FEATURE: Joan Kilby

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Award-winning author Joan Kilby writes sweet and sexy contemporary romance with a touch of humor. Joan’s hobbies are wine, growing vegetables, chocolate, cooking, traveling, yoga and reading–not necessarily in that order. Happily married with three children and a Jack Russell named Sparky, Joan lives in Melbourne, Australia, the setting for her indie novel, WIN ME. She loves to hear from readers so feel free to drop her a line. For contact details and more info on Joan’s books please visit her website.

Excerpt from Win Me (The Outback Bachelor Ball, Book 1)

Finally. Ellie had waited for Rick’s kiss for what felt like her entire life. Her breath caught in her throat and when he lowered his lips to hers it was everything she’d dreamed of.

His mouth greeted hers softly at first, testing and tasting, nibbling the corners of her lips in a way that made her mouth curl in a smile. She felt him smile, too, and they moved closer, into each other’s arms. He slid his tongue along the seam of her lips and she opened, welcoming him. His tongue swept over hers, stroking and caressing. The pressure of his mouth became more urgent, more demanding and emotion gave way to carnality. She’d always believed kissing Rick would be erotic but she wasn’t prepared for how he set her every raw nerve ending alight.

His hand skimmed down her back to grab her and haul her close. His body was, oh, good Lord, so hard. Pretty words were nice to hear but the heated steel of him burning through the thin fabric of her dress showed her without a doubt how he felt.

He wanted her. He wanted her, Ellie.

And she wanted him, God help her. She dragged his free hand, the one still in her hair, down to her breast. His palm brushed lightly across as if he was deciding how far he was going to go with this. And then with a groan he cupped his hand over her and his thumb and forefinger closed around her nipple. The electric sensation made her body jerk and she accidentally bit his lower lip. Warmth and the copper taste of blood only heightened the animal urges, compelling her to grind her hips against his.

She shocked herself with her actions. In this dress she was a different person – bolder, sexier, flaunting her body, and not afraid to take what she wanted. She bet if she asked to go to his swag now he wouldn’t say no.

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FEATURE: Rita Stradling

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Rita Stradling is the author of The Deception Dance series, the Dakota Kekoa series and The Fourteen Day Soul Detox Novella Serial. She has a BA in Art History and a particular love for modern and medieval art.

Rita lives with her husband and son in Northern California.

She has an insatiable novel addiction and mostly reads young adult and adult: romance, paranormal, urban fantasy and high fantasy.

Excerpt from Making Bad Choices

Page 169

“If I think you might disappear on me, I’ll just be thinking about that all night, and I don’t want to have to deal with that shit. Just not worth going for me,” Culter said.

Wow, he made me feel like I was his odious chore, that was nice. I found it ridiculous that he was giving me a hard time about going off with people.

“Just go do your thing, Culter, I’ll be fine.” I might have put a fair dose of insinuation into my words, but the whole conversation was bugging me. I stood, gathering my makeup from the floor as I did.

“What’s my thing?”

“Like I know,” I mumbled.

“Sounds like you think you know,” he said. He stood too, stepping a little closer.

“It doesn’t matter.” I threw my stuff onto my bed.

He stepped in even closer, way too close, and smirked down at me. “Come on, I want to know. What’s my thing, Cassie?”

I licked my lips, before saying, “Threesomes.”

His smirk only grew. “Is that your thing, too?”

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FEATURE: W.S. Carmichael

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WS Carmichael is a new Indie author and lover of all things romance. When not writing, she’s usually either spending time with her husband, Doug, and three teenage children or at her day job as a nurse.

Excerpt from At Long Last (A Laurel Creek Romance)

We’re done eating, but still sitting at the table when I bring up the elephant in the room. I pour us each another glass of wine before I say. “Dylan, can I ask you something?” He looks wary, but nods his head, so I continue. “Did you stop the other night because you don’t want this or because you think you shouldn’t want this?”

He lets out a deep sigh as I stand up and start clearing the table. “Jenni Lynn, it wouldn’t be right. You’re my friend, I can’t take advantage of you like that. I’ll be leaving again soon. Then what? I don’t do long distance relationships. I won’t do that to you.” He explains.

Exactly what I thought he’d say. He wants this. I just need to convince him I can make my own decisions. I put the dishes in the sink and stand behind him. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I begin kneading the tight muscles.

He starts to relax and I speak. “I am a big girl, going into this with my eyes wide open. I want you. I want this.”

I lean closer and kiss a trail down the side of his neck. He puts his hand over mine, but otherwise makes no move to stop me. He squeezes my hand tighter and makes a strangled noise in his throat as I nip his earlobe. I breathe in his cologne and taste the faint saltiness of his skin. I move to kiss the other side of his neck, licking the rapid pulse at the base.

He makes a halfhearted attempt to dissuade me. “Jenni Lynn, please stop. You’re killing me. I’m trying so hard to be good.”

“So, stop trying. Let’s just have fun, no promises, no obligations.” I feel the indecision humming through his veins.

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FEATURE: Amie O’Brien

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The Merchant’s Pearl is the first novel from Amie O’Brien, but she would tell you her characters are constantly nagging her for their future installments. Madly in love with her husband and children, she hopes to spend more time petting horses, reading books, and pursuing her addiction with world travel.

Excerpt from The Merchant’s Pearl (The Merchant’s Pearl Saga, Book 1)

His face hadn’t hardened at all these last few years. It still looked soft. His eyes seemed a deeper hazel than before, a soft chocolate brown rather than the medium color they had been when we were children. I studied them along with his long, thick, black lashes.

He didn’t have the lengthy beard either, the kind captured in oil paintings in certain rooms of the palace—the kind that made me cringe. Instead, his was a refined shadow that any man could grow in two or three days’ time. And then there was that olive skin, not as rich as his father’s, but a perfect match to his half-brother, Yusuf. Reflecting on the conduct of both, I had to smile. Suri was right. He seemed so much more thoughtful and less showy than Yusuf.

He must have felt me watching him or maybe it was the smile. He turned to look at me.

“I’m afraid I have built too good of a fire. Would you like to see the view from the window as the flames settle down a bit?”

“Yes, Sire.”

He didn’t offer me a hand up, just stood in a gentleman like manner as I rose to go before him to the twin towering windows.

“Allow me,” he said, reaching over me. He gently pulled back the velvet drapes using a long cord. “Everything about these windows is such a nuisance. I guess we don’t always feel very secure as a family. We like our unwanted ones to arrive and retreat announced, so the windows have very little play and are filled with squeaks.”

“Seems about right,” I mumbled.

He quickly glanced up at me.

“I mean, I think I would wish it that way too, if I were the Sultan.”

He said nothing, just looked back to the window, but I noticed a smug smile.

He gestured to the Bosphorus. In awe, I placed a hand on the cool pane of glass. The water looked as if it were practically below our feet. There was only a small strip of land between the palace, white iron gate, and the low, concrete sea wall. If anyone were in a boat coming from the opposite direction, I would swear it would have to look like a floating castle to their naked eye.

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FEATURE: Scott Roche

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Some creatures feed on blood and revel in the screams of their prey. Scott Roche craves only caffeine and the clacking of keys. His writing and podcast can be found on his website.

Excerpt from Coming Home Again

The weight of this man’s hand on his leg was pleasant. Heat passed through the thin cloth of his pants. He did nothing to remove it, only leaning across to retrieve his beer and then sitting back. In the process, he inhaled enjoying the after shave and scent of cloves. After taking a sip, he smiled. “You’re not the only one who’s been augmented.”

Rogers raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“Nothing quite so elaborate or interesting, but one of my retinas was replaced with a vat grown version and I have a replacement knee. I blew mine out in college.”

“You played sports in college?” The emphasis on the word sports and the slightly widened eyes were almost insulting in their comic surprise.

Blair winced, the expression exaggerated. He wasn’t as bulky as the pilot, but he’d worked hard to maintain a lean, tight build. “I did, thank you very much. I played lacrosse and some competitive swimming.” He didn’t let the ribbing bother him. Much.

“No real sports, then.” Rogers took another sip of beer, full lips smiling around the bottle’s head.

Blair mimed punching him. “I could probably take you in the pool, thank you very much.”

“You could, but you’d be mine in the boxing ring.” Rogers sat down his bottle.

“I’m not much for hand to hand combat, so you’re right there.” Blair took a longer pull at his beer and tried not to think too much about a sweaty pilot in boxer shorts. That image would come to him later that night. “Is there anything more you can tell me about the Reptiloids? As a doctor I’m fascinated by the proof that there are other sentient races in the universe.” Just saying that sentence aloud made him giddy.

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