UPDATE: Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His Pack is live!
Get your copy at Amazon!

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I dawdled posting this blog today because I was hoping I’d have a live link for the book, but it hasn’t happened yet. So, I’m going to let you peek inside the story now, and when the link is live, I’ll update this blog. If you leave a comment and click that little box that asks if you want to see responses to the blog, you’ll know when the link is live!

You know I’ve been writing a series of stepbrother/menage stories these past months, and they’v e been doing well. But I thought I might play with the concept and add one more trope/theme that I hope you’ll enjoy. Check it out!

Cammi didn’t realize when she dropped out of college that her pack alpha, her stepbrother Corbin, would demand she choose a mate.

Angry, she chose three…

Read an excerpt:

There’s nothing more unnerving than waking up naked on your hands and knees in the middle of your brother’s pack—unless it’s waking in the middle of all the single males of that pack.

I blew a lock of hair from my eyes, dusted my hands of leaves and dirt, and slowly moved to sit on my haunches, trying my best not to give in to the urge to slide a hand between my legs and an arm over my breasts. My embarrassment would only sharpen their still-feral, mirrored stares.

“You couldn’t have ended the run closer to our cars?” I asked, turning to glare at my stepbrother Corbin. He and his friends had somehow managed to cull me from the larger pack during our run—a deliberate move, I knew, because he never did anything without calculation.

“Wouldn’t have been as much fun,” he said, lifting his upper lip. His teeth were always slow to shorten, so his smile was especially wolfish.

“You’re an asshole.”

“And you haven’t given me a name.” His gaze went to the males who formed a semi-circle around me. “Choose one. You’ve had time to get to know them. Weeks. You have a duty to fulfill.”

I licked my bottom lip, stalling for time, just as I had every day since I’d returned to the North Carolina mountains. If I’d known that dropping out of college in my sophomore year meant I had to immediately choose a mate, I might have gutted out the remainder of my degree—and then sought a place in a graduate program. I wasn’t ready to choose. Wolves mated for life. None of the men in front of me had held my interest during our supervised dates. How the hell was I supposed to shackle myself to one of them for the rest of my entire stinking life?

Although I had to admit that, naked, they looked a whole lot more interesting. All were young and well-built. Some lean, some burly. Dark and light.

Unwanted, desire stirred inside me. “Can I narrow my choices? Will that satisfy you for now?”

My brother’s jaw firmed. But then, he gave a curt nod. “Name them.”

I glanced around the circle, passing Scott, Doug, Jason, Mathias, Howie, and finally, I rested my gaze on Corbin, all the while thinking. This was just another stall tactic, and Corbin knew it, but he’d allowed me more time. Why? He didn’t have to. As the newly appointed alpha of our pack, he could simply make a decree and give me to one of his friends. As a breedable female, a rare commodity among werewolves, I understood my responsibility. Still, that didn’t mean I wasn’t resentful of my fate.

Since he was forcing me to narrow my field, I decided I wouldn’t let him see me as beaten, not even a bit. I pushed up from the ground. “Form a row,” I said to the handsome wolves surrounding me.

Scott glanced at Corbin. “You know you could just assign her a mate. She doesn’t understand her place.”

I stepped toward Scott and made sure he registered the fact I was as tall as he was. Our gazes collided. His pupils flared, nearly consuming the bright green irises. Brown shaggy hair tickled the tops of his shoulders. The days-old stubble framing his mouth gave him the look of a pirate, which fit given the fact we were all descended from Edward Teach’s crewmen, who had intermarried descendants of Jean Lafitte’s—all cursed by a Haitian witch, because they’d managed to steal her greatest treasure—her daughters.

Interestingly, Scott’s cock lengthened the longer I held his hard stare. It was lovely really. Long and thick, with a broad head. His balls were a little on the large side though. I almost passed him, but I liked the fact he was the most aggressive of the group. And one of my brother’s closest friends. The bitch inside me wanted to lick those big balls. My witchy DNA from my mother’s side wished Corbin would watch while I did it. I eyed his cock then arched a brow. “You,” I said softly.

He cupped himself and smiled.

An image flashed of those balls hitting my clit every time he stroked…

Maybe he read my mind, because his smile stretched, and his strut was especially cocky as he walked to stand beside Corbin.

I continued down the line.

Doug’s smile was open. Too honest. The last thing I wanted as a mate was a nice guy. I’d walk all over him and make his life a hell he didn’t deserve.

I moved to Jason. His smirk raised the hairs on my arms. I couldn’t stop myself, I growled deep in my throat and let him see my inner bitch, flashing him a glowing glare.

Next, I paused in front of Mathias. Quiet, watchful, golden-haired Mathias. Another of Corbin’s besties. Something about the way Mathias looked at me with his nearly purple eyes hinted at a sensual patience I found intriguing, right along with his arrow-tipped cock. Almost as intriguing as the plan building in my mind. “You,” I said.

Without a smile, his chin lifted, effectively cutting his gaze from mine because he was taller by a head. He strode to stand by Scott.

In front of Howie now, I sighed. Howie was a puppy. Playful. Happy. Ever eager to stick his nose where it wasn’t invited… I heard his sigh as I turned away.

I strode toward Corbin. My black-haired, burly brother. His expression was as hard as granite. Did it bother him to see my choices? Or was he bothered for another reason? I glanced at his cock, still flaccid. Was he truly uninterested or did he have that much control? Didn’t matter. He’d forced my hand. I’d give him back some of his own medicine.

I reached out and scraped a sharpened claw across his chest, watching as goose bumps lifted on his skin. A low warning sounded in the back of his throat. And his dark eyes narrowed to slits. “Don’t.”

I shook back my hair and stood on my toes so that my lips were even with his. An inch apart. Close enough I felt his harshening breaths against my mouth. “You,” I whispered.

*~*~*

And in case you haven’t already sampled my previous SSO stories…click on the covers!

UPDATE: The winner is…Gayle Lazur!

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I recently received rights back for some novelettes (stories around 10,000 words) that I never thought would see the light of day again. Four of the them. Now, I just have to find time to revise them and get them ready for re-release. Whee! These are the old titles, not sure if I want to re-title them. What do you think?

• Close Encounters of the Carnal Kind (sci-fi)
• Making the Madam (historical)
• Her Lance-A-Lot (historical)
• Raptor’s Prey (sci-fi)

So, more to cram into my already tight work schedule. Yesterday, I finished up a novella entitled Baby, It’s You, the next story in my Uncharted SEALs series. Next up is Before You Kiss Me. I have to start that one like last week, but don’t have a clue what it will be about. I do have a title though… Yeah, nothing coming to me yet…

And I have to start my next Stepbrothers Stepping Out short story, “With His Pack”. I know where that one starts—her awakening in human skin on all fours, in the middle of the pack’s single males. How awkward, right? 🙂 Now, I just have to figure out the rest of the story.

Oh, and among all the writing and revision, I have a month-long bootcamp to teach. And it’s summer, so the pool beckons. Maybe I can do my brainstorming while I float in the pool, huh?

I woke up this morning when my alarm went off with a horrendous headache. (Yes, I still set alarms. I have to treat this job like a real job!) I took ibuprofen and went back to sleep for an hour. Headache’s receded, but still there. Must drink lots of water today, because I’ll bet yesterday I didn’t…

But I’m rambling.

Let’s do a contest. Prize will be a small Amazon gift card!

Tell me what you think about these upcoming covers.
Which stories do you want to read?

I’m in editing mode today. Working on someone else’s wonderful pages. When I finish, I’ll go back to wrapping up my next Uncharted SEAL story, Baby, It’s You. Love SEALs who are cowboys? Yeah, that’s what’s next. In the meantime, the excerpt below is a reminder of what came before… Enjoy!

Comment for a chance to win one of these stories!

Her Next Breath

Ex-SEAL Jackson Keller’s first mission with the Charter Group’s spec ops unit is a bust. Instead of capturing a drug lord in his Mexican compound, he finds a beautiful, naked woman. But she may have information they need to nail the narco-terrorist, so he takes her, sealing his fate. She’s his to watch, his to “manage” until the op’s done.

Suri McAnally’s made some mistakes—mainly trusting her college roomie who just so happens to be the son of one of Mexico’s most dangerous drug lords. If Jackson can save her, she’ll do whatever he says, mirror his moves, and try to keep her insta-lust under control. Her next breath depends on it.

Buy at Amazon!

When Suri awoke, it was to discover she was resting inside the curve of Jackson’s arm, her thigh draped over his, her head on his chest. She didn’t know who’d moved the blanket. Maybe they’d both naturally gravitated together. She hated to think she might have been the one to cross the line demarking their personal space.

Partly because she didn’t want to wake him, and partly because it was a new experience lying inside a man’s embrace, she held her breath and remained perfectly still. She breathed in his scent, which was a sagey musk combined with the remaining odor of the paint he’d worn on his face. His skin was smooth, warm, tanned and cloaked a hard, very muscular frame. Her fingertips tingled, and she very nearly gave into the temptation to run one tip over his hard abs. Instead, she curled her hand into a fist.

Last night when she’d seen him fully for the first time—without the paint, his body nearly nude—she’d felt her knees wobble. He was devastatingly handsome, not in a pretty-boy way. He was too manly, too large, all hard angles and lovely bulges, with short, nearly dark-brown hair and those cloudy gray eyes. Even the stubble on his chin made her thighs clench.

Suri hoped she didn’t sleep beside him for many more nights or she’d grow accustomed to his physique. Any man she met after this little adventure would pale in comparison.

Her glance traveled downward to the sheet barely covering his hips. Maybe it was the fold of the sheets, but the fabric was tented.

“Playing possum?”

She raised her head and met his gaze, blushing because she’d been caught staring at his sex.

“Didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You’re breathing, aren’t you?” he muttered in a graveled tone.

She frowned, not understanding, and then pushed away from his body although she instantly regretted the loss of his warmth. When she’d first awoken, she’d felt sheltered, safe—and not just from Diego and his henchmen. She’d felt…cherished.

Ridiculous, she knew. And slightly pathetic. Was she really so needy for human connection that she was romanticizing over Jackson?

But in the morning light, his face wasn’t quite so hard-bitten. Scruffy, dark bristles covered his chin and jaw; his gaze rested on her rather than spearing her.

His glance cut away, and he looked at his watch. “Chow’s nearly over. We should dress.”

“I’m starved.”

The corners of his mouth twitched.

His first smile?

And then his features grew remote again, his mouth firmed. “Get dressed. I need to check in with Teague.”

Aware his gaze followed her still, she rose and stretched her arms high, and then headed to her pillow case.

“You do that on purpose, don’t you?”

She aimed a grin over her shoulder. “Why, whatever do you mean?”

His gaze narrowed, but a one-sided smile curved.

Feeling as though she’d accomplished something noteworthy, she entered the bathroom, closing the door against the temptation that was Jackson Keller.

I’ve written a few firefighters. Even produced an anthology of sexy firefighter stories. I understand the allure, despite the ugly, baggy pants. It’s the suspenders, right? 🙂

Just kidding. Mostly. I love the fact they rush into fire and other hellish situations while others flee. It’s that primitive, primal attraction hardwired in us to seek the mate most likely to protect and feed us. I understand that, but it doesn’t explain why I always envision firefighters playing dirty in a BDSM club. Which is how Firehouse 69 came to be. Me imagining. Letting the old muses (three of them, you know) boss me into telling the story their way.

Rapid Entry’s the third in my Firehouse 69 series, which was a spinoff of my Delta Heat series. Enjoy the excerpt!

Rapid Entry

When temptation flares hot, the only casualties could be their hearts.

Firehouse 69, Book 3

Gage Eastwood races to the burning apartment next door and discovers a woman trying to put the fire out herself. As a professional, he can overlook the fact she’s in her underwear, except there’s a nosy neighbor snapping cell phone pictures. And soon everyone knows he rushed into action buck-ass naked.

Not many people know that shy, mild-mannered Viviana Moore is a bestselling romance author. But once the pictures of her scantily clad backside guarding the sexy firefighter’s dignity go viral, the entire city of Memphis wants to know if he’s the muse for all her heroes.

When Vivi accepts Gage’s invitation to his sex club, La Forge, she can’t bring herself to admit that while she writes about kink, she’s never done anything kinky. But soon she has more than enough material for a whole new series. And Gage is wondering if just one manly muse is enough to satisfy her…curiosity.

Warning: Contains a firefighter who doesn’t hesitate to throw himself into harm’s–or pleasure’s–way. And a writer who’s about to discover hands-on is the best approach to research. Keep an oxygen mask handy if you’re prone to shortness of breath.

Excerpt…

Gage Eastwood opened the door of his apartment and let out a sigh. Dead quiet greeted him—pure bliss, after sharing space with his firehouse buddies, no matter how much he liked his crew. A man needed quiet, time to screw his head on straight before facing another busy shift where a moment’s groggy hesitation could cost him his life. He closed his door, flipped the deadlock and began peeling his dark t-shirt over his head when he got a sour whiff of Sunday’s Chinese takeout that he’d forgotten to deposit in the dumpster before he’d left for his last shift.

Sighing again, this time in irritation, he tugged his tee back into place and headed to his trash can. On the way, he quickly sorted his mail, tossed unopened letters, not bills, into the sack (no one he knew would be writing him anyway—had to be junk mail), and tightened the ties. Then out the door he went, quickly making his way down the steps to the parking lot below where he chucked the sack into the large green dumpster. When he turned, his gaze moved from his apartment’s windows to the windows beside his. A figure passed in front of the glass. A woman with dark hair, wearing black-framed glasses and appearing to be talking to herself.

Did Herman have a houseguest? The old codger next door never had visitors. Something that didn’t surprise Gage because he was the most unfriendly person he’d ever met—which made him the ideal neighbor. He minded his business.

The woman passed again, this time closer, and her gaze shifted to him in the parking lot. Rather than politely looking away, she leaned closer, her lips still moving quickly as she stared down at him.

Gage smiled, slowly, as more of her came into view. Creamy skin. Dark brown hair that touched her shoulders. Despite the ugly glasses and plain sweatshirt, she was cute, and her interest was apparent as her gaze perused his firehouse uniform. He lifted his hand to give her a little wave, and she jerked backward, her eyebrows rising.

Hadn’t she known he was looking her way? He shrugged. Any thought of knocking on his neighbor’s door fleeing as she left the window. Just as well. He was beat. The last fire hadn’t wrapped until nearly three that morning—a house fire that had left only charred remains, although everyone in the family had escaped unscathed. And that was what counted. A “good” fire meant no casualties. He could rest easy knowing he’d done his job, and that no one, not the family left homeless, not any of his crew, had been lost.

As he traipsed back up the steps, he thought of Danny Truitt, the friend he’d lost the previous year when the roof he’d been venting collapsed beneath him. There weren’t any days that passed that he didn’t think about him. His picture was prominent in the hallway entrance to the firehouse and on his own foyer wall. The only way to honor the fallen was to remember them.

The brunette all but forgotten in his gloom, he entered his apartment, tapped the picture of his buddy, standing in uniform beside their truck, and headed down the hallway to his bedroom.

Sometime during the night, Gage kicked at the sheets twisted around his legs. He’d been dreaming about the fire that had taken Danny. Once again, Gage had been rushing up the ladder, his heart in his throat, trying to get to him and Coop who’d been standing next to Danny when the roof sank beneath his feet.

With the lieutenant shouting in the radio to get off the fucking roof, he’d grabbed the back of Coop’s jacket to drag him away from the hole. Fire was licking at the opening. There was no hope of rescuing Danny from above.

With smoke building, Gage wrapped his arms around Coop to tear him away.

This is a dream. A dream. Wake up!

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of his bedroom while he remembered to breathe. He hadn’t had that nightmare in a while. Why now?

Then he smelled it. An acrid scent you didn’t have to be a firefighter to recognize.

Fire!

Kicking back the covers, he rushed from his room to the kitchen, tore open the doors of the cabinet beneath his sink, and reached for the fire extinguisher. Then he loped to his door and flung it wide. He ran along the covered walkway, but didn’t have to go far to find the source. Bright flames flickered in Herman’s kitchen window. When he reached his neighbor’s door, he pounded on the thick oak. “Herman! Fire! Herman, you in there?” When there was no response, he turned sideways and rammed the wood with his shoulder, hoping he wouldn’t pop the ball from the socket. But the frame gave, and he was inside. Light, softened by the haze of smoke, gleamed from the kitchen. The fire alarm was blaring. Sounds of soft curses, interspersed with desperate, No, No No’s alerted him that Herman wasn’t the source of the cries.

No matter. There was a fire. He was a firefighter. “Ma’am, you need to get out of here,” he called out, crouching as he entered the smoky interior.

More coughing sounded, and he moved forward, only to smack head-on with a soft cushion of fluffy hair. He reached out, felt a bare shoulder and pulled the woman past him, then went to his knees and headed toward the fire flickering in the dark haze. Slipping the pin from the handle of his extinguisher, he stood, aimed the nozzle at the blaze and depressed the lever. In moments, the fire was extinguished, although smoke still billowed. Covering his nose with his arm, he reached for the window over the sink and opened it to allow the smoke to escape.

When he could draw a deep breath, he turned toward the figure huddled against the wall.

His jaw dropped. Her pretty features were so far from Herman’s wrinkled old mullet, he couldn’t help but stare. He locked glares with smoke-reddened green eyes through big black frames a second before he took in the rest of her lush, pale curves. It was the brunette he’d seen earlier, dressed in the sexiest lingerie he’d ever seen on a woman. The satin and lace was the same color of the creamer he used to lace the bilge water coffee the rookie at the firehouse made at the station, and still darker than her ivory skin. And the bookish glasses only made her sexier. He’d always had a thing for librarians…

Remembering his manners and the situation, he reached downward. “Ma’am, let me give you a hand.”

She tried to swat his hand away, but he grabbed hers, forcefully tugging her upward.

Her gaze landed on his chest, darted to the open window, and every place in between, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. He supposed she had a right to be embarrassed at being caught in her underwear. “Don’t be shy,” he said gruffly. “I’ve pulled naked women from their beds in a fire.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” She rolled her eyes. “I almost burned down this building trying to boil water.”

His mouth twitched. “Maybe you should stick with the microwave.”

In the distance, he heard sirens and the sounds of shouting.

“Over here! The fire’s here!”

And then, the voices were nearer. “In here!”

Gage glanced downward and tightened his jaw.

The woman’s eyes widened, and she quickly glanced downward as well. Shit.

A moment later, three men pushed into the kitchen, all wearing helmets and turnout gear.

“Damn, Gage,” Billy Sorensen drawled. “You’re supposed to put out the fires, not start ’em.”

“You put it out with your pants?” Tiger Murphy said, a grin stretching across his face.

Gage drew the woman closer. “Don’t move,” he said under his breath.

“You protecting my dignity or yours?” she said, a smile beginning to lift one corner of her very sexy mouth.

Gage grimaced, knowing there was no way in hell his buddies from the other shift were ever going to let him live this one down. “Someone find me a towel?”

“Should we come back later?” Moog said, his dark face split by a wide grin.

“A towel,” he said, gritting his teeth as Moog shouldered past him to lay down more foam on the stovetop.

“Doesn’t appear to be much damage to the wall, but we’ll have to tear it out anyway to make sure there aren’t any embers inside.” Moog glanced over his shoulder to give Gage a waggle of his eyebrows. “Might wanna wait next door while we finish up.”

Knowing his buddies weren’t going to help him out, he turned the brunette to face away but kept his hands on her hips. “Just walk. They’ve seen it all anyway.”

Outside her apartment, he heard laughter below from relieved tenants as they lined the walkway. Flashes nearly blinded him. “Son of a bitch,” he ground out.

Her shoulders shook, and she gave a laugh.

He was surprised by how casually she was taking the fact they were doing a walk of shame from her apartment to his—her in her underwear, him in his birthday suit.

She had to be in shock.

At his door, she halted and quickly spun. “Wait, my laptop.”

“Don’t stop now,” he said, gritting his teeth and turning her again to push her toward his door. “Naked, here.”

“But my laptop—”

“Will be fine,” he gritted out.

“You don’t understand.”

“Let me get some clothes on. I’ll get your damn laptop. Open the door.” When she still dug in her heels, he leaned closer, not caring his cock was mashed against her ass, and turned the doorknob. Once across the threshold, he pushed her further inside before closing the door behind them.

“I guess I should thank you,” she said, but her gaze wasn’t on his face.

Gage might have cupped himself to spare her, but her avid gaze only increased his irritation, so he let her stare while his cock slowly filled and rose.

“Fire always affect you that way?” she murmured.

“No, ma’am.”

A dark brow arched. “Rushing into burning buildings has to get the blood going. It doesn’t ever—”

“No. It doesn’t.”

“Oh.” She slowly dragged her gaze upward, past his chest, which she seemed to measure with side-to-side darting glances.

When she reached his eyes, he gave her a scowl.

Which only made her lips twitch.

Gage let out an exasperated breath, and strode past her. “I’ll find some clothes.”

“Don’t, on my account,” she said, laughing.

“Lady, don’t you have any shame?” he threw over his shoulder.

“None,” she called after him. “Ask my publisher!”