Happy Valentine’s Day!

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How are you celebrating Valentine’s Day?

I’m hoping to go to a quiet romantic dinner with my Love at one of our favorite local places.  He knows I hate red roses, so I imagine he’ll come up with a nice bouquet of flowers in my favorite colors, maybe peach roses or periwinkle hydrangea or pink peonies.  I still haven’t seen Fifty Shades Darker yet, and my Love has promised to take me.

I don’t know about you, but Valentine’s Day always puts me in the mood for a steamy romance.  LOST & BOUND, my latest novel, is out now.  Just the thing for such a romantic day.

Here’s a naughty little tease…

Back in the island cabin, Shasta made another pot of macaroni and cheese, vowing to be more diligent in finding a healthier dinner the next night.  After she’d cleaned up her mess, she wandered outside.  The sun was just sinking behind the hills to the west, casting an orange glow on the lake.  Across the water, she could see lights on in the cabin farthest from the lodge.  That had to be his.  Blake’s.

She sighed deeply, remembering the way he’d kissed her.  The heat had melted her to her core.  Then she’d said something stupid about being up for more.  She winced and shook her head.  I don’t know why I have to be such a dumbass.

Still, he had kissed her.  That had to mean that he was attracted to her.  Right?  She remembered the electricity she’d felt when he’d reached over her to help with her seat belt.  And when he’d helped her fishing.  Being close to Blake was intoxicating.

Shasta closed her eyes, remembering the feel of his chest beneath her palms as she’d leaned up into his kiss.  She could feel the heat again, that tingle of need at her core.  Casting one last glance at Blake’s cabin, she returned inside and headed straight for the bedroom.

There, she dug into the bottom of her suitcase and removed a pale pink satin pouch.  Self-consciously, she returned to the sitting area and doused the overhead lights.  In the bedroom, the only light was from a battery-operated lantern beside the bed.  Quickly, she stripped off her clothes and slipped into bed.  From the satin pouch, she withdrew a large rabbit-style vibrator made of clear pink vinyl.  She set aside the dildo, for the moment stroking her body lightly with her fingertips.

In her mind, she saw Blake, imagining that it was his hands on her.  As her arousal grew, she concentrated on her breasts, cupping them, pinching her nipples, pulling them erect.  She felt the dampness between her thighs as, in her imagination, Blake moved there, stroking and circling her clit.

Shasta clicked the on-switch and the dildo began to vibrate, slowly at first, but more rapidly with just another couple of clicks.  She positioned the object at her entrance, gasping as the buzzing elevated her arousal.  Moving the dildo into her core, she instead pictured Blake holding himself over her, sliding his rock hard cock into her.

With another click, rows of steel beads began to circle inside the vinyl cock, stimulating her walls, and she felt her moment growing.  “Oh, Blake,” she murmured, eyes closed tightly as she imagined him pushing her toward her pleasure.  She began to pant and gasp as her orgasm overtook her, pussy clenching down on the pink dildo, and her erotic pleasure caused her entire body to shudder in release.

She clicked off the vibrator as her shudders began to subside, and she gently slid the device from her body, placing it on a towel on the nightstand.  I’ll clean it tomorrow, she thought as sleep claimed her.

Watch the LOST & BOUND book trailer…

LOST & BOUND is available at this link: books2read.com/LostandBound

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Behind the Book–Post 3: Romance As A Place

lost-boundMy new book, LOST & BOUND, Book 2 of the Dream Dominant Collection, will be released January 31.  In the meantime, I’ve been posting a series called Behind the Book to give you a little insight into the story, and the real-life setting behind it.

In this third installment of LOST & BOUND: Behind the Book, I wanted to take you to a location that is nearly as integral to the story as the guest lodge itself.  From her solitary island cabin, Shasta is curious about the rocky promontory across the lake, on the mainland shore to the north.

Blake tells her that it’s called Winchester Point, and that it’s a nice place to go exploring.  Turns out, there’s more to it than that:  it’s also the home of his own private sanctuary in the trees, and it’s where his play cabin is located.

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Winchester Point is the real name of the real place.  It’s rocky point on the mainland across Rawhide Lake to the north of my family’s remote island cabin in northern Ontario.  A short skiff-ride away from the island, it’s a great place to hike around a bit and go exploring.

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There is a stone fire ring that someone built once, and while we never made a fire there, it’s clear that it’s been well-used.

I love to follow the narrow trail away from the water and up the ridge to the top, where you can get a birds-eye view of the lake to the west.

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It’s much higher than you can tell from photographs.  In places, the path is so steep, it’s more of a scramble than a stroll.

There is also an abundance of blueberries in the right season, and we’ve picked many to be used in muffins and pancakes.

In the story, Shasta comes upon the ruins of an old trapper’s cabin.  I can remember seeing the place when I was a kid, but it’s been completely gone for years.

Obviously, I invented Blake’s play cabin, further up the trail.  But it seemed like the perfect place for a rugged Dominant mountain man to take his submissive when he wanted to play extensive scenes.

I hope you enjoy this little peek behind the scenes.  It’s been my pleasure to share this place that is so special to me.

LOST & BOUND is out January 31.  It’s available now for pre-order.

books2read.com/LostandBound

 

Weekend Excerpt–LOST & BOUND

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LOST & BOUND, Dream Dominant Collection Book 2, comes out January 31.

It’s the story of spoiled Hollywood starlet Shasta Pyke, who, after getting into trouble with the law, is sent to the wilderness of northern Ontario until the whole mess blows over.

It’s there that she meets sexy Dominant mountain man Blake Walker.  He lives a simple life, helping to run his family’s remote guest lodge.  He sees past Shasta’s petulant bravado to the scared little girl she hides from the world.

Would she ever agree to give him her submission?

Here’s a sexy little excerpt to hold you over until release day.

The sun was sinking low in the sky, casting a pink-orange glow onto the lake as they made their way to the boat.  Blake placed his bags into the bow of the boat then helped Shasta step in.  She moved cautiously, easing herself down onto the center seat.

“Is everything okay?” he questioned.

She nodded.  “It feels weird to walk around with this thing in my ass.”

“Are you complaining?”

“No.  I’m just…pointing shit out.”

Blake laughed heartily and started the electric motor, heading for the far side of the lake.  He tied up the boat on the same saplings he’d used earlier that day, climbed out with his bags, and reached down to Shasta, who gingerly stepped out onto the rocks.

She glanced around anxiously.  “Where are we going, anyway?  It’s getting dark.”

Blake smiled enigmatically.  “You’ll see soon enough.  Come on.”  He lightly took her hand and together they walked up the trail leading away from the lake.  When they passed the trapper’s cabin, Shasta looked to Blake wonderingly, and he just winked.  Soon enough they came to a fork in the path.  Blake moved to the left without hesitating.  A few yards down the path, they stopped.  Shasta looked around and saw nothing but trees and rocks.

“This looks like a good place.”  Blake reached into his duffel and pulled out the throw, placing it on the ground.  “Okay, kitten, the dress comes off.”

She gaped at him.  “We’re just gonna…fuck in the woods?”

His eyes sparkled with amusement.  “Nobody said anything about fucking.  Just get naked.  Now.”

Shasta pulled the dress over her head, and Blake took it, folding it and placing it into the bag.  “Now, we haven’t had knee time today.  You may kneel on the blanket.”

Shasta stepped into the center of the throw and knelt in the way he’d shown her, sitting back on her heels with her hands, palms up, resting on her thighs.  Closing her eyes was automatic.  Blake stepped in front of her, placing his right foot between her thighs.  Tenderly, he stroked her hair, and she let out a contented sigh.  “Knee time is good, isn’t it, kitten?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she murmured.

“Okay, now I have a job for you.”  Shasta expectantly raised her eyes to meet his.  “I’m going a little further up the trail.  You will wait for me right here.  I’ll come back for you when I’m ready.”

Immediately her eyes went to the trees.  “I’m staying here?  Naked?  That’s a little scary.”

“Trust me, kitten?”  He watched her intently.

Her deep mocha eyes were wide and clear.  “I trust you.”

“You’re such a good girl,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her.  “Now, we’ll just slide this into place…”  He produced the black satin blindfold and settled it over her eyes.  Shasta shivered.  “I won’t be gone long.”

She listened as his footsteps moved away from her.  Soon, all she heard were forest noises.  Unable to see, her other senses were heightened and she heard the snap of twigs and the call of a loon from far down the lake.  The early evening breeze chilled her, and she shivered again, her bare flesh covered with goose bumps and her nipples stretched into sharp, painful peaks.

Heavy footsteps were approaching, the crunch of leaves and pine straw growing louder.  It’s Blake.  It’s just Blake.  Unless it’s not.  She fought panic.

“There’s my good girl, just where I left her.”  Blake took Shasta’s hand and helped her stand.  “Okay, kitten, playtime starts now.  You will follow my every direction without question or hesitation.  And you will be silent.  You will not speak unless I give you permission.  Is that clear?”

Shasta blinked behind her blindfold and nodded wordlessly.

“Good girl.  Now, I’m going to kiss you.  You will not kiss me back.”  With his hands on her hips, Blake pulled her closer to himself and placed his lips on hers.  Shasta steadied herself by placing her palms on his chest.  Somewhere along the way, Blake had removed his shirt, and she felt his warm, solid flesh beneath her hands.  Blake deepened his kiss, invading her with his tongue, and although she felt her toes curling, she remembered his instructions and concentrated on not kissing him back.

Finally, his lips released hers and he pressed a kiss to her forehead.  “Good girl,” he murmured.  “Let’s go.”  In one swoop, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her.  Branches and leaves brushed against her skin as he carried her down the trail, then she felt as if they went up some steps.  His footfalls sounded different, too, as though he walked on a solid surface.  Then the air around her felt different, as though they had gone indoors.  Finally, she heard a door close and he set her down.  Shasta stood uncertainly and she felt Blake remove the blindfold.

She blinked as she looked around.  They were in a cabin.  A huge bed covered in a midnight blue duvet took up a large portion of the space.  All around, tiny candles twinkled.  A warm fire popped and crackled in the fireplace opposite the bed.  She looked up at Blake, who was watching her intently.  She opened her mouth to ask a question and clamped her lips shut again.

He smiled.  “Do you have a question, kitten?”

She nodded.

“You may ask one question.”

“What is this place?”

Blake crossed to the stove to peer into the tub of water.  “This is my play cabin.  Some Doms have a dungeon, I have a cabin.”

LOST & BOUND will be out January 31.  You can pre-order your copy now.

books2read.com/LostandBound

Weekend Excerpt–Lost & Bound

Lost & Bound, my new contemporary erotic romance novel, is launching in January.  The manuscript is currently with the proofreader and the cover design is being finalized as we speak.  You’ll be able to see the cover reveal right here very soon.

But to tide you over, here’s a sexy little teaser to whet your appetite.

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When the power went out, Blake wasn’t surprised in the least.  If anything, he was surprised it had lasted as long as it had.  This was undoubtedly the worst storm so far in what had been a very dry summer.  Angry lightning streaked across the dark sky, with thunder booming almost instantaneously.  For microseconds, the flashes illuminated the entire lake like mid-day.

He slid open the sheer drapes that shrouded the glass doors overlooking the lake and settled in, book in one hand, a second bottle of Lebatt Blue in the other.  Leaning back, he rested his feet on the battered leather ottoman, content for the moment to watch the storm’s fury.

His eyes moved to the dark shape in the middle of the lake.  He knew from experience that a wild storm like this one was a dicey proposition in the tiny island cabin.  For one thing, because it was situated on the crest of the island, the wind howled mercilessly around the structure.  And being on the highest point, with thirty-foot pines towering over it, the cabin was a natural lightning rod.  The thunder would be deafening.

He wondered how Shasta was faring.  As he watched, another jagged bolt etched a path across the sky.  He chuckled lightly, picturing her, eyes wide, with the covers pulled up over her head.

               I should check on her first thing in the morning.

Eventually, he lit the oil lamp beside him and began to read.  Bear paced anxiously back and forth in front of the huge window.  He’d never been a fan of storms, not since he’d been a pup.  Suddenly the dog stopped pacing and whimpered softly.

“What’s wrong, boy?  You’re okay, it’s just a summer storm.”

Bear whimpered again and woofed softly.  Frowning, Blake set down the book and stood beside the dog, looking out into the stormy night.  “What is it?  Is something out there?”

Then he saw it.  A tiny point of light between him and the island.  It bounced and tossed as it…

Blake shook his head.  “No way.  No way is she in a boat in the middle of this storm.”

In the next instant, lightning flashed and he saw her clearly, Shasta, huddled against the wind and rain, steering the tiny skiff toward the lodge’s dock.  She was battling against the ferocious gusts of wind and white-capped waves on the lake that threatened to capsize the boat.

“Son of a bitch!” Blake growled.  “No more sense than a…”  He threw on his boots and shrugged into his rain slicker, pausing to don his headlamp before pulling up the hood.  “Son of a bitch!”

He kept his eyes on Shasta as he stalked out to the dock, crossing to the end to wait for her.  When she was close enough, he held out an old wooden oar and she grasped the end of it, allowing him to pull her the rest of the way to the side of the dock.  Blake reached down to cut the motor and grasped her by the upper arms, pulling her out of the boat.

She stood in front of him, eyes wide with terror and she was soaked to the skin, not having bothered with a rain coat.  He shouted above the storm.  “God-dammit, Shasta, what the hell were you thinking?”

She just blinked up at him, shaking either from fear or cold, or both.  “Come on, let’s get you inside.”  He easily scooped her up in his arms and she buried herself against his chest.

Blake was shaking too, but it was from anger.  She’d recklessly endangered herself.  If he hadn’t seen her, if the boat had swamped…  It was beyond his comprehension.  He carried her straight into his cabin, kicking the door closed behind them.  He set her down in the kitchen and stepped back.

“Explain yourself.”  He crossed his arms and watched her expectantly.

Shasta stood shaking, her red hair plastered to her head, her soaked white camisole completely sheer, her pink pajamas clinging to her legs.  She crossed her arms, too, but the gesture was self-protective rather than angry.  It only served to push up her breasts, punctuated by hard-tipped nipples, made harder by being cold and wet.  He worked to ignore them, trying to understand what she’d been thinking.

“Well?”

“I…” she stammered, “I was so scared.”  She was shivering constantly now, and a trickle of blood ran down the side of her face.

Blake lifted her chin gently.  “What happened?  Why are you bleeding?”

Her head shook slightly.  “I don’t…” her teeth chattered, “I don’t know.”

Peering closely, he saw a cut at the hairline above her right temple.  Swiping the hair back, he spied a sliver of glass and carefully removed it.  “Come with me,” he commanded.

She followed him through the living room as he picked up the oil lamp and carried it into the bathroom, where he lifted her up and sat her on the counter.  The cut on her head had begun bleeding in earnest when the glass had been removed.  Blake used a gauze pad to apply direct pressure on the cut.  Shasta sniffled softly as tears ran down her face.

“What’s wrong?” he growled.

“You called me Shasta,” she sobbed.

He snorted.  “What you did was a very ‘Shasta’ thing to do.  That’s the least of your worries right now.  Hold this.”  He moved her hand to hold the gauze in place and he reached around to turn on faucet in the bathtub.

She sat shivering, watching the tub fill with hot water.  Clouds of steam filled the room.  He left for a moment, returning with a flannel shirt of dark red plaid, which he hung on a hook on the back of the door.  Next he turned off the water.

“Let me see how it’s doing,” he murmured, carefully peering under the gauze.  The bleeding had slowed.  He took a bandage from the medicine cabinet and applied it over the cut.  Shasta was still shaking like a leaf.

“You’re almost hypothermic.  I want you in the tub.  Strip.”

Shasta blinked up at him.

“Don’t make me tell you twice.”  His voice was quietly intense as he lifted her off the counter and stood her in the middle of the floor.

Shakily, she pulled the camisole over her head, dropping it to the floor.  Blake watched unblinkingly, a hard expression on his face.  She hooked her thumbs into the top of her pants and slid them, panties and all, down her legs.  She nearly tripped stepping out of them, and Blake reached to steady her.

Naked, she stood trembling as he devoured her with his eyes, starting with her perfect round tits and their tight pink points, her narrow waist and the flair of her hips, the bare cleft at the junction where her legs met.  After all, she’d been on display on the dock, surely she wasn’t shy now.  He knew he was being an ass and he didn’t care.  Anger still thrummed through his veins.

“Get in the tub.  I’ll set a timer for fifteen minutes.  After that, the water will cool off too much to help.”  He disappeared, returning moments later with a kitchen timer which he set on the bathroom counter.

“Why aren’t you in the tub?  Was I unclear in some way?” he snapped.

Shasta touched the wall for stability as she dipped one foot into the tub.  “It’s hot.”

“It’s supposed to be hot.  We have to warm you up.”  He watched her step in with the other foot and ease herself down.  She looked like a drowned rat, peering up at him all wide-eyed.

“When the timer goes off, get out and dry yourself.  You can put this on,” he indicated the flannel shirt he’d hung on the door.  “You will go into the bedroom and sit on the edge of my bed.  You will wait until I come back.  Is that clear?”

Shasta nodded silently.

“I said sit.  You will not lie down, you will not get into the bed.  You will sit.  If you’re cold, there’s a blanket you can use to wrap around yourself.  Do you understand?”

Again, she nodded.  A look of annoyance crossed his face, and then passed.  He nodded sharply.  “I’ll be back.”  He closed the bathroom door behind him and she heard him speak to Bear.  “Stay here, boy, keep an eye on her.  I need to think.”

Lost & Bound is part of my Dream Dominant Collection.  It features a light BDSM theme with a DD/lg relationship, and it’s intended for mature audiences.  Keep watching here for the latest on the cover reveal and release day.

In the meantime, check out my other books on my Amazon Author page.

Weekend Excerpt–Resisting Risk

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When I sit down to write, I have a definite story in mind, from beginning to end.  As a reader, I like books that feature characters I can get invested in, plots that are smart and unpredictable.  As a writer, I find that I feel the same way.  Which is why, although I’ve written a novella, I prefer to write longer stories that give me the opportunity to fully explore my characters and their lives.

Rannigan’s Redemption is an epic, three-novel erotic romance that spans nearly a decade in the lives of the main characters, Michael Rannigan and Maggie Flynn. Their relationship is complicated, and ultimately goes in a surprising direction.  But along the way, we get to know who they are as people.  We feel their emotions as we share their journey.

This snippet is from Resisting Risk, the first book of the trilogy.

“Let’s go,” Gwen said, when the band finished playing.  Michael mentally rolled his eyes.  She was being a pain tonight.  Next time she was in town, he would probably have other plans.  He’d thought to stop by Maggie’s table again to say goodbye but by then she was busy opening gifts so he’d just followed Gwen out the door.  It occurred to him that it was odd that he’d even thought about speaking to her again.  Probably too much bourbon, he thought, shaking his head.

They caught a cab back to the Upper East Side where he lived.  “I want to go to Bemelmans,” Gwen said as the cab neared his neighborhood.  Of course you do, he thought.  All he wanted to do was go home and get laid.

“Drop us at the Carlyle, please,” he said to the driver.  By the time he’d paid for the cab, Gwen was already inside the bar.  When he caught up with her he realized why they’d had to stop here.  A group of her friends was ensconced in a corner banquette.  She’d wanted to show him off.

There is definitely no next time with Gwen, he thought to himself, but he plastered on his PR smile.  “Hello, ladies,” he charmed, “apparently we’re late.”  Gwen beamed as her friends gave her envious looks.  He ordered a round for the table and chatted amiably with everyone for a while.  During a lull in the conversation while the pianist played a song the table had requested, he leaned into Gwen.  “Are you ready to go now?”

“Yes, we can go,” she said, running her hand up the inside of his leg and giving him a coy look.

They quickly said their goodbyes and left, walking the three blocks to his apartment building on 79th.  As they rode the elevator to the 21st floor, Gwen kept her eyes on the numbers over the door, but she reached over to stroke the front of his pants where his erection was growing harder.

Michael unlocked the door to his apartment and let her in, stopping to drop his keys in the bowl on the foyer table.  He took off his jacket and untied his tie.  “Can I get you a drink?” he asked on his way to get his own.  He paused to put the television on a sports channel.

“I’ll have champagne,” she said, with a trace of pout in her voice.

He rolled his eyes.  “No champagne, can I get you some chardonnay instead?”

“I suppose,” she simpered.  He grabbed a Heineken for himself.

When he returned to the living room she had kicked off her shoes and was relaxing on the tan oversized leather sectional that faced the television and the floor-to-ceiling wall of windows beyond, opening to his solarium on the terrace.  The city lights twinkled like a sparkling carpet below them.  This was why he, a happily single man, had bought a four-bedroom apartment.  It had the best view in the entire building.  He handed Gwen her wine and sank down beside her to sip his beer and watch tv, picking up the remote to turn up the volume.

“Oh, baby, are you sure you want to watch silly old sports?” she asked him.  “I had something else in mind.”  She moved to kneel in front of him and undid his belt and then his fly.

He smiled down at her.  “Are they mutually exclusive?” he asked, grinning and arching his eyebrow.  She winked up at him and pulled back the waistband of his boxer briefs, freeing his impressive erection.  He groaned and rested his head against the back of the sofa with his eyes closed as she took him in her mouth.  In spite of being a demanding princess, Gwen was great at giving head.  She worked him with her tongue and slid her lips up and down his shaft, sucking like a Dyson.

He was considering trying to hold off coming, make it last longer, when he heard his phone blip, indicating an email.  Glancing down beside him on the sofa, he saw that the message was from Maggie.  Michael picked up the phone and keyed in his pass code.  Gwen immediately stopped what she was doing.

“Oh, hell no, you are not answering a message in the middle of a blowjob!” she exclaimed.

“I’m just holding off, baby, we don’t want this over so fast,” he said.  “I want to fuck you.  Go to the bedroom and get ready.   I’ll be right there.”  He gave her a quick kiss, and she headed to the bedroom, slightly mollified.

Checking the time he saw that it was 2:16.  Maggie sent him a message after two in the morning?  He was definitely intrigued.

Dear Mr. Rannigan, I wanted to say thank you for the champagne you sent to my friends and me last night.  It was completely unnecessary and extremely thoughtful.  I’m excited about your job offer.  I will definitely call your office tomorrow to set up an appointment.  Again, thank you so much.  I look forward to working with you.  Sincerely, Maggie Flynn

A smile curled his lips as he reread the message.  So formal and professional.  Nothing at all to indicate what her eyes completely gave away.  She probably assumed he’d read it in the morning.  He wanted to respond now.

Dear Ms. Flynn, you are most welcome for the champagne.  I felt badly that I crashed your birthday celebration with all your friends.  Champagne seemed the least I could do.  I am excited at the prospect of having a brilliant young legal mind working on our team.  So please do call and schedule that appointment.  And, if we’re to be working together, I’ll have to insist that we drop the formalities.  We’ll be just Michael and Maggie.  It will be simpler that way, don’t you think?  And now that it’s actually tomorrow, I’ll wish you a very Happy Birthday.  Go to sleep, Maggie.  I’ll see you next week.  Sincerely, just Michael

Use this universal link to get Resisting Risk at your favorite online bookseller:

books2read.com/ResistingRisk

Watch This Space–Erinn Ellender Quinn

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000038_00071]I’m so excited to introduce you to Erinn Ellender Quinn, author of paranormal historical romance.  Her debut romance novel, Ride the Wind, is available now.  One of the things I love most about this book is the red-haired heroine.  You know that I’m all about #MoreGingersInErotica.  Here’s the blurb:

Captain Ian O’Manion is a man with three names and a perilous past….

As Ian O’Malley, he’s wanted by the English.  He’s wanted by the French as Jean Delacorte.  When he wins The Oaks, a Maryland horse farm, he takes a new name for his new life…until the past catches up to him, with a vengeance.

Ian returns to The Oaks with a festering gunshot wound, fractured bones, and a broken spirit.  Haunted by abuses suffered in a Jamaican prison, devoid of hope after his botched escape, he believes that he’s come home to die.

Elsbeth Gordon is an indentured servant with dangerous secrets of her own ….

A young woman of power, Beth talks to trees, communicates with animals, and practices magick alone. When healing the Captain means sharing her secrets, Beth has no choice but to risk being burned as a witch. The psychically gifted beekeeper sees the promise of their future in his eyes…if they can survive an old enemy and an ancient evil that threaten to destroy them both.

A paranormal historical romance, written for ages 18+.

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The story sounds fantastic!  Now, how about a nice, spicy little tease from Ride the Wind?

At the stables, they found that the Marshall men and O’Flaherty boys and Theo had everything under control.  Ian still didn’t know why Red Beth had to drag him from his sickbed and make him walk all the way down here, feeling uncomfortably weak as a kitten, when she could just as easily have told him a bedtime story about it.  But she’d insisted.  Mindful of his indebtedness, he had humored her, and so it was that they had come to this, poised in the role of passive observers in an empty stall, until the mare was brought in.  Red Beth excused herself and went over to talk to the chestnut, rubbing her head and whispering in her ear and adjusting the leather cover that would protect her neck from an overzealous stallion’s bites.

Zephyr smelled the mare, even before Thomas brought him into the stable.  Outside, he whinnied his pleasure, and he came in dancing with an erection that hung to his hocks.  Ian almost called out to beg her not to when Beth dared to approach his horse.

Zephyr reared up, and Ian swore that his heart stopped.  It would have been too late; there was no way he would have reached her in time to save her, but the prancing, padded hooves miraculously cleared Beth as they came down.  Ian exhaled sharply and released the breath that he’d been holding.

Thomas had his hands full, controlling the stallion and keeping an eye on Beth, who was talking to the beast, no doubt sharing a bit of breeding etiquette, warning him not to play too roughly.  Zephyr whinnied, and Thomas waited until Beth was free and clear.  She rejoined Ian in the empty stall, closing the short door behind her.  Zephyr pranced up to the pretty chestnut mare, who had twitched her tail to the side to ease his way.  She was good enough to welcome the stallion’s weight as he reared up and covered her, shoving his massive member inside her and thrusting home like the magnificent stud that he was.

And all the while, Beth stood, almost breathless, watching spellbound, wincing when Zephyr bit at the leather-covered neck.  She gripped the door of the empty stall that was their viewing room, and Ian knew she was not unaffected.  Forget Zephyr.  He watched Beth watching the horses.  He listened to her telling breath, and felt the hum in her body that sang to him as surely as the fiddle’s phantom tune.

And because they were in a place where they could see without being seen, Ian stepped behind her and slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her back against him.  She shivered, and inhaled sharply, then forgot to breathe altogether.  He leaned down, bending until his teeth found the base of her neck.  “Red,” he whispered against her petal-soft skin just before he tasted it, tasted her, and asked her to take him home.

“Please,” the Captain begged when she stayed rooted, transfixed, watching his stallion cover the chestnut mare as he wanted to cover her.  “Have mercy.  Don’t do this to me.  You don’t know what it’s been like.”

But she did.  She did.  She knew exactly what he’d felt.  It was her gift.  Her curse.  Like now, feeling the blood pump in old haunts, the word made flesh, the promise of resurrection fulfilled.  The Captain wanted her, and she wanted him to want her, and Herne would just have to understand.

The stallion finished and disengaged, dropping onto all four feet, with his penis tamed and near normal size already, while the Captain’s was just coming to life.  She wished he could have taken her right then and there, amidst the sharp scents of the stable as they tumbled in the straw and hay.

They headed for the house, each one priding themselves on moving at a reasonable pace, when every step brought them closer to the bedroom upstairs, with its urn full of dead honeybees and a plate of herbs and sliced ginger root and an odd number of pinch-necked glass cups.  Back in the day, Ian could have swept her into his arms and carried her up the stairs.  Now it was all he could do to navigate under his own power and pray the feeling wouldn’t go away once they’d gotten to where he could do something about it.

When they reached the front door, he took her hand and pulled her through the house he’d won on a turn of the cards, gotten by chance and kept by pretense, until he could clear his real name.  At least his Christian name was the same, and the subtle change from O’Malley to O’Manion was still a damn sight better than the years he’d played Jean Delacorte.

He counted the steps on the sweeping entrance stairs, marked the feet from the landing to his bedroom door, and numbered the eyelets on the back of her bodice as he put his fingers to the task of unlacing them.  While he was busy in the back, she unpinned her apron front, reaching around and pulling one tie so that the thing fell free, landing in a puddle on the wide board floor.  He opened his mouth on the back of her neck, and he knew she remembered his stallion, covering the chestnut mare, giving her that enormous member of his in a mating that was as intense as it was brief.  A stallion did his business in a minute; it took three hundred forty days, give or take, for a mare to finish hers.

Beth felt the Captain’s breath on her skin, like dragon’s fire.  No sooner did she wonder if he intended to consume her than he put an arm around her waist, pulled her back against him, and opened his mouth on the base of her neck.  He scored it with his teeth, not quite biting, and then he did bite her, inhaling sharply with his mouth fastened on a spot that made her knees go weak.  His hands skimmed up her sides and pulled down her bodice; he splayed his calloused fingers and lay claim to her breasts.

Ian wanted it to be good for her.  He wanted it to last, but he couldn’t wait for layers of clothes and shoes and stockings, no matter how much he enjoyed a leisurely disrobing.  For the first time in months, there was life in every part of him.

“Red,” he whispered against her hair.  “I’m sorry, I can’t wait.  Forgive me.”

He kept one arm wrapped around her, kept her backside pressed tight against him when he turned her and guided her onto the edge of the bed, bending her so that her face nestled where he’d lain.  She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with his scent.  He spread her legs with his knees, fumbling at his buttons and praying he didn’t go off too soon.  This had been such a long time coming, he didn’t know what to expect.

 Hello, old friend.

Ian felt a full-body smile come over him.  Red felt it too, or had read his damned mind again.

Beth purred and buried her face in his bedsheets, pressing her hips back against him, waiting for him to enter her.  There was no finesse left by the time he opened his breeches and threw up her skirts.  Finding her wet enough, he drove himself inside her, sheathing himself to the hilt.

 Ah, God.  Sweet Jaysus.

A stallion finished in a minute and he did too, thrilled that he’d accomplished that much, at least, but hating himself for her sake, for giving such a disappointing performance when she deserved so much better.  Red Beth, in whose body the source of pleasures lay, whose clever hands and kind heart had saved him from himself.

 How can I thank you?  I wanted to die.  I would have, if not for you.

She heard him.  He could tell, because when she turned her head to smile softly at him, he saw that her pink lips were quivering and her brilliant blue eyes were filled with tears.  She deserved so much better than this, than him, and he told her so.

He told her with words.  He told her without words.  He told her with his hands, his mouth, his touch, his breath as he pulled her into his arms and unwrapped her like the treasure she was.  Her dress went first, then the single petticoat she wore to flaunt convention—but then, she’d been working.  Working to cleanse him.  Working to heal him.  Freeing him from the laudanum and restoring his manhood.

The stays were a surprise.  “They’re for my back,” she told him, eavesdropping again.  “I hate them, but they help.”  Her chemise was utilitarian and well constructed, with generous gussets under the arms that suited someone who tamed foxes and gathered honey and could have the most vicious horse eating out of her hand like a child’s pet pony.  And under the chemise, there was what he remembered, what he dreamed of, with and without laudanum: the trim waist and pomegranate breasts and just the slightest swell of a woman’s belly above nether curls that were as wild and red as those that crowned her head.

He pulled her onto the bed with him, his own clothes be damned.  This was for her, the least he could do after all she’d done for him.

He dried her tears with his thumbs and bent his head and kissed her.  Every fiber of his being, every breath, he owed her more than he could say, more than he could ever repay.  Darlin’ girl,do you know what you’ve done to me?

Of course she didn’t.  He didn’t know himself, so there was nothing for her to pull from the whispers of his mind.  Quieting himself, he focused on the woman in his arms, with her trim ankles and pretty feet.  He undid her buckled shoes and pulled them off, dropping them beside the bed.  He ran his fingers on the inside of her thighs and smelled the musk of their joining.  He untied her garters and pushed her stockings to her ankles, taking care to pull them off as she’d put them on, figuring it was the least he could do.  Attention to details in lovemaking counted; even something as small as right-turned hose could never be underestimated.

The cheeky thing laughed, delighted with his philosophical approach to coitus.

Ian smiled.  She had no idea.

Really?

Now who was reading whose mind?

It didn’t matter.  She’d seen too much of him to hide, and he’d learned more of her than he had any woman in his life, even the one he’d left with child.  Someday he would tell her, but not now.  Now he wanted to think of Beth.  Only Beth, who slept with foxes and talked to bees and communicated with horses and whispered to trees and made a man dare to dream again.

He kissed her feet, those pretty, pretty feet, and worshipped her ankles.  Like a sculptor’s apprentice, he explored the masterpiece that was her body so closely he could have copied it, had he a block of marble and the tools and the skill to breathe life into stone.  She could.  She had.  He was proof.  He said nothing, in case it came to naught, but he swore he felt himself thickening even as he thought about it.

He refocused his attention on Beth, lying breathless in his bed, at his mercy after he’d been dependent upon hers since the new moon.  He wondered, what would she do tonight, when the full moon—the Buck Moon—rose over the wooded hills and called to her pagan blood?

Where can you get Ride the Wind?  Right here–http://mybook.to/TW2

ee-quinn-pub-photo

Now for a little surprise.  Erinn Ellender Quinn is another pen name for one of my most favorite people on the planet, author Nia Farrell.  She’s a gifted and talented writer of erotic romance, and besides, precious few people are as understanding as she is of my giraffe fetish, bless her!

Erinn Ellender Quinn is the softer side of erotic author Nia Farrell, one of Mr. Blackthorne’s Wicked Pen Writers and a multi-genre author who is published in nonfiction, poetry, music, articles, and children’s books, with one documentary screenplay under her literary belt.  She’s an old soul and a period reenactor who’s been into corsets for centuries, although she wears them more to Civil War events these days.

Erinn has been involved in the metaphysical community for over twenty-five years.  She is a Reiki Master and crystal healer whose work encompasses this and other lifetimes.  Erinn was fortunate enough to meet her soul mate early on. She married her high school sweetheart, raised two children, and began writing at her husband’s suggestion. She has been published as Nia Farrell in erotic romance since 2015.  Ride the Wind is her debut romance novel.

Want to follow Erinn Ellender Quinn?

CONTACT INFORMATION AND LINKS:

Erinn Ellender Quinn’s webpage http://niafarrell.wordpress.com

Erinn Ellender Quinn’s newsletter signup http://eepurl.com/b1PtzD

Erinn Ellender Quinn’s Amazon author page http://viewAuthor.at/EEQuinn

Erinn Ellender Quinn’s Goodreads author page https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15812179.Erinn_Ellender_Quinn

Erinn Ellender Quinn’s Facebook author page https://www.facebook.com/ErinnEllenderQuinn/

Erinn Ellender Quinn/Nia Farrell on Tumblr http://authorniafarrell.tumblr.com

Erinn Ellender Quinn/Nia Farrell on Twitter https://twitter.com/AuthrNiaFarrell

Erinn Ellender Quinn/Nia Farrell on Pinterest https://www.pinterest.com/authrniafarrell

There’s more where this came from:

Nia Farrell Titles:

 The Three Graces Series

SOMETHING ELSE August 25, 2015 e-book  http://myBook.to/TG1 or  https://www.amzn.com/dp/B014FV1TUE

SOMETHING DIFFERENT September 29, 2015 e-book http://myBook.to/TG2 or https://www.amzn.com/dp/B015Y9JEHG

SOMETHING MORE October 15, 2015 e-book http://myBook.to/TG3 or https://www.amzn.com/dp/B016OULX8C

THE THREE GRACES TRILOGY paperback April 2, 2016 http://myBook.to/TGr or https://www.amzn.com/dp/1530858194

SOMETHING SPECIAL May 5, 2016 ebook http://myBook.to/TG6 or https://www.amzn.com/dp/B01F6FOQ0S; paperback http://myBook.to/TG6p or https://www.amzn.com/dp/1533146217

 DARK MOONS RISING e-book March 10, 2016 http://myBook.to/DMR or https://www.amzn.com/dp/B01CRX1O70; paperback April 2, 2016 http://myBook.to/DMRp or https://www.amzn.com/dp/1530828759

REPLAY BOOK 1: VIKING RAID July 1, 2016 ebook http://mybook.to/RB1; paperback http://mybook.to/RB1p

AS WICKED AS YOU WANT (Forever Ours Book 1) August 1, 2016 ebook http://mybook.to/FO1

By Nia Farrell and Jane Austen

PRIDE AND PUNISHMENT—AN EROTIC RETELLING OF JANE AUSTEN’S BELOVED CLASSIC June 1, 2016 ebook http://myBook.to/Punish or https://www.amzn.com/dp/B01FJ612HY; paperback http://myBook.to/Punishp or https://www.amzn.com/dp/1533228477; Large Print https://www.amazon.com/dp/1533235244 or http://myBook.to/Punishlg

Coming soon:

REPLAY BOOK 3: HONOUR BOUND November 1, 2016

TOUCH THE WIND (w/a Erinn Ellender Quinn) December 1, 2016

 

 

Weekend Excerpt–Running Rogue

bigstock-Beautiful-Couple-Kissing-Passi-101305661.jpgErotic romance novel Running Rogue is the second book of the Rannigan’s Redemption trilogy.  It begins where the first book, Resisting Risk, leaves off.  Maggie makes a sudden decision to leave the law firm for a job with the prosecutor’s office, leaving Michael in a tailspin.  Jarred by the changes, they’re both making rash, sometimes destructive, decisions as they lead separate lives.

Then comes news that shakes Michael to his core.  Having surrounded himself with people as shallow as he is, he finds that he has nowhere to turn.

Here’s an excerpt from Running Rogue.  *Warning:  This excerpt contains spoilers.

Michael?” Maggie asked into the intercom.

“Hey, Mags.”  His voice sounded tinny over the ancient device.  “I know it’s late.  I’m sorry.  But when I saw your light on, I mean…  Can I come up?”

Maggie hesitated, her finger hovering over the button.  “What do you want, Michael?”

“Mags, I just…I just want to talk.”

She shook her head, checking the time again.  What the hell?  And he’s probably drunk.  Standing out there in the rain like he’s got absolutely no sense. 

            She pressed the door buzzer.  “Don’t wake my neighbors,” she admonished him.

Maggie pulled the wooly cream colored robe tighter around herself, tying the belt securely and she stalked to the door, opening it to wait for Michael.  She watched him coming up the stairs, his soaked hair matted to his head.  His wet shoes squeaked softly with each footfall.  She started to say something snippy but noticed the haunted look in his eyes, so she simply stepped back and let him into the apartment.  She closed the door behind him and walked to the kitchen counter where she leaned back, crossing her arms, head cocked at him expectantly.

Michael stood just inside the doorway, rainwater pooling all around his feet.  He looked ill at ease and uncertain.

“Well?” she finally said.

He ran his fingers through his wet hair and sighed deeply.

“Oh for God’s sake, Michael!”  She left him standing there and returned with a large blue towel.  “You’re soaked.”

She took his jacket from him and hung it over the back of a kitchen chair.  As he used the towel to dry his face and hair, she couldn’t help herself.  “Are you drunk?”

He frowned and shook his head.  “I’m not drunk.  I had some bourbon.  I might be drunk.  A little.”

Maggie rolled her eyes.  “Sit down.  I’m making you some coffee so we can send you home.  Have you eaten lately?”

“I don’t know.”  Michael sank onto a chair at the kitchen table.  He glanced around as Maggie busied herself putting a kettle of water on the stove and taking a French press from a cupboard.

“I hope I’m not causing a problem with your fiancé.  Husband?  Whatever.”

Maggie paused to look at him, her lips forming a grim line.  “Yeah, well, that didn’t work out so…no worries.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

She worked in silence breaking eggs into a bowl and putting strips of bacon into a skillet as Michael sat at the table and occasionally used the towel to swipe at his face.   On the stove, the bacon began to sizzle as the kettle whistled.  Maggie poured the boiling water into the press and let it stand for a moment as she chopped a small onion and part of a green pepper.

“Did you know Stan Hodges died?” Michael finally asked.

Maggie arched an eyebrow.  “I was at the funeral.  Where were you?”

“I don’t know,” he answered vaguely.  He watched her grate cheddar into the eggs.  Then she pressed the plunger on the coffee and poured some into a cornflower blue mug with a white script ‘M’ on the side.

M for Maggie. Or Michael.  He shook his head to dismiss the inane thought.  Looking around the small apartment, he asked, “Why are you still here?”

Maggie glanced over her shoulder.  “What, I should move uptown into one of your glass and steel monstrosities?”

“I was just thinking that you could afford a bigger place, that’s all.”

“This may be a tiny apartment but this building has soul.  Once upon a time, a family called this place home.  Maybe I can’t afford to own a whole townhouse but at least I can rent a small part of it.”

Michael watched her for a moment.  “You could have bought your own townhouse if you’d stayed with the firm.”

Maggie turned around and leaned against the counter, crossing her arms.  “If I’d stayed, I’d have been out of a job along with everyone else.  You really tanked everyone, you know that, right?”

He looked down at his hands.  “I wouldn’t have pursued the television thing if you’d still been there.”

She snorted, returning to her cutting board.  “Bullshit.  Being on the news every night is exactly your thing.  You can’t put that off on me.”

She set the coffee in front of him.  “What are you doing here, Michael?”

He stalled, sipping the steaming hazelnut blend.  “This isn’t where I meant to be.  I went out and ended up down here in the Village.  I was at the Blue Note until they kicked everybody out.  I got a little lost and then realized I was across the street from your apartment.”

Maggie turned back to her omelet, stirring in the vegetables.  The bacon had quieted down and she turned over the strips, causing them to erupt into loud sizzling once again.  “Why are you here?” she asked again.

“I’m sick,” he said quietly.

“I don’t doubt it.  It’s forty degrees outside and you’re soaked.  It’s a wonder you don’t have pneumonia.”

“It’s cancer.”

Maggie froze mid-stir.  “What?”  Slowly, she turned around.

“Cancer.”

“Shit.”  She crossed to the table and sank onto the chair across from him, gaping at him wide-eyed.

“There was this spot.  And then they found out it was melanoma.”  Michael’s face twisted.  “Mags, you wouldn’t believe the chunk they cut out of my shoulder.”

“Well, they got it then,” she said.  “Good.  That’s good, right?”

“Bacon’s burning,” Michael said quietly.

“Fuck!”  She jumped up and took the pan off the burner.

“I like it that way,” he offered as she set the strips of bacon on a paper towel to drain and poured the omelet into the pan.

“So after they took the hunk out of my arm they did a biopsy.  It was melanoma, just like the doctor said.  Then they had me get a PET scan.  Said they needed to see if it had spread.”

Maggie worked mechanically at the egg mixture in the pan, listening intently as he spoke.  “And?” she asked as she slid the omelet onto a blue ceramic plate.  She placed it in front of him and sat down again.

“And they called this afternoon to say they have the results.  The doctor wouldn’t discuss it over the phone.  He wants me to come in tomorrow.”  He looked down at the plate.  “He said I should have someone with me.”

“Oh my God.  Michael.”

He nodded.  “I started making phone calls.  That’s how I found out about Stan.  Which was after I called Murph and then Jimbo.  They pretty much told me to go fuck myself.”

Maggie watched him grimly.  I imagine they did. 

“I called some of the women I go out with.  I guess everybody has a lot going on.”  He sighed.  “I thought about calling you.  But, I don’t know.  I’ve been an asshole.  Plus I figured you were busy with getting married and stuff.”  He met her eyes.  “I didn’t mean to come here, honest to God.”

She watched him pick at the omelet.  “My agent’s pissed at me because I bailed on some appearances.  Asking her to come with me is out of the question.  She’s probably not in town anyway.”

Michael shook his head.  “I don’t know why they’re insisting that someone comes with me to that appointment tomorrow.  I should just go and find out what the scan shows, figure out where to go from there.  It’s just…”  His voice broke.  “Mags, I’m scared shitless.”  He put down the fork and held his head in his hands.

Maggie could never have imagined a scenario in which S. Michael Rannigan would break down sobbing at her kitchen table.  She felt as though her heart would break.

“Michael,” she said softly, standing beside him, placing her hand on his shoulder.  His body shook as he let loose the emotions that had been building since the day the nightmare had started.  “It’s okay,” she murmured.  “It’s okay, everything’s going to be alright.”  She waited for him to quiet down.  “What time is your appointment?”

Michael sat up, sniffing and using the towel to wipe his face.  “Shit.”  He coughed and took a sip of coffee.  “I have to be there at 1:30.”

Maggie looked over to where her files still sat scattered in the living room.  She knew they probably represented ten hours of work for the following day and sighed heavily.  “Where is the doctor’s office?”

“It’s on E. 80th between 2nd and 3rd.”

She nodded.  “Okay.  I’ll tell Rance that I have to leave at lunch.  I’ll meet you there.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Michael said quickly, but he looked at her with such gratitude she felt the sting of tears in her eyes and a huge lump formed in her throat.

She coughed lightly.  “You didn’t ask, although you seem to have asked everyone else in your Contacts, and I’m going to try not to take that personally,” she said.  “I’m offering.  Take it or leave it.”

Michael smiled thinly.  “I’ve missed your smartass.  I’d be so glad to have you with me.”

Maggie nodded.  “Done.  But if for some reason I’m running late, you go on in.  I’ll be there.  I promise.”  She took his plate and warmed it in the microwave before placing it in front of him again.  “Now finish this up.  I’m calling you a cab and sending you on your way.”

Running Rogue Cover

Running Rogue, along with the rest of Rannigan’s Redemption, is available on Amazon, iTunes, B&N, Kobo, and Smashwords.