Brandi’s recovering from a painful and expensive divorce, and definitely isn’t looking for a relationship. But when her high-school crush Evan bangs into her—literally—his gorgeous body and sexy smile have as much a hold on her as ever. It’s no wonder Brandi can’t bring herself to say no to him when he reminds her that she still owes him a date he was promised more than ten years ago.
Evan figures he has one chance to wow Brandi, who’s always been the one who got away. To his delight, he finds she’s the same girl he used to know…but she now has a sexy, slightly kinky edge. When their date takes an unexpectedly erotic turn and ends with the best sex of his life, Evan knows she’s still the only girl for him. Now he just has to convince Brandi.
Audrey is desperate for a job—any job—after the breakup of her marriage. The unemployment office
refers her to the historic Palace Theatre, affectionately called The Pussy
Palace because of its X-rated offerings. She checks her pride at the door, if
not her disdain for the raunchy establishment, but despite her contempt for the
movie house, she’s compelled to stay when a couple of naughty spirits beckon
her to play with them…and the hot guy
who runs the projector.Pleasure Palace!!!! One day and it will be released on the world. Checkout the cover.
The blurb!
Audrey is desperate for a job—any job—after the breakup of her marriage. The unemployment office refers her to the historic Palace Theatre, affectionately called The Pussy Palace because of its X-rated offerings. She checks her pride at the door, if not her disdain for the raunchy establishment, but despite her contempt for the movie house, she’s
The Palace Theatre has been in Mike’s family for
generations, and he dreams of restoring the cinema to its former glory and
showing epic old movies on the big screen. Tough to concentrate on goals,
however, when his new concession girl has him distracted and a ghost has taken
over his body and stolen his free will. At least Mike and the horny spirit have
something in common—a desire to claim Audrey.
The excerpt!
“I’m looking for,” Audrey glanced at the card in her hand,
“Mr. Dick Handler.”
He snickered. “Sounds like a dirty joke, right?”
She tilted her head. “I beg your pardon.”
“Dick. Handler. Get it?” He waited a beat for her to getit.
“No? Not funny? Maybe I’ve worked here too long.” The man shook his head and
dinged a bell on the counter. “Dick! Guest waiting.”
“No refunds after the first fifteen minutes,” Mr. Dick
Handler called from behind a red velvet curtain with gold fringe.
A refund must be a frequent request, she guessed.
Deep-blue-eyes waggled his brows at her playfully and tapped
the bell again. Then he stood back, leaning against the concession counter with
a crooked smile that screamed of mischief. He crossed one ankle over the other,
as if settling in comfortably for a show. The way his jeans hugged his hips and
waist was distracting. Not tightly—perfectly, for lack of a better word. Don’t get me started on the T-shirt
stretched across his chest.
A man emerged from behind the curtain. He looked to be in
his sixties and reminded her of a young Hugh Hefner, minus the signature
smoking jacket and matching bikini-clad blonde bookends that accompanied Hef.
His skin was tanned to a leathery grain, his hair sprinkled with gray and
white, but he seemed physically fit for his estimated age.
“May I help you?” he asked. “Lost? Need directions?”
Audrey shook her head.
“Restrooms are for paying customers only,” he said
apologetically.
She passed him the index-sized card. “The unemployment
office sent me.” Probably because everyone else had refused the job reference.
She should have too, but desperation and zero marketable skills made her
entertain all opportunities.
Deep-blue-eyes chuckled.
“Don’t you have work to do, Mike?” Mr. Handler snapped.
“Nope,” he replied.
“I’m afraid you’re not what we had in mind.” Dick Handler
returned the card to her without so much as looking at it. “But thank you for
stopping by.” He vanished before she could open her mouth to object.
Audrey glanced down to her A-cup chest, and then leaned to
her left to catch a glimpse of her likeness in a garish gold-framed mirror. The
buxom bimbos on the adjacent movie poster appeared to be laughing at her and
her boyish reflection. Her husband had
suggested a boob job—the nail in the coffin of their marriage.
Deep-blue-eyes, also known as Mike, bobbed his head in the
direction of the bell, encouraging her to tap it. There was no doubt in her
mind that he was an instigator of trouble. He might look like an adult but his
maturity was in question. She squared her shoulders and dinged the bell.
Mr. Handler returned immediately. “Yes?” he said pleasantly.
“Need me to sign something verifying you applied?”
“I didn’t apply,” she protested, her temperature rising from
anger and the scrutiny of Mike with his laughing eyes. “You wouldn’t let me
apply. I’d like to speak to the owner, please.”
“I am the owner.”
Mr. Handler glanced at Mike before returning his attention to her. “For the
time being anyhow.” He shook his head and muttered, “I’m getting too old for clogged
toilets, a leaky roof and specter sightings.”
Mike scoffed and Audrey said, “What?”
He waved her off. “You’re not what we’re looking for.”
Her eyes dropped to her chest again, daring him to comment
on her averageness of figure. No one at the unemployment office mentioned any
specialized assets besides the ability to handle food and money. It had been a
while since she’d been on the hunt for a job. Her experience was limited and
work was scarce.
“Is there something wrong with me?” she asked.
He waved his hands again. “No. Nothing.”
“So offer me the job,” she said, although the last thing she
wanted was to be hired. She wouldn’t want to be caught dead in the place by
anyone she knew. And they wouldn’t want to be caught at a smut theater by her, although her circle of
acquaintances almost certainly got their pornography anonymously and
discretely, the way porn was meant to be attained.
In spite of her contempt for the establishment, something—a
wicked voice in her head—compelled her to stay and be a part of this
debauchery.
“Yeah, Dick, offer her the job,” Mike echoed, earning
himself nasty glares from Audrey and his boss. She didn’t need his brand of
help. He clearly viewed the exchange as a joke that she was the butt of.
An older gentleman wearing a leisure suit emerged from the
viewing area, mopping his red face with a hankie but looking relaxed and
satisfied. He eyed Audrey suspiciously as he crossed the lobby. He wouldn’t
look out of place at the supermarket or gas station. Her skin crawled a bit due
to her inside knowledge that he’d been watching a dirty movie.
Mike waved and said, “Thanks for coming, sir.”
“Come again soon,” Audrey added, showing Mr. Handler a
sample of her excellent customer service skills. Plus, under the circumstances,
it was just fun to say.
Welcome to the Kelli Scott stop on the Heartbreaker Blog Hop! Thanks to Carrie Ann for hosting this fun event.
I'll take a heartstopper over a heartbreaker. Breaks my heart when I get a doggy gate for my station wagon on Valentine's Day (true story) instead of a dozen roses. Stops my heart when I get jewelry...preferably heart shaped and sparkly. So here's my question to you.
Valentine's Day? Love it or hate it?
I love the idea of it, same as I love the idea of Mother's Day, another inspired holiday. Sweethearts and mothers should, at the very least, have an entire day devoted to them so they can be queen for a day. But that doesn't make up for 364 days of neglect. V-Day is a nice accompaniment to a year of special moments, even if those moments are simply a pleasant text or a hug after a bad day.
Leave me a comment with your email address and I'll enter you in a drawing for an ecopy of Silk Stalkings (US/INT) and a little Valentine's Day grab bag (US only) of fun...naughty playing cards...candles...games... And don't forget to visit the other blogs on the Heartbreaker Blog Hop for more prizes and fun. And gadzooks! Check out the grand prizes for this hop at the bottom of the post.
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.
Heather
Bowen is an uptight, stressed out insomniac in desperate need of a massage or a
shrink or an orgasm to cure what ails her.
On
doctor’s orders, she starts with a massage to work out her knotty/naughty
kinks. At the hands of a talented massage therapist, Heather gets a full body
rub down. And more. Next stop—a psychiatrist to get at the root of her anxiety
and sleeplessness. But is she ready for Dr. Simon’s controversial treatment?
What
begins as prescribed therapy becomes a wild fantasy ride of erotic discovery
that makes Heather question her sexual orientation along with everything she
believed about her carnal desires.
Cover!
Excerpt!
“You all ready,
Heather?” Tasha called out, probably worried about how long it took me to get
undressed.
I shoved the
drape of the dressing room aside. “Absolutely.”
She led me to
the room across the hall as if through a slow motion dream. She was that
graceful and lithe and willowy. Tranquil sounds filled the space. Waves
lapping at a sandy beach.
She patted the
massage table. “Up or down?”
“Excuse me?” I
didn’t know there’d be a quiz.
Perusing the
clipboard, she asked, “First massage?”
“That’s right.”
Then couldn’t help but add, “I’m a massage virgin.”
“Well, we’ll see
what we can do to remedy that.” She smiled, not taking my comment
offensively, unless she was a really good actress. “Would you like to start
face up or down?”
“What do you
recommend?” I stopped myself from repeating the virgin reference.
She skimmed the
clipboard again. “Lower back pain. Tense, knotted muscles. Insomnia.
Headaches. Stress. Let’s start face down.” Looking up from my long list of
afflictions, she asked, “Would you like me to step out while you disrobe?”
Would that be rude? “Of course not.” I
scoffed. “We’re both women, right?”
Tasha turned her
back, preparing her oils or instruments or whatever. With her attention
elsewhere, I slipped out of the robe, hung it on a peg, and hopped on the
table quick like The Flash, hauling the sheet over my nakedness, which I
still wasn’t sure was appropriate. Oh, well, what the hell? She’d just have
to deal with it. I planted my face in the face donut and waited.
The acoustics
transitioned into raindrops on a tin roof. Occasionally a clap of friendly
thunder rumbled in the distance to mix things up. She positioned me like a
rag doll, placing my arms at my sides on the outside of the sheet.
“Comfortable?”
she asked.
“Yes,” I
mumbled.
I fixated on her
delicate bare feet, her toenails painted a fuchsia color. The fringe of her
sarong nearly tickled the floor as she gracefully glided around. A silver
chain encircled her ankle. How I wished I could be more like her.
Free-spirited. Serene. Bohemian.
“Be sure to tell
me if I rub too hard.” She rested her palms on my skin, and I tensed.
I know I haven't stopped talking about my August Quickie release, Silk Stalkings and here I am pushing another book. My September release is Costume Ball. Here is the cover.
And here is the blurb.
Jennifer Goodwin is recovering from a
traumatic car accident that has 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.
Diego Ramos, a tow-truck driver, is through with reckless women who wear short skirts, sexy silk stockings and high heels. Until he meets Yancey, that is. He thought he was ready to settle down, find a wholesome wife and start a family. Yancey makes him realize he might have one more carefree fling in him after all.
Unfortunately, Yancey has caught the eye of another admirer who wants more than she’s willing to give.
Millie has a big problem.
She’s never experienced the big O before, even with a doting boyfriend who loves
her like crazy. If she can’t be Tom’s partner in every way—emotionally,
spiritually and physically—Millie resigns herself to setting him free to find
the total package. But then a last chance comes in the form of a little pink
pill.
Tom’s wary about Millie taking drugs to enhance her libido, but he
wants her to experience every sensation mind-blowing sex can deliver. Soon the
passion pills take them on a wild ride, but they both know that sooner or later
the drug trial will end and the pills will stop coming. Perhaps Millie will,
too.
