Countdown to Christmas: 16 more sleeps...

Mistletoe in Manhattan
by Talli Roland

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Holly may never forget this Christmas... even if she wants to!

As the daughter of Christmas-any-time party planners, Holly West has been surrounded by the holiday spirit since birth. Trouble is, she's not exactly filled with festive cheer. In fact, Holly can't wait to ditch the Santa suit for champagne and celebs, and become a party planner to the stars.

When TV star Dean Layton hires her parents' company to throw his holiday bash in Manhattan, Holly jumps at the chance to help, confident she can handle a little Christmas in exchange for access to Dean's exclusive world.

But New York and Dean's over-the-top demands are more than Holly bargained for. Can Holly deck the halls and make it a party to be proud of, or will this Christmas end her dreams for good?

Mistletoe in Manhattan also gives readers a sneak peek of Talli Roland's novel The Pollyanna Plan, out now. 

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About the author...

Talli Roland

Talli Roland writes fun, romantic fiction. Born and raised in Canada, Talli now lives in London, where she savours the great cultural life (coffee and wine). Despite training as a journalist, Talli soon found she preferred making up her own stories – complete with happy endings. Twice shortlisted for the UK’s Festival of Romance, Talli's novels have also been chosen as Amazon Customer Favourites and top books of the year by industry review websites. She’s a bestseller in Britain and the United States.

To learn more about Talli, you can find her here:

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Excerpt...

‘Come on, little elf! Gimme a kiss.’ The red-faced man leered towards me, blowing beery breath my way as he dangled a mangled piece of mistletoe.

How about a boot in the balls? I thought, glancing down at the curled-up, bejangled toes of the green-felt monstrosities on my feet. The shoes were offensive, but they were nothing compared to the rest of my costume Mum had lovingly sewn for their “Christmas When You Like it” party business. I was every elf-lover’s wet dream: short, leprechaun-green tunic trimmed with red and gold, vivid red tights, and a pointed cap. In a fit of economy, my mother had used the leftover shiny material from the Christmas tablecloths, and my whole outfit glowed in the dark. Mum had been delighted. Me, not so much.

Two more hours, I sighed, forcing my thoughts away from elfin violence. Two more hours and I could be Holly West again, back in the safety of the office, wearing the business suits I’d purchased after graduating from university last year in hopes of employment at a London party-planners. Little had I known I’d be sporting my Next outfits right back where I’d started: behind the desk of my parents’ headquarters in the garden shed, working as receptionist/ tea-maker/ lead elf, and dreaming of a world where Christmas wasn’t an all-year extravaganza.

‘Holly!’ Mum, clad in a Mrs Claus outfit with extra cushions for bulk, artfully dodged the mistletoe-man trying to pinch her bottom – not that he’d get anywhere close with all the padding. ‘Please mix some mulled wine. We’re running low.’

This lot needed more alcohol like a hole in the head, but the one thing I’d learned was the drunker the punter, the fewer complaints. Luckily, Christmas office parties – regardless of the time of year – seemed to give workers a carte blanche to get trashed.

‘Your name is Holly?’ the man slurred, pointing at me and grinning. ‘Your name is Holly and you work as an elf? That’s brill. Hey, are you really an elf? Do you live in the North Pole? Take me back to yours, baby. This Santa loves sleighs.’

Oh, God. Rolling my eyes, I turned and fled for the safety of the tiny kitchen, cursing my parents for the bazillionth time for naming me Holly. As full-time Christmas aficionados, Mum and Dad had been thrilled when I popped out on December twenty-fifth with the dubious honour of Little Missington’s first Christmas baby in fifty years (the village was so tiny, the birth rate was practically negative one hundred). Faced with the choice of either Noel, Yuletide or Holly, I supposed I should be happy they’d plumped for the latter. Even so, I couldn’t wait to get away from this claustrophobic village where the elderly population still called me “The Christmas Baby”.

Some day, I told myself as I shoved another pitcher of hideous mulled wine into the microwave. Some day I’d have a swank job at a prestigious party-planners, and I’d never again dress as an elf or listen to carols around the clock.

I just hoped it was sooner rather than later, before Christmas did me in.

          

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Countdown to Christmas: 17 more sleeps...

Oh Christmas Tree
by S.J. Thomas

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A Christmas curse trapped him and a Christmas wish released him, but will the passion that is ignited be strong enough to keep them together? Cursed by the Spirit of Christmas, Scottish tree spirit Ghille Dhu has been bound in his spirit form to the Christmas tree for over a hundred and fifty years. He can only be freed by a woman with a true belief in Christmas.

Escaping the hurt of a recent breakup, Amanda Pearce has come to Scotland for the holidays and she is stunned when her idle wish for someone to share Christmas with conjures a fierce, wild looking male from her Christmas tree.

Having been trapped for so long Ghille Dhu is gripped by an overwhelming lust and desire for the woman who has freed him; a lust and desire that Amanda returns. She wants this other worldly male, and when his dominant side is revealed Amanda is surprised by her ready submission.

As Christmas approaches Amanda submits to Ghille Dhu's wild desires and firm control in ways she never has before, but will she give enough of herself to break the curse forever?

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About the author...

Writing sizzling paranormal romance and erotica and dark paranormal horror SJ Thomas lives in the South West of England with her wonderful husband and a very spoilt Springer Spaniel. She has a full time day job so has to fit her writing in when ever she can, but of course would love to write full time one day. When not writing or working she enjoys reading, walking, geocaching and surfing badly.

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Excerpt...

What would it be like to decorate the tree with a lover? To have someone's warm arms wrapped around her as they placed each decoration on the tree. To playfully argue about where to put the little white doves or the wooden rocking horse. To be distracted by hot, sweet kisses.

As the fantasy played out in her mind, Amanda's fingers stroked one of the branches, the needles surprisingly soft as long as you went away from the trunk. What she wouldn't give to have a man who really believed in Christmas, who knew what made it important and why it should be celebrated. Oh if only there was such a thing as the Spirit of Christmas and it granted wishes.

Suddenly the tree came to life beneath her hands, its limbs shaking violently, knocking loose the lights she'd placed on it. With a scream Amanda leaped back, and spinning round she grabbed for her phone, her fingers scrolling for Tony's number. When she glanced back at the tree the phone fell forgotten to the floor.

In the middle of the room, in front of the tree, stood a man. A wild, fierce looking man dressed in a strange hooded cloak and loincloth, both of which looked like they were made from moss and leaves. Beneath the hood she saw sharp elfin features, coal black hair plaited into beaded braids, and piercing, otherworldly green eyes. He was almost as tall as the Christmas tree, and because of how little he was wearing, she got an eyeful of his sinful body. Every inch of him was ripped, with ropes of sinewy lick-able muscles lacing his chest and stomach. At the back of her mind alarm bells were ringing, but Amanda couldn't take her eyes off him, couldn't make her body do anything other than ready itself for him.

His head jerked left then right, his wild gaze flitting frantically around the room, before settling on her, and the heat and hunger Amanda saw there sparked a hunger of her own. In that instant who and what he was didn't matter. She only knew she wanted him.

With a graceful movement he stalked toward her, his cloak disappearing as he moved. She knew she should run but rather than backing away she actually stepped closer. His eyes widened and nostrils flared, that animalistic response making her breath catch. Her body throbbed with sensation and she could feel the wetness between her thighs already; he hadn't even touched her and she was so ready.

Stopping only inches from her, his gaze roamed over her face before dipping down to her cleavage, a deep growl emanating from his chest. The sound made the hairs on her arms stand on end, set her heart thundering, but Amanda could not draw herself away from the mesmerizing male who now stood right in front of her. This close he was stunning, his elfin features utterly flawless, yet still so very masculine. Unconsciously her body shifted forward, her hands clenched into fists as she willed for him to touch her.

The next instance she got what she wanted as he jerked her to him, one hand tangling in her hair, the other circling her to press against her back. Amanda melded herself against him, clinging to his broad shoulders to pull him closer, and their lips and tongues met in a fierce and wild battle. He tasted like rich wine with a hint of spice, utterly delicious, and he smelled amazing; like fresh air and mountain streams and pine trees. Sharp and fresh and exhilarating.

Her body seemed to come to life in his arms and she began to explore him, running her seeking fingers over the hard planes of his chest and back, each touch sending sparks of electricity through her. She was so aroused and she could feel his response in the firm grip of his hands, his hungry kiss, and the hardness of his cock as it pressed against her belly. Amanda knew where this was going and had no doubts it was what she wanted, when unexpectedly he pulled back, holding her at arms' length, leaving her gasping from the intensity of their encounter.

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Countdown to Christmas: 18 more sleeps...

The Perfect Gift
by Raven McAllan

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Judith has the perfect present for Stephen—herself. Will he accept, or decline her gift?

Lady Judith Gresham had been in love with Stephen, Viscount Pelham for years.

Stephen eleven years her elder, treated her purely as one of his sisters friends; he was too old in years and deeds for such a young innocent. As his sister, was now happily married, there was no longer any reason to see her.

Even to himself he wouldn't admit he missed her.

So when his sister and her new husband decided to have a Christmas house party, and illness causes them to beg to use his home, he agreed. Even when he heard Judith was to be one of the guests he wasn't really worried, he would keep to himself, enjoy Maria Mallins, his long married mistress, and treat Judith with distant benevolence.

However Judith and his sister had other ideas.

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About the author...

Raven lives in Scotland, along with her husband and their two cats—their children having flown the nest—surrounded by beautiful scenery, which inspires a lot of the settings in her books. 

She is used to sharing her life with the occasional deer, red squirrel, and lost tourist, to say nothing of the scourge of Scotland—the midge. A lover of reading, she appreciates the history inside a book, and the chance to peek into the lives of those from years ago. Raven admits that she enjoys the research for her books almost as much as the writing; so much so, that sometimes she realizes she's strayed way past the information she needs to know, and not a paragraph has been added to her WIP (work in progress).

You can follow Raven at:

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Excerpt...

Stephen gave into temptation. He stretched out and caressed the perfect globes of the milk-white arse presented to him. His fingers ached to sample the delights he could imagine between the delicate curls that covered her quim. He nobly resisted the urge to venture further, but fondled her arse, and circled the perfect rosette of her anus. Even that small degree of intimacy made his cock rise up and demand attention. Thank the lord for the decrees of the ton that stiff breeches were not de-rigeuer in all situations. He was pleased to be wearing pantaloons, even if they were frowned upon as fast by some of the upper echelon of the ton.

A noise not unlike a kettle about to boil was coming from under the skirts. It seemed the lady was not amused.

With an inward smile of satisfaction, Stephen used his fingers to tease for a few seconds longer, squashing his innermost desires to take things a lot further. Judith, for he was sure it was she, was upside down, her skirts hung over her upper body, and shielded him from her view.

With regret he turned her upright, letting her skirts fall and cover her perfect body.

She was red in the face as she glared at him.

Stephen suppressed a chuckle. "Ire because I took a small liberty my dear or because I stopped before I began to explore?" He raised one fine shaped eyebrow, and held the lantern closer to her.

The light swayed, and he saw stars, as pain radiated from his stomach, to his cock and thence upwards. He could have sworn his teeth rattled with the intensity of the blow he received.

The minx has hit me.

His breath whooshed out of him, and through the ringing in his ears he heard her furious voice.

"You bastard, you cad, you, you, villain." Her voice was deep and full of scorn. "Is that the lone way you can justify touching me? When my head is covered and I cannot either take part or deny you?"

Put like that it did seem rather more underhand than he intended. Stephen did his best to gather air into his labored lungs and not wheeze like an old man. It was several seconds before he decided he was in control of his breathing once more. His chest heaved as he struggled to formulate his sentence.

"I apologize, my lady," he said stiffness uppermost in his voice. "If I offended or upset you." He was not going to apologize for his actions, and he saw the gleam in her eyes when she realized it.

"And do you apologize for anything more?" she asked, her hands clenched by her sides.

Stephen eyed those tiny weapons. He knew the signs of ire in a woman. "If I did so, it would be a lie," he replied. "I must be frank, I enjoyed every tiny touch, and my body aches for more."

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Countdown to Christmas: 19 more sleeps...

Merry Christmas, Shelton
by Dianne Hartsock

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21st December 2012

Can Shelton and Nevil overcome the obstacles of a blizzard, a baby, and one hot redhead and find their way to a merry Christmas?

Shelton and Nevil have rented a cozy cabin in the mountains in which to spend the Christmas holiday. Tree is lit. Presents sparkle. Shelton anticipates a very merry Christmas indeed. But then a blizzard springs up, landing a sexy redhead on their doorstep looking like trouble in a pretty package.

Tommy brings a message for Nevil, but when he first hits on Shelton in the shower, then offers to drive Nevil to his sister's side while she has her baby, Shelton begins to wonder just how this mixed up Christmas is going to end.

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Meet the author...

Dianne Hartsock

After growing up in California and spending the first ten years of marriage in Colorado, Dianne now lives in the beautiful Willamette Valley of Oregon with her incredibly patient husband, who puts up with the endless hours she spends hunched over the keyboard letting her characters play.

She says Oregon’s raindrops are the perfect setting in which to write. There’s something about being cooped up in the house while it pours rain outside, a fire crackles on the hearth inside, and a cup of hot coffee warms her hands which kindles her imagination. 

Currently, Dianne works as a floral designer in a locally-owned gift shop. Which is the perfect job for her. When not writing, she can express herself through the rich colors and textures of flowers and foliage.

You can follow Dianne on:

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Be a winner today...

Merry Christmas, Shelton is included in the bumper prize bundle, but as an extra special treat, Dianne is offering any title from the 'Shelton' series to one lucky commenter today. 

To be in with a chance of winning, just leave a comment below and tell Dianne what your favourite holiday cookie is, easy as that.

The winner will be chosen at random and announced tomorrow, so come back and check the comments to see if it is you.

Excerpt...

Shelton woke from a sound sleep, disoriented by a pounding on the door. He untangled from Nevil and sat up, heart racing. A glance at the clock showed it was barely three o'clock in the morning. What the hell? The pounding resumed and he scrambled to his feet, taking a second to slip on sweat pants before unlocking the door. The wind had died down and Shelton blinked at the snow piled up against the cabin walls. A slight figure huddled on the step, illuminated by the porch light, and without hesitation Shelton drew him into the warmth of the room, closing the door on the bitter night.

"What's happened?"

Shelton jumped a little at Nevil's voice and blinked as the light went on overhead. There was a gasp from the bundle under his hand and he searched the pale face the young man raised. The pretty blue eyes weren't looking at him and he followed his gaze to where his lover stood in all his naked splendor. Nevil scowled at their interest and pulled on the cotton pajama bottoms he'd picked up.

Shelton gave the boy a slight shake, knocking snow off his jacket and cap. "God, you're soaked through! You need to get out of those clothes. Nevil, can you stir up the fire?"

"Of course."

As if knowing his danger, the young man stripped off his coat and sopping shirt while Shelton unlaced his boots and carefully slipped them off, leaving the socks for now. Ski pants and under armor were lowered and the young man leaned a hand on Shelton's shoulder as he stepped out of them. Shelton glanced up and found himself on eye level with a pair of dark boxers that did little to cover the treasures beneath. His gaze swept up a tight stomach and muscular chest and clashed with laughing eyes. Trouble!

He cleared his throat. "Come to the fire and I'll check for frostbite."

The young man followed him, lifting the cap off a shock of copper hair. He sat on the quilts and Nevil draped one over his shoulders while Shelton knelt beside him. "Hands first," he said and slid the wet gloves by careful inches off his hands. The skin felt cold and white, but the fingertips weren't blue. "Can you move them?"

He looked up when the young man didn't answer and met his puzzled gaze. "You're really concerned, aren't you?"

The man sounded slightly amused and Shelton felt the blush in his cheeks as he answered, "Yes. I saw a boy with frostbite last winter, in Colorado. It was...painful to witness. Let's check those toes."

He removed the damp socks with the same care as the gloves, and sighed in relief when the boy wiggled each toe. Nevil snorted from where he leaned against the mantle watching the proceedings. "Now that we know nothing is going to fall off, can you tell us what the hell you're doing here?"

"Tera Shaw left a message for you at the lodge." He smirked when Nevil straightened, tense. "I volunteered to bring it. She says she's fine, but that they're admitting her to the hospital in the morning. She'd like you to be there as soon as you can."

"I'll go immediately."

"No, sir. The snow's not too bad at the lodge, but worse up here. We'll have to wait for the snowplow to get your car out."

Nevil paced the room, cursing under his breath. Shelton heard the young man's breath quicken as he watched the lithe movements of the sleek body, and frowned. "What's your name?" he asked as a distraction. "Tommy."

Of course it was. A cute name for a pretty face and sexy, youthful body.Damn.

"Well, Tommy, thanks for risking your neck for us. Why don't you get some sleep here by the fire?" Shelton climbed stiffly to his feet and went to Nevil's side. "Come to bed, honey." Nevil grunted and Shelton slid an arm around his waist. "Try to sleep, at least a little. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

Nevil relaxed against him. "You're right." He allowed Shelton to lead him to their room, and paused in the doorway to glance back at Tommy. "Thanks, man."

"My pleasure," Tommy said with a purr.

Shelton's lips thinned at the interest in the young man's gaze and tugged Nevil into the room, purposefully closing the door. He pushed his lover on the bed, cuddled up to him under the blankets, and held him close until they slept.

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Countdown to Christmas: 20 more sleeps...

The Cowgirl's Christmas
by Patricia Bates

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A sexy cowboy to unwrap…what more could a girl want?

For Holly Walker Christmas is about more than just flashing lights, it's about having some sexy time with her husband. This year, however, she's got a secret that could destroy everything…or save their future.

Content Warning: explicit sex

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About the author...

Patricia Bates

Reading has been such a large part of my life. I cut my literary teeth on such author’s as Louis L’Amour, Nora Roberts and Janet Dailey. For me it wasn’t such a jump from reading the wonderful tales these author’s spun to imagining my own.

Soon I was writing poetry, short stories and by junior high I’d written my first full length romance novel. Since then I’ve taken my love of history and my passion for writing and combined them into what I hope will continue to prove a successful career.

With six books contracted, four of which are currently available in print. All are available in electronic format with the last two ebooks due for a release in May and the other in the summer. I’m currently working on three projects, an erotic paranormal romance featuring a witch who lovesChristmas, another Ancient Ireland novel, rich in the history of the Irish Celtic peoples, and plotting out a Cowboy Series tentatively titled “The James Gang”.

Of course I’ve got a lot more on the go. I’m developing and growing my editing company with some amazing authors, working on getting the books that Blade had revamped to fit the submission guidelines for some other publishers and keeping up on my writing and being a full time mom, working outside of the house…its amazing what I can manage in a 16 hour day.

You can follow Patricia at:

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Excerpt...

Hundreds of flickering lights skipped against a black backdrop like diamonds on velvet. Holly hit the turn signal and pulled off the nearly deserted highway. The car purred along the merge lane before gliding into the busy city traffic. She slowed down to a crawl and stared at the brightly lit storefronts and the strings of lights that hung from bare trees lining the streets.

The massive, decorated spruce that stood atop the hotel where she'd made reservations drew a giggle. It seemed fitting that the hotel would appear to be a gift. The holiday would be well worth the wait, she thought as she parked near the entrance.

"Good evening," the woman at the desk greeted her warmly. "Happy holidays."

"Merry Christmas," Holly replied, tucking her keys into her purse. "I'm Holly Walker. Is my room ready?"

"Yes, it is. Anthony will take your luggage up." The desk clerk waved a tall, sandy-haired young man over. "Will you be attending the auction tomorrow night?"

"Of course." Holly signed the slip with a flourish, a grin on her face. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Excellent. Enjoy your stay, Ms. Walker."

"Thank you." She followed the bellhop into the elevator. Holly stood silently, her gaze steady on the elevator doors. She could feel the young man's eyes on her, and she looked down at the pale flesh on her ring finger where her wedding band usually rested. She wondered if the elegant gold band would be back in place come Christmas morning.

With her luggage secured in her room, she pressed a bill into Anthony's hand and ushered him out the door. She tossed her coat across the back of a chair and turned to study her room.

A massive mahogany bed was made up in red and green linen. Six plump pillows lined the head of it and a bathrobe lay folded on the end. She ran a hand over the garment. The soft, warm fleece of the robe tickled her fingertips as her gaze swung to the desk in the room. A large, cellophane-wrapped basket sat atop it, and two crimson roses that had been tied with some holly hung from the handle.

She toed off her boots and padded on stocking feet to investigate the offering. The sweet scent filled her nostrils as she sniffed the flowers, her hand already reaching for the card. It was a simple card, elegant and very masculine in its stark whiteness and blue print.

Merry Christmas, and welcome to the Mistletoe Charity Auction. I hope you'll find these small tokens useful. The masculine scrawl along the card curved upward to a seasonal graphic.

Holly tore into the goodies left by the hotel. A delicate flush climbed her cheeks as she pushed the cellophane away to reveal the contents of the basket. "No wonder it has dark wrapping." She whistled as she lifted out a bottle of massage oil. "Cherry flavored, hmm. Ooh, what's this?" She pulled out a slim package and turned it over. The simple silver box offered few clues to its contents. Her long nails scraped under the flap and pulled it upward. Inside lay a simple bottle. "Menthol lubricant, for that extra tingle." Holly laughed and set the bottle down next to the bed.

A quick glance at the clock revealed it was nearly seven. He must have arrived by now. Was he settled into his room, impatient for the culmination of their very own little ritual? She shifted, the bare skin of her thighs rubbing together to create a sweet, heated friction. Beneath the satin of her panties her body throbbed with a deep longing.

Desperate to hear his voice she grabbed her cellphone from the bedside table. Flipping it open, she stretched out on the bed. She slipped the fingers of her free hand between her legs to fan the flames as she punched in the familiar numbers. She listened to the musical tone of the ringer.

"Hello, you've reached Tyson. I can't come to the phone. Leave your name and number, and I'll be sure to call you back."

Holly trailed a finger down her throat as she listened to the rich twang in his baritone. At the beep she inhaled.

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Countdown to Christmas: 21 more sleeps...

Vanilla-Free Christmas anthology
featuring Doris O'Connor and Raven McAllan

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This Christmas, the best gifts are waiting for those who have been naughty…

And the toys under the tree are not for children. Sexy Santas, naughty elves, and dominant shifters are ready to spread some very kinky Christmas cheer. It’s a good thing the ladies in our stories are looking for anything but vanilla.

Be Warned: ménage sex, anal sex, sex toys, BDSM, spanking

~ 9 Author Kink Anthology~

Santa's Beard
by Doris O'Connor

When Santa strokes his beard wishes are granted - apparently. Joanna is not convinced, but when she wakes up on Christmas morning to find her cats have magically morphed into two naked and dominant men, she doesn't know what to think anymore. All she can do is ride the waves of sensation, as all her kinky desires come true. Can fantasy stand up in reality, or was it all just a dream?

Secrets Santa
by Raven McAllan

When Marian hears voices at the office party she thinks she is losing the plot. The incredibly sexy Santa who hands out the presents is another surprise. Does she follow the instructions that come with the presents?

After having been left alone for years with only videos to guide her, can she trust her heart and truly submit. Will it be, Oh no, Santa, or Yes, Sir? 

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Be a winner today...

Keep your eyes peeled over the coming days to find out more about our two featured authors from today's featured Christmas anthology, Doris O'Connor and Raven McAllan.

Vanilla-Free Christmas is just one of the books up for grabs in the bumper prize bundle, but you could also walk away with a copy today. Just comment below and tell us your favourite Christmas treat to be in with a chance of winning.

The winner will chosen at random and announced tomorrow so remember to subscribe to comments, or come back tomorrow to see if it was your lucky day.

Excerpt from Santa's Beard...

Joanna stretched and moaned softly. Christmas Day already? She couldn't even remember getting to bed last night, but clearly she must have done. She was not lying face down on her lumpy couch anymore, where she was pretty sure she had passed out sometime on Christmas Eve, having drunk the entire bottle of wine by herself. She distinctly remembered Ben's feline stare and Bill licking her ear, and then things had gotten crazy.

Joanna groaned, recalling the strange dream that had followed. Yes, crazy cat lady, that was her, for in her dream, Ben's stare had changed into the disapproving and unblinking gaze of a drop dead gorgeous, muscled hunk of a man. Her pussy had clenched, and she'd whimpered her need into the shoulder of another man. Slightly smaller and leaner than his counterpart, he'd nonetheless made short work of picking her up. The room had swayed and Joanna had held on to impossibly broad shoulders, curling her fingers into the man's flexing biceps as her stomach had rolled and her head pounded. She had screwed her eyes shut and buried her face in the man's broad chest, desperately trying not to bring up the contents of her stomach.

"Relax." The deep voice of the man carrying her had rumbled through her, and another hand had massaged her shoulders.

"Caid is right. Relax, let us take care of you for a change, sweet Joanna."

Even in her dream, Joanna thought how odd this conversation was, but she wasn't about to argue with the commanding tone that made her toes curl under. Had she not been feeling so wretched that voice alone would have been enough to make her want to jump his bones.

Instead she had snuggled into the two male, warm bodies cocooning her and had slept peacefully all night. Now that was a first, too. Usually Joanna battled with insomnia, but not last night. Like a warm, soothing blanket, her men had surrounded her, much like Bill and Ben always did. Now there was a thought. Usually the two felines would have demanded their breakfast by now. Instead the mouthwatering aroma of brewing coffee permeated her senses at the same time as the prodding hardness against her ass cheeks registered for what it was.

What the fuck?

Her eyes flew open, and she would have dashed off the bed, had the man whose rock hard cock was digging into her crack not chosen that moment to use his considerable body strength to pull her back, roll her over, and pin her to the bed. He caught her flailing wrists with one large hand and held them still above her head. Her long haired captor ground his hips into the juncture of her thighs and pinned her with a stare so intense, her pussy instantly flooded with the evidence of her arousal. His emerald eyes narrowed and he smiled—a slow, dangerous, smile—that made her heart miss a beat before it tried to hammer itself out of her chest.

"Lie still, sweet Joanna. You've earned yourself enough punishment as it is."

Good God. It was the voice from her dream. A voice so full of authority and leashed passion, Joanna's breath hitched and excitement spread through her veins like wildfire.

"P … punishment? What for?"

"Hmm, let's see." The stranger, whose eyes held her captive with their familiar arrogance, smiled and pressed his erection into her mound. "Does this feel as though it ought to be castrated? And I won't even mention the fucking tags."

His annoyed growl vibrated through her and her eyes widened, when she took a proper look at him. It couldn't be. Yet, there, right above her was the unmistakable evidence. Her captor was missing his right arm—just like Ben.

"Ease up, Aran, you're scaring our woman. We need to explain this. Then we can paddle that sweet ass of hers and give her the fucking she deserves."

"Paddle … deserve?" Joanna was all too aware that she sounded like a dimwitted parrot, but when one was staring at a drop dead gorgeous human version of one's cat—and this one had a scar just like Bill—surely a woman was allowed to sound like a feathered idiot.

"You're my cats. You're Bill and Ben." That statement came out as a high-pitched squeak, and both men growled.

"Another ten swats to the tally for those ridiculous names, and we're not just cats."

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Excerpt from Secrets Santa...

"So, it's present giving time," Santa said. "Have you all been good?"

The resultant roar of  "Yes, Santa," made Marian smile. It seemed they were all big kids at heart.

"Then when I call your name out you can come and get your presents. One from the tree and one from me."

 The strains of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" rang around the room, and people began to sing along. Marian rolled her eyes. One silly little song, and everyone was all pally-pally, petty jealousies forgotten. As she watched her P.A. cuddle up to Sean from Accounts she stifled a grin. Sean was the next best thing to a piranha. However, Connie was no slouch in the elbow in the groin department. A sudden grunt from him and a grin from Connie confirmed it.

Whilst she had been watching the byplay, Santa had been calling various people up to the stage. The guys had shaken his hand, and the girls all sat on his lap and gave him a kiss. There was a photographer close by to record everyone opening his or her Santa present. Santa had emphasized the tree presents had to wait until Christmas day.

Marian laughed along with the rest of her colleagues as the various presents were opened and displayed. They were all silly little things. A stapler, a musical keyring, an ice scraper, and a coffee mug were all duly unwrapped and displayed.

Santa delved into his sack. "Marian Pearson, come on down." As her colleagues clapped and whistled, just like they had for all the others, Marian swallowed hard and began to walk to the front of the room. Her body was on fire, and she was sure her juices were running down her leg and staining her skirt. Why did those words no longer sound like the silly tag line of an old TV show and more like a demand?

As if it was a dream, with her head held high and clit throbbing, she walked between her co-workers and climbed the stage to stand in front of Santa. If he thought she was going to sit on his lap, he had another think coming. Whoever he was.

His grin was just visible from under the big bushy false beard. "Have you been a good girl, Marian?" His voice rumbled and vibrated through her. To her relief he didn't pat his lap and Marian didn't dare take more than one brief look there. His cock was pushing at the material like an excited flagpole. She hoped he hadn't been like that for all the women.

"Only you," he said in a low voice, which would not be overheard. "Only you." He rummaged in the Santa sack and pulled out a long thin box. "Here is your Santa present, Marian. Open it and show your colleagues."

 She took it obediently and tore the paper. She couldn't remember him using that authoritarian tone with anyone else. Her clit did its dancing act as he spoke.

Seriously, woman, get a grip. You'll be rolling over and asking for your tummy to be rubbed if you're not careful.

"Or your cunt to be spanked. Believe me, love, you don't need to ask, that's a given."

You what? Marian rubbed her ear. Surely she hadn't heard what she thought she had. No one was going to spank her anywhere, let alone there.

As the last of the wrapping paper fell away, she goggled. Inside were two long rulers. Santa's last words came back to her, and she bit her lip to stop herself moaning. Spank her with these? Surely not? Though the movie running through her head sent sharp darts of excitement into her as the scene flashed through her mind.

Behind her, none of her fellow workers saw anything amiss. Most of the presents had been work oriented. It didn't take Santa's low words to reinforce that.

"Especially for you, love, twice the pain, four times the pleasure. You'll see." He raised his voice.

"Why don't you kneel down and reach for your tree present, Marian. Don't forget, you must take it home and put it under the Christmas tree until Christmas day."

She looked up at him suspiciously. The words seemed innocuous enough, but she wasn't so sure. However, the determined look in his eye had her panties more than damp once more, and she nodded. "Yes, S…" She stopped, appalled at herself. His eyes twinkled, and she would swear he was trying not to laugh. "Yes, Santa." She improvised, aghast at what nearly slipped out.

She knelt in front of him to pick up the parcel with her name on it. As she did so, he spoke once more. His low sensual voice set shivers down her spine and into her pussy.

"And that position, my dear, is how you should be whenever we meet. Remember, red, orange, and green."

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Countdown to Christmas: 22 more sleeps...

Mistletoe and the Lost Stiletto
by Liz Fielding

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Chasing his Christmas Cinderella! Lucy Bright can’t believe it when she’s plucked from secretarial obscurity and transformed into the pampered fiancée of a slick retail guru. But then she discovers it was all a publicity stunt! Rushing away from the media frenzy, she bumps – literally – into delicious tycoon Nathaniel Hart…

Spooked by their instantaneous chemistry, Lucy flees – but Nathaniel is determined to find his barefoot beauty. Though all he has is one very expensive red designer stiletto to help him!

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Meet the Author...

(c) Mills and Boon

I've been reading since I was knee-high to a gnat. My mother taught me, the way she taught me all the good things in life. She read to me when I was little and then she bought me books of my own. Little Women, What Katy Did and Anne of Green Gables. I read them all until the covers fell off.

The only thing that is better than reading, is writing. Bringing to life characters that you love so much that finishing the book, leaving them to get on with their lives without you, is the hardest thing.

Released 20 years ago this month!

I started writing when my children were small and my engineer husband, John, was working abroad. We'd met working in Africa and had travelled the world together before settling down to raise our family.

My first romance, An Image of You, HR # 141, was set in Kenya, in a place I knew well, and was plucked from the slush pile because the feisty feminist heroine made my editor laugh. Emotion touched with humor has been the hallmark of my books ever since.

You can find Liz at:

Website     Blog

Facebook     Twitter     Goodreads

Excerpt...

Lucy’s shoulder hurt where she’d charged the emergency exit, setting off a barrage of alarms that lent wind to her heels as she raced down the narrow, darkening streets behind the hotel.

She had no idea where she was heading, only that there were men on her heels, all of them wanting her, all of them with their own agendas.  But she was done with being used.

‘Aaargh!’  She let out a wail of fury as her heel caught and snapped in a grating, bringing her up with a painful jerk.  Someone yelled behind her, closing fast and she paused only long enough to kick her foot free of the grating, leaving the shoe behind, and race on, casting around desperately for a cruising cab.  But there was never one when you were desperate! 

Idiot, idiot, idiot… 

The words hammered in her head in time to the jar of her feet on the freezing wet pavement as she ran, dot-and-carry-one lopsidedly on one heel. 

She’d just made the biggest mistake of her life.  Make that the second biggest.  She’d made the first when she’d fallen into the fairytale trap. 

In retrospect she could see that calling her erstwhile Prince Charming a liar and cheat in front of the nation’s assembled press pack had not been her brightest move.  But what was a girl to do when her magic castle-in-the-air had just turned into one of those blow up bouncy things they had at kids parties?

Stop and think?

Stand back, line up her allies before firing her ammunition from a safe distance?  Hardly the action of the girl Rupert had proclaimed to love for her spontaneity, her passion.

That was the difference between them. 

The woman who’d appeared on the cover of Celebrity wasn’t some figment of a PR man’s imagination.  She was real.  Capable of feeling not just joy but pain.  Which was why she’d leapt in with both feet, puncturing the fake castle with the 4 inch heels of her Louboutins, letting out the hot air and bringing it down around her.

Idiot was right but who, having just discovered that she was the victim of the most cynical, manipulative, emotional fraud imaginable, would be thinking rationally?

As for allies, there was no one she could turn to.    The press had already bought everyone who’d known her since she was a baby – anyone who had a photograph or a story to tell.  Every moment of her life was now public property and what they didn’t know they’d made up. 

And Rupert owned the rest. 

All those people who had fawned over her, pretended to be her friend, there wasn’t one she could trust.  Be sure was genuine rather than someone on his PR company’s payroll.

As for her mother…

She had no one and, run as hard as she might, nowhere to go.  Her legs were buckling beneath her, lungs straining, as she headed instinctively for the sparkle of Christmas lights, crowds of shoppers in which to lose herself, but she couldn’t stop. 

In moments her pursuers would be on her and she didn’t need the dropping temperature, the huge white flakes that had begun to swirl from a leaden sky, to send a shiver up her spine.  Then, as she rounded a corner seeking the safety of the crowds of Christmas shoppers, she saw the soaring asymmetrical glass pyramid of Hastings & Hart, lighting up the winter gloom like a beacon.   

She’d been in the store just the day before on a mission from Rupert to choose luscious Christmas gifts for his staff.  Giving the gossip mag photographers who followed her everywhere their photo opportunities.  It was all there in the files. 

The plan to keep her fully occupied.  Too busy to think.

The store seemed to mock her now and yet inside were nine warm and welcoming floors, each offering a hundred places to hide.  Within its walls she would be off the street, safe for a while, and she flew across the street, dodging through the snarled up traffic, heading towards the main entrance, slithering to a halt as she saw the doorman guarding the entrance.

Only yesterday he’d tipped his top hat to her in deference to her chauffeur-driven status. 

He wouldn’t be so impressed by her arrival today, but dishevelled and limping, he would certainly remember her and, pulling her coat tidily around her and shouldering her bag, she teetered precariously on her bare toe as she slowed down to saunter past him, doing her best to look as if she was out for a little shopping.

‘You’ll find footwear on the ground floor, ma’am,’ he said, face absolutely straight, as he opened the door.  And tipped his hat.

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Buy links for Mistletoe and the Lost Stiletto...

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