I’m in cold, blustery Omaha today with the Heartland Writers Group! Lovely group of ladies. Sis and I are running them through their paces today. In the meantime, enjoy the excerpt. Today’s topic is character. I rather liked the way we first see Gus in this story. And I felt as though I knew him by the end of the scene.

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Gus Taggert knows a setup when he sees one. When one of his police officer buddies sends him on a doughnut run to one particular doughnut shop, Cornucopia, he hesitates. It’s too frilly and pink. However, the woman behind the counter serves him more than a couple dozen gourmet doughnuts, she gives him a mini-lesson in submission—something he’s eager to learn more about. When she orders him to see her that night at the BDSM club, La Forge, he’s more than eager to obey.

Newly vetted Domme, Aislinn Darby, has a sub she’s eager to take for a test run. The large, burly cop is the kind of alpha guy she’s been dying to tie up and spank. However, after she takes him through his paces, she finds herself more than willing to let him take control, something she hasn’t enjoyed with a man before. Gus’s brand of loving is addictive, but now she’s doubting herself and her own ability to control a scene. She has to have him back for one more go, only this time, she’s going to do it with a crowd around them to ensure he doesn’t forget who’s in charge. She bribes him into submission. Accept her dictates, and he can have her any way he wants as reward.

What Gus wants is Aislinn in the middle of a scene he orchestrates himself with the help of three of his best friends.

Gus Taggert knew it was a cliché. A cop in a doughnut shop. The officers waiting for him to arrive for the sergeant’s morning meeting didn’t like making the run because of the inevitable roll of the eyes or smartass grin they’d get standing in line.

However, he didn’t mind being the “doughnut guy”. The plus for being the brunt of any jokes was that he ate for free. That was okay with him. He took any pointed looks or lame jokes in stride. He was an affable guy. Hard to rile.

He’d learned long ago to stifle his anger and look for the good in people, even when they messed up. Being oversized and strong, he’d always had to be more careful throwing his weight around. People could get hurt, and that wasn’t why he’d been drawn to law enforcement. He wasn’t a bully in a uniform.

Gus liked being a cop. Liked what it stood for. Loved the black uniform and the camaraderie of his brother cops. He didn’t mind that his closest buds were all moving on to bigger and better things. He liked being a beat cop. Liked patrolling the neighborhood he lived in and getting to know the people he protected.

His father had been a small-town cop, and his father before him had been the sheriff of their little Arkansas berg. But then his mom had moved to Memphis—not because she’d wanted to, but because when his mom and dad divorced, she’d wanted to start fresh where everyone didn’t know her business and didn’t whisper to her ex about who she was seeing next.

Gus had missed his old school and friends, but had a natural gift for making new ones. That he was big and brawny, quick on his feet despite his size, had made him a natural for the football team.

And that’s where he’d met Jackson Teague and Craig Eason, who surprisingly enough, wanted to be cops too when they graduated.

They’d all gone to college together, applied for the police academy and been accepted. That’s where they’d met the remaining members of their current posse, Beau McIntyre and Mondo Acevedo.

So, Gus was never lonely. He had his peeps, a job he loved, a city that kept him on his toes. And today, he was on his way to explore a new doughnut shop.

Mondo, although now in vice and no longer attending the station-house morning meetings, had given him a roll of bills the night before. “Treat the guys to doughnuts. On me.”

Gus had glanced at the roll. “This is too much.”

“Not for the place I want you to go.”

He should have known from the gleam in Mondo’s dark brown eyes that something was up, but Gus liked to think the best of people. Maybe Mondo really did just want to treat the guys to something special.

Well, it was special all right. Not like any doughnut shop Gus had ever seen before. He stood on the street in front of the small store front, eyeing the painted glass window with its pink awning, and felt the first rumbles of misgiving.

Cornucopia. He’d had to Google it last night to get the address and to see what the name meant. A horn of plenty. A familiar Thanksgiving ornament. But there weren’t ears of corn or squashes spilling from the dark pink horn painted on the glass. Doughnuts looking like Christmas presents, painted with ribbons and sparkling with stars, spilled from the mouth of the horn.

All the pink and frothy cuteness made him itch. However, he’d been given a wad of cash and a mission to buy a couple dozen doughnuts from this specific shop. For once, his cheeks burned at the idea.

Hitching up his utility belt, he blew out a deep breath that billowed his cheeks and pushed the glass door. A bell at the top tinkled.

Inside, the shop was pretty much what he’d expected—pale purple tiled flooring, white-painted iron bistro tables, boxes decorated in frou-frou paper and ribbons stacked at one end of the sparkling clean glass-front counter.

Thankfully, the shop was empty. Maybe he could back out, say it’d been closed when he came by, and he could hit a Dunkin Donuts on the way to the station house.

As soon as he’d made up his mind to leave, he heard a stirring from the back, and rather than be caught with one foot still on the sidewalk outside like he was scared to come inside, he stepped through the door and held the bell so it didn’t chime again.

“Have a thing for bells?” came a husky feminine voice.

His gaze darted back to the counter, his cheeks filling with heat. A woman stood there, every bit as pretty and dainty as her little shop, with dark red hair, pale-as-dinner-china white cheeks and large brown eyes. The kind of woman he avoided like the plague because he always felt like a lumbering bear beside them.

What had she asked? Oh, yeah, the bells. He didn’t have a thing for them, he’d only wanted to be quiet and not charge into the place like a bull in a china shop. “No, ma’am.”

“That’s a nice start,” she said, her voice dropping again into a sexy, shivering whisper.

Gus’s cheeks burned hotter, because he knew she’d just made a joke and he didn’t understand it. Further, meeting her amused gaze proved surprisingly difficult. He had the urge to duck his head. To wait for permission to come closer.

Her amusement faded. “Come in, officer,” she said with brisk efficiency. “Can I help you with something?”

He cleared his throat, scuffed his boots on the doormat, like that was why he’d paused coming in, and stepped deeper inside the shop. “I’m just here to buy some doughnuts.”

“I don’t sell just doughnuts.” Her voice sharpened.

Had he insulted her somehow? He came closer to the counter. “They’re pretty doughnuts.”

“I’m a trained pastry chef. These are gourmet doughnuts.”

Like he’d said, they were pretty, but he didn’t get what it was she expected him to say. He thrust his hand into his pocket and took out the roll of bills Mondo had given him. “Mondo said you’d fix me up.”

“Mondo…” Her eyes sparkled for a moment, then narrowed. “Show me which you’re interested in.”

He reached out to point at one confection sitting on a tray atop the glass counter. The doughnut looked more like a pretty cupcake and was covered in glaze with star-shaped silver beads glinting on the top. “Some of these?”

Her hand shot out and slapped the top of his. Not hard, but the loud crack it made startled him. “Ma’am?” he asked, startled she’d dared smack an officer of the law.

“Correct response again,” she said, an edge to her sexy voice. “However, I think you need to come around the counter and make your selection.”

Right about now, he knew his face was beet red. And the collar of his shirt was tightening like a noose, cutting off his air. “Beg your pardon?”

“Come. Now.”

His body reacted to the firm tone with an instant surge of heat straight to his groin. With his balls drawing up, he thought he might embarrass himself further if he got too close to the pretty pastry chef. “Uh, a couple dozen’s all I need,” he said swiftly. “Whatever you want to put into a box.”

The redhead narrowed her eyes. “Mondo’s a friend of mine. He said he was sending me someone special. Don’t disappoint me.”

Mondo was her friend. The way she’d emphasized the word put this strange conversation in a new perspective. Her tone, the hardening glint in her pretty eyes, the stubborn tilt of her chin—good Lord, she was that kind of friend, someone from Mondo’s club, which Gus had visited a time or two out of curiosity first, then growing wonder.

He swallowed hard, beginning to sweat, then slowly made his way around the glass-front counter toward her, seeing the rest of her lovely, slim frame. When he stood a couple of feet away, he ducked his head, dropping his gaze. Waiting now, for what he didn’t know, but he knew instinctively she was pleased, because she sighed.

“You’re bigger than I expected.”

Oh hell, what was she looking at? Had his erection become noticeable?

“And you’re better looking.”

He gave a little smile, letting her see it, but still not raising his glance. The parts of her he could watch were fascinating anyway. Her breasts were small but round, and the tips were beginning to poke through her pink-buttoned blouse and lacy bra. Her pale trousers were cinched at the waist with a white leather belt, and it was a tiny trim waist that offset the feminine flare of her hips. Legs proportionate with her body stretched below to pink-tipped toes that peeked out of sandals she wore. His mouth filled with drool. He’d give a week’s wages for the privilege of sucking on them.

She slid open the door to the back of the counter and waved for him to have a look.

Gus wished like hell she’d move back, because standing this close, he got a whiff of her light, floral scent. Beads of sweat popped on his forehead.

Feeling clumsier by the minute, he bent to glance inside the shelves at the array of fancy doughnuts. Sheesh. Not a single plain glazed one. The guys were going to razz the hell out of him.

Suddenly, she stepped behind him, her hands landing on either side of the cabinet to trap him.

He gulped hard. “Ma’am?”

A knee climbed along the inside of one of his thighs, then snuggled against his balls. He froze—blood surged south, filling his cock. Then she slid her knee down and tapped his feet with one of hers, urging him silently to widen his stance.

Which he did. No question or quick denial came to mind. He braced his hands against the glass like a perp ready for a pat-down, dreading and yet eager for whatever she’d do next.

Her hand cupped his balls. “Anything you like?”

Afraid he’d bleat like a goat if he tried to answer, he nodded.

Her fingers closed around his sac, and she gave him a gentle tug. “Me too.”

Then just as quickly, her hand fell away and she moved back.

Gus pushed from the counter and turned.

Her eyes were softer, her expression pleased. She laid a palm against the side of his face. Her thumb stroked his bottom lip. Her gaze dipped to his name tag then back up again. “When I see you next, Officer Taggert,” she whispered, stepping closer, “don’t say a word. Take off your clothes and be ready for whatever I want next.”

His tongue felt glued to the top of his mouth. Sure he wouldn’t manage more than a caveman’s grunt, he nodded again.

A small hand cupped his cock through his uniform pants and rode the length trapped in his dark trousers against his thigh. “There’s more to you than shows. I like that. Look at me.”

He raised his gaze, stopping on the faint curve of her full lips, then rose again to lock with her gold-flecked brown gaze.

She reached up, stuck the nail of her index finger under his chin and pulled down his head until their faces were level. Then she leaned forward, her cheek sliding alongside his. Her warm breath gusted against his ear, and he shivered.

“I’ll give you a box. You can take as many doughnuts as you can fit inside. Take your time. Compose yourself. I’ll see you tonight.”

Gus held his breath until she released him and moved away. She bent to retrieve a box from beneath the counter then gave him a slow smile and turned on her pretty pink heels to walk through the doorway leading to the kitchen.

When she was gone, he let out the breath he’d held and grabbed for the edge of the counter to keep from swaying. Thank God, he’d parked right out front. His dick tented his pants leg.

Swallowing to wet his dry mouth, he slid open the glass and carefully plucked two dozen doughnuts from their trays, not caring what he chose because the sooner he got out of here the better.

When he caught up with Mondo, he’d chew him a new asshole for not warning him what he was walking into.

However, he still felt the warmth of her slap against the back of his hand and—despite his embarrassment—smiled as he exited the shop.

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Be sure to check out the snippets on these other authors’ blogs:

Lissa Matthews
Rhian Cahill
Eliza Gayle
Leah Braemel
Myla Jackson
Caris Roane
Jody Wallace
McKenna Jeffries
Taige Crenshaw
HelenKay Dimon
Shiloh Walker
Lauren Dane
TJ Michaels

Just popping in to share some news. I’ve been a little quiet lately because I’ve been writing like my hair’s of fire, trying to wrap up a book that’s due next week. I have two short stories featured in two brand new Mammoth collections! If you’ve never read one of these massive volumes, you’re in for a treat. “Red Dawn” is a brand new story about a woman pioneer on Mars. The other is a story that first appeared in Cleis Press’s Carnal Machines. Enjoy the excerpts, then hit the links and see the fabulous lineup of authors in both books.

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Love conquers all… including natural disasters and alien invasions in this futuristic fiction collection.

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From my story, “Red Dawn”…

The transport arrived amid a whirl of dust kicked up from the barren yard beside the house. The gritty air nearly obscured the moon, Phobos, as it made the first of several orbits for the day. The aircraft hovered, framed by the uneven curves of the asteroid, and then set down with a thud that shuddered the planks of her front porch, vertical engines stalling then shutting off altogether. The dust slowly settled.

She’d been sweeping, preparing the cabin for the transport’s arrival. As with every element of the Company’s schedule, it arrived precisely on time. Although prepared, a flutter of anticipation tickled her belly. She set aside the broom, wiped her palms against the sides of her sturdy blue work pants, and descended the stairs, eager to meet the shipment.

A man dressed in a gray Company coverall climbed out of the cockpit and strode toward her. She pasted on a smile. “Welcome.”

His sharp gaze swept her little cabin, the golden fields beyond it, and then finally rested on her. “You Mary Bledsoe?”

He likely wondered how someone of her stature had managed to pass the physical tests to qualify for farming. She stiffened her spine to add a few centimeters to her small, wiry frame, and met his gaze with her usual calm, chilly stare. “I am.” She bit back a sarcastic, Who else do you think I could be? Every one of the thousand colonists had been handpicked and transported by the Company—they had a monopoly on Martian transportation and industry.

His mouth twitched, but he kept his gaze steady. “I have your shipment, and I’ll need your signature on the bill of lading.”

She nodded. “I’ll need to inspect.” She’d received notice of the contents of the shipment via the comm-console situated in the cabin’s main room shortly after claiming her homestead.

Although the fields had been pre-planted and her new home fully furnished, there were still some items, especially the perishables, that needed stocking: replacement blades for the combine sheltered in the barn, pallets of foodstuffs, clothing and fuel packs…and her mate.

Trying not to appear overeager to see him, she waited as the transport commander’s crew scurried to let down the rear ramp and roll out the pallets. With well-trained efficiency, they stacked them beside the porch. She counted the pallets with their quick-wrapped goods, signed for delivery, and then shoved her hands into her pockets to hide the fact they were beginning to shake.

The commander’s mouth firmed into a straight line. “Did you receive training in the use of the B-Mod collar?”

He knew she had. Otherwise she wouldn’t be here, already in possession of a land grant.

She gave a curt nod. “Yes. I also signed saying I knew there were no guarantees for my safety or his willingness to work. If we don’t suit, if he proves stubborn, then I’ll return him.”

“Just don’t get too attached, ma’am. You have enough on your hands without coddling one of these rejects.”

The brusque quality of his voice surprised her. Was he truly worried? Should she be more concerned?

He handed her the chain with the controller for the prisoner’s behavior modification collar, a thin ID tag with a recessed button on one side, the B-Mod chip. She slipped it over her head and followed him to the side of the transport. The guard inside the vehicle opened the door.

The prisoner scooted on the seat toward the edge, hands still in manacles, then slid to the ground beside her.

Heartbeat rising, she gazed up into a face set in grim lines. Blue eyes, cold as ice, sparked with some deep emotion as he stared back.

He was larger than she had expected. Surprisingly so. Prisoners built like this one were generally shipped to Company loading docks or to the arena. Built like a gladiator, she studied his broad chest and wide shoulders. His arms and thighs were deeply muscled. “You’re sure he’s mine?” she asked, turning toward the commander who’d fished a key from his pocket to unlock the prisoner’s handcuffs.

The pilot’s grunt and the flinty glare he gave the prisoner said he too had some reservations. “His collar matches the invoice. Guess they thought you might need the extra muscle.”

Anger flashed at his comment. She’d had enough of men thinking she wasn’t up to the rigors of Martian prairie life.

Her hand still gripped the B-Mod chip. She let it slip slowly away, remembering her training. Show no fear. As long as she had the chip, she had control.

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The most enthralling annual collection of erotica by far with more than 40 pieces of short erotic fiction that you won’t want to put down. This bound-to-blow-your-mind collection comes from both acclaimed writers and exceptionally hot newcomers from every corner of the world.

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From my story “Dr. Mullaley’s Cure”…

I’d been warned that the doctor was a bit eccentric. That he dabbled in machinery and had been ostracized by others in his profession for the lengths he went to please his patients.

“You’ll never find another employer,” I was told. “Not once they see your only reference is Doctor Mullaley.” The mad Irishman. The charlatan who promised cures to bored housewives and whose waiting room hadn’t been empty since I arrived for my first day’s work. If I hadn’t already been turned away at every other respectable physician’s practice, I might have heeded the advice. However, those warnings only served to stir my interest.

I was intensely curious about the nature of the doctor’s cures, and even more so about the conditions he treated, but they were only spoken of in whispers and never in the presence of an unmarried woman. Which made me wonder why he’d hired me. Not that I complained. One glance at his tall rangy frame, frosty blue eyes and dark, slicked-back hair, and my misgivings evaporated.

However, my curiosity about the man and his practice wasn’t to be satisfied at that moment because the doctor waved me toward the reception desk where I worked at fitting in patients who walked in without an appointment. A task I found akin to cinching in the waist of a corset. There was only so much ribbon one could pull before something gave.

That something was the inimitable Mrs. Davies. She arrived in a dudgeon. Cheeks flushed, eyes a little wild. It was a very balmy afternoon, and the painstaking curls at the sides of her cheeks had wilted and were stretching toward her jaw like earthworms. I couldn’t help staring while she tapped the counter with her finger insisting her needs were of the highest import. If she didn’t receive a treatment that afternoon, somebody would hear about it.

At wit’s end, I gave her a false smile, said I’d find the doctor, and escaped down the corridor to the treatment rooms.

The corridor was as handsomely appointed as the waiting room with rich oak paneling below the rail, and burgundy brocade above it. But gaslight sconces were placed so far apart that shadows loomed between the doorways.

I paused at the first room to listen, hoping to hear the low timbre of the doctor’s voice. Faint moans came through the door, but since they didn’t have an urgent edge, I hurried to the next and pressed my ear against the wood.

Hands curved over my shoulder. “Pardon me, Nurse Percy.” The doctor firmly pushed me to the side and strode into the room.

Glancing around his tall frame, I spotted Mrs. Headley who lay on a table that tilted with the lower half split in two.

My jaw sagged as I noted that while she was clothed in a sack-like gown, Mrs. Headley lay bared from the waist down, her legs strapped to the split “legs” of the table. Her fingers dug into padded handles at the sides. Most curious, there was a long, slender trough running from a tank latched to the ceiling, very like a toilet’s reservoir. The trough emptied into a funnel, which ran into a tube. The tube passed through a device with turning wheels that clicked like a clock’s inner gears, and then ended at a nozzle that spurted water in rhythmic pulses toward the juncture of Mrs. Headley’s thighs.

How odd, I thought.

Mrs. Headley moaned. Her gaze roved restlessly until she lighted on the doctor. “Please, Raymond, I can’t take much more. I’m very sure I’m ready for the next stage of my treatment.”

The doctor stood between me and Mrs. Headley so I couldn’t see what he did, but then he aimed a frown over his shoulder. When he turned back, I entered the room and shut the door behind me, staying quiet as a mouse. He turned off the nozzle. The rhythmic splashes stopped, but wet slurping sounds filled the silence.

“I feel…nearly…oh, the agony…oh, doctor!” Mrs. Headley gave a choked little scream, her upper body arching on the table before settling again. Her flushed cheeks shone with sweat, but the smile she gave the doctor was so filled with gratitude I felt a stirring of something akin to pride for the doctor’s skill.

The winner of a free download of PLEASING SIR is Joyce Reece!
Joyce, congrats! Send me an email to arrange delivery of your prize!

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For me, the opening of a story is the hardest part to write. I spend forever making sure it sparkles. Enjoy the opening gambit in the game between Raelie and Bryce.

If you post a comment today, you’ll be entered to win
a free download of this book!

One adventurous little submissive is just what the bosses need…

Raelie might be a submissive in search of just the right Dom, but she’s not the kind to sit back and wait for the right man to happen. When she gets the chance to fill in as Bryce Caldwell’s executive assistant, she decides some subtle seduction is needed to see if he dominates the bedroom the same way he does the office.

Bryce can’t keep his mind off the sexy blonde sitting just outside his office. Especially not after the security cameras in the copier room catch Raelie “misappropriating” office property. A little disciplinary action leads to a whole lot of complication while he tries to find out whether she’s the right assistant to fulfill a special vacancy. Add a second round of interviews, and suddenly, Bryce is finding out he’s not the only one who’s not sure who’s really in charge.

The little red button on the telephone blinked twice. And like a dog trained to recognize the shake of its dinner bowl, Raelie Wood’s attention was arrested. Deep within her core, her body began the steady ascent toward full-blown arousal. A thousand butterflies settled in her stomach, madly fluttering their tiny wings. Her breaths shortened to excited little gasps and shivered through her breasts. The juncture of her thighs swelled with lush promise — a pulse thrumming there, slow but insistent.

She’d waited two whole days for a summons. Two days while she’d quietly attended to the office duties, proving why she’d been bumped up from the floating secretarial staff to fill in for Bryce Caldwell’s executive assistant while the woman was away on her honeymoon.

Raelie had seen to every duty on his EA’s meticulous checklist. This morning, she’d already typed the scribbled notes he’d left in her inbox the previous night when he’d finally left the office. Not that she’d seen him leave. Because she didn’t want to seem overeager, she’d left her desk at precisely five o’clock each evening. Even though she’d wanted nothing more than to stay late, strip naked, and slip into her boss’s office to show just how diligent a secretary she could be.

The thought of his shocked stare trailing down her nude body was a delicious one; however, she knew that wasn’t the way to get what she wanted from her no-nonsense employer. For once, she’d exercise a little subtlety.

The light blinked again, and her gut clenched. Time to start the next stage of her campaign. Read the rest of this entry »

Ashley A won the free download! Ashley, email me! ~DD

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Begin with the end in mind.

I’m pretty sure I learned that from some Steven Covey productivity/time management seminar back when I worked in the corporate world. And while that works for me when I set my schedule, it almost never does when I sit down to write a book. Yes, I know vaguely that at the end, boy saves girl/girl saves boy, kiss-kiss, I’ll love you forever will happen, but I don’t have the particulars concerning the ending. I like to let it happen. Endings are nearly as important as the opening of a story. A good opening ensures a reader will continue the story. A good ending ensures a reader will close the book with a sigh and a smile.

The one time I knew absolutely what would happen at the end of the story was the ending for Jacq’s Warlord. This was a story that my sister and I co-wrote. While she was working on some saggy middle dilemma, I was thinking about the ending, and it came to me as clear as day. So I wrote it before we’d even gotten to the first turning point of the story. It worked. And helped me figure out where the characters needed to go in their personal journeys to lead them to that moment.

Hope you enjoy it and that it makes you want to read the rest of the story!

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Be sure to check out the snippets on these other authors’ blogs:

Lissa Matthews
Rhian Cahill
Myla Jackson
Caris Roane
McKenna Jeffries
Taige Crenshaw
HelenKay Dimon
Shiloh Walker
Eliza Gayle
Lauren Dane
Felicity Heaton
TJ Michaels

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 »

The winner of the free download is commenter #21 — Linda!

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I haven’t had space in my calendar for a while to do a “flashback” day, but a guest dropped at the last-minute.  This story was originally part of the Fated Mates anthology that Ellora’s Cave published back in 2005. In 2010, the story was finally separated and offered as its own novella with this lovely cover. It’s a very traditional trope—an arranged marriage between kingdoms, a sister substituted at the last-minute. What made it fun for me, was imagining this all taking place on another magical world. The perfect blend of history, sci-fi, and fantasy.

Post a comment today, and you’ll be in the running to win a free copy of the book!

“…In Delilah Devlin’s WARLORD’S DESTINY, a strong man is brought to his knees by an equally strong woman. Interesting, attractive personalities make this read especially powerful.” ~ Nominee for Best Paranormal Erotic Novel of 2005, TOP PICK! 4 1/2 Stars, Page Traynor, RT BOOKreviews

“Watching these two grow is both amusing and touching… I found Warlord’s Destiny to be a very well-written novel, and ultimately a very entertaining story to read.” ~ Book Review Network

Promised in marriage for a decade, Mora has no illusions she is anything other than the sacrificial lamb to ensure peace between her peace-loving planet and the warlike world that demands her union with one of their own. No great beauty, she resigns herself to a loveless marriage with a man who will only do his duty by her. However, when she meets the rugged warlord who will be her husband, Mora feels an immediate stirring of lust. She decides in that moment to win his heart—she’ll settle for nothing less!

Lord Tetrik finds his bride more than the scrawny handful he had expected. She has hips to breed him strong, sturdy sons, and intelligence that is a gift worth more than a pretty face. When he suspects his wife harbors tender feelings for him, he wonders if he can be the husband she desires. After all, love for a woman is a frivolous thing—and not a Warlord’s Destiny.

So, that’s what Kronaki warriors look like!

Every story ever whispered about the fearsome warriors came rushing back to set Mora’s body trembling. How they fought like ravaging beasts, cutting bloody swaths through Graktilian mercenaries during the war. How they lived in rough stone fortresses made of blocks carved from their frozen mountains. How they fostered their children to rival clans so they would be raised without gentleness.

How they fucked with such fury their women’s screams echoed throughout their valleys.

Mora felt a tremor rumble beneath the polished, marble floor of the great hall, so explosive was the swell of conversation that arose at the warriors’ arrival.

They were seven, dressed in furs and leather, armed with bows slung across their shoulders and scabbards at their sides.

She couldn’t drag her gaze from the man at the head of their formation, striding toward her—her husband in name, if not yet by deed. Although she had never seen him before this day, she knew it must be him, for he looked the fiercest, the strongest—only one such as he would be chosen to rule from amongst their ranks.

He was from a race of barbarians, seemingly as proud of their reputation for brutal warfare as their orgiastic sexuality. The latter Mora could well believe for the man stalking her now looked every inch a sensual marauder. Read the rest of this entry »

Now, you know I had fun with this title: A Four-Gone Conclusion. I’ll admit I like titles that are a little tongue-in-cheek. But this one’s to the point as well. There are four brothers involved with one woman. And you know exactly what the lady’s gonna decide, right? It’s fantasy, after all. One of my favorites as it turns out. A woman kidnapped by four sexy brothers. Their proximity “forced.” But I like my girls feisty. They tend to give as well as they get. Read the excerpt. You’ll see. 🙂

And if you enter a comment today, you’ll be entered to win a free download—reader’s choice from among all my Lone Star Lovers stories!

“A FOUR-GONE CONCLUSION is a prime example on how a novella should be written; fast and fun, touching characters that pull you in and a story that is completely fulfilling.” ~4.5 Cherries, Long and Short Reviews

One devilish night…or a chance at heaven?

Sam Logan’s foster sons have a bad rep in Two Mule, Texas. Most of it earned. When it becomes clear they don’t plan on giving up scootin’ after ever pretty pair of boots in town anytime soon, he issues the one thing he knows they can’t resist: a challenge. Find a wife.

The oldest, Johnny, is actually grateful. He’s had his eye on Mean Ellie Harker for a long time, and Sam’s challenge is the kick in the pants he needed to ask her out. Except before he can make his move, his brothers kidnap her right out from under his nose. Now, instead of being one question away from victory, he has to compete for the woman of his dreams.

Ellie thought she’d be a dried up old spinster before Johnny finally untangled his tongue long enough to ask for a date. But instead of teaching him better uses for that tongue, his brothers have whisked her away to the ranch. At first she’s furious…then intrigued when she starts to wonder what it might be like…

Warning: Four handsome cowboys. Four choices. Would it be a single sordid night or a chance at heaven as she savors every luscious inch of the Logan brothers?

Ellie drowned in that kiss, pulled under by the ebb and flow of his firm lips.

Already breathless with excitement over her unusual predicament, the way he’d waded into the room, taking command of the situation, and of her, melted her resolve.

What woman could resist? Seriously?

Four handsome men hell-bent on having her? Ellie Harker? If this were a romance novel, like the naughty ones she preferred, the heroine’s resolve would wilt beneath their strong wills right about now.

Why did she think she had to fight? How could she now? His lips circled on hers, tugging at her mouth, pausing to bite her lower lip until she gasped and opened. Then he was inside her, stroking deep. Every bit as determined as the hard edge of his jaw had appeared as he’d strode toward her.

Why not surrender?

The thought seeped into her mind, eroding the walls she’d erected around herself when she’d thought they only toyed with her, flirted with her like they would any other woman, not meaning it.

When his tongue stroked hers, teasing her in a sensual play no one else could see, she was sorely tempted to give way.

But then where would she be? A single sordid night with the Logan boys? A soiled reputation with little hope of finding a decent man willing to overlook the stain? She clamped her teeth around his tongue and bit, then opened her eyes.

He grunted. His eyes slammed open.

“She just bite him?” one of the twins said then laughed.

Johnny’s hands clamped on her shoulders, giving her a firm but gentle squeeze of warning.

She opened her jaws and let him retreat.

A kiss pressed against the side of her cheek. Killian tipped her chin his way and gave her a wink. “She’s just reminding us she’s got choices even if she is tied to a chair, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Read the rest of this entry »