Release Blitz: Passion’s Last Promise (Club Aegis #4) by Christie Adams

Out Now—Passion’s Last Promise (Club Aegis #4) by Christie Adams

Blurb:

Hers to protect…his to serve…

When a failed kidnap attempt leads to CEO Dr. Simon Northwood acquiring a bodyguard, he isn’t prepared for close protection specialist Ros Edwards, a former captain in the Royal Military Police. Experienced submissive though he is, having a woman stand between him and any further threat is completely untenable.

Assigned to protect the genius behind a project of national importance, Ros unexpectedly encounters the most delicious man she’s met in a long time. As a Domme, she’d love to play with him, but even if he weren’t in need of her professional skills, there’s no way he’s submissive.

A determined man. A stubborn woman. When passion flirts with danger, the last promise is the toughest one of all…

Buy links:

Amazon: http://getbook.at/PLP

All Romance eBooks: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-passion039slastpromise-1940493-147.html

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/passions-last-promise/id1131728778?mt=11

Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/passion-s-last-promise

*****

Excerpt:

“Problems, Miss Edwards?”

“Not at all, Dr. Northwood.” She turned towards him and slipped the smartphone back into her jacket pocket. “A minor logistical issue, that’s all. Is there something I can do for you?”

“I was wondering if we were still on schedule to depart for Oxford as planned.” From what he’d heard, Simon had his doubts.

“Of course, sir. As I said, a minor logistical issue.” She paused, fixing him with her coolly assessing gaze. “I was just about to make coffee—would you care to join me?”

He had a conference call in a few minutes, his third of the day, but Simon suddenly found himself more in need of a shot of caffeine, and another opportunity to try to goad her into going Domme on him. He’d been trying all week, and this morning was the closest he’d come yet. He strode over to the desk to call his PA.

“Alicia? Can you let Martin know that he’ll be handling the finance call in ten? Give him my apologies—something’s come up that requires my attention elsewhere. Thanks.” He replaced the receiver and turned his attention back to his bodyguard. “I don’t mind if I do, Miss Edwards.”

She gave a brief nod in acknowledgement. He watched her disappear into the adjoining kitchen, only to hear seconds later the crash of breaking glass followed by the colourful and creative cursing he was coming to associate with his beautiful bodyguard. Simon headed for the epicentre of the disaster.

As if someone had flicked a switch, his nonchalant attitude came to an abrupt end. Ros was running her hand under the tap, washing away the blood that was oozing from a cut to her hand. Broken glass littered the worktop and the floor.

Simon’s protective instincts kicked into action, sweeping aside all thoughts of provoking her again. He grabbed the first aid kit from one of the cupboards. “Let me help.”

“It’s all right, I can manage.”

“No—you can’t. What happened?”

To his surprise, she allowed him to take her hand in his. Strong and capable, it was at the same time neat and feminine, with short but immaculately manicured nails. No rings, but as he’d told himself the first time he’d checked, that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

“Kamikaze glassware.” Ros glanced up at the open cupboard. “When I was getting the mugs to make the coffee, I accidentally nudged a couple of tumblers. They decided to take their name seriously and try out for the Olympic gymnastics team. I can tell you now, their technique sucked.”

Simon pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh at the latest glimpse of her taste in humour. She’d caught him unawares like that once or twice before, with a little nugget of dry wit. “What were you trying to do? Catch them or juggle with them?”

She shot him a dark scowl. At that precise moment, she looked more like the recipient of a sense of humour bypass, then he realised she was more annoyed with herself.

“I was picking up the pieces. Some of the shards started slipping out of my hands and I grabbed at them on instinct. Stupid thing to do. At least it’s not my right hand.”

He quirked a questioning eyebrow.

“Trigger finger.” She waggled the digit at him. “Can’t pull a trigger if I’m bandaged up.”

“Or if you end up slicing through tendons.” Simon’s slightly harsh tone was a reflection of his discomfort at the way she spoke so candidly of using firearms. “A dustpan and brush might have been safer than trying to pick up the broken glass.” He nodded in the direction of the tall corner cupboard.

For a moment she looked like she was about to argue, but then the change in her expression and a tiny, careless shrug acknowledged the truth of his words. Simon turned his attention to her injuries. There were some superficial cuts but the main one wasn’t as bad as he’d first thought—she’d probably get away without needing any stitches in it. Having confirmed there was no glass in the wound, he pulled on some surgical gloves and ripped open a sachet containing an antiseptic wipe.

She was standing so close now. He tried not to be distracted by the calm rise and fall of her breasts, or the subtle floral scent of her perfume. He tried not to respond to her steady gaze resting squarely on him. He tried not to think of the probable reasons why a former RMP officer never even flinched at the sting of the antiseptic.

Having put a couple of Steri-Strips on the cut, he then made the move that was his downfall. It was the small, insignificant act of glancing up at Ros’ face. She was staring at his hands in rapt fascination, lips slightly parted, almost inviting a kiss.

Carpe diem. The Latin phrase blazed through Simon’s mind like a meteor. She hadn’t responded to provocation, so perhaps a different tactic was called for. He swept aside the memory of the altercation they’d had a few hours earlier, focusing instead on this moment.

Simon pulled off the surgical gloves with a snap. In a club, he’d never dream of doing what he was about to do—it went against everything he’d been trained for, but this was an opportunity he couldn’t afford to miss.

Before Ros could move away from him, he took her uninjured hand in his and raised it to his lips. Before his inner voice could convince him he was making a huge mistake, he pressed a gentle kiss to her palm.

“Dr. Northwood.”

He wasn’t expecting the sound of his name to send a delicious shiver through his body. The formality, though…just as guilty of that as she was, maybe even more so, but he wanted it to end. “Simon.”

Desire would be held back no longer—he claimed the sweetness of her mouth, and prepared to take his punishment for crashing through her boundaries…

*****

Author Bio:

After winning an erotic short story competition, Christie Adams waited over twenty years to follow it up with her first full-length erotic romance. The second publisher she approached picked it up, and after a brief spell with them, she moved into the exciting world of indie publishing.

When she was asked about how she got into writing, Christie realised she’s been putting pen to paper—or fingers to keyboard—for longer than she thought. It all started in her teens, with stories featuring characters from her favourite TV shows—usually action dramas—but in her imagination, those characters were given a romantic life to go with the all-action one their audiences saw.

From there, she progressed to romantic novels featuring characters of her own invention, but success eluded her until she spotted the erotic short story competition in a magazine.

Christie lives in north-west England. When not at the day job, she can usually be found wrestling with the characters in her latest novel. Occasionally she finds time for sleep, and maintains her social skills through, among other things, regular attendance at a pub quiz, which forces her to think about other things besides plots and characterisation.

*All information is provided by the author and his/her representatives. We do not alter or change the text submitted. We ask blog visitors to contact the author direct if they have questions or concerns*

Release Blitz: Something Else by Nia Farrell

Welcome Nia Farrell, a Dark Hollows Press author with a brand new release! 

Out Now! - Something Else by Nia Farrell

BLURB:  Grace Murphy is the local psychic medium who dreams of her soulmates –Nico White, a bisexual American Indian musician, and J.T. Santiago, an ex-Navy SEAL and former cage fighter with PTSD on top of the guilt that he’s still carrying from other lifetimes that they’ve shared.  J.T. is a dominant, but he’s never had a male submissive and Grace and Nico are a package deal.  It’s a learning curve for all of them, with J.T.’s initiation into MMF and MM relations and Grace’s introduction to BDSM.  With Grace’s yin, J.T’s yang, and Nico’s center balance, the three of them come together as far as J.T.’s PTSD will allow, but forging a future means healing the past, however painful it might be, in an interracial paranormal MMF ménage BDSM erotic romance.

BUY LINKS:

Amazon US http://amzn.to/1N081iP

Amazon UK http://amzn.to/1NYepnG

Amazon Canada http://www.amazon.ca/Something-Else-Three-Graces-Book-ebook/dp/B014FV1TUE/

Amazon Australia http://www.amazon.com.au/Something-Else-Three-Graces-Book-ebook/dp/B014FV1TUE/

Barnes and Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/something-else-nia-farrell/1122571287?ean=2940151122504

Allromance https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-somethingelse-1874223-340.html?referrer=6bdb1f9160564c0525b41f36e51861a0

BookStrand http://www.bookstrand.com/something-else-mmf   

Smashwords https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/571934?ref=cw1985

Dark Hollows Press http://www.darkhollowspress.com/#!something-else/c1tdc    

EXCERPT:

With the appearance of him, I feel the shift in my own energy, like he’s a generator crystal that’s amplified every sense, common or otherwise. My zipped perceptions are razor sharp, dead on accurate, and delivered with lightning speed. When half hour readings go to twenty minutes, I start giving discounts and the line never ends, not until the ten minute warning that the fair doors will be closing soon.

At five p.m., one of the New Age shop assistants starts walking the aisles, clearing the crowd and the room’s energy with a ringing pair of Tibetan tingshas. I smile my thanks when she manages to herd the last hopeful from my queue. Smile bigger yet when I see that my Latino angel has returned.

“Hi,” I say, sounding rather shy for someone who’s had no problem all day, delving deep into other people’s lives and issues.

His lips tuck upward, and he nods his head toward the back of the room. “I promised my cousin I’d help her. Lena says it’ll take an hour.”

Lena. Pretty face, rocking body, bedroom hair, tats. Amazing silver jewelry and unique leather goods. “I like her.” Actually, I envy her. I have gifts, but Lena has the skills to make her visions a reality. It’s what sets her stuff apart.

“She’s got to get home. Sick kid,” he explains. “Daddy’s challenged enough when Ariana’s a healthy two-year-old. I’ll be free once Lena’s on the road. Will you be around? I can meet you somewhere. We could grab a bite to eat. Talk. If not tonight, then later.”

Déjà vu. Six months ago, I’d said nearly the same things to Nico.

I suggest O’Toole’s, two blocks east. “Do you know it?”

He nods grudgingly, clearly not a fan of the Irish pub. Sensitive to his inner turmoil, I offer an alternative. “Or Jerry’s?” It’s a local bar and grill, edgier than sports and just shy of biker bar.

God, his smile. I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven.

“Jerry’s,” he says. “In an hour or so.”

I’m still processing when Nico comes to check on me. He’s moved our vending van and already has his stuff loaded, and I’ve done almost squat.

“Hey.” He touches me, sliding his darker fingers up my ivory arms until they reach my elbows. When his thumbs start rubbing circles in the bend of each arm, my root chakra kicks into overdrive, and my fucking knees grow weak.

“He’s here,” I whisper, damn close to trembling. “He’s meeting us at Jerry’s after six. Help me pack so we can go get a table.”

That time of night, on a Saturday, there’s usually a line out the door one or two blocks long. I know I have spiritual helping hands at work when we get there and are seated at a booth in the quieter back with only a fifteen minute wait.

I’ve said nothing more to Nico about Lena’s cousin. It occurs to me that I never asked and he never offered his name. We’ll all know each other soon enough, and way beyond a first-name basis.

Just thinking about what’s coming makes my panties wet enough to stick my dress to the worn wooden bench beneath me.

Our waitress, Cherry, slides coasters on the table and sets down our drinks, a bottle of pseudo beer for Nico and a glass of orange juice for me. I don’t want anything, either brewed from nature or crafted in a chemistry lab, to dull my senses tonight. No alcohol. No soda. Juice and water it is.

A menu sits to my right, waiting for him to show. Across from me, Nico scans both sides of the laminated page and sets it down, his decision already made. I take longer, wrestling with my baser meat-loving self when I know I should shun it, but really, where’s the fun in that? I turned vegan once in high school. It lasted all of two weeks, but I stayed quasi-vegetarian for three years. Dairy, eggs, and seafood gave me the protein I craved, but it took cutting out the warm blooded meat to raise my vibration and get it to where I needed it to be. Because that’s when the dreams started. Visions of the past lives we’ve shared. Memories of the three of us.

Poised on the brink of our next go-round, I have to wonder why we keep coming back like this, like frigging musketeers. Is it because we’re stronger together, or dysfunctional apart? Jesus, I’d like to think I don’t need them, but I know how much more, how much stronger I am since meeting Nico. My body thrums to think of what it will be like to have both of them with me.

In me.

Fuck.

AUTHOR BIO: 

Nia Farrell has been writing for pleasure since junior high.  Now that she writes about pleasure, she can share the fantasy worlds she visits and introduce readers to characters who remain with her long after their tales are told.

When crafting a story, Nia draws upon a rich diversity of life experiences, which include singer/songwriter, prize winning needle artist, private pilot, Reiki Master/Teacher, crystal healer, psychic fair reader, jewelry maker, physician’s assistant, factory worker, waitress, genealogist, period reenactor, and children’s author.  If this life isn’t enough, there are plenty of others to choose from.  Otherwise, she devotes hours of research to subjects outside her realm, determined that her stories ring true.

Nia lives on a farm in Southern Illinois (far, far from Chicago, in the heart of “Little Egypt”).  A seventh generation Illinoisan, she is descended from Mayflower Pilgrims, American soldiers from the Revolutionary War to World War II, and Scottish nobility.  She enjoys playing in the past and visits Ren fairs and historical reenactments in period attire, sharing her love of history and her passion for music.  While her husband and two grown daughters may only read her nonfiction work, she appreciates their support in pursuing her dreams, one of which is being published in erotic romance. 

Author page on Facebook:      https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-Nia-Farrell/1678898589004941?fref=ts

Author page at Amazon US:      http://www.amazon.com/Nia-Farrell/e/B014HAAWLK/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_2?qid=1440769158&sr=8-2  

Author page at Amazon UK:       http://www.amazon.co.uk/Nia-Farrell/e/B014HAAWLK/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1440767213&sr=1-1

Author page at Dark Hollows Press:       http://www.darkhollowspress.com/#!nia-farrell/c1mop

Release Blitz for Annabeth Leong and Challenge Accepted

Challenge Accepted By Annabeth Leong (@annabethleong)

Blurb:

After being shamed for her dominant desires too many times, Christine has resolved never to date a vanilla man again. She needs a man who knows he's submissive, and she's determined to hold out until she finds one.

Until she meets Sam, that is. Christine can't bring herself to turn down the handsome parkour aficionado, so instead she tries to scare him off with an intensely kinky first date.

When Sam meets her extreme challenges head-on, Christine must decide if he can become the man to serve her every need—in the bedroom, and in her life.

Warnings: m/f anal play; BDSM content includes impact play, foot worship, dominance and submission, clamps placed in fairly extreme locations, and implied piercings.

Excerpt:

Even seeing only her back, Sam had no trouble recognizing Christine as he carried a sack of dirty clothes into the basement laundry room of his new apartment building. He’d liked her tall, thick frame the moment he’d caught her watching him, and he liked the way she moved. She folded clothes with sure, clean gestures. He’d been an athlete for enough of his life that he could immediately spot a woman in full control of her body and presence.

He hefted the laundry onto his shoulder and assumed a casual stance. He made his movements feel easy so they would look easy. “Christine.”

She turned. He liked that she didn’t jump. Maybe she knew he was coming.

He saw her reacting to him—gaze flicking down his body, body shifting to emphasize her hip. Her eyes were fierce, not welcoming. She looked as if she might be about to set him on fire. Apart from that, though, her nod was polite and distant.

Stretching and making a show of it, he set the laundry down beside a free machine. He didn’t know what to think of the contradictions he read in her body language. He was intrigued and wanted to get to know her. She, on the other hand, wasn’t being clear about what she wanted. He couldn’t tell if she was hoping he’d strike up a conversation or wishing he’d drop his clothes into the wash and get the hell out.

Sam had been raised in the type of family that communicated in code, and he didn’t like it. The only way he knew to make sense of the world was to speak his mind. “You up for company?”

She hesitated. “I think so,” she said finally.

“I’m glad.” His voice came out softer than he’d intended, his tone deferent.

There was something about Christine that made him want to address her that way. He stole glances as he started a washer. She dressed professionally, but not in an imposing way. Her body looked strong, but her shoulders were relaxed, her face at ease. She didn’t loom or intimidate, though he imagined she could if she wanted to. She had big, dark eyes and rich, brown skin. Her features weren’t delicate—he liked the bold lines of her nose and jaw—but neither were they harsh. The only hint of real severity he could see was in the way she wore her hair—straightened to within an inch of its life and sharply restrained.

“The weather’s gotten nice,” Sam said, reaching for an easy conversation starter. “Anything you’re looking forward to doing now?”

Christine shrugged. “Not wearing a heavy jacket.” Was that a touch of humor in the curve of her lips? He wasn’t sure.

“Definitely.” Sam kept his voice light. “You recognized parkour. Is that your sport?”

She laughed. "Afraid not." Sam wondered if she was warming to him, but she was still so difficult to read. He hated the idea of lingering where he wasn’t wanted.

“Look,” he said. “I’d like to get to know you. I’d like to take you out sometime. Are you interested?” He had a nice Italian restaurant in mind if she said yes. If she said no, he’d ignore the flickers of interest he kept feeling from her.

She didn’t agree or refuse, though. Instead, she looked pained. “Why would you ask me that? We’ve got nothing in common.”

Sam stepped back, holding up his hands. “I asked because I wanted to know your answer,” he said, the words low and even. “If you’re not, it’s cool. I won’t bother you about it.” He’d be disappointed, of course, but he wasn’t the kind of jerk who would try to make a woman feel guilty about turning him down.

Christine reached toward him but dropped her arm just before she made contact. “You couldn’t handle me.”

Sam probably should have walked away at that point, but he’d noticed the way she’d almost touched him and the stubborn part of him couldn’t let the challenge pass. “What do you mean, I couldn’t handle you?”

Familiar anger rose to his chest. In high school, everyone had assumed he was a nerd because he was Chinese. He’d been told he wouldn’t be able to handle being on the football team, wouldn’t be able to handle American-style boxing—though everyone also seemed to expect him to be an expert at Wing Chun—and wouldn’t be able to handle going with the other guys on the team to play pranks on the local rivals.

Sam had responded to each of those challenges by proving his doubters wrong, doing everything better and harder than the people who had questioned him. He’d given up on obligatory popular sports to focus on parkour, but there was still a part of him that thrilled each time he pulled off a difficult move, exulting that, yet again, he’d shown them.

Christine’s skin darkened with a blush, but she lifted her chin defiantly. “I’m kinky, okay? I doubt you’re ready for that.”

Sam blinked. “Wow, okay. That seems like something we could sort out after we go on a date and find out if we like each other. No need to jump ahead.”

“No point.” She shook her head, the gesture firm and dismissive. “It’s a waste of time to get to know each other if we’re just going to wind up incompatible.”

“Really?” Sam bristled. It irritated him when women assumed a Chinese guy wouldn’t know anything about sex, and he hoped that wasn’t what was going on. “I have heard about that book, you know. The one all the women are reading.”

“No, that’s not what I’m talking about. I like to be the one on the handle end of the flogger. You don’t want it, trust me.”

Sam had almost no idea what that entailed, but he pressed, annoyed that she’d presumed to tell him what he would and wouldn’t want. “How do you know? Talk to me about it first. Try me.”

“If you don’t already know about it, it’s just not going to work. I promise.”

Sam had never been aware of an interest in kink, but he couldn’t stand assumptions. “Tell me straight-out what you want to do,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ll tell you whether or not I want to do it.”

Christine stared as if he’d suggested a really strange plan. It reminded Sam of so many movies he’d seen, times when characters acted like telling the truth was such an odd and original thing to come up with. “I don’t know…” she said.

He grabbed his now-empty laundry bag. The fabric snapped as he yanked it through the air. The fresh, warm scent pouring from the dryers seemed sour in that moment. “Or turn me down. Just don’t tell me what I can and can’t handle.”

Again, she moved as if she wanted to take hold of his wrist and stop him. Sam paused, trying to make it clear he would let her if that was what she wanted to do. They were still for a while, and then he gave up and walked to the door.

“Wait,” Christine said before he could leave.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe. Do you use IM? Can we talk later?”

He shrugged. “Sure.” This was probably another part of the brush-off. Maybe she thought it would be nicer if she offered to chat online. He didn’t particularly like that tactic, but he didn’t feel like criticizing it now. Without expecting to hear from her again, he gave her his username.

Buy Links:

Loose ID: http://www.loose-id.com/challenge-accepted.html

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1JtPabF

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1R3TTYq

All Romance eBooks: http://bit.ly/1R3TXHJ

Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/challenge-accepted-1

Bio:

Annabeth Leong wears high heels and frequents the former haunts of H.P. Lovecraft. She is obsessed with baseball and marine life, and is an enthusiastic member of New England Feet. She is frequently confused about her sexuality, but enjoys searching for answers. Her work appears in more than 50 anthologies, including Best Bondage Erotica 2013, 2014, and 2015, Best Women's Erotica 2015, and Best Erotic Romance 2014 and 2015. She is the author of a number of erotic novels, ranging from sweet to dark. Find Annabeth online at annabetherotica.com, and on Twitter @AnnabethLeong

Merry Christmas

This Christmas, I'd like to invite you to download 9 free eBooks from Destiny Blaine Productions, my self-publishing imprint for backlist titles. 

Please visit Bookstrand or All Romance Ebooks today to download the following titles: 

Wishing you and your family a very Merry Christmas and holiday filled with love and joy.

Destiny Blaine 

Spotlight on Celia J Anderson and Sweet Proposal

My special guest today is author Celia J Anderson. Her latest book, Sweet Proposal is sure to warm your heart. Welcome Celia! 

Sweet Proposal by Celia J Anderson

Books, chocolate and a Jacuzzi: could there be a better combination? Gorgeous Geordie Leo arrives in Clayton-on-the-Bream with a mission to make his mark. When he reveals his ideas for a bespoke bookshop and chocolate-themed cafe, struggling writer Mab can’t resist his plea for help.

However, Leo’s timing is disastrous. Engaged to flighty, super-thin Sophie and knowing that Mab is up to her neck in a mysterious scheme of her own, Leo fights hard to ignore the warm, sensual friendship that is growing between them. When their eclectic mix of family and friends weigh in to help, the dream seems almost possible, but can Leo ignore Mab’s shady past? As they battle with sabotage, jealousy, vindictive neighbours and unpredictable relationships, Mab and Leo find that even chocolate can’t always make miracles happen . . .

Available from:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00DRI0N2C/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1634&creative=19450&creativeASIN=B00DRI0N2C&linkCode=as2&tag=lucyfelthouse-21

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00DRI0N2C/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00DRI0N2C&linkCode=as2&tag=lucyfelt-20

*****

Excerpt:

Leo swerved to avoid a dead badger. The A1 was still so quiet that groups of starlings rose in disgruntled crowds as he disturbed their breakfast, and the café where he had once eaten the best bacon sandwich of his life was firmly shuttered.

He gave in to the violent rumblings of his stomach and reached into the glove box, tearing the emergency chocolate bar open with his teeth and chewing until the bitter sweetness melted on his tongue, soothing and sensual. Chocolate and the future – they were closely linked in Leo’s mind. He sighed deeply. It was a pity that Sophie didn’t share his enthusiasm, but he supposed it was hard to get enthusiastic about a chocolate-based dream when all you ate was lettuce. Sophie was only twenty-five after all, ten years younger than Leo, stunningly beautiful and harder to amuse than a teenager on a family holiday. Maybe after they were married she would realise what a brilliant opportunity this move was going to be, and would be ready to leave Newcastle and her weird friends behind.

Stretching his legs, Leo decided that this cab must have been designed for a much smaller man. He yawned, felt his eyelids droop and blinked furiously, thinking of hot baths and strong coffee. He’d had no sleep for almost twenty-four hours. Celebrating was fine, but work would have to come first from now on. It was time for the Chocolate Project. The excitement that had been building up in waves washed over Leo again, and he gave the middle-aged lady driving towards him the full benefit of his flashing grin and dimples. He saw her jaw drop and laughed for the sheer joy of living – at last, Leo was about to make his mark, and no one was going to stop him.

*****

Author Bio:

When she’s not marking children’s work, or writing stories involving pants, Celia spends far too much time on Facebook (Celia Joy Anderson) and does a lot of walking to counteract the cooking, eating and drinking which form another of her hobbies. She blogs as part of the Romaniacs online writers’ group - http://theromaniacgroup.wordpress.com and tweets as @CeliaAnderson1. Her own website was recently launched thanks to Lucy Felthouse – http://celiajanderson.co.uk and she has an author page on Facebook (Celia J Anderson)

Her ultimate dream is to have her children’s books published too. Usually sea-starved in the depths of the Midlands, she can often be found wandering happily around Brighton visiting her two daughters and pretending to collect ideas for her next book.

Summer Pain Released Today--New Heroes and Rogues

Out today from Resplendence Publishing

http://www.resplendencepublishing.com/

Summer Pain is in deep. She is going undercover in an investigation bound to go haywire, but she takes the position and sets her sights high, only her objective isn’t the same as her handler’s. Soon, she lands in bed with the man who has haunted her dreams, and unfortunately her reality is much better than her fantasies, making the task of completing her professional assignment nearly impossible.

Tigger suspects Summer is guarding several personal secrets, but little does he know, she is also in place to potentially expose an undercover agent, one with close ties to Tigger and the Heroes and Rogues. When Logan Marcs’ cover is nearly blown, Summer is left with a choice. Does she stay in place and work with the Feds or does she choose love over the potential pain she could cause the man she wants to pursue?

Also available now at Resplendence Publishing, ARE, and Amazon

Behind the Game by Destiny Blaine

Behind every game there are thousands of players but only a few true winners...

Tanner Dorsey is the only man Special Agent Ally Stephens has ever loved. He’s also a common criminal, a known drug lord and a gambler’s bookie, the kind of man known to play for high stakes.

Tanner is untouchable until Ally ends up pregnant. Then, the tables turn and Tanner suddenly has a lot on the line and plenty to lose.

Excerpt:

“He asked you about your feelings for me.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“And you avoided giving him a direct answer?”

He probably expected a reply for that one. “Have we reached cruising speed yet?”

“And you think you’re going to do the same here with me?”

Ally nervously studied her hands, rotating her thumbs back and forth.

“Ally? I’m not going anywhere. You’ll give me an answer or else I’ll fuck it out of you.” He shut the master stateroom door and locked it. “I’m going to do that anyway. I won’t have a problem being there a little longer. I’ll stay between your legs until I’m embedded inside your head.”

Ally shivered and her mouth watered. God help her, he made her thirsty. He looked at her like she was not only the only woman in the world, but she was already his woman.

“I belong to Tanner in all the ways that matter, Santino. No one can take his place, not in life or in death.” She felt the need to let him know death wouldn’t change her feelings for the first man she ever loved, given Santino’s career choice.

He stalked her, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. He slid his arms out of the long sleeves, and then sat on the edge of the bed. Leaning back, he braced himself with muscular forearms while crossing his left leg over the right.

Her gaze went on tour. She started at the top of his head and noticed the natural damp curl hanging over his dark furrowed brow. His hooded eyes followed hers. She took a scenic road trip, traveling down his neck, across the broad stretch of shoulders, dipping down and around the flat discs on his chest and then following the curvaceous ripples of rock hard abs.

Santino’s delicious tongue settled in the corner of his mouth. “Let me know when you’re finished.”

Good grief, his confidence made her crazy. Not only was he cocky, but he possessed a smooth dominance, an alluring way to pursue a woman without being the pursuer. In his presence Ally felt like a huntress, a woman scrutinizing her prey.

“I’ve never belonged to anyone else. I’m Tanner Dorsey’s woman,” she confessed, meeting his gaze again. If her eyes darted any lower she’d have drool on her chin.

“Soon you’ll feel the same way about me, if you don’t already.”

Ally felt fully exposed in her pinstripe pastel pajamas. Barely protected by a low-cut camisole top, she was aware of his intense focus on her breasts. She gnawed nervously on her bottom lip, watching him in pure wonder and anticipating the full pursuit of a carnal man with needs he wouldn’t hesitate to express.

She realized then she put her faith in Santino, but she was terrified of him, paralyzed by what she felt whenever they were together. He spooked her for many legitimate reasons. He had rapidly become her weakness, the man who had the power to take her away from her family, or in fact, carry her home.

Available now at Amazon, Bookstrand, and ARE
Copyright ©2010 Destiny Blaine Productions

Waking up the Arguably DeadAvailable Now at Passion in Print and Amazon

The following excerpts may contain adult material:

Fibromyalgia is not a death sentence but because of the lack of information supplied, Addison believes she’s dying. To read more of Addison’s story, go to www.passioninprint.com or pick up Waking up the Arguably Dead at All Romance Ebooks or Amazon: Prologue:

Addison Deveraux stared at her family physician for several minutes, unable to speak and incapable of processing the information he relayed. She focused on the white walls around her. She skimmed over the medical licenses and board certifications, eventually narrowing her gaze on the overstuffed plastic brochure rack housing material about common medical problems. The entire time, she remained faintly aware of her doctor’s monotone voice. An avid movie enthusiast, Addison disconnected from the moment and recalled a recent flick she’d watched.

She remembered one scene in particular where a woman learned of her life-destroying health circumstance. Thanks to modern day technology, the character slipped into a mind-boggling funnel surrounded by noise typically found in a seashell. The echo intensified and the room scrambled into spinning pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

On the big screen, the actress sobbed. The doctor calmly provided information about the disease for which she’d been diagnosed and the woman finally zoomed in on those fated words: “You’re dying.”

Addison blinked. “I am?”

“Addison,” Dr. Michaels began gently, “Haven’t you heard a word I just said?”

She swallowed. “No, I was…” Thinking about dying.

“Addison, this isn’t something you should take lightly,” Dr. Michaels stressed, leaning over his desk. An older man with salt and pepper hair, Dr. Michaels wore tinted large-rimmed glasses and resembled someone who might have been chosen to portray a physician delivering detrimental news. If only he were an actor.

Addison watched his mouth move. His words hummed all around her, beating into her ears like a hollow drum. “Treatment is something we should discuss together. This isn’t the end and that’s it.”

Boom. Boom. Boom. The maddening tempo gained momentum.

Advice slipped from his lips but the words ran together in a never-ending slur. “Think of diagnosis as a transition. By the time you’ve processed the information I’ve given you, you’ll be ready to face the days ahead. In the end, you’ll be much better off.”

She gulped. There it was. The dreaded statement: You’ll be much better off.

How many times had she attended a funeral for one of her grandmother’s friends and heard the same thing? Mary Lou Cornell went to a better place. Dan Bradley was much better off after both arms and one leg were amputated.

Carla Sue Davis found Jesus after living on the streets and working for some pimp who decided to repay her years of servitude with continual beatings. And Barbara Jo Jones faced death the same way she’d faced living; always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

No indeed, Addison refused to walk down the same road chosen by Granny Myrtle’s best friends, or her cousin Gertrude, who for some reason received her bad news and decided to kick the bucket, before the bucket smacked her upside her head. No way. Addison planned to do a little better for herself. She’d die on her own terms.

The way Addison met death was her decision. Since she had a choice in the matter, she planned to go on out there and greet death—take her fate by the horns and ride the daylights out of it. Yep, it was time to get on with dying.

Excerpt Two:

Funny how quickly life changed. Addison had gone from being a virgin to watching an erotic video and acting out what she learned.

She thought about the continual transformations she’d gone through and grew skeptical. Since Drake Valentine came into her life, she’d been very sexual, in tune with desires she’d never even experienced, much less acted upon.

Had he somehow manipulated her? Why was she three doors down from the men who’d taken her to bed, watching the clock and counting down the minutes until they would rise and start the same activities all over again?

Something was certainly out of whack! She had turned into a sexual creature with insatiable desires.

There was a sensible explanation, of course. She was like a pregnant woman. From what she’d been told about pregnancy, some women experienced heightened sexual awareness in one of their trimesters, she forgot which one and it didn’t really matter. Maybe dying young women had the same problem, especially those who waited until their mid-twenties to have sex.

Rationalizing the progressive way she’d turned into a sex kitten, she decided to pick up the phone and call her doctor. Propped against several pillows, she listened to the continual ringing. Finally, a receptionist answered. “This is the office of Dr. Lenny Michaels. How may I help you?”

“This is Addison Deveraux. May I speak to Dr. Michaels please?”

“Sure, you may, at some point anyway. He isn’t here right now.”

“Oh,” Addison said. “Well I have a question. Can you help me?”

“Depends on the question. Is it regarding medications, an appointment, or general health?” Each word, the receptionist pronounced slowly, enunciating every syllable.

“Sexual health,” Addison said bluntly.

“Uh, oh, um well, I could sure try and answer your questions,” she said. “This is Melissa. What can I do for you, Addison?”

Melissa Garretson. Addison should’ve recognized her voice. Who would’ve thought the town slut would turn into the one and only receptionist and LPN Dr. Michaels employed? Well, Addison mused, it took one slut to answer the questions of another. She cleared her throat. “Is this confidential?”

“Sure darlin’,” she drawled. “I may have a mouth on me but I use mine for delivering more sensual messages, if you get my drift. I ain’t one to gossip around town.”

Great. “Well you see, I was a virgin until a couple of days ago—”

“Get out!”

“And anyway—”

“How did you do it?”

“Well, you know the guy, so I won’t tell you all the details but anyway, I guess we did ‘it’ like anyone else. Uh,” she paused, “well, you know, he was on top and hard, of course, and he—”

“No!” Melissa exclaimed. “Not that, girlfriend. I mean, how did you wait until your twenties to have sex? Heck, I lost my virginity as soon as I could talk.”

“Really?” Addison gasped.

“No,” she drawled in her country hick accent. “I was a little older. Think somethin’ like seventeen or eighteen. Don’t rightly remember. Just remember hearing all the guys talking one night calling me all sorts of names. I figured if I had the reputation, I might as well get busy and earn it, ya know?”

“Yes, well, you did a good job making good on that.”

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“Listen girl, you ain’t gonna hurt my feelings. So tell me, what’s the problem?”

“Well, you know I’m sick right?”

“Yes, I heard something about you having fibromyalgia. I hated to hear that. Is there anything I can do?”

Addison sighed. She remembered having a few classes with Melissa back in high school. She was such a likeable person and easy to talk to. Why not just tell her the truth, get it over with? It would be far easier to describe her problem on the phone to Melissa than to go in and talk to Dr. Michaels.

“The truth is, I lost my virginity to one guy and the next night I slept with two.”

“Oh. My. God,” Melissa drawled. “You trying to make up for lost time?”

“That’s what I thought too, at first. Now, I’m starting to think it’s something to do with my medication. Since I seem more promiscuous than normal, I thought there might be a side effect you can tell me about.” She should’ve elaborated, and explained all she thought about these days was sex.

“Hmm,” Melissa hummed. “I can see where you’re concerned. You’ve sat on that thing like it’s gold and now you’re opening up the mine and letting all sorts of fellows dig. That could get out of hand. Hang on, sugar. Let me pull your chart. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Thank you,” Addison sighed in relief, wondering how Melissa translated two guys into anyone. She wasn’t sleeping around with just anybody.

A few minutes later, Melissa returned to the line. “Nope. Can’t sue any of these drug companies in civil court.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a joke. Everybody wants to sue a drug company for their problems. ‘Course you really don’t have a problem if you’re screwing two guys. By the way, did you do ‘em at the same time?”

Addison wondered if she should answer Melissa.

“I mean, it ain’t like it’s any big deal. Once, when I was in college, I went to a tailgate party. Somebody asked me if I wanted to ride a train. I’d had a few beers and didn’t know what they meant but anyway, next thing I know, the fellas are lined up and boy oh boy, by the time they finished me, I felt like a caboose. You know, that little red car that brings up the rear of the train.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Oh honey, let me tell you, it was so exciting I would’ve followed that train anywhere. From then on, I thought of myself as a caboose, and I’ve been itching for someone else to mention riding that train!” she exclaimed, obviously proud of the fact she was passed around.

“Well, that’s interesting, Melissa.”

“I thought so,” she sighed. “So what’s the problem?”

“I just wanted to be sure I was normal and an over-active sex drive wasn’t a side effect of my medication.”

“Getting it on with two men doesn’t mean it’s a side effect of anything sugar, except maybe you had clogged hormones or something.”

“Clogged hormones?”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s a real problem for women our age. Read a few men’s magazines and you’ll understand. It’s kind of like blue balls only women don’t have, well you know…balls.”

Addison realized Melissa was as batty as she had been in school. “Well thanks a bunch for the information.”

“You’re welcome, sugar. You call me anytime, you hear?”

“Sure thing,” Addison said, feeling better than before even though she felt the information supplied lacked accuracy.

“Take care and uh, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do?” She laughed mirthlessly. “Choo! Choo!”

Addison replaced the receiver and stared at the phone. Addison thought she had problems? Next to Melissa she was practically ready for sainthood.