Tuesday, 15 January 2013

Guest blog: Kristal Baird - 'PI Honeytrap'


Hi,  I’m thrilled to be welcomed over to your fantastic blog today. I’m delighted to share the news of my hot new release PI HONEYTRAP with all your great visitors.

Hayley examines the dark secrets of men’s hearts, but
doesn’t look too closely at her own.


But first of all, here’s a little bit about me - Kristal Baird - BIO:

I write sexy romance. I laugh a lot. I sometimes do both at the same time!

I’ve had an eclectic mix of jobs which include working for a vet and an orthopaedic surgeon (I never got mixed up but I did sometimes want to pat cute humans!). I’ve driven a four ton truck for a touring theatre company and worked as an au pair for a French alpine ski-ing instructor… (I’m making that one a new novel so look out for it). I taught English to adults in Italy (and got that job because I was the only applicant who could speak French to the French School Principle who spoke no English – and you think you’re confused!)

I’ve lived in several different countries as far apart as Australia and Scotland and tend to make myself right at home. I even adopt the local slang and have kept twinges of several accents to this day.
I get most of my exercise letting dogs out and cats in and catering to their every whim. I’m a soft touch, like that. One day I’m going to walk El Camino de Santiago in one go. And get on the New York Times Best Seller List – wonder which I’ll do first?

I also wrote PA Exposé, my debut full-length sexy romance.

****
Now here’s a peek at my latest release:   P I HONEYTRAP

Blurb

Hayley doesn’t trust men. She thinks most of them are only good for one thing. And she gets plenty of that honey-trapping cheating husbands or satisfying her own needs with local gym owner, Reuben.

And woe-betide him if he even tries to get emotionally close to her. Because tough girl Hayley is running. From her past. From herself.

Will Reuben ever understand this girl? Will Hayley ever accept exactly who she is and what she needs from a man? Will she learn to trust again?

Excerpt

[Hayley interviews a potential client who thinks her husband is cheating on her, but she's daydreaming about last night...]

‘Go on.’ Hayley settled back in her chair. She could listen and drift away at the same time.

She drifted straight back to the gym where she’d retreated late last night, to pound a little tension out of her body. Her private arrangement with the owner allowed her to use the place long after his other customers had gone home …

‘Still running, Hayley?’

Hayley knew that Reuben had been standing behind her in the doorway between his office and the main gym hall watching her for some time. She was observant about things like that. And about his choice of words. Perhaps it was time to cancel the arrangement?

‘Still running, Reuben. Are you wanting to lock up or something?’ She kept pounding the treadmill. The angle was at full elevation and it was hard work to keep going at that speed. She didn’t want to break her stride.

‘I did that an hour since. It’s just you and me.’

She knew that tone. He moved closer but the stare was the same. It meant only one thing, and Hayley didn’t mind how she pounded the tension out of her tonight. Particularly with Reuben.

‘I’m kind of busy right now.’ Hayley liked to tease him; to keep things light between them.

He walked over to her machine. ‘Then let me help you with your workload.’ Reuben punched the controls and the incline began to slowly reduce.

Hayley adjusted her body’s forward drive and stared at him as he started to ease the pace she was running too. She’d been on the machine for nearly an hour. That was the reason she suddenly noticed her pulse rate was so high, her heart pounding. The only reason. Sweat dripped off her skin, which glowed with heat. Even between her thighs.

‘I’m a bit of a mess,’ she claimed. She was jogging steadily now, coming down gradually from her peak.

‘I like my women hot, sweaty, and out of breath.’ The tight lift at one side of his mouth told Hayley he liked his own jokes and he was hot too. For her.

She checked out the bulge in his sweats and cocked an eyebrow. Ready to rumble. ‘You’re a lucky guy, then. You’ve got a machine that does most of the work for you, getting them in that condition.’

‘Look around you. I’ve got quite a few.’ Reuben’s eyes were fixed solidly on hers. ‘Machines. Not women.’

Hayley didn’t need to look around to know what was there. Since she’d opened her private investigation office two doors down from Reuben’s Gym, she’d worked out on most of the equipment – with and without Reuben. With was a different kind of workout. And, whatever he said, there were women too. She’d seen their eyes follow Reuben about. But she wasn’t intending to make that her business. This was strictly casual.

‘Machinery? Kind of makes your job a bit too easy. What’s left for you to do?’ Hayley was off the machine and twisting the top off the bottle of water that Reuben had handed her. She tipped her head back and downed the lot in one go, needing the rehydration if she was to keep working out. Making out. And she’d already made up her mind that, tonight, she would be.

Hayley wondered if she liked coming here more for the machine workout or for the other kind of exercise she got at Reuben’s place, and if Reuben wondered too.
He stepped in closer. His body was all muscle. He didn’t just own a gym, he used it on a regular basis. In her line of work, Hayley really appreciated a fit guy. She honeytrapped plenty for her clients, and most were creeps. But Reuben wasn’t work. He was all playtime.

‘I step in for the rub-down.’ He took the empty bottle from her and flipped it across to the bin.

‘Good shot.’

Reuben’s grin told her he wanted to show her another kind of slam dunk. ‘My talents are many.’

They sure were. God, he looked sexy when he smiled. Hot body with all the defined tendons and sinews of an athlete. Great features. The complete package. It was Hayley’s turn for her mouth to twist up into a smile of appreciation. Looking sexy in a white vest and sweatpants was only the start of Reuben’s endowments.

He placed his hands on her forearms and ran them up to her shoulders. She was hot before, but now she began the slow rise to combustion as his firm fingers kneaded the tight muscles at her shoulders and ran up the length of her neck into her hairline.

Hayley reached back and pulled out the elastic that was holding her dark hair back into a tight ponytail. Reuben pushed his fingers through its length, curving around the shape of her skull beneath. She moaned softly.

‘You like that?’

She nodded, eyes half closed.

‘I can do better,’ he promised. He gathered the fabric at the hem of her T-shirt, having given her the expression that she recognised as asking her consent, and peeled it off her damp body. She let him.

The air-conditioning hit her hot, sticky skin and sent shivers dancing across it. Reuben grasped her wrist and towed her behind him towards the massage room. There was an urgency about his movements that told her he’d waited long enough; that he wanted to get her to a place where she would let him fuck her as soon as possible. The guy was hurting.

That’s why she came back to Reuben’s. He worked hard to turn things his way, but it was always her choice in the end. With the hard, muscular size of him, no matter how fit she was he could have her pinned beneath him in seconds flat. But she always knew a simple no would end matters there and then. The guy had self-control.

Unlike some of the jerks she worked with. She’d been involved in some pretty nasty encounters to get the evidence her clients needed. To prove their husbands and boyfriends were cheating, lying scum who would chase any pretty woman who looked their way, irrespective of the fact they were supposedly committed.

She could feel her tension mounting again. Reuben could probably feel it too. He threw a warm, fluffy towel on the massage bench and pressed Hayley face down towards it. She twisted her hair again into a loose knot and fixed it on top of her head.

‘I’m going to unhook your sports bra, Hayley. Is that OK?’

‘Mmm.’ It was only the beginning. The tingle in her nipples told her that tonight she was going all the way. But it wouldn’t hurt to let him wonder.

Reuben unclipped the garment with a practised hand that made Hayley smile. They had an understanding. No ties. Just a little R and R whenever they wanted it; needed it. She liked it that way.

She liked what Reuben was doing to her now too. Her nose told her he had poured warm coconut oil into the palms of his hands, which he slicked across the entire surface of her back. He started palm-circling in small movements, slowly up to her neck on one side of her spine and down to the top of her sweatpants. She could feel the tightness in her muscles soften as he worked.

Time disappeared. Perhaps she drifted off to sleep beneath Reuben’s expert hands as he went through his magic routine; lifting, knuckling, twisting. It was those sexy little thumb strokes that eventually brought her back to consciousness.

Or his gravelly voice.

‘I want to give you a full-body massage, Hayley.’ The gruff tone told her the massage was doing as much for him as it was for her. God, she liked this guy.

He was asking her permission again, to take it up a notch. No point pretending. ‘I want that too.’ 

They both knew he had been given approval for more than just a rubdown.

Reuben’s fingertips hooked in her waistband and he tugged her sweatpants down over her hips. She heard him moan softly as she raised her hips off the bench to accommodate him. She smiled at the silence as he discovered she wasn’t wearing panties. What was the point under sweatpants? At the gym. With Reuben.

A little more oil swirled between his hands and Reuben’s strong fingers flowed from the arch of her spine, over the rise of her lower back to the firm mounds of her buttocks and down her thighs, not stopping until they reached her lower calves. Without ceasing, they returned on their journey to her bottom again.

Her legs felt long, strong, and lean under his actions. Reuben always made her feel good about herself. So good. She parted her legs minutely.

His fingers hooked softly beneath her hip bone and he alternately pulled and pushed the heel of his hand across the muscle of her buttock, working the tight flesh loose and warm. He walked around to the other side, drawing his hand across her body, keeping contact as he went, and repeated the firm movements on the other side.

Despite the relaxing slide of his hand across her oily flesh, Hayley sensed a moment when the contact between them changed. She grew taut and tense. She felt Reuben harden too, somehow. This was it. His hand lay over the cleft of her bottom. His oily fingers dipping lower and lower between her legs. She relaxed them further apart to ease his way.

****
Thank you for reading. I really hope you enjoyed it. It’s a full-length novel, so there’s plenty more PI HONEYTRAP

BUY LINKS:




Author contact details: 
@kristalbaird 
Thank you for having me over to visit here. I hope you’ll come and visit me soon, too. And bring all your lovely friends!
Kristal x

Wednesday, 9 January 2013

Guest Blog: Rose Anderson - 'Loving Leonardo'

Bound by limits dictated by society, Art Historian Nicolas Halstead lived a guarded life until a tempest in the form of Elenora Schwaab blew into his world. At first Nicolas can’t decide if the audacious American is simply mad or plotting blackmail for not only does she declare knowledge of his homosexuality, she offers him a marriage proposal.

After Ellie tells him of a previously unknown work of Leonardo da Vinci, a book of erotic love poems and sketches dedicated to the artist’s long-time lover Salai, Nicolas joins her in a race to save the book from destruction. Along the way they encounter Historian Luca Franco and discover a comfortable compatibility that comes to redefine their long-held notions of love.
The trio embarks on an adventure of sensual discovery, intrigue, and danger.  Little do they know Leonardo da Vinci’s book is far more than meets the eye.
Teaser:

Nicolas has an encounter aboard ship and Ellie wants details.

I’d just returned when Ellie entered our stateroom and informed me she wanted to take that bath she’d missed earlier. I watched her gather this and that and close the door behind her. That I experienced a sudden wash of guilt over my romp with the fair Dutchman came as a surprise. I didn’t like that feeling, nor did I care for it overlaying my angst associated with my newly-realized sexual nature. Pulling the cord, I waited for the steward.
The man arrived several minutes later. “How may I help you, sir?”
“Please send ‘round a decanter of brandy and two glasses if you would.”
“Yes sir, I’ll get that straightaway.”
I used the time to dress for bed. I had only the dressing gown as I usually slept in the nude, but decided for our first shared bed, it was better to be clothed. We’d been together round the clock for three days but this was our official first night. Thankfully, we had a lifetime to become accustomed to one another. And this was a good thing. My nerves were strung taut. I hoped the brandy might help.
By the time she entered the sitting room smelling of jasmine, I was pouring her a brandy and having myself a third. I’d always enjoyed the scent of jasmine.
For the first time I took notice of the little things about her, things that I’d found pleasant enough as we traveled but now found strikingly beautiful. Ellie had delicately arched eyebrows and her pink bottom lip was fuller than the top. Unpinned, her riot of cinnamon curls fell like a cloud to the small of her back and damp ringlets framed her fresh-washed face. I’d only seen her hair up in pins these past few days. I had no idea she possessed a lovely mane that would bring about the desire to bury my fingers in the mass. Art historian I, she reminded me of William-Adolphe Bouguereau’s Venus. She smiled prettily and that Venus transformed into Renoir’s Little Irene so completely, it made me blink. I’d found her high-styled and attractive that day she breezed into my home. I found her no less than a work of art now. Port and brandy loosening my tongue, I told her so.
She smiled and it lit her eyes. It wasn’t quite the bold smile she treated me to in my townhome, but it had that quality I found so appealing. In what could only be described as having the minds of two men inside my head, I felt my cock thicken, the sensation instantly squelched by that returning rush of guilt. We had to talk, and god help me, I didn’t know where to begin. I handed her the glass, took another for myself, and swept my hand to the settee. “Come sit with me, Ellie.”
She sipped her brandy and sat beside me. She said, “We don’t have to revisit our conversation, you know. We can talk of other things.”
I nodded. I had other things on my mind at the moment. So we chatted about the meal, the dinner company, the voyage in general. Then, she suddenly thrust at me a point of no return. “He was quite handsome, don’t you think?”
I blinked. “Who?”
“Our dinner companion, Jerone Some-such. I don’t remember his last name — you know, the Dutch brother to the sister sitting with us tonight?”
My heart started to pound. “Pleasant enough. Why do you ask?” Draining my snifter in one overlarge sip that nearly choked me, I let the alcohol flame run like a burning fuse down my gullet.
Eyeing me sharply, she smiled that knowing smile of hers; a smile that caused me to feel a heavy presence between my legs. It was everything I could do to keep my robe from rising like P.T. Barnum’s circus tent.
I couldn’t help but feel she led the conversation when she said offhandedly, “I assume there will be men in your life. I might be wrong, yet I’m certain the man is attracted to you.”
Refilling my glass for the fifth time, I reached for hers as an afterthought. “You bring up a point I wish to discuss.”
Realization dawning in her wise ocean-blue eyes, she drained her brandy in one astounding swallow. Those same eyes watering, she handed me her glass. I saw the dawning transformation a split second before she burst into a delighted squeal. “You didn’t!
I opened my mouth to speak and absolutely nothing came forth. I couldn’t think of what to say for myself. My silence condemned me.
“You did!
Ellie’s eyes were bright and her color high, either from spirits or the request forming in her mind. “Will you tell me about it?”
Her assertiveness appealed to me, no question about it. However, I wasn’t sure this was a topic one had with a wife. “I don’t think… ”
Fiddlesticks. If my own husband can’t talk to me about his lovemaking, then who can?”
My quickly-downed libations were affecting me. I didn’t know what words to use, where to begin, or even what to say. But that didn’t stop her interrogation.
“I’m assuming the two of you had some sort of encounter… ”
Seeing the blushing excitement before me, my heart fluttered unexpectedly. My Yank was desperate to know the act. The thought she’d want me to describe it left a heavy presence between my legs. In for a penny, in for a pound, I asked, “And what would your feelings be if I had?”
My eyes searched the whole of her for clues as to what she was thinking in that moment. My god, she was a lovely thing. Free of her blousy clothing, she also had small pert breasts in the gossamer folds of her dressing gown. Her nipples were hard. Wondering why, I reached for the decanter.
Her hand on my arm stopped me. Inserting the glass stopper in the bottle, she set it and snifters aside. “Nicolas, we’ve only recently met. And while I grow fonder of you by the day I’m not feeling jealousy, if that’s your concern. I do understand that you have needs that must be seen to. Homosexuality exists in the natural world, therefore is a natural chapter in the book of life. Don’t you agree?”
I nodded. In my inebriation, she might have said Father Christmas was a hedgehog who took tea with the Queen and I would have agreed.
I watched her absently twirl a cinnamon curl around her finger as if she saw what had occurred between the Dutchman and me. Her next words should have surprised me, but they didn’t. “I find the idea of my husband having male lovers a fascinating concept. And besides, how else will I learn about you if you don’t tell me?” Dropping her curl, she laid her hand on my knee. Her touch was warm through the brocade of my dressing gown. I could see the sincerity in her pale eyes when she added, “Please Nicolas, trust me with this aspect of your life. You’re safe with me.”
After three days of non-stop companionship I found myself thoroughly loving how her sharp mind rationalized things. What’s more, an assurance of safety struck a chord in me. I felt myself relaxing, or perhaps this was the work of the liquor. The latter proofed when I heard my own words come out in a slur, “What would you like to know, my dear?”
That gamine smile widened and seeing it, my cock started to thrum to my heartbeat again.
“All of it, of course. I’ve never had a man in my bed, but the mechanics of man and woman are down well enough in my mind. Though try as I might, I can’t fathom how two men come together.”
Bold-as-brass, I said to myself. My Yank was consumed with questions and responsible for a rather stiff cock to boot. I felt a sticky dribble soaking into my robe front. What an astounding notion my attraction was.
Covering her hand with my own, and taking her at her word, I explained my encounter in the young man’s cabin.
Her brows went together as she worked a maiden’s piecemeal imaginings into information. “Wouldn’t he choke? I mean it’s rather large, isn’t it?” Her eyes went to my crotch while my heart pounded loud enough for me to hear. The fabric of the big top began to rise as the center pole lifted. Sure enough the small hand slipped from under mine in a tentative climb. Pausing, she met my eyes. “May I see?”
I couldn’t fully comprehend my case of anxiety. In many ways, I too, was as untried as she. I might have had my male lover since the age of seventeen, but I’d never shared an intimate exchange with a woman before this moment. It wasn’t the lesson in futility I’d always assumed such a chance meeting would be either. I eyed the decanter again but decided I’d had more than enough and was likely sound asleep and dreaming the encounter anyway. Untying the sash, I experienced a peculiar disconnect between my sotted brain and the quavering hands at the ends of my arms. Swallowing nervously, I folded back the sides of my robe and exposed myself to her.
“That’s amazing.” She looked from my cock to my face as if expecting me to concur. Clearly deliberating how to proceed, she worried her bottom lip as questions filled her mind. “It is fully engorged, isn’t it? I mean, you’re much larger now than when you finished your bath.” Her eyes met mine. “Are you thinking of him now?”
Damn me if her unabashed words didn’t fill the last inch. Seeing that, she drew a sharp breath. The strange thing is, I wasn’t thinking of the Dutchman in the least. Noticing the unconscious flexing of her fingers in a tentative itch to feel my length, I heard a voice come out of my mouth. My drunken brain could scarcely credit it was I who suggested, “Touch me if you’d like.”
Though her reaction to my words rivaled finding the lucky bean in her Twelfth Night cake, her reach was at once hesitant yet curiously eager. Her fingertips found me first. They traced the knots of veins just under my skin.
“Oh, you’re much warmer than I imagined, and unbelievably firm. I never imagined that, nor did I think I’d be able to feel your pulse down here.”
My breath caught as small soft fingers closed around me then eased my foreskin down until the crown of my cock lay fully exposed. She released it and my sheaf resumed its natural position. Like a child with a new wind-up toy or a scientist on the verge of discovery, she tested my flesh again. Over and over she plied me until her comfort in touching me grew. I imagined her picturing the Dutchman and me; and I half expected her to try to swallow me like he had. The heady thought brought about a shiver that raced through me from head to toe.
Apparently she hadn’t missed the sexual tremor that seized me. Her exploration halted, those eyes met mine but her hand stayed put. Somewhere in my haze I recalled I’d found them pretty just that morning, but good god they were lovely. For the first time I noticed her irises had dark olive green rings around the blue and small gold flecks in a corona around the black center.
Holding her gaze, I covered her little hand with my own and slowly stroked the length with her. To my surprised delight her slight grip tightened on its own. For all the sensation was different, I enjoyed this soft intimate caress as much as I enjoyed Thomas’ rough and firm hand.
She moistened her lips with her tongue and her left knee began to swing to and fro with tensile energy. Even in my inebriated state I recognized these small gestures as those normally reserved for when her focus was piqued by some thought. Whatever that mind of hers was thinking, it was evident my wife very much liked this imagery of hers. Her next words broke my trance, “I find myself envious.”
The slow soft stroking and my over-indulgence of spirits were muddying the waters of my comprehension of the moment. I could only imagine what that detail-hungry mind was thinking, for I was having trouble following the thought. My voice sounded dull to my ears when all I could do was repeat her.
Her next words had a breathy quality. “Yes, envious. I imagine what having a blade like this might feel when sinking into the heat of a lover’s body.”
For a moment it felt as though my heart had stopped, and I forced a breath to be sure it was still engaged. I’d once seen the marble statue of the androgynous Hermaphroditus: the bisexual offspring of Aphrodite and Hermes, sleeping in the Louvre. Lost in the erotic thought of her having a cock along with the rest of her fair attributes, the breathtaking notion enhanced by her softly stroking hand, I closed my eyes and immersed myself in the fantasy. What glorious imagery it was.

And while visions danced behind closed my lids, the effects of nerve-dousing brandy and travel fatigue coalesced. My new wife gently examined every male detail that made our bodies differ, and damn me if I didn’t miss most of it. Done in by drink and her gentle touch, I went off to sleep in the arms of Morpheus.
***
I woke sometime in the night to discover myself half on the settee and under the spare coverlet from the bed. For a moment I didn’t know where I was. At last the details of the evening came in from the sides of my mind. I lifted the coverlet. That my cock was glued to my thigh was a mystery. I couldn’t remember past Ellie’s novice exploration of my privates.
One thing was certain however; the copious brandy to settle my nerves had kicked me right between the eyes as surely as a mule. I felt plain awful. Trying hard not to wake her, I quietly went to the commode where, hugging the throne so to speak, my body expelled the evening’s spirits as quickly as I’d taken them in. I poured myself a glass of water to rinse my mouth then hied myself back to the settee where I curled into a miserable ball and promptly fell back to sleep.
***
The next morning when I opened my bleary eyes, I felt a little better thanks to my midnight purge. Experience told me my queasy headache would last for several hours. In the outer room, an ungodly loud rap on the door was answered by the pleasant voice of my new wife. I heard her say, “Thank you. No, I’ll take it from here.”
A moment later she brought a wait cart into the sitting room. I greeted her groggily. There were covered dishes and carafes, but I could easily determine the menu by the savory scent of bacon and kippers, and sultry aroma of butter and cinnamon. My sour stomach told my nose to ignore it all.
She smiled. “I thought you’d prefer breakfast in here this morning.”
Needing to atone for my poor behavior, I offered, “I very much regret last night, Ellie. Please accept my ap—”
She cut me off, “We drank a rather lot last night, you and I. I must say I… ”
I listened to her dismiss the fact I’d acted like a dreadful sot by including herself in my solo drunkenness. That she’d seek to protect me from embarrassment by sharing the blame touched me deeply. I gave her an appreciative yet apologetic smile. “You’re kind. But it falls on my head, and believe me my head feels my remorse acutely.”
Laughing lightly, she handed me a dry biscuit. She tsk-tsked, “You poor thing. Here nibble this… slowly.”
She poured me a cup of coffee, adding cream and sugar lumps, presumably to her taste. “Coffee helps the morning-after head far better than tea. And this helps even more, believe me.” To my surprise, she splashed a tot of brandy in the cup. After my early-morning episode with the commode, I admit the sight of the decanter made my stomach lurch. I found myself wondering how she knew the hair of the dog remedy for a drunkard’s hangover. I asked her.
Laughing, she confided she’d “learned the hard way,” explaining vaguely that progressive Americans much enjoy their leisure, though they occasionally must pay the piper like everyone else. She also asked I please not mention that to my new father-in-law.
I gave a head-splitting laugh and promptly quelled it in an act of self-preservation. That sentient smile played over her lips, and once more the notion of familiarity came to me and then it was gone. Instead, I was reminded of a comment Mrs. Fletcher once made after catching her nephew and I kissing in the buttery. “It is wise to conceal that which cannot be disclosed, and disclose that which cannot be concealed. Now go find yourselves a private place to test the waters or tongues will wag, and Master Nicolas, you don’t want that, dear.”
Handing over the steaming cup, Ellie met my eye, “Trust me.”
Damn me if I didn’t.

Loving Leonardo on Amazon:

Rose Anderson – Love Waits in Unexpected Places 

Sunday, 23 December 2012

The Perfect Christmas Read by Lucy Felthouse

It's just a couple of days until Christmas... are you in the mood yet? Or perhaps you loathe Christmas and can't wait until it's all over and life can go back to normal. Either way, if you love paranormal erotic romance, you'll enjoy Reindeer Games: Cupid. It's a tad Christmassy, in that reindeer and Santa are involved, but the action isn't even set at Christmas. It takes place in the New Year, when everyone goes back to work and life returns to normal!

Intrigued? Here's a snippet from the beginning of the story...


Chapter One

Cassius Cupid woke with a start, and then sat bolt upright in his bed. Shit, I’m going to be late! was his first thought.

Milliseconds later his brain switched on, and he remembered. He was on holiday. Flopping back onto the warm mattress and pillows with a contented sigh, he smiled. No work for fourteen whole days—it was going to be utter bliss. He stretched, relishing the feeling it created in his sleep-softened muscles. Ahhh…this is the life.

He knew he wouldn’t go back to sleep—hell, it was eight o’clock, which was practically the middle of the day for someone in his profession—so Cassius fell to thinking about how he was going to spend his day, not to mention the several others in front of him. God knew he deserved to relax and have some fun. He’d just emerged from the busiest part of his year, and he was more than ready to do some chilling out.

He enjoyed his job as a postman—he really did—but the Christmas period was a total killer. He idly wondered how many cards and presents he’d delivered over the past few weeks. It didn’t bear thinking about. Once you factored in the festive period itself, the weird few days between Christmas and New Year, and then the flurry of mail that got sent when everyone went back to work properly at the beginning of January, he’d racked up some serious deliveries. And that was before you even thought about his other job—which was for just one day a year, but was arguably more important than the other 364 put together.

Cassius—or Cupid, as he was known to his boss and colleagues in his second, but most important job—was not only a regular postman for the Royal Mail, but also a reindeer. For a single day of the year, Cassius had the supernatural power to transform into one of Santa’s faithful steeds and help pull that famous magical sleigh, delivering presents to excited children the world over.

Therefore, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Cassius really did eat, sleep and breathe deliveries, but not for the next fourteen days. All he planned to do was watch some TV, read some books, maybe go out hiking, meet some friends… basically anything that wasn’t delivering something to someone. Hey, he might even receive something through the post himself—preferably not the usual crap; bills and junk mail. He didn’t hold out much hope.

He lounged in bed for another ten minutes before realising he was lying there just for the sake of it. Being on holiday didn’t have to equal staying in bed all day—and certainly not for someone as active as him. He reached over to his bedside table, grabbed his glasses and put them on. Throwing off his thick duvet, he walked to his bedroom window and peeked out through the curtains, immediately glad of the effective central heating he and his housemate had forked out to have installed the previous year.

The outside world was covered in a thick layer of snow, and Cassius was mightily glad that he wasn’t out delivering letters and parcels. The stuff was treacherous enough without having to carry a heavy bag up and down driveways, paths, and pavements — most of which either hadn’t been cleared, or had been cleared badly, leaving incredibly slippery patches of ground for an unsuspecting postie to come across. God knows he’d gone down enough times, but, much to his relief, nobody had ever seen him do it. He’d always been relatively unharmed—excerpt for his pride, of course—and had been able to scramble back to his feet and carry on.

The eerie silence outside was broken by the rumble of an engine, and Cassius turned his head to look up the street—he lived in a cul-de-sac, so he knew that’s where the vehicle would come from—and watched as a delivery van made its way slowly and carefully down the road. He hoped the driver was sensible enough to try and steer over the thickest parts of the snow—the more people went over and over the same patches, packing it down, the more the road surface resembled an ice rink. And since the cul-de-sac was on a slight hill, it was easy enough to get stuck. He’d seen it so many times—even going outside one time last winter to suggest the driver go down to the bottom of the road, turn around and try reversing up the hill—an almost foolproof plan for vans with rear-wheel drive. He’d gotten a big thumbs-up for that suggestion as the driver finally got to the junction where the road became flat, and went on his merry way.

As the van drew closer to his house, he saw that the driver was a woman. That would explain her cautious driving—he’d never admit it to one of his drinking buddies, but women were far superior when it came to driving in adverse weather conditions. He even thought he’d seen some survey containing statistics that proved it.

Sound like your thing? Then scroll down to find out how you can get your copy! Happy Holidays!

*****

As a postman by day, and one of Santa’s reindeer on a single very special night, Cassius Cupid eats, sleeps, and breathes deliveries. He doesn’t mind, but sometimes wishes that someone would send him something more exciting than bills and junk mail.

One cold January morning, Cassius gets his wish. A young woman arrives with a parcel. Turns out it’s for his housemate – but Cassius doesn’t care. All he’s interested in is Carina – the beautiful female courier.

Has Cupid finally met his match?

Buy links: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/cupid/



*****
Lucy is a graduate of the University of Derby, where she studied Creative Writing. During her first year, she was dared to write an erotic story - so she did. It went down a storm and she's never looked back. Lucy has had stories published by Cleis Press, Constable and Robinson, Decadent Publishing, Ellora's Cave, Evernight Publishing, House of Erotica, Ravenous Romance, Resplendence Publishing, Secret Cravings Publishing, Sweetmeats Press and Xcite Books. She is also the editor of Uniform Behaviour, Seducing the Myth, Smut by the Sea and Smut in the City. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

Friday, 21 December 2012

Mischief at Mulberry Manor - Victorian Novella


Oh, the excitement - now that my Victorian novella is published on Amazon kindle! Mischief at Mulberry Manor is around 29,000 words and I really enjoyed writing this. It’s part Gothic romance, part ghost story and is set around the forthcoming Twelfth Night Masked Ball in 1859. I’m so delighted with the lovely cover which writer and journalist friend, Sara, designed from my own original photo.

Here’s the short blurb:

When Maryanne Robertson visits her cousins’ old manor house for the Twelfth Night Masked Ball in 1859, she does not expect to find the manor haunted, or to fall in love. But mischief is afoot and one of her cousins is missing, while out of doors snow and frost covers the ground. Is the mischief caused by a ghostly presence or someone more human?

If you’re a visual person, like me, you might enjoy the trailer I made for YouTube – can’t resist having fun with these!



And if anyone wants to read it (hopefully) it’s available from Amazon UK and Amazon US, and all the other Amazon countries.

Rosemary, or that should be Romy for now!

Friday, 14 December 2012

A Woman of Independence and heart.

Despite seeing herself as Irish, the famous actress, Mrs Jordan, was in fact born in London near Covent Garden in 1761, no doubt where her stage-struck parents were seeking work at the time, and where she was baptized Dorothy Bland. Her sisters called her Dolly. She preferred Dora and adopted that as her stage name.

Turning to acting out of necessity rather than choice, her father having abandoned his family to marry an Irish heiress, she became known as the most famous comedic actress of her day. Dora began her career on the Dublin stage and became the sole source of income for her family from the age of sixteen. Suffering a sexual assault from the manager she fled to Yorkshire, already pregnant, where she went on the circuit to learn her craft. She endured much jealousy from her fellow actors, but her talent was soon recognised and she moved on to Drury Lane where her fame spread.

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. She was not particularly tall but had a neat, elegant figure, was articulate with good diction, and a voice considered to be strong and clear. Most of all she had vivacity, confidence and a natural stage presence. Her finest feature proved to be her legs, which were shown to perfection in her cross-dressing roles. Men in the audience worshipped those elegantly shapely limbs, considered by some to be the finest ever seen on stage.

Ultimately she became mistress to the Duke of Clarence, later William IV, with whom she lived in contented domesticity at Bushy Park, for nearly twenty years, presenting him with ten children while striving to balance both career and ‘marriage’ as her modern counterparts do today. Her life was blighted by an insincere and weak father, a dependent mother, inadequate siblings, selfish children, and more than one man who betrayed her trust.

Her flaw was that she was perhaps a little too trusting, caring and eager to help those she loved, which proved to be her downfall in the end. She was a woman of great courage and independence, feisty, warm-hearted and generous to a fault. But when things started to go wrong she needed to call upon all her resources to survive. Yet she bore her troubles with astonishing good will, and to the end of her life never said a word against the Duke.

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

And 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:
29 Nov 2012


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.

Available from all good bookshops and Amazon.

Sunday, 9 December 2012

Sights of London

Since I had such enthusiastic feedback on my previous post here, about writing from the male perspective and about setting my book in London, I thought I'd dish some more dirt. Or, more accurately, show you what I saw, what I explored, in order for this book to come to life as I was writing it.

A Taste of London is set in the Southwark/London Bridge/The City of London - which probably sounds like quite a large area, but actually, it's not. Or at least the parts of it in the story aren't, anyway. It's certainly all within walking distance - and honestly, it's the best way to see London. Yes, you can skip bits of your journey by hopping on the Tube, but some of the sights you'll see if you head out on foot are unexpected and awesome. I dread to think how many miles of London I've covered on foot.

For the purposes of this post, though, I've included some photos of what the character in A Taste of London, Ryan Stonebridge, will have seen. I took them myself, too, so no copyright issues here :)

I hope you enjoy a little peek at what appears in the book - and if you're so inclined, the buy links are at my site - link below the blurb. The book is out now - so, happy reading!

*****

Ryan Stonebridge and his friend Kristian Hurst are heading off on the trip of a lifetime. They’re spending their gap year traveling the world and expect lots of sun, sights and sex. The guys have a couple of days in the English capital before catching the Eurostar to Paris. Unfortunately, a family emergency means that Kristian has to head back home for a while, leaving Ryan to continue the trip alone.

Luckily for Ryan, he’s an attractive guy and there is no shortage of gorgeous women available to help take his mind off Kristian’s family drama.

More info, excerpt and buy links: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/a-taste-of-london/

*****
Lucy is a graduate of the University of Derby, where she studied Creative Writing. During her first year, she was dared to write an erotic story - so she did. It went down a storm and she's never looked back. Lucy has had stories published by Cleis Press, Constable and Robinson, Decadent Publishing, Ellora's Cave, Evernight Publishing, House of Erotica, Ravenous Romance, Resplendence Publishing, Secret Cravings Publishing, Sweetmeats Press and Xcite Books. She is also the editor of Uniform Behaviour, Seducing the Myth, Smut by the Sea and Smut in the City. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

Tuesday, 4 December 2012

Review by David Russell: Sonya Watson - 'The Tide Breaker'

This is a highly complex mythological tale centred on the personal growth and traumas of Abrianna. It is undefined in time, apart from a brief flash of someone being spirited into 2010; in terms of locality, there is a brief reference to New York State. The action takes place against a background of inter-species conflict. The named species have their mythological bases. Homo Sapiens is in conflict with the Wendigoes (Cannibalistic spirits in Algonquin (Native American) mythology, the Nephilim (a race of giants in Canaan, described in the Book of Job ' the product of sampling forbidden fruit), and 'original fictional' tribes such as Primes, Strangelings and Elementals. One reference to Cwm Annwyn, the spectral hound of the Welsh otherworld - helping to make the piece truly global! I think a 'reader-friendly' guide to these groupings would be most helpful, as would be a roster of the characters, with synopses of their identities and functions.

These groups are in perpetual, interlocking conflict - ethnic cleansing massacres are ceaseless. The conflict assumes truly grotesque proportions. Not only do the warring factions kill each other, they plunder and transplant each other's vital organs - including mutated DNA, and suck each other's life-blood. Indeed, the story opens with the extraction of Abrianna's dead mother's heart (shades of speculations about Shelley's funeral!) The characters have magical, mythical resilience in withstanding and recovering from these lacerations. There are some mutations, and some return to life from death. One criticism I would make of the book is that so many 'surgical operations' get a bit repetitive - but then tastes differ.

Abrianna has her human and her superhuman aspects. She has some potential to be a 'weapon' capable of a decisive effect on the struggle between the species. As a human being, she is deeply divided, between lust and love, between callousness and sensitivity. She is enmeshed in a kinship web riddled with jealousy. Her suitors include Michael and Graham (a cloned Wendigo).

In spite of a repressive network of kinship and suitors, she "had developed into her own person, and now she wanted to explore the endless possibilities of being a strong, independent girl."

Abrianna's search for love is put into elemental, genetic perspective: "The soul was broken into two halves and scattered like seeds across the earth. Once they reached maturity they searched for their missing half, and if found, happiness was sure to follow." But later in the book, this assertion is, if not contradicted, severely qualified. "The merging of two souls was very rarely accomplished by those in search of it, and though they never yearned for such a bond, they attained it. As a complex person, she was acutely aware of the various levels of lust and love. Her first love was for Michael; she had a lesser love for Jonathan, and 'manufactured feelings' for Graham.

Her better nature is overwhelmed by a combination of what was genetically imposed on her, and her won desire for power: "Evil caught the eye of morality and like a restless spirit would never rest until it was stained with the blood of the innocent". In the end Abrianna is 'found guilty': "The universe had marked Abrianna for death since she tipped the balance scales in favour of chaos."

I am torn between desire for the destruction of a monster and bereavement of her warm, human qualities.

Buy at Amazon UK , Smashwords .