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RED SAGE PUBLISHING, INC. :: * * * PAPERBACK :: SECRETS VOLUME 17 EROTIC NIGHTS Calista Fox, Kathy Kaye, Ellie Marvel, Kathleen Scott (Paperback)
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SECRETS VOLUME 17 EROTIC NIGHTS Trade Paperback Copyright © KATHY KAYE, KATHLEEN SCOTT, ELLIE MARVEL, CALISTA FOX, 2006 All Rights Reserved, RED SAGE PUBLISHING, INC. REVIEWS SECRETS VOLUME 17 - Stories so sizzling hot, they will burn your fingers as you turn the pages. Enjoy! ~~~Virginia Henley - New York Times Best Selling Author "Rock Hard Candy" by Kathy Kaye. In New Orleans, she has patiently waited for Alex to recognize that they are soulmates, but though he buys one double latte and a chocolate éclair from her almost everyday he fails to recognize that Jessica is the one for him. No longer willing to wait, she adds a love potion concoction that made an ancestor famous as a voodoo queen in the gooey center of his pastry. She succeeds, but fears what will happen when the potion finally leaves his system. "Fatal Error" by Kathleen Scott. Jesse knows his brainchild, a computer program, has taken control over every walk of life especially the government. He realizes he must destroy his program before the storm he created devastates everything. When he meets up with Soran, he realizes he still loves her as he did back in college together. He vows to die to keep her safe from his creation, not realizing she always loved him too. "Birthday" by Ellie Marvel. Just turned thirty-three, Jasmine decides this is night she will have sex. She knows who her choice is, her pal Charlie. "Intimate rendezvous" by Clista Fox. Someone is stalking Cassandra, owner of the exclusive nightclub Rendezvous. Private investigator Dean is hired to protect her and to uncover the identity of the culprit. However, he has his issues as he wants Cassandra with a passion he has never felt before. These are four erotic romances (duh -- this Secrets) starring likeable couples who sub-genre fans will want to see how the women seduce the men of their dreams. ~~~Harriet Klausner - REVIEWS 5.0 out of 5 stars Erotic Nights (Secrets Volume 17) This book is hot! hot! hot! Secrets Volume 17 will make women remember what it is like to be desired. This is a real page turner. Kathy Kaye, with "Rock Hard Candy" starts it out and Calista Fox closes it with Intimate Rendezvous. My heart pounded through the entire volume. This was another good one by Red Sage Publishing...... ~~Patricia Curtis - AMAZON SECRETS VOLUME 17 - Kathy Kaye, Kathleen Scott, Ellie Marvel & Calista Fox 4 STARS! Voodoo spells, sci-fi, sex clubs and dating services lay the tracks for scorching sex and hot romance in Red Sage’s Secrets Volume 17. Readers who have clamored for more Secrets will love the mix of alpha and beta males as well as kick-butt heroines who always get their men. SUMMARY: Candy gets you more than cavities in Kaye’s “Rock Hard Candy.” Sugar melts as the temp rises when Alex meets his match in voodoo princess Jessica and they discover you can do more than cook in the kitchen. Accountant Soran and computer programmer Jesse go on the run when a pc virus and a missing keyboard have Big Brother looking for them in Scott’s “Fatal Error.” A girl just wants to have fun in Marvel’s “Birthday,” but Jasmine finds more than she bargains for when the man of her dreams picks her in a sex club. P.I. Dean cases a dating service on his latest assignment and finds the owner to be the stuff all his fantasies are made of in Fox’s “Intimate Rendezvous.” ~~~Faith V. Smith - ROMANTIC TIMES INTIMATE RENDOZVOUS BY CALISTA FOX REVIEWS INTIMATE RENDOZVOUS by Calista Fox Rating: 4.5 Dean Hewitt is private investigator that is looking for a thief. When he goes to club Rendezvous and meets the owner Cassandra Kensington, he has serious doubts if the club is as she explains it to be. One thing is certain; he can’t ignore the feelings that come to life when he looks at Cassandra. Can he protect her from the person who wants her dead, or will he lose her before he can tell her how he feels? INTIMATE RENDOZVOUS has a dark quality to it. A thief lurking in the darkness waiting to kill an unsuspecting victim, sounds like something straight out of a horror movie. Of course, there has to be a hero and he comes in the hunky form of Dean. Determined to find out the truth and stop and killer, Dean is the sexy PI in charge of the case. Cassandra is the owner of Rendezvous and woman who has made her own way for quite some time. Decadent pleasures and sizzling love scenes are abundant and readers will find themselves caught up in a fascinating whirlwind of action and passion. Calista Fox is quickly making a name for herself in the erotic romance genre and with sensational tales like this one it’s easy to see why. ~~~Angel - romancejunkies.com TO MY READER Intimate Rendezvous is my second Secrets novella. Following my first release in July ’06, I discovered how devoted Secrets fans are, and I have enjoyed meeting so many of you online and in person. You are the reason why I strive to make each story better than the last one. While I continue to learn the importance of striking a balance between adventure and sensuality, and making every word count, I try to remember that at the heart of every good story is a bone-deep love between the hero and the heroine. It’s hard to capture that love sometimes, particularly when our own lives are in turmoil. But I hope you feel the love Dean and Cassandra share, and I hope you enjoy their story. EXCERPT FROM INTIMATE RENDOZVOUS Chapter One Talk about looking for love in all the wrong places, Dean Hewitt thought as he passed through the tall metal doors of The Rage. It took mere seconds for his eyes to adjust to the hypnotic flashing of the multi-colored lights as he made a quick sweep of his immediate surroundings. It took a bit longer for his ears to adjust to the decibel level of the band’s amplifiers. Once acclimated, Dean stepped further inside the nightclub and let the sights, sounds and smells assault his senses, something he always did when entering a foreign environment. Dean had relied on his gut instincts and quick mental assessments when he’d been a part of the New York police force for five years. Those valuable traits had continued to serve him well over the past year, as he’d made the transition to private investigator. The Rage was a trendy Upper West Side bar that showcased the hottest bands on the circuit, or at least that’s what it stated on the flyer he’d been handed when he’d walked in. He dropped the flashy advertisement on a table as he stealthily moved through the throng of people. The décor of The Rage was an eclectic collision of art deco and industrial styles, with black furniture, glowing sapphire blue accents and stainless steel fixtures. Though Manhattan-chic, the club was a bit on the wild side. The rock and roll music blared loud enough to make his teeth rattle. Had Cathy really said she’d been here last night? Though the nightclub was neither seedy nor disreputable looking, Dean couldn’t help but wonder if his little sister’s quest for a husband had taken a turn for the worst. This didn’t seem like her style. She generally preferred a more upscale dating scene. Then again, playful Cat was always full of surprises. She was a fun-loving girl and a bit of a chameleon, capable of transforming herself from Upper East Side socialite to Midtown trend-setter with a change of wardrobe and hair color. This week, she sported fiery red curls and leather miniskirts. Last week, she’d been a sleek brunette in Versace. She changed her mind like the wind changed direction, and she could even be considered a bit flighty. But Cat had the biggest heart of anyone he knew. She possessed a free-spirit and a passionate nature. The passion du jour, it would seem, was to have a good time with a heavy-metal head-banger at The Rage. Mentally shaking his head at his younger sister’s curious choice of Friday night haunts, Dean sidled up to the bar. He wedged himself between a Kid Rock look-a-like and a young gal who’d applied an excessive amount of makeup to her pretty face in what he suspected was an attempt to conceal her age. His gut instinct told him she either hadn’t been carded by the burly bouncer out front or she was carrying a fake ID. He wanted to check it himself, but that was no longer his gig. He’d left the police force to pursue his own path, preferring the more intriguing cases he took on as a P.I. versus the routine work he’d engaged in as a department detective. The endless piles of paperwork had bored him senseless. He’d longed to be out on the street, tracking down bad guys, not saddled to his desk filling out reports. So he’d struck out on his own, much to his parents’ dismay. They hadn’t embraced his choice of career after he’d graduated from law school with honors, and they still weren’t too keen on the path he continued to follow. But Dean had finally found work that satisfied him. During his first year in business for himself, he’d helped the FBI to break up an international art theft ring, located two missing persons, and recovered nearly a million dollars in stolen jewelry for a popular Broadway actress. Dean hadn’t had much trouble finding exciting cases to occupy his time this past year. He had a good reputation, and it continued to grow with the successful conclusion of each case he was involved with. He’d finally found his true calling. Resting an arm on the stainless steel bar, Dean caught the bartender’s attention. The lean-muscled, blonde-haired guy looked as though he’d walked right off the stage at a rock concert. He wore black leather pants and a black sleeveless T-shirt that said, quite simply, Shut Up. “I’m looking for Slider,” Dean announced over the bass-thumping music, thinking the nickname of the latest perp he was chasing sounded completely absurd. Maybe the kid was a Top Gun fanatic. He’d used the alias with Cat, who hadn’t even known her designer wallet had been lifted until she’d gotten home. The bartender made a quick assessment of him. Dean’s relatively clean-cut visage helped the other man to deduce he wasn’t a patron but a cop--or some derivative thereof. The bartender’s gaze turned to minimal interest. “No one I know. My cousin might’ve heard of him, though.” He inclined his head toward the entrance. “Upstairs.” Dean gave a curt word of thanks before backing away from the bar and fighting the crowd once again. His first order of business was to locate this Slider fellow--he’d helped himself to all of Cat’s high-limit credit cards. The second order of business was to take her in for a lobotomy. He fought his way through the sea of bodies, back to the entrance of the nightclub and into the softly lit, small foyer of the contemporary building that housed The Rage. Earlier, he’d noticed the black wrought iron spiral staircase that led upstairs, but he’d dismissed it as leading to a second-floor office or apartment. Now he took note of the signage painted discreetly on the far wall, which read “Rendezvous” in elegant script. It was accompanied by a curvy arrow that pointed upward with a flourish. Dean could only imagine what he’d find at the top of the stairs. A bar that was even rowdier than The Rage? Perhaps one teeming with illegal activity? His P.I. instincts kicked into high gear and a shot of adrenaline got his pulse racing just a bit quicker. He loved a good mystery. As he ascended the winding staircase, Dean knew he should be a bit bent out of shape that he was spending his vacation working on a case. It was, after all, the first full week he’d taken off since opening Hewitt Investigations. He wondered now if the reason he’d opted not to leave town was for fear of missing out on any action. He’d been resigned to catching up on some reading and maybe spending a couple of days doing target practice, but then Cat had called this morning to borrow money, something she never did. In addition to their own personal funds, they both had ample family money. So while Cat really didn’t have an occupation to speak of, she never lacked for money. Their father kept her account well padded. It had taken a stern interrogation for Dean to learn Cat had been robbed the night before. He’d loaned her three hundred bucks so she could enjoy lunch and shopping with her friends in SoHo, but the money came with a stipulation. He wanted a description of the thief and an exact accounting of what had transpired from the time she’d met Slider until the time she’d discovered her wallet had gone missing. In typical Cat fashion, she’d given feeble information at best. But it was still enough for Dean to work with. As he reached the landing at the top of the stairs and traveled down a narrow hallway, the raucous din of The Rage slowly faded away, to be replaced by more enticing sounds. He pushed his way through a set of heavy metal doors, covered with a tufted layer of thick, dark red velvet. He drew up short, taken aback. It took a lot to throw Dean off kilter, but what he discovered at Rendezvous did just that. Disappointment registered first. So much for the tawdry, secret backroom he’d hoped to uncover. Instinct told him he’d be hard-pressed to find illegal activity in this place. Instead, Rendezvous was a stylish, upscale wine bar. Not at all the sort of establishment he’d expect to be housed in the same building with The Rage. As he contemplated the scene, a sultry Jazz tune met his ears. Soft, enticing scents he couldn’t even begin to identify, but which stirred his senses nonetheless, wafted under his nose. Slowly, relief washed over him as Dean realized this was the club Cat had visited last night, not the MTV video set downstairs. Phew. He could scratch Cat’s lobotomy off his To Do list. The warm, inviting ambience of the lounge immediately drew him in. Though it was a large club, it felt cozy and intimate. The layout was a maze of nooks and private alcoves. Crescent-shaped sofas and high-backed, comfortable-looking chairs, all covered with crimson-colored, velvet upholstery, were strategically placed throughout the lounge. Coffee and end tables helped to create a living room-like setting. The diffused lighting added to the intimate atmosphere. The high-traffic areas were illuminated with a romantic, yellowish glow. The rest of the club was cast in a mixture of flickering candlelight and dancing shadows. Dean’s gaze swept the room. Toward the back of the lounge were tall bistro tables with barstools around them, along with two elegant, custom-made pool tables. Stretched along the back wall was a massive mahogany bar, as ornately designed as the pool tables. Dean headed in that direction, taking in the erotic scents and the seductive atmosphere along the way. He passed attractive women draped provocatively over the wide arms of chairs and sofas, their soft, feminine laughter floating on the air, mingling with a curious sexual energy. In dark corners, couples swayed to the soulful wails of muted trumpets, their limbs and bodies entwined like lovers. Twosomes snuggled together on the plush sofas, deeply engrossed in private conversations, occasionally pausing to steal an intimate moment. A sweep of hair from a cheek… A kiss on the nape of a bare neck… A hand creeping slowly up a shapely thigh… The ambiance was clearly designed to inspire romance. Dean grew more intrigued by the second. He reached the bar and slid onto the only empty stool. Candles glowed in red-tinted glass votive holders, adding to the sensual environment. The air was just as sexually charged in this part of the club as it was in the lounge. His curiosity was already piqued… And then he saw her. A beautiful creature dressed all in red. Suddenly, Dean felt sexually charged himself. The woman was breathtaking. His gaze locked with hers as she made her slow, seductive approach. Her eyes were bright blue. Vibrant and sparkly, they practically glowed in the soft candlelight. Dean was instantly mesmerized. A very peculiar sensation swept over him. He felt strange. Mellow, actually. As though he’d been drugged and was now moving about in a mind-tingling fog. What was happening to him? He was usually disconnected from mind-altering scenes like this one. He was a man with razor-sharp focus and clarity. Not at all a sucker for a pretty face in an intimate nightclub, where the promise of sex lingered in the air, thicker than the scent of expensive perfume. At the moment, however, Dean was deeply ensnarled. Definitely a sucker for this pretty face. “Let me guess.” Her soft, provocative tone mingled with the passion-induced haze that filled his brain. The erotic combination made his cock stand up and take notice. Spellbound, Dean watched as the gorgeous bartender rested her elbows on top of the bar and leaned toward him. She tapped the pad of a long finger against her glossy lips in a contemplative way. Her nails were painted candy-apple red. Her lips were a deep crimson color. She was quite the siren. “You look like a whiskey drinker. The good old-fashioned kind. Straight up. No frills.” Her smile was soft, hypnotic. “Good guess.” Was that his voice he heard, so low and intimate? “It’s a gift.” Her eyes twinkled playfully in the candlelight. Thoroughly captivated, Dean knew he could sit on that barstool for hours, staring into her eyes, and never tire of looking at her. Therefore, disappointment seized him when she pushed away from the bar and turned her back on him. She glided over to the mirrored wall behind her and reached for a bottle of Jack Daniels that sat on one of the glass shelves. The disappointment he felt over her departure was quickly replaced by something else…a more primal reaction. Presented with her enticing backside, a slow rise of heat started in his groin. It spread slowly, deliciously throughout his body like some mood-altering drug flowing through his veins, creating a warm and molten feeling inside him. If he hadn’t known better, he may have thought he actually had been drugged. But he hadn’t taken a sip of anything yet. No, the only way this feeling inside him could be blamed on illegal drugs was if some intoxicating scent was being piped in through the air vents. Not an unlikely scenario…if he were James Bond. But Dean wasn’t the flashy Bond type. He’d never thought of himself as a ladies’ man, and he preferred a subtle approach to everything he did. He wasn’t into showboating. Come to think of it, his current predicament seemed more reminiscent of Peter Gunn, hanging out at the stylish jazz club, Mother’s. Gunn had always been Dean’s favorite TV “eye,” despite the fact that the show had aired in the late 50’s, way before his time. He’d been hooked on reruns and, as a kid, had daydreamed about being the cool P.I. who swooped in to save the day. Gunn had been a man’s man. The kind of P.I. that could get the girl if he wanted to, but whose real focus was on solving mysteries. Hip and “in the know,” Gunn was a man who got the job done in ultra-suave, low-key Bogie fashion. Of course, Gunn probably hadn’t entertained the kind of erotic thoughts about flame/jazz singer Edie Hart that Dean was currently conjuring up over the siren bartender before him. Wicked thoughts. The kind that only seemed to dance into a man’s head when he found the perfect female specimen with which to engage in the most carnal of activities. She certainly had the body for those carnal activities, he noted as he took in every inch of her mouth-watering backside. The seductive bartender wore a red leather miniskirt that revealed a great ass and mile-long legs. Her red leather pumps were tall with spiky heels. Sexy as hell. Visions of those toned, incredibly long legs wrapped around his waist drifted through his fuzzy brain. His groin tightened. Reluctantly, Dean raised his eyes--just as the siren turned back to face him. She placed an intricately cut crystal glass in front of him and poured the amber liquid with precision. Dean’s gaze swept over the gorgeous woman before him, settling on the red satin top that was knotted at her waist, leaving an inch or so of her toned midriff exposed. The first few buttons on her blouse were undone, revealing the hint of a red lace bra and the slightest glimpse of the full swell of her breasts. Around her neck, she wore a red satin ribbon adorned with a small gold-and-ruby butterfly pendant, which rested peacefully in the hollow of her throat. The delicate ornament caught his attention for a moment, but then he was distracted by her movements. As she passed the drink to him, the candlelight caught the cut glass and, mixed with the hue of the liquor, created a prism of color. She noticed it too and smiled softly at the illusion. Warmth touched her eyes, making them glow in the soft light. For a brief moment, Dean was rendered speechless. He was too entranced to even breathe. But then a curious thought popped into his head. He pondered the situation, wondering what, exactly, he’d stumbled upon here. The sexy atmosphere, the intimate setting, the provocative bartender… Were all these people really here for pool, cocktails and conversation? Or were there rooms to rent by the hour in the back? Something was definitely going on. The attractive twenty- and thirty-somethings came to Rendezvous for some intriguing reason. Even the name of the club was suggestive. He sat back in his barstool and sipped his drink. Of course, he knew what the allure was for the men. Her. The siren before him moved away with grace and ease, a sleek tigress on the prowl. She turned her soft, sexy smile on a couple of guys at the end of the bar as she poured them fresh beers. Interestingly, she didn’t engage in anything more than polite conversation. A quick visual sweep of the bar told him she had about a dozen beers on tap, but she clearly wasn’t on the menu. Dean felt oddly relieved by that observation. When she made her way back to him, Dean’s glass was empty. She’d been gone no more than five minutes. He’d needed that stiff drink to help take the edge off. He set the glass back on the bar as she returned her attention to him. Her glossy blonde hair fell over her slender shoulders in big, loose curls. He imagined those thick strands felt as rich and luxurious as the red velvet on the sofas and chairs. “Get you another one?” she asked. Mischief danced in her vibrant eyes. Dean was certain he’d never met a woman who reeked of trouble the way this one did. Better keep those hormones in check, pal. No doubt a guy could easily fall prey to a woman who looked as sinful as this one did. She knew how to gaze seductively, suggestively into his eyes--doling out promises she’d never keep. Dean found himself wishing they were the only ones in the club. Better yet, he’d like to get her alone, in his bedroom. Correction. In his bed. But he wasn’t here to score with the sexy bartender, as appealing an idea as it was. He had business to attend to. “I’ll pass on the drink,” he managed to say. He normally didn’t trip over his own tongue when talking to a woman, but it seemed to have swelled to twice its normal size. He’d dated a bevy of beauties in his time, but she was more than beautiful. She was bewitching. It would be a good idea, he decided, to stick to the issue at hand. And, if he had half a brain left, he’d be able to recall exactly what that was. Oh, yes. Cat, her stolen credit cards and cash, and the creep who’d availed her of them. Focus, pal. “I’m looking for someone.” Again, that low, intimate voice sounded so foreign to him. They were speaking in tones that belonged in the bedroom, not a nightclub. Trouble smiled wantonly at him, and he was momentarily mesmerized by her lush, full lips. Her extremely kissable lips. “You’ve come to the right place if you’re looking for that special someone.” His gaze followed hers to the lounge. “Most of the patrons are members of my dating service. The pretty blonde over there in the corner,” she said as she inclined her head toward the entrance, “will be more than happy to give you information about our services.” Dean had noticed the attractive woman at the sturdy wooden desk when he’d walked in. She was working diligently on her laptop. From time to time, she’d stop to converse with whoever slid into the seat across the desk from her. No wonder there was so much sexual energy swirling about. They were all looking for love. Like Cat. Thinking of his sister, Dean turned his attention back to Trouble. “That’s not quite what I meant.” Understanding registered in her eyes, but she still looked perfectly at ease. “You’re a cop.” “Private investigator. Dean Hewitt’s the name. Wanna see my ID?” Her playful smile made his insides clench. “Clever. I’m usually the one carding.” Every fiber of his being wanted to follow this flirtation down its natural course, but he had business to take care of. He wanted to nail the guy who’d stolen his sister’s wallet. Why did he have to keep reminding himself of that? “I’m looking for a guy named Slider. Smooth-talking, good-looking thief. Know him?” She paused a moment before saying, “No.” Her hesitation was just long enough to convince Dean that she was lying. No problem. He could play that game. He’d let her off the hook, for now. He reached for the wallet in the inside pocket of his black leather jacket, but she waved him off. “It’s on the house, Detective Dean.” She gave him a contemplative look, then added, “Just don’t share that little tidbit with your counterparts at the precinct. I don’t want them loitering about, putting a damper on the party.” “You own this place?” “Yes. I’m Cassandra Kensington.” He eased off his barstool and cast an appreciative look at Trouble. “Nice to meet you, Cassandra. Thanks for the drink.” He turned and walked out of her joint, knowing this wouldn’t be the last he’d see of her. ABOUT THE AUTHOR CALISTA FOX Award-winning author Calista Fox resides in Arizona. She is the author of several erotic romance novellas and short stories, the author of romantic suspense novels, and the recipient of the 2005 Over The Moon Award of Excellence for Best Erotic Sci-Fi Short Story. Calista also writes erotic romances as Ava McKnight. Visit the author at www.calistafox.com or email her at calista@calistafox.com. ROCK HARD CANDY BY KATHY KAYE REVIEW ROCK HARD CANDY by Kathy Kaye Rating: 4.5 Jessica Hennessy is determined to get her man, even if that means using the tricks of her great, great grandmother who is said to have been a voodoo priestess. Alex doesn’t want to get involved with anyone, but he’s not about to have much of a choice. What happens when a love potion goes haywire? ROCK HARD CANDY is a yummy tale of what happens when plans go wrong. You feel Jessica’s desperation to get Alex to finally notice her, which leads to the love potion scenario. Alex appears to be resistant to Jessica’s advances and really comes off as rather cold and unfeeling. We soon realize why he acts the way he does and his past helps to reveal why he keeps himself closed off. This couple doesn’t miss any beats both in and out of the bedroom and their desire for each other almost sets the pages on fire. Kathy Kaye has done a marvelous job at creating memorable characters and a plot that is sure to please. ~~~Angel - romancejunkies.com TO MY READER Let your imagination run wild while you ponder what a desperate woman would do to lure the man of her dreams into her life--and her bed. Now imagine she's the great- great-granddaughter of a voodoo priestess. I did! I hope you enjoy ROCK HARD CANDY. New Orleans is one of my favorite cities. Its majestic grandeur touches my soul with wispy reminders of times past and promises of wondrous things not yet revealed. Hurricane forces may have momentarily staggered this great lady of a city, but not even Mother Nature can keep her down for long. EXCERPT FROM ROCK HARD CANDY C H A P T E R O N E The clock struck the half-hour. Eight-thirty. Jessica held her breath. Her heart raced ninety-to-nothing. She glued her gaze to the coffee shop's front door. If she didn't breathe soon, she'd black out. If Alex didn't show up, she'd die. If, when he did show up, he stepped around to her side of the counter and kissed her as he had in her dream, she'd come right where she stood. This morning's damned dream had her wound up and wanting almost to the point of pain. When she moved, her super-sensitized flesh rubbed against her nylon panties, torturing her with a satiny abrasiveness that nearly drove her insane. Yet, when she sat stone-still, the need to relieve that sexual itch between her legs was almost unbearable. What was it her grandmother used to say? Stuck between a rock and a hard place? Yeah right. She only wished she was stuck between a rock and Alex Russell's hard place! How stupid was that? She had to be out of her mind--or more accurately, brain-washed by her long-ignored natural urges--to be this jacked up! Then again, it wasn't about just getting laid. Any man could ease her sexual itch. No, it was about Alex--and the mystery man hiding behind his emotional barricades. How had she let herself fall in love with a man still in love with his dead wife? Crap. She was in big trouble here. The jingle of the tiny silver bell over her coffee shop door jarred Jessica from her lustful thoughts. A combination of relief and excitement washed over her. Alex stood just inside the door. Alone. Just like in her dream. Jessica's heart skipped a beat and her nerve-endings zoomed to full-alert. Maybe dreams did come true. "Good morning, Alex," Jessica greeted him in the steadiest voice she could manage. "Good morning." He crossed the small shop to the cash register in long strides. If he made one move toward the workside of the bar, she'd faint for sure. In her dream, he'd stepped around the register, then pinned her against the counter with his six-foot three body. But he stayed where he was. In an effort to pull herself from her erotic memories, she took a deep, bracing breath of the here and now, and asked, "Solo today, huh?" Alex nodded, his dark hair brushing the crisp collar of his dress shirt. "Yep, just me." They were alone! Well, if she didn't count the shop's other patrons loitering in the corner tables watching their exchange with mild disinterest. Jessica bit her lip to stifle a groan. What was it about this man that flipped her switch with enough power to light up Bourbon Street? She cleared her throat, hoping he had no idea the X-rated thoughts running through her head. "The usual? One double latte and a chocolate eclair?" ABOUT THE AUTHOR KATHY KAYE Kathy Kaye is a female counterpart of a true Southern-bred good-ol' boy. When she's not busy raising three boys, two she birthed and one she married, she writes both romantic comedies and paranormal romances. She attributes a goodly amount of her romance-writing success to her family who taught her how to love and how to express that love openly and with enthusiasm. Her husband, however, credits it to her wacky--sometimes warped--sense of humor. But he's an Aggie, so what does he know? Kathy loves hearing for her readers and can be contacted at: KathyKaye_author@yahoo.com FATAL ERROR BY KATHLEEN SCOTT REVIEWS FATAL ERROR by Kathleen Scott Rating: 4.5 In a futuristic time, the government controls everything; the only problem is a computer program that has taken over the government. Jesse Storm is the man responsible for creating the program and he has to be the one to stop it. He will need the help of one very special woman from his past named Soran Roberts. How can he admit his feelings for her after all these years and can they find a way to stop the program before it’s too late? FATAL ERROR is packed full of action, adventure and danger around every corner. Kathleen Scott is sensational at spinning a web of suspense that readers will find themselves trapped in. Jesse Storm is confident, sexy and hell bent on fixing his wrong doings. Soran is caught in the middle of it all, but has the courage to do what it takes to help the man she has fallen for. FATAL ERROR is an exciting tale that kept my mind whirling at all the possibilities of what the future might hold. I will certainly be on the lookout for the next adventure that Kathleen Scott pens. ~~~Angel - romancejunkies.com TO MY READER Some stories are crafted through blood, sweat, and frustrated tears. Others write themselves. For me, Fatal Error was the latter. I hope you enjoy Jesse and Soran’s story as much as they enjoyed telling it to me. EXCERPT FROM FATAL ERROR One The virus was not downloading fast enough. Each movement of the clock drew Jesse closer to danger. Soon the sparse night shift— nine employees for all thirty floors, including six live security guards— would be clocking in, and with them one Soran Roberts. After denying himself the pleasure for so long, Jesse ached to see Soran again. But now was definitely not the time. The Restoration Brigade was counting on his expertise to plant this cascading virus directly into the computer’s gray matter. He owed them his life; he couldn’t fail them now. Sweat rolled from his forehead and dripped into his eyes. The screen before him flashed a warning. He ventured a quick glance around the cramped server room, littered with the connections needed to run the vast computer system. Was it just his imagination or had one of the network cables from the main server just moved? The screen flashed again. Only fifteen percent more until the download was complete. Too bad this virus wouldn’t shut the network down of its own accord. This particular virus needed further commands so it could spread. But those would be given from a remote location with him nowhere around. Getting into the Complex had not been difficult, what with the stolen access cards and synthetic fingerprints molded from those of a disgruntled employee. But breaking into the brain case of the system had been another matter. He turned his wrist to look at his watch. Shit. Time was running short. Christ, he didn’t want to run into her. Only a few more moments and the virus would be planted directly into the system, and this would allow the common man to reclaim the country. Jesse tried to tell himself that he was being altruistic in his crusade to reform the government through subversive means. But truthfully he had only to remember Soran and no other motivation mattered. She was the love of his life, though she never knew it. Back in college, he would never have dreamed that his life would take such a desperate path. Back in college, he wanted only to help make the world a better place. If he had only understood the consequences of his actions back then, he would not be here now staring at the bare wires of a computer gone rogue. Darkness flashed from the corner of his eye as something sinister tightened around his torso. Cables yanked him backward toward the gray matter. The computer was defending itself against the viral attack. As the cables squeezed his ribs, a name fell from his lips. “Soran…” *** Soran Roberts stood in the glowing blue lights of her office’s outer chamber. Her employee badge glowed brightly as she swiped it in a downward stroke through the security lock and listened for the mechanism to disengage. Self-consciously she looked up into the lens of the security camera. Just like all the other cameras throughout the Complex, this one stood as an unblinking paranoid witness to the comings and going of employees. Even the smallest infraction of the rules and management would exact retribution on the hapless worker. It was no way to work, and a worse way to live. Finally the door clicked open, and Soran pushed it the rest of the way and started for her terminal. Minimal light shone in through the open blinds. Illumination in the windows of nearby office buildings shone like stars twinkling in the urban sky. The city held such beauty at night. From here one could not see the dirt and decay of man’s need to over-industrialize his surroundings. The darkness that bathed the streets hid the pollution and made the city appear almost pristine. Soran removed her jacket and hung it over the back of her chair, then sat and pushed the button to bring her terminal online, looking up at the screen imbedded deep into the partition in front of her. To maintain the Complex’s stark appearance, all terminal screens were placed in the walls and covered with a thick plastic cover. The keypads were under the counter surfaces with micro-sensors under each character. The setting reflected the Complex’s personality perfectly: cold, distant, and unfeeling. If there hadn’t been such a great paycheck and benefits package attached, she would have found less conspicuous work at one of a thousand offices that made their homes in the city. Soran worked as an account auditor for the Complex. All contracts had to be justified and reconciled before the beginning of the next business day. Any discrepancies had to be cleared on her shift so the drones on the day shift could start fresh at the opening of business. Most nights Soran finished her tasks by one or two a.m. and spent the rest of the shift downloading sample portfolios for the next day. That little extra had not been part of her job description, but her initiative had earned her points with management. Her hands skimmed efficiently over the keypad, entering the access codes to run the DPP— Discrepancy Profile Program— the screen blinked at her, then shut down. Damn! Now she’d have to reboot the system. To bring the system back online after a fault required a new sequence of codes. Quickly, Soran keyed in the sequence and waited for the system to run a diagnostic before moving automatically to the DPP. As programs clicked and whirled by, the terminal bathed her face in a blue glow and strobed her in the panorama of the flashing screens. The DPP sequence began and Soran rubbed her hands together, anxious to get started on her work. The screen flashed at her a few more times before large letters filled the screen: FATAL ERROR. The terminal shut down for a second time, and Soran groaned. Never in her five years of employment at the Complex had she ever had so much trouble getting the programs up and running. It was useless to try another staffer’s terminal as each keypad verified the assigned user by reading the fingerprints. After the Soft Ware Wars, fingerprints had become a hot commodity, leading to the reprehensible act stealing fingers from corpses to defraud the government. She sat back in her chair and let out a sigh, looking up at the ceiling in search of an answer. What stared back at her made her breath catch. A camera. When had that been installed? It hadn’t been there last night. Hair prickled on the back of her neck with the thought of being watched by management. Her memory rushed to recall just one small infraction of the rules she had ever committed, but found none. What had gone on in this office during the day to make security place cameras here? Whatever the reason for the invasion of her sanctum, Soran didn’t like it one bit. It wouldn’t be the same, working at her terminal and feeling compelled to look up every few minutes into the unblinking lens of the Complex’s watchful eye. Paranoia filled her stomach with unease. Perhaps she should just force herself to get back to work. But the terminal still had not rebooted, and if she had too many discrepancies, she’d be all night reconciling the accounts. She closed her eyes and drew in a few deep breaths, expanding her lungs fully and exhaling through her nose. The exercise calmed her somewhat— enough to try the next sequence of reboot codes. These particular codes would lock her into NATNET, the mainframe computer that serviced the entire country. Everything from government agencies to power plants to traffic lights were powered by this mega-network. All major corporations used NATNET to back up their internal networks, and the Complex was no exception to this rule. She put on the headset that would allow her to communicate with NATNET directly. It always made Soran uneasy to connect with the central network. NATNET was too infiltrated into the daily life of every citizen. With the touch of a few buttons, the government could pick your pocket and invade your privacy. Everyday millions lived with the knowledge that they were only a few keystrokes away from the total destruction of their business, home, or even life. It only took one operator with a grudge to bring everything you’d worked for crashing down around you. Before starting college, Soran had never questioned the right of the government to such intimate dealings with the common citizen. The world had always worked in such a way. People went on about their lives and never paid attention to the whispers of a few misguided individuals who fought to change the world. But a few of her college classmates had protested the government’s infringements of ‘certain inalienable rights’ —they had never been seen nor heard from again. Unease moved through her whenever she thought about all the friends she’d lost over the years. Now a face came to her mind and her heart thudded against her ribs. A sob climbed into her throat. Jesse. Jesse had been her math finance tutor. He was young and intense, but never talked about the clandestine activities that finally had him arrested by government agents. All she could remember was watching him being hauled off to jail in electronic handcuffs. He looked into the crowd through his thick corrective lenses; his thin frame no match for the large guards on either side of him. Yet he fought on, only to lose in the end. His incarceration a lesson to Soran to stay in line no matter what. So, like the sterile, nighttime halls of the Complex, Soran had for many years remained silent and uninteresting to anyone who might be watching her. But that pose was harder and harder to maintain recently. Lately rebellion against the status quo burned deep in her belly. Years of silence against those who would control every thought and action of the populace shamed her for not taking a stand. She just never knew how she could be of assistance. She had no real power to do anything other than plug along and try to survive the best she could in a world run amok with governmental interference. The NATNET screen flashed, pulling her from her subversive thoughts. “Hello, Soran Roberts,” said the tinny mechanized voice. “Hello, NATNET. I’m having problems establishing a link with the Complex mainframe. Can you help?” “Link established.” Numbers danced across the screen quickly in a ballet of binary code as NATNET sought the problem and tried to correct it. “Internal contaminate sensed,” NATNET said after a few moments. “What kind?” Soran leaned forward in her chair and watched the screen closely for anything that would indicate a contaminate— a sequence out of order, a break in code, lost information, anything. She saw nothing out of place. The monitors on the vacant desks whirled to life. Soran’s attention left the screen before her to gaze at the monitors that showed the head and shoulders of a man. Interference turned the picture into a series of broken pixels, distorting his image. His lips moved, but the only sounds Soran could hear were the snap and pop of static. Then faintly, so she had to stand to hear, came a plea, “Help me.” “Internal contaminate in monitoring sector of program.” Soran had no idea what to do, but knew she needed more time to figure it out. “Thank you, NATNET, I think I can work out the problem from here.” “Help me, please. Cables tightening.” Soran looked up at the man as his image faded in and out. Where was he? Would he even hear her if she replied to him? The monitoring system’s controls were part of the Complex’s mainframe computer, but if NATNET shut down the system she would have no access to it. Soran glanced at the screen in front of her as it went blank. Too late. Around her the other monitors showed the man’s stark pain. His face contorted into a horrible grimace of agony. What were they doing to him? And who were ‘they’? How did the monitors pick up and transmit it to her when they were closed circuit to the Complex proper. Could he be somewhere in the labyrinth of corridors that comprised the Complex? The screen before her came to life again. “System purge failed,” NATNET informed her. Soran leaned forward as if talking intimately to a friend. “NATNET, abort purge attempts.” The computer continued to whirl and screens to flash by. “Unable to comply. Contaminate mobile.” She needed override commands, but those particular codes were not available to a low-level operator. Only a government operator had the authority to override actions taken by NATNET to correct a problem. But perhaps she could send NATNET another problem to solve until she could figure out a way to communicate with the man inside the monitoring sector. “NATNET, run DPP for Complex.” “Unable to locate program at this time.” “Run system diagnostics for Complex.” “Diagnostics running.” The man in the monitor pressed his face against the lens. Sweat beaded his skin and made it stick to the glass. “Can anyone hear me?” “I can hear you. Please, try to stay calm. I’m trying to help you, but I don’t know how. Soran spoke into the microphone, hoping that her voice would be picked up by the system and find its way to him, and that NATNET wouldn’t report her for trying to communicate with a contaminate. He curled up a fist and pounded it against the camera. “Help me, please.” The area behind him was comprised of hard wire and circuitry. She searched her memory for any place in the Complex that looked like that. But her orientation tour had included only her office, the restrooms, and snack bar. All other areas had been off limits unless she was accompanied by a member of security or management. “NATNET, display map of Complex.” “That information is classified.” She snapped, “Fine, then display an index of offices.” Screens passed by her in cyberspace until a legend popped up on the screen. Research and Development was located in the basement. Executive Offices were in the penthouse. Safety and Security was conveniently located in between on the fifteenth floor. But the office listing meant nothing to her, as she had no idea where to look. A cough and sob grabbed her attention. The man in the monitor slid down pulling the camera with him. From the angle of the lens Soran could see the man’s torso confined in tentacles of mechanized cables. Biceps bulged as he tried to pry the tentacles from his lean waist. His face turned red and veins bulged on his forehead as the tentacle squeezed. She had to act fast or the cables would crush him. “NATNET, is contaminate still in monitoring sector?” “Affirmative.” “Where is the monitoring sector located?” “That information is classified.” Soran blew out a breath and ran her hand through her hair. Of course that information was classified. “Return control of terminal to manual operator,” Soran directed the government mainframe. “Unable to comply.” “NATNET, kill auxiliary power to monitoring sector.” “Unable to comply.” Soran looked up at the monitors. The man lay quiet and lifeless, his mouth open and jaw slack. She couldn’t tell if he had passed out, or if the long arms of technology had finally neutralized him. The monitor hissed and static covered it once again, obscuring her view of the trapped man. “NATNET, is contaminate still viable?” “Affirmative. Contaminate mobile.” Soran breathed a sigh of relief. If he was moving, then he was not hurt as bad as she feared. “NATNET, can you determine the location of contaminate?” “Negative.” The system blinked again. “Attempting to establish tracking modulator.” Soran didn’t know what that was, but it sounded heinous. A quick glance at the screen showed the man was gone. The monitor reflected Soran’s own face staring back at her. “Status report.” “Monitored dimensions rerouted. Cannot establish tracking modulator.” Was it Soran’s imagination, or did the computerized voice sound slightly frustrated? “NATNET, try establishing link to monitoring systems and route to this terminal.” “Application codes needed for order verification.” “Override application codes.” “Override forbidden.” Soran slammed her fist on the counter and yelled in the headset. “Do you want to find the contaminate or not, you stupid piece of mechanized refuse?” “Insults unappreciated. Restate command.” “Motherfucker,” Soran said under her breath. “Command designated immoral. Restate command.” Soran shook her head. Here she was trying to save a life, and the damned government mainframe was trying to instill a lesson on moral language. She suddenly had an idea, and typed the sequence codes into her terminal. “NATNET, shut down system completely and bring back online in start-up sequence.” “Unable to comply. Full shut down will bypass contaminate tracking modulator attempts.” Soran sighed. “Fine. How long will it take to establish tracking modulator once it becomes operational?” “Link established instantaneously.” “How close are you to establishing modulator?” “Still attempting diagnosis.” Soran smiled. She placed the headset on the counter and rose. While the computer worked on that particular problem, she would work on the other—locating the contaminate. She couldn’t let them kill him. ABOUT THE AUTHOR KATHY KAYE Kathleen lives in rural New Jersey with her husband, cat, and a wild imagination that refuses to be tamed. BIRTHDAY BY ELLIE MARVEL REVIEW Jasmine Templeton is about to break out of her reserved shell. It’s her birthday and she wants to cut loose and have some fun. Things quickly change when she goes out with her two best friends one a man named Charlie. Jasmine has been having some very sensual thoughts about Charlie lately. Is this her chance to make him see her as more than just a friend? I think the tale of two friends falling for each other is very refreshing. BIRTHDAY is a fun story that brings together Jasmine and Charlie, who have kept their same dependable relationship and never thought to look beyond to what it may become. The love scenes capture the passion that has been hiding under the surface all along between the two friends. Various secondary characters that lend a helping hand to get the couple together accent the plot. In all Ellie Marvel is a talented author and this tale friendship turning into love is sure to delight readers. ~~Angel - romancejunkies.com TO MY READER Sometimes we write from the imagination, and sometimes we write from the heart. The best stories happen when we combine to two, which I hope I've done with "Birthday". Publishing this story will always give me a special zing because my oh-so patient husband (moosh alert, moosh alert!) was my best friend for ten years before I woke up and smelled the hottie. He waited...and waited...and waited...and I guess he bought new cologne or something because one day I realized he was more than my best friend, he was my really hot, sexy best friend, and I should probably marry him. So I did. "Birthday" is about the rush of what it's like to strike out in all the wrong places and find your someone right beside you. Sincerely, Ellie Marvel EXCERPT FROM BIRTHDAY Wolves worked in packs. They took turns exhausting their prey until the poor animal collapsed and offered its throat. Only that’s not what the wolves were after, and that’s not what Jasmine was offering. Maybe she was holding out for her fantasy man, that actor Hugh Jackman, but Charlie didn’t think he was going to show, and eventually Jasmine would settle for someone else. Someone who wasn’t Charlie. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He gripped the metal rail so hard it bruised the inside of his knuckles. If Jasmine were so desperate to get laid, why hadn’t he offered to take care of her sexual frustration himself? Why didn’t he have the balls to make his move when she was obviously panting for it? Because she was panting for sex, and he didn’t want a one-night stand. With Jasmine, he’d want it all. He’d never told her because it would ruin their friendship if she didn’t feel the same. Which she didn’t, or she wouldn’t let that tall guy fondle her ass and grind her soft body against his crotch. Was that getting her wet? Did she like the way he touched her? Jasmine craned her head, met his eyes briefly over the guy’s shoulder, and Charlie would have given anything to be the man cradled between her thighs. Damn! She shook back her hair and laughed. With casual grace, she slung her arms over the guy’s shoulders as they did the dirtiest salsa Charlie had witnessed outside of his dreams. Shae, meanwhile, wriggled her butt against the guy’s friend and clasped his hands against her tits. A third guy took advantage of the fact Shae’s front side was unoccupied and glued himself to her. The short guy returned, apparently rebuffed by the pseudo-lesbians. “Bitches,” he said. His friends guffawed. Shorty turned his attention back to the floor, seeking his next victim. “The red dress with the black guy? That is one fuckable woman.” He elbowed Charlie. “Ya think?” Charlie did think, but he wasn’t about to discuss Jasmine with a troll in a bar. “She’s hot,” his friend agreed. “Come on, they’re ditching those losers. Let’s make a move.” He’d observed Jasmine sample a score of men tonight, but something surged inside him, something primal and fierce. Charlie stepped in their way. “Mine,” he growled. As he said it, he knew it for the truth it was. Jasmine belonged to him; she just didn’t know it yet. ABOUT THE AUTHOR ELLIE MARVEL Ellie Marvel lives in the South and went to school for far too long. She likes her tea iced and sweetened and her pie homemade. She sometimes let men open doors for her -- they need to feel useful, the darlings -- and she definitely had relatives in the Revolutionary War. She used to teach English and work in the ma 
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