Release Blitz for Spirits of the Heart by Claire Gem

A New Haunted Voices novel 

Spirits of the Heart - A Haunted Voices Novel

An addiction counselor and a security guard struggle to free a little girl and her father, two lost spirits trapped inside an abandoned mental asylum.

Addiction counselor Laura Horton returns from college to move in with an old friend and start her career. But her homecoming is jarring. Her friend moves out, leaving Laura alone with the gorgeous but intimidating ex-boyfriend—in a house that snugs up to an ancient graveyard.

Officer Miller Stanford is a man with a shattered past. His alcoholic dad destroyed their family, a weakness Miller is terrified will consume him too. The last thing he needs is a sexy, blonde addiction counselor watching his every move. When he begins to see specters in the dark, he starts questioning his own stability.

But Laura sees her too—a pathetic child-spirit searching for her father. Then Laura starts digging into old asylum records . . . Can Miller and Laura uncover the secrets of Talcott Hall without jeopardizing their love—and lives—in the process?

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/YUa2RALSE

Buy Link: http://mybook.to/spiritsOTH

Excerpt:

Laura Horton’s bad feeling began the minute she pulled up in front of Angie’s puke green, two-story house and parked at the curb.

Not Angie’s house, she reminded herself. Angie’s boyfriend’s house. Although they’d been pretty tight in high school, she and Ang had kept in touch mostly via telephone and email these past few years that Laura had been in grad school. Once, a few years ago, they’d gotten together for their five-year reunion, when Laura had come home to visit her ailing dad.

That was the first time she’d seen the compact craftsman bungalow—after dark—and she hadn’t realized it was such an ugly color. She hadn’t met the boyfriend, Miller Stanford, whom Angie either claimed to love with all her heart, or wanted to eviscerate with a Phillips head screwdriver, depending on the day. Nor had Laura noticed then that the house snugged up tight on one side to an ancient-looking graveyard. The only thing separating the two properties was a narrow strip of grass and a dilapidated, iron fence.

A shiver ran across her shoulder blades as she sat in her car, studying her new surroundings. Her new home.

Holy crap.

Chillier up here. Where’d I pack that hoodie?

She turned to dig around in one of the boxes squashed into the back of her tiny car, quickly realizing it was pointless. Nearly everything she owned in the world—besides a few pieces of battered, old furniture—filled the back seat, and passenger side, of her thrifty Kia. When she’d run out of room for boxes, she’d resorted to folding softer items, like her sweaters and sweats, into new plastic trash bags. Stuff crammed every nook and crevice in the car, leaving just enough space beneath the headliner for her to see out through the rearview mirror.

There was no way in hell she was locating her hoodie in Mt. Clothesmore.

Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, she climbed out and sprinted up the steps to the front door. She hadn’t been able to reach Angie by phone since she’d left Boone, North Carolina the day before, but that wasn’t too unusual. Her friend was a bit flighty, and prone to misplace her phone, her charger, or both. Angie had been juggling courses at the community college with a full-time night job, tending bar at the pub just down the street, for the past two years. Laura couldn’t blame her for acting a bit squirrelly at times.

She reminded herself how nice it was of Ang and Miller to rent her their spare room. When Laura landed the job in Middletown, her initial exhilaration had been tempered by a glaring question: where the hell was she going to live? There was no way she could move into her father’s tiny condo with his new wife, Deirdre. And securing an apartment on her own was out of the question, at least not until after her first few paychecks hit the bank.

Laura squared her shoulders, which were quaking slightly in the cool spring breeze, tipped up her chin, and rang the doorbell.

Twice. She shifted her sneakered feet against the creaky porch boards, folding her arms against the chill. After another long moment with no answer, she rang the bell a third time, holding down the ancient button a full ten seconds this time. She could hear the electronic buzz through the peeling front door, but no other sounds at all.

Angie had to be here—she knew Laura was coming. It was Friday, but Angie’s last term of college ended last week, and it was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon. There was only one vehicle parked in the short driveway, a late-model Ford pickup. But Laura wasn’t sure what it was Angie was driving these days.

Then, she heard the booming, thumping sound. Footsteps? Deliberate, heavy, booming steps. Did Bigfoot live here too?

A dull click, then the tinkle of chain skittering on the inside of the wood. The door burst open. But it wasn’t Angie standing on the threshold.

Laura didn’t have time to suppress the involuntary gasp that escaped from her open mouth.

The man was huge, not only tall but massive, with a broad, muscular chest, one lightly furred with golden hair.  His bulbous biceps were cut, sculpted like a Greek statue. And he wasn’t wearing much more than Michelango’s David, with only a steel grey towel snugged around narrow hips to match the steely glint in his blue-grey eyes.

She blinked and swallowed, stumbling back a step. “Is Angie here?” she asked in a small voice.

The giant snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Who’s askin’?”

Author Bio: Claire Gem

Strong Women, Starting Over

   ~Redefining Romance~

Claire is a multi-published, award winning author of emotional romance—contemporary, paranormal, romantic suspense, and women’s fiction. She writes about strong, resilient women who won’t give up their quest for a happy-ever-after—and the men lucky enough to earn their love. No helpless, hapless heroines here. These spunky ladies redefine romance, on their terms.

Whether it’s a sexy contemporary read you’re seeking, or a thrill ride into the supernatural world of hauntings and ghosts, Claire will take you on a memorable journey.

Her paranormal/romantic suspense, Hearts Unloched, won the 2016 New York Book Festival. Her contemporary romance, The Phoenix Syndrome, won the women’s fiction division in FCRWA’s The Beacon Contest.

A New York native, Claire has lived in five of the United States and held a variety of jobs, from waitress to bridal designer to research technician—but loves being an author best. She and her happily-ever-after hero, her husband of 38 years, now live in central Massachusetts.

Media Links:

Website

Facebook

Twitter

Goodreads

Amazon Author Page

Pinterest

Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.

Kindness Pays—It Really Goes a Long Way

It is so easy to judge a writer particularly when the characters aren’t doing or saying what you as a reader would like for them to do/say. Still, it is very important to remember that behind every book or any work of art, there’s a person—a living, breathing, real-life person. And while words can stir all sorts of emotions within you as a reader, they can also stir emotions within the person who has spent numerous hours trying to write a story or script that will bring you hours upon hours of enjoyment.

When a writer begins their writing journey, they begin with a story or idea in mind. They didn’t set out with a vindictive goal. They wanted to share their story. They didn’t want to hurt a particular reader or group of readers.

Their end game was the entertainment factor.

If the writer doesn’t see the story through your eyes, try to remember that he or she didn’t set out to betray you in any way whatsoever. Maybe then you’ll think about what you say or write before you sling hurtful things at them.

Life can be tough. Even in the best situations, living from one day to the next can often be full of challenges or unexpected obstacles. Let the world of entertainment make it easier for everyone. Be the kind of reader or fan that a writer will recognize for acts of kindness. You'll be cherished for your continued support.

Finally, I’d like to pass this along —"Hate is the most stressful form of self-mutilation. It eats at your heart, destroys your soul, steals a brilliant mind, and prohibits the magic that can further inspire you to be the best person you can be, the kind of person who embraces life with love and grace. You'll be handsomely rewarded with peace of mind and overall understanding if you focus on the positive."

If I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again: “The target of someone’s hatred often doesn’t even realize that someone else is miserable because of them.  In some cases, those who are ‘hated’ would often respond with love rather than spite. They’d probably surround the person with love and reassure them. One day, someday soon in fact, everything will be okay." 

~Destiny Blaine

Release Blitz for Sexual Sorcery and CM Fontana

Sexual Sorcery: An Erotic Tale of Sex, Mystery and the Occult, in Victorian England by C M Fontana

An unwitting academic stumbles into the erotically-charged occult underworld of Victorian London. With a cast of characters including an investigator with a talent for seduction, a mesmerist collecting a harem of beautiful ladies, and a woman who believes she has had sex with Satan, Sexual Sorcery is a sizzling story of decadence, conspiracy and carnality.

When a collection of books go missing from the University's collection, Fredrick Clifford travels to London in search of the likely culprit, an apparently respectable gentleman named Victor Braystone. But he soon finds that he is not the only one with an interest in Mr Braystone, and the manipulative Catherine Wolseley soon draws him into her own schemes.

As he, Miss Wolseley and their seductive accomplice begin to unravel Mr Braystone's plots, Fredrick Clifford finds himself both confused and entrapped in a shocking world of of sex and duplicity. And as the trail leads him from the seductions of a London club to a Satanic altar in the wilds of the Welsh borders, he struggles to make sense of both the dark uncertainties of the occult, and of an unfamiliar realm of debauchery and sex.

Buy Links:

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

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1OunW9F

Author Bio:

C M Fontana is a British erotic author, fusing plots of mystery, intrigue, and the supernatural with racy erotica. The first full-length novels, Sexual Sorcery, was published for Kindle in September 2015, with two novellas continuing the series released soon after.

Author Website: http://mysticerotica.com/

Author Twitter: @mystic_erotica

Excerpt

By Saturday morning, Fredrick had still not had time to visit the agency to advertise for a new domestic servant, and he was becoming heartily sick of bread and marmalade for breakfast – or, indeed, for any other meal that he could not reasonably eat out. It was also an irritation that he had to answer his own front door, and now he found himself greeted at his front step by a small grubby boy, in bare feet and ragged trousers, presenting him with a sealed envelope.

He took the letter, tipped the boy a coin, and closed the door.

The paper was expensive, that handwriting feminine. Inside, a note simply read:

Two o’clock. My carriage will collect you. We cannot have gaps in your education as a gentleman. Please be an attentive student. Such classes are not inexpensive.

And that was all. He assumed that it was from Miss Wolseley, and resigned himself to having to follow her cryptic instructions. In the meantime, he thought, he would finish his newspaper, and then visit the agency to and see if they could alleviate his domestic difficulties.

And so, soon after lunchtime, after a satisfactory visit to the agency he found on returning to his house a familiar carriage parked outside.

“My good man, am I late?”

“Not at all Sir,” the gruff coachman tipped his hat. “I’m early. Take your time, Sir. We aren’t due til ‘alf past.”

Fredrick re-emerged promptly at two o’clock, and climbed into the carriage, and sat back while it bounced and swerved through the city’s congested streets. Out of the window he saw gentrified houses, and, as the traffic moved slowly on the main roads, although the journey was barely two miles, it took over twenty minutes. He was relieved to find that they stopped in a fashionable West End street.

He stepped down from the carriage, and the coachman indicated the door across the road.

He crossed the street and rapped with the brass door knocker.

Promptly, the door was opened, and a short, grey haired maid opened the door.

“Fredrick Clifford,” he introduced himself. “I may be expected?”

“Of course,” the maid curtseyed, with a hint of an accent, perhaps Italian or French, and stepped back to let him in.

She took his coat, hat and cane, and then led him up the stairs, and into a well furnished sitting room. Tall windows let light flood into the room through lace curtains, the room was decked with a range of plushly upholstered chairs and settees, the largest of which, unusually, seemed to be the size of a single bed, but with ornate arms and a high back.

The maid motioned him to take a seat in a plush chair by the window. She assured him, “I will say that you have arrived,” and then withdrew.

As he waited, he looked around. The décor was, the more he considered the details, eccentric.

Not only were the chairs unusually deeply upholstered, and the main sofa far wider than was needed, but there were numerous sturdy hooks, which looked like they might have hung chandeliers before gas lighting was installed, both in the ceiling and also, inexplicably in the skirting board at the foot of the wall. There was also a faint but spicy scent in the air, which he suspected might be incense – an unusual scent to encounter outside of a High or Catholic church.

The door opened, and he turned to see a tall, graceful woman step into the room. She wore a red silk robe like a dressing gown, and around her neck an ornate necklace of black beads. Her brown hair hung loosely in flowing curls, cascading over her shoulders, and Fredrick’s eyes were drawn further down, to the sides of her firm breasts, indecently visible where the two sides of the robe met.

“I’m so sorry!” he instinctively stood up and turned his back on her, to stare fixedly out of the window.

“And why, Mr Clifford, are you sorry?” The voice was soft, the accent unmistakably continental.

“I am… that is to say…” He could barely hear her approach, her bare feet on the carpet. “Perhaps I should return when you are properly dressed.”

Her voice, now just over his shoulder, chided, “Mr Clifford, I was told that you were a gentleman.”

“Well, yes!” he replied, indignantly.

“And is it polite, when a lady enters a room, turn your back on her, and then proceed to criticise her choice of clothing.”

“Well, I… there is a question of what is appropriate!”

“Your lessons today,” she corrected him, “are to deal instead with the question of what is courteous – gentlemanly. You may be quite right about what is appropriate. But this afternoon, that is not our subject.”

To Frederick, what was gentlemanly and what was appropriate seemed intimately connected. But Miss Wolseley had, presumably, some purpose in sending him here.

“I apologise,” he conceded, turning to face her. It would be a shame to argue with such an attractive hostess.

She smiled and inclined her head. “Then shall we start again?”

Fredrick nodded.

The woman turned and walked softly back to the door. He watched her robe sway against her legs, and was impressed by her grace. She left the room, and shut the door after herself. Fredrick sat down again, and waited.

After a minute, the door opened again, and the woman returned.

Fredrick stood up, and stepped forwards to greet her. “Fredrick Clifford, Madam. At your service.”

She held out her hand, palm down, and he took it gently, and bowed slightly as he motioned to kiss it. He could not help, bending forward, but appreciate the gentle curve of her breasts, barely draped in thin red silk.

“Signorina Maria Cenci,” she replied with a hint of a curtsey. “Charmed to meet you, Sir.”

She motioned him across to the wide sofa, strewn with cushions, and when he sat she took a seat next to him. Her robe fell open at the knee, revealing her slender, pale calf, and Fredrick made an effort not to look too intently.

The door opened again, and the elderly maid entered, carrying a tray, which she set down on the table by the settee.

“Milk and sugar, Mr Clifford?” Signorina Cenci asked.

“Please, yes.”

“Tell me Mr Clifford, she asked, as she poured the tea and the maid withdrew, “how should a gentleman behave towards a lady?”

Fredrick considered for a moment, and then, taking the cup and saucer offered to him, replied: “A gentleman should always be respectful.”

“And why is that important?” she asked. And when Fredrick had no ready answer, she clarified, “Why should a gentleman be respectful to a lady, and not, perhaps, to a tree or stone?”

“Obviously, trees and stones don’t have feelings!”

“So when you say respectful, you mean that you should be aware of the lady’s feelings?”

“Quite so,” Fredrick said, taking another sip of tea and then setting the cup aside. “The male is the stronger sex. It is our duty to protect, both physically and mentally, the frailer gender. It shows us to be civilized human beings, and not savages.”

“And so,” Signorina Cenci asked, “you see that, if a man turns his back on a woman as she enters the room, she might be upset. In which case, the gentlemanly response is to greet her courteously, perhaps?”

“I see your point, Madam,” Fredrick acknowledged, not wanting to argue.

“But is it also gentlemanly,” she teased, “as you bend down to kiss her hand, to stare so intently at her breasts?”

Fredrick blushed, “I am so sorry, Madam, I didn’t intend to.”

She laughed, and stood. “Then shall we try again?”

“Of course, if you wish.”

She left her tea cup on the table, walked to the door, turned, paused, and then returned towards the sofa.

Fredrick stood, stepped forward, and took her hand when she offered it. This time, as he bent and motioned to kiss her hand, he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

Again Signorina Cenci laughed.

“Mr Clifford,” she smiled, placing her hand on his arm. “Do you really think that if a lady deliberately appears dressed like this – ” she raised her other hand to her neck and let her index finger slowly trace a line along the hem of the robe, down her chest, over the mound of her breast “ – that she does not want to be admired?”

“Really, Madam, I protest,” Fredrick sighed, “You say that I should not stare, and now you say that I should stare. What am I to do?”

“Mr Clifford, you are to be a gentleman. You are to behave with consideration for the lady’s feelings.” Seeing that he was still confused, she continued. “If you stare dumbly at my chest – “ she turned slightly, so that he could fully appreciate the silhouette of her breasts – “I might consider the stare to be aggressive, or I might worry that you are no longer capable of rational thought. You are still capable of thought, Sir?”

He raised his eyes from the curve of her robe, to look her in the eye again. “Yes, of course.”

“But if you ignore me entirely, I might think that I have failed to impress you, or that you consider me ugly. You do not consider me ugly, do you?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Then, Mr Clifford, please, stop trying to guess what the rules are. There is but one rule to being a gentleman. Consideration for the feelings of the other person. And so, consider my feelings, and act accordingly.”

“Very well,” Fredrick acquiesced.

“Then shall we try once more?”

She walked back to the door, and again turned to face him. She paused for a moment. “Are you ready, Sir?”

Fredrick nodded.

She ran her finger down the front of her robe, and deliberately opened the gap at her chest a little further, so that the sides of both breasts were quite bare. “Are you certain?”

Fredrick paused for just a second and then answered confidently: “Yes, Madam.”

Signora Cenci walked across the room, her hips swaying, and held out her hand, palm down.

Fredrick took her hand. As he bowed and raised it towards his mouth, he let his eyes glance over her soft flesh, and at the lowest point of his bow he glanced up to look her in the eye. Then he looked back towards her hand as he stood, and looked her in the eye again, keeping a lingering hold of her hand before releasing her.

“Mr Clifford!” she smiled, “Have you not been taught that it is too forward, even impertinent, to look a lady in the eye as you kiss her hand?”

“Signora Cenci,” he countered, “From the way that you adjusted your gown, I understood that you wanted me to be forward, even impertinent.”

“Bravo!” she clapped her hands three times and smiled. “Please sit, and explain to me your strategy.”

As they both sat down, he on her right, she on his left, he explained. “I trust that you wanted,” he glanced again at the curve of her breast, “to be appreciated, but with discretion. And I gathered that you would not mind a little impertinence. When I first looked up at your eyes, you could have looked away, but you did not. And so I inferred that a little more impertinence might be in order before I released your hand.”

“Perfect, Mr Clifford! You considered my feelings, and acted accordingly. One might almost say, appropriately?”

Fredrick smiled, “Yes, I think that you have proved that point.”

“Which is exactly why you are here,” she explained. She put her right hand behind her on the settee and turned her body towards him. “I am told that you are an intelligent, educated gentleman. But you have been taught to be a gentleman by following a set of rules. And now you find yourself in situations where the rules do not seem to work. Situations for which no rules have been written. Is this so?”

Fredrick nodded, “Increasing so, it seems.”

“And you are particularly unsure how to deal, in certain, unusual situations, with ladies?”

“I understand how to make polite conversation,” he admitted, “but there there are things, I find, that I do not really understand.”

“And that is why you have been sent to me,” Signora Cenci smiled. “Because if you are to be a gentleman in these situations, you will be more confident, yes?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“And to be a gentleman you need only two things. You need to act with consideration or the other person. And you need to understand what the other person wants. You see?”

“Theoretically, I suppose.”

“At this moment, yes, quite theoretically. Because you do not know enough about what a woman wants, and so you cannot treat her…. appropriately. So we shall give you a basic understanding.”

She looked at him, saying nothing more.

He felt that he was expected to react in some way, but had no idea how.

“Mr Clifford,” she flicked her long hair over her shoulder, and then lowered her hand to her knee, where she parted her robe a little. “You are alone with a woman who has chosen to greet you in a quite indecorous outfit – so indecorous, that she has not even troubled to put on underwear, but instead has nothing between you and her but a single layer of very soft, very thin silk. And now she has sat mere inches from you, turned her body towards you, and is now waiting for you. Can you not imagine a gentlemanly reaction?”

He sat, confused, uncertain.

“To make this simple,” Signora Cenci coaxed, “you have two options. If you are not sure what I want, then you can construct some witty, sensitive line of conversation to draw me into disclosing my desires. Or you can take action, in such a way that my response will tell you more of what I want…. Do you feel able to engage in witty conversations at this moment?”

He shook his head, mutely.

“Then Mr Clifford, take action!”

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

Guest Post: Grace Marshall and The Executive Decisions Trilogy Tour

Welcome Grace Marshall 

It's such a pleasure to introduce Grace Marshall today.
Readers, come on in and say hello. Leave your questions for Grace as well.
Welcome Grace Marshall! 

Thanks so much for inviting me over to celebrate The Executive Decisions Trilogy, Destiny. It’s a pleasure to be here on day seven of a blog tour that celebrates the joy of novel-threesomes.

I’m celebrating the tour by giving away two print copies of the first book of the trilogy, An Executive Decision. Enter to win at the end of this post.

An Identity Crisis of My Very Own

Not long ago I went to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription, and when the chemist asked who it was for, I said K D Grace. She looked at me strangely when I had to correct myself. I mean, really! Who forgets their own name? Their ‘real name?’ I had a PR email the other day addressed to Grace, and I had to do a double-take before I realised the email was for Grace Marshall. My Other Half occasionally gets referred to as Mr. Grace. Oh he’s used to it by now, and he doesn’t mind. Thanks to me, he has a double life as well, though a much milder version than mine. I don’t think he ever forgets which name is really his.

I live in a constant state of Identity Crisis. I’m forever introducing myself as K D Grace, accidentally filling out forms as K D Grace, and answering the phone as K D. Honestly, some of my writing friends I know only by their pen names, and that’s how they know me. K D has been so much a part of me for the past four years that it’s no wonder she often barges into my non-writing life. And now there’s Grace Marshall. She’s a bit moresubtle, not quite as demanding, a little more polite about insinuating herself into my life than K D is. But then she hasn’t been around quite as long. Maybe the ‘honeymoon’s’ not over yet J However, during the time she has been around, she’s moved right in and made herself at home. She even has her own coffee cup now.

Living with Grace, K D, and Kathy all crammed into my inner space, I can so completely understand Garrett Thorne’s identity crisis. Garrett writes bestselling romance novels under the name of Tess Delaney. But Garrett is much better at keeping his identity secret than I am. I don’t really care who knows that Grace and K D and Kathy are all living fairly peaceably in the same crowded body. But Garrett has his reasons for wanting to keep his secret life secret, and he’s kept that secret flawlessly until Tess is nominated for the Golden Kiss Award and has to make her first-ever public appearance.

Now Garrett looks fabulous in a tux and tie … or out of one ;-). But if he wants to keep Tess’s secret, he’ll either have to go to the award ceremony in drag or hire someone to do it for him, someone who’s the epitome of discretion. Not keen on wearing a dress nor having his chest waxed; against his better judgment, he hires the PR queen of intrigue and secrets, Kendra Davis, to be his Tess while he goes to the ceremony as her date. In spite of the fact that the two don’t like each other, a writer’s gotta do what a writer’s gotta do, and to hell with the consequences.

And wow, are there consequences! Kendra has an identity crisis of her own, and it makes Garrett and Tess’s pale in comparison. Put together two people with major identity crises who are likely to either kill each other or shag each other’s brains out, and let the fun begin. Here’s a blurb and a little teaser.

Identity Crisis Blurb:

PR rep extraordinaire, Kendra Davis, is elated when she gets the chance to work for her hero, reclusive, romance novelist, Tess Delaney. Her elation is short-lived when she discovers that Tess is none other than Garrett Thorne, the bad-boy brother of business tycoon and eco-warrior, Ellison Thorne, who is engaged to her best friend, Dee Henning. Kendra blames Garrett for the comedy of errors that nearly destroyed their relationship. Garrett doesn’t like Kendra either, but he’s desperate. His alter-ego, Tess has been nominated for the prestigious Golden Kiss Award. No one knows who Tess really is, and he needs Kendra to play Tess for the awards.
When Tess is stalked by a rabid fan, the two unite to protect her identity. With Kendra, the body and Garrett the soul of Tess Delaney, is there room in this strange ménage for romance? Can a woman who doesn’t exist understand their hearts even better than they do?

Identity Crisis Excerpt:

Book 2 of The Executive Decisions Trilogy

Before Garrett could say anything else, the line went dead and he and Kendra sat staring at each other. Garrett reached for the remote and switched off the television. ‘So what do you think?’ He said. ‘I mean you are K. Ryde.’

She ran a hand through her hair and tightened the sash at the waist of the robe. In the kitchen they could hear the coffee maker gurgling out the last of the coffee into the pot. ‘Garrett, I work for Tess Delaney, not Don Bachman, and I think it’s up to you. You’ve done what was asked of you. It’s had better than expected results, and now I think you should do what you want. I mean a huge part of Tess’s appeal is her mystique. The more public she becomes the more she risks losing that mystique. If you do decide to have Tess make the odd public appearance, then I’ll happily oblige, but the more I pretend to be Tess Delaney, the more risk we run of her really being outed.’

He tugged a strand of her red hair. ‘You think I should do what I want?’ He scooted closer and brushed a kiss against her parted lips. ‘Because I’m pretty sure you have a good idea of what I want right now.’

She made a half-hearted effort to pull away from him. ‘Garrett, this is serious business, you know. I need to know, K. Ryde needs to know what to do next.’

He gently nipped her lip and felt her breath catch. ‘I know that, Kendra, believe me, I do.’ He guided her hand to rest against the bulge barely contained by his straining shorts. ‘But I can’t think very well at the moment. Perhaps if you could just help me out a little bit here --’ with his other hand, he slid open the bottom of the robe to reveal her lush thighs and beyond, ‘-- then maybe I could concentrate on business a little better.’

She forced an irritated sigh that ended in a soft giggle as he pulled her to him, shoving the robe open still further, exposing her breasts to the explorations of his lips and the cupping of his hands as he eased her back onto the sofa, wriggling his way in between her legs. He had just worried open the sash and slipped a hand down to cup her and stroke the unbelievable warmth of her when a loud crash on the front porch caused them both to jump. She jerked the robe back around her, and he shot up from the couch like he was spring loaded.

‘What the hell?’ He scrambled to the door with her right behind him, tightening the sash of the robe as she went.

‘Wait, Garrett. Don’t open it.’ She reached for his hand, but it was already too late. He wasn’t thinking straight. How could he possibly be thinking straight when he had been just about to make love to Kendra Davis? He swung the door open wide and found himself, in nothing but his scant and somewhat bulging work-out shorts, with Kendra barely covered in his over-sized robe, on center stage to a sea of reporters. Cameras flashed, the press surged and before Garrett could close the door, the irritating Mike Pittman shoved a microphone in his face, shouldering his way into the breach of the door. Garrett remembered Pittman from Dee and Ellis’s meeting with the press a few weeks ago. The microphone might have been in Garrett’s face, but Pittman’s eyes and the lens of the cameraman’s camera were focused on Kendra, hair thoroughly mussed from last night’s romp, still tying the over-sized robe that was clearly his, and looking more than a little like she’d just been caught in the act.

‘So it’s true, then, Tess Delaney did spend the night with you after the Golden Kiss debacle?’

The Golden Kiss debacle! That slimy little rat! ‘Get out of my face.’ Garrett’s voice was a dangerous growl, and he wasn’t sure what would have happened if Kendra hadn’t pushed her way front and center.

‘Mr. Pittman,’ she said, in a voice way too good-natured for what Garrett was sure she must have felt. ‘The answer to that question is obvious. Where did you think I would be on such an occasion?’ As if to demonstrate, she ran her arm through Garrett’s and smiled up at him.

‘And what about Barker Blessing?’ Pittman pressed on. ‘Have you heard from him? From his lawyers?’

‘I think you need to talk to Mr. Blessing about that.’ She stepped forward into the man’s personal space and forced him back with nothing more than the power of presence. ‘If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Pittman --’ she shot a quick look around and offered a smile, and a polite nod to the rest of the rabble ‘-- everyone. Coffee’s getting cold.’ Her smile turned wicked. ‘I’m starving, and Garrett promised to make me pancakes.’ Then she stepped back and shut the door in the man’s face -- not slammed it -- just shut it and turned to face Garrett, her back pressed against the door.

‘Make you pancakes?’ Garrett manages before she hijacked the conversation.

‘Rule number one,’ she said, before he could even utter the curse that was on the tip of his tongue ‘Don’t give the press any reason to up the ante.’ She shrugged. ‘Alright, you already blew that one last night, and this is the result.’ She nodded to the shuffling and mumbling they could still hear beyond the closed door. ‘This is why we needed things to go smoothly last night, and why we need them eating out of our hands now.’ She made her way into the living room and peeked around the edge of the curtain at the reporters on the lawn.

‘I blew it?’ He bristled and followed her to the window. ‘You’re the one who dumped your dessert in Blessing’s lap.’

And that was his fatal mistake. Would he never learn to hold his tongue around Kendra Davis? He could see the tension in her shoulders before she turned to face him. ‘It was dessert Garrett, just dessert, not your fist to the man’s face, not a law suit, not jail.’ She stood facing him with her hands on her hips, her eyes bright and fiery. ‘And would you have hit Pittman there, if I hadn’t stepped in?’

‘Oh you’re a fine one to talk about not resorting to violence,’ he said following her around the living room as she scooped together her clothing. ‘You, who nearly dislocated my jaw.’

She turned on him. ‘Oh pa-lease. You deserved it. You’ve deserved everything you got so far, and last night, well if you’d have just let me handle it, then this,’ she stabbed a finger at the door, ‘this wouldn’t be happening.’ She jerked off the robe and stood naked in front of him tugging her panties up over her hips and then shoving into the green dress. And fuck it was hard to stay focused with her doing that. Did she do that on purpose – get his cock’s full attention so his brain wouldn’t work? She probably did. She was a bitch, he reminded himself. How the hell could he forget the number one fact about Kendra Davis? The woman was a bitch. Interact with her at your own risk. He watched her stuff her stockings and garter belt into her bag like they were the enemy, and he was sympathetic.

‘Where’s the back door,’ she said.

‘Through the kitchen,’ he replied, his brain still half-occupied by her angry reverse strip-tease that had left him in a bad way. ‘Wait a minute. Where are you going? What are you doing?’ He followed her into the kitchen with her stumbling into her killer heels as she went.

‘Fixing it,’ she huffed. Then she fumbled in her bag for her iPhone. ‘Hi Dee. You home? Can you come get me. I’m at Garrett’s.’ He was pretty sure Dee got the “don’t ask” warning in her voice. She would have to be deaf and stupid not to. ‘Come around back. The alley yes. Now.’ Dee lived close. Garrett hadn’t planned it that way, but it was a nice neighborhood. Kendra shoved her phone back into her bag and headed for the door. Then she turned her attention to him. ‘You stay put. Don’t go out until I give you the all clear. I mean it, or you can find someone else to fix your fuck-ups.’ Then she shoved her way out the back door, pulling it to carefully to behind her.

Identity Crisis is Available from:
http://gracemarshallromance.co.uk/books/identity-crisis/
About K D Grace/Grace Marshall
Grace and KD both believes Freud was right. In the end, it really IS all about sex, well sex and love. And nobody’s happier about that than she is, otherwise, what would she write about?
When she’s not writing, Grace is veg gardening. When she’s not gardening, she’s walking. She walks her stories, and she’s serious about it. She and her husband have walked Coast to Coast across England, along with several other long-distance routes. For her, inspiration is directly proportionate to how quickly she wears out a pair of walking boots. She also enjoys martial arts, reading, watching the birds and anything that gets her outdoors.
Grace and KD have erotica published with SourceBooks, Xcite Books, Harper Collins Mischief Books, Mammoth, Cleis Press, Black Lace, Erotic Review, Ravenous Romance, Sweetmeats Press and others.
K D’s critically acclaimed erotic romance novels include, The Initiation of Ms Holly, Fulfilling the Contract, The Pet Shop. Her paranormal erotic novel, Body Temperature and Rising, the first book of her Lakeland Heatwave trilogy, was listed as honorable mention on Violet Blue’s Top 12 Sex Books for 2011. Books two and three, Riding the Ether, and Elemental Fire, are now also available. She was nominated for ETO’s Best Erotic Author 2013 and 2014.
Grace Marshall’s sizzling hot romance novels, An Executive Decision, Identity Crisis, The Exhibition are published by Xcite Books.

Find Grace Marshall and K D Grace Here:

http://gracemarshallromance.co.uk/

http://kdgrace.co.uk/

http://www.facebook.com/GraceMarshallRomance

http://www.facebook.com/KDGraceAuthor

https://twitter.com/GM_Romance

https://twitter.com/KD_Grace

http://twitter.com/GM_Romance http://www.pinterest.com/kdgraceauthor/

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Guest Post: Julia Kent

My guest today is New York Times Bestseller Julia Kent
Julia dropped by to tell us about her upcoming new release.
Welcome, Julia! We're glad to have you here. 

Coming Soon: Random Acts of Fantasy by Julia Kent
Release date: 4/15/14
 

Description:

From New York Times bestselling author Julia Kent comes the third in her Random series:

You ever really think that you'll win the lottery? Meet Mr. Right? How about two Mr. Rights?

Somehow the universe is handing me everything I want (except for that lottery part...), and I don't like it. Not one little bit. Because just when you get all your dreams handed to you on a silver platter, that's when an airplane dumps its sewage on your house. Or your mama's diabetes takes a bad turn. Or your mobile phone gets stuck in your hoohaw.

(What? It happens…)

Boring old average me got everything I wanted already, moving from small-town Ohio to big-city Boston to follow my heart. So when the fancy invitation offering me a pile of money to come with the band, Random Acts of Crazy, to perform on an island resort and be their manager arrived, I thought it was a cosmic joke. Enough money to help my mama get what she needed, five days in sunny paradise, and a shot at greatness for the band? Unreal. One big shoe was waiting to drop. On my head.

Just like no one really ever finds a naked man wearing only a guitar standing by the side of the road hitchhiking and ends up falling in love with him and his friend and moving halfway across the country for true love, no one gets an invitation to come to what turns out to be a resort where people make what me and Joe and Trevor do together look like a chaste peck on the cheek. But...

Well.

I guess these things do happen.

To me.

–-

Pre-order links:
 Amazon UKAmazon US
iBooks

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.

Spotlight on Colette Saucier and Alicia’s Possession

I'm pleased to introduce my next guest. Bestselling author Colette Saucier stopped by today to tell us about her latest Secret Cravings Publishing title, Alicia's Possession. Colette gives us a look behind the scenes in her entertaining article: How Did a Nice Girl Like You Write a Book Like This? 

Please put your hands together and welcome Colette Saucier!

How Did a Nice Girl Like You Write a Book Like This?

A funny story really.  It all started when I had to be on disability for ten weeks. That's right, I'm going to blame my health. I had always said I would never write a novel I wouldn't want my mother-in-law to read, and now I end up adding her name to the "Don't share this with" settings every time I mention Alicia’s Possession on Facebook!

I had been going along quite swimmingly writing the sequel to Pulse and Prejudice, the paranormal adaptation of the Jane Austen's classic which re-tells the story from Mr. Darcy's point of view as a vampire. The problem with any Regency-era novel, though, is the amount of research involved. I spent fifteen months ensuring the historical accuracy of Pulse and Prejudice and maintaining nineteenth century literary conventions. About a third of the way into the sequel –Dearest Bloodiest Elizabeth—I had to go on disability, and I had neither the energy nor the initiative to continue with the research.

Once ready to jump back into writing, I needed something not quite so labor-intensive to tackle, so I checked the “special calls” for my publisher. Most of the options held no appeal for me: special love, holidays, western. Then I saw the request for submissions for shorts—15-20,000 word novellas—for a BDSM anthology.  I started to dismiss it out of hand—I mean, I have trouble even typing the word nipple!  In my love scenes, I generally write that “he put himself in her” and assume the reader knows he didn't stick his finger in her eye! The description of the special call intrigued me, though, because it said it could be any level of BDSM—and of any genre, from RomCom to Romantic Suspense.

Romantic Suspense and I go way back. My first romantic novellas, which I wrote in junior high, were all high intrigue and thrillers. One involved a government conspiracy to fake travel into the future. In another the heroine was murdered, and yet another the protagonist stood trial for killing her lover. (“Happily ever after” was not a requirement in my middle school romance writing!)  I love Hitchcock above all other directors and suspense films more than any others, and police procedurals are my favorite television shows. Although I had a growing list of ideas for novels to follow Dearest Bloodiest Elizabeth, I knew at some point I wanted to move into the Romantic Suspense genre.

Of course, then I had the issue of having to include BDSM. I won't lie: I enjoy reading BDSM romance novels. I just can't ever finish them. I suppose I must be the biggest prude ever to enjoy reading about bondage and Dominance! I just always find that they get to a certain …point at which I begin to feel uncomfortable, and I just have to stop reading. (And they lived happily ever after. Yada yada yada.) To be honest, I don't even like all the coarse metaphors used for "lady parts." How on Earth could I write a BDSM novella?  Then I figured, if I felt this way, I couldn't be the only one. Right? I must represent some demographic! After all, I’ve been chosen to do the Nielsen ratings twice!

About the same time, my daughter bought this house, which I absolutely love, on a lake; and her neighbor on the other side of the lake is a former sharpshooter for the Marines. He will come out on occasion and shoot any snakes that are bothering the neighbors. I thought about how hearing a gunshot in the middle of the night would certainly freak me out!

For some authors, inspiration might strike like lightening, but for me, it's more like cracker crumbs in the bed, creeping into my skin until I'm itching to get it out. Between my daughter's house on the lake with her snake-shooting neighbor and an old story I recalled about a woman who had an accident, which caused her to forget her husband's infidelity (only for him to cheat on her again), my mind started working on the mystery.

For the Dominance and submission, I needed a strong hero who could sense the vulnerability in Alicia and understand her needs. He had to be a loving Dominant, truly devoted to caring for her well-being. Next I had to create a heroine with a history that had caused her not to be able to trust anyone and then place her in a situation so desperate she would be willing to surrender control completely. In Alicia's case, she suffers from deep depression and feels her life is already spinning out of control. Now she has to choose if she wants to give control over to Mason or give up completely.

Once I got to writing, though, this little exercise to help me get my groove back took on a life of its own! I even managed to kink up the sex scenes, at least by my standards, and even included a rather funny felatio scene. I poked fun at my own prudishness a bit as well. Eventually, I passed both the deadline for the anthology and over 35,500 words—far over the limit. Fortunately, the publisher loved it and was willing to release Alicia’s Possession on its own.

As my first foray into both Romantic Suspense, as well as BDSM, I had no idea how Alicia's Possession might be received. I couldn't have been more stunned a week after its launch when it was the publishers #1 Bestselling Romantic Suspense and (don't tell my mother-in-law) #2 Bestselling BDSM novel!

So have I gone back to Dearest Bloodiest Elizabeth? Sorry, Vampire Darcy fans. You'll have to wait a little while longer. Those cracker crumbs in the bed started getting to me again, and now I am 40,000 words into another Romantic Suspense called The Widow (or Viuda) - and I'm not even quite halfway done! I don't think you will find any BDSM in this one though. I have to have some books for my mother-in-law to read!

About Alicia’s Possession

Haunted by a traumatic accident and her husband’s betrayal, Alicia believes she can never trust again. Now she must surrender her will to Mason if she wants to find out if the bizarre events terrorizing her are the work of the paranormal, her own paranoia, or something far more sinister.

After recovering from a freak car crash that put her in a coma and left her with no memory of the accident, wealthy socialite Alicia Pageant becomes convinced there is a connection between the mysterious disappearance of her neighbor and a series of bizarre occurrences inside her own house; but everyone—including the detective called to investigate—thinks the woman’s head injury has left her unable to distinguish reality from fantasy.

As Detective Mason Crawley investigates this “suspicious incident,” Alicia’s palpable sadness and vulnerability awaken his instinct to protect her and lead her into the light; but when her story begins to unravel, each new piece of information creates more questions than it answers. He begins to wonder if he is falling in love with a woman who is a witness to a cleverly-concealed crime, dangerously delusional, or a murderer.

   (Contains light bondage and elements of Dominance and submission.)

Now available in eBook from  Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and in all eBook formats from AllRomanceEbooks, Bookstrand, OmniLit, and the Secret Cravings Publishing Store.

Secret  Cravings  Publishing  Store - All eBook formats

Amazon for Kindle

Amazon UK for Kindle

Barnes & Noble for Nook

Bookstrand - All eBook formats

Omni Lit - All eBook formats

All Romance  - All eBook formats