Spicy with a Side of Cranberry Sauce

Spicy with a Side of Cranberry Sauce – Book Two (expected release date December 2012)

Amy Easton is hell-bent on making this Thanksgiving holiday perfect for Dad, and herself. But when she arrives at Martha’s house, she quickly realizes she is in way over her head. She has no idea how to run a holiday, especially one in someone else’s home. What will Dad’s new girlfriend think when Amy screws it all up?

Mason Rider is blindsided by the woman in the grocery store headed for the last can of cranberry sauce. He lets her charm him right out of it and leaves with a non-committal maybe that she’ll call him next week. He should be more focused on helping mom through her first post-divorce Thanksgiving, but he can’t help but lust after the Kindergarten teacher with a hard edge. 

When he comes home to find the sexy cranberry-stealing blonde and her father in Mom’s house, his holiday hook up plans burn to cinders. Will he be able to resist Amy’s temper and spontaneous nature, or will his desire force him to break a promise he made to his mother?      

Author’s Bio

Rachell Nichole is saucy mama who writes Sizzling Romantic Entanglements. She is the author of An Affair Across Times Square, Spicy with a Side of Cranberry Sauce, and A Marietta Wedding. Rachell lives in New York with a mountain of books, a loving family, and an evil cat named Godiva that she adores.

Website / Blog / Facebook

Excerpt:

Spicy with a Side of Cranberry Sauce: From Chapter One 

Where the hell was the cranberry sauce? 

Amy Easton turned down the aisle of baking goods, searching for the last item Martha needed her to get. She had to find the damned can. This holiday would be perfect if it fucking killed her. The chain on her boots jangled as she hunted. The gallon of milk and box of stick butter froze her hands, but they’d been out of carts and Martha needed them both for first thing in the morning. 

She dodged an older lady pushing a heavy cart as she careened around the corner at the end of the aisle. She still didn’t spot the display. The stock boy had told her it was on aisle six, and here she stood at the end of aisle six, empty handed. Sighing, Amy turned and headed up the aisle again, her eyes roving left and right. She forced herself to slow down, fearing she’d miss the display. 

Thanksgiving just wouldn’t be the same without it. 

Martha had said the same thing earlier that evening when she’d sent Amy to the store. The woman was a Domestic Goddess. The way Mom used to be, the way Amy would never be. So when Martha had panicked after being unable to get in touch with her son on his way from the airport, Amy had volunteered to go get it. She’d be useless in the kitchen tomorrow, so it was the least she could do. Besides, it got her out of the house and away from the smooching her dad and Martha kept doing when they thought she wasn’t looking. 

It was sweet, really. And Amy couldn’t be happier with the way Dad was slowly coming back to life under Martha’s tutelage, but she could do without seeing her dad making out. She wanted to throw up her hands or punch something. Where the hell was that damn can?

There! 

She spotted the display across the end of aisle six. One lonely can of cranberry sauce sat on the shelf, as if it had waited just for her. She hadn’t thought Martha would be the kind of person to leave the shopping till the last minute, but apparently a few things had slipped her mind this year. With Amy and her dad down visiting, she wouldn’t be surprised if Martha had been a little worried about how things would go. 

A tall man with reddish brown curls was coming down the aisle diagonal to her. Heading for that damned can. She didn’t know where else to go around here to find one. She had to get to that can first. She picked up the pace and just as he turned the corner, she body checked his cart, flying back on her ass and dropping the milk and butter, just as the can of cranberry sauce flew off the shelf toward her.

An Affair Across Time Square

An Affair Across Times Square – Book One

 Layla Morgan is tired of getting into trouble, and getting hurt. And she fears her wild nature is going to strike yet again. But maybe this time, she’s finally met the guy that can stand close enough to touch her inner flames, and not get burned. 

Tyler Lachlan doesn’t stand a chance of resisting the delicious distraction of the mystery woman across Times Square. He’s sure there’s more to her than her sultry voice and mahogany thighs, but he doesn’t know if he’s willing to risk his career to find out.  

Could what began as a voyeuristic affair across Times Square develop into something more? 

Buy Links – Amazon / Loose ID / Fictionwise / Barnes & Noble

Author’s Bio

Rachell Nichole is saucy mama who writes Sizzling Romantic Entanglements. She is the author of An Affair Across Times Square, Spicy with a Side of Cranberry Sauce, and A Marietta Wedding. Rachell lives in New York with a mountain of books, a loving family, and an evil cat named Godiva that she adores.

Website / Blog / Facebook

Excerpt:

An Affair Across Times Square: From Chapter Two 

Layla froze as he came back into view.

Gorgeous. A trim goatee covered his square jaw, making him look distinguished. She’d never thought Times Square was so big and small at the same time. Before, she hadn’t really thought of it at all except with some barely concealed disdain. She watched as he went about what appeared to be normal business, his thick shoulders bunching with every movement. He shuffled a few papers on his desk, sat down, and fiddled with his computer. Not once did he look out his window again. Layla ignored the sinking feeling at his lack of attention.

She refused to open the curtain the rest of the way and try to entice him, as much as she wished to. Because this could be almost as dangerous as another affair with a married man. So she contented herself with watching him until he looked up. Her breath caught in her throat. He shook his head and returned to his work. Could he feel her watching him? He glanced at her again. Could he see her watching him? She held his gaze through the half-inch gap in the fabric and waited, holding her breath until he looked down again. She dropped the curtain.

Her plan to release some steam and settle down had been blown to shreds, because now her stomach was knotted with the what-ifs. The soft carpet against the backs of her thighs tickled, urging her to move. Her body still felt too sensitive, too aroused. She needed to shower and get her head screwed on straight. And stay as far away from her window as possible until she figured out what to do.

Grabbing the edge of the table, Layla pulled herself up and slid off her high heels, using the solid surface beneath her fingers for support. She walked on shaky legs through the living room and kitchenette area, then into her bedroom and to the bathroom, refusing to look back and steal a glimpse. Thank God the curtains in the bedroom were closed too. She set her glasses on the sink. Had he been as turned on as she was?

She closed herself into the bathroom. Mulling over the ideas in her head, she rolled down her black thigh-highs one at a time. Maybe she could leave her curtains open tomorrow morning when she got home just to see what would happen. He probably wouldn’t even be there. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed about that. She shook her head, deciding it didn’t matter.

After unhooking her bra, she tossed it and her panties in the corner with the rest of her dirties. The maids must love me. Though, of course, they did, and she knew it. They’d told her before that they didn’t mind taking care of her, and for that she was grateful. She turned on the hot water and stepped into the shower. She let the heat seep into her muscles and relax her shoulders. Sitting down in the tub, Layla grabbed the stopper and let the showerhead fill the basin with water. She lay back until the water covered her stomach, all the while trying to decide if she should give in to her wild nature and torture Mr. Times Square.

A Moment with Shara Lanel

Tell the readers a little about yourself.

Thanks for having me here today! Let’s see…I’m a doggy mom, a regular mom, and a wife, who doesn’t cook very well and sucks at housecleaning. Therefore I write. That, after much revising, I can do. I’m the author of eight novels and several short stories and novellas, all of them the super sexy kind. My abode is in Richmond, Virginia, and I’ve been enjoying the seventy degree weather in December.

As an author, do you take time to read? If so, what do you like to read and who is/are your favorite author/s?

I tend to read the most fiction in between projects and stick to non-fiction/research when I’m in the middle of something. I feel guilty reading a novel for hours when I’m supposed to be writing one.  You might consider my house a library if you examined the contents of every room—books everywhere. From romances to mysteries to sci-fi and fantasy. I can’t narrow it down to one favorite, but I’ve been reading a lot of Agatha Christie lately, some Gena Showalter and Heather Graham. And Doctor Who books.

How do you stay motivated when the Muse is uncooperative?

When I get stuck in a manuscript, usually about chapter three, I spend some time reading up on whatever subject(s) I’m working with, whether it be werewolves or Wicca or the original settlers of Western NY. I think this loosens “ze little gray cells” so I can write again. One thing that really motivated me this fall was attending the Writers Police Academy. The ride-along I did with one of the sheriff’s deputies inspired the hero I’m working on right now.

If you could go anywhere in the world on a romantic getaway, what would you do and where would you go?

Perhaps some place like the French Riviera. It strikes me as a place where you can enjoy the luxury of the past and present.  Enjoy the feel of suntan lotion slowly rubbed over my back by a man who’s particularly muscular and tan, dress up and cheer him on at a suave casino, listen to boats rocking and water lapping through the open window of our room in an Old World hotel. 

What is the hardest thing for you to write?

The middle.  I usually get stuck at the end of chapter three, get going again, get stuck a few chapters later, etc. Since I write by the seat of my pants, I never know what’s going to happen next in my books, which can really hinder getting to The End. But every time I outline I get bored and never want to finish the book. Catch-22.

If you could live the life of one of your characters who would you be?

Hmm, I think I would enjoy being Casey in Telekinetic Kisses, because I’ve always thought moving things with my mind would be cool. Plus she gets to hang out in a Mexican resort with sexy Agent Parker Nelson protecting her from bullets…and herself. Of course, I probably wouldn’t enjoy being kidnapped by bad guys or hidden and smuggled across the border, but it would certainly liven up things.

The tag line on my blog is ‘Indulge Your Inner Romantic.’ What do you do to indulge?

I love going to this little fondue restaurant not far from our house. A little wine, soft lighting, and chocolate fondue…perfect.

Contact:

http://www.sharalanel.com (my web site)

http://www.facebook.com/sharalanel (Facebook)

http://twitter.com/sharalanel (Twitter)

Email: shara@sharalanel.com

BLAME IT ON THE NIGHT

Blurb: 

Human/werewolf relations were forbidden. Guy’s father had made that clear years ago, but Guy had come very close to disobeying with naïve, teenage Olivia. He’d barely kept his body under control, as he’d held her during her first shocking orgasm. Years later, on edge with anger, grief, and the pull of the moon, Guy knows she’s the last person he needs near him.

Olivia is overcome with humiliation at the mere thought of seeing Guy again, though he’s starred in all of her fantasies over the past several years, but she refuses to leave his doorstep until he answers her questions about her missing sister and the dead body found on his property. Problem is, he’s ordering her to leave while blocking the door, telling her to get lost while pinning her between his hard body and the table, saying he doesn’t know what he’s doing while his every touch takes Olivia closer to heaven.

Sometimes forbidden love is worth the risk, but sometimes it leads to revenge and murder.

Buy link: http://www.loose-id.com/Blame-it-on-the-Night.aspx

EXCERPT:

John leaped, remaining in human form—mostly. His eyes shifted, and his claws grew. He flexed his fingers, then scraped his claws across Guy’s shoulder. He barely felt the cuts, and the skin healed immediately, unlike his shirt. Guy maneuvered the fight farther from Olivia and made one more jab at diplomacy. “Look, take me and say the human wasn’t with me. She’s flying home tonight, and we’ll never see her again. I’ll put her on the damn plane myself.”

John tapped his finger, with its long, curving nail, against his chin, leaving specks of Guy’s blood on his face. “Do you have something to offer me?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I want her.”

Guy shook his head. “The point of the deal is for her to go home safely.”

“I will agree to that if I can have her first. I have to admit, my view earlier gave me a raging hard-on.” He licked his lips and his chin and Guy’s blood, reminding Guy of a lizard. “Is she tight?”

*  *  *

Olivia had sawed through one strand of rope, which gave her hand more maneuverability but didn’t loosen the rest as she’d hoped. She was freaking out on every level possible, one of which kept telling her to wake the hell up from this nightmare. The languid feeling that came from having a strong orgasm had given way to surging adrenaline—she realized she was in the presence of monsters.

“What are you?” she whispered. Guy glanced at her, apology in his eyes, but John struck his stomach, and he bent forward. The fight was on, with each man—or whatever the hell they were—striking and evading at lightning-fast speed. They crossed the entire room in the space of one blink. She could ignore the “human” reference—maybe this guy was a Trekkie—but the eyes were too much. They hadn’t gone back to normal in an instant, the way she’d seen Guy’s do. Then his nails had grown, thickened, curved. Her imagination just wasn’t that good; this had to be real.

Which meant Guy was a monster too.

Chief? She’d bet Mr. Chelan filled that role, which explained why Guy and Nootau acted so oddly around him. She nearly dropped the knife—that meant Nootau was supernatural too! Was everyone she’d grown up with not what they seemed? She’d trusted Guy—for the most part—and thought he was helping her and Amy. What if he or someone he knew was committing these murders and had her sister?

Finally she cut through the strand that allowed the rest of the rope to loosen. By now Guy’s eyes were those of a feral animal. Light scratches on Guy’s cheek healed in seconds, but deep gashes on his shoulder and ribs oozed blood, soaking his shirt—enough blood that Olivia felt light-headed from the sight. Guy swiped John’s thigh with his nails, leaving four deep, red gashes. John howled, backed up, then leaped, arms forward. Guy fell to the concrete floor, on top of him, a wolf—a huge black wolf with its mouth open, fangs at the ready.

Guy’s sorrowful gaze met Olivia’s for one second before he too turned into a wolf. The animals were both graceful and savage. Guy’s fur was brown with a silver underlay, but dark slashes crossed his face, a bandit’s mask created by black fur. The eyes that had looked so scary in his human face—well, they still looked scary—were handsome and intelligent now. They reflected the dim lighting in the basement and seemed to glow.