Thursday, February 17, 2011

New Release! Beneath the Shield

Beneath the Shield
ISBN# 978-1-60820-308-5
(ebook) $5.99
Release Date February 2011
Cover Artist Deana C. Jamroz

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Jack Torres has been harboring, zealously nurturing a hidden guilt for three
years. This mire of emotions has hardened his heart and his want to reconnect to
the living world, keeping him isolated and unapproachable.

Brant Teller is a chance encounter Jack keeps from growing physically violent
in a crowded nightclub. Parting ways, Brant doesn't expect to see the brooding,
silent officer again. Yet when a domestic violence call brings the surly officer
right to his ER, Brant takes a chance. What begins as a Sunday of football has
the possibility to become so much more. If Jack will open himself up enough to
release the agony of his own personal nightmare.

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Chapter One

Jack followed the gyrating mob of bodies on the dance floor, idly rolling the glass on the table between his fingers in utter indifference, feeling the ice tap at the glass more than hearing it. Some of the crowd was in skintight leather, others in denim or silk. All were men. None appealed to Jack. He hadn’t danced with one, not that many hadn’t asked or plied their way into a hello with a drink. It didn’t matter in the least to him. He wasn’t there to cruise or to be picked up.

He should have been having a good time. He wasn’t.

Thumping bass music vibrated the floor, the plastic seat under his ass, even the air with the lights swinging and sparking to the rhythm. The blaring cacophony was enough to give a person epilepsy. His cousin, Trevi, had dragged him to Slick’s, and he really wished he hadn’t. Turning thirty was total bull in his book. Especially when doing it alone.

Hell, Trevi was having a better time than Jack was, dancing, uncaring that his partners were men. His cousin was a party animal. He could find a pack of hyenas and have a good time. He’d kept an eye on his younger cousin, but figured if he wanted to play in this pool for whatever the bounty, then he’d better be prepared to pay at the door. So far, Trevi had managed to avoid any real issues, and Jack was losing interest in keeping tabs on him. Might be why he hadn’t been back to the table in a dog’s age. Maybe Trevi had figured it all out. Maybe. He wasn’t holding his breath.

Jack lifted his glass to slurp down the latest concoction that had been set before him. He hadn’t had to order one drink yet. He’d lost count, and had quit bothering to thank the sharks swimming in ever-tightening circles for their largesse. If they wanted to toss drinks his way, let them. He didn’t have to work for another three days. Jack could get wasted in a swan dive of FUBAR proportions. And he was certainly considering doing just that.

“Damn it, Ryan. I said leave me alone.” Someone jostled his chair, but he ignored the bickering couple.

“But, babe, it was a one-time deal.”

Petulant whining. Yeah, that’s a real man there, folks.

A body slammed into Jack, splashing his drink over his hand. He set it down and stood. Probably something he shouldn’t have done since he was half-lit like a Christmas tree, but no one started __ around him.

At six-three he wasn’t huge—there were bigger men in all ways than him. But woe be to the one who dared to meet and keep his gaze.

“What’s the deal?” His voice was low, yet still easily heard over the pounding of the music.

“None of your business.”

Jack assumed the belligerent ass was Ryan, his counterpart, as of yet, unnamed.

He stared the dickhead square in the eye. “It becomes my business when you start getting physical.”

The man who had obviously been determined to end whatever was going on took Jack by surprise. He wasn’t some little twink, but a specimen of gorgeousness in a dark blue, skin tight t-shirt and ass-hugging denim. And was apparently the one who had plowed into Jack. It was more likely he’d been shoved, taking in their faces.

“Brant, seriously. He didn’t mean __.”

“Obviously, neither did I if you let him do you.”

“You were late!”

“Don’t pin it on me. You shouldn’t have let the ass suck you off!”

Jack had heard enough and was sure he didn’t need to know more. He was ready to avoid a lover’s spat, but that was when Ryan went a little too far. Thrusting a hand out, he wrapped unforgiving fingers around Brant’s throat, yanking him bodily forward. He wasn’t a lot taller than Brant, but did outweigh him with muscle that looked gifted by barbell.

Ryan gave Jack a smug look. “Sorry for disturbing you.”

Brant growled. “Let me go, you asshole.”

“Sorry. Can’t hear you.” Ryan began to step away, as though this was nothing unusual between the two. But by the flare of anger in Brant’s eyes, it was.

Jack heard his request clearly. He reached into his back pocket, aware Ryan had already dismissed him. Opening his bi-fold in clear view, he calmly but clearly ordered, “Let the man go, Ryan.” The flicker of his badge was unmistakable in the shimmer of the glittering lights.

A small gathering had quieted to watch the drama, but the club patrons were mostly oblivious. For that, Jack was grateful. He wasn’t on the clock and he was halfway to drunk. Just what he needed going on a report.

Slowly, Ryan’s fingers flexed, as he stood nearly eye–to-eye with Jack. Brant was right at six feet at a guess, and sleek as a leopard. Sinewy strength that, at the moment, was held frozen as Ryan debated pushing harder for domination.

Seconds crawled by until he relinquished Brant’s throat. He lifted a snarled lip at Jack, a “this round” silent challenge in his expression. Stepping away, he spun and disappeared into the crowd. Jack waved his hand. “Go,” he mouthed, and like a gun had been shot, the crowd vanished.

Jack slid into his chair, scouring the crowd for Trevi. He was done. Ready to get his ass home and in bed.

“Thank you.” Brant stood at his shoulder.

“Don’t mention it.”

“I don’t want to impose, but can I sit for a minute?”

Jack raised his gaze and noted the other man still looked shaken. “Sure.” He motioned to a chair at his side. “Is he like that all the time?” he asked, once Brant was seated and breathing calmly.

Brant shrugged, leaning on his elbows on the table, avoiding the slopped over liquor of Jack’s drink. “Not sure. We only dated a few weeks.” At least it was clear Brant had no intention of continuing with the jackass.

Glancing at him, Jack had the oddest notion he knew this man. Probably from the too many “whatevers” he’d had to drink. A fresh something slid onto the table, the waiter motioning across the room.

Lifting his eyes, Jack spotted the gift giver; a decent-looking businessman with steel rim glasses and a cute smile. He dipped his head in thanks, but didn’t touch it.

“Tell me to kiss off if you want, but who pissed in your Cheerios?”

Jack snorted. “Here.” He offered Brant the fresh drink. “Enjoy.” He stood from his seat. “If another black haired mongrel that looks like me shows up, tell him I went home.”

“What’s your name?” Brant asked quickly, green eyes expectantly focused on him.


“And the mongrel?” Brant asked with a light grin.

“My cousin, Trevi.”

“I can do that. And thanks, Jack.”

“No problem.” He gave Brant a final once-over, stumped at the sense of recognition and knowing he was too drunk to really put it together. He walked outside to the cool autumn breeze, inhaling deep to help clear the alcohol fumes in his head. His ears were practically ringing from the insane volume inside. Taking his time, he walked to the side of the building, ready to find a cab.

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Friday, February 11, 2011

Available Now! A Fated Love

By: Diana DeRicci
Published By: OmniLit / All Romance eBooks, LLC
ISBN # 9781936387298

Word Count: 16493
Heat Index   

Available in: Adobe Acrobat, Microsoft Reader, HTML, Mobipocket, Epub

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About the book

When you crash head-on into love, sometimes it’s hard to escape…

Shortly after Lee’s classic ‘69 Stingray becomes the victim of a hit and run, a gorgeous knight in Armani arrives with proof pointing to the identity of the guilty driver. Being new in town, the last thing Lee needs is a romantic entanglement.

Vince happened to be in the right place at the right time. He didn’t expect to be attracted to Lee. After all, he stopped looking for a lasting relationship some time ago. So what if Lee is his stepbrother’s latest hire and says he’s not interested? Vince has never been one to back down from a challenge.

Can Vince convince Lee that the risk is well worth the reward, for the both of them?

An excerpt from the book

Chapter One

“Wait! Hey, you! Wait!” Lee Volde raced across the parking garage, but the squeal of echoing tires made it clear the person who’d whacked the daylights out of his fender wasn’t hanging around for the finer details, like insurance swapping. “God damn it!” He threw his business jacket over the hood, wishing he had something less valuable than his briefcase that he could pitch in anger.

He grimaced as he crouched, setting his briefcase on the ground at his feet to run a hand over the front of his Corvette Stingray. “Fucking jerk.” He petted the jet black paint like he was soothing a wounded animal. “I’m sorry, baby. I thought parking you up here would be better.”

He was running a thumb over the busted blinker light and the scuff marks in the new dent when the sound of approaching footsteps broke into his silent fuming.

“Excuse me?”

Lee whipped around to peer over and above his shoulder. Holy daylights. Gods do walk the earth. He stood carefully.

The gentleman pointed over his shoulder toward a green H3. “I saw the whole thing from over there.” He held up his cell phone. “Would this help?” An image of a Cadillac appeared on the screen.

“You caught it?” Lee was flabbergasted. This stranger had snapped a shot of the car?

“Well, the culprit,” he joked with a white-toothed smile, the smallest gap between his perfect front teeth. He pointed at the screen. “License plate.” He moved a fingertip with a blunt nail to the other edge of the glowing screen when it flicked frames, showing the Cadillac backing up to get around the Corvette, exposing the damage. “Proof of dent. I think you can work with that.”

“Can you email that to me?” Lee’s heart was lurching and pounding. His car had been violated and a man the likes of which he’d never encountered was saving the day.

“Be happy to.” He held out a hand. “Vince Mulholland.”

“Lee Volde.” When their hands connected, his skin tingled, a pulse sending an already skittering focus farther out into no-man’s land. He shook himself, though when he released Vince, he seemed in less than a hurry to do so. Lee was too shook up to even concentrate on his reaction.

A crunch of molded plastic under his foot reminded him of what he was doing. Searching his splayed suit pockets, he found his cards and gave one to Vince. Without asking again, he immediately sent the images to the listed email, then called nine-one-one.
“Hi, I need to report a hit and run. No injuries.”

Lee all but sagged against his gem, surprised at the amount of help Vince was giving him.

New to the city, he had no close friends yet and honestly hadn’t expected someone to be this outgoing to give him a hand. Least of all someone who looked like a fashion model in Armani.

“So, what is it? A ’67?”

Lee blinked. “A ’69. I restored her and she’s been my baby.”

“I can tell. It’s a beautiful piece.” Vince strolled around the car, nodding and humming in approval. “The exhaust, that’s to the factory specifications?”

“You know Corvettes?”

Vince winked. “Don’t all young boys? You did an incredible job with it.”

“Thanks. I had to get it professionally painted but under the hood was all me.”

“Impressive.” Vince stopped in front of him. “I haven’t seen you in the building.”

Lee shrugged. “I’ve only been in Houston for about three months. A new acquire from Detroit.”

“Ah, so you’re the numbers whiz that Frank was cussing and praising in the same breath.”

Oh crap. He works for Shedwicke too. Figures. “I guess.” Studying Vince, he guessed him to be in his mid- to late-thirties. Manicured hands, pressed Armani, an H3. And someone important if he wasn’t shooting wildly. He managed to put his admiration in a closet, shoving his want to drool in with it. He doubted the man was even gay. Just because he didn’t wear a ring didn’t mean shit. He might be new to Houston but at thirty-two, Lee sure wasn’t new to men who liked to yank chains and drag a male around by their dick.

The sound of an approaching car drew both their attentions. A police cruiser rolled to a stop on the fourth floor of the enclosed garage and an officer stepped out to join them. Lee folded his jacket and opened the door to drop it over the seat, meeting the cop with registration and info in hand.

All Romance Ebooks

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Just in time for Valentine's Day! Spank My Valentine by Carolyn Gregg

I have a double whoop this week!  Spank My Valentine, book 3 of "Tales of the Blakeney Sisters" is released from Red Rose Publishing!  And Book 1, Rub My Pumpkin, is now available on Fictionwise (and currently 15% off, so hurry!)

Spank My Valentinea humorous erotic paranormal romance
by Carolyn Gregg
Book 3 of "Tales of the Blakeney Sisters"
from Red Rose Publishing

Once upon a time, there lived a man with five rambunctious daughters. They were an average American farming family except for one minor detail. The man was a warlock, and all of his daughters were witchlets—half witch and half human.

Grant Morgan hasn’t been to Toppers Cove since he graduated from high school there. But when he receives the invitation to the Hearts on Fire Valentine’s Day Dance, and sees Sanderly Blakeney’s name listed on the committee, something inside him tells him to go back to his home town. If nothing more than to see her again, and to see if the flame he carried for her all through their years in school still burns.

Only one thing could possibly stand in his way. His parents are still prominent people in town, which means they know all about the Blakeneys. And they have made it very clear to their only child that he is not to have anything to do with any of "those heathen girls", especially Sandy.
"All right, cousin. I got it, and I’m holding it in my hand this very moment."

"Open it," Lena ordered him.

Grant sighed in exasperation. He had always been a pushover with it came to his cousin. In many ways, she was more like a sister, and had been an integral part of his life growing up, since he was an only child.

The envelope had the embossed logo of Toppers Cove CSD on the upper left-hand corner. The letter had originally been sent to him at his old mailing address. Grant could see where his mother had crossed it out and written the address of his New York apartment to have it forwarded.

Grabbing a letter opener from the pencil cup on his drawing table, he ripped open the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. Even as he unfolded it, he could tell it was an invitation of some sort. His first impulse was to toss it without reading it first, until a name at the top caught his attention, right underneath Lena‘s name.

Sanderly Blakeney, Vice Chairman

Vice Chairman of what? He scanned the paper.

You are invited to attend the First Annual Hearts on Fire Valentines Day Dance at the Toppers Cove Consolidated High School gym on Friday, February 14th. The dance will be from 7 to midnight. Music will be provided by J.D. Maxx and the Maximums.

He glanced back up at the name at the top, and the first thing that he realized was that she was still a Blakeney. Sandy Blakeney. Either she hadn’t gotten married, or if she had, she’d taken her maiden name back. Either way it means she’s free.

Grant frowned. It was coming back to him, and it wasn’t pleasant. It had been years since he’d felt that deep sense of longing. It was immediately followed by sadness, disillusionment, and regret.

"Well?" Lena’s voice drifted from the speaker.

"Well what?"

"Are you coming or not?"

"I don’t know…"

"Oh, don’t give me that bullshit, Grant David! We’ve worked a lot of long, hard hours to get this thing together. Think of it as a class reunion, only with a lot more returning graduates!"

"I’ve never attended any of the class reunions," he reminded her.

"Like I don’t already know that," his cousin retorted. "Your folks are already expecting you to come up for a visit."

Oh, shit.


"Yeah. I’m still here. Let me think on it, Lena, and I’ll get back with you."

"No way, cuz. I know why you’re back-pedaling. It’s because of Sandy, isn’t it?"

Yes, Lena would bring her up, considering she was the only person in the world who knew of his history, or rather the lack of it, when it came to the Blakeney girl. As he tried to figure out a way to get out of the going to the dance, his cousin persisted.

"I told her I was inviting you."


"Hey, it’s been ten years! You don’t have to tell me you’re still carrying a torch around for her. Listen, bro…" Her voice softened. Lena never referred to him as brother unless she was speaking to him from the heart. Despite the fact that they were adults now, his closeness to Lena was his only strong familial bond, and she would forever hold an emotional attachment to him.

"When I told Sandy I was asking you to the dance, you would have sworn I’d sucker punched her. There’s something still there, Grant. When are you two going to finally have a heart-to-heart, and let bygones be bygones?"

"Lena, you know the answer to that."

"Because your folks don’t approve of her? What are you? Twelve? It’s time to grow some brass ones, bro. It’s your life, and what’s more important, your parents no longer have any say-so in it."

That was true. Since he got on with the company of his dreams, he had become totally independent of his parents, both physically and financially. Plus, truth be told, he was a bit homesick to see his home town again.

And Sanderly Blakeney.

Saturday, February 5, 2011

I'm Over at Coffee Time Romance Today!

Today's my day to blog over at Coffee Time Romance Forum!  I'll be chatting with readers, and I'll be giving away a PDF of one of my books, reader's choice!

You can access the forum here.  Just scroll down until you reach Feb. 5th, my day.

See you there!