Romance Excerpts Only Blog

ShadowsForge 4: The Long Way Home
Available Now!


Brian Cummings has come a long way from Leicestershire, England. Miles of hard road lay between then and now—hard road he’s kept hidden—until the nightmares begin again.

Diane Starling loves Brian. If she were not carrying his child, she’d still do anything to make him happy—even letting him go to someone else. Who is the woman in his nightly dreams? Why does she make him scream?

Valerie Leonard, journalist, dredges up history that should remain buried; history that could ruin Brian and hurt the people he loves most. Should Val keep his dangerous past to herself? Doesn’t Diane have the right to know the truth about the father of her child?

Brian and Diane fight to overcome the past, embrace the present, and build a future as they travel with ShadowsForge on “THE LONG WAY HOME.”

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Excerpt
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Brian pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, as much to halt the words that would probably get him a further beating as to blot the blood from his lip. He stood, shaking his silvery blond hair from his face.

Joseph crushed the pouch and stabbed a thick finger at his son's face. "What else are you doing?"

"Nothing. I'm a freaking model citizen." Brian spat out the words and pushed out his chest. Being the oldest, he wanted his brothers and sister to know he wasn't intimidated. His sculpted body and arms were a replication of his powerfully built father, though hours spent practicing on his drum kit and fistfights on the streets of Leicester added to his build. It made him appear older than his sixteen years. His hands hung at his sides, fists clenching and opening. He could feel his lip swell as his father continued yelling.

"Watch your mouth." Joseph raised his fist, glanced at his wife and dropped it again. "You drinking? Smoking besides this? Women?"

"No."

Actually, well, yes. To all the above and more, but it would have been certain death to admit it. When a bloke appeared to be eighteen or nineteen anything was available for the taking, especially the women. If they offered, Brian took.

Joseph paced toward the fireplace as he examined the zippered pouch. He poured the contents into his large hand: a lighter, a pocketknife, a pipe and papers. He pulled out the packet of sickly-sweet scented leaves. For a moment, Brian thought his dad would throw the packet into the flames. The thought struck funny. He laughed.

Joseph turned on him, his glare ablaze.

Brian brought himself under control and smirked. "Sure, Dad. You put that in the fire and the whole family will have a better outlook on life." He laughed again and glanced at three fear stricken faces.

Twelve-year-old Pamela pleaded with teary eyes as she mouthed the word, "Stop." Brian winked at his sister and turned to grin at their father.

Joseph's ruddy complexion turned dark. His father threw the packet on the floor and ground it under the heel of his work boot, before he grabbed Brian by a handful of his jacket. Brian instinctively raised his fists. His mother gasped. Joseph frowned. He slapped Brian across the face several times. He caught his father's hand and shoved it away. As his father dragged him to the front door, he struggled against the instinct to strike back.

Joseph thrust his first-born ahead of him out into a heavy snowfall. He bashed Brian in the center of his chest. Brian tumbled down four cement steps and splayed out on the snow-coated walk.

Joseph pointed at him, obviously declaring his final judgment. "You're not welcome in my house if you have no respect for me and mine." Joseph returned to the house and closed the door.

The light went out, leaving Brian in the cold darkness. The snow fell thick around him. He pulled himself to his knees and shook crystals from his hair. His shoulder and elbow ached from the impact and it was painful to breath. Brian packed a snowball and threw it hard at the sitting room window. When his father looked out, Brian held up his fist and converted it into a not so respectful gesture.

"For you, Dad," he shouted. His father frowned and dropped the curtain.

Brian crossed the yard to the street. Ten o'clock at night and it was damn cold. What a perfect night to get thrown out. He wanted to be in his room, in his bed, sleeping off the effects of the smoke and alcohol his mate Royce and he had indulged in most of the day.

He should have stayed at Royce's. He'd be warm, dry and still have his kit. Now he was out in the cold and out of smoke. He doubted that Royce was conscious enough to let him in. The two boys froze all day with the windows open in Royce's room to keep it aired out. Royce looked like he could bleed to death through his eyes. Brian didn't think about what his own eyes looked like. His parents convicted him when he came face to face with his father. The sight of him had set into motion the touching father/son bonding ritual that escalated when Joseph found his kit.

Brian pulled up his collar, shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away.
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ShadowsForge 4: The Long Way Home - Available NOW at Whiskey Creek Press

A well-bred lady and a rakish earl escape the ton and shed their inhibitions in A Scandalous Arrangement...

Sold into the service of a brothel madame to satisfy her brother's gambling debts, Lady Anna Boscawen finds herself catapulted into the scandalous, seedy underbelly of the ton when she is given a new name and her virginity is auctioned off to the highest bidder. Vere Fane, Earl of Westmorland is rich, powerful, and devilishly handsome, known throughout society for his carnal inclination and the pleasure and pain he inflicts upon the women he alternately ravages and worships. Bound together by unusual circumstances, Vere leads Anna through a whirlwind of emotions, teaching her to find the ultimate freedom - in submission.

Excerpt:

Anna heard the riding crop cut through the air a moment before the blow landed on the small of her back. Another struck her, this time lower, followed by a flurry of strikes to her buttocks and the soles of her feet. Her eyes filled with tears and she cried out; the pain radiated outwards from her abused flesh and warmed her skin.

"Why?" she shrieked, the harsh surface of the rope cutting into her wrists as she attempted to twist out of his reach.

"Why?" Vere repeated, slightly out of breath from the exertion.

"I did what you asked, milord!"

"You did," he confirmed as the crop landed with another thwack, "you did very well."

"Then I don't understand!" The tears ran freely now, cooling her flushed cheeks and splashing onto her breasts, her breathing erratic and labored.

"Your job here is what?" he asked patiently, circling around to face her. He removed his shirt and she took in the sight of his strong, muscled arms, the crafted perfection of his chest. Even bound and at his complete mercy, she found him heartbreakingly attractive. The tongue of the crop touched her chin and lifted her head, forcing her to meet his gaze. He traced her jaw with the slip of leather, but paused to brush a strand of hair from her eyes.

"To obey you, milord," she whispered.

"Yes, and what else?"

"To please you, milord."

"Precisely. And it pleases me to see you this way, sweet Rose." This time, the crop dipped lower over the swell of her breasts. He traced one nipple, then the other. The pebbled flesh tightened traitorously, causing her to shiver. "Does it not please you as well?"

"N-no, milord," she stammered. Liar, her heart whispered.

Vere leaned forward and murmured in her ear, "It will."

Buy it here.

Copyright 2007, Kayleigh M. Jamison

Available to order now from PHAZE is BEAST MAGIC, a new erotic paranormal (werelion) romantic novella by Sapphire Phelan.

They came from two different worlds.
Ramses was a werelion. Shana Tory was human. The Dreaming foretold them as soul mates.
So Ramses tracked her down in America, and when he found her, made her his and brought her back home with him to the South African Bushveld.
But others from his pride, led by one evil lioness, do not want them together.
Besides their lives, will their love survive the coming war?


Excerpt from Beast Magic-must be 18 and older to read it and the novella:

Ramses paced one end of the cage to the other. He acknowledged the other lions briefly as they watched him with an air of fear and respect. They knew what he really was. Shapeshifter. Changer of forms. One of many that, like him, were behind the myths of werebeasts, except they weren’t myths.
He stopped and smiled. It was something that a pure lion couldn’t do. Sharp fangs glinted in the moonlight.
The funny thing about werewolves, werelions, weretigers, and other shapeshifting creatures of magic were that the human stories made claim to a man changing into a beast. Actually, it was the other way around. Among the animal and bird kingdom, a few were born with the magical ability to be able to become a human being. Strangely enough, it seemed only the predators could do this and not those who fed upon vegetation. Ramses could never figure out why this was. But it had always been so.
Usually a shapeshifter mated with another shapeshifter. But mostly, the Dreaming would reveal a human as the potential mate. And so, the identity of his mate had come to him. Ever since he was a cub, he had seen his anisa in dreams.
One female shapeshifter, Kaket, had tried to gain his interest, to mate with her. He refused, letting her know that he had the Dreaming, and that his true mate waited for him across the Great Water in another land called America. Angry, Kaket told him he would be sorry he had denied her.
The human woman must have dreamed of him too. For today she had come, drawn to him. Ramses had awoken, sensing her. He had left the sleeping quarters and saw her for the first time outside of his dreams.
Tall and long limbed, she had a long red golden mane that gleamed like fire when the sunlight struck it. Her eyes were beautiful green, just like the lush grass of home. That gaze of jade had stared into his eyes, stirring him. Breasts, just the right size for a male’s hands, jutted forward and tented the man-made material she wore like a second skin. His cock had hardened against his belly, pointing toward her like it was trying to reach for her woman’s sex. Ramses had felt the urge to leap over the boundary that separated them and fuck her in his lion or human form, it didn’t matter which. The impulse had overtaken him and he almost lost his control when she had turned tail and ran.
Time to take it to the next level.
With a thrust of his hind legs, Ramses launched through the air and sailed over both the stone boundary and metal fence. He landed on the other side of the cement ground just outside the lion enclosure. Without a backward glance at the other lions, he bounded away.
He had a mate to claim and a destiny to fulfill.

When Stacy meets Veteran’s Day re-enactor William, she knows immediately there’s something different about this man. Will her heart win out over logic?

William heard music. Bolder music than he’d ever heard
before, with more instruments playing at once. Turning
into the bright sunlight, he saw its source. A large
group of musicians played just outside the cemetery,
only a short distance from where he stood every
eleventh of November. Last year, there had been no
music, no red, white and blue flags, no cameras for
television news people. This year, he saw total
devastation of one block of homes, separate from the
rest of the town. What had happened here?

He shivered, taking a deep breath, but smelled nothing
save for a tinge of automobile smoke. It was truly
November, and though the marked areas for the dead
always chilled him, today the sheer number of grave
markers overwhelmed him. So many more than last time,
so many more fancy stones appeared every year that
William could only shake his head at the waste. Oh, he
knew that war piled dead atop dead, rapidly. But there
had been no war, as he defined the term, on this soil
for the last century.

Every year, for ten years now, William had found
himself standing in this cemetery on this holiday,
left to walk the town for several days. Each year the
townsfolk smiled at him, waved, asked for him to pose
with them for photographs, and called him a
‘re-enactor.’ Each year he learned more about the
time, and its people, but a ‘re-enactor’ he was not.

He wore Union blue because he’d served with Northern
troops. To William, it was only yesterday that he’d
helped a wounded lad find his way home, relieved as
everyone that the war was over. Knowing he’d end up
here for this mysterious annual ritual, he’d donned
the threadbare uniform this morning so he’d blend in
with the war “re-enactors” of the future.

To the men and women he saw now standing in the
cemetery, dressed in solemn clothing, that surrender
would have occurred over one hundred thirty years ago.
No, he was not a play actor, but he let them think
that. It was better than being thought insane.
Looking down, William did a quick inspection of his
dull blue trousers and faded coat, noting the familiar
burnt cuff from an argument he’d had with a lantern on
the floor of a friend’s barn.

William began to walk, tracing the line of spiked
metal fence which enclosed the stone church and its
land. Rusted in places, the fence changed only
slightly each year. Its gate still swung open with a
squeak and groan, and he pushed on it, setting it in
motion with the cold breeze.

“It needs oiling.”

William turned to find a lovely young lady watching
him. She was dressed like the other mourners he’d
observed, in dark clothing, but wore a skirt so short
that William could see most of her long, slim legs and
trim ankles.

He swallowed.

“Are you here for the Veteran’s Day parade?” She
smiled, showing straight white teeth. With one hand,
she reached down and tugged at the hem of her skirt.
William said nothing, just nodded as he always did
when confronted by these people from the future. After
the first few visits, he’d learned to be
non-committal, agreeable with their assumptions,
because that was how he’d survived these altered time
passages.

“My name’s Stacy Martin,” the woman said, moving
toward him and extending a slender hand with nicely
groomed nails.

Surprised, William took it, closing it gently between
his own, larger hands. “William Madiston, ma’am.” The
small ring she wore pressed into his palms, and her
skin felt warm next to his. William’s heart beat
faster, and he felt a tug in his chest.

This had never happened here before.

AVAILABLE NOW FROM CERRIDWEN PRESS

For Professor Glenna Rose, approaching forty years of age means confronting a host of cultural stigmas and self-doubts. The least threatening path through the minefield of middle age seems to the one offered by a stodgy colleague fifteen years her senior... and that path leads straight to the altar.

Although Glenna has managed over the years to varnish her free-spirited longings with the discipline and decorum required by conservative Stockton College, that dignified veneer is shattered when her friends treat her to a bachelorette party at a male strip club. "Dillinger," the sublimely sexy and secrecy-cloaked headliner, unexpectedly sparks Glenna's repressed passion. Her shock and confusion are compounded when the dancer returns her interest. To complicate matters further, Professor Rose has been assigned the duty of shepherding an appealing new faculty member, a young writer-in-residence, and he soon becomes her trusted confidant.

Engaged to one man, obsessively in lust with a second, and increasingly close friends with a third, Glenna finds herself at the center of a life-altering crossroads. While her values and priorities and her very self-image are being put to the test, she knows only one thing for certain: that she must find an emotionally satisfying resolution to her dilemma and must do so without generating a scandal...or worse.

Follow the link above to read an excerpt at the publisher's site. And be sure to visit me at http://www.myspace.com/kzsnow, where you can find out about my Ellora's Cave and other books, peruse my regularly updated blog, and read a FREE, FULL-LENGTH CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE, Halfway to Heaven.

Lots to report today! My latest release is now available from Forbidden Publications, Dealing with Isabella.

The quiet twin captures Jason's interest, and as he paints their mansion on canvas, he imagines building a life with Sabrina. As details from her past emerge, he discovers that before he can move forward with her, he must first handle Dealing with Isabella.

More information or purchase here.

My October newsletter is now available here. There's a new contest and part three of the free read, Snowbound. Don't miss it!

Finally, Phaze is offering a free ebook to anyone who takes their simple erotic reader survey here. Tell them Jamie Hill sent you, and I could win a prize, too!

Have a great weekend!

~ Jamie

Rachel wasn't a Dom until she met a submissive woman named Anne, who showed her a side of herself she didn't know was there. Now very comfortable in her role as Anne's Mistress, Rachel gets a phone call from Anne one afternoon at work and looks forward to teaching her sub a lesson in patience that evening.

Come to Me has been published as a Sip, Torquere Press' short story line.

Excerpt:

I was in a meeting when Anne called me.

"Mistress, I need you. Are you free tonight? Please call me."

Her message on my voicemail made me smile in a way I would never have allowed myself to in her presence. It was so satisfying to be needed, asked for, desired. And yet I knew what I had to do, for Anne's own good, and for mine. I called her back.

"Hello, Mistress." Anne sounded cheerful. It was a shame I was going to have to ruin her mood.

"You've earned yourself a spanking, Pet," I told her. "But you may try again."

I hung up the phone and waited for it to ring, which it did, seconds later. I let my cell phone ring in my hand once, and then again. I answered after the third ring.

"Pet? Have you been thinking?"

"Yes, Mistress Rachel. Please forgive my presumption. I only meant to… that is, if it pleases you, ma'am, I have held tonight in reserve should you happen to be free and wish to see me. I am sorry for my earlier disrespect."

"Try again, Pet." I hung up the phone.

Two hours later I heard the phone ring, but let Anne's call go to voicemail.

"Hello? Mistress? I'm very… I am worried that I didn't receive a call back from you. I hope that I haven't angered you. I'm sorry."

Then, again about four o'clock.

"Mistress Rachel, I'm home, I've been kneeling and thinking and… I'm begging forgiveness for my first voicemail. I was thinking of my own needs and not yours. I was letting my own desires rule me. I was disrespectful and I'm ready to receive punishment for my actions. I humbly put myself at your mercy, Mistress. Just… please tell me what I can do to make this up to you? I love you."

I love making Anne beg, she does it so prettily. All the same I made her wait another hour before I picked up the phone and called her back.

"Mistress?" Anne answered instantly.

"I am leaving the office in five minutes, Pet," I said into the phone, not bothering to hide the slight smile of satisfaction. "Be waiting for me when I arrive."

Excerpt copyright Jodi Payne. All Rights reserved.

Buy Come to Me here.

Whence He Came is an m/m short story being released as part of Torquere Press' Arcana Line, and is based on the Tarot card, "Judgment".

Elliot has been living a lie in New York, letting his friends and family think he's a wheeler-dealer in the real estate game. When he leaves New York to return to his small town home, he's relieved to see that no one knows any better about his life, and that some things never change.

The one person who has changed is his high school boyfriend, Tony. Tony's not willing to take a chance on the man who left him high and dry to go to the city, no matter how much Elliot wants him to. What Tony knows is what Elliot has to learn; only the truth can bring them back together again.

Excerpt:

Elliot Cohen stepped off the four o'clock train from the city and onto a concrete platform. Seven years ago he would have stepped directly into the miserably cold December rain, but in his absence the town had constructed a solid, covered platform where there used to be nothing more than a four-foot-high, wobbly, wooden deck and a set of narrow, aluminum steps.

Back then, he would also have been the only one disembarking at this hole in the wall station, but today he was one of perhaps thirty people. A small, suburban town could really grow up in seven years.

He gave his sleek, black, roll-away suitcase a sharp tug to get it moving and then made his way through the small station to a set of sliding glass doors, where he was just as surprised to discover escalators leading down to the parking lot. The whole arrangement had him shaking his head in amazement. When he was a kid there used to be a never-ending set of concrete steps where these escalators now resided and whenever he and his buddies went anywhere by train, they used to jog up the steps singing the theme to Rocky.

When he'd left home there had been only two taxis in the whole town, one driven by Mr. Papadopoulos, and the other driven by Mr. Papadopoulos' brother-in-law, Mr. Vasileiadi. If you wanted a ride you had to call and leave a message with Mrs. Papadopoulos and she would make sure one of the brothers came by to pick you up. Between the new station and the taxi stand with its line of four waiting cabs, Elliot was starting to wonder if he'd gotten off at the right stop.

Unless the town had also invented teleportation while he'd been gone, Elliot remembered it was a twenty-minute walk to Main Street. Walking that distance in the pouring rain sounded less than appealing, so he headed for the taxi stand. He could have called his mother to pick him up, but he still wanted this to be a surprise visit.

"Where to?" The driver asked, taking Elliot's suitcase and putting it in the trunk for him.

"Twenty Sawyer Lane."

"That's out behind the high school right?"

Well at least that hadn't changed. "You got it."

"Hop in."

They left the train station and headed toward downtown and Elliot found himself compelled to ask, "Do you know George Papadopoulos?"

"Who?"

He ought to have known better. "Never mind."

Elliot was home, but it was nothing like how he'd left it.

Excerpt copyright Jodi Payne. All Rights Reserved.

Buy Whence he Came here.

www.CerridwenPress.com

ISBN: 9781419910371

Summer Donahue was not Ben Martin’s type of woman. Ben is conservative, thoughtful and the model of self-control. Summer is whimsical, spontaneous, and just a bit flaky. So why, when she breezed into his office like a tropical storm, was he so instantly and inexplicably attracted to her?

Summer consulted Ben to have her business’s taxes done but when it comes to light that Summer’s ex-husband and ex-accountant Malcolm has embezzled most of her liquid assets and put her on the brink of bankruptcy, Ben ends up throwing aside all of his iron-clad rules about getting personally involved with his clients. Summer and Ben go to Mexico to find her ex and save her business once and for all. But Ben loses more to Summer than his personal credo in the process – he loses his heart as well.

"Fans of Jennifer Crusie will love Jenyfer Matthews'
fresh, fun voice. ONE CRAZY SUMMER 
is contemporary romance at its best!"

Gemma Halliday
Undercover in High Heels

EXCERPT

Ben sat on the couch in his apartment and drank a bottle of beer. The football game he’d planned to watch went on unheeded before his eyes. His thoughts were drifting back to his last meeting of the day.

Summer.

He scowled. What kind of name was Summer anyway? It was a season, not a person’s name. But as he thought about it more, he decided that perhaps it suited her. Bold and bright and energetic. Warm and fun. When he thought of summer the season those were words that came to mind. And from what he’d seen today, they fit Summer Donahue as well.

He’d been determined not to think of her again once she left his office. She was a client, a job, a means to an end. He would do her taxes for her, suggest a way to organize her records to make tax time easier in the future, and send her on her way. No doubt her own accountant would come back soon and he’d never see her again.

Simple.

He closed his eyes and her image appeared before him. Denim and dream catchers. He scowled again. He preferred silk to denim, pearls to whatever kind of weird earrings she was wearing. But damn, she was sexy.

And she didn’t even know it.

Her being oblivious to her own appeal didn’t help — it only made her more dangerous. It only made Ben want to show her how sexy she really was.

He opened his eyes and took another swallow of his beer. Damn, he wanted her. He wanted to free that wild red hair of hers and run his hands through it. He wanted to see if she was as exuberant in bed as she had seemed to him just sitting in his office, so unaware of her own sensuality.

Images flickered on the TV but he couldn’t concentrate. He’d never had such an instant reaction to a woman before and it was making feel a little crazy. Restless and edgy. Like he’d been asleep for a long time and was finally awake — and ready to take some sort of action.

Just what that was, he wasn’t sure. And if there was one thing that Ben Martinez didn’t like it was uncertainty.

Available NOW from Cobblestone Press

Music spilled out into the street from the open front door of Dino’s, a popular nightspot. Inside, televised sporting events shown on screens over the bar vied with the music played much too loud upstairs.

The bar was packed, and he was late. Drew felt a momentary flutter of panic when he walked in the door. What if she didn’t come? Then, an even worse thought assailed him. What if she did?

Rosalie and Kyle were sitting at a table by the bar. Sitting, facing the door, was his date. He’d expected her to be tall, thin, and red-headed like her sister, Rosalie. The woman listening intently to Kyle was curvaceous, and oh-my-god gorgeous. He sauntered through the crowd to their table, reminding himself this was supposed to be a date, not an interview.

Kyle introduced him to Cassie, and Drew found himself mesmerized by her eyes. They were the color of dark chocolate. And when she smiled, stars sparkled in the liquid depths of her eyes and two deep dimples winked in her cheeks. She might work in the morgue, but he wouldn’t have guessed it. The freckles generously sprinkled across her nose gave evidence she spent time in the outdoors. Even the tips of her strawberry blond hair were bleached gold by the sun.

He didn’t know whether to shake her hand or just nod a greeting. For the first time in his life, he was struck speechless. His mouth was dry, and his tongue felt as if it was stuck to the roof of his mouth. Sitting down, he reached for the pitcher of margaritas in the middle of the table and poured himself one.

“I’ll take a refill.” Cassie leaned into him, and her left breast pressed against his arm. It was like being struck by lightning. A jolt of lust shot straight to his cock. Good thing he was sitting, or he’d have been embarrassed to have his pants tent around his erection.

“Another one?” Rosalie asked, her hazel eyes wide. “That’ll make three.”

“I’m not driving home; Drew will drive me.” Cassie gave Drew a wink. “Besides, you’re always telling me to cut loose and enjoy myself. So, I am and I think Drew here is the man to help me with it.”

Drew laughed. “So, Cassie. Kyle tells me you work for the city?”

Cassie shifted her seat closer to Drew’s. “I don’t want to talk about work. Why don’t you ask me about the summer Rosalie and I swam nekkid in the neighbor’s pool.”

Rosalie looked like she’d swallowed an olive and Drew bit back a smile.



copyright 2007 Ericka Scott
www.erickascott.com