We normally do a ‘raw and unedited’ excerpt with Lisa but it dawned on me last week that Mz Kleypas is already editing this so while this isn’t a final copy and still subject to change… it isn’t ‘raw and unedited’ (all the more reason we should get one for the next book even sooner yes *eg*)

Lisa said to think of it as ‘medium rare‘ . I don’t have the cover yet but as soon as we do we will put it up.  REMEMBER this doesn’t come out until summer of 2010 – read at your own risk .

Everything below does not belong to us but copyrighted to Lisa Kleypas & posted at TGTBTU with permission.  Enjoy!

This scene was actually deleted from Chp.23 of Tempt Me At Twilight, and is now part of the opening of Married By Morning.

Leo, Lord Ramsay, has just uncovered a secret about Catherine Marks, the family governess and companion:

Leo stared at Catherine Marks’s downbent head, trying to absorb the information. The sense of being duped, betrayed, ignited a bonfire of rage. “There could be no good reason,” he said, “for such information to have been kept secret.”

“The situation is complicated.”

“Why have neither of you said anything before now?”

“You don’t need to know.”

“You should have told me. You were obligated.”

“By what?”

“Loyalty, damn you. What else do you know that might affect my family? What other secrets are you hiding?”

“It’s none of your business,” Catherine shot back, now twisting in his grip. “Let me go!

“Not until I find out what you’re plotting. Is Catherine Marks even your real name? Who the hell are you?” He swore as she began to struggle in earnest. “Hold still, you little she-devil. I just want to–ouch!” This last as she turned and jabbed a sharp elbow in his side.

The maneuver gained Marks the freedom she sought, but her spectacles went flying to the ground. “My spectacles!” With an aggravated sigh, she dropped to her hands and knees and began feeling for them.

Leo’s fury was instantly smothered by guilt. From the looks of it, she was practically blind without the spectacles. And the sight of her crawling on the ground made him feel like a brute. A jackass. Lowering to his knees, he began to hunt for them as well. “Did you see the direction they went in?” he asked.

“If I did,” she said, fuming, “I wouldn’t need spectacles, would I?”

A short silence. “I’ll help you find them.”

“How kind of you,” she said acidly.

For the next few minutes the two of them traversed the garden on their hands and knees, searching among the daffodils. They both chewed on the gristly silence as if it were a mutton chop.

“So you actually need spectacles,” Leo finally said.

“Of course I do,” Marks said crossly. “Why would I wear spectacles if I didn’t need them?”

“I thought they might be part of your disguise.”

“My disguise?”

“Yes, Marks, disguise. A noun describing something that serves to conceal someone’s identity. Often used by clowns and spies, and now apparently governesses. Good God, can anything be ordinary for my family?”

Marks glared and blinked in his direction, her gaze not quite focused. For a moment, she looked like an anxious child whose favorite blanket had been set out of reach. And that caused an odd, painful twinge in Leo’s heart.

“I’ll find your spectacles,” he said brusquely. “You have my word. If you like, you can go into the house while I keep searching.”

“No, thank you. If I tried to find the house on my own, I’d probably end up in the barn.”

Seeing a metallic glimmer in the grass, Leo reached out and closed his hand around the spectacles. “Here they are.” He crawled to Marks and faced her in an upright kneeling position. After polishing the lenses with the edge of his sleeve, he said, “Hold still.”

“Give them to me.”

“Let me do it, hardhead. Arguing comes to you as naturally as breathing, doesn’t it?”

“No, it doesn’t,” she said immediately, and colored as he gave a husky laugh.

“It’s no fun to bait you when you make it so easy, Marks.” He placed the spectacles on her face with great care, running his fingers along the sides of the frame, viewing the fit with an assessing glance. Gently he touched the tips of the earpieces. “They’re not fitted well.” He ran an exploring fingertip over the upper rim of one ear. She was remarkably pretty in the sunlight, her gray eyes containing glimmers of blue and green. Like opals. “Such small ears,” Leo continued, letting his hands linger gently at the sides of her fine-boned face. “No wonder your spectacles fall off so readily. There’s hardly anything to hang them on.”

Marks stared at him in bewilderment.

How fragile she was, he thought. Her will was so fierce, her temperament so prickly, that he tended to forget she was only half his size. He would have expected her to slap his hands away by now–she hated being touched, especially by him. But she didn’t move at all. He let his thumb brush the side of her throat, and felt the tiny undulation of her swallow. There was something unreal about the moment, something dreamlike. He didn’t want it to end.

“Is Catherine your real name?” he asked. “Will you at least answer that?”

She hesitated, fearful of yielding any part of herself, even that insignificant scrap of information. But as his fingertips slid along her neck, the light caress seemed to disarm her. A bloom of color rose from her throat.

“Yes,” she choked out. “It’s Catherine.”

They were still kneeling together, her skirts having billowed and settled everywhere. Folds of flower-printed muslin had been caught under one of Leo’s knees. His body reacted strongly to her nearness, heat sliding beneath his skin and gathering in inconvenient places. Muscles tightened, thickened. He would have to put an end to this, or he was going to do something they would both regret.

“I’ll help you up,” Leo said brusquely, making to rise. “We’ll go inside. I warn you, however, I’m not through with you yet. There’s more I–”

But he broke off, because as Marks had tried to struggle upward, her body had brushed against his. They went still, caught front to front, their breath mingling in uneven surges.

The dreamlike feeling intensified. The two of them were kneeling in a summer garden, the air weighted with the perfume of hot crushed grass and pungent daffodils . . . and Catherine Marks was in his arms. Her hair shimmered in the sunlight, her skin petal-smooth. Her upper lip was nearly as full as the lower, the curves as delicate and smooth as a ripe persimmon. Staring at her mouth, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck lift in reflexive excitement.

Some temptations, Leo decided hazily, should not be resisted. Because they were so persistent that they would only keep returning, time and again. Therefore such temptations absolutely had to be yielded to–it was the only way to get rid of them.

“Damn it,” he said raggedly, “I’ll do it. Even knowing I’ll be annihilated afterward.”

“You’ll do what?” Marks asked, her eyes huge.

“This.”

And his mouth descended to hers.

©2009 Lisa Kleypas

Please remember this is RAW and Unedited which means it could change or may not make it into the book.

We will compare it to what happens when the book is done to see how it changes (if it does) and as always thanks for playing Lisa

Tempt Me at Twilight by Lisa Kleypas

From Lisa:

The eccentric Hathaway family is staying at the Rutledge Hotel during the London social season. While chasing her sister’s ferret, who has stolen an intimate love letter, Poppy Hathaway encounters a handsome and mysterious stranger. He takes her to a private room, and for a moment Poppy wonders if he’ll let her go . . .

Tap. Tap. Tap.

They both turned at the sound. The maid had arrived. “I must go,” Poppy said uneasily.

“My governess will be very distressed if she wakes to find me missing.” The dark-haired stranger contemplated her for what seemed a very long time. “I’m not finished with you yet,” he said with stunning casualness. As if no one ever refused him anything. As if he planned to keep her prisoner for as long as he wished.

Poppy took a deep breath. “Nevertheless, I am leaving,” she said calmly, and went to the door.

He reached it at the same time she did, one large hand flattening against the door panel.

Alarm jolted through her, and she turned to face him. A swift, frantic throbbing awakened in her throat and wrists and the backs of her knees. He was standing much too close, his long, hard body nearly touching hers. She shrank against the wall, away from the sheer force of his masculine presence. When she brought herself to look up into his cool green eyes, he smiled.

A dangerous smile.

“Before you leave,” he said softly, “I have some advice for you. It’s not safe for a young woman to wander alone through the hotel. Don’t take such a foolish risk again.”

Poppy stiffened a little. “It’s a reputable hotel,” she said. “I have nothing to fear.”

“Of course you do,” he murmured. “You’re looking right at it.”

And before she could think, or move, or breathe, he bent his head and took her mouth with his.

Stunned, Poppy went motionless beneath the soft, burning kiss, so subtle in its demand that she wasn’t aware of the moment her own lips parted. His hands came to her jaw, cradling, angling her face upward. She felt him taste her with a gently searching stroke, in a kiss more intimate than anything she had ever known. And with a stranger.

She lifted her hands to push him away, but he put his arms around her, bringing her body fully against his, and the feel of him was hard and richly stimulating. Her skin turned hot, oversensitive, excited nerves craving the cool glide of his fingertips along her throat.

With every breath, she drew in an enticing scent, an incense of amber and musk, starched linen and male skin. She should have struggled in his arms . . . but his mouth was so tenderly persuasive, erotic, imparting messages of peril and promise. He tasted her again, deeper this time, and then his lips slid to her throat. He hunted for her pulse, working his way downward, layering sensations like silken gauze until she shivered and arched away from him. “Don’t,” she said weakly.

The stranger gripped her chin carefully, forcing her to look at him. They both went still. As Poppy met his searching gaze, she saw a flash of baffled animosity, as if he had just made some unwelcome discovery.

He let go of her with great care and opened the door. “Bring it in,” he told the maid, who waited at the threshold with a large silver tea tray.

The servant obeyed quickly, too well-trained to evince curiosity about Poppy’s presence in the room.

The man went to retrieve Dodger, who had fallen asleep in his chair. Returning with the drowsy ferret, he gave it to Poppy. She took Dodger with an inarticulate murmur, cradling him against her midriff.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” the maid asked.

“Yes. I want you to accompany this lady to her suite. And come back to inform me when she is safely returned.”

“Yes, Mr. Rutledge.”

Mr. Rutledge?

Poppy felt her heart stop. She looked back at the stranger. Deviltry glittered in his green eyes. He seemed to relish her open astonishment.

Harry Rutledge . . . the mysterious and reclusive owner of the hotel. Who was nothing at all as she had imagined him to be.

Bewildered and mortified, Poppy turned from him. She crossed the threshold and heard the door close, the latch clicking smoothly shut. How wicked he was, to have amused himself at her expense! She consoled herself with the knowledge that she would never see him again.

And she went down the hallway with the housemaid . . . never suspecting that the course of her entire life had just changed.

© Lisa Kleypas. All rights reserved 

A Vampire’s Claim, the third book in Joey W. Hill’s vampire series, will be released by Berkley Trade on 3 March 2009. Read on for an excerpt!

The daughter of two vampires, Lady Daniela is considered aristocracy in the vampire world. Still, she has to fight for what she wants—especially since what she wants is to depose a brutal territory overlord. For that she’ll need the help of Devlin, a handsome, brave human who inflames her desire far more than any man or beast.

Even though she could easily lay her claim and take Dev on as a fully marked servant, she resists the urge—especially since Dev is still tormented by something in his past. But when her enemy makes an unexpected appearance, Dev surprises them both by yielding completely to his feelings for Danny and showing her the devotion of a true servant—until she decides to take his freedom without asking…

***
Lady Daniela has never taken a full human servant. At two hundred years, she’s always put it off, having a bachelor’s attitude toward bonding with another, even an inferior human. Until she meets Dev on her return to her sheep station in Western Australia in 1953. The laconic bushman is a war veteran with the talents to help her reclaim her station from her mother’s lover, who usurped her position there forty years before.

But the more she gets to know him, the more reluctant she is to bind Dev to her in a way that might get him killed. Dev has his own thoughts on the matter, though, and she’ll soon find it’s easier for a vampire to survive in the desert sun than for her to survive without him by her side.

***

EXCERPT

This comes from the second chapter, when Dev and Danny have just met in a hotel pub in an Outback town and Danny has taken him back to her rooms.

The small boardinghouse was nothing fancy, of course, a frame building set up on pilings for air flow. Basically, it served as an alternative to the hotel, which housed mainly single stockmen. But it was clean and they’d tried to create a parlor for guests to play cards or keep one another company. There was even a brace of not-too-dingy lace curtains at the doors leading out to the veranda. Dev watched, bemused, as she slid the meager furniture of sofa and chair against the wall to clear floor space before he could join her to assist. For all she looked so refined and willowy, she was a strong thing.

“Take out your whip,” she said. And without further ado than that, she began to pace back from him, until she was near the opposite wall. Then she started to slip the buttons of her white shirt.

That froze him in place, watching the cleavage evolve into the high white curves of her breasts, like a bird’s wings. And she didn’t wear some practical brassiere bought out of a catalog, like most women he’d known. Her bosom was held in a lacy, transparent garment that not only made it look ready to spill out at any moment, but showed him the soft mudge of mauvenipples. Saliva gathered in the back of his throat as she shrugged out of the shirt. When she loosed her hair, it drifted over the molded cups and swung back over her bare shoulders.

“Come here and take off my boots.”

He moved, even though the commanding tone bothered him some, as if she fully expected to be obeyed. *Don’t make an issue out of it, mate.* Wryly, he suspected that quelling directive had been barked straight from his cock to his floundering brain.

“Lady Daniela.” He wet dry lips. “So you never explained that. Am I with nobility, then?”

“Aristocracy. Nobility is a virtue. I have few of those.”

He let his gaze drift appreciatively. “I’d argue that, my lady.”

When he reached her, she was leaned up against the wall, folding her hands almost demurely beneath the cushion of her backside. Even though the pose lifted those breasts, drew his hungry attention to them, she braced her heel on his thigh, stopping his forward progress. “My boots, Dev. If you’d like to see the rest.”

Picking up her ankle, he slid to the heel to take hold. While she hadn’t said to do it, he also took off the thin sock beneath, his hands whispering along bare skin now, the slope of calf and delicate structure of her ankle, the arch of her foot. Her lips parted, her breath raising those lovely breasts on a trembling sigh. She liked his touch, then. That was good. Because he intended to touch her a lot, for as long as she’d put up with him.

She shifted, placed the other foot high on his thigh again, earning a hungry lunge from his cock contained only by the tough fabric of his moleskins. Once he slid that boot and sock off, she straightened and opened the clasp on her jodhpurs. One teasing wriggle and they slid down her flesh like a waterfall, no resistance from her silky skin. As if she were one of those Roman goddesses, it was like she was meant to stand like this, in an elegant, nearly naked pose. He was all for it.

More lace, more transparent fabric that hiked high on her legs and the delectable arse. He’d bet it was round and soft-looking as a pillow. He was a sucker for a fine arse. He liked all the parts, but that one. He couldn’t get enough of ogling, squeezing, smacking. even buggering. Tina’d always laughed and said she had to keep her back to a wall-

He pulled back, startled by the thought. Lady Daniela glanced up at him. “Something bite you?” That seemed to amuse her for some reason, but there was a serious question in her gaze.

Nothing but memories. But as he well knew, memories did more than bite. They tore, ripped, mutilated.refused to leave you alone-or dead. He wouldn’t care which they did, as long as they’d stop their tormenting.

As if she knew that, she crossed the room, putting that distance between them again. He’d never seen a woman walk like that. Not the exaggerated saunter of a whore, or the self-conscious movements of a modest woman deprived of her clothes. It was the way he imagined a goddess to walk, fully aware of her sexual power, willing to be generous with it if the man was worthy. He wasn’t, but at this point he was willing to beg, as soon as he
could find his tongue. She was giving him a hell of an eyeful, driving coherence away.

High firm tits, arse shifting along just right, smooth pale legs. She was a vat of cream, for sure, and he was the hungry tom who wanted to lick it all up.

“So here’s your chance, bushman.” She posed there, a hand on her hip, cocked provocatively, and tossed her hair back. “Touch me with that whip from the farthest reach possible, without leaving so much as a mark, and I’ll give you everything you want. If you hurt me. I’ll get what I want.” She smiled, unexpectedly. “Of course, it’s all the same really, isn’t it?”

It broke some of the tension, making him chuckle. But as he measured off the pacing he needed, he felt a moment’s uneasiness. There was a reason the stockman’s braided kangaroo hide whip was called his third arm. He had as much control over it as his own limb. But the one appendage Dev didn’t seem to have any control over, his cock, could seriously disrupt that control, and a stockman’s whip could carve a brand in a steer’s hide.

*So focus, damn it. You don’t want to hurt her.*

Or did he? Fleetingly, he wondered if he might cheat a little.just to see what she’d demand of him. The look in her eyes was the way a lioness centered herself before chasing down that helpless buck. He did and didn’t want to do it her way. Some part of him wanted to go to her, bury himself in wet heat, feel the desperate clutch of her hands as he drove her to climax. Because after he exploded inside her, for a short time he could drift in the fantasy of a reality he’d had for too short a time. A reality he’d never have permanently again, because his heart wouldn’t survive its loss twice.

*Stop it.* Control wasn’t only important in the use of the whip. It was what was most important of all. As long as you had it, it implied you had choice. Startled, he realized he’d echoed her words earlier, by the billabong. Control was what was important, above all.

He uncoiled the whip with one deft move of his wrist. “You sure you might not enjoy feeling a touch of pain, my lady?”

“That’s beside the point.” She curled her lip, showing him a flash of her canines, which seemed particularly sharp. “The bet is no pain, or I get to take everything I want.”

He could curl the whip around her body for hours, twirl her in a dance, touch the end of it to any pink fragile part, tease a nipple or the hint of her pretty pussy beneath the gauzy fabric. Or cut a brand into her flank as intricate as he might wish. His cock hardened inexplicably at that thought.

As she posed there, beautiful, statuesque, something far beyond his reach, her blue eyes never left his face. Then she destroyed him by raising her arms above her head so her breasts rose, the skin stretched over her rib cage, making it more defined, vulnerable. She stayed that way, as if her hands were bound from the ceiling, and his blood fired.

The whip sang out, the pop striking right where he intended. A spot high on her perfect right breast, the first place he’d place his lips to soothe the skin. He put enough recoil into the strike that the effect was a bee sting, raising a blush on the skin. No cut, but it definitely hurt. Proving that he could do it without pain, and had made the conscious choice not to do so.

Sometimes he thought his roughness with women, the need to hurt them a little, came from the fact that none of those women was the one he missed so much. But there was a different component to this. Bloody oath, she didn’t even flinch. But he sensed something change in the air as he brought the whip back to him, coiled it up in an efficient movement. If he had to give it a name, he’d say it was a wave of feral satisfaction, emanating from her
like blazing heat.

Holding the whip in a clenched fist, he saw her gaze travel to where his cock was straining against his trousers, then back over every tense muscle in his body. As her attention went up his bare chest, it reminded him of her touch through the bar rag, the way she’d seemed to savor every inch of him.

“I assume you’re a man of your word?” she asked.

“I am.” He found his mouth was dry.

“Take off your shirt.” When he complied, she began to move toward him. As her hips moved like the pendulum of an elegant clock, her breasts quivered in the cradle of that bra. He was sure the underwire beneath the lace was far more unforgiving and cruel than his hands would be. Or maybe not.

She stopped before him, gazed up into his eyes. Dev was unable to move, the proximity of her body to the raging need of his own overwhelming, paralyzing him. “When we’re alone, you may call me Danny,” she said. “All right?”

“Yes, my lady.” He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t comply with it just yet. Maybe he needed her remoteness. Maybe he was afraid that what was inside him would swallow her whole if she left no barriers between them.

“There’s something in your eyes, bushman,” she continued softly, looking up into them. “I want to keep this moment quite real between us. You said you’d let me have anything I want.”

“There’s not much to take, love.” And he was afraid what little there was, he might give her. He’d immersed himself in women before to keep the darkness at bay, but despite the fact this woman looked a handful of years younger than him, it was as if she understood the deep intricacies of the world, how they were heartbreaking beyond bearing. She wasn’t soothing him or telling him to shut it out. Instead she was throwing him a line, making him accept the port she was offering from his storm.

Her hand slid over his on the whip, started to uncoil it again. When he reached for her with his free hand, she caught his wrist, guided it behind him, then the other, the whip still in his grip. Before he could object or try to overpower her, she’d lifted on her toes and brought her mouth to his, pressing those straight-from-Heaven tits against his chest. The bra was so
thin he could feel the pressure of her hardened nipples.

Opening to her, he gave her his tongue, teased her with it, demanded with his lips what his body had to have. He was vaguely aware of her tangling his hands in the whip, and now he’d no objection to her game. Until he felt the kangaroo leather cinch, one shot past painful, and found she’d securely bound his wrists behind him.

She backed away from him then, holding the tail of the whip through his legs. When he started to move forward, she lifted it between them, putting an uncomfortable pressure against his testicles. Her blue eyes had sobered, but he found it somewhat reassuring they still reflected the raging desire he was feeling himself.

“Did you know that when a convict was brought here, sometimes he didn’t even know the length of his sentence?” Her voice had become that sultry murmur again, despite the grim topic. “Perhaps the judges forgot to tell him, or didn’t think him worth the effort. I think that would be the worst part of his lot. Truly helpless to his fate, forced to trust his master to tell him when his release would come.”

He told himself all he needed to do was twist to yank the whip from her. Instead, he remained still, watchful. “You didn’t jump when I marked you. As though you expected it.”

“I did. You don’t do what you’re told, because you want to defy the consequences. Prove you can handle them.” She came back to him then, one step, two.three. Reaching out, she caressed his jaw, then tipped his chin back, slowly, her nails digging in a little. She liked using her claws. A further tip, straining his neck some, a deeper gouge of those sharp edges.
“Plus, I trusted you. Can you trust me?”

Her breath was on his flesh, near the artery pulsing in his throat. For some reason Dev heard his blood pounding through it, his ears, his chest, as if rushing water was closing in on him.

“I doubt it.”

Fabulous author Roxanne St. Claire was kind enough to send us some excerpts before she left to go out of town. AKA she will not respond to this till she returns… I think… who know what the hell she and Kresley Cole are up too. Still don’t know about the pictures but lucky for you if you like the excerpts you can go pick up the book. And today is even a holiday woot!

Now You Die (The Bullet Catchers, Book 6) by Roxanne St. Claire

TLT: Author’s Pick, Favorite Scene #3:

Former Bullet Catcher and lone wolf investigator Jack Culver is on a mission. Thirty years ago, an innocent woman was convicted of murder. Jack believes he’s found the real killer — but to take down one of the highest legal authorities in the land, he needs access. Serious access. Unfortunately, the one person he knows with that kind of power is his ex-boss and ex-lover, the woman who still haunts his dreams.

Bullet Catchers owner Lucy Sharpe realizes she’s being used for her connections, and she intends to use Jack Culver right back. She’s determined to see justice served, even if that means partnering with the man who once found his way past her iron shields. This time, she’ll be strong enough to avoid Jack’s persuasive touch.

But when passion flares, and they become the killer’s target, Lucy and Jack don’t just break some rules — they shatter them. And that means risking everything: their jobs, their hearts…and their lives.

She handed him the phone and towel and stepped backwards into the spray, dropping her head back to let the water rinse her hair. “So, what do you think of that?” The utter nonchalance of the gesture, and the way her raised arms lifted her breasts kicked him hard.

He reached around the shower door and set the phone and towel on the counter. “I think Dan’s the last person I would have expected to help my cause.”

“Why?” she asked, turning from him to raise her face to the spray, first leaning out to finish her thought. “We’re all on the same team.”

He watched the water cascade down the veil of black hair so long that when she dropped her head back like that, the ends grazed the dimples right above a perfectly shaped ass.

In his boxers, his cock grew hard.

“I had a feeling his Washington connections would help us,” she said, patting the wall for the soap. “And you should be glad. It supports your theory.”

He stripped off the boxers and let them fall to the wet tile, getting right up behind her and under the water.

“I am glad,” he said in her ear, over her slight gasp of surprise as he reached around and closed his hands over her breasts, his palms aching at the sweet hardness of her nipples. “That you are the woman in this shower, and I am the man with you.”

She turned slowly, blinking away water. “Just in case there’s any question, Jack Culver, the man we just talked to on the phone is and always has been my friend.”

“I know–”

“And that’s all.” She put her hands into his now wet hair and pulled his face a little closer to hers. “And I have never shared anything with him about my life. Or my past.”

Fire and relief and need shot low in his belly. “Good,” he growled as he lowered his mouth to kiss her. “I want to be the only one.”

There. He admitted it. He pushed her against the shower wall and seized her waist, gripping her ribcage to hoist her off the ground. “You got that, Luce? The…only…one.”

“Jack–”

He shut her up with another kiss, lifting her just high enough to position his erection between her legs. The only one, his brain screamed. The only one who kissed Lucy and filled Lucy and loved Lucy Sharpe.

Biting her lip, sucking her tongue, he forced her higher against the wall, the water sluicing down his back, adding heat to what was already incendiary.

He hissed a breath between clenched teeth as the head of his cock wedged into her swollen flesh.

She writhed against him, arching her back, taking him deeper with a sweet, strangled plea.

The only one.

Holding her under her arms, he braced his legs on the slippery tile and plunged to the hilt, back bowing as he howled to the ceiling, crazy and helpless and lost in the pleasure.

The only one.

Opening his eyes, he met her scorching gaze, her lips parted around desperate breaths. He devoured her mouth, clutching her ass, forcing her legs to wrap his hips, pumping her right into the wall, both of them lost and desperate and on the very edge of insanity.

The only one.

Her legs clutched as she came, her beautiful, sweet womanly envelope pulsed, and every drop of anything in him slammed his balls into a knot.

The absolutely only fucking one. Ever. Ever.

He grunted as the first blast of wicked hot release gripped him like a burning fingers and squeezed. Water blinded him as he rammed harder and faster, about to detonate.

“Jack. Wait. Don’t. Not inside me.”

Yes inside you.

“No, please, please.”

His grunt turned to a groan of pain as he dug down to the depths for the power to pull out.

Somehow, he dragged his length from her body. Grinding his shaft against her mound, he came hard over her stomach, the water washing away each heavy spurt as he shot and shot and shot until there was nothing left in him.

The water grew luke warm. They slid down the wall to the wet tiles. Their strangled breaths evened out.

And Lucy cupped her hands on his face and forced him to look into her eyes.

“You are the only one,” she whispered, still trembling. “You are.”

Fabulous author Roxanne St. Claire was kind enough to send us some excerpts before she left to go out of town. AKA she will not respond to this till she returns… I think… who know what the hell she and Kresley Cole are up too. I am still crossing my fingers we get pictures.

Now You Die (The Bullet Catchers, Book 6) by Roxanne St. Claire

TLT: Author’s Pick, Favorite Scene #2:

Former Bullet Catcher and lone wolf investigator Jack Culver is on a mission. Thirty years ago, an innocent woman was convicted of murder. Jack believes he’s found the real killer — but to take down one of the highest legal authorities in the land, he needs access. Serious access. Unfortunately, the one person he knows with that kind of power is his ex-boss and ex-lover, the woman who still haunts his dreams.

Bullet Catchers owner Lucy Sharpe realizes she’s being used for her connections, and she intends to use Jack Culver right back. She’s determined to see justice served, even if that means partnering with the man who once found his way past her iron shields. This time, she’ll be strong enough to avoid Jack’s persuasive touch.

But when passion flares, and they become the killer’s target, Lucy and Jack don’t just break some rules — they shatter them. And that means risking everything: their jobs, their hearts…and their lives.

He rested a hip on the chair he’d been in, looking down at her. “Let’s just discuss this one last time for posterity, Ms. Sharpe. We were on an assignment together. Shit got messy. Someone tried to attack the principal. I shot the assailant to stop him at the minute Dan moved out of formation, a fact he fully acknowledges. My bullet hit his back. I did not, contrary to popular opinion, misfire to take down the competition.”

She stared up at him, silent for a full ten seconds. “He’s not your competition,” she finally whispered.

“He’s half in love with you.” He realized, instantly, what that said about what he considered ‘competition.’

“He is not half in love with me,” Lucy said, but the words sounded hollow.

“You’re right. He’s all the way gone.”

“He’s not. We’re friends. Very, very good friends.” She slammed the bottle on the end table and squared her shoulders to rise. “Frankly, it’s none of your damn business.” She added an icy look. “We’re finished tonight.”

He stood. “You can’t dismiss me.”

She did the same, not quite as eye-to-eye now that she’d lost her heels. “I just did.”

“Too bad, Luce, cause I’m not ready to leave.” He dropped his gaze, purposefully honing in on her low, low neckline. “I still don’t know if you were telling the truth before.”

Her breasts rose and fell with a steady breath, the nipples straining the flimsy silk that held them.

“Not tonight, Jack.”

“No? Why’s that, Luce? Because whatever black and nasty misery sent you calling for relief and assistance last night isn’t bothering you now?”

Her arm twitched, as though she actually considered slapping him. Instead she just raised her chin, and met his gaze with one that was near-black. “I have different problems. Work problems.”

“Oh, I see. So you want Dan.”

“I don’t want anyone.” She sidestepped him, reaching to snag his jacket from the back of a chair. She held it out, hooked on one finger. “All I want is for you to leave.”

He flipped it off her finger and let it fall to the floor. “I’ll leave when I’m ready.”

“Oh, don’t go all alpha on me, Jack.” She walked a few steps away, the dress swishing with the movement.

The dress that had nothing underneath.

“It’s three in the morning. Go to sleep.” She copped a totally professional voice and picked up a piece of paper from the table as if it suddenly interested her.

He slapped it out of her hands, his blood pumping hard again, but not from lust.

“Sleep? I don’t do that much better than you do.” He put his hands on her shoulders and lifted her closer to him. “You want to know why?”

She just looked at him.

“Because I just roll around in that bed, thinking about you, thinking about that night.” He pulled her one inch closer. “I just sweat and ache and remember.”

“Lucky you to have such nice memories to keep you awake.”

“What the fuck does that mean? They aren’t nice for you?”

“Other things keep me awake,” she said.

“Like what?” Like Dan.

She closed her eyes. “Go.”

“Like what, Lucy?”

She wrested one shoulder, then the other, from him grip. “Go to bed. Roll around and remember. That’s all I can offer you tonight.”

He balled his fists, working hard, so damn hard, to keep from yanking her into his mouth and devouring her. “Do you want to know what I remember?”

“The sex, I imagine.”

He let out a soft, quiet laugh, touching her chin with his index finger, staying close enough to see the tiny blue vein in her throat jump when he did.

“What I remember,” he whispered, “is how you cried.”

“That’s enough,” she said, her voice low and rough.

“You cried, and not because you had the fuck of a lifetime. Not because you came six, seven, nine times all over me like thunderclaps.”

“Stop it.” She mouthed the words, and he refused the order.

“You cried from raw, real, heart-wrenching pain. Secret pain. Some damn dark place that you fall into once in a while and have a really hard time climbing out of.”

She paled, silent now.

“You cried because you hurt so bad and the only thing that could keep you from sinking into that abyss…was me.”

“Are you finished yet?”

“I want to make a point.”

“Fine. Make it and leave.”

He leaned closer, inches from her face so he could breathe the words onto her lips. “You don’t want Dan Gallagher when you hurt like that. You want me.”

She lifted her chin, and almost met his lips. “Maybe I did. You want a bottle of booze. We all have our crutches.”

“I don’t want to be a crutch.”

She leveled her gaze, her exotic, tilted eyes so black he could see his own reflected in them. “Too bad. That’s what you were that night.”

The words cracked as hard as if she had lifted her hand and slapped him. He felt…stricken.

“You made your point, Culver.”

“Not yet I didn’t.”

He slid his hands up her arms to her shoulders and pulled her straight into his chest, expecting a fight he didn’t get.

He kissed her fiercely, gripping her into his so completely he could feel every bone and muscle and, God, curve of her body.

She went limp, infuriating him by not responding.

He delved his tongue into her mouth, and she let him, but still didn’t kiss him back. She was stone. Ice. Motionless.

It was worse than a slap. Much, much worse than if she’d squirmed and kicked and screamed for him to stop.

He let go as quickly as he’d started, releasing her, and stepping one inch back. She looked him right in the eyes, her message as clear as if she’d spoken.

“Have you had enough?” she asked, the dull edge in her voice slicing through him.

“Enough?” He slid his hands around her neck, surprised to find it damp with moisture, considering her determination not to feel anything. “Not even close.”

The hook of her halter top snapped in one easy move, and he had it down so fast, she barely had time to gasp. It fell to her waist revealing her firm, sweet, rose-tipped breasts. He could have sworn she arched a little, just to jut those peaks right at him.

“The fact is, Lucy, I could eat you up, swallow you whole, suck the sweat off your skin…”

Her nipples hardened and a slow flush rose on that very skin.

“Then I could tie myself up in this stuff here…” He took two handfuls of hair and dragged his fingers through the silk, grazing the sides of her breasts on the way. “And then I could bury myself all the way inside you until I got good and gone and lost….”

Hands on her hips, he pushed the slippery fabric the rest of the way down her body. He drank in every curve and angle, every shimmery shade of ivory and cream and one skinny strip of sleek ebony pointing straight to the only place in the world he wanted to be.

“And it wouldn’t even be close to enough.”

Fabulous author Roxanne St. Claire was kind enough to send us some excerpts before she left to go out of town. AKA she will not respond to this till she returns… I think… who know what the hell she and Kresley Cole are up too. Maybe we will get pictures *g*

Now You Die (The Bullet Catchers, Book 6) by Roxanne St. Claire

TLT: Author’s Pick, Favorite Scene #1:

Former Bullet Catcher and lone wolf investigator Jack Culver is on a mission. Thirty years ago, an innocent woman was convicted of murder. Jack believes he’s found the real killer — but to take down one of the highest legal authorities in the land, he needs access. Serious access. Unfortunately, the one person he knows with that kind of power is his ex-boss and ex-lover, the woman who still haunts his dreams.

Bullet Catchers owner Lucy Sharpe realizes she’s being used for her connections, and she intends to use Jack Culver right back. She’s determined to see justice served, even if that means partnering with the man who once found his way past her iron shields. This time, she’ll be strong enough to avoid Jack’s persuasive touch.

But when passion flares, and they become the killer’s target, Lucy and Jack don’t just break some rules — they shatter them. And that means risking everything: their jobs, their hearts…and their lives.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He tilted his head the other way, as if he were trying to decide which way the kiss would feel better.

Any way would work. “I forgot what you asked.”

“Why did you summon me in the middle of the night, Ms. Sharpe?”

“To see the scene of the crime,” she said.

“You’re lying. You want me to kiss you.”

“That’s quite an assumption.” It just happened to be true.

He grinned, his teeth white against olive skin and black whiskers, his eyes glinting with an evil, dangerous glimmer. “But I notice that this time when I have you up against a wall there’s no threat to kick my balls from here to kingdom come.” He inched closer. Warmer. Almost touching her from top to toe, exactly what she needed.

“The implied threat is always there.”

He laughed softly. “You do want me to kiss you.”

“What I want,” she said with remarkable control, “is for you to show me the precise spot where Wanda’s body was found, so I can figure out if it was even marginally possible to fire a gun from this angle and kill her.”

He hesitated, still studying her mouth, still considering his move. “I already checked. It isn’t, marginally or otherwise.”

“Yes it is.” She put her hands on his chest – rock hard and pumping with the same accelerated heartbeat as hers – and pushed him back, turning. “A twenty-five caliber Raven Arms could easily hit her from here.” She pointed to a spot directly across from the gate. “And it would look like the point black shot that killed her, especially to a jury predisposed to a guilty verdict.”

“It could, if that’s where her body was.”

He took her hand and guided her away from the wall, taking about ten steps to the other side of the gate, into an even darker corner of the graveyard. “That’s where her body was found.” He pointed into the alley to a spot about fifteen feet away from the original. “But that wasn’t in the official report submitted into evidence. No point blank range, by anyone’s definition. Remember, Lucy. Evidence was tampered with by the real killer.”

She considered that, lifting her finger to take aim, imagining the moment someone shot Wanda Sloane. “If that’s really where she died, then someone inside this graveyard couldn’t have fired the gun. But you can’t see the whole alley. Someone else could have been out there.”

“Someone named Higgins. Or did you forget what brought you to Charleston in the first place?”

She noted the edge in his voice, which reminded her of how personal this was to him.

“I’m just looking at the evidence, Jack. I haven’t convicted our target yet.”

Another bit of distant conversation floated over the wall that separated them from the alley, along with enough footsteps to tell them a much larger group was coming their way. He backed her into the wall and covered her, pressing his full body against hers.

The laughter and talk grew louder, but the sound took a back seat to the thrum of Lucy’s heartbeat, and the devil who put his lips to her ear and whispered, “Stay real quiet now.”

“In 1987, a local amateur photographer took a photo of that headstone right there…” The voice of the ghost tour guide bounced off the alley behind them and footsteps grew louder.

Against her stomach, she could feel the bulge of him growing hard, and the pressure of his chest against hers. He took her face in his hands, brushing her lips with both thumbs, angling her head as if he wanted it in exactly the right place to fit under his mouth.

“Kiss me now.” He breathed the command on her lips, so close she could almost taste him.

Behind them, the tour guide droned. “In that photograph, the translucent image of a mother and her child on the anniversary of that child’s death appeared before that headstone.”

The words walloped her, drawing a slight gasp that he mistook for a yes. Instantly, his mouth met hers and he tunneled his fingers deeper into her hair, moving, his lips open, hungry, hot, his tongue already taking ownership of hers.

Forget. Just forget. Let go.

She listened to that demanding inner voice, sucking on his tongue, drawing a low, soft moan from his chest and a rock of his hips against hers, his erection already hard enough to send a wicked thrill between her legs.

He still held her head in his large, warm hands, holding her like she was precious and he adored her, like the kiss mattered more than anything, and that was so perfect and sexy that Lucy let go, and forgot everything.

He closed his hands over her neck and throat, then raked them flat down her chest, his mouth following with a trail of kisses, his palms covering and closing over her breasts.

“Jack,” she breathed his name.

“Shhhh,” he murmured into the flesh of her neck and collarbone. “Don’t let them hear us. They’ll think we’re ghosts.”

He kneaded her gently, rolling his hard-on against her, pulling a soft moan of sheer delight from deep inside her.

“But the most famous moment in Philadelphia Alley history was on a hot August night in 1771, when two local businessmen dueled to the death on this very spot.”

Behind them, more death. More talk. She arched and offered herself in response.

He kissed her again, moving one hand around to cup her backside and the other sliding under her sweater, fingers on her stomach.

“I have to touch you,” he murmured. “Have to.” His little exhale of desperation shot fire between her legs as he caressed the satin of her bra, her head singing with blood and arousal.

“No pearls,” he mumbled. Nonsense. Blood-pounding, body-wrenching, juice-inducing nonsense. She matched his quickening rhythm against her, spurred by his hands and his hardness and how it made everything disappear. He curled his fingers over the peak, tweaking her into a nub, half chuckling and half groaning at her instant response. “One pearl.”

She had no idea what he was talking about, but it didn’t matter. She’d lost control at the first kiss, and right then, nothing mattered. She could come like this. She could absolutely lose it against this wall, body humping Jack hidden only by a wall and light fog. She could –

“What about the other murder that took place here?”

The woman’s voice sliced through Lucy’s conscious, the question jarring, the voice strident. His fingers froze. Her hips stilled. They both stopped breathing.

~~~~

I’ve never written a love triangle before, and didn’t set out to, quite honestly. But then, I didn’t set out for NOW YOU DIE, the third book in the Bullet Catchers 2008 trilogy (and the sixth in the overall series) to be the book it is. When I proposed the trilogy, the three heroines were going to be three sisters, separated at birth in a black market adoption scheme.

Trouble started on the first page of the first book. A character, Jack Culver, was introduced, his role was to be the “glue” that held the trilogy story arc together. He was never meant to be a hero, never meant to rock my little series on its side.

But, damn, he was powerful. And the first thing that SOB did was torque Lucy Sharpe, the leader of the Bullet Catchers and reveal to me, the poor unknowing author, that those two had a chemistry galore. And conflict. And tension.

As I wrote the first two books in the series, the chemistry ignited and the conflict deepened and the tension got so thick….I changed the whole concept for the third book. In the process, I may have broken a few reader’s hearts, since Dan Gallagher, a fan favorite Bullet Catcher, was always sort of set up to be Lucy’s love, in whatever would be the final book in the series.

But my muse or my characters or my whatever the hell makes writers tick thought differently. NOW YOU DIE is a very different book than I first proposed. It’s Lucy’s book, but not the last in the series. It’s not the third sister of the missing triplets, but she’s in the story. It’s the first time I’ve had characters deal with a bit of a love triangle, and that’s not anything like what I expected it would be. Those surprises, I suppose, is why being a writer is a really fun job.

There are excerpts from the beginning of the book on my web site. For GBU, I’ve picked three of my favorite scenes, the ones that show, I hope, why these two couldn’t be anything but…together.

Enjoy!!!

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?”

Seduce Me at Sunrise by Lisa Kleypas. Releases 30 Sep 08 from St. Martin’s (paperback), the historical you have been waiting for…

Kev Merripen, a Gypsy with mysterious origins, is in love with Winnifred Hathaway, a former invalid who now wants to live fully and without reserve. But Win is being pursued by the handsome doctor who helped her to get well. In this scene, Merripen interrupts a rendezvous right outside a glittering ballroom. . .

Together, Julian Harrow and Win stared at the intruder.It was Merripen, of course, huge and dark and aggressive as he strode toward them.Win’s jaw sagged in disbelief. Merripen had followed her out here? She felt like a hunted creature. For heaven’s sake, was there no place she could evade his outrageous stalking?“Go . . . away,” she said, enunciating each word with scornful precision. “You are not my chaperon.”

“You should be with your chaperon,” Merripen snapped. “Not here with him.”

Win had never found it so difficult to master her emotions. She shoved them back, closing them behind an expressionless face. But she could feel the temper seething impatiently inside her. Her voice shook only a little as she turned to Julian. “Would you be so kind as to leave us, Dr. Harrow? There is something I must settle with Merripen.”

Julian glanced from Merripen’s set face to hers. “I’m not sure I should,” he said slowly.

“He’s been plaguing me all evening,” Win said. “I’m the only one who can put a stop to it. Please allow me a moment with him.”

“Very well.” Julian stood from the bench. “Where shall I wait for you?”

“Back in the drawing-room,” Win replied, grateful that there was no argument from Julian. Clearly he respected her, and her abilities, enough to allow her to manage the situation. “Thank you, Dr. Harrow.”

She was barely aware of Julian’s departure, she was so focused on Merripen. She stood and went to him with a furious scowl. “You are driving me mad,” she exclaimed. “I want you to stop this, Kev! Do you have any idea how ridiculous you’re being? How badly you’ve behaved tonight?”

“I’ve behaved badly?” he thundered. “You were about to let yourself be compromised.”

“Perhaps I want to be compromised.”

“That’s too bad,” he said, reaching out to grip her upper arm, preparing to haul her from the conservatory. “Because I’m going to make certain you stay safe.”

“Don’t touch me!” Win wrenched free of him, incensed. “I’ve been safe for years. Tucked safely in bed, watching everyone around me enjoying their lives. I’ve had enough safety to last a lifetime, Kev. And if that’s what you want, for me to continue to be alone and unloved, then you can go to the devil.”

“You were never alone,” he said harshly. “You’ve never been unloved.”

“I want to be loved as a woman. Not as a child, or a sister, or an invalid—”

“That’s not how I—”

“Perhaps you’re not even capable of such love.” In her blazing frustration, Win experienced something she had never felt before. The desire to hurt someone. “You don’t have it in you.”

Merripen moved through a shaft of moonlight that had slipped through the conservatory glass, and Win felt a little shock as she saw his murderous expression. In just a few words she managed to cut him deeply, enough to open a vein of dark and furious feeling. She fell back a step, alarmed as he seized her in a brutal grip.

He jerked her upward. “All the fires of hell could burn for a thousand years and it wouldn’t equal what I feel for you in one minute of the day. I love you so much there is no pleasure in it. Nothing but torment. Because if I could dilute what I feel for you to the millionth part, it would still be enough to kill you. And even if it drives me mad, I would rather see you live in the arms of that cold, soulless bastard than die in mine.”

Before she could begin to comprehend what he’d said, and all the implications, he took her mouth with savage hunger. For a full minute, perhaps two, she couldn’t even move, could only stand there helplessly, falling apart, every rational thought dissolving.

© Lisa Kleypas. All rights reserved

Superb and Sexy (Sky High Air, Book 3) by Jill Shalvis, will be released 27 May 08 by Brava. This is the third in a trilogy of sexy, funny Romantic Suspense about a trio of pilots. The other books in the series are Smart and Sexy and Strong and Sexy (see Sybil’s review).

We have TWO ARC’s to give away… and we will on Thursday 4/24/08 at noon CST. Tell us why we should pick you. And yes you have to review it… don’t you think?

You can read the first excerpt we put up here. And there is an exclusive excerpt below… enjoy!

**E-X-C-L-U-S-I-V-E**E-X-C-E-R-P-T**

“Brody.”

“Maddie,” he replied with shocking calm. A furious calm if she wasn’t mistaken, but still.

“I’m on leave of absence,” she reminded him, not telling him that it looked like it might be permanent. Hell, she could hardly think it, much less say it out loud. “As in I’m not currently working for you. So what’s happening in my life is none of your business.”

“That might have been true a few minutes ago. But now we’re apparently married, so—“

“Stop it.”

“No, you stop it.” Yes, definitely fury. “What the hell is this all about, Maddie? Who was that asshole on the phone?”

She wasn’t moved by much, but him standing there in that tall, muscled package, wrapped by all that raw and dangerous male beauty made her swallow hard. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

Try him? That had been her greatest fantasy, up until Leena had shown up and Maddie’s entire world of glass had shattered. Before that, she’d wanted to try him every which way possible, but that was going to be just a fantasy now, a remote one. She reached for the front door, but before she could open it, he placed his hand on the wood, effortlessly holding it closed above her head.

Facing the door, she eyeballed his arm, taut with strength. The fingers of his hand were spread wide. He had long fingers, scarred from all the planes he’d rebuilt. They were capable fingers, always warm, and the clincher . . . they knew how to touch. He’d held her face that time she’d kissed him, and if she closed her eyes she could still feel them on her jaw. She’d spent a lifetime schooling herself against feeling too much, against giving away too much of herself, especially to men. But the men she’d been with didn’t make her nerves sing and her pulse jump by just looking at them.

Brody did.

“Maddie.”

“It was nice of you to visit. But as you can see, now’s not a good time.”

He lifted his hand and traced a finger over the exit wound on the back of her shoulder. “Are you feeling okay?”

She loved his touch. Way too much. “Yes.” Unfortunately, the man was a virtual mule when he wanted to be, unmovable, staunch in his opinions. On her best day she might have gone toe to toe with him no problem, using that voice of honey she’d perfected, her smile of ice and the argumentative skills she’d honed well over the years. She was every bit as stubborn as he, and she would have won, she’d have seen to it.

But this wasn’t her best day, not by far. In fact, it was quickly gearing up to be one of her top three worst ever. “Don’t make me kick your ass out of here.”

“I think I can take you.”

With a sigh, she dropped her forehead to the door and just breathed. Not easy with well over six feet of solid warm muscle encroaching the personal space behind her.

And he was encroaching.

Not that her body minded. Nope, it had apparently disengaged from her brain and was making a break for freedom.

© Jill Shavis Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

We have a number of Lynne Connolly fangirls around here, so I know they are pleased to hear about Icefire, releasing from Ellora’s Cave 3rd May 2008. This is the second in the Pure Wildfire series. Read about Sunfire here (reviewed by Nikki), then read on for a sneak peek at the sequel.

     Ryan Hawthorne, brother of Aidan, the hero of Sunfire, is in New York with the band, promoting the release of their second studio album. While he’s there, he plans to uncover the person who killed his lost love Maria, five years ago. The death was attributed to a drugs overdose, but Ryan’s always had his doubts.

     He meets Maria’s stepsister Gia (Angelina) who has always hated the band for corrupting and ultimately killing her sister. However she is forced to rethink her assumptions when she meets Ryan. Together they try to uncover the PHR cell that is still persecuting the band Pure Wildfire, but in doing so they discover a lot more.

**E-x-c-e-r-p-t**

Gina is at a Pure Wildfire concert, the guest of an old childhood friend, Sonny, who now roadies for the band. Ryan Hawthorne was with Gina’s stepsister Maria when she died and Gina has always blamed him for introducing her to the drugs that killed her.

When lead guitarist Splinter let himself ease into the music, his concentration was so intense she could almost feel it.

He closed his eyes and spread his legs in the typical rock god stance but Gina felt the rightness of it. He wasn’t posing for anyone, not at this moment, he didn’t want to lose his balance while he played. With his wife Corinne on the other side of the stage, buoying and supporting him with carefully balanced and timed chords and notes, Splinter exploded.

The torrent of notes, carefully chosen, as carefully as the spaces in between, flowed from him, his guitar as much a part of him as his arms or legs, as integral a part of his expression. Sweat poured off his body, drenching the t-shirt that was all he wore on his upper body and it wasn’t from overheating, it was from sheer concentration. Three bars in, he closed his eyes and the lighting darkened to a spot, pure blue, illuminating him, leaving the rest of the band in shadow. Unlike many other bands, they didn’t take the opportunity to take a drink or towel off. Each member of the band stood still, unless they were adding accents to Splinter’s solo and she knew the admiration on their faces wasn’t in any way faked.

The intensity wasn’t something she expected in a rock concert. Energy yes, noise, yes but not this concentrated onslaught of emotion.

As the spotlight widened, taking in other members of the band and they began to drift back in to the music, she opened her eyes wide, then closed them hard, a trick she’d learned long ago to stop inconvenient tears falling.

And opened them, right on to the speculative, sharp gaze of Ryan Hawthorne. He wouldn’t be able to see her, not really, she assured herself.

She looked away but she’d felt the contact and it couldn’t be undone. She felt naked, open, just for a moment. That was why she avoided meeting eyes unless she had shielded herself, prepared for the encounter. Whoever said eyes were windows on the soul was right. She looked deep inside Ryan Hawthorne and caught an amazed, vulnerable, open soul for a second, or perhaps even less. Then he turned away, his whole body pivoting in the other direction and took his microphone from a roadie. Just an illusion. It had to be.

Unnerved, Gina watched the rest of the concert with a stillness and concentration she hadn’t been able to muster before. Every note struck something deep inside her, something she hadn’t even been aware of before tonight, or something she had willfully ignored. She wasn’t sure.

An hour and a half into the set, Splinter and Ryan took stools at the front of the stage but before they began, Ryan looked straight at her. Or seemed to.

Ramps were set around the stage and across the boarded-over orchestra pit for the band to use and while the rest of the band had occupied the one close to her seat and one time or another, Ryan had avoided it, or not used it. Now he didn’t.

He walked slowly up the ramp, Splinter playing a gentle riff that announced the tune and to her horror, Gina recognized it as the song Ryan had written for Maria, Tearing Me Apart.

Ryan held out his hand to her. She swallowed and looked up at him.

His expression now was completely controlled, the deeper emotions masked, a query in his eyes. She could refuse him but that would be the act of a coward. And besides, something inside her urged her to go to him, as he evidently wanted.

Behind him, Splinter played on. Taking a deep breath, she leaned up and took his hand. “Come up,” he said softly, so softly she couldn’t hear him, only follow the shape of his sensual mouth.

One of the security staff lifted her and she scrambled over the low barrier separating them, sliding from the edge into his arms.

He released her as soon as she’d steadied but not before she felt his astonishing steely strength. Who would have imagined such a slender-seeming man would be so strong? When she looked closer, she saw muscles bunch as he turned away, his hand in hers, to lead her to the stools.

Time slowed, as he seated her next to the guitarist, then began the song. She knew many bands did this, drew a member of the audience into a song and her seat was conveniently close. But however much she told herself This is a gimmick, a device, she couldn’t separate her professional self from the vulnerable woman underneath.

She tried not to listen, tried to keep the smile fixed on her face, the blank expression in her eyes. But she couldn’t. Ryan had evoked Maria perfectly in the song—her fragility, her gentleness, her touching naïveté. Her image—slight, blonde, ethereally pretty—swam before Gina’s eyes.

Damn, when had she started to cry? Tears spilled over her eyes and ran down her cheeks, two big, fat tears the spotlight would only emphasize. The man taking video shots for the band knelt in front of them and she knew the camera would magnify her distress tenfold. She couldn’t use her trick of squeezing her eyes tightly closed, because anyone watching the video would see it and know. So she forced her sight past the tears misting her eyes and gazed at Ryan. Right into his eyes.

Shock lanced between them and although she didn’t jerk with the impact, it was a close-run thing. Constantly aware that thousands of strangers watched her, she used Ryan as a focus, a way of keeping her eyes dry and her expression bland.

Except he seemed emotional too. He’d sung this song many times, how could he keep the emotion so raw, so new? But he did. She saw it. The psychic ability she preferred to ignore connected them in a way she’d never meant. Her ability amounted to a sensitivity, strong intuition, that was all but sometimes it focused itself more than she wanted. Useful sometimes in her work, mostly it was just a fucking nuisance.

Like now. She wanted to hate Ryan Hawthorne for the life he led, that had led Maria into losing her life but she knew it must go both ways. She doubted Ryan held Maria down and shot that poison into her veins. Maria took that decision all by herself. She didn’t want to know that. This was what she had been afraid of when her father gave her the job, her emotions coming back, the agony she felt at the time returning to haunt her.

Now she saw something worse in Ryan. The agony had never left him. He felt it still, the pain fresh in his eyes.

He sang to her, her alone and while she ached for him, she recognized his gift, rare in the music world, of shrinking a huge theater to the size of Ryan Hawthorne and one other. Every woman in that theater knew for sure that person was herself.

“I’ll love you always and forever

Until the pain in me subsides.”

When he stopped, she heard it, the sound more awesome than the roaring of approval, or the applause of thousands of people.

Silence, absolute and complete. For the duration of one second, maybe two. She’d heard it before and it was always the indication of something great, something so deeply moving that people needed to regain their senses and remember they were individuals and not a single entity.

Then the applause came. A great roar, until Gina thought her ears would ring for evermore. Ryan held out his hand, like some old-world gentleman and she let him help her off the stool. He took her to the side of the stage where Sonny stood grinning like a loon, holding a towel and a bottle of beer.

Ryan leaned towards her, pitching his voice below the decibels. She heard him perfectly. “It might seem like a gimmick but I need to sing that song to one person, if I’m going to get it right. And you—you remind me of someone I once knew.” Gina’s heart sank. She knew who. “Look,” Ryan said, “It sounds like a line but it isn’t. Will you come backstage afterward? I’d like to talk to you.”

She opened her mouth but couldn’t get any words out. She closed it again and nodded. Oh yes, she’d be there all right but as his publicist, not a groupie or a quick fuck.

She turned to Sonny and glared, daring him to say anything. Sonny winked. Ryan glanced at him and then did the oddest thing. He lifted her hand to his mouth and deposited a gentle kiss on the palm. And Gina felt as if he’d reached into her soul. With that simple touch he’d contacted a part of her she was barely aware of, a place she had no name for and no way of explaining. Such an old-fashioned gesture from a wild child!

Ryan walked back on to the stage. The stage he owned, at least for tonight.

Sonny touched her shoulder waking her from her reverie and she let him take her away from the noise, back to a small corridor. “Hey, I can’t wait to see Ryan’s face when he realizes who you are!” He sniggered.

“Don’t you dare tell him, Sonny. I want to tell him myself.”

She wanted to spare Ryan any ridicule or shock, feeling she owed him that, at least, for the connection to a woman they had both loved, in very different ways. The woman, she reminded herself, who Ryan had seduced and led into a life totally unsuited to her.

The woman he’d killed.

Topaz Delirium by Lynne Connolly
Contemporary Erotic Romance eBook coming soon from Loose ID (late April 2008)

Topaz Delirium is part of the Department 57 series. After you’ve read our exclusive excerpt, you can find out about the earlier (and currently unavailable) books here and meet the heroes of Dept 57 here.

Top fashion model and Dept 57 agent, Svetlana Yevchenko, is in Paris for the couture Fashion Week. She is principal model at the House of Lebec, and his new perfume, Topaz Delirium is named for her (Topaz is her model name). She has been in love with Jasper for years, but he never has serious relationships with anyone.
However, when one of the models, a Talent, is murdered, Svetlana and Jasper work together on the operation to close down the factory that is producing the poison that is killing Talents.
Svetlana finds out far more than she ever suspected about Jasper. But with a curse attached to him, Jasper doesn’t feel he can take the chance of loving her.

After a show, in which one of the models collapsed and died, Svetlana and Jasper have dinner together. They have discussed the coming Department 57 operation, and have carefully avoided their mutual attraction.

The Excerpt:

Jasper gazed down at his plate. “Is there something wrong with the food? It came from my usual service, which is generally reliable, but it seems to taste of very little tonight.”

Svetlana forced herself to lift a morsel to her mouth and concentrate on tasting. This was the first real meal she’d had all week, so she should really have more appetite. “It’s fine. Better than fine.”

He considered his plate, his head tilted to one side, his invariable habit when thinking about something. “Perhaps I’m not in the mood for it.” He shoved his plate aside and reached for his glass. “It gives me pleasure to see you eat, though. So many models never eat at all.” He toasted her, lifting his glass. His lips quirked in a smile though the look in his eyes remained distant. “I’ll design for real women. With curves.”

“Isn’t that more difficult?”

He shrugged and tilted his chin up in an arrogant gesture. “I am Jasper Lebec. I can do it. It’s true that breasts disturb a drape or break up a sweep of pattern, but I’ll make breasts fashionable if I can.”

She forced another mouthful down. “So why do you think many women have breast augmentations?”

“A different market. Less refined.” His gaze sharpened. “You haven’t had such an abomination, have you?”

She laughed. “No. You’d have noticed, in any case.”

He put his empty glass down on the fine linen tablecloth. “So I would. I see you naked several times every season. But it’s just business. In the atelier, you’re another shape to challenge me, that’s all.” He opened his mouth but closed it again without saying anything. Abruptly he got up from the table and tossed his crumpled napkin down by his plate. “Would you like some dessert? It’s something with raspberries, I believe.”

Svetlana recognized the gesture; Jasper was getting too close to revealing his true feelings, so he changed the subject and broke eye contact. Her naked body disturbed him, did it? Was it that, or the thought of her stripping for Hugo Berthier? Tough shit. He was sending here there, after all so he’d have to suck it up. “I don’t want any dessert. You’ll have to take my word for it, Jasper. I don’t starve myself; I’m just not hungry tonight.” She couldn’t take any more.

She had to leave. She wanted Jasper so much; her pussy was wet and ready for him already, dampening her panties under the severe blue skirt. Her thoughts were too disturbing, too close to the surface, and Jasper’s powerful Talent would discern them before too long if she didn’t leave now.

“Too late,” he murmured, so quietly she had to strain to hear him. He turned around to face her.

The expression in his silver eyes was nothing like she was used to. Hot, passionate, and desirous. Needy. He spoke to her, in words throbbing with sincerity. “I want you so much, it burns me every time I look at you.” He paused, and she stared back, stunned. “What, you can’t take the truth? Shall I send for your car?”

She shook her head. “Why, Jasper?”

“Why what? Why do I want you? God knows.”

“Jasper?” If they wanted each other, if he’d wanted her all this time she’d wanted him, why hadn’t he said anything? Was he afraid of commitment, perhaps? She had no idea. She couldn’t read him unless he let her in, and his face remained impassive apart from the fire in his eyes.

He lifted his hand, only to drop it again, the movement jerky, so unlike his usual elegant, considered gestures. “Every time I look at you, I want you with a despair that eats at my soul.”

“Why haven’t you come to me before?” She wasn’t hearing this; she couldn’t be.

He shook his head. “Too many reasons. But, Svetlana, we can have tonight.”

As I mentioned two weeks ago and again last Saturday, our head duck, Sybil, was able to wrangle this exclusive excerpt of Kresley Cole‘s 20 May 08 release, Dark Desires After Dusk, book 5 in her Immortals After Dark series.  It’s the story of Cadeon Woede, a rage demon, and his human fated mate, Holly Ashwin.  I can’t wait!

Read on for Chapter 3 of the excerpt.  It’s the last one!  (sniff – I’m gonna miss it)

First the blurb…

     A seductive beauty he can never have, yet can’t resist… Cadeon Woede of the rage demons will stop at nothing to atone for the one wrong that will haunt him forever. But once he secures the key to his redemption, the halfling Holly Ashwin, Cade finds that the woman he thought he could use for his own ends and then forget haunts him as much as his past.

     A tormented warrior she should fear, but can’t deny… Raised as a human, Holly Ashwin never knew that some frightening legends are real until she encounters a brutal demon who inexplicably guards her like a treasure. Thrust into a sensual new world of myth and power, with him as her protector, she begins to crave the demon’s wicked touch.

     Surrender to dark desires. Yet just when he earns Holly’s trust, will Cade be forced to betray the only woman who can sate his wildest needs-and claim his heart?

****  E – X – C – E – R – P – T  ****

Chapter 3

Holly turned and hunched to button the shirt, peering over her shoulder to keep this Cadeon in sight.

She remembered meeting him before. As if she could ever forget those stunning green eyes. She recalled his accent as well-it sounded like some type of British colonial, and he spoke with an unusual intonation.

Months ago, he’d approached her on campus. Initially he’d been cocky, then grew tongue-tied, stammering, even as he’d boldly studied her figure.

She’d found him weird. And that was before she’d known what had been hidden beneath the hat he’d worn.

Now she could see what had been covered by his shirt as well. His bared chest was rippling with muscles, and he wore a wide gold band just above his bulging bicep.

He was as massive as the others, admittedly one of them. She shuddered, trying to block out the sight of the corpses all around her.

But he looked different as well, his facial features appearing more human. His horns ran back along his head through his tawny hair, instead of jutting forward.

How can I see this well without my glasses? “Why should I t-trust you?”

“Because it’s my job to protect you. More will be coming-I’ll explain everything later.”

When she still hesitated, he said, “These twelve were just the first round intended for you.”

“First round?” she cried.

A creaking door sounded from somewhere on a floor above them. He shot to his feet. “Come with me if you want to get out of here alive.”

“Wh-where are we going?”

“We’re going to run for it. I’ll keep you safe, but you’ll have to trust me.” He held out his big hand to her.

Seeing no other choice, she took it, and he pulled her up. She was surprisingly steady on her feet, all things considered. Never relinquishing her hand, he led her out of the chamber, then down a murky stone corridor.

When the passageway intersected with an alcove, they spied a group of three males, robed like the ones before, speaking that same odd language. Cadeon pulled her back against the wall, then whispered directly at her ear, “Don’t make the smallest sound. You stay here until I return for you. Clear?”

She nodded, and he turned back. As he prepared to attack, the broad muscles in his back grew before her eyes. His horns straightened and blackened.

Her lips parted when he lunged for the others. His speed was mind-boggling, and his roar shook the room, paining her sensitive ears. He snatched the horns of one demon and twisted its head until an audible pop sounded.

As he faced off against the other two, his upper and lower fangs shot longer. He used them like an animal as he bit and clawed.

Had she looked that overcome with rage when she’d killed? Her earlier fearlessness disappeared. When his eyes flooded with black like the other one’s had, she shuddered, backing away.

Had she thought him different? I just want to go home. Forget this ever happened. Why should she trust this stranger? I can find my own way out.

Clear of the fray, she hastened in the direction they’d been traveling, eventually stumbling into an open gallery.

More bizarre symbols were stamped into the wooden chairs and stone floor. Ancient-looking tapestries hung from the ceiling. On a display shelf were skulls that looked human, but they had horns and upper and lower fangs.

Then she saw what appeared to be double doors to the outside. If she could get outside, she could find a car or hide-

Rapid gunshots exploded the plaster just feet to the right of her. She sucked in a breath and dared a glance as she ran to her left. Men aimed machine guns at her with deadly intent.

A second man began shooting from the other direction. Bullets riddled the wall on either side of her, closing in. She darted right, then left once more, blocked each way. The sweep grew closer . . . closer.

A foot away on each side. She froze with terror.

A bellow sounded over the gunfire. Cadeon hurdled the line of bullets to get to her. Scooping her up in his arms, he tucked her against his chest. Just as the shots reached them, he pressed her against the wall until his body covered every inch of hers.

He gritted his teeth when the first bullet hit him, unable to turn to run without risking her. She burst into tears. Two bullets, three, four . . .

He stared down at her, those jet eyes seeming to consume her, and grated, “No more . . . running from me. Yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” she whispered brokenly, crying harder every time his big body jerked from the impact.

Over his shoulder, he roared at them, a furious warning growl, and she whimpered. His voice a harsh rasp, he said to her, “No, no, female. Shh.” He petted at her tears with huge fingers tipped with short black claws.

The shots abruptly stopped. Holly peered over Cadeon’s shoulder. The robed demons were attacking the gunmen.

As the others clashed, Cadeon sprinted toward those double doors with her in his arms. He turned in midstride, hitting the doors with his bullet-riddled back, bursting them from their hinges.

Charging out into the night, he made for an older truck parked off to the side of the manor. After opening the groaning cab door, he tossed her inside on the cracked vinyl seat and followed her in. He pinched the key and turned. Nothing.

“Is the battery dead?” she asked, shaking off some of the shock and fog. “Does this thing still run?” Wrappers and crushed cans littered the floorboards.

“Hey, hey, no disrespecting The Truck. She’s gotten me out of a lot of scrapes.” He finessed the gearshift up and back. “I just need to make sure . . . she knows we’re in neutral.” Holly thought she heard a click. “There.”

The engine roared to life. He cast her a patronizing glance as soon as they were tearing up the shell drive.

She peered back at the manor. From the outside, the residence was stately, the grounds immaculate. She would never have guessed what beings lurked in the bowels of that place.

And now she was with another of their kind. She turned to him, studying this being-this . . . demon.

He had blond stubble on his tanned face, and his hair was thick and straight, reaching past his masculine jaw. Uneven strands looked lightened by a life in the sun.

The gold band he wore on his right arm appeared to be permanent, as if he’d have to cut it to get it past that bulging bicep. And those horns . . .

When they’d straightened earlier, they’d become much larger and darker. Now they were smooth, the color of a shell, lying close to his head. With his hair tousled over them, they probably wouldn’t be easy to discern.

“How am I measuring up?” he asked, his voice deep and rumbling.

She flushed. “I’ve just never seen . . . horns before tonight.”

“Figured you’d be in for a shock.”

“Where are we going now?”

“I’ve got to get you out of town,” he said. “This place is too hot for us to stay.”

She noticed blood on the back of his seat. “How are you still moving with all those bullets?”

“With a lot of fucking pain, Holly.”

She gasped, his foul language grating on her like nails on a chalkboard.

“Oh, come on, halfling! My language’s only going to deteriorate from here.”

“I . . . it’s just habit. Are you going to be okay?”

“I should be able to shed them.” When she frowned, he explained, “My skin should push them out when I heal.”

Holly couldn’t scarcely wrap her mind around that. “What did those men want with me? Who were the ones shooting?”

“The gunmen were leeches. Vampires.”

“Vampires,” she said softly, but her mind was screaming, This is insanity!

“They must know you haven’t turned fully immortal yet. Our kinds never use guns, as evidenced by their shite aim.”

She winced at the vulgarity, but managed not to gasp this time. “Again, why?”

“Because you just became the most popular girl in town.”

“What does that mean?” In the stern tone she usually reserved for her students, she added, “This isn’t the time for cryptic answers, Cadeon.”

“This isn’t the time for questions whatsoever, Holly.”

Headlights met them on the drive. An SUV blocked the gated exit.

“Fuckall,” he snapped, wheeling around, spraying up shells. “More vampires.”

She clamped hold of the dashboard to brace herself. “Where are we going now?”

“Only one other way off this property. Into the swamp.”

“How would you know?”

“Been here before.” At her look, he said, “I’ve met with the demons here on occasion. As a representative of my breed.”

“You . . . you fraternized with those animals? Does your ‘breed’ kidnap women as well?”

“Kidnap women? I can hardly keep the chits off the jock as it is, pet.”

Eyes wide, she said, “Chits? Pet? Are you from the nineteenth century or just trying to be misogynistic?”

“I’m from medieval times, and I never have to try to be misogynistic.” He slammed on the brakes, and cranked the four-wheel-drive gear, peering at her hard. “It just comes to me natural, like a gift.” Stomping on the gas once more, he sent her flying back into the seat as they lurched forward, racing over pristine greens.

“Why did they want to hurt me? I’ve never done anything to deserve this!”

“It’s not what you’ve done-it’s what you are.”

“A math instructor?” she said in a strangled tone.

“You’re a Valkyrie now. And a special one at that. Your mum must’ve been one.”

“Valkyrie! My mom was a pie contest winner! And she was human. She died two years ago.”

“Then your biological mother must have been one.”

She was shocked into silence for a moment. How had this demon known she was adopted? “I didn’t even know her.” Holly had always imagined her as a scared teenager who’d had the incredible good sense to leave her baby on the most wonderful doorstep imaginable. Now this demon was saying that her mother was a Valkyrie? “What exactly is a Valkyrie? And how did you know I was adopted?”

“Questions later. Right now we’ve got to get through the swamp.”

The dark line of brush loomed. “I don’t see a road!”

“There’s a service trail,” he said, then added in a casual tone, “It might be a shade grown over.”

“A shade! Are you certain there’s no other way to get out?”

He nodded. “The property’s surrounded by bayou and swamp.”

“What are the odds that we’ll make it through?”

“I give us one in fifteen.”

Her eyes went wide. “I wouldn’t take those odds!”

“You would if there’s zero chance otherwise.”

“Oh, God,” she muttered, feeling around the seat. “Where’s the seatbelt?”

“Broke a few years back.”

“And you didn’t get it fixed?” she snapped.

“Don’t usually ferry around mortals, then!” he thundered back.

Struggling for calm, she said, “Cadeon, I do not see even a hint of a trail.”

“Demon senses. I can find it.” But he pressed his straightened arm over her chest as they closed in.

“Y-you’re not really going in there?”

“Trust me.”

This being had saved her life, had even taken bullets for her, and yet there was something so markedly untrustworthy about him. . . .

He flashed her a rakish grin with barely noticeable fangs. “Though if you’re the praying type, now might be a choice time.”

Hidden by Eve Kenin, new from Shomi out in **July 2008**

Tatiana has honed her genetic gifts to perfection. She can withstand the subzero temperatures of the Northern Waste, read somebody’s mind with the briefest touch, and slice through bone with her bare hands. Which makes her one badass chick, all right. Nothing gets to her.

Until she meets Tristan. Villain or ally, she can’t be sure. But one thing she does know: he has gifts too- including the ability to ramp up her heart rate to dangerous levels. But before they can start some chemistry of their own, they have to survive being trapped in an underground lab, hunted by a madman, and exposed to a plague that could destroy mankind.

Prologue

Sub-basement, Janson Transport Head Office, Port Uranium, January, 2088

Blood had its own scent. Metallic, sharp. Faintly sweet.

Tatiana raised her hand to her cheek, beyond pain, almost beyond thought. There would be more. With Duncan Bane, there was always more.

To make you stronger. To make you invincible. Bane’s justification. And the simple truth. But Tatiana wasn’t like Wizard or Yuriko. She didn’t recover as quickly as her siblings. She bruised easier. Her bones broke where Wizard’s and Yuriko’s bent to absorb the force.

And Bane had been particularly brutal this session.

“Because you are soon to go on your first mission,” he explained in that soft, soft cultured voice, pacing a straight line before the three of them. He paused, touched Tatiana on the shoulder. She shuddered, but knew better than to pull away. “This will ensure that you are ready, that you survive. You”-he spun toward Wizard-”will be the commander, and a commander must be able to make rapid decisions.”

Another step, and Bane stood in front of Yuriko. Running his finger along her cheek, he smiled as she jerked away. “So decide now, Wizard. Who will be subjected to ten more minutes?”

Tatiana choked back a plea. Please. I can’t. I can’t-

She shook her head, struggled to focus. The room felt too big, too bright, and this all felt so familiar, like she had been here many times before. She knew what Wizard would say even before the words left his lips.

“Me. I will take the ten minutes.”

She let out a dry sob. Wizard. Her brother, so logical even in this. He would take the blows because he was the most physically resilient. And because he would stand before her and take them in her stead.

Yuriko was like him. Clean and linear in thought and action.

But Tatiana…

Bane laughed as he stared at Wizard, the sound hollow, echoing off the bare walls, echoing in her darkest dreams.

Yes, just a dream. It must be.

“You are the commander,” he said. “The fastest. The strongest. You have the best chance of finishing your mission. I may send you out tonight, before you have time to heal, though. Choose the weakest, Wizard. A good commander knows when to calculate the odds, when to sacrifice for the good of the mission.”

“Wizard…save her. Please. She has a chance,” Yuriko’s normally cool tone was laced with despair, with pain, and Tatiana’s heart shattered as it did each time the nightmares sank her to this place, to the deep dark of her soul, the coldest part of her memories. Because in begging Wizard to save Tatiana, Yuriko had doomed herself.

Bane would set loose his brutality on her.

Trembling, Tatiana swayed on her feet, her swollen lips working as she tried to form the words…What words? Did she mean to offer herself to Bane’s fists, or to sacrifice her sister?

Again came the eerie, frightening sensation of familiarity and the terrifying knowledge that she had lived these moments again and again, that the outcome was always the same.

The walls around her shimmered and danced, and she heard voices, saw lights. They were wrong. They had no place here.

She had no place here. None of it was real.

Heart racing, palms damp, Tatiana began to run, her feet pounding against the cold stone floor, hard, fast, only she didn’t move at all. Her limbs pumped as hard and as fast as they could, and still she stayed in one place, trapped in the past.

She only needed to pull free, come awake, and they would be gone, the pain, the memories, the horror. But neither the bonds of sleep nor the terrors that dwelled in her memories eased to set her free. They held her in tight tendrils that dragged her back and pulled her into a place she had no wish to be.

Wizard…save her. Please. She has a chance.

Yuriko’s voice, low, urgent.

Bound in the barbed web of events that had played out long ago, Tatiana thrashed and flailed. A dream. A dream. It was only a dream.

“Calculate the odds,” Bane ordered.

Tatiana’s breath came in short, huffing pants. She couldn’t push any sound past the lump in her throat. Coward. She was a coward. Weak.

Hazy, unfocused, she shifted her gaze to Wizard. Silently she pleaded for…what? What did she want him to do? What could he do?

The outcome was always the same. She had been powerless to change it then, powerless to change it now.

“Choose.” Bane whispered the word against Wizard’s ear.

For the first time in her recollection, her brother hesitated.

Choose. Choose. Choose.

And then Bane’s face melted like wax in a flame, shifting, changing, until it was a different man who chained her, a different man who stood looking down at her wanting to master her, to use her, to twist what she was for his own gain.

She had thought Bane the face of purest evil. But she’d been wrong. So wrong.

Gavin Ward. Dr. Gavin Ward.

He was here for her. Her time was up.

Sweating, screaming, Tatiana bolted upright, the dream so real that she smelled the stink of her own fear, felt the sting of the blows in her cheek, her jaw, as though they had landed minutes rather than years past. Felt the pain of knowing that her weakness had cost her sister her life.

Yuriko. Oh, God. Yuriko.

Dragging her knees up, Tatiana wrapped her arms around them, and lowered her forehead. She closed her eyes, shuddering in the cold and the darkness, fighting the memories, the anguish, the fear.

A nightmare, she told herself. Only a nightmare.

But it wasn’t.

Because as she raised her head, she saw him, there, in the shadows, just beyond the bars that caged her. Gavin Ward was there. Watching.

And the light glinted off the scalpel in his hand.

© Eve Eve Silver 2008. All rights reserved

** doesn’t it just make you WANT it now… don’t worry July isn’t THAT far away… and if you haven’t picked up Driven yet WHAT are you waiting for? Do keep in mind you do NOT HAVE to read Driven by Eve Kenin before reading Hidden. They take place in the same world are NOT sequels.

But if you are now dying to read this and haven’t read Driven yet, check out our reviews here and here. You can thank us later .

As I mentioned last Saturday, our head duck, Sybil, was able to wrangle this exclusive excerpt of Kresley Cole‘s 20 May 08 release, Dark Desires After Dusk, book 5 in her Immortals After Dark series.  It’s the story of Cadeon Woede, a rage demon, and his human fated mate, Holly Ashwin.  I can’t wait!

Read on for Chapter 2 of the excerpt.  Hope I didn’t torture you too much!  But guess what… 

I have CHAPTER THREE!  MUAHAHAHAAAA!  That’s right!  NEXT SATURDAY I’ll post the third chapter of the excerpt!  It’s terrific!  (rubbing hands in glee)

First the blurb…

     A seductive beauty he can never have, yet can’t resist… Cadeon Woede of the rage demons will stop at nothing to atone for the one wrong that will haunt him forever. But once he secures the key to his redemption, the halfling Holly Ashwin, Cade finds that the woman he thought he could use for his own ends and then forget haunts him as much as his past.

     A tormented warrior she should fear, but can’t deny… Raised as a human, Holly Ashwin never knew that some frightening legends are real until she encounters a brutal demon who inexplicably guards her like a treasure. Thrust into a sensual new world of myth and power, with him as her protector, she begins to crave the demon’s wicked touch.

     Surrender to dark desires. Yet just when he earns Holly’s trust, will Cade be forced to betray the only woman who can sate his wildest needs-and claim his heart?

****  E – X – C – E – R – P – T  ****

Chapter 2

 She woke.

Her eyelids were too heavy to open, and she didn’t know if she wanted to see anyway. A quick mental survey of her body revealed terrifying things.

She was lying on what felt like a stone slab, naked except for her jewelry, and with her long hair hanging down over the end, snagging on the rough edges. The stone seeped a deep chill into her body, so cold her teeth were chattering.

They’d taken her glasses from her face, ensuring that everything within ten feet would be a blur.

Deep-voiced chanting sounded all around her, in a bizarre language she’d never heard.

Holly finally cracked open her eyes. No man had ever seen her completely naked before-now a dozen indistinct figures leered down at her.

One pinned her arms, another her legs. With a cry, she struggled against their grip. “Let me go!” This is a dream. A nightmare. “Release me! Oh, God, what are you doing?”

The meds were messing with her brain. Surely she was hallucinating.

When they didn’t answer, only continued their chanting, she pleaded, “Don’t do this,” but she didn’t know exactly what “this” could be.

Though no electric lights were on in this dank chamber, black candles sat all around and moonlight shone through a skylight of some kind. She squinted around her and could see that the men were wearing robes and . . . costume horns?

In their chanting, one word seemed to be repeated: Demonaeus. This must be some kind of sicko, demon-worshipping cult.

Yet they weren’t wearing masks to conceal their identities. She was certain that meant one thing-they didn’t plan to let her out of this place alive.

“My family will be looking for me,” she lied. Her parents were dead. She had no siblings. “I’m not the one you want for this . . . this sacrifice.” Tears pooled, then spilled down her temples. “I’m not special in any way.”

A couple of them gave harsh laughs at that.

“This isn’t happening,” she whispered to herself, trying to stem her panic. “This isn’t happening.”

She gazed up at the glass dome above her. The moon had risen almost directly over an unusual etching in the center of the glass, depicting what looked like the face of a horned demon.

The shadow from the etching would slide directly over the altar, over her, when the moon hit it. It was a gnomon, a shadow maker, like that of a sundial.

The men seemed to await the shadow’s advent, glancing up every so often. Await it for what?

As the moon continued to ascend, their chanting grew louder. She struggled harder, kicking her legs and thrashing her arms.

Lightning flashed across the sky. She vaguely noted that the more she strained to get free, the more frequently the bolts flickered overhead.

The largest of the men slid between her spread legs. When he removed his robe, comprehension hit her. She couldn’t see below his waist but knew he was naked. “No, no, no . . . don’t do this!“

The whites of his eyes were . . . flooded with black? He clamped her thighs, dragging her over rough stone to the edge of the altar.

She shrieked. All hell broke loose.

The men slapped their hands over their ears; the glass above them splintered into ominous forks-then the whole of it shattered, raining heavy shards all around the untouched altar.

A lightning bolt jagged down through the opening to spear her squarely in the chest, tossing the men away.

She screamed from the impact, arching with her fists clenched. The bolt was a physical force continuing on and on.

Unimaginable heat sizzled through her veins. Her two rings melted off her fingers, her earrings from her ears. Her necklace and watch were seared to liquid, dripping from her body.

She was unharmed-because her skin was somehow hotter than the boiling metal.

The pressing weight of the electricity filled her with power, with . . . comfort. When it ended, Holly was changed. She didn’t feel alone in this place.

Punish them, a voice seemed to whisper in her mind. They dared to hurt you. . . .

Her earlier terror was strangled by a fresh rage. Her fingers were suddenly tipped with razor-sharp claws. Her eyesight was keener than it had ever been even in the darkness. Fangs grew in her mouth.

Though she felt no ill effects from the lightning, the demons looked dazed, blinded. They were bleeding from the falling glass.

But they quickly regrouped. She rose, crouching on the altar, waiting as they stalked closer. One had a club-her eyes fixed on it.

A club. To beat her unconscious so they could continue their sick ritual.

Red covered her vision. When one lunged for her, she snatched him by the horns. They were . . . attached to his skull. Not a costume. Which meant real demons?

Which meant hallucination. This couldn’t truly be happening. She laughed as she twisted the demon’s head, assured this was some kind of nightmare.

And in her nightmare, the instinctive drive to kill with her new strength and fury overwhelmed her.

When the others attacked, Holly was unafraid.

She knew how to kill them as if she’d been hunting and slaughtering them for thousands of years. She knew to wrench their heads from their necks, to slash out with claws that would rend through skin and arteries as they would tissue paper.

Punish . . .

When the blood began to spray, lightning scored the sky above her as if in encouragement.

“I understand,” she murmured as she aimed for one’s jugular and severed it. “I see.” Yes, their last sight on earth should be my laughing face.

* * *

“Easy, female,” Cade soothed as he crept closer to where Holly huddled naked in a corner.

She was covered in blood. But had it come from her, or the twelve demons she’d apparently slain?

Her eyes were . . . silver, glowing in the shadows. Which meant Valkyrie. Somehow she was no longer a mere human.

A Valkyrie at Gibson Hall. Holly was indeed the Vessel.

She had her knees drawn up to her chest and was trying to cover her breasts while baring her little claws at him to ward him off. She was trembling with fear and shock, and tears coursed down her blood-splattered face.

It was killing him.

“Easy,” he murmured. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Her eyes darted from his horns to those on one of the heads lolling on the stone floor.

“Yeah, I’m a demon, too,” he said. “But not at all like them. My name’s Cadeon Woede.”

How far had they gotten with her before she’d turned and attacked? Though the carnage looked to have been done some time ago, Holly still had gashes on her arm from the claws of one of these demons.

She might have been turned to a Valkyrie, but she hadn’t yet been granted the accelerated healing and immortality of one. Which meant that she was still incredibly vulnerable to harm. Like a human.

Humans die so easily.

“Did they injure more than your arm?”

She finally shook her head.

“Hurt you anywhere? Do I need to get you to a hospital?” he asked, even as he knew that wouldn’t work.

Other factions were searching for her. He would be surprised if they hadn’t already scried the lightning he’d seen from a distance. Power still sizzled from her and throughout the chamber. New power was easily traceable.

She whispered, “They d-didn’t hurt me.”

“Good. I want to help you, Holly.”

She frowned at his use of her name, studying his face.

“We’ve met before,” Cade said, but she was in no way calmed-lightning continued to strike in constant streams. Lightning gave Valkyrie strength, but it also mirrored their emotions.

When he began unbuttoning his shirt to cover her, she gave a cry, and bloody claws swiped out at him. Then she stared in horror at her fingertips.

Just hours ago, she’d been living as a normal human-or near normal with some eccentricities. Now she had become something he never could have predicted. A Valkyrie. Or half one. He hadn’t known she’d possessed this latent potential. The shock of the ritual must have triggered the transformation.

If not for this power, she would have been brutalized, her womb offered to the dark god this order of demons worshipped.

When he removed his shirt, she bared her small fangs and hissed, then looked aghast at her reaction.

“There, now, a good hiss never hurt anyone.” He crouched beside her, fighting the urge to clasp her to his chest. “I’m going to put this on you. Easy . . .“

She gazed up at him with eyes wavering between silver and the intense violet he recognized. “Wh-what’s happening to me?”

“You know all those creatures you thought were myths?” When she shakily nodded, he said, “Well, they’re not. And you’re changing from a human to an immortal.”

Which meant it had become possible for Cade to claim her for his own.

And you’ve just become my target-the Vessel. The means to pay for a sword to kill our enemy.

She equaled the crown he’d worked for nine hundred years to reclaim-the unyielding pursuit that had given him a reason to go on living.

Never had it been so close. . . .

All he had to do was use and betray the woman he’d waited just as long to possess.

Yup!  It’s raining excerpts!  I have to say this is NOT the book I wanted. I know.. LE GASP! LE SHOCK! LE HORROR… but but but… I want, well really, I want THE SINS OF LORD EASTERBROOK! And lucky for us all it is coming out in this Fall. I know, no worries. I am working on getting over myself, but really until than… I do keep telling myself over and over “Syb it isn’t ALL about you” and slowly I am learning to believe it.

::blink:: okay, not really but I am working up to maybe accepting it *g* … hey I said maybe…

UNTIL then Madeline has a GRAND excerpt up on her site PLUS she has been her ever fab self and given us one of my all time favorite things…

…MORE!

First he’ll learn her most intimate secrets. Then he’ll arouse her deepest passions. He’s the lover she’s been waiting for: the man who can rescue her from her wicked past—for a price—in Madeline Hunter’s tale of sin, seduction, and irresistible, impossible love.

He catches her eye across the dining room—a handsome stranger who stands out among the lewd noblemen and bawdy painted women. But their worlds are about to collide in a way Roselyn Longworth could never have imagined. For before the night is out, she will be auctioned off to the highest bidder…and Kyle Bradwell will lead her from one kind of hell to another. Yet from the moment he wins her, Kyle treats Rose with a gentleness she hasn’t known since a family scandal destroyed her reputation. And when she finally learns what is really driving Kyle, it’s too late. For Rose has fallen for the man who knows her most intimate secrets. Now he has stunned her with a proposal of marriage—the first step in a seduction that will demand nothing less than her complete surrender….

UNEDITED Excerpt from Secrets of Surrender by Madeline Hunter

copyright 2008

She entered the garden through the back portal. As she passed the apple tree, a vague sound penetrated her thoughts. More curious than cautious, she followed the series of little thuds and scrapes around to the side gate.

A white shirt, stark in the gray day, obscured her view of the gate. It covered a strong back and broad shoulders, and gathered at the top of fawn breeches. Arms that were far from pale, exposed below rolls of shirt sleeve, held the gate by its sides. A dark head turned, revealing a strong profile.

Mr. Bradwell did not hear her while he lifted the gate and carefully set it right on its hinges. One of those hinges gleamed shiny and new.

The soft linen of his shirt and the snug fabric of his breeches revealed his form while he moved. The wind blew his dark locks, mussing them in a most appealing way. Despite his cravat and collar, he appeared rakish and romantic and very competent.

One sound push, one heavy thump, and the gate swung easily. He tested it, then began fixing his sleeves.

He saw her then. It bothered him not at all that she witnessed him working like this. He greeted her while he dressed himself.

She walked over and examined the gate. It had been broken for years.

“I noticed that it needed repair when last I visited,” he said, reaching for the coat lying in the grass.

“Thank you.” She seemed to say that to him a lot. Today, for some reason, it struck her as humorous, how often their conversations began and ended with her gratitude.

“Were you in the county again, Mr. Bradwell? Just riding by?”

He slid on his frock coat and set himself right. He looked very proper now. She had rather preferred him active and half undressed.

“I rode down from London just to see you, Miss Longworth. I have information about your soil, and a message from your cousin.”

He could have written with both. She suspected that he had really come about that kiss. Before this visit was over, he would probably try to kiss her again.

It was obvious now, that he wanted her. Oh, he did not leer or stare. Desire only increased the directness of his gaze and slightly darkened the vitality he exuded. This man was well practiced in hiding his hungers, but he could not control the tension his interest created and how it affected the air. And her. She was too happy today to lie to herself about that.

She should probably be insulted. Today it did not matter. Not his interest and not her response.

Maybe she would let him have that kiss. She would not even be hurt when he offered the special arrangement that she expected another kiss to presage. It would taint the memory of that night. It would show him to be less than chivalrous in the end, but that would not matter now either.

She would be gone soon. In a few weeks, Roselyn Longworth would disappear completely.

* * *

“Please come in and give me this news.” She led the way into the house.

She appeared much happier today. And very beautiful. Always beautiful.

He spied sprigs of grass on her cloak as he followed her. She had laid the cloak down out there in the hills. Since it was cold, he suspected she had been inside it when she did.

He pictured her in her isolation, a solitary figure stretched on the grass under the sky. He could understand why she might look up to the boundless expanse above. This was a nice house, but it was still a prison.

“I fear that I do not have any pie to offer you today.” She slid off the cloak and shook the grass away. “In truth I have nothing to offer you.”

“Your cousin sent some things. The basket is outside the front door. If you will permit me…”

She nodded while she added a little fuel to the fireplace in the drawing room. He fetched the basket. She sat on one of the wooden chairs and poked through the gifts, lifting each in turn while she smiled with delight.

She set the boxes of tea and biscuits on the little table. She lined up the bag of coffee, the bottle of wine, and the jar of honey.

“What is this down at the bottom?” She poked at the broad, wrapped form there.

“I think it is some cooked fowl. Duck or goose, I believe.”

She laughed. He had never heard her do so before. Not outright like this. It was a lovely laugh. Melodic. Angelic.

Watch yourself, Kyle lad. You’ll be writing bad poetry like an idiot soon.

“How like Alexia. Luxuries, but practical ones. You must join me in eating the fowl and drinking the wine, Mr. Bradwell. We will share a feast.”

“It might be best if you saved it all for yourself.”

“Nonsense.” She set the basket on the floor beside her. “Now, what news have you about my soil?”

He sat on another chair with the little table between them and the fire warming their shoulders. “The experiments done are theoretical, you must understand. However, they appear to show that the soil is depleted. Did your brothers never require the tenants to rotate their crops? It is recognized now as useful. In the least the old system of leaving fields fallow every third year should have been required.”

“My father collected rents, nothing more. His interests were in town, not here. After his death, no one truly managed the property. We assumed, wrongly it appears, that farmers would know how to farm and would not do so in ways that made the land less productive.”

“An extra field of crops is tempting. There are those who will exhaust the land and move on.”

She shrugged. “Apparently so.”

That shrug was her entire reaction. He had brought very bad news that would affect her meager income, but she appeared not to care.

Her eyes sparkled while she ran her elegantly tapered finger down the edge of the box of tea. He watched that distracted caress and imagined it on himself, sliding slowly down his side. He clenched his teeth to control what the little fantasy did to him.

He was glad she was not sad today, but she appeared almost drunk instead. He did not flatter himself that her big smiles and bright eyes were due to his visit.

“You are a bad liar, Mr. Bradwell. Alexia did not give you this basket. I think that you bought these items yourself.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Alexia would have sent a different company’s tea, and a different kind of biscuit. She also would have included soaps and hairpins and other practical luxuries that a woman cannot eat.” She grinned mischievously. She was definitely in high spirits today. Vivacious. Almost flirtatious.

“You have found me out, Miss Longworth. I hoped to avoid awkwardness by saying it came from your cousin.”

“Is this gift because of that kiss? There must be at least ten shillings worth of goods here, and that kiss was barely worth one. Then again, perhaps you hope for nine more.”

Now she was getting reckless. “The basket has nothing to do with the kiss, but with my concern for your health and lack of comforts. And perhaps to help you feel less sad about the implications of what I learned about your land.”

“Of course. My apologies for impugning your motives.” Her eyes mocked her serious words. She began setting the items back in the basket. “Let us sit to a proper meal. If you share it with me, the reasons that you brought it will not signify. Although, in a manner of speaking, nothing does anymore.”

He took the basket from her arms when she rose. He followed her into the kitchen. Her manner flattered him. It also stirred him. His desire had flared like oil touched by a torch.

However, her demeanor disturbed him too, and not because she spoke too frankly and had lost her cool grace. She acted like someone who had made a decision, one that rendered all proprieties irrelevant.

He wondered what she had been thinking out there while she lay in the grass under the gray sky.

Our head duck, Sybil, was able to wrangle this exclusive excerpt of Kresley Cole‘s 20 May 08 release, Dark Desires After Dusk, book 5 in her Immortals After Dark series. It’s the story of Cadeon Woede, a rage demon, and his human fated mate, Holly Ashwin. I can’t wait!

Read on for Chapter 1 of the excerpt. I’ll post Chapter 2 next weekend, ’cause I’m like that and torturing you is fun …

First the blurb…

A seductive beauty he can never have, yet can’t resist… Cadeon Woede of the rage demons will stop at nothing to atone for the one wrong that will haunt him forever. But once he secures the key to his redemption, the halfling Holly Ashwin, Cade finds that the woman he thought he could use for his own ends and then forget haunts him as much as his past.

A tormented warrior she should fear, but can’t deny… Raised as a human, Holly Ashwin never knew that some frightening legends are real until she encounters a brutal demon who inexplicably guards her like a treasure. Thrust into a sensual new world of myth and power, with him as her protector, she begins to crave the demon’s wicked touch.

Surrender to dark desires. Yet just when he earns Holly’s trust, will Cade be forced to betray the only woman who can sate his wildest needs—and claim his heart?

**** E – X – C – E – R – P – T ****

“A lot of people fear change. And traveling. And disarray.
Sidewalk crack avoidance is more common than one would suspect.”

-Holly Ashwin, Tulane math instructor, PhD candidate with an emphasis on formal and computational cryptography

“The first rule of being a mercenary? Find out what the client wants, then convince him
that, a) you can get it for him, and, b) you’re the only one who can get it for him. Second
rule? Lie. Often. The truth rarely serves you well in this business.”

-Cadeon Woede, mercenary, second in line to the throne of the rage demons,
a.k.a. Cade the Kingmaker

- 1 -

Tulane Campus
New Orleans

“Stupid. . . safety lock,” Holly Ashwin muttered as she fiddled with the nozzle of the pepper spray in her bag.

With her free hand, she pushed up her glasses, casting another nervous glance over her shoulder. She’d thought she heard footsteps behind her in the night. Was she being followed-or paranoid?

For months, she’d had the sense that someone was watching her. Yet strangely it hadn’t bothered her before. She couldn’t explain it, but there had been an almost soothing quality to the presence she’d felt.

Tonight, all that had changed.

She sensed raw menace, and wished she hadn’t made the walk from the parking lot to Gibson Hall by herself. Usually her boyfriend escorted her to class, but Tim was at a symposium presenting their latest paper-alone, because her condition made it nearly impossible for her to travel.

The manicured lawns on the way to her classroom were unusually empty. No doubt there were widespread parties tonight celebrating the full moon, which hung heavy and yellow in the black sky.

There was enough light that she could see the bushes behind her trembling. In a growing panic, she broke off the nozzle of the spray.

“Crap.”  She hastily abandoned her one weapon, tempted to snag one of the pill bottles in the pocket beside it for a dose of relief. Instead, she increased her pace toward her destination, the math building, brightly lit like a beacon.

Almost there. Her heels clicked along on the sidewalk-though they never landed on a crack, even in her rush.  Apparently, obsessive-compulsive disorder was panic-proof. . . .

She checked her watch. She was on time, of course, but she was late enough that her Remedial Math 101 students would be in the classroom already.

A few yards left. Almost to safety. . . .

Once she’d made it up the six stone steps to the doors, she exhaled in relief. Inside, the hall was ablaze with fluorescent light. Made it.

Her class was in the second room on the right and would be filled with thirty-three very large and very loyal Tulane football players. Anyone thinking to frighten her would soon learn how a tackle dummy felt at season’s end.

Holly’s colleagues believed she’d drawn the short straw to have to teach Digits for Idjits, as some of the instructors called it. But Holly had actually volunteered for jock duty.

If she was to teach math, then why not instruct the ones who had exponentially more to learn?

And in truth, they were on their best behavior ninety-nine percent of the time. Though each Tuesday and Thursday night, some of the players always got there early to scribble sprawling messages for her on the blackboard. A fellow instructor had related to Holly that “the boys”-who were all of five or six years younger than she was-enjoyed watching her erase things in “those skirts.”

Holly wore old-fashioned pencil skirts with hemlines past her knees. Would she never catch a break?

She wondered what she’d be erasing tonight.  Some of the past offerings included “Got it bad, sooo bad, I’m hot for teacher,” “I’ve been a naughty boy, Ms. Ashwin,” and “Professor + Ginger = Holly Ashwin.” They’d crossed the l‘s to make them t‘s.

So far she didn’t think any of them had noticed her need to erase every millimeter of writing on the board, or to arrange the chalk in the tray into perfect trios, even breaking a stick to achieve a multiple of three. . . .

Outside the door to her room, she took a calming breath and smoothed her tight chignon. After ascertaining that the clasp of her strand of pearls was directly over the center of her nape, she tugged each sleeve of her twinset sweater until the ends perfectly hit her wristbones. She checked the backs of her earrings, then opened the door.

Empty. Every chair sat empty.

CLASS IS CANCELED was scrawled across the board. They’d gone too far this time.

Or maybe it wasn’t them? She swallowed, whirling around.

Rough cloth covered her face, reeking of fumes, drowning out her scream.

Just as her eyelids slid shut and her body went limp, she heard the unholy roar of a man in the distance.

* * *

Rogue demons have my female.

As Cadeon Woede’s old Ford truck tore through traffic to yet another demon lair, he grappled to control the rage his breed of demon was known for.

They’ve taken Holly. . . .

Almost one year ago, Cade had crossed paths with Holly Ashwin and had recognized the human as his own fated female.  Unable to claim a mortal, he’d had to content himself by following her, guarding her.

Which was the only reason why he’d been there when a group of demons had traced her, teleporting her to gods knew where.  But they’d hunted on the campus; surely their lair would be near.

Why would they want her? Because she was an innocent? Then they’d picked the wrong virgin-Cade would hang them by their own entrails and watch them dance if they touched so much as a hair on her head.

His phone rang just as he surged past a visibly drunk driver. When drunks drove slowly, it was exactly like they whispered-noticeably.

“What?” he barked in answer. Tonight he was supposed to receive the details of his latest job. It’d be the most important one he’d had since becoming a mercenary centuries ago.

“I’ve just left the meeting,” his brother Rydstrom said. “I have the information we need.”

Riding the bumper in front of him, tempted to give it a tap, Cade asked absently, “So who’s the pay?”

“The client is Groot the Metallurgist.”

Normally that would have had Cade raising his brows. Groot was the half brother of Omort the Deathless, a dark sorcerer-and their sworn enemy. “He intends to help us against Omort?”  Cade’s truck overtook another car, nearly trading paint with it.

“Groot’s crafted a sword that can kill him.”

Then it would be the only one in existence that could. Omort the Deathless didn’t come by his name without reason.  “What’s the job?”

“He wants us to find the Vessel and deliver her to him before the next full moon.”

The Vessel. Every Accession, a female from the Lore would come into sexual maturity. Her first child would be a warrior of either ultimate evil or of ultimate good-depending on which way the father leaned.

A car weaved in front of Cade. “Son of a-”

“What are you doing?” Rydstrom demanded.

“Traffic.”  He didn’t want his brother to know anything was off. Cade had told him that he would stop watching Holly. Though they both suspected she was his female, a future with her was impossible.

Humans were forbidden to demons.  Because they never survived the initial claiming.

But Cade hadn’t been able to stop himself from watching her from afar, studying her, growing more and more fascinated with the young mortal. Becoming more convinced that she was his.

He knew it was ridiculous. He was an ancient immortal, a brutal mercenary, head of a crew of soldiers of fortune.  And yet Cade looked forward to nothing-except seeing her.

Holly went through her life having no idea that she was the highlight of a millennium-old demon’s disappointing existence. . . .

This new job was supposed to be the last chance for him and Rydstrom to reclaim the crown. If Rydstrom found out Cade wasn’t “on,” the two of them would be heading for another of their infamous house-killing brawls. Cade used to enjoy working off his anger. Now the idea wearied him.

“How are we supposed to find the Vessel?” Cade asked.

“I was told it’s a Valkyrie this time around.”

“Handing over a Valkyrie for the use of an evil sorcerer-you’re not worried about our alliance with them?”

“I’m going to take a page from your book and say that what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

“They will know. Nïx will be able to see this.” Nïx, the half-mad Valkyrie soothsayer, had helped Rydstrom and Cade in the past. In fact, she’d put together this deal, though she’d given them no indication who they’d be working for.

Cade had talked to her less than a week ago about Holly. Nïx had revealed nothing about tonight.

“If Nïx didn’t see that the Vessel would be one of her own before, she might not now. Besides, it can’t be helped,” Rydstrom said. “Nothing is more important than this job. It was Nïx herself who vowed this was our last chance to defeat Omort.”

“Do you have a location on the target?”

“Groot’s oracles have been searching for her. As expected, she’s here in this city.”

The coming Accession was already pushing and pulling all the factions together in mystickal hotspots like New Orleans.

“And we’re not the only ones who want her,” Rydstrom added. “Oracles, witches, and sorcerers are all scrying for her.”

Cade could imagine. “You got a name?”

“No name on her. But we have her last known whereabouts, a place called the Hall of the Son of Gib. I know it sounds like typical soothsayerese, but it’s a lead.”

A chill slithered up Cade’s spine.  No. No way. The Hall of the Son of Gib. Or Gibson Hall-the mathematics building on the Tulane campus.

Holly wasn’t a Valkyrie; yet those demons might have seen her in the predicted location and mistaken her for one. She had the right delicate features and slight build. They could have assumed she was the Vessel. 

Only one local demon faction would have had the resources to determine the Vessel’s location before Cade and Rydstrom-the Order of Demonaeus.

“We go for the Valkyrie tonight,” Rydstrom said. “I’ll be back at the house in two hours. Meet me then.”

Two hours. Even if Cade was tempted to ask his brother for help with the Demonaeus, there wouldn’t be time to wait for him. “Yeah, will do.” Click.

The wide wheels of his truck screeched as Cade cut across three lanes of traffic, careening over the median to speed back in the other direction.

He knew where the Order of Demonaeus was located, had been forced to convene with their kind on more than one occasion.

Cade had even seen their ritual altar. Was the sweet, impossibly innocent Holly stripped atop it even now?

The steering wheel bent under his grip.

Here’s an EXCLUSIVE sneak peek at the first book in Noelle Mack’s new Brava trilogy, Wild (The Pack of St.James, Book 1), released 26 Feb…

First the back cover blurb:

     Kyril. Marko. Semyon. Brothers like no other, sworn to lead the Pack of St. James and defend the English crown, though the blood of Russian wolves runs in their veins. In 1815, every woman in London has heard of their legendary passion for seduction–but no one knows of the supernatural powers that raise them far above the ranks of mortal men.

     Dangerous Lover

     In pursuit of a priceless treasure stolen from his homeland, Kyril commands the Pack to gather in secret. A rash act by one woman–one extraordinary woman, the sensual and utterly alluring Vivienne Sheridan–has put their ancient clan in peril. He vows to find her–and find out her every secret–before it is too late…

     Hidden in a ruined mansion, concealed by the shadows of a moonlit night, Vivienne comes forth, drawn to Kyril by a mysterious magic she is unable to resist. In his powerful embrace, Vivienne senses the wild nature beneath his gentlemanly façade–and she surrenders to his intimate touch. Whatever he wants, she will give…with all the passion of a woman mesmerized…

Read on for the excerpt…

It was just as well that Kyril had left Russia. In his wolfish way he had considered himself a patriot but no longer. Volkodav had not known who Kyril was but his icy gaze made it clear what the Wolf Killer thought of men who were not like himself.

Kyril stood up and went to look at himself in the mirror over her chest of drawers. To his amazement, the swelling had gone down.

Pah. He might look better but he was suddenly seeing stars from standing up too quickly. He would not tell her that. But more than ever he knew that his injury had affected his reason. And his sense of time. Here, with her, it seemed to stand still.

“You have a healing touch, Vivienne.”

“Nonsense.”

“You do,” he insisted. “I believe the cheekbone is not broken after all.”

She rose and moved behind him, looking over his shoulder at his reflection. “Hmm. You do look better.” She wrinkled her nose. “But you smell bad.”

That would be because you make me sweat when you stand so close, Vivienne. She could not read his mind, fortunately. “Do I?” was all he said.

“The heroes in the book did not,” she said pertly.

He gritted his teeth. “They were only picture. I am real.”

If she stepped forward just one more inch, her nipples would brush his back. If his clothes—and her robe—were to vanish, her nipples would touch bare skin.

If only they could step into a picture in the book themselves and leave the world as they knew it behind.

His groin tightened unbearably. His cock pulsed. Kyril rested his hands atop the chest of drawers and moved forward himself, away from her. Without her knowing it, he pressed his achingly erect flesh against an ornate brass handle until it hurt…and subsided.

But he could not stop looking at her. Knowing that she was behind him, close enough to capture in his arms if he turned around and followed his instincts—

He was ready to shatter the looking-glass with one blow. The intimacy of their position was overwhelming. A mood this sensual had no beginning and no end—he wanted it to go on forever.

He fought for self-control. He reminded himself of the threat that might have already cast a shadow over her quiet street. And he racked his aching brain for a pretext that would allow him to stay just a little longer.

“May I see the book, Vivienne? I really do not remember it all that well.”

“Of course. It is in my study.”

She drew her robe more tightly around her and went to the door. Kyril sighed with relief. He would have a chance to compose himself.

Not likely. Not in a boudoir like this. The waiting bath, the fragrance of her fine soap—it was a new cake, he noticed.

How he would love to soften it in the hot bath and rub her all over with it…then rinse her lovingly…and watch the water roll down her velvet skin…

Vivienne came back and held the book out to him. “Here it is.”

Kyril took it with a nod. The volume was even smaller than he remembered, not useful for concealing the erection that had stiffened his cock to its full length. He would have needed an encyclopedia for that.

Thank God she looked at the book in his hands, then at his face, and not down.

He opened, leafing through without reading it. He noticed the illustrations she had described and came to one that she had not.

She lifted the crinkly sheet that protected it.

Just that gesture—the fragile paper held in her fingertips and lifted up while her beautiful eyes widened with appreciation—made him want to ravish her. Kyril groaned inwardly.

The picture was of a Roemi warrior but he was not throwing a spear or dying on the battlefield. He had been vanquished by love.

“You are beautiful, Vivienne. And I would have you.”

Such a masculine voice, deep and rough-edged. She loved the sound of it, loved to hear him talk. She sighed. “I know that women never refuse you, Kyril. But I–”

He drew the heavy velvet curtain that hung in voluptuous folds over the window and moved with alacrity to stand in front of her, interrupting her reply. “Will you not stay with me tonight? My carriage is outside and no one will see you leave here.”

“I—I cannot.”

He reached up a hand to caress her cheek. Vivienne felt a hot blush suffuse her skin that his stroking intensified. “Is there no way to persuade you?” Coaxing and tender, his thumb traced the line of her chin.

“No.” But the light sensation of his touch thrilled her all the same. She did not push his hand away. “I must consider my reputation. What is left of it.”

“Bah. Your guests went home long ago and your servants are nowhere in sight.”

“That does not matter.” His determination was flattering but his presence made her uneasy. “I would rather be in my own bed in the morning.”

“Alone?” He inclined his head and pressed ardent kisses to the side of her neck. Vivienne moaned softly—the pleasurable stimulation was almost too much to bear.

“Yes, Kyril. Quite alone.”

He moved down to her shoulders, kissing and stroking her bare skin until languorous, highly sensual warmth spread through her.

“It seems a very great shame.”

His arms stole around her waist in a lover’s embrace. His nearness was overwhelming. Vivienne arched her back, wanting and not wanting to be a little distance from the pressure of his body. She placed her hands upon his chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart through her palms.

“Ah, what you do to me…” Kyril kissed her neck once more and lifted his head. She could not help but meet his eyes. A dark blue, like twilight, they reflected no detail of her face or the room in which they stood—and yet they glowed.

He smiled down at her and Vivienne felt a dizzying vertigo. If not for his arms around her, she would have fallen. For no more than a moment, she had glimpsed something very odd in his eyes…a vision of a wild and forsaken otherworld buried in white. As if that were what he saw and not her. He blinked and the vision disappeared, but his words came back to her…

From the far north came men of a legendary race, born in the shadow of the blue sun that never sets. They ruled the frozen seas and rode its terrible winds…and they were masters of the great ice wolves that are no more…

The fanciful tale that he had entertained her with when the servants had at last left them alone by the fire in the drawing room. A fantasy, nothing more, remembered from his childhood in Russia. Suddenly, caught in his possessive, encircling embrace, Vivienne was ready to believe that the tale was something more than fantasy and something less than real. But what its meaning was, she could not say. She could not think. His warm hand had moved up her back and clasped the nape of her neck. The gesture was both calming and sensual. In an instant, her feeling of falling vanished, replaced by one of stillness and safety… Vivienne straightened. She was not safe. No woman was, with him. With a slight shake of her head, she dismissed the momentary vision and her wayward imaginings. Tonight’s soiree had dragged on too long and she was fatigued, that was all.

He would not possess her.

Since his arrival in London two years ago, the tall, darkly handsome Kyril Taruskin had been much whispered about. His heavy-lidded eyes and full mouth hinted at a talent for passionate lovemaking—and his conquests were many. Vivienne had heard the rumors, but invited him to her soirees all the same, presuming that she, a woman of the world and the former mistress of a duke who still adored her, would be immune to his sensual charm.

Foolish of her.

“Oh!” She breathed the word, startled by what he was doing. The slight pressure of his thumb under her chin brought her face up to his.

“Well, then,” he whispered. “Shall I stay a little longer?”

“N-no. Please go.”

“Vivienne…to satisfy your intimate desires would give me the deepest delight.”

It was just after midnight—she had heard the church bells toll the hour and the candles had burned low. The fireplace held a broken mass of scarlet embers that danced with shivering little flames. She closed her eyes, avoiding his intent gaze, not wanting to see his mouth so close to hers. But Kyril did not try to kiss her.

All he did was touch her once more.

Vivienne steeled herself to resist the brazen sensuality of his caress. His fingertips brushed the side of her neck that he had kissed and then moved lower, over her collarbone, causing her bared flesh to tingle. She should not have worn such deep décolletage. He was smiling down at her again, self-restrained…and somehow…ready to pounce. He embodied masculine elegance, but his dark clothes and immaculate linen only brought out his wildness that much more. That quality too was much talked about—it was something Vivienne found overpoweringly attractive.

She prayed Kyril’s hand would not move lower to the swell of her breasts…but it did. His exploring caress was deliciously stimulating.

Vivienne sighed without knowing it and swayed toward him. Then she came back to her senses. Kyril Taruskin could not get the better of her so easily.

Now you HAVE to go buy the book, doncha?

The wonderful Lisa Renee Jones shares an EXCLUSIVE (and unedited) excerpt with TGTBTU’s readers. Her new Silhouette Nocturne novel, The Beast Within, releases tomorrow, 1 Nov 07.

Here’s a link to some recommended pre-reading. It will help you understand what is going on in this excerpt.

The Beast Within

End of Chapter Seven and all of Chapter Eight…

Karen paced the bedroom floor, her stomach fluttering with a combination of worry and just plain sickness. She hadn’t slept. Hadn’t eaten. Hadn’t stopped worrying since she’d gotten that telegram from Eva saying Mike was dead.

A rush of nausea came over her and Karen paused, pressing her palm to her forehead. God. She didn’t have time to feel sick but her body wasn’t cooperating. It wanted rest. If only she’d slept on the plane instead of worrying and working on her article.

Why wouldn’t they let her see Eva?

She shouldn’t have come here. She didn’t even know if this healer treating Eva was a real doctor. She had to get her sister to another hospital. Besides, something wasn’t right here. What exactly had she walked into? How could the man from the airport be here?

They were acting like they couldn’t trust her and her sister. She’d seen all those big, burly men. It seemed like she should be the scared one, not them. So what was going on? Why treat them like this? Clearly, her sister was injured. It wasn’t like she was lying.

And what harm could two women, without weapons – which they had searched her for when they locked her in the room – do to a bunch of macho men like these guys?

Her mind went back to the leader. To the man from the airport. Karen couldn’t quite get her mind around his presence. Of course, her body had grasped the concept quite easily. Even tired, he’d drawn a sizzling reaction. A reaction she felt guilty as heck for. The man had her locked in a room, captive for all practical purposes, forbidding her from seeing her sister, and Karen had managed to get all lusty over him. How sick was that?

Karen sank onto the bed. She’d reacted to him at the airport, too. That funny familiarity from her dream niggled inside a bit stronger. Her mind played with some distant image, trying to make it vivid and understandable, trying to grasp it. The clouds were thick and hard to clear. She was just so tired. Maybe rest would make her remember how she knew this man. Because to dream of him, she had to know him.

As her lashes fluttered, Karen told herself to stand back up. To get her blood pumping again. Her body just felt so horrible achy and heavy. Yet, the very thought of falling asleep while terrible things could be happening to her sister brought panic. What if this healer did more damage than good?

She had to stay awake. There wasn’t another option.

Karen balled her fists in the dark brown comforter on top of the mattress. Everything in the room was brown. Brown curtains. Brown blankets. Brown carpet. Brown. Brown. Brown. So incredibly dreary and dark. And so was the future right now. Somehow, Karen realized, she’d taken a bad situation and made it worse. Somehow, once again, she had failed Eva.

Karen looked skyward. “Mom. Dad.” Her chest tightened painfully and she gave into the need to rest, easing back to lay on the mattress. “I don’t know how to fix this.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I have to save my sister…”

A knocked sounded and Karen jerked up to a sitting position. Before she could find her way to her feet, the door flew open. In strode the man who seemed to hold her destiny in his hands. As he had on their prior two meetings, his powerful presence overwhelmed her, his masculine beauty registering even when she wanted to deny its presence.

But as he slammed the door behind him, locking the door and turning to face her, the contempt and anger in his deep, dark eyes were what took her breath away. Whatever brought this man here now, it wasn’t an apology.

From the look in his eye, it appeared he wanted more than a word with her…he wanted blood.

***

Jag entered the bedroom, shutting the door behind him, and locking it. Turning to face the woman he now knew as – Karen…, anger coursing through his veins. How dare she come in here, taunting him with his wife’s name, with her sacred memory?

It was bad enough she’d haunted his dreams. Now she dared to taint the name of his only love.

Unexplainably, as angry as he was, as full of fury, he managed to bite back his imminent explosion. He studied her, this woman, who might well be his enemy disguised as an innocent, exploring her features. Searching for some unnamed something.

What he found was a look of concern and uncertainty so raw, so real, the power of his emotions shifted. Softened. Began to evolve them into something just as powerful, but far more hungry. This woman did things to him he had yet to understand. Perhaps it was magic, certainly black magic if that were the case.

In her eyes, in her expression, he saw the same kind of honestly he sensed in Marisol. The same pureness. Surely, if it were an act, the animal in him would sense as much.

But it was too late to retreat, to rethink his actions. The beast still roared inside, needing an outlet for the anger of only seconds before. The beast he’d always controlled…until this woman. If she was so innocent, so honest, why did she bring it to the surface?

That outlet he sought came without his consent. It pulsed to life in the heat of desire. He watched her movements, the animal inside him purring with life, his body reacting to the vision she made. To the unintentional, yet, oh so, seductive sway of her hips in the snug black jeans.

Her eyes narrowed on his face, and it was clear she searched for his intentions just as he did hers. Slowly, she took several steps backwards, putting distance between them. “How is my sister?”

“Who sent you here?” Jag demanded, ignoring her question, while refusing to let his reactions to this woman drown out his agenda.

“Where’s my sister?” Karen demanded in turn, ignoring his question as he had hers. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. Over the top of those lush, full breasts that fit into his hands like they were made for him. He knew because he’d seen and touched them so many times before. Even knew that her nipples were a perfect rosy pink and that they were so sensitive, he could practically bring her to orgasm just by tasting them.

His eyes dropped, tracing each line of her body through the clingy material of her shirt, confirming she was the woman he knew. Fire burned in his veins, pushing him to claim her as he had so many times before this moment. In the dreams so ripe with reality.

He’d never met a woman who could do this do him. It went beyond reason, this need, this reaction. He couldn’t be near her, or talk to her, without wanting her. “You didn’t answer my question,” he countered, wanting to know how this woman found him. Wanting to know a lot of things, actually. Questions flew through his mind.

She spoke through clenched teeth. “Where is my sister?”

Her fearlessness should have surprised him, but it didn’t. In his dreams, she’d been brazenly direct. He expected nothing less of her in flesh and blood.

“You already know your sister’s with our healer,” he said in a low voice. “But what do you know of me before this night?” That was the real question. One he wasn’t going to find out on his current path.

“I want to see Eva,” Karen declared as if it would make him oblige her wishes.

Jag noted the command in her voice, but he also sensed her fear. “You’ll see her soon,” he replied. Silently he added, once I decide if I can trust you.

“Not soon,” she said, pointing at the ground and taking a step forward. “Now.” Her lips thinned. “I want to see her now. We came here for help, not to be locked up like criminals.”

His nostrils flared with the scent of woman, sultry and sexual and drawing a response from his body. Damn this woman. The one he knew far too well for a stranger. The one he’d lost himself in until he couldn’t see straight. The one who had driven him to complete ecstasy and then, by doing so, delivered him to his darker side. She’d shown him his beast and taken him to the edge of the cliff, one step from the pits of hell.

His cock thickened in demand, screaming for him to take her as he had in those dreams. To rip her clothes off and bury himself deep in the hot, wet recesses of her core. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest in anticipation thrumming through his veins like a flare headed for explosion.

A mere hair from snapping, Jag crossed his arms in front of his chest, mimicking her prior position. Trying to keep from claiming her. Knowing his physical surrender could be exactly what she wanted. Maybe she was a part of some master plan to destroy him. In his dreams, she’d certainly pushed him to the worst of places, using pleasure as her tool.

The thought brought a welcome jolt of reality. “And how do I know you aren’t a criminal?” he asked. “You were trespassing.”

Her eyes went wide. “I came for help and you locked me up. I call that kidnapping.”

The fear and desperation in Karen’s voice rang with sincerity. He wanted to believe she was a victim. He really did. But not once in his dreams had she come off as innocent. Not once. To trust her would be a grave mistake, and too many depended on him being cautious. His men. Their cause against evil, their fight for good. And evil, he’d long ago learned, could easily come off as pure as newly fallen snow.

The name Caron meant – pure – in Italian. He wondered if this woman knew that.

New anger formed at the thought of being manipulated and before Jag could stop himself, he closed the distance between them. He didn’t give Karen time to protest, pulling her into his arms and staring down at her. Instantly, he knew it was a mistake. He’d only meant to rattle her. To grab hold of the situation and make her tell the truth. He just wanted the truth. But everything inside him called to her. He wanted to take her. To taste her. To claim her right here and now.

His own inability to resist her hardened his voice, frustration at his lack of control burning inside him. Even her stiffness in his arms upset him. He was a wreck, and she was to blame.

“How did you even know about this place?” he asked, determined to find answers.

“I…”

“How?” His voice was rough. Harsh. He stepped backwards with her, towards the wall.

Her hands were by her side, her chin tilted up to study his face. As if she gauged his next move from his expression. “I… heard there was a doctor here.”

“From who?”

Another step backwards, his thighs against hers. And damn it, the friction shot through him like rocket fuel. His cock thickened, pressing against his jeans. Reminding him of her power and adding to his frustration and her lack of response.

“From who?” he repeated, his tone more forceful.

“A nurse.” She sounded breathless. “At the hospital.”

Her full bottom lip trembled as if in invitation for his mouth. He wondered if she tasted as sweet as he thought she did. Like honey with a hint of cinnamon. That is how he remembered her. Unique but familiar. So damn familiar. He’d wanted to know at the airport but hadn’t dared taste her fully.

She stared up at him with fury in her eyes as he flattened her against the wall, his knees caging hers. Ah, but there was more. There was lust in the depths of those perfect blue eyes. Knowing she wanted him, knowing that could not be faked, only served to fire his desire. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to grind his hips against hers. Not to palm those lush breasts.

His gaze dropped, and he could see her nipples pebbled against her thin t-shirt. He didn’t have to see them to know they were rosy red and plump. Or to know how she would whimper if he pulled them between his lips and suckled.

Her hands went to his arms as if silently begging him to stop. To look at her again. His gaze lifted, contempt in his voice as he broke the sex laden silence. “You expect me to believe the hospital told you to come?”

She stared up at him, and her deep blue eyes pulled him in, drawing him under her spell. Further into his sensual haze. But as seconds passed, he was amazed at what he saw in Karen’s gaze. Beyond the lust, the exhaustion, the fear for her sister. Not of him.

In her eyes, he again, found that pureness, more subtle than in Marisol’s but there. Or was it? Perhaps he just wanted it to be. Perhaps it was a trick. He couldn’t let himself believe in her. He couldn’t. His dreams had warned him of what she would do to him. Of where she would take him.

“Answer me,” he ordered. “Why would the hospital tell you to come here?”

“The nurse told me. I shouldn’t have listened. I shouldn’t be here. I know that now. It was stupid. I just thought…” Her words trailed off as her gaze dropped to his chest.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I thought you could help. I… needed help.”

The pure desperation lacing her words reached out to Jag and made him snap. One minute he was absorbing them, the next kissing her. He slid his tongue past her teeth, tasting her like a starving man would food. She was stiff, hands pressing against his chest.

But Jag took with a ruthlessness that allowed no room for resistance. Taking. Taking. Demanding. Her resistance lasted all of a few seconds. Slowly, she eased into the kiss, her arms sliding upward, over his chest and around his neck.

In his lust-laden mind, he justified his actions. She wasn’t an innocent victim. Not at all. This woman had manipulated his dreams for what felt a lifetime, controlling him with some unknown agenda. She’d used sex as a weapon. Sex to consume and devour his very will.

He’d come to her to talk, but to hell with it. She wanted to use sex against him. Well, no more. He’d use it against her. He’d make her need him. Make her beg to have him buried deep in her body. Make her beg. Yes. He liked that. And with each passing moment, she softened more, her body melting into his and she made a soft, whimpering sound. A sound that told of his success. Of his conquest.

Abruptly, a knock sounded on the door. A knock that jolted Jag back to his senses. He pushed away from her, putting distance between them even as the knock sounded again. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, desperate to get the sweetness of her out of his system.

She collapsed against the wall, her chest rising and falling with heaviness. Her expression one of shock. Her lips parted and swollen from his kisses. The taste of her still lingering with him, driving him wild with the need to pull her close again.

“Jag.” It was Des.

“Yeah,” Jag called.

“We got a problem, man.”

“Be right there.”

He stared at Karen, lowering his voice for only her ears. “Why do I know that problem has something to do with you?”

“You’re crazy,” she whispered. “I only wanted help. Just let us go.”

A smile touched his lips, but not one of pleasure or invitation. He didn’t like being played with. She might or might not have started this game, but she was a part of it. And he intended to end it. No matter how good she was at playing the sweet, innocent, good girl, he’d seen another side of her in his dreams. He’d lived the temptation she offered in them. Even felt her press him to seize his dark side.

“Let me go,” she whispered again.

“Not a chance in heaven or hell.”

And without another word, he turned and walked away, knowing she wouldn’t follow. Wouldn’t beg. And she didn’t. She watched him leave in silence, not moving. Proof that he knew this woman. Knew her well. Which meant he couldn’t dismiss what the dreams had told him no matter how much he felt drawn to her. No matter how innocent she looked and even felt in his arms.

She wanted the beast in him. The dreams were proof.

The thought twisted his gut. Deep inside, Jag needed Karen to be innocent. She felt so perfect in his arms and he sensed a connection with her. But then, maybe that was the plan. The dreams, her presence, might well be a part of confusing him.

Still, he went back to one thing. She felt so damn pure and innocent. He saw it in her eyes. Felt it in her touch. But he knew her actions. He’d known she wouldn’t follow him or beg. He could predict how she would respond. His dreams were the only way he could know her. And those dreams spoke of something dark and evil. Of his beast rising to the surface.

A beast he could never let have life. He didn’t dare trust Karen. There was till too much unknown. Not yet, at least.

Maybe not ever.

A random comment in this thread will be picked to win a signed copy of Hard and Fast and The Beast Within for the prize: along with a book light!