Seven Kisses: A Beauty and the Beast Dark Romance

My name is Gabrielle, but Madame de Villeneuve thinks I’m a girl called Suzanne. Nobody believes I’m really who I say I am. I guess I’m partly to blame. After all, I did sign a stranger’s name to my committal forms when I entered this rehabilitation centre. I’m not actually addicted to anything—not sex, not drugs, not even rock and roll.

So what’s kept me here? It’s a long story, and you probably wouldn’t believe it even if I told you—especially the part about the monkey butlers. How does an innocent young woman end up bound to a hospital bed in the bowels of a Victorian manor house? I’ll tell you if you really want to know… but I’m not sure you do.

This is a story about seven kisses: some forceful, some sweet, and every one impossible to forget. Seven kisses that started with my stay at Loindici Manor. Seven kisses that would change my life forever.

A novel from award-winning author Giselle Renarde.


When they arrived face-to-face with a panelled door, both men knocked simultaneously. Their solid raps echoed through the hallway, which was starting to feel smaller and darker than it had before, like some kind of creepy Alice in Wonderland tunnel.

“Madame,” one of the men in scrubs called through the door. “We have brought you your latest arrival.”

“Thank you,” a sultry voice called back. “You may show her in.”

The men opened the dark door and pushed Gabrielle beyond the threshold. She fell to her knees and skidded across the floor. By the time she’d turned to scowl at her captors, the woman they’d called “Madame” had already closed the door behind her.

“Hello, Suzanne.” The woman stood tall in a pinstriped skirt and ruffled blouse. Her clothes looked nearly as old as the house, and her office d├ęcor wasn’t much newer. There was even a Freud-style fainting couch along one panelled wall.

While Gabrielle was busy taking in the sights, the very proper woman repeated herself. “Did you hear me, my dear? I said hello, Suzanne.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Gabrielle picked herself up off the floor with the help of an oxblood leather chair. A nameplate on the desk caught her eye: it read Mme de Villeneuve in gold lettering. “I tried to tell your guys, but they wouldn’t listen. See, I’m not supposed to be here.”

Pursing her pink lips, Mme de Villeneuve cocked her head and considered Gabrielle. “Many patients feel that way when they first arrive at Loindici Manor.”

“No, I mean I’m not Suzanne.”

The woman’s eyebrows rose with curiosity. “I see. Who are you, my dear?”

“Gabrielle. Suzanne ran away. She ran into the woods. I don’t know where she went.”

“I see.” Sitting swiftly at her desk, Madame de Villeneuve pulled a set of what could only be called spectacles (you wouldn’t call them glasses, that’s for sure) from a desk drawer. She uncapped a wooden pen with a fancy nib—a calligraphy pen, looked like—and dashed a few lines on a creamy piece of paper.

Gabrielle could see the thick black ink staining the paper, but she couldn’t read the words. “What language is that?”

Madame did not respond.

“What are you writing?”

She didn’t acknowledge Gabrielle’s question in any way.

“Is it about me? I’m not Suzanne, you know.”

Setting the calligraphy pen beside the paper, Madame removed a blotting sheet from her desk and set it over her writings. “Your parents are very concerned about your behaviour, as I’m sure you are aware. That is why they wish you committed to my care. Now that I have met you, young lady, I must say I am concerned as well.”

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Excerpt Dangerous Surrender

When Gwen and Bowie meet for the first time...and guess what, it's available for pre-order now!

unedited excerpt - Gwen's POV

The door behind me was pulled open, setting off the alarm. Since there was a wall behind the receptionist with a mirror on it I was able to see who walked in. It didn’t surprise me to see that it was a biker, a big, bad ass biker by the looks of him. He was huge. Well over six feet tall, and I knew that because Greg was a slender six feet tall exactly. This man's stature made Greg look like a man wannabe. I grinned at making such a ridiculous comparison, but I couldn't help it. This man was dangerous looking, and built like he could handle anything that came his way. He looked ready for action.

Dressed in bad ass biker attire, he had the whole package going on. Old faded jeans, black tee-shirt beneath a black leather vest that had all kinds of colorful patches on it. His black hair hung below his ears and looked windblown. Or it could be because he was running his hands through it like he was doing now. I watched the tight muscles in his arms flex for a second.


When our eyes met in the mirror and I saw the smirk on his rugged face I realized that I'd been caught staring. Shit! I was about to glance away when his gaze dropped, and I watched his dark eyes move over my backside. They seemed to linger on my ass, making me feel a bit self-conscious because I knew my old jeans fit a little too snugly. Greg had complained lately that I'd put on a few extra pounds. When the biker’s lazy gaze drifted back up to mine his sexy, pantie-wetting smile definitely put me on alert.

I forced myself to take deep, even breaths when it dawned on me that I was holding my breath. Only a few seconds had passed but it felt like we'd been scoping each other out for hours. Okay, I was exaggerating but seriously, the man was hot! He was a walking beast. Everything in my body was turning to liquid fire, and making a fast exit toward my pussy.

I shook my head to clear it of my craziness, and began counting out the money for my room. During this whole time the clerk had just been standing there, looking ridiculous in his robe and pajamas, kind of weaving back and forth like a zombie, or as if he was about to fall asleep on his feet. He picked up the money and turned away to put it inside a drawer located off to the side of him.

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Wedding Heat: Saturday Box Set by Giselle Renarde

Forget the happy couple—it’s the guests that make this wedding sizzle!

This box set of Wedding Heat novelettes contains all six spicy tales from the series’ second season!

In “Hole in One,” Joey and Greg get a lesson in love from the wedding resort’s handsome golf instructor. In “Full Service Bridesmaid,” a morning massage turns into a menage a trois when the maid of honour hooks up with two hot masseurs.

“Swing Low” takes BDSM to new heights as wedding guests try out a brand new sex swing. Next up, a transgender cater-waiter calls out his gay roommate on an illicit affair with the boss. Will anger turn to lust and even love when resort workers walk out on their shift in “Catering to the Masses”?

In “Lickity Split,” Vanessa throws ice cream at the problem when she discovers two of the bridesmaids are closeted lesbians. Lastly, the bestselling story of the Wedding Heat series follows Suki as she seduces the DJ. Sure she’s married to Simon, but don’t worry about him. He’s more than happy to spend the night “Wife Watching.”

This wedding’s already got serious sizzle, and it’s only Saturday!


From Wife Watching:

“Call me a slut.”

His fingers stalled inside her pussy, like the request surprised the action right out of him. “Are you a slut?”

“Yes,” she hissed, tossing her head back. Her pink nipples pointed straight at the ceiling. Simon wished to hell Arthur would lean down and catch them between his teeth. Bite her breasts. Tease her. Hurt her.

She liked that.

“Slut,” Suki said, drawing out the S. She licked her fingertips and sent them to her clit. “Arthur, honey, I’m such a fucking slut.”

“Yeah?” His fingers moved faster in her pussy.

“Yeah, baby.” She gasped for breath as she toyed with her clit. “Oh fuck, that’s good.”

“And that’s just fingers.” Arthur chuckled. “Wait until I get my fat dick inside you, slut.”

Simon’s cock strained against his zipper. He wouldn’t be surprised if his erection broke through his pants.

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Hot guys, hot rods, and homicide!

Anniversary post!

One of my favorite mysteries. A chance encounter on a cold night, and look what happens!

After work, I drove to the Hopkins Police Department. I wasn't sure whether to go to Chaska, where the murder occurred, or Minneapolis, where the dead cop had worked. But that would mean I'd have to drive around looking for police stations. This one in Hopkins was on my way home so it was easy. Besides, cops all talked to each other, didn't they? If I stopped here, I could make my report then go home and think about Bill. My worry about Bill was more important than being a maybe-witness to a maybe-murder.

Satisfied with my logic, I went into the modern-looking squat brick building. I talked to the desk person, who jotted information and referred me to another person, who escorted me to a harassed-looking man seated at a battered desk in a big room with other harassed-looking people.

I sat down in the offered chair and examined “Detective Marcus Sloan” if his desk nameplate was to be believed. Sloan had thick, short-cropped white/gray hair, a tanned and lined oval face with baby blue eyes and a tight, compact body in a navy sweater and jeans. Very sharp baby blue eyes, I decided, when he turned to me.

“You heard something on Wednesday night?” he prompted, tapping a pencil on his littered desk.

“Well, maybe,” I hedged. “I was in that particular parking garage at four-thirty or so.” I looked warily at the empty cup of coffee near my elbow. There was something floating on the surface of the scummy liquid and it smelled a bit rancid. I glanced around the room where people walked, stood and talked, or drank coffee. It was noisy and very beige. You'd think they could brighten it up with some paint. They should also get some nicer furniture.

“And?” Detective Sloan snapped.

Startled out of my critique of the decorating style of the Hopkins Police Department, I glared at Marcus Sloan. “No need to get shirty. I'm just doing my civic duty.”

“Shirty?” He looked around the room as though requesting assistance. “That's a word?”

“It is. It means pissy.” Then realizing what I said I clapped a hand over my mouth. “Oops.” Was it against the law to swear at the law? I hoped not.

Sloan sat back in his chair and regarded me with those sharp blue eyes. “Why don't you just tell me what you heard?” 

I decided my best bet was to speak now or forever hold my peace. “I drove through the parking garage looking for a spot. I think I saw two men on level three as I was looking.” I frowned. “Who would've known it was St. Patrick's Day? Besides, that's such an artificial holiday.” I hurried on before Sloan could comment. “I finally found a spot on the ground floor. I heard two men arguing above me. It wasn't Spanish, French, German, Dutch, Cantonese, or Arabic. I think it was an Asian dialect but I'm not sure. They were shouting. I went to the stairwell to walk up to the catwalk on level three to go to the hospital. A man came out of the stairwell at the third floor and accosted me.”

Sloan's eyes widened as I recited my facts. He opened his mouth, closed it then said, “It wasn't...what did you say—Arabic or French or—”

“I'm reasonably fluent in those languages. I'd recognize them. I've never studied any of the Asian languages, except for a smattering of Cantonese. No, this was something else.”

“The man 'accosted' you?” Sloan asked, leaning forward. He looked like he was struggling to suppress a grin. I could see it tugging at the corners of his mouth. His face was weathered and I saw the crinkles deepen around his eyes. 

I leveled a frosty gaze at him. “Yes, he did accost me.” Heavens, that sounded prim. “He appeared in the doorway as I was going to the catwalk.”

“So he must have been on the fourth or fifth floor.”

I considered it. “Unless he was on level three and opened the door just as I got there.”

“Can you describe him? I realize you were probably nervous and the stairwell wasn't well-lighted, but—” 

I shot him a pitying glance. “He was slightly taller than me, perhaps five-foot-seven. He had a heavy build, stocky and was clean-shaven except for a five o'clock shadow with a splotchy complexion and red cheeks. He had a very round face with a rather large nose.” I considered Sloan's nose, which was slender. “Yes. Large nose and dark hair under a dark brown camo stocking cap. His hair looked long and curling at the back. Hmm. It might have some gray,” I amended. “Dark eyebrows and dark eyes.” I looked at Sloan's baby blues. “Brown, I believe, or perhaps hazel. He had a slight scar near one eyebrow, rather Harry Potter-ish. He was wearing brown pants, a dark blue jacket with some kind of sports insignia here.” I gestured vaguely to my right breast. Sloan's eyes followed the movement then returned to my face. “He was probably in his early to mid-fifties, quite athletic looking, and very fit.” I sat back. “That's all I remember. But of course, I was nervous.” I smiled. “And it was dark.”

Sloan's jaw hinged back up with an audible snap.

Check out this link for more excerpts and all kinds of buying info!

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COWBOY 12-PACK Boxed Set! 99 Cents!

I'm very excited to be part of a boxed set releasing today called COWBOY 12-PACK! It's available for 99 CENTS for a limited time, to grab your copy today!

My contribution is SADIE AND THE COWBOY, and you'll find books b Cynthia D'Alba, Elle James, Donna Michaels, Shoshanna Evers, Randi Alexander, Cora Seton, Beth Williamson, Sabrina York, Sable Hunter, Lexi Post, and Becky McGraw!

If you love sexy cowboy romance books, get ready for a 12-pack of ‘em from New York Times and USA Today bestselling authors!

I AM NOT YOUR MELODY – Shoshanna Evers
THE HARDER THEY FALL – Beth Williamson
THE REAL MCCOY – Sabrina York
BADASS – Sable Hunter


Hunky Heroes, Kickbutt Heroines, Unforgettable Romance!

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