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Archive for October, 2016

Close Encounter of the Carnal Kind
Tuesday, October 4th, 2016

Just letting you know about a new-old release that’s out tonight! This is a story that appeared in a now defunct publisher’s anthology several years ago. And the story exists in the same universe as Warlord’s Destiny. It’s been reedited, spruced up, and is now ready for prime time…if prime time censors allowed alien naughtiness…

Close Encounter of the Carnal Kind


Etienne Lambert, a Cajun ex-soldier fresh from the horrors of the war in Iraq, discovers that he’s an alien when an alien woman arrives at his door to take him home. When he resists, she kidnaps him. He soon learns he is the last potent male in the royal line of their planets, and it’s his duty to return to sire the next generation of the ruling caste.

Marika is a fightership commander who has succeeded where all the mages, seers, and trackers have failed. She has found her planets’ last hope for salvation! When the future king demands that he start work immediately on the primary mandate of his rule—to sire children—she can’t refuse his command.

Get your copy here!

Enjoy an excerpt…

Etienne leaned forward, cuddling his beer between his hands, letting the silence wrap around his jangled nerves. Here in the swamp, in a hunting cabin filled with happy memories, he hoped to finally shrug off his soul-deep sadness. He loved his brother and family, but he didn’t want to invite them into the dark place he’d been forced inside ever since Tekrit.

Arnaud had left half an hour before, frustrated and hurt. Etienne knew it, but couldn’t reach out to his brother, not yet. Maybe a few more days of staring out at the green, wet world around him would drown the memories of the sun-baked dirt that drank his buddies’ blood like a thirsty sponge.

He needed time to fit back into his old life. He snorted at that thought—like he’d ever really fit in to begin with. Taller by a foot than his brothers and pale-skinned to their olive, he’d often wondered if he hadn’t been traded in the bassinet at birth. And he’d never been satisfied with what life offered him in the bayou—which was why he’d enlisted in the first place.

A twig snapped nearby, and Etienne froze. As if he’d never left Iraq, time slowed, and in one long moment he realized the crickets had stopped their raucous chirping, and the owls no longer called to one another—he had a visitor.

Etienne eased from his chair, ignored the cane, and slid into his cabin. The gun, already loaded with shot to pepper any reporter’s ass, stood next to the door. He reached for it.

Footsteps crunched closer then climbed the wooden steps just as he swung back around with the shotgun cradled in his arms and stepped forward to block his doorway. But the woman who strode toward him wasn’t like any reporter he’d ever seen. She was easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever encountered.

Her smile was tentative as she stopped directly in front of him. Her gaze widened as she stared upward for one long moment. Then she drew in a deep breath, lowered her gaze, and knelt at his feet, pressing her forehead against his thigh.

Etienne felt a frown furrow his forehead, wondering what the hell was going on. He tried to nudge her away, but she grasped his calf and clung, speaking softly, the words guttural and lilting at the same time. Definitely not English. Not like anything he’d ever heard in his travels.

When she rose, her eyes glittered with moisture, which she quickly blinked away. This time the smile she flashed was joyous.

Etienne’s suspicions roused, and he glanced out into the darkness, wondering whether he was the butt of a joke and not liking it one damn bit. Was Arnaud responsible for this?

The woman in front of him was fresh-faced, her expression too open and innocent-looking to be real. His glance raked over her body. She was clothed from her neck to the tops of her shiny brown boots in a skin-hugging material that looked soft as suede leather, as soft and golden-brown as the large eyes she raised to stare up at him.

Color crept over his cheeks as he realized he’d stood frozen in place, transfixed by the woman’s beauty. Beautiful or not, innocent or not, she didn’t belong here. “Cher, you can turn right around and go back where you came from,” he said, the words coming out less harsh than he’d intended.

She smiled and started to speak again, and then rolled her almond-shaped eyes. She lifted her fingers to her ear and tugged at the shiny stud stuck in her left lobe. “Sorry ’bout dat. I forgot to turn on my translator,” she said in a Cajun accent.

Not a reporter, not with that accent. And yet, not from around her by the tone of her skin. Etienne sighed and propped the shotgun beside the door. “All right, who put you up to this? Arnaud?”

She shook her head, which shivered her long, dark hair around her shoulders. “Didn’t Jacques tell you?” she asked, her expression falling. “He was s’posed ta give you a message.”

His eyes narrowed. “I haven’t seen him since I returned. But you can tell him: thank you very much, but I’m not interested—however attractive you are, cher.” He turned to reenter his cabin.

A small, slim hand clamped on his forearm. “But you don’ understand how important dis is—”

Etienne shrugged her off, ignoring the plea in her doe-like eyes. “Look, I’m sure you’re very good at…whatever it is you do—”

“I’m da best!” she said, eagerness shining in her face. “Dat’s why I’m here.”

“Fucking hell! I can’t believe he thought I needed a whore,” Etienne muttered under his breath.

“A whore?” The woman’s face screwed up with a look of confusion. “Wait, I think I’m not translatin’ dat word correctly.”

“This is a joke, right?” Etienne blew out the breath he’d been holding since she appeared. “He sends you in that space costume, and you’re supposed to do what? Give me a ride?” His eyes widened, and he jerked back a little. “You’re not expecting to probe my ass, are you?”

“Only if you won’ surrender your sperm, Sire,” she said, a blush rising to her cheeks. “I can assist you…” Her voice trailed off, and she nibbled at the edge of her full lips.

“I just bet you can,” he murmured, wondering why he was fighting this so hard. The woman was a knockout. She was tall and slim-hipped, with small, round breasts. Any one of his old buddies would have given a month’s pay to slide between her thighs.

As he appraised her attributes, her nipples beaded beneath the soft, thin leather. “Perhaps you need a little foreplay ’fore you gimme your semen?” she asked, with a flirty tilt of her head. She straightened and thrust out her chest, but the effect was robbed of vampdom by her girlish smile. She was one hell of a confusing, yet alluring, package.

Jacques knew what he was doing. If she’d carried the odor of the streets on her, he’d have sent her on her way in a heartbeat.

Etienne felt his anger waver. Her skin was creamy-pale without a hint of tan, her pores so fine he knew her cheeks would be as soft as a baby’s. He wondered if the rest of her would be as soft. This close, he could smell the fragrance clinging to her skin—like almonds mixed with a musky floral scent that tugged at his cock.

The woman shifted on her feet as he stared, and then squared her shoulders. “We’ll never know until we get dis done.” She reached for the fly of his jeans.

“Wait a minute…” His hand closed over hers to halt her.

She looked up, a question in her guileless gaze.

“Where the hell did he find you, sweetheart?” he murmured, staring down at her. A dimple dented one cheek. A damn dimple.

“Oh, I found him.”

Her grin was childlike, and it angered him that she was playing with him. “Was he drunk when you fed him that line about surrendering his semen?”

She tilted her head to the side, her smile faltering. “Line?”

Etienne swore beneath his breath, patience at an end—restraint beyond his control as angry anguish exploded inside him. He gripped her waist hard, pulling her toward him. If his uncle thought a prostitute would prod him from his blue funk, who was he to argue? He certainly hadn’t managed on his own. Maybe this was what he’d waited for…

Her mouth opened around a startled gasp, which he breathed in as he sealed her mouth with his.

But her lips didn’t move beneath his. When he opened his eyes, he found her wide-eyed gaze staring back at him. He pulled his head back. “Kiss me,” he said, his voice gruff. “This is what you came for, isn’t it?”

“I came for your sem—”

He didn’t want to hear her story again and slammed his mouth down to shut her up.

This time she pressed back, sliding her lips beneath his. Her kiss was soft and tentative, drugging to his jaded senses. Her breaths came quick and excited, puffing into his mouth. Despite the fact, or perhaps, because she wasn’t very good at kissing, an electrical charge of heat pulsed throughout his body, tightening his loins.

Etienne groaned and pulled her body flush with his, grinding his cock against the soft cleft he found between her legs.

Her hips jerked then pushed forward, finding his rhythm, sliding her sex against his as she moaned into his mouth.

With her breasts mashed against his chest, his shaft riding her mons, Etienne drank from her lush, feminine mouth. The softness trembling against him soothed and excited his soul. He hadn’t known how badly he needed this—needed her—until this moment. He sank into the kiss, spearing her mouth with his tongue, sweeping inside like his body ached to burrow into her sweet flesh.

But she wasn’t the answer to his problems—she wasn’t even here because she wanted it. Good old Uncle Jacques had sent her.

Etienne realized he was only fighting himself. He’d wanted solitude to lick his wounds, but his family seemed to understand that deep down he needed to be touched.

This woman’s soft hands were as good as any. At least she wouldn’t be expecting him to spill his guts. He broke the kiss and pushed her back. “Go ahead,” he said, releasing her hand. “Take my semen,” he bit out, bitterness licking the embers of his anger into flame once more.

She swallowed, looking a little frightened by his anger. If she was scared, fuck her. This was what she’d been paid to do.

Eyeing him with caution, she flicked open the snap at the waistband of his jeans. Then she drew down his zipper and knelt in front of him to ease his jeans past his hips.

He wasn’t wearing any underwear, so his sex pushed into the widening gap until it sprang free. The warm breeze blowing over his flesh and the woman’s intent stare did the rest. His cock quickly filled and rose.

Etienne sucked in a deep breath and raised his hands to brace himself within the doorframe as the woman bent over him.

She licked her lips. “I’ll make dis quick.”

“Don’t rush on my account.” Now that he’d decided to enjoy his “gift”, he wasn’t in any hurry.

The woman cleared her throat, opened her mouth, and swallowed the head of his cock.

Etienne groaned and his toes curled inside his boots. The sensation of her hot, moist mouth drawing on his sex was so exquisite it hurt.

Her gaze never left his as she drew back and licked around the soft head. The sight of her pink tongue darting out to lap at him tightened his groin. She followed the ridge all the way around then licked down his length, caressing him with firmer strokes as she went.

Etienne gritted his teeth as she took her time, priming him. Her head dipped, and her dark hair shimmered in the moonlight as she worked his flesh.

She returned to the head and suctioned it into her mouth, her eyes closing as her lips drew hard, her cheeks hollowing with the effort. Then her hands glided up his thighs. One cupped his balls, already drawn taut and close to his body. She kneaded them gently with her palm and fingers, rolling and tugging until he pulsed his hips, beginning the drive toward release. The other hand circled the base of his cock and squeezed, twisting up and down his shaft.

A throbbing started in his injured leg, interrupting his upward climb, and he eased his weight to his good leg then clamped one hand on the back of her head to encourage her to take more of him, deeper into her throat.

Her jaw opened wider, and her teeth skimmed his length as he pushed his cock along her tongue until he butted the back of her throat. With his body wound tight as a coil, he closed his eyes and let his head fall backward, groaning as she dipped and bobbed faster—sliding down him, sucking hard on the upstroke. Christ, she had a talented mouth.

Just as he was ready to let her sweep him along in a frenzied tide, the hand cupping his balls slid farther back, her fingers tracing the cleft of his buttocks.

Before he could utter a protest, one finger eased inside his ass, tunneling then manipulating his prostate. With a shout of protest mixed with anguished release, his hips bucked, and his body exploded, come jetting inside the woman’s mouth.

Etienne bit back a curse and pumped twice, weak thrusts now, his body trembling in the aftermath. He curved his fingers around the wooden doorframe and opened his eyes to glare down at the woman. “My ass was off limits.”

Her lips pursed, and she reached for the belt cinching her small waist, pulling a small vial from beneath it.

While he watched, furious, she spat his creamy come into the vial, and then held it aloft and tugged her ear. She murmured something unintelligible, and light glimmered around the small bottle before it flickered and blinked out. When the light disappeared, so did the vial.

Etienne blinked. “What the hell?”

The woman rose and tugged up his pants, but he shoved her hands away and finished the job, tucking his cock inside. All the while, his gaze never left her.

As soon as the snap of his jeans closed, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her inside the cabin and into full light. “What the hell just happened?”

Her gaze met his, her chin raised in defiance. “I sent your sperm ta my ship. We need ta know if you’re potent.”

“Ship?” His mind skipped over that detail for the moment to return to the one blaring a warning in his mind. “Why the hell do you need to know I’m not shooting blanks?”

“If you’re potent, Sire, I’m here ta take you home.”

Sire? “My home is here. I’m not going anywhere.” He raked his hand through his hair, still rattled at seeing his come disappear into thin air. Perhaps Uncle Jacques hadn’t been drunk after all.

“Sire, if you’re potent, you must return ta fulfill your destiny.”

“And what might that be?” he asked, half afraid to hear the answer.

Her wide-eyed gaze filled with dreamy fervor. “To assume the mantle of kingship and lead our forces in the war against the Gracktiles.”

He snorted, wondering what rabbit hole he’d just fallen into. “Is that all?”

She bit her bottom lip and shrugged. “Oh, and to beget the next generation of our ruling caste…”

Etienne eyed her clothing. A uniform of some sort, no doubt. He noted her poreless skin, her perfect features. Aliens weren’t little and green. They were seductively beautiful. And now they had his come. A flash of some emotion, maybe excitement mixed with a little dread, filled him. He hoped he wasn’t sterile.

Feel Good Song – Hold on Forever
Monday, October 3rd, 2016

Love the feel of this song. Always makes me feel dreamy. Rob Thomas’s voice has always done it for me. And doesn’t he look so much better than he did in his final scene on I, Zombie? Enjoy!

Flashback: Controlled Burn (Contest–Three Winners!)
Sunday, October 2nd, 2016

UPDATE: The winners are Roxie, Jackie Wisherd, and Joye!

* * * * *

What a treat to wake up this morning without wondering where I need to be or which kid I need to watch. Not that I don’t love them all, but it’s nice to be back in the saddle (er, in my padded executive chair in front of my desk). October will be busy, busy, busy! I hope I can keep up with the pace I’ve set for myself. If you see me out there tweeting or posting on Facebook, don’t be shy about nagging me to get my stories done! If you checked out yesterday’s post, you know what I’ll be working on. I shared covers for three different stories. Which story are you interested in reading the most?

Comment for a chance to win. There will be three winners!
One will win her choice of a
Cowboys on the Edge story!

Wet Down Controlled Burn Cain's Law

The other two will get their choice of a short story.
And if you haven’t read my shorties, check out the full list here!

Controlled Burn

Controlled Burn

This flame doesn’t need a match…

One high school prank gone wrong shouldn’t define the rest of Carly Lohan’s life. But setting fire to Caldera Canyon isn’t something townsfolk will ever forget. As the last part of her final act of restitution, she’s among the group of volunteers assigned to keep a prescribed burn of underbrush and grass from “running over the rim” into the ranches ringing the park.

Local rancher and volunteer firefighter Jeremiah McCord doesn’t trust the reformed firebug anywhere near the canyon’s controlled burn. Determined to keep her on a short rein, he’s everywhere she is, watching her. His distrust and determination sparks a plan for some sexy revenge—one that will get them both too close to the flames.

Get your copy here!

Carly wasn’t unaccustomed to hard work, but she’d never before used a pitchfork. The cowboy who’d set her on her task had called it a “shit fork”—before clearing his throat and explaining the implement was smaller than a regular pitchfork so that the balls of horse dung didn’t fall between the tines.

After mucking out the stalls, she’d forked a mini-mountain of horse manure and straw into the center of the barn. Now she was pitching load after load into the wheelbarrow so she could wheel it out and add it the larger mountain of dung behind the barn. Dung that was used in Mayra’s garden.

Before today, she’d never given much thought to horses, and she’d never had an aversion to the smell, but a day of forking poop had altered her view forever. Or so she told herself. She knew she must be a sight in her dirty jeans and tee. She’d forgotten to take off her gloves a time or two and used them wipe sweat from her face. Meaning she had to have some smeared on her cheek.

But she didn’t dare stop. Not and have the high-and-mighty Jeremiah shaking his head. The night before, he’d been so sure she’d balk at his list of chores. Little did he know, but she was used to hard work. Her foster families had made sure of it.

Still, she’d never mucked stalls, and the repetitive motions had tightened the muscles at the small of her back, and her upper arms until they felt bruised.  Pausing to stretch, she reached high, letting the hem of her shirt rise. The slight breeze blowing through the open barn doors wafted against her belly and felt almost luxurious.

“Looks like we’ll make a cowboy out of you yet.”

Carly dropped her arms and glanced over her shoulder. She’d missed Jeremiah at breakfast. Mayra told her he’d been up before dawn, as was his custom, to check on the herd. Carly hadn’t seen him since dinner the night before and dreaded their next encounter.

While her mind was made up to detest the man, her fickle body responded with a wave of heat that swept her cheeks and prickled her nipples. No man had a right to look that good when he was that dirty. “The cowboy who showed me how to muck out a stall asked me what I’d done to piss you off.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows rose. “And what did you say?”

“That I’d burned three hundred acres of hay and an expensive bailer. He said that’d do it.”

He gave his signature grunt.

Even though she’d told herself that morning she must have imagined its appeal, she still felt the pull deep in her core.

“You should take a break,” he said, his voice sounding gruff.

“Why? I’m not done.” Did he think she’d jump at the chance to not finish?

“The sun’s out, and the air’s warm in here, Carly. And it’s time for lunch. Someone else can finish up.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll have to bathe again.”

He came closer and picked a piece of straw from her hair. Then he rubbed her cheek.

An action that shocked her to her toes.

“I think you’ve picked up more than a little dirt,” he murmured.

Because she was nervous with him standing so close, she laughed. “I have shit on my face. You can say it.” She swept a hand toward his own dirty clothing. “I’ve been mucking stalls, what’s your excuse?”

A smile stretched across his face.

The first she’d ever seen. Her stomach flipped.

“I chased a calf into an arroyo. He got separated from his mama. Took some doing to get him up on the horse with me.”

“I’d have loved seeing that.” And she meant it. The thought of him chasing a calf on horseback—well hell, now she was romanticizing the surly cowboy.

One dark brow arched. “You would have loved seeing a calf getting the better of me?”

“Yeah.” Feeling breathless because he was still standing close, she had to remind herself he was only being polite. That he’d likely come to see whether she was still hard at work. She moved away to lean her fork against the barn wall. “I better go shower, or Mayra will light into me.”

“I better hit the shower, too.”

Walking away, Carly pursed her lips and blew out a hot stream of air. Him being civil was tough enough on her libido. Now she had the picture of a naked, wet Jeremiah in her head.

Not wanting to track manure through the house, she took off her boots at the door before entering and making her way up the stairs. She headed straight to the shower with its lovely shower head that poured water like a soft rain over her head and never grew cold no matter how long she stood beneath it.

But eventually, she acknowledged her hunger, turned off the water, and then reached for a big fluffy towel. At that moment, she realized she’d forgotten to bring along clean clothing.

No worries, Jeremiah had likely finished his shower long ago and was already digging into his meal. She opened the door and padded toward her bedroom.

Just as she was reaching for the knob, she saw another door open, just past the staircase.

Jeremiah stepped out into the hallway, his hair wet and looking cool and clean in his chambray shirt and Wranglers.

Before she could push open the door and jump inside, she watched his head turn.

His gaze trailed from her sodden hair, dripping on her shoulders to the towel she’d knotted between her breasts. “See you downstairs,” he said, his voice thick, and then he strode quickly to the staircase and out of her sight.

She opened her door, entered, and then sagged against the cool wood. Would she ever catch a break with the man? First, he’d rubbed horseshit off her face, and then he’d caught her looking like a drowned rat.

She must be the most unappealing woman he’d ever had the misfortune to have under his roof—even if only for a few days. For once, she wished she had something stylish in the closet to pull out and wow him with. Then maybe he’d see her as something other than some white-trash nuisance.

Although she wasn’t entirely sure how she’d deal with anything other than his annoyance and mistrust. Just the thought of him ever showing any masculine interest made her heart stutter and her palms sweat.

No, she was better off to never entertain those thoughts. Jeremiah was way out of her league, and too much history existed between them—all of it bad—to think that a little spark of attraction might catch fire.

A Personal Note, A Glance Back At September, & A Look Toward October
Saturday, October 1st, 2016

Dear Readers and Friends,

Thanks to everyone for your emails and Facebook messages sending prayers, blessings, and good wishes for the recovery of my 96-year-old grandmother who broke her back and the 7-year-old who went through a second surgery to replace her cancer-riddled tibia. Both are doing well. Grandma’s in rehab, but we hope to have her back home very soon. Colleen came home this afternoon. Both still have a long recovery ahead of them, and everyone at the Devlin homestead is hoping for a very calm and boring October.

I’m also hoping to get my many works-in-progress restarted. But have a look at what I did manage to get out the door in September, and what I hope to share in October.

A Glance Back At September

BeforeWeKiss 600

Before We Kiss
Uncharted SEALS, Book 6

Navy SEAL, William “Wiley” Coyote, should have known his “piece of cake” assignment would go sideways in a hurry. But he’d been lured by the promise of an all-expenses-paid cruise. A nice “fluffy” assignment after the last one spent escorting freighters through pirate-infested waters in the Strait of Hormuz.

A general’s daughter, Poppy Shackleford, isn’t some spoiled daughter of a man made famous for defeating insurgent forces. She’s endured her own tragedies–the loss of her mother when she was young and her father stationed in Afghanistan, and the loss of her fiancé after he sustained wounds in Iraq. Not from the physical wounds that claimed his legs–he took his own life. His death is why Poppy is involved in Soldiers’ Sanctuary, a non-profit that helps disabled soldiers adjust to their new circumstances. Which is why, despite the current threats against her father, she’s on this cruise, assessing the ship’s ability to accommodate the soldiers, rather than sending a surrogate.

However, the first threat doesn’t come from terrorists with an ax to grind. Mexican banditos stop her tour bus heading toward Mayan ruins to shake down the passengers for their money and belongings. When one snaps a picture of her, he soon figures out there’s a much bigger payday. She knows she’s going to be kidnapped, but she doesn’t know someone is on that same tour bus who has her back.

Wiley’s unconventional takedown of her would-be kidnappers exposes the fact her father didn’t honor her wishes to fly under the radar. And now that the cat’s out of the bag, Wiley’s moving into her suite for the rest of their time at sea to keep her out of harm’s way.

Get your copy at Amazon!


SOWithHisRockBand 600

Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His Rock Band

When a social media star decides to surprise her rocker stepbrother while he’s on tour, she’s the one shocked…then seduced…by two sexy rock gods…

Get your copy at Amazon!


A Look Toward October

I can’t wait to share these stories with you! Cross your fingers that no more catastrophes hit. You’ll see a sci-fi adventure, a lovely, warm-bodied zombie story, and a hot-as-hell Texas firefighter tale!

CloseEncounterofCarnalKind 600
ZombieLove 600
FlashPoint 600