This May/September romantic suspense follows the teenage waif from
the group home where Cassie worked in Book One. No longer a teenager,
Daisy is carving a life for herself in spite of threats from her past.
Today’s excerpt comes immediately after last Sunday’s, where a strange man frightened the horse Daisy was working with in the Arlington Park barn.
EXCERPT
The man
frowned and sputtered before speaking.
“Sorry, kid, I didn’t mean to
put
you in danger. Don’t know
a damn thing about horses. I’ll be the first to admit that.”
Daisy exhaled slowly. “Okay, so why are you here?” She shifted her weight from foot to foot. An odd sensation swept over her—one she didn’t like. This man, although ignorant as hell about horses and barn etiquette, had an air of confidence that suggested he knew he belonged—whether in the board room, on a sailboat, or even in her barn. His staring made her uncomfortable, and she didn’t like being uncomfortable.
Riders Up
Book Three:
Willow Smoke
BLURB
When the chips are down, there’s nobody there. Willowy blonde Daisy Matthews has survived the Chicago streets with this mantra, but she’s unprepared for the much older Nick Underwood’s urgent pursuit. The wealthy businessman receives a thoroughbred in payment for a bad debt and is thrust into Daisy’s world. She teaches him about horse racing; he teaches her about love. When Daisy’s seamy brother-in-law threatens Nick’s safety, she doggedly tries to stop him by herself, but flees to the familiar streets when he attacks. Can Nick find her in time – and if he does, will she still want him?
When you’re born without a trace, no one knows you’re a weapon.
Book Blurb:
The
future isn’t real.
The past
isn’t real, either.
Only the
present is, solid and full, flying at our faces, our bodies, our hearts and
souls at breakneck speed as we work to take it all in.
As we
work to protect others.
And, finally
– ourselves.
We’ve
started to break the bonds of Stateless, a system as rotten as the one it seeks
to destroy. But systems are organisms with one brutal goal: to survive,
whatever it takes.
Kina has
to do the unfathomable to save a different system, one she created out of
empathy and love for children we rescued from the only home they know.
She’ll
use her mind, her body, her spirit — and her ultimate weapons: love, and —
Me.
Fateless is the final book in USA Today bestselling author Meli Raine’s newest trilogy.
“I love
you,” I say, watching as his fingers halt, two buttons undone, a sprinkling of
chest hair showing from his open shirt.
Smoldering
eyes meet mine.
“You
were going to say it when I came back, but you never did. I told you I loved
you. Love you.” Boldness makes me confront this head on, the timing bizarrely
perfect. In Stateless culture, clarity mattered. Emotion wasn’t allowed, but being
blunt and direct was prized.
Can we
balance both?
“Do you
need me to say it?”
“Only if
you want to.”
“That’s not
an answer to my question.”
“No. I
don’t need you to. I want you to love me, though. That much I know.”
“Do you doubt it? That I love you?”
Author Bio:
Meli
Raine writes romantic suspense with hot bikers, intense undercover DEA agents,
bad boys turned good, and Special Ops heroes — and the women who love them. Meli
rode her first motorcycle when she was five years old, but she played in the
ocean long before that. She lives in New England with her family.
“The
first book in the False trilogy is a psychological thriller worthy of
Hitchcock, keeping you guessing until the very end.” — Apple Books Editors
“…intrigue
and dark humor on display in this thriller…”
While
the immediate—and more compelling—tension in Raine’s (A Shameless Little Bet, 2018, etc.) heart-pumping series opener
comes from Lily’s constant proximity to her would-be killer, the action takes
place against a backdrop of secret government scandals. The “screwed-up
D.C.-insider scandal,” as it is clumsily summarized early on, is pleasingly
twisty…
Fortunately,
Lily’s voice is captivating, wry, and tough enough to sell this thriller. The
novel ends with a cliffhanger that startles, if only because readers will have
become so attached to Lily.
— Kirkus
Reviews
“Fresh,
riveting, and thrumming with emotion and romantic suspense, False Memory is
absolutely unputdownable. You need this book!” – New York Times bestselling author Meghan March
“I
accidentally lost a day to this trilogy! It is unputdownable. Apparently I’m on
a dark-and-twisty binge, and this book is addictive.” – USA Today bestselling author Sarina Bowen (review for Harmless
series)
Our monthly autographed print book giveaway for January is Willow
Smoke (Riders Up, Book Three). Contest details at the end of the post,
and of course, Willow Smoke is always free to read on Kindle Unlimited.
Be sure to check out the rest of this week’s Book Hooks authors!
Why Willow?
When we lived in northern Minnesota, our forty acres included a small marshy area that grew willow shrubs. I always cut some branches each spring and set them in a vase inside to open as pussy willows, usually the first blossoms of the year. My husband dabbled in wood carving while we lived there, and gnarled willow sticks made inviting projects to carve, sand, and stain.
Enter Daisy Matthews, the waif Cassie rescued through her
Chicago group home job in Riders Up, Book One. By Book Three, Daisy is
tall and lanky and holding her own as an assistant trainer at Chicago’s Arlington
Park.
We did not have a title when we began writing this book, but we did know our characters. The much older Nick Underwood has left the stock market, where he made a killing, and he now runs a small company crafting handmade wooden canoes. When he first encounters Daisy in the Arlington Park track barn, he doesn’t know her name, but he’s struck by her smoky eyes and her tall willowy frame. He decides to call her Willow. Our title was born, but we had no idea how important this small shrub genus would become in our story.
As the story gradually made its way onto the page, we sent Nick and Daisy on a canoeing trip to northern Minnesota’s boundary waters, which we so often enjoyed ourselves. On their way home, he stops at a friend’s home (forty acres and a farmhouse, imagine that!). Daisy has often watched Nick working the wood at his shop, and his friend finds an appropriate willow stick and talks her into getting started with it.
We won’t give away the story’s ending here – I’ll just say
that Daisy’s willow stick plays an important role when the chips are down.
When the chips are down, there’s nobody there.
BLURB
Willowy blonde Daisy Matthews has survived the Chicago streets with this mantra, but she’s unprepared for the much older Nick Underwood’s urgent pursuit. The wealthy businessman receives a thoroughbred in payment for a bad debt and is thrust into Daisy’s world. She teaches him about horse racing; he teaches her about love. When Daisy’s seamy brother-in-law threatens Nick’s safety, she doggedly tries to stop him by herself, but flees to the familiar streets when he attacks. Can Nick find her in time – and if he does, will she still want him?
REVIEWS
Five stars at Amazon
“Adriana Kraft has created memorable characters that linger long after the
story has ended and I’ve closed the book. She has done what an author should –
brought me into the book’s world and made me care about the characters so that
my world will not be the same as before their foray into it.” Sheila G.
Five stars at
Goodreads “Suspenseful, intriguing and truly romantic! What a fabulous story of
the blending of two worlds… the plot twists and turns and keeps you on the edge
of your seat and the pages turning.” Risha C “…dreams can become reality, love
can transcend age… Exciting, engaging and very entertaining story. The
character interplay is spot on and the story is extremely well written.” Donna
H.
EXCERPT
Here’s the opening scene:
“I won’t let anything hurt you.” Daisy Matthews finished
wrapping the ankles of the chestnut mare and sat back on her haunches to
evaluate her work. The mare’s ankles were cooler than they’d been two hours
earlier.
It wasn’t easy to convince a horse to stand in buckets of
ice, but after three years of being a groom and an exercise rider, she could do
it about as well as anybody at Arlington Park. At least that was what her boss
said when he promoted her to assistant trainer.
Daisy grinned. There wasn’t much prestige associated with
being an assistant trainer for a fellow with a string of only twenty-some
claimers and allowance horses, but it was something, particularly for a girl
from the wrong side of the tracks.
RainbowBlaze took a step forward.
“I know.” Daisy groaned. “Step one: pay attention. Sorry, I
got lost daydreaming. You’re right. Taking care of you is an important job.”
She chuckled. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing.”
“Hey kid, do you always talk to horses?”
The horse reared and pawed.
“It’s okay, girl.” Daisy kept her voice soft and ran her
hand slowly along the mare’s neck.
When the mare had stopped trembling, Daisy stepped out of
the stall, shaded her eyes from the sun and faced the interloper. She scowled
at the man’s new sneakers, monogrammed shirt and neatly pressed slacks. He
looked like he’d be more at home on a sailboat than in a barn.
The man peered over wire-rimmed glasses like he knew
something she didn’t. Or was he appraising her? Why? His dark hair set off a
chiseled face; it was hard to guess his age, but she could see a few gray hairs
at his temples. He was money. Understated, but money. Probably the stock
market. What was he doing in her barn?
She thrust her jaw at him. “So who the hell are you? Don’t
you know better than to sneak up on someone who’s working with a horse?”
BUY LINK
Willow Smoke is available on Amazon as a print book or an
e-book, and is always free to read at Kindle Unlimited:
The holidays are still with us, right? You won’t want to miss this hot new holiday release from Lisabet Sarai!
Femdom
Holiday Erotica
12,000
words, 51 pages
Smashwords and
Amazon
KDP
ISBN
(Smashwords): 9780463715581
ASIN:
B082ZTHVKJ
This Christmas, Santa discovers it’s nice to be naughty.
Blurb
Recent university grad Matt Glaser may not
have the Santa Claus beard or belly, but when it comes to earning extra holiday
cash, it’s a case of ‘ho ho ho, let’s start the show’—he loves his red suit
like a reindeer loves carrots. This potential client, though—classy, curvy
Eleanor Danforth—seems more interested in checking out his butt than his
references. And two grand for a private party? Oy vey, Prancer, something’s not
kosher about this particular Vixen. She’s not one to be denied, though. When
the interview takes a carnal turn, he finds he’s unexpectedly eager to satisfy
the demanding older woman.
Wearing the provocative costume supplied by
his employer, Matt arrives at the Danforths’ swanky apartment to discover he’s
been cast as the emcee for Eleanor’s intimate gathering. His duties include
managing a pair of scantily-clad blond elves, distributing decadent treats to
guests who’ve been good, and meting out punishments to the naughty. Meanwhile,
the mistress of the house has a Christmas gift especially for him—one made of
silicon and leather straps, which requires plenty of lube. Ho ho ho, Matt! It’s
going to be a very merry Christmas indeed.
Muffled in the overcoat I’d borrowed from
my roommate Brian, I faced the hardwood and brass double doors to the
Danforth’s fortieth floor apartment. The doorbell was easy to locate; I just
wasn’t sure I had the guts to ring it.
The Santa costume that my employer had
provided was more appropriate for a go-go boy than Father Christmas. The droopy
conical hat was traditional, with its fuzzy white trim and pom-pom, and the
knee-high black patent leather boots, too, but St. Nicolas wouldn’t have been
caught dead in these shiny red spandex hot pants. They clung to my bum like a
second skin. It was a good thing the weather was warm for December, or I would
have frozen my balls off. The scarlet shirt, fashioned of some sort of stretchy
velvet, had long sleeves with white fur cuffs. However, the front made a
plunging vee that bared most of my chest.
I was grateful for the soft, snowy-white
fake beard. It hid my blushes. I felt ridiculous and incredibly exposed. Like
most authors, I tended to live in my head, my vivid imagination compensating
for my mundane real-world existence. In contrast, this costume emphasized the
physical. My face was hidden; my mind wasn’t important. I had no illusions
about the fact that Mrs. Danforth had hired me primarily for my body.
I could still back out. Turn around, step
back into the chrome and steel elevator and whoosh down to the ground floor.
Spend Christmas Eve eating take-out and working on my novel.
Seriously, though, could I afford to throw
away two thousand bucks? Meanwhile, the experience, however weird, might in the
future serve as grist to the writer’s mill.
Before I could talk myself out it, I gave
the button a firm press.
Almost immediately, Mrs. Danforth opened
the door. “Good evening, Matt. You’re right on time. I do appreciate
punctuality.”
My eyes grew wide and my cock started to
harden as I took her in. She’d been attractive in her form-fitting suit and
silky blouse, but now she was stunning.
Her sleeveless, evergreen-colored cocktail dress was fashioned from some
light, shimmery fabric that clung to her voluptuous breasts and hips. The short
skirt showed off her smooth thighs and muscled calves, their shapeliness
enhanced by her sparkling red stilettos. Her pale hair gleamed in the recessed
lights of the entry way. Artfully-applied make up accentuated her patrician
features. Her plump, crimson lips were moist and inviting.
“Toss your coat onto the chair,” she
ordered. “Let’s see the costume.”
Like an automaton, I shrugged off the heavy
wool garment.
She clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, you look spectacular! Sexy and naughty, just the way I imagined.”
AboutLisabet
Lisabet
Sarai became
addicted to
words at
an early
age. She
began reading
when she
was four.
She wrote
her first
story at
five years
old and
her first
poem at
seven. Since
then, she
has written
plays, tutorials,
scholarly articles,
marketing brochures,
software specifications,
self-help books,
press releases,
a five-hundred
page dissertation,
and lots
of erotica
and erotic
romance – over one
hundred titles,
and counting,
in nearly
every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi,
ménage, BDSM,
GLBT, and
more. Regardless
of the
genre, every
one of
her stories
illustrates her
motto: Imagination
is the
ultimate aphrodisiac.
This May/September romantic suspense follows the teenage waif from the group home where Cassie worked in Book One. No longer a teenager, Daisy is carving a life for herself in spite of threats from her past.
EXCERPT
The sputtering
sounds of the apartment buzzer penetrated Daisy’s sleep. She rolled over and
pulled a pillow over her head. The buzzer continued ringing sporadically.
“Go away,” she grumbled. “It’s Monday. It’s my day off.”
Scrambling off
the futon, she grabbed her robe and poked her arms through the armholes as she
strode angrily toward the entry. She’d have to remember to get the landlord to
fix that damn buzzer. Maybe she should just snip the wires.
Daisy peered through the peephole and grew deathly still. Why had he come? She didn’t want him to know this part of her world. With fingers trembling slightly, she turned the knob and opened the door.
Do you love reverse harem romances? Love Christmas books? Then check out Moonstone!
Moonstone is a
standalone contemporary reverse harem romance, which is part of the Jewels Café
series—all of which can be read as standalones.
Blurb:
Christmas gifts aren’t the
only surprises Ginny is going to get this year.
Moonstone Guinevere ‘Ginny’ Miles is in Silver Springs
visiting her parents for the holidays. They moved to the town five years ago,
and adore their new life here. Used to the hustle and bustle of London,
England, Ginny isn’t convinced at first—what’s so great about a small town in
Upstate New York, anyway? Despite her own opinions, it’s clear to Ginny the
move has done her parents the world of good—they look years younger. There’s
clearly something magical about this town.
Following some exploration of her own, Ginny discovers
Silver Springs has its charms—Jewels Cafe is amazing, for starters, as is its pumpkin
spice latte. Ginny’s drunk a lot of lattes in her thirty-three years, but
nothing quite like this.
Her taste buds are still tingling from the tasty treat
when she comes across a broken-down truck on the way back to her parents’
place. And when she spots the three gorgeous guys with the vehicle, it’s not
just her taste buds that are tingling.
Is Ginny’s vacation in Silver Springs about to get a
whole lot more interesting?
Moonstone Guinevere Miles—known as Ginny to people who
didn’t want to incur her fierce and everlasting wrath—heaved her suitcase off
the luggage reclaim belt with an “Oof!” and placed it on the floor, a sigh of
relief escaping her. At least the thing had wheels—she didn’t really have the
energy for carrying a heavy suitcase all the way through Customs and out to
Arrivals. The long, tiring flight had seen to that. No matter how much she
tried, no matter how exhausted she was, she simply could not fall asleep
on a plane. Ever. Eye mask, ear plugs, meditation, bloody whale music—nothing
helped. She’d long since resigned herself to staying awake while snores from
other passengers emanated around the cabin. At least it had only been about
seven and a half hours since taking off from Heathrow—she couldn’t imagine what
state she’d be in if she ever flew any longer than that—to Australia, New
Zealand or somewhere.
Doubtful that would ever happen, though. It had
taken long enough for her to get her backside out to the east coast of America,
where her parents had been running a retreat since retiring five years ago. But
then, things were different now, weren’t they? Which was why she was even here
in the first place—it wouldn’t have been possible otherwise.
Thinking of her parents brought an inevitable smile to
her face, and inserted a little more spring in her step. Despite the energy and
mood suck that had been the flight, she was excited to be here. She was eager
to see her parents, and to find out exactly what they’d built up over the last
five years. She’d seen photos and videos, but it wasn’t the same as actually being there.
When they’d first announced they were using their
retirement nest egg to open a retreat in Upstate New York, she’d been floored.
Who the hell retires, only to take on a massive project like that? Surely the
whole point of retiring is to wind down, enjoy some free time, relax? But no,
her mum and dad—who, to be fair, had never been what one would call
conventional—had set their hearts on it. They’d had a huge purge of their
belongings, sold their cars and house, and jetted off across the pond, leaving
Ginny shocked and not a little bereft. She’d been so used to having them close
by and had quickly realized just how much she’d taken that for granted.
At the same time, her own career had taken off and
she’d become so busy that her parents’ sudden distance hadn’t made the blindest
bit of difference. She barely saw the inside of her own flat, never mind her
friends and family. This was the first Christmas she’d had off work since then,
too, and she was looking forward to spending it with her parents more than she
could put into words. They’d been big on the festive period ever since she was
a baby, and as such, Ginny’s brain was stuffed full of warm, fuzzy memories of
Christmases past. They’d been useful to get her through the last five crappy
ones, too, where a microwaved ready meal was the best she could hope for, if
she hadn’t managed to wangle a free meal from the place she’d been working at
at the time.
Her smile widened, and she walked faster still—God,
just how big was this bloody airport?—desperate to see her mum and dad and
start the Christmas holiday with a bang. Anticipation rushed through her.
They’d have turkey and roast potatoes, pigs in blankets, mounds of vegetables,
desserts laden with enough calories to last them until Valentine’s Day,
Christmas carols, amazing decorations, a beautiful tree, fairy lights…
And Santa Claus. Two of them, in fact, jumping up and
down enthusiastically and waving wildly at her, with not a rotund belly in
sight.
Ginny was so excited, she couldn’t even be bothered
with the embarrassment she might have felt at being greeted in a public place
by her parents dressed up in Santa outfits. Plus, nobody knew her here anyway,
so who cared?
She scurried around the barrier, almost flipping her
case in her haste to turn a corner, then covered the remaining distance between
them in seconds flat and released the handle of her suitcase. A series of
squeals and exclamations went up—from all three of them—and then everything
went dark as Ginny was enveloped in a warm, fluffy embrace, her face crushed up
against what she suspected was the white fur trim on her mother’s jacket, and
kisses rained down on her. It was all she could do to suck in oxygen as she was
squeezed and squeezed them right back. She was assailed by the scents of clean
clothes, shampoo, perfume, and cologne—all perfectly lovely smells by
themselves, but somewhat overwhelming all at once. Unintelligible murmurings
reached her ears, but she didn’t bother to reply since she had no idea what was
being said. And she didn’t need words, anyway. All she needed at that moment in
time was to soak up the enormous outpouring of love she was experiencing.
She was so bloody happy, she thought she might pop.
Eventually, her parents loosened their hold enough so
she could step back and actually look at them. She took in her father’s
handsome face, his steel-gray hair—or what she could see beneath the hat, at
least—his wide grin, and her mother’s long, light gray, waist-length plaits,
the glint in her eyes and the glow of her skin.
“Guys, you look fantastic! If this is what
retirement does for you, I think I might sign up now.”
Her mother, Deborah, gave a nonchalant shrug—which,
given her attire, was way more amusing than it should have been. “What can I
say, sweetheart? I feel fantastic. I’ve got so much more energy than I
ever had in London, even when I was much younger.” She shrugged again. “It’s
the retreat, I’m sure of it—the moment your father and I first set foot there
all those years ago, I felt there was something magical about it. Silver
Springs is the most wonderful little town, and we’re lucky enough to live and
work in the most spectacular part of it—though it hardly feels like work.”
Ginny gave her mother a kiss on the cheek, then turned
to her father, Charlie. “And you, Dad? You look twenty years younger, but how
do you feel?”
His face took on a beatific expression. “The same as
your mother, kiddo. Exactly the same. If I’d known just how wonderful it would
be, I’d have thrown in the towel and moved out here years ago. Decades, even.”
He grabbed the handle of Ginny’s case in one hand, then looped the other around
her neck and pulled her in to drop a kiss on her chin-length blonde hair, which
he then ruffled. “I’m so thrilled you’re here, Moony. You’re going to love it
in Silver Springs. Just love it! Come on, let’s get going. We’ve got a long
drive ahead of us, and the weather’s on the turn.”
Ginny bit back comments on both his use of her
childhood nickname, and his messing up of her hair. She didn’t want to dampen
the almost euphoric mood that seemed to float between the three of them—a
combination of being pleased to see each other, and her parents’ obvious
appreciation of their new home. Though five years was hardly new anymore, was
it? She really should have visited before now, but the circumstances had been
impossible. Now they weren’t, and she was here, in the bosom of her family, at
Christmas time, and it was going to be magical.
And, at some point, she’d enlighten her parents about
the fact she had nothing in particular to rush home for, either. But that could
wait. No need to burst the happy, everything-is-perfect bubble just yet. She’d
let them all enjoy their first Christmas together in years before thinking
about that.
They made their way out of the airport building. The
cold air slapped Ginny in the face, momentarily taking her breath. Her slight
gasp drew her mother’s keen eye. “I hope you listened to me, sweetheart, and
brought warm clothes with you. It’s even colder up in Silver Springs, you
know.”
“The car’s not far,” her dad piped up. “I’ll get the
heating on as soon as we’re inside, and we’ll soon have you snug as a bug in a
rug.” He tipped her a wink, and warmth flooded her veins. She hadn’t realized
until now just how much she’d missed her wacky yet lovable parents. They might
be unconventional, but they’d given her a wonderful childhood. When she’d reached
adulthood, they’d remained incredibly close, with them managing to achieve the
perfect balance of loving and supportive without being controlling. They’d let
her forge her own path, make her own mistakes, and had been there to help pick
up the pieces without uttering so much as a “I told you so.”
They’d definitely earned this idyllic new life they’d
carved out for themselves, and she couldn’t wait to experience it for herself,
if only for a little while. Though she wasn’t sure how much fun there was to be
had in the back end of beyond. It was hardly going to be lively. Perhaps it was
a good thing she was only here for an extended holiday.
The lives of several couples and singles intertwine as they struggle to keep their relationships and careers on track. Set during a hectic three days leading up to the world’s first tourist space cruise launch on New Year’s Eve in White Rock, British Columbia.
BLURB
From Writers of the Future winner Fiona Lehn comes a heart-warming, holiday-themed speculative novella, Lift-Off!
The
world’s first tourist space cruise launches from the International Spaceport in
White Rock, British Columbia, on New Year’s Eve. 100 free cruise tickets are
hidden all over North America. You have three days left to find one. Would
you…
Break
and enter? Risk a billion-dollar inheritance? Betray the love of your life?
It’s
a random universe. While millions around the globe celebrate the Quicksilver
spaceliner’s impending launch, a handful of our heroes struggle to achieve
their most stellar dreams.
One
of them is a methane heiress desperate for a free ticket. Another is a
newscaster digging for a killer scoop. And another is a veteran astronaut who’s
never been in space.
There
are more—tween twins attempt a secret mission, a star is almost born—and
everyone is trying to get to the launch before the Quicksilver, you know,
launches.
A
lot can happen in a random universe. Do-gooders become saboteurs, cowards
muster courage, and loners find love. Who will crash and who will soar? The
clock is counting down to one moment that will change everything: Lift-Off!
The
pipe fly–no, she should address him with respect. After all, he was doing so
with her. Waste Reclamation Worker Starski, then, was a lean five and a half
feet. Wavy brown hair stuck out from his hood, his eyes were light grey-blue,
and his lips were perfectly-formed…rose-tinted…magnetic, smooth, soft,
luscious looking–
“Everything
okay?” Starski asked. “Besides waking up here, that is.”
Estelle
blinked, extra long. She had been staring at his lips. What was wrong with her?
Had he noticed? She took another gander, to prove to her eyes that his lips
were nothing special. They were simply divine…glistening as if painted with
drops of Jupiter–
Stop
that. What was happening? Could the drug her kidnapper used have killed off
hundreds, or thousands of brain cells? She stepped back. Dizziness and nausea
sloshed through her. She clutched at his arm for support. “Sorry. I’m not
usually swoony.”
“You
probably need some food and–”
A
red light above the door starting flashing.
He
checked his watch. “Right on time. They’ll take you someplace worse. Come on!”
He trotted to the mess of pipes.
Estelle
pointed at the door, “Isn’t that the only exit?”
“Yep,
and it’s goon-saturated,” he said. “We go along these pipes. You’ll be safe.
Nobody knows the tunnels down here in the guts of the building, except us.
That’s why you call us pipe flies.”
Estelle’s
cheeks flushed. “You know that?”
No
response. She could answer her own question. The light above the door stopped
flashing. “We need to go now,” he said. “Trust me.”
Estelle had learned long ago that trust was suicide, but
this wasn’t exactly the corp world, and at the moment she didn’t have much
choice. “Let’s go,” she said.
AUTHOR BIO
Little is known about reclusive writer Fiona Lehn, but legends abound. Some claim she emerged from her mother’s womb singing “We Are the Champions”, a half-written story clenched in her angry fists.
Many believe she is serving life without parole for leading an Ottawa sit-in demanding that cloudberries be made one of the four food groups. Others tell that Lehn daily frolics with Sasquatch in glacier-fed slipstreams. Still more assert that Lehn will only answer to “Hermit FiFi” and wields a bedazzled staff like a weapon, fending off house-size mosquitoes and meteorites with a single blow.
All
we really know is this: Lehn lives in Canada and has ME/CFS. She creates
stories and songs and lovingly serves a Feline in perpetuity. Visit her at https://www.facebook.com/FiFiHermitage/
At ten thirty on a stormy Christmas
Eve, I really didn’t expect any business, but the sign for our diner out on the
highway reads “open until midnight”, and I’m a woman of my word. Good thing I
didn’t close; the
half-frozen long haul trucker who wandered in really needed some hot coffee,
not to mention a slice of my luscious cherry pie.
Something about the grizzled, bear-like
man with the chocolate-brown eyes and ready laugh spun me back to my
scandalous, sensual younger days. I hadn’t wanted anyone in years, but I wanted
Dave Driver. Was I brave enough to act on my desire? And would he flee,
screaming, from the amorous attentions of a white-haired little old lady?
Before he could mention it, I refilled his
empty mug. What was it about this guy? Ants crawled along my skin. Butterflies
danced in my stomach. My nipples felt heavy and hard as polished stones and a
hungry void pulsed between my thighs.
Our eyes met. Heat flickered through me. I
held my breath.
“You got any cherry pie?” he asked at last.
Had he wanted to request something else?
“Um—yes, yes, of course,” I gasped.
Disappointment and relief warred inside me. After all, I wasn’t a girl anymore.
I didn’t want to make a fool of myself. “Best cherry pie in three counties, in
fact.”
“And would you happen to have something to
do with that, Marnie?”
“I certainly would. It’s my mother’s
recipe—by the way, what’s your name?” I winced at my own boldness. “Since you
know mine.”
“Dave,” he replied. “Dave Driver.”
I giggled. “You’re joking, right?”
“Nope. Guess I was fated to be a long-haul
trucker.” Sadness tinged his smile. “Anyway, Marnie—how about that pie? It’s
great talking to you, but I’ve got to be in Nebraska by Thursday morning.”
“Coming right up.” I cut him a
more-than-generous slice and topped it with a scoop of homemade vanilla ice
cream. Ruby-red fruit oozed from the flaky crust. Fingers of creamy white
dripped over the top and pooled on the plate. I garnished the whole thing with
a sprig of fresh mint and presented it to him with a flourish.
“Very Christmas-y,” he said. “Looks
delicious, too.”
“It is.” I watched him devour a big, gooey
chunk.
“Wow! This is amazing!”
“Thanks.” It felt so good to be the cause
of his innocent delight. “Glad you like it.”
“Why don’t you join me? Have a piece of
your own?”
“I shouldn’t. It’s bad for my cholesterol.”
“It’s Christmas Eve, and you have to work.
You deserve some compensation!” He held
out a moist forkful of cherries and cream. “Here, take some of mine, then.”
Giving in to impulse, I leaned over the
counter, opened my mouth and let him feed me. Flavors exploded on my tongue:
the sweet-tart burst of the fruit, the richness of the ice cream, the buttery
lightness of the crust. Dave scrutinized my face as I chewed and swallowed,
savoring every moment. I couldn’t stop licking my lips. His eyes followed my
every move. A blush climbed into my cheeks, even as I chided myself for being
immature and overly sensitive.
“See?”
he said gravely. “You should listen to me. Go get yourself some of your
incredible cherry pie.”
I didn’t resist any more. I wanted the pie.
I wanted him, too. Not much I could do about that second desire, but I could
certainly fulfill the first. Hard as it sometimes was to believe, I was sixty
four. Did I think I’d live forever?
With my pie and ice cream (a somewhat
smaller piece than I’d given him), I perched on a stool inside the serving
area. Facing each other across the counter, less than a foot apart, we ate in
silence.
I tried without success to concentrate on
the exquisite taste of the dessert in front of me, as Dave seemed to be doing.
Instead, I was intensely aware of how close he was—and how paradoxically
attractive. I watched his sensual mouth opening and closing around forkfuls of
pie, the flick of his tongue over his lips as he gathered stray crumbs, the
shift in his throat as he swallowed a mouthful of coffee.
He drained his coffee cup. He’d nearly
finished. When he was done, he’d disappear into the winter night. He had a long
way to travel before morning. His job probably depended on providing a reliable
delivery schedule.
I was just a stop along the way.
AboutLisabet
Lisabet
Sarai became
addicted to
words at
an early
age. She
began reading
when she
was four.
She wrote
her first
story at
five years
old and
her first
poem at
seven. Since
then, she
has written
plays, tutorials,
scholarly articles,
marketing brochures,
software specifications,
self-help books,
press releases,
a five-hundred
page dissertation,
and lots
of erotica
and erotic
romance – over one
hundred titles,
and counting,
in nearly
every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi,
ménage, BDSM,
GLBT, and
more. Regardless
of the
genre, every
one of
her stories
illustrates her
motto: Imagination
is the
ultimate aphrodisiac.
Today we’re thrilled to welcome fellow eXtasy author Cass Ford! Prince of Sin was released as an e-book in June and received an Editor’s Choice award – now this sizzling tale is available as an audio book. We know you’ll love it!
Author: Cass Ford
Narrator: Sierra Kline
Length: 6 hours 4 minutes
Publisher: Cass Ford
Released: Oct. 24, 2019
Genre: Erotic Romance
When savvy gossip vlogger Morgan Sidney gets assigned the breakup of porn’s most illustrious couple, she strikes a deal with her boss – if she scores an exclusive, she’ll get promoted. So when the famous and flirtatious Prince of Sin offers to fulfill her three wildest sex fantasies, Morgan must decide whether she’ll keep things professional or surrender and explore her sensual side. As someone who despises the media, why is Chase Prince spending time with a reporter? Clearly, he’s intrigued. But can a scorched sinner – and the biggest smut star around – let a fierce civilian enter his domain? Prince of Sin takes listeners beyond Tinseltown’s glossy Hollywood Hills to Silicone Valley – for a behind-the-scenes look at a sometimes bleak, always risqué world.
Smut writer Cass Ford began creating smoldering male protagonists when she was five years old and convinced her aunt that she had a hot and heavy kindergarten boyfriend. In grade school, she penned tales on her parents’ typewriter and by middle school sold her own love and gossip magazines to friends. As a preteen at sleepover camp, Cass often told playful, steamy bedtime stories to her bunkmates. After earning her Bachelor of Journalism degree and several TV/film certificates, Cass continued to hone her passion for storytelling as a development producer for broadcast news and unscripted television. Born and raised in Canada, she now resides in California.
Programmer by day, narrator by night, Sierra Kline is always looking for the next adventure. True to her Midwestern roots, Sierra got her degree in theatre from Michigan State University which she has been fortunate to put to heavy use both on the stage and in the booth. When she’s not recording in her home studio, she prefers the great outdoors and loves running, traveling, and backpacking.
How closely did you work with your narrator before and during the recording process? Did you give them any pronunciation tips or special insight into the characters?
I gave Sierra some information about character backgrounds, like accents. Most of that information was in the novel as I introduced each character, so I didn’t have to give too much detail. Before I chose Sierra to narrate, she sent me a sample scene with Chase and Morgan interacting together. There was some back and forth between us to nail down Chase’s voice, but once she found it, Sierra really ran with the rest of the audiobook. Most of my notes on the full audiobook were small grammar or pronunciation corrections, and there were few. One I remember was the word balayage, which I had to lookup myself. I’m SO pleased with how the audiobook turned out. Sierra did a fantastic job!
Were there any real life inspirations behind your writing?
Of course! The whole novel concept was inspired by a male pornstar who I actually had lunch with as part of my research. Not gonna say who… The porn sets I visited for research also influenced various scenes and characters in the book. That investigative research was critical in shaping the novel. So many scenes and beats and moments from the book came from real-life scenes and beats and moments.
How do you manage to avoid burn-out? What do you do to maintain your enthusiasm for writing?
Burnout is very real. Working fulltime in television and living that author life on the side can be exhausting. I think managing and balancing my time helps. I’m pretty Type A, so I like to get things done immediately. But being able to sense when I feel overworked and let some emails or tasks slide until I feel up for them, that’s a skill I’ve been working on since the book came out in June. I remind myself that writing and marketing are not life or death. It should be fun, not stressful.
What do you say to those who view listening to audiobooks as “cheating” or as inferior to “real reading”?
People are entitled to their own opinions. But man are preachy people annoying. Everybody absorbs content differently. I personally take in information much better when reading it, but respect those who best consume content by listening. To those critical of audiobooks, don’t listen to them. But who are you to judge others for their preferred method? You do you, we’ll do us.
What gets you out of a writing slump? What about a reading slump?
I don’t really have time for writing slumps. Whenever I find time to write, I have to take advantage and dive in. As for reading slumps, I actually just had one. I’d started reading a few books in a row that I just couldn’t get into, so I took a reading break. I was also busy preparing the Prince of Sin audiobook release. But after a few weeks, I realized I missed reading, so to get back on track, I ordered a book in a totally different genre than I’d read recently—non-fiction. And so far, Gene Weingarten’s One Day has been a captivating read.
In your opinion, what are the pros and cons of writing a stand-alone novel vs. writing a series?
When it comes to marketing and sales, a series generally makes the most sense. Readers who love Book 1 will continue onto Books 2, 3, 4… Thus, more sales. But I think sequels need to make sense. If they feel forced, readers will know. I recently read a dark romance series where the first and second books captivated me, but the third fell flat. It was slow and stuffed full of dull exposition. I found myself skipping over paragraphs to get through it.
I outlined Prince of Sin as a standalone, but had a rough three-book series plan in case I changed my mind. But when I finished writing it, I felt the characters’ stories had been told and closed it out accordingly. Since publishing, the feedback has been that readers would love for Kali or another secondary character to get their own novel. So that is something I’m considering in the future. Would love to hear who my audiobook listeners think deserves a standalone novel!
Have any of your characters ever appeared in your dreams?
Strangely, I don’t think I’ve ever dreamed about any Prince of Sin characters or scenes. Over many days for several years, this book consumed my thoughts. But once I fell asleep, it never crept into my mind.
What’s your favorite:
Food Cheese
Song Portland, Maine by Donovan Woods
Book The Best of Everything by Rona Jaffe
Television show Friends
Movie E.T. or the Back to the Future series
BandThe Wood Brothers
Sports teams
NHL – Toronto Maple Leafs
NBA – Toronto Raptors
NFL – Pittsburgh Steelers
City Toronto, Ontario, Canada
Are any of those things referenced in appearance in your work?
Growing up in Toronto, I was raised on hockey. So the Anaheim Ducks vs. L.A. Kings rivalry in Prince of Sin came naturally to me. A Toronto Maple Leafs rivalry didn’t make sense since the book takes place in Southern California. My current work in progress has a few scenes in Toronto, one of which is at a Toronto Maple Leafs game. Another features some fictional Toronto Raptors players out at a bar/nightclub.
If you had the opportunity to live anywhere in the world while writing a book that took place in that same setting, where would you choose?
Definitely London, England or New York City, two cities that feel similar to me in some ways. In Los Angeles, I have to drive everywhere and my neighborhood feels somewhat suburban. I’d love to spend a few months living downtown in either of those cities, right in the action, walking and taking the tube or subway to get around.
5 Books That Mean A Lot To Cass Ford
A Visit to the Sesame Street Hospital by Deborah Hautzig
This is the first book I remember. I had surgery at age three and somebody got me this book to prepare me for the hospital experience. As a kid, my parents read me lots of books, including Sesame Street, Curious George, Dr. Seuss… I always loved story time before bed.
Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
A teacher recommended this book for my twelfth-grade book report. I absolutely loved it and remember feeling like I’d finally graduated from younger novels, like Gossip Girl.
New York by Edward Rutherfurd
For a long time, this was my favorite book. Rereading it this year, I was just as enthralled as the first time (around 2010). Fun Fact: When Edward Rutherfurd came on my old morning show as a guest, I was so starstruck, I fell off a chair. Now I’m impatiently waiting on his next release, China.
Beautiful Bastard by Christina Lauren
These ladies! The Christina Lauren duo is crushing the game. I read this book on a trip and think subconsciously, it is THE book that turned me into an erotic romance writer. Though I read the Fifty Shades trilogy in two weeks, it didn’t turn me onto erotic romance at all—the characters irritated me. But Bennett and Chloe in Beautiful Bastard… This had to be what did it for me!
The Best of Everything by Rona Jaffe
THIS. BOOK. IS. AWESOME. It’s the OG Sex and the City, following a group of single ladies trying to hustle and make it in the big city (New York) in the 1950s. I couldn’t put it down. And I just learned it was turned into a movie in 1959, so I’ll be checking that out!
Our autographed print giveaway this month is Heat Wave, Book Two in Riders Up. Contest details below, after the excerpt.
There’s always a piece of us in any story we write, but I
suspect there are far more than usual in our Riders Up series. You
already know both my husband and I loved horses long before we met, and you might
know that as adults we were finally able to own or partially own six horses,
one or two at a time. Five of these were racehorses; the sixth was not, and
we’ve saved him for the final book in the series, Detour Ahead.
So it goes without saying we’ve poured what we learned about caring for and training race horses into this series, but there’s more. Just as Cassie’s Hope (Book One) drew on our ancestor’s family farms in McHenry County Illinois, Heat Wave draws on early family history in rural central Iowa, somewhat north of Des Moines. It’s set in the year 2000. Iowa farm values had dropped precipitously during the 1980s and were beginning to recover, but many family farms were still struggling and went under, especially as corporations moved in to purchase them. We used this knowledge to place our widowed heroine’s family farm in danger and force her to make a bold decision.
Our hero, Ed Harrington? We ourselves have never been horse trainers, though we co-owned our racehorses with a local trainer. But Ed has struggled with alcohol, and Heat Wave focuses on his recovery journey – a journey we’ve walked alongside some close family members. They helped us out with those sections of the book for authenticity. We hope some of the depth, struggle, and love from our own journey shines through as Ed and Maggie come together to save her farm.
EXCERPT
Ed didn’t blink, staring at the single shot-glass of whiskey and a stein of beer sitting on a tiny, circular table.
He gripped its pedestal between his knees. The darkened corner of Mel’s Tavern in Beaverhill provided a welcome hiding place. Almost as good as a cave.
He’d driven
for hours after leaving the farm—after running as quickly as he possibly could
from that menacing woman. That night had been spent in his car…
He ran a
finger around the rim of the shot glass. Long moments dragged by while his mind
resembled a blank slate. He knew if he drank enough, he could make those blank
periods last longer. Blackouts—they enticed him and terrorized him. He would be
able to function, but not remember. Was that bliss, or a coward’s way out? It
wouldn’t take long, if he only had the courage to take that first drink.
Hah. So many
people in those meetings he’d been attending talked about the courage necessary
to avoid that next drink. Here he was asking himself if he had the guts
to lift a single glass to his lips and let the stinging, hot whiskey glide down
his throat. He could practically feel the familiar burning. So why didn’t he
just gulp the damn stuff down and get on with it?
He could
leave them all behind. No Maggie harping at him, wanting more than he could
give. No worrying about which kid was going to get injured next. No wondering
when they’d all figure out he didn’t measure up—that he was some kind of fake,
a figment of their imagination.
Ed glanced
furtively around with renewed awareness. His senses sharpened. How long had he
been sitting like that, gawking at his future? The waitress and bartender were
staring at him as if he were an alien. He scratched the two-day growth of
beard. He swore inwardly at the booze. He swore at the memories.
Why couldn’t
he just walk away from her? He didn’t owe her anything. Not anymore. He’d paid
his debt. But she wanted more, much more.
The bouncy,
buxom waitress stood in front of him. “Listen, Bud, if you’re gonna drink,
drink up. We’re gonna be closing soon. And don’t forget my tip.” Leaning over,
jiggling huge breasts, she whispered, “Or maybe you’ve got something else in
mind. You’ve got possibilities. I can see that.”
She withered
under his icy glare. “Okay, I get the message, Bud. Why don’t you just get out
of here? You give me the willies. Any man who buys whiskey and beer and then
just stares at them for more than an hour can’t be much of a man in my book.”
The waitress brushed back curly brown hair and then flounced off to serve other
customers.
Ed hardly
knew she’d left. He wet his lips. Trying to steady his hand, he reached for the
whiskey glass. Lifting it, he paused, and then slammed it down, splashing its
contents over the scarred table.
He might be
able to run from all of them, but he knew he’d never be able to run from
himself.
Pushing his
chair back, Ed stumbled getting up. He threw some coins on the table and rushed
toward the exit.
Outside, Ed gulped for air. His hand shook like some ancient reminder of what used to be and could so easily have been again. He placed a hand in his pocket and curled his fingers around the ninety-day chip.
