A sneak peak at New York Fairytale

I’m really looking forward to my July 21 release with Resplendence Publishing, New York Fairytale! This story was inspired by the real life adventures, and fantasies, of a friend, and this story was a gift to her. It’s great to see it coming out soon. And look at the great cover:

An excerpt:

“Have you been to the museum before?” she asked.

He had been only once before, when Marvinia had donated an important Stone-Age figurine found just outside a remote mountain village. Still, Ronnie didn’t need to know the exact circumstances, did she?

“Yes, however I’ve not been able to see the entirety of the collections. Do you have a favorite wing?”

She laughed lightly, staring up at the high ceiling of the museum’s entryway. “To tell you the truth, I’ve always been a sucker for the Egyptian stuff. You know, the allure of the desert and all that. I suppose it’s corny, but I can just see myself as a dancer in some parade honoring an animal-headed god, or better yet, a princess being fanned by harem boys in loincloths.” She flashed him a toothy grin and he couldn’t help but laugh again.

The life in this woman enthralled him. From her brilliant brown eyes and blue-streaked hair to the playful red sneakers she wore on her feet, she embraced liveliness in a way he craved. He too could imagine her in the Hotel Oberoi outside of Cairo, surrounded by exotic embroidered silks and intricate furniture inlaid with mother-of-pearl, the remains of a sumptuous feast laid out before them. Through the gauzy curtains on the balcony, the plains of Giza and the pyramids dominated the landscape. A warm breeze rustled those curtains, teasing with the sounds and scents of the edge of civilization. Instead of harem boys, he was the one who would be worshipping her, kneeling over her back, rubbing perfumed massage oil into her skin as she moaned softly, his cock growing hard against the cleft of her ass.

Rudy shifted uncomfortably, that vivid image having too much of an effect on his cock in the here and now. He coughed and finally answered her, his voice considerably deeper. “Yes, somehow I could picture you very happy in Egypt.”

Her eyes flickered down to the bulge in his trousers and she raised one eyebrow. Not saying another word, she led him straight toward the Egyptian wing.

It was certainly an impressive collection. Well laid out and diverse, and less intimidating than the mad jumble he remembered from the Cairo Museum he’d visited in his youth. There were some of the finest pieces Egyptian art in the world, from graceful furniture to brilliant blue faience carvings, golden jewelry to sarcophagi. And frankly, his mind was not on any of it.

The rooms were dimly lit, most likely to preserve the artifacts’ remaining color, nevertheless it was difficult not to imagine what he’d like to do in the semi-privacy afforded in the small, dark galleries full of ancient art. There were fine vases of blushing alabaster, and all they made him think of was how badly he wanted to see Ronnie’s breasts—to see if her nipples were the same shade of pink.

There were carved and painted tablets of the goddess Isis astride her husband Osiris, “reviving” him so to speak, and Rudy could only wince as his cock twitched. Forget the combined efforts of Eton and Oxford and years in the mind-numbing, protocol-heavy salons of the rich and respectable of Europe. Rudy wanted to fuck the woman by his side so badly he could practically taste her – damn he wanted to taste her!

Finally in a corner room filled with marble sphinxes standing silent guard, he could take no more. Her half-heard wry commentary stopped abruptly as he spun her into his arms and kissed her. He felt not a moment of resistance or false shyness from her. To the contrary, her eager acceptance of his parted lips and the playful teasing of the tip of her tongue seemed to indicate she’d just been waiting for him to make his move. Immediately she clung to him, her hands sliding into his hair as his own hands worked under her coat, stroking over her ribcage as their tongues dueled.

He really didn’t know where this was coming from. The urge to pull her lower lip through his teeth. His growl in response to her soft moan of pleasure. Sex for him had been at best a release of tension and at worst a duty to procreate. His beautiful wife had been fake and cold. Sex had been a business transaction. A small string of lovers and discreet companions were just pleasant diversions from a life of duty. He thought he’d outgrown the need.

But with Ronnie, sex was like taming a wild beast. Or setting one free.

Excerpt from Watnon Venture

Here’s an excerpt from my latest release, Wanton Venture:

Wanton Venture

The butler announced him. “Mr. Raymond Talbury to see you, Miss.”

“Thank you, Rigby. That will be all.” The butler took one last look at him then left, closing the door softly behind him.

Raymond bowed slightly, his eyes studying this mysterious woman.

She stood and inclined her head. “Greetings, Mr. Talbury. My name is Helena Gracechurch. I am happy to make your acquaintance.”

Good, Alan said nothing about the damned title.

“The pleasure is mine, Miss Gracechurch. How may I help you?”

She indicated the seat across the desk and they both sat. She shuffled papers on the desk, and he took the time to really look at her. At first glance, she looked like a governess or an old auntie, with a high necked serviceable gown in a light shade of gray. Her dark red hair was up in a severe style, without any attempt to highlight her features. She wore spectacles as well, highly unfashionable. And he thought, given the lack of squinting lines around her eyes, very possibly unnecessary.

But all that could not hide the sprinkling of freckles across the line of her nose, proving that despite her rosy pale skin, she occasionally let the sun shine down on her face without a proper bonnet. The warm amber of her eyes could not be dulled but glimmered with intelligence. Her dress might be severe, but it could not hide an impressive bosom or her light and pleasing frame.

Most of all, the tight bun she wore had let a single red curl fall against her neck, and his gaze was immediately drawn to it. Regardless of his respect for women or his attempts to think of this as a business meeting, for a long moment, all he could think about was getting that hair loose and getting his hands into it.

“So, Mr. Talbury, Mr. Saksville has told me that you have considerable—if unconventional—experience in the Navy during the war.”

Raymond smiled. Unconventional was a very politic way of putting it, Alan.

“Yes, Miss Gracechurch, I’ve commanded my share of ships during the recent conflicts.”

She paused for a moment and a smile almost touched her lips. There was something in her eyes that he could not quite identify, though for a moment it reminded him of passion. “Yes, well…have you had any experience with cargo vessels rather than military ships?”

He thought of the months he’d acted as a common sailor in the French-controlled Spanish navy, hauling cargo on supply ships, and acting as crew on captured merchant vessels. “Yes, I have worked on cargo vessels, though not in a command capacity.” Unless the cargo was black powder meant to blow up a bridge over the river Coa. On that tiny boat, he’d definitely been in command.

She nodded and made a note on the page she held in front of her. He wondered how many men she had evaluated for this position, or if he was the first. Noting the very slight tremor in her hand, he thought it was highly probably he was the first.

Had she ever been kissed? What man would be lucky enough to caress those pink lips with his own? To taste her tongue, or taste her other lips, to open the virgin fruit of her loins and savor her intoxicating innocence. Raymond shifted uncomfortably and tried to focus on listening to her words rather than his imaginings.

“You also are half-Spanish, correct?”

He repressed the urge to groan. Why were the English so bloody narrow-minded? His mother would be most interested in an account of this conversation when he returned to their Bristol lodgings, the Rose and Sail Inn. She had insisted on accompanying him, having no desire to be left at the gargantuan Belforth House in London, all alone with disreputable servants and the threat of creditors at the door.

“Yes, my mother is Spanish. Doña Maria Katrina Escobar de Santos.” A smile broke out over Miss Gracechurch’s features, setting her eyes alight.


Rarely had anyone been pleased about his lineage It had practically caused his grandfather to disown his father, and only sheer laziness to bother with the legal details meant that Raymond himself was now the Earl. “Might I ask why this is such a pleasing prospect, Miss Gracechurch?”

She blushed, a rosy bloom that crept up her neck and stained her cheeks in the most becoming manner. Raymond swallowed, thinking how lovely she would look in the throes of passion, her bright eyes filled with desire and her cheeks stained with the evidence of her passion. Dammit, I pray the interview continues, as there is no way I can stand up and still hide my traitorous cock!

“I would like to alter the current business emphasis of Gracechurch Shipping, to take advantage of new open markets available now that the war has ended. In order to do this, I need the aid of a captain who can help with negotiation in the local language and with a local sensibility.” She stood, and he could not help but admire her tall frame and graceful carriage as she walked to the sideboard and poured out a glass of rich amber liquid. She walked toward him and held out the glass, standing close enough that her skirts brushed his knees.

He took it from her bare hand, letting his fingers touch hers briefly. He did not imagine her shiver or the quickly-damped fire that sparked in those amazing eyes. Without taking his eyes from hers, he took a sip, and the fine sherry smoothed over his tongue with a sweet warmth and did nothing to reduce his growing arousal.

“I believe that there are many opportunities now for the import of fine wines and spirits, and the best to be had are in Spain and Portugal. I would like a…a partner if you will. One who knows the waters and the people.”

He nodded, warming immediately to the idea of being this woman’s partner, in any endeavor. “I speak both Spanish and Portuguese fluently. And I have lived for years in Spain and still hold some lands there.”

A brilliant smile was his gift after revealing that fact, and it took every bit of his discipline to keep from pulling this woman down into his lap before tasting the nectar of her lips and running his tongue over her even white teeth.

“Excellent.” Her face shuttered again, and she stepped back slightly, “I have one last question. As I trust Mr. Saksville with his assessment of your integrity and reputation, I ask for your discretion about that which I will now speak.”

He nodded again and wondered how he suddenly felt the need to protect this woman from whatever burdens she carried. She took a deep breath and began to speak in a soft tense voice.

“My father is gravely ill, and my brother is still too young to take the reins of this company. I have no male relatives that I would trust with the fate of my family’s business. I have kept the secret of my father’s condition from all but the most trusted of his business associates and from anyone who might threaten to take over the business. I assure you, I have been trained at my father’s knee since I was a small child, and I have acted as my father’s secretary since I was but fifteen. I know that I can be a custodian for my brother until he can take the reins, and I will do so only with his interests in mind.”

“You need not explain such things to me, Miss Gracechurch. If Alan Saksville believes you to be competent, then I, too, trust his opinion. I have had occasion in the past to trust women with my life, and I have no qualms about working under your orders if that is your concern.” He had been under the orders of a woman during his intelligence work, and Carmina was the most intelligent, ruthless, bloodthirsty person he’d ever come to know. Between Carmina and the unbounded wisdom of his own mother, he knew that women deserved more respect than they were generally afforded.

Again, Helena Gracechurch let a full smile light up her face, and Raymond knew that there would be one distinct problem in his working for her. He wanted her. He wanted her in his bed, his hands caressing her breasts, his cock sliding between her thighs. He wanted to watch her take her pleasure.

Wanton Venture is out today!

It’s been a long time, but I’m so happy to be annoying a new release with Resplendence Publishing, WANTON VENTURE.


Helena Gracechurch  is far too occupied by thoroughly unfeminine concerns to fall in love. She’s got a business to run, a brother to protect, and a sinister cousin to avoid marrying. But her lusty thoughts about the man she’s just hired to captain her flagship are quite vexing and she has to keep her mind focused if she expects her world to remain afloat.

The new Earl of Belforth, Raymond Talbury, has arrived from Spain to find his family destitute and his position as a bachelor precarious. He needs money, not romance. But when he meets his new employer, all he can think about is getting the fiery redhead in his bed, or anywhere else he can have her. There really is no way he can refuse her offer of a mutually satisfying undertaking.

They both harbor secrets, but their feelings for each other are plain. Will circumstances and a menacing relative drive them irrevocably apart, or will their wanton venture succeed beyond their wildest dreams?

I will be giving away a copy of one of my books as part of a release party at The Romance Studio on June 3rd! Details to come soon!!!

Happy March!

Today I’ve got a post up at the very fun Coffee Thoughts blog at Coffee Time Romance:

Multiple Books, Multiple Worlds

Monday, March 8, 2010 | Category: Reader News

Thanks for having me over here at Coffee Time! Sorry I’m a bit late. I’m sitting here with my Mocha Magnifico protein shake and wondering what you guys might want to hear about today. I’ve got a computer class project, PTA work, a transcription to do, but what I really want to make time for is the three books I’m working on.

Three? Yes three. I am usually working on two or three books at the same time. It helps a lot in getting past any writer’s block, as if I get stuck in one story, it’s possible to start up somewhere and somewhen completely different in another story. Many of my books have been written at the same time. Command the Wind, a Passion Magic story set in Elizabethan England, was written at the same time as Reveal the Heart, also a Passion Magic story of Magi and their mates, but this one set in Washington D.C. during WWII. It was a big relief to move from one set of characters to another, and one timeframe to another. But, since I was staying within the same series and connecting the story of Magi heritage across hundreds of years, I think writing the two books together helped the quality and flow of both stories.

Another in the Passion Magic series, Foretell the Flame, is a story of escape and rescue set in the Italian Alps in 1805. But the final touches to this story were written at the same time as the thoroughly modern, slightly sci-fi and slightly paranormal story Don’t Wait. I think the savvy innocence of Rebecca in Don’t Wait was an excellent counterpoint to the jaded yet hopeful Cassandra in Foretell the Flame.  Gabe’s erotic education by an older and wiser Rebecca is an interesting mirror of how Tash woos Cassandra in her visions, making her believe that love is possible and life is worth living.

Right now, I’ve got three books in progress. I’m adding a chapter to New York Fairytale, about a wise-ass New York bartender and her very own prince charming. It’s already contracted with Resplendence Publishing, and should be coming out later this summer. But in the meantime, I’m having fun searching for pictures of the Waldorf-Astoria in NYC and imaging what kind of mischief Rudy and Ronnie can get into. That sense of fun and frolic helps a lot when I’m working on my as yet to be titled Passion Magic story set in 1888 on the Big Island of Hawaii. My Portuguese baker is married to the wrong twin, and the angst can be a heavy load to bear while in the early stages of the manuscript. But I think things will work out in the end. Bait and Switch, the third book I’m playing with at the moment, is probably the most fun. Sheila and Sam bicker back and forth across the desolate beauty of an arctic summer landscape, while trying to return a precious artifact to its rightful place. I love these two characters, and their on-again, off-again marriage is perfect for the 1955 setting. These two have been through a lot together, otherwise they’d never be able to survive their journey, much less have as much fun rediscovering each other’s every erotic desire.

Alas, real life interferes, and I do have to work my day jobs. But tonight, I have every intension of entering one or all of these worlds and having a great time. Who knows where my characters will end up taking me? I hope you enjoy reading about them as much as I enjoy writing them!

Have fun and Keep Reading!

Also, Resplendence Publishing has graciously accepted my contemporary erotic romance, New York Fairytale, for publication later this summer!

Here’s a snippet of the goodness to come:

Why won’t he leave?! Ronnie Carmichael groaned to herself for the tenth time in the last hour. She liked this pair of underwear too much to throw it out at the end of the night, and just looking at the man at the end of her bar made her too damn wet to be comfortable.

She shouldn’t be wearing a lacy pair of black boy shorts, the kind that hugged her ass just right and made her feel like slinking down the street in her Jimmy Choos (seventy bucks on sale at Nordstrom!) and making men stare. She’d just turned forty, but she’d be damned if she couldn’t be just as sexy as she had been a decade earlier.

But her silver and black fuck-me stilettos were sitting lonely on the floor of her closet. They were no shoes to be tending bar in. But the lingerie – she thought she could get away with it.

But Mr. Goddamn Gorgeous proved her wrong. Sexy underwear was just fine when she was mixing up endless pitchers of her trademark sangria. But serving fine whiskey to a prime piece of sex god in an Armani tuxedo? Oh, that made her pussy slick and those poor bloomers didn’t stand a chance.

Ronnie shifted uncomfortably and tried not to stare. It was a slow Tuesday night at Aceituna, the tapas place she worked at in mid-town Manhattan. The bar had had only scattered traffic all night. But the man in the tux, he’d been there a good two hours, completely absorbed in his glass of Talisker when he wasn’t looking at her out of the corner of his eye. She didn’t know who he was or why he was hanging around at a pedestrian restaurant like Aceituna, with a reasonable Zagat rating and no plates over thirty bucks. He looked like the type who went only to places with two Michelin stars, minimum.

Dead sexy, the man could be anywhere between forty and sixty, with dark red hair streaked with the slightest touch of silver at the temples. Though he was by no means fat, he was large, the kind of man to make Ronnie feel petite and feminine. He was probably well over six foot if he stood up, and those green-gold eyes held enough banked heat in them to make her blood burn hotter.

A touch of gruff, a touch of suave sophisticate, the man was like some unholy combination of Harrison Ford and Sean Connery in the best of the Bond films.  He looked like he should be drinking a martini or a glass of champagne with a girl half his age clinging to his arm in an evening gown with huge boobs threatening to spill out any moment.

No – that wasn’t right. He was classier than that. He looked like he should be gracing high society functions, an impeccably dressed socialite on his arm. His raw animal magnetism held caged, waiting to spring once he got home to his mistress.

She bit her lip and tightened her thighs together, the ache of sexual frustration growing too much to bear. She could buy an evening dress – second hand of course, or at a good sale at Loehmans, but she certainly had enough cleavage to spill out of it. Or maybe she could be the mistress waiting at home in a sexy teddy with a nice pair of padded handcuffs.

A great contest and a fun essay

Hi everyone! Hope your February is fabulous! I have some fun things to start off this month right. First of all, I’ve got a contest with Coffee Time Romance running through the month of February. If you can answer some questions about my book, Nancy’s Sweet Spelling Bee, you could win a signed copy of three Ellora’s Cave anthologies, including Glamorous Garnet, Provocative Pearl and Tempting Turquoise!

And then, February is the month of Valentine’s (which is very much a part of Nancy’s Sweet Spelling Bee), but it’s also the month of Lupercalia, that interesting Roman fertility holiday that involved getting whipped. So, it’s very appropriate that the Erotic Romance Reading Challenge let me write a blog essay about “Slap and Tickle”.

By Appointment – Slap and Tickle

In By Appointment, In Elaine Lowe

Monday, 1 February 2010

Ah, Brits and Americans, forever divided by a common language. I loved the idea of this topic, but then I soon realized  that my idea of “slap and tickle” might be rather different than what my audience thought was slap and tickle.

In England, I’m given to understand, a “slap and tickle” is a heavy session of making out. Truly tantalizing foreplay. Now, don’t get me wrong — I love the heavy breathing, the succulent tension, the kisses that last for hours until your lips are swollen and tingling and you know that your lover tastes better than chocolate. I remember the necessity of planning your wardrobe to be easy access for a large hand to caress a breast and tweak a nipple, or traverse its way up your thigh toward forbidden territory.

The tension is magnificent, and its ultimate resolution uttering delicious. I love writing scenes where the action can’t be brought to conclusion, and the partners are forced again and again to torture themselves with how much they want each other. In Enchant the Dawn, I had so much fun putting my gypsy hero and flapper heroine though their paces. They have some pretty fantastic make out sessions, including a harrowing trip thrust together in the rumble seat of an old jalopy, a truly hot session in a shower interrupted by treacherous pipes, and a steamy encounter in the back room of the hottest dance club in Harlem. By the time they actually get past “slap and tickle” to “hot and heavy”, the tension snaps with a bang!

But in the USA, “slap and tickle” has taken on a slightly different meaning, it’s more than just fooling around, necking, or making out on the couch, or even a quick hand job to stave off those cravings for more when you just can’t quite make the time. It’s more than a quickie between old, comfortable partners or teenagers trying not to get caught. No, “slap and tickle” really a slap and a tickle. It’s that slap to the ass that surprises a girl to fall over the edge into a truly epic orgasm.  The tickle of a feather over every inch of bared skin when a hard, hot man is stretched out on the bed, tied to the headboard, letting himself be tortured into a submission you both want.

It’s not heavy BDSM, with black latex and chains, it’s that little bit of pain to heighten the pleasure, that little bit of naughtiness that makes everything oh-so-good. Come on, admit it that when she drags her nails down his back almost hard enough to draw blood, that it’s too damn sexy! When he pinches and bites her nipples and makes her scream and throb, that drives you crazy. When he’s taking her from behind, so deep that she’s weeping with the wonder of it, and he pulls her hair daring her to deny that this is the best sex ever, that is what makes a scene so over the top you can’t get it out of your mind.

I like to put a little slap and tickle in all my books. Both the heavy petting kind and the luscious torture kind of slap and tickle. Too often, my heroines are too damn smart for their own good, and they need a bit of being out of control, either with some incredible foreplay or that surprise of a good teasing smack, in order to stop thinking for a moment and just start feeling.

In Command the Wind, it takes some loving slaps to her ass to get Cora Searle to stop worrying about disappointing on her wedding night and start really enjoying herself. And the Queen of Saal, Lady Six Sky, needs to be reminded to always think of politics and remember that she draws her strength from the love of her husband, Tiliw T’ul. And he seduces her in her throne room, plowing into her wet heat against a wall while she wears her full court regala,  pulling the feathered headdress from her hair and making her know that nothing, no treaty or political wrangling, is worth giving up this amazing man.

Masters and Johnson, those pioneers of sexual communication, introduced the term “sensate focus” to refer to being aware of only the moment during intimacy. Not to have a goal, or just to be consumed with orgasm. It’s incredible erotic to exist in the moment with your partner, whether that’s in the midst of long, slow, wet kisses that last for days, or being jolted by the delicious sting of teeth dragging along the column of your throat and leaving you marked for all to see.

Both kinds of “slap and tickle” are the best of being in the moment, utterly consumed by your partner and losing control of yourself in the very best way possible. So, go out and make out like teenagers on the couch ’til you just can’t stand it, then revel in the tantalizing torture of a tiny bit of pain in your pleasure. Come on, you know you’ll love it!