CUT THE CARDS by Desiree Holt

CUT THE CARDS by Desiree Holt

Club Fantasy Series

Kelly Leblanc had played with the top Doms at Club Fantasy. The private dungeon had truly lived up to its name for her, making all her sexual dreams come true. But one look at Tanner Sloat and she knew she hadn’t even scratched the surface. Especially when he introduced his new game, Cut he Cards. Learning that she would be performing with him before the crowd was the sexual icing on the cake. But then the game began and she discovered a whole new level of eroticism and satisfaction.

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Excerpt 1

But with all the women he’d met, all the partners he’d had, none had ever been a punch to the gut like Kelly LeBlanc. He wanted to see her naked on her knees, hands behind her back, his cock in her mouth. Maybe with a plug in her butt and a vibrator keeping her right on the edge of orgasm. He might have a lot of self control, but there was a hard edge to his desired methods of play. He hoped Kelly was ready for it, because after only one look, he certainly was. He shifted the fabric of his leather pants to ease the pressure on his swollen cock.

“Ready?” he prompted. If she licked her lip one more time he was going to open his pants and thrust his cock into that tempting mouth.

She looked up at him. Whatever she saw in his eyes made her bow her head, cut the cards, and begin to lay them out.

He’d seen them all, of course. This was a game that worked for him whenever he was a guest at a new club, or breaking in a new sub. It gave both parties a sense of what the other would tolerate, would want, would eventually crave. He watched through narrowed eyes as she discarded some cards, placed others to the side. Interesting that she kept the picture of the St. Andrews Cross, the single tail whip, the electric violet wand, and the rider fucking ball. She paused at the three pictures of butt plugs, discarded two, and kept the medium sized one.

Oh, yeah. He wanted that plug in her ass while she rode the inflated ball with the dildo in her cunt. Blindfolded. Hands cuffed behind her back so her balance was unsteady. Shit! He was getting hot just thinking about it. His cock hardened, his balls tingled and the blood in his veins flowed in a heated rush. Her scent drifting up to his nostrils aroused him even more. He bet the juice of her pussy tasted like the finest nectar. Shit, his tongue tingled just at the thought of it.

She shuffled through another few cards, kept the one with the paddle on it and the one with the spreader bar. She hesitated at one and he leaned down to get a closer look.

Excerpt 2

At this point in her life it took a lot to steal Kelly’s breath away, but the man with Reulas managed to do it in an instant. He wasn’t as tall as most of the men she played with, probably not more than five ten, which suited her petite frame just fine. But it was a well-defined, sexually sizzling five foot ten. His body was muscular, not gym-conditioned, but that of a man who did some kind of hard labor for a living. Midnight black hair hung in a thick curtain of silk just to his shoulders and matching hair dusted the hard wall of his chest. His eyes were an unusual pale grey, fringed with thick black lashes, silver beacons in a square-jawed face with high cheekbones.

He exuded raw power, masculinity, and sex. Every muscle in Kelly’s body tightened, cream flooded the tiny crotch of her thong and her nipples hardened, poking into the soft material of her halter. An image flashed through her mind of this man naked, standing before her, his cock in her mouth while she sucked on it hungrily. Would his shaft be large? Of course. Her eyes dropped involuntarily to his crotch, where the soft leather of his pants did little to hide a significant bulge. She was instantly wet and needy and he hadn’t even said hello to her yet.

When she looked up at him a tiny knowing smile flirted with the corners of his mouth and sexual hunger flared in his eyes. Tanner raked his gaze over her slowly, taking in every inch of her. Now she knew what the phrase “undressing someone with his eyes” meant, because that was exactly how she felt. At that moment, if he’d told her to strip naked, get down on her hands and knees, and let him fuck her ass she’d have done it without a moment’s hesitation.

Holy shit!

She swallowed and curved her mouth in a smile. “Welcome to Club Fantasy.”

He dipped his head once. “I can see you’re everything Reulas said you were.”

And exactly what was that?

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NIGHTFALL by Desiree Holt and Joey W. Hill

NIGHTFALL by Desiree Holt  and Joey W. Hill


Ranch owner Quinn Pedraza has to find someone to run the saloon he won in a bet, but more than that, he needs a woman who can handle his alpha personality…and closet submissive sexual cravings. When vampire Selene Torres arrives on the scene, he gets everything he wants—and learns what he really needs.

Inside Scoop: Quinn’s BDSM journey is not for the faint of heart and includes extreme sexual situations and dubious consent, as well as male/male scenes.

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An Excerpt From: NIGHTFALL

Copyright © JOEY W. HILL & DESIREE HOLT, 2014

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Chapter One



Quinn Pedraza stared at the stack of bills and swore colorfully to himself. He didn’t need this aggravation. The After Hours Saloon had become nothing but a pain in the ass to him. Vendors wanted payment right now and, even though it was crowded every night, the place wasn’t generating the cash he’d hoped.

What did you expect out of a place you won in a poker game? He’d thought it would give him an extra source of income. What a laugh that was.

The office, its tiny space filled with the desk, a filing cabinet and two chairs, was a symptom of everything that was wrong. The floor and furniture were scarred and scuffed, paint was peeling on the walls and it seemed every day he accumulated more trash. He’d even stopped changing from his work clothes before heading out here. What difference did it make if the smell of horses and cattle and everything else still clung to him? The saloon wasn’t much better.

The inside of the building needed work and the bar setup needed a good overhaul, but with the end of summer and work ramping up at the ranch he didn’t have any time to get to it. He’d shut the damn place down, except in Nightfall there wasn’t another spot for people to hang out. That included men and women, ranchers and hands, good people and bums. If he shut down, they’d probably lynch him.

On the plus side, bad as things were going, he was lucky there was no competitor within miles of the place. But working the ranch all day then spending hours here at night was draining him, and not just financially. He’d spent too many years on the rodeo circuit, living out of trailers and tents, crowded into places with mobs of people. Privacy was important to him now. So why did he hang onto this place where he was thrust in the middle of people every night?

His Comanche grandfather, his mother’s father, would have berated him for even having a place that sold alcohol. Which was ironic, because Quinn had kept the place thanks to the advice of another Comanche—Sam Red Elk.

The Indian who looked as if he was a baked part of the Texas landscape had been in and out of Quinn’s life since his teens, the kind of steady mentor his volatile father never had been. He had an odd way of showing up at unexpected times, giving Quinn counsel that, while sometimes cryptic, usually steered him onto the right path.

The night Quinn had won the saloon, Sam had pulled one of his unexpected appearances at the game. He hadn’t wanted to play. Instead he propped himself in a chair in the corner, whittling on a stick. Didn’t say a word until Quinn won the saloon. Then Sam looked up, dark eyes meeting Quinn’s. He nodded and rose, leaving the game as if his task was done. When Quinn caught up to him in the parking lot, he mused aloud about selling it, but the Indian shook his head.

“You’ll want to keep this, Quinn. It will bring something good into your life.”

Quinn knew Sam was considered a shaman among his own people. He himself had seen enough in Sam’s company to accept it without a doubt. Though when it came to the saloon, he was starting to wonder if the man had been in a snake-bite delirium. Not that he’d ever say that where Sam could hear him. The shaman might be able to turn him into a coyote or something. Though if he had to deal with this mess much longer, that might start to look pretty appealing.

Leaning back in his chair, his booted feet up on the scarred old desk, Quinn closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, trying to ease the headache that wouldn’t quit. Beyond the closed door he could hear the usual noises of a rowdy crowd, warming up as the evening wore on. He needed to check on Artie. Make sure he was taking care of business out there.

He’d thought hiring a manager and a couple cute local girls to help him bartend and bus tables would keep him from putting in all these hours at the saloon at night. But he’d quickly found out he couldn’t afford a good bar manager, not when the bigger cities had more to offer one. Hiring Artie Sampson had truly been a last resort. The man had been fired from every job he’d ever had, but Quinn was desperate and told himself he was giving the man a second chance. Apparently, some people didn’t deserve second chances. The girls seemed too busy flirting most of the time to be any help at all.

A loud crash jerked him out of the chair. Rolling up his sleeves, he yanked open the office door and stomped out to the saloon, his boots striking the boards loud enough they should have been heard over the noise. The scene he walked into made him want to shoot someone. Or himself.

The blast of the old-fashioned jukebox overrode the hooting cheers of the beer-guzzling crowd, egging on the two men pummeling each other in the middle of the room. As Quinn watched, they rammed into a table, overturning it and shattering the wealth of uncollected empty glasses it had been holding. A chair splintered under the men’s weight as they rolled over it.

Fucking shit. Drawing a breath, Quinn prepared to wade in and yank the two drunks apart by the front of their shirts. But then she beat him to it.

He was sure no one like her had ever walked into After Hours, or any other local bar or saloon he’d experienced. She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, but the high heels of the fancy dress boots she wore beneath a pair of snug jeans gave her at least another four inches. Hair like spun gold fell in waves to her shoulders, shimmering as she moved. A thin blue short-sleeved top with a light spray of sparkles across a New Orleans bar logo hugged breasts that would be a nice handful, and Quinn had large hands. A silver pendant that looked like a tiny dagger through a heart pointed right down at the tempting hint of cleavage, a warning and invitation together.

When he pushed himself past the usual focal points to get to her face, he found features like blown glass, perfect and delicate. At first glance, he thought she wasn’t much older than the pair of twenty-one-year-old girls he’d hired for low wages to pour drinks. But a second look said this was a fully mature, sexy woman. Ethereal yet earthy. Her eyes matched the blue of her shirt, the smoky color of an early dawn sky.

When she stepped between the two men without hesitation, he bit back an oath. He was ten paces away, too far to keep her from getting mashed like Spam between two slapped-together pieces of Merita.

Instead, one slim hand landed on the barrel chest of Howie Gold, a regular, the other on the arm of a drugstore cowboy who’d probably said something stupid to set off Howie. They both had clenched fists and alcohol-induced stupid written all over their faces, but then she leveled that blue gaze on them. “You’re interfering with my getting a drink. And that pisses me off.”

She didn’t raise her voice, but she didn’t need to do so. The impact of her expression turned them into deer frozen in the headlights, waiting for a truck to hit. Those blue eyes held something… Well, he knew how crazy it sounded, given he could have picked her up under one arm, but the word that came to mind was dangerous .

Mesmerizing was a close second, and he meant it literally. Something about her quieted the crowd and held both men in place, those fists loosening into uncertain curls.

In contrast, that sense of danger made Quinn want to keep coming toward her. His cock had hardened, pressing against the denim of his fly and demanding release. No, demanding to be plunged into the tight wetness of her body.

There was no way she could sense his reaction. A handful of occupied tables were between him and her, plus a bunch of people on their feet to corral the fight. He was just one in the crowd. Yet when his cock stiffened, her gaze flicked away from the two men and lasered right to him.

He had a voracious sexual appetite and liked a dozen different kinds of kink. All the women he’d chosen in the past fifteen years—and the rodeo circuit had provided a lot of those—had seemed to enjoy sex with him. He tried to be a generous lover and, without ego, he knew he had the kind of alpha male personality women liked, strong and demanding in the right ways. Their willing compliance should have been enough for him.

Yet sometimes, lying awake in the hours before dawn, a sleeping woman next to him, he wondered if they were too obedient. Too acquiescing. And damn it all, that didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t as if they just lay there and waited for him to give them orders. Most of those relationships had had some substance to them, such that a couple became more than just casual sex. Annie had been the last of those, some time ago.

Since then, he’d had the occasional casual fuck, but it was halfhearted. He’d told himself it was because of how hard he was working, but he knew that was a lie. Every relationship had lacked some intangible thing he couldn’t put his finger on.

Something that he had the oddest feeling had just put its finger on him .

In her eyes, he saw a deep, reciprocal interest. Deep as in dark and mysterious, a cavern that held unknown hazards. But almost as soon as he registered it, her attention went back to the two would-be combatants. “You can take this outside,” she said. “Beat the shit out of each other in the parking lot. I don’t care. It’s not happening in here. But whether you do that or you stay inside and behave, you’ll go give the bartender an extra twenty for the glasses you broke. That’s only fair, right?”

She wasn’t patronizing or sarcastic, which might set them off again. If anything, her no-nonsense tone reminded Quinn of the way his own mother used to handle problems between him and his brothers. She had a quiet firmness that convinced them of two things—she loved them, and she would beat the hide off them without remorse when they deserved it. Even when they reached the ages that they towered over her, they respected her the same way. She also stood between them and their loud, domineering father, the only one he seemed to listen to.

This woman gave Howie’s chest a light tap, her fingers tightening on the drugstore cowboy’s arm. “I’m not in the habit of repeating myself, boys. Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes ma’am,” Howie mumbled as the other man dragged his hat off his head.

“Good.” She gave them a tight smile and glanced over her shoulder at Maria, the goggle-eyed waitress and barmaid on shift tonight. “Charge my tab for one of those pizzas with all the fixings and bring half to each of them with a pitcher of ice water. That’ll soak up some of the alcohol interfering with their better judgment.”

Releasing them, she stepped back. With only a brief shift in expression, she made it clear they were dismissed to do her bidding. Quinn watched in amused disbelief as the stubborn cowhand and dumbass kid both moved to the bar, reaching for their wallets.

Then he had bigger concerns. As the crowd started to wander back to their tables and own conversations again, her gaze came right back to him.

He knew he had features that most women found pleasing—a rugged physique, thick brown hair and brown eyes. One woman had told him when he looked her way it was like falling into a vat of melting chocolate. However, this woman considered him from head to toe as if she was watching molasses meander down his naked body. It was the first time a woman had looked at him like he was something she was literally considering eating.

RAWHIDE: Volume One by Desiree Holt

RAWHIDE: Volume One by Desiree Holt 

Crack the Whip

When rancher Reece Halliday met the new manager of his fetish club, Rawhide, he was shocked to see Katie Warren, the woman he'd loved and lost because of his sexual preferences. But a lot of time has passed and Katie has discovered the lure and satisfaction of BDSM—including the pleasurable sting of the single tail whip. Will Reece be able to lure her back into his arms—and bed—when he cracks the whip during their private sessions?

Slapping Leather

Liz Gillibrand wants a man she can submit to in the bedroom but still keep her sex life a secret from the conservative ranching community. When she discovers her neighbor owns Rawhide, a private bondage club, she might have found the answer. But the first Dom she meets is Alex Wright, a man she’s already connected with physically and emotionally. Once before she tried to merge her private life with the lifestyle but with disastrous results. Can Alex be the one to finally free her from the past and give her the life she longs for?

Bite the Bullet

Montana Steele hoped her new job was a new start. At Rawhide, the private bondage club, she would find willing subs who fit neatly into one compartment of her life. Clint Chavez, part owner of Rawhide, was determined to never again involve himself emotionally in a relationship. But neither expected the fireworks that erupted between them, nor the erotic attraction that would bind them together despite their best efforts.

Buckskins, Boots and Bondage

Twins Justin and Tucker Davis only want one thing--one woman to share for the rest of their lives. Angel Cruz wants two men who will cherish her forever. Sex between them is hotter than the Texas sun in August as they play out their fantasies at Rawhide, the private bondage club. But when her job threatens their livelihood, will their newfound connection be strong enough to survive?

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~Excerpt from CRACK THE WHIP by Desiree Holt ~

“So maybe if you tell me how it happened, I’ll answer your question about me.”

“Fair enough.” He set his cup back in the saucer. “Remember Chad Willoughby, my college roommate?”

Katie nodded.

“Chad’s brother was into the life big time. When Chad graduated from law school, he got Chad a guest pass at the private fetish club he belonged to and said he could bring a friend.” He looked down. “I’d…been to a club twice before when we were together. But never did any more than watch,” he added quickly. “That’s when I brought everything up to you. I was fascinated with the lifestyle and wanted us to try some of these things together.” His grin was rueful. “My idea didn’t work out so well, as I remember.”

“No. It didn’t.” If only she hadn’t reacted so badly. “So what happened at the club?

“It seemed I was finally going to experience the things I’d only fantasized about. Chad’s brother arranged for each of us to have a sub for the evening along with a trained instructor.” He paused to sip more coffee.

“And?” she prompted.

“To be blunt about it, I discovered a desire for it I didn’t even know I had. It was the most explosive night I’d ever had sexually. And that’s taking nothing away from what you and I had together.”

“But you wanted more.” Oh, she was sure of that. She felt a trap opening, yawning like a big hole before her. “On a regular basis.”

“I did. A lot more. And more often. I for sure couldn’t look for action anywhere around the Hill Country. You know how conservative the ranching community is. Not even my brothers know about my…preferences.”

Katie gave him a quizzical look. “So what did you do?”

“Joined the club in Tampa Chad’s brother took us to. They have an arrangement for guest privileges in other clubs around the country. I…took a lot of business trips.” He stopped to take another swallow of coffee.

“Your brothers didn’t ask questions?”

He shook his head. “I timed my trips to coincide with legitimate business. Conventions. Meetings. Whatever.” His eyes raked over her face possessively. “But here’s the plain truth. I really wanted you, Katie. I wanted it all. You and the life.”

“Which is what led to the scene in our hotel room.” When she so childishly ran away. It wasn’t just the things themselves he was proposing. It was the total implication, the fear that she could lose herself in him completely. A very dangerous edge.

He grinned. “Yeah. That was some scene. I still remember how you looked, spread out…”

“Stop.” She held up her hand. “That’s not what I meant. Can we stick to the conversation at hand?”

The look he gave her nearly incinerated her dress. “Afraid to talk about it, sugar?”

~Excerpt from SLAPPING LEATHER by Desiree Holt ~

“He obviously had a lot of confidence in you,” Alex commented. “Leaving this place to you.”

Her defenses slammed into place. “I didn’t ask for it, if that’s what you’re fishing for.”

“Whoa. Hold on.” Alex’s killer grin kicked into place and he held up his hands. “I wasn’t implying anything. Word is you do a hell of a job here. I know Dean and Loretta wouldn’t use you if they didn’t think you were the best.”

“Sorry.” She let out a breath. “I guess I’m a little quick on the trigger.” The smile softened, and his gaze locked onto hers. “I imagine you get a lot of people who resent what happened.”

“You have no idea.” Especially the people who work here, she wanted to say. “All I can do is my best.”

When she walked him back to the truck he reached into the cab and pulled out an envelope.

“Jester’s feed information, although Dean said he’d already discussed it with you.”

She nodded. “We’re all set up for the horse. The trainer will start working with her tomorrow and in about two weeks we should be ready for Whitney.”

“I told her I’d be coming out to watch her now and then. I hope that’s all right.”

Coming here? This walking sex machine? She’d need plenty of ice water just to be within ten feet of him. Or maybe it was just that she’d been without sex for so long—by design—that her hormones were running wild. Either way, she’d need to watch herself around Mr. Sex-on-the-Hoof.

“Of course. We encourage family support, as a matter of fact.” She waited for him to climb back into the truck, but he just stood there, that hot gaze raking over her. “Was there something else?”

“Sure is. I was wondering if I could talk you into having dinner with me.”

Dinner? With a man? With this man? Liz wasn’t sure she’d even know how to act anymore. For one thing, when she’d taken over here, she’d put her sex life on hold. She couldn’t afford to have the men here actually see her as a woman. For another, she didn’t exactly have the best track record.

“Liz?” Alex’s voice broke into internal conversation. “I didn’t think it was such a difficult question.” He chuckled, a sound that hit every one of her nerve endings. “Or that I was so offensive I left you speechless.”

She shook herself mentally. “Sorry. Actually, sorry twice. Once for letting my mind drift and again for saying no. But thanks anyway.”

He reached out a hand and brushed a few stray hairs off her cheek. “You do have to eat, don’t you?”

Oh, god, his touch. She was going to embarrass herself by melting into him. She, Liz Gillibrand, the woman they all called Iron Pants. The woman who held a secret close inside her. No, no, no. She needed to get Alex Wright on his way in a hurry.

~Excerpt from BITE THE BULLET by Desiree Holt~

“You look a little flushed. The heat factor on nights like this can be…extraordinary. I thought you might like something cold.”

Heat. Yes. Only now it was due to embarrassment as she lifted the glass and sipped the icy liquid.

“Thank you.” She went over both forms, signed them and pushed them across the desk. “I believe I’ve filled everything in here.”

He lifted the sheets of paper and glanced over them. “Excellent. We’ll get you in the system.”

“Well. I guess I should leave then.”

He put a hand on her arm, and she felt as if a brand burned into her skin.

“I’m not sure if you’re prepared for this yet, but we have had a cancellation tonight for one of the private rooms.”

The muscles in her pussy clenched, and her pulse rate escalated. Tonight? Really?

“A Domme who had reserved it for after the performance suddenly had to leave,” he continued. “I have an available room and a very able sub if you’d like to take advantage of club hospitality tonight. As our guest, of course, for your first time here.”

A thrill raced through her. She knew this wasn’t the usual procedure. She assumed it was because Reece had vouched for her, but she hoped it was because Clint wanted to give her the chance to play. Too bad it wasn’t with him.

~Excerpt from BUCKSKINS, BOOTS AND BONDAGE by Desiree Holt~

Tucker couldn’t take his eyes away from Angel’s full sensuous lips as her tongue peeped out and moistened the lower one. He immediately had an image of his cock resting on the plump flesh and sliding in and out of the hot well of her mouth. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her so she faced him, but over her head, his eyes met his brothers. They exchanged a look that their parents always called the twin signal.

I can’t tell you why, but I think she might be the one. Tucker sent his silent signals to Justin.

I agree. It feels right just this quick.

Let’s find out if it works. But don’t go all broody on me right in the middle. Don’t bring Holly into the middle of this. That’s old history.

Justin’s facial muscles tightened. You worry about yourself, little brother. I’m just fine.

Tucker cleared his throat and put his hands on Angel’s shoulders.

“Okay, darlin’. First things first. Safe word, please.”

She looked from one to the other.. “Don’t laugh. Buckskin.”

He swallowed a smile. “Yes, ma’am. Buckskin it is.” He looked at his brother. “So. Think we might ought to unwrap our little package here? See what the ménage fairy brought us?”

Justin’s gaze heated. “I think that’s a damn good idea.”

Still keeping his eyes on Angel’s tempting mouth, Tucker carefully eased the little buttons on the buckskin vest through the openings one at a time, letting the fabric fall naturally apart. As soon as it relaxed away from her body, her breasts spilled out and he captured them in his palms, their smooth heat scorching his skin.

Holy shit!

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BARE NAKED by Desiree Holt

BARE NAKED by Desiree Holt

She’s burned out and he’s down and out, but together they might light up the night.

Naked Cowboys, Book 4

Georgie Zielinski’s success in the hospitality industry comes to an abrupt end when her new boss says she needs to put out or get out. So Georgie gets out, investing her savings and 401k in a dilapidated B&B in Saddle Wells, Texas. Hiring help isn’t high on her to-do list, but when a rough-around-the-edges cowboy offers his handyman services, she listens to her gut and takes him on.

Cade Hannigan would eat humble pie all day if he could afford it. The silver spoon he was born with is tarnished and he’s down to the clothes on his back, a beat-up truck and a reputation so bad no one in three counties will hire him. Except a newcomer like Georgie.

As they work to bring the old B&B back to life, Georgie and Cade’s connection explodes into a wild ride of passion. But when Cade’s past comes back to slap him in the face, their chance to be together starts to disappear like smoke.

Warning: Contains a bad boy hammering out a new future, a good girl not afraid to get a little dirty—okay a lot dirty—and and a whole new definition for “sweat equity”.

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~Excerpt~

Calm down, Georgie. You’re not eighteen anymore. Get your damn hormones under control.

But it was certainly hard whenever she caught a glimpse of Cade working outside. Despite the spring chill in the air, he certainly worked up a sweat with the hard labor he was doing. And watching him distracted her more than she liked.

The old barn offered up some ancient equipment. He’d spent the first couple of days or so getting what he could in working order. Then he’d tackled the mess that was the yard.

“Too many critters can hide in this,” he’d told her. “It will take a lot more than a few days to get the look you want, but at least I can clear it out and neaten it up. Anyway, I need to have room to hike a ladder up and start scraping the paint,” he’d added. “If I fall off, at least I won’t have a million stickers in my skin.”

In two weeks, he had made a serious dent in the mess, and in fact was almost finished. Or at least as much as he could do for the moment. This morning, when he’d knocked on her back door, he’d told her he expected to start scraping paint in another day or two.

He had kept his distance, she’d give him that. She assumed he’d made the barn apartment as habitable as possible. He didn’t offer details and she didn’t ask. Their contact was mostly limited to filling his thermos in the morning, an amenity she’d offered, and a tap on the door when he was finished for the day.

Georgie had finished working in the dining room and moved on to the living room. The old wallpaper clung tighter than she’d expected, but now she had almost every wall clear. Maybe it wouldn’t take so long if she didn’t keep looking out the window. But the view was too good to pass up.

Cade Hannigan might be a lot of things, but out of shape wasn’t one of them. Beneath the black T-shirt and faded jeans, his muscles flexed and bulged as he worked away. Every so often, he stopped to blot the sweat on his forehead with his arm. When he did, she got a sunlit look at the deep grooves and lines in his face. The square line of his jaw.

The bulge behind his fly.

Stop it, Georgie!

She couldn’t help amusing herself by imagining what he looked like without any of those clothes on. Dark hair on his chest, maybe a little darker than the thick brown that framed his face. Lean hips. Long legs.

Why did I hire him, anyway?

Because now he’s an outsider, just like you.

That’s no excuse.

No, it certainly wasn’t.

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SPURRED TO SUBMISSION by Desiree Holt

SPURRED TO SUBMISSION by Desiree Holt

Rawhide Series

When the death of their fathers brings Zoe Hampton and Wade Cameron back to Big Spur, she hopes for two things—to show the hot shot New York lawyer she’s not a little girl anymore and that the ranch he hates could actually ease the pain of his past. She’s got her work cut out for her on both accounts, and she doesn’t know whether to kick Wade into next week or jump his bones.

Wade hates the ranch almost as much as he hated his father, and the only reason he’s home is to bury one and sell the other. But the old man’s will puts a hitch in Wade’s plans. And Zoe’s lush body and sassy attitude spur the Dom in him to take her over his knee for a spanking they’ll both enjoy. Even finding release at a private BDSM club becomes impossible.…until the night Zoe follows Wade to Rawhide.

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Excerpt:

“Will tells me we’ve got a good crop of calves to brand this year.”

Wade’s voice behind her startled her out of her reverie, and she lost her balance, tumbling into the pen. Before she could get to her feet, he had climbed in beside her and stood looking down at her.

She spit dust from her mouth and glowered at him. “Aren’t you even going to offer to help me up? Or did you just come out here to rub my face in the fate of the ranch again? Make up your mind, Wade. I’m too old to play games and tired of sparring with you.”

“Maybe not my kind of games,” he growled.

He stared down at her then stunned her by lowering his body over hers, his legs bracketing her hips as he knelt in the dirt. His long fingers wrapped around her wrists, holding them down to either side of her head, imprisoning her. His grip was so tight as to be painful, and it shocked her that his aggression gave her pleasure.

Wade bent low over her until his face was only inches away. His eyes darkened to the color of burnt chocolate again, and a muscle ticked in his cheek. He wasn’t as unaffected as he wanted her to think. That kiss yesterday might have been meant to frighten her, just as he was trying to do now, but it was very clear he was affected, too. Probably more than he wanted to acknowledge.

Instead of struggling, Zoe lay on the ground beneath him, waiting to see what he’d do next.

“You know what I’d like to do to you, little girl?” he ground out.

“What?” The word came out in a breathy rush of air. “What would you like to do to me, Wade?”

“Things that would scare the shit out of you.”

He was holding her forcibly in place, apparently unaware she wasn’t attempting to get up. He was holding most of his weight on his knees so he didn’t crush her, but she was essentially completely helpless. His crotch was practically at eye level, and there was no mistaking the prominent bulge. Oh, yeah. He was as hard as she was instantly wet.

“You think so?” She licked her lower lip, seeing the heat flare in his eyes again and knowing she was pulling the tiger’s tail. “You might be surprised.”

He stared at her for so long she wondered if he ever planned to speak or move. Without warning, he rose to his feet, pulling her with him. Imprisoning her wrists with one hand, he swept her over his shoulder and stomped into the barn. He carried her into the tack room and slammed the door shut, sliding the bolt into place to keep it locked.

“Big talker,” he ground out. “Let’s see where that big talk gets you.”

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RIDE THE MUSTANG by Desiree Holt

RIDE THE MUSTANG by Desiree Holt

SEALs Going Hot Book One

Fletcher "Mustang" Call is a dedicated SEAL and a committed Dom. The one thing he isn't is relationship material. A tragedy in his past killed his desire for more than a good time on leave and a little D/s play. Until April Coe walked into his life, a woman unlike any he’s known. Problem is, she’s as vanilla as they come.

April was warned about Mustang, a man as wild and free as his call sign, so she doesn’t expect him to stick around for long. That’s okay, she'll enjoy the great sex while she can. At least, she thought it was great. 

When she senses her sexy bronco is holding back, she has to decide whether to ride the mustang a little harder or set him free.

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Excerpt:

She had a plan already in her head. Once they were in bed, naked, she’d go to work on him with her mouth and her hands the way he loved. Then, when she had him hanging on the edge, she’d pry it out of him. Because she really wanted answers.

She could hardly concentrate while she put away the leftovers and loaded the plates and silverware in the dishwasher. She had taken great care showering and dressing for tonight. And naughtily left off any panties. When she bent over the dishwasher, the skirt rode up and she knew he could see her bare flesh.

“Jesus, April.” His breath hissed through his teeth. “Are you deliberately trying to drive me nuts?”

She turned and gave him what she hoped was a sexy smile. “Maybe.”

He rose from his chair, all six foot four of him. She looked at him over her shoulder and saw heat burning unmistakably in his slate grey eyes. The muscles in his rough-jawed face were tight with hunger. One large hand cupped her chin, tilting it up so he could brush his mouth over hers. “I’ve only satisfied one kind of hunger so far tonight. I need to feed the other.”

“Someone’s in a hurry tonight,” she teased, but she was glad. It made her plan that much easier to put into play.

“Someone can hardly ever keep his hands off you,” he whispered, nipping the place where her neck and shoulder joined. His hand reached beneath her top and lifted it over her head, tossing it to the counter.

“No bra, either.” His voice was tight with control. “Naughty girl.”

“I like being naughty,” she told him. Maybe that would give him a hint.

His tongue danced over the upper swell of her breasts, pausing to trace a line in the valley between them. When he pulled a nipple into his mouth, she felt the tug all the way to her cunt and had to clutch his upper arms to steady herself.

“What do you say we take this out of the kitchen?” he murmured in her ear, his voice husky.

“O-okay.”

She started to push away from him, but he swept her up in his arms and strode with determined steps to her bedroom.

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BEYOND ADDICTION by Desiree Holt

BEYOND ADDICTION by Desiree Holt

Sequel to Dangerous Addiction, from Something Wicked This Way Comes, Volume 1

When Fallon Crowe discovered her submissive side, she indulged it fully, reveling in her erotic nature—until she stepped into the brutally possessive world of Brian Willoughby. More than a year after she was literally dragged away from his abusive clutches, Fallon is finally building a new life with Cord Jamieson, a Dom who reminds her that punishment can be loving, pain an aphrodisiac.

But when Fallon unexpectedly runs into Brian, he reawakens an addiction that never quite died. Now she’s torn between the caring relationship she’s established with Cord, and Brian’s darkly mesmerizing lifestyle that goes beyond safe, sane and consensual.

The choice is Fallon’s—the wrong one might destroy her completely.

Inside Scoop: This story features an abusive scene from a power-hungry man who’s perverted the lifestyle for his own sick pleasure. It may be too intense for some readers.

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~Excerpt~

Cord hung his Stetson on a peg in the back hall and toed off his boots. They were covered in mud and various other substances and badly needed cleaning, but at the moment he was just too tired. He and the hands had spent most of the day riding fence line and making sure every pasture was secure before his new shipment of cattle arrived. They’d been a steal at an auction and he couldn’t resist. The bank had extended a substantial line of credit and that was the perfect reason to tap into it.

Everything was coming together much better than he could have hoped. The herd was finally at the size it needed to be and in the spring there would be new calves. The pastures of coastal hay were in good shape. And the work on the event center was nearly finished. Next week, he’d work with the hands who’d be leading trail rides and giving lessons and offering other guest activities, and oversee the finishing touches to the stables.

At least he could relax where the party was concerned. Fallon was working her magic with an ease that he admired. He smiled as he thought about how much pleasure she brought to all areas of his life. After the party, after the post-event details were seen to, he planned to take her away for a long weekend where he could tie her to the bed and pleasure both of them in as many ways as he could dream up.

Just the thought of that was enough to make his cock harden and strain against the fly of his jeans.

In the bedroom, he stripped off his clothes and dumped them in the hamper, then stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He was so aroused he was almost tempted to take himself in hand and smooth out the edge while the hot water poured over him. Then he thought about Fallon, who was due home very soon, and decided he had much better ways to satisfy his lust.

He was just wrapping the bath towel around his hips when he heard her moving around in the bedroom. He opened the bathroom door, smiling—until he took a good look at her and his body tensed. Nearly all the color was gone from her face, her soft-pink lipstick seeming like a slash of vivid red in comparison. Her movements as she undressed were jerky, not smooth, as usual. Her body language was that of someone who had been through an emotional wringer.

What worried him most was the lack of eye contact. That was so out of character, at least for the woman he was used to.
“Fallon?” He moved closer. “Did something happen today? Your lunch with Claire? Something happen with the errands?”

She just shook her head and continued removing her clothing like a robot.

What the fuck?

And then out of nowhere, it hit him.

She’d seen him.

The bastard who’d fucked up her life. Fucked up her. Had she run into him or had she deliberately sought him out? Shit, he didn’t know how he’d handle it if it was the latter. It took all his willpower not to smash his fist against the wall.

Pulling himself together, he used his best Dom voice. “Fallon. Look at me. Now!” he snapped when she continued to look down at her feet.

She lifted her face to his, her expression a mixture of regret and disgust, but didn’t meet his gaze.
“You saw him today, right? That asshole you refuse to talk about?”

She nodded.

“Was it deliberate? Did you call him?” He was barely holding his temper in check. “Answer me, girl.”

“No, Sir.” She still hadn’t looked at him. From the moment he spoke she’d been in full submissive mode, only her attitude was more one of defeat than supplication.

What the fuck happened out there today? She was doing so well? We were doing so well.

Something had suddenly changed and he damn well wanted to know what it was, although he had his suspicions. He used every ounce of control to contain the rage erupting inside him.

“Did you run into him somewhere?”

“Yes.” The word was so soft he had to strain to hear it. Despite his instruction, she lowered her chin.

“Goddamn it, Fallon.” He hauled in a breath and clenched his fists, fighting for control. “Look at you. You’re a wreck. Did you run into Brian Willoughby?”

This time her answer was a whisper. “Yes.”

Cord felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach.

He let the next breath out slowly. He would have to do this very carefully.

“I want you to look at me, girl.” He made his voice as firm and steady as possible. “Keep your eyes on me and answer my questions. Do you understand?”

She stood before him, nude, stripped down to the bare individual. If she had any defenses against either her situation or his anger they were completely submerged.

“I asked you a question.” He took a step closer. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Sir.” Her voice was still so low he had to strain to hear it.

“Tell me what happened today. Where did you see him?”

“A-At La Cantera. The valet parking. I didn’t even see him until he was right there beside me.”

“And did you talk to him?”

Haltingly, fingers twisting together, she related their conversation. With each word, his rage grew. He could visualize the scene—the smooth, domineering bully using his magnetism to mind-fuck a woman who still harbored traces of an addiction.

Based on the little she was telling him of their encounter, Cord was beginning to realize that in leaving Brian, Fallon had challenged him. Challenged his control.

And Brian Willoughby didn’t seem like a man who would let that go over easily.

“And how did you leave it with him?” He was almost afraid to hear the answer.

“I—I ran from him, Sir.” She swallowed audibly. “I ran into the restaurant.”

“Did he follow you?”

She shook her head then, apparently realizing he wanted words, said, “No. Sir.”

So many conflicting emotions were at war within him, Cord didn’t know where to begin. The first thing he planned to do was put on some pants. He couldn’t possibly discipline a sub wearing only a towel. He left her standing there, fingers linked together, gaze lowered again, while he dug out a clean pair of boxer briefs and some jeans. He turned his back until he’d fastened the snap on his jeans and tugged up the zipper. He had to be careful that his anger didn’t bend his control.

“I can tell just by your attitude,” he said, “that you’re expecting a punishment session. Am I right?”

“Yes, Sir.” Her voice trembled. “I deserve it. I want you to punish me.”

“Not until you tell me what you did wrong. We aren’t playing for pleasure here. Not at the moment.”

She studied the floor and clasped her hands behind her back. “I didn’t tell you all about him before.”

He could barely hear her. That would never do. “When I ask you a question, girl, I expect you to answer in a loud, clear voice. So tell me again why I’m going to paddle that sweet ass of yours.”

“Because I hid things from you.” Louder this time. “Because I didn’t let you know everything about him.” She wet her lips. “About B-Brian. About our relationship. Because I wasn’t going to tell you about t-today.”

“And why is that important?” he prodded.

“I should never keep secrets from my Master. Secrets that might…affect our relationship.”

“That’s correct,” he nodded. “And this is a big one. A very big one. Because Brain Willoughby screwed up your head and I need to know how to straighten it out.” He paused. “We can’t make this work unless we have complete honesty between us. You need to have that impressed upon you.”

“Yes, Sir.” She bobbed her head. “That’s why I need to be punished.”

“No.” He ground his teeth. “Not tonight. I will never punish you for what someone else did to you.”

He loved the way Fallon embraced punishment, riding the edge of pleasure and pain that drove her to intense orgasm. But that was always within the context of the bedroom play. This was the first time he had ever seen her stripped down to almost nothing emotionally, pleading with him to reprimand her inappropriately, for something that was beyond her control.

But this situation was fraught with danger. He had to make her understand the depth of his feelings for her, and understand that punishment for running into someone completely by accident was cruelty, and he was not a cruel man.

Still, he had to handle this in a way that illustrated who was in control.

He blew out another breath. “On your knees. Hands behind your back. Forehead to the floor.”

He watched as she arranged herself as directed, bent low, ass in the air. The slight discomfort would serve as the punishment she thought she needed. He sat at the foot of the bed, hands on his knees. And steeled himself for what was to come.

“Now,” he said. “I want every single detail, what happened from the moment you bumped into him everything you said and felt. Leave nothing out. And speak up, so I can hear you.”

Fallon’s halting recitation of the run-in with the fucking asshole made him grind his teeth in silent rage. Her description of the man’s effect on her, of her fear, as well as the addiction she battled, made him want to shoot someone. Preferably Willoughby.

Cord was a well-trained Dom. He’d studied at a couple of the best dungeons in Dallas and observed other Doms carefully. Safe, sane and consensual had been drummed into him. Respect. Negotiation. For every D/s relationship, there was a different degree of intensity, different definitions of how far to take things. But the basic rules were always in place. If anyone violated them, the D/s community policed its own.

To hear that Brian, someone who obviously had only a sketchy knowledge of the philosophy and practices, had subverted BDSM because he could, made Cord angrier than he ever remembered being. He’d never understood how any man could so extremely abuse a privilege granted to him. Listening to Fallon made his blood boil.

When she was finished, he sat for a moment, gaze fixed on her bent form. He wanted to pull her into his arms, soothe her, tell her they would get through this together and everything would be fine. But he knew that she wouldn’t believe him. So much of her emotionally destructive upbringing still lingered, still fed her insecurities. Punishment was like an anchor to her, but it had to be for the right reasons.

And tonight it would have to take a different from.

“And that’s all of it?” he asked.

“Yes. All of it.” Her voice was muffled by the carpet.

“Yes, who?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And he will never intrude into our lives again, correct? If thoughts of him distress you, come to me at once and I’ll talk you through them. If you run into him, you call me right away. If you need me to pick you up because he’s upset you, I’ll be in my car before we’re off the phone. Understood?”

“Understood.”

He didn’t remind her again that she hadn’t used the honorific. She was in enough emotional distress as it was.

“All right. Get up, girl,” he ordered, doing his best to hold on to his own emotions. He had to physically restrain himself from racing out of the house, finding Brian Willoughby and strangling him with his bare hands for causing so much anguish and distress to this very special woman.

He watched her balance herself carefully as she managed to get to her feet, her equilibrium off-kilter because she couldn’t use her hands. When she was standing before him, he cupped her face with his palms. He hoped when she looked into his eyes she could see the depth of the love he felt for her, as well as the respect. He chose his words carefully.

“No punishment tonight, Fallon. At least not the kind you’re asking for. I think today did enough damage to you.”

“But—”

He touched a finger to her lips. “Never argue with your Master. Tonight it’s all about doing what I can do to wipe away this blackness gripping you.”

She wrinkled her forehead. “Sir?”

He could see she was confused, but the kind of pain she expected was the last thing she needed right now. He might want to beat every last trace of Brian Willoughby from her body but that would be irresponsible on his part. How could he punish someone who was so visibly punishing herself? He was smart enough to know that he couldn’t erase one kind of brutality with another, no matter how lovingly delivered. In her fragile state, he was sure if he did what she asked it would destroy her, and he loved her too much for that.

But tenderness was as much a part of being a Dom as pain and punishment, both for pleasure and discipline. Tonight it was important to show her how much she meant to him and what a special place she held in his heart. Had he taken the time before now, he wondered, to let her know his depth of feelings? Or had he just assumed from everything they did that she got the message? After the event center’s grand opening, when she filled in the missing details for him, he would decide how to move forward. Right now his mission was to subject her to torture of the sweetest kind.

“Perhaps it’s my fault for not making sure you understood exactly how important you are to me,” he told her, putting as much feeling into his words as he could. “How much I value you. How I feel about you. That’s what this will be about.” He stroked his fingers lightly on her cheek. “Now. I want you on the bed, flat on your back. I have a specific kind of torture in mind.”

When she was situated as commanded, he knelt between her thighs and braced a hand on either side of her. For a long moment he stared at her still-pale face, saw the anguish and conflict in her eyes and made a silent vow to protect her from this asshole no matter what.

Provided, of course, she let him.

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AFTERSHOCK by Desiree Holt

AFTERSHOCK by Desiree Holt

Determined to shake off her past, Sydney Alexander plans to seize the day when it comes to handling PR for Lightin’ the blazing star rising on the rock scene. Rick Trajean, Lightnin’s lead, torches her all business all the time mantra when the sizzling chemistry between them ignites brighter more than the band’s popularity.

As Lightnin’ scorches the charts, Rick and Sydney burn up the sheets. But can their passion handle the pressure of the music business? Not everyone is happy with Lightnin’s success and when the vindictiveness so common in the business threatens to destroy the band, their tour and the love Rick and Sydney found in each other, their powerhouse may come crashing down. What’s left when it does?

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Excerpt:

She was still buzzed from the evening when she checked into the hotel. Lightnin’ happened to be at registration at the same time and their excitement was palpable. Even Danny and Garrett came over and gave her a hug. They all rode up in the elevator together, the guys still high on excitement, laughing and bumping fists. Except for Rick, who was strangely silent.

They got off at the same floor she did and she discovered they were in the same section of the hallway. She was shocked to discover Rick’s was right next to hers. She slid a glance at him, stunned to see him watching her, a ravenous look in his eyes. She couldn’t mistake the desire in his gaze. Did he want her to join him? Should she ask him if he wanted to come into her room? What was the protocol here?

Unsettled, she fumbled with the key card and dropped it in her nervous haste to get inside. She wasn’t aware he had moved until he was beside her, taking the card from her fingers. He slid it into the slot and, when the lock light turned green he pushed the door open.

“Here you go.” He held the door back with his body and waited for her to enter.

“Th-Thank you.”

She moved past him, rolling her suitcase in and turned to him. Before she had time to say a word he grabbed her arms, turned her to face him and pressed her against the door.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all day.” His voice was heavy with a combination of emotion and desire. “I think tonight calls for a celebration, don’t you?”

Speech deserted her and all she could do was nod. She wanted him, this man who had exploded into her life. More than she wanted her next breath. She was hungry for him with a passion that never seemed to leave her. Sydney cupped the roughness of his late night beard with her hands, loving the scratchy feel of it.

She tilted her face up just the least little bit to accommodate him as his mouth came down on hers. The minute their lips met, heat surged through her, as if someone had lit a match to her blood. She clutched at his shoulders to steady herself, knowing she should break away even as her body cried for more. She was drowning in him, his heat and scent invading her. And all she could think was more, more, more.

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FEEL THE HEAT by Desiree Holt

FEEL THE HEAT by Desiree Holt

Phoenix Agency Series: Book Five

Lauren Cahill lives as quietly as she can, protecting her ability as a psychic healer. But danger brings Troy Arsenault into her life—along with scorching sex and intense emotions.

Resisting him isn’t even a question, in or out of the bedroom. He protects her from the evil stalking her even as he teaches her what erotic sex is all about.

When she’s kidnapped, his world is turned upside down and he employs all the resources of The Phoenix Agency to rescue her. He won’t rest until she’s back safely in his life—and in his bed for the rest of their lives.

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~Excerpt~

Chapter One
Lauren Cahill opened her eyes and tried to focus on her surroundings. For a moment she couldn’t remember where she was. Then, as the simple flowered wallpaper and white furniture became clear, she remembered. Rory Flanagan. A case of measles that mysteriously wouldn’t respond to any medication. Distraught parents.

Children were always the hardest. She worried that she might not be effective. Then she would not only have failed the child but the parents also. But this time, thank all her ancestors, it had worked.
And Maida Flanagan had been most gracious about giving her a room to rest in as she’d requested.
Sometimes the psychic healing only required a light touch. Sometimes, like today, it took everything out of her and she was always explicit when taking a case. So the Flanagans had ushered her to their guest room, Maida crying with gratitude, and left her to nap and refresh.

 A knock on the door made her sit up.

“Come in, please.” Lauren finger-combed her hair, trying to make herself as presentable as possible, and smoothed the fabric of her slacks and blouse.

The door opened and Maida came in, juggling a tray with two cups, a teapot and a plate of cookies.
“I figured you could use a little refreshment.”

“Oh! How nice. Thank you so much.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed. “How’s Rory?”

Tears welled in Maida’s eyes again. “He’s sitting up in bed playing with one of his trucks. Miss Cahill, I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to thank you enough for this.”

“Please call me Lauren. And his recovery is all the thanks I need.”

Maida covered her surge of emotion by setting the tray on the nightstand, fixing their tea and passing the cookies to Lauren.

“Brian insists he wants to give you a check. Just a token of our gratitude,” she added hastily. “I know you said—”

Lauren held up her hand. “No. Please. I never take money for this. It’s a gift I inherited from my mother and grandmother and I don’t think it would be proper to charge people.”
“But—”
“No. Really. I make a very good living designing and maintaining websites. When someone needs me, I share my gift with them as something from the heart. So thank your husband very much.
Perhaps you have a favorite charity you contribute to. That would be the best thing to do.”

“Then you should get some recognition,” Maida insisted. “You performed a miracle.”

“Not quite. But I will insist that there be no publicity about this. Please. It’s my only stipulation. The media creates such a circus about it and the real healing art is lost in the hoopla. Besides, I don’t need that kind of publicity and neither does my family.”

Especially my family.

She also didn’t want to mention that any time anything appeared in the media about her, a stalker she’d somehow picked up made threatening phone calls to her and sent vile letters. She’d talked to the police about it but whoever it was only called from throwaway cell phones and was smart enough to use latex gloves on the letters he sent. He even used adhesive-backed stamps so there was no way to get DNA from saliva.

Her computer technician father loved both Lauren and her mother but he didn’t understand psychic healing. He hadn’t accepted it with her mother and he refused to accept it with his daughter. He had, in fact, insisted they not ever draw attention to it. The few times word had gotten out when she was younger, he’d whisked them away to a secluded location until the furor died down. And he continued to plead with them not to do this.

But Lauren was determined to use her gift, just as her grandmother had. Before she passed away, Nonnie had spent time with her helping her refine and understand the special talent she’d been given. She worked very hard to keep it low key, not just for her family but also for herself.

“You can count on it, then,” Maida was saying now. “It’s the least we can do.”

“Thank you.” Lauren set her cup back on the tray. “I’d better be going.” She smiled. “My paying job calls.”

“Are you all right to drive? Have you rested enough?”

“Oh, yes. Trust me. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be foolish enough to try it. The rest was great and the tea and cookies were just the right touch.”

At the front door, Maida hugged her, then Brian Flanagan took his turn, first shaking her hand then pulling her into an emotional embrace. And finally Brian’s sister, Mari, who had come to the house to pray with her brother and sister-in-law, hugged her, also.

“We’ll never be able to thank you enough,” she said.

“As I told your sister-in-law, a healthy little boy is thanks enough.”

She finally managed to extricate herself from the three of them and head toward home. It was with a sigh of relief that she pulled into the garage attached to her Craftsman bungalow, tossed her keys and purse on the hall table and went to pour herself a cold drink.

She wanted to call her mother and give her a report, then put up her feet and take some down time before attacking her design schedule. She really was grateful for her business. Her left-brained father had taught her most of her basic skills and computer design school had given her the rest. Her own website had come first, of course, and people just seemed to find her after that. As her client base grew, she found a lot of people coming to her through recommendations, more than enough to earn her a good living. And it somehow satisfied her father that she wasn’t just spending her life on what he called something illogical.

She opened up a spreadsheet on her computer where she always entered the people she was called upon to heal. Under Rory Flanagan’s name she entered the date and the results of the session. She checked the time. Four o’clock. Plenty of time to finish the other things she needed to get done today. Tonight she would relax with the book she was reading.

* * * * *

 

The telephone woke her in the morning, the harsh jangle reaching into her deep sleep and pulling her into the bright morning. She hadn’t closed the curtains last night, so blinding sunlight streamed in through the windows. Rubbing her eyes, she picked up the phone and tried to answer coherently.

“Hello?”

“Miss Cahill—Lauren—I am so sorry, I don’t know where to begin.” Brian Flanagan’s voice, urgent and upset.

“About what?” She scrubbed a hand over her face, trying to wipe away the vestiges of sleep. “Is it Rory? Has something happened?”

Oh, lord. Please not that.

“No, no. He’s fine. Better than fine. And for that, we are so grateful.” Brian paused. “It’s about the television.”

“Television?” Her hand clutched the receiver. “What television?”

At that moment, she realized faint crowd noises were filtering in through her windows. Carrying the cordless phone, she made her way to the front of the house and peered through the small glass inset in the door. It was a crowd all right. The circus was back in town. Her stomach clenched and her hand tightened on the phone.

Three news vans were parked in front of her house, satellite dishes poking up from the roof of each one. Cameramen with hefty vidcams on their shoulders were jockeying for angles while reporters with wireless mics were staring at the house as if she might suddenly materialize in their midst. Other reporters, male and female, were gathered on her lawn, poised to pounce the minute she showed herself. A long row of cars and vans was strung out up and down the street.

She had barely registered the size of the crowd when her doorbell rang insistently, startling her so she almost dropped the phone.

“Mr. Flanagan, what’s going on?” She was now more angry than confused. “The one thing I explicitly requested was no publicity over this.”

“I know, I know.” He sounded as harried as she felt. “It was my sister, see. She, uh, she just—”
“Just what?” Lauren demanded.
“I didn’t realize she was dating a television news reporter, and she was so excited about Rory and he knew our son was sick. So when he asked about him…”

Lauren swallowed back the rising bile. Would they never leave her alone? She wanted to dive back into bed with the covers over her head and not come out until next week. “Let me guess. She didn’t realize what would happen if she told him.”

“I’m just so sorry about this. My wife is really distraught about it and so is my sister. After what you did for Rory, the last thing she wants is to cause you any problems. Please tell me what I can do to make this right. You healed our son. It’s not right you should have to suffer for it.”

“I appreciate your concern.” She took a deep breath to tamp down her anger and find some measure of control. People just didn’t realize the consequences of their actions. And of course if television had it, the newspapers would be next. And it wouldn’t be just local. It never was. “Just—I’ll take care of things.”

“I-I’m taking my wife and Rory away until this dies down. If you’d like to come with us, we’d be happy to have you.”

Hide out with a frightened family? Not her cup of tea. She had her own fears to deal with.
“That’s very generous of you but like I said, I’ll take care of things.” She spoke with a lot more confidence than she felt. “You just take care of your family.”

Her first reaction was to lock herself in her room as she’d done the first few times, shutting out the world and praying it would go away. But that didn’t get rid of them.

She thought of the people hounding her as wolves fighting over raw meat, each one more vicious than the next. They gave her no peace or privacy, making her a virtual prisoner in her home. The only good thing was she now had a resource that helped a little.

Retreating to her bedroom, she replaced the receiver, but the phone began ringing again the moment she did, its tone a counterpoint to the continued harsh jangle of the doorbell. Her new cell phone with an unlisted number lay on her nightstand. Picking it up, she dialed a number she knew by heart. The first time she’d called the local precinct, the sergeant on duty, Frank Hurley, had been skeptical and somewhat disdainful, almost as if he felt someone “like her” deserved the notoriety. But eventually he had taken her seriously and stopped writing her off as some whack job. After so many incidents they had even developed a weird sort of friendship.

Lauren was weak with relief when she heard his voice. At least she wouldn’t have to explain the situation to someone new.

“Those idiots bothering you again, Lauren?” he asked. His voice was sympathetic but she could also hear anger in it on her behalf.

“Yes they are. They’re all over my street as usual, annoying the neighbors and they won’t stop ringing my doorbell.” She swallowed. “Sergeant, they’re on my lawn and I think they’re even taking pictures of the house.”

“We’ll be there in ten,” he assured her. “Lights and sirens all the way. You just stay inside the house. And don’t answer the phone.”

“Believe me, I won’t,” she assured him and disconnected the call.

She figured her mother would be calling any minute now, followed by her father and then Geoff, her brother. But they knew when the madness exploded to call her on her cell.

Whoever was ringing the doorbell was being persistent and someone was also knocking loudly.
Lauren wanted to shut the bedroom door and put her hands over her ears. Instead, she forced herself to take some deep calming breaths and pulled out a t-shirt and jeans to put on. She had no intention of greeting the police in her pajamas.

She had just pulled her thick brown hair into a quick ponytail when her cell rang. She glanced at the readout. Her father. Of course. That meant he’d seen the early news, probably on the channel Mari’s boyfriend worked for. She let the call go to voice mail, planning to call back after the police arrived and the crowd of vultures was gone.

Her landline had been blessedly silent for a few minutes but as soon as she stepped into the kitchen to make some coffee it started to ring again. She lifted the receiver, disconnected the call, and then left the receiver lying on the counter. Her nerves couldn’t take any more noise.

Why, why, why? Why did they have to make such a big deal about what she did? Surely, with everything going on in the world today, there was enough to write about without focusing on her and making her life miserable. Yet somehow, since the first time an episode had been leaked, she’d been high on the media radar. She was glad that when she’d started her graphic design business she’d decided to use a pseudonym. She could just imagine the reaction of her clients if and when they saw all this craziness in the newspapers and on television. Not to mention the lurid tabloids.

As Sergeant Hurley had promised, less than ten minutes had passed when she heard the wail of sirens coming closer and closer. When the sound was directly in front of her house, she headed for the living room and peeked out through the drapes. Sure enough, there were three cruisers, lights flashing, parked in the streets, and uniformed cops moving the crowd away. And none too politely, she was happy to see.

Eventually, when all the vehicles and the people were gone she saw one of the uniformed men climb the steps to her porch and knock on her door.

“Miss Cahill? It’s Officer McLean. Sergeant Hurley asked me to speak to you personally. It’s safe for you to open the door to me.”

Double-checking to make sure everyone was gone, she unlocked the door to let him in.

“Thanks for taking care of this,” she said, digging up a smile. “I appreciate it.”

“The sergeant said for us to be sure and keep an eye out,” he assured her. “These reporters are nothing but bone-pickers.”

What an apt description.

Lauren shivered. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“Is there someplace you can go, away from here?” he asked. “Until this latest business dies down? They’re gone today but they might very well come back. The sergeant isn’t so sure it will be safe for you here.”

Lauren tamped down the sudden rise of anger. “Tell the sergeant I appreciate his concern and his help, but I won’t let them chase me out of my own house.”

McLean shrugged. “He said you’d say that. Okay, just keep your doors locked and call us if these assholes show up again. We’ll be doing a drive-by every hour or so for a while.”

“Thank you again. Really.”

She locked the door after him, waited until all the patrol cars had left, then went to get her cell phone. Time to call her parents back.

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HARD TO HANDLE by Desiree Holt

HARD TO HANDLE by Desiree Holt

Rawhide Series

The chemistry between horse wranglers Bailey French and Hondo Labar was hot enough to singe the air even before their unexpected meeting at Rawhide, a private bondage club.

Their extreme edge play at the club feeds their sexual needs, but Hondo wants a relationship outside the club and Bailey refuses to acknowledge him as more than a fellow wrangler. When a riding accident puts her in his care, can she finally trust her heart as well as her body to a man who would Master her forever?

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~Excerpt~

Bailey shredded the hunk of bread in her fingers. “You heard me turn down Hondo and Dan today, right?”

Liz nodded. “That’s why I thought it would be a good idea for us to have dinner and discuss the situation.”

Bailey frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“This isn’t an easy life you’ve chosen. You work hard. You need time to play. If not here, then someplace where you feel comfortable. It took me a long time to figure that out.”

Bailey fiddled with her wine glass, trying to decide exactly how much she could tell this woman. Liz was easy to talk to but she was, after all, the boss. And she didn’t feel comfortable just blurting out that she was a hard-core sub looking for a Dom who didn’t abuse the privilege. Or run away from it.

“I hear you,” she finally said. “But finding the right people isn’t always that easy.”

The other woman studied her. “I know you came here from Phoenix, but I guess I thought you had friends in the area. Something that drew you here. I probably should have asked at the time.”

“Why would you?” Bailey took a fortifying sip of her wine. “My personal circumstances aren’t your worry.”

Something dark flared in Liz’s eyes for a moment. But it was gone so fast Bailey wondered if she’d imagined it. Did Liz come here to get away from a problem, too?

“Maybe I sense a kindred spirit.” Liz said the words quietly, almost tentatively.

Bailey lifted an eyebrow. “In what way? Were you—I mean—“

“Running from something? In a way.”

The waiter appeared with their salads, momentarily interrupting their conversation. Bailey forked up a piece of lettuce and chewed it slowly, waiting for Liz to continue. They chewed in silence for a few seconds before Liz spoke again.

“There were—are—things in my life that I had a hard time handling. Even understanding. Needs that I had.” She paused, took a moment to chew another bite of salad. “It made my life…complicated.” The direct look she gave Bailey was honest and assessing. “I sense you might be dealing with the same thing, Bailey. If I’m wrong, I apologize, and we can pretend this conversation never happened.”

“You mean in isolating myself?”

“I mean,” Liz said, “in the things that enrich your life. Not just friendships but sex. People talk about men’s needs all the time, but they never think that could apply to women.”

Bailey stared at her, stunned that Liz brought the subject up.

Sex? She’s talking to me about sex? What do I say to that? How do I answer her?

All she could do was repeat the word. “Sex. You think I need sex.”

Liz Wright burst out laughing, a friendly sound, not a belittling one.  “Bailey, almost everyone needs sex of one kind or another. It’s part of the human psyche.” She leaned forward again. “Unless you have a problem of some kind, it’s really not healthy to go without it for a long time. And I don’t see you as the kind of woman who doesn’t enjoy it.”

 Bailey’s eyes widened. “Do I have some kind of sign on my back? You think I’ll do something to embarrass the ranch? And you?”

Liz shook her head. “No. That’s not it at all. I’m doing this very badly.” She sighed. “I went without for a long time after I was hired at the Lucky L. Not because the opportunities didn’t present themselves. As with you, every one of the hands eyed me with a lot of speculation. And I think the single men in town were making bets who would be the first one to break the ice.”

“Holy crap!” She shook her head, as much at the bluntness of the conversation as at the realization that the so-in-control Liz Wright had suffered the same things she did. “I guess I never…” She stopped, not wanting to be discourteous.

“Thought I was in that situation?” Liz smiled. “Or that I had sex?”

Bailey’s face heated. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—’

“It’s okay. Let yourself off the hook, Bailey. I understand what you’re saying.” She took a swallow of her wine. “Sometimes,” she said slowly, “it isn’t just the sex but the kind of sex that keeps you isolated.”

Bailey froze. Was it possible… “Kind of sex?”

Liz nodded. “I’m not sharing this with you lightly, Bailey. I’m doing it only because I sense a similar spirit here. I hope I won’t regret this.” She paused. “Some people might say my sexual needs are dark. Off the beaten path. Even unacceptable. For me and many others with the same desires, the elements of the BDSM lifestyle are as normal as breathing. But in a conservative community like this, one can’t exactly go out and ask where the nearest dungeon is or who’s into bondage.”

Bailey almost swallowed her tongue. Liz Wright was into BDSM?

Holy shit!

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DARK DESIRE by Desiree Holt

DARK DESIRE by Desiree Holt

Tentative Club Fantasy Book Two

Risa Channing found herself stuck at one level in BDSM play and was ready for more. She asked Ruelas, the mysterious owners of Club Fantasy, to pair her with a Dom who would take her to the next level and beyond, but she got more than she expected with Master J.

The last thing Jax Schroyer expected was a woman who pushed all his buttons the way Risa did. From the moment he laid eyes on her—and hands—on her he knew one night with her would never be enough. Somehow in the few hours they’d be together he had to convince her he was the man who would always fulfill her dark desire.

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The man sitting next to him rose, and immediately, Risa felt her thong dampen even as her mouth went dry. Like Ruelas, he appeared taller than he was his shoulders broad, and his chest and abs hard and flat, with a sexy dusting of dark hair. All the rippling muscles were easy to see because he was naked from the waist up. The rest of his body was clad in leather pants tight enough that she could see the thick bulge of his cock. Below that, he was barefoot. She noticed his feet appeared as graceful as the rest of his body.

But it was his face that caught her attention. Framed by a thick fall of inky black hair, it was a warrior’s face, finely chiseled with a square jaw, startling blue eyes and lashes any woman would kill for. The power he exuded was so strong as to be nearly visible in the air around him. She could only stand there mesmerized, and so aroused she needed every bit of discipline to keep herself together.

Deep inside her something unfamiliar began to unwind like a coil tightened down for too long. Something teased at her emotions as well as her senses. Was she getting herself into something too deep here? She wasn’t looking for more than one night of intense pleasure. Was she?

“Risa,” Ruelas’ voice penetrated the fog wrapped around her brain. “This is Master J.”

Her eyes drank him in even as they kept returning to the significant bulge in his pants. She could hardly wait to feel that inside her. At his pleasure, of course.

Master J, in full Dom mode, did not extend his hand. Instead, he let his gaze travel slowly over every inch of her body, so penetrating was his stare that she might as well have been naked. He nodded at Ruelas.

“She will do very nicely.”

Ruelas smiled. “You know it is always my goal to please.” He looked at Risa. “I have passed along your desires to Master J and I assure you he can more than satisfy them. Beyond that, Risa, you can trust him completely.”

Her mouth was so dry she had to swallow before she could speak. Every nerve in her body vibrated and her pulse throbbed in her womb.

“Thank you, Ruelas.” She lowered her eyes. “And thank you, Master J.”

“The room is prepared for you,” the owner told the Dom. “Everything is as you requested.”

“Good. Then we shouldn’t waste any more time.”

Okay, so no small talk or let’s get acquainted.

Well, this was what she’d asked for, right? A complete Dom who would take her well into the next level of BDSM play. Someone who could satisfy the very dark desires that claimed her dreams and left her shaken when she awoke.