New release: Sex Club Secrets by Jennifer Lynne (Adult-rated excerpt)

    Ella is in love with her best friend Kade. But her love has not been returned, and when bisexual Kade shows no signs of becoming romantic toward her, she decides to call a halt on her unrequited love and accept an invitation to a celebrated Melbourne sex club.

    Kade is distressed when the woman he is beginning to see as more than a friend decides to visit Secrets before he can tell her how he feels. He follows her into the club and witnesses her at play with the enigmatic Anteros, a sexy god-like man who seems to know exactly how to satisfy her innermost cravings. But Anteros also feeds the hidden desires within Kade. How can he admit his feelings for Ella when he's not sure he can commit with his whole heart?

    Anteros is one of the erotes, an aspect of Eros and the ancient Greek god of requited and unrequited love. He has heard the call of these would-be lovers and intends to show them that friendship can sometimes be the best place to kick start a lasting romantic relationship. But love cannot flourish unless it is returned, and how will he convince Kade—a man who occasionally enjoys other men—that he can be true to the woman he loves? What will happen to this couple when the night ends and they return to the real world outside the door of Secrets? Has one of the gods of love finally taken on a challenge he cannot fulfill?

Excerpt (Adults only 18+)

“If your lover were here right now, what would you want from him? From this…Kade?”

Had she spoken his name out loud? She must have. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” He was close enough now that his words whispered across her temple, disturbing the shorter tendrils of hair around her face. “Look into your heart. Tell me.”

She shivered and glanced back at the large viewing window with its heavy drapes drawn to each side. “I want…”

“Do you wish the curtains closed before we begin? I am amenable to that, if it is your wish.”

“No.” She looked hard at the glass, not having realized until this moment that it was one-way. A whole football team of people could be out there, observing them, and she would have no idea. Instead, her reflection stared back at her, pale and ethereal-looking, her newly blonde hair long and wavy rather than frizzy-looking for once, the whiteness of her limbs an interesting counter-point to the powerful darkness of Anteros standing behind her. Even with five-inch heels on, he topped her by a good six inches, and she wasn’t short to start with. They looked good together, she realized. Dark and light. Strength and delicacy.

I feel different already. No more flat-chested beanpole. I feel…kind of sexy, for a change.

Time for truth. She took a deep breath. “I wish that Kade were here, watching me right now. Watching us, wanting us, while we do things here in this room that I’ve never done before.” She leaned back into Anteros as he let go of her hand and traced up her arm with his fingertips before heading across to her left breast. He paused for a second at the peak, rolling his thumb over the hardened nub, before dipping below to hover near her rapidly beating heart. “I want him to see me in a new way. I want him to want me, the way I’ve always wanted him. I want him to love me, the way I—”

“Ella.” Anteros pulled her away from the mirrored window and dipped his head in toward her throat. A caress like butterfly wings tickled her skin along the edge of her collar bone. “Shall we assume he is there, and he is watching, and give him a show the likes of which he will never forget?” His words vibrated against her and need grew in her belly. “Shall we punish him a little, or maybe quite a lot, for making you feel so lonely, all these years? Shall we do that, right now?”
“Oh, yes, Anteros. Please, yes.”

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CHAIN OF COMMAND Author Party Crashes, Awesome Giveaway in Hand!

Before I get started in this post, please know that I have one of the awesome Chain of Command messenger bags (see picture at right!) up for a giveaway.  For a chance to win, just leave a comment on any of my posts today before 12 noon on Feb. 4.  The winner will be announced on my TWITTER: https://twitter.com/colbymarshall and my Facebook Fan page: https://www.facebook.com/authorcolbymarshall , so be sure to follow me on Twitter or "Like" me on Facebook so that you can claim your prize if you win!  Now, on to the post!

It's been said that writers reveal their own struggles, fears, dreams, etc. through their work.

Well, if that's the case, I'm not really sure what Chain of Command says about me.  So, I began to explore the possibilities.  If a complete outsider who knows nothing about me were to analyze, here are some scenarios they might come up with:

      Theory Number 1:  Colby Marshall is clearly violent. 

      Analysis:  I once made a list of casualties in Chain of Command (after an interested editor was daunted by the death toll).  I can't remember what it was and am afraid to go back and count again.  Either way, let's just say that when the death toll on page two equals the page number, chances are, you're book might be a bloodbath.

    Reality:  Colby Marshall won't even kill her own spiders because she's afraid of them.  The bloodbaths in her books are probably a way of fooling herself into thinking she could totally pull off the I-Walk-Away-From-Explosions-And-Don't-Look-Back type of badassery as well as Denzel Washington can.

   Theory Number 2:  Colby Marshall dreams of a world where a female president leads our country sooner rather than later.  

     Analysis: There's no denying it: Chain of Command does explore the possibility of the first female president of the United States of America.  Being female, I suppose it would be an easy leap for someone to think that I'd want this glass ceiling to be broken.  Obviously any woman writing about an assassination plot resulting in the first female taking the highest office in the land has to be chomping at the bit to see a woman in the Oval Office.  Right?

   Reality:  I learned about the United States chain of command to the presidency in school, and I found it interesting that the line of succession had fortunately never had to be put into action past the vice president.  The U.S. has also never had a female President.  When two nevers collide in my mind, a story is bound to be the result.  So, I decided having the chain of command be employed while the third in line for the presidency happened to be a woman would be a conspiracy theorists' wet dream.  As for whether or not I care about a woman being president--I have another post about this very topic coming soon in the blog tour, but suffice it to say yes and no.  I'd love to see a woman hold the highest office in the land, as, generally speaking, I believe women can do as good of a job as men in leadership positions.  That said, I'd only want to see a Madame President elected if she was the right lady for the job and for our country--not because she happens to own an impressive collection of Stuart Weitzmans, gets at least two pedicures a year, and knows the difference between hi-lights and lo-lights. I don't want a woman president just because she is a woman.

Theory Number 3:  Colby Marshall, like her main character McKenzie, fears not knowing the truth about a situation.

Analysis:  Hm.

Reality:  Well, yes.  I suppose there, I have me.

So, while the conclusions one might draw about me as a person might not be entirely accurate based on Chain of Command or any of my other books, for that matter, I do think there’s a little piece of me in every book, even if it's small and something only I would notice.  For example, the next in the McKenzie McClendon series, The Trade, revolves around the black market baby trade, and I was pregnant when I wrote the ending of the book.  I like to create my own characters and situations, but if my own experiences never entered my writing at all, I wouldn't have nearly the depth of characters I do when I can relate their experiences to my own. 

What about you—do things in your life influence what you want to read or write about, or is reading/writing more of an escape from anything remotely similar to your every day life?      

Colby Marshall’s debut thriller, Chain of Command is now available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, StairwayPress.com, and other major e-readers.  Writer by day, ballroom dancer and choreographer by night, Colby has a tendency to turn every hobby she has into a job, thus ensuring that she is a perpetual workaholic.  In addition to her 9,502 regular jobs, she is also a contributing columnist for M Food and Culture magazine and is a proud member of International Thriller Writers and Sisters in Crime.  She is actively involved in local theatres as a choreographer as well as sometimes indulges her prima donna side by taking the stage as an actress.  She lives in Georgia with her family, two mutts, and an array of cats that, if she were a bit older, would qualify her immediately for crazy cat lady status.  Her debut thriller, Chain of Command is now available, and the second book in her McKenzie McClendon series, The Trade, is due for publication by Stairway Press in June 2013.   

Check out the official book trailer for Chain of Command:

Exploring Appetites in Saffron Nights

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It seems to me that our three basic needs, for food and security and love, are so mixed and mingled and entwined that we cannot straightly think of one without the others. So it happens that when I write of hunger, I am really writing about love and the hunger for it, and warmth and the love of it and the hunger for it...and then the warmth and richness and fine reality of hunger satisfied...and it is all one.”—MFK Fisher

As a food writer (in my “other” life), I have had ample opportunity to reflect about the meaning of food in our lives. The simple act of preparing food is a pure form of love. Eating and sharing food goes beyond the simple needs of stomachs. Food writers, chefs, and home cooks know this. Yes, the attraction of certain food can often be as surface-oriented as the presentation of it. But what we as food people are interested in, really, are the emotions that the flavor of food reaches in and pulls out to keep the eater coming back for more.

The connection between food and sex would seem to be clear—primal, basic, instinctual. The modern appetite—ever bombarded with images of both sex and food—appears to be unyielding and stretching beyond anything that ancient people could have imagined. Yet, food and sex were both there—biological concerns, mainly. One wonders how it got to be so intermingled with pleasure and comfort and in such delightful manners.

 I agree with MFK Fisher that when I write about food I am really writing about love and the hunger for it. As I plunge into more and more erotic romance writing, I can see the same themes, for love and longing, for hungers and appetites fulfilled or unfulfilled, with different means and methods, of course.

Some believe that the best food, like the best sex, comes with love. Others are more complicated in their appetites. They want the best, most expensive truffle, or the exact kind of Stilton coming from a certain region in England, from a specific farm, or the precise chocolate that is grown on a plantation in Venezuela. They get off on finding the perfect food experience.

It’s the same with sex—some want one partner for life—others want to try a little of everything, a little spanking here and there, two or more partners at the same time, a little bondage, or, perhaps, food play. When food and sex come together, then, we are playing with deep primal yearnings and a delightful melting of appetites.  Some of us are better at squashing our appetites than others. Therein lies the story.

In SAFFRON NIGHTS, my first erotic romance published by e-kensington, Maeve has enjoyed sexual freedom with several men, telling herself love is a waste of precious time. She has some kinky predilections, considers herself a woman of many appetites. She doesn’t deny herself a lover, but she does deny herself love.

Until, of course, this wild journey she takes with Jackson. He’s a man who flits from woman to woman until he finds it no longer satisfying. He doesn’t know what he hungers for—is it love? Is he ready to be vulnerable enough to love again?

SAFFRON NIGHTS explores many appetites when it comes to food, sex, and love. Check out my blog for snippets about some of the aphrodisiacs I've been researching. Have you ever thought about the connections between food, romance, sex, and love?

 Please visit my site for more information about me and SAFFRON NIGHTS http://www.lizeverly.wordpress.com . The first two chapters of the book are also available there.

Twitter @lizeverly1 ; FB author page.  Please click on the book cover if you are interested in purchasing SAFFRON NIGHTS from Amazon.

Accidental Affair by Leslie McKelvey (excerpt)

A Fateful Decision

Laine Wheeler threw an arm across her dog’s chest and stood on the brakes as the rockslide tumbled quickly toward her.  As the Range Rover shook she discerned arms and legs flailing, and realized with alarm that it wasn’t a bunch of boulders rolling down the steep embankment.  It was a person.  The front end of the SUV dipped as it shuddered violently to a stop, and the individual landed in a crumpled heap not six feet from her front bumper. 

Heart knocking against her breastbone, she exhaled sharply, then looked at Maverick, her half-dog, half-wolf sidekick who seemed as startled as she.  Maverick woofed softly and put a paw on her arm.  Laine took a deep breath, grabbed a handful of thick, gray and white fur, and turned her gaze forward.

The person hadn’t moved.  She glanced first left then right toward the tree line and wondered if there were more people where this one had come from.  Both sides of the two lane highway were edged with ten foot wide shoulders hemmed in with 20 foot high embankments topped with thick pine and evergreen.  When no other bodies came somersaulting down the embankment, she turned her eyes back to the unknown acrobat.

What the hell was going on?  Laine blinked as her pulse ratcheted up a couple of uncomfortable notches.  There were no lakes or rivers nearby, and the closest campsite was more than 20 miles away, so what was this person doing out here, literally, in the middle of nowhere?  Staring at the rumpled figure she waited, but he, or she, didn’t move.  Was this a carjacking?  An attempted kidnapping?

She gulped and frowned.  “Don’t be ridiculous, Laine.”  She glanced at the dog, whose wise, golden eyes were fixed on her.  “What do you think, Maverick?  Is this a carjacking . . . in the middle of nowhere?  And who’d want to kidnap me?  My former in-laws?”  A short, sharp laugh escaped her.  “No, they’re happy enough I left Chicago.”  Her gaze was drawn back to the person in the road.  “Maybe they want you, Mav.”  The dog whimpered.

Her brain was working at warp speed, trying to wrap itself around what she’d just witnessed.  No matter which idea she entertained, none was a reasonable explanation for the body lying in the road, none that boded any good anyway.  She felt the adrenaline hit her bloodstream and took several deep breaths, then opened the door and stepped out.

“Stay there,” she said to the dog.  Maverick woofed again and did as he was told. 

Laine took a step then stopped.  What was she doing?  The side of a deserted highway was no place to be a hero.  She looked at the prone figure for a moment, debating with herself.  A low, pained moan escaped the person, and the mournful, gravelly sound spurred her.  Laine squared her shoulders.  Right place or not, she wasn’t the type to run, and she knew there was no way she was going to just leave an injured person in the middle of the road.  She ran around the front of the Rover, looked down at the person for a split second then knelt at their side.  It was a man dressed in camouflage pants and a khaki shirt, and from the stained, disheveled state of his clothes it looked like he’d been rolling in the dirt well before his tumble down the embankment.  He lay on his side with his back to her, he wasn’t moving, and the silence hung heavy.  She waited a few moments, and as each second ticked off her alarm grew.  Laine hesitated then pressed two fingers into his neck to check for a pulse.  It was weak and thready but it was there, and she sighed in relief.  Grasping his shoulder, she rolled him onto his back.

Dark red blood stained the upper left side of his chest and Laine drew back, startled.  That she had not expected.  It took her a second to compose herself, and she reached for the collar of his shirt to get a look at the wound.  Before she could peel back the material his fingers snaked around her wrist.  She jumped and fell onto her backside, her heart nearly exploding from her chest. 

"Please."  His grip tightened slightly.  "Get the bag and get out of here."  He spoke in a hoarse whisper.  "They're not far behind me."

A Peek At Eternity - Win An Eternity Card

"Why stars?" He retrieved the bottle and poured her some more, staying quiet hoping she would continue to reveal bits of herself.

"Stars are endless, they are sort of like looking at hope."

He stared at her profile.

She let out another laugh, this one heartier than the first. "Right there." She motioned up at the night sky.

"Where?" He leaned over.

"Right there." She put out her finger and leaned toward him as if to show him her perspective.

He moved the basket to the side and slid over, sighing when he finally focused on what she pointed out. "Pisces." The two fish represented Aphrodite and Eros. A few wisps of her hair tickled his face but he didn't move them away.

"Is she your mother?  Are the stories true?"

"Nothing is ever exactly as it seems." He repeated his words from earlier, but appreciated the way she was fluent not only in the stars but the mythology. "Just like Pegasus, there is more than one Cupid. He was the just the most famous."

"Are you a God?" She kept her eyes on the night sky.

"I am what they call an immortal. I work for the Gods." He lowered his voice as to not scare her.

She finished off her wine. "Why is this your last assignment?  Did I break you or something?"

He put his hand over hers. "I was broken way before you were even born."

"What broke you?"

"Every being has wants and needs." He paused. "Sometimes when they go unfulfilled it's hard to keep going."

She looked at her lap. "What happens after you deal with me?"

"It depends on how successful I am." He balled his other hand in a fist. This was not something to put on a human.

"Do you mean how successful I am?"

From one day in her apartment he knew she was not only intelligent, but also insightful. "Something like that."

"What happens if I don't end up with him?" She stared into the empty glass.

"There are things only Gods know. I need to guide you."

She shook her head. "I don't want to think of you down in Hades."

He almost smiled. "Something like that."

"Must be frightening for you," she whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"If you are immortal then you are never really know how or when it will end." She turned her hand over. "Infinite can be as terrifying as finite."

Buy Eternity Here

FROST

A 1Night Stand Story by Taryn Kincaid

 

 

BLURB:

Dagney Night, a sought-after succubus, is no stranger to blazing hot sex. But as Valentine’s Day approaches, she longs for something more. When oddly erotic paintings arrive for display at her art gallery, arousing everyone who views them, she wonders about the mysterious artist who created the works. 

Maxwell Raines, a fire-sex demon, lives a life of solitude and seclusion behind the walls of his compound at Sleepy Hollow, channeling his lustful impulses into his art—until his muse deserts him and his temperature rises past the danger point. He needs sex. Now. 

When Madame Evangeline arranges a torrid Valentine’s 1Night Stand for them, will the flames of their encounter be too hot to handle?

EXCERPT:

Dagney followed her sister’s glance, and her heart flipped like a gymnast unable to nail a vault. Darkness swathed the gallery with the exception of the lights above or below each of the paintings. The large man emerging from the shadows held her rapt. Waves of pure, unadulterated lust smacked her with such force she didn’t even see Lily and Campbell leave. The blast of raw desire crumpled her to the floor. Her gaze remained riveted on the tall hunk of ferocious male stalking toward her, radiating undiluted carnality. He set something carefully on the floor and grasped her by the elbows, his touch surprisingly gentle when he lifted her to her feet.

“I’m Maxwell Raines.”

Yeah. No kidding. Who else could a guy so hot, so studly, possibly be?

She told herself not to swoon. Ordered herself not to swoon. But, Goddess, that rumbling voice. More potent than a train barreling over the tracks. And he smelled so good. Sinfully masculine. A bit of musk, a bite of pine, an essence of dark, smoky nights. Sexy scents. Reminiscent of tangled satin sheets that had been given a good work-out.

Her legs turned to rubber, and she doubted they’d support her on their own. She’d be mortified if he’d have to scrape her puddled body up again. But he hadn’t yet relaxed his grip. Could she bullshit her way through the meeting without collapsing? “You’re late,” she said.

“I’m never late.”

“Well, the party’s over, Mr. Raines.” She waved a hand around the empty room.

“Depends on your perspective.”

“You’re big on perspective, are you?”

“I’m a painter.” A brief shrug accompanied his blunt words. “Obvious connection.”

“Right. But as you can see, everyone’s left.”

“You haven’t.” He gazed down at her, a black brow flaring. “And you’re what I’m here for.”

BUY: Amazon | Barnes&Noble | Decadent | ARe| Smashwords | BookStrand | CoffeeTime 

Taryn Kincaid lives in beautiful Bora Bora. Or wishes she did. When she's not parasailing up and down the Hudson River, taking care of her aging pet walrus, or volunteering at the local animal shelter [oh, HELL, no], she loves to arrange her voodoo doll-pin collection and practice chanting. Taryn is dedicated to eradicating the Kardashians and Honey Boo-Book from the face of the earth, along with The Bieb and sparkly vampires. At this moment, she is busy adjusting the tin foil to throw the CIA (Culinary Institute of America) off her trail. She hangs around a lot on Facebook and Twitter with her trillions of fans and pops in at Goodreads from time to time. You can catch her on her website, http://tarynkincaid.com, and her blog, http://dreamvoyagers.blogspot.com where she lives for comments!

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads | Amazon

 

The Book That Almost Wasn't

And it's PARTY time (cue streamers, confetti, and strippers here)!  Greetings, all!  This is Leslie McKelvey, checking in for the Party Pavilion.  The blog tour for my debut novel, Accidental Affair, begins tomorrow (February 4th) with Goddess Fish, so this is like a pre-blog-tour blog...if that makes any sense.  Where is the champagne...?

Accidental Affair is the book that almost wasn't...literally.  On Sunday, August 1, 2010, my hubby left for a task force assignment with the Department of Justice, return date unknown.  Being alone with three boys was nothing new (cops wives are accustomed to taking care of it ALL), but when I woke up on August 2nd I had NO idea the storm that was about to hit.

It was about ten a.m. when my middle son, Daniel, came screaming in the front door, crying.  Mom immediately went on alert and since David, the youngest, wasn’t with his brother, I just knew something had happened to him.

“David says he broke his leg,” Daniel cried.

I immediately grabbed my keys, left my purse, and screeched out of the driveway, following Daniel’s directions.  I came around a corner and saw David lying in the middle of the street, and I could hear him screaming from inside the van.  Every mother knows that sound.  I stopped the van and jumped out.

As I am kneeling on the ground, in the middle of the street, a police cruiser drove by.  I tried to flag the officer down, but evidently my frantic waving was seen as a friendly gesture and not a call for help.  The officer waved back and kept right on rolling.  Seriously?  I cursed the cop under my breath, scooped David up, and set a new land-speed record getting to the local hospital.


Long story short, David had broken his femur.  He was transported from the local hospital by ambulance to Children's Hospital in Oakland, CA, where he underwent surgery the following morning to insert two titanium rods into his leg (I wonder if he’ll set off airport metal detectors?  Might be worth the airline ticket price to find out..heehee....).  David and I then spent the rest of the week living in the hospital.  When he was discharged on Friday, August 6th, I took him home and the long process of rehabilitation began.

How does all this lead up to the book that almost wasn't, you ask?  Well, during the months of June and July 2010, I immersed myself in a submission blitz with the hope of finally getting a contract (I’d actually been trying to attract a publisher since my mid 20s, but that’s a story for another day).  Up until that point I received nothing but rejection letters.  Now, for those unfamiliar with the process, an author will submit the first 30 pages (this varies from publisher to publisher) of a manuscript to a publisher, along with a cover letter, a synopsis, and a self-addressed-stamped-envelope so the publisher can return your 30 pages to you.  Believe me it’s cheaper than reprinting the same 30 pages over and over.

Anyway, the day I got home from the hospital with David, I made a trip to our private mailbox to pick up the past week’s mail.  In that mail was a 9X12 white envelope from Black Velvet Seductions (BVS) Publishing.  I took one look at it, rolled my eyes, and tossed it on my desk.  “Another rejection.  Great.  Can this week get any worse?”

More than a week went by before I touched that envelope again.  It sat there on my desk, mocking me, pouring salt on the wound, whispering in my ear that I was a crappy writer and might as well give up now.  With a heavy sigh, I sat down and opened it, bracing for the traditional form rejection letter and hoping that perhaps I had at least received some constructive criticism.  Just as the letter opener sliced through the thick, white paper I had an epiphany.  I hadn’t submitted a hard copy of my manuscript to BVS.  I had submitted to BVS electronically via e-mail with the full manuscript as an attachment.  My hand froze, my heart stopped, I couldn’t breathe, and for a second the world stopped moving.

“It can’t be,” I thought.  “No freaking way.”

Swallowing the frog that had moved into my throat, uninvited I might add, I removed the contents of the envelope. 

Dear Leslie Wirtley:

Thank you for thinking of Black Velvet Seductions as a possible home for Accidental Affair.  I have reviewed the manuscript and am pleased to be able to offer you a contract for publication....

INSERT SCREAM HERE.... 

I sat there staring at that cover letter for almost five minutes, a million thoughts spinning in my head.  Had my mood been one iota worse the day I’d picked up that mail, my publishing contract would’ve gone straight into the recycle bin.  I would never have known someone thought my writing was good enough to publish.  So many “what-ifs” went through my mind.  Then, I heard a little whisper, not in my ear, but in my heart, and I truly believe it was God.

"After the past couple of weeks, did you really think I’d do that to you?"

God is so good.

The moral of the story?  Never, ever stop trying.  When you hit that bottom, real or imagined, it just means you have nowhere to go but up.

Stick around for excerpts from Accidental Affair.  To celebrate its release I'll be giving away an autographed paperback copy to someone who comments on one of my posts.

http://www.amazon.com/Accidental-Affair-ebook/dp/B009ZP5MV8/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1352673266&sr=8-1&keywords=accidental+affair+leslie

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/accidental-affair-leslie-mckelvey/1113750316?ean=2940015936421

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/250538