Five months ago I started writing a short story. Two months ago I submitted said short story to a publisher and crossed my fingers. Nearly two weeks later, I got the contract. One month later, the edits came in and now, on this day, my debut has arrived.
High Scandal is officially published!
Last night I was beside myself with nerves and "Oh my God, what did I do?" A good friend of mine simply took me aside and calmed my fears, explaining that now, officially, I am considered a published author. It's quite humbling and I'm very gracious for the opportunity to share stories with the world.
If you'd like to take a gander at a story that has more of an underlying message than romance and secrets, check out High Scandal. Through Evernight, it's on sale for $2.99 and at Amazon for $3.99. They'll be more links posted soon.
Here's an expert again of High Scandal. Enjoy!
Utter mortification, like a heavy hammer, washed through her. Tristan was standing in the door way, his dark, smoldering looks holding something akin to shock in his features. She felt her legs start to shake, to wobble in the five inch heels she wore. As she released her skirt, the fabric fell, brushing against her ankles. Just the feel of the cloth brought her chin higher, her cloak tighter.
Tristan took a step forward and the door shut behind him.
Oh dear, God, what was she going to do? Why isn’t he saying anything?
She cleared her throat. “Mr. White,” she began.
He cut her off, lifting his hand, palm out. The action snapped her head up. His eyes bore into hers, a perplexed expression on his face. He was staring at her with such a look, the only thing she could compare it to would be two strangers passing one another on the streets. As those two people passed one another, they’d catch each other’s attentions and feel as if they knew one another. That look, as if he had seen her somewhere before but she was a stranger now. It was projected across his face.
She frowned. “Mr. White…”
Once again, that palm came up. “Stop speaking, Isabelle.” His palm fisted tightly and his gaze left hers. He dropped his hand and turned in a slow circle.
She followed his gaze, cringing as she took in what he was seeing for the first time. Shoe box upon shoe box, white, black, pink and red, all stacked and lined against the walls. The shelves were full of them, overflowing in abundance.
As he turned back towards her, she caught his slack jaw, his wide eyes and braced for it. What…is…he…thinking?
Tristan stepped forward and knocked the lid off of a box, revealing tissue smothering black lace pumps, sitting there waiting for her.
Oh those were so pretty. A small, contented sigh left her mouth as she took in the sight of those shoes. They felt like heaven on her feet, despite the four inch heels. Combined with the inch platform, the Mary Jane strap and the peep toe, they made her feel like a woman, like a vixen begging to be let out. She tore her eyes from the shoes and glanced back up at Tristan.
His hazel gaze wasn’t on the shoes anymore. No, they were watching her, studying her mouth.
She watched as his gaze roamed down her body, the touch of his eyes feeling almost physical. The heat held behind his gaze had never been directed at her, but now it blazed. As his eyes landed on her feet, he took a step forward and on instinct, she stepped back. Her foot wobbled as she hit the lid to the box of shoes she was wearing now. She felt her ankle give out and then her weight shifted as she fell back.
Her arms flapped wild. Her foot kicked from beneath her. Through her own panicked state, she heard a grunt as steel arms wrapped around her waist and caught her before she hit the ground. Her body was bent backwards, her face pressed tightly to his neck. She leaned her head back and looked up.
Tristan’s pain-filled face filled her gaze, his complexion turning an unreasonable shade of purple. He promptly lifted her, keeping his grip on her hips as he bent at the waist. Deep breaths racked his large frame, heaving sounds pushing from deep within him.
His hands tightened on her waist, then dropped as he stood. His shoulders hunched forward and drew her gaze down, to stop on the bulge…in between…his legs. Oh dear, God, no!
Breath pushed in and out from between his pursed lips and his coloring grew more normal, from purple to red and then to pink again. After a few terse moments, Tristan finally stood to his full height and, ignoring the bulge in his crotch, glanced pointedly at her shoes.
She fought not to fidget. “Mr. White...”
“Isabelle, please.” His look cut her off and he raised his eyes to look around the room once more. “What is this place, Ms. Stanson?”
She scrunched her face up and searched for an answer. “A closet, Mr. White.”
He gave her a droll look, the answer not mollifying him in the least. “I know that, Isabelle. But what are all these boxes doing in here? And what,” his gaze dropped to her feet, “are those?”
She did shift now. “Shoes, Mr. White.” She reached up and started to gather her hair at the base of her neck.
Isabelle froze. “What?”
“You’ve worked for me for three years, Isabelle. I’ve asked you more than once to call me Tristan.”
She frowned again at that. She didn’t exactly think that was professional. Resuming her hands, she pulled the heavy tendrils together.
Her mouth opened to tell him her thoughts, but he cut her off again. “I said stop that.”
She stopped again. “Stop what? I didn’t say anything.”
Tristan let out an exasperated breath and stepped forward. The front of his body brushed against hers, and she drew in a sharp breath. He set his hands over hers and gently pulled them away until they fell to her sides. But he did not let go.
Isabelle stared straight ahead, focusing on the dark blue of his suit jacket. She panted and the movement pushed her chest out. With each touch of his jacket against her skin, she grew all too aware of him. Not as her boss. Not as Mr. White. But instead as the male she had been lusting over for three long years.
“Why do you always keep your hair up, Isabelle?” His voice rumbled through his jacket and held an intimate appeal with them standing so close. His hands still didn’t move.
Slowly, she lifted her head until his handsome face filled her vision.
A strong jaw curved across around a face that was more than handsome, almost pretty. Hard hazel eyes searched her face, seeking something. They roamed over her skin before landing on her mouth.
Thank you for having us today! We're thrilled to share with you and all your readers our sixth novel from Evernight Publishing. This book, A Lotus for the Regent, is the second book in our Lotus Trilogy, stories about influential courtesans and their political and amorous entanglements with powerful men from neighboring kingdoms.
One more thing: if you haven't read book one, The Soldier's Lotus, yet, don't worry! It's only 99 cents at Amazon now for a limited time (I hope it's still on sale there!). This is your perfect opportunity to begin your adventures in our fantasy world of Gilalion!
The Lotus Trilogy, 2
Six years ago, Kamen Itenu was made the Regent of the Sunjaa nation, ruling for a boy-king, and thus became the most powerful man in all the west. But Kamen is not just the Regent. He is also a man who has lost his first love, and he has never expected his heart to kindle again.
Ajalira is a woman trapped, one who, for honor's sake, sold herself to the Red Lotus Guild to be made into a courtesan and assassin. When war sends the Regent to the Guild, Ajalira's honor kindles Kamen's broken heart, but can even the love of the Regent protect Ajalira from her past? The war threatens to tear them apart, and Ajalira must choose between her past and her love, while her honor, more precious than her life, hangs in the balance.
Be Warned: Multiple partners, BDSM, erotic asphyxiation, anal sex, orgies, violence.
“So, Lord Itenu has set his heart on the fair Ausir,” Darien said, smiling as he took long strides across the room towards them.
Kamen flashed Ajalira a grin and rose, embracing Darien by the forearm. “Ajalira, and she is to be my sole concubine.”
Darien's eyebrows shot up. “Indeed?”
The slave hurried into the room.
“Let it be written,” Kamen said.
Darien snapped his fingers, and the slave laid out everything on a nearby table. “Let it be done.” Darien drafted the document.
Kamen returned to Ajalira's side. “What is your family name?”
Kamen did not know that name. “I'm going to sign the parchment, and then you will be mine. No law of gods or men can sunder us then.”
Ajalira reached up and touched Kamen's arm, running her fingers down over his bicep and across his abdomen. She sat up perfectly straight and leaned forward. Her every move was a confession of her desire for him.
Kamen looked over the document, and it read just as he wanted it to: that Ajalira would become his concubine, that she alone would hold that title, and that Kamen would take no wife to supplant her. Kamen filled in Ajalira's full name and then signed it with his own. Darien stood and hugged Kamen, picking him up off the floor in a bear hug. Ajalira laughed.
“Congratulations, old friend,” Darien said, setting Kamen down with a jolt.
Kamen took a deep breath. “Thanks.” He walked back over to Ajalira, took her by the hands, and raised her to her feet. “I must take you now in the presence of the Lord Admiral. He must bear witness to the coupling, and then he will sign and leave.”
Ajalira nodded. Apparently she already knew this, but when she glanced at Darien, Kamen detected some measure of embarrassment in her expression. He resolved then to make it a token penetration. He would not fuck her in front of Darien the way Darien had fucked Saerileth in front of him. When he finished, he wanted to be alone with Ajalira.
Kamen laid Ajalira down on the bed and pushed her skirts up to her waist, exposing her bare pussy. His cock twitched as blood rushed through it, making it as hard as any spear. He pulled her knees up, took off his own skirt, and knelt between her legs. Ajalira looked down at Kamen's cock as he ran his hand down its length. She was already wet, so this would be quick.
“I cannot give you my virginal blood,” Ajalira whispered, her face a mask of shame.
“Don't think that way, my love.” Kamen leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “I know you were a Lotus, but that's all behind you now. As for my part, I hold your honor intact.”
Ajalira nodded, once again tears coming to her eyes.
Kamen shifted forward and laid the head of his long cock against her pussy lips. He flicked his penis up and down twice to wet it, and then he slipped the head inside her. Ajalira licked her tightly drawn lips and moaned. Kamen held his cock there, and though every instinct told him to drive himself all the way in, he resisted the temptation. That was for her alone. Besides, he had other plans first, plans of bringing out the sex kitten he knew was inside her.
Kamen turned back to look at Darien, and the Lord Admiral nodded. He signed the document, rolled it up, and took it away. Once he was gone from the room, Kamen removed himself from Ajalira and stood up.
“What's wrong?” Ajalira asked.
Kamen reached down and scooped her into his arms. “Nothing. Now we can get started.” He stood her in the middle of the room, right in front of the four-poster bed, and paced before her.
“Is everything all right?” Ajalira tucked her blonde hair behind her ears.
Kamen stopped, turned, and grabbed the collar of her dress. He ripped it down the front, tearing the entire garment in half. Ajalira gasped but did not retreat. She laid her forearms across her naked breasts, which heaved in excitement, and rubbed her thighs together. Kamen yanked away the torn dress and ripped it again in half down the middle, dividing it into two halves. Ajalira craned her neck to watch him, but he only let a sly smile hint at his plans for her. He took her arm and raised it, holding it against one post of the bed.
“What are you doing?” Ajalira asked.
Kamen wrapped one piece of the dress around her wrist, tying it to the bedpost. He then did the same thing with the other wrist, and when he looked at Ajalira again, he saw wonder dancing in her eyes. She knew what was coming, and she loved it.
But she did not know—not quite. Kamen doubted any Lotus trainer was as good as he. Besides, they were all Zenji. Their cocks were not as big as Sunjaa's.
Kamen's erect, black penis bounced before him as he walked in front of Ajalira. “You shall forget every lover you've had before me. You shall come for this cock alone.” Kamen stopped in front of her and stroked his penis, and as Ajalira watched him, she squirmed and whined. “Oh, you want this?”
Ajalira nodded vigorously.
Ajalira whimpered again.
“Yours is the last pussy I'll ever have.” Kamen knelt before her and tapped on the insides of her knees, spreading her legs apart.
Where we are:
FB author page (like this for exclusive content, like maps and recipes)
Where to get your copy of A Lotus for the Regent!
All Romance Ebooks
With the upcoming release, High Scandal, I got to thinking on some secrets people may keep. In my daily job, of course, I hear many. All of which I can't spill on here. *winks*
Anyhow, so in my “research” (yes, that’s what we like to call it now) I came across an article that was screaming for my boy Tristan to get ahold of.
Wait – brakes screech – where’s Bari and who in the hell is Tristan?
Well, ladies, you know that broody man, who is handsome, successful, a bit of an ass, and falls hard? That’s my boy Tristan and he’s the lead in my upcoming release, High Scandal. (Due out at the end of the month through Evernight Publishing.)
Any who, back to this article. It was called, 100 Guy Secrets Every Girl Must Know. Now…we are so not going through one hundred guy secrets – who would have thought they’d have so many – but Tristan wanted to touch on a few.
See what he had to say.
Tristan and I are hanging out on the couch, “researching” – there’s that word again – the internet for some ideas, something to make us laugh, something to get through a boring Monday evening. He leans back, and wraps an arm around the back of the couch and I have to laugh.
“Watch it, Mr. White; the hubby will be home soon.”
Tristan chuckles, a deep sound that rumbles through the entire couch.
I click on an interesting article and lean in to the laptop to get a closer look. Tristan starts that low laugh again, distracting me from my task, and causing all kinds of things inside to go ….gooey. (Yes, I did, in fact, just use that word. It’s a technical word. Look it up. *winks*)
“Whatcha laughing about, Tristan?”
He points to the screen and reads, “If a guy cries in front of you during a fight, he’s just using the drama to get your sympathy.” Tristan rolls his eyes and turns his dancing gaze to me. “Sweetcakes, if a guy cries, there must be something in his eye.”
“You have some dessert?”
Tristan arches a perfect brow. “What?”
His look turns droll. “It’s a nickname.”
“You gave me a dessert nickname?” I pause but cut him off as his mouth opens, loving the hell out of teasing him. “Because I’m so sweet?” I bat my lashes, in typical female form, grinning inside like a two-buck-chump.
He grins and rolls his eyes. “Yes, cause you’re that sweet, D.C.”
I shake my shoulders and turn back to the screen, grinning ear to ear. “Okay, what about this one? Guys will never understand why girls need to spend an entire hour in the shower?”
I turn expectantly towards Tristan.
He frowns, then his face transforms into a heart stopping smile, his eyes twinkling with just the right amount of mischievousness. “Actually, guys will never understand why girls need to spend an entire hour in the shower…alone.”
I lifted my head and we nod in sync. “Gotcha.”
Tristan points back to the screen. “We find it cute when you’re a messy eater. That’s true, D.C. It’s also a great excuse for that hour long shower.” He wiggles his brows and I shake my head, chuckling.
I scroll down the screen and burst out laughing. “Some guys still have teddy bears on their beds!”
He blanches and my laugh grows.
“Who in the hell wrote this, D.C? If a guy has a teddy bear on his bed, trust me, he hasn’t reach maturity yet.”
I chuckle and scroll down some more, my mind growing wary of this article. “Ah, here’s one. A guy won’t kiss a girl on her forehead unless he’s really serious about her.”
Tristan shakes his head. “Nope, not true. See?” Tristan leans forward and drops a kiss on my head just as my husband walks in. A look of, ‘you’re so gonna get it’ crosses Mr. D.C’s face and I start to laugh. Tristan scrambles off the couch and makes a dash for the back door.
I wave. “Thanks, Tristan. Now RUN!”
Do you have a secret you'd like to share? Or maybe one you've uncovered? Post your response below and a random entry will be chosen to get a free copy of High Scandal to be released at the end of the month.
Vampires and Bondage. Two favorite words and items in today's fiction romance society. *thinks* Can a vampire be considered an item? In my mind I picture Brad Pitt in An Interview With a Vampire and yes, he'd be an item I'd love to have over and over again. *grin*
Today we have a fabulous new release to promote that gives us a taste of both favorites. Annalynne Russo brings the world of temptation, suspense, and wicked sexiness right to our doorsteps. It's a release you want to put in your TBR file and one that you'll want to move to number one.
Rather than just promote this book, we want to make this a little contest in order to "spice" it up for you all. Ms. Russo an I have collaborated an idea and would like to see just who can come up with the most original and fitting Vampire name. There could be a bit of a surprise to this contest that may be release later but first and foremost, the one who can come up with the winning name will get a free copy of Blood & Bondage for your own reading...pleasure. Respond to this post with your entry and check out Ms. Russo's excerpt to the new release down below.
You can purchase your own copy at Amazon or here. Interested in other releases by Ms. Russo? Be sure to go check out her Facebook page and click like.
Blood & Bondage Excerpt
Other than the barrage of crimson stares, Anaïs found it difficult to make out faces. She did, however, recognize the guttural moans and groans of pleasure that came from every corner of the room. In addition, the loud bass of hard rock pounded against the walls, making the foundation of the building rattle and hum. The place had been painted in black with only a few dim strobe lights that flashed on and off at intermittent times.
Using the leash he’d insisted she employ, Anaïs paraded her boy toy across the length of the room. She only released him long enough to shackle his arms and legs to the hooks that hung from the walls and low-lying ceiling.
“Are you sure we can do this?” Anaïs asked with trepidation. She wasn’t necessarily keen on public exhibition, especially since the two of them had to make their act appear legitimate. If their resolve wavered for even a second, the bloodsuckers in the club would see through it and surely pounce.
“I’m up to the task. I promise to be a good little sub,” he whispered huskily into her ear, making goose bumps form on already sensitive skin. “What about you?”
“This isn’t generally my scene. But I’m a dancer. I’m used to being on stage.” Anaïs drew back. She stared into the depths of her lover’s eyes, gauging his mood. “You do realize, I’ll have to bite you. If not, these fuckers won’t buy the charade.”
Oliver shrugged his shoulders, then handed Anaïs the flogger he’d kept huddled at his side. “No safe word, eh? Well, I suppose you’ve earned a bit of retribution.”
Anaïs squared her shoulders, then yanked on the chains that bound him to ensure they were secure. She had to make her role as dominatrix seem real. After a brief moment of hesitation, she strutted around his tightly-coiled body, her perusal gluttonous and intense. At least she hoped that’s the way it looked. As she encircled him, the cat o’ nine tails she held in her hand lashed at the rippled muscle on his chest. Damn, she found Oliver impossible to resist. Once again, the urge to ravage him had snuck up on her. There was something about his refined masculinity that kept her perpetually ensnared. God, she couldn’t wait to sample the rare, well-preserved vintage of his blood.
Standing behind him, Anaïs raked her razor-tipped fingernails down the curve of his spine. Then she cracked the whip again and watched his body wince. Her hand drifted up, two bloody fingers teetered on the ridge of her lower lip. A few seconds later, her tongue slithered out and sucked the rich, red deliciousness off the fingertips.
That tiny tidbit of her lover’s life essence drove Anaïs’s libido into an all-out frenzy. Moisture from her womb soaked through the slick fabric of her clothing. The warm, slippery wetness slid down her inner thighs. Her hardened nipples sprang to life, rubbing painfully against the clingy latex cat suit. She wanted to tear open the sphere-shaped zippers and thrust her bosom into his face. But with an audience in tow, forcing her sub to do it with his teeth would make for a much more convincing show.
At his mistress’ decree, Oliver lowered his head and obliged, unzipping the fabric that covered each breast in one fell swoop. He puckered up and took one plump areola into his mouth, while he rolled the roughness of his weathered palm over the other.
“Suck harder, damn it! For Christ’s sake, do as I command.” Anaïs screamed loud enough for the masses to overhear.
Oliver’s low rumble reverberated against her skin. No doubt he was turned on, almost as much as she. With their bodies in such close proximity, she could hear the man’s heart beating in his chest. His carotid artery pulsed wildly on the side of his neck and she could no longer war with her instincts.
Anaïs felt her sharp, serrated canines emerge, ready to pierce her lover’s supple flesh. With his mouth still suckling her breast, she reached down and clasped his enormous cock through his jeans, stroking its length until he purred like a cat. Once in the throes of pleasure, she sank her fangs deep, siphoning his blood greedily.
Oliver bucked slightly, then groaned in a clear attempt to remain in control. She knew it must have taken everything he had not to yank on the chains and pull out the stake attached to his hip. To hell with the fact that her bite had made both of them feel good.
Anaïs pulled back, releasing the suction from their pleasure racked bodies. Briefly, she gazed at his face. His eyes still swirled with sexual intent. The flush of his cheeks and the sweat on his brow served as proof that Oliver, too, had enjoyed their display.
Anaïs growled as her tongue swept over the twin pinpricks she’d left in his neck in order to cauterize the open wound. Her shy insecurities had been replaced by desire. “Don’t move, lover boy. The show’s not over yet.”