First, I’m going to spill the tea on myself. I published On a Red Horse, the first book in my Paranormal Romance Series titled Revelations, back in 2015. On a Pale Horse, the fourth and final book in the series, just released here in 2021. For a traditional publication this schedule wouldn’t be so uncommon…but for the indie market where readers value quicker turn out from their favorite authors, it’s ages.

I’d like to say I don’t know what happened to make me stall out so hard on OAPH, but I found the last book in the series to hold so much pressure. It started by re-reading the other books and marking them up by category (plot loops I needed to close, random character descriptions I’d forgotten) and by the time I sat down to work on OAPH I sort of froze up. Information overload. Sadly, a common occurrence with ADHD suffering folks like myself.

I’d put so much pressure on finishing the book, on getting it done, that I tricked my brain into thinking it was a much more momentous task than it really turned out to be. Will my readers love the end? Dang I hope so. Will this happen to me again? Probably. Can I overcome it? Absolutely.

We live in unprecedented times right now. No matter where you stand in the world things are not running at your usual normal. So I wanted to take a tiny moment to give you permission to extend yourself some grace. Give yourself a hug, make yourself some tea, and know that when accomplishing something is difficult, take a minute and you’ll figure it out.

And cue segue into talking about OAPH. In this book, Hades (yes that one you are thinking of) wants to move his relationship to the next level with his long-time partner, Death (the horseman of the apocalypse – but she’s a lady). So, against a backdrop of lots of end of the world shenanigans, Hades enlists the help of Death’s (Cloris’s) ex-girlfriend, Persephone. And obviously, sparks fly all around.

See what I did there…I needed to finish my book…Hades needed to finish er…well…anyway.

Here’s a bit of an excerpt for you to try out…

Hades made coffee with shaking hands. They quaked so hard; he had to press them into the cold granite countertop to steady himself. He would have finished it with Cloris last night. He wanted to. He needed her in a way he couldn’t express. And yet, she still held back, still feared hurting him, or that he might equate her with Hel. He swallowed the flash of images that rose to his mind at the thought of Hel’s name and focused intently on making his espresso.

He hadn’t been able to stop the flashbacks, but he was learning to deal with them. A couple years ago, he even started therapy, but not a soul knew that other than his therapist. They’d been working through his imprisonment. Obviously, he’d changed the story for a human audience, and it had been helping. Now he couldn’t figure out how to convince Cloris he was ready for her. And he feared making her wait a thousand years for him had threatened whatever future they might have together.

Moments like this made him want to be human.

People’s reactions to him unsettled him, and Cloris had stopped reacting to him within weeks of them being locked together as horseman and seal. So, he could barely get a read on her in any situation. Hell, she could have stopped wanting him ages ago and simply maintained a façade to avoid conflict. Cloris would fight when it came down to it, but she did not enjoy conflict. If Cloris got involved, it would be to put a stop to whatever was going on.

Charon, the middle-aged, hulking former boatman, shuffled into the kitchen in his bunny slippers, and Hades handed him a mug. “I already made it,” he said, pointing to the pot.

Charon narrowed his eyes at him

“What? I can make coffee,” Hades said in a huff.

The man stood and waited, and when Hades poured the coffee, Char gave a satisfied nod before wandering away. Charon had nowhere to go once the Underworld changed into Hel’s realm. He considered himself a servant of Cloris and Hades, but they never saw him that way. Occasionally, he’d play security at the club since his shoulders were the width of most doorframes and his height unsettled most. Other than that, they left him to his devices, which included Netflix binges of Gilmore Girls and reading Manga.

It was a simple arrangement. Cloris entered the kitchen past Charon and squeezed his arm on the way. She stopped dead in front of Hades and eyed his hand holding the coffeepot.

“Did you make that or did Charon?”

Hades suspected they didn’t like his coffee. “Charon did.”

She raised one perfect eyebrow, calling him out on the lie without a word.

“Fine. I did. What’s wrong with my coffee?”

“Nothing at all, My Love.” She grabbed his mug off the counter and took a sip. “One just needs to brace for impact when drinking it.”

*~*~*

The Revelations Series is now complete and Books One through Three are all on sale until the end of the week. The first book is FREE!

✨ Book One ✨ On a Red Horse ✨
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Free this week only!

✨Book Two ✨ On a White Horse ✨
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$0.99 this week only!

✨Book Three ✨ On a Black Horse ✨
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✨Book Four ✨ On a Pale Horse ✨
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BRAND NEW RELEASE!

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Thank you and don’t forget to take a moment to breathe!

Rawhide: Cut the Cards

It’s a card game like you’ve never played before!
Rawhide is back!

Have you been missing the trips to Rawhide, the ultra-exclusive BDSM club on the northwest side of San Antonio, Texas? Well, it’s time for another trip, and this one has a few twists. First of all, the club has a new Dungeon Master. His name is Reulas, and he runs a strict establishment. Nothing is barred as long as you follow the rules. Secondly, he has sanctioned the introduction of a new card game called “Cut the Cards.” Each card pictures some form of BDSM activity. The sub cuts the cards then draws a certain number. Any cards that picture acceptable activities are set to the side; those that are not are replaced in the deck. After the sub has made her/his choices, then the Mistress or Master makes their choices and…the game is on!

Rawhide: Ace in the Hole

Cut the Cards
Kelly LeBlanc was hot and aroused at being selected as part of a demonstration for Rawhide’s members and guests. A card game for sex? What fun! But then she meets the Dom, Tanner Sloat, and finds all her wildest fantasies are about to come true.

Blackjack
He was everything Nia March ever dreamed about in a Master. As he takes her to levels higher than she’s even been, touching something deep inside her, she wonders if she can protect her heart.

Texas Hold ‘Em
Sage Drummond thought she’d never recover from the effects of a relationship filled with cruelty, but she craved the role of sub. When she tentatively dips her toe in the waters at Rawhide, the last thing she expects to find is a Master who will satisfy her needs as well as heal her heart. Can it last?

Dealer’s Choice
Cade Sullivan was one of the most in-demand Doms until a tragedy sent him hiding from the world and out of the D/s life. Working at Rawhide gives Fiona Wilder the urge to try the D/s life. Can she be the key to help Cade forget the past and build a life with a sub that is all his?

Two of a Kind
They each bring their baggage to a night at Rawhide that is supposed to be nothing but fun—a night of intense D/s play. Neither is prepared for the intense connection they make or how it will change their lives.

Get your copy of Rawhide: Ace in the Hole here!

And a snippet from Cut the Cards…

Tanner Sloat was everything subs imagined Doms to be, power flowing from his body. It was hard to ignore the bulge at his crotch, and it had cream flooding the tiny crotch of her thong at the sight of it. Her nipples hardened, poking into the soft material of her halter. At once, she imagined herself on her knees in front of him, his cock on her tongue, her hands squeezing his balls. Would he spank her if he thought her performance lacking?

Oh, yes! Please!

She was instantly even more wet and needy, and he hadn’t even said hello to her yet.

When she looked up at Tanner, a tiny knowing smile flirted with the corners of his mouth and sexual hunger flared in his eyes. He raked his gaze over her slowly, taking in every inch of her. Now she knew what the phrase “undressing someone with his eyes” meant, because that was exactly how she felt. At that moment, if he’d told her to strip naked, get down on her hands and knees, and let him fuck her ass, she’d have done it without a moment’s hesitation.

Holy shit!

She swallowed and curved her mouth in a smile. “Welcome to Rawhide.”

He dipped his head once. “I can see you’re everything Reulas said you were.”

And exactly what was that?

“Tanner is just back from a tour of duty as a member of a Delta Force team,” Reulas explained.

Ooo-kay. So that explained the ripped body. She wondered if he had any interesting scars. Without realizing it, Kelly licked her lips.

“I picked up a little game while I was in…a different country,” Tanner said. “When I mentioned it to Reulas, it interested him. He suggested giving a little presentation to the members.” His eyes looked her over again. “From everything he told me, I thought you would be an excellent choice for a game partner. You enjoy exhibitionism, right?”

Did a bank have money? Heat sizzled through her at the idea of performing before this crowd with this highly sexual man.

“I do,” she answered. “Can you tell me what the game is about?”

He held out a deck of cards. “Take a look at these. The idea is each partner goes through the deck and removes any position or activity that they absolutely will not do. Then they go through them one at a time.”

“Of course, no one expects to complete the entire selection in one session,” Reulas added. “So each partner picks his or her top three and then they begin.”

Kelly cocked an eyebrow at him. “Your email sounded intriguing, and everyone is always looking for something new. I’m sure that’s why there’s such a big crowd tonight.”

Reulas nodded. “If I’d told them you were going to be part of the performance, we’d have been so crowded the fire marshal might have shut us down.”

“Reulas tells me you are a particular favorite.” Tanner’s voice rolled over her nerves like the electric wand she loved so much, sending sparks along the surface of her skin.

“He’s very kind. But I do my best to please.”

“As a good sub should.” He gave her a penetrating look that pierced all the way to her pussy. Her inner walls clenched, and she had to resist the urge to squeeze her thighs together.

“Why don’t the two of you step into the little alcove over there?” Reulas pointed. “You can select your cards. When you’re ready, I’ll get everyone’s attention and announce the beginning of the performance.”

*~*~*

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Depending on how long you’ve been reading me, you might not be aware of my naughty, nine-book, cowboy ménage series, Lone Star Lovers. All my sexiest fantasies are rolled up in those stories. Two cowboys, three cowboys, four… All that attention on one lucky girl… Heck, it’s not really fair, and there must be something in the water in Two Mule, Texas because there’s a whole lotta sharin’ goin’ on. 🙂

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Family Values

Three brothers competing for one woman’s heart learn the values of patience and sharing….

Angelina Flores lived a perfect ranch-kid childhood, complete with three princes on horseback who treated their housekeeper’s daughter like a princess. At age eighteen, the fairytale came crashing down when she realized she had to choose between Brand, Nate, and Eli McAffee. And when she did choose one—she lost all three.

She’s older now. Wiser, thanks to her college education and a few years’ distance. A distance she’d planned to maintain…until her mother begs her to fill in at the ranch while she takes care of a sick relative.

The minute her boots hit the front porch, the memories come flooding back, right along with the hunger. It’s tough to put the past behind her when temptation is so close. Especially since the brothers seem bound and determined to woo her. Separately. Together. Whatever it takes to keep her right where she belongs—in their arms.

An Excerpt from Family Values…

For Angelina Flores, stepping across the threshold of the MacAfee ranch house was a moment filled with both nostalgia and pain. The dull thud her boots made on the natural, planed-oak flooring was a familiar sound—and not one she’d heard anywhere else. The faint smells of beeswax and Pine-Sol mixed with the scent of the freshly cut roses in the Mexican crockery atop the rugged fireplace mantel. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine herself at ten years old, running with her muddy boots through the family room to tell her mother about her day, about the animals and the cowboys—her new friends, who’d let her ride behind them on their tall horses.

Her childhood had felt enchanted. And she’d had three handsome princes fawning over her, showering her with pretty clothes and dolls. Even then, she’d dreamed of growing up and having a fairytale wedding, and when they’d teased her and asked her which one she’d choose for her husband, she’d asked why she couldn’t choose them all.

How prophetic that now seemed. As, when she’d approached graduation from high school, two of the McAfee men had suddenly let her know of their individual interest.

Oh, she’d been flattered. And thrilled. Until the moment she’d realized she really would have to choose. Then she’d been filled with dread, because she didn’t want to hurt any of them, and she didn’t know how she could favor one over the other, especially when she was also interested in the third.

Angelina shook her head to rid herself of the painful memories and entered with trepidation, wondering what her welcome would be like once the brothers returned home. The last time she’d been here, in this room, she’d been led through it by a hard hand clamped around her upper arm. She’d been escorted crying and half-dressed back to her room off the kitchen, and then her door closed in her face.

The next morning, she’d been taken by the same hard-faced man through the back door to his Expedition parked beside the porch. The chill in the morning air not nearly as cold as his final goodbye at the Dallas airport.

She’d been eighteen, and the only place she’d ever called home was her home no more.

Angelina took a deep breath and stepped farther into the room. She set her suitcase on the floor beside her and tilted her head to listen for any sounds of movement in the house. Her mother had said the MacAfee boys were at an auction in San Angelo, and that she’d have the place to herself for the weekend, to acclimate and to shore up her nerves.

“Mama, you know why I can’t be there,” she’d said in the early morning hours, holding back her hair and squinting at the digital alarm beside her bed.

“I have no one else I can trust, mija. It’s been years. Things have changed. You have changed. No one will say a word about the past. Have I ever asked anything of you, Angel?”

Angelina’s shoulders had slumped. “I don’t know if I can go there,” she’d whispered.

“I know it will be hard, Angel. I know. But you must take my place and look after the boys while I am away. Do this for me, please?”

She’d taken a deep breath and gripped her cellphone harder. “How long? How long must I stay?”

“Your Aunt Cecilia is having a hysterectomy. I might be weeks.”

Angelina shook her head. Her stomach twisted in a knot, and sudden nausea made her skin clammy. “I’ll have to call my boss. Damn, he’ll probably let me go. I just started there.”

“Gracias, mija. You will see. You worry for nothing. The past is the past.”

But the past wasn’t so distant that she didn’t feel the same longing as she gazed around the room for dreams she’d shattered when she’d followed her heart to make the biggest mistake of her life. And she would never forget the shame.

After picking up her bag, she trudged toward the kitchen and beyond it, to the small bedroom that had been her own when she was a child and the world had seemed such a bright place, full of romantic possibilities.

But princes didn’t exist, at least not in her realm. And she wasn’t a starry-eyed chatterbox anymore, eager to sit on certain cowboys’ knees. She was a college graduate. Had her own job—maybe. Her own place. She’d made a life for herself. The fact she still felt pangs of loneliness late at night when she went to bed alone was something she’d eventually outgrow. Someday. And somewhere far from the MacAfee ranch.

A girl goes into the forest in search of a cannibal witch and comes out with a skull lantern full of magic coals.

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.

If you haven’t, don’t feel bad about it. Popular culture has been so thoroughly saturated with Disney-goggled fairytales, that anything outside the scope of televised fables naturally flies under the radar. Naomi Novik and Katherine Arden, among other fantasy writers, have been doing magnificent work bringing forth Slavic and Russian-influenced tales to the mainstream book market, but so much remains unexplored.

Especially within the realms of Romance and Erotica genres. Nobody likes a raunchy adaptation of Beauty and the Beast better than I do. But Little Red Riding Hood has been ridden by the Big Bad Wolf so many times, no wonder the poor dear can’t find her way to her Grandmother’s house.  I’m not saying these trusty, good old fairytales should be forsaken, gods forbid. But while Cinderella and Hansel and Gretel continue to fuel fine taboo tales, why not take a peek at another pantheon of fairytale characters?

There are damsels, there is distress, and sometimes they are coupled, but often in unexpected ways that make you raise your brow, thoroughly intrigued. (I’m looking at you, Marya Morevna! Who has the most powerful warlock in Russian folklore locked up and chained in one of their rooms? And why? I have so many questions!)

There are Bird-Princes, and Grey Wolves, and Baba Yagas, and clever, tough heroines that deserve a chance to shine.

I hope I’m doing my (small) part in the short story, “Vasilisa and the Tale of Tales,” published in the collaborative project Perfect Potions: An Anthology.

Interested in a sneak peek of “Vasilia and the Tale of Tales”? I’ve got you covered:

Suddenly, Lisa felt a chill run down her spine. Leaves rustled above their heads and she slapped a hand over John’s mouth to keep him quiet. But she could feel him tense as well, his body preparing for a fight, his heartbeat receding into a quiet drum. It’s been three years, but she was still attuned to the slightest shift of his body.

She tried not to think about his body.

The air was full of a new smell – feral fur, sweat, the scent of death, and endings. Softly, a rumble rolled through the treetops. Thunder, Lisa thought at first, but something was off. It was alive.

A purr.

And the sound of chafing chains.

“Carrion-eater,” John hissed.

“Skoromokh,” she whispered, her eyes trying to pierce the dark foliage above her.

She had never met one in person. Supposedly, one — or many — have visited her mother when Lisa and her sister were born. But mother never spoke of that.

All Lisa knew was common knowledge — they took many shapes, had sharp teeth and a silver tongue, and an uncanny tendency to appear when tales were about to start or end. They fed off tributes offered by hopeful or fearful parents, or, if no tribute was offered, on the dead bodies left in the wake of the Tale. They were the Order of Skoromokh, the Tale-tellers, the Witnesses. They took no sides but carried the Tales to the end.

The air hummed with static electricity, raising the small hairs on the back of her neck on end.

“I prefer Scholar Cat,” said a dark voice.

The voice was followed by the appearance of two rows of sharp glistening teeth stretched into an impossibly wide grin. Then, out of the darkness slowly emerged an enormous striped body of a feline. It sprawled along a branch high up in the tree, a golden chain looping from its neck all the way around the tree trunk.

“What are you doing here?” John asked.

The Cat smiled unpleasantly but said nothing.

Lisa felt her heart tighten in her chest. There were no tributes to feed it here. But soon, there will be dead bodies aplenty. “Our tale is coming to an end,” she said softly.

The Cat’s smile widened further, and she grew nauseated. She looked at John, finding him watching her, his face pale but his eyes steady. He tore his eyes from hers and looked up at the creature.

“It’s not over yet,” he stated.

The Cat cackled, standing up and stretching sluggishly, its body rippling with grace. Finally, with a flick of its tail, it slipped along the branch further into the darkness.

Lisa swallowed hard, apprehension creeping into her heart. She tried to shove it down, looking at John in hopes of reclaiming the anger that’s been driving her for the past years. Instead, she saw something dark in his own eyes, familiar and unnerving. She looked away, squeezing her eyes shut. Not now.

“Was this what we were supposed to find? The Carrion-eater?”

She shook her head, looking down at the stalling app on the screen. “I don’t know.” She looked up at the tree, but there was no trace of the sinister feline. His chains, however, were still in place, spiraled around the trunk and from hanging from the higher branches. Lisa frowned.

“Yeah,” John murmured. “Weird.” He took a step forward, as if he would go around the enormous tree, to follow the Skoromokh.

Lisa instinctively jerked on the chain, pulling him back. “Where do you think you’re going?”

He stumbled for the umpteenth time and then righted himself. When he turned to her, it was obvious he had had enough. She saw him plant his feet apart, and when he pulled on the chain, she realized she’d made a mistake. She tried to pull back, to keep her footing, but he was stronger than her, and no magic chains undid that. He pulled her slowly, methodically, watching her.

Something dark coiled in the pit of her stomach, dissolving into a burst of butterflies. She was already too close, but he gave one final yank on the chain and caught her deftly, pressing her body to his with an arm around her waist. His blue eyes were midnight black, full of promises made, full of purpose, and the intoxicating nightshade of desire.

When he spoke, his voice was rough and low and reached out into the dormant nooks of her heart with practiced ease. “Where can I run from you, Lisa?”

*~*~*

Don’t forget to get your copy of Perfect Potions: An Anthology, available on Kindle and in paperback.

Together with 14 other writers, we explore potions in all their glory, and I dive headfirst into the world of Russian folktales. The anthology may not be erotic, but it’s chock full of romance of the finest kind, guaranteed to make your heart flutter. Who knows, maybe you’ll meet your new favorite author among the line-up?

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The holidays are here, and despite the rocky ride of 2020, I am so very thankful for my abundance of blessings and love that fill my life. One of my greatest blessings in 2020, besides my loved ones and their continued health and happiness, has been embarking on my writing adventure. Many thanks to Delilah Devlin for accepting my story into her anthology and letting me drop in here! It has given me a confidence boost to chase this crazy author dream!

My favorite part of writing is the process. It’s fun to read back over what I wrote and think, “Damn, girl. That’s not bad!” Of course, just as often, I reread something and shake my head as I hold down the delete button. But more than the final words on the page, I love dreaming and scheming about stories and the twists and turns of the characters. It’s a testament to just how big a nerd I am that I enjoy immersing myself in the world of my characters. I seriously prefer hanging out with my imaginary friends more than real people…. Hmmm…. I probably should talk to someone about that! Anyway, moving on. 😊

I also enjoy learning about new subjects and researching facts. So many times, I remind myself that I was just supposed to check what year the typewriter was invented to make sure it fits in the story, not research the entire history of typewriters! I’m like Alice in Wonderland on the internet. So many rabbit holes! A writer friend of mine posted this the other day, and it’s so true! My internet browsing history would raise an eyebrow or two, and my Facebook feed looks like it belongs to someone with multiple personalities.

I find inspiration in many different places. For my latest story, it came to me from an old folk tune. I was writing a story about pirates for an upcoming anthology, but it just wasn’t flowing well. So, I turned on some music (Yes, I listen to folk music—nerd, remember??) and heard a song called “Maid on the Shore.” It’s about a woman who lived alone on an island, walking the beaches. A captain of a sailing ship saw her and ordered her brought to him. Once onboard, she sang the sailors to sleep, stole their treasure, and rowed back to her island. It caught my attention, and down the rabbit hole I went, wondering about this siren’s story. She was clearly different than Odysseus’ sirens. It didn’t take long for her tale to unfold in my mind, and I knew I had to tell her story.

That’s the part of writing that is just so freaking awesome! A song I had heard many times before caught me at the right moment, planted a seed in my imagination, and BAM—storytime, here we come!

Under the Sea

Here’s a snippet from my story, “Before Words, There was Song,” part of the Under the Sea anthology releasing Jan 31, 2021!

“Well, now, Daughter of the Sea,” Manannan said, pulling Ciara’s attention to him. “It is time for you to join your sisters.”

He reached his hand down in invitation, and Ciara simply stared at him. Confusion and questions overwhelmed her. Just hours ago, she had been chasing Dougan and dreaming of a life in a quiet fishing village. Now, here she sat with Manannan mac Lir talking to her in the middle of the ocean. It was beyond belief.

The God of the Sea waited patiently and gently prompted, “I’ll answer all your questions on the way. Take my hand, Daughter, and let our journey begin.”

Ciara put her hand in his, and he pulled her up in front of him on Enbarr’s massive back. The horse surged forward, and faster than the wind, they began to run across the water.

Ciara looked over her shoulder toward the shore she could no longer see but was all she had ever known. The wind whipped her hair around her face. She buried her hands in Enbarr’s silky mane and asked the question her whirling thoughts kept coming back to.

“Who am I?”

Manannan slowed Enbarr to a gentler pace.

“Let me tell you a story. Eons ago, the Great Goddess, Gaia, released from her womb a storm into the sea. It contained all the songs of the earth. It swirled and danced through the waters of the word, leaving behind magic and life. The gods still walked the land of Erin at that time, and we danced in joy as the music poured forth. The songs were too beautiful to let fade into oblivion. We gathered in council to find a way to capture the melodies.

Since they were born of the sea, the gods asked me to create something to hold the music. I crafted a creature from the spray of the sea, the cry of the bird, the call of the whale, and the beauty of the reef. She rose from the sea, and with the ocean’s infinity and the fluidity of water, she captured all the melodies of the world. I named her Eulah, Gem of the Sea, and she was the first Siren. Over the centuries, the sea has brought forth more melodies and more sirens, but one had not been born for a long, long time.

Fifteen years ago, a great storm full of fury and darkness swelled from the depths. Terrible and vicious, the sea raged, and the men and women of Erin begged me to calm it. I felt their terror as the towering waves bore down on the shore. The wind screamed, and Gaia shook beneath their feet, expressing her displeasure at the folly and short memory of man. The Children of Erin had turned their faces from her, distracted by the new god and his prophets and priests. Her anger called forth the storm to punish them, but I could not let her destroy my faithful people, even though there were far fewer who called my name than in times past.

I rode out in the blackest night I have ever seen. The storm pulled at me, seething with hurt and vengeance. Enbarr and I plunged into the tempest, so strong it threatened to pull the powerful Enbarr beneath its roiling fury. I called to wind and water, who knew my command, but they couldn’t hear me over their roaring. Through the tumult, the faintest of melodies played, new and unheard. At that moment, I knew how to calm the sea and save the Children of Erin.

I gathered sea spray and added the sea bird’s cry, the call of the giants of deep, and all the reef’s beauty. The voices of the Children of Erin intermingled with the melody of nature. The first wail of a babe, the tears of a maiden, the wisdom of an old man, and the last breath of a crone joined in accompaniment. With ancient magic, I created the last siren, capturing the storm’s song and the melodies of man.

The magic of the world had changed over the centuries. The gods no longer walked among men. This siren did not come forth as a goddess fully formed and radiant of song and beauty. She came to me as a babe in arms. As I looked at the tiny creature whose cry held a heartbreaking melody, I knew she would be different than her sisters. I brought Muirin, my most cherished selkie, to land to raise the child with the instructions to return her to the sea when her song was ready to be sung.”

Manannan fell silent. Ciara’s mind fit the pieces together. She was a siren, made by the hands of a god. The Great Goddess created the melodies that coursed through her blood. She held within her the song of death, fury, and destruction.

Ciara’s adventure is just beginning!

Be sure to preorder your copy of Under the Sea to find out how her song ends and enjoy several other stories of the deep!

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Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve wanted to bake. And not just simple sugar cookies. My dream was to run a bakery or maybe manage a fancy restaurant. I spent my childhood learning everything I could from a master chef. I was definitely lucky, at least in that regard. But let me back up…

My mother and I lived in this gorgeous manor when I was a child, but we weren’t the homeowners. Not even close. Mom was a maid, and I was the maid’s daughter who always snuck into the kitchen to “help” the moody head chef, Pascal Caron. After a while, Chef Caron realized I seriously wanted to learn how to cook and bake, and I wasn’t just there to annoy him. He took me under his wing, and my eyes opened to the world of culinary and artsy dishes.

Then I grew up. After my secret boyfriend dumped me and left me pregnant when I was eighteen, I learned quickly that life wasn’t fair and my dreams had to go on hold.

For the next ten years, I worked dead-end waitressing jobs with no end in sight, but I never stopped whipping up fantastical creations in my meager kitchen. I make everything from scratch, and I use graham cracker crusts for my shells. What do I make? Well, let’s see…cheesecake, doughnuts, muffins, tarts, pies, cakes, brownies, and more. Hmm, I would love something chocolatey right now. Sorry, but I skipped lunch and my belly is growling. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, your mouth will water from one taste of any of my desserts—I guarantee it. I’m not normally an over-confident person, but I know I rock in the kitchen.

Mom, my daughter Lacey, and my best friend, Shana, are the best! They’re so supportive. Then there’s Jeremiah—better known as Jim. He’s unlike any man I’ve ever met. He’s so sweet and sexy, and more than determined to fulfill my dreams of opening a bakery. How could I have lucked out with him?

Now, I’m off to bake Jeremiah and Lacey a yummy surprise. He loves anything with blueberries in it, so we’re having a torte for dessert tonight. But don’t tell him, okay? First things first, though, I need to make a sandwich or I might just eat the dessert all by myself. It’s been known to happen, and yet I complain about my waistline. *sigh* Anyway, thank you so much for reading!

Arresting Jeremiah

Injured Parole Officer Jeremiah “Jim” Borden never expected Calista Barlow, the sassy blonde waitress he’s craved for months, to ring his doorbell. She slips into his heart—and his bed—but he’s obsessed with a gangland investigation that threatens his career and maybe even his life.

Calista doesn’t trust easily, not with a daughter to protect and the stalker who keeps calling her. After her violent ex-boyfriend returns, she finds solace in Jim’s arms.

Jim may have to forego his need for answers to protect the ready-made family he adores, but how will he and Calista escape an unseen enemy that is always one step ahead of them?

Excerpt from Arresting Jeremiah…

Calista entered her bedroom and her mouth dropped open. Oh my God.

Her date reclined on her bed as though he starred in a photoshoot. Candlelight flickered across him. The sultry gleam in his eyes arrested her, holding her captive. His sexy smile weakened her knees. None of her past lovers rocked a pair of classic black slacks and a crisp white dress shirt like he did. His chest hair, a few shades darker than the locks on his head, poked from the parted fabric and teased her.

How would that thick hair feel against her nipples? Soft? Coarse? Just right?

Jim was spread out for her pleasure like a Christmas present. She wanted to unwrap him, layer by layer. Maybe he should unwrap himself, so she could enjoy the show.

Her gaze traveled the length of his body to the bulge pressed against his zipper. Yum! He’s hard already. She licked her suddenly dry lips.

“Stare all you want, but it’s more fun to touch.” He patted his thigh, the invitation clear.

“I’m tempted.” She cocked her hip to one side. “I guess the blueberry clafoutis can wait, but you’re a little presumptuous to think this is how the night would end.”

Then again, she did mention having breakfast together. What did she expect him to think?

“End? Honey, we’re just getting started.”

She laughed, grasped the hem of her blouse, and pulled it over her head. Her favorite perfume scented the room, and she picked up the bottle. “You like?”

“Hell, yeah. A lot.”

She sprayed a few drops on her fingers, caressed the pulse at the base of her throat, and dragged her touch down between her breasts. His guttural growl teased across her nerve endings, shooting rockets through her belly. She shimmied her skirt down her hips and kicked aside her heels. A red satin bra and panty set sheathed her body. She locked her hands together behind her back before involuntarily covering her breasts and stomach.

“Damn, look at you. Come here, Calista.”

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Purchase Links
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Universal link – https://books2read.com/u/mVKvMP

About the Author

Amber Daulton is the author of the romantic-suspense series Arresting Onyx and several standalone novellas. Her books are published through The Wild Rose Press, Books to Go Now, and Daulton Publishing, and are available in ebook, print on demand, audio, and foreign language formats.

She lives in North Carolina with her husband and demanding cats.

Social Media Links
Website – https://amberdaulton.wordpress.com/
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LinkedIn – https://www.linkedin.com/pub/amber-daulton/87/538/368
The Wild Rose Press – https://www.thewildrosepress.com/authors/amber-daulton

I love writing my bounty hunter stories! They’re so much fun—action, humor, stupid criminals, danger, and sexy times! The second book in my spinoff series of Montana Bounty Hunters centers around a man named Preacher. The story is set to release in January, but I’m hoping to finish it sooner so it will come out before the end of December. He’s new to the team and, in the opening scene, we see him and his new partner Marti taking down a skip. For this spin-off series set in Dead Horse, Montana, I’m introducing the town folk. We already met the surly waitress, Nadine, in Cage‘s story. She’ll play a bigger role in future stories. In Preacher’s book, you’ll meet more of the town’s lively characters as well as the owner of the donut shop. Preacher is already attracted to her but hasn’t made a move. You’ll see why in this snippet. Enjoy!

Preorder your copy here!

Two days later, Preacher got a text as he was climbing into his black Suburban, ready to head into work.

Fig: It’s your turn to bring the donuts. Get them from Deadly Delights.

Preacher checked his watch. He had time.

How many? And what?

Fig: Two dozen kolaches. Two dozen mixed. Don’t drag ass.

Ooh, bossy. Who pissed on your cornflakes?

Fig: HaHa. Got a lot to go over.

Preacher’s mood lightened. He didn’t mind donut duty, not when the woman behind the counter at Deadly Delights was one very pretty blonde who wore confectionary sugar like most women wore powder on their noses. Whenever he saw a light dusting on her cheek, he had the urge to lean over the counter and lick it. Likely every male in the vicinity had the same urge.

Asking her out on a date had been on his mind for a while. He’d never noticed a ring on her finger and hadn’t seen her around town with any guys, so he thought maybe he should. After all, he’d been here a little while and needed to make some friends. Maybe, he could talk her into showing him around.

He grimaced. That might not be the best line. It would be the world’s shortest date. Dead Horse was a tiny town. A guided tour would take all of ten minutes.

Deadly Delights was on Main Street, which was on his route anyway with the Dead Horse Motel on the opposite side of town from Montana Bounty Hunters. Preacher shook his head as he passed the businesses lined up along the strip—Dead Center Guns & Pawn, Dead as a Doornail Hardware, The Drop Dead Gorgeous Salon.

He laughed. “They certainly have a theme going.”

He pulled into an empty parking space in front of the donut shop. Inside, business was brisk. He stood in line, trying not to look as though he was checking out the shapely proprietor while he was certainly checking her out. When it was his turn at the counter, his reason for being there completely escaped him.

It was those eyes—the prettiest blue, like cornflowers or maybe bluebonnets—although why he remembered any flowers’ names when he couldn’t remember his own was a mystery. Or maybe it was her pretty light blonde hair that she always wore in a long braid. Or maybe her pale skin with that light dusting of caramel-colored freckles across the bridge of her nose. He kept his gaze above her shoulders because he’d never drag it away from her full breasts and hips…

“Did you want something?” she said, leaning over the counter, her expression becoming concerned.

You and some of that whipped cream frosting you’re wiping off your fingers…

Frozen in place, he was sure he probably looked like a complete moron. He raised his phone to read the text message from Fig then cleared his throat. “I need kolaches and donuts.”

The woman’s mouth twitched at the corners. “How many people you feeding? Just yourself?”

He felt heat begin to fill his cheeks. Dammit. He’d never get her to go out with him if he couldn’t untwist his tongue. “Two dozen of each. And mixed… Um, mixed donuts, that is.”

She nodded and pulled four pink boxes from beneath the counter, unfolding them then laying down tissue paper or some such in the bottoms of the containers to line them.

She quickly filled his order then stacked the boxes neatly beside the cash register.

He already had his credit card out, not wanting to extend the conversation because he’d likely make a bigger fool out of himself if he did. Then he noticed the light coating of something white on her collarbone. It looked like the glazing on the donuts she’d put into the box. His mouth watered.

She rang up the order and handed him back his card. “Would you like a cup of coffee to take with you, sir?”

“Preacher,” he blurted.

She shook her head. “Pardon me?”

“Not sir. Preacher.”

“That your first or last name?”

“It’s what I’m called.” At this point, he wished the floor would just open up and swallow him whole.

“Well, Preacher,” she said, leaning over the counter and smiling as she handed him a coffee, “you have a good day.”

He managed a nod before reaching for the boxes and the coffee and quickly exited the store. “Damn. Fuck. Shit,” he whispered under his breath as he headed to his vehicle.

Another chance missed. It would be five more days before he’d have donut duty again. He wondered if he shouldn’t practice in front of a mirror before he attempted to talk to her again, or maybe he needed a wingman or woman to help him out…

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