Coming Soon from Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985) – Pack of Lies

Coming August 6th from Ellora’s Cave – paranormal erotic romance from Lucy Felthouse

Pack of LiesWerewolf brothers Matthew and Isaac have lived in the peaceful village of Eyam all their lives. The villagers know what happens every full moon, and are happy to keep their secret. But their privacy comes at a cost—neither brother has taken a lover in almost four hundred years.

Then at the full moon, a sheep is slaughtered on Eyam Moor, by what could only be an animal. A large, vicious animal. Even the brothers’ staunchest supporters begin to have their doubts. Meanwhile Isaac is smitten by a handsome newcomer to the village, while a vivacious visitor is happy to offer Matthew her all.

As they indulge their lust, they must clear their names and convince their neighbours that they aren’t also letting their baser instincts out to play.

Inside Scoop: This book contains sizzling scenes of both M/M and M/F sex.

Add it to your Goodreads shelves: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22756241-pack-of-lies

 

The Big One – M/F Erotic Romance by Louisa Bacio

The Big OneBlurb:

The last thing marketing assistant Kayla Morgan expects to do on a Friday morning is give a tour of her emergency shelter to a flighty rock star. When her boss orders her to play nice, she acquiesces.

Sebastian Cox, lead singer of The U.K. Underground, finds the American bird with the bunker in her backyard more than wacky, but the band’s looking for a location to shoot their latest video.

When an earthquake strikes, the unlikely couple gets trapped and finds a few ways to keep themselves busy. Once reality sets in, will their differences leave them on shaky ground?

Available via Amazon, Amazon UK, Decadent Publishing, ARe, Barnes & Noble and other eRetailers.

 

Excerpt:

“You want out of here? Fine, go for it.” Kayla pointed toward the doorway. “Be my guest and try to break the lock. If you succeed, I make no promises to your safety out there. We don’t know what’s happening. Maybe this was a minor shaker, or maybe the real thing, but what’s it going to hurt to sit tight and figure it out?”

“You plan on helping me pass the time in a more enjoyable manner?” He wagged his eyebrows at her, and despite herself, and her promise to have a strong will, a flutter started low in her belly. She couldn’t be attracted to him. He was such a neophyte. People like him never understood her.

“You watch yourself there.” She turned around and stalked to the other side of the room. Okay, given they were in such a small space, there wasn’t any getting away from him at the moment. He—and people like him—made her so mad.

“What about being optimistic?” he asked. “Thinking about the best in people. Self-fulfilling prophecies and life affirmations?”

“You can be positive all you want, and it’s not going to fill up your tank of gas. Having money, in smaller bills, hidden in case the banks crash and your ATM card doesn’t work—that’s being prepared. Just because I believe in reserving some supplies doesn’t mean I willed all this to happen. It did, and I’m ready for it.”

“‘Reserving?’ Is that what they’re calling it nowadays? I thought it was more akin to hoarding.”

Hoarding? He really didn’t get it. His comment hung in the air, and she did her best to ignore it. No matter what she said, the scorn from nonbelievers hurt. She grew up with her father being harassed by family members. It was only a matter of time before it was her turn. And her sister? Well, forget about telling her anything about being prepared. Maybe as destruction hit and a certain segment of the population was taken out, they’d be all gone. All that would be left would be those who’d taken the necessary precautions.

A wave of dizziness at the implications hit her, and she sat back down.

Right. As if life worked like that.

 

About Louisa Bacio

A Southern California native, Louisa Bacio can’t imagine living far away from the ocean. The multi-published author of erotic romance enjoys writing within all realms – from short stories to full-length novels.

Bacio shares her household with a supportive husband, two daughters growing “too fast,” and a multitude pet craziness: Two dogs, five fish tanks, an aviary, hamsters, rabbits and hermit crabs. In her other life, she teaches college classes in English, journalism and popular culture.

Visit her online at: http://www.louisabacio.com, http://www.facebook.com/louisabacio

and http://www.twitter.com/louisabacio

 

 

The Power of The One

(Archived from post written for ERWA Sept 2012)

Like most writers, I spend a lot of time analysing what makes a story work. Why does one story grip me when another doesn’t? Why do the characters in one tale make me want to curl myself around them and never let them go while others feel more like they’re only people waiting at the bus stop with me, people who barely register in my mind.

How much of what makes a story work is plot and how much is character? Sometimes nothing happens in a story, and I’m enthralled. At other times everything happens in a story, and I don’t care. Am I just picky? I wonder if in the age of free Kindle downloads, being spoiled for choice hasn’t jaded us so much as it has left us frantically searching for The One. And the stories that really do work for me are the stories in which I most fully experience the power of The One.

It seems to me that the power of The One is more evident in erotica and romance than it is in any other genre. I suppose that sounds really obvious in a Cinderella and Prince Charming, or best fuck ever sort of way. At the risk of over-simplifying, it’s all about being The One, finding The One, enticing The One, seducing or being seduced by The One. Happily ever aftering with The One.

In our need to connect, in our need for intimacy, it seems to me that the power of The One draws us more than any other element of story. It isn’t so much the need for a knight on a white horse as it is the need for a kindred spirit, as it is the need for someone who groks us, someone who gets us on the deepest level of our quirkiness, our flaws, our potential, our Oneness. The archetypal story is that The One goes on a journey that no one else can go on, and on that danger-fraught journey, The One finds The Other One, the only Other One who really gets him/her, who is the flint to The One’s steel. And the resulting fire is what propels the story, what takes the reader in and entices her into her own place of Oneness. Hearts and flowers – maybe. Best fuck ever – could be. Magnetic connection – bound to be.

The thing is, not everyone’s fire is fueled the same way. One person’s One is another person’s bloke at the bus stop. The story of The One can be a game of substitution in which our minds edit out the hero/heroine and insert ourselves making the story about us. WE become The One. Or the story of The One can be more of a voyeuristic menage in which we find ourselves happily inserted into the relationship, experiencing a bit of the hero, a bit of the heroine, and basking in the chemistry that happens in the space between, when two Ones collide. I find this to be more of a 3D way to experience The One. In a lot of ways that space in between, that joining place where the rough edges rub up against each other is the real One. The joining place is the space in which the two become a different kind of One.

Beyond romance and erotica, the power of The One is what so much of story is about. The One who catches the serial killer. The One who is the serial killer. The One who wins the battle, The One who pulls the Sword from the stone, The One whose face launches a thousand ships. The One who can wear the glass slipper.

The tale of The One is the mathematics of story. The One plus the Other One equals One, and that One is
the Whole, the plurality of One.

Writing imageThe tale of The One is the physics of story. When the One fuses with the Other One, they join together to form THE ONE. That fusing results in a release of energy, energy that feeds the reader, energy that drives the story.

When The One reader finds The One story, the energy released can change the reader’s internal landscape. The constant search for The One story by the reader is a treasure hunt that can change everything. Every reader has experienced that post coital bliss of indulging in The One story. It’s chemistry, it’s fire, it’s magic! It doesn’t happen often, but every time it does, it’s enough. It’s enough to drive us on in search of the next One

 

Cover Reveal for City Nights: One Night in San Francisco by Cass Peterson (@casspeterson1)

One Night in San Francisco

Blurb:

Nicky and Liam have only twenty four short hours to find out if their instantaneous attraction can develop into something more than an electric mile-high fumble. San Francisco has everything they need to put their previous disastrous relationships behind them but when they lose touch with each other almost immediately, fate seems to have other ideas. As the precious hours tick away, Liam moves heaven and earth to find the woman of his (filthiest) dreams before she leaves the city. Will he get to her in time?

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22728019-one-night-in-san-francisco

*****

About the Author:

Cass Peterson is passionate about many things; her family, writing, chocolate, wine, cake, curry, gin, sunlit beaches, moonlit bedrooms and good novels to name but a few. At the moment she spends a good chunk of her time working on the day job, but she tries to fit the other passions in as often as possible.

She is a cat lover, an all-weather walker, a reader and reviewer of contemporary romance and an enthusiastic cook.

Cass likes to laugh, especially at Bill Bailey, Victoria Wood, Michael Palin and Eddie Izzard. She would happily live next door to any of these comedians.

http://casspeterson.co.uk
http://www.twitter.com/casspeterson1
https://www.facebook.com/cass.peterson.4

 

Sweet Secrets by Constance Munday

Sweet SecretsWhat will happen when dark secrets threaten a perfect recipe for happiness and newfound love?

Left on her own, Carrie Ann decides it is time to escape her past, empower herself and overcome her confidence issues by turning her secret hobby of erotic cake design into a business. Her world is then turned upside down when she bumps into dynamic and sexy Dominic. Unwittingly, Carrie Ann sows the seeds of disaster from day one, weaving a web of deceit, and before she knows it the lies are multiplying.

As news of her baking brilliance spreads, romance grows. Now, only one thing can ruin their happiness and that is Carrie Ann’s dark deceptions and the battle she is fighting within herself. Will she be strong enough to overcome a past that is set to destroy her dreams for the future and tell Dominic the truth, or will she lose him forever?

Available from:
Totally Bound
Amazon UK
Amazon US

 

Excerpt

The sun warmed Carrie Ann Jude’s face as she glanced through the large plate glass windows of the airport. Planes rose into the sky like silver birds, their metal bodies transporting people all over the world on adventures. She tightened her grip on the straps of her handbag. She had been one of those people embarking on an adventure only two weeks ago, except her journey had not started just with feelings of excitement, but trepidation. She pushed her sunglasses up over her head and took out her paperback to flip through. It was hard to concentrate with so many thoughts dancing in her head.

Carrie Ann was so deep in thought she hadn’t noticed the stunning youth about to sit down beside her. Wanting to be alone and not have anyone invading her space, she’d put her large bag on the chair next to her. Before she could say anything, he’d had his hand on it and, much to her consternation, had dropped it unceremoniously onto the floor. Then, not giving her time to move out of the way, he dumped a considerably weighty backpack on her foot.

“Ouch. Watch it!” she cried out, as he bumped against her, slopping his coffee over her hand. “That was hot.” She angrily snapped her book closed, noticing spots of coffee marking the pages.

“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry. Hi.” He had an American accent. “I ought to have asked if you minded if I sat here, but that’s me.”

She looked up to make a rude retort and found herself glaring into an impossibly green pair of eyes. She flushed. It was so embarrassing to be trapped by his compelling gaze.

“I’m so clumsy, everyone says it.” He held out his hand. “I’m truly sorry. My name’s Dominic, and you are…?”

How could she resist those eyes and his flirtatious expression? Carrie Ann took hold of his proffered hand and shook it unenthusiastically. “Carrie Ann.” What she could only describe as an electrical charge danced up her legs and ended with a pleasant fizz in the tips of her fingers and toes. He was very good-looking and his mop of shaggy blond hair that flopped into his face seemed to remind her of…

“Great.” He flashed her a grin. “I’m sorry. Let me get you another coffee.”

“No thanks, I don’t want one.” She was attempting to be more assertive, but it was harder than she’d thought. Actually, everything was so much harder out in the big wide world as she tried to cut ties to her past. Rommy, her father, so named because when he was younger he’d looked devilishy like a true Romany gypsy, had often criticised her for her submissive stance, which was ridiculous since that was what he’d wanted from her. The thought of him sent a creepy crawly shiver down her spine.

No one should feel like that about their father, but she did and she couldn’t help it. On occasion, she wondered if she would ever be able to get over him, shake loose all the hang-ups and phobias he had given her. It had not been abuse, but he had been good at keeping her under. She realised now she shouldn’t have put up with it for so long, she should have fought more for her independence when she’d had a chance to. But that was easier said than done.

The young guy hefted his bag and again knocked her. The nerve of it. She studied him angrily out of the corner of her eye. She had keen powers of observation—it was another one of the little skills she’d developed from being alone so long. Not having a lot to occupy her, she had become exceedingly observant. His arms were bare and muscular and covered in a frosting of tight blond hair. He also had strong, capable hands. Rommy would have said the man’s thighs were those of a rugby player. She had a thing about blond men, she reflected. Perhaps that was why she was instantly captivated by him. That came as a surprise and an interesting one, since anger and desire had a potent effect on her newly liberated self. It would be hard to be immune to his charms and it might be fun to test her boundaries yet again. She was woefully inexperienced with men. In a way, stepping out into the world was like learning to drive, and shy girls like her had to approach it slowly and cautiously and be prepared for any sudden unexpected turns in the road or emergency stops. She smiled to herself. She might have been confined to the house for years and had no experience of love first-hand, but she was living and breathing and had the same desires other women had.

For some reason she was shamefully hot and crossed her legs. It was utterly ridiculous being affected like this since Dominic was sexy and because of that was the kind of guy who wouldn’t flirt with her, well, not seriously. She tugged her skirt down over her knees. When she glanced up, he was watching her with a wry twist to his lips, as if he found her faintly amusing.

He gestured to the terminal board. “I guess you’re heading back to England.”

“Naturally,” she said. Carrie Ann wondered if she had a sticky label on her forehead, stamped ‘England’.

Nervousness made her feel hysterical. She would much prefer to be left alone with her thoughts, besides which it was distinctly embarrassing to have a man’s leg pressed against hers. He kept staring at her and she self-consciously stroked her lip. Why did he keep peering at her, like that? Besides the invisible label, there was nothing else that could make her seem even remotely interesting…was there?

At that moment a stunning girl strolled by and Dominic sized her up with interest, his gaze rippling up and down her from the tips of the high heels she was tottering in, to her layer-cut, multi-toned hair. Carrie Ann’s spirits sank further. She only had to dissect some of the women around her to realise she was at a distinct disadvantage where flirting was concerned. Let’s face it, she wasn’t even dressed for seduction. She was draped in her shabby comfortable skirt and she hadn’t even bothered with her appearance. As for what Rommy would have rather rudely termed ‘slap’—that was like attempting a recipe that was way out of her comfort zone. She’d only recently ventured down the makeup trail and she still didn’t like wearing it, although that might soon have to change, if her career plans took off. Makeup was weird stuff. It never looked right on her—the eyeshadow she’d tried made her dark brown eyes seem to retreat backwards so they seemed far too small, her freckles overwhelmed her complexion and her riotous mousy curls defied brushes, combs and tongs.

Any makeup she had used, she’d mistakenly plastered on to cover the freckles, and red lipstick—as Myra, the girl she had met at the ranch had pointed out—made her appear garish. Myra had given her a stick of lipstick termed nude and that did help, teamed with a tinted moisturiser. Myra was a brick, she thought grimly, pity she lived halfway across the world in Australia. She was also into baking, which had been a plus. It had been great to actually have a kindred spirit to talk with, to enthuse about her dreams to. Her heart soared and dipped. If anything was guaranteed to lift her spirits, it was the prospect of the new plans waiting for her when she got home.

“I don’t bite.” He touched her.

She jumped. He was smiling at her and trying to be funny by dipping his head and making puppy dog eyes at her.

She laughed, she couldn’t help it. “No, I guess not.”

He stretched out his long legs, settling back in his chair. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Enjoy what?”

“Your stay over here in the States. What were you doing? Was it business or pleasure?”

She was still guilty that she’d splurged a considerable amount of Rommy’s nestegg on the short holiday. It was the kind of thing her father, with his thrifty ways, would have termed profligate.

“All pleasure. Something trivial actually. I just had the Arlem experience.” She stared him in the eye, seeing if he got it or not. Most people knew about Arlem or they didn’t.

He broke into a grin. “Wow! You’re kidding. The Arlem experience, that’s way cool. I read about it in a Sunday supplement.” Brow creased, he seemed to be thinking.

“But that’s where the weird people go isn’t it? You a teacher? You don’t strike me as weird.”

She felt a short sharp violent stab of indignation. “The people at Arlem are lovely. They specialise in helping people. People with problems.”

“Yeah, but it’s mostly mental problems isn’t it?”

“Not always,” she snapped. Goodness, he had no tact whatsoever. “And no. I’m not a teacher, I was a visitor.”

He shrugged and looked away. It was as if he hadn’t noticed her sharp tone. “I’ve just been to visit my mother,” he explained. “She lives in California and he—my dad—still lives in England. After that ordeal, there were a few things I wanted to stop off and see here before I headed back. I don’t know why I come back to see her because it winds me up so much. Dad’s worse though, so it’s the lesser of two evils. In case you wondered. They’re divorced although it’s a sham since neither of them abide by the rules. They frequently visit one another to have passionate interludes.”

“Really.” Carrie Ann was intrigued, as in her estimation, romantic folk like that only seemed to exist between the pages of novels. “How modern of them. They must like it and be very much in love to be like that. To want the continual spice.”

He didn’t seem to have heard her. “It’s not like a divorce. It’s like playing at a divorce. In fact, I reckon you’re right. They rather like it. It seems to add something to their love life.”

“I think it’s romantic. Fancy still loving a person when you’re half a world apart.”

“Yes. Quaint. A grown-up kind of game. My father’s version of Viagra. I often wonder if that’s why I’m so messed up. It would be hard not to be, with two parents like that.”

Carrie Ann fell silent. Dominic didn’t look messed up. He seemed the most confident and together person she’d met. Besides being wickedly good-looking. Come on. You deserve a slap on the wrist. He’s so young for one thing. Let’s face it, there’s no way on earth a guy like him would ever want to date you.

 

About Constance Munday

Constance is nearly always to be found with a pencil in her hand making notes for a new story. She has led a varied life and done many jobs from cup washer, lecturer, to new age healer but has always written since she was a child.

A major health scare recently though, made her see life differently, and after years as a part-time writer, she turned full-time, because as she says – life is too short not to do what you love. She has literally climbed a mountain and made many sacrifices to pen her novels and now builds on a fund of wonderful encounters with intriguing people, plus her imagination, to write stories with strong characters and determined and adventurous women.

When asked what kind of genre is her favourite, romance is always the answer because to Constance, romance – whether hot and steamy or sweet and emotional is always at the heart of a good story. She hopes her stories reflect all of life’s facets from the struggling mother at home who finds a way out of poverty, the ardent and often disappointed dieter, to the girl who triumphs over sickness or has the courage to embrace her rather naughty side.

Constance loves listening to snatched conversations, which often gives her a seed to start a story, taking walks, revelling in the mysteries of life and baking and dancing, when she isn’t tapping away at her latest novel, of course.

She loves her fans and their comments, so invites you to please drop a line and if you have a second, pen a review.

Find Constance on: http://msnc62.wordpress.com/author/constancemundayromance/
Email: constancemundayromance@yahoo.co.uk
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Constance-Munday/1389544714601452?ref_type=bookmark

 
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The Romance Reviews

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