Cover Reveal for Promises Made

Coming Soon to Painted Hearts Publishing 

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*

Spotlight on 2015 Releases: Turn Card

Turn Card-A Kathleen Turner novel at Kindle Worlds

~Not everyone plays by the rules~ 

Kade Dennon tried to stay away from his brother’s girlfriend and remain loyal to the only family he’s ever known but Kathleen Turner is his forbidden fruit. Eventually temptation drags Kade back to Indianapolis and the one woman who feels like home. 

~The players changed but the game remains the same~ 

Kathleen Turner knows what she wants and who she desires. She seizes a new job and an opportunity unfolds. Soon, she’s working with her boyfriend’s brother and nothing will ever be the same again when Kade stakes a claim and aims for Kathleen’s heart. 

~It's impossible to break a player who refuses to lose~ 

Blane Kirk needs his brother Kade to keep his girlfriend safe but when Blane sends Kathleen out of Indianapolis to protect her, he has no idea what kind of danger Kade and Kathleen will find while testing a new Las Vegas casino loyalty program. When an old enemy resurfaces with threats and an agenda, Blane goes to Sin City to warn his brother and discovers a few unwanted surprises of his own. 

~A house of cards now destined to fall~ 

Working side by side, Kathleen’s and Kade’s relationship quickly changes, a fact they can’t deny. Seduction and passion lead them to a night that will scorch the sand right off the Mohave Desert and this time, foreplay won’t sustain them. With no one to stop them, Kade and Kathleen tread into the realms of unforgivable betrayal. And when Blane arrives in Vegas, he realizes too late that his brother is now playing for keeps. 

Favorite Lines from Turn Card by Destiny Blaine

1. The older woman looked like she’d taken a plunge off the backside of sixty-five and wasn’t too happy about it

2. “Hello, princess.” This time his smile lit up the room. “I’ve been expecting you.”

3. He took a deep breath, debating on how much he should tell her. “Call it fate.”

“Manipulation is a better word," Kathleen said. 

4. She headed for the door and he should’ve let her walk away. Instead, he was like a launching grenade, slow to peak but explosive once he gathered her in his arms.

5. “I do get to walk away because that’s exactly what I did in Chicago. And if the roles had been reversed? I would’ve expected nothing less from you.”

6. “It’s early,” she replied. “And I heard something.”

“Probably that cat of yours.”

“He’s territorial.”

Kade inched closer. “He’s not the only one.”

7. “I still have time to decide.”

“Maybe, but at least play fair. Think about Kathleen and her happiness. Don’t make her wait for you if you already know that she could end up being the mistress you love but will never allow yourself to have.”

“I don’t like what you’re suggesting.”

“Neither do I,” Kade said. “Because it’s the truth.”

8. “It’s Blane. Did I interrupt something?”

Kade swore under his breath and nudged the Santini gunman with his foot. He had lost count of how many times Blane had “interrupted” something. “Yeah, big brother, as a matter of fact you did.”

9. Not every woman dreams of Prince Charming. He’s just the one who has enough money to buy his way to the top. It doesn’t mean he has enough charisma or appeal to stay there.”

10. “You’re gambling on the wrong girl, Kade.”

“And you’re going all-in on forever, are you?” Kade balked at that. “No worries, Blane. I know the lady belongs to my brother. But for now, she’s on my arm. You need to come to terms with that and let us do what we came here to do.”

11. Kade lowered his head and whispered, “Trust me, princess. If we browse for toys, I won’t be in the market for shiny little cars and wind-up dolls. You and I will shop for a different kind of plaything. And we’ll need a lot of batteries for what I have in mind.”

12. Blane grabbed Kade by the shoulders and threw him against the sofa like he weighed nothing. “You’re fucked now, little brother.”

Kade, smart-ass that he was, fired back, “No, fucked was last night.”

13. Blane was like an ox, driving forward with his head to Kade’s gut until Kade landed on the sofa with Blane topping him for another round of motorized-like punches. “You just couldn’t help yourself!”

“Oh I helped myself all right.”

“You bastard!” Blane hit him again.

Kade let him have a few in the beginning. After all, he deserved them. Now, he had no other choice but to fight back.

“You slept with her!”

“Yep.” He couldn’t, and wouldn’t, deny that.

14. Perturbed by his casual mannerism after they’d made out in front of a lone audience, she bit out, “Sometimes I wonder how you go to sleep at night.”

“Easy…with your name on my lips.”

Buy Turn Card from Amazon Kindle Worlds 

Follow the link below and peek inside TURN CARD by using Amazon's Look Inside feature

The Kathleen Turner Series: Turn Card (Kindle Worlds)

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 Join The Club – Club Aegis Series by Christie Adams

Join The Club – Club Aegis Series by Christie Adams @ChristieAdams #clubaegis #britromance

Series Blurb: Club Aegis

Aegis – the shield of Zeus, and by extension, a means of protection. The men and women who are members of Club Aegis have all played their part in protecting their country. They work hard…and they play hard. Their lives are not always easy – and sometimes they have to put their lives on the line, not just for their country but for those they love.

Purchase Links

The Velvet Ribbon (Club Aegis 1)       

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1Jy3VHg

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1h2aYRG

Love Is Danger (Club Aegis 2)             

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1RaW6xC

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

A Wanting Heart (Club Aegis 2.5)       

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1Fvpz43

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1Jy47q1

Blurb: The Velvet Ribbon (Club Aegis 1)

Alex Lombard is a Dom with a dark past. The former SAS officer, now a successful businessman, carries the scars of his past both on his body and in PTSD-induced nightmares resulting from more than just his service to his country. The light in his life takes the form of his assistant, Beth Harrison, the woman whom he has secretly coveted since she came to work for him.

Beth has been attracted to her employer from the day she met him. When not at work, she fills her time with writing stories featuring the BDSM lifestyle she craves but has not yet found the courage to explore. Though she knows nothing of his extra-curricular interests, Alex is the inspiration for the Dom in her latest novel.

Then Alex makes a chance discovery, and when Beth becomes the victim of a street crime, the two of them come together to find what is missing from both their lives. However, their path to happiness is beset not just by the teething troubles of a new relationship—a ghost from Alex’s past has returned, bent on revenge, and Alex is not the only one in his sights…

NOTE: This work was previously published. It has been retitled, expanded and re-edited for this release.

Blurb: Love Is Danger (Club Aegis 2)

Having only just dumped her lecherous two-timing boyfriend, Stacie Matheson never expected, when her car broke down in a storm, to be rescued by a tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed knight in a shining Jaguar. Cam is everything her ex was not—and more besides.

Now that his old friend Alex has settled into married life with his submissive, Beth, Cameron Fraser is ready to surrender his single status. What he isn’t ready for is being blindsided by a beautiful curvy damsel-in-distress.

Fate has brought them together – the Dom who needs a submissive, and the woman who takes her first steps into the world of submission at his side. However, there’s more to Cam’s life than the sensual games he plays with Stacie. When that life intrudes on their relationship, neither is prepared for the devastating consequences.

Blurb: A Wanting Heart (Club Aegis 2.5)

What happens when a former Royal Navy officer is given a second chance with the woman he loves?

Ryan Quinn is still in love with the woman he lost three years ago. For him, there can be no other. When he sees Fiona again at her sister’s wedding, he has no choice but to risk his heart for a second time, by reminding her of what they once shared.

How wrong can a woman be?

Tragic and complicated family circumstances had left Fiona Pearce with no option but to turn her back on the man she loved and drive him out of her life. When his path crosses hers again, she feels compelled to apologise, even though she fears she may be opening old wounds that are best left undisturbed.

Events take an unexpected turn, giving Ryan the opportunity to suggest that they go away together for a few days. To his surprise, Fiona agrees. In the remote cottage their love is rekindled, but it takes a blizzard to erase the past and allow them to start finding out who they really are – together.

NOTE: This is a previously published work. The title, author, and/or publisher may have changed.

Author Bio

When she isn't actually writing, Christie is often thinking about writing - either the book she's currently working on, or one of the dozen other stories she'll have percolating away at the back of her mind.

In addition to writing, she also loves lazing around with a good book, or browsing the internet in search of cute pictures of dogs and puppies, a pastime that often helps with writer's block - or so she claims. She likes James Bond movies, and cries at the end of "You've Got Mail" every time.

Good chocolate is also one of her passions in life, often accompanied by a glass of her favourite tipple, English sparkling wine. And if she can be persuaded to abandon her writing for a while, she finds that chocolate, wine and a good movie on TV is an excellent way to pass a dark winter's evening.

Social Media

Twitter                                            https://twitter.com/ChristieAdams

Facebook                                        https://www.facebook.com/christie.adams.author

Website                                           http://christieadamsauthor.com/

Excerpt: The Velvet Ribbon (Club Aegis 1)

The sound of heels on hardwood provided the metronomic fanfare that alerted Alex to the imminent arrival of Beth Harrison—his executive assistant, right-hand woman and, of late, source of growing frustration. He looked up from the correspondence in his hand, eyes narrowing at her approaching reflection in the tinted window that gave him a panoramic view over London.

Those damn fuck-me shoes! A muscle tensed in his tightly clenched jaw. While her working wardrobe went from black to white, with every shade of grey between, her footwear was downright rebellious—immaculate heels, never less than four inches in height, in a myriad selection of styles and eye-catching colours.

Which ones today? It was a question that crossed Alex’s mind every morning. He’d never considered himself to have any kind of shoe fetish until Beth came to work for him. Every morning it was the same, and the litany of colours was ever-expanding. As for today—would it be the peacock blue? Or the metallic purple, perhaps? He was rather fond of the latter.

No, today it was a new pair…new to the office, at any rate. The vivid red patent leather heels, with an ankle strap adorned with an eye-catching bow, were incredibly flattering to her slender feet and shapely ankles…and those gorgeous legs clad in sheer black nylon with seams straighter than an arrow. Oh, the fantasies he’d had about having those legs wrapped around his hips while he sank his cock into her lush body, felt her contract hard around him, heard her panting cries as he spilled inside her at the moment of her climax…

His eyes continued upward, taking in the flannel-grey pencil skirt—the fabric clinging to her curves, so fitted that it gave her hips an ultra-feminine sway as she walked. He experienced a sharp, momentary twinge of disappointment; for the lines to be that smooth, there was no way she was wearing stockings. He tried to curb his disappointment that beneath the skirt, there would be no tantalising exposure of creamy skin at the top of her thighs.

She wore the crisp, brilliant white cotton blouse with the top buttons undone, hinting at a delicious cleavage, the long sleeves fastened at her delicate wrists with mock cufflinks. French-manicured nails tipped elegant fingers that clasped a notebook and pen.

And then there was her face: heart-shaped, lightly made-up, alluring green eyes behind unremarkable spectacles, all crowned by upswept, luxuriant, brown hair threaded with gold, and not one strand out of place. In the three years that she’d been his assistant, he’d never seen her anything less than cool, calm and utterly professional.

What he’d give to see her come apart under the force of the orgasms he could give her.

Release Blitz: Sins of the Master by Catherine Taylor

Cover Reveal for Sins of the Master by Catherine Taylor 

 Coming October 1^st

The long awaited sequel to MASTER that begins where THE LINE TRILOGY ends.

In 1995, Jahn Zaleski left Ukraine and became Dylan Tyler, world renowned photographer and recluse, only seen by those chosen to serve him.
Nineteen years later, he has everything he needs to stay hidden from the world, but sex, wealth and technology won’t shield him from the memory of the woman he left behind. With origins forged in violence and death, Dylan knows that love can never be part of his life, and even those who call him Master must never know of the darkness that resides in him.
But others won’t let the past stay buried. Adele Easton is facing a long term in prison, unless she can prove that Dylan is more than what he appears. As secrets are uncovered, Adele finds herself ill-prepared for the Pandora’s Box she opens and the terror she unleashes.
Dylan becomes aware of the danger when troublesome ally, Mairead Vaughn, unwittingly becomes a player in a complex game of espionage, murder and vengeance. A problem shared is now a problem that is rapidly growing out of control, and the sins of the Master are about to be visited upon anyone he has ever cared for.

Sins of the Master is a standalone novel that is a sequel to Master, but takes place nineteen years later. The main character was originally introduced in A Line Crossed, the second book of The Line Trilogy. Master is the story of his past.

Pre-order from Amazon (universal link): http://mybook.to/sinsofthemaster

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