To celebrate the release of Keep it Under Wraps on 19 July Lillian Grant is giving a copy away to one lucky person who leaves a comment on her website www.lilliangrant.com
Leave a comment and check back on the 19th to see if you are the lucky winner. Oh, and you don't need to have read book one to enjoy book two.
If you don't want to wait you can preorder it at Sirenbookstrand. And it is available at a discount price until the 26th July.
Blurb
A sex scandal threatens to destroy reformed Hollywood bad boy Jonathon Deveraux. PI Georgina Stanvers can save him – if they can trust each other.
Reformed Hollywood bad boy, Jonathon Deveraux, doesn’t remember starring in the DVD in his mailbox, and he’s not sure he trusts the female PI hired to find out where the movie came from.
Georgina Stanvers needs the work but she doesn’t like Jonathon. He’s a smooth talker, like the movie makers who ruined her father. She only suggests re-enacting the bondage scene to jar the actor’s memory. But untamed passion rewrites the script, and inhibitions are stripped away along with their clothing.
When bullets fly it appears an impending sex scandal is the least of Jonathon’s troubles. Needing to discover the truth, “George” puts her heart on the line, and her life in the hands of killers bent on revenge. If Jonathon is to prove his attraction to the PI is more than lust, he’ll have to save her. But first he needs to trust George, and his heart.
Excerpt
George swallowed, breathing deeply in an effort to slow her racing pulse. There he sat, on a bed. The bed. The one where the two ladies had tied him up and done to him what they would. Knowing what happened here should disgust her, but it didn’t. She had never thought being a voyeur was a turn-on. Porn did nothing for her, but she had to admit she’d watched the DVD more times than strictly necessary to solve the case. If she made the suggestion swirling in her brain would she be able to resist temptation? From the expression on Jonathon’s face, she got the impression he wouldn’t be disappointed if she didn’t.
“Perhaps a reenactment would help you remember something.”
His gaze met hers, and she took an involuntary step toward him. Dark eyes filled with desire held her enraptured. Now that she stood within reach, his hand circled her arm and tugged her to stand between his legs.
“Reenact how, exactly?”
George forced herself to break eye contact and stared at the headboard instead.
“You could lie on the bed, like in the video, and I could tie you up. It might trigger something?”
The smile teasing his lips left her in no doubt he had deliberately taken the last comment to mean something sexual. Is that what she meant? She didn’t know.
He agreed with a small nod, and she stepped back as he pulled off his boots. His socks came off with a quick tug then he began to slowly unbutton his shirt. Eyes locked on his, she fought not to drop her gaze to his chest as his tanned torso gradually came into view. The garment slid down his arms and he tossed it aside before getting to his feet. Battle lost, she took in his toned muscles, brown skin, and dark nipples erect from the cold, or maybe with lust. Her own nipples hardened in response, sending a shiver down her spine. She stood mesmerized as he slid his hands down his chest, over his stomach, before they came to rest on his belt buckle.
Her eyes focused on the oversized steel clasp. Fingers sliding behind the scuffed black leather, he started to tug the belt free. George took a deep breath and looked away. She was disgusted with herself. Lust may have melted her resolve, but she didn’t have to show it. What was wrong with her? She was practically drooling.
She dropped her bag to the floor and rummaged around inside, deliberately focused on what she was doing. “You don’t need to go all the way. How about you keep your jeans on, Tiger?” She glanced up at him and smiled. “I’d hate for you to catch a chill.”
With his belt unfastened and his button undone, he climbed on the bed, lying in the middle, arms by his side.
George finally retrieved what she was searching for. She stepped to the bed, and he moved from staring at the ceiling to see what she held in her hands.
“Handcuffs? But they tied me.”
“I don’t carry rope. Hands above your head.”
He moved his hands to rest them on the pillow. Her gaze shifted away from his sparsely haired armpits, tight pecs, and defined shoulders, to his face. He chuckled. “But you do carry handcuffs? For work or pleasure?”
She bit her bottom lip, determined not to let him bait her. Leaning across him, she closed the cuff around his left wrist before sliding it through the bars in the headboard and then fastening it around his right wrist. The effort caused her chest to brush against his face. When he rubbed his lips against her protruding nipple she gasped. Pushing herself back up to a standing position, she folded her arms. Both her nipples had beaded at his touch and now threatened to break through the thin fabric of her T-shirt. She made a mental note to always wear a bra in future.
“Lie still and concentrate. You won’t remember anything if you’re fooling around.”
He sighed and stared back at the ceiling. “I figured if this was a reenactment then fooling around would be the order of the day.”
God, he was right. How was having him lie on the bed seminaked supposed to achieve anything? So far all she had managed to do was turn herself on. The sight of his bare chest along with the soft hair that started below his belly button and thickened just above the zipper on his jeans wasn’t helping much either. The only one likely to have flashbacks was her.
Want to know what happens next....check the adult excerpt at SirenBookstrand.
SPEAK TO ME OF ABDUCTION!
www.lilliangrant.com
After accepting a movie role, Charlene Page, worries she might be the next rising porn star. On reflection, that might have been safer.
Stuck in Rio and desperate for cash, Australian backpacker Charlene accepts a minor movie role. When her co-star, Hollywood hunk and serial womanizer, Jonathon Deveraux is abducted from the set she turns to his older brother for help.
Oscar winner and Hollywood good guy Jacob Deveraux is a recluse. However, when his brother goes missing, he agrees to help the hapless backpacker who appears to have been deceived into taking a movie role so Jonathon could woo her into his bed. The more determined he is to keep his distance the more he is drawn to her. When it becomes obvious his bother’s kidnapping is designed to punish Jacob he worries Charlene may be next. Despite his best efforts to keep her safe she is grabbed off the street. Can he find and save his brother and Charlene or will he lose another woman he loves?
ADULT EXCERPT
Charlene lifted her face to look at Jacob, expecting some explanation, but instead, her eyes locked with his, and she knew she was toast.
His hands held her face as his mouth took possession of hers. The kiss was bruising. His tongue demanded entrance, and she was more than happy to comply. The sensation of his soft, warm tongue dancing with her own melted her resolve to keep her distance. The arms she initially held rigid at her sides wrapped around him. She slid her hands down his back to cup his backside and keep him tight to her. When he started to hum, it took the eroticism to a whole new level. All the kisses before had been good, maybe passionate, but this time nothing else mattered. This time she wouldn’t fight it. She had no idea where this was headed, but she wasn’t getting off the ride until the end. This wasn’t acting. This was real. The growing bulge in his jeans as he ground his pelvis into her, and the warmth between her thighs in response, weren’t make-believe. The pure desire in the kiss and the sensation of his fingers mapping her body heated her to the core. His hand grazed her breast through the thin fabric of her dress. He pinched her nipple, and it hardened at his touch. Her panties dampened as a wave of lust spread to her crotch. She wiggled a hand between them and palmed the front of his jeans. He was so hard, so ready.
Opening his zipper, she squeezed a hand inside and wrapped her fingers around his erection. He groaned in response to her touch. Her grip tightened as he lifted her to rest her backside on the handrail. Grabbing her behind the knee, he pulled her leg over his hip before sliding a hand up her thigh, his fingers so close to her aching pussy. His featherlight touch made her shudder as it left a trail of goose pimples in its wake. She broke the kiss and gasped for air as his fingers continued their exploration. A light touch brushed across her damp, silk panties, tracing her slit. His mouth retook hers, swallowing her moan. Another glide of his fingers had her insides pulsing and her clit throbbing. If he stopped now, she would scream. All previous thoughts of not having sex with him evaded her. She needed him, and she needed him now.
Pulling her hand from his jeans, she struggled to undo his belt and button. Finally, she eased his rigid shaft free. He felt magnificent and rock-hard. She explored his pulsating member. A glide of her fingers across the moist tip caused a rock of his hips that sent a jolt of desire straight to her heated center. Wet panties pushed roughly to one side, his fingers slid between her lower lips. The sensation as he ran a finger from her moist entrance to her hard clit made her core throb. Her insides ached to be filled with him. A firmer massage of her bud had her tugging his cock toward her. He offered no resistance as she guided him to her entrance. It seemed neither of them was in the mood to wait. The need had been building from the moment she saw him on the deck of his yacht, and now her passion knew no bounds. He broke the kiss and met her gaze. His eyes were dark and full of lust. Her own passion lifted a notch, her insides tightened, and she licked her lips. Their chests rose and fell in unison.
Eyes locked on hers, he slowly slid inside her. Charlene gasped at the exquisite sensation of being completely filled by him. “Oh, Jacob, Jesus Christ.”
A smile tugged the corners of his mouth at her response. Hands resting on his shoulders, she dug her fingers into his flesh as she struggled to maintain her balance. Every thrust made her quiver. He pulled her leg higher and continued to draw circles around her clit, his rocking driving him ever deeper. She was mesmerized by the raw lust on his face. His eyes appeared even darker, his parted lips redder.
Pushing her harder against the wall, he lifted the tempo with hips and hands. Fingers moved from soft circles over her nub to hard flicks that sent pulse after pulse through her pussy. The ball of fire in the pit of her stomach grew, and unable to hold back, she dropped one hand to the handrail for balance, and the other hand gripped his shoulder. Her release rolled the length of her core, and she closed her eyes as her whole body shook with each wave. She needed more. She needed all of him. Her efforts to impale him deeper inside her failed. Her precarious balance restricted movement.
Sweat trickled down her neck as she panted. Each pulse stronger than before, her climax seemingly endless as it ripped through her pussy. “Jacob, oh harder, please, harder.”
Complying with her request, he ground himself into her, his dick penetrating her every inch, his fingers roughly drawing back and forth over her aching nub. Every touch sent another throb through her until she thought she would die. Finally, her orgasm slowed, and Jacob moved his hand from her center to cup her backside.
Opening her eyes, she was enthralled by the look of pure exhilaration on his face as he thrust harder. Head back, his hair was damp with sweat. His voice deep and throaty, he groaned. “Oh so good, Charlie, oh so good, baby.” She felt his powerful release deep inside her, and her insides throbbed in response, milking his cock dry.
I'm pleased as punch to announce the release of my dear friend, KevD's, latest work.
"A Demon Affair" was just released through Pine Wood Press.
I hope you enjoy this look at my erotic fantasy novella.
Ages ago, a heavenly Archangel and a hellish Slayer fell in love. The product of their sacrilege now roams the earth, devouring the souls of the living. Possessing all the strengths of good and evil, Pilan has the power to rise against either kingdom and take control. He simply hasn't yet chosen to.
Heaven dispatches Anai, an angel who has sacrificed eternity to kill Pilan. Anai is as powerful, and potentially as evil, as Pilan. As hell repeatedly sends forces to destroy Pilan and Anai, the two angel-demons surrender to sin. To enjoy the vanity of killing each other, they must first keep each other alive. Then there's the whole lust issue…
Excerpt:
Pilan crawled to his feet and glared at his sallow reflection in the mirror. Beyond his dead, black eyes, a razor's edge glinted in the void.
"What has given you the strength to free yourself?" he snarled.
A guttural chuckle rumbled in his throat. Heh, heh, heh.
Pilan narrowed his eyes against that sliver of light. Hatred flamed in his words. "You dare laugh at me?
"I laugh at your ignorant vanity. You have become so enamored with yourself, you really don't know, do you?
He raised a brow. "Know what? What have you done?"
Me? The chuckle burst into a full laugh. I have done nothing but heed the call.
"What call?" Pilan tempered his rage. The wildfire emotion would only make him more vulnerable to the assault. He could not afford to lose control of his mind and body.
Instead of sniffing for souls, you should have been sniffing for enemies. I will leave you alone. For now. The sparkles withdrew into the black depths within. The goodness retreated, and the black cage reformed about it.
What had he missed? No, he couldn't have missed anything. Perfection never erred. He drew in a long, lung-filling breath. One by one, he dissected each scent. Nothing beyond that which belonged to this place.
But urgency tugged at the threads of his mind. The fact he couldn't detect whatever the goodness had discovered was itself the answer - another Lasiqs had been dispatched to destroy him.
Pilan shrugged and sighed. Would Satan never learn Pilan was more powerful than the underworld lord and his mindless assassins? Hell could not claim a human's soul until the human died. Pilan could take a soul when the mood struck him, whenever he was hungry. For the souls of the living provided the nourishment he required, helped him grow in strength and power.
And one day, when he chose to, he would rule this pathetic world of mortals. He simply hadn't chosen to yet.
He opened a drawer of the dresser and pulled out black chinos and tee. Longing for fresh air and the chill of the night, he dressed.
At the back door of the club, he said goodnight to the guard and wandered into the dark, dead end alley. The dank of stagnant rain puddles blanketed him between the brick walls. Yellow light cast a dull glow over the sidewalk and street at the alley's open end. A taxi's tires buzzed over the pavement as the car passed. A rat scurried for refuge under a dumpster adorned in gang graffiti.
Pilan inhaled the night, his realm. A taste of demon-borne sulfur brought a grim smile to his lips. Out here, where he ruled, not even a Lasiqs could hide his scent from Pilan. He rolled the flavors over his tongue. Orange. He inhaled again, this time focusing on the smells alone, and not their taste. No hint of the acidic sweetness of oranges. Maybe nothing to be concerned with. But a Lasiqs who emitted the sweetness of oranges generally possessed greater battle prowess, courtesy of a soul or two implanted by Satan himself. Not that it ever mattered in the end.
Still, a Lasiqs alone wouldn't have stirred that part of him he'd confined centuries ago. Something else had given his duality the confidence to once again challenge him.
Pilan dug his fingers into the crevices between the bricks of a wall and climbed. The first three stories stretched his muscles, making him feel more alive in the night, but the next two brought cramps to his hands. At the top of the five-story building he walked along the narrow ledge, above the tarpaper roof, sniffing the air for any particle that might disclose what it was that his mirror self knew.
A spark of mixed flavors ignited and vanished.
Pilan froze in his tracks. Vanilla. Leather. The hair on the back of his neck pricked his skin. What the leather meant, he had no clue, but combined with vanilla, the flavor of Heaven's angels, it couldn't bode well. Not even Hell could copy an angel's scent.
This Lasiqs wasn't from Satan's seed.
Heh, heh, heh. My Father has finally found a champion, Pilan.
"Silence. Neither Heaven nor Hell can defeat me." Pilan spread his arms wide and stared at the sliver of moon winking behind drifting gray and black clouds. "Do you hear me?" he screamed to the night. "I am Pilan! Spawn of Heaven and Hell. I bear the power of each. I am waiting. Come to me!"
A wisp of torrid breeze passed Pilan's ears and deposited its message. "I am Anai. I shall kill you soon. Very soon."
BUY A DEMON AFFAIR
http://www.kevad.net/
https://nobleromance.com/Authors/116
http://www.rainbowebooks.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=4507
A vision, a wish, and a journey plagued by evil.
Cold, desolate cliffs and a white dragon’s blue gaze captures Seren Jordan in a terrifying vision. A universe away, Paladin Fulcan--prince, captain, and sorcery-shadowed seed of dragonkind--struggles to overcome his grief during the long journey to where he must bury his wife and son. Seeing a shooting star, he violates all the laws of the dragonseed: he makes a wish.
A dragonseed's wish can open the gates between realities, can alter fate. But has fate itself decreed this wish? For the throne-less dragonseed's destiny is entwined with that of a mortal mate; their son is fated to be the One True Dragon King to rule over all the dragons. But not all dragons are content to accept one rule, and the rebels quietly gather allies to prevent the birth of Seren's baby.
Excerpt
Birds appeared on the outer edges of her vision. She shifted her gaze. She watched the wings moving, brilliant white down and bluish gray up. Their feathers along with their shapes reminded her of the herons she often saw in the bayous and marshes around New Orleans. She smiled. The reminder brought wonderful memories of growing up in the Crescent City.
Every summer her parents would take her to beach on Pontchartrain Lake. Water, sand, and sun had covered her from head to toe. She’d loved the summer months with picnics in the park. They’d feed the pigeons in Jackson Square. Then when she’d grown and had her child, she’d done the same for her. She smiled at the memories.
Soft footsteps approached Seren from behind. The touch of a warm palm on her neck soothed her. A second later, the cushion dipped from the person sitting.
Paladin’s deep voice warmed her more than the sunlight. “You’re awake. You must be much better if you can smile.”
“What kind of birds are those? They look similar to ones on Earth,” she asked, not ready to face him.
Silence answered her for several moments.
When he leaned above her, he cast a shadow over her shoulder and chest. “They are not birds. Those are dracs, fledgling dragons. They are from my clan’s namesake.”
Surprised, she shifted closer to the window, studying the flying beasts. Small, with slender bodies, the creatures showed little to no resemblance to the beast from her vision. “Those are the dragons?”
She glanced at him. What she saw melted away her surprise. Golden strands lay against the high cast of his cheeks. Seren reached up and glided a finger tip across his bottom lip. His smooth, almost silky lips parted. She lowered her hand, returning her gaze to the window.
She struggled to keep her desire under control. Need pounded between her legs. When she spoke, she kept her tone even. “I don’t like the way you make me feel.”
“In what manner do you speak?”
“Heat, lust…passion.”
“Is that so terrible?” His voice had deepened.
She sighed. “For me, yes. I don’t want to feel those emotions. I wanted the vision to end. Desiring you doesn’t fit into the picture.”
“Desire is not bad.” He brushed the back of his hand over her cheek.
Zarak shed that Warrior Code crap long ago. Oscar personifies it. Hunting a murderer in a land scarred by endless warfare, two men fight for justice, honor, and who gets top.
Chapter 1
I woke muddled, thinking the ship's engines sounded wrong. Red light glared on my eyelids. Breathing meant gagging on the seagull-shit taste of a hangover. And that sound was not my ship's engines. More like a sardine can's engines or…a plane?
Opening my eyes took effort. A plane. From the rear of the fuselage, I faced up an aisle between rows of knees hugging sea bags. Not sea bags: MOLLE-packs. Red lights in strips overhead barely illuminated a couple hundred hunched forms in desert camo, a row of males in body armor along each bulkhead, facing inward, and two rows of females jammed into back-to-back seats in the center. Male or female, each of them clutched one of those carbines the sponges called an assault rifle.
Why am I in a plane packed with camo-assed bullet-sponges?
The plane's deck angled down sharply. Screams rang in my ears, going dull. My ears cleared, painfully, and the shrieks sharpened.
Crashing. That's what we're doing.
The deck roller-coastered up, then yawed faster than physics should allow. Whiplash. I saw stars. The stench of vomit wrung my empty guts.
A dive and another yaw brought more screams ringing off the bulkhead, prayer in Spanish close by, retching farther away.
How did I stay in my seat, with gravity halving and doubling and snatching me starboard to port? When the plane steadied long enough to let me look down, I saw bands of dull silver duct tape strapping my thighs to my seat, and another red-streaked silver band over my belt.
Something hung on my lower face. I had some kind of mask. No. Somebody had duct-taped a puke bag to my face. It sagged obscenely against my chin, like a giant used condom.
Pulling it off hurt. The stench blasted from it.
Where do I put this? I looked around, blinking, trying to make sense. The screamers in the middle seats were mostly army. The hundred or so men squatting in the seats lining the bulkhead were marines. Some laughed at the women. Others hunkered down, as if waiting for shrapnel to find them. A few threw curious glances at me, the only squid in sight.
A cluster of pops rapped at the bulkhead, like popcorn in my mother's big pot. One of the sponges grinned at me. "Small arms fire. Welcome to Bagram."
Bagram? A map of the giant air base flashed in my eyes, then a dim memory of riding my father's shoulder, hiding my face in his turban while a trio of Shuravi -- Soviets -- stomped an ominously silent laborer. Couldn't be…
"He means hold on," added another sponge.
I dropped the puke bag to grab my seat. The plane tilted, again nose-diving but this time braking hard. Instead of falling to the deck, the bag shot forward, splatting against a female's ear.
"I'm hit! Aaah!"
"God! Brains! Oh, God!"
"Aaaaaaaaaaaah!"
The plane swerved and jinked, each jerk redoubling the shrieks. The smell of fear, sharp and sour, fought with the smell of vomit.
One of the marines chuckled, despite the sweat beading on his face, and pitched his voice low enough to hear under the shrieks. "You know you're going to have to police that up, Squidward."
"No-go, sir. The doc's our volunteer."
Volunteer? WTF? I twisted to see who'd called me a volunteer, but his rifle caught my attention first. A bolt-action rifle. A sniper's weapon.
Behind the rifle, teeth flashed in a grin. He didn't seem to exist, except as a rifle, a hint of helmet, and a grin. Then the grin vanished.
The deck flipped overhead. The unsecured marines bounced, sending bellows among the screams. I hung from my seat, still taped in place.
The deck flipped again, then slammed up at us. A marine fell across my lap. I caught his weapon before it could bean him. The cool metal slapped into my hand, rousing memories like an old lover's name.
I looked at the sniper, still crouched behind his rifle, immobile and near-invisible. Who the fuck are you?
Find a different excerpt here:
http://www.loose-id.com/Khyber-Run.aspx
