Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Phantom Touch by Cindy Jacks

by Cindy Jacks
Erika leads a quiet life—at least in the real world. But her alter-ego, Little Lottie, is a singer at a local club and engages in a wild online romance. For months she’s been communicating with a mysterious man, known only to her as the Phantom.

Her lover contacts her via texts, emails and instant messages. When he offers to fulfill her desires in real life, she can’t refuse. The only condition to meeting for their sizzling assignations—he wears a mask to hide his true identity. Despite his reluctance to reveal himself to Erika, he tears down her inhibitions and unleashes her suppressed passions, taking possession of her body and soul.

Erika may have finally found the one man who can sate her every longing…if only he would show her the man behind the mask.

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Whipped Cream Erotic Romance Reviews: Game Night by Darah Lace

4 Cherries for Game Night! Thanks Carnation!

Whipped Cream Erotic Romance Reviews: Game Night by Darah Lace: "Game Night by Darah Lace Publisher: The Wild Rose Press Genre: Contemporary Length: Short Story (39 pages) Other: M/F, mild bondage, ..."

Friday, May 13, 2011

Game Night is Out!

Game Night is out at The Wild Rose Press!

You don’t have to like the game to love the player...

Salena Martin isn’t into sports and she can’t tell one ball from another, but whatever the season, Friday nights mean gathering at her best friend’s to watch “the game.” Unfortunately, the players on the wide screen don't hold her attention like steamy fireman, Trevor Branson. If he’d only let her in the game, they’d both score.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Join me and other Wilder Roses authors as we celebrate the
5th anniversary of The Wild Rose Press
with naughtiness and prizes.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Desire Holt Celebrates 100 Books!

This month Desiree Holt celebrates her 100th release with Downstroke from Ellora’s Cave. Downstroke is the story of lovers reunited after twenty years trying to bridge a gulf of bitterness while outwitting a killer.

It’s been twenty years since Charley Roper and Dallas Creed parted with great bitterness. In that time she’s made a career for herself with the FBI and private security and he’s been a country rock music icon…tumbled to the bottom and risen again. Now someone’s trying to kill him and Morgan Creed wants Charley to protect his brother and find out who’s after him. When they meet again after all this time it’s obvious the chemistry is still there, stronger than ever. They’re older but are they wiser? Caught up in the bitter wash of memories and the tension of a killer in stalking mode, Charley and Dallas begin a roller coaster ride that is emotional erotic and suspenseful. Is their love strong enough after twenty years to pull them back together?

As part of the celebration, Desiree is giving away a prize every day of the reader's choice from her backlist. Names will be drawn from those who post comments and a grand prize of a refurbished Netbook with digital DVD drive will be awarded to one lucky winner. After you (the reader) post here to win one of her books, go to Desiree's web site at and enter to win the grand prize.

And to help her celebrate I’m giving you a taste of one of her other books.
Blurb: When rancher Reece Halliday met the new manager of his fetish club, Rawhide, he was shocked to see Katie Waren, the woman he'd loved and lost because of his sexual preferences. But a lot of time has passed and Katie has discovered the lure and satisfaction of BDSM—including the pleasurable sting of the single tail whip. Will Reece be able to lure her back into his arms—and bed—when he cracks the whip during their private sessions?

Excerpt: “So maybe if you tell me how it happened, I’ll answer your question about me.”

“Fair enough.” He set his cup back in the saucer. “Remember Chad Willoughby, my college roommate?”

Katie nodded.

“Chad’s brother was into the life big time. When Chad graduated from law school, he got Chad a guest pass at the private fetish club he belonged to and said he could bring a friend.” He looked down. “I’d…been to a club twice before when we were together. But never did any more than watch,” he added quickly. “That’s when I brought everything up to you. I was fascinated with the lifestyle and wanted us to try some of these things together.” His grin was rueful. “My idea didn’t work out so well, as I remember.”

“No. It didn’t.” If only she hadn’t reacted so badly. “So what happened at the club?

“It seemed I was finally going to experience the things I’d only fantasized about. Chad’s brother arranged for each of us to have a sub for the evening along with a trained instructor.” He paused to sip more coffee.

“And?” she prompted.

“To be blunt about it, I discovered a desire for it I didn’t even know I had. It was the most explosive night I’d ever had sexually. And that’s taking nothing away from what you and I had together.”

“But you wanted more.” Oh, she was sure of that. She felt a trap opening, yawning like a big hole before her. “On a regular basis.”

“I did. A lot more. And more often. I for sure couldn’t look for action anywhere around the Hill Country. You know how conservative the ranching community is. Not even my brothers know about my…preferences.”

Katie gave him a quizzical look. “So what did you do?”

“Joined the club in Tampa Chad’s brother took us to. They have an arrangement for guest privileges in other clubs around the country. I…took a lot of business trips.” He stopped to take another swallow of coffee.

“Your brothers didn’t ask questions?”

He shook his head. “I timed my trips to coincide with legitimate business. Conventions. Meetings. Whatever.” His eyes raked over her face possessively. “But here’s the plain truth. I really wanted you, Katie. I wanted it all. You and the life.”

“Which is what led to the scene in our hotel room.” When she so childishly ran away. It wasn’t just the things themselves he was proposing. It was the total implication, the fear that she could lose herself in him completely. A very dangerous edge.

He grinned. “Yeah. That was some scene. I still remember how you looked, spread out…”

“Stop.” She held up her hand. “That’s not what I meant. Can we stick to the conversation at hand?”

The look he gave her nearly incinerated her dress. “Afraid to talk about it, sugar?”

Buy Link for Crack The Whip:
Don't forget to post here to win one of her books, and then go to Desiree's web site at and enter to win the grand prize.

Monday, April 18, 2011

My pal Rachel Firasek has a new book out and I have to say she has the most wicked imagination. Congratulations Rachel!

Passion of the Soul: Piper's Fury
by Rachel Firasek

It's an empath thing...

Using your "powers" to help the Dark Hills Police Department hunt down serial killers doesn't leave much time for dating. Not that Piper Anast is complaining. The last thing she needs is some guy brushing up against her and pumping his pornographic thoughts into her head.

When she meets Bennett Slade, a sexy, tormented vampire, Piper stumbles headlong into a telepathic connection with his missing daughter. She can't leave the kid to the evil surrounding her unwanted visions, nor can she resist her draw to Slade. He's the first guy she's been able to touch vision-free in, well, forever.

As she and Slade close in on the evil creature holding his daughter, Piper's powers morph into a deadly fury. To save Slade's daughter-and herself-Piper must face down demons she never knew she had and trust the one thing she keeps from everyone.


"Trust me."

"Fine." I snapped my eyes closed and took a leap of faith by turning around. Several seconds passed before the rustling of fabric warned me Slade had removed his shirt. His voice rumbled close to my ear. "Raise your arms."

My arms went into the air as if his voice be-spelled them somehow. "Why?"

"Would you quit asking that?"


His soft chuckle made me grin. He tugged my t-shirt clear of my jeans and I spun around. "Whoa, what are you doing?"

"I want your skin against mine when I do this. It will be much better this way. I promise."

"Do I look stupid to you?"

"No. You look gorgeous. Now take off your shirt."


"You are most exasperating. You asked me to do this!"

"Why won't you tell me what you're going to do?"

He ran a hand through his dark hair. "Fine. I am removing your shirt because, if we get carried away, I do not want blood on your clothes."

"Blood? I didn't say you could feed."

"Piper, this will be good and when it is, you may ask me to bite you. I will not be able to deny you. If you want to stop, you had better do it now. I will not be able to later. Not with you."

"I don't want to stop—I just don't buy your reasoning."

"Humor me and turn back around. I am trying to be a gentleman." I gave him my back, feeling vulnerable and exposed as he drew my shirt over my head. The soft curls on his chest pressed against me. I leaned back and met the strong wall of steel.

He tensed and pulled my arms away from my body. "Who did this?"

I'd forgotten about the deep purple bruising on my upper arms. "Gage."

"Gage?" He blinked. "He should not have had the strength to do this on his own. What has that monster done to him?"

I shrugged and would have turned around if Slade's grip wasn't so tight. His thumbs softly stroked the bruising. "Does it hurt?"

"Nah. Can we get back to what we were doing? What happens next?"

He chuckled. "Listen. Listen to air. Listen until you hear nothing but the air around you."

What did he mean, listen to air? I stood still, listening to the soft sound of his breath teasing the top of my head. I was a good foot shorter than he was and felt miniscule against his mass.

After a few moments of relaxing and listening to nothing, a soft breeze floated along my skin. With it came the scent of vanilla. Warm. Inviting. I felt myself sway toward it. Slade's hard hands caught my upper arms and pulled me tighter to him.

"Listen," he whispered.

Then I heard it. A bell, soft chimes, ringing in my ear. "What is it?"

"That is the sound of the power. Now feel it." He placed his arms around me and engulfed me in his strong embrace. Heat rushed in, and at first, it was almost painful. Then came the liquid fire coursing through my veins. Following the fire, a lust so sinful all rationality fled. I wilted against him, wanting to feel more of the hardness pressed against my back.

His breathing shifted. Soft, warm pants tickled my neck. "Piper, turn around and look at me."

I did as he asked because there was nothing else I wanted to do. He was my everything at that moment.

"Your eyes..." He held my head tightly in his palms. "Piper, what are you?"

You can find Rachel at

Buy Link:

Friday, April 15, 2011

Spotlight on Shared Too by Lily Harlem

Ten years on I’m still convinced I’m the luckiest woman on earth. Two devastatingly gorgeous husbands committed to my satisfaction—phew!—life doesn’t get much better or much sexier.

But as though the mere concept of a perfect existence was created to be shattered, one day Quinn turned to me and said, “Shared too. I want to be shared too.” Add in the monster that haunted my nightmares and I was struggling to keep a grip on my sanity.

I soon realized that the path Quinn wanted us to travel would stretch not only his experience of giving and taking but also mine and Liam’s. In a whirlwind of desperate emotions, dark desires and erotic fantasy, we were all so distant but also so sublimely close. Sharing had never been as sweet as it was bitter, or as depraved as it was heavenly.

Reader Advisory: Features the sharing of multiple bodies (F/F, M/F/M, F/M/F/M), bondage and other naughty sexual adventures!

An Excerpt From:
Copyright © LILY HARLEM, 2011
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

The next morning Liam was already locked in his office when I awoke. I showered, pulled on jeans and an old top and set about my morning jobs in the yard. After feeding the chickens, I spotted Quinn alone by the fence, dressed in his thick, brown fleece and black jeans. He was staring out over the paddock, his arms spread wide and his back slightly bowed as he gripped the top planks.
I walked over and stood against the fence, placing my hand right next to his. “Morning.”
“Hey.” He glanced at me.
“Are you all right? You look lost in thought.”
“Yeah, I’m okay.” He stared back out at the paddock.
I waited for him to elaborate. Quinn standing still, not doing something productive was an unusual sight. “So what are you thinking about?”
He sighed. “Stuff.”
“What stuff?”
He gave a sharp shrug. “Last night, with you, Liam. It was good.”
“Yes, it was.” I smiled. “But it always is when we’re together.” I slid my gaze over the horizon, at the swallows flying low and catching the last of the autumn midges before their long migration.
“How does it feel, Ariane?”
“To be with two people, have two men adoring you, making sure you get pleasure.” His voice lowered. “Making you come.”
I stared at the lush grass and a lingering buttercup, searching for the right words. They all came to me at once. “It feels intense, super-satisfying, amazing, so damn hot to be completely connected to you both.” I smiled. “Once upon a time you said I was going to be the most pampered, sexually satisfied woman in the world and you’ve lived up to your word…more than lived up to your word.”
His mouth tipped in a grin. “Yeah, I remember that conversation on the balcony. We were so worried we’d scared you off.”
We were quiet for a moment. A tractor pulling a plow chugged in the distance and a murder of crows squabbled in a nearby copse.
“Why are you asking me this?” I asked eventually, poking at a piece of moss on the fencepost.
“I’m just curious.”
“Are you thinking about Eve?”
He turned to me, his eyes searching my face as though examining me for signs of imminent hysteria.
“It’s okay if you are,” I said, willing my heart to stop its sudden thumping. “If you’re thinking about her I’d rather you told me.”
He sighed and looked away.
“You like her,” I said. “You’re attracted to her and you said you’d make sure the two of you weren’t ever in a position to let anything happen again.” I pulled in a breath. “But that doesn’t mean she’s disappeared from your thoughts.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw.
“Was she at Hanrahan’s the night you went there without me?”
He straightened, rolled back his shoulders and turned. His butt rested on the top rail of the fence and he stared across the yard with his arms folded across his chest.
“Yes, she was, she was there, okay?”
“And you thought about her after that night?” I kept my voice calm and controlled even though he’d snapped. I didn’t want to fight about this. I sensed it was too important to lose my cool.
“No, yes, well, I thought about her a little.”
“What did you think?”
“That her conversation about patient care and surgical time management was insightful, that the other members of the team respected her, listened to her.” He paused.
“And that her hair looked like silk, like a long, golden sheet of silk smoothing around her shoulders as she moved… I wondered what it would be like to touch it.”
I was quiet as I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets. There was a chill in the air that was penetrating more than my skin.
“How do you do it?” he asked, looking down at me with an expression of genuine confusion.
“Do what?”
“Love two men, be with two men. How do you do it so brilliantly?”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“You do, and you have done for so long. Not only that, you share your love and time and attention between our daughters too, and all the animals. I’m in awe of you.”
“Love is worthless until it’s given away,” I said with a smile and rested my fingers on the arm of his fleece, attempting to placate his fractious mood.
“How about attraction?” His eyes flashed. “Is that worthless?” He swallowed and I watched his Adam’s apple bob low then all the way back up again. His jaw tensed and a muscle in his cheek flexed beneath his stubble.
”We’re not talking about me anymore, are we?”
He gave a small shake of his head.
“I don’t know about attraction, Quinn. I’m in love with you and Liam—that’s what I understand, love.”
“But there is a difference between love and attraction. A big difference. I’m in love with you, so in love with you, you’re my wife, the mother of my children, I want to grow old with you, look back on my life and say I spent it with you.”
I felt a sting in my eyes. His words matched my feelings. My emotions were ballooning inside me and I dragged in a breath to keep them under control.
“But…” he said.
I tilted my brows and blinked away the moisture.
“But,” he went on. “Part of me wants her as well. Not to spend my life with her. I just…want her.”
“You said you’re not going to have an affair with her.”
He shook his head firmly. “No, of course I’m not going to have an affair with her.”
“Does…?” I hesitated. “Does that include you’re not going to sleep with her too?”
He shut his eyes for a long second, gnawed on the inside of his cheek.
“Quinn.” My voice was shaky but I managed to hide the wobble—just.
“No, I’m not going have sex with her, okay? Because that…” He uncrossed his arms and gripped the rail behind himself again so tight his knuckles paled. “Because that would hurt you.”
“Is that the only reason?” My voice was a little sharper. “Because you don’t want to hurt me?”
“Yes, Ariane, that’s the only reason.” He pushed away from the fence and took several quick strides across the yard.
“Wait.” I rushed to follow him. “You can’t say something like that and walk away.”
“But what else is there to say?” He spun around.
I halted in front of him, put my hands on his chest and willed my voice to stay even. “How about talking about the vows we made to one another in our commitment ceremony, how about that?”
“We never said ‘forsake all others’. Those vows tied us together, you and me, and allowed Liam to be part of our relationship the same way I’m allowed to be part of yours. Those vows make it okay to share.”
“Yes, you share me.”
“But you get us both, don’t you? You get both the people you’re attracted to.”
“Love, Quinn, I get both the men I love, and the whole threesome relationship was your idea, not mine. I had to get my head around it.”
He sighed and looked down at his feet. “Love, attraction, either way, you get it all and it doesn’t seem fair.”
My hands dropped from his chest. My breathing was hard and blew like smoke from my mouth into the cold air. “You want it fair?” I asked, my mind full of disbelief.
His gaze captured mine and his voice dropped low. “Yes.”
“But how would that work?”
“Fair would be me going to bed and being shared too.”

Thursday, March 31, 2011

Miranda's Rights by KyAnn Waters

Miranda's Rights
by KyAnn Waters

She needs pain…she needs punishment…she needs him.
Jase Ralston gets hot under his very blue collar just thinking about his friend and neighbor, Miranda Carlucci. Yet she can’t possibly be interested—not when she could have champagne, caviar and her pick of Vegas high rollers.

The bruises change everything. She denies she’s in an abusive relationship, but his cop instincts won’t let him rest until he finds out the truth. When he follows her to a BDSM club and finds her writhing under a flogger’s stinging kiss, his Dom instincts kick in.

Jase takes command of the scene—and Miranda—at Club Creed. This is what she’s always wanted. Pleasure, pain…and rough-around-the-edges Jase. Yet after his domination transports her to a level of subspace she’s never known, he leaves her—unwilling to continue the scene.

Confusion gives way to hurt…then anger. He’s claimed her and Miranda wants more. Even if it means confronting Jase and making demands of her own.

Copyright © 2011 KyAnn Waters
All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication

Jase acknowledged he wasn’t in Miranda’s league—not for more than friendship. He was blue-collar and hardworking. Miranda deserved diamonds and caviar. They might live in the same apartment complex, spend time together watching television and even grab dinner together several times a week, but those weren’t dates. Miranda dated up. Her work behind the scenes in the casino industry exposed her to the wealthy, powerful men of Vegas. Upscale scourge. Jase had a gut feeling that her latest guy wasn’t treating her well.

Jase was a Dom. He liked control, but he’d never abuse a woman. Lately he wasn’t sure if someone was hurting her, demeaning her—forcing her to do something she didn’t want to do. That was the problem. She wouldn’t open up to him about her late nights. His thoughts raced in a thousand different directions. Only one conclusion made sense. She didn’t want Jase to know.

Across the hall, a key worked into a lock. Jase stomped across the floor and swung the door open.

“Jase!” Miranda sucked in a sharp inhale, slapped a hand over her heart and spun in his direction. “You scared me.”

Perhaps he should have put on a shirt. Her gaze traveled his torso, igniting small fires over his flesh. She lingered on the open snap of his jeans riding low on his hips and trekked lower to his bare feet.

“And put on some clothes. If Ms. Perry in 3D sees you, you’ll have a stalker on your hands. She drools at anything with a nice body, especially a nice tight butt and—” Her gaze locked on his groin. “Well, and the right anatomy. If she gets her inch-long dragon-lady nails into your back, you’ll need surgery to remove her.”

“It’s close to four a.m. No one else is awake.”

She snorted. “This is Vegas. No one sleeps.”

“Where have you been?” In the span of a heartbeat, he glanced over her from her tousled hair to her askew clothing. The buttons on her blouse weren’t aligned and her stockings were torn. “What the hell happened?” Her sexy lips, normally pouty and pink, were slightly swollen. Dark circles shadowed her red-rimmed eyes.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” she whispered. “I’m fine now, Detective. It’s late. You should be in bed.” Her lips curled into a smile.

“You aren’t fine.” His hands balled into fists. This craziness had gone on long enough. He couldn’t stand by and watch her self-destruct. He took a step back. “Get in here.”

Her head cocked to the side. “Jase, I’m tired.” She turned back toward her door and wiggled the key until it turned and the lock popped. “I had a rough night, but really. I’m fine.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

She glanced at him and her tired eyes widened.

“We need to talk.”

“I’m sure whatever scolding you’re going to give me can wait until morning.”


“Okay.” Her hand paused on the knob without turning the handle. Her head bowed and her shoulders visibly trembled. She was petite, not more than five-foot-five. Jase had eight inches on her and outweighed her by eighty pounds. He could force her into his apartment. But he wouldn’t have to. The Dom in him stirred at her willingness to heed his words. Whether she’d ever acknowledge it, Miranda had submissive tendencies. He tamped down the small thrill and focused on the anger coiling in his gut instead.

“But I’m tired and don’t want to talk.” Miranda crossed the hall and entered his living room. “I just want to crawl into bed and sleep.” She clasped her hands in front of her, a small purse clutched in her fingers. The door closed with a thud and she jumped.

“What is going on with you?”

“Nothing. I went out.” She stood in his living room, glancing at his couch, the window, anything but his face. Normally her bubbly personality had him laughing. At the moment, she seemed almost afraid. He had an infuriating idea of why. The thought of someone hurting her… He growled and jammed his hands into his pockets. He had the mounting need to slam his fist into the wall, scour the city for the piece of shit and show him a little payback. Any bastard who could hurt a woman deserved his ass beat.

Jase understood BDSM. Power and dominance went hand in hand with trust and devotion. He understood the high from pain play. He’d been in the scene long enough to know that the glimmer in Miranda’s blue eyes wasn’t from being taken to the brink and pushed over the edge. She’d been broken, and that wasn’t willing submission. “What has he done to you?”

Her head snapped up and her eyes narrowed. “Who?”

“Who? Christ, who do you think?” He stormed across the room and grasped her wrist.

She winced and tried to pull away. “Don’t.”

“Who is doing this to you?” He jerked back her sleeves. Angry red welts banded her delicate wrists. Deep purple and maroon bruises crisscrossed her porcelain flesh. Higher on her arm, four equally spaced marks bore the impression of someone squeezing her, restraining her. “Miranda, I see it all the time. I recognize an abused woman.”

“I’m not being abused!” She jerked her arm, yanking her wrist from his hands.

“That’s more than rough sex.”

“I’m not having sex either,” she snapped.

“And I’m not stupid. Are you going to tell me you did that—” he pointed to her wrists, “—to yourself?”

“Are you crazy?”

“No, I’m ready to go ballistic.” He’d kill the bastard who put his hands on her. “I can help you.” He lowered his voice. “Please, let me take care of this, let me take care of you.”

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

5 Stars & Top Pick for Wrong Number, Right Man

An oldie but a goodie! That's how the review from Diana Coyle at Night Owl Reviews made me feel about my 2006 release, Wrong Number, Right Man.

Here's some of what Diana had to say...

"I really enjoyed this short story and loved the interaction between Lori and Jack. The sex was hot and left me definitely wanting more...If you’re looking for a hot, steamy read that leaves you breathlessly dying for more then you’ve found the perfect story to add to your library."

To read more of the review, click here.

Monday, March 21, 2011

Spotlight on Waking Maggie by Cindy Jacks

Waking Maggie
by Cindy Jacks

Maggie’s just decided she’s been stood up when she bumps into hard-bodied guitarist Calvin—literally. Once the shock of their abrupt meeting wears off, Calvin asks Maggie out for a drink and she figures, why not? She’s all dressed up for a date…just not this one.

She enjoys his company, even if he’s only twenty-seven and she’s forty…something. And while witty conversation’s all good, they’re just as compatible in bed. One drink turns into multiple romps between the sheets. He’s old enough to know how to make love to a woman and young enough to look damn fine doing it…and doing it. He even manages to convince Maggie she’s still pretty hot herself.

Now if he would just stop serenading her with that infernal Rod Stewart song.

An Excerpt From:  

Copyright © CINDY JACKS, 2011

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

The sound of a gently strummed guitar roused Maggie from sleep. Eyelids flickering open, she saw Calvin sitting in the tufted chair next to the bed, his acoustic guitar on his lap. A lazy smile tugged at her lips.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Good morning, babe.” He shifted his grip on the fretboard to strike a chord and then slid his fingers back to another. “I’m serenading you…obviously.”

“Is it after ten?” Maggie sat up, stretched.

“Of course. And there’s coffee on your nightstand.”

With delight, she picked up the steaming mug and inhaled—Viennese roast, her favorite. The first sip slid down her throat, smooth as velvet.

He turned his attention to the guitar again and started singing under his breath.

She rolled her eyes. “You know I hate that song.”

Calvin chuckled, a boyish gleam in his hazel eyes. “But I’m sure Rod Stewart wrote it for you.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I am not that old.”

Continuing to strum the melody, he shook his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

As Maggie’s gaze roamed over the young man’s taut, muscular body, she noticed he was sitting there stark naked, the guitar covering some of his most admirable attributes.

Her eye grew wide. “What have I done to deserve a morning serenade with you au naturel?”

“You don’t remember?” he asked, plucking individual notes.

A gust of wind outside the bedroom window drew her attention. The great oak out back danced, shaking loose a few vermillion leaves.

“Of course I remember,” she murmured, setting down her cup and rising from the bed. Smoothing her silk nightie over her ample curves, she padded across the shag carpet and kissed his soft cheek. “Happy anniversary, baby.”

He stopped playing and set aside the guitar, revealing a red ribbon around his cock. “Are you ready for your present?”

Clapping a hand over her mouth, Maggie let out a yelp of amusement. “You’re certifiable, you know that?”

She caught a glimpse of herself in the dresser mirror. Messy blonde curls cascaded down to her shoulders and her eyes looked a little puffy from sleep. Skin not quite as fresh and tight as his—maybe the morning sun really did show her age, as the song stated. Still, not bad for a women of forty-something.

Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her onto his lap. She twined her fingers through his longish bronze hair. A hungry smirk on his face, he brushed his lips over hers. She felt his cock twitch against her thigh.

“We should unwrap you before you cut off your circulation,” she said, pulling one end of the ribbon.

Buy Link:

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Shoshanna Evers - What Keeps Me Turning Pages

My fellow Belle, Shoshanna Evers is here today to tell us what keeps her turning those pages and to share a bit about her newest release from Ellora's Cave, Hollywood Spank. Welcome Shoshanna!

Thanks for having me on your blog, Darah!

So glad to have you, Shoshanna. I've been following you and boy, are you a busy girl!

I’ve been doing a lot of reading this past week, to the point that I’ve barely been writing. I keep buying awesome books and then getting so sucked in that all I want to do at the end of the day is cuddle up with my Kindle!

So it got me thinking – what about the books I love makes them so entertaining? Sure, the writing is usually good, and the characters are intriguing, but the main answer here is conflict. Conflict in a story is what keeps me up at night, turning pages (ahem, pressing buttons) to find out what happens next.

So when I wrote Hollywood Spank, my new erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave, I knew I wanted it to be rife with conflict. I took a movie star and a tabloid reporter—each with a big secret— and gave them the hots for each other. I love torturing my characters :)

LOL I'm sure it's a slow and yummy torture, too. Tell us about your book.


When the studio heads for Mark Cannon’s new action movie discover that their leading man likes to spank his personal assistants, they insist Mark hire a professional submissive who won’t run to the tabloids with his kinky secret. 

Andrea Landley may be a wonderful assistant, but she lied through her teeth about being a BDSM pro to get the job—and now her real career as an undercover tabloid reporter has gotten very interesting.

Andrea is willing to do whatever it takes to get the dirt for her scathing exposé—even if it means learning how to take a spanking from a movie star. She doesn’t realize until it’s too late that Mark Cannon has a lot more in store for her than just a simple spanking.

An Excerpt From:

Copyright © SHOSHANNA EVERS, 2011
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Mark stepped quietly into his trailer and placed his script on the little desk. The sight of the slender, beautiful young woman lying on his cot caught him off guard and he swallowed a gasp of surprise. His new personal assistant.

Despite how busy they’d had him in the last couple of hours, Mark had been unable to get Andrea off his mind. He had almost flubbed a line, since his thoughts kept wandering back to his trailer and that amazing ass of hers.

And now, to find her sprawled out on his cot, looking so sweet and…inviting, he could see why she had proved to be so distracting.
His gaze lingered over her long, shapely legs, clad in tight denim jeans, then traveled up her fitted long-sleeve blouse, its deep V-neck revealing just a hint of the swell of her perfect breasts.

He could stare at Andrea like this for hours and never get bored. Mark wanted to pull those tight jeans off her gorgeous legs and ravish her right then and there. His cock thickened at the very thought of having sex with Andrea. Too bad he promised her he wasn’t there to fuck her…and too bad she agreed there would be no fucking.

Andrea crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at him.

“Uncross your arms,” he said. “I want to see your breasts.”

Andrea slowly uncrossed her arms and actually blushed as she did so, even though she was fully dressed.

“You aren’t really experienced as a submissive, are you.” It was a statement, not a question. She had lied. It was obvious now that this was all very new to her.

Andrea gasped and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Sir. I just really, really wanted this job.”

“Enough to let me actually spank you?” he asked, surprised.

“I may have lied about my BDSM experience to get the job, Sir, but I wasn’t lying about my skill as an assistant, and you saw for yourself that…what you did turned me on.”

Mark looked at her thoughtfully. “That’s true. So let me get this straight. You’re a very good assistant and you’re fully willing to explore the idea of me spanking you.”


“Because it turns you on.”

Andrea blushed again. Man, that was cute. “Yes,” she said softly.

“So even though I said no sex before, if all this really turns you on, are you willing to get a little sexual?” He sat on the edge of the cot next to her and held her chin in his hand, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“I just met you, Sir, and I don’t usually have sex with men I just met,” she said. “I mean, I never do. So, can we get a little sexual without actually having sex, for right now?”

Mark grinned. “Absolutely.”

“So I can stay?”

“Say, ‘Sir, may I stay?’” Mark said.

Andrea didn’t hesitate. “Sir, may I stay?”

“Yeah, you can stay. But I want you over my knee right now for lying to me.”

“Thank you, Sir. For the job, I mean,” Andrea said as she nervously draped herself over his lap.

He locked his legs around hers to keep her from escaping her punishment and raised his hand, relishing that moment right before he brought it down on her ass. “Say thank you for the spanking too.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“My pleasure,” Mark said. “And hopefully, it will be your pleasure as well.”

Yummmm, sounds delicious! Thanks for sharing!

To find Shoshanna, check out her links below.

Shoshanna Ever
Sexily *Evers* After…

Saturday, February 26, 2011

4.5 Stars & Top Pick for Bucking Hard at NOR!

Yeehaw, the first review for Bucking Hard is in!

"This story is jam-packed with emotion. I really enjoyed getting to know the characters. The story flows and I didn't want to put it down. Great story and I'd love to read more from Darah Lace."

Thanks Tigger9 and Night Owl Reviews!
To read more of the review, click here.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Beautiful Storm by KyAnn Waters

Beautiful Storm
by KyAnn Waters
Ellora's Cave

Adrian Beck lost everything, including his passion for designing beautiful buildings, after 9/11. Self-imposed exile on Long Caye Island gives him the sanctuary he needs to live a simple, uncomplicated life.

Isabelle Clemet, of Clemet Hotels, is ready to rebuild after Katrina. She wants the best to design her new project on the coast in Biloxi, Mississippi. She wants Adrian.

Can an erotic late-night encounter on a secluded beach help a lonely architect rediscover his lost passion?

Click here to read more.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Twelve Days of Love for Valentine's Day!

To celebrate this special day,
I wanted to share
a red hot treat.
is sure to harden Cupid's arrow
and soften your heart.
Happy Valentine's Day!


Eden Riley left her high school geek days far behind. Or so she thought. But when she returns to her hometown and comes face to face with the local heartthrob, sparks ignite like a chemistry set on crack. Super-smooth Nick Lancaster sets her nerves jangling and thrusts her libido into overdrive. But can the former geeky girl overcome her insecurities and jump his sexy bones?

Nothing suits former jock and debate team star Nick more than sparring with the one-time nerd. He’s just itching to get up close and personal with her high-velocity curves and tangle with her on the nearest bed.

With Valentine’s Day fast approaching, all bets are off when Cupid draws back his bow and Nick has only twelve days to convince Eden she belongs with him, in his heart and in his bed.

An Excerpt From:

Copyright © TESS MACKALL, 2011
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Jingling bells mounted above the flower shop door alerted Eden that a customer had entered the store. She pushed the stem of a pink sweetheart rose into the small wedding bouquet she had just started and wiped her hands on her green wraparound smock. As she turned, she caught a man’s reflection in the glass doors of the refrigerated case.

She couldn’t help but pause and stare. His tall, lean silhouette appeared to be standing there among all those leggy gladiolas and giant spider mums perched in their vases. He reached up to the service counter with one hand and touched the small African violet sitting near the edge. For a moment it looked as though he’d brushed his hand over the big snowy-white spider mum in the cooler.

Eden moaned slightly, his touch so obviously tender. Warm tendrils of longing tiptoed over her skin. She shuddered with the sensation, mentally chiding herself for giving him even a second thought, much less allowing him to affect her physically.

But Nick Lancaster had always worked his way under her skin, even in high school.

He was wet panties and get-naked-quick in one fine-looking package. Bottled sin. A walking aphrodisiac. And all that with just a “hello”. Why did she torture herself with this insane crush? She wasn’t exactly his type, was she? Eden patted her tummy to remind herself of the paunch that sometimes forced her to unbutton her jeans after she’d eaten. Yeah, it hadn’t disappeared, still there.

Nick tilted his head to the side as if to peek into the back of the shop where she stood watching, his mirrored reflection in the glass doors so damn lifelike she took a step back. An exaggerated sigh blew through the workroom’s open doorway, a sure-fire sign his patience had grown thin. He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and glanced up at the ceiling.

Eden squared her shoulders, inhaled a deep, cleansing breath and stepped into the showroom. Both Nick’s eyebrows quirked when she appeared and he grinned. She nodded, smiled and planted herself on the opposite side of the counter. He looked too damn delicious today in his dark green Polo shirt and navy blazer. Why did he have to be so handsome?

“Hi, Nick. I might have known I’d be seeing you. The countdown has begun, hasn’t it?”

A distinct V formed between his brows, his grin fading into a frown. “Countdown?”

“Yeah, countdown.” Eden gestured toward the large, heart-shaped day calendar on the wall behind her.

Emblazoned in sparkling gold against the bright red background over the heart’s two humps were the words “Valentine’s Day Countdown”. The number twelve was displayed in bright red and centered inside a pale blue and white wisp of a cloud with Cupid sitting on top, his bow drawn.

Nick focused over her head. “Oh!” Then he frowned even harder. “Well, what was that crack about ’might have known I’d be seeing you’ all about?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

He pursed his luscious lips and squinted his gorgeous green eyes. “You don’t like me very much, do you?”

“Where the hell did you get that idea?”

It never failed. Every time he came into the shop, they ended up arguing. She always managed to make some snarky comment, and of course, he picked up on it. They’d been at odds since their freshman year of high school. Both had joined the debate team and had never seen eye-to-eye on a single subject.

Slowly but surely they’d gravitated to different ends of the spectrum in popularity too, which hadn’t made things any easier. He, with his Adonis good looks and nothing-but-net shooting ability, naturally floated to the top; she, with her wide hips, pimply face, geeky glasses and penchant for all things artistic, sank to the bottom.

Now here they were, all these years later, no further from that high-school type of relationship than when they’d started. Except Nick had taken over his father’s string of Chevy dealerships and she had moved back home last year, forsaking her managerial position at an up-and-coming art gallery in New York to take over her ailing mother’s flower shop.

Times and situations changed but evidently people didn’t.

“If you don’t want me as a customer, Eden, why don’t you just say so?” He leaned forward, folding his arms over one another on the counter’s faux granite surface, watching her intently.

Lemon drops. He always smelled of lemon drops—and some expensive cologne she couldn’t remember the name of. God, she wanted to reach over and ruffle that thick, wavy black hair of his. Oh shit. Wet panties alert! He managed to do it to her every time without even trying.

And oh how she wished he would. Fat chance.

“I do want you as a customer,” she said succinctly, trying to put an end to the verbal scuffle.

“So? What was that crack all about?”

“Nothing. Just pointing out the countdown is all. I’m a florist. Valentine’s Day is important to me.” Actually, her remark had been a direct jibe regarding his frequent flower-buying miles. He constantly had arrangements delivered locally and wired over a three-state area with each card signed, “Yours, Nick”.

“Your mother is a florist. You’re a stand-in.” He grinned, wet his index finger with his tongue and painted the air with an imaginary mark. “Score one for me.”

Her mouth dropped open. She had a damned art degree in her back pocket. He, on the other hand, had dropped out of college after year two thanks to a bum knee and the fact he’d no longer be able to pump up his already over-inflated ego with the roar of the fans. How dare he call her a stand-in!

“I’ll have you know that I started working in this shop when I was twelve years old. Every day after school, weekends, all summer long too. I’m the one who made those sweet little corsages for all your high-school dance dates. So don’t say I’m not up to the job.”

He jabbed the rigid fingers of his left hand into his right palm—time out. “Chill, girl. Damn. You’re gonna pop a blood vessel one of these days.” He shook his head. “I was joking, messing with you. But I really meant that as soon as your mother was feeling better, you’re gonna be out of here and back to that fancy New York art career of yours.”

Did she detect a note of jealousy? Impossible. Nick Lancaster had it all. Well, except for his divorce, that is. Her mother had told her all about it right after Eden had taken over the shop. Nick had shown up on Eden’s third day to place an order and their customary enmity from high school had picked up right where it had left off.

Eden had related the entire scene to her mother at home that night and was shocked to learn that Nick and his wife, Jenna, had called it quits. He’d caught her dead-to-rights with her masseuse.

The vision of Jenna’s toothy white smile, platinum pony-tail and deep cleavage bouncing up and down right along with the whimsical sashay of blue-and-white pompoms rollicked in Eden’s mind. The cheerleader prom queen sure had screwed up her life. How the hell could she ever want anyone but Nick?

Eden tucked her fingernails into her palms and squeezed, jolting herself back to the present. Who was she to talk? Her judgment where love was concerned wasn’t so great either.

She picked up the order book and scratched out Nick’s name on the appropriate line. “I won’t be going back to New York.”

“What do you mean?” He leaned in closer.

The lemony scent became downright heady. Have mercy. Her nipples poked at her thin cotton sports bra. Tingles of lust wound their way straight to her pussy. Maybe she should start keeping a supply of clean panties on hand.

He rapped his knuckles on the counter. “Are you listening to me?”


“You looked like you spaced out for a few seconds.”

“Just thinking. Now what would you like to order today?”

He shook his head. “Not so fast. Why aren’t you going back to New York?”

“Mom’s not going to be able to return to work. She’s now on dialysis.”

He glanced down at the floor then back up at her. His usually devilish eyes had softened. “I’m sorry to hear that, Eden. Your mom is a nice lady. I hope her condition improves.”

Eden averted her gaze. He was being nice. And Nick Lancaster’s “nice” wasn’t something she could take. As long as he played the fool with her, she could handle him, but this side? No.

She pressed the pen against the paper. “Thank you. So how many dozen roses? One for each of the Twelve Days of Love? A dozen different women or just one special lady this time?”

He choked with laughter, sputtering, “The Twelve Days of Love?”

She rolled her eyes. “Florist marketing. If you can have the Twelve Days of Christmas, why not the Twelve—”

“Days of Love,” he finished in a sarcastic tone.

Eden perched her hand on her hip and stared at him.

He licked his lips. Lusty butterflies fluttered in her lower abdomen, sending a delicious pleasure-pain to body parts she didn’t even know she had. Her stomach somersaulted. She wondered what it would feel like to kiss him. Damn. She had to stop doing this. They didn’t even like each other. She wasn’t his type—no pompoms. He’d laugh his ass off if he knew how I felt. As long as she didn’t see him, she was fine. But if she had to talk to him, be near him…

He came around to her side of the counter. “How long have we been rubbing each other the wrong way?”

Eden skirted past him and walked over to the display window. She twisted a pot of heavily leaved philodendron so its back side faced the sun. “Forever. I’ve got a wedding tomorrow, Nick. I hate to rush you, but…”

When she turned from the window, he was standing in front of her almost nose to nose. She stumbled backward and he caught her, resting his hand at her waist. He stared into her eyes. How had she failed to notice those little gold flecks swimming in the dark green depths of his? His breath soughed warm over her face—more lemon drops and something else—his unique male scent.

And his hand—was it on fire? He took it away and the temperature of her skin where he’d been touching her plummeted.

“What will you be doing that night?” he asked.

“Wh-what night?” Surprised she’d found her voice, she hurried back to the counter and picked up the order book again.


“Oh.” She shook her head. “I’ll be lucky to get out of here by nine. And love will be the last thing on my mind, I can assure you.”

“No date, huh?”

“I don’t have time for dating. Can we do the order?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets before he moved back over to the counter. “So you didn’t leave any broken hearts in New York?”

Where the hell is he going with this? And why?

“I’m not exactly every man’s idea of the perfect date. Now if you don’t mind—”

“What’s a man’s idea of a perfect date?”

Exasperated, she blew out a burst of air. “I don’t know and don’t care. I have more important things to do these days than worry about the likes and dislikes of men.”

“What’s more important than love? You’re the florist.” He pointed to the Twelve Days of Love calendar.

“Exactly what is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re willing to sell the product of love but you don’t believe in it.”

“And you’re driving a Mercedes but you sell Chevys.”

Nick propped his hip against the counter, grinning. “Nobody’s ever challenged me the way you do, you know that?”

“Nobody’s ever pissed me off the way you do. You know that?”

His expression sobered. He looked wounded. “I don’t mean to.”

Deep down she knew that. Guilt crested inside her. “I guess we’re just oil and water, Nick. No harm done.”

An awkward silence rose between them. They just stood there staring at each other until Eden couldn’t take it another second.

“You still want to place the order?”

“Yeah,” he said, soft and low, in an almost-defeated manner.

A few minutes later, Nick had placed an order for roses to be delivered on Valentine’s Day to seventeen different women. With every name and address he read to her from his BlackBerry, Eden jabbed the paper a little harder with the pen. Her stomach churned at the thought of all those women. In her mind, she pictured them with pom poms, blonde hair and long, tanned legs.

And they giggled.

Yep, she was definitely wasting panty moisture on thoughts of Nick. Her five-foot-four, big-hipped frame capped off by average-sized breasts would never stand a chance against all those big-busted beauties. Even her soot-black hair was a sharp contrast to what Nick wanted.

“All right. I think I’ve got everything. I have your credit card on file. How about the card? The usual ‘Yours, Nick’?”


He sounded dejected. She would too if she’d just spent seventy bucks a pop on seventeen different women. No. That wasn’t it. Nick had money. Apparently their antagonistic relationship had gone a bit too far today.

Maybe this was his last order. How would she feel if that was the case?

“Thanks, Eden.” Nick headed for the door, stopped short just as he reached it, waited the space of a few seconds, then opened it. The bells jingled. He continued to stand there with his back to her. A car alarm blared out in the street. He closed the door and marched back to the counter.

Eden just knew he was going to cancel the order and that would be the end of Nick and her silly schoolgirl crush. Head held high, she braced herself for whatever he was about to say.

“I think it’s a case of practicing what you preach,” he said matter-of-factly.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re right. I should drive a Chevy and you should believe in love.”

His shoulders relaxed and he let out a long breath as if he’d been holding in what he’d said. And now that he’d spit it out, he seemed relieved.

“We’re back to that?”

“Yes, and I think we should do something about this,” he twirled his finger in front of him, “this oil-and-vinegar thing we have going on.”

“Water. Oil and water. You mean try to get along?”

“Whatever. And exactly. After all, it’s that time of year. The Twelve Days of Love.”

She smiled. “Okay, Nick. I’ll try if you will.”

Maybe they could get along. Of course, it wouldn’t help the physical side of things as far as she was concerned. But he didn’t come into the shop more than a couple of times a month. It might be nice not to feel so angry and wet when he left the next time.

“Good. I’ll pick you up at your mother’s house at seven.” He strode toward the door.

It was as if the floor fell out from under her. She grabbed the countertop. Blood rushed to her head and her heart drummed so loudly she thought surely the vibrations would bring the roof down on top of her.


Nick spun on his heel. “Seven o’clock. Jeans will be fine. Twelve days, Eden. Twelve days of practicing what you preach. I’ll be driving a Chevy when I pick you up too.” He yanked the door open so the bells jingled, grinned, offered her a little salute and closed the door behind him.

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Friday, February 11, 2011

Bucking Hard Released Today!

Bucking Hard
Woohoo! Bucking Hard is out today at Ellora's Cave! If you enjoyed Saddle Broke, return to Grayson, Texas to meet Bradi and Mason and catch a glimpse of Lindsey, Clay and yes, Evan.

To celebrate, I'm giving away a FREE copy of Bucking Hard. Just post a comment on this post anytime over the weekend, and I'll draw a winner at noon on Valentine's Day.


All her life, tomboy Bradi Kincaid has wanted two things—a career as a veterinarian in her hometown Grayson, Texas…and Mason Montgomery. Problem is, he’s her best friend and according to him she’s “one of the guys”. Convinced he’ll never see her otherwise, Bradi comes up with a sure-fire plan to get over Mason—flirt a little, dance a lot and get laid.

What Mason imagines doing to Bradi is just all kinds of wrong. But the woman on the dance floor isn’t the girl he grew up with. She’s hot and sexy and turning him on. Him and every other man in the bar. She’s also had too much to drink and is unaware of the trouble she’s inviting. He does what any friend would, he steps in, then sets out to teach her a lesson.

But before the sun rises, Mason discovers Bradi has a thing or two to teach him.

This story contains spanking, biting and some “tie me up”, bucking-hard sex.

An Excerpt From:


Copyright © DARAH LACE, 2011
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Mason crested the hill overlooking the creek and reined in Rocky, his favored mount for riding the range. He’d heard the bawling calf a quarter mile away and figured he’d find it stuck in the mud. He hadn’t expected to find Bradi Kincaid. In fact if he’d known she’d already ridden to the rescue, he would have headed the other way.

But here she was not ten feet away, ass in the air, up to her knees in green slime and mud, her arms around the struggling calf’s neck, and she still managed to light a fire in his gut. And dammit, that was just all wrong.

They were best friends, for Christ’s sake. Practically raised in the cradle together. They’d fished and hunted side by side, ridden drag to bring up the tail end of cattle drives. And they’d gotten into more trouble than a switch could whip out of them. She was his best bud, one of the guys.

So why did his dick suddenly become a divining rod every time she was near?

She wasn’t unattractive. But Bradi was nothing like the women he preferred. She wasn’t sleek or polished or sophisticated. Her fingernails were cut close to keep the dirt out instead of long and meticulously painted to match her outfit. Her dirty blonde hair was either in a ponytail or a braid, and as far as he knew, had never been streaked, colored or cut to the latest fashion. And she might carry ChapStick in her front right pocket to ward off the blistering Texas sun, but that was the extent of her makeup.

Bradi was Bradi—natural, earthy and blessed with athletic grace that made ranch work look easy—and more often than not these days left him wondering what that lithe and flexible body would be like in bed.

“You gonna sit there all day, or are you gonna help me?”

Leaning forward to rest his forearm on the saddle horn and hopefully hide his growing erection, he tilted his head to one side and smirked at the picture she made. “I don’t know. You look like you’re doing just fine on your own.”

She blew wispy bangs out of her green eyes and gave him a withering glare over her shoulder. “Throw me a rope.”

“Where’s yours?” He looked around for her horse but the only other animal in sight was a cow waiting for Bradi to rescue her calf. “Wait, don’t tell me. You were riding Dahlia.”

That damn horse had a habit of leaving Bradi high and—his gaze wandered over her again—not so dry. Covered in muck, the front of her faded yellow T-shirt was wet and clung to her breasts. Breasts he’d known she possessed but never really noticed until two weeks ago. His gaze locked on the words peeling across the chest. Not that he cared what they said with her nipples prodding so diligently through her bra.

Mentally castrating himself, Mason sat up and reached for the coiled rope attached to his saddle. “When are you going to take that piece-of-shit horse to the glue factory?”

“Just shut up and throw me your rope.”

Ignoring her demand, Mason swung the lasso and sent it sailing over the calf’s head. He pulled the rope taut, wrapped it around the saddle horn, and directed his horse to back up. The little bull cried louder as the mud slowly relinquished its hold. As soon as the calf’s legs found firm ground, he dug in, resisting the pull of the rope.

Bradi laughed and reached for the calf just as it wrenched to one side and kicked. Twisting, she dodged a hind leg, but her feet were still stuck in the mud and she went to her knees. Another kick and brown sludge splattered her chest and neck. “Shit.”

Mason chuckled. “Yep, I imagine so.”

Shooting him another scathing glare, she struggled to stand. “You’re an ass.” Able to finally extract one leg and then the other, she trudged out of the creek toward the calf. “Give me some slack.”

He signaled his horse forward and Bradi deftly slipped the rope from the calf’s neck. The bull bolted for its mama and together they ambled up and over the high bank then disappeared. Looking back at Bradi, Mason wished he hadn’t.

She’d moved up the creek and knelt in a spot of grass to wash the mud from her hands. Tight faded denim hugged her heart-shaped ass and his hands itched to palm those mounds. She stretched to wet a bandana, causing the waistband of her jeans to dip lower, and a strip of hot-pink lace played peek-a-boo between it and her shirt.

His jeans tightened as his cock strained against his fly. He’d never thought about what kind of underwear Bradi wore—she was naked in his recent fantasies—but if he had consciously thought about it, he wouldn’t have figured her for the lace panty type. Last time he’d seen her in her panties, she’d worn white cotton with a Barbie logo. They’d been six and he’d wanted to brag about his Ninja Turtle briefs.

As she rose, he looked away to gather the rope. He stowed it behind him and turned to find her standing beside his horse with her hand out. Fuck. She wanted a ride. And god, he wanted to give her one.

“Well?” She thrust her hand higher. “Give me a hand up.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He hadn’t thought this far ahead when he’d decided to stick around and help, and his brain certainly wasn’t working now. All he knew was he couldn’t have her sitting behind him, her tits rubbing his back, legs spread… Fuck. “You’re covered with mud.”

“Um, yeah. I kinda noticed that.” She stared up at him with expectant green eyes. Why hadn’t he ever noticed the flecks of gold or the ring of black that reminded him of the sun coming through shadowed forest trees? At his lack of response, her hand fell to her side. “You’re going to make me walk?”

“I don’t want that shit all over me.” Damn, he felt like an ass. He was an ass. He couldn’t let her walk. He’d just have to survive the ride home…and make sure it was a short one.

Before he could offer his hand or an apology, her eyes flashed with anger. And maybe a bit of hurt? “God, Mason, when did you turn into such a pussy?”

She spun around and the metallic whir of a zipper crawled up his thighs and into his balls. Lust rose high but panic shifted into overdrive. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Taking off my clothes so you won’t get dirty.”

Oh, hell no! There was no way— Shit. She hooked her thumbs into the waist of her jeans, starting the downward motion that revealed a hint of one cheek.

“Just get on the damn horse.” He pulled his foot from the stirrup and stuck out his hand. “But I can’t take you home.” His place was closer. “I have things to do.”

A long second passed, then the zipper made a return trip up. His dick jerked in disappointment as she latched on to his hand, shoved her boot into the stirrup and swung herself onto the horse behind him, mimicking his irritated tone. “Things to do.”

The warmth of her body seared his back as she settled into place. His gaze dropped to one side, taking in the slender thigh nestled close to his. The thought of those long legs wrapped around his waist made his balls ache. If she had any idea what she was doing to him, she’d be glad to walk home. Hell, she’d probably run.

But Bradi wasn’t wired that way. He doubted she ever thought about sex. She’d never dated in high school and she never talked about anyone in particular at A&M. The only conversation they’d had about sex was short-lived when he confided his loss of virginity to Katrina Forbes and Bradi made it clear right away the subject of sex was off-limits.

The odds of her still being a virgin at twenty-five were slim, but somehow he couldn’t imagine her having sex with anyone.

Anyone but him.

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