Sunday, November 18, 2012

Here Comes Santa Claus!

TODAY! Wednesday, November 21st it will be time to break out your holiday cheer.

Holiday Hangover! Be naughty. Be very very naughty.

Friday, November 16, 2012

Military Bloghop winner!

Congrats to Eva!

 
And thanks to everyone who stopped by. Double thanks for those who left a comment.

Friday, November 9, 2012

Men of the Military Bloghop and Giveaway

Men in uniform are HOT! I love a well-disciplined man who takes orders and calls me ma'am. They have hard bodies and a soft spot in their hearts for those in need. Yep, that's my military man. That's Gage, my Marine hero in Costume Ball. He's a loyal soldier, good friend, devoted lover with a keen attention to the ins and outs of the mission. What is it you love most about a military man?
 


I'm giving away an ebook copy of Costume Ball to one random commenter. Be sure to leave your email address to enter. If you've already read Costume Ball, I'll give you a copy of one of my other backlisted stories. Winner will be announced after November 15th.

 
Don't forget to check out the other great books, blogs and giveaways on the Men of the Military Hop.
BLURB:
Jennifer Goodwin is recovering from a traumatic car accident that’s left her scarred, inside and out. Her sexy Marine pen pal haunts her dreams and has her heart racing, but she’s dumped him anyway, afraid of his pity. A costume ball gives her the chance to come out of her shell while hiding her face, and the hot sailor who approaches her tempts her to indulge in a night of forbidden passion.
 
Gage Brewer is on a mission, despite being on leave from the Marines. He’s determined to confront the woman who befriended him while he was deployed and find out why she left him. Once he’s claimed her body, maybe he can win back her heart.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Never Gets Old

My first erotic story was published in January of 2011. Stormy Wedding has gone on to win awards and get great reviews. But it's not over yet. Romance After Dark has just reviewed Stormy Wedding and liked it. Check it out.

And the reviewer has a certain flair of her own when it comes to writing. "The point of this novella is not developing meaningful characters or asking big questions of life. The point is SEX, and Stormy Wedding delivers. Kelli Scott writes some steamy sex scenes, and when Rory and Rachel rock the headboard, they do it with great passion."


And she thinks my writing is HOT. "The sex is fairly standard fare – no BDSM or anal, although both are somewhat addressed – but there is a lot of oral. A LOT. Not that I’m complaining, because it’s HOT oral sex. All of the sex here is hot."


If you haven't read Stormy Wedding and you prefer to read print books, you can now purchase Wedded Bliss, an anthology of Branded line stories from several Ellora's Cave authors.

Monday, November 5, 2012

Spreading Holiday Cheer!

Available for preorder at Amazon and Barnes and Noble - Holiday Hangover!

By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.
An Excerpt From: HOLIDAY HANGOVER
Copyright © KELLI SCOTT, 2012
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
I’m dying. Not peacefully in my sleep. No, I’m dying one of those slow, painful deaths you dread more than mimes, clowns or public speaking. Dying in one’s sleep is a better way to go. And dying in bed is not the same as dying in your sleep.
Feeling around, my eyes fused shut, I’m sure I am in bed. Not my bed. My bed is like a heavenly cloud of crisp, clean linen. This bed—the one I’m dying in—is more like a comfortable, cozy slab of stone. Cozy because the vacant side of the mattress beneath my fingers is still warm from a body.
I’m not dying of a case of slab-of-warm-cozy-stone, either. I fear the painful piercing in my brain will be the death of me. Opening even one eye will surely be the nail in my coffin.
I hear running water. A shower, so I’m not alone. After all, no one wants to die alone. I could use a shower before I die, or at the very least a swish and gargle from the sink to wash away the fuzziness coating my mouth. Maybe a warm, wet compress for between my aching legs, where I swear a runaway freight train must have blown through. The splatter of flowing water I hear is a pleasant accompaniment to the off-key humming of Here Comes Santa Claus. Baritone. A man. I hope it’s someone I know, then on second thought pray for a stranger I’ll never see again.
I breathe in the woodsy male scent around me but I’ve never had any luck putting names to smells. And still no luck opening my eyes or scaring up a little spit to swallow the nasty taste in my mouth.
Think, Jane—what’s the last thing you remember?
A party. That’s a start. Our annual Seacliff Condo Association holiday party, to be exact. The Seacliff Condos aren’t by the sea, nor on a cliff. Sometimes when the breeze blows our way the residents catch a whiff of the nearby ocean. That’s something. The Cliff, as we call it, is very nice. Upscale. But not on the water. If it was, I couldn’t afford living there.
The recreation room, which boasts an enormous television for Monday Night Football gatherings or movie night, was decked out in an array of holiday d├ęcor, representing Hanukah, Kwanza and Christmas in an effort to mollify all residents and their religion of choice. As the president of the condo association, that’s my job—to mollify. And delegate. I had zero to do with entertainment, decorations or refreshments, being deficient at all three. That would be Trisha Delgado from the third floor, a younger, sassier version of Martha Stewart, if Martha wore sequined tube tops and hot pants in winter.
Trisha runs a small daycare out of her unit. I turn a blind eye to her home-based business venture on account of her being easily delegated to do my dirty work. In other words, I rely on her. She is my eyes and ears at The Cliff during the day while I work my day job in the billing department of a prominent orthopedic surgeon. Trisha secretly sends me texts if there are any rumblings about potential uprisings due to our long list of rules and regulations. She keeps me updated on unauthorized roommates, illegal parking and unsanctioned activity of any kind. Not that I’m a killjoy or anything.
Trisha probably knows whose bed I’m in. The way she gossips, everyone knows but me. The news will get back to me eventually if I don’t figure out for myself who I’ve boinked. Boinking where you live is simply a bad idea.
“Relax,” Trisha said to me at the party last night. “Have a drink. Loosen up. Get in the holiday spirit.”
Holding up a wall with my backside, I sipped at a cup of coffee while I watched everyone else at the holiday gathering get sloshed. “I don’t do that sort of thing.” Anymore.
She screwed up her face at me. “Which thing don’t you do?”
“Any of them.”
“Have. Some. Fun,” Trisha said, patting me on the back. A pat to emphasize each word of bad advice. “One little drink won’t hurt.”
That was when I decided Trisha was in league with the devil. I should have walked away.
“True.” I nibbled on a frosted Santa sugar cookie until I’d munched away his privates. “But have you ever heard that song Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off?”
“I love that song.”
“I’m fairly certain someone wrote those lyrics about me.”

Thursday, November 1, 2012

Christmas Cover!

Holiday Hangover is available for preorder at Amazon and Barnes and Noble. And I now have a cover. Behold!

Blurb:
All work and no play has left Jane a very dull girl indeed. When she’s not working her day job, she’s spending any free time toiling for the benefit of her neighbors as the president of her condo association. At the annual holiday party, her Secret Santa gives her a basket full of naughty sex toys, someone’s inappropriate joke at her expense. Next thing Jane knows, she’s waking up in a strange bed with very little memory of the night before.
Sprawled across red satin sheets with a pounding headache and throbbing private parts, Jane struggles to recall whose bed she’s in before her new bed buddy finishes showering. Bits and pieces of memory come back to her, but the recollections don’t comfort, only confound her. It seems she’s going to have a merrier Christmas than she was anticipating.