So last year, when I had Kim Killion of HotDamnDesigns create the cover for my upcoming release, AN HEIR OF DECEPTION, only one other author had used that particular stock photo. And the good thing about the Mary Jo Putney cover was that 2/3 of the photo was covered. You could barely tell the photo was the same. Well, fast forward a year later and that photo is super popular and has been used on about 8 (eight) more covers.

When I saw the last beautiful rendition of this photo I wanted to cry. Yes, it was beautiful, but my cover could now be mistaken for a good half dozen other books. What was I going to do? I decided I needed to commission Kim to make another cover but this time I bought all rights to the photo. Unfortunately, although Kim created a lovely cover for me, it wasn’t as good as the one I have and there was no way I would replace my current cover unless the new cover was either as good or better.

So I tried once again to get another cover made and that didn’t even make it off the floor. I swear, I wanted to cry. What was I going to do? So then a fan emailed me to kindly let me know she’d seen my photo on another cover. I thanked her and told her that I intended to have a new cover made. She pleaded with me to please think about changing it because she loves the current cover. To her, the couple on the cover is Alex and Charlotte and she suggested I open up the question to my readers. So today, that’s what I’m doing. The question is simple: do I commission someone to create a new cover for the third time or do I keep the cover I have with the firm knowledge, it won’t be unique?

Help me make the right choice. I think I’m too close to the issue and I trust your collective judgement.

“When was he born?” he asked quietly, bracing his hands on the pillow at the sides of her face as he closed the gap between them. “And this time I want the truth.” His tone held a warning note.

As if the truth was alien to her tongue, Charlotte started to speak several times before the word finally emerged breathless and broken. “February.”

Alex said nothing for several seconds, just held her captive in his flat, empty stare before lowering his head until his mouth brushed the lobe of her right ear. “See, that wasn’t so hard was it?” 

~ AN HEIR OF DECEPTION
    Coming Spring 2012 

A random commenter will receive a $10 eGift Certificate.  

Today, you are all in for a major treat. Treat I tell you! I somehow managed to twist the arm of the extremely talented and fabulous Julie Anne Long so much so, she agreed to give me an excerpt to post of her eagerly awaited January 2012 release, HOW THE MARQUESS WAS WON, the sixth book in her Pennyroyal Green series.

I was lucky enough to get my hands on the egalley of this fantastic book and thoroughly enjoyed it. The beautiful lyrical prose of Julie Anne Long doesn’t disappoint in this dry witted, tension wrought and emotional tale of the ruthless, cold Marquess Dryden, Julian Spenser, known as the Lord of Ice, falling for the most unsuitable Phoebe Vale, the paid companion to Lisbeth Redmond, the woman he firmly intends to marry.

Exclusive excerpt from HOW THE MARQUESS WAS WON

Coming January 2012 from Avon/HarperCollins

Copyright Julie Anne Long

 

Sparked by a single unforgettable encounter, tension—and forbidden fascination—have been building for days between The Marquess Dryden, the infamous Lord Ice, and Phoebe Vale, paid companion for the spoiled, exquisite heiress (and his prospective bride) Lisbeth Redmond. And then Lisbeth leads a group of house party guests, including the Marquess and her brother Jonathan, on a stroll to see picturesque ruins on Redmond Land and Phoebe becomes separated from the rest of the party…

 

What the devil—? A woman couldn’t just vanish into thin air. He scanned the pathway. Oaks had dropped their loads of leaves, but hawthorns were everywhere thick and rustling with tiny hidden creatures.

And then he saw the narrow passage between a Hawthorne and the trunk of a large oak.

He peeked through.

And there she stood, in an almost magical clearing , a circle of lush meadow grass not yet killed by frost bounded by, hidden by, Hawthorn and oaks and trees that hadn’t yet lost all of their leaves.

She was dappled in the shadows of leaves when she stood up, smiling, with a handful of green clutched in her fist.

“You see?” she presented, triumphantly. “I was right. Sage does grow here. And it smells heavenly.”

She pressed it to her nose and inhaled deeply.

He watched her close her eyes to isolate herself with the scent. All at once every corner, for some reason, filled with light.

He’d gone mute.

“There’s a region in France that claims sage helps in the easing of grief. They plant them around tombstones in their cemeteries,” she explained.

“How did you…”

But there really was no point in asking. She read things, she knew things, and out they came, little surprises. It was strangely like unwrapping little gifts, not all of which he appreciated. She clung to facts and information, like flotsam in a shipwreck. They’d saved her.

Mutely, he looked at her. Too full to speak. Her eyes were green. He knew that decisively now. A more facile man would have compared them flatteringly to something—leaves or moss or emeralds or some such—but all he would truthfully be able to say was that no one he’d ever known possessed eyes quite hers. It had little to do with their color. It was in the way that over the course of mere days he’d found himself saying things just to see how they would change: how humor would kindle them, and kindness soften them, and anger make them flash, and how he felt when the light of them was turned on him. How he wanted to hold up his hands before them and warm them.

“I read about it,” she told him anyway. She looked down at the bundle in her hand, indecisively. And then:

“Here.” She extended it to him. “A gift for you.”

He stared it.  All at once too many thoughts and impressions jostled for the exits, and none could escape in the form of words. So he did as she ordered: slowly, wordlessly, he reached for them.

And as she began to surrender them, her fingers brushed his.

He stopped breathing.

He’d once seen a man struck by lightning. He’d watched as the bolt held him helpless, motionless, arcing his body. Having its way with him.

It wasn’t unlike that.

Breathlessly, dumbly, they both stared at the place where their fingers met. Stunned to at last, at last, be touching. Skin to skin.

He dropped the herbs and seized her wrist. “Enough.”

The word was low and dark. And it thrummed command and something like a plea.

Slowly, slowly, she levered up her head, as if spooling courage on the way up. Her jaw was taut; her eyes were wide when they met his, but comprehension flickered in them.

The air suddenly seemed full of snapping sparks. One would have thought he’d captured a unicorn, for God’s sake, for how enervated he felt.

As he watched, a flush painted her from her collarbone upwards. Beneath his thumb, placed over a pale blue vein in that silky hand, her pulse raced.

He turned her palm up. He wished he could be certain she was the one who was trembling, for one of them was. Her hand was achingly soft, too vulnerable. It was cold, which struck him as poignant. He wanted to warm her. He needed to warm her.

And so he brought her palm to his mouth.

He softly opened his mouth against her skin, touched his tongue there, burned her with a kiss that was at once chaste and perhaps the most carnal he’d ever given.

Her head tipped back hard; her eyelids shuddered closed. She made a soft sound, a gasp of shock and pure sensual pleasure.

Mother of God.

He lifted his head with some effort. He curled her fingers closed over the place he kissed her, as if handing her a keepsake.

He knew he ought to. And yet he found he couldn’t relinquish her hand.

“Look at me, Miss Vale.” His voice a low demand.

A moment’s hesitation. She opened her eyes. He was absurdly thrilled to see them again. They were dazed and starry and wary. The sun haloed her, and the light both set her aglow and obscured her. As he stared, he withstood bolt after swift bolt of impression, each distinct and pure and primal:

Who kissed you first? I will kiss the memory of it away. I will run him through with a sword. I can’t recall kissing anyone before you. I am ruined. I am happy. I’m afraid. I need to leave. You need to leave.

He was holding her hand as though it was as delicate as an egg. Which rather contrasted his expression, which, little did he know, was edging toward the thunderous.

“I didn’t know I was going to do that,” he said finally.

“Do you always know what you’re going to do?”  Her voice was a low husk.

“Always.” He said shortly. It sounded like an accusation.

A heartbeat’s worth of silence passed.

“What are you going to do now?” And in her whisper was both sensual challenge and trepidation.

~*~*~

How great does that sound?! And that’s not the end. Julie Anne is generously agreed to give away an autographed copy of one of the other books in her Pennyroyal Green series and a signed coverflat of HOW THE MARQUESS WAS WON. Comment to enter to win!

AN HEIR OF DECEPTION

Charlotte and Alex after a kiss…

As if from a distance, she heard what sounded like a tortured growl before he abruptly broke the kiss and set her away.

For a moment, Charlotte stood there frozen, her balance not all what it ought to be. But Alex was not unaffected, his breathing just as shallow as hers. His shoulders heaved as he appeared to attempt to gain control. He stared at her and in those moments she saw the transformation in him. His expression became closed.

Coming Early 2012

“I should not have done that.” His voice was a little gruff. Other than that, he was as she met him, cool and remote. “And you should not have permitted it.”

Indeed, lay the blame at her feet. “Alex I don’t hate you, and our chemistry has always been…good.” Explosive, wild, uncontrollable were words that better described the heat that had always sizzled between them.

“Oh, I’m not saying I don’t still find you attractive for it’s obvious I do. I’m saying I have no intention of getting more involved with you than circumstances warrant. We have a son and there is a document filed with the government that says we’re bound together legally. But that is all we shall ever have.”

Ever. Such vehemence in that one word.

For Charlotte, the word sounded too concrete and final. It held no hope of possibilities. It conveyed years of…nothing. “Are you saying you have no desire for more children?” Alex—or at least the one she’d known—had wanted a houseful of them.

“Oh, I want more children,” he replied softly, his gaze steady on hers. “I just don’t want them with you.”

Charlotte forced herself to breathe through the pain. He was deliberately trying to hurt her. She could tell by the look in his eyes, the provoking stare that dared her to respond. Willed her to. Swallowing hard, she tamped it down, the pain, the hurt, the jealousy, all he’d undoubtedly wanted to elicit in her.

 “Then you should not have kissed me,” she said calmly, not sounding at all as broken as she felt inside.

“Are you telling me if I did so again you wouldn’t stop me?”

Charlotte wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to hear and sensed neither did he. “If all you just said was true, you wouldn’t need me to stop you.”

Today we have two fantastic excerpts. Let me know if you’ve been hooked. And as a special treat, one lucky commenter will win an advance copy of Kate Noble’s FOLLOW MY LEAD!

Lucy Jones is a nobody. As an orphan she was reluctantly taken in by her wealthy relatives, the Arringtons, on the condition that she be silent and obedient, always. When her lifelong infatuation with her cousin Sebastian is rewarded by a proposal of marriage, she’s happy and grateful, even though the family finds excuses to keep the engagement a secret.

James Wright-Gordon has always had the benefits of money and a high station in society, but he is no snob. He’s very close to his sister, Anna, who quickly falls for the dashing Sebastian when the families are brought together at a wedding party. Meanwhile, James is struck by Lucy’s quiet intelligence, and drawn to her despite their different circumstances in life.

Lucy suspects that Sebastian has fallen for Anna, but before she can set him free, a terrible secret is revealed that shakes both families. Will James come to her rescue—or abandon her to poverty?
.

A MARRIAGE INCONVENIENCE by Susanna Fraser
Available April 11, 2011 from Carina Press


James knew quite well that he had merely had the wind knocked out of him, and that the young woman leaning over him was therefore no celestial being. Also, angels were generally represented as fair creatures, golden of hair and garbed in heavenly blue. Nothing angelic about deep brown eyes that fairly crackled with intelligence behind their momentary anxiety, nor about those dark curls peeping from beneath a scarlet cloak.

Yet for all that, the girl was an angel. He smiled lazily at her.

Her brows drew together slightly, which only served to further highlight her deep-set, expressive eyes.

“Sir, are you injured?”

Her voice was clear and melodious. Angelic, even.

“Nothing worse than bruises, I trust, miss,” he assured her.

“Do you think you can rise?”

The angel could not possibly realize she had committed a double entendre. Sweet-faced and innocent, she was no older than Anna and likely a little younger. She spoke in the soft, cultured tones of a gentlewoman.

But he allowed himself an inward smile nonetheless. “I trust I can,” he said, pushing himself up to a sitting position with a slight wince. He had landed on his left shoulder, and it pained him when he moved.

She rocked back on her heels to maintain a correct distance between them, and the hood of her cloak fell back to reveal all her thick brown hair, which James knew must have begun the morning neatly coiled but was now wind-tossed.

“But you are injured, sir! I’m so very sorry.”

He blinked at her. “Whatever for?”

“I startled your horse.”

“Not deliberately, I trust, unless you have the power to summon the wind.”

Her lips twitched as though she wanted to smile but was uncertain of the propriety of such a course. “No, sir.”

“Well, then. You’ve no need to apologize. I’ve but a trifling pain in my shoulder, nothing more.” He glanced over the offending shoulder and spotted Ghost galloping down the valley, with Anna on Shade in close pursuit. “Ghost is uninjured as well, and giving my sister a chance to exhibit what a master equestrienne she is.”

“It must be a fine thing, to ride so well.”

The angel’s voice was wistful, and James turned to look at her again. “Are you a horsewoman, miss?”

“I never had the opportunity to learn.”

He studied her more closely. Her simple dress and cloak were well made, but without the fashionable line and elegance that marked the work of an expensive London modiste. She must come of family genteel enough to see its daughters educated, but not wealthy enough to keep a stable. She couldn’t be Lord Almont’s intended, as he had first suspected, and he rejoiced that this pretty innocent wasn’t to be the bride of a foolish lord almost old enough to be her grandfather.

~*~*~

Jason Cummings, Duke of Rayne is feeling the weight of his responsibilities – one of which is to get married. Being the most sought after bachelor in London can be trying, so who can blame him if he seeks refuge from the voracious hordes of young debutantes at the decidedly female-free Historical Society? Female-free, that is, until Winnifred Crane marches up to the door, demanding entrance.

Despite her prowess as a historian, Winn is denied membership the Society. So she daringly offers an unusual bargain: if she can prove the authenticity of a certain painting, she’ll be granted recognition, fame, and respect. But to do that, she must go abroad. And to go abroad, she must have an escort, even a stubbornly unwilling one…

Jason has no desire to accompany Winn on her adventure across Europe, but even he is not immune to Winn’s passion for her profession. As the journey proves more difficult than planned, they must work together to stay one step ahead of their rivals…. and the closer they get to the proof Winn seeks, the closer she and Jason become. But as their adventure turns dangerous, can Jason keep this headstrong bluestocking safe? And what will become of their growing bond when the adventure ends?

FOLLOW MY LEAD by Kate Noble
Available May 3, 2011 from Berkley Sensation

The taproom of the Stellzburg Inn was full of life. Life that had eluded Winn up until this time. The energy and excitement that was not found in a library. Travelers, mostly men, and mostly strangers to each other, were drinking, laughing. The innkeeper, his wife, and their servers threaded themselves through the crowd, delivering drinks and food with smiles, and sometimes a wry comment that made the customers laugh.

But it was all perfectly aboveboard. Respectable even.

Somewhat disappointing, that.

“For a minute there you looked blissfully happy, so how is it I rejoin you and you’re wearing a frown?” Jason asked as he returned to the table. “Er . . .  you have foam on your nose.”

“Oh!” Winn said as she turned bright red. Jason reached in his pocket but came up empty.

“Damn,” he said, handing her a cloth napkin from their table. “I keep forgetting these are not my own clothes and my handkerchiefs are not where I expect them to be. No, you missed.” He indicated her face.

She wiped again but must have missed the offending foam again, because Jason took the napkin from her hand and, cupping her chin, wiped the end of her nose gently. “There, you’re perfect. Now, why were you scowling before?”

“I was?” she asked, her face remarkably hot. Must be the beer, she decided. “Oh, I was reflecting.”

“Reflecting?” he asked, bemused. “On what, pray tell?”

“That reality rarely lives up to expectations.” At his quizzical expression, she continued. “I thought the taproom of an inn would be . . .  bawdier. More like a public house.”

Jason turned completely still. “You’ve been to a public house?”

“No, but I’ve seen illustrations,” she argued. “Someone playing a fast fiddle in the corner, barmaids with their breasts spilling out. Also, I would like to have some illusions preserved. But here we are in the German countryside, and I have not even seen one pair of lederhosen,” she finished mournfully.

Jason threw back his head in laughter, his deep- throated guffaws drawing the attention that Winn’s hesitant giggle had not.

“Expectations are a heavy lot. Perhaps we can find you some lederhosen in Nuremberg. But for now, just be happy that we are amongst actual Germans.”

“Why?” she asked, her eyebrow going up.

“Because they are logical enough to bring us— and charge us for— only one and a half plates of food.” He smiled.

“Thank you,” she replied with a nod of acknowledgement.

And it was not some few minutes later that the innkeeper himself brought over their food— smelling so good and buttery that Winn for a few seconds considered that maybe she could have made use of a full plate.

“Danke,” she said to the innkeeper in anticipation of being served her eagerly awaited meal. Jason casually put his arm around her back, some proprietary instinct letting the innkeeper infer they were indeed coupled.

“Bitte.” The innkeeper smiled back at them. Strange, for the first time since they had met, the innkeeper’s stern countenance had fled, lending him a sort of elfin charm. “I hope you are enjoying yourselves, yes?” he continued in English, still holding the food on his tray.

“Yes,” “Very much,” she and Jason replied in turn.

“Four days married.” The innkeeper shook his head with a smile.

“Five tomorrow,” Jason said, his voice straining on the lie. “That tray looks terribly heavy,” he continued, practically salivating— for which Winn could not blame him. “You should set it down . . .”

But the innkeeper was lost in his own line of thought to even consider placing the tray of food in front of two famished customers. “I remember when I was four days married! My wife— she was so young and lovely we did not emerge from our rooms for the whole week!”

“Er, right,” Winn piped up. “But we were a bit hungry, you see . . .  from all the . . .  staying in. So if you could— ”

Then the innkeeper turned and addressed the whole room in his booming voice in German. The room gave a solid cheer and then began clapping in time, chanting the same word. The last one the innkeeper had said to them: “Kuss.”

“What on earth?” Winn asked, utterly confused.

“He told the room we are newlyweds,” Jason whispered to her and then hesitated. “And then he said that . . .  oh, just follow my lead.”

And he leaned down and kissed her.

It’s Excerpt Thursday, so it’s time to ‘Get Hooked’. Today, we have our own Lori Brighton with a sizzling hot passage from brand new release, WILD DESIRE. Let me know if you were hooked.

First He Drove Her Mad

In what feels like a moment, Beatrice Edmund goes from being a proper lady cooped up in a stuffy Scottish castle to traveling miles from anything she’s ever known, in the midst of the wildest adventure of her life. And at the center of that adventure is the most infuriating, puzzling scoundrel on earth. She cannot take her eyes off him.

Then He Drove Her Wild

Colin Fitch cannot deny he’s drawn to Beatrice–but lust is all he could possibly feel for the sharp-tongued minx. Still, if there’s a chance she can help him stop the madman he pursues, he must withstand her obvious disapproval. Yet withstanding the longing he feels for her is growing more troublesome by the second. . . And Colin has never been terribly good at staying out of trouble. . .

.

~*~*~

WILD DESIRE by Lori Brighton
Available March 1, 2010 from Kensington Publishing

Did he really like her? Or was she just another woman to him? Did he remember the way he touched her? The way she moaned his name? Heat flushed her cheeks. Slowly, she glanced back, her chin to her shoulder as she peeked at him. His face was turned away from her. There, seated against the sandstone wall with his shirt hanging open, the man looked like a statue come to life.

As if pulled by some unknown force, Bea started forward on her hands and knees. Her gaze pinned to him, she suddenly felt like a hunter and he her prey. She had no idea what she planned to do when she reached his side. Shove him backward, press her mouth to his, tear off his clothes. How shocked he’d be. The thought almost made her giggle. Only a few feet from him, she paused in indecision.

“What do you want, Bea?” he asked, his gaze still focused on the far wall.

What did she want? You. You to touch me. To make me moan your name.

“How did you see me approach?” she asked, more to fill the silence than to satisfy any curiosity.

He turned his head, looking directly at her. “I could smell you.”

That gave her pause. She wasn’t quite sure if she should be embarrassed or not. “Do I smell that horrible?”

She thought the corner of his mouth lifted, but with the lack of light, she wasn’t quite sure. “No. Quite the opposite. Your scent is…refreshing, clean, unique. Sometimes I think I could pick up your scent from a million others.”

Her heart hammered in her chest, his words taunting her already flared desire. She crawled closer to him, her hands on the cool, stone floor. “Do you know what you smell like?”

He laughed, lowering his thick lashes as he looked at the ground. “I can imagine.”

She didn’t pause until her face was only a breath from his. “Sunlight. Warmth.”

His jaw clenched, his throat working as he swallowed. She didn’t wait for him to kiss her, but leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Mad. She was completely and utterly mad. She didn’t know how she’d become so bold. Perhaps it was the statues. Perhaps the fact that she was experienced now. Or perhaps because she ached fiercely and knew only Colin could ease that pain.

Bea wrapped her arms around his neck as his fingers slid into her hair.

“Colin,” she whispered against his mouth. “How terribly I’ve wanted to kiss you.”

He growled low in his throat. They both came up on their knees, desperate to touch body to body. Colin tugged on her hair, tilting her head back. “Do you realize what words like that can do to a man?”

He pressed his lips to her neck. Shivers raced over her skin, heated tremors that shook in her core.

“Such words can drive a man insane, Bea.”

But she wanted him mad, mad with desire. Mad with wanting her.

Colin stood, lifting Bea with him. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he pressed her back against the cold sandstone. Trapped between the wall and the hard man holding her, a thrill coursed through her body. This is what she’d wanted, what she’d dreamt about.

Love the name! Kendall is a good name, non? Read this book already and loved it–and I’m not much into first person, but I love a sexy, brooding hero. Take a moment and read and let me know if Kendall has you hooked.

My sister became dependent on painkillers after a skiing accident left her leg broken in three places. I didn’t understand and, yes, I judged her. After all, we were talking about her will. No one was forcing those pills down her throat. It seemed very cut-and-dried to me back then. But I know differently now.

The first time Chase touched her, Jane finally understood addiction…understood the aching need, the keen want for more…more of his hands…his mouth…his tongue. His complete mastery over her body. She knew the suffocation of crushing anxiety as she waited for her next hit, the flash of terrific pain when it didn’t come.

Chase seems unwilling to give Jane what she needs; what she ultimately craves above all else. But addicts can’t think beyond the fix. They’ll resort to desperate measures to feed their need…even if they lose themselves in the process. Even if they come undone…

.

~*~*~

COME UNDONE by Kendall Grace
Word Count: 24,000    Format: eBook
Available December 3, 2010 from Ellora’s Cave

***

I’ll never forget the first time I saw him. Eyes so gray they were almost silver, hair as black as those summer nights had been; the rich sound of his laughter at something witty my friend Sara had said. All of this floated around me, my pulse dancing. But his laugh faded into the moment and he looked at me, the remnants of a smile still on his lips. It was then I felt it. An indescribable sensation at the time, but something I would soon come to know as an energy. A force with the power to take me under, willing or not. His gaze lingered on mine for a moment, a brief, fleeting, substantial moment, and then the connection was gone. His friends enveloped him in their attention and I watched as the group returned to their table at the other end of the bar. This wouldn’t be the only time I’d see him—a fate I’m still not certain was a blessing or a curse.

Three years have passed since that summer I spent at Sara’s family beach house in a town so small South Carolina needn’t have bothered putting it on the map. Three months we were there. Sara on summer break from law school, me on break from my life. You see, artists are never truly satisfied unless they are immersed in their passion, and graduating with an accounting degree because you’re too chickenshit to pursue what you really want doesn’t exactly pave the road to creativity. A free summer financed by Sara’s parents was just too good an opportunity to pass up. I left that office with my pitiful little box of belongings before common sense had a chance to do its job. I promised myself this wouldn’t be a mistake. The time I would spend on hiatus from nothing would clear my head and I would know in which direction to go.

When I made the decision I had no way of knowing what that summer would bring. I wouldn’t have been able to imagine the things I’d be capable of, the lengths to which I’d end up going. The intensity with which I would yearn. I had no way of knowing about him. The problem with addiction is you crave what you need—whether it’s good for you or not.

So, I’ll tell you my story but you must promise not to judge, for what you’ll hear will not always paint me in the best light. I will come off, at times, as a woman who should have known better. I was told, after all. But if you allow yourself to succumb to a dark place, if you become truly lost, you will do anything…anything to end the pain—if only for a moment.

Let me know if you’re hooked by THE DEBUTANTE’S DILEMMA. A commenter will win their  copy of Elyse’s ebook!

One woman in search of passion

Miss Cecilia Hastings has achieved what every young lady hopes for during her first London season…in duplicate! She’s caught the eye of not one but two of England’s most eligible bachelors.   Both Jeremy Battersley, Earl of Henley, and Richard Huxley, Duke of Wexford are handsome, wealthy and kind, the epitome of proper gentlemen. But Cecelia doesn’t want proper, she wants passion. So she issues a challenge to her suitors: a kiss, so that she may choose between them.

Two men in love with the same woman

Friends since childhood, and compatriots on the battlefields of Spain, falling for the same woman has set Jeremy and Richard at odds, and risks destroying their friendship forever.  But a surprising invitation to a late-night garden tryst soon sets them on a course that neither of them could have anticipated. And these gentlemen quickly discover that love can take many forms…

Available now from Carina Press and E-book retailers.

~*~*~

THE DEBUTANTE’S DILEMMA by Elyse Mady
Word Count: 22,000    Format: eBook
Now Available from Carina Press

***

He shouldn’t have left.

Not like that.

As he sat in the darkness of his swaying carriage, Jeremy Battersley swore and slammed his clenched fist against the deep leather squabs. The look on Wexford’s face when he’d cut him tonight ate at him and yet, despite his disgust, he knew there’d been no other course.

Not when he was being eaten alive by such molten, spewing jealousy.

Jeremy was still man enough to be ashamed of such low feelings, even if he could not control their aim. But it gave him little comfort, for he knew their days of friendship were numbered and it grieved him deeply.

He was not a man who spoke easily of his feelings and never had been. His father’s early death, shortly before he arrived at Eton, had left him wary and distrustful of laying open his affections, still mourning as he’d been the passing of a well-loved parent. Jeremy learned too quickly that many of the boys were merely interested in currying the favour of a newly appointed peer and cared not at all for the boy behind the weighty titles, the friendship they’d offered contingent on self-interest or vanity. But Wexford had been different.

A tall lanky boy, his dark hair always askew and his nose generally buried in a book of Latin prose, he’d never tried to insinuate himself into Jeremy’s good graces. Of course, two minutes leafing through Debrett’s peerage would show Dick Huxley had no need to toad eat, standing as he did to inherit titles and wealth that rivalled, if not exceeded his own. Steady, ferociously clever and loyal, these were all words that described his best friend and they were attributes that had not changed in the intervening years. Somehow the mournful little boy and the abstracted young scholar had become friends and friends they had stayed.

Until now.

It wasn’t surprising really, the complication they now found themselves in, when you looked at the situation with a dispassionate eye. Their taste in women had always been remarkably similar. They both admired clever, handsome women, who carried themselves with grace and could express themselves with wit and intelligence. Sensuous women who, through looks and presence, proclaimed their interest in love and bed play and physical sensation.

Cecilia Hastings offered all of these things and more, though her potential for lovemaking was entirely unconscious and untried. In fact, that made her even more deadly, for the possibility of being the man to unleash that latent desire had been enough to keep him rock-hard for weeks on end.

He remembered Wexford’s expression when he’d first told him about Cecilia. They’d been playing billiards in Jeremy’s fine home in Grosvenor Square, as they had done a thousand times before. On a normal night, they were well-matched but his mind still fixed on the haunting beauty he spied that morning at court, he played abysmally, his shots careening across the table with all the effectiveness of a blunderbuss against a French cavalry charge.

“Are you quite well?” his friend had asked, as another ball missed its mark so widely that it hadn’t even threatened the pocket towards which he’d been nominally aiming.

“I think I am in love,” Jeremy said, the words startling him even as he knew them to be true.

His stunning admission had elicited nothing more than a raised eyebrow from Wexford and hadn’t disrupted his ability to make his shot in the slightest, either.

“Indeed?” he said, moving round the low table to size up his next approach. Wexford paused, considering the lay of the balls on the hot-pressed felt, and chalked his tip. “And what do you love most about this lady? Her tragedy? Her comedy? Or perhaps it is her ability to sing light opera?” He leaned over the table as he spoke and carefully stroked his shot in preparation.

“Her feathers. Her white ostrich feathers.”

Balls had scattered and skipped across the table when Wexford’s cue plowed into the felt at Jeremy’s steady statement. Because without another word being spoken, they knew, as anyone who spent any time amongst the Ton must know, what that simple avowal meant.

~*~*~

About the author, Elyse Mady:

An enthusiastic and voracious reader of everything from 18th century novels to misplaced cereal boxes, Elyse has worked as a freelance magazine writer for the past several years.  Her first work of fiction, The Debutante’s Dilemma, was published by Carina Press in November, 2010.

She blogs at www.elysemady.wordpress.com about writing, research and romance novels, both historical and contemporary.  You can reach her by email at elysemady@cogeco.ca or find her on Facebook and Twitter (@ElyseMady) for updates and upcoming titles .

THE SERGEANT’S LADY ended up being a September Top Pick long after Susanna received this day to have her excerpt posted. Do after you finish reading the excerpt, you may also want to check out Danielle’s review.

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Highborn Anna Arrington has been “following the drum,” obeying the wishes of her cold, controlling cavalry officer husband. When he dies, all she wants is to leave life with Wellington’s army in Spain behind her and go home to her family’s castle in Scotland.

Sergeant Will Atkins ran away from home to join the army in a fit of boyish enthusiasm. He is a natural born soldier, popular with officers and men alike, uncommonly brave and chivalrous, and educated and well-read despite his common birth.

As Anna journeys home with a convoy of wounded soldiers, she forms an unlikely friendship with Will. When the convoy is ambushed and their fellow soldiers captured, they become fugitives—together. The attraction between them is strong—but even if they can escape the threat of death at the hands of the French, is love strong enough to bridge the gap between a viscount’s daughter and an innkeeper’s son?

~*~*~

THE SERGEANT’S LADY ~ Susanna Fraser
Release Date: August 23  – Carina Press

In this scene from early in The Sergeant’s Lady, the hero, Will Atkins, and the heroine, Anna Arrington, have just begun to get to know each other and are seated in the shadows just beyond the light of an army campfire where Will’s fellow soldiers are singing and telling stories.

Fiddle and flute took up a new tune, Scottish, fast and infectious. It reminded Anna of her girlhood at Dunmalcolm, of being sixteen and dancing to the skirling music of bagpipes with her cousins and the neighbors’ sons in the castle ballroom. Her toes tapped of their own accord, and she saw that Sergeant Atkins’s did the same.

Impulsively she sprang to her feet and extended her hands. “Dance with me, Sergeant,” she ordered.

“No, ma’am. That wouldn’t be fitting.”

She beckoned again. “No one can see us here. Pretend we’re at your squire’s harvest dance, if you like.”

“But to a song like this, with a lady such as yourself? Not fitting at all.”

“What’s wrong with this song? I’ve never heard one more made for dancing.”

In the faint moonlight, she could just see his raised eyebrows. “You haven’t heard the words.”

She tossed her head. “I don’t care what the words are. I must dance.” Where was the harm? No one but the two of them would ever know. Anna longed for even a brief release from the tense propriety that had ruled her marriage and reigned over her still in widowhood. “Please, Sergeant Atkins,” she implored.

He shook his head again, but rose and took her by the hand. His grip was warm and strong. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

With Sebastian she’d learned to separate her body from her mind and heart—to touch and be touched without feeling anything. So the jolt of warmth that shot down her spine at the sergeant’s touch stunned her. Perhaps this was unwise.

No. It felt too wonderful. She wanted to laugh with pure joy. It was only a dance. How dangerous could it be?

At a ball they would have joined a line or square with other couples, barely touched and followed a prescribed set of steps. Outside that framework Anna hardly knew how to follow through on her own mad scheme. Fortunately, once persuaded, her partner took the lead. He caught her about the waist with one hand, clasped her hand with the other and whirled her into a series of quick steps.

The soldiers by the fire began to sing—something about a trooper lad arriving in town weary with riding on a moonlit night. Oh, this was more like it! Her sergeant was a grand dancer. Even in the dark, on unfamiliar ground, dancing in a close hold, she trusted his surefooted guidance.

The singers reached the chorus. Bonny lassie, I’ll lie near you, hey bonny lassie, I’ll lie near you. Anna flushed, but she had expected a bawdy song from Sergeant Atkins’s warnings.

The next verses told how the lassie took the horse to the stable and the trooper to her table and fed them each their dinners. Anna looked up. In the moonlight she could see a twinkle in her partner’s eyes, and he grinned at her. Despite his initial reluctance, he was enjoying this too. She let the music carry her along, feeling as if she were flying. Every time he pressed his fingers against her waist to guide her she shivered. She felt the sergeant’s stripes sewn onto the sleeve of his rough wool jacket and beneath it the strong, lean muscles of his arm.

She went upstairs to make the bed,

And she made it soft and easy.

She’s pulled her petticoats o’er her head,

Crying, soldier, are you ready?

Anna gasped.

Sergeant Atkins laughed. “Told you.”

“You did,” she admitted.

“It gets worse.”

How was that possible? This was scandalous—but she had all but forced it upon him. She could not in justice complain.

So tell me, were you hooked? Leave a comment and double your chances of winning 5 books from Thursday’s selection of The Season One Year Anniversary Giveaway.

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Ace pilot Jace Vernon is forced to flee his home world after being framed for murder. He seeks justice, but S.I.N. agent Silver Malloy gets in his way. The platinum-haired beauty counters his every move in the quest to clear his name. As he makes it his mission to break down her defenses, he doesn’t count on the personal consequences of success.

Silver refuses to abort her deadly mission even if it means killing the one man Jace needs alive to prove his innocence. Her resolve wavers when Jace’s charms melt the barriers around her heart. Can she help him win his case, even if it means betraying her family and ruining her career?

~*~*~

SILVER SERENADE ~ Nancy Cohen
Release Date: July 16 2010 – Wild Rose Press

Despite the coolness of the woods, sweat dribbled down the back of Silver Malloy’s neck. Her muscles ached from hours spent in a crouched position, but stealth mattered more than comfort. She’d waited for this opportunity for months—no, make that years—and wasn’t about to lose it due to a lapse in technique.

This first kill might be her last, but at least she’d complete her revenge.

Using her rifle scope, she scanned the dusty street that stretched below her hillside vantage point. The few scruffy inhabitants who trudged between the ramshackle buildings didn’t interest her.

A lucky tip had brought her to Al’ron, a watering hole for space travelers. Those who visited here were not often welcome elsewhere. They came to buy arms, men, and equipment to carry out lawless raids against innocent victims, and Tyrone Bluth had earned the reputation as the cruelest bandit of all.

Silver couldn’t wait to end his reign of terror.

Raucous bird cries and the drone of insects rang in her ears, augmented by the auditory sensors in her gold drop earrings. She ignored them─her concentration centered on the only saloon in town.

Squinting, she watched the set of double swinging doors, eager for the slightest hint of movement. The spicy scent of tangleberries tickled her nose. She stifled a sneeze, unwilling to lose focus, even for a moment.

Someone staggered from the saloon. Her pulse accelerated as she recognized Bluth, the leader of Tyrone’s Marauders. He sported a wide-brimmed black hat, militia-style clothes, and a weapons belt bristling with armaments. A hostile scowl creased his ugly face, a face that had haunted her dreams forever.

Shutting one eye, she took careful aim through the targeting sight of her TechVix LD-6 Sharpshooter Special.

Her gut clenched, and she steeled herself to fire. Just as her finger twitched on the trigger, a shadowy figure dove into her. The impact knocked her to the ground. She dropped the rifle, but not before it discharged a wild shot.

A heavy weight toppled across her body, forcing her spine down against the packed earth. Tiny pebbles dug into the small of her back. Brittle pine needles pierced her skin. So much for the protective jumpsuit she’d worn.

“Let me up.” She shoved at the bulk immobilizing her. Unable to break free, she aimed a string of expletives toward the man whose furious green eyes glared down at her.

“Who the devil are you?” he demanded, his thick dark brows inched together in an angry scowl.

“I could ask you the same.” Silver’s hand scrabbled in the dirt, searching for her fallen weapon. “Are you one of Bluth’s men?”

“No.” His thighs pressed her firmly to the ground.

“Then get off me so I can finish what I started.”

“Only after you tell me why you’re here.”

Panic seized her as she faced the possibility of failure.  “All I need is one clear shot, then we’ll talk.” She thrust at his broad chest, but he wouldn’t budge.

“If you’re worried about Bluth getting away, it’s too late.”

“What?” Silver lifted her head to peer over the crest of the hill. Sure enough, Tyrone Bluth was nowhere in sight.

The villain had torn apart everything meaningful in her life, and now she’d lost her chance to even the score.

Rage clouded her vision. “I don’t know who you are, but you’ve no right to interfere.”

His lip curled. “Is that so?” His attention shifted to a spot beyond the ridge, then he lowered his face close enough for her to see the brown flecks in his irises. “Be quiet. Bluth’s patrol is searching the area.”

Gritting her teeth, she gave him an appraising glance. Taut angles highlighted his bone structure, emphasizing a patrician nose and a jaw set at an arrogant pitch. Jet black hair swept in tousled waves to his nape. Slicked back from a wide forehead, its style proclaimed he was a man who couldn’t be swayed from his purpose.

With her smaller frame, she doubted the defensive tactics she’d learned during training would be effective. He looked like a guy who could counter her every move.

Minutes ticked by while he pressed against her in a manner that made unwanted awareness flood through her.

So let me know if you’re hooked!

CHASING THE TRUTH

As an assistant on a powerful racing team, Emma-Lee Dalton wants to prove herself in the thrill-a-minute NASCAR world—and impress Holt Forrester, the man she can’t stop thinking about.

But when she gives Holt the inside track, unaware of his real agenda, she falls hard and fast for him. Now she needs her billionaire boyfriend to admit the truth about everything—including how he feels about her.

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~*~*~

WHAT HE DIDN’T SAY ~ Chasing the Truth – Carol Stephenson
Release Date: August 1, 2010 – Harlequin NASCAR

He’d been lying to himself, Holt Forrester conceded as he dodged three men chest-bumping in the graveled parking area by the New Gorge River.  Minutes earlier the trio had parachuted together to a flawless bull’s-eye landing.  “Congratulations,” Holt called out without stopping.

Had he really thought he could handle the crush of people in attendance today?  Managing his investments based on cold, hard data was one thing.  Directing a tired mother with a wailing toddler to a port-a-potty was totally outside his comfort zone.  Still…

Pausing, he glanced up to the gleaming span of bridge eight hundred and seventy-six feet above.  Another jumper yelled a battle cry as he somersaulted off the platform.  Moments later a white parachute popped open against the blue sky.  Holt smiled.

Unbelievable.  He’d actually done it.  He’d pulled off the fund-raising event for breast cancer without a hitch.  All the months of convincing everyone in the West Virginia government from the governor to the Division of Highways to allow this special day of BASE —bridge, antennae, spans or earth— jumping had paid off.

The adrenaline buzz of his own jump still pumped through Holt along with pride and satisfaction.

He had known those adventurers who thrilled to parachute free falls wouldn’t be able to resist the lure of a legal jump off the second highest bridge in the United States.  All in the name of a good cause, the ‘Amanda Forrester Jump for Cancer’.

An event to honor his mother.  He’d been only twelve when she had lost her battle to breast cancer, but the memories of her efforts to maintain a normal life for him and his father despite her pain remained seared in his soul.

The latest jumper splashed into the river.  Volunteers gunned motorized inflatable rafts and raced toward the man to pluck him from the water.

Holt released a sigh of relief.  So far the event had gone without any major injury to any of the participants.  Only a cut here, a bruise there.

The only other thing that would make this day perfect would be to meet the woman with the smoky-warm voice who had called him from Double S Racing.  Emma-Lee Dalton.

He looked around for his assistant.  Ted would know if she had registered.  He might not be able to find her in this crowd, but surely she would be at the auction following the jumps.  Double S Racing had been more than generous in its donation of NASCAR racing memorabilia, and Holt suspected that the very enthusiastic Ms. Dalton was largely responsible.  He wanted the opportunity to thank her in person…and see if the woman matched the voice, he admitted.

“Hey, Holt!”  Stan Preston hurried toward him.  “Did you see all NASCAR bumper stickers in the lot?”

“Yes, I did.”

Stan huffed to a stop.  The older, heavier set man wore carefully-creased khaki’s, a blue oxford-collared shirt and navy windbreaker.  He pulled a handkerchief from his pants pocket and mopped his brow.

“Wasn’t I right about NASCAR?  The fan loyalty is incredible.  Once I got the word out that the organization had donated items for the auction, the fans hotfooted here.”

“You were right, Stan.”  Not only had Holt been impressed with the man’s contacts at NASCAR, but he’d been amazed by the surge of registrations after the auction announcement.

The man beamed.  “You understand now why a NASCAR sponsorship would be a smart business move for your launch of the new software line?”

“I’d be a fool not to.”  Holt had met the insurance magnate when Stan had consulted with him about developing computer programs.  When Stan had gotten it in his head that he wanted to start his own NASCAR team, Holt had been one of the first he’d hit up for sponsorships.  A sponsorship seemed to be good business, but Stan’s new team might not be a good fit.

Holt never jumped into a deal, which is how he made his millions.  He needed more data before he made his decision.  He hadn’t even divulged to Stan the true nature of his latest computer venture.  Although the Internet was alive with rumors, he was keeping the game under wraps for now.

“Holt.”  Stan looked concerned.  “When I was checking out the auction, I noticed several items from Double S Racing.  The owner Gil Sizemore isn’t wooing you as a sponsor, is he?”

No point mentioning to Stan that he had found himself flirting with the Double S’s representative.