New Historical Romance from Heather King

The Missing Duke

By Heather King

When his father dies, Lord Adam Bateman refuses to succeed to the dukedom which rightly belongs to his missing elder brother. Whilst performing secret and sensitive missions for the Duke of Wellington, he continues his efforts to find his twin. The search has become Adam’s all-consuming passion, leaving no time for affairs of the heart.

Miss Lucy Mercier is also seeking answers. Her father, a tailor, had been used to make hot air balloons for various noble patrons, including Lord Adam’s sire. Believing the deceased Duke of Wardley had been involved in her papa’s failure to return from the Continent, she takes employment in Lord Adam’s household in order to discover the truth. Then she accompanies him on an important commission for the Allied Army, and finds herself having to guard against a growing attraction for a man she knows she can never have.

Are the two disappearances connected and will two heads prove better than one in the pursuit of answers? Will Adam and Lucy find true happiness together or will the past – and their different stations – rise to keep them apart?


Excerpt

Adam urged his hired roan to greater efforts. It was game enough, a little French blood horse of sleek lines and clean limbs, but somewhat one-paced. If only he had his Goliath under him! With a bloodline that traced back to the fleetest racehorse of a generation, Flying Childers, his black stallion would have eaten up the miles with his effortless stride. There was no sense in repining, however. Goliath was safe back in Berkshire and his owner must make the best of what was available.

By the time Gilbert Mercier’s message had reached him at a coffee-house in the Palais Royal, where he had been conducting a further meeting with Mrs. Perkins, the escaped balloon was already flying at speed across the roofs of Paris. Adam was therefore well in advance of the pursuers who had set out from Mousseaux. Nevertheless, the velocity of the globe was so great, due to the swirling gale, mere horsepower was insufficient to keep up with it and the balloon had soon stretched the distance between them.

The roan started to flag, so Adam drew rein for a while and allowed the animal time to recover. Negotiating the narrow streets choked with vehicles and pedestrians had been exhausting and time consuming. He turned on to one of the perimeter boulevards and on reaching an open stretch, the roan’s heaving flanks having lessened, he pushed on again. Above the trees, the balloon was still visible, although considerably smaller, its’ bright colours easily remarked against the angry black sky behind it. Without conscious thought, he pulled the horse up and stared at the receding object of his attention. Was the basket hanging nearer to the forest than it had been? Shaking up the bridle, he took a track into the wood and galloped as fast as he dared.

The balloon was definitely sinking in the sky. Catching glimpses of it now and then between the branches of the canopy – fortunately far thinner than it would have been, but for the war – he saw several flares of orange flame as the aeronaut worked to raise his vessel. It appeared to be having little effect; although now some miles distant, the globe looked to be shrinking. Buffeted by the storm, it swayed and tilted in an alarming fashion, tossing the flimsy wicker boat from side to side. With difficulty, Adam forced himself to remain calm. Panic would not serve either him or the man and woman in the basket. Lucy! He raised his eyes to the broiling heavens and sent up a silent prayer for her not to be harmed. She was everything he had ever dreamed of… although when the recognition of that had come to him, he could not conjecture. She was beautiful; she was intelligent, determined and brave. She had entered into that foolish masquerade with no thought for her safety, and then had allowed him to autocratically oblige her to accompany Madame Grancini and the silver to Paris. How dangerous a position he had put her in. How wrong could it have gone? Thank the Good Lord he had inadvertently provided her with a chaperone! Praise was also due to Captain Ratcliff for the measures he had taken.

Adam took a huge breath and swallowed a mouthful of rainwater. Even within the shelter of the trees, the drops were getting heavier and heavier; a steady veil of rain of the kind which soaked in minutes. The roan’s pink-red hide was turning a red-brown patterned with white foam. Water trickled from Adam’s hat and down the back of his neck. He could barely see for the stream of precipitation driving into his face and had, perforce, to trust to his horse’s instincts.

The roan proved sure-footed and they at last emerged from the relative darkness of the wood. The damp smells of peat moss and sodden earth lingered in his nostrils and he had to blink for a few moments in order to see properly. It took several seconds to find the balloon from this different perspective, and his heart plummeted to the base of his chest. The joyful red and yellow silk stripes had collapsed inwards and the craft was fast descending on the other side of the river.

Almost frantic now, he set spurs to his horse and charged along the road to find a bridge. To his relief, the aeronaut had managed to nurse his vessel to the other side of the Seine’s broad expanse, so at least they would not drown. A wry smile teased his cold lips. He would wring Lucy’s lovely neck for this start… and then kiss her into oblivion. Then, when she fully comprehended how many times he had died on this ride, he would pink both Gilbert and the balloonist on the end of his small-sword for allowing her into the machine in the first place. The time of waiting for her to trust him enough to confide in him was well and truly past.

Further ruminations were abruptly curtailed by the sight of the balloon jerking and leaping in violent parody of a mummer’s dance, before it dropped like the Prussian artillery which had cannonaded the distant palace of Saint-Cloud. Adam leaned forward over the roan’s neck and demanded another burst of effort. The little horse complied with a will and they clattered at full-pelt across a wide, many-arched wooden bridge. The balloon had come down in farmland to the north of the town and the sculptured, terraced gardens of the great château. Turning his back on this splendour without a second thought, Adam careered recklessly down the road bordering the river.

Dodging a cart laden with baskets of squawking poultry, and a peasant straddling a bare-backed nag reminiscent of Rosinante, Adam clapped heels to the roan’s sides and pressed on. The horse being too tired to jump a hedge, Adam was forced to waste precious minutes searching for a gate. By the time he reached the stricken craft in the corner of a field of barley, therefore, Lucy was already sitting on the inverted basket, one hand nursing her temple. The aeronaut was on his hands and knees, attempting to gather up the acres of sodden silk.

“Lucy! I mean, Mademoiselle, are you harmed?”

Her head shot up; her eyes were wide with shock. “Sir—? Lord Adam! How do you come to be—? You know who I am?”

He dismounted and ran to her side, drawing her up to face him. “Foolish girl, of course I know who you are.” Anxiously, he studied her. “Are you harmed?”

“Nothing of moment, my lord,” she answered. She lifted her hand towards her head. “’Tis no more than a graze, I am sure, though I will admit the place is tender. I will not consider it; I am fortunate to have escaped greater injury.”

“Indeed you are!” he said gruffly, to hide his emotion. “I have it in mind to throttle you for indulging in such sport. Whatever possessed you? And you, sir!” he called to the other man. “I should call you out for permitting her to join you in such a perilous enterprise.”

“It was an accident, my lord,” she protested, clutching the sleeve of his waterlogged coat. He could not tell whether she intended to hold him back or support herself.

The balloonist turned around… and Adam died yet another death.



About the author

A confessed romantic and bookworm, Heather King has always made up stories. Discovering Georgette Heyer’s Regency novels began a lifelong love of the era, although she enjoys well-written books from other times too. Heather’s stories are traditional romps – light-hearted and witty, with bags of emotion. You walk with her characters through the world they inhabit. She also writes Paranormal Shape Shifter romance.

Visiting her Dark Side as Vandalia Black, she wrote Vampires Don’t Drink Coffee and Other Stories which includes a novella set during the English Civil War.

When not looking after her two hairy ponies, three cats and boisterous Staffie X, or frowning over keypad or notebook, she likes nothing better than taking long walks and curling up with a good book.


 


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CONTESTS

Just letting y’all know that with my new website, I’ve added a Contests page, which (ideally) will *always* have some sort of giveaway going on, and right now, there are two! You can go to the Contests page to check them out!

Blind Tribute Goodreads Giveaway

Enter for a chance to win a signed print copy of Blind Tribute by Mari Anne Christie.
***************************************
As America marches toward the Civil War, Harry Wentworth, gentleman of distinction and journalist of renown, finds his calls for peaceful resolution have fallen on deaf—nay, hostile—ears. As such, he must finally resolve his own moral quandary: comment on the war from his influential—and safe—position in Northern Society, or make a news story and a target of himself South of the Mason-Dixon Line, in a city haunted by a life he has long since left behind?

The day-to-day struggle against countervailing forces, his personal and professional tragedies on both sides of the conflict, and the elegant and emotive writings that define him, all serve to illuminate the trials of this newsman’s crusade, irreparably altering his mind, his body, his spirit, and his purpose as an honorable man. Blind Tribute exposes the shifting stones of the moral high ground as Harry’s family and friendships, North and South, are shattered by his acts of conscience.


Sailing Home Series Giveaway

ROYAL REGARD

When Isabella, the Countess of Huntleigh, returns to England after fifteen years roaming the globe with her husband, an elderly diplomat, she finds herself in a locale more perilous than any in her travels—the Court of King George IV. As the newly elevated Earl and Countess settle into an unfamiliar life in London, this shy, not-so-young lady faces wicked agendas, society’s censure, and the realities of a woman soon to be alone in England.

Unaccustomed to the ways of the beau monde, she is disarmed and deceived by a dissolute duke and a noble French émigré with a silver tongue. Hindered by the meddling of her dying husband, not to mention the King himself, Bella must decide whether to choose one of her fascinating new suitors or the quiet country life she has searched the world to find.

‘TIS HER SEASON

A ROYAL REGARD PREQUEL NOVELLA

Charlotte Amberly would rather eat a lump of coal for Christmas dinner than marry the Marquess of Firthley, so when her parents cancel her London Season in favor of a rush to the altar, the feisty debutante takes husband-hunting into her own hands.

Alexander Marloughe, reluctant heir to a marquessate, would rather not spend his holiday dashing through the snow after a flibbertigibbet just out of the schoolroom, but no woman before Charlotte has ever led him such a merry chase.

SHIPMATE

A ROYAL REGARD PREQUEL NOVELLA

The heavy hands and sharp tongues of Bella Smithson’s family have left her almost too timid to converse with a gentleman, much less conduct a husband hunt. Unfortunately, her overbearing aunt and managing cousin are determined to help her escape her black-hearted father and brothers.

Thanks to the Prince of Wales, retiring shipping magnate Myron Clewes has an ever-growing fortune, a fresh-minted peerage, a brand-new flagship, and an impossible set of requirements for a bride. Not least, she must be willing to leave England and everything she knows, possibly for good, in less than two months’ time.

Bella’s Happy-Ever-After in Royal Regard had its origins in a Happier-Than-She-Expected with her first husband, Baron Holsworthy, who gave her the confidence to steady her sea legs, take her life by the helm, and command her own voice, empowering a shy, young girl and unlikely adventurer to grow into one of King George IV’s trusted advisors.

 

10 Things You Didn’t Know About Me

1.

I was almost an actor and singer. I spent my entire childhood and most of my teen years in voice training and acting lessons (I could never dance). When I was nineteen, my music professors pushed me to audition for the National Theater Conservatory, at the same time my English professors were helping me secure an internship at the Denver Post. I decided writing was a more stable career path (I was right), so I set out to learn to write anything. I’ve been a business and technical writer since then, in any number of different guises.

2.

I am also an award-winning graphic designer. I’ve been using graphic design software since Quark 1.0 (on a teeny-weeny Mac Classic), and Photoshop since before it was owned by Adobe. I started using Microsoft office on Windows 3.1 (after using WordPerfect in DOS for a few years) and am now an expert in Word and the Adobe Creative Suite.

3.

Due to my formative years singing show tunes, I love musicals. I am all but tone deaf now, after all these years, and I have long since forgotten how to read music, but I sing along (badly) at the top of my lungs in my car to any musical I know (and I know a lot of them). I am also a total Gleek (about the TV show, not whatever other nonsense is in Urban Dictionary).

4.

And on the topic of g[l]eekiness, I am a Harry Potter freak, and have a fairly sizable collection of books, movies, and companion volumes. (The Harry in my latest book is not, however, named after Potter. 😉) I can pretty much beat any Potter trivia game, whether about the books or the movies. I have a massive crush on Lucius Malfoy, both the literary and cinematic versions. (I have a thing for villains. What can I say?)

5.

I have both a high school diploma and a GED, after graduating a year early from an alternative high school. I also have a Bachelor’s degree in Writing, summa cum laude and With Distinction, and maintained a 4.0 GPA (during my second attempt at college in my 30s). My minors were in Creative Writing (Creative Non-Fiction) and Sociology (Religion). My Bachelor’s Honors Thesis, on the topic of religious conversion, took two years of primary research to complete, was 92 pages when finished, and satisfied requirements in both the English and Sociology Departments.

6.

I took [the equivalent of] College Algebra eight times in high school and college, and failed eight times. If it had been a requirement for my degree, I would not have applied to go back to school. I cannot be relied on to do any math, ever, at any level, under any circumstances. I’ve taken the same four consecutive French classes at least four times and passed every time, starting in middle school. I still do not know enough French to make my way around Paris.

7.

I can trace my maternal line back past the Battle of Hastings in 1066, to the Norman ancestor who was granted Baynard Castle in London. Another of my ancestors signed Charles I’s death warrant. I am related to the Count of Pappenheim, Germany, a title that dates back to 1628 (1030 as a Lordship) and is still in existence. Another of my ancestors was secretary to the Lords Proprietors, responsible for the initial disposition of land grants in South Carolina in the 1600s, who was granted an island off the coast of Charleston where members of my family lived until 1964.

Pappenheim Castle – 1140

Pappenhein Castle – 1593

Pappenheim Castle – current

8.

My great-great uncle, Percival Whaley, the model for the main character in my last historical fiction novel, ran the first business newsletter in the US, which preceded the Kiplinger Letter. Whaley-Eaton Business Service opened in 1918 with the American Letter and Foreign Letter, and published various publications into the 1960s. In addition to adapting Percy Whaley, I’ve fictionalized Whaley-Eaton as Wentworth and Hoyt Business Service in Blind Tribute (including moving the entire enterprise to a different time period). Whaley-Eaton has largely disappeared from the history books, but I’ve just recently connected with the grandson of Henry Eaton, and we are going to try to help place the Whaley-Eaton name in its proper place in the history of American journalism and American business.

9.

I have written about ten books (published six). I’ve published one book of poetry, two novels, two novellas, and a novelette in historical romance, and currently have two more in that genre mid-draft (all Regency-adjacent), and am serializing another historical romance (Victorian) with co-writer Jude Knight. I’ve also just released Blind Tribute, which is mainstream historical (with literary overtones). None of these, however, are my next series, The Lion’s Club, which is mainstream historical fiction, with nine books outlined and roughly drafted, based on my paternal grandmother’s childhood in Brooklyn, New York at the turn of the century.

10.

I share a name with a town, Estancia Mari Christie, in the Boquerón region of Paraguay, at coordinates 21° 22′ 54″ South, and 61° 15′ 26″ West. No one planned this, least of all me.

Gray Location Map of Estancia Mari Christie
Gray Location Map of Estancia Mari Christie


To find out more about me or my books, you can go check out my brand-new website at http://www.MariAnneChristie.com.

Cover Reveal!

THIRSTY

An Eastside Brewery Book

Publisher: Loveswept
Release Date: March 13, 2018

PRE-ORDER LINK (all retailers)
books2read.com/thirsty

ABOUT MIA HOPKINS
Award-winning author Mia Hopkins writes lush romances starring fun, sexy characters who love to get down and dirty. She’s a sucker for working class heroes, brainy heroines and wisecracking best friends. She lives in Los Angeles with her roguish husband and waggish dog.


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New Historical Fiction from Lawrence Hogue

This letter from Anthony Cranford, Lord Burnside, to Miss Elizabeth Collington was never posted, the reasons for which may become clear once the reader reaches the end.

Miss Elizabeth Collington

The Parsonage, Leighton, Devonshire

Dear Elizabeth,

My apologies for the impropriety of corresponding with you, but my conscience will allow me to do no other, for I owe you a much greater apology after the events of last week in Bath. To have appeared before you in such a disordered, dissolute state was far from my intention, and I beg your forgiveness. The behavior of Petersly and Hartwood toward you and Mrs. Burgess was unforgivable, and I have now permanently and forcefully separated myself from their acquaintance. I can only hope you will overlook my association with such scoundrels. My only excuse can be that this is the company into which Father thrust me, their own fathers being among his closest allies in the House of Lords. I see now that I have allowed myself to be too much ruled by my father – and in more ways than this.

One question remains about that dreadful night. Did I truly see Mrs. Burgess throw Hartwood to the ground, or was that the fog of drink clouding my vision? Not that he didn’t deserve it, and of course he was as unsteady on his feet as I, but still – her actions seemed unladylike, not to mention indicative of some form of martial training. And afterward, in her behavior toward you as she chided me over Lady Mary, she seemed almost jealous, as if I were somehow a threat to her acquaintance with you. I know that female friendships are quite in vogue, but they can be carried too farI hope you have not formed an inappropriate – I can only call her behavior strange.

As for Lady Mary, I feel compelled to tell you there is nothing between us, nor between me and the three or four other “suitable young ladies” my parents have paraded before me.

For surely you must know, you are the only woman who has ever had a claim on my heart. I knew it from my first weeks at Eton, when you were the person I missed the most. And since then my attachment has only grown, during those few – too few! – occasions between my terms at university which have allowed us to continue our acquaintance.

I know what you will say to yourself as you read this – as your looks and demeanor have told me many times before, though never in so many words – that there can be no chance for a match between an Earl’s son and a vicar’s daughter. I can only hope that this is the only impediment to your considering a match with me, and that you return my feelings in some small measure – and that no other has engaged your affections in my absence.

If heretofore you doubted my will to defy my father, on this and on many other matters, doubt it no more. From this day forward I will stand as my own man. I will have you as my wife, even if my parents disown me, destining me to become the poorest Earl in the kingdom – if only you will have me.

Tomorrow I leave town for Leighton, where I will do what I should have done the moment the highwayman accosted you in my carriage – track down the rogue and bring him to justice. That I have not done so before is perhaps my greatest shame over these past months. I mean to do it myself, but I will call on the services of Bow Street if I must. Protecting his people is a nobleman’s sacred duty, a duty my father too often overlooks, preoccupied as he is by affairs in Parliament or on his West Indian plantations – another of our disagreements. I will now take up the duties he neglects, and first among them, righting the wrong the highwayman did to you. By such means, I aim to re-establish myself in your regard and your affections.

The letter ended there, its author no doubt having realized that such sentiments would be better expressed in person, and that he could travel to Devonshire nearly as quickly as the mail coach.


About  the Book

Twenty-year-old Elizabeth Collington, the proper and obedient daughter of a Devonshire clergyman, believes herself beyond girlish romances. But when a highwayman steals a kiss, along with her departed mother’s necklace, Elizabeth experiences feelings of which her father would never approve. Soon after this unsettling event, a young widow arrives in the village, catching Elizabeth by surprise as their friendship advances quickly to the deepest intimacy she has ever known. Yet the highwayman will not leave her alone, filling her mind with ideas of revolution and her body with sensations of the greatest impropriety. Amidst this swirl of conflicting feelings, Elizabeth hardly has time to consider Anthony, son of the neighboring Earl, whose halting courtship holds out her one slim chance at an establishment in life. Will Elizabeth choose the conventional path, honoring her duty to her father and safeguarding her reputation? Or will she follow the demands of her heart, pursuing a love even less proper than that for a highwayman?

A comedy of manners wrapped around a Gothic tale, a mashup of Jane Austen, Alfred Noyes’ poem “The Highwayman,” Ellen Kushner’s Riverside series, and Robin Hood, Daring and Decorum makes a passionate case for the freedom to love whom one chooses. You might call it, “Racier than Jane Austen, better-written than Fifty Shades of Grey.” Or maybe, “Regency Romance, minus the hunky, shirtless lords.” (What’s left, you ask? Let Elizabeth show you! )

Buy Links for Daring and Decorum:

Amazon | Amazon UK | B&NWebsite | Smashwords


Excerpt

In this scene at the Theatre Royal in Bath, Elizabeth and her widowed friend, Mrs. Rebecca Burgess, are watching Dora Jordan’s performance as Rosalind in “As You Like It.”

I was surprised when Mrs. Jordan received an ovation on her first entrance, for I had never before seen a star of the stage; when I turned to Rebecca in surprise, she assured me it was quite regular. But when Rosalind entered as Ganymede, “suited all points like a man” and exhibiting “a swashing and a martial outside,” the play nearly came to a halt as the audience murmured and some even gasped. The company must have prepared for this disruption, having Rosalind and Celia make a show of their fatiguing trek through the forest before uttering their first lines in the scene, giving the audience ample opportunity to survey them. Mrs. Jordan wore knee breeches that fit her legs like the fingers of a glove, and ankle-high shoes instead of boots, the better to show off the sensuous curves of her calves outlined in the snuggest of silk stockings. Her hair extended just to her collar, making her seem even more like a boy, yet there was also something feminine about her, so that we could never forget that underneath Ganymede’s dress was the woman, Rosalind.

The effect of seeing a woman arrayed in such garb, and strutting about the stage in the wide-legged stance of a man, is such as I can hardly describe. Many others in the audience must have felt the same, for the men leaned forward in their seats, and the fans of the women beat the air all the faster. I too found myself craning my neck for a better look, and felt flushed. Only Rebecca seemed unaffected, leaning back in her seat with just a hint of a smile and an appraising look in her eye. Then she turned to me. “Well? Is she everything you expected?”

“Oh, yes!” I replied, though Mrs. Jordan had yet to utter her first line as Ganymede. When she did, her voice was changed. She had made it lower and huskier, to sound more like a man, yet losing none of the energy and affability that made her performance so appealing. Even in her moments of raillery with Orlando, or chiding Phebe, she had such a good-humored nature to her that the audience could not take her for a shrew or a scold. More, on Mrs. Jordan’s lips, the words were not like speeches at all, but always had the freshness of a new thought or feeling she had discovered only that moment.

The scene in which Ganymede first encountered Phebe was perhaps the strangest in the play, the director having chosen to play it broadly. When Ganymede asked, “Why do you look on me?”, Phebe practically threw herself at him; when Ganymede said, “I think she means to tangle my eyes too,” Phebe leaned up for a kiss, Ganymede averting his face at the last moment (sending another murmur of nervous laughter through the audience); and when Ganymede ordered Phebe “down on your knees,” Phebe knelt and threw her arms around Ganymede’s waist as if she would never let go (to uproarious jeers). I hazarded a glance at Rebecca to see that she no longer sat back in detachment, but was leaning forward, as engrossed as I. She caught my eye and gave me a wink.

When the play neared its end, and all the confusions had been sorted out through Rosalind’s “magic,” I couldn’t help feeling a bit deflated. The four marriages at the end seemed much too neat.

Rebecca must have felt the same, though she sang Mrs. Jordan’s praises and had always shown an appreciation for this above all of Shakespeare’s works. “As much as I enjoy the play,” she said as we made our way into the aisle behind the boxes, “I’m always a little heartbroken for Celia. Here she has forsworn her inheritance, denied her father’s wishes, and left her home and place in society, all because she cannot bear to be parted from her dear Rosalind. And no sooner is all this done than Rosalind throws her heart after Orlando and enlists Celia’s help to try his love for her.”

“Yet surely the love of a friend and the love of a husband are different.” I adjusted my fichu as we walked, in expectation of the colder air outside the theatre. “And what is to prevent their remaining the closest of companions?”

“I have seen it too many times, friends drift apart once they have husbands and children. And it happens so quickly! I know Celia must have been hurt, as you saw when she abused Orlando for being an unfaithful lover. She was simply jealous! This business of Celia falling instantly in love with Oliver—it’s nothing but a paltry attempt to cover her wounded feelings.”

“You sound so cynical, like Jaques the other night! Do you not believe in love at first sight?”

She turned her gaze on me. “Strangely enough, I do.”

Buy Links for Daring and Decorum:

Amazon | Amazon UK | B&NWebsite | Smashwords


About Lawrence Hogue

Lawrence Hogue’s writing is all over the place and all over time. He started out in nonfiction/nature writing with a personal narrative/environmental history of the Anza-Borrego Desert called All the Wild and Lonely Places: Journeys in a Desert Landscape. After moving to Michigan, he switched to writing fiction, including contemporary stories set in the desert and fanfiction based on the videogame Skyrim. He’s a fan of folk music, and got the idea for Daring and Decorum while listening to Loreena McKennitt’s outstanding adaptation of Alfred Noyes’ poem, The Highwayman. When not speaking a word for nature or for forgotten LGBT people of history, he spends his white-knighting, gender-betraying energies on Twitter and Facebook, and sometimes on the streets of Lansing, MI, and Washington DC. He’s been called a Social Justice Warrior, but prefers Social Justice Wizard or perhaps Social Justice Lawful Neutral Rogue.

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Pinterest | Amazon

Melissa Ann Spotlight Tour

 Spotlight for Melissa Ann

Series: A Silent Canvas
Title: A Silent Canvas Part One
Author: Melissa Ann
Genre: Historical Romance
$0.99
 
BLURB:

 

When Sarah has just about given up any hope of finding love in her small town, James a widower with a dark past literally comes to the rescue. It soon becomes clear that fate has brought them together for a reason, a chance for Sarah to find love and for James, finding someone to teach him how to forgive himself and to learn to love again. James moved to Black Rock, a small isolated town to escape his past, but a misunderstanding soon brings everything he is trying so hard to forget crashing in the present, opening Sarah’s eyes to some of his darkness. She knows she loves him but can she possibly entertain a future with a man that doesn’t possess the ability to trust?
EXCERPT:

 

The rain is now falling at a steady beat but I refuse to leave my little girl’s grave. With my finger, I trace over the name Amity, which has been delicately engraved into the headstone by my husband, himself. The rain does well to disguise the tears that flow freely down my face, as I lie on the ground beside the headstone. I have an incredible longing to hold my precious child once more. Amity’s death was an unnecessary crime, committed at the hand of someone I had loved very much and someone I never suspected had such darkness inside. Although Edmund is buried on our property, Amity was laid to rest at the local churchyard surrounded by our family and friends. She was loved by everyone and had the unique ability to lift anybody’s spirits with just her presence.
James and I have suffered so much heartache in the past two weeks, I don’t know if I can find the strength to stand up and make the long dreary walk home. As the rain soaks through my clothing, I can feel the cold penetrating my skin and I start to shiver uncontrollably. My eyelids feel heavy and I suspect that it is a result of all the sleepless nights I have been experiencing. All I need is just a little nap and I will feel better…
TEASERS:

 

 
Title: A Silent Canvas Part Two
Author: Melissa Ann
Genre:
Historical Romance
$2.99
 
 
BLURB:

Sarah feels that being alone is much safer for her heart but when a family tragedy forces James to leave Black Rock, she bravely travels to a strange town to comfort him. After James reveals all of his secrets, Sarah agrees to marry him and together they begin their new life. They’re both anxious to start a family, but it’s not happening as quickly as they would like, until they take Edmund and Amity into their home. They raise Edmund and Amity as their own, so when an unexpected tragedy occurs at the hands of someone they love, leaving both children dead, they are devastated beyond belief.
Will their marriage survive this tragedy? Will the secret that Sarah is keeping from James bring them closer together or push them apart?

 



EXCERPT:

“There’s like a hundred buttons. I’ll never get this dress off you. Whoever made this dress certainly didn’t have the events that occur at the culmination of a wedding in mind.”
“Just think of it as unwrapping a present. Your growing anticipation as you become closer to discovering the treasure that lies within the layers you are unwrapping.” I can feel James press his lips down my spine as each button is released, causing a shiver to run through my body.
“Mmmmm, a present, I like that and just so you’re aware… something’s growing all right but it’s not my anticipation.” James whispers into my ear, his lips so close I can feel his breath tickling against my face. I almost melted into a puddle at James’s feet. I’m not even sure my legs will be able to hold me up much longer because his words made me weak with longing. James presses into my back and I can feel his erection, hard and eager to be touched. It’s impossible for me to stop myself from reaching behind me to grasp him in my fist.
Standing back, James pushes my hand away. “You’ve already unwrapped your present, it isn’t proper etiquette to play with your gift before the other guest unwraps theirs.” I let out a low growl of frustration, which James evidently finds amusing if his laughter is any indicator.

TEASERS:

 

 

Title: A Silent Canvas Part Three
Author: Melissa Ann
Genre: Historical Romance
$2.99
BLURB:

 

Little did James
realize the impact opening the letter would have on his life. The letter his
dead father left for him to find
Family secrets
that have remained buried for over two decades surface, leaving James floundering
and wondering what to do.
Certain events
that unfold has James questioning the accuracy of his father’s letter. Will
James finally find the answers he needs to bury the family secrets once and for
all or will he uncover more than he bargained for ?

 

EXCERPT:
As the sun moves
to its most radiant spot in the sky the warmth softens the earth beneath our
feet. We continue to take turns in silence, and with each shovelful of earth,
my apprehension grows. When I’m not shoveling, I am pacing the forest floor, in
an attempt to get rid of the pent-up energy that is humming through my body.
When that doesn’t work, I was begin breaking sticks from fallen branches.
“James, I think I
found something,” Benjamin says quietly. My head whips in his direction, my
heartbeat racing in my chest. I take a deep breath and head over to the hole.
Looking down, I can see what Benjamin is referencing. There is a wooden box at
the bottom of the hole. It’s not very big, but it wouldn’t have to be for a
small child. I take the shovel and start digging around the perimeter of the
box to make it more accessible. I can’t seem to shovel fast enough, and I don’t
stop, even when my arms are screaming and shaking with fatigue. The lid is
sealed tightly, so I start working away at it with the shovel, each stroke
splintering the wood a little more. I start yanking the pieces of wood off the
box, cutting my hands in the process. Benjamin gets in the hole with me and
starts helping me. By the time we’ve cleared away the wood from the top of the
box I can barely close my hands, that’s how mangled they are, but I don’t feel
the pain anymore. I am holding my breath and it is silent aside from the sound
of my heart beating anxiously. I peer into the box and it’s empty. I start to
sob and I can’t pinpoint the exact reason why.

AMAZON UNIVERSAL BOOK LINK

 

TEASERS:
 
 
Series: Unbound by His Love
Title: Unbound by His Love
Author: Melissa Ann
Genre: Contemporary/Suspense Romance
$FREE

 

18+ For mature audience
Newly engaged to Tyler,
Michelle needed to get away,
To escape her controlling fiancé,
So, to Durham College she goes to stay.
Surrounded by friends and a certain boy named Jax,
Michelle finally feels like she belongs.
Jax is a dream come true,
But Tyler’s possessiveness stays strong.
Michelle knows who her heart should pick,
The bass guitarist for a Christian Rock band.
But her boyfriend Tyler doesn’t like to give up what’s his,
Can Michelle risk Jaxon taking a stand?
EXCERPT:
I walk over to my stereo and press play. Linkin Park’s, “Breaking the Habit” breaks the silence. I sit on the carpeted floor and with shaky hands, I carefully pull the cloth away from the instrument of pain nestled inside.
 Tears sting my eyes and I can feel my heart rate accelerate … Is it fear? Adrenaline? Or is it the trepidation of giving into my craving … my addiction. I run my finger along its surface feeling the urge start to take a stronger hold and my resolve is fading fast. Taking the x-acto knife in my hand, I submit to the addiction. I run the tip of my finger along the edge of the fresh blade and watch in fascination as blood starts to drip and land on the carpet. Pressing the blade against my inner arm I add enough pressure that the tip cuts into my skin. A euphoric feeling floods my body as the blade cuts deeper and the emotional pain is no longer there. The anger of the music speaks to me, consumes me… I hate my life, I hate the way I look, I can’t do anything right, no wonder no one wants me, I no longer want to feel…. I press down on the blade a little bit harder. Looking towards the ceiling, I plead once again with God. “Please let me die. Why won’t you listen to me? I am begging you to end my misery. I have nothing to live for!” My grip on the blade slips and I realize it’s from the blood covering the handle. So much blood… I feel woozy as I look at the open wound on my arm. I am unable to see how bad it really is because of the blood that continues to weep from the wound. The rivulets of blood painting a trail along my arm, bears a striking resemblance to tears… it’s my soul weeping for me. With each beat of my heart I can feel my soul fading.
 What have I done? I’ve never cut this deep before. Stumbling to the bathroom, I push my way through the darkness that is starting to cloud my vision. I can’t pass out… I can’t pass out. I now have a new focus and it’s to slow down the bleeding. I lean on the bathroom counter for support, resting my bloodied hands on the surface. Looking into the mirror I am terrified at the person staring back at me. I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m lost in the maze of life and have yet to find the exit. It seems at every turn there’s a dead end, and with each wall I meet my sense of hope diminishes. My blood covered hands make it almost impossible to get a grip on the knob to the linen closet but through the use of both hands I manage to open the door and grab a towel from the shelf. I slide my back down the bathroom wall and after haphazardly wrapping the towel around my arm; I lay on the mat that lies beside the counter and close my eyes.
TEASERS:

 

Title: Unbound by His Love 2
Author: Melissa Ann
Genre: Contemporary/Suspense Romance
$2.99

 

BLURB:
****For Mature Audiences 18+***
A decision was made
Michelle chose the one
That would make her as happy as can be
And her heart they had won
Michelle knows relationships aren’t easy
Challenges there will be
But what they’ll endure
Makes Michelle want to flee
The love of her life
Has been threatened, you see
So now once again a decision must be made
A difficult one indeed.
There will be jealousy and threats
A surprise at the end
Someone making the ultimate sacrifice for love
And a heart that might never mend.
EXCERPT:
I start to turn back to the front of the lecture hall to listen to the professor when a paper missile comes flying at my head. It bounces off my face and lands on my notebook. Opening it up I recognize Michelle’s writing right away.
Kings of Leon – Sex is on Fire
Now I’m adjusting myself. How am I supposed to focus after a note like that? Brody is snickering beside me. It’s quite obvious he must have read the note over my shoulder. I lean my head on the back of the seat, take deep cleansing breaths and think about naked, wrinkly old ladies. I shudder at the thought but it worked. I’m now back in the zone… the learning mode. Although I would like to be in another zone…like Michelle’s erogenous zone…between her legs…sinking into her hot, wet core…Oh crap…naked wrinkly old ladies…naked wrinkly old ladies.
I turn the piece of paper over and write…
Baby I’ll treat you like my homework – I’ll slam you on the table and do you all night long.
I bunch the note up once again and toss it over Michelle’s shoulder. Jenni reaches down to pick it up and as she starts opening the paper up Michelle grabs it out of her hand and shakes her head playfully. She opens the paper and after reading what I wrote she tosses her head back and silently laughs, her shoulders shaking. She peeks at me over her shoulder and winks.
And back to my mantra I go… naked wrinkly old ladies…naked wrinkly old ladies.
TEASERS:

 

 


Title: Unbound by His Love 3
Author: Melissa Ann
Genre: Contemporary/Suspense Romance
$2.99
BLURB:
*** For mature audiences 18+***
Sacrifice of a love affair…
Hearts broken
Questions unanswered
Pasts intertwined
And blackmail spoken
Michelle’s number one priority was keeping Jax safe but she soon discovers that perhaps it was a tragic mistake.
Why isn’t he looking for me?
Has he forgotten me already?
I’m drowning in a sea of darkness
Please save me from this misery.
Since the first moment he laid eyes on Michelle, Jax knew she was “the one”, but her constant need to run from their relationship has him wondering if she cares about him at all.
Why did she leave me?
She took a part of me that day
Things just aren’t adding up
I just can’t stay away.
EXCERPT:
Michelle turns her back towards me and drops her towel to the floor. I lick my lips as I take in every delicious curve of her body. She peeks over her shoulder and crooks her finger in a “come and get it” kind of way. Of course, it was a very hard decision to make… NOT… and I follow her like a lost puppy dog, or maybe it was a hungry dog… but before I follow her, I grab the bowl of whipped cream.
I set the bowl of whipped cream on the bed, and Michelle’s eyebrows lift up in amusement, her eyes unable to hide the desire burning in them. Pointing at the bowl she says, “Are you hungry?”
“Uh-huh. I want my dessert.” I cup the back of her neck and I slant my mouth over hers, luxuriating in the softness of her lips moving against mine. Before I pull away, I gently bite her lip. My hand cups her breast and my thumb caresses her already turgid nipple. Leaning down, I take her nipple in my mouth and using my tongue I circle it, my cock growing even harder when I hear her moan. I gently ease her back on the bed, and grabbing a spoonful of whipped cream, I cover her nipples with it. I lap the sugary cream off her nipples, and follow the white dessert laden trail to the landing strip that so adequately points me in the direction of where I must go. Picking up the spoon, I paint her hot core with more dessert topping. Running my tongue along the folds of her pussy, I swirl the tip of my tongue around her clit.
“Oh god, Jax that feels so good. Is dessert to your liking?” She speaks to me in a husky voice.
“Oh yeah, baby. You taste so good.” I place Michelle’s legs over my shoulder and continue to lap at her hot center, absorbing the sounds of her quickening breath and groans of pleasure. My cock is as hard as granite and pushing against the fabric binding it.
“Jaxon!” Michelle screams my name as an orgasm rips through her body.
I’m shaking with pent up sexual energy. I have to be buried in her right now. I reach my hand out to help Michelle up from the bed. She complies, but her eyebrows are scrunched with confusion. I turn her around so she’s bent over with her hands resting on the bed. My lips brush along her spine.
“Is this okay?” I wait for her to grant me permission. This is my favorite position, and at one time hers as well, but I never want to do anything that would make her feel uncomfortable or scared.
“Yes.” Her voice is trembling but I don’t think its fear, but rather desire.
“Are you sure?” I ask again.
“Jax if you don’t fuck me right now then… I don’t know what I’d do, just do it already.” She almost growls with frustration.
TEASERS:

 

 

 

 

ANTHOLOGIES
Title: This Beautiful Escape Vol.One
$2.99
BLURB:
18+ Mature Audience
Open this book each day for an inspirational message written by some of your favourite authors.
This Anthology is special because each author that contributed has shared a piece of their heart with each and every reader.
This book is about spreading love and hope through the written word.
All proceeds will be donated to Ataxia Canada.
TEASER:
Title: This Beautiful Escape Vol. Two
$2.99

 

 
BLURB:
18+ Mature Audience
Open this book each day for an inspirational message written by some of your favourite authors.
This Anthology is special because each author that contributed has shared a piece of their heart with each and every reader.
This book is about spreading love and hope through the written word.
All proceeds will be donated to Ataxia Canada.
TEASER:

 

Title: The Phoenix
Author: Melissa Ann
Genre: Poetry/Story Book
$0.99

 

BLURB:
Happy
Birthday, David!
Here
is a story.
A
story for you.
Happy
Birthday, my friend.
All
that I wrote is true.
All
proceeds are donated to Ataxia Canada.
 
 Title: Solace In Silence
Author: Melissa Ann
Genre:
Poetry

$0.99
 





BLURB:


 

Sometimes in our darkest moments,
When we can’t tell the lies from what’s true,
When we don’t have the strength to go on,
The love of a friend helps us get through.
Solace in Silence,
Is my personal fight,
Through poetry,
From darkness to light.
EXCERPT:
One Day
Give me your hand,
I’ll help lift you up.
Let me hold you near,
And you can tell me what’s up.
You’ve been hurt in the past,
You have been broken down.
Instead of hating who did this,
You blame yourself, I can see it in your frown.
You hold the world on your shoulders,
Sometimes you wish you didn’t feel so much,
But this is the gift you’ve been given,
And you must accept it as such.
You fight the demons,
Every single day.
Most days you win,
But some days you’re too tired to slay.
If you look
Deep within your soul,
You’ll see a light,
Do you see the dim glow?
Just have faith,
In who you are.
And one day,
That light will grow.
So look at how far you have come,
Not how far you need to go.
As long as you keep fighting,
One day you won’t feel as low.
TEASERS:

 


 
AUTHOR BIO:

 

Melissa lives in the Great White North in her spacious igloo with her two daughters, one of which is a mermaid, the other a unicorn. When she is not writing, she is riding her moose and wrestling with her polar bear. Due to the demand of her books, she was forced to train her hamsters to guard her home, as she typed out what the crazy voices in her head demanded.
She’s an avid supporter of World Wildlife Fund and makes an effort to involve herself as well as her family in fundraising campaigns for various charities. Melissa has an Employment Counsellor Diploma from Fleming College, but she prefers writing stories over resumes.
Presently she has nine books published in a variety of genres, which include Poetry, and Historical and Contemporary Romance.
Her Work in Progress is an Urban Fantasy titled, Mirrored Souls will be published soon.

 

SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:

 

 

 

David S. Scott Spotlight Tour (Rated R)

David S. Scott

Spotlight

The Phoenix Series
Genre: Erotica
Deep In You
By David S. Scott
$1.99 or free with KU
Blurb:
My name is Alexander Phoenix. You’ve probably heard of me, most people have. I’ve won numerous awards and medals all over the world, including the last two Olympics Games. Outside gymnastics, I’m untamable. Many have tried, none have succeeded. They’ve called me a playboy, a philanderer…
 
Until a chance meeting in a bar with her almost proves to be a disaster for both of us. She’s hot, fascinating and, despite the fact that she poses a risk to me because she’s a tabloid reporter, I can’t help but feel drawn to her. 
 
What are her secrets? Who wants to hurt her? 
 
I’ve never shied away from challenges. Why should I start now?
©David S Scott 2016
☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°• 
☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•
¸.•*´)¸.•*´)¸.•Excerpt from Deep in You♡¸¸.•*´)¸.•*´)
By David S. Scott
$1.99
Power.
Strength.
Control.
These were the attributes I valued, lived by. They had become my mantra. 
 
Power. Watching the gymnasts as a child had fascinated me, and my parents had been quick to capitalize on this and enroll me in classes. It got me out from underfoot, and I loved the feeling of power and strength that coursed through my body. I learned to contort myself into impossible positions and hold them until the exertion almost proved too much… and then push myself even further. 
 
Strength. Gymnastics had taught me much about myself. I craved a good challenge; the thrill of winning seduced me. I was damned good at it, too. Over the course of my career, I’d won five gold medals and four silver in the last two Olympic Games, as well as countless other awards in other forums. Much more civilized than contact sports, gymnastics tested both my mind and body. On an apparatus, there was only me. Not my competitors. Not my coach. My greatest opponent was always, and would always be, myself. 
 
Control. Power and strength are great, but without control you run into trouble. I employ control in every aspect of my life. Exercise, my free time, and sex. Especially sex.
©David S Scott 2016
☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆
☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆
¸.•*´)¸.•*´)¸.•Excerpt from Deep in You♡¸¸.•*´)¸.•*´)
By David S. Scott
$1.99
I placed her glass on the table and took her hand, tugging her hard into me and kissing her. Her hand snaked around my neck while both of mine dropped down onto her ass. I kneaded her round curves, my tongue plunging insistently into her mouth. My body came alive. Tingles raced all over my skin. My cock throbbed for her. She knew it, too. She grinned against my mouth and hummed appreciatively. Her other hand reached between us and found my erection, stroking me through my clothes. Shit. We weren’t going to make it upstairs; I needed her now. Right now. I felt reckless and lightheaded, and it was making me behave in a way that wasn’t normal for me. I had somehow allowed her to take control and I couldn’t have that. My house, my life, my rules. Making a snap decision, I changed direction and almost carried her toward the guest room. Without breaking our kiss, I unbuttoned my shirt and removed my tie. Shrugging them off, I wrenched myself away long enough to pull her shirt over her head, then pulled her back against me. My tongue pressed into her mouth, stroking, rubbing, exploring.
©David S Scott 2016
☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆ 
☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆

 

¸.•*´)¸.•*´)¸.•Excerpt from Deep in You♡¸¸.•*´)¸.•*´)
By David S. Scott
$1.99

I placed her glass on the table and took her hand, tugging her hard into me and kissing her. Her hand snaked around my neck while both of mine dropped down onto her ass. I kneaded her round curves, my tongue plunging insistently into her mouth. My body came alive. Tingles raced all over my skin. My cock throbbed for her. She knew it, too. She grinned against my mouth and hummed appreciatively. Her other hand reached between us and found my erection, stroking me through my clothes. Shit. We weren’t going to make it upstairs; I needed her now. Right now. I felt reckless and lightheaded, and it was making me behave in a way that wasn’t normal for me. I had somehow allowed her to take control and I couldn’t have that. My house, my life, my rules. Making a snap decision, I changed direction and almost carried her toward the guest room. Without breaking our kiss, I unbuttoned my shirt and removed my tie. Shrugging them off, I wrenched myself away long enough to pull her shirt over her head, then pulled her back against me. My tongue pressed into her mouth, stroking, rubbing, exploring.

©David S Scott 2016
☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆
☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆

 

¸.•*´)¸.•*´)¸.•Excerpt from Deep in You♡¸¸.•*´)¸.•*´)
By David S. Scott
$1.99
 

Lily moaned, deep and throaty. “I need you, Xander. Now, please.”


I lined myself up and thrust into her. We both gasped. I had been right; she was incredibly tight, her pussy squeezing me. I paused, buried balls deep inside her. “Did I hurt you?”



She scratched at my back like a tiger while she dug her heels into my ass, encouraging me to move. “I’m fine. Please, Xander…”



I began to move, slow and deliberate at first, quickly gaining speed as we lost ourselves in each other. Lily screamed, her nails raking my back. I moved my forearms to press into her shoulders, allowing me to thrust even deeper, plunge myself even harder, faster. I pivoted my hips to be sure my cock hit her g-spot. 



“Oh… God, yes, Xander. Fuck! Just like that,” she moaned. “Like that. Don’t ever stop.”



There it was. “Don’t stop.” Those words had me fighting for my self-control. No way was I stopping until she was finished, no matter how crazy she made me, how much I needed to come. I put my mouth to her ear. “You feel so tight. So perfect. I can’t get enough,” I growled. “I could fuck you again and again, all night long. That sweet cunt is heaven for my cock.”



“I’m so close.”



“Let go, baby. Come for me.” I bit down on her lower lip and thrust myself deep into her as I felt the first tremor wrack her body, her tight pussy squeezing me in rhythmic bursts. 



“Yes, oh God, Xander. Oh God, I’m coming.”



I pumped into her twice more, then pushed deep as I could and stilled. My whole body tingled in the split second before my orgasm ripped through me. We rode out our climaxes together, my feathered kisses soft on her lips. 



“Xander?”



“Mmm.”



“That was…”



I withdrew myself from her depths and rolled to the side. I pulled off the condom, then gathered her in my arms and kissed her just under her ear. “I know, Lily. I know.” 

©David S Scott 2016

☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°• 
☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•

 

 

Book Two of The Phoenix Series
Deeper In You
Genre: Erotic Romance
By David S. Scott
$2.99 or free with KU
Blurb:
I’ve lost everything …
 
And I mean everything. Once a household name, now just a broken shell. Lily has left me and taken my entire future with her. I just want to sleep and never wake up. Forget love, forget passion. All of it. I’m done. 
 
My Name is Alexander Phoenix, former Olympic gymnast. I was once known as the X-Wing, as the man who flies. Make that flew… 
 
Can I salvage my future and reclaim my place as the man I used to be? Or does fate have something else in store? Haunted by ghosts of the past, I must find the strength to move on and find my path. Broken hearts still beat, right?
 
I’ve never shied away from challenges. Why should I start now? 

©David S Scott 2016  
☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆
☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆
¸.•*´)¸.•*´)¸.•Excerpt from Deeper in You♡¸¸.•*´)¸.•*´)
By David S. Scott
$2.99

“You’re so tense, Xander. So tightly wound.” Before I knew what was happening, her hand was on the back of my neck. She rubbed and massaged the base of my neck and the back of my head. I leaned forward, placing my elbows on the table and my face in my hands. Her fingers were tantalizingly cool, and I moaned in spite of myself. I was tense, and her hand on me felt so good. Too good. Her touch meant too much, and I found it harder and harder to remind myself that we could never be more than friends. This wouldn’t do.
 
“You don’t have to do that,” I murmured. She needed to stop. I liked it far too much. My cock had instantly hardened in response to her touch. I was so turned on, yet knew it was wrong. I considered escaping to the bathroom to splash some water on my face and get a grip, but I knew if I stood, or even leaned back, she’d see my obvious erection. I was held captive here at the table. No escape from her touch.
 
“I like doing it, though. You seem to be enjoying it, too.”
 
“What?” I glanced at her, but her expression seemed innocent enough. Almost playful.

“You’re moaning, silly.”
 
“You have magic hands.” Did she ever. She occasionally scratched at my scalp with her nails. It was so erotic, so sensual. I wanted her to continue forever, while needing her to stop. My cock strained against my pants, so I didn’t dare move. I wished she’d massage that.
©David S Scott 2016

☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆
☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆

 

 

Igniting Passions
By David S. Scott
Genre: Poetry and Short Stories
$0.99
Blurb:
Passion…It’s what drives us. Connects us. Our passions make us who we are, define who
and what we love.

This is a collection of poetry and prose designed to speak to all the different
types of passion within us.

Let the words found on these pages wash over you. Allow them to move your
spirit and speak to your soul.

Open your hearts and minds for Igniting Passions.


.•°*°•..•°*°•..•°*°•..•°*°•..•°*°•..•°*°•.
Amazon Universal Book Link
.•°*°•..•°*°•..•°*°•..•°*°•..•°*°•..•°*°•.
 
Igniting Passions
By David S. Scott
Genre: Poetry and Short Stories
$0.99
 
¸.•*´)¸.•*´)¸.•Poem from Igniting Passions♡¸¸.•*´)¸.•*´)
By David S. Scott
$0.99

~*~Daydreamer~*~
 
The taste of your lips intoxicates my soul, 
Your mouth is as delicious as the finest of wine. 
Our tongues dance an erotic tango; vying for control. 
Dreams of more to come if I could make you mine.
 
I’d like to peel all your clothes from you, 
Allow my eyes to feast on your beautiful form … 
If you could read my dark desires, it’s true, 
I bet you’d run, or would you give in to the storm?
 
Wish I could feel you tremble at my touch, 
Your legs would shake, your toes curled tight. 
Nails dug into my flesh, sensations too much, 
Climaxes reached, screams silenced by gentle bite.
 
But instead, only your lips shall I kiss, 
And dream of a day it shall be like this.
©David S Scott 2016
 
☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆
☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆

 

 

 

 

Santa’s Son
By David S. Scott
Genre: Erotic Novella
$0.99
Blurb:
What do you think of when you picture elves? Could they be real? What about other fantasy beings? What about… Santa Claus?
 
Shawn is accustomed to living life the way he wants to. He has no responsibilities, no one to answer to. He comes and goes as he pleases, traveling the world, looking for fulfillment. 
 
But all that is about to change…
 
Santa’s sick and getting old. This year, he’ll be replaced by his son. Will you be on the naughty list?
©David S Scott 2016
 
☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆
☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆
¸.•*´)¸.•*´)¸.•Excerpt from Santa’s Son♡¸¸.•*´)¸.•*´)
By David S. Scott
$0.99
Passions have always ruled my family. 
 
Always. My father’s name is Pelznickel, but he has been called many things throughout the millennia. Saint Nicholas. Kris Kringle. Santa Claus. 
 
Yes. That Santa Claus. The man who’s brought joy to the children of the world for thousands of years. People have thought him a child’s story, a myth.
 
I spared a glance over my shoulder to ensure the redhead was gone and I was alone. Satisfied, I rubbed my right index finger along the side of my nose. A feeling of pins and needles covered me, as if my entire body had lost circulation. In a way, it had. The warm sandy beach I’d been walking on blurred and swirled in my vision, quickly being replaced by my bedroom.
 
The first few times I’d ever teleported, I’d been convinced I’d stayed still and the world had moved around me. Now I knew better. 
 
Frantic knocking greeted my arrival.
 
“What is it?” I called.
 
“Master Schonesgeschenk, your father is looking for you.”
 
Fighting the urge to roll my eyes, I strode to the door. The fat little gnome waiting for me on the other side was dressed in thick green robes with white trim. His long white beard nearly reached his waist.
 
“Astlin, how many times must I ask you to call me Shawn? It’s just Shawn, I swear.”
©David S Scott 2016

☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆
☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆.•°*°•.☆

 

 

 

David S. Scott’s Bio
David S. Scott is a new author of erotica and erotic romance novels. After finishing his debut novels, Deep In You and its sequel Deeper In You, he is moving on to several other projects, including an erotic paranormal tentatively titled Obsidian Angel. He is in his mid-thirties and happily married, and has a bit of a wicked sense of humor. When not writing, David can be found reading a variety of genres or playing “nerd games” like Dungeons and Dragons with his friends. David loves interacting with people and meeting new friends, so please be sure to follow him on his author page: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorDavidScott
Public Signings:
 
Tampa Indie Author Book Convention
Sunday, July 16th, 2017
CHIC Venue
1339 E. Fletcher Ave
Tampa, FL 33612
 
Reader & Writer Tampa 2017
Saturday, August 19, 2017
12p-4p
Double Tree by Hilton Hotel Tampa Airport – Westshore
4500 West Cypress Street
Tampa, Florida 33607
 
Indie Bookfest 2017
September 28th to Oct 1st, 2017
The Westin Lake Mary, Orlando North
2974 International Parkway,
Lake Mary, Florida 32746
 
To pre-order a signed book for any of the above signings please click the link below. 

Letter from Rohana Shaheen in Visnagar, India, to Mayuri Falodiya in London

08 August 1800

Mayuri Falodiya, Proprietress
Masala Rajah Gentleman’s Retreat
London, England

Miss Rohana Shaheen Visnagar, India

My dearest friend, Mayuri,

It has been so many years since I have seen your face, heard the soft lilt of your voice, the grace of your fingers on the sarangi. I can hardly remember the dances of our youth, the music we once made together, the joy and laughter of our nights with Ramraja, days filled with young women’s silly dreams of love and devotion. It is my fondest hope for you, who once I called my sister, that you found such affection with a lover after your departure from India.

After my disgrace before the Chhatrapati and the tawaifs, I do not forget you were the one woman who came to my defense. You paid dearly for your insistence that the actions of my lover were not my own, that as Ramraja himself offered me up to the Vikanta as a gift, I deserved the protection of the emperor, not his contempt. For your defense of me, you were scarred beyond reckoning and banished with only your jewels to keep you, and I have grieved for the loss of your beauty and your livelihood since that fateful day.

I write at long last with news of my life since your departure for England and to ask the greatest service any woman can ask another. I will not dissemble, my friend, as you must know my years have not been easy, nor the life of comfort we were promised as the most favored tawaifs of the Maratha princes. Indeed, raising two children with no husband or protector has been a daily challenge for more than a decade. Were it not for the Vikanta’s generosity upon his leave-taking, we might have starved, for such is the charity shown by the royal family.

But such children! Both lovely girls: Kali, a graceful, thoughtful young lady who turns thirteen today, showing signs she will grow into an incomparable woman; and Kamala, who is yet a silly miss of almost eleven, and prefers stories of romance to her lessons. Both have a distinct flair for languages—English, French, Hindi, Sanskrit, and Farsi—and both show talent for the arts, Kamala with a special aptitude for the yaal harp, Kali an extraordinary dancer. Both are well-mannered and well-trained to the caste; I have seen to that myself.

This, however, is why I must ask a more important indulgence than I have ever asked anyone, as you will soon be the only hope for my daughters.

My health is failing, death slowly stalking me, as it often does, but I do not have so much time left as young girls dream. Without me, they will be alone in the world with no one to speak for them, to keep them safe, to be the mother they will yet need, both still so young. I believed, ten years ago, the Vikanta’s orders of protection by his soldiers were a boon, but now I see they only aligned my fate with those who would become my country’s enemies, ignoble men disinclined to provide shelter on the orders of a man an ocean away.

I have begged Emperor Shahu to place my girls under the imperial court’s protection, but you know his temperament better than any. I was fortunate to be granted an audience, but only so he could speak of how poorly I have aged and give vent to his long-standing hatred of my former lover. Of my children, he suggested only that they sell themselves to British soldiers, as that is what he considers I have done.

Our shared friend, Nitara, called me aside as I left the palace to say you have opened a kotha in London to train girls to our way of life. It is my dearest hope you will accept Kali and Kamala to study with you—the most talented tawaif of our generation—and help them find their start in life.

I do not ask out of remembrance of our childhood friendship, but rather offer the last of the fortune I was gifted by the Vikanta, not an inconsiderable sum, holding out only what the girls will require to make their way when they are fully grown. There is no other woman in the world to whom I can entrust my greatest treasures and the monies saved to keep them from harm.

As you are in London, you may yet discover the whereabouts of the Vikanta, Sutcliff Knightley, formerly Viscount Asheton and Lieutenant-General of the 29th Regiment of Bengal Sepoys, who will surely by now be the Earl of Birchbright. I cannot provide his direction, but if he can be located and is still the decent man I remember, he will honor his promise to protect our daughters. I beg of you, my friend, help me save my girls from certain ruin.

Namaste, my sister,

Rohana Shaheen


Find out what happens to Kali and Kamala in

La Déesse Noire: The Black Goddess.

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Sired by a British peer, born of a paramour to Indian royalty, Kali Matai has been destined from birth to enthrall England’s most powerful noblemen—though she hadn’t counted on becoming their pawn. Finding herself under the control of ruthless men, who will not be moved by her legendary allure, she has no choice but to use her beauty toward their malicious and clandestine ends. When those she holds most dear are placed in peril by backroom political dealings, she enlists some of the most formidable lords in England to thwart her enemies. But even with the help of the prominent gentlemen she has captivated, securing Kali’s freedom, her family, and the man she loves, will require her protectors stop at nothing to fulfill her desires.

Order from your favorite retailer HERE.

To connect with Mariana Gabrielle:
www.MarianaGabrielle.com
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New Historical Fiction from Jude Knight

A Raging Madness

By Jude Knight

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Ella survived an abusive and philandering husband, in-laws who hate her, and public scorn. But she’s not sure she will survive love. It is too late to guard her heart from the man forced to pretend he has married such a disreputable widow, but at least she will not burden him with feelings he can never return.

Alex understands his supposed wife never wishes to remarry. And if she had chosen to wed, it would not have been to him. He should have wooed her when he was whole, when he could have had her love, not her pity. But it is too late now. She looks at him and sees a broken man. Perhaps she will learn to bear him. 

In their masquerade of a marriage, Ella and Alex soon discover they are more well-matched than they expected. But then the couple’s blossoming trust is ripped apart by a malicious enemy. Two lost souls must together face the demons of their past to save their lives and give their love a future.


Excerpt

17973986_803367466479488_289686069_n17976696_803367609812807_756542353_oAlex poured the coffee, his rinsed shaving mug doing service for Jonno’s portion. Ella sat and sipped while Jonno cleared the table and pushed the serving trolley out of the way. At Alex’s gesture, he sat on the stool again.

“Now, Lady Melville. What trouble are you in, and how can we help?” And should he believe a word she said? She did not act like a lunatic, apart from appearing half-naked in his room in the middle of the night. Apart from the panicked response to her brother-in-law.

That she had taken opium in some form was beyond a doubt. The contracted pupils, the loss of appetite, the shaky hand, the restless shifting in her seat, all spoke to that. Thanks to his injury, Alex had far too close and personal an experience of the symptoms to mistake them. The bruises on her jaw hinted that the drug taking might not have been voluntary, but perhaps her keepers needed to drug her to keep her calm.

Sane or not, Alex hoped he would not need to hand her back to Braxton. Her fear might be irrational, but when she had stood at bay, begging for his help, he had been thrown back ten years. Not that she begged him then. But he left camp on a short trip for supplies, and returned to find Ella married and much changed, her fire banked; her joy extinguished. That time, he had ignored her plight, hardened his heart and left her to the fate she had engineered. And had suffered with her as the consequences quenched her vitality and sucked away the last of her childhood. Suffered, and been powerless to help.

“I have been drugged,” Ella said baldly. “Twice a day. For weeks now. They won’t tell me why. If I refuse, they force me.”

“‘They’ being Braxton and his wife?” Alex prompted.

“And Constance’s dresser.”

“Go on.” He was careful to show no disbelief, no surprise.

“I have been kept in my room. They locked the door. They took all my clothes, my shoes. I saw you out the window and so I came. Will you help me, Alex?”

“I can take you to the rector.” Even as he said it he remembered the plump little man greasing at Braxton’s elbow. Ella would find no help there.

“No!” Her rejection was instant and panicked. “He will give me back and they will send me to that place. No, Alex. You do not know what they plan for me.” She was weeping. Alex had seen her calm under cannon fire, dry-eyed at her father’s funeral, efficient and unemotional in the midst of the carnage of a hospital tent after a battle. He had never seen her weep.

He captured her hands, and kept his voice low and soothing. “I do not, Ella. Tell me.”



About the author

10726384_438048036344768_1967130616_nJude Knight’s writing goal is to transport readers to another time, another place, where they can enjoy adventure and romance, thrill to trials and challenges, uncover secrets and solve mysteries, delight in a happy ending, and return from their virtual holiday refreshed and ready for anything.

She writes historical novels, novellas, and short stories, mostly set in the early 19th Century. She writes strong determined heroines, heroes who can appreciate a clever capable woman, villains you’ll love to loathe, and all with a leavening of humour.



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