Showing posts with label Author Angels. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Author Angels. Show all posts

Friday, September 13, 2013

Bind Me and Keep Me Tour and Giveaway

Bind-and-Keep-Me

BIND AND KEEP ME blurb
How far would you go to protect your love and your life?

When two deaths turn his world upside down, Klaus must wrestle with a problem that goes soul deep. With Jodie it was capture fantasy but now he’s made the fantasy real, dragging her along as his accomplice. No one should feel so good about something so wrong.

Maybe his soul is darker than he feared. Maybe the rules shouldn't apply to him.

 Buy link:

 http://www.amazon.com/Bind-Keep-Pierced-Hearts-ebook/dp/B00EUFPNIA/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1379049244&sr=8-1&keywords=bind+me+and+keep+me


Romance and Dubious Consent
The farther I’ve travelled into my writing of this Pierced Hearts series, the more I’ve learned about dubious consent stories. If you read these stories, you’ll have a fair idea as to what they involve. The average romance is totally consensual with very little hint of any noes from the heroine. A dub con story is based around the heroine going no when inside her head she’s going oooo…maybe. In real life this is that horror of horrors, a mindset that encourages rape culture, but inside a book it’s a very common fantasy of women.
Not real, fantasy. If you don’t like to read these stories, move on to one you do want to read, like that one about a serial killer terrorizing a town. Yes, us humans have some odd ideas about what to read.
Dub con comes on a sliding scale. Bodice rippers, where the heroine and hero fall in love, are at the mild end. At the other, dark and edgy end are stories which are pretty close to non-consent and rape. All dubious consent stories are closely intertwined with capture fantasy stories. I’ve loved reading these for many years and possibly John Norman’s Gor series were my first in this sub-genre. I used to hide them away in my bookshelf. Naughty me.
With this Pierced Hearts series of books, I’ve always meant to escalate the dubiousness of the consent as I went, as well as keeping the man someone you could understand and even, maybe, someone you have a strange urge to drool on and stroke the biceps of…
But as well as the dubiousness, I wanted to keep the romance alive. I wasn’t sure I could do that all the way through the story. I mean, if it’s full on dub con all the way, how can you have romantic love between him and her? Certainly the first book in the Pierced Hearts series, Take Me, Break Me, is a romance, but this one, Bind and Keep Me, was a more difficult nut to crack.
The ending had to be dub con, meaning the woman was still unsure in some way as to whether she wanted to be with him…
Yet maybe I could inject some romance?
Yes, writing this one gave me a few puzzles.
Can you have love if there is not full consent? Surely for two people to love one another it must be consensual? You cannot force love. You cannot force someone to love you. I’m pretty sure of that. But if you disagree, I’d love to hear your argument.
My first idea was, what if you love someone, but you don’t want to stay with them?
That might work. But the deeper I got into writing Bind and Keep Me, the more I doubted that I could end it with romance…or even that I wanted to. Jodie and Klaus were in love, did I really need any other romance to keep readers happy?
Would Stephanie fall in love with Klaus?
I never really figured out the answer to this question until I reached the end of the book.
Review:
This book was more than amazing. I started it yesterday, in a panic as the tour was getting closer and my schedule has been more than a little hectic of late. Figuring I would read for a short while and go to sleep, I was shocked to find a couple of hours had passed and thrilled to be deeply engrossed in this astounding book.
Cari Silverwood is one of my favorite BDSM writers. This story falls outside of those confines, as it is a non-con capture kind of story. The reasons behind it become abundantly clear and completely worked for me. What would any of us do in that situation? Well, I don't have a basement, but still...If you found yourself in the same position, what would you do? Hard question, but it is a compelling one that is still keeping me reading and I have great plans after lights out tonight to read some more. 
As a captive, would you submit to your captors, knowing it would be the way out eventually? Another great question. One that has me riveted as I crawl back into bed with my e-reader this evening. Only Cari Silverwood can make a capture fantasy like this into a toe curling scenario that haunts my dreams in a most delicious way.

 5/5


Early praise for Bind and Keep Me:
“Bind and Keep me, leads you down a depraved path full of dark desires that you know are so wrong, but feel too good for you to care. Cari Silverwood makes losing what we all cherish—our freedom—sinfully erotic.” - Bianca Sommerland, author of Deadly Captive
“Enthralling and seductive, BIND AND KEEP ME brings the taboo into our basements and locks us inside. A must-read for lovers of dangerous erotic fiction.” - Skye Warren, author of Wanderlust


Explicit Excerpt
“I’m not yours.” Her answer was quiet and tremulous.

Such bravery in the face of overwhelming superiority.

I stopped with my palm pressing her upper back down onto the mattress. Enough pressure that she could feel my strength, enough so that she tensed and then, as I didn’t relent, she gave in, her head lowering, her body quivering. Was she a true submissive? I was fairly certain she was.

“You’re pretty, beautiful even. Desirable. Fuckable. I scare you because I like pain more than you can comprehend. I’m not going to kill you. I’m not going to carve off your flesh and eat it. But, little toy, I am going to hurt you more than you think you can take.” 

She froze in the middle of inhaling. I smiled and grasped a big handful of those dark locks just above her nape. I levered her head back until she was arched and her breasts were no longer concealed beneath her. So I took one in the grip of my other hand. “Mine,” I whispered. “You’re mine whether you fucking want to be or not.”
I squeezed both her breast and the fistful of hair, and I leaned down to look into her fear-darkened eyes.

“You need to learn not to be afraid of pain,” I murmured. “And you know why?”

She swallowed and I felt her endeavor to shake her head. Long strands of her hair fell across her face.

“If you lose that fear of pain, you will lose some of your fear of me. Not all, some. I’m not your nemesis, girl, I’m just going to be your master.”


BookCover-1350x900 (2)

Tour Schedule

Glossary of US and Australian terms
In the interests of not jerking most of my readers out of the story with some unfamiliar word usages, I opted to sometimes use the US word instead. However, since I completed the book, I’ve been told by many American readers that they’d rather I use the Aussie words.
I’m not entirely convinced. Since I think I have far more American fans than Australian, I may still be tempted in Book 3, “Make Me Yours, Forevermore”, to use some American terms. If you want to tell me otherwise, feel free to pop a comment on my facebook wall.
This example is why I hesitate:
Klaus put on his thongs and strolled out the door to take his daily walk on the beach.
US word vs Aussie
Cell phone = mobile   US term used in the story
College  = University or Uni   Australian word used
Dishcloth = tea towel   I used the US word
Flip flops = thongs   This was explained in the story
Cooler = esky   US word used with the Australian word
Popsicle = ice block   US word used
Shrimp = prawn   This was explained in the story
Spatula = egg flip   This was explained in the story, and it’s a regional Australian term that isn’t used nationwide, I think
SUV = Four wheel drive   US word used
There may be others I substituted but missed seeing. I have become so used to doing this in my stories that it’s almost automatic. I have also used US spelling throughout. Though this book is self-published both of my earlier publishers, Loose Id and Lyrical Press, used US spelling.
About Cari:
Cari Silverwood writes the way the world should be - dangerous and sexy with bullets piercing the darkness and lovers wrenched close by ropes. When you need escape, when you need that rough lover to bring you to your knees, here you will find stories to singe your fingers. The taste of adventure, the tang of BDSM, the burn of fantasy run wild. Brace yourselves, if you dare to read.

Find Cari:
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Monday, September 9, 2013

Against the Ropes: Day Six


Sept 9
Day Six – AGAINST THE ROPES RELEASE PARTY
Sarah Castille is celebrating the release of AGAINST THE ROPES with a SEVEN day party.  SEVEN great giveaways, SEVEN different posts.  Stop by all the amazing blogs participating in the party to increase your chances to win!!! Each blog will post a special AGAINST THE ROPES post all seven days (no weekend posts)

POST
Sarah Castille Interviews MMS fighter, Torment
SC: Um...er...hi, Torment. **pushes up glasses** **wipes drool off chin**
Torment: Call me Max. Torment is my ring name and I rarely use it outside the gym or fight ring.
SC: **breaths heavily and sighs** I love the name, Torment. It sounds so...tormented. How did you choose it?
Torment: Fighters don’t choose their ring name, just as bikers don’t choose their road name. Ring names are picked by your team and are usually linked to something unique the fighter has done inside or outside the ring. I once knew a fighter nicknamed “Spew Beast”. Every time he went drinking with his buddies, he would drink too much and throw up on the street. If a fighter doesn’t like his ring name, he can fight his way out of it by winning a certain number of fights; his team will then choose a new name.
SC: Did you have a different ring name or were you always Torment?
Torment: I got my name after I fought my first boxing match when I was three years old. I was accused of tormenting my opponent in the ring, when all I’d done was take away his blankie and hit him with a right cross. I stayed with that club until I was sixteen, training with the same kids. The name stuck.
SC: Have you trained in any other fighting arts?
Torment: When I decided to pursue MMA, I had to broaden my fight base. I trained in Brazilian Ju Jitsu, Muay Thai, wrestling, Judo and Sambo. In other words, things that are focused on takedowns and clinch fighting.
SC: Feel free to take me down anytime.
Torment: **winks** There’s only one woman I want to take down and that’s my Makayla.
SC: So, where is Makayla today?
Torment: Probably sky diving or swimming with sharks. She’s a bit of a daredevil, especially if she thinks it’s something I would forbid her from doing. But she should be here soon, I promised to teach her some new moves.
SC: Hmm. I’ve seen some of your moves. Written about them, too. What’s your favorite move? I’m partial to the ‘full mount’ where my opponent takes the ‘dominant position’ although I’m not adverse to a good old ‘ground and pound’ with a ‘Submission Master’.
Torment: **laughs** I’d have to say my favorite move is the Rear Naked choke.
Sarah: **chokes** **splutters**
Torment: Looks like a good time to wrap up. What’s next for you?
Sarah: Thanks for taking the time to chat with me today. I’ve finished the second book in the Redemption series. It’s about Jake and Amanda.
Torment: Jake and Amanda? I thought they’d split. Why don’t you write about Rampage or Blade Saw? Or Obsidian. Now there would be a good story.
Sarah: Actually, I’ve started book three but I’m not telling you who it’s about. I could use some help with a ring name though...

Blurb
He scared me. He thrilled me. And after one touch, all I could think about was getting more…
Makayla never thought she’d set foot in an underground mixed-martial arts club. But if anyone needs a medic on hand, it’s these guys. Trouble is, at her first sight of the club’s owner she’s the one feeling breathless.

The man they call Torment is all sleek muscle and restrained power. Whether it’s in the ring or in the bedroom, he knows exactly when a soft touch is required and when to launch a full-on assault. He always knows just how far he can push. And he’s about to tempt Makayla in ways she never imagined…





Contact Information
Website http://www.sarahcastille.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook/sarahcastilleauthor.com
Twitter (@sarah_castille): http://www.twitter/sarah_castille.com
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6920675.Sarah_Castille
Newsletter: http://sarahcastille.us5.list-manage.com/subscribe?u=873de882785693c01f022e6a1&id=55ccf58aa3
Amazon Author: http://www.amazon.com/author/sarahcastille


Author Bio
Recovering lawyer, karate practitioner, and caffeine addict, Sarah Castille worked and traveled abroad before trading her briefcase and stilettos for a handful of magic beans and a home near the Canadian Rockies. Her steamy, contemporary romantic tales feature blazingly hot alpha heroes and the women who tame them.


Buy Links:
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Against-the-Ropes-ebook/dp/B00DDWIT3M/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=&qid=
Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/against-the-ropes-sarah-castille/1114780664?ean=9781402284854
Kobo: http://store.kobobooks.com/en-ca/books/Against-the-Ropes/TCwqSHCxhU-23ajhtUZjyw
***************************



PRIZES:
Against the Ropes water bottle
E-Copy of Legal Heat
Kindle copy of Fight Club: A Novel by Chuck Palahniuk
Keep Calm and Fight On T-shirt
Gold plated boxing glove key chain
AGAINST THE ROPES bracelet

$50 Amazon gift card


Partcipating Blogs


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Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Dark Waters Blog Tour

Dark-Waters


Blurb
It may be summer, but schoolteacher Anna Silver’s trip to the coastal town of Bamfield is anything but a vacation. She’s on the run, desperate to stay one step ahead of her father’s
murderer and determined to track down the one man she’s been told to trust: her father’s old cell mate, Brent Carver. But when she finds him, she discovers not a kind, elderly artist but a dangerously hot alpha male with blood on his hands.

Loyal to the core, Brent would never turn away his friend’s daughter when she comes seeking help. He can’t deny Anna his protection…just as he can’t deny the instantaneous attraction he struggles to keep in check. But as their passion blazes out of control, a sadistic killer is on the hunt to stop Anna from uncovering his dark secrets.
Buy Links:
AMAZON.COM http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1477805036/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1477805036&linkCode=as2&tag=tonianderomas-20
AMAZON.CA http://www.amazon.ca/Dark-Waters-ebook/dp/B00AQ2A86S/ref=sr_1_6?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1360462766&sr=1-6
AMAZON.CO.UK http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dark-Waters-ebook/dp/B00AQ2A86S/ref=pd_sim_kinc_7
AMAZON.DE http://www.amazon.de/Dark-Waters-ebook/dp/B00AQ2A86S/ref=sr_1_1?s=books-intl-de&ie=UTF8&qid=1373470751&sr=1-1
AMAZON.FR http://www.amazon.fr/Dark-Waters-Toni-Anderson/dp/1477805036/ref=pd_ecc_rvi_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1373212857&sr=1-5

BAM! http://www.booksamillion.com/p/Dark-Waters/Toni-Anderson/9781477805039?id=5644792187801
McNALLY ROBINSON http://www.mcnallyrobinson.com/9781477805039/toni-anderson/dark-waters?blnBKM=1#.Ud1_m23YGwV
CHAPTERS-INDIGO http://www.chapters.indigo.ca/books/dark-waters/9781477805039-item.html?ikwsec=Home&gcs_requestid=0CKiEkfLw0rcCFchw5wodwhQAvg
BARNES & NOBLE http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dark-waters-toni-anderson/1115318694?ean=9781477805039
Excerpt:
Brent Carver lay in bed listening to the surf outside his open window. The rhythmic pounding pulse helped calm the ragged unset­tled feeling that clawed inside him. Sometimes it even let him sleep. Not tonight.
He shifted restlessly, sweat damp on his skin. The west coast was getting a blistering-hot summer that had him thanking God he wasn’t stuck in that shithole prison, sweating it out with a few hundred of his least best friends. He sat up in bed and swiped irritably at his too long hair.
Gina had liked it long.
Damn.
He’d spent the past year trying not to think about Gina, or her murder, and yet memories snuck past his guard all the time. Her smile, her giving nature, her unwavering dedication to his undeserving ass. When he’d broken things off with her, he’d hoped she’d finally move on. Find herself a man she could marry and have babies she could spoil. But things hadn’t worked out that way, and no one regretted it more than he did.
He whipped back the covers and padded naked to the open window that faced the Pacific. It took a moment for his heartbeat to stop hammering. A moment for the burn in his chest to ease. At nearly forty years old, he’d spent half his life in prison and would never get enough of breathing in the fresh clean air of freedom.
The dark water before him stretched like a smooth satin sheet all the way to the horizon. But the calm tranquility was an illusion that disguised deceptive currents and gigantic swells, cold depths and wicked storm surges.
That ocean called to him—it always had. This sliver of coast was what he’d missed locked up in his cell for so many years. Not peace. Not serenity. Not pissing in a private bathroom. Huge rollers crashing home. Elements clashing like titans in his backyard. The abandon. The wildness. The energy. Prison had squeezed the need for that energy into a tiny corner of his mind and tortured him with it in his dreams. When he’d gotten out, he’d spent two days just staring at the ocean. This was where he belonged. This was where he needed to be. And no one was ever going to take it from him again. Being caged, being imprisoned, had almost wiped him out of existence, and the worst thing was—it was his own damn fault. He’d taken a life and gotten what he deserved.  
He’d been out four years now, but the smells, the memories, the sense of watching his back, was ingrained, tattooed on his brain like most cons wore ink. He’d found his salvation in a tal­ent for painting, enough of a talent that he could afford a kick-ass mansion anywhere in the world. But he’d returned here, to the small remote strip of land on the western edge of Vancouver Island. The scene of the crime and the only home he’d ever known.
Maybe he should buy a yacht, learn to sail. But that sort of aimless wandering didn’t appeal and his parole officer probably wouldn’t approve either. He rubbed his aching neck muscles and headed downstairs for a drink. He’d finish that last piece for the exhibition.
Exhibition.
He shook his head in disbelief. Some fancy-schmancy museum in New York was givinghim an exhibition. He opened the fridge and pulled out a beer and popped the top. His agent had worked some serious magic, wrangling that mother. Only trouble was the gallery wanted the elusive and mysterious B.C. Wilkinson to turn up in person to the opening. His agent had even taken care of a passport and special visa requirements.
Yeah, right. He snorted. No fucking way. Still, Brent had learned years ago that it was easier to do what he wanted and beg forgiveness later. Not that he dealt much in forgiveness. Gina’s image smiled sweetly inside his head, but she was dead—stabbed to death by a homicidal maniac last year—and thinking about her wouldn’t bring her back.
His fist tightened around the neck of the bottle and he resisted the urge to hurl it at the wall. Prison had taught him iron control—he just hadn’t realized how much he’d need it on the outside. He headed onto his back porch, buck naked and glad of the fresh ocean breeze that cooled his overheated body. His nearest neighbor lived a quarter of a mile away, out of sight, over the bluff. This region was too remote for passersby and anyone with a boat would moor it in a sheltered cove, not at the mercy of Barkley Sound’s treacherous grasp. The moon was cloaked behind restless clouds that billowed like smoke across the sky. He was just about to sit his ass down when he saw a shadow flitter near the woods.
He had visitors?
No fucking way.
In prison he’d received enough death threats to take serious precautions with his safety. When some of the local thugs had been arrested last year, he’d let down his guard and thought the danger was over. He’d obviously thought wrong. What if it was his brother, Finn? Or the cops? He pressed his lips together. Finn knew better than to spook him and the cops had no reason to be sniffing around.
Something was going on.
No one made social calls on Brent Carver—no one without a death wish. He lived on a peninsula that, due to the rugged terrain, was only accessible by boat. There were about thirty locals living on this side of the inlet, but they were more likely to hand-feed rabid wolves than drop in for a beer.
Did his visitor know he was out here?
Leaving the bottle on the deck, he carefully slipped over the side of the porch and melted into the night. It was pitch-black in the woods, but he’d grown up here and knew every tree and hol­low. He made his way along the side of the shed and ducked into the forest. Over the last year, he’d gradually stopped listening to the scanner for signs of trouble, stopped keeping firearms in the house. He’d gotten soft, but not stupid. Silently he dropped to his knees beside a massive Sitka spruce that was technically on his neighbor’s property. If she found out about his little cache, she’d be pissed. He swept dirt and dead needles off the top of a waterproof box he’d sunk into the ground, and removed his SIG Sauer. He replaced the lid and covered it as best he could in the dark. He got his bearings, and found the tree where he’d hidden his ammo. He grabbed a magazine and headed up to the road, circling around. He inched down an old trail and came up behind where the shadow had been.
Darkness cloaked the clearing where his house sat but his night vision was sharp. And damned if the woman—put a man in prison long enough and he could spot a female blindfolded at twenty paces—wasn’t climbing his porch steps shining her flashlight around the place like a laser show. Maybe she was a thief? Maybe someone had figured out Brent Carver was B.C. Wilkinson and sitting on a shedload of very expensive artwork? Then she knocked on his back door.
What the…?
He rubbed his hand over his brow. He was stark naked except for his gun, and now some woman was standing on his deck? He hoped to hell she wasn’t a Jehovah’s Witness because she was about to have a come-to-Jesus moment.
But she could still be armed and dangerous. He’d pissed off enough bad guys in the joint to be wary of anyone turning up in the middle of the night. Hell, no one visited here, period.
“Hello?” She pressed her ear to his door. “Mr. Carver?” she said louder. Her shoulders sagged when no one answered.
He didn’t recognize her voice. He moved fast and silent across the clearing, padded up the stairs just as she reached for the doorknob.
“You’re trespassing.”
She jolted, her hand going to her heart as she spun to face him. “Oh, my God. You scared me.”
Never admit fear.
“I don’t like visitors, lady.”
Her flashlight dipped and then shot back to his face, almost blinding him. She swallowed, taking in his lack of clothes and keeping her eyes north of the hot spots. “You’re naked.”
“I was in bed.” He didn’t know why he needed to explain himself.
Her voice came out like gravel. “I’m looking for Brent Carver.”
“I’m looking for peace and quiet. Looks like we’re both screwed.”
“You’re Brent?” Her free hand slipped into her bag and he grabbed her wrist and pinned her against his door before she could get the drop on him. She went ballistic and tried to whack him with the flashlight. He jerked it out of her fingers and threw it behind them. She felt tiny and delicate, crushed between him and that solid piece of oak, although her lungs were in full working order.
Shit, his ears hurt.
“No one will hear you, so you might as well stow it.” She jammed one hand against his chin, squirming like an eel, then went for gold by trying to knee him in the nuts. He deflected the attack and pressed her tighter against the door, wedging her there with his body. She barely came up to his chin but fought like a wild thing. “Want to tell me who you are and why you’re knock­ing on my door in the middle of the night?” He concentrated on making sure he didn’t injure her while he tried to check out what she was going for in her purse.
She scratched sharp fingernails down his arm, drew in a breath to scream even louder. Her breasts pushed against his chest, which would have worked for him in a big way if she wasn’t so goddamn terrified. Sonofa-fucking-bitch.
Why me?
He had nowhere to stick his gun so he removed the pocketbook from her fingers and stepped back, keeping a wary eye on her bloodthirsty knee. She stood there stunned, trembling, and breathing heavily. He didn’t think it had anything to do with his dazzling good looks.
“You bastard.” Her chin snapped up. “You aren’t Brent Carver.”
He cocked a brow. “What makes you say that?” He searched her bag, more by touch than sight in the darkness. A cell phone, wallet, keys, tampons, tissues. No gun or shank.
“He’s a respectable painter. He’s not some nutcase who runs about in the middle of the night, waving around a gun, among other things,” she muttered darkly. “Attacking innocent, defenseless women.”
The scratches on his arm stung enough for him to snort out a laugh at that. Her eyes narrowed. He watched moonlight flow over her features, fine boned and delicate, except for the tight clench of her jaw.
There was no obvious threat in her pocketbook, but it didn’t mean he should let his guard down. He needed clothes. For some crazy reason, he was getting a little turned on by Miss Prim and Proper telling him who and what he was. It was probably being naked and within a hundred yards of anything two legged and female, but he didn’t want to scare her any more than he had already. He wasn’t a hound. Nor was he under any illusion about what she thought might happen when he grabbed her. Someone had jumped him in the shower once and lost their eye for the trouble. Hell, most people thought he was evil incarnate and that was the way he liked it. He reached past her and opened the door. “Inside. Now.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” She tried to dodge aside.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her across his threshold. “You want to meet Brent? I’ll take you to him.” Her eyes were so huge with fear she looked like she’d been electrocuted. But she’d come to him, she had to play by his rules.


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Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Beauty Bites Cover Reveal

Beauty-BitesCoverReveal




Release date August 27
Beauty Bites (Biting Love Book 6)
Beauty is skin deep…but the beast goes all the way.

When top Minneapolis ad man Ric Holiday is asked to design a campaign for a quaint little town, his first reaction is absolutely not. Meiers Corners is too near Chicago, home of the vampire who turned him as an orphaned boy. 

Then the city sends an angel-faced med student with a body made for sin to plead their case. Synnove Byornsson is the ray of sunshine Ric hasn’t felt since he was human.

Armed with determination and a micro miniskirt, Synnove is prepared to crash Holiday’s penthouse cocktail party—and to dislike him on sight. But Mr. All-Style-No-Substance turns out to have a deadly smile, a barely restrained, feral strength, and piercing blue eyes that look at her—not at her cleavage.

Unfortunately Synnove has competition in the form of a sly temptress with a counterproposal. For the first time in her life, Synnove must cash in her genetic lottery ticket and fire back with some sizzle of her own—or her beloved Meiers Corners could become the new Sin City.

Warning: Contains a doctor with a bod for sin, an ad exec with a chip on his shoulder, sarcasm, sex, and a cabin full of annoying friends. Secrets are revealed. One heart-stopping, horrific moment leads to the ultimate of happily-ever-afters.


Excerpt
It was all fun and games until the gun hit my skull.

Thud. A bright pain cracked in my brain, telling me the mountainous hostage-taker had brought his own weapon to bear.

Almost immediately something heavy plowed into us, spinning me away from the gun. I staggered to a stop.

My sight cleared to Ric, wrestling the mountain.

The big goon seized Ric with one arm, hugging him close like he was going to give him noogies. But the gun in his noogie hand made reality more chilling.

Ric shimmered, and suddenly the mountain was holding a cloud of mist.

Vampire fighting technique? I cheered before it occurred to me to wonder why Ric hadn’t used it before and why the shadowman helping us hadn’t used it at all.

The edge of Ric’s mist caught a stray beam of sunlight. It instantly combusted—poof. My elation turned to horror.

Ric snapped back into being like a rubber band. His cheek was seared open, exposing red muscle surrounded by blackened, bubbling skin. But he lost no time raising his bound hands, swinging, and whacked the bad guy’s head with fists like a mallet.

The mountain swayed but didn’t go down. Ric spun, once, twice, winding up his whole body behind it, and whacked him again.

Still the guy didn’t go down. My heart tripped double time. The mountain swept his gun toward Ric.

I leaped at them. Went oof when I hit the shadow’s arm, stuck out like a bar. I folded over it like a cheap towel and staggered back.

Ric slid into the rifle.

The mountainous goon opened fire as Ric knocked the gun to the side—the side where the ogre-like head hostage-taker stood.

Ogre Face ducked and covered. A spray of bullets rat-a-tat-tatted a line where his head had been.

Ric chopped his forearms across the mountain’s right wrist. The mountain howled, both arms flying up in defense, right hand dangling with a protruding lump at the wrist presenting as broken. The gun fell to hang from its clip. The mountain groped for it with his left hand.

Ric grabbed the big man’s balls.

The guy shrieked. Ric wrenched. The mountain dropped, curling on the floor like a shrimp. Apparently Ric also had a grip like a nut crusher.

“Stop!”

I whipped around. Ogre Face pointed his gun at my head. He rasped, “You’re dead.”

Terror burned that instant into my head like a snapshot. I stood facing the ogre. About ten feet separated us. Behind me was the hostage-lined bank of windows, the shadowman already running toward them. A few feet to my right, the mountain goon curled on the floor, Ric breathing deeply over him.

Both Ric and I were too far away to stop the ogre from shooting.

“Down!” The shadowman pushed hostages to the floor, starting with the ones in Ogre Face’s direct line of fire. Well, if you didn’t count me.

Ric leaped.

My knees started to bend.

Ogre Face pulled the trigger.

Ric wouldn’t hit him in time, even though he’d leaped before the ogre pulled the trigger.

The gun went off.



----------------------------------------------

I turned.

Ric Holiday in his full sizzling glory was right on top of me.

I stepped back, spine hitting the edge of the elevator shaft. My nipples reached out as if trying to stay in touch. *The erection of the mammary papilla is due to muscle contraction, like the pilomotor reflex which causes goose bumps*—Stupid nipples. “What do you want?” I spoke a bit sharply, but his heat and heady scent had goosed my frustration into borderline rudeness. I flushed but held my place. Well, fused against the corner of the shaft, I had to.

He stared down into my eyes, his own frustrated too. “I want to explain.”

“You made it clear enough. Me and Camille at the O.K. Corral, one week from today.” I looked away. The elevator was leaving.

“Synnove.” He slid two strong fingers under my chin and urged my face back to him. The blue had softened. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? There’s worse?” I scowled, but I had to work at it. Why did he have to be so gorgeous? Why did his fingers have to be so gentle, so warm? “You’re going to make us bikini mud wrestle?”

“Ouch.” He smiled slightly. “I deserve that.”

“No,” I grumped. “You don’t. But you’re getting it anyway.”

The grin slowly widened, making his whole face edible. “The vaunted Byornsson honesty. I’m beginning to see the advantages.”

And I was beginning to see the advantages of hot sexy sizzle. But no way I was admitting that to him. Not lying, just omission, which is not a lie. Mostly.
When my lips parted to say something that was not a lie and definitely wasn’t about how sexy he was, his eyes darkened. “Shh.”

He replaced the two fingers on my chin with two cupping hands, holding my face gently, like it was something precious. Like I was precious.

My lips stayed parted but no words came out.

In that moment of silence, he lowered his head. Slowly, so I could have stopped him.

Should have stopped him.

Did not want to.

He’s nothing but image.

Image and intense pleasure.

The lips have one of the highest density of nerve endings in the body…

Argh. Shut up and kiss him.

While I was arguing with myself his warm mouth settled on mine, tongue sliding deftly between my lips. It rasped my sensitive skin, rubbing my lips awake like a thorough toweling. A steamed towel, hot and wet.

Confused feelings fled. I gave a little moan and opened wider.

He swept inside, all spice and heat. He groaned, a sound of masculine hunger. His questing mouth, his hot kiss, said lust plain and clear. Yet his hands were tender on my face, his sweet caress speaking of something beyond sex, a closeness that transcended the physical.

Happiness blossomed in my heart. Our groans were intertwined, mutual. For this one moment, the battle was suspended and we were on the same side.
His fingers tunneled into my hair, holding me firmly while his tongue drove deeper. He pressed closer yet, pinning me to the edge of the elevator shaft with his body, imprinting me with every muscle, every bulge, every place he was hard and primitive under his worsted.

I rippled against him and moaned softly in response. If he could generate this kind of pressure standing, how would the weight of his body feel, pressing me into a mattress?

At the thought I nearly exploded.

He shifted me, his powerful hands urging me away from where the corner of the elevator was digging into my spine and guiding me onto the wall. There he pressed me into vinyl wallpaper and kissed me like he was starving for me. The honest hunger in his kiss undid me. I grabbed his head and kissed him back with everything I had.

A big hand slid up my ribs, sparking a trail of heat, stopping under my breast. The mound throbbed, waiting, wanting, yearning for that hot hand to slide up the curve, to touch my delicate and private flesh. To brand it as his own. My soft moans shortened to whimpers, and I arched to thrust my breast more fully into his hand.

A deep rumbling started, a lion’s purr. His hand moved, fingers barely brushing the bottom curve. I stopped breathing. His fingers skimmed higher, circling nearer, nearer to the hardening tip. I twitched in anticipation, greedy for his touch on sensitive flesh barely covered by a thin blouse and the wispiest scallop of lace. Bless Twyla’s endless supply of sexy bras.

Finally, finally his thumb scraped my nipple. I shrieked into his mouth, jerking against him. My nipple furled instantly, wordlessly urging him again, more, now.

He opened his hand and covered my breast, his heat searing. Slotting the nipple between two fingers, he began to pump and tug gently, rhythmically squeezing, pulling. I thought I’d go insane from the sweet soft tugging.

Until he replaced the hand with his mouth.

His lips closed on my erect nipple through thin blouse and bra, breath wetting the material until he could have been sucking directly on flesh. It was the dream become real; it was better. More aroused than I’d been in my life, I grabbed his ears and beat my hips into him, not thinking at all, just moving. A pressure built between my legs, a hot, heavy throbbing that made me want him on his back and me naked and clamping him between my thighs.

A ding startled me; my eyes flew open. The elevator, which had gone and come back again, disgorged half a dozen professional-looking people.

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