Wednesday, 13 May 2015


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With a sigh, she turned away from the mirror and wriggled her way into the tiny white stretch-fabric dress Roni had sent around for her, almost stripping the skin from her body as she hauled the material up her curvy frame. She squeezed it past her hips and persuaded it over her breasts inch by inch until she realized she’d forgotten to breathe and puffed out a noisy gasp. She waited for a moment, hitching in small drafts of air, and hoped the dress wouldn’t split its seams while she tried to bend at the waist to pick up the pair of shoes she had placed on the floor. She collapsed onto her bed, flat out, and wished she’d not eaten at all, never mind consuming a full plate of spaghetti and meatballs. She rubbed her belly. Sweet howling banshees, she’d probably damaged a kidney…and her liver. The grunt in the base of her throat turned to a wail, accompanied by supportive voices. She’d twisted her gut, she had to have. All the squeezing of her innards wasn’t going to let her digest her dinner, and her lungs were flat. She was going to die.

The piercing wail was cut off abruptly by the sheer terror of the unexpected voice.

“Aren’t you ready yet?”

The swift rush of adrenaline shot Ginny upright in a smooth move she surprised even herself with, until she stood by the side of her bed. Her body hadn’t been given the option to bend. It would have been strangled by the Band-Aid she’d squeezed it into. High-pitched, her voice trembled past the restriction. “How did you get in?”

Roni grinned and circled her hand in the air. “I…you know.”

Yeah, she did know. Unfortunately, Roni had a bad habit of zapping in and out of her private moments. Private. Pah, it wasn’t as though she had any of those, so she could hardly object. Besides, she needed Roni to rescue her.

“I can’t bend over in this dress.” The wail became louder, and Roni’s smooth left brow shot up.

“Well, you’re not supposed to.”

Ginny skimmed her gaze over the black leather dress Roni had been painted into and wondered how she had the ability to breathe.

“I think I’ve damaged my insides.” The other women bitched inside her head, making it to the outside so Roni could hear.

The model’s sympathetic smile reassured her. “No, you haven’t.”

“But, I can’t…” Ginny flicked her fingers at the shoebox on her bed.

Roni picked it up, and against all odds, she kneeled effortlessly on the floor at Ginny’s feet, the dress she wore appearing not to hamper her flexibility.

“I love these shoes.” Roni slipped one of the crystal-encrusted four-inch heels onto Ginny’s foot and stroked it in awe as she withdrew her hand to pick up the next one.

“Yeah.” Ginny sighed, and the women’s voices dissipated in direct correlation to her distraction.

“You have such good taste in shoes.”

“I do.” She couldn’t help but grin as she agreed. It was a weakness. She might dress conservatively on the whole, but she always had on a pair of heels most women would kill for, each pair lovingly treated and perfectly stored. She considered she might have to get another closet built in her apartment to accommodate the overflow.

Roni came to her feet and scanned Ginny from head to toe. “Shame you have such crap dress sense.”
She gave her a smile and flicked her long, red talons at the current piece of material adhering to Ginny’s flesh. “I like this one. I’m pleased I sent it.”


Roni spun her around so she could stare at herself in the mirror.

“Oh, my.” The air stuck in her throat as she perused the vision before her. Perfect. Voices hummed with admiration.

“Of course, you can’t wear those panties.”

“I can’t?” She twisted as best she could in the body-hugging material to get a better view of her backside.

“No, I can see the panty line. You need thongs.”

“I don’t have—”


The woman was gone. Ginny hated the whole disappearing act. You could never have a full conversation, never win an argument. Not that she wanted to argue with Roni, she’d just like the opportunity to—


“Here. A white thong.” Roni removed the sales tag and handed the thong to her.

“Where did you get them?”

Her friend’s smile was wide and feral; her sharp white teeth gleamed. “It’s okay, Miss Honesty, I left payment for them. I just didn’t have time to wait in line.”

“I’m sure.” Ginny glanced at the label. “Especially as the bridal shop would be closed at this time of night.”

Her friend wafted a dismissive hand as though a visit to a closed underwear store was something she did on a regular basis. She probably did. Most shops would be closed by nightfall when Roni was available to shop. It was a little inconvenient for her to visit in the daytime when the pesky sunlight fried her alabaster skin.

Ginny stared at Roni, wondering if the woman was going to leave the room so she could have some privacy to whip off her panties and exchange them for the new ones, because the dress was not the type to allow for discretion. She was going to have to peel it up before she could do the whole panty exchange.

“Do you need help?”

She smiled at Roni’s lack of patience. “Nuh-uh. I can manage if you would be so kind as to turn your back. I don’t need you seeing my hoo-hah.”

“Hoo-hah? For the love of Satan, it’s your p—”

“I know what it is,” Ginny interrupted hastily.

Roni’s wild red hair flicked as she turned her back with an ungracious grumble.

Ginny writhed to get the clingy dress far enough up to strip off her big-ass panties and haul on the thong as fast as she could before Roni lost patience and took over. Being a model meant Roni had little time for self-consciousness, and even less tolerance.

Voice muffled as she writhed to get the tiny scrap of material over her hips, she glanced up to check Roni was still in the same place. “Where did you say we were going?”

“I didn’t, but we’re going to the new club—Montgomery’s Sin.”

“Oh my, I’ve heard things about that place.” The girls at work had been the previous Friday night, failing to turn up for work on Saturday—again. The club was reputed to be wild. “It’s supposed to be full of all kinds. They say it’s where the devil goes to collect the souls of the fallen, the defeated, and the damned.” She tried not to sound like some kind of innocent, but she knew terror and awe laced her voice. Nightclubs terrified her. The thunder of music, the dark, prowling people.

“Yeah, well, there’re two things here. First, I think the devil is too important to collect his own souls—he sends out his minions to do that. Second, I don’t think you fall into any of those categories. You can consider yourself quite safe. Now, me…there’s a whole ’nother matter.”

“Perhaps it’s an exaggeration, but I do believe it’s a den of iniquity.” Ginny stretched her dress back into place and smoothed her hands over the fine material to check for any bulges.

Roni turned around and eyed her with a wicked grin. “Yeah. It’s precisely why we’re going.”

Tuesday, 5 May 2015

Marked for Magic - Daisy Banks - New Release

Welcome to my blogspot Daisy, 

Thank you so much, Diane, for helping me celebrate the release of my latest book,
Marked for Magic, published by Lyrical Press, a Kensington Imprint.

I decided that as palmistry was the initial inspiration for this fantasy romance I’d offer you and the readers a little something on palmistry marks. This image below shows you the main lines that can be found on a person’s palm.

1: Life line - 2: Head line - 3: Heart line - 4: Girdle of Venus - 5: Sun line - 6: Mercury line - 7: Fate line
These main lines above are fairly well known, but the lesser lines are not quite so well understood and it was these I was studying when I got the idea for Marked for Magic.

There is a mark some people have on their hand, a curved line on the percussive side of the palm like a kind of vertical semicircle and it can be quite large. This unusual mark is known as the line of intuition. This is said to be one of the signs someone with clairvoyant skills can have.

Do let me know if you find this mark on your hand.

The witch mark on Nin’s hand is a curse. She has no magic powers, whatever the lore says. But the village believes. The old crone’s wisdom is to see her banished. Ragged and hungry, she must serve the Mage. Alone in his tower, she is his chattel. But Mage Thabit is not what Nin expected—the bright green eyes and supple form under his cloak are not the stuff of nightmares, and kindness hides in his brusque heart. Thabit senses that Nin is more than she seems, too. When true nightmares haunt the land, it is precisely her elusive powers that might deliver them…


What could he do with her? Gods of the water, why me?

He scanned the streambed for shells, picked up a handful, and rolled them in his palm as he thought through the problem. One path beckoned the solution, and she would never know. A glamour to change her appearance. With her charms disguised, he would be able to teach her, and those pert little attractions wouldn’t get in the way. He skimmed a stone down the stream.

Yes, it might work, so he wouldn’t be distracted.

Perhaps, when he took her to the castle, he might be able to persuade Lady Cassandra to take her. Even though it was late for Nin to join the other students, it might be a possibility. If she’d been found earlier, she would be in Cassandra’s care, learning from her skills. He closed his eyes. This was the best idea he’d had since yesterday afternoon. Cassandra would understand the problem. She could take Nin out of his life, at least until his maiden developed her skills, knowledge, and control. When had she become his maiden? He couldn’t tell, but after today, he’d never see her as a grubby little wench again. He’d need the stepping skills of a sword dancer to avoid her snare. Tilting his head back, he looked up to the clear blue sky as he tried to work out what he truly wanted.

The spring birds soared and circled, and no answer came to his questions. It seemed he must improve his self-awareness. Scraping his hair back, he tied the leather loop back in place before making his way to the tower.

By the time he walked into the kitchen, she had set dishes out on the table, ready to serve the food. From the look of her, she’d found peace with her sorrow for now.

One eye still on her, he trickled the shells from the stream into the small jar where he kept his collection. When she turned to stir what was in the cauldron, the glamour cloaked her. She moved to the table with the pot.

He stepped back in surprise. Oh! Perhaps he’d been a little extreme, but he’d get over it. Now, her image could not tempt him.

“Dinner’s ready,” she said with a gap-toothed smile.

“Good. I’m hungry.” He settled opposite her and picked up his spoon.

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About the author.

Daisy Banks writes sensual and spicy romance in the Historical, Paranormal and Fantasy genres. She is an obsessive writer and her focus is to offer the best tale she can to readers. Daisy is married with two grown up sons. She lives in a converted chapel in Shropshire, England. Antiques and collecting entertain Daisy when she isn’t writing and she occasionally makes a meal that doesn’t stick to the pan.
Daisy Banks Links

Twitter @DaisyBanks16

Sunday, 3 May 2015



He wondered if her skin was as smooth as it looked in the bright lights of the bathroom. He raised his hand and caressed gentle fingers over her cheek to detach a thin strand of hair from her lips.

“What’s your name?”

He returned his hands to her shoulders and slid both of them down the soft naked flesh of her arms to hold onto her hands and keep her from bolting, amused at the way she blinked rapidly. Her eyes sparkled unnaturally, and he knew. He just knew there was something special about her. He hadn’t figured it out yet, but he was going to. The instant attraction to her was more than just sexual, it was…protective.

She took three small hitching breaths before she managed to gush out a reply. “I…I don’t know.”

He caressed his thumbs on the insides of her palms to soothe her and pondered how long it would take to strip the dress off her. After all, the bathroom was empty. He chuckled as she became even more flustered, and he wondered if she could read his thoughts. She certainly hadn’t made any effort to escape him, and there was no sign of her not enjoying his touch.

“You don’t know your own name?”

“No.” Her breath whispered, and her chest heaved. “I don’t.”

Her hands went limp in his, and she stared deep into his eyes, almost hypnotizing him. Amused at the reciprocal effect he appeared to have on her, he stepped in closer and dipped down to whisper in her ear, the temptation to nibble it almost irresistible. “Well, neither do I, sweetheart. What would you suggest I call you?”

He felt rather than heard her indrawn breath against the background of thundering music. He took advantage and deliberately skimmed his lips against the silken curve of her cheek, taking pleasure in the rise of heat in his chest and the instant arousal that shot through him.
The light scent of her perfume filled his nostrils and tickled his senses. The thrum of his pulse increased to match the rhythm of the music and sent his blood chasing through his veins.

“Ginny Golding. You can call me Ginny.” She puffed and made him smile. The woman was just so goddamned cute and attractive.

“Ginny. Is that your name?” He touched the back of his fingers against her jawline and stroked them upward to her ear, his own dark, tanned skin a wild contrast to the alabaster of hers. Her tantalizing shudder emboldened him to skim his fingers through the fine strands of her hair and cup the back of her neck.

“I think so.”

A deep chuckle rumbled at her confusion, and the desire to kiss her, feel her full lips against his, and taste her response rose in him. He tightened his hold on her, drawing her in.

“Yeah. Me too. You look like a Ginny.” He skimmed his lips over her temple as she held still. 
A gentle tremble coursed through her body, making him take it slow.

“I feel like a Ginny.”

The beast rumbled in his belly. He controlled it and placed a soft kiss on her forehead, and then pulled back to stare into her entrancing eyes. Desperate desire overrode his patience. “So do I. Let’s get out of here.” 

For a free taste of my shift into the paranormal, go here for a copy of For Heaven's Cakes: