Just finished INSIDE OUT and have the end of book brain slump (not pretty, but at least my house is a lot cleaner and I manage to make real meals and stuff for the brood) So I saw some fabulous excerpts and thought, why not an excerpt from INSATIABLE?

PHANTOM CORPS: INSATIABLE by LAUREN DANE
Copyright 2010, Lauren Dane
All Rights Reserved, The Berkley Publishing Group
Releasing July 6

“Daniel.” She poked him. “Wake up.”

“Why?” he mumbled.

“Three hours are up.”

“No. I had another short dream. I had time left.” He rolled to sit up, and the cold air got under the blankets.

“I don’t think so. Maybe time moves differently in your ’Verse. But here we use chronos. Mine says our three hours have passed.”

He got out of bed, grabbing his pants and pulling them on.

“And even if you did have a short time left, you needn’t be so cross.”

“I have a very good internal chrono.” He went to wash his face and noted his skin had gone very pale and his hair very dark. After the pills kicked in, his eyes had gone from green to brown. He added a scar on his neck, leading up to his ear.

She barged around the corner to continue pestering him. “You’re a pain in the—” Her eyes widened. “You’re very good at this disguise part of the job. I should cut my hair, don’t you think?”

His gut cramped at the thought. “It’s very beautiful,” he said before he could say something sane and professional. “I mean, you’d still be beautiful with short hair and—”

She put two fingers over his lips and froze, before moving her hand away. Then she pressed her mouth to his. He hadn’t expected it, but he couldn’t step away either.

Her lips were sweet, sweet as the kiss was. A soft exploration of his mouth with hers. At first. It wasn’t so much innocent as it was unexpected. It snared him, much like her taste had. She was warm against him, relaxed, obviously trusting him more than any rational woman should have. His blood surged with need for her, with want, demand for more.

He fisted his hands to keep from hauling her against him, from stroking the elegant curve of her spine down to her ass. A groan bubbled from deep within his gut at the memory of the fantasy he’d had the day before. She sighed, taking it into herself.

It was when she stepped closer, her fingers digging into the front of his shirt, molding herself to his body and her tongue sliding into his mouth, that he finally found his sanity about a meter from where all the blood in his body had gathered.

“Seven hells,” he gusted as he set her back from him, holding her upper arms firmly. “That can’t happen again.” Her mouth called to him, those luscious lips just so slightly swollen.

“Why?” She licked her lips, and he groaned.

“Stop that. Carina, this is a bad idea.”

A smile played on her lips as she realized the extent of her power. Gods, he was in trouble now.

“Why? Really? You kissed me back. You’re attracted to me. I can see it. I can taste it.” She pressed fingers to her lips, and he struggled to breathe.

“You’re my cargo. You have something that could save the lives of millions. You’re . . . I bet you’re untouched, aren’t you?” He forged on without an answer. “I’m not. I’m not a nice man. I kill people. All the time. You need a nice man. A gentle man who can give you the life you were bred for.”

She waved a hand as she turned. He took advantage of her distraction and headed back out toward the main room.

“Where are you going? I need your help with my hair,” she called out.

“Tell me when to come back there.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair, standing it on end.

“Now. Gods, did your mother drop you on your head a lot as a child?”

“You’re pretty mouthy,” he mumbled as he headed around the corner and found her in little more than sheer underclothes. “Hey!” He turned his back. “You’re naked. I said when you were ready.”

“You’ll get hair in my clothes and it will itch. Cut it short.” She handed him shears as he turned back around and tried in vain not to look at the shadow of dark pink nipples against the pale material.

“Are you sure about this?” He sifted fingers through it, so long and soft. Beautiful and feminine. “If you braid it, you can tuck it into a watch cap, and no one will know the difference. Women of all ranks have long hair. You don’t have to cut it.”

She turned, so close she brushed against him. “Women of all classes have short hair, too. Do you like it?” Tossing her head, pale burnt-sugar hair tumbled around her shoulders.

The scent of her choked him in the best kind of way. This chemistry between them was so very delicious, even if he knew anything else between them was totally impossible.

“It’s lovely. It’s up to you.” He tried to step back, but he was boxed in, and she knew it.

“I am a virgin, you know. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have desires.” She leaned in, brushing her cheek against his chest. His cock ached, the pulse as he got harder and harder was an angry throb. “I do. Have desires, that is. I’ve never had the opportunity to express them and certainly not with anyone like you. There’s no one quite like you, Daniel.”

“You’d do well to remember that, Carina.” He pointed to the stuff he’d left on a ledge near the basin. “You’re my sister again. We’ll call you Carrie, and I am Neil. We’re itinerant workers, looking to get on with the grain shipments. Do you know anything about wheat? It’s a crop brought from Earth, and I know it’s grown out here. We’re from Suerte.”

He managed to step neatly away once she’d turned to look. “I always wanted blue eyes.” She began to plait her hair into two long braids as she spoke. “I’ll keep it long for now. And I’m very well aware that there’s no one like you. This isn’t over.”

She wanted to laugh when he scurried from the room. An altogether new sort of power surged through her veins. Her allure as a woman wasn’t new, not really. But this sort of romantic chase, the sensual dance they did as he pretended to resist her, was something she’d never imagined, and it was thrilling.

If she had to risk her life, leave her family behind and hare off into new territory with a man like him, she planned to enjoy every moment of it.

After Laura Bradford made me an offer of representation in January, the women of this blog welcomed me into the fold with open arms and a lot of warmth. We share a discussion thread, and mostly that means that I eavesdrop on these talented ladies as they share industry tips and wealth of knowledge earned on the battlefield of publishing. I feel very lucky to be with them in the trenches, and I look forward to getting to know them better.

Now, on to my teaser. I’m not yet published, but I thought it would be great to give you a taste of my writing with the opening of my young adult novel, Touched. Remy comes from an abusive home, but she can heal people with her touch. When her father takes custody of her, she must deal with living with his new family in a new town. Enter Asher Blackwell, a boy with powers of his own. The secrets these two keep from each other could kill them both.

Okay. This is going to hurt like hell.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the room, my movements piercing the alcoholic haze insulating Dean. He straightened to his full six foot three when he noticed me, his eye twitching when I stared back unblinking. Maybe he suspected I was a freak and it scared him. Maybe he was scared of himself, of what he wanted from me. I figured that’s why he mostly hit my mother when I wasn’t around.

Unknotting my hands from white knuckled fists, I hoped to diffuse the tension before it exploded.

“You’re home early,” he said, his heavy-lidded stare straying over me without meeting my eyes.

Tall and plain, I was skinny with no curves, but that didn’t matter. My skin crawled when his pale blue eyes tracked me through a room. I went out of my way to stay away when he was alone in the apartment, but sometimes he managed to corner me in the shadows of our dim hallway. Sick in ways I couldn’t cure, he’d crowd me with his hulking body and laugh when I’d lurch away to avoid his touch.

The funny thing was that Dean looked like the grown version of that charming, innocent boy all the girls crushed on in high school. He had soft, blonde curls and a friendly, open face that charmed the unaware. Perhaps that’s what had attracted Anna to him in the first place.

“Maybe I should call ahead next time?” I mused. “That way you could plan to finish beating my mother by 9:05, I can arrange to have the ambulance here by 9:10, and we can all be in bed by midnight.”

My flat voice held no sarcasm, only bitter resignation. Dean’s hands tightened into fists that could feel like steel. I’d stayed too long, trying to protect my mother, but Anna loved Dean more than anything. More than me. Dean loved how my father’s child support checks kept him drinking down to the worm at the bottom of his tequila bottles.

He stepped closer. “Gonna stop me, princess?”

My indifferent act never fooled him. After seeing Anna’s unconscious body on the floor, I wished I could kill him. I shuddered in anticipation of the brutality to come and the moment I would touch Anna. Never taking my eyes from him, I slid sideways to keep the threadbare couch and scarred coffee table between us. Anna moaned, and Dean’s gaze flicked to her, his lip curled in disgust.

“You think you’re a man because you beat up women?” I taunted to distract him.

His smile raised the hair on my arms. It was a smile of warning – a smile to predict the weather by because hell was sure to rain down on its recipient. “You think you’re better than me, kid, but you’re gonna respect me.” He whipped his belt from the loops of his dirty jeans. The buckle glinted in the light when he wrapped the black leather around his fist – a bright, shiny weapon.

Hate speared through me, along with paralyzing fear. Better to make him angry, I decided. Then, maybe, it would end faster. I sneered while sidling closer to Anna.

“Respect you? You’re barely human. A pathetic coward. You want to hit me, don’t you, Dean? Go ahead.”

I’d never ridiculed hi before and, within two feet of Anna’s limp body, my courage faltered. Stupid, Stupid. He’ll kill us both. At least the ghoulish waiting game would be over. He’d come close enough to touch me when I whispered, “I dare you to try.”

He charged and pulled back his arm to hit me as I stepped in front of Anna. His fist landed in my stomach, and I tripped over her. My head bounced off the wall with a dull thud. Dean’s hand clamped around my throat, stalling my fall to the ground as he pinned me, and I inhaled the stale mix of sweat and tobacco wafting from him. Cutting off my breath, he smiled and squeezed his fingers until the pain weakened my knees.

Anna rolled at my feet and screamed, “No!” She jumped on Dean, trying to drag him off me, her red fingernails biting into his forearm. Desperate for air, I clamped one hand on his arm and clutched my mother with the other.

My eyes squeezed shut. I’m dying, I thought. Then my ability to think fractured. The mental wall barricading my power collapsed and, without the defense, Anna’s pain thundered through me, allowing me to see inside her body. I noted two broken ribs, a concussion, black eye, and bruises scattered all over her body. Dots of color popped against my closed lids in a spectacular fireworks show. My lungs constricted, and I embraced Anna’s aches, healing them and grafting her pain to my own.

Dean’s grip loosened as he stumbled beneath Anna’s attack, and he yanked her hair to toss her away. She sobbed, and the storm inside me doubled and tripled in size. I had failed to protect her. Filled with rage, I imagined all my pain striking Dean down like fiery lightning.

Violent red light sizzled between my hand and his arm. His face froze in horror as his body jerked and convulsed. A loud crack splintered the air – his ribs breaking or mine – and I passed out.

Some advice I recently received from my agent/goddess was that I need to shed my skin and go running in the rain. She meant mentally, of course, but it’s probably sage advice for anyone. I’m a bit out of shape but I love an adventure, so I’m going to do this with an edge. I’m going to wear expensive heels, and okay, I will be wearing one of those lacy Victoria Secret see-through bra/thong sets because sexy is good. I’ll need a new name. Remember, I’m gorgeous, fit, seen only by moonbeams, and you are, too, because you’re in this fantasy world with me.
So let’s start running!

NIGHTSPELLS
By Iris Sperry

The spell awakened me, beginning its nightly torture.
Tensing, I held my breath, squeezing my eyes shut, clenching my thighs tightly together, desperate to fight it off. The dark shadow slid over me as I lay on my stomach, my head barely settled on my pillow. I could feel lazy darkness stroke my body, a lover’s palm skimming my buttocks and the curve of my spine possessively. Enchanted fingers touched my breasts, teasing my nipples with familiarity, though I tried to squirm away. It is impossible to escape the torture chamber of one’s dreams, and the insomnia of a determined curse.
The darkness sent its smoothness down my body, licking the curve of my bottom cheeks with warmth and subtle intent. I moaned, beginning to need the heat, the sure seduction of my body. I wanted more, was being driven mad by what was just beyond my reach. My thighs seemed to relax and part of their own accord, but it was my own frantic wish for release that made me open myself to the magic. Languid, purposeful circling of my most private area pulled a cry from me that only my pillow heard; warm, wet juices spilled from me. Desire shifted to deep need; I cried out, begging my shadow lover for release.
And just as I begged, I heard my lover’s satisfied chuckle. He departed, leaving me gasping against the sheets, now clammy with the urgent needs of my body. Wracked by desire so sharp it had no end, I had no choice but to sink my fingers into myself to free my body from its prison. The climax I sought shattered me, drawing an agonized cry from my soul.  And then though I slept, I wasn’t at peace.
* * *
I went to the Chamber of Mercury for the assigned summit, groggy from interrupted sleep. My sleep patterns had been completely ruined for the past three months, ever since Marisa, my chief rival, had lobbed her spell at me. I’d consulted wizards and shamans to free myself, had tried any number of sleep potions to make me sleep the sleep of the dead. My lover was too thorough, the spell too deadly. It was a cruel spell, and Marisa had planned it well. I felt like my mind was no longer my most valuable asset in the world in which we fought.
There would be a day when I would sleep again, free of a lover who turned me to shivering, pleading jelly. It was a certain vow I made myself. Gulping hot coffee, I took a seat in the wide, stadium-seated Chamber.
“Hi.”
Sula, a fellow fighter, slid into the space next to me, plopping a bagel down on the glass desk top. “Cinnamon raisin.”
“Thanks.” I did appreciate the gesture. I just wasn’t certain I could eat. My body was being driven into a state of deprivation from which it never fully recovered.
“You have to eat, Eden. You look like you haven’t had a meal—”
I waved away her words. I knew I looked like hell. The mirror told me that every day. It was part of Marisa’s plan to wear me down, psychically and physically. “I’ll eat. I promise.”
Sula didn’t look convinced, but she wouldn’t press her point, either. She was too good a friend to heap more guilt on me. I was—had been—a top warrior for Mercury.
I would regain my razor-sharp focus and strength.
“You know they’re going to quarantine you,” Sula said.
It wasn’t a warning, just a fact of what we both knew. When wizards and renowned healers can’t fix your problem, the powers-that-be have to protect the kingdom. I’d considered the possibility that I was suffering from a deliberate infectious process. Yet our compound was a secure zone. Whatever was happening to me couldn’t be allowed to put other fighters at risk; there was no way of knowing what my body might be being used for.
I’d been allowed time to heal, and though I continued to tell the higher-ups that I was fine, the strain of the insidious attack showed on my face. I shrugged, though the dread of quarantine sent shivers of ice through me. “I’ll get lots of reading done.”
Sula was silent. I knew what she was thinking. Containment wasn’t a comfy enclosed pod with a pillow and blanket and meal service. The last fighter who’d had to be quarantined had been entombed in a rock and hurled into space, to orbit until recall.
Which could be hundreds of years of solitary time.
“Has the party started without me?”
Xhen slid in to my left. He was practically my brother, though I could still admire his hard strength. There was no other fighter like Xhen, in my opinion. The three of us had always made a formidable, unbreakable team.
But I’d crossed paths with evil, and in our world, the guys in the white hats didn’t always win.

Wanna win a $10 Amazon e-cert?  One lucky commenter will win–winner chosen on Sunday night!  Happy weekend to all!  Iris

I’ve been thrilled with great reviews for Love Me More in the last few weeks and 2 Hot 2 Handle being #1 on the My Bookstore and More top ten list for days! Here’s how one quick fantasy story turned into three popular stories.

Love Me was my very first published story. It was an exciting debut for me and I was so thrilled to get fan mail and some nice reviews for this story, not to mention awesome sales! Then I had another idea involving the same characters, so I wrote Love Me More. It still amazes me how easy those stories were to write. They are quite short, but they just seemed to flow out of me. I’m probably not remembering correctly, but I swear I wrote them each in about an hour. Okay, maybe not, but it was fast!

I wanted to make it a series of three stories because three‘s a nice number, don’t you think?    But then I got stuck. I really wanted to try my hand at a m/m/f or m/f/m ménage story but I had a hard time imagining Gavin in bed with another dude. Eventually I gave up on that idea and decided Abby deserved her own love story. If anyone could handle two men, it was Abby! And there was 2 Hot 2 Handle.

An aside: Some of you may know that I recently did in fact come up with a way to get Gavin in bed with another guy, if you’ve read my Samhellion freebie Love Me Tonight 

I have to say 2 Hot 2 Handle didn’t quite flow out of me as easily as the first two stories. In my first attempt at writing m/m, I stumbled and hesitated and questioned myself. It was hard. But I like getting inside the male mind and people seem to like my male characters, so I just wrote about two guys who love each other, and imagined what might make them want more. I know this is a fantasy for a lot of women – two hot guys who want to be with you but also with each other.

Not only was this my first m/m/f story but it was the first ménage story I’ve written with a HEA for all three characters. My other ménage stories involve a one night fantasy (including my next Ellora’s Cave release CONFERENCE CALL) but this is the first where all three commit to each other.

I’ve become quite fond of all these characters after three books together! They become so real to me.

In the end I hope I wrote a satisfying story about an unconventional love and I learned while writing this that love is the same whether it’s for another man, another woman, or both.

.

Laura Bradford has been one busy agent lately. Lots of wonderful new deals to share:

Author of Deeper, Megan Hart’s next three erotic romances, again to Susan Pezzack-Swinwood at Spice, in a very nice deal, in a three book deal, by Laura Bradford at Bradford Literary Agency.

Elisabeth Naughton’s next three books in her upcoming Eternal Guardians series in which seven immortal warriors descended from the greatest heroes in Ancient Greece battle the armies of the Underworld and serve as mankind’s last hope, to Leah Hultenschmidt at Dorchester, in a nice deal, for publication beginning in early 2011, by Laura Bradford at Bradford Literary Agency.

Megan Hart’s untitled novella for a contemporary erotic romance anthology, to Cindy Hwang at Berkley Heat, for publication in 2011, by Laura Bradford at Bradford Literary Agency.

Lauren Dane’s untitled novella for a contemporary erotic romance anthology, to Leis Pederson at Berkley Heat, for publication in 2011, by Laura Bradford at Bradford Literary Agency.

Beth Kery’s untitled novella for a contemporary erotic romance anthology, to Leis Pederson at Berkley Heat, for publication in 2011, by Laura Bradford at Bradford Literary Agency.

Skin Game author Ava Gray’s untitled novella in her Skin series for a sexy paranormal anthology, to Cindy Hwang at Berkley Sensation, by Laura Bradford at Bradford Literary Agency.

Beth Kery’s first two books in her Harbor Town USA series, about three families torn apart and then drawn back together by a mutually tragic past, to Susan Litman at Silhouette Special Edition, in a nice deal, by Laura Bradford at Bradford Literary Agency.

Tina Leonard’s next six books plus a novella, to Kathleen Scheibling at Harlequin American, in a very nice deal, by Laura Bradford at Bradford Literary Agency.

***

Congratulations, ladies! So many wonderful books coming up!

Inspired by mountains near my home.

All last week I tried to think of a topic for a blog entry, but couldn’t seem to think of a thing. Yesterday, while serving as a panelist on dialogue in historical novels, it hit me. I had a hot topic.

Society works hard to tell us there is only one way to cross a T.

I’m here to tell ya, there is more than one way to peel a banana.

Have patience. This does have something to do with writing, I promise you.

Since I was a child, I’ve been bombarded by messages that say there is only one right way to do things. Clean a house, make a cake, play a game, make a friend. Failure was not permitted, but it happened to me anyway. My experiences with attempting to fit in and do things the right way started at childhood, but it lingered way beyond that. Mathematics says one plus one is two. A word can only be spelled one way. Peer pressure demanded there was only one right way to dress and speak. Any deviance from the norm meant there were consequences to pay.

Internally, I chafed against that advice even as I did what I was told and tried to do it the “right” way. As an avid reader, I sometimes came across books written by Irish, British, Australian, and Canadian authors. I noticed they sometimes spelled things differently than Americans, like flavour instead of flavor, honour instead of honor, or tyre instead of tire. My young brain started mixing up the spelling. So what did my teacher do? Instead of noticing that her student was spelling things the British way and explaining that Americans spell it differently, she told me the British way was wrong. Yep. Wrong. My mother was angry that the teacher told me this, but I don’t recall my mother getting on the teacher’s case.

Know what I found out? Sometimes you could get the answer without doing it the way the teacher said (and I don’t mean by cheating). My brain hates things in linear. I’m much more likely to just pull the answer out of midair without understanding how I got the answer. As a very right-brained individual, I sucked at math. Sucked big ones! When I was fourteen, my vocabulary and comprehension when it came to reading was tested at college level. School administrators were friggin’ baffled. They decided to test me to see why I had a difficult time with math. I could have told them, if they’d asked. My second grade teacher ran her class like a boot camp. There was abuse in the classroom, but that’s a whole different story. I’d learned in that class to be helpless when it came to understanding math. After all, failure was not an option and there was only one right way to do it. Since I couldn’t get the answer the teacher’s way, or get the answer as quickly as the other children I failed. If failure is your only result, pretty soon you give up.

Anyway, back to this figure-out-what-is-wrong-with-this-kid test. On a lark, I imagine, the school psychologist asked me two questions I shouldn’t get correct because I hadn’t taken Calculus or Trigonometry. I got the right answer by pulling it out of thin air. Her mouth flopped open. The psychologist told my mother that she had a very smart daughter, but that said daughter was an enigma. Okay. That helped a lot. (See Denise pulling sarcastic expression.) No one could figure out why a supposedly highly-intelligent child couldn’t do math. They stuck me in a special class with kids who had trouble reading. Go figure. But it was in that class that I discovered my love for writing. I’d always read voraciously, and had done well on essay tests. I adored writing stories, and from that point forward I was always writing something. Sometimes it was poetry, sometimes it was short stories, sometimes it was an entire handwritten, eighty page gothic novel. I was hooked.

As an adult, when I decided I wished to write for publication, I took short story writing courses, novel writing courses, and also attended workshops through my Romance Writers of America chapter. All of it in pursuit of the right way to create a novel. Once I got published, I figured that all of that learning had paid off. Last year while I attended yet another novel writing workshop, it dawned on me it was time to stop taking courses and stop listening to the messages that said there is only one right way to write a novel.

Why?

It sucked my creativity right out of me! I discovered that all the outlining, plotting, and synopsis writing didn’t do jack for me. That’s not the way my brain works. My brain is only happy when it can create unfettered, without a ton of rules to pin it down. Structure, in my mind, means a lack of creativity, not a flourishing of ingenuity. This is why outlining or writing a synopsis beforehand means I don’t want to write the novel afterward. Writing the book without a surefire plan is the easiest way for me to write the best book I can.

So, this last week while I was telling writers how to put sizzle into their novels, or how to write historical dialogue, I sometimes felt like a fake. Because all you have to do is read a novel that doesn’t follow the rules and understand there was something about that novel that got a publisher’s attention. Didn’t matter whether they broke all the rules or not. Who was I to tell writer’s how do anything? Plus, I’m not the best at explaining to others how I do things. For me creating is organic and comes out of thin air. How do you explain that to other writers and have it make sense?

That being said, here’s my advice to writers out there. Yeah, read all those how to books, take all those workshops, but realize that at some point you have to decide when to stop listening to the right way to create a book and just write it.

So when have you broken the rules and the norms to satisfying results?

Hi, all! Glad to be back blogging (and I very much suck for missing my day a couple weeks ago!) To make it up to you, I’ll give away a copy of my latest release Four Play (oops, did I mention you need to like it hot?) to one randomly drawn commenter. Winner will be drawn Sunday morning.

Okay, I’m a writer, and so that means I tend to favor comfy pants when I’m writing. Yoga pants, sweat pants, even pajamas. I’m a big advocate of comfort. Comfortable shoes. Comfortable clothes. I’m also a fan of the Snuggie. You get the picture. So when I saw a friend post on Facebook a link to the below video, I watched in fascination. Like OMFG where have they BEEN all my life fascination? Could I do it? Actually wear them and actually take myself seriously?

Or better yet, could you? (they have plus sizes too!!!)

I can now say proudly that I am published. Like for reals. My book with Avon, His Darkest Hunger, comes out in April, but it’s a short time travel romance for Samhain Publishing that is officially my first release ever! BLACK LEGACY is the first in a series featuring the Black sisters. Warrior women who protect the delicate fabric of time from the nasties.

Here is an excerpt:

Frankie’s eyes shot up until they were caught, held in place with an invisible rope by the greenest, sexiest eyes she’d ever seen on a man.
Dekkar James stood a few inches from her, hands loose at his side, shirtless and ripped. His incredible torso was covered in an elaborate array of colorful tattoos that snaked up, caressing the hard abs.
Seconds turned into a long, slow silence, broken by the most devastating smile imaginable.
He didn’t speak, just held out his hand.
Frankie’s breath caught in her throat, and she felt as if she were coming apart, so intense was her body’s reaction.
She hesitated for one moment, and then her hand reached for his, a feeling of fire racing over her flesh as she made contact.
Everything faded away, and she let him lead her out the door, down yet another hallway, until the only sound was their heavy breathing. The air felt thick and it clung to her skin, like a soft caress. She glanced down to her timepiece. She had a little over an hour before the operatives from the New Order were scheduled to arrive.
She wanted to look up, but couldn’t meet his eyes. Her own pale blue orbs had stopped at the sight of the huge bulge that strained against the black of his leather.
When she did manage to raise her eyes higher, his mouth was descending, and she felt her own lips tremble in anticipation.
What the hell was wrong with her? She was on assignment for Christ sakes, and was about to break one of the most vehemently enforced rules of a Black Opal.
No fucking with a target.
His lips were firm, with just a hint of softness that gripped the edges as he opened his mouth wide, and plundered her warm wetness with his tongue. Fire erupted, hot and raging; it was immediate and all consuming.
Frankie had never in her life experienced such a kiss. It was both passionate and brutal in its intensity. She knew she was lost. There would never again be such a first kiss.
Not ever.

Sigh, first kisses are usually a scene that sticks with me. Question, who remembers their first kiss? The first one that was real, full of emotion? I do. I don’t think that memory fades for most women. Anyone want to share?

You can find Black Legacy HERE if you’re so inclined to find out what happens to Frankie and Dekkar after thier kiss!

Hi, everyone!  Hope you are enjoying a great week. 

Today, I wanted to share my newest cover with you–the cover for my first romantic suspense novel from Grand Central Publishing.

This book (out in August of 2010!) will be my first non-paranormal single title.  Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE my paranormals (so addicted to those vamps, demons, and, yes, now a fallen angel), but it was fun to try something a little different.  In DEADLY FEAR, the monster isn’t a supernatural being; he’s a man. Evil to the core and, unfortunately, a man who could live and work right next to you–and you wouldn’t ever be able to see the real monster hiding so close.

DEADLY FEAR is the first in a new series that I have written for Grand Central Publishing.  The second book, DEADLY HEAT, is due out in February of 2011, then the third book, DEADLY LIES, will be out in March of 2011.  All of the books focus on the SSD–the Serial Services Division in the FBI.  My agents are assigned the mission of tracking and apprehending serials (serial killers, arsonists, rapists, kidnappers).  Lucky for me, they are very good at their job.

In DEADLY FEAR, the killer’s weapon is, well, fear.  He turns his victims worst fears into reality.  Wicked man.  So tell me…what scares you? What fears to you have?

I woke up to a snowstorm today. I thought it was appropriate, since most of the book that I have coming out today, RELEASE, takes place in the midst of a blizzard in Chicago. There’s something about a city when a really bad storm hits, as if a spell falls over it. Sound is muffled. All the activities that we don’t think twice about doing normally, like running errands in the car, are halted. Strange to think that Mother Nature can have such a profound effect on a centuries of technology, but there you have it.

One thing about a snowstorm, it gives you a wonderful excuse just to hang out at home, cozy up with a book and have some quality ‘down’ time. I envy people who live in warmer climates constantly—more so as the years go by. But sometimes, on a day like today, I really love the snow.

In RELEASE a snowstorm provides an opportunity to rekindle a love between two people that had been destroyed by violence and secrets. Sean and Genny are thrown together in the company penthouse as the city is immoblized by the blizzard.

Mother Nature really does always get her way in the end, I guess.

Here’s an excerpt from RELEASE. Since it’s a Release Day for me (harhar) I’ll give away either a download of HOLIDAY BOUND or winner’s choice of one of my backlist books to one person who leaves a comment.

RELEASE
Publisher: Berkley Heat
Genre: Contemporary/Erotic suspense
Release Date: February 2, 2010
Format: Trade Paperback

His need for her was so absolute, he agreed to share her with another man in order to possess her.

Genny loved her husband Max, but something was missing—a sexual charge that was instead ignited by his business partner, Sean. He was ruggedly handsome, with a heart-stopping smile and a slow, sexy New Orleans drawl that made Genny weak. The more time they spent together, the stronger the attraction between them became and when her husband offered to share her with Sean for one intoxicating night, both Genny and Sean were too tempted to refuse.

That night in the company penthouse, Max and Sean showed Genny the heights of ecstasy. But it was Sean who scored her very spirit, and one-on-one, they were red hot. But as Genny learns, there’s a price to pay for such impulsive pleasure. What began as a night of forbidden desire spirals into a whirlpool of murder, sensual submission, secrets, and a scorching passion that threatens to consume everyone it touches.

EXCERPT (Adult rated)

The blonde woman cried out in agonized pleasure as her orgasm notched back up again to its original potent blast.

Genevieve must have whimpered in mixed misery and arousal, because suddenly Sean’s head whipped around.

The woman continued to keen and moan while she gushed in climax, and Sean pinned Genevieve with his stare. His fierce, blue-eyed gaze hit her like a bolt of electricity. Her muscles jerked, the harsh movement awakening her from her trance.

The next thing she knew, she was flying blindly down the hallway. She heard him call out to her, his voice sounding flat with incredulity. He called out again, this time sounding closer . . . too near for her to make it all the way to the front door without him overtaking her.

She thought she might shatter into a million pieces if Sean put his hands on her at that moment. She fumbled for the master bedroom door and rushed inside.

“Genny. What the hell—”

His exclamation was cut off when Genevieve slammed the door and swiftly turned the lock. The handle jerked. His hand thumped on the door. She pressed her back against the wood, straining to hear in the taut silence that followed.

“Genny.”

She clamped her burning eyes shut at the softly uttered plea. It must be a hollow-core door, because she could actually hear him quite well. It sounded like he’d spoken with his forehead pressed against the crack between the door and frame. They were only inches apart—

“You picked a hell of a time to come waltzing back into my life,” he said, his low voice vibrating with emotion.

“I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Obviously.”

She licked her tear-spattered lips. For the first time, she realized her face was soaked. She must have been crying for a while now . . . maybe since she’d first heard Sean’s easy drawl resounding from the depths of the penthouse.

“Go away, Sean.” Her heart thundered in her ears in the pause that followed. The door gave slightly, as though he’d just pushed himself off it.

“I was here first.”

“You can go straight to hell second, boy.”

His chuckle sounded appreciative . . . amused.

Sad.

“Just give me a minute to tell her good-bye.” For a second, she thought he’d walked away, but then his deep voice penetrated the crack of the door again.

“Are you okay? Did something happen?”

She stared at the enormous king-sized bed in front of her—the bed where the three of them had become drunk on pleasure three years ago.

Did something happen? She’d say it had.

Genevieve had been forever changed on the night Max had offered his young wife to his super-sharp, second-hand man . . . the night she’d burned beneath Sean’s touch.

“I’m fine,” she said blankly, her eyes glued to the bed as vivid memories played before her mind’s eye . . . memories brought to the forefront by being in the room where it’d all happened.

“Yeah, right,” she heard him reply wryly.

“Will you just leave me alone?”

“That’s likely.”

This time, she sensed for certain that he’d walked away. A minute later she still hadn’t moved. They passed within feet of her.

“You’re acting very rudely,” the woman accused petulantly as she moved down the hallway.

“Yeah, I’ve been told I have a problem with that,” Sean replied evenly.

“Is there someone here? Who were you talking to?”

But then their voices faded. She heard the front door open and shut, and knew Sean was escorting the female out of the tight Sauren-Kennedy Solutions security. He’d get her a cab. He may have grown up poor, friendless, and fatherless, one of the ‘conduct disordered’ terrors of the mean streets of New Orleans, but Sean’s manners were impeccable.

Genevieve still hadn’t moved when he returned a few minutes later. She stood stock-still, her back against the door like she thought she was on the penthouse’s window ledge with the city looming below her toes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the handle turn. He spoke softly again near the crack in the closed door.

“You’d better open up, girl. You don’t really think that excuse of a lock is gonna keep me from you, do you?”

Her pulse threatened to leap right off her neck. She’d never heard him call another female gull, his drawl softening the “r” until it was only barely audible.

The sound of it on his tongue had always felt like a caress.

She spun around and flipped the lock. Her gaze remained fixed on the carpet as she stormed past him. She grabbed the bag she’d dropped in the foyer and reached for the handle on the front door. His hand rose behind her, shutting the door with a precise snap.

“What happened?”

“What makes you think something happened?” she asked irritably. She was hyperaware of him just inches away, leaning down over her. Heat resonated off his body.

“Don’t, Genny. Haven’t you punished me enough by avoiding me all this time? You know I’d never have wanted you to see what you just saw. Not in a million years.”

Her soughing breath was the only thing that broke the silence that followed. Her chin dropped to her chest.

She did know it. She may have her doubts about him, but she knew instinctively Sean Kennedy would never purposefully hurt her.

The havoc he’d wreaked unintentionally on her life was another matter altogether.