|Posted by CornelleKeveen on March 16, 2013 at 11:50 PM||comments (4)|
At night, he fights. In the dawn, he loves. Only with her, he lives.
Lady Yelena is sent in marriage to Prince Pietro, known as the Vellenican Dragon. Instead of her sisters' elegant beauty, she brings a dowry of swords to the warrior prince. A hard man to love, night after night the prince leaves Yelena behind as he battles against the evil Wasti in a generations long war. Each morning he returns to her bloody and beaten. They despair of ever finding peace for their homelands. Then Yelena discovers treachery in her personal guard and she must find the strength to raise her own sword and fight for her family, her honor and her prince.
WHAT THEY'RE SAYING:
In The Heart of the Dragon, S.D. Grady serves up a satisfying tale of intrigue peppered with paranormal romance. The heroine’s loyalty to tradition thrusts her into a world where faith in the familiar may just be the death of her, and the only way to survive is to embrace the most terrifying man she’s ever encountered. I not only enjoyed this story, but look forward to more from S.D.-- From D.A. Kentner
The Heart of the Dragon S. D. Grady
Yelena is thrown into marriage with the Dragon, Prince Pietro to build an alliance against their mutual enemy. Set in an ancient world, S.D. Grady weaves a delightful story of the life of Lady Yelena and follows her doubts and confusion during her marriage to a brutal stranger. With graphic depictions of war, heart stopping conflict, and sizzling love scenes, this is one story I won’t forget in a hurry.
H.C. Brown-Best selling, Award Winning Author.
Find all of S.D. Grady's tales on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/S.D-Grady/e/B002BLFHB8/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1
Yelena’s arms shook. Sweat trickled down her neck. Her breath came in ragged pants. He crowded her, forcing her submission. She growled and pushed forward. His advance stalled, she danced away from his reach. She laughed. “Again!”
Pietro caught his balance , brought his sword back to prime and nodded his agreement. Yelena stepped forward. Her blade swung in a short arc designed to make him block high. Their blades sang as they clashed.
She worked through the rudimentary attack, sure she did not challenge his abilities one bit. She paused, met his laughing eyes, and ducked. She rolled away and earned a grunt of surprise. She kicked out with her left foot, regained her balance on her right and rose up inside his defense. She punched his ribs. “Do you concede, my lord?”
His elbow trapped her fist. “No. You just nicked my armor and dulled your dagger.” His foot stepped between her legs and lifted.
Off balance, she dropped her sword and grasped his upper arms.
“And now, at my mercy.”
She felt the blush only a second before his lips conquered hers.
The kiss lingered, sweet and hot. When he released her, he stepped back and bowed. “Shall we go again, my lady?”
The practice yard appeared ghostly in the yellow light of the torches. She bent to retrieve her steel from the paving stones, never taking her eyes from his relaxed form. She stood, absently tugged at her leather leggings and kicked at a pebble.
“Why would you ask, my lord? Do I appear fatigued?”
He winked. “No, just flushed.”
In frustration, she raised her weapon and came at him again. He deflected her advance with ease. The truth was she was feeling a bit tired. Fighting beneath the half-moon, parrying his masterful thrusts, she had reached her limit much sooner than she had expected. But she didn’t want to stop.
For the third night, Pietro remained behind as the army marched out against the Wasti. During the hours they spent together, he made every effort to be a civilized gentleman. Laughter came easier to her—and him. She thought the tight lines that carved his mouth had eased.
Her sword went flying through the air and she found herself at the mercy of Pietro’s deadly point. Her lips pursed in vexation and she nodded to him.
“Shall we call a halt?” Still, his sword rested against her breastbone.
“I guess so.”
“You were not paying attention.”
She stepped back. Ashamed, she pulled at her gloves. “I admit to being distracted.”
He sheathed his blade. “Did Captain Sershi not teach you any better?”
Bristling at the insult, she walked toward her corner. “Of course he did.”
He followed her. “Loyalty is an admirable quality, my lady.”
Her annoyance at failing to adhere to practice yard protocol diminished. She took his compliment and savored it. “Thank you.”
He began to lift her light mail shirt over her head. “Where is the good captain? I have not seen him since supper.”
She pulled at her linen shift before reaching for a long, silk cloak. “I gave him leave to seek his own entertainment, tonight.”
Pietro crowded her against the high wall. “Feeling a little braver, my little one?”
She shivered as his rough hand held her neck. His thumb ran up and down her throat in thrilling small circles. She frowned.
The spark of humor had vanished. He watched her. Severe. Angry. Hurt?
Even as she had become more comfortable in his presence, there were still moments when she wondered what he was truly thinking.
She placed her hand over his and offered a shy smile. “Can I take a bath?”
That got him to smile again. “Can I join you?”
Her heart hammered. Was that from the sword play? Or the way his breath drew bumps from her flesh? She swallowed and nodded. “Of course, my lord.”
His other hand grasped her waist and drew her forward. Unable to escape, she squeaked when he sucked the surprise from her mouth.
He kissed her often. There had been few activities where he couldn’t find an excuse to be near her, touch her, taste her.
The heat built. Her limbs grew heavy. She sank into the seductive strength.
She stood, firming the muscles in her legs, and blinked.
“Before or after?” his deep voice questioned. He nipped her ear, her neck and kept moving lower.
“Before or after what?”
Strong fingers pulled at her long braid. “The bath. Shall we go to bed before or after we are clean?”
|Posted by CornelleKeveen on March 15, 2013 at 11:15 AM||comments (11)|
Aw yeah….that’s what I’m talking about. You know the spot. You know it’s hot. And you know where it’s at. New Orleans and Cornelle Keveen is back on the Author’s Couch with KevaD making yet another return to my space. This time he’s brought along his cohort in literary mayhem; the one and only H.C. Brown. They’re here to pimp out this little book entitled Jungle Games. But before we get into that…can we just enjoy my favorite saxophonist on the planet? Can Chad Evans set the tone or what? It’s smooth like that for real ya’ll. He calls the groove, Utopia. It just feels like New Orleans. You know what I’m sayin? It’s reminiscent of the Crescent City Connection after the traffic subsides, after the dusk gives way to the night, it’s the kind of mellow that makes you feel just right. It’s Canal Street after the shops close, Bourbon Street at 4 a.m. when the last two strippers slow it down for their last grind. It’s breakfast at the Trolly Stop Café on St. Charles where you feed your hangover before it begins. It’s the perfect ending to a night of debauchery and sin. Ya’ll can feel that right? Damn we better get to this interview.
Ok the first question I want to ask is..KevaD, How did the two of you come together as writing partners?
We were on a bus tour of the Seven Seas with a stopover in Atlantis. Heather noticed me cutting coral with a sawtooth shark and suggested we make sand scrolls together. At first I thought the idea to be a red herring, but after a night under the starfish with a bottlenose dolphin, an eel lit up and I thought the partnership might reward us with a sand dollar or two.
Uh..I can see that this is going to be an adventure to say the least. How about this question? What is it about the respective writing styles that made you think it would work?
Our styles aren’t that different, once you get past the whole hieroglyphics issue. Fortunately, we both believe people breathe, eat, and drink. Everything else seemed minor after we found that mutual ground to work from.
Heather, what's KevaD’s greatest strength as a writer?
KevaD greatest strength is KevaD, his delicious imagery, he adds so much to a story. His knowledge is boundless.
Heather’s greatest strength is characters, plotting, setting, action, sex, sensuality, suspense, mystery, romance…pretty much all the things I can’t do.
How do you do it? How does it work? How do you break down who's doing what?
I wait for her to finish a story, tell her it’s great, and we add my name.
Well, no David writes a bit and I float around adding my stuff and then I write and he makes it perfect. Or I scream a lot or David sulks, either works :-)
Who does the plotting?
A serious answer, just for you, Cornelle: We don’t hold each other back. Whoever comes up with the original vision lays the groundwork. The other adds flavor, spice, and keeps the story on track, fills in the holes, fortifies the foundation, and polishes the rough spots.
We toss ideas about, we have lots of different ideas. At first, I really wanted to write a serious fantasy, but you know David, he has a million plots running around his head. Trying to pin him down to one idea long enough to write it is our main problem ...and time, there is never enough time.
Will there be more projects from the two of you? And would either of you ever pair off with another author as such?
More? Probably. We certainly have more planned. Life is strange though, so who really knows?
Would I work with another author? Again…probably, but only for a single project because Heather is my long term writing partner.
H.C. I've worked with other authors, but we have created a new voice. It works. I'm sticking with David even if he insists on wearing the yellow heels to every meeting.
Heh heh...I'm Not Touching That One....at least not in this interview.
Now this is a series of books you've written...Night Games...Sea Games...and now Jungle Games...if I'm correct. So why don't you tell us something about the series as a whole?
The Game Play Series was our first try at working together. David created the first story and I added a bit more to the sex scenes and odds and ends. I took the lead in Night Games using two of David's characters and David added his knowledge of guns, boats and a lot of ambience. Jungle Games was again David's conception and is a very erotic story , any women's fantasy weekend I think :-) If anyone says a man can't write romance, read this story. The pirate, Miguel and what he does to Karin on top of that mountain is so romantic it will melt your Kindle.
The series was contracted in within 48 hours of submission. So yes, we call that a success. Will there be more in that series? I'm not sure.
BTW I have to mention the Dear K series. I'm hoping we'll be working on more of these stories because my brain is exploding with ideas. These are a darker side of life, and one part of David's imagery I admire. He has the ability to bring a flavor to a character that makes me catch my breath. I've always wanted to write darker stories but my mind lives in Avatar world. David has dragged me screaming out of my comfort zone. I wanted The Rise of X to be published more than any of the stories we've written together. In this one David has created a tortured hero that brought tears to my eyes the first time I read the manuscript. I thought of using a sex therapist and following a Diary of a Vampire type interview, with the characters telling their stories. David worked this idea into a sex fantasy web site run by a mentally disturbed and broken Dom. The concept is edgy and takes our writing in a different direction. It was a privilege to add my part to this story and it made me hungry to explore this genre. We held our breath when we pitched this story, it is so different from anything either of us have produced before. I think David heard my whoops of excitement from Australia when we received a glowing reply from the Acquisitions Editor with a contract offer for the Dear K series last week.
I trust that you will remember to come back here when the Dear K series debuts. And I'm not taking no for an answer.
I’d like to thank the both of you for dropping by for this impromptu session on the Author’s Couch. Next time I’m taking the gloves off and we’re gonna go in deep. And I won’t let you hide behind KevaD’s satire Ms. Heather. Be ready and be afraid….Very afraid.
Here’s the blurb for this incredible little tale crafted by these amazing authors.
Insecure Karin Orth agrees to an erotic seafaring vacation with her fiancé in the hope they can reduce the growing list of problems in their troubled relationship. Unfortunately, the bevy of gorgeous, slender women onboard the Brazilian based schooner only serves to shrivel her confidence further. Her fiancé’s sudden obsession with threesomes and foursomes doesn’t float her boat either.
Smuggler, thief, and pirate Miguel Arelo is a dangerous man. Few know he upholds the ancient tribal beliefs of gods and goddesses. The moment he lays eyes on the voluptuous Karin Orth, he is convinced the gods have bequeathed him a treasure beyond imagination. Now, all he has to do is claim his prize. The fact she isn’t interested in him is a small matter a simple midnight kidnapping can resolve. Well, that and an Incan altar of decadent, sexual torment secreted deep in the Amazon rainforest. And ropes….
The rusty Ford four-door cleverly disguised as a cab by the addition of magnetic TAXI signs on the front doors clanked to a stop. Karin Orth massaged the small of her back. If the driver had thought to add springs under or behind the molded fiberglass backseat, the ride from the spider-infested hotel to the docks might have been almost tolerable. She pressed a hand to the dull ache in her forehead from the exhaust fumes.
So far, the planned so-called “erotic” vacation in Sao Conrado, Rio de Janeiro’s affluent southern district, sucked dingle berries.
“Is that her?” Jerry asked for the fourth time since the moored tri-mast schooner, the Patrice, had come into view. “She looks heavier in person if it is. Still, damn. She’s fucking hot. Seriously. Do you think that’s her?”
Irritation prickled up Karin’s spine. She turned her back and gazed at a seagull pecking at a shell. Why should she drool over the large boat or lower herself to look at the woman her fiancé had been fantasizing about ever since they booked their reservations on Bowers’ Bountiful Excursions? This trip was supposed to be a three day, two night sex fest on the open seas with her fiancé.
“I don’t know. Go ask her.” She glared over the front seat at the driver’s head. “Are you going to open the door at least?”
He reached under the dashboard. A latch clicked behind her, and the trunk lid lifted.
“Great. Thanks for the outstanding service.”
“I think that’s really Patrice Lampton. Come on. Let’s go meet her.” Jerry threw open the door and leaped out.
Karin scowled at him from under her lashes as he scurried to the trunk.
She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Don’t you mean, let’s go see if you can fuck her?”
Bags in hand—his bags—Jerry jogged toward the wooden pier without a backward glance.
“Gawd.” Disillusioned, she stared after him. “Forgot about me already?”
A squeal of rusty hinges signaled her door had opened.
“O que diabos está errado com você?” The satiny voice swept over her shoulder and across her skin, eliciting goose pimples on her bare arms.
The driver raised a fist without turning around in his seat. “Vá se foder sua mãe.”
“Excuse his bad manners. Please, may I help you from the car, bela senhora?”
Another tip groveler. Karin scowled and pivoted to meet … eyes with the sheen and hue of polished walnut roofed with thick black brows. Waves of black hair enhanced the sautéed apple peel tone of his skin. Her stomach flipped, every hormone stood to attention. She fought for a reply. He leaned his impressive body into the car, causing his unbuttoned, long-sleeved, white shirt to hang open. She gazed at an unimpaired view of a solid chest covered in a thin layer of tightly curled hairs. Little caramel nipples poked through the fur layer. Her belly quivered with the need to circle her tongue over his flat buds. What is wrong with me?
As if he had read her mind, he tilted his dark head and took a step back. With his crotch positioned smack dab in the middle of her gaze, he offered her his browned hand. The better than average bulge in his black slacks commanded her attention. Her cheeks caught fire.
Forcing her eyes to stare at the door, she tried to speak, but the words jumbled in her throat.
“Allow me.” He gripped her hand with the gentleness of a lover in the moonlight.
“I-I.” She gulped. “I’m engaged.”
He lightly pulled her from the car. The corners of sun ripened lips curled. “Congratulations. I hope he understands the treasure a beautiful woman’s heart truly is.”
She stood a breath away from him, inhaling a mix of exotic spicy fragrances that sent shivers of awareness to every nerve ending. Then his words crashed down on her brain. Beautiful woman. She gave herself a mental shake. He wasn’t anything more than a hustler after a tip, because no one had ever referred to Karin as beautiful. Chubby, fat, homely … yeah. And the ultimate insult, a great personality. She tromped to the trunk. Before she could grab her suitcase and shoulder bag, the man had them clasped in his grip.
Whatever. She whirled and headed for the schooner. Two couples, one in their fifties at least, the other in their early thirties like Jerry and her, quickstepped to the wooden pier. Wheeled luggage hummed over the boards.
Karin turned to the man beside her. “What did you say to the cab driver?”
“I admonished him for not taking proper care of your requirements.”
“Right.” She scoffed. “That’s why he raised his fist at you.”
“Yes. I will have a conversation with him about that. A gentleman should always be a gentleman in the presence of a lady.”
She chuckled at his incessant nonsense clearly designed to finagle a larger tip out of her.
To Karin’s disgust, Jerry didn’t even glance up from his intense conversation with Patrice Lampton, stunning in denim cutoffs and a red plaid shirt knotted above her navel. The one-time darling of the tabloids, Patrice had obviously put on some weight since she disappeared from the public’s microscope. Karin sneered. The bitch had gone from runway model stick figure to Marilyn Monroe curvaceous. Wouldn’t you know that on Patrice, a few added pounds looked good. The couples ahead of Karin stopped. With a smile Karin would die for, Patrice struck a pen tip on a clipboard.
“Welcome aboard. Mr. and Mrs. Carlson, you’re in cabin three. Mr. and Mrs. Hanes, cabin fifteen. Dazz is waiting on deck to direct you.” The couples gingerly made their way across a wooden gangway festooned with a knotted rope handhold.
“I’m Karin Orth.”
“Ah.” Patrice nodded and angled her head toward Jerry. “Then this belongs to you.”
“Oh, hi, honey.” Jerry had finally noticed Karin’s arrival. “Patrice is great. She said I can call her Patrice.”
“Wonderful.” Karin forced her grimace into a smile. She turned to take her bags from the man who’d followed her.
He slipped past her and handed them to Jerry, who stared at him dumbfounded.
“Guard your fortune well, my friend,” the stranger growled. “Pirates have roamed these waters for centuries, willing to kill for treasure not half as valuable as that which you possess.”
Jerry flared a nostril and staggered under his increased load to the ramp, a full two steps away.
Karin dug a ten from the pocket of her shorts. “You’re smooth, I’ll say that for you. I only have dollars.”
The man closed her hand around the bill. “The memory of your company is all Miguel Arelo requires, bela senhora.” He bowed at the waist and pressed a kiss to her wrist.
Fireflies flittered up her arm. She jerked out of his grasp. The touch of his lips lingered on her skin. His delectable mouth bowed into a smile that shot delicious sensations straight to her core.
Jerry stood wide eyed and face flushed on the deck. “Hey, Patrice, maybe we could get together for a drink later?”
Karin snapped back to her reality. “Give it a rest, Jerry.”
His eyes narrowed. “We’ll discuss this in our room.”
“Cabin one,” Patrice said. “Dazz—”
“Yeah, yeah, some guy named Dazz will direct us. I got it.” Karin sucked in a breath and traipsed over the springy ramp to begin her three day ocean journey into the erotic with her fiancé whose mission in life now seemed to center around banging the hostess.
And to think I lost two inches off my waistline for this shit.
Miguel embraced every movement of the magnificent woman’s walk, the way her hips rolled, the brush of her thick thighs, and the fleshy, pillow ass.
“What are you doing here, Miguel?” Patrice hugged the clipboard.
“Who is she?”
“Karin Orth and her fiancé, Jerry Miller.” Patrice raised a brow. “Did I mention he’s her fiancé?”
Jerry handed Karin her bags. The duo disappeared through the doorway leading to the lower berth deck.
“Her man is a pig.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Patrice grimaced. “The scumbag propositioned me twice before you two got here.”
The thought of Jerry’s fingers entwined in Karin’s sun blonde hair while the asshole pounded his cock into the artistically curved goddess roiled in his gut.
“That doesn’t explain what you want.”
Miguel willed the exquisite woman from his concentration. “I need to speak to Brian.”
“You do realize we’re about to set sail, right?”
“I will only be a minute.”
“Forward hatch. We’re having trouble with the pump for the toilets again.”
“Eh?” He lowered his brow. “I offered to bring you a new one.”
“You offered to steal us one.”
He shrugged at her inconvenient ethics. “New is new. What does the origin matter?”
Footsteps clattered on the dock’s planks.
“This should be the Johnsons, so you better hurry if you want to talk to Brian. They’re the last couple. Once Dazz gives the formal greeting, we’ll be shoving off.”
Miguel trotted across the gangplank and along the teak deck to the open wooden hatch. In the compartment, Brian Bowers cursed at his iron nemesis.
“I can have a replacement in three days. Just say the word, my friend.”
Ball peen hammer in hand, Brian glanced upward. “We’re getting ready to sail. What do you want, Miguel?”
“I came to reserve my half day on the water you owe me.”
Brian shook his head. “I’m a little busy at the moment. How about calling me when we get back from this trip?”
“I have changed my mind. I no longer want that half day.”
“Something else has captured my interest.”
Brian squatted next to the pump, adjusting a knob. “I’ve told you before I won’t allow you to use the Patrice for your smuggling.”
Miguel slapped a palm on his chest. “You wound me, my friend, with your belief that I would engage in such activity.”
“Knock off the bullshit. You’re a thief. It’s what you do. What the hell do you want if you’ve changed your mind about me taking you out on the ocean?”
“A day and night with Karin Orth.”
|Posted by CornelleKeveen on February 11, 2013 at 5:50 PM||comments (1)|
|Posted by CornelleKeveen on January 22, 2013 at 4:10 PM||comments (2)|
Steel Dominance – The Jigsaw Puzzle of Writing
With this novel, the third in my Steamwork Chronicles series, I introduced so many different subplots that it became like knitting a sweater with cooked spaghetti after the dog has eaten half of it. Yes, Steel Dominance is complicated and fun, and sexy and hot. Though it released on the 15th of January but I began writing the book way back at the end of last year. I have many many pages of crazy indecipherable notes to do with it scribbled in a huge diary I use when typing on the pc doesn’t help me.
Ironing, vacuuming, and scribbling out summaries of characters, plots and stupid things that refuse to sort themselves out without my help!! … is what I do when I’m stuck. Yes, frustration is second nature to writers.
It was, of course, my idea that I write a book based on the vast and imaginary steampunk Byzantine empire. In our world the ancient Greeks changed the name of the city of Byzantium to Constantinople and then got themselves all besieged and conquered by the Ottoman Turks. In my book the Ottomans never quite finish the siege and it becomes a centuries old stalemate.
So I dragged out a big cauldron and threw in many ingredients:
Dankyo, military, strict, a man with a need to dominate his partner.
Sofia , a smart steampunk geek who has a submissive streak she’s not yet figured out.
An emperor who loves getting his own way and who has a nasty habit of eliminating those who get underfoot by squashing them. He rewards his assassin with people she’d like to kill.
Xiang is the emperor’s assassin with a decades old need for revenge against Dankyo.
Final ingredients – the tangled spaghetti of political intrigue, BDSM power dynamics, some clockwork spiders with graffiti on their little minds, and the puzzle of the Clockwork Warrior.
If you love colorful and complex plots, fantasy, and novels you can immerse yourself in, Steel Dominance is awaiting you.
The bow viewing lounge with its three long reinforced windows was crowded with eager passengers. Dankyo had found them a spot at the front and stood behind her, his body up close, his chest pushing at her when he inhaled, and his palms heavy on her shoulders. She’d have protested and stepped away, but there was nowhere to go and no way to do it without seeming strange.
So instead Sofia breathed in and out with little tight movements, watched the scenery go by, and dug her nails into her skin.
Scenery, watch the scenery.
Ahead was the city of Byzantium with the crosses and domes of churches and mosques lacerating the sky, and farther to the right was a slithery silver hint of the Bosporus. Beyond that, just visible on the opposite bank, were some of the taller buildings of the rival Ottoman city. Centuries of off-and-on sieges had left Byzantium with stout metal walls shaping its outskirts, and they shone with gold and silver in the afternoon sun as if they intended to flare into molten incandescence at sundown.
A loudspeaker came on. “Time for disembarkation in twenty minutes. Passengers are advised to have their baggage in order.”
People either side of them moved away, and when only a few were left and Dankyo hadn’t said a word, she made to follow them. He stopped her. His hands tightened on her neck, and he shifted behind her until his lower body pressed into her buttocks.
Then he nipped her ear and spoke in a warm, rumbling tenor. His breath carried his words in deep to curl inside her mind and paralyze her with their power.
“This is Byzantium, where slaves do as their Masters bid them. Where no one will know if you surrender yourself to me. Not your friends; not your family.” As he spoke, he slid one hand down her front, following the curve of her breast, then lower, until the flat of his hand rested on her belly. He pulled her back against him, gentle but sure.
“Sofia, will you let me take you to the edge and beyond?”
A brilliant researcher, Sofia must unravel the ancient puzzle of the Clockwork Warrior or her career will be in tatters. Yet the tomb of the warrior is in the dangerous city of Byzantium, inside the harem of the Emperor. She knew she’d have to pose as a slave—but not that her “owner” would be the incredibly bossy, gorgeous bodyguard she’s been assigned.
A life of military duty has left Dankyo unprepared for Sofia. He’s never met a woman quite like this. She’s smart and beautiful, and she’s something that he’s finding almost irresistible—despite the way she fights against masquerading as his slave, she’s submissive right down to the bottom of her soul. And that’s bringing out every dominant instinct in his body.
But even as he realizes she’s captured his heart, the city explodes into madness. Surviving seems impossible. Can love and a Dom who will never give up overcome sheer bloody-minded evil?
Link to my books page on my website where I will put buylinks such as one to Amazon, and a link to a longer excerpt:
|Posted by CornelleKeveen on January 17, 2013 at 8:35 AM||comments (5)|
Blurb and Excerpt
Release Date: 28 January 2013
Deep in the muggy swamps where there is but one rule, kill or be killed, a new species has emerged—born not from nature but spawned from evil.
Octavia wasn’t stupid. Those unfortunate souls who have crossed paths with her didn’t just become swamp creatures, they became the least deadly of them. She hadn’t counted on the strong spirits of those she’d cursed.
From those murky swamp depths, a hero emerged. The type from which legends are born.
Moss, whose sensual iridescent tattoos are in fact thanks to his reptilian side, still struggles to come to terms with his fate and wants nothing more than to be left alone.
Beth’s life becomes upturned when she reluctantly agrees to accompany her idiotic brother on a hunt for the Bog Man. When she becomes separated from the others she comes face to face with the legend himself . . . only no one ever mentioned how damn sexy he was.
The swamp’s dark history tests the duo on their survival skills as well as luring them deeper into the magic of the swamp.
Book Trailer Link: http://youtu.be/iZ0IQKBgaU0
The water eerily stilled as the swamp sounds came to an abrupt halt. No screeching hoot owls, no more insanely loud chirps from crickets. Nothing. No movement or sound pierced the night. Complete and utter silence greeted her. The loss of the natural sounds terrified her more than anything else. Something had spooked the critters and bugs, and her gut screamed that whatever it was, with her luck, was so not a good something.
Time to go. She slid off the log and began wading toward the cabin — or, rather, she hoped toward the cabin.
She felt more than heard the water swirling about her calves and whipped around to search for its source. Her heart rate went into overdrive as her palms grew sweaty, making it harder and harder to retain her death grip on the flashlight.
Turning, she began taking cautious steps backwards toward the bend and the hopeful safety of the shanty she’d seen. Her beam was now so dim, the heavy-gauge metal was more weapon than light as she raised it over her head, aiming toward the swirls moving the deeper water to her right. In the midst of the strange whirlpools, the odd yet mesmerizing iridescence came back. Only this time it wasn’t almost glowing — it was glowing. The eerie, greenish blue spiraled about madly, only visible here and there as it peeked out between the many lily pads, obscuring her view.
Terror gripped her, anchoring her in place as headlights do a deer over the freaky happenings before her. Trembling, her mind screamed to turn and run, but her body refused to heed her mind’s clear warning. Her heart beat with such velocity she swore it would burst from her chest at any moment. She couldn’t even seem to will breath into her body, and her lungs grew heavy. Her breathing became no more than ragged gasps as she began to hyperventilate.
Her eyes widened as the active water began to become more centered. Fear froze her immobile. Though terrified, she continued to be drawn, almost as if in a trance, into its strange murky depths. Her vision zeroed on the brightest point amid the swirls, jaw gaping open as a form began to emerge.
The form of a man.
He rose from the murky depths like some type of Greek deity, Neptune perhaps. Her mouth grew dry as he continued his slow rise, inch by glorious inch. Terror receded as blatant curiosity arose. She tried to lick her parched lips as droplets of water ran down his wet, chiseled chest and continued running until they disappeared into the low-slung waistband of his pants. Pants which, luckily for her, were good and wet and plastered to his magnificent body, leaving little to the rest of her imagination. She nibbled her bottom lip, wanting to lick just one of those lucky, lush little droplets rolling down him.
One jerk of his head moved the long, dirty-blond hair enough to reveal the face of a god. Eyes so intensely green she swore they penetrated her soul. And shoulders, oh, so big, they would devour her if she were embraced within. Bronzed skin that had been kissed by many a sunray, abs that rippled right down his belly. Part of a beautiful tattoo was visible as it spread about his stomach in a unique pattern, seeming to come from his back.
She’d gone mad. She should be running in stark fear, yet here she stood watching a man emerge from the swamp and wondering about being wrapped safely in those huge arms. Her fingers itched to run them over every hard, muscled ridge, all the way down to …
Too much heat — yes, that explained everything. She’d passed out from heat stroke and this was some weird delusion. One smoking hot sex delusion at that. It had been quite a while since she’d been with anyone intimately.
Her vivid delusion began heading straight toward her, a severe look drawn on his face, almost hungry and predatory in nature.
Holy smokes, she thought, licking her lips at the sight. Again her eyes drew toward what lay just below those fabulous abs as hip bones sculpted the most perfect V shape she’d ever seen. Her imaginary man would have been better completely and utterly naked; however, her luck seemed to have run out in that department.
The delusion seemed to beckon her as it stretched out a hand and one long finger pointed at her and began motioning her toward him. All the iridescent colors coming from him and the water began blending with the night and foggy air, swirling faster and faster in a tornadic display of light and color. Her head swam with it all, until from the heat, shock and fear, she succumbed to the pull of oblivion, and sank welcomingly into it.
|Posted by CornelleKeveen on January 16, 2013 at 10:15 AM||comments (12)|
Everything I say from this point on is probably wrong on some level or another. The words will probably be construed as racially improper, biased and unnecessarily stereotypical. I may even be labeled as someone who spouts off unconstitutional and un-American jargon at the mouth, and I should probably be silent. Well, all I can say to that is whatever.
I have a problem understanding why there is such a need for the white American male to become so fanatical about the possession of weaponry that has been used repeatedly to take so many innocent lives as of late. I know what you’re thinking. Ok Cornelle, you can’t just lump all white American males into that category.
You are absolutely correct. I can’t and I won’t. But I’ll be damned if the guy in the above video doesn’t present a compelling point of argument against leaving the right weapons in the Wrong hands. This man is an arms dealer! Do we want to stereotype men like this? Do we want to take the “clutch your purse when a certain type of individual walks into an elevator with you” approach? Maybe even look at them a little wary eyed when they walk through your neighborhood wearing a hoodie? Would we be justified?
I worry because I work with too many guys who feel the same way this guy does about their guns. I hear it every single day in some form or another. These are decent, hard working family men. In their minds, all they want to do is protect their families. But it goes deeper than that. There is an eager undertone in their rhetoric. It’s like the...”I wish a mutha f***er would come to my house during a hurricane induced power outage” mentality on steroids. I’ve even heard one guy express the desire to mount one on his wall next to his deer kills.
Now I’ll leave it up to you to ascertain what “one” actually is. I worry because when I hear the kind of dialogue expressed in the above video, it makes me want to arm myself to the teeth as well. Old James is pretty compelling as an orator isn’t he? Just imagine…….
|Posted by CornelleKeveen on January 10, 2013 at 7:30 AM||comments (10)|
“Have I told you I love you?” she whispered. “Ti amo. My beautiful, strong man, I love you so much.”
Full lips, soft and lush, brushed his. She cradled his face in her delicate hands and her fragrance, sweet as vanilla and crisp as a field of flowers in spring, unfurled in his nostrils. When he parted his lips to speak, her kiss greeted him. The tip of her tongue flicked the roof of his mouth before plunging inside in a tantalizing swirl that left him breathless, desperate and needy. No woman has said the word love to him since she died.
Giovanni drank the sweetness of her kiss, reclined into a stack of pillows with her breasts pressed against his chest. His senses reeled as if short-circuiting. His pulse raced and thoughts of loss, heartache, and lonely pain mixed in with this dreamlike reality. No. This wasn’t a dream. It was the death he prayed for. He found her again on the other side and he was free to have the love they shared for eternity.
Tightness coiled in his groin, and he could feel it bulk underneath the soft press of her sex. Her hands pushed gently against his shoulders, and her body covered his, keeping him conveniently in place. Now he felt loved. Whether she said it lately or not, he felt it deeply.
“Mirabella,” he breathed through their kiss. His beautiful Mirabella had only been his for a brief time but she forever changed his heart, his desires, and his peace of mind.
Her lush thighs, and the sweet moist center under the petals of her sex, buffeted him in warmth with her straddling his waist and moving in a lovely slow slide along his erection. The longing and desire he suffered day in and day out burned away his hope for them two years ago. How could she be dead when she was in his arms once more? To answer his question Mira released him from her teasing kisses and her head lifted. She smiled down at him. The smooth brown skin of her oval face held pale golden undertones. Eyes the deepest shade of hazel brown shone with brilliance, reflecting her forgiveness under a dark ring of lashes. Her slender nose and full lips rounded out the face of an angel.
“I’m yours. You’re safe with me,” Mira said.
“I lost you.”
“Shhh…” Mira pressed her finger to his lips and kissed his brow. “Have faith. Please Giovanni, for us.”
Giovanni blinked awake. The darkness of his room was complete. There wasn’t a sliver of light to focus on. He lay perfectly still staring into the empty void swallowing him. He waited for an eternity until his heart stabilized. It was the same dream, with her again reminding him to have faith.
He had none.
In the dark he dropped his hand to the side of the bed and wiggled his fingers in search of the wine bottle he’d turned to for comfort. He didn’t feel it. His head was weighed down with a throbbing headache reaching his temples and hammering the inner walls of his skull. Thanks to the late night binge he couldn’t summon the strength to lift it. Instead he turned over to his side and closed his eyes once more. This time he prayed he didn’t dream.
Author website: http://thedivaspen.com
|Posted by CornelleKeveen on January 7, 2013 at 1:45 PM||comments (6)|
By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.
An Excerpt From: WARRIORS’ WIFE
Copyright © EVANNE LORRAINE, 2013
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
Her hand brushed his when she reached for a gauze pack, she didn’t jerk away from the small contact. In fact, she laced her fingers with his. “In another time and place I would’ve fallen hard for you, slick.”
Disappointment must’ve shown on his face, because the corner of her mouth turned up for an instant then she frowned. “It’s nothing personal. You are totally adorable and you smell way too good to resist. I have to keep my distance.”
He didn’t think she was serious. However, he wasn’t certain if she’d intended to make a joke or to discourage him with biting wit. Neither possibility gave him any hope she’d softened toward him. A few seconds’ reflection emphasized how completely ineffective his skills were when it came to winning her acceptance. He would try harder. For now he set aside his failure and concentrated on how to improve her health.
She placed the droid on the ground and slowly lowered herself until she rested next to the pet. The simple act of sitting down clearly caused her pain, but she didn’t make any complaint.
While she doctored her own injuries, he watched. The very slowness of her actions told him she’d suffered multiple contusions, possibly sprains and one or more rib fractures. He winced with every stretch and reach, biting back sympathetic moans and hovering like the anxious bio-geek he was.
Tori was a dream he never knew he had come true. Smart, brave, beautiful and she was the woman fated to become his wife. And she wouldn’t let him clean or bandage a single cut. Finally he blurted, “We’re here to protect and serve you.”
“Uh-huh.” She poured antiseptic on a gauze sponge and began carefully dabbing at her split lip. “What planet are you guys from?”
For a few seconds he analyzed her question. Once again there’d been no hint in her tone or expression that she was joking or frightened. Her curiosity had no logical stimulus, but seemed sincere. “Earth, why do you ask?”
“Replicators aren’t exactly standard equipment even for the most elite special forces troops. Since the pandemic, technological advances don’t happen. So why not tell me where you’re really from?”
“There’s no reason for me to mislead you. We’re from Earth, though not from this particular era,” he assured her absently, distracted by using his built-in scanner to search for internal damage and bot activity. Technically a scan wasn’t an exam. However, he didn’t ask for permission she would be unlikely to grant. So scanning was an invasion of her privacy. He knew how that felt. Mechs were monitored without ever being consulted or granting permission. Their minds were the only thing the techs hadn’t found a way to tap. He hated the constant surveillance that stole their privacy and dignity. Yet he preferred to risk her anger rather than letting her walk away with a life-threatening injury he’d failed to diagnose.
She glanced away from him to wet another gauze sponge.
He took advantage of her inattention to do a deeper internal search. Her vagina and anus readings were normal, ruling out rape. He swallowed the lump of dread that had clogged his throat. Her leg, one rib, and several bruises already showed elevated cellular repair levels. The bots were on the job. He’d done one thing right.
The skin around her eyes tightened as the antiseptic seeped into a deep cut. “You’re time travelers, huh?”
“I should stitch that for you.”
“Nuh-uh, are you avoiding answering my question?”
“Yes, I mean no. I’m not avoiding your question.” Damn he’d be tripping over his own tongue next. “We were inserted into your time from what may become your future, so yes we’ve traveled through time.”
Her expression held obvious doubts. Communication with Tori held unsuspected challenges. Discouraged by his dismal lack of social skills, Horace studied his boots, avoiding her searching skepticism. His poor performance in winning her confidence shouldn’t have come as a surprise. He’d almost failed the seduction course both Gideon and Marcus passed without effort. With practice he should improve, but unless he won her confidence soon he’d endanger the entire mission, to say nothing of breaking his own heart.
He parted his lips to try again. A deafening boom shook the ground and put an end to his awkward attempts at conversation.
“The restorers have these coordinates. Another team of cyborgs will arrive soon. We need to leave soon.” Gideon spoke aloud, clearly for Tori’s benefit.
Horace held out a hand to her.
She rubbed her temples then shook her head. “You guys take off. I’m heading back to my rig anyway.”
“That’s over one-point-seven kilometers.” His dismay tinted the innocuous words with clear alarm. Not even bots worked that fast. She would be alone and vulnerable.
Obviously he’d offended her again. She picked up the engineered pet and hobbled for the exit without commenting.
“Let me.” Marcus scooped her into his arms.
“I can walk, Galahad,” Tori told him, but she didn’t struggle or demand to be set down. Galahad was a clear term of affection.
“How’re those swollen knuckles?” Marcus asked.
Tori flexed her fingers. “Amazingly good.”
“Who is this Galahad anyway?” Marcus winked at Horace over her head.
“One of those ridiculously handsome guys of legend, who is way too good to be real. He was always busy saving fair maidens and such.” She grinned up at Marcus.
Her easy manner with his friend emphasized Horace’s dismal failure. Fear clutched at him. What if she accepted Marcus, but not him or Gideon? Horace couldn’t imagine anyone rejecting Gideon. He amended the question. What if she accepted both of them and denied him? That outcome had a high degree of probability.
“Where are we going?” Marcus smiled into Tori’s beautiful hazel eyes, which sparkled back at him.
“East about a mile to my ride. Ready to put me down now?”
“No way.” Marcus grinned.
Horace watched her leave with sadness clouding his vision. He could’ve carried her with equal ease. However, he hadn’t offered and she hadn’t shown any indication she would’ve accepted such help from him. Still he wished he’d thought of it first. Something unfamiliar banded around his chest and tightened. Likely some malfunction in his systems. The band tightened more. He set up a diagnostic scan of his critical functions, let it run in the background and tried to ignore the odd constriction.
|Posted by CornelleKeveen on January 3, 2013 at 12:30 AM||comments (11)|
The last person Roxanna “Roxy” Harris would have imagined coming to her aid would be her childhood tormentor, Adam West. Overcome with years of grief, she finds herself in the arms of the only one who is capable of understanding her pain. As the two become reacquainted, Roxy discovers another side of Adam that she’s helplessly falling in love with.
Adam West is blown away by Roxy. Gone is the skinny awkward, pigtail-wearing, nuisance. Although her life is drama-filled, he finally sees a woman he can imagine spending forever with. That is…until Roxy does the unthinkable. Will the love they discovered be enough to unite them as one?
Chapter 1 Excerpt
Run! Her mind screamed as panic set in and her heart began to pound in her chest. After all these years she was not prepared to see him face to face. After that night so many years ago, when he had been so cruel to her, Roxanna had made it a point to steer clear of Adam. She avoided him like he was walking salmonella.
Though she desperately wanted to turn around and go back to her car, her legs would not cooperate. Nor would her eyes turn away from the most handsome deep dark chocolate face she had ever seen. As a child Roxanna had had a huge crush on her best friend’s big brother. Although she acted as if seeing him kissing all of those girls disgusted her, secretly she wished she was all grown up so he could kiss her, too. That was until he had become a mean, angry beast.
She could not believe how much Adam had changed. No longer was he a tall, lanky teenager. He had morphed over the years into a six foot five, broad shouldered, muscular hunk of a man.
When Adam opened the door to his parents’ home he had not expected this visitor.
“Roxy, is that you?” he inquired of the young woman he was sure was his sister’s childhood friend. It had been a long time since he’d seen her. Boy, had she changed. What had once been a skinny little thing with a terrible overbite and long, thick braids was now an incredibly beautiful woman.
Flawless cinnamon skin with a hint of a golden undertone shimmered from the sheen of perspiration, giving her a dewy appearance. The once skinny frame had grown several inches taller, filling out in all the right places. She was the perfect size. Not rail thin and not plump either. That awful overbite had been corrected by braces. And those thick braids were now dark brown, naturally curly tresses that framed her face and rested on her shoulders.
Roxanna’s stomach did a flip-flop as she watched her childhood tormentor appraise her. Taking a deep breath and straightening her spine, she lifted her chin. She had to remind herself she wasn’t that scared little girl he could push around anymore.
“Yes, it’s me. Is Ms. Brenda here?” she coolly asked.
Roxanna fought to keep her voice firm and strong, although she was shaking on the inside. She promised herself she would never be bullied by Adam again.
“Yeah, she’s back in the kitchen,” he told her as he stepped back to allow her entry.
Roxanna passed through the doorway, being ever so careful not to touch Adam as she entered into the house.
As she passed him, the soft, feminine floral scent of her perfume tickled Adam’s nostrils. He could not take his eyes off her as she walked farther into the house. The navy blue business suit she wore showed off a set of long, gorgeous shapely legs. When did she get so tall? The four inch heels she wore gave her a statuesque height of five-nine. It was evident to Adam that Roxanna was comfortable with the added height as she walked with a straight back and squared shoulders.
It wasn’t lost on Adam that Roxanna had worn a mask of indifference and hadn’t spoken to him. And why should she? Adam acknowledged. As a moody teenager he had treated the shy child terribly.
Rarely had he lashed out at his sister. Whenever he did, guilt would immediately swallow him up. Abigail had been a very sickly child. As her only sibling, he felt it was his responsibility to baby her, to give her whatever she wanted. This, however, became old when he became a teenager and wanted out of having to always accommodate the spoiled child. Abigail was very good at using her illness to get her way, nagging him to no end. So when Roxanna was integrated into the West family, she became the target of his frustration.
Whenever Adam thought about Abigail, Roxanna was never far away. Over the years he’d often wondered what had become of her. He also often wondered how she had dealt with the hurt and the pain.
Passionate romance with a touch of reality...
|Posted by CornelleKeveen on December 28, 2012 at 7:50 PM||comments (5)|
“You’ll have to spread your legs wider,” Elijah softly encouraged. “Don’t be afraid. I do this several times a day. I’ve never had any complaints.”
Her breathing escalated, the hot breaths fanning his face. Eli tried to maneuver his shoulders into a more comfortable position. No easy feat in the backseat of the compact Nissan Sentra.
“Tell me your name again, sweetheart.”
“Cassandra,” the teenager let out in a rushed gasp. The hem of her sundress rolled down her thighs. Again.
“This is in the way.” Eli bunched up the material and pushed the dress over her head. “That’s better. Now just relax. I know it’s scary, but it’ll be easier if you stay calm.”
Eli ran his arm across his brow. It was hot, but the summer storm raging outside the car prevented him from opening the door. A rivulet of sweat followed a path from the matted hair at the girl’s temple, then sluiced down her jaw line. The valley between her breasts glistened. Eli captured her knees and spread her legs as far as the small space would allow.
He had to open the door. He couldn’t do anything cramped up like this.
Eli reached behind him and opened the back passenger door. The hot rain pelted his legs as soon as he stepped onto the slippery gravel. It wasn’t the most ideal environment, but he’d have to work with what he’d been given.
The young girl that lay before him cried out in pain.
“Shh.” Eli quieted her with calming words while his fingertips rubbed the area giving her the most pressure. Expertly, he soothed away the ache, but he knew at any moment it would return worse than before. He could no longer wait. Neither could she.
He reached down between her legs. “This is going to hurt.”
The girl gasped, her back arching. “Oh, God. I can’t take this.”
“A little more. That’s it. It won’t be too long.”
Her earth-shattering scream pierced the air.
“Okay, Cassandra, I need you to push. We’re almost there.”
Where in the hell was the ambulance?
Eli freed one hand and reached into the pocket of his khaki slacks, retrieving his cell phone. He speed dialed Methodist Memorial Hospital and waited impatiently for the operator.
As soon as he heard the click, he barked into the phone, “I requested EMS twenty minutes ago. Tell them to get to the 2700 block of Pine Street now,” then slammed the phone shut and shoved it back into his pocket.
“Why isn’t the ambulance here yet?” the girl asked between rushed breaths.
“They’ll be here soon.” He smoothed the damp hair back on her forehead. “I told you not to worry. I’ve delivered more babies than I can count. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Eli rubbed the base of her torso with gentle circles. He felt the muscles contorting underneath his palm.
“Okay, Cassandra, this is going to be a big one. Grab onto the headrest and push as hard as you can.”
She did as she was told, gripping the driver’s side headrest and nearly pulling herself off the seat with the force of her push.
“That’s perfect. Keep pushing until I tell you to stop.”
The tiny brown baby entered the world riding a wave of fluid. Eli caught him in the palm of his hand and turned him over, quickly wiping away the film from the baby’s mouth and nose. A sharp cry filled the car.
“You’ve got a son.”
He heard the high-pitched shrill of ambulance sirens coming down the street.
“Great timing,” Eli muttered under his breath. He made swift work of unbuttoning his shirt. He’d managed to keep his upper body out of the rain, but sweat still caused the shirt to stick to his back. He peeled his arms out of the sleeves, then wrapped the damp material around the newborn, placing the baby in the cradle of his mother’s arms.