Thursday, May 17th, 2012

Is that a gun in your pocket? she asked
Monday, May 14th, 2012

By Cerise DeLand out now for 99 cents until May 15th at

AMAZON buy link:


A Sheriff, A Hot Gal and his gun.


What’s a girl to do when she has the hots for the local sheriff—and he’s playing it cool? Mae Montaine knows the man has a gun in his pocket and he’s always happy to see her.
So why won’t he come over and see her sometime…for a date? A hug? A kiss? More?
West Farraday yearns for the All-American knock-out who lives next door, but Mae’s got problems and secrets. He’d love to help her out…of her problems. And her clothes. Then into his bed.
When timing seems right, West makes his move. He’s happier than a colt in clover.
Mae’s skeptical they can make it as a couple. After all, town gossip says the good sheriff is hard on the ladies.
But when three bad coyotes invade Mae’s life, West tries to prove to her that a man who’s hard in the sack can be easy to love.


Excerpt: (Copyright 2012, Cerise DeLand. All rights reserved.)


Something was burning.

August in Texas meant crispy grass, drought and wild fires—and West Farraday had no desire to see his house burn to the ground.Where was that smoke coming from?

He lifted his nose and tracked the smell of charcoal, then startled when he saw red flames rise over the top of his tall wooden fence.

A barbeque pit out of control? Not good!

“Aw, hell!” No need to think.  He’d learned from previous incidents that his new neighbor was an East Coast gal with no clue how to survive in Texas. Hightailing it into his kitchen, he pulled open the pantry door and grabbed the fire extinguisher. He pivoted, broke into a run, charged through his gate and darted for the tiny house next door.

Mae Montaine. Mae from New Jersey. Mae of the flowing, dark-chocolate hair and aquamarine eyes. Mae of the creamy skin, the voluptuous breasts and curvy legs. The fillings in his molars melted every time she sashayed past him. Mae, that gorgeous klutz, had gotten herself in a pickle again. And he was her handy dandy neighbor, ready at the draw.

Jumping her waist-high chain-link fence, he instantly saw her problem. Not only was she staring at the leaping fire in her potbellied grill, but she jumped up and down, screeching, doing nothing to contain the blaze.

“Move!” he yelled at her as he thrust one arm out and pushed her behind him. Then he let loose with the foam, dousing the five-foot tall flames and cursing beneath his breath.

He spun to check where Mae’s niece was. There. He breathed more easily. In her playpen by the door stood little Emma, grinning her welcome to him.

“Oh, oh, that’s wonderful,” Mae cooed in the raspy contralto that ignited wild fires along his spine and had him stealing a glimpse of her loveliness. “That’s terrific. I didn’t know what to do. I had no idea. How did this happen? Who knew? Oh, you are so good to do this. How can I ever thank you?”

I know one way. “Don’t think about it,” he offered as he continued to spray the flames, keeping his gaze on the fire even if his mind sizzled with the glimpse he’d gotten of her skimpy top and shorts.

“I don’t know what I did wrong. I was so careful.” She fretted and fumed, her firm breasts brushing his arm as she leaned forward to peer at his efforts. “I’m so grateful you even noticed.”

He snorted. How could I not? “I was home. Outside working on my lawn. This could have been a real disaster.”

“I’m sorry,” she said in a wee voice. “I thought I knew how to do this. Build a fire, that is. You must think I’m a mess.”

“Truly?” He threw her a smile and the one he got in return dissolved his urge to scold her. The most gorgeous mess I’ve ever seen. “A bit accident prone.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said beneath her breath. “I don’t know what I would do without you. I guess you’re used to saving people. Sheriffs do that, don’t they? You’ve saved me so many times now.”


“That many? Maybe so. There was the nail in my tire.”

“Your kitchen faucet blew its gasket,” he reminded her, recalling Mae Montaine appearing at his front door last Sunday morning in a white cotton sundress wet from nipples to knees. One look at her display and his legs had turned into feathers. He’d had to brace himself against his door jamb at the sight of her asking for help. Every one of her lush curves had been defined in mouth-watering detail beneath the sodden, transparent fabric. Including her round, puckered nipples.

“I’m grateful.” Her sensuous mouth tipped up in a grin.  “Really.”

So was I. Better than an X-rated flick to see you in all your glory. “No worries, Mae. I was here. I was available.” I am now certifiably hooked on your looks and your humility.

“I’m trying so hard,” she fussed at herself.

“Don’t. Just let yourself ease into country life,” he consoled her, complementing  his words with a broad smile in her direction. But he froze. Her gaze had been plastered to his naked back. When his eyes sought hers, her lashes fluttered. Flustered? Interested? Maybe?

Do not go there. He ground his teeth. Then returned to his work. How one woman could have so many challenges beat him. How he could be her savior so often thrilled him. Getting close to her—within inches as he was now—made him hard. Made him drool. Made him rein in his fantasy of having her sighing beneath him and remind himself of how that was such a bad idea.

“And damn. All my wieners are burnt!”

Mine is too, lady.

“Plus, the neighbors will be so scared. Because of the drought, the brush fires have been so terrible.“

“Doubt anyone else saw.”

“I feel awful. They’ll think I’m an idiot.”

“No. No.” That’s what she had said the first time he’d  saved her from disaster. When was that? A month ago? He’d been outside then, too, heard her yell in dismay and come barreling over the fence. She had stepped in a giant mound of red ants and they had feasted on her feet. Her elegant feet. Her slim, red-lacquered toes.

Shit. Are you playing with a full deck, Farraday?

“Think I should go apologize to them?”

“Who? The ants?”

“What? No, the neighbors.” She waved a hand in the direction of the other houses around theirs. Her beautiful breasts bobbed.

His brain sizzled like an egg in a frying pan. Ah, Farraday, you have lost your mind over this woman. “You don’t have to.”

“But I do. Oh, I do! They probably think I’m a nitwit screaming for help every other day.”

She didn’t calm down quickly after any of her disasters.

Just call me your fireman, your handy man, your only…. Enough. He bit his lower lip. Pain would bring him back to sanity. “Look, Mae. You are fine. No one else is running over. The fire is almost under control—“

“Thanks to you. What if you hadn’t been home?”

“But I was.” Good for me.

“And now I don’t have anything else for dinner.” She babbled on about this and that, while he did more damage control and stepped forward to peer into the grill and check for any smoldering embers.

Like he wasn’t one himself.

“Thank you, Sheriff.” She laid a hand on his and his skin melted.

What the hell is wrong with you, Farraday? This is just one woman with nice tits. And a great ass that would fit just fine into your two palms. Up against you, your cock nestled between her thighs.

Stop. This.

“West,” he corrected her as he worked on the pile of glowing coals. Get a grip, man. Like most city slickers, she’s oblivious to the world. Sadly, to you, too. Some folks are built like that, and you have to accept what you can’t change. Take another woman to bed and squelch your own fires. 
What’s Under My Hat today? Confessions from Lisabet Sarai!
Wednesday, April 25th, 2012

Confessions of a Clueless NewbieBy Lisabet Sarai

Let me begin by making my title clear. I’ve been writing since I was six or seven years old. I’ve been publishing for more than a decade. So I’m not a clueless newbie as an author. No, the areawhere I’m sadly clueless is the romance genre.

From reading author interviews, I get the impression that most romance writers started out as romance readers. Not me, I’m afraid. Before I began submitting to romance publishers, my ideaof “romantic” fiction was Wuthering Heights, Gone with the Wind and Romeo and Juliet. Stories like these tore at my heartstrings, but you’ll note that none of them has a happy ending. I readmy first mainstream romance (some title by Danielle Steele) in my forties and to be honest, I didn’t think much of it.

My earlier publications were basically erotica. I entered the romance world only half a dozen years ago, when the owner of Total-E-Bound contacted me about six months before the companylaunched to ask if I’d be interested in submitting something. I offered them two of my erotic novels that had gone out of print. The books really weren’t traditional romancein both cases theheroine has encounters with several individuals beside the herobut they did both end with the hero and heroine getting together, and they were sexually intense, something TEB was seeking.

Since then I’ve penned more than a dozen new tales specifically targeted for the romance market. But it has been tough. I’ve had to learn new narrative conventions. For instance, much of my previous work was written in the first person, but my publisher made it pretty clear that she preferred third person. I wasn’t used to providing detailed descriptions of my characters, but I came to understand that many romance readers want this. I’ve learned that I can give reign to my sexual imaginationthe days of the closed bedroom door are overbut only if I keep thespotlight on the protagonists. I can’t have the sexual subplots and the side scenarios that I used to include. 

One of the most difficult issues for me has been the apparent dislike that readers of M/M fiction have for including any female-oriented sexuality of any sort. I’ve also had to accept the relative unpopularity of F/F stories, even though I enjoy writing them.

Finally, one of the biggest adjustments for me has been always delivering a happy ending. I know that most of you will find this strange. It’s clear from the polls that I’ve conducted that romance readers insist on things turning out well for the hero and heroine (or hero and hero). But personally, I prefer more ambiguous resolutions to a story’s conflicts. The problem with guaranteed happy endings (from an authorial perspective) is that they make it really hard to create any kind of suspense. No matter how impossible the obstacles dividing the protagonists,readers always know that everything will work out in the end. How do you make the reader care about the conflictshow do you make the problems believable? –when a HEA is a foregone conclusion?

I’m still struggling with this issue. I’ve been reading my colleagues’ work, trying to understand the dynamics of romancewhat makes it work. I think I’m improving, but like I said, I stillconsider myself something of a clueless newbie. I hope that my readers will take that into account and be gentle!
My latest release is a M/F paranormal called Hot Spell. 

Here’s the blurb:The flames of passion are more than a metaphorThe city swelters in the grip of an unseasonable heat wave. Sylvie endures her solitary urban existence for the sake of her career, but the prospect of a hot, lonely three day weekend proves unbearable and she flees east to the pine-shrouded mountains. Far more at home in nature than in the city, Sylvie doesn’t mind being alone in the wilderness, but she’s not the only being haunting the glades and the trails.

Aidan is fiercely attracted to the voluptuous beauty he finds sun bathing nude in a high meadow, but he must resist his overwhelming desire for the sake of her safety. The sun-bronzed man with the red-gold hair is cursed with power he knows will destroy her if they give full rein to their passion. Can Sylvie refrain from tempting him? Or will she risk being being literally consumed by love?

Want an excerpt? Of course you do!****Her muscles ached from the strenuous hike. Her hair was in knots and a sticky film of perspiration coated her skin. None of that mattered. Peace enfolded her, along with a profound sense of well-being. The breeze whispered to her. The creek babbled and laughed.

Water. A bath. Relaxed, lazy, and sated though she was, the notion still held an irresistible appeal. Sylvie checked the remains of the fire to assure herself that there was no chance it would escape the rocks encircling it. Then she dug a towel out of her pack and headed down the forested slope to the creek.The gurgle of water tumbling over stone grew louder as she approached. The very sound was refreshing. A few feet from the edge, she stripped off her clothes, draping them and her towel over a convenient boulder. She was about to step out of the woods, when an unexpected movement caught her eye.There was something splashing in the creek, a bit downstream from where she stood – something, or someone. Sylvie shrank back into the shadow of the trees.

Directly opposite her, the stream rushed over river-polished rocks, flecked with white froth. To her right, though, it widened into a calm pool, black as the sky above. The unexpected noise came from there.

She peered into the night. All she could see at first was a round, furry mass that seemed to float upon the surface. Ripples stirred as a figure rose from water. At the same time, the half moon climbed above the crest of the trees. Its pale rays revealed the form of a naked man.

Sylvie caught her breath. His back was to her, a gleaming, sculpted expanse that swept down to a narrow waist, then flared into taut buttocks. A wet curtain of golden hair clung to his neckand shoulders. He took a step forward, water swirling around his lean thighs. The grace and power revealed by that small motion made Sylvie ache inside. She’d never encountered such beauty in a man.He turned then, and the ache deepened to an agony of want. Sleek skin stretched over his muscled chest and abdomen, strewn with glittering drops of moonlight. 

He turned his face to the skyand Sylvie caught a glimpse of features that seemed carved from marble: soaring brow, chiselled jaw, sharp cheekbones, and a broad, resolute mouth. The man’s eyes were closed, as if he were praying to the moon.

Then she noticed his hands, clasped below his belly in a firm grip around his erect cock. His luscious penis reared up from a matted tangle at his groin, hard and smooth as the rest of his body. Her nipples snapped into tight peaks as she watched the stranger knead his rampant flesh. Slow and deliberate at first, then with a quickening pace, he stroked from the glistening bulb down to the root. His cock grew longer and fatter as he worked it, hand over hand. His full lips drew back and his brow furrowed as the pressure and the pleasure built. He kept his eyes shut.

Sylvie licked her lips. Dampness painted her inner thighs. Her clit tingled and throbbed, crying out to be touched. Her empty pussy hungered to be filled. In a flash of memory, her dream returned – not the details, just the fevered arousal. Her body was on fire again.She sank to her knees on the mossy ground and plunged her fingers into her wetness. There was no conscious decision. She simply couldn’t help it. Her folds felt slippery and burning hot.

She cupped her hand, four fingers deep in her cleft while she rubbed the back of her thumb over her clit. Pleasure shuddered through her. The swollen nub was hard as a pebble, so sensitive that she could scarcely bear to touch it. When she backed off, though, it screamed for more stimulation.With her other hand, she massaged her breasts, cradling the lovely weight in her palm. She flicked her nipple, striking sparks, then pinched it with all the force she could muster. Her pussy clenched in response. Waves of sensation fanned out from her centre.

A low moan dragged her attention back to the stranger in the stream. With one hand he jerked his cock, fast and rough. The other was hidden behind him, moving in the same jagged rhythm.From his spread thighs and straining muscles, Sylvie guessed he had at least one finger pumping his rear hole. The lewd notion made her own anus twitch and tingle.

He was obviously close to coming. The realization sizzled through her, pushing her to the edge herself. She dug in, mashing her clit against the heel of her hand and rocking back and forth,keeping her eyes on the gorgeous man jacking off barely a dozen feet away. His biceps corded with tension, his teeth bared in a feral snarl, he clawed his way toward orgasm. Sylvie climbed with him, matching him breath for breath, groan for groan.****Hot Spell is available now from Total-E-Bound.

You’ll find information on my other work as well as lots of free stories on my website.

Monday, April 23rd, 2012

Night with a Dom

Casea Major

Thanks for having me on your blog today.
I came up with the idea for this 1Night Stand story while watching football one Sunday afternoon in late fall. I wondered what kind of catalyst would propel someone into experimenting with their darker sexual desires. What would cause someone to take a small step out of their comfort zone to seek fulfillment for a craving they’d never satisfied. That is how Night with a Dom was born.

And as for the football tie-in — If you buy the story and can find the hidden football reference email me and maybe you’ll get a prize.


Melody Manning’s workaholic ambition, coupled with a slave-driving former boss, has made her the youngest market analyst in her firm. It’s also killed her personal life, including losing her fiancé. When she receives a message from him on New Year’s Eve announcing his engagement to another woman, Mel loses it. Her new, more compassionate boss has the perfect solution for her—get laid. Good and laid.

At his suggestion, she signs up with the 1Night Stand service, listing her deepest sexual desires on the application.  A speedy response from Madame Eve has Melody on her way to Sonoma Valley wine country and a one-night stand with a mysterious Dom.

The sexy, masked Master promises to get to the bottom of her guilt and provide ultimate satisfaction under the safety of his stern hand. After an emotional night of submission and uninhibited passion, will her lover’s unmasking lead to the end of their encounter or give Mel another chance at love?


The following excerpt has been bleeped out to make it a PG-13 excerpt. Please keep in mind that the book does contain adult themes and language, and is not suitable for minors. Thank you.

Mel sucked in a breath, and opened the door. The darkened room flickered with the light of at least a dozen candles. She squinted as she walked in. The smell of incense and roses wafted in the air. Her sight adjusted, and the darker shadows of the space became visible. She scanned the scene.

In the middle of the room sat an oversized bed covered in black velvet and satin. Her arms and legs quivered. A roughly made wooden table stood with two straight-backed chairs in the corner, and a tray of appetizing food awaited.

She stood frozen, anticipating his appearance. Her heart thumped in her chest. Was he hiding? She began to turn—

“Do not turn around, Miss Manning.” His voice whispered against her ear.

She jumped at the husky sound, but didn’t try to move away.

He ran his hands across her shoulders and trailed his fingers down her bare arms. “Are you frightened, kitten?”

Her skin tingled at his simple, but intimate touch. The heat from his massive body radiated against her back though he never made contact with it. Although she couldn’t see him, his presence filled the room, and the walls seemed to shrink at his closeness. “I’m a little scared. I’ve never done anything like this before, but I guess you do—”

His finger glided up her shoulder to press against her lips and his whispered rebuke filled her ear. “Silence.”

Her eyes fluttered closed. Pleasure and fear mingled in her mind and over her skin. She wanted so bad to turn her head and look at him, but somehow she knew she shouldn’t.

The spicy masculine scent of him filled the air, and his moist, heavy breath sent waves of heat  down her neck. “During this portion of the evening you will only speak when asked a direct question, and you will address me as ‘Sir’. Understand?”

Concentrating on his words, she had to strain to hear him over her pounding heart but nodded. In the dim light of the candles, her chest rose and fell rapidly. Excitement and fear zinged to her extremities and every place in between.

“There’s nothing to be frightened of.”

He trailed his tongue from her earlobe down to her nape. She gasped and tensed her shoulders as he nipped and sucked the sensitive skin. Goosebumps covered her from head to toe. Her nipples hardened and throbbed. The mystery of him enticed her as much as his touch and scent.

He swept his hand slowly over her stomach. She melted back against him, the heat of his body wrapping around hers, instant, carnal and very real. Throbbing need pulsed between her legs, replacing the chill of fear.

“I’m going to remove your dress.”

“Okay.” The word whooshed from her. Dizziness caused her to sway. Is this really happening? His velvet baritone held a familiar lilt she couldn’t place, but surely if she’d heard that sexy sound before, she’d remember. Right now she was so aroused, it could be her high school boyfriend and she wouldn’t know—or care.

“Okay, what?”

Her body tensed at his rebuke. “Okay, Sir.”

“You have enough discipline coming this evening for past transgressions, Miss Manning. Let’s not complicate matters by increasing their number. All right?”

“All right, Sir.” She sucked in a breath at the mention of punishment. What would he do to her? She had stipulated mild discipline, but what did that mean to him?

Major Love ~~~ Major Romance

Prior to becoming a writer of romantic fiction, Casea Major worked in the legal field for a non-profit dispute resolution company for ten years.  She is now a full-time mom to three preschool children with whom she and her husband live happily…most of the time.  When she isn’t chained to her laptop, she enjoys Cary Grant movies and crocheting.

Under My Hat today-How Elizabeth Coldwell got to be a rock star-kind of
Sunday, April 22nd, 2012
One of the best things about writing fiction is that it gives you a great way to act out a lot of your most cherished fantasies. We all wanted to be different things when we were growing up. The first thing I really dreamed of doing was being an archaeologist, until I realised that meant I’d have to dig up dead people, which rather put me off the idea. But, like lots of other people, I harboured fantasies of being a rock star. Go on, admit it, you’ve done it yourself – playing air guitar in your bedroom to your favourite song, or using a microphone as a hairbrush. Even though it was never going to happen, I loved the idea of getting up on stage and singing my heart out, while an adoring audience screamed my name. And the fact rock stars have been known to get up to all kinds of kinky, sexy things with an array of willing groupies – well, that can only add a little extra gloss to the fantasy.

Over the years, I’ve been fortunate to have met a few people who’ve made their living in rock bands, including one of my very biggest idols, who was just as charming (and hot!) as I hoped he’d be, but my dreams of singing have mostly been restricted to getting up and doing a spot of karaoke every now and then. But when I gave up the day job and started writing full time, one of the storylines in my bulging ideas file revolved around the erotic adventures of a rock band – and when Total-e-bound put out a submissions call for a collection of ménage tales with a musical theme, I was there like a shot.!

I have to admit that part of the inspiration for Three-part Harmony, the story that made it into the Treble anthology and is now available as a standalone tale, came from a documentary I saw a couple of years back on Fleetwood Mac. It’s well known that they’ve had what could be described as a tangled series of love affairs within the band – just about everyone in what you’d call their classic line-up has either married or had a fling with one of the other members, but that documentary really outlined the ups and downs, the passions and the heartaches they experienced. And I knew that while truth can be stranger than fiction, when your imagination runs wild, you can create a band whose relationships are even more closely entwined. I’ve longed to unleash my inner Stevie Nicks (that voice, that songwriting talent, that extensive crushed velvet wardrobe…) and in Aimee Caine, the heroine of Three-part Harmony, I did just that, having as much fun creating the song lyrics for Aimee and her husband, Stefan’s, band Sweet Lies as I did rocking the couple’s world by adding hot new guitarist Jake Anderson to their line-up. Which was when things got very deliciously complicated – and boy, was it fun to write!

If you like the sound of Three-part Harmony, why not try the whole Treble anthology, which also includes stories by Lily Harlem, Imari Jade, Lisabet Sarai, Wendi Zwaduk and, of course, the very wonderful Ms Desiree Holt herself. And you’ll discover why bringing your hidden rock star out to play is such fun. And of course, all I have to do now is go right back in my past and unearth those archaeology fantasies, just to see what might happen…

Three-part Harmony blurb: 
When guitarist Mark Deans quits Sweet Lies the week before their concert tour is due to start, it looks like the end of the band, but singer Aimee and her husband Stefan have worked too hard to let that happen. The answer lies in Jake Anderson, who blows them away when he auditions to replace Mark. He’s cute, talented-and twelve years younger than Aimee-but there’s an instant attraction between them.

Even though she loves her husband deeply, she knows it’s only a matter of time before she and Jake end up in bed together-the same way she destroyed her relationship with Mark by tumbling into bed with Stefan. What she doesn’t expect is that when it happens, Stefan will not only give his blessing, but make the twosome a threesome by acting on his own desire for Jake…

In turn, each auditionee was ushered into the rehearsal room. Almost all of the twelve were ushered out almost as swiftly. The majority of them were session musicians, who would play for anyone as long as the money was right. They had the notes down pat, but there was no real passion in their playing, no sense they were interested in being part of the band long term. We might as well take a digital recorder holding all Mark’s guitar licks on stage with us for all they brought to the party.

More impressive were the two guys from the tribute acts. They cared about the music, and we knew they’d both be thrilled to be a part of the band, but Stefan’s words about the weirdness of taking on a Mark Deans lookalike still rang in my head. I honestly didn’t know whether I could spend so much time around someone who was almost Mark…but not quite. Still, given what we’d already heard, we were convinced one of the two would become our new guitarist.

Then the last man walked into the room, and my heart missed a beat. He couldn’t have looked less like Mark, with dirty-blond hair that fell in shaggy waves to his shoulders and a deep cleft in the point of his stubbled chin. In his mid-twenties, he was by some distance the youngest person we’d auditioned today. And when he opened his mouth, his accent placed him from somewhere on the west coast of the United States. Yet the reaction I experienced on his arrival was every bit as powerful as the first time I’d seen Mark. I knew with absolute certainty that one day very soon, we’d end up in bed together.

I didn’t know whether Stefan saw the flush rising to my cheeks as I watched the newcomer shrug out of a well-worn leather jacket that appeared to be older than he was. Beneath it, he wore a sleeveless black T-shirt revealing honey-tanned, muscular arms. An intricate piece of knotwork circled his left bicep. I wondered whether that was the only tattoo he had, or whether there was something else, in a more intimate place where no one but his lovers would ever see it…

Elizabeth Coldwell blog link: