Saturday, 27 May 2017

99¢ Sale! Sometimes magic can change everything... Magic of the Loch by Karen Michelle Nutt

99¢ Sale! (Reg. $5.99). MAGIC OF THE LOCH.

About the Book:  
Michaela Grant travels to Scotland for a holiday, knowing this vacation is her last. A medical condition threatens her life and any chance of a future--until she meets Alan MacLachlin, a man forced to exist between two worlds.

Alan is the legendary Loch Ness Monster. Once every fifty years he returns to human form in search of his soul mate, the one woman who can break his curse. He believes he has found forever with Michaela, but to claim it he must figure out how to save her life.

Michaela and Alan vow to take what time has to offer, but another threat looms. A sinister shape shifter with a vendetta against Alan is making Loch Ness his personal hunting ground. Now he's threatening Michaela. Alan must discover who the shifter is and stop him before it's too late.
The Wild Rose Press: http://tinyurl.com/y8onw3bq

Thursday, 4 May 2017

British Bad Boys - OUT NOW

Post by Lily Harlem


OUT NOW, the boxed set everyone is talking about, BRITISH BAD BOYS featuring my super hot story ROUGH 'N' TOUGH.



Grab your copy NOW, though if you're not an Amazon user please be aware that the boxed set is only available from all other ebook retailers until 11th May. After then it will be available on Kindle Unlimited and exclusive to Amazon at a higher price.



Tuesday, 28 March 2017

Head of Household by Lily Harlem


OUT NOW - my new time-travelling, historical sexy romance novel HEAD OF HOUSEHOLD set in the Yorkshire Dales.

Back Cover Information

While visiting the Yorkshire Dales, Elizabeth Moray decides to explore the historic home of Lord Radley Fairbank. She ignores a sign prohibiting entry, but her curiosity turns to shock when she steps through a door within the abandoned estate and is transported back to the Victorian era.

It quickly becomes apparent that in this version of the past, she is the governess for Lord Radley's two young nephews. Seeing no obvious way back home, she decides to make the best of things, but she soon discovers that her employer believes in strict discipline for his staff.

It isn't long before her stubbornness earns her a thorough, humiliating spanking, but in spite of her embarrassment the stern chastisement leaves her intensely aroused. As time passes she finds herself yearning more and more for Lord Radley to take her in his arms and claim her properly, but will he ever see her as anything more than a disobedient servant in need of correction?



Sunday, 26 March 2017

My new book was released mid-February. You may remember 

The Craigsmuir Affair
The Gybford Affair
Now we have The Matfen Affair
 and I hope you enjoy it.

You may think them a series, but each book is a new story, with new characters, new problems and new locations.



EXCERPT:
Clutching my candle, I headed into the darkness beyond the sharp turn that led to the older part of the house. In daytime, with others nearby, it had seemed romantic, but alone and in near darkness, climbing that narrow spiral stair was like stepping back two centuries. In several places my elbow grazed rough stone. My poor little candle flame flickered wildly in the upper corridor and its light glinted and rebounded from metal shields, axes and pieces of old armour that decorated the walls.
The hairs on my arms rose as I approached the door to my bedchamber. I glanced back the way I had come and thought it was a pity that wood panelling had not been used to cover the bare stone as it would have made the corridor so much warmer. Close at hand, someone sighed.
I whirled round with such speed I almost extinguished my candle.
The corridor was empty. I held the candle high, but saw only the dull gleam of ancient armour. The silence was such that it was hard to believe any other person lived in the house, let alone walked the corridor with me. I took a firm grip of my candle, turned to the bedchamber door, grasped the sneck and entered.

A fire burned in the hearth, and the bright, cheerful glow was a welcome surprise. Relief rushed through me as I closed the door. The maids had lit candles, turned down the bed and laid two white nightgowns on the side nearest the fire. Heaping blessings on their heads, I hurried across the room and crouched before the fire. Heat soaked into me and gradually I forgot the sigh of sound in the corridor.

Jen Black

Saturday, 25 February 2017

Love Dragons? See my Medieval historical romance, The Virgin, the Knight, and the Dragon

The Virgin, the Knight, and the Dragon (MF)
Medieval Creatures 2
Heat Rating: SENSUAL
Word Count: 24,824
Fantasy,  Historical,  Romantic Suspense

PRE-ORDER HERE!

AVAILABLE: Wednesday, March 8th

[Bookstrand Romance: Historical, Fantasy, Romantic Suspense, HEA]

This story is a sequel to my Medieval Creatures 1 book, The Virgin, the Knight and the Unicorn.

BUY BOTH BOOKS HERE

Blurb

Can Princess Adela, heiress to a deadly destiny, be saved by the love of a knight errant?

The youngest of nine sons, Jesse is used to neglect and hand-me-downs. Becoming a knight through his own efforts, he encounters a beautiful, virtually naked stranger in the countryside above the farmlands of his old home. Who is she and how can he help her?

Flaxen-haired Adela D’Varm is compelled by the magic of a faery geas to remain in the high grasslands until she is rescued by a knight—a worthy knight who must contend with a dragon. But this dragon is no ravening beast, as knights soon discover if they offer Adela any insult.

Amiable and truly chivalrous, Jesse is different. Through their encounters—amusing, tender, exciting—he and Adela fall in love. But, even as they marry, Jesse and Adela encounter a deadly conspiracy and a final test for Adela.

It seems that Jesse has deserted her—or has he?

 Excerpt:


Ahead he could hear a deep rumbling, like a cat purring—a cat the size of a hut. There was a smell of blood in the air and a savour of roasted meat.
Dragons, like wolves, prefer to feast on horses, not men.
From where had that thought sprung? Jesse felt for an instant as if he was bathed in heat—real, forge-hot heat. Older memories and stories trickled up and down his back in a messy puddle of sweat.
A dragon. Walter the shepherd whispered there was once a dragon up on these high grasslands. A creature of faery. Maybe it has returned.
The sweat turned clammy on his back. Trying not to stiffen up, Jesse choked down a cough. Above him, how high and how far off he did not want to know, he listened to the sounds of gnawing.
Turn back or go on? Either action held both appeal and risk. To retreat might mean survival or a blast of fire at his back. To go on—if he bested a dragon, he would be as famous as Beowulf.
No doubt Beowulf was an elder son . With my luck, I could win and gain nothing but a few coins for my trouble. Any treasure would be claimed by my older brothers.
Jesse stopped crawling. Roast horse swirled in his nostrils and, despite his wavering dread, his mouth watered. Wanting to travel light and make haste, he had not eaten well for days. Succulent, hot meat tempted him to raise his head.
A dragon rose on its haunches to tear and swallow a morsel of some animal that once may have been horse. Again Jesse’s hunger flared.
His older brothers would never have attempted what he planned, but that was a virtue. Why not? he decided, as the dragon took another bite. A dainty bite, he noted, for a beast as long as a cavalcade.
It did not kill the knight. The thought was almost a prayer. Inspired—or mad, or truly desperate—Jesse threw down his weapons and rose out of the grass, his hands filled with herbs. He averted his eyes, hardly daring to look.
“Good day.” He was glad he had planted his feet wide apart and pitched his greeting above the steady breeze of the dragon’s breathing. “May I join you?
“I have brought herbs.” He raised his cupped fingers, allowing some greenery to slip from his hands so the dragon would know he was unarmed. “Good eating herbs, wild parsley, wild mint, wild sorrel, also called vinegar leaves. I think you will find they enhance the taste of your meat.”
He stepped forward, placed the herbs on a boulder, and stepped back. “The marigold is simply for the colour,” he added, his throat growing dry again as he sensed the dragon leaning closer.
It must work, a wild, mad babbling voice wailed in his head. Dragons are said to be silver-tongued and to understand speech. And I like animals. Jesse had worked with hawks, horses, oxen, sheep, chickens, and goats and found each creature appealing, in its own way. Dragons were creatures of faery, and perhaps more. If there is a dragon, there must be a maiden close, a living maid. The old stories always have both.
Those jaws of hell gaped nearer, each tooth sharper than any sword. Through his half-closed eyes, it seemed to Jesse for an instant that the beast was smiling, which was surely impossible. Determined to look his probable death in the face, Jesse stretched on tiptoe,  raised his head and stared.
Now he could study it more closely. The dragon  was a shining gold blending to silver, lean and long as a vast snake or a whip, but with powerful legs and a deep chest. Jesse could not see any wings, but he did note, with a certain detached surprise, as of someone who could perish at any second, that the beast was ornamented with flashes of silver and gold scales about its neck, like a necklace. It had a narrow, almost elegant snout, prick ears topped by small, shiny spines, and deep large eyes the colour of an emerald. Strangely beautiful eyes that were considering him in a thoughtful, almost tender way .
“Thank you.” The voice sounding in his head was not his, though how had the dragon spoken?
Jesse decided not to trouble over that and made a bow. He sensed the dragon deftly plucking at the herbs, heard the faint scratch of very sharp claws on the boulder, then flinched as a round cut of steaming horse steak was placed on top of the boulder, laid neatly beside the rest of the herbs.
No one would believe I shared my dinner with a dragon. Jesse ate in a daze. The meat was cooked to a turn, and tender.
“Thank you for the flowers.” Again the voice that was not his sounded in his head.
Jesse harnessed his manners and his wits and swallowed the final piece of meat before he answered. “It is my pleasure.”
A wave of heat surged over his neck, followed by a percussive clap of huge, scaly wings. The force half stunned Jesse, and when he stirred again the dragon was gone.

“Good day.” A small slim young woman stood over him. She gave the same greeting that he had given the dragon, and her dainty bare feet rested in the hollow made by the dragon’s claws. “Are you hurt?”
Jesse shook his head. The woman seemed to be wearing nothing but a cloak. She had a flower in her electrum-pale hair, a marigold.
The same as the spray I gifted the dragon. She has the same colour scales—sorry, hair—as the beast, and the same deep green eyes. What is going on?







Wednesday, 8 February 2017

BRITISH BAD BOYS BOXED SET - COMING SOON!



Back Cover Information

Dive into this boxed set of stories written by bestselling and award-winning British romance authors. No one knows British bad boys better than they do.

Come and spend time with a dirty-talking London tattoo artist, a Scottish bad boy, a British gangster who won’t take no for an answer, and MORE! These men are all hotter than hell and have accents to die for. Whatever your desire, you’ll find it within these pages.

Packed full of standalone, steamy stories with no cliff-hangers and happy-ever-afters guaranteed, you won’t want to miss out on this limited collection, available for a short time only!



Special pre-order price of only $0.99. What are you waiting for? Grab your copy of the BRITISH BAD BOYS BOXED SET, today.

Tuesday, 7 February 2017

Girl Bands in World War II

Girl Bands are not a new phenomenon. Long before Girls Aloud, The Spice Girls, or even The Supremes there were girl bands of quite a different sort. During World War II Girl Bands took over and became increasingly popular once the boys joined up. But it was a time when prejudice against women performing was still strong. Female singers such as Vera Lynn was quite acceptable, but many people thought it wasn’t quite proper for women to blow into a trumpet or make a sax sing.

Ivy Benson was a highly skilled clarinetist and saxophonist who formed her All Girls Band in 1939 playing throughout the war. It is said that she was inspired by listening to the recordings of Jimmy Dorsey and Benny Goodman. They became one of the top bands of the era, although not without some resentment from male band leaders, and the worry that some of her prized musicians would sometimes leave to marry.

There was a wonderful movie called The Last of the Blond Bombshells, featuring Judy Dench. It’s the story of a widow who was obliged to confine her sax playing to the attic while her husband was alive, but on his death decides to follow her passion and start her own band. I loved this film, and the idea inspired me to write my own story about a girl band, set in Manchester during the war.


 
They called it the Christmas Blitz, but there are no festivities for Jess, locked in the cellar by her feckless, tarty mother. And when Lizzie is imprisoned for shoplifting, Jess is sent to live with her uncle, a bullying black marketeer, who treats her like a slave. Jess’s natural musical talent offers an escape route - and the chance for love. But Uncle Bernie has never forgiven his niece for refusing to join his illegal schemes, and threatens to deprive Jess of her hard-won independence.

Despite an abusive uncle and a feckless mother, and with her beloved father away fighting in the war, Jess decides to make something of her life. But doesn’t find it easy to get the band underway. Band leaders and ballroom managers frequently accuse them of not being able to withstand the physical hardships of long hours of playing.

As well as proving they were skilled musicians, they were also expected to look feminine and finding the right clothes to wear wasn’t easy either, as fabric for dresses was in short supply. Faulty parachute silk was often used instead, and a glamorous look brought its own problems. Slinky gowns, together with sexy swing music, could bring about unwelcome invitations, as if fraternising with the men rather than a passion for music, was their main purpose in life.


Extract:

‘Women don’t have the stamina that men have,' said one.
‘Limited scope,’ said another.
‘Women are long on looks but short on talent.’
‘We aren’t in the business of employing young ladies who think it might be fun to show off on stage, however charming and genteel they might be.’
This attitude incensed Jess and she would tell them in no uncertain terms that her girls could play In the Mood every bit as well as they could play Greensleeves. One manager had the gall to say that women had no real sense of rhythm in a jam session, as they were hopeless at improvising.
Another, trying to be conciliatory, remarked, ‘I see why you ladies are offering to step in, with all the men having been conscripted for service and bands desperate for decent musicians. But we’re looking for professionals, not amateurs. We need the best.’
Outraged, Jess’s response was sharp. ‘We are the best, and how can we ever get to be professional if we’re never given the chance.’
A shake of the head. ‘Women aren’t made to sit on a stage and blow their brains out.’
‘We could blow the men right off it.’

Amazon UK

Amazon US

Tuesday, 3 January 2017

For the Love of a Prince

Had he left me to starve I would never have uttered a word to his disadvantage!’

Loyal words from a courageous woman, but she paid a high price for loving a prince. Dora Jordan had no desire to be an actress, forced into it out of poverty and an ambitious ex-actress mother. Her career began at Crowe street Theatre in Dublin where she suffered such dreadful stage fright on her first night that she fled to the dressing room and had to be coaxed back on stage by the manager, Thomas Ryder.

Despite seeing herself as Irish, she was in fact born in London near Covent Garden in 1761, where her stage-struck parents were seeking work at the time, and where she was baptized Dorothy Bland. Not considered to be a classic beauty, her nose and chin being somewhat prominent, she nevertheless had the sweetest smile and the most alluring dark eyes, cupid’s bow mouth and rosy cheeks that gave off a healthy glow. Her expressive face was perfect for comic roles, as was her mop of brown curls.

After suffering a sexual assault from Richard Daly, the manager of Smock Alley Theatre, which left her pregnant, Dora fled to Yorkshire where she went on the circuit to learn her craft. Known as Dolly by her family she chose Dora as her stage name, becoming their sole source of income from the age of sixteen. The name Jordan was chosen because she’d crossed the Irish sea, likening it to the River Jordan. She endured considerable jealousy from her fellow actors, but was then accepted by Drury Lane where she soon became known as one of the most famous comedic actresses of her day.

She ultimately became mistress to the Duke of Clarence, later William IV, with whom she lived in happy domesticity for nearly twenty years. She presented him with ten children while striving to balance both career and ‘marriage’, very much the ‘modern’ woman.

An observer at the time remarked: ‘So unostentatious and truly domestic were her habits, after her new and exalted connection, that we have frequently witnessed her arrival, in a plain yellow chariot, at Miss Turing’s, a milliner in St. James’s Street, when she would alight with an infant in her arms, and during her stay frequently change the linen of the little one in the shop, while freely conversing with the person in attendance to wait upon customers.’

The Duke had been something of a rake as a young man, but clearly adored her, and enjoyed their domestic idyll at Bushy House, saying to a friend: ‘Mrs. Jordan is a very good creature, very domestic and careful of her children. To be sure she is absurd sometimes and has her humours. But there are such things more or less in all families.’

In every respect but name William looked upon her as his wife. Dora was not extravagant herself, considering actresses were expected to provide their own costumes, but her life was blighted by a weak father, a dependent mother, inadequate siblings, selfish children, and more than one man who betrayed her trust. Her flaw was that she was far too caring and eager to help those she loved, generous to a fault, which proved to be her downfall. Certainly William greatly depended upon the fortune she earned from her acting.

When it became apparent that the only heir to the throne after George IV was his daughter Charlotte, the Duke was ordered to find himself a wife, Dora not considered to be an appropriate candidate for that regal role. Sadly, he did not treat her as kindly as he should at the end, being perhaps something of a coward, but she bore her troubles with astonishing good will. She was a woman of great courage and independence, feisty, warm-hearted and a devoted mother, who never said a word against him. She died penniless in France, but following their separation the Duke collected as many portraits of her as he could find, so perhaps he did still love her after all.


Published by Severn House

Passion, jealousy, scandal and betrayal - a true-life Regency Romance of the rise and fall of an extraordinary woman born into extraordinary times. Growing up in a poverty-stricken, fatherless household, Dorothy Jordan overcame her humble beginnings to become the most famous comic actress of her day. It was while performing on Drury Lane that Dorothy caught the eye of the Duke of Clarence, later to become King William IV. Her twenty-year relationship with the Duke was one of great happiness and domesticity, producing ten children. But ultimately, Dorothy's generous nature was her undoing and she was to be cruelly betrayed by the man she loved.

Amazon UK

Amazon US