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Megan Mitcham: Anticipation (Contest)
Wednesday, May 6th, 2015

Which is better, contact or the seconds before?

You’ve been thinking about those lips, that smile, that accent for days, weeks, months, years. Now, the universe has aligned and here you are. Anticipation, a.k.a. foreplay, whether verbal, body language, or physical adds a whole new level of HOT to any encounter. It’s the major premise behind my joint adventure with Author Lindsay Cross. Take a peek and answer the question at the bottom of the post for a chance to win a copy of Enemy Mine or Versions.

ANTICIPATION eBook (1563x2500)


A Heart and Handcuffs Anthology

Love is all you need… Really? Tell that to her unattended lady-boner. Sure, she and her husband had a love so strong it shouldered the weight of children, careers, in-laws, and out-laws, but the zing of excitement had grown into comfortable expectation.

He knew things had gone to hell in handcuffs. Work choked him on files and felons. Home’s honey-do lists weren’t much better, because nowhere on the to-do list did it say, “wife.”

They had love, but how did they get back to lust?

With a little bit of Anticipation…

Anticipation contains two sizzling ten-thousand word short stories. In Megan Mitcham’s story “Climax,” a busty—and brainy—redhead arrests her police-chief husband and shows him exactly what she’s had to do to get by without him for the last two months. In Lindsay Cross’s story “Need,” a work-from-home mom pushed to the brink pushes back, revealing her un-sated desire and forcing her Dominant to reestablish his role.

Amazon | iBooks | Kobo | Google Play |B&N | All Romance

ISBN ebook: 978-1-941899-12-0
Release: May 2015
Length: 170 pages


“Why’d you insist on coming with me? This isn’t exactly your thing.” Lindley held up a gloved hand and fanned her fingers at him.

Fox’s broad back faced her. He typed furiously on his cell with the thick collar of his overcoat up on both sides. “What? Oh.” He turned his dark gaze on her. The ruddiness in his cheeks from the spring wind outside faded to sheet-white. “Damnit, Lin.” He looked away so quickly he almost snapped his neck. “I still don’t understand how it’s your thing.” He shoved the phone inside his pocket and gripped the table he leaned against with both hands. “When we met you seemed so normal.”

“I am normal.” She grinned, pleased with herself for shaking him up enough to get him talking. He’d been so quiet on the car ride over, stuck in the mire of his thoughts. And now that she’d seen the tip of the proverbial iceberg that had wrecked their sex life she wanted to know more.

“You have brains all over your gloves and you’re not about to hurl. That’s not normal.” His shaggier-than-usual locks moved in time with his shaking head.

“Sure it is. You like to solve puzzles. It’s part of the reason you became a police officer. Every case for you is an intricate weave of timelines, witnesses, evidence, leads, and documentation. Well, I like to tell people’s stories when they can’t.”

“So, what’s White’s story?”

“This bastard got shot in the head.”

Fox’s shoulders shook. He doubled over and the most glorious sound filled her morgue. She hadn’t heard his laugh in so very long. Sure he’d laughed with the kids, but not with her, not that real belly-rolling laugh, in too long. He buried his face in his arm. “Oh God, it smells awful in here.” The coat and thickly-corded muscles muffled the words.

Lindley let the sound wash over her, soothing the ache in her heart. “It’s good to hear you laugh,” she breathed through the thin face mask.

“It’s good to laugh. It’s been a long time.” With that, the last of his mirth dried up.

“So why’d you come with me?”

“The logical thing for James to do is run, but why’d he kill White in my office, in my chair? Nothing was stolen. Nothing was out of place.”

He resumed his grip on the table.

“A final FU?”

“Or it’s a threat.”

A tiny tendril of fear threaded itself around her heart. She strived to make light of the situation. But really, a man who’d eaten barbeque in her back yard had murdered the buddy he’d picked up on his way to their house. She could only blow off so much.

Lindley secured the metal spreader inside White’s entry wound and wiggled her fingers into his brain matter. “Why would he threaten you?”

“I pushed for the bust on Chino and his gang based on things we learned from following White and James.”

“Chino!” The tendril coiled tight and her fingers slipped off the tip of the metal slug.

“He’s not a problem for us. He knows how the system works. He’s a bad guy, but not The Godfather make-a-big-statement type. He’ll post bail within the hour. Whether he goes to jail or not, James is the one with the issue. He won’t have a prayer of showing his face in this town again. No matter what he says, Chino will believe he informed for us, and he’ll end up fish food.”

“And that’s not a statement?”

“It’s a little one.”


“James stealing the money was an FU to the force. White in my office was personal.”

Lindley pushed everything aside, concentrated, and steeled her grip. “I found the slug.”

“Great. Can we go now?”

“Can you grab me a small evidence bag and open it?”

He sighed and moved to the wall of metal cabinets and drawers behind her. “Can you bring it over here. If I don’t see the body, I’ll do better.”

“I still don’t understand how you made it through seven years as a detective.” Lindley sidled up next to him and dropped the hunk of compressed metal into the open bag.

“I could look at that as evidence. This is like finger painting or sculpting with brains, and guts, and… Okay, I’m about to gross myself out.”

It was her turn to laugh. Finally. Fox’s wide eyes and reciprocating smile said he enjoyed the sound as much as she did. They shared a moment together. He moved in, but his gaze dropped to her hands. He hit the brakes.

“So, can we go now?”

“I have to clean him up, and then me. It’ll take another hour, maybe.”

Fox looked at her extra-large clock on the wall. “One o’clock. I’ve officially been awake for thirty hours.”

“Sissy. It doesn’t get good until you’ve hit the fiftieth. Mental function shuts down and you find you can sleep standing up with a candy-bar hanging out of your mouth.”

“If this place didn’t freak me out so much, I’d already be asleep. You know I like my eight hours.”

“I know you haven’t gotten that many in a row in a while.”

“I haven’t gotten a lot of things in a while.” His shaky finger brushed a group of stray hairs from her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am.” She leaned into his hand. The tiny bit of skin-on-skin contact bolstered her resolve.

Let me know what you think in the comments and remember to leave your email address so I can alert the winner!!! Which does it for you contact all the way or anticipation?



Megan was born and raised among the live oaks and shrimp boats of the Mississippi Gulf Coast, where her enormous family still calls home. She attended college at the University of Southern Mississippi where she received a bachelor’s degree in curriculum, instruction, and special education. For several years Megan worked as a teacher in Mississippi. She married and moved to South Carolina and began working for an international non-profit organization as an instructor and co-director.

In 2009 Megan fell in love with books. Until then, books had been a source for research or the topic of tests. But one day she read Mercy by Julie Garwood. And Oh Mercy, she was hooked!

Megan lives in Southern Arkansas where she pens heart pounding romantic thriller novels and window steaming erotic romance. Follow her on FacebookTwitterPinterest & Goodreads!

Lindsay McKenna: Choosing Names for Characters
Sunday, May 3rd, 2015


The name I choose for every character I write about means everything to me.  The name needs to resonate within me, inspire me, sweep me off to the hero and heroine’s personality, their thoughts, emotions, desire, dreams and wounds.  A name has energy to it and a very specific vibration.  That name is a template from which the character “talks” to me for the duration (and sometimes, after) the book.

When I start a new book, I’ll see a character come forward and introduce themselves to me.  I see what they look like, how they are dressed, the expression on their face, etc.  From that, I pick up a vibe about him or her.  I can feel who they are inside and out, as if they are utterly transparent to me on every level with me.  This is the magical part of creation which I love.

The only downer is my characters never tell me their names!  I go through a number of books, thumbing through them, muttering a bunch a names to see if one “fits” them or not.  I go to tons of baby names websites on the Internet.  I look for unique, interesting or oddball names.  I’ve written over 135 books and all my favorite names have long ago, been used up!

Choosing every name of every character is one of the most important things I do when developing a story.  Every time I say that name out loud, I get an instant telepathic and emotional hit on that character.  I never go out-of-character because of this.  Choosing a name that embraces the particular character’s personality is vital.

I favor short names over really long, convoluted ones.  I like names you can create a nickname from or around. For example, the hero of RUNNING FIRE is a US Navy SEAL named Kelly Ballard.  But everyone has, forever, called him by his nickname, Kell.  And so, he grew up with it.  There’s usually a reason why some people get nicknames spinning off their given name.  Sometimes, there isn’t.   In Kell’s world, people around him just automatically shortened it.  Besides, Kell is an easy going sort of man and wasn’t one of those people who went around correcting everyone every time they didn’t call him by his real name, Kelly. (There are people out there like that, believe me).  I also don’t care for a name I can’t pronounce without stumbling all over it.  I figure if I do, so will my reader.

It was tougher for me to find the heroine’s name: Leah Mackenzie.   Names sound strong or weak to me.  When I say the name, I want to investigate the layers  enclosed within its vowels and consonants.  In Leah’s case, when she came forward to introduce herself to me, I felt layers of steel, of grief, of suffering, but also, family meaning everything to her, a kindness and a loyalty that ran deeply through her.  She was a highly complex and compartmentalized person, so I needed a name that had far more layers than normal to it.

Above all, Leah was a person who cared deeply for family, and less for herself.  I needed a name with vulnerability built into it.  I wanted that softness that I felt deeply hidden and guarded by her.  I had to have a name that contained those juxtapose polarities:  marshmallow combined with steel.  I spent seven days and finally discovered the name that resonated with her:  Leah.

Afterward?  I always have fun looking up on the Internet what a name means by the country of its origin.  And also, any historical or religious significance to it, or not.  I’m always amazed, after I choose a name and then scour the basics of the name through history, that it ends up reflecting some basic tenets of my character. Go check the name Leah on Google, and you’ll get a ton of information!

I hope you enjoy the many layers, twists and turns of Running Fire!  Please run over to my website and sign up for my quarterly newsletter (free).  It contains exclusive information, giveaways, and surprises that only my subscribers will receive!  I love to hear from my readers, so make yourself known to me at


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Friday, May 1st, 2015

My sister has a brand new adrenaline rush ready for you to devour! Check out SEAL’s Seduction! ~ DD


Ebook ISBN: 978-1-62695-019-1
Print  ISBN: 978-1-62695-020-7

A Navy SEAL puts his training to the test to rescue a sexy news reporter from a hostage situation

Home on emergency leave, Navy SEAL Dustin “Dustman” Ford didn’t expect  to run into his high school sweetheart, local news reporter Jenna Turner, figuring she’d have shaken off the dust of their hometown a long time ago. A woman as addicted to action and adventure as he was, he thought she’d have moved on. But she was still there, and every bit as distracting as she’d been when they were teens.

Jenna Turner never got over Dustin, but moved on with her life, establishing herself as a news reporter for the local station. In an effort to take on more than reporting social events and weddings, with the help of a cousin and an inside connection on the police force, she chases the hotter news items, determined to make her break into the national news scene.

Now that his father is on the mend, Dustin tests the heat with his old flame and finds it’s sizzling. When Jenna is taken hostage in a religious compound, Dustin and his brothers stage a rescue operation to bring her and others out alive.

Buy here: Amazon| Ibooks |Nook | Kobo |ARe


With the sun glaring off the glass, he didn’t see what was behind it until he slammed into a young auburn-haired woman with a bandage around her forehead, rising out of wheelchair. He dug his boots into the smooth tile floor, but not soon enough to halt his forward momentum. Dustin barreled into the young woman, grabbed her around the middle, threw himself over onto his back and landed hard on the ground, the woman landing on top of him, forcing the air from his lungs.

“What the hell?” The female pushed against his chest and stared down at him, her green eyes shooting flames. “Of all the idiotic, stupid things to do, plowing into a hospital full of sick and injured tops the charts.”

Still fighting for his breath, Dustin opened his mouth but nothing came out. He sucked in a ragged breath, his mind clearing about the same time as recognition dawned. “Jenna?” he wheezed.

The woman’s skillfully arched brows puckered, and then a smile lit her face. “Dustin?”

She rolled to the side and air flowed into Dustin’s lungs.

Her joyous smile crashed into a deep frown. “Holy hell, can’t you enter a building like everyone else?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.” Dustin sat up, grabbed her arms and stared into her face, memories of the woman crashing in around him. “Are you okay?” God, she was even more beautiful than when he’d left for Navy Basic Training a decade ago. He nodded toward the white gauze wrapped around her head. “Why are you wearing that?”

The bandage slipped loose and dropped down over one of her eyes. “Damn.” She unwound the binding from her head and wadded it into her fist. “I told them this was too much.” A butterfly bandage stretched over a cut on her temple, holding the edges of skin together.

His grip tightened. “What happened to your forehead?”

She snorted, shook free from his hold and pointed at the injury. “This little thing?”

“Don’t let her fool you. It’s a gunshot wound.” A tall, lanky man with a baby face extended his hand to Jenna. “Need a hand up?”

Jenna placed her hand in his and let him draw her to her feet, her color rising in her cheeks. “It didn’t hurt.”

“Yeah, but had it hit one inch over, you wouldn’t be falling all over a man in the hospital lobby. You’d be stretched out on a table in the morgue.”

Jenna’s face blanched.

“Damn, Jenna.” Dustin pushed to his feet. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Jenna smoothed her hair back from her face, like she did when she was avoiding an answer. She winced when her hand brushed over the bandage.

The lanky dude answered, “We were reporting on a hostage situation when the gunman started shooting at everything. After the gunman was hit by the SWAT team, his shots went wild. One nicked my girl, here.”

“Damn.” Dustin planted himself in front of her, cupped her chin and studied the injury, his hands tingling with the electricity that shot through him whenever he touched this woman. Even after ten years, she still made him crazy.

“The doctor said it shouldn’t leave much of a scar.” Jenna laughed shakily. “He glued it together, rather than stitching.”

Dustin shook his head. “What have you been up to since I’ve been gone?”

Jenna pulled free of his grip, the color returning to her cheeks. Rubbing her hands over her arms, she tilted her chin. “I’m a freelance reporter for the local news station.”

The young man behind her grinned. “Yeah, and she’s good. Today’s report ought to get us into the national news.”

Dustin glared at the man who’d gone with Jenna into danger. “Who the hell are you?”

The young man’s grin slipped. “Toby.” His own eyes narrowed. “Who the hell are you?”

His chest swelling out, his back stiffening, Dustin answered, “Dustin Ford. Jenna’s fiancé.”

Toby’s brows rose into the hair hanging down over his forehead. “Fiancé?” He glanced from Jenna to Dustin and back to Jenna. “Is there something you haven’t told me?”

She shook her head. “Former fiancé. A million years ago.” Jenna brushed her hands over her rumpled skirt suit. “We were teenagers in lust. Not a brain between the two of us. We’re lucky we broke it off before we made the biggest mistake of our lives.”


About the Author

ejElleNYT and USA Today Bestselling Author ELLE JAMES also writing as MYLA JACKSON is an award-winning author of stories including cowboys, intrigues and paranormal adventures that keep her readers on the edges of their seats. With over seventy stories in a variety of sub-genres and lengths she is published with Harlequin, Samhain, Elloras’ Cave, Kensington, Cleis Press, and Avon. When she’s not at her computer, she’s traveling, out snow-skiing, boating, or riding her ATV, dreaming up new stories.

Elle’s Links: Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | GoodReads | Newsletter | Amazon Author Page
Myla Jackson’s links: Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Newsletter

April Vine: Reclaimed by Her Master
Wednesday, April 29th, 2015

Note from Delilah: I’ve been absent, mostly, since late last week. For those of you who wanted to know, my dd’s surgery went well. The recovery’s about what you’d expect—painful, slow, depressing. The first couple of days she was sure she was going to die. By the third, she was asking her hubby to go buy a gun so he could shoot her—so you know she’s on the mend! :) Her three kids have been angels (NOT!); the dogs and cats are great company (sneeze, wheeze—there are 9 of them!). I’m getting naps here and there, so feeling a little sluggish. I haven’t quite yet figured out how to disappear so I can get a little work done. There’s always someone needing something. They even have ME cooking! You know that’s not good. I keep a Pinterest board called “Food I Want My Daughter to Make” FOR A REASON! But hopefully, I won’t be sleeping over there for too many more days. My mole-hole, office cave is looking like paradise! Later!

In the meantime, check out April Vine’s hot new book! ~DD

Reclaimed by Her Master

avVineApril_ReclaimedByHerMaster (1)

He’ll catch her in the act—and never let her go.

No one breaches the defenses of billionaire Dom Stephen Black—until Aria Swift does just that, stealing a priceless painting from his collection—along with his heart. But two can play that game, and soon a treasured necklace that belonged to Aria’s late mother ends up in Stephen’s skilled, waiting hands—along with a dare to retrieve it…

Eight years later, Aria is ready to put closure on her infamous past by meeting Stephen’s challenge. And suddenly, she’s caught in his trap…

There’s only one way to master a woman like Aria—and only one place to do it. Stephen’s luxuriously decadent Gold Room is where he’ll mete out her punishment, stroke by excruciatingly ecstatic stroke. Where Aria will submit to his every desire—and find in his touch, in his control, a frenzied yearning, and the ultimate pleasure of surrender…


Stephen Black.

With her breath clogged in her throat, she swiveled around. The sight of him butchered coherent thinking, turned her blood hot and her body into a frenzy of chaos. Life sparked between her legs, and her pussy clenched. All against her will.

He hadn’t changed at all. Yet he had. Eight years ago, his clear blue eyes held less coldness, his aura nearly not as dangerous. The width of his shoulders had seemed far less formidable. He was thirty-two years old now, and still his natural masculine force bewildered her femininity, as it had long ago. She abandoned the crazy notion of succumbing to him without question, or hesitation, or even invitation.

Her boots whispered against the thick fibers of the carpet as she stepped toward his desk and moved in behind it, giving herself a few more seconds to gather her wits. She needed something solid between them, something that could protect her. Something with more substance than air.

She leaned into the gleaming wood and used it as support for her weakened knees while she faced him. He shouldn’t be here. She hadn’t prepared herself to see him in person. No amount of time or practice could have readied her for that, not in this life or any other. Instant arousal, confusion, anger, and fear cluttered her mind, as if the years between them had never occurred.

And she hadn’t betrayed him.


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April Vine is a nighttime erotic romance writer and a daytime professional dreamer. She adores books, chocolates and shoes, and is happiest doing all three at the same time.

She lives in a house with boys and a few four-legged furry things and has come to accept both species for the strange creatures they are.

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Adele Downs: Release Day! LIP SERVICE
Tuesday, April 28th, 2015

Do you believe in ghosts? I’m open to the possibility, though I don’t think I’ve ever seen one—despite my years as a ghost tour guide in an historic Pennsylvania town, and once owning a Victorian house in Philadelphia that I carefully restored.

Though I’ve had more than my share of opportunities for paranormal interaction, I seem only to have fueled my imagination during my years of entertaining tourists and renovating my old house. My new release, LIP SERVICE, set inside a Victorian home similar to the one I owned, was inspired by my years as a ghost tour guide—the most fun job I’ve ever had.

Here’s a little about my new release:

adLip Service_tent3LIP SERVICE by ADELE DOWNS

Some ghosts won’t take “yes” for an answer.

Jack Harris has loved Legs Anderson since they were kids. Now that he has her in his bed, he has no intention of letting her go. Aunt Ada has other ideas, even from the grave.


Orphaned at a young age, Legs Anderson owes her Aunt Ada everything. The stoic old lady raised her, and Ada’s warnings about men—and the Harris boys in particular—have stuck, even after her death. Of course, that could be because Ada stuck around, too.


Patience is not one of Jack Harris’s virtues, and he’s waited too long to start a life with the woman he’s loved since childhood instead of them just knocking boots. Now Ada is interfering from beyond the grave, haunting the old Victorian house she bequeathed to her niece and reinforcing Legs’s fears of commitment. But Jack won’t give up. No matter what trouble may follow, the house will be renovated, Ada will learn to let go, Legs will put her money where her mouth is…and then Jack’ll put his lips everywhere else.


The roar of a Harley-Davidson motorcycle on Rachel’s block and the rev of a throttle in her driveway announced Jack’s arrival. Legs tried to appear nonchalant when he walked through the poolside gate, but the sight of his sun-streaked hair and tanned, muscular good looks nearly knocked her out her seat. She eased her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose to get a better look.

When he stepped into the pool area dressed in black jeans, black biker boots, and a white muscle shirt that framed his pumped-up shoulders and biceps, she caught her breath. Everyone in the group said “hey” and Rachel offered him a cold drink, but his focus had remained on her. He slid his sunglasses on top of his head and nodded in her direction.

Legs remembered his gaze meeting hers before his attention strayed to her gold and black bikini then savored every inch of her skin. An appreciative smirk curled his lips and desire flashed in his beautiful blue eyes. He took a long pull of the soft drink someone handed him and then set the can down on the patio table. He looked her way and said, “Want to go for a ride?”

The invitation came out like a dare. All eyes shifted to her, watching to see what she’d do. They all knew she wasn’t allowed to date Jack Harris. Taking a ride on his motorcycle might not have been the same thing, but there would be hell to pay if her aunt found out.

She stretched her arms over her head and offered a lazy smile. “I guess so.” Though she’d been as nervous and excited as a rabbit, she never let on. She stood and pulled on her shorts and shirt, slid her sandals over her feet, and made her way across the patio to him.

Her aunt’s spies might see her on the road, but she pushed that worry aside. Mere weeks remained before she’d move away to college and the subject would be moot. She’d be gone most of the next four years, and by the time she got back, Jack would probably be married with a couple of kids. Half the women in town had their eyes on him and his brothers.

The idea of Jack marrying someone else made her furious, and more determined than ever to enjoy this rare day alone with him.

His gaze tracked every step of her approach, as if memorizing the lines and planes of her face, learning the shape of her breasts, and tattooing the curves of her waist into his brain. When she reached his side, he smiled at her so intently she almost faltered. Her heartbeat raced when he took her hand. She barely heard her friends say good-bye as they exited the patio door.

His Harley was built in classic style—all black steel and leather with silver chrome, glinting majestically in the sunlight like a god. She ran her fingers over the warm plush seats.

“Ever been on a bike before?” he asked, watching her with eyes so blue she almost missed his question while she stared back.

She pulled an elastic band from her shorts pocket and tied her hair into a ponytail. “Uh. No.” Her hair swung with the shake of her head. He probably knew the answer, but she appreciated the benefit of his question. He hadn’t made her feel like a total geek.

He gave her a tutorial with simple instructions, including the demand that she hold on to him tight and not let go. No problem there. She resisted a fit of giggles, determined to act her age and accept responsibility for her own safety, as tenuous as that might be on the rear end of a motorcycle wearing shorts and sandals.

Yikes. Hormones really did rule the heart.

He slid his sunglasses into place and got on the bike, steadying it with his feet while she scooted in behind him. After shifting her weight to find her center of balance, she wrapped her arms tight around his chest. The solid feel of his body thrilled her beyond anything she’d imagined. He smelled fantastic too, like musk cologne, leather, and sweat tossed with August air and sunshine.

“Ready?” he asked.

Leaning closer for support, she pressed her torso against his back and stifled a gasp at the sensations the friction created. If he never started the engine, and they simply sat together like this, it would have been enough.

About the Author:

Adele Downs writes best-selling contemporary romance inside the office of her rural Pennsylvania home. She is a former journalist, published in newspapers and magazines inside the USA, UK, and Caribbean.

Adele is an active member of Romance Writers of America and her local RWA chapter where she serves as a past-president. When Adele isn’t working on her current project, she can be found riding in her convertible or reading a book on the nearest beach.

Buy LIP SERVICE on Amazon!

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Sandra Jones: Warrior Princesses & Knights in Armor (Contest)
Monday, April 27th, 2015

I’m so delighted to be back at Delilah’s and grateful to have the opportunity to share my latest historical romance, His Captive Princess. Growing up, one of my favorite legendary heroes was King Arthur, so when the movie Excalibur came out, I loved everything about the film–from the noble Knights of the Round Table, to the shiny armor, sexy Sir Lancelot, and the dark mysticism of the wizards Merlin and Morgana.

As long as I can remember I’ve been drawn to anything medieval, so when I learned that most castles were located in Wales, I had to find out more about the country. Turns out, Wales also has lots of legends and myths. I eventually discovered the true story of Gwenllian, a brave medieval Welsh princess who fought the Normans herself, and then I knew I had a story to write! My bow and arrow-wielding heroine Princess Eleri is based on Gwenllian.

As the title of the book hints—His Captive Princess—our brave lady has met her match in the charming enemy, Warren de Tracy.

****For a chance to win a $5 Gift card****

Leave a comment below telling me who’s your favorite hero or historical character.


Earned respect is sweet…but deserved revenge is sweeter.

Warren de Tracy was assured the Welsh village of Dinefwr would be an easy conquest, as would the widow of its fallen prince. Wedding her will appease the locals and win the respect of his liege, the usurper King Stephen.

Instead, Warren is ambushed, taken prisoner by a hooded Welshwoman with skin that glows like moonlight. If he must die at her hands, at least his honorable death will silence the whispers of disloyalty hanging over his name.

Princess Eleri has never seen a knight as stoic—and as eager to die—as Warren. She’d love to oblige the bastard, but something in his ocean-blue eyes stays her hand. Plus, suspicion nags at her, for the arrows that wounded him and killed his men are Norman, not Welsh.

A ghostly prophecy portends danger that thrusts the enemies closer together, where hate explodes into passion that won’t allow Eleri to surrender Warren to her vengeful clan. But returning him to his king breaks more than it mends…and for Warren, retaliation will be sweet, indeed.

Product Warnings: Contains a Norman warrior with a thirst for justice, a Welsh rebel princess with second sight and a steady bow hand, magical prophecies, and a plot of royal proportions.


“‘Your Highness’?” Warren jerked in astonishment, pulling against his bonds. The ropes chafed his raw skin, sending a fresh wave of pain down his arms. “You’re of royal blood?”

She leaned over him, reaching for his bonds. “Hush! In addition to your arrow wound, I trow your tongue has healed as well these past days. It would behoove you to use it less and just be grateful you’re alive.”

Her breasts hovered inches above his face. In fact, if he lifted his head, he could bury his face between them. What would she do, this spirited wench, if he chose to do so? He would’ve enjoyed finding out if circumstances had been different. “I’d rather be dead than be a prisoner. But first…I’ll kiss your feet if you’d scratch my nose.”

She made a choking noise in her throat that almost sounded like amusement.

He felt a tug at his ropes and the friction of a knife. By the saints, she was freeing him. He couldn’t allow it.

Air stung his raw skin as soon as one of his wrists came loose. With his one arm still useless in its restraints, he shot out his free hand and clutched her forearm. Using all his strength, he turned her over beneath him, wedging her between his torso and the bed. Nose to nose, he could make out her eyes gone wide with shock in the darkness. “No!” he growled. “Do not let me leave here alive.”

Suddenly, her warrior was upon him and his knife back against Warren’s throat. “Get off the princess, you cur!”

The woman’s blade touched his chest plate. She could dispatch him with ease. Her arms were strong and lean. Her body was far from frail, and he recalled her skillful defeat of his conroi. She twisted beneath his pelvis defensively, and the grinding of her soft mound awoke his sex. Shame heated his cheeks at his sudden need and dark desires. This one time, he would allow himself to speak his mind. “If you release me, Princess, I’ll go to Kidwelly and inform my commanders what has befallen my five men at the hands of you and your people. The king will strike at the subjects of Cantref Mawr with vengeance such as you’ve never known.”

Her expression shifted from stark panic to slow derision as her saucy lips curved up at one corner. “You think I don’t know what you’re capable of?” Her eyes flashed downward meaningfully, and he knew she’d noted the turn of his wicked thoughts. “You want to have your way with me. To tear my clothing from my body and part my legs. But you know nothing of my people, Norman. You haven’t even bothered to learn the language—” she broke off, slurring in Welsh at her vassal.

The burly guard grabbed Warren’s bandaged shoulder, twisting it back until bile climbed in his throat. “Umpff!” While he convulsed in pain, the woman slipped loose and turned him on his back, pinning his groin beneath two very sharp knees. He hissed through his teeth, “Par les saints!”

If he’d been successful in his mission, this devil-wench would’ve been his bride?

“You are my prisoner, knight.” She planted the flat of her hand against his neck, leaving no doubt of her desire for domination as her angry pulse drummed against his skin. “I am the Princess of Deheubarth, widow of Prince Owain ap Daffyd, murdered by your Norman peers. It will be my pleasure keeping you alive. We’re taking you to those who will do with you what they will. I care not. Until then, you are my dog. My captive. My slave. And you will obey!”

ISBN: 9781619224452

Buy Links:
(Samhain store)
(Barnes & Noble)
(All Romance)

About the Author

sjSandra Jones PicSandra proudly considers herself a history geek. She is the author of five historical romances including the new River Rogues series set in frontier America. When not researching or writing, she enjoys traveling, genealogy (she’s the direct descendant of a Norman knight) and watching British TV. She and her husband of twenty-five years live in a cabin on the river with two spoiled cats.

She also loves chatting with readers. You can connect with Sandra at any of the following links:

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Heather Long: Untamed Wolf
Friday, April 24th, 2015

Enjoy this excerpt from Heather’s brand new book, Untamed Wolf! ~DD


Wolves of Willow Bend
Untamed Wolf
Book #6 in the Wolves of Willow Bend Series
Releasing April 24, 2015 — TODAY!

Dylan Royce, Willow Bend Hunter, is a natural flirt and courted his fair share of she-wolves, but he’s never found the woman who makes his pulse race. With the new pack’s borders verging on Willow Bend territory, he’s tasked with keeping an eye on them. His job grows more challenging daily, especially since one seductive female keeps crossing the line.

Chrystal Landros knows she’s supposed to keep to her side of the Three Rivers-Willow Bend line. But she loves to explore, and Willow Bend is home to some spectacular sites. As a former Lone Wolf, she hasn’t always been certain of her welcome, but her new home in Three Rivers opens a wonderful world of unfamiliar opportunities. Too bad the wolf who makes her blood heat is tasked with keeping her away from the places she wants to visit.

While Dylan and Chrystal clash repeatedly over her border incursions, the game between them threatens to turn deadly. Tensions between Willow Bend and Three Rivers continue to rise. Could their forbidden dalliance be the spark to ignite a war?

Amazon | All Romance | Kobo | iTunes  

Series Reading Order:
Wolf at Law (Prequel)
Book 1: Wolf Bite
Book 2: Caged Wolf
Book 3: Wolf Claim
Wolf Next Door, featured in Under a Wolf Moon
Book 4: Rogue Wolf
Book 5: Bayou Wolf

Heather Long

National bestselling author, Heather Long, likes long walks in the park, science fiction, superheroes, Marines, and men who aren’t douche bags. Her books are filled with heroes and heroines tangled in romance as hot as Texas summertime. From paranormal historical westerns to contemporary military romance, Heather might switch genres, but one thing is true in all of her stories—her characters drive the books. When she’s not wrangling her menagerie of animals, she devotes her time to family and friends she considers family. She believes if you like your heroes so real you could lick the grit off their chest, and your heroines so likable, you’re sure you’ve been friends with women just like them, you’ll enjoy her worlds as much as she does.

Contact Details:
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Racing the wind, Dylan Royce danced over a thin shell of snow without sinking into the powder. A recent blizzard dumped three feet of fresh accumulation in twelve hours, all of it atop the ice-hardened pack beneath. Cold, crisp air flooded his lungs with his every footfall. Invigorated by the chill, he kept his mouth open to sample the breeze. The natural wonder from the weather made running his circuit a pleasure rather than a chore as he spun through the remote pack campgrounds.

Human families escaped to these campgrounds during the warmer summer months. The remote location, coupled with the bordering state park, also made it ideal for young wolves to learn to hunt, stalk and play away from day-to-day life. Winter often proved the second favorite season for families with older youths to escape and romp in the snow. With Three Rivers’ border so close, however, Mason slapped a moratorium on any vacation plans to the area for the pack.

The usually populated area remained virtually abandoned during Dylan’s tenure as Hunter guarding the border, a downside to Mason’s order. Such a critical position would typically have fallen on Owen Chase, but their Senior Hunter left for Hudson River eight weeks prior with his mate to train the pack’s young healer and to provide assistance to the Alpha.

So, while Dylan landed the miserable position, at least he got to enjoy the snow. And, in a few hours, he would get to enjoy Tawny, the sleek, svelte law student interning with Ryan Huston. Dylan pursued her for months before she finally consented to a drink.

Where he spent his weekend off hinged on the date. His wolf thrilled at the challenge. They would definitely enjoy taking a bite out of her taut ass. Still, better to burn off some of his frustrations…plus, he had all the gorgeous unbroken snow to himself. After climbing to the highest vantage, he growled his approval. Pristine powder lay in smooth waves down the hill.

Testing the ice crust, he found only soft powder. It clung to his fur and bunched between his claws. The swirling breeze carried the promise of more snow. Panting, he arched his head back and loosed a single call. Infusing power into the call to demand a response, he cut it off abruptly and listened.

Any wolves within his range would respond. Flicking his ears, he heard only the wind brushing the trees, the faint groan of branches heavily laden with winter’s kiss and the whuffs of his breathing. No scents teased his nostrils, no sounds alerted him to intruders, and all the magnificent snow lay waiting for him to play.

Tail wagging, he danced away from the edge and trotted several paces. Judging the distance to be perfect, he dashed forward, rushing on adrenaline-fueled muscles until he reached the edge and flung himself onto the slope, legs sprawling out. His trajectory and angle gave him additional speed. He flew to the base of the hill and crashed into a snowdrift.

Bounding out, he shook to free his coat of the snow and sneezed. Damn, that’s fun. He turned to make another climb and repeat the wild ride when a tangle of lemon and orchid teased his nose.

Whirling, he raised his head to catch the direction of the scent, because beneath the citrus was the musk of wolf—a wolf he’d already tossed three times in as many weeks.

Dammit, Chrystal. All at once, his plans for the evening began to disintegrate. If the Three Rivers bitch hightailed it over the line again, he’d have to track her, catch her, punish her, and drop kick her ass back to Luciana “I Have No Idea What the Hell I’m Doing” Barrows.

Tawny wouldn’t wait for him, either. Five minutes late, she’d warned, and he would be out of luck.

Snarling to himself, he trotted west slowly and caught the trace of Chrystal’s scent again. The swirling wind kept yanking it away from him like a tease, but he was a Hunter.

He would find her.

An hour of stalking and two false trails later, he’d finally narrowed her scent to a tract of land below the campgrounds near the old falls. The snow continued, fat heavy flakes crusting on his coat. His phone—like his clothes—were in his truck, parked more than a few miles away. He tried to bury his sour mood, knowing his date with Tawny slipped further and further out of reach.

Pausing in the shadow of a tree, he scanned the rocky slope where the water spilled from any icy crevice and flowed down into a sluggish moving pool. Ice shimmered around the shores, slicking the hard surfaces. Despite the wind, Chrystal’s scent grew stronger with each blast of wind skimming the pseudo valley.

With so much white on every surface, he expected to find her swiftly, but it took him some time to pick her out. She climbed the icy rock face along the edge of the waterfall.

His irritation switched to concern. What the hell is she doing?

Dressed in jeans, a sweatshirt, and a too-thin jacket, she climbed with determination, fighting for every hand and foothold as the slippery ice gave way beneath her grip. Straightening, he followed her progress and eyed the landscape in search of his best route to the top. A skittering of skin and shoe against the slick rock jerked his attention back to the curvy little pain in his ass. She’d dropped a foot from her upward progress and clung to the rock through will alone.

The little minx needed a damn keeper. Inch-by-inch, she continued her creeping ascent of the sheer shale. Between the composition of the stone and the ice, she risked serious injury to her bare hands. Even from his position, he could see the dampness soaking her jeans.

What the hell could be worth courting frostbite? With a leap, he bounded into the dip and sank into the wetter snow around the waterfall’s pool. Fording through the dense drifts, he found the path he’d been seeking and began to climb along the outer rim. Worn by the passage of many feet over the years, faint stone steps existed deep beneath the snow. In midsummer, the waterfall served as the perfect diving point. The pool below was a good twelve to fifteen feet deep, which meant high divers didn’t usually crack their skulls. Of course, the water wasn’t half-frozen or frigid in the middle of summer either.

Chrystal continued easing her way to the precipice. Ahead of her finally, Dylan scrambled onto the ledge and leaned over to judge the distance between them. He’d need to shift to grab her. She was beyond his neck range, even if he were able to snag her damp jacket. If she ascended another foot or two…only she didn’t. She stopped.

Dylan stared, disbelief sinking into his bones. Instead of climbing—or even holding on with her flimsy grips—she slid her free hand into her jacket and pulled out a cell phone. She stretched the phone away from her, angling toward the plunging water…why?

Forgetting the idiocy of her actions, he rushed his shift. Fur slid away, muscle twisted and bones snapped. Part of Hunter apprenticeship required shifting under high-stress situations. His mentor’s lesson had been brutal on the point. They needed to be able to change on the fly and, since they were at their most vulnerable mid-shift, hurrying the process was the only alternative.

Bliss and agony intertwined until he suddenly knelt in the icy snow with his palms flat against the chilly surface. The cold assaulted his overheated and sensitized skin like so many needling daggers plunging into his flesh. Fuck me. Blowing out a frosty breath, he did his best to ignore the wind shivering his balls and threatening to geld him.

The trembling in his muscles had more to do with the temperature than his shifting. Pushing to the edge, he found the idiot wolf with her phone angled at the spraying water, her thumb hovering over a button.

What. The. Hell?

He opened his mouth to snarl at her, but she hadn’t glanced toward him once and her scent hadn’t changed. Focused on whatever the hell her goal was, she failed to notice his position or the precariousness of her own. If he snapped at her…he clamped his teeth together, molars grinding, and waited.

Hating himself—and her more—he flattened to the snow. Working to ignore the way his dick threatened to fall off, he stretched out an arm. He could reach her. The snow blew sideways and a faint flicker of sunlight broke through the cloud cover. The light hit the water as his fingers brushed the back of her jacket.

“Yes!” she whooped. Her thumb slapped against the shutter control, snapping several shots in a row. The thin tendril of sunlight lit the water, dancing off the frost and ice around it, to shatter into prisms. Dylan might have even enjoyed the sight, save for Chrystal’s enthusiasm as she leaned further away. One moment, she dangled precariously. The next, she slid.

Even a wolf would take a beating on the rocks below.

Fisting her jacket, he ignored the scream in his bicep from lifting her falling deadweight and hauled her upward. Yes. I have her. Her howl of surprise gave him a measure of satisfaction. So did jerking her over the edge then tossing her sweet ass into the snow. She came up spluttering as Dylan rose above her and scowled.

“What the fuck are you doing Chrystal?”