Thursday, August 13, 2026

Secrets of the Cryptids - Cowboys and Cryptids Book 1 - Paranormal Romance - Romantasy - and a Giveaway #ParanormalRomance #PNR #Romantasy #Giveaway

Sharon Buchbinder is here to tell us about Secrets of the Cryptids, Cowboys and Cryptids book 1, paranormal romance, romantasy.

There's also a great giveaway.

________________________


She never belonged to the pack—until fate led her to him.


Secrets of the Cryptids

Cowboys and Cryptids Book 1

by Sharon Buchbinder

Genre: Paranormal Romance, Romantasy



She never belonged to the pack—until fate led her to him.

Cybersecurity expert Hayil Rufus Rose has spent her life hiding one impossible truth: she’s a werewolf who has never shifted, a failure by her pack’s rules and a woman on the brink of exile. A solo hike in Glacier National Park is meant to clear her head—but instead, a chance meeting with Will Penn, a guarded federal agent with powerful instincts and secrets of his own, changes everything.

As Hayil becomes entangled in a missing persons case involving Will’s brother, she uncovers corruption, cartel money laundering, and violence threatening the Blackfeet Nation. She forms an unexpected bond with a Bigfoot family, who are not monsters, but an ancient people who recognize her latent power. Through trauma, loyalty, and near‑fatal danger, Hayil finally undergoes her full transformation, claiming her identity at last.

Secrets of the Cryptids launches a thrilling paranormal romance series about found family, fierce hearts, and the courage it takes to become who you were always meant to be.

 

Amazon * Books2Read * Bookbub * Goodreads




Hayil had the advantage of excellent night vision—super vision compared to other humans. Plus, she possessed an almost uncanny ability to connect with most wild and domestic animals. Hayil mentally grimaced. She could also thank her grandmother for her long overdue ability to shift. What would it take to trigger her body into the lupine version of herself? Was it like a growth spurt that hadn’t hit her body yet? Or was Hayil destined to remain the one person in her pack who wasn’t able to wolf out?

 

Once again, her mother’s constant refrain came back to her: “You’re a late bloomer, like your grandmother. She was older than you when she shifted. All in good time. You’ll see.”

 

Sure, Mom.

 

Hayil knew her mother wanted the best for her, but found her cheerfulness a bit forced. Beneath her mother’s optimism, Hayil sensed an undercurrent of concern about her thirty-year-old daughter’s ability to integrate into the red wolf clan. This missing piece of Hayil’s identity called to her like a siren’s song, demanding she complete herself. Would she ever be a true part of the pack? Or would she forever be the unmated one? What then? She was an anomaly, something the pack didn’t tolerate well. Tradition dictated that if a pack member didn’t shift by the end of their third decade, they were banished.

A chilling thought struck Hayil mid-stride.

 

If I don’t shift this year, will they force me out of the pack?

 

They were the only family she’d ever known. Her mother would fight for her to stay and would probably win. But at what cost?

 

Hayil would be an outcast. She’d never be invited to pack meetings, deliberations or celebrations. Those were reserved for shifters. If she married a non-shifter, the pack would drive her out, of that she was sure. What if her offspring were able to shift? Would that make things better? Would the pack let her stay then? It wasn’t as if she could go to a genetic counselor and ask for a DNA test for werewolves.

 

The thought of losing her extended family through no fault of her own made her gulp back tears. Angry at herself for allowing her thoughts to go down that dark rabbit hole, Hayil reminded herself she was a scientist. Review the facts, not the fears.

 

Fact one: Grandma had been in labor with Hayil’s mother when she’d shifted for the first time.

 

Fact two: The majority of the pack members had shifted when they’d hit puberty.

 

Fact three: Hormones! It had to be related to hormones! The rush of hormones at puberty and the flood of pregnancy hormones had to be related somehow.

 

Hayil was long past puberty and the associated mood swings and acne, thank you very much. She was not ready to be pregnant. For starters, she would need a romantic partner in her life. She’d had zero luck on that score so far.

 

“I still have time. It’s not too late. I won’t give up hope.”

 

Shaking her head to clear her mind, Hayil double-checked her wild animal deterrents. All in place. Then she tugged her knit cap down over her ears and pulled her hands-free headlamp into place. She zipped her fleece jacket against the breeze and adjusted her twenty-five-pound backpack. With an altitude gain of almost nineteen hundred feet, she planned to take her time, pacing herself for the strenuous four-hour hike. She grasped her lightweight hiking poles and took a last look up at the stars. Time to see that spectacular view at the top.

 

As promised by the trail blog, the dirt path was well maintained. The morning air was cold and crisp, layered with the woodsy scent of damp earth and pine needles. An owl hooted, and Hayil spotted movement in the brush between the thick pines beside the trail. Her headlamp reflected in the eyes of small critters, all of whom skittered deeper into the woods.

 

For three hours, all she heard was the crunch of her hiking boots on dirt and gravel, the rasp of her own breaths, the glug of water when she drank and the jingle of her bear bells. She looked at yet another incline on the trail and decided she needed a hiking song for inspiration.

 

“Country roads, take me home,” she sang, belting out “Mountain Mama”—and something crashed through the bushes ahead on the trail. Something large.

 

She froze.

 

An enormous black bear stood on its hind legs at the top of the hill.

 

Shit, shit, shit. If only I could shift, shift, shift!

 

The animal had its back to her, but if it got her scent, it could turn and charge at her in a flash.

 

Heart pounding like a jackhammer, she placed her hand on the bear spray.

 

A breeze sprang up, making her eyes water with its intensity. The good news was that it meant she was downwind of the bear. The bad news was that the air smelled like a wet dog had rolled in a dead animal. The worst news was that the bear turned and looked right at her.

 

Omigod. It’s not a bear. What the heck is it?






Sharon Buchbinder is an award-winning author who has been writing stories since she could hold a pen. The paranormal romance genre is her writing home, a place where the impossible is simply the beginning, where women find their power in the most extraordinary circumstances, and where love is always worth the danger of seeking it.

A Maryland-based author with a background in healthcare and higher education that has informed her vivid, grounded storytelling, Sharon is drawn to heroines who have been underestimated — women who carry something extraordinary inside them and spend the whole book learning to trust it. Sharon believes passionately that readers deserve stories where the heroine doesn’t just survive — she transforms. When she’s not writing, Sharon can usually be found unplugging in her garden, obsessing over cryptid mythology, and convincing her pets they are not, in fact, supernatural.

 

Website * Facebook * Instagram * Bluesky * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

 


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Wednesday, August 12, 2026

The Ties That Bind - The Legacy of Lies Legal Thriller #1 - Thriller - and a Giveaway #Thriller #Giveaway

James Rosenberg is here to tell us about The Ties That Bind, The Legacy of Lies Legal Thriller #1, thriller.

There's also a great giveaway.

____________________

The Ties that Bind
James Rosenberg
(The Legacy of Lies Legal Thriller, #1)
Publication date: July 27th 2026
Genres: Adult, Thriller

Some families build empires. Others bury secrets beneath them.

Bill Simon thought marrying Sharon Green meant entering a powerful legal dynasty and finally proving he belonged. Fresh from his honeymoon and eager to succeed at his new firm, Green & DeWitt, Bill is handed a complex real estate transaction tied to the influential Green family empire.

What begins as routine due diligence quickly spirals into something far more dangerous.

Hidden behind layers of shell companies, offshore accounts, and falsified property records, Bill uncovers connections to cartel money, political corruption, and a network of powerful men determined to keep their secrets buried. The deeper he digs, the more he realizes the conspiracy may reach directly into his father-in-law’s inner circle—and possibly into his own marriage.

As Bill digs deeper, Sharon Green fights to protect her family’s public image while uncovering other sinister connections between her family and the drug cartel. As others question the legitimacy of her father’s enterprises, she tries to find answers about the empire she was born into.

As they uncover disturbing connections between her father and the Mexican drug lord,Sharon and Bill are trapped between loyalty and truth, ambition and survival.

And in a world where power protects its own, exposing the truth could cost them everything.

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

The heat wafted above the scrubland. Three trucks waited in line, engines idling low in the darkness.

Each truck had a driver and one passenger, and together their primary responsibility was to get the trucks over the border less than thirty miles away.

Rafa Medina kicked at the dried ground as he waited for confirmation to move. They were still on schedule, but barely.

Luis Cortes sat in the passenger seat of the second truck, window cracked. A folded manifest lay on his lap. Medina tapped his window twice. Luis glanced over and gave a short nod.

The third truck’s driver shifted in his seat. Medina caught the movement and shook his head once. He could accept fear. Panic only caused mistakes.

Medina felt the vibration in his pocket. The signal, at last. He raised his hand.

As the trucks shifted into gear, the whine of their engines intensified. The first truck rolled forward, followed by the second, and then the third. They stayed in tight formation as they turned onto the paved road heading north.

Medina jogged to his Jeep, climbed in, and maneuvered his vehicle in behind them.

He considered moving to the front of the line to take control, but before he could decide, gunfire echoed from the brush to his right. The lead truck swerved, glass spraying off to its side.

The truck regained its footing, tires screaming, as it came out of its fishtail.

The second shot came from the opposite side of the road, from cover behind a grouping of bushes.

The muzzle flashes were sequenced and controlled. Now was not the time for panic. He knew immediately it was a rival crew, one that had studied the route and wanted it.

The first truck accelerated, pushing past the shots.

When a new round of shots burst from the right, the second truck was directly in front of it and caught a barrage of automatic fire in the passenger side door.

As the bullets tore through the truck, Luis jerked sideways, his body snapping against the window as glass exploded outward. The driver screamed and hit the gas. The truck lurched forward, out of the danger zone.

As the trucks moved ahead, Medina pulled out his Glock and aimed toward the brush where he had spotted the muzzle flashes. From his slightly elevated position, he fired twice, forcing the shooters back. They withdrew, retreating into the darkness.

Their message had been delivered.

Medina didn’t chase. The trucks came first.

He ran to the second truck. Blood was everywhere.

The driver was shaking, hands locked on the wheel, eyes wide. Medina yanked the door open and pulled him out.

“We have ten minutes. Your truck won’t make it to the border. Transfer the cargo. I’ll take care of Luis.”

The driver nodded.

Medina climbed into the cab. Luis’s eyes were open, unfocused. He checked for a pulse. There was none. This simplified matters.

Medina scampered to the other side of the truck and grabbed Luis under the arms, dragging him from the cab.

Ten minutes. That was all they had.

He pulled the body into the brush. He worked with his hands and a tire iron he grabbed from the back of the truck, digging quickly, ignoring the ache in his shoulders.

Medina lowered the body into the ground, then shoveled dirt to cover it. The land closed over the shape easily, swallowing it. He didn’t mark the grave and offered no words.

He crossed himself and then wiped his hands on his pants.

The damaged truck was next. Medina drove it behind a clump of bushes. No one would notice it for months. No one would care.

This was no man’s land.

The other trucks waited.

Medina jogged back to the road and waved the trucks forward. They didn’t hesitate. The second truck’s payload had already been transferred.

Medina climbed back into his vehicle and pulled in behind them.

The convoy moved north, engines steady.

Dust flew from their tires and then settled behind them.

Author Bio:

James Rosenberg is a 3rd generation trial attorney with plenty of stories to tell.

Inspired not only by the courtroom stories his father and grandfather used to tell

him when he was a child, but also by the wild adventures he’s encountered through

his own experience as a lawyer. James is fascinated by the intricate, interpersonal

dynamics of every trial he’s endured. Whether it’s the raw emotion on display in

court, the tension in the air that builds until someone wins, or the impact that a

case’s decision has on the parties involved, James is always paying attention and

keeping tabs on what’s happening.

In his debut novel, “Legal Reserves”, James flexes his creative muscle outside of the

courtroom to share his stories, with a fictional twist, through the eyes of archetypes

he knows well.

A native of Pittsburgh and a graduate of Taylor Allderdice High School and the

University of Pittsburgh School of Law, James has been a trial attorney in Pittsburgh

for almost 30 years. He started writing legal thrillers as a stress reducer and finds

this creative outlet to be a fun and meaningful diversion from his day job.

When he’s not trying cases, he’s either dreaming up his next book idea, spending

time with his wife and three kids, or both.

To contact James email Rosenberg@marcus-shapira.com or follow him on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/RosenbergWrites/

Check out his website: www.JamesRosenbergAuthor.com

Please become part of my email list and get updates about my latest launches. https://subscribepage.io/fcVT4h


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The Ties that Bind Blitz




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Tuesday, August 11, 2026

The Art of Keeping Dangerous Books - The Apothecary's Secret #1 - Fantasy - Urban Fantasy - and a Giveaway #Fantasy #UrbanFantasy #Giveaway

R.J. Blain is here to tell us about The Art of Keeping Dangerous Books, The Apothecary's Secret #1, fantasy, urban fantasy.

There's also a great giveaway.

_____________________

The Art of Keeping Dangerous Books
R.J. Blain
(The Apothecary’s Secret, #1)
Publication date: July 6th 2027
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Urban Fantasy

To master the art of keeping dangerous books, one must learn the golden rule: some knowledge should never be shared.

Bookshop owner by day, restorer of rare and dangerous books by night, Kita James is thrilled to acquire a new poisonous book from the Victorian era. From the swirling patterns on the cover to its unusual leather binding, IN SEARCH OF LIFE is truly a unique find. However, testing of the vibrant tome reveals its darker nature: the leather is that of a human along with an extinct animal from the ice age. To further complicate matters, a new radioactive element is discovered lurking within its pages.

The deeper she delves into the toxic text, the less she likes about what she learns. From the dawn of humanity, people had searched for the secrets of eternal life and resurrection. And if Lugalbanda-Alad, the author of the mysterious volume, was to be believed, he had found it.

Joining forces with Dav, a rather vocal book in her collection, Kita works to unveil the apothecary’s secret. With the right magic and a strong enough will, the forbidden lore might be able to set Dav free along with the other sentient books confined within her shelves.

But all knowledge comes at a price: if IN SEARCH OF LIFE were to fall into the wrong hands, it could usher in the destruction of all Kita holds dear and the enslavement of all mankind.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo

EXCERPT:

Copper, when mixed with arsenite or its equally toxic cousin acetoarsenite, created a vibrant green. Some dubbed it Paris green. Some preferred the name emerald green. No matter what one called the pigment, it remained a silent killer of those foolish enough to handle it for long.

It had come as no surprise to me, when I first began learning the art of keeping dangerous books, that nobody knew for certain how many had died to the beautifully lethal covers and the pages they contained. One confirmed mortality from the pigment had involved a floral arranger specialized in artificial blooms by the name of Matilda Scheure, and she had breathed in the substance on a daily basis while going about her work.

The Victorians had adored brilliant shades, and they had unwittingly sickened themselves with color. Mercury, in the form of the vibrant vermilion pigment, could bring about madness among other things. Lead, offering shades from pristine white to fiery reds and oranges, sickened in a myriad of ways. Then there was cadmium red, which had limited toxicity unless handled often.

I marveled over how the Victorians had managed to discover so many shades of toxic pigmentation.

Within the walls of my personal library, tucked behind a secret door in the back of my bookshop, I owned books of every hue from every era I could get my greedy hands on. I’d outgrown my single shelf of emerald hue years ago, and the toxic volumes now consumed an entire wall. Each color of the rainbow offered some new and interesting way for someone to perish should they fail to handle my collection with care.

To the few who knew of my art, I offered a glimpse into a dark past decorated with a glorious veneer, one willing and able to kill at a single mistake.

I charged a reasonable amount for access to specific volumes of my archive, making use of a different room on the other side of the bookstore for those sessions. I required waivers, and I even had an agreement with an insurance company so I held no liabilities should they be sickened from the inappropriate handling of any one of my pieces.

The waivers eliminated my personal risk, as I refused to hold responsibility for the stupidity of others.

But the colors I held in safekeeping were not, by far, the most dangerous of the volumes.

Knowledge had become power, and I safeguarded all from the deepest of darkness and the brightest of light, for both, when used inappropriate and to their extreme, caused equal harm.

A little after midnight, after closing my cash, locking the doors, cleaning up the self-serve coffee machine, and otherwise preparing for yet another grind in the morning, I retreated to my sanctuary. Most of my work—and all of the magic—took place in the ten by ten closet with a ventilation fan installed, which piped through a series of specialty filters to keep any fumes or residue from making it outside. Those filters would cost me my sanity one day.

They needed to be cleaned or replaced every three weeks, and failure to do so ran the risk of making me the next victim of my collection.

The latest tome to be tamed waited within a glass box on my desk, and it was a marvel of toxicity, magic, and lore, most of which society would deem forbidden if they knew it existed. Thus far, nobody had unlocked the secrets of raising the dead, but the author of the volume had gotten uncomfortably close.

With the right materials, skills, and incantations, the dead could walk again, puppets for the book’s owner to control.

On the outside, it seemed harmless enough for those who lacked knowledge of dangerous books. Swirls of bright reds, oranges, and white decorated the spine with stamps of vibrant emerald green declaring the book to be titled In Search of Life. Everything within had been penned with a careful hand, and a date on the first page declared it to have been from the year 1725, over a hundred years before the popularization of the toxic tomes made famous in the Victorian era.

In 1725, magic had not yet been acknowledged, although society had always told tales of witches and arcane arts in hushed whispers.

In Search of Life, should I be able to authenticate it, would once again change the timeline on humanity’s introduction into practical magics and the role of superstitions in protecting from malevolent incantations. But as was the nature of my work, if all went well, only I would know.

The knowledge held within the pages, which defied time and refused to turn brittle, was best kept a secret.

Author Bio:

RJ Blain suffers from a Moleskine journal obsession, a pen fixation, and a terrible tendency to pun without warning.

In her spare time, she daydreams about being a spy. Her contingency plan involves tying her best of enemies to spinning wheels and quoting James Bond villains until satisfied.

AI is never used in the creation of RJ's novels.

 

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / X


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The Art of Keeping Dangerous Books Blitz




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Monday, August 10, 2026

The Art of Almost Losing It - The Richmond Brothers #3 - Contemporary Romantic Comedy - and a Giveaway #Romance #ContemporaryRomance #RomanticComedy #RomCom #Giveaway

Alina Jacobs is here to tell us about The Art of Almost Losing it, The Richmond Brothers #3, contemporary romantic comedy.

There's also a great giveaway.

________________________

The Art of Almost Losing It
Alina Jacobs
(The Richmond Brothers, #3)
Publication date: August 4th 2026
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance

There comes a time in every almost-thirty-year-old woman’s life when getting kidnapped off the street is preferable to admitting that the hot, rich boyfriend you’ve been bragging about for months does not, in fact, exist.

Yes, it’s terrifying being stuffed in the trunk of a Mercedes, but I would rather be locked in a stranger’s penthouse than sleeping on the floor of my parents’ apartment like the loser daughter I am.

Honestly?
It’s nice to get some alone time. And my own bathroom.

He bribes me with money not to call the police.

I scream at him for forcing me to go to brunch as his prisoner at the hottest restaurant in New York.

Now everyone in my parents’ aggressively posh Manhattan neighborhood thinks we’re dating.

Buckle up, buddy.
I have a full wedding itinerary to attend, and congratulations—you’re my fake boyfriend.

Unfortunately, my kidnapper is the worst fake boyfriend in the history of fake boyfriends.

He’s mean.
Aloof.
Emotionally unavailable.
And deeply offended by how much time I spend on my phone.

Meanwhile, I’m trying to ignore how yummy he smells, all muscular and tall as he fumes next to me in bed, furious because I asked him when the sexy portion of the kidnapping is going to happen.

It’s a fair question, though, right?!? I thought kidnapping came with benefits!

Guess my kidnapper didn’t want me that much after all.

Men lying about their desire for a relationship. Story of my life.

Now I’m trapped.
He’s miserable.

And somehow, this is starting to feel dangerously like a relationship.

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

The one time a hot guy shows interest in me… and he’s a violent kidnapper.

My screams cut off as he tosses in my laptop case. It lands on my ribs, knocking the breath out of me. He shoves my legs fully into the trunk, then tosses in the barking Lulu, then slams the door.

I assume it’s a mistake.

The expensive German car. The bespoke suit. The cologne that smells like money and expensive scotch—Men like him don’t grab women like me.

So why did he just shove me, in all my pizza-sauce-stained, Costco-clothes glory, into the trunk?

I needed a boyfriend, sure, but I did not expect him to arrive via a felony crime.

The engine purrs.

Wait.

Am I really being kidnapped?

Like… for real?

Sleet rattles against the roof as the realization hits.

Oh.

Oh no.

I’m trapped in the trunk of a stranger’s car. A dangerous man. Being driven God knows where.

Sure, he’s attractive—but that is deeply unhelpful information right now.

I’ll never see my family again. Never eat a dollar slice of pizza again—

Wait.

I squint.

Window.

This isn’t a sedan. This is an SUV.

I’m not trapped.

I haul myself up and pop my head over the back seat.

“You’re a crappy kidnapper!” I scream.

Shit!” he yells—and nearly plows into a parked truck. “You—!”

The car jerks to a stop at a stop sign. He throws it into park and starts climbing over the seats toward me.

“You can’t kidnap me,” I say, panic creeping in. “You don’t want me. I’m not a girl anyone kidnaps.”

My dog barks.

Emerald-green eyes catch the light.

“Sit down,” he commands.

“My mom is going to be really upset if I don’t come home tonight,” I blurt. “Let me go.”

The doors lock.

I fumble in my purse. Find my pepper spray.

“Yes!” I whisper. “I’m a strong, independent —”

I spray… myself.

Water,” I gasp, coughing, wheezing, blind.

I suck in a lungful of peppery air and yank at the door handle, begging it to open.

Too late.

“Stupid fucking girl,” he snarls, grabbing my jacket and dragging me forward.

“You didn’t even handcuff me!” I wheeze.

He pauses. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”

He loosens his tie.

I gulp.

“I cannot believe,” he sneers, “that I kidnapped the most unattractive woman in Manhattan.”

Oh.

So… not the future love of my life after all.

Author Bio:

I write the kind of books I love—romantic comedies featuring snarly guys with hearts of gold, kick-ass heroines, and a swoon-worthy happily ever after! Also wine. And cupcakes.

When I’m not writing I can be found drinking tea, surrounded by my massive to-be-read pile! So many books...

You can connect with me on social media or find information on my books at my website.

Sign up for my newsletter so that you can get information about new releases, giveaways, and more!

http://alinajacobs.com/mailinglist.html

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / X / Instagram / Bookbub


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The Art of Almost Losing It Blitz




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Sunday, August 9, 2026

Brazen - Three Women - Three Worlds - Three Erotic Adventures - Romantic Erotica Boxed Set #Erotica #Romance #Steampunk #Lesbian #Voyeurism #Bondage #Discipline #Kidnapping

Lisabet Sarai is here to tell us about Brazen, a three story boxed set, romance erotica. Features steampunk, Thailand, Rajasthan, Victorian, lesbian, exhibitionism, voyeurism, role-playing, bondage and discipline, dominance and submission, multi-partner, kidnapping.

Read on for details...

_______________________ 




Brazen

By Lisabet Sarai


Romantic Erotica Boxed Set – Five Flames

Amazon exclusive, free on KU

Release date: August 10, 2026


AMAZON US - AMAZON CA

AMAZON UK

ADD ON GOODREADS

ADD ON BOOKBUB


Blurb:

Three women. Three worlds. Three erotic journeys where each salacious adventure reveals new dimensions of desire.

Incognito: By day, Miranda Cahill works diligently on her doctoral thesis. At night, she has sex with strangers—until one man strips away her mask.

Rajasthani Moon:  Voluptuous spy Cecily Harrowsmith has never failed to complete an assignment. Now, imprisoned by the perverse brothers who control rebellious Rajasthan, she risks betrayal by both her body and her heart. 

Raw Silk: In the exotic City of Angels, software engineer Kate O’Neill becomes intimately involved with two very different men—a handsome and debauched member of the Thai aristocracy, and the charismatic, dominant proprietor of a sex bar.

This boxed set collects three of Lisabet Sarai’s boldest and most arousing romance novels in a single, outrageous package.

Raw. Sensual. Explicit. 



Excerpts (Adult):

Incognito


Miranda sank back into her seat and stared at the empty rows of chairs, overwhelmed by the events of the last half hour. Her success on the panel filled her with warm pride. Finally, people would begin to take her work seriously. Then there was Lucinda Scott. Publish the diary, disguised as fiction? How tempting! Here was a strategy that would preserve Beatrice’s privacy while still sharing her insights and adventures with the world. Of course, the diary was too short for a novel. Perhaps, though, Miranda could write some additional chapters. She was confident that she could emulate the rhythm of Beatrice’s prose, and Mark did say that she had a remarkable erotic imagination.


Mark! Where was he, anyway? When last she had looked, he had been at the back of the room, but everyone was gone now. She was suddenly hollow and aching with longing for her lover.


As if in answer to her questing mind, she felt a touch on the inside of her thigh. Mark? She had the urge to look under the tablecloth, to confirm that it was he, but something held her back. A finger alternated, stroking her nylon-clad thigh, then brushing the bare skin above her stocking. The contrast was exquisite, the results electric. The finger-dance along her thighs continued. Now another hand drifted lightly over her mound, tickling her through the satin. She felt brief regret as her juices thoroughly soaked the expensive wisp of lingerie, before lust overwhelmed all other concerns. 


Slumped in her chair, she spread her thighs, shamelessly offering access to her hidden partner. He responded by tracing the outline of her pubis with his fingers, along the edges of the thong where fabric met flesh. Miranda writhed. She wanted him to touch her inside the garment, to rip it off and plunge his digits into her. Still, he played with her, rubbing the slippery fabric against her clit, forcing the damp cloth up between her legs, wedging the thong into the crevice between her cheeks and rocking it back and forth over her anus. 


Now she felt moist heat, delicious, melting her. His mouth hovered over her sex and he simply breathed. His hands were quiet, holding her thighs wide. There was only his mouth, his breath, and the images unrolling in her mind. She felt as though he were holding a burning candle to her clit. She saw herself staked spread-eagle on a crag, her privates baked by a tropical sun. She felt herself bathed in molten gold that pouring over her folds, filling her, gilding her. The heat swelled until she erupted against his lips, juices like lava overflowing her cavities. She whimpered as her climax seared her. Hot tongues of pleasure lapped at her satin-sheathed pussy. Flames flickered on her closed eyelids. 

 

Dimly, she felt her garters being unhooked and her soaking panties removed. Strong arms lifted her. She felt starched linen against her buttocks. She was seated on the table. Opening her eyes at last, she found Mark standing between her legs, unzipping his fly. 


Rajasthani Moon


The brigand’s headquarters turned out to be a cave hollowed from the side of a mountain. After tethering his horse to a stunted tree near the entrance, he slung Cecily over his shoulder like a sack of flour and carried her inside. His casual handling of her body both inflamed and enraged her, but she remained quiet, observing her surroundings with care in the hope of discerning some means of escape. 

The interior was less dirty and claustrophobic than she had feared. An uneven ceiling arched over their heads, reinforced by pillars fashioned from whole tree trunks. Oil lamps tucked into niches hewn into the walls dispelled most of the shadows. A wooden table, two chairs and a bedstead, all of rustic construction, constituted the only furnishings. However, to her left, on a natural rock shelf, she was surprised to see a sleek, modern com unit. Its low hum mingled with a faint gurgle of running water, coming from somewhere deeper in the cave. In the shadows she noticed a cage fashioned of iron bars, of the sort she’d seen used to transport sheep and goats. Does he keep animals here? she wondered. There was no barnyard scent. 

He dumped her without ceremony onto the straw-filled mattress, then unsheathed his knife. Before she could even cry out, he had sliced her filthy, rumpled clothing off her body, pulled the fabric from underneath her, and tossed the bright rags into a corner. He also relieved her of the knife strapped to her arm and her other earring.

He paused to ogle her nakedness, the dark eyes above his mask burning with lust. Cecily’s nipples peaked and her cunny moistened in response to his brazen inspection—she couldn’t help herself—and she was uncomfortably certain that her reactions were not lost on him. 

Using her bound arms, she managed to manoeuvre herself into a sitting position, with her bound legs dangling over the edge of the bed. He watched, neither assisting nor hindering her, clearly amused by her awkward progress. Refusing to be cowed, she answered his bold stare with one of her own.

He was the one to break the silence. “So, my lady. Tell me now. Whom do I have the honour of entertaining here in my humble abode?” 

“Why should I reveal my identity to someone who will not even show me his face?” Cecily stalled for time, trying to work out a plan. 

“A reasonable point. Pardon me.” The man untied the cloth that hid his features, revealing a beak of a nose, black whiskers and lips that curled in a sardonic smile. 

“You!”Cecily cursed inwardly as soon as the word escaped.

“You know me, woman?” His eyes narrowed and his brows drew together into a scowl. 

“I–I have seen your picture, sir—in the Bombay newspapers…” 

What was the Rajah’s brother doing, hiding away in a miserable hole like this? Why didn’t he have any servants or retainers? Why had he attacked her carriage? These questions and a dozen more assailed her. Meanwhile, she struggled to offer a coherent excuse. 

“My brother recommended that I should contact you, Your Excellency, when I arrived in Jaipur… He wishes to establish relationships with your weavers, to purchase your justifiably renowned textiles, but owing to his failing health, he sent me in his stead…”

“Nonsense!”His voice was like thunder. “Do not insult my intelligence! You’re no merchant, madam! Who are you really? Or do I have to beat the truth out of you?”

Cecily kept her mouth closed. Like all Her Majesty’s agents, she’d been trained not to break under torture. Thus far, that training had never been put to the test.

Pratan seized her by her long hair and hauled her to her feet. Of course, with her ankles bound, she could not walk. Half pulling, half carrying, he bundled her over to the closest pillar, jerked her bound arms up, then pushed her face first against the rough wood. The bark abraded her naked breasts and belly. She tried to squirm away from him, but he leaned his weight against her back while keeping her wrists pinned against the pillar above her head. 

“Rebind,” he growled. In a flash the robotic rope unravelled and reconfigured itself, looping tight around both her arms and the column supporting her. Once he was certain she was secure, he dropped to his knees and touched the rope at her ankles. “Unbind.” 

Cecily stumbled as the force connecting her ankles disappeared. Her relief at being free was short-lived. Pratan dragged her legs apart and inserted some sort of rigid bar between her shins. “Bind.” Before she could take two breaths, her legs were restrained in a permanently spread position, wide enough to allow her captor easy access to her sex.

Indeed, realising the degree of her exposure made her terribly aware of her quim, which she could not deny was soaked and swollen. You must be strong, she told herself. Think of England.

The cool air of the cave teased her bared flesh. Then a light touch, delicate as a feather, traced its way along the inside of her thigh. Her pussy clenched and moisture dribbled out. The impudent finger smeared the juice across her sensitive skin. Pleasure sparked through her. 

“You can’t fight me.” His voice was like warm honey now, all the anger gone. It flowed through her, unbearably sweet. “And I don’t think you want to. There’s no shame in surrendering when you’ve been rendered completely helpless.”

Raw Silk


“On your knees now.” 

Once again she felt a flare of resistance. Part of her, though, wanted to follow his direction. Strange pleasure flooded her as she sank to a kneeling position across from him. She looked at the floor, not daring to meet his eyes.

“Pick up the panties in your mouth. Using just your mouth. Then bring them to me.”

Still wearing her high-heeled shoes, she bent over to take the discarded briefs in her teeth. Her nostrils filled with her own musky scent and she felt a new surge of lust.

Somehow knowing that this was what he wanted, Kate put her palms on the floor and crawled the short distance to the chair where her tormentor lounged comfortably. With her ass in the air, she felt even more vulnerable, and more aroused. He sat up, thighs apart, and gestured to her to come closer. Finally, she was at his feet, between his spread legs. She sat up, leaning back on her heels, offering him the garment in the manner of a family pet offering the newspaper.

Gregory gave a little laugh, of delight more than mockery. He took the panties and held them to his face, inhaling deeply the womanly perfume with which they were soaked. “Wonderful!” he said. “Even better than I had hoped.”

He leaned forward, cupped her chin in his hands, and searched her face. “Are you all right?” he asked, his tone serious. She nodded, reveling in the fact that at last he was touching her. She focused her attention on him, silently begging him to handle her breasts, to stroke her ass. But instead he sat back in his chair, still regarding her gravely.

“Shall we continue, then, my little Kate?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered, not knowing to what she was agreeing. “Yes.”





About Lisabet

Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. 

Lisabet lives in Southeast Asia with her husband of over forty years and several rescue cats, where she pursues an occupation completely unrelated to her literary endeavors. 

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads, BookBub, Twitter. AND now BlueSky!  Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh

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