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RED SAGE PUBLISHING, INC. :: * * * PAPERBACK :: SECRETS VOLUME 23 SECRET DESIRES Bonnie Dee, Calista Fox, Bethany Michaels, Roxi Romano (Paperback)
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SECRETS VOLUME 23SECRET DESIRES Paperback Copyright © Bonnie Dee, Calista Fox, Bethany Michaels, Roxi Romano, 2008 All Rights Reserved, RED SAGE PUBLISHING, INC. REVIEWS: DARK ANGEL REVIEWS - 5 Pixies !!! THE SEX SLAVE by Roxi Romano Lazarus Stone was created for sex. Unfortunately, he needs to find the man who can help him get off the moon he's stuck on before he's sold into slavery when someone realizes what he really is. He certainly doesn't expect to become a knight in shining armor to Jaci. However, he keeps finding himself at her rescue, time and time again. Lucky for her, he's becoming addicted to having her around. When fire and ice continuously seem to come together, will either of them be able to walk away unscathed? FOREVER MY LOVE by Calista Fox Professor Aja Woods soon realizes the erotic dreams she's been having are actually somehow real. The man in her dreams is actually a guardian sent to watch over her—a man who loves her and makes her feel as if she's waited her whole life for him. When Aja discovers that she is actually a witch many centuries old, and a descendent of an ancient gypsy tribe, Aja's life turns upside down. Christian, her guardian angel of sorts, has been sent to help her rediscover her repressed memories. Christian isn't human, either. He's actually a vampire. When things go horribly wrong with the magic and Christian has to save her the only way he knows how, by making her one of his kind, the fates of both worlds hang in the balance. Will Christian and Aja be able to save both worlds and be together? REFLECTIONS OF BEAUTY by Bonnie Dee Christine Dawson is an artist trying to get in her first gallery show and make her life a success. Unfortunately, things don't go as planned for our heroine. Suddenly, Christine is thrust into crazy dreams where a man is trapped in a castle. Christine needs to rescue this man. Eric is a disfigured man trapped due to his own personal demons. He's not ready to face the world. He's happy being hidden from all the cruelty the world has to offer. When Christine arrives to rescue him, he thinks they're both out of their minds. There's something about this empowered woman that just melts his heart though. Will he be able to believe in her and trust that what she feels for him is real? EDUCATING EVA by Bethany Michaels Eva is researching mating habits in the human male to write a book. Spying on her neighbors seems to provide her with quite a lot of helpful information. When she's invited to a house party to continue her research, Ava soon discovers a very intoxicating world involving pleasures of the flesh. When she is caught by Aidan Worthington, she can't help but be humiliated. After all, it was he she was eavesdropping on while he was in coital bliss with another woman. When Eva drags Aidan into her research, he finds himself hard pressed to resist her. Soon enough, he finds himself completely breathless with passion for her. Before her "research" is through, Aidan is definitely going to make Eva his—forever. Overall, I think SECRETS VOLUME 23: SECRET DESIRES is one of the best collections I have read from Red Sage yet. From historical to the fantastical, I was swept away to different lands and times. This is truly a collection that sends your senses into overdrive. Visually stimulating, as well as physically and mentally stimulating, I found myself on the edge of my seat in anticipation of what would happen next. My two favorite stories in this anthology were FOREVER MY LOVE and EDUCATING EVA. I really enjoyed the female heroines innocence in each story. I'm usually not a fan of sci-fi or fantasy stories, however, THE SEX SLAVE definitely kicked my libido into high gear. Lazarus and Jaci were a knock out couple. I loved their witty banter and the passion that overtook them. REFLECTIONS OF BEAUTY stole my breath away. My heart broke for Eric and his concerns about how the world would treat him due to his disfigurement. Christine and Eric are truly a Phantom of the Opera or Beauty and the Beast couple that melted my heart. I really enjoy the fact that each story in these anthologies is different. I get to enjoy all different types of genres from these amazing authors and I get to move with the characters from one world to another. The SECRETS books are some of my favorite collections and these authors and stories are the reason why. ~~Amanda Haffery - DARK ANGEL REVIEWS REFLECTIONS OF BEAUTY - BONNIE DEE To My Reader: We never outgrow fairytales. Maybe that’s why there’ve been more retellings of Cinderella than practically any other story I can think of. “Poor girl makes good” never gets old. But an equally popular fairytale theme is found in Beauty and the Beast. A scarred man nurtured and saved by a strong woman’s love is the sexiest thing imaginable. I hope you enjoy this modern, erotic revisiting of one of my favorite stories. Read an excerpt: Chapter 1 “I had the rose dream again last night. The one where I have to tear through all those brambles trying to get to a door that leads through the wall.” Chris sipped her morning coffee and stared at the ring the mug had left on the table. “You wouldn’t believe how vivid it was. I could actually feel the scratching thorns. The brambles were covered with little pink roses, their scent so strong I could still smell them when I woke up.” “Olfactory dreaming. Interesting.” Tonya continued to mark the items she needed to order for the shop. “You don’t sound that interested.” “You’ve been telling me about this Secret Garden dream for months. I passed ‘interested’ a while ago.” Chris set down her cup. “Well, listen to this. Last night something new happened. I made it through the wall.” Tonya looked up, her brown eyes holding a gleam of curiosity for the first time. “Really? What happened next?” “Inside the wall was a deserted castle. I walked through an empty courtyard and into the great hall. My footsteps echoing were the only sound. It was really eerie, but I knew I had to keep going.” Chris closed her eyes, summoning up the dream that had the technicolor clarity of a movie. “A presence somewhere inside urged me toward it, just like in all the dreams I’ve been having.” “And did you reach it?” “Yeah.” Chris hesitated. The rest of the dream was too personal. She and Tonya shared explicit details about their sex lives, but the eroticism of last night’s dream wasn’t something she wanted to share. The almost transcendent nature of the sex would be lost in the telling. “I don’t remember much after that, but it was very sexy and intense.” Tonya propped her chin on her hand. “Hot! Tell me about it. I need a dirty story to jump start my day.” Tonya’s voice faded away. Chris turned her empty cup around and around in her hands as she replayed every aspect of the previous night’s dream. When she’d finally torn away the curtain of thorns to reveal the door in the wall, her heart pounded with excitement. She held her breath, expecting to wake up, but she turned the knob and the door swung open into a shady courtyard. In the center was a fountain with nymphs swaying in a sensual dance. If water had been flowing, it would’ve looked like the sprites were cavorting under a waterfall. Instead rust stains made their nude forms bloody and dried leaves collected in whispery pools in the basin. Weed-choked paths wandered between overgrown garden beds where toppled, vine-covered statues lay. The presence beckoned Chris onward, demanding her attention and she passed through the desolate courtyard to the dark, ominous wall of the castle. She pushed through massive doors to enter a hall lined with armor. There was no patronizing butler or austere housekeeper to meet her. Her footsteps echoed in the stillness as she walked down the hall and ascended the wide staircase. She didn’t stop to examine the remains of faded luxury in dust-covered rooms. The pull of the entity led her unerringly to a door with wood so highly polished Chris could see her faint reflection in it. This is how I will look to him, she thought. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Dark skin. Short, sharp, intense. That’s me. In a hurry now to meet the presence that had summoned her for so many nights, she pushed open the door and entered the dark room beyond it. At last. You’re here for me. The voice filling her mind was deeply masculine. It reverberated in her brain cells and throughout her nervous system, making her shiver with need. The presence was overpoweringly male and desperately hungry for her. She could sense it in the dream, feel his desire—a mirror image of her own. Chris was just as starved for his touch. The feminine, vulnerable aspect of her strong personality rolled over and turned belly up in submission. Here I am. Take me! Her pussy clenching and releasing with each heartbeat, she walked farther into the room. There was a huge four-poster bed at one end. Bookcases and a large fireplace covered one wall. A leather armchair stood beside the hearth, but the owner of the room remained unseen. She approached a long, oval, wooden frame between two tall windows. Sparkling shards of mirror lay scattered beneath the stand. Her bare feet crunched across them, the pieces slicing her soles just as the thorns had scratched her hands. She stared at the empty mirror frame and one remaining jagged shard dangling there. It reflected part of her shoulder and arm but nothing else. Where are you? Right here. Heavy, warm hands rested on her shoulders, pressing down for a moment before sliding down her bare arms to lace fingers with her. Chris was nude in the dream, but didn’t feel shy. She closed her eyes and relaxed into the invisible stroking hands on her breasts, stomach, thighs and sex. His touch was everywhere at once, a subtle tickling like a warm breeze blowing all over her body. It reminded her of the way her brush kissed the canvas when she painted. She leaned back to find his body, warm and solid behind her. His mouth nuzzled the side of her neck and trailed kisses all the way to the curve of her shoulder. She turned her head to meet his soft, yielding lips. Her eyes may have been open or closed, but it didn’t matter which. She knew she wouldn’t be able to see him. That wasn’t allowed. She didn’t care. All she needed was to feel him, clasping her body tightly, exploring her mouth with his searching tongue, pressing his growing erection into the crevasse of her buttocks. She turned in the circle of his embrace and her hands caressed his muscled chest and shoulders. Reaching down between them, she grasped his cock. It filled her hand, warm and heavy and solid—too solid to be a mere dream. Chris stroked up and down the shaft. At the same time, she touched him everywhere at once, just as he was doing to her. It wasn’t like the physical world where touch was limited to points of contact between two bodies. In the dream world, she felt him in every cell. Her body was charged with light, her being crackling with erotic energy. The glut of sensation was almost too much to bear. She thought she might come from touching alone before he ever entered her. This is a good dream. A bubble of laughter escaped her and shimmered in the air around them like dust motes dancing in the sun. A very good dream. The rumble of his voice sent a delicious shiver through her. He was so sexy and masculine and smelled so good. She breathed him in, hot male skin and a subtle, woodsy aroma. He lifted her up with his hands beneath her ass and pushed inside her in one swift, fluid motion. Chris gasped and held on tight, wrapping her arms and legs around him. His cock filled her completely, satisfying her open, yearning sex. It touched a place deep inside sending waves of pleasure surging through her. Suddenly they were no longer standing, but stretched out on the silk covers of the massive bed. He rose and fell above her, driving deep inside and hitting that wonderful, magic spot each time. The unfocused sparkles of desire darting through her body coalesced into a strong, steady pulsing whole, like an Impressionist painting in which dabs of color form a complete picture. Her hips lifted to meet each hard thrust of her unseen lover. Her body rose higher each time until she was no longer on the bed, but floating somewhere above it. The insistent pressure of her growing orgasm suddenly burst, exploding in crystal shards like mirror glass that showered through her entire being, leaving her breathless and exhilarated. “Hey, Christine! Focus!” Tonia’s fingers snapped in front of her face. “Are you even listening to me?” Chris startled, almost falling off her chair. She quickly covered by standing up. “Yeah. Of course!” Tonia rolled her eyes. “For those who tuned in late, I said I’m going to take first shift in the studio. I had an idea last night I want to try out on the wheel.” “Sure. Go ahead. I’ll open the store for the overwhelming rush of customers.” “Don’t joke. I’m too depressed.” Tonya went to the peg on the wall, got her smock and tied it on over her jeans and T-shirt. Chris emptied the carafe from the coffeemaker into her cup and added cream and sugar. By the time she finished, Tonya was sitting at her pottery wheel in the studio. She watched for a moment, enthralled as always by the effortless way her friend could take a gray lump of clay and spin it into a tall, fluted column. Sipping her second cup of the day, she walked to the front of the shop and unlocked the door. She stepped outside for a moment to watch the neighborhood and breathe in the fumes of car exhaust and city grime—no roses here. Then she sat behind the checkout counter and opened her sketchbook, hoping to jot down a few memories from her dream before they disappeared. She was so engrossed in penciling in the details of rose leaves against rough stone she jumped when the phone rang. “Good morning, T.S.A. Art Supplies.” Chris smiled at the goofy acronym for Two Struggling Artists, which Tonya had insisted on for their store name. “May I speak to Christina Dawson?” “I’m Christine. Can I help you?” “Ms. Dawson, this is Denise Thomas from the Gruen Gallery. We met at Mina Karischnov’s party.” “Yes. I remember.” Chris’s heart began to thump. Meeting Denise Thomas was the biggest thrill she’d had the night of Mina’s party, including hooking up with some random guy whose name she couldn’t even remember now. “What can I do for you, Ms. Thomas?” “Please, it’s Denise. Christine, I’ve heard great things about your paintings from a number of people and I’m very impressed with what I saw on your web site. I wondered if I might come by your studio to see your work.” “Of course! Absolutely! Any time that would be convenient for you. My studio is behind the shop and I’m here almost all the time.” Chris concentrated on breathing before she hyperventilated and passed out on the phone. She couldn’t have been more excited if she’d won the mega-lottery. “Excellent. I’ll swing by around 5:30 today. Will that work for you?” Chris mentally rescheduled her after-work errands. “Perfect.” She thanked Denise then hung up the phone. Whooping, she jumped off her stool and raced to the back room. “Tonya!” Clay went flying as Tonya’s usually steady hand destroyed the vase she’d been forming. “Damn it! You scared the hell out of me. What?” “I got a call from Gruen—the Gruen Gallery.” Tonya turned off the wheel and scraped clay from her hands. “No shit?” “Denise Thomas. She remembered me from Mina’s party. She said ‘people have been talking’ about my work, and she’s coming here today to take a look.” “Oh my God, I can’t believe it. You lucky little bitch!” Tonya rinsed her hands in the bucket of water near her wheel and then gestured to the stack of canvases leaning haphazardly against the far wall. “Girl, you’ve got to get organized. You can’t show your paintings like that. Presentation is everything. If you want to be a professional, you’ve got to look like a professional.” “You’re right. We have to clean this place up and hang some of these.” Chris went to the paintings and shuffled through them, trying to decide which she especially wanted to draw to Denise’s attention. She frowned as she looked at a study of an old man and little boy playing chess in the park. “Will they like my stuff, Tonya? Is it ‘artsy’ enough for the Gruen?” Tonya dried her hands on her smock, slipped an arm around Chris’s shoulders and hugged her. “They’re going to love you. Don’t worry.” Chris paused at a painting she’d done shortly after her first rose dream and studied it critically. “What do you think? This one?” “Definitely.” The two women stood for a long moment gazing at the painting of a mass of pink flowers with vicious looking inch-long thorns and thick vines coiled around a gnarled tree. The leafless tree’s branches were twisted and drooping and the stunted trunk was completely bound by the vines. The abundant flowers looked more lethal and sinister than beautiful. The sky in the painting was a stormy gray and the land around the bound tree was barren and ruined. Chris thought of the breakthrough in last night’s dream. She wondered what a therapist would tell her reaching her goal meant. She’d certainly like to know what the male presence in the dream represented—and how she could get in touch with him again, ‘cause damn, that had been one powerfully erotic experience. About the Author: Bonnie Dee writes contemporary, historical, paranormal and fantasy romances. Whatever the setting, she’s interested in flawed, often damaged, people who find the fulfillment they seek in one another--although she sometimes takes a break from angst to pen a light, frothy comedy. An avid reader all her life, Bonnie set aside the dream of writing for far too long. Now with an empty nest and plenty of spare time, she is pursuing her goal with both hands outstretched to grasp the ephemeral muse. To learn more about her work, go to http://bonniedee.com. She’s always happy to hear from readers at bondav40@yahoo.com. FOREVER MY LOVE - CALISTA FOX To My Reader One of my favorite things about writing fiction is that I get to create imaginary worlds and populate them with people I love…or love to hate! Playing in the land of powerful witches, sexy vampires, and evil demons is all the more fun when I get to build in an ultra-steamy romance like the one Aja and Christian share. I hope you enjoy their adventure as much as I enjoyed creating it! As always, special thanks to Alex and Cindy. And to JT – thanks for supporting my passion for writing every step of the way! Read an excerpt: Chapter 1 Aja Woods teetered on the ledge of the seven-story brick building and fought to steady herself. A mystical force worked against her, keeping her dangerously off balance. She wobbled precariously, trying to maintain her footing. The large gold-and-sapphire medallion dangling from a sturdy chain around her neck grew impossibly heavy. An invisible hand seemed to tug at the pendant as though trying to pull her over the edge. Thick, gray clouds filled the night sky and concealed the harvest moon. Thunder rumbled in the distance, low and ominous. A flash of lightning startled her, the glowing rod striking close, causing her body to pitch forward, then backward. She was losing the battle to stay upright. Terror seized her heart. She feared nothing could stop her from falling. The silk nightgown she wore swirled around her, tangling between her legs. The chill of the evening air made her teeth chatter as much as her perilous predicament did. As the wind picked up, her long, curly hair whipped all around her, the auburn strands slashing across her face, impeding her vision. Finally, the weight of the medallion became too much for her small frame to bear. She had no choice but to accept the inevitable. She gave a quick, silent prayer to the heavens above before she tumbled over the edge of the tall building. Aja cried out as she fell. Suddenly, a large hand pierced the thick blanket of fog and reached out to her, grasping at her own hand. The heavy, wet mist surrounding her made it impossible for her to see any farther than the hand stretched toward her and the sinewy forearm attached to it. She felt long, strong fingers entwine with hers. Her body was lifted out of the dense fog and her feet touched solid ground. Powerful arms wrapped around her, warming her instantly and making her feel protected. “You’re safe.” The deep voice and the strong embrace she remained in helped to abate her fear. “You will always be safe while I watch over you.” His warm lips pressed to hers, chasing away the eerie chill that had besieged her earlier. Her arms tightened around his neck as her body melded to his. Large hands skimmed over her backside, pressing her more firmly against him. She felt his strong muscles all around her, felt his erection against her belly. Her heart thundered in her chest and her pulse raced as erotic sensations consumed her, replacing the terror and dread she’d felt before he’d saved her. And he truly had saved her. In every way possible. His hot, possessive kiss stirred her passion, bringing her to life. His tongue delved deep inside her mouth, caressing and teasing hers, pleasuring her in the most enticing way. The pangs of loneliness that had been so acute of late began to ebb as other sensations overpowered the emptiness she’d felt for so long. Desire built quickly, coursing through her, hot and bright. As her fingers tangled in his silky hair, she realized suddenly how much she needed this man… Needed him not only to save her from a terrifying fate, but to save her from her isolated existence. She felt an innate connection to him. Intimacy and warmth flooded her veins. A sense of familiarity swept over her. It was as though she knew him well. As though they belonged together. Forever. When the kiss ended, she was breathless, but filled with a sense of belonging and eternal love. He eased her down onto the rooftop, gently guiding her until she lay on her back. He settled between her parted legs. The storm had passed, and the night was quiet, the air calm. The large moon shone bright and full overhead. The stars twinkled and glittered in a clear, black sky. There was nothing left to fear. “I’ve waited so long for you,” he whispered. His deep, sensual voice was strained, telling of his own desire and need. “I’ve waited for you, too.” Though she hadn’t realized it until this very moment. Her fingers plowed into his long, silky hair again. She arched her back and pressed her body against his, desperate to feel every inch of him, desperate to drown in his heat and his passion. His hands clawed impatiently at the silk around her legs, pushing the hem of her nightgown up until it was bunched around her waist. Anticipation seeped through her veins, warm and molten. She longed to feel him inside her, longed to have him buried deep, fulfilling all her fantasies and darkest desires. “Soon,” he said in a soft voice. As though he’d read her thoughts. “We’ll be together soon, Aja. I promise.” As his mouth sealed with hers again, her eyelids fluttered closed. His kiss was long and sensual, stirring her soul, heightening her arousal. One large hand covered her breast as he rubbed his hard cock against her mound, making her painfully aware of how much she needed him. Her legs tangled with his, keeping him on top of her, melded to her. He gently squeezed and caressed her breast as he deepened the kiss. His touch was familiar and titillating. Aja felt as though she’d waited her whole life for him to find her, to make love to her. When he ended the kiss, she whimpered a soft protest. He smiled down at her, his emerald eyes glowing in the moonlight. “Make love to me,” she whispered. He nodded. “I will. As soon as you wake up, Aja.” Panic suddenly seized her. “No. I don’t want to wake up. Every time I do… you’re gone.” “Not this time.” “Please don’t leave me.” He brushed strands of hair from her forehead as he looked deep into her eyes. “Never, Aja. I’ve never left you. I never would. You belong to me. Forever.” His hand slid down the length of her body. Long fingers pushed aside the elastic of her panties and grazed her swollen lips. Aja gasped, the touch jolting her to the core. “Yes,” she whispered as her eyes closed. “Touch me. Please.” His fingers stroked her wet flesh until she was panting loudly. Then they plunged deep into her throbbing pussy. Aja cried out as the erotic sensations tore through her like a raging fire. He bent his head to her breast and licked a hard nipple through the silky material of her nightgown. As his fingers pumped in and out of her, Aja surged toward the kind of fulfillment she’d only dreamed of but had never experienced before. A love that would fill the empty cracks within her, a climax that would make her whole. She wanted it. More than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. She gripped his rigid biceps as he continued to stroke her pussy and tease her nipple. Aja inched toward that elusive sensation… more than just an orgasm, it was an all-consuming emotion that would finally complete her. “You will always be safe while I watch over you, Aja.” His voice penetrated the passion-induced fog that filled her head. “Always.” He stroked her faster, plunging deep. “Oh, yes,” she cried as the sensations inside her collided and exploded. “Oh, God, yes!” “Ooohhh!” Aja woke with a start and sat bolt upright in her bed. The breath escaped her as the powerful orgasm pulsed inside her. She squeezed her inner walls tightly to prolong the intense sensation, savoring every second of the erotic abyss that consumed her. Her legs pressed together and they trembled slightly. Her stomach quivered and her breath returned in sharp pants. “Oh, God,” she whispered as the wonderful feelings began to ebb. She fell back against the pile of pillows on her bed. She squeezed her eyes shut, concentrated on drawing in a full, steady stream of air. She could honestly say she’d never experienced such a strong, all-consuming orgasm. Its intensity startled her, but more bewildering was the fact that a dream had sparked it. No one had touched her, not in reality. She had simply dreamed of being touched, dreamed of being driven to that beautiful, erotic place. And then it had happened. In real life. Aja’s hand slid over her body. Her nightgown felt cool to the touch, but her skin burned with a sexual fever she’d never experienced before. Her eyes drifted open. She pushed strands of damp hair from her face and neck as she stared into the shadowy depths surrounding her, suddenly searching for any sign the dream had been more than that. It had seemed so real to her. She’d felt the fear in her heart and the cold evening air on her skin as she’d fallen. She’d felt the strength and warmth of her savior as he’d rescued her from a doomed fate. And she’d felt his hands on her body, his lips on hers… Those sensations were real. They lingered still. The sheets and comforter she’d tucked around her before she’d drifted off to sleep were now strewn about the bed, indicating she had thrashed restlessly during her dream. She climbed out of the large bed, her bare feet hitting the cool hardwood floor. She rushed to the tall french doors, pushed them open and stepped onto the balcony. She had no idea what she expected to find. She only knew something waited for her. A shiver crept up her spine at the eerie thought. She rubbed her bare arms with her hands to ward off the chill that slid over her, not just because of the late night air, but because she felt a peculiar presence lingering close by. However, as she looked about her, Aja found nothing to confirm her suspicion that someone had been on her balcony, watching her. Nor had anyone been in her bedroom. Unfortunately, the lack of a physical being did nothing to quell her nerves. She returned to the warmth and safety of her house, locking the doors behind her. It was only a dream. But it was one she’d had before, which made it all the more unsettling. Aja crawled back into her bed and pulled the covers up around her. She stared into the darkness and tried to reconcile the dream. For four nights in a row, she had been spared a terrifying fate. Each time, the same man rescued her. Tonight was the first time he’d touched her so intimately. What did that mean? Aja shook her head and tried to form coherent thoughts. Though the man in her dreams was difficult to see, his features undiscernible, she recognized his piercing, emerald-green eyes. Aja simply couldn’t fathom why Christian St. James, a man she barely knew, continued to save her. Or why he always whispered the same words. “You will always be safe while I watch over you.” About the Author: Calista Fox is the award-winning author of over 20 novellas and novels with publication dates scheduled into 2009. She began her professional fiction-writing career in 2004, following a successful career in PR, where she specialized in writing speeches and Congressional testimonies. Her books have received rave reviews and she is also the recipient of a Reviewer’s Choice Award for Best Erotic Sci-Fi Novella. Calista is a member of Romance Writer’s of America® and two of its Phoenix Chapters, Desert Rose and Valley of the Sun Romance Writers. She has served on the Board of Directors, been the newsletter director and chaired the annual Golden Quill Contest, recognizing outstanding published authors, for the Desert Rose Chapter. She is also a member of Passionate Ink, RWA’s erotic romance chapter. In addition, Calista gives presentations and workshops on writing novellas. Calista attended college on a Journalism scholarship and has worked on newspapers as an editor and reporter. She holds degrees in General Studies and Communications. Calista lives in Arizona, but travels frequently to places like Mexico, Europe, San Diego, and Washington, DC. She has traveled the country by Lear Jet, always with her laptop in tow, and is a spa aficionado! EDUCATING EVA - BETHANY MICHAELS To My Reader I’ve always been kind of a nerd—bookish and somewhat of an introvert rather than a gregarious, life-of-the-party type. Some of my favorite romances star similar heroines. The type of lady who is not the belle of the ball and really has no desire to be. She knows who she is and dances through life to her own beat. Her perfect hero loves her for exactly that reason. That’s the kind of story I tried to give Eva Blakely, my 19th century sister-nerd. Because as long as I’m behind the keyboard, brains trump beauty and the girl with glasses always gets the guy. Read an excerpt: Chapter 1 The next time she eavesdropped at her neighbor’s door, Eva Blakely thought, she should remember to bring a blasted chair. Now her bare feet were numb and her knees ached from kneeling on the hard wood floor. And still the enthusiastic couple on the other side of the door continued to copulate, oblivious to Eva’s discomfort. Eva pressed her ear against the slab of oak separating the bedchamber from her own, but all she heard was the same rhythmic thumping, deep grunts and occasional feminine squeals she’d been listening to for what seemed like hours. She stifled a yawn. Research was turning out to be more exhausting than she’d imagined, since it required her to stay up so late at night. That was when she collected her best research, although in the three days since she’d arrived at the house party, her neighbor had provided her with daytime research, too. And morning research, and tea time research. He was truly a goldmine of carnal data. Now, however, she wished he would get it over with already. Eva checked her watch. She had to record this newest set of data and outline a new chapter before she crawled into her narrow little bed. Finally the thumping increased in rhythm, as did the squeals. With one final masculine groan, the creaking stopped. Eva squinted at her pocket watch in the meager candlelight and recorded the time in her research journal. Then Eva pressed her ear against the door and listened carefully for the conclusion of the mating ritual, the shuffling bedclothes and soft laughter sprinkled with soft words. She couldn’t hear the words, only the low, feminine voice, followed by the deeper masculine reply. Specimen B was a talker, she noted in her journal. Unusual for a male. Only 32% of the specimens she’d studied liked to engage in conversation directly after intercourse. But then Specimen B was turning out to differ from her other subjects in a variety of ways, from number of partners, time of day, duration of coitus, and social rituals after the act. He was a fascinating study. Perhaps she should dedicate an entire chapter to his habits alone. Eva scribbled a note about that in the margin and went back to listening. At last she heard the door leading from Specimen B’s bedchamber to the hallway open and close again, leaving only silence within. It was Eva’s signal that it was safe to creep back to her small writing desk undetected, and think about her newest set of data. It had been another satisfactory research-gathering mission, even if it had gone on entirely too long. Eva gathered her journal and tried to rise from her cramped position on the floor. Pins and needles shot through her legs. Numb from the ankles down, Eva lost her balance and crashed against the door separating her bedchamber from her subject’s. She let out a small squeak and clapped a hand over her mouth. Eyes wide, Eva held perfectly still, listening for signs of life next door, hardly daring to breathe. She waited one second, then two, then ten. Finally the clamoring in her veins slowed. She relaxed and allowed herself a deep breath. It seemed both of the subjects had left the chamber to pursue yet more of the pleasure Ivy Hill Manor offered its guests. Flexing her ankle, Eva smiled, imagining the triumph her book would herald, the day when she and her academic pursuits would be taken seriously. The day she would emerge from the periphery of scientific circles, no longer condescended to with indulgent smiles, and pats on the head, but accepted and respected for her logical and scientific mind. On equal footing with the men. Yes, that would be a glorious day, indeed. Eva couldn’t wait. The feeling in her feet had finally returned. Eva retrieved her scattered things, laid a hand on the door for support, and began to rise. With a sudden whoosh of cool air, the door was gone and Eva tumbled into the softly lit adjoining room. “Miss Blakely?” asked Subject B, amusement lacing his familiar voice. Eva squeezed her eyes shut, praying that she was dreaming and was in reality tucked nice and snug dreaming this whole mortifying incident. No such luck. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. Though I’m afraid I’m not quite dressed for callers,” he said. Eva could hear his enjoyment of catching her in a less than dignified position. As always, he loved to taunt her. Made a point of it, in fact, whenever she had the misfortune of attending the same social event as he. Before she could frame an appropriate reply, if there was such a thing, Eva was hauled to her feet. Squaring her shoulders, Eva clasped the journal to her chest, and met the amused gaze of Aidan Worthington, Lord Lynnhaven. Usually so meticulously groomed, now he was in a state of disarray. But that was no surprise, given his recent activities. His midnight black hair clung to his forehead and temples in damp tendrils, his dark eyes glowing black in the soft candlelight. His full mouth was turned up in the same teasing, seductive grin she’d often seen him employ with appalling success on females in ballrooms across London. The expression highlighted that blasted dimple in his left cheek, the subject of many twittering conversations Eva had overheard when forced to attend some silly ball or another in her mother’s last ditch attempt to marry her off. The candlelight made his bare chest, coated in a fine, dewy sheen, gleam like the finest satin, only a few inches from the tip of her nose. Those gushing ballroom debutantes would have need of the smelling salts by now, Eva thought. It was a good thing she had more sense than to be overcome by simple bit of flesh. Well, quite a bit of flesh, actually. And the musky male scent of him that she’d never been close enough to sense before. Her gaze slipped a little further south to the crumpled bed sheet tucked loosely around his lean hips, his only nod to decency. “Go ahead, Miss Blakely. Look your fill. I plan to.” His gaze traveled over her body. Even though she was covered from neck to toe in a prim, white cotton nightshift, Eva felt naked under his gaze. Eva felt the blush burn in her cheeks and spread outward across her face. She was hardly a beauty, compared to the stunning young widows and bored wives Lynnhaven usually consorted with. Not that she cared about impressing him or any other arrogant, self-important cad, but she didn’t like to be reminded of her shortcomings. Especially by Lynnhaven. “I assure you, my lord, that I have far more important matters than ogling your person.” She pushed her spectacles further up on her nose and glared at him. “Had you appeared in my doorway a few minutes earlier, you would have had a lot more to ogle,” he pointed out, his hand going to where the sheet overlapped at his waist. “But I would be happy to provide an encore.” Eva tamped down the panic. “I am hardly one of your simpering admirers, charmed by your arrogant overtures.” There. Hardly even a waver in her voice, Eva thought with satisfaction. Instead of being suitably chastised, he laughed. How had Lynnhaven ever managed to charm so many women to his bed? He was rude, assuming, and extremely trying to Eva’s limited patience. Even if he did resemble some of the more attractive male nudes she’d studied in the dusty books gathered in the course of her research. Eva glared at him harder. “I’d never considered you might be the type to enjoy an Ivy Hill house party, Miss Blakely. You surprise me.” He stepped closer and slowly traced the line of her jaw with his knuckles. “Did I mention how much I love surprises?” “I didn’t come here for that,” she said emphatically. But the tingle that raced through her body at his touch made it difficult to concentrate on being outraged. Blast him. “There is only one thing most people come here for,” he said dropping his hand. “That, I can attest to.” “I’m not most people.” “Yes, I’ve noticed that about you,” he said, his carefree grin returning. “So what is it then? Have you come to infiltrate this ‘sinful’ gathering? Expose us all as shocking libertines? Maybe blackmail one of the guests? You wouldn’t be the first to try, you know. And not the first to fail.” “I’m not here to expose anyone’s secrets.” Not the way he thought, anyway. “And I hardly think anyone would be particularly scandalized to learn of your attendance.” “True. But they might take notice if it were to slip out that you, Miss Blakely, had accepted an invitation. By the way, how is your dear mother these days?” “You wouldn’t dare.” Though Eva generally did as she pleased, her poor parents would be horrified to return from their latest travels to learn that her only daughter had sneaked off to an orgy in the countryside. And she never would have accepted Lady Kempe’s invitation without the assurance that discretion was of the utmost priority here. He cocked one sable eyebrow and crossed his arms over his damp chest. “Why are you here?” “If you must know, this is a research expedition,” Eva said as haughtily as she could manage. “Research?” “An Anthropological Study of the Mating Habits of Civilized Peoples of the Northern Hemisphere.” Eva adjusted her spectacles. “The adult male is the subject of Volume 1.” For a moment, Lynnhaven was silent. Then he threw back his head and laughed. “You’re writing a treatise on sex.” Eva wasn’t sure why he thought that was so funny. Similar studies had been undertaken by prominent anthropologists, though not of the scope and complexity of the project Eva planned. Eva steamed. “This is a serious scientific endeavor, Lord Lynnhaven. Not some sort of jest.” That he didn’t take her work seriously raised Eva’s ire another notch. If she had not been such a rational, logical individual, she would have hurled the particularly sturdy vase on the writing desk directly at his head. Eva clenched her fists and managed to resist the impulse. He finally stopped laughing, but the taunting set to his mouth and the twinkle in his eye told her that he still didn’t believe she was serious. “Let me see that,” he said, and before Eva could stop him, he plucked the journal from her grasp and began to flip through the pages. “Those are my private notes,” Eva said as calmly as her panic would allow. “Return the journal immediately.” Eva grabbed for the book, but Lynnhaven only held it higher, out of her reach, and continued to read. “’Subject B’,” he read. “I assume that’s me.” He clearly wasn’t going to return her property until he’d had his laugh, so Eva merely crossed her arms and glared at him. “Yes, you’re Subject B.” He flipped through the pages, chuckling occasionally. “I can tell you for certain that the ‘session’ lasted longer than 47 minutes,” he said handing her the journal. “That was just the noisy part.” He adjusted the bed sheet ringing his waist, tucking the ends more securely. “Not all aspects of bed sport are audible from the other side of a closed door, Miss Blakely.” Eva frowned. Despite her annoyance, she was curious. “What do you mean?” She was probably more enlightened as to what went on between men and women than any unmarried young woman of quality could be. Her library was full of texts, dating back centuries and describing the human mating ritual in vivid detail. She was very thorough in her research and had spent hours poring over each account. Was it possible that she had overlooked something? “What I mean,” he said stepping closer. “Is that sex is much more than two people coming together physically. It’s the anticipation, a touch here, a caress there. It’s the subtle, intangible moments that makes the physical part so good. And that. Miss Blakely, can’t be found in any book.” Eva blinked at him through her spectacles, ideas churning. None of her books mentioned such a thing. Her own, somewhat clinical encounter had left her with the impression that intercourse was a simple physical function. An urge that must be attended to from time to time. An act with the purpose of procreation. Not the metaphysical exchange Lynnhaven implied. Maybe there was something missing in her understanding, something that was vital to her project. An idea blossomed. An awful, brilliant idea. It was unconventional. And risky. But then so was her project. She had to ensure that the quality and scope of her data was beyond question if she hoped to distinguish her book from any others. Eva straightened her shoulders and focused on a point just above his left ear. “You may have a point, my lord,” Eva said politely. She prayed she wasn’t going to regret her boldness. “What I need is a subject for in-depth research. Someone well versed in the subject, of whom I can ask frank questions. A subject I can observe in his natural habitat, so to speak.” Eva forced herself to meet his wordless stare. “What I need, Lord Lynnhaven, is you.” About the Author: Bethany Michaels is a born and bred Hoosier recently transplanted in the South. While she loves her adopted hometown of Nashville, Tennessee, she still misses the winter snow…sometimes. Bethany lives with her husband and four small children and squeezes in writing between nights as a full-time transportation planner and days as a full-time mom. THE SEX SLAVE - ROXI ROMANO To My Reader The Sex Slave will take you into a future that is not so alien from our present. There are still the haves and have-nots. Still politics, secrets and power struggles. Most importantly there is still the human condition. Meet Lazarus Stone, a species of human with special powers that condemn him to the life of a sex slave. Just when he gets the opportunity to escape, a free-spirited girl stumbles into his path with secrets of her own. Now they both face slavery if they don’t escape. Read an excerpt: Chapter 1 Lazarus Stone’s sort had been bred for sex, hardwired to respond to the dictates of lust, which was why his cock twitched at the crude invitation issued from the dark alley. But he passed the street-sexer, his step measured rather than faltering. He was thinking with a more evolved head tonight. He had to. He needed to find the one man who could get him off this foul outpost of a moon before someone figured out what he was and sold him to the highest bidder. That was why he’d come to the underbelly of this goddess-forsaken moon in the dead of night. Men who did business on the edge of the law did their business in places where even the law didn’t venture after sundown. He turned up the collar of his greatcoat and strode through the smog hanging between the buildings, his target the faint glow of a streetlamp that marked the corner. There were a half-dozen more dives yet to check, three of them on the next block. He hoped to find Marco in one of them. The debris rustled ominously where it was gathered against the curbing of a street built in an era that accommodated wheeled vehicles, and Laz’s greatcoat billowed around him. Nice as it was to have his heated body cooled, any time a breeze blew across this barren moon, it meant a storm was brewing. He lowered his head as he stepped into the dim glow of the corner mounted streetlamp, letting his hair fall around his face like a dark veil. Sometimes light wasn’t a man’s friend. The thought had barely crossed his mind when a girl with wild ribbons of blonde hair skidded around the corner, stutter-stepped to halt just short of running into him, and grabbed him by his coat front. “You gotta help me,” she demanded. “I don’t have to do anything,” he said, tugging at the hold she had on him. Footfalls echoed off the buildings lining the side street, muffled by the smog bank that hung over the city night and day. He glanced over her head at the corner. From the sounds of those rapidly falling feet, there were at least two of them and one of them sounded decidedly large. They were fast closing on the corner. Laz scowled. He didn’t have time to play the rescuer. Hell, his own freedom was at stake here. “If you don’t help me,” she panted, “they’re going to catch me.” He looked down at the girl, her forehead barely reaching his chin, well short of the women whose company he kept. A pair of huge waif-like brown eyes pleaded up at him. Maybe she was younger than he thought—a child even. The feet of her pursuers pounded closer. He groaned. By the Goddess’s blood, he was going to regret this. 4 Roxi Romano But before he could take action, she yanked him by the lapels into the nearest empty doorway. He stumbled against her, flattening her against the door with his own body. High, firm, developed breasts pressed back against his chest. Definitely not a child. She settled him back on his heels with ease. Strong, too, for such a bit of a female. The next thing he knew, she was on her knees, her mouth level with his crotch. Cloaked by his greatcoat, they no doubt looked like any other couple having street sex. He silently conceded it was a better plan than the one he’d had… which was to fight her assailants while she ran. Two men rounded the near corner and skidded to a halt behind them. One of them stepped up close. “You see a little blonde run by here?” the man asked, his foul breath snaking over Laz’s shoulder and slithering across his nostrils. Laz winced. “Hey, I asked you a question, Dick Brain.” The man dropped a thick hand on Laz’s shoulder. This is what good deeds got a guy. Laz tensed, readying himself for the inevitable fight. “Wait yer turn, gents,” the blonde on her knees at his crotch said. “I’ll be done with this one in short time.” The foulmouthed hood’s fingers flexed on Laz’s shoulder, diverting the flow of blood to his groin where a hot wet mouth breathed promise of release against his cock. It had been two days since he’d released. Not long for a normal man. But he wasn’t normal. Laz growled over his shoulder, “Back off.” The thug growled back, “I could pop your head like a fat pimple.” Laz’s muscles coiled for the fight. But the blonde’s teeth slid open over the cloth covering Laz’s shaft and her breath bathed his cock in a heat. He groaned, sagged against her mouth and caught himself with flattened hands against the door above her to keep himself upright. Though bred and trained to be ever on the ready for service, he’d also been taught restraint… and he had a reputation for phenomenal restraint. Yet this girl all but brought him to his knees. The hand on his shoulder tightened, dragging his attention from the mouth heating his cock. Laz stiffened. The mouth on his cock moved up and down, sliding its teeth lightly the length of him—making him swell against the chamois-like microfiber of his britches. He bucked and groaned. The other man, the one not touching him, snorted. “Leave ‘em be, Dickie. A nuclear blast could go off and that guy wouldn’t notice.” The beefy hand lingered a moment longer on his shoulder, then slid away accompanied by a snarled, “Just a couple filthy street-sexers.” Then they were gone, nothing more than two sets of heavy footfalls fading off in the direction he’d come. Almost immediately, the girl kneeling between his legs released his hips and started to her feet. Lazarus’s knees gave at the sudden withdrawal of the girl’s mouth. He staggered, caught himself and demanded, “What the hell was the blow job through the pants about?” “To get you to sound like a man having sex,” she snapped, fumbling around inside his coat. He felt a tug on his OxyCan. Sex Slave 5 Snagging her by the wrist, he hauled her out from under his long coat. “You weren’t thinking of stealing my oxygen canister after I helped you out, were you?” She scowled and rubbed her temple with her free hand, her hair streaming over her hand and down past her shoulders like pale ribbons. “Is that what whacked me in the head?” She fingered his coat open. “What all ya got in there?” He released her and took a step back from her prying fingers. “Nothing that is any business of yours.” She drew a ragged breath. “I could use a hit off that OxyCan. I breathed in a lot of this bad air running from those guys.” He eyed her short tight skirt and the stacked platform shoes she’d been running in… and the shapely legs that stretched between shoes and skirt. The overall package didn’t fit with those waiflike eyes that had pleaded for help. Street whore or party girl? “What’d those guys want with you?” She shivered and rubbed her arms through the slick fabric of a red blouse. “They wanted to party and I didn’t.” There was something about her answer that didn’t quite ring true. Maybe it was the way her eyes didn’t quite meet his as she’d answered. Or maybe it was the fact the lipstick-red blouse had been unbuttoned far enough to expose the upper edge of a red lace bra and a plump cleavage that didn’t match with the youthfulness hinting from beneath the heavy makeup. Then there was the scent of her, a sweet, musky fragrance of female sex, strong even through the metallic odor that clung to this ore-laden moon. Yet, there was also the rancid scent of fear about her. Working girl who knew how to barter or kid in trouble? “So do I get a hit off that OxyCan or not?” she asked, head cocked to one side and all-too-knowing eyes slanting a challenge his way. “It’ll cost you a couple of credits,” he tested. She frowned then glanced down at his crotch. “I could finish that job for you. A hit of oxygen for a hand job.” He twitched involuntarily. No working girl had ever tempted him beyond control. He studied her more closely. Without her platform heels, she had to be a full head shorter than him. Was that it—her unusual short stature? Most grown women on this moon hovered around the six foot mark, not much shorter than the average man’s height and he was average in height. This one wasn’t much bigger than… Goddess’s blood, please tell me you didn’t allow some early-developed child to do this to my body. “I usually get a hundred credits for that,” she said, obviously misreading his hesitation. She sidled close, the scent of her sex spiking, and stroked him with the palm of her hand. “Help me get off this rock and I’ll even blow you.” So much for her being a kid in need of help. Stature aside, she wasn’t anything the word girl conjured for him. He resisted the urge to lean into the warm curve of her palm. “I just saved your ass, kid. If anyone owes anybody anything, it’s you who owes me.” “Okay,” she all but purred, giving a head toss that made her ribbons of hair 6 Roxi Romano bob around her shoulders. “I’ll do the hand job as a thank-you. Then I’ll blow you for a hit of oxygen and fifty credits.” He laughed. She snatched her hand away from his crotch, her coyness fleeing. “I’m not blowing you for a lousy hit of oxy—” She started to cough, the dry kind resulting from poor oxygen absorption. “Go to hell,” she hacked out, stumbling toward the corner on coltish legs. He groaned. Goddess’s Blood, he was a soft touch. Plucking the OxyCan from its inside pocket, he called, “Wait.” She paused beneath the streetlamp and looked back at him. He held out the OxyCan. She hesitated. “What do I gotta do for it?” she asked, her voice raspy. “Nothing. You can have a hit.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Now,” he commanded, advancing on her. “I’ve got places to go.” He held the OxyCan up in front of her. She closed her hands over his on the can and fit her mouth to the inhaler. Simultaneously, she hit the trigger and inhaled. Her eyelids drifted shut and her head lolled back as she held the oxygen in her lungs. Directly below the streetlamp, he took the opportunity to look her over more closely. No telltale dark roots. A natural blonde. That was an oddity in this world, an oddity that could make her a sexual commodity on this dark moon. She could well have been telling the truth about why the two thugs were chasing her. Then there were the tear tracks furrowed through the makeup on her cheeks. Apparently she wasn’t as tough as she pretended to be. Or maybe she was more scared than she let on. She was young, though not as young as the wide eyes she’d lifting pleadingly to him had suggested. She blew out the breath, opened her eyes, and tottered. He caught her by the upper arm. “Steady there. You took a pretty big hit.” “Yeah,” she dreamily sighed. “It sure was good.” She blinked up at him, her eyelids at half mast and a loopy little smile on her plump lips. “I could still thank you.” She flexed her fingers in the air by way of explanation. His dick strained at the offer. But, between her unusual petite size and the mane of blonde hair flying about her head, this girl stood out like a laser beam. Even worse, somebody wanted her bad enough to send a couple thugs into this hell hole of depravity in the dead of night to chase her down. He had enough trouble of his own without being seen with a fugitive temptress. Or seen at all, crawled the thought up the back of his neck. He muttered a curse and glanced up at the tiny camera fastened high to the light pole and aimed down the street. Big Brother liked to keep an eye on all its neighborhoods, and Laz had been careless. If his face had been seen out in the world after curfew…. He took out his laser and shined it up at the lens of the camera. No reflection. Someone had painted over it. His luck had held. But he wasn’t taking any more chances. He shook his head, released the girl, and stepped around her. “You’re on your own, kid.” About the Author: Roxi Romano’s Midwestern neighbors probably think her most wicked vice is her love of chocolate. They’d be wrong. An avid reader of just about any genre, it was simply a matter of time before Roxi discovered erotica… as a reader and a writer. Visit RoxiRomano.com to read more about Ms. Romano. ___________________________________________________________ RED SAGE PUBLISHING, INC. © 2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
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