Hi, I’m Melanie Jayne, romance writer, punctuation rules hater, and human servant to two mastiffs. When I’m not filling food bowls or throwing the Kong, I’m usually thinking about writing: story ideas, things to do, and awesome phrases seem to pop into my head all of the time.

When I was washing the dog bowls earlier today, I started to think about secondary characters in some of my favorite books. You know the best friend, the smart butler, and the ever put upon secretary. Then I took that a step farther and thought about which of my friends would make good secondary characters and how they would influence my heroine?

There is Anna who sounds like she smokes six packs of cigarettes a day and raised six kids. She has seen it all and nothing surprises her. Definitely a possibility because she would be unflappable and a mature voice of reason.

Melanie is the all-around most intelligent person that I have ever met. She knows a little bit about everything. The perfect go to partner when my heroine wants to do something sneaky or for business advice.

Jeff is one of the best dressed men in my city and can tell a fantastic story. He is the perfect person to invite out when you need to have fun or when you need an opinion about what to wear. What woman doesn’t need this kind of friend?

Lastly, but definitely not least, there is David. Complicated, intelligent, and loyal. He would be the heroine’s choice for when she needed a shoulder to cry on or someone to bail her out of a jam. He is a definite possibility to get his own book.

So as I finished drying the food bowl, I realized how lucky I am to be surrounded by such great people. I can depend on them and they add to the richness of my life, plus as a writer they give me great ideas.

Please check out my writing, which features older characters “Because Love Doesn’t Stop at 35.”

www.ReadMelanieJayne.com
https://www.facebook.com/ReadMelanieJayne
https://www.facebook.com/MelanieJayneauthor/?fref=ts
Twitter– @MJSmut

To Purchase You Only- http://amzn.to/2j0LghI

My name is Stefan Wyemore and I’m the High Alpha of the Northwest Territories. If I could snort here, I would. That sounds so high-and-mighty. What it really means is that I get to listen to every complaint and gripe everyone in the northwestern area has and figure out how to make shifters of all sorts, covens and hybrids live together in peace. It’s a nasty job, but my folks thought I was up to the job. They’re technically the leaders, but they live in Florida with the packs and prides there and ceded this place to me. Gee, thanks, folks.

Don’t get me wrong. I love it here. The mountains are incredible. We don’t have anything like that in Florida, that’s for sure. And if I hadn’t had this job, I wouldn’t have met Mali, my mate and the woman I can’t imagine life without. Though it wasn’t easy convincing her.

Mali is an amazing woman. She’s a hybrid, like me, someone who can both shift and do magic. Fortunately, we’re both feline shifters, which makes our bond even stronger. I knew as soon as I met her that we were mates, but it took a little longer for her to accept it. She’s been through a lot in her life. I can’t imagine never belonging somewhere. My folks and where I grew up were so accepting of everyone. But here, it’s not quite as open. In fact, I had to take out four betas who were lording it over their packs like they were gods or something. They quickly learned I don’t go for that. Yes, I’m an alpha and my word is law, but laws have to be tempered with compassion and acceptance. And theirs weren’t. I will not allow bigotry to spread in my packs and prides. We are all shifters. It doesn’t matter if we’re feline, canine, bovine, or something else. Shifters are shifters. And mage-shifters are even better.

That’s what Mali and I are—mage-shifters. Not only do we shift, but we can do magic. My affinity is with the elements while hers is with healing. Because of what we are, maybe others will learn what acceptance is.

Anyway, Lion’s Choice is our story. Or rather, a part of our story. It’s about how Malena and I met and how we became mates. It’s got shifters and witches, yes, but don’t be surprised if a ghost or two shows up too. My grandmother likes to interfere in my life, even if she’s not still around. Sigh. Like I said, the life of the High Alpha is not an easy one, but with Mali at my side, I can tackle anything.

Lion’s Choice

Stefan the Black, alpha of the northwestern territories, needs a strong mate. It’s the only way the prides and packs will continue to follow him, but he hasn’t found the right one yet. Then Dr. Malena Troutman literally runs into him and he and his beast know that she is the one.

The problem is convincing her.

Malena wants nothing to do with prides or packs. As a half-breed—part witch, part shifter—she’s been shunned by both shifters and witches alike. But her beast wants Stefan, and so does the human part of her. Still, can she trust him not to turn her away, especially once he learns her secret?

But Stefan has more than a few secrets of his own, not the least of which is… he’s also got magic running through his blood. It’s up to him to convince the packs and prides that their prejudices are hurting the prides. Ruling a large area of multiple packs and prides takes a lot of balancing—funds, people, emergencies, and more. But with Malena by his side, Stefan turns things around and both beasts find contentment.

EXCERPT:
“Is there a problem?”

Malena looked up—something that didn’t happen too often—to find a man with raven hair and eyes the color of deep sapphires looking down at her. She immediately recognized him. She could never forget that face or his scent. Her lion grew restless, and Mali fought to stay in control. He wore cut-off jean shorts and a deep blue tee, exposing impressive muscles, but not body-builder bulk. These were the lean, long ones of a lethal animal.

“Oh! Alpha Stefan, it’s nothing. Just a computer mix-up with Miss Troutman’s reservation. I’m sure we can find someone who will take her in.”

Alpha Stefan? Damn. Of course he would be the alpha. “That’s Doctor Troutman, and I’d rather not be crammed into someone’s family room with screaming kids running all around.” Mali let a little of her irritation show in her voice.

“What about a separate bedroom with a private bath and no screaming kids?”

She hesitated the briefest of seconds before nodding. She wondered if he had orchestrated this glitch, along with the invitation. “That’s what I was hoping for.”

Not only did her lioness approve, but so did the witch side of her. That in itself was odd enough for her to pay attention.

“Where are your bags, Doctor Troutman?” He smiled at her, a grin of both invitation and consideration.

“Just this.” She indicated a regulation-sized pull-along. “The rest are still in my truck, though I have no idea where that is at the moment.”

“In the parking area. I can have one of the valets retrieve your things for you if you wish.”

“Thank you. They’re rather important, and some need to be handled with care. I’m teaching a class here tomorrow. If you could show me my room, and where my truck might be, I’ll get them myself.” She hesitated. Damn. She’d given orders to the alpha. Could she stuff her foot any further into her mouth? Her face grew warm. “My apologies, Alpha Stefan. If I’d known—”

“If you’d known, I think you would still need to handle your bags with care. Shall we?” He offered his arm and took her bag in one hand.

“I can carry that myself,” she said, not wanting to put the alpha out any more than she already had.

“I’m sure you can. I was merely being polite.”

She blew out a sigh and took his arm. “Thank you, Alpha Stefan. I appreciate the help. So where is this room I can have?”

He stepped into the elevator and punched the button for the fifth floor. “My apartment.”

***

Stefan enjoyed the look of pure shock on the woman’s face. As soon as he’d told her where they were going, she’d dropped her hand and stepped away from him. This was not a woman who used feminine wiles to capture a man. She wanted nothing to do with him. It showed in her stiff shoulders, crossed arms, tight mouth, and narrowed eyes. He kept a neutral look on his face but smiled inwardly. She intrigued him on many levels. He discovered he was actually looking forward to the challenge she offered.

Malena Troutman. The lion within him was practically purring, and so was the man.

Available from Liquid Silver Publishing, Amazon, B&N, and other fine sellers
Where to find me: http://burkholv.wordpress.com
http://thewholeshebangsite.wordpress.com

UPDATE: The winners are Jen B, DebraG, and Shirley Long!

* * * * *

Happy Saturday! I hope you’re not working today, or that you’ve got a huge list of errands to run. As for me, I’ll have my BITHOK (Butt in Chair, Hands on Keys), trying to get closer to The End of my current project. So, not much time to chat, y’all! But I would like to know if you’ve read one of my short stories before, and if so, which one was your favorite?

Comment for a chance to win your choice of
one of these stories! I’ll choose
three winners!

And if you haven’t read my shorties, check out the full list here!

Tailgating at the Cedar Inn

Two construction workers come to the aid of one woman looking for a last taste of freedom…

Breathing became something I had to think about doing. I swept my upper lip with my tongue, opening my mouth to say something, but he bent toward me. Slowly. His narrowed eyes daring me to draw away.

I didn’t. The beer was plucked from my lifeless fingers, and I gripped the edge of the tailgate, wrapping them around it to brace myself for a kiss.

His mouth was tentative, teasing, sliding over mine and rubbing in a circular movement that pulled me with it, until I was moving with him, following to make sure I didn’t lose the seductive heat.

When he drew back, he smiled. “You know, sweetheart, you don’t have to be alone tonight.”

I blinked and glanced to the side at Owen.

“Package deal,” Chris said, drawing my attention back.

Package deal. Two packages. Mine to enjoy.

I opened my mouth and drew a quick breath, suddenly nervous. “I don’t…” I cleared my throat. “I’ve never…”

“We have,” he said quickly, cupping my chin and sliding a thumb over my still moist lower lip. “Nothin’ to be worried about. Cedar Inn’s quiet. Clean. You’ve got the single room, right? Come to ours, and we’ll shove the mattresses together. Plenty of room.”

Moisture seeped to soak the crotch of my shorts. My clit throbbed and hardened. I could end it now and go back to my bed, slide my fingers over the knot and come in an instant, but their scent and heat surrounded me. I imagined being sandwiched between them both—slick, hot skin sliding against mine, front and back. I squeezed my thighs because they were beginning to quiver. Suddenly, I had options. One safe. One not so much—but wickedly enticing.

“No pressure,” Owen said, dropping a slow kiss on the corner of my shoulder. “You call the shots. Whatever you want.”

What I wanted was for them to make a move. Make up my mind for me, because I didn’t think I was capable of speaking.

Chris laid his palms on the tops of my bare thighs and slid his thumbs between them, then slowly opened me, stepping closer, forcing me wider again until his crotch was flush with mine.

His erection was impossible to ignore. A thick, insistent bulge. “Maybe you don’t want a bed?” he murmured. “Maybe you want it here?”

His crudeness excited me. Challenged me in a way I’d never have accepted in my former life. I tossed my head. “But someone will see.”

“Maybe. Might only be Bobby, but he won’t mind. Will you?”

Owen slipped a hand behind me and rucked up my shirt until the fabric bunched under my arms. My belly bare, the warm night air blew across my skin, feeling like a caress. My stomach tightened.

I glanced between them, noted the tension riding both their jaws. They wouldn’t make a move without my consent, but they’d pounce the second I did. I let the moment stretch.

Then I leaned forward and raised my arms, keeping my gaze locked with Chris’s as Owen pulled the garment all the way off.

Both men breathed deeply as they stared at my breasts. Chris cupped one, hefted it in his palm then squeezed. Owen wet a finger and circled the other nipple, pausing to scratch a nail across the tip. It hardened.

“You’re pretty,” Chris muttered.

“Doesn’t sound like you’re happy about that.”

“Don’t pay any mind to what he says,” Owen said. “He’s hard. He doesn’t think straight when he gets that way. Take it as a compliment.”

Chris plucked my nipple and released it, watching it bounce back. His gaze darted to mine again, and then he slipped his fingers inside the waist of my shorts and rubbed the top of my mound. “Can I take these off, too?”

I didn’t mind his blunt tone this time. The air between us felt charged with a current that pricked my nipples and caused my pussy to contract.

I was already shirtless, already committed. So hot I was panting. I nodded, then gasped when Owen eased me back at an angle and Chris went to work unsnapping my shorts and dragging them off my legs.

Then Owen pushed me forward and slid behind me, urging me to rest against his naked chest. Chris opened his jeans and pushed them off his hips, freeing his cock. He leaned over me, pressing me harder against Owen who chuckled as Chris hooked his elbows beneath my thighs and lifted my bottom.

“A condom?” I gasped, one last shred of sanity remaining before my mind completely filled with the sight of him. He was thick, long, a straight cudgel of a cock. Twice the girth of the last man I’d had.

“Pocket,” he ground out.

I reached for the scrunched-up top of his jeans and pulled out his wallet. My hands shook, but I found the trifold of foil packets and tore one off. He watched as I clumsily cloaked him in the latex sheath. Then he was there, pushing inside me.

The moment he entered me, my mind clicked. Fuck, I was really doing this. Really taking on a stranger while his friend held me, his hands cupping my breasts and his cock grinding against my backside through his jeans.

And I wanted him nude as well. Wanted them both rutting, both sinking deep.

I wriggled inside Owen’s embrace.

Chris shook his head, his nostrils flared. “Want me to stop?” he bit out.

“Fuck no. But what about Owen?”

Owen laughed. The sound edgy, taut.

Chris urged my legs around his back and stood, lifting me from the truck bed. Behind me, I heard the rustle of clothing, the snap of latex. I didn’t look back and instead nuzzled into Chris’s shoulder to hide my face. I should be ashamed. But instead, I was grinning, and then nipping his skin, causing him to groan and thrust.

I didn’t know how they would manage it, but trusted that they knew a way.

“Ready.”

Chris nodded, then turned and sat on the tailgate, leaning back and bringing me with him. Behind me, hands cupped my ass, pulled my cheeks apart. I moaned in protest, and Owen’s thumbs slipped farther down, tucking into my pussy, sliding along Chris’s dick, then stretching upward to make a space.

“No way,” I muttered.

“There’s room. I promise,” Owen said a trace of humor in his strained voice. Then he was pushing inside me, forcing his way atop Chris’s thick cock.

Enjoy an excerpt from Lindsay McKenna’s latest release, Snowflake’s Gift!

A Delos Series novella

SOMETIMES A CHRISTMAS GIFT DOESN’T COME IN A PACKAGE….IT COMES ON FOUR LEGS….

Snow was coming down hard in town as Nick drove the van toward the shut-in area at four p.m. The smell of spaghetti and buttered, garlic toast filled the vehicle. Myra had made sweet potato cupcakes for dessert, and he stole one before they left the charity facility. It was nearly Thanksgiving and he was looking forward to taking Holly to his folks place for the afternoon and evening. The wipers were rhythmically swinging back and forth, throwing off the heavy, wet flakes. The roads were salted, but still Nick was wary of invisible black ice. In the late afternoon the heat of the day was gone and things got slick real fast.

“Oh dear,” Holly called, sitting up, pointing out her passenger-side window. “Look, Nick!”

Snowflake, who stood between them, heard the pitch of her voice change, and whined.

Nick slowed and pulled over to the curb, then looked to where she was pointing. There was a yellow Labrador moving awkwardly through the belly deep snow between two brick buildings. Her ribs were prominent even though she had a short, thick winter coat on. “She’s starving,” he muttered, scowling. “It looks like a female Lab. She’s too dainty looking to be a male.”

“She’s terribly thin,” Holly said, worried. “I wonder if someone dumped her—they do that all the time around here. I hate it.”

“No collar on her, either,” Nick agreed. The Lab was about a hundred-feet down the alley between the two buildings, slugging it out with the snow. Nick heard Holly make a little sound of urgency. She had such a big heart, and she hated to see animals or humans suffer.

Nick knew she wanted to get out and try to call the dog over to her. From the looks of the animal, her light-brown eyes wild looking, tongue lolling out of her mouth, her fur matted, he intuitively knew this was a dog that had been left behind a long time ago to fend for herself.

“She’s feral,” he warned Holly. She turned, her huge, blue eyes filled with tears. “She won’t let us near her. I’m sorry.” And he was. It wouldn’t be the first dog dumped here that Nick had found, or that Holly had come upon around the building of one of her shut-ins. They had a no-kill shelter here, and this Lab would have had a warm place to stay, food, and care if they could befriend her.

“Can’t we do something for her, Nick?”

LINKS
BN.com
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/snowflakes-gift-lindsay-mckenna/1125267515?ean=2940156794072
Amazon.com
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N994DJF?ref_=pe_2427780_160035660
Kobo.com
https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/snowflake-s-gift

iBooks/Apple
https://linkmaker.itunes.apple.com/en-us/details/1179641291?country=us&mediaType=books&term=Snowflake%27s+Gift+by+Lindsay+McKenna

Tantor Media Audio:
https://tantor.com/author/lindsay-mckenna.html

Coming to the end of a series is both exciting and sad.  It’s a lot like graduating from school.  I’m excited to move on to new adventures but sad to be leaving old friends behind

The Rose series started when I heard the song KISSED BY A ROSE, sung by Seal.  The words from the chores inspired me.  “I might compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grave.”  I heard those words and had a flash of a grave in winter with its headstone half buried and a blood red rose resting on the snow.  This vision and my background in politics combined to form the foundation for the series.

I have been a staffer for two different congressmen, a campaign consultant for numerous campaigns, and I have substituted for my Representative in the Idaho legislature.  I pulled a lot from my experience to write the political parts of the three books.  The three political issues my characters have to deal with are real and have either been reviewed by interim committees or actually debated in the legislature. The supernatural parts of the story were the most fun to write.  How would a legislator explain that he was being haunted?  It’s not something you want to advertise to your constituents or let your opponents catch wind of.

The hardest part of finishing this series is saying goodbye to characters who have been in my head for years.  I had the idea for these stories for quite some time before I ever sat down to type the first line.  Like many writers I know a lot more about my characters than the parts that made it onto the page.  Not all of a character’s back story fits into the series but it is still information that I as an author need to know in order to create a well-rounded and believable character.  They are like real people to me.  Many Sundays when I sang hymns in church I would check the date of the song, and if it was before 1882, I often wondered if Rose would have sung this one.  At least I have the satisfaction of tying up the loose ends and giving my characters the happy ever after that they all deserved.

Do you every miss characters when you finish reading a book and know there will be no new adventures?

Augustina Van Hoven
Proving Love is Strange

THE KISS OF A ROSE
THE THORN OF A ROSE
THE BLOOM OF A ROSE – Available March 14th

www.augustinavanhoven.com

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/pages/Augustina-Van-Hoven-Author/336028986575129
Twitter:  @augustinavhoven
Pinterest: Augustina Van Hoven, Author

The Bloom of a Rose

Rachel Bartlett doesn’t expect to meet the man of her dreams at a funeral.  But a chance conversation with Paul Miller inserts her in a political game between good and evil.  Unfortunately, her political strategist mother has other plans for her, and they don’t include romance.  Paul is the exact wrong guy for her, but sometimes it takes someone from the opposition to show you the way out of the maze.

Paul Miller is fighting battles on multiple fronts, and he doesn’t have time for an infatuation with a liberal graphic artist, no matter how blue her eyes or how sharp her wit.  If his trust is misplaced, then a wrong move loses the game.

What the couple doesn’t know is that they are not alone.  Supernatural beings battle behind the scenes—and humans are all pawns on a chessboard.  The outcome of the game will determine not only what the future might be…but whether or not there even is one.

Available March 14th

I want to start by thanking Delilah for letting me come play in her space here again.  Visiting here is always a blast.  I had plans for a different subject for today’s guest blog, but in the last two weeks real life has kicked my butt in more ways than one.  So I opted to do something different instead, something a little less serious than what I started with—some of my favorite romance novel hero types.

We all love our romance novel heroes.  For some of us, they’re the main reason we pick up a book.  Even if you don’t shop by the cover of the book (which I don’t), the story blurb gives you a taste of the hero that makes you think, ‘Hm, that sounds like a guy I want to fall in love with.’  And if you shop by the cover art, well, mostly naked men on book covers…very visually appealing when you’re browsing shelves, no?

I love a great, tortured hero when I’m reading, but they’re sometimes really draining to write, depending on just how dark their stories are.  I also love a hot Alpha hero, but some of them veer into asshole territory, and it’s a fine line to walk.  When I’m reading, I also enjoy a hero who has a sense of humor, but humor is really subjective, so it can be as much of a challenge to write as a tortured Alpha hero, plus a guy who’s a clown might be too shallow to fall in love with.  Maybe a dangerous hero, one who would kiss you stupid, right before he kills you?  Done right, I’ve read some really amazing stories with very dangerous heroes.  Then there is the guy next door—but they can be a little boring if they’re too realistic.

So what is a romance writer supposed to do?

Some of my favorite books don’t rely on just one of those qualities to build heroes I’ve fallen in love with, and probably you, too, yes?  There is a Viking series I’ve been enjoying for years with the hottest heroes, many of them Alphas for sure, and they are the funniest books I’ve ever read.  One of my favorite authors (I aspire to someday pull off romantic suspense half as good as hers) has done some heroes who are really anti-heroes—assassins, who falls in love with assassins, I ask you?—purely Alpha and some of them really tortured to boot, and they would do anything to keep their heroines protected.  How do you not fall in love with a man like that, no matter what his profession?

So, tell me what kind of romance novel heroes do you like best?  Strong and silent?  Tortured but sweet?  Deadly?  Everybody who shares by 5 p.m. ET on Fri, Feb. 3, 2017 will have their name entered in a giveaway (via RandomResult.com) for an ebook copy of Hunting Medusa.

Hunting Medusa, The Medusa Trilogy, Book 1

One murderous mission.  One killer case of PMS.  Who said “the curse” was a myth?

When Kallan Tassos tracks down the current Medusa, he expects to find a monster.  Instead he finds a wary, beautiful woman, shielded by a complicated web of spells that foils his plans for a quick kill and retrieval of her protective amulet.

Andrea Rosakis expects the handsome Harvester to go for the kill.  Instead, his attempt to take the amulet imprinted on her skin without harming her takes her completely by surprise.  And ends with the two of them in a magical bind–together.  But Kallan isn’t the only Harvester on Andi’s trail…

__________

Excerpt: 

Kallan wiped his sweaty hand down his jeans, hoping the shriek of the Medusa’s alarm shutting off hadn’t wakened her. He didn’t want her prepared for an attack. He’d prefer to kill her quickly and get the hell out. He could be back in Baltimore by supper tomorrow with the amulet in hand for Uncle Ari to destroy, ending the protective spell for the rest of the Medusa’s descendants.

He touched the doorknob, felt the locks disengage beneath his hand, then turned the handle and swung the door wide.

Silence greeted him, and he took that as a good sign. No creaking came from upstairs, as there would be if she’d wakened. Good. Nevertheless, he stepped inside cautiously, listening hard. He took another step after a few heartbeats, trying to remember just where the kitchen table and chairs stood from his limited view the day before.

He made it past the furniture and paused to listen again. Still nothing. He frowned. With the power off, the house was too quiet. Surely the sudden and complete silence would wake her, even if she hadn’t heard the brief noise of the alarm shutting down. He slid one foot forward on the smooth wooden floor, and suddenly she was there. Fiery pain shot up his left arm. He grunted, realized she’d stabbed him deeply. He swung his other hand up, managing to hit her on the side of the head.

She cried out but didn’t go down, swinging her blade again. He caught her wrist, but she managed to get another slice to his already-injured forearm before he yanked her arm behind her.

Her booted foot connected with his knee—hard—and he bit back a string of curses at the pain, but didn’t let her go. Why wasn’t she barefoot? If she’d been sleeping, she should be barefoot. His left arm was nearly useless, blood pumping steadily from his wounds, so he crowded her up against the nearest surface. The refrigerator. He shoved hard, hearing her moan when he twisted her arm a little more.

Her blade hit the floor between them. She kicked backward again, and her foot hit his knee from the other side this time.

“Dammit,” he muttered, flattening her between his body and the appliance’s cool metal surface. His arm burned, warm blood dripping from his fingers.

“Get off me, you murdering bastard,” she said, her words slurred slightly from her face being mashed into the refrigerator.

“Well now, that’s not very nice. Especially since I’ve never murdered anyone. Yet,” he added darkly, tightening his grip on her wrist. The bones in her arm were fragile and he was fully aware he could crush them, render her arm as useless as she had his. But he didn’t. He wasn’t Stavros.

“You’re not going to start with me, either, Harvester.”

Mouthy. He grinned at the back of her head. Even trapped and defenseless as she was now, she didn’t stop fighting, even verbally. He had to work to keep from laughing as she continued to threaten him. No one had warned him the Medusa would be talkative. Or soft, he realized when her bottom shifted back into his groin. He concentrated on breathing evenly when his nerve endings all came to life. He’d never imagined he might be aroused by the Medusa.

“Wh-what are you doing?” she asked suddenly.

Kallan realized he wasn’t moving—or most of him wasn’t. He shut his eyes for a second, clenching his jaw. Her ass now cushioned his throbbing erection.

“Hey!” She shrank closer to the fridge, making a soft sound when the move forced her arm higher behind her.

He shifted, easing her wrist a little lower. This wasn’t going at all as he’d imagined it. “Stop moving.” He forced himself to unclench his jaw.

“If you think I’m going to make it easy for you to kill me, Harvester, you have another thing coming.” She didn’t stop wriggling.

Growling, he flattened her completely between his body and the refrigerator again.

She froze, and he could feel her pulse beating crazily in the wrist he still held. Fear? He imagined that was one cause. Anger too, probably.

He doubted she was having the same unexpected reaction to him that he was to her.

Not that it was a bad thing that she wasn’t suddenly aroused, too.

He just needed to stop thinking about it.

Concentrate on the task at hand.

Kill the Medusa.

Feel how soft her ass was against him. If he shifted his hips just a little—

No. He growled again, and she shifted, just as he’d imagined so her softness cradled him even more.

“Get off, Harvester,” she whispered.

“Stop calling me that.” He hated hearing it from her lips for some reason. Yes, it was what his name meant. It was what he was destined to do. But the contempt in her tone… He didn’t like it at all.

As though the Medusa had room to be contemptuous of him.

“It’s your name.” Her voice was stronger now, as if she’d somehow sensed his unexpected inner struggle. “Why shouldn’t I use it?”

“You won’t be alive long enough to worry about it.” He ignored her behind against his groin for the moment and took a slow breath, trying to remember his plan.

Get in, find her, kill her, get the amulet, and get out.

Well, his plan was not going very well at all.

He didn’t want to be the first Harvester in so many generations to finally find the Medusa and then fail at his job.

__________

Buy: Samhain:   http://www.samhainpublishing.com/book/4883/hunting medusa

About the Author

Elizabeth Andrews has been a book lover since she was able to read.  Almost as long as she’s been enjoying great books, she’s been attempting to write her own.  When she found her mother’s romance stash as a teenager, it was a natural progression to write romances.  Along with her enormous book stash, she lives with her husband of twenty years, two young adult sons, and belongs to two cats.  When she’s not buried in her personal library, writing, or at the day-job, there’s a garden outside with flowers, herbs and vegetables that requires occasional attention.

www.ElizabethAndrewsWrites.com