Sensual Romances Newsletter March 2005

Elisa Adams
http://www.elisaadams.com

Excerpt: Eden's Curse

     The late-night wind moaned and whistled through the trees, echoing the howling emotions warring inside Trent. Hatred, anger and fear�they hadn't left him in too long to remember. Even here, in the middle of the woods on a lonely summer night, he found no peace. Five years had passed. Five long, torturous years where with every step he took, every breath he drew, someone somewhere felt the need to remind him of all he'd lost. All he'd supposedly done.

     He couldn't take another second.

     He'd escaped Chicago and fled to Hammond, Massachusetts-a coastal town that had the reputation of being one of the most haunted small towns in America. He snorted at the thought. What better place for a best-selling horror writer to hide out and lick his wounds than a town supposedly filled with ghosts and demons?

     Even the cottage he'd rented had a ghostly history. The landlady, a tiny, frail, elderly woman who had introduced herself as Mrs. Morrow, had relished in telling him the tale of the young woman seen wandering the grounds late at night. It was said that she seduced men, causing some of them to lose their minds.

     He scoffed at the idea. One thing endless hours of research into demons and monsters had taught him was that they were all fiction. Made-up fairy tales to entertain, and to scare little children into being good. He didn't buy into the philosophy of paranormal creatures. He just capitalized on the idea and made a fortune. Funny that even after the media had branded him a killer they hadn't managed to hurt his book sales.

     He pushed off the hammock where he'd been dozing and wandered out into the small yard surrounding the cottage. The money meant nothing now, not when he'd lost everything that had been important to him. First Sandra, and then his reputation. And nearly his freedom. Sheer luck had kept him from getting convicted of the brutal crime he didn't commit. He would never escape it, no matter where he went.

     Except here. In Hammond, in the middle of the woods, on the edge of the ocean, there was no one around to point accusing fingers. No evil glares, no mumbled words. No one to sidestep him on the street. Here, for the first time in five years, he could finally be left alone. But he didn't feel alone. Hadn't since he'd arrived two weeks earlier. He cleared his throat. The rumors and stories he heard around town on the few trips he'd made for food must have gotten to him. He could think of no other explanation, except maybe that he was losing his mind. He didn't even want to contemplate that idea, though with all the stress he'd lived through it was a distinct possibility. He'd come to Hammond to heal, yet his mental health seemed to be moving in the other direction.

     His hands shook as his gaze scanned the yard around him. The full moon washed the small, well-kept lawn and surrounding woods in eerie shades of glimmering blue. Summer humidity hung heavy in the air, trying to squeeze the breath from his lungs. The low rumble of thunder in the distance threatened rain, but he'd learned quickly that New England weather could change in an instant. Thick swirls of fog rose from the ground, wrapping their clammy fingers around his bare ankles. The shadows seemed to dance and sway on the moonlight. A shiver raced down the length of his spine before settling into a cold ball in the pit of his stomach. Leaves and twigs cracked in the distance. The shadows at the edge of the woods picked up tempo, dancing in a furious rhythm that iced his blood. Hadn't the townsfolk said the woods were haunted, too? He couldn't keep all the stories from jumbling in his head. Every person he met had a different tale to tell. It seemed that there weren't many places one could go in Hammond without the possibility of running into a ghost or spirit of some kind.

     The soft, dewy grass caressed the soles of his feet as he made his way to the edge of the woods. The rich, briny scent of the ocean filled the air, along with the sounds of the waves breaking against the rocky shore just beyond the thick outcropping of trees. It had become habit to walk the path cut through the woods to the ocean a few hundred feet away from the rented house, to stare out across the vast expanse of water and wonder what everything would have been like had Sandra lived. At first, he'd had thoughts about walking into the ocean, becoming one with the waves and letting them carry away his pain. Now, as he broke through the trees and stood on the jagged rocks that made up the shoreline, he shook his head. It would have been so easy to walk into the dark water. To keep going, letting the water wash over his head, move away from the world and the life he would never have back. To finally be free of the pain of the past. To be at peace.

     Yeah, right. He wouldn't do it. He knew that now, though it had taken the years since Sandra's death for him to figure it out. As tempting as the idea was, something kept him hanging on when he had nothing left. Anxiety, or the tiny hope that things would change-he didn't know what kept him from ending it, but something had kept him going for the past five years when he saw no way out of his pain. Something had stopped him two weeks ago, when the idea of letting the dark, cold ocean embrace him had first entered his mind. The cottage-called the old Morgan place after the original owner-held a sense of peace, a sense of balance that had been missing from his life for too long.

     The rough, flat rocks scraped the bottoms of his feet. The salty wind stung his face, bit into his bare shoulders and chest. For the first time since Sandra's gruesome death, the numbness that had settled over him on the night of her murder and his arrest had lifted. Sharp, intense pain replaced it, tonight both physical and mental, but he welcomed the pain. He welcomed anything that let him know he was alive, and not the shell of a man he'd been for so long. He had his life back again, and he intended to live it.

     He turned away from the siren's call of the ocean and wandered back along the leaf-strewn path to the cottage. Sticks and pebbles scratched his feet, but he pushed aside the discomfort. His soles had toughened, thanks to years of preferring bare feet to shoes whenever possible. He made his way slowly through the trees and back into the yard.

     A shadow moved near the front porch, darted from the steps into a dark corner below. He froze. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. "Who's there?"

     Only the howl of the wind answered his call.

     "Hello? Is someone out there?"

     "Yes."

     The soft, feminine voice caught him by surprise. He stumbled back a step. "Where are you?"

     "I'm here."

     A small, fair woman walked out of the shadows, her hands clasped in front of her. Blonde hair fell to her waist, tossed around her tiny body by the strong, summer winds. A sleeveless white dress draped her from shoulders to toes, but hinted at generous curves underneath. His mouth went dry and his heart skidded to a stop. Arousal smacked him in the gut, stealing the breath from his lungs. His cock twitched under his boxers-the only item of clothing he wore since he'd expected no visitors.

     Could it be that the ghost of the old Morgan place had finally come to pay him a visit? He blinked, rubbed his eyes. Swallowed hard. He had to be imagining things. The woman standing in front of him was no ghost. She was a flesh and blood woman. One who had no business being out here in the middle of the night. Suspicion welled in him and he swallowed it down.

     "Can I help you with something, Miss?"

     A small smile danced on her full, pink lips. "Maybe we could help each other."

     A lump formed in his throat. Her light, easy tone sparked even more suspicion and doubt inside him. Was she a reporter, looking for an exclusive on his story? Lord knew he'd met enough of them over the past few years. He refused to talk to any of them. "How can we be of help to each other? Do I know you from somewhere?"

     "No." She raised her hand to his face, her warm palm cupping his stubble-covered chin and her thumb tracing his mouth.

     Unbidden, his lips parted and his tongue touched the pad of her thumb. He tried to step away, but his legs had turned to stone. Am I dreaming? He could think of no other plausible explanation. Unless he really had lost his mind. He gulped, his gaze glued to the hypnotic blue of her eyes and what he found in her gaze-innocence mated with agelessness, trust with manipulation. It only served to increase his arousal. His cock hardened to the point of pain, struggling to get closer to her, to sink into her wet heat.

     He shook his head, tried to shake off the unfamiliar loss of control. It had to be a dream. Nothing else made sense.

     "What do you want from me?"

     A soft peal of mesmerizing laughter escaped her, drawing him further into her spell. "That depends. What do you have to offer?"

     This couldn't be happening. The rumors prodded his mind again, but he refused to accept the possibility that he might be standing in front of a ghost. Her hand felt too warm against his skin for her to be anything but real. He stepped back, ducked away from her touch. If he could get away from her, he'd be able to think again.

     "Are you lost? Do you need a ride back to town?" He glanced around the yard and the driveway, but saw no other vehicle besides his own Jeep. According to the landlady, the closest neighbor was over a mile away. How had she made it here, barefoot no less?

     "I think you're the one who's lost."

     He shook his head even as the truth of her words stabbed him through the heart. She wasn't speaking of physical whereabouts. "No. I know exactly who I am, and where I'm going. It's late. If you'll excuse me�"

     He turned and strode toward the house, determined to get away from the strange woman and regain his sanity. The brush of her warm hand on his upper arm stopped him in his tracks. He spun to find her right behind him. How had she moved so silently that he hadn't heard her approach? He sucked in a sharp breath, his nerves on high alert. Something about her wasn't right. Many things weren't right. He'd been thrust into some kind of alternate dimension where reality as he knew it didn't exist. None of this could be real. It was a dream. A hallucination. But his body refused to listen to reason.

     "What is it you want from me?" he ground out, even as his cock hardened further in his boxers. At the same time as he said the words, every cell of his body screamed for him to take her, to take what she so blatantly offered. To push her up against the side of the house, tear her dress from her body, and thrust his cock home.

     No. This isn't real. It's a stress-induced dream. "I have nothing to offer you."

     "Oh, I don't think that's true. You have something I want very much."

     She had something he wanted, too. Her body. Her heat. If he had just one taste of her, he would die a happy man.

     Stop. Ignore the pull. He didn't know why his mind's warning was so important, just that it was.

     She wrapped her fingers around his neck and dragged him closer, so close that their lips would touch if either of them moved an inch. "Have you ever wanted one night with a woman, to do with as you wish, to fulfill your every fantasy, and be able to walk away with no regrets in the morning?"

     Yes. Afraid his tone and his words would betray him, he said nothing. He kept his arms at his sides, barely moved, barely breathed, afraid to back away and afraid to pull her close. What if she was a dream and she evaporated in his arms?

     What if she didn't?

     "Yes, you have. I see your answer in your eyes. Come closer. I can make your every fantasy come true."

Rachel Bo
http://webpages.charter.net/rachelbo/

EXCERPT: WOLF-BOUND: BEASTS IN THE LABYRINTH by Rachel Bo. Coming March 14th to www.loose-id.com!

Copyright 2005, Rachel Bo, all rights reserved.

     Tara wandered the labyrinth, awed by the thought of the deft artistry required to shape greenery into forms exhibiting such delicate irreality, yet retaining an air of enduring impregnability. In the fading light, she ambled wistfully between tall, imposing green walls, grinning wryly at the imperturbable creation presiding over each unexpected dead end. Green and graceful, fanciful topiaries posed in their corners and crannies, chaotic yet meticulously constrained, seeming to regard Tara's attempts to find her way with enigmatic amusement.

     Then she rounded a carefully trimmed hedge and she found it -- the heart of the labyrinth. Two heads turned with carnivorous haste, and Tara gazed into two sets of eyes richer than chocolate, and gasped. She knew immediately that they were beasts, despite the fa�ade of darkly handsome bad boys they wore to hide their natures.

     Their gazes, sharp and suspicious, took in every aspect of her shape and attire, nostrils quivering as they sniffed the air. Tension -- hair-trigger and pounce-ready -- vibrated in the dusky clearing. For a long moment, Tara was sure she would become one of those anecdotal mysteries on the evening news -- "Woman Mauled to Death by Unknown Animal at Local Tourist Attraction."

     Then the one on the left relaxed, and smiled. Tara's heart started beating again. "You startled us. We thought the grounds had closed for the day."

     "Th-They were about to." Tara's tongue tripped over itself as she stammered, relief trembling through her. "I-I talked them into letting me in at the last minute. My friend visited a couple of years ago, and was so impressed, and it's my first time here, and I thought I could find the center before dark, and ..." She trailed off, sensing their amusement. Shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm babbling. I didn't mean to interrupt anything." In the fading light, she could hardly make out their chiseled, handsome features any longer. Sighing, she turned back toward the maze. "I'd better go."

     "We'll go with you." Abruptly, the speaker was beside her, and her hand tingled as he laced his fingers through hers. She looked up. "I'm Johnathan, by the way." He glanced back into the clearing. "Tall, dark, and silent over there is my brother, Jacob." His warm tone, liquid and luscious as caramel, melted away any objection she might have been considering. "How about it, Jake? Shall we show our Irish cousin a bit of the New Orleans nightlife?"

     Good ears. Having never actually lived in Ireland, Tara retained only a faint hint of the Irish brogue she'd picked up from her parents. Were these guys Irish, too? If so, she couldn't hear it.

     She didn't hear a reply, either, but a moment later Johnathan tugged her possessively along, finding his way unerringly in the dark, and she could feel Jacob's brooding presence trailing behind. Tara astonished herself by allowing it to happen -- letting two perfect strangers herd her along. But that was just it -- they were perfect, and she definitely wanted a chance to know them better.

     Before she knew it, they were back at the starting point, where a quick rattle of the gate brought a caretaker out to unlock it, though he glowered at them in the yellow light of a couple of imitation carriage-house lanterns hung from the gate's finials.

     On the street, Jake seemed to acquire some of his brother's good humor, draping his arm across Tara's shoulder as Johnathan guided them toward Bourbon Street. It wasn't until Johnathan began pushing into a crowd of revelers reluctant to relegate Mardi Gras to the past, and grateful for the excuse of an impending St. Patrick's Day to dye their hair green and bare breasts painted with four-leaf clovers, that Tara stood her ground, refusing to move any farther. "Where are we going?"

     Johnathan glanced back with a puzzled expression. Warm breath on her ear sent a sultry heat racing through her veins, raising goosebumps in places she hadn't even known could goose. "What's your name?" Jake murmured.

     Knowing it was probably a very bad idea, she told him. "Tara."

     "Well, Tara, we're headed for a quiet place where we can get to know each other better." His lips brushed her earlobe. Fire kindled in her pussy, and Tara thought she would dissolve into a puddle of longing right there in the middle of downtown New Orleans. "Okay?"

Fierce desire licked through her veins, rendering her completely incapable of coherent speech for a long moment. They were strangers; she knew they could be dangerous, and also seemed slightly desperate, and yet ... they were the ones she had looked for all her life. Wild ones. Wolves, like Damien and Devlin, whom she'd fantasized about through her teenage years. She'd never met anyone like them, couldn't let them get away. Throwing caution to the star-dappled sky, she tightened her grip on Johnathan's hand, looked up into Jake's eyes, and nodded.

Samantha Winston
http://www.samanthawinston.com

Excerpt from: My Fair Pixie

     Sebastian tried to focus his eyes correctly. It didn't work. He looked for the doorway. There seemed to be two or three of them. Staggering a bit, he headed towards one when someone grabbed his arm and cried. "Is it you? Mr. Butler? You're late! Quick-you're bachelor number three and everyone's waiting for you. Good thing you told us you had a Porsche and we saw you drive in!"

     Who was Mr. Butler? The words made no sense but Sebastian didn't care. A warm, fuzzy alcohol-and-Viagra glow had settled over him. He peered at the person holding his arm. A pretty red-head with a no-nonsense glare stared back.

     "Who are you?" He asked, putting on his best British accent. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure of a formal introduction."

     The red-head stared at him. "You're drunk as a skunk!" she cried.

     "Observant filly, aren't you?" Now he had his John Wayne accent. He leered at her. Women loved his John Wayne accent. And just wait until he took his dick out and waved it around. He'd never tried that, but it might be a fun thing to do on a live show. "And jes' where do you think yer takin' me, young lady? Why I�"

     "Get in here, you're late!" She dragged him into a tiny room with no windows. There was just a stool, he noticed, and no bed. She pushed him towards the stool and huffed at him. "Why did I ever accept this job? Look, I am the show assistant. And you are bachelor number three. Just sit here, on this stool, in this cubicle, and talk into the microphone when someone asks you a question. No one in their right mind will pick you, and afterwards you can leave by the back door and no one will be the wiser." She shoved him onto the stool and fled, slamming the door behind her.

     "Thank you, you buck futter." Sebastian glared at the microphone and burped loudly. A voice came over the loud speaker.

     "Bachelor number three, introduce yourself."

     He blinked. "Myself?"

     "Why yes! I am talking to you, bachelor number three!" The voice chirped. A bimbo, if he wasn't mistaken. Fine. He could do that, even blind drunk.

     It took him a minute to find the microphone. Clearing his throat, he said, "My name is Sebastian Montgomery Chateaufix�Butler," he added, suddenly remembering the assistant insisting his name was Butler. "I was born in the year of our Lord 1278, during the reign of Louis the� Fuck." He frowned.

     Which Louis had it been? So long ago. "Tenth," he hazarded a guess. "I was bitten by a vampire during the eighth crusade, near Tunis, and then I lived for a couple centuries in Africa, which was a blessing seeing as Europe went through a nasty time of it what with the plague and the mini ice-age in the fourteenth century." He scratched his head. What was he supposed to be doing? Oh yes, introducing himself.

     "I have a ten inch penis and I love to fuck. If anyone is interested�" A loud buzz interrupted his words.

     The door opened and the assistant poked in her head. She looked furious. And adorable. "We can't�"

     "Oh, hello again!" He was so glad to see her. Really he was. She was his best friend in the whole world and here she was again! He leapt off the stool and pulled her into the cubicle with him. "My love," he said. He nipped her earlobe and was rewarded by a drop of ruby blood. "I am as horny as a ram," he said, thrusting his hips against her. "Why don't we get comfortable?"

     She shoved him away from her and said, "Stop it! Behave! Don't worry, you won't be chosen. Just behave! Please!"

     "What does the chosen one get?" He suddenly had to know.

     "Our contestant chooses a bachelor and afterwards we fly them directly to Las Vegas on the late night flight. They get a whole week at a luxurious, all-expenses-paid vacation in a ranch nearby Las Vegas. Just think-riding with the cowboys all day and taking the limo to Las Vegas at night for gambling and shows."

     Sebastian shuddered. "Cowboys? Those big, hairy, smelly brutes on horseback? Good heavens, I thought they were extinct!"

     The assistant glared at him and slammed the door.

     Well, his head had cleared a bit anyhow. He'd try to be good.

     The voice came back. "Bachelor number three-you said something that fascinated me."

     He raised his eyebrows. "What, about my ten-inch�"

     "Oh no, not that." The laugh came again. High pitched and giggly. A bimbo. Just his luck. "I want to know if you are a history major. I mean, you seem to know a lot about history."

     Well, why not? "Yes, dear, I am a history major. My, my�we can't keep anything from you can we?" He uttered a hearty laugh, like he imagined a professor would, and settled back on his stool. He might as well enjoy himself.

     The bimbo continued. "Do you believe in unicorns too? I mean, you mentioned vampires, so I wondered if you didn't maybe believe in, like, elves and fairies too."

     "Why not werewolves while we're at it?" If her diction gave any indication, she'd failed fourth grade�and never gotten any further. He sighed. With his luck, she'd probably pick him and he'd be stuck with this bimbo and some cowboys on some god-forsaken ranch. He better make damn sure she didn't pick him. "No, I don't believe in any of that nonsense and neither should you. Now grow up and go back to school. You need education and a good spanking." Whoops. He wasn't as sober as he thought.

     * * * * *

     Jessica Adkins fidgeted on the pedestal-like barstool she was forced to sit on. Spanking? Had she just heard right? Man, what she wouldn't give for a good spanking! If only to get her juices flowing. It was amazing how arousing the thought of a good bare-butt smack could be. Already her libido was rising like a weather balloon. Hold on�which bachelor was The Spanker?