Dear Readers --- Happy holidays!

It's hard to believe that almost a year has passed since I loaded everything I owned into a UHAUL and moved from Texas to New York. Leaving Texas behind left me replaying in my head all the things I was going to miss about my home state. After a few months in New York, while I have found new things to love, I miss much about Texas, most especially red-hot cowboys. Love them cowboys. Everything about them; those snug jeans that hug their muscular thighs, the hats that tilt back in just the right way, somehow complimenting cocky attitudes that say they know all the right moves at all the right times. Oh yeah. Love those cowboys. And you know, one thing about a cowboy -- a real rough and tough cowboy, is they almost always guaranteed to be a wild ride. And if there is anyone who fits that bill, a cowboy that knows the meaning of ‘wild ride', it's Constantine Vega, my hero from Lone Star Surrender. He is most definitely a wild ride - a long, hot, wild ride. He's dangerous. He's daring. He's oh so sexy.

So buckle up and enjoy a little taste of Constantine in the following excerpt - I know I did while writing Lone Star Surrender.

Harlequin Blaze (January 1, 2009)
ISBN-10: 0373794460
ISBN-13: 978-0373794461

Pre-Order at: Amazon.com Borders

He would break every rule she made...

Undercover agent Constantine Vega sacrificed three years of his life building up the case of a sinister drug lord. But only days before the trial threats against his life finds Constantine on the run with tantalizing federal prosecutor, Nicole Ward - a desperate journey promising both sin and sensation...

Nicole has been trying her best to follow the rules...rules that she once broke with disastrous results. But the magnetic and passionate force of Constantine Vega threatens to unleash every tempestuous feeling inside her. With so much at stake, can she trust Constantine with her body - and her life?

Excerpt: (unedited version) This scene is in a cave - the bad guys are chasing them - my heroine is claustrophobic so the hero has to creatively find ways to comfort her:

Their eyes locked and sexual tension spiked as if it had been shot into the room with a cannon. Silence fell between them, heavy with the sudden charge. Constantine was studying her with such intensity she felt as if he could see her soul, unveil what secrets her file hadn't already revealed. Wordlessly, he inched closer.

Instantly, Nicole's heart began to race, anticipating his touch, his nearness. He reached for one of her boots as if he meant to take it off. But that set off one of her phobia alarms, dousing the sexual heat of seconds before. How did he expect her to get out of this place without her boots? Nicole jerked her feet toward her, pulling her knees to her chest and hugging them. "What are you doing?"

"Getting you some relief. You know your feet are killing you."

"I can't run in bare feet." Running in boots with the heels cut off was bad enough.

"You won't be running anytime soon," he informed her. "We have six hours until we leave. You might as well get some rest and dry off."

Her throat went dry. "Six hours? In this cave?" She shook her head. All her efforts at relaxing flew to the wayside. "No. I can't. I . . .I can't be in this hole that long." Constantine's expression softened. "Don't look at me like that. I am fine. I just can't stay here that long."

He reached out and cupped her cheek with his hand. "You can." Somehow he was closer now. His knees touched hers, a small comfort in a small space. "I'll help you."

"I don't need your help. Just give me some space to process all of this." Reacting to small spaces often induced a feeling of suffocation. Crowding her would only make it worse.

But he didn't back off. His fingers slid around one of her calves and inched her pant leg upward; his callused fingers brushed just below her knee. Tiny darts of electricity shot straight to her core. And considering her current state of anxiety, that shouldn't be possible, but yet, he was proving it was. Maybe she didn't need space. Maybe she needed him. It seemed sex distracted her from her fear and she really wanted to be distracted right now. She focused on the sizzling sensations he was creating in her, focused on his face so she wouldn't look at the enclosure of the walls. His gaze swept her mouth, lingering before lifting. "I'm not sure I'm capable of giving you space right now," he said. "I want you too badly, Nicole."

She swallowed at the directness of his words, finding herself lost in those chocolate-colored eyes of his, mesmerized. Desire pooled in her limbs, driving away the fear once again.

Slowly Constantine began to inch the zipper on her boot downward, his fingers trailing her bare skin in its wake. Nicole suppressed a shiver, not willing to let him see how easily he affected her. Good Lord, the man made taking a boot off sexy.

"I didn't want to leave you that first night," he murmured.

The unexpected comment drew a hint of anger from her. Instinctively, she reached forward and covered his hand with hers, stilling his action. In the process, their lips drew dangerously close. After hours in the woods, he shouldn't smell good but he did. Spicy and male.

"But you did leave, didn't you?" she challenged thinking of how he'd snuck under her guard and then left her sitting at that table, feeling a fool. It stung and the memory stiffened her spine.

"If I had stayed, I would have taken you up to a hotel room and made love to you in as many ways as you would have let me." His fingers slid around her other calf, and she couldn't find the will to stop him. "But then, morning would have come, and you would have hated me."

"I should hate you," she whispered, torn between her desires to embrace her attraction to this man and her desire to run to know this man and her fear of what doing so might mean, her fear he might wake a part of her that needed to stay dormant. "What you did was wrong."

His gaze dropped to her mouth and then lifted. "Do you?" he asked. "Do you hate me, Nicole?"

Her chin lifted slightly. If he thought lust and admiration, or even like, were the same, he was wrong. Her ex had taught her well--sex could be just sex. "I haven't decided yet."

His mouth quirked ever so slightly. "Good. Then I still have a chance to affect the decision."

Leaning into her, Constantine brushed his lips over hers in a seductive caress that left her wanting more. "Anger can be a powerful aphrodisiac," he murmured softly. "Perhaps you can think of some ways to even the score."

At Alpha Males and Their Authors from 6pm-8pm EST.

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Stop by and chat and be entered to win one of two books.

Selena

Trapped
Blood Claim Series
Blurb:
Kit has never forgotten the cruel way Rysen rejected her as a possible consort over a hundred years ago. She's striven to get stronger, pushing her attraction to him down and using her anger as fuel.

Rysen has always regretted the way he rejected Kit. As much as he loved her, Rysen despised the way her clan tried to use her as a political gambit for power and protection. But he never stopped wanting Kit, trying to make her his in every way possible.

When enemies attack, they use old magic to seal themselves off and stay safe. But now they find themselves trapped with a century of hunger rising between them....

Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play/intercourse, domination.

Buy Link:
http://www.loose-id.net/detail.aspx?ID=853

Excerpt:

Rysen ignored the throbbing of his cock. As much as he wanted to fuck her right now, he couldn’t. She was unconscious and she was hurt. When he got her in his bed, she was going to be awake and strong and enjoying every last bit of it.

His gaze roamed over her bruised and battered face. “Gods, she is beautiful,” he murmured. He leaned down, scooped her up in his arms, and held her close. He took in her mocha skin, some patches darker with bruises. One eye was swollen shut. He regretted every mark, every bruise, every injury he had inflicted on her, but words did not work with her. Ever since he had passed her over a hundred years ago, when her clan had offered her to him as one of his consorts, she’d loathed him, and she’d taken up her clan’s fight to avenge his insult against them.

He had wanted her -- by the gods, he had wanted her -- but he had always felt she was just too fine to bring into his world. She deserved better than to be a political sacrifice. His body shuddered at the very thought of her in his bed, arms over her head, tied to the bedposts, her legs spread far apart, her hairless mound glistening with her dew. Her pussy already dripping, ready for him to fuck her hard, fast, and deep. He wanted the image in his head so badly, and yet he knew if he even tried to make a move, she’d either kill him or die trying. He was tired of fighting her. He wanted to tie her to his bed, blindfold her, and show her the delights that could be had if she would only let him dominate her.

Carrying her up the stairs, he held her body close, cradling her like a precious relic. He made his way to the second floor. Out of all the women he’d ever encountered, she inflamed him like no one else. Her oval face, with her large, liquid brown eyes flecked with red, haunted him. Her full lips beckoned him. The graceful column of her neck invited him to sink his teeth into her jugular and drink deep of her life essence. He wanted to cup her small, high breasts and watch his hands travel along the curves of her sides, over her hips, down her thighs, caress her calves, and massage her feet. He wanted to rub his scent into her skin so that all would know she belonged to him and only him. There would be no others if she agreed to be his consort.

He could smell the odious poison in her blood. The wound on her palm was still open, blood slowly dripping from the cut. He would have to drain most of her blood and give her some of his. She would hate him for that.

Giving her his blood would allow him to track her wherever she went, to invade her thoughts and dreams, sense her moods, even from thousands of miles away. He would know if she were with someone else, he could even see through her eyes and take control of her body. He was the third chieftain of the Vampyre nation. He was the third most powerful vampyre in existence, his clan the third largest, and he was also third in line to ascend to the throne of the Vampyre monarchy. All he needed was a queen.

He made his way through a hallway and couldn’t understand why she’d bought this horrid place. It had no class, no sophistication. It was out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woods, the nearest town five miles away.

“How in the hell is help supposed to get here in case of an emergency?” he asked the sleeping figure in his arms. “And it’s not even pretty land. For the love of the gods, the garden is overrun with weeds. The lake is a cesspool, and I have yet to see one animal around here. My darling, you should have taken my offer to make you a queen. Then you could’ve had all the beautiful land you could want.”

Even in sleep she defied him. As if on its own, her hand rose and tried to hit him.

He chuckled. “I shall call it a pet project for you, then. A hobby. But this should not be your life. You’re too talented to waste your gifts on this place.”

She tried to hit him again. He wanted to take hold of her hand and kiss the back of it, brush his lips against the pulse point and feel her heart beat. He looked up and saw he was only a few feet away from the bedroom he sought, the largest one at the end of the hallway. He could feel the rival vampyres outside, walking around, plotting their next move. Once he saw to her comfort and recovery, he would go outside and destroy them.

“How dare they interrupt our fight,” he growled. “As soon as I know who they are, they will be dealt with.”

If he had won, she would have been forced to concede to him, and therefore her fate would be in his hands. As much as he hadn’t wanted it to come down to that, he would have preferred it to the suicide mission she seemed to be on when she decided it was in her best interest to fight him.

“So stubborn is my darling,” he murmured softly. He loved her for that. He loved everything about her.
He kicked open the door and looked around. He was relieved to see that the room was in good condition. The furniture was of good quality, no dust or broken items. A large bed, piled high with pillows and bed coverings, stood against a far wall, the headboard a wrought-iron monstrosity whose top nearly hit the ceiling.

“This will do for now. You, my darling, deserve so much more.” His cock throbbed at the thought of laying her down in the silks, satins, furs, and velvets of his own massive bed. He shook his head. He wouldn’t feed his sexual desire now, not yet anyway. He refused to leave her while some unknown threat waited outside, prowling around looking for a weakness in Blyder’s protection spells.

“They won’t find them,” Rysen murmured as he arranged her on the bed and pulled off her boots. He paused, wondering if he should undress her to see how extensive the damage was. Making up his mind, he gently took off her tank top. Next, he removed her jeans and then her underwear.
Once she was naked, he catalogued all that he saw. Though his body reacted to the sight of her, his mind worked overtime to keep his lust at bay. He could see the bruises and wounds slowly starting to heal or disappear, but not fast enough. He took hold of her wrist and held it, palm up. Her self-inflicted wound had not disappeared.

She was too weak. Her immune system wouldn’t be able to defend itself until she had fully recovered. The poison was working much too well.

Swearing, he placed her arm gently on the bed and shrugged out of his black leather duster. Kneeling, he took hold of her arm and brought it to his mouth. His tongue lapped at the spot he would bite into, preparing it to stave off infection.

His canines extended. His body began to heat, and his cock grew harder. He kissed her pulse point before biting down, and his back arched as her blood hit his tongue. The sweet, salty, metallic flavor caused his taste buds to explode with pleasure. His eyes drifted closed while her life filled his mouth like sweet, hot lava. The faint bitterness of the poison did not dampen his pleasure; it was nothing to one of his strength. He drank of her, careful not to drink too much.

A soft moan drew his attention. He saw her back arch, her breasts thrust into the air. The scent of her desire filled his nostrils, and he moaned in response. Blood slipped from his mouth, coating his chin, dripping down to stain his shirt.

“Easy, darling. Be at peace. I’m going to take the poison from you,” he whispered with his mind.
“I’m dying,” she responded.

“No. I won’t allow it. You will not meet the Great Maker now or ever, if I have my way. Relax, my darling. Let me take care of you.”

“No…”

“Do it,” he growled out.

He felt her resist before he reached out with his power. Like a whip cutting through the air, his power flicked out into the space between them; like rope, he wrapped his will around her, pressing her down to the mattress. Her body flinched before relaxing back onto the bed. Once he was sure he had taken enough of her blood, he reluctantly released her wrist and lapped at the wound. Once the puncture marks were closed, he bit down into his own wrist.

He gazed upon her naked body, which looked cold and waxy, almost deathlike. He shuddered. He’d become a vampyre so he wouldn’t have to lose anyone else he loved. Seeing her like this reinforced how much he loved her. His wound welled, blood dripping down onto the worn bedspread. He reached out and pried her lips apart.

“Don’t fight me, darling. Drink of me.”

He placed his wrist at her mouth and watched her react. Reaching up, she took hold of his arm, holding it in a vise grip, her lips pressed to his flesh. Her tongue darted out and lapped at his wounds, causing pinpricks of fire to dance up his arm, inflaming his arousal. Her mouth latched onto his wrist, and each pull of her lips felt like a caress on his cock.

Rysen’s shaft throbbed in time with each tug. He reached down and, with one hand, ripped open the button of his jeans, pulled down the tab, and slipped his hand into his pants. Taking hold of his dick, he began to stroke his hardened rod, eyes now closed, head tilted back. He rose on his knees and, with a bit of awkwardness, tugged his pants down until his cock was fully freed. He wrapped his fist around his shaft and started to pump, up and down, in a grip that would cause tears to form in most men’s eyes. The pain and pleasure cascaded through his body. Warm waves ebbed and flowed through his veins as his hips moved back and forth. He fucked his hand as if he were inside her.
“Rysen,” she moaned, her voice echoing softly in his mind. He grunted in response.

“My love,” he answered. He did not care that he had just admitted his feelings for her or what she would think of them. He paused briefly, remembering the moment that had brought them to this place. The point where he had become her enemy a hundred years ago.

At Drogan’s Command, Out Now at Changeling Press, Use Coupon Code DROGAN01 to get 5% off of your order at checkout.

Blurb:

One little disc . . .



One little disc contains the only evidence of Rena's wanton weekend where she enacted every sexual fantasies she's ever had and a few about her crush Drogan Carter, Captain of the Hades' Helmet. What will she do when the disc falls into the wrong hands?



When Drogan finds the disc and watches the contents, at first he feels guilt but soon that turns to need. He wants the carefree, sexual woman on the disc and in his bed. He forms a plan that will get her right where he wants her . . . at his command.

Buy Link:

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1034

Excerpt:
At Drogan’s Command
Selena Illyria
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2008 Selena Illyria

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.

The captain came toward her, his expression softened. “Please don’t make me interrogate you. Please don’t push me to do this,” he pleaded in a deep baritone, edged with gruffness.

She shook her head. “I didn’t know,” she whispered. Every nerve in her body was alive and on fire.

“Release her. I’ll be questioning her alone.”

The other robots let her go and left the cell. The door slid closed with a soft whoosh. The captain started to undress, unbuckling his weapons belt. He placed the strap gently on a nearby table. He then stripped to the waist. He grabbed a chair and placed it before her and pointed to it.

“Undress and sit down,” he ordered in a deep gruff baritone. With shaking hands she began to undress, her clothing hitting the floor. She moved to the chair, sat down and crossed her legs. The robot walked around her slowly, then bent down and placed his hands on the back of her chair, leaning in close.

“If you won’t cooperate, I will have to make you do what I say.” His voice was a low, husky whisper. “Now, uncross your legs and spread them. I want to see your sweet pussy. I can smell your desire. I know you want this, you want me. You can’t deny it.”

She uncrossed her legs slowly and then spread them, waiting for his next command. He pulled back. The tips of his fingers brushed her cheeks before he straightened to his full height.

He finished undressing. His thick cock sprang up, the head an angry purplish red color. She missed seeing the pearlescent drop of desire at the slit. Although his cock looked lifelike enough, she wanted the real thing. She gave herself a mental shake, imagining it was Drogan before her and not an android programmed for her pleasure. This was her fantasy, the only way she would ever make her secret dreams and desires come true. Taking a deep breath, she watched as the android walked over to one of the cell’s windows, ripping down one of the curtains that framed the barred façade.

He walked over to her, the delicate shredded opaque cloth trailing behind him, his cock bobbing gently with each step. He walked around her to the back of the chair.

“Bring your hands together until your palms are touching.”

Her heartbeat sped up, hammering against her rib cage as he wrapped the ripped curtain around her wrists, tying them together tightly. She tested her bonds and found she couldn’t get free. He walked into her line of vision. His cock appeared before her face. She blinked, remembering her other fantasies that had been played out. Three men at once, two men in several different positions. She shivered. He came closer until his cock was only mere inches away from her face.

Her mind conjured Drogan before her. If he had been in front of her, she would have kissed the tip of his shaft before she took the head into her mouth, swirling her tongue over the crest. She wanted to taste him, inhale the musky male scent of him. The man before her dropped to his knees. She looked down and watched as he placed his hands on each of her knees, spreading them further apart. Her heart beat out of control. Rena forgot how to breathe. Sweat beaded on her brow as the android between her thighs moved closer to her pussy. Time seemed to still as she waited for his first touch. A jolt of electricity went through her as the tip of his tongue trailed over the seam of her nether lips. She jumped but did not make a sound. He teased her slowly, taking his time as he explored her sex. With his thumbs he pulled back her nether lips, exposing the aching bud. She stilled, waiting for his next move.

“You want this, don’t you? You want me to suck your clit?”

“Yes.” She didn’t care that her voice had come out shaky and breathless.

He gently flicked the nub with just the tip of his tongue. Heat skittered through her body with that all too brief touch.

“Tell me what I need to know and I’ll give you what you need.”

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know. Please, just fuck me,” she pleaded.

He flicked her clit again and pulled back. “No.”

“Drogan, please fuck me.” She didn’t even realize her slip until it was too late. She was going off script. She had never specified who the captain was supposed to be. She couldn’t take it back now, wouldn’t take it back. All day long on the ship she saw him and when she closed her eyes, she saw him in her dreams. This was her time to finally live out the fantasies she could never have with him in reality.

She looked down at the android that moved his head back to her pussy.

“No,” flick, “not until you,” lave, “tell me,” lick, “what I want,” swipe, “to hear.”

She let out a frustrated growl, trying to move her hips forward as far as they would go. He pulled his head back and looked up at her.

“Tell me what I want to hear and I’ll fuck you,” he urged.

She shook her head. “I can’t tell you anything. I don’t know.”

“Well, then the interrogation must continue.” He smiled at her. His head moved forward. His tongue continued the small torturous flicks. Electricity bounced around inside of her, each touch stoking the fire burning within her. She wanted to come so badly. She was unraveling, her empty cunt clenched on nothing. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, trying to figure out a way to use his flicks to her advantage. Unfortunately her hands were tied behind her, and she could only lift them so far. She let out a strangled scream and the flicking stopped.

“Will you tell me the truth?” he asked. His dark red eyes seemed darker and a wicked smile curved his full mouth.

“I’ll tell you anything, anything. Just fuck me.”

He chuckled, a dark sound that spoke of untold hidden, wicked, sexy things that awaited her for cooperating. Without saying another word, he buried his head between her thighs, taking her clit between his teeth and sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth. She rocked her hips against his mouth, riding his lips. Her orgasm twisted inside of her, coiling tighter and tighter until it broke free like a dam bursting. She screamed Drogan’s name at the top of her lungs.

But it wasn’t over, not by a long shot.

All night the android interrogated her, using his mouth, fingers and cock, bringing her to orgasm over and over again. By morning she was exhausted and confessed to things she had never done all in the name of coming. When she walked out of her fantasy suite, her legs wobbled and her body ached. She made her way to the front desk, waiting for them to check her out.

“I hope you enjoyed your time here. Please do come back any time, Ms. Morrigan.”

She nodded and smiled but doubted she would be coming back. She had lived out every one of her fantasies. There was nothing more to do. The receptionist looked up at Rena. The alien smiled, exposing short, sharp teeth, gazing up at Rena with large blue, pupilless eyes. She slid a small silver disc toward Rena.

“This is the account of your week with us. Payment has gone through. We assure you that we will be erasing your experience with us within twenty-four hours. Please do come back.”



http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1034

Charging Candles
By Mary Caelsto

Whether it’s a jar candle designed to fragrance the room or chosen for a specific ritual purpose, one of the important parts of candle magick is “charging” the candle. Simply put, when a candle is charged it is filled with energy designed for a specific purpose. The energy comes from ourselves and the universe. It’s freely available and anyone, of any faith, can charge a candle. If you’re not comfortable with the thought of rituals or magic you can think of it as a prayer.

The most basic way to charge a candle is to hold it in your hands and think about the purpose you wish the candle to serve. If you’re burning it for healing, for example, then imagine the person getting better and becoming healthy once more. For prosperity, think about you living the live you want, free of worries and stress from money. The important part is to be positive about your goal and to imagine it happening.

If you want to go farther in charging a candle, then there are additional steps that can be taken. Anointing the candle with oils helps to imbue it with the properties of the essential oils. In addition, you can add nuances to the magical meaning of the candle. Adding planetary or zodiac oils to the candle can bring those elements (such as Capricorn for money or Mercury for communication) to your candle magic.

Some people inscribe runes or symbols on the candle. Continuing with the prosperity spell, a simple dollar sign is easy to carve and expresses in concrete terms what the candle magic will be for. Names, numbers, even small pictures can be created with a minimum of effort on the candle.

With the simplest form of candle magic, the candle is dressed (or anointed) with oils, a symbol carved on it, charged with energy and then burned. This ritual can take only a few moments to several days depending on the steps involved and the preferred timing of them.

Of course, when it comes to candle magic, and charging a candle, following the basic steps is good, but the best thing you can do to have a properly charged candle is to choose the correct candle. The size and type of candle doesn’t matter for ritual purposes. Some people prefer jar or container candles. Tapers, mini candles, tea lights, or votives all work well. The two factors in choosing a correct candle are the scent and the color.

When it comes to scent, an unscented candle, ready to be anointed or left “as is” may be your best choice. Otherwise, with the wide variety of scents available choose the one that’s closest to your ritual’s purpose. If working on a prosperity spell you may wish to choose scents that make you feel rich and luxurious. Spells for love naturally call for floral fragrances.

And the color of the candle plays a role too. Green is the color of prosperity. Blues evoke healing, and pinks and reds are for love or passion. While there are plenty of tables out there that talk about the correspondences of various colors, the bottom line is that you’re the one charging the candle and doing the ritual. You get to choose which works best for you and what feels right. The color and the scent of the candle are fully under your control.

In the end, it isn’t the way the candle smells or what kind of wax it’s made out of that creates the magic. It’s you. To charge a candle means putting your will into it and that will helps to form an outcome. The magic is within. The candle is merely a tool. Charging the candle gives it direction. Nothing more and nothing less. Your spell, prayer, ritual, or whatever you wish to call it, really works the magic. However it sure doesn’t hurt to have a full set of tools at your disposal and charging a candle doesn’t take much time or energy. Just a little thought.