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FREE eBOOK! The Noru by Lola StVil

Free eBook – Blue Rose, Book One PLUS – scroll down to enter a contest for The Last Akon, Book Two

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The Noru

Blue Rose

Book One

Lola StVil

Genre: YA Fantasy


Number of pages: 397

Word Count:  73,062

Cover Artist: Renu

Book Description:

“After speaking to the other angels on the team, I hang up my cell and sigh. No one’s heard from Aaden in months. This bothers me not only as the leader but as his girl–well if I was his girl–which I’m not. 
Great. Now on top of being grounded, I’m sitting here acting girly and needy. Argh!!!

Screw this! I start to head downstairs to plead my case to my parents again, when something out the window catches my eye. I lean in closer to get a good look. What I see astounds me: soundlessly and without hesitation, the humans line up and jump off the roof one at a time…”

PLEASE NOTE: This book contains a scene in chapter 12 that is for mature audiences only. Readers can skip this chapter without missing any info vital to the plot.

Available Free at Amazon  

Also Available at iTunes   Nook   Kobo


“That didn’t look like nothing, Pryor. He’s terrified. You were Binding him,” my dad accuses.

“A little,” I admit, avoiding eye contact.

“You could have killed him,” she says.

“I wasn’t going to hurt Principal Walsh. I just wanted him to shut up. He was going on about conforming to the status quo, and frankly that’s unacceptable behavior for an educator. I was doing humanity a favor by rendering him silent.”


About the Author:LOLA STVIL

Lola was seven when she first came to this country from Port-au-Prince, Haiti. She attended Columbia College in Chicago, where her main focus was creative writing. In addition to plays, she also writes screenplays and short stories.

She has been commissioned to write for ABC, CBS and Princeton University. She won the NAACP award for her play “The Bones of Lesser Men”. In addition to being nominated for LA Weekly awards. Her work has also received positive reviews from The LA Times, Variety and LA Weekly.



Twitter @guardiansgirl

Instagram @authorlolastvil

Newsletter http://eepurl.com/W-scP




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5 WINNERS will receive a free copy of THE NORU: BOOK 2: THE LAST AKON

Rafflecopter – ENTER HERE






3 Books for ONE Great Price! Labor Day Weekend Contest – FREE!

It’s called a “bundle” and might be the smartest way to stretch a dollar if you’re an avid reader like me. But wait . . . I’m also an author so treating readers to my backlist seemed like a great idea as both a reader AND a writer. The only thing to make it better is if you win it FREE by submitting a comment to this post. I’ll be giving away THREE (I thought that number seemed appropriate) E-copies in MOBI or PDF format so enter now! Drawing will be held Tuesday morning, Sept. 3rd.

ThreeCoversTHREE ROMANTIC THRILLERS is a smorgasbord of delight for those who enjoy some sexy romance with their suspense. Buy at Amazon and hoard it for those cold wintry nights when you need to generate a little “heat”. Or read it now . . . because I’m very close to releasing my next book, UNHOLY ALLIANCE – a contemporary thriller with paranormal aspects.


Deb Sanders

Genre: Romantic Suspens



STONE COLD JUSTICE – When Maggie McGregor returns to her childhood home, she realizes the killer who stalked her ten years earlier is still out there and wants her dead -now, more than ever. The only person who can save her is sexy Nick Stone, a man determined to put her behind bars . . . but not before he puts her in his bed.


“W…What are you doing here?”

Nick cocked his head to one side. “I’m enjoying the hot springs after a long day, just like you. I come here two or three times a week.”

“How did you know I would be here? Are you following me?”

He laughed. “Would you blame me if I was? I mean, after this morning . . .”

She cut him off. “This morning was a mistake. We both know it.” To Maggie’s dismay, Nick began to glide toward her.

“The only mistake we made was not finishing what we started,” he murmured provocatively.

Heat flamed across her cheeks. “And that’s the way it must stay.”


He was dangerously close. Close enough to detect the shimmer of her bare skin beneath the ripples. She watched his eyes dilate into black orbs. “Because it’s not wise.”

“What if I don’t want to be wise? Perhaps wisdom is overrated.”

“Not this time,” she retorted. “We have a business association. Nothing more.” Maggie felt his leg brush her thigh and shivered.

“I’d say there’s a lot more going on between us than just business. All work and no play can make life rather boring, don’t you think?”

She tried to ignore the seductive way he was looking at her. “On the contrary, I believe it makes life productive.”

“We might have to debate that philosophy.” He reached for her but she pushed away. “What are you afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid.” Maggie eyed him warily, slowly increasing the distance between them. “What would your girlfriend say if she knew you kissed me this morning?”

He arched an eyebrow. “My girlfriend?”

“The woman from your award ceremony. I read about it in the local paper.”

A strange light glimmered in his eyes. “Marianne was my date but I would hardly call her a girlfriend.”

So he was unattached. She tried to camouflage her delight with sarcasm. “And I would hardly call our encounter this morning anything but regrettable.”

“Why, you little minx!”

She dove under the water, reappearing several feet from the shore. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw his surprise turn to pure determination. Pushing off a rock, he sliced through the water in direct pursuit.

Maggie propelled herself faster, leaving a small wake until her feet hit the rock floor. Within seconds, she was scrambling from the steamy pool, her legs straining against the resistance of the water.

Nick sprang for her ankle. His fingers skimmed the slippery skin before closing around a handful of air.

Plucking her towel from the ground, she quickly wound it around her dripping body like a sarong before gathering up the rest of her clothes.

Nick grinned. “Tally ho,” he called wickedly, refusing to give up the chase. Judging by the intensity of his glazed eyes, he must have seen her naked body.

The cool air hit Maggie, bringing her senses alive. Nick’s jeans and shirt draped across a boulder. It took only a moment to form a plan. Without stopping to second-guess her decision, she grabbed his pants and fished inside for keys.

Nick’s eyes grew wide. “Maggie . . . don’t . . .”

It was too late. She threw the keys into the tall grass, turning to grin triumphantly over her shoulder. That should delay his pursuit.

He rose from the water’s edge like Poseidon, dark hair spiked against his forehead. Boxer briefs clung tightly to his wet form, emphasizing what she already knew – Nick Stone was a big man.


RED HOT and DANGEROUS – As a favor to her best friend, Andie Lange agrees to act as personal assistant for a famous movie star on a one day press junket. When the movie star is murdered, Andie’s life takes a dangerous turn – it seems she’s next on the killer’s list. Just when she decides things can’t get worse, Detective Drake Slater shows up to put her in protective custody . . . a job he takes way too personally!


“Is this the kind of law you practice? Guilty until proven innocent?”

Drake’s features turned to granite. “Miss Lange, in my line of work, most suspects are guilty.”

“So now I’m a suspect?” Horrified, she rose to her feet, nearly knocking over the chair.

Drake showed no signs of relenting. “You need to cancel your return flight until you’ve been cleared. You were one of the last people to see Miss Dixon alive yesterday. How do we know it wasn’t you who poisoned the wine?”

Andie blinked as the blood drained from her face. “Why would I want to murder Diana Dixon? You don’t actually believe I had anything to do with this?”

“Stuart Prescott is missing, we don’t have a firm set of prints on the wine glass, so that leaves a lot of unanswered questions. And yes, Miss Lange, until further notice you are under investigation.” He motioned to his partner before heading toward the door, pausing to place his business card on the kitchen table. “If you remember anything else that might help us, give me a call.”

Joe Barnes approached the car in silence, not speaking until Drake pulled out of the drive. “She’s not guilty and you know it. How come you’re being such a dick? You’ve got the poor girl scared half to death.”

“It’s always the sweet, innocent types who shoot you in the back.”

Joe unwrapped a stick of gum and plopped it in his mouth. “You two have some history. Where’d you meet?”

Drake stared straight ahead, ignoring his partner’s curious expression. “I saw her yesterday at the Biltmore. Never got her name, though.”

“Is that why you were so hard on her? Geez, what’d she do? Turn you down for a date?” Joe’s mouth dropped open when he saw Drake’s expression. “That’s it.” His triumphant tone made it redder. “She turned you down. The great Drake Slater met a woman who refused his bed. I’ll be damned.”

“Shut up. It wasn’t like that.”

Joe leaned back, a huge grin creasing his face. “She sure is a looker. There’s something about redheads. I’ll bet she’s hot between the sheets, too.” He shot his partner a sideways glance. “Of course, you wouldn’t know.”

“Enough, Joe!” Drake gripped the steering wheel and maneuvered a turn.

There was no way he would admit she got the best of him. Not that it mattered. Andie Lange was a potential suspect. Nothing more.

He thought about the creamy white leg peeking from the folds of her terrycloth robe. Quite a shapely leg, too. Just like the soft mounds barely visible at the neck. He’d wanted to take her right there, and he might have if Joe hadn’t been around. Drake gave in to a reluctant smile. Hell, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t glad she had to stick around for a week or two. Andie was the first woman in a long while to show immunity to his charm – and that intrigued the hell out of him.


BLOOD STORM – Kate Merrill is determined to fulfill her deceased father’s last wishes – deliver a mysterious package to an unknown woman in Atlanta. When the chartered plane in which she’s travelling is shot down over the snow packed Sierra Nevadas, Kate is rescued by reclusive Sam Holden, a secretive man who can’t wait to get her off his mountain. As tensions rise and passions burn, Sam and Kate are thrust into a deadly game of cat and mouse with terrorists intent on launching a brutal attack.


“You’re awake.”

Kate blinked at the man hovering in the doorway. Where was she? Who was this man and why did she feel like she’d survived a head-on collision with a freight train?

Fighting off a wave of dizziness, she searched for something to use as a weapon. Her fingers twitched as she spied a heavy looking lamp on the bedside table. She began to inch closer to the edge of the bed. If she could just reach it before he had a chance to react . . .

The sheet slipped from her fisted hands. She froze. I’m naked. Her gaze flew to the stranger. He’s half naked. A towel circled his hips, hanging low on his waist. Golden hair spiked against a wide forehead, like he’d just gotten out of the shower. His upper body still glistened with beaded water, accentuating every ripple of his well toned abs.

Yanking the bedcovers to her neck, Kate battled a deluge of emotions. Fear, shock, embarrassment – and admiration for the hard bodied man in front of her who seemed to have no problem with the intimate surroundings. What had she done? What had they done?

“Who are you?” she croaked, shrinking as far away from him as possible. “How did I get here?”

“I rescued you.”

It was a simple statement but did little to ease her agitation. “You rescued me?”

The man moved slowly toward the dresser, retrieving his wallet from the top and flipping it open. He held up an official looking badge.

“I’m a Wilderness First Responder. Sort of like an EMT for remote areas. You’re at my cabin in the Sierra Nevada Mountains.”

Mountains? Great! Stuck in some God forsaken outpost with Paul Bunyan.

She swallowed the bile building in her throat. What was she doing in the mountains? Nothing made much sense and she was having a hard time remembering things. “How long have I been here?”

“Two days.”

Two days? Panic tightened her chest. “I want my clothes.”

Silence fell between them like an impenetrable wall. Kate wrapped the blanket around her before attempting to swing her legs to the floor. The movement sent shockwaves of pain racing through her. She groaned and fell back against the pillow.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you.”

She shot him a withering look which didn’t appear to faze him.

“You’re pretty banged up. There’s a laceration on your thigh and a nasty bump to your head. Nothing life threatening but you’re gonna hurt like hell for the next couple of days. That was quite a crash you walked away from.”


She must have wrecked her car. That explained the bruises. But it didn’t clarify how she’d wound up naked in a strange man’s bed. Granted, he had a body that rivaled Mr. December on her Chippendale’s calendar but that was beside the point.

Or was it? He is the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Had she slept with him? And if she had, who could blame her? Her gaze followed the dark shadow spilling across his chest to where it disappeared beneath the towel. If he moved an inch in any direction, his wrap would fall off . . . and from the way the terry cloth bulged, it would no doubt reveal an impressive sight.


Contest Alert and “Storm Dancer” Virtual Tour

I know, I know…I posted about this book already but is there ever “too much” of a good thing?

STORM DANCER by Rayne Hall is currently enjoying a successful virtual book tour with Bewitching Book Tours. The author has graciously agreed to offer a free ebook to one lucky winner at each stop. Today it’s my turn to present the opportunity to win “The Colour of Dishonour – Stories from the Storm Dancer World”.The Colour of Dishonour 24Jan13

All you need to do for entry is leave a comment.  I’ll choose a winner at the end of the day. It doesn’t get any simpler than that!

I read STORM DANCER and while I enjoyed the world building, I’m one of those sensitive readers who doesn’t do well with rape, fantasized or not, and extreme violence. So perhaps this wasn’t the best book for my tastes. That being said, I know there are a lot of readers who have – and will – continue to enjoy this epic tale. It’s dark. But it’s also redeeming. The characters are well thought out and colorful. Ms. Hall has penned over 40 tales and knows how to create a strong story arc. 

I’ve included a short excerpt and additional information about STORM DANCER. Read on….then make sure you leave a comment to enter the contest!

STORM DANCERStorm Dancer Button 300 x 225

Rayne Hall

Genre: Dark Epic Fantasy

Publisher: Scimitar Press

ISBN: 9781465716651 Smashwords

ISBN: 1230000010279 Kobo


Number of pages:  400

Word Count: 150,000

Book Description

Demon-possessed siege commander, Dahoud, atones for his atrocities by hiding his identity and protecting women from war’s violence – but can he shield the woman he loves from the evil inside him?

Principled weather magician, Merida, brings rain to a parched desert land. When her magical dance rouses more than storms, she needs to overcome her scruples to escape from danger. 

Thrust together, Dahoud and Merida must fight for freedom and survival. But how can they trust each other, when hatred and betrayal burn in their hearts?

**’Storm Dancer’ is a dark epic fantasy. Caution: this book contains some violence and disturbing situations. Not recommended for under-16s.  British spellings.

Book Trailer http://youtu.be/tI5oxeOziQM

Amazon   Kobo   Smashwords   iTunes

Note: Storm Dancer has dark elements which some readers may find disturbing. Not recommended for readers under 16, not suitable for YA blogs.

Contains British English. Some words, spellings, grammar and punctuation will be different than American English.

STORM DANCER – EXCERPT – First Scene (1500 words)

Even in the shade of the graffiti-carved olive tree, the air sang with heat. Dahoud listened to the hum of voices in the tavern garden, the murmured gossip about royals and rebels. If patrons noticed him, they would only see a young clerk sitting among the lord-satrap’s followers, a harmless bureaucrat. Dahoud planned to stay harmless.

The tavern bustled with women – whiteseers hanging about in the hope of earning a copper, traders celebrating deals, bellydancers clinking finger cymbals – women who neither backed away from him nor screamed.

The youngest of the entertainers wound her way between the benches towards their table, the tassels on her slender hips bouncing, the rows of copper rings on her sash tinkling with every snaky twist. Since she seemed nervous, as if it was her first show, he sent her an encouraging smile. Ignoring him, she shimmied to Lord Govan.

The djinn slithered inside Dahoud, stirring a stream of fury, whipping his blood into a hot storm. Would she dare to disregard the Black Besieger? What lesson would he teach to punish her insolence?

Dahoud stared past her sweat-glistening torso, the urge to subdue her washing over him in a boiling wave. For three years, he had battled against the djinn’s temptations. To indulge in fantasies would batter his defences and breach his resistance. He focused on the flavours on his tongue, the tart citron juice and the sage-spiced mutton, on the tender texture of the meat.

Govan clasped the dancer’s wrist and drew her close. “Come, honey-flower, let’s see your blossoms.”

She tried to pull herself from his grip. Panic painted her face. Against a lesser man’s groping, she might defend herself with slaps and screams, but this was the lord-satrap. She was too young to know how to slip out of such a situation, and none of her older colleagues on the far side of the garden noticed her plight. The other clerks at the table laughed.

“My Lord,” Dahoud said. “She doesn’t want your attentions.”

“She’s only a bellydancer.” Contempt oiled Govan’s voice. Still, he released the girl’s hand, slapped her on the rump, and watched her scurry towards the safety of the musicians. “These performers are advertised as genuine Darrians. I have a mind to have them arrested for fraud. I suspect …” He ran the tip of his finger along his eating bowl. “They’re mere Samilis.”

Dahoud, himself a Samili, refused to react to the jab. Govan was not only satrap of the province, but Dahoud’s employer, as well as the father of the lovely Esha.

“Samilis are everywhere these days.” Peering down his nose, Govan swirled the wine in his beaker. “Not that I have anything against Samilis. Given the right kind of education, their race can develop remarkable intelligence, practically equal to that of Quislakis. They can make valuable contributions to society.” He stroked the purple fringe of his armband, insignia of his rank. “Provided they respect their betters.”

The other clerks at the table bobbed their chins in eager agreement.

Dahoud the Black Besieger would not have tolerated taunts from this pompous peacock, but Dahoud the council clerk had to bow. Submission was the price for guarding his secret.

At the entry arch, a short man in the yellow tunic and turban of a royal rider was consulting with the tavern keeper.

“Is that messenger looking for you, my Lord?” Dahoud asked.

Govan shifted into his official pose and summoned the man with a flick of his sandalwood fan. The courier walked on bowed legs as if he still had a mount between his thighs. Conversations halted, glances followed him, and whiteseers peered, anticipating business.

Lord Govan put on his official smile to receive the leather-wrapped parcel.

“Forgive me, my Lord,” the herald said. “The message I carry is for Dahoud, the clerk.”

Govan’s hand pulled back and his smile vanished.

Dahoud’s stomach went cold: The Queen or her Consort would not write to an ordinary clerk. After three years of respite, his anonymity was breached. He stripped off the camel-skin wrap and broke the scroll’s seal. The ends of the purple ribbon dropped into the mutton sauce.

“The High Lord Kirral, Consort to the Great Luminous Queen, greets Dahoud, council clerk in the satrapy of Idjlara: Present yourself at the palace without delay. The Queendom needs the Black Besieger. K.”

The expansive curves of the signature “K” claimed more space on the parchment than the message.

In his bowl, the uneaten mutton was going cold, whitish grease separating from the sauce. A large fly drifted belly-up in the liquid, its legs clawing for a hold in the air. The memories of siege warfare wrapped around Dahoud, those sour-sweet odours of fear and faeces, of disease and burning flesh.

At twenty-five, he had a conscience heavier than a brick-carrier’s tray and more curses on his head than a camel had fleas. He had left the legion to cut himself off temptation, to deprive the djinn of fodder. After a siege, rape was legal, a soldier’s right, practically expected of him, part of the job. By returning to war, he would forfeit his victories over his craving. The djinn would again be his master.

Yet he ached to wear the general’s cloak again, to silence sneering bureaucrats, to make women take notice. He lusted for that power the way a heavy drinker, deprived of his solace, ached for a sip of wine. The yearning to wield a sword ached in his arms, his chest throbbed with the urge to command, and his loins flamed with the dark desire. He felt the panting breaths of women and their hot resisting bodies, smelled the scent of female fright and sweating fury.

“Why is the Consort writing to you?” Govan leant forward to grab the document. “You’re out of your depth with royal matters. I’ll read and explain.”

“Why should I want your counsel?” Dahoud tucked the rolled parchment into his belt.

“Don’t get pert, Samili!” Govan barked. “Give me that letter.”

“The Consort summons.” Dahoud rose. “Good afternoon, my Lord. Don’t expect me back soon.”

He strode to the exit, his mind reeling like a spindle. Could he deny that he was the Black Besieger? Refuse a royal order? Lead an army without stimulating the djinn?

On a low stone wall near the entrance gate, a row of whiteseers perched like hungry birds. Whiteseers had glimpses of futures others could not even imagine. One of them slid off the wall and sauntered in his direction. A coating of pale clay covered her sharp-boned triangular face and her long hair, and painted black and blue rings adorned her clay-whitened arms.

“Your hands,” she demanded.

“I need to know what will happen if -”

“Give your copper to a soothsayer,” she snapped. “We white ones only give advice. We can see the future; we can see several futures for everyone, but we won’t tell you all we see.”

“Advice is all I want.”

“That’s what they all say. Yet everyone asks for more. I give one piece of advice, the best I can give to help a client. They always demand that I tell them what I see. Well, I won’t.” Nevertheless, she grabbed the copper ring from Dahoud’s fingers and threaded it on her neck-thong. Her tunic smelled of old sweat and mouldy wool.

She grasped his hands to pinch their flesh, her long nails tickling. Her white paint contrasted with Dahoud’s bronze tan. When she felt the pulse and lifted his hand to her face to listen and sniff, he could have sworn he saw her blanch under the white clay as her closed eyes stared into his past. She sagged forward and stayed in a silent slouch.

At last she straightened, her eyes wide, her mouth open, but no words burst forth. So she had seen what he had done, and worse, what he might do once more.

“I assure you, I’ll never again…”

“I can’t read if you chatter.” She frowned at his hands. “My advice: Get stronger arms.”

He flexed his biceps, startled. “My arms are strong! I do trickriding, I wrestle, I lift weights.” Every night, Dahoud exercised until his muscles screamed, to block out his cravings and punish his body for its desires.

The seer’s mouth curled with contempt, making more clay crumble. “You’re not listening. I didn’t say strong. I said stronger.” She pinched his biceps. “Much stronger.”

“What difference can arm muscles make?”

“I told you to give your copper to a soothsayer.” She ambled off, leaving a cloud of unwashed stink and crumbles of clay.

Dahoud hurried to the stable to ready his horse. He had to persuade the Consort not to send the Black Besieger back to war.

RayneHallWithSkullAndHair by FawnheartAbout Rayne Hall

Rayne Hall has published more than forty books under different pen names with different publishers in different genres, mostly fantasy, horror and non-fiction. Recent books include Storm Dancer (dark epic fantasy novel), Six Scary Tales Vol 1, 2 and 3 (mild horror stories), Six Historical Tales (short stories), Six Quirky Tales (humorous fantasy stories), Writing Fight Scenes, The World-Loss Diet and Writing Scary Scenes (instructions for authors).

She holds a college degree in publishing management and a masters degree in creative writing. Currently, she edits the Ten Tales series of multi-author short story anthologies: Bites: Ten Tales of Vampires, Haunted: Ten Tales of Ghosts, Scared: Ten Tales of Horror, Cutlass: Ten Tales of Pirates, Beltane: Ten Tales of Witchcraft, Spells: Ten Tales of Magic, Undead: Ten Tales of Zombies and more.

website: https://sites.google.com/site/raynehallsdarkfantasyfiction/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/RayneHall

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/rayne.hall

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4451266.Rayne_Hall


WIN This eBook . . . . I HEARD YOUR VOICE by T. Davenport

WOW. And WOW! This book has it all . . . sex, suspense, spirits and . . .  did I mention sizzle? (I just love those “s” words.) Phew! Trust me, you WANT to win this book. It’s so easy. Just click the link below and enter your information. Shazaaaam! It’s done. For those who want to read it RIGHT NOW ( I don’t blame you), I’ll post the buy links for I Heard Your Voice after my review.

Enter Here:

a Rafflecopter giveaway


I Heard Your Voice by Tanith Davenport is a fast moving novella that ends before you’re ready – but will stay in your memory for a long time. The characters are delightful with vivid details of their appearance and mannerisms described so perfectly that I could close my eyes and visualize each person.

While this is a short novella, it’s packed full of action, angst and emotional conflict. I love ghost stories and I Heard Your Voice might very well have earned a place at the top of “My Favorites” list. It has enough human drama to transcend the spirit world while adding believability to the plot.

The story revolves around Tamar Steele, a young woman working for a financially strapped paranormal investigation team. She also serves as assistant to their egotistical medium, Reed James. Reed practices a pre-investigation ritual which involves a “quickie” in the back of Tamar’s car. Their romance has long since faded and she only tolerates his actions because the team can’t afford another medium.

Her investigative team member, Jason, is falling in love with her. He hates what is going on but refuses to reveal his feelings – until one night when Tamar starts singing during an investigation and attracts a very sexy spirit who decides to play matchmaker. But only after teaching Tamar a thing or two along the way.

The only complaint I have has nothing to do with the writing. The cover art in no way offers a visual representation of the story, which could affect readers who “judge a book by its cover”.

I Heard Your Voice is a fun, sweet, romantic tale filled with lots of hot sex. This is my kind of erotica . . . a story that could stand on its own without the sex. But thank goodness Tanith Davenport decided to leave those wonderful passionate scenes in tact because they’re much too delicious to lose!

I Heard Your Voice
Tanith Davenport

Genre: Paranormal Erotic Romance

Publisher: Total-e-Bound

ISBN: 978-1-78184-105-1

Number of pages: 68,  Word Count: 20,000

Cover Artist: Posh Gosh

Total eBound




The car park was deserted, shadowy. They crossed to the left-hand corner, not speaking, not touching. Tamar unbuttoned her coat as they walked and let it hang open as she unfastened her jeans. As she unlocked the door, she heard a rustle behind her, but didn’t turn round. That would be Reed retrieving a condom.

Opening the rear door, she threw her coat into the footwell before climbing inside on all fours. The seat bounced beneath her as Reed crawled in behind her—then the car rocked slightly with the slam of the door.

She felt his hands tug at her waistband, taking her knickers with it, then his warm weight was on her back and her thighs parted automatically as she felt him enter her on the first thrust.

“Oh yeah,” Reed breathed in her ear. “So tight.”

One of his hands slid under her sweater, pushing her bra upwards to caress her bare breast. Tamar gasped as his thumb ran over one pebbled nipple, the sensation sparking something inside her. She ran her hand down her body to the fork of her thighs, already wet, and toyed with her soft folds.

Reed groaned, his movements quickening, his hips crashing against hers with every thrust. Clutching at the seat, Tamar pressed her fingers to her clit, moaning, her pleasure beginning to mount. She dropped her head onto her arm, muffling her cries in her sleeve as her body jolted under Reed’s, his voice echoing inside the car, oh God and yes and fuck and she was so close, so fucking close—tingling, aching, needing, yes

“Oh!” Reed gasped and tightened his arms around her, crushing her to him. Tamar arched and groaned, grinding out her own orgasm against her hand.

For a second they were still, both trembling with aftershocks.

Then Reed let Tamar drop heavily onto the seat, rolling himself into a seated position. Tamar shifted onto her side and watched him peel off the condom—unceremoniously dropping it onto the floor – and swiftly re-fasten his jeans before closing his eyes and touching his index fingers to his temples.

“Yes. Oh, I am on fire tonight.” He raised a fist in the air in triumph. “Go me!”

Then, without another look or word, he opened the car door and was gone, slamming it behind him with a force that rocked the chassis.

Rolling onto her back, Tamar pulled up her knickers and jeans. She cast a glance of distaste at the leaking condom and climbed out of the car, wincing slightly as another stab of pain wracked her body. Reed’s ritual had done her back no favors.

About the Author:

Tanith Davenport lives in Yorkshire with her long-suffering husband and pampered cats. Her interests range wildly between rock music and modern cinema to medieval literature and the language of flowers. She loves to travel and dreams of one day taking a driving tour of the United States, preferably in a classic 1950’s pink Cadillac Eldorado.

Tanith’s idea of heaven is an Indian head massage with a Mojito at her side.