|
Excerpts From: TWO MEN AND A LADY
An Excerpt From: LADY’S CHOICE
© Copyright CRICKET STARR, 2004.
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave, Inc.
Funny, she’d never really been interested in two men at
the same time, but both these guys made her mouth water. More than her
mouth, actually. The crotch of her spacer suit dampened with her arousal
and she crossed her legs, hoping they wouldn’t notice.
Both men’s gaze riveted below her belt and they sniffed
the air, their eyes glazing for a moment. Her eyes widened at their
reaction. Oh, yeah, they’d noticed. They must have superb senses of
smell.
The front of both men’s trousers tightened into a pair
of impressive packages. In the back of her mind, Lija
took in their sizes and did the math. Yep, either of them would do nicely
for her last fling of freedom before buckling under to her fate.
Too bad she only needed one. Choosing was going to be
tough.
She waved her hand at the chairs next to her at the
round table. “Would you gentlemen like to sit down?”
The pair exchanged nearly angry looks as they took their
positions, one on each side of her. The redheaded man carrying the mugs
slammed them down on the table hard enough to spill some of the contents.
His companion glared at him. “I don’t need your help.”
“I’m not offering help. You forgot your drink.”
“I didn’t need a drink, either.”
Lija put up her hands.
“Gentlemen, please. Here I was feeling lonely and now I have two lovely men
to keep me company.” She waved to the bartender. “Please, a pitcher for my
new friends.”
Both men had their credit chips out. “You won’t be
paying,” the blond one told her.
“I’ll buy,” the redhead said at the same time.
Blue eyes narrowed into slits. “No, I’ll buy.”
“Not on your life.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
The pair glared at each other then both men’s right
fists came up.
“Now just a zeminute…” she
said, wishing to stop the fight, but to her surprise they chanted in
unison, pounding their fists on the table.
“Ti, To, Te.”
Red’s fist had one finger sticking out, Blondie’s had
turned into an open palm.
“Sword slices Ax. I win,” the red-haired man said
smugly.
Blondie glared and folded his arms, but allowed his
buddy to pass over the credit chips for the pitcher.
Lija smiled. These hulking
he-men played a children’s game to settle disputes? This was going to be
fun. “So, may I ask my companions for their names?”
Red spoke first. “I’m Gehon Avermoe. This is my friend, Jackon
Overton.”
She extended her hand. “My name is Lija.
And I’m pleased to meet you.”
Jackon’s hand slashed out
first, barely beating Gehon’s. His palm covered
hers possessively. “Not nearly as pleased as I am to meet you, my lady.”
Pulling her hand to his lips, he kissed it gently. His lips tingled the back of her hand and between her legs the
dampness grew.
Lija gulped. At this rate
she’d soon need padded undergarments.
Gehon captured her other hand
and pulled it to his lips. “I cannot speak of how wonderful it is to meet
you, Lady Lija.”
Caught between the two of them nibbling her hands, Lija wondered that she was able to breathe. Hot and
cold flushes ran up and down her spine, pooling in her dampened groin.
She seriously needed one of these men to bed her.
Trouble was, which one? What a delicious dilemma
for one woman to have.
Jackon’s blue eyes glared over
her hand at his friend. “Her taste is for me, Gehon.”
Brown eyes narrowed into a matching glare. “Her taste is
mine, Jackon.”
They stared at each other, then suddenly both men sat
up, eyes widening and jaws dropping in unison. Gehon
licked the back of the hand he held, Jackon doing
the same with his. Lija shivered under their
tongues.
“What do you taste?” the redhead asked.
The blond licked his lips relishing the flavor there.
“Sweet. Like honeybeets.”
“Sweeter than that. Caramallow.”
“Mellowdrops.”
“Chocoberries.”
They both dropped her hands and Lija
pulled them back to her side of the table as the men stared at each other,
and then at her.
“The same for both of us?” Jackon
said, his voice heavy with disbelief.
“So it seems. A cosmic joke,” Gehon
replied.
An Excerpt From: AND BEST FRIEND MAKES THREE
© Copyright LYNN
LAFLEUR, 2004.
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave, Inc.
“Is this Ms. Brenna West?” a sexy male asked.
The sound of Eric’s voice made Brenna
smile. “It is.”
“The Brenna West who is an
incredible kisser?”
“I do love kissing.”
“The Brenna West who has the
most amazing brown eyes?”
“The color of chocolate, I’ve been told.”
“The Brenna West who has a
cute little birthmark on her left thigh?”
“I do have one of those.”
“The Brenna West who has the
sexiest body in the world?”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far.”
“The Brenna West who makes
love as if she can’t get enough?”
Brenna giggled. “I have to say
yes to that.”
“So everything I’ve heard about you is true. Well, then,
you sound like the perfect woman for me. I think we need to get together.”
“That could be arranged.”
“There are many advantages to being the boss. One of
those advantages includes leaving the office early. I can be at your place
in an hour.”
“Don’t you dare! You can’t get
there before six. I have plans.”
“Aw, come on, sweetheart. Six o’clock is hours away. I don’t think I can wait
that long to hold you. I haven’t felt that luscious body against me for
three whole days.”
“You’ll survive a little while longer.”
“You’re completely heartless, do you know that?”
Brenna snuggled down in her
seat. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“How?” His voice dropped to a husky purr. “What will you
do to make it up to me?”
“Do you want details?”
“Oh, yeah. Explicit details.”
Phone sex. In the grocery store parking lot. That would
be a first. Brenna glanced around to see if
anyone happened to be close to her car. She didn’t see anyone, but turned
on her key long enough to raise her window, just to be sure no one
overheard her.
“We’ll start with a candlelit dinner. I’m making baked
salmon just the way you like it.”
“Mmm, sounds good.”
“I’ll play my slow, smoky jazz CDs while we eat. After
dinner, it’ll be cool enough to build a fire. We’ll sit on the floor near
the fireplace and have coffee. There will be candles lit everywhere, of
course.”
“Of course. Will there be some
kissing in there somewhere?”
“Lots of kissing. First on the lips, then on
other body parts.”
“What body parts? Remember—specific details.”
His voice sounded strangled. Brenna
hugged the phone closer to her ear. “On your neck. I love kissing your
neck. I’ll nip your throat with my teeth, just a bit, then
soothe it with my tongue.”
“Then what?”
“I’ll run my hands under your shirt and comb my fingers
through your chest hair. Have I told you how much I love your chest hair?”
“Yeah, you have.”
“I’ll touch your nipples with my fingertips, then take
off your shirt and lick them.”
Brenna would swear she heard
him swallow. “Then what?”
An Excerpt From: SAVING SARAH
© Copyright MICHELE
R. BARDSLEY, 2004.
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave, Inc.
“Raped?” Therapist Annie Miller stared at the man on the
other side of her desk. “How long ago?”
“Almost a year.” He ran restless fingers through his
shaggy blond hair. He looked exhausted, but more than that, he looked like
he was skirting the edge of hopelessness.
Oh no. She would have none of that.
“Two weeks after our anniversary, in April last year. I
had to attend one of those inane business cocktail parties and she didn’t
want to go. I always check the locks, the windows, but I was late, in a
hurry. And she never remembers to do that stuff. We lived in a safe
neighborhood.” He rubbed his face with both hands as if doing so would
scrub away his self-recrimination.
“Have you and she had sexual intercourse?”
“No. Sometimes I do oral for her, but I’ve never asked
or expected her to reciprocate. I won’t lie, Ms.
Miller. I miss making love to my wife. She used to be fearless, you know?”
He shook his head. “I love Sarah more than my next breath, but she’s
slipping away from me.”
Annie picked up the folder on her desk and opened it. “I’m
not sure what I can do for you, Ben. Sarah should be the one sitting in
that chair.”
“She’s been to doctors, therapists, psychologists, and
shit…even a voodoo priestess. She knows something is wrong and she’s tried
to fix it, but she can’t. She’s been lost to me ever since those bastards—”
His fists clenched. He took a deep breath and settled into the leather
wingback. “The rapists were caught and they were put into prison for life.
She had a scare earlier this year when one of them escaped. He was shot and
killed by police—on Valentine’s Day. Can you believe it? That asshole died
on a day that celebrates romance and love. Ironic as hell.”
“Indeed.” Annie looked at the desk, assessing its
neatness, trying not to focus on the personal tragedy that had unfolded for
her on that day as well.
“They can’t ever hurt her again, but every time I touch
her…she sees them.” Despair rimmed his gaze. “In her heart, she knows it’s
me, but in her head—it’s like her mind keeps playing the same movie over
and over again. They didn’t just violate her body. They murdered her soul.”
“I’ve heard enough, dear boy.” She stood and tossed the
folder to the desk. “There is a place that might help your wife recover, but you have to agree to the terms. It’s an
unusual therapy.”
His wary gaze assessed the business card she handed to
him. “Dunley’s Beach Resort?” He frowned. “This
is a clinic?”
“No. It’s a beach resort.”
Annie rounded the desk and stood in front of Ben Slatterly, leaning a hip against her desk. “You must
send Sarah to the resort alone for five days. After two days have passed,
you will join her. When you arrive, you will be asked to participate in
her…sessions. Do this without doubt or hesitation or judgment.”
“What the hell are we talking about?”
“Healing, Ben. And one last chance to save your wife.”
* * * * *
After Ben left the office, Annie pressed a button under
her desk and watched the far wall slide open. She crossed the room briskly,
intently, and the moment she cleared the entryway, the door swished shut
behind her. The room was small, lit only by special-made candles of sage,
rosemary, cinnamon and other herbs and spices. On one wall was her altar to
the Goddess. It was made from driftwood, carved with intricate signs and
pictographs; it had been passed down from mother to daughter since the
1700s, when her family once lived in a town named Salem and her ancestor had swung from the
gallows, branded a servant of Satan.
The people of Salem
had not been the first to condemn and kill one of her family members for
witchcraft. There had been others, including the greedy priests of the
Inquisition in the 1400s. Annie had always been amazed at the fortitude and
determination of her ancestors to pass the knowledge and wisdom of ancient
times down through the ages. In each generation, her family’s magic matured
and strengthened and, with Annie, the gifts bestowed were great, indeed.
The Goddess had blessed her beyond measure…and given her a solitary,
sometimes too heavy, burden.
She turned to the wall opposite the altar. From ceiling
to floor, every inch of space was covered by a wooden shelving system that
looked much like post office mailboxes. Each space was one foot by one
foot, doorless, labeled by last name, and all
held boxes made of rosewood.
The one she wanted was easy to find, and she plucked it
from its slot and opened the lid. Inside was a vial of ashes, a rolled
vellum paper, and a gold locket.
“Dunley.”
He appeared in the blink of an eye, floating a few
inches above the floor, his form as see-through as a dusty window. He was
tall and handsome with longish brown hair and soulful brown eyes. Annie
smiled. Dunley was not as tender as his gaze and
lazy stance indicated.
“How are you, Dunley?”
“Limbo is lovely this time of year.”
She laughed. “It is time to earn your freedom.”
He straightened, a bright hope flaring in his eyes. “You
will give the locket to my mother? And release my ashes?”
“Yes. If you succeed with the task I give you.”
“Have I failed you yet?”
“Only once.”
CLOSE WINDOW
|