Holiday Etiquette: Tips for visiting

Five Tips for Holiday Visits from the Emily Post website. I especially like #2 and #4. Then again, this website is supposed to be for Uncle Jim in #4, isn't it?!

Of course #2 is a good one, too. I always ask if I can help and not stand around talking instead like a lump. But I never volunteer to do anything specific. This year I'll offer to do something specific, though I know a lot of people like their dishwashers loaded to their own specifications. Maybe I'll volunteer to dry dishes instead.

The Gracious Guest: Five Tips for Holiday Visits

1. All hosts—including your mother and aunts—love a surprise gift.
2. Be willing to pitch in, but instead of asking the harried host how you can help, volunteer to do a specific job like loading the dishwasher.
3. If you make the offer to help and the host firmly declines, back off—some people really don’t want guests in their kitchen.
4. At family get-togethers, don’t let nosy questions upset you. Deflect rudeness by changing the topic: “You’re right, Uncle Jim, I was thinner last year. How ‘bout those Steelers?”
5. Visiting friends or family?  Observe this rule of thumb: Three nights is usually plenty. Spell out arrival and departure times well in advance so your host isn’t left guessing.

Multi-Orgasmic, an erotic short story collection by Lucy Felthouse @cw1985

Blurb:

From the pen of award-winning erotica author Lucy Felthouse comes a collection of short stories and flash fiction sure to hit the spot.

There’s something for everyone nestling between the pages of this sexy anthology. From spanking to voyeurism, bondage to pegging, solo loving to ménage, with a sprinkling of femdom, maledom and magic, fans of M/F erotic stories will soon discover why this book is described as multi-orgasmic.

Enjoy twenty one titillating tales, over 52,000 words of naughtiness packed into one steamy read.

Please note: Many of the stories in this book have been previously published in anthologies and online, but three of the tales are brand new and never-seen-before!

Buy links:Amazon UKAmazon.comAmazon AUAmazon CA

Excerpt:

Private Jesse Bagnall glowered and muttered to himself all the way to the mess. He’d just been bawled out by Corporal Roxanne Grey—yet again—and he was getting seriously fed up of it. He knew he wasn’t perfect in the drill exercises, but then nor were any of the other guys. It was like she was singling him out and aiming all her abuse in his direction. Being shouted at was to be expected in the army—it was almost part of the job description—but Corporal Grey’s attitude was bordering on discriminatory, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Especially without looking like a total pussy.

Spotting some of his closest friends at a table towards the back of the mess, he caught the eye of one of them—Matt Kay—raised a hand in greeting, then got in line for his food.

Several minutes later he loaded his cup of tea onto his tray along with everything else and headed over to where he’d seen Matt and the boys. Hopefully they’d take his mind off the Queen Bitch. They were always game for a laugh.

“All right, lads?” he said, sliding his tray onto the table and taking a seat.

There were mumbles of assent.

“Yeah,” replied Ed Patterson. “You?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

Ed raised an eyebrow, and the other men turned their attention to Jesse, too. “Well,” Ed said, “that wasn’t very convincing. What’s up, mate?”

Jesse sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s the drill instructor.”

His friends exchanged confused looks. “Care to elaborate?” Matt said.

Not wanting to look like a wimp in front of his mates, Jesse changed his tone. But once he had, the anger took over him. “She’s a fucking bitch, that’s what!”

The confused expressions turned to surprised ones.

“I’m fed up of her treating me like a twat. I know it’s her job to bawl us out, but she takes it too far. I do my fucking best, work my arse off, and it’s still not good enough for her.”

He barely noticed the gazes of his friends shifting slightly, and carried on regardless. “She definitely picks on me more than everyone else. As though I’ve seen sitting on my arse when everyone else is killing themselves to get it right. She’s just being a complete and utter bitch. Bitch face fucking Grey!”

Matt cleared his throat, to no avail.

“You know what her problem is?” Jesse continued. “She needs a fucking good shag, she does. That might cheer the miserable cow up. Mind you, Christ knows what man would be brave enough to go there. She’d probably bite your cock off as soon as suck it.”

As the red mist of his anger dissipated, Jesse finally clocked the reactions of the other men around his table. They weren’t at all what he’d expected. Ed and Matt looked mighty chagrined, staring at a point over his left shoulder. Private Graham Pilgrim had actually put his head down and begun to bang it on the table.

A cold trickle of dread ran down his back, and he turned, wondering which of his superiors had heard his rant.

Fuck. It was none other than the target of his diatribe.

Corporal Roxanne Grey stood, her arms crossed, one high-heeled foot tapping on the floor. Her facial expression was as far from impressed as it was possible to be.

Coolly, she said, “Bagnall. Guard room, now.”

Jesse’s heart sunk into his heavy-duty boots, and he had to resist the temptation to drop his gaze to the floor. His buddies would never let him live it down. He had to do as the woman said otherwise he’d be guilty of insubordination, but he was going to do it in the manliest way possible.

Turning back to the table, he sneaked a quick glance at each of his friends in turn, hoping his expression looked irritated, not shit scared, which was what he really was. Standing, he left his lunch tray where it was and followed Corporal Grey out of the mess, across the yard and into the scruffy-looking building that was the guard room. God, the government really needed to put some money into this place—it certainly didn’t give off the air of tough professionalism that the personnel were expected to show.

Opening the door, Corporal Grey stood aside and ushered him in, before following him and shutting the door behind them and twisting the lock. The room was empty. She moved to sit in a chair, and motioned him to take another one.

“I suppose you know why you’re here?”

“Yes, ma’am. My unforgiveable words and actions back in the mess.” Now it was just the two of them, he could grovel as much as he felt necessary without worrying about losing face.

“Hmm. Yes. But actually, it’s more the reasoning behind the words that I’m interested in.”

“W—what do you mean?”

“You mentioned that you feel like I pick on you, more than I do anyone else during drill instruction. As though you’re sitting on your arse, I do believe were your words.”

Jesse fought the colour coming to his face, and failed miserably. “Y—yes, ma’am.”

“Do I really make you feel that way? Or were you just having a whinge to your mates? Tell me honestly, please.”

The anger had gone from her tone, and her expression was open, expectant. She really and truly wanted him to be honest. He opened and closed his mouth—not unlike a fish—a couple of times, before clearing his throat and attempting to form an answer. It didn’t help that, now she’d stopped screaming at him and was actually being quite pleasant, he’d come to the conclusion that she was hot. Even in her army uniform, she looked feminine, as though she was hiding a delicious body underneath all that olive green.

“O—okay then. Yes, you do. Ever since you turned up to drill us in preparation for the parade, you’ve made me feel like a useless sack of shit. I know it’s important, God do I know, and I want to get it right, but I really am trying my best. I’m giving this my all, and it seems as though it’s just not good enough for you. Some of the other guys are worse than me, and you don’t come down on them like a ton of bricks. Maybe just half a ton.” He smiled weakly, hoping she’d realise he was joking.

A tiny smile played at the corners of the corporal’s lips. “Would it make you feel any better if I told you why I’m doing it? Shouting at you more than the others, I mean.”

“Um, I guess it depends on what you’re going to say. I’m really not as shit as some of the other guys.”

“I know. But…” She got to her feet and moved to stand in front of Jesse. Leaning down and placing her hands on the arms of his chair, she continued. “Let’s just say I’m trying not to let my true feelings show. If people found out how much I want you, I don’t think it would go down too well.”

“W—want me? You want me?” His heart pounded, and his brain raced to keep up with what she was saying. Did she really mean what he thought she meant? Was there a way he could have misunderstood her words? He didn’t think so. “You mean, like, want me in the sex way?” He knew his phrasing was ridiculous, but he couldn’t think of anything better right at that moment. His brain was too fried.

Corporal Grey laughed, her blue eyes sparkling as crinkles appeared in their corners. It was adorable and sexy all at once, and Jesse’s cock surprised him by hardening.

“Yes,” she said. “I mean in the sex way. But I guess you know now why I’ve been behaving the way I have? Can you forgive me? I didn’t mean to make you feel like a useless sack of shit. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I can forgive you. But only if you make it up to me.” It seemed his cock had taken over control of his mouth now, because as the words floated into the air, he realised he had no idea what he actually meant.

“Oh yeah?” Moving her hands to her hips, Corporal Grey adopted a saucy stance. “And how am I supposed to do that?”

Jesse cast his gaze about the room rapidly, hoping for inspiration. Thankfully, he spotted something that would serve his purpose perfectly. Standing, he gently pushed past her and retrieved the pace stick that was propped up in the corner. Designed for marking time in parades and similar, when it was open it formed a ‘V’ shape; closed it was just a wooden stick. One he could use to get his own back on Corporal Grey. And he really had to stop thinking of her as Corporal Grey, especially considering what he was about to do. She was Roxanne.

Turning back to her, he stifled a grin when he saw the look on her face. She obviously hadn’t been expecting that. Pointing to a nearby table, he commanded, “Pull your skirt up to your waist and bend over.”

“O—okay.”

She sounded nervous, and he didn’t blame her. Frankly, he was surprised she’d agreed. He was wielding quite an interesting weapon, and she was going to allow him to use it on her. Perhaps she was into a bit of pain. He’d soon find out.

Following her to the table, he waited while she summoned her courage, then lifted her skirt. His eyebrows nearly disappeared into his close-cropped hairline when he saw the skimpy black thong that had been hidden beneath her drab skirt. It bisected lovely pale, round bum cheeks, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to pull the material aside and bury his cock in her warm depths.

First, though, Roxanne had some making up to do. “Ready?”

Pressing her hands to the surface of the table, she nodded quickly.

Jesse moved into the position he thought best and waved the pace stick around a little, to get used to the way it moved and balanced. He’d never spanked a woman before, never mind with one of these things. God knows why he’d even suggested it. She probably thought he was some kind of kinky bastard, now. Never mind, it was just a bit of fun.

Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women's Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

Princess Curvy: A Curvy Girl's Italian Affair

I had hoped to have this ready for sale early this month, but the Holidays got the best of me! New sale date: January 7, 2015. I'll post pre-order links as soon as I have them.

Natalia Dolcini had dusted off an old Italian title to launch her fashion line—Princapessa Natalia for curvy women. A line that made women look sexy, young, and gorgeous. And she loved every minute creating it. She led a charmed life in Milan and knew it.

Until Adam Clayworth waltzed into her life. Infuriatingly handsome, the sexy banker had an old-fashioned charm to him Natalia found hard to resist. So she didn’t. When he asked her for an introduction, she was more than happy to comply—only for it to end in shouts and accusations.

Her temper got the best of her when she promptly threw Adam out of her house.

What she hadn’t expected was for that night to bring her into a banking intrigue Adam investigated. Or for Adam to become her lover. But then Adam’s investigation turns dangerous.

Natalia finds it difficult to keep her own heart safe as they race from Milan to Portofino and back again. Will their Italian affair end after the danger does? Or will it be an affair to remember?

This is a 35,000 word Curvy Girl story with a fiery Italian designer and an Englishman entirely too sexy to be a banker.

Interview with @LynnCharlesNet for Chef's Table

Lynn Charles’ love of writing dates back to her childhood, but took shape as an adult, when she found herself expressing her grief in a years' worth of journaled letters to a lifelong friend who passed unexpectedly. She has been writing works of fiction in the online fan community since 2002, where thousands of readers have enjoyed her stories.

She lives in central Ohio with her husband, two adult children and a small menagerie of animals. When she’s not writing, she can be found working at her county library, riding bikes with her husband and strolling local farmer’s markets in search of ingredients for new recipes.

Chef’s Table is her debut novel.

Connect with Lynn at lynncharles.net and on Twitter.

 

Hi, Lynn and welcome!

If you like food, and prefer it to be good food, there are cities all over our nation, all over our world that will cater to you. But, I think most would argue that, New York City is probably one of the best locations for those who love food.

You can grab a dirty water dog from a vendor in Midtown. With a few extra turns, or a little help from your Yelp app, you can find that great bagel joint back on 35^th and have the pleasure of snarfing it down while watching trucks unload their wares in all of the fabric houses in the Garment District. You can upgrade to a deli or a diner and even, if you have completely lost your mind, eat at a franchise like The Olive Garden or TGIF's—although if you do that, please don't tell me about it. You can get a bowl of noodles here and then a great spread of dim sum there. You can dress up and dine like the wealthy do, or stop into a random place in Hell's Kitchen after walking around the city all day and get treated like you are dressed up and eating with the wealthy.

If you can't find something to eat and to love to eat in New York City, you're probably just not hungry.

So, it was easy to set this story in New York: to set up two different kinds of cooks with very similar backgrounds; to show two different kinds of restaurants that really share very similar values; good ingredients, good basic foundational cooking and a heaping load of heart.

But, if I were walking through the city—location not a concern—whose restaurant would I choose to patronize?

Patrick's diner, Johnny's, is a friendly place—loud at busy times, with a nice mumbling buzz of activity at less busy times. Other than desserts, the menu is static. And even with desserts, Patrick has his constants. While you might get a homemade dressing on the salad, 'health food' is not on the menu. Your meal is served with plenty of fat, and plenty of sass, thanks to his wait staff, and plenty of rib-sticking goodness. It's good for a sandwich on the run, or a hearty stew or meatloaf when you want to settle in. But, even the sandwiches are so good, you tend to settle in anyway. Slow down. Nurse a cup of coffee over Patrick's newest twist on pumpkin sweetness for the fall season.

Evan's restaurant, Il Boschetto, is also a friendly place, but not so friendly you're likely to see the man behind the food. Or the woman. Or any of the cooking staff. But it's still friendly. Your servers take care of your every need before you know you need it. They know when to give you privacy and when to sweep in and refill your wine. And the food, like Johnny's, is also stick-to-your-ribs hearty. Stuff your Italian grandmother would have made if you indeed had an Italian grandmother. It's made with the freshest of ingredients by chefs trained in the culinary arts and trained on the lines all over the city. Your sauces will be rich and layered, the meats will be off-the-bone tender, the pasta will be cooked to lip-smacking perfection and the sides will be good enough you'd consider making them meals themselves. It's a full experience of food and atmosphere.

But, so is Johnny's.

Which makes that choice difficult. But, I believe if I had to choose, if I had to pick one meal, I'd hop on the Q and head to Johnny's in a heartbeat. I don't need a server refilling my wine or reading off the prix fixe menu when I know I just want the tuna melt on wheat. At Johnny's I'd be having a meal with friends. And that always makes everything taste better.

Now, if Patrick is manning the grill to boot? Well, someone better be making me airline reservations.

Blurb:

Chef Evan Stanford has climbed the New York City culinary ladder one proper rung at a time, earning himself the Rising Star James Beard award and an executive chef position at one of New York City's favored restaurants in Hell's Kitchen. But in his quest to build his reputation, he's forgotten what got him there; the lessons on food—and life—from a loving neighbor back home in Illinois.

Patrick Sullivan lives a contented life in Brooklyn cooking at Johnny's diner, keeping the memory of his grandmother and her Irish cooking alive even in the foods she never taught him to prepare. When Chef Stanford comes into his diner requesting and enjoying one of his grandmother's specialties, he's swept up by Evan's drive, his passion, forcing himself to reconsider if a contented life is a fulfilled one.

With much in common, the two men—and Evan's particularly spoiled pug Dini—begin a journey through their culinary histories falling into an easy friendship. Even with the joys of their newfound love, and the guidance and support of friends old and new, can they tap into that secret recipe of great love, great food and transcendent joy?

Excerpt:

Evan was used to distractions in the kitchen. His job was buoyed by auditory distractions: printers clicking a constant tick-tick-tick of new orders; cooks chattering about the food, their horrible mothers-in-law and how drunk they'd gotten the night before; expeditors shouting orders and the general clang-sizzle-hiss of food prep all served not only as a droned soundtrack, but also a constant distraction. You learned to work with it, if not for it.

But this distraction—Patrick's lips moving up the curve of his neck, hot breath tickling his ear right before the damp warmth of his tongue traced the shell of it; Patrick’s arm wrapped firmly around his waist, hand dipping knuckle deep into the waistband of his lounge pants, the other covering his own hand on the sauté pan handle, "helping" him flip the asparagus over the heat—was a distraction he could not get used to.

           

Not that he wanted to. Not at all.

A $25 Interlude Press GC to one randomly drawn winner and digital copies of CHEF’S TABLE to ten randomly winners during the tour. 

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#BookBlast How To Beguile a Duke by Ally Broadfield @abroadfield

This post is part of a book blast organized by Goddess Fish Promotions for the launch of Ally Broadfield's How to Beguile a Duke. One randomly chosen winner via Rafflecopter will receive a $25 Amazon/BN gift card.

The spirited Catherine Malboeuf has just arrived in England to reclaim her ancestral home, Walsley Manor, and a valuable missing heirloom. Nicholas Adair, the attractive and frustratingly inflexible Duke of Boulstridge, however, is quite unwilling to sell the estate back to Catherine. Unless, of course, she accepts a small wager...

Nick will sell Walsley Manor if--and only if--Catherine secures an offer of marriage from an eligible member of the ton before the end of the London season.

Of course, Nick is certain he'll win. After all, no proper gentleman would ever marry a woman who conceals a cutlass in her skirts. Yet something about Catherine's unconventional disposition seems to ignite a need deep inside him. A need that won't just cost him the wager, but the very heart he swore to never give away...

Enjoy an excerpt:

He ought not to have let her take the journal. It wasn’t appropriate reading material for an innocent. “If you like, I will reread the journal and make note of all of your great-grandmother’s…acquaintances so we can narrow down the possibilities.”

She clasped the journal to her chest. “Good heavens, no. I shall do it.”

“Why?”

“I would never be able to look you in the eye again knowing that you had read about her…exploits.”

“Catherine.” She cast a startled glance at him. Stifling the laughter threatening to erupt, he said, “I’ve already read the journal. There is nothing in there with which I am not already familiar.”

Casting her eyes downward, she said, “Well, there is much with which I am unfamiliar.”

Laughter burst forth from him, refusing to be contained. “Well I certainly hope so. It is not appropriate reading material for you. Give it back to me, and I will make a list of everyone mentioned in the journal. We must be thorough.” Casting his eyes toward the spire of a church in the distance, he attempted to dispel the images of Catherine reenacting her great grandmother’s escapades with him. His imagination was very thorough. Too thorough.

About the Author: Ally lives in Texas and is convinced her house is shrinking, possibly because she shares it with three kids, four dogs, a cat, a rabbit, and several reptiles. Oh, and her husband. She likes to curse in Russian and spends most of her spare time letting dogs in and out of the house and shuttling kids around. She writes historical romance set in Regency England and Imperial Russia.

She loves to hear from readers and you can find Ally on her website, Facebook, and Twitter, though she makes no claims of using any of them properly.

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Group Blog

Buy the book at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Kobo, Amazon UK, Amazon CA, or Google Play.

Enter to win a $25 Amazon gift card during the tour!

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#BookBlast: Cursed by Evangeline Anderson @EvangelineA

Evangeline Anderson is a registered MRI tech who would rather be writing. And yes, she is nerdy enough to have a bumper sticker that says “I’d rather be writing.” Honk if you see her! She is thirty-something and lives in Florida with a husband, a son, and two cats. She had been writing erotic fiction for her own gratification for a number of years before it occurred to her to try and get paid for it. To her delight, she found that it was actually possible to get money for having a dirty mind and she has been writing paranormal and Sci-fi erotica steadily ever since.

You can find her online at her website www.evangelineanderson.com

Come visit for some free reads and to find out what’s coming soon. You can also connect with her on Facebook, Pinterest, Goodreads, or Twitter.

Kindred Newsletter

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Blurb:

A fierce warrior, forced to feel the agony of others.

A girl with a past full of pain caused by his kind.

When the two of them go undercover on a dangerous mission will they bond?

Or are they Cursed to be apart forever?

Excerpt:

“Never you mind. The point is just because I looked the part doesn’t mean I acted it. In fact, I think we need to set some boundaries right here and now. 

“All right.” Stavros was beginning to be a bit irritated but he held on to his temper. “You’ve already kissed me, sat in my lap and put your hand down my trousers—what further boundaries do you wish to set that you are not willing to cross?”

She rounded on him suddenly, hands on her hips, eyes blazing.

“I was under the influence of drugs when I did all that. Well except for putting my hand in your britches but I couldn’t help that because I didn’t want a mess on my granny’s quilt.”

“True.” He nodded. “But you cannot deny that you enjoyed the healing kiss that we shared and you were completely lucid then.”

“I most certainly did not,” she protested, a bit too quickly.

Stavros stopped in the hallway just outside the entrance to the vast docking bay.

“I scented your heat, Charlie,” he said softly, searching her eyes with his own. “Kindred have an incredibly sensitive sense of smell. You cannot lie to me about what you were feeling when I healed you.”

 

Evangeline Anderson will be awarding $25 Amazon or Barnes & Noble gift card to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour

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Holiday Etiquette: Regifting

Emily Post (and her descendants) have a lovely website that's full of useful information. Today's topic is on regifting, which I'm a very big fan of. It's like recycling! Why trash a present you don't necessarily like or want when you can pass it onto someone who does?

Now Emily (or in this case whoever posted to the site) says regifting isn't OK except in these circumstances:

• You're certain that the gift is something the recipient would really like to receive.
• The gift is brand new (no cast-offs allowed) and comes with its original box and instructions.
• The gift isn't one that the original giver took great care to select or make.

Simply put, you have to make sure you don't hurt feelings - either the original giver's or the new recipient's. Would the person who gave you the gift mind that you passed it along? Do he and the recipient of your gift know each other, and would it be awkward if they realized that you've reregifted a gift from one to the other? Here are two scenarios where regifting would be appropriate:

1. Your sister's coffeemaker just stopped working, and her birthday is days away. You, who are on a budget, have been given a coffemaker that's a duplicate of the one you already have. Your sister has always liked yours. Instead of stashing the extra coffeemaker in your closet, you wrap it in its original box and present it to her. She's delighted.
2. You've been given two copies of the same book. Your best friend, with whom you exchange Christmas gifts each year, is a fan of the author. You decide to give her the book - not as a holiday gift, but as a surprise: "Edith, I received two copies of this book and want you to have one." An "unofficial" gift of this sort is not wrapped.

Only you can decide whether a scenario meets the criteria above. Think through each situation carefully, and if you're still in doubt, don't do it.

Kristabel's take on this: If you want to clean out your closets and don't want to trash stuff, give them to charities that will then sell them.

City Nights: One Night in Edinburgh by Charlotte Howard @Shy_Tiger

Blurb:
Chloe Shard has travelled to Edinburgh to meet up with a potential client, and has just twenty-four hours to convince them to sign her contract. But when she meets the delicious Ethan, he proves to be so much more than an enticing distraction. It’s not long before Chloe has some life changing decisions to make, and less than a day to make them in.

Buy Links:

Tirgearr Publishing
Amazon UK
Amazon.com
Smashwords

Excerpt:

Chloe squeezed her eyes shut as the plane’s wheels bumped along the tarmac, and her stomach lurched into her chest as the brakes were applied. Her ears flooded with the sound of her own heart beating louder than the squealing and screeching of the landing gear. Pressure built in her cheeks as she clenched her teeth together.
The worst hour in her life was almost over.

“Welcome to Edinburgh,” said the captain over the speaker system. “We hope you had a pleasant journey and enjoyed the flight. Please remain seated with your seat belts fastened until the light is turned off.”

A chuckle emanated from nearby. Chloe opened one eye and peered at the man in the seat across the aisle from her.

“You can breathe again,” he said in an American accent, flashing her a grin.

“I think I’ll wait until my feet are actually on the ground if it’s all the same to you,” she replied, leaning back into the headrest.

A loud ping was followed by a Mexican wave of clicking as the passengers released their seat belts and fought to get their bags and rush off the plane. Chloe undid her own belt then hurriedly squished herself into the seat as an oversized belly, violently stretching at a pale green shirt, began its invasion of her breathing space. Her shoulder was nudged as the impatient woman beside her stood up, hunching under the overhead compartment.

She waited for the plane to empty. The impatient woman started huffing and tutting. Chloe looked up apologetically, but was met with a hardened glare.

“Here,” said the man from opposite. She turned her gaze towards him and was grateful to see him holding back a herd of cattle desperate to depart. She drank him in for a second. He was broad enough to act as a barrier between her and the crowd. A very attractive barrier. From the way his T-shirt stretched over his biceps, she could tell that his width was certainly not due to being overweight. Ink spiralled around his skin from beneath the short sleeve, tracing down to his elbow.

“Thank you.” She stepped into the aisle. Immediately, the woman from beside her shoved herself through the gap, knocking Chloe into the man’s chest with an oof!

“I’m so sorry!” she said, stepping back and turning to the overhead compartments, feeling her cheeks heat. Her fingers tingled with the memory of his muscular chest beneath them.

Author Bio:

British author Charlotte Howard, was born in Oman and spent much of the first part of her life flitting between Oman, Scotland, and England. Now settled in Somerset, Charlotte lives with her husband, two children, and growing menagerie of pets.

Her career as a writer began at an early age, with a poem being featured in an anthology for the East Midlands. Since then Charlotte has written many short stories and poems, and finally wrote her first full-length piece of fiction in 2010.

During what little spare time she has, Charlotte enjoys reading and writing (of course), spending time with her family, and watching action movies whilst eating curry and drinking tea.

Charlotte is an active member of Yeovil Creative Writers.

Social Media / Website links:

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#BookBlast Hardened Desire by @LaynaPimentel

BLURB

What could Luc Mercier, a gargoyle who's more than a century old, possibly have in common with modern introvert, Gillian Harris? Loneliness and isolation.

When meddlesome friends bring the two together, neither is prepared for the flurry of emotions nor revelations that overwhelm them. That is, until Gillian stumbles across the truth and struggles with how she let her guard down.

Learning to love again has never been harder.

EXCERPT

Luc picked up a newspaper from the stand and tossed a two-dollar coin to the elderly man working the counter. He ascended the cavernous stairs of Bloor and Dufferin subway station, irritated by the lights flickering intensely. I should have just taken my car.

But if he did, Luc would have missed an opportunity to observe society other than from the café he frequented lately. A society he didn’t belong in, technically speaking, and had no business being a part of. Long gone were the muddy, off-beaten roads of provincial France. Long gone was the time when an over-flowing bodice was considered scandalous.

Now people thrived on exposing as much skin as possible. The modern day sentiment of what was attractive and acceptable embarrassed him to the core, from the mode of dress to the inappropriate use of language. Didn’t anyone know how to speak without using an expletive every other word? Where had humanity gone wrong? It was ghastly enough that children didn’t respect their elders, much less their parents.

Nevertheless, as much as this modern world perplexed him, nothing could deter him from at least enjoying his freedom, regardless of the limitations restricting his activities to the darkness of the night.

He did, however, miss the ambiance of candle light and the soft cries while seducing a woman, tormenting her with his wicked tongue. Exploring deviant, but heavenly, practices of binding and mixing pleasure with pain. Sweet promises falling from his lips while exploring every inch of her delicate and exquisite flesh.

These days, the few women he was able to enjoy weren’t interested in highly sensual liaisons. No. Today’s women thrived on being in control of seduction, whether they were proficient or not. There certainly wasn’t anything wrong with the scenario, but it wasn’t his taste. He preferred his women soft, like Genevieve…his sweet, sweet Genevieve.

No matter how many decades passed, the only woman he’d ever confided in, and planned to wed, crept into his mind many a time. Genevieve was an old soul, who found him and fell in love. Then, much like a Greek tragedy, their story ended woefully. The trust and courage it had taken to confess to Genevieve of the monstrosity he had become left him restless and, for once in his miserable existence, vulnerable. If not for her kindness, encouragement, and love, who knew what he would be doing and where.

This last week, though, he thought to explore the possibility of trying again. A particular woman, who frequented the café where he spent his early evenings drinking a brandy and reading The Daily Sun, had caught his particular interest. Her laughter aroused his curiosity in the few and far between moments when he contemplated actually living life. Her voice, whether chuckling or whispering to her friend, always made his body react in an animalistic way.

While they had never met, she seemed like someone he’d be interested in getting to know, at the very least, for a little while. Luc doubted very much he’d find another woman like the love of his life and often thought it would be better that way. How could he even begin to explain why he only ever spent time with her at night, and why he’d always be gone before the first sign of daybreak?

 
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BIOGRAPHY
Born and raised in Toronto, Ontario, Layna discovered her love of reading at an early age. When she isn’t devouring salacious romance novels or writing, she enjoys losing herself in researching ancient history and mythology, weaponry, and hiking. She lives in Northern Ontario, with her husband and two daughters.

Layna is a member of the Romance Writers of America, and is a monthly contributor at 69 Shades of Smut. For updates on her upcoming releases, or to leave her a comment, you can find at:

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