Thursday, November 20, 2014



Officer Mathieu Mouton sat at one of the four-top tables along the windows of Café Du Monde and gazed out at the darkening city, a sense of foreboding deep in his gut. The glitz and glitter of New Orleans stared back at him, like a young woman hungry for her beau. If it wasn’t for his sister, Mathieu would have been at home flipping through the channels, scratching his dog, Gator’s head, trying to put another week behind him.

Instead, he checked his phone again.
She needs your help, Mathieu.
He grimaced at the echo of his sister’s words as she’d cornered him in their mamma’s kitchen after the weekly family dinner. Damsels in distress were a dime a dozen in New Orleans and getting entangled in a charity project was not on his to do list. But no one said no to Lola. Not even grandmère. If Lola wasn’t poised to take over the Assistant District Attorney spot opening up in the spring, grandmère would have made Lola a voodoo queen. It ran in their family since grandmère’s grandmère.
The coffee in his cup was cold, the beignet untouched.
If this broad didn’t show up in the next...
The café door opened and a bell chimed. A woman wearing a cherry red coat that covered her from knee to chin stepped in and shook the chill from her body. She carried a backpack that was stuffed until the seams strained.
Mathieu sat forward, propping his elbows on the table as he studied the patron.
She turned, honey blonde hair streaked with golden brown flipping over her shoulder as she surveyed the room. Her eyes snagged on him immediately and he sucked in a deep breath.
C'est sa couillion.” He was a raving lunatic.
No wonder Lola hadn’t told him the name of the woman he was meeting. She started toward him. Even Mathieu could feel the cosmic pull between their two bodies. It’s what had drawn him to her all those years ago—and was the reason he’d left.
Lisette Babineaux, haven’t seen you in a minute,” he drawled, rising to shake her hand.
Tricky, Lola. Real tricky.
Lisette’s gaze flicked from his hand to his face before she put her small palm against his. Her skin was still soft and her nails were chipped, but painted with a pale pink polish. Despite the good quality of her clothing, it was dirty and worn. That didn’t make sense. The Babineaux family was well off, and their little princess had never wanted for anything. But a lot changed in the years since he’d left her. He wasn’t the same boy he’d been back then.
She’d always been delicate, refined, as if she’d stepped out of a painting of some debutant ball. Too fragile for a man with his dark tastes, but he’d hungered after her regardless. In his inexperience, he’d thought he could be a different man for her, one who didn’t crave bondage with his women. He’d been wrong.
A handful of years hadn’t changed her appearance all that much. Her hair was shorter, her eyes just as green, and the smattering of freckles preserved the air of youth about her, but there was a wariness to her that was new.
I know. It’s good to see you.” She unbuttoned her coat and draped it over the back of her chair. Under the coat she wore a long-sleeved black shirt and jeans. Nothing too flashy, but it had never been her clothes that drew the attention.

It can never be said that Sidney Bristol has had a 'normal' life. She is a recovering roller derby queen, former missionary, and tattoo addict. She grew up in a motor-home on the US highways (with an occasional jaunt into Canada and Mexico), traveling the rodeo circuit with her parents. Sidney has lived abroad in both Russia and Thailand, working with children and teenagers. She now lives in Texas where she splits her time between a job she loves, writing, reading and belly dancing.

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Sabrina York


“I’d like to turn you over my knee.”

She chuckled. “Me? What did I do?”
He gaped at her. “Other than passionately kissing Holt?”
“I wasn’t kissing Holt, and you know it.”
“Really?” He crossed the rumpus room and shouldered into his bedroom and tossed her onto the bed. She bounced. “Then what the hell was that?” He waved at the ceiling.
Kristi straightened her nightgown, primly covering her bare calves. “He was kissing me.”
His brows bunched. “Not okay. Do you know what seeing that did to me? God, Kristi. It ripped me up inside. I wanted to kill him.”
“He had to know.”
“Know?” He hit a warbling tone that would make America Idol contestants green with envy. “What did he have to know?”
“That I feel nothing for him.”
That shut him up. He stopped, stock-still and stared at her. “Nothing?” This, in a little boy voice.
Other than shock that two of her longtime friends had declared their intentions in the space of one evening? “Not a thing.” She wormed her way off the bed and sashayed toward him, swinging her hips. “Less than nothing, in fact.” She stood on tiptoe to press a kiss on his lips. “It was like kissing my brother. Or my uncle. Or Professor Layhea.”
“Professor Layhea?” Against his will, his lips tweaked. She could tell he was fighting it. His pout was kind of adorable. “Professor Layhea was pretty sexy.”
She kissed him again. Made her way along the line of his jaw to his lobe. Dabbed her tongue in his ear. He shuddered.
“I do find nostril-beards über sexy. And older men who take their baths in Old Spice—ha cha cha.”
His brow rose. His fingers curved around her waist and he pulled her closer. His cock stirred against her belly. “Did you ever kiss Professor Layhea?”
“Just the once.” She laughed when his eyes boggled at her boldfaced lie. She rubbed against his growing ardor. “I had to. I needed an A.”
“Hussy.” He eased her back onto the mattress pinning her there with his hardness, his heat. He hovered over her, staring at her for a long while. Then he slowly lowered his head and kissed her.
It didn’t take long for their teasing mood to completely evaporate. It was replaced by a crackling arousal. His cock pressed into her with an uncomfortable insistence. She wiggled a little bit and he shifted so it pressed against her cleft instead. He rubbed, up and down, like a cat, until she moaned.
“I shouldn’t want you again,” he murmured against her lips.
“Of course you should.”
“You drained me completely fucking dry earlier.”
“We forgot to use a condom.”
He nibbled her neck. “You’re on the pill.”
She hiked up her nightgown, enough so she could hook her legs around his butt. Tugged him closer. “I can’t believe how many times you made me come.”
“How many?”
“I lost count.”
“Really? I noticed two.”
“Oh, there were more than two.” She scored his back with her nails; he shivered. “It was probably a fluke though.”
He reared back. “What?”
“You know. On account of the fact I was so horny.”
“How, um, how horny were you?”
“Pretty horny.”
“How long… I mean, how long since—”
She drew his head back down. “I don’t want to talk about it. Point is, it was probably a fluke.”
“It wasn’t a fluke. I’ll have you know, I’m damn good in bed.”
“We’ll see.”
“What? We’ll see?”
“We haven’t done it in a bed.” This, she stated rather prosaically. “We’ll just see if you can do it again. Make me come like that again.”
A slow smile quirked his lips. “That sounds like a challenge.”
“I do believe it was.”
“Well, madam, if there’s one thing Cameron Jackson cannot do, it’s resist a challenge.” He teased her hem higher and she laughed.
“Yes,” she said. “I know.”

Her Royal Hotness, Sabrina York, is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of hot, humorous stories for smart and sexy readers. Her titles range from sweet & sexy to scorching erotic romance. Connect with her on twitter @sabrina_york, on Facebook or on Pintrest. Check out Sabrina's books and read an excerpt on Amazon or wherever e-books are sold. Visit her webpage at to check out her books, excerpts and contests. Free Teaser Book: And don't forget to enter to win the royal tiara!

Lisa Fox

Excerpts from ONE KISS

Dean climbed into the cab and smiled when he saw Kat. He always smiled when he saw her. She was beautiful. Most people saw some typical, vapid Southern California girl when they looked at her, she embodied it with her light blond hair, cornflower-blue eyes, and smoking beach body, but he knew better. He had seen it the first time she flashed him that dark little smile of hers. Underneath that seemingly tame exterior beat the heart of a brilliant, though somewhat warped, rebel woman and being with her was like being on a perpetual adventure, even when they were sitting on his couch playing video games.
He leaned over and kissed her cheek, breathing in her scent, the heady combination of lilac and soap that had a way of stimulating his senses. He pulled back slightly and when their eyes met an electric current zapped his nerve endings, raising the fine hair on his arms. She made some noise, or maybe exhaled a little louder than usual, and his eyes flicked to her glossy red lips, plump and slightly parted, close enough to kiss.
For a heartbeat he considered it. All he had to do was dip his head a centimeter more and his lips would be on hers, her taste in his mouth. A part of him craved the contact, demanded it, but he pushed the temptation aside. It was nothing new. He was always kind of tempted, from the moment they met. But he was with the Congressman’s daughter at the time, and when that ended, there was the Knicks City Dancer, and then, not much later, Marine. He might have gone for it during one of the few occasions when they were both single, but he never quite knew if she would welcome it or not.
Sometimes he thought she might, other times, not so much. He decided long ago that finding out was not worth the risk. She was already his in the best possible ways. He didn’t need to gamble what they shared on one kiss.
Instead, he dropped his gaze to her lap and took her hand, running his fingertips over the tattoo around her wrist, the words, “We’re All Mad Here.” He was with her the night she got it done, holding her other hand while she laughed through the discomfort. Afterward, they’d gone to his rooftop, drank a bottle of Jack, and danced to “Don’t Stop Believin’” until the neighbors complained about the noise. It was one of his best memories.
He laced his fingers through hers and squeezed. She smiled over at him and returned the gesture. And just like that, his entire world was better.
“So, tell me about this guy,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence. Teasing her was one of his favorite activities, and he wasn’t about to let this prime opportunity pass him by. It had nothing to do with the niggling worm that wanted to squirm its way into his heart.
Kat snorted. “I don’t really know that much. He’s Alan’s sister’s massage therapist’s brother.” She waved her hand, dismissing it all. “Something like that.” A lock of hair dropped in front of her face and she swiped it back behind her ear. “According to Ron, he’s ‘perfect for me,’ whatever that means.” Her hair was messier than she usually wore it, a chaotic tumble of waves that fell around her shoulders and almost looked as if she’d had a good romp in bed. He liked it. “You know how Ron and Alan are,” she went on. “Just because they’re happily married, they think everyone should be too.” She smiled, but it looked strained. “I don’t know how they talked me into it.”
“I was wondering that very same thing,” he said. “Are they blackmailing you or something?” Getting set up on blind dates was very much not Kat’s style. She was a notorious commitment-phobe and over the years he had known her, she’d had flings, but not much else. Agreeing to a blind date, a match from Ron no less, was completely out of character. Ron and Alan were hopeless romantics and because they wanted everyone to find their “soul mates,” they often set up the Sharpe Designs family members with suitable prospects. They were good at it too—three of their matches had turned into marriages. Kat knew what agreeing to a set up like this could mean and he was surprised that she might be considering something more long term. He wondered what changed. And why.
“Or something.” She shook her head and shrugged. “I guess they caught me a weak, horny moment.”
Dean smiled. A very typical Kat response. He tapped her knee, her stockings silky under his fingertips. She could be a hard woman, even cold at times, but her body was always soft, her skin warm and supple. “Guys are for more than just sex, you know.”
“Are they?” Her eyes widened with feigned innocence. “I can’t image what else I would do with one.”
Oh, I don’t know, we can be handy to have around. We can lift heavy things, get the tops off most jarred products, kill spiders.” He was rapidly running out of examples, and he tried to think of things his dad did that made his mother happy, grasping onto the first thing that came to mind. “Yard work.”


 Grand Prize winner will get a “Delicate Daytime” Tiara and all the books listed below in eBook format 2 winners will get copies of Picture Her Bound by Sidney Bristol, One Kiss by Lisa Fox and Rebound by Sabrina York (Book 1 of the series from each author) Drawing ends at 11:59 PM EST on 25 November – winner has 24 hours to respond. 18+ only

World-renowned neurosurgeon, secret member of American royalty, seducer of legions of beautiful, outrageously sexy angels and demons and vampires and werewolves and the occasional pirate, Lisa Fox has done it her own mind. In reality, she can generally be found at her desk with a cup of coffee close at hand. Or maybe a martini. It really depends on the day.
Feedback, comments, opinions, words of wisdom, chocolate cake and the addresses of super hot men are always appreciated and encouraged. Please feel free to contact Lisa any time.