I’ve been waiting forever for her to finish this story and trust me y’all are going to LOVE IT!!!
I’ve been waiting forever for her to finish this story and trust me y’all are going to LOVE IT!!!
This is one of favorite scenes from the book, The Lion in Russia (Pussycat Death Squad #2):
“Doesn’t look like your boy is coming,” Deringer said as he took up a position beside her. He stood close enough to portray the look of an ardent suitor, but not so close as to intimate a consummated affair.
“He’ll be here. Gianni is one of his best friends. He wouldn’t miss his party.”
“I don’t know why you couldn’t just call him up and tell him you’re ready to go to bed with him.”
Vries rolled her eyes. “Because I’m not a Bond girl.”
“It’s a good thing you’re so pretty. Otherwise I don’t know how you would ever get a date. That’s not how it’s done you have to…” She broke off, surprised by the sudden grimness of his expression. Before she could question him a sudden awareness washed over her. Leo is here, her spidey senses were telling her. She moved closer to Deringer who immediately picked up on her movement and leaned in as though whispering sweet nothings in her ear.
“He’s dead ahead at high noon, sweetheart. Looking daggers at us,” Deringer said in not quite a whisper.
Vries followed Dare’s gaze and locked onto the glacial gray of Leo’s eyes. Deringer was right; he did look pissed. She took a deep breath as she forced herself to maintain control when deep inside she had to admit the man scared the living hell out of her. He began moving toward them with a calm deliberation that reminded of a scene from Jaws. For a fanciful moment she even thought she heard the shark’s theme music as Leo cut a swathe through the crowd with the single-mindedness of an apex predator, his gaze never leaving hers as she stared, mesmerized and captured in his thrall. She was being stalked and though she should be terrified,
every nerve ending in her body tingled in anticipation. Desperately longing to know what he would do. Knowing what she wanted him to do. Even simple autonomic responses like breathing seemed unnecessary and she just stood there waiting for him to reach her side. When he took her in his arms she responded immediately to the warm embrace. His mouth took hers like a conquering warrior all soft tongue and firm lips refusing to accept or even consider anything but her complete surrender. Not that she was capable of anything else. He tasted just as she’d always imagined he would, masculine and woodsy, almost smoky though she knew he didn’t use tobacco. It was the way he smelled too, making him distinctive in a room full of men wearing expensive designer fragrances Leo smelled only like himself, and her entire being absorbed the aroma wanting to synthesize it into her own DNA.
It wasn’t until he raised his head that she realized that a minor hush had fallen over their little corner of the room. At the moment she didn’t care. Instead she stared into his eyes, which were usually a soft gray, but right now his pupils were so dilated that his eyes were almost black, almost obscuring the lighter silver ring that encircled his pupils. Though she could breathe she was still incapable of speech.
“Good evening Vries. Surprised to see you here,” Leo said.
It annoyed her that he could be so unaffected when it was all she could do to remain upright, and actually she probably would’ve collapsed had she not still been pressed so tightly against him. And that’s when she realized he wasn’t indifferent after all. There was a faint tremor in the arms that still encircle her waist, and she could feel his erection pressed against the vee of her legs. That might explain why he hadn’t stepped away as their embrace had certainly superseded the norm of a public greeting, even between lovers.
Vries stepped back anyway. She would never regain coherence standing so close to him. To her relief her legs supported her and she could provide a reasonable response. “I can’t imagine why. Gianni gives the best parties in the city, and you know I never miss a good party.” She nodded toward Deringer who was staring at both of them looking very annoyed, the frown marring his aristocratic forehead. “Do you know my–uh–friend?” she asked hesitating just enough to imply there was more to the relationship. When Leo shook his head in the negative she made the introductions.
Leo gave Deringer a narrow-eyed stare. “You weren’t seeing anyone the last time I was in town.”
“That was over a year ago. Besides, as I said, Deringer and I are friends, nothing more.”
A surprised expression passed over the planes of Deringer’s face. Vries knew it wasn’t real, but she could tell by the way he stiffened next to her that Leo believed the act.
“If you say so,” Deringer murmured. “Then again, you told me that the two of you are just friends as well.”
Leo made a sound that was close to a growl as a human could make. Vries pursed her lips hoping Deringer wasn’t over-playing his hand. “We are friends.”
“It certainly didn’t look like it to me,” Deringer snarled in response. He sounded so convincing that for a moment Vries was worried. She knew he didn’t have romantic feelings toward her, but no one listening to their conversation would believe it.
Hello everyone and Happy Holidays! I kept my word; Pussycat Death Squad The Lion in Russia is live at ARe and Smashwords. It’s not up at Amazon or Barnes and Noble yet, their process takes longer, but these sellers will have all the formats you need for your various devices. I will let you know when Amazon and B&N come online. Thank you all ever so much for your support.
I’m so excited about this cover that I just couldn’t wait to show you guys. Whit actually finished it on Sunday, but he wouldn’t let me show y’all yet. Something about her thumb wasn’t right. *le sigh* But it never pays to argue with the talent, so I jusr smiled and did my “Yes, dear,” Stepford Wife style. God willing this book will be out the first week of October. Meanwhile, just enjoy the pretty.
The music boomed through the loudspeaker. Vries could feel it thrumming through her chest as though the bassist was picking out the rhythm on her ribcage. She moved with the beat of the music shaking her hips, feeling the silken swish of her vintage Pucci maxi skirt against her legs with each step she took in the platform heels. She made a striking figure and she knew it. It was her job to always stand out in a crowd, to draw attention wherever she went. A role that oddly enough lent itself even more to her more sinister vocation. The spotlight did a great job of concealing that which she didn’t want seen. She spotted her target almost by accident. The tall man with the thick mane of graying hair would probably blend in almost unnoticed were she not deliberately looking for him. Years of experience had given her almost a sixth sense for these things.
She made her way across the large room until she was standing nearly directly behind him. Smoothing her damp palms over her skirt she continued moving to the beat. This was always the worst part of any assignment, the moments right before the strike when she had time to question herself and her technique. She had no idea who this man was. She preferred it that way, it left her with fewer doubts. She trusted her handlers to only give her the cases where her target needed killing. Still she wondered about the morality of what she was about to do. Of course, there was little room for that kind of thought in this world of realpolitik. Eliminating the bad guys by legal means was both time-consuming and messy. And she knew that afterwards, the doubts would go away, and she would feel nothing but pride in a job done well. After a few seconds she reached up to remove her signature platinum Afro pick from her mammoth Afro. She automatically checked the safety lock on the mechanism and glanced down briefly to ensure she’d filled it properly. Then she sidled up behind the man. It only took a moment for her to jab the pick into the back of the man’s hip with a smooth, practiced gesture. The man reacted quickly to what she knew to be a sharp, but momentary prick. She smiled apologetically; the music was much too loud to allow conversation, so she gestured toward her large designer bag as the culprit. He waved it off as inconsequential, not knowing as she did that he was a walking dead man.
The slow-acting poison would take nearly a week to kill him, but kill him it would. Its effect would mimic that of a heart attack. He probably would never remember their meeting at this Paris fashion show, and if he did, no one would ever connect his death to such a brief encounter. Continuing on her way she returned the Afro pick to its customary place in her hair and made her way backstage. She was due to strut down the catwalk in less than ten minutes. Vries St. John was on.
Isn’t this just the living end? Hubby’s been under the weather for what seems like forever, but I think he’s finally turned the corner so I had time to finish the book, and he felt up to doing the cover. Thank y’all so much for your patience. Hot for Teacher will be out this week, but I couldn’t wait to share the cover with all of you. Squee!!!!
Here’s the excerpt:
Michael groaned as the technician instructed him to begin running again. Caja certainly hadn’t lied about her tyrannical leanings. He’d arrived at the fitness center in the early evening and she’d immediately handed him over to the electronics technician; a man who looked as though he lived for nothing but the calibration of machinery. Michael had spent most of his time on the Stair Master, treadmill and elliptical machines. Though physically fit, it’d been a while since he’d run for hours. The technician looked equally exhausted, but seemed satisfied that the treadmills were finally set to his satisfaction. He dismissed Michael with a wave of his hand, and Michael made good his escape before the taciturn man changed his mind. Having lost his towel some time ago, he pulled his t-shirt over his head and used it to wipe the sweat dripping from his forehead. Then, still dressed only in a pair of gym shorts, he walked into the small employee break room to get a bottle of water. He stood drinking the water in the empty room, when suddenly he felt arms wrap around his waist. He knew immediately from the shiver that arced down his spine that it was Caja and placed one hand over hers to hold them in place.
Michael hissed and his groin tightened immediately when Caja began alternately kissing, then taking sharp nips out of the flesh on his back.
“Michael,” she whispered, “everybody is gone home. We’ve got the whole place to ourselves.” Michael exhaled with a hiss as his whole body, not just his cock, but his whole body, sprang to immediate erectness at her suggestive whisper. “But you’ve been working so hard,” she continued in a kittenish tone pulling one hand free to stroke over the sweat-slickened contours of his muscular back, “I’ll understand if you’re too tired…” she trailed off with one final nip and attempted to move away.
Michael turned, lifting her off the floor into his embrace. “Too tired? I remember a certain young lady crying “uncle” just a few days ago.”
Caja wrapped her legs around his waist. “Let’s see who gives in first tonight,” she said, pulling his mouth down to meet hers. Their tongues entangled in a lascivious kiss that left Michael gasping for breath. He groaned into Caja’s mouth as he ground her pelvis into his own. The thin knit shorts she wore were no barrier to his throbbing erection, and he could feel the heat of her flesh against his own as though they were naked. He hadn’t felt so close to coming just from kissing since he was a horny fifteen-year-old trying to get Johna Weston to give up her prized cherry in his mom’s gazebo. He set her down on the countertop, then pushed her shorts and panties aside for access to her steaming pussy. He immediately shoved two fingers inside her, while his tongue he continued to mate with hers in a matching rhythm with his fingers. He knew she loved to be finger fucked and he’d brought her to orgasm that way more than once in the short time they’d known one another. He thrust his fingers as deeply as possible inside her, then circled his thumb gently over her clitoris. When he felt her clench her thighs even more strongly against his hips he knew she was close to coming. He continued the pressure, speeding up the thrusts as he began to suck even more strongly on her tongue.
Suddenly Caja arched her back, crying out as her pleasure reached its peak. He snatched her bottoms off her hips with one swift motion. With her legs spread as widely as possible, Michael placed her thighs across his biceps leaving her totally open for his thrusting cock. He shoved his gym shorts down, not even bothering to remove them. He couldn’t hold back long enough to tease, and suspected the whole building vibrated with the force of his first stroke into her channel. Jesus!
“So good. So hot and tight,” he ground out, gathering her even more firmly into his arms. He couldn’t think of anything else except how good it felt to have her soft wet sheath grasping his cock so tightly. Blind and deaf to everything except the excruciating pleasure that engulfed him, it took a long moment before Caja’s voice penetrated the lust-filled haze.
“Michael, you forgot the condom,” she whispered in an urgent tone.
Michael gritted his teeth doubting his ability to stop at such a crucial point. He lowered his head to the crook of Caja’s shoulder, inhaling the tangy scent of her arousal. Then he forced himself to withdraw from her tantalizing warmth, amazed that he could compel his body to do so. He quickly located the condom she directed him to find in her bag, sheathed himself, then sank his almost painfully erect cock back into her steamy depths once again.
Caja cried out against his throat, then grasped the flesh there between her teeth. The sharp pain only heightened Michael’s pleasure, and he began to slam in and out of her ferociously. Each of his thrusts were met with a return motion from Caja’s hips as she neared another orgasm, her fingers digging forcefully into his sweat slickened back. Michael continued pounding, insensible to anything but the ecstasy that hovered just over the horizon. Then Caja slipped one hand between their writhing bodies and began stroking her clitoris. Watching her pleasure herself was more than he could take, and with one last roar he sank even more deeply into her wetness than he had previously, almost losing consciousness as he surged into her. With his last bit of strength, he lifted her buttocks from the counter so that her clit ground against his pelvis, triggering an explosive orgasm that left Caja limp in his arms.
Like the sinfully decadent treats she whips up in her bakery, Poppy Blakemore is irresistible, even to a battle scarred warrior like Matthew McAlister. Unfortunately, except for a love for delicious pastry and a passion so hot it leaves them scorched in its wake, the two of them have nothing in common. He is a straight-as-an arrow helicopter pilot who has been traumatized by combat, while she struggles to reconcile her capitalist tendencies with her counter-culture background.
The passion between them is undeniable, but Poppy knows that anything more than a sexual relationship is out of the question. Matthew wants so much more. Are sex and buttercream going to be enough to hold them together, or is their love doomed like an overcooked madeleine?
I’m so excited I can’t wait to see what you guys think of it!
Earlier this year Affaire de Coeur sent out a survey to authors and readers regarding interracial books. (You can check out the questions here.) I’m dying to see the results. If I get a chance to get down to B&N I’ll pick up a copy of the magazine. Anyway, their survey is the reason I posted mine. I’ve not mentioned this before on this blog, but I’ve always sensed some tension in the African American romance community in regard to interracial romance books. Back when there was still a black reader forum on Delphi I remember some readers there expressing consternation with interracial romances and their fear that they would eventually “take over” the African American romance genre. Given the questions that appeared on Affaire de Coeur’s survey I have to assume that those concerns are still extant.
6. Many AA authors have told AdC that they don’t like the intrusion of interracial romance. Some have even gone as far as to state that unless they writing an interracial romance as opposed to an AA romance, they are not supported by their publisher. Do you think there is a push? Why?
This question in particular bugs the heck out of me. For one thing, I resent the hell out of the word INTRUSION. In what way are authors of interracial romance intruding on anything? This notion that we are somehow poaching on their readers is absurd. As my survey clearly showed, it’s not the same reader pool. Most of the readers of interracial romances are either omnivores, who read a little bit of everything, or they are exclusively fans of interracial romance and wouldn’t read monoracial romances even if interracial romances were not available. I suspected this was the case, and my survey confirms it.
I can’t really comment on the publisher issue, but I have to assume that if there’s a push for interracial books it’s because they’re selling. Other than at e-pubs, which have always had interracial books, I haven’t seen a proliferation of interracial books. I think Genesis is still doing one a month, and the last time I checked at Kimani they were still asking for monoracial exclusively. (I’m too lazy to check. Is this still the case?) I can count on one hand the number of IRs I’ve seen from Kimani and they’re all from authors who are already established with them. I haven’t looked at Dafina guidelines in a while, but I don’t seem to remember there being a lot of IRs there either.
7. There is a decline in the number of books where both hero and heroine are AA. Do you think it is attributable to the interracial romance?
This is news to me as well. I didn’t know that there had been a decline in readership of monoracial romances. I doubt that interracial romances are at fault here. The main problem I have with MR romances is level of sensuality. I’m thinking Zane is a publishing phenomenon for a reason, yet I don’t see that popularity reflected in the MR romance community at all. This is an issue that I talked about over at Save Black Romance.
Many IR readers of veterans of the e-pubs. E-pubs thrive on identifying and capitalizing on under-served markets. But those books have a very high sensuality level. A sensuality level readers have grown accustomed to. I’ve complained quite a bit about the lower heat levels in MR romances. It was much the same way when IR books first started. I actually wrote my first love scene because I was tired of the titty-fingered way many authors dealt with sex scenes in IR romances.
Further, as my survey showed, many of our readers are omnivores. That is, they’re reading MR, IR and mainstream books as well. Mainstream books have taken off into all manner of realms: SF/F, suspense, paranormals, menage, slash, etc… Except for suspense storylines, this evolution simply isn’t present in the MR books, and I say this as someone who reads several of them a month. With very few exceptions, MR books are where mainstream books were a decade ago. If readership is falling off, I suspect it is informed by this issue.
Maybe it’s because I’m old enough to remember when there were no black people in romances period, but this schism troubles me greatly. I hate to think that at this time of great success, we seem to be on the path to consuming our own. I don’t know about anyone else, but I get a thrill when I see black romances on the shelves in bookstores. Yeah, I’m a bit envious of those who’ve found success in New York, but I know those authors have worked their asses off and I’m proud of them too. Goodness knows I’m the last person on earth to ask that we join hands and sing Kumbaya, but I don’t think any of our needs are served by this level of discord either. After all, ultimately we all have the same goal: to write and sell books. It’s a big world out there, I think there’s enough readers for all of us.