Saturday, April 30, 2016

Vengeance Be Mine by Louisa Lo

Book Description
Megan is a typical university student trying to figure out her place in the world, except instead of hoping to pass the bar or get into med school, she’s studying to become a licensed vengeance demon.
Nineteen-year-old Megan Aequitas is the only vengeance demon and trickster hybrid ever born. In a world where vengeance demons are respectable, rule-obsessed guardians of the Cosmic Balance, and tricksters are playful, happy-go-lucky perpetrators of chaos, being half and half is, well, tricky.

Determined to prove herself worthy of her vengeance blood, Megan enrolls in University of Demonic Studies’ prestigious co-op program. Wreaking karmic revenge on wrongdoers from cheaters to crooks sounds fun and simple, if it weren’t for the unsuspecting human roommate, Megan’s flamboyant trickster half-brothers, a changeling-raised fellow outcast, and a trio of evil wannabes. Then one assignment turns deadly when Megan discovers a plot to unleash an ancient force so authoritarian, most creatures would be deemed too unworthy to exist.

After a lifetime of being embarrassed by her trickster tendencies and striving to fit in vengeance society, Megan now has to learn to embrace both of her worlds if she wants to save them.

My Review
Meg is half vengeance demon and half trickster. That has caused her a lot of grief and discrimination among the demon community. Even her own extended family have made her feel as though she is inferior. But Meg is determined to get through vengeance university and begin her career. She hits a lot of bumps along the way and the worst of which is her half sister’s kidnapping. Now Meg has to save her sister and manage to not get herself killed.
I really enjoyed this book! I wasn’t sure what to expect since I had never heard of this author, but this story was exciting and engaging! I liked Meg and Esme. Her journey through the story was sad at times, infuriating at others, and happy at times. I was pleasantly surprised by the pace and originality of the story. It was fun to read. I give Vengeance is Mine 4 stars and definitely recommend this book!

About the Author
Louisa Lo lives in Toronto, Canada with her husband, an aristocratic cat, and more cardboard boxes than she cares to unpack. She decided to write about vigilantes, because it seems like a better life choice than trying to become one and landing herself in jail. She just has that kind of luck.

Follow Louisa Lo on Amazon, faceboo, twitter and her blog!

Monday, April 25, 2016

Melting Shadows by Rhea Rhodan

Melting Shadows
Rhea Rhodan
Genre: Romantic Suspense, with a Fantasy twist
Publisher: Rhea Rhodan
Date of Publication: March 4, 2016
ISBN: 978-1523859375
Page Count: 259 (Kindle)
Page Count: 342 (pb)
Word Count: 80K
Cover Artist: Fiona Jayde

Book Description:
When fantasy and reality collide, only love can be believed.
Shattered by a brutal attack and forced to flee, painfully withdrawn Dr. Prudence Marsh buries her emotions under numbing logic. For years, her escapes to a fantasy world created to survive her hellish past have been nothing more than a guilty pleasure. But when the host of the safe house turns out to be a dead ringer for her dream warrior, she fears she’s lost her precious mind along with everything else.
Ex-SEAL Max Delaney has been known to dabble in a hot, delicious mess—or two, or three. He has no idea how to handle a cold, sour one. Blackmailed into babysitting Dr. Marsh in his hidden bunker while she finishes a top-secret project sucks. Until he falls for her. Then it blows. Every clue Max unravels buys him more questions. Every step forward lands him two steps back, flat on his ass.
Demons past, present, and future haunt Max and Prudence as they stumble along the twisting path to love. Merciless enemies and shifting alliances drive both to desperate measures, tumbling them over the border between shadow and substance—where each must choose what, and whom, to believe.

He whispered praise in her ear, “That’s it. Now don’t you feel better?”
She shivered in response, though her hands at his back had warmed. He smiled into the fresh scent of her hair and wrapped her more tightly in his arms. She was his now; even if she didn’t know it yet.
With firm, subtle pressure, he brought her head to rest on his shoulder. Her hands tightened around him, then, finally, her body relaxed fully into his.
Her sigh was what did him in, what scrambled his brain and sent the jolt to his heart, then racing lower, hotter. He swallowed hard. Patience was suddenly a whole lot scarcer than it had been a minute ago.
The Balconies. Any one of the half dozen private patios facing the ocean would do. Each of the double doors was chaperoned by a broad back discreetly turned from the couples enjoying the seclusion they offered. It was one of the unique and best features of the club.
With experienced ease, he guided his plunder across the dance floor to the nearest unoccupied one. “You’re a bit flushed. Would you like some ocean air? The view is great.”
She blushed and murmured something indistinct he chose to take as assent. Another covert tip and nod to the bouncer—the same one who’d been at the VIP gate, still wearing the frown—and their path was clear.
The moon cast a diamond-strewn path across the water and glimmered in her depths of her eyes. He wanted to climb into that fire and stay there until Judgment Day.
After a few gulps of the salty night air, she said, “Thank you, Mr. Delane. I’m afraid the effects of the alcohol may have—”
It’s Delaney." He squeezed her hand. “Calling me Max would solve the problem, you know."
I’m still not certain I’m comfortable—”
We can’t have that. I want you very comfortable.” He kept his voice low and soothing, ran his hands up her tantalizingly bare arms to cup her face. She gasped at his touch, her eyes widened and her lips parted.
He’d meant the kiss to be subdued, a simple brushing of mouths, and that’s how it started. But he couldn’t stop what followed. Couldn’t keep his hand from gripping the back of her head; holding it at the best angle for his access; from tracing her lips with his tongue and gently opening her mouth to accept it; prevent his other hand from roaming between the cool satin of her hair and the warm silk of her dress to the swell of her sweet, tight ass; squeezing it, and pulling her close. Close enough for her to feel the rock hard extent of his hunger. Close enough for him to feel the moist heat of hers—God help him with what control he had left.
Her arms circled his waist, her delicate, surprisingly strong hands pressed into his back, stroked, pulled at him in helpless, inexperienced little tugs that made him want to push up her dress and set her on the railing, wrap those long legs around his waist, and—
Please, Delane.” The desperate ache in her plea squeezed him like a fist and echoed all the way to his toes. He shook with the effort to clamp down on his lust.
“‘Max.’ Say it, Prue. Say it and I’ll take you to paradise, sweetheart. C’mon,” he whispered it into her ear, then nipped it tenderly. Understanding why he needed that particular surrender wasn’t important, winning it was.
He slipped the hand on her ass under her dress, ran his finger under the lace of her panties, reached to stroke the hot velvet, teasing her, driving himself to the knife edge of desire.
A warning rush of overused air boxed his ears a few seconds before a shrill voice pierced them. “There you are, Max, darling! I thought this was our balcony. Remember? A couple of weeks ago we…”
Bam. Just like that, Prue froze in his arms. He opened his eyes and saw the shutters slam over hers, dousing the lighthouse, leaving him at sea in empty darkness.

About the Author:
Award-winning author Rhea Rhodan resides in Minnetonka, Minnesota. She’s been telling herself stories since long before she learned to write. She attended the University of Minnesota with a focus on Journalism, then Brown Institute for Broadcast Journalism. After many adventures, misadventures, and a couple of short marriages, she found the love of her life in Regensburg, Germany, and has been living happily ever after since.
She journaled those adventures extensively (some might say rabidly) beginning in middle school, but didn't combine her writing and story-telling until several years ago, when one of the stories grabbed her by the throat and shook her like a rag doll until she gave in and wrote it. Having tasted freedom, her muse refuses to return to the confines of her head, and has successfully turned the tables, keeping her at the keyboard to appease it.
She welcomes feedback and fan mail :>). You can join her on Facebook and Goodreads, too. Rhea is always happy to meet new friends.

For (very) occasional updates with great contests, subscribe to Rhea's newsletter on her website.

Tour Giveaway:
$50 Amazon Gift Card

Friday, April 22, 2016

The Virgin Queen by Jennifer Allis Provost

The Virgin Queen

The Chronicles of Parthalan

Book Two

Jennifer Allis Provost

Genre: Fantasy romance

Publisher: Bellatrix Press

Date of Publication: April 5, 2016

Number of pages: 300

Word Count: 100k

Cover Artist: Veronica Jones

Book Description:

A broken queen. A friendship mired in deceit. Can one man from the desert help hold the realm together?

Asherah, Queen of Parthalan and Lady of Tingu, has led her people through eight centuries of prosperity. That peace shatters when Mersgoth, the mordeth thought long dead, attacks Teg’urnan. In the aftermath a new warrior emerges: Aeolmar, a man as secretive as he is deadly.

Asherah and Aeolmar race across Parthalan in pursuit of Mersgoth, and track the beast to the High Desert. While they're gone, Harek, now Prelate of Parthalan, conspires with the Dark Fae against the elves...Against Leran, the king of the elves and Asherah's son in all but blood. Will Asherah see the truth of Harek before it's too late, or will he bring down the fae once and for all?

Chapter One

Asherah held her hand against her brow, shading her eyes against the suns as she surveyed the carnage across the plain. There had been no warning of this attack, led by the mordeths Mersgoth and Esguth, no scouts had run to the gates alerting Teg’urnan that demons had been on the move near Teg’urnan; then again, the scouts probably had been the first to die. No, yesterday had been a day like any other, almost boring in its sameness to the days that came before, until darkness fell.

Shortly after the child sun went to rest, demons had amassed before the gates, an unusual and effective tactic for creatures who shunned the darkness. It was a force Asherah hadn’t seen the like of since her army of slaves and elves, the Ish h’ra hai led by herself, Lormac, Harek and Tor, had taken the palace from Sahlgren. Since that bloody, tragic day when both Asherah’s mate and dearest friend had perished, she had led Parthalan through nearly eight centuries of peace.

Harek...the one time Teg’urnan was attacked since she took the throne, her Prelate, along with all of the con’dehr, had been away to the south. He’d been leaving the palace more often of late, and Asherah speculated that the mordeths had become aware of his frequent and extended absences. She suspected that they’d waited until the Prelate and his guards hadn’t been in residence before they moved against the palace. She wondered if Harek had been attacked, if he yet lived. She needed him alive, needed him to return, for she doubted she could set this mess to rights without him.

No, that’s not true. I just don’t want anyone else near me to die.

The queen shoved away her thoughts about Harek’s possible demise and brought her ruminations back to the prior evening. Upon the alarm’s sounding, the legion and hunters had scrambled to meet their attackers. Even the sola had emptied, with each and every nuvi grabbing the nearest weapon and mustering in defense of their home. Asherah and her First Hunter, Argent, had been among the first outside the gates. As they had called out orders, one of the mordeths, Esguth, had taken notice of Argent, and had fixated on him throughout the battle. While Esguth had baited the hunter, Asherah had shouted for Argent to keep his head, for he had been too canny a warrior to fall for a demon’s tricks. Or perhaps not. His body had yet to be found, but reports claimed that Esguth had ripped Argent to pieces.

My Prelate is gone; my First Hunter is dead. Why am I left breathing? Why Esguth had bothered singling out Argent had been a mystery to the queen. While Argent had been First Hunter, and therefore a target of all demons, she could not recall Esguth having ever having had set eyes on him. Further, Argent had gone into battle clad in simple leather armor that in no way differentiated him from the rest of the hunters. She shuddered as she remembered the look in the mordeth’s eyes, as if Argent had been his intended prey. Even now, after all the death she had seen, all the demons and men she herself had killed, the malevolence in Esguth’s stare made her blood run cold.

A herald approached Asherah and confirmed what she had been dreading: none of the hunters could be found, and each was assumed dead. As queen, Asherah felt the loss of each and every Parthian deep within her being, but her hunters were as special to her as her Ish h’ra hai had once been. It had been Caol’nir’s idea to have a team of warriors specially trained to fight demons, in much the same way he had taught her and Torim the finer points of combat. She’d wanted Caol’nir to train them himself, but he had not been swayed in his desire to create a quiet, demon-free existence for his mate. Asherah never learned where he and Alluria eventually made their home. She had honored their pact that his name be stricken from Teg’urnan’s records and never had sought them out or spoke, their names. Still, she never gave up hope that she would see them again.

Gods. If only they’d been here. Caol’nir had killed seventeen mordeths during the Battle for Teg’urnan, but the one who’d gotten away was Mersgoth. Mersgoth, the beast who had marked Caol’nir’s mate and driven them into hiding, the same beast who had led yesterday’s charge alongside Esguth. What she wouldn’t give to see that creature’s head on a pike.

The battle had suddenly ended when the demons scattered, and it was later reported that the lessers had abandoned the fight when Esguth fell. No one knew who killed the mordeth, and there was no sign of the demon’s carcass near the gates. Asherah now wended her way down the Hill of Rahlle, named for the sorcerer who’d sacrificed his sight for its creation, and across the deathly stillness of the battlefield, desperate for any sign of her hunters. She forged ahead like one possessed, ignoring the sucking noise the blood-soaked ground made against her boots.

Lormac, if ever you wished to offer your wise counsel, now is the time. Lormac would have rallied the survivors, issued orders… he would have known what to do. He had always known the right word or action; he who had been her mate, he who she’d lived without for far too long. She sighed, and wondered when she would join him. On days like this, she hoped that day would be sooner rather than later.

The queen wandered on, picking her way among the dead as the sharp incline of the Hill of Rahlle gradually leveled out to the flatness of the plain. She hadn’t realized the distance she’d covered from the palace until she spied an individual kneeling before the rocky outcrop on the far side of the plain.

Is that a survivor, or yet another demon? As she got closer she saw that it was a faerie man, kneeling with his head bent forward as if in prayer. Scattered around him, as if they’d been flung from a great sack, were the limbs and heads of demons. His back was to Asherah, but as she approached she noted his long chestnut hair, and that his jerkin looked to be blue underneath the gore...

“Aeolmar!” Asherah cried as she threw her arms around the hunter. “Aeolmar, Aeolmar, Aeolmar, I thought those beasts had killed every last hunter.” She felt his arms and back for wounds. “Are you all right?”

Aeolmar nodded slightly; Asherah assumed he was in shock. Still searching for wounds, she grabbed his hands, pausing when she saw the sword he held in a white-knuckled grip.

“This is… Is that Esguth’s weapon?” she asked incredulously. While she was aware of Aeolmar’s excellent swordsmanship, the taking a mordeth’s sword was nearly unheard of. Not even Caol’nir, arguably the greatest warrior she had ever known, had managed such a feat. She looked again at the heaps of demon limbs, and noted how one arm was so much larger than the rest. No, he couldn’t have, not alone…

“Did you kill Esguth?” Asherah asked. Aeolmar finally met the queen’s gaze, his face as unmoving as stone.

“Yes.” He glanced at the destruction he’d caused. “I killed them all.”

Asherah stood, awed and slightly frightened of this man who was able to dispatch at least a dozen lesser demons as well as the mordeth on his own. In all her days she’d only known a handful of people capable of such a feat, herself being one of them. She pulled Aeolmar to his feet, and hunter and queen began the long walk back to Teg’urnan. Aeolmar kept his free hand on the queen’s elbow as he led her around the bodies, his other hand clutching the mordeth’s sword as if one of the corpses may rear up and attack. After a time, they came upon a man’s arm clad in dark green leather, which was the last either of them saw of Argent. Once they reached the gates, they were told that the other mordeth, Mersgoth, fled the battle shortly after Esguth fell, the suspicion now confirmed by a sighting east of Teg’urnan. He had once again escaped with his hide intact.

The queen nodded, hardly hearing the detailed account of the demon’s whereabouts. Instead, she contemplated the statues of the stag and doe as they leapt toward each other over the dark iron gates of Teg’urnan. Sculpted as representations of Olluhm and Cydia, gods of the sun and moon who were parents to the Fair Folk, they were meant to honor her kind’s origin. To Asherah, the statues went far beyond a mere reminder. Olluhm was strong and his justice swift; indeed, tales were told of him setting entire realms ablaze to ensure the safety of his mate and progeny. Cydia, the calm mother goddess, tempered her fiery mate with the compassion that only a mother could possess.

For this offense there will be justice, swift and sure. Compassion be damned.

“Aeolmar, you are now my First Hunter,” Asherah proclaimed. “What is your first command?”

“Find Mersgoth and kill him,” Aeolmar replied through clenched teeth.

Asherah laced her fingers with the new First Hunter’s. This new threat would be dealt with, and Asherah wouldn’t need Harek’s help. No, she and Aeolmar—she and her First Hunter—would have their vengeance.

“As you wish.”


Harek stood in front of the large window, his hands braced on the ledge and surveying the valley before him as if it were his own private kingdom. Indeed, these past few winters he’d spent far more time at this southern residence than in the palace, so much so that he’d had a full manor built to accommodate himself and his con’dehr. They’d spent much of the cold season at this home away from home, he and his warriors and no others. There was the occasional complaint over the lack of women, but generally the men bore their isolation well, and Harek needed no reminders of Asherah.

Many speculated as to why Parthalan’s Prelate took such frequent leaves from Teg’urnan, though few dared to ask him directly. Officially, he stated that since the old king had hidden away in the south while plotting with the mordeth-gall, there was a dire need to secure the region against further threats. That had been reason enough for his presence, but then a routine sweep had revealed a fissure at the desert’s edge, belching the all too familiar stench of demons. It wasn’t large, perhaps the length of three horses standing nose to tail, but its small size had mattered not. Whether by accident or design, there had been a crack in the very fabric of Parthalan that lead directly to the underworld.

“So this is why he went south,” Asherah had said when she was told of the fissure, assuming that the source of Sahlgren’s betrayal had been at last revealed. Against Harek’s advice, she had journeyed to look at it with her own eyes, though he hadn’t let her get too close to the edge. Back then, in the early days of Asherah’s reign, she still had worn the Sala, the armband given to her by Lormac that marked her as Lady of Tingu. The four green stones of the Sala had glowed an ominous red to warn her away from the evil sludge that oozed from the crack. Trust the elves to make an object that warned you of impending evil when you were right in front of said evil, not when you were still a league or two off. Foolish, foolish creatures.

No matter, Harek would worry about the elves another day. It had taken nearly a full turn of the seasons to close the fissure, which had first been first packed with rock and assorted rubble, and then with dressed stone as masons fit together an impenetrable wall of granite. Once the masons had completed their work, the royal sorcerers, under Sarfek’s direction, had woven a net of spells tightly around the stones. When all was said and done, the area looked like an ordinary hillside, not a gaping chasm where evil once spilled forth.

Harek had never doubted Sarfek’s abilities, and had been confident that the seal was sound. Life had gone on in Teg’urnan, and as time wore on the queen wore the Sala less and less. Eventually the fog of despair had lifted from Asherah’s sparkling black eyes, and those dark gems had settled upon a man. His name had been Brendan, and he was one of the warriors who’d fought in the Battle for Teg’urnan. He had been a kind man, strong and swift and handsome, a man who made Asherah smile again. A man who wasn’t Harek.

Unable to voice his despair, Harek had made up the excuse of ensuring that the fissure hadn’t reopened and fled Teg’urnan before the sight of Asherah in Brendan’s arms drove him mad. As time continued to flow, Harek stopped citing the fissure as the reason for his long absences, and Asherah stopped questioning him. He wondered if she noticed when he wasn’t there.

Soon, things will be different. Soon, Asherah and I will be close like we once were, and—

A commotion in the courtyard below interrupted Harek’s thoughts. It was a messenger wearing Teg’urnan’s silver and blue colors tumbling off a horse that looked as if it would collapse in the next moment. The messenger gasped his missive between breaths, then crumpled to the ground. Harek turned from the window and rushed toward the stairs; his warriors were already running to fetch him. It was Olwynn who spoke, his face bloodless.

“Teg’urnan has been attacked!”

About the Author:

Jennifer Allis Provost writes books about faeries, orcs and elves. Zombies too. She grew up in the wilds of Western Massachusetts and had read every book in the local library by age twelve. (It was a small library). An early love of mythology and folklore led to her epic fantasy series, The Chronicles of Parthalan, and her day job as a cubicle monkey helped shape her urban fantasy, Copper Girl. She lives in a sprawling colonial along with her beautiful and precocious twins, a dog that thinks she's a kangaroo, a parrot, a junkyard cat, and a wonderful husband who never forgets to buy ice cream. She spends her days drinking vast amounts of coffee, arguing with her computer, and avoiding any and all domestic behavior.

Connect with Jennifer at

Twitter: @parthalan

Tour giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Thursday, April 21, 2016

The Para-Portage of Emily by Muffy Wilson

award winning bestselling author
Muffy Wilson

The Para-Portage of Emily (Shadow Seduction Series Book 1)
Available for purchase
Amazon Links
Also at
Emily Macque, a young, beautiful junior partner in her father’s law firm, is but a heartbeat away from love or destiny. Duty brings Emily to a frozen Island estate two hundred and fifty miles north of Chicago. Devotion requires she delve into the property history to settle an estate probate. Death lures her into the arms of the shadows seduction created by the flickering light and dark shadows.

What flames the timeless passions spanning the decades? Love, desire or obsession?

Colin Jorgenson, once a Great Lakes mariner, is a strong man haunted by love and loss. How long will he return each night, gripped by desire, hoping to find the woman he has loved for a century?

Beneath the pristine Island beauty, passions hungered, lingered in the ardent darkness. His passions, fueled by decades of loneliness and longing, could no longer be denied. Will they face eternity together or love in secret as dark things are to be loved between the shadows and the soul?
Reviewed by Trisha Dawn for Readers' Favorite

It all started with death. Emily Macque's Uncle John died and she was sent by her father's law firm to handle his probate, personal affairs, and summer estate. She was also sent there to rest as she was recently diagnosed with a heart condition. Such is the beginning of Muffy Wilson's The Para-Portage of Emily. Emily's stay was supposed to be uneventful. However, as she dug deeper, she uncovered more than what was normal. Muffy Wilson wrote about a love which transcends time. In the Para-Portage of Emily, this love was put under scrutiny and was explained thoroughly.

The novel was exquisitely done. It was written with such grace that even when it took time to uncover all the mysteries, it was worth it in the end. The dialogues were cleanly written, too. This was a book I had the pleasure of savoring. How Muffy Wilson wrote it will give readers the right feel. The sensitive details were written with such grace that it didn't sound too much. In terms of the characters, they were like real life people. They were suitable for the story and not out of place. As far as I'm concerned, I'm in love with Emily. In addition to that, I was torn between Colin and Cooper. Overall, I think The Para-Portage of Emily is a wonderful, seductive read. It's definitely a page-turner. If you are a fan of romance, this book is an indulgence. It was mine.

Reviewed by Angelica Berglund on Amazon

This book is just brilliant and so damn good. I was hooked in the story within a few pages and I just couldn't stop reading the book. It was impossible to put it down once I had started. The story is very well written and unfolds very nicely for the reader. It drags you in and keeps you spellbound.
Their is a nice mix between paranormal, romance and mystery in the book and you can see that Muffy Wilson combines them very well in this book. I must say that just the way of combining things into one book is what makes this book so good. It is not just pure anything, but more than pure awesome.

I like how the story is told and how the book is written. The style and tone is very well done and the tone of the language and how the language is used to drag the reader in, is what makes the book so good. Emily is also a very entertaining character that I like a lot and at first I was unsure about her but the more I got to know her the better I liked her. The character development and how they grow and change in the book is also very nice and very well done. You can see the character changing and growing in the story and how they react to things in the story to a good way.

This is a must to read book because it is very well written with a very good storyline that is easy to follow, but still gives you surprises. I just LOVE, LOVE, LOVE this book!

See More of the 31 Reviews that have earned 'Emily' a top rating on Amazon. Click here!
The Official Trailer for The Para-Portage of Emily by Muffy Wilson. Designed and produced by Book Candy Studios. Published by Secret Cravings with cover design by Dawné Dominique. Enjoy!

'Game of Love'
“My darling…how I have missed you. While you were away today, my love, I thought of little else but you. I wrote to you. Let me read to you what I wrote…
There is a captivating sort of magical look in your eyes that tells me there are a few surprises lurking within that beautiful brain—and mayhap, those loins—of yours.

It is the kind of look that invites me to step closer, much closer, until we are touching
but not touching; just sort of "feeling" each other's presence.

My face hovers so close to your own and our eyes are not just locked into each other but more magnetically drawn, like moonbeams.

I reach up and brush the side of your face with my hand,

and your face is so close I can feel the warmth rising from you.

I keep my eyes on yours as long as the connection will last and then

I lean down and gently, ever so gently, brush my lips on yours.

It is positively electric and without noticing our bodies are suddenly pressed fully against each other pushing with a sense of urgency and need.

Our mouths press together and tongue seeks tongue,

warmth seeks warmth and need seeks need…

We kiss for what seems like forever or perhaps just an instant,

but who really knows…

Things happen for reasons, good reasons we have no business questioning or comprehending…

Here. Now. I want you…

I want to look into those mischievous eyes and see them soften with desire.

I want to look up at your face from my explorations of your velvet folds and see a look of complete passionate surrender overtake you.

I want to feel my touch move you to places we can only explore together…

I want you to sit astride me, so I can look up at you.

And I want you to ride me to the edge of the abyss, where we both hover,

hang in that sweet incalculable moment;

that moment of wanting to tumble over, to plummet, but wanting even more to NOT…

to have it last, as long as we can stand it,

there on the edge of cataclysmic satisfaction,

but holding it off, and holding it, and holding it, and….

I can't wait for when you finally gasp and sob and

your body spasms and lurches and you fall against my chest,

our bodies pushed together in the heat and the fertile humidity

and your hair cascades across my face and I breathe you in;

I breathe US in, rich, earthy, the smell of fresh baked bread, or just uncorked champagne.

Us, yes, us; our smell, our wonderful particularly unique aroma.

It is to be loved,

my darling,

it is for the loving of you…

It stays with me, my love, it stays with me…
“Come with me, my love, come. Let me show you the depth of my passion, the breadth of my yearning, the hunger I bear for only you in this, our game of love.”

“Colin, beloved…it is no game to me, for you are my life, my breath, my heartbeat.”

The woman rose to her petite height in her buttoned high-heeled boots tight at her small ankles. She was dressed in a broad skirt cinched tightly at the waist with a wide leather belt. Her blouse was broad and blouson with a cascading lace flurry, pinned by a jewel-encrusted cameo, from her small neck down. She wore a short-waisted, scalloped jacket, collarless, a single button under her ample bodice, sporting three-quarter sleeves which exposed an explosion of lace ruffles at the cinched wrists of the blouse beneath. Her wild auburn hair was tied up in ribbons and curls which he released with a mere tug on a single velvet end. The red-hued ringlets of silken curls fell around her shoulders to her back and breasts. The soft wisps of curls framed the beauty that was her face and her eyes softened with love and desire.

“Disrobe, Amalya, here before the fireplace, in the moonlight and heat of our love. Take the shackles which separate us off one by beautiful one and leave them in a puddle of cotton and gabardine at your feet. Leave but the pearls that adorn your earlobes and neck and let them pale in your shadow.”

“Colin, you flatter me so, but I adore it and would never deny your wishes. Here, sit in your chair, by Puppy, and I shall dance for you by firelight, moonlight and God’s light. For our love is a love that is pure and true. I waited my entire life for you to claim me as your own. I will not deny myself the pleasures of your desires—nor mine.”
Amazon Links
Also at
Muffy, likened in style to one of the Bronte sisters and Anne Rice,

is an award winning bestselling author of provocative romance about love, sex, hope and passion. An American author of the popular Shadow Seduction Series (a paranormal love story) and the Ribbons of Moonlight Series (a contemporary romance), she has penned a dozen other books and anthology collections.

Muffy was born in Texas to traditional parents. With two older brothers, she was the youngest, the family "princess," indulged and pampered. Her father was a career Colonel and pilot in the U.S. Air Force which required the family to travel extensively. Muffy spent her formative years in Europe and 'came of age' in France which forged her joie de vivre and love for books and writing. Married and living in the tropical paradise of SW Florida along the Gulf Coast, Muffy writes and enjoys life in the sun with her husband and wee Havanese pup, Burt.

Join Muffy's mailing list to get the scoop on her new releases and special promotions at

Follow her on Facebook at or / and on Twitter at @SexyMuffyWilson.

Muffy also blogs daily here:

~ Contact Muffy at ~
Live, Laugh, Love with Passion
'The Para-Portage Of Emily'
Consenting Hearts: A Very Special Valentine

Details: PURCHASE The Para-Portage of Emily and send us a Proof-of-purchase(Can be email confirmation, screen shot or another proof as long as it is legible)to from a valid email account. We will send you a link to claim a FREE copy of Consenting Hearts: A Very Special Valentine!
The First Ten Emails Get It, So Don't Delay!!
It's that easy!!!

Please Follow The Tour, you never know what may be waiting at each stop!.
See Them Live by date

This Tour Is Brought To You
By Rukia Publishing Book Promotions

Enter To Win With Rukia!
We have linked up with
Lock Publishing!
Visit Us at Lock Publishing
for details on how you can