Thursday, October 23, 2014

New Release: To Save a Viscount: Book Four of the Spy Series Jessie Clever

New Release: To Save a Viscount: Book Four of the Spy Series



When an assassin threatens England's spy network, Lady Margaret Folton must find the killer before it's too late.  But when Commodore John Lynwood is accidentally granted a title meant to be used as bait to lure the assassin into the War Office's trap, Margaret must face the tragedy of her past and decide which is more important: the assignment or love?





August 1815


He had grown so accustomed to the sound of gunfire that he did not hear the shot that was meant to kill him.


This would have worried Richard Black, the Duke of Lofton, if he had had time to think on it. But as the situation inherently required immediate action, prolonged and abstract thinking on the subject was neither prudent nor wise. So he refrained. Instead, he wondered who it was that smashed into him at incredible speed, sending him tumbling backwards off the walk along the Thames and into the bitter, black water below.


He had been meeting his contact there along the water at an unholy hour, and darkness had lain all about him. The exchange had gone as planned, and he now held the knowledge that he knew would prove key to his current assignment with the War Office. But as the inky water of the Thames closed over his head, he wondered if he would ever get that information to the necessary people.


And then as the last of the light disappeared, he thought of Jane, his wife. His Jane. He did not think of her in specific instances or certain memories that lay in his mind. He thought of her in pieces. Her smell. Her laugh. The sound her hair made as she brushed it at night. The way she always laid her hand on top of his whenever they should find themselves sitting next to one another. Her amazing talents with chestnut roasters.


He would have laughed if such an action would not speed up the inevitable drowning that suddenly became all too real, flushing thoughts of Jane from his mind. His arms began to push against the water as his feet began to pulse, driving him toward the surface. Only he did not move. Whoever it was that had slammed into him still held him about the waist, dragging him deeper into the water. He began to struggle, the need for air and life and Jane surging through his veins in a way he had never felt before.


And then a hand brushed against his cheek, and slender fingers came to rest across his mouth. He wanted to open his eyes, but he knew it would do no good in the black water. But he let the feeling of his attacker’s hand brush against his skin, the shape of it press into his face, the narrowness of limb and the delicate arch of bone.


It was a woman who held him beneath the water.


And he stopped struggling.


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In the second grade, Jessie began a story about a duck and a lost ring.  Two harrowing pages of wide ruled notebook paper later, the ring was found.  And Jessie has been writing ever since.


Armed with the firm belief that women in the Regency era could be truly awesome heroines, Jessie began telling their stories in her Spy Series, a thrilling ride in historical espionage that showcases human faults and triumphs and most importantly, love.


Jessie makes her home in the great state of New Hampshire where she lives with her husband and two very opinionated Basset Hounds.

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Hanging by a Moment by Bella Juarez

The Perfect Nightmare:  Meeting the right person at the wrong time.   

Would you ever do a one-night stand?  Is doing the right thing necessarily the right thing to do?  People every day take a chance and sign up for one date with a total stranger.  Does rolling the dice scare you?  For some, that’s exactly what their lonely lives drive them to do.  They take the chance that an outsider can help them find love and happiness.  What would happen if, before that meeting, you met the man of your dreams and he has his sights set on you, too?  Would you still go through with your commitment to a one-night stand with a perfect stranger?  What a dilemma!  What would you do with Mr. Right? Could you juggle meeting your commitment for that one-night stand and hold on to the man of your dreams?

Why not find out?


Widower and Air Force reservist, Tom Ryan fills the empty spaces in his life by building dream homes for others. When he’s invited to a client’s party, he meets the owner’s sister-in-law, a tempestuous artist, and discovers that maybe there is a wrong time to meet the right person …

Free-spirited Emily Sanchez is known for pushing the envelope in art, but meeting dependable and down-to-earth Tom challenges her. The man has submissive written all over him, and she thinks she might be just the woman to peel back the layers and release the brilliant passion inside.

But when they are paired by Madame Eve, Tom turns the tables on Emily, because he’s always been curious about the lifestyle, and if the chaotic artist is willing to surrender, they may discover their deepest desire …

Story Excerpt:

Tom fell backward onto his bed and closed his eyes. How could he meet both his commitments? He’d need to at least see his one-night stand so he could say in good conscience they weren’t able to hit it off.

A picture of Emily laughing flashed into his mind’s eye. She was so beautiful and the first woman in a long time he actually felt comfortable around. He could tell her anything and, as the night wore on, they had told each other quite a bit. He’d even talked about Karen, something he’d never done with any other woman. Being with Emily was so easy and natural, it didn’t occur to him to leave until almost midnight, well after the other guests had departed. Closing his eyes, he recalled the hug they’d shared right before he’d left for the night. Her body was perfect against his, and her soft skin warmed his hands as he ran them over her arms before letting her go. He inhaled and remembered her scent. Emily made him crazy with desire and need. He wanted to shove her against the wall and kiss her like she’d never been kissed before.

Damn it! What the hell am I going to do?

Exclusive Adult Excerpt:

Emily tensed when Tom landed the blows in succession. She’d been wet the moment he entered the room and now was smoldering. With every swing he took, she grew hotter. He marked her ass in random, unpredictable patterns with the paddle. It stung, but he wasn’t hurting her. Emily started to drift to another dimension as her pussy absorbed the vibration. A gentle hum from the spanking teased her clit. Her brain short-circuited. If he smacked her again, she’d come the second he connected.

“Pay attention. If I have to count, I’m starting over,” he ordered with a harder correction swat.


“I don’t fucking think so. Try again,” He demanded correcting her.

Fuck. I’ve lost count. “Six!” She flexed her inner thighs, trying to control her impending orgasm.

“That’s still wrong, but it’ll work.”

“Seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven…. Tom!” She started to shake uncontrollably.

Emily dug her nails into the back of his leg through the raw silk trousers. She couldn’t hold back any longer against the tidal wave slamming through her. She was out of her mind. Never had she experienced something so powerful. Every fiber in her body snapped with sexual tension and release. Tom instinctively knew how to play her and what kind of mind-fuck she needed. She wantonly humped her hips while her pussy clenched and flexed. She screamed to be filled. He delivered exactly what she craved, reaching between her legs to shove two thick fingers into her, slamming her headlong into a second orgasm. She squeezed her thighs around his hand and milked his fingers with her pussy. Her senses were electrified and in overload.

Bella Juarez is originally from San Antonio, Texas and now lives and writes on a small ranch in South Central Texas. She draws inspiration from the real life heroes and heroines of the United States military and her many experiences in the twelve years she worked within that world as well as from her life in the civilian world. Her love of thrill and adventure are reflected in her stories.

Where to Find Bella Juarez

Twitter:  @bellabjuarez


Tuesday, October 21, 2014




by Tina Donahue

Available September 19



She’s just inherited a tattoo parlor…and the hunk who comes with it.


Lauren’s in a helluva mess. Not only has she lost her corporate job, her long-absent father just left her a struggling tattoo parlor along with the virile dude who runs it. Dante’s sinfully hot with a killer smile and inked biceps. Lauren’s full-figured, sorta pretty and wanting him badly. Dream on. She’s here to sell the place as quickly as possible for some much-needed cash.

Dante sees the heat in Lauren’s eyes despite her conservative appearance. He recognizes the dynamite woman she could be if she’d just loosen up and have some wicked fun. Dominance and submission. Making love in a public place. Having her lush body always accessible to and ready for his.

Carnal games that seduce them until lust turns to surprising need and friendship to something deeper that might just change their futures.



Growling, Dante not only participated, he fucking claimed her, slipping his arm around her waist, holding her tight enough that Lauren knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

Oh hell yeah. She moaned wantonly. He delivered more pleasure, his tongue pushing hers aside so his could fill her mouth. The scent of coffee lingered on his breath. His skin smelled clean and musky. Lauren sagged into him.

He got all protective and possessive, tensing his arm to support her weight. With his free hand, Dante cupped her boob, his passion matching hers. There wasn’t a bit of hesitation or tenderness, only pure hungry male as he squeezed the soft swell of her breast then thumbed her nipple, making the tip so tight it hurt. The ache felt good. Needed. Lauren opened her mouth even more, her tongue dancing with his. She ground her pussy against his cock.

They made hungry, shameless sounds that fueled their desire, their kiss going from out of control to beyond anything Lauren had experienced with another man. She dragged her fingers over his shoulders, down his biceps then around to his back, greedy to touch as much of him as she could. Dante was the same, his hands roaming everywhere, not content to settle on one part of her.

Finally, he pulled his mouth free and lifted his face to the ceiling. His chest pressed against Lauren’s as he gulped air.

She stared at his Adam’s apple, transfixed at the way it bobbed with his hard swallow. The shadow of beard on his throat was hotter than sin. Lauren licked those short dark hairs and suckled his neck.

A lewd noise rumbled from Dante, mingling with the music. The Spanish guitars were gone, replaced with a sultry Cuban beat that spoke of tropical nights, fevered kisses and balmy air scented with sex.

Lauren’s ears buzzed. She pressed closer.

Dante whispered something in Spanish that she didn’t understand. Didn’t matter. His actions spoke volumes.

He cupped her ass and pulled her into his rock-hard cock that surely demanded a soft, heated pussy. The ends of his hair brushed her neck as he trailed kisses from her cheek to her temple then to her ear. After licking her lobe, he snuggled his tongue inside.

A shock of desire tore so ruthlessly through Lauren she wilted against Dante, wanting every intimate and carnal act that he’d be willing to share with her.

For now, he concentrated on her throat, suckling it. Ohhhh. Bursts of heat and crazy good sensations had her gasping in pleasure. Gripping his tee, she twisted the stretchy fabric in her fists, wanting to tear it from him.

Dante pressed his mouth to her ear and whispered, “You all right?”

Too lost in the moment to speak, Lauren nodded.

“Good.” Far more swiftly than she would have imagined, he pulled her away from the wall and slung her over his shoulder.

Lauren yelped and gripped his ass for support. His solid muscles flexed beneath her fingers. She let out a crude, wanting moan.

Despite her weight, Dante strode down the hall easily, heading toward the backroom. Visions of melting Dove bars filled Lauren’s brain. She murmured, “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” He ran his hand over her ass, his thumb on her cleft. “Yet.”

Her pussy got even wetter. She dropped her head and bit her lip at the sweet scent of his tee and the fragrance of pure man beneath.

His steps slowed when he’d reached his workstation. He carried her inside and kicked the door closed. The sharp sound of metal hitting metal told her he’d locked it. With that finished, he set Lauren on her feet.

Unsteady, she staggered back. Dante gripped her wrist to keep her from falling.

She stared at him. He stared at her. This was really happening. The thought was so welcome and outrageous the room lurched.

Dizzy, Lauren lowered her face.

Dante stroked her wrist. “You’re sure you’re okay.”

She’d never be that way again, not after knowing him. Thankfully, she’d have some dynamite memories once this was over, which it would be. Lying, Lauren nodded.

Dante released her wrist.

She felt the loss of his touch and heat immediately, wanting it back. Lifting her chin, Lauren spoke in the firmest voice she could muster. “I’m ready for anything.”

Bring. It. On.

“Oh yeah?” His smile turned wolfish. “Get naked.”




Tina Donahue is an award-winning, bestselling novelist in erotic, paranormal, contemporary and historical romance for Samhain Publishing, Ellora’s Cave, Siren Publishing, and Kensington. Booklist, Publisher’s Weekly, Romantic Times and numerous online sites have praised her work. Three of her erotic romances (Adored, Lush Velvet Nights, and Deep, Dark, Delicious) were named finalists in the 2011 EPIC competition. The French review site, Blue Moon reviews, chose her erotic romance Sensual Stranger as their Book of the Year 2010 (erotic category). The Golden Nib Award at Miz Love Loves Books was created specifically for Lush Velvet Nights, and two of her titles (The Yearning and Deep, Dark, Delicious) received an Award of Merit in the RWA Holt Medallion competition (2011 and 2012). Take Me Away and Adored both won second place in the NEC RWA contest (different years). Tina is featured in the 2012 Novel & Short Story Writer’s Market. She was the editor of an award–winning Midwestern newspaper and worked in Story Direction for a Hollywood production company.



“Win a $25 gift card – Lynne Barron’s Unraveling the Earl Book Tour #Historical #EroticRomance”

Welcome to Sensuous Promo’s UNRAVELING THE EARL Book Tour. Watch for the Giveaway Below!

Unraveling the Earl, Book 3 in the Idyllwild series:

The Earl of Hastings’s reputation as London’s greatest gift to the ladies has taken on a life of its own, one he is only too happy to live up to in one Mayfair bedchamber after another. Until he encounters a lady more interested in poking around his country estate than sampling his lauded charms.

Georgiana Buchanan is possessed of murky morals, skewed notions of right and wrong, a talent for dancing around the truth, and a penchant for crashing weddings, funerals and charity balls.

When Georgie catches Henry’s roving eye, she turns the tables on the arrogant scoundrel, introducing him to a world of sensual delights and unraveling his vaunted control before fleeing into the night.

Henry is determined to make the elusive Georgiana his mistress while the lady wants only to use his desire to further her own schemes. When they find themselves marooned at Idyllwild during a summer storm, they will both discover they’ve gotten more than they bargained for.



Georgie peeked through her lashes at the devilishly handsome man standing beside her, silently acknowledging that she was going to have to provide him with a bit of sport.

She just couldn’t see any way around it.

She’d held him off for hours while they’d wandered around the cold, silent house. She’d deftly avoided all of his rather clumsy attempts to lure her into alcoves, coyly misunderstood each and every one of his ribald suggestions, and evaded both his roaming hands and his soft lips. Not to say there hadn’t been more than a handful of near misses. The earl had a way of sneaking under the brim of her bonnet to brush his mouth over the shell of her ear, the slope of her jaw and the sensitive skin of her nape.

But their tour was coming to an end. Already the sun was dipping toward the horizon, painting the long portrait gallery in shades of pink.

The only rooms she’d not yet seen were the countess’s apartments and those belonging to the earl. Georgie doubted she would see the former without first visiting the latter.

She could hardly ask to see the countess’ private rooms today of all days.

There was nothing for it but to slake the randy aristocrat’s lust. Surely when he’d fallen asleep after a bit of love play, as men were wont to do, she could sneak into Lady Hasting’s chambers and find what she’d come for.

Her greatest desire, indeed.

“It looks as if we’ve reached the end of our tour.” Hastings voice was low and soft, a rough whisper, promising all manner of wicked delights.

“Not by a long shot,” she murmured as she turned away from the final portrait, a rather unremarkable rendering of the earl and his sister sitting on a bench beneath a tree improbably blooming with red, white and blue flowers.

“I beg your pardon?” One tawny arched brow winged up in inquiry.

Damn, if he wasn’t the most beautiful of men. His golden-blond curls were tousled from repeatedly running his hands through his hair. His lovely blue eyes, as bright as a cloudless summer sky, shone with anticipation. His bronze skin was flushed, twin spots of color on his chiseled cheekbones. Decadently plump lips were pulled into a pout above a square chin complete with a deep cleft.

As she drifted her gaze over his too damn perfect visage it occurred to her that he’d enjoyed chasing her from one room to the next in this great mausoleum. It was little more than a game to him, seducing women, and one he was annoyingly confident of winning.

She would have liked nothing better than to put the foolish man in his place and storm off in a cloud of righteous indignation.

How wonderfully amusing it would be to watch the cocky arrogance drop away from his too-pretty face.

Ah, well, perhaps some other time.

“Oh, my lord, we can’t have toured all of the rooms in your lovely house,” Georgie cooed, batting her lashes and feeling seven kinds of foolish. “Surely I would remember if we’d seen your chambers.”

“We’ve saved the best for last, my dove,” he answered smoothly, cocking out his arm.

Georgie ignored the gesture, instead sweeping out of the gallery ahead of him. It was easy enough to guess where his chambers lay. There was only the one wing they’d not yet explored and it must hold both his ultimate destination and her own.

The hallway in this part of the house was wide, four sets of tall double doors evenly placed along the dimly lit space.

“Will you allow me to guess?” She tossed the words over her shoulder with a smile as she passed the first door on the right. That would be a sitting room, either his or his mother’s.

Quickening her steps lest he put a halt to her progress, she reached the next door and pushed it open.

“Not that one, dove.”

Disregarding his words, she stepped over the threshold into a room that could only belong to the recently deceased countess. The walls were papered in the lady’s trademark ice blue, rich velvet damask above stark white wainscoting. A huge bed canopied in gray silk dominated the room. Delicate gilded furniture was clustered about in quaint little seating arrangements. The drapes were open, muted sunlight filtering across the blue and white floral Turkish carpet.

It was a pretty room, but cold. Much as the woman had been.

Hastings came up behind her, his legs tangling in her skirts, his hard chest pressed to her back, the unmistakable ridge of his arousal nestled against her bottom. He reached around her to pull the door closed and as one they stepped back into the hall, their movements as well-choreographed as the steps of a dance.

The door closed gently before her and she drew in a deep breath. She’d seen enough in those few seconds to find her way about the room later, even in the dark if it came to it. She’d also seen the row of miniatures lining the mantel, two more on a small delicately carved desk and still half a dozen others hanging on the walls.

“Time to pay the piper,” she whispered beneath her breath.

“Ah, my lovely Georgiana,” Hastings breathed against her neck just below her ear. “I’ve been dreaming of you playing my pipe.”

Georgie rolled her eyes at his nonsense. Honestly, was this how the highborn went about seduction? Buttercups and bumbling caresses and bawdy talk?

Where was the finesse? Where was the empty flattery, the practiced maneuvers, the whispers and yearning sighs?

Where the devil was the lauded lover all of London gossiped about in ballrooms, in theater boxes and in church for goodness sake?

Play his pipe, indeed.

It wasn’t a bad idea. She needn’t share her body with the silly man. A quick tug and a swipe of her tongue and she’d bring him off. Perhaps a glass or seven of whiskey and a bite to eat afterward. Surely he would be snoring before it was full dark.

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