Wednesday, February 26, 2014

The Artist's Touch by Kerry Adrienne

Kerry Adrienne stopped by today and let me have a few moments with her hero from Artist's Touch. Check it out! Here's my interview with Kenon Alavi, master portrait artist:

How long have you been creating art?

Since I was born. My mother said I created a perfect portrait of the Virgin Mary with my fingers in my prune baby food.

What's your media of choice?

Oils. I love the way they blend, and the depth of color and sheen when they are dry is unparalleled.

Do you follow the muse or create what sells?

Before I met Wally, I painted what sold. And I did it better than anyone.

Favorite muse?


Favorite artist, living or dead, you'd like to have lunch with?

Ah, so many. Leonardo Da Vinci, of course. Michelangelo. Gustav Klimt. Dali, many, I couldn't choose...

Artist’s Touch
The Guild, book one (Sculptor’s Desire and Guitarist’s Wish coming soon!)
By Kerry Adrienne

Every starlet wants master painter Kenon Alavi to do her portrait…and more. But Kenon prefers firm to soft and sates his desires with the boyfriends of the women he paints, enjoying the diversity of many lovers but shunning any attachments.

Wallace Harte’s English degree isn’t helping him find a job and working at a bar is the closest he’s gotten to being the Second Coming of Faulkner. Something’s gotta give soon or he’ll be out on the street.

Kenon zeroes in on the bartender at an art exhibition, intending to add him to his long list of conquests, but Wally bolts, initiating a heated game of cat and mouse. Kenon delights in the game until he discovers what Wally is writing. Feeling betrayed, Kenon swears off all entanglements until he reads Wally’s story and discovers true love is sometimes between the pages and not the sheets.

Inside Scoop: This book contains hot, sexy scenes of M/M interaction of an artistic nature. Who knew having your portrait painted could be so hot?

A Romantica® gay erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, please exit this site.
An Excerpt From: ARTIST’S TOUCH
Copyright © KERRY ADRIENNE, 2014
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
Another day, another drink for those who had dollars. Wally slipped the candied cherry into the Manhattan and handed the glass to the tall brunette leaning against the bar. With barely a nod, the woman slinked away as if on skates, joining one of the clusters of patrons waiting on Kenon Alavi’s arrival. The artist, notorious for being late, probably wouldn’t arrive for another ten minutes at least. Light jazz floated through the air from the ensemble set up in the far corner and spots of colored lights beamed up the walls to the tall ceilings that arched over the studio space. This would make a great setting for a novel, Wally mused. Too bad he didn’t have the plot to go along with it. His creativity had hit an impasse as cliché as the proverbial brick wall.
“Martini. Wet and stirred, no olive, no twist.” The man put his hand on the bar and looked over his shoulder toward the gallery door. “I’m tired of waiting. Don’t care how special Alavi thinks he is, my time’s important too.” He tapped his fingers on the bar. “Annoying bastard. Wouldn’t be here if my wife wasn’t so keen on having him paint her.”
Wally pulled out the glass for the martini, not speaking to the customer. He’d been hired to make drinks, not socialize. The man was just complaining anyway. He wasn’t really expecting a conversation, especially from the bartender. Plus, tonight Wally had to remember all the different highbrow cocktails. He rarely served anything but beer and frozen drinks back at the Cellar Bar. He poured the vermouth into the sloped glass, then stirred the concoction. As long as Mr. Alavi paid his wage, who cared when he actually showed up? His gala, his schedule.
“Told her we could get a portrait done for a lot less but she insists on this guy.” The finger tapping grew more vigorous. “He’s refused her calls for two months now. Arrogant bastard.”
Wally nodded and set the drink in front of the man. Mr. Alavi sounded like a typical snobby artist. Big surprise. “Here you go, sir. Wet and stirred. No olive, no twist.”
“Top shelf?” the man asked, raising an eyebrow. He toyed with the rim of the glass, running his finger around it as if he was checking for chips.
“It’s all we serve,” Wally mumbled, wiping up a few drops of condensation from the top of the bar. Alavi’s guests were snobby too. “Only the best.” Bottles of fine alcohol that could pay off his student loans with cash left over for a few months of rent. He looked out over the room of people. Wealth and privilege as far as he could see, well, except for the musicians in the corner. He smiled. At least they were making a living off their art. One day he would too—if he could ever shed his writer’s block.
The man shrugged and tipped up the glass, finishing off the cocktail in one gulp. He held the glass to the light and examined it, then set it on the bar. “Good thing Alavi has an open bar at this reception. Otherwise, I’d leave right now, no matter what my wife said. I’ll take another, please. The same.” He resumed his tapping.
Wally took out a new glass and prepared the man’s drink. The jazz music was making him sleepy. He’d much prefer something a little more lively. Having spent the previous night out on the town dancing to a club beat didn’t help. But he couldn’t refuse the extra money this bartending gig would put in his pocket. He pushed the glass over to the man and tried not to yawn.
Silence hit the entire room at once, echoing off the vaulted ceiling in thick waves. Someone gasped, then the patrons broke into applause. Mr. Alavi had arrived. The large front doors banged closed and the music softened.
Drink forgotten, the man strode off to join the mass of bodies that now moved as one as they pushed toward the door where Mr. Alavi waited to be greeted. Wally squinted to see what the excitement was but the crowd blocked his sightline. He’d heard the artist put on quite the spectacle and with the number of people and amount of money spent on the reception tonight, he didn’t doubt it for a second.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea in front of Moses and a man walked toward the grand doors that led to the open studio in the back of the room.
Wally stared.
Mr. Alavi’s stopped to shake hands with a tall gentleman and then moved on through the crowd. Light glinted like a beacon off the silver brooch at his throat. Murmurs filled the room—whispers, really. Like a creature of the night, Mr. Alavi was dressed in black from head to toe with a few flashes of silver sparkle sprinkled here and there. God, why did all the handsome men have to be rich and unattainable? Alavi was probably straight too. Life was definitely not fair.
Wally reached for the two martini glasses and bumped one over. He caught the stem of the second one just as the glass bowl shattered against the bar. His heart pounded and blood rushed to his ears. When he looked up, Mr. Alavi was staring at him, looking him right in the eye with a piercing gaze and unreadable expression. Everyone in the room watched. Wally’s face flooded with heat and sweat trickled down the back of his tuxedo shirt. Fuck.
“Sorry,” he stammered to no one in particular.
Before anyone could respond, Mr. Alavi moved in his direction and Wally’s throat tightened. Would he fire him on the spot? He began picking up pieces of glass and dropping them into the bar wastebasket, avoiding Mr. Alavi’s approach. Way to go, Wally, blow your chance to earn some extra cash. The one glass probably cost more than the night’s wages.
He bent to drop a large piece of glass into the trashcan, still holding on to the marble bar with his free hand. He squeezed his eyes closed. He’d get through this. Bile rushed into his throat. Why did he always screw things up? He took a deep breath. What was the worst thing that could happen? He’d been fired before and for worse offences.
A warm hand covered his, sending a wave of fear up his arm. Wally stood, coming face-to-face with Mr. Alavi. Wally wanted to pull his hand away and run but fifty wealthy snobs would stop him before he made it to the front door and onto the New York streets. He was trapped.
“Everything okay?” Mr. Alavi asked, his voice as smooth and dark as his slick black satin shirt.
Wally met the man’s gaze—green eyes lined in kohl, set in warm skin that shimmered in the bar light. Black spiky hair dusted with glitter.
Mr. Alavi squeezed his hand and Wally shivered.
“I said, is everything okay?”
“Y-y-yes,” Wally stammered. Even from over the bar, he could tell that Mr. Alavi was tall, well over six feet. His shoulders broadened and then tapered to trim hips. Wally’s mouth filled with saliva. The man was hot. Even if he was about to fire him for breaking the barware.
Avoiding eye contact, Wally studied the black leather jacket Mr. Alavi wore. It was no rental but made to slip around his body like water, hugging the right places, with a few silver studs and spikes on one shoulder. Designer-made, no doubt. In place of a tie, he wore a silver serpent brooch pinned at the neck, its eyes made of tiny rubies and its forked tongue licking out.
Wally gulped and his already-warm face burned. The man must think he was an idiot, drooling and fumbling like a fool. The crowd had gone back to chattering and mumbling but a few people still glared toward the bar, probably annoyed that Wally had taken the artist’s attention away. Mr. Alavi lifted his hand and pulled Wally farther down the bar, away from the rest of the broken glass. The artist looked out at the crowd. Wally didn’t see the look he gave them but anyone staring suddenly turned away and ignored the scene at the bar. The man had the power, no question about it. This was his scene and his alone. Wally’s pulse quickened. At least he wouldn’t be totally humiliated by stares when Alavi fired him.
“What’s your name?” Alavi asked, squeezing Wally’s hand.
“W-w-wall…Wallace Harte, sir. I’m sorry I broke the glass.”
He brushed away Wally’s comment with his free hand. “Ah. An unusual name. Wally for short?”
Wally nodded and gulped down the panic in his throat.
“Call me Kenon,” the artist said, stretching out his name in a French-sounding accent. He ran his thumb over Wally’s knuckles in a slow circular motion and Wally closed his eyes.
The scant hairs on his arm stood erect and he hoped Kenon couldn’t feel how damp his palm was beneath his grasp or how his pulse beat a frantic escape rhythm. From the corner, the music started playing again and the low murmur of the crowd drowned the silence in his ears. Deep breath.
“Thank you, sir,” Wally said. He opened his eyes and met Kenon’s gaze. For a moment, he stared into Kenon’s green eyes, pausing to fully examine them. Enhanced with dark eyeliner, the artist’s eyes almost glowed with feral sparkle. Predatory. Waiting. Wally looked down, not daring to move his hand. Mr. Alavi must be quite the lady-killer. Who wouldn’t want to be with him?
“Time to open the show, Mr. Alavi,” a gallery aide said, sidling up to Kenon at the edge of the bar. “Everyone’s getting impatient.” Wally had seen the aides milling around, making sure things stayed perfect. It must cost a fortune to produce an event like this.
“This is my show. Let them wait,” Kenon growled and clamped down on Wally’s hand.
The aide looked at Wally and smirked. “I’m sure the bartender won’t mind talking to you after the show.” He emphasized the word “bartender” as if it were a dirty word.
Kenon snapped his head and turned to the man. “I said I’m busy.” This growl was louder and deeper and the aide’s eyes widened and his shoulders tensed.
“Yes, sir,” he said and backed away, hands up.
Wally began to shake. He tried to tell himself it was from the air-conditioning but he knew it was from a mixture of fear and longing to be near this mysterious man. The artist must always have a rapt audience. Despite his growling, everyone seemed to be taken in by his charm. Kenon milked Wally’s finger in a stroking rhythm and Wally clenched his thighs together, willing his dick to be still. Kenon was too close and it was a good thing the bar was between them or things could get embarrassing.
“Now,” Kenon said. He tugged Wally’s hand close to his chest, tightening his grip once again. “Lean in so I can whisper what I have to tell you. Privacy you know.” He smiled, a tight line of control.
Wally leaned toward Kenon, drawing in a deep breath of what was likely the most expensive cologne he’d ever smell, combined with a fresh scent that could have been makeup or fine-milled soap. Underlying everything was an all-male scent of danger combined with sex and power. The bar was cold against his chest but the man’s breath was hot in his ear. “Yes?” he asked, voice trembling. “I’m sorry I broke the glass.”
“I said I’m not worried about the glass.”
“What, then?” Wally squeaked out.
“Why are you shaking?” Kenon touched his nose to Wally’s earlobe and Wally tensed. “Am I too close?”
“I…I…don’t know,” Wally said, his breath stuttering in his throat. Why was he shaking? He’d not had a boyfriend in ages but had never responded to man’s presence so strongly and so urgently before. Especially a straight man. At least not while he was sober.
Kenon pressed closer and his warmth radiated over Wally’s neck and face. Wally stood statue-still under the assault of heat. “I want to see you after the show,” Kenon whispered. “Will you stay around? To…talk…”
Wally nodded. Was he in trouble?
“Goooood,” Kenon blew. “See you then.” His lips brushed Wally’s ear and then he nipped it gently, holding on to the lobe for a second before releasing it. Wally shuddered as heat jolted straight to his groin. Why was Kenon flirting? Wasn’t he straight? And why was he so close? Wally squirmed as his pants tightened and his dick disobeyed the order to stand down. The ruby eyes of the serpent brooch glinted as Kenon pulled away.
Just as quickly as Kenon had latched on to Wally’s hand, he dropped it. Turning, he sauntered off as if he were strolling along a promenade without a care. The crowd, cued into his movement, followed him through the open doors to the main exhibit hall. Wally stared after him, watching the people meander into the larger room where Kenon’s latest paintings would be unveiled.
What had just happened? And why had he agreed to meet Kenon after the show? He knew better than to tempt fate with an employer, especially one he was so attracted to and who was so out of his league. He always screwed things up. He adjusted himself and sighed. What did he have to lose?

Add Artist’s Touch to your Goodread’s shelf HERE.

About the Author:
Kerry writes about love in its many forms, and enjoys exploring the dynamics of relationships and the quandaries people get themselves into. She lives in suburbia, but is making plans to escape to the ocean and NYC, as both places hold a piece of her heart.

You can connect with Kerry here:

You can purchase Artist’s Touch here:

Tuesday, February 25, 2014

A Visit from the Cover Faery! (AGAIN!)

The cover faery loved me this week. She really did. I got another cover in the email. This one is for an anthology and it rocks. The Lasso Lovin' anthology! Two hot cowboys and one lucky lady. Grin. 
It's by Posh Gosh. I love it. Very sexy!


A Visit from the Cover Faery!

The cover faery was so generous this week! Here's the cover for 
Ruined by the Pirate
part of the Jolly Rogered Collection from Totally Bound. 
It's by Posh Gosh!


Thursday, February 20, 2014

Being Part of the Brit Babes by Lucy Felthouse

First, I want to say a huge thank you to Wendi for having me here today. It’s great to be here!

For just under a year now, I’ve been part of a group called The Brit Babes. We are eight British erotica and erotic romance authors that have clubbed together for several purposes. One, to promote all of us as a group, rather than just ourselves as individual authors. Two, to have a street team that reads, reviews and promotes all of our books. Three, to stand out from the crowd and establish a benchmark for quality. Four, because we’re good friends and it’s nice to have seven other women to rant with, exchange ideas with, ask favours of, and so on.

We’ve just added another purpose to our growing list. On Valentine’s Day, we released an anthology – Sexy Just Walked Into Town. It contains stories from each Brit Babe, as well as some collaborations and some tales from Babes which have more than one pen name. The book is available for free everywhere we’re allowed to make it free—i.e. pretty much everywhere but Amazon, where we’ve priced it as low as we’re allowed to. Fingers crossed Amazon will make it free when it realises it’s not the cheapest retailer! The idea is to give readers a taste of our work. They may have read some of The Brit Babes’ work and not others, or none of us at all. So it’s a low-risk way of readers checking out our writing, finding out if they like it and hopefully going on to check out our websites and other books.

I edited and put together the anthology, so I had the fun job of reading all the stories. And I’m not just saying this because they’re my fellow Babes, but there are some seriously hot tales nestled between the digital covers of Sexy Just Walked Into Town; contemporary, BDSM, lesbian, gay, ménage, paranormal, sporty, military, curvy chicks and more. So as well as being a great taster, there’s also such a variety that there’s something in there for everyone.

So, what are you waiting for? Head over to All Romance eBooks and Smashwords to grab your FREE copy today. It’ll be rolling out to other retailers soon, just as soon as the information filters through from Smashwords. And hey, if you want to spend a little cash and get it on your Kindle, we won’t complain. Any proceeds we do make will go back into our street team, to providing them with goodies, prizes and so on. So it’s all for a good cause!

Happy Reading!

Lucy x


Sexy Just Walked Into Town is a collection of delicious erotic and romantic stories from the Brit Babes. These eight British authors have put together a book of tales to tease and tantalise you, each one a sample of the individual Babes’ voices and styles. You’ll find contemporary, BDSM, same-sex loving, ménage a trois, paranormal, sporty, military, Rubenesque and more. There’s something to suit everyone here including a few Brit Babe collaborations.

Ranging from sweetly vanilla to so-hot-it-will-blow-your-mind, the Brit Babes aim to please in every literary fantasy department. Their heroes are strong, determined and soul-achingly divine and their heroines sassy, sexy and not afraid to grab what they want. Passion and pleasure is the name of the game, romance and raunch a top priority and it all comes with a delightful sprinkle of kink.

With a whole host of awards, best-sellers and accolades between them, the Babes just know you’ll find something in this anthology that will keep you turning the pages and squirming on your seat. Then, if you like what you read here, check out the individual authors’ websites to investigate their collection of published works. Also visit the Brit Babes’ home on the web which acts as a library for the hundreds of books published by them. Tell your friends, spread the word, because one thing you can be sure of, is when the Brit Babes arrive, sexy has just walked into town!

Excerpt from The Wrong End of the Stick by Lucy Felthouse:

Bonnie stifled a sigh. He was doing it again. Staring at her, as he had been every day that week. She was on a fortnight’s training course through work, the only one from her office who’d been sent. As a result, she knew no one and ended up sitting alone in the college’s cafeteria at lunchtimes. She’d had a couple of invites from kindly people also on her course, but she’d turned them down. It wasn’t that she was being rude or anti-social, she just hated people to see her eat. She was a big girl—that was putting it politely—and when people saw her have a meal, she could feel the judgement rolling off them in waves, the thoughts that she was fat because she ate so much.

It wasn’t true. About what she ate, that was. She was fat, and there was no denying it. But it certainly wasn’t her doing. She’d been born to large parents, and despite a healthy diet and plenty of exercise, she was still overweight. All she ever managed to shift was a pound or two here and there, and that was hardly noticeable, particularly on a woman her size. She kept at it, though, resigned to being a larger lady, but determined not to get any bigger.

Because she’d always been big, she was used to the snide comments, the dirty and derisive looks, the open stares. So it didn’t upset her any more, but she still got irritated when people simply gawped at her. Surely one glance was enough for them to ascertain that yes, she was a shapely girl, and then move on. In most cases it was, particularly if she glared at the person in question. But not with this guy. Bonnie was sure he was trying to be subtle, because he often averted his gaze as she trained hers on him. But even if he’d looked away, she could tell by the position of his head and body that he’d been peeking at her. Again.

Now, on day seven, she was almost at boiling point. What the hell was his problem? Had no one ever told him it was rude to stare? She was on the verge of doing just that.

Eating her lunch was an unpleasant task, knowing she was being observed. If she hadn’t been so damn hungry, she’d have left it. But she’d been running late that morning and had committed that mortal sin—missing breakfast. So her chicken salad—with no dressing—was absolutely necessary to avoid making herself feel ill, or passing out, so she devoured every last morsel. She ate faster than she normally would, not because she was being greedy, but because the sooner she finished eating, the sooner she’d stop feeling so damn self-conscious about the guy across the room watching her.

She decided to give him one last chance. When she’d finished her lunch, she’d drink her carton of apple juice, then sit for a few seconds, doing nothing. If he continued to look at her, she was going to stomp over there and give him what for. If he didn’t, then she’d carry on with life and do her best to forget about him and his rudeness.

Deep down, she knew she was going to have to go over and say something to him. After seven days, he wasn’t going to suddenly amend his habits. She was just being a bit of a wimp, really, hoping to find some way of getting out of confrontation, because she didn’t like it, not one bit, and it was absolutely a last resort. Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of a single other way of stopping him from doing it. Perhaps she could put up a sign in front of her saying “Please stop staring at me.” But if he couldn’t take the hint when she’d glared at him, he wouldn’t take any notice of a piece of paper.

Several minutes later, her salad was gone and she moved onto her drink. With a sinking feeling in her gut, she saw he was just as interested in her now as he had been when she’d been eating. Damn, confrontation it was then.

Draining the carton, she gathered her plate, cutlery and other rubbish onto her tray, stood up and slid it onto the rack nearest her. Then she returned to her table, grabbed her bag, pulled in a deep breath through her nostrils and marched over to the Peeping Tom. She slid out the chair opposite him and sat down on it.

“Can I help you?” she asked. Now she was close to him, she couldn’t help noticing that, annoying gawping habit aside, the guy was pretty cute. He had strawberry blond hair, pale skin, eyebrows and eyelashes to match, startling blue eyes and full red lips. Every time she’d seen him he’d been sitting at a table, so she had little clue about his height or physique, but his face was a damn good start. He looked about her age, too, mid-thirties. She chastised herself—she was meant to be telling him off, not lusting over him!

“W—what do you mean?” he replied, the blood draining from his face and making him even paler.

“I think you know, Mister. I’ve been attending this college on a training course for seven working days now, and on every single one of them, I’ve caught you staring at me at lunchtime. And you haven’t even been subtle about it, either. You’ve gawped openly and it’s doing my head in. Which is why I’ve come to find out exactly what your problem is, and to ask you to please pack it in.”

“M—my problem?”

“Is it because I’m fat? Haven’t you ever seen a fat person before? If you haven’t, you’ve led a very sheltered life. And regardless of whether you have or not, hasn’t anyone ever told you that it’s rude to stare?” She was getting into her stride now—as much as she hated it, he’d driven her to this. She thought she’d kept the volume of her voice pretty low, but apparently not enough, because they were drawing stares from other tables nearby. But at least they had a valid reason to look—not many people could resist checking out an argument or a fight.

“F—fat?” The colour that had drained from his face came back, then heightened further and further until he began to resemble a tomato. He clutched the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles went white. “You’re not fat. Y—you’re beautiful.” He dropped his gaze to the table then, and remained resolutely silent until Bonnie spoke again, which was a good few seconds later, as what he’d said sunk in.


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, and is book editor for Cliterati. Find out more at Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at:

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Why Henley Is A Sexy Beast by Cynthia Sax

I'd like to welcome my friend, Cynthia Sax here today to talk about beastly heroes. I'm sold! You will be, too. Read on!!

I LOVE Beauty and the Beast stories. There’s something so very sexy about pairing a scarred primitive hero with a beautiful yet feisty heroine. He’s damaged and she’s the only one who can reach him, the only one who understands him.

Flashes Of Me, my most recent contemporary erotic romance from Avon, is a modern twist on the Beauty and the Beast story. Kat is a big breasted blonde, accustomed to being appreciated merely for her looks. She realizes she’s pretty and she also realizes being pretty isn’t always an asset. Because she’s often judged by her appearance, she rarely judges others by their appearances.

This is a good thing because Henley’s appearance scares the Nutella out of people. Henley is huge, scarred, and dresses all in black. He’s a formidable sight, striking fear into others, and he uses this appearance to help him in his job.

Henley is the head of cyber security at Blaine Technologies, charged with enforcing the rules and keeping everyone safe. No one dares break the rules around him.

This ability to frighten the pants off people isn’t always a blessing. It hurts Henley that everyone is scared at him, that coworkers avoid him, exiting the elevator when he enters, hiding from him when he stomps along the hallway. He’s traded the ability to do his job, to protect the people he secretly cares about, with a life of loneliness.

This inner conflict, the yearning for love coupled with the need to protect, makes Henley a very sexy beast. He willingly sacrifices his own happiness to safeguard others. When he meets the fearless, fun-loving Kat, he questions that he made the right decision.

What do you love about the beast hero?


Henley, the head of cyber security at Blaine Technologies, is a man no one crosses. He watches employees constantly using his network of cameras and enforces his rules by any means possible. Rumors of his violent past, his scarred hands and huge size have resulted in him being feared by everyone… almost everyone.

Katalina, the new intern, worries about the revelation of her most painful secret much more than she fears her sexy boss’s wrath. She sees the loneliness in his dark eyes, feels the gentleness in his marred fingers, tastes the need in his kisses, and she knows he watches her. His silly rules about not stripping for the cameras and no sex at the office are destined to be broken.

Kat likes to be watched. Henley can’t look away. Will this beauty be able to tame her beastly boss?

Author Website:

Twitter: @CynthiaSax

Friday, February 14, 2014

Book Blast ~ Beauty and the Beast by Shoshanna Evers

It's a book blast and you're invited to check it out! This time around it's for Beauty and the Beast by Shoshanna Evers!  Shoshanna will be awarding a signed paperback of Beauty and the Beast (US ONLY) plus a $10 Amazon or Nook GC to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour, and an electronic copy of the book to six randomly drawn commenters during the tour. Follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here:  

Beauty and the Beast (an erotic re-imagining)
By Shoshanna Evers

From bestselling erotica author Shoshanna Evers comes an erotic re-imagining of the classic fairytale, Beauty and the Beast.

With her father’s freedom at stake, Belle agrees to be the fearsome Beast’s prisoner in his enchanted castle. Held as his willing captive, Belle must submit to the Beast’s most primal desires to survive.

The Beast can’t let his little Beauty go free, not while there’s still hope that she might be the one to end his decade-long curse…and with true love’s kiss, return him to the Prince he once was.

Their story is one that begins with imprisonment—he in his monstrous body, she in a dungeon—but without this predicament, Beauty would never have met the Beast.

So we shall begin with what occurred on that fateful night when everything changed: when a lover was betrayed, a man deformed, and a castle shrouded in an enchantment…

AmazonB&NiBooks, SmashwordsAmazon UKGoodreads

Copyright 2013 Shoshanna Evers
All Rights Reserved.

Beast bared his fangs, and she cringed.

“Y-you’re smiling,” Belle said. It might take her a while to get used to that.

“I am. I have a proposition for you.” He gently smoothed her skirt back over burning bottom, and turned her around to face him. “I haven’t had a woman in my bed for a very long time. If you’d be willing to sleep with me, I’d reduce your lifetime imprisonment to one short year.”

Belle gasped, both at the idea of sleeping with him, and the idea of a life sentence being reduced to a year.

“You’d crush me to death,” she said, looking up at his towering hulk. 

“I would not. Wasn’t I very gentle with you earlier, in your cell, when I made you feel so amazing, as you put it? Right before you—”

Right before she cut him and ran. Yes, she could recall something like that happening.

“It’s really not ‘willing’ if I must bed you for my freedom,” she pointed out.

“Forget I said anything,” he growled. “I’ll see you safely to your cell.”

“Wait!” She paused, frantic, not willing to give up her one chance of freedom. And also not willing to give up a very rational excuse for having more experiences like the one he’d given her earlier. “Three months. Then I can go.”

“Six months, and you do everything I say.”

“It’s—It’s a deal, Beast.” She sighed. “I’m yours for six months. And then you set me free and you forget all about me and my Papa.”

Beast smiled. Yes…definitely a smile. “I very much doubt I will ever forget you, beauty. But I’ll never harm you.”

Her thoughts immediately flew to her sore bottom, at the way he spanked her so thoroughly. Although, it was as he said. He’d hurt her, he had not harmed her. She would remember her punishment when she sat down for a day or two, but it wasn’t like he’d crippled her.

Or ate her. That was something to be grateful for.

Beast looked around his castle as though seeing it for the first time. “I suppose, if you’ll be staying awhile, we could arrange more suitable sleeping quarters for you.”

“In your bed,” she guessed.

“You’ll have your own suite.” He spoke louder, and Belle realized he was probably summoning the fairies. “Belle will need a suite, with a four poster bed, a bath, dresses in the armoire, and a fire ready for her.”

“The fairies can do all that?” she asked.

“Fairies?” He shook his head and began to say something, but it just sounded like growling to her.


“Never mind. If you’d like to believe we have a fairy infestation, then by all means. Believe what you will.” Beast gestured for her to follow him up the stairs and into the west wing of the castle.

She followed, mesmerized by the glorious tapestries and paintings that adorned the long hallways. Where had a beast gotten such wealth?

One oil painting, of a young man, about her age perhaps, caught her eye. His handsome face seemed to draw her in. Belle stopped in front of it, gazing at the portrait.

“He’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“Thank you,” Beast said. “I mean…I’m glad you appreciate the art in my castle.”

There was something familiar about the young man’s intense green eyes.

“Do I—do I know him?” she asked.

“Perhaps. You would have been a child when this portrait was taken.”

She looked at the inscription on the gold plaque beneath the portrait. It said “Prince Frederick,” and was dated ten years prior. That would have been when she was nine years old, and certainly never out and about, gazing into handsome princes’ green eyes.

“I suppose I don’t,” she said.

For some reason the thought made her sad. What had become of that young man? Perhaps the portrait was from another country. She’d never heard of a Prince Frederick before.

Beast kept walking down the corridor, so she followed.

“I imagine you ate everyone who lived in this castle,” Belle said. “That’s why they aren’t here, and…you are.”

Beast whirled around, and she was so caught off guard that she stumbled against his enormous chest.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped.

“That is not what happened.”

“The painting was ten years ago. Ten years ago, you changed. You told me so. I was merely…taking an educated guess.”

“There was nothing educated about it,” Beast said. “And if you’ll be staying under my roof for the next six months, you might want to reconsider playing guessing games if you want us to get along.”

She put her hand to her mouth. “I apologize.”

“We’re here.” He stopped in front of a large door, with the words “Belle’s Suite” etched into a small silver placard on the door. “If you need anything—”

“I’ll just ask the fairies,” she finished for him.

“Um, yes. Exactly.”

“Will I be sleeping…uninterrupted?” She blushed as she spoke the words, but she had to know if he’d be taking her up on their deal tonight.

“Dawn is almost here. Sleep as late as you’d like. I won’t bother you until you come to me.”

“But…what if I never choose to…come to you?”

Beast raised his heavy brow. “Your six months begins when you do. Take as long as you need.”

He held opened the door to her suite and she stepped inside, reveling at the sight of the large four poster bed with the flowing white linens, the glowing warmth of the fire burning in the fireplace, and most of all…the roses. They were everywhere, the scent beckoning her.

“Good night, beauty.”

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Critically-acclaimed author Shoshanna Evers has written dozens of sexy stories including
Amazon Erotica Bestsellers Overheated, and Enslaved, Book 1 in the Enslaved Trilogy, as well as the post-apocalyptic dystopian Pulse Trilogy from Simon & Schuster Pocket  Star. Her work has been featured in Best Bondage Erotica 2012 and Best Bondage Erotica 2013, the Penguin/Berkley Heat anthology Agony/Ecstasy, and numerous erotic BDSM novellas including Chastity Belt and Punishing the Art Thief from Ellora's Cave Publishing.

The non-fiction anthology Shoshanna Evers edited and contributed to, How To Write Hot Sex: Tips from Multi-Published Erotic Romance Authors, is a #1 Bestseller in the Authorship, Erotica Writing Reference, and Romance Writing categories on Amazon.

Reviewers have called Shoshanna’s writing “fast paced, intense, and sexual…every naughty fantasy come to life for the reader” with stories where “the plot is fresh and the pacing excellent, the emotions…real and poignant.”

Shoshanna used to work as a syndicated advice columnist and a registered nurse, but now she’s a full-time smut writer and a home-schooling mom. She lives with her family and two big dogs in Northern Idaho.

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Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Super Book Blast ~ Summertime Dream by Babette James

It's a book blast and you're invited! Check it out! Babette will award a $10 Amazon GC to two (2) randomly drawn commenters during the tour, and a $10 Amazon GC to one (1) randomly drawn host. And remember: FREE ON AMAZON FOR THE DURATION OF THIS TOUR. How cool is that?

Remember, the more you comment, the better your chances of winning! The tour dates can be found here: 

Summertime Dream
by Babette James


The Fourth of July is over, but for these summer lovers the fireworks have just begun.

An unexpected inheritance brings business consultant Christopher Gordon from Los Angeles to quaint Falk’s Bend. He’s carved a week from his demanding schedule to list his great-grandparents’ house for sale and explore his roots. However, disturbing family secrets and the sweet temptation of writer Margie Olsson derail his plans, challenging him to seize the elusive dream missing from his hectic life — love.

A recent brush with death shook Margie’s life, but not her dreams and she’s ready to move forward. Only, standing up to her loving, over-protective family isn’t easy. Helping Christopher explore the derelict mansion and unravel his grandmother’s mysterious past should be a harmless fun taste of independence. But when her experimental summer fling ignites into unexpected love, how can her small town dreams work with his big city life?


And now an excerpt!  

She tippy-toed after him up the side porch steps, careful to avoid putting the high heels of her sandals through the old wood. “We’re not wearing the best exploring clothes.” She smoothed her hands over the skirt of her dress. Both of them were dressed more for church or a dinner date.

He regarded her from beside the boarded front door, his steady gaze pausing on her mouth before flinching upward. “You look great. Really pretty in that peach color.” A flush rose in his cheeks, and he focused on sorting through the neatly labeled ring of keys.

Her own cheeks burned. Was he also remembering those kisses yesterday? “Thanks.”

Christopher removed the padlock and swung open both panels, revealing the screen doors and the original ornamented and leaded glass double entry doors, both curving into a graceful peaked arch like a church door.

“Oh, all the glass is safe. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Christopher nodded as he fit an old-fashioned key into the ornate brass lock. He gripped the doorknob and took a deep breath. “Ready?”

The hinges whined and creaked as he pushed the door inward. Daylight wedged into the short entry vestibule, revealing another doorway formed by elegant leaded glass sidelights and transom, and faded across the hardwood floor into the gloomy grand entry hall. Disturbed dust floated through the sunlight.

Christopher flicked on the flashlight and stepped into the once-majestic hall. Margie followed, nose wrinkling at the musty stale air. He swung the light upward, revealing an elaborate lamp fixture hanging from a plaster medallion, the crystal pendants festooned with spider webs. “Our very own haunted house, huh?”


Babette James writes sweetly scorching contemporary romance and loves reading nail-biting tales with a satisfying happily ever after. When not dreaming up stories, she enjoys playing with new bread recipes and dabbling with paints. A teacher, she loves encouraging new readers and writers as they discover their growing abilities. Her class cheers when it’s time for their spelling test! Born in New Jersey and raised in Southern California, she’s had a life-long love of the desert and going down the shore. Babette now lives in New Jersey with her wonderfully patient husband and extremely spoiled cats.

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Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Book Blast ~ After The Rain by Daisy Harris

It's a book blast and you're invited to check it out! This time around it's for Daisy Harris' After the Rain!
Daisy will be awarding a $20 gift card to Amazon or Barnes and Noble to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour, and a $10 gift card to a randomly drawn host.
Encourage your readers to follow the tour and comment; the more they comment, the better their chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here: 

After the Rain
by Daisy Harris

They’re going to need a bigger tent.

Henri’s list of bad exes is as long as his arm, but nothing prepared him for his latest, heart-stomping breakup. He thought he couldn’t feel more abandoned, until his ride for a group camping trip bails, leaving him stuck driving for hours with a guy who is absolutely not his type.

After breaking up with his girlfriend of five years, firefighter Logan is working up the nerve to explore his interest in men. He knows he’s gay. He just hasn’t had the guts to do anything about it…until now.

Henri’s big-city attitude and tight jeans push every last one of Logan’s buttons, and when he and Henri have to share a tent, Logan is thrilled. He should have realized Pacific Northwest weather would get wet—forcing them to strip naked. Though the steam between them is thicker than coastal fog, Henri’s not sure he can let himself fall for another man. Not even the guy who finally treats him right.

Warning: Contains bad ex-boyfriends, even worse weather, and more than your average amount of sex in a tent. May not be suitable for those with germ phobias, outdoor aversions or fear of damp shoes.

Excerpt Three:

Logan pulled off his helmet, and Henri did the same. There was a moment when their eyes met, Logan grinning and Henri grinning right back. Henri realized Logan was going to kiss him a split second before it happened.

Henri jerked to get out of the way before their lips touched, and though Logan’s kiss landed at Henri’s hairline, a thrill of panic still ran through him. No way. Herpes! Logan couldn’t kiss him, and Henri definitely couldn’t kiss Logan back. Plenty of other guys would have taken the risk—especially if it was just a kiss—but Henri couldn’t.

“Oh.” Logan froze, his breath still in Henri’s hair. Slowly, he stepped back. “I’m sorry.”

“No. It’s fine.” Henri held his hands palms up, wishing he could explain in a few words, but the guys on the ridge above were already calling to them, hollering that it was time for lunch.

“I didn’t mean...” Logan turned away, hiding his expression. “I just mean it’s no big deal.” Shoulders curled forward, Logan headed up the stairs.

“Logan,” Henri called after him. He hated this. If things were different, he would have been on Logan from the second he saw what he was hiding under his shirt. He would have kissed him and even given his dick a squeeze for good measure. Now he’d be stuck with half explanations all weekend. “Wait up.”


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Birkenstock-wearing glamour girl and mother of two by immaculate conception, Daisy Harris still isn't sure if she writes erotica. Her romances start out innocently enough. However, her characters behave like complete sluts. Much to Miss Harris's dismay the sex tends to get completely out of hand.

She writes about fantastical creatures and about young men getting their freak on, and she's never missed an episode of The Walking Dead.

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