Shut Up and Kiss Me! OUT NOW!

Shut Up and Kiss Me! Out Now!

Being the bad girl has been Carrie’s gig since childhood but being good for a certain drummer boy promises a beautiful future.

Blurb

Brought up in a traditional family Carrie Stevens fights the bounds of propriety and flaunts her deviance with no regard to personal consequences. With one exception…her big brother’s wishes where his band is concerned. The sparks that fly when she’s around the one taboo she’d love to date are only a tempting siren’s song, until she sees there’s more to Shea than she’d originally thought. The sexy drummer might just make her lose her heart, if he can put her past to rest.

Shea McNamara has been in love with Carrie Stevens for years. Running in the same circle as her isn't easy. Her choice in men irks him but she's in his blood as much as the drums he loves to beat. All he has to do is convince her there’s more to life than the fast lane. With her flirty attitude he refuses to allow her to call the shots.

Excerpt

She ducked to the table, opening the crates to set out the shirts, posters, stickers, hoodies and underwear with Crimson Rage’s logo on them. Carrie smiled greeting fans that came up to buy from her. When the area cleared, she stuck her head under the table to pull out more pieces. A shadow eclipsed the light she needed to search through the tubs. Agitated, she looked up, ill prepared to see her ex, Ty hovering over her. “I’m working.”

“Come on now, sexy. It’s been awhile since we’ve seen each other.”

Some things never changed. Apparently he thought coming onto her with a weak ass line would get him somewhere. Ty looked good, immaculate, matter of fact too perfect, from his kohl-lined eyes to his professionally groomed hair. An opportunist if ever there was one, he never missed a chance to climb higher using others to help him get there. Too bad she didn’t see the signs before dating him for half a year. “You’re wasting your time. I never go backward.”

“Not even a good fuck for ole time’s sake. You know the spot we always nabbed, against the wall.”

“What are you really here for? I was nineteen when I let you bang me behind the stage after you played a really horrible set.” Blunt to no end, she slapped the handful of packed T-shirts on the table.

“Who says I want something?” Ty’s eyes darkened. If he wasn’t such a beanpole in skinny jeans she’d be afraid he’d lay a hand on her.

“Whatever you want Ty, I don’t. Please leave me alone.” Instead of leaving he bent down to the table, trailing a finger down the side of her face, his eyes drifted to her breasts. She shuddered in revulsion and leaned back, slapping his hand away. “Fuck off.” To her horror, the song ended at the precise moment she screamed the words. A hush fell over the on-lookers, keen on the drama playing out in front of them.

“Fine. When I make the big time don’t come crawling on your knees back to me.” Ty sauntered off to the bar to get a drink.

Carrie fumed in utter humiliation. With a fake tight-lipped smile pasted on her face, she sold out of merchandise.

“Hey, carebear.” Shea’s voice broke the monologue running through her brain, screaming murder, murder, murder. He held out a fresh drink for her. She snatched the plastic glass from his hands quickly to avoid the zing of excitement his brief touch left her wanting.

The blessed taste of grape vodka and lemon lime soda soothed her parched throat while giving her a moment to compose herself.

Shea tipped back a bottle of domestic beer and leaned on the edge of the table regarding her.

“What?”

“Tryin’ to figure you out, carebear.” The way her pet name rolled off his tongue in a thick whiskey tenor sent lava through her veins.

She wondered what he was up to when he set his empty bottle down. Kneeling, he grabbed a bag, rummaged through it and withdrew a black T-shirt. Shit. He planned on switching out from his sweaty one right in front of her. She played nonchalant by taking a swig of her drink.

He edged the shirt up his sweat-incased body over his head. Who said sweat on a man wasn’t sexy? Not her. He mopped his chest with his damp shirt and stuffed the soiled garment in his shoulder bag. Nice. Her gaze roved from his abs of steel, up to his pierced nipple and across the tribal artwork on his shoulder wanting to devour every inch of him.

Suddenly Kiss Me Deadly played in her mind. Great time for 80’s rock music to enter her brain.

“Nice humming voice.” When Shea chuckled, she realized she’d begun humming the Lita Ford song. Gah…She sucked down the rest of her drink and choked on a small bit of ice. Shea pounded on her back.

“The ice melted. I’m good.”

“Heard you were back in town. Plan on staying long?”

“I’m here to stay for a while.” Disappointment hit when he shrugged into the new T-shirt. Damn he looked even better with the shirt stretched over his muscles, she thought as she tilted back in her chair. He would never wear skinny jeans or kohl on his eyes. The prospect of making him her new lover rammed into her for the briefest of seconds again.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Where the new beer in his hand came from, she didn’t have the slightest clue. So she said the words currently on the tip of her tongue. “Wanna fuck?”

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100 Top Bestseller in Amazon, Best Books of the Year!

Oh, boy. Is this a great time in my life!

A LONG TIME COMIN' has been in Amazon's Top 100 Best Seller list for weeks now!
This was one of the Sassy Seven's Toys-4-US tales that still sell so very well.  (Do go see our new website: http://www.sassyseven.com)  My gal pals and I are just tickled this series has done so well.
We were even invited by Decadent Publishing to debut their new line, The Edge, with our Valentine's Day series, called--what else--VALENTINO's!  This was named for the guy from whom each of the 7 purchased their chocolate wine.  Yep. That's our fave.  We drink it often when together.  And that togetherness becomes more and more frequent as we now go to each others' homes for "retreats" (yeah, right.) and conferences (to promote but also to schmooze.)
And of course, we also do on line pr together.
The way to succeed in this business is to have a posse you love.
Back to BIZ!
I also have a book nominated for BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR over at The Romance Reviews.
STRONG ARMS OF THE LAW is up for Best Erotic Western of 2011!

Confetti! Balloons. Hysteria as I revel in my Texas Ranger who falls for the sassy little crime writer sought by a nasty gun-running cartel!
Just finished the second in my new western series, Knights in Black Leather about a town with few women and loads of hot men. This is for EC and debuts...soon.
First one is ROPE ME IN.
Next? TIE ME DOWN.
Third one...soon afterward.
You won't want to miss any of these which will be a series of BDSM, menage and more and lots of hot Texas lovin'!!!

WHEN HE JUST CAN't WAIT! A novel for you!

Welcome my pal, Tina Donahue with a book about an impatient man. YUM.

When He Just Can’t Wait

Although it’s politically correct for heroes in romance novels to wait for the lady to be totally ready, we all know that many of those hunks are trembling with a need so fierce they can barely control themselves. And when they let go…

That’s the kind of sexual tension I wanted to convey in The Yearning, my erotic paranormal romance. Mike wants Jasmine badly. They both know it, they both crave it, and at the last moment his Alpha nature comes out and he’s just gotta have it. J

To show you what I mean, here’s the blurb and an excerpt:

BLURB:

To break this curse, they’ll have to turn the heat up. Way up.

Jasmine Dante prowls Key West’s nightlife, fighting a losing battle against a jealous rival’s curse that forces her to seek carnal pleasure, no matter the danger. Weakened from lack of sleep, driven by insatiable lust, she spots a man who stirs her desperate craving, and begins yet another dance of seduction.

Except the dark stranger who returns her direct stare is no ordinary lover. Inside his powerful body lies a raw sexuality that just might be enough to break her curse. There’s only one way to find out: imprison him in her bed and feed on his passion.

Former U.S. Marshal Mike Stearn is many things, but he’s no woman’s sex slave. The deadly telekinetic power he ruthlessly suppresses comes alive again at Jasmine’s touch. Beneath her bold, potent sensuality he senses vulnerability and desperation. He may be in handcuffs, but she’s the one who’s enslaved.

As Mike resurrects his power to free himself so he can find the curse’s source and defeat it, Jasmine revels in his masterful rule. Her ravenous yearning evolves into rapture as she surrenders to his hunger, her darkest needs—and the emotional connection that lies beyond. Unless the curse takes her life first…

Warning: Tons of steamy sex, smoldering passion and a to-die-for love story with a hot Alpha hero who finds himself imprisoned by one sultry and desperate babe.

EXCERPT: (Copyright 2012, Tina Donahue. All rights reserved.)

Mike knew seduction when he saw it, though he couldn’t figure out why Jasmine considered it necessary, given his obvious attraction to her. If his interest went up another notch, he’d be drooling.

Maybe being alone in this house gave her lots of time to read romance novels and dream about heroes who didn’t take meth or beat up on women.

He followed her into the hall. Ornate nightlights—one a fairy, another a stylized sun, the next a hummingbird—created circles of colored light on the shiny hardwood floor.

Her feet slapped the wood. He slowed his pace, watching her ass bounce with each step. The dainty dimples above her cheeks baited him shamelessly, as they would any sane man. His testosterone spiked to a dangerous level, sending his heart rate into triple overdrive. Not willing to risk a stroke, he pulled her toward him, facing him, then backed her into the rose-colored wall, imprisoning her with his body.

“Not upstairs. Here. Now,” he insisted.

“But—”

He kissed her objections away, his hands roughly fondling her luscious breasts chilled from the air-conditioning. As he warmed them with his palms, his fingers tugged her long nipples, sensing she’d like it.

She did. Smothered moans punctuated her heightened breathing. Knee lifted to his groin, she prodded his balls and cock.

Arousal surged through him. Every hair on his body seemed to stand on end. He responded with an indulgent grunt and kept her pinned to the wall with his kiss as his hands went to his belt.

Jasmine gripped his wrists as best she could and tore her mouth free. “No.” Her breasts heaved against his chest. “I want to strip you.”

His swallow interrupted his gasp. “Then for God’s sake, do it now or I will.”

She released his wrists and sidled away from the wall. “Please, let me.” Fingers grabbing the hem of his tee, she eased it up his torso and arms, off his head, and flung it aside. A soft, feminine growl purred from her as she ran her hands over his chest. Her warm, caring fingers traced his muscles and flat nipples. Pleasure, shocking and deep, shot to the top of his head. He trembled.

Encouraged, she licked his right nipple and his tattoo as her fingers gently tugged the hair peeking from beneath his arms.

Torn between laughing and groaning in appreciation, he settled on another grunt, this one coarser.

Her fingers slid down him as she went to her knees. She gifted his body with hot, openmouthed kisses. His toes splayed within his mocs.

Tongue sweeping over his navel, she unbuckled his belt, pushed his jeans’ metal button through its slit and lowered his fly. His rigid cock twitched within the stretchy cotton of his navy briefs, sensitive to all contact. In no hurry, she ran her tongue across the underwear’s elastic edge as her fingers glided down the front placket.

She was fucking killing him. His chin lifted on a new groan that barely got past his clenched jaw. Her fingers negotiated the underwear’s opening. Once inside, she caressed his rod and searched for his balls.

He ground his teeth so hard they hurt. One more stroke and he’d be making love to his Jockeys. No damn way. He demanded her wet, snug heat. His strangled voice betrayed his agony. “If you don’t take my clothes off now, I swear I will.”

“I’ll do it.”

He hoped.

She hooked her thumbs beneath the band, lowering his briefs and jeans. His cock jumped out of its prison, plumped by blood, dusky with lust. A whimpering sigh escaped her, but she didn’t touch his sex. Puffing like a long-distance runner, she pushed his briefs and jeans down his legs, stopping at his ankle holster.

What happens next? Let’s just say it’s deliciously shameless and precisely what they both desire.

The Yearning is now in ebook AND print!!!!

Buy Link for ebook:  http://store.samhainpublishing.com/the-yearning-p-6248.html

Buy Link for the Paperback:  http://store.samhainpublishing.com/the-yearning-p-6790.html?osCsid=64236ba43448ed9065b8d2aee63f914c

Email: tina@tinadonahue.com

Website/blog: www.tinadonahue.com

Twitter: http://twitter.com/tinadonahue

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000458023097

Beheaded by bad research! The perils of writing historicals

Losing one's head to historically savvy readers and reviewers when writing historical fiction is always a possibility if your research is sloppy.

Anachronisms can behead you.

Bad chronology can destroy your theme, premise and moral, to say nothing of your heroes' and heroines' motivations.

So what has gone wrong in novels of yesteryear?

A woman turning a faucet of running water in the 17th century. (Where was the copy editor?)

Dialogue that hums with Kardashian-Speak. Ex: "She did what?" Or: "And that means what?"

Drawers, underthings in the wrong century.  In particular, bras.

People doing odd things in odd settings. For ex: The frontier woman who never works a plow. A medieval woman who does not do some sort of work in her castle, domain or cottage/shack.

Having taught history in high school and college, I am a firm believer in suggesting and even assigning the reading of historical fiction to my students to interest them and make the period come ALIVE.

Good research means an author does more than entertain. They inform, they inspire, they educate, they foster critical thinking.

My latest Great Historical Read is NOT BETWEEN BROTHERS by David Marion Wilkinson.

http://www.amazon.com/Not-Between-Brothers-ebook/dp/B0049H9EMU/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1325605321&sr=1-1

Plucking the Pearl? OH, BOY. You want to!

Welcome my buddy, Afton Locke, with a grrrrreat new book. Intriguing setting (Eastern Shore of Maryland, one of my fave places). And dynamite period. 1930s! WOW.
Lickable cover, too, right? (I even blew it up for you.)
Amen, sister.

Blurb:

When Pearl's sheltered life shatters in the 1930s when her mother dies, her only option is to move in with poor family relations and shuck oysters in the local plant on Oyster Island, Maryland.

Determined to live a morally proper life, the last thing she wants is an affair with a white man, but Caleb, the plant owner, knows a pearl when he sees one. The successful widower is the “oyster king” of the island, but his intense desire for his forbidden new employee, a woman of color, threatens everything he’s built.

What begins as a private sexual liaison flowers into strong feelings that don't fit the social mores of the island. When their secret is discovered, they risk losing everything. They dared to pluck the pearl, but will their love be strong enough to keep it forever? 

Excerpt: An Excerpt From: PLUCKING THE PEARL, Copyright © AFTON LOCKE, 2012, All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

“You’re standing awfully close,” she whispered.

“I am, aren’t I?” he whispered back. “Do you want me to move?”

Yes! No! Oh Lord, help me. I’ve never felt so weak.

“Show me the next step—with the oyster, that is,” she said quickly.

“Certainly.” He gripped her hand around the knife again and made deft movements to cut the meat from the shell. “Cut here and there. That’s all there is to it.”

“You make it look so simple,” she said, realizing he could pull her out of her shell just as easily.

When he stepped away from her, her legs nearly gave out. It was as if the hardness that had been nestled against her was the only thing that had been keeping her standing upright in front of the table.

He stepped beside her and she watched, fascinated, as he tipped the oyster half with the meat on it to his mouth. Watching the wet creature slide past the dark hairs of his moustache intrigued her in a way she couldn’t explain.

When he bent forward to kiss her, she was too aroused to refuse. His pale blue eyes came closer than they ever had and all she could do was stare helplessly into them. It was as if she floated higher and higher into the sky, never to set foot on firm earth again.

She felt his moustache first, hot and coarse, and then his lips, cooler and wetter. As his mouth worked over hers, something pushed between her lips. His tongue? She met it with hers, stroking with an abandon she refused to acknowledge as her own.

He tasted of the sea. No, not just one tongue. Two? She was too distracted by the heat boiling through her belly to care. When he removed his mouth, she realized he’d put the oyster inside her mouth.

Without thinking, she spit it out and it landed on the floor.

Caleb tipped his head back and laughed. It was a beautiful man’s laugh, musical and deep. Unfortunately she didn’t feel very amused.

“Now Ernie would have a fit if he saw you messed up his clean floor,” he said. “I take it you don’t care for oysters.”

She crossed her arms. “No, I don’t. I thought you had swallowed it. And you shouldn’t have kissed me.”

He wiped his hand on one of the clean rags nearby and she did the same. Then he leaned an elbow against the table and looked at her.

“Why not, honey? We’re not married.”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” she said, “we’re not the same color—or social class, for that matter. You’re the owner of this establishment and I’m just a poor—”

He put two fingers to her lips to quiet her. The lingering scent of oysters drifted from them, making her breathe faster. She was beginning to like oysters…

BUY THIS NOW!  http://www.jasminejade.com/p-9941-plucking-the-pearl.aspx

Video Trailer: Coming Soon!

Afton Locke
Unlock your fantasies…
www.aftonlocke.com

Menage anyone? Welcome my pal of 15+ years, Myla Jackson with her newest!

DIRTY TRICKS: SIX DEGREES OF DESPERATION

by Myla Jackson

Blurb:

Welcome back to the Ugly Stick Saloon with this story of approximately 19,000 words. Join Charli in her final adventure. The time has come for her to decide which cowboy she wants.

Welcome back to the Ugly Stick Saloon with this short story about Charli's first erotic adventure.

Choose or lose...

The time has come. After a fabulous night of sex, Charli thinks she's in love with Connor Mason, but he's told her that he's a one-woman-man and that he's looking for a one-man kind of woman. What's a girl to do when she's got a kind, decent and sexy hot cowboy in one hand and a mystery, masked, black-hatted cowboy with friends lurking in the shadows?

Does she go for the one she knows who will always be there for her and never let her down? Or does she opt for the adventure, excitement and possible desertion of the one who remains anonymous?

Desperate times call for...

With her decision pretty much made, Charli knows she will have to break the news to the losing team at the Cowboy Masquerade Ball. Wouldn't ya know, nothing turns out the way she plans.

Welcome back to the Ugly Stick Saloon with this short story about Charli's final foray into sexual fantasies with the cowboys of Temptation, Texas.

Warning: Mystery cowboy plays one last dirty trick on an unsuspecting, completely confused saloon girl...add a bit of anal sex, begging and noon naughtiness and you might get the sexually satisfying experience you were looking for all along.

Kindle
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All Romance Ebooks

Excerpt

Chapter One

Light streamed through the gap in the wooden blinds, the beam falling across the rumpled sheets, warming Charli Sutton's skin. She stretched, her eyes blinking open to the brightness of the room. A glance at the clock confirmed the time was near noon. She'd never slept better.

Charli yawned, pushed hair out of her face and ran a hand down her neck to her naked breasts, and froze. Eyes widening, a flood of memories washed over her, heating her body, sending fiery signals of lust straight to her pussy.

"Connor," she whispered, her eyes darting to the pillow beside her. Instead of the studly cowboy, Connor Mason, a crisp white piece of paper lay in the gentle indention where his head had lain. On top of the paper lay a deep red rose from Charli's own garden.

Her insides churning, Charli sat up straight, disappointment her first reaction, knowing the note meant he'd gone. And she'd had such a rush of needs overwhelming her, she'd hoped he'd be there to satisfy them or at least take the edge off before she faced the day.

Had to go to work. I'll see you at the Cowboy Masquerade Ball tonight.

Charli clutched the note to her chest and cupped the rose beneath her nose, the warmth of hope filling her.

He wanted to see her again.

She sank back against the pillow, a smile curling her lips. Connor had been so gentle and yet forceful making love, not once, but several times throughout the night.

A delicious ache centered at her entrance where the friction of his thrusts had send her reeling over the edge of orgasm more than once. His lips had seared a path from hers all the way down her throat, skimming across the swells of her breasts.Charli trailed the rose along the side of her neck and downward to the tip of one nipple. The areola drew tight in response, still sensitive from the burn of Connor's beard. She circled the tip with the velvety smooth petals, spurring longing deep inside, tugging at her core, sending waves of cream-filled desire to her pussy.

She moaned and squirmed beneath the rose, sliding it lower still, across her ribs, skimming past her bellybutton to the furry mound at the apex of her thighs.

His lips had been there too, his fingers parting her folds, exposing that little bud of nerves, ripe and pulsing, ready for whatever sweet torture he had in mind.

Charli's heels dug into the mattress, just as they had when Connor spread her knees wide and laid down between her legs, gathering her bottom in his big, calloused hands, lifting her pussy to his lips.

The flower brushed lower, slipping past her dampened pussy, tickling the insides of her thighs. She let her knees fall open, the cool morning air kissing the moisture pooling in her vagina. With one hand, she brushed the rose across her cunt, with the other, she dipped a finger into the heated wetness, sliding it up to her clit bringing a thick coating of come.

Not as powerful as Connor's tongue, but good in a pinch.

She closed her eyes and remembered how it felt to have his mouth on her, licking and teasing, flicking her most receptive erogenous zone, blinding her with such a bright array of sensations she thought she might die from overexposure.

Her finger tapped her clit then slathered it in moisture.

Connor had licked her, swirling his tongue around and around, shooting spurts of adrenaline and desire through her bloodstream. As it was now, the tingling began in her outer extremities, traveling with lightning speed to her center.

Charli moaned, her back arching off the bed, the speed with which she stroked her clit increasing until the pleasure bordered on pain. Her finger stilled, her hand cupping her pussy pressed down, until the orgasm peaked, the sheer beauty of the sensation bursting through to brighten the midday sun.

As she fell back to earth, Charli sighed, pulling up the sheets over her breasts. She dragged the pillow Connor had used against her body in a poor imitation of the solidly built, muscular cowboy.  She'd much rather awaken to the real man, making love to her body.

Maybe next time. She grinned and squealed into the pillow. Connor Mason had finally made love to her, and the experience had been everything she'd hoped and dreamed of.

As the rest of the night came back to her, his final comment before she'd drifted off to sleep came back to haunt her.

I'm a one-woman kind of guy. I wanted to be sure you were a one-man kind of girl.

The beauty of the day faded into a pall of guilt and worry.

Charli had been dating Connor while seeing a mystery cowboy after midnight. Granted, she'd never said she was going to date Connor exclusively when it all started between the two of them. And she still didn't know who her mystery cowboy was. At this point, that fact barely mattered. She hadn't seen the stranger in a week, nor did she care to. Connor was the man for her. He was gentle, kind, a war hero, a sexy cowboy and now...she knew without a shadow of a doubt, he was great in bed.

What more could a woman ask for?

Myla Jackson

…Sinfully Sexy

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Six Degrees of Desperation (Dirty Tricks) - Kindle, ARe, Nook, etc.

Boots and Chaps - Samhain Publishing 

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Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter

Win! Enter here to win 2 prizes from me!

Then go here: http://www.thebloghopspot.com  to enter all the other contests to celebrate Valentine's Day!  Contest runs from today Feb. 11 through 11:59 PM Feb. 14!
What am I giving away to 2 lucky people who post?
A copy of MIA DOLCE, my contemporary erotica about a lonely widow and a dashing sexy Italian duke!
AND to another person, a copy of the 1st in my STANHOPE CHALLENGE series of erotica Regencies, LORD STANHOPE'S IMPROPER PROPOSAL!
POST AWAY!
Tell which you like best:
Contemporary erotica or historical!

Just Romance Me Blog Hop for Valentine's Day***WINNER!!!!

***AND the Winner is***LISA J.  Confetti!  Dancing cabana boys!!!
What does she get?
Delights from Cerise DeLand: EC calendar of Cave Men, EC bag, 1 cc of COUGARLICIOUS with stories by Cerise and 2 other EC authors!
Lisa, I am emailing you now!
To everyone, THANK YOU for coming! Commenting, too! We'll do this again soon!


Be sure to post here to be eligible for prizes and leave your email address on your post! You must visit each blog and post at each one!

Here's my story:

Diego parked his truck at the service entrance to the Stanley Hotel’s restaurant. He cursed at the traffic that had delayed him.  Who knew so many people would be up at five on Valentine’s Day?

He was up…for Cherry. In more ways than one.

He jammed the gear into Park, slid the key out of the ignition and grabbed his package.

Running like hell past the idling postal truck, he flung open the door and made for the kitchen.

As he passed the walk-in refrigerator, he saw Cherry’s short, skinny bald sous chef leaning over a large dark object on the floor. The cook held a long blade in his right hand. The thin plastic strips that kept the cold air inside the place were cloudy, but the scene was clear to Diego.

Diego charged on, toward his goal. She stood near the stoves, giving her staff their instructions for the morning. Her back was to him, her long wild red hair caught up in a net and chef’s white toque. She was tall, but not as tall as he. And god, to look at her curves, especially her ass, was always a treat. And the reason he was so Up this morning.

One by one, her staff members spied him and tried to suppress a grin, and then failed.

She spun, curious to learn what drew them.

And when she saw him, even though she had last glimpsed him—naked, gloriously Up for her and driving right into her luscious body—she beamed at him.

“Diego! Darling, what are you doing here? Oh!” She cooed at the sight of his armful of three dozens red roses. “I see. You brought my favorites for Valentine’s Day.”

“You are my day,” he told her as he wrapped one arm around her waist, drew her to him and let her know how Up he truly was. “My day, my night, my moon and stars. Marry me, Cherry, baby.”

She cooed her agreement as she rubbed her body against his. “Yes, yes, yes!”

She framed his face with her warm hands, her elegant fingers soft against his cheeks.

“I cannot kiss you, Cherry.”

Crushed at his rejection, she examined his face.

“In a moment we will kiss and show all your staff how you make love with your lips and tongue and teeth.” He grinned at her. “But first, I must tell you that in your refrigerator, your postman is dead.”

Everyone gasped.

“He was stabbed by your sous chef, my darling Cherry. I had to give you these first. Now allow me to call the police. And then I will kiss you and make your staff jealous.”

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and brushed her breasts against his chest. “I always knew you were my hero. You solve crimes, you bring roses, and you are always Up.”
Here is the link to continue on your hop: http://justromance.me/

Anne Holly with an erotic comedy for Valentine's Day!

V-Day, an erotic romantic comedy for Valentine’s Day:

By Anne Holly

It all started with a serenade…
A family like Daniel’s and the solitary pursuit of musical excellence is enough to make a young man crazy. No wonder all Daniel Vouks dreams of is getting away. He knows his violin will take him places in life, but the only place he really wants to be is next door. He’s been in love with his neighbor since he was fourteen, but can he ever make her see him as more than just a lovesick kid?
V-Day is the story of a Valentine's Day weekend Daniel fears he may regret, but will never, ever forget.

Excerpt:

Daniel retreated to the music room, thankful he didn’t have a class or a practice scheduled on campus today. He didn’t even have to give any lessons until next week. The weather really didn’t look all that welcoming and he was grateful he could huddle inside as his family bustled off to their various destinations. After school, his parents would be off for the weekend, dropping his sister and her flotilla of luggage off at Kayley’s so the girls could get ready to go to the dance together, which meant leaving Daniel officially on his own until at least Sunday afternoon. Glorious.

Allowing the noise of their departures to roll off him as he sat absently at the piano, he plucked out a few strains and watched the sun glint off the fresh snow in the backyard. It was really beautiful when you could view it from a cozy place.

Blah! Another Valentine’s Day. His nineteenth one as a single guy. And, he thought ruefully, his nineteenth year as a confirmed virgin.

Jesus, even his baby sister had more going on than he did. Selby, his girlfriend in tenth grade, had been about as close to any action as he’d ever gotten. Her pathological fear of pregnancy made it absolutely essential that he keep his pants on at all times. Other than that, any girl he’d ever liked had tossed him into the “friend” basket and never bothered to reassess him.

Kelly, his best friend, did that. After Daniel followed the cute redheaded soprano around for weeks like a puppy, she finally took pity on him and explained he was simply too nice to attract her. After that, they formed an easy relationship through which both had a pal, and a no-fuss “emergency date” when necessary.

Flipping open his phone, he hit Kelly’s number.

“This better be good,” she grumbled after the fifth ring.

“Hey early riser,” he chuckled.

“Well, if I had my mom bringing me my morning coffee in bed…”

“Okay, truce,” Daniel winced. “And my mom doesn’t let me drink coffee.”

“Why not? Afraid it'll stunt your growth, stretch?” Kelly asked with a crystal clear laugh despite having just woken up.

“Something like that,” he said, flecking a flower petal off the top of the piano. “Listen…You’re probably…I dunno…busy tonight, right?”

“Are you trying again, Danny?” she groaned.

“Well, no. I just thought if you weren’t, maybe we could do something.”

“I have a date.”

“Right,” he forced a chuckle. “Yeah, I figured you would.” He straightened in his chair. “Being Valentine’s and all. No problem, just wanted to check.”

“Ahhh, Danny,” she sighed. “What about you?”

“I got a hot date all weekend,” he said over a grimace. “With that friggin’ tango, I guess.”

“Danny, do yourself a favor,” she said firmly. “Go get yourself laid. I told you that’s what’s missing from your tango.”

“Well then,” he quipped. “Support the arts and break your date. I can be there in an hour.”

“Har har har,” she said and then laughed for real. “Seriously, go fall for someone. Preferably someone who will fall for you back.”

“Okay,” he agreed. “For you, I'll try my best.”

Daniel hung up and pounded out a few more notes on the keyboard in front of him, contemplating Kelly’s method music theory that said you could only sing or play what you’d experienced. If that were the case, his tango would remain a virginal one if his luck so far was any indication.

*

For more information about my adult (18+) Valentine’s Day erotic romantic comedy, V-Day, please see my holiday stories website: http://annehollyholiday.webs.com/valentinesdaytales.htm 

*

Anne Holly is a Canadian writer of romance and erotic-romance, as well as a mother and teacher. You may visit Anne at her blog or website, or find her on GoodReads, Facebook and Twitter  (@anneholly2010). Sign up for her newsletter here. Email: anneholly2010@gmail.com.

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