Seeing that I write erotic BDSM women’s fantasies, I definitely take exception to the media’s take on these “kinds” of books. Even Dr. Drew had to get his nose in there and say how wrong this kind of writing is.

First of all, Dr. Drew admitted he had never read the book, but he says it’s not right to show violence against women. And then of course, had to go into claiming that people who want to read about violence against women also fantasize about violence against children!

About this time my hackles were really up, and I’m bitching at the television while my dear husband is desperately trying to make himself as small as possible and not get drawn into my one-sided discussion with a piece of electronics.

I will say I have not read Shades of Grey. I have read many reviews and a few excerpts, and I do plan to give it a read eventually—when I have the time. What I can say is that I don’t see much difference in E. L. James’s stories and the Incognito series I wrote with Madison Layle. Erotic BDSM women’s fantasy. These stories are written by women, for women, not Dr. Drew! And if Dr. Drew would have shut up long enough to listen to the female relationship expert seated next to him on the studio’s couch, he would have to realize that the books are not written for his approval.

I have nothing against Dr. Drew and have watched his shows now and then. I am fuming because I don’t think a man should be brought in to give his holier than thou opinion on something he hasn’t read, doesn’t understand, and isn’t aimed at his demographic.

So let me voice my feeling about erotic BDSM women’s fantasies.

First of all, there is a whole sub culture in the real world that live the lifestyle of BDSM. This means it’s a very real thing, and I can only speak for Madi and myself, but when we were researching for our series, we did everything we could to stay as true to the lifestyle as possible. It is not sick and depraved; it is as normal to the participants as a suburban household is to the “average married couple”. It does not condone violence against women. It’s based on a mutual agreement between consenting adults, and no one (in the real lifestyle) is ever “trapped” or “held captive” against his or her will. The BDSM lifestyle is not synonymous with sexual crimes like rape, human trafficking, or domestic abuse.

Now, on to these books we write for women. As a romance author, I can attest to the fact that sex sells. Women, free-willed women in the 21^st century, women ages 18-80 (yes, I have some fans in their 80’s) like to read about romance and the sex that comes with a healthy sexual/romantic relationship. I write some sweet romances where sex is not the biggest factor in the romance, and I write some not-so-sweet erotic fantasies where sex is very important in the story. That mutual sexual pleasure is the most important. And women, no matter what the “experts” say, fantasize about some pretty dark stuff sometimes and enjoy fantasizing about those things! There is nothing abnormal in fantasizing about mature, consenting adults sharing mutual sexual satisfaction, no matter what goes on in those fantasies.

If it were abnormal, I don’t think so many women would read my books. I don’t think that our BDSM series would have become a bestseller. I am glad that I write books that women can read and enjoy. I like the fact that I get an email now and then from a woman who tells me she loves the series and how it has spiced up her relationship, given her and her partner some ideas to share in the bedroom.

So back off, Dr. Drew, and the unknowing, misunderstanding American Media. Women know what they like to read. Writers want to please their readers. I always congratulate a writer who pushes the envelope and finds a new niche.

As for me, I’m going to keep writing fantasies for women—of all kinds!

Thanks to my readers. I do this for you.

Your name/address is never shared…EVER!

All you will get is a PDF every couple of months, and in that newlsetter you will get links to excerpts of new releases, and there is always a chance to sign up for a drawing. Free books, chocolates, gifts…never know!

Isabella thought the wilds of Alaska the perfect place to be alone…

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 Excerpt:

Brandon Wilks compared the lay of the land below him with his chart, making sure he was still on course. Drizzling rain battered the rented Piper Super Cub’s windscreen, and visibility had been getting worse for the last half hour.

The hills north ofFairbanksrose steadily as the clouds lowered to meet them. A quick calculation told him those clouds had pushed him down to only two hundred feet above the ground. His gut told him this wasn’t good.

The weather briefer safe and dry back inFairbankscould look forward to a few choice words about the accuracy of his forecast whenBrandongot back to the airport. Another two hours, though, and he’d be on the tarmac. Tomorrow morning he would head back to the Lower 48, back to his life, back to his job. Back to reality and away from the land he loved.

Brandonlooked out his side window and watched the scrub trees pass by below him. Off the left wing a massive herd of caribou roamed over the tundra. This far north, fall tended to come early, and spring was always late. The ducks, geese, and graceful white swans gathered on the lakes and ponds preparing for their flight south, even though it was only mid-August.

From the icy tips of the distant mountain ranges, to the crystal-clear lakes and shining ribbons of rivers and streams winding from the ancient glaciers into the wet lowlands, even the wide, lonely expanses of northern tundra, every bit of Alaskacalled to him like a beacon flashing Home. It flowed through him like a sweet, healing balm, soothing parts of him he hadn’t realized had become so battered and bruised.

Like his soul.

A flock of geese took flight directly ahead, breaking him out of his reverie. At his low altitude, he couldn’t dodge the birds, and a fifteen-pound Canadian goose exploded through the windscreen with the impact of a cinder block.Brandon’s head and chest took the brunt of the bird’s impact as the cockpit filled with blood and feathers.

The Cub couldn’t sustain flight with no windshield. He was going down.

Blinking blood from his eyes—unsure if it was his or the goose’s—he frantically searched for a place to set down. Wind the strength of a tornado tore through the cockpit so loud he would never get a Mayday call off, even if he could find the radio mike.

~*~*~

Isabella Hammond sat on the porch, staring into her now cold mug of cocoa, in a chair made from hand-carved diamond willow and caribou hide, created by an artisan in years long gone by. Her foot propped on the bottom board of the porch’s handrail, she sat in the quiet afternoon gloom listening to the light rain drip, drip, drip off the roof over the tiny, one-room log cabin.

The cabin sat at the southern end ofIceWormLake, and she’d walked the less than four-mile circumference around the edge several times in the past week. Scraggly black spruce dotted the tundra, willow brush grew thick along the banks, and stunted birch and cottonwood sprang up here and there along the glacial stream that fed into the lake.

Blueberries and lowbush cranberries were just starting to ripen on the sloping hillsides surrounding her miniature oasis, and the air was thick with the scent of rain and tree sap. The thirsty moss soaked up the drizzle as if the ground were one big sponge. Hiking would gain her nothing but wet feet and clothes today, so here she sat with too many thoughts in her head and nothing to do but swat the errant mosquito that dared to defy her layer of bug repellant.

When a friend back inSan Franciscosuggested a flying service that would take her to a remote cabin in the Alaskan wilderness—someplace safe and secluded from any living being—she’d jumped at the prospect of spending a month in the wilds. In a place she’d never been. Alone to think.

And think… And think.

This trip had been a mistake. She shouldn’t be here. Even though she wasn’t sure where she belonged, this was definitely not it. She’d hoped solitude would help her gather her thoughts, force her to figure out what she was going to do with her life now that Cameron was dead, but all she’d found was intense silence and nightmares that invaded her waking hours.

The past seven days had seemed an eternity. For the first time in her life she’d discovered the meaning of loneliness. In the past when she’d sought respite and solitude,Cam had always been nearby, awaiting her return. The knowledgeCam would never again be waiting for her return engulfed her soul in a shroud of desolation from which she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to escape.

Uncle Cam, I need you!

She laid her head back, squeezed her eyes shut, and let the pain sweep through her. New tears streamed down her cheeks, adding to the tracks of old ones long since dried. No use fighting the pain, she’d come to learn.

Once again she was transported back in time.

Steamy, sticky heat of the Central American rain forest surrounded her. The sickly sweet aroma of rotting foliage turned her stomach. Bird calls and the insistent hum of insects rang loud and clear, pierced her brain, branding her forever.

And then the men appeared. Eight of them standing in their path, wearing torn, tattered military fatigues. Dirty, reeking of alcohol and sweat, they grabbed the group of reporters. Their rifles silenced those who dared speak out. Isabella andCamwere hauled back to the guerilla camp, their Brazilian guides murdered before their eyes.

The tears came again, as they always did when she remembered, hard and hot and fast against her chilled skin. Her only relative. Her closest friend. The man who’d laid down his life for her. The man who’d taken in a scared, parentless twelve year old and raised her as his own, was gone.

Isabella surged to her feet, swiping the tears away with her fists. Stop! She would not let the pain eat her to death. She couldn’t. Cam wouldn’t want it. Cam would tell her to go on, find a life, live that life.

But what am I going to do?

A strange noise pulled her from her thoughts.

Swiping her sleeve over her wet eyes, she stepped from under the sheltering overhang onto the top step of the porch and searched the horizon. The sound buzzed like the small, single-engine plane that had brought her to the cabin. But the engine kept growing louder then fading away, as if someone stomped on the gas then let up again. The plane sputtered wildly as it appeared through the drizzling rain and heavy, pewter-gray clouds just above the treetops at the north end of the lake.

Her ride wasn’t supposed to return for another three weeks. The grizzled bush pilot who’d dropped her there had sworn she was well off any normal flight pattern and, therefore, ensured the peace and quiet she’d demanded when she booked her stay. She hadn’t heard any sound other than twittering birds, chattering squirrels, that annoying high-pitched whine of mosquitoes, and the soft lapping water of the lake for seven long days. Literally in the middle of nowhere,IceWormLakesat somewhere a couple hundred miles northwest ofFairbanksin a shallow bowl surrounded by low-lying hills.

The plane came down toward the lake. Too fast and too unsteady, its wings waved almost frantically side to side as it came straight toward her. And it didn’t have floats. The stupid pilot is going to land on the lake with tires?

The plane’s engine sputtered out, an unnatural silence falling over the lake. She watched, eyes wide with surprise and horror, her fists clenched at her sides, as it glided over the lake losing altitude. “Too fast,” she whispered. “You’re going too fast.”

The oversized tires touched the water then ricocheted back into the air like a rock skipping along the surface. The wings tilted to the right. It bounced again. The nose came down, and the plane dove forward into the lake. A massive wave crested, pushed by the force of the fuselage through the water, as the tail went over the top, completely inverting the plane.

Heart pounding, Isabella ran to the edge of the lake.

It sank slowly, bubbles cresting and spurting all around it. When the nose and the front tires touched bottom, the tail still stuck out of the water at an odd angle. The plane sat less than a hundred feet from the easy-sloping gravel beach where she stood.

Nothing moved but the bubbles breaking on the surface of the lake and waves lapping at the shore. No signs of life appeared from beneath the water’s surface.

Isabella kicked off her hiking boots, stripped out of her jeans and sweater, and charged into the water before any second thoughts could push their way into her mind. With a deep gulp of air, she dove down through the crystal clear water, doing her best to ignore the urge to gasp as the frigid water closed over her head.

When she reached the airplane, she saw a man inside. One man, no one else. The door under the wing was on the opposite side. After scrambling to the surface for a gulp of air, she pushed herself back down to tackle the door. It wouldn’t budge.

The windshield had been broken out. She pulled herself around to the front of the plane and leaned in through the window, ignoring the jagged shards of broken Plexiglas that gouged at her arms and side.

The man was big, the window wasn’t. Dear God, how would she get him out?

She tugged at his shoulders until she had to resurface for more air. Sputtering and coughing, she tried to think. Think! she told herself even as shivers racked her body. Seatbelt. He probably had on a seatbelt.

Diving back down, she levered herself through the window once again and found his seatbelt. It had a central point where his lap belt and shoulder harness clipped together. After struggling to rotate the buckle, she managed to pull it open just as she used the last bit of air in her lungs.

The guy started floating up. Grabbing the shoulders of his shirt, Isabella struggled backwards out the window opening, tugging him along behind her. His shoulders were wide, but with a little twisting and turning, she got him through the window. As she pulled him through the opening, she used the wing to lever herself to the surface, hauling him along by the collar of his flannel shirt.

Breaking through the surface, Isabella gulped air into her burning lungs.

The plane began to shift.

Wrapping one arm around the man’s neck, she shoved off the side of the plane as hard as she could. The plane continued falling over onto its back and settled to the floor of the lake, completely submerged beneath the water.

Struggling through a one-armed backstroke, she dragged the man’s dead weight with her. Oh, God, please don’t let him be dead. Her toes touched the rocky lake bottom. Heaving, coughing, her limbs shaking from exertion, adrenaline, and the bitterly cold water, she stumbled backwards, dragging the man’s limp body up the gravely beach. Slipping on her cold-numbed feet, she landed hard on her butt, the man draped over her legs, his face against her thigh.

She didn’t feel any breath on her cold, wet skin.

He just lay there, still as death.

Isabella scrambled from under him and rolled him onto his back. Her fingers on his throat, her ear next to his nose, she felt no pulse, heard no breath.

As she’d learned in CPR class, she laced her fingers together and began chest compressions. She’d always been a stickler about keeping up her first aid certifications because of the places she andCamtraveled. There was no way to know if medical help would be nearby. Usually it wasn’t.

On the second compression, a bubble of water expelled from his mouth. Grabbing the front on his shirt, she jerked him onto his side to keep him from choking. He gagged, convulsed as he vomited water, then lay utterly still once again.

He was breathing. She felt for a pulse. His heart was beating, though not very strong.

“Come on, come on, wake up!” She lightly slapped his whisker-roughened cheek.

Nothing.

She glanced up at the cabin from where she sat. It seemed very far away all of a sudden. Rolling the man onto his back, she noticed something off about his left shoulder. She ran her hands over him, and her stomach flip-flopped. Dear Lord, his shoulder was dislocated.

Okay. She’d had to resetCam’s shoulder once when they’d been in theAndesand he’d taken a fall. He’d talked her through it, though. Biting her bottom lip, she wished he were here now to help her.

Her stomach took another dip.

The man wore an open, red plaid flannel shirt over a black T-shirt. She needed to get him out of the flannel to see better. Heaving him up on his right side, she yanked on his sleeve, trying to pull it off, until she realized that politely removing the soggy shirt would be impossible. She grabbed the sleeve of the shirt and the shoulder and jerked as hard as she could. The sleeve ripped away at the seam.

Okay. Better. She finished removing it and then shoved him down onto his back.

She checked his pulse again. Getting stronger. “Don’t wake up now,” she pleaded. “If you just wait a few minutes, this will be easier on both of us.”

Sitting on her bottom, the gravel digging into her flesh, she positioned her foot in his armpit and wrapped her fingers around his arm just above the wrist. Her stomach threatened to return her breakfast.

“Breathe,Hammond. Breathe,” she instructed herself between chattering teeth. “Come on,Cam, help me here.”

Slow, steady pressure. She pulled, and pulled. His arm gave with a soft pop. The sound made her gag, but it was over. His arm was back where it belonged. With a sob of relief, she raised his arm and tested its movement.

“Okay, okay. You can wake up now,” she told him as she swiped at her tearing eyes with her forearm.

He didn’t move. In fact, he looked very peaceful. Except for the lump over his right eyebrow. Talk about a goose egg. “Don’t you dare die,” she whispered, running her fingers lightly over the bump.

Shivering uncontrollably now, she ran her hands over the rest of his body to check for bones that didn’t feel right. He didn’t seem to be bleeding. Nothing else stuck out at odd angles. Gently spearing her hands through his thick, dark hair, she used her fingertips to check his scalp for more bumps but found none. Just the one on his forehead.

His hair was long, hanging over his collar, very dark brown and soft. He had a diamond stud earring in his left ear. The watch on his left wrist wasn’t overly expensive, but it was waterproof and still ticking.

Isabella said rose up off the gravel, her skin so cold she couldn’t feel the blood that oozed from the scrapes on her knees. She stripped off her waterlogged socks, bra and underwear and pulled on her slightly damp jeans and sweatshirt, then stuck her bare feet into the blessedly almost dry hiking boots.

Rubbing her arms, trying to get some warmth back into her, she wondered what the hell she was supposed to do with him now. She had to get him into the cabin and out of his wet clothes. She didn’t want to save his life just for him to get hypothermia or pneumonia or whatever else he could get from cold-water exposure. Especially if she was going to be stuck with him until her ride returned in three weeks. She didn’t even want to contemplate what kind of sickness he could get from a lungful of untreated lake water.

“Well, I guess this solves my loneliness problem, now doesn’t it?” she muttered, hands on her hips as she stood over him and tried to decide the best way to move him to the cabin. “Please, don’t get up.” She shook her head at her wandering tongue. “Jeez, I’m losing it.”

Clomping up to the cabin in her untied boots, she looked under the building. The small structure sat on four-foot tall stilts, the area beneath serving as a storage area. She’d stashed a blue plastic tarpaulin there when she’d arrived. Originally intended as a rain jacket for her tent if she decided to go off for an overnighter, it would have to do. She didn’t have anything else big enough or strong enough to drag the guy.

Returning to the unconscious man’s side she tried, once again, to wake him. They were only fifty or so feet from the front of the cabin, but he was a big man. Not fat, not at all. In fact, he seemed a little too thin for his size. His cheeks, covered in about two day’s growth of whiskers, were slightly sunken, which enhanced his masculine, almost sensual lips. His stomach, flat and solid, indented slightly below his ribs. He had sinewy arms and a long, lean body. Even his wet, denim-encased thighs looked impressive. Rather handsome, she thought as she stared at his wide shoulders and shapely pecs.

She’d been hauling packs and traipsing through jungles, up mountains and through deserts for ten years withCamand had always been proud of her physical strength and stamina. Never had she struggled to keep up with her male traveling companions. But after spending a month in a hovel, being fed nothing more than rice and flatbread, drinking water that was tainted with Lord only knew what and having lost a good twenty pounds, she wasn’t exactly up to her physical best.

She’d come here to regain her strength and the missing weight. To eat her fill of all the fresh fish she could catch in the stream and lake, and gorge herself on the potatoes that had been flown in with her. To hike up the hills and around the lake. To strengthen the muscles that had nearly atrophied with cramped quarters and malnutrition.

Dragging around a full-grown man had not been her expected choice of exercise.

Leaning down, hovering over the man’s face, she shouted, “It’s time to wake up!”

Spicing up her marriage only takes sexy lingerie and a little nighttime magic.

 

 

Excerpt

 

Marianne Corruthers sat in her twenty-year-old subcompact clunker in the parking lot of the Midtown Mall, staring at the flourished red and black printing on the window of the store she’d been trying to work up the nerve to enter for the last twenty minutes.

Dreams Come True, the window read. Red and pink sparkling hearts decorated the window display behind a mannequin dressed in a tasteful, yet barely there, black silk nightie with red lace trim. A red feather boa accented the outfit, as did black fishnet stockings held on by lacy red garters. Shoes—the kind her husband called fuck-me heels—in black with a good two-inch lift and six-inch heel, sat on the floor of the display as if kicked off in a perfectly sexy pile.

The window dressers here knew how to do it with style, Marianne thought. She’d been coming by here for nearly a month, a couple of days a week after work, trying to work up the nerve to go inside and see what was in there. What was behind the sexy, yet always tasteful, window display.

They sold other things besides lingerie. The small printing under the name of the store stated they had: Adult Novelties and More…

More.

That was all she wanted. Something more. And today being Valentine’s Day would be the perfect time to do…more. Get more. Experience more.

What would Frank say if she walked into the bedroom in those fuck-me shoes and that silky, lacy black and red thing? What would he do? Would he drool? Be speechless? Attack her, throw her on the bed and ravish her?

Marianne shivered, and her pussy clenched at the thought. To be ravished…

She bit her lip.

Frank hadn’t ravished her in too many years to count. Hell, they hadn’t even had sex since before Christmas, and then she’d practically had to jump him. What guy would say no to a blowjob?

Her sexual frustration was darn near maximum capacity. Her fingers weren’t doing the trick any longer. She really just wanted her husband to look at her with lust in his eyes again.

Then again, after twenty years, maybe it had all been used up.

She’d been a child bride. Just barely legal, less than a month out of high school, when she married Frank. He’d been older—by a whole three years—working at his dad’s garage. He had cash to blow back then and treated her like a queen. Fucked her like she was a whore. God, she missed those days. The days when he’d walk in the door of their tiny apartment after work smelling of oil, monkey grease, and that green, abrasive hand cleanser, shove her against the wall and bury his tongue in her mouth. Times when they were so hot for each other they never made it out of the entryway and fucked like rabbits on the floor, on the sofa, on the kitchen table, anyplace with a flat surface, and sometimes not even that. The backseat of the car, against the wall, behind the bowling alley when they couldn’t even make it to the car they were so hot for each other.

Twenty years later, they had a mortgage, a daughter in college they tried to help out, and Frank now ran his dad’s garage since his father’s heart attack a few years back. Marianne worked as a waitress part time, her tips paying for the groceries, and her meager wages going into retirement funds for the two of them.

They were both tired. Worn out before either of them reached forty. Frank was only forty but acted seventy most days. Came home from work after seven after the garage closed, sat in front of the television and ate whatever dinner she’d prepared for them, then took a shower and was asleep by nine. He was out of the house by seven in the morning. Six days a week. On the seventh, he rested, watched whatever sport was on TV, or went fishing with his dad, or hunting with his brother, or…almost anything not involving her because she worked most Sundays at the diner.

One of them had to do something to spice up their marriage or, she feared, they’d become like her parents. Resentful, hateful almost, residing in the same house but living completely separate lives.

Marianne wasn’t in bad shape. She cooked healthy food for them, got a lot of exercise waiting tables, tried not to indulge in sweets—though that was tough when chocolate was not a bad substitute for love.

She shook her head. Frank still loved her. He always gave her a kiss when he came home from work. It might be on the forehead now rather than a tongue-dueling kiss, but he showed affection. Somewhat. A little peck, a quick hug before he left in the morning for work, a tender word now and then.

She felt loved.

She just didn’t really feel…loved. Sex. She wanted sex! And she wanted lots and lots of it. Hot, hard, dirty, nasty, up-against-the-wall, teeth-crashing, boob-smashing, pelvic-grinding sex. She wanted to lie panting in his arms, their bodies stuck together with sweat, her panties ripped, teeth marks in her skin, fingernail marks in his.

Ohh, it had been so long!

Girding her nerve, she shoved open the car door into the blustery February wind and headed into Dreams Come True, hoping that hers would tonight. It wasn’t as if she was asking to win the lottery; she just wanted a mind-numbing fuck from her husband.

Rachel submits to a sinful voyage with her sexy, dominant husbands.

ISBN: TBD

Coming In December

(Note: The prequel to this story is called Owning Rachel. It’s book #2 in the INCOGNITO series.)

Excerpt

Rachel Morrissey Sinclair dropped her satchel on the loveseat just inside her office door, kicked off her pumps, and sank into the leather executive chair behind her desk with a relieved sigh.

Closing arguments had gone well, and the jury had taken only one hour longer than she expected to reach a verdict of not guilty. Her client walked out of the courthouse a free man. She could ring in the New Year with a clear conscience.

So why didn’t she feel like celebrating? Why did she feel as if she’d tear up any second? This trial hadn’t been any more difficult than others she’d worked tirelessly on throughout the years. Her workload had been eased after resigning as a prosecuting attorney a few years back, but it had taken time and hard work to build a successful private practice.

She propped her elbows on the desktop and rubbed her eyes, her temples…not even glancing at the unopened envelope on her desk or looking up when her office door opened.

“I said I didn’t want to be disturbed,” she muttered to her secretary, “and didn’t I tell you to take off already? Go home. Spend the holidays with family—”

“You should take your own advice, Counselor.”

Jon’s deep, rich voice had her head snapping up with surprise.

Her pulse quickened at the sight of her husband’s chiseled features, but despite her pleasure, her question came out sharper than she intended.  “What are you doing here?”

If she’d blinked, she would’ve missed seeing his step falter slightly before he swept around her desk, spun her to face him, and leaned over her with hands at either side. “I’m here to retrieve my wife who has no more excuses for staying late at the office.”

“Excuses?” Anger simmered. “My job is not an excuse! I’ve been working a case.”

“I know. A trial that ended over an hour ago…with a successful conclusion, I understand. Congratulations.”

Her lips parted, but the thanks she wanted to mutter wouldn’t come. “Checking up on me?”

His frown was her only answer.

What was wrong with her? She loved Jon, and he loved her. So why did everything she have to say to him lately—to him or Jackson, for that matter—have to come out sounding so acidic?

To her horror, moisture welled in her eyes. She squeezed them shut, turned her face away from his all-too-observant stare, and said, “I was going to leave in a few minutes. There’s no reason for you to come and retrieve me as if I’m incapable of driving myself home.”

Silence filled the air until she was forced to open her eyes and look at him. His chiseled jaw was as hard as granite, his gorgeous blue eyes determined. “Work’s over for now.” He reached past her and punched a few keys to lock her computer, grabbed her by the wrists, and pulled her from her seat.

“What do you think you’re doing? Jon, I—I have things to do…depositions to…” She tried to jerk free of his grasp.

He tossed a look at her so severe she silenced her protestations. He gripped her upper arms. “I’ve never dominated you here, Rachel, because I know you need your career…your own space where you can be in charge. You’re a strong, independent woman, and I admire that about you, but I refuse to let you hide out here to avoid facing me or Jack.”

“I…” What could she say to that?

Click image or link below to open PDF and save to your computer. File will open in new window.

Erotic Nights Anthology

Featured Authors are:

Sable Grey

Deanna Lee

Eve Langlais

Josee Renard

Nicole Austin

Madison Layle

Anna Leigh Keaton

]]> http://laylekeaton.com/?feed=rss2&p=1144 0 http://laylekeaton.com/?p=1083 http://laylekeaton.com/?p=1083#comments Mon, 10 Oct 2011 15:19:31 +0000 Madison Layle http://laylekeaton.com/?p=1083 But her research is a threat to the Falke family secret. When Kelan, in cougar form, is captured, that secret comes closer than ever to being revealed. Kelan and Reidar cannot deny the powerful attraction they feel toward Beth. She might just be their destined mate. But if they reveal themselves to her, will she embrace who they are or see them as just another science experiment?]]>

A scientist on the hunt for big cats. Two puma shifters looking for a mate. A wild summer fling becomes a life or death battle when three hearts collide.

ISBN: 978-14268-9243-1

Excerpt

Reidar Falke took a swig of ice-cold beer and leaned back in their usual U-shaped booth with a satisfied sigh. “That hit the spot.” He pushed his emptied plate aside and waited for his brother Kelan to finish off the last of his own meal.

The Tap ‘n Tine was their favorite Leavenworth hole-in-the-wall and the preferred Falke family rendezvous point after long hours spent catering to tourists at Catamount Outfitters.

His two youngest brothers, Sindre and Torsten, arrived and slid into the booth, each one with matching mugs of golden, foam-topped heaven. Gunnar had been invited too, but he’d opted out to check in with their eldest sibling, Axel, who’d taken the day off-an advantage to being the alpha and majority owner of the family business.

“You’re late,” Reidar told the new arrivals. “We decided not to wait.” Torsten and Sindre both scowled at him.

Kelan grinned and glanced at their younger brothers. “Lookin’ a little damp around the collar, guys.”

Sindre narrowed his eyes. “You misled us about the Kramers and their rafting trip.”

“Yeah,” Torsten added, “those ‘beautiful daughters’ you raved about, Kel, are preteens.”

“Hey, I don’t recall anyone asking me how old they were, and I didn’t lie. They’re pretty.” He cast a smirk at Reidar. “Cute as a button.”

Reidar chuckled and drank his beer. As part of their jobs, the brothers often teamed up in pairs to take tourists on guided hikes into the national forest or on white water rafting expeditions down river. In most cases, the trips were routine, easy. But when children were added to the mix, easy was seldom a description that fit.

“Cute… Sure they’re cute!” Torsten glared. “And totally useless when trying to steer a raft through rapids.”

“God, the squeals.” Sindre cringed at the memory and ran fingers through his damp hair. “My ears are still ringing.”

Reidar shook his head. His youngest brothers were so dramatic and always fun to tease. “At least you got to be outdoors today. You could’ve been cooped up at the store facing flashbulbs all day.” With the two of them conned into taking the rafting job, and Axel taking yet another day off for reasons he wouldn’t share, Kelan and Gunnar had manned the store, leaving him shifted into catamount form as Falke, the store’s furry and fanged security system. “That new ad campaign has really brought in the traffic. I swear I’m still seeing spots.”

“Quit whining.” Kelan rolled his eyes and then pointed at their siblings. “You two survived. Besides, you won the job fair and square. I asked for best two out of three, and you both said no.”

The game of Rock, Paper, Scissors had become a family tradition, started by their mother, to resolve disputes in the Falke household. With six rambunctious boys, all with the ability to turn into fierce cougars, settling conflicts in non-violent ways had been a must to preserve individual health and the family unit, not to mention furniture and windows.

Now as men, somewhat more mature in handling their wilder natures, the brothers honored their mother’s memory by using the game as a fun way to settle matters at work.

“How were we to know-”

“Maybe next time,” Reidar said, interrupting Torsten, “you’ll make sure to know what the clients look like and how old they are before you do battle over who gets the job.”

The brothers grew quiet as they continued imbibing. Garth Brooks’s voice filtered from the corner jukebox near the bar, and a few couples swayed to the beat in a small open area designated for dancing. The Tap ‘n Tine’s cold beer, good food and usual lack of curious tourists made the pub a traditional after-work destination.

Six brothers who all looked strikingly similar were guaranteed to attract attention, which was great for business, but at the same time, their family secret warranted caution. They liked the notoriety, but being on constant guard could prove taxing. Reidar enjoyed moments like this when the brothers could hang out together and relax.

“Pretty good crowd tonight,” Kelan observed, finishing off the last of his beer.

“Mmm-hmm,” Reidar agreed, not bothering to look around. “So, have you spoken with Ax, yet?”

Kelan set his glass down with an audible thud. “How? You know he wasn’t at work today.”

“Speak to him about what?” Torsten wanted to know.

When Kelan refused to answer, Reidar said, “Kel has a great idea that could open up our sales distribution beyond the city limits and generate more revenue.” He turned to his twin, the brother he’d grown closest to over the years. “We closed up a while ago. You had plenty of time to drop in on him at home.”

“What’s the matter, Kel?” Sindre teased. “You scared?”

Kelan snorted. “Scared of Ax? You wish.” He picked up his mug. “I’m empty. You dolts need anything from the bar?”

“Sure,” Reidar responded with a knowing grin. Kelan could evade, but he’d have to pay for it. “You can buy us a second round.”

Kelan just nodded and headed for the bar, which meant he seriously didn’t want to discuss the topic.

Sindre muttered, “He’s scared.”

“No,” Reidar said, “he’s worried.”

“‘Bout what?”

Reidar had his suspicions but didn’t care to share them with his younger siblings. Although, he figured they’d suffer similar concerns when they began feeling the urge to break from the family. Ever since Axel and Gunnar settled down with their mate, Reidar had noticed a change in Kelan, an antsy irritability that manifested into increased confrontations with Axel whenever the family’s alpha was around. Being closer to Kelan than any of the other siblings, Reidar recognized his alpha impulses. He wondered if Kelan did. And worried about what might happen when those natural instincts grew too strong to ignore.

He watched as Kelan made his way to the bar, and then scanned the mass of patrons. Most of the faces were familiar to him-locals with whom he and his siblings had grown up. But one face weaving through the crowd caught his eye. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and the stylish copper-colored frames of her glasses made her look like a sexy school marm. A very sexy one, he thought as she stepped into his unobstructed view and he caught a better glimpse of her body. All long, slim legs and womanly curves showcased by snug jeans and a T-shirt.

“Reidar?” Torsten asked, turning to see what had attracted his attention. When he spotted the lone female, he let loose a low whistle and jostled Sindre with an elbow.

One look and Sindre popped off with, “I say we do battle.” He and Torsten faced Reidar, fists at the ready.

Growing up in a small town, the uniqueness of their births-a set of quadruplets followed by triplets-meant the Falkes were well known. He couldn’t speak for his baby sister, but with the community being a year-round tourist hub, that also meant finding companionship of the opposite sex came rather easy. However, being brothers and shifters, competition had always been a natural part of the dating scene.

Tonight, though, Reidar was in no mood to play a child’s game over the right to approach the stranger. He fought the urge to smile when he saw Kelan’s reaction the moment she neared the bar. Instead of returning to their booth, his twin did what any hot-blooded single male would do; he slid onto a barstool next to the beauty.

When his brother also removed and pocketed his collar, Reidar lost his fight and grinned. Although they followed tradition by wearing the collars with their family crest, both men usually removed them before approaching a potential date, especially out-of-towners unfamiliar with the Falke family eccentricities.

They wore them because the town required the Falke puma to wear one, and any one of the brothers could be required to shift into that role at any time, so it was easier to always have it on. But collars were also considered symbols of submission by some folks, and there was nothing submissive about him or Kelan. Better to avoid potential confusion from the start.

“Come on, Reidar,” Sindre said with a chuckle, “or do ya forfeit without a fight?”

“Too late, boys. First come, first served.” Reidar removed his own collar and watched with avid interest as the scene at the bar unfolded.

His younger brothers both turned to see what he meant by his remark, and then Torsten groaned.

“Shit,” Sindre said, “if Kelan gets his claws into her, there’s not a chance in hell for any of us.”

“Speak for yourself, whelps.” He and Kelan had shared women before. A female fantasy the pair happily indulged whenever a tourist with the right interests came along. The only question was whether this woman would be interested.

Happily ever after never crossed his mind—until she came into his life.

Excerpt:

Gus Johnson shook his head in disgust as he watched the young woman rush out of the house across the road and make a beeline for her car. “Oh, boy. Looks like he’s losing another one.”

Jerald scowled, his bushy gray eyebrows meeting over his pale blue eyes. “What’s that make now? Four?”

“Five,” Charlie answered, his rocker creaking the porch floorboard with each push of his stubby legs. “If’n you count Cruella.”

Gus snorted. “That old witch don’t count. She saw those babies and caught the first train outta there. She was only hangin’ ‘round for his money.”

Jerald nodded. “And babies eat up a lot of money, that’s for sure.” He tipped his head to the side. “I r’member when my Sally was born—”

“Shh,” Gus said, tapping Jerald on the arm. “I wanna hear what this one says.”

Gus turned up his hearing aid just in time to hear the young woman wail, “They never stop crying, Mr. Williams. Never. There’s nothing wrong with them, they just never shut up.”

Dexter Williams, once the picture of sophistication, appeared utterly defeated. His shoulders were drooped and, even from the hundred feet separating them, Gus could see lines of fatigue etched in his face. His voice was too low for Gus to pick up his words, but when he withdrew his checkbook from his suit jacket pocket and started writing out a check, Gus shook his head again.

“That man needs a wife,” Charlie said. The rocker creak creak creaked as he rocked. “That’s what he needs, all right. A wife to look after them babies. And him, too. Not right for a man that age to be alone.”

Gus harrumphed. Wasn’t right for men their ages to be alone, either, but here they were, in their eighties, with nothing better to do than sit on the porch, watch over the neighborhood, and gossip like old women.

“Good luck, Mr. Williams. I’m really sorry,” the girl said as she slipped into the driver’s seat of her little red car.

Dexter stood back, hands in his pockets, and watched the fourth nanny in as many weeks drive off.

“Hey, Charlie,” Jerald said as he leaned forward on the porch swing to look around Gus.

Charlie kept rocking. “Yup?”

“When’s Crystal comin’ over next?”

Charlie gave a toothless grin. His great-niece was the only person left on earth that could make the old curmudgeon smile. “She’s bringin’ us supper tonight.”

Jerald raised his bushy eyebrows at Gus then looked back at Charlie. “She worked in a daycare a while back, didn’t she?”

Charlie nodded.

Gus grinned. “She’s real pretty, too.”

“The prettiest,” Charlie agreed as he rocked in his chair.

“And she’s lookin’ for work now that she’s feelin’ better, right?” Jerald asked.

Charlie nodded. “She had a couple interviews this week.”

“What do ya think, Gus?” Jerald asked. “Should we send her over there after supper? See if Dexter could use some professional help instead of all them girls he’s been hiring to watch the babies?”

Gus nodded. “Best idea you’ve had in a long time, J.” Gus turned his hearing aid down so he wouldn’t hear the damned squeaking floorboard. Pretty, sweet Crystal, and the uptight Dexter Williams. He grinned. If nothing else, the babies would have a fit caretaker.

Maybe having Crystal care for somebody again was just what she needed. Somebody other than the three of them, anyway. Someone closer to her own age. And she did love babies, even if she and that louse she’d been married to had never had any of their own.

He nodded and grinned, satisfied they’d made the right decision. Then he pulled his handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his brow. “Global warming,” he muttered. “Ain’t right it’s this hot in June in Seattle.”

“Uh huh,” Charles and Jerald both agreed.

Chapter One

Dexter Williams stood at the kitchen counter with a squirming, screaming bundle of baby in each arm, waiting for the bottles to heat up in the microwave.

“Shh,” he said for the millionth time as he jiggled the babies. “Shh. Please, girls, give me five minutes. Two minutes. Shh. Please.”

Dex had never been so far out of his element in his life. He’d been playing dad for a month now, and he didn’t know if he could do it much longer. The nannies didn’t stay because the girls cried all the time. He’d taken them to four different doctors, had test after test run, and there was nothing wrong with them. They just cried. A lot.

The microwave dinged, and he hit the door opener with his elbow. Careful not to drop his wiggling bundles, he grabbed the two bottles and headed into the living room. He tossed the bottles onto the couch, then went down on his knees and, with the utmost care, making sure to support the back of their heads, set each of the babies in their own chairs.

Dex’s head pounded with each high-pitched wail. He plopped down on the floor, grabbed the bottles, and tried coaxing the babies into taking the nipples. The one on the right finally latched on, but the other cried on, her face beet red.

Dex gritted his teeth. Please, God, just let her take the bottle and stop crying. Please! I’m begging You. Help me!

Outwardly, he spoke in soothing tones. “Come on, sweetie. I know you’re hungry and you’re pissed off, but you’ve got to stop crying if you want to eat.”

Finally, she latched on to the bottle nipple he’d been teasing against her lips, and blessed silence fell over the house. Dex sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. “Thank you,” he whispered to the babies, and to the powers that be.

He hadn’t had a solid sleep in weeks. A constant, dull stress headache kept his neck tense all of the time, and he just didn’t know if he had it in him to do this. He wasn’t parent material. He’d never wanted kids. Not after the way he and his sister had been raised. No, thank you.

But here he was. Legal guardian—lifetime commitment—to a pair of very loud pooping machines.

Lifetime commitment, he thought as he watched them suckle the bottles he held. Almost forty years old, and he hadn’t had a relationship last longer than a year. Up until a month ago, the only commitment in his life was his business, but he’d staffed such good employees that his company could run without him if need be.

And thank God for that, too, because of all the days in the last month he’d missed because of these two little…beautiful…

Son of a bitch, he thought as his heart sank to his stomach. Twin pairs of wet, weepy blue eyes stared up at him with such trust. The crying and the screaming and the not sleeping couldn’t last forever, could it? Someday, they’d stop. Someday… He swallowed hard. “I’m here for you. I always will be. Even if it kills me.” He’d have given his arms and legs to hear those words as a child. He wouldn’t ever give up on these two.

* * * * *

Crystal Jorgensen pulled up in front of Uncle Charlie’s house and sighed. She’d hoped she could give him some good news, that she’d landed one of the jobs she’d interviewed for this past week, but no such luck. No one wanted her. She’d been out of work for almost three years, out of the loop, not up on the new technology. Who would have thought things in the computer graphics world could change so much in just three short years?

She leaned forward and laid her forehead against the steering wheel. Three of the longest years of her life. If she wanted to return to that field, she’d have to take a couple of college courses to come up to speed. But without a job, she couldn’t afford the classes, and without the classes, she couldn’t get a job.

Not a job she wanted, anyway. She didn’t have the strength or stamina yet to waitress as she had during college. And standing behind a counter with a paper hat asking customers if they wanted cheese on their burger… The thought made her want to cry.

She’d survived so much, come such a long way, and after a dozen disastrous job interviews, she was ready to give up.

What exactly was wrong with her? She wasn’t a whiner, or a quitter. She didn’t let crap like this get her down. So why was she acting as though it were the end of the world?

Because every bill in her name was past due. The interest on her hospital bills grew exponentially by the day. And if she didn’t find a job and hand over a wad of money by the end of next week, she would be homeless.

She supposed anyone would be ready to give up under these circumstances.

With a deep breath, Crystal sat back in the seat. The uncles would let her crash on their couch until she could get back on her feet. But she’d struggled so darn hard to make it on her own, it killed her to think about taking charity.

The front door to the house opened, and her dear old Uncle Charlie stood in the doorway smiling and waving at her. She smiled and fought back the tears. He was gruff to everyone but her. To her, he was a teddy bear who growled but never bit and was always there with a big hug when she needed it. She waved back and took another deep breath to make sure she wouldn’t burst into tears in front of him and upset him.

Uncle Gus stepped around Charlie and came down the front steps toward her car. She pushed open the door and climbed out. Though Gus and Jerald weren’t blood relation, they’d been her honorary uncles for as long as she could remember. When the three life-long friends lost their wives within a few years of each other, they all wound up in one house, the money from the sale of the other two houses adding to their retirement funds.

They looked out for each other.

Gus wrapped his arms around her and hugged her, kissed her cheek. “You look beautiful, Crys.”

She gave him a peck on his whiskery chin and laughed. “You only say that because you know I brought dinner.”

He grinned and shook his head. “You know better than that.”

Gus was the youngest of the three at barely eighty-one. Charlie was the oldest at eighty-six, and Jerald was right in the middle at eighty-three. She didn’t know what she’d do without them. They were the only family she had left.

She popped the trunk of the car, and Gus reached in for the bags before she had a chance.

“I smell meatloaf,” he said with a big grin. “My favorite.”

She smiled and blinked back the tears burning her eyes. “Yes, Uncle. Meatloaf for you, and ham and sweet potato pie for Charlie and J.”

Gus motioned her up the steps, and she preceded him. Uncle Charlie welcomed her with open arms, and she went into them, burying her face against his shoulder and breathing in the lingering scent of cherry pipe tobacco.

“Everything will be all right,” he whispered in her ear, knowing just what she needed to hear.

She nodded but stayed in his arms. He wasn’t as big and strong as he’d once been, but he still held her tight and rocked her side to side as if she were a child.

“I didn’t get any of the jobs,” she said softly when she lifted her head to look at him. His eyes were rheumy with age. He didn’t see well anymore, even though he refused to admit it.

He patted her cheek. “Then none of them were the right one.”

She smiled even as a tear dripped from her eye. “I love you, Uncle,” she whispered.

His face wrinkled so endearingly when he smiled. “I know. I heard you brought me pie.”

She laughed and turned into the house, wrapping her arm around his slightly hunched shoulders. “Yes, I did. So let’s eat. Where’s Uncle J?”

“Settin’ the table, girl,” Jerald called from the kitchen. When she pushed the door open for Charlie to enter the kitchen, Jerald wrapped her in a big hug. He was the tallest of the three, still standing over six feet tall, with shoulders almost as wide as a doorway.

As a child, she’d been terrified of him. He was a retired police officer and towered over everyone. In uniform, he’d been intimidating. Until the day he personally climbed a tree to rescue the fluffy white kitten Uncle Charlie had given her for her eighth birthday. She’d adored him ever since.

Dinner with her uncles was always a noisy affair. All of them had bad hearing, talked over each other, and without their wives to tell them to eat with their mouths closed, they sounded like a herd of cattle chewing cud.

Uncle Charlie looked as though he was having problems with his dentures, and she made a mental note to schedule an appointment to have them checked. And Uncle J’s tremors were quite pronounced tonight. She wondered if he’d been taking all of his meds. She frowned as he lifted his cup of coffee with both hands to keep from sloshing it.

“So,” Gus said as he swiped his plate clean with a slice of bread. “How’s the job hunting going?”

Charlie scowled at Gus, and for a second she thought he might slug his friend. She smiled. They picked on her sometimes, teased her because it’d been something they’d done since she was a kid, but they never intentionally hurt her feelings.

“I didn’t get any of the jobs.” She shrugged. “I’ll try again next week.” And pray like hell she got something.

Gus glanced at J and Charlie, and both of the other men nodded. “I think I know where you might be able to find some quick work, if’n you’re so inclined.”

Crystal shook her head. “I still don’t have the strength to waitress. I know you talked to the owner of Brandi’s Diner for me before, but I just can’t do it.”

“Nope, not talkin’ about Brandi’s,” Gus said. “You still like kids, don’t’cha?

She laughed and set down her fork. “Of course, I still like kids.” She loved kids. She just didn’t have any of her own. Might never have any of her own—probably would never have any of her own.

“Remember us tellin’ you a couple weeks ago about Dexter Williams getting some babies?”

She puckered her brow. “The guy across the street?”

All three uncles nodded in unison.

“He can’t keep a nanny. They all leave in a couple of days. He’s been stayin’ home to take care of them little babies, but he keeps tryin’ to get a nanny but it don’t work.”

“And you know this because…?”

“We seen him,” Uncle Charlie said. “’Bout every three days he gets home from work and the girls go runnin’. One even left without takin’ her money from him.”

The uncles sat out on their porch, weather permitting, and kept an eye on the neighborhood. She heard more than her fair share of neighborly gossip every time she came over. Everything from Janice Stewart throwing her husband’s clothes out on the street and driving over them with the car, to Parker O’Brien putting an ad in the paper to rent out one of his bedrooms.

The story of Dexter Williams suddenly bringing home two babies had intrigued her, but it wasn’t as if she had time to sit on her behind, dwelling on the strange goings-on around her uncles’ place.

“We think you should go over and talk to him. Offer him a hand,” Uncle Charlie said. “He needs a woman who isn’t afraid of babies.”

Crystal chuckled and picked up her water glass. “You’re joking, right? I don’t even know the man.”

“We know him,” Uncle J said. “He’s a hard worker. Owns his own real estate firm. I heard he got his contractor’s license last year, too. I even saw his picture and ad on TV the other day.”

“Great,” she muttered. “He’s a wonderful person because he’s on television. Uncle J, I can’t just walk up to a stranger and offer to help him with his babies. He’d think I was nuts.”

Uncle Gus shook his head. “He’s desperate.”

Uncle Charlie nodded in agreement. “I ain’t never seen a man need a woman so bad.”

“But I thought you told me that some woman moved into that house just a few months ago. Some ‘high class snooty broad’ as you put it.”

Uncle J tossed his napkin on the table. “That snooty broad moved out three days after them babies moved in. I swear she took all that man’s furniture, too. You shoulda seen the size of the moving van.”

“Of course, there were delivery trucks coming almost every day for two weeks after she moved in, so’s she was probably just moving her stuff back out,” Gus said.

“He needs a real woman to help him out,” Uncle Charlie said, then scowled at her. “You go talk to him.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he slammed his palm against the table, making the dishes rattle.

“I said, you go talk to him, girl. You need a job, and he needs some help.”

As stupid of an idea as she thought it was, she nodded. “Okay, Uncle. Don’t get yourself worked up. You know it’s not good for your heart.”

His frown grew even fiercer. “You do what you’re told and let me worry about my own ticker.” Crystal nodded, but Charlie added, “Go do it now. We’ll do the dishes and wait for you to come back before we have dessert.”

Okay-y, she thought as she pushed away from the table. She had no idea what had gotten into Uncle Charlie. “Be back in a few minutes,” she said, then silently added to herself as she let herself out the front door, “Because the man’s going to think I’m a nutcase.”

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Excerpt

Chuckling, she looked around as she entered the tree line. Her steps slowed. The shadows wrapped around her as the tree limbs blocked out much of the moonlight.

“Hello?” she whispered, then shook her head, feeling much too much like those idiot girls in horror flicks that walk alone into darkened places inhabited by chainsaw wielding murderers.

She came to a T in the pathway. The letter hadn’t said anything about a split in the trail. Which way should she go?

Back to the car. Her nerves getting the better of her, and with warning bells going off in her brain, she turned to do just that when she heard the first growl.

Penny froze. That sounded all too real, and it had come from back up the trail. Something was following her. She spun full circle and saw nothing.

When had it gotten so damn dark?

Her backward footstep was silent on the strewn pine straw path, but she pulled up short when a second growl came from the trail that led off to the right.

Okay. Left it is. She began walking…fast-walking down the trail to the left. And then a wolf howled.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, barely able to draw breath. Something was running toward her, chasing her. Her feet wouldn’t move fast enough, and she struggled to stay on the path.

They were getting closer, almost upon her. She wanted to scream full moon, but what good would a safe word do now? It wouldn’t stop a pair of hungry wolves?

Grrrrr…

She skidded to a stop. Her heart damn near leaped from her chest. Her lungs ceased to operate.

A few feet in front of her was a big fucking gray wolf. A real one. No way was that a hallucination, although she wished it were.

The pad of more paws and ferocious barking behind her. Too close!

She shut her eyes, too terrified to move. Then popped them open because she was too scared to not look.

More growls surrounded her as the two giving chase stopped within a short distance behind her. The other one—The leader?—held its ground, blocking the path in front of her.

Trapped by a pack on the hunt. Trembling, she stood still, searching the shadows for help.

Horror movies were gripping when viewed from the safety of a theatre seat. Not so much when you were surrounded by the danger.

Where was her hero?

This was not how she’d envisioned her fantasy.