LAND OF FALLING STARS by Keta Diablo

LAND OF FALLING STARS by Keta Diablo

After her parents die in a fire, Sophia Whitfield struggles to save her beloved home, Arbor Rose. The Civil War has devastated the South, and another blue coat has come to steal her meager possessions. Before the hated enemy inflicts his destruction, she shoots him. And soon discovers the soldier is Gavin, the champion of her childhood.

Gavin's dark secret lurks in Sophia's future. When she discovers the truth, she's torn between a burning hunger for the man she truly loves and loyalty to Jesse, their childhood friend.

The despicable acts of war have changed everything Sophia and Gavin once cherished. Yet somewhere deep in their hearts, the mystical Land of Falling Stars still exists.

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EXCERPT from Land of Falling Stars, an erotic civil war novel, Keta Diablo

Set-up: Gavin is wounded from a knife fight with one of the villains. He finds Sophia hiding in a barn after the fight.

~ ~ ~
Sophia pressed her back against the rough-hewn planks of the stable wall and inched her way down to a bed of hay at her feet. With her heart thudding, she closed her eyes and willed the brutal images to leave her mind. Gavin could be dead, his blood seeping into the ground. The irony. Three years he'd been gone, fought in a hundred battles only to be killed after he'd come back . . . back to her. Oh, God, she couldn't think about it, couldn't stand to watch him die. She ran hard and fast the second Billy sliced through the soft, golden skin she longed to touch again. Sweet Mother of Jesus, what if he was dead and she’d never . . . .

"I found you."

She lifted her head and looked into Gavin's eyes. A horse neighed several stalls
over and the moon spun out from a patch of clouds shrouding his lean body. His bare chest oozed blood and trickled into his waistband.

Relief flooded her and then panic. "You're bleeding again."

"Am I?" He glanced down at the wound and back to her face. "It looks worse than
it is."

She hesitated when he held his hand out. She didn’t know what would happen when her skin come into contact with his. Beneath his bold perusal, she lifted her trembling hand.

"You're frightened," he said, his forehead creased. “Of me, Sophia?"

She shook her head and hoped he didn't see through her lie. After witnessing his
rage moments ago, she didn't know what to expect from him.

"I would never," he said in a hoarse tone, "harm you." Moving in, he forced her back against the wooden planks. His warm breath fanned her cheeks. "I don't want you to fear me, ever." His chest rose and fell on torn breaths, and his mouth hovered over hers, mingling their breaths. "Kiss me, Sophia."

She looked into his eyes, transfixed by the depth of passion residing there. He placed his hands on the wall and bracketed her head. Their lips met. In the aftermath of the violence, she expected a harsh, demanding kiss, but it was anything but. Gentle and languorous, it shook her to the very core. His tongue caressed her lower lip seeking entry. She responded without thought, parting her lips on a small moan. The erotic dance against the tip of her tongue sent a stream of wild sensations through her limbs. Her hands sought the warm flesh of his chest, every inch ridged muscle. He flinched when her fingers made contact with the fresh wound. Astounded by the emptiness she felt when he broke from the kiss, she gathered her battered senses and looked into his eyes.

“Is that how it felt when Jesse kissed you?"

Trapped between the wall and his body, she looked away from those wicked eyes.
Deliriously weak, shocking images of him crushing her beneath him stormed through her mind. Dear God, what's the matter with me? Promised to Jesse, bound to him heart and soul, I can’t allow myself to think about Gavin's powerful limbs tangled in my bed sheets, his head thrashing in delirium, or his hot, feverish eyes. Since Gavin had returned, her mind swam with carnal thoughts of the man.

A hand came down and lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Hmm, Sophia, is it?"

"I'm so befuddled." Tears pooled in her eyes. "What about Jesse? I promised I'd wait no matter what happened, but . . . ." To speak her heart would be the epitome of betrayal to the person they’d both loved since the day they sailed the Rappahannock dressed as pirates.

He kissed her eyelids. "If he returned tomorrow, you'd fall into his arms; pretend you feel nothing for me, deny this passion between us?"

"Gavin, don't . . . ." She averted her face.

He tightened his grip on her chin, his tone harsh. "Would you, Sophia?"

"Yes," she whispered. "I'd go to him, banish this from my mind."

"It would be that easy?"

"Not easy, Gavin, but . . . ."

"You need to leave Arbor Rose!" His raised voice startled her. "There's nothing left for you here! Your parents are dead and Jesse isn't . . . ."

Without conscious thought, she slapped him. "Don't say it! I can't leave Arbor Rose. Jesse will return and−”

"He's not coming back and you have to face it." He brought a hand to her cheek. "The entire country is about to explode, and if you had any god-given sense, you'd go to your mother's people in Illinois."

She narrowed her eyes, her tone icy. "Let me go. Jesse's coming back and when he does I'm going to keep my promise and marry him.” Her voice softened. "We must forget this, whatever it is."

She shivered from the volatile emotion in his eyes. The same feral snarl that came over him when he crushed Billy and his companions spewed from his lips. He grabbed her wrists, pinned them over her head, and took her mouth, hard. His tongue plundered her lips and forced them apart. She writhed to free herself, but he held her fast, imprisoning her in their mutual desire. Erotic pleasure surged through her veins. Her fingers moved to his long, black hair and she seemed incapable of stopping the moans from the back of her throat.

Clinging to him like a child, she whimpered, "Gavin . . . please."

"You want me, admit it," he said against her mouth.

He clutched a length of her skirt and shoved it over her hips, allowing his fingers to slide up the hot flesh of her thighs. A sound erupted from her throat again, no longer a moan of pleasure but a sob. He stopped on a heartbeat, stepped back and dropped his hands to his sides. Their eyes locked. His shone with lust and anger. She wanted to draw back, knew she should flee but something powerful held her immobilized. Warning bells rang in her head yet she longed to return to his kiss, feel his body against hers.

He drew a deep breath. "Leave, Sophia, now!"

She inched her way along the wall, turned to look at him one last time and scurried through the door.

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HOLDING ON TO HEAVEN by Keta Diablo

HOLDING ON TO HEAVEN by Keta Diablo

When the blazing fires of revolt ravage the countryside, Lauren and Sage McCain are trapped amid the flames of destiny. The Civil War has crumbled a Nation, and the Dakota Sioux uprising has turned southern Minnesota into a violent battlefield.

Holding on to Heaven is a story of love between two men and a woman, love between siblings, and love that crosses all boundaries and forges all cultures.

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Excerpt:

Set-up: Ah, the romance and strong attraction begin. Creed and Lauren race against one another. Here's their thoughts before the horse race and the events that happen during it.


* * *

Through the pounding heartbeat in Lauren’s ears she realized she wanted him, wanted him like she’d never wanted another. Damn, had she lost her mind? The man reeked danger and abandon, would take her body in the blink of an eye and, no... it wouldn’t be in the blink of an eye. It would be wild and crazy and passionate, all the things she’d yearned for, craved, in the dark solace of her dreams. Lord, how she wished she’d never laid eyes on the decadent man.

Brand’s calm voice pulled her from her tumultuous thoughts. “Time for that race, Lauren.” He rose and offered her his arm. “I’m placing my money on you.”

“I wouldn’t advise that.”

“You can beat Creed. Concentrate, and no matter how much you want to see if he’s about to run you over, don’t look back.”

She chewed on the inside of her cheek and nodded. “It’s going to take a miracle to win, isn’t it?”

“Miracles happen every day.” He brought his fingers to her face and brushed her cheek. “Ride like you rode against me today and you have a chance.”



* * * *



An indefinable feeling snaked through Creed’s gut when Brand walked forward with Lauren. Anna pressed her voluptuous breasts into Creed's side and wished him luck, but he scarcely heard her words. Tired of Anna’s continual demands of late, the time had come for them to go separate ways. He’d known Anna for years, but only in the last several months had he succumbed to her fleshy curves. The woman had tried every wile known to female to rein him in, and all had failed. Although warm and eager, Anna had never held his interest for more than an hour or two. He realized now no woman had ever intrigued him like Lauren McCain.

He had tried to ignore the jolt of lust rushing through his veins when she watched him during the meal. It had taken all his reserve to act detached while she sat beside his brother flashing her cat-like eyes. He didn’t like the feelings she aroused in him. They left him sullen and edgy. Jesus, what in hell was wrong with him? He barely knew the she-cat with a tongue sharper than barbs.

Now, with every step she took toward him, the blood rushed to his groin. He wasn’t prepared for the vision she presented, the snug riding pants and filmy blouse. A dark brown ribbon held her hair at her nape and tumbled down her back in a veil of burnished copper. The color of those silky tresses reminded him of autumn leaves. Her eyes were brown and slanted up at the corners. Above them, her brows were perfect and articulated her mood with an arch or a downward slant. How had he missed that nuance when he committed to memory the other lovely features of her face?

Tall for a woman and thinner than smoke, he longed to run his hands down the small of her back, her perfect bottom and . . . hell, he had to stop thinking about fucking her all the time. He meant to beat her in the race, and beat her he would. Smiling to himself, he savored the thought of what it would be like to take her down a notch from her lofty perch. Only then would that smirk be wiped from her face—the I’m-better-than-you-sneer she loved to flaunt.

“Miss McCain, I hope you haven’t gorged yourself.” Inwardly, Creed smiled when color stained her cheeks. “I’d hate to see your mount weighted down for the final race.”

“Don’t worry about Adobe or me.” She spat the words and mounted. “We’re more than ready to leave you in our dust.”

The gold flecks in her eyes sparked. For a brief moment he forgot about the crowd and longed to yank her from the saddle and introduce her back to the dust she spoke of.

“To your success.” Creed raised his tankard of ale, downed it and set it on the ground near his feet. He spoke to Mason as he swung a leg over the saddle, his words confident and bold. “Let’s be about it then.”

The crowd broke into rowdy whistles and then fell silent at Mason’s words. “On the count of three. One...two...three!”

The horses bolted at the retort of the pistol. Adobe and Creed’s black mare ran neck and neck to the opposite end of the field. Thick clumps of sod flew through the air from Adobe’s hooves as he sailed over the bundles in perfect sync with Creed’s mount. He dragged his gaze from her expert riding skills and concentrated on the race.

Someone obviously had warned her not to look over her shoulder. She rode low, close to the stallion’s mane her lush body one with the horse. The very air enveloping them groaned with a competitive edge he’d never felt before. The spitfire intended to beat him at any cost.

Although fleet of foot, his mare lacked size against the stallion. When they reached the bales at the far end of the field, his time had come to overtake her. Her stallion navigated the crazy-eight with ease, and so did the mare. His moment was at hand. As the mounts crossed over and headed for opposite sides, she dug her heels into Adobe’s side and drove him into the mare’s withers. His horse stumbled to her stifles, her frightened whinnies echoing through the air. Lauren pressed on without as much as a backward glance.

The mare found her footing and like her rider, rage spurned her onward. She made up for the precious lost seconds the reckless stunt had cost them, but not enough to charge over the finish line before the stallion.

The crowd went wild as the riders swept past them in a swirling haze of dust. Damn, the cheating bitch had won. Halting near the corral, Lauren dismounted and bolted from her mount.

Creed dogged her heels, so close, he saw her knees quake. “You cheated!” He advanced and poked an accusatory finger into her chest. “You could have killed me with that crazy stunt you pulled!”

She backed away, visibly shaken. “Whatever are you talking about? You lost, fair and square.”

He screamed so loud, she jumped. “Liar!”

“Your clumsy mount lost her footing and plowed into Adobe!” Their gazes locked, and in that infinitesimal moment, he lost pace with his breathing. “You, Creed Gatlin,” she said her voice quavering. “Were bested by a mere woman so live with it.”

“You’re no woman.” He didn’t know if he wanted to ring her slender neck or toss her to the ground and slam into her until she admitted that she cheated. “You’re a spoiled little bitch!”

An audible gasp fell from her lips, brown eyes narrowed.

“You could never beat me fair and square and you know it.” He struggled to control his emotions. She’d beaten him in the race, albeit by cheating, but why did he sense she was beating him again now?

Her bottom lip trembled and he became aware of her childlike vulnerability, and his potent desire for her. The cutting remarks, the bold, confident persona were nothing more than a façade on her part. Her nearness sent his senses reeling―the scent of woman, horse and leather adding to the roaring chaos in his head. She stumbled on the words she tried to speak and tears filled her eyes.

“Leave, now,” he said. “Before I do something we’ll both regret.”

She raised her dainty chin and held his eyes for an eternity. Then her long lashes swept down across her cheeks before she bustled past him in a cloud of dust.

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DECADENT DECEPTIONS by Keta Diablo

DECADENT DECEPTIONS by Keta Diablo

*Molly Contest Finalist*

Desperate to win Morgan’s love, Olivia Breedlove embarks on a reckless folly. But everything backfires when Morgan remains one step ahead of her and the game ventures down a path of duplicity and murder.

A decade ago, Morgan was a heartbeat away from taking Olivia’s virginity. Her father, Thaddeus, intervened and threatened to meet him over pistols if he so much as looked at his daughter again. But now, Thaddeus is dead and Morgan has no intention of ignoring the ravenous hunger he’s harbored for the blasted woman for ten years.

One way or the other, he will quench this burning desire and make her his forever.

Special Content Alert: Voyeurism

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Excerpt:

Morgan had been so lost in thought he almost failed to see Olivia ducking into the mercantile across the street in town. Almost. Silently he thanked his lucky stars. He intended to have a drink prior to calling on Madame Rousseau, but now that fate had intervened and placed the Goddess of his breath in his path, he altered course. Pushing the door open amid a melodic chiming of bells, he searched for her down every aisle. Finally he found her among the bolts of fabric, her brow creased, her selective eyes glancing between the terra-cotta and its sibling cinnamon.

“Why don’t you purchase both?” he said from over her shoulder.

She turned and looked at him, her searching gaze a mixture of surprise, and dare he think, subtle delight?

“Morgan, what-whatever are you doing here?”

“I desired a drink and intended to follow it up with a visit to Immortelles.”

“Immortelles?” Her eyes widened and a blush rose in her cheeks. “You frequent the establishment in the middle of the afternoon?”

“Under a blue moon, in the afternoon, whenever the fancy strikes.”

“You’re incorrigible,” she said, her eyes sparking.

“You misunderstand me. I mean only to observe, not partake.”

Giving him the direct cut, she placed the fabrics back onto the shelf and said, “Good day to you, then.”

Denying her a chance to bolt, he grabbed her elbow, ushered her to the back of the store and backed her into a wall. With his hands at the sides of her head, palms flat against the hard surface, he said, “Join me.”

Bewilderment masked her features. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Don’t look at me like that. You know you’re itching to return.”

A stillness fell over her.

“Why not with me?” It wasn’t easy to torment her while she looked at him with those green-spoked eyes, but he wanted to be near her, had an overwhelming urge to watch firsthand her sudden interest in carnal lust. “Unless, of course, you’re afraid,” he said..

His words effectuated the desired response. Her spine stiffened and her chin swept up. “You’re the one who should be afraid,” she said. “Especially since you can’t control, shall we say, a certain growing interest whenever a woman falls into your lap.”

Clearly a taunt, he wanted to toss her onto the floor, take her like a common camp follower and show her she’d also been affected when he pulled her onto his lap. Realizing such action would put an immediate halt to his pending suggestion, he gathered his wits.

Catching her chin in the firm grip of his hand, he pressed on. “Yes or no, do you have the courage?”

“You’re mad.” A half-laugh left her kissable lips. “People will see us; it’s broad daylight.”

“No, they won’t.” He pointed to the back door. “That leads to the alleyway, and one block away is another back door to the brothel. I assure you, not a soul will notice us slip out of here and arrive there.” She glanced around the room. “I double-dare you,” he said with emphasis.

“You’re certain no one will know?”

He crossed his heart, and without waiting for her to change her mind, led her through the back door and into the alleyway.

Arriving at Immortelles within minutes, he ushered her through the door and down the hall to a room. It had all happened so quickly, he had a hard time reconciling his plans were to speak with Madame first. Instead, he found himself about to enter a peep room with the woman who made his blood clot.

“Don’t tell me.” She paused at the door, her voice dripping sarcasm. “You have a standing appointment to voyeur? You walk into the brothel in the middle of the afternoon and go directly to a peep room?”

“I told you, I planned to call on Madame today, sent a missive this morning.” He pushed the door open. “It has all been prearranged.”

"You prearranged it?”

With a nod, he pointed to the chairs, about to offer a lame answer when she said, “How convenient, two peepholes.”

“Some adore having company while they engage in voyeurism.”

“I’m not one of them.” Her eyes narrowed. “In fact, I find it crass.”

“Pretend I’m not here.”

“How am to accomplish that with the holes mere inches apart?” She looked at the seating arrangement.

“And the chairs on top of one another?”

“Sit,” he said calmly, directing her into the plush cushion.

She shot him a lethal glare and he slumped into the chair, delighted with the layout. He eased himself down beside her with a smile―shoulder-to-shoulder, thigh-to-thigh. Perfect.

“Must you be breathing down my neck?” she asked, the familiar scent of tea roses and jasmine wafting over him.

“I can hardly enjoy the performance from the mezzanine.”

Morgan didn’t have time to answer before the door to the room opened and a man entered, a man he’d never seen before. Hundreds passed through the brothel monthly, in addition to the regulars. If women thought this particular John handsome, he was . . . in a rugged way. The rough-hewn features, textured skin and dark, wavy hair that fell unruly about the collar of his shirt lacked refinement. He cut a fine figure, however, with his wide shoulders and trim waist. Beneath the trousers, Morgan imagined strong, well-muscled legs.

From the corner of his eye, he studied Olivia, and, time cussed the betraying blood pumping to his shaft. That’s all it took, one look at her face or exquisite profile―the upturned nose, high cheekbones, long lashes and rose-petal lips―and the cursed member between his legs saluted the ceiling. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. How in hell could he watch a man and a woman make love and not imagine—wish with all his heart—it was him and Liv?

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WHERE THE RAIN IS MADE by Keta Diablo

WHERE THE RAIN IS MADE by Keta Diablo

Where The Rain Is made has recently been nominated for a Bookie Award by Authors After Dark in the BEST E-Novel category for 2010. Cross your fingers we win at their upcoming convention. In addition, WTRIM has received numerous Reviewer Picks, Top Book of the Month and Recommended Read awards. Read the five star reviews here.

A decadent-looking savage has captured Francesca DuVall and her brother Marsh. Now she spends every waking moment planning an escape. She didn't count on the powerful draw of desire interfering with her scheme while in the clutches of the brutal Cheyenne Dog Soldiers.

Ethan Gray is a curator at a national museum...most of the time. When he travels through time to help his beloved People he's Meko, leader of the most revered and feared tribe of the plains. Their worlds are decades apart and yet Meko can't resist the dark beauty he kidnapped during a raid. Violent battles loom on the horizon, but there's only one he must win at all costs – the capture of Cesca's heart forever.

From the windswept plains of Colorado and the harsh life of a Dog Soldier to the placid life of a curator, their love was fueled by passion and kindled by destiny.

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Excerpt:

Cesca bounded to her feet. With hands on hips, there she stood, faced off like a rabid weasel with Meko. Her head spun and she wavered between fleeing and kissing those succulent lips. Relief claimed her when Strikes First and Good-Looking-Woman appeared beside them.

Meko’s friend took her hand. “Come, little one. We dance now.”

Dragging her gaze from her husband’s angry face, she said, “Oh, no, I can’t. I’m not dressed like an animal.”

“I see the teeth of the elk on your dress. Good Enough. Come, I teach you the steps.”

She glanced over her shoulder and saw Good-Looking-Woman pushing Meko toward the dancers.

With a smile, Strikes First led her through the basic steps, urging her to follow. Cesca dismissed angry thoughts from her mind and focused on his instructions, picking up the dance in short order. Her feet flew over the hard ground, her body moved of its own volition in perfect sync with the drums. She twisted, whirled and dipped, allowing her arms to flow gracefully over her head.

As the fire roared around her, she abandoned everything but the moment. Pulling the bandana from her forehead, she freed her long mass of hair. She was the gypsy, the wild and crazy nomadic wanderer, and her heart burned with the desperate need of forgetfulness.

A trio of young braves joined her, their eyes blazing with desire. She didn’t care. She was one with the Earth now, the sky, and the stars. Slowly, the men circled her, their bodies emulating her sensual moves, their feet mimicking her frantic steps.

His face a mask of dread, Strikes First pushed them away. “Eneoestse! Stop! Eneoestse!”

He searched for Meko among the crowd and Cesca followed his gaze. Strikes First visibly cringed, but Cesca reveled in the black scowl on her husband’s face. At last, she’d penetrated the man’s cool exterior.

The crowd parted. In two long strides, Meko reached her and made a futile attempt to grab her wrist. The young braves that had been dancing around her moments ago stood before their leader, heads bowed, faces staid, feet still.

But not Cesca. She wouldn’t shrivel before the great Meko.

She skipped out of his reach, swiveled her hips, and sashayed toward him again. Sweat ran from her forehead and trickled into her mouth, but she wouldn’t stop. She wasn’t done with him yet.

Meko cut her a fierce glare. “Eneoestse!”

“Whatever is the matter?” Feigning sweetness, she offered her best smile. “You wanted me to enjoy myself, celebrate, and so I will.” With the drums roaring around her, amid the resonant notes of the flute, she danced her way to within inches of Meko’s grasp.

Like a cobra strike, his hand came out a grabbed a length of her hair. “Stop, Cesca!”

The muscle in his jaw twitched, an indication her triumphant run would soon end in a volatile explosion. With a yank to her hair, he pulled her from the crowd. A shriek left her lips. She attacked, clamping down on his forearm with her teeth. Forced to release her, she watched in horror as blood trickled down to his fingers.

The drums came to an abrupt halt. A thousand eyes fell upon them. Hushed murmurs and shocked gasps came to her through a tunnel. The People waited for the leader of the Dog Soldiers to strike her down, bring her to her knees. They’d never seen one of their own harm a dog man.

He advanced. The deafening silence—absolute stillness— rumbled around her. Still she wouldn’t yield. She saw Marsh across the fire. Lucifer, his eyes are closed, and is he holding his breath? Had she pushed Meko too far? Did he mean to strike her in front of the People? A dangerous spark flared in the silver eyes, and the scar from eyebrow to jaw went limpid in his bronze face.

Cesca scanned the crowd and wished she could fade away like the smoke of the fire. Who would help her? Good-Looking-Woman had covered her eyes with her fingers, and Strikes First’s looked toward the ground. The People reminded her of puppets, all wide-eyed and falling jaws.

In a battle of wills, the sleek black cat advanced, and she stood her ground like a tiger defending her cubs. Without pretense, he swept her from the ground. Cheers and whistles rang through the still night and still she fought him. Launching her foot, she slammed it into his knee, and then aimed for any other vulnerable body part. She pummeled his chest and scraped her nails over his upper arms. Again, she drew blood. If only she could turn herself around and claw his eyes out.

Onward he walked, holding her firmly against him. “If you bite me again, I swear I’ll beat you.”

He meant every word, never bluffed. Her foot connected with his shin, eliciting a curse from his lips. A smile from hers. “What are you going to do, cut my throat?”

“Quite possibly.”

As they wound through the village, her eyes searched the dark. Moonbeams bounced off Brown Wing’s lodge and soon they were on the outskirts of camp, heading for the river. The river?

“You wouldn’t dare!” she bellowed.

“Wouldn’t I?” He sloshed through the sludge on the bank and entered the shallow depths. “You’re drenched in perspiration after that public display of offering your body to every young buck in camp.”

“I did no such thing. I was dancing.”

The water rose to his waist and still he walked forward. “I’ve had enough of your tantrums.”

Cesca tangled her arms in his and hung on for dear life, but he yanked on her wrists until she cried out in pain. Pitching her body from his, she hit the depths with a unyielding thud. The water washed over her head and swirled up her nose.

Spitting water and a string of French oaths, she emerged. “Merde! Trou de cul!” For good measure, she tossed in the English versions.

Out of the corner her eye, she spied him standing a short distance from her. “I despise you!” She pushed a drenched forelock off her face. “And what’s more, it’s over between us!”

She’d never seen him so calm. A fines mist enveloped his shoulders and head. He moved not an inch, and she wondered if he was breathing.

The ripples caressed her thighs, but couldn’t douse the heat between her thighs. Meko pushed through the water, his whisper drifting across the space separating them. “It will never be over between us.”

The words threw her dazed mind into disorder. She thrust an arm out, hoping it would be enough to hold him back but onward he came. Encircling her outstretched wrist, he pulled her to him. His breath fanned the damp tendrils near her cheeks. He grabbed a length of her hair, drew her head back, and bared her throat. Sweet, lingering kisses found the pulse at the base of her throat. His lips slid to the curve of her shoulder and continued their tortuous assault. A hot flame pulsed through her veins when he slipped a hand beneath the water, pressed it against the small of her back and pulled her closer and closer still.

All desire to claw his face vanished. The resistance she intended to offer disappeared. He kissed her again, his tongue searching every crevice of her mouth. Like a stupid fool, she clung to him. And worse, moaned.

He broke from the kiss, cradled her in his arms and walked back to shore. Her heart beat out of control. She’d pushed him beyond the brink tonight and now he’d make her pay. One way or another.

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SOJOURN WITH A STRANGER by Keta Diablo

SOJOURN WITH A STRANGER by Keta Diablo

Penniless when she arrives in Norfolk, her mother and father drowned at sea, Raine Brinsley longs to return home to her grandfather in Maine. When Derek Stafford, owner of a large plantation, offers a solution to her dilemma, she's stunned, if not outraged. She'd prefer to fulfill the contract to have his child and forget about him and his self-serving scheme. If only she could dispel the passion he's awakened in her.

Derek Stafford's only wish is to father an heir to Stafford House, thus securing his future. He didn't count on the Scottish lass with green eyes interfering with his well-laid plan. After one night in her arms, guilt, not to mention the loss of his soul, becomes his penance. He'll do anything to win her back, anything to quench the hunger tormenting his soul.

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Excerpt:

Derek dropped into an overstuffed divan opposite Raine. He pulled the leather pouch and brown envelope from his vest pocket, and placed them on the oak table separating them. Alternately, she looked between the pouch and his face.

"I'm not certain how to begin." He wrung his clammy hands. Damn, this is more difficult than I imaged. "We had a discussion several evenings past in the garden?”

"I remember.”

"I explained my father’s desire to obtain a male heir and my inability to produce one thus far?”

Dark green eyes searched his. "Yes, clearly.”

"You're a beautiful woman with a significant amount of intellect and a variety of coveted traits and talents."

"Thank you, but you hardly know me."

"That's true." The words managed to slip out his dry throat. “However, what I've witnessed since your arrival exceeds my highest expectations."

"Expectations?"

"You're in a difficult situation.” He forced a smile. "I'm prepared to offer you a way out."

"A way out of what, Derek? I’m not understanding―"

"Hear me out, please." Rising from the chair, he paced before her. "I realize the arrangement will seem outrageous at first, even obtuse, but I've thought a great deal about it since our meeting in the garden. I took the liberty of consulting an expert."

"An expert? Whatever for?”

"Childbirth."

A nervous giggle left her lips. "I'm not following you. Perhaps you should come right out and tell me what arrangement you're alluding to."

The seconds ticked by on the mantle clock, sounding like a thousand crickets had breached the room. "Yes, I'm trying to get to the point of all this." He stopped pacing and held onto the back of his chair. "Here's the way of it. You need to earn enough money to return to your grandfather in Maine. I, on the other hand, need a son.”

Her brow furrowed.

“I'm offering you freedom in the long run. In exchange, I want to have a child with you, preferably, a male.” The words rushed forth. “However, if you’re delivered of a female, I’ll love and accept her just the same.”

An audible gasp fell from her lips. "Oh, but I can’t possibly accept a proposal of marriage from a virtual stranger. It would be most unfair to both―”

Good, God, she thinks I’m offering marriage? Marriage? “No, that is, you misunderstood my proposal. I’m not suggesting we marry.”

Her eyes widened.

Walking to the table with a tentative gait, he picked up the envelope. “More money than you could earn in a lifetime is in here. I'm offering half now and the other half when the contract has been met."

She looked at the envelope and then at him, her tone icy. “How much is in the envelope?"

"Five thousand dollars."

Another gasp.

"Five thousand now and five thousand the day the child is born." Tossing the envelope on the table for effect, he continued. "It's yours right now should you accept my offer." A rapid pulse took flight in a tiny blue vein in her neck.

"If you're not offering marriage, in what capacity will I live in the manor?"

"You'll be free to go home after the child is born. Until then, you'll have complete freedom to do whatever you choose."

Her eyes narrowed, and sparked.

"You said you wished to return to your grandfather one day. That day can be sooner than you think if you sign the contract my barrister drafted." He nodded toward the envelope. "It's also in there."

Her face paled. "Horace Masterson, the kindly gentleman who promised me safety until I returned to Maine?"

"Yes, the money guarantees your security, and your safety.” Walking around the chair, he settled into it and leaned forward. “At the very least, read the contract. I'm sure you'll agree the terms protect you.” Her lower lip quivered, and he wondered if she might cry. Christ, what would he do if she launched into a crying jag? He couldn't bear up under her tears.

"You seem quite well prepared.” Her gaze took him apart inch by inch. "I commend your valiant efforts to keep your father's threats at bay."

"I can’t find fault with your reaction at the onset, but surely you see the practicality on both sides?” After drawing in a lungful of air, he added, “You’ll be free to go about your life when it’s over in a manner envied by most women. I’ll acquire an heir to Stafford House, and my father will end his relentless pursuit.”

“Oh, please enlighten me." She pinned him with a lethal glare. "Should I decide to engage in your well-contrived scheme, how do you propose we bring the end result to fruition?"

"It's quite simple,” he said, aware the temperature in the room leaped to an unbearable degree. "You spend three nights in my bedchamber, the specific nights will be chosen by Madelina. She’s prepared―”

“Who is she?”

“A healer, a woman who dabbles in tonics, remedies. She’s already prepared several concoctions.” He dug for the instructions in the pocket of his vest. “You must follow her recommendations when it comes to diet and tinctures for several weeks. She’s highly skilled, claims certain remedies will enhance the possibility of producing a male child. I'll expect you to follow her recommendations if you accept my offer.”

She shook her head. "I must applaud your tenacity and the immense preparation you expended in carrying out your duplicitous plot."

“There is nothing duplicitous about this. I’ve told you everything.” She looked away from him, but not before he saw the sadness return to her eyes again, and something he didn’t recognize. Indecision? Hatred? An interminable amount of time passed before he dared speak again. “Think of it as a business arrangement."

She turned to him with a look that said she would love to sever him at the knees with a saber. "I’d like your decision in two days. You’ll find me in my study two nights from now. If you decline, you can remain at Stafford House until you’ve earned enough money to return to Maine. Do you have any questions?"

"Yes," she said with calm composure. "Why me? There must be countless women who’d agree to bear your child.”

"I thought I made that clear. You possess undeniable beauty, have obviously been well educated, and you have the physical attributes, height and stature, I hope are passed on to our child.” He shrugged. "It's that simple."

Flushed with anger, the green eyes darkened. "Will that be all?"

"Yes," he replied, finding it difficult to look at her. "Unless you have additional questions."

"I do not." She rose from the chair, her tone cold. "I believe I understand perfectly well.” Offering a false curtsy, she added, "If you'll excuse me, sir."

He nodded.

The moment her footsteps faded from the room, Derek unfurled himself from the chair and headed for the liquor cabinet, his only thought to down a double dram.

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KISSED FROM BEYOND by Stacey Kennedy

KISSED FROM BEYOND - An Erotic Paranormal Anthology with stories from Stacey Kennedy, Elise Hepner, Amber Scott, and Keta Diablo

'TILL WE MEET AGAIN by Stacey Kennedy

Ethan Thomas has spent years alone - forever trapped between worlds. Once a soldier in the Civil War, he's now a ghost bound to a chaise lounge that once belonged to him. He's spent centuries lingering in Savannah, Georgia, waiting to be saved...

Cassandra Cole is an interior designer hired to restore an old Victorian home. As she begins to furnish the house, strange happenings erupt around her. She suspects the house is haunted. Determined to find out, Cassie sets out to discover who the ghost is, why she feels a connection to him, and what she has to do to free him. The answers will surprise her in ways she never imagined.

Want to know more about Stacey’s books? Go here.

* * *

ONE RUB MORE by Elise Hepner

Flynn has been cursed for over a century for a social slight he never committed. A voodoo priestess hexed him and forced him into a teapot where he could be summoned by the rub of a woman's palm. Once free, he grants these women three sexual favors - and cuts off his own emotions in the process. Unable to break free from an invisible cage of lust and sex to fall in love again he's resigned to being a sex object and nothing more.

Helena has been house sitting far, far away from her complicated past in England -  including her former childhood sweetheart, who wasn't satisfied when Helena didn't want to be barefoot and pregnant. She's resigned to leave behind the complications of men and sex. She hopes logic will win out over her unreliable emotions - but she's put to the test when she accidentally summons Flynn from his teapot prison.
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* * *

A LOVE SOUL DEEP by Amber Scott

If only Sara had known no man would ever make her feel like Crew did, she would have let him love her. A regret that can never be undone. His death haunts her dreams, and her wishful thinking only reminds her of everything she has lost.

Years later, a visit to an antique store in sultry Savannah changes everything and makes her deepest wish come true. Her beloved returns to her. Her every fantasy gets the chance to be fulfilled. But she wants more than one night. She wants a lifetime and wonders what magic will let her keep A Love Soul Deep.

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* * *

CRADLE OF DREAMS by Keta Diablo

With visions of battle still fresh in his mind, Roane Bradfield returns home to find the woman he loves betrothed to another. He corners Kendrick Moreland at Dowager Huggins' Grand Ball and whisks her into the secluded library. One way or the other, he will know the reason the duplicitous beauty cut him from her life when she promised to wait forever.

Kendrick can't believe her eyes when Roane suddenly appears at the ball. Has he truly risen from the dead? Amid wagging tongues and hushed murmurs, the fantasy of her every dream whisks her from the ballroom. And the expression on his face is anything but loving. Revenge, danger and powerful love collide in the Cradle of Dreams.

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'TILL WE MEET AGAIN by Stacey Kennedy
Chapter One

For so many years, isolated days and nights, Ethan had been stuck in purgatory. He’d been shuffled from home to home, living among people who were at first strangers, but became constant companions over time. For close to ten years now he’d called Twilight Antiques in Savannah, Georgia, his home.

The shopkeeper, Mrs. Higgins, finished her Sunday morning routine of putting the new antiques out she obtained at auction. He’d never grown attached to her, because she had no connection to him. In her seventies, wrinkles canvassed her skin and Ethan had watched them grow deeper throughout the years. Beneath the sign of her age, soft pale blue eyes still held the beauty of a warm woman. Her silver hair, cut prim and proper, sat in tight curls atop her head, like women of her age nowadays. She might be elderly, however, she still took pride in her appearance.

The antiques held monetary value. To Mrs. Higgins, they were much more than that—a piece of history to be cherished.

Like him.

Not an emotional attachment, a physical one. He couldn’t quite explain the reason his soul never crossed over after he died in the Civil War. Instead, he became bound to a chaise lounge he’d favored in the years he walked the earth. Without anyone to ask how or why, his life―or death―had become timeless.

He’d grown bored of watching decades ago.

The front door to the store chimed, drawing Ethan away from his thoughts as he lingered on the chaise. He sighed. Another customer to walk through the store and not give a second look at the chair he once loved, and still did.

“Hello there,” Mrs. Higgins said, greeting the woman.

“Hi,” a small, sweet voice responded in a tone Ethan found charming.

In all his time at the shop, he’d yet to see anyone walk through those doors who caught his eye. On the rare occasions a younger woman came into the store, none though, appealed to him on a physical level.

If he stood, he’d tower over her delicate frame. Her long, chocolate brown hair stood out against her pale skin, except for the pinkish tinge on her cheeks and baby blue eyes that held a note of sweetness.

He might be a ghost, nevertheless, a man still resided in his soul, and she, a woman to behold. Her beauty mesmerized him.

“How can I help you, my dear?” Mrs. Higgins asked in a rich southern accent.

“Have you heard of the Landsby home?” the woman asked.

Ethan could tell her heritage didn’t come from Savannah. She sounded American, yet not from around these parts.

“Yes, dear, are you the new owner?”

The woman shook her head. “No, Mrs. Nash is the owner. I’m the interior designer she hired.”

“Oh, so you’re here to furnish the house?”

The woman nodded. “I’m not from around here—”

“Where are you from, dear?” Mrs. Higgins interrupted.

“New York.” The woman smiled. “And the name is Cassandra Cole―Cassie.”

Ethan studied Cassie. All the dear comments seemed to displease her. What bothered her so? She fascinated him and he hadn’t been interested in anything or anyone for some time. How intriguing.

“Well, Miss Cassie,” Mrs. Higgins went on. “What can I help you with today?”

Cassie glanced around the store before meeting Mrs. Higgins gaze again. “Mrs. Nash decided the theme for the Landsby house should reflect its history. She wants to restore the home to its original condition.”

“A wise decision,” Mrs. Higgins agreed.

“So. . . .” Cassie looked around at the store. “I have some shopping to do.” She glanced back to Mrs. Higgins. “Do you have―or know of―a rental truck for hire to deliver what I purchase here today?”

“Mr. Pitts does deliveries for me. I’ll call him now and see he comes by with the truck soon to help you.”

Cassie smiled. “Thank you.”

She strode around the store, looking at the items spread out, and Ethan stayed with her. In fact, he drew in close and stood mere inches from Cassie watching a deep shudder run through her. “You’ve got a draft in here,” she called out to Mrs. Higgins.

Busy talking on the phone, Mrs. Higgins didn’t respond.

Ethan leaned away from Cassie to let the warmth wash over her body again, yet continued to study her. She appeared so focused, so determined, and so adorable.

His cold soul lit up with a heat he’d long yearned for.

* * *

A month passed since Cassie left her home in New York City to accept the job to build her design portfolio. A complete restoration of a Victorian home, not something she could’ve passed on. Besides, Mrs. Nash had offered her a ridiculous amount of money. Too many goods came from the job.

She missed home, though. Staying in a house under renovations didn’t appeal to her, but the contractors she’d hired finished today and she’d have the peace she sought. The physical renovations she could do without. Walls re-plastered, paint applied, all the wood in the home, including the hardwood floors, refinished. Now, onto the part she lived for, the reason she got into interior design. Giving a home personality with furniture and accents gave her a high like nothing else.

Mrs. Higgins seemed sweet enough, but if she called her dear once more, she’d blow a gasket. Such endearments weren’t for her. Granted, she looked younger than her twenty-five years, calling her such things though made her feel like a child. She’d worked hard to get here, put in long hours to prove herself capable. Hell, she’d moved into the empty house to renovate it while Mrs. Nash stayed in South Carolina. Being treated like an equal was not something she wanted, but demanded.

Mrs. Higgins, approached her. “Mr. Pitts will be along soon with the truck.” “Wonderful,” she said, happy she wouldn’t have to lug all the furniture to the house herself. She scanned the antique shop, pleased with what she saw. “You have some wonderful pieces here.” An aged distressed dresser caught her eye, perfect for the vintage theme.

“Ahh, a beautiful piece I obtained not long ago,” Mrs. Higgins said. “Does the dresser interest you?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Mrs. Higgins spun on her heels. “I’ll grab a piece of paper and we’ll write down what you want so Mr. Pitts and his crew can load them up.” The woman hurried off and Cassie chuckled to herself. Clearly, the store made small sales and Mrs. Higgins’ eagerness to sell off some of the larger pieces showed in her fast pace. Moments later, the woman returned, clipboard in hand.

Cassie strode around the store to find treasures of all kinds. Her imagination ran wild with the design. “I’ll take these two wing back chairs.” Not looking back at Mrs. Higgins, she heard the pen moving against the paper.

“You do realize they don’t match?”

“Victoria-themes don’t require matching furniture. In fact, the design works better if they don’t.”

“If you say so, dear. I love the era, however, don’t know much about design,” Mrs. Higgins replied with a shake of her head.

Cassie continued on, choosing items to fill the home. Tables, throws, a couch, pillows, any item she thought would add to the home’s beauty. Last week, she’d bought a four-poster bed from a furniture store on the other side of town. A near impossible find at an antique shop, along with the outrageous price. Sticking to a modern piece of furniture fit her budget. She needed a place to sleep while staying at the house, so finding a bed had been her top priority the moment she arrived.

Not fifteen minutes later, Cassie stopped at a gorgeous chaise lounge. Fitted with crimson velvet, the fabric looked rich against the dark wood edging.

“Ahh, a real treasure,” Mrs. Higgins admired.

Cassie wanted to agree, although her mouth wouldn’t function. A cold wave washed over her, freezing her in place. Not a draft, but something made her stop.

The piece of furniture held power, compelling her to purchase the chaise. The reaction stunned her. She’d never been fond of chaises. Fine for reading, nothing more. “Do you know the history of the chair?”

“Oh, I’ve had it now for well over ten years.”

Surprise widened Cassie’s eyes. The well-worn piece didn’t look at all comfortable. Why would she hold onto it for so long? “Why not get rid of it?”

A slow smile spread across Mrs. Higgins’ face causing her wrinkles to hide her eyes. “All the pieces here have a history, my dear. To trash them, a grave travesty. I couldn’t throw away something once beloved.” She shook her head and clucked. “No, not an option to me.”

Cassie glanced back to the chaise and approached it again. She trailed a hand down the wood lining the sides and the cold air swirled around her again. Yet, a warm glow touched her soul. A sign she’d discovered a real treasure, however the chair would be more of an accent piece than a focal point.

She sat down on the uncomfortable lounge. The coldness in the air increased the longer she sat, still though, the warm glow of excitement stayed with her. In fact, it grew.

Whether it suited the home or not, the piece belonged to her. Might be a strange choice, but Cassie didn’t doubt herself. Her instincts never failed her. Something special lived in the chaise even if she couldn’t put her finger on it.

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