In Dark Warlord, my story in the absolutely awesome Alien Alphas box set, the Barbarian Warlord hero, Batu, battles Genine, the warrior heroine, in the fighting ring. This might not seem like a great premise for a SciFi romance. The hero is battling the heroine. One of them might die.
I think it is super hot. During the battle, the two of them are focused fully on that moment, on each other, noting the look in their opponent’s eyes, the way her feet are placed, the heaving of his chest. It’s physical. There’s touching, the bumping of bodies, the slap of skin against skin. The hero grunts with exertion. The heroine is covered with the sheen of sweat. The passion from the fight quickly flows into another type of passion.
There have been some great female vs. male fights in fiction, on TV, and in the movies. Three of my favorite fight scenes in movies also have that ‘will they kiss or won’t they?’ tension in them.
The T-850 vs T-X battle in Terminator 3 was awesome. They were breaking down walls, setting off sprinklers, trying to set faces on fire. I knew they were enemies and more machine than human but I really wanted them to have sexy times.
The fight scenes in Mr. & Mrs. Smith were so steamy; I think we all predicted Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie would be more than friends. When he does that ‘come fight me’ flick of the fingers and she absolutely gives it to him, my toes curled. And then that hot kiss after the gun standoff? That was Sexy with a capital ‘S.’
Hawkeye and Black Widow’s fight scene in The Avengers also got my heart pumping. He pulls her hair. She bites him. Their bodies were pressed together during the standoffs. I thought, for certain, he’d kiss her (but he, unfortunately, didn’t).
Those are three of my favorite female vs male fight scenes in movies. What are yours?
Fierce warriors. Savage barbarians. Powerful warlords. All ready to claim their mates.
Alien Alphas is a collection of panty-melting sci-fi romances, featuring dominant alien heroes, penned by New York Times, USA Today, and international bestselling authors. This decadently naughty box set includes twenty-three ALL-NEW, stand-alone novellas full of hot alien alpha males, breathless passion, and reluctant surrender. Take an exhilarating trip beyond the stars with this limited time only bundle that’s sure to leave you turning the pages late into the night.
Featured authors:Cari Silverwood, Cynthia Sax, Renee Rose, Lee Savino, Addison Cain, Kallista Dane, Maren Smith, Ava Sinclair, Sue Lyndon, Emily Tilton, Ashe Barker, Korey Mae Johnson, Grace Goodwin, Ivy Barrett, Jane Henry, Jaye Peaches, Katie Douglas, Lili Zander, Loki Renard, Maria Monroe, Megan Michaels, Myra Danvers, Sara Fields, and Sophie Kisker Publisher’s Note: The stories featured in this collection involve MF and MFM pairings. They include spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this box set.
USA Today bestselling author Cynthia Sax writes contemporary, SciFi and paranormal erotic romances. Her stories have been featured in Star Magazine, Real Time With Bill Maher, and numerous best of erotic romance top ten lists.
Christmas is almost here! And so much is happening in my world, I’m having a hard time catching my breath.
Some of you may remember that, last year, my family was dealing with my then 97-year-old grandma who had fallen and broken her back. After spending time in rehab, she was moved home, and our family pitched in to give her round-the-clock care. Well, this year is a new crisis. Beginning about two weeks ago, her health is failing, and despite the doctor’s best efforts, and ours, she’s declining. I suppose it’s to be expected at 98, and she’s ready for it. Still, we’re all very saddened, and we’re back in “pitch-in” mode.
My dd is her nighttime care-giver now. My SIL just started a new job with the sheriff’s office and works nights. So, guess what my job is? Yeah, I’m the kids’ nighttime babysitter. They are running me ragged, and my working hours have been slashed. We’re all tired and squeezed. No complaints though. Grandma and the kids come first.
So, here’s hoping your holidays are more joyous and restful than mine!
Noah hopes buying the classic ’68 Camaro from a fellow firefighter’s widow will ease some of the grief weighing down his heart. When a noise under the hood sends him looking for a mechanic, he finds so much more. Big and burly Hoyt grabs Noah’s attention right off, and not just because of his bad-boy biker looks and ice-blue eyes. The fact Hoyt is a Dom and a member at Club LaForge certainly interests Noah.
Hoyt never thought he’d feel that rush with a man again after his partner died, but his body certainly reacts to meeting Noah. LaForge seems like the perfect place to meet and work off some energy and explore this sudden flood of desire. The heat between them starts to burn through their emotional barriers, whether the men are ready to make a deeper connection or not.
Read an Excerpt
Noah stopped before the sign at the intersection. One right turn and one block’s drive, and he’d be at the fire house.
His fingers tightened on the leather-wrapped steering wheel of the Camaro. He still didn’t think of it as his Camaro. No one at the station would either. It was Danny Truitt’s car.
And the only reason Noah was driving it now was because Danny was dead.
“Huh.” Noah rubbed the pain over his heart. It was funny, but even thinking those words still had the power to make his chest tighten. Which made driving his buddy’s car feel somehow disloyal. Read the rest of this entry »
Here’s something to fill those hours of the holiday when you need an escape from the hustle and bustle and need to claim a little “me-time”! This story is loosely based on a Russian fairytale about a snow maiden who didn’t get a very happy ending. I had to change that. 🙂
Escaping her destiny for a day in the human world, a snow maiden, is rescued after her horse bolts, and then is brought to an isolated cabin by a recluse—a handsome, gifted artist, living alone in an arctic wilderness…
Headstrong, and seeking a little respite from a suitor’s relentless wooing, Queen Larikke rides the arctic wind far beyond the bounds of Northland, only to have her horse bolt at a shot from a hunter’s gun. Her rescuer is a handsome, mysterious man who lives alone in the wilderness, his cabin filled with erotic images of women. Rather than fearing her fate, Larikke sets out to seduce him, hoping for one last fling before she settles down to do her duty and wed.
Thinking he was saving a life, Drake dragged a very strange woman home, stripped her, and warmed her by his fire. Now, he finds his long, self-imposed isolation may have made her allure impossible to resist, and Drake fears he’ll harm her if he shares his special kiss.
A blanket of fresh powder muffled his footsteps. For a moment, the bitter-cold wind died down. The stillness invited him deeper into the clearing, but something in the air alerted him; an intuition that was part of his true nature told him to wait.
Wind had blown snow against large tree trunks, forming deep banks where the tall green sentinels stood close together. Everywhere, pure pristine white dusted the tops of branches, cloaking them in rich, thick wonder. Precious sunlight peeked from behind a dark gray cloud and refracted like a billion tiny prisms on frozen crystals that gilded the uppermost layer of the snow.
His breaths seemed loud, intrusive, and he concentrated on being quiet so that he didn’t disturb—not that anyone was would hear him this deep in the wilderness.
Rather, all was hushed, expectant. Quiet, like he preferred now. Content at last with his own company.
The first few months of his isolation had been the worst. The silence had nearly driven him nuts. Now, he barely noticed. Sounds other than voices, the hum of electricity, or the roar of a passing engine were replaced with softer, more predictable ones—the rustle of pine needles as a breeze swept through outstretched branches, the resonant creaking when snow weighed the branches down.
The rustle of animals as they scratched in the snow for food.
The voices inside his head had also faded—the strident ones that had called him a freak and the startled screams—well, they couldn’t reach him here.
If he missed the company of a woman—so be it. Other parts of his existence flourished in the solitude. Almost filling the aching void. The decision he’d made had been the right one. He’d spend the rest of his life—however long—alone.
Do no harm.
He lived by that rule now. At least, in regard to people.
For now, he had a stew pot to fill, and he’d tracked a lone deer through the forest to this spot. A soft snort sounded, and he found the doe digging with her hooves to uncover whatever she could still forage beneath the fresh snow.
Drake tugged off his mittens and raised his rifle, setting the stock snug against his shoulder. He had the doe in his sights and slowly pulled back on the trigger, when an unexpected tinkling sound, like bells carried on the wind, drew his attention. His gaze strayed for only moment. As his attention returned to his quarry, a sudden icy wind swept up snow, obscuring his view.
The shadow of the deer still in his scope, he pulled the trigger, jerking the barrel upward at the last moment when he realized he wasn’t looking at a doe at all—but a woman on a bay-colored horse.
What the hell?
The shot went wild, but the horse gave a high-pitched whinny and reared, dumping the woman to the ground before bolting.
Drake threw down his rifle, swearing silently as he clomped on unwieldy snowshoes toward the figure lying like a spill of red paint against a white canvas. Her fur-lined scarlet cloak fanned around her slender body. He knelt in its folds to reach for the woman who had yet to open her eyes.
He ran his hands over her body, checking for broken limbs, cursing himself for a horn dog for noting generous curves beneath her dark gold and blue gown. But it had been a long time since soft curves had yielded beneath his palms. Not much in the way of padded layers of clothing protected her from his inspection, just the soft fabric. What in hell was she doing wearing some princess costume in the wilderness in winter, even one made of heavy velvet?
Finally, she stirred, moaning softly.
He sat back on his haunches, noticing at last the luster of her mink brown hair and brows and the thick lashes that fanned the rims of her delicate eyelids. They fluttered then lifted, revealing gold-flecked brown eyes.
Struck by her beauty, he stared. Her eyes were wide-set and large; her nose elegant and straight. The shape of her face was slightly triangular with a small chin that took no attention away from the sweet curves of her soft, plump mouth. She was perfect. His hands itched to mold her shapes again.
“Who are you?” she asked, with a voice as light and sweet as the bells he thought he’d heard before.
He shook his head to clear away his lustful thoughts. “The idiot who nearly shot you,” he said, his own voice thick and rusty from disuse. He cleared his throat. “Can you move? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, I think.”
“What the hell were you doing out here?”
She gave him a distracted frown. “Riding.” Then rising on her elbows, she glanced around her, blinking. “My horse, Windancer…”
“He bolted when I fired.”
Her confused stare returned to him. “He’s gone?” Her eyes widened until the white surrounded the brown iris. “We must find him.”
No “I must find him”. She’d included him, without even wondering if it was wise.
Snow had begun to fall again—thick, fat flakes that swirled in the rising wind, a blast of arctic chill. Knowing it was the wrong thing to do, but seeing no other choice, he said, “I’ll look for him after the snowfall ends. We need to get you inside.”
Oh, hell. He’d have to take her to his place. Something he’d sworn he’d never do. She might not be any safer there. He’d lived alone too long. With her lush beauty, she was too much of a temptation.
Her mouth opened, but then closed, her lips forming a thin line. “I have to find my horse. I can’t stay here,” she said, casting a wild glance around them.
He frowned. “In a few minutes, we won’t see more than a few feet in front of us. A storm’s coming in.”
“You don’t understand—”
He cut her off with a wave of his hand. Although, it was the last thing he should do, he held out his hand. “Come. We’ll talk later. After I get you out of the cold.”
* * *
Larikke stared in dismay. She couldn’t go home with him. They’d be alone. Her, alone with a human? Unthinkable! Humans were so short-lived and violent. Think of the scandal it would cause!
“We’ll both freeze if we don’t get out of this weather,” he said slowly, as though speaking to a child—one not so very bright.
Only she knew she wouldn’t. Freeze, that is. This is what she got for her stubborn bid for freedom. Stranded in a wild land—with a man. Her mage would no doubt cluck like a hen when she recounted the tale of how she’d ridden the wind and landed on her backside in a snow bank before a human as handsome as any damnable frost faerie.
She’d only wanted to put Thure firmly in his place. Remind him who was in charge of her destiny—that she had a will of her own.
And maybe to inspire him to anger so that he might let go of the firm hold he kept over himself whenever they were together. She wanted to see the powerful male beneath his princely trappings.
Rather like the prime specimen before her.
Oh, why couldn’t this human have been as hairy as a polar bear? Or as ugly as a walrus? Oh no! His eyes were a crystalline blue. His hair was silvery blond and fell well past his broad shoulders.
Clean-shaven, his jaw was sharp-edged and strong. His brows, although drawn together in a fierce frown, were full and nicely shaped but hooded piercing eyes. Despite the layers of clothing he wore, she could tell his frame was tall and thickly muscled.
The few humans she’d met long ago, thickheaded and thick-bodied warriors stopping on their journey to Valhalla, didn’t compare. A crude, ungifted species, they’d never aroused much interest. But this one, with his rumbling voice and burly frame, nearly stole her breath away.
Perhaps she was simply addled by her spill. Or maybe she was just feeling the familiar, deepening need for something different from her proscribed future—something wicked and deplorably wrong. She cleared her throat. “I must insist we find my horse.”
He rolled his eyes and tugged her to her feet. Then before she could brush away the snow clinging to her mantle and give him the set down he deserved for daring to handle her so familiarly, he bent and swept her over his shoulder.
Larikke’s mouth gaped. Now, this was a view of the world she’d never seen.
Thank you so much, Delilah, for inviting me to visit your blog! I’m excited to be here!
Bad patches are a part of life, much as we might wish they weren’t. I’m just coming to the end of a bad patch myself – at least, I hope it’s the end! Following a bad fall on a running trail in the forest, I lost almost two solid months of work time while I was recovering from my injuries. Check out my website www.KaylaDrakeBooks.com for the story of that accident! All I can say is that I’m very grateful to be on the mend again.
My accident is nothing compared to what the characters in my new book have endured.
Sarah Williams can’t face the one-year anniversary of her husband’s tragic death, so she flees from Chicago to take the Scottish golf tour her husband had dreamed of doing someday. She has to live for both of them now, after all. While she’s there, she agrees to deliver a few small gifts to her friend Helen’s Scottish family. This puts her face to face with the grumpy, withdrawn, but incredibly handsome Duncan Mackenzie, a man haunted by a few ghosts of his own.
When Duncan promised his sister that he would welcome the American widow to Scotland, he’d expected to meet an elderly woman. Instead, he discovers a beautiful, willowy blonde who’s far too young to have faced such a tragedy. Suddenly, his own difficult past seems moderate in comparison. At least he survived. And now he wants to live again, really live, and it’s all because of Sarah.
So she snuggled against his solid chest, there at the top of the spooky staircase, and whispered into his ear, “I’m not scared anymore. All my ghosts have gone away.”
“Ah, Sarah, I hope you mean that.” He wanted so much for it to be true. If she meant it, if her ghosts really had gone away, then he might have reason to hope.
He might have the freedom to kiss her, too. And more.
She felt so good in his arms, light and warm. Then way she curled into his chest, almost like a kitten, and the way her silky hair brushed against his throat–he needed her to mean it.
“Yes.” Her fingertips toyed with the hair at the back of his head. “I mean it.”
His self-control shattered. His body came alive with passionate need, and his face turned toward hers. This was what he wanted. This was what he needed, her warm breath against his cheeks and then her lips. He kissed her softly at first, wanting to draw her in. He needed to savor this moment.
But then he felt her reaction, almost like a sigh rippling through her body, and his yearning to taste her turned to something else. Something needy. Something demanding and insistent. He wanted to crush her against him, to feel every inch of her pliant flesh pressed against his length, to touch her and hold her close. He kissed her deeply, his tongue tasting hers, and almost without realizing it, he sat on one of the benches lining the hall. She was in his lap now and he didn’t have to hold her up. His hands were free to trace the curve of her waist, the flare of her hip, and the length of her thigh. Her fingers were buried in his hair, and even if he had wanted to, he couldn’t have pulled away from the kiss.
This was what he wanted. A week ago, he hadn’t even known that this was possible, and now here she was in his arms, and he never wanted to let her go.
Often, for me, I come up with a title then go on the hunt for images on photo-stock sites that reflect what I know about a story at that point in time. I send my images with vague editorial comments to my wonderful cover artist, my sister Elle James, and she works her magic.
Sometimes, I have to sit on that lovely cover for a while because, 1) I have to find the story to go along with the image, and 2) I have write said story. Sometimes, I don’t have choices about what comes next because I run up against deadlines.
These five covers are for works in progress I have to push out the door SOON. Arctic Dragon and Bound & Determined are stories that need a refurb/re-edit, the other three are brand new works. Arctic will release very, very soon (in days…). As will With His SEAL Team 6. Bound is up for pre-order!
Still, plenty on my plate to keep me busy through February…
Then there are these luscious covers…
Slow Rider‘s a refurb. So, that one’s fairly easy. The other three are To-Be-Written/conceived. Dagger‘s already up for pre-0rder! I do that to myself to make sure I get my butt in gear and write the dang thing. Then there are the last two… Sequels to other stories. Pleasing Sirs is a sequel to Pleasing Sir. Harvest Moon is the next Beaux Rêve Coven story.
For a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card, answer these two questions!
Which of these covers do you love? Which of the stories are you most eager to read?
My son was born on the US Navy base in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. Of course, then it was a bucolic place… no prison, not much controversy, lots of activities for the many Navy families stationed there. His father was the Program Director of the American Forces Radio and Television Service on the base, probably the most unmilitary posting anyone could have. The base was a little enclave of un-reality in the midst of the Cold War.
My broadcaster husband and I had been married eight years. In that time, I’d had four miscarriages and after the last one we’d decided (as had my OB-GYN) that it was time to call it quits. When we got back to the states we’d consider other paths.
A few weeks later I got sick, very sick and headed to the emergency room of our base hospital. Before giving me any medication, my good friend and nurse at the hospital told me she had to give me another pregnancy test just in case. I told her there was no way I could be pregnant, I’d just had a miscarriage only a month before. But the test was done anyway.
I sat in the waiting room, miserable, nauseas, wishing to die… you know those awful flu symptoms. After a bit my friend came back into the room and knelt in front of me. Whoa, I knew right then I had some terrible condition and my last days on earth would be spent far from my family on an island which the USA considered a hostile country. But… there was a smile on my friend’s face.
“Honey, you’re pregnant. The doctor wants you to come back to his office. He says we’re going to get you through this one. Your due date is December 24th, and he’s already ordered the camels!”
The pregnancy was not without its scares. In my seventh month, I was hospitalized for a week for exhaustion… complete bed rest. Of course, they could have just told me to stay in bed at home, but they didn’t have much to do then and lots of beds were empty, so… I was coddled for a week in the hospital. The nurses brought a fetal heart monitor into my room every evening, so I could listen to my baby’s heart before I went to sleep. They thought that would sooth me. It was kind of them, but I still didn’t sleep. I just closed my eyes and listened to his little thump, ker-thump until one of the nurses quietly came into the room and wheeled the machine away. I then went back to the stack of books on my night table, books I knew I wouldn’t have time to read later… staying up the rest of the night.
Then we had a snafu (that’s military talk meaning ‘oops, that’s not right’). My OB had already decided the baby would be coming caesarian… I was an older mother (28! Were they kidding?) and of course there were all those miscarriages. But a few weeks before the procedure on December 24th, the Anesthesiologist flew off to the mainland for Holiday R&R and left his duties to one of the operating room nurses, okay for all the regular surgeries, but she didn’t feel comfortable doing an epidural. This caused a mad frenzy to find another doctor who could substitute. No luck.
While the hospital was flying around arranging the coming of my Christmas baby, my husband’s co-workers at the TV station decided to give me a baby shower present… a special screening of Jaws. The movie had just come out in the States, but the officer-in-charge had borrowed it from one of the visiting Navy ships which had access to all the new movies. All evening I sat in a director’s chair, my back killing me, pain building in my abdomen. But I watched that movie to the end.
A couple of hours later, my husband rushed me to the hospital with severe abdominal pain which miraculously stopped as soon as I was deposited in a bed in the ER. I wasn’t in labor, but no one knew why I was in pain. (We found out the diagnosis two months later… but was another story).
By this time, my doctor had had enough. He was delivering that baby, now. After spending the entire day walking the halls of the Obstetric wing waiting for my doctor to finish his other surgeries, we were ready. It was December 11th, two in the afternoon. The procedure began quickly using general anesthesia instead of the epidural that’s usually used, that baby had to be out of there fast! This meant the ‘taking’ of him began while I was only partially anesthetized. Ouch! I was in pain. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t be grateful to finally have a baby in my arms… a perfect baby with only one tiny flaw. The doctor had nicked his little belly when he was taking him from my womb.
One more glitch. We were stuck in the hospital… for more than a week. I didn’t have any milk and my son found the nipple both natural and man-made very odd and wouldn’t be coaxed to latch on to either one. And the type of formulae used in the hospital nursery wasn’t to his liking either. After more than a week, the doctor told me to take my son home and if I had any trouble, just come back. Our house was within sight of the hospital anyway.
On the way home, Jonathan (my son) began screaming, the first time I’d heard him cry. My husband suggested I try one of the dreaded bottles and to our surprise the baby latched onto the nipple and sucked the formula down like a champ. He’d just wanted to go home.
Now Jonathan is all grown up (41 years old) and has been in my heart a special Christmas Baby his whole life. He gets a ‘Happy Birthday’ on December 11th, but then we celebrate his birthday for the next two weeks until Christmas morning. I’m still waiting for those camels.
Happy Reading, ya’ll!
From a Texas transplant to the cold coast of Maine
Diana Jennings is running away—from her past, from her memories, from evil men who want her to suffer more. Stone Bay looks like just the place to hide, but will it be far enough? Has she found a safe place to heal? Or is she just endangering all of those around her?
Sam Gardiner is back home after an incident in Afghanistan, a place he wasn’t prepared for and should never have been. But his first day home he runs into trouble, Diana Jennings. A beautiful woman with secrets behind her vulnerable eyes. And Sam loves secrets.
Diana’s secrets making their way to idyllic Stone Bay, may be the death of them both.
About the Author
Min Edwards is the pen name of Pam Headrick, owner of A Thirsty Mind Book Design. She holds advanced degrees in Anthropology with a focus on archaeology and geography as well as geology and art. She’s published five novels in two series: Stone Bay Contemporary Romance and High Tide Romantic Suspense. And in early 2018, she has on her schedule two novels in her new co-authored archaeological series, as well as an historical women’s fiction, The Russian Phoenix, a prequel to Precious Stone, her last novel in the High Tide Suspense series.
You can visit with her or contact her on her website at www.minedwards.com. Her Amazon Author’s page lists her current titles published in digital and print format, Stone Bay, Stone Cold, Stone Heart, Stone Fall and Precious Stone.