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Country Christmas 

A Sweet Romantic Suspense for the Holidays

(Previously Published)

~ Unlikely suspects with misunderstood agendas cripple the horse industry and leave everyone to question the motivation behind senseless killings. ~

A horse killer is on the loose and Doreen McConnell loses a couple of mares to a deadly concoction of frog juice and ketamine. When a wealthy neighbor hires a team of men to track down a criminal, Doreen finds herself relying on a mercenary to guard her farm.

Nick Taylor is standing watch over Doreen McConnell’s Stables, determined to find the person responsible for destroying numerous horses, but when the killer’s poison is used to eliminate Nick’s boss, goals change. Soon, Doreen McConnell’s safety is the only thing that matters. And Nick is certain he can protect her as long as he keeps her in his arms. 

Release Blitz for The Miss Fortune Series: The Stiletto Scandal (Kindle Worlds Novella)

New +Amazon.com Kindle Worlds

Most people call their local law enforcement agencies when a dead body appears in their yard, but in Sinful, Louisiana? Folks turn to the Geritol Mafia.

Gators, local bad guys, and contract killers keep former CIA agent Fortune Redding on edge but with trustworthy sidekicks and an impossible deputy in her corner, what could go wrong?

Unlikely Suspects…

When a former Sinful resident turns up dead in Fortune Redding’s backyard, Deputy Carter LeBlanc springs into action, but Fortune can’t help but wonder about his motives. Is he afraid a killer will strike again and she’ll become the next victim or is he trying to keep her away from the new man in town? 

Motivated Killers…

Now considered an assassin-in-hiding thanks to an unfortunate stiletto scandal, Fortune has a nice price on her head and unlikely hitmen are in the killing game. With a borrowed identity and new place to call home, Fortune soon discovers Sinful isn’t as it seems. Since her Louisiana arrival, the former agent has been involved in one murder investigation right after the next. And things are about to get a lot worse for Fortune and a few of her closest friends. 

Excerpt 

Dragging tail wasn’t an option.

As soon as I spotted the floater, I tossed aside my binoculars, wiggled my toes into a double layer of warm fuzzy socks—compliments of my good friend Ally—and hurriedly grabbed a tacky pair of wading boots, recently purchased from Walter at the local general store.

After a minute’s worth of hobbles, boots were in place and I was raring to go. First stop, my kitchen table. Scooping up the barely-charged cell phone, I punched Gertie’s contact number and waited. Under normal circumstances, Ida Belle would’ve been the logical first call, but it wasn’t quite six yet. She probably hadn’t unrolled her hair curlers, much less made it out of bed.

“What and where?” Gertie asked. A simple “hello” wasn’t dramatic enough.

Fueling her enthusiasm for mysterious happenings, I said, “My house. Down by the bayou. Emergency meeting. Call it.”

Until the others arrived, I needed to figure out how to secure a body. It wouldn’t be an easy feat thanks to fast-moving rapids. After recent storms, the bayou swirled with the muddiest swamp waters I’d ever seen, not that I was a professional slough-watcher, but I paid close attention to my backyard.

Thanks to a recent dead body discovered there, my place was somewhat of a landmark. Jeanine from Sinful Sightings even pointed it out on her haunted ghost tours, which was disconcerting when I stopped to think about it. With a body count now standing at two and only a couple of months in residency, I was beginning to think that the Louisiana Bayou wasn’t exactly the safest place to lay low and hide.

I entered the back shed, steps away from the slight incline leading to the bayou. Second stop—a supply-gathering mission. 

Thanks to the former homeowner Marge Boudreaux, I’d soon have my hands wrapped around a few body-fishing supplies. Marge and I were kindred spirits, but we never officially met.

Prior to my arrival in Sinful, Marge went on to a better place. Since the Baptist women often said as much, I assumed they meant heaven. Then again, any place beyond Sinful’s city lines might have been considered a ‘better’ place.

At present, I was in Sinful hiding from those who wanted my head on a spike. In order to avoid a painful end, I assumed the identity of Marge’s niece, Sandy-Sue Morrow.

As I rummaged through Marge’s dilapidated shed, I thought of how she might handle towing a body from the bayou. The outbuilding housed an assortment of items that a former CIA assassin could use on the job. Not that I was in the mood to kill, but it was always helpful to have access to the necessary tools of the trade. Goals and situations could change on a dime out here in bayou towns.

As luck would have it, I was about to accept the role of a fisherwoman. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t be casting nets in an effort to catch lobster or crab. Tucking rope under my arm and holding fast to garden supplies, I gave Marge two-thumbs up and hurried to the swamp.

From where I stood, the mission was already set in stone, or rather leaning against a cypress. The poor guy had seen better days. Gunk, also known as bog moss, covered his face. A five o’clock shadow and cold, set eyes were barely visible. I couldn’t tell much about his external characteristics. Locals might be able to identify him if I could save him before he became gator bait. 

Shuddering at the thought, I secured the coiled rope against my shoulder and fastened a good grip around the shovel handle. It was the same shovel that I often used to carry wandering frogs back to the bayou. My stomach lurched at the thought of employing the same frog-toting tool to fetch a man. In these parts, women often used extreme measures to reel in a fellow, or so I’d been told. Maybe the old saying derived from situations such as these.

Pushing aside local folklore, I focused on the deceased. With limited resources and a fear of alligators, I wasn’t exactly jumping up and down to save a dead guy. If only Ida Belle were here. I could hand off the rope and see if she had any experience lassoing a corpse.

Walter came to mind. If he stood as living proof, Ida Belle possessed ability but lacked practice.

In any case, until my elderly companions showed up to lend a helping hand, digging was the best course of action, assuming this fellow’s feet were planted in shallow waters. Fortunately, I had a close relationship with this shovel which basically meant I knew how to use it.

Curving my fingers around the wide handle, I cast the triangular end into the water and scooped up the fellow’s heel. Unable to budge it, I opted to go deep and aim for the arch. Maybe I could lift his foot then hook a knee and drag the body to shore. After fruitless attempts, I stepped back and studied the subject.

A crane might do the trick.

If Gertie and company didn’t arrive shortly, I could always phone a friend with connections. Since I didn’t have a lot of those, I’d probably buzz Walter. He knew people and could probably locate a hoist, but he was also Deputy Carter LeBlanc’s uncle. An alerted Walter meant Carter would know about the incident before I had a chance to drag the man ashore and search for some identification. 

Glancing back at the house that had become my Louisiana home, I debated on whether or not my Jeep—Marge’s jalopy—would prove useful in this situation. It was four-wheel drive. Muddy wheels slipping and sliding wouldn’t present a problem.

Then again, I was a DC girl. What did I know about mudding in the bayou? The cowgirl’s rope came to mind once more. What were my options? What was I supposed to do first? Tie off at the dead guy’s neck? If the wrong person saw what I was doing, they might jump to conclusions.

The last thing I needed was to look like an accessory after the fact, if a crime had been committed. Based on an early assessment and my record for stumbling upon bodies, foul play was a given.

Catching movement in my periphery, I slung the shovel over my shoulder and prepared to assault any alligator that dared an approach. On a positive note, the victim didn’t seem too concerned about undesirable critters. On a negative one, I didn’t want to deal with said critters. I rather liked the idea of keeping all limbs attached.

Returning focus to the man in the mud, I made an assessment: Five foot eleven. Maybe a tad taller—or shorter—hard to tell in potty-like waters. Five o’clock shadow—or was that… “Ugh.” I couldn’t think about it. Ice-blue eyes, much like a killer’s. I’d met a few in my time. Well over two hundred pounds. Threat level zero, unless his ghost loitered nearby and then we might have a problem.

He wore a noticeable frown which was to be expected. Dead guys generally didn’t have anything to smile about.

Given his present circumstances, I’d frown too if I had someone like yours truly trying to save my corpse for the coroner. I hadn’t exactly taken care of this poor guy’s body. My goal was to fish it out of the swamp before a gator came along and left behind bits of flesh and slivers of muscle.  

So far, things weren’t going as well as planned.

“Fortune! Where are you?” Gertie’s voice rang out like a trumpet.

As weird as it seemed, given my professional training, I heaved a sigh of relief. The Calvary had arrived. 

About the Author 

Riley Blake writes mysteries, thrillers, and suspense. In addition to writing her own novels slated for release in 2017, Riley enjoys writing for Amazon's Kindle Worlds. When Riley isn't writing, she enjoys cooking, going to garage sales, and redecorating her home with thrifty items. An animal lover, the author has a potbelly pig, a few dogs, a couple of horses, and a chicken named Lord Wings.

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Also written by Riley Blake for Jana Deleon's Miss Fortune Series at Amazon Kindle Worlds

Bayou Babes
Hiding in the Bayou
Christmas in the Bayou
Bayou Valentine
The Stiletto Scandal

Available now at Amazon 

"The Sunday Paper" Spotlight on Romance: Kicking off a new blog opportunity for authors with Natalie Acres

New Opportunity for Authors of all Genres!

I want to take the opportunity to thank you for reading my posts and commenting as time permits. I'm also posting today with an exciting opportunity for authors interested in showcasing two of their works--one present and one past, a golden oldie and a more recent book release. 

If you're interested in participating in The Sunday Paper: Spotlight on Romance, send your prepared post to destinyblaineauthor@gmail.com with The Sunday Paper in the subject line. Please include two images only and set up your formatted post similar to the one below. Only buy links may be included in these posts. Save in a formatted RTF document. Dates cannot be reserved. Author posts will go live on Sunday in the order in which they were received. It is the author's responsibility to promote their spotlight. 

Thank you, in advance, for participating.
Welcome to The Sunday Paper: Spotlight on Romance 

Destiny Blaine

The Sunday Paper: Spotlight on Romance 

& 

Natalie Acres 

I'm thrilled to kick off The Sunday Paper: Spotlight on Romance. 

The book I'm dragging out of the attic is a former #1 Bookstrand bestseller, Sex Camp, a Cowboy Sex installment. Published over five years ago, Sex Camp is still available direct from the publisher at Siren-Bookstrand

Book Blurb: 

Trixie Cartwell likes to turn a few heads. She's out of control and her family knows it. When Kane Cartwell decides he's had enough, he sends his daughter to summer camp to work off her excess energy for a few months. What he doesn't bargain for are several cowboys ready to occupy her every waking hour while she's away.

Camp counselors and die-hard cowboys, Mitch, Brock, and Rory have several ways to keep the young Miss Cartwell extremely busy in a rustic summer camp. And they aren't the only ones with wild and wicked ideas.

When Trixie returns home, her fathers are less than thrilled about her decision to take on a few cowboys for a lifetime. That is until Rory, Brock, and Mitch prove themselves worthy of Trixie Cartwell's love by protecting her from a threatening man from her mother's past.

Book Excerpt: 

“You okay?” he asked, catching his balance and shifting the weight of his bags between two large hands.

“Sure, for a woman who almost lost her head, I’m feeling no pain. Trust me.” She watched him walk to the cabin three doors down. He discarded his loot and then glared down the narrow path.

He marched back over and stopped short of plowing over her again. “Look, you need to watch where you stick your feet. We have all sorts of traffic through here, especially when the brats arrive.” He stopped scolding her and his gaze traveled up her legs. “Super. Just what I needed,” he growled.

For some reason, his tone told a tale she didn’t feel like hearing, so maybe he wasn’t easily impressed by big boobs and shapely calves. Sure, he looked better than anything she’d ever met in real life, but first impressions left quite a warning.

She should run downhill screaming bloody hell with her arms waving wildly. The man in front of her was rough stock, the kind of fellow who didn’t put up with her kind of games. She arrived at the decision as soon as the thud sounded out from his porch and he stomped back to scold her. Good heavens, he made most bad-asses look like newborn pups with their eyes still closed.

“You tripped over me,” she pointed out, leaning back and placing her palms flat against her hips. She braced for the best of word wars.

Grumbling, he returned to his meager hut and didn’t ask if she needed medical attention. Instead, from what Trixie translated, he blamed her because he almost lost his balance.

She picked up her book and then immediately tossed the paperback to the wayside again. Standing, she debated trotting off to give the guy a real piece of her mind. That’s when she saw the only friendly native on the place. Holding her hand to her forehead, she groaned when she almost found the ground again. Swaying, she grabbed the nearby post and took her seat once more.

Rory rushed to her side. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I have a hard head.”

“I’d say. I saw Brock wallop you. What did you do to him, anyway?”

“Tripped him.”

“On purpose?” He smiled, pulling her hand away from her forehead. “If so, you should pick your victims more carefully. You’ll have a shiner there.”

“Great,” she moaned, glaring at Mr. Personality three doors down. “You know him?”

He looked down the trail. Brock pointed in his direction with his thumb, index finger and pinky extended in a cool-kind-of-gesture, as if to say, “hello” in a bad boy’s unspoken lingo.

“Let me go see what his problem is,” he said. “Want me to rush over to the infirmary and get you some ice first?”

“No, I’m fine. Thanks.”

Rory ran off to greet the rude one as if he couldn’t wait to congratulate him for swatting the new chick with a bag of bricks, since that’s what she assumed he carried in his swinging bag. She decided Rory wasn’t an ally after all. He was one of them. 

The more recent work I'm showcasing today is Sexual Expression, a new release coming soon to Siren-Bookstrand 

Sexual Expression is Book Two in Contemporary Cowboys, a new Cowboy Sex spin-off series

Book Blurb: 

Coco Baldini is no stranger to the underworld and its dirty dealings. Her father’s enemies have been circling small town Erwin, Tennessee, threatening the Baldini sisters. Even with a dangerous past, Coco aligns herself with a family embedded in illegal activity. When the family matriarch and her sons are killed, a question rolls to the fore. Were the senseless killings the work of Baldini’s enemies or were the Blaziers’ adversaries closer to home?  

Brandon Blazier can’t keep Coco safe. Expected to take the reins to a lucrative arms business, Brandon releases Coco as his submissive and places some distance between them. In the meantime, Kurt  and Liam Blazier make their intentions for Coco known.

The Blazier brothers are then forced to evaluate the dangers surrounding them. Will they put material gains behind them and embrace the woman they love or will they continue their mother’s hazardous legacy? Soon, the Blazier brothers must decide between love and an ongoing treacherous war.

Book Excerpt: 

“Brandon, this isn’t necessary,” Zak said. “I know where you’re heading with all this. I play in the community, too, but this isn’t the day for it. This is uncalled for, not to mention inappropriate.”

“Then leave, Zak.” Brandon nodded at Coco. “Go on, sub.”

As if the pause had given her time to regroup, Coco lifted her head and with restored confidence, or maybe it was defiance, she said, “Kurt put his hands under my bottom and sort of held me up at an angle. He then ate my pussy, licked me until I was crazy, need-ridden, and dying to get off.”

Brandon peered over his shoulder. Kurt shot him a scowl. Liam appeared distraught. Hales and Zak might as well have given Kurt high fives given their smirks. Brandon imagined them issuing their congratulations, too.

When the kitchen was quiet again, Brandon said, “And did you?”

“Did I what, Sir?”

“Did you get off?”

“Not then,” she said.

“Then when?” Brandon felt his eyes become heavy. His cock was painfully hard, rock solid. When she didn’t answer him, he stood up and rushed her. “Damn it to hell, I asked you when!”

“If you raise a hand to her, I’ll knock you to the floor and brother or not, you’ll never get up the same way you went down,” Kurt said tightly.

“He doesn’t hit me,” Coco said, still looking at Brandon as if she would honor him yet he knew better now. He understood her and while a part of him was hurt, another part of him was proud of her, too. He had sent mixed signals. At one time, he’d told his brothers he’d share her. He’d told her the same. Then, he’d changed his mind.

As of late, he’d told her he wasn’t sure where their relationship was headed but he felt confident they weren’t in the same place and then he’d sent her home when his family members had been killed. He hadn’t taken her calls. He hadn’t gone to see her. He’d kept her at a distance and she most likely had assumed they were over, done.

“Finish, Coco,” he said quietly.

 Her breasts rose and fell as she took shallow breaths. “I came when he fucked me, Sir.”

“I see,” he said, petting her head, and watching his brothers as a mix of emotions crossed their faces. Kurt’s anger was now easily detectable in his body language.

“You broke our rules today, sub.”

“Yes, Sir. I broke the rules.”

“And you know what this means. Don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir.” Her eyes watered.

“And yet you cry for me?”

“I cry for us, Sir. For all of us.” She studied his brothers, at least those still courageous enough to remain in the room. “Look at us. We’re a family.” She returned her focus to Brandon. “We’re grieving and yet you want to do this now. So do it.” She looked bitter then. “Per our contract, we part with a final blowjob or fuck. Which would you like, Sir?”

“I did write that into the contract. Didn’t I?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He locked gazes with her then, trying to determine what she would want, what she would most enjoy. They shared a mutual bond that would forever tie them together. They used sex for a variety of purposes and always had. For them sex was a matter of various expressions and used for relaxation, to ease the tension, to make up, to bring them together again even if they hadn’t made up and the list of reasons and variations of those reasons ran long. They’d had a healthy sex life and because of that, he truly understood why she would turn to Kurt.

It had been a month to the day since he’d seen her, since he’d touched her. Even though he hadn’t released her formally, he had dismissed her when she’d needed him most.

“I’ll let you choose. Before I release you as my submissive, would you like to give me head, fuck me, or would you prefer to simply part ways?”

Her gaze flicked to Zak and Brandon noticed. “Have you been sleeping with my submissive?”

“No. I respect both of you more than that,” Zak said, but Zak was in the lifestyle, too. He understood the bond between a Dom and his submissive.

His reply was a nice slam for Kurt, but Brandon didn’t say as much. Instead, he returned his full attention to Coco. He noticed the hard press of her nipples against the thin shirt she wore and wondered then if Kurt had told her to wear her breasts free and without a bra or if she’d made the choice. Either way, he appreciated the choice now.

“What would you like to do, sub?”

“I’ll do whatever will please you most.”

“Anything at all?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Will you take your punishment here in front of my brothers and then suck my dick before I dismiss you?”

“Yes, Sir,” she said tightly, only her reply was recognized as lust. Others might translate it as disgust.

“Go get the whip.”

She left the room.

“Are you out of your blazing mind?” Kurt’s face was red.

“Let him finish,” Zak said, his inner Dom most likely forcing him to now show his full support of Brandon. “If you want her and I’m sure you do or you wouldn’t have spent the entire afternoon with her, let him release her the way he is supposed to. You’ll be glad later.”

Kurt clenched his fists. “This is for me, isn’t it?”

“No, little brother. Believe me when I tell you this doesn’t have anything to do with you at all. What you never bothered to understand is some of the Doms living here are actually in the lifestyle for real. We don’t play. We don’t practice or pretend. We live it. Now, if you want my submissive free and clear, you’ll let us formally part ways.”

“If you hurt her, I’ll make you pay.” Kurt never flinched.

“I wouldn’t hurt her, brother. In my own way, I love her.”

“That’s the whole problem though, isn’t it?” Kurt glared at him. “You’ve always loved in your own way. In return, you’ve wanted everyone to bow at your feet.”

“Not everyone,” Brandon said snidely. “Just Coco.”

Both books are available for purchase straight from the publisher 

at Siren-Bookstrand