Jul 26, 2014

New Release and Giveaway from Kali Argent!

Sometimes, new beginnings come from unexpected places.
To Cecily Baker, being unattached means making her own decisions, living by her own rules, and never answering to anyone. So when her sister drags her to a singles night at a local club—and then ditches her—it only strengthens Cecily’s conviction that dating just isn’t for her.
Pulling double duty as a bouncer and a bartender, Rafe Serento has seen a parade of beautiful women walk through the doors of Electric Mist, but he’s never met anyone like Cecily. Lovely in every sense of the word, and just as stubborn, she challenges everything he thought he wanted in a relationship.
The more Cecily pushes him away, though, the harder Rafe pushes back, and unless they find some common ground, they’ll both end up Alone.

Now available from:

“About four years now.” The tightness in her voice testified to her level of pain, but Cecily didn’t complain as she limped beside him. “Thank you, by the way. I’m sure this isn’t how you planned to spend your night.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I like to think I’m something of a superhero. Leaping tall buildings, racing bullets, and helping beautiful damsels in distress. It’s all in the job description.”
Cecily laughed at his lame joke, a deep, throaty chuckle that tripped his pulse into a gallop. “Mild mannered bouncer by night, milder mannered superhero by later night? Sounds intriguing.”
“Yeah, but it’s not all fun and games.” The breeze shifted, bringing with it the faint scent of floral perfume mixed with just a hint of vodka. “I mean, where do you even find a phone booth in this town?”
Nearing the crosswalk, Cecily pulled him to a stop and leaned heavily against his side. “Just one second, okay? Sorry about this.”
He could tell her not to apologize for something she had no control over, but Rafe had a feeling anything he said would fall on deaf ears. “I’m not in any hurry,” he answered instead. “I don’t have anywhere to be, and it’s not like I’ve got someone waiting up for me.”
“So you live alone?” Cecily sounded nothing more than mildly curious as she reached over to drop her shoes into the nearby trashcan. “I really liked those shoes,” she mumbled offhandedly. “They hurt like hell, but they were pretty.”
“I’m sorry for your loss. We’ll look into grief counseling in the morning.”
Cecily’s husky laughter ended abruptly when she sucked in a sharp breath through gritted teeth. “Light’s green. I’m ready.” She held a little tighter to his arm as they crossed the street, allowing him to support just a bit more of her weight. “You never did answer. About living alone?”
“Miss Baker, are you flirting with me? Trying to get me all to yourself?”
“I already have you to myself, Mr. Serento, but don’t worry. I promise not to take advantage.”
The Garden Apartments loomed just ahead, windows illuminated with soft amber lights or flickering with the glow of television sets. “Almost there. How you doing?”
“It hurts.” Cecily pulled his wool coat more securely around herself as she limped along beside him. “I’ll live, though. I think you were on to something with that bed rest and aspirin plan.”
Neither of them spoke again as they made their way along the canal to the complex. The silence was peaceful, not awkward or uncomfortable, and Rafe felt a small pang of disappointment when they finally reached their destination.
“Here we are, safe and sound as promised.” He gazed up at the wall of windows. “Tell me you’re not on the fifth floor.”
Ducking her head, Cecily tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and bit down on her bottom lip. “I’m on the fifth floor.”
“Well, okay.” In one fluid motion, he swept Cecily into his arms and strode toward the steps.
Cecily squealed, a sound he didn’t think her capable of making, and swatted him in the back of the head. “What the hell are you doing?”
“How else do you plan to make it up five flights of stairs?”
“Shut up.” With a disgruntled, though adorable, growl, she settled into his arms and stopped squirming. “Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“Oh, absolutely not.” Rafe shook his head as he ascended the third flight of steps. “Probably ninety percent of the shit I say makes no sense whatsoever.”
“You’re not like most guys.”
It sounded like a compliment. She looked thoughtful instead of disgusted when she said it. I’m going to take it as a compliment.
“Do you need help getting settled?” he asked when they reached the landing on the top floor.
He expected her stubborn pride to make a comeback, so he was pleasantly surprised when she nodded and pointed toward her apartment door.
“If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it.” Cecily paused and tilted her head to the side. “You’re not a serial killer, right?”
“Not recently.”
“Or a prude?”
“Uh…” The air suddenly felt thick and suffocating, and heat crawled up Rafe’s neck to his cheeks. “Why do you ask?”
Pushing the lapels of his jacket aside, she licked her full lips while her green eyes danced with what he could only assume was mischief. “My apartment key…” Cecily skimmed her fingers along the swell of her left breast and reached into the plunging neckline of her dress to produce a sing, gold key. “Ta-da.”


Jul 21, 2014

In the Spotlight with Leila Lacey!

Leila Lacey is a romance author living in Michigan. Her unique, yet titillating, genre blurs the lines between romance, interracial love and erotica. Now in her late 30’s, Leila has been passionate about writing since age 10. She can often be found traveling the world, enjoying water sports, listening to jazz music or volunteering at Vista Maria, a local youth program for young women. Leila, above all else, loves her friends and family. It is with their support that she is able to create magical scenes of true human intimacy on every page. Follow Leila Lacey on her endeavor to be America’s next New York Time’s Bestselling Author!

Loving Logan

Shelby Beasley and Logan Chandler have known each other for more than 20 years; after all Shelby’s best friend Lance is Logan’s twin brother. After years of misunderstandings Shelby and Logan have discovered that they have a hot, heavy and explosive, attraction to each other. The only problem, Shelby is the oldest daughter of one of the richest families in Georgia and Logan is a poor ex-con from the other side of the tracks that hates rich people. Shelby has never known a life of need but never really acclimated to being one of the “elite”. She is an educated woman that wants it all, what woman doesn’t, right? Logan and his family have suffered from being a part of the lower middle class. Looked down on by the wealthy people of Shelbyville, Georgia simply because of his so called social status. He has developed a disdain for the wealthy.  Can Logan and Shelby find lasting love together, or will Logan’s demons push Shelby away from him?


“Logan, this is Ivy Meade, Shelby’s biological mother,” Lance said. “Ms. Meade, this is my brother, Logan.” Logan was so worried about Shelby that it took him a minute to register what Lance had just said about this woman’s hand that he was shaking.

“Please to... Wait WHAT?” Logan said looking back at Lance like he had lost his mind.
“It a long story, and a pretty disgusting one, if you ask me, so you may want to wait on the explanation of what this fiasco is until we find out what is going on with Shelby.”
Still standing with his mouth open, Logan looked around the room at all of these always perfect people and for the first time in his life saw a kink in the amour.

“Agreed,” Logan said looking at his brother and mouthing ‘what the fuck?’ Just as he was trying to understand the collection of people that were and weren’t gathered at the hospital, a doctor and nurse walked into the room.

“Are you the family for Shelby Beasley?” the older portly doctor said. Logan recognized him from his shop last week.  He had brought in his antique car for repairs.  Logan marveled that he would not have guessed that this man was a doctor standing in his garage. Guess you can’t judge a book by its cover. Logan had never gotten that saying until now.

“Yes, Doctor! How is my daughter?” Sarah Beasley said standing and coming to stand directly in from of him. That, in itself, was weird to Logan. Sarah Beasley was here and wringing her hands in anxiety and Jackson Beasley was nowhere to be seen.
Taking a deep breath, the doctor said, “Would you like to sit down?”

“NO, NO! I don’t want to sit down. Tell me what is going on with my daughter,” Sarah yelled at the doctor.

“Well, she has an extensive list of injuries. Her spleen is ruptured, her liver is lacerated and she has eight broken ribs, and her right leg and arm are broken. Now, Shelby has a rare blood type and she had lost so much blood, we will need to do a blood transfusion. Is there anyone here with Rh negative or O blood type?” the doctor said. The woman that had been introduced to Logan as Ivy, raised her hand and said, “I do.”

Shocked, the doctor said, “Well, that is rare.  Are you related to Shelby?” the doctor asked looking around the room.

“Yes! She is her biological mother” Cassidy said to the doctor.

“Ok, I can see this is complicated. Ok, Miss, if you will go with my nurse we can start collecting some blood from you.” The doctor paused to look down at the tablet that he had in his hand. “Unfortunately, the baby did not make it,” the doctor said. He did not realize he had just dropped a bomb on everyone.

“Wait WHAT?” Logan said to the doctor grabbing his arm. “What did you just say?” he finished.

Looking around at the people in the room, the doctor said, “Yes, you all didn’t know? Shelby was 12 weeks pregnant.”

“WHAT?” came all the voices in the room like a choir “PREGNANT?”

Blog Post

The inspiration of the Legacy Series actually came from a personal place for me. My grandmother used to speak of the legacy of our family to us as her grandchildren a great deal. As I am the mother of an eighteen year old young man, I have started to look at the legacy of MY family which, let me tell you, is a book in itself.... WOW!   I used to know a woman that was a TRUE Southern Belle from the crown of her head to the tip of her toes.   She was as sweet as peach pie, I tell you. But if you messed with her, her husband or her kids, you would be less afraid of Hurricane Katrina. So in thinking about a series of books that I wanted to write about a family legacy, her “Southern Charm” came to mind and the rest, I guess you could say, is history.

One of my favorite things about this series is the grandmother, Queenie. Her words, mannerisms and place within her family is my maternal grandmother, with creative license of course. I was very close to her. She one of my favorite people in the world, still is to be honest with you, and she has been deceased for a number of years. So if I can say I have had any “hurdles” in writing this series, it is when it comes to writing Queenie. I always get that little hitch in my chest and longing to sit and talk with her and hear her thoughts on my writing, the genre I have chosen, the sex in my books and just my life on a day to day basis. I have been so amazed and honored at how many people like my stories and get what I am trying to deliver. I have always loved that my maternal aunt was the first person to introduce me to the genre of romance. I used to go and visit my grandmother each summer and I remember spending hour after hour reading her Harlequin Romance books. After a few years, she would take me to the library every couple of weeks to get my own so I would relinquish her books. Ahh, those summers are some of my best memories. I do remember thinking the one element that I wanted in some of those stories is some type of humor. I love to laugh and to make people laugh and in my opinion a lot of romance books are passionate and serious but they don’t have any humor. We all love to laugh, and we all like a little tasteless humor every now and then. Or is that just me and my dirty crazy mind? Anyway, the other thing that was missing in my opinion was the “real” conversation. What I mean by that is, while we ALL do not swear all the time but we do swear every now and then. What woman has not slung an F bomb when she was mad at her man? I would like to meet her so she can help me with my F bombs, because if I was on TV and I was mad at my man, there would be a whole lot of beeps. Anyway, I wanted the conversations between girlfriends and significant others to be real. I wanted to feel like I could hear or see this conversation between these people. Now since I have been published, I get a lot of comments that people do not like that I have made “professional” people into Ghetto birds, which I think is interesting because we, as a society, put such exaltation on “positions” like, “Ok, I am a doctor and so now I never talk dirty with my girlfriends and we never say crazy things to each other and call each other out or I am a CEO, so I don’t get mad and want to slap the hell out of a person that crosses me.”  Our profession does not negate what we are; PEOPLE that have tempers, and dirty minds, and curse and swear when we are amongst our friends and loved ones. So that critique confuses me, but I take all my reviews good and bad and try to incorporate what the reader wants to see into future works. I do not change things totally to what each person wants because, let’s face it, sometimes those that are afraid to do or can’t do are the first ones to critique your work BUT, I am not perfect and I am new to this. I also believe we can always learn from triumph and mistakes. I will say to my critiques on the books that I have written about race; what you read is a reality of our society.   There are racist people in every race.  Acting like it does not happen is irrational in my opinion and what I write is from a perspective of healing certain race relations NOT glorifying them. I am bringing a light to the ignorance, anger and hate. On the topic of interracial relationships and race relations; I am not now, nor have I ever been, a racist person. Do I know people that are racist? Yes. Do I try to encourage them to be better? Yes.  Do I stop befriending them because of their struggle and demons? No. It is not my place to judge any man or woman.

Lastly to those that have read my books and given good and bad critiques, thank you so much. Honestly from the depth of my soul, thank you. I am living my dream, I am writing and I am entertaining and making people happy. I cannot be happier in this journey so, thank you. Even to those that don’t like me or my work; you have to admit, I got to you.  Maybe not the way I would have hoped but, hey, we cannot win them all… right?

Author Interview

Has your perspective on the writing process changed since you became published?

Absolutely; one thing I have found is that I can get into writing. I can be writing 2 to 3 books at a time. I will get so wrapped in my books or research of the book that I want to write and I will forget that I need to cook dinner, or that I have not spoken to my family and friends other than a ‘hi’ and ‘bye’ in days. So I have definitely gotten a great respect for writers that are writing amazing books or CRAP books and still juggle a family, career, friends and hygiene!

Do you work best on a deadline, or do you need freedom from time constraints?

No constraints. I have not really been under a publisher’s deadline. I am an indie author, so any deadlines that I have are created by me. Believe me I can be harder on myself than any publisher could.  I had to stop doing that because I was stressing myself the hell out.

Is there a word or phrase you catch yourself overusing?

Yes, Laughing hysterically! I have recently realized that my friends and I laugh so much when we are talking to each other and spending time together that I have transferred that into my books. 

How do you know you’ve written a good book?

HA! I know I have written a good book when I am writing it and I say (excuse the language) ‘SHUT THE FUCK UP!’ I find that when I am writing I will have a plan and while I am mid-paragraph, I will change my mind on where I want to go with the story and go off the top of my head and surprise the HELL out myself! Ha Ha!

How do you keep your characters and stories organized?

I have a character excel spreadsheet. I will think of a name I want to use in the future or hear a name I want to use and I put it in that spreadsheet.  Then once I have a story line, I will go into the spreadsheet and pick the names of the characters for the story line.  Once I use the names in a story, I put the name of the book next to the name.

Are you a Swooper (write first, edit later,) a Basher (edit each sentence as you go,) or both?

I am a Swooper a TERRIBLE Swooper! Ha Ha! I hate editing, hate hate hate. Did I say hate? Ha Ha.  I will go through the entire book sometimes 250 pages and go through and do a spell check. Then I have a friend that I have read it for me, tell me all the errors and I change them, then I send it to the editor.

What is the one thing you must have to be able to write?

Ice tea, potato chips and music. Oh and my Boston terrier, Ruby.  She is my love-bug and for some reason, she has always been protective of me. I got her when she was five months old. She will sit in her doggie bed and sleep while I write and if she is outside or with my kids while I am writing, it feels like something is off.

What types of scenes are your favorite to write?

Conversation scenes; so for me, that is, I like a lot of conversation rather than description. When I write, I think ‘how do I think this topic and this conversation will go between these two personalities of these characters? How do I think this conversation would go?’  Then I just go. I LOVE it!  I will find myself laughing out loud or even crying. When you can touch yourself… in my humble dirty opinion… you have talent.  Ha Ha.

How do you feel about the term “Mommy Porn”?

What the what now? Ok, I do not get why when you become a mother you are expected to not be kinking and freaky. Then you get the husbands that are like, ‘well, once the kids came, you stopped wanting to swing from the chandelier with me.’ That’s because when she had that baby, she became a “mom” and so can no longer be a big old freak!  Mommy Porn to me is societies’ way of saying, ’you can’t like to have your ass spanked with your arms tied above your head with a silk scarf.’ Yes, I said it! Ha Ha!

I think it is crap. I am a mommy, so I will never allow sexual photos or videos to be taken of me because lets’ face it, you really can’t control that; other than that… what I do in the bedroom does not affect the mother that I am. They entirely are two separate entities.

I also think that women prefer to use their imagination more than men. NOT ALL but most and with dirty books you can do that. You can picture yourself with this delicious man that has been described. But with “daddy porn” THERE IT IS… who-ha and ding-a-ling, no imagination necessary! Ha Ha 

Do you prefer to write 1st or 3rd Person POV? Why?

I actually like 3rd person POV because in my POV, it’s easier to write the emotions and thoughts of both main characters.

What do you feel are the most important aspects to a good romance?

Passion, communication, and a description of what both parties are feeling for each other.

Are you always in the driver’s seat? Or do your characters drag you along for the ride?

No, I am not always in the driver’s seat. My characters’ personalities tell me what they want to say and do and there are times when I am like, ‘HEY I am the writer here. SHHH!’ Ha Ha.  Wait, does that mean I have multiple personalities? Ha Ha.

What is your least favorite part of the writing process?


Lightning Round

What is your most cherished possession?

My father’s flag from his military burial, and some handkerchiefs that my grandmother handmade for me.

How do you feel about being the center of attention?

I am a little uncomfortable with it. People can be so mean and hateful and I can be really sensitive sometimes. So being in the spot light is scary to me sometimes.

What makes you blush?

A sexy man telling me I am sexy. Naked people!

What is your worst habit?

Finger nail biting and swearing

Do you have any irrational fears or phobias?

Spiders, bugs, and lightening

What are you the most hopeless at?

Staying angry at people that hurt or violate me. I will forgive and let them right back into my life leaving room for me to be hurt again.

Food: Pizza
Color: Pink
Movie: Calamity Jane, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, The Star Wars Trilogy, Friday
Band: Boyz II Men
Song: Your Home is in my Heart
Quote: "If one is lucky, a solitary fantasy can totally transform one million realities." — Maya Angelou
TV Show: Criminal Minds, NCIS, NCIS LA, Rizzoli and Isle and The Closer
Holiday: Christmas
Sport: Football
Guilty Indulgence: Stilettos
Dessert: Cheesecake
Time of Day: Sunrise

Giveaway: To enter to win a $25 Amazon Gift Card, please leave a comment with a valid email address. Contest ends July 26th at Midnight. 

Jul 14, 2014

Welcome Susan Hayes!

by Susan Hayes


Sonja Grekov has spent her life in a gilded cage, trapped by her wealthy family’s expectations and the scroll tattoo on her face that declares her to be one of the coveted fertile women on Earth. No longer willing to be a pawn to further her parents’ ambition, she finally finds the courage to break free before she can be claimed in a loveless match. She is determined to set her own path, but never expected where it would take her...

Trevar Storm and Deacon Wilde are Alliance Elites, but there’s nothing elite about their current assignment. They crew one of the oldest freighters in the fleet, ferrying goods across Alliance controlled space with just each other for company. With a reputation for trouble and no chance at promotion, the two men are planning for the day they can go into business for themselves and leave their military lives behind.

A straightforward supply run turns into a life changing event when the two elites discover a treasure hidden in their cargo bay. Keeping their sexy stowaway may bring the full wrath of the Alliance down on their heads, but Trevar and Deacon won’t let her go without a fight. Will their journey end in heartache, or can three misfit hearts find love in the darkness between the stars?

Story Excerpt:

A muffled groan came from somewhere beneath Deke, confirming it wasn’t the ground crew. None of them would be careless enough to end up inside a shuttle heading for orbit.

“Hey, is someone there?”


“Hello? If you can hear me, make some noise.”

Another groan, this one a little louder, reached his ears. Well, whoever it was, they weren’t dead. Though after experiencing blackout levels of g-forces while being imprisoned in a containment field, they were probably suffering from a headache that would make them wish they were dead.

He carefully shifted several crates, tunneling down toward the sound. When he lifted the last box, his heart seized in his chest and he had to take a second look to confirm he wasn’t hallucinating. Nope. That was definitely a woman. Her dress was dirty and torn, and her dark brown hair was lying in a tangle across her face, but there was no way she was a hallucination. Neither was the delicate scroll tattoo he could see peeking out through the strands of her chestnut hair.

He toggled his wrist unit and sent a verbal-only message to Trevar. “Get down to the cargo bay, right fucking now. We have a problem.”

“Shit. I don’t want problems, Deke, I want to get going. Can’t it wait?”

“No.” He heard Trevar sigh heavily, the other man’s frustration a near tangible thing even through the comms.

“What the fuck is it that can’t wait until we’re out of orbit? Did you find our mystery cargo? Please tell me it’s something valuable.”

“More like priceless,” Deke muttered as their stowaway moaned softly and opened her eyes for the first time. Dark lashes framed a pair of blue eyes the color of glacial ice, and for a moment they stared at each other in silence.

“Deke? What the fuck are you talking about?” Trevar’s voice broke the spell.
“You’re going to need to see this for yourself. Move your ugly ass, and bring your med-kit.”

“What the hell? Are you hurt?”

“Not for me, for the kitten in the cargo bay.”

Deke ignored the next outburst from Trevar and focused his attention on the woman staring up at him. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing hiding in my cargo bay?”

Sonja felt like she’d been run over by a transpo, twice. Her chest ached and her head throbbed like it might explode at any second. She remembered the engines roaring to life, but after that things went fuzzy. When her eyes finally focused, she found herself looking up at a handsome man with a stern expression on his face. He had a short, well-trimmed beard that was a shade darker than the cropped red hair on his head, and even from this odd angle she could see enough of his steel-gray uniform to know he was a member of the Alliance.

 “Had to…get away. Hiding. Didn’t want them to find me,” she said, her voice coming out as a gritty whisper. She hated how weak she sounded, and cleared her throat to try again. “I’m Sonja.”

 “Who was chasing you? No one said anything to us about trouble back at the base.”
She shook her head, and then groaned as the small movement sent pain stabbing into her skull. “Long story. Where am I?”

“You’re on board our freighter, the Arca, and you are a long way from home, Sonja.”
“Good.” The further away she was from the base, the better. With any luck they’d gone deeper into the badlands.

Someone came running, their footsteps loud enough to make her ears ring. There was something wrong with their stride though. It seems as though there was too much time between footfalls. Sonja stirred, ignoring her aches and pains to focus all her attention on her surroundings. She pressed down on the floor and found herself rising off the ground. The gravity wasn’t right. “We’re not on Earth?”

“We’re in orbit around it,” the officer stated. “I’m Deacon, by the way. Are you hurt? I found blood on the bay floor.”

Sonja ignored his question and asked one of her own, instead. “Are you going to turn me in?”

“That depends on why you’re hiding in our cargo bay,” a new voice spoke, and Sonja realized this must be the source of the footsteps she’d heard.

Deacon turned his head to speak to someone behind him. “I didn’t want to move her until you got here. I think she’s fine, but—”

“I’m okay. I just wasn’t expecting my first trip into space to be so, uh, violent.”

Deacon moved back and another man appeared in her field of vision. He was older than Deacon, with dark hair that was several inches longer than it should have been considering he was clearly another Alliance officer. His steel-gray eyes matched his uniform, and his expression was one of bemusement as he looked down at her. “Hello, kitten. I’m Lieutenant Trevar Storm, and you are not supposed to be back here.”

Steamy Excerpt

“Like what you see?” Trevar’s question came out as a roughened growl as he took a step toward her, then another. She felt like rabbit being hunted by a pair of eagles, if the eagles were really, really big.

“If I say yes, what happens next?”

Deke actually chuckled at that. “What would you like to happen, sweetheart?”

“Um….” She lifted her hands, palms up, as she struggled to find the right words.
“Funny, you didn’t have any problem showing us what you wanted last night. Ah, that’s the problem, isn’t it, we’re talking too much.” Trevar walked up to her and set his hand down on the counter to her right, while Deke mirrored his actions on her left.
She was caught.

Trevar was right. Talking wasn’t working for her, action would be easier. She had to stretch her arms to reach them, but she managed to place a hand on each of their shoulders, drawing them in closer. They came willingly, pressing up against her so there was no more space between them.

Trevar moved first, dropping his head to slant his mouth across hers. The moment their lips met, she forgot why she’d been nervous. There was no need to be. He kissed her slowly, sampling her lips and then moving deeper. His teeth nipped at her lower lip, sending a sizzling flash of heat coursing through her. This was what she needed, what she’d always craved and never been allowed to have. Here was someone who wanted her for something besides the mark on her face or her family’s wealth. No, she corrected herself with what was left of her mind. Here were two someones, and they both wanted her.

Trevar knew he was in deep trouble the second his mouth touched hers. Kissing Sonja was like standing inside a plasma bomb’s blast zone at the moment of ignition. She seared his skin with every touch, sending Trevar’s blood boiling and his dick aching with the need to be inside her. She was beautiful, sexy, and breathtakingly naïve. Part of him wanted nothing more than to send her home again, to live out a safe, protected life of luxury. Instead, he was charging her a small fortune to deliver her to an uncertain future, and he was going to do it while showing her everything he knew about pleasure. The thought gave him a moment’s twinge, but he ignored it. He’d deal with the fallout later, after they’d gotten safely to X2.

She rubbed herself against him, enticing him and inflaming him at the same time. There was no artifice to her actions, no games being played. He delved into the sweet heat of her mouth and felt her shudder in response, loving the honesty of her reactions. She was so different from the hardened women he usually spent time with. Sonja was still touched by innocence. He could sense her emotions, need blending with nervousness and hint of uncertainty, and it was almost enough to break him. Almost, but not quite. She was far too good for a bastard like him, but that knowledge wouldn’t stop him. He was going to have her anyway.

 He lifted the hand that had been set down on the counter and speared his fingers into her hair, the cool, soft weight of it tumbling through his fingers. She’d selected some fragrance he couldn’t remember the name of for her cleanser, a subtle, fruity scent that freshened the recycled air around her like a sea breeze on a hot summer day. Fuck, he had it bad if he was waxing poetic about her damned shampoo.

It was the weight of Deke’s hand on his shoulder that reminded Trevar that he wasn’t alone with Sonja. It was an act of pure will to lift his head and release her. Her eyes ice-blue eyes were clouded with desire, and her lips were swollen from their kisses. He liked seeing even those faint marks of possession on her. He reminded himself this was only temporary, a pleasant distraction, nothing more. Once they got to X2, she’d only be a memory. He planned on making it a damned good one.

For the first time since puberty, Deke was having trouble controlling his emotions and no fucking luck at all controlling his body. He’d been impatiently waiting for her to wake up for the past few hours, and none of his usual calming techniques had done more than take the edge off his need to see her again. He hadn’t done more than kiss her yet, and she was already wreaking havoc in his world. This didn’t bode well for the day they parted ways, but right now he didn’t care. All that mattered was getting her back in his arms.

She greeted him with a dazed smile and rose up on her toes to kiss him, her hand moving from his shoulder to the nape of his neck as he wrapped both arms around her and tugged her in hard against his body. Damn, she felt good in his arms, warm, and soft, and eager. She wriggled closer, brushing against the hard ridge of his cock and he groaned into her mouth at the pleasure of that brief contact. He couldn’t wait to feel her hands on him, or her mouth, or how good it would feel to drive deep into her hot pussy.

Deke slid his tongue into her mouth and she moaned, the vibration coursing through him and leaving nothing but raw need in its wake. She opened to him completely, her tongue twining with his as she molded herself to him. He unwound one arm from her waist to run his hand down her side until his hand found bare skin. The silken warmth of her thigh inflamed him.

More. He needed more.

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Jul 13, 2014

New Releases!

Heat level--HOT! 

What would you do if you were given a second chance to find love? 

When fun loving, Ali McDaniels, is contracted to assist in creating an online training class for LACE hospital, she’s thrilled to be paired with her former college boyfriend, Dr. Randy Carstead. Too bad his ambition turned him into a too-serious doctor in the thirteen years they’ve been apart. Despite the job in Rock Hard being only three weeks, she’s determined to loosen him up. 

As an Emergency Room doctor, Randy has always had one goal—to help others. But when Ali McDaniels walks into his life, something changes. She intrigues him and turns his world upside down—both in and out of the bedroom. 

What will Ali have to do to get Randy to go from scalpels and stethoscopes to being a bad boy biker and a tie-me-up, kiss-me-hard lover?

Political campaigns don’t always go as planned… 

Lach McKinnon, a former FBI Hostage Rescue Team Leader, was involved in a highly publicized and politically sensitive mission that went critically wrong. He has always taken responsibility for the three lives lost, though he keeps his guilt locked away. Becoming a team member of CSA has relieved him of similar assignments, however things haven’t really been mundane. 

Phoebe Dunaway is a United States Senator’s daughter. She can be relied on to do what is expected of her. From raising her sister after their mother died to overseeing her mother’s legacy foundation, Phoebe has steadfastly been the responsible one in the family. Now aiding her father in his quest for the presidency, she finally realizes that ignoring her own needs might not be in her best interests. 

Lach is given a VIP Personal Security Detail — protect Phoebe from a potential threat against her father’s bid for the White House. That’s easier said than done when the attraction between them sets the path of the campaign down one of blazing desire. Unexpected danger lurks around every corner and Lach must face his past demons if he has any hope of keeping Phoebe safe. 

Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable (anal play, strong BDSM theme and elements, violence). Not intended for those under the age of 18. 

Series Description: 

Crest Security Agency (CSA) is run by Gavin Crest, a retired Marine Master Sergeant. He has personally selected his own former military team members, both men and women, to configure a seamless Special Operations Capable (SOC) unit. Working together on investigations, domestically and abroad, each team member will find their niche in life and love. Follow along as Kennedy Layne conveys each of their stories as they work together on investigations that lead them down perilous paths of passion, intrigue and suspense...

Jul 7, 2014

In the Spotlight with Serena Fairfax!

Set in sun-drenched Lake Garda, church mouse Tamsin Heriot, an English rose, pairs off with sexy, privileged Luca Leopoldo who’s half Italian half Somali. But Luca isn’t what he seems…
Orphaned, aged seven, when his childhood in Mogadishu is brutally destroyed, Luca is left emotionally broken.  Ragged and starving he seeks refuge in Italy where kindly aristocrats adopt him.
Ever since she was fifteen, Tamsin has had a crush on Luca and the summer before she goes to university, she’s determined to lose her virginity to him.
It’s eight years before their trajectories re-converge. Tamsin, still lusting after Luca, receives devastating news that triggers her return to the dilapidated family casa when an unexpected bond develops between her and Luca’s widowed, adoptive mother.
A will alters what starts as a dalliance and there’s no shortcut to love, everything to lose, as the relationship between two wounded people, Luca and Tamsin, is pushed to breaking point.

I am eighteen, going on nineteen and have never been fucked. Tamsin morosely hummed her thoughts to the tune of Liesl and Rolf’s duet in “The Sound of Music” as she gazed at her reflection in the lopsided, oval bedroom mirror that scorching August day. The interior walls of La Casa della Fontana sloped, the floors listed, so straightening the mirror, in the crooked little house of the nursery rhyme, was routine. This grandly named, spectacularly moldering house in a picturesque village on Lake Garda had been snapped up by her bohemian parents, Patrick and Eve Heriot, on the back of a legacy from a crusty uncle, and it was from here that, for the past twenty-five years, they ran year-round painting and creative writing courses.
Tamsin’s first year at university beckoned in six weeks’ time. Below bold brows, large, gold-flecked hazel eyes set in a plump, milk-fresh face stared back at her and she sucked in her cheeks. She peeled off her nightie, courtesy of a thrift shop, her wardrobe mainstay, and sighed. Her luscious boobs owed nothing to silicon implants but her tummy was majestically rounded and there was no avoiding it, she was a dumpling who couldn’t afford liposuction.
Her spirits boosted as she brushed her hair. Licorice-dark, thick and glossy, it tumbled to her shoulders in loose curls. He would surely throw her down and lose himself in it. And those deep dimples when she smiled, which she’d almost forgotten how to.
The three graces – her trio of close girlfriends, all lissome and nubile with antelope legs, all clones of the hottest models - had been fucked, or so they bragged. Fucked by their brothers’ buddies, fucked by their fathers’ buddies, fucked by studs in one-night stands. Fucked against library shelves groaning with texts on particle physics, fucked in the swimming pool, fucked knee-deep in mud at Glastonbury, fucked on the hallowed green grass of Glyndebourne to the shrill vocals of Brünhilde wrapping up the immolation scene. There was no doubt they’d fucked and she claimed likewise, although disbelief was palpable and vociferously voiced when, with narrowed eyes, they compared notes. Well, this summer she’d get fucked, by hook or by crook. Her summer of love. The summer Cinderella would go to the ball. She refused to go down in history as the only virgin fresher.
She had A PLAN. A plan that had simmered gently all night after she’d masturbated whilst poring over “Bonking For Tyros” and munched her way through two bags of prawn flavored potato crisps. A plan she would implement at once.
A party of five couples was expected that evening on a week’s course. Patrick and Eve with Tamsin’s brother Gareth, six years older than her would, as usual, meet and greet them at Milan airport, herd them onto a minivan and, after two hours, speed proportionate to vehicle’s decrepitude, puttering down the autostrada, decant them at the casa. Nine-year-old Ruby, Patrick and Eve’s last hurrah, was vacationing in style in Ibiza, with her best friend Isla, at the hip, minimalist beach house owned by Isla’s family.
It was ten a.m. and Tamsin heard a rumble of bickering voices as the Heriots left. The minivan was temperamental, so plenty of time was allowed for mishaps. Tamsin was delegated to stay behind to lay the well-scrubbed, rough-hewn communal refectory table, to ensure the pre-cooked meal was properly defrosted and heated up and the wine was chambray-ing. That was an affectation of Gareth’s, since the Heriots could afford, and served, what could only be politely categorized as easy drinking.
She glanced down at the plan, although she’d no need to as she’d memorized it by heart.
Change bed linen and sprinkle lavender water.
Flash the flesh.
Buy condoms and new knickers.
Rehearse Luca pretext.
Ah Luca! Ever since she was fifteen, she’d had a crush on him. Her head swarmed with fantasies of the scion of Il Principe Salvatore Leopoldo di Monte Valla and Principessa Catarina. He, godlike, was sole heir to the noble title and extensive agricultural land holdings, to the sumptuous Leopoldo palazzo in Milan where masterpieces in oils by Titian, Raphael, Caravaggio and El Greco hung in proximity to canvases by Impressionists, Cubists and Fauvists. Comprising one of the most fabulous private art collections in the world, it was on loan to the Italian government. And few dynastic families in Italy possessed the twentyfour carat pedigree of the Leopoldos, who counted among their ancestors the Chief Treasurer to the Emperor Barbarossa, a Pope, a composer, two saints and Renaissance Ambassadors.
Yes! Tamsin swiftly executed items one and two, painted her finger and toenails a shimmering Chinese red, slapped a flash of azure on her eyelids and whirled down to make breakfast. Contemplating the third homemade roll with lashings of salty butter and gooseberry jam coursing through her arteries, she hesitated.

Quickly they ripped off each other’s nightwear until they were both naked.   It seemed the right response because she took it no further and wrapped her arms round him, settling in to him with a sigh. He pulled her soft curves into him and held her, kissing her fiercely.
Try something new today—the supermarket catchphrase—ran through Tamsin’s thoughts as, with her heartbeat tripling, Luca shot her that look that always gave her a warm, damp rush.  
“ Signora Leopoldo di Monte Valla. ”
She let her legs fall apart. Just the deep cadence of his voice turned her ready. “ Do it, make me come.” She knew what his tongue could do, what his cock could do. “I want you now, my prince, my lord.”  She swept her hair over his balls, and took one then another into her mouth.
“Wider still and wider for me, babe. I want to see every bit of you.”
‘I hear and I obey.” She shifted and opened up, spreading her sex to him and a deep growl emerged from somewhere low down in his chest.
“Love that womanhood, love your big, tight ass.”  Firm hands clamped the cheeks of her butt   trapping their bodies front to front. He paused, his eyes glittering   under the long, black lashes and then he was dipping his head and she felt the ridge of his tongue slamming inside her, sucking her swollen clit, his breath moist and hot.
She gasped and shut her eyes. “ I want to taste you.”  Her pussy clenched and throbbed as his hands rested on her thighs keeping her wide.
“Keep it going.” She whimpered.
 She watched him rip the foil and roll on the condom, nudging her with the tip of his warm, smooth cock. She reached for it and took the hardness of his length in her mouth, savoring the nectar, wanting his thickness to enter her, wanting his juices in her, over her.
He wet his fingers in his juices and, circling her labia,  she bucked.
“That’s what I like to know.”
“I’m going to…come.”
“Not yet you won’t.” His lips twitched in a smile. “If you do,” he whispered a sweet torture, “ that’s it for tonight. Hush now. We’re going there together.”
He slid his fingers deep into her clit, moving in and out, the slick, accepting sound of her desire like a metronome beating time.
He stopped and she felt she’d die.  “Move,” she moaned.
His eyes were darker than she’d ever seen before. He bent into her and nibbled a jutting nipple as he eased the head of his silky cock into the peachy damp of her slit. Her cunt flared up around him, waiting, ripe, needy, her heartbeat going wild as he thrust his cock deeper as he marked his territory, staked his claim to her. She was his for the taking. 
“ Sweetie.” His gaze tangled with hers. And then he was hammering into her, rocking hard and fast and she was spiraling out of control until the orgasm lurking somewhere over the rainbow rushed down to ignite them and they shuddered and shattered round each other as he spilled himself into her with a shout.
With a soft sigh he eased out  and rolled to one side.  He realized something else. Tamsin had messed with his emotions. He’d got caught out.  He’d have to watch it. He didn’t do emotions.

   Later that night, Luca turned to Tamsin and murmured. “How about a chaser?” He nuzzled his tongue down her cheek.
   She felt her pulse beating in her throat as her lips slid down his cock. And then he was flipping her over onto her belly, running his fingers down her spine. She got on her hands and knees and he slid his tongue into her hole slicking her, coaxing her with a slow sweetness that craved for more. Then bending right over her, his fingers eased  in and out of her slippery cunt, fucking her till she came, in spasm after spasm.
“The best is yet to be.” 
The thought of his swollen cock riding into her ass made her quiver anxiously.
He must have sensed it for he said softly. “It’s going to be alright.”
“No pain, no gain?”
“Honey, trust me.” He slipped one lubricated finger into her ass and pressed down. A sensation so new, so wicked, coiled heatedly through her, almost tipping her over the edge.  And then his thumb was gently driving in and she jerked and bucked and before she knew it the head of his cock was inching into her asshole just as his fingers slid lazily into her cunt to meet her G-spot. Her juices rained down and, replete with him, she gasped and came, sobbing at the pleasurable wonder of it, and he came too. 


The past and the present interweave - from the last days of the Raj to the present day, and from the small railway town of Ajeemkot and the princely state of Walipur to the cutting edge of the modern city of Delhi, and Sivalik - a pine scented hill station in the foothills of the Himalayas. 

    In this atmospheric, passionate and poignant account of a clash of cultures, caste and creed, divided family loyalties, wealthy heartthrobs and the power of love, the story is told through three women and an American Baptist missionary couple whose lives entwine.    Can they confront the storms or are their dreams destined to shatter?  
    Hermie - a headstrong and bewitching Anglo-Indian - turns her back on the Anglo-Indian community and reinvents herself only to find that a dark secret threatens to send her life spiralling out of control and cost her everything.
  Sharp-witted Edith, exiled in India from her native Germany by Nazi persecution, faces stark choices in a future very different from that she envisaged.
    Kay, separated by more than a generation from Hermie and Edith, is haunted by a long-buried family mystery and abandons a promising career in London to pursue a quest for roots in India where fate hurtles her in an unexpected direction.
    ‘A ripened peach and just seventeen, man.  She’ll be heartbreaker and trouble stirrer, yawl see,’  the railwayman muttered to a workmate their gaze locked on Hermie Blake as she propped up her black Raleigh bicycle against a betel-stained wall of Ajeemkot’s two-storied mustard and red brick station building and un-looped a basket from the handlebars.  Then, tucking her broad brimmed khaki solar topi under one arm, she hurried, her bronze tumble of hair lit by sunlight, up the dusty, stone steps to the arched entrance.  After a humid night that promised the monsoon, the temperature had climbed.  That June day in 1939 was cloudless with a slight heat haze and above the raucous bustle of the station the chimes of the town’s Victoria Jubilee Memorial clock danced across on a spice-spiked breeze.
     Eight o'clock!  Hermie – christened but seldom called Hermione - glanced across for confirmation to the station clock - accurate to a second - courtesy of its German manufacturer, and gave a gusty sigh. She wiped her damp forehead, grimly conscious that she was late again for work and mentally hurled invective at Bishu, their absent chokra. 
     'Girlee. Wait!  That jungly boy has hopped to the bazaar forgetting Pa’s tiffin as usual.'   Hermie’s mother, Noreen, had buttonholed her as she was about to leave home.  'And mind, yawl know Pa’s a picky eater.  So drop this in for him on your way.'
    Noreen was pin thin, her frame that of a distant forebear – an English infantryman in the pay of the East India Company, once a mighty London based commercial venture with its own private army. Three hundred and fifty years ago in a battle waged in Bengal mangrove swamps against a local ruler, he’d survived to marry his Indian village sweetheart and stayed on, never to return to the green meadows of home. To cement allegiance the Company tossed a gold mohur coin to every India born child of an Indian mother and European father and from such beginnings the hybrid Anglo-Indian Community evolved. This was the Community to which the Blakes belonged, its distinct genetic footprints leading back to European ancestors in the male line of descent who’d flocked to India to seek fame and fortune – and found love. 
     Anglo-Indians were  English speaking and Christian; skin tone ranged from fair to swarthy, hair colour fair to black, they bore European names and adopted the  customs and traditions of  the British. Most inter-married within the tight – knit, mixed-blood circle; few married Indians.
   After a scandal-busting probe, the Company, whose trading crusades had led to terror-ridden land-grabs, was ousted by the British government – the Raj - who gained direct rule of India - its jewel in the Crown. Applying divide and rule, it accorded Anglo-Indians preferential treatment in subordinate jobs on the railways, tea and coffee plantations, mines, hospitals, schools, post and telegraphs, customs, the police and government service.  The Raj turned India into its very own treasure-trove, and the Community- a buffer engineered by the Raj between itself and its Indian subjects- spurned its ancient Indian heritage yet won scant social acceptance from its colonial masters who were scornful of its mixed-race.  There were Anglo-Indians who yearned to go home – to the Britain of which they were not born, did not know, had never before visited, but which they considered, by virtue of tenuous links to long-dead kinsmen, to be their natural homeland.
   'Why should I do Bishu’s chores, Ma? Tell me that, eh?  Hermie’s creamy-skinned oval face had sharpened with indignation.   ‘It’s the second time this week and just once more and I'll suffer. Yawl know the Bank's rule – three late days in a row means half a day’s leave docked.'  She wondered why Ma tolerated the feckless chokra - who'd come to them bearing a testimonial that read: Without any reservations we can recommend him as a thoroughly useless servant.     
   'Just this once, pet.'  Light brown eyes peered anxiously at her.
   'All right then, as a favour to you,' Hermie's resolve faltered and her voice softened affectionately, ‘but mind, never again. There can’t and won’t be a third strike. I’m fed up of making allowances for him.'  Her singsong accent, like that of Noreen's and characteristic of the Community, ended on a note of finality.


Serena Fairfax spent her childhood in India, qualified as a lawyer in England and joined a London law firm.
Romance is hardwired into her DNA so her novels include a strong romantic theme. However, she broke out of the romance bubble with IN THE PINK, a quirky departure in style and content, that you can download free from her website until 1 August 2014.
She’s also written several short stories that feature on her blog http://www.serenafairfax.com/serena_fairfax_author_blog/
Fast forward to a sabbatical from the day job when Serena traded in bricks and mortar for a houseboat which, for a hardened land lubber like her, turned out to be a big adventure.
Apart from writing and reading (all kinds of books), a few of Serena’s favorite things are collecting old masks, singing (in the rain) and exploring off the beaten track.
She’s a member of the Romantic Novelists Association, which is a very supportive organization. Serena and her golden retriever, Inspector Morse, who can't wait to unleash his own Facebook page, divide their time between London and rural Kent. (Charles Dickens said: Kent, sir. Everybody knows Kent. Apples, cherries, hops and women).
 Website        http://www.serenafairfax.com/ 
 Email          info@serenafairfax.com