HONEYBUN ON THE RUN by Sam Cheever

HONEYBUN ON THE RUN by Sam Cheever

Book 7 in the Honeybun Heat series

She’s fighting to protect everything she cares about. He can’t resist a damsel in distress. But he has no idea how high the cost will be if they fail.

Clovis Honeybun is working undercover to catch an assassin targeting his uncle, Senator Brick Honeybun. But his search is waylaid when he spots a pretty woman being mistreated by a guy who looks a lot like his target. Going rogue on a dangerous hunch, Clovis plunges down a trail that might be the right direction but the wrong bad guy.

Ultimately, Clovis discovers he could have to choose between saving the woman burrowing her way into his heart, or a man he’s loved and respected since he was old enough to crawl.

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Excerpt:

She was looking out over his wide, badly mown lawn, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jeans. She turned as the door swung open. Her pretty brown eyes filled with uncertainty. “Hello, Clovis.”

“Emma. You look good.”

She grimaced when she saw the discoloration around the bridge of his nose. “I’m really sorry about hitting you. Again.”

His smile was tentative. “You pack a mean punch.”

She shook her head, avoiding his gaze.

Looking at her for the first time since she’d told him she hated him, his pulse sped and his body tightened. She was every bit as gorgeous as he remembered.

He leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest. “How’s Cilla?”

“She’s good.” Emma’s gaze slipped past him. “Is this a bad time?”

Clovis wasn’t sure how to answer that. “Bad time for what?” If she was going to tell him she hated him again and to keep his damn family away from her and Cilla…well…yeah…it was a very bad time.

Emma frowned slightly, her shoulders squaring with temper. “Can I come in for a minute, Clovis? I promise I won’t be long. I just have something I need to tell you.”

His chest hurt and his stomach roiled with tension, but Clovis inclined his chin and stepped back, letting her pass before closing the door behind her.

Emma looked around the dark hallway and her gaze slid to the empty living and dining rooms. “A little light on furniture.” She turned and smiled at him.

Clovis’s chest loosened a little and he was able to breathe. “Yeah. I haven’t had much time to go shopping…” His voice trailed off as her smile slipped away. He hated to see it go.

“I know, I’m sorry about Brick. Actually, that’s why I’m here.”

He cocked his head as she hesitated. Then he realized how rude he was being. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m functioning at barely above a savage level right now. Can I get you a beer or something?”

To his amazement she nodded. “I’d like that.”

He motioned toward the kitchen. “I’m afraid the only chairs on this level are in here.”

Clovis followed her into the kitchen, his gaze moving unerringly to her fine backside in the tight jeans. Oh how he’d missed those jeans.

He pulled two cold bottles of beer from the ancient, green refrigerator and handed her one.

She grinned at the fridge. “I think my parents had one just like that.”

Clovis patted the scratched and dented monstrosity. “I’ve grown kind of fond of it. Retro is cool, right?”

Emma laughed and the sound sent a wave of warmth skittering through Clovis. He found himself grinning too. “Sit.” He eyed the mess of papers on the table, realizing his mistake when Emma’s gaze fell on the photos Alf had brought. He lunged for them, scooping them up as her expression fell. “Let me just clean this mess up.”

Emma looked down at the table, her beer untouched on the table in front of her. “I’m so sorry, Clovis. I know saving Cilla cost you your uncle.”

He shook his head. “I’d do it all over again, Emma.” As he said the words he realized they were true and it surprised him. But deep down he knew he’d done what Brick expected and wanted him to do.

Emma’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. She sniffled and nodded, her hand wrapping around the bottle of beer. “I wanted to thank you for saving her. And to tell you I…” She took a deep breath, turning the bottle with her fingertips. “I realize you had to do what you did. I was…well…I was out of line. Out of my mind. I might have cost my baby her life.” She averted her gaze, looking everywhere but at him.

Clovis couldn’t stand to see her so upset. He walked over and crouched down beside her chair, lifting a hand to caress her cheek. Emma closed her eyes at his touch and shivered slightly. “You would never have let Cilla get hurt, Emma. I know that. But you were so upset. I didn’t know how to calm you down.” He pulled her closer. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do…”

She touched his lips with her finger, stopping him. “I know. You did the right thing, Clovis.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, something electric snapping between them. Clovis looked at her lush mouth, his body tightening with need. Emma started to pull her finger away and he reached up, stopping her. “I’ve missed you so much.” The words emerged husky and soft from between his lips.

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PURPLE PROSE by Sam Cheever

PURPLE PROSE by Sam Cheever

Forget being creatively blocked. Forget being purple. They just want to survive the process of writing the book!

When she hits the writer's block of all writer's blocks, Lindsey Prince thinks her muse has abandoned her. But she opens her door one day to find a gorgeous new one standing there, "anxious" to help her finish her current project. There's only one problem... her new muse, Zahn, has been turned purple by Calliope, Chief of the Muses, for indulging in Purple Prose. Unfortunately, his fate rests on Lindsey submitting a purple prose free manuscript to her editor. No pressure there.

To make matters worse, Zahn apparently has a powerful and cranky ex-girlfriend who isn't all that thrilled by the growing attraction between Lindsey and Zahn. She'll do anything to stop Lindsey from submitting that manuscript. Anything. Based on the extremely heated "research" she and Zahn have been indulging in, Lindsey knows her sexy IR story will sizzle. She only needs to live through the process of writing it.

No easy task, that.

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Excerpt:

The door to what was apparently my guest room was closed. I stood outside in the hallway for a few moments trying to work up the courage to knock. What Zahn told me at dinner had freaked me out. I’d been worried a lot lately about my inability to put words on paper. I’d begun to suffer under not only the pressure I was placing on myself, but also the pressure I’d been feeling from my editor, Cathy, at my lack of writing production.

I hadn’t sent anything to Cathy for six months. She’d been carefully nudging me with questioning phone calls for the last three. I was in trouble and didn’t need any more pressure.

My plan was to tell Zahn he had to leave. I couldn’t deal with the responsibility for his life as well as mine. It was too much. I had enough problems of my own.

I bit my lip and lifted my fist to knock.

“Come in, Lindsey.”

I frowned at the door, my hand hovering. How’d he do that?

I opened the door and gasped. My mouth hung open as I viewed the unfamiliar room.

“I made a few changes.”

Zahn lay in the middle of the biggest bed I’d ever seen. It was covered by a gold silk comforter that looked about eight inches thick. He leaned against a headboard that reached almost to the ceiling and was padded in the same gold silk. He wore only a pair of black boxers. They shimmered in the soft silver light cast by a matching pair of crystal lamps on either side of the huge bed.

I stepped into the room and my feet sank into the deep, soft pile of an exquisite carpet in a deep cappuccino color. Paintings of nudes in various suggestive poses lined the walls, and shimmering gold fabric draped the window. In the far corner, perched on an oversized tree in a pot, Mike dozed with his head tucked under one wing.

“Wow.”

“I hope you don’t mind. I needed to move a few of your things.” Zahn smiled.

I frowned. “Where’d you put all the boxes?”

“Around. Is there something wrong? You look worried.”

I bit my lip, unsure how to begin. Zahn patted the bed next to him. “Sorry, I didn’t think to add a chair. I usually just lie on the bed when I’m in here.”

I licked my lips, unable to stop the lustful thoughts flying through my mind. “That’s okay, I’ll stand.”

Two long creases appeared between his eyebrows. “Whatever it is, Lindsey, just spit it out. You’ll feel better.”

I opened my mouth, forcing the words out through a suddenly clenched throat. “It’s just that…well…I don’t think I can help you.” When he frowned, I rushed ahead with my excuses. “I can’t even help myself. I don’t want to be responsible for you being purple the rest of your life. It’s just too much pressure. I’m having enough trouble as it is…”

Zahn levered himself off the bed and started toward me.

My heart stuttered at his size and incredible beauty. At five-foot-three, I felt like one of the little folk standing next to him. His skin, looking black instead of purple in the silver light, shimmered like polished ebony. I knew it would be warm and smooth like the most expensive silk. His legs were long, straight, and muscular enough to be masculine, but not in the least bulky. His hips were narrow and his chest broad, with well-defined pecs. My muse was perfection in the male form. As he approached, his sexy almond eyes watched me with the intensity of a jungle cat on the prowl.

He lifted his big hands in my direction.

I flinched away, terrified by the feelings he’d conjured in me just by walking across the room.

Zahn placed his hands on my shoulders, moved them down my arms, and grabbed my hands. My pale skin looked true white against his darker flesh. “I know you’re scared and a little confused by all this, Lindsey. But I’m here because you need me. Not the other way around. I’m purple because of what I did. My actions. You have absolutely no responsibility for my problem.”

As he spoke, his skin warmed noticeably, and something soothing slid from him to me through our clasped hands. I shivered under the pleasurable assault, and my nerves settled.

Zahn leaned close, tilting his head with a soft smile. “Does that help?”

His breath danced softly across my face, and I opened my lips to pull it in. I slid my tongue over my lips as if to taste him.

Feeling slightly dazed, I started to nod but caught myself and shook my head. “No. I just don’t want your help right now. I didn’t ask for a muse and I don’t need one.” I jerked my hands from his and stepped back. I’d come into the room with firm objectives, but somewhere along the way my intentions got fuzzy. With a simple touch, he’d made my thoughts lose focus and overwhelmed my will with his. I didn’t know if he’d done it on purpose, but the result was the same. It was disconcerting.

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MAZE by Ursula Sinclair

MAZE by Ursula Sinclair

The conclusion of the story of Ivy and Maze from The Ballerina and The Fighter

Maze

There are times in life when you have to make decisions that others will neither understand nor forgive. When that happens, then you make damn sure they never find out.

But no matter what, you will do anything to protect those you love. Even if it means you forfeit your soul.

Ivy

He’s keeping something from me. And I’m not sure I want to know because it will forever change us.

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Excerpt:

 

Have you ever killed anyone?

My breathing remained steady, my heart rate even, but the chemical rush from the adrenaline had blood rushing to my head. The sound of our blades gliding off each other was not a silent one, but the thunder and lightning ensured no one would hear or be inclined to venture out into the downpour this night. We were hemmed in on both sides by the brick walls of the buildings, with just enough room to maneuver. The filthy alleyway only wide enough for a dump truck was made even worse by the torrent of water washing over the soiled ground. Nothing could clear the stench of death creeping around us.

I’d deliberately chosen the time and this place for the confrontation. This was a blind alleyway only one way in and one way out. Barely visible from the street and there were no windows on the sides of the buildings. Just one door from the back of the restaurant near the dumpster. On a night like this, the weather also helped, we would be uninterrupted. No one would step out for a smoke. But at the end of the night, the trash at the restaurant still had to go out.

Huge fat drops of rain poured down from the heavens beating at me, soaking through the clothes I wore. Trying to drive me away from the course I’d set. I ignored it. My body was ready, waiting, my mind bent on one course. It was too late for any other.
The iron door opened to the right of the dumpster I hid beside, and my breath paused for a moment—only one person could be behind it.

I moved silently out from the shadows. As soon as he saw me, he dropped the trash bags he carried and pulled a knife from his boot. He knew damn well why I was there. I stepped toward him, compensating for the slippery ground with my treaded boots but also my balance. I’d trained on many different terrains so the flat alleyway posed no issue for me, but I couldn’t say the same about my opponent. He’d already revealed his weakness to me by his crouching stance. His balance would be off if he lunged on such a slick surface.

My body ran cold at what I was about to do. I raised my own blade and beckoned him forward. The glow from the outdoor lighting reflected in his dark hate-filled eyes. We were about the same height and build and our goals were the same. But from there we differed. Jai fought better than he ever had or ever would again because he knew this time he battled for his life. As did I. But as my knife parried and slashed opening flesh, I also fought to protect the one I loved.

So have I ever killed anyone?

I walked away from the alley with that thought in my head, my heart still beat, my blood still ran steadily within my veins. With each step the water turned redder on the ground in front of me. Up until that moment my answer would have been no, I’d never killed anyone. I knew I was capable of it. I’d been trained in the different ways to take a life with my body and weapons since the age of three. I also knew how to put someone down without serious injury. That’s what I’d always done. But that was my past. Tonight I’d taken a life to protect those I loved but also out of vengeance. Oh yes, there’s hate in my heart, but there’s blood on my hands now too. While the rain might have washed the blade of blood, no amount of rainwater would ever wash me clean. Not even the tears I shed could cleanse my soul.

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COLLAR AND BELL by Zenobia Renquist

COLLAR AND BELL by Zenobia Renquist

A Forever Wicked Story with Changeling Press

He wants no greater prize than the love of his sexy kitten.

Eric Miller has a dilemma. He has seven years to make his company succeed so he can sell it and prove to his father he has what it takes to head the family business. Eric's two brothers are out to prove the same. Only one can inherit, and it doesn't look like it'll be Eric until he adopts a little black cat that changes his life.

Simone is willing to help in exchange for his complete obedience. Under her direction, Eric finds his desires shifting from running a company to a certain sex kitten whose purr drives him wild. The deadline is nearing, and Eric's time with Simone is about to end. He plans to find a way to make her stay... even if it's on his knees.

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Forever Wicked: Collar and Bell
 Zenobia Renquist
 All rights reserved.
 Copyright ©2013 Zenobia Renquist

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.

 "Fuck!" Eric picked up a throw pillow and chucked it across the room as hard as he could. It hit the far wall and then plopped to the floor, causing no damage. Eric felt like that pillow -- decorative and superfluous.

He was the middle child of three boys. Richmond Miller, his father and the head of an apparel company worth billions, wanted to leave the presidency to the most capable son. To prove that capability, his father charged his sons to oversee smaller divisions of the company, make those divisions lucrative, and then sell them. The son who, after seven years, brought in the most money from his sale would win the presidency.

To keep his sons from competing directly and possibly interfering with each other, Richmond had told them to pick different aspects of the company. Daniel, the eldest, had gotten first pick and taken men's athletic shoes. Thanks to his basketball player endorsements, the company couldn't keep the products on the shelf. Jonas, the youngest, had followed Daniel and taken men's athletic wear. Jonas shared athletes with his brother and sometimes commercial spots.

And then there was Eric. He'd been stuck with women's apparel. He remained convinced his father was sabotaging him, since no one in his family thought he had the ability to run a company. Athletic apparel was easy. It had even turned into a fashion statement over the years. Women's fashion changed so much from one moment to the next that keeping ahead of the curve and making money seemed impossible.

Eric didn't know the first thing about women's fashion. He hardly paid attention to his own clothing choices. He bought whichever suit the clerks suggested for his medium, gym-trained build. If the occasion called for casual, he wore jeans or khakis and a single-colored cotton polo shirt. Easy.

He sighed again and shoved his hand through his short-cut black hair. It had been long once, almost to mid-back. His father had insisted he cut it so Eric would present a more businesslike appearance.

That hadn't been the end of the suggestions. And by suggestions, he meant orders. Richmond hadn't sugarcoated his words. He wanted Eric to act more like him, the way Eric's brothers did. Trying to emulate his father had given Eric an ulcer before his doctor ordered him to stop.

That was Eric. Good at taking orders. His brothers always told him he would make a great vice president, someone in the background who took care of the little things while someone else handled the big decisions. He didn't think they were wrong, though he would never admit it aloud.

He startled when a sleek black cat hopped on his lap. Simone. He'd taken her in seven months ago when he found her cold and starving in one of his warehouses. He'd never had a pet before, and some whim made him decide to make her the first.

Pets were supposed to be soothing and help relieve stress. Or so Eric had read. Simone was a great stress reliever, but he wasn't in the mood today. He scooped his hand under her belly and gave her a toss. "Not now."

The cat glared at him from where she landed. Her tail sliced the air as it switched back and forth.
"I had a bad day. All right? Sales are shitty. The employees aren't happy so customer service is being affected. The seven year deadline is almost over, and my father is probably going to stick me with this sinking ship just to teach me a lesson. How am I supposed to impress Heather's father when I'm two steps away from poverty?"

Heather was the girl Eric had liked since high school. Unfortunately, his brothers liked her too. She'd been stringing all three along since they met, never committing to one over the others. She also happened to be the daughter of the president of the company with which Richmond wanted to merge. A marriage would grease the wheels of that merger, so Richmond had encouraged his boys to pursue Heather. The brothers had come to the agreement that whoever won the seven-year trial would also win Heather. The other two brothers would back off.

Eric no longer wanted Heather. Life had introduced him to a woman more suited to him that he loved beyond distraction. He did still want Heather's company, but that dream was going down with the ship that was his failing company.

Simone continued glaring at him.

He yelled, "What?"

With a soft growl, Simone left the room.

"Shit." Eric got up and chased after her, following her to the bedroom. "Simone. Simone, wait. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you. Simone?" He looked around the room but didn't see her. Going to his knees, he looked under the bed.

When he sat back, he startled at the sight of the woman standing on the other side of the bed from him. "Simone?"

Her emerald green eyes flashed with her anger. She had her fists planted against her wide hips with her legs spread apart in a classic pissed-off stance.

Eric knew he'd screwed up when he yelled at her but he couldn't bring himself to be that worried about it since Simone was naked. She'd shifted from cat to human, and clothes didn't come with the shift.

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HEAVEN SENT by Mahalia Levey

HEAVEN SENT by Mahalia Levey

Mia Justice counts every day as a blessing, not taking life for granted. Although she has strong faith, she finds it hard to move on in her personal life, until an accident changes her perception of really living.

Dire Sylis takes his job and the responsibility that comes with his job seriously. Saving as many lives or helping in any situation is how he pays homage to the father he lost as a young adult. However nothing prepares him the chance encounter that will change his life.

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~Excerpt~

Darkness fell early in the evening. Mia sipped a cup of hot cocoa while waiting. Time had never moved slower than waiting for Dire to show. Maybe she needed a psychologist or some heavier meds of a different type. Who worried about a man they recently met, and without an exact definition of the relationship they were heading in. She grasped his shirt in one hand, wanting to bury her face in his scent. Madness. She’d fallen head over heels into insanity. Tired of pacing and watching out the blinds for a glimpse of his truck, she sat down and flipped the television on. True to her word, she kept away from the news channels. Comedic family shows played on every channel. Not in the mood for comedy, she turned the television off and picked up a historical romance she’d found at a swap and shop months ago, but hadn’t had the time to read. She slipped the robe off and donned his shirt, wanting to feel closer to him in his absence. Using the discarded robe as blanket, she curled up on the couch and disappeared into the pages of her new book.

Lost in the world of thievery, abduction and handsome as sin highlanders, she’d toned out the world until a loud banging on the door scared her out of her wits. She dog-eared the page and tossed off the robe. The incessant pounding grew louder. “What.” She swung the door open ready to rip the balls out of the person who’d made her put down the fantastic book and probably dented her door. “Dire.”

“I rang the bell seven times.” Did he growl at her? And why did she find the sound arousing. Wait…I’m mad at him. She crossed her arms over her breasts and glared at him.

“I’m sorry for scaring you.”

Mia saw red. She clocked him with her open palm across his face, spun on her heel and stormed back into her house.

“Mia. Stop.”

“Go to hell.” She launched her body forward into a sprint up the stairs away from him. Pounding footsteps fell behind her as she heard him chase. Halfway up the stairs, a band of steel wound across her middle, halting her momentum. She kicked back and found her legs trapped by muscles as hard as tree trunks.

“Why are you mad?”

God he smelled good. Even angry with him, his energy singed her. Struggling to break his hold got her nowhere. His breath tickled her neck. His rock hard chest cradled her back.

“You didn’t text or call.”

Dire cussed under his breath. “Because I thought you’d be asleep like we discussed,” he snapped at her and spun her to face him.

She saw the angry welt on his face and dropped her gaze. Dire didn’t deserve her abuse. Ashamed of her actions, she couldn’t look him in the face.

“You should’ve anyhow.”

“I’m okay.” She frowned refusing to give into the two words she’d wanted to hear for hours.

“The team is okay too. Mia. I like to look who I’m talking to in the face.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” She pushed against him to get away and stumbled on the stairs when he let go of her. “Take this back and get out. I can’t do this.” Tears threatened to spill as she tore off his shirt and threw it at him. The T-shirt hit him in the face and fell to the floor. “I wanted to tell you that we should be friends but I can’t now because I’m in too deep.” His stunned expression, the way he held his body rigid while raking a gaze over her body caused her to shiver in reaction and start for her bedroom. “I said to leave,” she repeated when he made no move to.

“Calm down.” Instead of leaving, he followed her.

“Fuck you.”

“That’s mature.” He caught up to her, spun her around, and fisted a hand in her hair keeping her from running further. “Look at me Mia.” Her choice was to squeeze her eyes shut or to do as he bid.

“You had better be glad I’m not tender headed.” She glared at him, uncomfortable with the close proximity of his body so close to hers and her runaway emotions.

“I’m not hurt and you’re okay. Nothing bad happened.” He pressed her against the edge of her bed and dropped an arm to her lower back. Mia almost died when his lips feathered over her skin of her throat. Soft at first, until he worked a path up her neck, swept a finger along her jaw line and nipped to her lips.

Dormant need blazed to life. Mia turned aggressor, wrapping her legs around his waist and planting her lips over his mouth. Tongues tangled. Moaning into his mouth, she found the hem of his shirt and thrust her hands up his chest. Dire helped her take the T-shirt off. God, he is so sexy. To think she’d been totally naked in front of him this whole time left her feeling inhibited.

“Don’t get shy on me now. You looked damn sexy wearing my name.” He bit into the curve of her neck while palming the globes of her ass. His sparse chest hair abraded her sensitive nipples. Wetness drenched her thighs as he laid her down. Dire paused assaulting her mouth to grab a condom out of his pocket. She watched enthralled as he unbuttoned his jeans and shrugged out of them to cover his heavy cock.

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WHERE THERE'S A WILL by Karen Kelley

WHERE THERE'S A WILL by Karen Kelley

Her Fantasies Were Wild But Buried Deep...

Haley Tillman works hard at being a good girl, hiding her rich fantasy life in the pages of her diary. But being good doesn't seem to get her anywhere with men, and her confidence is on a downward spiral. She's ready to try something altogether different, but hasn't a clue where to start. In a moment of desperation, she prays for a miracle...

He Might Take Her Beyond Them...

Ryder is the perfect combination of powerful angel plus normal hot–blooded man. Crossing into the mortal world could cost him his existence. But mortals are like a potent drug to Ryder, and Hayley is quickly becoming his drug of choice...

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Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter 1

"Please, Lord, you have to send me a miracle. A man, in case you want specifics."

Haley Tillman really needed to get laid before she incinerated. If a man looked cross-eyed at her, the only thing left would be a pile of smoking ashes.

Just one little bitty miracle. Was that too much to ask?

She was thoughtful for a moment, then decided she'd better revise her prayer. Once, she'd asked for a stuffed bunny rabbit. The next day her dad took her to the taxidermist to pick up Fifi, the family dog that had died two weeks before, or as Haley preferred to call the beast when no one was around, The Tasmanian Terror. The mongrel was more her mother's pet. Her father had had the miniscule creature stuffed.

There was also a sale on stuffed rabbits. She hated the glass-eyed zombie rabbit and hid the nasty looking creature in the back of her closet. There was no escape from Fifi, though. Her mother placed the silent menace in the living room where everyone could see the dog.

So maybe a prayer revision might be in order. "Not just any man. I want a really hot, drool-worthy, sexy man." That still wasn't good enough. "No, he has to be more than a normal man. He has to stand above mere mortals. No more dweebs, losers, or rejects." She figured it wouldn't hurt to ask for the best.

And no more crying jags like the one last night just because she'd been stood up. She threw the cover back and grabbed her black-rimmed glasses off the nightstand before heading toward the bathroom.

A miracle would be nice. She snorted. As if a miracle was ever going to happen. She was pretty sure hot and sexy would never make it to her front door. Her almost date hadn't been drool-worthy. She supposed Ben wasn't bad looking, in a GQ, polished sort of way.

Haley sighed. Being stood up was nothing new. Anyone with a little bit of sense would be used to it by now, but not her. Okay, so maybe she sort of expected it because she'd cornered him. She did not wear desperation well.

"Ben could've said no," she mumbled as she walked inside the bathroom and flipped on the light. Her coworker from the bank owed her. Haley had worked all week crunching numbers for him.

She casually glanced toward the mirror and saw an apparition.

Her heart pounded inside her chest. She stumbled back, bumping into the bathtub. Before she toppled inside, she slapped a hand on the toilet seat and regained her balance.

As her pulse slowed to a more normal rate, she cautiously scanned the tiny room. She was the only one there. Her imagination was getting the best of her. That's all it could be. Over-tired, stressed, of course she was seeing things. She came to her feet, nerves stretched taut. Her stomach rumbled.

Please don't be the ghost of Nanny.

She loved Nanny, but her grandmother was gone, and though Haley had lots of fond memories, she wanted her to stay gone.

She was still trembling when her gaze landed on the mirror. She jumped, heart pounding again until she realized it was only her reflection that stared back. Fantastic, she'd scared herself. This had to be an all-time low.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then opened them again. Mornings were not good. She should drape black silk over her mirrors until she at least had her first pot of coffee. Not that she was monstrously hideous, but she was no beauty queen, either.

She had her father's looks. Her father was tall. Haley was five feet seven inches. She also had her father's dull, dishwater blonde hair. Her hair had turned bright orange when she attempted to color it in the eighth grade. She decided dull blonde was better. Her boobs were too big, too, but they matched her hips.

All the magazines she read said you had to like at least one thing about yourself. Her legs were nice and long. When she wasn't tripping over her feet, she was fairly satisfied with them. Except her life was never going to change. And miracles? She stopped believing in miracles a long time ago.

She brushed her teeth, then dragged a comb through her tangled hair so it didn't look quite so much like a rat's nest. There was a half gallon of ice cream in the kitchen freezer. It wouldn't be too difficult to eat herself into sugar oblivion. She could bring new meaning to the phrase death by chocolate. What would her sister say? Rachael never, absolutely never, let sugar cross her lips, and she always said Haley was killing herself. Right now, she didn't really care.

The buzz from her doorbell blasted through the tiny two-bedroom house that she'd inherited from Nanny, effectively drawing her away from her dreary thoughts. Bummer. She'd already started planning her funeral. She sighed. It was way too early for doorbells.

She grabbed her faded pink terry-cloth robe off the hook on the door and pulled it on over her green froggy flannel pajamas and left the bathroom. The doorbell buzzed again.

"Okay, okay," she mumbled.

Once she stood at the front door, she peered through the peephole her father had installed for safety, as if anyone would ever break into her house. What would they steal? Her hand-me-down furniture?

She blinked. No one there. Were they hiding?

Hmm, serial killer lurking outside her door? Would that count as a date? Nope, they didn't have murders in Hattersville. Nothing, absolutely nothing, ever happened in the small town. She shook her head and opened the door a crack, making sure the chain was secure.

"Hello?"

A man stepped into her line of vision. Haley's mouth dropped open. Good Lord! This had to be the guy who invented tall, dark, and sexy! Her thighs quivered.

At least six feet one inch of pure testosterone stood on her porch. He had the dark good looks of a male stripper, only with clothes on. The stranger removed his black Stetson, slowly dragging his fingers through thick, coal-black hair. His deep blue eyes held her gaze before sliding down her body as if he could see more than the sliver revealed from the slightly open door.

Warm tingles spread over her like a Texas wildfire in the middle of summer. She could barely draw in a breath as her gaze moved past broad shoulders and a black Western shirt that hugged his scrumptious muscles. Then her eyes slipped right down to the low-slung jeans riding his hips, past muscled thighs, all the way to his scuffed black boots.

Oh, Lord, her every fantasy stood on her front porch!

She forced herself to meet his gaze.

I want him! She felt like a kid in a candy store with lots of money to spend. Mommy, Mommy, can I have the hot sexy cowboy? Pleeeeeeeeease!

If only it was that easy. No way would she ever have the opportunity to have sex with someone who looked like him. What was he doing at her door, anyway? Lost?

"Haley, right?" he asked with a slow drawl that made her body tremble with need.

How did he know her name? She grasped the door a little harder. He smiled as though he knew exactly what she was thinking. Her world began to tilt. She remembered that breathing might not be a bad thing so she drew in a deep breath. "What?" the word warbled out. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Do you need directions or something?"

"You're Haley."

She nodded.

He smiled wider, showing perfectly straight white teeth. "Mind if I come in?"

Her fantasy of this cowboy's naked body pressed against her naked body shattered like rocks hitting a mirror. Oh, this guy was good, real good, but she wasn't born yesterday. He'd obviously seen her name on the mailbox out front. She raised her chin. "I don't need a vacuum.
I have all the pots and pans I will ever use-including waterless cookware. There's a complete set of encyclopedias on my e-reader and I have a double-barrel shotgun for protection. Now, do you want to tell me why you're ringing my doorbell at this time of morning?"

"You prayed for a miracle. I'm the answer to your prayer." He rested his hand on her grandmother's white rocking chair. Her rocker had always sat in that same spot on the porch for as long as Haley could remember. The cowboy lightly set the chair in motion. Back and forth, back and forth, his thumb lightly caressing the weathered wood.

Wow, her prayer had really been answered? The man upstairs had given her more than she'd asked for. She reached up to smooth her hair about the same time reality set in. Had she lost her mind?

"Go away!" She slammed the door shut. Her pulse raced so fast Haley thought her heart would jump out of her chest. At this rate she was going to have a heart attack before she turned twenty-seven! Who was he? Definitely the wrong house. Shoot, the wrong town. No one who looked like him lived in Hattersville. Definitely a salesman. As if she needed another vacuum cleaner. Three were quite enough. Another magazine subscription might have been nice. One could never have enough magazines.

But wouldn't it have been nice if he was sent in answer to a prayer? How had he known she'd prayed for a miracle? Not that it mattered since she'd slammed the door in his face.

Oh, hell!

What was she thinking? Haley smoothed her hands down the sides of her robe, took a deep breath, and started to open the door. She remembered at the last minute to remove her glasses and stick them in her pocket. Rachael had said they made her appear to be more professional. Haley thought the glasses made her look like Buddy Holly. She wore them out of habit rather than a need to see. She pasted a smile on her face and opened the door as much as the chain would allow.

The cowboy wasn't there.

Had she only imagined him, too? She closed the door enough so that she could slide off the chain. Her smile was still firmly in place when she opened the door again. Nothing. Only old Mrs. Monroe watering her lawn across the street. She looked up and waved as her crotchety husband came around the corner of the house, getting a face full of water. Mrs. Monroe quickly dropped the hose.

"Damn, thought we'd finally got some rain," he sputtere...

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ROCK IDOL by Veronica Tower

Today on our Cyber Launch Party Blog, we're celebrating Veronica Tower's sexy new IR romance!

ROCK IDOL by Veronica Tower

Reality With A Twist Series

Ember Blaze had it all and lost it—teenaged pop star turned middle-aged loser—but all of that changed when she became a judge on America’s new hit talent show, Rock Idol.

Now she has wealth, fame and respect again—everything she’s been missing for the past two decades—but a hot young contestant is turning her world topsy turvy. He’s got blond hair, blue eyes and a smile that has half the women in America swooning—and he wants Ember even more desperately than she wants him.

But after working so hard to get back on top, can she really risk everything for a few moments of stolen passion and the chance to learn to love again?

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~Excerpt~

        Someone knocked on Ember’s dressing room door. It was twenty minutes before the start of the show and a bad time for interruptions. Hans had finally finished applying her makeup but couldn’t decide what to do about her hair.

At the sound of the knock, Hans threw up his hands in despair. “What is it now? Do they not know that there is an artist at work in here?”

He stormed across the room to the door and flung it open. “What do you want?”

Rick Rogers stood in the hallway with a single red rose in his hands and the same terrible striped shirt that he had worn in last week’s competition. “I, um, need to speak to Ember for a minute.”

“And I need sixty more minutes to finish creating perfection. He glanced at the rose in Rick’s hands and grinned. “But you probably think her perfection comes naturally. You may have three minutes and then I shall play God by once again creating angelic beauty with these two hands.”

Hans stepped out of the dressing room and closed the door behind Rick.

Ember stood up. “What’s on your mind?”

Rick crossed the room to join her. “I wanted to bring you this,” he said, “and to thank you again. You really helped me pull out all the stops last week. And I,” he handed her the rose, “thank you.”

“You didn’t have to bring me flowers,” Ember said. In truth she was slightly uncomfortable that he had done so.

“It’s just one rose,” Rick told her.

But it was a red rose, Ember noted, red for love and passion.

“Well, I’m sure you’re going to do even better this week,” she told him.

“I hope so,” Rick said. “I’ve worked hard, but the competition is fierce. It’s good to know you’re pulling for me.”

Where was Hans? Ember wondered. He needed to get back here and end this awkward conversation. “Would you like another piece of advice?” Ember asked.

“Of course,” Rick told her. “I’ll do anything you tell me.”

“Lose that shirt,” she said. “It makes you look-”

“This shirt?” Rick interrupted. “I can’t do that. It’s half my luck!”

 The bad half, Ember wanted to say, but what came out was something else entirely.  "What's the other half?

“This,” Rick whispered.

He leaned close and kissed her—his lips pressing gently against hers, warm and tender.

Taken completely off guard, Ember shocked herself. She didn’t pull away. She didn’t slap him. She closed her eyes and kissed him back, opening her mouth to let his tongue greet hers.

His strong hands gripped her waist as hers slid of their own accord around his back.

A knock sounded on the dressing room door, startling Ember into stepping back from Rick and breaking the embrace. She was breathing hard and her heart was racing—but whether with passion or fear of discovery she wasn’t certain.

The door opened and Hans reentered the room. “I cannot give you another minute. Even God, Himself, must have some time in which to work his miracles.”

Rick pulled himself back together. “I’ll be singing for you tonight,” he whispered, then turned and hurried from the room.

Hans watched him go, admiring his backside until the door closed behind him. “It is such a shame that boy is straight,” he said.

Then he turned back to Ember. “Sit down, dear, we only have fifteen minutes to finish making you radiant.”

Ember sat down in her chair—her mind a jumble of confused thoughts and sensations.

“You’ve dropped your rose,” Hans noted. He stooped down, picked it up and handed it to her. “And is that a smudge on your lipstick?”

He picked up the lipstick tube and set about correcting the flaw. “Perhaps it’s not a shame the boy is straight after all, hmm?"

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TEXAS HARD by Sara York

TEXAS HARD by Sara York

Texas Soul Series - Welcome to Texas where men are rough, hard and twisted!

Spurned by his heart’s desire, Riley’s aching for a fight, and he finds one with Connor, a sexy Texas lawman. Attraction fires between them, but Riley walks away, ignoring the lust between he and Connor...Until weeks later he’s caught trespassing on Connor’s new property--Naked.

Connor’s tempted to arrest the audacious naked man in his watering hole until he realizes it’s Riley. Lust muddles Connor’s logic and soon he finds himself on a path rife with temptations. Passion twists Connor inside out leading him to share one of his deepest secrets. Still Riley’s hiding something and the lack of mutual trust may end their relationship.

Then there’s the Lane factor. Riley’s ex leaves Connor feeling threatened. Riley swears it’s over, but something doesn’t sit right and Connor needs resolve. Coming to terms with their attraction means submitting to the fears haunting Connor and Riley before they can grasp the love that brought them together.

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~Excerpt~

Thick, black smoke bellowed over the rise, belching behind the trees like a dragon gone bad. Riley punched the accelerator as he crested the hill, then skidded around the curve. His senses were on high alert, his foot off the gas as the car finished out the turn. Passing the stand of trees, Riley slowed as he arrived on the scene. Two cars came into view—one rolled with flames leaping to the sky, the other in good condition. Riley took it all in as he pulled close and slammed to a stop. One man was on the ground, the other standing over him. Fuck, this looked bad.

He threw the car into park and popped the trunk to grab his doctor’s bag. When he’d first glimpsed the scene he’d thought the guy on his knees was rendering aid to the person on the ground, but now he saw the situation more clearly, heard the yelling plain as day. What the hell?

Riley went into ER mode, assessing the condition of the patient as he came around the front of his car. Burn victim on the ground. Body had to be fifty percent burned if not more, maybe sixty. Face a mess. Broken nose for sure. Breathing rapid and jagged. Some blood, no arterial flow. In downtown Houston the dude might live if the paramedics rushed, out here with the burns covering his body and his face—no way.

“Tell me, you bastard. Tell me where he is.” The guy hanging over the burn victim yelled. He wasn’t touching the man on the ground, but he was close to him, his face up close to the victim, yelling as if the guy on the ground wasn’t dying.

Raw anger flew through Riley. The injured man wasn’t answering, couldn’t answer because shock held him mute. The massive trauma from the burns covering his body shorted out the man’s brain, lack of oxygen shut down everything, including the victim’s ability to think. The guy’s lungs were probably fried.

“I’m a doctor, move out of the way,” Riley commanded, expecting to be obeyed immediately.

“Fuck you,” the stranger said and kept yelling at the victim on the ground.

“Hey, he needs medical attention.” Riley dropped to the dirt opposite the other guy, the heat from the fire scorched his backside, but he had no choice of where to work. The burn victim’s eyes were glassed over; the lights were on, but nobody was home. Soon the lights would be fading, and fast. His respiration rate was off the charts. Fuck, his lungs had been deep fried, Riley would bet money on it.

“Where is he?” The stranger yelled in the burn victim’s face.

Riley had had enough. He grasped the stranger by the shirtfront and yanked. They were nose-to-nose, fury boiled over the big black man’s face, his eyes blazed, and his mouth twisted in a sneer.

“You need to move so I can work. He will die if I can’t help him,” Riley said through gritted teeth, holding the worst of his anger back by sheer will.

“I don’t give a fuck if this piece of shit dies. He knows where Erick is.” The stranger ripped out of Riley’s grip and looked down at the burned body.

The sound coming from the victim was different, quieter. Riley glanced down and his heart squeezed. Fuck, the guy wouldn’t live for the next two minutes. There wasn’t much Riley could do. He had no oxygen tank and no IV bag. Plus, where would he stick the needle? The burn victim’s face had been crushed then crisped, his lips pulled back in a grimace. No way for Riley to get enough suction to perform CPR.

Riley pulled out his stethoscope and listened for a heartbeat. There was nothing. He sat back on his heals, depression winding through him. Helpless, his shoulders slumped. The guy across from him cursed and threw Riley an angry grimace. Riley scowled right back, his anger rising with each second.

“Why the fuck were you yelling at him?” Riley had to know. Normally he would have walked away, stood down and not gotten in the guy's face, but since this happened today of all days, he reacted badly, letting his anger build. Today sucked. Normally he wouldn’t be in this part of the county. He would be hanging out at home, working with his cows or maybe taking a dip in the pond. But seeing the familiar things made his heart ache for what he could never have.

The guy across from him stood stiffly, his jaw jutted out, his hands clenched at his sides. Riley didn’t like being on his knees with an angry man above him. It reminded him of a darker time in his past when he first started exploring his sexuality. He rose quickly, bracing himself for whatever this asshole threw at him. Since college he’d packed on fifty pounds of muscle. No fucking big bear would ever throw him around. He was the bear now.

“You, I ought to take you in,” the guy growled.

The stranger stepped around the victim on the ground. Now they were face-to-face, chest-to-chest. Same height and about the same weight, Riley judged. Rage ran through his veins. He could take this dude if he swung. Riley started plotting ways to give pain with minimal injury to himself. There were nerves, ligament attachments, and other places where the body proved weak and vulnerable. A good kick to the balls would drop this guy.

“You could have helped him more,” Riley yelled.

“He had the information,” the stranger roared.

“Maybe got out of his face. He was in shock.”

“Fucking bastard.”

They yelled at each other, words rolled off Riley’s tongue, anger, rage and lust pumped through his veins. Why he was getting off from this argument baffled him. It had to be the anger and lack of sex, and the other thing--the thing that had him strung tight, ready to fly off the handle at the drop of a hat. And the fucking hat had dropped.

Any other day he would have backed off, apologized for the implied insult, and said sorry for his anger, that he lost his patients, blahblahblah—but not today. Today, right now in fact, Lane and Gresh were exchanging vows in a commitment ceremony that would bind them together in front of family and friends. Of course the state wouldn’t recognize their union as legal, but they did. He had no chance with Lane now, if he ever had.

The fight was brewing and it would be good. Blood pumped as he stood toe-to-toe with the big dude. His cock twitched with lust. What he really wanted to do was grab the guy’s shirt and kiss him until they both dropped to the ground, stripped off each other’s clothes and Riley topped him, claiming him like he should be claiming Lane.

The wail of sirens didn’t stop their argument, which had gone from specific complaints about the other to a general array of insults, curses and other wise negative statements.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the stranger yelled in his face.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Riley yelled right back. The situation was getting bad. They were about to start bumping chests when the volunteer fire brigade rolled in. The stranger had his finger touching Riley’s shoulder, yelling something about impeding an investigation. Riley seethed and clenched his fist, ready to throw a punch when two of the volunteer firemen grabbed them both and pulled them away from the burning car. Riley ripped his arm out of the fireman’s grip and bent down to retrieve his bag. He rushed away from the fire and the water spray, getting soaked from the mist as he moved to the other side of the fire truck.

The stranger was there, and his eyes flashed with anger when he saw Riley. They were at an impasse and it would probably be best if he ignored the dude, got in his car and left. Riley let his gaze travel over the stranger, lust making him want things he had no business wanting. Then he saw it. The burned shirt—the raw patch of skin underneath. He stalked forward and grabbed the stranger’s arm. The guy tried to rip it from Riley’s grasp but Riley held firm.

“Stop, you’ve got a bad burn.”

The guy looked down as though he had no idea he’d been hurt. Riley pushed him down so he was sitting on a low chrome platform on the fire truck. The man appeared shocked. Riley held the stranger’s arm, examining the raw spot. The burn was small, only three inches in diameter, but didn’t look good.

The cloth had been charred away at the injury site but the shirtsleeve would keep irritating the raw skin. Riley pulled out the trauma shears from his bag. The stranger shied away as Riley reached for his arm.

“I’m just cutting the shirt off.”

“Don’t, it’s my favorite one.”

Riley shook his head. “The shirt has burn holes in it.” He snipped the shirt at the elbow then in a line to the guy’s wrist. He stored the scissors in his pocket and concentrated on the burn. This needed attention. Riley could help a little bit out here on the side of the road, but the guy needed to go into the ER to get cleaned up and take some antibiotics.

Now that they weren’t about to rip each other’s throats out Riley took time to study the man. It was one of the things he did while working, study his patients. He’d taken a few drawing classes in college and had a good eye. He appreciated beauty, and this big hulk of a man had beauty enough to share. Dark, like mocha latte, his lips were full, though a bit pale, but that was probably shock setting in. His nose had been broken at least once, but the bump only added to the man’s appeal. The square jaw had a slight dusting of whiskers, like he’d shaved yesterday but not today. The stranger glanced up, and their gazes connected. The slight glassiness indicated shock, but Riley also saw desire in those eyes. They stared at each other far longer than was necessary. The stranger relaxed, his lips parted before Riley broke the connection and focused on the burn.

“You need to get this taken care of. I’ll call an ambulance for you,” Riley said.

“No, no I’m fine.”

“You’re about to go into shock. You’re eyes are glassy, your lips pale.”

“Not going to do it,” the stranger argued.

“What’s your name?”

“Connor Ellison.”

“That’s good, Connor. So where are we?”

“Are you trying to be funny? I know exactly where we are.”

Riley wanted to keep the big guy talking, force him to think and use his mind. Focusing on the pain would be the worst thing for Connor. About three by two inches of skin looked badly burned. Riley was a bit surprised such a big guy was so affected by the small burn, but it could be deep too. Maybe he was in more pain than he was letting on. The man had been angry and his adrenaline elevated. Pumping a heavy dose of hormones through his veins would change the man’s reaction.

“Come on, we need to get you to a hospital.” Riley pulled Connor up, supporting him on his uninjured side.

“I can’t leave my car here.” Connor balked.

“I’ll get one of the firemen to drive it into town.”

“No.” Connor pulled out of Riley’s grasp and teetered, almost falling.

“Hey buddy, you’re about to go into shock. I can’t have you driving.”

Connor stepped close, his chest up against Riley’s, his lips next to Riley’s ear. Riley’s dick throbbed as lust washed over him.

“I have a full arsenal in the trunk. I can’t allow anyone else to drive my car.”

Riley took a step back, measuring the man and trying to figure out what type of trouble Connor was into. He was always attracted to the wrong guys. Lane, now this dude with the guns. What kind of freak drove around with an arsenal in his truck? Hell, this was Texas, but Connor might also be a psychopath.

“Don’t look at me that way. I’m a Ranger on assignment.”

Riley cocked his eyebrow and shrugged.

Connor blew out a sigh in exacerbation. “Texas Rangers, not the baseball team but law enforcement,” Connor said.

“Ah, okay. I’ll get one of the firemen drive my car to the hospital, and you get to be passenger in your car.”

Connor gritted his teeth, but his resolve wasn’t too strong. The guy was fading fast and would most likely hit the dirt the next time he had to stand on his own. Riley led Connor to the passenger side of his car and eased him into the backseat. Now that all the excitement was over Riley noticed the effects of shock progressing.

“Lie down,” Riley said.

Connor shook his head and refused to comply. “No.”

“Hey, listen.” Riley held Connor’s head so he was forced to look in his eyes. “I can’t have you going into shock, passing out and cutting off your airways. It’s either you lay down in the backseat of your car where you have all of your guns safe and secure, or I pull out your cuffs and restrain your for your own good and stuff you in an ambulance. Understand?”

Connor turned his head to the side as though he were trying to determine if Riley could physically subdue him. He must have thought so because Connor lay back on the bench seat without complaint. Riley closed the car door and grabbed the nearest fireman.

“I’m doctor Riley from over at Saint Joseph’s in Caldwell. I need to take this patient in, he’s about to go into shock. Could one of your guys drive my car to the hospital and leave the keys with the nurses' desk?”

“Sure, it will take a while, but I’ll send someone trustworthy.” The fireman took Riley’s keys and went back to pulling hose.

Riley got into Connor’s car and started the engine. “Here’s the deal. You get to talk to me the whole way there.”

“Why, you lonely?”

A pang of melancholy hit Riley. He pushed the sadness aside and focused on the medical needs of his patient. “I need to know that you haven’t passed out or worse, died.”

“It’s just a little burn.”

“It’s deep and like I said—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Shock.”

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ON A WHIM by Zenobia Renquist

Today on our Cyber Launch Party Blog we are celebrating a sexy new IR fantasy from Zenobia Renquist's (aka D. Renee Bagby)!

ON A WHIM by Zenobia Renquist

Guardian's Tales Book One

Mortals should beware the whims of gods.

Rosaline never thought she would find a meaningful relationship at an adult party for the denizens of the preternatural community. She came to have fun and flirt with danger while hiding behind the safety of the party's rules. And then she met Sebastian, a demi-god who demands all her attention and satisfies her every need.

Even though her head says it's nothing but pleasure between consenting adults with no strings attached, her heart is wondering if this fickle demi-god might actually want to be with her.

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Guardian's Tales: On a Whim
Zenobia Renquist
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2012 Zenobia Renquist

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.
Her heart thundered in her chest. The deafening bu-bump drowned out all other noise. She knew the people staring at her could hear it. She only needed to do a quick introduction. Really quick. Open her mouth, spit it out, and it would be done. She really hated public speaking.

"My name is Rosaline, and I will be your server, voyeur, and touchstone this evening. Should you need any refreshments, food of any kind, or props please feel free to call on me. For those who like to be watched, I am happy to oblige." She swallowed a little before uttering the last, wondering desperately why she had to say it at all.

"My body is bared for you all to touch as you like, though you can only use your hands. There will be no scratching and nothing that is intended to cause pain. My pussy --" She almost stumbled saying the word. "-- and ass are open for fingering, but please know that I am an anal virgin."

She bowed her head, happy to have an excuse not to look at the crowd any longer. "Thank you for attending Guardian's soiree. I hope you enjoy your evening."

She, a human, was out of her mind telling a room full of preternatural beings from all walks of life what they could and could not do with her body. Most of them could break her with a flick of their pinky finger.

Beside her, Guardian laid her hand on Rosaline's bare shoulder. "Good girl."

Rosaline said, in a low voice though the audience could probably hear her, "I still don't understand why you couldn't tell them. They listen to you."

"You created those rules when you decided you wanted to attend. You have to tell them. They may be infinitely more powerful than you, but you are the one who has the right to say no.
What's more, they have to heed that." Guardian patted Rosaline's shoulder once more. "Now then. Time to be groped. Go mingle and do as you told them you would."

Rosaline's whole body flushed.

It was time. The thing she had been anticipating the whole week long had finally arrived. She took one step forward and felt her four-inch heels wobble a little before stabilizing. The heels were two inches higher than she liked, but her friends had insisted the fire-engine red stilettos made Rosaline's legs look hot.

That was a good thing, since she didn't feel the same way about the rest of her body. One month prior to even asking Guardian about attending the party as a server, Rosaline had spent every free moment exercising. Mornings she did cardio, she had a mini-stair stepper to use while at her desk, and she spent the evenings using the machines at the gym. She'd even put herself on a strict diet of green vegetables, fruit, and fish -- baked, not fried. All of it in hopes of looking good while standing in a room full of preternaturals whose naturally fast metabolisms kept them looking like swimsuit models for sports magazines with no effort.

All her work had paid off. She had dropped from a size ten to a size eight. She could fit a size six if she knew she wouldn't be bending and felt like holding her breath while sitting. But clothing size didn't matter that evening since she couldn't wear anything to cover her little flaws with the perfect outfit that showed off all her hard work. The attire of the evening consisted of heels and a matching collar sporting a coin that proclaimed the servers as Guardian's property. Guardian allowed the men to go barefoot, if they preferred, which most of them did.

Rosaline rubbed the coin as a way to calm her nerves.

Guardian's property.

That meant no one could run off with Rosaline without Guardian's permission. There were a few servers who didn't have the coin. They wanted someone to run off with them. Rosaline wasn't that brave or stupid. She wanted a little taste of the world she'd only glimpsed from behind her desk. After that, she would go back to her mundane life with a fond memory.

She continued forward into the crowd. Her whole body hummed with the awareness that any second someone would touch her bare skin. The touch could be brief or prolonged depending on the mood of the one touching her.

The first table she passed was a group of vampires watching two women and two men having sex on the tabletop. Only one woman at the table glanced Rosaline's way. Rosaline gave the woman a small smile, but the gesture wasn't reciprocated. The woman turned her attention back to the table's entertainment.

Rosaline passed by a group of shifted were-hyenas who seemed to be playing a highly sexualized version of monkey in the middle with the person in the middle of the group trying to avoid domination from those who entered the circle.

She stopped and watched.

One man entered the circle. He tried his attack but was soon on the receiving end of a very vigorous ass pounding. He managed to throw off the other male, who left the circle with a smug sounding, hissing laugh that reminded her of the cartoon villain dog from her childhood -- mutt-something or other. The male exiting the circle winked at Rosaline before turning his back on her so he faced the defeated.

A second entered the circle. A woman this time. She managed to overpower the male as well. Though when she flipped him on his back so she could avail herself of his dick, it didn't seem like much of a punishment for losing.

Rosaline shrugged, shook her head, and moved on. Like the two groups before, most everyone occupied themselves with their own distractions, pretty much ignoring her. That disappointed her more than a little. She had spent the whole day psyching herself up to being groped by a room full of strangers.

A quick glance around the room showed the other five servers were receiving the same treatment. Was this normal? Maybe the patrons of the party liked to play with each other before molesting the staff.

"Here, girl."

Rosaline looked around. Two men occupied a booth off in the corner of the room. The man with his hand raised had to be the one who had called out to her. She walked over to him with a smile. "You called for me, sir?"

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