Thursday, December 12, 2013

Mistletoe Madness Blog Hop!

Update: My two winners are Eve M. and Judy P. Congrats, ladies! Huge thanks to everyone who visited my stop! Happy holidays to you all!

Hi everyone, and welcome to my stop on the Mistletoe Madness Blog Hop! I'm giving away a digital copy of my 2 Christmas books, The Naughty List and Checking It Twice to 2 lucky winners. To enter, just let me know in the comments section what was the most memorable Christmas gift you've either received or given. Contest runs until Midnight Dec 20, and 2 winner names will be chosen via Random.Org. Only one entry per person. Open to US and International entrants. If you already have a copy of either book I will substitute it for a different book from my backlist. No other substitutions given. In addition to this giveaway I'm also running a Rafflecopter giveaway for an eARC of my soon-to-be-released menage, Three Ways to Wicked. You can check that out over here.

Don't forget to enter for the Grand Prize on the main giveaway hop page: and be sure to checkout all of the other great giveaways by visiting the link list at the bottom of this page.

Speaking of memorable gifts, my heroine from The Naughty List knows all about getting one of those! Two hunks eager to fulfill every fantasy she has? Her Christmas is about to get twice as hot!

                                             Available at Samhain Amazon  Barnes&Noble

Makin’ a list, and rocking it…twice.

Perpetual good girl Lacey McGuire has two Christmas wish lists. One suitable for public consumption…and a private one that’s too hot to handle. Right at the top: wild, wicked fantasies about her best buddies and business partners Ryan Hollister and Bram Colton.

Besides the fact they’re both poster boys for Hunks ’R’ Us, they’ve been there for her through thick, thin and the heartbreak of a cheating fiancé. So what if her boys will never know they star in her sexiest daydreams? In her fantasy world, her heart will never get trampled again.

Ry and Bram are pretty sure Lacey never meant to email a list of some of her raunchiest wants. Particularly the one that tightens their shorts—she wants a threesome. With them. Although they’ve loved her for years, they made a pact to keep Lacey off limits in order to protect their friendship. Now all bets are off. And the quest to give her all she wants—and more—is on.

Warning: This book contains a wickedly hot M/F/M ménage that will heat up the holidays. Friends steaming things up in a hot tub. Bondage and blindfolds. Sexy shenanigans at a Christmas tree lot. And maybe even a glimpse of Santa…in a Speedo.

You can read an excerpt from TNL over here.

Monday, December 9, 2013

Win an ARC of Three Ways to Wicked!
 Update: Winner of the ARC is Chris Bails! Congrats!

To celebrate the upcoming release for my wickedly hot and sexy M/M/F menage, Three Ways to Wicked, I'm giving away  an ARC to one lucky winner. Super easy entry, just follow the directions on the Rafflecopter form below. Good luck!

Three ingredients for a hot summer: sun, sand, and sizzling sex.

Wicked Shores, Book 1

Following a nasty breakup with her ex, Kayla English is eager to get her erotic writing mojo back on track. Except progress on her current book has flatlined, right along with her belief in happily-ever-after.

Solution? Two weeks of solitude in the Florida sun thanks to some friends’ generous offer to house-sit their place on the beach. She didn’t count on having roommates—or on getting the sexiest peepshow of her life.

Seven years after an intimate encounter rocked their worlds, business partners Tyler Bishop and Gibb Masters have kept things strictly in the friend zone. A recent storm has left them homeless, though. They figure moving into Ty’s parents’ place is preferable to roughing it elsewhere, even if it means resisting the temptation to slip between the sheets with Kayla…and each other.

As the days heat up, so does their three-way attraction. But when emotions run deeper than any of them expect, three wary hearts must decide if it’s worth the risk to write their own HEA.

Warning: This book brings the dirty. We’re talking dirty sex in an outdoor shower, on a boat, and on the kitchen counter with a dirty-mouthed Casanova. In other words, all the good stuff with a side of glow-in-the-dark body paint.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Sunday, November 24, 2013

Cover Reveal! Selena Illyria's Bachelor Auction: Mate Not Wanted

Cover Reveal: Bachelor Auction: Mate Not Wanted
Coming to Etopia Press Dec. 20th

Unedited Unofficial Book Blurb:
Lioness shifter, Madison doesn’t want to be mated.  When her friends bid and win Pierce McKinnely at a Bachelor Auction she knows she’s screwed.

Tiger shifter, Pierce McKinnley has been trying his best to wear Madison down. Will she be willing to give him a chance or will she run like she always does?

They belong together but she’s too stubborn to admit it and he’s too stubborn to let her walk away.

Unofficial Unedited Sneak Peek:
“I’m fine, back off,” she spat, more venomously than she intended.

“Not until I make sure you’re not hurt.” Before she could protest he jerked her against him until her breasts pressed against his midsection. Her nipples became tightened nubs that pulsed with need. Her skin tightened as pricks of heat danced along her exposed skin and her lioness purred louder, demanding more contact with her mate. For a moment, all she saw was him. Her world became the bright white of his shirt marred by the dark stains of blood, his sweat and unique scent, the tanned skin of his neck. She leaned forward to rub herself against him, imprint her own perfume on his clothes. A soft buzzing sound filled her ears.

Whispers and murmurs swirled around them, pulling her back to the reality of where she was. Madison cursed her weakness and took a step back. She was supposed to stay away from him, not give him more ammunition to prove his theory that she was attracted to him.

“No way in hell. I’m fine. No damage. I could have handled myself, you know?” It wasn’t a bluff, but she had to remind herself of why she should be so pissed at him. Things could have gone pear shaped in a matter of seconds had she not stepped in. “Why do you have to act like such a beast? Jesus.” She ran a hand through her hair and focused her weakened anger at him. “You could have gotten someone hurt, or worse.”

He blinked. “I know you can take care of yourself. I was just trying to help.”

His voice was now soft and gentle, and yet that roughness still remained. It was like a single malt—smooth, creamy, rough, and could keep you warm on the coldest of nights.

Another shiver raced along Madison’s skin and smoothed down her spine. Her nipples pulsed with heat as her breasts grew heavy and tight. She wanted to move back into his touch, feel the press of his chest against hers as he moved within her, rubbing his skin against the sensitive tips.

Madison cleared her throat and tried to stave off her desire. “And I’m not your mate,” she lied, trying to shrug off the effects that his tenor had on her body, “friend or otherwise.”

“For now.” Pierce closed the gap between them until his chest pressed against her breasts, giving them just a hint of the pressure they needed. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough.

Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Three Ways to Wicked Reviewer ARCs!

Like super hot M/M/F menages? Kinky sex in outdoor showers? The occasional groan worthy nautical pun? Then do I have the book for you! In the next couple of weeks I'll be getting the ARCs of Three Ways to Wicked, and I'm looking for reviewers now. Interested in getting on the list? Then shoot me an email at If you haven't reviewed any of my books before be sure and include links to your review site and/or where you regularly post your reviews. I look forward to hearing from you!

Not sure if Three Ways is for you? Got ya covered with an excerpt below. Just keep in mind it's a tamer one, so heed the warning in the blurb. ;)


                                 Three ingredients for a hot summer: sun, sand, and sizzling sex.

Following a nasty breakup with her ex, Kayla English is eager to get her erotic writing mojo back on track. Except progress on her current book has flat lined, right along with her belief in happily-ever-after.

Solution? Two weeks of solitude in the Florida sun thanks to some friends’ generous offer to house-sit their place on the beach. She didn’t count on having roommates—or on getting the sexiest peepshow of her life.

Seven years after an intimate encounter rocked their worlds, business partners Tyler Bishop and Gibb Masters have kept things strictly in the friend zone. A recent storm has left them homeless, though. They figure moving into Ty’s parents’ place is preferable to roughing it elsewhere, even if it means resisting the temptation to slip between the sheets with Kayla…and each other.

As the days heat up, so does their three-way attraction. But when emotions run deeper than any of them expect, three wary hearts must decide if it’s worth the risk to write their own HEA.

Warning: This book brings the dirty. We’re talking dirty sex in an outdoor shower, on a boat, and on the kitchen counter with a dirty-mouthed Casanova. In other words, all the good stuff with a side of glow-in-the-dark body paint.


“You need to get laid. And I’m the owner of the eleven-inch cock that’s gonna take care of that little problem for you.”

Making a mental note to implement a mandatory no-guzzling-cheap-wine-while-writing-love-scenes policy, Kayla English winced and ejected the audio book from her car’s CD player. “Pass the crackers, because that’s some hellacious cheesiness.”

Then again, she’d gotten more fan mail than usual after Tori’s Torrid Secret came out last year. Maybe that line wasn’t a flaming pile of dog poop. Not like she could do a damn thing about it now anyway. It was forever immortalized in print, and soon to be audio, once she stamped her approval on the demo CD.

Hell, she was probably just grouchy because it’d been far too long since she’d gotten laid.

Before she could pull the plug on it, the phantom voice of her ex, Jeremy, reared its ugly head. You honestly expect me to believe you’re not a dirty whore?

Six months ago he’d flung those harsh, condemning words at her, but the gut-churning betrayal of his pronouncement still cut her to the bone like a fresh laceration. Nothing she’d said put a dent in his false assumptions. She wrote smutty books, therefore it stood to reason she must be a perverted, cheating slut, right?

A fist-sized ball of tension anchored in her belly, she grabbed her purse and the two bags of groceries resting on the passenger seat. Precariously juggling all three items, she nudged the Camry’s door shut and schlepped toward the steep stairway of the weathered beach house the parents of her best friend, Bailey, had generously loaned her for the next two weeks while they cruised around the Mediterranean.

It felt odd not staying at the sprawling mansion on North Shore, but she was grateful not to be faced with the heartbreaking remembrances of her dad and his last days there before he passed. Besides, her mom had made it perfectly clear that Kayla wasn’t welcome to darken her doorway anytime soon.

Familiar anxiety added to the queasy brew in her stomach. Sucking in a deep breath, she expelled it slowly, willing her tensed shoulders to relax. The crisp, salty tang of the ocean breeze ruffled her hair, doing its part to lessen the stress and uncertainty that’d been her persistent companions far too often lately. This working vacation was precisely what she needed. Respite from the memories of her failed relationship with Jeremy and her falling out with her mom. And hopefully an opportunity to kill her fears that she’d lost her passion for writing.

Even as she clung to that desperate hope, the taunting insecurities coiled inside her—a colony of poisonous asps biding their time.

Jeremy’s betrayal had gouged more than a chunk out of her heart. It was testing the foundation of her belief system. What she’d once held to be one unequivocal truth—that love always conquered all—was now riddled with mile-wide cracks. How could she write about love when she constantly questioned if it even existed? Right now, it seemed less believable than unicorns and Big Foot.

She trudged up the steps, careful not to stick the soles of her thin-heeled sandals with the few stray nailheads protruding from the wooden treads. Shuffling the bags again, she wedged the key into the lock and swung open the front door. She followed another small flight of stairs to the second landing. The sunny seaside décor of the large open living room jogged a contented sigh loose. “Exactly what I needed.”

Two weeks to rekindle her sexy writing mojo, beautiful Florida sunsets over the Atlantic, and soaking up some rays. Bliss. Beat the hell out of remaining holed up in her cramped apartment in Detroit while she banged her head against a wall trying to plot an outline for a new book that was going nowhere.

Shoving aside that last unproductive thought, she surveyed her surroundings with bittersweet emotion. She’d spent almost every summer in Wicked Shores during her youth. She missed those carefree days with an intensity that ached in her soul.

A silver-framed photo on a nearby end table caught her eye, and she crossed to it, drawn like a magnet. Appropriate comparison, once her full attention fell on the gorgeous male subjects centered in the picture. Tyler Bishop and Gibb Masters—leading stars of every single one of her girlhood fantasies.

Hell, who was she kidding? Ty and Gibb still made her quiver in inappropriate places. Her giddy, racing pulse and tightened nipples were all too happy to point out that obnoxious fact.

In the photo, the two men leaned on the rusted bumper of Ty’s old Jeep. Both wore faded cargo shorts, but that’s pretty much where the similarity ended. Dark-haired, sexy bad boy Ty could barely rein in his grin. No doubt he was thinking of all the lucky ladies he’d charm out of their panties later that night. In contrast, sun-kissed surfer god Gibb wore a slightly shuttered expression, as if he was reluctant to reveal too much to the camera lens. He’d always been the more reserved of the pair.

According to Bailey, her brother and Gibb had opened a charter fishing business in the Wicked Shores marina after Gibb’s marriage hit the skids and he moved back to the area. Which meant Kayla had a better-than-good chance of running into her secret crushes at some point during the next two weeks. Her only saving grace was the objects of her deepest desires knew nothing about her over-romanticized quest during her early college years to save her virginity for them. In her wildest fantasies, she’d concocted images of them fighting over the prestigious title of being her first lover.
God, how pathetic would she look if they knew any of that ridiculousness? Grimacing, she plunked the bags of groceries and her purse on the massive granite island in the kitchen.

After stowing the perishables in the fridge, she freed one of the Mike’s Lemonades from the cardboard caddy and twisted off the cap. A citrus-spiked effervescent hiss beckoning enticement, she swigged a refreshing sip and wiggled out of her sandals. She glanced toward the window situated above the sink and caught the blood-orange hues of the sun painting the distant waves. Her dad had always claimed this idyllic slice of the coast filled his writer pen with magic ink. Easy to believe. She only prayed it’d deliver the same benefit to her laptop keyboard.

Her toes soaking up the chill from the pastel peach tiles, she crossed to the sliding glass door overlooking the rear deck. A large in-ground pool took up a fair amount of real estate on the ground level. That was new. As was the adjacent pool house.

Quaffing a more satisfying swallow of the Mike’s, she hitched her attention to the left…and choked on the mouthful of alcohol when her gaze landed on the firm, wet, naked ass of a guy scrubbing himself briskly in the outside shower situated on the opposite side of the pool. The sun-bleached wooden doors were thrown wide open, awarding her an unimpeded, eye-popping view of rock-hard glutes flexing beneath the streaming cascade of crystal-clear water.

“What. The. Hell.” Her tongue refusing to dislodge any further words, she visually tracked the glistening stream in a reverse journey up along that strong, sculpted back. Acres of muscles and bronzed skin. Indistinguishable tattoo taking up most of his right shoulder and lower torso. His big hands slicked through the glossy, mink-brown hair plastered to his skull, sending sparkling fat globules of water flying. He leaned his head back, awarding her a better glimpse of his face.

She broke from her fascinated trance with a double blink and a sharp staccato breath lodging in her windpipe.

Ty Bishop was the Adonis standing buck-ass naked less than fifty feet away from her. Half convinced she’d been dropped into one of her erotic reveries, she pinched her arm and winced at the sting. Nope, one hundred percent awake.

Broad, sleek shoulders flexing, Ty dialed off the shower and reached for the towel hung on a nearby peg. He pivoted, and she automatically zeroed in on his semi-erect cock.

Sweet mother of God. Speaking of hung…

Fat, rosy and splendidly lickable, his cock jutted from a neatly trimmed patch of dark hair. She would have sold her soul to have access to binoculars right then. Or at least 20/20 vision. He gave his cock a brisk rub with the towel, and her knees almost buckled. Dear Lord, that was the luckiest damn scrap of fabric on the face of the earth.

After drying his chest, Ty snapped the towel around his neck and glanced upward toward the house. He frowned, his eyebrows tugging into a prominent V.

It took a moment to realize he was staring at her. Directly at her. Hot waves of panic slamming her dead center, she dashed into the kitchen, ducked to her knees and crouched near the cabinets. Yeah, it was a completely boneheaded reaction. He’d already busted her ogling him. Resisting the urge to rap her forehead against the whitewashed cupboard, she fizzled out a groan.

Several torturous seconds ticked by before she detected the unmistakable whoosh of the glass door sliding open on its track. Any prayer of escaping the awkward situation died a thousand painful deaths. Nervous sweat trickling a sticky path along the nape of her neck, she squeezed her eyes shut and wished fervently for the power of invisibility. Or a giant sinkhole to open and swallow her up.

Soft footfalls announced that her lame-ass hiding spot hadn’t done one damn bit of good. Daring to crack one eye open, she peeked upward and met the sexy devastation of Tyler Bishop’s grin head-on.

“Damn, Kay. If I’d known you were standing there, I woulda given you somethin’ more interesting to watch.”


Monday, July 1, 2013

Win an ARC of Lover Enraptured

Update: Winner is Ghilaine Clark!

In just a little over a month, Lover Enraptured--the 2nd Thieves of Aurion book--will be releasing from Samhain Publishing. YAY!!! To celebrate, I'm giving away one digital ARC to a lucky winner. To enter, just leave a comment and an email addy so I can contact you if you're the winner. Contest is open to all, but closes at Midnight on July 15th. Good luck!

Looks like someone’s knees are going to get a workout.

Thieves of Aurion, Book 2

Avily Donahoe has dated way too many losers trying to get over Jerrick Hunter, the man who taught her everything about the life of crime she left behind. Now he has the balls to show up and ask her to pose as his sub, complete with skimpy leather outfit, to get inside a no-faes-allowed sex club?

Oh, hell no. If anyone’s going to be wearing next to nothing, it’s going to be Jerrick…as her bitch.

Five years ago, Jerrick realized the lonely kid he’d taken under his wing had grown into a tempting, desirable woman—and he’d cut her loose. If gaining her help now means hitting his knees with a leash and a collar, so be it.

But soon their front escalates into an all-too-real erotic game where the prize is the one thing that tantalizes him beyond reason. Their hearts aren’t the only thing they’ll lose if they fail. It could mean the end of everything—and everyone—they know and love.

Warning: This book contains male groveling, the occasional blindfold and feather tickler, wicked sex magic, and a fae thief who isn’t afraid to wear ass-less chaps when the job calls for it. 

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

The Official Mr. Hot Stuff Voting Poll!

It's that time, y'all. After a fantastic turnout that had me overwhelmed with so many awesometastic names, Random.Org has narrowed the pool down to the top 3 finalists. I truly think all 3 are kickass, but sadly I can't use them all. Or can I? Hm. Yeah, probably not a winning idea to have a hero with six names. *sigh*

So this is where YOU come in. From now until midnight, June 26th, cast your vote and make your voices heard on who should be the valiant Mr. Hot Stuff Name Victor! So without further ado, I present the finalists:

Wyatt Hunter, entered by Elaine G
Roary McKernan, entered by Sara R
Maddox Steele, entered by Sandra H

Vote for your favorite Mr. Hot Stuff Finalist!

Friday, April 12, 2013

Let's Get Lucky Blog hop!

Welcome to my stop on the MFRW's Erotic Romance Blog hop! Since the theme is Let's Get Lucky, I thought I'd spotlight one of my favorite "getting lucky" scenes I've written to date. In That Voodoo You Do, my heroine, Jemma Finnegan, has been in love with her best friend, Griffin Trudeau, for too many years to count. She has no idea that she's a witch, and that Griff is her cat familiar, much less that the two of them knocking boots will be a catalyst to a zombie apocalypse. Probably a good thing. Because that kind of knowledge is bound to put a crimp in anyone's seduction plans! Below is a hot little peek at what Jemma has up her sleeve for poor Griff. And keeping with the theme, I'm giving a digital copy of That Voodoo You Do (or one of the other That Old Black Magic books if you already have TVYD) to 2 lucky commentors. Contest is open to all, but closes on Midnight, April 14th.  Please make sure to leave an email so I can contact you if you're the winner. Also make sure and check out my Name Mr. Hot Stuff contest if you'd like a shot at naming the next That Old Black Magic hero. For more info on that, just click the button on the right side bar up there. Good luck!

                                               Available from Samhain  Amazon B&N  ARe
Something dead this way comes…

That Old Black Magic, Book 1

For ten long years Griffin Trudeau has managed to keep his paws off Jemma Finnegan, best friend and leading star of his kinkiest fantasies. As her appointed cat familiar, indulging those fantasies with the delectable witch is strictly forbidden. But when Jemma shows up at his door with seduction in mind, control goes right out the window.

Too late he realizes making love to Jemma is the trigger that launches a zombie apocalypse.

Jemma’s been dealt a double whammy: she’s just discovered she’s a witch. And Griff has been hiding whiskers and a tail. Oh, and if her life wasn’t crazy enough, a dead voodoo queen needs her blood to raise a legion of zombies.

There’s one plan that might work to increase Jemma’s powers so she can put an end to the looming holocaust. A sexy threesome with Griff and Logan Scott, a werewolf familiar with a history of rubbing Griff’s fur the wrong way. A cat and a wolf playing nice, much less sharing? It’ll take a miracle.

Warning: A witch, tiger and wolf doing naughty things. A dead voodoo queen doing evil things. And zombies doing zombie things. Get your shovels ready.


Griffin Trudeau didn’t know it, but he was about to have his bones jumped.

Bumping her car door shut with her rear end, Jemma Finnegan resituated her corset top, strategically plumping her cleavage to maximum overload. Satisfied her best assets were properly displayed, she strolled toward the log home nestled in the thick stand of white pines. The butterflies that’d taken up residence in her belly for the past hour started doing a drunken version of the Macarena. Sure, she’d taken this walk hundreds of times, but never with the end goal of seducing her best friend.

Hell, one of them had to get the ball rolling. If she left it to Griff to act on their mutual attraction, her vagina would shrivel up.

The windows flanking the front door were cracked an inch, allowing the spicy aroma of oregano and thyme to waft outside and taunt her nostrils. Okay, maybe she’d wait until after gobbling a bowl of Griff’s world-class spaghetti before tackling him into bed.

She gave a warning rap on the door and stepped inside the foyer. Normally she’d kick off her shoes and enjoy walking around barefoot, but the sexy high heels she’d splurged on gave her a much-needed boost of confidence. Not to mention they made her short legs appear longer. Hell, she needed to use all the ammunition at her disposal to get Griff panting after her.

“Lucy, I’m home.” Following the faint strains of Bob Seger playing on the radio, she trekked into the kitchen and found Griff hunkered in front of the étagère. The overhead track lighting accentuated the natural highlights in his sable strands, making her fingers itch to run through his hair. Apparently oblivious of the effect he had on her, he continued inspecting the various labels before reaching for a bottle of red wine. His broad shoulders shifted enticingly beneath his forest-green polo shirt and she dragged in a deep breath, willing the delicious scent of Griff’s cooking to beat her libido into submission.

“Hey, Jem? I don’t have Chianti. Will you lower your lofty standards this once and drink merlot instead?” He swung his head in her direction. The expression that crossed his face made the contortionist dance it’d taken to squeeze into her skintight jeans and the corset top totally worth it.
Smothering her grin of triumph, she rounded the kitchen island, her black patent stiletto heels clicking on the wooden floor planks. She stopped in front of him and leaned down, planting her breasts squarely in his face. “Would you like me to get that?”

He didn’t immediately answer. His focus, however, remained glued to her cleavage.

Ground control, we have contact. “Griff…the wine?”

Snapping out of his trance, he passed her the bottle. She repaid his mute obedience with a smacking kiss on his forehead, an action she’d indulged in more times than she could count. This time the gesture had the hidden benefit of awarding him a bird’s-eye view down her corset. His loud gulp music to her ears, she pivoted and strode to the center island, making sure she put plenty of sashay in her booty. She couldn’t say for sure, but she swore a whimper trickled from Griff.

Yanking open the middle drawer, she pulled out the corkscrew. Sounds of him shuffling around and the melodic clinking of stemware competed with the raspy strains of Seger crooning about “Night Moves” and the roiling bubbles building in the pasta pan. The familiar backdrop of the noises surrounding her were both comforting and arousing, adding to the heady buzz of sexual tension that hung thick in the air. Swiveling, she caught the spastic twitch in Griff’s jaw and knew he felt the brewing chemistry too. Biting the inside of her cheek in an effort to stifle her smile, she worked the pointed end of the corkscrew into the foil cap topping the wine bottle. “So how did everything go at the store today?”

“Your dad was his typical slave-driver self.” Beneath the mock sarcasm, genuine affection laced Griff’s tone. He and her dad were not only boss and employee, but good buddies. A fact she was eternally grateful for. If things did progress beyond friends-with-benefits between her and Griff, she didn’t need to worry about her parents not supporting the relationship. Crap, who was she kidding? They’d be so overjoyed they’d probably throw a party.

“Dad’s lucky to have you. No one runs that place like you do.” Or looks as hot in a tool belt. For that reason alone she made sure to stop in at Finnegan Hardware at least three days a week. Something her cousins loved to tease her about unmercifully, the brats. Chewing her lip, she smoothed a hand over the waist of her top. She noticed Griff’s unblinking fascination as he visually tracked the path her fingers took. Tingles skipped across her skin. “You haven’t commented on my outfit.”

His gaze immediately veered to her boobs again before shooting away. “You look…different.” The gravel in his voice betrayed him and he cleared his throat. “Maybe I shouldn’t have made spaghetti. I’d hate for you to accidentally splatter sauce on your white top.”

Hoo boy. Could he have given her a better lead in? “Hmm, should I take it off then?” Conjuring her inner mischievous vixen, she reached for her top’s uppermost eyehook. The glasses slipped from Griff’s hold and clunked onto the kitchen counter, miraculously without breaking.

“Jesus, Jemma. Don’t joke around like that.”

“Who says I’m joking?” She ran a fingertip along the girly ruffles edging the top of the corset.

As if hypnotized, Griff watched the progress of her finger. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The timer on the stove dinged, making him jump. Looking suspiciously relieved by the interruption, he dashed to the boiling stockpot and slid it from the burner. Water sloshed over the rim of the pot, and he jerked his hand back with a sharp curse.

She rushed to his side, trying not to wipe out on the water splashed on the floor, and gaped at the angry red burn spreading near his knuckles. “Oh no.”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t give me that shit, Mr. Macho.” Snagging him by the belt loop, she towed him toward the sink. She cranked the faucet to the coldest setting and dunked his hand beneath the spray. The icy water stung like a million sharp needles pricking her, but she ignored the discomfort. “Do you have any first-aid cream?”

“Jemma, I’m fine.”

“Stubborn is more like it.” She pointed to the lineup of barstools fronting the island. “Sit.” Leaving him to follow her orders in grumpy compliance, she turned off the faucet and hurried to the master bathroom. She sidestepped a towel and gym socks that’d somehow missed the hamper. Men. A little scrounging in the medicine cabinet coughed up a tube of ointment. She returned to the kitchen and perched on the barstool beside Griff. Uncapping the tube, she dabbed a fat dollop of the cream onto the vivid red splotch on his hand, trying to keep her touch light and gentle. “This is a change of pace. Usually it’s you coming to my rescue. I swear I’ve lost count of how often you’ve saved me from near disaster.” Most of those times he’d mysteriously shown up without her even needing to call him. It was almost like he possessed a sixth sense where she was concerned.

Shaking off the fanciful thought, she chuckled. “Remember when I got stuck in the doggy door at my parents’ house? Man, that was embarrassing. Teach me to misplace the keys.”

Dead silence greeted her observation. She glanced up and caught Griff staring at her mouth. Unmistakable desire simmered in his chocolate-brown eyes. A dizzying rush of excitement flooded her bloodstream. It’s now or never. Go bold or go home. She leaned forward and his hand clenched beneath hers. Heart thumping, she stroked toward the crook of his elbow, her fingernails feathering over the dusting of sun-kissed hairs that sprinkled his forearm.

A deep rumble came from Griff’s chest, almost resembling a purr. Encouraged by the sound, she inched closer and pressed her mouth against his. His shaky exhalation sailed across her lips, but he didn’t draw away. Taking that as a good sign, she increased the pressure a smidgeon, refusing to rush the moment. A first kiss should be savored…explored in infinitesimally delicious increments. They had all night to get around to the scorching, I-want-to-eat-you-up, tongue-wrestling part of the festivities.

She played the tip of her tongue against Griff’s lips. They were firm yet soft, splendidly kissable. Uttering a deep, hungry groan that seemed to emanate all the way from his toes, he hauled her off the stool and dragged her onto his lap. Her crotch bumped the massive erection tenting the fly of his jeans. Shock ricocheted through her. Good Lord, she’d been missing out on that all these years?

Okay, screw taking things slow. She rubbed along the delicious length of Griff’s shaft, undulating her hips in a rhythm that’d do a stripper proud. He rewarded her with a husky, tortured moan. A millisecond later his mouth crashed over hers and she automatically parted her lips. Taking her up on the invite, his tongue dipped inside, hot and seeking.

He kissed her like a death-row inmate scarfing down his last meal. Insistent fingers sifted through her hair, tilting her head, granting deeper access for his questing tongue. She returned its parrying thrust and earned another of those sexy purrs of his. The sound shimmered across her nerve endings, creating a decadent spiral of heat that coalesced into a tight, sweet ache between her thighs. She whimpered. Griff immediately jerked his head back, harsh breaths sawing from his lungs. Regret didn’t quite dampen the passion swirling in his darkened pupils.

“Christ, Jemma, I’m sorry.” His voice as unsteady as his hands, he clamped onto her hips and started to put her back on the barstool…away from that delicious erection.

Oh hell no. Hooking her legs around the rear of Griff’s stool, she wedged herself tight against his lap and slid her mouth along his bristly jaw. His drawn-out moan rushed past her ear, ruffling her hair. She reached his neck and nuzzled her nose into his warm skin, his yummilicious musky scent making her giddy. God, he smelled good enough to eat. Putting her theory to work, she nibbled the taut tendon that ran along the side of his neck.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” His words came out in a desperate, agonized croak.

Cupping his face, she skimmed her lips over his in soft entreaty. She’d known he’d be reluctant to risk their ten-year friendship by getting physical. Good thing she wasn’t averse to bringing out the big guns. Scooting back, she unfastened the eyelets on the corset and tossed the garment aside.

Griff stared at her naked breasts, his expression a strange mix of misery and lust. “Jemma…”

“Touch me. Please. I need this. I need you.”

He gulped—hard—and loosened his grip on her hips. After a brief hesitation, his fingers quested upward and grazed her navel. Her belly quivered. His hands ghosted along her rib cage, taking forever to reach the under swells of her breasts. He traced their soft curvature with slow reverence, his thumbs coming to rest on her nipples. The barely there touch made her clit throb with a greedy ache. God, she needed his hands and mouth on every part of her. Now. “Griff—”

His hooded, sexy gaze lifted. He looked like a man on the edge. Like a man who was a breath away from ripping the rest of her clothes off and fucking her senseless. She wished he’d damn well get on with it.

“Jemma, I’m going to suck on your nipples until you’re begging me to make you come. So think you can be quiet for the next two seconds?”

Well, when he put it that way…

Kneading the weight of her breasts in both hands, he leaned down and flicked her nipple with his tongue, the wet friction causing her spine to arch. His teeth scraped her flesh, not painfully, just enough to create a pleasurable sting.

“You have sensitive nipples.” He didn’t phrase it as a question. Apparently her gasping moans were answer enough for him. He divided his attention between both breasts until their tips were rosy and swollen, glistening with his saliva. “Is your clit as sensitive?” The inquiry made her squirm in his lap. Griff lifted his head from her breasts, his expression carnal. “How about if we find out?”

Friday, April 5, 2013

Name Mr. Hot Stuff!

He’s Big, Badass, and...Nameless???

That's right, y'all. The smokin’ hot dragon shifter hero for the next That Old Black Magic book needs YOUR help getting a proper name other than Mr. Hot Stuff. Because lets face it, he’s gonna get a lot of heckling from his dragon buddies if I continue to call him that. In addition to scoring the coveted bragging right of Supreme Dragon Namer, one lucky winner will also get an official shoutout in the book dedication, which they can flaunt to the entire world to prove their outstandingly awesome naming skills. The main winner PLUS two lucky runners up will also get autographed print copies of That Voodoo You Do, The Seven Year Witch, Maximum Witch, and Getting Familiar With Your Demon AND a $20 eGC to Samhain Publishing.

Here's the official scoop on how the entries will work. From now until midnight June 15th you can enter via the form below as many times as you'd like, but each name entry needs to be unique. No entering 'Hot Pants Hinklebottom' 15 times--even if that is a kickass name. Out of those entries I'll pick 3 finalists who will be pitted in a test of skills against a velociraptor. Or I might just put up a voting poll and the top scoring entry will win. Yeah, probably that last option. Although I'll keep the velociraptor on standby. Just in case.

This contest is open to all, but please note that if you're outside the US, the print books will be coming from The Book Despository, and unsigned.

Some Mr. Hot Stuff fun facts to help you out:

HS took early retirement from the Drakoni Special Ops. He now owns a biker bar in downtown Savannah, GA. His beasty magnetism has always won over the ladies, but he's about to come up against one headstrong witch entirely immune to his dragon mojo. Okay, maybe not entirely.

Favorite food: BBQ ribs (Really anything flame broiled. For obvious reasons.)

Favorite drink: Bishop Bob’s Holy Smoke lager (Dragonmead microbrew)

Favorite sport: hockey

Favorite band: Metallica

Favorite saying: If you can’t take the heat, stay out of firing range.

Favorite movie: Enter the Dragon

Favorite TV show: Survivor (though he thinks it’d be infinitely better if they had to battle Komodo dragons in a daily challenge)

I've had some additional questions from entrants so I'm fielding those here in case anyone else has similar questions.

Do you submit first and last name? Yes. If you only submitted a first name that's okay too. If I choose a finalist who only submitted a first name, a last name can be added in the final round.

How old is Mr. Hot Stuff?  36

What color is he in dragon form? Black

Please feel free to leave any questions you have in the comments section. I can add to this list as needed.  

Now that you've got the insider scoop, it's time to lay your best name on me. Good luck!

Friday, March 29, 2013

Lover Enraptured Reviewer ARCs

I'll soon have a limited number of reviewer ARCs available for Lover Enraptured. If you're interested in getting onto the list, please read and follow the couple of rules I have set up below. 

Due to the limited amount of ARCs I can give out, it's vital that anyone who asks for one fully intends to post a review. Additionally, you must have a review blog, and/or be a contributor at one. If this is your first time contacting me with an ARC request, please include links to the site or blog where your reviews are posted. You can send that information to

Not sure if Lover Enraptured is for you? Got ya covered. Just read on for the blurb and and a hot excerpt. Warning--explicit! Side note: Although this is book 2 in a series, Lover Enraptured can easily be read as a standalone. Thanks, and I look forward to hearing from you!
                              Looks like someone’s knees are going to get a workout…
                                                    Thieves of Aurion, book 2
                                                           Coming Aug 13

Avily Donahoe has dated way too many losers trying get over Jerrick Hunter, the man who taught her everything about the life of crime she left behind. Now he has the balls to show up and ask her to pose as his sub, complete with skimpy leather outfit, to get inside a no-faes-allowed sex club?
Oh, hell no. If anyone’s going to be wearing next to nothing, it’s going to be Jerrick…as her bitch.
Five years ago, Jerrick realized the lonely kid he’d taken under his wing had grown into a tempting, desirable woman—and he’d cut her loose. If gaining her help now means hitting his knees with a leash and a collar, so be it.
But soon their front escalates into an all-too-real erotic game where the prize is the one thing that tantalizes him beyond reason. Their hearts aren’t the only thing they’ll lose if they fail. It could mean the end of everything—and everyone—they know and love.
Warning: This book contains male groveling, the occasional blindfold and feather tickler, wicked sex magic, and a fae thief who isn’t afraid to wear ass-less chaps when the job calls for it.
Jerrick was starting to come to the conclusion that the smaller the package, the more potential for testing his patience. Despite being half his size, Avi possessed the ability to drive him to the limits of his sanity.

After their showdown in the bathroom, she’d calmly ordered him into the kitchen—where he was currently making her a salad while she kicked back on the sofa. She was taking this whole getting-into-character to an exasperating extreme. He knew she was doing it to prove a point, and he even understood why.

What she didn’t understand was the dangerous fire she was meddling with.

There was a reason he desperately needed to be the one holding the reins in this charade, and it had nothing to do with some farfetched notion of refusing to kowtow to a woman’s demands. As long as he remained in control of himself, everything would be okay. He could treat this job like any other and stay cool and professional in the process. But with Avi pushing him and stripping his defenses, what hope did he hold of resisting the potent pull of her?

He had to. Giving in was not an option. Popping a cheese cube into his mouth, he squinted at her profile. “It’s bloody cold in here. Can I put my damn shirt back on?”

“The lower temp is good for your metabolism. We wouldn’t want you developing a spare tire around your gut.”

“I appreciate your concern for my health.” Somehow or other, he’d find a way to get her back for this. “What else do you want in your salad?”

“Maybe a few slices of the Nahimi melon.”

He opened her cooler and inspected the contents of the crisper bin. “Looks like you already polished it off.”

“Well shoot.”

He waited for her to demand he drag his ass down to the grocer. Or perhaps produce some magical seeds and till her a garden so she could have her blasted fruit.

“Guess you’ll have to skip adding it. Chop up the rest of the cooked hen on the second shelf and toss it in instead. I need my protein, you know.”

Undoubtedly so she could keep her lungs nice and strong for bossing him around.

A minute later, meal completed to her exacting standards, he carried it to the sofa. She patted the cushion next to her. Before he even sat down he knew what her next request would be.

“You can feed it to me.”

Biting back a growl, he speared a serving of the greens and crispy poultry with the fork and held it to her mouth. Her lips closed around the metal tines with an mmm of pleasure that wrapped around his cock and refused to let go. Yes, she definitely drove him insane. In more ways than one. He battled the potent desire to suck the remaining few speckles of dressing from her berry-vinaigrette-glossed lips.

“Does it meet your approval, my precious?” His voice sounded strained and gruff to his own ears.

Her smile was as sweetly delivered as his endearment. “Color me impressed. Didn’t know you had it in you to cook. You’ve always avoided any domestic activity like it’s a fate worse than death.”

Damn sassy woman. Even if she was right. “It’s a salad. Not much cooking involved.”

She surprised him by snatching the fork from his grip. At bloody last, she was putting this ridiculous dominatrix stuff to bed for the night.

Truthfully, her roleplaying wasn’t the only thing wreaking havoc on his tightly strung patience. Sitting next to her and not running his hands all over her silky skin was killing him. Their brief contact in the bathroom only added kindling to the fire crackling between them. If he wasn’t careful, he stood a good chance of getting burned.

He needed to remove himself from temptation. Now. Desperately clutching the frayed strands of his willpower, he started to shove up from the cushion.

Avi stalled him with her hand on his thigh. His entire world narrowed to the distracting pressure of her splayed fingers. He didn’t immediately notice the fork waving inches from his face. “Wha—?”

She shoved the greens into his mouth, effectively shutting him up. He chewed the offering, his wary focus never leaving her face. She scooted closer and tucked her legs over his lap. A rush of familiarity swept over him. How many times had she curled into him like this? Too many to count. And just like those other occasions when he’d sweated through her need to cuddle, he questioned his ability to keep his hands safely out of the danger zone.

Popping another savory morsel of poultry into his mouth, she looked him square in the eye, her own twinkling with a devilment that put him on high alert. “Put your hand on my leg.”

He returned her stare for a long moment, attempting to decipher if this was part of her cover or something else. Something that’d ultimately prove a far tougher test to his control.

“Don’t make me punish you for your disobedience, Jer.”

The mock sternness in her tone did funny things to his gut. Or maybe the sudden stiffening of his cock had something to do with the lazy swirl of her fingertip along his abdomen. Hard to tell.

Extra emphasis on hard.

If he was smart, he would have called an end to their training right there and packed it in for the night, but apparently his intelligence had migrated south for the winter. “What punishment are you intending to dish out?”

“Well…” She set aside the forgotten plate of salad and straddled his lap. Her fingers drifted along the delicate swells of her hips, the soft scritch of her nails raking the supple leather providing an erotic soundtrack. “If you won’t touch me, maybe I should make you watch me do it.”

Surely she didn’t mean that the way it sounded. “Avi—”

She pressed a fingertip to his mouth. “No, you had your chance. Now you’re going to pay the price.”

Oh, he held no doubt of that. Particularly when her hands ghosted upward, tracing her rib cage and higher still to the fullness of her breasts. She rolled the pads of her fingers over her nipples, mimicking the motions he’d used earlier in the bathroom. His lungs suddenly felt equally as constricted as his damn briefs.

She licked her lips, the sultry haze of desire in her eyes nearly doing him in. “Did you like touching me? Do you wish you could do it right now? Would you caress my breasts, or maybe slide your hand up under my skirt and find out how wet I am?”

Sweet goddess. He hissed a breath between his teeth. “Don’t play this dangerous game with me.”

“Why? Worried I’ll crack through that legendary control of yours?” One palm swept lower and hovered temptingly near her mound.

Sweat broke out on his forehead. He’d never been more grateful for the hindrance of a skirt. Ironic, considering he usually cursed them to hell and back for slowing his seduction progress.

The heated glimmer in her eyes making him infinitely nervous and aroused, Avi lifted onto her knees and tiptoed her fingers along the creamy-smooth expanse of her thighs. Hypnotized, he watched the slow crawl of her hemline ascending toward her hips. The black lace triangle of her panties popped into view, and his shaky exhalation snuck loose before he could rope it into submission. Damn. He was a fucking sucker for sexy underthings.

Then again, he was a fucking sucker when it came to Avi. Period.

“Do you like what you see?” She leaned forward until her lips grazed his earlobe. “Or should I give you something even better to watch?”

His brain screamed one answer while his cock piped in with an entirely different response. Not trusting the words that might jog loose of his mouth, he swallowed hard. This close, he could smell the sweet heat of her. Beneath the luscious floral essence, he easily detected the feminine musk of her arousal. It was driving him out of his mind. He longed to hike her up into his arms and bury his head between her legs, fill his nose with the heady intoxication of her pussy, right before he filled her with his tongue.

She leaned back, awarding him some room to enjoy the show. He knew he was in some serious trouble the instant she hesitantly stroked over the fabric covering her crotch. She was soaked. The slick, succulent sound taunting him verified it. No need for him to see or feel her wet, velvety flesh firsthand.

But he wanted to.

Dear gods, how he wanted to.