Thursday, 23 October 2014

Get to know Muffy Wilson (@SexyMuffyWilson) #authorinterview #newrelease Memories & Kisses

I have a treat for you today. The lovely Muffy is on my blog to answer my nosy questions and to tell us about her new release. Now, by her own admission, she is a bit wordy...

*smiles and nods*


...so grab a cuppa, have a buiscuit or two and get to know her.

So glad you could join us Muffy!

*****

Thank you so much Doris, for having me here today. Gosh, I am so excited! Having a book (Memories & Kisses published by Yellow Silk Dreams) and two stories released in an anthology (Once Upon a Menage edited by Rachel Kenley and published by Ravenous Romance) in the same week is so tremendously exciting. To be able to share my joy and personal accomplishment with you and your readers is such an honor. You are such a generous and gracious friend, but then, I think everyone already knows that about you!

*blushes*

Thanks, Muffy. It's great to have you here. On with the questions then :-)

Can you tell us a bit about yourself?

I was raised in a military family. My father was a USAF Colonel whose work took us to all points from Alaska to France. We moved every two or three years, so I didn’t have what most would refer to as a traditional childhood, more like Leave it to Beaver meets the Jetsons. We lived in two small towns “one the economy”, near Laon AFB where my Dad was stationed, Bruyeres and Notre Dame de Liesse.  Many of my ‘firsts’ were in France as my formative years developing were north of Paris. So, my first kiss, my first taste of escargot, my first hot dog on a French baguette was at the top of the Eiffel Tower, my first bikini (I was thirteen) was on the French Riviera and I fell in love with a thirty-something lifeguard named Aldo. I thought my father was going straight to an early grave. My mother thought it charming and funny since I wound up looking like a blistered, crying lobster with the worst sun burn ever. No need to worry about Aldo. A few years later, my mother and I were shopping in Paris; it was the day she bought me an alligator handbag, a small one, with a bright red leather interior. I still have it. We were on the Champs Elysees on a corner and everyone was wailing and crying. It was 22 November 1963 and I was 14 years old. It was the day John F Kennedy was assassinated and I witnessed as the world was crushed and Camelot fell. I think I grew up a lot that day. We had to hurry home, 90 miles north. The Base was on lock-down and red alert. It was a day the world stood still yet was fiercely frantic beneath the surface.

My generation was filled with growth and exploration. It has been an exciting time to live. We wanted to explore everything: limitation, space, the human spirit, religion, segregation, peace, politics, oh God, the politics! It was a pivotal time in our growth and the growth of our country. The Viet Nam war changed to dynamics of war, so did we. I am not so sure we were equipped to take on such lofty pursuits, but we didn’t know that at the time. We burned bras, draft cards and belonged to the SDS in colleges across the country. We wanted to change the world. Looking back, we did, but I am not so sure it didn’t change us more.

Right now, after my illustrious professional marketing career of being “the first woman this and the first woman that”, I am a successful real estate agent and diva smut muffin in SW Florida.

What made you write ‘this’ story?

“This” book is a compilation of three separate stories. It is really a kind of trip down “Memory Lane”. I just turned 65 and I think those ‘trips’ are common among those of us that are aging into the stratosphere!  We know we are aging, but our memories do not; in them we are still young. Nor do they lose any steam or ardor and we can all use a moment or two to remember those times that spurred us beyond our wildest dreams. I think we all have those shared memories of stolen kisses, nubile embraces, love lost still burning bright.

Old memories are like old red wine - all the richer for time passed. And the kisses taste sweeter too. Three romantic and very sexy stories take us back to things as they once were, and forward to the wonderful times to come. Memories & Kisses has three stories of old loves remembered; a grieving woman rescued from the sea, two childhood friends growing old friendship into passionate loving, and two long separated teenagers finding that time has mellowed them both and maturity has brought a passionate intensity they had never imagined. All three stories are of rekindled love that survived decades of longing and is now ready to burst into flame.

Blurbs:
The Storm ~ a newly widowed woman unable to face the world alone and lonely, buries her husband. Overcome by grief, she walks into the rough, grinding pitiless surf in an effort to blend the gray in her heart with the gray on the horizon. She is saved from the crashing waves by a man, a bearded white haired man who brings her back to life and gives her a reason to live again.

The Park ~ two childhood friends, now adults, reunite on the eve of the dedication of their once favorite playground now slated to become a high-tech water park. The destruction of their favorite playground makes them melancholy; reliving their dreams as children in this park inspires them to greater, more passionate long buried desires they never responded to as teens, but knew existed but in their memories.

The Story of Us ~ high school friends, once nearly sweethearts, reconnect in their sixties. The Internet removes the veil of uncomfortable shyness. They are open and revealing in emails about their youthful teenaged desires for one another. They discover what we all hope is true: that love is eternal. Surviving decades, not only in the shadowed recesses of our memories, but in a kiss, a touch, a magnetic embrace love thrives.

Do you have memories of a love that once was?...of a love that was lost?...of, perhaps, a rekindled love that survived decades of longing? 

I know I do, so I wrote about some of them. Lord knows, there are more!




Tell us about your cover.

You know, all of these stories are about young people ten to Twenty years out of high school in The Park, and older lovers in The Storm and The Story of Us. I wanted a cover that evoked memories, no matter one’s age. She did that for me with her penetrating eyes, forlorn look as if she paused to rejoice in a privately shared memory. Her scarlet lips stirred the erotic by suggesting something burned deeply within her, perhaps lost love or unrequited love? She is young, younger than my protagonists, but I wanted to suggest that memories begin the moment the yearning for love and connection begins. I think she does that, She appears to be looking back, and don’t we all do that when we trip down Memory Lane? I hope her look beckons other’s to look back with her and her crimson lips suggests it is going to be a very sensuous trip.…..

Describe a typical day’s writing for us

I like to write in the morning and late afternoon. I rise and have coffee with my husband in the morning as I have for the last nearly 30 years. We chat, catch up on the news and work-out tough crossword puzzle clues together. That is early. By 8am I have usually settled the house, answered emails, messages and the mail, fed and emptied the dog. I attack my Social Media then write. With all my morning chores done, I feel comfortable catching up on what my character have been up to over night while I slept. Before I was retired, I had to get to my work and wait until after dinner to spend time with my “imaginary” friends. If I leave them alone for too long, they have way too many mischievous antics to share. I stop for a small lunch with my husband then onto the afternoon scenes. I usually stop about three until after dinner. I spend that time on household chores, commitments, banking…whatever needs my attention; I drink water all day and cocktails at 4 with my husband. I go online once in the morning and once at night. I have an addictive personality - obsessive compulsive - so I try to stay away from temptation: Facebook, chocolate, TV (although background noise does not bother me) and any kind of over-indulgence except writing.

What inspires you?

Life inspires me: the news, talking to my friends, meeting new people, any kind of growth be it plant life or the life of men and women. My son inspires me, his pride, dedication, loyalty. Where does that come from? Where does love come from? Why do I feel blue when it rains? How can swimming lift my spirits? Why do sunsets make one think of loss or love? Walking my dog in the morning mist and dew makes me feel young and hopeful, forward looking - why is that? Ask me any question and I take a voyage to find the answer which opens a tributary uniting dozens of ancillary offshoots. I could wind up anywhere and be inspired by anything. My husband says I would talk to a door knob if it would answer, I am that inquisitive. I think moving every 2-3 years with my Father’s reassignments made me interested. One has to be flexible quickly in order to assimilate and fit in quickly. We never had much time to build relationships because time was of the essence; we would be moving again in a quick 2 or 3 years.

If you weren’t a writer what would you be?

All that I have been: wife, mother, a business leader, owner and activist. What I would like to do now, if I didn’t write, I would have to do something. I couldn’t sit around watching TV. I would take piano lessons and sing in a piano bar. My aunt sang torch songs and played piano in smoke filled supper clubs and piano bars. I always wanted to do that.

I would learn Spanish, in SW Florida, there is a huge Latino population and learning to communicate properly, I think, makes them feel welcome and humanize us. I would learn Yoga and dancing. I never knew what it meant when people used the phrase, “Life begins at ---”….fill in the blank: 40, 50, 65?  I do now. Life has you by the nuts until your kids are grown, you are making good money and then retire…not that being held by the nuts is such a bad thing. It definitely has a time and place!

Do your characters ever surprise you?

My characters are a lot like me. But, I have little control over them and I have a conscious. I write what they do, where they go, what they eat, who they sleep with, whom they love (which is not always the same person…ahem). My characters live a life of freedom and a pure lack of restraint or guilt. Some of that I edit out, sometimes I elaborate on it, as the whim strikes me. Most of my characters act as though they have nothing to lose, until they realize that they do - they do have something to lose. We all do. They can’t be much different than the rest of us except in the areas off limits to the rest of us earthbound mortals. They need to win where we are afraid to go, or have been and failed. They have to show us that everything is possible and the results are spectacular.

What could you not do without when you’re writing?

Background noise and water. I like music or the TV even. I am used to having distractions, which I find comforting now. I always had to be able to do 15 things at once and then get back to whatever I was doing without missing a beat. I was the Midwest Regional Director for IBM’s Real Estate and Construction Division. Juggling balls (there I go again!), employees, crisis’, customers and executive management required I get back on track quickly. So, distractions can also be a periodic welcome relief. When my husband and I retired, I was 39. He was 53. We moved up to a little Island in the middle of Lake Michigan and Green Bay, bought a historic bar and expanded it over 13 years to a bar, restaurant and motel. One can’t do things like that if they are easily distracted. But, I need noise and water. I got a lot of noise and distraction with a bar, restaurant and 28 employees. Water, not so much - mostly beer, but it worked. Now, I need chocolate and water…whew, how times have changed.

What words of wisdom do you have for the aspiring authors out there?

Write. Write. Write. And READ! Everything and anything that interests you. Don’t let anyone discourage you, because they will try. Don’t let YOU discourage you. No one values your work and what it means to you, with the exception of YOU. “Everyone writes books; everyone has written a book.” My husband always says that. “Oh, a guy that has written another book!” It is so easy to publish a book, today; everyone is doing it. If you have ever tried, you know that isn’t true. It is a solitary life, one you live inside your head - alone. Nobody ‘gets’ it until they read something you have written and if it is erotica? You are nothing short of a porn star.

So, write, don’t get distracted, exercise self-discipline - lots of it - and bring chocolate. Pair with someone you trust. Agree to be one another’s coach, no-holes-barred. A coach is invaluable. They set a bar for you that you cannot see yourself. Listen to them and do not take it personally. They want you to be wildly successful.

Where do you see yourself in ten year’s time?

Oh, gosh…..writing, retired from real estate. Sipping Manhattans, eating chocolate, looking at great pics of young men and editing.

Do you have a favourite quote?

I do, I always have. Marilyn Monroe was burdened by such self deprecating guilt because she was beautiful, not because she was smart because she was then grew and developed herself into something no one else could be - her. When I entered the business world after dropping out of college, I was bold, assertive and devilishly determined. I also had, and still do have, a monstrous work ethic. But then I was surrounded by men; all my peers, superiors and even subordinates were men. There were two things that kept me on point. As I advanced, I made a lot of presentations. My mentor gave me the best advice I ever needed and that was that every person (all men) watching me, put “their pants on the same way - naked” which always made me smile when I looked out at the audience or board members. The chuckle leveled the playing field for me. I relaxed knowing I was one up because mine were panty hose. My other favorite quote, when I was in business in an all-man-world was:

“Any woman that strives to be a man's equal lacks ambition." - Marilyn Monroe

What can I say about that? Marilyn was brilliant, but over looked, like an undetonated armed bomb. Her intelligence and self-deprecating commitment to her career never was revealed until her death. Neither was her frailties and doubts, which we all have.

Now that I am older and ‘wiser’, if I were to have my favourite quote on my headstone, I think it would be "What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.” ...
~ Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr.

Do you ever suffer from writer’s block?

To say no, would be nothing but a lie. Some days, not too often, then yet…the spirit needs a break and refuses to cooperate. I feel it is a sign that I need to step back and spend some time with my husband or doing something else. Muses do talk to one another, you know. They plot against you. Sometimes, it is just better to ignore them. It pisses them off and gets them to sparring.

What other books can your readers look forward to?

I have three more books that will be released by January 2015. If I am lucky, they will all be available by the Holiday rush of Christmas. Beyond that, I have a control list of about fifteen projects which will be concluded by mid-year and 25-30 projects that will require my attention by year end 2015. Only another Virgo will appreciate how organized I am about my work. Some refer to it as being obsessive compulsive. I can role with that.

I am finishing:
“The Para-Portage of Emily” for Secret Cravings Publishing
“Taylor Savior” for Decadent Publishing
“Cheerleaders in Heat” a self-published project and collaboration with another published author.

And finally can you share the blurb and excerpt with us?

Yes, of course, from the first story “The Storm” in my new release, “Memories & Kisses”. Thank you so much for asking.

Excerpt from The Storm:

I walk to the surf, heaving for breath, weak from running against the rain, fighting the storm, the sadness, my loss - your death. I walk into the surf and keep walking. It is surprisingly warm and enveloping. I suddenly feel comforted, my heartbreak no longer a penetrating pain. I know you are with me and I seek out your embrace. I cry again, scream at the thunderous surf, and then I am gone. I can’t breathe and I am falling, rolling, tumbling in a hazy grey darkness that is wet, ferocious, and demanding. Suddenly my dizzy comfort turns to fear and I struggle against the pounding, relentless waves. What have I done? I am a good swimmer and an athlete, but can I beat this? Instinct overcomes me. My heart pounds. I start to kick wildly. Moving my arms toward the surface, the current catches me again, tumbling me over and over. My lungs burn. I lose my bearing—which way is up, down? I start to get a sickening feeling of death, my own impending death, and, just as I start to give in, I feel the hand of God grab my hair and hood in a fierce grip and yank me to the surface. I feel the sky darken and the surf diminish. Everything tastes salty, gritty, and then my body heaves, relaxed, and my world goes black.

I awake to pounding on my chest; I am being rattled and something is covering my mouth and nose. I cough, retch, and then vomit the last vestiges of the ocean from my body. My mouth is filled with grit, sand, and the salty taste of taffy. I open my eyes and see God reaching down toward me. He leans over me and the salty ocean water drips from his face to mine. He is big, strong, and gasping; he is surrounded in a glowing aura which intensifies his white hair and white beard. I am frightened. I must be dead. But that cannot be! How foolish I am. He sits me up, tenderly and gently helps me to my feet, all the while holding me securely with large strong hands and then he speaks to me.

“Are you alright, miss? You scared me near to death when I saw you walk into the surf. Why in the world….Where do you live?”

I am alive to my senses.

 “Wha. . . ?” My knees weaken and I fall further into his arms. Quickly, he catches my descent and carries me to a bench where he sits me down, moving the errant curls of hair from my cheeks, and speaks to me again.

“Where are you staying? Shall I call the police?”

I can feel my heart pounding against his chest.

“No, please, I’m . . . I’ll be fine. My key, my pocket; it’s in my pocket. Please…”

I can’t remember my hotel or where I am or why. As he unzips my pocket and removes my hotel key, he pulls my hood up over my head to shelter my face from the pelting rain. Collecting me under his arm, my body firmly in his grip, we walk slowly back to the hotel. The traffic is still sparse, no taxis to be seen. It seems to take forever. The storm is so much worse, the surf so high, sucking the wind into the watery folds as it retreats to the ocean. At once, I am so scared that I begin to tremble and yet, I feel protected.

As we walk into the hotel lobby, the bell captain approaches us and asks if I need the hotel doctor, whereupon my guardian says, “No, that won’t be necessary, thank you.” We take the elevator to my floor and I am finally in the sanctity of my room, as lonely as it is. My savior, my hero sits me in the desk chair while he goes to the bathroom and starts the shower. He returns. He is saying something to me that I can’t understand, but he starts to take my shoes off. Then he leans me forward, removes my windbreaker and sports bra, and helps me stand while he pulls relentlessly at my wet spandex knee-highs. He kicks off his own running shoes and removes his blazer. He carries me to the shower but I feel as if I’m watching the scene unfold from outside my own body. I am unafraid of this stranger.

The water is hot and piercing, but he is gentle, loving, and tender. He bathes me and washes my hair, lifting the removable nozzle to rinse the sand, grit, and seaweed from my hair and lithe body. My skin is a deep pink from the intense extreme of the cold grasp of the ocean and the heated comfort of the hot shower. His hands are everywhere, on every curve, gently caressing my skin with his soapy fingertips. He deftly, tenderly, washes my breasts, my taunt stomach and pussy. He controls himself, but I can’t let him stop. I look up at him, and notice he is watching himself bathe me. He seems to caress my buttocks as he cleans the sand from between my rounded cheeks. Unembarrassed, he rinses my body thoroughly, running his fingers though my shoulder-length brown hair. I feel safe, warmed, yet surprisingly aroused, weakened by my ordeal.

For the first time, it seems, he looks down at me. He takes me in as I look up at him, transfixed by his control. I am naked in my sorrow and my pain; he, fully clothed except for his windbreaker and shoes, smiles, touching my heart. I did not notice his erection in the shower, he is a complete gentleman. My breasts, the curve of my belly to my thigh, my face against his chest glisten in the shower, as I trust him to help me.


Thank you so much for hosting me here today and I hope I haven’t put anyone to sleep. I know I am yawning! But, thank so much for asking me here today. I would be honored, if readers are interested, they can buy my work at:

Amazon:                         https://www.amazon.com/author/muffywilson
Ganxy:                            https://ganxy.com/i/97419/muffy-wilson/memories-kisses
XinXii:                             http://www.xinxii.com/en/memories-and-kisses-p-355588.html
Kobo:                              http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/memories-kisses
iTunes:                           https://itunes.apple.com/au/book/memories-and-kisses/id924012792
Smashwords:                https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/485334

Author Bio and Links:

Muffy, author of erotic, romantic stories about love, sex, hope and passion, was born in San Antonio, Texas, to traditional parents. With two older brothers, she was the youngest, the family "princess," indulged and pampered. She adored her older brothers, following them everywhere and was surrounded by love, stimulation, and pets. Her father was a career Colonel and pilot in the U.S. Air Force which required the family to travel extensively. The family lived in most points between Alaska and France. Muffy spent her formative years in Europe and came of age in France.
Returning from France with her family, Muffy finished high school in Northern California and attended the University of California, Davis, and majored in Business Management. Muffy entered the work force, independent with a fierce work ethic, and retired at 39 from IBM as a Mid-West Regional Director in the Real Estate and Construction Division. She and her husband moved to a small Island in northern Wisconsin where they owned a historic tavern, restaurant and resort business which they since have sold. They now live a charmed life by the water in SW Florida. Muffy pretends to be a serious real estate business person but, in real life, indulges her private interest in writing sexy short stories and sensual literotica ~ Live, Laugh, Love with Passion.

Please share your recent publications.
                Released 3 October 2014:


                Also featuring Muffy's work in this anthology of of adult Grimm's Fairy Tales, Once Upon a Menage: An Anthology of Fairy Tale Threesomes edited by Rachel Kenley (Ravenous Romance), Muffy has two erotic adaptations, The Prince, The Mermaid and The Siren ('The Little Mermaid') and The Prurient Puss ('Puss and Boots'). They are sexy, just a little naughty and best of all, they are threesomes!!
Buy Link at Amazon

Previously Published:
Oysters & Chocolate, Decadent Publishing, Ravenous Romance, Yellow Silk Dreams





Wednesday, 22 October 2014

#MWTease from Bought for Christmas #coverreveal #shifter #bdsm @evernightpub


Happy Middle of the week, folks, and welcome to the Tease! A few weeks back, when this story was still a work in progress, I teased from this. It was one of those stories that takes over and demands to be told.

I got the cover art this week, so naturally I had to share again from this story. You must have heard me squeal, in fact, when I opened my e-mail to reveal this cover. The cover artist did an awesome job. It wasn't an easy one, as this hero is heavily scarred, and a lot older than the heroine. On my cover art request form I suggested we place him in the shadows...

And this is what I got. Isn't it stunning, and it captures the mood of the story brilliantly.



I’m the beast, haven’t you heard….
Christmas is supposed to be a time for miracles and one will surely be needed when Emilia Duncan finds herself sold to the beast to save her father’s company. Having lusted after the much older, enigmatic man for as long as she can remember, spending the Christmas weekend as his submissive will satisfy her raging libido, but can she protect her heart?
Bear Shifter Hunter Monahan cannot stand idly by when Emilia is thrown to the wolves. There is only one shifter who will get his claws into her and that’s him. The contract ensures her submission for the weekend. Too bad his bear wants much more than that.
Hunter is used to hiding behind his gruesome scars, but in the bid for Emilia’s heart, that is not an option this time.  Isolated in his cabin, it’s not just the snow that melts.



Ready for your tease? Please bear in mind this hasn't been through editing yet, and is subject to change. Emilia is just about to find out her fate...



 “You should smile more, kitten.”
Hunter’s cool words shook her out of her internal musings, and her heart missed a few beats under his intense scrutiny. Stood sideway, so that his scars weren’t visible, Hunter watched her from under hooded lids with a curious lilt to his full lips. They were surrounded by several days’ worth of scruff that extended along his square jaw and disappeared into the neckline of his shirt—a pink one—much to Emilia’s amusement. His very presence pulled her under his spell. So much so that she must have missed something, if the way both her father and brother scowled at her was anything to go by.
“Have you lost your brain completely?” Leo said, and grabbed the wall for support. “Go get some coffee, thunder thighs. I need some and no doubt our beast here will want some too.”
Emilia winced at the look of utter disgust and hatred both her father and brother threw toward Hunter, and he seemed to grow taller in front of her eyes. Hands balled into fists by his side, jaws clenched, a rumble emanated from his broad chest, and Leo blanched and put his hand up in an act of surrender. Emilia was half expecting her lily-faced brother to lose control of his bodily functions, and Papa, too, looked pale under his tan. Pale and very old, as he glanced at her, and jerked his head to the kitchen in a clear demand.
“You heard your brother, coffee.”
“Please don’t trouble yourself on my account, Emilia.” Hunter gave her a grim smile, and the almost growl in his voice had every feminine cell in her body sigh in submission. She could listen to him talk all day.
“And you, pup, don’t talk to her like that in front of me. Not if you’re fond of your own teeth, that is.” Hunter took a step toward Leo, and Emilia knew her mouth had fallen open in astonishment at hearing Hunter come to her rescue.
“I talk about her any which way I fucking want, beast. She ain’t yours yet. Fail to see why you’d want her anyway.”
“Leo, enough. Let me handle this.” Papa’s stern words brought Leo’s head up and he stuck his bottom lip out in a sulk so reminiscent of the brother she used to adore as a child that emotion clogged up Emilia’s throat. She swallowed past the lump and focused on what her brother had actually said.
“What do you mean, I’m not his yet?” The earlier snatched bits of conversation she’d heard came back to haunt her, and she looked between the three men in dawning terror.
“What did you do, Leo?” she asked.
Her brother stuck his hands in his pockets, and that sulk grew. Right now he looked like a petulant child, who hadn’t gotten the toy he wanted for Christmas.
“He cheated, I’m sure.”
Again that menacing growl rumbled from Hunter, and Emilia clenched her thighs together, as he stepped close enough to her that his scent drew her in again. Waves of heat seemed to come off him, and chased away the goose bumps that had broken out on her own flesh at the underlying tension in the room.
“Watch who you’re calling a cheat, pup. I’m not the one who cannot hold his drink and threw his own sister to the wolves.”
Leo gave a humorless laugh and shrugged his shoulders.
“Says the guy who can’t get a woman to fuck unless he buys her. Have you looked in the mirror lately, beast? You…umph.”
Hunter moved so fast that Leo couldn’t even raise his fists. One well aimed punch to his solar plexus had her brother doubled over and gasping for breath, and then Hunter pinned him against the wall. Hand around Leo’s throat, he had the younger man dangling several feet of the floor, and Emilia dropped the coat she was still clutching and pulled at Hunter’s arm to get him off her brother.
“Let go, please. You’re going to kill him.”
Hunter paid her no heed. Over the rushing of blood in her ears, and the outraged shouts of her father, Leo turned blue. His legs made futile attempts at kicking Hunter, and with both hands on a death grip on Hunter’s wrist, she still couldn’t shake the much taller man off. In a last act of desperation, Emilia ducked under Hunter’s arm, earning herself a painful kick in the ribs from her brother in the process, and reaching up framed Hunter’s face in her hands.
Her breath stalled at the different textures under her fingertips. One side had smooth even skin, covered by his stubble, the other was a mass of corded, scarred, raised flesh, that felt rough and tight under her hand.
A shudder went through Hunter at her touch and he turned his head to look at her. Emilia gasped at the inhuman eyes staring back at her until he blinked, and they were once again the deep chestnut brown she was used to.
“Please, let him go. He’s my brother, please.”
Hunter shook his head and then let go of Leo. Her brother fell to the floor and Emilia let go of Hunter and scrambled to his side to help him up. Dazed as he was he still pushed her help away and let their father pull him up instead. The rejection stung and Emilia was dimly aware of Hunter’s deep sigh behind her. He bent to pick up his abandoned coat, brushed the dust off it, and stepping closer to her nudged her chin up with his knuckles.
“They don’t deserve your concern, kitten.” The ghost of a smile kicked up his mouth, and then he stepped away from her and looked the men in her family up and down.
“I’ll be outside. Let me know what your decision will be, and I’ll have my lawyers draw up the contract one way or the other, though I fear I know what it will be. Know this, however, I need to hear it from her, or the deal is off.”
With those ominous words he stalked off. The quiet thud of the front door sounded too loud in the room, and Emilia squared her shoulders and faced her father.
“What does he mean by that? What deal?” The lights of the Christmas tree danced across her father’s tired features, adding another layer of weird to this whole scenario. Papa at least looked slightly chagrined, but that just made Emilia’s apprehension grow.
“The bastard has cleaned your brother out. With Leo’s shares he’s now the majority shareholder and we’re finished unless—“
“Unless what?” she asked.
“Unless you agree to his terms. You see he’s bought either you or the company.”


 This is scheduled for a December release :-)

*****

Stay naughty, folks, and don't forget to check out the other teasers. As ever thanks to the awesome Sandra Bunino for putting us all together every week.

Why not join us next week? You can sign up on Sandra's blog HERE.

D xx

Tuesday, 21 October 2014

#ReleaseDay squeal! Her Bear Protector is here! #bdsm #shifter @sirenbookstrand #giveaway

Woop, woop!

*bounces around like a loony thing*

I'm just a tad excited that Ronan and Tina are here for you to meet them. There's still a chance to win those $10 Strand Bucks. Just pop on over the The Nuthouse Scribblers here. I'll pick a winner at midnight tonight UK time, because no doubt I'll still be bouncing around in excitement then.

I'm a night owl anyway.

You can read an exclusive hot excerpt on The Nuthouse Scribblers, and the official excerpts are here.

As it's release day, and if you're still undecided about whether you want to read this, I thought I'd share the entire first chapter right here on my blog.


Enjoy!




[Siren Classic: Erotic Paranormal Consensual BDSM Romance, shape-shifters, spanking, sex toys, HEA]

From the minute Ronan Bernhard roars into Tina Snowdon’s sleepy village on his Harley, he inhabits her thoughts and dreams. The inked mountain rescue biker is a sex-on-legs hunk, and her knickers aren’t the only ones that melt in a flash at his wicked smile. Ronan, however, keeps his distance and simply becomes another client of her cleaning firm, until the morning she turns up and finds his cottage trashed, and her life is turned upside down.

Bear Shifter Ronan recognises his mate the minute he scents her. Having her clean for him means he can watch over her from afar, because to claim her as his mate and sub is out of the question. As the village protector he has responsibilities he can’t ignore—duties that will place Tina in grave danger—even if she were able to accept not only his bear, but also his darker desires. The morning she finds him injured, his bear takes over…


*****


HER BEAR PROTECTOR
The Protectors 1

DORIS O’CONNOR
Copyright © 2014





Chapter One

Normally speaking, Tina loved the twisty, narrow, country roads that made up the Cumbrian countryside, but not this morning. Late already, thanks to old Mrs. Hastings’s insistence that Tina tried her scones—delicious as they had been—she now rounded a blind corner and slammed on the emergency brakes. Cleaning supplies went flying around the inside of her little, beat-up Mini, and the handle of the mop narrowly missed the side of her head.
“Jesus.” The expletive hung in the air, and Tina said a silent prayer to any possible deity she might have offended. Not that Tina believed in any of that stuff, per se, but better to be safe than sorry.
The lone sheep, and the sole reason for her almost being knocked out by her work equipment, blinked and stared at her in disgust, as though it owned the one-track road, and Tina swore and stood on her horn. A forlorn baaa was her answer. Said sheep shook its matted fur and after another longer toot from Tina’s car horn, finally trotted out of the way and onto the grass verge.
Tina rolled her eyes, and drove off more slowly, mindful of the other sheep traipsing along the side of the road. Clearly there was a break in the fence somewhere.
By the time she finally pulled up outside Ronan Bernhard’s cottage, neatly tucked away at the side of the forest, she was over an hour late, which would have been a good thing, because he shouldn’t be at home now. His Harley, however, sat outside the quaint thatched roof cottage, next to an expensive-looking car, that definitely did not belong to a local.
Great, just great. Tina knew it was going to be one of those days from the minute the sheep in the field across the lane from her house, had woken her up with their loud bleating before the sky had even had a chance to turn orange. Come to think of it she was sick to death of sheep. They were blooming everywhere. Tina turned her engine off and listened to it run on for a good few minutes, before it finally stopped. Another thing to add to her to-do list. She really needed to take it to the local garage. If only the mechanic didn’t make her feel as though he was undressing her with her eyes, and offered to do it cheaply for her, if she was nice to him. Somehow Tina didn’t think he meant nice as in bringing him some home baked cookies.
A shiver went down Tina’s spine, and not one of the good sort. She supposed she could have asked Ronan. After all he maintained his Harley entirely by himself, and more than once she had turned up to clean his cottage to find him elbow deep in grease, working on the old truck he kept in his garage.
Tina shook her head and groaned. Oh no, don’t go there. Images of a sweaty, greasy Ronan Bernhard were the last thing she needed right now. Not after the erotic dreams she had the previous night which had been filled with none other than the volunteer mountain rescuer. Dreams in which he’d been buried deep inside her body, his muscular, tattooed arms straining with the effort to hold his weight off of her, while his piercing blue eyes had stared right into her soul. Tina had woken up, wrapped in her sheets, sweaty and horny, and even after several sessions with her BOB she’d had trouble going back to sleep.
The fact that Ronan might even now be doing that sort of horizontal action with some lucky woman inside his cottage, made her simultaneously wet and green with envy.
Ever since Ronan Bernhard had roared into the little village Tina had called her home for the last two years, no other man had even come close to getting her interest. In fact, Tina was sure the knickers of the entire female population from teenage girl upward had melted in an instant, when he’d taken his helmet off, strolled into the local café, grinned, and asked for direction to the old cottage three miles up the road.
Stood at well over six and a half feet, with his messy short brown hair, stubbly masculine jaw, and harsh features, Ronan Bernhard was drool-worthy hunk personified. The bike and the inked sleeves he sported gave him that whole bad boy look, which was so at odds with his profession as a nursery teacher. The fact he was good with kids added to the whole drop your knickers in an instant appeal he had. Couple that with a voice that dripped into a woman’s consciousness like molten chocolate, especially when he put that edge of steel into it. It meant anyone snapped to his attention. A smile to charm the hardest of hearts, and the entire village had eaten out of his hand in minutes.
Even old Mrs. Hastings had sighed into her chamomile tea with a dreamy expression, right before she had pushed Tina forward and offered her cleaning services to the newcomer.
“Tina here, runs the local cleaning firm, so once you’re settled in that old cottage, she’ll keep it nice and tidy for you. We all know what you bachelors are like, after all.” Mrs. Hastings had giggled like a schoolgirl and given Tina another shove toward the table Ronan had sat at, sipping his coffee.
Tina had wanted the ground to swallow her up, when Ronan had looked up at her. Something undecipherable had crossed his harsh features and in her befuddled, lust-filled brain, Tina could have sworn his intense blue eyes had flashed to a glowing amber, before he blinked and the moment had been lost.
 He’d nodded toward Mrs. Hastings with a smile that had turned the old lady’s cheeks a nice shade of crimson, and he’d extended his hand toward Tina.
A jolt of electricity had shot up Tina’s arm at the innocent contact and her gasp of surprise had been drowned out by an animalistic growl coming from his massive chest that meant she’d felt the vibrations right through the soles of her feet. As curious as that had been, no one else in the small café seemed to have noticed that odd reaction, and Tina had later wondered if she had imagined the whole thing. Ronan had certainly acted as though nothing unusual had occurred.
“Have you got a business card I can reach you under?” he’d said and Tina had simply nodded, rummaged in her oversized bag for one of the flyers she had printed off yonks ago, when she’d first come to the village. She’d dropped it in his outstretched hand, and high tailed it out of there with a muttered excuse.
Tina had been convinced she’d never hear from him again, but a week later her phone had rung, and he’d offered her an outrageous amount of money to come clean for him. The only stipulation had been that she would let him know beforehand when she turned up.
Tina had found out to her cost that it wasn’t wise to forget that. More than once when she’d first started working for him, she’d walked in on him fresh out of the shower. One morning he seemed to have only just come home, if the smell of sex and booze that came off him was anything to go by, which had been curious, because Ronan never drank or smoke, or indeed took out any local women. Then again there were always the tourists, weren’t there.
Again, Tina glanced toward the strange car and debated what to do. She had texted him last night to make sure she was okay to come round today, even though it wasn’t her appointed cleaning day. The village fete happened tomorrow and she had been roped in to help with that, and wouldn’t have time to swing by Ronan’s house that day.
His reply had been curt and to the point.
Yes, no problem. Not at home, myself, so do your thing.
Lord only knew what the man did do in his spare time, or why he needed a cleaner. Ronan was tidy to the point of obsession, and apart from the dusting, and the occasional round of laundry there never was much for her to do. Mind you, there were the curious scratches that appeared in the wood work on a regular basis, and meant she spent hours of elbow grease getting rid of.
If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought he kept animals in the cottage, but there was no trace of them. The occasional torn bed sheets notwithstanding—testimony to either insomnia or rough sex, the thought of which made her groan out loud—there was nothing unusual about him. Well, nothing other than her completely unreasonable obsession with him, that was, and the fact that he rescued people off mountains in his free time, and made her wet with one look from under his hooded lids.
Again she glanced at the cottage and wondered. The earlier breeze kicked up a notch and swirled some of the old hedge cuttings piled in a corner of his driveway and scattered them across the gravel. Much to her surprise the front door creaked open and then shut again, in an unusual seesaw motion. Ronan never left his front door unlocked.
Before she could change her mind, Tina exited the car, and strode across to the creaking front door. One of the hinges was busted and there were scratch marks all over the frame that meant the hair on her neck stood on end. Another gust of wind whipped the hem of her maxi summer dress up in Marilyn Monroe style, and she made a grab for it, while trying to stop the door from slamming into her face.
A groan carried through from the inside of the cottage, and heat rose in her cheeks. That almost sounded as though he was… Another, louder grunt this time, and the thump of something hitting the floor hard made up her mind for her. Maybe he was only having wild monkey sex with whoever owned that car outside, in which case Tina would be mortally embarrassed and make her excuses forthwith, or he was in some sort of trouble. The thought that it might be the latter, galvanized her into action and she pushed the door open fully to walk inside, and promptly froze.
Ronan’s orderly cottage seemed to have been turned upside down by some unseen force. Smashed glass crunched under her sandaled feet, pictures hung askew and the big comfy armchair from the living room lay on its side in the hallway with all the stuffing torn out of it. Tina stuffed her fist in her mouth to stop herself from screaming, when she spotted the trail of blood that led from the wrecked living room up the stairs. The French windows leading into the back garden of the cottage had been smashed through, and the blood started there. It covered the shredded curtain and a spray of fine drops had hit the opposite wall. To top it all everything was covered in curious grey dust.
Tina turned round, half expecting to see the mangled body of someone, and please god, don’t let it be Ronan, but the scene of devastation was all there was.
“Fuck.”
The distinct exclamation uttered in Ronan’s deep voice meant that Tina flew up the stairs, flung open his bedroom door, and screamed.

****

Available now at a 10% discount at Bookstrand

Add it to your shelf on Goodreads

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23278085-her-bear-protector


Now excuse me while I go back to annoying everyone by grinning and jumping about!

Stay naughty, folks.

D xxx

#TantalizingTuesdays - Remembrance

Happy Tuesday, folks. It's release day for me, but I had to tease you as well. This picture inspired a sad flash, but one filled with hope too, and I might just get a story out of it.. Enjoy!



(Source: Pinterest
http://www.pinterest.com/pin/512003051361096222/)


Haunting music filled the air and Melissa closed her eyes and let the heart wrenching guitar strums consume her. So much pain and regret conveyed at the pluck of Jason’s fingers. She’d had no idea of his past until the blonde bimbo who lived in the flat above him had spilled the beans to his personal life.
Melissa had wanted the ground to swallow her up, when Jason had walked in on the conservation. Bimbo—she really ought to try and recall her name—had spun round, flattered her long eyelashes and positively purred at Jason.
“Ah, talk of the devil. I’m just filling our newbie here in on all the residents. You don’t mind, Jason, do you?”
Lips drawn into a tight line he’d ignored her, but it was the flash of pain that had crossed his rugged features that had torn at Melissa’s heart.
The music stopped and Melissa opened her door to find Jason stare into space. He turned to look at her, and there was that flash of something indecipherable again, before he masked it.
“That was so beautiful,” she said. “You must miss them.”
Jason smiled and nodded.

“You remind me of her, sweet girl.”



Tantalizing Tuesday Authors use a photo prompt to tease in 200 words. Please click on the graphic to check out the other fabulous participating authors.


As ever, let me know what you thought of my teaser today. 


D xx 

Monday, 20 October 2014

Curse of the Beast #newrelease @DoninaLynn #pnr @evernightpub #WinGC

Happy Monday, folks. Now, I don't know about you but with a title and cover like that, you just have to read the book, right? Well, if you still need convincing, then read on. Donina Lynn tells us about her fab new tale, and there's a giveaway too!

*****




He wants revenge. She wants to save him from what he’s determined to become.

Thank you having me here today! I’m so excited to be sharing my first paranormal romance with you!

Curse Of The Beast is a story about how life can throw so much in your direction that you’re ready to wave the white flag and surrender. Grayson, our shapeshifting hero, has not only reached that point, he’s been pushed over it when his father is murdered. Grayson is alone, angry, tired of struggling and is more than ready to give up everything. That is, until, he meets the one person that can show him there is still something worth fighting for—love.

I hope you enjoy the story and make sure you take a moment to head on over and like my new Facebook author page HERE. Everyone that does is automatically entered to win a $25 Amazon gift card. Winner to be announced on Halloween! Good Luck! :-)




BLURB:
All of his life, Grayson Blackpaw lived by the rules of the half-breeds. He heeded the warnings and fought to keep the animal within under control, only to have his father murdered by the very thing his kind could never harm. Even if it means cursing himself to spend the rest of his days as a beast, Grayson was going to find the human responsible and make them pay—with their life.
Shapeshifters exist. Summer Jenkins wouldn’t have believed it herself, if she hadn’t watched a cougar change into a man before her very eyes. It doesn’t hurt when the man is as delectable as Grayson, either. Utterly droolworthy, Grayson sends her pulse racing and her heart falling...fast. But when Grayson admits that he’s willing to give up everything for the sake of revenge, will love be enough or can nothing stop the curse of the beast?

EXCERPT:
Summer inched over on the couch until her knees brushed against his, and she placed her hand on his thigh. It was a simple gesture of reassurance but the heat of her hand seeped through the denim, branding his skin and shooting higher. Desire flooded his veins and Summer’s breathing hitched when she felt it course through him. “He wasn’t the only one to touch me in some way, Grayson.”
Beginning to slowly make her way up his inner leg, Grayson grabbed her wrist before she closed what little distance there was left. If she made it to her destination, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. He was already growing rigid in mere anticipation of her touching his length. If she actually made contact, he would lose what little restraint he held on to.
“Summer. I would like nothing more than to pull that dress up, plunge deep inside and take you over and over again, letting you know exactly how much I want you. But, we can’t. I won’t take the chance of hurting you.”
“You’re not going to hurt me. Worrying that you will is enough for me to know that you won’t.”
“You can’t know that because even I don’t. Summer, you need to understand there’s a chance I will do exactly that.” Grayson shook his head and took a breath. He wasn’t sure he could explain the constant battle of wills that had been waging inside of him for as long as he could remember, or how he’d been losing, but he needed to try. It wasn’t him just being overly cautious, there was a real danger. If he lost what little hold he had on the cougar while he was with her, he didn’t know what would or could happen. Grayson didn’t even want to think of the possibilities. “The lure of our animal halves is strong. The more we give in to them, the stronger they become. The stronger they become, the more we give in to them. Without something to stop the progression, the animal and its instincts become the predominant half and slowly overpower the human’s ability to remain in control.”
“So the worst that can happen is you shift into the cougar. I can handle…”
Grayson shook his head to cut her off. That damn stubbornness of hers was more than a little frustrating. “No Summer, you can’t. The worst that can happen is not the cougar. It’s the beast.”

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