Maxwell Barnes runs the top law firm in the city, owns a private BDSM club, and has more money than he can spend in a lifetime. He gets everything he wants, and now he wants his paralegal, Aaron Marshall. Mixing work and pleasure is a big no-no, but their mutual attraction is off the charts. The one thing Maxwell isn’t looking for is love, but sometimes fate has a mind of its own.
Fucking traffic. Even at this hour of the day, the streets were as jammed as my calendar. Doesn’t matter what I drive. My Mercedes-Maybach won’t get me to the office any faster than a Prius, but my ride got a lot of looks. It commanded the eye as well as the road. I imagined the other drivers were wondering what VIP was enjoying all this luxury. The thought ignited me. Being the center of attention was a turn-on. It was better than sex.
At last, my building came into view. It was an impressive sight. The Barnes Building was a soaring glass tower, twenty stories high, and one of the most prestigious addresses in the city. I helped design it myself. I demanded a seat at the table with the architects and builders, and my input resulted in a stunning building that met my needs. If you want something done right, do it yourself. ‘Nuff said.
I turned into the parking garage and pulled into my reserved spot, savoring the rewards of success. My car, my building, designer duds, a Rolex, they were all symbols of my wealth and status. None of it was due to luck. I worked damn hard to get where I was, long hours, high-profile court cases, good investments… I was on top of the world. Now I was ready to enjoy myself. For years work had overshadowed everything else in my life. I had made a name for myself and accumulated stuff, but I had neglected the hedonistic pleasures that shaped my life. It was time to focus on the thing that lit me up. BDSM. Erotic play made me feel complete. It energized me. I just needed the right partner. Lately, I had wondered whether the man I wanted even existed. It was a tall order to fill.
I knew who I was and what I wanted — single, gay Dom looking for a playmate, not a relationship. Nothing serious or exclusive. I wanted a man who was submissive because he loved the way it made him feel, but finding a compatible play partner wasn’t easy. In the past I’d had partners who played at being submissive so they could gain access to me. They were only interested in my prestige and money. I liked a man who was willing to work hard and make it on his own. Someone who was constantly learning and wanted to challenge his limits.
Even with my connections, it was difficult to meet men because my kink was a well-hidden secret. Submissives who were looking for a Dom wouldn’t know how to find me. It had been a long time since my Dominant side got any attention, and it had been frustrating as hell.
Until the day Aaron Marshall showed up. We had instant chemistry. Chemistry counted for a lot, but it wasn’t everything. There had to be more to it than attraction. The big question was, could we build something on that chemistry? This was such an improbable match, I couldn’t believe it was more than a fluke. But what if it wasn’t? I intended to find out because I was used to getting what I wanted, and I wanted this man.
I took the private elevator to the top floor. My suite was bright and modern, a stark contrast to my public office one floor down. There it was all cherry wood and leather, the warm traditional look I presented to the public. But the private penthouse was my home when I was working on an important case so it was all me, a personal office, sitting room, kitchen, bedroom, and a large bath, even a walk-in closet stocked with some of my favorite paddles and floggers.
I listened to my voice mail and found a message from Brett Holiday, my best friend. No need to answer it. I’d be seeing him tonight. I went into the bathroom to check my appearance before taking the back stairs to my office.
Before settling in, I walked out to the front office to greet Aaron, who was now my newest paralegal. My current office manager was teaching him the ropes, a task I planned on taking over shortly. Pun intended.
Aaron always clocked in ahead of everyone, even me. He wanted to make a good impression, and he had. The man was a quick study and very professional, but he had other assets that sparked my interest.
I never forgot our first meeting. I liked his looks immediately — dark blond hair, hazel eyes, slim build, but his stance was what caught my attention. Aaron stood in front of my desk, his back ramrod straight, arms at his sides, head up, eyes down. His deference was flattering to the point of overkill. I saw it as a tendency to yield to the will of another. He was hard-wired to be a submissive.
We made eye contact and it was hot as hell. I pictured us having wild sex and I sensed he felt the same. The undeniable connection between us was like an out-of-body experience. That mysterious attraction couldn’t be forced. It was what I longed for, but seldom found. Calm down, I told myself. Do not hire this man because you want to fuck him.
“Have a seat, Mr. Marshall.”
“Thank you.”
I decided to test the water. “Thank you, Sir.”
Aaron’s eyes went wide but he responded immediately. “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
His reaction was beautiful to behold. Being told what to do excited him. I could tell he wanted me to take control, to dominate him. Anticipation shivered along my spine. I knew an untrained submissive when I saw one. Aaron was struggling to recover his self-command, but his desire and arousal shone like a beacon in a storm. I was intrigued.
Conner: I’m a reporter who’s seen horrors, but I faced them all without flinching. Despite everything — including a mother who thought I wasn’t quite human — I was happy with my life, my friends, my parents and my job. Then I met Rager, a demon from a different dimension. I never thought I’d want a future with another man, but I want one with him. I can forgive his past transgressions, but he has to trust in me and our love. Is happiness really possible when I learn my entire life has been a lie?
Rager: Centuries of loneliness led me to make huge mistakes. I believed the wrong person, an innocent child was nearly kidnapped, and I almost killed a man by forcing my Mating Mark on him. As punishment, I’ve been sent to the Mortal Realm, where I’m helpless without my powers. Now I’ve met Conner, but I know he deserves a better mate. Can I help him accept the truth about himself, or will it tear us apart? And will my Queen allow me happiness after all the mistakes I’ve made?
I looked at the light as it floated in the trees near Hecate’s castle, feeling indifferent about my banishment to the Mortal Plane. I didn’t care where I went or what happened next. My life had had no meaning in the last half century anyway.
I was truly alone and felt even more so now that my bond with Te’Garth had broken. I’d come so close to a mate, only to be denied.
My loneliness was a living, breathing thing inside me. I no longer hoped my barren existence would change. Especially now that I was being sent to the Mortal Plane, where I’d be stripped of my power and at the mercy of humans.
I turned as Queen Hecate approached with her Hellhounds on her heels. “Nice doggies,” I sneered at the Hellhound shifters, hoping they’d attack and rip a hole in me somewhere. At least I’d feel something.
“Don’t bait my hounds, Rager. That’s bad form, and you’re above that.” She raised an eyebrow. “Do I need to leash you, or will you be on your best behavior?”
I didn’t want to be sent into the Mortal Plane with more humiliation than I’d suffer anyway, so I simply shook my head. The silver leash wouldn’t burn my skin in the human world, but Hecate could still keep track of me and punish me with pain through the device. “I’m at your mercy, my queen. And those for whom I’ll…” I nearly growled but cleared my throat, “…I’ll serve.”
“Yes, you will be. Josiah and Matson need someone to help them, as their bed and breakfast has grown. You’ll learn about serving others from them. They can contact me directly if they need me.” Her eyes narrowed, flashing dangerously. “Don’t make them do that, Rager. This is your one chance to redeem yourself. Young Te’Garth saw something inside you that warranted a second chance, and I went with his assessment. You’ve done enough damage to him, and several other mortals as well. Now is the time to heal those wounds.”
I fought the sigh and forced a blank face instead.
“All right, come along. Do not make me regret this decision, Rager.”
I didn’t bother to remark that I was already regretting it. The light grew as we stepped closer to the gateway, and I could see a room with a large overstuffed couch and bright sunlight shining through the windows.
A yellow sun. That would take some getting used to.
As I stepped through the portal, I looked down, shocked at how my appearance had changed. My skin was a weird, sickening, pale whitish tone. To make matters worse, my Queen had either grown a foot taller, or my body had shrunk. No one else was present in the room, but I could hear voices elsewhere in the abode.
A human male stepped into the room. He was shorter than I was, with dark, wavy hair and bright blue eyes. He bowed low before taking Hecate’s hand and bringing her fingers to his lips.
“Josiah. This is Rager.” She inclined her head toward me, and I watched as the man’s eyes widened.
“Is there a problem, human male?” My voice didn’t sound nearly as intimidating as usual.
He blinked before he grinned. “Nope. You appear different than how I remember Terran Demons look, but there’s no problem. And lesson one here on the Mortal Plane; call people by their name if you know it. ‘Human male’ isn’t something people say when they refer to each other. My name is Josiah Ashby.”
“And I’m Matson, his husband.” A red haired man stepped into the room. He was taller than I was, which was a new experience for me. He was also heavily muscled, and judging by the way he wrapped an arm around Josiah, he was staking a claim on the male. “This is our home as well as our business. Lesson two is that you will respect our guests and us, or you’ll be sent back to Hecate for whatever punishment she has in mind. This is your second chance. The first infraction you make, you’re gone. Am I making myself clear?”
“Clear as the Lake of Valhalla, Matson Ashby.”
“Good. And it’s just Matson. We’ll discuss human customs later. I have a reporter coming to cover our business for a spread in the local newspaper.” Matson kissed his husband’s temple just as the front door of the establishment opened, and a young human male stepped into the room.
He was about my height, with hair the same brown color as the sand surrounding my home and eyes the color of the lavender jewels on the hilt of my ceremonial sword. My body reacted.
I took an instinctive step forward to claim the male before a feminine hand slammed into my chest.
“No. You’re here to serve and learn. Stand down, Rager.”
My body started to vibrate as my soul fought to leave my body and join the male who stood staring at me with a smile on his face.
My vision tunneled as I stared at the straight white teeth and soft tanned skin of the human. I heard no sound but the sound of his breathing. I licked my dry lips, and I wondered if the yellow sun on this realm had done more to me than leach my power and change my appearance.
Until he spoke, and my world seemed to implode at the sound of his voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I’m the reporter from the Charlotte Observer. I’m here for the interview.” He held up a black case, then reached inside his shirt and pulled out a black cord attached to a shiny rectangle with his likeness in the corner. “My name is Conner Thompson.”
As Matson and Josiah greeted the gorgeous male, I backed away until my back hit the wall of books. The portal didn’t open to allow me to escape. My heart tumbled in my chest.
After all these years, I had what I craved, but could never have.
My vivid imagination combined with my love of reading and sci-fi. As a kid, I spent hours writing stories and poems while listening to my large collection of vinyl record albums.
My goal as an author is to tell stories that help others find enjoyment, or to escape life for a little while. I want the characters in my head to become as real to the reader as they are to me, and I hope they find another heart to settle into. I also want to interact with the people who read my books, because you never know where your next friend will come from.
Glass Half Full Katia Rose
(Barflies, #2)
Publication date: January 8th 2020
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance
You win some, you lose some.
Back at home with half a college degree after the fiasco of the century sent her packing, it’s safe to say that Renee Nyobé is losing some. She’s a hot mess, and not the cute kind. No, if hot messes had categories, hers would be ‘littering the stairs of the metro station with your sweaty underwear because you were too busy rushing to the job interview you’re already late for to zip up your yoga bag.’
A job—any job—is just what she needs to get her life back on track, and it might as well be at Montreal’s most famous dive bar, Taverne Toulouse.
Dylan Trottard is winning some. As Taverne Toulouse’s new manager, he’s got one rule for himself: don’t screw up. Following that rule gets a lot harder when the woman he’s spent the past three years trying to forget starts working behind the bar.
They were never supposed to want each other, and they sure as hell aren’t supposed to want each other now. She’s the girl that got away before he even had her, and he’s the guy she didn’t think would ever give her a second glance.
Now they can’t keep their eyes off one another, and the stakes are even higher than before. There’s a lot to lose, but as the pull between them gets harder and harder to ignore, Renee and Dylan start asking how much winning is worth.
Glass Half Full is part of the Barflies series, a set of standalone romantic comedies that chronicle the lives and loves of the staff at a Montreal dive bar.
“I always wondered something,” she continues when it’s clear I can’t speak. “That night, did you…Were you…Did you want to kiss me?”
I wanted to do more than kiss her. I wanted to breathe her in. I wanted to inhale her.
“It would have been a bad idea,” I manage to get out through my clenched jaw. She’s staring up at me through those damn eyelashes, and all I can think about is her mouth, her neck, that inch of her gorgeous bare shoulders I can see before they meet with the edge of her coat.
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
Everything grinds to a halt.
Shit, shit, shit.
“I’m glad you didn’t,” she repeats, “because I wasn’t ready for you to kiss me then, not like I am now.”
Author Bio:
Katia Rose is not much of a Pina Colada person, but she does like getting caught in the rain. She prefers her romance served steamy with a side of smart, and is a sucker for quirky characters. A habit of jetting off to distant countries means she’s rarely in one place for very long, but she calls the frigid northland that is Canada home.
Thank you for hosting the cover reveal for my upcoming release, Finding OurMorning. This stunning cover was created for me by Anna Sikorska of Tiferet Design.
Although I’ve been traditionally published since 2009 and have managed to release thirty-seven full length novels in the last ten years, Finding Our Morning is my first straight (m/f) romance. I’ve been meaning to write this for a while, but my creative juices dried up after a few chapters, so I shelved the idea. Last January, I came across the outline for this novel and decided to revisit. This time, my flighty muse perked up like a mare in estrus. Suddenly the timing was right.
In my m/m backlist, there’s a trilogy featuring polo players, and one other book rooted in Iran during the revolution, so the setting for this current novel is at once familiar yet completely different. I’m not sure why this historical event fascinates me, and I say historical with a grain of salt. Forty-three years (my story opens in 1977) isn’t that long ago, but the ouster of any ruler is significant, and this did take place in the last century—therefore, historical. Why does this moment in time resonate? Perhaps it’s because I was alive when the shah left Iran, watched it play out on TV, and, like the rest of the world, dealt with the aftermath of his decision. Or it could be the sweet Persian boy I had a crush on long ago who first generated my interest in the region. What would have happened to me if I’d followed my heart and accepted his proposal? Maybe I just have a soft spot for mysterious dark-eyed polo players with British accents. To be honest, I think it’s all of the above.
Finding Our Morning is a multicultural, interracial romance set in Texas, New York, and Tehran. The book releases on January 28, 2020. The novel will only be available on Amazon and KU. A paperback is also planned.
Blurb
May 1977
Ginny Tate bides her time on the family stud farm in San Antonio, Texas, waiting to start veterinarian school in the fall. Bullied as an adolescent, she’s finally shed her old skin, but the emerging beauty still harbors insecurities and would rather hang out with horses than people.
Sponsored by his uncle, the Shah of Iran, Dariush—David—Akbari, a twenty-five-year-old NYU grad with a degree in International Law, is also a skilled polo player. He joins the royal traveling team for a tournament in Plano, Texas.
A decade in America has gradually altered David’s views on certain aspects of his culture. Torn between familial obligations and his adopted country, David resists the idea of returning to Iran so soon after graduation.
At the traditional after-party, David strikes up a conversation with Ginny, who is refreshingly honest. He receives an invitation to visit Tate Stud Farm and, on the pretext of buying another polo pony, persuades the shah to make a detour.
Great horsemanship coupled with self-effacing charm sets David apart from the entitled braggarts who normally populate the sport, and Ginny falls hard. His visit turns into a life-changing week that neither can foresee. Will they walk away unscathed or live to regret their impulsive behavior?
Inspired by events preceding the fall of the Pahlavi dynasty, Finding Our Morning is a love story that catapults us from Texas Hill Country to the epicenter of a monarchy on the brink of collapse.
Excerpt
Finding Our Morning
Mickie B. Ashling 2020
All Rights Reserved
San Antonio, Texas
May 1977
Chapter 1
In the back seat of the Chevy Suburban, Ginny listened with half an ear to her parents’ conversation while staring out the window. As the familiar landscape whizzed by, her stomach ached and her chin throbbed; an unpleasant reminder that nothing had changed. She was the same awkward girl she’d been a week ago, not some new-and-improved version because she’d turned eighteen yesterday, and was hell-bent on leaving her childish insecurities behind. Plagued by postpubescent acne for years, Ginny had assumed—as did her dermatologist—the hormonal imbalance would pass in due time.
And it had.
Mostly.
But she’d woken up this morning to find the nastiest zit on her chin that no amount of Clearasil could disguise. Today of all days! She had planned this trip to the Willow Bend Polo and Hunt Club in Plano, Texas, for months. It was a five-hour drive from San Antonio, where her family lived and bred horses, and her parents had agreed to accompany her and give up an entire weekend, a hard-won victory considering the couple rarely took a day off. Backing out at the last minute because her old nemesis chose this particular day to reappear was unthinkable. She’d looked forward to this trip for months. In a sense, it was her coming-out party, the first time she’d stand toe-to-toe with the clients who’d patronized their stud farm for years.
But nature was a fickle bitch and had, for whatever reason, decided to remind Ginny who was in charge. Pep talks notwithstanding, Ginny had shied away from the public eye for years. It didn’t matter that she excelled in math and science and could outride anyone in her immediate vicinity. While other girls were consumed by the latest fashion trends, Ginny was learning how to muck out a stall; feed and groom; do a visual check for cuts, scrapes, or puncture wounds; clean the horses’ hooves, look for cracks or loose shoes; maintain a tack room; apply simple first aid; repair fences; wrangle; brand; assist in live covers and subsequent births; and even play polo as well as any guy. But her peers still called her “pizza face” behind her back.
And it tormented her.
This derogatory nickname had stuck until she graduated, and even though her complexion had long since cleared up, the experience had left an indelible scar. Ginny continued to see the creature she’d been rather than the person she’d become.
That morning, her parents had dismissed her concerns when they heard her yelling at the mirror above her bathroom sink. They claimed the red spot was only a tiny blemish on an otherwise beautiful face.
Right.
They were supposed to say that. It was their job to keep her upbeat and confident. And she’d woken up in fine spirits until she peered at her reflection and spotted Mt. Vesuvius. Doing her best to get rid of the ugly white-tipped mound, Ginny squeezed until she was satisfied she’d obliterated the motherfucker.
In the car, she grabbed an ice cube from the cooler by her feet, where her mom had packed a picnic lunch, and buried it in the washcloth she’d yanked on her way downstairs. Settling in for the duration, Ginny held the cool cloth against her sore chin. Five hours was more than enough time to reduce the swelling.
This high-goal polo tournament, featuring an assortment of celebrities, had been advertised for months. Ginny looked forward to this event as much as any eighteen-year-old anticipated her first trip abroad. As the only daughter and heir to a lucrative stud farm specializing in polo ponies, the public was curious to meet her. Although they were aware of her existence, many wondered if she was some sort of halfwit because she was never around during negotiations. No one knew this was part of her plan—to make a grand entrance with her head held high as she shook hands with the different men and women who dominated the sport.
One of the most famous was Cecil Smith, now in his late seventies. He’d been a 10-goal player for twenty-six consecutive years. It was the highest ranking one could attain in the sport and Ginny was eager to meet the man. His glory days marked the zenith of American polo, and long after he’d retired in 1967, he continued to ride and train polo ponies on his ranch out in Boerne, not too far from the Tates’ San Antonio home.
There would be other celebrated players from different parts of the world. The Argentineans, current leaders of the sport, the Domecq brothers from Spain, a team of blue bloods from the UK, and the Shah of Iran with his usual over-the-top entourage. He wasn’t the best player in the world, but his presence added gravitas to any event. Ginny couldn’t wait to check out his horses and equipment.
Once upon a time, she’d dreamed about joining a women’s polo team and touring the world, but it had been unrealistic given her age and social anxiety. Now she focused on breeding the magnificent animals that might end up on a winning team. Knowing she played a part in a polo player’s success was almost as good as being a participant.
Approaching their destination, Ginny glanced in the hand mirror she always carried in her purse, and was pleased to see a more subdued landscape, one she could doctor with concealer. While applying the liquid with gentle pats, she was derailed when the Suburban lurched to a stop behind a long row of vehicles leading to the main gates of the club.
“Gosh darn it!” her father exclaimed, narrowly avoiding the truck in front of him.
“Dad!” Ginny protested when her hand slipped and makeup streaked wildly.
“Raymond!” Margery Tate seconded.
He banged the steering wheel in frustration. “Not my fault these morons can’t drive for shit.”
Ginny worked fast to try to repair the damage. At last, she was satisfied with her appearance. She put away her makeup bag and looked out the window. Impressed by the large crowd, she whistled with approval. “Is this normal, Dad?”
“Par for the course when it comes to polo tournaments with an international cast of players. People who never show up for regular games are here to ogle the celebrities.”
“Let’s hope it’s worth it,” Margery remarked. “I’d hate to come all this way to see a mediocre tournament, big shots notwithstanding.”
Ginny smirked. Her mother was a practical woman who rarely stopped for fun. She had her hands full from dawn to dusk and treasured her Sundays more than most. If this was a wasted trip, they’d hear about it during the ride home, especially since they planned to stay the night to break up the long drive. It would be midday by the time they got back to the ranch.
“It’s going to be fine,” Ray assured his wife. “Don’t work yourself into a lather for no good reason.”
Margery let out a deep sigh.
After the slow crawl up the driveway, they followed the rest of the vehicles to a large parking lot. Attendants in flashy cowboy attire, custom-made for show, directed traffic. Ginny could appreciate the magnitude of the task lying in wait for the people in charge. There were hundreds of spectators walking about and craning their necks for a chance to spot someone famous. She arranged to meet her parents once the game started, and they parted ways so she could explore. Attired in a red-and-white polka-dot wrap dress, platform wedge sandals, and a stylish straw hat to keep the sun off her face, Ginny blended into the crowd.
There were five polo fields in all. The main field in front of the clubhouse would remain empty until the tournament started, but the other four were occupied with riders practicing their swings and turns. Ginny headed for the closest one and fell in with a bunch of grooms who were tending their masters’ ponies with absolute devotion. Four ponies per player were the ideal number. There were six chukkers in a game, and by the time the rotation landed back on the first pony, he would be well rested. Injuries were part of the sport, for horses and riders alike. Getting ridden-off during the course of a match or bumped, a maneuver similar to a body check in hockey, was commonplace. Horses also got hit by rogue balls and mallets, leaving them momentarily disabled or out for the count. The number of ponies waiting their turn might appear excessive to an outsider, but a player could be severely handicapped if he didn’t have a fresh mount per chukker.
Many of the men who served as grooms were amateur polo players and felt wins and losses as keenly as their employers. Early on, Ginny learned the best way to get the full measure of a rider was by eavesdropping on the guys in charge as they kept a watchful eye on the polo field. Standing as close as possible, Ginny was within earshot of the comments that were usually peppered with mild expletives and friendly wagers. Excitement coursed through her veins as she heard the familiar sound of hooves galloping across the field. The smell of grass, horse manure, and leather combined with the whoops of excitement from the men on horseback gave her goose bumps.
She’d had a thing for polo players for as long as she could remember. There was something indefinably masculine about the men who played the game that appealed to her senses. Unlike a lot of rodeo events, polo was more than a rough sport. One had to be a keen strategist to excel. Anticipating an opponent’s next move was the only way to stop them before they got in position to score a goal. It was a chess game on horseback, and the best players were the right combination of brains and brawn. Even from a distance, she could spot the strongest players, and one in particular caught her attention. The number three was embroidered on his shirt—typically awarded to the most powerful hitter with the highest handicap.
Turning to one of the grooms, she asked, “Who’s on the field?”
“The Iranians and the Brits, miss.”
The groom, a dark-skinned man who spoke with a heavy accent, was decked out in royal blue livery; the same hue as the uniforms worn by the four members of the Iranian team. The ponies’ blankets, tail ribbons, and leg wraps were also the same shade of blue.
“Do you know number three in blue?”
“The shah’s nephew, Dariush.”
“He’s good,” Ginny remarked.
“Very good, miss. The shah is always in a better mood when his nephew can play.”
“Isn’t he a part of the regular team?”
He shook his head. “Dariush attends college in New York City. He’s on break at this time.”
“I see.”
Turning her attention back on the field, she could tell this favored nephew was an expert horseman. He and his pony were deeply connected, part of a seamless dance only a fellow rider could spot from a distance. She looked forward to watching him during the actual game.
Author Bio
Mickie B. Ashling is the pseudonym of a multi-published author who resides in a suburb outside Chicago. She is a product of her upbringing in various cultures, having lived in Japan, the Philippines, Spain, and the Middle East. Fluent in three languages, she’s a citizen of the world and an interesting mixture of East and West.
Since 2009, Mickie has written several dozen novels in the LGBTQ+ genre—which have been translated into French, Italian, Spanish, and German. Lately, her muse has been nudging her in a different direction, and she’s learned through past experience to pay attention to creative sparks that show up unexpectedly. Her pen name is a part of her now, and will travel along on this exciting new journey, wherever it might lead. She promises to be very specific in her book blurbs and cover art to avoid any confusion.
A god with a complex. Egotistical Apollo is cursed to chase only one woman—the water nymph Daphne. When she suddenly disappears after three centuries avoiding his unwanted attention as a tree, more than his reputation as Mount Olympus’s revered victor is at stake.
A nymph on the run. Tired of living her best life as a tree, Daphne transforms back into a nymph and makes a break for it. She hides in the last place she thinks the god of every damn thing will look. But after finding herself in the kitchen of down-to-earth mortal Sam Carson, she discovers she might just want to stop running after all.
What on Earth could possibly go wrong? A story of unrequited love, self-discovery, and redemption…This modern-day twist on a centuries-old myth will have you rooting for love from start to finish.
The scorching Oklahoma sun beat down on Daphne. She didn’t mind, though, because she was at what was quickly becoming one of her favorite places in the world. The Caddo County farmer’s market.
“Thanks for the ride, Judy,” she said before proceeding to unload a few dozen baskets of vegetables from the back of the pickup truck. It belonged to Judy Pitkins, one half of the adorable old couple that lived a mile down the road from Sam.
“You bet, Dee.” Judy wiggled her fingers at her before heading to her table to arrange jars of preserves next to the metal tabletop rack adorned with handmade wind chimes and dream catchers.
The brim of her cowboy hat protected Daphne’s face. Her arms, however, got the full brunt of UV rays as she carried the large baskets over to the permanent vegetable stand Sam had built several years ago.
“Remember to drink plenty of water, missy. She’s a hot one today.” Judy called out to Daphne when she walked by with the last bushel of radishes.
Sweat dotted Daphne’s upper lip as she made sure the tape holding the “ART FOR SALE” sign to the front of the table she’d set up next to the vegetable stand was secure. She took off her hat to swipe at her forehead with the back of her hand before using it to fan herself. Hat replaced atop her head, she settled into a folding chair. After hooking the heels of her boots on the support bar, she took a long sip of her vanilla iced latte and leaned over to arrange the small watercolor paintings for optimal viewing.
It was her third time at the market. She’d sold a lot of vegetables, sure, but she’d gotten a lot more than money in return. She’d made friends, and she’d even made sixty dollars of her own so far selling paintings. True, most folks just wanted to look, but if she struck up a conversation, asked them about their lives, they tended to do more than that. Their smiles were all different, crooked ones just as precious at the straight ones. Their bellies jiggled when they chuckled. Their eyes sparkled when giggles turned into laughs, the corners crinkling into beautiful lines, showing signs of good times and bad. And with each person who stopped by her table, she fell a little deeper in love with the human race.
On the other hand, while it felt amazing to get to know them, to hear their stories and grin at their gossip, she’d probably have the money she needed to pay back Sam for the boots sooner rather than later. Once she paid him back, there was really no good reason to stick around.
She was getting too attached to Sam, which was not the plan.
She inhaled a lungful of dusty air, resigned not to think about that just yet, and opened the romance novel Judy had lent her. Absently shaking the ice in her clear plastic cup, she continued to read about rakish dukes falling in love with independent ladies. She bit her bottom lip as her eyes raced across the page, devouring each word and trying not to miss a single one while also trying to get to the good part, the part where they . . .
“I’ve often wondered what radishes tasted like,” a voice interrupted her reading.
It was deep and smooth. Regal in pitch and tone. Familiar.
Daphne bolted upright, heart pounding hard and fast like the hooves of a wild mustang. She wanted to take off like one, too. The book in her hand bounced off her leg before falling to the ground, as a book tends to do when the person holding it loses feeling in their fingers.
“I jest. I prefer Ambrosia.” Apollo peered down at her with those striking blue eyes of his. “Hello, Daphne.”
An alarmed huff rocketed from her throat, followed by a scratchy whisper. “How? How did you find me so fast?”
His gaze dropped to the card table for an instant. “It wasn’t that difficult.”
Daphne’s head throbbed against her temples in time with her frustration. Why? Why? Why? “Why can’t you leave me be?”
“Come now, Daphne.” Apollo tapped his fingers on the table twice, as if he had no time or inclination for ignorance but was trying to remain patient. “We both know the answer to that.”
Her cheeks grew hot, and her lips pressed together. He was being patronizing, and the fists at her sides itched to thank him for it by landing a solid punch.
Apollo took stock of her tightly balled hands, the firm set of her jaw, the daggers shooting from her eyes. “I know you dislike me.” There was an uncharacteristic air of uncertainty in his words. “But I think it’s just because you don’t know me. We’ve never really gotten a chance to get to know one another.”
Daphne launched the daggers at him. Was he serious? She knew exactly who he was, a relentless bastard. What else was there to know?
“The real me,” he finished hastily.
“Is there a real you? The mighty Apol—” She caught herself and stopped. The young woman at the table to the right gazed out over the market, pretending to be oblivious to the commotion, but Daphne knew better. As much as the residents were growing on her, this was a small town, with a close-knit community of folks who made it a point to know every birth and keep track of every death. Who knew who was dating and who’d just broken up. And who was fighting with whom. Caddo County was one giant grapevine.
“Paul,” offered Apollo.
Daphne snorted. “Paul?” Clever, but he was still an asshole. “Worshiped and adored for his brilliance.”
“And strength,” he added, his eyebrows lifting. “You know, because I’ve single-handedly won . . .”
Did he really think she would finally, after all these centuries, be impressed?
“Ugh.” Daphne groaned. She was the furthest thing from it. “My gods, you are the worst.”
“I’m not . . .”
Was that hurt flashing in his sky-blue eyes, darkening to storm cloud gray as he spoke? His golden aura heated, glowing like the sun, and Daphne cringed.
“The worst at anything,” he finished. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be. I’ve changed—or at least I’m trying. Look, I have a plan. All you have to do is trust me.”
Author Bio:
Kerri has always told tall tales. When she was in the third grade, she hid her glasses in the linen closet and told her mother a ghost must have stolen them. As you might imagine, that story didn’t end well.
Today, however, she tells more lighthearted tales, with happier endings. Fond of making people laugh, and forever a fan of folklore and mythology, she blends heart and humor with a dash of magic into her stories.
Kerri lives in Michigan with her husband, son, and cat they lovingly but aptly refer to as The Maleficence, Mel for short.
Published by Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Renee George
Titan Station’s running low on water. Situations like this call for a little creativity — something cats are usually good at. Unfortunately sometimes wrangling comets means crossing a few interplanetary lines. This time Kiefer Gatson’s got himself in a hell of a mess. One little misunderstanding with the Amalgamated Scavenger’s Guild and now Allied Planet Security’s after him. Worse, he’s got Orloft, the cyborg bounty hunter, on his tail.
Now Kiefer’s stuck — literally — on Spaceport Adana, trying to impersonate a Kitali. Which lands him on top of Officer Ramie, who smells good enough to eat. December Ramie, he could surrender to — or the other way ’round. Either would be fine. But he’s not really a Kitali, and if he shifts now, he’s going to blow his cover.
Before he can save the station and claim the woman as his mate he’s got to wrangle his comet into a docking bay on Titan Station and get paid. Which brings things back ’round to Orloft, his impounded ship, and ten tons or so of undocumented water.
One cat. One comet. One woman. What could go wrong?
“It’s that time of the mornin’ when the sun starts comin’ up, and I’m standin’ on the corner with my guitar and my cup…” From his seat at the bar, Kiefer sang softly in time to the heavy beat of the music. Unfortunately, the Kitali with the mic in his hand was far too drunk to manage to get the words out right. Kitali generally sang badly enough when only mildly intoxicated. This Kat had guzzled down at least five rounds too many.
“Hey, you’re pretty good. Why don’t you give it a try?”
Kiefer spun to face the voice. Shiny silver-blue hair sculpted into a wave that wrapped around her head, too short skirt, barely there scrap of clingy mesh fabric that revealed more of her boobs than it covered. Waitress. Not a threat. One by one, he forced his muscles to relax. “Thanks, but I don’t have any desire to be in the spotlight.” Oh, like all cats, he loved to sing, especially old Earth “Country” ballads, but he didn’t need that kind of attention. Not here. Not now.
“Can I get you anything?” The look said he needed to order, or move on.
He didn’t bother to look at the drink list. What he really needed was food, something solid to put in his stomach, but he wouldn’t eat anything they’d serve in a dive like The Haze. “I’ll have a Mendozan Cooler.” More credits than he ought to spend, but then, unless he could find out who’d put the bounty on him, and why, this might well be his last night of freedom. Wasn’t like he’d have any use for credits on a penal colony.
“Coming right up.” The waitress gave her hips a little extra twirl as she turned toward the bar, sending her short skirt floating up to reveal the tight, trim lines of her perfectly sculpted ass. Kiefer nearly whistled. That bit of work must have cost a few hundred credits. Nice job.
The Kitali roused himself from the floor in time to sing the line, “But my sun ain’t come up yet this mornin’.” Of course he was at the wrong place in the melody, and obviously paying no attention to the ancient teleprompter, but no one cared. Kiefer wasn’t sure if the few patrons near enough to notice were clapping for his singing, or because it was finally over.
Kitali. Kiefer snorted softly. What an insult to cats everywhere.
“You know that guy?” The waitress was back, nodding her chin at the far end of the bar. “He’s looking for someone. Has a bounty. Picture looks a lot like you.”
Kiefer’s attention snapped from the stage to the far end of the bar. Blyat! Orloft. Not just a bounty hunter — a Battle ‘Borg. So much for going through channels. Whoever was after him had decided to bypass ‘Port Security protocols. Kiefer slapped a fifty credit token on the bar and prepared to meet his fate. Or the back door, whichever came first.
Only apparently Haze didn’t have a readily accessible back door. Lots of shadows and alcoves, but — Sukin Sin! He tripped over the drunken Kitali, who’d crawled off the stage — or been tossed — and nearly went down. Damn thing was next to invisible in the dar… Blyat! That was it!
With a thought, Kiefer vanished, and another drunken Kitali staggered toward the exit. Somewhere deep in the bowls of Spaceport Adana his father rolled over in his grave. Or perhaps flowerbed. Hard to tell with Dad…
Published by Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Renee George
…Dread raked its way through her chest…
“The wreckage was fused solid. There was no hope.”
“Felis, what are you saying?”
“He’s dead, Holly. Maxim’s gone!”
Maxim Dollavera dead?
Spaceport Adana goes into mourning for their fallen hero, but Holly Barberossa refuses to believe he’s gone. She wears a Forget-Me-Not pheromone pendant to constantly remind her of the love of her life. She keeps herself busy by reporting on the stalled trial of the traitor, Riz Gitto, who she and Maxim had been instrumental in bringing to justice.
The judge, Kasamee Kee, enlists Silas Archimedes, a private eye, to protect Holly without her knowledge while she uses her as bait to flush out the conspirators, chief among them the glamorous socialite and suspected pirate Mischa and her new slave, the very sexy Murukan.
Can Holly solve the mystery of Maxim’s disappearance? Despite her undying love for Maxim, will Holly succumb to the charms of Silas or the mysterious Murukan, who strangely reminds her of her lost lover?
Holly swept into the office and threw herself into the visitor’s chair. “Hey there, boss!”
Vinnie gazed morosely at her from beneath hooded brows. “Any word from Maxim?”
She sighed forlornly. “Not for a few days.” Maxim’s sudden silence bothered her. A dim disquiet had been growing in her gut when last night’s call didn’t eventuate. She’d sent her own sub-space dispatch but there had as yet been no reply. She didn’t like it. Maxim was a consummate pilot but still she worried about him. The black, the spacer term for the deep dark between the stars, held many dangers that have no respect for human skill or ingenuity.
“When is he due back?” Vinnie asked, drawing her out of her thoughts.
“Not for another month,” Holly said and sighed again. She noticed she had been doing that a lot lately, sighing loud enough for others to hear. She’d never been so lonely before in her life and the feeling was quite disturbing. “He said in his last transmission that he and Felis had found an asteroid with a duridium deposit, whatever that is.”
“Money,” Vinnie said gruffly, but seemed to relax at the news. “He may be longer if that’s the case. Duridium is in demand all across the galaxy. It’s likely you’ll both be very rich, Holly.”
“Don’t worry, boss. I won’t leave you even if I am dripping in gemstones.”
He grunted and she guessed what he thought of the probability of that happening, though Holly suspected there had been something else on his mind. He seemed more preoccupied than usual.
She didn’t like the sound of this duridium stuff. If Maxim and Felis had made a big find they might be away longer than they had planned. She didn’t know how she’d survive.
“I’m glad he’s safe,” Vinnie continued. “I’ve just heard there was a passenger ship disaster just outside the Carnassian Void.”
Holly felt that buzz of excitement whenever there was the merest scent of a story but before she could process that bit of information there came a commotion from outside the office door. Roberta cried out and then the door was flung open. Holly stood up and gazed at the intruder. It was, unaccountably, Felis, who should be out there, beyond Adana’s walls, in the black with Maxim. She automatically glanced over his shoulder expecting to see her love, but Felis was alone.
There was something very wrong with his appearance. The usually immaculate leonine was disheveled and grimy. His golden fur had not been cleaned for days and the fur around his big eyes was matted as if… as if…
Roberta tried to embrace him but the big leonine didn’t seem to see her. His big oval eyes, glistening in the harsh light of the overheads, were fixed solely on Holly. He grabbed hold of her, drawing her into his broad chest. Holly couldn’t breathe he squeezed her so tight. After a moment she pushed him away. “You big cat,” she chided. “What’s the matter? You look terrible.”
She gazed into his agonized expression. She’d been right. He had been crying. The fur beneath his eyes was wet. “Sit down,” she said and guided him to a chair. He took a deep shuddering breath and fell into it as if the strings holding up his powerful body had been cut and he was now exposed as a mere puppet.
“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed.
“Don’t be silly. Spit it out!”
“We were staking out our asteroid, putting down beacons, when we heard a distress call.” He took another sobbing breath. “It was a passenger liner, the Euripides. They were being attacked by pirates.”
“And?” she prompted, kneeling in front of him.
“Euripides was holed and disabled,” he cried. “The passengers and crew taken. The captain got off a sub-space SOS before the bridge was blown apart. By the time we got there, the pirates were mopping up, stealing cargo and luggage.”
An empty void was forming in the pit of her stomach. “Go on.”
“We popped out of sub-space in the middle of their fleet. There were six of them.” Felis’s voice broke again. “There was nothing we could do. They opened up on us with quantum torpedoes as soon as we entered normal space. We had no chance.”
That black pit inside her chest coalesced into an iceberg. “Felis,” she said, her voice edged with fear. “Where’s Maxim? Still chasing them, I bet.”
His downcast eyes told her otherwise. “I was clobbered the instant I hit normal space. I peeled away and chased the one that shot at me into sub-space. He was too fast, a fighter, he just winked out. When I got back to the Euripides there was nothing I could do.”
Dread raked its way through Holly’s chest. Blood pounded in her ears so loudly she barely heard his words.
“The wreckage was fused solid. There was no hope.”
Aussie Mikala Ash lives a hectic double life, mild-mannered training & development consultant by day… wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by night. “For me, burning the candle at both ends is not such a terrible problem; I’m having too much fun!”
Published by Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Plan: Seduce the Cyborg, kidnap him and force him to help her escape. What could possibly go wrong?
Life in the breeders enclave on Terras Five was comfortable. Safe. Boring! Abigail wanted more. She wanted to explore the galaxy, have a career, enjoy all the freedoms that a human female took for granted. In order to do that she needed to get off-planet, and in order to accomplish that, she needed help. Male help.
She had a plan.
Jackson was flattered that the young female chose him to sire her offspring, and he was more than willing to play his part and make sure she enjoyed the experience as much as he did. What he wasn’t prepared for was being kidnapped at weapons point and forced to help the young breeder escape. Of course, he could have disarmed her and foiled her plan, but where’s the fun in that?
Abigail stretched languidly on the circular sleeping platform, making sure the male Cyborg got a generous eyeful of her luscious curves. She hadn’t counted on this, counted on it being him, the incredibly sexy male she’d met so long ago. Then again this wasn’t really a bad thing. The attraction she felt for him would make it easier to go through with her plan.
His name was Jackson. Jackson Firestorm. She’d almost snorted her drink out through her nose when she read that on the choices sheet. In a way, the absurdity of his family name was the reason she’d chosen him from the six breeding options presented for her approval.
Of course, she hadn’t realized she’d already met Jackson Firestorm. Or that she’d had a crush on him since she’d been a child. She only knew him as the Cyborg who’d appeared out of nowhere to save her and her friends.
Would he remember the wide-eyed girl child he’d plucked from the wreckage of the crashed spaceship? To him, she would have been just one more orphan who needed help, but to her he’d been a hero, larger than life. He’d saved her life and that of her crèche mates. She’d developed an immediate crush. As a youngling, she’d spent many hours daydreaming about the deliciously sexy Cyborg.
Jackson slid the entrance to the cubicle closed with a soft click, his eyes darkening as they swept over her lounging figure.
She curved her lips up in a smile, trying to look more confident than she felt. She’d never done this before, never joined with a male. Until this very moment, she hadn’t considered what effect that would have on her plan.
Last moon cycle, she’d hacked into the breeder database and altered her records to show that she’d already had several lovers. If the powers that be had known this was her first coupling, they would have insisted on sending her an older male, one with enough experience to ease her into the breeder lifestyle, make it a glowing experience.
That didn’t fit her needs at all. She needed a male she could dupe into lowering his guard. A younger male, one who would let lust overrule his Cyborg training and naturally cautious nature. At least, that was the plan.
Anne Kane lives in the beautiful Okanagan Valley with a bouncy little rescue dog whose breed defies description, a cantankerous Himalayan cat, and too many fish to count. She spent many years trying to fit in and act normal, but finally gave up the effort. She started writing romance in 2008, and her fate was sealed when she won a publishing contract with Red Sage Publishing and just a month later Changeling Press accepted her first submission. Since then she has published more than thirty stories in a variety of sub-genres, all with a happily ever after.
She has two handsome sons and six adorable grandchildren and enjoys spending time with them whenever she can. Her hobbies, when she’s not playing with the characters in her head, include kayaking, hiking, swimming, playing guitar, singing and of course, reading.
The Case for Temptation Robyn Grady
Published by: Harlequin Desire
Publication date: January 1st 2020
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
“We can’t see each other again…
and I think you know why.”
After an impulsive one-night stand with Jacob Stone, Teagan Hunter is appalled to discover he’s a lawyer intent on suing her media mogul brother. They’re done. But Jacob pursues the understated heiress…and Teagan is tempted. Could the powerhouse attorney be the one to give Teagan the new lease on life she desperately needs? Or is this a star-crossed scandal waiting to explode?
Do you accept who you are? The wise choices as well as the mistakes. Do you believe you are the creator of your own destiny or more a product of the generational blood that flows through your veins?
Teagan Hunter, the heroine of The Case for Temptation, knows precisely who she is, where she’s from and what she wants. Teagan is part of a family that wields spectacular power and has accumulated staggering wealth. But Tea decided to go her own way, find her own path, and if her family wants to call her The Wild Child, no skin off her nose.
Then she meets Jacob Stone, a cut-throat attorney with a family history which is the antithesis of her own. Jacob is so not her type, from the color of his eyes to the next level emotions he stirs deep inside of her.
Here’s an excerpt:
Jacob Stone was so not her type.
As Teagan turned to see him close the door, she reminded herself again, I like blue eyes. Lively and ocean-deep. Tender and kind. The preference went as far back as her first crush freshman year.
Mr. Stone’s eyes were the kind of focused amber gold that, combined with the jet-black hair, reminded her of a panther—a mesmerizing, muscled male who hadn’t eaten in a week. As Jacob slid the key card onto a marble side table and headed over, that hungry gaze locked onto hers and Teagan’s jaw almost dropped. He even moved like a big cat. Completely captivating, and she was a dog person!
As he drew nearer, Teagan puzzled more. In relationships, she wanted openness and honesty. As much as they had talked this evening, she’d gotten the impression that Jacob was more about control and charm—subtle when need be, direct when the time was right. When they had danced earlier, with his mouth a hair’s breadth away from hers, her body had tingled in all the right places. Caution had melted away. Again, not her usual reaction. True substance, real feelings, including the sizzling sexual kind, needed time to grow, didn’t they?
Teagan knows who she is, what she wants. And, ready or not, she wants Jacob Stone. Of course there are obstacles that work to keep them apart…secrets and circumstances that Tea could never have imagined. She has so much more to learn about Jacob…and, as a consequence, about herself.
How have you changed over time? Tastes in food, friends, books, men…?
Leave a comment and be in the draw to win a print and digital copy of The Case For Temptation as well as a $25 Amazon voucher.
Happy reading!
Robyn
Author Bio:
Robyn Grady’s stories have been published in 29 languages with millions of copies sold worldwide. Her books have appeared at award ceremonies including the National Readers Choice, the Booksellers Best, and Australia’s prestigious Romance Book of the Year. Stories in her latest Harlequin Desire series, About That Night, will hit the shelves January and March, 2020. Stay up to date with the latest news at http://www.robyngrady.com.
Published by Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Denying her love for her childhood friend, Jeff, Trinity visits her family’s ancestral land, believing the Wild family magic has called her there to meet her soulmate. Instead she finds danger at every turn, but she won’t have to face it alone.
Jeff has loved Trinity his whole life, but settled for friendship after she broke his heart on prom night. Now this soldier turned firefighter faces the supernatural to protect Trinity and convince her once and for all that they belong together.
Trinity Wild wasn’t sure why she indulged in expectations. All her life she had imagined how it would feel if and when the family magic called her to their ancestral land in the woods of New Hampshire. Somehow, she thought it would wipe out any desire she felt for someone other than her intended life partner. To her frustration, that wasn’t happening.
Yes, she was on her way to meet her soulmate. Of course she was excited and curious. Without doubt, the magic calling her was almost irresistible. The problem was, she wanted to resist it. She and her best friend Jeff had been hanging out at the beach. As usual, they were simply basking in a day off, enjoying comfortable conversation with long lags of silence that came from a connection shared by two people who had known each other forever.
Trinity and Jeff had been friends since pre-school. They had grown up as close as siblings. Her family even called him an honorary Wild. In high school, they had dated other people, but Trinity had sworn she would never enter a real relationship with anyone until the family magic guided her to her soulmate. Jeff and Trinity had even gone to the prom with separate dates, but ended up leaving with each other when their own dates flirted more with others than with them. It didn’t matter. Trinity would rather be with Jeff than with anyone else. It was on prom night, however, that their entire world changed. Jeff told her flat out that he wanted to move their relationship to the next level.
Despite a strong desire to accept Jeff’s offer, Trinity knew it would be a mistake. If they stayed friends, she would be free to answer the call of her soulmate, but if they upgraded, she would never want to leave Jeff. She already loved him more than she should. Jeff would understand.
Yes, he’d backed off — so far that he joined the army. Even then, they had kept in touch. Several years later, after an honorable discharge, Jeff returned home and became a firefighter. Trinity had expected him to get married and have kids. It wouldn’t be easy to watch, but she wanted him to be happy. Jeff told her he wasn’t ready for that, and she had been concerned that he still might have romantic feelings for her. Yet he never mentioned dating again, and hadn’t tried to kiss her on the mouth since that prom night so long ago.
It wasn’t that Trinity didn’t find him attractive. He wasn’t traditionally handsome — his face was sort of rugged, but incredibly sexy. He had intense, perceptive dark eyes and a gorgeous body — tall and muscular without being overly bulky. He reminded her of a great cat — lithe and powerful. She wasn’t exactly sure when she’d starting thinking about him in that way — probably sometime during their senior year in high school. Back then, he’d been tall and gangly, but already showing signs of the powerful man who returned home from the army.
Trinity shook her head and reminded herself that now more than ever she and Jeff would never be anything more than friends. She focused on driving her jeep down the stretch of dirt road leading through the woods to the cabin that had been in her family since 1883. In the past, many members of the Wild family had been powerful witch warriors who had dedicated their lives to battling supernatural threats. Jude and Ruth Wild had built the cabin and placed a blessing on the land on which it stood. Since then, whenever a member of the Wild family felt a peculiar warmth that called them to the cabin, they invariably met their soulmate.
Always a fan of romance and the paranormal, I started writing over twenty years ago. My first story was accepted for publication in 1996. Since then I’ve written over one hundred short stories, novellas and novels. I love to blend genres. I also love horror and a happily ever after, so if you’re looking for romance with witches, aliens, vampires, angels, demons, shapeshifters and more, there’s a good chance you’ll find something to your taste here.
When I’m not writing, I enjoy reading, watching horror and action movies, working out and spending time with my family and pets. I love hearing from readers, so feel free to leave a comment at my blog or connect with me on Twitter.
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