April 7 2008 Eternal Press (eBook)
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What do you do when a friend needs to escape an abysmal marriage and an ironclad prenup? Set up her hairy-eared husband with an affair, of course. What do you do when word of your success leaks out to other miserable, divorce-minded wives? Make a business out of seduction.
When Dom, Ridelle, and Twyla manage to whisk Frannie away from her crappola marriage, they think they've got all the makings for a grand seduction scheme. But when a client has second thoughts in the form of a bullet, the women discover that if the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, questionable intentions lead somewhere even worse.
Frannie stood in Bruce's office, him seated behind the oversized desk like the CEO of a Fortune 500. Why did men surround themselves with obscenely large things? Obsessing over bigger motors, bigger processors, bigger televisions...a penis thing, no doubt. In which case, it seemed that men like Bruce would prefer to downsize (Hell, micronize) their possessions so as to make their own appendage more favorable by comparison.
"I really don't have time for this now," he was saying. "Perhaps you could schedule your raving paranoia for a time when I'm not expecting an important overseas call?"
In reply, she slapped a pile of photographs down on a manila folder in front of him. "Fine. Just thought maybe you'd like to replace the digital slideshow on your desk with these."
His face went white as he scanned the top photo; by the last Bruce Myers had turned a sickly shade of gray. "How did you..."
"...get these?" She crossed her arms under a plunging white neckline designed to give him an eyeful of what he'd no longer be mauling. "Wasn't easy, considering you cut off my ability to retain a private investigator. Luckily, there are those willing to give generously to the 'Save Fran From Her Slimebag Husband' fund."
He grabbed the photos off the desk and rose, tucking them into the inner breast pocket of his charcoal suit. She shrugged at the gesture. "You're welcome to those--they're just copies."
"And if I told you they aren't what they look like?"
Fran tossed strawberry locks behind her as she laughed. "Then I'd say save your foul breath, because you're the world's worst liar. Ridelle already confessed. To everything."
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
January 30 2007 Draumr Publishing
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Actor Trenton Dane is researching his next role when he bumps into a beautiful stranger...and suddenly develops psychic powers. Glory Windsor is a psychic intent on losing her "gift"--and the traumatic consequences her abilities have caused.
When his enchanting benefactor disappears before he can so much as learn her name, Trenton must come to grips with his growing new power, and launch a search for the sultry woman who haunts his dreams. Will he succeed in time to fulfill steamy premonitions of a passionate encounter--and to save Glory and her child from certain danger?
The feel of his eyes drew her attention back to the table.
“Dance with me.”
Her gaze wandered across the room to the dance floor. A small
band of photographers had gathered around its parquet edge like
animals around a watering hole, snapping shots of Kylie Kate
Rossi, James Fine, and other big names who were undulating in
graceful movements only the Beautiful People could master.
“But it seems so...public out there.”
He threw his head back in a belly-warming whoop of laughter
and she smiled at the sound of it, despite herself. “That’s the
trouble with public places, isn’t it? The public’s often in them.”
With that, he slid himself off the chair, grabbing her by the hand
as he did so.
Before she could protest, he pulled her up against him,
beginning a slow swaying dance despite the up tempo beat.
Whereas she might have talked her way out of a dance while still
seated, once they were pressed together she lost the will to do
anything other than melt against him. The contact was electrifying,
causing them both to suck in a breath as she swept into his arms.
The music pounding in her ears–-or was that her heartbeat?–-
the feel of his hips swaying back and forth, and the proximity of
other parts of him through the thin material of her skirt produced
a hypnotic effect. She felt mesmerized, like a snake bobbing
and weaving under the sway of its charmer. Beyond the river
of attraction flowing through her veins rushed that undercurrent
of...connection between them, a sense of intuiting his feelings,
emotions, desires. Her mind tuned into his with slow revelation,
until she heard every sinew of his being cry out for her, and hers
sigh back in response. She felt their pulses join, unifying in a
Feeling powerless to break contact and step out of the moment,
she swirled inside this realm of shared need, allowing it to fill
her. The more she swayed inside the trance, the deeper inside his
emotions she could see, until she knew he somehow saw inside
Madonna’s song tumbled along, declaring that Glory had
found a piece of heaven. Not that this required explanation.
“Glory.” His voice was suffused with breathless wonder. “This
He paused, the fervent whisper tickling her mouth alerting
her to the fact that their lips were now only a hair’s breadth apart.
Just when her knees were about to crumble from the powerful
sorcery weaving between them, he increased it tenfold by doing
He kissed her.
December 2007 Eternal Press (eBook)
Story Contributions: The Christmas Present/Sindarella
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Twists on old favorites that are red hot, sweet, and scary...and not necessarily in that order. Not your grandmother's fairy tales!
SINDARELLA: Sinda Ella has a bone to pick with the folks who screwed up her story with silly glass slippers and sweet fairy godmothers--and she might just use her fangs to do it.
THE CHRISTMAS PRESENT, Lisa's award-winning time travel fantasy. Ted's Christmas gift offers him something shocking--one chance to turn back time and reclaim lost love.
"You are truly trapped here forever?"
A lump formed in my stomach. "As long as I live."
"Not the same as forever."
"'Tis in all the ways that matter."
"Perhaps. Perhaps not."
Mikkhail pulled a vial from his pocket, drinking a few drops. Then he murmured undecipherable words.
"You asked of my power. I will tell you." He was within inches, tall enough to raise my head to his gaze. "Then, I will help you."
He pressed an icy finger to my lips. "I am not... of this world. No longer mortal. This is my power," he bent as if to press his lips to my neck. "The power to set you free."
I swayed, eyes fluttering at the sensual breeze stirring. I wanted his kiss, and more. I meant to give him everything. The damp, leafy underbed would be where I divorced my maidenhood.
Then, something in his words struck. I pushed away. "How will I win my freedom, exactly?"
The smile returned. "By making you like me."
The smile widened and I saw them--two pointed teeth, one on either side.
THE CHRISTMAS PRESENT EXCERPT:
Setting his hands on the mantle on either side of the piece, he bent down to get a closer look. The star did seem to be glowing, and getting brighter at that. The longer he stared, the brighter the light grew until his eyes watered from the brilliance. A sudden flash exploded the light into a kaleidoscope of color and whirling patterns, and Ted felt himself being swept away.
Swirling into the kaleidoscope, the darkness took him.
* * * *
A loud pop startled Ted awake. Logs in the fireplace sizzled and crackled in protest over the roaring flames.
Flames? The thought sat him straight up. He hadn't started a fire. He'd barely gotten home to wrap the globe. . .
The globe that was now missing, along with the rest of his living room. In its place was a cozy, wood-paneled cabin he had never seen before. Bedsprings groaned beneath him as he pushed aside a colorful quilt and got to his feet. Where am I? he wondered silently. Am I dreaming?
"No, you're not dreaming," boomed a friendly voice. A short slip of a man with laughing eyes and ebony hair regarded him from an armchair across the room.
"H-how did you know what I was thinking?"
The other man shrugged. "Didn't. But they all say it."
Ted strode to the center of the room. "Who are you?"
The stranger set down a newspaper on the table beside him and rose. From the bottom of his sole to the tip of his knit cap he stood not an inch taller than five-foot-two. "Phineas C. Cottle, Ted. Folks just call me Finn."
"You know my name?"
Finn chuckled. "Oh yes, and a great deal more, friend. It's all here, plain as plaid."
He handed Ted the newspaper he'd been reading. His eyes widened. "Hey, that's me!"
His picture was on the front page. And the next. And the one after that. In fact, the entire paper appeared to be a detailed history of his life: parents, school, jobs, everything.
"This is nuts. This," he waved the paper at Finn, "is not real. And neither are you."
October 2007 Eternal Press (eBook)
Story Contribution: The Witch's Reverend
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A diverse collection of stories involving one common theme: dire consequences. This series of red hot bedtime stories have paranormal twists guaranteed to keep your eyes open!
God had mercy for most sinners, but Rodmilla's deeds blackened her soul with an oily stain even the Blood of the Lamb could not redeem. Her lust to wield godlike power blasphemed the Holy Spirit Itself. Her magicks and incantations were designed to lure men into a dance of perverse pleasure, writhing and undulating like snakes; and she their hell-bound charmer.
What evil did she seek to bring here? It could only be a mission of vital desperation, no doubt. Nothing less could be worth withstanding the torture of sitting in this holy place. Obliged to cast the wolf from his flock, Tom considered calling her out in full witness of the congregation. Discretion won out, however, leaving him to push through parishioners after the sermon ended to discover why this child of Lucifer had come. Billowing crimson skirts trailed behind as Rodmilla hastened to escape the confines of chapel walls.
Boot heels clicked as Tom hastened his step, finding her already down the steps by the time he reached the doorway. "Do you repent of your sins?" he called.
The woman stopped on the road, a small cloud of dust swirling up around her supple frame. But she did not reply.
"Do you repent?" he repeated. Beads of sweat prickled his neck. "For all those who believe--and truly repent--have His forgiveness."
She turned at this, a sickly smile cooling his blood like a bag of ice around the neck. "God is not in this place."
He descended the steps, brittle planks creaking in protest as if reluctant for him to leave. "Don't blaspheme the Father, Witch. If you've come to His house for forgiveness, fall on your knees here and now and repent--body, mind, and soul. Otherwise, leave and do not return."
Her laughter chafed at his sense of duty. "Your Lord does not forgive me, nor you. I cannot repent. But I will return."
November 2007 Eternal Press (eBook)
Story Contribution: A Nurse, Forever
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Murder, mayhem, and the macabre wind through a series of tales launching readers from the innermost crevices of sinister minds to the vast reaches of outer space.
Amelia had barely gotten to her feet when another, more urgent alarm joined the monitor's. A Code Blue button had been pressed. The quiet erupted in a frenzy as staff lept into action. For the second time that day, the dreaded overhead page resounded in her ears: "Code Blue, Unit Three West."
Staff sprinted up the hallway, pens and loose change jangling in pockets, everyone checking the indicators above each doorway to find one with the telltale flashing blue light. Amelia, however, felt rooted to her spot. She managed to turn her head to confirm what she knew in her gut. The light flashed over room Twenty. Another twist of her head showed the clock on the wall. 2155.
As suddenly as her frozen posture had come it melted, giving way to an insatiable need to enter that room. Taking long strides, she ducked inside to find that several staff members, rather than leaving when they found the room deserted, had affixed themselves to the walls. One nurse was trying to silence the Code Blue button, which stubbornly refused to be extinguished. All eyes in the room were wide.
Though the other staff avoided it, Amelia walked to the center of the room and stood by the bed. It must have been right here, on this spot...Her skin prickled with electricity; the hair on her arms stood on end. Having grown up in severe storm territory, she'd have sworn lightning was about to strike where she stood. The bitter cold in the room was so palpable she exptected to see her breath.
A feeling of danger snaked its way up Amelia's spine, and she started to back away. Suddenly, she was seized by overwhelming terror. Barraged with powerful emotions, the sensation sucked her into a vortex like wind through a tunnel. Intense pain stabbed through her chest and she was unable to draw breath. The room swam in darkness the shade of a black, starless night.
An echoing choir of anguished voices, sobs, and moans thronged through her mind.