Friday, October 20, 2017

Can they let go of their pasts and embrace their future together? New release #MC #erotica from @ravennatate and @evernightpub


MASTEMA'S OBSESSION
Demons On Wheels MC 3
***Click HERE to purchase directly from Evernight Publishing***




Kayla Romanowski is having trouble adjusting to life as a dancer in Scotty’s Place, the posh strip club that the Demons on Wheels MC owns and operates. She hadn’t really expected to be assigned domestic duties, even though it was a clear expectation when she was hired As a result, her days involve resentment and dubious glances from the other women.

All that changes when she finally allows Mastema, the club’s Secretary, into her bed. Kayla is gun shy from her past experience at other clubs, but there’s something about Mastema she finds irresistible and trustworthy. He also helps her put everything in perspective, including her extra duties and their importance to the running of the club.

As she and Mastema grow closer, she opens up about her life, and discovers he’s harboring a secret of his own. Can they let go of their pasts and embrace their future together?


EXCERPT 18+

“You want me to tie you up, we’ll use something else.” Mastema released her, and Kayla’s heart pounded as excitement coursed through her. He glanced around, finally dropping his gaze to her breasts.

“This will do.” She gasped as he pulled off her tank top. She hadn’t bothered with a bra today. The sexy grin that spread over his face as he eyed her boobs sent a gush of wetness to her pussy.

What a rollercoaster ride of emotions this day had been! But she was exactly where she wanted to be right now. With Mastema, his muscles, those incredible blue eyes, and the cock inside his pants that was surely hard as a rock. She couldn’t wait to have it inside her once more.

He grasped her breasts and teased them with his teeth and tongue. “You want to be tied up again? You want me to fuck you while you can’t get away from me?”

Kayla moaned loudly as fresh arousal assaulted her senses at those words. “Yes!”

Gasping again as he picked her up, she tried to keep breathing when he carried her toward the pole in the corner.

“I hope you’re not making that sound because you’re about to tell me again you can’t believe I carried you someplace.” He placed her on her feet, facing the pole. “Bend over.”

She had gasped for that reason, but not because of her body image. “No. It’s because you’re very strong and I find that incredibly sexy.”

“I find your body incredibly sexy.” He tied her tank top around her wrists. “Keep your hands on the pole so you don’t slide, and bend over a bit more.”

Once she did as he asked, he pulled down her shorts and helped her step out of them. She moaned again as he molded his body against hers. Even though he was still dressed, it was so damn arousing. And, she could easily get the tank top off her wrists if need be, but she loved the idea of pretending she was his prisoner once more.

“Kayla…” He reached around and grasped her breasts, kneading them until she was ready to scream in frustration. “Maybe I should go and get more condoms and the lube after all?”

One hand moved to her clit, rubbing it slowly. Her pussy was so wet that her labia made noises as he massaged her. “On the other hand, I love teasing you this way.”

Except she was so ready to come it was insane. “Please!”

He moved to the side and slid his other hand around to her ass, pushing one finger into her asshole. While he finger-fucked her ass, he continued to caress her clit with his other hand. “Please what?”

“Oh, God! Please fuck me!”

“You’re so fucking wet already.”

“How can I help that?”

“I love it.” He removed his fingers and pulled down the zipper on his jeans, taking out his dick. “But we’re going to make this last, Bedroom Eyes. You will come when I’m ready to let you come.”

Mastema moved next to her face and turned it toward his cock. She licked her lips at the sight of it, red and swollen, with tiny beads of pre-cum already dotting the tip. “Open your mouth.”

Kayla didn’t even hesitate. He shoved his dick inside, holding her head still as he slid it in and out, so damn slowly it drove her wild with need. She curled her lips around her teeth and relaxed her throat muscles.

“Oh, yes! That’s fucking exquisite. You can’t get away from me. God, Kayla. You should see how fucking sexy you look right now. Bent over and tied to this pole. I’m going to ask Gorgon to put a second one next to it so I can tie you up between them, spread-eagled, and fuck you until you beg me to stop.”

That image sent tiny contractions to her clit, which throbbed now from the need for release. He fucked her mouth harder. The tip of his cock touched the back of her throat with each thrust. Kayla flexed her Kegel muscles and tried to make herself come as hot desire spread through her.

But before she could bring herself to orgasm, he withdrew from her mouth and kissed her, hard and rough. “I will never get enough of you.”

“Same here.” She could hardly breathe, let alone form a sentence. Mastema trailed his dick over her face, lightly slapping her skin with it, before moving to her breasts to do the same to her nipples.
He alternated that with grasping them, rolling her taut peaks between his thumbs and forefingers the way she loved. The effect sent tiny jolts of electricity straight to her clit, until she was poised right on the edge of a climax.

“I can’t stand it any longer. Please let me come!”

“No fucking way.” He grabbed her head and shoved his cock back inside her mouth. “I’m having too much fun teasing you.”


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Thursday, October 19, 2017

Tired of women dumping him for the bad boys, Eric hires Becca to release his inner beast. #romcom new release @tinadonahue #giveaway

FREEING THE BEAST
Taming the Beast, book 1
by Tina Donahue

Genre: Erotic Paranormal - Romantic Comedy


No more Mr. Nice Guy.

For Becca Salt being a witch isn’t all magic. Too curvy and lonely, she spends her nights running a makeover service for demons, vamps, weres and zombies who want to project a more human, normal side. Their goal? To get the babes without the authorities hunting them down like rabid dogs. Once Becca suppresses the worst of their beast, they’re on the hunt and gone.

Dating has been a definite bitch for Eric Diletto. Although he’s hot and hung, he’s also one of Cupid’s descendants—a god born to believe in courtship, courtesy and all that other junk. Tired of women dumping him for the bad boys, Eric hires Becca to release his inner beast. Grrrr.

Two potions later, they’re crawling all over each other. With Eric’s newfound dominance, he’s definitely the man. And the god, who intends to take Becca here, there and everywhere. Who said sorcery and love wasn’t fun?

Warning—a witchdoctor’s nightmare. Contains potions with weird side effects, a sorceress with limited magical skills and a yearning heart, plus a minor god who wants to get down and dirty. Bad, bad boy.

Ingredients for potions, along with books containing ancient and contemporary spells, littered Becca Salt’s desk at From Crud to Stud, her New Orleans makeover service for supernatural beings.

As a business owner, she had no equal. She’d worked feverishly these last years, putting in the hours and expending the proverbial blood, sweat and tears to grow her company. When it came to management, hiring, promotion or a vision for the future, she had no equal.

As far as magic and attracting guys went, she was a total freaking dud. Love, it seemed, would never come her way. Conjuring, neither.

“Dammit, you can do this.” She was a smart woman, able to rack up a perfect score on the SAT without cracking one textbook, which she’d hated, or cheating with sorcery. Witchcraft should have been a breeze.

If only she could concentrate on this stuff.

Designated Survivor played on her computer screen. Poor Kiefer Sutherland was in a hell of a mess trying to keep the country together while also dodging bullets, conspiracies and backstabbing lawmakers. Her addiction to this show, plus Superstore, The Blacklist, Blindspot and The Good Fight was her downfall. She also sensed being half witch and half mortal had something to do with her difficulty in mastering her craft. If her dad had been a warlock rather than a Democrat and a Teamster, she might have been into this stuff.

Her mom, Rowena, a crackerjack witch from an esteemed covern, hadn’t agreed. “Study more and you’ll do fine,” she’d told Becca the other day. “This stuff’s easier than what you had to do in high school.”

She begged to differ. Dodging the mean girls, being invisible to the guys, navigating each horribly long day without a clique to protect her and looking as she did had been brutal. She wasn’t a ghoul by any means, but she had boobs, hips and thighs like a normal person rather than a high-fashion model.

Countless diets later, here she was, nowhere close to a size zero and desperately wanting a Meat Lover’s pizza chased by a Dove Bar.

Her stomach growled. Frustrated but determined, she waited until the commercial break and tried a simple trick—jerking her finger to open the age-old spells book.

The volume spun, flew across the room and landed on her needlepoint sofa.

“Crap.” She paged through a witchcraft primer the old-fashioned way, like people had to do with print books before e-Readers had come around. Even though Google was supposed to contain all the information in the universe, including how to construct bombs, neither black nor white magic was included in its repertoire.

She rifled faster, her only option. The publication lacked an index and wasn’t organized in any logical manner that she could determine. Whoever put this thing together should be strangled. A page tore. If she’d been at the top of her game, she would have repaired it by wiggling her nose as Samantha Stephens had done in that old TV show Bewitched. More than once, Becca had wondered why even the best witch would bother invoking powers to get material stuff. Next-day Amazon service, delivery drones and credit cards had made these skills unnecessary.

The commercial break ended. Kiefer was back, looking freaked out by the latest disaster but still presidential. She’d reached a page with instructions on how to change channels on a TV or cable programs on a laptop without using a remote, keystrokes or a mouse. At last, something she could use. Before she read details, she checked the copyright date. This baby had been written in the early nineteen-fifties but had regular updates. The last one had happened in the mid nineteen-eighties.

Sorcerers had to get with the times or they’d become as obsolete as looking stuff up rather than asking Siri for data, like a civilized person should.

After scanning the details for changing a show on a computer, she waited until the Designated Survivor credits scrolled down the screen. “Here goes.” She held her breath, religiously repeated the words she needed and moved her finger in a tight circle as indicated in the graphic.

Her laptop shut off, powered back on and opened on a page for an advertisement selling potions at a discount. Even for a witch, there was no relief from pop-up ads.

Footfalls sounded in the hall and rushed toward her office.

Just what she didn’t need, a staff member seeing her struggle with this stuff. Already her screw-ups with magic were legendary. Thankfully, she could count on her mom’s assistance those few times someone needed conjuring that worked. Witchcraft was old-fashioned compared to moonlight therapy for weres, behavioral and aversion treatments for vamps, personality and charm courses for zombies. Nothing but the latest innovations for her clients.

With little time to hide these things the normal way, Becca muttered the words to make junk disappear and waved her hands for good measure.

Several books disintegrated, leaving paper dust in their wake. Others landed in her desk drawers. She could live with that. The potion ingredients settled behind her potted plants. From certain angles they were, indeed, invisible. She burst with pride. After some tweaking on the words and hand gestures, she’d have this spell down pat. Only a zillion others to go.

“Yo.” Zoe stormed inside. “He’s still not here.”

Becca pulled up Excel on her laptop. “Who isn’t?”

“Our client,” Zoe fumed, looking like a waif from Hell, which she basically was. As a former human turned demon who’d crossed back to the lighter, mortal side, she’d taken to dressing like a Catholic schoolgirl. She wore a green plaid skirt that landed mid-calf, anklet socks, saddle shoes and a long-sleeved white blouse with a Peter Pan collar—a sweet, wholesome image except for her facial piercings. Four studs decorated her lower lip, two graced the bridge across her nose, a ring hung through one nostril and several adorned her dark eyebrows. The metal on her face glinted in the glow from streetlights that streamed through the windows. “The photographer’s waited ten minutes already.”

Ah, now Becca understood. He was here to shoot a demon’s ‘after’ pictures to advertise the service for male shifters, genies, reapers, demons—and otherworldly beings. Every night, the staff whipped those poor slobs into shape so they could suppress their worst otherworldly natures, along with the problems that created, and present to mortal women as hotter-than-hell guys. For the most part.

Restraining all that evil and supernatural power wasn’t easy.

Not even for a trooper like poor Zoe, one of Becca’s BFFs and the best enforcer the service had ever had. If customers got too frisky or refused to do as the other staffers asked, Zoe got on their case and made them obey. Right now, irritation smoldered in her black eyes where sparks built from pinpoints to two wiggling flames. The red-orange color was seriously at odds with her pale skin and demure outfit.

Before Zoe had a literal meltdown, Becca talked fast. “Do we know where he lives?”

Once she had the client’s location, she could send another customer to haul him in. Preferably a zombie. Those guys could give an IRS agent a run for his money. No matter what obstacles zombies faced, they kept coming and coming and coming. Not unlike the Energizer Bunny.

“He gave us an address not too far from here.” Zoe cleared the gravel from her throat that made her sound like the centuries-old demon she was. She crossed her skinny arms over her chest, possibly to control her unruly emotions. Didn’t work. Smoke rose from her long raven hair and shoulders and gave off a nasty sulfur stench. “I’ve called his cell phone twelve times. It keeps going to voice mail.” She huffed. “He was our best freaking success.”

“And we’ll get him here.” In a cage, if nothing else worked. “Tell the photographer to chill. We’ll pay overtime. Then help the staffers with our other clients.”

They filled every treatment room tonight. Their hissing, growls and howls proved mild compared to the raucous outside sounds. Despite being ninety degrees with equally high humidity, this street in the French Quarter boomed with life. Tourists, musicians, locals and businesspeople partied hearty, each unaware of what went on in the salon.

“Okay.” Zoe slumped and eyed the dust pile on Becca’s desk. “Ah…sorry for losing my cool.”

“Not a prob. It’s a very human trait.”

Zoe showed her teeth. For her, that was a grateful smile. Batting smoke away from her face, she trudged to the door, stopped and stared at the ingredients peeking out from behind the potted plants.

She didn’t ask what they were doing there or comment about her boss’s lousy magic skills.

Becca buzzed the reception desk where Heather, another BFF, greeted, scheduled and rang out customers.

No answer.

“Heather!” Becca wanted her to work on getting the AWOL client here.

Still no response.

Nothing was going right tonight, which made it like the others in their business.

Swearing, Becca hurried down the hall and searched for Heather. She wasn’t in the break room. There, two vampires guzzled bottles of imported blood. Their pasty skin was almost rosy from the workout they’d been through.

The guy on the left resembled a young Brad Pitt. He gave her a thumbs-up. The other one, a dead ringer for Colin Farrell, gave her the finger.

Becca pushed out her lower lip. “Tough night, huh?”

He hung his head. “This shit is so hard.”

“But worth it, right? You said you wanted that mortal babe who lives down the street from you.”

A longing groan poured from him, followed by a gentle sigh. “Unfortunately.”

Vamps were so cute when they craved a woman for companionship rather than her plasma. “Who said love would be easy?”

“It could be.” Hope shone in his pale gray eyes. “All I have to do is turn her then she’d be mine. For, like, always.”

The other vamp nodded in encouragement.

Becca got tough. “Doing that wouldn’t be playing fair. That’s why you’re here.”

Although these sorry souls could force mortals to their side for whatever they wanted, including adoration, love like that wasn’t earned. It never satisfied for long. Doing things the human way by wooing the girl and winning her over with nothing except their innate charm was more intoxicating than every power the mortal and paranormal world offered.

Becca had witnessed it first-hand with her parents. Years ago, her mom could have cast a spell to snare Wade Salt, the only man she’d ever loved, but she’d let nature take its course. Next month, they’d celebrate their thirtieth anniversary.

A sweet and lasting romance Becca would have liked for herself with a one-in-a-million guy. Wasn’t in the cards. When it came to males, she always struck out whether they were paras or human. “I would hope you’re not thinking of turning a woman against her will.”

The vamps shot guilty looks at each other.

They needed additional workouts. Becca made a mental note to have Heather book them every night next week. She pointed at their bottles. “Don’t waste a drop of that stuff. It’s expensive.”

The one on the left read the label. “Little wonder. Comes from European aristocracy.”

If that were true, then Becca was Chaz Bono and Paris Hilton’s love child. “Only the best for you guys.”

She rushed down the hall. Emblazoned on the walls was the company name, From Crud to Stud. Beneath those words the advertising motto read ‘Suppressing the Beast’.

A creature snarled from behind a door on the left.

Heather moaned and made pained noises. “Oh, no. Really no. Please no. Try to relax.”

Snapping noises answered her. Skittering sounds followed.

If Becca had to guess, Heather had put distance between herself and the guy’s teeth.

Zoe’s distinctive growl sounded from inside the room. “Stay over there.” Something slammed into the wall. Possibly her fist. “I’ll handle him.”

A wise plan since Heather was a good fairy whose only power lay in healing. She knew to wait until Zoe had muzzled the guy before fixing whatever he’d hurt.

Wanting Heather out here, Becca raised her fist to knock.

The front door swung open.

Heat and humidity poured inside, along with racket from the street party. Drunken voices mingled with throaty laughter, pounding drums and trumpets. The instruments reached and held their highest notes.

A guy slipped inside. At least six-three, he had an athlete’s build—lean and muscular, his shoulders broad, hips narrow, thighs powerful.

Becca’s pulse thumped in her ears, drowning out the other sounds. She stepped closer.

Classically handsome, he wore his hair preppy-style, longer on the top, shorter on the sides. Those locks were a warm chestnut brown streaked by the sun and tousled, begging for a woman to smooth them back.

Becca lowered her hand. She hadn’t intended to lift it.

His golden complexion spoke of days spent outdoors, perhaps from skinny-dipping in a pool, water streaming over his firm pecs and abs, the dark curls between his legs trapping the moisture, his rock-hard cock jutting out, inflexible as iron, sleek as a spear.

She suppressed a delighted shiver.

He wore leather loafers, beige khakis and a white dress shirt opened at the collar, the sleeves folded back to mid-forearm.

Masculine yet civilized.

The staff had done an outstanding job on this guy’s makeover. No wonder Zoe had suggested him for the advertising pieces. A fat raise for everyone was in order. Maybe even part ownership in this place. They’d made this dude over to the nth degree from…

Becca wasn’t certain what kind of demon he was or his level in Hell. She’d never met him before. Maybe he’d taken so long to get there because he couldn’t pull himself away from the god he now saw in his mirror.

He regarded the reception area as one would when seeing it for a first time or through different eyes…a reformed demon’s eyes. Potted plants and feathery ferns abounded. The faux brick floor, coral walls and gas wall fixtures radiated warmth and an earthy, sensual feel in keeping with the area’s culture.

It was also romantic.

That was why most paras signed up for the ordeals they’d face here. They were having problems with babes and wanted a solution, even if it was painful.

Hissing noises flowed from a room on the right. On the left, muffled groans sounded faintly sexual.

Could be that was why this guy was late. He’d already seduced a new lover and had been reluctant to leave her.

The thick ridge behind his fly held enormous promise. Some women had all the luck. Becca, on the other hand, had a business to run.

Reining in her desire, she joined him in the reception area. “Do you have any idea how late it is?”







Tina is an Amazon and international bestselling novelist who writes passionate romance for every taste – ‘heat with heart’ – for traditional publishers and indie. Booklist, Publisher’s Weekly, Romantic Times and numerous online sites have praised her work. She’s won Readers’ Choice Awards, was named a finalist in the EPIC competition, received a Book of the Year award, The Golden Nib Award, awards of merit in the RWA Holt Medallion competitions, and second place in the NEC RWA contests. She’s featured in the Novel & Short Story Writer’s Market. Before penning romances, she worked at a major Hollywood production company in Story Direction.

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Tuesday, October 17, 2017

In the cleanest city in Asia, things can still get messy New release #erotica #kink from guest author @lisabetsarai

New Release!
Singapore Fling:
Asian Adventures Book 1
By Lisabet Sarai


Contemporary multicultural erotic romance (X rated)
7,300 words
Smashwords and Amazon KDP
HFN



In the cleanest city in Asia, things can still get messy.


Thai entrepreneur Ploy Kaewkornwattanasakul has come to Singapore to close a deal. Ploy needs to convince tech whiz Jason Chow to license his ground-breaking innovation to her company on favorable terms. The future of her startup depends on her negotiating skill. When she meets Jason, though, she realizes she wants not just the invention, but the inventor, too.

Jason Chow is a brilliant engineer, a successful businessman and a bit of a rebel. He’s attracted to Ploy from the moment he sets eyes on her. However, he doesn’t dare respond to her advances, for fear she’ll discover his secret vice.

Ploy doesn’t understand why the sexy CEO has rejected her. She figures she’ll have to content herself with the cold comfort of a signed contract—unless the strength of Jason’s desire overwhelms his shame.




Buy Links









X-Rated Excerpt

Up close, he smelled even more delicious, clean and masculine. His mouth was firm, muscular, molding to hers as she deepened the kiss. It opened to her probing tongue; she tasted coffee and breath mints. He let her take the lead, sitting passive while she devoured him. That was okay. Ploy wasn’t the shy type.

His muscles shifted under his shirt as he turned to face her, their lips still locked. She mashed her breasts against his chest, stimulating her swollen nipples. Shameless, she climbed onto his lap, straddling his lean legs. Her straight skirt rode up, baring her thighs. The hardness prodding her sodden undergarments told her that he was aware of her after all.

“Oh, Jason!” she moaned, finally breaking the kiss. Releasing her grip on his neck, she brought her hand down to cup the promising bulk of his erection. “Looks like you’re hungry, too,” she murmured. “But I can help you with that...” She fumbled with his zipper, stretched tight by his bulging cock.

“No!” The Chinese entrepreneur jerked, as if she’d given him an electric shock. “Don’t!” The chair rolled backward, slamming into the wall as he pushed Ploy off his lap. She barely escaped tumbling to the floor.

“What?” She clutched the table to steady herself and tried to slow her breathing. “What’s wrong?”

“We can’t. Someone might come in and find us.”

“Everyone’s gone.” Indeed the outer offices were empty and dim.

“Sometimes the engineers come back to work after dinner,” he protested. His sudden panic puzzled her. His eyes were wild with something that looked like fear, but the tenting in his trousers remained prominent.

“Let’s go to your place, then,” she urged.  “Or my hotel. It’s an easy walk.”

“No, no—I’m sorry—I should never have allowed...”  He wrung his hands, looking worried and lost. What had happened to the calm, self-confident genius she’d admired all afternoon? Jason suddenly seemed a decade younger than his thirty years.

About Lisabet

Lisabet Sarai has been addicted to words all her life. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – nearly one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads and finally, on Twitter.  Sign up for her VIP email list here:  https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh



Monday, October 16, 2017

In a world of honor and obligation, falling in love can be a dangerous game. #historicalromance #suspense from author @pamelalynne1 #giveaway

SURRENDERING THE PAST
The Granville Legacy series, book 1
by Pamela Lynne

Genre: Historical Romantic Suspense (British Regency)


In a world of honor and obligation, falling in love can be a dangerous game. Captain Richard Granville has returned to London after serving the Crown in perilous missions fighting Napoleon’s army. Bone weary and distrustful of all around him, the captivating Jane Dawson awakens his long dormant desire for more than a solitary existence. When he learns she is betrothed to his father, the conniving and dangerous Earl of Litchfield, shadows of the past descend upon Richard, bringing along memories of a tortuous childhood and his failure to protect the person he had loved most.

Jane Dawson would pay any price to renew her family’s happiness, but is the cost of marrying Lord Litchfield too high? A woman of virtue and honor, she cannot break a promise once given, especially when doing so would ruin those she seeks to protect. But can she ignore the connection she feels to the wild soldier who understands both her duty and her heart?

Follow the men of the Granville family in this suspenseful Regency romance series as they discover that their family legacy is much darker than they realized, and that the future holds treasures they can only grasp by surrendering the past.



“Ah, my son and my nephew. You have finally joined us.” The earl’s voice held a sickening sweetness that made Richard want to run. It was the voice Litchfield always gave when he was up to something vile—the performance before the mask was removed to reveal the evil underneath. Richard began to question his belief that the purpose of the evening was simply to celebrate Wesley’s betrothal, but rather something far more sinister.

Neither man responded but stood as the earl’s icy gaze trailed over his son. “It is good of you to make an appearance, Richard. I did not know if you were alive or dead these last two years.”

Richard’s outward appearance did not change as his father spoke. He retained the cold, emotionless expression he held when he walked through the door. Inside, he was reminding himself that he was no longer a child, and that voice need not send a bolt of fear straight through him. “You seemed to know enough to find me last week.”

“Yes, well, London is my town, is it not? I have many acquaintances here who like to fill me in on all the goings on. I am not fortunate enough to have friends in France or wherever it was you were all this time.” He paused once more to search Richard’s expression. Knowing full well what he was doing, Richard kept his gaze hard and unyielding. “Well, it is of no matter now. Your brother will be happy to see you.”

As the earl’s attention turned to Julian, Richard’s eyes once again wandered to his brother. Wesley seemed to stand straighter than the last time he saw him. As the eldest and heir to the considerable Litchfield estate, Wesley, Viscount Ashly, certainly had reason to be proud. However, it was not pride Richard read in his eyes as Wesley stared into his own, but curiosity mixed with something Richard could not name.

He father’s voice resonated beside him, but Richard barely heard him as the women in Wesley’s company came into focus. He recognized Rachel by the way she smiled sweetly in his direction. The years had been good to her. He remembered her as a slightly mousey, and mouthy, young lady, but the woman standing there was beautiful. He assumed the lack of a husband had kept her young and strong.

He nodded to her and turned his eyes to a smaller woman with many of the same features standing between Rachel and Wesley. She had a grip on his brother’s arm that left no doubt who she was. Kathleen. My future sister. The possessiveness in her expression hardened her otherwise lovely features, and Richard wondered at the cause of the protective stance. A slight look to the left of Wesley gave him his answer.

Captain Richard Granville was not often in the company of women. He had no sisters or any living female relations. He had often thought this was because the Granville men were so large and consuming that there was no room for delicacy, and the women just could not survive among them. There were, of course, the whores who followed the encampments along the battlefields and the occasional female spy who could never be trusted. But having so little experience with ladies in polite society, he was at first surprised and then gratified as a blush crept up this woman’s features as he held her eyes in his own. He heard the cackling laugh once more and watched as her blush intensified and turned into one of shame. She turned away, and Richard immediately missed having her eyes upon him. What was this angel doing in the den of the devil?




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Pamela Lynne grew up in the American South, surrounded by Southern Gothic works by Faulkner, O'Connor and the like. These authors helped shape her evolving mind and continue to influence everything she produces as an adult. It was a Regency-era wit from across the Atlantic, however, who lit a life-long interest in 19th Century England.

Pamela cites Jane Austen as her primary literary influence and she delves into the darker aspects of Regency life in all her novels, most particularly in the upcoming Granville Legacy Series, where she explores the bonds of family and what it costs to break them.

Dearest Friends: A Jane Austen Inspired Novel, Pamela’s debut work, won the Independent Publishers 2016 IPPY Awards Bronze Medal for Romance.

Pamela currently lives in the rolling hills of Tennessee with her husband of more than a decade, three kids, two cats and one very blond dog. She is still a Marianne hoping to grow into Elinor, or Clairee from Steel Magnolias.