To sweeten the start of your week, here's some good news: there's an amazing medieval/Highlander romance bonanza giveaway waiting for you to enter right now and..wait for it…it's PRINT copies!
Yep, I know.
That's 18 medieval/Highlander romances, by some of your favorite romance authors, waiting to be won by one lucky reader. I'm so honored to be part of this.
Look at all these gorgeous books!!
So, how to win?
Click the image above or the link below & answer ONE question (although admittedly, it's a toughie…), and you're done!
Part of the deal is you get signed up for the newsletter lists of the authors' participating in the giveaway, but that's a good thing, right?? Because then you get to find out whenever new medieval/Highlander romances are releasing.
Didn't I tell you 2016 was going to be a year of releases??
Okay, to be fair, this is a re-release, so if it sounds familiar, that's why. It originally came out from Simon & Schuster/Gallery Books in 2011. It's INSANE to think that means I wrote this 6 years ago. So, what's new? I've revised & cleaned things up. I tweaked and clarified and tightened scenes and backstory, but was super careful to keep the basic plot and all character arcs the same. I mean, the story exists. I can't turn it into a different story just because 6 years have passed. It IS that story. So, Jamie's just as hard, Eva's just as clever, they're both on dangerous, colliding missions, and they still have to find their way to each other through pain & darkness & the shattered shards of their hard-broken hearts. I also revised some of the sex scenes. Okay, all of them.
An excerpt for you! From Eva & Jamie's first kiss...
THEY WERE EACH LEANING halfway across the table, staring at the other, angry and aroused—at least Jamie was; Eva simply looked murderously intent—when she put her hands on his shoulders, leaned forward, and touched her mouth to his.
He went still. Her lips skidded over his, exerting no more pressure than breath itself.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, but kept his voice low, for he knew intrigue, and he knew women, and if a beautiful woman had decided to kiss you in a tavern, you did not simply wrench your mouth away. Not immediately.
“I am kissing you,” she whispered. “It is a ruse.”
It didn’t feel like a ruse to his cock, which stood at attention at the first brush of her lips. She continued forming whisper-words against his mouth, making him acutely, infuriatingly aware of her as an object of unadulterated lust.
“They are here,” she whispered. “The brutes who took the padre.” Her slim hands gripped his shoulders more tightly.
“Talking to men at the counter.”
Jamie’s gaze tracked over without moving his face. He saw them, speaking to a pair of captains. One of them—whoever quoted the lower rate, no doubt—would be hired to transport them across the water.
“I do not think they would like to see my face again.”
His attention swung back to her. “What do you mean ‘again’?” he demanded, but he did it against her lips.
Their eyes met, their heads tipped back slightly, their lips barely a breath apart.
“I am of the belief they saw me,” she whispered in the abstract, veiled way she had of communicating.
Oh, the things this woman had to hide.
“Why are you ‘of this belief’?” he asked grimly. The moment those men walked back outside, with their chosen captain, he would follow.
“Because I tried to stop them from abducting Father Peter, and they struck me, and called me an impolite name. Several of them.”
His attention riveted on her more firmly. “You did what?”
“Tried to stop them.”
He cursed softly. “Did they hurt you?”
She blew out an impatient breath that ruffled across his lips. “You must focus, Jamie rogue. It is of no importance what has happened to me. What I am saying is they will recognize me. My face is something that would knock on even their stupid skulls, and they will say, ‘Why is she here, when she was also there?’ and I will have no answer for them.”
Jamie shifted his gaze again. A thick-chested man behind the counter was speaking to the brutes. He pointed toward the door beside their table.
She closed her eyes and tilted her face away, which made her lips brush across his again. “I suppose you cannot do something terrible just now, such as poke out their eyes?” she asked, sounding desperate.
“No,” he said in a calm, measured voice. “That would draw attention.”
She swallowed. “Of course. Then I will keep kissing you.” She touched her lips to his, another tiny kiss. Which may have been why he did not simply shove her back in her seat with a forearm to her throat.
Or mayhap it was the long, black hair trailing out from under the shapeless hood, framing a pale, delicate face with startlingly angular cheekbones. She did not eat enough. Her eyelashes were long, her eyes so dark grey they were almost black. And...a black and blue bruise was forming on her cheekbone.
The brutes had struck her.
Something low-down and hot fired inside him.
He pushed his hand under her shapeless hood and shoved his fingers up high into her hair, then curled them around the back of her skull and tilted her face up to him.
Her eyes flew open. “Rogue, what are you doing?”
“I’m going to kiss you,” he murmured back.
Eva’s world contracted to the beat of her heart, the feel of those hard, gloved fingers gripping her head, and the fiery blue eyes staring down into hers.
“I already am kissing you,” she whispered.
“No you aren’t,” he said, and lowered his mouth to hers.
So, there you go. The beginning of the downhill ride. :)
Go get it! Right now, ebook only, but print version coming!
This is a little OT, if you think about my blog as a place to find out about my historical romances. But if you think about it as a place to learn about awesome books, then we're rolling right along in-topic.
My friend & critique partner Rachel Grant writes stellar romantic suspense/thrillers: smart, sexy, full of big plots & big adventure with alpha heroes and capable heroines.
What's not to love??
Her short novel, WITHHOLDING EVIDENCE, is currently in a new boxed set featuring Navy SEAL heroes--Wet 'N Wild Navy SEALS.
Here's an excerpt from the opening of WITHHOLDING EVIDENCE, the first meet between hero & heroine.
Trina Sorensen stiffened her spine and rang the town house doorbell. She couldn’t hear a chime, so
after a moment of hesitation, she followed up with a knock. Seconds ticked by without any sound of movement on the other side. She rang the bell again, and then repeated the knock for good measure. The front door was on the ground floor, next to the garage. Glancing upward, she checked out the windows of the two upper floors. No lights on, but at nine in the morning on a hot August day in Falls Church, that didn’t tell her anything. If the man she hoped to meet was home, he’d have to descend at least one flight of stairs, possibly two.
She was about to ring the bell again when the door whipped open, startling her. She stepped back, then remembered she needed to project poise and straightened to meet her target’s gaze.
Keith Hatcher was even more handsome in person than in his official navy photo, but she couldn’t let that fluster her. It just meant he’d been blessed with good genes, a rather superficial measure of a person, really.
She took a deep breath and held out her hand. “Mr. Hatcher, Trina Sorensen, historian with Naval History and Heritage Command. I’d like to ask you a few questions about Somalia.” She cringed as she said the last part. Too perky. Too eager. That was not how to approach a former navy SEAL when asking about a mission.
Sporting tousled dark hair that suggested he may have just gotten out of bed, and wearing low-rise jeans and nothing else, the man leaned an impressive bare bicep against the doorframe and raised a quizzical thick eyebrow. “Trina? Cute name.” He smiled. “It fits.” He reached out and touched the top of her head. “But I think you should go back to the day care center you escaped from and leave me alone.” He stepped back, and the door slammed shut.
She jolted back a step. He did not just pat her on the head and slam the door in her face.
Except that was exactly what Senior Chief Petty Officer Keith Hatcher had done.
She was aware she looked young, but dammit, she was thirty-one freaking years old—the same age as Hatcher. She squared her shoulders and rang the bell again. Seconds ticked by. Then minutes. She pounded with the side of her fist.
Finally the door opened. “Yes?” He leaned against the doorjamb again, this time stretching out an arm to touch the hinged side of the opening. His body language conveyed amusement mixed with annoyance.
“Senior Chief, I’m Dr. Trina Sorensen”—she never referred to herself with the pretentious title of doctor, but figured his crack about day care warranted it—“and I’m researching your SEAL team’s work in Somalia five years ago for Naval History and Heritage Command and the Pentagon. You must answer my questions.”
“Dollface, it’s Sunday morning. The only thing I must do today is jack off.”
She crossed her arms. “Fine. I can wait. It’ll be what, one, maybe two minutes?”
Go get this book! It's a standalone too, but you can get it for a limited time as part of the boxed set.
I've heard from some readers asking about this, so thought I'd give a little update...I will absolutely be making CLAIMING HER available in paperback!
Since I'm publishing this myself, all ebook and print formatting & cover detail is on me. It turns out I'm more ineptslow on the uptake meticulous than I thought when it comes to print formatting.
It's a detailed job, with lots of cutting and pasting, followed by lots of, "What...how large should the margin be? But wait...I thought I did that...okay, I'll change that and...what? Now what??"
i.e. It's pretty time-consuming.
I'll get better at it, but for now, I decided I'd better write more books than format.
I'll be hiring out the job of paperback formatting soon, and by sometime this summer, you'll be able to get a paperback copy of CLAIMING HER in your hot little hands, should that be the sort of thing you like having in your hot hands.
Onward, and thanks to the readers who are writing and reviewing,to say how much they love this story in the RENEGADES AND OUTLAWS collection. More on the way!
To celebrate it being Monday, I thought a sexy excerpt might be in order. Or out of order, but in a good way.
If you're reading CLAIMING HER, I hope you're loving it!
If you're not…Aodh's waiting for you. Because guess what happens?? This!!
(excerpt probably nsfw. Okay, definitely not.)
(fyi, 'Aodh' is pronounced "Ay' and I put the faintest 'd' sound on the end, the way you'd say the beginning of "Aidan.")
Katarina has done something that, in retrospect, she perhaps should not have done. In any event, Aodh is not pleased, because he fears her actions may have endangered his rebellion. He's about to, um...work it out]
She backed up another step.
His eyes were dark with intent. He meant to do this, whether or not she wished it. Her breath staggered out in unsteady gasps.
“You don’t want me to have to come and get you, lass.”
Head bent, face flaming, she took an extremely small step his direction and peeked out from under lowered lashes. He’d sat down on the edge of the bed.
Bolts of cold fire lanced across her breasts. Her breath came faster and faster as she reached out and laid her hand in his.
He pulled her to stand before him.
Her breasts heaved. They felt full, trapped. He cupped one, his hand hot through the fabric, then he slid his palm down to her waist. His fingertips pinched her chemise.
“Pull it up.”
She pulled it as far as her knees, trembling.
She did, at once stunned and stupefied. Her body felt as if it would float right up out of the window. He took her fingers, kissed her knuckles. “Lie down.”
She started to lie on the bed, but he stopped her. He patted his thighs. “On me. On your belly, lass. Right here.”
Fire flared across her cheeks. “Oh, Aodh.”
He took her hand and made her bend her knees, drop to the floor, then tugged her forward to lay her body over his thighs.
Thundering heart, whirling head, blood firing in hot pulses. The room all but spun. Hard-muscled thighs pushed against her breasts. She stared ahead at the wall, the tiny decorations of swirling patterns, hearts and clubs. He rested one palm gently on her bottom. Through the thin linen shift, it was an imprint of heat. She made a tiny sound.
“Pull it up.”
Her body jolted. She reached down for the thin fabric and tugged the chemise the rest of the way up, baring herself to the hips. “Don’t hurt me,” she whispered.
“Och, I’m going to hurt you, lass.” He skidded his palm gently over the cool curve of her bottom. “But I think I’ll make you like it.”
He lifted his hand, and brought it down hard.
Her body jerked as if lightning had surged through it, a shocking, hard shudder of…pleasure. Her head flung up, her mouth rounded around a silent cry.
He bent by her ear. “Did you like that?”
Yay for Irish warlord heroes with (mostly) good hearts and extremely bad carnal intentions!
It was an openmouthed,
unforgiving, conquest of a kiss, his hands holding her face, pulling her down
to him. She returned it with full ardor, their tongues tangling. They paused
only when he leaned her back with a muttered instruction, so he could sweep the
chemise up over her head and fling it away. Then she was naked before him.
He made a dark
sound of approval. Cool air washed over her breasts and no matter that she’d been bared to
him once before, the urge to hide was the strongest thing in her. It came to
the fore, and she began to cover herself.
“No, Katy. I want to see you.”
He took her wrists and gently lifted them, parting
her arms, holding them up in the air, stretched out wide, so he could stare at
The breath burst
from her. She
closed her eyes, unable to withstand the force of desire she saw in him. For
she knew it was in her too.
“I’m going to take you now.” Threat, promise,
warning, it was all those things, and her body felt as if he’d strung her up on
bolts of lightning. “Hard and deep.” Her wrists hung in his hands as he leaned
forward and flicked his tongue across her breast. “I’m not going to stop.” He
grazed her with his teeth, and her head dropped forward. “Until you’re laid
out, tossing your head and crying my name.” His gaze swept up. “And then I'm
going to take you harder.”