Beginning January 1, 2013

Stop by the new site and take a look around.

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Tuesday Spotlight: Wendi Darlin

A Part of Me by Wendi Darlin

Years ago, after I had begun writing seriously, but before I became published I remembered something I'd seen on TV and hadn't been able to shake. It was probably meant to be a joke, but it rang true, and I never forgot it.

People coming out of a movie theatre were being asked what they thought of the latest blockbuster they had just seen. I can't recall which movie it was, but this one beaming young lady said, "I laughed. I cried. It became a part of me."

I think at one point the comedians on Saturday Night Live may have even made a spoof of that. Funny or not. It has served as my recipe for writing the kind of stories I want to write, in my longer novel-length work especially.

I aspire to have the reader think the same thing about my book. I want it to make you laugh, make you cry, and ultimately become a part of you. That's what wonderful books have always done for me, and that's what I, as a writer, want to give to the readers who pick up my books.

My stories make me laugh and cry too, and in essence, I’m giving you a little part of me. I fall in love right along with my characters, every time, and I hope that comes through for you. There’s nothing more personal than what writers and readers share. We open up to one another on an emotional level, and we trust those emotions are universal. The fiction writers create is spun around little truths we’ve learned, and we can’t ever write without laying at least a tiny part of our soul on the line.

So if my stories ever make you laugh and cry and in some small way etch out a tiny little place in your heart, my job is done. And I thank you for giving me the opportunity to share this experience with you.

Monday, March 30, 2009

Monday Spotlight: Wendi Darlin

An Undeniable Urge by Wendi Darlin

For as long as I can remember the strongest urge I've ever known came over me when I closed a really good book. I'll bet as an erotic writer, you thought I was going somewhere else with that.

I began reading early. Very early. You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you how old I was when my mother discovered I could read. So for as far back as I can remember I have gotten lost in books. When I was in elementary school, I remember closing a book that had touched me and feeling this incredible heaviness in my chest. It was the strongest desire I'd ever known, a need that I could almost taste, but couldn't fully comprehend.

I needed to write a story like the one I had just read. I needed to create something that could move myself and other people that way. So now you might expect me to say, I curled up with a crayon and some notebook paper and scrawled out my first novel.

I wish it happened that easily. I knew I couldn't write a book like I wanted to write. I understood even then that I didn't have the experience. I didn't understand my emotions enough. I hadn't lived enough. I hadn't loved in that earth-shattering way yet.

Years passed, and I came upon that feeling time and time again with every good book I read. And I read a lot. Eventually, as a young adult, I tried my hand at piecing together a novel. It was awful. Truly awful. And I had unintentionally plagiarized some of my favorite authors. I hadn’t found my own voice yet, and I didn't have the confidence to create a story that was uniquely mine. Thankfully, no one ever read that piece of literary poo but me.

Life went on. I lived. I loved. I cried. And I got some of that experience I had been lacking. And then one day the urge to write struck again. Only this time, it wouldn't be ignored. So what did I do? I wrote another truly awful book, of course! But this time it was mine. It came from me, not from others I had read.

I did what I could to learn the craft of writing. I got to know other authors and learned the industry. I spent a few years getting my skin thickened by too many rejections to count. And then I wrote another book. This time when I came to the end, I knew I had done it. I had created what I always wanted to create. And though I've been published many times over now under a few different names, that book is still my favorite. It's The Water Bearer, written as Wendi Christner, and I'm proud to say it's mine.

Saturday, March 28, 2009

Spring: A Time to Mate by Ellen Margaret

The rain ceased to fall and the sound of birdsong filled the air. The sun began its ascent in the morning sky. It kissed the soil with warm rays and bathed the seeds with life giving energy. Tiny shoots emerged and put out little leaves. Small rodents and hedgehogs clambered out of their winter homes and stretched stiff limbs. They stared into the clear blue sky and smiled. It had been a long, sleepy winter but now spring had come. It was a time to rejoice and wander off looking for food but,the second task after awakening was to go in search of a mate.

Yerfana stretched her arms high above her head. She gazed around her little home. The table and chairs were coated in a thick layer of dust. The door swung on broken hinges. It had been a long winter and the weather had been unkind. That was obvious from the damage within her home.

She tossed aside the blanket that had kept her warm all winter. Naked,she glanced in the broken mirror and gave a loud gasp. How she had changed. She ran her hands over her full breasts and felt her rounded hips. Her legs were longer and, deep in her womb, she felt an ache. It was an ache that told her it was time to find a mate.

She stared at the mess and gave a little giggle. She had no time to clean. There were other things on her mind. She put on a thin, transparent garment spun from spider web and ran out into the warmth of the day.

She was not alone. Faeries were emerging from their little, brightly painted mud and straw homes. Children played with acorns. Not so long ago, she would have played with them. How she had loved to play and fly and swim. Raveboe had been her best friend. He would have been her chosen mate but he had been taken away by a Wocklaero who had stormed into their land two summers before. The Faery Elders told her he
was gone forever for those who went to the dark land of Wockdoom were never seen again. She knew not why Raveboe had been taken for he had been such a small faery. The elders said that the children were taken for food and experimentation by the Wocklaero. Over three hundred children had been taken in the previous ten years, all of them male.

Yerfana cried whenever she thought about Raveboe.

She saw Derelos approach her, leaning on his gnarled walking stick. He was the oldest inhabitant of the kingdom.

"Good Spring, Derelos," she said. She gestured to her curvaceous body."I am ready to bear a babe."

"Yes, you are, but now is not the right time."

"Why not?"

"Yerfana, you have woken later than the rest of us. I bring you bad news. We have been under attack for a week."

"Is it the Wocklaero again?"

"Not this time. The attack comes from the Underworld. Creatures spew up from the bowels of the planet. They are monstrous. They capture our kind and tear them from limb to limb and then they devour them."

She paled. "This was written in our Ancient Scriptures. This is the end time. The Yfaerend."

"It was prophesied."

"I know, but the prophesy also said that an army would rise up against the creatures from the Underworld." She stared at the faeries around her. "We have no army."

"No, we do not." Derelos glanced behind. "I must go. I see an elder I must speak with. Yerfana, do not venture too far."
She flew off and she did venture far. Her depression was great for she feared for her people. She flew to the lake. The place where she had seen Raveboe taken.

She removed her garment and swam under water, in the clear lake. When she came up, standing on the edge of the lake, was a male faery. She gasped, not because she feared him but because he was so big and handsome. Suddenly, all thoughts of her people's plight were lost,submerged beneath the avalanche of female hormones. Sex was the only thing on her mind as she climbed out of the lake.

"Who are you?"

He ran a hand through thick, blonde hair. "Your mate."

She did not question it.

He took off his tunic and removed his boots and his breeches.

Yerfana gazed in longing at his broad chest and bulging biceps. She stroked his firm buttocks and then ran her hands along the length of his shaft.

"You are beautiful," he murmured, dipping his head so that he could flick his tongue across her pink nipples.

She sighed and continued to stimulate his hard member. "I ache to be shafted," she said, lying down and spreading her legs.

"I have long ached to shaft you," he said, sliding inside her.

"You do not know me." She clung to his back and allowed the exquisite sensation to grow in her womb. When she reached her first orgasm,she screamed in delight.

He silenced her with a kiss and ejaculated into her. "You are mine, Yerfana."

She gazed into his eyes and with it came recognition. "By the Faery gods, you are Raveboe!" she spluttered, still glorying in the feel of him inside her. "The Wocklaero took you!"

He stroked her cheek. "They took many of us but only to train us to fight. The Wocklaero have never been enemies. The Faery Council fell out with them over a simple misunderstanding. The Wocklaero knew the creatures were coming from the Underworld and that is why they took us.Now, we are here and we can defeat them."

She cried copious tears of joy. "Raveboe, I love you and know you are going to save us. "

He winked at her. "Yes, lovely faery, I am."

About the Author: I am a writer from the UK and I live in the lovely Cotswold Hills. I am married with four grown up children and last year we became grandparents. It has always been my passion to write and I write in various genres - from historical romance to fantasy and the paranormal. My first novel, Like Lazarus, was published with Midnight Showcase Fiction and others have followed, including the sequel, Loving Lazarus. Find out more about me on my website -

Author Interview: Paige Tyler

Whipped Cream is pleased to have Paige Tyler with us today. Paige and her "very good" research assistant, otherwise known as her husband, call the beautiful Florida coast home. They share it with their easy-going dog and their lazy, I-refuse-to-get-off-the-couch-for-anything-but-food cat.

Paige told me she believes a lot of people think erotic romance is just porn and that it's all about the sex. "While erotic romances are heavy on the sex," she explained, "they aren't just about the sex. They are about the romance, too, and about the hero and heroine falling in love. The romance drives my story, not the sex."

I asked her what books she would recommend for writers just starting to write erotic romance.

"I'm not a big fan of 'how-to' books," she told me. "I think the best way a new author can learn how to write erotic romance is to read a lot of erotic romances. You can learn so much about word choice, writing style, character development and description by doing that. I took a lot of English courses in college, but I really learned to write by studying how other authors did it."

It's important not to forget that even though the book is going to have a lot of sex in it, the important thing is to have a good story first. "Don't just string random sex scenes together," she said. "As far as word choice when it comes to describing the sex, be as graphic as you're comfortable with, but keep it real. Also, it's really important to know what a certain publisher is looking for. Don't submit flowery regency storylines to a publisher looking for edgier contemporary stories."

Another thing Paige feels is important is the old standby "write what you know." She admits it sounds cliché, but learned the necessity of it through personal experience. "I tried to write epic fantasy, because it was the 'big' thing at the time," she told me. "But the words wouldn't come, and it was very frustrating. As soon as I started writing the kind of erotic romance stories that I really love, the words just flowed. Write the kind of stories that you're passionate about, and the publishing part will take care of itself."

Paige thinks there's something really sexy about a pierced belly button, but admits, "I'm way too freaked out by needles and the pain involved to really get my belly button pierced. Oddly enough, none of the heroines in my books have their belly buttons pierced, though. I think I definitely need to write a book with a heroine who has her belly button pierced."

I asked Paige what she considered the best food for eating off another's tummy or other body parts.

"Oooh, chocolate body paint! And whipped cream! As for other body parts, I think they all serve as a tasty platter! Well, except for feet. Let's not go there!" she said, laughing.

She can tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi, but it doesn't matter to her since she will drink either one. And, when I asked her about her strange habits, she laughed again.

"My hubby says that I have a lot of strange habits!" she replied. "But I'd have to say that one of my strangest habits is this thing I have about wanting all the labels on things in the kitchen cabinets and the fridge to face out. Weird, I know!" You can keep up with Paige on her blog,

Friday, March 27, 2009

Friday Spotlight: Cheryl Brooks

Cheryl's Favorite Recipe

White Chicken Chili

4 cups water
4 tsp instant chicken broth
2 cans Great Northern Beans
2 boneless, skinless chicken breast halves
3 tsp ground cumin
1/4 tsp ground cloves
1/2 tsp red pepper flakes
1 cup chopped sweet pepper
3 cloves chopped garlic
1 large onion
2 tbsp olive oil
1/2 tsp ground cayenne
1 cup uncooked pasta shells or macaroni
1/2 cup sour cream
2 cups grated Monterey Jack cheese

In a large soup pot, saute onions in olive oil until soft. Add remaining ingredients except for sour cream, pasta, and cheese. Put chicken breasts in whole. Bring to a boil and then cover and reduce to simmer for about an hour until chicken is tender. Remove chicken and shred it using two forks. Return chicken to pot and add pasta. Cook for another fifteen minutes. Add one cup of cheese and stir until it melts. Serve topped with a dollop of sour cream and more grated cheese. Sprinkle with chives to make it look pretty and enjoy!

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Thursday Spotlight: Cheryl Brooks

What did you want to be when you grew up? I wanted to raise horses. I've done a little of that, but it didn't turn out quite like I'd envisioned. I never really set out to be a writer, I just started writing. Does that make sense?

When you looked in the mirror this morning, what was the first thing you thought? My God, she looks old!

What is your favorite animal? Horses. Got four of them in the barn to prove it. Cats are second, dogs third.

What do you want to know about the future? Whether or not we will survive as a species long enough to straighten ourselves out and keep from killing each other all the time.

Have you ever cried during a movie? What??? Of course I have! I sometimes cry when I'm writing my books, too. I don't think you could be a romance writer and not be emotional enough to cry at the end of An Affair to Remember.

Have you ever made a crank phone call? When I was a kid, maybe. The kind where you ask: “Is Mr or Mrs Walls there?” and then when they say no, you say, “Are any of the Walls there?” and when they say no, you say, “You'd better get out of there because the ceiling is about to fall on you.” Yeah, I know. Pretty dumb, and it shows my age. I'm sure there are better ones, now.

What is your favorite pizza? Hand-tossed crust with pepperoni, black olives, extra cheese and mushrooms.

What is one thing scientists should invent? A way to keep us from killing ourselves with toxic waste.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Wednesday Spotlight: Cheryl Brooks

Do you ever suffer from writer's block? If so, what do you do about it? I think everyone does. My solution is to just keep writing—doesn't matter what. Eventually, I'll hit on something that works.

Who is your favorite author and why? I've always been a big Mary Stewart fan, and now, of course, JK Rowling.

What comes first: the plot or the characters? For me, I have an idea of where I want the story to go and who I want the characters to be, but then the characters sometimes change my mind for me. They sometimes say or do things I don't expect.

What inspired you to write your first book? Just some guy I had a crush on...

Do you hear from your readers much? What do they say? Yes, I do. Most of them tell me that they enjoy the books and want more. I'm doing my best to accommodate them!

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Tuesday Spotlight: Cheryl Brooks

What got you interested in writing? I started writing because I wanted to read something different than what I was finding on the shelves. I loved science fiction and romance, so I combined the two.

How long have you been writing? Off and on since the late 70's.

What advice would you give a new writer just starting out? Don't kid yourself that your first book is publishable, but don't let it stop you from writing more of them. I did that early on, and I'd probably be much further with my writing career if I hadn't let those early rejections stop me.

When did you first consider yourself a writer? Ha! I still don't, even though Rogue is my third published work. Not sure when I'll be convinced. Maybe by the sixth...

Do you really, really want a dog? My dog died this past September. He was so perfect, I don't think I'll be getting another one like him anytime soon.

Do you hate how you look in pictures? YES!!!

Monday, March 23, 2009

Monday Spotlight: Cheryl Brooks

Cheryl Brooks has been a critical care nurse for the past thirty-two years, graduating from the Kentucky Baptist Hospital School of Nursing in 1976, and earning a BSN from Indiana University in 1986. Cheryl is an avid reader of romance novels and has been a fan of science fiction since seeing that first episode of Star Trek. Always in need of a creative outlet, she has written numerous novels, The Cat Star Chronicles: Slave being her first published work, followed by Warrior and Rogue, which are also in the series. She lives on a farm near Bloomfield, Indiana with her husband, two sons, four horses, and five cats.

Cheryl's newest book Rogue is currently out. She says, "Rogue is the story of a piano teacher who travels to a distant world to teach the Queen's daughter how to play. She's not looking for love, but finds it in the form of two of the hottest brothers she's ever seen. The trouble is, they're slaves who belong to the Queen!"

Book three of The Cat Star Chronicles, Rogue is the tale of two Zetithian brothers, Trag and Tychar, alien warriors who were captured and sold into slavery near the end of the war that resulted in the near extinction of their kind. They have been the pampered pets of a Darconian queen for the past twenty years, and though their lives haven't been hard, being the lone humanoid males on a planet populated by lizards hasn't allowed them much in the way of sexual gratification. However, the progressive Queen Scalia has hired a human female, Kyra Aramis, to give piano lessons to her daughter.

Alone on a world filled with intelligent, but fearsome dinosaurs, Kyra is understandably nervous, and the discovery that she is not the only humanoid on the planet offers only a brief comfort.

Tychar is assigned to be Kyra's personal attendant, and though he and Trag are both irresistible, there are two of them, and worst of all, they are slaves to the Queen. What's a girl to do?

Just when things get interesting, rumors of unrest begin flying, and the peaceful planet of Darconia undergoes a major political upheaval, with the offworlders caught in the middle.

Saturday, March 21, 2009

Author Interview: Angela Cameron

Whipped Cream is pleased to welcome Angela Cameron, whose first novella "Noctorne" debuted in October 2008. She's recently released Blood and Sex, Volume 1: Michael and her first werewolf story "Changing Moon" is included in the brand new anthology Power Plays.

Angela started out writing paranormal and horror, but then moved to urban fantasy because of her fascination with vampires. She tried writing inspirational fiction for her mom; however, even though she had a little success with it, she didn't enjoy it at all. Her husband noticed she had a natural ability for erotica and pushed her to submit her first story. "It sold on the first submission," she said, "and I was hooked. The last year and half that I've been writing erotica have been the most fun of my career. I don't see it stopping any time soon."

Her family has mixed emotions about her writing. "One side is extremely supportive," she told me. "They read some of my work, keep up with what I’m doing, and let me use their names for characters on occasion.

"The other side is very conservative. They know what I’m doing and don’t condemn me, but they’re not readers either. I prefer it that way. I don’t want to give any of them heart attacks anytime soon."

I asked Angela how she, personally, distinguished between erotica, erotic romance, and pornography.

"For me, there’s a world of difference between erotica, erotic romance, and pornography. When I explain these differences, I start with erotic romance because it is basically romance that keeps the sex on the stage, rather than hiding it behind closed doors. Many of the modern female readers, especially Gen-Xers like myself, prefer it because it feels like a more intimate view of the couple’s story. For discussion purposes, we can use the example of a movie like The Notebook. The sex is on scene between Aly and Noah, in the midst of a compelling love story. Pretty Woman is another one that would edge toward this category.

"Erotica is somewhat similar, but the partners do not have to be monogamous, lasting, or in love. These stories are the exploration of human sensuality and are related to real life experiences that many of us would never attempt. Still, we are curious and enjoy the tale, which is often complicated, compelling, and as full as any non-erotic novel. Examples of this are the movie Exit to Eden and the Showtime series Secret Diary of a Call Girl.

"Pornography is written for the purpose of sexual stimulation for the reader. This is the literary equivalent of pornographic movies. Although it’s often written for women and still has some semblance of a plot, it is not intended to intrigue, but to induce a sexual reaction."

Angela told me that she's found that the public who doesn't read erotic romance (especially other writers) have a hard time understanding these differences and equate erotica with porn. "They confuse all of the genres and subgenres and relate it all to being 'dirty,'" she said. "Since the misconception is usually among my fellow Americans, I tend to think this is from the stifling environment we grew up in. But that’s okay. I think that a large part of the modern American erotica writer’s job is to educate these people about the genres. I also think that it is our responsibility to promote healthy attitudes toward adult sexuality."

A good erotic story, to Angela, is first and foremost a good story, then erotic. "More than anything," she said, "More than anything, I want to entertain," she said. "So, I want the reader to feel as though the last page is the end of a journey that took them to places they never expected. During that journey, they should experience the most intimate situations with interesting people. They should learn something about themselves that they didn’t know before, and come away with great memories."

I asked her about the research she does for her books.

"It depends on the book," she told me. "As most of the writers joke, our husbands are all very happy and very tired. I suppose that there is some truth to this, but some things that my characters do I just can’t. For these elements, I turn to the internet. For Nocturne, for example, I spent a great deal of time researching the ancient Scotch Gaelic culture and worked with a translator to get the wording right for Torin’s Gaelic speech. It was absolutely fascinating."

She admitted that being an erotic writer brings with it a mixed bag of joys and problems. "We’re as loved as we are hated at times. That being said, I’ve written in other genres, and erotica writers are the most open minded, nice people that I’ve met during my career," she said. "I think it comes with the territory because we come in contact with people of all sexual paths and know how little that usually has to do with the core person. Most people just want to be free to live their own lives. So, having an open mind and realizing the journey you’re embarking on to explore what is sometimes the darkest corners of the human existence is key [for anyone who wants to write erotic romance]."

She said another thing to remember, if someone wants to write erotic romance, "is that what turns you on will turn others on. The stories you write must be from your heart and be enticing to you to elicit the same feelings in others. The things that you would only tell a lover often come out in your work. Conversely, the elements that aren’t written from your personal sexual preferences will be confused by some who want to assume that all erotica writers are writing from experience. This makes the ability to be tough skinned and set boundaries a must."

I asked Angela if she could share with us the most embarrassing sex scene she'd ever written.

"In Michael, the first novel in the Blood and Sex series from Ravenous Romance, the hero’s best friend, Jonas, had a mind of his own. He kept inching closer to Tori, the heroine, and really wanted her to play along with a bondage scene that he had with another character. Tori was there, watching and drooling, and Michael kept her to himself, but the scene was pretty hot. He tried everything to—Well, you’ll have to read the book. But let me just say that Jonas is a very wicked man!"

I said, "If you could entertain a character from a book, who would it be and what would the evening be like?"

Angela replied. "Oh, that’s a loaded question! It would have to be one of the vampires. Can I have more than one?" She laughed. "If I seriously had to pick one, it would probably be Jonas. He’d be the most fun, but he’s also secretly the deepest of the guys. Of course I’d want to know what it is really like to be bitten and the rest of the night would just have to be our secret."

On a more personal note, she admits it's pretty exciting for her to be herself right now, so she wouldn't wish to be anyone else. "Of course, I'd love to be rich (and who wouldn't)," she said, "but I'm doing what I've always dreamed of."

Her current favorites, when it comes to food and not vampires, are pot stickers and Outback's Boomerang Shrimp in the homemade tartar sauce. But, she can't handle raw things, most of the time. "I watch Iron Chef," she told me, "and can't fathom putting in my mouth some of the things they create. I guess that's why I'm not a culinary expert, huh?"

She can definitely tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi ("Coke has a very distinct taste that Pepsi doesn't. Can't everyone?"), and she thinks sweet, sticky butterscotch syrup is good on everything (think tummies and other body parts here.) You can keep up with Angela on her blog, .

Friday, March 20, 2009

Friday Spotlight: Lyrical Press

My name is Jennifer Cole, and I dabble in writing erotica. My backlist includes polyamory, paranormal, and contemporary romances, all written with an erotic element.

Like most authors I’m an avid reader who enjoys a variety of genres. No matter what I read, or write though, the hero must get the girl -- or the guy -- in the end.

After reading a slew of romance novels I decided to sit down to see if I could write one. It was during a stormy weekend in February two years ago when my husband packed up and went snowmobiling that I banged out my first story -- which still waits patiently on my hard-drive to be polished up and submitted. Despite my best efforts, I sometimes have trouble keeping up with the ideas racing around in my head. And as they say, the rest is history.

In my (relatively) newfound endeavor I’ve been fortunate to work with incredibly supportive publishers, and very patient editors. It is also because of this exciting new hobby of mine, my poor husband feels like a bachelor again!

Through the escape of reading I’ve developed a taste for BDSM stories, and due to that interest I’ve written a series portraying a softer side of the lifestyle. Research has taught me there are just as many different levels/sides/appetites to the fetish, as there are folks who participate in it. I choose to write a side of the lifestyle where first timers explore their curiosity. Whether one’s interest is in bondage, ménage, or the introduction of toys in their play, I believe no position or experience is taboo between consenting adults.

Several of my books have found a home with Lyrical Press, Inc., and the second installment of my Le Club d'Esclavage Series titled A Toy for Two is scheduled for release March 16, 2009. Below I’ve included the blurb and excerpt for you to enjoy.

A Toy for Two
Author: Jennifer Cole
Publisher: Lyrical Press, Inc.
Genre: Erotica/BDSM
Length: Novella
Cover Artist: Renee Rocco
Price: $3.50

Will Megan play it safe, or follow her heart and become a toy for two?

Megan Washington is the perfect daughter... as long as she keeps her wild streak hidden. Only after a trip to the Le Club d'Esclavage does she give free reign to her sexually adventurous spirit.

Troy Simon and Ransom Seager need the ideal partner, and not just any submissive will do. Their third must match their passions and indulge in the role-play both men find so arousing. With trust building and temperatures rising, will Megan's powerful politician father destroy the growing bond between these three hearts?

Book Two Le Club d'Esclavage Series

Warning, this title contains the following: graphic language, explicit sex, ménage a trois, bondage, the use of sex toys, m/m, and non-traditional sexuality.


Troy Simon took the stairs two at a time toward his suite on the third level of the building, which housed the personal living quarters of a few of the staff.
The grin curling his lips brought back memories of an afternoon in junior high, when he and his best friend Davey got caught peeking into the girls’ locker room.
For the first time since reaching puberty, Troy found himself on the brink of losing control of his libido. It had been a long time since a woman brought his body to total attention with just a smile. Hell, she hadn’t even made eye contact with him. It had been her animated interaction with Ransom alone that stimulated him in all the right places.

The sight of Ransom speaking with Megan at the bar now had Troy’s balls pulsing like never before. Despite him and his lover going “both ways” during their five year commitment neither had ever expressed a desire to bring a third into their relationship. Let alone a woman.

The waves of Megan’s long sandy blond hair reminded him of strands of silk. Big brown eyes may have hidden a deep, dark secret from someone untrained to spot it, but Troy recognized it. Restrained passion. If he were to wager a guess based on the glimmer he saw, he suspected she repressed her sexual appetite.

That was because Megan had yet to find the right men.

Written all over her delicate features, Troy read sub. Under the right circumstances, the beauty would give herself to a suitable Master, completely. Pausing outside the sound proof steel door to the playroom in his suite, Troy drew a deep breath, hopeful he would be awarded the opportunity to test the woman’s sexual limits. If all went well with his lover…

Giving the knob a turn, he pushed open the door and his breath caught in his throat. Flames from dozens of lit candles flickered, creating a warm glow about the room. Combined fragrances of vanilla, musk and feminine arousal scented the air.
In the center of the room bound hand and foot to a St. Andrews Cross, was Megan Washington. Blindfolded, clad in a skimpy pair of violet panties with matching bra, stockings, and heels. She looked simply delectable.

Though several yards separated them, Troy caught her fragrance in the air, and he momentarily savored the sight of her heaving bosom. The sound of harsh breath told him she hadn’t heard him enter.

Or perhaps she had.

On the ground to Megan’s left Ransom knelt. The firm cheeks of his ass seated on his heels, knees slightly spread, hands rested palms up on the tops of his thighs, eyes lowered.

His lover had done well.

“Well, what do we have here?” Troy asked and pushed the door closed behind him.

The sensual gasp of surprise slipping from Megan’s full lips sent a shiver up the length of Troy’s spine.

Troy delighted in the stiffening of her body as Ransom answered.

“I’ve brought you a present, Master.”

Click here to purchase!


Jennifer Cole
Fantasy is my reality!

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Thursday Spotlight: Lyrical Press

Behind "The Reluctant Dom"
Tymber Dalton

Sometimes a book comes to a writer in a flash and practically writes itself. Those books, for me at least, are quite rare. Some books are easier to write than others, but they usually all require a modicum of thinking on my part regarding where the story should head in terms of plot.

Not "The Reluctant Dom."

This is one of those rare books that wrote itself. The story came to me in a flash around Thanksgiving. It was the first Thanksgiving after my grandmother's death, and a preview of what my first Christmas without her would look like. Not to mention the start of her health decline started nearly a year prior, around the first of December, when she'd had her first heart attack.

She died the day before Mother's Day--which fell on my birthday. She also died a week before what would have been my grandparents' 66th wedding anniversary.

We knew we were on borrowed time, in the most literal sense of the phrase. She refused a triple bypass and was willing to take every day from that point forward as a gift. From then on it was a long waiting game. Every time the phone rang and it was my mom, I wondered, is this the call?

So when Kaden, Leah, and Seth appeared in my imagination at this emotional time of year for me, it wasn't difficult to step into Seth's shoes as he watched and documented his best friend's decline. My brain's attempt to process my own grief gave birth to those three people.

When the story came to me, I wrote it from start to finish, another rarity for me. Usually I write scenes as they come to me and fill in later. "The Reluctant Dom" was written from start to finish, in order, with my fingers struggling to keep up with the story playing out in my imagination.

I did a lot of crying as I wrote the book. A good kind of cathartic release I know I needed. But I enjoyed that, as in life, there were good moments, laugh out loud vignettes to keep a person smiling even in the darkest days.

And isn't that what life is really about? Light and dark, a good mix of laughter and tears, putting one foot in front of the other every morning when we wake up.

It wasn't, however, a "message" book. Not truly. It's a story of love and loss, friendship and grief, the extent people will go to take care of those they love in the best way they can. You will (hopefully) laugh, you'll (probably) cry, and there are a few scenes you'll probably be grabbing a fan and ice cold drink over. I hope you enjoy it.

Tymber Dalton is a bestselling author of such books as "The Reluctant Dom" and "Love Slave for Two." She lives in southwest Florida with her husband, son, and a household of neurotic, misfit animals. You can also find her writing as Lesli Richardson.

You can visit her websites at: and

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Wednesday Spotlight: Lyrical Press

Rockstar by Mina Carter

A sexy Rock Star. A man bent on revenge. One explosive love affair.

Zette Matthews, darling of the music industry, has it all: haunting voice, dramatic looks and curvaceous figure. Every woman wants to be her, and every man wants to be with her.

Unlike the rest of her fans, Jarrett Jensen isn’t content to adore Zette from afar. He intends to have her. Especially now as he finds himself in need of a wife before his birthday, or he’ll lose control of the business he’s run for years.
Revenge may be best served cold, but JJ prefers his hot, with a side order of pleasure, secured with a wedding band…

Rockstar. That’s all I started with. A title, a name for a book and a basic concept. Plus I’m a sucker for a good revenge storyline. There’s just something about an alpha male with a ruthless streak that captures my attention. Add in an agenda like the one JJ has and I literally couldn’t resist the temptation.

As a character though, JJ pretty much arrived and introduced himself, fully formed. It’s quite scary when that happens. Usually I take my time over character creation so to have this character turn up and tap me on the shoulder with ‘Hi, I’m JJ and I’ll be your leading man for this story’ was a bit of a shock. Other than that though, JJ was an absolute joy to write (Probably had something to do with me threatening to write him in a pink tutu in the final scene and ruin his street cred).
But like any story, JJ had to change. It was a revenge story in the beginning yes, JJ wanted revenge on Zette for leaving him years before. Of course, these things don’t always go as planned and JJ’s revenge turns around and bites him in the backside when he realizes Zette isn’t quite the scheming woman he’d taken her for.

With Rockstar I very much wanted to explore the nature of the revenge storyline. It’s one of the plotlines in romantic fiction I have a fascination for as there are so many ways it can turn out, and so many ways the power balance shifts from one character at the beginning to the other at the end.

So, Rockstar is my interpretation of the revenge storyline told through Zette and JJ’s eyes. I hope people enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Happy reading,
Mina xx

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Tuesday Spotlight: Lyrical Press

Brought to Life by Dara England

Brought to Life is the story of an ordinary girl from the big city who is a bit of a skeptic about romance…until she cracks the cover of a romance novel and quickly falls in love with the book’s hero--a gallant duke from another century. Soon, however, she is faced with the question, is love enough to bring a fictional character to life?

Now that I’ve given a bit of a run-down, here’s the blurb:

Megan Hurst's life has taken some unexpected turns: First she loses her heart to the dashing hero of a novel. And then she meets an amnesia victim who seems just like him.

The mysterious stranger needs her help to piece his past together, and the closer the two become, the more questions arise about his resemblance to a "fictional" character.

Megan's romantic feelings and her bizarre suspicions bring her to an impossible question... Has she dreamed the Duke to life?

The thing that surprised me most about writing Brought to Life was how easily the words came. I love to write but usually there’s a lot of labor involved in the process and some of the words feel like they’re being dragged out of me. Brought to Life was different. This was the first time I’d written a paranormal romance as well as the first time in years I’d written in a contemporary time period. Maybe that’s what did it. For whatever reason, I look back on the experience of writing Brought to Life with a bit of wonder because it all came about so easily.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Monday Spotlight: Lyrical Press

The Dark Side,
Writing A Darker Trinity,
By Candice Gilmer

“I feel like I was shown the pretty, shiny side of being a vampire, and I expected everything to stay shiny. Now I see the dark alley, where the nastiness happens, and I’m scared.” Nicole, -- A Darker Trinity, by Candice Gilmer.

A Darker Trinity is a paranormal, M/F/M romance novel about a woman who is lured into the dark, sexy world of vampires, among other mythical creatures walking the world.

I sat down and decided to write A Darker Trinity with the idea that, hey, since I liked to read the occasional M/F/M story, that it would be a breeze to write one.

And I was just certain that I would be able to do this with no problems.

Heh… Yeah.

You see, I’m a vanilla girl. Very vanilla—I like my sex scenes passionate, wild, and usually with just one partner. And when I do read M/F/M stuff, I remain rather particular, because I have issues with it being two clones of the same guy, just different names.

So I started with making my two lead men, Joseph and James, as different as possible. Their appearance was the anchor—Joseph is blond, fair complexion, while James is your dark haired hero. Think Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn without the age difference. (Even though I’m a serious Star Wars nut, I never actually realized that parallel until just now…Hmmm…) One is fair haired and rather ornery, the other a bit more reserved, darker hair and complexion.

Which it’s easy enough to make people different looking in a story, but I had to make sure they spoke differently too, their mannerisms, all of that, were, just, well different. Yet they complimented each other.

I think I worked harder on this story than I ever have on anything before—not only did I have a baby in the middle of working on this novel, but I treaded through a slowly constructed world, one with depth and details, consequences and dangers, as Nicole calls it, “the dark alley,” of vampirism.

I don’t normally do dark—while as a writer, I usually go where the story takes me, I don’t normally follow the darker path. I may have a complicated storyline, but I don’t intentionally delve into the dark side, because, like some people are influenced by music, I’m influenced by my writing—if it’s dark, I tend to be darker. And that’s just ugly to live with.

So writing this book was a complete change of pace, and a different kind of challenge for me. And since I believe in the Happily Ever After scenario, and that it truly has to be a believable HEA, this one was even harder, because I wanted to create a fully functioning world where it was possible for a M/F/M partnership to survive.

And I think I accomplished my goals.

“I… I can’t even begin to think what I should say now.” Nicole’s eyes wandered from one beautiful man to the other. The coolness of the night seemed to sober her up, and suddenly, this wasn’t just a fun dance with strangers—they were all real people with real lives, real worlds to go back to.

Granted, she lusted after both of them. There was no denying that. Yet suddenly everything seemed too real, too existing. Consequences of her lust started running through her brain.

You can’t sleep with two men.

You can’t sleep with one and then the other.

You can’t pick from either of them… How she knew that, she couldn’t be sure, but trying to pick one over the other seemed wrong. The two of them went together, they matched each other in some strange way. And choosing between them would be like choosing between the left side of her body or her right.

“Good night?” Joseph offered.

“I suppose that would work,” Nicole replied. She reached out, putting her arms around James, and hugged him. “Good night.”

When she pulled back a bit, James held her close, and she put her arms around his neck.

“May I kiss you now?” James asked.

The tiny bit of worry in her was distilled by James’s gentle question. She wanted to kiss him. Hell, she wanted to kiss both of them. Maybe they’d allow it—a kiss from both, and she’d be set for life, fantasies of being with both of them. It would never happen, but the thoughts might keep her satisfied on those lonely nights in Boston.

She nodded.

James smiled. He leaned forward, the kiss soft at first, tasting her lips with a gentle caress, then his pressure increased, and his mouth opened. Her lips parted, and their tongues danced with each other. His hands roamed down her back, resting on her hips. With a soft nudge, he pushed her hips against his. Her hands roamed down his back to stroke his ass.

“I’m feeling rather lonely over here,” Joseph’s voice interrupted them.

Nicole released James, both of them laughing. Joseph didn’t give his friend much time to untangle himself from Nicole, shoving him away. He wrapped his arms around her hips, his lips hovering within centimeters of hers. Nicole returned his embrace, her hands exploring the top of his ass.

“Still feeling lonely?”

“Just so horny I can’t stand it.” He pushed her backward against the side of her car. His hips rocked into hers as he slammed her with a kiss so intense she lost her breath. In her mind, she knew this was wrong; that she shouldn’t be kissing one and the other like this—so brazen, so blunt for both of them, yet her body had other ideas. She couldn’t stop herself from the onslaught. Both of them were incredible, and desire burned inside her for each one.

Joseph’s lips parted, his tongue dipping in, a warrior on a mission. He dominated her, enveloping her with his kiss, making her knees go weak, and had she not been pressed against the car, she knew she would have fallen.

“All right, don’t eat her,” James said, his hand on Joseph’s shoulder, pulling the two of them apart.

“I was just getting to the good part,” Joseph said. And stole one last quick kiss.

“We should let you go home, get some sleep.”

Nicole nodded, her whole body on fire. “Yes, and get out my vibrator. Or did you two want to come and help me with that problem?”

Joseph opened his mouth to speak, but James put a hand on his shoulder. “Good things come to those who wait,” James said.

Laughing, she got in her car, though in that second she was a little disappointed. “See you around.”

They waved as she started the car, and remained in the parking lot until she was out of sight.

Yes, tonight would be a night for the handy-dandy battery operated device.

A Darker Trinity by Candice Gilmer
Available from

Saturday, March 14, 2009

Author Interview: Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Whipped Cream is pleased to welcome Charlotte Boyett-Compo, author of over seventy published speculative fiction novels, primarily in the sub-genres of sensuous dark fantasy and dark paranormal romance. She was also one of the founding members of Amber Quill Press and has the distinction of having given that publisher its name. She's also the founder of IWOFA (Infinite Worlds of Fantasy Author).

Charlotte's storytelling began at an early age—four or five. She and her grandfather, a feisty Irishman named Lewis Hatcher, would sit on the front porch swing on summer nights and try to outdo one another with ghostly stories. "He'd start one and then tell me to finish it," she told me. "I learned to tell tall tales at his knee and he was my bestest friend until he died when I was six."

When she was eleven, she started writing down those tall tales. Her first "novel" was a western written for Michael Landon in his Little Joe persona from Bonanza. "It filled up an entire spiral bound notebook and was titled Western Flame," Charlotte said. "I had cut out the picture of Little Joe from a magazine to make cover art."

A few years later, she wrote another novel starting her then-current heart throb, Robert Vaughn from The Man from U.N.C.L.E.. It was called The Great Giovanni and set in a circus.

She got hooked, however, after co-writing a play titled Did You Say Ghost? with her best friend that was presented at the ninth grade assembly, and the applause washed over her.

"After my youngest son was born, I took a job as entertainment editor for one of gazillionaiare Warren Buffet's Sun newspapers. I wrote my first real novel, The Keeper of the Wind when my boys were in high school. That book was finally published in mass market paperback in 1996."

I asked Charlotte how she distinguished between erotica, erotic romance, and pornography.

"These are my definitions and are certainly open to interpretation," she warned. "Erotica is a story with steamy, explicit sex without that much plot. It is meant to titillate and entertain. Erotic romance has plot and substance. The erotic content is secondary to the tale. Both erotica and erotic romance are for women.

"Porn has nothing redeemable about it that I can see. Porn is for horny men who usually couldn't get a date if they were the last man standing. Porn panders to the lowest common denominator and serves only one purpose: to arouse a man so he can take care of the business at hand."

She sees the biggest public misconception about erotica is the viewpoint many people have of the erotic romance writer. "People think it's nothing but dirty writing filled with vulgar words and explicit sex composed by women who are sexually frustrated." She told me she feels that, ironically, it's the women who have really great sex lives who write the best erotica "because they've got experience upon which to base their fantasies. Contrary to popular belief," she said, "erotic novelists don't sit in a dark room with the shades drawn, foaming at the mouth, masturbating after every scene. Some of us may drool, but we damn sure don't foam!"

She didn't always set out to write erotica, however. "It just happened that I could add steamy sex to my novels and have the readers enjoy it," she told me. "I put a little really hot sex with cups of plot, tablespoons of fleshed-out characters, and sprinkle it with dialogue that's natural to the way real people talk. There are certain words I will not use because I don't like the sound of them. I don't add sex to a scene unless it is called for and I will never wrote a book that is nothing but sex without a strong, intricate plot. That's just a cheap ploy to sell books, and I don't need the money that bad to cheapen the writing."

She went on to say that nothing ruins erotica like stilted, nasty language that's just there without really saying anything. She said, "'Oh, baby, oh baby, oh baby!' to me reads like 'Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy is this boring as hell?' If you're going to invest the time into writing a novel, invest ingenuity, creativity, and a fresh new voice."

Not all of her books are erotic romance. She finds straight romances fairly easy to write. "To make the sex seem a natural part of the story, to blend it in with the plot, and have it compliment the story line takes effort," she explained. "It takes an easy hand and a deft mind looking for the right phrase, the most intriguing way to tell that part of the story where sex is an intricate part. Anyone can string a bunch of dirty words together and have their characters all hot and bothered, but to have your reader delve beyond what is actually happening on the page, to read past the words to see what the real motivations of the characters are, takes skill. It takes finesse. You have to know how to mix the sex with the plot to come up with a smooth concoction."

She knows when she's been successful in this in several ways. "If my husband needs to take a shower or else leaps on me after reading a scene, I know I've done my job," she told me. "If I read it back aloud and it makes me blush, I know I've done it right. If my editor tells me she sweated during the reading, I know I've got a winner. If my best friend tells me she had to rush out to buy new batteries before she could finish the book, I simply smile."

I asked her what her family thinks about her writing.

"My husband reads everything I write and is my staunchest supporter. When the edits came for my first book, we were in the midst of an Iowa blizzard. He sat down with a red pen to go through the book since he has a degree in journalism and said he’d catch what I’d miss. One of my fondest memories will always be of the look on his face when he finished the book and turned to me. He said, 'Baby, this is good. This is really, really good.' I’m not sure what he had expected but he tells friends that I constantly amaze him with my ability to fashion worlds and create believable characters, to keep him enthralled page after page. He tells everyone he meets that his wife is a writer and that he’s damned proud of her. You can’t ask for better support than that," she said. "As for my sons? Well, that’s a different matter. The sex scenes embarrass them so they haven’t read any of my ‘romance’ books but one of my oldest son’s favorite tales is about how he was sitting on a plane with his fellow troops on the way to Korea, reading my first novel. His lieutenant walked past, saw the cover and asked what he was reading. 'My mom’s book, sir,' Pete replied. Nice of her to loan it to you,' the lieutenant smirked. 'Oh, no, sir!' Pete corrected. 'My mom wrote the book, sir.' With an arched brow the lieutenant demanded to be given the book. Pete handed it over saying, 'That’s my mom, Charlotte Boyett-Compo, and if you’ll look inside, sir, you’ll see where she dedicated it to my dad, my brother, and I.' The lieutenant did, indeed, look inside and then handed the book back saying, 'I’d like to read it when you’re finished, Corporeal Compo.' Believe it or not, I got a fan letter from his lieutenant and the last line says: 'You should be very proud of your son because he’s not just a very fine medic, he’s a man unafraid to speak up and say he’s proud of his mom.'"

If Charlotte could entertain a character from a book, she would love to meet Steve Morgan from Sweet Savage Love, which (by the way) is Charlotte's favorite all time book... "warts and all," she said. "I am a woman of the sixties." Steve would look exactly like Adrian Paul during his Highlander heyday. "Of course," she told me, "I would be his Ginny and look like me...poor man. We would share one helluva rousing evening filled with steamy sex, slap and tickle, creamy sex, a bit of bondage, more steamy and creamy sex, a little more slap and tickle, a dark bareback ride across a moonlit field and a naked swim in a lake completely devoid of anything that might bite, sting, or nip, slither or slurp or infect our defenseless body parts. I’d run. He’d catch me, bring me down, roll me over and pinned me helplessly to the soft, clover-strewn ground, his knees spreading my legs wide. I would thrash my head but he would capture my lips and devour them…and me. We’d have some more naughty stuff then I’d fall asleep with my head on his shoulder. The next morning, one of my Reapers…most likely Kamerone Cree…would show up, beat the living hell out of Steve and carry me off, dangling off his broad shoulder to chastise me for daring to betray him." She sighed. "Oh, a girl should be so lucky!"

Charlotte's favorite food depends on her mood. She's originally from Georgia, so sometimes craves a good ol' southern meal like baked ham, collard greens smothered with pepper sauce, fried okra, fresh sliced tomatoes, and cornbread. Comfort food? Hot and sour soup or Brunswick stew. For snacking, give her Bugles and hot chunky salsa with a bottle of Lipton's Raspberry White tea or a big container of frozen strawberries. She eats them like ice cream. Her favorite candy is Mounds and she can eat them by the case, followed closely by Nestle's Crunch. She's also been known to inhale an entire box of chocolate covered cherries at one setting.

However, you will not find her eating snails ("Nothing that crawls and leaves slime behind it should ever find its way into my mouth"), oysters ("They look like somebody's bad cold"), or liver ("Just because it smells good in gravy doesn't mean you should put it in your mouth.")

And, since she is from Georgia, of course she can tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi. "I can also tell the difference between Coke, Pepsi, and RC. Coke and RC are for putting salty peanuts into them, not for drinking without embellishment. Cherry Pepsi is the nectar of the gods and should be treated with the reverence it deserves," she stated. "Diet versions of aforementioned drinks...that's what they are called in the south—not pop; not soda; not soda pop...are for sissies. You only live once. Swig down all the calories and sugar you can while you're still able to enjoy them."

On a much more personal note, her husband of 43 years can tie a cherry stem with ease. "When we were dating he would make it a point to look me in the eye as he did it very slowly, one eyebrow crooking up when he finished," she admitted. "He was one of those proverbial bad boys your mama warns you about for thankfully I didn't pay any attention to Mama. She, too, married a bad boy. Personally, I believe they're the best kind. I met him on a blind date when I was seventeen and we married the following year when I turned eighteen. Believe me when I tell you it wasn’t easy remaining a virgin until my wedding night but we somehow managed to make it…many cherry coke stems be damned!"

Her favorite letter is X and she explains why. "It holds a world of meaning. It marks the spot. It crosses out that which does not belong. It lets you know something is going to be very hot when read or viewed. It is eXcellent. It is eXciting. It is eXact. It is eXhilarating. As a writer I can eXpress myself with eXcerpts that will eXtract all manner of emotions from my readers. It is an eXtremely important letter that eXudes eXpection and eXerts eXaltation. And you can’t have seX without it! What’s not to like about Lady X?"

If a movie were to be made of her life, she would want Sandra Bulloch to play the younger her. "She's a southern girl and she's got the quirky personality I had when I was that age," she said. And the now-her? With a large sigh, she said, "A rather befuddled Cher who's gained fifty pounds of sludge."

Finally, I asked Charlotte what one piece of advice she would give a new writer.

"Pay less attention to the well-meaners in your life and more attention to the voice of your inner muse," she told me. "Friends, family, co-workers and neighbors have ruined the dreams of many would-be writers by telling them things ‘for their own good’. On my desk is a motto than I share with every fledging writer who emails me. It says: 'People too weak to follow their own dreams will always find a way to discourage yours.' If you want something bad enough, you’ll find a way to achieve it. Be patient. Be resilient. Most important of all, don’t toss your dream away because someone tells you it will never come true."

Charlotte shared she will gladly send autographed bookplates to any reader who sends her a SASE (self-addressed stamped envelope) and she will also include a postcard of that book's cover art. Her mailing address is:

Charlee Compo %WindLegends Ink PO Box 745 Grinnell, IA 50112 You can keep up with Charlotte on her website,

Friday, March 13, 2009

Friday Spotlight: Phaze

Born to ride on the back of dragons, to journey among the stars in a ship traveling faster than light, or to dance the night away in the arms of a mysterious vampire, Michelle Houston willingly shares the worlds in her mind in an effort to bring them to life.

Writing everything from short and sweet stories, to hot and spicy tales of kink, from contemporary tales of romance to erotic romances featuring Greek Gods, vampires and were-creatures, she has crossed sexualities and has gone wherever her mental muse has guided her. A journey she has never regretted.

With stories either out, or coming out soon, from Renaissance E Books, Phaze, Whiskey Creek Press Torrid, Cleis Press, Alyson Books, and Pretty Things Press, to name a few, she has many more stories just waiting for their chance to be told.

Beyond that, she has a love of the natural world around us (except for insects, spiders, snakes, scorpions, and she reserves the right to add more at any time) and hopes to share the enjoyment of the Earth with her students once she finally earns her degree in secondary Biology/Earth Science Education. Currently she's attending college full time, and is expecting to graduate in May of 2010.

She's married to a wonderful man who supports all her writing endeavors (even when her characters scare him just a wee bit), and is the reason she is even published at all. Her daughter is too young to know just what mommy writes, but she knows she wants to write too when she grows up, and already has a good start on it.

In other words, she is an ordinary woman, with an imagination that is only held in bounds by how fast she can type.

Check out her upcoming paranormal Phaze Books release, "Taming The Wolf."

Blurb: Gay werewolves just didn’t happen naturally. Ben had accepted that he would quite possibly live the rest of his life alone. Then one day Nathan, another rogue-made werewolf, turns up on his doorstep and he finds that maybe there is a mate for him after all, if he can teach the younger man how to tame his inner wolf.


Ben felt the first ripple rising to the surface, skin turning to fur, as his wolf felt him thinking about it, and was demanding its share of time. The last few days he hadn't allowed it control as much as normal and it was starting to get frustrated. Snarling, he regained his feet and stalked off, forcing the beast back. For Nathan's sake, he had to teach him control, then teach him how to partition his time between wolf and man.

Nathan moved to stand behind him, his hand light against his shoulder. "Ben?"

The question in his voice elicited a moan from Ben. It had been so long since a man had been this close to him, so long since he had felt the touch of another on his skin. He wanted it, craved the feel of two bodies sliding against each other in passion, of thrusting deep into another man's body and feeling him tense in pleasure. More than that though, he was coming to crave Nathan's touch; not just anyone would do anymore.

Ben flashed back to the previous day when he had provoked Nathan into a fight, had felt the pressure of the other man attempting to pin him down. Ben had almost given in to the sensations cascading over him and kissed the younger man, especially when he felt the press of Nathan's erection against his hip. Then he had felt the brush of fur against his skin as Nathan lost control of his body and the wolf worked its way to the surface. That fact allowed him the control he desperately needed.

"It's nothing you did Nathan. Nature is just kicking my ass at the moment."

The warmth of his touch shifted, as he slid his hand down Ben's back, lightly caressing him, trying to soothe as was his way. Tipping his chin to rest against his chest, Ben closed his eyes and fought the dueling sensations. Selfishly, he wanted to enjoy Nathan's touch, but by the same token he was denying the wolf the same courtesy. And it was biting and clawing at the injustice.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Thursday Spotlight: Phaze

Do you know about the writing team of Dahlia Rose and Crymsyn Hart?

Dahlia Rose has been writing from an early age and always wanted to write for the romantic at heart. She grew up on an island with the sand and surf at her feet and now she lives in the lovely Charlotte, NC. Her passions in life:her kids, the love of her life (she thinks every woman should have one of him) and her words. Without these three things, her life would not seem complete. She has always had a love of books, the way they can spin your imagination to far off countries and different realms of fantasy. She loved reading the older novels like Mills & Boons and Loveswepts with debonair men, Lords and Ladies. Men who were strong and wild but brought down by the love of a woman and nothing could stop him from claiming his
prize. Danger behind closed doors and difficulties they had to overcome together which all leads to a happily ever after. She was raised on a Caribbean island and could sit under a palm tree with the waves at her toes, the smell of mangos and papayas in her nostrils and take herself to Paris or Italy just by turning pages in a book. And her wish is to create that for her readers.

Crymsyn Hart is a best selling author of Erotic Romance. Her worlds are filled with luscious vampires, gorgeous gods, quirky witches, and everything else that goes bump in the night. Hell, there is even a delicious cheesecake god floating around, but if I were you I wouldn’t eat his brownie cheesecake.

Crymsyn worked as a psychic for many years in Boston while attending Emerson College. She graduated with a BFA in Writing, Literature, & Publishing. When she gets bored, she sneaks away to local cemeteries and coffee shops to find peace and quiet. Granted, graveyards might be a great place for the dead, but she still has to listen to their chattering. It can get annoying when all you want to do is write, but she can tell you quite a ghost story. Crymsyn shares her life with a small zoo, two playful puppies and her hubby Mark. If you come after dark, you’re more then
likely to find her snuggled up with a gory horror movie, or a bloody vampire movie.

Crymsyn has a collection of Living Dead Dolls and five bookshelves overflowing with books. Of course there's always room for more.

Be sure to check out their upcoming paranormal release, "How To Ruin Easter for a Werewolf."

Blurb: A part of their successful series, "How to Ruin Halloween for the Grim Reaper" and "How to Ruin Christmas for a Vampire", you don't want to miss the third in their paranormal series, "How To Ruin Easter for a Werewolf."


"Sebastian, I’m hungry.” Demona whined and stomped her foot.

Her companion rolled his eyes. Lean, mean, and full of piss and vinegar was what had first attracted him to Demona. She had curves in all the right places that snuggled his body perfectly. But she was a whiney bitch whenever she got hungry.

Fifty years ago he never intended on giving her fur. Honestly he wanted nothing more than to bump pelvises with her for a time, use her for a rump roast when he got tired of her, and then use her finger bones to pick the meat from between his teeth. But he had gotten a little too carried away one night while Demona screamed “oh baby” one too many times. His mind was engrossed on blowing his load deep inside of her. Instead of growling his pleasure in her ear like he normally did, he tasted rare meat on his tongue. Hot, pumping blood raced down his throat. He had to swallow it. By the time he looked at Demona with the most innocent look he could muster,
she had turned from an enticing lay to she-harpy from hell. She had raged for him to get out since he bit her. He knew when to exit and grabbed his pants while dodging a lamp. Two weeks later, there she was furry and beautiful in the moonlight. When he went to greet her, she nearly tore out his throat. He gathered she was still aggravated from the bite. Sebastian hadn’t expected her to roll over and be the submissive type, but he did desire respect. She hated him for months. When he decided to leave, she followed.

Over the years, they had hitch-hiked the countryside settling once and a while. His favorite times were when they roamed the deep wilderness of the Louisiana bayous, the lush towering civilizations of Redwoods, or the craggy mountains of the Colorado Rockies. Her paws, like his, had been sure of their footing on the rock under the opalescent full moon. Even when they raced as wolves in the dark night, he had taught her over time the moon did not rule them. Once they grabbed a hold of their nature, they could transform at will. Now she was a beautiful, sexy creature who made
him howl when she rode him hard and fast. But tonight, she was in rare form.

They had eaten a few days ago, but her appetite was growing by leaps and bounds. He assumed along with that and her tude lately she was going into her quarterly heat time. It was like human PMS but ten times worse. Not that he minded because the sex was amazing. His balls tightened just thinking about it. They would go at it for hours like rabbits. The last time they had gone a marathon of twelve hours with barely any breaks. He had begged for mercy after that. She finally relented and let him get some sleep. He was sore for a couple of days after that since she had ridden
him raw. For a wolf to do that to him meant something because they healed quickly. Sebastian’s tongue ran over his bottom canines. His stomach agreed he could go for a light snack. The jogger they ate a few days ago was a little too lean for his taste. Mostly muscle and gristle. Even thinking about it, he still tasted the mealy substance of the meat on the back of his tongue. Damn he hated vegans. He wanted, no needed something with more substance.

“All right, Pookie. We’ll go get you something to eat. What do you want? Japanese? Chinese? Italian? I smell pasta coming from the alley over there. What do you say?”

Demona eyed him. He saw her thinking it over. This was always the way with her. She could never make up her mind when presented with choices. Women. I don’t care if their bitches or human. They always take their goddamn time!

Watching her, the lust and call of the moon shot through his dick. The slight pink tip of her tongue rested on her bottom lip while she bit it making up her mind. It was a habit she had even as a mortal and one of the very things which made him want to fuck her on the spot the first time he saw her. His paws ached to claw their way along her torso, gnaw on her nipples, and then ram his cock so far inside her she would scream his name. Yeah. That was going to be her payment tonight for asking to hunt. She would take all of him. He wasn’t going to hold back this close to the full moon. A satisfied smile touched his lips. Her gaze flicked across the street. An amused and childlike chuckle escaped her throat like a small yip of excitement.

“I want rabbit.”

Sebastian shook his head. “Hon, there are no rabbits in New York City. Well maybe at Wong’s but, but not here.”

She rolled her eyes and then pointed. “No silly. Let’s follow the White Rabbit. I want to see how far into Wonderland he leads us.” She grabbed his hands and pulled him after her. He saw the white cotton tail of a rabbit going around the corner, into an alley. There was nothing around them save a bunch of converted mills and warehouses. A few of them housed art gallerias in the up and coming area. Where was the rabbit going?

“Demona, are you sure you want to go down the rabbit hole as it where. I’m not sure Wonderland will be anything like what it is in the books. You do know that is a children’s fantasy right?” Sebastian stopped them both. He could smell the rabbit. It was a mortal in costume. But even his interest was piqued.

His lover put her hands on her hips and gave him a low growl. Her eyes glinted yellow in the moonlight. “Of course I know it’s a children’s book. I’m not stupid or dim witted. Gee. I was just having a little fun. If you don’t want to hunt rabbit with me. Fine. But me and my babies are hungry.”

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Wednesday Spotlight: Phaze

L.E. Bryce was born in Los Angeles, California and has never lived
anywhere else. She has a Masters in English Literature from California
State University, Northridge, and currently works as an English teacher.
Her Jewish mother, two dogs and passel of cats help her keep her sanity.

She is a regular contributor to Forbidden Fruit Magazine, and is the author of Dead to the World, My Sun and Stars, Ki'iri, Snake Bite and
Other Dark Homoerotic Fantasies
and Those Pearls That Were His Eyes. She
maintains a blog at Or check out her website at

Check out her newest Phaze Books release, "The Red Sash"

Blurb: Second in the Eromenos series that began with House of the Swallows. The nobleman Tamasin owns a lush seaside villa and three handsome young catamites. Each one vies for the right to wear the red sash, which marks him out as the master’s favorite for the night. But when disaster strikes Tamasin will discover that only one of his lovers is truly loyal to him.


“Which one will you have tonight?” The sash already hung from Keftu’s hands: a length of deep red linen heavy with pearls and gold beads. It looked cumbersome, precisely the sort of thing a prince might wear, and yet at some point Tamasin had thought it a good idea.

Sated with labor and a good meal, Tamasin had no particular preference. “Urrit,” he said, only because he had not seen the young man the night before.

Tamasin had never planned to own a foreign catamite, yet one trip to Sull’s portside slave market and one look at the honey-skinned youth on the auction block and he had given in. The ongoing war between the desert kingdoms on the mainland meant an influx of Tajhaani and Juvan slaves. There was not a single coastal community on the island that did not have its share of dark-skinned laborers, as they were now cheaper than native-born slaves.

Urrit came at a bargain, for reasons Tamasin found shocking. When asked, the slave trader ran his hand down the young man’s sleek muscled arms and shook his head disapprovingly. “Too old,” he said. “Seventeen is too old for a master’s bed. But you find him pleasing, so for you I will make a special price.”

Tamasin suspected the man’s “special price” was still too high by Tajhaani standards, yet when he learned what skills Urrit possessed he threw back his head and laughed, realizing he had not been fleeced after all.

Through signs and the few Thrindi words he knew, Urrit had explained that he had learned his craft at a school where bed-slaves were trained. Tamasin listened, then wondered if he had somehow misunderstood, for such things did not exist on the island. Only later, after three hours of the most erotic, exhausting lovemaking he ever experienced, had he realized that it was true.

The moon rose full over the sea, silvering the waves, yet on the heights around the villa the air remained warm. Servants opened the shutters to admit a faint breeze, while Keftu went to fetch Urrit.

There was no ceremony. On any given night the chosen one simply appeared at the door and the servants, hustled by the steward, withdrew to another part of the house. Tamasin, clad in a plain linen robe, watched smiling as Urrit knelt at the edge of the carpet, a Tajhaani custom no amount of cajoling could get him to forsake.

“Stand up, Urrit,” laughed Tamasin, “and come here.”

Urrit rose gracefully and approached. The sash banded his narrow waist, its rich color and decoration complimenting his darker coloring. Kohl lined his eyes, a desert custom rarely seen on the island yet one that Tamasin did not mind. “There is ritual to follow, master,” Urrit said in his halting Thrindi.

“If I want ritual I’ll go to the temple. Would you care for some wine, or anything else?” Tamasin gestured to the carafe on the table beside him. As always, he knew what the answer would be. Urrit never drank or took any other liberties in his presence. Lovemaking was an art for him, and even in this strange land the proper forms must be observed.

Tamasin rose and took Urrit in his arms for a kiss. Kissing was a skill the young man knew well, readily teaching his master tricks Tamasin then used with the other catamites, and with his wife, when Yansi showed interest in making love. Each time the kisses began with the lightest touch of lips, becoming firmer and more vigorous by degrees, building to the point where their tongues met. Exquisite tension. By the time their tongues were in each other’s mouths Tamasin was painfully hard, ready to
push Urrit down on his knees and take him.

He never did. Yes, there were moments when he wanted to dispense with the stylized foreplay and begin a kiss with his tongue deep in Urrit’s mouth. He wanted to nibble Urrit’s ears and throat, yet whenever he tried he felt his partner withdraw from him. Never outright refusal, of course, just a subtle shift in tension that let him know his actions were inappropriate. Quite simply, he could tell Urrit that he wished to make love a certain way, but once engaged could not deviate from the path his partner believed they must follow.

Tamasin could have insisted. He could have reminded Urrit that he was the master and this was not Tajhaan. But he did not want to spoil their nights together by forcing him.

When he had tasted his fill of Urrit’s mouth he drew back. “Now take off your clothes for me.”

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Tuesday Spotlight: Phaze

Who are Mychael Black and Shayne Carmichael?

Mychael Black is an open book (no pun intended). Short version: Southern (Alabama-born and bred), a Scorpio in every sense of the term, the proud parent of three children, very happily taken, transgendered, and queer to the umpteenth degree.

The long version...

Born and raised in north Alabama, Mychael has always been the quintessential tomboy. While Mychael had female friends, the author was most comfortable with the guys. The older Mychael got, the more he felt this way. A couple of years ago, he finally came to terms with his own gender identity. For a while, Mychael felt as if he was both and was happy with that. As time went by, Mychael felt himself leaning more and more toward the male side of his psyche. Mychael is transgendered, and began living full-time as Mychael on January 1, 2009.

Why does Mychael write what he does?

That's easy. Writing, for him, is therapy. And not only is it free, it's fun.

Mychael loves his cowboys, knights, sorcerers, vampires, angels, demons, and all the other men he's written and have yet to write. They're all a part of the author and always will be. He hopes that you all love them as much as he does.

Who is Shayne Carmichael?

His real name is Shayne Lee Smith. He was born in Itazuke, Japan to American parents. (ie - Dad was in the Air Force). From the age of three to eight, he lived in Taiwan. He's traveled a lot, and only discovered even more he wants to learn about the world.

When not writing, Shayne is a self taught PHP and MySql dynamo. Or at least one would think from the number of scripts he's been begged to write for free. With any spare time left to him, Shayne runs ERWI (Erotic Romance Writers International), aggravates his co-author, Mychael, to no end, often drowns under Mychael's plot bunnies, and holds a forty hour a week job.

Currently Shayne is working on a six book series, The Legends of the Romanorum. Blood Ties, Blood Magic and Blood Sins are being written by Shayne. The Prince's Angel, And the Two Shall Become One, and Forever May Not Be Long Enough are being written by Shayne and Mychael. Included in the writing list are a few other books, Magic and the Pagan, Night Song, and numerous novellas and shorts.

Shayne writes under the pen names of Sable St Germain and Shayne Carmichael. Sable was an RP character he used to play. Shayne Carmichael is a combination of his first name and Cian's (Angel/sorcerer in The Prince's Angel) last name. The character Shayne writes for in The Prince's Angel is Mael Black. That would explain why Mychael's last name is Black, and the character Mychael writes for is Cian.

Shayne's first official publishing contact is with Phaze for the Power of Two, a vampire D/s, BDSM story written with Mychael Black. The status of Phaze author has been one of their goals. Having achieved that, their next goal is to take over the world.

Over the last nine years, Shayne has rped (roleplayed) and written both male and female characters. Gay, lesbian and het (vanilla and non vanilla). You could say he runs the gamut.

He's never believed whatever gender he happens to possess dictates what he can and can't write. And he pretty much ignores anybody who thinks that way. Especially since he's never been a vampire, were tiger, ghost or guide, but he writes about them anyway. Hell, he could be a woman pretending to be a man, or a man pretending to be a woman. He might be a 21 year old sex crazed female or a 60 year old dirty old man. It's the world wide anonymous web, remember? In the anonymous vacuum of web space, nobody can hear you scream. They can't tell your age or sex either.

In the publication of most of his books and for advertising, his persona is male. In the comic strip The Beleaguered Lives of Mychael and Shayne, his persona is female. Why? He likes confusing the readers. Then again, maybe he's a bit of both.

Whether he's a man writing gay, lesbian and kinky het or a woman writing gay, lesbian and kinky het, doesn't matter. If he can draw you into a story with his words, he's done his job.

Who is Shayne Carmichael? Does it really matter?

The duo's newest M/M futuristic paranormal suspense release "2050" from Phaze Books is bound to be a best-seller!

Blurb: Visions of blood and death haunt Richie England. A new serial killer is stalking the city, and Richie finds himself in the middle of a frightening pyschological battle with the killer and the spectres behind the evil.

As the detective in charge of the Vivisectionist case, the last thing Julian Anders needs is a damn psychic telling him about visions. When another body is found, Julian is forced to accept Richie's help. The killer has seen Richie, and with his life at stake, both Julian and Richie need to find the answers and the killer before it's too late.


Richie took a deep breath as he stared at the metal doors with the square glass windows in them. He hated cops. With a fucking passion. However, the visions were getting worse, and he had to tell them--something--whether they believed him or not. Steeling his nerves, he pulled open the door. He ignored the odd looks from others waiting on wooden benches in the small room that doubled as a lobby. When he walked up to the desk, he knew it was now or never.

"I need to speak with the detective covering the Vivesectionist murders."

The woman behind the desk blinked several times before saying a word. "That would be Detective Anders. Might I ask what this pertains to?"

Richie sighed. "You want it in plain English? I'm a psychic. I know where the next murder will take place. I've seen it in a vision."

Somewhere nearby, someone choked on their coffee, then several others chuckled. He hated this. They all knew him; they all knew what he was. And not a damn one took him seriously.

"Y-yes, sir," the woman said as she picked up the phone. "Have a seat and he'll be with you shortly."

Richie nodded and found a bare patch of wall. Then he slid down to the cold tile floor.

When the phone ran, Julian answered it, listening silently to Allison. After a moment, he covered the receiver and looked at Mooney. "Somebody wants to see you."

"Huh?" Mooney gave him a blank look.

"Our neighbor psychic is right outside, and he wants to talk to you."

"Yeah, right, Anders. You ain't dodging. Besides if I were you, I'd listen to the guy. He's helped once or twice and been right."

"He hasn't helped me any." Sighing, he uncovered the receiver and said, "Send him back, Allison."

A few minutes later, Richie looked up to see a uniformed cop standing above him.

"Follow me," the man said with little to no emotion.

Richie got up and didn't even bother looking at him. "Lead the way," he said, waving his hand. He followed the man to an office near the back, then the cop opened the door.

"Mr. England to see you, Detective."

Looking up, Julian's features smoothed into an imperturbable mask as he nodded. "Come in, Mr. England, and take a seat."

Reaching for his coffee cup, Julian downed a healthy swallow as Mooney eyed him with a smirk.

When Mooney turned to glance over at the psychic, he asked, "What you got for us this time, England?"

"Stanton Park," Richie said as he sat down in the uncomfortable leather-covered chair in front of the desk. "That's where you'll find the next one, the next Vivisectionist victim. I've had visions all morning, since about four."

"Visions?" Julian just eyed the young man blankly. Idly he wondered what this odd kid was doing in his office. His gaze slowly swept over Richie in an analytical fashion. He gauged him to be about his brother's age and most like similar interests. Especially since they seem to favor the same notion of dressing in unrelieved black. And not in a business suit.

"Any idea of when, England?" Mooney seemed to have no problem taking him seriously.

"Yes, visions," Richie shot back at him, rolling his eyes. Then he turned and smiled at Mooney. "Good morning, Detective Mooney. As for when, the most I've been able to detect," he said, casting a sideways glare at Julian, "on a Friday, possibly this Friday. Dark."

A brow rose in amusement when Julian noticed Richie's bristling. Sudden pain jolted through Julian's leg as Mooney's foot connected with the front of his ankle.

Julian didn't show by a wince that the hit had fucking hurt.

Mooney smiled back at Richie. "We'll see if we can round a bit of extra help. Anything in the visions to tell what area of the park? SP is a large park."

"I haven't been to Stanton since Samhain," Richie said, "but I think near the clump of trees behind the amphitheater. It's always dark, maybe midnight if I'm judging right."

Turning in his seat, Julian moved his legs out of Mooney's range. Listening to Richie, his expression showed nothing but mild interest in what he had to say. Any of his thoughts were hidden and would probably irk Richie even more if he bothered to read them.

His voice when he spoke contained an urbane smooth tone. "We appreciate the information, Mr. England."

Mooney busied himself hastily writing what Richie said in his notebook. "Yeah thanks, England. If you get any more just let us know."

"Yeah, no problem." Richie stood up and just before walking out the door, he turned to Julian. "That's a pretty nasty bruise on your right ankle, Detective Anders." Then he walked out, closing the door behind him.

Mooney gave him a startled look before he turned back to Julian. Once the door was closed, he said, "So, let's see the leg."

Rolling his eyes Julian ignored the request. "It would be a very good assumption since you kicked me that I would probably have one." He gave Mooney an irritated look. "Do you think the Captain is really going to pay overtime for anybody to hang around SP waiting for a murder to be committed. And on a lead from a psychic?"

"It's worth a shot. If the kid is right, we'd be able to catch the bastard."

"And if he's wrong, the Captain would have our heads for being idiots. Psychic hunches are not adequate enough leads to cover that kind of overtime."

Mooney shook his head as he stood from the chair. "I think you're wrong on this, Anders. I've worked with that kid before. You didn't see what I saw. And you know what else? I don't think he saw me kick you. From where he was sitting he couldn't have seen that close to the floor. Not unless he can see through wood."

"He's a psychic. I'm sure he can see through anything."

Frowning at the sarcasm, Mooney left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Monday, March 9, 2009

Monday Spotlight: Phaze Books

Jane Leopold Quinn, an avid reader as far back as she can remember, was
always a romantic dreamer. Especially about the cowboys of the 1800s - the
handsome, roving cowboys depicted in the TV shows of the 50s and 60s.
Nothing says sexy like that mysterious, gorgeous, emotionally-wounded
loner. She grew up and taught third grade in a small Iowa town and dreamed
of an exciting, romantic life. Then she found her own mid-life romance and
happy marriage. Her husband proves to her every day that happily ever
after is real.

Be sure to check out her Phaze Books release "The Keeper."

Blurb: Sharon Timmons used the comfort of food to survive a rough
childhood when her father left, and her mother responded by going from man
to man. Taking control, she made a new life for herself -- new body, new
job, new town. Deputy sheriff Hank wasn’t a forever kind of guy, but she
was devastated when he left her for another woman. His partner rescued
her. She had no clue how her life would be impacted.

Pete Raine dated a lot of women in his day. He came from a big family,
born right in the middle. No one had ever needed him before. Sharon did.
He sensed her insecurities even though she was a knockout. When Hank
publicly dumped her, Pete scooped her up in his arms – literally – and
didn’t plan to let her go.

Sharon is a lot stronger emotionally than she gives herself credit for.
Pete is determined to help her realize that and determined to prove to her
he’s the one man who will love her under any circumstances and love her
forever. Sharon slowly comes to realize her intense, honest relationship
with Pete is true, and he is The Keeper.


“Sharon, look at me,” he commanded in a husky whisper, pulling gently on her hair to tip up her chin, his breathing none too steady. “Share?” He tugged again. Crap. She’s shivering. Is she crying?

She finally lifted her eyes to his. “No, no, I’m all right.”

He could barely hear her over the jukebox.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I don’t have to do anything, Share, but I want to kiss you.” Hank was an asshole for dumping her publicly like this. For so many reasons, some he didn’t quite understand, he wanted to make it better for her. They swayed to the beat of a Joe Nichols ballad. His chest expanded against her breasts.

“Pete, it’s…”

He lowered his head and murmured into her ear. “But, if you want, I’ll wait.”

“Wait?” She tensed, pulled her arms from around his neck, and grasped his forearms.

Her small hands on his arms made him feel strong and protective. “Until tomorrow night. How about we go to a movie tomorrow night?” He held back from taking advantage of how close his lips were to her ear. He really wanted to kiss the pretty little shell, and, oh fuck, he wanted to suck her earlobe between his teeth and bite…

She clung to him. The noise and smoke of the bar disappeared, and it was as if they were alone. Some singer a long time ago said dancing was like making love standing up. Man, was he right. Maybe she’d like to dance naked. He groaned, the sound reverberating in his chest.

When the song ended, and he reluctantly came to his senses, he steered her to the door and out into the steamy night. He was all heat, hot from the night and hot from Sharon. Extremely aroused, he stood very close to her at her car door, balancing one hand on the roof of the car and resting the other on her waist. She toyed with the buttons on his shirt. He held his breath when she pressed her palms against his chest, then lost it when she brushed her knuckles on his belly, just above his belt buckle.

Her expression was surprisingly shy, which seemed odd for the experienced woman he thought she was. Is she playing me?

Her fingers resting on his belt, she whispered, “Do we have to wait for tomorrow night for the kiss?”

Her lips parted and pursed, her gaze focused on his mouth, and that was all she wrote. Instantly, his mouth connected full on with hers. Lightly—intense but delicate—he brushed his lips back and forth, learning her, tasting her. He fought his desire for more. He wanted to plunder, but the softness of her response kept him in check. He let her lead the way and kept his eyes narrowly open to watch her expression.

Her eyes popped open.

With a shivering sigh, her breasts rose against his chest. The kiss ended. They separated, both gasping raggedly. What’s wrong with me? He’d been turned on before, but he’d never had this much trouble breathing. She cupped his cheek, scraping her nails in his late night whiskers.

“Wow,” she said.

“Yeah,” he responded, feeling distinctly off kilter.

She smiled at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

“You bet,” he replied huskily. “I’ll call you.” Bracing his legs, he watched her pull out of the parking lot and drive down the street. “Holy shit,” he muttered under his breath. “I gotta talk to Hank.” There was no way he was going to let his partner have her back. Not after that kiss.