Spotlight on J.M. Powers

Today’s first Breathless Press spotlight is on author J.M. Powers and her new book Jewel of Ramstone. Welcome!

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A maiden, unable to recall who she is, must battle evil to regain the memory of her past and the hope of a future.

Awaking in the forest, a young maiden recalls naught—including her name. Equally conflicting is her desire to both slap and kiss Sir Galeron, the knight who claims to have protected her while she was unconscious. Much to her chagrin, he dubs her “Ruby of the Forest” due to her red hair, and insists she find refuge at his home of Ramstone. Prickling at his demanding ways, but with no other option, she accepts his offer. And although his kiss flames her attraction even more, Galeron dashes it with a confession. The brute is trothed to another.

Ruby’s journey is filled with laughter and weeping, daydreams and discovered abilities. But never does she feel complete. Her heart longs for a future that her past may destroy. Evil lurks, treading on each tidbit of memory she recovers. Will Ruby ever recall her past? And after an attack in the village that sparks a horrific nightmare, does she even want to?

EXCERPT:

“Ask me anything. Mayhap I can help.” His deep voice broke the silence.

How was he to help? “Pray tell, how did we come to share the forest?”

“I shall explain.” He bent and picked up a twig, then proceeded to peel the bark off. With each curl he tossed aside, she grew more frustrated.

‘Twas better to allow mistrust. Stand strong. She gasped. Unexpected, the thought rang with such clarity, it seemed someone else had spoken. “Perchance you should be honest. Did you drug me? Spell me?”

He tossed the twig aside. Though his eyes remained on her face, her whole body felt his scrutiny. “‘Twould do you well to hold your tongue.”

“I am beginning to dislike you,” she said, knowing full well the opposite was true. She truly wished her insides would cease…prickling? And her head. Damn, it ached so. Tingles and pain aside, she tried to focus. “Do you intend to explain or not?”

“I seek a means to tell you gently.”

With a slight shrug, she said, “No need for gentleness. You already tossed me about.” She grinned despite the truth in her statement.

He sighed. “It appears you are lost.”

“God’s eyes, knight!” She shook her head. “You must be a great sorcerer to possess such insight.”

“Your tongue shall be your undoing. Best you still it.”

Twice he attempted to stifle her. She clenched her teeth. “Still it?”

Galeron’s jaw twitched and she wondered if he were quelling a smile. “I found you here in the woodlands. I did not hold you captive, drug you, or harm you.” He blinked slowly. “Hold to that.”

She nodded. “Forgive—”

“Nay need. I understand. You now stand a day’s ride from Ramstone. Have you heard of it?”

He pushed off the tree and came to sit beside her, his thigh nearly touching her own. Nearly. It took a moment for her answer. “Nay, I do not recall Ramstone.” The fact she did not recall much of anything choked off the rest of her response.

“Odd,” he said, more to himself than her.

Sighing, she realized how badly her masquerade of bravery was faltering. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his hand come toward her. Surprised at the urge to lean into his touch, she remained still and allowed him to brush back the wisps of hair from her brow. His hand lowered in a fist, yet his voice was laced with tenderness.

“It pains me that I cannot give you answers.” His gaze strayed from her face, lowering to her neck.

Covering the neckline of her tunic with both hands, she glared at him. “Focus elsewhere.” He sees me as a woman after all. She dashed the thought away. Almost.

“I intend nay disrespect. The bruising on your neck concerns me.” Gently brushing her hand aside, he took a closer look. “Fingerprints.”

It took all she had not to cry out. Who harmed her?

“When we discovered you, there was nay sign of anyone else.”

She glanced around. “We?”

“I sent my men home.”

She blinked. Then blinked again. “Your men.”

“My brother, a healer, assured me your wounds were not serious, so I decided to wait—”

She put up her hand. “Why not leave me under the care of your healer? Or leave me in the nearest village?”

He swallowed hard. “It matters not! Are you always so…so…inquisitive?”

Ah, this man was not used to being questioned. She tried to ease his surly mood. “A shame your men were sent on their way. No one laid witness when I kicked you and bashed your comely face before you so unceremoniously dropped a maiden to the ground.”

He blew a long breath. “You insist on repeating that. Had you dressed appropriately, I would not have thought you a lad.” His chuckle made her grin. “Although you certainly fight like a maiden.”

She swiped her hand through the air. “Carry on.”

“Carry on,” he muttered. “I fear you shall interrupt again.” He looked up through the trees, ignoring her huff. “We still had several days before reaching our destination when we found you. With that in mind, I postponed the journey and sent my men back to Ramstone.”

“I see.” She studied the frayed edge of her tunic. “How long have I been here?”

“I watched over you a single night. How long you were here remains a mystery. I was only gone a short time for I needed to boil meat into a broth to sustain you. Had I known you were a maiden, I never would have left you alone.”

Her head snapped up. “Yet you would a lad? I am not defenseless simply because I am a female.”

Galeron’s eyes hardened. “Aye, ’tis so. I returned to find you brandishing a dagger. I left it in case you awoke and felt unsafe, not to use against me.”

She ran her hands through the leaves and shrugged a silent apology, too stubborn to utter it out loud.

“Fair one?”

Damnation, she hated when he addressed her with those words, and yet it awoke something in her, for he said it with tenderness. She glared at his smiling face. “Why are you calling me that?” To her chagrin, what she’d meant as snide came out as quite curious.

He splayed his hands in question, “Would you prefer I call you lad?” Two furrows appeared on his brow at her silent glare. “Because, you have yet to give your name.”

Disarmed, she swallowed her spiteful attitude. “If I only could.” She locked away her tears, her dismay, and did her best to keep her voice steady. “I hoped you would know…would say it by now. Sir Galeron, I…I recall naught before I saw you standing before me.”

Seeming to battle with her revelation, Galeron’s expression flitted from stunned to confused. Then his gaze bore into her with such tenderness it nearly undid her. “Nay memory?” he finally whispered.

JM Powers Author Pic

 

J.M. Powers harbors an alter ego of a normal woman named Jeannie. (Her editor is still on the fence about the whole “normal” thing.) Jeannie’s proficient at research, gluten-free cooking, and embarrassing her teenagers by wearing skinny jeans to the grocery store. J.M., the author-ego, plunges so deep into her writing she forgets life outside her creations still goes on. More often than not, J.M. answers with a glassy stare when her family asks what’s for dinner. Despite the craziness between reality and the world of writing, life falls together without broken bones or hearts.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/author.jmpowers

Blog: http://jmpowersromance.blogspot.com/

Twitter: @jmpowersauthor

Spotlight on Brantwijn Serrah

Today’s second Breathless Press spotlight is on author Brantwijn Serrah and her new book His Cemetery Doll.

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Conall knows the angel standing in his graveyard is only a statue. After all, he carved her with his own two hands. Can she possibly be…alive?

There’s a woman in the graveyard.

Conall Mackay never put stock in ghost stories. Not even after thirteen years serving as the cemetery keeper in the village of Whitetail Knoll. But things change. Now, his daughter is dreaming of a figure among the tombstones. The grounds are overrun by dark thorns almost faster than Con can clear them. White fog and gray ribbons creep up on him in the night, and a voiceless beauty beckons him from the darkest corners of the graves.

When the world he knows starts to unravel, Conall might finally be forced to believe.

EXCERPT:

He hadn’t slept long before he heard sounds from down in the kitchen below.

“Shyla!” he called gruffly. “Weren’t you heading into town?”

No answer came from below, but the sounds of pots clanging told him his daughter toyed about down there. Perhaps she’d decided not to leave him after all and taken it into her head to now re-organize the house, since he’d so clearly wanted her to stay out of the cemetery. With a low groan, Conall rolled out of bed and stepped out into the hall.

“Shyla!” he called again, coming to the head of the stairs. If she had stayed home, she could at least do it without making a lot of noise.

“Shyla, I—”

He staggered then, as the hallway dimmed. Afternoon light flickered strangely, lightning cracking a dismal sky outside, and in the space of time afterward everything else darkened. Conall darted a glance around him as the house fell into shadow.

From the top of the stairwell, he saw the first whispering tendrils of white fog.

The heat of adrenaline shot through his limbs. Conall stumbled back into his bedroom, even as the fog pursued. His gaze shot to the window as the last gray light of day faded away and eerie darkness replaced it, like an eclipse sliding over the sun.

More cold mists veiled the glass, dancing and floating. Trembling overtook him as he spun to find another escape.

He froze, finding himself face-to-face with the broken mask of the cemetery doll.

“You—” he gasped. His breath came out white as the fog enveloped them both, leaving a space of mere inches between them, so he could still see her expressionless face. Gray ribbons wound and curled through the air around him. “Who are you?” he asked.

The doll stared up at him. He sensed her searching, looking into his eyes even though hers remained covered. She held him there with her unseen gaze, until her cool, cold hand came up to touch his bare chest.

Conall let out a low breath. He closed his eyes, and a shudder of strange ease rippled through his body. The cool pads of her fingers ran down his sternum, to his navel. The silky ribbons brushed along his side.

Then he noticed her other hand. She lifted it up, to her own chest, and she held something tightly in her fingers: Shyla’s stuffed dog.

“I made that…for my daughter,” he whispered. The woman with the broken mask tilted her head down toward the small toy, studying it. For a fraction of a second, her fingers appeared to tighten around it. She returned her gaze to him, then, and the toy fell from her grip into the fog, forgotten.

“Wait—” he said, but she brought her other hand up to his chest to join the first, and he recognized eagerness in the way she pressed her icy skin against his. Her face tilted to him, and then came her lips again, ivory and flawless.

“I—” Conall breathed. “I…don’t understand…”

Her fingers slid up, around his neck, but he pulled away.

“No, this…this can’t real. I’m asleep. I must be.”

Gray ribbons danced, pulling him back to her, and she stroked his face. He sucked in a breath at her touch and found his own hand coming up to brush hers.

“You’re so cold,” he said. “Like stone…but…”

Her cool touch thrilled him; it made his skin tingle and the heat of his own body sing. Her perfect flesh did, in fact, prove soft under his hands, as if the contact with his worn calluses infused cold ivory with yearning. She caressed his cheek, and Conall leaned into it. Before he could stop himself, he bowed his head to her and kissed her frozen lips.

Brantwijn Serrah Author Pic

 

The story of His Cemetery Doll has been waiting to be told since Brantwijn Serrah first began jotting things down in her school notebooks instead of doing her homework. Conall Mackay and his lady ghost have existed for Brantwijn, in some form or another, longer than almost any other characters she’s collected. This tale of a haunted graveyard and imprisoned beauty is, in Brantwijn’s opinion, a wonderful way to finally bring them to life.

When she isn’t visiting the worlds of immortals, demons, dragons and goblins, Brantwijn fills her time with artistic endeavors: sketching, painting, customizing My Little Ponies and sewing plushies for friends. She can’t handle coffee unless there’s enough cream and sugar to make it a milkshake, but try and sweeten her tea and she will never forgive you. She moonlights as a futon for four lazy cats, loves tabletop role-play games, and can spend hours watching Futurama, Claymore or Buffy the Vampire Slayer while she writes or draws.

In addition to her novels, Brantwijn has had several stories published in anthologies by Breathless Press, including the 2013 Crimson Anthology and 2014 Ravaged Anthology.  She’s also had a short story published in the Cleiss Press Big Book of Orgasm and the anthology Coming Together Through The Storm. She hopes to have several more tales to tell as time goes on.  She has author pages on GoodReads and Amazon, and loves to see reader comments on her work. Her short stories occasionally pop up at Foreplay and Fangs, her blog at http://brantwijn.blogspot.com.

Spotlight on Torie James

Welcome to another Breathless Press day! Today’s first spotlight is Torie James with her new book Point of No Return.

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Blurb

Full of seething, sensual shadows and hidden faces, the annual Masquerade Ball at Lymbo Resort is one event anyone would sell their soul for.

One night a year, impiety and temptation take center court at the invitation only event hosted by the mysterious Avan Noxturna. Decadent darkness, burning lust, and wicked intentions hide behind innocent masks in the most innocuous places.

The fires of hell may blaze hot, but the flames of passion consume common sense when obsessive memories escape to ignite an inferno of intimate bliss that will sear both saint and sinner.

***

Excerpt

She enjoyed being a highly sexual female who felt no shame in shagging a man for recreational purposes. Guys did it all the time and they were called studs. A woman with the same goal? Slut. Luckily, she didn’t much care what anyone thought. She had no desire to settle into a bullshit relationship where she lost her identity. Her mother had schooled her. She was an island and it suited her fine when the occasional ship came into port, docking on a temporary pass. A lustful interlude with a masked stranger on Halloween? Cliché. And tempting. She did have a few extra minutes.

Then he filled her vision and she grew damp under the heated gaze.

One. Quick. Fuck.

Medicinal purposes only.

He opened his mouth to speak and she shook her head. “Shh. Don’t talk. You’ll ruin it.”

Torie James author pic

Author Bio

“If you really want to read a book that hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it” ~Toni Morrison~

Torie James has loved reading since she was old enough to hold a book in her lap. While her friends were out playing, she was generally curled up nearby falling down rabbit holes, catching second stars to the right, and stepping through wardrobes into mysterious lands and countless adventures. When those stories ended, she made up her own and kept going. This later on translated into a strong passion for writing that has helped her keep her feet on the ground while her head stayed firmly in the clouds. Lover of Dr. Pepper, all things chocolate, and Duran Duran, her dreams finally became a reality with the publication of Timeless Night and Timeless Desire, Books One and Two of the award winning New Camelot Series. Slated for 3 more books in that series, she’s also currently working on The Cloie Chronicles, The Tudor Files, Avan Noxturna: Soul Broker and the Fables of Blood and Stone. Two short stories, No Change Policy in Room 8 and Reclaiming the Rabbit Hole can be found in My Bloody Valentine and Wonderland Tales, respectively, through her publisher, Breathless Press.

Torie lives in Southern California with her family and a houseful of pets who rule the roost.

***

 

Spotlight on Dana Wright

Here’s today’s second spotlight author, Dana Wright, whose book Asylum is now available.

Asylum Media Kit:

ISBN: 978-1-77101-393-2

By Dana Wright

Heat Rating: 1

Word Count: 16435

Release Date: October 10, 2014

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Blurb:

The voices of the past are alive behind the iron gates of Bremore Asylum. Can Rachel and Matt deduce its secrets before it’s too late?

When Rachel agrees to take the job investigating the disappearance of a fellow ghost hunter at Bremore Asylum, she is totally unprepared for the sexy and stubborn psychic debunker Matt Rutledge to be a part of the package. Can these two opposing forces find the answers behind the asylum’s crumbling walls before they become the newest victims to the asylum’s grim history?

Excerpt:

Rachel narrowed her eyes. What little hold she held on her frayed temper snapped. Self-doubt flared, but she stamped it out as quickly as it came.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She stepped forward, hands clenched into fists, her foot brushing against the luggage. Her hoodie slid off the suitcase and flopped unceremoniously into the dirt.

“We haven’t even started on the project and you’re trying to displace me already?”

Rutledge stepped back, surprise clear on his lightly parted lips. Lips she apparently still wanted to kiss, damn his eyes. God, what was wrong with her?

“My friend almost died because of a mistake I made. But you’re already aware of that, aren’t you, Mr. High and Mighty? Listen to me and listen good. I’m here because my grandmother needs me. I’m a damn fine ghost hunter, which you would already know if you bothered to see beyond what happened to Jeannie.” She poked her finger into his chest and had the satisfaction of seeing him wince.

Matt stepped back and held up his hands, a ruddy flush creeping up his cheeks. “Okay. I was out of line. Truce?” He bent down and carefully picked up her hoodie, handing it to her gingerly.

“Thank you, Mr. Rutledge.” Rachel snatched the hoodie from his hands and tied it around her waist with a firm yank. She didn’t want to chance it falling in the dirt again and it was going to be a long weekend. At the rate they were going, it was going to be a full-on ice storm between them.

A flash of humor crossed his face. “Do you think maybe you could call me Matt?”

“That depends.”

“On what?” Matt cocked his eyebrow with surprise.

“On whether you can stop dissecting me like one of your frauds.”

Buy Link:

http://www.breathlesspress.com/index.php?main_page=product_free_shipping_info&products_id=681

Dana Wright Author Pic

About the author:

Dana Wright has always had a fascination with things that go bump in the night. She is often found playing at local bookstores, trying not to maim herself with crochet hooks or knitting needles, watching monster movies with her husband and furry kids or blogging about books. More commonly, she is chained to her computers, writing like a woman possessed. She is currently working on several children’s stories, young adult fiction, romantic suspense, short stories and is trying her hand at poetry. She is a contributing author to Ghost Sniffer’s CYOA, Siren’s Call E-zine in their “Women in Horror” issue in February 2013 and “Revenge” in October 2013, a contributing author to Potatoes!, Fossil Lake, Of Dragons and Magic: Tales of the Lost Worlds, Undead in Pictures, Potnia, Shadows and Light, Dark Corners, Wonderstruck, Shifters: A Charity Anthology, Dead Harvest, Monster Diaries (upcoming), Holiday Horrors and the Roms, Bombs and Zoms Anthology from Evil Girlfriend Media. She is the author of Asylum due out in October 2014.   Dana has also reviewed music for Muzikreviews.com specializing in New Age and alternative music and has been a contributing writer to Eternal Haunted Summer, Nightmare Illustrated, Massacre Magazine, Metaphor Magazine, The Were Traveler October 2013 edition: The Little Magazine of Magnificent Monsters, the December 2013 issue The Day the Zombies Ruled the Earth. She currently reviews music at New Age Music Reviews and Write a Music Review.

 

Follow Dana’s reviews:

Twitter: @danawrite

Author site: http://danawrightauthor.wix.com/danawright

Facebook fan page: https://www.facebook.com/danawrightauthor

Spotlight on LM Brown

Welcome to another Breathless Press Day! Today’s first spotlight author is LM Brown, with her new release Touch of a Ghost.

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What if you could only touch your lover one night of the year? Halloween night is all you have when in a relationship with a ghost.

Drew Jessop wants a life without ghosts. He doesn’t want to see, hear, or talk to them. Ignoring them should be relatively simple. But Drew soon finds that Benji Richards, an eternally gorgeous ghost from the fifties, is not so easy to ignore.

Halloween night is approaching and both Drew and Benji know what it could mean for them. From sunset to sunrise, it is the one night of the year when a mortal can feel the touch of a ghost.

EXCERPT:

Drew leaned forward and put his empty bottle on the table. The match had finished and the commentators were recapping the highlights, so Drew reached for the remote control.

“Well, thank you for having us.” Flora stood up and stretched, as though her joints were still giving her grief as they had apparently done in life.

Drew turned off the television and picked up the crisp packet together with the nearly empty bowl. He tossed the last few crisps into his mouth as he stood up and walked into the kitchen. He left the beer bottles on the table as he contemplated whether to have another. Remembering he had an early start in the morning, he decided against drinking too much. He had a feeling Flora might have an opinion on alcohol intake too. However, when he turned back toward the living area, Flora had vanished.

Benji, on the other hand, still lingered. He remained on the sofa, his arm stretched along the back and his chin resting on it as he stared at Drew directly.

“You’re very rude, you know?” Benji commented idly. “Not saying a single word to us all evening like that. You could at least have said hello.”

Drew ignored him as he turned off the lights.

“I know you can see us. Your eyes give you away.”

Drew suspected Benji might be guessing, but if he said a single word in response that guess would be confirmed. He had to keep quiet. That way he could still maintain a normal life.

“Not going to admit it, huh?” Benji said. “Well, I’ll stop by again tomorrow. Maybe you’ll be more talkative then. If you are, I might just tell you how I know you’re gay, if you ask nicely.” With that comment, Benji flashed Drew one final killer smile and vanished from the room.

Drew reacted to Benji the same way he would any other handsome man. His mind may tell him Benji was off limits, but his body thought otherwise. Drew wondered whether he could keep up the pretense of not seeing and hearing the ghosts who were as real to him as the rest of the human race. If this evening was anything to go by, it might not be as easy as he thought.

 

Spotlight on Allie A Burrow

Our second Breathless Press spotlight today is on author Allie A Burrow and her new book For One Night Only.

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Kate Powell only went and fell for the soldier she’d met just once before he had to jet off on a year-long posting overseas.
Seven months in, and Kate is hornier than a blue wildebeest in mating season with only her battery-powered friend for relief. Her skills as a pen-pal scale new heights, but then a text message arrives out of the blue.
Corporal Mark Butler is back in the country for one night only, and Kate isn’t about to let the opportunity pass her by. After all, who needs a vibrator when the real thing comes calling?

*Allie has chosen to donate all royalties from ‘For One Night only’ and ‘Serviced: Volume 1’ to the UK charity Help For Heroes*

Excerpt

Safely enveloped in the darkness of the alcove, the bass pounded through the soles of Kate’s boots and echoed inside her ribs. She lunged and caught Mark’s face in her hands, pulling him down to kiss him, her tongue forcing a route past his surprised lips and delving into the wetness of his mouth. “Take me,” she breathed. Her hand stole over the carved ridges of his stomach, following the arrow-shaped path down to where it disappeared inside his jeans. “Please…”

His mouth opened and closed and he glanced over his shoulder at the heaving dance floor. “But—”

“No buts.” She reached for his fly, undoing it quickly, but instead of finding another layer of clothing, his dick sprang free and elicited a gasp from her throat. “I need this”—she fisted her hand around it, stroking him, and his eyes squeezed shut, his jaw jutting out as his head tipped back—”I need you…inside me”—she swirled her hand over the engorged head and his entire body jerked—”now.”

Mark’s eyes flew open and even in the dim lighting, she saw his pupils dilate, the naked desire on his face almost frightening. His fingers skipped over the back of her neck and lost themselves in her hair, getting tangled in the shoulder-length tresses she had loosely pinned up. The gentle touch was at odds with the fierce hunger in his gaze. Electric shocks surged through the many nerve endings, connected directly to her core, and she had to lean into his hand, let him support the weight of her head, suddenly too heavy to keep upright under her own steam.

He tilted it back and locked his gaze onto hers, issuing her with a challenge. “If we’re going to do this”—he leaned into her, his lips rasping her ear—”right here, right now”—his gravelly voice resonated within her, hungry, powerful—”we’re doing it my way.”

Staggered by the transformation from man to soldier, her need for him ramped up another notch and it was all she could do to move her head the tiniest fraction. His eyes searched hers for an answer, the wait agonizing, until finally, he dipped his head. Achingly tender, his lips flitted over the top of hers, like rose petals blowing in the wind. Her eyelids fluttered closed, cracking under the strain of keeping them open.

Sweet, yet maddening, Kate yearned to take control and deepen the kiss, but he broke off every time she tried before catching her lower lip between his teeth as if to punish her. Their sharp edges sank into her swollen flesh without breaking the surface, his tongue immediately soothing any pain. The all-conquering, take-no-prisoners warrior had arrived.

 

BIO:

Allie A. Burrow writes sensual contemporary love stories that are both sweet and romantic but with a liberal dash of heat added. When not burning up the pages, you’ll mostly find her marauding as Aurelia B. Rowl where she pretends to be far more sweet and innocent and writes young adult, new adult, and contemporary romance stories.

 allieburrow

She lives on the edge of the Peak District in the UK with her very understanding husband, their two fantastic children, and their mad rescue mutt who doesn’t mind being used as a sounding post and source of inspiration. Too often lost in her own world, she regularly wows her family with curious, hastily thrown together meals as a result of getting too caught up with her latest writing project… or five!… and she has developed the fine art of ignoring the housework.

To find out even more about Allie you can visit her website www.allieaburrow.com. You can also check out her main writing persona, Aurelia, by visiting www.aureliabrowl.com

You can also find her hanging out on:

Blog

Facebook

Twitter

Google+

Pinterest

Amazon

Goodreads

YouTube (as Aurelia)

Spotlight on Ishabelle Torry

It’s Breathless Press Day again, and first up is author Ishabelle Torry, whose new book The Gift is now available.

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Daniel was bound to love Sheryl’s out-of-the-box anniversary idea…wasn’t he?

It’s Sheryl and Daniel’s tenth anniversary, and Sheryl is compelled to get her beloved soul mate the gift of all gifts. Discarding her normally self-reserved persona, she has a nude portrait commissioned. He was bound to love it…wasn’t he?

 

EXCERPT:

My chest tightened, and I had to take slow, calming breaths to steady my quivering limbs as I maintained eye contact. I had waited years for this moment; defeating modesty with a blatant desire to shed the snow from its covered mountain peak. I prayed I wouldn’t pass out before the overdue climax reached fruition.

His tongue darted out and he licked the corners of his mouth hungrily, squinting in concentration. “One more touch,” he promised with a whisper. He then threw his head back and bellowed. “Finished!”

I pulled the sheets over my nudity, suddenly embarrassed. My clammy palms smeared the soft fabric with wet streaks as I wrung the material between shaky fingers. I waited for him to speak—to say anything. With pursed lips, he occasionally produced a clicking sound as his tongue bounced off of his front teeth.

I willed his words to come. But silence was the one thing I found to be the most charming of his many qualities. Without words, he couldn’t criticize me…or my newest fetish. My endeavor was safe with this almost mime.

He grunted loudly and twisted his body back and forth. A long stretch pulled him to his tiptoes as his head fell back to blow kisses at the popcorn ceiling. He lowered his gaze slowly and devoured my form from crown to toe, like a lion inspecting his prey. The deep blue of his eyes hid his thoughts, just as the ocean concealed buried treasure.

 

AUTHOR BIO:

Ishabelle Torry is a full time mother, wife and student. She enjoys time with her family, and their plethora of pets on the farm. In her spare time, she is constantly dreaming of characters and the worlds they are found in. Occasionally, Ishabelle has been known to argue with her characters and bribe them with cookies when they have a wayward moment.

You can find Ishabelle on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/IshabelleTorry

Or Follow on Twitter @ishabelletorry

Spotlight on Ember Leigh

Our second Breathless Press author today is Ember Leigh, with her new release Carlos and Casey.

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Casey hasn’t seen Carlos in four years, but a business trip brings the ex-lovers together, and the fire comes roaring to life.

Recently divorced, Casey has been longing for a man’s touch. So when business brings her back to Carlos, the one that got away, it has to be fate. Casey soon discovers the four years apart have only done him better, and soon all she can think about is having his arms, and body, wrapped around hers. But Carlos is not the same man he was four years ago. Can Casey help reignite his fire or has time left them behind?

EXCERPT:

Her breath caught as she followed him up the staircase, tucked to the far side of the house. Carlos had always been fit enough, but it looked like he’d taken up some new form of exercise in the past four years. He was beefier, yet still lean. His ass moved round and tight in front of her as they climbed the stairs. At the landing, he gestured in front of them.

“This is my studio, but it’s all yours for tonight.”

It was a rec room that took up the whole second floor, and far more standard male than the ground floor alluded to. Movie posters, gaming systems, books scattered on floors and coffee tables, and, off to one side, the trumpet, asleep in a bed of sheet music. In the corner there was an overstuffed couch just about as wide as she was long – it would be great to sleep on, even better if he could bend her over that armrest and fuck her until dinner was ready.

She cleared her throat, deciding adult friendships could be fun, even after four questionable years. “I thought I’d be sharing a bed with you?” She tried to keep her tone playful as she sauntered toward the couch. She tossed him a smile and she caught a glimpse of him looking very stricken. Shit. Too far. Things are too different now. Abort!

Maybe too much time had passed in general. Maybe he was courting a girl and wanted to take it slow with her. Maybe he no longer found her attractive, four years becoming the dagger in the heart. Maybe he’d become celibate, or found her life too normal and boring. There was a whole list of reasons why she shouldn’t make the first move.

“I was just joking,” she said after a moment, rolling her eyes. “Come on, lighten up.”

He exhaled slowly, looking down at the ground as his tongue found the corner of his mouth. “I know it was a joke, Case.”

“In case you forgot, we used to share a bed.” She looked at him pointedly, already horrified that the words were coming from her lips. What was she getting at? Who had authorized this dialogue?

He squeezed his eyes shut and laughed softly. “Oh, I remember.”

 

SONY DSC

 

Ember Leigh has been writing erotic romance novels since she was far too young.  A native of northern Ohio, she currently resides in South America with her Argentinean partner, a detail she uses to justify her Bachelor’s degree in Latin American Literature. In addition to romance novels, she also writes travel articles, maintains three blogs, and continually attempts to complete a mildly-gripping short story. In her free time, she practices Ashtanga yoga, travels the world, and eats lots of vegetables.

Spotlight on Leona Bushman

It’s Breathless Press day again, and first up is author Leona Bushman. Leona’s new release is The Midwife’s Moon.

Midwife's Moon_200x300

 

An ex-lover on trial, life as a newly formed werewolf, and a passion kindled; what’s a girl to do? Released from depraved control of a psychotic lupa, free to find his mate, and a passion kindled; what’s a man to do?

Lisa Sanchez is having a bad couple of years. She was betrayed by her lover and made into a werewolf but she’s making the best of her new life…except when it comes to love. Lisa is out of luck in that department until Lance arrives in her not-so-perfect life.

Lance Navarro once saved his mate from the clutches of his ruthless pack leader by hiding her in a rival pack. Then the packs merged and things got interesting.

Can Lisa accept that Lance is to be her new mate, and get past the betrayal of the last wolf who made promises? Can Lance protect her from the vindictive pack leader? Or will they end up sharing an early grave?

EXCERPT:

His hands started shaking, his breathing hitched, and his senses came to full alert. What’s triggered my wolf? Cautious even though he didn’t sense immediate danger, he began searching his surroundings. As his heart rate increased and a surge of sexual excitement hit him, he panicked. Had his time with Roxy made him so sick he equated danger with sex?

That can’t be right. He always feared sex with Roxy. His body reacted, but his mind never got excited. Wary now, he sniffed the air and all at once, it hit him. She was nearby. His mate. The one who didn’t know him, but he knew her wolf form. The sound of gentle laughter trickled in the wind, engorged with sadness to his ears. Melancholy he recognized, for he’d laughed like that. Laughed and smiled to hide the pain.

Now his heart restricted and plugged his ears as a roaring sound filled them. His wolf snarled within him and wanted to attack whatever caused such sadness in his mate. He walked faster, wanting a glimpse of the woman who was his mate. Still he couldn’t see her. A group of people walked ahead of him nearly to the door. She must be among them. Worried he’d lose her, he started to run, and the fear from the group escalated. They moved inside quickly with only a man turning his face to him.

Lance slowed back to a walk and went in, his shoulders hunched, hands in pockets to appear unthreatening. The warehouse, jammed from one end to the other except around the center raised half-circle, echoed with voices, shouts, anger, jealousy, and fright. He tried to pinpoint the fright as it felt so misplaced. Every wolf in here should smell the fear and react, yet only he seemed concerned.

A loud clanging in his head nearly drove him to his knees. An old-fashioned clock with metal ticking noises had taken up residence in his eardrums and did not look to be leaving any time soon. He fisted his hands in his pockets and looked around. Was he the only one who could hear the minutes counting down?

The crowd around him receded, and the noise in his eardrums became his focus. He followed his instincts and moved slowly as if in a dream. A petite woman in a black overcoat stood in front of him. He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she turned and looked at him.

Her eyes widened in shock as did his. His hand, still suspended where he’d intended to touch her to get her attention, moved up to her bronze cheek, caressing softly. The deep brown eyes gazed at him in wonder before closing up to him. He saw it as clear as day even as he told himself he imagined it. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t flinched, but she had closed down—except for the one brilliant moment when their souls met.

 

AUTHOR BIO:

Leona Bushman goes by many names but the most well-known one is superhero. She earned this name from saving a kangaroo from a tree—and yes that is as hard as it sounds. The dragons taught their queen how to write, and Queen Leona hasn’t looked back, even when her muse tries to muck things up.

She can be found goofing off and loving dragons and other creatures of the supernatural at these places:

Twitter: @L_Bushman

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorLeonaBushman

 

Passion in Print:

Murder by Succubus

 

Breathless Press:

The Ulfric’s Mate*

Ravaged, Vol 1 ~ Barely There*

Rick Sexed Up the Doc ~ Naughty Nursery Rhyme

The Captain’s Christmas ~ Cyber

Crimson, Vol 1 ~ Daryn’s Slayer **my story is an historical vamp/wolf story

Serviced, Vol 1 ~ Over A Dead Body

The Midwife’s Moon*

Down on the Farm, Vol 1 ~ The Lion, the Witch, and the Faeries

Slow Burn ~Dead Man Walking special

Ravaged, Vol 2

The Shot**

*Denotes War of the Weres

**Denotes Traincoach of Death Steampunk series

Just Ink Press:

Mayhem in Mexico ~Urban Sci-fi~ please note, this is not a romance.

 

Spotlight #2 on Monica Corwin

As I said in the first Breathless Press spotlight today, author Monica Corwin has THREE books releasing from Breathless this month! The second spotlight today is the second of those books. 

Paint the Roses Red 200x300

 

The Queen of Hearts is tasked with a mission she cannot refuse. Assassinate one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy—her former lover.

Rebecca, once called The Queen of Hearts, is the most feared assassin in the galaxy. Released from the Red Queen’s prison, she takes one last job in order to collect the bounty and flee to the edge of the verse. The cards are flipped into the air when she finds March at the end of her blade.

March, codenamed The Ace of Hearts, was Rebecca’s friend, lover, and partner. Believing her dead, he launches a revolution against the regime who took her from him five years ago.

Can she overcome the time they spent apart and the torment she endured during her incarceration to claim vengeance against those who wronged them both?

EXCERPT:

The door creaked open as if the hinges hadn’t been tended in sometime. No one had real doors anymore. Most buildings had a retractable atom field designed to recognize specific people. A real door was an unexpected novelty and made things much easier.

The main room displaying a plethora of colorful headpieces sat devoid of life. A tea room took up space in the back so she squeezed through the small opening and found a handful of tables. One man sat on a thick wood stool with a hat and a tea cup before him. He wore black clothing, and his long brown hair fell halfway down his back with a red ribbon tied in the center.

She approached carefully, intent on not startling him. No honor was served in a backstabbing, either for the victim or the killer.

He set the glass down with a clink but didn’t turn. “I’ve been expecting you.” His voice sounded deep and rich like dark, hot chocolate.

“Well, then please turn and face me like a man.”

The man stood and turned. Before her stood a ghost. Even if he’d been marked for death, she wouldn’t kill him while he wore someone else’s face.

Paint the Roses Red is available from Breathless Press.

BIO:

Monica Corwin is an outspoken writer who believes romance is for everyone no matter their preferences. Displaced in Central Pennsylvania, Monica Corwin attempts to spend her days writing away in her home by the river. In reality she chases around a toddler and writes when she can. In her free time she drinks entirely too much coffee and collects tomes on King Arthur. Monica Corwin has over thirteen published works from publishers such as Crimson Romance and Cleis Press. You can find her on the web at www.monicacorwin.com

Breathless Press 5th Birthday

 

In August, Breathless Press is turning 5!  To celebrate we are releasing a limited edition Hardcover collection of our special birthday Wonderland Tales and to make sure that you’re able to indulge in a little birthday fun, we are also having a month long 50% off sale across our site (www.breathlesspress.com).

Wonderland Tales HC Buy Link

Finally, 3 lucky winners could win prizes in our birthday giveaway through Rafflecopter!

5th Birthday Rafflecopter Giveaway

1st Prize: 1 x Limited Edition Hardcover copy of our birthda Wonderland Tales, a $20 Amazon GC and a $5 Breathless Press GC.

2nd Prize: Paperback print edition of our birthday Wonderland Tales, a $10 Amazon GC and a $5 Breathless Press GC

3rd Prize: A paperback print edition of our birthday Wonderland Tales, a $5 Amazon GC and a $3 Breathless Press GC