Perhaps it’s the Holiday spirit coming upon me but I’m feeling very generous! As a small gesture of gratitude, from now until December 31, I will be offering a free e-book each Friday to EVERY new subscriber to my mailing list for that week. (one book total per new subscriber). Friday 11/29/2013 – My giveaway is THE SHEIK RETOLD.
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Offer ends Midnight 11/29/13
A haughty young heiress for whom the world is a playground…A savage son of the Sahara who knows no law but his own…When pride and passion vie for supremacy,blistering desert days are nothing compared to sizzling Sahara nights…
I closed my eyes and stiffened in a sudden agony at the sound of the sheik’s approaching voice. There was nowhere I could turn to avoid him. No escape. Although my first impulse was to shrink into the shade of the tent, I refused to cower like some craven creature skulking in the farthest corner of its cage. No, I would make my stand inside the open doorway and meet him face-to-face.
He came leisurely toward the tent. Although I stood in plain view, he still did not acknowledge me. Instead, he paused to talk to the Frenchman. He moved his hands when he spoke, quick, expressive gestures, speaking in a soft but unmistakably authoritative voice pitched in a deep, musical key. He pointed with an outstretched hand to something beyond my line of vision and laughed softly. At last he came toward me, only to stride right past and across the tent where he lit another cigarette.
I was astounded. For the first time in my life, I was of no account. It seemed I was to be acknowledged at his whim, to speak only when spoken to. The equal footing I had enjoyed with Aubrey and his friends all these years was suddenly obliterated. The training of years meant nothing. He had taken me only to please himself and he kept me only to please himself. He would force me to yield to whatever he might put upon me, to bear his pleasure and his displeasure—as a chattel, a slave who existed only to do his bidding. My purpose was solely to amuse him.
My body stiffened, my hands clenched.
Several more minutes passed before he finally addressed me, “I hope that Gaston took care of you properly and gave you everything that you wanted?” He spoke easily, in a tone that conveyed the perfunctory regret of a host for an unavoidable absence.
“Everything I want?” My voice gave vent to my rage. “I want to leave this godforsaken place! Damn you!”
“Such a passionate display, my dove?” He cocked a brow and then one corner of his mouth turned up. “One might even think you missed me.” He mocked me. He mocked my resentment, my rage, my helpless despair.
“Missed you?” I recoiled with a glare. “You are a brute, a beast, a devil!”
Tears of shame and anger welled in my eyes, but I would not let them fall. I would not give my captor the satisfaction of knowing he could make me weep. I shut my eyes, willing away the burning sensation behind them, fighting back the tears that would only subject me further to his ruthless scorn.
I sensed him drawing closer and then his arms closed around me. I struggled against him, but my protest had no real teeth. I knew it was futile. He laughed again softly as he kissed my lips, my eyes, my temples. His mouth moved to my ear where he murmured something low and passionate. I didn’t understand the words, but the tone alone made me quiver inside.
And then his mouth was on mine with a fierce and devouring kiss. It was a lover’s kiss, the first I’d ever experienced. He was masterful, his tongue taunting. The sensation of his hot mouth searing mine was as potent as a narcotic, drugging me almost into insensibility. I found myself responding to him, and a wave of wildly conflicting emotions washed over me. “No. I don’t want this! I don’t want you!” I shuddered and then shoved at his chest.
“Do you hate them so much, my kisses?”
I swallowed, knowing I could not lie convincingly. In truth, I hated myself for not despising his kisses.
He smiled, reading my inner struggle, but then the passion faded from his eyes, giving place to another flash of mockery. “Of course we can always forgo such unpleasant preliminaries if you prefer. For my part, it is quite unessential.”
I forced my eyes to his. Dark and passionate, they burned like a hot flame. He even held my gaze against my will because I could not tear it away. I felt like a trapped wild thing, panting, trembling, my eyes still fixed on him. The image of his harshly handsome face was forever etched into my brain.
“Look at me tell me the truth. Tell me you want me, Diana.”
I recognized the command in his voice, but I fought against my fascination with him, resisting dumbly with tight-locked lips. My heart raced, but then all the humiliation and degradation I had suffered the night before flooded my mind. Yes, he had shown me pleasure, but my very enjoyment of it filled me with shame and self-disgust.
“Tell me you want me,” he repeated.
“I hate you!” I choked out furiously.
An ugly look passed over his face, and then he laughed. “Hate me by all means, ma belle, but let your hatred be thorough. I detest mediocrity.”
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Perhaps it’s the Holiday spirit coming upon me but I’m feeling very thankful (and generous)! As a small gesture of gratitude, from now until December 31, I will be offering a free e-book each Friday to EVERY new subscriber to my mailing list for that week. (one book total per new subscriber).
Here are the links to subscribe: Facebook link Website link:
Offer ends at Midnight on 11/22/13
The Sheik Retold Tour Stops
Join me for the Indie Romance Convention
“ROARING INDIES” September 11-13, 2014.
What is IRC? The indie romance convention is a celebration of the culture and fantastic talent that has emerged as a result of the independent writer’s revolution. We hope to highlight, educate, introduce, inspire and entertain people interested in the entrepreneurs that have made indie publishing such a success. It is not just writers we hope to spotlight, but also those who help them to achieve their goals such as bloggers, reviewers, cover artists, editors and of course, the most important of all, readers. Come celebrate IRC 2014 with us. EARLYBIRD SPECIAL OF $145 UNTIL NOVEMBER 30TH, 2013.
Indie Romance Convention 2013
By Jacqueline Rhoades—Attending Author
From the November issue of BTS Reviews E-mag - re-blogged with editorial permission
Not knowing what to expect, I signed my name and paid my fees for the first (and soon to be annual) Indie Romance Convention in Lebanon, Tennessee, about a half hour outside of the more famous Nashville. Folks in Lebanon might say they’re not famous at all, but they will be. For Indie Romance writers like me on the weekend of October 4–6, Lebanon was the place to be, and I can only see this convention getting bigger and better with each year.
The Indie Romance Convention is the brainchild of Laurie Garrison, CEO of the blog Bitten by Paranormal Romance and author of the BTS Book Reviews column “Lowdown with Laurie.”
When I met Laurie, the first thing I thought was this lady could be my next door neighbor. She’s the woman in front of you at the grocery store. It’s a great disguise because, in truth, this lady is a dynamo of energy with a wee bit of miracle worker thrown in. She’s the architect and driving force behind the Indie Romance Convention, and she did a marvelous job. With around fifty authors and a couple of hundred readers to please, the list of educational sessions offered something for every romance writer or reader from YA, sweet, paranormal, contemporary, all the way to erotica.
(promotions author panel – from left to right Victoria Vane, Leigh Savage, Red Phoenix and Kalypso Masters)
Sex was the hot topic of conversation this year—Hey! It’s Romance!—and this year’s events began late Friday afternoon with a rousing or arousing presentation at a BDSM workshop sponsored by Kallypso Masters. It was an event attended by both those who enjoy the subgenre and those who were plainly curious. A good time was had by all. It wasn’t all BDSM however. Donna McDonald did an excellent job of presenting sexy romances for the over forty character, and a wide ranging panel of writers talked and fielded questions about the sexual content of their respective subgenres, while another writer, LJ Deleon, helped define those subgenres for those who wanted to know.
It wasn’t all about sex, though. There was plenty of serious business too attend to, also. BTS’s own Myra Nour along with Nikki McCarver gave us valuable insight on hosting Virtual Tours followed by a very helpful session on promotions with Myra, Nikki, Seraphina Donavan, and A.R. Von.
(From left to right A.R. Von, Victoria Vane and Nikki McCarver)
Other marketing programs were moderated by Victoria Danann and included such Indie celebrities as RedPhoenix, Christie M. Fairchild, Leigh Savage, Kallypso, and Victoria Vane. Caris Roane spoke from experience when she talked about Indie vs New York press and shared with us her expertise on world building.
While readers and potential authors were welcome to attend most of the sessions, there were specialized sessions for them, too. One that I was particularly happy to see was on writing reviews and their importance to the Indie author.
Was the Indie Romance Convention all work and no play? Heck no! Friday night’s Pizza Meet and Greet was a casual gathering that gave us all a chance to meet our favorite authors—yeah, I’m a fan girl, too!—make new friends, and listen to this year’s Mistress of Ceremonies, Victoria Danann. What a lovely lady!
Eve Langlais held a barrel of laughs Cupcake Roundtable and was joined by Angela Brown, Heather Allen, and Amy Kessler for writer/reader team play of Win, Lose, or Draw, and yes, Angela, we now know why you don’t draw your own covers!
Saturday night found our (very loud) group at a local Mexican restaurant where we shared a delicious dinner and more laughter and fun. Smaller groups gathered at lunchtime and in the after-hours to laugh and share and get to know one another on a more personal level and make new friends from around the country.
Perhaps it’s the Holiday spirit coming upon me but I’m feeling very thankful (and generous)! As a small gesture of gratitude, from now until December 31, I will be offering a free e-book each Friday to EVERY new subscriber to my mailing list for that week. (one book total per new subscriber). This week my giveaway will be A BREACH OF PROMISE . Here are the links to subscribe to the Newsletter: Facebook link Website link:
When Charm and Persuasion Fail…Only Seduction Remains...
On the night of her betrothal, Lydia Trent receives just a taste of what ecstasy will be at the hands of her fiancé…and then he leaves her wanting. After waiting six years, and tired of being neglected by her exceedingly reluctant husband-to-be, Lydia decides to break it off.
When Marcus, Lord Russell, receives Lydia’s letter requesting a release from their contract, he is stunned by her audacity. Confident he’ll have her eating out of his hand with his usual wit and charm, he’s determined to repair the damage. However, the headstrong woman she’s blossomed into is equally determined to thwart his every effort to win her back.
Marcus discovers, in spite of her conviction to end the union, Lydia is more responsive to his touch than he ever imagined. He just needs to get her alone to unleash the promised passion he sees within his wanton virgin. Marcus will use any tool in his arsenal to exploit her weakness—his kisses, his hands, his mouth…her own body. In short, he’ll just have to ruin her!
“Reckless hearts, battling wits, and plenty of steam in a wonderfully well drawn Georgian setting.”- NYT Bestselling author Grace Burrowes
TRS CAPA Nominee 2012
TBR PILE Book of the month September 2012!
LASR Erotic Reviews 5 STAR/BOM Nominee
The Romance Studio 5 Sweetheart Nominee
Bugger it all! This was not going at all according to his plan. The blasted woman was bound to defy and repulse him at every turn! He raked a long, lust-filled gaze over her and felt his frustration growing in more ways than one until a disconcerting thought jolted through him. “There is someone else!”
“There is no one,” Lydia answered. “Though I may be a fool for having waited for you, I am not a faithless fool.”
“Why else would you break with me?” Marcus persisted, more convinced the longer he considered her. What man would not give his eyeteeth to have such a woman? “I demand to know who it is.” So I can hunt him down and throttle him.
Her chuckle began as a low sound in her throat and grew to a hearty eruption of wry mirth. “Is it truly beyond your comprehension that I might wish to salvage such a pitiful thing as my self-respect? Your vanity is a truly wondrous thing, Lord Russell.”
“You make unfair accusations, Lydia.”
“On the contrary,” she replied. “I think I have your full measure simply by observation. Actions, or perhaps I should say inactions, speak much louder than words.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Just that you are not to be trusted.”
Marcus gave an inward groan. Why was she making this so bloody difficult? She was right of course, but it would be a cold day in hell before he’d grovel. He opted for a new tack. “Lydia, will you at least agree to a détente?”
“What do you mean?”
“A truce of sorts.”
“I know what détente means! I just fail to see how it applies.”
“I’m asking for a relaxation of hostilities.”
“You believe I bear you hostility?”
Marcus’ answering rumble only emphasized his point. “You positively bristle with it, my dear.”
She gave an indignant sniff. When she tried to avert her face, he captured it in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Lydia, there are many things you don’t understand.” Like his guilt—something he could hardly reconcile even with himself. “Can we not let bygones be bygones?” he asked. “Simply let go of the past and deal with the here and now?”
“There is no point. I already know we will never suit.”
Marcus scowled. Regardless of what she might think, he had never really been averse to her. Indeed, he recalled with fond amusement the memory of her tippling champagne from the tree swing, if perhaps a bit less fondly the clumsy events that followed.
He was suddenly struck with another disconcerting notion—could it be that Lydia held that night in quite a different light? Did she anticipate dissatisfaction in their marriage bed? If that was her concern, he was determined to lay that vagary to rest.
“On the contrary, my pet. There is one area at least where I’m certain we would suit very well.”
Her eyes flashed. “You actually think I’m still attracted to you?”
“You dare deny it?” He flashed a smile meant to disarm if not to altogether devastate.
“It matters little whether I am or not. Animal lust is a most feeble foundation for marriage.”
“Animal lust?” He laughed outright. “Mayhap my appeal is stronger than I thought?”
Lydia’s eyes flashed. “You twist my meaning!”
Marcus stroked a finger down the column of her neck and noted her heaving breasts with satisfaction. “I think not. Nevertheless, attraction, magnetism, lust, whatever you choose to call it, is a stronger basis than most marriages seem to be founded upon. Why do you suppose so many men take mistresses? And why so few offspring are produced in aristocratic marriages? Never underestimate sexual desire, Lydia. It is a powerful and often overwhelming force.”
“You will never persuade me that it’s a sound basis for marriage.” Lydia’s pink tongue flicked over her lips, clearly betraying her confident words.
“Is that a challenge, Lydia? Shall I prove it to you?”
“There is absolutely nothing to be gained by the effort.” Her convulsive swallow once more gave her away. She added with greater force, “Like a mountain, Marcus, I shall not be moved.”
Marcus relished the sudden apprehension in her wide eyes when his gaze slid down to her mouth and held there. “Fair enough, my pet. If the mountain will not come to Mohammed, let Mohammed go to the mountain.”
Lydia was transfixed, powerless under his intense stare, as if he’d put her under some wicked spell. Though she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to pull away. His eyes—dilated pools of blackness—held her, spreading heat from her core to every tingling inch of her. Her pulse thrummed with the sheer awareness of his physicality.
She closed her eyes against the sensations but they only intensified, his sweet tangy scent thickening the air and causing her breath to come in short, quick rasps, his warm breath fanning her skin. His gaze fixed upon her mouth and his hand brushed over her cheek to cup her jaw. Ignoring her inner protest, her body acted on its own volition, upturning her face and softly parting her lips. Her whole body quivered in anticipation of this kiss.
Her breathing hitched when his lips met hers, at first brushing over them in a warm caress, then sliding, nipping, melding until he took utter possession. Her feeble attempt at protest gave him added purchase to take her lower lip between his teeth and gently tug on the soft flesh. His tongue followed, deliciously teasing, tasting her lips before sliding into her mouth.
She had been kissed once before but nothing like this. His hot, wet tongue tangling with hers made her stomach flip and her passage clench, pooling with warmth and dizzying desire. He deepened the kiss, his hands working into her hair, pulling it down, scattering pins. “Don’t fight me, Lydia. I can show you paradise if you’ll only let me.” When Marcus murmured those seductive words against her skin, she yielded with a muted whimper.
The kiss was uninvited, unexpected, and shocking…and Lydia found herself clinging to it for dear life.
Lydia tore away with a stifled cry, confounded how he managed to exert such a terrifying magnetic force on her with seemingly no exertion at all. Outrage mixed with self-recrimination, she gathered up her skirts and fled, nearly running smack into Mariah upon her reentry through the terrace doors.
“I was coming to find you,” Mariah said. “Lud, Lyddie!” She gaped at her cousin’s rumpled and bewildered appearance. “You look positively debauched! You mustn’t let anyone else see you like this.”
Mariah pulled her into the empty music room, where Lydia caught sight of herself in the gilt mirror poised over the mantel and gasped in horror. Her color was high, her eyes shone feverishly bright, and clumps of her hair hung in disarray.
“Did that vile scoundrel accost you?” Mariah asked.
Heat infused Lydia’s already flushed cheeks. “Sadly, no. Although I would like nothing more than to accuse Marcus of importuning me, the fact is I made not the slighted protest.”
“What did he do to you?” Mariah asked in an excited whisper.
Lydia’s lips quivered in outrage. “The worst thing imaginable. He has kissed me senseless.”
Hadley’s artful seduction of Mary in
Hadley and Mary in the Garden at Blanchard House
He laughed, a harsh sound, all sign of humor leaving his eyes. “Don’t let any of it fool you, my dear, for even the most tarnished silver can acquire a gine and gleaming polish. And believe me, there is far more tarnish here than an innocent and unschooled eye such as yours can discern.”
“Why would you speak so of yourself?” Mary protested.
He reached for a red-gold curl that had escaped her lace cap and coiled it around his !nger. “I would forewarn you, Miss Edwardes that I am a man, and men in general are not to be trusted…” He held her gaze as he slowly released the ringlet, allowing his fingers to skim her cheek. “…especially
not by pretty young virgins.”
First kiss at Kensington Gardens
“It’s not that–” she turned to protest but stopped when he brushed the corner of her mouth with his thumb. Her gaze widened as he inspected it with a half-smile.
“A vestige of jam tart, I believe. But alas,” he gave a helpless shrug. “I have no napkin.” Before she realized what he was about, he brushed her lips in a feathery kiss, lingering at the corner of her mouth, where his tongue flicked out to taste her. The unexpectedness of it stunned her.
“Lord Hadley! Wh-what are you doing?”
“If you have to ask, I must be losing my touch. Perhaps I should try again?”
(After several more!)
Only a kiss?
It was staggering.
Her mind was lost to time and place, as if nothing existed beyond his divine mouth. He discarded her bonnet and tangled his fingers in her hair. She whimpered, clutching at his lapels, yet he refused to relent. Mercilessly, he intensified the kiss, pulling her so far in; submerging her in so much sensation that Mary thought she would drown in the pleasure of it.
At the Water Gardens of Bushy Park
“Desire is oblivious to time and place, dear Mary; and Jenny, bless her, is the very soul of discretion. I want you, Mary. Please trust me, my sweet. Let me show you the ways of love.”
She stared back at him, her body filled with the want he had described, but common sense held her surrender at bay.
“Love? Don’t speak of love to me. You describe meaningless pleasure. It has nothing to do with love!”
He gave her a roguish smile. “Pleasure is never meaningless, my sweet.”