Wishing everyone good health and much happiness in 2009!
Shawna Moore
TORMENTED -- Ellora's Cave (MUST-READ from Dark Angel Reviews)
ROUGHRIDER -- Ellora's Cave Exotika
HELLE IN HEELS -- Ellora's Cave Exotika
Shawna's Myspace
Helle's Myspace
Happy New Year from Shawna
Wishing everyone good health and much happiness in 2009!
Shawna Moore
TORMENTED -- Ellora's Cave (MUST-READ from Dark Angel Reviews)
ROUGHRIDER -- Ellora's Cave Exotika
HELLE IN HEELS -- Ellora's Cave Exotika
Shawna's Myspace
Helle's Myspace
Excerpt from HIGHLAND REBEL - Out March 2009
Hey Fierce Friends!
Sorry I've been AWOL. Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas or Hannukah or other holiday and that the New Year holds amazing things for all of you! I've been promising an excerpt from my new time travel romance, HIGHLAND REBEL, which will be out in March 2009 -- but can be pre-ordered now, don't forget! And I'm finally making good on that promise! Here's the actual first paragraphs of the book, which is the second in my Timeless Highlanders Series from Berkley Books. Hope you love Ian as much as Ellie does! Would love to hear from any and all!Coming from from Berkley Books, March 2009
HIGHLAND REBEL
By Tess Mallory (copyright 2009)
Celtic music sensation Ian MacGregor flashed his now-famous smile at the thousand or more fans cheering as he took his place center stage at the Glasgow Royal Concert Hall. He wore a traditional MacGregor kilt, knee-high suede leather boots, and nothing else, except a burnished gold band around his upper arm, skimming the lower edge of his Trinity tattoo.
As he grabbed the wireless mike from its stand and welcomed the suddenly hushed crowd, offstage Ellie Graham tossed her dyed black hair back from her shoulders and narrowed her eyes.
Oh, sure, he was Mr. Hunky Hunk, but take away that tousled blonde hair, the sky blue eyes, his bare, muscular chest, the awesome tattoo and devil-may care smile, and what was left?
Just his ruggedly handsome face, amazing voice, and awesome musical ability.
His bare chest gleamed beneath the bagpipes strapped around his torso, and his ragged hair grazed the top of his broad shoulders as his eyes twinkled, promising pleasure to all who dared to meet them.
The pipes’ leather “halter” was Ian’s own creation, fashioned to leave his hands free for grabbing the microphone—or any willing woman who might fling herself in his direction. And there were a lot of willing women in Ian’s life. He was the epitome of a Highland Bad Boy, a Celtic Casanova, a Scottish Scoundrel, a—
Oh stop, a little voice inside her head ordered. You know that Ian is one of the nicest, humblest guys you’ve ever met. It’s not his fault that he’s gorgeous and, well, a man.
Ellie folded her arms across her chest. It was true. Ian was darn near perfect. Then her mouth went dry and her brain functions faltered as Ian took center stage. Dazed again by the sight of him in action, she watched as he raised both fists into the air and gave the sea of adoring fans what they’d all been waiting for with baited breath.
\
“Ard Cholle!” he shouted.
The crowd went wild. Hundreds of women rushed the stage, screaming like banshees. Ellie shivered. She couldn’t deny that she still got goosebumps when she heard Ian give the MacGregor war cry. His rough, rich voice resonated across the vast hall and she took a deep, steadying breath.
Ian grinned widely as his backup band, “Outlaw”, launched into a rock and roll version of “Donald, Where’s Your Trousers?” Ellie couldn’t help but smile. The song was an old one, written as a slur against Scotsmen, but Ian had taken it and made it the national anthem of sexy men in kilts. It had become an instant hit in the UK.
With a loud whoop, he danced across the wide platform, his kilt whirling above his knees, exposing lean, hard thighs. He sang into the microphone, his deep, rich voice seducing every woman in the hall. He moved his trim, muscular body like a man possessed, working the crowd into its usual frenzy, and Ellie knew, with a sinking heart, that she had made the right choice.
There was no way around it. As soon as this last show on the UK tour was over, she had to dump Ian. Until then, she had no choice but to watch the man she loved do his best to give a thousand other women musical orgasms.
Ian sang. Women screamed. Ian shouted. Men shouted back. Ian rocked the crowd, enticing every person there, daring them to dance, to sing, to lose every inhibition they’d ever had. And as he did, the walls of the auditorium seemed to tremble with an intense, frantic energy, with Ian at the center of the maelstrom, inviting everyone to join him, love him, embrace him, as he reached the last verse of the song.
“The lassies love me every one
But they must catch me if they can,
Ye canna put breeks on a Highland man, saying,
“Donald, where's your trousers?”
Ellie closed her eyes at the thought of Ian without his trousers. The crowd whistled and cheered as Ian took a bow and gestured to his band; then the mood changed as the music shifted into something soft and mellow.
She opened her eyes, her throat tight, knowing what came next. She steeled her heart not to feel, not to share the stark emotions that slid across Ian’s face as he raised the microphone to his lips once again. It was one of his own songs, and one that filled Ellie—and probably every other woman in the hall—with an indescribable longing. He called it, “Lass O’ My Heart.”
“Ah, bonny lass, I dinna know yer name,” he sang, “but someday I will find ye…Ye are my heart, though we have never met… my love forevermore…”
The words swept over Ellie painfully, and when he reached the end of the second verse and slid the mouthpiece of the pipes between his lips like a lover’s tongue, her heart beat faster and she ran her own tongue across her lips. What would it be like, to be the woman of Ian’s dreams? What would it take to capture his heart so completely?
A hush fell over the audience as the haunting melody shuddered through the air, bringing first sighs, and then tears to those who watched and listened.
Leave Ian. She’d have to be crazy.
Just six months ago Ellie’s visa had expired and she’d started packing her bags to leave Scotland, when her sister Maggie told her Ian was looking for an assistant for his upcoming tour. She’d ignored the idea until Ian had shown up on her doorstep, irresistibly adorable, and she’d found herself agreeing to take the job.
The prospect of touring the UK with the hottest Celtic band on the planet—a combination of bagpipes, bodhran, tin whistle, drums, electric fiddle, and electric guitar, not to mention Ian MacGregor—had seemed like a dream come true. And it had been, for a while. For the first few weeks, Ellie thought she’d died and gone to heaven, if she believed in such things.
Ellie had been a natural at her new job, her ability to shut out any and all emotion turning out to be really helpful in the day-to-day machinations of booking the popular band across the UK. It had been a thrill to watch the Scottish lads dazzle their fans and know that she had a large part in making it happen. With Ian as the charismatic lead singer, he and the band had taken the UK and Europe by storm, and now there was talk of a U.S. tour. Ellie would be a fool to turn down the opportunity.
That was the problem. She was a fool.
About a week into the tour she had fallen, flat-out, facedown, slam-bang in love with Ian. She’d hid her mounting frustration, along with her growing love, as best she could, cloaking it with an aloof negativity that generally kept Ian at arm’s length. Before each show they met to go over the details of the gig, but that was thankfully the extent of any personal time she spent with Ian.
Oh, they had traveled together in the tour bus, Ellie hidden behind her book, seemingly oblivious to the playful banter around her; they ate together sometimes, and went to after parties held in his honor. But she was always careful to keep everything professional between them, never personal. Which was hard, because Ian had such an easygoing, flirty, likeable nature. He had made her smile more in the last six months than she had in the last six years.
He was dangerous.
Ellie took a deep breath and tried to slow the pounding of her heart. On the other side of the stage, his current girlfriend – Tiffany? Brittany? Something with a “ee” sound – stood, looking bored and impatient.
One thing about Ian, he had a knack for picking the most vapid, selfish, shallow women for his arm candy, which had helped Ellie harden her heart toward him as the tour continued. The sight of Ian with his arms slung around two European models, or groupies, or actresses, had made her realize, again and again, that her crush on the piper was absolutely ridiculous.
Then, to her horror, Ian had actually turned his attention to her, teasing and flirting with her, insisting on talking to her into the wee hours after a gig, alone in his or her hotel room. He’d even taken her hand at times and kissed it. She’d almost fainted.
Terrified that she would succumb to his charm, Ellie knew she had to switch gears and move from being standoffish to becoming completely cold. Once she’d overheard one of the musicians in the band call her the Ice Queen. At the ripe old age of twenty-four she’d been easing out of the ‘Goth’ persona that had protected her from the world since she was twelve. She’d kept her hair dyed black, if only to keep her separate from her twin, but had mostly given up the layers of black she’d worn through high school and college, and toned down the harsh makeup. But as soon as there was a chance her heart might be in danger, Ellie ran back to the shelter of that disguise as fast as she could.
It was easy to revert. Even easier to send Ian careening for the nearest super model. Clad in her favorite black clothing, black boots, wearing lipstick so dark it looked black, with her dyed black hair and heavily outlined eyes, Ellie knew she looked fairly formidable. Not that Ian knew a war was going on. He’d just shaken his head at her ‘new’ style, and, as she had intended, retreated from the fray. Oh, he was still sweet to her, but the flirting had stopped . . . just in time.
Ian began to sing again and glanced offstage, his face brightening at the sight of her. Then he tossed her that rakish grin she had come to both love and fear, and her face grew warm as she fought to keep from smiling back.
Her fingers tightened in the pocket of the overly large black sweater she wore. A Paper crackled. Her resignation letter was short and concise. It didn’t give away even one little bit of her true feelings. If she let down her walls for one instant, Ian would use that amazing smile and those burning eyes to convince her to stay. She would give in and go on loving him from afar, a little bit of her heart shattering daily like the last note of a faulty pipe. Better to fake disdain than to take such a risk.
The lush, poignant notes skirled from Ian’s pipes as if they had a life of their own, and Ellie clasped her hands together, caught in the magic only Ian could create. Tears threatened to fill her eyes and she took a deep breath and willed them away.
She didn’t cry. She hadn’t cried when her parents died, so she sure wasn’t going to cry over a song, even if this was the last time she would ever see Ian like this -- eyes closed, face radiant, caught in the throes of the love that meant more to him than any woman probably ever could.
Then he opened his eyes and Ellie’s throat tightened. He was looking at her again, his gaze tender as he sang the last lines of the song directly to her.
“And when the lass o’ my heart I find…in the heather soft, in yer arms entwined…I will love ye, lass, ‘till the end of time…”
He held the note, his liquid voice hovering in the air above a dazzled audience as Ellie held her breath, the ache in her chest almost unbearable. Then he turned away, and she felt the loss down to the core of her soul as he sang again to his audience.
“Och, my bonny lass, my bonny lass…oh, the bonny lass o’ my heart…”
The final note filled the auditorium like the swelling breath of an angel, and she drew in another sharp breath as the crowd went crazy and roar filled the auditorium. Ian spread his arms and faced his fans, his eyes closed, as if he would take them all into his arms, if only he could.
Ellie took a step back, feeling stunned. She’d made the right decision. She had to get out while she was still alive.
But everybody has to die sometime, right?
Sorry I've been AWOL. Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas or Hannukah or other holiday and that the New Year holds amazing things for all of you! I've been promising an excerpt from my new time travel romance, HIGHLAND REBEL, which will be out in March 2009 -- but can be pre-ordered now, don't forget! And I'm finally making good on that promise! Here's the actual first paragraphs of the book, which is the second in my Timeless Highlanders Series from Berkley Books. Hope you love Ian as much as Ellie does! Would love to hear from any and all!
HIGHLAND REBEL
By Tess Mallory (copyright 2009)
Celtic music sensation Ian MacGregor flashed his now-famous smile at the thousand or more fans cheering as he took his place center stage at the Glasgow Royal Concert Hall. He wore a traditional MacGregor kilt, knee-high suede leather boots, and nothing else, except a burnished gold band around his upper arm, skimming the lower edge of his Trinity tattoo.
As he grabbed the wireless mike from its stand and welcomed the suddenly hushed crowd, offstage Ellie Graham tossed her dyed black hair back from her shoulders and narrowed her eyes.
Oh, sure, he was Mr. Hunky Hunk, but take away that tousled blonde hair, the sky blue eyes, his bare, muscular chest, the awesome tattoo and devil-may care smile, and what was left?
Just his ruggedly handsome face, amazing voice, and awesome musical ability.
His bare chest gleamed beneath the bagpipes strapped around his torso, and his ragged hair grazed the top of his broad shoulders as his eyes twinkled, promising pleasure to all who dared to meet them.
The pipes’ leather “halter” was Ian’s own creation, fashioned to leave his hands free for grabbing the microphone—or any willing woman who might fling herself in his direction. And there were a lot of willing women in Ian’s life. He was the epitome of a Highland Bad Boy, a Celtic Casanova, a Scottish Scoundrel, a—
Oh stop, a little voice inside her head ordered. You know that Ian is one of the nicest, humblest guys you’ve ever met. It’s not his fault that he’s gorgeous and, well, a man.
Ellie folded her arms across her chest. It was true. Ian was darn near perfect. Then her mouth went dry and her brain functions faltered as Ian took center stage. Dazed again by the sight of him in action, she watched as he raised both fists into the air and gave the sea of adoring fans what they’d all been waiting for with baited breath.
\
“Ard Cholle!” he shouted.
The crowd went wild. Hundreds of women rushed the stage, screaming like banshees. Ellie shivered. She couldn’t deny that she still got goosebumps when she heard Ian give the MacGregor war cry. His rough, rich voice resonated across the vast hall and she took a deep, steadying breath.
Ian grinned widely as his backup band, “Outlaw”, launched into a rock and roll version of “Donald, Where’s Your Trousers?” Ellie couldn’t help but smile. The song was an old one, written as a slur against Scotsmen, but Ian had taken it and made it the national anthem of sexy men in kilts. It had become an instant hit in the UK.
With a loud whoop, he danced across the wide platform, his kilt whirling above his knees, exposing lean, hard thighs. He sang into the microphone, his deep, rich voice seducing every woman in the hall. He moved his trim, muscular body like a man possessed, working the crowd into its usual frenzy, and Ellie knew, with a sinking heart, that she had made the right choice.
There was no way around it. As soon as this last show on the UK tour was over, she had to dump Ian. Until then, she had no choice but to watch the man she loved do his best to give a thousand other women musical orgasms.
Ian sang. Women screamed. Ian shouted. Men shouted back. Ian rocked the crowd, enticing every person there, daring them to dance, to sing, to lose every inhibition they’d ever had. And as he did, the walls of the auditorium seemed to tremble with an intense, frantic energy, with Ian at the center of the maelstrom, inviting everyone to join him, love him, embrace him, as he reached the last verse of the song.
“The lassies love me every one
But they must catch me if they can,
Ye canna put breeks on a Highland man, saying,
“Donald, where's your trousers?”
Ellie closed her eyes at the thought of Ian without his trousers. The crowd whistled and cheered as Ian took a bow and gestured to his band; then the mood changed as the music shifted into something soft and mellow.
She opened her eyes, her throat tight, knowing what came next. She steeled her heart not to feel, not to share the stark emotions that slid across Ian’s face as he raised the microphone to his lips once again. It was one of his own songs, and one that filled Ellie—and probably every other woman in the hall—with an indescribable longing. He called it, “Lass O’ My Heart.”
“Ah, bonny lass, I dinna know yer name,” he sang, “but someday I will find ye…Ye are my heart, though we have never met… my love forevermore…”
The words swept over Ellie painfully, and when he reached the end of the second verse and slid the mouthpiece of the pipes between his lips like a lover’s tongue, her heart beat faster and she ran her own tongue across her lips. What would it be like, to be the woman of Ian’s dreams? What would it take to capture his heart so completely?
A hush fell over the audience as the haunting melody shuddered through the air, bringing first sighs, and then tears to those who watched and listened.
Leave Ian. She’d have to be crazy.
Just six months ago Ellie’s visa had expired and she’d started packing her bags to leave Scotland, when her sister Maggie told her Ian was looking for an assistant for his upcoming tour. She’d ignored the idea until Ian had shown up on her doorstep, irresistibly adorable, and she’d found herself agreeing to take the job.
The prospect of touring the UK with the hottest Celtic band on the planet—a combination of bagpipes, bodhran, tin whistle, drums, electric fiddle, and electric guitar, not to mention Ian MacGregor—had seemed like a dream come true. And it had been, for a while. For the first few weeks, Ellie thought she’d died and gone to heaven, if she believed in such things.
Ellie had been a natural at her new job, her ability to shut out any and all emotion turning out to be really helpful in the day-to-day machinations of booking the popular band across the UK. It had been a thrill to watch the Scottish lads dazzle their fans and know that she had a large part in making it happen. With Ian as the charismatic lead singer, he and the band had taken the UK and Europe by storm, and now there was talk of a U.S. tour. Ellie would be a fool to turn down the opportunity.
That was the problem. She was a fool.
About a week into the tour she had fallen, flat-out, facedown, slam-bang in love with Ian. She’d hid her mounting frustration, along with her growing love, as best she could, cloaking it with an aloof negativity that generally kept Ian at arm’s length. Before each show they met to go over the details of the gig, but that was thankfully the extent of any personal time she spent with Ian.
Oh, they had traveled together in the tour bus, Ellie hidden behind her book, seemingly oblivious to the playful banter around her; they ate together sometimes, and went to after parties held in his honor. But she was always careful to keep everything professional between them, never personal. Which was hard, because Ian had such an easygoing, flirty, likeable nature. He had made her smile more in the last six months than she had in the last six years.
He was dangerous.
Ellie took a deep breath and tried to slow the pounding of her heart. On the other side of the stage, his current girlfriend – Tiffany? Brittany? Something with a “ee” sound – stood, looking bored and impatient.
One thing about Ian, he had a knack for picking the most vapid, selfish, shallow women for his arm candy, which had helped Ellie harden her heart toward him as the tour continued. The sight of Ian with his arms slung around two European models, or groupies, or actresses, had made her realize, again and again, that her crush on the piper was absolutely ridiculous.
Then, to her horror, Ian had actually turned his attention to her, teasing and flirting with her, insisting on talking to her into the wee hours after a gig, alone in his or her hotel room. He’d even taken her hand at times and kissed it. She’d almost fainted.
Terrified that she would succumb to his charm, Ellie knew she had to switch gears and move from being standoffish to becoming completely cold. Once she’d overheard one of the musicians in the band call her the Ice Queen. At the ripe old age of twenty-four she’d been easing out of the ‘Goth’ persona that had protected her from the world since she was twelve. She’d kept her hair dyed black, if only to keep her separate from her twin, but had mostly given up the layers of black she’d worn through high school and college, and toned down the harsh makeup. But as soon as there was a chance her heart might be in danger, Ellie ran back to the shelter of that disguise as fast as she could.
It was easy to revert. Even easier to send Ian careening for the nearest super model. Clad in her favorite black clothing, black boots, wearing lipstick so dark it looked black, with her dyed black hair and heavily outlined eyes, Ellie knew she looked fairly formidable. Not that Ian knew a war was going on. He’d just shaken his head at her ‘new’ style, and, as she had intended, retreated from the fray. Oh, he was still sweet to her, but the flirting had stopped . . . just in time.
Ian began to sing again and glanced offstage, his face brightening at the sight of her. Then he tossed her that rakish grin she had come to both love and fear, and her face grew warm as she fought to keep from smiling back.
Her fingers tightened in the pocket of the overly large black sweater she wore. A Paper crackled. Her resignation letter was short and concise. It didn’t give away even one little bit of her true feelings. If she let down her walls for one instant, Ian would use that amazing smile and those burning eyes to convince her to stay. She would give in and go on loving him from afar, a little bit of her heart shattering daily like the last note of a faulty pipe. Better to fake disdain than to take such a risk.
The lush, poignant notes skirled from Ian’s pipes as if they had a life of their own, and Ellie clasped her hands together, caught in the magic only Ian could create. Tears threatened to fill her eyes and she took a deep breath and willed them away.
She didn’t cry. She hadn’t cried when her parents died, so she sure wasn’t going to cry over a song, even if this was the last time she would ever see Ian like this -- eyes closed, face radiant, caught in the throes of the love that meant more to him than any woman probably ever could.
Then he opened his eyes and Ellie’s throat tightened. He was looking at her again, his gaze tender as he sang the last lines of the song directly to her.
“And when the lass o’ my heart I find…in the heather soft, in yer arms entwined…I will love ye, lass, ‘till the end of time…”
He held the note, his liquid voice hovering in the air above a dazzled audience as Ellie held her breath, the ache in her chest almost unbearable. Then he turned away, and she felt the loss down to the core of her soul as he sang again to his audience.
“Och, my bonny lass, my bonny lass…oh, the bonny lass o’ my heart…”
The final note filled the auditorium like the swelling breath of an angel, and she drew in another sharp breath as the crowd went crazy and roar filled the auditorium. Ian spread his arms and faced his fans, his eyes closed, as if he would take them all into his arms, if only he could.
Ellie took a step back, feeling stunned. She’d made the right decision. She had to get out while she was still alive.
But everybody has to die sometime, right?
Heroes by the Half Dozen
As you take a few extra breaths and settle in to a more leisurely pace now that Christmas is past, I have something for you to ponder. When I wasn’t baking, decorating or making holiday merry, I recently started plotting a new novel. While the story has taken pretty good shape to the halfway point, I’m still mulling the hero. Often during these times of contemplation, I head to the mall. No better way to observe patterns of speech, mannerisms, body language, etc. than getting up close with my research subject. Amazing how many times a polite conversation during rack browsing has provided great insight as to masculine moods and personality traits. But I’m refraining from this activity until the holiday crowds have markedly dwindled. Instead, I’m letting my imagination take flight. There have definitely been some delightful moments during my fantasy quest for the perfect fictional hero. The mind is a powerful tool, and I didn’t have to jockey for a parking space for my prototyping journey.
If you were writing a romance, which of the following men would you cast as your hero and why? I’ve chosen my favorite and will reveal his identity in next week’s blog post. Well, ladies? Which man wins your heroine’s hand and heart?
Wishing you all many happy reading moments,
Shawna Moore
TORMENTED -- Ellora's Cave (MUST-READ from Dark Angel Reviews)
ROUGHRIDER -- Ellora's Cave Exotika
HELLE IN HEELS -- Ellora's Cave Exotika
Shawna's Myspace
Helle's Myspace
If you were writing a romance, which of the following men would you cast as your hero and why? I’ve chosen my favorite and will reveal his identity in next week’s blog post. Well, ladies? Which man wins your heroine’s hand and heart?
Wishing you all many happy reading moments,
Shawna Moore
TORMENTED -- Ellora's Cave (MUST-READ from Dark Angel Reviews)
ROUGHRIDER -- Ellora's Cave Exotika
HELLE IN HEELS -- Ellora's Cave Exotika
Shawna's Myspace
Helle's Myspace
Season's Greetings
Natasha Moore Has a Triple Play
Natasha Moore fell in love with the written word as soon as she could read. As she grew up, she discovered romance and now enjoys the chance to add some extra sizzle to her stories. She writes sexy contemporary romance for Samhain and erotic romance for Ellora’s Cave and Red Sage. She lives in New York State with her real life hero who is happy to tell everyone that he’s her inspiration. They travel in their RV whenever possible. The great thing about writing is she can take it anywhere.Nicole: Welcome Natasha! Please tell us about your story Up to No Good in Red Sage Secrets Volume 25, Wicked Delights.
Natasha: I love this story. The characters were so much fun to write, and I was able to add a lot of humor to the story. Here’s the blurb: Former syndicated columnist Simon “Mac” Mackenzie hides a tragic secret. When freelance writer Alison Chandler seeks an exclusive interview, she threatens not only his carefully constructed lifestyle, but his longstanding ideas about love. Is their passion a distraction or the key to surviving their war of wills?
Nicole: Sounds wonderful! What is your favorite thing about this story and what inspired you to write it?
Natasha: I love sexy banter between two characters – from the very first scene these two were trading barbs and I never knew what was going to come out of their mouths next. It was so much fun! As for what inspired me…hmm, I honestly can’t remember, but the idea started as a man with a secret and woman who doesn’t take no for an answer.
Nicole: Which element of this story was the hardest for you and why?
Natasha: Coming up with a title! This story had gone through several incarnations and several titles. When it was requested by a Red Sage editor through a contest, the title was Simon Says. Well, there was already a Secrets novella (an excellent Secrets novella) with that title and so I was struggling to think of a new title. Finally, I was on my way to work one day and the car radio started playing Sugarland’s “Down the Mississippi and Up to No Good.” That stuck with me all day and as soon as I got home I pulled up my manuscript. The first line read, “Mac could tell she was trouble the minute she walked through the door.” I simply changed that line to read, “Mac could tell she was up to no good the minute she walked through the door.” Perfect! Now I LOVE this title.
Nicole: Wow that's inspired! I love it when things come together like that. Please tell us about your other new releases.
Natasha: I had a novella from Ellora’s Cave, Smoke and Mirrors, that was released Nov 21st. The hero is an illusionist and I loved writing this story. Here’s a blurb:
Love is nothing but an illusion. Heiress Gabriella Winslow learned that lesson years ago when her magician boyfriend abandoned her, sick and alone, hundreds of miles from home. In the years that followed, she’s tried to forget him and the erotic bondage games they used to play. But the life she’s made for herself since then still leaves her restless and yearning for something more.
Now a successful illusionist, Alexander Black has returned to settle an old score. And to seduce Gabriella. With a blindfold and handcuffs and blood red roses, he entices his former lover and magician’s assistant back to his Las Vegas penthouse. Alex is an expert at smoke and mirrors. If all goes according to plan, she’ll never even know she’s his prisoner.
I also have an e-book, Dark Angel, coming out with Red Sage in January (yes, I had a triple play with releases in Nov, Dec, and Jan!) This story has a bit of a gothic atmosphere. Here’s the blurb:
Disfigured in an accident that killed his wife, reclusive photographer, Rafael D’Angelo wants to be left alone amid rumors the car crash was no accident. Julie Brightman has been secretly in love with her sister’s husband for years. When a violent thunderstorm strands her at his secluded house, she discovers the man in the mask is not the Rafe she remembers. Trapped together, their happiness is threatened by the past that haunts them and the secrets they keep from each other. Dark Angel will be released on January 1st. Happy New Year!
Nicole: Those sound steamy! Congratulations on all the releases! And what awesome covers you have. Do you have a couple of reviews you could share with us?
Natasha: I’d love to!
“I really enjoyed this novella – it’s a very strong story. It has great characterisation with lots of sexual tension as Allie and Mac banter and lock horns over the interview. It’s the most realistic story in the anthology, with very believable characters. 5 Flutes.” – Cocktail Reviews
“Until this anthology, I had never read Natasha Moore, but she is an author I will definitely be reading more of soon! I was very impressed with her novella, UP TO NO GOOD. The title itself intrigued me, and the story was just wonderful…The banter between Allie and Mac is fantastic – I couldn’t get enough of it. This pair will certainly keep each other on their toes for the rest of their lives… UP TO NO GOOD is a fun little romance whose lightness compliments the real depth of the story. I would bet that Natasha Moore finds herself with quite a few new fans after this gem releases.” - Wild On Books
Nicole: Those are fantastic! Do you have any advice for new writers of erotic romance?
Natasha: Turn off your internal editor! Really. That’s what I had to do and it was remarkably freeing. Just go for it with that first draft! You’ll have plenty of time to revise later.
Nicole: Excellent! Would you like to ask blog readers a question?
Natasha: Mac is now a bartender and Allie orders a number of drinks with sexually explicit names, like Screaming Orgasm and Slippery Nipple. Have you ever ordered a drink with a naughty name? What was it? And be honest….was it any good????
Nicole: Hmm... sexy and intriguing question! ;-) Thank you, Natasha, for being our guest today! It's always a pleasure! Everyone, please visit Natasha's website at: http://www.natashamoore.com/
Nicole North writes hot erotic romance for Red Sage, Carina Press/Harlequin and Ellora's Cave. Books include: DEVIL IN A KILT in SECRETS VOLUME 27 UNTAMED PLEASURES,KILTED LOVER, BEAST IN A KILT (the second in the kilted shapeshifter series) SECRETS VOLUME 29 INDULGE YOUR FANTASIES anthology. SCOUNDREL IN A KILT in SECRETS VOLUME 30 DESIRES UNLEASHED anthology, LAIRD OF DARKNESS, STORM OF PASSION, and BLADE OF THE WOLF.
To learn more please visit www.nicolenorth.com
Who Needs a Fire?
A fresh snow blankets the ground. You and your special guy engage in a snowball battle and take turns combing the melting remnants from each other’s hair and coats. His playful swat finds you two chasing around the yard and steering around bushes and trees whose boughs are fat with snow. You turn the corner and make a break for the backyard, skirt a stout hedge and duck for cover. All remains silent. Success! He won’t find your hiding place. But as this thought crosses your mind, strong arms bundle you from behind and draw your teetering body closer to his. You wiggle free but not before a bit more snuggling—after all, winter clothes can only stave off so much of winter’s chill. His embrace holds an extra benefit—it also warms your heart. As a result of your morning yard run the snow lay heaped, and you’re inspired to build the season’s first snowman. The same gloved hands that earlier held yours while you and he navigated a slippery driveway are now sculpting a snow buddy beside which you’ll soon pose for some silly photographs. Once the camera is placed out of harm’s way, you and he fashion a few snow angels as your laughter lofts toward the cloudless sky.
He helps you to your feet and whispers a few romantic words. In a mad dash you head for the house. Once inside you shed your snow gear in the mud room or foyer and cut a path for the kitchen where a carafe of your favorite coffee or hot chocolate awaits you. You clink mug rims with him and sip some of the soothing beverage, but he has other plans. He places your mug beside his on the counter, takes you in his arms and carries you to the living room where a cozy fire crackles beyond the brick hearth. There’s nothing quite like the deliciousness of his warm lips skimming your cheek and chin and making contact with your mouth. His chest heaves beneath your hand. The embrace deepens, his next kiss leaves you breathless and silver bells peal. You gaze up at him, and his wink ignites you from head to heels. His nuzzles your neck. "Merry Christmas, Baby. Be mine forever." What a wonderful guy. Despite winter’s wrath and freezing temperatures, who needs a fire when you have love in your heart and romance in your life?
Wishing you all good health and much happiness for the holidays and beyond,
TORMENTED -- Available now at Ellora's Cave
ROUGHRIDER -- Ellora's Cave Exotika
HELLE IN HEELS -- Ellora' s Cave Exotika
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