All that Sona Singh has ever wanted was a family of her own.
Abandoned as a baby, raised in an orphanage, she wants roots. All she gets is a grumpy cat.
All that Maj. Samar Deshmukh has ever wanted was redemption.
A chance to break free of the memories that still hold him prisoner. What he gets is having to babysit an accidental princess and her man-eating cat.
Sona believes that her life can’t get worse than it already is. And then, she discovers that she is the long-lost princess of Nagaur. Which would be a good thing, if not for the fact that someone is trying to kill her.
In this incomprehensible world of snooty royals and their stuffy protocol, Samar is Sona’s only link to reality. And safety.
But when she falls head over heels in lust with the surly ex-commando, she realizes that a threat to her life might be the least of her problems.
Can Sona ever find happiness with a man who refuses to love her for fear of losing her?
His Accidental Princess is an exciting, passionate and funny royal romantic suspense about love and redemption.
Heart Stealer Delaney Diamond
(The Cordoba Agency, #3)
Publication date: October 22nd 2021
Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense
The last thing he wants to do is play bodyguard to the woman who broke his heart.
As the wife of a pioneer in the field of biotechnology, Katherine Stallworth had an up-close view of the ugly underbelly of corporate espionage and the cutthroat nature of competition. When her husband is murdered and her life threatened, she turns to Raheem Miller, the one man she can trust–despite their sordid past.
Years ago, Raheem fell in love with Katherine–older, sophisticated, and way out of his league. And nothing has changed. While he’d rather avoid this assignment, he’ll never forgive himself if anything happened to her. In the middle of conducting an investigation into her husband’s death, he discovers a conspiracy that could rock the very foundation of the United States.
Now he must bring the culprits to justice while keeping Katherine alive and his desire in check. Easier said than done.
Katherine Stallworth stared in horror at the carnage before her and the foul stench of death. Nothing could have prepared her for this.
Her husband’s body lay sprawled across the duvet in the dimly lit room, his dark shirt darker from the uneven circle of blood that covered his entire chest. Dead, and so were his bodyguards.
Keith lay face down at the foot of the bed, his arm at an awkward angle, his weapon butted up against the wall as if someone had kicked it away from his hand. His suit jacket was soaked with blood, and so was the cream-colored carpet beneath him.
Ivan was on the floor, slumped with his back against the bed and his temple touching the nightstand. He would look like someone who’d fallen asleep sitting up, except half his face had been blown off and his white shirt was drenched in blood.
Blood.
Blood everywhere.
Katherine walked slowly over to the bed on shaky knees. Her husband’s pale skin was ashen and drained of life, his mouth open as if in the middle of a scream, and his sightless eyes staring up at the ceiling.
She lifted both hands to her mouth as tears filled her eyes and pain wrenched her heart. “Thurgood,” she whispered into her cupped palms. Who had done this, and why?
Then she heard a noise in the walk-in closet. Her heart jumped, and her mouth fell open in silent panic. She wasn’t alone. The killer was still there!
She backed away slowly, chest tight as she tried hard not to make a sound. When her foot breeched the entrance to the door, a shadowy figure dressed in black exited the closet, and she turned swiftly, rushing down the hall toward the staircase. Breathing accelerated, she gripped the wooden railing with a trembling hand and moved down the stairs as quickly and silently as she could on her toes.
These shoes! The pretty gold heels she’d worn with such pride to the reception she now cursed for their impracticality. Her pounding heart was so loud in her ears and her breathing so shallow, she wondered if the intruder could hear the evidence of her fear.
Her driver and the other bodyguard had already left for the night, but she had to get out of there. She had to get to the garage.
“Hey!”
Halfway down the stairs, she stopped and turned.
A man stared at her from the catwalk. He wore a black ski mask over his head, with openings for his mouth and eyes—eyes that locked with hers and reeked of venom. His menacing posture and the death she’d witnessed provoked an immediate response.
Run!
Katherine took off down the stairs.
“Stop!” he bellowed.
There was no way she was stopping.
Almost to the bottom, a gunshot shattered the wood railing she clutched. She screamed and, in her panic, missed her footing on the stairs. She twisted her ankle. Sharp pain jiggered up her leg, and she went down. Her hands flew out instinctively to protect her face, but she skidded along the edge of the last two steps, scraping her knees, shins, palms, and forearms.
She lost one shoe and landed in an ungainly heap at the foot of the stairs in the foyer with her evening gown crumpled around her upper thighs. Heavy footsteps pounded behind her. Too terrified to turn around, Katherine ignored the burn of the bruises and scrambled to her feet as another man appeared in the open doorway to her right.
“Get her!” the one on the staircase yelled.
She kicked off the other shoe and gathered her full skirt to keep from tripping over the hem. She limped away from them both as fast as possible, fueled solely by adrenaline as she raced into a second hallway and pushed open the door to Thurgood’s study. She slammed it closed and quickly turned the lock but knew her actions would not keep them out for long.
There was a loud boom as one of the men slammed his body against the door, which sent her scrambling across the room. She stubbed her little toe on a chair and cried out, wincing at the debilitating pain but didn’t dare stop, and hopped over to the bookcase beside her husband’s desk.
The master bedroom, where Thurgood was murdered, was also a safe room. But fortunately, there was a second safe room inside his study.
She yanked away two books hiding a plain-looking piece of metal in the wall and pressed her thumb to the silver disc. Right away, the entire shelf popped out, and she swung the door open.
The office door was kicked in at that very moment. The frame splintered and pieces of wood spewed through the air. Both men rushed in, but Katherine slipped between the shelf and the wall and yanked the door closed.
Author Bio:
Delaney Diamond is the USA Today Bestselling Author of sensual, passionate romance novels, and was born and raised in the U.S. Virgin Islands. She reads romance novels, mysteries, thrillers, and a fair amount of nonfiction. When she’s not busy reading or writing, she’s in the kitchen trying out new recipes, dining at one of her favorite restaurants, or traveling to an interesting locale. To get sneak peeks, notices of sale prices, and find out about new releases, visit her website and join her mailing list. Enjoy free stories on her website at http://www.delaneydiamond.com.
Noelle: I had dreams. Goals. That all changed when my baby brother suffered a traumatic brain injury. Now Jonas is my responsibility, and I can’t let him down, even if he’s his own worst enemy. I still have goals — I’m a fighter. As in MMA. Mixed Martial Arts. I want to be the best — fighting in the UFC. To be the best I need the best trainer. That’s Fury. The toughest man I’ve ever met. He doesn’t know it, but he’s also the man I’m in love with. But when Jonas gets in trouble, the only way I can save him is to go underground — illegal fights. I can’t tell Fury. He’d kill me himself. Or worse. Disown me. But I don’t have a choice. Jonas’ life is on the line. I have to fight. And I have to win. No matter the cost.
Fury: I spent seven years in the Army — the exact time it took to pay back my obligation for earning my medical degree free of half a million dollars in student loans. After that the Army and I both decided I might be better off putting my skills to use somewhere else. So now I put bikers back together for my club, Black Reign MC, and I’m damn good at what I do. I’m even better at taking them — and anyone else who gets in my way — apart.
Lately I’ve been passing those skills on the smartest, most street savvy kid I’ve ever trained. But Noelle is a kid — barely 21 — and I’m way too old for her. Now she’s gone and gotten herself in a boatload of trouble. If she tries to fight Shadow, he’s going to kill her. And if he throws the fight, our mission to close down these illegal fights will fall apart. Innocents will die. How do I choose one life over another? It was hard enough as a doctor in the field. Now it’s so much worse… because I did the stupidest thing I could have done — I went and fell in love.
“You guys sure you got this? I feel like we’re so fuckin’ outnumbered it’s laughable.” I knew we more than had this, but something just didn’t sit right with me tonight.
“You got Shadow and the ringside participants,” Samson said calmly. “Hardcase and me got the crowd. We’ll focus on the big bettors. You and Shadow just concentrate on the shit happening at the ring and getting each other out alive. Get me?”
“Fine,” Fury muttered. “But for the record, something feels off.”
“Noted,” Samson replied. I hated not being in control. And this was a situation I definitely could not control. Illegal fights were a fucking nightmare to stay on top of. Unless you were the man running the fights, you had no idea what to expect. “Just concentrate on you and Shadow. Something goes sideways? Iron’s holding back. He can assist wherever we need him.”
“Not sure I want the men who fuck for a livin’ watchin’ my six,” I growled. “They get distracted by pussy, me ’n’ Shadow are the ones fucked.”
“You’re just jealous,” Hardcase said with a chuckle.
“Yeah, but he’s kinda pretty,” Iron piped up. “When he ain’t bein’ all intimidatin’. If we can get the girls to not run screamin’ when he enters the room with ’em, he could fuck for a livin’ too.”
“If I gotta do this myself, boys, I’m killin’ every motherfuckin’ one a’ ya,” Samson said evenly. It wasn’t a threat, but a clear promise. “Shotgun says he’s sure at least three competitors here are dummies from the fight ring. They may look the part, but they don’t know jack about fightin’, and they damned sure don’t want to be here. We thought the bottom-ranked four looked promising, but it’s hard to say. Rumor is one of them’s a woman. We should give her a good look first.”
Normally the banter would help me relax, but today wasn’t the day for it. There was an itch between my shoulder blades. Like I had a target painted on my back. Something was epically off, but I had no idea what. When Samson mentioned one of the fighters being a woman, it nearly made my skin crawl. This particular fight ring stacked the odds in their favor by putting in what looked like rank competitors but who were really just people they’d kidnapped off the streets, or forced into fighting through blackmail or threat of bodily harm to a loved one. They were there to take a dive when told. Or to win by any means necessary. Anything to run up the betting.
“For the record, Fury,” Samson said, “Jax asked to go. Said he wanted to have your back.”
That surprised me. Jax, or Jackson, was my son. I’d been in his life, but we weren’t close. His mom and I split before he was born. She’d surprised me with his birth picture and a note that he was mine. I’d never questioned it, just showed up to hold my son for the first time. She’d died from breast cancer two years ago, and Jax had come to live with me. Our relationship was blooming, but we still had a way to go. The boy was just too much like me.
“You know some women enter these things on their own, right? They like the challenge, and some of ’em are pretty fuckin’ good,” Hardcase said, bringing the subject back to women. Of course.
“Yeah. And more than one of ’em have died or worse,” Samson replied. “Most of those were caught up in this ring, and El Diablo wants it stopped. Not in this city.” Everyone in Black Reign knew El Diablo absolutely would not tolerate a woman being abused. They also knew better than to defy his orders. As gentle as he could be with women, he was equally brutal to anyone who seriously crossed him. Man or woman.
The fights were getting ready to start. The ones going first obviously had the clear advantage. The fighters going later might not get to see how their opponent fought, but if they made it to the second round, they knew what to watch out for. The fighters going first would have some of that advantage, but they might also get fucked-up enough they needed the hour or so between their matches to recoup. This particular competition had ten competitors, all ranked by their past performances. Shadow was our fighter for this tournament. Of the participants, he kept himself high on the list but not so over the top that he had every fighter gunning for him. He was ranked number two. The number one and two fighters got a bye in their first round. Which meant they got to watch four matches before Shadow had to fight. Four fights to get the feel of the surroundings at ringside.
As I glanced up at the board, I saw they had lined up the fights. All the names were on the board and their rankings beside them. One name stood out and that feeling of unease grew even worse.
Brawler.
Now, it could be a coincidence. Because, likely there were no female competitors, other than the one Samson mentioned. Though, this one was ranked tenth among the ten fighters. No. Couldn’t be. Then again, if anyone could manage to get into this kind of trouble, it would be that fucking little bitch, Noelle.
No. I wouldn’t think about that. She wanted to make it to UFC, and she knew I could get her there. There was no way she’d risk me kicking her to the curb. At least, she better not. If she did, I’d turn her over my knee and beat that sexy little ass until it was glow-in-the-dark red.
“What is it?” Shadow was prepping for his match, his dark eyes taking in everything around them. “Somethin’ got you spooked?”
“Don’t know,” I said. “I just got this feelin’…” I trailed off as the announcement for the first match started. Brawler was in the first match. They didn’t say anything about gender, but then they rarely did unless it was some kind of women’s erotic wrestling. Besides, these types of fights rarely had women in them. They never lasted long, and they always had to fight men. Especially in the one-night tournaments. I’d seen more than one woman die or be so badly beaten they were unable to defend themselves against being brutally raped before my brothers and I stopped it. This time, it would blow our cover, and I couldn’t afford it.
“Fuck,” I muttered. “Can you see that Brawler they just announced?”
“Yep.” Shadow shook his head. “Brawler’s a chick. Guess you were right, Samson. First fight has a woman. Though she looks like she can hold her own.”
“I swear to fuckin’ God, if that’s her…”
“You know the club sponsorin’ her? Southern Discomfort. Not very original, but cute.”
“No clue.” I pushed forward. “Come one. There’s four matches before you fight. Let’s check this out.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Erotic romance author by night, emergency room tech/clerk by day, Marteeka Karland works really hard to drive everyone in her life completely and totally nuts. She has been creating stories from her warped imagination since she was in the third grade. Her love of writing blossomed throughout her teenage years until it developed into the totally unorthodox and irreverent style her English teachers tried so hard to rid her of.
A few years ago, when his sister went missing, Haggard Crow turned into something he never wanted to be. A killer.
Even after his sister is rescued a year after she was kidnapped and sold, Haggard ‘Thief’ Crow doesn’t have any plans on changing. He sort of likes the zero fucks given guy that he is now.
Bonus points, he saves women and children from extreme situations, along with his club and real life brothers by his side.
After a horrible marriage, Haggard has zero plans of ever finding a woman again. One-night stands not counting, he adores his life as a single man. There are no expectations. No ‘where are yous’ and ‘are you coming homes.’
The life he chooses to live is a simple one. Until he makes a huge mistake, and he steps over that line between ‘daughter’s best friend’ and ‘a woman he desperately wants.’
Before long, he can’t stop thinking about her. Can’t stop wanting her. Can’t stop feeling things for her that a man twenty years her senior should never feel for a girl he watched grow up.
After one lapse in judgment, he decides she needs to go. But the funny thing is, he never expected Sophia Madden to fight back. And dirty at that.
Two years ago, Cannel Crow experienced the worst day of her life. She was taken from a supermarket, and forced to spend a year with a man that treated her worse than a neglected, chained up dog.
One year later, she’s saved by a shadow organization that believes the law is a joke, and the only person you can count on is you.
After another year, she finally realizes the law’s limitation firsthand when the man that bought her from human traffickers, and then forced her to comply to his every whim for a year, is given a plea bargain for names of others in the operation.
Knowing that her abuser will spend the rest of his life in the lap of luxury under an assumed name, Cannel spirals.
At least, she begins to.
Then Wilhelm Schultz, call me Will, walks into her narrow world, larger than life, and changes her reality between one breath and the next.
The abrasive, larger, gruff police detective sees the world in black and white. There is right, and there is wrong.
Until he falls for a woman that needs him to see shades of gray.
The second he sees the world like she needs him to, there’s not a single thing on the planet that’ll stop him from fighting for her.
Not even the oath he swore to protect and do no harm.
Wow, just… wow. Typically, I can see the bad guy coming a mike away, and while I did have my suspicions I wasn’t entirely certain. Loved the twists and turns, the drama, but I especially loved Will and Cannel.
When Will learns about Cannel’s past, he promises to take things as slow as she needs him to. He does everything possible to make her feel safe. It’s clear how much he adores her, and it will make you absolutely melt.
Cannel lived through hell and is still trying to find her new normal. With Will, she gets exactly what she needs. Love, devotion, and someone determined to protect her without smothering her.
The steamy scenes are great, but their relationship is based on so much more. Will and Cannel are a perfect match! I can’t wait to read more about her brothers…
About Lani Lynn Vale
Lani Lynn Vale is a Wall Street Journal & USA Today Bestselling Author of over thirty titles. She is married with three children, two dogs, two cats, a donkey, and a couple (a couple also meaning over twenty) chickens.
When she’s not writing, you can find her curled up in her favorite chair reading.
Lani is married with three children and lives in the Great State of Texas.
The Prince and the Painter (Part 1): Aaron and Jason would gladly spend all their time in bed together, but they’re haunted by their pasts. A rapist and a serial killer are stalking Aaron, and Jason’s growing love may not be enough to protect either of them.
The Prince and the Painter (Part 2): Aaron and Jason must face their demons. But those demons never counted on the love between them growing from a single flame to a raging inferno. Now, just maybe their demons will have trouble with them.
Painter’s Pride (Part 3): Jason and Aaron have been together since Aaron was a freshman. Now he’s a senior and getting ready to pursue his art career in NYC. Jason believes in Aaron, but his boyfriend’s refusal to let Jason help is pulling them apart. Will the season of hope bring them together or will it destroy their love forever?
Warning: The Prince and the Painter deals with issues of PTSD, M/M rape, hate crimes, stalking, kidnapping, and torture. Jason and Aaron’s stories may be triggers for some readers.
Jason stared helplessly at a blank piece of paper after the teacher was done explaining their first lesson in androgyny. This class is too advanced for me. He could draw stick people. Hell, he could draw graphs full of figures and parabolas. He could even draw the mathematically correct plans for a simple architectural structure. But this… Forms and lines, shading and curves… He was lost.
Thank God it was only the first week of classes and he could quit this one and find another.
In the meantime, he was caught by the androgynous wo/man reclining on the block in the center of the room. Aaron — or Erin — wouldn’t be his first crush on a not-quite-male-or-female person, and surely s/he wouldn’t be the last. There was something beautiful, artful about an androgynous human being. In a way that had nothing to do with the androgyny of buildings and animals, people who could be either male or female, or maybe some alternative to these two opposites, were simply nature’s gift to the world.
Jason concentrated on one of the model’s eyes and drew that. The shape wasn’t exactly circular, but starting from a geometrically perfect arc helped him keep the basic curve. He made the pupil and iris before drawing the outside. It was far from perfect, but he thought he’d caught the slight upturn at the corner that seemed to reflect the model’s smile.
When Jason sat back, he realized he was sweating. Shaking his hair out of his eyes, he looked at his picture. It didn’t look exactly like the eye before him, but it did at least look like someone’s eye. Then he glanced at the clock and saw thirty minutes had passed. How was he possibly going to finish the rest of the drawing?
He cursed under his breath. That single eye took up most of the top half of the page.
On the platform, the model adjusted position, leaning on elbows that looked near as pointy as a protractor’s needle. In fact, all of the model’s features — face, arms, legs, chest — were narrow. They had a chin like a triangle and cheekbones like two half circles. That doesn’t sound flattering at all, but damn if s/he doesn’t look hot with those features.
Giving up on squeezing the rest of a face onto the first sheet, Jason put this one at the bottom of his stack. Then he tried drawing the angle of the elbow on the block and the shadow under it.
This drawing failed miserably. Too bad they’re aren’t as easy on the pencil as they are on the eyes. Jason smirked in spite of his failure and shuffled this drawing also to the bottom of the pile.
The model’s eyes sparkled as if s/he knew what Jason was thinking.
By the time the class was over, Jason had six failed drawings and no progress.
“If you check the class website on Poster –” the SUNY Besker website “– you can choose one of Aaron’s poses to draw. Your first drafts are due Wednesday.” And the teacher began packing up.
Jason got up and approached her. “I wanted to let you know I’ll be dropping this class.” He realized he’d brought two of his drawings with him and showed her, feeling shamefaced.
She took the pictures, studied them for a moment, and then said, “I think this class is too advanced for you.”
Everyone else was leaving. Jason nodded.
“Don’t give up on it, if art is what you really want to do,” she told him. “But learning to swim by falling into the deep end is really not the best way to go.”
Jason winced. He returned to his desk to collect his failures. What was I thinking, working with live models?
“You didn’t draw anything?” the model asked from behind him.
Jason groaned and covered his face. “Yeah,” he told the unknown voice because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, “but it all looks like shit.”
“Let me see.” A delicate hand with long fingers took Jason’s stack of paper and shuffled through. “I like this one.”
Jason looked up into the guy’s face, knowing the model was male because of his voice. His narrow face held a pair of hypnotic, dark brown eyes. “Which one? They’re all pretty terrible.” That was an understatement.
Aaron retreated to the raised platform in the middle of the room and hiked one skinny hip up onto it. “I like this one,” he repeated, and then showed Jason the drawing of his eye.
Jason shook his head. “That one’s okay, but it’s not small enough. If I could even fit your nose in there it would be a miracle.”
“You just need a bigger piece of paper.” He slid off the edge and returned the drawing. “You haven’t taken an art class before?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Not from your work, from your face.” Aaron grinned. “Let me see that page again.”
He bent over Jason’s eye drawing, flipped the paper over, and wrote something on the back with one of Jason’s pencils. “Here. Try this book. It’ll make your life easier, especially if this isn’t your passion.”
Jason read the underlined title and frowned. “It sounds like a biology book.”
Aaron laughed. “It’s an art book. I promise. But it’s more enjoyable and less technical than most.” He headed for the door. “I’ll see you later, Jason.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender erotica. Seeking a world made of equality, she created SearchLight to live out her dreams. But even SearchLight has its problems, and Emily is looking forward to working all of these out with a host of characters from dragons and genies to psychic vampires.
He’s pretty sure the Water Weaver wants to kill him as well.
But after two months of fighting an attraction for a man who couldn’t possibly be his mate, Lucien cracks when he’s pulled into an impulsive threesome with Calder and a sexy man they picked up in a bar.
That night was earth shattering.
And now he needs to figure out how to keep both men safe and his.
Calder Saito
Calder doesn’t want to fight his attraction for the Fire Weaver any longer, but they can’t really be soul mates, right?
And what about Gio? The sexy man gives him such a feeling of completeness and peace.
Could one man really have two soul mates?
Gio Russo
Can’t he just have them both?
Tangled Warriors is the fourth book in the Weavers Circle series. This MMM paranormal romance includes fast-paced action, running through Savannah, secrets, shapeshifting, kidnapping, deadly Girl Scouts, sexy times, insecurity, three crazy old ladies, soul mates, and magic!
Excerpt
“Shots!” Gio suddenly proclaimed. “I think we could all use a round of shots. What do you say?” He looked up at Lucien and smiled. “Join me in a round of shots. Break the ice.”
“Nothing feels icy to me,” Lucien murmured, while the fingers on Calder’s waist tightened.
He suddenly felt bad. He was intruding like an annoying little brother. Yes, his intention had been to stop Lucien from hitting on this guy, but now that he was standing there, he felt how wrong it was. What Lucien did and who he slept with was none of his business. He was supposed to be working on getting rid of the bad blood between him and Lucien, not making matters worse.
“None for me,” Calder said softly. “I’ll grab the drinks and get out of your way.”
Gio surprised him by cupping the side of his face with a warm calloused hand. “Oh no, sweetness. We don’t want you going anywhere. You’ve got to stay.” Gio looked over Calder’s shoulder at Lucien. “We want him to stay, right?”
Calder tensed, waiting for the rejection, but Lucien shocked him even more by pulling him in tighter so that he could feel Lucien’s groin against the small of his back. Those long fingers slipped down from his waist to caress his hip bone, sending the most delicious tingles all over his body. “Stay. Have a shot with us,” Lucian pressed. His voice was warm and so very tempting. Calder couldn’t remember ever hearing Lucien talk to him like that. He wanted to live in that voice. Just curl up in it like a warm, handmade quilt.
Releasing him, Gio turned to the bartender as she delivered Lucien’s and Calder’s mix of drinks and ordered a round of shots. Calder didn’t hear what he’d ordered exactly because Gio had also slotted himself better against Calder, causing his brain to short out. He was now in the one place he’d never thought he’d be—a Gio-Lucien sammich. Even with all their clothes on, it was now his favorite kind of sandwich. He would happily eat it every day for the rest of his life.
Calder was too tongue-tied to manage words. He nodded. At least he thought he nodded. He must have done something, because Gio’s smile grew wider. A second hand landed on his hip right where Lucien’s
The shots arrived, and Gio slid one over to Lucien before physically placing one in Calder’s hand as if he knew that his brain wasn’t in control of his body any longer. He watched as Gio clicked his shot glass on Lucien’s and then Calder’s. Tipping his head back, he sent the amber liquid down his long, sexy throat. Calder did the same without a thought. The burn was enough to wake him out of his stupor.
Sucking in a harsh breath, he coughed several times while slamming his shot glass on the bar. Gio grabbed his hand again and shoved a drink into it. Without thinking, Calder sipped it, relieved that it was his gin and tonic. The addition of more alcohol to his system probably wasn’t the smartest, but at least it had gotten rid of his coughing.
When he could breathe, he took a deep drink and set the glass on the bar to find Gio smiling at him while Lucien’s hand continued to dig possessively into his hip.
You okay?” Lucien inquired. For once, the question didn’t sound spiteful or mean. There was genuine concern in his tone.
Calder managed a small nod and Gio laughed.
Of course he’s okay. What are you drinking, sweetness?” Before Calder could answer, Gio leaned in and licked his bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth for a second, then releasing it with a wet pop. “Mmm…gin and tonic. Not bad.”
Calder barely heard the words. It was just a rush of blood past his ears as it raced to his steadily hardening dick.
As Gio moved away, he reached past Calder and pulled Lucien close. “And what are you drinking?” Calder watched as Gio licked his way into Lucien’s slack, welcoming mouth. He didn’t know what turned him on more—actually kissing Gio or watching Gio kiss Lucien. It defied all logic, but it was clear that his libido had zero interest in logic. He only wanted to know all the wonderful things Gio could do with his mouth.
Gio released Lucien and licked his own lips slowly. His dark eyes had turned black as his pupils dilated with desire. “I can tell this is going to be a fun night already. I suggest we head to my place so we can get more comfortable and less likely to be arrested.”
Jocelynn Drake and Rinda Elliott have teamed up to combine their evil genius to create intense gay romantic suspense stories that have car chases, shoot outs, explosions, scorching hot love scenes, and tender, tear-jerking moments. Their first joint books are in the Unbreakable Bonds series.
The end is nigh. It’s all or nothing! Elizabeth Hunter-Payne has been abducted by her archnemesis Vladimir. Lucius, his patchwork man, a chimera assembled from body parts of the dead, “rescued” her from a sham charge of murder.
Now a pariah, separated from everyone who cares, Elizabeth finds herself in a luxury country estate where the gentry throw off the shackles of convention and consume copious quantities of an aphrodisiac called ambrosia and participate in salacious shenanigans involving wanton servants, well-endowed sex machines, and a familiar doppelganger. All provide cover for Vladimir as he advances his ultimate plot: to destroy the empire and possess Elizabeth body and soul.
It is a wondrous place not found on any navigator’s chart or cartographer’s globe. It is a strange land founded on the extremities of human emotion, bounded only by imagination and endurance, lapped by limpid oceans of joy, contentment, and safety, harried by turbulent seas of jealousy, despair, and disappointment. We are blessed if we can but visit this arcadia where colours are overbright, fragrances are both fleetingly delicate and ferociously evocative, and a mere touch is the fuse that ignites explosions of exquisite sensation. Doubly blessed are those fortunate enough to live their whole lives within its shimmering borders.
I was riding in this strange land beside my dear husband Jonathan as he was before he left for the war. He and I rode through this perfect dreamscape on horses of infinite grace and swiftness, not knowing we were but visiting, and our time here short. Beneath a cerulean sky, and over undulating hills of verdant green we rode, laughing and urging each other on. Faster and faster we went, the wind rushing through our hair, raindrops stinging our cheeks.
Jonathan and I were fresh from making love beneath the overarching limbs of weeping willows on the banks of a looking-glass lake. Our sweat had dried, our pulsing inner muscles relaxed, the delicious languor replaced by bursts of playful energy. We’d indulged in tickling and wrestling, and, of course, kissing. Diamond drops falling from our leafy ceiling heralded a spring shower, so we had dressed swiftly and took to our glorious steeds.
As if by magic two others glided in and joined us. Felix was the first man I had made love to after Jonathan’s death. His was a beautiful soul, and it was he who had reawakened my sensuality, and taught me how to break the shackles of convention.
Then came Baudry, Dr. Jack Baudry, an honourable man who like me was an Agent of Her Majesty the Queen. He had said he loved me and had proved it, risking his life for me time and again. I deeply regretted our parting. Pride and jealousy had tainted my heart. But this was no time to think of that final argument. It was much better to remember our passionate lovemaking on the rug in front of his fireplace, the flames warming my flesh outside, his tongue setting me alight on the inside. It was marvellous to see his handsome smiling face.
Surrounded by the three men who had kissed my heart, I was exultant, my blood pumping and my soul singing. I could ignore the grim reality that Jonathan was dead, Felix had been beaten to an inch of his life, and Baudry, wonderful Baudry, was lost to me. In my dream the four of us rode on, carefree and laughing.
Oh, the joy! The thudding of hooves over the soft grass, the rapid breathing of the horses, the jangling of the bridles and stirrups, and the sweet laughter of my gallant husband by my side. We approached a hedgerow, and I turned a mischievous eye to my darling, and with a saucy wink urge him to jump with me. I catch but a glimpse of a little man who abruptly stands, emerging from the shadows like some malicious goblin. My horse screams and shies in surprise, rears up to pummel the creature with its hooves, and I am unseated, light as a dandelion flying through the blue until the green rushes up to meet me, and all goes dark.
“Elizabeth?”
I opened my eyes. “Jonathan?”
He gazed down at me, his beautiful eyes clouded with loving concern, the fine planes of his face creased with anxiety. With one hand he pressed a damp cloth against my forehead, and with the other squeezed my fingers. His touch was warm and reassuring, and my heart commenced to gallop.
Jonathan? My darling Jonathan? I see him, but how could this be? Something is wrong. This cannot be. I tell myself this is a lie.
My Jonathan is dead, his body mouldering these five years in the muddy battlefield of Sebastopol.
Yet Jonathan continued to tenderly caress my forehead. I screamed.
“Elizabeth. Do not be afraid. It is I. Nathanial Royston. Your brother-in-law.”
“Nathanial?”
Nathanial Royston. The doppelganger. My beloved husband’s twin, parted from his brother as a newborn, and taken to a new life in India. For a moment confused images from Grove Hall Asylum filled my mind. I had been looking down at a photograph I had plucked from the hand of a monster. The bloodied image showed a man resembling my dear husband sitting in a madman’s laboratory, smiling at Vladimir, the Russian agent responsible for Jonathan’s death. I had assumed from the start the picture to be of Nathanial and not my husband, the photograph just another sick antagonism by the obsessed Russian.
I screwed my eyes against a throbbing headache. “Nathanial?”
“Gently now, sister. You have been unwell.” He puffed up a pillow and gently placed it behind my head.
“I have?” I looked around me. I was enveloped in silken sheets and soft woollen blankets, surrounded by luxury. The bed, a velvet-draped four poster was a bower within a sweetly scented room that was crowded with tall-backed chairs and Oriental style screens. Atop a dressing table where coloured perfume bottles glinted, was a gilded mirror reflecting the cool yellow light of the lamps. Wine-coloured velvet curtains fell from ceiling to floor. A comforting blaze in an ornate fireplace cast the room in a warm golden glow.
“Where am I?” I said, my voice husky and dry.
“Somewhere in England, the country, but where I cannot say.” He filled a glass from a crystal decanter on the nightstand and brought it to my lips. “Here, drink this.”
The golden liquid emitted a luscious aroma that was thick and sweet. “What is it?”
“Ambrosia. It will refresh you.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Aussie Mikala Ash used to be a mild-mannered training & development consultant by day, and a wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by night. Now she is a brazen full-time writer and nature photographer who is concentrating on having among other things, “… bags, and bags of fun!” Mikala can be found on Facebook and on Twitter.
One second, he has an ex with an ax to grind, and the next, he’s internet famous—and definitely not in a good way. In an, it’ll ruin your career, kind of way.
Only, Laric didn’t know that he was internet famous.
Not until a black-haired beauty walks into his life, and stumbles over every word that she says because all she can picture is him doing the unthinkable for the world to see.
Sadly, that’s not the only thing wrong in his life. His world is messed up, and he likes it that way.
There’s no room for a woman that wants to fix him.
Because fixing requires intimacy, and intimacy isn’t something that Laric does. Not after the life that he’s lived, and the things he’s done to survive. Oh, and let’s not forget the fact that he’s a felon, and he has no regrets about how he got that title.
The last thing he needs in his life is a woman that has her head in the clouds and thinks this world is made of butterflies and confetti.
However, Catori isn’t who she seems.
The day she meets tall, dark, and handsome, he saves her life. And then never leaves—though not for his lack of trying.
Not that she’s complaining about the way they’re thrown together, time after time. She’s more than willing to have a man like Laric around. Mostly because she’s already seen the good in him that he refuses to admit that’s there.
He may be a biker that does questionable things, but in her heart, she knows that he does those bad things for good reasons. And she’s not about to throw away the chance at happiness just because he thinks he knows what’s best for her.
Plot twist: she knows what’s best for her. And that’s him.
I think I have a new favorite when it comes to Lani Lynn Vale’s books. I absolutely loved Laric! The way he was with Catori, so protective and sweet, was swoon-worthy. Nothing like seeing a big bad biker type let a woman wrap him around her finger. He’d have done anything for her, and did!
Catori isn’t exactly a weak woman. She stands up for herself, and tries to protect those around her. What else would you expect from the daughter of Jack and Winter? I loved seeing her go toe to toe with Zak, and the way she just knew that Laric was the one for her.
If you want a romance you can’t put down, a hero who is everything bad@$$ and sweet at the same time, and a heroine who’s the perfect combination of vulnerable and tough, then Inmate of the Month is a must-read! I seriously didn’t want it to end!
About Lani Lynn Vale
Lani Lynn Vale is a Wall Street Journal & USA Today Bestselling Author of over thirty titles. She is married with three children, two dogs, two cats, a donkey, and a couple (a couple also meaning over twenty) chickens.
When she’s not writing, you can find her curled up in her favorite chair reading.
Lani is married with three children and lives in the Great State of Texas.
The God’s Wives — noblewomen sworn to protect and serve Egypt by any means, be it assassination, sorcery, or seduction. Raised from infancy to be the wife of Pharaoh, Hati knows her duty. She will win the Pharaoh’s heart, form a psychic connection with him, produce his children, and rule beside him as the wife of the Living God. She is the power behind the throne. But when Pharaoh dies, pregnant Hati must rule alone as Regent-Queen, protecting the Empire for her unborn child and another child of Pharaoh carried by a concubine.
Senmut has been in love with Hati since he first took her virginity, but he knows their love can never be more than a secret affair. When the disinherited brother of the dead Pharaoh arrives, claiming to be the true heir since no woman has the ability to rule an Empire, Hati must prove her worth and do more than simply be Regent-Queen. She must shave her hair, dress as a man, and become Pharaoh Hatshepsut, the first woman Pharaoh of Egypt.
Senmut becomes part of Pharaoh Hati’s inner circle, and the father of her second child. It will take all the might, muscle, sorcery, and deviousness of the God’s Wives and their allies to keep Hati on the throne long enough for the true heir of Pharaoh to be born. Can their love survive in a court surrounded by enemies on all sides?
“Senmut!” shrieked a young girl’s voice. “You came!”
Without warning, Senmut found his arms full of a beautiful dancer in nearly full panoply. Even the perfume cone was already on her head, filling his nostrils with the delightful scent of expensive oils. He prayed for fortitude and unwound the girl’s arms from around his neck so he could see who she was, before his body betrayed him.
The tiny imp in front of him turned a full circle to show off what little there was of her costume before facing him with a grin. Only then did recognition dawn.
“Hati?” he gasped in wonderment. His childhood friend had grown to full womanhood in the space of the few years he’d been away in the army, serving at the southern gates with Nubia. Senmut gulped and tried to think of something intelligent to say. “Um, I like that costume you are almost wearing.”
Hati laughed, the sound a cross between a chuckle and giggle he remembered. “Isn’t it something?” She wiggled and pranced a moment while
Senmut stared. The costume was little more than golden chains and baubles, and not a scrap of linen to hide her charms. And there were plenty of charms to view. Never a tall child, she was still fairly short, but the once-flat chest was now full and lush. Long, streamlined muscles bespoke of the many years of physical training. The face was the only constant, with slashing cheekbones and the slanted, otherworldly eyes of the Egyptian nobility. Those lips he knew well for taunting him were full and tempting. The whole package was an invitation to the kind of impropriety that would get a man killed without mercy.
“I never dreamed I’d get a costume like this when I told you I’d dance before my cousin the Pharaoh to win his heart… or at least his lust,” she added, winking.
Senmut barely remembered that long ago conversation over a game of mehen, the snake game. “Yes, you said you were training to be a God’s Wife in the temple, and that you would dance before the Pharaoh and become his wife. I didn’t believe you then.”
Hati was unoffended by his childhood skepticism. She laughed as she walked over to a pitcher of plain beer and offered him some. “I remember your commoner tastes. See? Here’s your nasty old beer,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.
Now it was Senmut’s turn to laugh. It was an old game between them and distracted him away from her changed physical appearance. He pretended to snatch the cup from her hands with a frown, and then retorted, “Give me beer, bread, and salt and I’ll work a full day. You, royal one, with your rich foods and date wines will be fat and drunk long before that.”
“Hah! Royal family I may be, but do I look fat and drunk to you?” Hati performed the nearly impossible moves of a dancer, seeming to flow effortlessly into positions that made Senmut’s muscles ache nearly as much as his groin. He shifted his scribe’s tablet lower and drank deeply of the bitter brew.
“Enough! Have mercy on an unmarried scribe!” he cried. “You sorceresses of the God’s Wives would make any man ache, as you well know.” He looked at his beer in mock suspicion, as if she might have put any one of the many aphrodisiacs known to the women of the God’s Wives in his goblet. It dawned on him that Hati needed no such aides to make a man look on her with desire.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Someone cursed Lena Austin with “may you have a life so full you’ll have many tales to tell your grandchildren.” Lena’s a “fallen” society wench with a checkered past. She’s been a licensed minister, hairdresser, Realtor, radio DJ, exotic dancer, telephone service tech, live-steel medievalist swordswoman, BDSM Mistress, and investment property manager. Not necessarily in that order. She never finished that degree in marine archaeology, but did learn to scuba — she’s got a lifetime of “Research material!”
Hey, why waste these stories on kids who won’t listen anyway? Writing them down is a nice way to spend her retirement. What? You expected an ex-BDSM Mistress to take up crocheting or something?
