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Going for Gold:

Angel booked a villa at Sanctuary hoping to get away from it all. What she he wasn’t expecting was the hard-bodied Olympic swimmer in the bungalow across from hers offering to help her with her strokes.


Angel dove into the water from the edge of the pool and started swimming long, slow strokes. She was not an Olympian, but she’d grown up on the Florida coast. She knew how to swim. After twenty laps, she pulled herself up on the edge of the pool near her villa and sat there, panting and catching her breath. That’s when the door to Lars’ villa opened.

He stepped out, alone, wearing a black Speedo. Closing the door behind him, he plunged into the pool and swam directly toward her. Angel watched his arms slicing the water as he got closer to her, curious, but too winded to move.

“Hi,” he said, when he reached her, brushing the water off his hair. He was smiling, but it wasn’t the same bright smile he had given the blond in the restaurant. It was different. Darker. Sexier.

He pulled himself out of the water to sit beside her. His bare thigh pressed against hers. Her eyes were drawn to his package. She couldn’t help herself. She glanced at it quickly, before looking into his eyes, but he noticed. The sexy smile returned.

“Like what you see?” he asked, teasing.

She laughed, biting her lower lip. She did like what she saw, very much.

He leaned in, whispering in her ear. “I liked what I saw. Earlier. When you were lying over there.” He reached across her to remove a strand of wet hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. His forearm brushed her breast, hardening her nipple. “Touching yourself.” His fingers trailed from her cheek, down her neck to her chest. He slipped his fingers under the fabric as she had done when she was putting on the suntan oil, his fingertips grazing her areola, then going farther, finding her nipple and pinching it gently.

“Did you?” Her breath was shallow. “What did you think?” She glanced down at his Speedos. What he was thinking at the moment was easy to guess from the rapidly growing bulge.

His whole hand was cupping her breast under her top. He licked her earlobe before answering. “I was thinking that you could use some help.” He released her breast, his hand sliding down over her stomach. “And I would really like to be the one to help you.”


When Sasha agrees to be Joachim da Silva’s English tutor, she’s only hoping to make a quick buck. But the sexy Brazilian football star has an entirely different lesson in mind.


Joachim glanced over his shoulder before taking a step into the room. “Fernanda, she is old,” he explained. “And very, very Catholic. She think, man, woman together in bedroom. Boom! Baby.”

Sasha laughed, a high whinny that was so not her normal laugh. “Well, we don’t want to upset Fernanda, do we?”

Joachim shook his head. “No. But at seven, Fernanda will go for mass. Then she will go home. Then we don’t worry about Fernanda.” He flashed her the speed version of his wicked grin. “We can do what we like.”

“Like watch Casablanca?” she said.

“Sure,” he agreed. “Watch Casablanca. Read a book. Talk. Or maybe another thing.”

“Other things,” she corrected, on autopilot, riveted by his warm gaze and teasing smile.

He took a few steps closer to her. “Other things,” he repeated. “You see? You are very good teacher.”

“A very good teacher.” She felt unable to move, as powerless as mouse hypnotized by a cobra.

They were inches apart. Joachim reached out his hand to touch her cheek, cupping it with his palm. His eyes roamed over her face. “A very, very good teacher.” He lowered his face toward hers.

Runner’s High:

Two runners meet in the pre-dawn park. She plans to tease him until the breaking point, but after twisting her ankle, she finds herself in his hands, literally.


I brush my teeth, pull my hair back, lace up my shoes. Grabbing my phone, I step out into the rain, telling myself again, I won’t see him. But if I do, he’s going to get an eyeful. The rain is coming down steadily. Within a minute my bra and shorts are soaked through, the nylon of my shorts plastered to every curve and crevice, my bra transparent.

I run faster than I ever did when I was filled with the burning anger of Shane. I feel light, giddy, free. I turn off into the thicket of the park. It is dark amongst the trees, the rain a light, irregular spatter on my skin, dripping off the leaves above. I tilt my head back and open my mouth to catch a few drops on my tongue, feel it sliding down my arms, my legs, between my breasts.

Then he is there, beside me, closer than he has been before. I can smell him. Sharp acrid sweat and ozone. We stop and look at each other, and in that moment we both know that we are going to fuck. But not yet. I am going to tease him until he is burning for me with a lust as fierce as the white heat of rage I felt for Shane. I’m going to punish him for Shane’s sins. Then I’m going to reward him.

Click here for your free copy. Hot Shots is free this week only at All Romance E-Books.

Edible Ink



I wouldn’t say I have a tattoo fetish.

I mean, sure, both the hero in Please and my current work in progress sport healthy doses of inked skin. And the heroine in my paranormal romance short, Ripe, has Diego Rivera’s Nude with Calla Lilies engraved on her back. But I’m not obsessed. It’s just that tattoos and erotic romance just seem made for each other.

I mean, think about it.

While erotic romance alphas may often seem tough and guarded, their tattoos reveal the depth of emotion hiding beneath. You could say that inked men literally wear their hearts on their sleeves. The pictures on their skin represent something so important, they want to be reminded of it every time they look in the mirror. Guys with tats are not easy-come, easy-go. They feel strongly, deeply, passionately. Mm.

Then there’s the whole bad-boy thing. After all, tattoos are subversive. Or at least, they used to be. Now, in North America at least, everyone from your barista to your kid’s kindergarten teacher seems to have one, but it wasn’t too long ago that skin art was seen mainly on those who had turned their backs on the conformist values of the white middle class. That shadowy history still colors it. Despite their prevalence, tattoos project that I-don’t-care-what-you-think vibe. They say rebel, rule-breaker, risk-taker. And that is incredibly sexy.

How about the actual process of getting the tattoo? Hints of sadomasochism aside, there’s the whole vulnerability thing going on. Big strong man lies down and lets someone go to work on him. Willing submission. Penetration. Need I say more?

And, of course, tattoos are the ultimate symbol of commitment. I’m not talking about celebrities getting matching tats to immortalize their love. But a hero who has permanently altered his body, and in most cases, displays it for the world to see, shows that he’s willing to go all-in for something when it means enough to him.

What could be more romantic than that?

Are you into ink, too? Check out my Pinterest board Tattoos.

Photo Credit: Lily Lvnatikk

Giving in to Pleasure

In my latest Kindle release, Submit:Giving in to Pleasure, three strong, sophisticated women learn that sometimes you have to give up control in order to give in to pleasure.

submit cover

Want a taste?

Leslie’s always kept her wicked leather fetish a secret. But today’s her thirtieth birthday, and she’s about to get a hard, leather-wrapped present she will never forget.

Sassy lawyer Julie’s business trips are usually as exciting as the decor of her room at the Holiday Inn, until the motel gym’s personal-trainer and his hot cop friend teach her that when it comes to pleasure, two is better than one.

In Celeste’s fantasies, she rides her sexy neighbor bareback like a wild stallion. But when he gets her alone, he shows her that she belongs under him, begging for more.

Want more? This collection of spicy erotic shorts, previously published on this site, is now available in The Amazon Kindle Store for the introductory price of $0.99.