Your Kink is not My Kink

Hi everyone. My name is Lynn Townsend, and Delilah’s been so kind as to let me guest with her today. I really appreciate the opportunity. I have a story entitled “Big Trucks” in her upcoming anthology, Smokin’ Hot Firemen. It’s been exciting to work with Delilah, as I’ve really enjoyed her work. I wrote “Big Trucks” in a fever of excitement in about three days – I found out about the CFS maybe a week before it was due – because my uncle, several cousins, and my grandfather were all volunteer fire and rescue.

I’m loud and proud about being an erotica writer. If someone asks me what I do, I tell them. My family – some of whom are excessively conservative – all know. I’ve been really upfront; they’re welcome to read my work or not, approve of what I do or not. I honestly do not care. As a note, if you’re a friend of mine, I never, ever expect you to buy my books just because you know me. I won’t ask you about it. If you tell me you bought it, tell me you liked the story, great, I’m happy to run my mouth, but I am never going to put you on the spot about it. You don’t have to like my work just because you like me.

Which leads me nicely into my topic of discussion for today;

Your Kink is not my Kink.

I’ve had a couple people come up to me, eyes all shifty, and whisper, “Do you really like that stuff… bondage and spankings and stuff?” Usually they’re referring to my story in Lustfully Ever After, “Garden Variety,” which is sort of bondage-weird.

The entire stalk shuddered, forcing her to wrap her arms around it, holding her balance.  “Liked that, did you?”

The vines around her shifted, moving, enclosing her.  Thick coils wrapped around her thighs, forming a swing, spreading her legs.  Her feet left the tentative safety of the stalk and Jackie was cradled in the air, supported only by the vines and leaves.  More vines looped over her arms, encircling her wrists like manacles.

Gentle tendrils, like fingers, explored her body.  She groaned, arching against the containment of the vines.  A vine twined in her thick blonde hair, tugging, prickling against her scalp.  More vines formed, touching her, caressing.  Jackie writhed, helpless against the overwhelming sensations.  Vines wrapped themselves around her breasts, tugging at the sundress until it was shredded, baring her skin.  The tendrils, like fingers, rolled her nipples, teasing them firm and taut.

The vine in her hair pulled, arching her spine, drawing her head back to bare her throat.  A tendril snaked up her leg, nuzzling at her soft, sensitive inner thigh.  Jackie shrieked with sudden wanting, her hips bucking against the maddening, seductive caress.  The tendril teased, achingly gentle, rubbing against her suddenly molten clit, drawing moans and whimpers from her mouth.  It tickled around her feminine folds, exploring, teasing, withdrawing each time she felt the tension building across her shoulders and chest.

Jackie cried out, thrashing against the vines that held her mostly immobile.  Her breasts ached, nipples hard, as the vines twined around the round globes, squeezing and teasing the tips to rosy peaks.  She could barely move as the vines tightened, pulling her thighs apart and her arms up, stretching her to every sensation, beyond her capacity for thought, leaving only molten desire, tinged with frustration.

“Please, please,” she begged, cresting up towards relief, then pushed back again as the vine between her legs slowed its relentless torment.  Slow and easy, the vine stroked her clit, plump and wet.  It flicked and squeezed, rubbing, caressing.  Jackie grew hot, her muscles shaking and contracting desperately.  Sweat beaded across her forehead, along the column of her throat.  She panted for breath, air burning in her lungs.  A final spasm and she shattered into a million pieces.  Cries of rapture and relief forced from her throat as she came, shuddering intensely.

Confession time: I adore a genre of Japanese animation (called anime) that’s referred to as hentai. (Hentai is a kanji compound that essentially means “sexually perverted”.) You can look it up, if you care to. It’s pretty strange and often very non-consensual. And I love it. Tentacle perversions, girls who can only orgasm if their sisters are touching them, demon sex ninjas, raising Lucifer from hell in an all girls’ school…. I watch yuri and yaoi (lesbian and gay erotic animation… yaoi actually translates to something like “goes nowhere, does nothing.”)

Despite my deep delving into perversion – some of which comes through in my work, as it very much did in “Garden Variety” – I also have some sexual hang-ups. (Humans are just weird.)

I don’t like anything food-based. The idea of someone drizzling honey or chocolate sauce, or whipped cream onto me and licking it off? Ug. It makes my spine crimp up and I get all cringe-y. And that’s considered a pretty mild kink, as far as kinks go. I hate being sticky. Hate it, hate it, hate it. Over the years, I’ve managed to work myself up to tolerating flavored lubes, but that’s probably as far as I’m ever going to get.

But just because in my real life, I would never, ever, I have a strange fascination with reading or watching other people do things that I wouldn’t. Shokolada is a wonderful guy I met a few years back at a sci-fi convention. He’s an amazing cross-dresser. He keeps his beard, I’ve never seen him in make-up, and doesn’t try to “pass” as a woman. He just likes wearing dresses and has the most awesome legs I’ve ever seen. Tina freaking Turner wishes her legs looked that good. Wow.

Anyway, Shokolada (https://chocmess.com/mess/)  runs a website that talks about the sexual fetish, WAMming, Messy Play, Sploshing. Whatever you want to call it, it’s generally a pie upside the head. I would not really be amenable to participating in this particular fetish, either on the giving or receiving end.

But man, I’ll tell you, I can’t stop reading about it. It fascinates me. Reading about it can get me feeling all twitchy and wanting someone to kiss and pet me. Just, don’t put pudding in my ear, ok?

His kink is not my kink. But his kink is okay.

No judgement here. I wouldn’t want to do it, but I’m certainly glad that other people do!

And that’s what writing erotica is about; finding what you like. There’s certainly a lot of stuff out there.

And the most important thing to remember is, just because you don’t like it, that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Humans are weird.

When I’m not guesting at someone else’s site, I can be found at my own blog, Paid by the Weird, (https://paidbytheweird.blogspot.com/) or on Facebook  (https://www.facebook.com/LynnTownsendwriter) generally being obnoxious.

UPDATE: I’m short entries, so I have to extend the deadline! Earlier is better as I will start reading and selecting beginning March 1^st, but if I don’t get what I need, I will hold out for a few great entries until March 22d.

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I have a brand new call for short story submissions for a collection that will be published by Cleis Press. It’s the follow-up to Cowboy Lust! Please pass the word along to all your writer friends. The deadline’s the first of March, but if you get the story into me early, there’s a better chance I’ll have time to read it and give you the opportunity to make changes, if it’s not quite what I need. ~DD

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COWBOY HEAT
Editor: Delilah Devlin
Publisher: Cleis Press Deadline: March 1, 2013

COWBOY HEATis open to all authors.

Editor/Author Delilah Devlin is looking for hetero cowboy stories for a romantic erotica anthology tentatively entitled COWBOY HEAT. Read the rest of this entry »

Good Morning! I’m so excited to be blogging here today.

When I first sat down to write this story, I never believed I could take a very short story and spin the plot out to where it is today. In the past few years, I’ve learned that what you plan on writing out doesn’t always turn out as expected. In the beginning, Amara and Marisol was a f/f story with no plans on adding a hero to the mix. Out of nowhere this strong male who met the females through The Delightful Kitten made an unforgettable entrance that couldn’t be oppressed. My sweet heroines found in him the mate who could complete them emotionally, and physically. I’m excited to have readers take a journey into the world of the Kanima and into the lives of three unique individuals, one who fought tooth and nail most of the way.

Amaranta Costa uses her Kanima as an avoidance tactic, until the one person she cherishes most is taken from her. When Gavin Ford enters the fray uninvited, she’s forced to accept the help of his pack to find her mate.

Trusting others isn’t her forte. Though her inner jaguar accepts him hands down, the woman in her fights his dominating, take-control nature. Unlike Marisol’s soft personality, Gavin’s wolf challenges her at every turn. She can find no escape. His abrasiveness both sets her on edge and pleases her. She finds being in Marisol’s arms isn’t enough; the all-consuming need to be his burns to her core. There’s no denying the chemical attraction arcing among the three of them.

Will she reach out, and accept the love and support waiting for her?

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Mari flicked a gaze between them and nudged her, leaning down to whisper in her ear. Amara jumped so fast at her words their heads collided.

“That fucking hurt. You have a head made of steel, Amara.”

“Damn it. Baby, I’m sorry. You surprised me. I can’t believe you think I’m interested in him,” she hissed low, offended by the accusation.

“You’re acting funny. Really odd. I’ve never seen you behave this way.”

“Drop it, sexy. I don’t want dick.”

“Keep on lying to yourself,” Mari volleyed back. Amara barely heard the last few words out of her lover’s mouth.

“Marisol.” Amara growled. “Drop it now.” Damn crazy woman goaded her into anger. Seeing the red haze begin to cloud her vision, she took a few calming breaths to shove her jaguar back in place.

“Ladies?” Gavin moved to come between them.

“Back off, mongrel.” Amara turned her body to the side, shoving Gavin with all her strength away from them. The bulk of his large frame crashed into the wall, knocking knick-knacks onto the floor. Draven and Theron both rose, she assumed to intervene.

“Kitten, sheath your fucking claws.” He extricated himself from the raining sheetrock and paint to stalk over to her. Rage sparkled in his eyes. He reminded her of a Berserker. Not good. Her calculations told her she could take him and win. The accuracy of such thoughts, when balanced against her ego, said otherwise. “No, you didn’t just call me some ridiculous, endearing term. We’re fighting right now. Stupid dog.”

“Oh, shit.” Mari squeaked and slid from her arms to Draven’s. Amara’s jaw dropped open. Her girlfriend wasn’t going to rub her back and calm her down. Instead, she took a front row seat. Heat suffused Amara’s face. By the look of things, the lapdog brothers of his stayed back, intent to watch, not interfere. In a dark alley on an equally eclipsed night, she’d find herself worried to go up against him. He drew his body larger with every step he took toward her. Amara quaked in her boots, not from fear but from the new awareness sparking within her. A feeling she didn’t like one bit.

Her heartbeat danced a new cadence as she fought between darting away and standing her ground. So what? A little plaster is good for a person. She curbed her rampant thought.

“We don’t have time for this. There’s a madman loose. I must hunt.” Hackles raised, she backed up a step for each one he took closer to her personal space. Gavin could easily reach out and shake her like a rag doll but apparently chose not to. She had no idea what his aim was or how to strategize a way out of venting his anger. Her gaze honed in on the growing bulge in his pants. When he turned from her and walked over to Marisol, she sucked in a deep breath, a sigh of relief. He murmured something to her girlfriend and she nodded her head yes to him.

“What are you two conspiring to do?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Gavin snapped her way, baring his fangs. He pivoted, heading in her direction, his jawline twitching.

Every assassin knew all entrance and exit points in a house. In the position she found herself against the far wall, nowhere to go, her only way out was to fight. I don’t want to hurt him.

Where her traitorous thought came from, she hadn’t a clue. He drew closer to her by taking larger steps than her small ones away from him. His scent hit her nose and her jaguar paced under her skin. Her pussy began to throb. To ache. Gods, the slight twinge intensified, bringing her to her knees. On wobbly legs she rose to stand her ground, defiant, her claws unsheathed for self-preservation. Her mouth salivated, wanting a taste. His eyes glimmered in amusement. She watched him trace his bottom lip with his tongue. Her nipples hardened from the sensual act. A brief thought of what his lips would feel like grazing along her skin flitted through her mind.

“What are you afraid of?” His coarse question broke through the erotic thoughts stream-lining in her head. The second he stepped close enough to cage her body between the walls and his chest, she faced self-truth.

“You. Me.” Her second word was lost to their audience as his mouth crushed down on hers and she was taken in a tailspin of sensations. His possession dragged her into an abyss of dark pleasure. Anger never tasted so good. She heard herself moan and couldn’t stop herself from running her hands up his chest, her body leaning into his for more. Gavin angled his head to part her mouth with his tongue. The taste of him sent shards of electricity to pulse between her thighs. Her needy cunt creamed. Startled by his effect on her, she struggled to break free, and realized she’d just become an active participant in Gavin’s kissing game, with her mate as audience in the room with them. Guilt overwhelmed her and she panicked. Gavin nipped her bottom lip between his teeth and bit. The look on his face told her they were by no means finished yet. He gave her one additional suckle, let go, and pushed off the wall out of her close proximity. Like a beast guarding his territorial rights, she watched him scowl at the additional members of his team who’d come in at an inopportune time, including some she-bitch to the right of the room, whose attitude hit her full blast.

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Contest:

I have a wonderful Satin and Steel coffee mug and keychain to give away. Comment with your email address for a chance to win. For additional chances, like me on facebook and follow my twitter @hales300

Author Bio:

Being smart and sassy with a great sense of humor comes easily for Mahalia Levey. An avid reader of books, she found herself enchanted with disappearing completely into the worlds authors created. One day she vowed to herself she’d be one of them. Then family life came, and college right after. Swayed from her childhood course of action, it took many years for her to get

back to that place she held dear as a child. Now she is running full steam ahead to keep up with the many ideas flowing freely. She plans on taking her work to higher levels and expanding her genres. Her main focus is giving her readers variety. Her works in progress include paranormal, fantasy and mainstream romance. Taking characters and watching them grow past what she’s imagined is her true passion.

www.mahalialevey.com
www.facebook.com/mahalialevey
www.twitter.com/hales3000
www.goodreads.com/mahalialevey

Psst! Don’t forget! The Merry Christmas to You Contest continues!

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I never considered myself artistic. I can’t draw convincing stick figures. I can’t arrange pinecones to look like anything other than grubby pinecones stuck in a bowl. When I discovered I could write, I figured that was all the artsy goodness I had inside me. My mother is the artist of the family. She paints in water color and oil. Lovely things. And she belongs to an art guild. Well, I joined because she can’t drive at night and thought, well since I’m going to be there…

I’m not even sure how it started, but watching other folks who claimed they weren’t artistic, but were willing to experiment to find something visually creative they could do, inspired me to try as well. I’m a jewelry hound. So naturally, when I discovered Etsy, I combed the sight and found some things I wanted to try. I began with domino and scrabble tile altered art pendants. With paper, rubber stamps, alcohol ink blotches, glue, glitter, jewels, and tons of patience, I’ve made pendants I actually love wearing. And I’ve sold them to other people!! Talk about encouragement—someone else likes what I do! Then I branched into metal stamping and glass fusion. Nothing that requires that I draw a straight line, but I have discovered I’m terrific with color and layering things together. Now, I’m looking at crocheted and beaded bracelets.

I finished this domino pendant yesterday. This one’s very simple. Just paper and glitter.

If you’re on facebook, you’ve likely seen other pendants and decoupage projects I’ve worked on. My daughter’s been there every step of the way, and shared the journey. We’ve found something we love doing together, and we’re constantly conspiring to create new things.

Finding balance between the writing and jewelry-making is becoming a new challenge. For the longest, writing was all I thought I wanted to do. Who knew?

So what about you? Do you enjoy arts and crafts? Don’t tell me you don’t have
that gene. Is there something you’ve thought about trying?

Oh! And this is something simple too. A way I am able to blend my writing and crafty worlds together. I’ll be giving these away when the book releases end of January:

Fedora is the winner! Congratulations! ~DD

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Sandra Jones’s Casting Couch

I’m so excited to be a guest on Delilah’s blog. We’re in the same RWA chapter, and I can tell you, she’s a fabulous lady.

I’ve been writing the first draft of a new historical, and I’m spending countless hours online researching to get all the historical details correct. By day, I’m a librarian, so I find research half the fun anyway—I’m just weird like that, I know!

One thing that I can’t resist is finding pictures of actors who best fit the characters I envision. My current hero is based on a fairly popular actor, so finding pics of every angle and expression he wears is a breeze. Admittedly, I’m kinda crushing on him…but I think we’re all supposed to fall in love with our heroes at least a little. J

If I ever sell one of my stories for a movie, I’d be tempted to offer a few suggestions for the stars. For my casting couch, I’m looking for men who look great in chainmail, kilts, or cravats. Think Mr. Darcy, William Wallace, or Lancelot. Would the actor look alpha in a ruffled, unbuttoned shirt? If so, he’s my guy! Here are a few of my current obsessions:

Taylor Kitsch
Joe Maganiello
Gerard Butler
Ian Somerhold

Who would you want to see on a casting couch? Leave a comment for me on Delilah’s blog, and I’ll give one commenter a copy of the ebook!

The Author

Sandra Jones is the author of sensual historical romances. She worked as a bookseller and as a librarian, where she indulged in her love of old books. When not researching or writing, she enjoys being with family, reading, and watching British TV. A self-proclaimed history geek, she currently lives in a 1905 Greek revival home in the Mississippi Delta.

Sandra loves to hear from her readers: visit her website www.sandrajonesromance.com or on Twitter: sjonesromance Facebook or Pinterest

Sandra’s latest is HER CHRISTMAS KNIGHT, a medieval romance story included in FIVE GOLDEN RINGS: A CHRISTMAS COLLECTION, available in ebook now from Avon Impulse and in paperback in January.

FIVE GOLDEN RINGS

by Sophie Barnes, Karen Erickson, Rena Gregory, Sandra Jones, Vivienne Lorret

The holidays are a time for wishes, magic and, of course, love. Celebrate the season with this delightful collection of Christmas tales. What better way for Connor Talbot, Earl of Redfirn, to spend the holidays than convincing Leonora Compton that the only match she needs to make is with him!

The Duke of Ashton has had three years to plan for his perfect Christmas present—the Lady Eleanor Fitzsimmons as his wife. Now, all he has to do is convince the reluctant lady …

Phin Baldwin does not believe in Christmas magic … until the clever and beautiful Ginny Overton gets it into her head to show him how wonderful it can be when wishes come true.

Just returned from the Crusades, marriage is the last thing on Sir Caerwyn’s mind. But will he be able to resist Lady Nia, the thief of his boyhood heart, when she tempts him yet again?

Responsible Ethan Weatherstone is determined to save Penelope Rutledge—and her reputation—from her silly scheme, but can he save himself from the temptation of her lips?

Excerpt

He stepped away, leaving her still half-swallowed in the unfastened chain mail. God but she still stirred him, even dressed in pounds of armor. The shapeless form forced his eye to her beautiful face and made him long for the rest of her body hidden beneath. “Aye, you’ve become an excellent rider, skilled with a lance. But underneath all Padrig’s trappings, you’re still female.”

“I practice at the quintain more days than not, and I’m a good horsewoman. There was no combat in the event, so I was never in any danger. You must admit I convinced you.” Her face brightened and she stood straighter. “I’m sure you would say it was Serena’s influence again. Just like three years ago, the last night in our keep, before you left. You and I were to meet. When you arrived I wasn’t alone…”

His chest tightened. He’d kept the memory at bay for too long to let her remind him. He barked, “Now you want to tease me! Aye, you deceived me today, and you betrayed me then. What point are you trying to make?” Mayhap she enjoyed pushing the knife deeper into his heart.

 “Caerwyn, you’ve never believed me, but I’ll say it again. I’ve never been with another man. Look,” she turned her back to him, gathering her braids in one hand and twisting them up to hold on top of her head. “Do I look like a woman from behind now?”

“You know you do not.”

“I practice in mail often. My father disapproves, of course. Serena’s worn it only once. In armor, she would look like a man from behind, don’t you think?” She moved closer to the bed, took hold of the thick banister. When she glanced over her shoulder at him, the sight of her posture, so sensual, so seductive, yet so unpracticed…sweat glistened on his brow.

“Aye. I suppose…”

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A huge happy holidays to everyone, and a special thanks to Delilah for having me here so I can talk about my latest release, One Dom To Love. It’s the first of a new, super-sexy serialized tale called the Doms Of Her Life, about one tempestuous woman thoroughly in love with two men and their fight to see which Dom will come out on top. These characters are very special to me, and I had SO much fun writing this with my co-authors Jenna Jacob and Isabella LaPearl. We hope you enjoy them, too.

Since it’s December, and I know some of you are probably a little chilly (don’t even get me started on how much I hate winter), I thought I’d heat you up with a little blurb and excerpt from the book:

Raine Kendall has been in love with her boss, Macen Hammerman, for years. Determined to make the man notice that she’s a grown woman with desires and needs, she pours out her heart and offers her body to him—only to be crushingly rejected. But when his friend, very single, very sexy Liam O’Neill watches the other Dom refuse to act on his obvious feelings for Raine, he resolves to step in and do whatever it takes to help Hammer find happiness again, even rousing his friend’s possessive instincts by making the girl a proposition too tempting to refuse. But he never imagines that he’ll end up falling for her himself.

Hammer has buried his lust for Raine for years. After rescuing the budding runaway from an alley behind his exclusive BDSM Dungeon, he has come to covet the pretty submissive. But tragedy has taught him that he can never be what she needs. So he watches over her while struggling to keep his distance. Liam’s crafty plan blindsides Hammer, especially when he sees how determined his friend is to possess Raine for his own. Hammer isn’t ready to give the lovely submissive over to any other Dom, but can he heal from his past and fight for her? Or will he lose Raine if she truly gives herself—heart, body, and soul—to Liam?

EXCERPT

Raine drew in a shuddering breath. “You heard my argument with Hammer. I’m not very good at being submissive, I don’t think. When I lose my temper, I’m awful at controlling what I say. I mean to be good… I think I’m doomed to disappoint you.” For whatever reason, that thought nearly made her cry again. Her throat closed up. Embarrassment stung. “For my own selfish reasons, I want to say yes. But you’ve been beyond fair. I can’t be less so. The truth is, I probably can’t be what you want or need.”

He smiled gently. “We’ll never know unless we give it a whirl. I’ve the desire and patience to help you. What have you got to lose, lass?”

Hammer was already lost to her. “Nothing, I guess.”

“Precisely. We’ll have an enjoyable battle of wills, you and I. I promise, you’ll not be bored.”

A tremor passed through her when his broad hands surrounded her waist. This man could never be boring, not when he ignited every red-blooded cell in her body with a single touch.

“Take a chance, Raine,” he coaxed. “Have you not shed enough tears from these lovely eyes? You could do worse than a big bastard like me.” He chuckled, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “I’d try my best to make you feel good about yourself and the two of us together.” Read the rest of this entry »

The winner of the free download of this story is…Tawania! T, email me!

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“…ARCTIC DRAGON is a captivating fairytale…” ~ Two Lips Reviews

“…Delilah Devlin is an awesome author who knows how to get a reader’s attention and keep them coming back for more…Ms. Devlin has written a fantastic story that explodes right off the pages…” ~5 Angels & Recommended Read, Fallen Angels Reviews

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 for him to resist and that he’ll endanger her when 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. 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 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, and he found the doe digging with her hooves to uncover whatever she could still forage beneath the 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!

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 horndog for noting generous curves beneath her dark gold 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 a 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. Read the rest of this entry »