Smokin' Hot Firemen

Smokin’ Hot Firemen

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BLURB:

Who can melt any woman’s heart with a single smile? The sexiest icon of all—a fireman!

They enter fiery structures with selfless courage–the very definition of the word “hero.” Women understand their allure… A soot-covered face, sweat dripping from hard, chiseled muscles, the sharp snap of suspenders—yes, only a fireman can make suspenders sexy! Delilah Devlin’s burning-hot book includes thrilling stories teeming with gorgeous firemen from some of today’s hottest romance writers. In “Saving Charlotte,” Sabrina York’s firefighting Dom rescues a woman tied to a red-hot bed; from Cathryn Fox comes “Temperature Rising” where a fire chief fulfills some very steamy fantasies; Elle James’s “Chasing Fire” sees a daring smoke-jumper parachuting into the hot zone of a forest fire then setting his girlfriend ablaze with erotic heat; and Magic Mike ain’t got nothin’ on Delilah’s own fireman-turned-exotic-dancer-for-a-night “Johnny Blaze.”

With a list of award-winning authors that includes Ily Goyanes, Shoshanna Evers, Adele Dubois, and Rachel Firasek, Delilah delivers tales of these courageous men sliding down their big poles to steal readers’ hearts! Smokin’ Hot Firemen imagines the romantic possibilities of being held against that massively muscled chest by a man whose mission is to protect and serve…

Excerpt from Delilah Devlin’s “Johnny Blaze”

I held my iPhone in front of me as far as my arm could reach and took a picture. Then I quickly sent it to my Facebook page. Yes! I don’t know how Syl managed to talk me into it, but I’m at HardCox!!! Happy Birthday, me!

I posted the photo, then slipped my phone back into my purse, which I’d placed beneath the small round table where Sylvia, Heather, and I sat next to the raised stage.

“You took a picture of yourself?” Sylvia giggled and held out her hand. “Give me that phone!”

“No way, you’ll just post pictures of the dancers’ asses.”

“And their hoses!”

My eyes bugged. “My mama would be horrified!”

I was already beyond mortified at being here—a male strip club, of all places. Syl didn’t have to add kerosene to the fire burning in my cheeks. But she’d had me at one name, “Johnny Blaze.”

So I had a thing for firefighters. Or at least one in particular who didn’t even know I existed. The picture on the sandwich board outside the club—of a fireman wearing suspenders attached to the hose covering his privates—had been the deciding factor after I’d dug my heels into the concrete sidewalk. His body reminded me of my secret crush. Syl knew all about my private addiction. She’d pointed to the board, then while my jaw slackened, whipped me through the entrance.

Now, she laughed and lifted her Mai Tai, eyes shining with devilment. “See anyone you’d like to take home?”

I eyed the dancer currently on the stage now—Davey Crockett—who wore a coonskin hat and a striped, bushy tail covering his parts while he did the helicopter much to the delight of the audience whooping and hollering all around us.

“Nope,” I said tightlipped. My own gaze followed that twirling tail, hypnotized. It have been forever since I’d seen a cock. To see one with a bushy tail was just bizarre. I raised my voice to be heard over the loud rock music, “How long do we have to stay?”

Syl shook her head and raised a finger in the air to hail a beer-bitch with a tray of Jell-O shots. A blue cup landed on the table in front of me. Rather than fight Syl, I raised the drink and threw it back, gagging a little before gulping it down.

Alcohol never sat right with me. It made me hot. Something I didn’t need because my cheeks were already a fiery beet-red. Alcohol, added to the tanned, waxed, buff bodies gyrating so close that splatters of sweat already spotted my blouse, left me feeling completely out of my element. The only reason I was still sitting here was because I had to see “Johnny Blaze”, not that any stripper would match up to the man of my fantasies.

Davey Crockett raised his arms over his head and did a flip, landing near the edge of the stage, his beaver tail slapping his belly then his thighs.

I couldn’t help where my gaze landed because I wondered how much was furry sock and how much was his pleasure stick. Lord, the man was probably gay, anyway. I slid the napkin from under my drink and flapped it at my face.

The music stopped. A handsome man dressed in dark slacks and a black leather vest walked to the center of the stage. “Evenin’, ladies,” he said into the microphone he held, his thick Texas drawl sweet as syrup.

The crowd shouted back, “Evenin’, Jason.”

The women knew the announcer by name? Good lord, they needed to get a life.

Then his “We have a birthday girl in the audience...” snagged my attention. The audience erupted in laughter and catcalls.

My eyes rounded. I shot a look at Syl. “Nooo....”

Syl smiled slyly back. “You’re only twenty-five once, cupcake.”

Two nearly nude men swished through the curtain at the back of the stage, one a bald dude wearing a biker’s bandana and leather chaps. The other a black man with a chest a bodybuilder would cry over.

Jason cupped a hand over her eyes and scanned the audience. “Where can she be?”

Syl and Heather bounced in their seats, arms flying, hands pointing toward me.

I hunched low, wondering if I could crawl beneath the table, because the two burly men were coming straight for me.

“Syl, I’m going to kill you,” I hissed.

Her smile was so broad I didn’t know how her face didn’t split in half. “You are going to thank me, baby girl. Just you wait.”

When both men flanked me, I stubbornly kept my gaze lowered, pretending I didn’t see them. But the black guy gripped my elbow and gently brought me to my feet. Then they both formed a chair with their arms and pushed the “seat” beneath me, nudging me hard enough my knees collapsed. As they swept me up, I gripped their arms, sure they’d drop me as they climbed the stairs to the stage.

I’m not a little girl. At five-foot-eight and nearing a hundred eighty pounds, I gave them a work out. Not that they seemed to strain. A wooden chair had been brought to the center of the stage. They stood me in front of it then the biker pressed me into it with a hand on my shoulder.

Knowing I was going to have to go with it or look like a complete coward, I flopped into the chair and folded my arms across my chest.

Jason produced two large white squares and raised them over his head. The crowd began to chant. “Hoo-hoo-hoo!”

Not until he handed them to the biker and both men went on their knees did I understand. “Uh...why do I need knee pads?”

The biker flashed a brilliant smile. “To save your pretty knobs, sweetheart.”

My eyebrows crept up. I wanted to ask why, but I suspected his answer would send me dashing off the stage.

Biker boy slipped off my pump and smoothed a pad up my calf, fitting it to my knee. His buddy did the same, thankfully not at the same time or I’d have wound up flashing my crotch.

I was having serious misgivings about my outfit now—a shortish black skirt, that had seemed flirty but demure when I’d dressed at home, and black short-sleeved button-down blouse. With the large silver hoops and thick silver cuff, I’d looked cute but casual, or so Syl had said when she’d scoured my closet for just the right outfit. Since our destination had been a secret up until we pulled into parking lot, I hadn’t given her choice of wardrobe another thought.

Now I wished I’d worn jeans, something to cover the length of white leg the men were still fondling. Biker dude stood, lifted me to my feet with a firm hand at my elbow, then marched me to the edge of the stage.

With Syl and Heather grinning like idiots, I knew he wasn’t just sending me back to my chair. Behind me, the curtain whooshed again. The crowd drove to their feet, whistles and shouts rising so loud I wanted to cover my ears. I didn’t dare look back.

“John-nee! John-nee! John-nee!”

My heart stuttered then burst into a wild tattoo. Heat burned my cheeks, but also began to pool between my legs. Funny how a little thing like a man with a hose can turn a girl’s insides all weepy.

Biker dude gripped my shoulders and forced me to turn.

Johnny Blaze stood, framed by the curtain, his fireman’s hat tipped low in front, the stage lights gleaming on the shiny top and shadowing his features. His tanned chest and ripped abs were bare except for red suspenders—thankfully attached to yellow turnout pants. His large feet were encased by black boots. He raised a finger and curled it—twice.

I shook my head, glancing behind me to find the stairs, but gentle pressure on my shoulders forced me to my knees.

“Gotta crawl, Bridget,” biker dude drawled. “All the way on your knees.”

He knew my name? Kneeling, I cut him a quick glance. “I’m in a skirt.”

His smile gleamed white against his darkly tanned face. “I know. Sweet how that worked out.”

And because I knew I’d been set up, and that I couldn’t back away from the challenge now, I bent, pulled my skirt down in the back to cover my ass, and started to crawl on hands and knees toward the fireman who stood stock still, his hands fisted on his hips.

Lord, he looked so much like my inappropriate crush that what had been a trickle became a warm gush against my panties. I imagined it was him, that he had me in my bedroom, crawling toward him and his lovely baggy pants. The things I’d do...

Only the closer I drew, the deeper my suspicions grew.

His chest rose and fell too quickly—not something I’d expect from a guy who hadn’t yet danced his way around the stage. His expression was hidden, but the angle of his jaw, so rigid, so still, reminded me of the new fireman in my home town I’d been lusting after for weeks.

The reception desk at the library faced the front door, which had wide glass panels looking onto the main street and the fire station on the other side. I’d spent weeks leaning on an elbow and sighing over the new guy, the one Syl said was single, and not a player. She’d been trying to hook me up for weeks, inviting me to drop by with cookies for the men—something I’d done in the past, but which I’d refrained from doing since his arrival because I didn’t want to seem too eager or desperate.

Besides, what would someone who looked like that want with me?

I kept crawling, but suddenly, two thick thighs gripped my waist. Biker dude straddled my waist, but kept his weight from me. With one hand gripping my shoulder, he gave my ass a slap. “Don’t stop now,” he said loudly, slapping me lightly as I crawled faster, his body hopping to keep pace with me. The problem was, his thighs dragged at my skirt, and soon I felt cool air brushing against my bottom. I tried to reach back, but he was in the way. “My skirt!”

“Don’t worry about it, sugar! Gotta have those birthday spanks.”

My face got hotter; I started to sweat. I crawled, tugging his thighs along with me until I was three feet from Johnny Blaze, who had yet to move.

Biker dude stepped away. I pulled my skirt back over my ass, one cheek burning. A chair appeared beside me. Johnny moved, sat with his legs spread, and patted his muscled thigh.

The gesture was deliberate. I shook my head and glanced up again, seeing his face for the first time. My jaw dropped.

With a flourish, he tossed his hat away, grabbed my upper arm, and hauled me over his lap, face down.

Pushing up, I tried to lean away, but he stuck his elbow in my back, and I collapsed, the undersides of my breasts riding the side of one huge thigh. “What are doing here?”

An Interview With Delilah Devlin:

1. What about firemen revs your engine? The suspenders and those mysteriously baggy pants. No, I’m kidding. Swear. I love their courage. It’s a primal thing, isn’t it—being attracted to someone so capable of protecting you?

2. Tell us a little about your story. My story is based on a true incident. It’s entitled “Johnny Blaze” and set in a male strip club. For my daughter’s 18th birthday, her friends took her there. She was called up the stage, and most of the embarrassing parts that happened to her—the fact she was wearing a mini with only a thong underneath; the fact she was made to crawl across the stage with a stripper “riding” her back while her skirt hiked up; and the fact the stripper who gave her 18 spanks flipped up at that skirt to administer it— Well, now I’ve gone and told you most the story...

3. What are you working on now? I’m trying to finish up the next installment of Crescent Moon. It’s a serialized novel that’s releasing in eight installments on Amazon. And I have revisions of a BDSM story set in the Louisiana bayou to complete. It’s entitled Her Only Desire and set to release early December.

4. Open your story to any page and tell us what is happening... My hero has just watched the woman he rescued from suffocating while she was wrapped like a mummy do something not entirely human...

5. Burgers or sushi? Oh God, sushi!

6. Beach or mountains? Beach!

7. Beer, wine or iced tea? Iced tea. I like my buzzes stimulating not sleep-inducing.

8. What is your favorite ice cream flavor? Creamy chocolate.

9. Name three things you have on your writing desk right now. A little fireman action figure. A fragment of an ancient Egyptian ushabti (from the head down to the top of the ankh). My purple Malden Filofax.

10. What is next on your writing horizon?  Catching up on a list of commitments that will keep me busy until the end of the year. I have the remaining installments of Crescent Moon to finish. I have to finish the sequel to the Louisiana BDSM novel. I have to select, edit and compile the stories for two Cleis Press collections—Hot Highlanders and Wild Knights and Sex Objects. And I have as many novellas as I can find time to write in my free time (cough), including the last book in the Delta Heat series (Mondo’s story).

 Delilah Devlin

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Until recently, award-winning romance author Delilah Devlin lived in South Texas at the intersection of two dry creeks, surrounded by sexy cowboys in Wranglers. These days, she’s missing the wide-open skies and starry nights but loving her dark forest in Central Arkansas, with its eccentric characters and isolation—the better to feed her hungry muse!

For Delilah, the greatest sin is driving between the lines, because it’s comfortable and safe. Her personal journey has taken her through one war and many countries, cultures, jobs, and relationships to bring her to the place where she is now—writing sexy adventures that hold more than a kernel of autobiography and often share a common thread of self-discovery and transformation.

Delilah Devlin is a prolific and award-winning author of erotica and erotic romance with a rapidly expanding reputation for writing deliciously edgy stories with complex characters. Whether creating dark, erotically-charged paranormal worlds or richly descriptive historical stories that ring with authenticity, Delilah Devlin “pens in uncharted territory that will leave the readers breathless and hungering for more…” (Paranormal Reviews) Ms. Devlin has published over 100 erotic stories in multiple genres and lengths.

She is published by  Atria/Strebor, Avon, Berkley, Black Lace, Cleis Press, Ellora’s Cave, Harlequin Spice, Kensington, Running Press, and Samhain Publishing.

Website: http://www.delilahdevlin.com/

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/DelilahDevlinFanPage

Review:

I have a love in my heart for Cleis anthologies. This one is especially wonderful because it features modern day heroes that risk their lives for us every day. What could be sexier than a fireman? I know...an anthology full of them! The authors in this amazing collection of works take things to toe curling extremes that had me turning the pages and relishing each and every story. 

Delilah Devlin's story "Johnny Blaze" nabbed me in the first sentence. A strip club featuring a fireman. Hello. Oh yeah. The whip-pop dialog and evocative emotion of the piece was dazzling and I did not want it to end. Sexy, hot and melt my iced tea wonderful, this story will make you want to start reading it all over again, just to feel the scorch of the words rolling over you. *fans face* Ummm.

This anthology is a 5/5 all the way. Hot. Sure fire smokin' hot!!!

Now for the fun!

Make sure you visit each stop on the tour and meet each of the authors in this wonderful anthology!

One randomly drawn commenter during the tour will receive a $50 Amazon GC.

Additionally, one each of the following prizes will be awarded to randomly drawn commenters during the tour on each author’s stop. All items that require shipping are for US winners only:

Adele Dubois will award a download of REV ME UP, plus a surprise giveaway the day of her blog appearance.

Cathryn Fox will award a download of Cowboy Way.

Cynthia D’Alba will award a copy of every RS book that finaled in the RITA this year:  

·          Celebrity in Death by J.D. Robb

·         Dead Heat by Bronwyn Parry

·         Don’t Cry for Me by Sharon Sala

·         Forged in Fire by Trish McCallan

·         Last Man Standing by Cindy Gerard

·         Scorched by Laura Griffin

·         Twisted by Laura Griffin

·         Vortex by Cherry Adair

Delilah Devlin will award a handmade pendant the day of her appearance

Elle James will award a book bag, books and swag

M. Marie will award a Firemen calendar

Maggie Wells will award a pocket rocket firemen lip gloss, and downloads of her St. Blaise series books

Rachel Firasek will award a 2013 Houston Firemen Calendar

Sabrina York will award a download of her book (reader’s choice) on her blog appearance and tiara for grand prize

Tahira Iqbal will award a digital copy of The Collector

Shoshanna Evers will award an ebook of Enslaved, Book One in the Enslaved Trilogy from Simon & Schuster Pocket Star

Follow the rest of the tour here so you don't miss a thing: http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2013/06/virtual-book-tour-smokin-hot-fireman.html