Friday, April 22, 2011


Born in England, Margaret West moved to the Kent countryside five years ago to get away from the busy life in London. She’s married with two grown children and has worked in various fields. She is a Clair-knowing medium, Crystal Therapist, Parapsychologist and Psychic development tutor.

Margaret has been writing for over 20 years and has numerous short stories, novels and articles published. She writes romance and paranormal novels, incorporating her spiritual experiences, into her books.

Below is a sample from her latest release.

Margaret West
ISBN 978-1-61572-282-2 E-Book
ISBN: 978-1-61572-283-9 Print
Eternal Press


Patricia is a mother who refuses to stay out of her daughter’s life even when she dies. Sally can hear her mother, but she can't see her spirit. At first she welcomes her return, but as the month’s progress she starts to feel increasingly peeved by her mother’s constant interference in her life. When she tells a few white lies on a dating application form, Patricia sets out to prove that lies are not a foundation for a healthy relationship.

Patricia sabotages a relationship between Sally and Emilio to prove her point, not realising her interference has caused a catastrophic chain reaction in the spirit world. The children allocated to Emilio and Sally can no longer be born. It is now down to the spirit of Emilio’s grandmother to put things right. But has Patricia caused too much damage for her to mend?

Sally opened her eyes and sat up. She wished for the courage to say, come in and scrub my back, darling. Although her thoughts were filled with erotic images, her life was more ordered and mundane. She got out and dried herself off, combing her fingers through her curls, knowing they would erupt on her head in a mad tangle of tiny springs as they dried. With her underwear washed and drying on a radiator, Sally wrapped a towel tightly around herself. Conscious of her nakedness, she left the bathroom. She saw Emilio seated on a biscuit-colored sofa, looking freshly showered and dressed in a clean, white shirt and blue trousers.

You are a sexy goddess, she told herself as she walked toward him.

She sashayed closer and an effervescent pleasure washed over her as Emilio’s eyes widened. She dipped her eyes and flicked her lashes, which she hoped looked provocative. Sally met his smile with a slow one of her own.

“I’ve ordered breakfast. I hope you don’t mind. I chose a selection. We can eat while we wait for your clothes to come back from the laundry. In the meantime, you might be more comfortable in this.” He handed her a heavy, blue, shapeless bathrobe.

Disappointment pushed the smile from her face. Her attempt at seduction failed miserably. She might as well wear a dust sheet. Embarrassed, she snatched it from his hand and stalked to the bathroom.


Learn more about Margaret West and her thrilling books on her website and blog.

Have a great weekend and a Happy Easter. I'll be back Tuesday with a new teaser. Until then...

Happy Reading!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey...Hotter than Hell

Wednesday, April 20, 2011


KC Kendriks has created another sizzler in her outstanding Southern Cross series. TAMING TRITON, book two, is a strong compelling story and written with heart.

Southern Cross series Book Two
KC Kendriks
ISBN-13: 978-1-60272-586-7
Amber Quill Press - Amber Allure


Austin Michaels accepts his brother’s standing invitation for a Caribbean vacation at his island resort. Some time in the sun is just what he needs to map out a plan for his future. He gets lucky and meets a handsome teacher willing to have a little vacation fling with, as long as they can keep things fun.

Steve Guthrie’s secret longings have haunted him all his life. It’s time to face his questions and find the truth of who he really is beyond a staid college professor. His love of the sea prompts him to take a vacation at a Caribbean hide-a-way for relaxation and reflection. A sexy stranger with a tattoo tempts Steve to abandon his plans, enticing him to share a vacation romp.

Now Steve’s the student in a high stakes class of one, and to pass the course, he has to tame his very own Triton.

“You’re early. I need to get a shower.”

Austin's grin widened. “I’ll come wash your back, Steve.”

I put my hands on my hips and stared him down. “You’ll go get something to open that bottle later. It won’t take me long to get rinsed off.”

He set the bottle on the table, opened a drawer, and held up a corkscrew. “They think of everything at the Southern Cross.”

“I’ve known you six hours, and you’re not climbing in the shower with me, Austin.”

His gaze locked with me, gluing my feet to the floor as he stepped in front of me. “Me thinketh the lad protesteth overmuch.”

My heart stuttered, then beat faster. I wondered if he could hear it. “I’m not protesting. I’m taking a shower.”

His right hand reached out, coming to rest on my shoulder, briefly, before his fingers slid into my hair. The breeze coming through the open window cooled my heated face and brought the light scent of his aftershave to me. No musk for Austin, the fragrance was clean and icy crisp, like snow.

My knees started to shake as he leaned closer to me. His eyelids fluttered closed as his warm breath caressed my cheek. A drumbeat pounded in my ears, deafening me, as his mouth touched mine.

I wrapped my arms around him and held on tight.

There was a soft knock on the door. I didn’t need a rocket scientist to tell me who it was.

What did I want from him? An explanation? Or did I want to tell him to go have a nice life? I opened the door and took in his worried face. Austin stared at me, and his expression shifted to wariness.

“Steve, what’s wrong?”

Men lie to men all the time. Well, not me. I wasn’t sliding into that gutter. Ever.

“I saw you being very cozy with Colby Denton’s boyfriend.”

He flinched at the accusation, at my sharp voice, but his hand snaked out and grabbed my wrist.

“It’s not what you think. Let me come in…”

“Men lie to men--isn’t that what you said? Should I let you in so you can lie to me?”

“Babe, you should let me in so the neighbors on their terrace don’t get a good laugh, or call the front desk and complain.”

I hesitated a half-second too long, and Austin pushed past me into my suite. “Call Colby and tell him what you saw. Go ahead. Let him tell you didn’t see Theron and me sneaking around.”

Austin jumped as I slammed the door shut behind him. I rounded on him. “I fucking saw what I saw, Austin!”

“Yeah? You saw my brother give me a kiss. Is that really a big deal to you?”

The hot rage of his betrayal died in my belly, cooling as if it had never even existed. His brother? He’d mentioned a brother. My knees threatened to give out on me and I plopped down on a dinette chair. Austin took the seat next to mine and held out his hands, palms up.

“Steve, I’m sorry. I’d have gotten around to explaining how I know Theron and Colby tonight. I didn’t think…I mean I didn’t see any reason to tell you my total life story right away. There’s a lot we don’t know about each, and most of it won’t make any difference while we’re having vacation fun.”

I wanted to believe him, I really did. “So tell me about your brother now, and don’t leave anything out.”

That wary look he had teased at his features, a clear indication he had something to hide. If this Theron were his brother, there shouldn’t be any problem, but the trapped look on his face said more than words ever could. Anger licked at my guts again.

“Lie to me, Austin.”

He shook his head. “No. I won’t. Theron is my foster-brother. Let’s walk over to the main building and you can ask him to verify it. Just don’t cross-examine him because you don’t have the right, and his nerves can’t take it.” Austin reached out and took my hand. I yanked away.

Damn him. “Let’s just go our separate ways, Austin. I can’t trust you.”

Very slowly, he reached for my hand again, wrapping his fingers around mine. This time, something in the earnest way he looked at me, his posture, kept me from pulling back. He took a deep breath.

“I don’t remember my mother. She’s just a name on my birth certificate. I was put into the child welfare system early. So was Theron. We ended up with the same foster family, one that understood gay teens.”

“That’s the real short version, isn’t it?”

To his credit, he didn’t deny it, merely nodded. I had a choice to make. Accept his explanation, or ask him to leave. I knew I didn’t have the right to know every detail of his life story based on our short acquaintance, sex or no sex. The other side of the coin--I’d not told him anything about my life, either. I looked down at our hands. His grip tightened for an instant.

“Okay. So I’m an ass to jump to conclusions and have a little fit.”

Austin’s other hand gripped my knee. “No, you’re not. Theron and I are pretty close. The first time I came for a visit, I thought Colby’s head was going to explode when he caught us…You don’t wanna know yet.”

“The hell I don’t! You’d better spit it out now, Austin.”

“We, um, got a little drunked up. Colby came up to my suite and found us flopped on the bed together, giggling like fools, talking about old times.” Austin flashed me a sheepish look. “Babe, he was not pleased.”

A thought formed, growing stronger as a flush stained his cheeks. I closed my eyes, then opened them slowly. "Jeez, Austin, you and Theron were each other's first, weren't you?"

He didn't attempt to deny it. It wouldn't have worked on me if he had.

"Steve, it was a long time ago. We were two lonely teenagers with the same big secret-we were queers. Somehow the universe gave us to each other to take care of and made us brothers. He and Colby are all the family I have."

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “I get it, Austin. I really do. I’m sor…”

His fingers pressed to my lips. “Don’t say it. Not for this. You don’t know me, so you’re right to question me.”

“For what it’s worth, I just learned a lesson about jumping to conclusions. Never too old, right?”

He leaned forward and kissed me, a tender pressing of his lips to mine. I kissed him back, more relieved than I should be.

This was a vacation thing. I needed to keep it that way.


Learn more about the awesome books by KC Kendricks on her website and blog. Follow KC on Twitter and check out her MySpace page. Be sure to join KC's mailing list for the lastest details on her new releases and appearances.

I'll be back Friday with a new release from Margaret West. Until then...

Happy Reading!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey...Hotter than Hell

Friday, April 15, 2011


Jenna Howard is here today with her electrifying new release SCORING LACEY, the consummate cougar novel.

For those of you who aren't familiar with this awesome author, here's a little on how her career began.

In sixth grade Jenn had to keep a journal as a class project. One assignment was “What do I want to be when I grow up.” Young Jenna carefully printed out, with her tongue sticking out between her teeth (no doubt) that she “wanted to be a writer.” Those words would guide her towards writing teen angst stories in high school to erotic romance, a genre her mother is soooo comfortable with. She currently resides in Calgary, Alberta, Canada.

Jenna Howard
ISBN 978-1-59578-820-7
Liquid Silver Books


Lacey Magerin never expected her husband of twenty years to leave her for a twenty-two year old. She never expected her fifteen-year-old daughter to blame her for the divorce. Lacey also never expected Shayne Donnelly. The NHL goalie is her brother's best friend and is ten years younger than her. Neither of them know the rules in this new game but that's not stopping either of them from playing or finding love in the least likely place - on home ice.

The olive green shirt made his eyes greener as it hugged all the muscley goodness that was Shayne. He took a chip loaded with cheese and peppers. Planting his elbow on the table, he offered the bite to her. “I’m not hungry.”

“Don’t want you passing out on me again when my hand goes down your jeans. Eat.”

She dipped the chip into the small bowl of salsa and studied Shayne. “Think that’s where it’s going, hm?”

Instead of answering, he leaned back in his seat, his eyes smirking his answer that that’s exactly where his hand was going to be later. She wondered what had brought him here. “What brings you to the Box?”

He took another sip then found the right chip he wanted. A thin strand of cheese stretched to the plate before he broke it with a swipe of his finger. He scooped a large amount of salsa and guacamole onto the chip then ate the entire thing. He sipped his soda and set his foot on the edge of her seat by her hip. “You.”

“Followed or summoned?”

His eyebrow went up in answer. Summoned. “What did my baby brother say to have you don your superhero cape?”

“That you were a pitiful mess who was into her cups and cheese.” Shayne pressed his foot against her hip and she toyed with the small cuff of his jeans. “Are you a pitiful mess?”
“Yeah,” she sighed, feeling a little morose.

“Wanna go hit a few pucks?” He nodded his head at the door. “Come on.” He grabbed his glass as he stood up, waiting for her to move her self-pitying ass.

With a sigh, she took her glass and followed him out into the night. Two people sat on the bench against the wall as they smoked. A goalie net that had seen better days was against one wall. A couple of hockey sticks were in an umbrella stand along with a bucket of tennis balls. There was even a goalie glove that had seen better days. “Hey,” Shayne said, greeting the smokers, then set his drink down.

His foot tapped the bucket, spilling balls over the concrete pad. He tossed a hockey stick at her and she stepped back so it didn’t smack her in the face. The sound of the wood clattering filled the space and she went to set her glass beside Shayne’s. When she turned, he had the glove on and was smacking the sides of the goal in a head nod to the hockey gods. “Okay, Magerin, bring it.”

She picked up the stick, using the blade to draw a ball towards her. The odds of her scoring on Shayne were as high as Carmen giving her hug right now. Her shot was pathetic and the ball rolled sadly to him.

He stood up straight and his sigh was loud as he kicked the ball back at her. “Jesus, you’re a Magerin. Hit the damn ball--don’t nudge it.” Once again he crouched down, his body relaxed in the pose.

That was annoying. Lacey hunched down like him and looked him in the eye. “And the puck is dropped. It’s Magerin versus Payne. Magerin grabs the puck and it’s a break away.” Shayne snorted as he grinned. “She goes left dodging Payne. Right. Left. Now it’s two on the ice. Can she do it? Can she score on the great Donnelly?”

She grabbed the front of her shirt, flashed him her lacy bra then shot. “And she does it! Ladies and gentlemen, Magerin has scored on Donnelly. The crowd here is insane.” She lifted a hand to her mouth and imitated a crowd roaring as Shayne looked behind him at the green tennis ball resting against the netting then at her. Even the smokers were cheering. Though she assumed it was for her bra and not her hockey prowess.

“I can’t believe you...” he tossed aside his stick and began to stalk her. “You flashed me!”

She was laughing by the time he grabbed her by the waist and dragged her out of the small zone.

“Way to go, baby!” One of the smokers shouted.

She heard the other one. “Can they play again?”

Shayne pushed her against the side of the building, the bright lights spilling right past them at the patio. “I can’t believe you flashed me.” His hands settled on her hips as he crowded her against the wall. “Let’s see that bra again.”

His mouth was on hers before she could grab the bottom of her shirt. He tasted of all things sinfully delicious in the dark.


Learn more about talented Jenna Howard on website and blog.

Have a great weekend. I'll be back Tuesday with a new teaser. Until then...

Happy Reading!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey...Hotter than Hell

Wednesday, April 13, 2011


Two excellent paranormal romance books with sensual loves scenes and graphic language.

Ella Vines creates strong characters and a world you won't want to leave in her historical HER DARK FAIRY.

Multi-published Mina Carter lives up to her reputation for writing "hot erotic romances with heroes to die for and heroines that can kick your ass with words alone" in her contemporary THRILL OF THE NIGHT.

Read on for a short tease on these two fiery stories.

Ella Vines


In October of 1858, a walk through the Mississippi woods behind her home changes Lucia Marks’ life forever. When she twists her ankle and blacks out, a gorgeous winged creature comes to her rescue, an alluring being of legend that haunts her days and nights. But what does he want from her, and who is he? More importantly, will he be part of her future?

He moved closer and her heart thudded. “I have been alone so long that I don’t remember family or friends. I have disguised myself and moved amongst you all virtually unseen for years. I never had a reason to show myself until I saw you.”

Lucia lurched back a step. He stood too close. She smelled the mingling of cinnamon and honey on his skin she had come to associate with him. If she reached out her hand, she could touch him.

“I don’t think I can—” She stopped as he moved closer, putting a finger to her lips.

“Don’t speak. I only want to be near you, to be able to talk with you from time to time. I know you have your life to live, and I have mine. Whatever may be…” His finger parted her lips as he nudged it into her mouth, over her teeth.

Heat seared through her, and she moaned without thinking. No man had ever touched her this way before.

“Please, come with me to my cottage for just a while. The sun hasn’t yet set.” His pale eyes glimmered, and she felt her body respond to his request.

“I suppose so—just to talk. But I can only stay for a little while.” She talked to herself as much as to him, remembering the story Hettie had told her. Had Berrigan told her the truth about his origins, or had he been in the forest for longer than he claimed?



Mina Carter


Part time diner waitress and hotel manager, Gwen’s days are filled with serving locals and making sure the sleepy back-road motel doesn’t have a crisis of epic proportions…like running out of clean towels. She’s a woman with a routine, a cleaning roster and that’s the way she likes it.

But Gwen is a woman with a past. A past which involves guns, knives and a whole lot of weird shit like vampires and werewolves. A past she gave up three years ago for the mediocrity of normal life.

She’s not sure she’s ready to go back to it but then a mysterious customer turns up in her diner. Hot and sexy as all hell, he sparks all kinds of erotic fantasies in Gwen’s sex-starved brain.

When she finds him bleeding from a were’s claws, can Gwen walk away? Or will she give into her carnal urges and risk being pulled back into her old life?

“Got a name, handsome?” I asked as I snapped gloves on. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t give a shit about AIDs, I’ll probably be dead long before anything like that puts me six feet under, but were infection? Not even going to risk it.


He sucked a breath in and glared at me as I irrigated the wound with swift, efficient movements.

“Oh, behave. Anyone would think a werewolf just tried to kill you.”

My voice was amused as I set about gluing the gashes in his skin and setting the butterflies in place. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve dressed wounds like this. Like I said, life on the road was hard. A hunter without scars was either new to the game, or…um, yeah, new to the game.

“Yeah. I’m freaking irresistible, aren’t I?”

He chuckled. It was a rich, low rumble that sent a ripple of awareness down my spine. I dropped my head a little, hiding behind the curtain of my hair. There was no way he was going to be interested, and after a were attack, probably wouldn’t welcome knowing how hot I thought he was. Life was a bitch, and then you died.

Fuck it. What did I have to lose? And, besides, I think we already established I’m not the sort of chick to take the sensible option.

“Honest answer?”

I didn’t look at him as I considered my handiwork. I’ve always been a neat hand with a needle, all that practice stitching up my mother as a kid. I was nine before I realized “needlepoint” mean stitching on fabric.

“I wouldn’t kick you outta bed.”


Be sure to check out Summerhouse Publishing for a great selection of well-written books at reasonable prices.

I'll be back Friday with a new release from Jenna Howard. Until then...

Happy Reading!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey...Hotter than Hell

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

The Naughty Ladies of Nice
Book Four
ISBN 978-1-60168-317-5
Aspen Mountain Press


Straight-laced children's author, Rachel Conklin, awakens on a deserted island wrapped in the arms of a sexy pirate. Convinced she's in a dream conjured from the pages of her breakout novel, Rachel casts her inhibitions to the wind. Guilt-free, she seduces the handsome sailor and rides the waves of passion.

Pediatrician Henri Bernier wasn't quite sure what to do with the sexy mermaid he'd pulled from the sea. Then she started kissing him and sent his libido soaring. Now the good doctor is ready to practice anything.


His mystery woman wiped mist from the cheval mirror. In the cleared glass, Henri caught her image. He stood in the bathroom doorway, frozen, staring at her through their shared reflection. She smiled at his shocked expression, probably enjoying the fact she had him at a disadvantage.

The bath towel dropped from her fingers, exposing her firm breasts. Her large, dark nipples drew him like a siren to the sea and his dick sprang to life. The desires to lave and suckle her flooded over him while his stiff cock demanded he bend her over and fuck her until he came.

Droplets glistened on the ringlets of her long hair, reflected by the late afternoon sun. Several beads gathered, then made a slow descent down her spine. He stood mesmerized by the rivulet, staring as it glided to the sleek curve of her hip, following it lower until it disappeared between her firm cheeks.

With her good hand, she pulled thick strands of wet hair off her back and draped it over a shoulder, exposing her delicate neck. She held his gaze and bent over at the waist, offering him a seductive view of her pink labia. In slow motion, she drew a pair of red panties up her legs, then did a little hip wiggle and tugged them into place.

The shiny panties caressed her rounded ass cheeks midway on her derrière, accenting the creamy bare skin and framing the lower portion. His hands itched to cup her, squeeze the firm muscles, but his arms were frozen at his sides.

The kissable white flesh rounded above legs that went on forever down to trim ankles and slender feet. He imagined those long limbs circling his waist, better yet, wrapped around his neck as he watched his cock slide in and out of her.

"Magnifique." The word slipped out hoarse as struggled for oxygen.

He walked closer, his movements dreamlike. The honey shampoo aroma filled his lungs when he finally reached her.

“You are beautiful.”

Merci, Henri.” A smile twitched her lips.

“Your wrist should be in the sling.” He held up the black cloth with his other hand.

“I agree, but there’s time for that later.”

She leaned into him and reached back for his free hand, hanging limp at his side, then laid it across her bare ribcage. Her smooth skin felt warm against his damp palm.

“I intended to hang it on the handle, but the door popped—”

“Henri, isn’t there something else you’d rather do right now than talk?”

His sex-engrossed brain finally registered her words. “Mai oui.”

He laid a soft kiss on her shoulder, nipping his way along the side of her neck until he reached the tender area behind her ear lobe. Her nipples pebbled with his gentle touch, encouraging him to explore more of her.

His fingers played across her abdomen, sending prickles of anticipation up his arm as they climbed higher. He cupped her breast, massaging the firm mound until soft moans slipped past her parted lips. The entire time he watched her reflection in the mirror while his thumb made slow, teasing circles around her areola.

She wrapped her warm fingers over his other hand and guided it across her body. The combination of soft skin and firm muscle was the most erotic sensation of his life.

Dieu, how he wanted to dip into her hot pussy, His cock, with drops of pre-cum seeping through the slit, demaded relief.

With shaking fingers, she guided his other hand lower until she stopped at the elastic band on her wet panties. He grazed the fabric across her mound and stopped, then moved his hand to her thigh and edged toward her nub. She wrapped her fingers around his forearm, encouraging him to travel beneath the thin cloth. Anxious to please, he glided his fingers under the damp fabric and into her wet hairs, searching for her clit. After a moment of teasing, he slid first one finger, then a second into her hot, wet channel and watched her expression turn to ecstasy.

“Come for me, ma petit.”

Her trembling body tensed. She clutched the basin rim, squeezing her thighs tightly around his hand, grinding her hips against him. Shivers coursed through her. Her whimpers turned to a scream of pleasure as she sprayed hot cum onto him. A unique feeling of joy settled in his heart.

He turned her limp frame in his arms, his fingertips skimming across her tender nipples. She melted against him, pressing her breasts into his chest hairs...


I'll be back tomorrow with Ella Vines. Until then...

Happy Reading!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey...Hotter than Hell

Friday, April 08, 2011


To successfully write a time travel or fantasy takes a special mindset. Few authors are so gifted. Lucky for readers, Robert Appleton is a genius in the field. His latest book, THE TEMPORAL MAN, is an awesome example of Rob's amazing talent.

Robert Appleton
ISBN: 978-1456595661
Moongypsy Press


Have you ever wondered what it’s like outside of time? For disillusioned young waitress Rebecca Green, those words become startling reality when a mysterious stranger arrives to literally turn her world upside down.

Sam Morrow is on the run. He’s being pursued across time by four dangerous men from his past, including the deadliest swordsman in France. But now that he’s found the girl of his dreams, it might just be time to stand and fight. Rebecca has an idea—to recruit the best swordsman in eighteenth century England—but will aristocratic Percy Torrance dare miss his wedding on Monday for an unprecedented time travel journey?

Pulse-pounding duels, sea battles and a daring mountain rescue punctuate this tale of romance on the edge. From the distant past to the far-flung future, there’s no hiding from fate. Hold on tight to The Temporal Man.


(From Part 2: 1798)

There was a boyishness to his every gesture, a sandbox joie de vivre in the way he handled the sword. As Sam sparred with him, I knew instantly that this was not someone we ought to remove from the natural order of the world. He was much too promising. Life loved him as much as he loved life. Quality informed the tiniest twitch of his blade, and in a smile both perennial and genuine, I saw rarity. Grace. A man the nineteenth century would need. Though he was by far the best swordsman we’d found in England, I didn’t want to recruit twenty-two-year-old Percival Torrance. Not for a fight to the death.

“What do you think?” I whispered to Sam, after Percy won his seventh point in a row.

“He’s bloody marvellous. I’m no hack with a foil, but he’s got the jump on me every time.” Sam wiped his sweaty forehead with a tissue-thin, silk sleeve, enlarging the wet patch he’d already made. “This is hot work.”

“Sam, I don’t want anything bad to happen to him.”

“To him? He’s kicking my time travelling derriere. You should be more worried about me.”

“I mean if we brought him with us…and he got hurt. I’d never forgive myself. He’s too sweet.”

“I know. But what if we give it to him plainly, and let him decide for himself. This was your idea, remember? You said to find the best swordsman in England. Here he is.”

I nodded reluctantly. After all, Percy was my best hope for keeping Sam alive.

It was a humid afternoon, sometime in the month of August, seventeen ninety-eight, in the reign of His Majesty, King George the Third. We had learned of Percy’s swordsmanship by reputation, three of the five best fencing academies in London having sung his praises. The youngest son of a revered Admiral in His Majesty’s Navy, Percy was looking forward to his first posting upon being accepted to the rank of Lieutenant, something he was utterly confident of. “I know every knot and rivet,” he assured us, “and that’s just in the old man’s wooden leg. But seriously, anyone can be a seaman. It’s the thinking on your feet that trips so many up. Lucky for me, I’ve always been pretty agile in that regard, like the old man used to be.”

Stunning deep green covered the thirty-acre garden at the back of the Torrance estate. Cone-shaped, evergreen trees populated the grounds like giant arrowheads pointing to the sky. As Percy parried attack after attack with perfect alacrity, even nonchalance, I went dizzy. A realisation swarmed about me. I knelt to catch my breath. This had all existed over two centuries ago. The pollen, the gust, the evergreens, and young Percy Torrance. All had had their inkling on time’s unfurling scroll. His dreams, realised or failed, were already writ as historical fact. Nothing he could say or do would alter my past, the nineteenth century I knew. It was as if I held the answers to all his questions, the clasps over all his uncertainties, both naturally and unnaturally, for I sensed he would jump at the chance to do something extraordinary. And our being here, drinking his brandy, was nothing if not extraordinary.

After winning ten straight points in a row, he shook Sam’s hand and led us inside the house.

“Now then, Rebecca and Sam, might I ask what prompted your delightful visit? Your letter mentioned something about a singular proposition. I was intrigued. And if it does not involve money, I cannot even imagine what it could mean.”

His face was quite thin, with a small mouth and attractive, hazel eyes. His nose was aquiline, and his chin was finely cleft and very masculine. I couldn’t tell the colour of his hair, as he wore an expensive grey wig, but from his dark eyebrows and the few black hairs showing on his chest through his partially open shirt, I guessed at either black or mousy brown. He had a slim, almost wiry athleticism that gave him tremendous balance. I could picture him climbing up a ship’s rigging in record time, and then fighting a duel on the topgallant.

In other words, he would make an ideal ally in our fight against the Delgados and their Frenchman.

“First, I’d like to say that you’re the best swordsman I’ve ever come across,” Sam answered. He took a sip of brandy and then glanced around the exquisite living room for a few moments, his stare finally resting on the portrait of a lady on the wall above a mahogany sideboard. “Lovely.”
“My Aunt Sylvia. She taught me the piano…before she passed away.”


“You remind me of her, Rebecca,” added the youngster. “You possess a similar incongruity.”

“Oh?” I didn’t like the word when pointed at me. It sounded so…trigonometric.

He grinned. “That was a compliment, madam. I meant to refer to the time we live in.” Someone walked over my grave. He blithely went on, “The eighteen nineties have been so prosaic, don’t you think? One has to go out and find excitement. But you, madam, light up even this stuffy mausoleum. Aunt Sylvia was the same.”

I blushed. Either he didn’t have a clue how charming he was—quite probable, in this era of etiquette—or he just didn’t care that I was in love with Sam. We had announced ourselves as a couple in the letter, but either way, he wielded compliments as skilfully as he did his blade.

“Percy, we’ve come to ask you something…equally incongruous.” Sam cleared his throat.


To learn more about Robert Appleton and his intriguing books, visit his website, or swing by his blog. He’s also on Facebook and Twitter.

Have a spectacular weekend. I'll be back Tuesday with a new teaser. Until then...

Happy Reading!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey...Hotter than Hell

Wednesday, April 06, 2011


Rick R. Reed is a talented author secure in his genre. When asked what inspired him to write TALES FROM THE SEXUAL UNDERGROUND, Rick was happy to share.

"I wanted to write about people who were not just out, but out there, people who lived their sexual lives in ways most of us could only imagine...and for whom the flavor vanilla had absolutely no appeal. I interviewed porn stars, prostitutes, self-proclaimed sex pigs, and delved into bizarre sexual practices. It was eye-opening, arousing, and a lot of fun (but never, never good clean fun). I also include here my favorite dirty stories. They all explore a side of life that exists not in the twilight zone, but in my favorite destination...the sexual underground."

Rick R. Reed
ISBN 13: 978-1-60820-140-2 Paperback
ISBN 13: 978-1-60820-141-9 Electronic
MLR Press


He knows me, so he knows the best time is a quiet one. We stay in. Dinner, drinks, and of course, the last part, the best part.

He starts off casually, wearing a pair of faded Levis, a white T-shirt worn soft, bare feet, hair still damp from the shower. There's a CD playing, low, maybe Oscar Peterson conjuring up Gershwin from his piano. He's got a few candles lit, but nothing scented. The air in his apartment is clean, with a trace of the soap from his shower lingering.

We sit on the couch and he makes me a drink. He already knows what I like, a dirty martini made with vodka, heavy on the dirt. We laugh about how I like things dirty, but not too much. We keep our minds out of the gutter, at least for now.

After the drinks, the music, the light fading to purple outside, we move to the dining room. Old oak pedestal table, mismatched chairs and cream pillar candles...used before. He makes a light meal, because he knows that later, we won't want anything too heavy weighing on us. A simple salad, arugula, red onion, plum tomatoes, drizzled with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. There's a chicken breast, poached in broth, lemon juice and walnuts, some rice. Strawberries with sour cream and brown sugar for dessert. A glass or two of white wine, an Alsatian Riesling.

We linger over the dinner, slow; the candles burn down. The sky outside fades from purple to navy blue, a glow to the lights. We move to the bedroom, undress slowly.

He knows how to touch me. Knows where to make the pressure slippery and where to make it rough. Knows when to move slowly, when to increase the tempo, and when to slow it down again...he doesn't want things to end too quickly. He knows that my nipples are sensitive, and toys with them just hard enough so I will feel the ghost of his caress in the morning. All the while, music, orchestrated to ebb and flow, a soundtrack to our passion. We start off with Bach, Mendelssohn, end up with Crystal Method and Prodigy. Romance to filth. And he tells me, the whole time, about past lovers, knowing it excites me as much as his touch. Like the music, he starts off slow and romantic, telling me about his first love, Ron, how they were playful, in love, existing only for each young. He tells me about a particular New Year's Eve, in a darkened bedroom in Florida, high on pot and champagne, bringing each other the most incredible gifts. But as our passion rises, so does the depravity. He moves on to orgies, nights with strangers fueled by Ecstasy, a frantic, furtive coupling with a Northwestern student in an alley by the el tracks one night in August, fucking each other sweatily while the train crackled and roared above, its human cargo oblivious. He tells me about backroom sex, the smell of poppers, leather, cum and spit in the air, groping, being groped, connecting with shadows. He tells me everything, moving faster and faster, until even his tales and touch blur, and I offer up my seed; it covers my belly in viscous arcs.

And I roll over and look at the mirror. He is me.

He is me.


Learn more about Rick R. Reed and his award winning books on his website and blog. You can also follow Rick on Twitter and Facebook.

I'll be back Friday with a new release from awesome author Robert Appleton. Until then...

Happy reading!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey...Hotter than Hell

Tuesday, April 05, 2011


The Naughty Ladies of Nice
Book Three
ISBN 978-1-60168-293-2
Aspen Mountain Press


Interpol agent Claudette D’Laquois is on the run. Dull Uncle Paul and his rundown chateau in Nice, France are her only safe haven…but she never planned on the delectable estate manager who is even more dangerous than the Russian mob boss who wants her dead.

Three weeks of overseeing operations at his friend’s orchard seems like the ideal vacation to CPA Don Hobbs. And so it was—until a French sex goddess pulls him into a world of drugs, intrigue, and erotic fantasy.

The throbbing burst into her head again. She rubbed her temples. “S’il vous plait, do not make this more difficult.”

“Hey, I get it. You’re this tough woman who can handle herself in any kind of danger. But, you need to look at it from my point of view.” He stepped behind her and massaged her shoulders, edging up to her neck.

Instant relief.

She sighed with each knead that worked free the stress knots.

“Let’s just say this Cesar doesn’t come alone. You ever figure he’s not a good guy?” Sarcasm streamed with each word.

“I know him.” She shrugged off his hands and turned, her fists balled tight. “You do not.”

“I’m not stupid and I do know a bunch of bullshit when I hear it.” His words bounced off the walls. “You think this fucker is your long-lost savior. Not hardly likely, chickee, if he bailed on a high profile government job and left you to the wolves.” He squinted at her, a vein pulsed along his forehead. “Was your commander right? Did you and James Fuckingbond have a couple of rolls in the sack and now you think he’s gonna be the righteous man of the hour? Is that all it takes with you? A fast fuck and a couple of swats on the ass to make you bend over and suck mud?”

“You dare to speak to me this way?” Red flashed before her eyes. “One afternoon of sex and you think you own me? Know what my life is like? How it should be orchestrated? You assume the right to be my master?” Meeting him decibel for decibel, she yelled, “You are an idiot!”

She swung out her hand, ready to slap his face. Hard.

With an expression cold and fierce, he leaned into her.

“Don’t do it. Don’t do one fucking thing you don’t want done back to you.” He stood his ground, fists planted on his hips. “I’m a nice guy. A fucking gentleman until someone, and I don’t care if she is a broad, muscles me. You got that? Loud and clear? Has it sunk you’re your brain? I will not—”


A low growl came from deep in his chest. In slow motion, he rubbed his cheek along her red imprint, eyes narrowed to slits. “That’s it, baby, party’s over.”

He grabbed her wrist and spun her around, flopped onto the bed, and yanked her over his knee.


Her cotton skirt shredded like tissue as he yanked it up over her ass, exposing her boy shorts.

“I told you before you needed a good spanking and the time’s come.” The satin panties were ripped away.


His hand cracked down on her firm rear. The sting raced across her flesh, charging heat to her clit.

“Ow!” She struggled to get free, flailing her legs and arms, but his free hand pressed across her back, holding her in place. “You will pay for this, you le fils d'une chienne.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will, but not as much as you. And I’m not a son of a bitch. My mother is a nice woman.”


“Nice girls don’t talk like that either.”

Whack. Whack.

“Donald, stop before it is—”


“Too late? Too bad. Already is and I don’t give a shit.”

Whack. Whack.

His rigid penis pressed into her abdomen and dampness pooled in her panties. Pressure built between her thighs, increasing with each smack. She arched into him, loving it. Wanting this from the day they met.

Dieu, at this moment, he was her master. She wanted to be his equal, but not right now. Now, she wanted him to take control, had to know his brute force, needed him.

His hand slowed, then rested on her tingling flesh. He traced her butt cheek, edging closer to her perineum. She opened her thighs, praying he would slip between them.

He glided a finger along the crease, then dipped lower and stroked her swollen nether lips. Up and down, down and up, and she loved every stroke.

Cream seeped from her and her body begged for release. She no longer held back the moans.

“Had enough?” His words came out thick.

“Not of you.” She twisted around until she sat on his lap.


I'll be back tomorrow with the award winning Rick R. Reed. Until then...

Happy Reading!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey...Hotter than Hell