on us . Well not that they play videos anymore….

And do check out Gwen’s review if you haven’t already

She does what she likes…

…and what she likes is absolutely wicked.

Kelsey Howard is happy with the single life. She has great friends, a fun job tending bar, and a nice apartment. Not to mention the freedom to enjoy a few wild sex games with strangers—the riskier the better. But what she’s really looking for in the darkness is love.

Then Kelsey realizes she’s got an anonymous stranger watching her every move—and every move she makes is arousing them both. In fact, not only is she not scared, she thinks she may have finally found her soul mate. Especially when she meets the mischievous mystery man in the flesh. That’s when the fun and games really start, and Kelsey realizes just how far she’s prepared to go for love.

My Prerogative by Sasha White

The flight home was smooth and easy. After I passed through customs and caught sight of the mob at baggage claim, I was doubly glad I’d packed light.

Heading through the automatic doors, I ignored the crowd of people eagerly waiting for arrivals to well … arrive. No one there was waiting for me.

It was late afternoon but the sun was shining down on Vancouver. The sky was clear and the air was so humid my hair began to wilt and go flat immediately. It didn’t bother me though; I just reached into my purse for a couple of elastics and made two pigtails. Not many women my age could get away with the style, but I didn’t look my age, and I certainly didn’t feel it, so why care?

I knew the airport’s parking lot layout well, so it took me no time to find my car. Dropping my bags on the passenger seat of the little red Camry, I climbed in, rolled down the window and cranked up the tunes. I bopped along mindlessly to the music for the forty-five minute drive home, weaving in and out of the busy Saturday afternoon traffic but not letting the heat or the cranky drivers on the road get to me.

An hour after my feet touched the ground I was strolling into my apartment and dropping my bag on the floor while my stomach growled angrily. A quick peek into the fridge showed only a bottle of wine and a tub of margarine.

Why the hell hadn’t I stopped at McDonalds or something on the way home? Smart Kelsey. Way to think ahead.

There’s nothing special about my apartment, other than the fact that it’s all mine. I’d spent some time and money making it the best it could be, and that was a nice semi-stylish place with an eclectic collection of comfortable furniture, and all the amenities.

The thought of coming home to a messy place always had me on a cleaning spree the week before I went on any trip and this last one had been no different. When I glanced around this time I noted that it looked as neat and clean as it had been when I left.

It was nice to come home to a clean place, but the hollowness of the empty apartment was a bit too much for me so I dug out my iPod and put it in its cradle. Soon Dave Matthews was chasing the silence away and I reached for the phone.

I’d just finished ordering pizza for delivery and was opening the bottle of wine when there was knock on the door. Yay! Someone came to welcome me home. Not.

Corkscrew still in hand, I opened it to one of the downstairs tenants.

“Hi Manny, what can I do for you?”

A twenty-dollar bill was waved in front of my face. “My wife, she need the laundry tokens.”

Manny was from Chile, and had lived on the first floor of the three-story building for the past twelve years. He and his wife were quiet and clean, and the first ones to welcome me to the complex when I’d moved in five years earlier, and I really liked them. Having neighbors who knew my name and were willing to water my plants while I was away made me feel a part of the place. “Sure. Wait right here.”

I went to the kitchen and pulled the little plastic case from the cupboard. I was counting out tokens when Manny stepped into the open doorway. “Our kitchen sink is still dripping, Ms. Kelsey. It’s very loud and keeps me awake at night. When will it get fixed?”

“I told you before. You have to phone Paul. He’s the head of the condo board and in charge of things until the new building manager is here next month. I’m just taking care of the tokens and the basic maintenance for this month. I have nothing to do with repairs.”

“Two weeks ago I call El Presidente. He said he’d call a repair man, but I’ve not heard nothing, so I ask you again.”

I shook my head and handed him the tokens with a soft smile. “I’m sorry, I haven’t heard anything. I know it’s annoying, but apparently the guy that the condo board hired is worth waiting for, and after the last manager, we need to make sure this new one know’s what he’s doing.”

“That’s true,” he said, nodding his head thoughtfully. “That last guy did nothing but drink. He tried to fix the leak, and it only get worse.”

“Less than a month to go, Manny.” I ushered him out of the doorway. “I’ll make sure when I meet the new building manager that your faucet is first on his ‘To Do’ list.”

I closed the door behind the grumbling old guy and went back to my bottle of wine. Sure I’d agreed to clean the building and hand out laundry tokens for the six weeks they were without a manager, but that was it. I was a bartender, not a handym- handy woman.

Two minutes later I was sitting down with wine glass in hand and the phone rang. I recognized Randy’s number on the caller ID and decided I wasn’t in the mood for a visit. Strange, normally a visit from my occasional and very adventurous lover was welcome, but right then, I just wanted to be alone with my wine.

Sunday was my day to get organized again before I returned to the regular programming of my uneventful life.

Still feeling pretty relaxed and genial after my holiday, I crawled out of bed around ten A.M. – which was actually early for me, the bartender who rarely went to bed before four in the morning. After a lazy shower I dressed in a casual pair of black walking shorts and a tight tank top that hugged my breasts and showed plenty of my C-cup cleavage. Hair wasn’t something I wanted to deal with so I slipped a ball cap over my plain midnight tresses, and smoothed on some bright red lipstick to finish the look before heading to the grocery store.

Vancouver is a big city, which makes housing in the decent areas pretty expensive. Commercial Drive, my neighborhood, was ethnically diverse and a bit seedy, but the city was working on cleaning it up. Cafés and restaurants were popping up all over and it had turned into a more eclectic, almost artsy area because of the recently restored lofts and buildings.

Grabbing a basket just inside the door, I filled it with pre-washed and cut bag salad, baby carrots, and celery before adding some peaches and heading for the frozen food aisle. Microwave dinners, pizza and a carton of ice cream joined the healthy stuff. A basket full of essentials for a single person.

Staring at the food I’d collected was slighlty depressing and I fought the temptation of the cookie aisle. Temptation won and I added a bag of chocolate chip to my basket. Not a coffee drinker, a pack of Red Bull energy drinks was the final item on my list.

The cashier smiled at me when I started to unload my items onto the conveyor belt and I smiled back. “Hi Kelsey, how are you doing today?” she said when the customer ahead of me was done and walking away.

“Doing good, Maureen. You?”

Living alone made it hard to keep lots of food in my fridge because if I didn’t eat at home every day, the food went bad. Which meant I didn’t buy a lot, but I went food shopping two or three times a week. Since I’d been living in the same apartment for almost five years, and the grocery store was only four blocks away, a couple of the cashiers knew me by name.

I was a regular.

A chuckle bubbled up and Maureen grinned and shook her head in puzzlement. “You’re always in such a good mood.”

I was amused because after bartending for fifteen years I’d always swore I’d never be a ‘regular’ anywhere. Regulars could keep a business going, but by the same token, they could be a real pain in the ass at times. But Maureen didn’t need to hear all that so I just shrugged. “The sun is shining and I have nothing to complain about.”

“Ahh.” The pretty cashier nodded. “Well here’s hoping the rest of the week remains the same for us both.”

She took my money, we said good day to each other and I left with a smile still on my face. I had a date with a pitcher of margaritas I didn’t want to be late for.

We have the first three chapters of My Prerogative to post, a contest and some VJ action from mz Sasha White.

MTV doesn’t have anything on us . Well not that they play videos anymore….

And do check out Gwen’s review if you haven’t already

She does what she likes…

…and what she likes is absolutely wicked.

Kelsey Howard is happy with the single life. She has great friends, a fun job tending bar, and a nice apartment. Not to mention the freedom to enjoy a few wild sex games with strangers—the riskier the better. But what she’s really looking for in the darkness is love.

Then Kelsey realizes she’s got an annonymous stranger watching her every move—and every move she makes is arousing them both. In fact, not only is she not scared, she thinks she may have finally found her soul mate. Especially when she meets the mischievous mystery man in the flesh. That’s when the fun and games really start, and Kelsey realizes just how far she’s prepared to go for love.

My Prerogative by Sasha White

There are few things more enjoyable than lying naked on a sandy beach under a hot sun. Especially in a foreign country where no one knows me and I’m free do whatever, and whomever, I want.

Kelsey Howard, footloose and fancy free, answerable to no one. That was me.

Being single and adventurous made me the envy of many, and I had to admit, there were times when even I thought my life was blessed.

Cute as a kid, pretty as a girl, and then beautiful as a woman.

I do believe people see that when they look at me. I have to believe it, I’ve heard it my whole life. And on some days, I can even look in the mirror and see it. The problem is that I don’t always feel that way. I have a hole inside that needs to be filled, and despite the fact that I know filling it with food, drinks, and casual sex isn’t good, or smart . . . I still do it. I can’t stop myself. It’s the only way I know to fill that emptiness.

So really? Is it wrong if it makes me feel better? Even if it’s just for a little while?

Rising up a bit from my supine position on the beach, my elbows dug comfortably into the sand. I lounged in the heat of the Mediterranean sun and tracked the approach of my companion from behind dark sunglasses. Nope, nothing wrong with it at all.

Ocean water glistened over his bulging muscles as they rippled with every move he made. Hair slicked back and eyes intent on me, he prowled up the beach. Yeah, he was definitely prowling, and I was woman enough to appreciate it.

One of the few things I enjoy in life more than lying on a beach is lying under a well-built man. Both at once was a fantasy I was determined to finally have come true.

Marco was his name, and I’d met him at the hotel bar on my second night here. The all-inclusive resort we were at encouraged hedonistic behavior and after the first night spent watching everyone let loose, I was more than ready for my own sensual adventure. I’d almost given up hope of finding someone I could click with when he’d introduced himself and the sparks flew. Marco had proven to be very adventurous himself – a wonderful choice for my holiday fling.

I took a pull of tequila from the bottle I’d grabbed from the room’s mini-bar and a familiar tingle awoke low in my belly. Marco drew closer and I spread my legs a little wider, knowing he wouldn’t be able to avoid the temptation I presented.

Sure enough, hunger sparked in his dark eyes and he dropped to his knees at my feet. Large masculine hands cupped my bent knees and slid up my thighs, sending more tingles through my system.

“Hello there, stranger,” I said softly.

His teeth flashed in a predatory smile and he began crawling up and over my body until his mouth hovered over mine. “You look good enough to eat,” he said.

I looked to the left and saw no one, and then to the right. There was a couple about fifty yards down the beach, roasting themselves on a blanket and minding their own business, so I lifted my arms and pulled him down on top of me. “So what’s stopping you?”

He chuckled and kissed me hungrily. He tasted faintly of tequila and saltwater from the ocean, so I opened up and enjoyed the way our tongues rubbed together. The cool friction heated my blood and made my sex clench in anticipation. The nude beach we were on was part of the private resort where anything goes, and in that instant I made the decision to live up to my reputation as a wild child and enjoy every second of it.

I tilted my head back, and Marco took the hint, nuzzling his way down my neck. The sound of waves rhythmically lapping at the shore became an erotic symphony as he cupped my breasts and flicked the jeweled hoops there back and forth.

“So pretty,” he crooned. He wrapped his lips around one nipple and sucked hard, his tongue pulling at the piercing.

“Harder,” I urged him. A little pain always heightened the pleasure.

He complied and my hips jerked in response. Yes.

I slid my hands into his hair and nudged him lower. Eager to please, Marco slithered down my body until his talented mouth was hovering over my greedy cunt. His hands cupped my ass, lifting me as his tongue came out and flicked the jeweled hoop that pierced the protective hood of my clit. A sigh of pleasure slipped from between my lips and I pressed him closer.

Sometimes fantasies do come true.

Sasha White is a long time fave of mine and we kidnap her often (she likes it).

Her newest novel, My Prerogative, will hit the shelves in September. Since every time I hear the title, the song (bobby’s or brits – you pick) sticks in my head FOREVER… I asked Sasha to put together a playlist for us.

It shall be grand fun! We will have our own VJ this week (omg at you if you don’t know what a VJ is, think back to when MTV use to play videos). No – really – they did! Oh… you wanna know what the book is about?

She does what she likes…

…and what she likes is absolutely wicked.

Kelsey Howard is happy with the single life. She has great friends, a fun job tending bar, and a nice apartment. Not to mention the freedom to enjoy a few wild sex games with strangers—the riskier the better. But what she’s really looking for in the darkness is love.

Then Kelsey realizes she’s got an annonymous stranger watching her every move—and every move she makes is arousing them both. In fact, not only is she not scared, she thinks she may have finally found her soul mate. Especially when she meets the mischievous mystery man in the flesh. That’s when the fun and games really start, and Kelsey realizes just how far she’s prepared to go for love.

Limecello’s review of Running Wild by Sarah McCarty
Paranormal romance single author anthology published by Berkley Heat 3 Jun 08

I’ve never read a book by Sarah McCarty before, but she’s been an author I’ve been meaning to try. I have to say, I’m glad I got the chance and that I read this book. I love anthologies, because they’re fun, interesting, and pack a lot of punch. Generally, I find myself wanting more. In Running Wild, however, the stories are perfectly written and you’re not left hanging at all – the stories feel complete.

Donovan
Donovan and Lisa’s story came first, and I have to say Donovan was my favorite hero. The story was lighthearted and fun, and I found it amusing how Lisa couldn’t deal with Donovan being a werewolf. (With good reason.) Their interaction was enjoyable to observe, and I liked how both characters had a larger than life personality. It was also nice how Donovan knew Lisa was his mate, and didn’t fight it – his struggle was convincing Lisa to not only take a chance on him, but to stay with him forever. One thing I would have liked (in all three stories) was a slightly better explanation of the word “seelie” – which the werewolves used as a term of endearment. I did enjoy where the main focus and purpose of the story was the developing relationship between Lisa and Donovan – it was nice to not have a lot of distracting, outside factors.

Grade: B+

Kelon
Kelon and Robin’s story was my favorite in this anthology. There was an added layer to this story because of Robin’s condition. I liked the vulnerability that Robin exhibited, and Kelon’s subsequent reaction to her feelings. Robin wasn’t needy, or annoying – it was more that neither of them had any real experience with relationships, and they had to face some issues to put them on the same page.
There was also a nice twist, with the threat to Robin (which is why Donovan asked Kelon to come in the first place). I also liked that Robin began to gain confidence, and come into her own. The way she was “introduced” to the fact that Kelon was a werewolf was also interesting, and believable. Their affection for one another was intense, and well written.

Grade: A-

Wyatt
Wyatt’s story had the most aspects of the werewolf culture, and a lot of that has to do with who Wyatt is. Heather is also an interesting character because she has depth, and strength, and has a brain. She knows when to back down, and when to hold her ground. It was so nice – refreshing, really, to have a “kick ass” heroine, who didn’t put herself and others in danger just to “be strong.”
Their different personalities also gave this story a more pragmatic quality. Wyatt is an alpha, and he was much more take charge, and a little less tentative in his interaction with Heather. The story ended nicely, and I’m that Wyatt is going off to start his own pack. I’m glad that these characters are getting their happy ending – with a fresh beginning thrown in as well.

Grade: B+

I really enjoyed reading these stories about werewolves and their mates that were rather lighthearted and straightforward. Donovan, Kelon, and Wyatt were satisfying, had depth and creative plots, but no convoluted story or too much unnecessary angst. The stories were all hot, and the chemistry between the characters was palpable. Personally, one thing I could have done without, was the sex being pushed to “the next level” – I felt that Ms. McCarty wrote it just to make the book edgier, but I didn’t feel that it did much for the story itself, or the relationship of the characters. Overall, I very much enjoyed this anthology and look forward to reading more books by Ms. McCarty.

Overall Grade: A-

Donovan—A Protector, Donovan’s directive is to bring the Pack Alpha home and nothing more. But when Donovan catches the sexy human scent of Lisa Delaney, he’s hers, body and soul—and ready to risk both on an erotic desire that will shatter all boundaries.
Kelon—Kelon likes his life as the biggest, baddest Protector of his pack. He fully intends to go back to his pack after he helps Donovan out, but he never counted on the voluptuous distraction of Robin Delaney. Soft, sweet, and sexy, Robin is the one woman that can make him forget duty and make him contemplate a choice no werewolf should ever have to make.
Wyatt—In a pack where only the strong can lead, and any weakness is exploited, Wyatt can’t afford to be attracted to the ever practical, completely human Heather Delaney. But with her trim body, fiery temper, and lush mouth, Heather isn’t a woman a man ignores— no matter what the cost.

Read an excerpt here.

by Cherie Feather

Is erotica a genre you read? And if so, when did you start reading it? For me, erotica is a wonderfully guilty (or maybe not so guilty) pleasure. I love it in all forms: sensual books, movies, and art.

Some of my favorite erotica authors are Emma Holly, Ann Rice (writing as A. N. Roquelaure) and Shayla Black. Some of my fave erotic flicks are “Wild Orchid,” “The Red Shoe Diaries” Movie and “9 ½ Weeks,” which were all created by Zalman King. As for erotic art, I adore the works of Olivia de Berardinis, Alberto Vargas and Jay Trembly. I’m friends with Olivia and Jay on Myspace. Don’t you just love MySpace for that? Whoever thought there would be a day when we could “friend” people we admire?

Most of the key players in The Art of Desire are involved in the art world. The historical heroine is an artist and the contemporary heroine is a museum director. There is also a famous painting of the historical hero that is an integral part of the book, as well as a hundred-year-old journal.

So far the reviews have been extremely favorable, including a glowing write-up from Romantic Times. If you’re curious, here’s the review:

This story has it all–hot and varied sex scenes, a hunky hero to die for, a tough-yet-insecure heroine to identify with and a diary that links the characters to a tragic Old West love affair from a hundred years ago. The happy-ever-after ending is icing on the cake! Feather is an excellent writer who knows which details will evoke just the right emotion.” Romantic Times, 4 ½ stars, Top Pick!

On this site, Sybil recommended The Art of Desire as a book that “…fucking rocks!”

Oh, how I love that!

The Art of Desire is my first erotica and my first book written as Cherie Feather. I’ve always wanted to write a contemporary story with a historical twist. Have you read Kathleen Eagle’s Fire and Rain? It’s one of my all-time favorite books and the contemporary/historical element is what inspired me to try this fascinating theme. I wondered how an old journal would fare in an erotica, so I gave it a try.

First I wrote a pitch and sent it to my agent. She loved it instantly. From there I wrote a three-chapter proposal, but it took me almost three months because I kept re-writing it, trying to get the level of sensuality just right. After that, it flowed. The words spilled onto the pages.

Since then, I’ve completed my second erotica, a spin off from The Art of Desire. It’s called Submission and features a wildly sexy pin-up artist (the hero), a museum historian (the heroine) and two lovelorn ghosts (the historical characters and subplot). Submission will be released in Feb. 2009.

I am also published as Sheri WhiteFeather. My current Sheri WhiteFeather release is Killer Passion, a Silhouette Romantic Suspense that comes out in July. Killer Passion is part of a miniseries called Seduction Summer with authors Nina Bruhns and Cindy Dees. Nina, Cindy and I were asked to write hot, suspenseful stories, and we had a blast creating romances set in Fiji with a serial killer stalking lovers on the beach.

I just received my authors copies of Killer Passion, and I’ll be giving away some of them here. Leave a comment to enter the contest and winners will be drawn at random. Keep checking back to see if you won. I think you’ll enjoy this sizzling, suspenseful book.

I’m also giving away a copy of The Art of Desire. Once again, leave a comment for a chance to win. Then check back to see if you’re the winner.

For more contests, more news, see pictures of my gorgeous grown kids and read my blog, visit my websites at www.CherieFeather.com and www.SheriWhiteFeather.com

Hugs and Happy Reading!

Thanks, Sheri/Cherie!! Again, to win one of the copies Cherie is giving away, comment here and tell us what you like the most about erotic romance. You must be 18 or over to enter, one entry per household, and you must comment by midnight Central time (according to the blog’s timestamp) Sunday, 8 June (technically, 9 June, but who’s counting). Good luck!

We continue with excerpts from The Art of Desire by Cherie Feather, a new erotic romance from Berkley Heat. Keep reading for the book’s summary and the last of four excerpts. This is a seriously steamy series of excerpts, so read on only if you dare!

Summary:

Museum director Mandy Cooper is obsessed with nineteenth-century artist Catherine Burke-and the artist’s erotically charged relationship with Atacar, her enthralling American Indian lover. But Mandy’s link to the legendary couple runs deeper than she knows. She’s having a heated affair herself-with Jared Cabrillo, Atacar’s handsome great-great nephew who knows precisely what it takes to seduce a woman…

He’s in possession of Catherine’s explicit journal. He knows every intimate detail of what she wanted and needed. But he also knows how desperately Catherine had loved Atacar and how dangerously he’d loved her. The journal is timeless and tragic, and the secrets contained within its pages can bring Mandy and Jared together, or just as surely destroy them both-desire by shocking desire.

E-X-C-E-R-P-T

THREE

Atacar didn’t take me. He didn’t sweep me into frenzied passion. For what seemed like the longest minutes of my life, he continued to hold me at gunpoint.

Should I tell him my name? That I am Catherine Burke, a twenty-two-year-old virgin artist with a wanton reputation? That I want him to kiss me? That I long to feel his nakedness against mine?

What if he didn’t speak English? Then what? My words would be lost on him. But my actions wouldn’t. I repeated what I’d done earlier and looked at his cock. I could see his genitals in much greater detail now that I was standing only a gun barrel away from him. He grew bigger, aroused by my visual attention, and I got bolder.

I brought my gaze to his face and stared him down, biting my bottom lip, sucking it lustfully between my teeth. His granite-cut features didn’t soften. They were as hard as his penis. I felt triumphant. His eyes burned for more. My boldness made them darker, pitched like a midnight fire.

At that point, I expected him to lower the rifle, to sweep me into the passion I craved. But he didn’t. He appeared to be waiting for me, to see what I would do next. Nervous energy skittered through my blood.

What would I do next? I’d never seduced a man before. I couldn’t just stand there like an inexperienced ninny and stare him into ejaculation.

So I did what I assumed a seductress would do. I curtailed my fear and removed my clothing. I got as far as my dress, petticoat and corset cover and stopped, letting him look at me in my ribbon-trimmed corset, lace-hemmed drawers and high-top boots. To heighten the image, I loosed my daytime coiffure, which was already messy from my nap, allowing my wheat-colored hair to fall in long, unbound waves.

Atacar finally lowered his gun, resting the butt of the weapon on the ground. He looked at me if I were a divine delicacy, the best sweetmeat he would ever taste. My breasts tingled. The juncture between my thighs went moist.

He jutted his chin, telling me, without words, to complete my state of undress. I prepared to unfasten my corset, and a sudden noise caught both of our attentions.

The rustle of foliage, of riders approaching.

Atacar moved at a spinning pace, and so did I. We gathered our clothes and dashed for the cottonwoods. He latched onto my arm to speed me up, and I felt as if I were being dragged. He was much taller than I was, making quicker strides. His horse spooked and ran, too. The animal disappeared out of sight. The riders were still coming from the opposite direction.

Once we were hidden in the trees, Atacar pushed me down and thrust his water-damp body on top of mine. He was heavy, big and muscular, and the air whooshed out of me.

He lifted his head and arched his torso to see who would appear. All I could see was his naked chest, which bore varying scars. War wounds, I presumed. I knew he was clutching his rifle. If the riders threatened us, he would attack, living up to his name.

The strangers arrived. I heard them dismount. I heard them talking, too. They were cowboys, filling their canteens at the stream, discussing the stray cattle for which they were searching.

Atacar’s posture relaxed a bit, and I realized that he understood what they were saying. I could have spoken to him after all. Either way, I suspected that he was relieved that the other men weren’t associated with the army. Luckily, they didn’t linger. They were gone soon enough.

Leaving Atacar and I alone once again.

This time I waited to see what he would do. Would he lift his body from mine and don his clothes so he could track his missing horse? Or would he stay where he was, pressed intimately against me?

He stayed.

Our gazes locked. My heart rapped in raw excitement. His hips bumped mine, creating friction. His arousal returned, stone hard and insistent.

“I’m aware of who you are,” I said.

“And I’m aware that you’re bewitching me,” he responded in a strong, choppy accent I’d never heard before. But that was probably how Indians sounded when they spoke English.

Dangerous. Exotic.

“Soldiers came through this area last week,” I told him. “I saw your picture.”

“And now you want to lie with me?”

I nodded, feeling my pulse rise. “Yes.”

After that, we quit talking. Our words no longer mattered. I battled my corset, and he tugged at my drawers. I didn’t show him that the crotch seam was open. I let him pull them down instead.

I knew that women could have orgasms, and I was anxious to experience what my bohemian friends in Paris whispered so deliciously about. They’d told me that I could make it happen myself, but I’d wanted to wait for my first lover.

And here he was.

Atacar kissed me, his tongue fornicating with mine. He tasted wild and forbidden, and I hungered for more. Liquid heat, as powerful as the sun itself, rained down on us.

Experimenting, I rubbed his cock, circling the head. It was silkier than I imagined. I felt as wonderfully wanton as my reputation, sliding my hand up and down, enjoying the gliding sensation. He groaned and kissed me harder. Our teeth clashed, and I bit his lip. He pinned me down and told me do it again, and I made a drop of his blood spill into my mouth.

We rolled over in the dirt, the grass-patched, leaf-laden ground abrading the exposed portions of my skin. My corset, which laced in back and contained a front opening, was partially undone, and my drawers were halfway down my legs. A twig scratched my bare bottom.

Atacar used his fingers, parting the curls that covered my mound, and I spread my thighs for him. He looked down, aroused by how willing I was to expose myself, to let him see. I looked down at him, too. His cock was even more engorged. I imagined him spending his seed all over me.

He played with the secret folds of my flesh, making me sinfully wet, making me squirm. I didn’t need to wonder if the nub he tended was my clitoris. I knew it was. My bohemian friends whispered deliciously about that, too. I finally understood why.

The world burst at my core. I shuddered and shook, lifting my hips in jerking motions. He dipped two fingers inside, spreading even more wetness, more of what I needed. I panted until there was barely breath left in my lungs.

Then I heard a familiar voice call my name. “Catherine!”

Atacar rolled away and grabbed his rifle.

“No!” I told him, scrambling to right my undergarments, pulling up my drawers and fastening my corset. “That’s my nanny. I’m from England, and she came to America with me.” I managed to put my petticoat in place, but I couldn’t find my corset cover so I climbed into my dress the way I was, nearly tripping over the fabric. Nanny kept calling out to me, expressing her concern. I’d been gone a long time.

Atacar shoved on his clothes, too. But he couldn’t get his cock to behave. In spite of our predicament, he remained half hard, the buttons on his pants straining. He still desired me.

For all the good it did. By now, he looked as if he wanted to rip my hair from my pretty little head, to make me suffer for his unresolved erection. I hoped that scalping one’s enemies wasn’t a practice in his tribe.

Nanny called my name again.

“Hurry,” he snapped. “Go to her. Before she finds you here with me.”

“I’m trying.” I had leaves in my un-scalped hair, and my hastily fastened corset was threatening to come undone. I was an abomination.

It was to no avail. Nanny discovered us. She came puffing through an opening in the trees, stopped in her tracks, her gaze darting from me to him, then back to me. Although my appearance was ravished, she didn’t accuse Atacar of hurting me. She must have recognized a seductress when she saw one.

“Goodness, child.” She shook her head, her double chin quivering. “What have you done?”

#

It was done.

Jared leaned against the sink while Mandy popped the dildo out of the cast. She traced the naughty phallus, and his cock went hard.

“It’s you.” Her fingers caressed the rubber form, moving from the head to the shaft to the testes. “Every sexy detail.”

“You’re making me excited.” He leaned over to kiss her, the toy pressed against her blouse.

“Pierce it,” she said.

He used a needle. Mandy seemed intrigued, studying the procedure. He put a circular barbell in the same location as his piercing to give her the familiarity she craved. He washed the dildo with an antibacterial solution, cleaning it for her.

Once it was dry, Mandy licked the newly decorated head. He thought about the blowjob she’d given him earlier and got even more excited. He wanted her to suck the dildo, too.

“Let’s go.” He took her hand and they went into her bedroom.

Jared removed the quilt and top sheet from her bed, leaving the bottom sheet and two pillows. Her room was soft and feminine with white washed furniture, pastel prints and hints of lace. It was perfect for tonight, ideal for a man’s voyeuristic obsession. He angled a chair, positioning it at the footboard, where he intended to watch the show. He put the dildo in the center of the bed, along with the lubricant they’d brought.

She dimmed the lights and lit the candles, placing them on the dresser beside several ornate bottles of perfume. The stage was set, he thought.

Jared took his seat, and Mandy turned toward him. The kama sutra candle began scenting the air, the light rose fragrance enhancing the ambience.

“Take off your clothes,” he said.

She stripped, removing her sandals first, then her blouse and jeans. Her flesh-colored bra and panties came next. She had small breasts with full pink nipples. Her stomach was flat, and her hips flared. As always, her pussy was delicately waxed. She was so beautiful, she looked like a centerfold come to life.

“Give me your panties,” he said.

She walked forward and handed him her daintily laced underwear. He tucked them into the front right pocket of his jeans, taking them as a trophy, wanting to keep something that belonged to her close to him.

All pink and pretty, she blinked, seeming unsure of what to do next.

He motioned with his chin. “Get on the bed.”

She did as he instructed, kneeling on the sheet, waiting to fulfill the rest of his needs.

He gave her another aroused order. “Lick the dildo. All of it. Every inch. And imagine it’s me.”

“It is you.” She darted her tongue over the head and played lavishly with the piercing.

By the time she worked her way down, he scooted to the edge of his seat. She held the phallus high enough for him to see her scoop one of the balls into her mouth.

Damn, he thought. Hot fucking damn. “Do that to the other one. Then give it a really nasty blowjob. Hot and dirty, the way I like it.”

She didn’t disappoint. Clutching the base, she wrapped her lips around the dildo and sucked, pumping the device as if it really were his dick. She tipped back her head, exposing the ladylike column of her neck.

Somehow, someway, Jared was going to get through this without jerking off. Looking but not touching, her or himself, was part of the fantasy.

Mandy made the dildo come. Or that was how it seemed in his mind. He imagined white-hot liquid spurting into her mouth. She even made a swallowing sound. When she released the dildo, she licked her lips.

This was the best fantasy he’d ever had, and it was just getting started. “Put the lube on it now. Make it as slick as you can.”

She used a generous amount, gliding the silicone solution over the rubber form. He could almost feel her sleek, smooth strokes. She took her time, favoring her new toy.

“Lie back and spread your legs,” he told her.

Mandy propped both pillows against the headboard and opened her thighs. But it wasn’t enough.

“Wider,” he said. “All the way.”

She inched them open a bit more.

He didn’t back down. It was part of the game, and they both knew it. “More. Show me how pretty you are. Show me what I want to see.”

She did it. She went as wide as she could, exposing her inner folds. He didn’t ask her to do anything else. He just sat there, staring at her cunt.

Mandy flexed her hips, offering him an even prettier view of her labia and the hood of her clit. She glistened in her own juices. He could only imagine how much wetter she was going to get.

He lifted his gaze to her face, and she gave him her best naughty-girl smile. He’d never met anyone like her. Good. Bad. Shy. Wild. He wanted to grab her panties out of his pocket and press them against his fly.

“Tell me to put it in,” she said.

“Not yet.” He needed a minute.

She clutched the dildo. “When?”

He took a steadying breath. “Now. But don’t insert it very deep. Go slow so I can see it happen.”

Mandy followed his direction, soft and easy, and he watched the pierced head disappear.

“A little more.”

She gave the dildo another tender push, and he marveled at how sweet and sexy she was. She was looking down at herself, watching, too.

When she glanced up, they stared at each other. He unzipped his jeans to ease the pressure, to make his hard-on more bearable. His boxers tented through the opening.

“Go deeper,” he said. “But not all the way. Just enough to hit your G-spot.”

She made a curious expression, biting the inside of her cheek, looking girlish and womanly at the same time. “I don’t know how far that is. I’ve never tried to find…”

“Try it halfway. At an angle.” He knew it was difficult to reach during regular sex, but devices like dildos and vibrators were easier to maneuver. Some vibrators were made especially for that spot.

“Like this?” She repositioned the dildo, angling it with each stroke.

“Yeah. Like that.” Jared spread his thighs. He wanted to give up the fight. He wanted to jerk off, as hard and fast as he could, but he gripped the underside of his chair instead.

Mandy stimulated her G-spot, using both hands to hold the tool, going at a watch-me pace that drove him half mad. Her rhythm was steady–shallow, then hard, then shallow again.

She went faster and her firm little tits bounced with each pumping stroke. Her nipples were as hard as rock candy. He wanted to dissolve them on his tongue.

“I like doing this for you.” She arched her back against the pillows and thrust her hips. “Just for you.” She thrust again, showing him how good it was.

He tightened the hold on his chair.

“Jared.” She panted his name, making sure his gaze was locked on the point of impact.

He dragged a gust of rose-scented air into his lungs. He felt as if he were going to explode. He knew she was going to come.

Her orgasm ignited the bed, shooting imaginary sparks straight at him. He could have sworn that she’d made the flames on the candles dance. The kama sutra couple melted all over each other.

When it was over, Jared gave Mandy, and himself, time to recuperate.

Before he told her to do it again.

#

Atacar scowled at me. He’d planned to cross the hills and ride into Mexico, where he could escape the law. But he didn’t recover his horse.

He blamed me for his dilemma, claiming his desire for me had affected his judgment. He should have tracked his horse before it had gotten so far away from him.

“I bewitched you,” I bragged, making his scowl deepen. He wasn’t amused, and neither was Nanny.

He formulated a new plan, pulling her and me into it. He assumed that we lived within walking distance of the stream or else we wouldn’t have traveled on foot. He questioned me, making sure we resided alone, just the two of us. We did. At a farmhouse I’d purchased from the bank. Up until last week, we had a farmhand, but he’d left our employment to marry the widow he’d been courting. Nanny and I had yet to replace him.

Rifle in hand, Atacar nudged us forward, insisting that we offer him food and lodging until he raided a neighboring ranch for another horse to steal.

I carried my stretching board and paintbox, and Nanny trudged beside me, complaining that Atacar was forcing us to the farm so he could steal our horse. We only had one, and we needed it to pull our buggy when we went into town for supplies.

“That Red Indian will leave us on the plains to starve,” she said, even though I caught her darting wistful glances at him.

Nanny was rather plump, with graying brown hair and sagging bosoms. I’d heard that she was quite voluptuous in her youth. Long before she’d become my nursemaid, she’d been a fetching farm girl. She’d also been accused of having a forbidden tryst with a notorious London thief. She’d denied the allegation, but I always wondered if the story were true. Now seeing the way she looked at Atacar, I suspected it was. My old Nanny missed her thief.

Hours later, Nanny served supper. The three of us sat at a simple wooden table and ate in silence. Compared to the genteel dwelling in which I’d been raised, the farmhouse was primitive. But in this area, it was considered quite nice. Nanny and I each had our own bedroom, and I used the third for my studio.

I watched Atacar beneath my lashes, trying to get his attention. I caught Nanny’s instead. She scolded me, squinting her eyes and pursing her lips. It wasn’t unlike me to misbehave during a meal. I’d done so at society events, poking fun at my already soiled reputation. My parents were greatly relieved when I’d expressed an interest in moving to America. Father bestowed a portion of my own dowry upon me, providing means for my survival. He was certain I would never snare a respectable husband anyway.

Nanny pursed her sour-plum lips again. I ignored her and resumed flirting with Atacar. He finally turned his frustrated gaze upon me.

“How long are you going to be uncivil?” I asked.

“When you stop bewitching me.”

“I won’t stop,” I countered.

“Then I’ll be civil,” he said, leaning toward me and speaking directly in my ear, keeping his words from Nanny, “after I fuck you.”

His harshness aroused me. But it frightened me, too. Had I taken my seductress game too far? Would he thrust hard and fast upon entering me? Would losing my maidenhead be more painful than it should be?

“You’ll be the first,” I whispered back, too stubborn to let my fear show.

His expression changed. He seemed confused. How could such a brazen girl be a virgin?

“I’ve been waiting for a man who makes me feel the way you do,” I admitted.

Atacar didn’t dispute my claim. He didn’t say anything. He just looked at me, as if I’d bewitched him even more. I relaxed, sensing that he would be gentle my first time.

The farmhouse had a sleeping loft in the barn. At bedtime, Atacar told me to meet him there. I knew it was because he wanted to lie with me where Nanny couldn’t hear us. She knew it, too. She’d figured out that she’d interrupted us in the cottonwoods before he could deflower me.

I changed into my finest undergarments, a red corset and matching drawers that were fashionably called lingerie. I brushed my hair until it shined, pinning a portion of it up and allowing the remainder to fall freely. I removed a buttercup from the glass jar beside my bed and worked it into my coiffure.

Before I left for the barn, Nanny draped me in a blanket. She insisted that I drink a special blend of tea, too. She told me that it would help me relax. So I took a few sips of the brew she offered.

“While you were getting ready, I asked Atacar why he speaks English so well,” she said. “And do you know what his response was?”

I shook my head. The blanket was soft and fluffy, providing the comfort she wanted me to have. The tea helped, as well.

“He scouted for the army,” Nanny told me. “He translated for them, too.”

“If he served the army, then why is he a prisoner of war?”

“After the Chiricahua hostiles surrendered, the entire tribe, including the scouts, were exiled to military installations. First to Florida, then to Alabama and now Oklahoma Territory. It didn’t matter that Atacar served the army, the government treated him and the other scouts as if they were hostiles, too.”

“He’s lived a complex life,” I said.

“Yes, he has.” She tucked the blanket tighter around my shoulders. “And if he doesn’t steal our horse, he’ll probably steal your heart.”

“The way the London thief did to you?”

She didn’t answer. She took my empty teacup and handed me a kerosene lamp. I turned away, slipping off for my rendezvous, the moon a silver crescent in the sky.

I entered the barn and climbed the loft. Atacar waited for me. He was stripped to the waist. I held up the light to admire him and let him appreciate me.

Neither of us spoke. I stepped forward and placed the brass lamp on a hook on the wall, then spread the blanket on a bed of straw.

We came together and kissed, standing on the fluffy floor covering. I showed him that my fancy silk drawers were slit between my legs, and he smiled. It was the first time I’d seen his lips curve. He looked wickedly handsome.

He knelt down and licked me there, right through the opening. I gasped and widened my stance. I knew this was called cunnilingus, and it elicited the warmest, wettest, most naughty sensation. I could scarcely wait to orgasm, to shake and shudder against his tongue.

Atacar gazed up at me, making sure I was watching. I was. Totally. Completely. How could I not? I felt like a wild-hearted bride on her secret wedding night.

He stopped pleasuring me, but only long enough to order me to lie down and remove my drawers. I did his bidding, and he knelt between my thighs and lifted my legs onto his shoulders, licking me some more.

He told me how womanly sweet I tasted, calling my private place my cunt. My bohemian friends had familiarized me with that word, and like all of the other definitions they’d taught me, they’d whispered it scandalously. From Atacar, it sounded rough and dangerously romantic.

I removed my corset so my breasts would spring free. He laved my clitoris and reached up to stimulate one of my nipples, to roll it between his thumb and forefinger.

I scooted even closer to his mouth. I was drenched with his salvia and my own honey-slick moisture. He stilled his tongue, and I rubbed against his face, teasing him the way he teased me.

Finally he resumed his skillful ministration, and I put I my fingers down there, encouraging him to lick them. He turned my boldness into a game and told me to do it, too. So I did. I tasted my own fingers after they’d been inside me.

Heat danced between us. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him, and he couldn’t stop looking at me. I’d aroused him, and myself, beyond reason.

I climaxed, even more powerful than before, streams of fire bursting through my quaking body.

After it was over, Atacar wiped the wetness from his face and rose up to hold me. I clung to his neck, and he said something in Apache. I had no idea what it was, but I could tell it was an endearment. He removed his pants and slid between my legs, his rock-hard penis poised at my soft, slick entrance. My heartbeat quickened and I exhaled a virginal breath.

Desperate for him to take me.

We continue with excerpts from The Art of Desire by Cherie Feather, a new erotic romance from Berkley Heat. Keep reading for the book’s summary and part III of four excerpts. This is a seriously steamy series of excerpts, so read on only if you dare!

Summary:

Museum director Mandy Cooper is obsessed with nineteenth-century artist Catherine Burke-and the artist’s erotically charged relationship with Atacar, her enthralling American Indian lover. But Mandy’s link to the legendary couple runs deeper than she knows. She’s having a heated affair herself-with Jared Cabrillo, Atacar’s handsome great-great nephew who knows precisely what it takes to seduce a woman…

He’s in possession of Catherine’s explicit journal. He knows every intimate detail of what she wanted and needed. But he also knows how desperately Catherine had loved Atacar and how dangerously he’d loved her. The journal is timeless and tragic, and the secrets contained within its pages can bring Mandy and Jared together, or just as surely destroy them both-desire by shocking desire.

E-X-C-E-R-P-T

TWO

“Turkey with avocado and coleslaw on the side. Pink lemonade, lots of ice.”

Kiki Dion, the museum’s colorful historian, placed Mandy’s lunch on her desk. The other woman’s wavy red hair peeked out from beneath a geometric-printed-bandanna-style scarf, and freckles dusted her nose.

“Thanks. It’s been one of those days.”

“For me, too. We deserve a moment to rest our bones.”

The redhead sat across from her. She’d also gotten a sandwich, cramming in a quick lunch together.

“How’s the research going?” Mandy asked.

“I don’t have anything new to report, but not from the lack of trying. I’ll keep working on it.”

“I know you will.” The journal quest was still in its early stages. Mandy had worked at the museum for a little over a year, and Kiki had only been there for eight months, so it had taken some time for them to settle into their jobs before they’d made the journal a priority. But now that they had, they weren’t letting go.

The historian unwrapped her food. “So what’s up with you? Any more hot romps with Jared?”

“Not since the party.” Mandy wasn’t surprised by Kiki’s blatant question. She’d been confiding in the other woman about her affair.

They seemed like unlikely friends, but they weren’t.

Although Kiki was closer to Jared’s age than Mandy’s, they’d both survived mundane marriages, with ex-husbands who’d left them wanting more, not just sexually but emotionally. Not that Jared came anywhere near to fitting the emotional bill for Mandy. But she kept telling herself that wicked sex wasn’t supposed to be steeped in life-altering conversations and handholding walks.

Kiki glanced at the sofa and shot her a teasing grin. “I hope you had that cleaned.”

She smiled, too. “I did. Right away.” But the memory of him remained. She’d been focused on Jared all week, anxious for him to call, to tempt her into another be-bad-for-him encounter. “I spilled coffee on it the next day to cover my tracks.”

“Good thinking.” Kiki dived into a grilled roast beef and swiss, eating heartily, crumbs falling onto her napkin-draped lap. “Why don’t you ever call him?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I like waiting for him to get in touch with me.” Mandy removed a peppercinni from her sandwich and bit into it. The juice squirted into her mouth, the spicy hotness reminding her of her lover. “Maybe it’s part of my addiction. Part of the thrill.”

“He is exciting. Remember the first night you slept with him?”

“How could I ever forget?” Mandy had always been keenly aware of Jared’s reputation, but she rarely saw the art-celebrity bad boy out on the town. They didn’t run in the same circles. Then last month, she’d been seated next to him at a hotel ballroom charity dinner and sexual sparks flew. “I told him that I was half in love with Catherine and Atacar.”

“And he used that to seduce you.”

“Yes, he did. By the end of the night, he convinced me to check into a room with him.”

“You were the talk of the town. Atacar’s great-great nephew and the Women’s Museum director. People are still gossiping, wondering how a nice girl like you fell for a guy like him.” Kiki flashed another playful grin. “But I know the real scoop.”

“That he turned me into a Jared junkie?”

“Exactly.” Kiki paused. “Does he know you’re trying to find the journal? That you’re hoping to acquire it for the museum?”

Mandy nodded. “Yes, but he doesn’t think it exists.”

“He’s a non-believer?” Kiki sounded surprised.

“He tried to find it, too. A long time ago. But he never did, so he thinks it’s a lost cause.”

“Then I’ll do my darnedest to prove him wrong.”

The phone rang, and they quit talking, with Mandy taking the call. A few seconds later, she exhaled a quick breath and hung up.

“That was Gloria,” she said, referring to the curatorial division secretary. “She wanted to know if she should accept my flowers or have the delivery boy bring them directly to me.”

“Your flowers?”

Mandy struggled to keep her cool, to not make a fuss, even if her heart was heading toward a girlish patter. “Apparently someone sent me a bouquet.”

Kiki reacted openly, her voice boosting a notch. “Do you think it was Jared?”

“I doubt it. It doesn’t seem like something he would do. It’s probably work related.” Mandy reached into her bottom drawer for her purse, removing her wallet for some bills, preparing for the tip. “But I told Gloria that I’d take them. Just in case.”

They waited, Kiki perched on the edge of her chair, and Mandy standing near the door, lying to herself, insisting it didn’t matter who the flowers were from.

When the bouquet arrived, the women gazed at each other. A stunning spray of long stemmed, deep red roses in a sleek crimson vase. Maybe it was something Jared would do.

Mandy asked the delivery boy if he knew what kind of roses they were since they were so dark, and he said they were a hybrid tea called Black Magic.

After he left, she snagged the miniature envelope that accompanied the bouquet. But there wasn’t a traditional gift card inside. Instead, she discovered a business card of an adult store in Albuquerque. It was called Black Magic, too. She turned the card over. Jared had written a note for her to meet him there tomorrow at three o’clock.

“So?” Kiki asked. “Are they from him?”

“Yes.” She couldn’t think of anything to say except that one little word.

“Can I see?”

Mandy extended the Saturday-afternoon invitation, and the other woman studied both sides, her eyes going wide.

“He’s full of surprises, isn’t he?”

“Always.” Mandy wet her lips and tasted the lingering pepper juice. “I wonder what he’ll talk me into buying.”

“Something that will make you want him even more?” Kiki asked without expecting an answer. “Black Magic is right. That man is casting a spell on you.”

“I know.” Heaven, how she knew. Without thinking, she leaned in to inhale the roses’ sweet, light fragrance, to touch their bewitching petals.

Jared waited in the parking lot, leaning against his truck, a customized fifty-seven Chevy big block, Prussian blue with polished centerline wheels. It wasn’t his ranch vehicle. He drove it for fun.

Life was supposed to be fun, wasn’t it? Especially with Mandy. So here he was, keeping things light, telling himself not to feel guilty. He’d lied to Mandy from the start. He knew Catherine’s journal existed because he had it. He’d searched for years and then had uncovered the book unexpectantly. But that wasn’t something he could reveal. The journal was a secret he’d promised to keep.

He glanced up and saw that Mandy had arrived. She parked next to him and got out of her midsize sedan. He didn’t start a conversation. He let her do the talking. She was fifteen minutes late.

“I didn’t know what to wear to a place like this,” she said. “I changed three times.”

Was she kidding? He broke into a smile. “What you have on is fine.” Slim-fitting jeans, a blouse that shimmered in the sun, jeweled sandals. She’d painted her fingernails red for the occasion. Her toe nails, too. Normally she wore pink polish.

“I hope I don’t see someone I know.”

He tapped her chin. Her face was shaped like a heart, with a cute little point at the end. “If you see someone you know, you’ll both pretend it never happened. You won’t discuss it at the next stuffy fundraiser.”

“The last one wasn’t stuffy. You were there.”

He knew she was referring to the night their affair had begun. The charity dinner had been for a Native American cause, so Jared had bought a ticket and paid an astronomical price for his meal, hoping to do his part. He hadn’t intended to get sidetracked by the museum director whose job included keeping his ancestor’s portrait in her care. Her interest in Catherine and Atacar should have kept him away. But it had intrigued him instead.

He reached for her hand and led her toward the sex shop. She stalled for a moment, studying the shaded windows and shiny black door. Her urged her forward. Black Magic wasn’t a dungeon, even if it seemed dark and cavernous from the outside.

He escorted her into the building, and she made a pleasant sound.

“It smells good in here,” she said. “Like cinnamon.”

He didn’t comment, but he’d heard that cinnamon produced heat within the body, increasing physical and sexual appetites.

The store was big and well lit with an array of toys, BDSM gear, fetish clothes, lubes, lotions, books and DVDs.

Sensual accoutrements, he thought. For all types. A group of young women who appeared to be planning a bachelorette party were waving rainbow dongs at each other and giggling about wedding colors.

Mandy glanced at Jared, and they both laughed. “Are you still nervous about seeing someone you know?” he asked.

“Not anymore.” She walked over to a female-friendly display, a glass table showcasing massage oils and bath products.

“Try this.” He reached for a tester on another display and pumped clear liquid onto her hands.

She rubbed her palms together, as if she were analyzing a department-store moisturizer. “That’s nice. Silky.” She spread the lingering wetness over the backs of her hands. “It’s not drying very well, though.”

He bent forward to whisper in her ear. “It’s a silicone lube. For the toy I’m going to buy for you. To make it nice and slick.”

She caught her blunder and grabbed a hold of his shirt, a basic white T, keeping her body close to his. Their pelvises would’ve bumped if they’d been the same height, but he was taller.

“Are you getting a toy, too?” she asked.

“No.” They separated, and he led her to the dildo section. The giggling girls were gone. He gestured to a wall of rubber phalluses. “Check them out. Touch them.”

She blinked at him. “Are one of these going to be my toy?”

“No. But I want you to touch them anyway.”

She stepped forward and examined the samples, weighing them in her hands, running her fingers along their sculpted shapes.

Jared stood back and watched. He’d created this game for her, and he thrived on every inch of it. “Do you like the realistic ones?”

“Yes. Like this.” She fondled a model equipped with a thickly veined shaft, hefty balls and a bulging head.

“Good. Because you’re going to make one of me. When I’m big and hard.”

She looked up. By now her cheeks were flushed, giving her a warm glow. “Make one?”

He led her to another shelf, where he showed her a dildo making kit. Her cheeks turned pinker.

“It’ll include anatomical details,” he said, enjoying her reaction, the shyness that made seducing her exciting. “Veins, ridges, balls. Just like the one you said you liked.”

“Only it’ll be an exact replica of you.” She picked up the kit. The box depicted a picture of an erect penis. “I can use it when I’m alone.”

“Not the first time. You’re going to use it when you’re with me. I want to watch you slide it between your legs. In your bedroom, with the lights turned low and candles burning.”

She clutched the box, pressing the cardboard against her chest. The good girl. The want-to-be-bad girl. “That sounds romantic. Sort of,” she added softly.

Jared didn’t respond. Sort of romantic was the best he could do. In the silence, they gazed at each other. Was she imagining him in her bedroom, instructing her how wide to spread her thighs, how deeply to insert her homemade toy? A copy of his cock. He knew it made him seem arrogant, but he didn’t want her to use a device that was fashioned after another man. He wanted to be her lover in every way.

“Will you do this for me?” he asked. “Will you use it and let me watch?”

“Yes.” The word came out in a sensual rush. “But we have to pierce it. It won’t feel like you if it doesn’t have your PA.”

Damn, she was sweet. Multiorgasmic Mandy. “We can use one of my barbells.” He would be sure to go home and get one before they went to her place to make the mold.

“What about the candles?” She glanced around. “Can we get them here?”

“Sure. But the only kind they sell are shaped like body parts. Or full nudes. Like statues of people.”

“I think I’d like to get some of those.”

“Okay.” He knew what area of the store they were in, so he pointed the way.

She chose two white candles, one shaped like a man, the other molded as a woman. She went for a red candle, too, where a couple was together in a kama sutra position called Flower in Bloom.

“This is beautiful,” she said.

It was, he thought, wondering how it would look with a flame burning at the tip, making the lovers melt into each other.

She glided the wax creation under his nose. “It’s scented.”

He caught a fragile whiff of roses, like the bouquet he’d sent. Suddenly he worried about losing her, about their affair ending before he was ready to let her go.

“Don’t ever say no to me,” he said. “Don’t ever not be there when I need you.”

“I won’t,” she responded. “I swear I won’t.”

#

A naked man in her bathroom, Mandy thought. Tall and dark and waiting for her to make him hard.

She’d already read the directions on the kit and mixed the molding powder with water. The specially designed container was ready. But Jared wasn’t. He’d asked her to do the honor.

He sat on the closed lid of the commode and opened his thighs. He was so unabashed, so comfortable with his nudity. And why not? Between his gym routine and endless hours on horseback, he had the body of a modern-day god.

Mandy knelt on the contour rug at his feet. Her bathroom was decorated in dusty blue and sea-foam green, with a clear white shower curtain. She lived in a one-bedroom condo in a fast-growing urban area.

Jared skimmed her hair away from her face, and she darted out her tongue. He’d removed his piercing, so the cast would be smooth.

“That’s my girl,” he said.

She smiled against his growing erection. One lick and he was half hard. He leaned back against the commode and widened his legs.

She gripped the base of his shaft and lowered her mouth, stroking and sucking at the same time. He smoothed her hair again, keeping it from falling forward, from obstructing his view.

His testes were drawn tight. She cupped the tender sacs, and he pushed deeper into her mouth. He was cheating, she thought. By now he was hard enough for the negative mold. He just wanted to get sucked some more.

Mandy gave him what he wanted until he groaned and told her to stop.

Before he inserted his cock and balls into the container, she dabbed a little petroleum jelly onto his pubic hair to be sure the molding material didn’t grab any of it.

Sixty seconds later, the negative casting portion was done. The next step was pouring the liquid rubber into the container.

“It’ll take hours to set,” she said. “It won’t be done until later tonight.”

“Then we’ll hang out together and wait.” He reached for a washcloth and dampened it with soap and warm water, cleaning himself, getting rid of the petroleum. He slid his piercing back in, too.

They both stood beside the sink, their reflections in the vanity mirror. She wanted to spend the evening with him, to have dinner, to sit on the patio and watch the sun go down. But she wasn’t fooling herself into believing that they were headed toward an emotionally committed relationship. Earlier when he asked her to never say no to him, to be there when he needed her, she was well aware that he meant sexually.

He tossed the washcloth into the hamper, and she glanced at his cock. He was still half hard, hungry for more attention. Apparently she’d left a lasting impression.

“Do you want me to finish what I started?” she asked.

Jared looked down, then back up at her. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

Mandy smiled. “I think maybe it was.”

She guided him back to the commode. The moment she knelt at his feet, he sat down and assumed the fellatio position, spreading his thighs the way he’d done before.

She stroked and sucked, and he went back to playing with her hair, running his fingers through it, keeping it away from her face so he could watch.

“You’re getting good at this,” he said.

Enjoying his praise, she relaxed her throat and took him as deeply as she could, the way he’d made her do at the museum.

Although he tasted clean and sexy, he tasted salty, too. Semen was already beading at the tip.

He scooted to the edge of the commode lid, getting as close to her as possible. His breathing hitched, his legs went taut. His stomach tightened, too.

He thrust forward, fucking her mouth. She couldn’t think of another way to say it, not with the way he was moving in and out.

When he bucked his hips, she felt the pressure of his oncoming orgasm. He spilled into her, and she swallowed every drop.

Afterward, she returned to the sink to sip some water, and he came up behind her. Once again, they were standing in front of the mirror. He didn’t say anything. Instead, he put his arms around her, then unzipped her jeans and wedged his hand between the denim and her skin.

Instantly aroused, she exhaled a quick breath, and he worked his way into her panties.

“Do you know what I was fantasizing about when you were sucking me?” he asked.

She pressed against his fingers. By now, he’d found her clit.

“What you’re going to do to yourself later,” he said, answering his own question. “I can’t wait for the damn thing to set so I can watch you use it.”

She shivered against his touch. She was getting slick and wet. “You were watching me go down on you, too.”

“Can you blame me?” He grazed the side of her neck with his teeth. “You’re my bad girl.”

She had an insane urge to ask him to give her a hickey, to brand her in a visible way. But she wasn’t a smitten teenager letting her high school boyfriend get to second base. He’d already been to third and back. He’d scored at least a dozen homeruns.

He trapped her gaze in the mirror. “I want a key to your condo. Will you give me one?”

“Yes.” The tension between her thighs got thicker. He thrust two fingers inside of her, banging her in that dirty boy way of his.

“Do you know why I want it?”

“To come over in the middle of the night when I’m asleep. To kiss me. To climb on top of me.” But not to cuddle, she thought. He never did that.

“That’s right. Spontaneous sex. I can’t get enough of it with you.”

“Me, neither. With you.” She angled her hips to give him better access, to show him how wet she was. She was more than willing to let him steal into her bedroom at whatever ungodly hour he chose, to give her a fix, to feed her addiction.

Losing control, she climaxed, staring at her haunted image in the glass. All she wanted was Jared. Just him. Her lover. All the time.

The way Catherine had probably wanted Atacar.

Mandy pitched forward against the sink and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think about Jared’s great-great uncle or the woman who was rumored to love him.

Not now. Not while Jared was standing behind her, with his hand still wedged in her pants, working her into another frenzy.

And making her come again.

We continue with excerpts from The Art of Desire by Cherie Feather, a new erotic romance from Berkley Heat. Keep reading for the book’s summary and part II of four excerpts. This is a seriously steamy series of excerpts, so read on only if you dare!

Summary:

Museum director Mandy Cooper is obsessed with nineteenth-century artist Catherine Burke-and the artist’s erotically charged relationship with Atacar, her enthralling American Indian lover. But Mandy’s link to the legendary couple runs deeper than she knows. She’s having a heated affair herself-with Jared Cabrillo, Atacar’s handsome great-great nephew who knows precisely what it takes to seduce a woman…

He’s in possession of Catherine’s explicit journal. He knows every intimate detail of what she wanted and needed. But he also knows how desperately Catherine had loved Atacar and how dangerously he’d loved her. The journal is timeless and tragic, and the secrets contained within its pages can bring Mandy and Jared together, or just as surely destroy them both-desire by shocking desire.

E-X-C-E-R-P-T

ONE

Dirty sex with a dirty boy.

That was all Mandy Cooper, the proper, professional, highly organized director of the Santa Fe Women’s Art Museum, could think about.

She was addicted to Jared Cabrillo, Atacar’s great-great nephew, a man who sizzled in the art scene, who was notorious for having public liaisons, who wielded his celebrity like the party-on-the-edge charmer he was.

Mandy could feel him watching her from across the museum. She and her staff were hosting a summer reception and he’d crashed the event.

She tried to avoid him, but she couldn’t. His gaze was too strong, too persistent. She gave up the fight and looked at him, too.

Their eyes met, and he lifted his wine and toasted her before he put the glass to his lips and drank the blood-red liquid.

She gripped the silver chain on her evening bag, locking it around her wrist like a handcuff. He was drop-dead, imprison-a-woman gorgeous. There was no other way to describe him. He walked toward her, and her panties stuck to her skin, making her want to rub her thighs together.

“Nice party,” he said, as they came face to face.

“It’s going well.” She’d been sleeping with him for almost a month, yet she couldn’t stop herself from staring.

He sported a retro-style, black western shirt, decorated with white piping and tucked into crisp jeans. His face, diamond-blade dazzling and stone-quarry tough, mirrored his heritage. Both ears showcased tiny silver hoops. He had an intimate body piercing and tribal tattoos, too.

He was everything she shouldn’t want. At thirty-eight, she was supposed to know better. He was ten years younger than she was, but he wasn’t her boy toy. He controlled their affair, enticing her into carnal situations.

He set his empty glass on a nearby table. “You look beautiful, Mandy.”

“Thank you.” Her black dress scooped modestly in front and the delicate silver-and-turquoise cross around her neck offered a hint of adornment.

Aside from their naked urges, they didn’t know each other very well. They didn’t have meaningful conversations. But at least she knew he wasn’t seeing anyone else. He didn’t cheat on his lovers. Of course that didn’t change who and what he was. He treated monogamy like a courtesy, not a commitment.

Needing a diversion, Mandy turned toward a famous portrait of Jared’s ancestor. They were standing in front of Atacar’s exhibit.

He was the museum’s most prized possession, a Catherine Burke treasure, a portrait remarkable for its depth and passion, for its stunning realism. But Atacar was more than Catherine’s greatest work. So much more. The nineteenth century artist was rumored to have loved him, just as he was rumored to have loved her.

But no one knew for sure.

Catherine had abandoned her Texas home, never to be heard from again, and soon after she’d disappeared, Atacar had been shot and killed by a trio of soldiers.

As Mandy looked into his eyes, an air-conditioned chill blasted from the ceiling, sending goose bumps along her arms.

He was an imposing figure, his head cocked just so, his expression dark and serious. Positioned in a straight-back chair, he gripped the barrel of a Winchester rifle. She tried to imagine him sitting for Catherine while the daring girl painted his image. His clothes consisted of Anglo gear, reminiscent of ranchers and farmers, but he was Chiricahua Apache, an enlisted army scout who’d become a prisoner of war.

Mandy blinked, but Atacar’s gaze remained constant. The museum had acquired his portrait nearly forty years ago. Prior to that, it had been hidden inside the walls of the farmhouse where Catherine had lived.

Upon its discovery, their romantic legacy had begun. Rumors spawned that they’d been lovers. That she’d disappeared because of him. That their desperate hearts would remain forever entwined.

But once again, no one knew for sure.

The only ray of hope was that Catherine had kept a secret journal, writings that had never been found.

By now, most of the art world thought the journal was a myth. But Mandy chose to believe otherwise. She had the museum historian searching for it.

Suddenly Jared moved closer, close enough to invade Mandy’s space, to attack her senses. She could smell the spicy notes of his cologne. She turned to face him, his ancestor fading into the background.

“Why did you come here tonight?” she asked.

He smoothed the front of his hair. He wore it plaited into a single braid, leaving the hardened angles of his face unframed. “To fuck you.”

Her addiction jabbed her hard and quick, like a needle to a starving vein. “I’m working, Jared.”

“That’s what makes it so fun.” Fun or not, he didn’t smile. He just looked at her with the same driven expression as when he’d toasted her with his merlot or cabernet or whatever he’d been drinking. “Like when we do it at my work.”

She didn’t respond. He was a highly successful breeder, trainer and showman who managed his own horse farm. Banging each other’s brains out in his barn wasn’t the same as getting naked at the museum.

His gaze turned darker, more intense. “You could take me to your office. You could make me do things to you.”

Hedonic chills vibrated her spine. By now, they were just inches apart. He kept moving closer, drawing her into his seductive sphere, doing what he always did.

“What things?” she asked.

“You could take off your panties, order me to my knees and lift your dress in front of my face. You could make me taste how sweet you are.”

The room started to spin. She wanted his mouth between her legs. But envisioning herself standing in front of him, making him do it was almost more than she could bear.

“Does that excite you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“What else turns you on? What other games do you want to play?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice shook. “I honestly don’t know.” At the moment she just wanted to crawl all over him, to fall like a sugared gumdrop at his feet.

“I’ll bet she did it,” Jared said.

“What? Who?”

“Catherine.” Jared moistened his lips. “I’ll bet she lifted her skirts in front of Atacar’s face. I’ll bet she came all over him.” His voice was soft and low, dangerously demanding. “Do it, Mandy. Be bad for me.”

Heat flooded her lungs. If her guests weren’t milling around, eating canapés and socializing, she would’ve removed her panties right then and there.

“Meet me at my office,” she said. “But give me a head start. I need to unlock the door.”

His demeanor didn’t falter. “Hurry up.”

“I will.” She did her damnedest to regain her composure, to not give away what she was about to do.

She walked toward the stairs, moving quickly so no one stopped her, so she didn’t get trapped into small talk. Finally she ascended to the second floor, her low-heeled pumps assaulting terrazzo-topped concrete, ringing like bullets in her ears.

Her office door came into view, and she fumbled with her purse. What if she got caught? Her affair with Jared wasn’t a secret, but doing it at work….

She removed her keys, and footsteps sounded. She nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Easy, baby, it’s me.”

Jared. He’d barely given her a head start. Mandy glanced his way, her heart thudding between her thighs.

He came up behind her, bumping his fly against her rear. “You’re so conventional. So ladylike. But here you are, wanting this as badly as I do.”

He had no idea. She crammed the key into the lock and pushed open the door. Her drug-of-choice was crashing in on her, rushing perilously through her veins.

They crossed the threshold and locked themselves inside. Her office housed an executive desk, a sofa and matching side chairs. But she didn’t move in that direction. She paused just beyond the entryway, beside a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, with a security light burning low.

Caught in a sexual whirlwind, she reached under her dress and removed her panties. She wasn’t wearing hose. Her legs were bare.

“Get on your knees,” she told him.

He dropped down with a grateful thud. Gorgeous Jared with his head tipped back, his jaw jutting forward. While he waited, a thick, naughty beat of silence swallowed the air.

One. Two. Three. Let him see.

She hiked up her dress, bunched the fabric around her hips and exposed herself.

“Damn.” His voice pulsed, the tendons in his throat strained.

He was staring at her. Ravenously. Mandy gripped her hem a little tighter. She knew he liked her Brazilian. He thought the process that left a small strip of pubic hair above a woman’s vulva was hot and sexy. He’d talked her into getting waxed, convincing her that it would make her feel prettier, even when she was alone. He’d told her to touch herself and think about him when he wasn’t around, to make it her guilty pleasure. She couldn’t begin to count how many times she’d followed his advice, imagining that he was watching her.

She moved closer, teasing Jared with her guilty pleasure, widening her stance to give him a better look, to show him the cleft of her labia. But that wasn’t enough. Anxious, she took her dress completely off, dragging it over her head. Her basic under-wire bra came next. She wanted to be naked, all the way bare, except for conservative black pumps.

He swallowed, eager to taste her. He looked half starved.

“Do it,” she commanded, spreading herself for him. “Do it.”

He didn’t waste a second, not one delicious moment. He went right for her clit, sucking hard and fast, then slowing to deliberate strokes. He knew how much pressure to apply, how much saliva to spread. Excitement gathered low in her belly.

She watched him, lavishing every taut, tingling taste. The sight was roughly, fiercely erotic. His hungry mouth. Her damp, swollen sex. She pitched forward, and he made a primal sound. Mandy got even more aroused.

“Are you hard?” she asked, trailing her hands through his hair and snagging his thick, silky braid.

He paused to answer her question, moisture glistening on his lips. “I’m so turned on, I could come in my pants.”

Her knees nearly buckled. “I’m going to do this to you. When you’re done with me.”

“What if I don’t want to stop? What if I want to keep going?” He snaked his tongue so she could see him make contact with her clit. He banged her with his fingers, too.

All the way in. All the way out. He even rubbed his sticky digits down the front of his shirt and along his bulging fly, searing himself with her juices.

Dizzy, she rotated her hips. Sooner or later he would have to stop, if he didn’t she would explode into a pool of pollinated liquid.

Reaching out, she grappled for something to brace the blinding pleasure and fisted the edge of a shelf. A moment later, she caught the binding of a hardback book and clutched it between her white-knuckled fingers.

He made a sudden move, cupping her rear and pulling her toward him. They both went crashing until she landed on top of him, sprawled across his handsome face.

This was even wilder, she thought. Sexier. She rode his mouth, her body flexed, her back bowed in a fluid arc. She’d never felt more graceful, more ladylike. The irony should have made her laugh. Instead, she came in convulsing waves.

All over her dirty boy.

#

Jared and Mandy sat on the floor and gazed at each other. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He’d just devoured her orchid-soft, pussy-sweet flavor, enjoying every warm, wet, orgasmic taste.

“That was the hottest thing ever,” he said, before she got shy and glanced away. “So don’t even think about blushing.”

She lifted her chin. “I’m not.”

Sometimes she did. Regardless of how nasty they got, she still had an innocent quality. Her mink-colored hair skimmed her shoulders, and her eyes were framed with sweeping lashes.

She was the first proper girl he’d fucked, and he was hooked. He didn’t know for how long, and he didn’t want to know. For him, it was easier living from day to day, walking the sexual tightrope that drove him.

“Now it’s your turn,” she said. “Take off your clothes.”

“Are you still going to blow me?” he asked, upping the ante on the offer she’d made. “Are you going to suck me as deep as you can? Deeper than you ever have?”

“Yes.” She released a shuddering breath. There was a damp spot on the carpet beneath her, where some of her wetness had leaked onto the floor. “I am.”

His nerve endings went electric. He got to his feet and offered her a hand. She stood up, and he grabbed her and swung her into his arms.

“What are you doing?”

“Carrying you to bed.”

She looped her arms around his neck and kicked off her shoes. “It’s a sofa. Not a bed.”

“Close enough.” He tossed her onto the sofa in question, planted his knees on either side of her face and shoved down his boxers and jeans in one fell swoop.

His penis sprang free, and he felt good enough to grin. The head of his cock was pierced, and he knew it fascinated her.

“Up close and personal,” she said.

“Just for you.” He imagined her tongue sliding over the curved barbell. He got harder just thinking about it. Not that he wasn’t already rock solid, not that he hadn’t meant what he’d said about creaming his jeans earlier.

“I like touching it,” she told him.

“Then what are you waiting for?” He wanted her to get aggressive.

But she didn’t. She traced the barbell with the tip of her finger. Softly. Tentatively. He thought he might die.

“You never told me what it’s called.”

“It’s a PA.” His own breathing engulfed him. “A Prince Albert. They pierce it from the outside of the frenulum and into the urethra.”

“Is this the frenulum?” She gestured to the band of tissue under the head of his cock, where a portion of the barbell was.

He nodded. “It’s a common piercing for a guy.”

“Not in my world.” She touched him again. No, not him. The jewelry. “Every time I see it, I keep thinking that it hurt.”

“When I first had it done? It didn’t. No more than getting your ears pierced.” His stomach muscles jumped. He wanted her to lean forward, to give him a silky blowjob. Her gentleness was exciting him. “It takes about the same amount of time to heal, too. But I’ve had it forever.” Since he was a rebellious teenager, seeking a rite of passage, a way to define who he was.

“If feels amazing when we have sex,” she said. “I didn’t expect it to. But it does.”

“It’s supposed to give both partners more pleasure. Not painful pleasure. Tingling sensations. It increases the sensitivity.”

Mandy looked up at him, and their eyes met, making him more aware of his erection popping in her face, of the promise she’d made.

They moved toward each other at the same time, at the same exhilarating instant, and she parted her lips, taking the tip of his cock inside.

She toyed with the barbell, creating a rippling sensation, then pulling back to lick him, to run her tongue along the underside of his shaft and over the top, until she nursed the head again.

He fought the urge to relinquish control. But he didn’t. He held on, letting Mandy play, letting her decide when she would take him deeper. While she experimented, he watched her, heightening the game.

It got better from there.

She shoved his jeans farther down his hips. “Lie on your back,” she said. “I want to crawl between your legs.”

Who was he to argue?

He did what she told him to do, even if they had to fight the sofa to make it happen. Once he was in position, she opened the snaps on his shirt and exposed his chest and stomach.

She took her time, kissing his abs, leaving wet marks on his skin. By now he wanted to push her down and make her suck him all the way to the back of her throat.

He didn’t wait for long. He tried, but he couldn’t. She put her mouth on him again, and he lost the battle. He did what he was craving to do. He pushed her down.

She made a girl-hungry sound. She liked his roughness, he thought. Jared spread his legs and lifted his hips, grinding one booted heel into the cushion and planting his other foot on the floor, supporting his weight. He set the rhythm, and she took over, sucking greedily.

She was sowing her blowjob oats, reaping him for all he was worth, the way he’d wanted her to. But even so, he didn’t spill into her mouth. Not because he was being polite. He loved watching her swallow. But tonight he wanted to come inside her. So he lifted her up and told her to stop, whispering gruffly in her ear, telling her it was time to fuck.

Mandy watched him undress. Her eyes were bright and her hair was tumbled. She was still feeling her oats.

Anxious, he ditched his boots and went to work on his jeans, then his pricey western shirt, tugging the sleeves to get himself out of it. He hadn’t brought protection. He and Mandy were clean and safe. They’d talked about it on the night they’d first gotten together.

“I love your tattoos.” She pawed his triceps, where he had matching armbands. “Do you have any idea how exotic you are?”

“Do you have an idea how hard I’m going to give this to you?” He nudged her with his steel-tipped sword.

“I’m ready.”

“You better be.” He told her to straddle his lap in a reverse cowgirl position, so he could see her ass, so he could reach around and cup her tits, so he could pinch her nipples.

His lover accommodated him. She turned around and spread her thighs nice and wide, creating the slick leverage she needed.

He gripped her waist, and she went rodeo, giving him a thrill. Not only could he admire the curve of her ass, he got an erotic view of her sliding up and down, milking his cock.

She gulped her next breath. “It feels so good.”

He knew she meant the barbell. The sensation rocked him, too. Her pussy caressed him, and he nearly growled, his heart machine-gunning his chest.

“Touch yourself.” He struggled to steady his voice. She kept riding him, only now she was going slow, forcing him to feel every luxurious glide. “Do it the way you do it when you’re alone.”

She moved her hand, and he could tell that she was rubbing her clit. He couldn’t wait to bring her deeper in his realm, to seduce her even more.

“Turn around,” he said. “I want to see.”

They made the switch, with her sitting forward on his lap, stroking her sex.

He watched her come, thinking how incredible she was. She smiled when she was done. Her lashes fluttered, too. How pretty could she be? Warm and soft in the barely there light.

“Is that what you wanted to see?” she asked.

He wasn’t about to respond, not now, not in the wake of wanting her so badly. Desperate for more, he pushed her down and opened her legs until they were almost straight in the air. She gasped, and he thrust full hilt, pumping hard and fast.

She had another orgasm, poised like an acrobat. Her stomach quivered, and she reached out and clawed the back of the sofa.

When she wrapped her legs around him, the familiarity of being this close to her shattered his mind. Jared tunneled his hands in her hair, heat surging through his blood and burning his loins. He went off like a geyser, coming deep inside her.

In the minutes that followed, she clung to him, breathing softy against his neck. He wanted to be gentle for her, to hold her close, but he didn’t know how to pull it off, not without getting out of his comfort zone. So he settled on a quick kiss, got dressed and went downstairs ahead of her.

Once he hit the party, he didn’t have another drink or wait for Mandy to reappear. He left the museum, and on his way out, he frowned at Atacar, knowing the other man would’ve stayed.

The Art of Desire by Cherie Feather, a new erotic romance from Berkley Heat, comes at us this week! (so to speak)

Keep reading for the book’s summary and part I of a four part excerpt extravaganza. This is a seriously steamy series of excerpts, so read on only if you dare!

Summary:

Museum director Mandy Cooper is obsessed with nineteenth-century artist Catherine Burke-and the artist’s erotically charged relationship with Atacar, her enthralling American Indian lover. But Mandy’s link to the legendary couple runs deeper than she knows. She’s having a heated affair herself-with Jared Cabrillo, Atacar’s handsome great-great nephew who knows precisely what it takes to seduce a woman…

He’s in possession of Catherine’s explicit journal. He knows every intimate detail of what she wanted and needed. But he also knows how desperately Catherine had loved Atacar and how dangerously he’d loved her. The journal is timeless and tragic, and the secrets contained within its pages can bring Mandy and Jared together, or just as surely destroy them both-desire by shocking desire.

E-X-C-E-R-P-T

Prologue

Texas

1895

The first time I saw him he was naked, morning-dappled water lapping at his skin, swirling around tendon-tight calves. His rifle, a gun he’d probably stolen from a rancher, was at the edge of the stream, well within his reach.

A hawk soared above his head, screeching like a red-tailed devil, creating a strangely spiritual arc. Mesmerized, the Indian followed its every move.

I knew he was unaware of me. Although I was no more than twenty to thirty steps away, I was crouched amongst a copse of cottonwoods. Earlier I’d been napping there, and upon awakening, I’d lifted my head and spotted him through a branch-scattered gap in the foliage, a stunned gasp locked in my throat.

Was this my punishment for dozing in the sun? Or my reward? I’d gone to that location to work, to sketch the scenery.

I longed to draw him instead. But I couldn’t find the will to move, to do more than stare. Curiously handsome, his bluish-black, cheekbone-length hair framed the hollowed angles and mysterious shadows that sculpted his face. Muscled ridges and flat planes defined his body, with wide shoulders and a powerful chest. His thighs, I decided, had been built for striding the horse that grazed nearby. A stolen mount, no doubt. A prize that went with his rifle.

Taking a swift breath, I centered my gaze, filling my vision with his penis. I measured the length and fullness, but I imagined how it would look fully erect, with his testes drawn tight, his foreskin pushed back and the sensitive head exposed.

Queen Victoria shame me.

In my own country, I was a rumored bohemian, London-borne, Paris schooled, an artist seceding from conventionality, an upper-class girl who’d cast her morals to the wind, who’d stroked many a cock with her hands, even with her ruby-red mouth.

But the gossip wasn’t true. Not completely. I fantasized about those carnal acts, but the only cocks I dared stroke were with a collection of Asiatic marten brushes.

The hawk flew away, abandoning its circling post. The Indian snapped out of his trance and continued his bath. My heart pounded like the drums of his people. I knew who he was. He was an Apache prisoner of war who’d escaped from a military fort in Oklahoma Territory. Last week U.S. Army soldiers had scoured this area in search of him. They’d ridden into town with a photograph, asking if anyone had seen him. They’d gone to ranches and farms, too. When they’d come to my house, I’d gazed curiously at his picture.

And now here he was.

I should have remained motionless until he went away. But somewhere in the peril of my soul, I found the strength to sit upright, to lift a piece of charcoal from my ready-made paintbox. The paper clamped to my stretching board was cold-pressed, better suited for rough effects than a detailed portrait of a bared man. But I was willing to compromise. Desire burned like a hot-wick candle beneath the folds of my skirt.

I had moved to America to study its ethnic, geographic, and religious diversity, to paint its fading frontier. So why not study him? Make him my secret project?

“Atacar,” I whispered his name. It was of Spanish origin, and in English it meant, “to attack.”

Suddenly he went still, his dark gaze shooting through the trees like an obsidian-tipped arrow. He couldn’t have heard his barely audible name on my lips, yet he’d found me out.

The charcoal slipped from my fingers; my paper remained blank.

Our eyes met, and he reacted like a hound on the heels of a fox. Before I could blink, he grabbed the rifle, jammed it against his water-damp shoulder and aimed it at me.

I did the unthinkable. I looked at his penis again, challenging the air between us. His face remained an indiscernible mask, devoid of emotion, of any kind of lust. But in his fire-ready stance, his stomach muscles jumped, giving him away, making his cock stir.

From there, neither of us moved.

Finally he motioned with his chin, ordering me out into the open. I didn’t hesitate. I lifted my arms in surrender and walked toward him.

Praying he would take me.

A new anthology from some of Gwen’s (and my) fav authors! YAY! Unlaced (Anthology) by Jaci Burton, Jasmine Haynes, Joey Hill, and Denise Rossetti comes to us 2 December 2008.

I am going to say something to shock you. I do not have this book. I know! This makes me sad. Oddly enough I hadn’t even heard of it! I have already taken steps to correct this horrible mistake. I should email Jaci and Joey too… I feel great saddness poor sybils…

But here have a summary…

     Four authors of erotic romance present wild and irresistibly dangerous fantasies in this sensational anthology of lust and lingerie…

     Come undone with Jaci Burton…
     Sixteen years is a long time to carry a torch for your ex. It’s high time they act on long-dormant desires and reignite the flame that still burns inside them both.

     Unwind with Jasmine Haynes…
     A wanting woman arrives at the perfect solution for exploring sensual freedom: open herself up to an amateur photographer with no limits—and an uncensored appreciation for the female body.

     Let loose with Joey Hill…
     What does a hiker do when he comes upon a girl wearing only ivory panties, and stretched out invitingly on the warm leather seat of a Harley? Anything she tells him.

     Submit to Denise Rossetti…
     As the laces of a stunning ruby-trimmed corset tighten, so too does the grip of an inescapable sorceress’s curse—one with the power to transform any woman into a dominating femme fatale.

Free your inhibitions with…

Unlaced

Riding Temptation by Jaci Burton, comes out from Berkley in October 2008. Can’t wait!! Here’s a sneak peek…

He’s a biker working undercover for the Feds. She joined the Wild Riders for reasons of her own. Together, they’re burning up the asphalt and tearing headlong into danger and passion…Naked under leather.

Ever since runaway Jessie Matthews teamed up with the gang of special ops bikers, the Wild Riders have thought of her as their kid sister. Except for Diaz Delgado. Over the past few years he’s been watching the budding of a ripe young woman. Jessie’s glad somebody finally sees her for who she is—and she’s thrilled it’s Diaz. His dark good looks and killer body have tempted her since day one.

Diaz’s unbrotherly urges have been hard to fight but the last thing he’d want to do is hurt Jessie and break up the gang. But when they both go undercover to infiltrate a group of killer survivalists, he knows it’ll be hard to keep his distance—especially when the mission takes a risky turn. Now Diaz has no choice but to open himself up to the one woman who may be strong enough to take him on.

E-X-C-E-R-P-T

Jessie opened the door. The scent of her shampoo filled the room as she walked by. Diaz yanked clean clothes out of the drawer and went into the bathroom, took a hot shower, finishing it off with cool water to clear his head. When he came out, she was sitting on the bed, staring at the darkness outside.

“We need to talk.”

No answer. She stood and inched around him, heading toward the bathroom again Oh, no, she wasn’t going to hide anymore. He grabbed her wrist before she could slip by.

“Jessie.”

She stopped, angled her head so her gaze met his.

“What?”

“Sit down.”

“Is this about work?”

“Yes.”

“Fine, then.” She took a seat at the foot of the bed.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

She stood and walked toward the bathroom again. “We’re done.”

He blocked her way. “We’re not done. Sit down.”

“You said we were going to talk about work. That wasn’t work.”

“It sure as hell was. Now sit.”

She took a step forward, but he refused to move. She didn’t back up. “I am not a dog, Diaz. You can’t order me around.”

“On this assignment I’m your superior and if I say climb the goddamn walls, you’ll climb them. Got it?”

She gave him a military salute. “Yes, captain. Can I go now?”

“No. We need to talk.” Good God she was making this difficult. Who knew Jessie had this much of an attitude.

She crossed her arms and leaned against the bathroom doorway. “Talk away.”

This was going to go well. “What were you doing today with Crush?”

“Uh, talking?”

“About?”

“I was trying to get to know him, to gain his confidence. He likes me, so I was playing on that. I already told you what I was doing. Why are we going over this again?”

“It looked to me like you were trying to do more than your job.”

“What did you think I was doing?”

“I think you like Crush and maybe you want to get something romantic going with him.”

She rolled her eyes. “Jesus, Diaz.”

“This assignment isn’t about you finding your way into Crush’s leathers, Jessie.”

She threw her hands in the air. “Are you really that stupid? I’m not the least bit interested in what’s in Crush’s leathers or beyond that. I spent some time getting to know him, trying to figure him out, see if he’d trust me. Some guys like talking to girls because they think we’re harmless. He’s likely to reveal more to me than he will to you or Spence, so I thought I’d give it a try.”

“Uh huh. We’re supposed to be playing this together.”

She lifted her chin, clearly not liking the direction of the conversation. “I tried a different tactic, and it worked out just fine.”

He leaned into her. “You’re the junior member of this team, Jess. If you want to strategize a move, clear it through me first. In the meantime, stay the hell out of Crush’s pants.”

Jessie had taken all she was going to from Diaz. He was bullying and berating her for something she hadn’t done. Yes, she might have used Crush today because she was pissed at Diaz. She’d been honest too, though. It was also a tactic to see if she could find some information about him and the Devil’s Skulls. She wanted to do a good job on this assignment, not just be an extra body Grange had forced on Diaz. She wanted to do something productive. And she had.

But it was more than that. Diaz was being an ass and she’d had enough.

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with Spence using Stephanie to gain information.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

He didn’t have an answer, exactly what she figured. This had nothing to do with the mission and everything to do with what had been happening—or rather not happening—between them. And since he started this tonight…

“Stop pushing me away.”

Diaz leaned back. “What?”

“You heard me. Stop pushing me away. Stop running whenever we get close.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you? What is it about me that makes you run like hell, Diaz? I mean, I know I’m not hideous looking, and I have a decent body.” Now it was her turn to advance on him. He started backing up. “But I’m getting tired of you and me getting close and you slamming the door in my face.”

“Yeah. I could see today how brokenhearted you are over it.”

Men were such babies sometimes. He’d started this game. Too bad for him that he didn’t like when the rules changed. She’d had enough. “Maybe if you had a working dick of your own and knew what to do with it, I wouldn’t have to go searching in Crush’s pants for one.”

Diaz’s gaze narrowed, his eyes going dark. She felt the fury coming off him in waves, saw the way the muscles bunched under his T-shirt. He advanced on her and Jessie backed up a step, realizing she might have just said the wrong thing.

You should burn right alongside me.  Lookie!  Be With Me by Maya Banks, releases 4 Nov 08 from Berkley HEAT.  Oh my goodness!  Sorry about the steam on your screen from that cover!  Just wipe it off, with the same tissue you used to clean the drool off, and read this hot, hot, hot EXCLUSIVE excerpt…

     Three men. One woman. Hutch Bishop, Cam Douglas, and Sawyer Pritchard were juvenile delinquents with a reckless and wildly sexy side. But they had more in common than that. They had Regina Fallon, a wealthy but lonely girl from the right side of the tracks who formed an unusual friendship with the boys. She felt protected. She felt needed. She felt loved… for the first time in her life. By all three.

     So much closer than just friends.

     Today, she’s a police officer, dedicated to her badge, and wary of reigniting her relationship with the hot trio after one night of passion left her confused—and stunned—by what they wanted from her. But when a mysterious attempt is made on her life, Hutch, Cam, and Sawyer jump in to protect her again. Now, Regina and her three lovers are forming an all-new bond. It’s more exciting, more intense, and—as a killer looms in the shadows—more dangerous than ever before.

 E-X-C-E-R-P-T

Dusk was falling when Cam pulled up to the house and parked. Sawyer drove in beside him, and they both got out.

Cam looked over to see Hutch’s truck parked and Birdie’s car gone. He reached into the back of his SUV for a suitcase then slammed the door shut.

“Let’s get all the office shit tomorrow,” Cam said as he walked around the front to where Sawyer stood.

“Yeah, good idea. I’m looking forward to a cold beer.”

They mounted the steps, and Cam reached for the doorknob only to find the door locked. He frowned and reached for the keys he’d shoved into his pocket.

“Hutch getting paranoid on us?” Sawyer said dryly.

Cam inserted the key and turned it. He opened the door, shoved his suitcase inside and set it down in the foyer. As he and Sawyer walked in, he glanced into the living room to see Hutch sitting on the couch. The television was on, but the sound was way down.

He walked further in, and it was then that he saw Reggie lying on the couch, her head on Hutch’s lap. Hutch’s hand was resting in Reggie’s curls, and she was fast asleep.

“Drugged her again?” Sawyer asked in an amused voice.

Hutch didn’t smile. There was a darkness to his expression that Cam didn’t like. Sawyer caught it too. Hutch held up a finger to his lips then nodded to the chairs beside the couch.

Sawyer slouched into the first armchair, and Cam settled on the couch at Reggie’s feet. He slid his hand up the leg of her sweats to rest just below her knee.

“What’s going on, Hutch?” he asked.

Sawyer leaned forward in his chair, his elbows propped on his legs, his fingers forming a vee at his mouth.

“Someone broke into the house while we were gone,” Hutch said in a low voice.

“What the fuck?” Sawyer immediately turned his head away to staunch the outburst then turned back again. “What?” he asked in a quieter voice.

“Reggie stashed Birdie in the upstairs closet and went after him with one of your baseball bats.”

“Christ,” Cam muttered.

“It’s worse,” Hutch said. He looked at both Cam and Sawyer. “They think it might be the same guy who attacked her the other night.”

“Who is they, and why would they think that?” Sawyer demanded.

Hutch scowled. “I spoke to Jeremy after Birdie took Reggie home to get her gun.”

Cam shook his head then dug his fingers into his hair. He could feel the beginnings of a headache plaguing him.

“Start over. I’m confused. Someone broke in. Cops show up and think it’s the guy who attacked Reggie the other night, and she went home to get her gun?”

Hutch nodded. “In a nutshell.”

Sawyer gave Hutch a look of understanding. “She held out on us, didn’t she?”

“Yeah. She did.”

“You going to fill us in then?” Cam asked.

“Jeremy said they think it’s personal, that Reggie was the intended target, not the woman he killed. Apparently he called her Reggie which is something no one but us calls her. While he had his hands wrapped around her neck intending to strangle her, he told her that ‘it was time to make him pay’.”

“Son of a bitch,” Sawyer growled.

“Do they know anything else?” Cam asked.

“All Jeremy said was that they think it’s possible it could have something to do with her father. Politicians attract nutjobs with agendas. Maybe he doesn’t agree with Peter Fallon’s politics. Who the fuck knows. But they think he was the one who broke in today. No fingerprints. Just shoe prints outside that match the ones at the murder scene from the other night.”

“And we left her here with only Birdie for protection,” Cam said in disgust.

“Where is Birdie now?” Sawyer demanded.

Hutch turned to look at Sawyer. “She’s at home. Reggie’s department and the county guys are alternating patrols by her house. She lives just a block from the chief, so he’ll be looking in on her too. I wanted her to come out here, but she insisted on going home.”

“I’ll call her in a little while to check in on her,” Sawyer said. “And I’ll run by there tomorrow morning to make sure her security system is working properly.”

Cam nodded. “That’s a good idea. We need to think about beefing things up around here. Obviously we can’t leave Reggie alone again. Not if this asshole is stalking her.”

He glanced down at Reggie again then frowned when he noticed the brace around her wrist was gone. Hutch followed the line of his gaze.

“She irritated it wielding that bat,” Hutch explained. “It swelled, and the brace was bothering her. I took it off and iced it down for a while and made her take a pain pill.”

Frustration beat at Cam. He wanted Reggie where she belonged. With them. But not like this. He wanted her to choose to be with them, not forced to remain because they insisted on protecting her.

He rubbed the back of his neck and stared up at the ceiling.

“What’s got you worried, Cam?” Sawyer asked. “You seem to be stressing a lot lately when you were the most confident going in.”

Cam looked at Sawyer and then at Hutch and found the same worry reflected in Hutch’s eyes. Yeah, he supposed to them he had appeared confident. He was always the one telling them it would work out. He was a goddamn fraud. The truth was, he was scared shitless.

“I’m worried that we won’t be able to make her happy. And now I’m worried that we can’t keep her safe. I’m worried that I’ll lose her,” he said truthfully.

“I think we all have those same concerns,” Hutch said. “But at some point we have to stop worrying about the what ifs and focus on only the things we can control.”

“And what would those things be?” Sawyer asked dryly.

Hutch turned to Sawyer with a dark stare. “We can’t control how Reggie feels about us. We can’t control her fears. All we can control is how we react to the situation. And we can damn well make sure we present a united front. This will never work if Reggie senses we’re divided in any way.”

“He’s right,” Cam said quietly. “We can’t convince her this will work if we can’t even convince ourselves.”

Sawyer’s hand skimmed over his bald head in agitation. Probably a damn good thing he kept it shaved or he’d yank his hair out anyway.

“We’ve been over this.” Frustration leaked from Sawyer’s voice. “Why do we have to keep going over it? I understand that we have to work together, but I won’t spend every goddamn minute of my time with her in a group setting.”

Reggie stirred beneath Hutch’s hand. Cam shot Sawyer a warning stare and held a finger up to his lips. Then his gaze dropped back to Reggie as her eyes fluttered open.

“Cam?” she whispered.

He smiled. “Heard you had some excitement while I was gone, Reggie darling.”

She made a face and tried to sit up, but she put her injured hand down to press against the couch. It folded beneath her, and she emitted a gasp. Hutch caught her and pushed her weight off her wrist.

As Hutch helped her sit up, Cam reached for her wrist. He turned it over in his hand and examined the swelling.

“That’s what happens when you try to play baseball with an injured wrist,” he murmured.

“It wasn’t baseball. I was planning to play tee-ball with his head.”

Sawyer chuckled. “I wouldn’t have appreciated blood on my stuff, Reggie. Which one did you use anyway? Tell me my Biggio bat isn’t now in police custody being logged as evidence.”

She glanced over and smiled at Sawyer, and Cam felt a pang of jealousy. As stupid as it was, as much as he’d just lectured the other two about presenting a united front, he was sitting here resentful of the way Sawyer could draw a reaction from Reggie. It wasn’t always a good one. Sawyer could piss her off in one breath and have her laughing in the next. But she wasn’t the least bit indifferent to him. Sparks flew between the two of them any time they were in the same room.

Hutch reached up and tucked a curl behind Reggie’s ear.

“Why didn’t you tell us the man was after you?” Hutch asked.

Her lips twisted in annoyance. “Because there’s no way to tell if he was. And there still isn’t.”

“Jeremy didn’t seem to think it was too much of a stretch that this guy was targeting you. Neither did your chief.”

She stared at Hutch, her lips drawn into a tight line.

“If there wasn’t enough evidence to support the idea before, there certainly is now,” Cam said. “He followed you here, Reggie. He broke into our home while we were gone. Which tells me he was watching. And waiting for his opportunity.”

Her gaze fell to her lap where she held her injured wrist with her other hand. Tension boiled off her body. Cam wanted to touch her, but even Hutch pulled his hand away from her hair.

“I can’t stay here,” she said. She kept her head down, refusing to meet any of their gazes. When she finally looked up at Cam, there was steely determination in her eyes.

Ice blue. It was a comparison he’d made often when staring into Reggie’s eyes when she was being a hard ass.

Cam glanced at Hutch and Sawyer. Neither seemed inclined to ask the obvious question. Or maybe they were simply ignoring it, telling her precisely what they thought of that particular statement.

While he could understand their frustration, it wasn’t the way to handle Reggie. There were times when he wished he could go all he-man on her, and she’d comply, but then she wouldn’t be the Reggie he loved so much.

“Why can’t you stay?” he finally asked.

As expected, Sawyer gave him a look that suggested he was a dumbass. Cam ignored him and focused his attention on Reggie.

“I would think it’s obvious,” she said in her oh-so-patient tone that suggested she didn’t have any patience at all. “There is someone who has a beef with me. Therefore anyone around me is also in danger.”

She cradled her injured wrist in her hand and rubbed her thumb lightly over the swelling. “Birdie could have been hurt or killed,” she said quietly. She glanced back up at Cam and then slowly turned to look at Sawyer and finally Hutch. “He broke into your house. Any one of you could have been here. He’s already killed one person. What’s another?”

“How did I know you’d say something like that?” Sawyer muttered.

“So you think a better alternative is for you to hole up in your house alone?” Hutch demanded. “You’re smarter than that, Reggie. Start acting like it for God’s sake. This martyr bullshit isn’t like you.”

She bolted to her feet and whirled around, her eyes flashing with anger. And to think, Cam had been thinking about how Sawyer could always elicit a reaction from Reggie. Cam looked at Hutch in a new light. The usually laid back, calm Hutch was teetering on the edge.

“No one said I was going to stay at my house alone, asshole,” she said in a near growl. “Just because I’d prefer not to put the people I care most about in danger doesn’t make me a fucking martyr.”

Hutch stood, shoved his hands in his pockets and hovered over her, staring down into her eyes. Anger rolled off him in waves.

Reggie didn’t back down an inch, and Cam wondered if he was going to have to get between them. Hell, what was up Hutch’s ass? It was usually Hutch getting between Reggie and Sawyer.

The irony wasn’t lost on Sawyer either. He regarded the two with undisguised amusement.

“Maybe,” Hutch said behind clenched teeth, “the people who care about you don’t like the idea of some asshole trying to kill you.”

Hutch inched forward until there was no space between him and Reggie.

Cam sighed. “Come on, you two. I swear you’re acting like a pair of pit bulls.”

Reggie and Hutch both rounded on him. Reggie glared, and Hutch’s brows drew together in an angry line.

“Nobody asked you,” Reggie snarled.

She turned back to Hutch and poked him in the chest with a finger. “I can damn well take care of myself. I don’t need you and the others hovering over me like nursemaids. Yeah, I got hurt. It happens in my line of work. But I’m not going to let it turn me into some goddamn girl.”

Sawyer broke into laughter. “Reggie, honey, I hate to tell you this, but you are a girl.”

“Shut up, Sawyer.”

Hutch shifted, and Reggie dug her finger back into his chest. “And so help me, if you kiss me or do something else to distract me, I’m going to hurt you.”

A slow smile worked at the corners of Hutch’s mouth. “Are you saying my kisses distract you, baby?”

She backed away and bumped into Cam. Cam reached up to steady her then pulled her down into his lap. She started to reach down and shove away, but he held tight.

“Damn it, Cam,” she hissed.

“Stop running,” he said calmly. “You tell us you aren’t afraid but every time we get close, you make tracks in the opposite direction.”

She trembled against him. There was a multitude of emotions in her body language. Fear. Anger. Confusion.

He caught her wrist in his hand, careful not to press too hard.

“This needs to be iced again, and then the brace needs to go back on.”

“Why do I feel the sudden urge to go beat my head against a wall?” Reggie muttered.

Cam smiled and stroked a hand through her unruly curls. “You’re stubborn, Reggie darling, however, I’m not sure you realize how stubborn I can be as well. Maybe I’ve given you the impression that I’m a pushover, but you’re about to find out that when it comes to you, I’m anything but.”

She turned to stare at him, her eyes bright with confusion. “Cam, I’ve never thought you were a pushover. When did I ever give you that idea?”

He cupped her cheek and rubbed his thumb over her lips. “I said I might have given you that impression. I do tend to weaken when you turn those blue eyes on me. In any other matter, I have no doubt you’d get your way. But this has to do with your safety, and I can be more of a hardass than you when it comes to that.”

Her lips turned down into a frown. He smoothed the corner with his thumb, coaxing it upward again. “I much prefer you smiling.”

She sighed. “You’re absolutely no fun to fight with. You’re supposed to keep pissing me off so I can stay mad at you.”

Cam chuckled. “If I kiss you, will that piss you off?”

Her breath caught then expelled in a jerky rush. A spark ignited in her eyes, and she ran her tongue nervously over her bottom lip.

“Or you could kiss me,” he said in a low voice.

Her hand came up to his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. When he opened them again, her lips were hovering just inches above his. Uncertainty glittered in her beautiful eyes, but to his satisfaction, there was no fear.

He itched to move to her, to complete the kiss, but he waited instead. He wanted her to come to him. It seemed like forever until she softly pressed her lips to his.

It was a gentle kiss, sweet, so incredibly sweet. The tip of her tongue feathered over the seam of his lips, and he opened for her, wanting her deeper inside so he could taste her, absorb her.

She pulled away, and it was all he could do not to groan his protest.

“I shouldn’t want this,” she whispered. She glanced over her shoulder to where Hutch still stood, and Sawyer sat just a few feet away. Then she turned her gaze back to Cam, and he could see the guilt in her eyes.

“Reggie, stop,” Cam said. “Enough with the guilt. Why are you tearing yourself up over this? We’ve been straight with you. Do you think Hutch and Sawyer are going to beat the shit out of me because I kissed you? Or does it bother you that they aren’t?”

He let the last question hang heavy in the air. Her eyes widened a fraction.

“No. I mean, no, that’s not what bothers me.”

“Then what is it?” Cam pressed.

Sawyer moved from his chair to the couch where he could see Reggie and where she could see him. He reached over to take the hand that was resting on Cam’s lap.

“Honey, we know what we’re asking is a lot. God knows it won’t be easy for you. But we’re willing to do whatever is necessary, whatever it takes to make you happy, to prove to you that this can work. None of us wants to be without you.”

“We’ve laid it out on our end,” Hutch said quietly.

Reggie turned to look at Hutch, and he stared back, his expression intense.

“What we haven’t talked about is how you feel about us, baby. We can sit here and tell you how we feel and what we want all day long, but it won’t mean shit if we don’t know what’s going on in your head.”

“What about it, Reggie?” Cam asked softly as he touched the curve of her neck. “Have you got the balls to look us in the eye and tell us what you want?”

Check out Gwen’s review here of Wicked by Sasha White and you can read an excerpt on her site here.

THEN you can check out another excerpt… behind the cut *g*

Summary:

Readers first met Karl Dawson in BOUND, they’ll get to know him a little better in TROUBLE, but one woman will learn all in WICKED.

Bad-boy divorce attorney Karl Dawson has seen all the ways love can go wrong. That’s why he’s given up on it. Jaded and feeling restless, he has playmates, not girlfriends. A leather-clad Dominant, he comes and goes in the city’s after-dark playgrounds as he pleases. That’s how he likes it.

Lara Fox is an independent jack-of-all-trades who can do anything she sets her mind to – except that falling-in-love thing. She’s got a need for control too strong for most men, and an inability to walk away from a challenge. Including a challenge like Karl. He’s cocky, arrogant, and demanding. That’s how she needs it.

They’re perfect for each other. But what begins as a sensual battle of wills turns into a journey neither is prepared for when Lara is threatened and emotional walls start to crumble.

The band was playing and the heavy beat matched the low level throb in Lara’s blood as she moved. The heat of admiring eyes drifted over her skin. There were so many, male and female, all hot with passion that fired her blood.

She’d take one of them home that night. A man. A man with a big cock, plenty of passion and lots of stamina to help chase away the hot dreams of that arrogant egotistical … lawyer.

Large hands rested on her hips and a body brushed against her back. She glanced over her shoulder and winked at the bald college boy who’d moved in to dance with her.

She shouldn’t call him a boy, he was probably only younger than her by a year or two, but he wasn’t man enough to inspire a stronger title. His excitement and eagerness fairly bled from him as he rubbed his groin against her ass in an effort to be sexy. It might be a little mean of her to tease him, but she couldn’t stop herself.

She bent forward at the waist, pressing her hips back against him, and did a bump and grind that had her own body softening, readying itself for action. With a flip of her head, she straightened up, back arched as she rested her head against his shoulder and undulated against him in time with the music.

You are so fucking hot,” he panted in her ear, his hands slipping over the smooth flesh of her belly that was bared by her crop top.

She spun in his arms just as the last notes of the song were struck, and the music faded into the crowd’s applause.

The band said they were going to take a short break, and everyone started to drift off the dance floor. It was time to rehydrate.

Thanks for the dance,” she said to the boy, and spun on her heel to leave.

He grabbed her arm, halting her steps. “That’s it? Come on, baby. Let’s find a dark corner and get to know each other better.”

She looked at his hand on her arm before raising her gaze to his. She gave him a look that any smart man would recognize as a warning. College boy wasn’t stupid, and he released his grip.

Yeah,” he said with a sneer. “Whatever.”

Lara headed for the bar without another word, and immediately spotted the lean blond parked there in leather pants and a snug black t-shirt.

Oh, shit.

Her heart kicked in her chest and every hair on her body stood on end. Karl looked so fucking good her mouth actually started to water. Saliva pooled on her tongue and her pussy clenched in recognition of what it hungered for. She’d been able to resist the lure of his challenge when she only had images of him in a suit and tie in her mind, but this … she had no resistance to the living fantasy in front of her.

Even worse, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

Altering her course slightly she headed straight for him. “Well hello there, sexy. How are you tonight?”

Feeling pretty good after watching your little show there,” he replied. “You move very well, sweetie.”

Pleasure swept over her at his compliment and she gave herself a mental kick in the ass. She knew she moved well, she didn’t need him to tell her that. Plus, he’d called her sweetie.

Lara eyed him.She realized he was being sincere and that sent a wave of pure desire rushing through her veins. Normally she hated it when men called her sweetie or baby or darlin’, or any number of chauvinistic endearments. But Karl’s lazily spoken words were different somehow.

Thanks,” she said before smiling at the bartender and asking for a bottle of water.

When he set the water on the bar Karl handed him a bill before she could, and the bartender walked away.

Thank you, again.” She turned to face Karl, stepping closer so that her hip brushed against his leather-clad knee.

She let her eyes roam over him, not bothering to hide the need simmering in her blood. Why should she? She’d made it pretty clear the other night that she wanted him. He’d been the one to walk away.

Remembering that, she shifted, a little unsure exactly how to handle him now. Unsure of how she wanted to handle him now.

As if he could read her thoughts, Karl’s lips tilted slightly and the lines around his eyes crinkled, making the small scar that ran through his left eyebrow shift. “You didn’t call,” he said.

Not wanting to shout in the loud bar, or let him sense her momentary doubts, she shifted closer. When she moved, he spread his knees wider and she automatically filled the spot.

Why didn’t you call?” he repeated.

She arched a brow at him. “Why didn’t you call?”

He chuckled. “Because you’re the one who needs to decide if you’re really willing to do anything at least once.”

Would she? Wicked heat zinged from her brain to her sex in answer and she grinned. Payback could be so much fun, sometimes.

Follow me?” she challenged.

His chocolate eyes darkened and his lips twitched as he stood so they were chest to chest. “Lead the way.”

With a little extra swing in her hip, she headed for the back of the pub.

The band was starting up again and they were going against the stream of people heading back to the dance floor. Karl’s hand rested on the curve of her hip, the heat of his body close behind her as they passed the mens room, then the ladies room and went straight out the back door.

She’d been antsy and horny before she saw him, but in the past three minutes her body had started to burn from the inside out. Everything in her was centered on having him – he was not going to walk away from her again. She was in control this time.

Karl was all man – all very sexy, very primal man. She might not know exactly what was going on between them, but she did know one thing for sure – she was woman enough to take him on, and revel in it.

The cool night air hit her skin and a shiver ripped through her. She glanced around the empty parking lot, no real plan in her mind, just animalistic need driving her to do what came naturally. She started to head for her car, but then spotted the narrow walkway between the pub and the darkened building next to it. A big leafy tree almost hid the small space.

It was perfect.

Without a word she entered the small passage and went about ten steps before stopping. She turned and faced Karl, who was looking at her with a mix of curiosity and approval.

You,” she said, putting her hands on his chest and gently shoving him against the cement wall of the pub. “Are not walking away from me this time.”

She leaned in, pressing her body against his fully, and ran her tongue over the tattoo on his neck. His pulse jumped as she nibbled her way toward his ear only to have her head pulled back sharply. The hand that was suddenly wrapped in her hair tightened, and her pussy throbbed in answer.

Oooh,” she cooed in appreciation, but the sound was cut off when his head came down and his mouth covered hers.

Lara struggled to remember her plan as Karl’s flavor washed over her. He tasted so damn good – hot, potent and male. His muscles flexed and danced under her hand as she swept them down over his chest and flat abs to his belt. Her fingers shook with her eagerness as she unsnapped and unzipped his pants.

Pushing aside the supple leather, she groaned into Karl’s mouth when his cock leapt into the palm of her hand.

Oh yeah! He was well built all over.

The grip on her hair tightened and her head was tugged back. Karl’s mouth slid over her cheek to her ear, where he nipped at the sensitive lobe, sending bolts of pleasure straight to her pussy. “What are you gonna do with that, naughty girl?”

She pulled back slightly, shaking her head and dislodging his grip. “I’m going to make it mine,” she said as she bent her knees.

Karl watched as Lara knelt in front of him, the moonlight streaming through the trees leaves and gleaming on the top of her head as her hot breath drifted over his naked cock. She’d surprised him again, in a very good way.

© Sasha White. All rights reserved

If you are over erotic romance or haven’t found one or a GOOD one you need to pick up The Art of Desire by Cherie Feather in June. It is a Berkley Heat and is a contemporary erotic romance with a historical twist. And it fucking rocks.

The book is amazing. You NEED to read this book. Trust me. Cherie will be here to guest in June and we will have more of an excerpt later but here is the trailer, which I liked and a small taste…

The Art of Desire… write it down… you can thank me later…

Museum director Mandy Cooper has always been obsessed with nineteenth-century artist Catherine Burke—and the artist’s erotically charged relationship with Atacar, her enthralling American Indian lover. But Mandy’s link to the legendary couple runs deeper than she knows. She’s having a heated affair herself—with Jared Cabrillo, Atacar’s perilously handsome great-great nephew. And the consuming passion Atacar once used to seduce Catherine is now being engaged by Jared. He knows precisely what it takes to move a woman…

He’s in possession of Catherine’s wildly explicit journal. He knows every intimate detail of what she wanted and needed. But he also knows how desperately Catherine had loved Atacar and how dangerously he’d loved her. The journal is timeless and tragic, and the secrets contained within its pages can bring Mandy and Jared together, or just as surely destroy them both—desire by shocking desire.

Was this my punishment for dozing in the sun? Or my reward? I’d gone to that location to work, to sketch the scenery.

I longed to draw him instead. But I couldn’t find the will to move, to do more than stare. Curiously handsome, his bluish-black, cheekbone-length hair framed the hollowed angles and mysterious shadows that sculpted his face. Muscled ridges and flat planes defined his body, with wide shoulders and a powerful chest. His thighs, I decided, had been built for striding the horse that grazed nearby. A stolen mount, no doubt. A prize that went with his rifle.

Taking a swift breath, I centered my gaze, filling my vision with his penis. I measured the length and fullness, but I imagined how it would look fully erect, with his testes drawn tight, his foreskin pushed back and the sensitive head exposed.

Queen Victoria shame me.

In my own country, I was a rumored bohemian, London-borne, Paris schooled, an artist seceding from conventionality, an upper-class girl who’d cast her morals to the wind, who’d stroked many a cock with her hands, even with her ruby-red mouth.

But the gossip wasn’t true. Not completely. I fantasized about those carnal acts, but the only cocks I dared stroke were with a collection of Asiatic marten brushes.

The hawk flew away, abandoning its circling post. The Indian snapped out of his trance and continued his bath. My heart pounded like the drums of his people. I knew who he was. He was an Apache prisoner of war who’d escaped from a military fort in Oklahoma Territory. Last week U.S. Army soldiers had scoured this area in search of him. They’d ridden into town with a photograph, asking if anyone had seen him. They’d gone to ranches and farms, too. When they’d come to my house, I’d gazed curiously at his picture.

And now here he was.

I should have remained motionless until he went away. But somewhere in the peril of my soul, I found the strength to sit upright, to lift a piece of charcoal from my ready-made paintbox. The paper clamped to my stretching board was cold-pressed, better suited for rough effects than a detailed portrait of a bared man. But I was willing to compromise. Desire burned like a hot-wick candle beneath the folds of my skirt.

I had moved to America to study its ethnic, geographic, and religious diversity, to paint its fading frontier. So why not study him? Make him my secret project?

“Atacar,” I whispered his name. It was of Spanish origin, and in English it meant, “to attack.”

Suddenly he went still, his dark gaze shooting through the trees like an obsidian-tipped arrow. He couldn’t have heard his barely audible name on my lips, yet he’d found me out.

The charcoal slipped from my fingers; my paper remained blank.

Our eyes met, and he reacted like a hound on the heels of a fox. Before I could blink, he grabbed the rifle, jammed it against his water-damp shoulder and aimed it at me.

I did the unthinkable. I looked at his penis again, challenging the air between us. His face remained an indiscernible mask, devoid of emotion, of any kind of lust. But in his fire-ready stance, his stomach muscles jumped, giving him away, making his cock stir.

From there, neither of us moved.

Finally he motioned with his chin, ordering me out into the open. I didn’t hesitate. I lifted my arms in surrender and walked toward him.

Praying he would take me.

CHAPTER ONE

Dirty sex with a dirty boy.

That was all Mandy Cooper, the proper, professional, highly organized director of the Santa Fe Women’s Art Museum, could think about.

She was addicted to Jared Cabrillo, Atacar’s great-great nephew, a man who sizzled in the art scene, who was notorious for having public liaisons, who wielded his celebrity like the party-on-the-edge charmer he was.

Mandy could feel him watching her from across the museum. She and her staff were hosting a summer reception and he’d crashed the event.

She tried to avoid him, but she couldn’t. His gaze was too strong, too persistent. She gave up the fight and looked at him, too.

Their eyes met, and he lifted his wine and toasted her before he put the glass to his lips and drank the blood-red liquid.

She gripped the silver chain on her evening bag, locking it around her wrist like a handcuff. He was drop-dead, imprison-a-woman gorgeous. There was no other way to describe him. He walked toward her, and her panties stuck to her skin, making her want to rub her thighs together.

“Nice party,” he said, as they came face to face.

“It’s going well.” She’d been sleeping with him for almost a month, yet she couldn’t stop herself from staring.

He sported a retro-style, black western shirt, decorated with white piping and tucked into crisp jeans. His face, diamond-blade dazzling and stone-quarry tough, mirrored his heritage. Both ears showcased tiny silver hoops. He had an intimate body piercing and tribal tattoos, too.

He was everything she shouldn’t want. At thirty-eight, she was supposed to know better. He was ten years younger than she was, but he wasn’t her boy toy. He controlled their affair, enticing her into carnal situations.

He set his empty glass on a nearby table. “You look beautiful, Mandy.”

“Thank you.” Her black dress scooped modestly in front and the delicate silver-and-turquoise cross around her neck offered a hint of adornment.

Aside from their naked urges, they didn’t know each other very well. They didn’t have meaningful conversations. But at least she knew he wasn’t seeing anyone else. He didn’t cheat on his lovers. Of course that didn’t change who and what he was. He treated monogamy like a courtesy, not a commitment.

Needing a diversion, Mandy turned toward a famous portrait of Jared’s ancestor. They were standing in front of Atacar’s exhibit.

He was the museum’s most prized possession, a Catherine Burke treasure, a portrait remarkable for its depth and passion, for its stunning realism. But Atacar was more than Catherine’s greatest work. So much more. The nineteenth century artist was rumored to have loved him, just as he was rumored to have loved her.

But no one knew for sure.

Catherine had abandoned her Texas home, never to be heard from again, and soon after she’d disappeared, Atacar had been shot and killed by a trio of soldiers.

As Mandy looked into his eyes, an air-conditioned chill blasted from the ceiling, sending goose bumps along her arms.

He was an imposing figure, his head cocked just so, his expression dark and serious. Positioned in a straight-back chair, he gripped the barrel of a Winchester rifle. She tried to imagine him sitting for Catherine while the daring girl painted his image. His clothes consisted of Anglo gear, reminiscent of ranchers and farmers, but he was Chiricahua Apache, an enlisted army scout who’d become a prisoner of war.

Mandy blinked, but Atacar’s gaze remained constant. The museum had acquired his portrait nearly forty years ago. Prior to that, it had been hidden inside the walls of the farmhouse where Catherine had lived.

Upon its discovery, their romantic legacy had begun. Rumors spawned that they’d been lovers. That she’d disappeared because of him. That their desperate hearts would remain forever entwined.

But once again, no one knew for sure.

The only ray of hope was that Catherine had kept a secret journal, writings that had never been found.

By now, most of the art world thought the journal was a myth. But Mandy chose to believe otherwise. She had the museum historian searching for it.

Suddenly Jared moved closer, close enough to invade Mandy’s space, to attack her senses. She could smell the spicy notes of his cologne. She turned to face him, his ancestor fading into the background.

“Why did you come here tonight?” she asked.

He smoothed the front of his hair. He wore it plaited into a single braid, leaving the hardened angles of his face unframed. “To fuck you.”

Her addiction jabbed her hard and quick, like a needle to a starving vein. “I’m working, Jared.”

“That’s what makes it so fun.” Fun or not, he didn’t smile. He just looked at her with the same driven expression as when he’d toasted her with his merlot or cabernet or whatever he’d been drinking. “Like when we do it at my work.”

She didn’t respond. He was a highly successful breeder, trainer, and showman who managed his own horse farm. Banging each other’s brains out in his barn wasn’t the same as getting naked at the museum.

His gaze turned darker, more intense. “You could take me to your office. You could make me do things to you.”

Hedonic chills vibrated her spine. By now, they were just inches apart. He kept moving closer, drawing her into his seductive sphere, doing what he always did.

“What things?” she asked.

“You could take off your panties, order me to my knees and lift your dress in front of my face. You could make me taste how sweet you are.”

The room started to spin. She wanted his mouth between her legs. But envisioning herself standing in front of him, making him do it was almost more than she could bear.

“Does that excite you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“What else turns you on? What other games do you want to play?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice shook. “I honestly don’t know.” At the moment she just wanted to crawl all over him, to fall like a sugared gumdrop at his feet.

“I’ll bet she did it,” Jared said.

“What? Who?”

“Catherine.” Jared moistened his lips. “I’ll bet she lifted her skirts in front of Atacar’s face. I’ll bet she came all over him.” His voice was soft and low, dangerously demanding. “Do it, Mandy. Be bad for me.”

THIS JUST IN from Maya Banks… 

You so thought it was gonna be like the plot of Be With Me, I am sure.  But, nope, she still won’t let me tell. And I am a good strong duck. Okay, I am just a whore and like having the shiny, shiny toys first. WOOT!

But this I will share: Maya Banks has just signed (like the ink is still wet) to do three books (said to be the FIRST of three… maybe there will be more ::bats eyes::) in an action/adventure romantic suspense series to Berkley for their Sensation line (think Pamela Clare) so she will be writing for both their trade line (HEAT – like BE WITH ME) and their mass market line.

WOOT! Congrats and squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee to you Maya. Can I have that one too

I now return you to your original BOOK ALERT post…

I am very sad to have to tell you I am not allowed to tell you anything about this book.

Really this pains me muchly.

I really wish I could tell you something. OH! I can tell you…

 mine mine mine… all mine….

You’re Welcome. It comes out in November from Berkley Heat

Gwen’s review of Wild, Wicked, & Wanton by Jaci Burton
Contemporary erotic romance published by Berkley Heat 1 May 07

This book will be released 1 May, and is made up of three related stories about three female friends.  It describes how they find their core selves and the loves of their lives.  As should all such journey’s, their journeys of self-discovery come by way of some turbulence in otherwise safe, normal lives. 

I was supposed to review another book before this one, but I couldn’t resist the teasers I was reading.  All three women experience personal fantasies of mine and I just had to see how it all played out.

The story I liked the most, and that I felt was most emotionally developed, was the middle one – Wicked.  That story made me cross and recross my legs several times while reading; all three stories were very erotic (in a good way), but that middle one had me sweating.  I’m a real sucker for a good alpha male, and this story has one of the best alphas I’ve read in a very long while.  What I liked the most about this story was how the male lead helped the female lead work thru her emotional baggage – he never gave up on her.  I suppose we all wish that for ourselves or our daughters – someone who will love them no matter what.

Jaci does a very good job of speaking from three different perspectives, remaining true to her characters’ personalities and foibles.  In fact, I think she was able to speak best from the men’s POV’s (always refreshing in a romance author).  I was really glad when they got their HEA’s and felt that everyone deserved it.  Jaci’s writing style was fluid and kept me involved, with none of the plot wandering I’ve read recently while the characters work through one dilemma or another.

I thoroughly enjoyed this book, and this view into three different, rather risqué practices.  I recommend buying it, if only for the gorgeous cover art, but also for reading with your significant other.  It will give you a nice kickstart to the evening (afternoon?  my!  how wild/wicked/wanton of you!)!

Grade: B+

Here’s the book blurb:

They’re inseparable best friends who delight in sharing their wildest secrets and dares. But their latest bet is the boldest one of all: each must sleep with whomever the other two have chosen for her. And come back with every juicy detail...

WILD
Abby married the town bad boy. And he lived up to his reputation, bedding any woman who let her guard down. She swore off men for good, but never counted on a pair of sexy veterinarians who are fulfilling a desire of their own.

WICKED
Blaire is the town heartbreaker. Afraid to commit, she’s broken off three engagements. Yet there’s one man she never had the courage to bed. The one man she really loved. But now, the decision is out her hands.

WANTON
Callie is the sensible one….but beneath it all she’s a true romantic, with the broken heart to prove it. Now her long-dormant fantasies may be getting a workout. A new man enters her life and everything about him is irresistible.

Read an excerpt.

There was more of a lead in here but I lost it and don’t care to retype. And this is has been in draft for a while, so I am posting it damn it.

Mainly this is the start of a few posts (hopefully) reviewing some thoughts on the new romantica/erotica/erotic romance lines and of course books I want. Because it is allll about me Most of these guidelines come from Erotica Readers & Writers Association Website. I have left off emails and addresses, click the link if you are looking for them. These are just print lines, ebook will be a different post.

I have also left things out of the editors emails or publishers guidelines, they were way long and I left the stuff I had questions on and will follow in other posts or it just amused me. Market Guidelines includes epubs and print, if you want to go scope out the site.

Aphrodisia Kensington Publishing New Erotica Imprint
Debut Of Aphrodisia In January: Three by Noelle Mack, Wolf Tales by Kate Douglas, Gotta Have It by Rene Alexis, and The Hard Stuff by Karin Tabke, Bonnie Edwards, and Sunny.

guidelines

Both agented and unagented submissions are being accepted for works from 20,000 words (novellas) through 80,000 words and representing contemporary and historical fiction from a variety of sub-genres, such as paranormal and multi-cultural. Books will be lighthearted or dark, funny or suspenseful, whatever best reflects the writer’s voice and brings readers the kind of story they are looking for.

Berkley Jove HEAT
from their guidelines

Romance is fine for Heat, but it’s not necessarily the focus. Happy endings are okay too.

3) I’m looking at all genres – contemporaries, historicals and paranormals.

4) I’m okay with manage, and some homoerotic elements, but the main relationship should be hetero (think Emma Holly—she may include homosexual/lesbian elements, but her primary relationship is hetero).

CHEEK GUIDELINES OUTLINE, very detailed… left most of it because of the detail. The only Cheek I have think I have read would be Emma Holly. Oh I have Sticky Fingers by Alison Tyler somewhere set for the ubs, read another AT and was very eh. I should check it out after all just cuz.

The flavour
Pacy, feel-good, contemporary young women’s fiction with sexual content that is explicit but not anatomically, and not – scarily so. Central character should be female 18 – 35, and the story told primarily through female p.o.v. If written in third person, there should be some male p.o.v. but always with the accent on his emotions (i.e. who he is fancying and why).

What the books are about
Cheek should appeal to the indulgent side of the young female. In the way that women’s magazines are narcissistic (they allow women unashamed indulgence in luxuries and in themselves), so Cheek should be novel-length narratives about the gaining of female pleasure  through sex, but also through pampering, shopping, dressing up, travelling, having great times, enjoying all that young life has to offer.

Style
The story should enable the reader to vicariously enjoy all of the above. The accent should be on good times, and the narrative should conform to the obstacle/conflict/resolution/ formula of mainstream contemporary fiction and/or successful soap opera. The style should be transparent, so no clever-clever parodying styles where you can see the strings. The writing should not draw attention to itself. The books should be aspirational and fun but not – give the game away, so avoiding cliches will be very important. For instance, we wouldn’t want designer labels name-dropped in every sentence as if it were computer-software-generated chick lit, but we would want lifestyle glamour: lovely apartments/hotels/sexy city breaks/exotic destinations/soft adventure i.e. skinny dipping at moonlight etc.

Sex
A delightful, playful, curious sensuality should inform the characters behaviour rather than down and dirty lust for the sake of it. The women shouldn’t behave explicitly outside of the sex scenes, and the blokes should be more intriguing, charming and mysterious than what one usually finds in real life.

There can of course be down and dirty lust within the sex scenes, but it should come about as a result of high-tension seduction that builds to bursting point. This will inform the language and dialogue. The more Anglo-Saxon words and descriptions should be used sparingly outside of sex scenes and, while OK in dialogue to a certain extent (talking dirty is popular and there should be some of this in all Cheek books) it shouldn’t ever be offensive. The build-up to a sex scene, the tension, what clothes are worn (lots of details of fab clothes), the wining and dining etc. are as important as the act itself in Cheek, so there will be lots of opportunities to write sexy descriptions that are NOT focused on the minutiae of genital anatomy.

Sex scenes should be maximised for arousal potential. They should not be so brief as to be a let-down, but not pored over and over until one can’t see the wood for the trees. No overblown erotic romance purple prose of the waves and waves of throbbing sensation coursed through her helpless body variety. Snappy, punchy, saucy and cool is the way forward. In all cases, sex scenes should evolve naturally and shouldn’t seem gratuitous. There should be plenty of juicy description of the male body, of being worshipped, and fancied by hunky/desirable blokes.

Sex content
Should follow the parameters of Cosmo; i.e. variety of positions/oral/fun and games/dressing up/sex in unusual places etc. but again: language is everything. Anatomical descriptions should be absent for the most part, concentrating on the emotions rather than medical close-ups of squelching parts. Tastefully done is the key.

Characters
Should be lively/fun/full of the conflicts and emotions of young women; the kind of girls you’d like to be friends with. Obviously there can be one or two bad guys bitchy interlopers who you (and the central characters) dislike and who are a threat to our heroine’s dreams coming true.

Unsuitable subjects
These are feel-good books, so no social problems, addictions, serious illnesses, crime-ridden environments, heavy emotional problems, death, rape, abortions, alcoholism etc. Cheek novels should be the equivalent of a girls night in or out, and the ending should be optimistic.

When it comes to sexual content, the taboos should be obvious: no incest, animals, watersports or heavy SM. Bondage (of the silk scarves variety) and power games (light spanking/teasing/dressing up as fantasy characters) fine, but accent on pleasure and discovery at all times. The sex in Cheek should not be transgressive and the characters should not be involved in the fetish scene or have the awareness of seasoned swingers. No suburban sordidness; such a thing is fine for BL/Nexus but not Cheek. Should not speak to the audience in a way that assumes familiarity of sexual politics or the sexual underground.

I would recommend anyone who is thinking of writing new material for us to read Sticky Fingers by Alison Tyler: Available at Amazon.com / Amazon UK / Amazon CA

Secrets Red Sage Publishing

Sensuous, bold, spicy, untamed, hot, and sometime politically incorrect, Secrets stories concentrate on the sophisticated highly intense adult sexual relationship. These character driven stories always concentrate on the love and sexual relationship between the hero and the heroine.

We are accepting novella submissions for an anthology. Novella lengths range from 20,000-35,000 words. No multiple submissions accepted do not send us a story you’re also sending to another publisher. Authors may query interest with a one-page synopsis (clear emotional and physical conflict defined) and the first ten pages of their story (printed out, not the digital file).

For guideline details and submission information:We are accepting novella submissions for an anthology. Novella lengths range from 20,000-35,000 words. No multiple submissions accepted do not send us a story you’re also sending to another publisher. Authors may query interest with: a one-page synopsis (clear emotional and physical conflict defined) and the first ten pages of their story (printed out, not the digital file). Please include writing credentials (we welcome unpublished authors as well).

Sensuous, bold, spicy, untamed, hot, and sometime politically incorrect, Secrets stories concentrate on the sophisticated highly intense adult sexual relationship. These character driven stories always concentrate on the love and sexual relationship between the hero and the heroine.

The Hero
He may be the fearsome warrior, the rogue, the bold conqueror or the imposing captain of industry. He is always intelligent, good looking, usually rich, may be humorous, larger than life, strong willed, domineering (in a sexy way) and very much the Ultra Alpha male and sometimes unpredictable. He is the kind of man who epitomizes every woman’s fantasies and not least, a devastatingly wonderful lover.

The Heroine
She may be the Indian captive, Lady of the Manor, CEO of a corporation or a traveler to distant stars. She is above all intelligent. She has strength, femininity and independence. She may be humorous. She is a woman the reader likes and identifies with.

The Sexual Relationship
We are searching for romance authors who dare to go where today’s romance authors are forbidden to go. Highly intense love relationships involve an equally intense sexual relationship that are sometimes politically incorrect. We are looking for a high level of sexual tension throughout the story to maintain the necessary edge and arousing feel. These love scenes must be sophisticated, erotic and emotional. We want to push the envelope beyond the normal romance novel. Be kinky, be wild, go far beyond spicy, but always write romance. If you’re not sure, query. Any sexual position okay between a man and a woman.

The Plot
The more difficult and intriguing or unique the conflict, the more interesting the story. Tension and conflict can make love scenes excruciatingly effective. Always a happy ending.

The Setting
Historical, contemporary, mainstream, science fiction, mystery, adventure, fantasy and let your wonderful creative imagination be your guide.

launch in May 2006 SPICE
from their guidelines

SPICE is:

A great plot, an engrossing story with several explicitly sexual scenes that have context within the story.
A unique take on modern women, their lives, their relationships and whatever turns them on.
Sophisticated, urban, contemporary, realistic, relevant.

Graphic, using the kind of frank language typical of the genre.
Daring feel free to explore any and all sexual situations, even ones considered “taboo.”
Not a string of unconnected, gratuitous sex scenes.
Not a big traditional romance with lots of sex.
Not full of euphemisms for body parts or lovemaking.

Guidelines for Tor’s Paranormal Romance Program – I was surprised to see this here but I haven’t read a TOR yet so…

Tor Books is actively seeking well-written novel-length stories, focusing on both plot and character development. All submissions, no matter which of the following subcategories they fall into, must include paranormal elements.

These are the subcategories we are looking for under the general heading of “paranormal romance”:

(a) plausible science fiction
(b) fantasy
(c) horror / otherworldly beings (i.e., vampires, goblins, faeries, ghosts, banshees, skinwalkers, zombies, golem, etc.)
(d) near-future / speculative fiction
(e) non-standard time travel
(f) alternate history / alternate timelines

As Tor Books is an award-winning, world-renowned science fiction and fantasy publisher, please be advised that submissions in those areas will be held to our usual standards for plausibility, world-building, character development, and the various elements that comprise these genres.

We are not looking for:

(a) fluffy comedies
(b) inspirational religious works
(c) stories in which a ghost or an angel falls in love with a human (or vice versa); if you plan on using this plot, please come at it from a fresh and original angle
(d) traditional / category romance

Each novel should include at least two main plot elements: one, the romance and the conflict inherent in that; two, another significant conflict. Both storylines should be crucial to the overall novel, and the romantic elements should make up no more than half the entire story.

We are open to non-traditional romances (i.e., multi-racial, multi-ethnic, religiously diverse, non-traditional gender / sexual orientation, etc.), as well as traditional ones. We are open to very erotic works as well as less graphic ones; in any work the sex and romance should be believable and rational and well-suited to the story.

Length: between 80,000 and 130,000 words.

We are primarily looking for original novels, but will consider works which have been self-published or e-published. While we are not actively seeking backlist at this time, we will look at backlist on a case-by-case basis from authors with whom we are buying new material.

If you are already a published fiction writer, we will accept three chapters and a substantial outline. Previously unpublished authors should submit three chapters and a detailed outline, and be prepared to supply the complete manuscript upon request.

Submission Guidelines for Tor’s Paranormal Romance Program

Both agented and unagented submissions are acceptable. If you have an agent, please have your agent submit your work.

If your work is 100,000 words or less, please submit the first three chapters; if your work is longer than 100,000 words, please submit the first sixty pages to the nearest chapter break.

All submissions should be accompanied by a 2-4 page synopsis and a cover letter stating any awards you have won and all previous publications (and your sales history, if you have it), as well as the genre of your work.

Submissions send via post should be in 12-point standard serif typeface and double-spaced. You may submit via email attachment in Microsoft Word document, RTF, or text format only. If you are submitting via post you must include a self-addressed stamped envelope. In the event your work is not right for us and if you would like your manuscript pages returned, your envelope must be big enough to fit them. All rejected manuscripts not returned to their owners will be recycled.

Please submit only one work per email/envelope. If you are submitting a series, submit only the first book in the series according to the above guidelines, and include a 1-2 page synopsis for each following book as well.

We do not accept query letters, simultaneous submissions, or phone pitches. Do not call to ask if we want to see your book.

Our turnaround time is currently approximately two weeks to four months. If you do not hear from us within four months of your submission date, please feel free to send an email (include in this email your full name and the title of your submitted work). We assure you that a person well-versed in romance and other genre fiction will examine your work, however there is not always time to respond personally to every manuscript.

Wicked Words Themed Collections more to be found here. I almost picked up one of these the other day. I thought there was someone on my trade group who wanted it. It was only 2 bucks but was hardback, since I wasn’t sure someone was looking for it and need to spend money shipping stuff already packaged, I didn’t get it. Of course now I wish I had since I have never read a WW book.

Our themed erotica collections have proved to be immensely popular and we will be continuing to publish themed anthologies throughout 2006 and 2007. The themes for the continuing books are as follows

* Sex and Shopping (deadline for stories end of April 2006)

* Sex in Public (deadline for stories end of July 2006)

* Sex with Strangers (deadline for stories end of October 2006)

* Sex with Celebrities (fictional characters only) (deadline for stories end of January 2007)

Do you want to submit a short story to Wicked Words? The general guidelines, including where to send submissions, are available.

Please note we can only accept stories that are of publishable literary standard in terms of grammar, punctuation, narrative structure and presentation. We do not want to receive true confessions or stories that are about ‘some people having sex’ and little else. The buzzwords are surprises, solid characterisation and an awareness of what makes great erotica. Stories should feature something more original than the expected cliché, for example, writing about the ‘Mile-high club’ for Sex on the move. We are looking for beautifully-crafted, original work with an unusual twist.

All stories need to be between 4000 and 6000 words and laid out to house style double-spaced, printed on one side of A4 and in a point size no smaller than 12. We do not, under any circumstances, accept submissions by email. We cannot reply to all short story submissions as we receive too many to make this possible. Competition-style rules apply you will hear back from us only if your story has been successful. And please remember to read the guidelines.