You never forget your first time
Sunday, December 16th, 2012

You never forget your first time. I certainly haven’t. Picture England in the mid-nineties. One Ms. Parker skips a couple of classes to visit a friend studying in London. These two adventurous lasses counted pound and penny and thought it would be fun to visit a third friend hitting the books in Dublin. They take a bus to the coast of Wales, a long journey they decide to lighten up by picking up some reading at a service station. The only thing that looks interesting is a pair of racy Black Lace historical romances.

We hop back on the bus, open our books, say, “Tell me when they get it on.” My friend, thirty seconds later, “Uh, now.” (I had to wait until page two for some action.) I don’t remember the title or the author. What I do remember is that it wasn’t a plot or character driven book, it was a sex driven book. Did I finish it? Absolutely. By the time the hero and heroine got their kinda-sorta happy ending, they’d done half the village each, the heroine had been forced by hero, dastardly scoundrels and sadistic lady alike, the hero had been raped by a wicked witch of the woods and he didn’t even seem to mind that much, and the part with the ritual in the forest with the awe-inspiring anal play…that’s a bit fuzzy and let’s keep it that way.

By the time I reached The End and the ferry, one thing was clear: I like a little romance with my rutting. OK, a lot of romance. When the heat is on, I don’t want to close the door but I don’t want to close my heart either, I want to be there with the characters mind, body and soul. Erotica can be, has been, beautifully and tastefully done. The book I read that night wasn’t that kind of erotica. It wasn’t proper erotic romance, either. So why didn’t I choose mainstream romance instead? To tell you the truth, I had a problematic relationship with romance back then.

Many may remember a time when the hero expressed his undying love by slapping the heroine, and I’m not talking about a sexy, consensual spanking. A time when a forced seduction scene was all force and no seduction. If you don’t remember those times and crimes, count yourself lucky. I gave up reading romance for the longest time after coming across too many of those instances. I distinctly remember two books, or rather the moments the heroes turned villains in my view.

They were contemporary romances, one starring the wealthy, arrogant and, as it turned out, abusive type, and the other a sheik who turned out to be a rapist. The heroes were profoundly sorry afterwards. They only did what they did out of love and desperation. I only wanted to perform a citizen’s arrest. The next time I gave contemporary romance a try I hadn’t forgiven or forgotten them, but to my huge relief their kind had become extinct. Good riddance, I thought.

And welcome, all the romance and erotic romance right up my alley. Today, it’s a different story. It’s a million and one different stories, and, most importantly, no more mistaking villains for heroes. It’s a good time to read romance, hot or not. So many wonderful sub-genres out there, so much variety, so many versatile authors to choose from. The heroes may be alpha but the heroines are by no means beta, and I much prefer today’s couples to the pairings of the days of yore.

I don’t look back on my first time very fondly, it was a bit of a letdown. But what I get to read today, what I hope to read in the future, more than makes up for that disappointing bus rut in the past. (I did have a good time in Dublin, though.) So thank you author-friends for your stunning work. Thank you readers for your continued support. And thank you Desiree for having me here today.

Now tell me…do you remember your first? Was it better for you than it was for me?

Dita Parker is the author of Alex Rising, a death-defying love and lust triangle set in the Big Easy, and Perpetual Pleasure, a hot and heavy novel starring a commitment phobic immortal and a stunt performer bent on showing her everything she’s missing out on (Ellora’s Cave Publishing). Dita lives in Scandinavia with her striking Viking and their children. She believes that sex is a positive life force, that love can last a lifetime, and that in 2014 Brazil will once again win the World Cup. To see how it all plays out, visit Dita’s Den.

Dita Parker http://www.jasminejade.com/m-576-dita-parker.aspx
Alex Rising: http://www.jasminejade.com/p-8212-alex-rising.aspx
Perpetual Pleasure: http://www.jasminejade.com/p-10312-perpetual-pleasure.aspx
Dita’s Den: http://ditaparker.blogspot.co

Is there Lust After Death? Just ask Daisy Harris
Wednesday, December 12th, 2012


BLURB:

In the Pacific Northwest, where life hurries to keep pace with technology, a re-animated bride named Josie struggles to escape her creator and to find her identity in the half-erased circuitry of her mind and body.

Assassin Bane Connor just wants to get the girl to the Zombie Underground and receive his payoff-a mental reset that will erase his memories as well as his guilt. But an attack by a rival faction derails his rescue, and the wide-eyed female whose circuitry requires a husband tears at his hardened heart and ignites desire like he’s never known.


EXCERPT:
She picked up a bar of soap and her eyes widened. Normally Bane hated how newbies wondered at every damn thing—but this girl didn’t look stupid. She looked kind, excited, happy. The bar slipped out of her hands into the water and Bane watched as she dove head-first to find it. His hand left his dick to grab at the metal. He worried she might not know enough not to breathe under there.

Her head popped up again and she flipped her ebony mane from her face. A grin split her face. Damp curls of hair framed her cheeks, tangled at her shoulders, licked at her collarbone. She giggled and rolled the soap in her hands. Her eyelids fluttered as she smoothed the cream over her arms and up the long column of her neck.

Bane’s fingers traced over his lips as he watched her soap her body. He held his breath, silently urging her hand lower.

She obliged, skimming over the curve of her breasts before sliding her touch down her belly. Her palm dipped below the water and he lost sight of it, but her eyes fell to half-mast and her lips parted. When her arm reached farther, the girl’s eyes pressed tight as her mouth made a shape like an O.

Fuck! His legs swung out from under him and his fingertips barely caught on the thin ledge. Bane hung there for a moment, wondering whether to drop to the ground or pull back up. Despite his better judgment, he wedged his toe into a crack in the concrete wall and angled his body to push his torso higher until he once again peered like a letch through her window.

He shouted, finding her face right up to the glass. Her mahogany stare met his—surprised, curious, but not frightened. One corner of her mouth curled up into a lopsided, cherubic smile. She reached out a hand to the window and traced his face. When her fingertips covered his lips, her other hand reached up, stroking her own mouth.

Bane lost his grip, and with a winding thud, fell flat on his ass.

Meet Daisy Harris
  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.

Twitter: https://twitter.com/thedaisyharris

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Daisy-Harris/185042351535537

Website: www.thedaisyharris.com

Ellora’s Cave buy link: http://www.jasminejade.com/p-9442-lust-after-death.aspx


 Amazon buy link: http://www.amazon.com/Lust-After-Death-ebook/dp/B005E8AMCY/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1351866737&sr=8-1&keywords=lust+after+death+harris

Barnes and Noble buy link: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/lust-after-death-daisy-harris/1104299378

Danita Minnis
Saturday, December 8th, 2012

You never forget your first time. I certainly haven’t. Picture England in the mid-nineties. One Ms. Parker skips a couple of classes to visit a friend studying in London. These two adventurous lasses counted pound and penny and thought it would be fun to visit a third friend hitting the books in Dublin. They take a bus to the coast of Wales, a long journey they decide to lighten up by picking up some reading at a service station. The only thing that looks interesting is a pair of racy Black Lace historical romances.

We hop back on the bus, open our books, say, “Tell me when they get it on.” My friend, thirty seconds later, “Uh, now.” (I had to wait until page two for some action.) I don’t remember the title or the author. What I do remember is that it wasn’t a plot or character driven book, it was a sex driven book. Did I finish it? Absolutely. By the time the hero and heroine got their kinda-sorta happy ending, they’d done half the village each, the heroine had been forced by hero, dastardly scoundrels and sadistic lady alike, the hero had been raped by a wicked witch of the woods and he didn’t even seem to mind that much, and the part with the ritual in the forest with the awe-inspiring anal play…that’s a bit fuzzy and let’s keep it that way.

By the time I reached The End and the ferry, one thing was clear: I like a little romance with my rutting. OK, a lot of romance. When the heat is on, I don’t want to close the door but I don’t want to close my heart either, I want to be there with the characters mind, body and soul. Erotica can be, has been, beautifully and tastefully done. The book I read that night wasn’t that kind of erotica. It wasn’t proper erotic romance, either. So why didn’t I choose mainstream romance instead? To tell you the truth, I had a problematic relationship with romance back then.

Many may remember a time when the hero expressed his undying love by slapping the heroine, and I’m not talking about a sexy, consensual spanking. A time when a forced seduction scene was all force and no seduction. If you don’t remember those times and crimes, count yourself lucky. I gave up reading romance for the longest time after coming across too many of those instances. I distinctly remember two books, or rather the moments the heroes turned villains in my view.

They were contemporary romances, one starring the wealthy, arrogant and, as it turned out, abusive type, and the other a sheik who turned out to be a rapist. The heroes were profoundly sorry afterwards. They only did what they did out of love and desperation. I only wanted to perform a citizen’s arrest. The next time I gave contemporary romance a try I hadn’t forgiven or forgotten them, but to my huge relief their kind had become extinct. Good riddance, I thought.

And welcome, all the romance and erotic romance right up my alley. Today, it’s a different story. It’s a million and one different stories, and, most importantly, no more mistaking villains for heroes. It’s a good time to read romance, hot or not. So many wonderful sub-genres out there, so much variety, so many versatile authors to choose from. The heroes may be alpha but the heroines are by no means beta, and I much prefer today’s couples to the pairings of the days of yore.

I don’t look back on my first time very fondly, it was a bit of a letdown. But what I get to read today, what I hope to read in the future, more than makes up for that disappointing bus rut in the past. (I did have a good time in Dublin, though.) So thank you author-friends for your stunning work. Thank you readers for your continued support. And thank you Desiree for having me here today.

Now tell me…do you remember your first? Was it better for you than it was for me?

Dita Parker is the author of Alex Rising, a death-defying love and lust triangle set in the Big Easy, and Perpetual Pleasure, a hot and heavy novel starring a commitment phobic immortal and a stunt performer bent on showing her everything she’s missing out on (Ellora’s Cave Publishing). Dita lives in Scandinavia with her striking Viking and their children. She believes that sex is a positive life force, that love can last a lifetime, and that in 2014 Brazil will once again win the World Cup. To see how it all plays out, visit Dita’s Den.

Dita Parker http://www.jasminejade.com/m-576-dita-parker.aspx
Alex Rising: http://www.jasminejade.com/p-8212-alex-rising.aspx
Perpetual Pleasure: http://www.jasminejade.com/p-10312-perpetual-pleasure.aspx
Dita’s Den: http://ditaparker.blogspot.com/

Return to Love
Wednesday, December 5th, 2012

With two very, very, very hot hunks. Now out in print.

Please leave a comment to win your choice of one of Regina’s fabulous backlist books.
Return to Delight
Harley June Baker left Delight thinking never to return, but when circumstances draw her back to this tiny town and straight into Cooper’s strong arms, she knows she’s in deep trouble. The man she’d loved and left behind is now one sexy devil-in-denim and hotter than a Texas summer night. With his every wicked touch throwing her senses into overdrive, how could any sane woman resist?

 Cooper Dobbs is a man on a mission. He let Harley get away once, but never again. Knowing it’s time to burn up some sheets with the delectable woman, Cooper plies her with a raw, savage passion that threatens to incinerate them both. It’s gonna take plenty of panty-drenching sex and a fair amount of sweet-talkin’ to make Harley his, but Cooper reckons he’s up to the challenge.
 Return of the Daredevil  
Scrumptious scoundrel. Daredevil T Dobbs, the sexiest cowboy to ever walk the streets of Delight, Texas, headed out of town, taking Melanie Honeycutt’s heart with him. But now he’s back and hotter than ever. Trust him? Her head says no but her body has other ideas.

 Stubborn woman. She was the girl T never forgot and the woman he yearns for in the deepest part of his heart. But what’s a man to do when she doesn’t believe he’s home for good? T knows his way around dangerous curves, and Mel’s are hot enough to burn a man. He figures it’ll take a slow hand and some downright smokin’-hot sex to melt her reserve but he’s definitely up for the challenge.
By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.

An Excerpt From: RETURN TO DELIGHT

Copyright © REGINA CARLYSLE, 2011

All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

Chapter One

Harley June Baker tightened her grip on the steering wheel of her candy-apple red Mazda Miata and pressed a booted foot on the accelerator as she swept past the powder blue sign that read Welcome to Delight! Serving up miles of smiles deep in the heart of Texas!
Yeah, right.

She did the whole mental eye roll thing. All the town of Delight ever served up was a healthy dose of boredom. Around these parts, the citizens of this tiny Hill Country town called the place Dee-light with a heavy emphasis on the “e” but as a starry-eyed teenager with a thirst for excitement and adventure, all she’d really wanted was to get the hell out. Back then the place was one dead-end road to nowhere but now she wasn’t so sure. Childhood memories rolled slowly over her threatening to take her under.

The blast of nostalgia hit her, quite unexpectedly, and she blinked back tears as she thought of her mom and how much she missed her. Deborah had died a few months ago leaving Harley June a million good memories along with an aging Victorian that had been in the family for countless generations. For as long as she could remember it had just been her and Mom. She didn’t know her dad. He’d hung around long enough to name her after his favorite motorcycle and then one day, he’d gotten on it and driven away never to return.

What a shithead!

Her mom had been a wonderful woman but he’d been too young and stupid to see that. She and Mom had done okay though. When she reached adulthood, she realized that not only did she look like Mom but that she’d inherited a sassy streak of independence and a hard-work ethic that was pure Deb Baker.

Harley stopped at a red light in the center of Main and flipped on her right turn signal. Leaving Mom a dozen years ago to chase her dreams had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done. She turned at the First Methodist Church and drove the three blocks to Austin Road. Her hands began to tremble and tears filled her eyes when she took in the long, tree-lined street with its neatly paved sidewalks. When she was little, she’d mastered bike riding and in-line skates on those concrete paths. In the distance she spotted the big Victorian that had been in her family for generations. She shouldn’t sell it! She should keep it and see if she could make a different kind of life for herself in this small town that held her childhood memories.

“No! I can’t stay. There’s nothing for me here,” she argued aloud. Then her eyes narrowed as she saw the shiny black bad-boy truck parked in front of the house. Next to the vehicle sat a giant-sized toolbox and several cans of paint. Harley June pulled up behind the truck and turned off the ignition. She’d hired Connelly Brothers Construction to do an eensy face-lift on the house to make it more attractive to potential buyers. Obviously they’d followed her instructions and had sent someone over to begin work. She had emailed several days ago telling them she’d be in town and it was good to see they’d gotten a start on things.

Grabbing her purse from the passenger seat, she stepped out and walked to the sidewalk, stopping to take in the wide, old-fashioned veranda with its large round pillars and the high gables of the roofline. Someone had repainted the double front doors a dark charcoal and had planted bold, red geraniums in the iron urns flanking the entrance.

Why?

It was beyond strange considering she was selling. Yes, they were lovely but who would do such a thing?

Frowning a little, she advanced, her boot heels knocking smartly on the front walkway. As she headed up the wide steps to the porch, she stopped then caught her breath and held it. Nostalgia mixed with bittersweet longing curled tightly in her chest as Cooper Dobbs stood there looking at her through a pair of heavily lashed smoky-colored eyes. Bare-chested and holding a well-used paintbrush, he grinned broadly. A pair of dimples dipped into his bronzed cheeks and his blacker-than-night hair was mussed as if he’d repeatedly raked his fingers through it. A portion of that sexy black stuff drooped over his forehead. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he dropped the paintbrush onto a broad swath of canvas on the floor of the porch. “Well, hey Harley June! It’s about damn time you came home,” he drawled as he reached into a back pocket to grab a crumpled blue bandanna. He wiped futilely at the pale gray paint smears on his deliciously mounded chest and dragged it over a set of washboard abs.

Was there drool on her chin?

An Excerpt From: RETURN OF THE DAREDEVIL

Copyright © REGINA CARLYSLE, 2011

All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

She looked up and froze to see T silhouetted in the doorway of the gym.

The sun was at his back, casting him in shadows, and the entire room went still. Heavy air seemed to hover like a living thing in the gym and even the teenaged girls didn’t make a peep as he filled up the room with his presence. But even cast in shadow, it was impossible to mistake that long, lean frame or the swagger in his stride as he finally began to cross the room. T’s bootheels rapped sharply on the carefully tended hardwood. He moved like a man who did what he pleased and took what he wanted. Determination marked his every step and as he drew closer, the shadows lifted, showing Mel the glint in his storm-colored eyes. They were hungry eyes. Sexy eyes. Heavily lashed, they narrowed dangerously beneath the brim of a straw summery cowboy hat that had definitely seen better days. T’s hair beneath the battered hat was long, thick and black, brushing the tops of sturdy shoulders that she practically itched to stroke with her fingers. The hint of a five o’clock shadow covered the lower part of his sexy, masculine face. Oh boy. T for trouble. Suddenly he grinned, throwing her even further off guard as he tipped back the brim of his hat and moved in close enough to touch.

“Hey, darlin’,” he drawled. Before she could blink, T Dobbs wrapped a muscular arm around her, hauling her close, and breathed against her lips. “Damn, woman. I missed you. Kiss me hello, sweet thang.”

The world instantly melted away.

Just like that he stole every bit of good sense she’d ever possessed as his lips took hers in a savage kiss that quite simply rocked her world. There was nothing tentative in T’s mouth slowly devouring hers. His tongue cruised over her lips, tasting thoroughly before dipping deep until she could taste all the complex flavors of this man she’d always loved. If anything his kisses were even better than they’d been all those many years ago. A flash of jealousy whipped through her as she wondered about how he’d gained all this expertise but then the anger was dashed away under the seductive lash of his tongue.

She was lost. Taken under. Obliterated with just one touch.

One big hand cupped the curve of her jaw as a twitter of sound swept the room. Giggling and applause and chatter came at her as if from a distance but, truth be told, she could barely hear it over the roar of blood in her ears. Her nipples went hard against the practical cotton of her bra and she gasped at the sensation.

“Hey! Get your hands off her. What do you think you’re doing?”

It’s not too early for Santa
Saturday, December 1st, 2012

He was hot last year. He’s hotter this year. A delightful story from delightful Cerise Deland. Come nibble her cherries. 

Susanna Corrigan believes in Santa Claus. Always did. So a Christmas-time flight to Alaska for a one night stand with a man especially chosen for her is a perfect gift. Fun and great sex with Mr. Right Now fits her bill for no strings, no commitments.

Then hunky Gil Santana laughs with her, buys her dinner and takes her ballroom dancing. She’s enchanted–but scared.

What will it cost her to make Gil Mr. Right Forever?


Gil Santana promised himself one more lap before he treated himself to lunch and for a chaser, a snifter of Armagnac. He extended his arm in the pool, ready to push off once more, but his eyes snagged on movement at the far doors. His gaze glued to the perfect vision who walked through them and his mouth fell open.
 Through the ladies’ spa entrance came a female who took his breath away. The way she walked. Like a queen. The way she pushed back her shoulder-length hair into a ponytail and rubbed her hands together in glee like a kid eager to jump in the creek on a hot summer day. She was, undoubtedly, the most beautiful woman he’d seen here at the resort or in fact, anywhere.


 Even in Hollywood.


Excerpt:

Hey, Santana, that is the plan, man. You’re here to find a woman who isn’t like the aggressive types in Los Angeles. So what if this one strikes you as….


Luscious.

He blinked. She strolled to a lounge chair and inched out of her flip-flops.


Five-five or so. Red hair. Lush, wavy hair the color of merlot. Never-from-a-bottle, intoxicating red hair. Oval face. Dark eyes. Damn! What color?

She looked around. Didn’t spot him, thank goodness. Then she smiled to herself. Padded over to the shallow end, stuck her toes in the water, and grinned.


He swallowed hard and didn’t make a move. He wanted to enjoy her. She shook back her hair and pulled at the bottom of her suit. Snapped it beneath the crease of her gorgeous, firm ass and took the steps down slowly into the water. She was quite incredibly lovely.


Quite incredibly built.

Madre Mia. With breasts. Half moons. Nipples pebbled beneath the white spandex of her conservative, one-piece suit. Hips like God should give all women. And thighs. Trim. Knees. Cute. Long, long, long legs.


Down boy. His cock did not obey. And Gil had to agree with the big guy. This woman was worth the salute.


Stop it, Santana. You act like a drooling teenager.

Yeah, but, wow, did he hope she was his for this 1Night Stand thing.


How could she be?

Yeah, true.


She looks exactly like the type you don’t want. She looks like a wannabe movie star who’ll do anything to get a part. Including wearing a sign, Casting Couches R Us.

He’d written his request on his questionnaire. No actresses. In Hollywood for nearly ten years, he had left tinsel town last fall for Oregon and a post as a professor in a college fine arts department. If the day job was fulfilling, teaching kids about the history of cinema, he got as big a kick from his “night” job putting together his own independent film company. And he had decided to apply at 1Night Stand for a night of pleasure on a recommendation from a scriptwriter. The man had done one and not only had a great time with the woman they chose for him, but continued the relationship after their fun-filled night.


Gil frowned. He didn’t hope for happily-ever-after. He was perhaps too jaded for that. But he did believe it was possible to have a brief affair and value it for what it was. Short. Hot. Creative. And memorable.


Then something hit him right between the eyes.




Available at:

*****  

Meet Cerise Deland

What’s a gal to do if she hails from D.C., lives now deep in the heart of Texas, travels often everywhere, and adores Paris, Florence, London, Tokyo and all points east and west?

Ah.

She becomes an author who can write about those romantic places. And for readers who crave spies, pirates, bodyguards and gutsy women of all periods, then she is the author they crave for smoldering erotic encounters and captivating love affairs!

Her name? Cerise DeLand.

What’s more is that Cerise is the award-winning author of 18 print novels of mystery, mainstream and romance with St. Martin’s Press, Pocket Books and Kensington. Her books have been best sellers and Featured Selections of The Mystery Guild, Doubleday and Rhapsody Book clubs.

Busy lady. Happy writer