Thursday, 19 February 2015

Disarmed & Dangerous - The Series Continues...

So, Barbara's Redemption, Book 2 in my Disarmed & Dangerous series is finished, just waiting on some final comments from my street team before I send it off to my publisher. And as happens every time I write a new book, I found my next hero, Zak. I can't wait to start his story, but I promised myself I wouldn't until I've re-written Kate & Jack's. So, I'm fidgeting, desperate to start a new book - but Zak will just have to wait, although I suspect Book 3 is not going to be long...

If you want a reminder who Barbara is, I featured her in Flynn's Kiss, Disarmed & Dangerous Book 1.  Barbara Lynn Perry came to an evening of celebration for one of my book launches (Flight of Her Life) and won a competition for me to name a character after her. She was only supposed to be a walk-on part, but she said, “Oooohh, can I be a cold-hearted killer?” Sure you can, Barbara! And a new heroine was born.

Here's a little snippet from Flynn's Kiss - if you want to buy the Book, here are the links.

Buy Links


The pressure in his head made him think it might just explode as he hung upside down from the ceiling. He cracked open his eyes and gave a vague stare at the pool of crimson blood as it gathered and spread in a glutinous puddle over the broken tiles below him. Strange how some of it trickled away to be sucked in by the thirsty dirt lining the floor.

He strained his neck to get a better view of his surroundings. The scorch of pain in his back throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and his face pulsated from the buildup of blood pressing to escape from wounds inflicted by the sharp laceration of a knife through his left cheek from ear to chin. It burned deep into the tender flesh at the corner of his mouth and sent pulse waves of agony through every nerve in his body. He poked his thickened, dry tongue into the rip and withdrew it with a hiss of pain.
Survival wasn’t as certain as it had been fifteen minutes earlier, before the blood had started to stream from him as he swung, suspended like a stuck pig. The ability to think waned. Fifteen minutes ago, he could still have freed himself, slipped his chains and slit the throats of his three captors before they had a chance to draw breath. But his opportunity had passed. He had to wait for the next one, one that possibly didn’t require the ability to think. He closed his eyes to allow his mind to drift with the rhythmic pendulum swing of his body.

Dim awareness warned him they were back. Silent, they approached and he knew their fear of him made them cautious. The gleam of the knife glinted in his peripheral vision. A vicious gouge tore through his skin from eyebrow to jaw and intersected the first cut to narrowly miss his eye as the lethal slash of it scored deep. The blood splatter thrashed a pattern across the floor beneath him to join the vast puddle of dark red blood and coated the walls that flashed in and out of his line of sight. 

His body swung fast and erratic as pain branded his very soul.

Ashamed of the sound of his own low guttural groan, his eyelids fluttered in protest and his parched lips stuck together, the tender skin stretched and torn. The keening sound of an injured animal still escaped them and for the first time gave him reason to hope as the three men made their mistake and laughed like over-excited hyenas, anxiety stretching their voices to fever pitch, which allowed him to pinpoint their positions.

Stark light hammered on his eyelids from the sun blazing through the open window into the bright white room. He made a conscious decision to keep his eyes closed, feigning defeat, not difficult to do under the circumstances and not so far away from reality.

He knew before they did it, they would cut him down, and understood this might be his last opportunity, his final hope. A muffled sound of movement preceded a wild jerk of the rope, followed by the dead weight of his body as it hit the floor like a sack of grain. He was unable to suppress the agonized grunt of pain as his injured face slapped hard into the pool of his own blood. His eyes opened and he peered with dull disinterest through sweat-stuck eyelashes at the gruesome red pattern sprayed around him as the men laughed once more.

His body almost finished, he rallied and called on every last fiber of his being to react. He gathered himself and squinted to focus on the gleam of the knife. He knew the next time it moved, it would be the death thrust.

“Why, hello, boys.”

His head too heavy, he struggled to raise it and just about managed to focus his bleary eyes on the tiny blonde with the oversized breasts. The sun slanted over her hair and made it gleam bright white like a halo as she leaned casually against the open doorway. In any other life, she would have been a mirage, but he knew without a doubt, in this one, she was his savior.

Barbara Lynn Perry stepped inside the arched doorway of the bright white cell, a feral grin plastered across her face and the look of death in her eye.


Three men dropped stone cold dead into the thick spread of blood on the floor. The weight of the third man slapped into him, drawing another deep groan of agony up from his belly through his throat.

“Hey, Barbie.” The breathless grunt should have shamed him, but he was too relieved. “You sure took your time, honey.” He forced his guttural voice out through his parched throat and tried to smile, but the searing pain in his cheek froze it in place.

“Don’t fucking call me Barbie. If you weren’t going to die anyhow, I’d kill you.”

Her smooth Canadian accent sounded like heaven to him, and he felt the thick slime of blood coating his teeth as he grimaced at her.

She rolled the dead body off his with a firm push of her foot. She elicited another grunt from him as she yanked his hair and stared hard into his face, her huge baby blue eyes narrowed for a second. He felt the sear of her stare trace his features before she blew out a disgusted breath and let his head drop with a solid thunk to the ground.

“You’re a fucking mess, Flynn, but you’re going to have to walk out of here, because I’m not fucking carrying you. Haul ass. I’ve done my bit.”

From the vantage point of the cool tiled floor, steeped in his own blood and that of three dead men, Flynn tipped his head, narrowed his eyes, and admired the fast sway of  Barbie’s ass as she hightailed it back out of the cell and left him to tend to his own survival.

Saturday, 14 February 2015

New Release - Endless as the Rain - M S Kaye

Endless as the Rain
Book one of the Taken series
by M.S. Kaye

When Adriane Graham discovers a city councilman is part of an embezzlement ring, she doesn't realize her life is in danger until Alec Kaden, the son of a mobster, kidnaps her—not to kill but to protect her. But why? And how does he know so much about her, right down to her favorite books? In order to find out, Adriane must get past Alec's anger and secrecy to unravel his past and find the key to her own.
Amazon   ~   Barnes&Noble   ~   JupiterGardensPress  ~   ARe  ~  Smashwords

Author Bio:

M.S. Kaye has several published books under her black belt. A transplant from Ohio, she resides with her husband Corey in Jacksonville, Florida, where she tries not to melt in the sun. Find suspense and the unusual at
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Contact M. S. Kaye at:
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The thought that was still eating at me was the possibility of rejection. I’d heard women talk about how almost any woman can get a man’s attention once, that men generally have a strong drive and will usually take most opportunities. But Alec was strong-minded. If he truly didn’t want a woman, I was certain he’d reject her.
It was a risk.
One I was willing to take.
I peeked into the hall to be certain no one was around, and then walked silently through the shadows. I turned the corner toward his room.
My mind couldn’t help but to wander. I began to see images—at first his surprise, and then understanding, and hopefully his arousal. I saw kissing and removal of clothes before lying down. I hoped he wouldn’t feel the need to talk or to ask why. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to hide my true motivations.
My feet stopped.
I couldn’t do it.
I wouldn’t trick him like that—hide the truth from him just to have what I wanted.
Only a couple feet from his door, I turned, somehow feeling pride, shame, and disappointment all in that one turn.
The click of a door opening—his door.
I managed not to jump.
I turned half way to look at him over my shoulder. “I’m sorry I woke you. I was just feeling restless.” It wasn’t a complete lie.
As I looked at him, my resolve wavered for a second. His expression was beyond kind but with a little concern—for my sanity, no doubt. He still wore his slacks and dress shirt but barefoot, and his shirt was untucked and unbuttoned. His hair was a little disheveled, and what absolutely killed me was the slight sheen of his skin, as if I’d woken him from an intense dream. His skin seemed to glow in the faint light, and his eyes took on that deep shadowed effect. Why did he have to look like that? He was perfect in every other way. Why this too?
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
So as not to seem rude, I turned to face him properly. “No. I was just restless. Please go back to sleep.” And please don’t look at me too closely.
He took a step closer. At least it was dark. I ran my fingers through my hair to casually pull it back.
He took a breath.
“Are you sure?” he said.
I crossed my arms, pretending I was cold, but really trying to hide my chest. I worried, though, that I only succeeded in creating more cleavage.
Did his eyes just flicker? No, it was too dark to see his eyes clearly.
“I’m fine,” I said, “just a little cold.” I turned to leave.
He didn’t respond, and I continued my escape. Once my door closed, I pressed my back against it, head leaned and eyes closed. My heart pounded. It shouldn’t be legal to look like that.
Faintly, I heard his door close. Then I jumped at a loud pounding sound, like someone punching a wall, and his voice, though muffled from distance. “Dammit.”
It was only maybe ten minutes later that I heard his footsteps. The sound of his shoes, no longer bare feet, quickly moved down the stairs. It was only three in the morning.

Friday, 13 February 2015

***NEW RELEASE*** The Stand-In by Rosanna Leo

A very warm welcome to one of my fellow authors, Rosanna Leo.It's an absolute pleasure to have her visit with her new release The Stand-In.

Thank you to Diane for hosting me today. I’m thrilled to be here on Friday the 13th. I realize many consider this day to be brimming with bad luck, but I’ve never looked at it the same way. I’ve heard talk that Italians consider Friday the 13th to be a good luck day. (I’m pretty sure some Italian guy just made it up, but let’s go with that!)

Bad luck is certainly an appropriate topic to discuss. My latest contemporary romance The Stand-In boasts characters who have had their own share of unfortunate luck. Both heroine Winn and hero Patrick have had to endure horrible situations, ones they did not create. In fact, although they have some obvious differences at the start of the book, they do help each other to overcome the negativity caused by their hard times.

We all deal with trouble from time to time. It can drive our actions, it colors our feelings and can cause prejudices. Heroine Winn has had to deal with what I consider to be one of most demoralizing things a woman can endure. Without giving too much away here, let’s just say she’s never looked at a man the same way since. Patrick has to work hard to show her not all men are the same, and some are more heroic than others.

I do hope you’ll check out The Stand-In and add it to your TBR list. It’s a feel-good romance and I do hope it will bring you many sighs and laughs.

She’s the best bridesmaid money can buy.


Failed actress Winn Busby is at the end of her rope. With no money and no prospects, she accepts the one job she never thought she’d see on her résumé. Professional bridesmaid. It should be easy. If only the idea of weddings and vows didn't give Winn a case of the hives. Her role becomes more challenging when she's told a reporter will shadow her work for a men's magazine article.

Working for Player Magazine is Patrick Lincoln's worst nightmare. A former political journalist, he used to write thoughtful columns for one of Toronto's most respected papers. That is, until he was blackballed for allegedly sleeping with the boss's wife. Overnight, Patrick becomes the city's most reviled bad boy. And now he's forced to write a seedy expose on, of all things, a bridesmaid.

Patrick begrudgingly accompanies Winn to a series of strange weddings. As they are forced to work together, he learns there is more to the stand-in bridesmaid than puffy dresses and pretty speeches. She, in turn, begins to question whether or not Patrick actually deserves the derision of his peers. As much as they fight their attraction, it begins to threaten their work and their sanity.

For so long, Winn has felt second-best. A stand-in. She finally meets a man who believes in her value. But can she let go of the past and accept him?


She glanced at her computer screen again. “Let’s see. Ah, yes. We’ll have you meet with Winn. And by the way, she’s lovely. She has the perfect look for this job. Accessible and fresh, but not intimidating. You’re in luck. She’s in the building right now.” She texted a command into her phone. “I’ll have my assistant send her right in.”
In the time it took Margie Kent to flash her very pearly whites, a knock sounded on the door. 

These stand-ins were prompt. He supposed that was good in any business.

“Come in, please,” Margie called.

Patrick lifted his gaze toward the door and watched as a pear-shaped blonde entered. Christ. Margie had called this woman unintimidating. He knew a few dozen men who’d be intimidated into next year by her girl-next-door sex appeal. Chin-length golden hair framed her pleasantly round face. Amazing cheekbones. Bright blue eyes and a body that looked made for squeezing. Just the thought of pressing that luscious flesh made him hard. If she was a high-class call girl, and if he had to pay for love, he might be tempted to pull out his wallet. He cleared his throat and thought of the day Jason Dietrich fired him, just to make his boner disappear.

Margie did the introductions in her singsong voice. “Winn Busby, this is Patrick Lincoln.”
She stuck her hand out. “A pleasure to meet you.”

As he shook her soft hand, Patrick waited for the old “that Patrick Lincoln?” but it never came. Thank God. Someone who didn’t know of his ruin.

The Stand-In is available Feb. 9 at:

Author bio:

Rosanna Leo is a multi-published, erotic romance author with Liquid Silver Books. Several of her books about Greek gods, selkies and shape shifters have been named Night Owl Romance, Two Lips Recommended Reads and Top Picks at The Romance Reviews. When not writing, she can be found haunting dusty library stacks or planning her next star-crossed love affair. Her next contemporary romance, Vice, will be published this summer by Samhain Publishing.