Smokin’ Hot Firemen
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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
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