Guest Post-The Best Advice I Ever Got

Today I’d like to welcome a fellow Noble Romance Author who has quite a few books under his belt and one of the most interesting bios I’ve ever read. But you’ll have to see for yourself . This man has experienced much of life and it shows in his writing. I’ll let him tell you—>

DC Juris

Someone recently asked me what was the best piece of advice I’d ever received in my life. I didn’t even have to give it any thought.

Stay away from five dollar hookers, and five dollar tequila. That’s the advice Chief Cowart, my Airforce Junior ROTC teacher gave me on graduation day in 1996. Actually, that’s the advice he gave everyone, all the time. Seriously.

At the time, I took it as a funny little jibe – much like the ones he always made. Now, though, with a lot of experience and fourteen years of living behind me, I realize it was a metaphor for something bigger.

The message wasn’t about cheap booze and ladies of the night (though I’m sure that’s sage advice, too) but about life in general. It meant never settle. Never put your efforts or interests into things that aren’t worth your time. Always look for something better, something of higher quality. Something greater than what’s right in front of you.

In 2009, a fellow writer gave me another piece of great advice: fire your agent. Again, at the time I saw only the simple meaning. I had an agent who was taking my money (which I later learned she never should’ve) and doing nothing for me. So, I fired my agent and never, ever looked back. Two years later, fire your agent means something more to me. It means do it yourself. Don’t look to others to put out that supreme effort on your behalf – put it out there yourself. After all, if you’re not willing to work the extra hours and go the extra mile, why on Earth would they be? And the rewards you reap are all the sweeter when you know you have been the one to till and sew the soil, tend the seedlings, and watch them grow into strong, thriving plants.

Don’t apologize for wanting more. My husband said that to me at a particularly rocky moment in my life in 2010. But this time, I had
learned to look beyond the obvious meaning of the words, and see the deeper one. He meant not to be sorry for what I’d wanted, but he also meant not to be sorry for being me. You see, he has known something all his life that I have only just gotten around to learning: our wants and desires are part of what makes us who we are. What is a chef, without the desire to cook? Or an actor without the desire to make people feel? A comic without the desire to hear laughter?

I guess the moral of the story is, the next time you get good advice – or even bad! – ponder it. Sit with it. Chew on it, suck it dry, and lick up the crumbs. Get everything out of it you can. You never know when it will be relevant later, in an entirely different situation than the one it was offered to you in.

From male/male romance to a little solo female fun, this anthology of seven stories has just what you’re looking
for…and then some.

 Blurb: Come watch Amber, whose online adventures
have left her panting and ready. Or maybe you’d rather play with Jason, a sexy
writer who has finally figured out the plotline of his life revolves around his
hot assistant, Paul. And don’t forget Chase, the sexy transgender man heading
the right way for some steamy sex with fellow ftm Toby. These are just three of
your options; you’ve got thirteen playmates at your disposal in these seven
stories—all guaranteed to rev your engine and keep it running. All. Night.
Long.

Excerpt
from “Rub-a-Dub-Dub”

Amber closed her eyes and leaned back in the tub, resting her head on the curved edge. She thought back to earlier in the day, to the website of erotic stories she’d run across at work. She’d been doing a search for a favorite romance author, and had wound up finding one by the same name, with a different spelling. But the stories she discovered weren’t romantic at all, but steamy, hot tales of pure, unadulterated sex. Sex for the sake of sex, and, while she had initially turned up her nose, she hadn’t been able to suppress a little bit of curiosity.

She’d gone back to the website and was soon opening tab after tab in her browser, pouring over tale after tale of all kinds of sexual acts—anal sex, oral sex, BDSM, even homosexual sex—and then there were the things she’d never even heard of. The story about cock docking had nearly done her in. Such imagery in the authors’ words! She had pictured every story in her mind, and by the time the end of the day rolled around, she had worked herself into such a sexual frenzy she’d barely been able to keep her cool when she’d stepped out of her office.

She’d hurried home, fed the goldfish, grabbed up her favorite sex toys, and gone immediately for the bathroom. Now here she sat, hot water up to her shoulders, still just as turned on as she had been when she’d left work.

Excerpt from
“Torn”

Torn’s not like any other place you’ve ever been. That planet has a soul—remember that. She’ll demand your respect, and you’d do best to give it.

And in true human fashion, William had dismissed the words of his superior officer. Ten years of living in the barely-describable-as-civilized wilderness of Torn without incident had only served to cement his belief—no, his conceit—that nothing could stop him. There existed nothing that William, indeed any human, couldn’t conquer, couldn’t bend to their will. Couldn’t convert.

Except Torn. She’d proven that, at last, and taken back the land from terraforming, digging, and drilling. Torn had handed down her revenge. The storm—the natives called it The Great Anger—had come on quickly. No preceding black skies, no foretelling howling winds. No time to react. No warning. Nothing.

Crudely built, the wooden shanties they had lived in had splintered and crumbled under the powerful gusting gales. The Great Anger had ripped mighty trees from their roots as if they had not been rooted at all, careened them through the air like they’d weighed no more than twigs. They’d become weapons in Torn’s plan, a way of bringing about even more damage as they were slammed through walls and rooftops. Quakes had split the roads open, torrential rains had flooded the cities. In its wake, the Great Anger had left nothing but devastation.

 To buy this book click on the cover!

For more of DC Juris: http://www.dcjuris.com

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Guest Post-The Call of the Erotica Wild

This author recently shared a very hot kiss with us, and I’ve done a review for her erotic fantasy, Three Days of Dominance. A wonderful author and a great friend, please welcome—>

Cari Silverwood

Launching into the wild landscape of erotica as a new author has been most enlightening. As you might imagine, writing an erotica novel and getting it published is half the battle.  Figuring out author promo on the internet is another half — where to go, what to do and who to do it with are all painful, hair-pulling-out questions.

Promoting yourself, like this here blog post, is the modern form of standing up on a rickety box in the middle of the village square to do a speech, with your underwear strung out on a line behind you. 

So, is my underwear still there behind me? No? Well, here goes. The third half of the erotica book battle (Maths? What maths?)…the third half is the mental struggle I went through as I began to wonder, why? Why am I writing erotica, when I could be penning War and Peace? Why do I like reading it? Why, in particular, am I dwelling on the darker side of the erotica genre, where women get tied up by handsome, well-muscled, over-bearing men who always seem to harbor an organ of gold deep down inside their…

Were you thinking pants and dicks, or chests and hearts up there? My guess is the former.  Tut tut.  Heart, my dears, a man with a heart of gold. The other would be, interesting, but probably uncomfortable. 

To dismiss the first question. I write erotica because I like, no make that love doing it, I hope it makes me some cold hard gold cash, and War and Peace has already been written.

The third part of the question — why do I write on the darker BDSM side of erotica, I’ve answered in another blog post:  LINK

That other question I ask myself up above —  why do I like reading it, is there because I’d never read pure erotica before I wrote it. I had no idea of the mental anguish I would go through. I am a very sexually repressed person, I’m sure, though you might not think so reading some of my stories.

Her wrists were drawn taut above her head, secured to the headboard by ropes of thorned red rose and bougainvillea. The pricks of their thorns threatened to puncture her dream. She resisted that, wanting more. Raising her head, she stared down the length of her body, past her protruding red nipples and along her stomach where sweat lined the floral rope fastening her thighs up against her body. With her bottom tilted and her legs spread, her pussy was open, available.

The man, his black hair floating like the rays of a sun, lifted his head from between her thighs. She gasped, rolling her hips upward. The wet tip of his tongue slid across as he licked her juices off his lower lip. Her clit, so recently probed by that clever tongue, pulsed. If he didn’t put it back there, soon…

Yes, that there above, is some nasty sexual repression. To be serious though, I’d never really worked out why I had really dark, if yummy, sexual fantasies.  At least one recent study says dominant women love to fantasize about submission to an alpha male — to a dominant man. So chances are, if you love capture fantasies, BDSM, erotica where the woman gets pursued and seduced and dominated, you’re likely an intelligent dominant woman. There are always exceptions to any rule of course, and no one’s saying that means you drag your partner around by the ear, or that you always get your way in every argument. You may even be a man who likes reading these stories because you have the same fantasy, only you’re putting yourself into the position of the male protagonist seducing the woman…or the other way around.

The old tale that women only like stories and men only like the visual, or what gets called, porn, is also not one hundred percent true.

Here’s that study by the way http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/psyched/200905/why-dominant-women-enjoy-sexual-submission-fantasies-part-2

So, at least I now acknowledge that I’m not a freak, or unusual, and I hope you readers out there know that too — these are common fantasies, and those women who have them at the back of their minds yet don’t partake of erotica are missing out on so much delightful smuttiness, it almost makes me cry. But I won’t, I’ll just send around one of my Doms to spank them.

If you have a friend who desperately needs spanking call me to book Heketoro — my fae lord from my first release, Three Days of Dominance, released on June 7^th, 2011 from Loose Id.

I’m on facebook as Cari Silverwood.

Oh, and my website is : www.carisilverwood.net where you can find a nice long excerpt or two.

Cari Silverwood’s Three Days of Dominance

Blurb: When a man with mint-green eyes steps from a lake and offers to rescue Danii’s dog in exchange for three days of total obedience, it’s obvious he must be either joking or crazy. She must be the crazy one, though, because somehow, she ends up saying yes.

Being a police officer, she usually knows how to handle the crazies, but when it comes to Heketoro, she’s the one being handled. Each day their lovemaking becomes wilder and Danii discovers exactly how far this man can take her. Though the tattoos drawing themselves on his body make it clear he’s not quite human, to Danii what’s more important is their burgeoning love for each other.

To Heketoro, what’s important is one last ritual of love needed to break an ancient curse that prevents him from returning to his world. But as the time draws near, his enemies return and threaten to destroy him by using his only weakness — Danii.

Publisher’s Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: anal play/intercourse, BDSM theme and elements, dubious consent, violence.

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Her wrists were drawn taut above her head, secured to the headboard by ropes of thorned red rose and bougainvillea. The pricks of their thorns threatened to puncture her dream. She resisted that, wanting more. Raising her head, she stared down the length of her body, past her protruding red nipples and along her stomach where sweat lined the floral rope fastening her thighs up against her body. With her bottom tilted and her legs spread, her pussy was open, available.

The man, his black hair floating like the rays of a sun, lifted his head from between her thighs. She gasped, rolling her hips upward. The wet tip of his tongue slid across as he licked her juices off his lower lip. Her clit, so recently probed by that clever tongue, pulsed. If he didn’t put it back there, soon…

She panted as his thumbs glided in the slickness down below, felt them sink deep into her, then deeper inside, and gasped again, lost in the molten sensation. She tried to move her arms, her legs and couldn’t. Trapped and pinioned for him to do what he wished. Excitement screwed her insides a notch tighter. Her vagina squeezed around his thumbs. He pulled them out, and she mewed at the loss.

Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he rose to his feet, shifting position until his hands wrapped around her thighs and the head of his cock pressed against her entrance.

Anticipation made everything feverish bright, sent lust snaking, thick as syrup, to her groin. Her thigh muscles juddered as she pushed up in vain against the rope. The rope tightened. The thorns bit down.

The man smiled with satisfaction as her struggling subsided, becoming a trembling acceptance of what was to come. He drove the head of his cock into her, sliding inside, and halted. She groaned, anticipating the thrust as he penetrated farther.

Watching her intently, he skated his finger in tantalizing circles about her clit, sometimes touching the aching nub and sometimes not. He gripped it between finger and thumb and squeezed, then thrust with his cock, then squeezed, then thrust — the rhythm driving her closer and closer to the edge, her clit so swollen she was sure she’d explode if her release was held off a second longer. Withdrawing until the head barely parted her lips, he poised there, making her ache, making her want.

Aaah. She arched, threw back her head, opened her mouth…and something soft and furry landed on her. A long tongue swept across her face. The dream dissolved.

Danii opened one eye. Two doggy eyes looked back.

“Killer,” she rasped. Her cocker spaniel barked twice and squirmed closer. She plonked a hand on his head to still his tongue and squinted at the alarm clock.

“Six o’clock. Gah! Couldn’t you have waited one more minute? We nearly did it this time!” Not that it would have mattered. Her dreams always ended before she came, though this time had been close, much closer than usual.

Danii squeezed her thighs together and groaned. She really needed a lover. Only, good men didn’t grow on trees, especially not men who did special tricks with bougainvillea. Whoa, that had been something, way too kinky. She’d never let a man do that to her for real, but in dreams, in dreams it was…nice.

Killer barked again, more urgently.

“You want to go for your walk, don’t you?”

He ruffed and sat up, tail swishing across the sheets.

“Okay. Okay. I’m getting up.”

* * * * *

Getting her mind in gear in the early morning was something she’d had practice at for years. Within half an hour, Danii was at the lake, having pulled on jeans and a top and collected the neighbors’ dog like she’d promised. The lake was blue-green, cool, and still. The sun’s rays struggled over the horizon in little sparks and glints that hurt her eyes when she looked up.

Preoccupied by thoughts of what might await her at work later that morning, Danii barely noticed the concrete path under her feet, the ducks cruising on the water, or the myriad other life in and around the lake. She’d been here a million times, and the dogs more than made up for her inattention as they sniffed weeds, tree trunks, a patch or two of sodden grass, and eyed everything that moved.

Most likely there’d be a long list of thefts and assaults to investigate today — no court appearances, thank heavens, as far as she knew. With a wrench she brought her mind back to the here and now. Time for all the stresses of work later, when she had to think about it.

Killer and Jugsy, the neighbor’s black-spotted dalmatian, easily kept up with her on the lazy walk around the lake, though the dalmatian had a habit of doing pretzel maneuvers around Killer every so often.

A distinctive child’s hat with butterfly appliqué rested abandoned on the grass ahead. She knew Marie, the mother of the child, and went to pick it up. Jugsy’s lead tangled with Killer’s at the same time she bent over, and she absentmindedly fiddled with the lead and dropped it.

In that one millisecond of sloppiness, a dragonfly darted across Jugsy’s nose, and he took off like a spotted rocket. She lunged, then dived for the loop of the lead and missed. With a gigantic splash, Jugsy plunged into the lake and was yards out before she’d scrambled up off the grass.

Holy hells. Who was to know the animal could win an Olympic medal in dog paddle?

For a Friday morning, the park was inexplicably deserted. No one in front of me and — Danii looked back along the snaking path of gray concrete — no one behind. Just a carpet of grass up to the lake edge, low shrubs spotted here and there either side of the path, and a few timber seats randomly decorated with pigeon droppings. And one very wet dalmatian, trailing his lead through the weeds and scaring up ducks and cormorants while galumphing around on the island in the middle of the lake.

“Damn.” She wrapped the end of Killer’s leash around her hand an extra turn and gave him a quick pat. “At least you’re not stupid enough to go swimming.” Tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, spaniel ears drooping in sympathy, Killer panted happily up at her, then turned to bark at Jugsy.

“Jugsy!” Damn, damn, and damn. It seemed a good time to curse everything. As well as exercising the dogs, she came here to wind down, to forget things like the maniac burglar the sergeant wanted caught ASAP, the avalanche of paperwork on her desk, and the niggling headache that came with it. No way was she getting in that weed-infested water, tangling her legs and drowning because her neighbors’ dog had decided to go nuts.

But…she couldn’t leave him. He might be so dumb a lobotomized weevil could beat him in an IQ test, but he was adorable. She looked down at her jeans and low-cut red T-shirt. Jeans weren’t swimming gear — get them wet, and she’d find it hard to stay afloat. The alternative was to strip them off. No. No way am I stripping off in public.

She shucked her flip-flops and inched her toes closer to the murky green water. In the depths, something flash-wriggled past. Give her a recalcitrant criminal and she’d leap in with handcuffs flying, but this — no way. Water, deep water, that went down into green depths…it was enough to give her a serious case of the heebie-jeebies. She stared, feeling a prickle of anxiety that she knew was only an eyeblink away from becoming full-blown, mind-churning panic.

Liar. Any water made her want to cut and run.

“Need a hand?” From behind her came a deep voice with enough gravel in it to finish her driveway.

She jumped, stepping back at the same time as she swung to see who’d spoken. Her heart pounded ten times faster than it should. As she peered out through the swathe of hair across her eyes, the sun made gold and red haloes on the strands of auburn. Calm down, girl, it’s just a man.

She snagged back her hair. “Hi. My friend’s dog is stuck on the island.”

Reality shifted abruptly, and her stomach twisted. She knew him — he was the man from her dream fantasies for the last year. The resemblance was unnerving. Keeping her face from showing shock was a struggle.

If she talked fast, the man might not notice her blush. In her last dream, she’d been naked and tied to the headboard.

As if he could read her thoughts. Dreams were just…dreams.

He stood there, dripping wet, as sleek as a well-dressed seal, in skin-hugging black pants and a long-sleeved shirt that looked to be made of something like thin neoprene. He’d been swimming? His jet-black hair was tied in a ponytail. He was a little on the thin side for her tastes, and his irises were an odd color that was almost as green as the grass under her feet. Contacts, surely.

It was hard not to stare. Where had he come from?

He smiled. “Would you like me to get the dog back?”

Ooh. His voice went deep enough to turn her bones to jelly.

Killer gave a halfhearted woof, then wagged his tail. A guard dog, he was not.

“Uh. Um. You’d do that? I mean…” She tore her gaze away. “Look at it. There’s weeds in there that could pull you under.” She tucked her thumbs in her belt loops — only to realize it made her breasts push out. Casual-like, she unhooked her thumbs, then threw out some words to cover her embarrassment. “Are you trying out a scuba tank or something?”

He took a step closer. “My name is Heketoro. I will do this in return for one gift.”

A gift? Surely he joked? But the man said it straight-faced, looking down at her with those green eyes, and she noticed for the first time a tiny, undulating tattoo on his temple. Her throat tightened, her heart shifting gear into full speed ahead. Not from fear, though; she knew that feeling. Desire. Her body was telling her something she didn’t want to know, and it was all the fault of those stupid dreams.

He hadn’t moved at all. He was serious? Okay, she could hear others talking now, farther along the path where houses crowded in toward the lake; besides, how crazy could this Heketoro be?

“A gift? Sure, what sort? Ten dollars?”

“No. You will do as I bid you for three days,” he said quietly.

Click on the cover to buy the book!

Guest Post-Wading Through Quicksand

While at the Lori Foster’s 7th Annual Reader and Author Get Together, I met many great people. The barmaids were my favorite! LOL!

Seriously, I was in awe of the authors with vast experience, those who’d travelled far and wide to share their books with readers. Today I’d like you to meet one of them. But he’s not here to talk about travelling–which is very good IMO, part of the reason I’m in awe of him is because I don’t know if I ever want to travel again! However, he is here to talk about a subject I find facinating: Male romance authors. I’ve got mixed feelings about that particular breed, but I won’t comment now.

Let’s see what he has to say. Please Welcome—>

Tim Smith

Here’s something you don’t run into on an author’s blogsite every day – a male author of straight contemporary romance books. Okay, I know what you’re probably thinking – “A man writing romance stories who gets the details right? It can’t be done!” Trust me, I get that a lot. I began published life as a writer of mystery thrillers set in The Florida Keys involving a former CIA spook named Nick Seven, who is always trying to stay out of the intrigue game but never manages to. Two of my three novels featuring this character won awards and I had a nice following. While they all contained romance and sex, I never considered writing a full-fledged romance novel. Why should I, when I had what appeared to be a niche career?

That’s when I decided to wade into the quicksand known as “contemporary erotic romance.” A few years ago I wrote a romantic comedy, Anywhere the Heart Goes. My friends who eagerly anticipated another Nick Seven thriller were aghast and asked me “How could you do such a thing???”  The answer is pretty simple. I was attending a book festival and while my books were selling well, I noticed other authors drawing bigger crowds. They were selling romance novels and after reading one of them, I thought it would be fun to write one of my own, but told primarily from the man’s perspective and with more humor. I also knew I could write something better than the one I’d read. This first one did well enough that I followed it with two more lighthearted erotic romances. I recently released a romantic intrigue story, The Bundle.

No matter what type of story I’m writing or where it takes place, I strive to make it as atmospheric as possible. I love it when a reader tells me they felt like they were in the scene with the characters. I use realistic dialogue, writing what I hear people say on a daily basis. I also take great pains to craft characters with human flaws and quirky personalities, to make them step off the page. I’m not a fan of cardboard characters and heroes who come off as perfect. The one difficulty I had to overcome when I switched genres was the way I wrote sex scenes. They were abundant in the first three books, but for this new market I had to turn up the heat and be more explicit. I’ll admit it was a little awkward for me at first, but I soon reached my comfort level and stopped blushing when I wrote something down and dirty.

I think of fiction writing as being in the entertainment field because that’s what writers do – we write to entertain. I don’t write for the critics – I write for the person in Rugby, North Dakota or Parma, Ohio who wants to escape the daily grind and lose themselves in a good story. I’m often asked what I think of reviews, and it’s a tricky one for me to answer because I am a reviewer for an online romance site. At the risk of shooting myself in the foot, I’m not convinced that a good review has that much impact on a book’s sales. I say that because no one has ever told me they bought one of my books because so-and-so gave it five stars.  The nicest compliment I can receive is when someone tells me they can’t wait to read my next one. Man, it doesn’t get much better than that!

I just released my seventh novel, The Bundle, through Extasy Books. This is the first in a series and lets me return to my mystery thriller roots. The main character is an ex-cop named Vic Fallon, and he’ll be the only recurring character, with a different gal pal to get involved with in each installment. The style harkens back to the pulp fiction writing of Raymond Chandler and Donald E. Westlake, with a dash of Mickey Spillane thrown in – tough hero with a romantic side, equally tough heroine who needs his help, atmospheric locations, wisecracking dialogue and some serious sex. What more could you ask for?

“The Bundle” blurb –

Vic Fallon had little use for the rich and famous when he was a police detective, and his attitude hasn’t changed since he was forced to turn in his badge. When pop singer Kimberly Daniels returns to her hometown of Cleveland, Ohio to promote her latest album, Vic reluctantly agrees to be her bodyguard as a favor for a friend. He isn’t told that she has a death threat hanging over her head, with no shortage of suspects. The set-up takes a bizarre twist when her stalker shows up and Vic uncovers family secret Kimberly would like to keep hidden. Things get more complicated when they develop a strong attraction for each other, in spite of their different lifestyles. Can Vic ensure Kimberly’s safety until she returns to L.A.? Will Kimberly decide to ditch her glitzy celebrity life and stay with the rugged ex-cop she’s fallen for?”

Okay, now that you’ve read the trailer, here’s the feature. This is a PG excerpt. A hotter one can be found at www.extasybooks.com. More information about all my books can be found at my website, www.timsmithauthor.com.

“The Bundle” excerpt -

Vic took off his coat, tossed it on the bed in his assigned bedroom of the hotel suite then loosened his collar, removed his tie and contemptuously flung it onto the dresser. He slipped off his shoulder holster, hung it on the back of the chair at the desk and checked the safety on the Smith & Wesson .45. He took out the bottle of Passport scotch he’d brought with him, pouring some into a glass, followed by two ice cubes from the bucket. He eased himself into the padded club chair at the small cocktail table, stretched his legs in front of him and exhaled a deep breath. A day of mingling with the Tinseltown set left him wishing the job was over so he could return to his comfort zone.

He became aware of a presence and looked at the open doorway. Kimberly stood there, dressed in a pink velour jogging suit with her initials embroidered in red sequins on the left breast. She wore no shoes or socks. Her hair carelessly outlined her face, adding a degree of sexiness. Vic noted that the zipper on her top was halfway down, and she wasn’t wearing a bra. She offered a tentative smile that still retained a hint of shyness.

“Do you always drink alone or would you mind some company?” she asked in a soft, husky voice.

Vic set another glass on the table and pushed the bottle toward her. She settled into the chair across from him, poured some Scotch into her glass and added ice. She took a long swallow then set the glass on the table.

“Won’t Pasta object to you drinking with the hired help?” Vic asked.

“Right about now, Pasta’s cruising the bars, looking for a cock to wrap his lips around.  Won’t see him until morning.”

Vic laughed softly. “That answers one question I had.”

Kimberly gave him a look of surprise. “You thought Pasta and I were…?”

“Uh-huh.”

She laughed at the notion. “I wouldn’t pass the physical, but you’d better be careful.”

“I’ll sleep with my gun under my pillow.”

Kimberly took another sip and looked at Vic with a sultry glow. “You’re not what I expected. When Evan said he retained an ex-cop to look after me I thought you’d be older, with a pot belly and no hair.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“I’m not disappointed.” She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, held it for a moment then slowly exhaled. “It feels good to be back home.”

Vic sipped his drink then cradled his glass while looking at her, appreciating her beauty.  He mentally compared what he now viewed in person to what he’d seen in the press and on the occasional TV show. The cameras didn’t lie. Kimberly Daniels was a beautiful woman. He recalled a sexy lingerie spread she’d done in a men’s magazine the year before and wondered if those photos were accurate as well.

“Are you really the sentimental type or was this trip a publicity stunt?”

Kimberly opened her eyes and laughed softly. “I could tell you weren’t too enthused about accepting this job.”

“Why would you say that?”

“I can read people pretty well.” She laughed again. “But I loved the way you stood your ground with Pasta. He’s not used to people talking back to him.”

“I’ll apologize to him over breakfast. Just what is his function?”

Kimberly downed the last of her drink and poured another. “He’s my personal assistant. I’d be lost without him.” She took a small sip. “So what’s my celebrity ass worth these days, bodyguard-wise?”

Vic eyed her for a moment. “Does it really matter?”

She shrugged. “Guess not, as long as you’re not complaining.”

“If I have any complaints I’ll let you know.”

Bio:

Tim Smith is the author of seven books, ranging from thrillers to contemporary erotic romance. Two of his books have won awards and he’s also an award-winning freelance photographer. When he isn’t pursuing those passions, he works in the human services field, serving adults with disabilities. He can often be found in The Florida Keys, doing research in between parasailing and seeking out the perfect Pina Colada.

As a nice little bonus, Time Smith is doing a giveaway of hise-book “Mistletoe and Palm Trees” for the answer to a trivia question from the excerpt – What is the name of Kimberly’s personal assistant?

The Kiss-Nichelle Gregory HEARTS AND DIAMONDS

“You’re a great cook, Nia.”

She smiled as he took a bite of garlic bread. “Thanks.” No need to tell him this was probably her best meal. “You’re haven’t touched your wine.”

Quin glanced at his glass. “I don’t usually drink when I’m working a case.”

“Oh. Do you want something else to drink?” Nia held her breath as his eyes flitted across the minimal cleavage showing in the wrap style dress. Her nipples pebbled even more and this time, she was sure he noticed.

“Water’s fine.”

She got up, walked the short distance from the dining room to the kitchen and took a deep breath once out of his viewing range. One thing had been confirmed for her tonight. She wanted him…bad.

The water sloshed over the top of the overfilled glass and she poured some out into the sink.

Dammit, keep it together, girl.

“So you’re the baby of the family?”

Nia jumped at the sound of his deep voice carrying from the dining room and more water spilled. With a frustrated curse, she threw paper towels over the mess and walked towards him with the water. “Yep, I’ve got two older brothers. One lives in Indy and the oldest lives in DC.”

“Parents?” He turned in his chair and extended his hand for the glass.

“Don’t you have all of this in a file about me somewh—” Nia gasped as her mouse slipper slipped beneath her and she stumbled towards Quin. The water hit him seconds before she fell to her knees in front of him. “I am so sorry.” She blinked in sheer mortification as the liquid seeped into the dark fabric on his thighs. Her gaze drifted further up his leg to see the unmistakable bulge inches away from her.

“It’s okay.”

Nia dragged her eyes up from his pants to meet his heated gaze. “No, it’s not.”

Quin ran his finger down the tip of her nose. “It is. I needed to cool off anyway.”

A ribbon of desire coursed along every nerve ending in her body as he stood up and offered both hands. “Let me help you up.”

She took them, visualising an actual spark of electricity from his touch as he yanked her up from the ground. “Thanks, Quin.” She lifted her chin, saw the same longing in his eyes and something twisted in her stomach as they stared at one another. She laced her fingers with his as time stood still. “Kiss me.”

The whispered request shocked her. She waited with baited breath for him to move, her words, her heart lay before him. Just when she would’ve pulled away, he groaned and pulled her against his chest.

His hands skimmed up her arms, into her hair as he kissed her. She melted into him, wrapped her arms around his neck and welcomed his fierce kiss. He took over and she wanted him to. Her moan of pleasure only encouraged him to delve deeper, tasting and stroking her tongue as he backed her up against the dining room wall. She could barely breathe, lost in the rhythm of his masterful kisses. One hand left her hair to cup her ass, kneading the soft curve beneath her dress. She ran her hands through his hair, loving the feel of the thick texture between her fingers as he pressed his hard cock against her belly.

“You’re so sexy,” Quin said, breaking away to look down at her.

“Ditto.” She closed her eyes as he claimed her lips again, this time in a soft, sensual caress that left her boneless. He ended the kiss and her body craved more. “Quin…” She sighed as his lips brushed her temple.

“Nia—”

The shrill sound of her phone ringing broke the moment, stopped her from making another brazen request of his body. She pulled away from his embrace to reach for the handheld laying on the dining room table. “Hello?”

“I needed those diamonds.”

Nia froze.

The cold voice on the other end of the line was unmistakable.

“Tess?” She whipped around to look at Quin already on alert as he tapped his watch and indicated for her to keep on talking. “Where are you?”

“Closer than you think.”

The line went dead as Nia stared at Quin. She handed him the phone in a daze.

Copyright © Nichelle Gregory

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The Kiss-Christine Ashworth DEMON SOUL

Gabriel knew her frustration as he knew his own. His original plan dissolved as he vaulted up to catch himself on the railing of the balcony. Joy and need both pulsed through him as he caught her scent.

Rose gasped and whirled about, pressed her hands to her mouth. Finally registering Gabriel, she wrapped her arms around the robe she wore, her eyes flashing in the dim light.

“Took you long enough. I’m going crazy here. Aren’t you?”

“I stayed away longer than I’d meant.” Gabriel grimaced as her shoulders tensed up. Sighing, he dropped from the railing to the balcony and held out a hand to her. “I’m not used to needing anyone. Not for years.”

She twined her fingers with his. “I’m beginning to understand that.” Her words were quiet in the pre-dawn. “You meant to push me away. But it doesn’t matter.” She turned her face up to his, her blue eyes like lasers, pinning him to the spot. “Apparently this need thing works both ways. Your soul has been aching for you. It’s kept me awake and edgy. I’ve needed you. I’ve been calling you for hours.”

“I’m here now.”

Rose moved toward him and put one small hand on his broad chest.

He felt that touch clear to his missing soul. Almost holding his breath, his gaze met hers. Flinched from what he saw in her eyes, even as it warmed him.

“Gabriel, I can’t do anything else than protect you. I feel this is the reason I’m here, and everything that went before brought me to this place, this time. Everything else brought me to you. Whether or not we have a future together? I don’t know. But I don’t want to rule it out, either, just because you’re scared.”

“I don’t want this.” He searched, but words were beyond him. A helpless little sound escaped from his lips. “Rose.”

She smiled a little, her eyes finally warming. “It’s okay. I’m scared, too. You do what you need to do. Whatever happens with Satine, I’ll be here waiting for you. We’ll figure out what comes next together, okay?”

His arms came around her then, lifting her off her feet to bring their faces to the same level. Gabriel searched her eyes. They were clear, holding no secrets. Her heart shone freely, and it took his breath away.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, took his face into her hands as he adjusted his hold. “Kiss me,” she whispered. “While we have this time together.”

He obeyed. Her lips were like satin beneath his, warm and alive and opening to him. His senses spun and his grip on her tightened. His control wavered.

Gabriel broke their kiss and leaned his forehead against hers, taking a deep breath. Drawing in her scent, the delicious fragrance made him yearn. Every part of him grew hard as stone.

This sprite, with her flaming red hair and Soul Chalice abilities had captured his heart like no other. Enticed him like no other. Her hands urged him to take her mouth again, and he forgot the reasons to deny her.

Her body grew warm against him. Her scent rose up to wreathe his brain, turning his thoughts muddy. He needed.

Urgency thrummed through him. Gabriel turned, pressed her back against the wall and, as his mouth ravaged hers, slid his hand down the front of her robe. Her skin was heated silk against the roughness of his fingers, her body wonderfully responsive.

Rose’s hands spread across his chest, those strong, capable hands hot against his cool skin, sparking fires of need wherever they landed. Gods.

“Rose?” The door beside them opened. “Oops. Sorry.” It shut. Maggie went away.

Gabriel stilled, one of his hands curved on her bottom, the other on her breast, his mouth a whisper from hers. His eyes opened and he looked into the smiling blue eyes of the woman who had captured him.

“Now there’s timing for you,” she said, her voice husky with need and laughter.

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