The Para-Portage of Emily by Muffy Wilson (@SexyMuffyWilson)

Night ocean with moon and moonlight reflection on water. Solitude.

Blurb:

Emily Macque, a young, beautiful junior partner in her father’s law firm, is but a heartbeat away from love or destiny. Duty brings Emily to a frozen Island estate two hundred and fifty miles north of Chicago. Devotion requires she delve into the property history to settle an estate probate. Death lures her into the arms of the shadows seduction created by the flickering light and dark shadows.

What flames the timeless passions spanning the decades? Love, desire or obsession?

Colin Jorgenson, once a Great Lakes mariner, is a strong man haunted by love and loss. How long will he return each night, gripped by desire, hoping to find the woman he has loved for a century?

Beneath the pristine Island beauty, passions hungered, lingered in the ardent darkness. His passions, fueled by decades of loneliness and longing, could no longer be denied. Will they face eternity together or love in secret as dark things are to be loved between the shadows and the soul?

Available from: Amazon UK | Amazon US

LaywithMe

Excerpt:
“Tell me what you know about Mariner’s Maiden please, Kirby.”

Kirby took a long draw on his beer before he began his narrative.

“It was years ago, around 1800 Miss Emily, when the original land owner arrived on the Island with settlers from Norway. He’d claimed five hundred acres on this southern point of the Island for himself. He became wealthy in cattle, wheat, timber and cheese. As his family grew and were educated on the Mainland, they moved, one by one, off Island. They were a wealthy, hard-working lot, but needed less and less of the acreage they owned. Much of the original plot was donated to the Town throughout the years. Some sections were sold.

“It got down to the last hundred acres when Colin Jorgenson bought the property, around 1890 or 1900. I am not exactly sure. The main house was much smaller and less grand than it is now, for sure.

“Now, Colin was a Maritime Captain and often he’d be gone for months at a time. He sailed the Great Lakes several times a year with supplies, spices, fancy goods and ‘fortunes of bounty’. That’s what they called it then. It was for sale to rich settlers throughout the Great Lakes. He’d earned all his wealth in trading by the turn of the century. He came and went for several years until, in his mid-thirties, he met and married a much younger woman, Amalya, and came back to the Island with her.”

Kirby sat back, drained his beer and continued. “The property was called Mariner’s Cove then. He spent two years with Island tradesmen rebuilding this house for his wife. To honor her, and before his return to the water, he commissioned a maritime woodcarver to create the figurehead of Amalya you saw yesterday on the tree marking the entrance.

He had the figure of Amalya mounted on the bow of his ship and apparently felt she was always with him in his travels. She died one summer, pregnant with their first child, shortly after his returning from his last trip of the season. He shut himself away in this house—a broken man, left forlorn and alone, to die years later of a broken heart as a recluse. It’s said he returns night after night trying to find his Amalya, his beloved.”

“But that’s just old folklore, Miss Emily, there’s nothing to it but made up stories from the past by gossips and romantics. This place has never been haunted—no one has ever said it was, anyway. Even though he was long dead, this property was held in Old Colin’s estate until your uncle bought it around 1955, I think. I suppose there is more you can find out at the Archives office in the Island library at the town offices, if you want. That’s about all I know and it ain’t much.”

Refusing a second beer, Kirby was off to finish his chores. “Thank you, Miss Emily,” Kirby said as he stood to leave.

Emily walked him to the door with Barkley in tow.

“Oh, there is one more thing” he added. “There is supposed to be a crypt on the property somewhere. I heard tell that Old Colin buried his Amalya in there and when he was dying, he crawled into it to die on her casket. Creepy, but no one’s ever found it to my knowledge—and between me and my dad, we’ve covered this property as caretakers for over fifty years.”

Emily extended her hand in gratitude for the information and company. “Thank you, Kirby. All of that is so very interesting. He must have been deeply in love with Amalya.”

Kirby, a middle-aged man, stood and shook Emily’s hand. He turned to leave, stopped and dropped his head as he hesitated at the bottom of the steps. A simple country man, this time was no different.

“Miss Emily…” He looked up at her rather sheepishly, and stuttered slightly, “Forgive me, Miss Emily, if I offend you. I have been a bachelor all my life and never had a way with women or much of a need for them. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I like ‘em well enough, but I never was able to pick the right words in their presence. If…if you don’t mind my saying…you look an awful lot like those paintings in the house of Miss Amalya.”

“Oh my word, Kirby, how you flatter me! It is purely a coincidence, I assure you.” Emily smiled, as she dismissed the compliment and waved good-bye at Kirby. As he left, she thought about the love shared between these two remarkable people, Colin and Amalya. Amalya and Colin.

She had forgotten to ask what became of the baby…

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

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Out Now! – Raige (Tainted Blood, Book Four) by RT Lucas and LJ Halkett

RaigeBlurb

“Blood is thicker than water, that’s the old adage yeah? Family is everything to my Sweetcheeks.  She lives and breathes it. I would do anything for my female, but some things are a bigger ask than others.”
Commander Xavier Raige

Commander Xavier Raige is the leader of an elite team of soldiers-turned-mercenaries – and a super hybrid wolf. His entire life has been kept a well guarded secret, and with good reasons.  It takes the love and devotion of his Alicia to help him face his past so that he can wipe out the ghosts that still haunt him. Alicia “Sweetcheeks” Carberletti is a Sanguis-Solis vampire and it takes all her strength, intellect, determination and love to discover what happened to fracture Xavier’s family so terribly and break down the walls that he has built up around him to let her in.
The mafia war is gearing up, and with all the personal battles that are going on, will control slip through their fingers, or can the tainted blood that binds them together give them the strength to fight back?

Buy link:  http://www.darkhollowspress.com/#!raige-tainted-blood-book-four/c1oti

releaseblitzbutton_raigeAuthor bio
RT Lucas is 41 years of age, and had a very successful career in Recruitment and Business Development until it was cut short through illness.  Having worked in the Health Sector, Human Resources and Ministry of Defense, she has a myriad of experiences to draw from – and says that sometimes life can be stranger than Fiction!  RT is an avid reader of the paranormal/romance genres but her first love will always be Science Fiction.  She says that she has far superior music taste to that of her Best Friend and Co-Author – and uses every available opportunity to tell her so! RT lives alone with her #XavCat who faithfully lies by her computer whenever she wanders into the world of Tainted Blood.

L J Halkett is 35 years of age, Mother, Wife and Housing Officer for Local Government.  She is a smart, sassy and superbly imaginative woman who devours books – especially in the paranormal genre!  She is the master at multi-tasking and she is always thinking ten steps ahead. With her passion for creativity, she brings to life her imagination with vivid detail.  Family is the cornerstone of LJ’s life, and her greatest achievement is her wonderful son.  Left Partially sighted after her Stroke, LJ has to write in what the Authors call ‘NASA’ font and can only detect the colour red, which can be difficult when reading print on a daily basis – her determination is testament to her personality – as she says…. “Where’s there’s a will? There’s a way!”

Author websitehttp://www.xali.net/

 

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Happy Masturbation Month! In Praise of the One-Handed Read

I’m a bit like a kid at Christmas when May rolls around. Why’s that, you ask. It’s National Masturbation month, that’s Sex toy incentiveMG00625-20140322-1049

why! I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to see something as healthy, life-affirming, and down-right fun as masturbation get a little much-needed positive press. So I decided that, as National Masturbation month draws to a close (not that the fun is ending, just the month) that I’d write a few words in praise of the much-maligned one-handed read.

I’ve always felt that just because a writer strives to give the reader a well-rounded literary experience with a story that’s gripping (no pun intended), pacey, thought-provoking and satisfying on some level; just because a writer tries to offer the reader a well-written, stonking good story doesn’t mean that  stonking good story can’t involve a little one-handed pleasure mixed in. Why the hell shouldn’t it?

Doesn’t it seem strange and more than a little sad that some of the world’s best, most celebrated writers find themselves on the not-so-coveted short-list for the Bad Sex Awards? Is there some misguided, unwritten rule that states a story is only ‘worthy’ if it doesn’t make the reader squirm deliciously in her seat, if it doesn’t makes her need to engage one hand in areas far south of the novel in her grip? And where the hell did we get the idea that just that one act, in fact the most crucial act of the human condition, sex, should not be treated with the same weight, or the same tongue-in cheek irreverence or the same heart pounding delight or wonder or horror as any other part of the human condition?

If a writer gets the sex right, I mean gets it really right, then what other response should there be but for our bodies to books_xl_4571699tingle and our hands to stray?

Which leads me to another reason why a one-handed read should be praised and sought after by readers and writers alike. A well-written one-handed read engages the reader on a physical level that no other type of read can. A one-handed read takes the reader a level deeper than the voyeuristic experience that reading tends to be. A one-handed read allows and demands reader participation in solidarity with the characters, and, indeed, with the writer. The story suddenly becomes interactive in a literal sense. And even more than that, the story suddenly becomes a sexy ménage between the reader, the characters and the writer.

Okay, maybe it’s that feeling of exposure; maybe it’s that fear of being caught in the act, so to speak, that frightens writers away from making the sex hot and squirmy. But it’s a lesson straight from the pages of creative writing 101 that the place we most fear, the place we feel the most vulnerable is the place where the most powerful writing happens. Embrace the wank!

Those of us who love to read love a story we can be pulled into. I love a good adrenalin rush, a good heart stopper, a good brain teaser, a good tear jerker, a good happy ending, so why wouldn’t I like a good wank all in the spirit of a sexy story? Why do we think that good writing is negated if our stories make people want to go rub one out?

I’ve been involved in the world of erotica for enough years now to have seen the quality of writing go through the roof, enough years to have been gripped by heart-stopping, tear jerking, brain-teasing stories that STILL have fabulous, seamlessly-written, deliciously sensual one-handed scenes. Why can’t a good book be both a page turner and a one-handed read? We now connect with story on so many more levels than ever before. We read eBooks, we listen to audio books, we curl up with a good old fashion trade paper-back and a glass of wine. But really, was there ever a time when reading a good book wasn’t intended to be a sensual experience, wasn’t meant to make us FEEL things in our body that we wouldn’t otherwise feel, wasn’t meant to scratch an itch that nothing else could quite scratch? So why, oh why, should we exclude that best of, most intimate of — that even better than a nice glass of wine sensual experience of the one-handed read?

Oh no doubt there’ll always be a need for sexy snippets just long enough and hot enough to get the rocks off, and I like
those just fine too. But why should one-handed reads be reserved for just such works? Why shouldn’t the sex scenes in any type of novel or story be well-written enough, steamy enough, raunchy enough to send one hand straying? It seems to me that if a sex scene is well written, then we should at least feel something down in the genital direction. I’m not saying that everything written about sex should be a turn-on, but I am saying it should affect us in some way because sex affects us. It affects us powerfully, uncomfortably, sometimes disturbingly, and it often affects us the most because we don’t want it to and we don’t understand why it does, nor do we understand its power over us. But it most definitely DOES have power over us. It’s supposed to have, so to try to write sex that excludes and banishes the one-handed read seems absurd.america-artist-art-paintings-prints-note-cards-by-howard-chandler-christy-nude-women-reading-approximate-original-size-18x16

Without getting all mystical and goose-pimply and bringing on the sex magic; doing my best to keep it real and genuine, I have to ask; when is there a time that a writer doesn’t want a reader to feel her work, to experience her story as so much more than words on a page? Why should our sexual responses not be fully included in the experience of story? So I’ll say it again: let’s hear it for the one-handed read!

Happy Masturbation Month! I wish you all gripping, touching, deliciously squirmy reading. And writing!

(Parts of this post excerpted from my ERWA post May 2013)

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Sommer Marsden talks about Her New Release, HAUNTED: A Labor of Love

Ferris Wheel

It’s my pleasure to welcome a fabulous storyteller and one of my very favourite people, Sommer Marsden, to my place today to celebrate the release of her latest novel, Haunted, which is truly a labour of love.

*****

This was not an easy blog to write. Which is why I made poor KD wait for it. For that, I apologize.

It mainly comes from the fact that I love my new book Haunted. I love it because it contains characters that are damaged but resilient. I love that it is all about the healing hope of love and perseverance. I love that it contains a story line that practically wrote itself. And I love it because it was the last book I wrote while my husband Jim was still alive.

In fact, I finished it about a week before he passed. The entirety of the book was written in the midst of 24/7 caregiving. Bad sleep hours. Bad days. Hard days. Difficult and sad times. But like the characters, I decided to cling to what saved me when I was in a bad way—for me that’s writing.

So, I wrote. I wrote the entire book in our bedroom at his bedside. I wrote while he slept or was too zoned out on morphine to have a conversation. I paused writing when he’d say, “What ya writing, baby?” to tell him. I paused when he needed me.

Considering all that could be considered bad memories, in a way, I adore this book. The male lead Maddox, like all my wonderful male characters, is rooted in my husband’s personality, his ways, his kindness, his understanding and his love. For that reason alone it would be worth loving. But another reason I cherish Haunted is that when I see the book I feel his energy. His devotion. His support. I remember that without Jim I never would have fulfilled my goal to become a full-time writer. He put his faith in me, took the main ‘bread-winner’ role for a time, and gave me the shot to write for a living.

And I flourished.

So yeah, it’s a ghost story. It has scary bits, and loving bits, and sexy bits, and healing bits. But above all that, it’s the last book written while the love of my life was still with me. It’s dedicated to him (as all my books are) and it makes me remember those last few precious days with him. So, I guess you could say that Haunted haunts me but in a lovely way. A way that allows me to remember how incredibly lucky I was to have that man in my life for nineteen years. And that makes it precious to me.

For those of you who’ve read it and reviewed it, thank you! And to those of you who are considering it, thank you, also. I’m very proud of this book, and the man who made it so that I could write books, which is all I’ve ever wanted to do. <3

XOXO

Sommer

 

Ferris Wheel

 

Two people lost and alone in life searching for answers…

Maddox visits abandoned sites to take photographs and figure out his future. He haunts the places that are monuments to the way he feels inside. Stark, empty, raw. And Olyvia searches for answers to her own painful loss by hunting ghosts. Trying to comfort herself by seeking proof of an afterlife.

One haunted amusement park with a dark history…

Maddox and Olyvia recognize kindred souls in one another. But a chance to fully explore their connection is a luxury they may not have. There’s a ghost stalking Screamland hell-bent on revenge. And it’s targeting them. 

 

Excerpt:

“Wait,” he said. It killed Maddox to draw away from her. Her thighs were wrapped around his waist, her body hot against his. But he had to. “Right back.”

He moved across the room and found his bag. In the inside zippered pocket were condoms. He grabbed one and moved back to her, his socks whispering across the dirty floor. It had grown chillier in the room, but he didn’t care. Not a lick.

She leaned on one elbow watching him—her face a little less sad, her smile a little less haunted. “Always prepared, I see.”

“My dad wouldn’t let me join the boy scouts,” he said. “But I read the handbook.” He returned to her, pressing himself back against her and kissing her whiskey-tainted lips.

“Wouldn’t let you?”

“Nope. Said I quit things too often.”

She shook her head. “Stupid,” she said. “I think kids should be allowed to explore and decide.”

He pushed her red-red bangs off her face and kissed her forehead. “Brilliant plan.” Maddox ground his cock against her, feeling the bite of the thick seam of her jeans. He imagined her, hot and wet and flushed beneath. His cock ached with the thought of her. With the idea of being with someone. Especially, this oddball, forthright, sensitive woman.

He’d never have given her a second glance in a bar. The whole dark clothes, bright hair, sad look…and she probably wouldn’t have even given him a first glance. On the outside they didn’t work. Not at all. On the inside, it was like finding a kindred spirit. A shadow the exact  same shape, darkness and density as himself.

She pushed his shoulders back, raised herself up slightly, and tugged her tee over her head. Beneath it, she wore a plain white bra with just a hint of lace along the tops of the cups, and he thought it was possibly the sexiest undergarment he’d ever seen. Simply because it was on her.

He worked the front clasp, and when it parted, he pushed back the cups revealing small, pert breasts with pale pink nipples. He stared at her for a moment, mesmerized by the small caramel colored freckles that dotted her chest. When he saw her take a shuddery breath, he shook his head and sighed. “You’re gorgeous, you know?”

Before she could answer, he sucked one of Olyvia’s nipples into his mouth. He swirled his tongue, feeling the soft skin pebble. He sucked and sucked again, and when she started to tremble he gently used his teeth. Her body arched up to meet his, her fingers tangled in his hair.

 

Buy Haunted Here:

Excessica

Amazon US

Amazon UK

All Romance Ebooks 

 

About Sommer:

Sommer Marsden has been called “…one of the top storytellers in the erotica genre” (Violet Blue), “Unapologetic” (Alison Tyler) and “…the whirling dervish of erotica” (Craig J. Sorensen).

Her erotic novels include Restricted Release, Restless Spirit, Learning to Drown, and Boys Next Door. Sommer currently writes erotica and erotic romance for Xcite Books, HarperCollins Mischief, Excessica, Pretty Things Press and Resplendence Publishing. The wine-swigging, dachshund-owning, wannabe-runner lives in a little house in a little town near Baltimore, Maryland. Her fiction runs the gamut from bondage to zombies to humor.

Sommer’s short works can be found in well over a hundred and twenty-five(and counting) erotic anthologies. Her short stories have also been included numerous adult and romance magazines–both in print and online.

Visit Sommer at Unapologetic Fiction by visiting http://sommermarsden.blogspot.com or find her on social media.

 

 

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Heroes Old and New: Looking For Charlotte by Jennifer Young (@jynovelist)

tourbutton_lookingforcharlotteLooking For Charlotte is, at heart, a romantic novel in that it’s a novel about love. But that comes with qualifications, because it isn’t just about romantic love, or about sexual love. It’s about all sorts of love — sex and romance come into it, but so does the love of a mother for her children, of one human being for another when they’re strangers to one another.

But although it may trip out of one genre and into another when the time is right, Looking For Charlotte has the things that all romantic novels have — a hero and a heroine. In fact, reader, aren’t you lucky, because you have not one but two of each, a lead and a support.

It’s the heroes I’m talking about today. Let me introduce our main man first up. He isn’t your typical hero. His name is Philip. He’s in his fifties, a solicitor with the driest sense of humour, handsome (in a mid-fifties kind of way). He loves our heroine, Flora — but there’s a problem and that’s his wife. And the problem is that although he loves Flora he loves his wife, too, and his wife has been dead for twenty years.

Enter our supporting hero, the appropriately-named Archie Fortune. Archie is also a solicitor, though a couple of decades younger than Philip and without the emotional baggage. He’s much more of a conventional hero but he has problems of his own, because he falls in love with our supporting heroine, Suzanne and she is the one with the baggage. More specifically, Suzanne’s recent past involves a dead husband and the daughter he murdered before his suicide — so how can she ever love again?

So there are two love stories going on here; Flora and Philip, Suzanne and Archie. There’s an old love story (if I may call it that) and a young love story. Because young people aren’t the only ones to fall in love and (as someone once said) not all heroes wear capes.

I wonder sometimes if there’s a risk involved in writing love stories that are a little out of the ordinary; but I don’t regret it in the least. Most of my romantic plots are about first love, or at least first real love; but in Looking For Charlotte all but one of the main protagonists have long and/or never-to-be-forgotten stories behind them.

Can Philip put his saintly, beloved, dead wife, Joanne, behind him or will she come between him and Flora, whose obsessive search for little lost Charlotte frustrates and unnerves him? And is Archie, unencumbered by the traumas of any serious relationship that’s failed, sufficiently sensitive to overcome Suzanne’s suspicions and teach her to trust again?

Two heroes, then, one traditional (“Well, there was no question that she’d picked the handsome one”), one less so (“He hadn’t always been old-fashioned. Time moved on and some people stayed behind. Sometimes it suited them”). They both face a challenge. Will they both succeed?

 

Excerpt

‘I was married in June.  It’s supposed to be lucky, June. We had the full works. Marquee, ceilidh band, the lot.’ Over the years she’d tried to forget about it, but suddenly it surged up in her mind — dappled sunshine, rose-petal confetti, flower girls, laughter. Lucky horseshoes.

‘Jo and I married in a church on Loch Lomondside. Reception in a local hotel. We even had the view down to the water, just like this. It had snowed the day before. And there was a moon. Gorgeous. ’

She could see that he was just as reluctant to recall the details. Their weddings had been a long time ago. ‘How we must both have changed.’

‘Change happens to everyone in the end. It’s just that it comes to some of us sooner than others.’

‘Yes. Think of poor Suzanne Beauchamp.’

The silence persisted. They moved along the terrace a little way, isolating themselves from the clustered smokers, breath and cigarette-smoke mingling to make a fog of the night air.

‘Actually,’ said Philip, after a moment, ‘I wanted to talk to you about that.’

‘About what?’

‘Suzanne Beauchamp. Though I know this isn’t the time or the place. But you mentioned it.’

‘Go on.’ Of course it was the right time, the right place. It was because of the drink and because of the memories and because it showed he cared.

‘You aren’t going to find that girl.’

‘I might. Charlotte.’ She has a name. She narrowed her lips, her eyes, not in a scowl but in determination.

‘Flora, she’s dead. She could be buried anywhere. You’re chasing some ridiculous shadow for reasons of your own. You’re letting it take over your life.’

‘I’m not.’

‘You are. I never see you. You’re always out. You’re always tired. It’s making you unhappy.’

‘It isn’t.’ No, it isnt that.

‘And at the end of the day you won’t find her.’

‘She has to be somewhere.’

‘She does, but you don’t know where. And you won’t find out. How can you? We don’t even know if the clues on his letter were right. He could just have dumped her in a loch somewhere and made up the rest.’

‘He might. Or he might not.’ Flora stared out at the nearest thing to stare at, a few straggly shrub branches, iced and still. If you want to see me you could come with me when I look. He would laugh if she said that, or worse, shrug his shoulders and look away.

‘I think you should drop it before you make a fool of yourself.’ Then, after the silence he said, ‘Sorry. Wrong time, wrong place.’

 

Looking For Charlotte by Jennifer YoungBlurb

Divorced and lonely, Flora Wilson is distraught when she hears news of the death of little Charlotte Anderson. Charlotte’s father killed her and then himself, and although he left a letter with clues to her grave, his two-year-old daughter still hasn’t been found. Convinced that she failed her own children, now grown up and seldom at home, Flora embarks on a quest to find Charlotte’s body to give the child’s mother closure, believing that by doing so she can somehow atone for her own failings.

As she hunts in winter through the remote moors of the Scottish Highlands, her obsession comes to challenge the very fabric of her life — her job, her friendship with her colleague Philip Metcalfe, and her relationships with her three children.

Tirgearr Publishing: http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Young_Jennifer/looking-for-charlotte.htm

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1D7pNY6

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1JmAwBR

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/526032?ref=cw1985

 

Author bio

I live in Edinburgh and I write romance and contemporary women’s fiction. I’ve been writing all my life and my first book was published in February 2014, though I’ve had short stories published before then. The thing that runs through all my writing is an interest in the world around me. I love travel and geography and the locations of my stories is always important to me. And of course I love reading — anything and everything.

Links

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jenniferyoungauthor

Twitter: @JYnovelist

Website: http://www.jenniferyoungauthor.com/

 

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