Welcome to the Blood Series by Elizabeth Morgan

EM_Blood Series_FB

Scottish Werewolves: freaky Vampires and a Slayer with a bad addiction and an insane legacy. Add a big dose of sarcasm, sizzling chemistry; a lot of silver and a ton of blood and . . . Welcome to the Blood Series.

They’re back! The Blood Series has been revamped and repackaged and is available to buy now!

Note: She-Wolf and Cranberry Blood are both previously published titles, but have been polished, improved, and have even had scenes added for their re-release. Both books as well as all that will follow will be self-published.

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She-WolfShe-Wolf

Blood Series Prequel

Blurb:

Dealing with the Rogue Werewolves terrorizing his Pack? Simple.

Trying to convince his mate he does want to be with her? Bloody impossible.

Owen MacLaren is the Alpha’s son and the Pack’s second, and he has never been one to let anything get to him. So when a bunch of Rogues begin purposely dumping mutilated bodies around the Pack Keep, he is more than ready to deal with the Werewolves responsible.

But one night off and a trip to a local strip joint for a colleague’s stag night changes things, and Owen soon discovers he isn’t immune to everything . . . .

Being an independent Loup and travelling the world? Easy.

Having to come home and face the Werewolf who broke her young heart? Challenging.

After five years away, Clare Walker finds herself back home in Scotland, working in a strip club. The tips are decent, and she gets to dance, but it isn’t a place she thought she would ever be, let alone Owen, her Pack second and the mate she has always desired.

Although Owen is determined to prove he wants to be with Clare, things can’t go smoothly between them, not when they have past issues to sort out and a bunch of unusual ‘Rogues’ to deal with.

This title contains explicit language, violence, and graphic sex.

Buy Links:

Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/463701
Barnes&Noble:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/she-wolf-elizabeth-morgan/1120057363?ean=2940046079852
Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00MT091TK/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1634&creative=19450&creativeASIN=B00MT091TK&linkCode=as2&tag=lucyfelthouse-21
Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00MT091TK/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00MT091TK&linkCode=as2&tag=lucyfelt-20&linkId=SZ2B27QAEB3Q54AN

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Excerpt:

The music ended. The two women grabbed their clothes and headed backstage, hips swinging, as one and five pound notes hung out over the edge of their thongs.

“Give it up for Jenny and Jean, our tantalizing duo,” said an invisible male, his gruff voice echoing throughout the club.

“Christ, they’ve got a voice-over.”

“Oh aye, this is a real classy joint.” Luke knocked back his beer.

“Better than some places,” Karl said.

“And now, gentlemen, it is with great pleasure that I introduce you to the newest Lollypop.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus.” I stifled my amusement with another swig of beer.

“The feral goddess with the wildest moves…. The one, the only, She-Wolf.”

“This should be interesting.” Martin grinned, slinging his right arm over the back of his chair and making himself comfortable.
A familiar guitar riff began leaking through the speakers as the stage lights turned from hot white to dusky blue. The guitar riff kicked in.

“Follow You Home” a song by my favourite band, Nickleback.

“At least she’s got good taste in music,” I murmured to no one in particular while rolling the neck of my beer bottle between my hands.

The red velvet curtains parted and the verse started. A black iron chair slid along the stage and then stopped, perfectly in the middle. The female strolled out of the shadows, one long leg in front of the other, smoking her cigarette. She wore a large black hoodie, dark denim hot pants, and black leather knee-high boots.

The prickling sensation sharpened along my spine, causing me to shiver.

“Weird fucking costume for a stripper,” Martin said.

Her long black hair hung back in a high ponytail. Black and silver eye shadow framed her eyes, the blended shades bold against her smooth, pale skin.

Smoke rolled along the stage as she stopped before the chair. At the sound of the singer’s voice, she flicked her cigarette to the side and stretched both her arms above her head. She then bent forward until she pressed her hands flat on the stage.

“What is this shit? Bloody keep fit?” Martin grunted.

“Take your fucking clothes off,” Karl shouted.

She pulled herself up slowly, and as the bass guitar kicked in, her body swayed to the right and she fell straight into a spin, which seemed to last forever.

“Looks like the stripper knows ballet,” Robert said.

“Fuck the stripper.” Luke laughed. “How d’ya know that’s ballet she’s doing?”

“My little sister has studied it for years,” Robert said, his focus glued to the stage.

The woman dropped into splits. After a moment, she brought around her right leg from behind to join her left, and then fell backward. She pushed herself off the floor, then jumped up and landed on her feet. A wicked grin curled the corners of her mouth as she rolled down the zip of her hoodie, exposing inch by inch of creamy, pale flesh.

The familiar sweet scent touched my nose once more, growing more potent with each second, battling against the other smells to stand apart.  With a deep breath, I dragged the stuffy air of the club deep into my lungs, cancelling out each odour until all that remained was the aroma of . . . flowers? Not the sickly fragrance of floral perfume, but actual flowers.

Her hips began to sway as she shrugged off the hoodie and let it fall. The curve of her waist, and the sight of her supple breasts in her black lace bra, made my mouth dry. I knocked back the rest of my beer, hoping like hell it would help my sudden thirst.

The pale blue light caught the shimmer of her glitter-dusted skin as she brought up her right arm and then placed her hand behind her head.

Sizzling heat spread through my entire body as the distinct taste of wild flowers and sea salt exploded on my tongue. The bittersweet mixture filled me, conjuring images of the meadows bordering my father’s manor; of a young girl laughing as I chased her across the grounds, the scent of the sea wafting from her blonde hair.

My Wolf groaned. My blood heated.

“Great breasts,” Luke said.

“That’s what I’m fucking talking about.” Karl leaned forward and banged his fists on the table. He threw back his head and howled. Any other moment, I would have found such a reaction hilarious, but I couldn’t pull my focus from the woman on the stage; couldn’t move due to the heavy beat of my heart banging against my ribcage. I knew that scent, would know it anywhere.
She made a slow turn as she loosened her ponytail and shook her head. Her hair streamed down her back like a glossy black waterfall. She finished her spin, then her focus landed on me, and the air caught in my throat.

Clare.

Her body went rigid. Her sultry gaze hardened as she stared at me.

Clare Walker. I’d know those moonlit eyes anywhere.

What in God’s name is she doing working in a fucking strip club?

Straightening, I tensed as my wolf skimmed the surface. My energy pulsed as his focus zoned in on her. A moment was all it took. My Wolf settled. Satisfaction hummed through me. Acceptance.

What the fuck?

Her jaw tensed, chin tilted up as she stared us both down for a single moment, before she ran and grabbed hold of the stage pole on the right. Her feet left the floor as she wrapped her legs around the brass and spun.

I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, but the tension didn’t drain from my body.

Her feet hit the floor, the pole between her perfect thighs. She pulled herself upwards, rubbing herself against the warm metal.
Every drop of blood in my body headed south.

She swung round and pressed her back against the pole. Her hands traveled down her breasts, then her stomach, to stop at the waist of her hot pants.

My jeans suddenly felt too tight, and the sound of my heartbeat drowned out the loud music.

She slid her hot pants down her thighs and….

The neck of the beer bottle broke in my hands.

“You okay?” Robert looked at the bottle.

I let my gaze slip down to the broken glass and grunted. “Oops.”

Throwing the shards on the table, my attention turned back to Clare. She crouched before a group of men pushed up against the stage. Fire licked through me at the sight of them slipping notes into her cleavage and the band of her knickers, their fingers skimming her milky flesh. The sight caused a strangled snarl to break from my throat.

Easy boy, this is Clare. It’s just Clare.

My Wolf began to pace, hackles rising, the urge to beat the shit out of them and protect her overwhelming me. No man had any right to touch her. I didn’t want any other man to touch her, let alone look at her, and the sudden realization scared the hell out of me.

She stood and danced away from them. Every move she made was graceful; each step seemed to have a meaning. Touched by the fake moonlight, her body shimmered with sweat and sparkling body dust. She looked exotic, feral. She was Loup-garou. She was mine.

No. Not mine. She’s not mine. It’s fucking Clare, for Christ’s sake!

That simple fact didn’t stop the images filling my mind—images of her writhing across the damp earth of the forest floor, the light of the moon bathing her pale flesh. I’d explore every curve and crevice with my fingers and tongue until she begged me to mark her. Claim her.

Those wants alone had me hard as a rock, and on the border of having a panic attack.

Fuck, this is bad. Margaret Thatcher dancing naked in the rain. Margaret Thatcher dancing naked in the rain . . . .

Hiding my hands under the table, I pulled the small shard of glass from my right palm, ignoring the tingle of my flesh pulling together and closing the small wound.

Five years since I had last seen her. She’d been nineteen and preparing to go to London to live with her mother while she studied dance at university. By the look of her body, she had studied damn hard.

My fingers sank into my thighs as she curled around the left brass pole.

Last time I had seen her, she wore dungarees she could hardly fill. Now, her body looked athletic, but she had more curves than a damn racetrack.

She turned her back to the audience. My focus slipped to the four, tattooed paw prints climbing up her right hip. I couldn’t stop the smile forming on my lips, nor stop the thought of tracing those delicate designs with my tongue.

She stepped up on the chair and spun again.

“I think I’ve found my lap dancer.” Karl’s words came out slurred.

The urge to punch his head through the wall rushed through me.

Clare dropped onto the chair. Her knees spread wide, showing the audience the soft junction of her milky thighs.

I swallowed the groan lodged in my throat. The zip of my jeans was two seconds away from splitting.

Applause roared throughout the room as she struck her final pose and the music ended. Tension wound through my entire body, and I had to fight to stay in my chair as a string of crude comments left the mouths of the majority of men around me.

She grabbed her clothes and made her way off stage. The hypnotic sway of her hips, and the sight of her perky arse sitting in those lace panties, struck as painfully uncomfortable. The blood in my veins burned; the tension in my muscles pulsed.

She disappeared from view.

What was this insane, ecstatic joy that she hadn’t removed her underwear in front of these perverted bastards about? All I knew was that if she had, I would have had to kill everyone.

Not good, Owen.

The sweet smell of her sweat had mixed with her natural aroma which now seemed to cling to my nostrils, teasing me. I wanted to find her, rip those knickers off her with my teeth, and bury my head between her thighs until she came apart on my tongue.

Not fucking good at all.

Deep breath. What I needed to do was calm the fuck down and then talk to her. And I really needed to talk to her. This was Clare, for fuck’s sake. I had watched her grow up. This was wrong. So fucking wrong.

The metal frame of the chair dented under the pressure of my fingertips as the others continued to talk about her.

What the fuck was she doing here, anyway? Taking her clothes off and dancing in a shitty strip joint?

She was supposed to be performing on cruise ships. In clothing.

Her life is not my business. It’s not my business. At least it wasn’t, until now.

“So, Owen, you having a lap dance or-or not?” Karl burped, then knocked down the rest of his beer “Going to be a bit fuck-king boring sitting ’ere on your own. Maybe we can find you a nice blonde.”

Fuck it! I needed to speak to her.

~ * ~

Cranberry BloodCranberry Blood
Blood Series: Book One

Blurb:

Killing Vampires? Easy.

Tracking someone? Simple.

Helping, and protecting a Vampire slayer . . . . Bloody hard work!

Thirteen years ago, Brendan Daniels made a deal with a psychic. In exchange for information on the whereabouts of a Rogue Werewolf, he promised to help and protect Sofia’s granddaughter. Unfortunately, he had no idea what he was letting himself, or his Pack, in for.

Nothing about Heather is simple, from her weird dietary needs to her life’s mission. The girl can handle herself, but the promise to protect her soon becomes a need, and one he can’t fully understand.

Vampire Slayer.
Born Infected.
Addicted to blood . . . but not by choice.

Heather Ryan is the current Slayer in a long family line. Like all before her, she has spent her life searching for her ancestor, Marko Pavel, the Vampire her family has sworn to kill. If that isn’t complicated enough, she is also a born “Infected”, and to keep her from becoming insane or giving in to her darker side, she is on a very strict diet.

Now that her Grandmother Sofia has passed, it is up to Heather to take the family legacy into her own hands. Or at least, it would have been…if her Grandmother hadn’t sent a Werewolf to help her.

What is the irritating Brendan supposed to help her with? Sofia never told either of them. Luckily, it doesn’t take long for Heather and Brendan to find out that the Vampires have big plans, and that the Leeches have waited a long time for them both.

This title contains explicit language, violence, and some scenes of a sexual nature.

Buy Links:

Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/463706
Barnes&Noble:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/cranberry-blood-elizabeth-morgan/1112119033?ean=2940046079869
Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00MXDVWDQ/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1634&creative=19450&creativeASIN=B00MXDVWDQ&linkCode=as2&tag=lucyfelthouse-21
Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00MXDVWDQ/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00MXDVWDQ&linkCode=as2&tag=lucyfelt-20&linkId=CQDU4R7DSSLXHE64

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Excerpt:

Lights spluttered above me, fighting with some relentless attempt to come back on, even though the battle appeared hopeless.
It is hopeless.
I’m trapped.

Fresh waves of pain rippled around my skull and down my spine as I fought to see everything around me, but thick grey smoke flooded the corridors. It crawled down my throat; the taste and feel of ash coated my tongue, making me gag. The need to cough kept grabbing me while ash blocked my nose and stung my watering eyes. My head throbbed, pressure in my skull tightened, as I fought hard to keep my eyes open.

There has to be a way out.

My eyesight had clouded from the smoke; my nostrils burned with it.

The awareness under my skin blazed as hot as the fire that currently threatened to bring the entire structure down on my head, but I had to walk down here; every impulse in my body forced me forward. I had no idea what I hoped to find, but I knew in my gut that I could get out.

My right hand hit the uneven wall before me; my heart sank as I stood before the dead end.

My lungs burned as the smoke continued to consume my body.

I wasn’t supposed to die down here.
Chapter One

~ Heather ~

Air scorched my throat as my body jerked into consciousness. Eyes wide and unfocused, I shot into a sitting position, fisting my hands against my chest as I fought to breathe. My heart hammered, each beat loud and clear as it thumped in my ears. My gaze darted around the room. Relief settled over me like a gentle summer’s breeze as each small familiarity of my bedroom filtered into my jumbled mind: the tall, old mahogany wardrobe to the right side; the window, where light desperately tried to seep through the blinds; and lastly, across from the foot of my bed, the vanity table in the same dark shade of wood. Everything exactly where it should be, including me, in my bed, exactly where I should be.

I inhaled, the simple motion causing a stitch to run up my sides, but I ignored it. Sinking against my pillows, I rested my head against the wooden bed frame and closed my eyes. One breath, two, three; my heart steadied back into its usual rhythm. I rubbed my hands across my face, wiping away the sheen of sweat that had broken over my skin. On my exhale, the quietness of the room embraced me. The usual knots in my stomach started to tighten as the confusion of the recurring dream faded. I forced my mind to reach out and grab the escaping images, but, as always, reality quickly settled in and made my vision nothing more than a blank canvas.

Dull throbbing picked up at my temples. Shit. A sigh escaped me. Not again.

I threw back the covers and stumbled out of bed, suddenly aware of something gripping the skin of my stomach and back.

“What the—?” The raised hem of my black vest allowed a glimpse at the white bandage strapped around my torso. “How the hell did that get there?”

Shuffling steps took me over to the mirror on the vanity table where I studied the clean dressing that clung to my washed-out skin.
Brow furrowed, I stared at the white patch. “Okay. I really don’t remember hurting myself, let alone bandaging myself up.” My focus snapped to a smaller bandage, taped on the left side of my forehead. I studied my half-naked reflection with confusion. My already pale, peach skin looked pasty white, my golden curls nothing more than flat frizz. The throb in my temples increased as I forced my mind to conjure some memory of what had happened last night.

Blurred snippets of my most recent trip to London skipped through my brain. Standing on the roof across the way from some club . . . . Then nothing but blank.

I grabbed my comb and sat down on the edge of the bed, a hiss escaping my lips as pain shot up my left side. I took a deep breath and began to pull the comb through my matted hair, clenching my teeth as agony bit at my skull with each sharp tug. My mind continued to sift through snips of the night: going out to look for Carlson, finding him with Antonio. They had followed three drunken women from a club and dragged them into a loading bay behind one of the larger shops. Me following them and helping the three women get away . . . . At least, I think I did.

But what happened after that? More blankness. Damn.

Hair pulled over one shoulder; I plaited the limp mass and then placed the comb on the vanity table. My forehead began to tighten, and the painful awareness of the familiar thirst that started to crawl up my dry throat assailed my system. My stomach gurgled.
God, I feel rough. I needed food and my mixture, followed by a long, hot shower.

Rolling my head in a circle, I listened to the small pops of tense muscles as I walked to the head of the bed and reached behind the pillows for my sword. My hand met the mattress. My heart stopped. I threw the pillow aside.

Where the hell is my sword?

A strange reckoning tickled below the surface of my skin as my gaze tripped over the room. Something isn’t right.

I walked around my bed to my wardrobe and pulled out a pair of black jogging pants. My focus landed on my sheathed sword, which leant against the white wall behind the bedside table. I slipped into the garment and grabbed my sword, unsheathing the blade as I tiptoed to my bedroom door.

The leather sheath got tossed on my messy bed and the door eased open. Daylight flooded through the slim stairwell window, lighting up the narrow, cream-coloured hallway.

I walked over to the next door and opened it gently; the familiar smell of my Grandmother’s musky perfume hit me as I stepped into the room. I lowered my sword since no one stood there, but my feet refused to move. Her furniture sat where the pieces always had been. The purple bedding laid neatly, not a crease in sight. A layer of dust covered her bedside table. The faintest trace of her scent still lingered. A ball of grief swelled in my chest, lodging tightly between my throat and heart.

I hadn’t taken a single step in here for over a month. She would have wanted me to clean, to open the window and air out the room, but I honestly couldn’t bear the thought of dusting her away just yet.

I backed out of the room and shut the door, letting out a breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding.

I’m finally going crazy. Somehow, I got myself home; it doesn’t really matter how. Maybe I came in, sorted myself out, and then passed out in bed? I must have. What other explanation could there be?

With a sigh, I walked across the landing to the bathroom door. The throb in my temples increased. My muscles felt tighter than a bowstring. A shower and something to eat and drink; these should do the trick. Then maybe my brain would decide to start working, and I could fill in the blanks.

The scent of wet dog flew into my face once across the bathroom threshold. My clothes from last night sat in a shredded pile on the black marble floor, along with my set of daggers. The first aid kit lay open in the sink.

A deep inhale revealed more; combined with the smell of dog, the bathroom held traces of blood. My blood.

I stepped into the room and peered into the waste-bin to see a large amount of dried, red cotton wool.

“I don’t remember doing this.” My eyes bugged at the mess.

Surely, I would remember doing this? Why the hell do I smell dog? Another inhale. And pine?

Something really didn’t feel right. I had never been so bad that I couldn’t remember what had happened on a hunt, and by the looks of things, I’d been in real bad shape.

Back into the hall and to creep quietly down the stairs. The odour of dog grew with each step, the smell of coffee and bacon gradually joining in. My stomach clenched at the familiarity of walking down these stairs every morning to find my grandmother happily cooking breakfast in our kitchen. Minus the smell of animal, though.

I couldn’t believe she’d died almost six weeks ago. God, I miss her.

As I stepped into the lower hall, a glance out of the side window showed my black Range Rover sitting in front of the house, between the front door/porch and the closed, wrought iron security gate. A long, silver scratch marred the paintwork on the bonnet. Antonio’s face flashed through my mind.

I remembered stumbling back to the car to find him there, waiting for me. The bastard had dragged his filthy claw along my Rover. That son-of-a-bitch!

I killed him, though. I think. He lunged and . . . . I looked down at my left arm. Two pale lines slashed across my skin. He’d stumbled and caught me on the arm, but I got him in the neck . . . .

The sudden sound of rustling paper snapped me from my thoughts. Tension grabbed me, the awareness crackling beneath the surface of my skin.

Someone is in my house.

Stepping through the open living room door, a new scent invaded my nostrils. Tangy, manufactured, like expensive cologne. An unfamiliar, black travel bag sat tucked away between the red leather sofa and the TV stand. The papers rustled again. I moved lightly toward the archway that lead into the dining room, my sword still gripped comfortably in my right hand.

“Your breakfast is getting cold, Heather. I suggest you stop trying to sneak in here and just come in so that we can get this over and done with,” said the deep male voice of whoever was in my kitchen.

What the hell is going on? Who is he? Why is he in my house? How does he know my name? And why the hell has he cooked me breakfast?

I took a deep breath, and then exhaled before slowly walking through the archway into the empty dining room. When I turned my head to the left, I saw a strange man seated at my kitchen breakfast bar. He sat casually, in jeans and a forest green T-shirt that clung to his broad, sculpted back and defined biceps. The sun flooded into the kitchen through the side window and glinted off his copper-blond hair, which brushed his shoulders.

“Are you going to come into the room or stand there drooling all day?” He turned a page of his newspaper. I couldn’t place his accent, nor the sleepy twang that couldn’t quite form at the edge of his words.

I inhaled again; nothing new amongst the scent of dog, pine, bacon, and coffee, which meant he wasn’t a Vampire. Leeches smelled like mouldy, wet earth; not an overpowering smell, but hidden underneath the products they wore. Not that a Vampire could get in here, anyway. They could only come in with a personal invite, and since they all wanted me dead . . . . No matter what state I’d been in last night, I wouldn’t have invited one in. So, who the hell is this guy?

I walked toward him, my sword glinting in the sunlight, the hilt gripped firmly in both hands. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?” I stopped three feet behind him.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Wrong answer.” The tip of my sword found the firm space between his shoulder blades. “I said, who the hell are you and what—”

“Killing me isn’t going to help.” He turned another page of his paper.

“I disagree. I think killing the stranger who broke into my house is a very good idea.”

“I did not break in,” he replied calmly. “My name is Brendan Daniels and I’m actually here to help you.”

I snorted. “Like I believe that.”

“It’s the truth. Besides, if I really wanted to hurt you, I would have. I also wouldn’t have left your weapons with you.”

“Well, you’re obviously an eejit.”

He laughed. “You have serious trust issues.”

“Trust issues? Says the complete stranger who broke into my house and—”

“I used your house keys. They were in your jacket pocket,” he said. “And yes, trust issues, says the stranger. The stranger who promises he isn’t here to hurt you.”

“Just because you say you’re not here to hurt me doesn’t mean it’s the truth.”

“True. But why go to the trouble of killing you when I could have left you lying in the car park the other night and let the seven greedy Leeches looking for you find you and bleed you dry?”

My stomach turned as memories of my outing slammed clearly into my brain. I had walked into a trap, so set on finding Carlson that the need to kill the bastard once and for all had blocked all sense and reason. Twelve lower generation Vampires had been waiting on the rooftops surrounding the loading bay. Carlson and Antonio wouldn’t stop talking, so I backed out of the area, and that’s when I saw them all. Their blood-red eyes watched my every move as their mouths hung wide, displaying their fangs.

“I have waited so long for this moment,” Carlson had said.

So had I.

My grandmother never told me where to find him. She wouldn’t let me kill him even though he deserved my sword through his neck more than any other Vampire.

They obviously found out Gran had died and simply waited for me to come out and play. I went, and they had been waiting for me, and like some amateur, I walked right into their trap. I killed two Vampires in order to get out of the loading bay, and then I had the other ten, along with Carlson and Antonio, chasing me through the dark and empty back streets of London. I tried to lead them somewhere humans wouldn’t find us; much good it did me.

But none of that explained who this guy was or why the hell he’d made himself at home in my kitchen.

“So you were there?”

“That much is obvious. Who do you think brought you home?”

“How did you even know where I live?”

“You have sat-nav in your Rover. And, like I said, I’m here to help.” He slid off the stool; the tip of my sword grazed his green T-shirt.

I clenched my teeth. “Why help me? You don’t even know me.”

He finally turned to face me. He’d pulled back his copper-blond hair, allowing me to see his face fully. A broad nose accompanied by high cheekbones and a tall forehead set off the deepest green eyes I’d ever seen. A fine layer of copper stubble outlined his square jaw and surrounded thick, peach lips.

His emerald eyes sparkled as I met his gaze.

“True, but I helped you because I thought it would be in your best interest to get you back to the safety of your own house.”
He thought it would be in my best interest? Who the hell does this guy think he is, a knight in shining armour? He looks like a friggin’ Ken doll, for Christ’s sake, and . . . . Wait a damn minute. “Seven Vampires?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Before, you said seven Vampires? There were twelve left.”

“Well, you eventually killed the Italian one before collapsing in front of your car, leaving eleven. The blond one who couldn’t decide whether he wanted to eat you or screw you—”

“Carlson.” I shuddered at the memory of him pinning my body to the rough concrete road. His thighs clamped my legs shut as he lapped at the blood trickling down my forehead . . . .

“Well, turns out he, as well as three of the others, actually needed their heads to fight back, but the rest of them ran off, and since my priority is you—”

“You’re the one who knocked Carlson off me?”

Memories exploded and rolled around my mind like storm clouds. Carlson had slid his talons into my waist, knocking me to the pavement and causing me to cut my forehead. He had pinned me between the ground and his growing erection while he demanded I beg him to change me. A few cheap insults and shoving some silver in his ribcage was enough to piss him off—as if I would want to be blood-bonded to the bastard who’d helped destroy my mother and father. On my refusal, he’d bared his fangs; about to feed from me…then the next thing I knew, he was gone. Once I got to my feet, I saw four decomposing bodies on the ground, only yards away from where I, myself, had almost bled to death.

“Yes.” He picked up a glass of orange juice and took a mouthful.

“Carlson is dead?”

He gulped. “Well, last time I checked, decapitation usually does the trick. So, yeah.”

A strange relief flooded me. My hands began to tremble. I tightened my grip, trying to keep a firm hold on my sword. “Are you a hundred and ten percent sure he’s dead?”

“A hundred and forty-six percent sure.”

I couldn’t believe it. Carlson, dead. Well, in the sense that he wouldn’t be prowling the streets or feeding ever again. He was actually gone. I suddenly didn’t know whether to hug this strange man, or kill him for taking away my opportunity to kill the monster that’d infected my mother. “Why did you kill him?”

He laughed. “Well, I was considering letting him and the rest of his friends eat you, but then that wouldn’t have made me a very good guardian, now, would it?”

~ * ~

Author Bio:

Elizabeth Morgan is a multi-published author of urban fantasy, paranormal, erotic horror, f/f, and contemporary; all with a degree of romance, a dose of action and a hit of sarcasm, sizzle or blood, but you can be sure that no matter what the genre, Elizabeth always manages to give a unique and often humorous spin to her stories.

Like her tagline says; A pick ‘n’ mix genre author. “I’m not greedy. I just like variety.”

And that she does, author of erotic ménage horror, Creak, paranormal erotic horror and UK, US & Australian Amazon best seller (Gay/Lesbian, Fiction, Lesbian), On the Rocks, erotic romance, US, UK & Spanish Amazon bestseller (Erotica Short Story) Truth or Dare? And sweet contemporary romance, UK & US Amazon bestseller (British/Drama & Plays) Stepping Stones.

She also has her hand in self-publishing. Look out for more information on her upcoming releases at her website: www.e-morgan.com

Away from the computer, Elizabeth can be found in the garden trying hard not to kill her plants, dancing around her little cottage with the radio on while she cleans, watching movies or good television programmes – Dr Who? Atlantis? The Musketeers? Heck, yes! – Or curled up with her two cats reading a book.

For more information on Elizabeth’s work, published and upcoming, head on over to her site:

Website:www.e-morgan.com
Blog:
www.xxxxmyworldxxxx.blogspot.com
Twitter: @
EMorgan2010
Goodreads:
http://www.goodreads.com/ElizabethMorgan
Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/elizabeth.morgan.944
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/elizabethm2012/boards/
Blog: (Shared with Dianna Hardy):
http://notjustastiffupperlip.blogspot.co.uk/

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Blood Series Blog Tour

August
18th – Bex ‘n’ Books:-
http://bexnbooks.blogspot.com
19th – All Things Romance: http://lynnareynolds.wordpress.com
20th – Dianna Hardy: http://www.diannahardy.com
21st – Mina Carter: http://mina-carter.com/blog/
22nd – Jens Reading Obsession: http://jensreadingobsession.wordpress.com/
23rd – Kiru Taye: http://kirutayewrites.blogspot.co.uk/
24th – Book Reviews by Lynn: http://bookreviewsbylynn.blogspot.co.uk/
25th – Release Day:
My World: http://www.xxxxmyworldxxxx.blogspot.co.uk/
NJASUL: http://www.notjustastiffupperlip.blogspot.co.uk/
Love Bites & Silk: http://www.lovebitesandsilk.co.uk/
26th – Krista Ames: http://www.apassionforromance.blogspot.co.uk/
27th – Zee Monodee: http://zeemonodee.blogspot.co.uk/p/welcome.html
28th – Doris O’Connor: http://thetardisscribbles.blogspot.co.uk/
29th – Evocative Book Reviews: http://evocativebookreviews.com
30th – Lucy Felthouse: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/
31st – Ms. ME28 Reviews: http://msme28reviews.blogspot.com

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Screaming Orgasm – Kinky Cocktails and Digital Drinking!

Hi everyone,

As part of the celebration of the launch of Kristina Lloyd’s Undone blog tour there’s a cocktail party going on! Undone is set in a cocktail bar, so there’s themed blogging and a Facebook party, which you can find here.

We’ve all nabbed the name of a cocktail and will be sharing excerpts which match up with that name. So here goes… here’s a screaming orgasm from Stately Pleasures. Enjoy… the excerpt and the digital cocktail ;)

*****

Stately PleasuresFuck, Alice. You are just so gorgeous. I love the fact that there’s plenty of you to go around. A man could get lost in your curves for ever. And I know I can treat you roughly and not break you. Ethan and I are very lucky to have you.’

She had absolutely no idea what to say to that, so she simply made some encouraging noises and rocked her hips up to meet his, hoping to distract him before he realised she hadn’t replied. It worked, and his gentle thrusts became faster and harder until Alice squeezed her eyes closed as blissful sensations swept through her body. Her cunt felt like it was on fire, but in a good way. With each upward stroke, Jeremy was managing to tease exquisite sensations from both her G-spot and her clitoris. If he thought he was going to come before she did, he had another think coming. Each movement pushed her closer and closer to the edge, and the hands that were gripping his muscular back curled, her nails digging into his skin.

‘Uh, fuck, Alice!’ His words sounded harsh, but his tone and the extra forceful jerk of his hips told her that he didn’t just like to give pain, he liked to receive it too. She didn’t think it was possible, but his cock grew harder inside her, and she became aware of just how close he was to his own climax.

‘Hey,’ she whispered, opening her eyes and urging him to do the same. ‘I’m almost there. Keep hitting that angle and we might just get there together.’

He said nothing, just nodded once. He kissed her, then pushed himself up on his hands again. Alice could no longer wrap her arms around him properly, so she got hold of his biceps instead. They weren’t quite as large as Ethan’s, but they still felt damn good beneath her fingers. She couldn’t help herself – she squeezed the muscles, digging her nails into their firmness and smirking as the pain caused Jeremy to grunt and pick up his pace even further.

Alice bowed as the sensations rushing through her body reached fever pitch and her climax became a dam on the edge of breaking. Her nails dug harder into Jeremy’s arms, her toes curled and she let out a stream of unintelligible sounds as she inched closer and closer to coming. A handful more thrusts – and the consequent strokes against her clit – later and she was screaming her climax until she was hoarse. It was long, hard, and intense, and she was vaguely aware of Jeremy yelling his own release as her internal walls gripped his cock like a vice.

Writhing beneath him, she sucked in hasty breaths as the blissful sensations of her orgasm raced through her body. Eventually, they began to wane, and she relaxed into the soft, cushiony material beneath her. Jeremy slumped onto her and dropped gentle kisses to her face and lips, before snuggling his face into the crook of her neck. He sighed happily, and murmured something that Alice didn’t catch.

‘What did you say? I didn’t hear.’

He raised his head enough that he could whisper into her ear. ‘I said that was absolutely amazing.’

*****

Grab your copy of Stately Pleasures here: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/stately-pleasures/

Add it to your Goodreads shelves: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/20718063-stately-pleasures

*****

Now be sure to join us at the Facebook party, and Kristina’s place!

Happy Reading,

Lucy x

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In the Pages of a Good Book is One!

Blog-Invite-300x264In the Pages of a Good Book is celebrating its one year anniversary! Congratulations!

The celebration involves a blog hop around the theme of friendship. So I’m going to share a little snippet from Letters to a War Zone, which is an m/m military erotic romance novella. As the title hints, my characters write to each other, establishing a good friendship long before they even meet in the flesh…

*****

“Hi,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t really sound as high-pitched as it had seemed to his own ears. “Great to see you. Come on in. Do you have any more bags I can get from the car for you?”

“Hi, Bailey. Great to see you, too. And nope, this is it.” He stepped over the threshold and put his case and bag down next to him, then held out his hand.

Bailey closed the door and took Nick’s hand, and they shook heartily. It felt odd, doing something so normal, so innocent as shaking hands, when what Bailey really wanted to do was something much ruder. Nick was even hotter in the flesh than he was in his photograph, and his looks, voice and personality combined were perfection. Then he had to go and wear the damn uniform, didn’t he? He could admit it only to himself, but deep down, part of the reason he’d started the whole pen pal thing in the first place was because he was a fan of men in uniform. And Nick was most definitely a fine example.

“Run out of clean civvies?” he said, before he could stop himself. Why? Why had he drawn attention to the uniform? Idiot.

Nick laughed. “Not quite, but as you can see, I’ve packed light and I wanted to make sure I’ve enough clean clothes for tomorrow and for the holiday. I may have to find a launderette at some point while we’re away.”

“So you’re wearing the uniform all day?” Now his voice definitely had a higher pitch than it should do.

“Yeah, why? Have you got a problem with it?”

“N-no, quite the opposite, actually.”

*****

I hope you enjoyed that snippet! If you want to check out the rest of the book, go here. And add it to your Goodreads shelves here.

Now check out the fantastic giveaways and enter below, then keep scrolling down to check out the rest of the blogs on the hop!

Happy Reading,

Lucy x

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Top Ten Reasons the #CampusCravings MM Bundle Rocks!

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Hi everyone! We’re the authors of Campus Cravings, a MM bundle. Thanks so much for hosting us during our release week, or, if you’re a reader, for taking the time to read this! We really appreciate it!

 

Top Ten Reasons to Check Out Campus Cravings:

1. College is a time of eye-opening exploration and experimentation, and there’s just something about a Cathia University man…

2. All the stories take place at fictional Cathia University—where not even homework or grading stands in the way of true love.

3. What’s better than one hot man? Two! And what’s better than two? Eighteen! (Nine stories, each with two heroes, yay!)

4. The stories are interrelated, so you’ll see characters from stories appear in others, notice many of the same buildings being used etc. That was a lot of fun for us to write and we hope you enjoy that aspect too!

5. Every story is brand new! That’s over 220k words! Four seasons of academic fun—from the first students arriving in Fall, to winter holidays, to March Madness and Spring Flings, to Summer loving—there’s something for every part of the academic year.

6. Unique pairings—whether you like friends-to-lovers, enemies-to-lovers, reunion romances, May-December pairings, first love, or hot-for-teacher flirtations, you are bound to find some of your favorite tropes! And if that’s not enough, there are hot athletes, sophisticated professors, activist heroes, and lots more!

7. Sports galore—soccer, hockey, basketball, equestrian and more! Join the authors and the characters as we root for the Cathia Cougars!

8. Pranks, parties, and plenty of fun—you really want to find out who dyed the fountain red and who’s at Friday’s Frat party!

9. Fan favorite  m/m romance authors including L.A. Witt, Sara York, Cassandra Carr, Annabeth Albert, Bianca Sommerland, Whitley Gray, Dalton Diaz, Mia Downing, and KyAnn Waters.

10. Only $2.99 for a limited time!

 

To find out more information about Campus Cravings, including buy links, check out our group at https://www.facebook.com/groups/299579866886134/. Add us to your to-be-read list on Goodreads at https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22738703-campus-cravings.

 

If you’d like to help us out, here are a couple of Tweets you can just copy and paste into your account. Additionally, feel free to use these for Facebook or just share the entire post through Facebook and Twitter with the social media buttons on the blog!

New MM bundle #CampusCravings on sale for limited time & feat @Cassandra_Carr @kyannwaters @miadowning007 & more http://on.fb.me/1ozYey2

Do you love MM romance? Chk out #CampusCravings! @SaraYork @GallagherWitt @AnnabethAlbert & more!  http://on.fb.me/1ozYey2

It’s back to school time with #CampusCravings, MM bundle on sale w/ stories from @DaltonDiaz @whitleygray & more! http://on.fb.me/1ozYey2

Out now! 9 interrelated college-themed M/M novellas from fan fave authors! #CampusCravings http://on.fb.me/1ozYey2

#BacktoSchool! 2.99 for 9 college-themed novellas from top M/M authors @SaraYork @DaltonDiaz @AnnabethAlbert & more! http://on.fb.me/1ozYey2

Hot for teacher? Check out #CampusCravings! Orig novellas from @GallagherWitt @kyannwaters @SaraYork & more! http://on.fb.me/1ozYey2

Love college sports? #CampusCravings M/M box set w/stories from @Cassandra_Carr @AnnabethAlbert @miadowning007 http://on.fb.me/1ozYey2

 

Campus CravingsAn excerpt from The Eloquent Jock…by Cassandra Carr

Brendan’s mouth dropped open. “Want…me?”

“Why is that so hard to believe?” I am so screwed, and not in a good way. A headache began to take hold and he moved his hand to massage harder.

“Look at you,” Brendan waved a hand in Scott’s general direction. “You’re gorgeous, you’re successful, you’re sophisticated. I’m just some confused shmuck who’s never even kissed a guy.”

“Never?” I should not care about this. I need to stop. No good can come of this.

Brendan’s face bloomed red. “No. I’m not the type to walk into some gay bar and pick up a guy. Just the thought of it kinda makes me want to puke.”

“Not everyone is interested in that lifestyle.”

“Are you?” Brendan shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t have the right to ask you that. I know I’m making an ass of myself right now, I just don’t know what to do.”

“About what?” Scott dug himself deeper with every word, but he couldn’t stop.

Brendan clenched his fists on the desk, tapping his knuckles. Meanwhile, his right leg bounced and the poor kid looked as if he would self-combust from the red suffusing his face.

After a moment of charged silence, Brendan said, “So, you want me, but can’t have me.”

“Right.”

“Well, you’re the first guy I’ve ever wanted. I’ve known about my sexuality for a while now, but this is the first time I’ve met somebody who actually interested me beyond a casual attraction. And this sucks. I’m distracted; I can’t do my schoolwork; I’m making mistakes on the ice. I can’t have this.”

Scott leaned against the window and asked, “Then what do you want to do?”

Brendan licked his lips and Scott’s treacherous gaze followed the movement. “This.” Before Scott could even react, Brendan had grabbed him and kissed him, sloppily pushing his tongue into Scott’s mouth even as Scott tried to force his muddled brain to catch up with the program. He moaned as Brendan’s strong arms came around his waist, pulling their groins together. For a guy with no experience, the man revved Scott up pretty fucking fast. His dick pushed against Brendan’s sizable erection. Brendan moaned and the back of Scott’s head bounced off the glass behind him as Brendan attacked his mouth with even more vigor.

The pain radiating through his skull brought Scott out of his trance. He shoved Brendan away—shit, the guy had some strength for a man his size—and retreated to the corner of the office. Brendan stood between him and the door or he would’ve bolted that way.

“We can’t do this,” he managed to gasp out. His body had a very different opinion, but Scott ignored his baser needs. Someone had to take charge and stop this madness.

“You said you wanted me.”

Scott blew out a loud breath through his nose. “That doesn’t mean we should do anything about it. In fact, it would be a lot safer for both of us if we didn’t.”

“Because you’re a professor?”

“Well yes, that. And I’m, what, fifteen years older than you?”

“You’re saying I’m just some dumb kid who doesn’t know any better?” Brendan began to turn away, but then spun back. “You responded to me. That might’ve been my first kiss, but I know what happened. You liked it.”

Putting up a hand in a placating gesture, Scott said, “I’m not denying anything, but enjoying a kiss and letting it go on are two different things.”

“I get it.” Scott tried to go on, but Brendan stopped him. “No, I do. I get it. I’m sorry.” Before Scott could stop him, he’d grabbed his bag off the chair he’d dumped it onto earlier, yanked open the door, and slipped through it. As he slammed the door behind him, Scott slumped to the floor.

“That went well, you jackass,” he muttered.

***

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Mid Week Tease: “Then she felt a slight draught on the back of her neck.” #MWTease

MidWeekTease2Hi everyone,

Welcome back to Mid Week Tease. This week I’m sharing a tease from Timeless Desire, my paranormal erotic romance short story which just went up for pre-order. It’s releasing on 10th September.

Timeless DesireEmily worked in peace for a little while longer. Then she felt a slight draught on the back of her neck. Carefully placing down the book she was working on and fidgeting in the chair, she moved her head from side to side and up and down, as if to erase the odd feeling. She forgot it almost instantly, until a few seconds later, it came again. It felt as though someone was blowing on the back of her neck. Emily shivered, both at the sensation and the creepy thought that had entered her mind. Goosebumps crept over her entire body, and the third movement of air made her jump up out of the chair and spin round to face the source of the mysterious draught.

There was nothing there. Emily rolled her eyes. Why on earth was she getting like this? She’d worked in dozens of rooms like this, perfectly alone, and not once had she freaked out. Why now?

You can get your copy of Timeless Desire here: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/timeless-desire/

And add it to your Goodreads shelves here: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22911436-timeless-desire

Don’t forget to check out all the other blogs taking part!



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New Release – Once Dance With A Vampire by Cornelia Amiri

One Dance with a VampireHave you ever danced with a vampire? Angus does in my new release the fourth book of the Dancing Vampire series, One Dance With A Vampire. The vampires in my Dancing Vampire series with Ellora’s Cave, really aren’t vampires at all. Dancing Vampires is another name for the baobhan sith (bah von shee) – vampirc fey from the Scottish highlands. If you like vampires you’ll love the series but it’s also for those who like dark fey or hot Scottish highlanders.

The baobhan sith roam the highlands in packs and all of them are women, no men. Voluptuous and enticing, these beauties always wear green gowns. Also, they have talons. No fangs. Like other vampires, they drink human blood and fry in the sunlight. http://www.pinterest.com/corneliaamiri/dancing-vampires-my-serries-with-elloras-cave/

For a modern take on the baobhan sith, enter Ellora’s cave hill to visit these dark fey in the Dancing Vampire series: Dance Of The Vampires, Vampire Highland Fling, Ever So Bonnie A Vampire, and One Dance With A Vampire just released Aug 22.  http://www.ellorascave.com/one-dance-with-a-vampire.html

One Dance With A Vampire – Fourth in the Dancing Vampires series.

Sexy Scot Angus is consumed with dreams of the fiery vampiric fey Tearlag. Their dancing steps came to a halt a year ago when they almost killed each other. Angus comes upon the alluring woman again and despite the danger, he has to have one dance with her. Angus’ muscular arms clasp Tearlag tightly as they dance across a field of heather. An insatiable hunger rises in her and it isn’t for his blood.

From different worlds, fey and human, her sisters and his brothers threaten at every turn to keep them apart. 

Excerpt: When her gaze met his, the gleam returned to her eyes and the rosy tint to her cheeks. Warmth lit in him and ignited a flame, burning all his fears, regrets, and sadness away. An intense need flared through him. Pressure coiled in his groin. He leaned closer and brushed his lips against hers. His mouth tingled as he kissed her smooth, warm lips. He twisted his mouth over hers, his lips dancing with hers. His neck muscles stretched as a hot, relaxing energy flowed through him. 

Tearlag tilted her neck back. “My sisters warned me about the kiss of a mortal.” She licked her red lips. “Now I know why.”

“Again.” He tilted his head toward her. 

“No.” Tearlag pulled back. “I think not.” She shook her head. “I have to go.”

Angus watched her hips jiggle and her red hair sway against her back as she strolled across the road and waded through the long grass in the field. 

He followed her. 

When Tearlag reached the pile of ancient stones, he grabbed her hand from behind and twirled her around, pulling her to him.

“Before you go, give me one dance.”

She held up a single finger. “One dance.”

He clung to her sultry skin. Her subtle, sweet scent, floral and smoky, danced in the evening air. Her breasts rubbed against his chest and his breath caught in his throat. His erection swelled and his balls grew tight with tension. Her hips jolted his lower body as they moved in a slow, sensual dance to their own music of want and desire. Tilting his head to her neck, he darted his tongue out and licked her creamy flesh. When he planted kisses on her neck, she shivered. Angus pulled her tighter to him. 

Sliding his mouth from her neck to her hot lips, he massaged them with tugs and twists. As he prodded her lips with the tip of his tongue, she opened her mouth. He thrust his tongue within and tangled it with hers. When she pulled out of the kiss, he left her face flushed. The salty taste of her skin lingered on his tingling tongue. 

Her breasts heaved as she rasped, “Leave a rock loose for tonight.” 

Her soft, breathy tone sent a hot tremor through him. 

Her reddened lips, still wet and swollen from the kiss, turned up at the corners into a sensuous smile, promising more to come.

“I’ll be here at sunset. Waiting.” Ecstatic with hope, he couldn’t breathe. She wanted to see him again.

Tearlag stepped on the cairn, portal to the fey realm, and vanished before his eyes.

“Tomorrow night.” His voice sounded hoarse, even to his own ears. He swallowed hard as he stared at the air above the cairn where Tearlag had stood, and wondered if he’d ever see her again.?

*****

Contest: Please comment (with your email so I can reach you if you win). I will choose one winner for an epub or mobi ebook of One Dance With A Vampire and a pack of Ellora’s Cave 2004 playing cards – Throwdown Hoedown.

~   ~    ~

Drawing on her love of a happy ending, Cornelia Amiri , who also writes as Maeve Alpin, is a mulit-published romance author twenty published books. She is known for her Celtic/paranormal tales and her sci-fi fantasy romances. Cornelia is inspired by her muse, Severus the Cat, who always lounges beside or (when Cornelia’s not looking) on top of her laptop. Cornelia and Severus live in sultry Houston, Texas. http://CelticRomanceQueen.com https://www.facebook.com/CelticRomanceQueen?ref=hl&ref_type=bookmark

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An Interview with Charlotte Howard (@shy_tiger)

theblackdoor_tourbuttonI’m delighted to welcome Charlotte Howard to the site as part of her blog tour for The Black Door. She’s telling us all about the book, not to mention Alex O’Loughlin and Kate Beckinsale. Take it away, Charlotte…

 

Tell us about yourself. Both your writing self and your non-writing self. What are your interests and hobbies? Do you have a day job, etc?

I wear a lot of hats! I’m mum to two young children, so spend a lot of time running around after them and their many afterschool activities (recorders, swimming, Brownies…), and I volunteer at our local primary school and for Rainbows (Girl Guiding Association) so with all that and writing, I don’t have a lot of free time. I used to freelance as a pet health care writer, but don’t have the time to write any new articles, so put them up where I can.

When I do get five minutes, I’m reading or watching TV. I’m addicted to my murder-mysteries – Bones, Castle, Murdoch Mysteries, and a few fantasy series like Grimm and Once Upon A Time. We’ve just started watching Game of Thrones as well.

 

Give us the background on your latest release.

The Black Door is a contemporary / light erotic romance – it lies somewhere in between. The story is about Imogen Pearce and her self-discovery. After writing my first novels (Seven Dirty Words and Four Letter Words), a reader mentioned that all heroines seem to be rich, beautiful and young. So I created Imogen – fast approaching 40, recently divorced, and mum to four children aged between 18 months and 19 years old (ish). She has to compete against the younger generation for clients, and has a low opinion of herself. I wrote it to prove that you don’t have to be under the age of 30 to be sexy.

I didn’t do much research for it, since I am a mum over the age of 30 and know what it’s like to look in a mirror and see everything heading south and the spaghetti junction of stretch marks on your stomach, bum, and thighs! I have a lot of friends who are single mums, and I guess they were my inspiration in to how difficult life can be and how much support you need as a single parent – mum or dad.

When I told my friends about the story line, they did suggest we went to a fetish club, for research obviously.  We still haven’t got round to that though…

 

How did you get started with writing? And what was your route to publication like?

I’ve always written poetry and short stories. My first publication was a poem I wrote when I was 10. Four years later, my grandma entered it into a competition and it was published in an anthology. That’s how I got the bug, and my goal was to be a published author.

I wrote my first novella while I was pregnant with my daughter and self-published it in 2010. But it wasn’t great and hadn’t been edited, so I took it out of print as soon as I realised what it takes to be a writer.

As a freelance writer, I made a lot of contacts in the publishing world, and it was through those contacts that I got my first contract for Seven Dirty Words & Four Letter Words. I also joined my local writer’s group, and started attending events such as The Romance Festival in Bedford, and Smut by The Sea in Scarborough. Through these I met other writers and found out about other Indie and small publishers.

I still send manuscripts out to bigger houses, and well-known agents, but I don’t hold my breath. I like working directly with the publishers and editors. I feel I have a lot of control over my books, certainly a lot more than I would have through one of the Big Six.

 

What are you currently working on?

There’s always at least one WIP on my laptop. I’ve just been on holiday to DisneyLand Paris though, so don’t have anything in particular right now. I’d like to work on my next series but need to get back into my writing head first. After four days in the Disney bubble, I need a week to recover!

 

Do you have a particular Muse for your writing? Do any of your characters bear startling resemblances to sexy celebrities or people you admire?

I don’t have a particular Muse as such, but I do have a Pinterest board full of “Delicious Temptations”. I am a big Will Smith fan, but when it comes to my main character’s it’s usually a picture of Alex O’Loughlin (Hawaii Five-0) in my head. I love him so much… Did I actually type that?? Whoops…

 

 

Where do you see yourself in five years? Both writing-wise and non-writing-wise?

A best-selling author with a huge contract (hey, I said I don’t hold my breath, not that I didn’t want a deal with one of the Big Six!). More realistically though, I’d like to be earning enough royalties that my husband can do photography full-time as opposed to part-time and working a full-time job.

Non-writing wise? I’m happy as I am. Although our plan is to buy an old farmhouse that needs renovating.

 

And now for some silly questions…

Muscled or skinny? Muscles please!

Tall or short? Tall – over 6 foot at least.

Boxers or briefs? Boxers

Moustache or beard? Beard. Well… Five o’clock shadow.

Long hair or shaven head? Ooh tricky. Long hair??

Tattoos or piercings? Ink me baby! Love a good tribal tattoo going down the arm, leg or over his back!!

Intelligent or funny? Intelligent. But not too intelligent. I don’t want to look stupid.

Blond, brunette or red head? Brunette or black.

Hottest celebrity (tell us why, if you like)? Panic!!! Too many to list. Alex O’Loughlin for looks and tattoos, Will Smith for making me laugh.

Top same-sex crush (or opposite sex if you already like same-sex!) Kate Beckinsale. No contest. She’s on my list of celebrities I’m allowed to cheat with.

Most disliked celebrity (tell us why, if you like) There’s a couple of comedians I just don’t find funny, and I don’t appreciate slapstick humour, but there’s no one in particular that I dislike.

Favourite food Curry. Chicken Tikka Masala with an action movie.

Favourite book (tell us why, if you like) Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy – it’s the one book I can read over and over again, and still laugh out loud to.

Favourite place in the world (tell us why, if you like) St. Lucia. I’ve never been, but it’s supposed to be the most romantic island in the world.

Anything else you’d like to add? Buy my book please? Lol. Thank you for interviewing me :)

 

The Black DoorBlurb:

Imogen Pearce is a single mum of four children and fast approaching 40, she works at Ryedale Incorporated where she has to battle a younger and smarter generation to get to where she wants to go. If that means taking on the account of Cherry and Sean Rubin’s adult shop, then she will. But what happens when Imogen discovers the private club that they run at the back? And what happens when she realizes she knows quite a few members?

Buy links:
Tirgearr Publishing
Smashwords
Amazon UK
Amazon US

 

Extract:

Men. All the bloody same.

My mind traced back to the day I had given up on one-sided monogamous relationships.

The children were at school or work, and the sun was beating down. It was a glorious day, and I had decided to go home for lunch, rather than spend it in a stuffy office.

I pulled up outside the house and a fleeting thought passed through my mind when I saw Connor’s car sitting in the driveway. My husband of eighteen years had had the same idea.

I crept into the house, hoping to surprise him. But, it turned out that his idea had involved a slutty bottle-blonde.

I wanted to blame the events that followed on a red mist descending over me. The truth is that in the time it took for my mind to register that some tart was riding my husband in what I later found out was known as reverse cowgirl, my mind had calculated the necessary response.

The skank lost a good handful of bleached hair, roots and all. I allowed her to gather her clothes and watched as she tugged her pants on whilst running out of the house. If nothing else, the neighbours got a good show.

Connor yelled at me. But his words were drowned out by the blood pumping in my ears. I marched back up the stairs and into his little study. Opening the window, I saw Miss Slut stood in the middle of the road, screeching obscenities at me. I looked at the Ferrari in our driveway and smiled.

I think his Xbox enjoyed its first and final flying lesson as it sailed out of the window. The fact that it landed in the bonnet of his prized mid-life crisis proved that Karma does exist.

Connor. Holly.

I made a mental note of the two names at the top of my imaginary hit list.

I blinked and I was back in the boardroom.

 

Charlotte HowardAuthor Bio:

British author Charlotte Howard, was born in Oman and spent much of the first part of her life flitting between Oman, Scotland, and England. Now settled in Somerset, Charlotte lives with her husband, two children, and growing menagerie of pets.

Her career as a writer began at an early age, with a poem being featured in an anthology for the East Midlands. Since then Charlotte has written many short stories and poems, and finally wrote her first full-length piece of fiction in 2010. Her debut novel was published in January 2013.

During what little spare time she has, Charlotte enjoys reading and writing (of course), spending time with her family, and watching action movies whilst eating curry and drinking tea.

www.charlottehowardauthor.co.uk
http://choward2614.wordpress.com
http://facebook.com/charlottehowardauthor
http://twitter.com/Shy_Tiger

 

Thanks again for stopping by. I hope you enjoyed this interview and wish you the best of luck with your latest release. Many sales!

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