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His Every Fantasy releases in most places next Tuesday! Some of you nag me to write longer stories. Well, here’s one. Sure, Amazon’s being a butt, which hasn’t helped readers find it or the one before it one little bit. But both are here (almost) for my friends to enjoy. Everything you love is there—sexy, Alpha, ex-SEAL, Black Ops guys; suspense; some light, BDSM to get your heart thumping; steamy Louisiana bayous; hot merciless Mexican sun, Caribbean sea…
But before I show you all the reasons why you will love this story, I’d like to remind you about its prequel novel, Her Only Desire. Enjoy a brief taste!
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“Her Only Desire is a red hot erotic romance that wow’d me, shocked me, and left me wanting more of Tilly, Boone, and his hunky ex-Navy SEAL friends… I was really quite impressed by Delilah Devlin’s writing style. Erotic/BDSM novels can be pretty intense, for obvious reasons, but she managed to inject both a sense of humor and a thread of mystery to this story.” ~ 4 1/2 Stars from Harlequin Junkie
A Sultry Summer Nights Novel
The moment Tilly Floret sees the sleek Bentley driving down Main Street, she knows trouble has arrived in her sleepy little town. A mysterious job posting keeps appearing at the diner where she works, and she can’t resist applying. No matter that the entire town of Bayou Vert is whispering about the wealthy, powerful man behind it all and his scandalous return home. The moment his ice-blue eyes meet hers, he ignites an all-consuming desire she never imagined possible, one she can’t deny.
Ex-navy SEAL Boone Benoit never thought he’d set foot in Louisiana again. As soon as Tilly starts her new job in his pleasure club, he senses a kindred soul. One who has carefully guarded secrets of her own-and a simmering hunger for the taboo rites of mastery and submission. The only difference is she doesn’t yet know it. Now as Boone tutors Tilly in the tantalizing world of leather and lace, she will shed her every inhibition and surrender to him, body and soul.
Excerpt…
“Tell me, Tilly. What do you think BDSM is all about?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” she said faintly. No way would she describe the images in her mind.
“Blunt talk. You were ready for that from me. Give me the same courtesy.”
Her fingers were clasped tightly in her lap. She drew a breath and let her gaze fall away. “I think it’s for people who haven’t learned to connect with others in a healthy way. Or who have something missing inside themselves.”
He stayed silent for a moment, his expression shuttered. “Are you open to the possibility that entering that world can help a person find what’s missing in their lives?”
She raised her gaze and gave him a frown. “Maybe that’s what you choose to believe about me, but twisting my words doesn’t make it true.”
“What do you think might be missing inside me?”
She shook back her hair and lifted her chin. “Like I said. Connection. Being forced to leave everything and everyone you knew behind can’t have been easy. You were the high school football star. On the honor roll. Everything was ripped out from under your feet.”
“So, you think my lack of control over what happened made me seek the ultimate control over my body and someone else’s?”
Her chest pinched, and she sucked in a deep breath before she gave him a nod.
His gaze studied her. “Does that thought disturb you? Surrendering control to someone else?”
“I can’t imagine trusting anyone enough to allow them to tie me up and do whatever they want. It’s dangerous.”
“It can be,” he said, nodding. “But creating fear in my submissive is never my goal. Inspiring trust. Giving pleasure. Helping her discover her own potential for pleasure and submission… Now, those acts are things that excite me.”
A shiver worked its way down her spine, although whether from what he described or the silky tone of his voice, she didn’t know. A knot lodged in her throat, and she swallowed hard. “What did I do to make you think I might be like…that?”
His grin was easy, startling, and at odds with the stern set of his jaw. “You gave me your foot.” He leaned over the table, his eyes alight with humor. “You didn’t want to, but you were curious. The action, lifting your foot, put you physically off-balance. You, Tilly Floret, gave yourself over to me.”
Her breath hitched. The memory flashed in her mind and she remembered the jumble of sensations and emotions that simple action and his care had engendered in her. “All you did was slide a shoe on my foot. I wasn’t acceptin’ anything else from you.”
“You let me touch you,” he said softly.
She blinked. A subtle tell, she realized, because his crooked smile widened. His eyes narrowed as he studied her face. His expression was…expectant, his body unmoving. “Can I show you it’s not all about whips and chains?”
The silkiness was still there in his tone, a teasing quality that tugged at her willpower.
“Will you allow me to show you that surrender can be subtle and beautiful? That the lifestyle isn’t really about sexual perversion at all?”
Maybe the wine was to blame for her body’s reactions. Her skin tingled, flushing hot. Her nipples tightened. She shifted on her seat, squeezing her thighs together, because the timbre of his voice, so deep and smooth, felt like a physical caress.
He leaned closer. “We’re alone. Just you and me. Answer me.”
She cleared her throat, shaking her head slightly, a halfhearted gesture because her body was already leaning toward his. “That’s a lie. You have people all around us. For all I know, you have this courtyard filled with bugs and cameras. Observin’ people is your business. The way you live.”
“True, but only my most trusted are here. They won’t intrude. Or ever speak about what they see or hear.”
Tilly drew in a deep breath. “And that’s supposed to reassure me?” Her eyes narrowed. “Are the bedrooms wired?”
This time he blinked, and her back stiffened. She’d paraded around nude after her shower, while she’d sifted through clothing to find the most flattering outfit.
His mouth tightened a fraction. “The cameras are for your protection, you know. You entered my world willingly. This is one of the prices.”
She remembered the way he and Serge had watched her on the flight to Monterrey. Certainly his large, rugged next-in-command was one of those overseeing her “protection.” Renewed irritation tensed her muscles. “You expect me to learn to be comfortable knowin’ your men watch me?”
“I expect you to learn to take comfort from the fact that I’ll keep you safe.” He said, his words slightly clipped.
Tilly’s shoulders drooped. Suddenly, she felt weary. “At what price?”
Boone leaned back and set his napkin beside his plate.
A door opened onto the patio and a servant walked to the table and took their dishes.
When the woman’s dark-eyed gaze rose to Boone’s and he gave her a nod, Tilly snorted. Not just for her protection or his. For his comfort and amusement as well. He didn’t have to ring a bell to bring the staff. All he had to do was give a subtle signal, placing his napkin beside his plate, to bring someone running.
“You’re entitled to your anger,” Boone said, his voice once again soothing. “But please stay for dessert. Marta will be disappointed if you don’t try it.”
“I think I’ve had enough,” she said quietly. Right this moment, the only thing she wanted was to run as far away from this man as she could.
“If staying would please me, would you? A taste is all I ask.”
And he wasn’t talking about the dessert. She was certain of that.
The door opened again. The woman, Marta, brought out a tray. She set down plates with molded flan and half a dozen raspberries beside the custards. Then she left again as quietly as she’d come.
The chair across from hers scraped.
Her pulse raced as Boone carried his chair and his plate toward her. But she didn’t move. She couldn’t. Her damnable curiosity kept her frozen in her chair because she was dying to know what he intended to do next. If he moved close enough to touch her, would she have the will to resist?
He sat the plate beside hers, his chair as well, and then leaned back. “The fact that a table separated us gave you courage,” he murmured.
“Now you want to intimidate me?” The quaver in her voice matched the trembling in her body.
“No, I want to be close enough to you that I won’t miss anything.”
Close enough that he couldn’t help but note how flushed her skin was or how her erect nipples pushed against the front of her thin bra. Pretending she didn’t care, she lifted her chin defiantly.
Boone gave her a half smile and leaned toward her. “Indulge me?” he whispered. “I promise I won’t do anything that will embarrass you.”
She met his steady gaze, her fearless pose unraveling because he was so close she felt the heat from his thigh right beside hers.
“Tilly…close your eyes. I want to feed you.”
She searched his expression, carefully neutral except for the slight curving of his mouth. He was teasing her. “This is silly. I feel silly.”
“Indulge me. We’ll both enjoy the experience.”
Huffing a breath, she closed her eyes. Not trusting him for a moment, but she’d let him play his game. Fact was, she enjoyed the intimacy of sitting so close to him. She liked the way he smelled: like cinnamon and male. Liked the heat emanating from his body.
“Open your mouth.”
She complied, opening like a baby bird waiting for a worm. At that thought, she wrinkled her nose. Then she tasted the metal bottom of a spoon on her tongue and an explosion of sweetness as she closed her mouth around the flan. She groaned in ecstasy.
“Open.”
She opened again and received a second spoonful of the sinfully delicious dessert—creamy, smooth, sweet like caramel.
“Open.”
This time, she didn’t hesitate. But a spoon didn’t enter her mouth. Instead, two fingers, tasting slightly salty, deposited a raspberry on her tongue. She shivered, fighting the urge to close her lips around his fingers as she had the spoonfuls of flan.
A fingertip dragged across her tongue as it left her mouth. She bit into the berry, tart, sweet, and salty exploding on her taste buds.
“If we were lovers,” he said beside her ear. “I’d take advantage of the fact you can’t anticipate my moves,” he whispered. “Open.”
Without a thought, she did, and his finger daubed flan on her tongue. The taste was even better than before without the metallic aftertaste of the silver spoon.
“I’d open that clasp and part your pretty dress. Open.”
Again, his fingers entered her mouth, dropping another raspberry. Her breaths grew ragged. Her heart raced.
“I’d thumb open the clasp of your bra and expose your pretty breasts. Open. No talking.”
She was just about to ask how he knew her breasts were pretty. How had he known? The thought of cameras entered her mind and for the first time, they didn’t horrify her. They became part of his seduction.
Flan, again, was delivered by two fingers.
The urge was too strong. She latched her lips around them and sucked.
His breath gusted against her cheek.
Not as steady as before.
She almost smiled.
He withdrew his fingers. “Open.”
She did. And this time, a hand cupped her cheek and tilted her head back. His lips touched hers, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. She could taste the flan on his tongue and she swallowed greedily, taking him even deeper inside her mouth. An arm settled on her shoulders, turning her slightly. The kiss deepened.
Flan, wine, raspberries—none tasted quite as wicked as Boone Benoit’s mouth. His lips sealed hers. When he began to move, dragging her lips in slow circles, she was helpless to follow his lead, drugged by the sensual tug.
When he drew back, she licked her lips and slowly opened her eyes.
His blue eyes gleamed. “There’s pleasure in submission, Tilly.”
Between 2002 and 2008, I was highly involved in Romance Writers of America (RWA). For few years, I was on the local chapter board and served as the events coordinator for a couple of those. I loved my monthly meetings and the connections and relationships it fostered. And friendships. I went to our local biannual retreat and attended multiple nation conferences, traveling across the country to Dallas, Denver, Reno, New York, Atlanta, San Francisco.
For those of you who don’t know, I have interests other than writing my own stories. Years ago, my sister and I decided we wanted to do something to share what we’d learned about the writing biz because we’d bumped along the hard way without much support. The publishing industry is cruel enough. Why not offer writers a place where they can hone their skills before they enter the fray? Why not give them a safe place to ask questions and make friends?
