KITTY KAT by Anne Kane

KITTY KAT by Anne Kane

Protect and Serve Series

Kat hasn’t always been a stray -- but times are tough, and when she lost her job, her no good boyfriend dumped her. Now she’s living in a deserted basement and scrounging for food behind the restaurants in the better section of town, while attending business school during the day.

Jake feeds scraps of his dinner to the fluffy little con-artist from time to time as he walks his beat. He can’t get the sassy stray off his mind. He feels a strange affinity for the feisty little kitty, so he decides to trap her and tame her. What he doesn’t realize is, she’s a shifter, and she’s conned his heart right out of his chest.

BUY THE eBOOK *** READ THE EXCERPT

Protect and Serve: Kitty Kat
Anne Kane
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2011 Anne Kane

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Jake hunkered down behind the glassless window, setting the cup of steaming take-out coffee down beside him. Stakeouts were nothing new, but this one was different. The suspect wasn't human; wasn't a suspect really. It was hard to believe that a hard-nosed, cynical Irish beat cop would go to all this trouble to capture one scruffy, ill-tempered scrap of a kitty cat.

He took a sip of the coffee, cursing under his breath when it burned his tongue. When he'd decided to go ahead with this scheme, he'd rigged a live animal trap from descriptions in a book he'd found in one of the old library buildings. Libraries were one of the first things to go when society broke down, but the books were still there, covered in dust and spider webs.

Bait was easy -- he'd been tossing scraps to the little feline for over six months now and he knew her preferences. Funny little thing, she preferred her meat cooked. Chicken, fried like they used to do it in those fast food places you saw on history shows, would draw her into the cage, and once the trap door shut, he'd have her. A soft thud alerted him and he stilled, his eyes narrowing as he searched the shadows of the deserted warehouse.

The little stray leapt into view from the top of a pile of dusty cartons. Her fur stuck up in unkempt clumps, affirming his decision to capture her for her own good. Once he got her home, he could look after her properly and put a little meat on her scrawny frame. Her attention flicked to the lump of chicken in the trap but she took her time, scouting the area first. Tail lashing back and forth, ears pricked forward on high alert, she stalked the perimeter of the warehouse space.

Jake suppressed a chuckle even as he respected the tiny creature's security precautions. Life had become much tougher after the collapse of the World Economic Council, and this was one of the roughest parts of the city. She might be small, but his soon-to-be little pet was a survivor.

Satisfied there was no imminent danger, the little cat padded toward the makeshift trap, her head tilted quizzically to the side. Probably wondering what this new contraption in her territory was and why it was there. Her nose twitched as she inched forward, stalking the chicken as if it were a mouse.

Jake held his breath as she entered the trap, her attention centered on the food. It seemed like forever before her entire body was inside the cage and the gate slammed down, ensnaring her just as she took the first dainty bite of the prize. Tiny as she was, the feline exploded into a snarling, spitting bundle of pissed-off fur, and Jake chuckled at the display of temper. He guessed she'd weigh less than ten pounds dripping wet, yet she acted as though she thought she were a full-sized tigress.

He unfolded himself from the chair and took another sip of his coffee. Now that she was secured, he wasn't in any hurry to face the little wildcat. Sauntering over to the trap, he stared down at his prize.

LIKED THE EXCERPT?? CLICK HERE TO BUY THE eBOOK

AUDIT THIS! by Anne Kane

AUDIT THIS! by Anne Kane

When government tax auditor Nick finds himself obsessed with the work of erotic romance author Khloe Matters, there's only one thing to do. Audit her! But getting a closer look at the sexy author in her own home just makes him switch his obsession from the writing to the writer.

When he accompanies her to a writers' festival, things heat up in a hurry. Neither of them is being entirely honest, and as the weekend progresses so does the hilariously tangled webs of deceit as each of them seeks to further their own agenda.

BUY THE eBOOK *** READ THE EXCERPT

Audit This!
Anne Kane
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2013 Anne Kane

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

"What do you mean you're disallowing ninety percent of the expenses I claimed?" Khloe tried not to scream at the smug smile on the auditor's face. Hard to believe her libido had jumped to attention when he'd first showed up at her door. Just went to show how bad a judge of character she was. "You can't do that. They are all legitimate business deductions."

"Really?" The man raised one of those perfect brows. "Care to explain how a trip to Spain qualifies as a business expense? You're a writer. You don't have to leave the house. You don't even have to get dressed."

Khloe gritted her teeth, taking a deep breath to calm herself down before she answered. She knew his name. Nicholas Carver. She just didn't think a government auditor deserved such an impressive name. Calling him a dumb-assed bean counter probably wouldn't help her situation, though.

"Although I have not claimed any clothing expenses, I assure you I do have to get dressed. My neighbours are a conservative bunch. I do have to leave the house occasionally, and I generally make a point of putting some clothes on before I do. That trip was for research." Well, duh, what else would it be? Maybe this guy got all the looks and none of the brains. "My last mystery novel was set in Madrid during the running of the bulls. I needed to be there to get the feel of the place and understand the atmosphere, how the crowd reacted. I wouldn't stay in business long if I didn't pay attention to the little details. Readers can smell a mistake a mile away, and if I lose their trust I'll be working at the grocery store for a fraction of what I make writing."

The auditor snorted. "Quite the drama queen, aren't you? I might accept the research excuse if the tone came through in your work, assuming we're talking about a published manuscript. Do you have a copy of that alleged book?"

The sceptical tone of his voice, not to mention his use of the word "alleged," set Khloe's teeth on edge. How dare he sit there in his perfectly pressed suit and make her justify every item on her tax return? Oh right. He was the almighty tax department auditor! Maybe it would help if she curtseyed or kissed his ring or something.

She smiled sweetly. "Of course." Turning, she ran her fingers along the spines of the books on the shelf. Plucking Bullfighter's Downfall out, she handed it to him. It took quite some effort to keep her smile from turning into a snarl. "I hope you enjoy it. It spent two months on the New York Times Best Sellers list."

He took the book, his brows rising at the cover picturing a couple in a passionate embrace against a backdrop of the famous bull run. Turning the book over, he read the back cover before looking up at her. "Romantic suspense? You're one of those kinds of authors?"

Okay, he might be the big-shot auditor, and he had the ability to make her life, not to mention her finances, a living hell, but he had no right to use that tone of voice when describing the genre she loved.

"Exactly what do you mean by that?" She straightened up to her full five feet five inches and glared down at him. "If you mean one of those authors who can take two characters, introduce them to each other and make them fall passionately and fervently in love while they dodge bullets, murder, mayhem and other nasty plot points, then yes. I'm one of these kinds of authors. And in case you don't believe me, you might want to ask the thousands of readers whose buying habits have put me on the New York Times Best Sellers list time and again."

"No need to get defensive. It's hardly War and Peace but I'm sure it's a very nice story."

It took all of her willpower not to grab the heaviest book on the shelf and smack him over the head with it. War and Peace indeed! "Have you ever tried to read War and Peace?" She took a step forward, gratified at his flinch. "My books are meant to entertain people and take them away from their everyday lives, not bore them to death."

He had the grace to look uncomfortable. "Well, no, I haven't actually read it. I'm more of a John Grisham fan. Lots of war but not much peace."

She felt the tension in her gut relaxing a bit. He wasn't quite the pretentious prig he looked like. Actually, if she took an honest look at him, he resembled the cover models for some of her steamier books.

And that gave her an idea.

LIKED THE EXCERPT?? CLICK HERE TO BUY THE eBOOK

Lexxie Couper Kicks Off Her New Dragon Shifter Series With Ellora's Cave

TY THE SEXY DRAGON by  Lexxie Couper

Fire Mate, Book One

Life isn't easy for a modern-day dragon shifter. Unlike those wuss werewolves, dragons can't just shift and go for a run through the nearest forest. They can't go flying on a whim. Forget about scared villagers slinging arrows; these days it's Neighborhood Watch zealots with AK-47s. Then there's the whole sex issue. Try telling the little cutie at the local Starbucks that a soul-shattering orgasm might end in bed flambé.

No, being a dragon shifter kinda sucks. And for Tyson, it's even worse - because he's suddenly in heat. Bad news for the stranger he spies running along Bondi Beach. Ty instantly recognizes Sera as his mate. Now he has to convince her, while also dodging the psychopathic dragon hunter on his tail. Scorching sexual persuasion should do the trick. Hopefully. Because if Ty doesn't join with his Fire Mate before his heat cycle finishes, bad things will happen. Lots of bad things.

BUY THE eBOOK *** BUY IN KINDLE *** READ THE EXCERPT

By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.

An Excerpt From: TY THE SEXY DRAGON

Copyright © LEXXIE COUPER, 2011

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

A stranger’s tongue was in Sera’s mouth. In her mouth.

Holy smack, a stranger’s tongue was in her mouth! Rolling and sliding over her tongue. He was kissing her. No, not just kissing her. He was fucking her mouth. Making goddamn love to her mouth with his tongue while something long and thick and wicked hard that was most likely an impressive erection poked at her belly, and what was she doing?

Now he was cupping her right breast in a strong, kneading caress, teasing her hard nipple—and what the hell was she doing?

Was she fighting him off? Was she pushing him away and kicking him in the balls? Was she letting Hannibal rip said kicked-in balls off?

No. She was standing there like a skanky ho, letting him. His tongue was practically playing with her tonsils and she wasn’t putting up a fight. Far from it. She was kissing him back. Her tongue was stroking his, her lips were parted and she was kissing him back big-time. Holy smack, she was even moaning.

What the hell was wrong with her? It was like she had lost control of herself the second the guy smacked into her. Shit, even her hands had strayed to his chest—his broad, hard, smooth chest that seemed to burn under his light-cotton shirt with a heat that should have screamed fever! But instead it made her pulse quicken, her pussy throb and her tongue stroke his some more.

This had to be some random act of impulsive seduction. Like the guy in New York who gave out hugs, except this guy gave out mind-blowing, tonsil-stroking kisses. Had to be.

She had to stop him.

Except she didn’t have to. Someone else did.

“Hey, hey, hey,” a man barked to her right, a second before the tongue-fucking stranger was hauled backward. “There’s none of that here.”

Something growled. An animal. A big animal.

Sera snapped her gaze to Hannibal, but her cousin’s dog was just sitting at her heel, licking his balls.

She jerked her gaze back to her stranger—her stranger?—and almost let out a yelp.

She hadn’t gotten a good look at him before, just remembered a quick flash of hunky, dark yumminess a second before he slammed into her. Now he stood glaring at the cop still holding his arm, very much still hunky and yummy, with his dark, floppy hair, equally dark straight eyebrows and dark-dark eyes—but also very much frightening. Menacing. Malevolent.

As dark and hunky and yummy as he was, he looked like he was about to rip the head off the cop who suddenly didn’t seem to appear as brave and determined and authoritarian as he had a second ago. Now the cop looked scared.

Scared of her stranger. The guy who had come out of nowhere, kissed her until she moaned and was currently glaring at the cop, nostrils flaring, chest heaving, growling in an utterly inhuman way that turned Sera’s pussy to liquid.

Oh God help her, she’d just French-kissed a psychopath. And was horny about it.

“Y-you can’t…” the cop stammered, stumbling back a step.

Her growling, nostril-flaring stranger sucked in a breath and swung his gaze back Sera. “I can smell your want.”

The claim was a low murmur through barely parted lips. His eyes seemed to glint, another growl rumbled in his chest and, with a shudder unlike any Sera had ever seen, he turned and sprinted away. Through the bustling footpath toward the crowded sands of Australia’s most famous beach.

He didn’t slow. He didn’t deviate from his path. He ran straight for the water, stripping his shirt as he went and splashing into the surf, still wearing his cargo shorts. He dove under the first breaking wave.

Gone.

LIKED THE EXCERPT?? CLICK HERE TO BUY THE eBOOK

COPPING A FEEL by Lexxie Couper

COPPING A FEEL by Lexxie Couper
A standalone title in Elora's Cave's Cougar Challenge series.

Darci-Rae Whitlam doesn't know which is more disturbing, receiving scads of obscene phone calls - or getting so turned-on by said phone calls. Then there's the email from her American friend, Rachel, taunting Darci with something called a Cougar Challenge. Just the thought of seducing a younger man is enough to permanently soak her knickers. No wonder her ever-disapproving sister thinks she's oversexed!

Cybercrime Detective Jarrod St. James is investigating a case of stolen identity. He quickly learns the fiery redhead claiming to be Darci-Rae Whitlam is the real deal (his shoulder trapped in the jaws of her gargantuan dog might have sped that decision along). He really should go back to Sydney, continue tracking the imposter who's operating a phone-sex business in Darci's name...but the woman proves too tempting. Job be damned, he has to have her. The fact she's got a titillating challenge to complete only helps his case.

Darci just may be the fastest cougar to snag her cub yet. Being the victim of a crime has never been more fun!

BUY THE BOOK *** READ THE EXCERPT

By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.

An Excerpt From: COPPING A FEEL

Copyright © LEXXIE COUPER, 2010

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

Pursuing a case of identity theft beyond the computer lab was exciting—but wasn’t meant to end up in a quiet street in coastal Newcastle. What kind of criminal mastermind lived in a neat little two-story surrounded by gum trees, wattle and tree ferns? With a 1996 Volvo in the driveway? A Volvo wearing a “Public Education. It’s Our Future” bumper sticker, no less?

Jarrod breathed another drawn-out sigh. Maybe he’d been too long in front of a computer after all. This couldn’t be right. This felt wrong.

“But this is the only address for someone claiming to be Darci-Rae Whitlam,” he muttered, scanning the front windows, the gauzy curtains and wide awnings concealing the interior from his inspection. “And it was someone claiming to be Darci-Rae Whitlam who spoke to you on the phone a mere three hours ago.”

With alarming ease, his cock twitched at the memory. The woman—whoever she really was—had the most amazing voice. A voice created to send a man wild. She’d said very little that could condemn her. Asked a very husky question about what he would do with his tongue after he brought her to orgasm with his fingers, wondered if he had staying power, pondered what it would be like to be tied up by him. But in that voice of hers, like smoke and velvet playing in the back of her throat…it was enough to set his groin on rock-hard alert and his pulse quickening beyond fast.

Is that the real reason you’re here? ’Cause a possible crook got you horny with just her voice?


For the third time he let out a protracted sigh, this one tainted with deprecating disgust. Fuck, what was he doing?

“Catching a criminal, Detective.” His growled whisper rumbled deep in his chest. “That’s it. Catching a criminal who’s stolen the real Ms. Whitlam’s life—and making her pay.”

He forced away the sensation of stirring steel in his cock, narrowed his stare on the front door of the house and crossed the front yard, the delicate perfume of the native violet ambling through the flowerbeds wafting into each breath he took.

Climbing the five steps leading to the front porch on silent feet, he unclipped the holster on his Glock, planted his feet slightly apart, squared his shoulders and raised his hand to knock on the door. Ready to take on whatever came—

The door flung open and a goddess with brilliant green eyes and wild, fiery-red hair smacked straight into him.

Followed immediately by a bear cleverly disguised as a dog. A growling dog.

He stumbled back a step, grabbing the goddess’s upper arms even as the bear—err, dog—slammed two paws roughly the size of the Opera House against his chest.

“Eep!” the goddess cried, and Jarrod’s balls prickled in instant interest as the sexiest voice he’d ever heard caressed his ears for the second time that day.

Still struggling under the dog’s massive force, he tightened his grip on her arms, his fingers telling him exactly what his mind had already decided. The goddess was smooth, warm and firm to the touch. Sex and sin and toned feminine strength in one incredible package. He could feel her triceps flex and coil beneath his hands, a realization that made his balls not just prickle with interest but rise up and grow heavy.

Fuck, he was in trouble.

The dog shoved him, teeth bared, muzzle wrinkled, and before his stupefied brain could process the situation, he fell backward, stumbling down the front porch steps, dog and goddess joining him—reluctantly, by the sounds of the dog’s snarls and the goddess’ surprised shout—in a very undignified free fall.

“Oof!”

The ground hit his ass, or more to the point, his ass hit the ground, at the exact moment the dog decided snarling just wouldn’t cut it anymore and the goddess decided she needed to slam into him with her entire weight. Wicked teeth latched onto his shoulder just as a slender, curved knee rammed into his crotch, followed by a palm heel to the solar plexus.

Jarrod’s groin and chest exploded in black stars of pain. He let out a shout that sounded like a croak, thanks in part to the strangled pain in his chest and the dog’s canines threateningly latched to his shoulder.

Yep, definitely been in front of a computer for too long, Jarrod.


The surreal thought flittered through his reeling mind, seconds before another palm heel struck him in the jaw.

“Let go of me, dickhead,” the husky voice growled, a dangerous caress. “Or I’ll let my dog eat you.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Jarrod choked out, struggling under the massive dog’s rather insistent attack. Thank God for his thick cotton shirt, otherwise his shoulder would look as if it’d been through a cheese grater. He gripped the goddess’s arms tighter still, the base male part of his mind pointing out she reclined full stretch atop him now, her firm softness separated from his body by nothing more than two layers of clothing and a seriously protective mutt.

The thought sent a surge of eager blood through his veins, flooding his already semi-hard dick with wildly inappropriate intent. Unable to do anything else, Jarrod flipped the goddess and her hellhound, dislodging the dog’s teeth in the process, and straddled them both. “Wait!” he panted, staring down into eyes the color of raw emeralds. With an abrupt shift in position, he pressed his knee—gently but forcefully—on the dog’s neck, pinning the animal to the ground so the bloody thing couldn’t take any more bites out of his hide, and then grabbed the goddess’s wrists and pinned them to the ground beside her head.

“Get off me!” she snarled through clenched teeth, squirming beneath him. “Who the hell are you? Get off me, you prick.”

She bucked again and Jarrod bit back a groan. With all her thrashing and writhing, there was no way she would have missed the growing bulge in his jeans. Damn it, his bloody erection kept poking her in the belly every time she moved, contained by his jeans or not.

Way too long in front of a computer, Jarrod. Way too long.


“Wait,” he snapped one last time, and for a dizzying moment he wondered what the hell had happened to his vocabulary. Maybe he’d left it on the front porch along with his pride and professionalism.

LIKED THE EXCERPT??? CLICK HERE TO BUY THE BOOK