I love doing flashback highlights! It’s not only a reminder to you but also to me of the many stories I’ve written. Did you know before I wrote bounty hunters that I had this entire series of SEAL-hero stories? Read an excerpt from the second “Uncharted” book!

Enjoy! ~DD

   

   

   

Click on the covers to learn more about these stories!

Contest

Win your choice of one of my Uncharted SEALs stories! There will be 2 winners! All you have to do to enter is answer me this…

What author’s older series have your recently discovered and devoured? Spread some love!

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.

Excerpt from Her Next Breath…

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.

SAMAEL is the first book in the Blackwell Brothers’ Redemption trilogy, featuring three brothers with a very interesting job—they’re reapers.

Being the sons of the Grim Reaper comes with expectations, and their father is not happy at how they’ve been conducting business. He’s given them each an ultimatum— learn to reap with compassion and do the job to his standards or face eternal exile. Stranded in the town of Redemption with limited powers and money and no way to communicate with the outside, they’ll all play the game, reap the soul, and return to their normal lives. It’s a straightforward plan—until they meet their assignments.

Samael
Blackwell Brothers’ Redemption, Book 1

Love her. Protect her. Reap her soul.

Samael Blackwell is the son of Death—and he’s officially out of chances. After centuries of reaping souls with zero regard for the rules, his father sends him to the dead-end town of Redemption. With only a few hundred bucks and the clothes on his back, Sam has one last shot to prove he can do the job right: reap with compassion or lose everything.

It should’ve been easy. Find the soul. Finish the job. Walk away.

Then he meets Adrianne Sharp.

She’s strong, guarded, and hiding from a past that refuses to stay buried. The connection between them is instant—and impossible. Because Adrianne isn’t just anyone. She’s his assignment.

And her soul’s on the clock.

To win back his old life, all Sam has to do is watch her die. But what if the cost of redemption…is her?

He was sent to end her story. But she just might rewrite his.

An excerpt…

He pushed into a seated position and got his first glimpse of himself. It wasn’t only his watch that was gone. He no longer wore his custom Tom Ford suit and hand-tooled Italian shoes. In their place were worn jeans, a plain white T-shirt, a battered leather jacket, and boots that had seen their best day a decade ago.

He pushed himself upright and brushed the dirt and debris from his clothes. Raking his fingers through his hair, he scanned his surroundings. There were trees everywhere, not a high-rise to be seen. A huge crow swooped down and perched on a nearby branch, cold black eyes staring directly at him.

“Malaki. Why am I not surprised the old man sent you to spy on me?” Crows were often employed as messengers between the land of the living and the realm of the dead. Malaki was his father’s companion, his personal assistant, as it were. “You tell him I’ll play his game, and I’ll damn well win.”

*~*~*

Want to read more? You can find SAMAEL here:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F2SDQMVF/
B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/samael-n-j-walters/1147212495
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/samael-13
iBooks: https://books.apple.com/us/book/samael/id6743937757

About the Author

N.J. Walters is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who has always been a voracious reader, and now she spends her days writing novels of her own. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, assassins, time-travelers, seductive handymen, and next-door neighbors with smoldering good looks—all vie for her attention. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it.

Visit her at:
Website: http://www.njwalters.com
Blog: http://www.njwalters.blogspot.com
Newsletter Sign Up: http://eepurl.com/gdblg5
Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/N.J.WaltersAuthor
Twitter: https://x.com/njwaltersauthor
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/NJWalters
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/author/njwalters
BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/n-j-walters

UPDATE: The winner is…Deb Robinson!
*~*~*

I’ve never been one to believe in superstitions. At least, not until I really started thinking about common ones and what happens when I encounter one. I never walk under a ladder, I’m very careful with handling mirrors, and I spent years studiously avoiding stepping on cracks in the sidewalk, hearing the old superstition reciting in my head: “If you step upon a crack, you will break your mother’s back.”

These superstitions are ingrained in our culture and have been for centuries. Doing genealogy research on my family, I came upon a story from one hundred years ago about my great-great-grandmother getting all the way to the train station before realizing what the date was. She’d packed up her trunk with all her belongings, ready to move to another relative’s home half a state away. Upon hearing that it was Friday the 13^th, she turned to her daughter and said, “Take me back home. I’m not traveling today.” My husband’s grandmother studiously changed direction if a black cat even hinted at crossing her path, fully embracing another common superstition.

Thankfully, I don’t subscribe to other common superstitions. I don’t have a lucky pair of underwear or socks that I have to keep gross to accomplish things. If it comes down to washing the luck out of a pair of dirty shorts, I’m happy to remain unlucky! This brings me to my latest short story published in an anthology of stories from eight authors entitled Romance is a Drag: A Queer Anthology #1. “Jake’s Tryst” takes place in Los Angeles, following the budding romance between a soccer superstar and a local drag queen.

Jake Cavegn is superstitious, believing he can only perform well and win by abstaining from alcohol and men during the playoff season. With a championship win under his belt, he can finally let loose and consider a hookup now that the postseason is complete. His team goes out to Tossers, a bar in West Hollywood, to watch a drag show. Olivia Tryst captivates Jake with her performance, and after a drink, Jake takes Olivia home for the night. While he enjoyed the night with Jake, Brodie Rossi, Olivia Tryst out of drag, doesn’t do repeats, preferring a one-night-only performance with hookups. Jake’s persistence inspires Brodie to take a chance and date him, but Brodie’s branding as the family screw-up keeps his guard up.

Can Brodie accept Jake’s superstitions into the next playoff season, and can Jake open Brodie to the possibility of a lasting relationship? Find out in Romance is a Drag, now available on all platforms.

Links:
Universal Link: https://books2read.com/u/mvGOkq
Amazon US: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Romance-Drag-1-Queer-Anthology/dp/B0F1HX3M1V
Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/romance-is-a-drag-shane-k-morton/1147012142
Queer Romance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/book/romance-is-a-drag-anthology/
Add it to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/229150671

Excerpt:

“When’s your next performance?” Jake asked, focusing on Brody. He still had some makeup on, highlighting his cheeks and eyes.

“Thursday night. Momma Belter has us booked for drag queen bingo at a senior center in Weho, and then back at the club.” Brody set his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his hands. “Friday is Genderfuck and Saturday is Pageant. Category is…” Brody paused.

Chloe, their waitress, returned with two pints. “Here you go. Food should be up soon.”

After she left, Jake stared at Brody. “What’s the pageant theme?”

“Sports Star Realness.” Brody took a sip of his cider.

Jake laughed. “You’re kidding.”

Shaking his head, Brody set his glass on the table. “Serving up glamorous sporty looks for the new millennium.”

“What are you wearing for that?” Captivated by Brody’s descriptions of what he had in mind, Jake marveled at his sheer creativity and ingenuity.

“I haven’t decided on the Saturday look yet. It has to slay on the runway but be free enough to perform in.” Brody frowned. “I don’t know much about sportsball. Not that the other queens do either, but I plan to win the competition.”

“Competition?” Jake asked, surprised at this aspect of performing.

“Tossers is paying out five thousand dollars to a charity of the winner’s choice. Pride House needs every penny it can get.” Brody’s face hardened, determination shining from his eyes. “I plan to win for them.”

Jake had never been hotter for anyone. Not only insanely talented and gorgeous, but Brody also worked for a charity that literally saved young people’s lives.

“I could help you if you want.” He winked at Brody. “I happen to know a lot about”—he air-quoted—“sportsball.”

His eyes lighting up, Brody leaned forward. “Yeah?”

“Sure,” Jake said, thoughts of Brody in slutty versions of jerseys and shorts flashing through his mind. “I have some stuff you can borrow if you want to come home with me tonight.”

Brody frowned, but before Jake could say anything, Chloe returned, carrying their dinners.

“Here you go, folx.” She placed the plates in front of them. “Get you anything else?”

“Everything looks great,” Jake said, giving her a smile.

Brody nodded but stayed quiet.

“Enjoy,” she said and strode over to another table.

“Like I said, I don’t really do repeats,” Brody said quietly. He poured the dressing over the salad, not looking at Jake.

“Niall’s gone for a few days.” Jake stabbed a cherry tomato with his fork, undeterred. “We’d have the place to ourselves.” He popped the tomato into his mouth.

Brody placed his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his wrist. “I can’t have attachments.”

“Consider it another hookup,” Jake said. “I have some awesome cheese for an omelet in the morning.”

Raising a brow, Brody seemed to warm to the idea. “What kind of cheese?”

“It’s an herbed asiago.” More confident, Jake leaned in. “It came from a local farm, and the flavor is fantastic. I’d be happy to share it with you.”

“You make it hard to say no.” Brody frowned again. “This has to be a no-strings-attached arrangement.”

“I can work with that,” Jake said. “Although, you’ll have to return the gear I loan you.”

Brody relaxed and picked up his fork and knife. “Okay.”

****

Contest

For a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card, share whether you have any superstitions!

About the Author

Brent Archer was born in Spokane, Washington, and lived there most of his adolescent life. At 18, he left for Seattle to attend the University of Washington for Electrical Engineering. Quickly, it became apparent that he wasn’t wired for the required science and differential equation classes, and so he switched his major to International Studies with a minor in History. After graduation, he pursued an acting career in musical theater and dance. Once thirty hit, however, he decided to focus on numbers, getting a certificate in accounting, and became the Financial Controller of a non-profit arts and music organization.

Though writing most of his life, he never thought to submit his work for publication. In 2012, he visited his cousin Delilah Devlin in Arkansas, and she prodded him to write a story and submit it. So, he did, and it sold right away. With the encouragement of Delilah, his other writing cousin Elle James, and his husband, Brent embarked on a writing career. He’s loving the journey, finding inspiration and a story everywhere he goes, whether it be the local coffee shop, driving through each of the United States, or riding the train to explore the world.

UPDATE: The winners are…Roxie Jones, Steph, and Debra Guyette!

*~*~*

I’ve told you all before that I love my Montana Bounty Hunters. From the first stories in the original series set in Bear Lodge, MT, I tried hard to make each of the bounty hunters individual rather than cookie-cutter characters with different names. I loved devising unique takedowns because they’re fun to write, and they showcase who these men are. I especially loved writing Hook because I got a chance to take a deep dive into the research to make his disability real and still make him sexy as hell. I hope you enjoy his story!

Hook

MONTANA BOUNTY HUNTERS: Authentic Men… Real Adventures…

Former Army Ranger, Dylan “Hook” Hoecker, has a new job along with a new prosthetic arm. Being a bounty hunter is the closest career field he could find as a civilian that gives him the adrenaline rush that is his addiction. So, when his first solo assignment is to keep an eye on a flight risk the boss bonded out of jail, he’s not thrilled. However, he soon discovers a fresh addiction—one mouthy, nerdy redhead, who resists his attempts to keep her out of trouble.

Felicity Gronkowski is grateful for the bone the head of Montana Bounty Hunter threw her. She didn’t have the money to pay for bail, but he has a soft spot for former military, and she bartered to install a new computer system in his satellite office in Bear Lodge. Being on the outside of jail was her first imperative because she has to figure out who framed her for a series of high-end robberies while she worked installing home security systems. However, her bounty-hunting babysitter isn’t giving her any slack. Every time she thinks she’s given him the slip, he’s one step ahead of her. Either she has to find the perfect method of distraction to escape him or she has to enlist his help to clear her name.

Contest

Are you all caught up reading the original Montana Bounty Hunters series?

For a chance to win a download of one of the stories you may have missed
(I’ll pick three winners!), tell me this:
I am currently thinking about stories to add to my MBH Yellowstone series. Do you have any ideas for fun stories or perils my hunters might face in Yellowstone?

Here are all the Bear Lodge Montana Bounty Hunters! Yes, it’s an old meme, but do you really care? 

MONTANA BOUNTY HUNTERS: Bear Lodge, MT
Authentic Men… Real Adventures…
Reaper: https://amzn.to/2NztLpv
Dagger: https://amzn.to/2zo6Dav
Reaper’s Ride: https://amzn.to/2KKkisI
Cochise: https://amzn.to/2zq4avV
Hook: https://amzn.to/2UrpyYh
Wolf: https://amzn.to/2yUTjr5
Animal: https://amzn.to/2H4Roob
Big Sky Wedding: https://amzn.to/33GprwK
Quincy: https://amzn.to/2QlleM8
Brian: https://amzn.to/2ZV8m2G

Excerpt from Hook:

Dylan “Hook” Hoecker had no problem keeping pace with Dagger and Cochise as they raced along the dark alleyway, following the skip they’d tracked to a gun shop in Libby. Scooter James had made the crew the moment Dagger entered the premise. Perhaps it was Dagger’s burly physique that had tipped him off, or maybe he was just nervous having three intense-looking dudes enter the store, but he’d run for the back exit.

No, Hook’s legs had never been an issue. He ran like the wind, easily leaping over a barrel Scooter dumped on its side, hoping to trip them. Beside him, Dagger cursed, and Hook couldn’t help smiling as the big guy went down. This skip was his. When he reached the end of the alley, Scooter veered left and ran through a stand of motorcycles, tipping over one, which sent the rest slowly falling like dominoes. Bikers sitting at outdoor café tables nearby rose and filled the street, shouting and moving toward their Harleys, forcing Cochise and Hook to push past them.

Cochise went down when one biker stuck out a foot, perhaps angry that their chase had scratched his ride.

Hook waved his prosthetic arm, which, sometimes, had even those who weren’t so tight with the law pausing and giving him a break. He didn’t mind one bit using his disability to give him an advantage. He shouted out a “Thanks, man,” when one biker rolled his bike forward to clear his path.

Now, it was just him following the slap of Scooter’s Adidas on the pavement. Hook paced himself, forcing himself to keep his breathing even so he’d outlast his target. He didn’t use every bit of his strength to close the gap, because he knew he’d need anything extra to take the fucker down once he began to slow.

In his mind, Hook thanked his physical therapist, who’d concentrated on helping him make the adjustment to his new circumstance, learning to use his prosthetic, but who also continued to meet him on the track three or four mornings a week to make sure he worked out the rest of his body to help, not only keep him toned for the work he did, but to keep his dark moods at bay. Raydeen Pickering was a hero in his mind, because she went the extra mile for every man and woman she accepted into her treatment program.

Ahead of him, Scooter ducked into another alley.

“He’s turned again,” he said, knowing the others could hear him through the radio in his earpiece. “Left, into an alley.”

“I’m behind you,” Cochise said. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”

“I’m cutting through another alley. Will try to get to the street before he does,” Dagger said in his ear.

Hook went left and entered an alley lit by a single golden bulb at the back door of a restaurant. He ran past rank-smelling trash bins and plastic bags but didn’t see his mark ahead. “Don’t see him,” he said, and then slowed and turned.

Something dark swung at his head, and he held up his right arm to deflect the blow from a two-by-four from a pallet, no doubt. But the board hit plastic and metal and bounced off. Hook swung under it with his left, catching Scooter in the chin. Their target dropped like a sack of rocks across a row of trash bags lined up on the dirty, smelly pavement. Read the rest of this entry »

UPDATE: The winners are…Kerry Jo, Beckie, and Debra Guyette!
*~*~*

After yesterday’s excitement, it’s hard to concentrate, but…back to work!

I know many of you come to my website to read my daily blog, but have you fully explored the many stories I have ready for you to consume? Have you read a short story written by me? I’ve written short stories that have appeared in many Cleis anthologies and stories that appeared in Penthouse Magazine. Do you remember those with the sexy, cute cartoons? Yeah, “Tailgating“ was one of those. I’ve written short stories that appeared in my own curated anthologies, my Boys Behaving Badly stories. I love writing them. Most often, they’re not connected to anything else I’ve written. They’re a chance for me to experiment. One theme that runs through all of them is a deep eroticism. So, if you’re into sexy stories, look no further. 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!

Click on the covers to read more about these stories!

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…

I stepped out of the shower onto chipped and cracked aqua blue tiles with grout so dingy it was hard to tell what color it had been. Not that the bathroom was dirty, thank god. Just old. Like the rest of the 60’s-built motel I’d found on the little back country road.

I toweled my hair then shook my head like a dog, not caring where the droplets landed. It wasn’t a mess I’d have to clean up. For one last night I could be irresponsible, messy, even if it was only in a small way.

I draped the towel over the edge of the old white tub and sauntered naked into the small room with the double bed. It smelled of tobacco and industrial cleansers. The bedding looked clean if a little nappy from wear, but I peeled back the quilt-top and tossed it on the floor anyway. Pristine white sheets beckoned.

Just as I lay back, sighing with relief, sounds from outside the room jarred me from my happy haze. Tires squealed, masculine laughter bellowed through the thin walls, and car doors slammed.

I sighed and stared at the bared rafters above me. The laughter faded. I reached across to flip off the switch to the nightstand lamp with its yellowed shade. Lying in the darkness, I willed my body to relax, one limb at a time. I’d driven three hundred miles that day. I’d have gone another fifty for a decent hotel, but the shorter route my Garmin had found led me through narrow two-lane roads deep in the Ozark Mountains. I doubted I’d have found anything nicer.

I should have stuck to the Interstate, but I’d wanted to shave some miles. Little did I know that the route would keep my foot busy pushing on the gas pedal then the brake the whole way. Exhausted, nerves shattered, I’d seen the crooked Vacancy sign outside the Cedar Inn and made my decision on the spot, swerving into the empty gravel parking lot. Not until I’d opened the door to my tiny, musty room did I have second thoughts about my decision. But how bad could it really be? I’d turned on the swamp cooler set into a window frame and felt my hair frizz instantly.

Not that I’d really cared. There wasn’t anyone around to impress. Other than the clerk at the front desk, a skinny, twenty-something redneck with puppy dog eyes, the place was deserted. I’d shivered a little bit at the thought, double-bolted my room door and checked the locks on the remaining window. Visions of the shower scene from Psycho didn’t put me off taking a long, lukewarm soak to wash away the road grime and sweat.

The cooler purred, spilling muggy air into the room. The sheets felt clammy. Still, I grew calm as my body warmed the sheets beneath me, then a little horny when I wondered if the room might have little peepholes for the clerk to watch me. He’d been cute if a little skinny. I wouldn’t mind if he watched—at least not in my fantasies. Who knew how long it would be until I felt comfortable enough, private enough to indulge in a little one-handed play when my grandmother slept in the room next to mine.

I slipped a hand between my thighs and lazily trailed my fingers through my cleft until my breath caught and heat pooled. I raised my knees and let them fall open, tilted my hips and thrust two fingers inside my pussy. I wasn’t in a hurry. I wasn’t even that eager to come. The motion soothed and excited, allowing my mind to let go of my troubles—the firing, the break-up, the move to my grandmother’s house—and focus only on the pleasure curling deep inside my core.

When the blare of a TV sounded from outside, I had third and fourth thoughts about my decision to stop here for the night. What the hell? Why had someone moved their television set outside rather than watch in the seclusion of their room where the sound would be somewhat muffled.

I gritted my teeth, swung my legs over the side of the bed and reached for shorts and a tee, slipping them over my nude body and the keys in my pocket before I stomped to the door and flung it open.

Not that the two men sitting on the truck noticed me—at first.

Under the single flood light that illuminated the parking lot, I noted the construction company logo on the side of the pickup backed up to the door of the room beside mine. Then I eyed the large men seated on the sides of the truck bed, their shirts gone, faded jeans stretched over thick thighs. Their attention was glued to the basketball game, blaring from the small screen of the TV they had set in the bed of the truck on top of a white ice chest. They held Budweisers in their grips.

At last, one of the men’s heads turned. He spotted me then whistled at his friend. Soon both their gazes peered down.

I felt foolish standing in my bare feet with my wet hair spiked around my head. Why hadn’t I simply put a pillow over my head to muffle their noise? But I was testy. Moody. I’d lost my job, had a blow-up with my boyfriend over the fact I wouldn’t be splitting rent with him for a while, and cut my nose off to spite my own face by breaking up with him. Homeless now, I had no options. Grandma’s in Little Rock was my last resort.

Tonight would be my last night of freedom before I moved under her roof and abided by her rules. She’d pay the bills—if I knuckled under and went back to school. Something I resented after being on my own for a couple of years, living by my rules.

Which might have been exactly why I remained, rooted to that spot. The men seated on the truck would never meet Grandma’s high standards.

Sweat gleamed on their naked chests and both of them were thickly muscled and a little dirty—as though they’d come straight from work without the benefit of a shower.

The shine only served to emphasize the depth of the musculature and their starkly masculine features. Their tanned, leathery skin stretched across cheeks and jaws that were sharpened to rough edges by hard work.

Both their gazes homed on me, and while I knew the smart thing would have been to retreat without a word to my room and relock the door, I tilted my chin and thrust out my chest. “Can’t you watch the game in your room?”

“We botherin’ you, sweetheart?” the one closest to me said, sliding off the truck to land in front of me.

I peered a long way up and frowned into the face tilted my way. We stood close enough I could see the bristles of his evening shadow. He wore a ball cap that shadowed his eyes, but glints of blond hair shone beneath it. “It’s late. I was trying to sleep.”

“It’s not that late,” he drawled. “Join us for a beer?”

I glanced behind him and noted the grin on his buddy’s face. He was bare-headed with shaggy brown hair and a devilish quirk to his firm lips. The game seemed to have lost its fascination. Their gazes drank me down like I was long cool drink.

UPDATE: The winner is…Ani!
*~*~*

Besides my series, I have written some very sexy standalone stories, too! I forget about them because I’m so busy trying to keep up with series, but I shouldn’t. In fact, I should go back and look at my workplan because I deserve to write something completely fun and one-off!

If you haven’t read the books below, now’s your time to peruse, and I’m including an excerpt from one of them so you can sample some of the fun. Several of them are menage stories, so if that’s your thing, be sure to check them out!

Contest

For a chance to win your choice of one of the books below,
tell me which of these covers appeal to you!

  

  

  

Click on any cover to learn more about the story!

More about Saddled…

Riding double never felt so fine…

When Bobby Blackhawk and Cale Yancey see a car slide off the highway and into an icy creek, they’ve got only minutes to get the beautiful driver out alive — and just one way to save her from hypothermia: take her to their isolated cabin, get naked…and hope like hell that when she wakes up, she doesn’t scream the place down.

When Katherine Duvall opens her eyes in a strange bed, the tingles flooding her body aren’t entirely due to thawing. She’s snuggled between two handsome, naked men — one a gruff, gentle giant, the other a sexy, playful Native American. Having just left her cheating fiancé, she’s not quite as shocked as she might have been. In fact, these two lonesome cowboys could be the perfect bookends to satisfy her hunger for revenge and bolster her dented self esteem.

With all of them bent on seduction, it’s not long before they melt the snow on the cabin roof, and soon, the threesome finds something else is melting, too. Their hearts…

An excerpt…

Bobby Blackhawk shook his head as the taillights of the little Beemer just ahead flashed red again through the falling snow. Sure enough, as soon as the driver crunched the brakes, the tail end of the car began to slide on the snow-covered ice.

“She’s gonna go right into the river if she keeps that up,” Cale Yancey muttered beside him.

They’d been following the car for the last ten miles, inching down the lonely highway. They’d already figured out the car wasn’t using snow chains, and the driver was too stupid to know she was skirting on the edge of real trouble.

“Why are you so sure it’s a woman?” Bobby asked.

“Can’t drive worth a damn.”

“Love for you to tell Lacey J. that.”

“Lacey’s not like other women.”

Now, that was an understatement that had them both sharing lopsided grins, considering how well Lacey had proven that point the previous weekend.

“Sure could use me a little of her lovin’,” Cale said, sounding wistful.

The last trip into Wellesley, Colorado in anticipation of snow blocking the mountain pass had been a wild, lust-packed two days. With a lonely winter facing them, they’d both taken Lacey up on her offer of a threesome that was sure to keep the two men growling like hungry bears for the next two months, impatient for the thaw so they could get back down the mountain.

It was a good thing they’d discovered long ago that they were compatible in ways that would make most men blanch, otherwise the wait to make it back into town would have been unbearable. Neither was squeamish about helping the other out; however, both preferred emptying their passion inside the wet, snug passage of a woman. If the woman happened to be obliging, like Lacey often was, they didn’t mind sharing.
Both vehicles climbed the last long hill right before the men’s turnoff and another half-mile beyond to the highway, tire treads biting into fresh snow.

“She might make it,” Cale said, sounding doubtful.

“Think we better follow to make sure?”

The car ahead made it to the top of the rise, and then the brake lights flashed again.
Cale cursed. “Wish she’d quit doing that.”

Rental company plates on the back of the car explained a lot about the aptitude of the driver. “Doesn’t know she should just gear down and take it slow.”

They reached the top, and Bobby geared down. Sure enough, the driver up ahead hit the brakes again, and the rear of the car slid sideways. As though watching a movie in slow motion, both men held their breaths, hoping the woman would gain traction at the last moment, but one rear tire slid off the edge of the road and then the right front followed. With tires spinning and brake lights flaring bright, the car slipped slowly down the hill and into the creek.

“Not good,” Cale said tightly as Bobby pulled into the snow bank at the side of the road and left his emergency lights flashing. Just a precaution since there wasn’t much of a chance of anyone coming up on their rear end since the road crew had been taking the barriers off the truck when they’d passed.

Bobby slammed the car into park and climbed out, following Cale as he slid on his ass down the hill. They paused at the water’s edge, staring at the vehicle, both knowing one of them was going to have to get wet.

Water was midway up the car door, and the driver had rolled down her window. Blonde hair peeked beneath a black knit hat. Terror-stricken blue eyes peered at them through the falling snow.

“Ma’am, can you get yourself out?” Cale shouted.

“I think so,” she said, her voice tight and quavering.

“If you can crawl out your window, we can help you the rest of the way.”

“I’m getting wet. It’s cold.”

“Gotta move now, sweetheart,” Cale said, his tone gentling the same way it did when he worked with a fractious horse. “You wait another second, two of us are gonna be in trouble.”

“My purse. I can’t find it.” She turned in her seat, reaching into the back of the car.

The car bobbed on the water, and for a moment, Bobby thought it might break free and start floating. “Lady, leave it,” he shouted. “You don’t have time to look.”

“But my money—”

“Not gonna spend it if you’re dead.”

She bit her lip, and then her face screwed up as though she was going to start crying.

“Fuck sake,” Bobby muttered, stepping past Cale and stripping off his coat. “I’ll get her out. It’s gonna be up to you to get us both up that goddamn hill.”

I’m excited that Tempting the Black Wolf, the final book in the Lone Wolf Legacy series is now available. You’ve met the white and gray wolves in the first two books of the series—Taming the White Wolf and Protecting the Gray Wolf. Now, it’s time to meet the black wolf.

Tempting the Black Wolf
Lone Wolf Legacy, Book 3

I am an immortal predator, driven to hunt and protect the wolf packs from danger—especially rogue wolves. This destiny is my blood, my bone. My will.

There are two other lone wolves—one grey, one white—but I am the strongest. The most powerful. And we all share an enemy, who set a trap for each of us: a woman with our coloring, who will draw us into danger, and make our wolves howl with need.

But I won’t give into lust or passion.

I already know the face of the woman who is my supposed bait: a stunning and powerful mage named Onyx. We’ve been circling each other, wary, fueled by deeply intense attraction and fierce distrust.

But the enemy of my enemy is my ally…for now. It’s a brief truce, laced with raw, primal hunger.

Because when this is over—if we survive—we’ll have to go head-to-head one last time.

And I never lose.

An excerpt from Tempted by the Black Wolf…

The alarms and security cameras in the castle were no deterrent. As a mage, it was minor magic for her to disrupt them, but she hadn’t had to make the effort. They’d been down when she arrived. He’d beaten her here. She prayed he didn’t have the exact location of the journal.

Going as fast as she dared, she whipped down the hallway, staying near the walls when possible, doing her best to avoid the glow from the dim security lights. No need to make herself a bigger target than necessary.

The black wolf might kill her on sight or he might not. There was no way to determine his course of action, and she didn’t want to risk it. A battle between them would not be a quiet affair and would attract attention, something she desperately wanted to avoid.

Slamming her back against the wall, she closed her eyes and lowered her head, pulling in every vestige of her magic until there was a void, a dead space around her.

“You may as well come out.” The deep masculine voice penetrated the very cells of her body, demanding that she obey.

Digging her nails into her palms, Onyx fought the compulsion. She wasn’t ready to meet him face-to-face. Already her blood was humming and she was beginning to sweat.

“You’re stealthier than most, I’ll give you that, but I’m better.” No conceit, simply a deep understanding of who and what he was.

You can do this. There really wasn’t any other choice. If she tried to run, he’d be on her in a heartbeat like the predator he was. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the room. The library with its floor to ceiling shelves filled with priceless and rare tomes took a backseat to the man standing in front of the stone fireplace.

At almost seven feet tall, Dagen Kern was an intimidating sight. His jet black eyes tracked her from head to toe, missing nothing. She fought the urge to shuffle her feet and instead met his assessing gaze with one of her own, conveying a sense of detachment that was a lie. His black hair fell to his shoulders in a silky curtain that tempted a woman to run her fingers through it to see if it was as soft as it appeared. A long-sleeved black shirt was snug against muscular arms and broad shoulders. Black pants and boots completed his ensemble. They were dressed almost identically. She’d added a cape for extra protection against the chilly winter air and had shoved her distinctive red and black hair under a knitted cap.

“So you’re the tool destined to bring me to my knees.” His cynical smile chilled her blood. He’d already judged her and found her wanting. It stung deeper than she’d anticipated, stabbing vulnerable and tender spots inside her. She swallowed back the sense of inadequacy, of never being good enough. This was not the time to fall back into old habits. She’d worked too damn hard for her independence. She was nobody’s victim but a strong mage in her own right.

Tilting her chin up, she gave a curt not. “You know I am.”

Want to read more? Find Tempting the Black Wolf here:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DDJCJJG7/
Entangled Publishing: https://www.entangledpublishing.com/books/tempting-the-black-wolf
B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/tempting-the-black-wolf-n-j-walters/1146192600
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/tempting-the-black-wolf
iBooks: https://books.apple.com/us/book/tempting-the-black-wolf/id6642709646

Taming the White Wolf and Protecting the Gray Wolf are also available:
Series Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CTKCDR77/

About the Author

N.J. Walters is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who has always been a voracious reader, and now she spends her days writing novels of her own. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, assassins, time-travelers, seductive handymen, and next-door neighbors with smoldering good looks—all vie for her attention. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it.

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