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Saturday, February 17, 2018

A storm is coming... KITTEN AROUND is now available! #Shifter #BDSM from Erzabet Bishop



New Release from USA Today Bestselling Author Erzabet Bishop

Title: Kitten Around (Shifting Hearts Dating Agency #3)
Publisher: NNP
Release date: 1/18/18
Genre: Paranormal romance



Blurb:
All work and no mate makes Paige a dull girl.
Paige is having a marvelous time playing at Ventures. After all, what girl doesn’t love a nice spanking now and again? On her own terms that is. A welcome reprieve from her work as co-owner of the Shifting Hearts Dating Agency, play is exactly what she’s looking for. In between dodging calls from her uber douchelord ex, avoiding conversations with her hormone ridden inner kitty about a super-hottastic dark eyed dominant, fixing up Bat girl, and getting ready for the charity auction at the club, she has her hands full. And, damn it, why won’t it stop raining?
His beast called to hers.
A storm is brewing in town but that’s nothing compared to the one in Tyler’s own life. Being surrogate father to his strong-willed niece, and running his own woodworking and restoration business, keeps him more than busy. When a charity auction at Ventures provides the opportunity to spend time tied up with the submissive both he and his cat have been lusting after, he can’t resist the call to do good and possess her at the same time. When unforeseen circumstances and a family crisis strike in the midst of a dangerous storm, Tyler has to come to terms with his inner cat and the mate that could be torn from his arms forever. Some things are worth fighting for, and fur is about to fly.

Buy link:
Amazon Smart URL: http://hyperurl.co/KASH3

Tags:
#shifter #storm #witch #magic #family #mate #BDSM #club #catshifter #familiar #hurricane #flooding #weatherwitch #fatedmate #charity #auction #dogood #beingbad #spanking #shibari



Excerpt:
Tyler
Ten years earlier
“Johnson is down. Request immediate assistance.” Tyler scanned the desolate landscape, grimacing as the coppery scent of blood reached his nostrils.
Hot and sweaty, he ducked down against Afghanistan’s crumbling mountain terrain, the scrubby plants doing little to offer camouflage against the enemy. Marc, his best friend and brother in law, hunkered behind a boulder, his eyes focused on the small military outpost on the hillside below, his rifle perched carefully on the rock formation.
He apparently hadn’t moved while Tyler had been gone. His stack of targets was right where he left it. Not that the other man needed visual reminders. He had photographic memory and more kills than anyone in the unit.
They had been following orders to blow the insurgent bastards to kingdom come and find out whatever information they could about their next move. Marc was a sniper where Tyler’s specialty was covert operations. The others in the highly specialized shifter unit were skilled in bomb diffusion and other tactical duties, often leaving Marc and Tyler paired together.
Trenton and Greg were a few clicks away on the other side of the ridge and Dimitris flew in hawk form, filming what he could for their superiors. Only one more day and they were shipping out and Tyler couldn’t be more relieved.
Between the spiders and the uneven terrain, he was ready for this mission to be over. Or at least he had been until he’d read the last letter from Jenny. They’d been together three years but for the last few months their relationship had been strained. Now he knew why.
I’m sorry, Tyler. I’ve met someone else. I wanted to write you before but it just never seemed like the right time.
Right.
I put your things in storage.
Even better. So now he’d have to find a place when he got back, too. The shit was just getting better and better. He trudged forward, a low growl edging up his throat.
Tyler had met Marc in boot camp and when the other man didn’t have a destination on one of his leaves, he brought him home to meet the family. He promptly fell for Tyler’s sister, Sheree, and the rest was history. The happy couple were expecting their first baby and the whole family couldn’t be more excited.
But for now they were here, stuck in the fifth circle of what had to be Hell and he was jealous as fuck that Marc’s tour was coming up soon. His wasn’t too much longer, but then again, his brother-in-law landed into combat first, with him following a month later when things began to heat up. Cat shifters could get into places a normal soldier couldn’t and they took a beating better, too. All they had to do was never get caught and never give the enemy the gift of their bite.
He didn’t plan on kissing any of them either.
“Hey man. Any action?”
“Not much,” Marc replied, swiveling his head in Tyler’s direction. His eyes appeared tired from the strain of the fourteen hour shift. “One truck. That’s it.”
“Damn.” Tyler shook his head. “I forgot to ask earlier. You hear anything from Sheree?”
His sister sent him letters and so did his mother but no one got letters like Marc did.
“Yup.” The exhaustion in his eyes evaporated in an instant. “The baby’s doing great.” He slid a letter out from his pocket and handed something over to Tyler.
“What? I don’t get to read your letter?” Tyler waggled his eyebrow, further smart ass remarks brewing on his lips when he glanced down at the picture in his hand.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
The tiny form of a premature baby in utero met his eyes and all words evaporated. The only thing he felt was wonder and a whole lot of awe. He could even see the details of the infant’s face.
“It’s the baby. She’s growing so big.”
Marc’s comments brought him out of himself and Tyler blinked. His sister and his best buddy had made this little person. And he was going to be an uncle.
An uncle…
Wow.
“Wait. It’s going to be a girl?”
“Yup.”
“Oh my God, man. You have to be so proud.” Tyler stared at the small form, noting the outline of the tiny hands, arms, and legs. It was a miracle.
“She’s due in a few weeks. Perfect timing for when I get out of this shit box.”
Tyler handed him back the picture, but the image of his niece was burned into his brain. She was perfect. Every part of her.
“Have you guys picked a name yet?”
Marc grimaced. “I think Sheree wants to name her Pepper. Been watching too many Ironman movies again.”
Tyler snorted. “She always did have a thing for that Robert Downey Junior guy.”
“I’ll say.” Marc cocked his head, his attention jolting back to his post, his expression slipping from happy father-to-be into a stone cold killer.
“What is it?”
“Thought I heard something.” Marc aimed the rifle, scanning the base below. “Nothing.”
A scent of something drifted past his nose but before he could react, the scrabble of feet on stone brought Tyler on red alert. He snarled, spinning on his heel, the cat inside of him trying to find a bead on where the intruder was coming in from.
He scented the air but he couldn’t discern anything identifiable. Aggravated, Tyler pressed the comlink in his ear. Someone was out there and it seemed as if they were masking their scent.
“Trenton. Dimitris. Greg. Positions.”
“Status quo.” Two responded simultaneously. Dimitris was still airborne and couldn’t speak.
“We have company here.”
At that moment, a grenade launched over the rock formation, hitting the ground with an audible clink.
“Fuck.” Marc tossed the rifle to the dirt, scooped up the offending object and hurled it back into open air.
Tyler hoped Dimitris had gotten the fuck out of the way. Then again, the hawk was a wily one.
“Come on.” Tyler’s cat growled low in his throat, the hair on the back of his neck rising to attention. His intuition was never wrong, and right now it was going off like a tornado drill. Something wasn’t right and without even realizing it, they had lost their upper hand.


About the author:
Erzabet Bishop is a USA Today bestselling author who writes paranormal and erotic romance. She lives in Texas with her husband, furry children and can often be found lurking in local bookstores. She loves to bake, make naughty crochet projects and watch monster movies.

Follow her on Twitter @erzabetbishop.

Links:

Friday, February 16, 2018

ONE NIGHT IN HAVANA by Kathleen Rowland #Erotic #Mystery #Giveaway



One Night in Havana
#34 in the City Nights Series from Tirgearr Publishing
by Kathleen Rowland

Kathleen will be awarding 3 lucky winners a $10 Amazon Gift Certiticate. Winners will be chosen randomly with Rafflecopter. Please use the Rafflecopter below to enter. Remember you may increase your chances of winning by visiting the other tour stops. You may find those locations here.



A desperate competition and sizzling attraction leads to dangerous desire.

New York Marine biologist Veronica “Roni” Keane is attending the Havana Bay Conference in Cuba. Tomorrow only one grant will be awarded which will provide the winner with professional recognition, resources for a project, and living expenses for two years. She hopes to continue her deceased father’s work, but smooth operator, Carlos Montoya, has won many grants in the past.

Carlos, a freelancer for the Havana Port Authority, works to help protect Havana’s reputation as a bastion of safety. As international travelers flock to the island, attracted by its 1950’s time-warp and colonial architecture, the drug business is running rampant, particularly on Roni’s cruise ship. Something’s not right, and when her scuba tanks are tampered with, Carlos brings in the military police to investigate. For her safety, he keeps her close, but he craves her body.

Their attraction leads to a fun night with a bit of kink. But Roni finds herself in more trouble than she bargained for when the criminals blame her for alerting the military police and come looking for her. Can Roni trust Carlos to protect her? Will she stay in Havana if Carlos wins the coveted grant, or kiss her lover goodbye?

An erotic romance with mystery.


Excerpt:

-- Chapter One
“Why, Veronica Keane.” A voice heavy with a Spanish accent drawled from behind her. “A dive bar?” A taunting tsk. “What do we have? A slumming New Yorker?”
She stiffened and closed her eyes. She knew that voice and its owner, Dr. Carlos Montoya, a finalist like her, competing for the same damn grant at the biggest Cephalopoda conference of the decade. Her heart pitter-pattered against her ribs. To turn toward him would intimate distress, or worse yet, weakness. She wouldn’t fail to win this grant, not when she was a final contender. “I like this funky little place.” Sia Macario Café, smack in the center of Havana, allowed her to observe locals and their daily lives.
“You need to eat with all the mojitos you’ve downed.” The big tease wasn’t  counting. This was her first drink, but his rumbling, sexy timbre hinted at all kinds of dark, hot promises. She’d rubbed shoulders with the Cuban scientist all week. This splendid specimen of Latin male brought on a physical ache that punched low.
A flare-up stirred fear. For her own good, she needed to resist. “I ordered camarones enchiladas.” By now she knew the menu on the chalkboard by heart. She tipped her head back to whiff grilled shrimp soon to arrive in sofrito sauce with fried sweet plantains.
“The flan is good. Just like my abuela makes.”
“I bet. Your grandmother would be happy to hear that,” she said, knowing he brought out the best in most people. Two days ago he'd invited her and a handful of others scuba diving. The chance to ogle him had been one of the perks. He’d worn nothing but swim trunks, his bare chest on display. Every glistening muscle was finely etched. Not a drop of fat on him. Since he’d not given her the time of day, she’d checked him out without him noticing.
The hard-bodied host had led the way toward habitats of soft-bodied creatures. To find where invertebrates lived was never an easy task. Octopuses squeezed into narrow passages of coral for protection and gave females a place to keep their eggs. She’d discovered the remains of a few meals nearby.Octopuses scattered rocks and shells to help them hide.
 This grant meant so much to her and no doubt to him as well. Veronica mindlessly toyed with the gold necklace around her neck, but anxiety crackled through her brain. Unlike this man of action, she lacked the flamboyant personality necessary to talk people into things. Carlos had that ability. He'd made friends with judges on board while she’d conversed with an older woman about a box of scones made with Cuban vanilla cream.
That day the wind had picked up to a gale force, and this woman named Bela with Lucille Ball red hair needed help walking to her home. The half mile down the seaside promenade, The Malecón, had provided her with time to practice her Spanish. Turned out Bela was Carlos’s grandmother. She’d worked as a maid when the Castro government came to power. When private homes were nationalized, titles were handed over to the dwelling occupants. Bela owned a crumbling home in the respected Verdado district and rented out rooms.
What Veronica detested about Carlos was his abnormal level of talent for schmoozing. Not that he wasn't charismatic; he drew her like a powerful magnet with emotions hard to untangle. Why was a self-assured woman who ran her own life thinking about a man who commanded everyone around him?
She inhaled a breath and turned around on the barstool, caught fast by a gut punch of Carlos Montoya in the flesh. She sighed and surrendered to the tendrils of want sliding up between her thighs.
Tall and muscular, his lush dark hair curled to his collar giving him a wild, roguish appearance. His face was lean and chiseled. His mouth full and tempting. His eyes the smoky-gray of a grass fire and fringed with black lashes as dense as paintbrushes. He smiled. A faint hint of mockery curved his mouth, a sensual mouth she imagined to be either inviting or cruel. Or both at the same time when he leaned over a woman with a diamond-hard gleam in his dark eyes while she drowned with pleasure. She fought a fierce desire to run her hand across his broad chest, tip her face upward, and…
His breath tickled her face.
Not going there. She blinked and forced her mind to focus. Carlos Montoya was not the kind of man you lost focus around. But that image of putting her mouth full on his and peeling away his shirt once introduced in her mind was impossible to expunge. Pointless even to try.
He was an intimidating blend of intellect and sexy danger. Both qualities had her leaning back against the bar’s edge. If it weren’t for him, she’d have a chance at winning the grant.
His lips twitched. “You’re staying on one of the cruise ships, am I right?” He rolled up the sleeves of his linen jacket to reveal a dusting of manly hair.
”Yes." Her cabin served as her hotel room while attending the January meetings with perfect high-seventies temperatures. His eyes locked with hers. She willed herself to move and yet she remained seated, clutching heat between her legs, a wetness so intense that her breath stalled in her chest while her heart hammered faster. Soon she’d return to freezing New York City.
“So, Bonita, give.” He slid onto the bar stool next to her. “What brings you down from a lofty ship to grace us lowly Cubans with your presence?”
Bonita. Pretty lady was not an endearment coming from the mouth curved in a taunting smile, but not a slight either. Not with his deep, melodic voice speaking words as if he knew secrets about her. What secrets did he know? Would he pry into her personal life? She doubted this bad-boy college professor acknowledged boundaries.
“Just drinks and dinner.” She scrambled for composure. “Aren’t we attending a world-class conference? I find the local population to be friendly and kind. That’s not slumming.”
The bartender set down a saoco. “Hope you like it, senorita.”
“Gracias,” she said. “Very nice, served in a coconut.”
“Ah, the saoco,” Carlos said. “Rum, lime juice, sugar, and ice. The saoco,” he repeated, disbelief heavy in his words. “Um. Wow. Once used as a tonic for prisoners of the revolution.”
“Medicinal?” She couldn’t help it. She chuckled and sounded as if a rusty spoon had scraped her throat raw, but it was genuine. The warm glow in its wake was welcome and needed. .
He leaned an elbow on the bar, his beer bottle with the green-and-red Cristal label dangling between his fingers. “Be careful with that one.” He dipped his head toward the front door as if he needed to go somewhere soon.
That fast, the glow snuffed out. She cleared her throat and gripped the fuzzy surface of the coconut container.
He placed a five-peso coin with a brass plug on the counter and whirled it. The spinning motion mirrored a dizzying attraction going on in low parts of her belly.
She cleared her wayward mind and nodded toward artwork on the opposite wall. “I plan to buy a painting tonight.”
“Don’t buy anything unless the seller gives you a certificate. You’ll need one to take art from Cuba. Artists deal in euros in case you don’t have pesos.”
She’d come prepared but said, “Thanks for the info.”
His coal-black eyes widened as he gazed from her head down to the tiny straps around her ankles as if she wore high heels and nothing else. “You give off a Barbie doll image,” he replied and stood up.
“Huh?”
“Where’s Ken, anyway? Kenneth Morton. He came with you to the talks in Antarctica. Five years ago.” He grinned, and the mortification in her belly gave way to a longing which she had no business feeling toward her competitor.
“Ken and I broke up.” She hesitated for a moment. “You have a gift for remembering names. Like a salesman.”
“A person’s name is, to that person, the most important and sweetest sound. Back then I introduced myself to Ken in the men’s room.”
“I remember now. Didn’t you give a talk on a specialized pigment in the octopus?”
“Ahh, si.” He splayed his fingers over his chest. “A pigment in their blood is—”
 “—called hemocyanin. Turns their blood blue and helps them survive subfreezing temperatures. Were you awarded something?”
“The antifreeze protein grant? No. It went to a deep-diving photographer. He wasn’t chicken about getting lost or trapped under the ice.”
She slid from her stool and strutted around, jutting her chin in and out like a chicken. “Bock, bock, bock, bock, bock, begowwwwk.”
He chuckled. “Cute chicken dance. Very cute in that skimpy black dress.”
Her cheeks heated, and she clutched her necklace. He’d seen plenty of women in body-fitting attire. In Cuba, women wore dresses to meetings. If she'd harnessed sexier mojo, she’d have livened up presentations. Her presentations with an abundance of dull data went south. She slid back against her stool and clutched her purse to her stomach as if the small satin bag could calm the nerves playing deep down kickball. She belonged in her tidy New York office filled with computers, modems, and research manuals. Not in this softly lit café where passion oozed from a man’s pores, and artists displayed their canvases. Here was where Havana’s trendsetters congregated, and Ernest Hemingway wrote about desire.
“Good luck with your purchases, Veronica Keane.”
Okay, so they weren’t going to pretend they were going head to head for the grant.
As if he had more to say, he grinned at her, his perfect white teeth flashing.. “Do you find us different, like apples and oranges?”
“What am I, an apple or an orange?”
“Hmm. You’re an apple.” He was doing that sexy voice thing which made her brain shut down. Heady.
It started with an unexpected spark, an instant attraction, the jolting jab of oh-I’m-feeling-something. Something like a flashfire in her belly, but now they were talking. “Am I the apple of desire? Want to take a bite out of me?” She pulled in a breath. Had she really said that?
Bonita, do I ever.”


“Tomorrow is the final ceremony.” Would she watch him walk to the podium to accept the grant?

About the Author: 
Book Buyers Best finalist Kathleen Rowland is devoted to giving her readers fast-paced, high-stakes suspense with an erotic love story sure to melt their hearts.  Her latest release is One Night in Havana, #34 in the City Nights series.

Kathleen also has a steamy romantic suspense series with Tirgearr Publishing, Deadly Alliance is followed by Unholy Alliance. Keep an icy drink handy while reading these sizzling stories.

Kathleen used to write computer programs but now writes novels.   She grew up in Iowa where she caught lightning bugs, ran barefoot, and raced her sailboat on Lake Okoboji.  Now she wears flip-flops and sails with her husband, Gerry, on Newport Harbor but wishes there were lightning bugs in California.

Kathleen exists happily with her witty CPA husband, Gerry, in their 70’s poolside retreat in Southern California where she adores time spent with visiting grandchildren, dogs, one bunny, and noisy neighbors.  While proud of their five children who’ve flown the coop, she appreciates the luxury of time to write.

If you’d enjoy news,  sign up for Kathleen’s newsletter at http://www.kathleenrowland.com/



Wednesday, February 14, 2018

ZERO TOLERANCE is NOW AVAILABLE!! #EliteEscortsSeries #BDSM #Erotic #Excerpt



 HAPPY BOOK BIRTHDAY TO ME!



Zero Tolerance
Elite Escorts #4
by Lynn Burke
Publisher: Evernight Publishing
Art Work: Jay Aheer, Simply Defined Art
Keywords: Erotic, Romance, Contemporary, BDSM, Suspense

*Warning: BDSM, anal sex, anal toys

 As the owner of Elite Escorts, Micah Fox’s material needs are met, but money isn’t everything. Watching his friends all settle down makes him realize he needs a woman of his own. The one thrust into his life, however, is unable to tolerate physical contact. Not exactly the ideal submissive he can dominate. Can he truly be happy without kink in his life?

Faced with her new boss, Jasmine Swift experiences a hunger to touch—and be touched—for the first time in twelve years. Psychological baggage from her childhood has always hindered any hope of a normal relationship, let alone one with a man as dominant as Micah. Passion flares to life between them, however, and Jasmine blossoms under Micah’s touch.

When her past returns to haunt her present, it threatens everything. Love and peace can be found in true submission if only Jasmine can trust her Sir.


BUY IT ON SALE NOW FOR ONLY $2.99 AT EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING!

OTHER RETAILERS:





EXCERPT:

Tense silence zapped between us, but she didn’t lower her head like usual when she seemed uncomfortable. Her pale-green eyes peered at me with a hint of question. Insecurity. But the pupils dominated, and the pulse jumped in her neck.

“Have you dreamed about me touching you?” I heard myself ask.

So much for inappropriate.

“Yes,” she whispered.

I wouldn’t touch her, but I wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to enjoy every fucking inappropriate bit of information I could get passed her lips. “How?”

“You mean how do you touch me in my dreams?” Her low, husky voice rushed the blood to my cock, but I didn’t bother trying to hide the fact she turned me on.

I nodded.

“Gently.” She swallowed, but held my gaze. “With your fingertips until I grow accustomed to your touch.”

“Where do I touch you?” My voice sounded strangled in my ears.

“Here.” She lifted her hand and glanced at her palm.

“Where else? Put your wine down and show me.” I relaxed back into the chair, legs spread, giving her an eyeful of the hard ridge lining my jeans.

Her attention drifted down between my legs, her lips parting on a sharp inhale as her trembling hand set the wine glass on the table beside her. When she sat back, she uncrossed her legs, but kept her thighs together, the darkness beneath the skirt beckoning to me. “H-here.” She trailed her fingers up her arm, over her collarbone where she lingered. Up her neck. Over her lips.

I groaned. “Where else do I touch you?”

She swallowed, gaze still on my cock, and ran her hand back down her neck and over the swell of her breasts.

“Show me.” My Dom voice took over, and she followed the command without hesitation, slipping her hand up inside her tank top.

Lower lip between her teeth, she squirmed on the couch, same as when I’d caught her drooling over sex toys online.

“Is my touch still gentle?” I asked, my attention glued to the hand moving beneath her shirt, hiding one of the hard nipples pressing against the cotton.

“N-not so much.” Her needy tone brought another groan to my lips.

“What else do I do in your dreams?”

Face red, she closed her eyes. “You suck on my breasts. Bite my nipples.”

“And do you like it?”

“Yes,” she gasped and clenched her legs together.

Fucking heaven, I mused, watching her touch her breasts. I’d never wanted a woman so much in my fucking life. “Are you turned on right now?”

She swallowed and nodded.

“Where else do I touch you, Jasmine?”

“D-down there.”

Fuck, yes. “Lift your skirt and show me.” Every tense muscle in my body ached to move, but I held myself still. Waiting.

She didn’t even hesitate, but shimmied the skirt up to her hips.

Pink, fucking panties.

With one finger, she skimmed down the lace covering her pussy from me.

“Goddamn,” I groaned, my own fingers digging into my knees.

She slid her fingertip beneath the edge of her panties and rubbed up over her clit, a gasp parting her lips and tipping her head back.

I found myself stroking my cock through my jeans. “Do I make you come in your dreams, Jasmine?”

“Yes,” she whispered, eyes still clenched shut.

“Show me how.”

With one hand, she pulled her panties to the side. Pink lips glistened beneath a thatch of blonde curls.

Drooling, I stroked myself and stared as she pressed two fingers of her right hand into her pussy.

She moaned, slowly fucking herself with her fingers, hips grinding her against her hand.

“I want to watch you come, Jasmine,” I murmured, lifting my attention to her face as little noises flew past her parted lips. “Open your eyes and look at me.”

Panting, she did as told, hazed, pale-green eyes peering my way. A sharp inhale lifted her chest, and her back bowed off my couch. “O-oh!” Her breath caught again, and she shuddered, crying out. I squeezed my cock to keep from blowing my load in my jeans, my blood rushing and ears ringing as she slowly settled, her breaths slowing. “If you ever decide you want me to touch you for real,” I murmured, “you only need to ask.”

OTHER BOOKS IN THE ELITE ESCORTS SERIES:

Third Wheel:  https://www.authorlynnburke.com/third-wheel.html
Second Go-Round: https://www.authorlynnburke.com/second-go-round.html
First Time: https://www.authorlynnburke.com/first-time.html


ABOUT LYNN BURKE:



Lynn Burke is a full time mother, voracious gardener, and scribbler of spicy romance stories. A country bumpkin turned Bay Stater, she enjoys her chowdah and Dunkin Donuts when not trying to escape the reality of city life.