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I give you Raven! And do leave her a comment, because she is running a giveaway.
As ever I come bearing gifts. Oh not for Doris (well okay she can have the wine, the chocolate is for Budda) and a thought or two. (The thoughts are for all of us)
How do you cope when you realize your suppressed desires weren't really suppressed and are fighting to be heard? That your life is going to be turned on its head, and you can either decide it's time to go with the flow, or fight them and wonder what if for ever more.
I seem to have put a couple of my heroines into that position lately. Poor things but as their men said…It was time.
Did it work? Oh I hope so.
When Meryl goes to Isola Dei Sogni, she tries to kid herself it’s for her sister, Mia, who desperately needs a break. It has nothing to do with the silhouette of the man on the brochure. A man she had to say goodbye to. A man who is one hunk of gorgeous tiger shifter.
No, nothing at all to do with that.
Meryl wonders if the brochure is divine intervention, because the timing couldn’t be more perfect.
Marloth knows people are plotting against him and his lady, but it’s now time to fight back, as long as he can do so without putting Meryl in danger.
Can they work together and succeed in halting the enemy who sought to separate them?
In Temptation (book two of The Isola Dei Sogni Series, Impulse was book one), Meryl had a big decision to make. One which would change her life for ever. Should she give into temptation?
Isola Dei Sogni is an Island in the Indian Ocean, where dreams and fantasies can come true. If you want them to.
Have I been there? I wish. Let's just day I have been to an island or thee around there, and er well ahem hmmm they are all very nice.
I went with DH so didn't need Marloth to make my day (weeks) but Meryl does. Add in a dash of scheming tiger shifters, and a baddy, sun sea and yeah sex, and I reckon you've got a hot read. Well I was hot when I wrote it and not just because I was sitting on a deck over the Indian Ocean at the time. I mean sex on legs guy who's a tiger shifter. Nice but feisty heroine, and a lot of meddling shifters, humans and others!
(she's on a plane)
The man who stroked her hair was everything anyone could want. Meryl looked at him and grinned.
“It was you.”
He smiled and nipped her earlobe with sharp white teeth. “Of course, who else? I’m always around. You’re mine and I’ll be wherever you are.”
Meryl sniggered, even though she felt like crying. “Liar, you might be in my dreams, but you aren’t always about. Hell, I’ve cried myself to sleep and you’ve not been there to hold my hand or wipe my tears.”
“Ah, love.” He cuddled her close and Meryl felt his heartbeat resonate through her. “I’m always there. You chose to ignore it. You are my life and with me, in me, at all times. I shouldn’t have stayed and I did. I shouldn’t have left like I did, but I had no options. Surely, you knew you just had to show me you needed me and I’d be with you? If not in person, inyour dreams. Even when you’ve called me all the names no self-respecting person should know, let alone say.” He paused and rubbed her shoulder. “Just because I’m not on show, doesn’t mean I’m not here, not with you. Hold your hand out and let your heart feel me. You are mine, and even though you doubt it, it’s true.”
He ran his hand over her heart, and Meryl felt his heat burning into her. She melted as he kissed her, and his hand lifted her t-shirt and stroked her breast over the top of her bra. Her skin stung as arousal zipped through her and Meryl crossed her legs to stop the shivers of excitement she felt from being too obvious. She was on a plane for heaven’s sake. Okay, she’d heard of the mile high club, but it was so not her. Was it?
He grinned, and tingles danced down her spine. “Ah, my lovely Meryl, just let yourself go. Purr for me.” He nipped and sucked her shoulder, and at the same time moved his hand to creep under the top of her jeans and touch her clit. Meryl groaned at the sweet sting he gave her, even as she arched into his palm. His breath was warm on her neck. “Oh sweet, I’ve so missed touching you. Come for me now.” As he stroked and petted, it was the perfect feeling of love, care, and being needed.
She shook, and he drank her sighs and mewls of pleasure as his mouth covered hers in a long lingering kiss. With a silent scream, she shattered. As she came down from one of the most exhilarating climaxes ever, his hands stroked her hair in a long soothing caress. If she were a cat, she’d purr.
Hold on. Cats? Purring? What the hell is going on? Her sleepy, sated state disappeared in a second.
Meryl opened her eyes. All thoughts of her climax disappeared as she saw where she was. Sheesh, did I really make myself come with a dream? Hell, I hope no one saw or heard me. She checked—the blanket still covered her.
There was no one around. The noise of the engines droned in the background, her video screen showed static and the lights were dimmed. Next to her, Mia was now fast asleep and most of the other passengers were in the same state. Nowhere could she see that golden-haired man with the amber eyes.
Worried, she made her way to the loo, and stared in the mirror. There on her shoulder was a deep red mark.
Now let me say …No I don't write from experience. No mile high club in any shape or form, but I do quiz the cabin crew and they are incredibly helpful snigger
Just as I don't practice all sorts of er dancing in public.
But Mason has to decide if she will. Her husband died a year ago, now it's time to move on…or is it?
There's dancing and there is dancing. Mason is ready to move on; Callan is ready to play once more. Now they have to decide if the dance is right for them.
After Mason's husband died her interest in the lifestyle they had lived died with him. Until her meddling cousin sets her up with Callan Mackie.
Callan is a Dom without a sub, and moreover until hadn’t missed one. Until now that is. Mason hits all the right notes for him, and the chance to play with her isn’t to be missed, if she agrees.
The dance Studio provides the perfect venue to see if they can move to a new beat together and Mason will bow to her partner.
Bow to your Partner is a Dance Studio book. (Will you Dance Miss Laurence? and Dance to a Different Beat) Now this series is set in Glasgow. No, I've never found the club, but I do know where it is in my imagination (classy), and I can so imagine it.
(Mason has spoken about her late husband to Callan)
As Mason's sobs slowed and gentled, Callan unpinned her hair and separated the strands with his fingers. She murmured and tried to sit up. He tightened his grip, and rested his chin on the top of her head. The soft strands tickled his skin, and he inhaled the scent of her shampoo, the same citrus and fruit mix as her perfume.
"Shh, you're fine where you are. But I'm guessing all that crying will be giving you a headache, and your hair scraped back so tight, will be making your scalp cry as well." He stroked the long dark strands in a rhythmic movement. " I'm enjoying myself. It's a long while since I've had the pleasure of holding and comforting a lovely lady. I'm privileged." She gave what might be termed a soft giggle.
"Not much of a privilege to end up with a crumpled and sodden shirt." Mason sniffed. "Damn I need a tissue." She searched her pockets. "Bugger, where's my handbag? There's a packet in there."
"Here." He handed her a lawn handkerchief. "My mum says a gentleman always carries one. Well, I thought then if I want to be taken for a gent, I'd better make sure I have a hankie." Did it sound silly, mentioning his mum? Callan couldn't have cared less. It produced a watery smile from Mason and a tiny giggle.
"My mum always said make sure you have clean underwear on, in case you get run over by a bus," she said. "I could never understand that. If you were run over surely you'd be past caring?" Mason wiped her eyes and blew her nose. "And if you weren't dead, then I'm guessing you'd be mucky and not give a shit? Oops, bad comparison. Oh lord sorry, but I get verbal diarrhea when I'm upset." She put her tip of her finger in her mouth and grinned. "Only verbal though and well—"
Callan shut her up by the very basic method of removing her finger, holding her hand tight in his and kissing her.
He used his tongue to demand entrance to Mason's mouth. Her lips opened to let him in, and her tongue played with his. Callan gave a mental high five, even as his cock hardened and pushed against his zipper. She moaned into his mouth and the sound reverberated inside him. Such a fucking turn on. Her hands clutched his shoulder, and she wriggled on his lap. Of course his prick responded as if it had a mind of its own, hardening to the point Callan wondered perhaps he should check his jeans for stains.
In one swift movement, he stood and twisted her around so they were face to face. Mason leaned into him, and Callan took advantage to pull her close and hold her, clit to cock, against him. Thank God for killer heels. They made her the perfect height to achieve it. He used one hand to lift the hem of her dress, and then tease the globes of her ass with his fingertips. The lace of a thong caressed his nails as he stroked her. His hand itched to spank, and delve into her, but he held back. The shifting of her body, and the way her breath hitched under his mouth, damn near undid him. As tempted as he was to throw caution to the wind, and stake his authority, Callan slowed the pace down. After one last thrust of his tongue, he pulled back and rested his cheek against hers. The sense of loss was far more than he'd anticipated.
She shuddered and relaxed her death grip on his jacket. The material would never be the same and Callan couldn't have cared less.
"Wha—what the hell was that?" Mason sounded shaken.
"Destiny." Callan kissed the top of her head, and then straightened the neckline of her dress, which had settled askew. No bra straps, does that mean no bra or strapless? He determined to find out as soon as it was sensible.
Mason laughed. "Chemistry more like, and not the romantic hearts and flowers sort. The oh shit, it's a long time since anyone kissed me and I'd forgotten what it was like sort." It would have sounded better if she spoke as if she believed what she said.
Enough was enough.
"Mason, if you don't want me to ignore the table downstairs and take you bound and naked over this table upstairs, I suggest you shut up." Callan spoke with as much authority as he could muster, when his insides jumped around like a flea in a circus, his brain on several wavelengths at once—all designed to make him as horny as hell.
The look of contempt she threw him should have been enough to cool his ardor. Instead, the brief flare of arousal he saw in her eyes before she shuttered them increased his determination to feel her under him, in every which way, and to hear her soft sighs and mewls, and rejoice as she called him Sir.
Anyway that's a wee hint of a couple of my latest.
What do you reckon? How do you cope or don't you?
If you can spare a moment to comment one commenter will win an eBook of their choice from my back list (which includes previous books in these series)
grabs Budda gives him the extra bar of chocolate Doris didn't see, oh and a trumpet… I'll save the drums for next time
Raven lives in Scotland, along with her husband and their two cats—their children having flown the nest—surrounded by beautiful scenery, which inspires a lot of the settings in her books.
She is used to sharing her life with the occasional deer, red squirrel, and lost tourist, to say nothing of the scourge of Scotland—the midge.
A lover of reading, she appreciates the history inside a book, and the chance to peek into the lives of those from years ago. Raven admits that she enjoys the research for her books almost as much as the writing; so much so, that sometimes she realizes she's strayed way past the information she needs to know, and not a paragraph has been added to her WIP.
Her lovely long-suffering husband is learning to love the dust bunnies, work the Aga, and be on stand-by with a glass of wine.
You can find out more about Raven here…
https://www.facebook.com/rmcallan (my page)
https://www.facebook.com/ravenmcallan (author page)