Friday, December 2, 2016

Short Story ~ The Dream Express

Do you believe holiday dreams come true?

The Dream Express 
Jenna Fox © 2014

That morning had begun like all the others; pressing the snooze button a dozen times, indecision on which skirt to wear, and waiting in line at the java cart for a cup of high octane. I barely made it to the station on time before I remembered it was Christmas Eve.
I found a window seat on the train, crossed my legs and grabbed a newspaper when he sat down across from me…again. My eyes abandoned the headlines to steal a glimpse of him; the mysterious man with the coal-black hair and decadent, dark eyes. Each day he wore a different designer suit and his coat always hugged his chest in the same way I dreamed of doing.  His polished shoes said that he was a man who demanded organization and power. I licked my lips... hmmm, just my type.
Week in and week out, I’d noticed the movement of his mouth as he talked on his cell phone, although I could never decipher what he was saying. If I allowed it, the twitch of his lips could push me right into madness and plenty of times, I’d fantasized they were smashed on top of mine. To collect my senses, I took another sip of cinnamon spiced coffee when he smiled at me. Quickly, I looked away and suddenly I realized I’d been in such a hurry that I’d forgotten to apply my make-up.
My legs, jittery from too much caffeine, carried me along the aisle lined with shopping bags toward the bathroom. Why was I in a rush? There was still plenty of time before the conductor called my stop.
In the restroom, the air grew stuffy as I grabbed hold of the door. Shew, dream on, girl, I giggled in spite of myself. There was no way that gorgeous man had noticed me, a girl with extra padding on her hips from too many Christmas cookies. My hair required some attention, so I pulled out a comb and a tube of mascara just as the door squeaked open. Jeez, there wasn’t enough room for two people inside those cramped quarters.
“I’ll be out in a second,” I muttered to the person behind me.
“I certainly hope not.” A man’s voice, smooth as egg nog whispered into my ear.
“P -pardon me?”
“I’ve been watching you all year and you’ve been a bad girl.”
Our eyes met in the mirror and after a heated pause, the comb fell to the floor. I almost screamed, but when the fabric of my skirt lifted, all I could do was moan. I should’ve been blushing with embarrassment, but instead, I licked my lips and tossed my head back as fingers pushed their way through the honey of my pussy, slipping in and out teasingly. The rising heat between my legs moved northward; self-combustion was about to steal away my control, but I held on, clinging to every sensation, reveling in it. 
My pulse pounded in my ears as I sensed him kneel down behind me. I closed my eyes, propped my leg upon the cold counter, and slid my hand down my thigh as he moved his head between my legs. I weakened with each flick of his tongue against my clit. I was losing myself. My balance was slipping, forcing me to grab the sink for leverage. Not even the cold glass of the mirror pressing against my cheek could pull me down from this heaven.
Although in the throes of passion, I somehow managed to breathe out the words, “What if someone walks in?”
No answer.
I really didn’t care if someone walked in; it would only add to the excitement. All my thoughts and energy were focused on that tiny place his tongue was attacking. He used no pattern; no rhyme or reason to the darting flicks of his tongue as he moved it around my outer lips, then back inside, pulling me deeper into a maelstrom of wantonness. I held my breath in anticipation of the next touch.
I’d long forgotten I was being pleasured by a stranger inside the bathroom of a commuter train. I was a breath away from screaming out a climax over the furious blast of the train’s whistle when he moved away. My body quivered from frustration as I heard the door close.  I turned and looked down.
Nobody was there. 
It was only a dream.
Good grief, I need to get a grip, perhaps more sleep! Watching those late-night movies had finally taken its toll on my mind. I broke my dazed and confused state with a splash of cold water onto my face. My hair was once again a fright and the reflection in the mirror was of a woman who had probably lost her mind. I gathered my belongings and opened the door, shaking off the remnants of my vivid imagination.
My stop was probably getting close, so I made my way back to the passenger’s area with an erotic ache still throbbing between my legs. Laying in my seat alone and abandoned was an ivory envelope with my name embossed in gold lettering. A curious onlooker had me pausing before I snatched it up and crooked my fingers, lifting the gold seal. It read:
Sweet Andie:
I won’t be back again until next year and if you’ve been a good girl, I’ll let you come.
--Santa
I felt as if the thousand-watt smile on my face would tell the other passengers what had happened right behind the bathroom door, just a few feet away from the traveling grandmas and unhappy toddlers.
Until that day I never believed in Santa Clause or that dreams really do come true.  
I’m getting my list ready for next year!

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Thursday, November 24, 2016

liah-2000x3000Synopsis

She’s an empathic warrior who refuses to feel her own emotions. He’s an abomination hiding his truth within the robes of a priest.

When Liah travels to Red Leaf City to investigate a group of clergymen she believes might be corrupted beyond forgiveness, she meets Father Anthony Angelli, a man who sends her suspicions—and her libido—into overdrive. He’s hiding something, but Liah can’t find any evidence of wrongdoing and she’s got her own issues to deal with.

Tony can’t drop the matter. Refusing to let his colleagues get away with their crimes, he starts his own investigation, dragging Liah back to town even as he vows not to fall to the temptation she embodies. Unfortunately, his interference puts them both on display at a wicked gathering, and the only way to get out alive is to expose the truth—then pray for mercy.

OUAA_Header_KindleUnlimited

Amazon US I Amazon UK

Teaser

liah-teaser-1

liah-teaser-2

BooksInTheSeries

28672217

Amazon US I Amazon UK

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Sunday, October 16, 2016

Should You Be a Beta Reader?

QUALIFICATIONS: Honesty, integrity and trustworthiness

Do you have what it takes?

(Come close because I’m about to tell you a little secret)

A lot of people DON’T have what it takes.

Honesty is so important, and nothing shows poor character like dishonesty. Granted, I don’t like every book I read; I don’t like every movie I watch and I don’t like every person I meet, but my image and my personal character are important to me. No matter what I do in life, it is my goal to be honest and classy. And when I write a review, (good or bad) I keep in mind that someone spent their blood, sweat and tears to create a book/movie for ME to enjoy.

Something I would like to shed some light on is ARC distribution. An ARC is a book that hasn’t been published, but is distributed to a certain few ‘special’ readers to achieve specific goals such as attaining early reviews/feedback/whatever.

Notice I said ‘special’? If you are an ARC recipient, you are SPECIAL and shouldn’t take your position lightly. In other words, a book is ‘personal property’. It’s like letting someone borrow your car. If that person doesn’t bring the car back to you or give an explanation as to why it’s missing, you’re going to call the police or contact your insurance company. Right?

How Important are ARC Recipients? DEADLY IMPORTANT

And I can’t stress it enough.

Did you know it’s a compliment when an author or publisher hands over to you a product that could’ve taken ten years or more to create? Did you know every author needs constructive reviews… they are the ONLY way an author can improve their craft? Did you know it’s okay NOT to like every book they send to you? Did you know it’s okay to express your HONEST opinion about it?

Ah, HONESTY… you’re going to see that ‘H’ word again and again…

What happens if you receive an ARC that makes you want to gouge out your eyes? Do you tell the author and/or publisher the truth or just ignore the fact that you promised a review and disappear?

No, DO NOT disappear. It’s rude and nobody wants the reputation of being a liar because they didn’t do what they’ve promised.

If you recieve an ARC and have absolutely nothing good to say about the book, then just be HONEST about it. (But be prepared to explain why you didn’t like it). Maybe you didn’t like the characters. Maybe the plot dragged on. Maybe it was too long/short. Maybe you couldn’t connect with the characters or maybe the editing was shoddy. Whatever the reason, please understand that your silence hurts everybody. Authors can’t improve their craft if betas/ARC recipients never share their feelings.

Bloggers, BEWARE. When you fail to post a promised review, it discredits your blog in a big way. This is extremely unprofessional and publishers could put you on a watch list or blacklist you for not contacting them with a reason. Why? Because they‘ve given you a product that took considerable time, money and effort to create. And I don’t have to mention the fact that the product you’ve received is under COPY RIGHT laws. Yes, you can be slapped with a LAW SUIT or GO TO PRISON for doing something illegal with a little ole ebook.

By the way, if you’re an ARC recipient who approaches an author ASKING for an advanced copy of a book but don’t post your review or contact the author with a reason for your missing review, this screams dishonesty and frankly, it can give the publishing world the impression that you’re just a free loader or planning to sell the book to pirating sites which is illegal and will send your ass to prison in a heartbeat.

(Just sayin' ;)

I’m a blogger, beta reader, reviewer, critique partner and author. Like most, I’m insanely busy too. I also understand that ‘life happens’--situations beyond our control arise all the time. If I’ve promised a review and I know I can’t meet the posting deadline, then I feel it’s my responsibility to contact the author/publisher.


It’s common sense, not rocket science to be polite, HONEST and TRUSTWORTHY.

Friday, September 16, 2016

Not Only Naughty, But Nostalgic

Call Me Old Fashioned and I'll say, 'Thanks.'


The other day, one of my kids asked a lady her age. Unhappy with his inquiry, she replied, “Boy, don’t you know you’re not supposed to ask a lady that question?”

I laughed, and secretly thought, ‘speak for yourself, grouchy lady.’

I’m not a woman who gets offended when a person asks my age. As a matter of fact, it gives me an opportunity to force them to guess it. I tell them I’m old enough to remember watching The Young and the Restless on a black and white television. I’m also more than old enough to remember maintaining personal relationships face-to-face, instead of texting or email. (FaceTime is a poor substitute, and doesn’t count.) I think most would agree that looking into someone’s eyes, smelling their cologne and feeling their emotions as you carry on a conversation is hard to beat.

I feel lucky to have been raised in what I call a ‘special generation’. I miss the excitement of waiting three days for a letter to appear in my mailbox. I miss waiting for a call from that special someone and knowing I can only move as far as the phone cord would allow.

I miss buying a soda pop for twenty-five cents. I miss the old card catalog at the library because the new, ‘improved’ computerized system is too damn slow.

A lot of folks would wrinkle their noses at me, but I liked that old black and white television. I don’t mind watching fiction unfold in only two colors. It made real life stand out even more. Richer and fuller. Literally and figuratively in vivid, living color.

Yeah, that’s hard to beat.

Sometimes I think our super technology isn’t a good thing. At the risk of sounding like my parents, (OMG, I sound like my mother… ew!) having what we want, when we want it has made us too impatient and lazy.

As our world has gotten ‘better’ and smarter, it seems evil is getting its fair share of opportunities. I have to worry about my children coming in contact with cyber perverts on their tablets. They can’t go trick-or-treating from door to door. (Yes, I went without my parents.) And sadly, I don’t feel safe letting them play cowboys and Indians with toy guns in the front yard for fear of being shot by someone in authority who thinks small children actually carry real guns.

(I could blog about that subject all year long….)

But things of the past weren’t that bad, right? My mother always tells me the old paths are the best.

Stop for a second and look around. History, good and bad, is always repeating itself. You'll never get away from it, especially in the news and in the fashion world. (Ugh, whoever brought back Buddy Holly glasses should be slapped with a fish.)

So before you call someone old fashioned, take a moment and try to walk in their shoes. Our life experiences mold us. They make us the unique individuals we truly are. 

Yep, variety is the spice of life. ;)



Thursday, September 8, 2016

NEW RELEASE ~ Triple Play
HOT BDSM ACTION by Nia Farrell

Purchase here on AMAZON

Warning: This story touches on the subject of child abuse and may contain triggers.  It is written for ages 18+.

BLURB

Rowena Campbell has always been the naughty twin.  After the Viking Raid and her worst walk of shame ever, she recognized that she was misusing sex.  In therapy for her sexual addiction, three months celibate, Rowena is better than fine, with a successful erotic blog and book deal by her alter ego, ginger-wigged Regina Wright.  When Scottish billionaire Micheil MacDonald wants Regina at his brother’s birthday party, she agrees to attend three scenes as an observer only.  A triple play in Imperial Rome, Prohibition Chicago, and Lewis Carroll’s Wonderland, no kink, no sex – and no lies, per his terms, with half a million dollars riding on the line.  Surely she can manage that?
Micheil MacDonald is a widower with a child recovering from the fatal accident that claimed his wife.  He sweeps into Rowena’s life like a force of nature, brushing aside her protests, determined to be the exception to her rules.  But Rowena has scars that no one can see.  Secrets that have never been shared – not even with her twin.  Telling the truth was never supposed to be this hard.


Read the Reviews

“If you like your kink with period reenactment, then you may enjoy Farrell's Replay series. While Rowena's twin starred in Book 1's Viking Raid, this second book features Rowena the naughty twin. Rowena can be a brat, especially since she can don on different identities and chance upon the handsome Dom in question (Micheil, in this case) in the least expected places. Her quirky attitude is endearing and had me turning the pages. Since the loss of his wife, Micheil is finally in a good place and ready for Rowena by the time she appears. Great storyline. Captivating read. Highly recommended.

If you like your novellas with a good story, really really hot sex and a Dom with an brogue I sometimes had a hard time understanding, but when I listened to him in my head it was a bit easier, then you will want to read this book!! Rowena, who actually has three identities (the vixen and author too) meets a Dom she has a hard time saying no to and the story unfolds, and what a story it is!! Rowena has recovered from the Viking Raid and isn't looking for anymore "play" but Micheil has other plans. That's all I'm going to divulge so if you want to know more then I recommend you buy this book. But don't read it outside or in front of anyone like I did. You will want to be all by yourself to experience it all, or maybe with someone else, that's up to you!! Enjoy!!!”

Check out the Excerpt!

“Why me?”
One corner of his mouth curved upwards.  “Yer book,” he said.  “I wanted tae meet ye and was willing tae pay for the privilege.”
“Um.  Thank you.  I think.”  She wondered if he had a sub who’d benefitted from the experiences and research that she shared online.  She had let her followers know that a book was coming, had kept them updated on her progress.  The manuscript was done, but only her publisher had seen it.
Micheil dipped his head at the Replay owner, who was ordering punishment for a slave girl.  “St. Leger told me that ye command a hefty appearance fee.  My offer was purely a guess.  Since ye agreed tae the terms, I take it that the contract met yer expectations.”
“Yes,” she said simply, following his gaze when it failed to return.  The slave was stripped and bound to a column.  Tiberius Piers snapped his fingers and a tray of floggers appeared.  He picked one of softest leather and introduced her to it, stroking her sides, rubbing her back, tracing her cheek, then stepping back and laying on the first set of stripes.
Rowena clamped her thighs together, cursing her traitorous body, feeling the creamy moisture between her legs.
He must have heard her breath catch.  “Ye like it.”
“Yes.”
“Do ye wish it for yerself?”
“Yes,” she breathed.  “And no.”
His blue eyes considered her, a lambency in their depths that she could not fail to recognize.  “Explain.”
“I wish it were me,” she admitted, “but not with Piers.”
Don’t make me say it.  Don’t.
He stepped closer, not touching except for the breath that fanned her hair and bathed her in his heat.  “If not St. Leger, lass, with whom?”
“You, Sir.”  Her voice was the barest whisper.  “But we can’t.  I can’t.”
The Dom came out, full force, and he was not happy.  “Why not?” he rumbled, his voice rolling like thunder while his eyes sparked St. Elmo’s fire.
“The contract?”  She lowered her gaze, fighting the urge to drop to her knees in a submissive’s pose.
He blew out harshly.  “And if I said, damn the contract.  Tear it up and I’ll give ye half a million anyway?”
Her chin came up as she threw her head back far enough to meet his gaze.  Humorless.  Not even a hint of irony.
“You’d do that?” she asked.  “Seriously?  For one night of play without sex?  Remember, my rule is one time.  You punish me tonight, and you won’t touch me for the rest of the weekend.”  Why was that so hard to say?  Damn him.  Damn her body, begging her to reconsider.
He smiled darkly.  “Make an exception,” he said.  “Ye tried tae top me in the bookstore.  Ye knew exactly what ye’d done and pretended ye did nae understand.  For that alone, ye need a spanking.  Two spankings.  I should be the one tae give them.  It’s only fair.”
If she wore panties, they’d be sopping wet.  The Vestal Virgin was yearning for the path to ruination.
“It would be fair,” she agreed, “but it can also wait.  I gave my word.  Three nights.  No kink.  No sex.  I’m not a liar.  Don’t try to make me one.”
“Exceptions tae the rule,” he reminded her.  “Ye said ye’d observe the scenes.  Nothing was said aboot wha’ happens outside them.  When the play winds down and they shuffle us out in the wee hours of the morning, what happens next is up tae us, aye?”
Tempting.  My god, he was so tempting.
And he was right.  Outside Replay, anything goes.  Except…
“Then we’re back to one time.  Once.  No repeats.  Is that what you want?”
She thought she sounded unshakeable.  He smiled as if she’d just agreed to his terms.  “I want tae feel that fine arse of yers under my hand.  Forget yer rules.  Do what’s right.”
His voice had dropped to a rumble that pushed every button she had.  She whimpered, as if she could already feel herself bent over his lap, panties around her knees, his large hand exploring the landscape of her posterior as he familiarized himself with the terrain, deciding how he wanted to change it for his pleasure.
“I could tie ye up.  Ye’d be beautiful, bound tae my bed.  I might just have tae keep ye there.”
“Once,” she said weakly.

“Lass,” he murmured, his Scottish burr thickening.  “Ye ken ye owe me times three.  Once for trying tae top me.  Once for playing innocent aboot it.  Once for nae letting me ken who ye were.  We have three nights of scenes tae get through.  I’ll give ye time tae consider yer sins against me.  At the end of each night, ye will present yerself tae me.  Ye will submit.  Ye will suffer, but I’ll give ye what you need.  Three punishments and aftercare.  I promise ye, I am verra good at both.” 


GRAB A COPY

Length 20,232 words / 100 pages

Amazon e-book http://mybook.to/RB2
Amazon paperback http://mybook.to/RB2p
Teasers and Excerpt http://bit.ly/2b08nqY

Thursday, August 18, 2016

Cover Reveal ~ Anne Conley

Exclusive blurb from Murmur, Book 5 in Anne's Pierce Securities Series:  
Valerie Dunaway is a former socialite who has hidden from the public eye for years, due to a horrific attack that left her scarred—physically and emotionally. 
When a strange masked man makes himself at home with her, she’s unable to run. She calls the cops, but the agoraphobic won’t go into protective custody, so Detective Hollerman calls the only people he trusts: Pierce Securities.
Quinten Pierce is a Renaissance man—artist, lawyer, fighter—but his latest assignment has him losing his ever-present control. He’s got one fight left in his career, and although he can’t wait for it to be over, his opponent seems to have ties to Valerie, thus forcing him to hold on until he finds out exactly who he’s working with.
With the help of the Pierce team, the scarred princess and the gentle giant must silence the murmurs of the past that threaten their future.
Unedited Excerpt from Murmur:
The more Quinten learned about the reason for Valerie Dunaway’s agoraphobia, the less he liked it.
Quinten looked over Evan’s shoulder at the three massive monitors. 
“She doesn’t appear to have left her house in three years, dude.  She shops online, doesn’t have a car registered to her, nothing.”
Quinten rubbed his jaw in thought.  “Who comes in and out?”
“A therapist comes once a week.  She pays a house keeper and a man who does gardening and errand-running type stuff.  But it looks like that’s about it.  She cut all ties with friends and family after the incident.  Maybe they took sides?”  Evan’s eyes pored over the screens in front of him, faster than Quinten could process what the man was reading.
“What exactly did her husband do to her?  You said sliced and diced?”  Evan’s choice of words churned in his stomach.  Quinten peered at the screens, desperate to find the one that made sense.
“She was a model when they met.  She came from old money.  The Dunaways?  They married into the Stadlers and created a dynasty.”  Quinten nodded. That’s why she sounded familiar.  He was pretty sure some of his parents’ dinner parties had involved the Dunaways and Stadlers.  “Well, she was their face.  Apparently, when she married Argyle Ford, he wanted her to stop being her family’s face piece, and when she wouldn’t, he tied her to their marital bed and sliced her face up with a straight razor.”
Quinten’s stomach churned at the prospect of a man doing something like that to the woman he vowed to honor and cherish.  “When you say, ‘sliced her face up,’ what exactly, do you mean?”
“Put her in the hospital for two weeks.  There were other injuries, mostly from the restraints he used.  Her lawyer wouldn’t let her do any reconstructive surgery except the bare minimum until after the trial.”
Evan’s fingers flew over keys and he pointed at one of the monitors.  There, displayed larger than life, was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen, on the arm of some guy, in a newspaper article.
Quinten sat back in his chair.  So she’d put the man who’d sworn to love her in prison after he’d taken away her identity as a woman in the worst possible way. She was a model, at least for her family’s enterprises—her mother’s clothing company, and her father’s golf club.  Quinten had been there with his dad.  She also was a spokesperson for numerous charities.  She used her beauty for good, it seemed.  And it had pissed off her husband?  Was she hogging all his attention?  Quinten shook his head, unable to understand it.
 At least she’d taken a stand against her attacker.  That should have been a step toward recovery.  What would be so bad that a woman who lived in the limelight would suddenly disappear from it? 
“Tell me if the bastard’s still in jail,” Quinten murmured as he leaned forward to try to make sense of Evan’s screens again.  The computer wiz was clicking through them so fast, even Quinten couldn’t keep up.
“Well, I’ll be damned…” Evan mused, his fingers clicking on keys.
“What?” Quinten growled.
“Looks like he got out last month.”  Another couple of clicks and something whirred to the left of Quinten.  “I’m printing out his address for you.  It seems he’s living with an uncle on the other side of the lake from Ms. Dunaway.”
That news didn’t make Quinten happy at all.
“I’m going to her house.  See what you can get as far as backgrounds on friends and family, especially his.  Find me some trial transcripts.  And we’ll go from there.”
Evan nodded, still absorbed in the data on his monitors.  “Will do.”
Read other stand-alone novels in the Pierce Securities Series: 
Redemption for Misty (Book 4.5)-Available only on Amazon
Murmur pre-order links coming soon!
Keep up with Anne on these platforms:  
Contemporary Romance Author
@anneconley10
FREE Novels!  
Contemporary Romance: Neighborly Complications
Paranormal Romance: Falling for Heaven
Blog:  www.anneconley.com