Thursday, August 28, 2014

Excerpt and Giveaway with Daniela Krien

The publisher will be giving away 5 copies to 5 lucky commenters. Please leave your email address so we can contact you. This will end 9/7/14 at midnight. Good Luck!!  


It is almost midnight when I hear the rattle of his motorcycle, and then, finally, the engine dying out. The attic rooms store the heat of the day; I’ve swapped my summer dress for a white nightdress I found in one of the many chests in the attic. It must have been Frieda’s once.

If I look out of the back window, I can see the rushing river and rolling countryside stretch out before me; I can see the woods and the cows in the meadows. Out front I look onto the farmyard and the chestnut tree, which is full of birds. From the window in the gable I can see the pasture, sheep shed, railway tracks, and beyond these Henner’s farm. I never realized how beautiful this landscape was until I moved in here. For the moment I can think of no better place to live.

But now it is nighttime and all I can see is Johannes pushing his bike into the shed. When he comes back out, he lights a cigarette and looks up. He can’t see me. I’ve turned out the light so I don’t have to look at the endless procession of spiders descending from the ceiling on transparent threads. They give me the creeps, and I know he finds this childish fear of mine ridiculous.
He’s been in town, with his artist friends.

When he comes into the room I pretend to be asleep. He chucks his clothes on the floor and goes to brush his teeth—not for long enough, as usual. It’s late and we’ve got to set off early tomorrow. I’m going to lie again and say I don’t have to be in until third period; I’ll just stay in bed until he comes back. Johannes is in his final year; we go to the same school. He’s in the twelfth year and I’m in the tenth. When I was still living with my mom and grandparents, my journey to school began with a forty-five minute march down the hill to our local town, followed by a bus ride to the county town. Altogether it took me about an hour and a quarter. And the journey home was even slower because I had to go back up the hill.

Now Johannes takes me to school on his bike, but I haven’t been going in that often recently. I’ve lost count of the number of lessons I’ve missed. I know I’m going to fail at the end of the year. My mornings are spent reading and smoking; in the afternoons we go for rides in the country, sometimes to the artists’ cafĂ© in town, where even though it’s still early we drink wine and vodka, and people talk and talk and talk. Johannes likes it, but I don’t really know what to make of it.

Then we climb the stairs to our spiders’ nest and make love. Johannes turns out the light, he’s gentle and tender in bed; he never hurts me. He’s the first man I’ve had. I think I love him.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Daniela Krien was born in 1975 in what was then East Germany and lives in Leipzig, where she is an editor and scriptwriter for Amadelio Film. Someday We'll Tell Each Other Everything is her first novel.

ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR: Jamie Bulloch's translations include Ruth Maier's Diary, Portrait of a Mother as a Young Women by F. C. Delius, and novels by Paulus Hochgatterer and Daniel Glattauer.

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Excerpt and Giveaway with Kerry Adrienne

Kerry Adrienne is back with another novel that'll keep you up way past your bedtime.

Rocco Lazzaro meets the a new age, yoga instructor Devin in SCULPTOR’S DESIRE, the second novel Kerry Adrienne’s sizzling Gallant Gentlemen’s Guild series, out on August 27th. 2014  from Ellora’s Cave.

Giveaway enter here:
a Rafflecopter giveaway


Rocco Lazzaro is on a mission to find the perfect male body to sculpt. His inability to find “the one” has affected his creativity and he’s frustrated by his failure. With a Guild charity auction coming up, he’s expected to provide high quality sculptures, but the pieces he creates feel soulless.

When Devin, a yoga instructor, approaches him and offers to help, Rocco can’t quit thinking about the red-hot ginger. Devin’s New Age beliefs push Rocco away—he can’t deal with reality, much less mysticism. No auras and rainbows for Rocco—just stone and chisel and hammer.

But Devin is persistent. He knows he’s supposed to help Rocco find his muse—and he’ll stop at nothing to show him that the line between art and skin is very thin and a true muse can provide inspiration in many ways.




Also in the Gallant Gentlemen’s Guild series: ARTIST’S TOUCH by Kerry Adrienne! On sale for just .99 cents from August 25th – August 31st, 2014.


About Kerry Adrienne:

Kerry loves history and spends large amounts of time wondering about people who lived and walked on Earth in the past. She’s a mom to three daughters, six cats, and various small animals, including a panther chameleon.


In addition to writing, she’s a college instructor, artist, costumer, and editor. Her new love is her Mini Cooper Convertible, Sheldon, and they have already gone on many adventures.








Rocco clutched the purple fliers and stared out at the busy park from his seat. He’d posted enough of the papers for the day, not that it mattered. He’d never had luck distributing them before—the responses had never lived up to his expectations. He set his backpack on the ground and leaned back against the wooden bench. Why bother? Not like the perfect man was going to walk up, pick up the flier and actually respond. Not in this lifetime.

He lowered the sunglasses over his eyes. The late afternoon sunlight didn’t thread through the full-summer trees in this part of Central Park, but his shades allowed him to “bulge watch” as the throngs of tourists and New Yorkers paid homage at the mosaic shrine to John Lennon. The circular black and white medallion with “Imagine” scripted across its center was a place of reverence. Disciples had outlined the medallion with a peace sign made of fresh-cut flowers, and tourists took turns posing and taking pictures in front of the makeshift altar.

Rocco scanned the visitors. The place was a people-watcher’s dream, and for a Monday, the crowd was huge. Summer in the city always brought the tourists in droves of asinine clothing and hats and noise. Still, he had hope he’d find the one he was looking for.

The man who’d make his dreams come true.

He set the fliers on the bench beside him, then picked up one purple sheet and folded it into a fan, carefully creasing each fold. He tried to breathe out the hot air, but no doubt about it, the June day was steaming. New York was a sweltering change from the Adirondack cabin where he’d spent most of his time in the last month. Still, he was happy to be back in the city—his second home. The cabin was great as a quiet place to work, even though it was small, but its remoteness made it impossible to people-watch and gain inspiration.

Rocco crimped the last crease. His apartment in one of the Guild’s brownstones felt like home away from home. The Guild’s large studio provided the best space he’d ever had to work—tons of light and plenty of quiet. And his guildmates were like brothers, always ready to support each other through any artistic struggle, though he supposed they too were growing tired of his search for a perfect man. No one had actually voiced it, but he felt a distinct difference in the tone of the conversation when he brought the search up in conversation. With the upcoming charity auction in October, most of the artists would be working overtime and even less inclined to listen to his plight.

He fanned himself with the folded flier. Nothing to see at the moment. Not a single possibility in the groups of people gathered in the small courtyard. He scanned the area. The top edge of the Dakota Apartments peeked over the trees and Rocco glanced over the rows of tightly curtained windows. He’d never been inside the lavish building, though he knew several Guild members had been to private parties there. Rocco had been invited many times but had always declined. Wealth and showmanship weren’t his thing. He preferred the simple life where nature set the style, not John Varvatos and Marc Jacobs.

Strawberry Fields was a prime tourist spot. Too bad today’s mob held few specimens worthy of a glance, much less a stare. I’d think the simple math odds would warrant at least a couple prospects. Add in summer shorts, and there should be at least a good bulge or two…

He glanced at the stack of fliers—about fifty of them left. He’d put up as many papers as he could around the park over the last hour. Who was he kidding? After years of searching, he might as well give up on finding the ideal male. He set the fan on the bench and shoved the stack of fliers into the front pocket of his backpack and zipped it up.

He’d held several open calls with no luck. Something inside him pushed him to keep looking, keep trying, no matter how many times he failed. The same something kept him awake at night and tore apart his thoughts during the day. He’d find what he was looking for and he wouldn’t stop until he did, no matter what it took. It didn’t matter if it cost him his friends, his guildmates, his sanity. That was art, wasn’t it?

“May I sit here?”

The soft, lilting voice wove through Rocco’s thoughts and he paused. He looked up and his breath caught in his throat when he saw where the voice originated. Broad shoulders and a flat abdomen encased in a perfectly tight white T-shirt. Tall, but not overly so. Blue jean shorts, snug. Red cropped hair that glistened gold at the tips and fell over in a lock of bangs. Rocco gazed from top to bottom and licked his dry lips.

Red, white, blue, and all American.

“May I?” the man repeated.

“Sure.” Rocco fumbled with his pack and slid over to make room on the wooden park bench, pushing his folded fan behind him and out of the way so the stranger could sit down.

“Thanks,” the man said, dropping onto the bench.

No, thank you. But not so close. The vibrations of the man sitting raced through the wood of the bench into wood between Rocco’s legs. He swallowed hard, pushing back the anxiety. “No problem,” he said, half-whispering. He peeked then gazed down again. Finally, someone worth looking at. Only the man was so freaking near, Rocco felt as if he could feel the heat emanating from the man’s hotness.

Too close. No comfort.

The man scooted back on the bench and stretched out his legs. “Long day. I’m exhausted. Didn’t expect there to still be such a crowd here this time of day.” He blew out a long breath and closed his eyes.

Despite the heat, a shiver raced through Rocco and he eyed the fluid line of the man’s form. If he’d had a sketchpad, he’d do a quick gesture drawing of the long stroke of torso and limbs.

Not knowing what to say, Rocco turned away. A group of noisy teens descended on the mosaic like a swarm of bees, laughing and shouting and taking photos of themselves in stupid poses. Rocco blinked away the distraction and looked back to the man sitting beside him.

Not bad. “Yeah.” Hell, not bad at all. “It’s crowded.” He squeezed his thighs together to control his body’s reaction. Why couldn’t the man have chosen to sit on the other side of the path where Rocco could observe without having to talk?

“Such a loud crowd, at that.” The man opened his eyes and peered at the teen spectacle then shook his head. “They need to relax. Chill. You’d think they’d never been outside before.”

Rocco nodded and followed his gaze. A teen had picked up one of the flowers from the medallion and was tossing it into the air and catching it. “Tourists. New York can’t live with them, or without them.”

“Tourist?” The man asked. “Aren’t you? I can’t place that accent, so I assumed you were. Where are you from?”

“Italy.” Rocco sat up straight, trying to not be obvious in staring at the man’s muscular legs. He must be some kind of athlete. Was this man a candidate or had the hour of staring at subpar specimens clouded Rocco’s judgment? “Well, born in Italy, but I’ve lived in the city for several years. Many, actually. I consider myself a New Yorker now.”

“Ah, so Italian with some city dialect. Not a tourist. What’s your name?”

Rocco flipped his sunglasses up onto his head. “Rocco Lazzaro. Not a tourist.” He forced a smile. Meeting new people in person wasn’t something he was used to doing.

“But very Italian, I see. Nice to meet you, Rocco.” The man held his hand out. “I’m Devin Johansson. Also not a tourist. I live on the East Side.”

Rocco took Devin’s hand in his own and shook it firmly, aware that his own hand was clammy with anxiety. “Good to meet you too, Devin.”

Devin clamped down on Rocco’s fingers and held on. “Oh. You have working hands,” he whispered. He pulled Rocco’s hand closer and rubbed Rocco’s palm with long, soft fingers. “And your aura shows great creativity.” He looked up. “What is it you do?”

The teens moved on down the park path, giggling and talking loudly as they went. Rocco glanced over at them, trying to still the shudder that played along his arm as Devin rubbed his hand. A calm, warm feeling flowed up through his arm and into his chest. Even in the summer heat, the warmth felt good. Too good. Wait, what did he say? What the hell?

“My what? My aura?” Rocco yanked his hand away, immediately aware of the loss of warmth. Great. The first good-looking guy he’d met this week was a fruit loop New-Ager. The city grew all types, but this was one type Rocco tried to avoid. These dopes talked too much and thought too much about weird things instead of reality.

Devin leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. He stared up into the trees, smiling. “Yeah, I can tell you are creative by your aura. So, what is it you do?”

Rocco scowled. “I’m a sculptor.” He wasn’t sure why he was telling Devin, or why he was even talking to the man in the first place. Am I that desperate? Do I look like a pity case? He straightened his sunglasses on top of his head and smoothed back his hair.

“I knew it.” Devin looked at Rocco, his eyes sparkling. “You work with your hands, I can tell. Your hands hold lots of kindness and feeling and warmth. I knew you were an artist of some kind.”

Rocco made eye contact. He nearly sighed aloud at the deep green in Devin’s gaze. A perfect offset to his red-gold hair and pale skin, which, oddly enough, seemed devoid of the freckles that redheads often sported. If Rocco were a painter, Devin would be a divine palette to experiment with.

“Good g-guess.” Rocco looked away. Something about intense men always caused him to lose his confidence, like maybe the men were peering into the innermost part of him and not running away. Like the fruit loop cast a spell.

“No, it’s really obvious.” Devin chuckled. “If you’re sensitive to reading people, you’re rarely wrong. It happens, but not often.” A look of doubt crossed his face and was gone in an instant.

A warm breeze pushed through the park, sweeping a few dry leaves across the trail in a crackle and rustling Rocco’s hair. He smoothed it down and settled the glasses back on his head.

How am I supposed to respond to that? Rocco fidgeted. Is he trying to get me to ask him something? “Well, okay. It’s obvious I’m an artist.” He had to get the conversation away from himself. Now. Not only was it uncomfortable, but Devin was in his personal space. “So what do you do, Devin? Besides tell people about their auras?” Magician? Fortuneteller? Horse Whisperer? He hoped Devin would notice the skepticism in his tone and lay off the hoodoo talk. Seeing colors around people? He’d heard of it before, sure. It was about as stupid as believing ancient aliens built the pyramids.

If Devin felt made fun of, he didn’t show it. “I’m a yoga instructor and meditation coach,” he said. “I meet clients here in the park and we embrace the movement of the sun and the moon and the seasons of nature. Here’s my card.” He pulled a neat stack of cards out of his shorts pocket and slid one off the top.

Rocco took the dark blue card. Embossed in gold lettering:

Devin Johansson, owner of City Dreams. Yoga, meditation, and spiritual healing—on my schedule or yours.

And quack. Rocco scooted forward on the bench. “Meditation, huh? Like being still for a really long time and breathing and not thinking?” He raised his eyebrows. This was going to be interesting.

“Yeah, I do group meditation classes on the Great Lawn on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings at seven. Free. You should join us. We had a great crowd today. Summer sessions are always well attended.”

“Thank you, but I don’t meditate. I sleep. That’s being still enough for me.” Rocco rubbed his palms on his jeans. “I do try and breathe every day though.” He held back a smirk. Something about being uncomfortable made him sarcastic, a smartass. He knew it but just couldn’t help himself. He looked out over the park. Why was he even embarrassed?

A noisy group of tourists wearing matching lime green T-shirts circled the medallion. Their guide spoke loudly about John Lennon and the crowd ooohed and ahhed. One woman sobbed.

Maybe Strawberry Fields wasn’t the best choice today. Too many weirdoes congregating. He should’ve checked the planetary alignment or star charts before he came because something was amiss. He smiled at his own cleverness.

“Well, maybe you should consider trying meditation. Your aura looks pretty blocked.” Devin scooted closer and lowered his voice. “Maybe I can help you find what you’re looking for. If you’ll let me.”

Rocco cleared his throat and stared at the woman crying, unable to look Devin in the eye. Was the fruit loop coming on to him? Rocco certainly wasn’t looking for a quick fuck, though there were plenty of opportunities in Central Park. So he’d heard, anyway. But if he wanted a quickie, the last place he’d pick was a dirty bathroom or out in public behind a butterfly bush just off the path. Being stung in the ass wasn’t worth it.

“Well, think about it,” Devin pushed. “I’d love to help you out. It’s what I do. I don’t know exactly what you’re looking for, but maybe I can help you. Us meeting here today wasn’t by chance.”

The hell it wasn’t. “Thanks. I’ll check out your website later.” When I have nothing else to do.

“Great. Please do.” Devin slid even closer until his leg brushed Rocco’s. “I don’t bite, Rocco. I help people.”

Rocco’s heart thudded and he yanked his leg away. How one man had gotten to him so quickly then left him scattered just as quickly was frightening. He had to get out of the park and back to the safety of what he knew. His work. His privacy. His studio.

The Guild auction was only a few months away and Rocco hadn’t even begun to sculpt his main piece. At this rate, he’d have to work in clay only. He shoved the card into the small front part of his backpack and zipped the pocket closed. “I gotta get back to work. Nice chatting with you, Devin.”

“Maybe I’ll see you around another time.” Devin closed his eyes. “I’m in the park most days for one thing or another. Just call me. I’ll meet you here any time you want. One-on-one assistance, if you prefer.”



Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Rock Addiction by Nalini Singh will be released on September 9th Order it now!!!!

New York Times bestselling author Nalini Singh stuns with a sizzling contemporary romance…

A bad boy wrapped in a sexy, muscled, grown-up package might be worth a little risk…

Molly Webster has always followed the rules. After an ugly scandal tore apart her childhood and made her the focus of the media’s harsh spotlight, she vowed to live an ordinary life. No fame. No impropriety. No pain. Then she meets Zachary Fox, a tattooed bad boy rocker with a voice like whiskey and sin, and a touch that could become an addiction. 

A one-night stand with the hottest rock star on the planet, that’s all it was meant to be… 

Fox promises scorching heat and dangerous pleasure, coaxing Molly to extend their one-night stand into a one-month fling. After that, he’ll be gone forever, his life never again intersecting with her own. Sex and sin and sensual indulgence, all with an expiration date. No ties, no regrets. Too late, Molly realizes it isn’t only her body that’s become addicted to Fox, but her heart…


Monday, August 25, 2014

NO IN BETWEEN by Lisa Renee Jones is on Sale NOW!!!!

The fourth in the Inside Out erotic romance series by New York Times bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones, this steamy novel resolves Chris and Sara's relationship and leads into Mark's story.

"Chris and I have faced our demons and bared our souls to one another in Paris. Now that we are back home in San Francisco, I want to believe that nothing can tear us apart. Not Ava’s accusations against me to the police, or Chris's fear that he will destroy me as he feels he did Amber. And not Mark, who was once too intimately a part of our lives, and who I can see crumbling inside out. He believes he is invincible, just as I want to believe Chris and I are invincible. We have to be invincible. We need each other too much for any other ending."


Q & A with Author Jewel E. Ann

1.)    Do you have any pet peeves?

Gum in parking lotsnot washing hands after using the bathroomdog poop in my front yard that doesnt belong to my dog. I try not to dwell on stuff so I dont have any major pet peeves.

2.)    Describe Undeniably You in 3 words

Laughter Tears Unforgettable

3.)    Is there anything readers absolutely need to know about Lautner? How does he differ from other romance heroes?

Lautner is THE book boyfriend. I worked with my sister on the concept for this book and we both agreed on one thing Lautner was to be the untarnished hero.

Lautner is NEVER a jerk. Hes handsome, athletic, playful, funny, giving, smart, sexy, and his love for Sydney is “…a goddamn soul-shattering love that will never, ever be matched.

4.)    Name 3 things that are in your immediate vicinity.

My dog, Cleo. Slice of watermelon. Lego spaceship.

5.)    Many readers say they had to skip to the end of Undeniably You because they couldnt wait to find out what happens. Is that something you do when reading? Or do you love the excitement and tension of not knowing what comes next?

I dont skip to the end and its rare for me to not finish a book. There have been a few books with such dark subject matter that Ive taken a break, but I finish them unless the writing is so poor I cant get into the story at all.

I love the ride. I want a story to elicit every possible emotion and keep me guessing, hoping, or on the edge of my seat with worry until the very end. Drama? Bring it on. Characters making poor choices? Love it! I need a story, not just a three-hundred page account of sex and characters who can do no wrong. So as you can probably guess I write love stories, not just descriptive romance.


About Jewel E. Ann:

Jewel is a free-spirited romance junkie with a quirky sense of humor.

With 10 years of flossing lectures under her belt, she took early retirement from her dental hygiene career to stay home with her three awesome boys and manage the family business.

After her best friend of nearly 30 years suggested a few books from the Contemporary Romance genre, Jewel was hooked. Devouring two and three books a week but still craving more, she decided to practice sustainable reading, AKA writing.

When she's not donning her cape and saving the planet one tree at a time, she enjoys yoga with friends, good food with family, rock climbing with her kids, watching How I Met Your Mother reruns, and of course…heart-wrenching, tear-jerking, panty-scorching novels.


Social media links:

Friday, August 22, 2014

Excerpt and Giveaway with Lynda Bailey


The nearness of Liam’s voice whipped Kate around.

He stood close—very close—to her. So close she could see the dove gray flecks swimming in his sea-green eyes. She wanted to be strong, to stand up to him, but his presence gobbled up all the oxygen, and she couldn’t breathe.

She gulped for air and spun away, but his arm rifled out, cutting off her escape. He stood right behind her, trapping her. The metal edge of the sink dug into her hip.

Her pulse rapped out an erratic beat. She hunched her shoulders to make herself smaller, to make sure he didn’t touch her, and stared at his hand. It looked burly, with a light dusting of hair on his knuckles, and able to inflict damage. A lot of damage. “Move back.” She hated that her voice shook.

“But you asked me a question.” His voice, so low and so hard, roiled her stomach. “And it’d be rude not to answer it, right?” His breath wafted over the nape of her neck. “Right?”

His steel-edged voice weakened her knees. Tears gathered in her eyes. Her breaths came faster. It felt like the elephant from that asthma commercial was parked on her chest. “I said to move back.”

“Make me move,” he purred into her ear.

She pressed her lips together to keep from crying out. Her entire body quaked.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

Stars crowded her vision. Her mouth dried up.

“You’re all about ordering me around like I’m your little bitch. So order me now. Go on. I dare you. Make. Me. Move.”

Blackness swallowed her and she was falling. Down…down into an endless abyss.

“Red light…”

Lynda will be giving away a $10 gift card to one lucky commenter. Please leave your email address below. This give away will end 8/31/14 at midnight.

Lynda has always loved stories, especially romances. For her the only thing better than reading a romance is writing one. That and drinking red wine while eating dark chocolate.


Her romances are full of passion, with heat levels that range from hot to sizzling! She’s proud to have been a 2010 finalist in the prestigious Golden Heart®. Please join Lynda for laughter and love, and where the good guys always win in the end.


Lynda lives in Reno with her husband of thirty+ years and their two pampered pooches. You can visit her at Or drop her an email at


Thursday, August 21, 2014

Excerpt and Giveaway with Toya Richardson


            She stood with her hands on her hips, a defiant look in her eyes. Armand hid the smile on his face; her stance was that of a cornered wild animal ready to pounce. He sauntered over to stand in front of her. His eyes locked with hers, ice-blue on liquid- amber. He noted that dark brown bubbles appeared amidst the golden color the more agitated she became. She never took her eyes from his. The only outward sign of her nervousness was the way her tongue darted out and moistened her dry lips.

            Armand found that simple act appealing. Her lips were full, just ripe for kissing. He imagined his mouth locked with hers, their tongues duelling fervently. A vision of them lying naked on his bed, in a state of post-coital bliss entered his head. He took in a deep breath, knowing he could not allow such dangerous thoughts to creep into his mind. But it was hard, he knew she was a seasoned fighter, he also realised she was vulnerable and had seen far too much violence in her short life.

            “Freya,” he whispered the words to her, “believe me, I know how you feel. You’re not the only one who has suffered at the hands of Global Innovations. Phoenicia Coeur and her followers have much to answer for. But you’re being driven by revenge, it’s making you blind to the danger you place yourself in. If you want to strike at them, you need to be prepared and trained for such an event. At the very least, you have to know how to keep a lid on your anger.”

            Freya ran a shaky hand through her deep auburn curls; the act was one of frustration. To Armand, it was a very innocent but sexy move, one which sent heat straight to his groin. Oh how he’d love to bury his face in her hair and breathe in her scent. Jesus, what the hell was the matter with him? He hadn’t had these kinds of feelings around a woman for years!

            “I am not a child. I’ve taken out several of their operatives, both human and Atlantean rogues. Just let me go so I can kill Dieter and then I promise to hand myself over to the care of the Seekers. And by the way, what is your name?”

            “I am Armand De Silva. For many centuries I have assisted in the training of those of us with Atlantean blood. My title is guardian and along with other guardians, we go out to locate those of Atlantean heritage before the likes of Dieter get to them. I am to help you understand the gifts you’ve been given.”

            He held out his hand to her. Freya looked at it as if it was a deadly weapon. Her gaze travelled from his hand and back to his eyes. Her eyes narrowed and she pushed past him.  He got the feeling she felt threatened by him and maybe something more.

            Prowling around the room, she looked as if she sought a door to escape through. He got the feeling that she wasn’t about to let a man tell her what to do, especially when she didn’t know anything about him. He could see the defiance in her expression and then the air in the room began to shimmer. She was about to call her powers to her. Her essence was one of the most powerful he’d ever felt.  Before he could stop her, she’d summoned her chameleon and headed for the door.

Armand was one step ahead of her; he had Freya’s scent deep inside him now. As the door opened he lunged to where he knew her legs were and brought her crashing to the ground. So he didn’t hurt her, he rolled her over before she hit the floor.

            Freya fought him like a wildcat as she reappeared in the room, kicking, biting and thumping Armand with all her might. He rolled her again so she was underneath him. He pinned her arms to the floor with one hand, while his legs held her body firmly beneath him. Feeling her writhing underneath his body started a raging desire inside him. How could he want a woman so badly after only just meeting her?

            “Get, off, me!” She punctuated each word through gritted teeth. He could almost feel the anger rampaging through her.

            “I will get off you, if you promise not to try that stunt again. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will render you unconscious and take you over my shoulder to the Seekers headquarters. I’m sure you don’t want me to do that do you?”

            Freya stopped struggling and looked up at him with unrestrained fury in her expression, her breathing was ragged and her cheeks were deep crimson. Armand found his heart was thudding in his chest. It took all his effort not to dip his mouth down to hers and kiss that angry look right off her face.

            Armand noted the change in her behaviour. He suddenly realised that she was probably reliving the experience of watching her parents suffer at Dieter’s hands. Having her trapped in this matter would only make things worse for her. He slowly let her arms go and rolled away from her, giving her space. He offered her his hand and assisted her to her feet.

“I am sorry if I scared you, it was not my intention to cause you any alarm. All I want to do is see you safely to Paul. I know it is far too soon to even consider trusting me, but I can give you the training you need to bring Global Innovations, and Dieter Yong, to their knees. I’d never hurt you, you have to believe me.”

Toya will be giving away a $25 gift card to Amazon to one lucky commenter. Please leave your email address to win. This will end 8/30/14 at midnight.

Author Info

Although writing has been a big part of life for many years, it’s since 2009 that I’ve completed most of my work. Starting off with a romance/thriller, then fantasy and my most recent work, which is paranormal romance.


I grew up in Essex, but now reside in Suffolk – with my husband, grown up son and Masai the cat - where I work part time as an admin assistant. My other hobbies and interests include; reading, Formula One racing, darts, listening to music - mainly rock - cinema, live concerts, going to the theatre, keeping fit, gardening and holidays.




My mum was the biggest driving force in my life, always encouraging me to write down all my thoughts and dreams. She bought me adventure books from an early age and I became engrossed in fantasy worlds and their people. When she died suddenly in 2009, it made me realise how fragile life is and that if you want to achieve something, go out and do it while you can. I also long to dedicate my first book to her, it seems a fitting tribute for her belief in me and my abilities.


There are various sources that inspiration comes from. I’ve always been a big reader and guess my interest started with the Chronicles of Narnia series. I also read two books penned by Victoria Walker, The Winter of Enchantment and The House Called Hadlows. I often made up different worlds and their people in my head from about the age of ten.


My literary heroines and heroes are David Eddings, Sherrylin Kenyon, Robin McKinley, Christine Feehan and J R R Tolkein. I also watch fantasy and paranormal romance films, everything from Sinbad, Jason and the Argonauts, Marvel Comic heroes, Lord of the Rings and the Twilight Saga. Some of my favourite TV programmes are, Fringe, Lost Girl, Grimm, Moonlight, Blood Ties, Beauty and the Beast, Sinbad and Robin of Sherwood - to name but a few - all of which help to give me ideas in some way.




The dream is to eventually give up my office job and write Paranormal Romance novels full time. It isn’t about the money - it never has been - it’s a passion and I love to create new worlds and characters, to watch them grow and evolve. As long as there are characters and stories in my head, I will continue to enjoy bringing them to life.