Max by Jeanne St. James - No Matter How Hard He Tries, He Can’t Get Sexy Amanda Out Of His Head Or His Heart- #Erotic #MF #Contemporary #Romance

Blurb:

Big city party-girl Amanda Barber has been spoiled most of her life. But life for Amanda suddenly becomes a major challenge: adapting to small town life, dealing with her handicapped brother and constantly butting heads with a frustrating local cop.

As a police officer and former Marine, “responsibility” is Max Bryson’s middle name. Never having been in a serious relationship, he has no plans for being in one in the near future. He likes being his own man. And even if he were interested in a serious relationship, he certainly wouldn’t choose it to be with someone so immature and irresponsible as Amanda. But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get sexy Amanda out of his head or his heart. Watching her mature in front of his eyes, his protectiveness towards her only strengthens.

Bossy and possessive aren’t the only words Amanda uses to describe this frustrating cop. She can’t deny just looking at the man makes her tremble. But she’s done with having anyone control her and this man isn’t going to be any different. Or is he?


Excerpt:

She laid her head on his shoulder and snuggled her nose into his neck. She could feel his strong pulse against her cheek.

It felt so good to be in his arms. She circled his tattoo with her finger. Semper Fi. Mary Ann had made sure to tell Amanda that it meant “always faithful.”

“Did you always want to be a cop?”

He had one hand on her hip and the other on her thigh, rubbing it slowly back and forth. “Yes.”

She waited a moment, and when he said nothing further, she prodded. “Why?”

His deep voice resonated through his chest. “I was always in awe of my grandfather and my father. That’s why I followed in their footsteps. That’s why all three of us did. The Marines first, to serve our country, and then the police department, to serve our community.”

“To protect and serve, huh?”

The pride exuded from his words. “It’s the Bryson family motto.”

She moved her nose up to nuzzle him behind the ear. “Well, you can protect and serve me anytime.”

“I’d planned to since the minute you bitched me out in that parking lot when you first came to town.”
She raised her head, pushing herself up with a palm against his chest. “You were only trying to get into my pants.”

“True…” he said slowly.

Amanda grabbed a nearby decorative pillow and whacked him.

“Hey! You didn’t let me finish. True, but when you saw me in my uniform, you just wanted a big ol’ piece of this bad boy.” He opened his arms wide as if offering himself to her.

Amanda whacked him again. “Yeah, right.”

“You can’t say you didn’t want this.” He reached out, and his long fingers cupped her face as he leaned in to kiss her. It was only a slight brush, leaving her wanting more.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Would you have kissed me if I had torn up the ticket?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“For twenty-five bucks? Get real. I wanted to take out that retractable metal stick you carry and beat you over the head.”

Max laughed. “You mean my ASP baton?”

“Whatever.”

“Only because you were sexually frustrated.”

“You wish.”

He poked her side gently. “Admit it.”

“No.”

“C’mon.”

“Okay. You’re right. I was sexually frustrated because I couldn’t jump your bones right there in the middle of town, in the free parking lot on the pavement amid a bag of spilled dog toys, while Greg looked on. Satisfied?”

His smile widened. “Yep.”

“Good. Now kiss me again.” She grabbed the back of his head and pulled it down until their lips were a breath apart. “And do it like you mean it this time.”

The light peck was easily forgotten as he claimed her mouth with his, crushing her to him. This was what she had been waiting for. She groaned into his mouth, tangling her tongue with his. She felt a twinge and wiggled her hips in his lap, feeling his body harden.

He pulled back slightly. He ran a finger under the edge of her skintight black pants. “You know, I’ve drunk too much to drive. I guess I’ll have to stay put until I sober up.”

“Hmm. Maybe I should make another pitcher to make sure it takes you a while to sober up.”

“Forget it. I want to make sure you remember everything I do to you.”

“You’re right. I want to make sure you can do everything to me.”

“So we’re going to seal this new compromise with another kiss?”

“No, even better…” Amanda unfolded herself from his lap to take his hand and lead him upstairs.
As the steps creaked underneath him, she whispered, “We need to be quiet.”

At the top of the stairs, he answered, “I’m not sure that will be possible. You squeal like a pig.”

Amanda stifled a laugh and poked him in the ribs with her elbow.

“Ow!”

“Shh!” She pulled him into the master bedroom and shut the door quickly behind them.

She leaned against the door and watched him rub his ribs. His fingers were long and strong, and she knew what they could do to her, how undone she could become. Her stomach fluttered at the thought.

He splayed himself over the bed and held out a hand to her. “I feel like a teenager trying to have sex in my parents’ house and not get caught.”

Amanda reached behind her to turn the lock.

“Are you going to be able to stay quiet?” she asked him.

A wicked smile crossed his face. “Oh yeah. But I doubt you will be able to.”

“I hear a challenge.”

He laughed quietly. “You betcha. Are you game?”

--

Buy Links:

Loose Id: http://www.loose-id.com/brothers-in-blue-max.html

aRe: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-brothersinbluemax-2127550-149.html

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Brothers-Blue-St-James-Jeanne-ebook/dp/B01LX0SZ3P/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1475187489&sr=8-1&keywords=brothers+in+blue+max

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/brothers-in-blue-max/id1159966365?mt=11

Google Books: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Jeanne_St_James_Brothers_in_Blue_Max?id=lAwnDQAAQBAJ

Barnes & Noble (Nook): http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/brothers-in-blue-jeanne-st-james/1124708976?ean=9781682522219

Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/brothers-in-blue-max

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Author Bio:

JEANNE ST. JAMES is an erotic romance author who loves an Alpha male (or two). She was only thirteen when she started writing since it gave her an escape from teenage angst! Her first paid published piece was an erotic story in Playgirl magazine. Her first erotic romance novel, Banged Up, was published in 2009. She is happily owned by farting French bulldogs. She writes M/F, M/M, and M/M/F ménages.

She has a few new releases coming up in 2016 and 2017. So keep an eye on her website at www.jeannestjames.com or sign up for her newsletter: https://www.MyAuthorBiz.com/ENewsletter.php?acct=JJ4625816541890

Author Links:

Website: http://www.jeannestjames.com
Blog: http://jeannestjames.blogspot.com
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Newsletter: https://www.MyAuthorBiz.com/ENewsletter.php?acct=JJ4625816541890

Back to the Sky by #KateyHawthorne #ScifiRomance #AirElemental

Blurb  

Rather than spend his first post-college summer on the beach with a hot boy and a margarita, Zane Woodward goes home. While the lectures aimed at getting him to be more respectable like his lawyer father aren’t appreciated, Zane wants to be near his sister and his best friend—both of whom he’s convinced need him.

Enter Geordie Finsen: the Buddhist, blue-haired, stacked house-sitter-next-door. Geordie has a penchant for parties, older women who can pay the bills, and younger men who can wear him out—and he may or may not be able to control the weather.

While Geordie and his philosophies start to disentangle Zane from his own expectations and hang-ups, they bring the two closer and closer, and their chemistry flares into a hot and heavy summer romance. But Geordie has hang-ups of his own, including an aversion to getting too attached to anyone or anything. When things get a little too heavy between him and Zane, his instinct to cut loose and run free is tested, and Zane’s plans for a perfect escape of his own might never get off the ground.

~Back to the Sky is the "air" in the Elementals project.~


Excerpt:

“Girl scouts make great body shots.” Geordie yanked off his shirt, revealing a broad, defined series of muscles and grooves across his bare chest and stomach that made Zane sit up straighter and squeeze his legs together. The hair trailing from the center of Geordie’s chest down, past the sweet indentation of his navel, over the flat hardness of his lower belly, into his shorts, was scruffy and pale.

Zane almost laughed at himself. Of course it fucking was—what, had he expected it to be blue? Jesus. “A’ight. Let’s do it.”

Geordie threw his shirt at the sliding glass door, then pointed to Zane. “‘First you gotta lose the shirt.”

Zane complied. He wasn’t as cut as Geordie—with muscles that were more long, flat planes than defined in deep relief. He took care of himself, though, and it was sure as hell nothing to feel ashamed of.

“Then…” Geordie leaned over to rummage for the chocolate. When he found it, he sat up on his knees. “I’m not really into food play, by the way. I just kind of want to lick you.”

Zane thought, Holy shit, is this really happening? Zane said, “Read my mind, man.”

“Don’t move,” said Geordie. “Stay just like that.”

Zane stilled, hands pressing hard into the clay tiles beneath him. Geordie threw one leg over his lap and sat straddling his thighs, facing him. The smell of clean sweat filled Zane’s head, overpowering the peppermint. When Geordie leaned forward, looming over him, Zane rolled his head to one side, offering up his neck.

Something wet and cold hit his collarbone, and Zane lifted his shoulder to form a deeper cup. It filled with chocolate, cooling his overheated skin; a little line of it dripped down his chest onto his jeans.

He wrestled down a sudden shudder as it tried to race through his body. Goose bumps broke out, and his nipples hardened.

Geordie placed his hands at Zane’s middle, thumbs sinking into his jeans. He lowered his head, opened his mouth, and— Jesus Christ, look at him stick that fine ass up in the air like a goddamn cat in heat.

Geordie licked up his pec, cleaning up the little chocolate trail before more could drip off. Raff was right. I so want to smash in that back door. Fffffffuuuuuuuuu—

The thought never completed, as by that time, Geordie was sucking at his collarbone, licking, sucking some more, licking again, cleaning it out. Zane’s nipples perked even tighter; his fingers and toes tingled. His dick grew too heavy to hide, and fast. He curled up his fingers, forming fists to try and keep him from grabbing for the fine-ass man in his lap. His throat clenched as he bit back a little groan, swallowed it whole.

Geordie sat up, snagged a shot glass from the ground next to his knee, dropped the contents into his mouth, and began shaking his head.

Gently this time, but it still meant there was now a vibrating fine-ass man spread out over Zane, the backs of his thighs pressing into the tops of Zane’s, the flat of his belly, the button of his fly, the mouthwatering bulge behind it, all inviting Zane to touch, stroke, play. Zane uncurled his hands and ran his fingertips through the trail of hair between Geordie’s navel and the waist of his shorts. His skin was warm all over, like it held the sunshine.

Geordie swallowed and settled his ass against Zane’s thighs again. He dragged the back of his hand over his mouth and said, “You made it taste better.”

Zane sank two fingers into the front of Geordie’s shorts and pulled, just a little. Not enough to actually bring him forward.

Just enough to let him know he wanted to.

Geordie grinned and edged forward. Zane tilted his face up, and again Geordie went with it, tilting his face and pressing his lips to Zane’s. They were soft, as soft as they looked, sticky and sweet with chocolate and peppermint. Zane licked at the full lower lip, sucked at it, then started a new kiss. Geordie’s lips parted under his, and he scooted his ass up Zane’s thighs until they were that close to optimum dry-hump position. One of Zane’s hands stayed between them, running up and down the flat of Geordie’s belly, tickling; the other slipped around his waist, held him close, ran over the curve of that ass.

Geordie hummed a little, closed off the kiss, and let his forehead rest against Zane’s. Zane’s breath had gone heavy, his chest tight and his heart thumping. A little wind picked up and ruffled his hair, and he vaguely thought it might cloud up again, rain on them. He was fresh outta fucks to give, apparently.

“You want to try?” Geordie asked.

Zane could think of a couple of things he wanted to try right then, yeah.

---

Links:

Buy and info: http://www.kateyhawthorne.com/p/back-to-sky.html

Publisher: http://www.loose-id.com/elementals-2-back-to-the-sky.html

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Author Bio:

Katey Hawthorne is an avid reader and writer of superpowered romance, even though the only degree she holds is in the history of art. (Or, possibly, because the only degree she holds is in the history of art.) Originally from the Appalachian foothills of West Virginia, she currently lives in Ohio. In her spare time she enjoys comic books, B-movies, loud music, Epiphones, and Bushmills.

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Katey Hawthorne
Superpowered Love
http://www.kateyhawthorne.com
kate@kateyhawthorne.com

Scent of a Wolf by Draven St. James

Blurb:

Jace Shaw is one of the few survivors of an extraordinary, rare wolf pack. He spends his days on the run and his nights in another world with a man he's only dreamed about. To sleep is to feel his dream man's hands on his body and hear his wicked whispered words. But when the sun rises reality crashes in: the evil that destroyed his birth pack hunts his kind down in search of a way to control their power.


Merek Wahya is an alpha dealing with all the issues of being newly appointed, but they all fall away when he closes his eyes at night. Then, a man with moonlit hair and mercury eyes crawls into bed with him. When he wakes it's to a painful arousal no one can satisfy. When Merek's wolf catches Jace's scent he knows he's found his mate, and he soon learns their nocturnal meetings were only foreplay. The joy of this discovery is shadowed by the trouble that follows Jace. Merek's mate is embroiled in a battle between two ancient packs, a war Merek must now fight. If he fails he could lose Jace forever.

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Excerpt:

“Mate!”

Jace’s scent hit Merek like a pile of bricks. The familiar scent called out to him. He took a deep breath, and there it was—Jace’s sweet and earthy smell. His mate. Here in the real world. There was no doubt about it. Merek’s wolf perked its ears up and stood waiting to change beneath the shifting sands of his skin.

He’s here.

With that thought panic slammed into him. His heart pounded a savage beat as the urge to get to his mate swept through him. He rose. His form changed even as he prowled forward, away from the meeting hall and in the direction of Emma’s cottage.

“Merek?” Sean asked, apparently confused by his sudden movement. “Wha—”

“My mate.” Merek growled and quickly shifted into the form of a midnight-black wolf.

He advanced through the underbrush, Sean following close behind in wolf form, scarcely a consideration. The only thing that remained of their human forms was a pile of ruined clothes.

The pull to get to his mate made the distance seem never ending, although it only took about five minutes to reach the clearing just beyond the tree line from Emma’s house. Two dead half-shifted weres lay in the center. A third were—a large, mangy gray—slammed the body of a man against the base of a tree. Merek felt the pain of that impact as if it were his body.

He snarled a sound full of fury and looked over at Sean. Their gazes briefly locked. Sean’s were alight with the strength to battle.

Merek and Sean burst into the clearing. The action was enough of a distraction to cause the gray wolf to turn before he could deal a killing blow to Merek’s unconscious mate.

Sean leaped at the gray as Merek advanced toward his mate, who was slumped on the ground. Jace’s body was sleek and elongated in a partial transformation. Before Merek’s eyes, the exposed claws on his mate’s feet and hands drew in. The long, toned muscles of his body retracted into his human form. His figure was pale in the moonlight, but streaks of blood marred its perfection. The slender lines of his body denoted strength and stealth. Merek knew those skills alone were what had kept Jace alive. His mate was naked save for the silver hair that flowed around his shoulders and concealed his face beneath its weight.

Merek howled into the night. He crouched closer and nuzzled the pale silver hair from Jace’s face—the soft lips, the bottom fuller than the top, square jawline with the dimple on his chin, and his aquiline nose. Altogether, they made up the man in Merek’s dreams. His mate. A mate who was bleeding from gouges on his chest and stomach. He had bruises already forming around his neck, but what worried Merek most was the blood that was changing his beautiful silver locks to a bright red.

In mere seconds Merek shifted back to human form. Naked, he knelt over his mate. With trembling hands he checked Jace’s pulse. It rebounded faintly against his fingertips. Breathing deeply to keep the pain at bay, he managed to lift the heavy weight of his mate’s body and bolted as fast as he could to Emma’s house.
It wasn’t exactly how he wanted to be naked for the first time with his mate. He would have preferred much different circumstances. Non-life-threatening circumstances. Before he reached for the doorknob, the door flew open to reveal a panic-stricken Emma.

She stepped aside, and he stalked through the door. He laid his mate on the couch in the living room and stared down at him with something akin to wonder.

“Tell me you can fix him.” His voice was a hoarse rasp as if he’d been screaming. He wanted to let loose a pained howl. He wanted the world to know how unfair it was he hadn’t been able to protect his mate. He didn’t want to feel the fear and helplessness that covered him now.

Not even standing in Emma’s domain, filled with light and decorated in shades of emerald and amber, could he find comfort. All he wanted was for his mate to wake up so he could see Jace’s silver eyes sparkling with life.

Emma knelt next to Jace and threaded her fingers through the silver fall of his hair. She closed her eyes and hummed softly. Merek was shocked when the soft locks wound around Emma’s hand. Merek had thought the magical hair was a trick of his imagination played out in his dreams. Then again, he’d thought Jace was a dream, but here he was, in the flesh.

Emma’s eyes opened, tears cresting in them.

“Oh, Jace, sweet child, what have you gone and done now?”


Adult Excerpt:

“Submit.”

Merek pinned Jace’s wrists to the ground. The man loomed close, his muscular frame pressing against Jace’s so he touched all the right spots. Jace squirmed in a halfhearted effort to get free even as his body screamed at him to yield to the pleasure that Merek could provide.

Merek leaned down to whisper, “You’re always so damned difficult.”

The moon shone down, filtering through the webwork of trees that canopied their nocturnal wicked activities. In the pale silver light, he could see Merek’s face. It was composed of sharp angles, a prominent nose, chiseled jaw, and a sensual mouth. That mouth never failed to make Jace’s cock twitch. Merek’s face was almost always partially shaded by the long locks of black hair that flowed down to touch his broad shoulders. Hair so dark it refracted light in shades of blue—an eerie color reflected in his eyes. They were the palest blue Jace had ever seen. The eyes of a wolf, and he growled like one too.

Letting the primitive nature of their wolves loose in the magnificent embrace of the wilderness was instinctive. The smell of damp grass and pine trees wafted around them. But beneath that scent was Merek’s—rich, primal, and addictive.

Jace strove to stop his grin as he bucked his hips in an attempt to get Merek off him. The man was too strong for his own good. The move only resulted in Merek chuckling and adjusting to hold both of Jace’s wrists in one hand. The other he used to lightly caress Jace’s cheek and jawline. Merek brushed his thumb over Jace’s bottom lip, causing a shudder to flow through Jace. He knew just what those hands were capable of.

No matter how hard he fought himself, he couldn’t help but tilt his neck into the soft touch. Merek gave him a sensual smile.

Jace tried to twist away again, to get the upper hand, but to no avail. Merek trailed his hand lower, and Jace arched into the gentle touch. The man was doing his best to destroy Jace’s control, and it was so tempting to catapult to the carnal command.

“Just one word, Jace, and I’ll give you everything.”

Merek leisurely traced his fingertips down Jace’s naked chest, along the hard muscles of his stomach, and stopped at the waist of Jace’s low-riding jeans. Jace curved into the touch. Desperate for Merek to go lower.

“Submit to me.”

* * * *

Jace Shaw sat up sharply in bed. The image of sweat-slicked bodies and the sound of throaty growls saturated his mind. The sex-laden dreams had his heart pounding with lust and his cock pulsing with raw need. Rampant desire raged through him so intensely he could barely catch his breath.

All because of some hot mountain of a man whose wolf seemed determined to dominate him. He could easily overpower Jace. He was more muscled and towered over Jace’s five-eleven frame by at least half a foot, and that was in human form. Yet Jace had never been intimidated by or afraid of him. It was through their dreams he had eventually found out the man’s name was Merek.

Every one-night stand he had to assuage the fire Merek inspired failed miserably. All the men had lacked in some way. He had tried to drown his sexual appetite in men who mirrored the man he wanted so badly to fuck. He’d screwed men from the East Coast to the West Coast, but not one of them had lasted more than the a few hours he’d rented the hotel room for. None of them tempted the wild nature of his wolf. At the end of the night, he was left with the sick feeling he had in some way betrayed Merek.

Merek hadn’t always been so rough and hard. They had grown and matured together over the years. Merek’s dark features had developed into granite lines. His body had become sculpted muscles built by hard work. It wasn’t until the past couple of years that the interaction had become two-sided. Before, it had always been as though Jace were a ghost on the sidelines…watching.

Merek hadn’t shown any sign he even knew Jace existed, with one exception. Merek stopped cutting his hair the day Jace’s parents were killed. The day Jace’s safe world came crashing down. The moment when he had been forced to grow up, learn how to survive, and how to fight those who would continue to hunt what remained of his family. That had been his new reality.

But now, despite the fear and insecurity that followed him, there wasn’t a night when he didn’t end up tangled in sweaty sheets with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous playing opposite him in some Kama Sutra porn marathon.

“Submit.”

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Buy Links:  http://www.loose-id.com/scent-of-a-wolf.html

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Author Links:

Facebook: www.facebook.com/draven.stjames

Blog: www.dravenstjames.wordpress.com

Twitter: www.twitter.com/DravenStJames

Pinterest: www.pinterest.com/dravenstjames

Email: Dravenstjames@gmail.com

A Haunted Romance by Sindra Van Yssel

Blurb

Chelsea moves out to her deceased aunt’s house in the country for some peace and quiet. It seems like the perfect spot for a mystery writer to hole up and be away from people. She doesn’t believe her brother’s claim that her aunt’s old house is haunted, it’s just in need of some good care. With two helpful and handsome neighbors in Trent and Dalton, she thinks she’s in pretty good shape, even if the two men don’t get along very well. But there’s something going wrong in the house -- strange sounds, slamming doors, falling objects. She’s got a mystery of her own to solve, and she’s determined not to leave until she solves it -- and until she figures out if the man who pleases her body is worthy of her heart as well.

When she finds the erotic writings of Minerva, a frustrated resident of the house from a century ago, she thinks she has an idea of who might be haunting the house, but why is the ghost so dangerous? And which of her neighbors can she trust?


Excerpt

Chelsea Krakowski drove her yellow Volkswagen Jetta up the steep and muddy gravel driveway. She sighed with relief once she reached the end of it and parked. Her Aunt Pat’s old house loomed off to the right, built two stories tall despite the expanse of the land, the paint peeling from its wooden shingles. On the driver’s side, thick green brush grew wild wherever the rocky hillside had allowed it purchase, a marked contrast with the deep red of the leaves that were still on the trees.

She’d been warned the house was not in the best of shape. Then again, her sister-in-law, Jacey, had even claimed the place was haunted. Under the terms of her aunt’s will, the house would have belonged to her brother if he had lived there for one year. Arnold and Jacey had lasted a week and come running back to the suburbs, at which point, by the will, the house became Chelsea’s, but it had been several months before she’d been able to get the key and the deed. After Jacey’s story about the ghost, dutifully backed up by Arnold and both of their “high-spirited” children, Chelsea figured they’d have told her pretty much anything to dissuade her from taking possession. But she didn’t need to live in the house to own it; Pat’s will didn’t have any such provision for the property once it reverted to her. She could even sell it if she wanted to, but she had looked forward to the idea of living in a pastoral setting, writing in blessed solitude.

She was beginning to have second thoughts.

She stepped out of the car, breathed in the fresh air, and the second thoughts were briefly dispelled. She grabbed her jacket from the shotgun seat. It was cooler out in the foothills of the Blue Ridge than it was in the DC suburbs, just enough so to make a difference. Still, it was a relatively warm day for early November, a nice break after a couple of days of cold rain.

She tromped around to the back of the house and surveyed her property. What once had been Pat’s farm had a year’s growth of weeds on it. She could still make out the depressions marking the place where rows of crops--corn, soy?--once stood. She had no idea. She didn’t know much about farming. She did know she’d inherited a hell of a backyard to mow. She’d have to get one of those tractor mowers or pay someone to take care of it for her once she’d gotten rid of the weeds and planted grass seed. There was a shed too to investigate later. What looked like it might be a bed frame leaned against it. Jacey had told her the shed was full of black widows and brown recluses, but then again Jacey had told her the house was haunted.

Chelsea walked back to the front, congratulating herself on having had the good foresight to wear hiking boots instead of her usual tennis shoes, even though they looked particularly clunky with her midlength blue flower print dress. Jeans would have been more practical, but she hated how she looked in jeans, and she wanted to make a good first impression with the neighbors. She needn’t have worried. From out back, she could see a few neighboring farms built on the flat, and any neighboring dwellings were blocked from view by trees. Privacy, just like she wanted.

She noticed with slight annoyance the splatters of mud on the recently washed Jetta and marched up the steps with determination. She wasn’t backing down just because of a few inconveniences. She’d drink sweet tea during the day on the big front porch, typing away on her laptop, and celebrate the better days with a peach julep in the evening.

They creaked. Loudly. But the porch itself was solid enough. It just needed a fresh coat of white paint. The house was old, she knew, built sometime in the nineteenth century. The porch was made of wood and fit nicely, but she presumed it wasn’t that old. How long did a wooden porch last? She’d find out the house’s history if she could. Those kinds of things fascinated her. Maybe there was a local paper with a back file to go through, or perhaps it would take a trip to the county historical society.

She tried the key in the lock, and it didn’t fit. For a moment she thought perhaps Arnold had given her the wrong key on purpose, but then she remembered she had two, and one of them supposedly went to the shed out back. She tried the other one. It turned perfectly.

It looked gloomy inside, but with the curtains shut and no lights on, that wasn’t too surprising. She walked inside and over to the large window in front and pulled open the curtains, strands of dust from them falling onto her hair and shoulders. She coughed a couple times and then smiled. The window let in a fair amount of natural light, enough to read by if she put a couch near it.

She scanned the room. It was completely bare. The floors were good--solid oak, she thought--and the inside walls were hard plaster. But the terms of the will had been quite clear--“the house and everything in it”--and somehow she rather doubted that Aunt Pat had lived her life completely without furniture. Given that the windows were in good shape, and a thief probably wouldn’t bother to lock the door behind himself, it seemed her brother and his wife had taken the chance to make some quick money.

This was the first time she’d been to her aunt’s house; her parents had never gone to visit, although she’d been taken to other relatives more distant both in relation and geography. Chelsea felt bad she hadn’t gone once she’d become an adult either. She’d met her aunt three times--twice at family reunions, and once at Chelsea’s own wedding. The last event was the only one she was sure Pat had been invited to--and what a disaster that had been. Actually the wedding had gone off without a hitch; the disaster was the next ten months until the divorce. Ralph had a law degree and had actually attempted to get alimony from her when they broke up, as if he couldn’t earn plenty if he’d been willing to work. She earned enough money from writing the Cat Connors mysteries to support herself but not any extra to spare for a lazy ex-husband.

He hadn’t even been any good in bed. He’d been good-looking and charming, and that was about it.

Something smelled up ahead, and she had a bad feeling about it. Sure enough, it was coming from the kitchen. An open pizza box sat on top of the range. It had probably been there for months. Ugh. She looked for the light switch and flicked it on. To her surprise, the bulb lit up nicely. She’d called ahead to get the electricity turned on, but given the living room, she’d half expected to find the bulbs missing or burned out. At least one worked. There weren’t a ton of insects running around either, although a little blur of white scurried for cover in a crack between the oven and the wall. She’d take mice over cockroaches any day. Hopefully she could find some humane traps in the local hardware store, wherever that was.

She decided she wasn’t feeling quite up to checking out the refrigerator. She had the essentials--milk, cheese, butter--on ice in her car, and they’d certainly last a few more hours out there.

The lack of furniture in the living room had surprised her to the point where she hadn’t really felt like she was inside. A sequence of muddy boot tracks on her oak floor showed her otherwise. She took the boots off in the kitchen and decided the tile was actually a better place for them than inside the front doorway. She’d walk them over when she went back to the car to get her stuff. Her thick socks, she decided, would be enough to protect her from any surprises the rest of Aunt Pat’s house held.

My house.

Well, my house wouldn’t have an old pizza lying around.

She grabbed the box, wondering how much of a meal had been left for the mice by her relatives, and half crushed, half folded it into a shape that would fit in the trash can.

Opening the trash can was a mistake; it smelled worse than the pizza box. But there was a plastic bag in it, so Chelsea pinched the bag closed over the box and tied it shut. Behind the kitchen was a little pantry, thankfully devoid of ancient food, and through that was a back door. She opened the back door and tossed the bag out of the house into the weeds. She’d have to find out when garbage got picked up--they did pick up garbage out here, didn’t they? She couldn’t see any larger, outdoor trash cans, but she’d do some searching later. Right now, that bag needed to be out of the house because a gas mask was not one of the things she’d packed her Jetta full of.

Shutting the door between her and the bag, she took a deep breath. The air definitely wasn’t fresh, but it was at least marginally better. As much as her instincts told her otherwise, she knew the bag wasn’t going to march right back into the house on its own, so she opened the pantry door again. The place needed to air out, badly. The mustiness was getting to her.

She opened the front door too.

Ah. Much better.

There was one other room to explore on the first level. The dining room table, a bare butcher-block kind of affair, was still there. It bore a few stains, and the corners were rounded more from wear than design, but it had thick legs and looked very sturdy. It must weigh a ton, thought Chelsea. And probably has no resale value, which was why it was still there. Nonetheless it was very serviceable and would even look nice once she had a tablecloth on it. There was a cabinet for dishes as well--empty, no big surprise there. Some built-in shelves that might have held knickknacks were bare. She didn’t know whether Aunt Pat’s things had been sold off or simply dumped to be replaced with Jacey’s stuff when her brother’s family had moved in. She shrugged. Her aunt had always been a bit of a mystery, and Chelsea would have liked to have known more.

A loud thump and a crash interrupted Chelsea’s thoughts. The sound came from upstairs. What or who was making that kind of noise?

She froze, unsure of what to do next. Cat Connors would never have hesitated, she thought.

Against her better judgment, Chelsea went to investigate. She’d have called someone to go with her if she’d known anyone, but since the house clearly hadn’t been entered for a while, she decided she’d be safe enough alone, even though she didn’t feel safe.

The upper floor had some furniture, although there wasn’t a bed in any of the bedrooms so her sleeping bag was definitely going to come in handy. Even if there’d been a bed, she wouldn’t have used it with all the dust. Her allergies were going to be in enough trouble as it was, until she got Pat's house cleaned up. Some of the plaster in what had probably been the children’s room for a week looked like someone had taken a baseball bat to it, and she wouldn’t have been surprised if that was exactly what had happened. Chunks of white were still on the floor, along with a fine white dust. She didn’t see anything that would explain the crash, however, until she got to the master bedroom.

A canvas in a dark wooden frame lay facedown on the floor. A tarnished wire was strung across the back, and a hook was in the wall above it. Why it had chosen to fall down right when she was in the house, she didn’t know. Maybe something she had done downstairs had shaken the walls just enough. She shrugged. That didn’t make sense to her, but she didn’t have a better explanation.

She bent down to pick it up when she noticed something else. The dust was disturbed on the floor in a little line leading from the closet door, which was ajar. More mice? There weren’t little footprints, though, and the tracks looked really fresh. More like something had been dragged. Something, say, the thickness of the picture frame.

Chelsea gave a nervous chuckle, which she cut off when the laugh sounded a bit too eerie in the silence. There were no footprints of a picture frame dragger. Cat would know just what to make of it, but she wasn’t Cat. She propped the picture up against the plaster wall, took a look, and raised her eyebrows.

The picture was done in the pre-Raphaelite style. The lush greenery of an idyllic garden surrounded two women, both of whom were naked, although their arms and the scenery were strategically placed to avoid the glimpse of a nipple. One of the women was sitting on a marble bench, her body twisted to look at the other, who was standing behind a wall that came to her waist, leaning forward so that her lips almost touched the lips of the other woman. It was well done--and the sort of thing that would offend the hell out of her homophobic brother Arnold, who was convinced that every time a woman held hands with another they were lesbians and needed to get a room. If he’d sold the living room furniture, he certainly could have found a market for the painting. She couldn’t imagine him leaving it hanging in the bedroom.

She lifted it up and put it back in place. A little bit of nudging and the hook in the wall found a worn spot in the wire where it balanced just right. Brother or no brother, the picture certainly belonged there. Had it been her aunt’s? It wasn’t really Chelsea’s sort of thing, but if it were Pat’s, she’d leave it there for a while.

There was a sound below that echoed--she couldn’t quite make out what it was. She listened. This time it was clearer; a man yelling, “Hello.” She hurried downstairs.

She didn’t know what the man was doing there, but his shoulders sure did fill the doorway nicely. She stared at him for a while, taking in random details. Tanned skin. Long, silky dark brown hair well past his shoulders. No man should have hair like that. But he most definitely wasn’t a girl. The top two buttons on his brown flannel shirt were unbuttoned, and his cuffs were rolled up above his elbows. His hands were big. His forearms were thick. She decided she better say something when she found herself wondering if he was big and thick all over.

“Hello?” It turned into a question because she’d totally lost track of what she should say.

“Trent Johnston, ma’am.” His voice was slow and twangy. To her ear he did sound a bit thick, and not in the way she’d briefly fantasized about. He didn’t enter but did put out his hand, which meant that she had to get off the stairs and cross the living room floor. He just held it there until she was ready to take it and give it a shake. He had a good, firm handshake--he didn’t baby her hand but didn’t move any bones around inside it either.

“Chelsea Krakowski,” she told him.

He nodded, apparently satisfied to hear the name. “Pat’s niece.” Pat was her mother’s older sister and had never married, so she had been a Palmer, but Chelsea shared her brother’s last name. She doubted Pat had ever mentioned her name, so that must be how he figured it out. The fact that he was on a first-name basis with her aunt caught her interest, though.

“I was just checkin’ up. I was afraid you were a squatter. Glad to see you belong.” His gaze swept the living room and then looked back up at her. “You’ve got mud on her floor.”

My floor, she thought, but she didn’t really feel it. “Yeah. I’m going to clean it up real soon, I just--well, there was this smell coming from the kitchen, and I kinda forgot myself.”

Trent raised a thick eyebrow. She could never do that--her eyebrows insisted on moving up or down in concert. She found it vaguely annoying. Who was he to judge, anyway? But she really did feel dreadfully sloppy not to have taken her boots off. All Jacey’s talk about hauntings and spiders, and Arnold’s comments about dangerously bad construction had made her feel less like she was entering a house and more like she was exploring. One didn’t go around exploring in one’s socks.

“Mind if I come in?”

She hesitated. It seemed inhospitable to say no. Back home she’d never have let a strange man get her alone in her apartment, but if he posed a threat, she was already in trouble. The house was shielded from the road, and he could walk in whether she said yes or no if he really wanted to.

“Sure.”

He took his boots off first, left them outside. He peeled off his socks too and stuffed them inside the boots.

“You’ll want a mat inside, because your shoes are gonna get muddy a lot.”

She’d figured that out. “Well.”

He looked around. “Pat’s nephew took the furniture?”

“My brother. Yes, I think so. Just some of it.”

“She had nice stuff in her living room, real fine. I think it was mostly Joann’s doing. She liked everything to be nice for guests.”

Joann. The woman who lived with Pat, as she was called in family conversation when anyone talked about her at all. Chelsea had wondered before, but seeing the picture upstairs made her think that Joann had probably been a bit more than just a housemate. “You knew my aunt well?”

Trent shrugged. “I knew ’em, I guess, as well as anyone. They kept to themselves mostly, but they’d have me over for dinner now and then when they wanted some extra help in the yard or somethin’. The last year Pat needed help keepin’ the garden goin’ out back, but she wouldn’t take as much help as she needed. Joann was a bit more practical.” He looked at her, looking a bit uncertain for the first time since she’d seen him. “No offense meant,” he added. He sounded sincere, which in her experience wasn’t usual when people said that.

Chelsea shook her head. “None taken. I never got to meet Joann, and I didn’t know Aunt Pat all that well. It’s...nice to hear from someone who knew them.”

“She hoped you’d come visit someday.”

Chelsea remembered when she was twelve and the one family reunion. Her mother clearly wanted her to have nothing to do with Pat, so of course she’d hung out with her every chance she could. Pat had told her she could come visit any time she wanted, but it hadn’t been true because her mother wouldn’t let her. When she’d gotten older, she’d written letters a few times every year, but Pat had never made the invitation again. The last few years, she’d only managed a Christmas card. She’d pretty much given up writing anyone real letters. Everyone had e-mail.

Perhaps after all the family rejection, the one invitation had been as much as Pat had been up to offering. Shit.

“You look like I just shot your dog. I’m sorry.” He closed the distance between them, putting his hand on her shoulder. He smelled like earth and man, heavy but not unpleasant. Chelsea almost leaned up against him.

He took his hand away. “Your aunt thought the world of you.”

For what? A few letters? Had she been that lonely? Apart from Joann. That last year alone must have been incredibly rough on her.

“She was pretty cool,” Chelsea said. It wasn’t much of a eulogy, but she meant it.

Trent chuckled. “Yeah, she was at that. You have any other questions, just ask ’em, and I’ll be glad to answer.”

She felt like a bitch for asking what she wanted to know. She had no right, really, to expect anything from Aunt Pat, certainly not her house. But it had bugged her for a year. “Why’d she leave the house to my brother first?”

Trent looked at her for a moment and then finally shrugged. “Pat thought the house was haunted and that the ghost would give him a good scare. I’m afraid she didn’t much care for anyone in her family but you. She was a good woman, but...she’d been nursing a desire for revenge for a long time. People are complex.”

Chelsea’s mind whirled. She quickly revised her opinion of Trent--he wasn’t the country bumpkin she thought he was. People are complex indeed. The rest he’d said was hard to take in too, but she finally settled on one thought. “She thought the house was haunted?”

“Yup.”

“But you don’t.”

Trent smiled. “I never saw any sign of it. Pat said she had the ghost housebroken, and she’d kinda smile. Joann believed in it too. They didn’t make up stuff, as a rule. But ghosts?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I try not to have opinions on stuff I don’t know nothin’ about.”

“Ghosts don’t exist,” Chelsea stated. And they certainly don’t drag paintings across the floor.

Trent just looked at her for a moment, letting her statement hang in the air. When he finally spoke, he changed the subject. “You’ll need some help out back. If it’s okay with you, I’ll come by tomorrow, bright and early.”

“Um, sure. And thank you. I’m, um, not much of a cook, but I’ll manage something.”

“Need help unloading your car?”

She didn’t really want him to leave. The place seemed warmer with him there, or maybe it was just her who felt warmer. Definitely safer, although Cat Connors never needed a man for anything but a little relief, and it was pretty silly to be scared of a house. “No, um, I’m good.”

He stepped back on the porch. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. Chelsea.”

“Nice to meet you too, Trent.”

She watched, feeling a bit awkward, as he pulled his socks and boots back on. He nodded to her once more and turned to go to his truck. His jeans were tight, faded, and worn.

Nice ass, thought Chelsea.

She had some towels out in her car in one of the boxes she’d brought. Cleaning up the mess she’d made was her next priority, and then she’d move her stuff in and make the place more like home.

She’d cleaned up the mud, placed fresh towels in the bathroom, unrolled her sleeping bag in the master bedroom, tossed her suitcase in next to it, shelved a box full of books in the room with the broken plaster, and set up her laptop on an ancient and battered rolltop desk there when she heard a knock. She resolved to sweep in the morning and hoped her sinuses didn’t suffer too much for the procrastination.

She hurried down the stairs.

The man in her doorway this time was thinner than the first one but just as well built. Where Trent was round muscles, this guy was sleek lines. Short hair, almost a buzz cut. Square jaw. Black jeans, newish, and a deep green quick-dry shirt that hugged his torso.

There was a box of chocolates in his hand.

“Good evening, neighbor!”

Was it evening already? It was getting a little dark out--she’d turned the lights on upstairs without really realizing why. Her tummy rumbled to remind her that it was indeed evening, and the cooler and the microwave still hadn’t been brought in. Maybe she’d just eat chocolate.

“Hi.”

“I’m Dalton Cornick. I’m just down the road. Thought I’d welcome you to Selby.” He looked around. “Looks like you just got here.”

“Yep, just moved in today. Um, I’m Chelsea Krakowski.”

“Ah. I met your brother.” His voice was flat, carefully neutral.

“I’m sorry,” she said and laughed.

Dalton chuckled politely, then handed her the box of chocolates. “Well, I don’t want to disturb you.”

“Oh, you’re not disturbing me. And, um, thanks for the sweets. That’s very thoughtful.”

“All part of being a good neighbor. Listen, if you need any help with anything--I know the house has been abandoned for a while, isn’t in the best of shape. I’m handy with plastering, electrical, plumbing. You name it.” He handed her a card with his number on it.

“Well, so far so good,” said Chelsea. The toilet flushed, the sink ran hot and cold and didn’t leak, and her laptop was charging nicely upstairs. Turning the utilities on ahead of time had worked pretty well.

“A few more months and you’d have had problems with pipes freezing and bursting.”

“Um, yeah.”

“Probably wouldn’t hurt to check them over.”

Dalton sure didn’t sound much like Trent. He sounded, well, more like someone from the city. Maybe he’d been in the army once upon the time, with that haircut. An accent could change with some world travel.

“I’ll run water everywhere,” Chelsea said and then remembered something her dad always did. “And I’ll find the shutoff valves for the pipes that go outside for the hoses.”

Dalton nodded. “I can do that for you if you like.”

Chelsea thought of something else. “And there is a wall that’s a bit messed up, upstairs.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

Dalton was very hard to read. His expression gave nothing away. She wasn’t sure whether that was more annoying than being able to twitch just one eyebrow up or not. If he was offering to do work, however, and she was going to take him up on it, letting him take a look seemed like the right thing to do.

The room with the divot out of the plaster was the same one she’d set her laptop up in. It would make a nice study. In her condo, she did most of her work in the living room, which was great, but it was too easy to decide to crash out on the couch or watch television when she felt uninspired. The upstairs room looked like it had good light, and she intended to keep it free from distractions.

“You have some books in already,” he noted, nodding at the shelves. She’d vainly brought up a collection of her own books, thinking it would make her feel at home. She had Elements of Style and an unabridged dictionary, as well as a few romances and mysteries that were on her to be read list.

“And a computer. Computers are great.” He went over and looked at the wounded wall. “I can fix that. Will take maybe a week after that before I can paint it. You like the color of this room?”

The walls were mauve. “Not especially.”

“What color would you like it?”

“I can handle the painting,” Chelsea said with a smile. I’m not completely helpless.

Dalton shrugged. “Suit yourself. I can be over tomorrow sometime to fix your wall. The sooner I patch it, the sooner you can paint.”

Tomorrow. Trent was coming over tomorrow. Part of her thought it would be awfully nice to have Trent all to herself. For that matter, Dalton was something of a looker too, even if a bit distant. Distance could change. Staggering them had its possibilities.

She shook her head. She hadn’t had sex in a long time, and now she was planning to screw half the town? It was probably safest to have both men around at the same time, actually. “Tomorrow would be good.”

“I’ll come over after lunch, then?”

“Sure.”

He smiled. “Excellent.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets but didn’t make any move to go.

In the awkward silence, her tummy reminded her uncomfortably that she was hungry. She could offer him one of her microwave meals, but she only had enough to last her for a couple days, and she didn’t even know where the grocery store was yet. There was so much to do.

The silence was broken by a shriek.

---

Buy Link- 

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Greyson Hayes Is Looking Forward To The Perfect Christmas in Fire and Mistletoe by Draven St. James

Blurb

When Greyson Hayes envisions the perfect first Christmas with Mica Cruz he sees twisted sheets, a bottle of wine and a roaring fire. What he doesn't see is a holiday spent with the uproarious Cruz family. Grey hasn't taken part in a family Christmas since the death of his parents. Despite his misgivings, he can't seem to form the word no when it comes to Mica.

Mica knows that Grey's not a grinch. Hell, the man shares so much Christmas cheer during the holidays that he leaves no time to experience any for himself. Not this year. Mica plans to make a few changes, starting with a few wicked and whimsical gifts. He enlists the help of his co-workers at Firehouse Six. They band together and strive to provide Grey with the same joy he gives to everyone else--with five a.m. tree hunts, strategically placed mistletoe and Mica playing Santa's not-so-little helper. But while Mica is busy being nice, Grey has plenty of time to be naughty…


Excerpt

For Mica, there was nothing better than starting the day watching Grey saunter shirtless around the kitchen, preparing him breakfast. Grey’s only clothes were a pair of sweats that hung so low on his hips Mica couldn’t help but be amazed they didn’t slide off. Hell, that was what he anticipated happening.

Such an event would truly be the beginning of a merry Christmas. Mica sat on a stool next to the island at the center of the room to continue his ogling.

“Stop objectifying me,” Grey said before looking over his shoulder and smiling.

“You like it,” Mica teased. The muscles of Grey’s back flexed each time he reached for a spice or stirred the eggs. His hair was wet from his shower and glistened with shades of gold and cinnamon in the overhead lighting.

“I may like it, but you need to eat, and then I have to work. If you’re lucky, when your double shift is over, I’ll entertain those dirty thoughts I know you’re having.”

“Oh, now that’s promising. How about we compromise for the moment? Drop your pants and bring on the food.” Mica leered comically at him.

Grey’s face became an adorable shade of pink. He loved that even now Grey had his shy moments. There were so many things Grey did that made his life more complete, both at home and at work, because he was lucky enough to work and play with his lover. He’d met Grey when he’d made the best decision of his life and transferred over to Firehouse Six.

It also didn’t hurt that the man was a fantastic cook. He pivoted to stir the scrambled eggs, and Mica moved to stand behind him. With a deep inhale he breathed in the intoxicating, spicy scent that always clung to Grey, and nuzzled his face against Grey’s neck. He wrapped his arms around him, tracing his fingers along Grey’s abdomen before pulling Grey fully back against him.

“Are you sure you can’t fit me in before breakfast?” Mica whispered and nipped his ear playfully.

The vibrations from Grey’s moan resulted in an answering hardening of Mica’s cock.

“You are the worst tease,” Grey admonished.

“And you’re so damn practical.”

Grey shifted around in Mica’s arms and grinned. “That is one of the many things that you love about me.” He ran his fingers through the damp strands of Mica’s hair. “As it is, because of our shower time, I’m already going to be late.”

Mica trapped Grey against the counter and gave in to the temptation of Grey’s soft lips. Grey’s hands tightened in his hair and drew him away.

“Before you, I was always on time.”

“I exist to create fun chaos in your life.” Mica wiggled his eyebrows.

“I see evidence of the chaos,” Grey murmured with a pointed look. “Not just in my life either.”

“No, we settled this.” Mica framed Grey’s face with his hands. “You always work over the holidays. This year you’re mine.”

Grey sighed and looked to be gearing up for another long dialogue about how the guys depended on him to cover their shifts and how the holidays would be ruined if he didn’t.

Mica pressed his fingertip to Grey’s lips. “I want you with me for the holidays. My family will love you, and you’ll have fun.”

“Mica, I haven’t really enjoyed doing—”

“Babe, we discussed this, and I know it isn’t your first choice of Christmas options, but we will still be back to do all the volunteer activities. I promise.” Mica brushed his thumb over Grey’s lips before leaning in for a soft kiss. “Besides, if you’re good and do this for me, then maybe I’ll do something fun for you.”

“Is that right?”

“Of course, I don’t know how it will compare to the little surprises you have in store. I saw the bag this morning.” He pulled back to meet Grey’s twinkling amber gaze.

Grey shrugged. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied, his eyes wide with mock innocence. Any trace of annoyance seemed to vanish, and Mica hoped that was the last of it. Grey turned to finish scrambling the eggs that had begun to burn.

“I call bullshit. I saw what was in that bag. Looked like something from that adult store down the road,” Mica confessed. The store sold all things erotic, from videos to sex toys.

“Maybe it isn’t for you?” Grey countered.

“It had better be for me.” Mica jokingly glared at Grey.

“Have a smidgen of patience. Christmas is right around the corner.”

Mica stepped away from Grey and put his hands on his hips. Grey rotated to face him. The man was too attractive for his own good. Every time Mica saw Grey, all he could think was how lucky he was they had been brought together. Of course, all his cock could think about was how quickly they could find a flat surface.

“Fine, you win this time,” Mica said, eyes narrowed. “But I have high expectations for after my shift.”

“I’ll be surprised if you don’t just fall asleep on me.” Grey laughed.

Mica had to work a double, but not even that would keep him from slipping into bed with Grey and showing him how much he missed Grey on those long shifts. Ever since they had come out to the guys at work, they had tried to keep their interactions with each other professional. It was a little easier given they had all the time in the world to satisfy their frustrations outside of work.

“When have I ever done that?” Mica asked.

“There’s a first time for everything. Maybe I should take care of myself while you’re gone,” Grey threatened and slid his free hand down to rub his shaft through his pants, putting on a show for Mica.

“Now who’s the tease?” Mica walked off toward their bedroom to get dressed before breakfast, and briefly glanced over his shoulder. “Payback is a bitch, babe.”

“But so much fun.”

~~~~~~

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Author Links

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Sweet Treats that Werewolves Love And Read To Make Your Mouth Water; To Mate A Werewolf by Kryssie Fortune.

HI, Kryssie Fortune here. I’ve dropped in on Claire to tell you about my new book To Mate A Werewolf. 

Ellie, the heroine, has spent the last two years cooking for the Lykae army. She discovered werewolves love cake she started baking in earnest.  Here’s one she baked when the Lykae’s hereditary King dropped in to oversee the challenges Joel Blackheart needed to win to regain control the Tundra Tough pack. 


Excerpt

She put a tray of oven-fresh almond tarts on a side table outside the door. “Okay, guys, these are too hot to eat yet. Anyone who helps set up the tables for tonight gets one when all the work’s done.”

Her bribery paid dividends as the unmated wolves worked with cheerful good humor. Joel inhaled the smell of tarts and tried to steal one. Ellie rapped him on the knuckles with her wooden spoon.

He shook his hand and pouted like a small boy denied a treat. “That hurt.”

Ellie smile dripped saccharine. “It was meant to. You can’t pull rank on me now, Mr. Former Grand Marshal.”

The way she emphasized that former chilled him. He was the same man, whatever rank he held. The light in her eyes said she enjoyed his discomfort, so he gave up on the tart. “Ellie, is it too late to apologize?”

She froze, then looked him up and down. When he took a step toward her, she dodged back inside. 

“Much too late. Nothing you can say will make up for the way you used me.”

~~~~~

Vanilla party cake

Ingredients
225g unsalted butter, softened, plus extra for greasing
350g caster sugar
1 tbsp vanilla extract
5 large egg whites
325g plain flour
25g cornflour
1½ tbsp baking powder
250ml buttermilk

For the meringue buttercream

3 large egg whites
240g caster sugar
1 vanilla pod, halved lengthways and seeds scraped out
360g unsalted butter, softened
1 tsp vanilla extract
multi-coloured edible polka dots, to decorate

Method

1 Heat oven to 180C/160C fan/gas 4 and grease 3 x 20cm sandwich tins, lining the bases with baking parchment and greasing the parchment too.

2 Beat the butter and sugar in a large bowl with an electric whisk until light and fluffy. Add the vanilla extract and the egg whites, a little at a time, beating until fully combined before adding more. Mix together the flour, cornflour and baking powder. Add the dry ingredients in 3 additions, alternating with the buttermilk. Divide the batter between the tins and level the tops.

3 Bake for 25-30 mins or until a skewer inserted into the middle comes out clean. Allow the cakes to cool in the tins for 10 mins, then turn out onto a wire rack, peeling off the parchment. Cool completely.

4 To make the buttercream, put the egg whites and sugar in a big bowl (the bowl of your tabletop mixer, if you have one) with the vanilla seeds and set over a pan of gently simmering water. Lightly whisk until the sugar has fully dissolved – you can test this by dipping two fingers into the bowl and rubbing them together; if you can’t feel any grains of sugar, the mixture is ready. 

Remove the bowl from the heat and keep whisking until a thick meringue has formed. Continue whisking until the meringue has cooled to room temperature, then slowly add in the butter, 1 tbsp at a time.

By the time all the butter has been incorporated, the mixture should have transformed into a silky-smooth buttercream. If it hasn’t, continue to whisk until it does. If it still refuses to thicken, it may be the mixture is still too warm, so chill for 10 mins, then continue whisking. Add the vanilla extract and mix to combine.

To assemble the cake, 

Place a sponge on a cake board or serving plate and top with a thin layer of buttercream. Repeat with the remaining cake layers and finish by spreading the remaining buttercream over the top and sides of the cake (see below). 

To get a smooth finish, use the edge of a palette knife, and drag carefully around the sides of the cake, smoothing out the buttercream. To decorate the cake, press the sides of it with the edible polka dot sprinkles creating a full border at the bottom with less and less the further up the cake you go. Best served within 2 days of baking, but the cake will keep for up to 4 days.

Happy Baking!

While you’re here, please take a look at my book. 

To Mate a Werewolf

Blurb

The scars on Ellie Padget’s cheek are a constant reminder of the times she tried to escape from sexual slavery. Two years ago, Joel—alpha in waiting of the Tundra-Tough pack—led the rescue party that freed her. She’s loved him ever since.

Their relationship finally explodes into steaming sex, but he offers to pay her off. She walks away with her head high and her heart shattered. When she learns of a plot to destroy Joel and his pack, her only option is return to his side and warn him.

Joel has to fight to retain the pack that should be his by right, and no one can leave until the pack has a new alpha. He’s horrified when Ellie turns up on the night he’s to meet the woman he’s agreed to marry but never met. She’s stuck there until he claims his birthright. Finally, he realizes Ellie’s his true mate. Now he has to choose between his arranged marriage, and the one woman he truly loves. 

Will he choose with his head or his heart?

To Mate a Werewolf is a stand alone story within the Scattered Siblings series.

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Buy Link

http://www.loose-id.com/scattered-siblings-to-mate-a-werewolf.html 

Amazon US - http://amzn.to/1Fee1h9

Amazon UK - http://amzn.to/1vzQVjs 

Amazon AU  - http://bit.ly/1uSadOf


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Thanks to Facebook book group https://www.facebook.com/foodcakesblogger for letting me raid their site for recipes. 

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