A Demon Affair - by KevaD

"A Demon Affair" was just released through Pine Wood Press.
I hope you enjoy this look at my erotic fantasy novella.

Ages ago, a heavenly Archangel and a hellish Slayer fell in love. The product of their sacrilege now roams the earth, devouring the souls of the living. Possessing all the strengths of good and evil, Pilan has the power to rise against either kingdom and take control. He simply hasn't yet chosen to.

Heaven dispatches Anai, an angel who has sacrificed eternity to kill Pilan. Anai is as powerful, and potentially as evil, as Pilan. As hell repeatedly sends forces to destroy Pilan and Anai, the two angel-demons surrender to sin. To enjoy the vanity of killing each other, they must first keep each other alive. Then there's the whole lust issue…
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Cover by Elaina Lee 

Excerpt:

Pilan crawled to his feet and glared at his sallow reflection in the mirror. Beyond his dead, black eyes, a razor's edge glinted in the void.

"What has given you the strength to free yourself?" he snarled.

A guttural chuckle rumbled in his throat. Heh, heh, heh.

Pilan narrowed his eyes against that sliver of light. Hatred flamed in his words. "You dare laugh at me?

"I laugh at your ignorant vanity. You have become so enamored with yourself, you really don't know, do you?

He raised a brow. "Know what? What have you done?"

Me? The chuckle burst into a full laugh. I have done nothing but heed the call.

"What call?" Pilan tempered his rage. The wildfire emotion would only make him more vulnerable to the assault. He could not afford to lose control of his mind and body.

Instead of sniffing for souls, you should have been sniffing for enemies. I will leave you alone. For now. The sparkles withdrew into the black depths within. The goodness retreated, and the black cage reformed about it.

What had he missed? No, he couldn't have missed anything. Perfection never erred. He drew in a long, lung-filling breath. One by one, he dissected each scent. Nothing beyond that which belonged to this place.

But urgency tugged at the threads of his mind. The fact he couldn't detect whatever the goodness had discovered was itself the answer - another Lasiqs had been dispatched to destroy him.

Pilan shrugged and sighed. Would Satan never learn Pilan was more powerful than the underworld lord and his mindless assassins? Hell could not claim a human's soul until the human died. Pilan could take a soul when the mood struck him, whenever he was hungry. For the souls of the living provided the nourishment he required, helped him grow in strength and power.

And one day, when he chose to, he would rule this pathetic world of mortals. He simply hadn't chosen to yet.

He opened a drawer of the dresser and pulled out black chinos and tee. Longing for fresh air and the chill of the night, he dressed.

At the back door of the club, he said goodnight to the guard and wandered into the dark, dead end alley. The dank of stagnant rain puddles blanketed him between the brick walls. Yellow light cast a dull glow over the sidewalk and street at the alley's open end. A taxi's tires buzzed over the pavement as the car passed. A rat scurried for refuge under a dumpster adorned in gang graffiti.

Pilan inhaled the night, his realm. A taste of demon-borne sulfur brought a grim smile to his lips. Out here, where he ruled, not even a Lasiqs could hide his scent from Pilan. He rolled the flavors over his tongue. Orange. He inhaled again, this time focusing on the smells alone, and not their taste. No hint of the acidic sweetness of oranges. Maybe nothing to be concerned with. But a Lasiqs who emitted the sweetness of oranges generally possessed greater battle prowess, courtesy of a soul or two implanted by Satan himself. Not that it ever mattered in the end.

Still, a Lasiqs alone wouldn't have stirred that part of him he'd confined centuries ago. Something else had given his duality the confidence to once again challenge him.

Pilan dug his fingers into the crevices between the bricks of a wall and climbed. The first three stories stretched his muscles, making him feel more alive in the night, but the next two brought cramps to his hands. At the top of the five-story building he walked along the narrow ledge, above the tarpaper roof, sniffing the air for any particle that might disclose what it was that his mirror self knew.

A spark of mixed flavors ignited and vanished.

Pilan froze in his tracks. Vanilla. Leather. The hair on the back of his neck pricked his skin. What the leather meant, he had no clue, but combined with vanilla, the flavor of Heaven's angels, it couldn't bode well. Not even Hell could copy an angel's scent.

This Lasiqs wasn't from Satan's seed.

Heh, heh, heh. My Father has finally found a champion, Pilan.

"Silence. Neither Heaven nor Hell can defeat me." Pilan spread his arms wide and stared at the sliver of moon winking behind drifting gray and black clouds. "Do you hear me?" he screamed to the night. "I am Pilan! Spawn of Heaven and Hell. I bear the power of each. I am waiting. Come to me!"

A wisp of torrid breeze passed Pilan's ears and deposited its message. "I am Anai. I shall kill you soon. Very soon."

A Not So Random Musing

Today in Freeport, IL, my adopted hometown, another - yes, I said "another" – building unexpectedly collapsed in the downtown. That makes two in the last five years. But have no fear. The city and county inspectors are telling us all of the other buildings are sound and there is no danger of some other building falling on your head while shopping.

Of course, these are the same inspectors who had declared the two fallen buildings structurally sound as well…

Random Musings:

If at first you don't succeed, sharpen your knife and stab him again.

Random Musings:

When I was a child, the neighbor boy and I used to enjoy munching the sweet clover that grew between our houses. Then I saw a dog pee all over it. After that I enjoyed watching the neighbor boy munching on the sweet clover that grew between our houses.

Two chances to win a copy of Speak to Me of Abduction - by Lillian Grant

My writing and critiquing bud, Lillian Grant, is giving away two copies of her new full-length romantic suspense novel (contains explicit, very hot sex, too, by the way) Speak to Me of Abduction,the first in the Reel to Real series.
Just click the link to go to her web site for details.
Lillian's Web Site

Author KB Cutter on Character Points of View (POV) - And he's giving away a book.

KB Cutter is a class act, and a very talented writer. No joke.

We're only beginning to see the tip of his abilities, and, hopefully, he'll lean in closer to the bus depot urinal so we don't see too much more it.

It's truly my honor to have KB here today. I consider him a superb writer, author, gentleman, and most of all… friend.

He also appreciates a good-looking lawn mower.

By the way -- KB's giving away a book to a random accusor! So leave a comment!

 

Many thanks to David for allowing me to blog today.  I'd like to chat about character POV. In writing terms, Point Of View refers to the -

"Excuse me."

"Uhm… Can I help you? I am in the middle of blog post."

"Yeah . . . a right boring one.   Can you say SNORE? You might as well call yourself K.B. NyQuil. You're gonna put everyone to sleep."

"Hold on one damn minute! I just got started. How do you know I'm going to bore people to death and who the hell are you?"

"Listen, Hemmingway, I'm your Muse, okay? I mean, who in their right mind would envision their creative inner essence clothed in knee-high black leather boots, studded leather bustier and name them Esmeralda?

"Well . . . I . . . uh . . ."

"Very articulate. Don't get me started on the pink flogger."

"Sorry folks. Bit of a technical glitch.  Moving right along, P.O.V is –

"Y-A-W-N!"

-Head-bang on wall-

"Sorry, K.B. that ain't gonna help, unless you want to hang a picture."

"This is embarrassing. What is it going to take for you to leave, Ms. Muse?"

"Hey, look, if you want me to beat feet, fine. Then, what are you gonna do, huh?  I'm the creative mojo that got you published. Or I can go on auto pilot. Make you crank out Lifetime movie-of-week-crap. I can see it now: Summer Beach Love: Men Suck by K.B. Cutter. Starring Tori Spelling and Shannon Doherty.

"I think I'm going to vomit . . ."

"Whoa, dude, don’t hurl chunks yet.  I'm hep to how you were fretting about this blog post.  I know you wanted to discuss character Point of View. I can dig where your writer's mind is at. Hell, I live it, Daddy-O. I'm here to help."

-Reaches for Pepto Bismal-

"Forget the over-the counter stuff, KBC. Go make yourself some peppermint tea and dry toast. Throw on your pink chiffon robe with matching bunny slippers. Get comfy, OK?"

"Uh.  Erm.  They were a gift. I mean, its rude not to wear them."

"Sure thing, whatever you say. Now, hear me out. I'm spitballin' here, I'll white-board the details later. So, as a writer, you want to get inside the head of your characters, dig?  Both male and female.  What do you do? You read other books, blogs and what-have-you. Ask other writer's for advice. Join a writing workshop, blah-blah-blah.  Very time consuming. I have the solution to all that ancillary research, its----"

"Now I know why biker's wear leather, cause this chiffon stuff wrinkles. Does the color pink make me look fat?"

"No K.B., just your head, listen up and don’t interrupt.  You are male and heterosexual, correct?"

"Flammingly hetero, Esmeralda."

"Oh, you got the flaming part down, alleged- Mister Cutter. My point is, when you want to get deep into a female character's P.O.V, you have to a bit of mental legwork. Not anymore, sir, my solution . . . drum-roll please . . .

Detachable genitalia.

Ack . . . gurgle . . . sputter  . . .

While K.B. is spewing Celestial Seasonings all over himself, I'll continue.  Here you are, hunkering down to get all feminine with your female character, simply pop off the penis and slap on the vagina.  Easy-Peasy. Not only can you totally immerse yourself in all things womanly, you can now stop and openly ask for directions at a gas station and cry your eyes out when Julia Roberts dies in Steel Magnolias. Conversely, when you want to get all mano a-mano, screw the penis back, which is also useful for parallel parking the car and leaving the toilet seat lid up."

"Wow . . . I don’t know what to say."

"I hear you, Mr. Writer man. You're speechless at my ingenuity."

"Um, yeah, ingenuity, that's it.  Stupid me, I thought if the writer invests themselves honestly, one hundred percent, in their characters, staying true to them emotionally and intellectually,  they would resonate with the readers. All of the so-called ancillary research would pay off."

O-M-G! B-o-r-i-n-g! If you want to be all twenty century, doing it the old-fashioned way, be my guest."

"I'm old school, Esmeralda, however, thank you for that enlightening idea."

"No worries, sir, that's my job. Speaking of which, I need some time off. This constant harassing of my creative Ju-Ju is wearing me out. I think there was a   little war fought about this indentured worker thing-a-ma-bob? In addition, I need to get out of this bustier. I can hardly breathe. And these boots. The spiked heels are killing me.  How about some Egyptian cotton, sensible shoes and normal working hours . . . say noon to three?"

"I'll take it under advisement."

"Don’t screw with me, K.B. or its Beach Blanket Passion, starring Meredith Baxter-Birney and Amanda Bearse."

"Oh dear God no! Okay, Okay, deal, anything but that!  Now where did I leave the Pepto Bismal . . .

Thanks again to David, a true gentleman for being brave and gracious to host not only me, but my eclectic Muse, Esmeralda.

I'd like to offer a free copy of Summer Heat and its sequel: Love, Revisited to a random commentator as a small token of thanks (and apologies for Esmeralda)

KB's Web Site

KB's Amazon.com Page

Speak to Me of Abduction - Lillian Grant

I read an early copy of this book. Loved it. Seriously.
The formal release date is June 15th, but Siren Bookstrand is accepting preorders.

Buy the book here
Visit Lillian Grant

After accepting a movie role, Charlene Paige, worries she might be the next rising porn star.  On reflection, that might have been safer.
Cover by Jinger Heaston

Blurb
Stuck in Rio and desperate for cash, Australian backpacker Charlene accepts a minor movie role. When her co-star, Hollywood hunk and serial womanizer, Jonathon Deveraux is abducted from the set she turns to his older brother for help.

Oscar winner and Hollywood good guy Jacob Deveraux is a recluse. However, when his brother goes missing, he agrees to help the hapless backpacker who appears to have been deceived into taking a movie role so that Jonathon could woo her into his bed.  The more determined he is to keep his distance the more he is drawn to her.  When it becomes obvious his bother’s kidnapping is designed to punish Jacob he worries Charlene may be next.  Despite his best efforts to keep her safe she is grabbed off the street. Can he find and save his brother and Charlene or will he lose another woman he loves?

Excerpt

Further along the pier, she could see a boat that dwarfed most of the others. Perhaps he was there schmoozing with whoever owned such an exquisite and expensive vessel.

A man stood on deck, and Charlene walked a bit closer to get a better look. He wore a pair of faded cut off camouflage pants, a tatty white wifebeater, and had a navy blue bandana wrapped around his head. Dark brown hair hung below his headgear and ended just below his ears. The way he was dressed, along with the scraggly goatee and moth-eaten moustache, gave him the appearance of the hired help or a hobo who had stumbled onto a super yacht. He carried a tall glass, resplendent with a red cocktail umbrella, and had a book tucked under his arm. Apparently he was right at home. She stopped and stared up at him, a smile of recognition on her face. Did she dare disturb him? Taking her chances, she cupped her hand to her mouth and yelled up at him.

“Excuse me.”

He stopped midstride and leaned over the side.

After a quick glance up and down the jetty, he pulled his sunglasses down his nose and frowned at her. “What?”

Not the most promising start, but now she had his attention, she may as well continue. Charlene shielded her eyes, so she could see him better, and smiled.

“You’re Jacob Deveraux, aren’t you?”

The crease between his eyes and the lines in his forehead deepened.

“Who wants to know?’

“Sorry, I’m Charlene Paige. I’m looking for Jonathon.”

He rolled his eyes and snorted with disgust. “You and every other hot-blooded woman on the planet.”

Without so much as another look in her direction, he stepped away from the edge of the vessel.

Charlene took a step closer. She desperately wished she had engaged her brain before opening her mouth. After being determined not to have Jacob meet her as Jonathon’s latest bed warmer, she had all but introduced herself as such.

“I will admit I was paid for spending the morning in bed with your brother, but I can assure you he left my arms as frustrated as he arrived.”

Jacob stopped and stared down at her. “Paid? Are you saying you’re a hooker?”

She shook her head. She obviously hadn’t improved his initial opinion of her, but at least she had his attention. “No, he didn’t pay me enough for sex. In fact, I didn’t get paid anywhere near what I’m worth. That’s why I need to speak to him.”

He leaned on the railing and raised an eyebrow. “And yet he tells me he never has to pay for sex.” He chuckled. “So, are you saying he took you to bed, but left you financially and physically unsatisfied? Because he assures me no woman ever leaves his bed unfulfilled.”

“Believe me, I was in no danger of being filled with anything.”

“Resisted his charms, did you? You must be stronger than most women, unless you’re a lesbian. Are you a lesbian?”

Charlene laughed. “No, an Australian.”

A smile teased the corners of his mouth. “I wonder if you’re all immune? Maybe I should ship him to the antipodes for his own good. It would be his own personal hell. However, I still don’t understand why you would be looking for a man you apparently have no interest in.”

“How about you let me on board so I can explain? Instead of me yelling loud enough for the world and his wife to hear.”

With a shrug, he nodded toward the front of the boat. “Meet me further along.”

Charlene walked down the jetty and waited for him. When he offered his hand, she accepted his assistance and climbed on deck. She looked up at him before she claimed her hand back. His sunglasses now hung from the front of his wifebeater. He pursed his lips and moved them from side to side as he seemed to size her up. She met his gaze and held her breath. The rest of the female population might go weak at the knees at the sight of Jonathon, but now she had met them both in the flesh, Jacob won the beauty contest hands-down. Even with his bohemian gypsy hair and beard. His eyes and hair were darker, his cheekbones more defined, and his lips were like a soft pink Cupid’s bow just waiting to be kissed.

Without a word, he turned and started to walk back to his chair, and the drink and book he left behind. Glad to have passed muster, she followed along. The front view of him was lovely, but she had no complaints about the rear view either. She gazed at his body, admiring his strong muscular shoulders and upper arms. Her attention moved to his suntanned lower legs and bare feet, then back up this body. His pants were too loose to give any indication about how shapely his rear end might be, but he was a man who obviously worked out, so she imagined it would be as toned as the rest of him.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Drink?”

Insert Tab A into Slot B - by Margie Church

I'm elated and tickled-under-the-table aroused to have Margie Church here today.

Feel free to ask her any questions you may have. Especially if they're sexual. She won’t answer, but we'll have fun later reading them over and over…

Unless you're naked. I'll make sure she answers them if you're naked… and on a park bench… in front of City Hall… in the rain…

Truthfully, I'm very pleased Margie agreed to come here today. But more than that, I'm honored you have chosen to drop by. I hope you'll stay a while. And don't be shy. Ask any question you like, or just hang out in the balcony and see what's here. Either way, we're glad you stopped in.

So, without further ado, here's the incredibly talented Margie Church:

Insert Tab A into Slot B

For romance writers, this blog title is often an inside joke about writing love scenes. And for those of us who write hot love scenes (raises hand and blushes), and sometimes with more than one partner or same sex partner (wiggles eyebrows), things can get confusing fast. There've been a few times where I've almost had to draw things out to make sure what I wrote could physically happen. On some occasions, I've still had my editor write one of those bright blue memos in track changes. It goes something like this:

"I laid on the floor, I sat on the chair, I stood on my head. This just doesn't work. He needs to take out his dick."

*head desk*

My next novel is Hard as Teak and it's my first foray into m/m erotic romance. Perhaps you know that most of these books are read by heterosexual women – married heterosexual women. Some readers also might think authors can just replace the female pronoun with another male pronoun (or vice versa) and we've slid across home plate to a book contract. The only thing you'll slide right into is a rejection at every reputable publisher out here.

The emotional landmines were one of the biggest challenges to writing Hard as Teak. This is Kevin's coming out story. He's 32 years old and about to have his first sexual encounter with a man. Until he meets Teak, he's been living the heterosexual lifestyle. Vanilla, confused, unsatisfied describes Kevin's romantic relationships. Teak changes that experience in a hurry, but as an author, I couldn't pretend the first 32 years of Kevin's sexual identity were erased. The average romance junkie might not care too much about the deeper character motivations in a m/m romance, but those who exclusively read the sub-genre have low tolerance for authors trying to bullshit their way through the story. My beta readers were picky as could be and so was my editor. Honestly, it tried my patience a number of times. Believability has to be rock solid.

While I was researching my characters and story, I learned a lot about men – not just gay men. I learned a couple of phrases I hadn't heard before and discovered some toys and techniques that really added nice touches to my book. When I mentioned a few of them to my DH, he asked where I learned them. I, of course, said he didn't want to know. But I will admit he benefitted from my "research."

My heterosexual male contemporaries certainly have the edge on me when it comes to describing a male having sex. I don't know that deep, warming sensation, the tightening that draws their balls up tight and signals an orgasm is near. No, I don't know the heat of a woman's body around their throbbing shaft. But I did get some guys to tell me.

Close your mouth. The slack-jaw look is so last century.

When it came to writing my male gay romance, I ended up taking the same path.

I heard you say, "No shit?"

Yep, I found a group of people – men and women, gay and straight – who agreed to tell all. Gay guy writing het? Yep, we ladies told him exactly how it felt to put his Tab A into Slot B. How it might taste, what to do next, what makes us squeamish, what's a no-no, what to say, and what will make us turn into his personal sex slave. And in return they answered our questions. It's pretty humbling to have another person bare their sexual soul for your research. And sometimes the replies got pretty erotic and sometimes the exchanges were downright funny. (Membership is closed but for a sizeable, non-refundable fee, I'll talk to the Mistress and see if she'll consider you. Kidding!) After one of these intense question/answer sessions, I think we always come away with a deeper respect for each other…after all, we've done the next best thing to seeing each other naked.

You see, it's much more than insert Tab A into Slot B.

Hard as Teak is coming out June 27 from Noble Romance. I don't even have cover art yet, but here's the blurb.

Hard as Teak

Kevin Marks escapes to the north woods to reignite his passion for photography and women. But the only flame he seems able to spark is for his latest photography subject, Teak Hidalgo. Kevin's never been in a man's arms before.

Teak, the raven-haired, photographer's dream come true, is hell bent on capturing Kevin's heart. He takes Kevin, body and soul, on a romantic, sexual journey previously lived only in Kevin's fantasies. And no dream was ever this good, no truth this undeniable.

How will Kevin respond? When the camera's put away, will Teak live up to his name?

Margie's website: Romance with SASS

Margie's blog: http://blog.RomanceWithSASS.com

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/MargaretRChurch

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/MargieChurch

Noble Romance Buy Link: https://nobleromance.com/Authors/102
1Place For Romance Buy Link: http://1placeforromance.com/index.php?searchMe=margie+church&column=author&_a=viewCat

                                                              
                                                         THANKS, MARGIE!!

                                                                 

Dawn’s End by Bonnie Ferrante

Betrayed by her fiancé, Nicole Newman has put her love life on hold. She loses herself in fantasy, becoming isolated and despondent. When a voice from the woods identifies himself as the man of her dreams and asks for her help, Nicole is unsure whether she is being stalked or about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime. Who, or what, is this mysterious being?

Dawn’s End, a place of simplicity and goodness, is being overcome by a gruesome darkness. Possessing bits of information, Nicole and the dark man are told they must complete the quest before Nightfall becomes permanent. How far can she trust this not-quite-human? Can they save a world, possibly two, when Nicole isn’t sure she can save herself?

View the short promo video: Book Trailer

Buy Link: Noble Romance Publishing

Bonnie Ferrante writes fiction and non-fiction for young people. Gordon Korman selected her story The Amida Tree as a winner in a 2010 NOWW writing contest. Also, her story on bullying was chosen by Anne Coleman. She has been published in the YA anthologies Many Cultures, Many Voices: Collection Two, Takes, and Close Ups: Best Stories for Teens. Her work has appeared in various children’s and adult magazines and anthologies. She wrote for a regional newspaper for three years and her work is posted on CBCNews.ca.

Bonnie loves living in Northern Ontario, Canada even though she spends most of the long winter indoors writing. She chants, bikes, gardens, reads, stitches, volunteers, studies the Dharma, paints, plays/works on the computer, attends live theatre, enjoys being trounced in scrabble by her husband, Fred, and is often found ripping up pieces of her yard or stripping furniture. She hates cooking and cleaning and loves her robot vacuum, (too bad it can’t move the furniture). Her son, stepsons, and extended family keep her young. Once upon a time, she was a grade school teacher. She has entirely too much imagination and not enough opportunity to indulge it.

Random Musings

You needn't fear the dark, nor the hollow footsteps behind you on a desolate street, nor the creak of the floor in the night.

When I come for you, it will be face-to-face, eye-to-eye. Because I want the last vision you carry in to hell to be my rage, my hatred, my revenge.

So, you gonna put that damn cell phone away and quit holding up the line?

Khyber Run - Amber Green

Zarak shed that Warrior Code crap long ago. Oscar personifies it. Hunting a murderer in a land scarred by endless warfare, two men fight for justice, honor, and who gets top.


In Afghanistan, all the easy answers are wrong and the best-laid plans don’t stand a chance. A tight-knit band of USMC scout-snipers, enraged when one of their number murders another, is hell-bent on seeing justice. They kidnap Zarak Momand, a burnt-out Navy hospital corpsman, and blackmail him to be their guide into Momand land and to find a loophole in nanawatai, the Afghan code of hospitality. They don't tell him their target -- a deserter -- murdered Zarak's estranged baby brother.

Zarak has lost touch with his brothers, his heritage, his religion, anything that might inspire true passion. Code-named Zulu and coerced to hunt down a deserter, he must navigate the ambiguities of fourth generation warfare, where there are no front lines and where the moral high ground shifts from situation to situation.

In the end, it's just Zulu and Oscar, a sexually compelling cipher who embodies so much of the Pakhtun Way. But is Oscar’s rough passion a betrayal between brothers?

Visit Amber Green: Web Site
Buy Kyber Run: Loose Id
Read my interview with Amber here: Amber Green

Excerpt:

Chapter 1

I woke muddled, thinking the ship's engines sounded wrong. Red light glared on my eyelids. Breathing meant gagging on the seagull-shit taste of a hangover. And that sound was not my ship's engines. More like a sardine can's engines or…a plane?

Opening my eyes took effort. A plane. From the rear of the fuselage, I faced up an aisle between rows of knees hugging sea bags. Not sea bags: MOLLE-packs. Red lights in strips overhead barely illuminated a couple hundred hunched forms in desert camo, a row of males in body armor along each bulkhead, facing inward, and two rows of females jammed into back-to-back seats in the center. Male or female, each of them clutched one of those carbines the sponges called an assault rifle.

Why am I in a plane packed with camo-assed bullet-sponges?

The plane's deck angled down sharply. Screams rang in my ears, going dull. My ears cleared, painfully, and the shrieks sharpened.

Crashing. That's what we're doing.

The deck roller-coastered up, then yawed faster than physics should allow. Whiplash. I saw stars. The stench of vomit wrung my empty guts.

A dive and another yaw brought more screams ringing off the bulkhead, prayer in Spanish close by, retching farther away.

How did I stay in my seat, with gravity halving and doubling and snatching me starboard to port? When the plane steadied long enough to let me look down, I saw bands of dull silver duct tape strapping my thighs to my seat, and another red-streaked silver band over my belt.

Something hung on my lower face. I had some kind of mask. No. Somebody had duct-taped a puke bag to my face. It sagged obscenely against my chin, like a giant used condom.

Pulling it off hurt. The stench blasted from it.

Where do I put this? I looked around, blinking, trying to make sense. The screamers in the middle seats were mostly army. The hundred or so men squatting in the seats lining the bulkhead were marines. Some laughed at the women. Others hunkered down, as if waiting for shrapnel to find them. A few threw curious glances at me, the only squid in sight.

A cluster of pops rapped at the bulkhead, like popcorn in my mother's big pot. One of the sponges grinned at me. "Small arms fire. Welcome to Bagram."

Bagram? A map of the giant air base flashed in my eyes, then a dim memory of riding my father's shoulder, hiding my face in his turban while a trio of Shuravi -- Soviets -- stomped an ominously silent laborer. Couldn't be…

"He means hold on," added another sponge.

I dropped the puke bag to grab my seat. The plane tilted, again nose-diving but this time braking hard. Instead of falling to the deck, the bag shot forward, splatting against a female's ear.

"I'm hit! Aaah!"

"God! Brains! Oh, God!"

"Aaaaaaaaaaaah!"

The plane swerved and jinked, each jerk redoubling the shrieks. The smell of fear, sharp and sour, fought with the smell of vomit.

One of the marines chuckled, despite the sweat beading on his face, and pitched his voice low enough to hear under the shrieks. "You know you're going to have to police that up, Squidward."

"No-go, sir. The doc's our volunteer."

Volunteer? WTF? I twisted to see who'd called me a volunteer, but his rifle caught my attention first. A bolt-action rifle. A sniper's weapon.

Behind the rifle, teeth flashed in a grin. He didn't seem to exist, except as a rifle, a hint of helmet, and a grin. Then the grin vanished.

The deck flipped overhead. The unsecured marines bounced, sending bellows among the screams. I hung from my seat, still taped in place.

The deck flipped again, then slammed up at us. A marine fell across my lap. I caught his weapon before it could bean him. The cool metal slapped into my hand, rousing memories like an old lover's name.

I looked at the sniper, still crouched behind his rifle, immobile and near-invisible. Who the fuck are you?

Logan's Redemption - Cara Marsi

He'd broken her heart once. Can he save her life now?

Doriana Callahan's life is unraveling. Someone is stalking her and sabotaging her father's company; her teenage son is rebelling; and Logan Tanner is back in town. For sixteen years she's kept an explosive secret from Logan, a secret he soon discovers.

Logan never belonged in Doriana's world, but a long time ago he allowed himself to dream of a future with her, until the awful night he was forced to run. Now he's back and he needs her forgiveness, but first he must forgive himself.

Despite the fact that Doriana kept the existence of his son from him, Logan vows to protect her. He races against time to stop the culprit threatening Doriana and works to forge a bond with his son.

Can the love and passion that still burn between Doriana and Logan overcome old lies and new dangers? The clock is ticking on a second chance at love.

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Excerpt:

            “You’ve never changed your opinion of me, have you?” he asked in a hard voice. “I’m still the boy from the bad neighborhood, not fit to be a father to your son.” With a contemptuous glance, he turned away and strode to the fireplace. He leaned on the mantle, his profile to her. His chest rose and fell with his shallow breathing.

Doriana studied him. His jaw set in a tight line. His entire body looked coiled and ready to fight. Or maybe flee. Tears sprang to her eyes. They’d come so far in the last weeks. How had it all gone so terribly wrong?

“What do you want, Logan?” She tangled her fingers through the long strand of pearls she wore, trying to rein in the anxiety that churned her stomach.

Logan’s hazel gaze impaled her. “I want to be in Josh’s life.”

“What?” She yanked on the pearl necklace. The strand came apart in her hands. She watched helplessly as beads rolled all over the floor. My life is coming apart the same way. She raised her gaze to find a stony-faced Logan staring at her with unyielding eyes.

“What’s your answer?” He spit the words out.

“How long will you be in his life, Logan? You’ll leave again and what will happen to Josh? I will not see him hurt.”

Logan was at her side in an instant. He grasped her shoulders. She winced at the anger in his eyes. The twinkling lights of the tree reflected on the golden stubble of his beard, mocking the tension that arced between them like an electrical current.

“I’m Josh’s father,” he rasped. “I’m not some stranger, here one day and gone the next.”

“Aren’t you?” She bit down on her lip. Hurt shattered the chiseled planes of Logan’s face. She glimpsed the vulnerable young boy he’d once been, the boy she’d fallen in love with. He released her as if he couldn’t bear to touch her. Her throat thickened with tears.

“So that’s it.” The quiet calmness of his voice damned her more than shouts. “I’ve never been more than a temporary diversion to you.”

“That’s not true,” she whispered. “I loved you. I ....” She stopped herself before she blurted that she loved him now.

“Do you really know what love is?” His gaze raked her. “You have no problem giving your body to me, but I’m not worth bothering with on any other level.”

Fury and pain pierced her like a carpenter’s awl. “How dare you talk to me like that?”

He released a breath. “I’m sorry. I was out of line.” Sadness creased his features. “I just want to be in my son’s life.”

“How do I know you’ll be around for him?”

“Trust me. Damn it, just trust me.”

Could she trust him? Maybe she should ask him to stay. What if he said no? Could she take that chance? Her insides shook. “I can’t.”

“You can’t trust me?” Steel hardened his voice.

She shook her head. “No, that’s not it.”

“Then what is it, Dorie?”

Words dried in her throat. He had to want her enough to never leave again. She wouldn’t beg.

“Damn you,” he said in a thick whisper.

He pulled her to him and took her lips in a bruising kiss. She held herself tight, resisting his pull. His relentless lips demanded her surrender. She could no more fight him than she could stop breathing. And she loved him. She twisted her arms around his neck and urged his lips apart with her tongue.

He let out a low groan. His lips softened against hers and he opened his mouth for her. He tasted like cinnamon coffee and mint. She pressed closer. He might leave and break her heart. But he belonged to her now.

They slid to the floor together. He leaned over her, his eyes dark and mysterious in the soft Christmas lights. His unique scent of male and citrus mingled with the pine of the tree. Those scents would forever remind her of Logan.

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down. Molding her body to his, she kissed him with all the love and hope she couldn’t voice. His taut frame covered her. The urgency of his mouth and tongue excited her to a new wildness. She would love him tonight with all she had to give.

His mouth plundered hers while his hands wandered down her body, massaging, stroking, driving her crazy with want. Her soft cries filled the quiet room.

He leaned on his elbows and looked down at her. Desire darkened his eyes, but something else stirred deep in the gold-flecked depths, something that reached out to the longings in her soul. “Love me tonight, Logan,” she whispered.

“God help me, but I need you.” He undressed her and flung her clothes aside. His own quickly followed.

She lay down again and held her arms out to him. He lowered himself on top of her. His flesh burned her heated skin. The wool of the Oriental rug pressed into her bare back. The slight pain intensified her passion for him.

“Now,” she whispered. She wrapped her hand around his hard penis and guided him to her. He entered her, taking her with a possessiveness that inflamed her. Arching her hips against his, she molded her body to his. She belonged to Logan. Only this moment mattered. She met his every hard thrust, urging him with her body to make her his forever. She barely recognized the sound of her voice crying out his name.

He cupped her bottom, lifting her to meet him, driving deeper and deeper into her.

Her climax erupted, fast and furious, like a shower of dazzling stars, shooting her into the sky. The lights from the tree overhead blurred and danced before her eyes.

Logan shuddered with his own climax. She clung to him, running her hands over his muscled back, reveling in his heat and masculinity.

He collapsed on top of her. The fragrance of pine joined with the musk of their lovemaking.

She wound her arms around Logan’s neck and closed her eyes. She would sear this moment onto her brain.

Murder, Mi Amore' - Cara Marsi

Some vacations are murder

Lexie Cortese is in Rome to forget. The last thing she expects is to meet a sexy Interpol agent who suspects her of being part of a terrorist plot involving a stolen diamond. Suddenly thrust into a world of murders, muggings, and kidnappings, Lexie doesn’t know what to think—or who to believe.

Dominic Brioni’s assignment is simple. Befriend the American and bring her to justice. Only Lexie seems the most unlikely terrorist Dominic has ever met. Sweet, determined, and direct, she faces life with courage and fire, a fire that sparks his protective instincts and a longing for something more—something he allowed himself to hope for only once before.

But that woman betrayed him, and his boss isn’t about to let him forget it. With his career on the line and Lexie in danger, will Dominic learn to trust his heart before they both get killed?

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Buy Link: Wild Rose Press

Cursed Mates - Cara Marsi

"What if you were honor bound to kill the man you love?"

Nick Radford is a reluctant werewolf who’s been fighting the Beast within for nearly 500 years. He’s never killed a human, but the Beast is gaining strength and Nick may not be able to ward off his inner demon much longer.

Kyla Yaeger is an elite were-hunter with a scarred past. Her life’s mission is to slay the werewolves who slaughtered her parents. Her quest has brought her to Maine where she's been summoned to destroy the werewolf terrorizing the quaint little village of Heavensent. The last thing she needs is to get distracted by her mysterious--not to mention hunky--new neighbor Nick Radford.

By the time Kyla learns Nick is her target, she's already fallen for him, making her task of killing him that much harder. She is torn between her love for him and her duty to kill her sworn enemy. Nick fights his forbidden love for Kyla, knowing she is duty-bound to kill him. Kyla and Nick must join together to fight an even bigger threat--one that will destroy all humanity. Only by their combined powers can they destroy the evil and bring an end to a centuries old curse.

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Buy Link: Noble Romance