Sunday, February 28, 2010

Egg-cerpt for Painful Relections

Blurb -
Meg Garrett loses her husband, Kyle, on their honeymoon but returns every year to the place she last saw him. There she meets Todd, a man who sets her blood on fire, but how can she move on when she can still feel her husband?
She then finds out Kyle is still alive, and that Todd isn’t who she thought he was. Where has her husband been for the past four years, and why doesn’t he remember her? Meg must trust a man who has betrayed her to find out the truth behind the deception.
Excerpt -
“Well, here we are again.”

Meg gasped as she turned to face him. “Todd.” His name floated on her breath as she sighed her relief at seeing his tanned face.

He smiled but appeared a bit puzzled. “You look happy to see me.”

She stared up at the sky for a moment, taking a deep breath before meeting his gaze with a smile. “That’s because I am. I felt so bad how I acted last time that I was hoping to see you again to apologize.”

Todd chuckled. “There’s no need for that. I could see that you were sorry. You have a very expressive face.”

“Well, I still should have said it as well.”

He placed a towel beside her and sat upon it, inviting her to do the same. Not having thought to bring her own towel, she sat next to him. They both stared at the ocean for a moment, and she enjoyed the sounds of the waves. She took a deep breath, taking in the salt air and feeling the ocean breeze across her skin. Her fingers sifted through the sand at her side as she tried to think of what to say. Even though she wanted to see him again, his nearness made her a little nervous.

“Do you vacation here every year?” she finally asked him.

Todd shook his head. “I live here.”
“Really? You must come to this beach a lot, then.”
He shrugged with a smile. “Not really.”

Meg frowned. “Then why did you come back?” His intense expression made her blush. “You came back to see me?”

“Isn’t that why you told me you come back here every year?” he asked, teasing her.

She was pleased he remembered, and her cheeks flushed. “Not exactly, but I’m glad you’re here.”
Thanks Jude for the great egg-cerpt,

Saturday, February 27, 2010

The Perfect Country and Western Story (paperback)
by Christine Columbus

The Wild Rose Press - Digital $6.00 Retail Price: $11.99


Alexandra has the Stetson hat, now all she needs is the cowboy. But with three days and over 50,000 faces to search, will she be able to find the man who stole her heart?

Ben still can’t believe he was foolish enough to let the beautiful thief walk away with his autographed cowboy hat. If the heartbreaker dares to show up at Country Time again this year, he’ll not only be looking to get his hat back, but aiming for a little payback as well.


She stepped closer, filling the gap between them. “Ben, I want—” Her voice pleaded.

He was drowning in the pools of her eyes and clenched his jaw shut as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up with the remembered comments from Julia. Yeah, you want me, but only because you hadn’t found anything better, right? Anger flared and he narrowed his eyes, adding aloud, “Your parents should have named you Jezebel.”

“What?” Her eyebrows rose as confusion clouded her eyes. She blinked. “I know this looks bad, but I can explain.”

He ignored the plea in her voice, put the hat on his head and swallowed. He took a step backward as she came forward.

“Ben, please listen.” Her voice trembled. “I can explain. I want you—”

He put his hands on her shoulders to prevent her from coming any closer, but as soon as his palms touched her skin, his hands started shaking. Something was wrong, different, he could see it in her eyes. And the way she looked? This couldn’t be the same angel his heart had longed for—had everyone else really seen what he couldn’t?

“I don’t want to hear it. I already know,” he snapped, delving into his self-loathing and fortifying his resolve. “You stole my hat—a hat I was going to give my little brother.”

“No, that’s not how it was.” Alex pressed against his hands and tried to move in closer, her eyes rimmed in tears.

Find Christine at

Friday, February 26, 2010

Egg-cerpt for Banged Up

Banged Up

by Jeanne St. James

ISBN 978-1-59578-594-7

Two scarred souls: one physically, one mentally. Both on the mend, hiding from their pasts…

Mace Walker can’t wait to get home.

Being buried deep undercover for the past two years, on the most complex case of his career, has torn him down physically and mentally. Now the FBI agent has come home to recover after having his leg badly injured from a gunshot wound. Arriving home late one night, his relief is short-lived as he’s faced with a stranger pointing a gun to his head, acting like he is the one who doesn’t belong there!

Colby Parks, a biochemist at the local university, had come to town a year earlier to escape an abusive relationship. She vows never to put herself in that situation again.

Then the perfect opportunity comes along: house-sitting for Mace’s sister while making the house she purchased habitable. But she couldn’t anticipate this big snag: the one wearing the tight Levi’s and worn leather jacket, looking like he had just escaped prison.

Being forced to share a house creates sparks between them in more ways than one. However, things take a turn when their pasts catch up to them, threatening to pull them apart forever.

Chapter One

Relief flooded over Mace Walker as he twisted the key in the lock, gave the front door a shove, and stepped over the threshold. Finally home. About time.
Time to heal.
The foyer was dark, but he didn’t need to hit the light switch. Even being gone for as long as he had been, he still knew the house well enough. He made his way to the stairs and set down his bags. Those two small duffels didn’t hold much evidence of his life for the past couple of years. Just some toiletries and a few basic items of clothing.
As he straightened, the foyer lit up, blinding him for a second. He blinked when a young voice rang out from the top of the steps. “Hold it right there! Put your arms up and back away from the stairs.”
What the fuck?
Mace had expected to see his sister bounding down the stairway of his two-story colonial, excited after not seeing her brother for the past two years. Actually, more like one year, eleven months and fifteen days. Not that he was counting. But instead, he stared up into the deadly eye of a Glock. And from his viewpoint it looked like a model 23, a .40 caliber. A compact but still a decent sized gun in a very small, very uneasy hand. Instantly, the hairs on the back of his neck rose.
Damn. He’d dealt with crime bosses and their flunkies--from drug to porno rings--and had managed to survive. Now he was going to be killed by some measly punk he surprised while burglarizing his house? The cruel irony made him want to laugh. Instead, he did as he was instructed. With caution, he raised his hands above his head before stepping back toward the middle of the foyer. He avoided standing directly under the light, trying to get a better view of the top of the steps. But he didn’t have much success; the upstairs hallway and the upper section of the stairway were hidden in shadows.
If he played his cards right, this little situation would be under his control in no time at all. He just had to keep the kid calm and make the skinny punk believe he was the one in command. From experience, Mace knew the Glock didn’t have a conventional safety. All the kid had to do was pull the trigger and pull it again and again until all the rounds in the clip emptied into Mace’s body. And from what he could see in the limited light, the kid’s fingers were twitching from nervousness.
Not a good sign.
Where had a young punk gotten an expensive handgun like that? It certainly hadn’t been in the house. And if it had been, it would have been locked up in the gun safe.
If only he could see the boy’s face. He needed to see the eyes. Without seeing his eyes, Mace couldn’t even begin to predict what the kid would do.
“Don’t you dare move or I’ll blow your face off!” The kid’s voice raised an octave, making him sound more and more like ... a girl.
Tension ran through Mace’s body as the person started down the steps. At first he could see bare toes, a slim calf, then another. His gaze flicked to the gun, before returning to the shapely naked thighs which couldn’t belong to a kid--no way. Especially not a boy. Those smooth legs definitely belonged to a woman--and he couldn’t wait to see the rest of her. So far, the view almost made it worth being held at gunpoint. Almost.
He was disappointed when an oversized T-shirt--shit, was that Marmaduke on it?--blocked his view of creamy flesh. His arms were tired, his leg throbbed painfully, and his patience was wearing thin. But he still wasn’t going to move, since he had no idea who this woman descending the stairs was. His curiosity piqued when she stepped down into the light, which highlighted her long, curly red hair and made her wide, green--glaring--eyes sparkle and snap.
A twitch shot through his lower stomach and landed in his groin. Fear or pain didn’t make him suck in his breath. It was her unrestricted breasts bobbing under the cotton shirt with each step she took. Her nipples stood out like two beacons under the worn cotton. Jesus.
He had to clear his throat twice before he could ask her, “Are you robbing this house, dressed like that?”

BANGED UP is available NOW at Liquid Silver Books here:

Jeanne St. James, erotic romance writer
Banged Up available NOW from Liquid Silver Books! Buy link
Rip Cord - #1 BESTSELLER in December from Phaze! Buy link
Double Dare available NOW from Loose Id! Buy link

Thanks Jeanne for the egg-cerpt,

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Egg-cerpt for Wicked Desire

Wicked Desire Excerpt

The second Matt was certain Maggie’s feet were firmly planted on the ground he took hold of her shoulders and forced her backwards until she was against the stone wall. He ignored her startled gasp. He ignored the way her soft flesh felt beneath his hands,and the teasing allure of her perfume. He ignored his body’s rapid response to her closeness. He easily overpowered her initial struggles, madder than a hornet that she’d tried to escape. The alley was dark except for one dim light at the end, close to the street, yet he was able to focus on a pair of frightened, glittering eyes.

“Oh! You scared me half to death!” she cried, her hand flying up to cover her pounding heart.

Matt wished she hadn’t done that. The action drew his attention to her creamy breasts, which were all but spilling out of her top. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t let Bob run you in,” he growled in a furious undertone. He’d long ago learned how the criminal mind worked. He was glad he decided to follow up on his hunch.

“I’m not a prostitute,” she said simply.

“I don’t believe you.” But he wanted to. Matt didn’t like thinking he was attracted to a woman who made a living by selling her body. Of course, the woman he’d wanted that morning didn’t look anything like the little tramp in front of him now. The only thing that hadn’t changed was her soft, full mouth and those unforgettable eyes. If he wasn’t careful he could easily drown in those beguiling green depths; cat eyes that mesmerized its prey before pouncing in for the kill.

“But…I can explain everything.”

Her soft laugh steeled Matt’s heart and made up his mind for him. He wasn’t in the mood to hear her lies, or put up with her misplaced humor. “Save it. You’re going to jail, honey.” He took her by the arm and began dragging her behind him. He should let Bob handle it and still might. On his way out of the bar he’d told his ex-partner to wait for him in the front.

“But I thought you weren’t a cop.”

“Not here.” In a few days he would be starting a new job back home as the local small-town sheriff. He was looking forward to the change to both his professional and personal life.

“Than you can’t arrest me,” she said in a satisfied tone. She tried to pull away from him. “Maybe I’ll have you arrested for assault, or something.”

Matt didn’t bother to correct her assumption. Mainly because it meant he could get rid of her sooner. And the itch in his loins that had never really diminished since that morning. He tried like hell not to remember how quick his body had reacted to her. “I’ll turn you over to my ex-partner.” He continued pulling her easily along, heading for the end of the alley that opened up onto the street.

“But I can explain the whole thing. It’s really kind of funny. You see…ouch!”

Matt swiveled on his feet in time to catch Maggie from falling to the ground. He dragged her up against him. “Another trick,

sweetheart?” They were suddenly standing nose to nose.

“No, I swear! I stepped on something.”

They were more than nose-to-nose; they were also mouth-to-mouth. Matt’s eyes glared into hers, every breath he sucked in filled his lungs with her sweet fragrance. In spite of his instincts for self preservation he continued to hold her against him. His hands were wrapped around the fleshy part of her upper arms and his fingers rested against the exposed sides of her warm, lush breasts. He could feel them crushed against him, feel her nipples harden and poke into him with every breath she took.

Visit Tory Richards at

And purchase her book at

Thanks again for the Egg-cerpt, Tory,


Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Egg-cerpt of "To Save Emmy"


By Patricia Pellicane

From Total-e-bound

An Erotic Historical Romance

A February 15th release

Buy it at


She wanted the one thing he couldn't give.It was only a favor, after all, but Nick couldn't believe his best friend could ask him for that.Lady Emily Redford has asked her best friend for pointers on how to make love. He is astonished at the request. Why ask him? She is recently widowed. Why doesn't she know?Emily explains she is about to take on a completely new lifestyle. She will be taking lovers. Horrified, he asks why not simply marry again? Only Emmy isn't interested in the holy state. Nick is aghast upon realising not only is she about to take lovers but her first is the worst rake in all of London.Nick cannot allow it. He must save her from herself, but who will save him?


Could this be happening? He’d tried so hard to ignore his attraction, struggled for
years, wanted her forever. And never had he dared believe the possibility of kissing her,
really kissing her, of having her.
God, could it be true? Could it be she felt the same?
He gathered her closer, all his yearning hard muscle against her softness. His mind
swam with the deliciousness of her. His hands held her tightly against him. Even as he
shivered, he knew it wasn’t enough. Gently, his hands skimmed over her back, drifting down
lower, lower until he slid them under her ass, pulling her, lifting her so their hips might
meet. He felt the warmth of her through her clothes. How hot was this woman that he could
feel that heat through the many layers of skirt and petticoats? God, he had to know the taste,
feel and smell of her. He reached between her thighs and lifted her so their mouths grew
even. He wanted to feel her against him. He wanted to feel her more than he’d ever wanted
anything in his life.
His body pressed hers hard against the wall, holding her in place with his hips as his
mouth ravished hers. And muttering a sound of displeasure as if it was against his will and
he was forced to stop, he tore his mouth from her heat and raised her higher.
Her breasts, white, gorgeously round and full were bare to his delight, and she gasped
her surprise and groaned in equal pleasure as his mouth suddenly sucked a soft pink nipple
deep into a furnace of blazing heat.
His hands gathered her soft flesh together so his mouth could easily sample one then
the other, biting, licking, sucking back and forth until madness threatened. Her nipples ached
and she only wanted more of the pain.
“Harder,” she murmured. “Oh God, harder please.” She couldn’t bear another minute
of it, yet she never wanted him to stop. Her eyes closed, and her breath hissed between her
teeth as her back arched in silent invitation. “Nicky, oh God, Nicky.”
It wasn’t enough, this meagre tasting of a woman who’d dared to fill his mind, his
senses with aching enticement. He hadn’t the will but to accede to her siren’s call. His need
for her was suddenly, desperately, overpowering. Later, he’d wonder how he’d managed to keep what little sense he had and not take her in a haze of sexual madness, sprawled upon
the drawing room floor.
At her lips again, he couldn’t get enough. How had a mouth grown this soft, this sweet,
and this delicious? How had he not been conscious of the fact? How had a woman come to
smell like this, taste like this? Now that he’d touched her, he thought he might never stop. All
he could think was he had to have more.
Without thought, his hand slid up the length of her leg, under her dress, over silk
stockings and bare thigh, and inside the wide leg of her drawers. He wouldn’t be denied. He
had to know her, touch her and taste her. Together, they groaned as his fingers slid over the
silky smooth skin above her stocking. Her heartbeat tripled, and his gasping came loud to
her ears. There was no tentative touching here, the need to know her, the need to have him
know her, was raw, aching and beyond all-consuming.
Her cry was muffled against his mouth as his fingers slid through her lush protective
curls and, at last, into her pussy. He groaned his pleasure at the blazing heat of her.
His mind swam. Hot, wet. God, he’d thought touching her would be enough, but it
wasn’t. He had to taste her. “I need…” he groaned into her mouth. “Jesus, I need this.”
Emmy was beyond thought, beyond the ability to understand his mutterings. All she
knew was his touch and the wild pounding of her blood. She couldn’t breathe and thought it
would never matter less. She didn’t need air. She needed this, his touch, his kiss. He couldn’t
stop. He couldn’t ever be allowed to stop. She’d waited forever to know this pleasure.
A soft cry escaped her lips as he pulled his hand away from her warmth.
“No,” she moaned into the heat of his mouth. “Don’t stop.” She didn’t want him to
stop. He had to touch her. She’d die if he stopped touching her.

Then his fingers, wet with her juices, were at her mouth and his. In her mouth, he
painted her lips, her tongue with her own sweet cream and licked the last of it as his fingers
were sucked into his own mouth. He was desperate to know all he could of her haunting
scent, her luscious taste. God, he’d never known a woman could taste this good.
The sound of a doorbell ringing and a shrill feminine laugh shocked him from this
wildly erotic moment.

He blinked, once twice then gave a slight shake of his head as if trying to clear a dazed
mind, trying to pull himself from the fog of overwhelming passion. His eyes were wide with
surprise, his body trembling, gasping for every breath. He moved suddenly, sharply away,
only to quickly return to steady her trembling form. What the hell? He cleared his throat and
put a finger inside his cravat, loosening the fabric a bit, the gesture telling clearly his shock,
while his gaze filled with confusion. “Christ, Emmy!” he gasped unable to catch his breath.

Clearly puzzled, he croaked out, “What the hell was that?”

Find Patricia at

Thanks for an egg-cerpt of your hot new release,


Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Egg-cerpt from Denise Patrick

Gypsy Legacy: The Earl (Book 3)
by Denise Patrick
Samhain Publishing


A panther. A prince. A promise. Can destiny tie the knot?

During a magical childhood summer, a gypsy woman gave Lady Amanda Cookeson a black panther statuette, promising that the man who came to claim it would also claim her heart. Amanda believes the Earl of Wynton is the prince she has awaited. Yet his reluctance to declare them anything more than friends leaves her wondering if she waited in vain.

If he wasn’t the last of his line, Jon Kenton, Earl of Wynton, wouldn’t marry at all. Since leaving his inheritance to the Crown is out of the question, however, he is compelled to search for the statuette his great-grandmother promised him. His quest leaves him empty handed—and secretly relieved. Finding the statuette would mean embracing the gypsy roots he has long denied.

Amanda is perfect countess material: lovely, admirable and—he thinks—statueless. Their passion is unquenchable…until the gypsy magic Jon thought he’d buried nearly destroys his future with Amanda.

Amanda was having difficulty concentrating on the drama unfolding on the stage before her. She could not stop her eyes from straying to the Warringham box, where Jon sat with his sisters and their husbands, and wishing she was there instead of with her parents.
She wondered to herself what it was about him that drew her. He was handsome, but so were at least a dozen or so others she knew. He was unfailingly polite and welcoming, but that was a product of breeding and upbringing. He cared deeply for his family. That set him apart from some of the young men she knew. He wasn’t a rake or rogue—nor was he trying to be. He was confident of who he was without being labeled something else.
He could kiss her senseless. No one had ever been able to do that. Not Lord Thurston, not Lord Darlington, not Lord Seevers. Their kisses had been more brotherly than lover-like. Not one of them had tried to kiss her anywhere other than her knuckles or cheek. Only Jon had been able to cause her heart to beat erratically by his mere presence, and her breath to catch by a mere touch. But was the physical attraction enough? And how would she find out?
The curtain fell and she suddenly realized she had been woolgathering the night away. She looked up as the curtain behind her parted to reveal Brand and Felicia. Jon entered behind them.
“I spoke with Shaftesbury today,” he said as they strolled, ostensibly toward the refreshment area.
“He promised to find another post for Mr. Cooper as soon as possible. He isn’t quite willing to convince the Board to turn a blind eye to the school, but he agreed to allow me to run the school as I see fit.”
She bristled at the implication.
“You? Why you?”
“I think you and I both know why. Certainly Shaftesbury and I understood that you and my grandmother, but mainly you, run the school. We also understand that the London Board is made up of men who are impressed by their own importance and, therefore, not about to let a woman seem more capable than they.”
“It’s no wonder children live on the streets,” she muttered angrily, “with such idiots running the city. And it’s no wonder that in this day and age a ten-year-old girl doesn’t know her own father’s name. If she’d been a boy, she’d know.”
“Perhaps,” he said placatingly. “But there’s little to do about it now. And you are getting what you wanted.”
“Only as long as I’m willing to hide behind you,” she huffed.
“I wouldn’t call it hiding.”
“Then what would you call it?”
“I’m not sure. But I’m perfectly willing to tell anyone who asks that I’m definitely not in charge. Unlike the men on the Board, I’m not so enamored of myself as to think I could competently run a school for girls.”
A large canvas in a wooden frame was propped against a wall. In the dim light, she could see a wash of brown, blue and green. He led her around to the other side of it, shielding them from anyone who might glance down the small hallway. She knew better than to be alone with him too often, but she couldn’t help herself. She wondered if he’d missed her over the past few days. She had certainly missed him.
“Where are we?” Was that her squeaky, nervous voice?
“Does it matter?”
A golden eyebrow raised. “That depends on why we are here.”
He pulled her closer and bent his head. “Has anyone ever told you, you talk too much?”

Denise Patrick
Heaven begins with an HEA. . .

Thanks for sharing,


Monday, February 22, 2010

Egg-cerpt for Author N.S. Ugezene

The Beginnings of Urbaya Egg-cerpt:

"I am going to need to patch up the lawn."

"Ok sweetie. Which dress should wear? This one or this one?"

Donald wasn't looking because he was getting ready to patch the lawn.

"Look! I need you to tell me which dress."

Donald turned to look and quickly. That dress."

"You didn't even see them."

"Yesh, I did. I can see things in the blink of an eye. That dress looks better."

"What's better about it?"

"I have seen it on you before. That other dress is in a color that doesn't look good on you. I don't know what made you want that dress."

"I wanted to get something different."

"You could have gotten something difeerent. Just not that."

Sally bought the dress after spending hours in a department store much to Donald's dismay. He felt punished that day especially because he and Sally faced a disagreement over the kitchen duties that day.

Donald still had to debate whether to go through with the plotted home invasion. Since money was Sally's reason for even dealing with Ivan, Donald figured that he could get in Ivan's house to find if there was money. He didn't know how Sally would feel if he found money and brought it home.

"Sally, I have a question."

"What is it?" she asked curious to know what was on his mind.

"I know that you are concerned about money." He stopped to think. "I was thinking that if I could get my hands on some money and I brung it home, would you wonder or get suspicious?"

"Well, people just don't come home with money out of nowhere. I would think something suspicious."

Donald began to think otherwise but felt like Sally was being hypocritical. She didn't even say what she was doing. He had to find out through the grapewine.

"Let me get out here and patch up this lawn."

Sally didn't raise any questions. Contemplating whether to engage Ivan in a chess game was her next action. She had to bait him in so that if Donald was going to do this she could set things up perfectly. The more she made Donald think she knew he'd have the gull to go in Ivan's house and ramsack the place to find the money. She knew that would ruffle his feathers and now she had to settle Ivan into the moment without him knowing anything.

Donald was wearing his bomber jacket. He was looking for something in his jacket when he discovered a letter. He unfolded the letter and read it. It was a letter directed to Sally. As he read it, he became enraged. It was time to go in the house and question Sally about the letter.
He held up the letter. "What the hell is this? You got some freaky shit going on that I don't know about or what?"

"I didn't even know that was there. I never even accepted any letter."

"So the letter just walked in your jacket. Is that what you're saying? It's not like you are being very honest with me right now so I find it hard to believe you right now."

"I don't even know where that letter came from. The only place I even take your jacket is in the breakroom at work."

"Leave it in your car from now on. I think that would be better. Maybe some admirer slipped this letter in the pocket. That happens. There are freakes out there who try anyway they can to get at women. Don't let it happen to you," Donald said in an informative tone.

Sally's comfort was dropping. She was starting to feel unsafe because she figured that when Donald invaded Ivan's house, Ivan would point the finger at her. All of a sudden his house gets burglarized...there has to be someone who tipped off the person who perpetrated the home invasion. Ivan didn't just let anyone in his home so he'd figure it out. If Ivan wasn't there things would go better and perhaps, there wouldn't be this backlash after the fact.

Ivan could pen this on Sally if he wanted to anyway though. He could take out anger on her if she ever came to his house. Knowing this, she wasn't going to go to his house if Donald went through with his plan, a plan that she didn't know. He wouldn't let her know anything and she had tried to trick him into detailing his plan. She stood there as Donald was once again outside working on the front lawn.

Thank you, N.S. Ugezene.

Find N.S. at (my website)

Come back to see who's excerpt I'm posting next,

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Egg-cerpt for the Queen Bee

Thanks Gail for sharing your Egg-cerpt.

Daisy Cooper's fellow secretary likes to think of herself as a bad girl, but she'd be shocked to discover her unassuming co-worker's secret pastime. Every weekend Daisy sheds her mild demeanor and conservative image to revel in the hedonistic pleasures of the notorious Soixante-Neuf sex club. She knows exactly what she wants from the men there--and she isn't shy about getting it.

She also knows what she doesn't want--emotional entanglements. But when a new co-worker stumbles upon her secret, Daisy knows things will never be the same. Her only choice is how to deal with the changes.


Daisy worked her way into a position to see the couple on the bed. To her utter lack of surprise, she recognized a woman named Lisa crouching over a dark-haired man Daisy didn't know, engaged in sixty-nine. She knew Lisa well. They'd often shared a bed, usually with several other people, but occasionally just the two of them.

Daisy wasn't yet so jaded that watching other people have sex had lost its fascination. She watched along with the rest of the crowd for a few minutes. Individuals and couples drifted away and were replaced by other spectators. Someone slid into position at her side, a tall blond man—six two at least—shirtless but wearing a pair of slacks and shoes. He sensed her attention and smiled at her before he turned his attention back to the show.

Lisa and her playmate continued pleasing one another, seeming oblivious to their audience. Lisa began breathing more loudly and erratically, her attention to her blow job flagging. Daisy wasn't surprised when Lisa raised her head, halting her blow job to shudder all over and make the delighted little noises Daisy had come to know so well. Then, her orgasm over, Lisa resumed her efforts.

The blond man next to her leaned in a little. "They sure seem to be having fun, don't they?"

"They do," she agreed. She waved a hand to indicate the crowd around them. "They seem to be the only ones, though."

He nodded slowly and moved closer. "I've noticed that. It seems to happen a lot. People pay good money to come to these clubs, and then they just sit around and watch. I don't get it."

"We're watching," she pointed out, though she hoped it wouldn't be for much longer.

He acknowledged her point with a minute shrug. "Yeah, but I just got here. What's your excuse?" He grinned. "I'm Paul, by the way."

She looked up into his eyes and said, very seriously, "Nobody's asked me yet. I'm Daisy.."

Paul leaned in again, close enough that Daisy could feel his breath on her ear. She shivered, desperately horny and eager to join Lisa on that huge bed. "Sometimes," Paul said, "I'm tempted to just announce, `Everyone who'd rather have sex than watch sex, raise your hand!' Maybe that would get people moving."

She laughed. She knew exactly what he meant. "It might at that."

"What about you?" He stood behind her now, not quite touching her but close enough that she could feel his breath on her ear when he spoke.

"What about me what?" she asked, deliberately drawing him out.

"Wouldn't you rather have sex than watch someone else have it?" Now he did touch her, placing his hands lightly on her hips.

She felt a rush of excitement. She glanced at him over her shoulder, biting her lip as she considered it. He was a good looking man, and his proposition was nicely done.

"Yes," she said. She turned to face him.. "I think I would."

Queen Bee
ISBN: 978‐1‐60088‐496‐2
Book Length: Wicked vignette
Heat Level: Fiery
Find it at Cobblestone Press

My Website: Signals From My Subconscious

Thanks again,


Saturday, February 20, 2010

Egg-cerpt for First Snow

Kitty rolled over and groaned. A glance at the clock revealed it was one in the morning. She'd been awakened yet again by an erotic dream of Robbie, only to come back to reality. With a sigh, she punched the pillows and tried to get comfortable again. It didn't work. She missed him, missed his long, hard body pressed against hers. She yearned for the scrape of his hairy legs against her smooth ones and wanted to hear the soft, soothing sound of his breathing as he slept.

Tears welled up in her eyes and she dashed them away angrily. He hadn't called in a month, and it seemed as if he was avoiding the bar altogether. She wasn't sure whether to be grateful or angry at his absence. Sure, she could do her job in peace, but it wasn't the same not seeing his smiling, happy face among the boys. Kitty would even put up with his horrible jokes if that meant he'd come back to the bar.

The boys refused to tell her what was going on, which only pissed her off more. Silently, she thought they blamed her for Robbie's disappearance from the bar. She wasn't sure whether to be pissed with them for blaming her or mad at herself for not quitting after she'd broken things off with Robbie. Now she was left in a quandary. Did she continue to waitress at the Prairie Dawg bar or move on? There were a few jobs in town she could try her hand at, but none of them would be as much fun as the bar.

She rolled onto her back and let out a soft sigh. The minutes ticked by, and sleep didn't tug at her eyelids. With a groan of frustration, she threw back the covers and padded out of her bedroom and downstairs. Kitty went into the kitchen and made herself a mocha cappuccino. While the milk heated up on the stove, she went to the window and peeked out. Delicate veins of frost decorated the panes and showed an opaque picture of bleak ground of dull colors. Only the evergreens planted in her front yard and around her house gave some relief from the bleakness. Even the sky was a sad gray instead of deep, dark blue.

Kitty missed seeing the stars winking and sparkling at her as the moon traveled across the sky. She turned away from the scene, took the milk off the stove and poured the boiling liquid into her coffee mix. A small smile curled her lips as she thought of what Robbie would say had he witnessed such a sight.

"That's not coffee; it's crap. Let me make you a real cappuccino." This would of course create a mess in her kitchen and all for a small cup of coffee that wasn't even hot by the time he served it. She used to tease him about his coffee snobbery, just like his beer. He couldn't drink just any beer. It had to be a specific brand; even then, it wasn't perfect. It had to be nice and cold, not in a can but a bottle. Lastly, he refused to just throw it back; it had to be drunk nice and slow.

She took a sip of the cappuccino, savoring the bitter sweetness of the coffee. With a sigh, she wandered over to the fridge and opened it. There, on the top shelf, was a six-pack of his favorite beer, untouched. She hadn't had the heart to give it away.

The beer was just like his stuff, all over the house. Kitty had asked him get his things, but he had never stopped by, and she hadn't wanted to call him for fear that she would take him back. Robbie's worn leather bomber jacket still hung on a hook near the back door. His hiking boots were in the living room right next to his backpack. In her bathroom, she still had all his toiletries.

When Kitty's thoughts turned to her bedroom, she let out a soft sob. His shirts still hung in her closet along with two spare pairs of jeans. His brush sat on her dresser, and another of his jackets was slung over the back her overstuffed wingback chair. The candles he liked were still scattered around the room. Everywhere she looked in her home, she saw him, them.

Her knees and hands shook. She sat down in the nearest chair and put the mug on the table before covering her face with her hands. Kitty began to sob uncontrollably.

"I wish I could forget you," she whispered.

And find Selena at

Thanks for the egg-cerpt,


Friday, February 19, 2010

Egg-cerpt For The Inheritance

The Inheritance© 2007

Publisher: The Wild Rose Press

ISBN# 1-60154-055-8

The Inheritance is about the chance we all long for…the chance to start over. Widowed at age thirty-nine and suffering from empty nest syndrome, Rebecca Sinclair is overshadowed by grief and loneliness. Her husband has been deceased for a year, her oldest child has moved to New York in pursuit of an acting career and her youngest child is attending college in France. Having spent over half of her life as a wife and mother, she has no idea what God has in store for her now. Will an unexpected inheritance in the wine country of New York bring meaning and purpose to her life and give her the courage to love again? US Postal worker Raymond Jacobey has been in love with the little widow since he first set eyes on her. A wanderer searching for the ever-illusive soul mate, Ray has never stayed in one place too long. Raised by self-centered, high-power executives, he’s longed for the idyllic life of residing in a cozy house in a small town with the love of his life. Will he gain the heart of the lovely widow or will he lose her to the wine country of New York?


Rebecca let him lead her up the snow-covered bank until they stood in a clearing looking out to where heaven and earth met in a glorious profusion of rock and sky. Clouds surrounded mountain peaks like halos. A rainbow shimmered in the sky, brilliant colors against a backdrop of aqua so breathtaking they were literally gasping for air.

“It’s so beautiful,” she breathed. Ray slid his arms around her waist, and she leaned against his chest. He rested his chin on her head, and they stood in silence gazing at the raw beauty of creation until the damp chill permeated their clothes.

Running his hands down her arms in a warming caress, Ray took Rebecca’s hands in his then turned her to face him. She could see his heart in his eyes as he quoted Scripture. “The earth declares the glory of the Lord, the heavens proclaim His handiwork. That might not be an exact quote, but close enough. It is beautiful. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

Rebecca’s heart fluttered at the charming, boyish grin he bestowed on her. She knew he’d spoken more than mere words; he’d spoken his heart. Tears filled her eyes and clogged her throat when she thought about what the future might hold. Standing on the threshold of that great unknown, she had never been more acutely aware of anything than she was of this moment, this man.

He was looking at her intently. His thumbs caressed the back of her hands, chasing the chill from her blood. Lethargic warmth stole over her. As though in a fog she watched him lift her hands to his mouth and press his lips to her palm in a caress so tender it sent shivers down her spine.

She lowered her gaze, and he lifted her chin with his finger and waited until she looked at him again. “I want to kiss you, Becca, here in the midst of Paradise ,” he whispered, his lips covering hers with devastating tenderness.

Rebecca heard his primitive grunt of satisfaction when he let go of her hands and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. An answering purr escaped her as tiny pinpoints of pleasure bathed her senses with light and color. Never in her life had she felt so alive, so consumed with sensations.

Whether a moment or an eternity, she had no idea how long they stood there, his mouth in sweet possession of hers. All she knew was that when the kiss was over she was plastered against his hard body, her breathing was sharp almost painful and her fists were clenched in his thick, sandy-colored hair. Appalled at her wanton response and the needy way in which she clung, Rebecca flung away with a startled cry of distress, and began to run.

The Inheritance available in Ebook and Print!
~Blessings~Pamela S. Thibodeaux "Inspirational with an Edge!" (TM)

Member White Roses in Bloom Authors
Member/CoFounderBayou Writers Group

Thanks Pamela for your excerpt,


Thursday, February 18, 2010

Egg-cerpt for Buried Heart

ISBN 1-60154-572-X

Genre: romantic suspense
Book length: novel
Heat level: sensual
Available now at

Chapter Three

"As I said last night, I was lucky someone like you showed up, someone with guts." Luis lifted one eyebrow and glanced at her sideways. "You’re a nice surprise."


"I didn’t, uh, expect you to look so, um—." His knee began to bounce, and he glanced over at the fireplace.

"You have to finish that sentence. You didn’t expect me to look so what?"

He faced her and stroked the bristles on his chin. "Last night you were a mystery of contrasts. All I could see was a gorgeous pair of legs beneath a giant coat and a pair of big eyes peaking through a huge wooly thing wrapped around your head." His eyelashes lowered as he grinned. "Brave and beautiful—that’s the surprise."

Lauren had to look away from his admiring eyes. The jolt of power she’d felt in the parking garage filled her chest once more. "Thank you," she said, as if men always showered her with such compliments.

She wished she could touch his wrist right where the hairs began on his arm. She also wished she could feel the muscle of his forearm and wondered whether his eyebrows were stiff or soft. If he didn’t start talking again soon, she’d have to fill the vacuum. "Um, I um, last night?" She looked up as Luis resettled himself closer to her. "Last night I heard you talk about your search for a mysterious codex. It sounded pretty exciting."

Luis nodded and jiggled his foot. "It is."

Lauren noticed his bootlaces had been broken and knotted in several places as she waited for him to say more, while he watched her with a hint of a smile.

"I think you said a codex is a primitive sort of book?"

The smile faded as he nodded. "Actually codex is the term for any ancient manuscript. The Mayans, my ancestors by the way, made paper from fig bark or deer hide and then they coated it with stucco. Instead of binding sheets together like our books, they folded the long pieces of bark like an accordion." He demonstrated by opening his palm to the ceiling and then to the floor. "They used the paper to record their history and their scientific discoveries, particularly astronomy." His voice took on the tone of the teacher. "Unfortunately for us, the Spanish burned most of them."

"You mean the Conquistadors?"

Luis’s dark eyes came alive. "They’re the ones."

"We never studied that in school. What did the writing look like?"

Luis ran his fingers back and forth through his hair, making some clumps stand up and matting the rest. "They used symbols, glyphs, drawings of animals, both real and imaginary in bright colors." He waved his hand toward the fireplace where Lauren had hung her mother’s painting of an orange and red sunset. "Colors even brighter than those. To the Sixteenth Century Conquistadores it looked like the work of the devil." His eyebrows slid up, and he shot a sideways grin at her. "I have to admit the first time I saw markings like them they gave me the creeps."

"But the Spaniards tried to burn them all?"

He nodded. "And nearly succeeded." The words shot out like bullets, and Lauren jumped. A muscle flexed in his jaw. "King Philip the Second ordered the extermination of the so-called ‘heresy’ in his realm. In the mid-sixteenth century the Bishop of Yucatan ordered his men to burn all Mayan records." Luis’s voice faded away like the first rumble of a thunderstorm as he touched her elbow. "Imagine how you’d feel watching invaders burn all the books from the Library of Congress."

"But some were saved?"

Thanks Anne for Egg-cerpt,


Wednesday, February 17, 2010

First Egg-cerpt from Lynne Roberts

After Hours

Elle Simpson doesn’t deny that the new intern is sexy as hell but he’s also ten years her junior--and she doesn’t date men from the office. Of course, dating isn’t what comes to mind when David Nelson enters a room. When Elle’s boss assigns her to work an important account, she’s thrilled—until David volunteers to help. Working one on one with her desirable new assistant is bound to test the limits of her restraint.
Everything about Elle, from her professional savvy to her hot body, turns David on, but first he has to unravel her mixed signals. After a few late nights alone with Elle in the office, David is at the end of his tether. It was hard enough during the day; keeping his hands off her after hours is proving impossible.

Some men simply walk across a room, but not David.
Elle Simpson watched from her office as the new intern, his hips moving in a predatory roll, strolled to the copier and stood with his back toward her. No, not David.
She felt the color rise in her cheeks as her gaze traced his body, from the dark hair just curling at the nape of his neck, past wide shoulders, to the dangerous-looking narrow hips and an ass made for grabbing. Her body warmed and her inner thighs began to tingle.
David turned, as though he could sense her scrutiny, and flashed a smile that could short-circuit a city. Hell, it certainly did a number on her. Elle swallowed, hiding behind a noncommittal nod, and hoped she gave the impression she was too busy for pleasantries. Damn. She needed to be more careful.
After many years with the company, she’d earned her reputation as a dependable, hardworking, no-nonsense kind of woman. She grimaced. What would her fellow employees think if they knew every time David Nelson walked in the room, Elle’s synapses stopped firing as all the blood left her head to settle between her legs? She shifted on her chair and the friction caused her pussy to ache, reminding her of its neglected state.
Evidently finished with the copier, David gathered his papers and walked back to his cubicle. Elle tilted her head to better watch him walk down the hall. A damn sexy man. Perhaps he’d been born with some sort of exclusive hip design. It would explain the fluidity of movement.
Elle shrugged. One thing was certain—when David walked into a room, or out of it, he had her undivided attention. She didn’t think he was trying to be sexy, or if he was, the effort had become, well...effortless. There was just something in the way those well-oiled hips moved that made her wonder what else they could do.

Thanks for the Egg-cerpt,

Monday, February 15, 2010

Thought for the day

You got to Stop and Smell the roses
You've got to count your many blessings everyday
You're gonna find your way to heaven is a rough and rocky road
If you don't Stop and Smell the roses along the way

Can you name the song and singer of this song?

I'll give you a hint.

Friday, February 12, 2010

Different Color Roses

With Valentine’s just around the corner, I thought I would refresh everyone’s memory on what the different colors of roses mean. You don’t want to send the wrong impression.

Red Roses say, “I love you.” And are the ultimate symbol of romance and enduring passion.

Pale Pink Roses imply grace, gentleness and joy.

Light Pink Roses express a sense of fun, happiness, and whimsy.

Deep Pink Roses say, “Thank you.”

Lilac Roses indicate the sender fell in love at first sight with the recipient and is enchanted. Because the meaning for lilac roses aren’t as widely known, it’s best to send a card with them.

White Roses symbolize truth and innocence. They also send other messages like, “I miss you,” and “You’re heavenly.”

Coral Roses express one thing through their color, desire.

Peach Roses signify appreciaation, gratitude, modesty, and also can convey sympathy.

Orange Roses communicate enthusiasm, desire and fascination on the part of the sender.

Yellow Roses indicate friendship and freedom, not a sign of love.

A Dead Rose, regardless of original color, says “It’s over.”

Hope you have a great Valentine’s Day.


Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Coming Soon Egg-cerpt Exchange

Ash Wednesday is almost here and with it comes the egg-cerpt exchange.

As you can see a number of authors have signed up to have their egg-cerpt posted on my site.

I love doing this because it gives my readers a chance to learn about exciting new authors.

Come back and check them out.


Wednesday, February 3, 2010

New Website for Tina Gayle

I spent the weekend working on updating my website.
The link should work now.

Give it a look and let me know your thoughts.