My name is Delilah K. Stephans and I’m an addict – but I have no desire to beat my addiction. I’m not addicted to alcohol or drugs or sex – well maybe sex as in hot romance novel sex. No, I’m addicted to creating worlds and characters then sharing them. I’m a writer. That’s what I do. I love the “What if…” that every story begins with. I love watching the words fly onto the page – it’s a high for me. I love that moment when the thought crystallizes into the perfect phrase and I even love helping other authors find the phrase.
Did you know that Johanna Lindsey started her writing career because she thought she could write a better book than she was reading? Or that Sherrilyn Kenyon wrote her first book at age 8? In the second grade I used to write stories on the backs of my test papers. Writers must write. It’s an itch that is always there, even when we convince ourselves that being published is impossible.
Why shouldn’t we convince ourselves of that? The world is full of naysayers that are more than willing to tell you that it’s impossible. I used to believe them! Not anymore. I know better and will let you in on the secret.
The secret to getting a publishing contract – Write it, Polish it, and submit it. You may get rejected. Harry Potter was rejected 9 times! Madeline L’Engles A Wrinkle in Time was rejected 26 times. The Diary of Anne Frank was rejected 16 times. Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With the Wind was rejected 26 times. So, don’t let one rejection stop you. Keep trying. Take online courses to improve your skills. Join critique groups. Find a writing partner that will kick you in the butt and not allow you to do one bit less than your best.
The only person who can give up on your dreams is you. I know I had given up on mine – until last year when a friend said “If you don’t submit this – I’m going to kick your ass.” Thanks Mickey! And thanks Antonia Tiranth for being my biggest cheerleader! So I did. Now I’m waiting for my release date.
Writing may never make me wealthy – but that’s ok. Working hasn’t . At least now, I’m enjoying what I do. Believe me – doing something you love and struggling is 1000 times better than doing something you hate and being comfortable.
Oh that book that Mickey convinced me to submit? Sarah’s Story: Time Displacement Corps Book 1 – coming soon from Red Rose Publishing. (That is such a cool thing to say!) http://redrosepublishing.com/bookstore/product_info.php?products_id=462
And I’ll leave you with an excerpt:
“Why did you grab me like that?” My father always said that the best defense was a good offense. Honestly, I hoped he’d jump up and throw a typical male snit fit, anything to keep my mind off wondering what he’d look like out of that uniform. The man didn’t answer me immediately, only stood and dusted the back of his pants off. It was then I noticed the two soldiers behind him with rifles, one pointed at me and the other behind me and to the left. Sam! No wonder he hadn’t leapt to my defense.
Oh shit! My temper and loathing of being grabbed had landed me in hot water—again.
Screw hot water. Think boiling Sarah, boiling.
Luckily, it seemed I had an angel standing next to me, because the man motioned to the soldiers behind him and the rifles lowered. My knees went weak with relief and I fought to remain standing as I brought my racing heartbeat back under control.
“Madam, I apologize for grabbing you so suddenly.” His voice, a sexy baritone rumble set my hormones humming. Then he smiled.
Brad Pitt, George Clooney, and Johnny Depp might make the girls swoon in the future but they hadn’t seen this man! Jeez, I was in trouble. As furious as I had been about him grabbing me, a new emotion raced through me now. Desire.
Damn him for smiling.
Breathe, Sarah. Breathe.
15 April 2009
I'm Delilah K. Stephans and I'm an addict
15 March 2009
Magician's Spell Coming Soon
Hi all. I was contracted in November for my upcoming novel Magician's Spell, an historical action adventure set in the 1800s - Napoleon's Era. Below is an excerpt.
Harold Monroe balanced on the starboard railing poised in the moment, taking in the cloudless sky and the endless horizon. Leaping up he traveled the warm air until his body split the green water. He dove deeply and, upon reaching the dive’s nadir, rose back to the surface breaking the liquid barrier. Shaking the water from his eyes he looked back at Magician checking her for any unnoted damage. He swam in closer, took a few laps around the boat and then climbed aboard. Usually the reliable Maddox would be waiting for him with a towel, or robe. However, on this day the man was oddly missing and so were the garments Hal left at the rail. Under his breath he cursed his steward’s inefficiency; all he had left were his shoes. Stepping into them he walked across the deck, intent on his cabin.
It was at this moment Colette mounted the deck from below. Her fear was appeased by the apparent normal routine of the ship. As she scanned the horizon for another ship her gaze fell upon the captain, flagrante delicto. With a shriek Colette threw her apron up over her head and in backing down the ladder collided with her mistress. A similar yelp was elicited from Johanna when her hand was pinched under Colette’s shoe. Shaking her wounded fingers she leapt down and side-stepped out the girl’s path of retreat. In her haste, Collette missed her footing and fell ungracefully into a heap on the deck below. Quickly Johanna assessed the girl for any severe injuries, and found none. Returning to the ladder she ascended to an adequate height which would allow her own curiosity to be satisfied.
Raising her head slightly above the hatchway she had a fleeting glance of the commander as he retreated to his quarters. Before her impulsive reaction surfaced, she ducked below out of sight. Sitting on the riser she lost the battle at containing her mirth and her laughter spilled forth. It was Colette’s puling from below which sobered her amusement. Coaxing her up from the floor Johanna led her back to their cabin, then closing the door behind them she instructed Colette to be seated. Restraining the emotions desperate for expression she reexamined the girl’s limbs for cuts or sprains. Once she ascertained her first diagnosis was correct she looked up into the girl’s face. Pushing the hair away from her eyes she received the faintest grin. It needed only that commiseration for Johanna’s suppressed emotion to bubble forth, joined in kind by the maid.
Further down the passageway Dr. Emrys paused as he tended to his patient, listening in disbelieving silence at the most incongruent sound ever heard aboard a man-of-war: feminine giggles. Returning to his treatment he smiled approvingly, mentally noting to satisfy his curiosity at a later date.
“And how is Colette?” James asked Johanna looking up through his glasses he wore while preparing medications for his patients.
It was much later the same day and she had returned to a calmer, quieter sickbay to check on those in her care.
“As regards her health, her imagined fears, or her injured sense of modesty?”
James raised his eyebrows at the last. “Modesty?” He handed one of the treatments to her, indicating with a nod the patient in need.
“Oh, James, did you not hear.” She withdrew to the cot, mixed the potion in a small glass and assisted its administration. Pausing for a moment she confirmed the man’s comfort. Once satisfied she turned back to the doctor. “I know how fast news travels in a community as small as this. Surely, someone has told you what happened earlier – after the battle?”
“No, my dear. After breakfasting with the Captain I came down here directly to tend to these men.”
“Ah, my poor Colette. She was party to viewing Captain Monroe after he finished his swim today.”
James peered at her across his work, not understanding her insinuation.
Further explanation was gladly offered. “Have you seen how the captain swims?”
Realization dawned on the doctor’s face.
“Need I say more?”
“Unfortunate timing.” he said picturing the maid’s reaction to this austere officer walking naked across the deck. So far James had managed to maintain his propriety.
“He did have his shoes on.”
Grin met grin and, in deference to the captain, they both tried to stymie their amusement, but to no avail. Soon as Johanna freed her laughter, the doctor’s restraint was doomed. The sound of this joviality was greedily consumed by all within ear shot; a relief from the brutality of the ship’s earlier encounter; a welcomed contagion and remarkable remedy.
As a member of Magician’s crew Emrys had never, hitherto, succeeded in breaching the communication barrier between the officers and crew, and the inviolability of the doctor/patient relationship offered him no further insight into this inner sanctum. Yet comparatively, in the briefest of interactions with this body of men Johanna Cornehl had secured their trust. Through his association with her he was now allowed a unique personal glimpse into the lives of his messmates – men he had known for years, but never truly perceived until that moment.
Lying in the darkness of night, waiting for sleep the doctor’s thoughts were much occupied with Lady Cornehl. Undeniably she was versatile, her social skills polished, – and her beauty – arousing. Considering this paragon of womanhood James was confounded by her singular attention to him.
Throughout his acquaintance with Harold Monroe, and Timothy Ruhl, he was often witness to their inherent magnetism where women were concerned. Unlike his friends, James had capitulated any delusions held in that regard shortly after his first sophomoric attempts. He held no resentment in this divergence; he affirmed it as a rational conclusion any woman would reach upon comparison. Because his work and education satisfied, there was no need to seek further proof. Human interactive relationships were approached much the same as his experiments, offering the opportunity to observe and learn.
He trusted once Lady Cornehl was introduced to Harold Monroe, or Timothy Ruhl, he would once again, assume the role of researcher. The unique position which he now enjoyed with the lady threatened to negate his assertions. Tim’s attraction to the opposite sex was irrefutable, yet Johanna seemed unimpressed. As for Hal, well, she was certainly his match in wit, fire and obstinacy. However, it appeared the captain’s prejudice against her father, combined with his aversion to the imposed circumstances, defined his opinion of the lady. He disliked her and she reciprocated his opinion. At this point in the acquaintance neither showed an inclination to travel a different course. Could he presume on her distinct preference for his company? James drew his blankets close against the chill. Turning to his side he forfeited his musing in lieu of sleep. As the persistent sounds of the ship eased him into unconsciousness he smiled contentedly. Perhaps he had erred in his estimation of his charisma, after all.
12 March 2009
Radio Dentata is coming to Red Rose Publishing!
That's right folks! SOon there will be a link to the Radio Dentata player on the RRP blog where you can hear our fine programming! Especially The UnNamed Romance Show which I host. AS a bonus, our wonderful owner has given me ten excerptsw with cover art forall of you lovelies. The excerpts will be read by my producer and recroded and played on my show over a few weeks!
You can check us out at my website: http://www.saschaillyvich.com
Click on "Radio Dentata" link :)
22 November 2008
Cassie's Sheikh Coming soon in print!
Cassie's Sheikh has been nominated for the christmas Awards at Red Roses For authors
www.redrosesforauthors.blogspot.com
It is available from www.redrosepublishing and www.fictionwise.com in ebook as well as other outlets. It will soon be available in printand available from amazon.com.
Kasim hates scandal magazines and the people who work for them so what chance does she have of convincing him that her father's racing stables are the best place for his horses?
Enjoy!
"If she's the bitch I imagine she must be, there is no way I shall let my uncle place his horses at her father's stable," Kasim said. "It would be the worst thing he could do."
"But you don't know that," Ben Harrison, his friend, constant companion, and lawyer told him. "She may be a perfectly pleasant woman for all you know."
"A woman who writes for one of those filthy rags?" Kasim's eyes flashed with scorn. His face had the proud, regal lines of his ancestors, the bones angled beneath his olive-toned skin, but his eyes told another story. They were a deep brilliant blue, testimony to his mixed parentage, for he was the son of a desert Sheikh and the beautiful blonde and blue-eyed daughter of an American millionaire.
"Maybe she just does it for a living."
The angles of Kasim's face hardened. "Don't try to make excuses for her, Ben. I've had experience with her kind, remember?"
"Yes, of course I remember," Ben replied. "But you shouldn't jump to conclusions. You were all set for this deal until you found out that Josh's daughter worked for that magazine."
"My uncle thinks it is the best place available," Kasim said. "So I shall keep an open mind, but I want to see what they're like on a normal working day, not when everything is cleaned up for inspection."
"Shall I come with you?"
"Not today." Kasim's face relaxed into an affectionate smile, the angles softened as he looked at the man he trusted more than any other. "If I decide to go any further, we'll keep our appointment tomorrow—but today will be my little surprise."
*****
Cassie rushed out into the hall as she heard the commotion, feeling concerned as she saw everyone gathered about her father. Her mother turned to look at her anxiously.
"Your father thinks his ankle may be broken, Cassie."
"Oh, Dad," Cassie said. "Does it hurt badly?"
"Pretty bad," Josh Livingston said, grimacing. "It may mean I'm stuck in hospital for a few days, and you know who's coming tomorrow, don't you?"
"An important client," Cassie and her mother echoed each other.
Cassie understood what was going through his mind. Josh ran a small but successful racing stable in Newmarket, but the owner who had kept a string of horses with them for the past several years was about to retire from the business.
"Maybe they will let you out, Josh," Helen Livingston said, without really believing it. "You may not have to stay in hospital."
"But what if I do? Who is going to explain the way we work here to our visitor? Joe is great with the horses, but he hates getting involved with owners. It's the reason he doesn't work for himself."
"I suppose I could try…" Helen said doubtfully. "If you helped me, Cassie?"
Cassie hesitated for a moment. She was meant to be back in London the next day, and they had a magazine to get out—but she was due a few days leave and she could email her stuff through to the office.
"Yes, of course. If Dad thinks I'm up to it?" She grinned, tossing back her long pale hair, her greenish-blue eyes sparking with mischief. "You know I'm a walking minefield, Dad—dare you risk it?"
"It looks as if I may have to. This ankle is pretty awful, Cas. Try not to say or do anything daft when Mr. Ahmed comes, won't you?"
"You mean like calling him the Sheikh of Araby and wearing my harem costume?"
"Cassie!" her mother cried, horrified. "Please don't joke about this, darling. Your father has enough to worry him."
"It's all right, Cas doesn't mean it. I know you'll both do your best, but you're too like me, Cas—you'll probably fall flat on your backside just as you go to shake his hand," her father said.
"Shake the Sheikh's hand," Cassie said irrepressibly. "I think I could make up a little song about that…"
"Please spare me," her father begged. "That sounds like the ambulance outside, love." He looked at his wife. "I think I shall need a chair."
"Yes, of course. Stay where you are, Josh."
As his wife hurried out, he looked at his daughter. "You know your mother hates horses, Cas, always has. She can't bear to go near them. I sometimes wonder how she has managed to live with me all this time."
"Because she adores you," Cassie said and smiled at him affectionately. "And because you treat her as if she were special, Dad. Not many women are lucky enough to find a man like that, and Mum knows a good thing when she sees it."
"Bless you, love. I'm relying on you to charm Mr. Ahmed, Cas. He can be a pleasant chap, but they say he is hard to please when it comes to business and we need his horses. Tell him that we shall be able to devote ourselves to his string by next month, and that we are very stringent about security, also discreet—that is important to him. He hates newspapers and magazines…"
"Pity about that," Cassie said. "I might have gained Brownie points with Maggie if I'd been able to get an interview for our rag."
"Mr. Ahmed wouldn't be seen dead in your rag," her father said. "Whatever you do, don't tell him you work for Stars & Their Lives or he will be gone so fast we shan't see the dust."
"I was only teasing, Dad," Cassie said, and for once her famous grin was missing. "I do know how much this means to you, and I promise I shall do my best to pull it off for you. I won't breathe a word about the magazine, and I shall tell him what a wonderful trainer you are. Not that I have to with your record. You had six winners last year and that surely speaks for itself."
"I haven't won a Classic for three years," her father said with a grimace. "That could all change with Mr. Ahmed's string—if he placed them with us."
"Yes, I know." Cassie looked at him curiously. "Why doesn't he like to be addressed by his title?"
"He is a very private man. He never allows photographs, and is furious if the press catches him anywhere but at a race meeting. He can't prevent that, of course, nor being addressed as Sheikh Ali bin Ahmed in public, but he prefers to keep a low profile in private."
"He's extremely rich, isn't he?"
"One of the richest of them all. The thing is that he…" Josh broke off as two ambulance men came in carrying a chair.
Cassie watched as her father was helped into the chair by the paramedics and taken outside, followed by his wife. Helen Livingston cast an agonized glance at her daughter as she left.
"You can manage, can't you, love? I may be with your father for the rest of the day. There are a few letters that need typing. You will find them on the desk in the office."
"Yes, of course," Cassie said. "Don't worry about anything here. I'll be all right until you come home, I promise."
And that was quite a promise, Cassie acknowledged after her parents had left in the ambulance. She had columns to write for the magazine, those letters for her father, and a routine tour of the yard, just to make sure she knew anything she ought to know before the arrival of the Sheikh of Araby the next day. A little giggle escaped her as she pictured him, looking much like Rudolph Valentino, the star of the silver screen in the twenties.
"That's enough of that, Cassandra," she told herself severely. She had no idea what Mr. Ahmed looked like. He could be thin and dashingly handsome or fat, boring, and ugly. And that wasn't important either. He was her father's one hope of keeping the stable going, because without him Josh would probably have to sell everything and that would break her father's heart. He had put so many years into this business.
A determined look came over Cassie's face. If she had anything to do with it, Mr. Ahmed was going to run straight to his lawyers and sign the contract even if she had to—what? Oh no, there were limits, she decided. She'd heard about some of these rich playboys, and the one thing she wasn't about to do was fall into bed with him!
But if Mr. Ahmed was the private businessman he claimed to be, he probably wouldn't be interested in her as a woman. Why should he? Cassie glanced at herself in the mirror and giggled. She wasn't exactly Miss Glamourpants, was she? Wearing her oldest jeans, a faded sweatshirt, her hair decidedly in need of a wash, she wouldn't exactly drive any man to madness with lust for her. That wasn't important. Tomorrow she would be wearing smart jodhpurs, her best riding boots, and her hair would be gleaming. But for the moment she had too much to do to worry about what she looked like!
She walked into her father's office and switched on his laptop. She was just about to insert a disc with the details of the articles she had prepared for The Stars & Their Lives when she heard a loud crunching sound and a car come to a screeching halt in the gravel outside her window. Now who on earth is that? she wondered, getting up to investigate. The car was a very expensive Mercedes sports model in metallic silver with a black leather interior, and the hood had been rolled back, which made it appear even racier.
Oh, no, it couldn't be! Cassie's heart sank as the man got out of the car, standing there in the sunshine for a moment. He was tall but not too tall, strong-looking with powerful shoulders and an air of assurance that made Cassie's heart plummet all the way down to her white, wedge mules. It had to be Mr. Ahmed! He was turning towards her now and her breath caught as she saw that he was better looking than any Sheikh she had seen in old movies on the TV screen. His hair was jet black with a bluish tinge in the sunlight and his eyes—were hidden behind his designer shades. His suit shouted Saville Row at her, his shoes obviously handmade and expensive.
What the hell was he doing here today? She felt like exploding as she glanced down at herself. She looked like something the cat had dragged in and felt worse. Oh, why couldn't he have kept to his appointment as arranged? There was no help for it, Cassie realized. She had to meet him as she was and grovel.
She went swiftly through to the front door, opening it seconds before he could ring the bell. He removed his glasses and looked at her, his eyes going over her slowly in a measured way that made her want to die. This man was used to having the best of everything—and no doubt that included women!—what must be going through his mind? He must think her a poor specimen.
Hang on a minute! Those eyes were blue, bright, clear and devastating. She had always thought men from the Middle Eastern countries had dark eyes—but his were startling. And she was staring like an idiot!
22 October 2008
Slave Of My Own Desire - excerpt and writing article
It's the eve of my first Red Rose book release ("Slave Of My Own Desire"), and I'm guest blogging on http://www.ashleyladd.blogspot.com/ - please drop by and leave a comment.
WARNING: The blog contains a HOT exerpt!
09 October 2008
Long And Short Review of Tori
Recommended Read
"Do not hesitate to read this yourself, because as far as I am concerned it was so good, it ended up being a fast read... Not only did I absolutely love it, I was really disappointed to see it end."
Title: A Valentine's Gift for ToriAuthor: Zenobia Renquist
Publisher: Red Rose Publishing
Genre: Contemporary Mainstream Romance (IR)
Length: Short Story (15K words)
ISBN: 978-1-60435-099-9
Price: $2.99
Blurb:
She wants a boyfriend for Valentine’s and her husband wants to deliver.
Tori has come to the realization that her marriage lacks the spark it had in the beginning. She and her husband argue more than anything else and she foresees a nasty break-up on the horizon if something doesn’t change. When he asks her what she wants for Valentine’s Day, her answer is scandalous and straightforward—a boyfriend.
Rather than be upset, her husband is intrigued by the idea and sets out to make it happen. Tori has set herself—and him—an impossible goal and her prospects aren’t that promising. But she’s determined to have a boyfriend in time for the most romantic holiday of the year.
Read the first chapter for free: http://zenobiarenquist.com
EXCERPT:
“What do you want for V-day, sweetheart?”
Tori regarded her husband. He didn’t even look at her when he’d asked the question. Instead, he lazed in his easy chair with his feet up, clicking through the channels. She shouldn’t be upset at his dismissive behavior. Unlike most husbands, he’d actually remembered days in advance of the holiday instead of the day of. Christian was good at remembering anniversaries, birthdays, and the like.
“I want a boyfriend.” Some wild hair made Tori say what was on her mind, the thing she really wanted and had kept to herself for the past two years.
Her marriage with Christian was lukewarm. She couldn’t remember when the last time they’d had sex, but Christian could tell her the exact date if she asked. He only remembered stuff that concerned him.
That wasn’t to say she didn’t love her husband. He was the only man who could put up with her and vice versa. They were the perfect complete-each-other’s-sentences couple. On the surface, they had the type of marriage every couple envied with three kids who were mature beyond their years and a stable income. A dream come true except one thing…
“Ha ha. Now what do you really want?” He continued flipping channels.
“I’m not joking. I want a boyfriend.”
Christian looked at her. His smile vanished when he saw she wasn’t smiling. “What are you saying?”
“I just told you twice. For the third time, I want a boyfriend.”
“Is this about Samantha? I apologized. You forgave me. You said it was in the past and not to worry about it. Why after two years of forgiveness do you suddenly want a divorce?”
“I didn’t say I wanted a divorce. I said I want a boyfriend.” She felt like a broken record.
Her gaze strayed to the clock. They had an hour before the kids were due back from school. She hoped whatever theatrics Christian threw her way ended before they came home.
Christian switched the television off then stood and faced Tori. “This isn’t a funny joke. Or is this payback?”
“It’s neither. When was the last time we had sex, Christian?”
“Two years and three months ago next Friday.”
She knew it. He’d been counting, which meant the lack of intimacy had bothered him. She crossed her arms. “We don’t have a relationship anymore—not the kind married couples should have.”
“We can work at it.”
“I really don’t want to.”
That made Christian angry. His face contorted in rage and he paced away from her with an angry sound.
She wasn’t scared. Christian would never hurt her. He wasn’t the type of man to do that. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t put a hole through the wall or stab the couch with a kitchen knife.
“Christian, assuming I wanted to have sex, do you even want to?”
“Yes!”
“With me?”
“Of course! You’re my wife. We’ve been married ten years.”
“Then how come you were with Samantha on that Valentine’s Day two years ago?”
-----------------
V-Day may be a few months away but romance is a year round thing. Hope you liked the excerpt and give my book a try.
Zen-Ren
11 September 2008
New Release from Red Rose Publishing!
Lost by Sascha Illyvich
Lost
Series Title:The Opeth Pack Saga
Erotic Romance
ISBN: 978-1-60435-200-9
Cover Artist: Nikita Gordyn
Editor: Brissa Ryan
Line Editor: Sherri Good
Word Count: 16,604
STORY BLURB:
Run! Run as fast as you can, holding on to one another’s hand, slipping into the night!
Marco is a confused, angry young wolf who was sent from Hungary to America for causing trouble amongst the Opeth pack. He cannot return until he has matured and found inner peace.
Selene is the former Opeth Pack witch and wishes to remain that way until pack leader Kiba calls in a last favor. Aware that she’s being manipulated by the Prophecy, the story that strongly suggests the fate of the Opeth pack, she reluctantly agrees and takes charge of Marco.
But the young wolf meets her and has his sights set on more than just a little personal care.
Will the TLC be more than Selene can handle or will she see beyond it?
EXCERPT FOR WEBSITE:
Buy NOW!
Marco stared at the redhead standing before him. Dressed in a dark blue velvet long sleeved shirt and skintight blue jeans, she walked closer swaying her hips. He was splayed out on the plush white couch expectantly, as she stood over him. Her fiery red hair was pulled back in a ponytail that swished around her hips. His body reacted by tingling; the beast inside him would have howled if it were out.
“How did I get here?”
“You kissed me, and I had my knockout lipstick on. You fainted. You do look yummy for a young pup,” she purred.
Marco licked his lips.
“So, what’d you do to get that punishment?”
Marco sat up. “What’s it to you?”
“Easy there big boy. I’m here to help.”
She took a seat beside him, crossing those luscious thighs. He couldn’t stay defensive when confronted with her body. Smiling at her bare feet, Marco licked his lips.
“Cute,” he pointed at her glittery green toenail polish.
“Thanks. I try.”
“So, what am I doing here?”
“I’m helping your pack watch over you for the first month of your banishment.”
“How’d I get that lucky?”
“Let’s just say that they owe me.”
Leaning back against the soft cushion, Marco sighed. Running a hand through his hair, he realized it was still dirty. “Could I get—”
“Shower’s down the hall and to your left.”
“Thanks.” Marco didn’t acknowledge the feeling of a little probe inside his head, saying instead. “How’d you know?”
“I have my ways. Besides, as cute as you are for a young pup, you smell of trash. Why the hell they had to throw you in that alleyway for me to find is beyond me. What’d you do?”
“Tell me your name first.”
“Selene.”
Marco sniffed the air, the scent of daisies stood out, among other things. “You want me, don’t you?” he asked, easily recognizing the scent of her arousal.
“Get in the shower, boy.” Selene licked her lips.
Turning around, Marco felt a hand shove him down the hallway. “Hey,” he protested but was shoved past off-white walls with a few pictures he didn’t see.
Her slender arm pushed beneath his, opening the wooden door in front of him. Light spilled onto a lavish purple rug that sat on gray tile.
“You’re very well to do,” he muttered before his vest was yanked off his shoulders and tossed aside.
“Look, lady I can undress myself. Marco spun around to face her. Who did she think she was, undressing him as though he were still a pup?
Her mouth plundered his. Her soft lips melted his rough edges and he let it happen. Suddenly he didn’t care that he was being ordered around. In fact, he kinda liked it. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he easily hoisted her onto the black countertop. Marco felt her thighs circling around his waist, pulling him into her. “I’m not gonna pass out again, am I?”
“That depends, if I’m too hot for you or not.”
Feeling her breath against his skin when she giggled, he arched his hips towards hers. “Oh, we’ll see,” he promised.
She licked the corner of his mouth
Grinding his hips harder, he felt her lips vibrate against his ear. She purred, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge. Her fingers gripped a patch of hair and forced his head to hers, their lips pressing against each other so hard, she forced a breath from Marco. He was surprised by her strength.
“Wolf, take these off.” It was a command she growled against his neck as he felt her tug his jeans. His heart began racing when he felt her hand snaking down his stomach.
“You’re hard.”
“You’re quick.”
Throwing her head back, she pressed her breasts against his chest. Marco cupped them through the thick material of her top, squeezing. She moaned, when his thumbs circled her nipples into tiny peaks.
A hand ripped open the snap of the jeans, yanking down his zipper. “No boxers? Nice,” she purred and licked his lower lip.
He bit at her tongue catching it between his lips—a little game. He unhooked her bra and helped slide it down her arms while below his cock sprang free, the bulbous head bobbing proudly against her jean-clad thigh.
“Shower, now.” Two hands forced him away.
With his pants falling around his ankles, Marco spun around and stumbled over his pants before kicking them free. Nearly falling in the shower, he grabbed the curtain rod, shoving the large purple shower curtain aside to reveal black tile. The slap echoed. Stinging pain raced through his body from his ass.
“Ouch!” He looked back to see Selene grinning.
22 May 2008
I have a new release wooohooo
Nature's Whim
Ares had one goal, to become the most powerful of the old Gods. And now with Mother Nature missing, presumed dead, and the world in complete chaos, his wish was almost a reality. He never dreamed that the twenty first century could hold so much promise and power. Now was the time to act, he’d planned out ever contingency he could think of. Nothing could stop him. Nothing except her! How was he supposed to plan for something he neither saw coming nor ever expected to find. To make matters worse, he felt an attraction to her he couldn’t understand or resist, and he’d tried.
But Mother Nature was back. She’d been reincarnated into the body of a young woman with a quick wit and sharp tongue who didn’t have a clue. Now Ares had to make the most difficult decision of his immortal life. Does he help Desdemona Carpenter get both her powers and the elements under control or does he smite what could be true love and aim for the power he so desperately desires?
Tied for Cover of the Month
November 2007
To Buy Nature's Whim
Excerpt :
He walked to the opening of his tent and surveyed all that was his. Yes he missed the comforts of his home, but they held too many memories. Memories that even after months of planning and preparing still distracted him from his destiny. Yet he couldn’t deny that there was a pull, and urge to go after her that he fought with the iron will of a warrior.
Lightning flashed in a clear blue sky, and struck the only tree in the camp splitting it straight down the middle. The singed and burning wood reminded him that he had other more pressing things to worry about. For one he needed to find Gaia before she ruined all his carefully laid out plans. He needed to learn why she was working against him and where she received such power. It was time to return to Mount Olympus and speak with his family.
The earthquake hadn’t been the only disaster to hit the earth of late. Tornadoes, Tidal waves, Hurricanes and a record number of Volcanoes had become active all over the world. Always within his personal vicinity, and always killing his men just before they were ready to go to battle. He’d noted one other thing in his searches, the attacks always occurred while he was asleep and dreaming of her!
The dark circles under his eyes attested to the fact that he hadn’t been sleeping much of late. It was a good thing for him that a God needn’t much sleep. Those dreams always felt so real, so vibrant. Like Desi was there in the room with him.
Her lips would kiss him, her tongue teasingly run over his nipples, her teeth nipping him to distraction. Her hands would roam all over his ready and willing naked body beneath hers. She’d tease him to a fever pitch, her cries and moans of pleasure driving him insane with lust. Then when he’d be ready to scream in frustration she’d relinquish power to him to do with her as he pleased.
He always started the same way, he wasn’t sure why. But first he’d crush her to him and devour her mouth with a kiss of desperation, and only when he felt her desperation was as high as his, would he enter her. Thrusting deep inside of her, until he felt they’re bodies merge. Desi clinging to him with a desperation of her own whispering word of love and regret until they both climaxed together.
Ares shook himself out of the trance last night’s dream put him under. It was the first dream he’d allowed himself in weeks. They're lovemaking showed that. It had been quick and rough; like they’d both craved the others touch and couldn’t wait to come together. Once they caught their breaths, they’d come together again slowly this time, sensually.
He shook his head to dislodge the mental image; Desi was the last person he wanted to think about today. Today he needed to find Gaia! It was time to stop her from throwing her temper tantrums. He couldn’t rule the world as the supreme God if she destroyed it in her blind jealous rage.
Ares grabbed his cloak and left his tent. “Matius, I’m leaving you in charge of this group of recruits until I return. I want them ready; we put my plans into motion the moment I get back.
“Yes my God Ares.”
“No one is to enter my tent while I am away. If I sense a single presence in there I will kill the culprit with my bare hands. No matter the reason for their entrance.” To put weight behind his words with a wave of his hand Ares erected a barrier over the tent. He didn’t know how, but Desi came to him in that place and he didn’t want anyone desecrating the space in his absence.
12 May 2008
Chateau Despair
"You should send the child to the Nuns," Father Caillebotte said. "It is not fitting for her to be here in this place – and you are not well enough to care for her." His eyes swept round the room. It was cold despite the small fire flickering in the grate. Finding no answer to his problem, his gaze returned to the old woman, who sat hugging her shawl about her shoulders, her expression defensive and wary.
"The child is mine," she told him. "I brought her here to save her from the kind of life you would condemn her to with those sour-faced hags, who have never known what it is to live. Go away and leave us alone. We do not need you."
Caillebotte’s expression was one of patient resignation. He had made the same plea each time he came to the house for the past seven years, and it was always refused. He was wasting his time. It was only duty that made him continue to call at the house, which was crumbling into a ruin from neglect and had an air of despair about it.
"Perhaps not, but I shall continue to call even though you say you do not need me, Madame. If you have no thought for your own soul, the child must still be brought up in the way of the Lord – and she must be educated. It is time for her to begin her lessons. If you will not send her to school, I shall come myself to teach her to read and write."
Caillebotte was a good man. He would do his duty as he saw it. His conscience would not allow him to abandon either the child or the woman, even though he sometimes wondered if his visits meant anything at all to either of them.
The old woman gave him a sour look. "Please yourself. I should have taught her when she was ready. She likes to look at my treasures, and already she knows some of her letters. I do not neglect her as much as you imagine, Caillebotte. I tell her my stories. She likes stories…"
The priest was silent. He knew that the old woman had her good days and her bad days; he also knew that if he had done what was right, he would have taken the child into care long ago. This decaying chateau with its damp rooms and its dark secrets was not a suitable place for a child to grow – and yet the girl seemed to thrive on it.
She was a pretty child with large grey, wondering eyes. Her hair was long and dark; it flew wildly about her face as she ran bare foot about the house and the estate. He knew that she hid from him as much as she could, and suspected that she was somewhere around even now, listening to their conversation.
Clothilde listened from behind the painted screen, where she had hidden herself so that she could hear what they were saying. She was fiercely glad that Grandmere had refused yet again to send her to the Nuns. She did not want to go away from her grandmother, though she would not have minded escaping from certain other people in this house. But that would have meant leaving Grandmere, and she would never, never do that! If the priest took her to the Sisters of Mercy she would run away and come home to Grandmere.
Father Caillebotte was mistaken if he thought that she went nowhere and saw no one but her grandmere and the servants. Clothilde visited the village often. She knew the cottage where the priest lived behind the church, with its back garden where he grew herbs and vegetables, also fruit and a few flowers. Once she had stolen an apple from his tree, and his housekeeper came out shaking her fist. Clothilde ran away laughing; she was certain that the woman would never catch her.
The village itself was old; the houses built of some kind of stone that looked golden in the sunshine. Outside the small, dark inn, with its shuttered windows, old men sat drinking wine and dreaming in the sun while stray cats roamed where they would. Once Clothilde took one of the cats home with her, but it scratched her hand and ran away
The street was cobbled and there were potholes where the rain lay in the winter, the houses close to the road without gardens at the front. Some of them had bright window boxes, from which pink and red flowers trailed. In the back gardens the women, who always seemed to wear black, kept hens and some of them owned a pig, others grew herbs but not many of them grew flowers. Clothilde loved flowers, but there were none at the chateau, and no one to tend them. The servants were interested only in growing the vegetables they needed for the kitchen.
Clothilde waited until the priest left, then crept out from her hiding place and went to Grandmere. Climbing on to her lap, she sat before the fire, staring into the flames as they flickered and burned lower in the grate for want of kindling.
Grandmere stroked her head in an absent-minded manner. Clothilde knew that her grandmother’s thoughts were far away. She was always like this after the priest came, as if his visit made her want to shut out her surroundings.
"Are you dreaming about when you were young, Grandmere?" she asked, but received no reply. "Will you tell me a story?"
Sometimes her grandmother did not speak to her for hours, at others she would bring out her treasures and tell her stories. Clothilde liked those times best, but Grandmere was the centre of her world. Even when she was far away, lost in her world of dreams, she loved her.
From the moment she could walk and do things, Clothilde cared for Grandmere, understanding that the old woman needed her. She got down from her lap now and went to put more wood on the fire. Grandmere needed warmth because she was so often in pain from her poor crippled hands that ached with the rheumatics.
She went back and kissed the soft cheek, then slipped from the room. She would come back later when it was time for their supper. Grandmere would be ready to talk to her then, but for the moment Clothilde was free to escape into the woods. There she could run and hide, escape for a while from the harsh reality of her life at the house.
She was not sure that she liked the idea of lessons with the priest, but perhaps he would teach her to understand what was in the books in the library. There were a great many of them, some with pictures, which Clothilde liked to look at, others with strange letters that meant nothing to her.
"Where are you, little pig?"
Hearing the voice she hated most in the world, Clothilde made a dash for the door and freedom. She had stolen two buns fresh from the cooling tray earlier that morning and Blanche would beat her if she found her. However, the servant was fat and lazy, and she would not search far. Once Clothilde was in the woods she would be safe.
As she reached the door a bulky figure came darting out of the kitchen and grabbed her, shaking her until her teeth rattled.
"I have the little pig for you," Betrand called to his wife. "Here is the thief who stole your cakes."
"I didn’t steal them," Clothilde protested. "They are Grandmere’s cakes. You work for her. It’s your job to cook the food…"
She gave a scream as Betrand shook her, her head snapping back and forth. Blanche was coming towards her, stick in hand. She was going to be beaten again. Blanche was a vicious bully and beat her whenever she had an excuse. The last time she’d been black and blue all over for more than a week; she cried herself to sleep every night. She did not dare to complain to Grandmere, for it might upset her and make her ill. The servants treated her shamefully, but Clothilde was learning to fight back.
She turned her head and bit Betrand's hand. He gave a cry of pain and let her go, dropping her with such force that she felt the pain shoot through her wrist. Yet in a second she was on her feet, scuttling away and out of the door before he could recapture her.
She could hear them arguing about whose fault it was that she’d escaped, as she ran for her life, through the gardens towards the woods and safety.
*
It was evening now; the fire was burning merrily. Clothilde was feeling satisfactorily full, and she knew Grandmere felt the same. She was always at her best at this time, when she had eaten. She looked at Clothilde, smiled and held out her hand to her.
"Fetch my box to me, child, and I"ll show you my treasures."
Clothilde scrambled off her chair and went to the big bureau in the corner of the room where the box was kept. She carried it carefully back to her grandmother. The box was fashioned of several different kinds of woods in an intricate design, and like many of the things in this room had once been valuable. She watched as the battered old box was opened and its contents removed one by one, to be displayed as if they were precious jewels.
"This was my fan at my first ball," Grandmere told her, opening it to show her the pastoral scene painted on chicken skin. "It is made of ivory, and the handle is silver, but unfortunately it is broken…" She laid it down with a sigh.
"Who did you dance with that night, Grandmere?"
"That was the night I met Pierre…he was my first lover…" Grandmere sighed. "It was such fun in Paris in those times, Clothilde. Oh, the fine jewels we wore and the clothes; the clothes were so beautiful then, so elegant. Everything is ugly now; the age of charm has gone."
"Tell me about Pierre. Was he very handsome?"
"The most handsome man I had ever met – and he rode so well. He was always teasing me, bringing me flowers…"She sighed again. "I remember that we danced five times that night! It was so scandalous. Three times was all that was thought right and proper, and I was scolded by my father."
"But why? I do not see why you shouldn’t dance with the man you loved."
"Because I knew I could never marry him, child." Grandmere’s face was sad. "Love fades in time but my father believed money went on forever. He did not know Sanclere!"
"What do you mean, Grandmere?"
"It does not matter, but always remember that nothing lasts, not even money. In the firelight her face was soft with dreams and almost beautiful again, so that Clothilde thought how lovely she must have been as a young woman. "It was so wrong of me to let him make love to me. My father would have killed us both if he had discovered us…but he never did…"
"What happened to Pierre?" Clothilde asked, though she knew all Grandmere’s stories, for she had heard them so many times. "Did you love him very much?"
"I loved him as much as I was capable of loving. It wasn’t enough. He had no fortune and Sanclere was rich. My father wanted me to marry him…"
"Did it break Pierre’s heart when you told him you were to marry someone else?"
"He said it did – but he recovered soon enough and married a rich widow." Madame Sanclere’s face clouded. "Never trust a man, Clothilde. They are all faithless. Sanclere was never faithful to me – even on our wedding trip he took one of the maids to his bed…"
"What did he do to her?" Clothilde asked.
"I forgot what I was saying," Madame Sanclere shook her head. "Take no notice, Clothilde. I am old and sad, and I say foolish things. Come kiss me and then go to bed, child. You will not be fit to start your lessons in the morning."
"Must I have lessons with the priest?"
"Yes, I think you must," Grandmere said. "Otherwise he might send you to the Nuns – and I do not want you to leave me yet, Clothilde."
"I shall never leave you. Never!"
Clothilde threw her arms about her. She could not bear it when Grandmere spoke of her leaving. The old woman smiled, touched her head gently.
"Hush, child, no nonsense. One day you will go. But I hope that day will not come too soon." She pushed Clothilde from her. "Leave me to my memories now."
Clothilde knew that she would sit before the fire, taking out all the faded treasures from her box and dreaming over them until the fire went out and she turned cold. Perhaps then she would remember to go to bed herself.
Clothilde left her reluctantly, wishing that she could do more to help Grandmere.
As she reached the top of the stairs, a bulky figure darted out at her, grabbing her arm. "Got you at last, little pig! I"ll teach you to steal from me!" Blanche cried spitefully.
Clothilde pinched her arm hard, then kicked her on the shin with all her strength. Blanche squealed with pain and let go of her, and in an instant Clothilde was away, darting inside her room and locking her door.
She leaned against it, closing her eyes as she fought for breath. Another narrow escape, but tomorrow battle would commence once more. Blanche would have her revenge one way or another. Clothilde knew that sooner or later she would be caught and beaten ...
08 April 2008
Another Review: A Valentine's Gift for Tori
I think Mickey from Simply Romance Reviews likes me... or, at least, my books. :)
"Reading a Zenobia Renquist novel is a sure to guarantee to a different and unique experience... Ms. Renquist illustrates both sensitivity and humor... Regardless, of what each person takes away from the story, they will definitely take away hours of enjoyment."
Read Full Review HERE
Author: Zenobia Renquist
Publisher: Red Rose Publishing
Genre: Contemporary Mainstream Romance (IR)
Length: Short Story (15K words)
ISBN: 1-60435-099-7 (978-1-60435-099-9)
Price: $2.99
Blurb:
She wants a boyfriend for Valentine’s and her husband wants to deliver.
Tori has come to the realization that her marriage lacks the spark it had in the beginning. She and her husband argue more than anything else and she foresees a nasty break-up on the horizon if something doesn’t change. When he asks her what she wants for Valentine’s Day, her answer is scandalous and straightforward—a boyfriend.
Rather than be upset, her husband is intrigued by the idea and sets out to make it happen. Tori has set herself—and him—an impossible goal and her prospects aren’t that promising. But she’s determined to have a boyfriend in time for the most romantic holiday of the year.
Read the first chapter for free: http://zenobiarenquist.com
EXCERPT:
“What do you want for V-day, sweetheart?”
Tori regarded her husband. He didn’t even look at her when he’d asked the question. Instead, he lazed in his easy chair with his feet up, clicking through the channels. She shouldn’t be upset at his dismissive behavior. Unlike most husbands, he’d actually remembered days in advance of the holiday instead of the day of. Christian was good at remembering anniversaries, birthdays, and the like.
“I want a boyfriend.” Some wild hair made Tori say what was on her mind, the thing she really wanted and had kept to herself for the past two years.
Her marriage with Christian was lukewarm. She couldn’t remember when the last time they’d had sex, but Christian could tell her the exact date if she asked. He only remembered stuff that concerned him.
That wasn’t to say she didn’t love her husband. He was the only man who could put up with her and vice versa. They were the perfect complete-each-other’s-sentences couple. On the surface, they had the type of marriage every couple envied with three kids who were mature beyond their years and a stable income. A dream come true except one thing…
“Ha ha. Now what do you really want?” He continued flipping channels.
“I’m not joking. I want a boyfriend.”
Christian looked at her. His smile vanished when he saw she wasn’t smiling. “What are you saying?”
“I just told you twice. For the third time, I want a boyfriend.”
“Is this about Samantha? I apologized. You forgave me. You said it was in the past and not to worry about it. Why after two years of forgiveness do you suddenly want a divorce?”
“I didn’t say I wanted a divorce. I said I want a boyfriend.” She felt like a broken record.
Her gaze strayed to the clock. They had an hour before the kids were due back from school. She hoped whatever theatrics Christian threw her way ended before they came home.
Christian switched the television off then stood and faced Tori. “This isn’t a funny joke. Or is this payback?”
“It’s neither. When was the last time we had sex, Christian?”
“Two years and three months ago next Friday.”
She knew it. He’d been counting, which meant the lack of intimacy had bothered him. She crossed her arms. “We don’t have a relationship anymore—not the kind married couples should have.”
“We can work at it.”
“I really don’t want to.”
That made Christian angry. His face contorted in rage and he paced away from her with an angry sound.
She wasn’t scared. Christian would never hurt her. He wasn’t the type of man to do that. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t put a hole through the wall or stab the couch with a kitchen knife.
“Christian, assuming I wanted to have sex, do you even want to?”
“Yes!”
“With me?”
“Of course! You’re my wife. We’ve been married ten years.”
“Then how come you were with Samantha on that Valentine’s Day two years ago?”
07 April 2008
Chateau Despair
A Kind Of Loving
available from Red rose Publishing now.
Madame Fanchot watched in triumph as the child entered the world in a mess of slime and blood. However, her feeling was short-lived as she turned to its mother. She was dying. Her labour had been long and hard, and the months of carrying had taken their toll. No one would care what became of her or her child. She’d been foolish and careless and her behaviour had brought shame to her family. For herself, she could have little reason left to live, but Madame Fanchot knew that she feared for her child.
"Where is she?" The woman’s voice was barely more than a whisper. The blood drained out from between her thighs, sluggish and thick. Madame Fanchot gave up any attempt to staunch it. She believed nothing more could be done to help the woman, or perhaps she was either too indifferent or too ignorant to try to save her. "Let me see her…just once."
"She is beautiful, Madame," Madame Fanchot said. She laid the small bundle in the mother’s arms. The child was wrapped in nothing but the shawl the woman had been wearing when they’d found her wandering in the woods some hours earlier. "You have a lovely daughter."
"I want to call her Elena," the mother said. "Her name is Elen…"
The rattle of death caught in her throat, causing her head to fall back against the pillows.
"She has gone," a man said from the doorway. He spat on the floor of the filthy cottage. "So perish all such whores as they deserve."
"You are too harsh, Jean," his wife said. She took the squalling child from its mother and held it to her breast to quiet it. "How can you know who or what the poor woman was? She has scarcely spoken a word since we found her wandering."
"No decent woman would be alone in a wood in her condition," he muttered sourly. "If she came of good family they threw her out – and she isn’t wearing a wedding ring."
"That doesn’t mean she was a bad woman," Madame Fanchot gave the dead woman a pitying look. "What are we to do with her now?"
"I’ll bury her in the wood. I’ve no money to pay the priest for a proper burial for a stranger?"
"But shouldn’t we tell someone? Supposing someone comes looking for her or the child one day?"
"We never saw her."
"What of the child?" she cried in horror at his callous words.
"Get rid of it…" He growled deep in his throat . "I don’t mean kill it – take it to the church. Leave it near the altar. The priest will know what to do. It won’t be the first time he’s had to deal with an abandoned bastard I’ll swear. I don’t care what you do with it, just get it out of the house."
"The shawl is hers. Was there nothing else – no ring or trinket of any kind that might help them to trace who the child’s mother was?"
"Nothing," he muttered in a way that immediately told her he was lying. "Nothing at all."
She scowled at him. If he’d stolen something from the woman, he would likely keep it until he thought it was safe to sell. She would not receive the smallest part of his ill-gotten gains, even though she was the one who’d gone through the trouble of attending the woman.
"I’m going to take the child," she told him. She hated his brutality; she hated the poverty of her life. She wished she dared to leave him and take the child with her. It was impossible. Poor as her life is, it was still better than starving on the streets. "If you mean to bury the woman, Jean, be careful. If anyone sees you there could be trouble."
"No one will see," he shrugged. "No one ever comes to the woods these days. Not after what happened up at the chateau."
Madame Fanchot crossed herself as she hurried out into the bleakness of a cold winter evening. The chateau remained empty for the past five years, save from the crazy old woman that owned it. The last of her family, she had lived there alone, hardly seeing anyone since the tragedy. Madame Fanchot’s mind shied away from what had happened all those years ago.
Indeed, she did not truly know for sure what had happened at the chateau. She’d only heard the rumours, but it was certain three people were brutally murdered there.
Shivering, she ran all the way to the church. She looked about her, but could see no one. Hurriedly, she deposited her bundle behind the priest’s pulpit. He would surely see it there when he came to take evening confession.
Afraid and guilty for leaving the child, Madame Fanchot made the sign of the cross over her heart and then ran from the church hastily. In her anxiety to get away, Madame Fanchot failed to notice the figure sitting quietly in the shadows. Nor did she ever know what happened after she’d left, though there would be times over the years when she wondered what had become of the child. Times when she believed she knew…
14 March 2008
Want a little magic in your lie?
Toss of A Coin By Aline de Chevigny
Mainstream/Historical / Time Travel/Holiday/Romance
ISBN: 978-1-60435-101-9
Cover Artist: Merris Hawk
Editor: Terri Morris
Word Count: 12,468
Release: March 6th, 2008
Available now from Red Rose Publications
A grandmother’s last request, a mysterious old coin, and a heartfelt wish.
Armed with a mysterious package, Angelica travels to Scotland to fulfill the requirements of her grandmother’s will. The package contains an ancient coin and a letter telling her to make one wish. Angelica’s wish for true love sends her back in time and into the arms of a man who could make all of her dreams come true – if she’ll let him.
Excerpt :
The heat of anger in her eyes, and the edge of sarcasm in her tone put his teeth on edge. The fact that he knew his cousin was interested and he didn’t know if she returned his cousin’s interest bothered him. If he wasn’t careful, he’d lose her before he’d won her.
“Your Grace, if you point me in the direction of my room, I’m sure the seamstress will be waiting for me. As you noted, I need proper—or was that decent, clothing to cover myself with.”
Angelica’s formal tone and lack of expression while addressing him hit harder than he’d anticipated. The gleam that appeared in Ewan’s eyes at the discord brewing between himself and Angelica stopped him from uttering the apology he found ready on his lips to soothe the tension between them. “This way, Lady Angelica.” Duncan replied shortly, his irritation surging when she ignored his arm and stopped to offer Ewan her hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Lord MacHenry. I hope we have the chance to talk later.”
Ewan took her hand between both of his own. “The pleasure, Lady Richmond, was all mine. You have but to name the time and I will make myself available to you. But please call me Ewan. It is only proper if we are to get to know each other better, as I hope we will. Much, much better.”
“Very well, Ewan then you must call me…”
“Lady Angelica.” Duncan prompted, scowling towards his cousin. “And you must call him Lord Ewan, Angel.”
Angelica sighed, and turned to glare at Duncan. The annoyance showing on her face at being interrupted made him wonder if he’d already lost her.
“Lady Angelica, it is then.” He told her with a wink bringing her hand up to his lips.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, Lord Ewan. Your Grace, can you please show me to my room. I believe we need to discuss the details of my stay here, not to mention some rules!”
“Yes, we do.” Duncan agreed, following Angelica out the door past Ewan. “As do we, dear cousin.” Once Angelica was out of sight, he turned towards Ewan, fury plainly visible on his face. His fists balled at his sides to prevent himself from striking out at the younger man.
05 March 2008
It's out, it's out, it's out...weeeeeeeeeeeeeee
Toss of a Coin
Mainstream Holiday Historical / Time Travel
ISBN: 978-1-60435-101-9
Word Count: 12,468
Price: $1.99
BUY
Blurb: A grandmother’s last request, a mysterious old coin, and a heartfelt wish.
Armed with a mysterious package, Angelica travels to Scotland to fulfill the requirements of her grandmother’s will. The package contains an ancient coin and a letter telling her to make one wish.
Angelica’s wish for true love sends her back in time and into the arms of a man who could make all of her dreams come true – if she’ll let him.
Excerpt:
Duncan woke, the sun shining in his eyes. The fact that the sun touched his face meant his servants had disobeyed a standing order of not entering his bedchamber without consent. They knew better, he’d made it perfectly clear in the past to never disturb him until he called for them.
His mood lightened when he realized his Angel was wrapped around his body, cuddling as close as she could, while the blankets covering her were all but stripped away from her body. Lord, she looked beautiful laying there, the sunlight glinting off her copper colored tresses. He knew it had never before been done; but he was never letting this woman go. Once he learned of her past, he was going to find a way to make her his Duchess.
Moving away just an inch, he smiled when she cuddled closer; closing the gap he’d created between them. Her hand, which rested over his heart slid lower when she moved, causing him to harden instantly. The temptation to take her again washed over him, he needed to find out who she was and where she came from.
Soft caresses along her skin evoked a lusty, low moan in Angelica. A soft, cool breeze against her skin had her cuddling closer to the warmth she felt right beside her, eliciting a groan of desire in return. Her body stilled its movements as her eyes snapped open. “Who’s there?”
“Ah my Angel, glad to see you’re finally awake. I’ve been attempting to entice you to open your beautiful emerald eyes for an hour now. You’ve been quite stubborn and may I add I’ve enjoyed every moment of it.”
“You mean this isn’t a dream?” She asked, stunned.
“You are most definitely my dream come true, Angel.”
“I… I have to go.” She cried, pulling the blanket up to her breasts trying to cover herself as she slowly scooted away from him as far as she could on the bed. “What have I done?”
“Go? Go where? I forbid it. You promised me answers this morning, my Angel, and I intend to collect them.” The determined scowl on his face propelled her out of bed with the sheet wrapped tightly around her.
“Answers? What kind of answers? I don’t know anything. I don’t even know how I got here.” Angelica felt panic rising uncontrollably within her. A full-blown panic attack just waiting to be set free. Where were her clothes?
26 February 2008
FOX & HOUND, available 2/28!!!
Author: Amber Leigh Williams
Publisher: Red Rose Publishing
ISBN: 1-60435-039-3 (978-1-60435-039-5)
Genre: Mainstream Romantic Adventure
Price: $5.99
After three years in prison, Todd goes after the woman who ruined his life, seeking revenge and the diamond she stole from him. He learns that Celestia doesn't have the diamond either. She was used by her partner, master thief Tito Bandero.
Todd and Celestia form an unlikely partnership to take back what is theirs and redeem themselves. Bandero is planning to steal three of the world's most coveted diamonds, but the ones he wronged—Fox and Hound—plot to take them first.
What Todd and Celestia don't count on? The power of attraction. When the quest grows dangerous, which will they choose: payback or each other?
*Excerpt:
Celestia was leaning over a gold-carved jewelry box when she heard Todd’s voice behind her.
“This place is a museum!” he exclaimed, making her turn swiftly, shock and fire in her eyes.
“What the hell are you doing down here?” she demanded. “You’re supposed to be out.”
“I’ve been out,” he said, stepping forward but stopping when she shined the light in his eyes. He staggered back, holding a hand up to block it. “For the past six hours.”
“What time is it?” she asked, shocked.
He glanced at his watch. “Almost six o’clock.”
“Jesus,” she muttered. “You had to go sneaking around the house, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t think I’d hit the bank.” He stepped over to a diamond-encrusted box. “A guy could really cash in here.”
She crossed the room and slapped a hand over his before he could open the lid. “Don’t touch anything.”
“Oh, come on,” he begged. “Don’t tell me I can’t explore.”
“Forget it,” she snapped, shoving him toward the trapdoor. “Get out!”
He took her wrists before she could push him again and snatched her against him. His arms snaked around her waist before she could take a breath. He held her to him tight as her flashlight clattered to the floor.
She swallowed hard, realizing her lips were tingling. “Let me go.”
“You’re quivering.” He smirked and ran a hand up her spine to cup the nape of her neck.
Chills shuddered down the length of her body. “I’m not.” Her voice shook. She hated it. “What are you doing?” she asked almost fearfully when his lips brushed over her jaw. Her heart pounded hard. She couldn’t suck in a breath. The room was stuffy. Her head clouded. “What are you doing?” she asked again when his face pressed into the side of her neck.
15 February 2008
Love Me Two Times
More than the title of a song, Love Me Two Times is the plea of Paul Barry.
Mary and Marion Simpson are not twins, but they share more that they are willing to admit. A blind date blossoms into a full relation ship that includes marriage, after a fashion. The old adage of “love conquers all” is seriously put to the test as Paul falls for both Mary and Marion until he realizes that they are only one woman suffering from Multiple Personality Disorder.
EXCERPT:
Karen sat on the couch right next to me and turned to face me. She sighed and said: “Okay, tell me what happened.”
I retold the story I had relived in my mind a thousand times: the great dinner date at Erich’s the night before, the fun day at the park, the hotdogs with the beer, how we had strolled back to her apartment holding hands, the courage I gathered to kiss her good-night and finally how Mary had reacted after my comment on her biting my still swollen lower lip from her previous kiss the night before. At this point, Karen raised her hand and asked the last question I had expected.
“How was her hair?”
“Gorgeous,” I said, annoyed by the interruption, “but what’s that got to do with anything?”
“Sorry,” she said giggling, “I meant, was her hair down? Or was she wearing a ponytail?”
The rephrasing of the question shed no light for me on why it was relevant, but I responded anyway.
“Down, I love her hair cut, reminds me of Farrah Fawcett, except brunette.”
“And the night before?”
“She was wearing a bun with one of those oriental sticks to hold it up.”
“Well, then she was upset when you complained about the bite. She thought you had been kissing another girl,” she pronounced with an expression as if this should have been obvious all along.
“Oh, I am a fool. Of course, that must have been it.” I retorted cynically. “Just to make sure we are on the same page, can you tell me why?”
“On Saturday you dated Mary, who very unusually bit you farewell. You must have caused a very good impression. This morning you spent the day with Marion.”
Some time later, Karen confessed she could not stop smiling every time she remembered the blank expression on my face when she told me this.
“O…kay…” I said very slowly, waiting on her to explain further.
“She’s sick, Paul,” she informed me.
Excerpt from "Crossing Faeryland"
I'd like to tease you with an excerpt from my upcoming novel, "Crossing Faeryland"...
Excerpt: Jake and Marnie
Cautiously, Jake moved closer to the pair and closed his eyes, recalling the meditation exercises he hadn’t practiced in years. Connections to his physical self dropped away. His mind soared. He’d forgotten the heady sensations of freedom. Petty concerns seemed far away and insignificant. With difficulty, Jake turned his attention to the inhabitants of the barn.
Before she slammed down her shields, Jake felt himself connect with Marnie and noted her surprise at the speed and ease at which he’d managed psychic communications again. He remembered the pleasure he’d felt communicating this way with her and how much harder it could be with others.
Elusive, other ephemeral thoughts and desires passed through her mind. Jake looked away afraid to hope, but more afraid to have her see the hope in him.
He touched the consciousness of the stallion first, feeling the strength of character and nobility of purpose. The mare’s gaiety and sense of humor caught his fancy and he found himself eager to spend more time with both of them.
“I thank you all for your gracious offer of aid in helping us to cross your lands in safety. Be assured that I consider myself in your debt.”
Jake felt his control slipping as the Unicorns accepted his gratitude and expressed pleasure in furthering their acquaintance. They too looked forward to future “talks”.
As Jake drifted away, he again felt Marnie’s presence, surprised now at the pleasure and fondness he detected there. This would be something to ponder later…alone.
Returning to himself abruptly, he staggered and shook his head. Wincing he put his fingertips on his temples rubbing at the spikes of pain. “I’d forgotten about this part.”
Marnie grabbed his arm to steady him and remarked, “If you had practiced, it wouldn’t be like this.”
Jake straightened and watched her steadily. “There didn’t seem to be much reason to.”
Stung, Marnie withdrew quickly and touched her fingertips to her lips. She backed away her eyes wide. Jake watched thoughts chase across her face—wonder, fear, confusion—before she wiped away all emotion.
He wanted to reach for her, even had his hand partially extended, but she turned away and returned to grooming the Unicorns. He glided closer nearly touching her until she stopped her brushing and swung to face him.
He reached for her again. This time she didn’t pull away. Raising his hand to her face, he brushed aside loose tendrils to stroke her cheek. “You’re even lovelier than I remembered.”
She remained motionless, expressionless, staring into his face, oblivious to the stroking of his hand and the scrutiny of his searching, roaming eyes. The path his gaze took eventually crossed with hers and locked. For countless moments and a split second, an eternity and an instant, they met on a level that mapped beyond the physical but nowhere in reality.
“I thought that I’d imagined your beauty and grace. I thought that the attraction would disappear like the dream that it had seemed to be,” he didn’t say.
“I thought that I’d never see you again,” she never replied.
She opened her mouth to speak, then frowned and turned away to groom the Unicorns once more. “We leave at daylight, even if the Little Princess is not here.”
He dropped his arm and watched her for a moment. She turned to face him, but any trace of what she’d been thinking or feeling, she managed to put away. He sighed temporarily defeated.
“She’ll be here.” Jake made his way to the door and paused. Turning to face her, he warned, “Oh, and Marnie,”
She paused in brushing Glitter and looked up at him. “I would call her Cat if I were you. She has a distinct dislike, right now, for being reminded of her place in life.”
She shrugged and returned to her task. He watched her a moment then turned to leave. At the door, he paused and turned to face her. Marnie stopped in mid-stroke and looked at him questioningly.
“Something else?”
He smiled. “Yeah, there is.” Walking around Glitter, he took the currycomb out of her loose grip and laid it on the stall. “I have to know.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he covered her lips with his, snaking an arm around her waist and cupping the back of her head with his other hand. All the broken pieces—his heart, his soul—slid back into place as he fit his body to hers.
Hope you enjoyed your peek!
Raine McIntyre
"Crossing Faeryland" coming soon from Red Rose Publishing
http://RaineMcIntyre.net/
22 November 2007
Pamper Me: Coming Soon from Marie Rochelle
Gasping, she spun around and stared up into the bluest eyes she had ever seen in her life. The man behind her was absolutely gorgeous. She couldn’t help but to look away from his eyes to get a better look at his body. His massive shoulders filled out the black coat he was wearing and it stopped right past his knees. He looked very powerful, with his wide chest and muscular build.
Nicey dragged her eyes away from his physique back to his face. The set of his chin suggested a hidden stubborn streak while his lips were firm and sensual. They made her wonder if he was a good kisser. Would he know how to use those lips on her?
She slowly continued her appraisal of him and realized that his blond hair was a stark contrast to his naturally tanned skin. There was no doubt about it even in a crowd of men, his presence was stand out and make the others fall into the background.
“Do I know you?” she asked, taking a step back closer to her car. What in the hell was wrong with her staring at a stranger like that? She didn’t get an immediate sense of danger begin in his presence but a woman never knew nowadays.
“No, you don’t,” he smiled displaying a roll of perfect white teeth, “and that’s why I stopped you.”
18 November 2007
Blurb and Excerpt for Carrington's Fury
Coming Soon to Red Rose Publishing: Carrington's Fury.
STORY BLURB:
EXCERPT:
