All posts by K D Grace

End of Novel Syndrome: Be Afraid, Be Very Afraid!

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Hi everyone! Yes, it’s true. I’m still here. *Blinks wide-eyed and a bit dazed* Some of you already know why I’ve been off the radar for a while, and for those of you who don’t, a quick look around at the undone ironing, the multiple coffee cups, the floor that hasn’t seen a hoover in … well never mind, and you would be able to accurately diagnose my disease. Yup! I’ve been suffering from End of Novel Syndrome. I’m sure every writer reading this is nodding in empathy.

End of Novel Syndrome is that overpowering neurosis that hits a author somewhere around the last fifteen thousand words of writing a novel, in those last few critical weeks when the end is oh so close but so far away. A novelist gets a bit crazy around that time, Though my husband insists that, for me, ENS begins six months before and ends six months after, I’m sure he’s exaggerating just a little.

The symptoms of ENS are fairly easy to identify. A writer will suddenly become scarce on their usual social mediawriting image 2 haunts. Their responses to attempts at communications will be terse, distracted and often nothing more than a series of grunts, animal noises, and nods or head shakes, which of course don’t translate very well over gmail.

Another symptom indicative of ENS is a sudden change in eating and drinking habits. For me, my meals suddenly consist of anything I can eat with one hand and keep working laced with LOTS of extra coffee and tea.

Memory usually goes right out the door, at least memory that involves anything beyond what’s going on with the plot and characters in those last crucial chapters of the novel. I know it’s gross and disgusting, and if people look at me askance, well, I’ll deny it, but sometimes that involves actually forgetting things like bathing. For some writers it involves forgetting to eat, but that has never been my problem, though forgetting to sleep happens. And even when it doesn’t it’s nearly impossible to get a decent night’s sleep with my characters running rough shod through my head  and doing the Hokey Pokey in my dreams. Which results in another indicative symptom of ENS – red rimmed eyes sporting lovely dark circles beneath.  Oh yes, I have the look down in spades. Not a good fashion statement.

All housework and cooking is forgotten, all social events cancelled, and any time taken away from those last elusive chapters is given grudgingly and with much grumping. And then there are the physical symptoms; stomach knots, neck cricks, back aches from sitting too long in one position, eye strain, caffeine jitters and the queen of them all, interrupted sleep. Symptoms vary from author to author.

I drink less alcohol when I’m suffering from ENS because I’m afraid it’ll take away my edge. But there’s always a special bottle of wine waiting for the celebration when I come out on the other side.

And coming out on the other side is why I do it. There’s something that still seems a bit magical to me that I can take a seed of an idea and shape it and mull it about and, after some blood sweat tears and other stressful things that may or may not involve body fluids, that seed actually evolves into a novel, and a novel I’m proud to have my name on.

TE new coverKay Jaybee and I were discussing ENO a few days ago and I actually stole her idea to do a post about it, so thanks Kay! At the time I was in the end stretch of Grace Marshall’s third novel of the Executive Decisions trilogy The Exhibition, and I’ll have to admit, Stacie and Harris were having me for lunch on a regular basis. Fortunately for my poor husband, he was called away on business to South Africa that final week of the struggle with The Exhibition. (Wise advice to significant others of writers in the throes of ENS; run away if you can! Farther is better. Did I forget to mention the one symptom of ENS that endemic – Mega-Bitch-Moods!)

Hubby came home to Ms Sweetness and Light with the novel out the door to Xcite and happy dancing in full swing. However he remains cautious. He knows, as any significant other of a writer knows, that the only thing worse than End of Novel Syndrome, is what happens when the novel the author has lived with for months and months is suddenly out the door –Empty Nest Syndrome! Hubs lucked out this time, I’m already on to the next novel.

The Exhibition

Successful NYC gallery owner, Stacie Emerson, is ex-fiancée to one Thorne brother and ex-wife to the other. Though the three have made peace, Ellison Thorne’s friend, wildlife photographer, Harris Walker, still doesn’t like her. When Stacie convinces Harris to exhibit his work for the opening of her new gallery she never intended to include him in her other more hazardous plans. But when those plans draw the attention of dangerous business tycoon, Terrance Jamison, Harris comes to her aid. In the shadow of a threat only Stacie understands, can she dare let Harris into her life and make room for love?

(Coming Soon!)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Buried Secrets by Emme Rollins

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Buried SecretsBLURB:

Should some secrets remain buried?

Dusty has always been a hothead, far more impulsive than her twin, Nick, the calm, cool and collected one of the pair. But Nick is dead, found murdered in their local cemetery, and Dusty simply can’t rest until she finds out who–or what–has killed her brother.

Sure the local authorities aren’t being straight with her–or anyone else–about what’s been going on in their little upper Michigan town, Dusty delays going off to college for a semester, defying her father and stepmother and taking a job in the local bar to start doing some digging.

Her focus soon fixes on Shane, her brother’s best friend and the town bad boy. The tension and rivalry between Dusty and Shane has always been palpable and sparks fly as the two collide. Dusty finds herself sinking in deeper with Shane and the mystery of what happened to her brother–and a lengthening list of victims–grows even stranger.

When everything comes to a head, Dusty focuses on one thing: What happened the night her brother was killed in the cemetery? She’s sure Shane is keeping a secret and she’s determined to find out what it is, one way or another.

Available from:
Amazon UK
Amazon US

 

EXCERPT:

“Nick told me something the last time I saw him… alive.”

She closed her eyes, not sure why she was telling him. Maybe it was the way he turned his head toward her before inhaling deeply, like he was trying to breathe her in. Maybe it was the way he cupped her shoulder in his hand, like he was holding something delicate—a tiny field mouse or a baby bird—and he was trying to be careful not to startle it. But mostly she thought it was the memory of his kiss in the darkness, the way he had taken it, how he had groaned and given into her response in that one brief moment before his senses returned.

“What did he tell you?” Shane’s spine straightened slightly, breath catching in his chest. He went completely still, like a deer caught in the shine of a poacher’s flashlight.

“He said he saw the way you look at me.” She hesitated, hearing his intake of breath when her hand moved to his thigh. Leaving it there, halfway up, she rested her head in the crook of his shoulder, feeling him breathing again. “And he saw the way I look at you.”

“What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”

“Nick said he had the feeling, if he hadn’t been around, we might have ended up together.” Dusty lifted her chin to see his reaction. He didn’t look surprised, not like she had been. They were very close now. Close enough she could see the reddish stubble on his cheeks and the gold flecks in the light blue of his eyes and that little divot above his lip. She had the impulse to touch him there and repressed it.

“You and me?” he asked, pondering it, lips pursed in thought, making her think about that damnable kiss. She didn’t understand why she was feeling this way. First, the funeral home. Now they were both sitting on her brother’s grave. What was it about her dead brother that revved up her libido around Shane? It went beyond crazy and slipped into the realm of the surreal.

“You and me.” She nodded slowly, fascinated by the shape of his mouth.

“I don’t know.” Shane blinked those striking blue eyes at her, both eyebrows raised. Her attention was drawn down to his mouth again when he licked his lips, drawing the lower one thoughtfully in before asking, “What do you think?”

“I don’t understand why…” She didn’t. She didn’t understand any of it. Her world made no sense anymore. Nick was dead and Shane was here, offering her comfort and something else—she didn’t even know what—after all the years they’d spent sparring and going after each other’s throats.

But he’d come looking for her, had known she would be in the closet. He’d known her temper well enough to hold her back when she would have gone after the idiotic sheriff with her bare hands. And he’d held her and rocked her and let her cry when she needed to, which was far more than anyone else in her life seemed to want to do.

She didn’t understand it, but she knew she was feeling it. And whatever “it” was, it was powerful. Magnetic. It made her want to act, to do something reckless, careless, shameless. It made her feel like she had in the closet of the funeral home, ready to strip down to nothing and give into the feeling. It made her feel like doing that now, right here, on her brother’s grave. It felt wrong and right at the same time.

“What don’t you understand?” he prompted.

Dusty took a deep breath, reaching out and doing it, touching that little divot above his parted lips. She didn’t stop there, tracing the delicious shape of them, feeling him go still again, but it was different this time. This sort of stillness was more predator than prey. It was like the watchful, waiting crouch of an animal.

“I don’t understand why,” she whispered, swallowing as she let her finger trail down over his Adam’s apple, feeling him swallow. “But I think Nick wanted us to kiss and make up.”

“Do you want to?” He turned more fully toward her, the question in his eyes.

“Kiss?” Her finger traced the V of his t-shirt, his jacket still undone.

“Yes.”

His lips were slightly parted, wet. So were hers. They were so close she’d lost focus and longed to close her eyes. Her body thrummed, so very alive, and the irony didn’t escape her because they were surrounded by death. Everything else faded away, lost its shape, until all she could focus on was Shane’s presence, the heat of his body, the way his hands moved down the curve of her shoulders to grip her upper arms.

“I don’t know why,” she confessed, finally letting her eyes close in anticipation, feeling him drawing her closer by micro increments. “But yes. Yes. Yes.”

She whispered the last three words, her lips almost touching his. His breath was warm, fruity and sweet, fingers tightening their grip on her arms.

 

BIO

Emme Rollins is Top 100 Amazon Bestselling New Adult/Mature Young Adult fiction. She’s been writing since she could hold a crayon and still chews her pen caps to a mangled plastic mess. She did not, however, eat paste as a kid.

She has two degrees, a bachelor’s and a master’s, one of which she’s still paying for, but neither of which she uses out in the “real world,” because when she isn’t writing, she spends her time growing an organic garden to feed her husband and children (and far too many rabbits and deer!) where they live on twenty gorgeous forested acres in rural Michigan.

She loves tending her beehives (bees are wonderful pollinators and Hello!? Honey!) and keeping up with her daily yoga practice and going for long walks in the woods with her boxer, Rodeo, who loves chasing squirrels almost as much as Emme loves writing!

Social Media Links

Site: http://www.emmerollins.com

Blog: http://www.emmerollins.com/blog

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

Twitter: http://twitter.com/emmerollins

Google Plus: https://plus.google.com/104962183698626394500

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/18901147-emme-rollins

Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/emmerollins/

Tumblr: http://emmerollins.tumblr.com/

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Guest Blogger: Kacey Hammell

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WMS_blogtourSetting goals are always important. Here’s the top 5 that I am shooting for the most…

  1. Own my own Mustang one day – okay so this has nothing to do with writing exactly, but in a way it does. I’ve been inspired by Mustangs to write the Revved & Ready series! *g*
  2. Meet 3 of the most inspiring authors I’ve read since I was in my teens, whose work has always given me a place to turn to and escape the world. Those 3 authors are – Nora Roberts/JD Robb, Sandra Brown & Suzanne Brockmann (I have the chance to meet Suz at RT Convention in New Orleans next year. Keep your fingers crossed for me!)
  3. Win an award for my writing. Perhaps someday I can add “award winning author” to my taglines. *g*
  4. Publish with another author. I’m always in awe of writers who can pen a story together. I’d love to accomplish this one day.
  5. Visit Ireland and write a story/series set in such a gorgeous place.

’69 MUSTANG

By Kacey Hammell

Book 1: Revved and Ready Series

Contemporary Erotic Romance

ISBN: 9780987799319

Word Count: 4,415 Short Story

Only $0.99 cents!!!

69 MustangRevved and Ready for passion, heat sizzles between two friends…

For Hayley Fitzgibbon, the heat wave blanketing her small town is nothing compared to the inferno inside her whenever she looks at her best friend, Rory. On the night of his parents’ anniversary party, she no longer resists her burning desire and makes it known how much she wants him. Secluded under a willow tree, down a lover’s lane, she’s revved and ready to claim her man on the top of his ’69 Mustang.

 

Excerpt © Kacey Hammell, 2013:

“The party was fantastic, Rory. Your parents looked so happy.” Hayley Fitzgibbon shifted in the front seat of the black ’69 Ford Mustang her long-time best friend owned since he turned twenty-one. She’d come to love it as much as he did, how it handled. It still hummed like it had when brand new. No car was sexier to her. Mustangs, especially the classic ’69 had lines that were slick, masculine and just screamed fast and hardcore. The vibration from the engine tingled through the back of her thighs and buttocks causing a delicious thrill through her body. “Thanks for driving me home. It was a great celebration. I can’t believe your parents have been married fifty years.”

“Yeah. It’s practically unheard of these days.” Rory clicked on his blinker then turned right. “They really seemed to like the gift Max and I got them. You think so?”

She nodded and brushed the white shrug off her shoulders. The heat wave spreading through Belleville, Ontario had reached staggering levels in the last couple of days. The air conditioning in the car barely cooled her skin. Plus being such an enclosed space alone with him after hours of dancing, soft touches as they mingled and were less than five feet away from one another all night had her on edge. “Of course they did. Who wouldn’t want to take a three-week cruise around the Caribbean? I’ll be sure to remind you and your brother of your generosity for my next birthday.”

He laughed and winked. “You’d have to be a very, very good girl.”

I’ll show you just how good I can be. Hayley pushed the thought away. For weeks she’d been having the same dream over and over. The erotic fantasies starring herself and Rory had left her breathless every time she woke, sweating and panting. It was all she thought about anymore. Images of the two of them having hot, sweaty sex—anywhere and everywhere—consumed her day and night. She trembled, flashes of heat zinging along her spine. Heart racing, she drew in a deep breath.

He captivated her in so many new ways these days. His kindness had always been there, but lately, she’d smile if mentioned helping an elderly lady get her groceries to the car. And the way he talked about himself, she got upset and angry. He complained about being a ginger, especially in the summer when he burned easily, but she loved his unique looks. Kind of geeky and studious mixed with sexiness and cute buoyancy he didn’t realize he possessed. She disliked hearing him put himself down.

How were any of her new reactions possible? They’d been best friends forever, and had shared all their secrets with one another.

Maybe the intense and potent way he looked at her now. At times when she’d glance at him, she’d catch darkness and smoldering heat in his eyes that made it difficult to breathe. Was it because she’d slimmed down over the last eight or nine months. She didn’t want to think about him like that, knew deep down that he wasn’t that shallow. But he had been giving her the eye lately, passion-filled stolen glances. Since then, the air around them had shifted.

He hadn’t hidden his reaction to her tonight when he’d picked her up for his parents’ anniversary party either.  Rory’s normally soft hazel eyes had turned a golden rich hue, and when she walked out of her bedroom, he’d let his gaze roam over her body. She knew she looked great in the bright blue satin, off-one-shoulder, mid-thigh gown that really made the azure in her eyes pop. Perhaps he agreed. His breath had hitched, his hands shook as he’d helped her with her shrug. His touch had lingered on her shoulders longer than needed. The warmth from his palms scalded against her already hot skin. He’d stood inches behind her, smoothing his hands down her back, and electricity tingled through her body, filling her with sudden fervor and desperation to feel his embrace. And make some of those naughty dreams she’d been having come true.

“You’ll be what, thirty-seven in a couple months, Hales? Maybe we should plan a cruise or something awesome for your fortieth? You’d look amazing in a skimpy bikini you know. Maybe a nude beach?”

The sound of Rory’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. She gulped and cleared her dry throat. “Um, yeah. Sure.” The air in the vehicle was nearly smothering.

“Hey.” He laid a hand on her thigh. Hayley gasped. Heat shot along the skin, hitting her straight to her pussy. Her pulse raced. “It’s like you’re in another world. You okay?”

“Of course,” Trying to mask her nerves, she laughed away his concern. “Fine. Just warm in here.” And I want you. So bad.

 

BUY LINKS:
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Kacey HammellAvid Reader. Romance Author. Redhead…

Canadian-born author, Kacey Hammell is definitely a book-a-holic, who began reading romances at a young age and became easily addicted.  These days, as a multi-published erotic romance author, she enjoys adding a lot of heat, sass and emotion to the Contemporary Romances she writes.

A mom of three, Kacey has made certain each of her children know the value of the written word and the adventures they could escape on by becoming book-a-holics in their own right. She lives her own happily ever after with her perfect hero in Ontario, Canada, and is a true romantic at heart.

Connect with Kacey…

Website / Facebook / Facebook Author Page / Twitter / Amazon / Goodreads / Pinterest / Instagram

 

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L.C. Wilkinson’s Hot New Novel, All of Me, is A Part of Her

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The Story Behind The Story

It’s a question a lot of authors get asked: How did you come to write the story; what was your inspiration? For me, the interesting thing is that whatever the inspiration, once the story has been set in motion it more often than not takes on a life of its own and the finished narrative can be quite different to the original idea. The roots are there, if you dig deep enough, but the tree itself has a different canopy to one first imagined. Here’s my attempt to unearth the seeds of All of Me.

In the late 1990s, when I worked as an actress, I did a tour of Italy. While it wasn’t the high point of my acting career (though career makes it sound grander than it actually was) it was a fantastic and magical experience. Later, when children came along and I’d moved into writing words for a living rather than saying them on stage, friends and colleagues often said I should write about my time in Italy. It would make a great story, they said. I wasn’t convinced. Location has always been important in my work – it affects tone, pace, rhythm, language – but in itself it doesn’t a story make. But showbiz people are interesting; they tend towards the dramatic (unsurprisingly), so whilst I didn’t water this narrative seed, I didn’t dig it up either, to continue the metaphor.

I wrote other stuff: short stories, flash fiction, novels. Alongside fiction, raising my boys and a part-time job in education, I work as an editor, freelance and for Cornerstones Literary Consultancy. Last year, I edited some MSs described as erotic romance and thought that I’d like to have a go at writing in the genre myself. A female character, an actress – one who would go on to become Flick Burrows – had been rattling around my imagination for some time. She was successful – a soap opera star – and driven. An unconventional beauty from a difficult, disadvantaged childhood, she owed her success to hard work and determination. And she was no ingénue.

Because of my background, I understand how tough it can be for actresses facing 40 and I started wondering how challenging it might be if a younger, much younger, man was interested in Flick. On the one hand, the industry is telling her she’s past it; her leading lady days are numbered and there’s a wilderness period before one is old enough to play the ‘hag’; on the other hand, a young man – a rich, clever, sexy man – is telling her she is hot, fascinating and utterly irresistible. Putting my leading lady in a glass house, via her career, would exacerbate the sense of fading desirability that many women feel approaching middle age. The sense that they need to carve out a new role for themselves. It was at this point the Italian backdrop appeared on the stage that was becoming All of Me. In another country – Flick is a Londoner – she is free to reinvent herself, behave atypically and the glamour, beauty, and let’s face it, sheer sexiness of Italy was perfect.

All of MeThe theatrical tour provides the structure of the novel; the different locations and theatres marking the progression of the tour and of Flick and Orlando’s relationship. And because of my own life experience I needed to do little research on the world of the theatre and many areas of Italy, though I had to do some, of course, because of the passage of time. The real life tour did begin in Milan, before moving south to Sicily and working its way up the boot of Italy before finishing in Sardinia. However, because fiction is life without the dull bits (the quote is attributed to legendary film maker Alfred Hitchcock [replacing fiction with drama], or Clive James depending on where you look) the tour in All of Me visits many more glamorous locations than I did – Venice, Verona, Florence, for example – and takes place principally in the summertime (as opposed to the grimmer winter months). And the characters and their dilemmas are far removed from my own.

Flick’s dark past was inspired by so many people’s stories. Sadly, we hear similar tales almost every day on the news and in the papers. Similarly Orlando’s, though perhaps to a lesser degree than Flick’s. And once I knew Flick’s desires and demons, and I’d set the stage, the story near enough wrote itself. The origins date back 15 years, but All of Me was written quickly; at least by my standards. It took 11 weeks. Other works have taken two years. It is perhaps unfashionable to say this, but it is the truth. I had such fun writing Flick and Orlando’s story that for a while I thought it couldn’t be any good. I only hope that readers enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Excerpt for All of Me:

 Mr Hot led me through to a brightly lit room, the light scorching my eyes after near darkness. He pulled up a wooden stool and gestured for me to sit. I did as I was instructed. Row upon row of bottles of oil, condiments, herbs and spices lined shelves that covered an entire wall. It was a store cupboard, and the strip lighting was harsh; every fine line, blemish and open pore would be visible. Inwardly, I cursed my lack of foundation once more. I felt exposed, stripped right down, and vulnerable. I shielded my eyes, allowing my hand to drop low enough to conceal most of my face.

‘Better here, fewer people. Can I get you a drink? Cup of tea?’ he said.

‘Something stronger might be better.’ I attempted to cover my embarrassment with humour. He did not laugh, or even smile. ‘Water would be great. Wouldn’t do to be seen drunk. Imagine what they’d make of that,’ I added quickly.

Through a gap in my fingers I watched him push open swing doors with considerable force and sashay out, revealing the bustle of a hectic lunchtime kitchen; he barked out an instruction in a language I couldn’t quite place. Italian probably, possibly Spanish. This was no ordinary waiter in more ways than one. He returned moments later.

Despite his blistering good looks, or maybe because of them, I wanted to get the hell out of there; I gulped down the water. ‘Thank you. Can you show me the other way out now please?’

‘It’s not too soon?’

‘I have to be somewhere.’

At the exit, he paused and looked into my eyes, the hazel fading to black as his pupils dilated. He ran his tongue over those sensual lips. I couldn’t breathe and for a moment I thought I might pass out. The attraction I’d felt was mutual; he was devouring me with his gaze; his desire was palpable. Had it been a movie, or an episode of the cheap drama I’d been in, we’d have thrown ourselves at each other, kissed passionately, before being interrupted by an angry chef brandishing a meat knife. I coughed; it broke the spell.

He leant forward to grab the door handle, the bouquet of his aftershave mingling with a distinct, very masculine aroma. I was soooo tempted, but this was real life, and my personal life was enough of a mess. He opened the door, leant forward to look up and down the street before turning back to me and nodding that it was clear. Neither of us knew what to say. I had no idea if he knew, understood, or even cared why the press were hounding me, and I wasn’t inclined to explain.

I held out my hand. ‘Thank you. You saved my life.’

He took my hand, but rather than shaking it, as I had intended, he lifted it to his mouth and kissed the back. A charge raced up my arm, exploding in my mouth and groin. ‘It was nothing. Anyone would have done the same.’

‘Thanks anyway,’ I gasped. I had to get out of there, and quick. My internal red light was flashing: danger, danger, danger.

I stepped into the street and, unsure which direction to take, turned right and walked; the skin on my hand still thrumming from the touch of his lips. I wanted to look back, and tried desperately to resist the urge. After a few metres, I gave up and turned my head. There was no sign of him.

Blurb: Actress Flick Burrow’s career is in the doldrums. Dumped by long-term boyfriend at the altar and nudging forty she escapes to Italy touring with a theatrical company.

Orlando Locatelli is a successful businessman. He’s rich, clever and drop-dead gorgeous.

When the two meet, the attraction is instant. But Orlando is 15 years Flick’s junior; he’s the controlling director’s son; his stepmother is possessive and destructive. He’s trouble and he’s determined to have her.

Sparks fly when a tour romance turns into something altogether more dangerous, threatening to reveal pasts, and desires, both lovers are keen to bury.

All of Me is published by Xcite in paperback and e-book formats.

You can buy All of Me here:

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Amazon.com

eBook

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Xcite Books

eBook

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Laura L C Wlikinsonone eyeAbout L.C.:

L.C. grew up in north Wales and now she lives by the sea in Brighton with three fellas (her ginger sons and her husband) and a cat called Sheila. After many years working as a journalist, copywriter and editor of hagsharlotsheroines.com, she writes fiction and works part-time as an editor for Cornerstones Literary Consultancy. All of Me is her first romance for Xcite. She hopes that it is the first of many.

To find out more about L. C. visit her site – www.lcwilkinson.com – for news and freebies. Or follow her on Twitter: @ScorpioScribble You’ll also find her GoodReads, and she loves to hear from readers and other writers so do get in touch.

First and Ten: Let the Games Begin by Destiny Blaine

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Champagne Book Group and Destiny Blaine team up to bring sports romance readers a new line of sports romance novellas

Coming to Champagne Book Group and Carnal Passions on September 2, 2013

 

First and TenFirst and Ten: Let the Games Begin

“A Swinging Gate Sports Romance”

Tagline/Logline:   In love and romance, true winners are only determined by how long their hearts stay invested in the game.

Back cover blurb:

Football superstar Kemper Kapertone is caught in a compromising position. Thrust into a media frenzy, Kemper flies across the country hoping to save a relationship now shattered beyond repair.

Tired of waiting on the sidelines, Kara Ball decides the role of jilted lover doesn’t work for her. Kara springs into action and pursues her sexy neighbor, an irresistible Dom who is twenty-seven years her senior and the object of her most recent fantasies.

Zak Stone stops by Kara’s condominium to drop off a parcel, but after the sexy seductress learns of her boyfriend’s engagement, plans change.  Soon, Kara opens up a package filled with illicit toys and the naughty ideas start churning.

While Kemper races against time to set things right, Kara invites Zak to stay overnight, hoping an evening of passion will keep him coming back for more. Fortunately for Kara, Zak is only interested in playing for keeps.

Half page teaser:

“Are you in the business of fooling around with younger women?” she asked, working a strut like he’d never seen from her before. Leaning over to pick up the handcuffs she’d deliberately—and obviously—dropped, she wiggled her behind.

He swore under his breath, wishing he could set aside his morals for one night and take her in his arms and hold her there until he taught her a few things about Domination and submission. He’d show her why a Dominant man needed a submissive woman. He’d teach her how to willingly submit and make her understand that through her submission, she would know empowerment. She would experience a new level of intimacy.

“I’ve only been with Kemper,” she told him, acting as if her revelation was the best news he’d received in over a decade.

In fact, he would’ve preferred it then if she’d confessed to promiscuous behavior.

“You’re hurting,” he reminded her, reading entirely too much into her confession. “I’m here and you have a wounded heart, a torn soul. I can’t heal you, Kara.”

How did he tell her he didn’t want to heal her? How did he explain that while he wanted to kiss it and make it better, curing her wasn’t on his mind. He wanted to claim her. And if claimed her, he fully intended to keep her.

How did a man tell a woman that?

She took a step toward him. He took one step back.  She shot him this funny little look, crossed her arms, and for a minute, he could’ve sworn she was about to strip her shirt over her head.

He willed her to stop even though his body had already reached a decision, drawn all conclusions.

One touch and she was his. One gesture to indicate she fully intended to invite him to stay and he would give in to the long awaited temptation, the attraction he could not deny.

She moved toward him again, taking three short calculated steps as if she had deliberately analyzed the best way to separate their distance just as she’d done earlier when they’d been downstairs on her sofa.

“I can’t take his place, Kara. I can’t make the hurt go away.”

“You can try.”

Rated R Excerpt:

A door slammed and her eyes popped open. “Oh my God.”

Zak quickly pulled out, resting his forehead on her back as if he needed a moment to gain his bearings. “What the hell is he doing here?” His voice was dangerously low.

Kara shuddered. Her ragged breath came out in spurts.

How much had they heard? Worse still, how long had they stood there and watched her in the throes of pleasure, in the clutches of passion?

Carly turned away. Kemper looked at her dead on.

Zak scurried to his feet. “Don’t you believe in knocking?”

“Kara?” The color washed out of Carly’s face when she turned to the room once more. “What were you thinking?”

A hoarse cry fell from Kara’s chest. “What the hell are you two doing here?”

“I should ask you the same thing,” Kemper said.

“As if you have a right!” Kara’s blazing fury shook through her body. To make matters worse she was still tied and bound, slumped in a doggie-style position on the contraption Kemper had sent her as a gift.

All things considered, it probably wasn’t the best time to let him know how much she appreciated his thoughtfulness, even though she was tempted.

Zak stood in front of her with his hands blocking his cock. “Can you give us a minute?”

“What the hell are you doing to my girlfriend?” Kemper stalked him then.

Kara tried to wiggle one way or another in an effort to free herself. “Why aren’t you on your honeymoon?”

“Psht!” Carly exclaimed, though she didn’t bother with a true reply.

Kemper clenched his fists and glared at Zak. “If I were you, buddy, I’d get lost.”

“I’d listen to him,” Carly said.

Kara grabbed an opportunity to glare at her best friend. “Just who are you to tell us what to do?”

“The friend who loves you,” Carly assured her. “I’m concerned about you, Kara. Clearly, you aren’t thinking straight.”

“I’ve never been so sure and confident in my life,” she snapped, turning her attention to Zak. “Don’t go, Sir.”

“What?” Carly and Kemper chimed in together.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” Zak said, grabbing his towel and wrapping it around his waist before pulling a sheet off the bed and covering Kara’s body. Dipping his hands under the coverlet, he blindly fumbled with the shackles in an effort to free her. “The two of you should wait downstairs. We weren’t expecting company at four-thirty in the morning.”

“We?” Kemper pushed by Zak and glared at Kara. “And what is this Sir shit?”

Kara glared at Carly and thinned her lips, silently pleading with her friend to take Kemper and go. Instead of aiding her, Carly asked, “What in the hell is that doohickey you’re wearing?”

Kemper bit out, “I sent her all these things so she would get used to the idea of Domination and submission!”

Carly scowled. “You?” She shoved her balled fists against her waist. “You didn’t get very much bang for your buck now did ya?” She glanced around the room. “How’d all this work out for you, babe? Hmm?”

Kemper’s face turned blood red. “I think she’s got the hang of it.”

“Considering I don’t receive gifts like these and I’m the one who loves the lifestyle, maybe you should ask yourself if you gave the right presents to the right woman. If I’d been in a contraption like that, you can bet your sweet ass you would’ve been the one coming in from behind!” Carly threw up her arms and stormed out of the room.

Kemper ignored Carly and stood over Kara, acting as if he were taking in the whole scene. “Have you been seeing one another long?”

“No.” Zak supplied the answer.

“I didn’t ask you!” Kemper never looked away from Kara.

“Obviously not,” Kara bit out. “The package just arrived today.”

“Be a gentleman and wait downstairs for us,” Zak said.

“I am not talking to you!” Kemper yelled, his muscles bulging around his short sleeves. He acted as if he were seconds away from taking that first swing.

Kemper had always been slow to anger, but when that ugly beast rose to the fore, he went berserk. She didn’t want to witness a fight. She just wanted Kemper and Carly to go.

“Please wait downstairs.” Kara couldn’t believe this was happening. “Please.”

“Why would you do this?” Kemper dragged his hand from forehead to chin. The slow act brought on a noticeable transformation. A furious expression replaced the face of betrayal and confusion.

Zak placed his hand on his shoulder. “You heard the lady. She wants you to wait—”

“Get your hands off me!” Kemper screamed, shrugging away from him. “You don’t want to go up against me, buddy!”

“She wants you to wait downstairs and you can do that now or I can call the police. Take your pick.”

Kemper laughed and another demeanor emerged, one Kara hadn’t seen in the past. He glared at her like he saw straight through her. “He doesn’t know. Does he?”

“Know what exactly?” Zak knelt next to her again and finished unbuckling the restraints. He helped her to her feet. “What don’t I know?”

Kara met Zak’s curious gaze, but she couldn’t speak. She knew what Kemper wanted her to tell him, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. If she voiced them then, she would feel like such a kept woman.

She studied Kemper and gauged his behavior. That was precisely what he wanted her to feel like in that very moment—a kept woman, somebody’s whore, and his little puppet.

Slow to regain her balance, she grabbed the bedpost and held the white linen sheet to her chest. Her bottom was sore with the recent reminder of what she’d done and with whom.

Both men stood side by side. She couldn’t hide from either of them. She couldn’t run, because where would she go? Carly returned to the room with her arms crossed. She was equally pissed, but Kara couldn’t figure out why.

At the moment, Kara didn’t care. Carly had known she was infatuated with her neighbor. Hadn’t she suspected something like this would eventually happen?

“She won’t tell you, so I will,” Kemper said, stomping across the room to the walk-in closet. Swinging the door wide, he shook his finger inside. “Those clothes are my clothes. This is my bedroom. This is my condo.” He swung around and waved his finger in Kara’s direction. “And that woman—regardless of what happened here—is my fucking woman!”

Buy Links:

Carnal Passions

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Biography:

International bestselling e-book and trade paperback author Destiny Blaine writes in all genres using several pseudonyms. Destiny lives in East Tennessee with her husband and four pampered dogs. Her daughter is in college and her son is serving in the United States Navy. For more information, visit her website at www.destinyblaine.com and follow her on Twitter at www.Twitter.com/DestinyBlaine or Facebook. To access her street team information, visit The Wild Pack.