OUT NOW: FOUR LETTER WORDS by Charlotte Howard (@Shy_Tiger) #FourLetterWords #Erotica #Contemporary #Romance

FourLetterWordsbyCharlotteHoward-1800HRFour Letter Words Blurb:

Paige Holmes has made her choice. But as she begins to get her life back on track, she also starts to question her decision.

Then, the letters arrive. When Paige finds herself in trouble once again, she must decide who she can trust.

Will she go back to the one she denied, or will she stand by her choice?

Love and lust are, after all, both Four Letter Words.

BUY LINK: Tirgearr Publishing

*****

Excerpt from Chapter One:

Laying my head back against the black leather seats of the Jag and gazing ahead, I lifted a finger and touched my lips that were swollen from his kiss. The weariness of the past few weeks was beginning to take over, weighing on my eyelids as they began to droop. I should have been reassured by the man sitting next to me.

I shifted in my seat so I could watch him as he drove on. He was a force that even nature had no hold over. There was an urge to reach out and cling to his broad bicep, a need to feel the security of his physical strength, aching somewhere deep inside of me.

We didn’t speak as he pressed all his weight onto the accelerator, urging the car until it was over the speed limit. I half expected the shine of blue lights to fill the inside of the car, with sirens blaring around us. But they didn’t. Of course they didn’t. Even if a marked car was to pass, I doubted Vance Ellery would slow down, and I had even less that the police would attempt to pull him over. I suspected that the personal phone number of every single high-ranking officer in the country, was tucked away in a neat Rolodex on Vance’s desk or even stored in the memory bank of his mobile phone for easy access.

The silence should have been soothing. I should have been able to let my lashes flutter against my cheeks, and slip into a relaxing slumber. Instead the lack of conversation added to the tension that built behind my eyes. I closed them, hoping that soon I would drift off into a deep sleep, where I would be surrounded by falling flowers, rainbows, and sunlight. Ha! If only I was deserving of such luck. There were no pleasant dreams awaiting me after the sandman visited. Only nightmares wanted to be part of my night. They tormented me, bringing memories that I’d tried to bury and forget. They hounded the darkness, giving me nothing but misery and pain and suffering. It was as though all my sins from a previous life had been rolled over into this one.

If the visions of his face, the sound of his voice had been the only elements of my slumber, then I might have been willing to slip away and let the desperation of rest take me to the shadowed places I dreaded. My soul was destined for torture though. I was to be punished for his crime.

The mere suggestion of sleep forced my blood to pulsate until it was the only thing I could hear, throbbing in my temples. The searing pain of anxiety and panic stabbed at my chest, pins pricking my skin, as I let my eyelids fall. A shudder fell down my spine, waking me from the light doze I’d stumbled into.

Breathe in, breathe out. In with the good, out with the bad. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Breathe in, breathe out. A mantra, taught to me by a yoga instructor years before hell had entered my life, repeated over and over in my mind. I inhaled the cool air through my nasal passages, allowing it to slip down into my pain-filled lungs, exhaling all the bad out of my mouth in a gigantic whoosh.

Ahead, the roads were empty, weaving out of the village and headed towards Richart Courts, the hotel that was to be my sanctuary for the next couple of days before I had to face the next challenge. New York City.

How anyone could expect me to go back there was beyond belief. The only logical explanation for their plans for my future was that facing New York was the lesser of the two evils that haunted me, threatening to rip away the seams that had begun to fray around my already tattered edges.

*****

FourLetterWordsbyCharlotteHoward-smbanner

Four Letter Words is the second, and final, part to Paige’s story. To celebrate its re-release, the first part of the Words Duet has been reduced to 99p / 99c!

Seven_Dirty_Words_by_Charlotte_Howard_1800HRSeven Dirty Words Blurb:

Paige Holmes hides herself in a masculine world in a desperate attempt to remain safe.

Just as she is ready to face her fears and her past, she finds herself torn between Matt Jackson and Vance Ellery: handsome, rich, and safe – or handsome, rich, and dangerous?

Which will she choose?

The one who appears to be the most perfect, or the one who makes her use all Seven Dirty Words?

BUY LINK: Tirgearr Publishing

*****

charlottehowardAuthor bio:

British author, Charlotte Howard, was born in Oman and spent much of the first part of her life flitting between Oman, Scotland, and England. Now settled in Somerset, Charlotte lives with her husband, two children, and growing menagerie of pets.

Her career as a writer began at an early age, with a poem being featured in an anthology for the East Midlands. Since then Charlotte has written many short stories and poems, and finally wrote her first full-length piece of fiction in 2010.

During what little spare time she has, Charlotte enjoys reading and writing (of course), spending time with her family, and watching action movies whilst eating curry and drinking tea.

Charlotte is an active member of Yeovil Creative Writers Group.

Social Media links:

Website
Facebook
Twitter
Blog

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The Psychology of Dreams 101

Psychology-of-Dreams-cover12985576_1537272663241009_8777292825525497968_n

 

 

After a short hiatus, The Psychology of Dreams 101 is back, as we prepare for the race up to the end, Leah wakes up and discovers that in the waking world, as in the dream world, things are not always what they seem.

What if you got punished when you didn’t get your dreams right? That’s the dilemma our heroin, Leah, and her psychology of dreams teacher, Al. The Psychology of Dreams 101 is a romp into the sexy unconscious as Leah Kent takes a Psychology of Dreams adult education class, only to discover that the required Dream Journal leads to some seriously kinky night journeys.

 

 

If you’ve missed Episode 12, find it here. 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 13 Waking Up

Leah woke with the loud gasp of a drowning person desperate for on last breath. Frantically she shoved damp sheets away from her sweat-soaked body and, before her mind could truly focus on what had just happened, she found herself standing naked and trembling by the side of her bed, the bed in which she was blessedly alone.

“Al?” she called cautiously. “Dr. Clyde?” she grabbed up the robe from the peg on the back of the door and wriggled into it. Morning light poured in through the bedroom window still anemic enough that she knew if was early. She stood holding her breath, waiting for either Clyde or Al to burst from the bathroom with a new surprise from the dream world. She stood for another long moment waiting for reality to shift around her as it did in the world of dreams. When it didn’t, she moved cautiously to the bathroom and peed. It was only when she washed her hands at the sink that she realized for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t horny. And then she remembered, she’d killed both of her lovers just before she woke up – pushed them both off the roof of a skyscraper, the same skyscraper Diana had jumped off of in Dr. Clyde’s dream, in the dream he shared with Al. She plopped down on the edge of the tub as the whole dream came rushing back to her.

When she was certain her legs would support her again, she padded to the kitchen and made coffee while she struggled to sort what had been a dream and what had been real, still half expecting the landscape around her to change mid step or Al or Clyde, maybe even both, to pop out of the pantry and inform her that she would have to take her punishment if she wanted to get out of the dream. But why did she need to be punished? She’d done nothing. The two of them might have messed up – well Dr. Clyde certainly had, but she hadn’t. She hadn’t even known them until recent events – whatever the hell recent events were. Was it possible that even her memories of taking Al’s Psychology of Dreams class were just dreams. Jesus! Her head hurt. How could she figure out what was real and what wasn’t? And what if even now she was dreaming?

She made toast and had another cup of coffee with nothing more unusual happening than a text pinged over from her mother to see if they were still on for Sunday lunch. Surely she wouldn’t dream that, would she? Checking back through texts and emails, she found nothing unusual, nothing out of the ordinary, and then she remembered the dream journal. In her bedroom it lay on the nightstand where she always left it. She sat down on the edge of the bed and, with trembling hands, opened it. She opened it, then flipped through it, then turned it upside down and shook it and checked to see if any pages had been torn out. They hadn’t. The dream about the dog in the McDonald’s taking her dark moon image_xl_6338206Big Mac was there. So was the one about the talking snake along with the dream about planting begonias in front of the convenience store. Even the dream about catching Al masturbating in the shower in the men’s locker room was there, though in it she’d not stated specifically who was masturbating in the shower. Surely she could be given that much privacy. Beyond that, however, the journal was empty. There was no message from her unconscious about being beautiful when she dreamed, no message about needing to be punished until she got it right. There was no long dream sequence written while Dr. Clyde slept in the bed next to her. So then, was she to believe that everything until this morning had been just a dream, that she’d gone to bed the night after writing about Al masturbating and then all the rest of the dreams were a result of her following his advice for setting an alarm to help remember dreams? Had it really worked that well? If so, if what she had dreamed was any indication, well she’d just as soon not remember her dreams after all. She shivered at the thought of pushing Dr. Clyde and Al off the roof and watching them fall endlessly.

Still half expecting to open a door and find herself back in the dream, she showered and dressed and drove to the Adult Education Center, driving around the block a couple of times before she got the courage to park and go inside. That made her nearly late for Al’s class. She grabbed the first seat in the back of the room as much as anything because the sight of Al standing behind his desk speaking of the handouts on dream symbolism he had in one arm made her knees weak. Besides that, she suddenly wanted very much to avoid his attention. While a part of her wanted to confront him about her dream experience, to ask questions and find out if maybe he knew what the hell had happened, another part of her hoped never to dream again. She was toying with the idea of dropping the class even. She was here of her own free will. Surely she could leave of her own free will as well. After all, she’d paid for the class, hadn’t she?

As he drew nearer, she held her breath and sat stiffly, trying to hide her nervous trembling. He didn’t seem to notice if she was nervous or not. In fact, he didn’t seem to notice her at all as approached her desk talking to the group about Freud’s view on dreams and symbols as opposed to Jung’s. He gave her the handout without even glancing at her and, just as she released the breath she’d been holding, just when she slumped into the seat with relief, he stopped turned back to her and said in a voice barely more than a whisper. “Leah, you need to see me after class.” He didn’t sound particularly pleased about it.

Her heart bumped in her chest and she wiped sweaty palms on her jeans. She opened her mouth to tell him she couldn’t see him, to lie to him, to tell him she was busy, to make any excuse she could think of, but he didn’t give her the chance. He moved on and kept right on talking about Freud and Jung as he walked back to the front of the class and settled into lecture mode, every once in awhile glancing at her as though he was keeping an eye on her, as though he expected her to misbehave at any moment. That was the only thing that kept her from slipping out the back door and never coming back.

She didn’t hear a word of his lecture; she didn’t hear anything but the beating of her own heart as she pretended to take notes, doodling in the margins of her dream journal. In fact, she thought the class itself might have been a dream when after what seemed like only a few minutes, or possibly an eternity, she heard an impatient clearing of the throat and looked up with a start to find the classroom empty and Al standing over her, hands folded across his chest. “Come with me,” he said without preamble. “My office is just down the hall.” He didn’t wait for her, didn’t look back to see if she was following. She was, of course. She didn’t want to, but she suddenly realized she really did want to know what the hell was going on and he was the only one she knew who could help her find some answers.

At the end of the hall, he opened an unmarked door and motioned her in. It was a tiny space with a small pine desk and a cheap-assed armless office chair. The walls were bare and the desk buried in books and papers. He nodded to a single orange chair in front of the desk. “Sit down. We need to talk.” Before she could comply, he said. “I need to know how the hell you’ve managed to get into my dreams.”

“What?”

f7c97536836dc44ea7a1faaa02ab1a6a   He grabbed a brown leather-bound journal from the detritus on the desk and shoved it at her, then nodded her to open it.

With trembling hands, she opened it to the page marked by the chord bookmark. For a moment, her eyes refused to focus, and when they did, she wished like hell they hadn’t.

You’re beautiful when you dream. You’re beautiful when you dream. You’re beautiful when you dream. Over and over again it was written until it filled half the page and then, the dream began.

I pushed them both over the edge, Al and Dr. Clyde, over the edge to chase Diana, to make their peace with the dead and with the living. Whether or not they’ll wake up, I don’t know. I just know there’s no other way out.

The room tilted around her as though she were suddenly on the deck of a ship and above the sudden flutter of wings in her ears, she heard Al ask again, “how did you get into my dreams, Leah?”

 

Guest Blogger: J D Martins

tourbutton_ONiBostonWhen I wrote One Night in Boston, I decided straight off that these two characters weren’t going to be like the characters in my other two City Nights Series books, One Night in Madrid and One Night in Pamplona. First off, they were going to be different races. Secondly, they were not going to be in their twenties. In fact, they were going to be in their late thirties and early forties. Thirdly, they were not going to have perfect bodies. I wasn’t tired of describing beautiful bodies, but it was time for something new.

Not everyone reading the book is young and beautiful anymore (nor the person writing it!) and I think they’ll appreciate characters aren’t always young and beautiful either, even in erotic romance stories. Nor do they need to be. They’re still sexy, still attractive, and still young and beautiful where it counts – in their heads and in the bedroom.

And they know what they like and what they want and they’re not afraid to ask it of their lover.

I also decided to make the characters older because the story is about taking chances, about going for something even when it seems like it’s doomed before you start. And while young people take chances – often stupid ones, as we see on the news often enough – they are less likely to ponder the implications of their embarking on an adventure. They just go for it without thinking because the future is wide open, as the song says, and who cares if things go belly up, really?

Colm and Amber in One Night in Boston, however, know what they’re doing. They’re well aware that things have not gone amazingly well for them before, and that they’ve not got lots of time to waste on a relationship that’s going to fizzle out after a while. They want to invest in something that has a future rather than something that seems doomed from the start. At the same time, they know life is short, and even they deserve a little bit of romance, even if it is only for one night…

*****

Excerpt:

“Feck, feck and fuckin’ feck,” he yelled at nobody in particular.

Amber guffawed.

“That’s all right, Amber. You have your laugh. I’m feckin’ drenched.”

Amber caught her breath. “I can see.”

“So much for finding a restaurant. If we can get a taxi to the hotel we can eat there. I have other clothes, and I can leave these hangin’ on a chair. They’ll dry before mornin’ in that sauna of a room.”

Amber stopped laughing and shook her head, though she still smiled broadly, her eyes glowing with mirth. It was like a little sunshine. “No. We can dry them at my house in half an hour and go for dinner later. It’s still early; there’s still lots to see.”

“If you’re sure,” Colm said.

Amber was sure. She hadn’t been until he fell. Well, she’d been sure she’d kiss him, but as to inviting him home, she’d not thought about it. Much. Well, okay, she’d thought about it, a lot; all the time they were holding hands. But she’d believed it was still a decision waiting to be made.

But once she’d said it, she was sure it was the right thing.

Well, maybe it wasn’t. He was getting on a plane the next day and flying out of her life, just like Billy had—though that had been after a lot more than one day. She didn’t like one-night stands because she felt she was just getting played again. But screw it, she’d made her decision. She didn’t go back on decisions; even bad ones. Her mami could attest to that.

Anyway, it wasn’t often she could let herself take such a chance. Normally she had the kids in the house and that made it impossible to bring a man home. Nor was it often she met a man who wanted to come home with her—or who was worth bringing back home. Since Billy left she’d only been on a few dates. Men didn’t get turned on by the fact she’d two teenage kids.

Colm looked like his ass was cold. The snow stuck to his pants and he pulled at them to keep the wet cloth away from his legs. By the time a cab slowed and stopped for them, the pants were nearly frozen stiff, and sitting in the cab wasn’t very comfortable for him. He made no move to lean against her now, so he wouldn’t get her wet. At least being frozen, water didn’t drip all over the seat, so the driver never knew the pants were damp.

Her flat was a small, two-bedroom walk-up in Mission Hill. She really needed somewhere bigger. But it had a nice deck on the back that looked out over Downtown, and when she got home and kicked back with a beer or a gin and tonic—weather permitting—it was her own little sanctuary. All the bullshit she had to put up with from customers and Billy and the kids and the landlady, and whoever else got in her way that day, just melted away.

Colm seemed to appreciate the view, and didn’t say anything about the small size of the apartment. Nor did he mention the fact it was only fifty degrees in the place. Amber supposed it felt warm to him after the cold bath. He looked around for the washing machine in the kitchen while she turned up the thermostat.

“I got a washer-dryer in the bathroom. I used to go to the laundromat, but man, I’m tired of doin’ that shit my whole life. Landlady doesn’t like it, but she can kiss my big black ass. I ain’t taking my laundry through the snow all winter. Not the way my kids change their clothes.”

“Have you got a towel or anything? Just to dry myself off a bit.”

She laughed. She didn’t think he’d be so shy about disrobing, somehow; him a big farmer and all. “You go get in the shower, warm your ass up. When I hear the water runnin’, I’ll come in and put the clothes in the machine. Then I’ll have coffee ready when you’re done.”

“That’s great, thanks a million.”

Colm got in the shower and Amber threw his clothes in the dryer. Then she put on some coffee. It would be done percolating when she was done with Colm.

In the bedroom she closed the blinds and turned on Samika’s bedside lamp so her own bed was in shadow when she turned off the main light. She didn’t want Colm to see her body in the cold brightness, exactly. She was going to have sex with him, but it didn’t mean she was completely at ease showing him her body. If she was, she’d have gotten in the shower with him already.

When Amber heard the water stop she went back in the bathroom while Colm was still towelling off. He seemed a little startled, but recovered quickly. He looked at her without speaking. She didn’t speak either. What was there to say?

She took him by the hand into her bedroom. He let the towel drop when he got there. She turned around and sat back on the bed, looking up at him. His whole body was extremely pale, his chest and belly covered in thick hair. He had a bit of a paunch, but a wide chest, and his arms and legs were muscular. He looked like he could pick her up and dance across the room—had there been room to stand.

He didn’t look like he wanted to stand much, though. She stole a glance at his dick, already rising to the occasion as he climbed on the bed beside her.

*****

OneNightinBostonbyJDMartins-200Blurb:

When Colm is stranded overnight in Boston, Amber, a hotel receptionist, agrees to give him a personal tour of the cradle of the American Revolution. Colm has loved and lost, and now takes pleasure where he finds it. Amber hasn’t quite found her feet again after a recent divorce, nor is she very happy with what she sees in the mirror.

As they drive through the historic streets and stroll along the Freedom Trail, taking in the beautiful architecture of Beacon Hill and Back Bay, their mutual attraction grows and both take a chance on happiness. But can they trust one another? Can Colm convince Amber he’s not just playing her, or is his one night in Boston just a fling?

10% of the author’s royalties will be donated to WWF, the World Wildlife Fund.

Buy Links for One Night in Boston:

Tirgearr: http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Martins_JD/one-night-in-boston.htm

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/20vJp4o

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1NJtUF3

Apple: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/one-night-in-boston/id1099998311

Nook: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/one-night-in-boston-jd-martins/1123637513

Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/one-night-in-boston-2

*****

Bio:

JD Martins has been called Spanish, Mexican, Chinese, Philippine and English and Australian. He is none of these.

He’s lived in four cities in three countries on two continents, but he doesn’t feel like he’s travelled very much. His life in each city was rather mundane and he didn’t get out much – tending to move his pen more than his body.

He still aspires to see much more of the world – probably when his wife becomes rich enough to let him retire from day jobs.

He would like to live like Ernest Hemmingway: periodically sending novel manuscripts to his publisher from various far-flung corners of the world, though he’s not sure the quality will be quite the same. Until then, he has contented himself with living like Robert Graves – in a pleasant part of Spain with a quiet life – and being able to do some things that Hemmingway did – trout fishing in Spain, game hunting in Africa, watching bullfights and running with the bulls, – and a few that he did not get to do – surfing, skydiving, bungee jumping, and getting erotic stories published.

https://www.facebook.com/JDMartinsauthor

http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Martins_JD/index.htm

https://plus.google.com/u/0/113993899494442135197/posts

*****

GIVEAWAY!

Make sure to follow the whole tour—the more posts you visit throughout, the more chances you’ll get to enter the giveaway. The tour dates are here: http://www.writermarketing.co.uk/prpromotion/blog-tours/currently-on-tour/j-d-martins/

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Out Now! – The Collector by Kay Jaybee (@kay_jaybee) #erotica #ku #kindleunlimited

Re-edited, with a brand new cover, and two HOT new stories, Kay Jaybee’s first solo work of erotica is being re-released for a new generation of sexy story lovers!

Alongside each story, there is a short introduction explaining exactly how “the collector” came across the tale in the first place.

kj-thecollector-200Blurb

Gathering salaciously erotic stories against an everyday backdrop of bus trips, train journeys, coffee shops, and restaurants, The Collector documents a wide variety of sexual encounters as she travels Great Britain.

The Collector’s research takes her into every arena of the erotic experience, from love, lust, submission and dominance, to voyeurism and beyond.

Are you brave enough to see if it was your supposedly private conversation she overheard – and then wrote down?

***

Buy The Collector now, or read as part of your Kindle Unlimited subscription: http://getbook.at/thecollector

 

Extract from The Scottish Fantasy

(One of two new stories added into this new addition of The Collector)

Stacie gasped as the door opened. The dark shine to the man’s slate eyes as he regarded her and her friend Kate was in danger of taking Stacie’s breath away, and he hadn’t even spoken yet.

Tall, broad, with a tanned face and short spiked hair, a hint of stubble shadowed his square chin. Obviously surprised to see two young women walking through the woods so late on a winter’s afternoon, the ranger ushered them inside his wooden hut.

Introducing himself as Rob—Like Rob Roy! Stacie’s inner voice shouted at her. How perfect is that!—he looked at them enquiringly, ‘I dunna ken what you’re doin’ here, hens.’

Stacie’s brow furrowed. She’d thought that the Scottish spoke English.

Kate laughed as she saw her friend’s confused expression. ‘He means he doesn’t understand what we want, honey. “Dunna ken” means “don’t know” and “hen” is the local term for girl.’  Turning toward the ranger, Kate smiled. ‘This is Stacie, and I’m Kate. Stacie hasn’t got her ear geared into the local accent yet; she’s American.’

‘I guess that means an American accent.’ The ranger spoke so softly, Stacie felt herself melting on the spot. ‘I rather like those.’

Ignoring her friend, whose eyes were on stalks, leaving her in no doubt that Stacie was on an internal lust trip, Kate said, ‘We’re really sorry to bother you so late, but could you tell us where we are? We seem to be on a much longer trail than we intended to be, and we’ve lost the track.’

Rob’s dark eyes bored into her as she spoke. Kate couldn’t decide if their presence mildly amused him, or if he was merely tolerating the interruption to his work.

‘We’ve run out of water as well. Could we fill up our bottles here, please?’

‘It’s a good job you stopped, hen.’ The ranger pulled a map off his cluttered desk and pointed a thick finger at a red dotted line. ‘You’re here, on the all day walk. It’s called that for sound reasons.’

Lost in an erotic daydream, Stacie wasn’t listening to a word he said, just to the sound of his voice; the beautiful, gentle burr of his accent. She judged it fitted neatly half way between Ewan McGregor and Sean Connery.

When Kate had invited her friend over from the States for a couple of weeks exploring the Grampians of Scotland, Stacie had been thrilled. Not only could she catch up with her gorgeous friend and occasional lover, she could visit an area of the world that had always held a fantasy for her. Kilts, burly men in tight white vests, cabers being tossed, heather, whiskey, and mountains topped with snow.

The heather and mountains were a reality sure enough, as were the late night tots of warming whiskey she’d shared with Kate as they snuggled up together in the king-sized bed their Deeside hotel room provided. But until now, in this ranger’s office, hidden away in the woods near the flooded caves of Burn O’Vat, Stacie hadn’t seen anyone who even came close to the Celtic man of her late night fantasies.

Stacie felt mesmerised by the ranger. Despite the coldness of the late winter air he wore no coat, and his green sweater sleeves were rolled back to show arms honed by hard work. Forget kilts, this was as close to perfection as Stacie’s Scottish fantasy was ever going to get.

‘I’ll fill your bottles right enough, but if you’ll heed my advice, you’ll go back on the route you came. Far quicker and safer. It’ll be dark in about two hours.’

‘Thanks, I think we’ll do that.’ Kate watched as he took their empty water bottles over to his sink. His back view was as stunning as his front. The goldfish expression on Stacie’s face told her girlfriend that she was mentally undressing him, and Kate began to do the same.  Well aware that Stacie had serious fantasy issues where Scottish men were concerned, Kate wondered just how turned on her friend was. Did she have damp knickers? Were her nipples hard?

As Kate’s thoughts rambled, her own arousal began to tweak up a notch. Perhaps… She took a deep breath. Well, why not?

‘It must be lonely here, on your own all day.’ Kate knew the line was a bit lame, but she didn’t care. A sideways glance at Stacie showed that her lover had understood her intentions, and approved.

Rob didn’t look round. He didn’t need to. He could sense the two sets of eyes on his back; they were almost scorching him. Taking his time to fill the second bottle, the ranger thought the situation through.

Two of them, both hot totty. One a blonde, one a redhead. One English. One American. A tasty combination. Their bulky winter coats, sensible walking trousers and boots didn’t give much away, but he was willing to bet that once all the layers were off, they would be a sight to behold. He could be wrong, he supposed, but maybe…

Rob replied to Kate’s question. ‘I like it well enough, hen. I ken it’s quiet, but I like peace and quiet.’

‘So, you don’t get… lonely, then?’ Kate knew she was being blatant, but she didn’t care. If she could pull this off, it would be the perfect holiday present for her friend. Stacie, her mouth dry with anticipation, stepped forward. Pulling off her gloves to reveal pale hands with violently clashing purple nail-varnished tips, she took the full bottles from Rob’s hands. Making certain her fingers brushed his as she did so.

‘Thank you,’ Stacie purred as she passed one of the bottles to her partner. The tacit standoff that followed as tension rippled through the small office room-cum-workshop was eventually broken by Rob.

‘Would you lassies like something to warm you up before you go?’  His sentence, delivered in a deadpan tone, could have been suggesting something as mundane as sharing of a mug of hot chocolate, but his sparkling eyes hinted at so much more.

Stacie’s pulse quickened as Kate casually replied, ‘Well, if it’s not too much trouble, that would be lovely.’ Another normal sentence, but packed with enough eyelash-fluttering that she might as well have screamed out ‘Fuck us now!’

‘I was about to light the fire.’ Rob knelt at a small grate, already neatly piled with kindling. ‘Perhaps you’d like to lose your jackets for a while. When this takes, this place gets pretty hot.’

The girls’ eyes were drawn to the hopping, spluttering flames. They threw their coats over their backpacks, which they’d already dumped by the front door.

Taking his time with the fire, the ranger didn’t stir from where he crouched until it had taken to his satisfaction, and was smoking nicely up the chimney. Then, with a measured movement, he stood and faced his guests, who with unspoken agreement had divested themselves of far more than just their coats. Somehow Rob managed to keep his face passive as his eyes travelled from the top of each girl’s head down to their toes.

They stood naked. Holding hands. So, lovers in their own right, then. Nice. He smiled. It had been over fifteen years since he’d been with two women at the same time. A memory that kept him warm during the dark winter days and nights as he guarded the woodland and its wildlife.

Deciding against comment, Rob took a silent moment to choose which girl he’d treat rough and which one he’d simply treat. Then, with a pace that neither girl would have associated with the man whose previous movements had been so controlled and steady, he stripped…

Buy The Collector now, or read as part of your Kindle Unlimited subscription: http://getbook.at/thecollector

Kay - tantus

Bio

For over a decade Kay Jaybee has lived a nomadic existence across the British Isles, collecting stories as she travels.

Kay Jaybee was named Best Erotica Writer of 2015 by the ETO

Kay received an honouree mention at the NLA Awards 2015 for excellence in BDSM writing.

Kay Jaybee wrote The Perfect Submissive Trilogy, (The Perfect Submissive, The Retreat, Knowing Her Place, Xcite 2011-14), The New Room, (Xcite, 2015), The Voyeur, (Xcite 2012), Making Him Wait (Sweetmeats, 2012), A Sticky Situation (Xcite, 2013), Digging Deep, (Xcite 2013), Take Control, (1001 NightsPress, 2014), and Not Her Type (1001 NightsPress, 2013.

Details of all her short stories and other publications can be found at www.kayjaybee.me.uk

You can follow Kay on –

Twitter- https://twitter.com/kay_jaybee

Facebook –http://www.facebook.com/KayJaybeeAuthor

Goodreads- http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/3541958-kay-jaybee

Brit Babes Site- http://thebritbabes.blogspot.co.uk/p/kay-jaybee.html

Kay also writes contemporary romance as Jenny Kane – www.jennykane.co.uk

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A View From Above: Lakeland Keeps on Inspiring

I was reminded again how important that view of the overall picture can be when a good friend sent me a link to a breath-taking photo of the Lake District taken from the International Space Station, and I was deeply moved by such a view of a place I love, of a place that inspired and figured strongly, into each of the three Lakeland Heatwave novels, Demon Interrupted and the Medusa Consortium, almost as if it were another character in its own right.

 

The lake District image taken from the International space Station behbysjcaaayk3t-large

 

The photo was tweeted by Canadian astronaut, Chris Hadfield from on board the International Space Station, orbiting roughly 200 miles above the earth, moving at over 17,000 miles per hour.

How could such a ‘snapshot’ of one of my very favourite places not get me thinking about writers and the way we view our stories. I’ve always been an advocate of what I like to call snapshot writing. Snapshot writing is giving the reader snippets of detail, of experience, of a fleshed-out moment so full, so rich that the reader can feel it, taste it, revel in it. A snapshot can say so much about an event, often way more than words can. So for me one of the most powerful tools in my writing tool box is to create a snapshot with words, to write a moment so vividly that readers are instantly transported to the place and time. Commander Hadfield’s amazing snapshot from space has done just that for me.

Imagine my delight when I realised that I could not only see the whole of the Lakeland Witches stories and the Medusa Consortium stories in that snapshot, but I could see all the snapshots, all the intricately woven stories of my own adventures on the fells, of my own explorations and uncoverings of Lakeland one footstep at a time.

castlerigg_Stone_Circle1How could I not wonder what Alfred Wainwrightwould have thought if he could see his beloved Lakeland in such a view from above? His incredibly detailed drawings and descriptions of the Lakeland Fells are among the most accurate, most lovely, most poetic ever recorded. I can’t count the number of times I’ve sat in the Twa Dogs Inn in Keswick, the night before climbing a fell I’d never walked before, drinking Cumberland Ale while reading through Wainwright’s notes and studying the maps and drawings from his Pictorial Guides of the Lakeland Fells. The beauty in the minute detail of his work is now reflected in a stunning overview from space. How could anyone not be moved by that?

More than just the love of Lakeland, which I could go on and on about, and frequently do, is the sense of place such a snapshot from space gives. (I’ve added links with lots of pictures to show you the up-close-and personal of what you can see from a distance from the ISS photo. Enjoy!) I can look at that shot and see Ullswater and Derwent Water. I can see snow-capped Helvellyn and Skafell Pike, the highest peak in England. I can see the Borrowdale Valley, the Newlands HorseshoeHonister Pass – all the places my characters in the Lakeland trilogy frequent – all the places I’ve frequented, and I couldn’t not share it. So if you look closely at the picture, the highest snow-covered point in the lower Landscapesright — that’s Helvellyn. Its iconic Striding Edge put me to the test in one of the most adrenaline-laced, exquisite walks I’ve ever done in the Lake District.

And if you look to the left and slightly lower, at the last snow-covered range in the picture, that high point is Scafell Pike, the highest point in England and another walk I’m proud to say I’ve had the pleasure of doing.

But now, if you look in between those two ranges and slightly north, settled, almost centred, in between the two is a dark spot, roughly oval in shape with jagged edges. That’s Derwent Water with Keswick on the northeast shore invisible to the naked eye from so far above. To the south of the lake, where the fells begin again, is the Borrowdale Valley. And slightly to the left, you can just make out the irregular U-shape of the Newland’s Horseshoe, all of the above frequented by my characters in the Lakeland trilogy, frequented by me. The Newland’s Horseshoe is the place where both Marie Warren and I first ‘got lost’ in the mist. The Borrowdale Valley and the Newlands Horseshoe are the places that inspired the trilogy, the places where heather clings to steep cliffs, where deserted slate quarries make for slippery descents, where the views are breath-taking and where it can all disappear into the mist in a heartbeat.

I’m so glad it was clear the day Commander Hadfield took this picture. I can’t stop looking at it. I love the fact that I’m somehow connected to that place and all the stories it evokes – not just mine, but everyone else’s – all those poets and walkers and writers and photographers and artists – past, present and yet to come — who have found Lakeland as powerful and as moving as I have. I’m connected to all of them, and by that connection, to all of those who read the writings and look at the works of art inspired by that tiny, rugged piece of land that’s just as exquisite when seen from 200 miles above as it is when explored slowly, painstakingly, one footstep at a time.

Surely there is no other place in this whole world quite like Lakeland … no other so exquisitely lovely, no other so charming, no other that calls so insistently across a gulf of distance. All who truly love Lakeland are exiles when they are away from it.

Alfred Wainwright

 

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Don’t Miss any of my Demon Interrupted Blog Tour and Giveaway which starts tomorrow with stops at these fabulous blogs: 

 

 
© 2017 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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