Wednesday, July 26, 2017

Hiding in Plain Sight - Sexy Spy Thriller by Lucy Felthouse #sexyspythriller #romance #suspense

Do you love sexy spies and thrillers? Then you're in for a treat. Lucy Felthouse is here to tell us about her latest release Hiding in Plain Sight.

Gorgeous cover and a great excerpt.

Read on for more...


Mallory Scott is an espionage operative, working for the British government. She’s travelled all over the world, often going undercover and infiltrating criminal organisations in order to extract the intelligence needed to dismantle their operations and bring the perpetrators to justice. Given her usual targets are terrorists, people-traffickers, drug-traffickers and arms dealers, her latest assignment should be relatively simple. A small group of Brits is raking in serious money in the diamond-scamming business—and although their MO is theft and forgery, rather than hurting people, they still need to be stopped. But up until now, they’ve proved elusive—no one can catch them in the act, or find a shred of evidence against them.

That’s where Mallory comes in. She follows the group to Amsterdam, planning to get her claws in to one of the gang. Luck is on her side, and within twenty-four hours she’s lunching with Baxter Collinson, the youngest—and most handsome—diamond thief. What she’s not expecting, however, is to get on with him quite so well. Attraction bubbles between them—and for once, on Mallory’s part, it isn’t an act. For the first time in her career, Mallory struggles with what she must do.

Can she ignore her heart for the sake of her career?


Mallory Scott spotted the people she was looking for as soon as she walked into the hotel bar. Hell, she hadn’t even needed to search; they were being so loud and obnoxious they were practically screaming for attention.

Stupid, in Mallory’s opinion. If you were running an international diamond scam, surely you’d want to keep a low profile? But no, apparently these guys didn’t give a shit. Not only were they screaming for attention—and getting it, she noticed, as other patrons of the bar shot them the occasional glare—they were also projecting the fact that they were filthy rich. They were supping on the most expensive champagne money could buy and demanding oysters and caviar be brought in. The overwhelming arrogance made her blood boil, but she consoled herself with the fact that by the time she was done with them, they’d be taken down by more than a peg or two—they’d be at rock bottom.

Heading for a table in a position where she could watch them, but remain partially hidden behind a pillar, she shook her head. She could hardly believe they’d kept their multi-million-pound enterprise going for so long. If they ran their operation as sloppily as their current behaviour indicated they might, it was a miracle indeed.

Not that it mattered. They could be running the tightest ship ever known to man, and she would still find a way to take them down. It was what she did. For years now, she’d been successfully infiltrating illegal operations of varying kinds, then gradually dismantling them from the inside. Before the criminals realised what was happening, it was too late—their wrists were practically in the handcuffs, their arses on their way to jail.

This project was different from the ones she usually handled. Her past takedowns included terrorist plots, kidnappings, drugs, people-trafficking… that kind of thing. She’d been involved because sending in police or military personnel wouldn’t work. Not in those particular circumstances. To be truly effective, Mallory needed to infiltrate the organisations at the top, gain their trust—or at least enough trust to allow her to snoop—and acquire evidence of their involvement to ensure their convictions. Otherwise, rushing in and stopping the terrorists, saving people and so on, important as that was, would only affect a tiny part of the organisation. It was vital to dismantle the whole thing, from the big bosses and the money men, right down to the minions doing the leg work.

An added bonus to this approach was that the victims of these organisations, as well as being saved, would know that justice had been served to those that hurt them, and the knowledge that they’d never get the opportunity to do it again. It was dangerous but fulfilling work, and Mallory couldn’t imagine doing anything else. She loved the adrenaline rush, the challenge.

And the challenge element was precisely why this job was different. In as much as it wasn’t supposed to be particularly challenging. Intel gathered over the past year had pinpointed the what, the who—though they couldn’t yet put faces to names—the where and the how, and that had been done covertly, without the need for an undercover operative. All that remained in this case was to find out the when, so they could be caught in the act. It should have been simple, really. But the group was careful, exceedingly so. One of their number was a hacker, meaning that trying to access their emails, internet search histories and voicemails, or tap their phones without being detected was almost impossible. They were smart.

Which meant the only option remaining was the old-fashioned approach.

A honey trap. It was Mallory’s mission to attract the attention of one of the men in the group—hell, even one of the women if any of them swung that way—and slowly, slowly cultivate and exploit their relationship in order to get the information she needed. Then boom, another international criminal enterprise would bite the dust.

Which brought Mallory to her current position, dressed up in ludicrously expensive designer gear and half-hiding behind a pillar in the bar of Amsterdam’s most exclusive hotel. Someone less experienced than Mallory might have found the idea of staying out of sight ridiculous. The aim was to get the attention of one of the gang members, after all. But Mallory was at the top of her game, the very best of the best, and she knew damn well that putting in a little groundwork early on would pay off in spades. Before she did anything, before she so much as batted an eyelash in the direction of the gang, she needed to identify her target. It was pointless trying to eye-fuck with a bloke from across the room, only to discover he preferred men, or was happily married and the faithful type. That would attract the wrong kind of attention. When she did get noticed by the group, she wanted it to be for the right reasons, and on her terms. If they caught even so much as a whiff of her deception, it would be game over.

So she would watch, and wait. Then as soon as she decided which one of the group was going to be her new boyfriend, she’d move in for the kill. Figuratively speaking, of course. Killing wasn’t her job. She was capable of it, and over the course of her career had ended more than one life in self-defence, or in order to protect others, but she was no cold-blooded murderer.

She was something much more dangerous; something that no one ever saw coming.

Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller), The Persecution of the Wolves and Hiding in Plain Sight. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 160 publications to her name. She owns Erotica For All, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more about her writing at, or on Twitter or Facebook. Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. Subscribe to her newsletter and get a free eBook:

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Tuesday, July 25, 2017

Don't Give a Witch - Paranormal Cozy Mystery #Paranormal #CozyMystery

This looks like a fun book that combines a witch and a cozy mystery. What more could you want?

Read on for more...


Witch/Paranormal Cozy Mystery
Date Published: July 19, 2017

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Dylan Apel is at it again…

When the Magical Abilities contest is announced, Dylan couldn't give a flip about entering. But when she discovers the prize is the coveted Never Forget, a spell that makes you immune to mind erasing, she's all in.

That is, until the potion is stolen. Now, she's on lock down in Castle Witch with a thief on the loose. But lucky for her, the witching elite has also arrived, and Dylan's convinced one of them is the Master, an elusive criminal who she believes committed a heinous murder twenty years ago. All Dylan has to do is slip a magical ring on the right person's finger and she's got her killer.

But when the ring is stolen, Dylan's not sure who to trust. Things get worse when her boyfriend is arrested for a theft he didn't commit, a close friend can't remember important details, and Dylan herself is accused of cheating in the contest. Before things get any worse Dylan must find a thief and a murderer—before she becomes the next victim of the Master.

Don't miss another Southern fried witchery—read Don't Give a Witch today!



An arm snaked around my waist. My breath caught in my throat.

“It’s been too long since I’ve smelled your hair,” came the gruff voice over my shoulder.

I narrowed my eyes. “I didn’t know you had a hair fetish. That’s totally weird.”

Hot breath parted my locks like fingers. “You’ve got a knack for ruining romantic moments. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

I giggled. “Anyone ever tell you that telling a girl it’s been too long since you smelled her hair is weird?”

Roman spun me around. I pitched forward only to be caught by muscular arms as soon as made of iron as they were of flesh and blood.

“Hold on there. Don’t fall over.”

I straightened. Sea-green eyes met my poo-brown ones. Yes, they were poo brown.

Blond hair grazed the top of his shoulders. I wove my fingers through the ends, pretending to be getting out a bit of lint or something, but really I just wanted to touch his hair.

He wrapped me in a quick hug. “You do smell good.”

“I try.”

We parted and he smiled at me. A goopy look filled his gaze. I bit down on the lopsided grin I knew was stitched on my own face.

“So,” I said. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Roman pocketed his hands. “You come to weddings often?”

“All the time.”

“I bet you go to pick up men.”

I rocked back on one heel. “Am I that obvious?”

Roman leaned on one hip, studying me. He rubbed his chin. “You’re not that obvious. It’s more of a sense I get from you.”

I quirked a brow. “Oh?”

“You seem like the type who goes to weddings, picks one guy, dances with him all night. It’s just long enough for that guy to fall a little bit in love with you. Then you dump him.”

My jaw fell. “That’s horrible. Why would someone do that?”

Roman shook his head. “Ever heard of a black widow?”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re terrible. I’m not a black widow. If anything, you’re a dark assassin.”

It was time for Roman to do some major eye rolling. Which he did. Which didn’t surprise me. “Right. Listen, how about you agree that I’m right and we do some dancing?”

I folded my arms over my chest. “Is that the proper way to ask a lady to dance?”

In a flourish of testosterone, Roman dropped to one knee and extended his hand to me. “My lady, would you care to dance with this poor soul?”

I nearly busted my gut laughing. Tears blurred my vision as I said, “Yes.”

Roman guided me out past the chairs. The quartet strings thrummed as he twirled me into the space. Others quickly joined and the post wedding fun kicked into high gear.

I have to tell you, those of us who weren’t centaurs had to make a lot of room for them.

Laughter buzzed in the air as the romance of the wedding took hold of us. Roman and I fell into a smooth rhythm, my head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around me protectively. There was no place else I would rather have been.

A crack of light splintered into the center of the dance floor. People screamed. Others leaped back. Roman pushed me behind him, shielding me with his body.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Heat rose in my chest, rippling up my neck. I peered over Roman’s shoulder.

A man stood in the center. He wore an ebony cape with lapels starched up to his eyebrows. His amber hair was slicked back and he had a deep widow’s peak that plunged down his forehead.

He clapped his hands. “Greetings, everyone!”

The air stilled. The looks of shock on people’s faces quickly changed to confusion.

The man’s gaze washed over the crowd. He studied the gathering as if analyzing us in bits and pieces. He clapped his hands again. “I’ve come with good tidings to the happy couple.”

From his seat at the wedding table, Pearbottom gave a stiff nod. Eliza clutched his hand, her knuckles stretched to white.

I was surprised that neither Pearbottom or Roman had moved on this guy. The small bit of analytical brain I had quickly realized they didn’t consider him to be a threat. That one notion made me relax a tiny bit, the muscles in my neck and shoulders unknotting.

The man flashed a brilliant smile. “This year’s Magical Abilities contest is open for submissions. The grand prize is a vial of Never Forget.” His eyes swept across us once more, landing on me. His piercing gaze made my stomach knot. Maybe it was the cape, but I felt kinda creeped out by him.

The man raised his hands. “You may enter the contest,” he brought his watch to eye level and said, “starting now!”

A puff of gray smoke billowed up around him. The smoke took on lines, becoming sharper at the edges, more delineated until small circles broke off from the edges. These orbs of gas transformed into doves. Their wings fluttered as they rose high into the sky before disappearing.

A shimmering picture remained where the caped wizard had been standing. A halved roman column sat squat on the ground. Resting on it was a small, golden trophy. A halo shot out around it. After a few seconds the picture faded away, revealing a red banner with yellow script.



From all around me, the wedding crowd released a collective breath.

Roman turned. “You okay?”

I dragged my gaze from the banner. Energy still bubbled in my stomach from where the wizard had stared right through me.

“Hmm?” I said. I shook my head. “Yeah. I’m fine. Wow. That was totally weird. What was that all about?”

“I’ll tell you what it was about, toots.”

I glanced over and saw my paternal grandmother, Milly Jones, caning up to us. She’d dressed up for the occasion. Oh, she still wore black orthopedic shoes, beige support hose, a dark skirt and a shapeless cardigan. But this sweater had sequins!

“Milly, you’ve out done yourself,” I said.

A loud snort jutted from her gnarled hook nose. “I spare no expense when it comes to weddings. What can I say? I love seeing people get married. The only thing better than that is playing with babies,” she said flatly.

I really didn’t know if she was being serious or not. Milly loving babies? That was kind of like an alligator liking small deer.

Not that Milly was going to eat said children. She didn’t do that. Of course not. But she just didn’t strike me as the type to love playing with sweet, cooing babies.

I’d been known to be wrong before, though. It could happen again.

Milly eyed Roman like a pirate eyed treasure—with a glint. The only thing she was missing would have been a metal hand and maybe a gold tooth.

“Roman, it’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you, Milly.”

She studied the magical banner. People were milling about, taking their places once again on the dance floor.

“So I missed the announcement,” she said.

I pulled a tissue from my clutch purse and dabbed a splotch of sweat from my neck. “Where were you?”

“Bathroom.” She drifted toward the banner. “So it’s time again, huh? Time for the contest.”

I shrugged. “Looks like.”

Her neck snapped back to me. “You know you need to enter.”

I dropped the tissue. I shot her a panicked gaze. “Me? Why me? Why do I need to enter?”

She thumbed her nose. “All of you do. You and your sisters.”

“Why do we have to enter?”

Milly’s lips coiled into a serpentine smile. “So that you can win the Never Forget spell.”

I frowned. “Why would I need that?”

Her eyes dragged across the pavilion until they landed in my grandmother Hazel’s direction. “You need the spell,” she said slowly, “so that you can start remembering.”

Confusion fogged my brain. “Remembering what?”

Milly glanced back at me, her eyes stony cold as she said, “Everything your other grandmother makes you forget.”

About the Author 

Amy Boyles grew up reading Judy Blume and Christopher Pike. Somehow, the combination of coming of age books and teenage murder mysteries made her want to be a writer. After graduating college at DePauw University, she spent some time living in Chicago, Louisville, and New York before settling back in the South. Now, she spends her time chasing two toddlers while trying to stir up trouble in Silver Springs, Alabama, the fictional town where Dylan Apel and her sisters are trying to master witchcraft, tame their crazy relatives, and juggle their love lives.

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Monday, July 24, 2017

Coming Soon: The Filly & the Gambler - Western Romance #WesternRomance #Romance

This post first appeared on my other site Sweet n Sexy Divas, written by resident Diva Rita Hestand.

If you love western romance, you'll love this book.

Read on for details...



"Don't she talk?" Cole asked eyeing Harmon skeptically.

Harmon rubbed his chin, thoughtfully now and shot Cole a sideways glance.

"She talks, talks a lot when she gets going. But she's not used to strangers much. Guess you are wondering who she is, aren't you?"

Cole raised an arrogant brow. "It crossed my mind to ask, I'll admit. I mean she's quite a surprise. Never expected a woman out here. You've never said a word about her."

"You ain't never been out here, have you?" Harmon twisted his head.

"Well," Cole scratched his chin. "No, I guess I haven't visited. But I never seen her here. You just hire her to cook for your or something?"

"No. No, I didn't hire her. And there's a good reason you and no other cowpoke has heard about her." He scratched his chin as though trying to figure out a way to tell him. "She's my daughter." He finally blurted.

"Your daughter?" Cole turned to stare at him. "I had no idea you had a daughter. I've never seen her in town."

"No, she won't go. Says if I can't buy her dresses like I should, she won't go." Harmon shrugged.

"Why don't you buy her some dresses then?" Cole frowned.

"Easy for you to say, with the spread you got. We just barely get by out here, Cole. She's got one dress, it'll do." When Cole frowned at him, he added.  "Aw…I cain't, don't know nothing about women's things. She's been making do with her mother's things for the past few years."

Cole didn't understand Harmon, nor the woman. But it wasn't his business, he kept telling himself. A daughter, that meant he had to have had a wife at one time too. Harmon was just full of surprises. Cole thought it almost funny, but then it wasn't. Why hadn't he ever seen her? And for goodness sakes, why hadn't he mentioned the fact that he had a daughter in all the years he'd known him?

Cole wouldn't be asking the questions that danced in his head right now. Still he couldn't quite get over that Harmon had a life no one knew anything about.
Shrugging the questions away, he turned to Harmon. "Well, let's get that filly…" Cole suggested trying to change the subject although he'd give anything to hear the story. Apparently, Harmon kept a lot of things secret.

"About that…" Harmon paused as Cole was about to go down the porch steps.
Cole turned, there was no filly? Harmon had never reneged on a bet in his life. And he lost most of the time he played. So, what was he up to now?

"Got something you want to tell me Harmon?" Cole asked staring at him through the moonlight. He could see the old man was doing his best to figure a way to tell him.

"A confession I guess you'd say." Harmon nodded.

"I'm listening." Cole told him rubbing the toe of his boot through the small pile of rocks at his feet.

"You see, the filly I was talking about….the one you won in the bet, well, I don't know how to tell you this, but…. Gabby is the filly!" He finally spit it out.

Cole let that sink in. Gabby was the woman…. wasn't she? The woman was his daughter, and the filly? Good grief, what kind of double cross was Harmon pulling on him?

Cole's brows knitted, "Harmon! What are you saying?" he demanded, not realizing his voice took on a indifferent tone. "What are you trying to pull?"

Harmon came to the top of the steps and stared at him. "Look, I thought I'd win. I thought a lot of things. You see…this is something I've been thinking on for a while. I don't know how to take care of her no more. She's not a kid anymore. She's a woman. I don't even know how to take care of me, no more. And it's come to the point that I need some help. You know you are about the only real friend I got in this world."

Cole didn't know what to say to him. He'd never in all his life come across such a situation as this. He hung his head, well, he'd lost that hand, no matter how he looked at it. He could deal with losing a hand or two, but he was a bit put out about his old friend Harmon.

He came closer, trying to stare the old man in the eyes, but it was too dark for that. Harmon didn't lie, so what was he pulling here? "Okay, let's just forget the filly thing. Just quit playing poker Harmon, you can't afford it." Cole started to walk off and get his horse before Harmon got any more bright ideas.

Harmon watched the way he grabbed his reins in his hands. He knew he was upset with him.

"Don't you see, I had to keep her a secret Cole. If I hadn't some young pup would've been out here, messing with her. I couldn't allow that. She's my diamond in the rough, so to speak, Cole. She's the only thing I got that is worth living for."

Cole turned now to stare at Harmon. Now that, made sense!

"Well, maybe you are right about that, Harmon. I don't know. Maybe I'd have done the same…I'm not trying to lay blame. Look, I better get now, thanks for supper."

"You mean, you won't take her?" Harmon hollered after him his voice almost failed him.

"Take her?" Cole whirled about on his boot heels. He was shocked and his voice reflected it. Harmon wanted him to take his daughter? Was he out of his mind?
That didn't make a lick of sense. First, he was protecting her from stray cowboys, now he was trying to barter her off….and to him no less?

He was shaking his head adamantly, "No Harmon, you keep her. I couldn't do such a thing."

"Why not?" He asked almost helplessly.

"Why not?" Cole nearly shouted, turning on his boot heels to face Harmon once more. He needed to control his anger, but damn Harmon was acting way out of character here. "She's not a horse, for one thing."

"I never said she was!" Harmon protested.

"You said you had a filly." Cole reminded him.

"Well, she is a girl."

"That's about the only thing you got right about her." He yelled. If his eyes could shoot daggers, Harmon would be a dead man about now!

Cole grabbed the saddle horn and pulled himself up, "I'm sorry, Harmon…but this isn't my problem. I don't know what you have in mind, but I'm not playing this game."

"You're right of course. But, I have my reasons for this. One being those men that came tonight. They'll be back, and I might not be around to handle it. Look, she'd work hard for you, she's a good cook, and maybe you'd come to like her a bit…"

"Like her?" Cole wanted to laugh. She was so dirty he didn't want to even think about such a thing.

"Well she cleans up right good." Harmon told him. "You don't understand, that girl takes care of this place. Look around you Cole. She's got this place spit polished. She's the only one too. Done it for two years straight. But it ain't right. It's too much for her. She works from sun-up to sun-down. Not a complaint one. But those men will be back and they mean to have this place. After all her hard work, she'd die if she lost this place. It means that much to her. It ain't theirs but they'll take it. They’ll take it away from her, and then where will she be. I won't have her end up in some saloon. She's a good girl, Cole. I raised her right, despite how she might look. I guess I was wrong, I thought maybe you could see through that dirt and dust on her to the real lady she is."

Cole studied Harmon a moment. Then he glanced around at how well kept the ranch was. Was that why she looked so dirty? She'd been out taking care of the place all day, then come in to cook. "She's been taking care of this place? For two years?"

Harmon firmed his lips, took off his hat and dusted it on the side of his leg. "I mean, I ain't able to take care of this place no more. I gotta sickness. So, she does it. All the time. That's why's she's dirty. She cleans up well. She's right pretty when she does, too. Of course, she didn't get that from me."

"I'm sure you are right. And I didn't know that, but no! Not interested. And you owe me twenty dollars." Cole insisted.

He mounted his horse and Harmon grabbed the reins.

"You won't take her?" He asked with a plea in his voice.

Something about the pain and struggle in Harmon's voice had Cole paying attention.

Wanting to mollify Harmon's petulant mood, Cole stared down at him
"Your offer is too generous, Harmon. But no…" Cole stared down at him and thought he saw real tears in the old man's eyes. There was no derision in Cole's voice now, but more empathy. "I will do one thing for you, Harmon, I'll go to court with you to prove the man was cheating and has no claim here. I'll do that. I'll even help you find any witnesses that might be left. Neighbors help each other, and I promise you'll I'll do that."

"I guess, considering, that's very generous of you Cole. That's all well and good son, but, you don't understand?" Harmon struggled with his words, as though it choked him to talk, still holding the reins so he couldn't just ride off.

"Then spit it out plain Harmon because I just don't understand this." Cole was too disgusted with the old man to haggle about anything else.

Harmon scratched his head, and searched through the fading darkness at Cole. He flung his words carelessly now in a low graveled voice. "It's really simple. I'm dying, Cole…." Harmon told him, hanging his head now in resignation.


Cole stopped everything now to look at the old man. But there was something about the slump in the old man's shoulders, something about the way he said that, that had Cole staring at him in shock. He steadied his horse. "What did you say?"

"I'm dying." Harmon stared up at him, then bowed his head. "It's true, you can check with the doc in town. I went to see the him today. I'm dyin'. Got about three months left, the doc said…It's a tumor." Harmon insisted. "Been sick for some time. Been trying to get by, but I ain't got no more time to bide, Cole. I'm bad off, or I'd have never gone in to see the doc. And tonight, I made a bargain with the devil, for my daughter's sake. I ain't done right by her by a long shot. Oh, I raised her right. She's a good lady. But, I ain't provided for her right. I know that. But now that I know I don't have much time, I got to find a way for her to be taken care of. I can't leave her to work this place for the rest of life alone. It's hard work Cole, she'll be dead by the time she's thirty."

"I'm sorry Harmon, I didn't know." Cole couldn't move now. The old man's words paralyzed him, stunned him.

"Well…you see," a tear fell to his cheek now, "she doesn't know either. I can't tell her somethin' like this. Her mother died so long ago, and she ain't got no kin. Once I'm gone, she'll be alone, and I'm worried for her. I'm worried sick. Oh, she can keep the place up alright, but I don't want her to wither away out here, alone with no man to see after her. And I don't want those cheats trying to take this place from her either. She deserves better. The way she works, she'll be dead by the time she's thirty, and you can see that for yourself. And as you can see, no husband. I got to find her a place, so when I'm gone, she'll be alright. Despite how she looks tonight, she cleans up well. She can be right pretty, when she's a mind. That's why I did this. I was hopin' you'd take her. I was hopin' you'd see the quality within her. I respect you Cole, and I don't say that lightly. I figured you'd see the quality in her, right off. You're the only man I'd trust enough to offer her to."

"Hoping I would take her?" Cole repeated with a gasp. He sat there on the horse, feeling bad for the old man, and wondering what Harmon thought he could do with the woman. But he couldn't get involved. And yet, despite his better judgement, he realized the old man was trying to take care of his responsibility to his daughter. That's what this was all about. Now it made sense.

He stared at the old man who was often unkempt, and mud-stained, his heart was made of gold and Cole knew it for fact. Now he understood him. He had to admire him for that. He was afraid for his daughter, afraid that if he died, no one would help her. But how could they, no one knew she existed.

And since no one knew about her, they probably wouldn't.

He was doing the right thing, but he picked the wrong man for the job. He couldn't take on a woman like that, could he? Although Cole was sometimes known to be too soft-hearted he couldn't stand in Harmon's shoes.

No, he had to forget about this whole thing. It was unfortunate but Harmon would have to find someone else.

"Cole," Harmon pleaded now, more desperate than ever. His voice quivering as he spoke. "You're one of the most decent men I know."

Cole almost laughed at that, oh yeah, he was decent. He gambled, he loved the women, and typically raised hell like most men every Saturday night. But decent? He wasn't sure he could call himself that.

Ever since his folks died, Cole thought of only two things, building up his ranch, and enjoying himself on Saturday nights.

Cole shook his head, he didn't have the words right now.

"I don't mind dyin' Cole. But leaving her…like this…with nothing. It ain't right. She's worked her fingers to the bone. And I couldn't stop her if I wanted to. For some reason, she loves me. And believe me, she's the most precious thing I got in the world." Harmon wailed. The moonlight shone on his face now and Cole saw the real tears running down his old wrinkled cheeks. "I ain't done right by her, but by golly I will before I die! Please, Cole, won't you reconsider. Won't you take her. I'm asking as a friend."

"Harmon, what would I do with a woman?" He asked as though there were no answers. "Not just her, but any woman."

"Why…marry her of course." He told him.

"Marry her!" Cole's voice raised to a shout now. The old man was daft! How had it gone from taking her to marrying her in one sentence. He stared for a moment out onto the prairie. How did he tell him, he wasn't the man for this job? He searched for answers he didn't have. He searched for words he didn't have. Naturally, he'd expect marriage, he wouldn't just throw his daughter out to a stranger? But Harmon should know by now that Cole wasn't the marrying kind. He'd made that plain enough to everyone else.

"Why shore…. I gotta know she's gonna be cared for." Harmon told him. "I'd never ask another thing of you, and you could have this place, what there is of it…. There is water on the place, it's worth a little."

"I don't want your place Harmon, and I don't want a wife!" Cole argued.

Cole started to reign his horse into action but the old man threw his hands in the air and fell to the ground, "Then what am I gonna do….?" His hands dug in the dirt, his voice was near hysterics. The sincerity of that helpless plea went right to Cole's heart. Cole didn't want to admit it, but he was a sucker for sad stories, and worse still, Harmon knew it. He didn't know if Harmon was playing him, or if this was all for real. But something about his awkward movements now told Cole that Harmon really was desperate. And the fact that he trusted Cole that much, made a permanent impression.

Harmon laid there in the dirt, crying like a baby.

Cole moved his horse a few feet, then sighed heavily, knowing he couldn't just walk off and leave the man crying in the dirt. He sighed heavily, then he got off his horse and walked over to the old man, but Harmon was in worse shape than Cole expected. He couldn't get him up. He had collapsed.

He looked up in the sky. "Now what am I going to do?"

Looking at Harmon, lying in a heap at his feet, he made a loud sigh and picked him up, threw him over his shoulder, and took him back to the house.
He opened the door, kicking it wide with the toe of his boot.

As the woman whirled around her hat flew off her head and long tresses of red hair shone in the glow of the lamp. He thought he was seeing things for a moment, it was like a soft red cloud, of the most beautiful shiny hair he'd ever seen. Cole stared with an open mouth. The dirt on her face formed a rim on her forehead, but her hair was gorgeous and hung to her waist. Not many women had hair like that. He couldn't quite take his eyes from her.

He couldn't for the life of him put her together. She was dirty but so damned beautiful it took his breath away. How could he have not seen it?

"He's sick," Cole finally found his voice.

She ran to pull the covers back on her father's bed. Then she went to get a pan of water and rag and cleaned him up a bit as she sat by the bed. She talked softly to him and encouraged him to wake up.

"Get me a plug of whiskey girl, I got the pain."

"Be right back, dad." She said obediently.

When she came back, she pulled the cork and let him sip some.

She worked the rag over his entire face gently patting him, while speaking soothing words to him, like a momma would to a child. Cole stared, mesmerized by her gentle ways and her soft voice. For a moment, he thought she was some angel, come to fetch Harmon home.

"He's real sick," Cole told her.

"I know…." She murmured quietly. "He's dying."

Those words echoed in Cole's head. That and the way she said it. She knew?

Harmon's eyes opened and he looked around the room. "You ain't left yet Cole?"

Cole made a guffaw sound and smiled, "No, not yet."

"Will ya do it, Cole?" He asked weakly now.

Cole stared at the old man.

How the hell could he refuse a dying man? 

Then the woman looked at him. "What's he talking about?"

Cole shook his head and knowing he couldn't refuse a dying man's wish he frowned and nodded. "Alright Harmon, you win. I'll do it!"

"You mean it?"

"I mean it." Cole looked at the floor, his expression serious. He could think of a million reasons not to, but the look on the old man's face when he agreed sent some silent message to Cole's heart. The gravity of the moment hit Cole in the heart. Cole hadn't felt anything for anyone in so long, it was like a block of ice began to melt inside him. He cared about Harmon, more than he wanted to admit. Funny how he had gotten used to Harmon being around so much, to think he wouldn't be, numbed him. His emotions shocked him.

"Thank you, Cole." He said and closed his eyes.

"Are you gonna be alright for a while, Harmon?" He asked him.

The old man didn't open his eyes but he spoke, "For a while, Cole."

"Okay, we'll talk later when you are feeling better then." Cole told him.

Harmon nodded.

But as Cole was about to leave the woman followed him, "Excuse me, but what did my father ask you to do?" She stood there, with her hands on her hips, glaring at him.

It wasn't the question, so much as how she demanded to know that had his head turning in her direction.

Cole turned his hat around in his hand and then stared into her dark blue eyes and smiled. "He wants us to marry."

"Marry!" She nearly shouted, then grabbed her mouth.

He almost laughed, she was as shocked as he had been. "Yeah, that's what I said, at first."

She took his hand in hers and guided him onto the porch for privacy.

"Well, that's absurd, I can't marry you." She told him shaking her head and turning away from him. "I can't believe he'd try to barter me off like that."

Cole came toward her, "It's his last wish. Besides, I think he was making good sense. He's only thinking of your welfare, and rightfully so."

"It doesn't matter, I can't marry a stranger." She protested. "Do you think me daft too!"

He glanced at her once more. "Too?"

"I saw how disgusted you were when you saw me, and when you brought him in."

"Well I…. was just shocked! That's all!"

"That's not all. You thought me dirty and disgusting. You have a very easy to read face, mister. It was disgust. Not that I blame you entirely. In yours shoes I might have thought the same." She looked down at herself now and wrinkled her nose. "I am very dirty right now. But there's a good reason. You see I work this ranch, every day. And unlike a lot of ladies, I don't have the time to wash and wear pretty clothes. There's too much to do and only me to do it."

"Maybe, at first I thought that." Studying on it, knowing she wasn't for this anymore than he was made him feel a bit relieved. "Look, I don't want this anymore than you do, but, under the circumstances, we could have a ceremony performed in front of him. To make him feel better. Doesn't mean we'd have to carry through with it."

She turned to look at him. "You mean…kind of go through the motions and not live together or anything."

"Yeah. It would make him die happy. He's really worried about leaving you to fend for yourself. I can understand why, he never let on he even had a daughter."

Her expression changed to one of thoughtfulness as her eyes drifted back to the cabin. "I'll think on it." She told him. "But…wouldn't you rather find someone you could live with? I mean, once we are married, what if you found someone else?"

"Look, you might as well know now, I'm not the marrying kind. But I'd do it for him…" He motioned to the bed where Harmon lay. "I guess until tonight I didn't realize how much that old man means to me. So, let me know what you decide and if he gets any worse." Cole sighed and walked to the edge of the porch.
She followed.

"Alright, I guess— I guess I should thank you for wanting to make his last moments happy." She told him. "He must think a lot of you. He's never brought anyone home with him."

"We've been friends a while…" He smiled.

She nodded, "Well, for the gesture, thanks. Goodnight…"

"Goodnight," He stared for a minute wondering what she'd look like cleaned up. Then he left, feeling as though he had made a huge mistake but not knowing how to deal with it any other way. The old man did mean a lot to Cole and he wasn't sure why. But he knew if he died, he'd miss him in his life.

Funny how people came to mean something to you! But there was more to worry about here than the pretty girl. Those men meant business and were sneaky enough to cause real problems. Harmon had a real concern there. And he would be left to deal with them. Because he made a promise to ole Harmon, he'd see to the girl, somehow!

The Filly & the Gambler will be available at by the end of July.

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Sunday, July 23, 2017

An Erotic Tale of Lust and Everlasting Love #ReturntoEcstasy #TinaDonahueBooks #BDSM #EroticRomance

Book One - Her Master's Pleasure

An erotic tale of lust and everlasting love...

Available for preorder now - Ready to read August 18


A willing slave to possession, punishment, pleasure… 

Dreams of a manor where submission and dominance once ruled draws Faith to hypnotherapist Colin Danes. Potently virile, he’s instantly recognizable as her most cherished master from a past life. Desire smolders in his eyes, proving he’s never forgotten her. 

Their carnal dance continues in the present and leads to their past when she was known as Eve. Through hypnotherapy, Colin brings her back to the Victorian era, a hidden estate where she eagerly submits to whatever he and her other noble masters crave. The exquisite discipline of the strap. Being bid on and mounted each night. Displayed and used for the enjoyment of all. 

Most will take her. One will try to imprison her. Only he will be her true master in that life and this.


Eve was still bathing when he came for her. A man whose presence she’d frequently felt. A stranger who’d often rode past this cottage, his steed magnificent, a sorrel with a startling white mane and tail.

At those times, the man’s well-defined features, noble bearing, and the way he focused on her alone stood out. His gaze had lingered and possessed, warming her skin, calling to everything female within her, demanding her submission. She’d given it, not moving, scarcely drawing a breath, her work forgotten.

Nothing except him had mattered.

Not once had he spoken or made a demand. During his increasingly prolonged observations, he’d been content, or obliged, to do no more than look at her.

Now he held a rope in one gloved hand. The frayed ends swayed.

Eve’s belly fluttered.

He stepped past the doorway, his height requiring him to stoop to avoid striking his head. He wore no top hat. Snow dusted his dark hair and shoulders. His ankle-length cloak was quite luxurious, fine black wool lined with fur. His eveningwear included a dark coat cinched at the waist and trousers bearing the same shade. In color and purity, fresh milk couldn’t compete with his flawless white vest and cravat, tied perfectly about his throat.

He closed the door.

She suspected he wanted no interruption in what he intended to do.

He threw the bolt.

At the metal’s sharp clack and what would come, her pulse pounded fiercely.

The candles Mrs. Trumble had lit stopped flickering. The wind departed. A few stray snowflakes floated in the air.

The chill he’d brought inside didn’t register with Eve. Intense heat spread from her chest to her belly and cunt then to her neck. Her throat tightened. Even if she’d wanted to make a sound, she couldn’t have.

He stopped short of the tub.

His lushly lashed eyes were pure blue, more glorious than any sky.

He regarded her naked breasts. “Pull back your arms and arch your back. Present yourself to me.”

He stated his wishes quietly yet still commanded, his cultured voice smooth but also rough from arousal.

Unsteady with desire, Eve did as he wanted. She had no choice. She wanted none. With her back arched and her arms drawn back, she lifted her breasts in offering.

At a leisurely pace, he stared at the ripe globes and her taut nipples. He wandered from side to side. No angle pleased him for long.

Eve remained a silent, obedient witness to his brazen perusal. She craved and enjoyed the attention. Desire pulsed through her.

Her quick breaths caused Eve’s breasts to quiver. A small smile touched his sculpted lips.

A small smile touched his sculpted lips. He peered at what her bath hid from him: her legs and sex. The violet-scented water reflected the candles’ flames, the fire tinting it gold and orange. Those warm colors hardly matched the heat blazing within Eve.

He cleared his throat. “You know what to expect?”

Eve liked how his voice caught, his arousal evident. She nodded.

“All of it?”

She suspected not and shook her head.

He planted his hands on his lean hips as men do when they want to command attention. “From this moment forward, you’re never to cover yourself in the presence of any Master. Your openings are ours to use as we please. Every one of them. No exceptions. Whatever we require of you, no matter how demanding or indecent, you’re to obey with the greatest haste. You belong to us now. We have your agreement. Did you make it willingly?”

Eve had. A few days ago, she’d signed the document. Years before, Mrs. Trumble had taught Eve to read and write, educating and training her for her future Masters. “Yes, my lord.”

He grew solemn.

A rattling noise sounded behind him.

He glanced over. “What’s past the wall?”

“The Trumbles’ bedchamber.”

Another luxury in a cottage filled with such items. Numerous wax candles burned. The iron stove pinged and gave off more heat. A large cheval glass stood to the side. The mirror showed Eve’s reflection within it.

He removed his gloves then his cloak and hung the garment on a wall peg where nothing had ever been during Mrs. Trumble’s baths. It would have blocked the small hole her husband used to watch her.

Whenever Mrs. Trumble talked about those times, she’d blushed and tittered. “Being observed during one’s private moments is quite exciting. Brings me back to my time in the House of Lords.”

Tonight, she’d wanted to keep the hole open so she could watch what happened between Eve and her Master, a nobleman who was surely no more than five-and-twenty. With great ease, he’d made certain he was now alone with her.

She wanted nothing less.

He strode to the mirror and slung the rope over a ceiling beam. The ends dangled loose and presented a menacing yet inviting picture. “Leave the tub. Stand in front of me.”

Murmurs flowed from the Trumbles’ chamber. Eve wasn’t certain whether Mrs. Trumble or her husband spoke. Eager and anxious, she pushed to her feet. Water flowed over the tub. Drops plunked on the floor.

Being nude, defenseless, and observed closely heightened Eve’s senses. Wind whistled past the cottage and rattled the door. Burning wood popped in the iron stove. Her bare feet slapped the floor, marking her approach to her Master. As he’d demanded.

He towered over her. Eve scarcely reached his shoulder. He smelled like snow, sandalwood, tobacco, and leather. Male and intoxicating.

Her heart beat out of time.

He regarded her nakedness with a right he’d been born to and one she’d given him by willingly and wantonly signing away her freedom. He watched water drip from her hair to her breasts. Beads rolled to her nipples where the drops lingered briefly before falling away. Moisture streamed down her belly and became trapped in the dark curls between her legs. He viewed that part for so long a puddle formed at Eve’s feet.

His gaze owned her.

A pulse beat deep within her sheath. She longed for him to touch her.

He stepped back. “Hold out your hands. Press your wrists together.”

Anticipation constricted Eve’s throat.

He deftly tied her wrists with one end of the rope and pulled the other over the beam, lifting her arms above her head.

Fully vulnerable to his carnal desire, she suppressed a joyous cry and spoke without thinking. “Will you take me now?” If not, he could whip her.

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