Bestselling Author Delilah Devlin
HomeMeet Delilah
BookshelfBlogExtrasEditorial ServicesContactDelilah's Collections


Kayelle Allen: What Color Is Your Hero? (Giveaway)
Friday, February 5th, 2016


I read a quote by Nora Ephron that encouraged me. “Above all, be the heroine in your life. Not the victim.” I agree with that. I believe that means I should take responsibility not just for what I do to others, but for how I react to what others do to me. I can decide to become a victim and have a “poor me” attitude, or I can decide to stand up for myself. I further believe if I am to stand up for myself, I must be willing to stand up for others.

In 2004, my first book (At the Mercy of Her Pleasure) featured a half-human hero. Senth Antonello was part feline Kin, and part human — and while Senth’s human parent was caucasian Senth also had an adoptive father who was black, and gay. Luc Saint-Cyr was not a good guy, but he wasn’t all bad either. I wrote Luc to be an enigma. When I first created him, I had no idea how popular he would become. My critique group continually asked for his story while I was writing Senth’s. By the end of the book, I had one planned for him.

Someone asked me why I, as a straight white woman, would write not only a black hero but also a black gay hero. She wanted to know why I didn’t “write what you know.” I don’t think it’s an author’s duty to write only what we know. I think it’s our duty to create an imaginary world that’s realistic and unique, different from our own. I doubt I could choose a more polar opposite character from myself than Luc. Other than the fact that I consider us both “good people” he is as different from me as he can get.

He’s immortal, and he is thousands of years old. Far from being jaded like most of his kind, Luc is fascinated by humans. He seeks them out and wants to know them. He falls in love every “lifetime.”

Luc has dark chocolate skin, black hair, and eyes that he hides behind solid black lenses that cover his entire eye area. (He has a good reason for that.) In romance novels, the average hero isn’t in his sixties and paired with a twenty-something alien hero. Luc has many diverse attributes. Yet he remains my most asked-for character. A few years ago, I decided to make birthday cards that would be sent “from” each of my heroes. (Really me, of course, but it was fun to play along.) When readers signed up to get a card, they had a choice among a host of characters. About three-fourths of them chose Luc.

Could I have made Luc white, human, and straight? I don’t think so.Those who know him refer to Luc as the “Man” with a capital letter you can hear. What Luc wants, he gets. Perhaps he chose me to write about him, rather than me choosing him. I will say that as I’ve written him into multiple books, I’ve always tried to stay true to Luc’s nature rather than being true to my own. Is having a diverse hero a challenge? Insomuch as I must always be mindful that I am writing about a person who is not me — yes. But as a writer, isn’t that what we do? Who wants to read a book where all the characters are the same? Who wants to write a book like that? Not me.

Luc is a background character in the Antonello Brothers series, including At the Mercy of Her Pleasure, For Women Only, and Bro, the Story Behind the Antonello Brothers. He’s a vital character. Much of the action hinges on what Luc does. I hope when you read one of the stories, you find him as fascinating as I do.

Get a free copy of Bro by joining the Romance Lives Forever Reader Group. You’ll get a second book the next day. You can unsubcribe any time.

At the Mercy of Her Pleasure

Antonello Brothers 1: a Scifi Romance

Hired to steal back a prototype taken by the imperial armada, Senth Antonello retrieves it, but his brother is kidnapped to force Senth to surrender the device.

Now he has to rescue his brother, outsmart the armada, and keep the item out of imperial hands. All doable, except for one small problem. He must do it in the company of NarrAy Jorlan, a genetically altered woman whose pheromones could enhance the mission or crumble it into dust with a single siren kiss.

He’s a thief. She’s a soldier. Do opposites attract? Oh, mercy!

Buy Links

Barnes and Noble
CreateSpace (Print)

About the Author

Author Kayelle Allen’s unstoppable heroes and heroines include role-playing immortal gamers, futuristic covert agents, and warriors who purr.

Lizzie Ashworth: Jarrod’s Valentine
Thursday, February 4th, 2016

Hi Delilah fans! Thanks for joining me today.

February is a special month for romance fans. To celebrate love, we give gifts and cook special meals, indulge in chocolate and sexy lingerie. I’m here to share a sexy little story with you, something that might start your engines running so you’re ready for your hot Valentine’s Day moments.

This story is an offshoot of Jarrod Bancroft: The Novel, which will be half price all day Valentine’s Day at

But first—this month in my free monthly newsletter Liz’s Hot News, I outline five FREE ways to show your love to your significant other. I’d love to share my newsletter with you, and if you sign up by February 14, you’ll be in the drawing for a $20 gift certificate.

For more details on entering this drawing and other goodies, check the links at the end of this story.

dcfeb blog

Jarrod’s Valentine

Macie’s face reflected the subdued outdoor light that filtered in through the restaurant window. Ignoring the clench in his chest, Jarrod studied her from across the noisy room. She looked like a work of art, the planes and lines of her face cast in shadow, her delicate skin framed by luxurious lengths of dark hair. One of those exquisite images painted by some long-dead artist where the woman’s pensive expression signaled vague internal conflict. His impulse was to rush over to the table, take her hands, and slip to his knees to ask what he could do to brighten her day. His mouth twisted and he turned back to his newspaper.

Whatever appetites Macie Fitzgerald provoked, today the situation at Bancroft Investments demanded his full attention. The stock report only reiterated what he already knew—their standing had slipped again. Somehow rumors had leaked. It was a matter of time before this blew wide open.

He quietly folded the paper, signaled the waiter and paid his check before slipping out the side door. Much as he wanted Macie right now, the ugly responsibilities in his real life could not wait.

The door to his dad’s office was slightly ajar. His father stood at the windows in the far corner, his back turned as he stared out into the city. The older man’s shoulders triggered Jarrod’s memory, all the times those same shoulders had loomed over him, an impenetrable wall of dark against dim light. An immovable object. Jarrod swallowed an ugly taste in his mouth. And it had nothing to do with his lunch.

So the bastard already knew.

“Took your time,” the old man said. He didn’t bother to turn. “You’ve never appreciated the value of a full day’s work.”

“Fuck you, Preston,” Jarrod said. He slipped off his overcoat and dropped it on the chair. He stood beside the desk and folded his arms, facing his father’s back.

“What do you plan to do?” Preston said. “Are you riding your white horse, ready to save the world?”

“Anything to sidestep the facts,” Jarrod said. “That’s been your strategy all along. I remember my first weeks here, when I went through the files for that mutual fund and asked you, and you shifted blame to Evers. Always somebody else’s fault. Always something I made up or misinterpreted.”

“So you’re going to bring the house down around our ears, is that the plan?”

“You assigned me the dirty work thinking I wouldn’t put it together.” Jarrod spun the desk chair around and gripped the thick leather back. “I’ve dug all the way down. I’m not buying any more of your bullshit.”

Preston whirled to face him. The flesh around his nose had turned white. “Whine, you little fuck. You have no idea. I’ve worked my ass off, dedicated my life to giving you and your mother the very best. I don’t answer to you.”

Jarrod swallowed his rage, sinking his fingers into the chair upholstery to keep from planting a fist in that smug face. The man might be a despicable cheat, but he was his father. “You’ll answer to the prosecutor. Evers won’t take this sitting down.”

“Evers is as big a baby as you are. Suck it up, boy. This is how things get done.”

Jarrod closed his eyes then slammed out of the room. Nothing he could say would change Preston Bancroft. Why had it taken him twenty-eight years to accept that fact?

Odd how familiar this all felt. As if he’d seen it in a dream. As if he’d wished it a thousand times and only now realized what he wished. He strode to his office and slid open his desk drawers looking for anything that might hold value, but after a few minutes, he grabbed his overcoat and stalked out.


Jarrod had no idea how long he’d walked. Traffic had thinned slightly but people still crowded the sidewalks. Snow whirled down from a pale gray sky obscuring the tops of the taller buildings. Even jammed deep into his overcoat pockets, his hands felt like chunks of ice. Kind of like his stomach.

What if his father was right? Jarrod released his breath between pursed lips. Did the world of corporate finance require this kind of deception and manipulation? Law school hadn’t prepared him for this. Would he look back in twenty years and realize he’d been hopelessly naïve?

Maybe he would. But right now, this day, he had to sit down and think about his options. Carefully. With whiskey.

He shook his head as the image of Macie formed in his mind. Macie in her boots and corset standing over him, her gorgeous breasts bulging at the neckline, her green eyes flashing as she demanded his complete obedience. He longed for the dungeon, the reassurance of bonds strapped firmly on his wrists and ankles, the blessing of a lash stinging his back and buttocks. He wanted to crawl to Macie’s feet and never leave, live by her command.

He snorted in disgust. What would Preston say if he had any idea about his role with Macie and her Academy? Jarrod couldn’t even imagine. He’d gone for the training to satisfy a long-held secret desire, the overwhelming need to explore an aspect of himself that he’d always managed to suppress. What he’d found there shocked him, even now. Every day of his enthusiastic submission to pain and discipline shocked him.

But he loved it. Craved it. Felt blissfully happy in ways he’d never imagined.

And finding Mrs. Fitzgerald? Macie Fucking Fitzgerald? How many restless nights in high school had he imagined touching her? How many history classes had he watched her walk across the front of the room, write on the chalkboard, pierce him with her intense gaze while he hunched over in his desk trying to hide his erection?

He’d been a boy then, but he wasn’t a boy now. The discovery that the harsh mistress overseeing his training at the Academy had been the same woman who opened his mind to the triumphs and foibles of human endeavor had left him without defenses. It wasn’t just her beauty or her unflinching skill at domination that awed him. It was the depth of her understanding of human nature.

Even more intriguing was the mystery in her that broke to the surface in unexpected moments. When she was vulnerable. When they had reached the point of exhaustion and satiety and she curled in his arms.

Jarrod stopped, staring blindly into a store window where a display of Valentine hearts and cavorting cupids barely penetrated his consciousness. A tall man with dark hair and a worried expression stared back at him. Fucking Valentine’s Day.

His arms felt empty without her. In the dark eyes gazing back at him in the glass, he saw the truth of what he really wanted from her.


He wanted forever.

Backyard barbeques. Dogs. Long rainy evenings snuggled on the couch together. Walks along the beach. Macie watching him undress, opening her arms to his embrace. Her lips curved in that entrancing smile.

Jarrod shoved the heavy glass door open and stopped at the counter. The air smelled of warm chocolate, sugar, and a hint of cinnamon. Stuffed animals, shiny heart-shaped balloons, and confections of every shape and flavor crowded the surrounding tables. What the hell was he doing?

Would Macie take offense at a display of affection? He couldn’t exactly break out of a slave’s expected behavior and vow eternal love. He was acting on impulse. She might reject him entirely. He glanced up at the woman standing on the other side of the counter,

“Something small,” he said. “Friendly but not too much.”

She studied him, her carefully sculpted eyebrows knitted in a frown. “Chocolate?”

“Definitely chocolate,” he said.

The clerk’s thin shoulders jutted against her draped red sweater as she lifted a small heart toward him. The cellophane wrap rustled as she placed it on the glass countertop. “Top of the line chocolate truffles,” she said. “We also have creams or assorted bonbons in this size. What does she like?”

Jarrod paused, staring at the glistening red package. He had no idea what she liked. Maybe he was way off track with this idea. She’d never given him a gift. At her invitation after Academy graduation, he’d moved into her townhouse as her slave. It was a vacation from reality and the most fulfilling experience he’d ever known. A strict protocol ruled his activity there. Each day when he walked away from Bancroft Investments and the world of business, his existence narrowed down to Macie. He took off his real world life at the same time he took off his clothes. What she wanted, what she demanded. Macie in control.

But despite her assured control, he suddenly realized he’d always sensed an opening. His face heated as he remembered his brash act the night of Academy graduation. He’d taken her. The need she’d teased along for six weeks boiled to the surface and he barely been able to ask permission before throwing her back on the bed. She acted as though she expected it, as if she’d been waiting for him.

What the hell could he assume from that?

Even in high school, some part of him understood that he had the power to take her. At that point, he had no clue how to use that power on a woman ten years older. With the many females he’d bedded over the years, his actions had seemed like play. He toyed with women, watched them from a distance, predicted what they’d do or say. Teased them along. All of it bored him.

A few times since then, even as Macie’s slave, he’d pushed the boundaries.  Much as he loved pleasing her, he also loved the undercurrent of as-yet-unfulfilled promises they both knew but never discussed. That he would, someday, pin her against the wall and rip off her clothes one piece at a time. Hold her hostage at the end of his cock. Watch her nipples tighten under his gaze until they protruded like chocolate candies waiting for his mouth.

“The creams,” he said, jerking out of his reverie. His cock had stiffened. “Assorted creams.”

With the package caught under his arm, he stopped to wait for a light surrounded by a dozen other pedestrians bundled against the cold. Traffic snarls backed up to the next block, a typical Friday afternoon. Only it didn’t feel typical. It felt charged, like the ground could erupt any moment, like a tsunami rolled toward him.

He pictured her townhouse, the fireplace, the look in her eyes when he would start unbuttoning her blouse. How her skin would glow in the firelight as he leaned over her. How her dark hair would pool against the rug. How she would taste. The sound of her voice protesting.  How he would hold her wrists and make her gasp.

“Taxi!” he called, stepping to the curb. Yeah, the ground could erupt. To hell with Preston Bancroft and his criminal enterprise. To hell with doubt and protocol and silly rules meant to be broken. He knew what he wanted. He was taking it.


Thanks for reading my story! If you liked it, you’ll LOVE the full novel. To enter the drawing for a $20 gift certificate, visit my Facebook page and follow the prompts on how to enter.

Sign up for my free monthly e-newsletter. Gift certificates, excerpts, pre-release deals, and much more. Sign up at

Follow me for free erotic short works, hot photos, and the occasional rant on my blog at

Enjoy some amazing eye candy? Check out my Pinterest page

Stepbrothers Stepping Out (Contest)
Wednesday, February 3rd, 2016

Today’s guest is missing, so I thought I’d give you a little sexy creamer to go with your coffee…

Sorry, did you just snort your coffee? Was that too crude? I’m in one of those moods today. I have to make one final pass through my latest Stepbrothers Stepping Out story—this one is “With His Friends”—before I can ship it to the formatter. The plan is to have it on Amazon this Friday! But in the meantime, I’m “suffering” (LOL!) through a sexy foursome. Yes, I know the cover makes it look as though it ought to be a fivesome, but there’s only a hint of that in the story. Here’s a sneak peek at the cover:


And while you’re waiting for Friday to roll around, I’m sharing a sexy snippet from another naughty stepbrother story. If you’d like a chance to win a copy of With His Professor, answer me this:

If you read them, what do you like about menage stories?

An excerpt from Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His Professor
With His Professor

When a stripper confronts a professor about her stepbrother’s grade, she’s determined to find a way to change his mind. Making the grade has never been sexier…

Outwardly, the clothing I wore was respectable. But underneath, I wore nothing except for the straps Darien had fastened around my waist and upper thighs, which held the vibrator in place.

His idea. The remote was in his pocket.

We strode down the long, dark hallway, not glancing at each other directly but from the corners of our eyes, and I knew he could see the smirk kicking up one side of my mouth.

A hum sounded, and a vibration shot through me, causing my jaw to sag and my lids to lower.

Darien clicked off the remote, clamped a hand on my ass and pushed me forward.

We’d decided to play. No plan really. But we were ready in case there was even a flicker of interest from the handsome professor. Just the thought of what was under my short skirt was enough to fuel our excitement.

His door creaked open, a student stepped out, his gaze going to Darien, to whom he gave a nod, and then I drew his attention, and I gave him a sultry smile. He halted in his tracks, and I turned my head to watch him as I passed, enjoying the fact that he continued to stare after me.

I knew I looked good. Short black skirt, flirty knee-high boots, a powder blue sweater with one large button fastened between my boobs that hugged my upper chest, and it was obvious from the pout of my nipples I wasn’t wearing a bra.

Darien knocked on the door. The sound within was muffled, but my brother pushed inside then held the door to let me precede him.

Professor Allcock’s expression tightened, his gaze going from Darien to my chest, and back to Darien. He settled deeper in his chair and regarded both of us with a wary gaze.

I took a seat.

“I’ve finished the paper,” Darien said, and bent over the professor’s desk to slide it across. From the side, the sight of his erection tenting his pants made me grin.

When I raised my gaze, I found myself caught by the professor whose eyebrows were lowered. He knew he was being hunted. But I couldn’t read him to know whether he was into this, into us, or just irritated.

“You must be warm this evening,” he said, his gaze going to my sweater.

My heart  began to pound, because I understood his unspoken command. “I am warm,” I said, and flicked open the button. The sides parted, but only revealed a bare strip down my middle.

And because, for the moment, I had his undivided attention, I leaned back and opened my legs.

Darien coughed, which sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

The professor’s frown stayed in place, but his gaze snagged on the sight I revealed.

A hum began, so loud there was no chance the man across the desk missed it. Pleasure quivered through me. I gasped, settled deeper in my chair, and parted my legs farther.

The professor cleared his throat then pulled the paper closer.

The men commenced talking about the paper while I grew warm and wet and squirmed a little on my seat. When I leaned back, I opened my sweater fully to let the cool air tease my nipples. Exposed, my desire quickly ratcheted up.

Darien reached across and pinched my inner thigh. His head turned, and he gave me a blistering glare. “Not until I say.” Then he returned to the conversation.

The professor seemed to take it all in stride, his gaze skimming the paper and asking questions, but now and then, he’d glance at my pussy.

Was he afraid I’d wet the upholstery? Did he like what he saw? The mystery fueled my desire, and I took short breaths through pursed lips to hold onto my composure.

The professor slid open a drawer. He held out a hand toward me. “You left these the other night.”

My sequined pasties lay on his palm. I picked them up, letting my fingers slide on his skin, but he drew calmly away, as though he’d just handed me a pencil.

The vibrator’s speed increased, and I bit my lip, fighting the urge to climax.

“May I?” the professor said, holding out his hand.

Darien handed him the control.

And now, any pretending they were actually talking about the merits of Darien’s paper disappeared. Both males stared as I gripped the chair’s arms and scrunched my features because I was close. So fucking close.

The vibrator stopped, and I widened my eyes. His gaze was narrowed. His cheeks flushed. He leaned to the side, and the sound of another drawer, this one lower down and sliding open, filled the small room.

When he straightened in his chair, he held a pointer, a long one he would have used to point to a screen as he lectured. He passed it to Darien then swung his gaze back to me. One brow rose—a challenge thrown down?

I pushed up and stood on wobbly legs. Then never letting my gaze stray from his, I raised my skirt to my waist and bent over his desk. He was deprived of the sight of my ass and swollen pussy, but he didn’t seem to mind. He leaned back in his chair, wearing a small, tight smile.

The first stroke of that thin wooden wand made me gasp. It felt like a switch. Stung like a bitch. Another stroke, and I cried out. The professor held out the remote, his thumb hovering over the button.

My gaze locked with his as another strike stung me, and then he hit the remote, and the vibrator quivered to life. My pussy closed around it, making a wet, slurpy sound.

His gaze dropped to his crotch.

Mine followed.

His cock strained against the fabric of his dark slacks. If he’d opened them, I’d have begged to suck him, but he merely rubbed himself slowly, as he hit the trigger again and quickened the hum.

Darien slashed me one last time, and I couldn’t stop myself, I bit my lower lip to muffle a cry as my orgasm slammed through me.

Slowly, I came back to awareness. Darien was wiping my thighs and pussy with tissues the professor handed him. What was said between the two men, I didn’t care. The professor stood, and Darien pulled me upright, fastening the button of my sweater and tugging down my skirt to cover my sex and my ass. He rubbed my bottom, and I gasped at the welts he’d left. Welts my customers would see when I danced the next night. But I didn’t care.


Check out more sexy stepbrothers erotic romances:

Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His Partner
Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His Boss

Thinking about Peter Pan…
Tuesday, February 2nd, 2016

“If you carry your childhood with you, you never become older.”
~Abraham Sutzkever

Peter Pan At least, that’s the hope, right? When I watch Peter Pan, that sentiment is how I connect. He never grows old; never loses his sense of wonder for the world. I feel that connection to him, because everywhere I go, even if the place isn’t as wondrous as Neverland, I find something “sparkly” about it. I make something “sparkly” of my environment.

I never liked Wendy because I thought she acted like a little old lady. Sure, you’d want to come back to your mom and dad (uh, maybe, I’d really be tempted to stay in Neverland!), but did she have to be such a fussbudget? A little old woman in a little girl’s body? But you know people like that, don’t you? No matter the age, they’re old. Responsibility over spark. Vegetables before desert.

Are we a mixture of both? I think my daughter is. She’d probably say I’m too much Peter, not enough Wendy. How about you?

Are you more Peter than Wendy? Would you stay in Neverland?

Are there ways we can hold on to our inner youth? Oil of Olay is fine, but how do you keep your inner child from drying up like a prune?

Barbara White Daille: Love the Second Time Around (Contest)
Monday, February 1st, 2016


What does that word bring to mind? Gathering for a family picnic on the Fourth of July? Losing a few pounds before you party with people you haven’t seen since high school graduation? Running into a former crush while you’re in your oldest sweats with no makeup on and standing in the line at the grocery store?

Any of the above situations can make for a great story filled with peril…or promise.

Who hasn’t heard about feuding cousins who buried the hatchet and became friends at a family reunion? Or the high-school sweethearts who found each other again—and tied the knot—after thirty years apart?

bwdThe Sheriff's SonRomance novels often revolve around a reunion plot. I love that story line and include it in many of my books.

Obviously, one of the most important elements of a story, especially a romance, is getting and keeping the main characters together in a believable, uncontrived way. A reunion is a great way to accomplish that.

But this type of story is so much more than a ready plot device, a handy trope, a fallback for characters who need a quick and maybe cute intro.

One of the things I love best about a reunion story is that it brings together characters who have a past in common. Just think of the possibilities in that: two people with a history together.  Shared memories.  Unresolved conflicts.  Unforgiven and unforgivable hurts.

If that’s not good material for a relationship story, I don’t know what is!

In my opinion, a reunion plot makes for a richer, more complex story. It gives us a chance to see how two people who once walked away from each other can grow and change and improve. And best of all, it lets us see how those people who once made a mistake get a second chance.

My first published book, The Sheriff’s Son, is being reissued in new formats today. (Info on that below.) Just for fun, I’ve included before-and-after covers with this post.

The book is—you guessed it!—a reunion story. Sarah and Tanner were high-school sweethearts until the night of graduation, when he broke her heart. Here’s a clip from the beginning of the book with that all-important first meeting:

bwdThe Sheriff's Son LP 2-16If one more straw would snap the camel’s back, as Daddy used to say, then one more debt, one more unplanned doctor visit, one more call from Kevin’s school ought to bring down a whole herd of cattle.

The thought of her son made Sarah sigh again. It was only a few weeks into the new school year, and in that short time, he’d given her more grief than in all seven years of his life combined.

At the sound of the bell over the bookstore’s front door, she smoothed the loose curls escaping from her braid and, ran a hand over the front of her dress. Halfway through the office doorway, she froze. Her mouth hung open, the greeting she’d intended to call out shriveling on her tongue, sliding back down her throat, curdling in her stomach.

Her “one more straw” had arrived.

A man stood at the front of the store, framed between a pair of ceiling-height bookcases.

Tanner Jones seemed to fill her vision, standing taller and more broad-shouldered than she ever remembered, but looking, unfortunately, all too familiar. Except for the deputy sheriff’s badge decorating his chest and the gun resting on his hip.

A frown rumpled his brow and his hand gripped the back of a bright blue T-shirt, pulling up with just enough pressure to keep the boy inside the shirt dancing on tiptoe.

A single mother’s worst nightmare. Doubled.

The son she never wanted to see in trouble.

The man she’d once loved. Once lost. And never wanted to see again.


Hope you enjoyed the clip. I would love to hear your thoughts about reunion romances!

I’m giving away one reader’s choice of an autographed print copy of this book in the original version or one of my available backlist titles. (US mailing addresses only, please). To get your name in the hat, share a reunion story—one of your own or of someone you know.

Leave your comment by Friday, and a winner’s name will be posted in the comments over the weekend.

About the Author

bwBarbara White DailleBarbara White Daille lives with her husband in the sunny Southwest. Though they love the warm winters and the lizards in their front yard, they haven’t gotten used to the scorpions in the bathroom.

Barbara’s new series, The Hitching Post Hotel, features a matchmaking grandpa determined to see his three granddaughters wed. The series began with The Cowboy’s Little Surprise, and the latest book is The Lawman’s Christmas Proposal (just released in December). Cowboy in Crisis will debut in July 2016, with other books in the series to follow.

Her first book, The Sheriff’s Son, has been reissued (today! J ) in both larger print and a new e-book version, available exclusively from Harlequin:  The original version is also still available at most major e-tailers, including Amazon:

Find Barbara online:


January’s going, going, gone…but what’s coming in February? (Contest)
Sunday, January 31st, 2016

Can you believe the first month of 2016 is almost over? Yeah, it’s all over except the weeping. I blew my goals for January. And I’m not sure why. I felt good after December’s little health hiccup. But February presents a new challenge and a chance to catch up!

What did I accomplish in January?

  1. I wrote 1/2 of one book.
  2. I wrote the opening chapters of another then put it away because I hated it.
  3. I revised an older title and published it.
  4. I compiled a short story collection of my own and published it.

And that was freaking it.

Just so you didn’t miss those newly published titles, here’s a reminder…

January Releases


Bent on catching her cheating fiancé in the act, Frannie Valentine got sidetracked by a little thing like dying. When she awakens, Frannie learns her pampered life will never be the same, so she turns to the man responsible for her undeadness and demands he take on the responsibility of giving her a little job training—in the PI biz.

Niall Keegan never intended to make himself a mate, but Frannie’s string of minor disasters, which ended with her dying in his arms, took the decision right out of his hands. While the mating part isn’t bad, making the disaster-prone Frannie a PI may just be the death of him.

Purchase here!

* * * * *


From New York Times bestselling author, Delilah Devlin, comes her third naughty collection of bedtime stories–enough for a week’s worth of sexy inspiration!
Included in this volume are… 

Big Brass Buckle — Caught in a sudden thunderstorm on a lonely stretch of Texas highway, I pull into a dingy little diner to wait out the rain, never dreaming the cowboy of my dreams would follow me inside…

Pitch Black — Passion lights the way for an ex-marine corrections officer rescuing a female CO trapped in a prison block during a blackout…

The Pleasure in Surrender — After the lady of the keep bars her gates to the barbarian the king commands she wed, the half-Viking knight scales the walls of her heart…

One-Track Cowboy — After tracking two lost hikers, a park ranger and a local rancher lose themselves to a wild passion…

How to Train Your Skjaldmaer — A Viking jarl tricked into marrying a shieldmaiden sets out to tame his fiery bride…

Johnny Blaze — A firefighter moonlighting as a male exotic dancer gives a librarian a birthday spanking she’ll never forget…

Red Dawn — A colonist living on a lonely Martian plain receives her new mate, a man culled from among the newly transported convicts…

Purchase here! And remember, RIGHT NOW, it’s just $0.99!

What’s coming in February?

SOWithHisFriends_600  TheWeekend_600 DesiresPrisoner_600


Answer this to win a small Amazon gift card…

What story are you most eager to see from me next? The next SEAL? Another fireman? Cowboy? Werewolf? Witch? Stepbrother?

I’ll be sending out a new newsletter later today and announcing this month’s winner of a gift from me. If you aren’t already a subscriber to my newsletter, go here: Sign up for Delilah’s Newsletter!

Strokes, Volume 3 is out! (Contest)
Saturday, January 30th, 2016

UPDATE: Four winners are announced in the comments!

* * * * *


If you’ve followed me for long, you know I love, love, love writing short stories. I love to read them. (I don’t really have time to read much else!) I write so many, I am now publishing my third Strokes edition! Here comes the sales pitch… And what a deal I have for you! If you bought each of these stories individually, you’d pay $6.93. TODAY, you can buy this anthology for just $0.99!

There are seven stories, no cliff-hangers—these are self-contained short stories with a beginning and a Happy Ever After! And they cover a wide range of themes, from Vikings to Cowboys to Men in Uniform to a lovely little romance set on Mars… Seven stories designed to give you a week’s worth of bedtime pleasure!

I hope you’ll rush to Amazon and get your copy, because no kidding, that price won’t last long.

Comment to tell me which of the seven stories you are dying to read (click on the cover to head to Amazon for the list!), and you will be entered to win one of the previous editions of Strokes. And I’ll be choosing three winners!

Strokes Strokes Volume 2