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Help An Author Out...Plus a Kiss

Okay, girls, I'm gonna need a cover for the upcoming release of THE KING'S OUTLAW. Who wants to help??

 THE KING'S OUTLAW originally appeared in the anthology Captured by a Celtic Warrior.  

← Here's the cover from the antho. ←

It's HOT, and will be revised for this standalone release with some additional scenes of hotness and adventure, to make it worth your while.  

If you enjoy perusing images of hot guys & sexy clinch embraces, using your design eye &/or readerly “Oh, yeah, I'd buy that guy,” sensibilities, this is totally for you!

Just post any link(s) to image(s) you think are worthy of consideration in the comments. Nothing's off limits, and everyone's welcome! 

My only requirements are that it screams “medieval/knight” and “drop-to-your-knees sexy.” 

Feel free to share this far & wide with your romance reading buddies!  Got a photographer friend with warrior-esque shots in their portfolio? Pimp 'em like a pimp!

If we pick the image you suggest, you AND ANY 2 FRIENDS YOU WANT get a copy of the ebook!! Because this is all about helping each other out.

Tips: If you don't know much about searching for images…. Stock photo sites are usually the best places, like istockphoto, shutterstock, bigstock, fotolia, or dreamstime (all followed by .com) You can enter various search terms. Different sites allow different amounts of control over the parameters (such as controlling for the gender of models, or number of models, etc). Play around, and have fun!

Here's an excerpt from the first kiss of THE KING'S OUTLAW. One of my favorite kinds: the ruse kiss!


…There was nothing for it; he made his decision in a heartbeat.  

Sliding his hands up her arms, he spun her and almost flung her up against the side of the nearest building, then reached up and tore off her headdress.

“Good Heaven’s,” she cried, her hands flying up to capture the silky veil, but he already had it off and was tugging off her distinctive cloak next.

“Mon Dieu,” she gasped, grappling for the cloak, but he fisted it and the veil together in his hand, down by his hip, then stretched out an arm and planted his palm on the wall, blocking her face from the visitors now hurrying down the quay.

“Kiss me,” he ordered.

Her pale face tilted up, full of shock and confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

“Kiss me, then run.”


“If you kiss me, you’re a whore. If you stand there staring, you’re a merchant with a pouch of stolen seals in her hand.”

Magdalena looked down at the pouch, then up at him, into his beautiful, no-doubt criminal, eyes. Then she pushed on her toes and kissed him.

She could have done nothing more ill-advised.

She had barely touched her lips to his when he descended, his mouth hard and slanting. He plowed her open with teeth and tongue, exploring the depths of her wet mouth with sinful abandon.  There was no prelude, no warning, no kindness or care, no quarter given. She was a whore and he was having her.

He played the ruse exceptionally well.

Dizziness and heat swooped in for her like hunting birds, dispelling sense and reason and anything else that might have been of use to her at the moment. She could do nothing but cling to him, her hands around his neck, her head forced back, her spine cupped, her body…thrilling.

Madness. Madness, all.

The hand not holding her cloak and wimple closed around her hip and began to tug up her skirts. She made a feeble attempt to stop him, but his grip grew fierce, and he yanked on the gown, dragged it up the side of her leg until she felt cool air on her shin and calf.

Her head spun as if she’d been twirled like a top. Picked up by a bird and sent flying.

Her knees grew weak, but she did not break the kiss. She could not. He’d become a field of energy, the way a metal filing is pulled toward iron, or how one drop of water clings to another. She was affixed to his kiss, to his chest, which she’d somehow pressed up against, to his shoulders, which she’d somehow wrapped her arms around, to his tongue, which was tangled with hers, his hot male breath, his cunning male hand, his hard knee now making all manner of incursions between her thighs, and she, she, reveling in it.

This could not end well.


Or COULD  IT????

Have fun out there!

The Contemporary World

I write sexy medieval romance adventures but, as some of you already know, I also write hot, dirty-sexy, fun contemporary romances.

Yep. Check out the link on my website to Bella Love Books for proof.

More proof: here's an excerpt from the current work-in-progress, DARE, a continuation of Finn & Janey's story in SPIN. → → →

Warning: If you're not in the mood for hot and dirty, stop reading, now!  Otherwise, step into the parlor….   Or rather, the construction zone.


I stood back, shoulder against a beam, watching him beat a nail into submission in the hot rays of late afternoon sunlight.  When he was done, he stepped back and wiped the inside of his forearm across his face, wiping away sweat.

I grabbed a little hand towel from the work table and handed it over, along with the bottle of water.

He smiled and took the towel and wiped his face, then took the water and drank, then looked into my eyes for a second. “I’d kiss you, but I’m all sweaty,” he said in apology, holding up his dusty hands as proof.

“I don’t care,” I said, complaining.

“You would if I got your pretty shirt all sweaty.”

I looked away, definitely pouting now, and touched a few things on the work table while he drank the water. 

“What you want, baby?” he said, all common man, water dropping off his chin.

“A problem to fix, maybe a disaster.  Sex.  A good movie. Something.”

“Spreadsheets got you down?” he said, teasing softly.

I twirled a penny I found on the table.  “I’m think I’ve got them conquered but….”

He leaned a shoulder against the beam and waited.

The penny dropped and I looked up. “They’re boring.”

Our eyes met. “And so you want dirty sex to crack the boredom,” he summarized.


Slowly, he smiled, then wiped his inner forearm over his face again.

Having unloaded on him, I turned away, surrendering to the fact that I had spreadsheets in my immediate future, not Finn doing bad boy things to me. “Well, I better get back to it. Come in inside when you’re ready to rescue me with dirty sex, and if I’m not dead yet, I’ll be waiting,” I said glumly, moving toward the door.

His hand grabbed me from behind and turned me and slammed me, not very gently, up against one of the construction beams. I gave a gasp of shock and stared at him.


He looked down at me, all hard male planes of jaw and chin. “How dirty?”

My body went electric. That’s all it took, a two-word question, with all the promise of Finn behind it, and my body ignited.  

“Well,” I said shakily. “I was pretty bored, so….”

“So really dirty?”

“I think maybe-”

My wrists were gripped in one of his hard hands before the words were out. He grabbed a rope and circled it around my wrist, then knotted it and threw the excess over a high beam. It fell down and he tied it off. My wrist was bound.

“Jesus, Finn,” I whisper-gasped.  “What are you doing?”

“Tying you up,” he said, real casual, then did the same thing to my other hand, until I was trussed up like a horse in a stable, ready for grooming. My arms dangled, elbows bent at shoulder height, my wrists wrapped in soft cotton rope. 

“Finn,” I said in a warning tone.

He crouched in front of me and took my calf in his hand. I went stock still, except for, well, my entire body, which began shaking. “Finn,” I whispered sternly, as if someone could hear us from a hundred and fifty acres away.

“Yeah?” he said, not looking up as he lashed another rope around my ankle.

“What are you doing?”

The rope tightened, just a little, around my ankle as he flung the end of it around the nearby post and snaked it back to him.  “I’m tying you up,” he said again, maybe a little impatient that we’d already had a similar conversation.

“And then what?”

“Then I’m going to fuck your brains out.”

“Oh shit,” I whispered as he got to his feet and, now that I was all neatly knotted and trussed, he…went inside.

“Um, Finn?” I called out.

I heard the sound of water running. “What?”

“What are you doing?”

“Washing my hands.”

Oh, good. Not that I had specific fears about running water, but with Finn, you just never knew what he might have in mind.

And I loved it all.

Which scared me a lot.  Everything I thought I couldn’t do, couldn’t handle, Finn kept showing me I could.  God knows where we were headed next, emotionally speaking. And every other way.

He came back out, drying his hands on a towel, looking me over somewhat coolly.  His face revealed nothing, he looked impassive and remote, but a huge erection was pushing at the front of his jeans. 

“You look pretty good,” he said distantly, his gaze raking down me.


“You’d look better with that shirt off though.”

“Well, I’m tied up, so—”

“And your shorts pulled down.”

Electric threads of heat snapped through me as he came to me. His hand, hard and work-hardened, skimmed gently down the front of me, and my head went back a bit. “How much do you like this shirt?” he asked, real soft.

“I hate this shirt,” I panted.

He reached for a knife in his tool belt and slit it right the hell open, like I was some spoil of war, slit it open down the front of me, until it hung like a tattered flag of a distant past where I once cared about silk shirts.

I almost came right there. My body jerked with a hard gasp. “Oh God.”

He saw the jerk, heard the gasp,  and smiled.  “Like that, babe? You want it rough?”

“Oh, God.” I couldn’t do anything but take the Lord’s name in vain.

He snapped the blade shut and tossed it onto the work bench, then reached both hands to my shorts and unbuttoned them, then unzipped, then roughly shoved them down as far as they would go, to mid thigh.

And there I was, hanging with ripped open shirt and my denim shorts around my thighs, my ankles tied to post beams, waiting for Finn to fuck my brains out.

He smiled and unbuckled his tool belt, like he was in some strip show, and everything on me that was woman did its thing: my nipples got hard, my pussy got wet, my skin rippled with a wave of hot-cold chills that made my head jerk back.

“Take off your jeans,” I whispered, wanting more show.


I dragged my head back down. “‘Nope’?” I repeated, because that didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

“I’m dressed, you’re not.”

“Right,” I said in an exhale. “I noticed that.”

“That’s not an observation, it’s information. That’s how it’s gonna go. You’re vulnerable, I’m not. You’re screaming and coming, I’m watching, making it happen.”

“Oh God,” I whispered. I was doomed. And loving it.


Soon, my lovelies, soon…..

If you have yet to read SPIN, you can get it here:

AmazoniBooks  |  Nook  | Kobo