Multi-author anthology releasing June 25th in mass market paperback and eBook

Finally, no more lonely nights…

LINDA LAEL MILLER "Batteries Not Required"
The only boyfriend Gayle Hayes has is the battery-operated kind. But when she returns to her small Montana hometown, rodeo bad boy Tristan McCullough gives her a whole new lesson in power surge…

JILL SHALVIS "Captivated"
James Scott warned his investigator ex-wife Ella to be more careful. Now he finds the irate woman nearly naked and handcuffed to the towel rack in his Mexican vacation condo. He should release her. Then again…

LUCY MONROE "Seducing Tabby"
Everybody always wants Tabby Payton’s beautiful sister. But not sexy English spy Calder Maxwell. He wants Tabby, body and soul, and he’s willing to take the seduction to new levels to prove it…

KATE ANGELL "No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service"
Violet Cates is done surfing beach bums. She’s ready for a new wave, someone with more ambition than a grain of sand. Like Brad Davis. He looks like a beach bum, but looks can be so deceiving…

CAT JOHNSON "Fish Out of Water"
Carla Henricks is a cowgirl through and through, but her lasso has never met an English professor like Mark Ross. It’s true opposites attract. Staying together is the juicy part…  

Don't miss ONE NIGHT WITH A COWBOY by Cat Johnson for your first introduction to the sexy, nerdy English professor Mark Ross.

The early morning sky, streaked with vibrant colors, made for a breathtaking start to the day. No doubt about it. For millennia, man had waxed poetic about sunrises this magnificent. Mark knew he should be more appreciative. Take note of the experience. After all, it’s not as if he was up and outside early enough to see the beauty of this natural phenomenon all that often. But instead, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
To be fair, she was a natural beauty as well, silhouetted in profile against the hues painting the sky. She stood on the shoreline of the lake, holding a fishing pole. His first glimpse of her had him tripping over his own feet.
A few steps ahead of him, Tucker strode toward the lakeshore. “Hey, Carla. You catching anything?”
 “More than you got while you were sleeping in, that’s for sure.” She turned and Mark got a better look as she faced them and teased Tuck with easy familiarity. Of course she did. Tucker wore a hat that looked almost a mate to the cowboy hat she wore. Or perhaps hers was a cowgirl hat. Mark didn’t know these things. That was probably obvious to the stranger from the canvas bucket-hat Mark had chosen for this excursion. It had looked pretty sporty on the mannequin in the store, but here and now, up against Tuck’s headwear, or even Logan’s baseball cap, not so much.
 Mark watched the interaction between Tucker and the cowgirl fisherwoman. He didn’t recognize her as one of the faculty. Not that he knew everyone, but still, he thought he’d remember seeing her.
“Is she with our group?” he asked Logan.
Logan dumped a load of camping gear on the ground and glanced up. “Carla? Yeah. She coaches the rodeo team with Tuck.”
“Ah.” The university’s rodeo team had never been on Mark’s radar before. After seeing Carla, it would be from now on.
How could a woman manage to look so tempting this early in the morning? And while fishing?
Maybe it was the long brown braid draped over one shoulder. If he loosened that braid, set those waves of hair free, it would reach all the way down her back. Her cowboy hat was pulled low over her eyes so that it accentuated the heart shape of her face. He wanted to peer beneath the brim of that hat and discover what color those eyes were.
All in good time. For now, this view would have to do. And oh what a view.
The contour of her Cupid’s bow lips drew him. He couldn’t help but stare and want to see it all closer. Even this distance, just a couple of yards away from her, seemed frustrating. Was her complexion genuinely that rosy, or was it a trick of the light? He needed to find out.
She stood in the ankle-deep water with her jeans rolled to her knees. Most of the women Mark had dated wouldn’t even venture outside in the rain. Everything about her seemed to be the opposite of the females he was used to, and he liked the differences.
The weight of the overnight bag in his hand finally drew Mark’s attention away from his ponderings. He lowered it to the ground and glanced up to find Logan staring.
“I’ll introduce you if you want.” Logan wore an amused expression.
Mark managed to maintain a poker face while playing poker, but judging by Logan’s smirk, he wasn’t doing too well at hiding his interest in Carla now. He swallowed hard. “Oh, sure. That would be good, since we’ll be fishing together.”
Sure, fishing. That’s what he wanted to do with this vision in denim before him. Fish.


  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • Reddit
  • RSS

Pre-Order: Favored Dragon's Release by D. Renee Bagby [High Fantasy Dragon Romance, MF]

Now available for 10% off pre-order at Siren-Bookstrand:

(Hidden by Dragons, Book 1)

Siren-Bookstrand Publishing[High Fantasy Dragon Romance, MF]

He wants her for his bride to end the dragons' curse but his love for her is ruining his plans.

In the aftermath of a senseless war that claimed many lives, the gods have punished the dragons for causing the conflict. The next generation will not hatch until Prince Shurik finds a human female willing to put aside generations of animosity to become his bride.

Yolette goes to sleep on the side of a mountain, the odd woman out on a couples' camping trip, and awakes in a field outside the home of a dragon. Transported to an unknown world very different from her own, she must depend on Shurik for shelter and guidance.

Shurik doesn't anticipate his growing feelings for Yolette, making the task of proposing that much harder. Danger looms from those who want the punishment ended and from those who want it to continue until the last dragon is gone. Shurik must decide whether he will save his people or his love and pray to the gods his choice is the right one.

Coming 03 July. Now available for pre-order. 10% off until 10 July (CST)!


“You mentioned food. All this philosophizing is making me hungry.”
“Rather than having me guess, what would you like?”
Shurik laughed.
“Did I say something funny?”
“You are so enthusiastic.”
She mumbled, “It was good.”
He walked back to the spot where they had entered and reached toward the darkness. Yolette wasn’t sure what he was doing until he pulled out a large platter and a cup. He returned to the water’s edge where he placed the platter and the cup on the ground. In the middle of the platter was a loaf of sliced bread. Around the bread were meats and cheeses and small pots of what looked like jellies.
Shurik gestured to the food.
Yolette wasn’t sure where to start. She grabbed a piece of bread, tore off a chunk, and reached for the nearest small jar. It contained honey. She was almost sure it was honey. A taste test would prove it. She dipped the bread and then popped the piece in her mouth.
She closed her eyes as the honey exploded over her senses in a rush of sweetness, the likes of which she’d never tasted. Slowly she chewed, savoring every single bit of the bread and actually chewing the requisite twenty times—possibly more—before swallowing.
“I think I just tasted heaven,” she whispered.
“This honey is a delicacy. No human has tasted it before.”
“I’m honored then. It’s positively decadent.” She dipped another piece of bread into the honey and ate it, savoring it as she did the first. It was the slowest she’d ever eaten anything.
Shurik said, “The bees of dragon territory are unique, and thus their honey is unique.”
“I’ll say. It literally is liquid gold for the eyes and senses.” She sighed as she licked a bit of the honey off of her fingers. If nirvana had a flavor, it would have been that honey.
It took a bit of doing, but she managed to make herself eat something else besides the honey. Shurik poured a drink for her from his cup. They ate and drank in silence. She indulged one last bite of honey and bread before her stomach declared maximum occupancy had been reached.
Shurik asked, “Full?”
“Very.” She patted her stomach. “You ate more this time.”
“Your appetite is infectious.” He returned the platter to the shadowed area, placed it inside, and then returned. “What do you wish to do this day?”
Yolette stared at Shurik while she contemplated his question. He watched her without saying a word. Her gaze strayed to his wings. “Flying lessons.”
Shurik’s smile dropped.
“Don’t look like that. I’m not going to get used to how you fly if we never go flying.”
“That is true,” he said in a hesitant manner.
“Besides, I was fine last time. You caught me like you said you would.”
She stood and clapped her hands together. “Flying lessons.”
Shurik sighed. “Flying lessons.”
She walked over and patted his side. “If it makes you feel better, I’m afraid of heights. So, in a way, I’m showing a lot of trust by even suggesting this.”
He looked at her in surprise. “You did not mention such a fear yesterday.”
“I was too upset about not being able to go home to really register that I was up in the air until after we landed.” She shrugged. “I figured mentioning it now might help somehow. I guess. I don’t know.”
He nodded. “You have nothing to fear while flying with me.”
“Good. Now the only issue is keeping hold of you. You may not realize, but you’re slippery.”
He laughed.
“Not in a slimy way. I mean, because your scales are smooth, they are hard to hold.”
“I understand.”
She sighed, happy he hadn’t taken her words the wrong way.
He said, “Perhaps a rope.”
“You could use it as a harness.”
“No. It just seems demeaning somehow.”
“I suggested it, therefore I don’t find it demeaning.”
“And how would the rope be attached? Not around your neck, I know. And tying it around one of your spines is useless since it would slip off after a while.”
She made a thinking noise, but it was for show only. She had no other alternatives to offer.
Shurik said, “A rope is still a viable option so long as it stays attached, correct?”
“I don’t like it.” She sounded like she was pouting, even to her own ears. “What if—no. Never mind.”
“You could carry me. In your hand, I mean. Like when you lift me up to the table or the bed.”
Shurik looked at his hands.
She followed his gaze and then met his eyes when he looked at her. “No?”
“Your idea is sound but not viable for the long term. I cannot always carry you in such a way. I would fear hurting you.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t.”
“How can you trust me so completely when we have not known each other long?”
She cocked her head to the side. “You’re nice. I’m usually a pretty good judge of character. I have to trust someone on this new planet. I’ll start with you.”
Shurik blinked at her a few times. He lowered his hand, palm up, and waited.

Coming 03 July. Now available for pre-order. 10% off until 10 July (CST)!

D. ReneƩ Bagby
Building New Realms of Passion...

  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • Reddit
  • RSS

New Release! Wedding Heat: Wife Watching

Simon likes to watch. Suki likes to fuck.  It’s a match made in heaven!

At Maggie and Ed’s wedding reception, Suki dances with every man at the party.  Her husband Simon isn’t much of a dancer.  He prefers to sit back and observe as she grinds against strangers’ hard bodies.  When she gives him the signal, it’s time to rush to their room at the luxury resort hotel.

Hiding behind the antique room divider, Simon waits for Suki to arrive with a man she’d only just met.  Nothing turns him on better than watching his wife go crazy with another guy… especially knowing that, once the stranger’s gone, they’ll have the hottest sex they know.

But when the swaggering stranger strips bare, his body blows Simon’s mind.  Even his fingers are huge!  After taking a guy like that, will Suki ever be satisfied with Simon?

WARNINGS: This title contains hardcore stranger sex, wife-watching, fishnets, fisting, voyeurism and exhibitionism.

Word Count: 9,000


Suki danced with every man at the reception—and half the women, too.

Simon had never been much of a dancer, not even when he was first dating Suki.  Even back in college, Suki would get up on the dance floor and grind against a stranger’s thigh.  Simon would sit back, watching.  People thought he was a wallflower.  He wasn’t.  Not really.  He was a man who knew what he liked.

And Simon liked to watch.

At the moment, Suki hung off a man who was big, black, and built.  His tailored vest and navy blue pants looked expensive, and his finely carved facial hair shouted out that he was a man who took great care in his appearance.

Mr. Big didn’t have a moustache.  He had a soul patch, of sorts, and cool cascading lines echoing the bold curve of his jawline.  His smile was contagious.

Over the booming music, Simon couldn’t hear what the dancing man whispered into Suki’s ear… but it made her giggle.  Simon wondered how old Mr. Big thought she was.  Suki had looked like a Japanese teenager until she was about thirty-seven.  Even now, she looked nowhere near her age.  She’d cut her hair recently, and the style made her look a little older, but Mr. Big probably took her for twenty-five, tops.

“Touch him,” Simon whispered into his wine glass.  He was confident Suki could hear his thoughts across the reception tent, even if she couldn’t hear his voice.  “Rub his cock.  Come on, Suki.  He’s so hot for you.  He’s so hard…”


Wedding Heat: Wife Watching, the 12th book in the Wedding Heat series, is now available from:



Barnes and Noble:




All Romance:

  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • Reddit
  • RSS

'A Summer Bewitchment' available to pre-order

My medieval historical romance 'A Summer Bewitchment' is now available to pre-order from Bookstrand.  
This novel is a sequel to 'The Snow Bride' and features Elfrida and Magnus again as my heroine and hero.

Here is an excerpt from the opening chapter:

England, summer, 1132

“I am the troll king of this land and you owe me a forfeit.”

Elfrida glanced behind the shadowed figure who barred her way. He was alone, but then so was she.

Do I turn and run along the track? Should I flee into the woods or back to the river? He is close, less than the distance of the cast of a spear. Can I make it hard for him to catch me? Yes.

But catch her he would.

Play for time.

“Indeed?” she asked, using one of her husband’s favorite expressions, then sharpened her tone. “Why must I pay anything?”

“You have trespassed in these woods. In my woods.”

The nagging ache in her shoulders and hands vanished in a tingling rush of anticipation. Elfrida dropped her basket of washed, dried clothes onto the dusty pathway, the better to fight. “King Henry is lord of England.”

“I am king here.”

A point to him. “I kept to the path, and then the river.”

“That may be so, but I claim a kiss.”

He had not moved yet, nor shown his face. The summer evening made his shadow huge, bloody. Her heart beating harder as she anticipated their final, delicious encounter, Elfrida asked, “Are you so bold? My husband is a mighty warrior, the greatest in all Christendom.”

“That is a large claim.” He sounded amused. “All Christendom? He must be a splendid fellow. The harpers should sing of him.”

Elfrida raised her chin, determined to have her say. “I am proud of my lord. He is a crusader. He has seen Jerusalem and he has learning. He can whistle any tune. He defends all those weaker than himself.” Should I say what I next want to say? Tease him as he has teased me? Why not? Are we are not playing? “Go back to your woods, troll king.”

She heard the crack of a pine cone as he shifted. In a haze of motion the troll king was out of the tree shade and into the bright sunset, dominating the path in front of her. Taller than a spear, broad as a door, he had a face as stark as granite, of weathered, broken stone. Heavily scarred—many would say grooved—he had the terrible beauty of a victor, a winner wounded but unbowed.

A ribbon of heat, like hot breath, flickered across her breasts. He was so magnificent , so handsome. She both loved and hated defying him, even in jest. Striving for calm, she said, “You will come no closer.”

“Or what, little laundress?”

That tease irked her. “The clothes and bedding do not wash themselves. Not even for you, troll king.”

He smiled, a daunting unfurling of that scarred, sword-cut face. The churning heat in her belly swept up into her cheeks and down to her loins.

“I am a witch, besides,” she added, though not as coolly as she would have liked. She saw the gleam in his large brown eyes pool into molten bronze.

“You would put a spell on me, elfling?” he challenged.

“Perhaps I already have.” Her tone and mouth were as dry as the summer. How much farther can we stretch this sweet foolishness?

He raised thick black eyebrows, while a breeze flicked and flirted with his shoulder-length curls. “Is that Christian?”

She wanted to cross her arms before herself, to shield her body from his bold stare. At the same time she longed to strip herself naked for him, unlace his tunic and caress him. Unsure how he might react, she armed herself with words instead. “I am a good witch, Magnus.”

“Indeed.” Again he looked her up and down, glanced at her buckets, basket, and clothes. “Should you not have an escort, wife?”

Do I tell him I sent Piers off to help? Are we still playing now or is he truly angry?

Looming over her, he was close enough for her to touch him. To caress his strong body will be like stroking sun-warmed stone. Distracted, she shook her head. “There is the sheep shearing…”

“Done.” He tossed a stack of rolled, lanolin-scented fleeces at her feet. “I did my share and more and, as I have said already, I claim a reward.”

He winked at her and she found herself smiling in return. “Forfeit and reward, too, sire? Is that not greedy?”

“Are we in Lent, that I should fast?” He raised his hand, cupping her face with supple fingers. “But you are too dainty to linger alone, witch or no.”

He traced the curve of her lips with his thumb and, as she trembled, he gathered her firmly into his arms. “Any man will try to spirit you away.”

“Hush!” She made a sign against the evil eye and wood elves, but he shook his head at her caution.

“I have faith in your magic craft, Elfrida. But a passing knave or outlaw? He is quite another matter. He would see you as a tempting piece, my wife, my lovely.”

“I am not helpless,” she protested, but her heart soared at his loving words. His mouth, as crooked and scarred as the rest of his face, stole a kiss from hers.

He smelled of lanolin, salt, and summer green-stuff, and tasted of apples and himself. Elfrida closed her eyes under his tender onslaught, her thighs trembling.

“Troll King?” she murmured, when they broke apart slightly. “Is that how you wish me to address you in the future, husband?”

“‘Sire’ will do, or ‘greatest knight in Christendom.’ Those will do very well.” He kissed her again.

“You rob me, sire,” she murmured, a breathless space later.

“Of kisses?” He sounded delighted at the idea, the beast, and grinned when she pinched him.

“Even one-handed I can do that better than you.”

He demonstrated, squeezing and lightly slapping her bottom, chuckling as she thrust her hips back against his fondling fingers. A shred of modesty remained as her wits dissolved into a sweet blaze of need. “Magnus, what if someone comes?”

Lindsay Townsend 

  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • Reddit
  • RSS