Countdown to Christmas: 13 more sleeps...

Sinful Regency Christmas

featuring Marguerite Kaye

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A Collection of Five Sensual Seasonal Stories

It was a thrilling and thoroughly sinful Regency Christmas!

One Wicked Christmas

by Amanda McCabe

Lady Cassandra Osborne is ready to take a lover to her bed – and she’ll be at the same Christmas house party as Sir Ian Chandler, her late husband’s rakish best friend…

Virgin Unwrapped
by Christine Merrill.

Robert Breton’s touch fills Anne Clairemont with a delicious, scandalous heat – but can Robert’s mistletoe kisses seduce her into breaking her planned engagement?

An Illicit Indiscretion
by Bronwyn Scott.

Dashiell Steen, heir to an earldom, craves one final adventure before settling down – and finds it with a vivacious beauty escaping from a manor window!

A Rake for Christmas
by Ann Lethbridge.

Lady Eugenie Hardwick is being driven wild with need by the sounds of unrestrained passion coming from notorious Lord Richard Townsend’s bedroom!

Spellbound and Seduced
by Marguerite Kaye.

Cursed to be widowed on her wedding anniversary, Jura Mcnair chose not to marry, but, with handsome Lawrence Connaught, she feels the lure of forbidden desire…

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Spellbound and Seduced

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About Marguerite Kaye...

Marguerite's writing view

A Scot born and bred, I made the unbelievably foolish mistake of thinking I’d make a good lawyer, and clung to that belief right through university, where to everyone’s astonishment, not least mine, I graduated with a degree in Scots Law. To the relief of the Scottish legal establishment I decided not to practice, and instead embarked on a lengthy, successful but ultimately unfulfilling career in IT, where I learned a lot about people and not very much about computers. In the twenty years it took me to escape, I studied with the Open University, gaining a first class honours and a masters degree in history, and much more importantly discovered an enduring passion for the subject.

I’ve always been a voracious reader, and I’ve always wanted to write (honestly, my IT Project Delivery meeting minutes were positively Shakespearian!). At the age of nine I won a national poetry competition. At the age of twenty-nine I submitted my first ever manuscript to Mills & Boon, a modern romance which, for those familiar with the output of the BBC, was a bit like Monarch of the Glen meets Gardeners’ Question Time. There was a memorable scene in a potting shed, I recall. And a lot of orchids. Needless to say, it was very politely declined.

Reaching the turning-point age of forty, my life changed dramatically in a number of ways, and I took the plunge and decided to pursue my dream of writing for a living. It was difficult and very, very hard work but I loved it. I wrote anything and everything at first, articles for the local paper, travel, recipes, and lots and lots of history. Then I started writing short stories. And then I submitted another modern romance to Mills & Boon. A French froth, this time, and I received the same polite rejection letter. My next attempt, featuring a charismatic celebrity chef with revenge in his heart, went the same way. Finally, I thought (light bulb moment) you love history, you love romance, why not write a historical romance? So I did and HURRAH, Mills & Boon said yes!

I’d love to say the rest is history, but it’s more like a work in progress. When I’m not writing, thinking about writing, or angsting about not writing, I go for walks. Here in my native Argyll, there’s no shortage of two things, scenery and rain - just look at the view from my window. I also love to cook and eat and am extremely partial to a vodka martini. And because I love to drink martinis and eat, I have learned to love pilates (or more accurately, I have learned to love the effect of pilates).

Still want to know more? Read how I go about my writing (with a few digressions) here.

Excerpt...

Prologue

Christmas Day, 1622. Scottish Highlands

Snow had fallen overnight. In the early hours of the morning, the temperature had dropped sharply, making glittering crystals of the fallen flakes which crunched underfoot as the villagers gathered, the women with their arisaidhs drawn up over their heads, the men with their plaids wrapped tightly around them. Silence reigned as the birds watched on mutely from the bare branches of the trees.

A large bonfire had been built, but not to warm the assembled crowd. Its purpose was much more sinister. The atmosphere among the circle of Highlanders was tense, a potent brew of resentment tinged with fear at being forced to endure such a spectacle on Christmas Day of all days. But the laird had insisted, set upon providing an entertainment second to none for his high-born guests, and the laird’s word was law. 

Her bare feet numb, her eyes dazzled by the bleak morning light after days spent in the dank dungeons of the castle, Lillias was consumed by a fury so incandescent she did not feel the bitter cold, though she wore only her ragged shift. Ankles and wrists manacled, she shuffled along the path flanked by two of the laird’s men. The priest’s chanting affected her no more than the irritating buzz of an insect.

The circle of villagers opened suffice to allow her entry. In front of her stood the pyre on its platform of stones, taller than she’d expected, much more substantial. Faggots of peat were laid around the base. It would burn long and fiercely. Almost, her heart failed her then. Lillias staggered, but pride kept her upright. Boldly, she tossed back the distinctive tawny tangle of hair which marked all of her female kin and stood in the place hollowed out for her at the base of the wooden stack. The witch’s bonfire. Her funeral pyre. 

As they fastened the manacles to the stake, Lillias sought her daughter out amongst the curious gazes of the laird’s coterie. Her aura was bile-black and acrid, so different from the soft, glowing cloud which had enveloped Jennifer since childhood. Standing next to her was the man Lillias held responsible for poisoning her daughter’s mind towards her. Seamus, the laird’s son and Jennifer’s husband. The pair of them had branded her an evil witch even though they, and all the village, knew she only used her powers to do good. The laird had readily accepted their trumped-up evidence, sensing the opportunity for a Christmas entertainment that would be the talk of the glens.

The twigs were lit at the bonfire’s base. Damp with melted snow, the wood and peat caught slowly. The warmth was almost welcome on her chill-blained feet, though Lillias knew it was but a shadow of the fierce heat which would slowly consume her.

A man leapt forward from the crowd. “For pity’s sake,” he cried, “this woman saved my bairn’s life when all hope was lost. At least grant her the solace of a noose to spare her suffering.” But the laird shook his head and his men pushed the villager roughly back into the throng.

The first of the flames licked up around her toes. Her manacles heated and began to sear the flesh around her ankles. Lillias’s beautiful golden eyes blazed brighter than the pyre as she summoned her powers. Though her bound hands prevented her from pointing, the fierceness of her gaze directed all others’ – villagers, laird, and ladies – at Jennifer.

“A curse be upon you.” Her voice carried clear of the smoke, out into the crisp winter air. The villagers drew away as one, with a hiss of simple terror. Even the priest ceased his incessant chanting. With the flames licking at her shift, Lillias needed all her strength and resolution, all the vitriol which she had nursed through the days of captivity which followed her token trial. “For the sin of my betrayal, I place this curse upon you, my daughter. Your precious husband, who loves himself more than you, will die a year to the day upon which you married him.”

Her words held the villagers transfixed. The flames licked higher now, the heat was making her choke, but the pain was as yet bearable. “And so it will be, for each generation of my female kin in the years to come. To them, I bequeath my powers and my curse, until a true and perfect love does break the cycle.”

Smoke filled her lungs. Pain seared her flesh. Lillias fortified herself with a final look at her petrified daughter and corrupt son-in-law, then closed her eyes and waited for death to take her.

Click here to continue to chapter one

         

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Countdown to Christmas: 14 more sleeps...

The Spirit of Christmas
by Liz Talley

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*not available for UK Kindle (yet - sob!)

What would you do if you won 2 million dollars?

Well, Mary Paige Gentry gets to decide when she stops to help what she thinks is a homeless man ill-equipped for an unexpected cold snap in New Orleans and ends up with a lot of extra cash. When the bum turns out to be eccentric billionaire Malcolm Henry who has a plan for bringing the true spirit of Christmas back to the Crescent City, the soft-hearted accountant finds herself plunked down into the middle of a publicity campaign and toe-to-toe with the Henry heir apparent.

Malcolm Henry’s grandson Brennan Henry despises blinking lights, holiday music and busy-body do-gooders, but he can’t deny the attraction he feels for the clumsy blonde with the too big bottom and too big heart. In order to claim the CEO spot of MBH Industries, he must play the happy executive and squire Mary Paige about town…something he finds oddly satisfying even if he has to wear the occasional elf hat.

Join a former nun, an adorable Dachshund and a plucky breast cancer survivor in this modern-day A Christmas Carol as they watch Brennan meet his past, present and future…and learn the true meaning of Christmas and love.

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About the author...

Liz Talley

A 2009 Golden Heart finalist in Regency romance, Liz Talley has since found a home writing sassy Southern stories for Harlequin Superromance. Her book Vegas Two Step debuted in June 2010 and was quickly followed by four more books in her Oak Stand, Texas, Hometown series and a 2012 trilogy – The Boys of Bayou Bridge. 

Liz lives in North Louisiana with her hero, two beautiful boys and a passel of animals. She enjoys laundry, paying bills and creating masterful dinners for her family. She’s also lies in her biography to make herself look like the perfect housewife. What she really likes is new shoes, lemon drop martinis and fishing off the pier at her camp. You can visit her at www.liztalleybooks.com to learn more about the lies she tells herself and her upcoming books.

Excerpt...

Mary Paige Gentry stepped into an icy puddle of water as she exited the taxi with not only one high-heeled shoe, but both of them.

"Darn, darn, darn!" she said, trying to turn back to the driver without stepping into the cold water again. The cabbie raised bushy eyebrows and she tossed him a glare. "I assume you didn't see that puddle when you pulled up?"

He shrugged.

"Yeah, right," Mary Paige muttered, blowing out a breath that ruffled her bangs. "Just wait for me, okay?"

She didn't hang around for his response because, after the day she'd had, something had to go in her favor. She slammed the door and leaped to the curb, managing to clear the puddle she'd previously waded through. Having the cab wait for her would cost a small fortune, but she was way late to her uncle's infamous Christmas kickoff bash, thanks to her boss, Ivan the Terrible.

The frigid water seeped into the toes of her shoes as she walked toward the iron-barred glass door of the convenience store anchoring a corner in Fat City. Stupid, stupid! If she hadn't let vanity rule, she'd be plodding around in her cute fleur-de-lis rubber boots with warm tootsies. But because the strappy high-heel, pseudo-Mary Janes had called her name that morning, she would risk frostbite for the remainder of the evening.

Flashing neon signs hung garishly on the front of the store, bright cousins to the various cigarette ads, and from somewhere to her left, music bled onto the street. The door to the convenience store swooshed open, and she moved aside to avoid a woman who burst out, clutching a paper bag containing a fifth of something potent. Her elbow caught Mary Paige's arm, but the woman didn't even acknowledge the offense. She merely growled something about skinny blonde bitches and waddled down the block.

"Really?" Mary Paige called after her, even as part of her relished the backhanded compliment since she'd spent the past two months doing Zumba and eating foam chips in an effort to fit into a size eight again. As she reached for the closing door handle, she heard a low moan to her right. Her hand paused in midair, hovering above the cold metal.

Pulling her jacket closer to her chin and nuzzling into the cashmere scarf her ex-boyfriend had given her last Christmas, Mary Paige peered into the darkness beyond the blinking lights lining the eaves. At first, she saw nothing in the shadows, but then spied movement.

She stepped toward the noise, her feet squishing in her wet shoes, her teeth starting to chatter. The light plink of sleet on her shoulders made her wonder if she was somewhere other than New Orleans. They rarely saw anything frozen—except daiquiris—so it had been quite the sensation when they'd gotten a blast of winter the day after Thanksgiving.

Newspapers stirred and she made out the form of an elderly man wrapped in a thin blanket, moving among discarded boxes and newspapers quickly becoming sodden with the sleet.

"Sir? You need some help?"

The man stopped his rustling and flipped her the finger.

"Guess that answers that question."

She turned around, ignoring the tug at her heart. Why didn't he go to a shelter, anyway? Too cold out for someone to be sitting around with nothing more than a thin blanket. She glanced to the corner and found the cab still waiting. Good. A man who listened. An early Christmas miracle.

She entered the warmth of the store, blew on her hands and scanned the cramped aisle. Nope, none of it would do. Bottled water, sanitary products and condoms. The necessities of life, sure, but nothing that would help her tonight.

The second aisle proved as fruitless. Nothing but potato chips, cartons of cookies and packages of those powdery little doughnuts. Mary Paige's stomach betrayed her with a growl as she eyed the pink snowballs. She shook her head and rounded the end cap, where she scanned the new offerings, methodically sweeping her gaze along the aisle, mentally discarding everything until… Bingo!

Hanging innocently at the end of the aisle was the most repugnant pair of Christmas socks she'd ever seen. They were bright green with sparkly silver-tinsel trees around the ankles, adorned with bright cherry-red pompoms. The tops had garish silver lace that matched the flashy trees and small jingly bells. They were hideous and absolutely perfect for the white-elephant gift required for Uncle Fred's crazy pre-Christmas party. Mary Paige snatched them as if they were the Holy Grail. Finally, something had gone right.

She hurried toward the register, hating that she'd already taken too much time in this little stop, hating that the homeless curmudgeon outside the door weighed on her conscience. Yeah, he was a miserable old goat, but it was the beginning of the Christmas season, and it was colder than normal outside.

Perhaps she should get him a little something to warm him up?

A coffee bar sat to her right, featuring a self-service, instant cappuccino machine. Not the best, but certainly good enough. Mary Paige glanced at the register. Only one person in line. Surely five more minutes wouldn't hurt. She spun toward the bar, snatched a medium-size cup, centered it beneath the spout and pushed the button. It filled quickly. She plopped a lid on and grabbed two sugar packs along with a stir stick.

Darn. Two more people had joined the queue behind the woman paying.

She got in line, shifting back and forth on her frozen feet trying to restore the circulation and wondering why she even bothered with an old bum outside a convenience store in the middle of Metairie. He'd probably hurl the cup at her and ruin her only decent jacket. Par for the course considering the day she'd had. A run in her stockings, a nervous stomach that had sent her to the bathroom twice, a coffee stain on her pristine white blouse and a tongue-lashing from Ivan the Terrible when the towering pile of receipts on her desk didn't add up for their biggest client. She really wanted to go home and curl up in her ratty chenille robe with a glass of wine. Instead, fierce love for Uncle Fred sent her scurrying across the city in a cab she couldn't afford, wearing shoes now frozen stiff.

Mary Paige finally reached the register, where the cashier snatched the socks from her, scanned them and dropped them into a plastic sack.

"Ten thirty-seven," the cashier said, not even bothering to make eye contact with her.

Mary Paige rooted in her purse for her wallet. Ugh. She'd left it in her desk after doing some online Christmas shopping. But, luckily she always kept some cash in the side pocket along with her ATM card. Her fingers crisscrossed in a desperate search. No cash.

No way.

Thankfully a second swipe netted her the ATM card. She glanced at the cashier, who glared knowingly in return.

"Uh, do y'all have an ATM?"

The cashier pointed to a machine sitting below a glowing sign as a man behind her in line growled, "Jeez, get your cash before you get in line, lady."

Something inside Mary Paige snapped. "Listen, buddy. I have had a hell of a day and my ex-boyfriend stole all my cash. Give me an effing break here!"

The man stepped back, throwing up his hands before giving her a smart-ass gesture toward the ATM.

"Thanks."

She prayed as she entered her PIN that her account wasn't overdrawn. Things had been so hectic lately she couldn't remember the last time she balanced her bank statement. Please, please let the stupid machine spit out the money.

The machine whirred and coughed out the amount she'd requested—thirty bucks.

Whew. Hibernia Bank had just earned itself a place on her Christmas-card list.

Mary Paige popped back in line as the rude construction worker rolled his eyes and blew garlicky breath on her neck with theatrical exaggeration. Mary Paige shrugged at the cashier. "Happens to the best of us, right?"

The cashier held out a palm and gave no response, making Mary Paige feel like even more of an idiot. She placed a ten-dollar bill in the outstretched hand of the cashier along with three dimes and a nickel, the sum of all the change she could scrape up from the bottom of her purse. The cashier cleared her throat and looked pointedly at the money.

"Oh, sorry." Mary Paige scooped two pennies from the take-a-penny, leave-a-penny container on the counter. "There you go."

She grabbed the coffee and the plastic bag, swerved around Big and Beefy, desperately wanting to give him the finger—much as the old bum had given her earlier—and stalked out the door.

"Ow." Hot coffee splashed on her fingers through the open drinking spout. "Double darn it."

She shook the liquid from her fingers and caught sight of the cab out of the corner of her eye. Thank God he'd waited, and thank God the ATM had delivered the money she needed to pay for the cab. Shoving the bag with the socks under her arm, she held up a finger indicating she would be a minute longer, then headed around the corner to the old man.

As she approached the alley, she was swamped by a feeling of deja vu. How many other times had she done this kind of thing? Ten? Twenty? More? As much as she would like to be a hard-ass career gal, she knew her heart was of the Stay Puft variety. Not even rudeness would deter her from doing what was right.

"Yoo-hoo? Mister? I have a little something here to warm you." She stood in front of a Dumpster bookended by two large cardboard boxes. Flaps hung over, providing little shelter, and the man seemed to be curled into a pile of wet newspapers. A broken cyclone fence stretched behind him, leading the way to an abandoned bakery showcasing yawning windows. Dismal wasn't the word for the small corner of the world this man occupied in the frozen rain. "Sir?"

He said nothing.

"I've brought you some coffee."

The papers moved. "What the hell ya want?"

"Just thought you might like something to warm you."

"Coffee?" The papers shifted as the man unfurled like a gray troll from beneath a bridge, his grizzled face parting sodden sales flyers, pinning her with sleepy blue eyes. "Coffee, did you say?"

Mary Paige thrust the cup toward the man.

His eyes swept Mary Paige from head to foot, causing a flash of alarm within her, but then he looked away before extending a thin arm toward the steaming cup. As he leaned forward, the papers parted, revealing a body woefully unprepared for the frigid weather. His pants were thin and patched, his flannel shirt threadbare in a few spots, but most frightening of all were his bare feet.

Aw, heck, no. Not bare feet. Anything but bare feet.

The plastic bag holding the socks grew heavier.

Pretend like you didn't see his bare feet, Mary Paige. Just hand him the coffee and go.

But she knew she would not. Could not.

Triple darn.

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Countdown to Christmas: 15 more sleeps...

Baby It's Cold Outside

featuring Heidi Rice

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Four novellas from four of the biggest names in romantic fiction!

'TIS THE SEASON TO KISS SANTA
by Kate Hardy

With the help of a sprig of mistletoe and some snow angels, a recently single pastry chef teaches a highly successful and sexy Scrooge the true meaning of the holidays on a snowy Christmas Eve that quickly heats up.

'TIS THE SEASON TO LOVE SHOPPING
by Heidi Rice

When a Christmas Day blizzard strands an up-and-coming marketing manager and her boss's very off-limits, very hot playboy son in his department store, the two toe the line between naughty and nice as they unwrap their holiday presents—and each other!

‘TIS THE SEASON FOR KISSING
by Amy Andrews

A down-on-her-romantic-luck kindergarten teacher plans to drown her New Year’s Eve sorrows in a gallon of spiked eggnog, but the arrival of her best friend's sexy brother threatens to melt the snow piling up outside the tiny Vermont cabin.

‘TIS THE SEASON TO BE TEMPTED
by Aimee Carson

After the worst year ever, a jilted music manager rings in the New Year alone, swearing off men forever. But things get complicated when her brother's best friend, the perfect man with the perfect body, tempts her to break her vow—if only for one hot night!

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'Tis the Season to Love Shopping

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About Heidi Rice...

Heidi Rice

USA Today bestselling author Heidi Rice lives in London and is married with two teenage sons (which gives her rather too much of an insight into the male psyche). 

She also works as a film journalist but loves being a romance writer because it involves sitting down at her computer each day and getting swept up in a world of high emotions, sensual excitement, smart feisty women, sexy tortured men and glamorous locations where laundry doesn't exist ... Not bad, eh. 

Then she gets to turn off her computer and do chores (usually involving laundry!)

You can find out more about Heidi here:

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Excerpt from 'Tis the Season to Love Shopping...

After Ryder Sinclair and Kate Braithwaite have realised they are now snowed in at Sinclair's luxury department store on Fifth Avenue overnight, Ryder suggests they take whatever they need to survive....

It occurred to her what he was suggesting. "We can’t just take the stuff," she said, trying to push the prickle of alarm front and centre so it drowned out the inappropriate thrill. "That would be shoplifting." She tried to think, not easy when he was looking at her as if she’d accused him of cannibalism. "Although I suppose we could leave an IOU."

"No way," he said, the flirtatious smile replaced by a stubborn frown.

"Why not?"

"Because this is an opportunity I’ve been waiting for my whole life, and you are not going to screw it up for me."

"Are you joking?" she said cautiously, and wondered if this had something to do with his apparent dislike of his father.

"No, I’m not. Didn’t you ever have that dream as a kid where you’re in the candy store after hours, and you can take whatever you want? As many Hershey Bars and Baby Ruths and Reese’s Pieces as you can stuff into your mouth?"

"I doubt it, not if it was after hours, it might have been dark," she said.

He gave a rough chuckle, the frown disappearing—and it occurred to her that she’d actually made a joke of sorts about her phobia… Um, paranoid fear.

"Katherine, then you’ve been missing the best dream there is. And we’re now living the adult version of it. We’re stuck here all night. We can take what we want and do what we need to do to survive."

"We’re not going to starve to death in one night," she pointed out, deciding to ignore the thrum of anticipation at the thought of "doing what they needed to do". What exactly was that going to entail?

"And there’s no one here to stop us," he continued, riding roughshod over her objection. "And don’t forget I’m one of the fat useless directors, so I get to make the rules."

"I never said you were fat," she pointed out, relieved that they seemed to have gotten over the pointless argument.

But as he led her up the stairs, she couldn’t deny that she was seriously tempted for the first time in her life to do something reckless, and irresponsible and inappropriate. As a child and then as an adult she’d always been so careful to follow every single rule down to the letter, to read the small print, to be productive and scrupulous and sensible and most of all cautious, partly because her mother had never been any of those things and it had always made her feel hopelessly insecure.

Those characteristics had got her a job she loved, in a city she had come to adore—and she’d still have those things tomorrow. But it had also left her getting dumped via email and feeling lost and alone and worthless on Christmas Day.

Would it really be so terrible to be led into temptation by Ryder Sinclair — just for one night?

"You ever heard the expression “What happens in Vegas”," Ryder asked conversationally.

"Yes, I think so," she said, knowing she should definitely be objecting to this line of reasoning. "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas," she quoted. "But we’re not in Vegas."

"True enough, but as it happens there is another, less well known statement that begins… “What happens in a snowbound department store on Fifth.”" His voice trailed off, the implication clear as he released her hand, to place one warm palm on her hip.

She stood stock-still, not able to move, as the fingers of his other hand curled round her neck and threaded into the hair at her nape. "We’ve got all night, Katherine." His lips touched hers, the kiss tender and yet hot enough to make her gasp. "We’re here alone, with everything Sinclair’s has to offer at our fingertips. And I don’t know about you." His fingers roamed into her hair, massaging her scalp as he nibbled kisses along her jaw. "But I’m suddenly thinking this could be a Christmas gift—instead of a Christmas nightmare."

Her head dropped back, letting his lips find the pulse point in her throat, and the hot, hard spike of desire, that she hadn’t felt in such a long time, rushed into her sex.

This was stupid, and insane, and very very bad… But when he shifted closer and the solid length of him prodded her belly, she somehow persuaded herself that, after everything they’d already been through tonight, maybe bad wasn’t completely unforgivable any more.

She lifted her arms, let her fingers curl around his neck.

 "But won’t this put us on Santa’s naughty list?" she said, surprising herself with the flirtatious comment.

He snorted out a laugh and hauled her closer. "Katherine, I’m counting on it."

           

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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.

Contact links:

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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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