This…

And now, for an unedited snippet from Misplaced Cowboy. Enjoy…

“Monnie,” a deep male voice smoothed over Dylan’s chuckles, and he turned, watching a man roughly his height dressed in an immaculate steel-grey suit swan toward Monet and place a kiss on her still smiling lips. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Something dark and cold and tight knotted low in Dylan’s gut. Something that had no right being there. Jealousy. He straighten his spine, taking in the way the man’s manicured fingers wrapped loosely around Monet’s upper arms, noticing the large diamond embedded in the gold band circling his right pinkie. Watching the way he leant closer to Monet, how his lips lingered on hers. How clean-shaven his jaw was, how there wasn’t a hair out of place on his head, how the smell of cologne wafted from him. Cologne. Not horse sweat or plain soap, but cologne. No doubt as expensive as his well-tailored suit.

“Phillip.” Monet disengaged herself from the kiss, her cheeks high with color. She flicked Dylan a quick look, an expression he could only describe as uncomfortable pulling at her eyes. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Phillip, whoever the hell Phillip was, obviously didn’t stand for Monet slipping from his grasp. He ran his hands down her arms, catching her fingers with his and tugging her back toward him. “Why ever not? A Monet Carmichael exhibition opening is the perfect place for an art collector to be. Even more so when said art collector is the inspiration for her latest work.”

Monet flicked Dylan another look, her eyes unreadable, her shoulders stiff, before she once again slipped away from Phillip’s grip. “I think you might be placing a might too much significance on our—”

Phillip stepped toward her, apparently deciding Dylan didn’t exist.

Dylan decided it was time to fix that problem. Not because he was jealous, but because Monet appeared…ill at ease.

“G’day mate,” he said, shoving his extended hand at the man’s chest before Phillip could draw closer to her. “Dylan Sullivan. How’ya going?”

Phillip’s eyebrows shot up his incredibly smooth forehead, his stare swinging to Dylan. A plethora of emotions flashed over his suavely handsome face, most making Dylan want to laugh—irritation, shock, curiosity, indignation—the last making him want to ball his fist: contempt.

“I’m sorry.” Phillip’s top lip curled. “But if you’re speaking to me, I’m not going anywhere.”

Dylan gave the bloke his widest, goofiest grin. For good measure, he even tipped his hat back on his head. “Ah, you’re a funny bugger, are you?” He kept his hand out, letting it speak volumes. He may not be from this neck of the woods, but he knew a handshake left hanging was a sign of utter disdain. As far as Dylan was concerned, he was happy to push Phillip to complete the social tradition whether the man wanted to or not.

Phillip’s top lip continued to curl, the kind of expression Dylan expected on a city slicker who’d stepped in a pile of sheep shit.

“Phillip.” Monet moved to Dylan’s side and it was all he could do to keep his doofus grin in place as she ran her hand up his arm. His heart however, well it leapt straight into his bloody throat. “This is Dylan Sullivan. From Farpoint Creek in Australia.”

Phillip ran a slow inspection over Dylan, from the tip of his kangaroo leather boots, to the battered peak of his black wide-brimmed hat. “A cowboy from Australia?” He flashed Dylan a toothy smirk, taking Dylan’s hand and giving it a crushing shake. Or trying to. Dylan spent his days dealing with unruly Angus cattle, unruly hired jackeroos and—when Hunter was in a competitive mood—an even more unruly twin brother hell-bent on beating him at arm wrestling. “Here to throw a shrimp on the bar-bee, ‘eh?”

The man’s voice dripped with mocking derision and the urge to ball his fist rolled through Dylan again. He let his I’m-a-clueless-country-hick grin turn into the very smile he gave drunken hired hands who thought they’d take him on. The kind of smile that said, go on, give it your best shot, mate. “I’m a stockman, not a cowboy. Haven’t been a boy since my balls dropped and I started shaving. And I’m just here to seduce the beautiful women on your side of the pond. Show them what a real man is like.”

The shocked blanch that twisted Phillip’s filled Dylan with perverse satisfaction, just as Monet’s choking laugh sent tight ripples of happiness through him.

“I think you had that one coming, Phillip,” she said, her hand still resting on Dylan’s bicep. He liked the feel of it there. A lot. Too much, given why he was here in New York to begin with. It wasn’t to fall head over heels for a woman he’d only just met, that was for bloody sure. “And as for the seducing…” she turned and gave him a wide smile, that twinkling mirth he liked so much in her eyes, “the accent alone is enough to make a New York girl go all wobbly inside.”

The statement was said in jest. Dylan didn’t doubt that at all, but it had a bloody inconvenient effect on him. His balls throbbed, his cock twitched and his throat grew tight.

“Is that all it takes nowadays?” The charming smile was back on Phillip’s lips, but Dylan couldn’t help notice his spine was straighter, his shoulders squarer. “An accent and a hat? I should have gone to Urban Outfitters months ago.” He turned back to Dylan. “Maybe you can teach me a few choice Aussie phrases? The kind to woe Monet into going all wobbly inside, ‘eh?”

Wanker. The thought shot through Dylan’s head, dark and more than a tad aggressive. How’s that for a choice Aussie phrase?

He drew a deep breath, fighting to control the unexpected reaction to Phillip’s obvious pissing-contest behavior. “Alright,” he said, “how’s this sound?” Turning to Monet, he gave her a lop-sided smile. “G’day, love. Fancy getting dolled up and joining me on a shindig to the local pub?”

The exaggerated Australianisms—so far removed from how Dylan normally spoke—made Monet laugh, and as it had before, his body reacted to the husky, warm sound. Big time. “Oh Dylan,” she said, leaning towards him and grinning widely. “You had me at g’day.”

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Thoughts? Favourite Paul Rudd film? Favourite Jennifer Anniston film? Least favourite film? Alternative lifestyle you’d like to experience?

His music moves the world. Can his love move her heart?

Nick Blackthorne knows all about words of love. They’re the reason he’s the world’s biggest rock star. The irony? He turned his back on love a long time ago, lured away by the trappings of fame.

An invitation to a friend’s wedding is a stark reminder of how meaningless his life has become. When he enters that church, there’s only one woman he wants on his arm—the one he walked out on a lifetime ago. But first he has to find her, even if all she accepts from him is an apology.

Kindergarten teacher Lauren Robbins once had what every woman on the planet desires. Nick. Their passion was explosive, their romance the stuff of songs…and it took fifteen years to get over him. Then out of the blue Nick turns up at her door, and all those years denying her ache for him are shattered with a single, smoldering kiss.

But molten passion can’t hide the secret she’s kept for all these years. Because it’s not justher heart on the line anymore…and not just her life that’ll be rocked by the revelation.

***

He stared at her from his place behind the steering wheel of his dilapidated pickup, unable to ignore the delicate subtlety of her top lip and the wicked fullness of her bottom. It was a very kissable mouth. It went perfectly with all her other verys.

Maybe if he smiled again?

He did.

She didn’t.

***

You can find the blurb and another excerpt here

Don’t forget to head over to the Six Sentence Sunday site for all the other authors taking part HERE.

Kelli Collins

Editor-in-Chief

Ellora’s Cave

1/ You’re breeding a poodle with any animal in the world. What is it, why and what is your new “breed” called?

A panda, I think. With a toy poodle. Pandoodle. Because if there’s anything cuter than a panda, it would be a panda with an afro. Plus, pocket-sized panda!!

(Note: Editor Meghan Conrad says crocodile, because poodles are naturally vicious anyway. She would call it “Crockodoo”.)

2/ Favourite Muppet? Why?

Dr. Bunsen Honeydew. He’s like the plush version of Adam Savage (who’s on my Freebie Five). Apparently I like my men nerdy, beta and half-blind.

3/ The Great Speedo Debate. Where do you stand? (i.e., are Speedos sexy or not?)

I have anti-Speedo leanings. At the very least, I think they should be banned for any man whose BMI is more than 4% and/or over the age of 22. Seriously, guys, if you look down and can’t see the color of your Speedo, don’t make the rest of us suffer.

4/ You’re having an affair with an historical figure. Who is it and why?

Oooh…tough one. Should I go with Benjamin Franklin because he’s clever, funny and brilliant? Or Albert Einstein because he’s clever, funny, brilliant and, you know, big ears? Or maybe Walt Disney because—hello!—I’d be Queen of Disney when he trotted off to have himself cryogenically frozen. (Expect immediate changes to the parks. They need more edge.) Or perhaps Charlie Chaplin, because that fierce mustache would tickle like whoa. Then there’s Joan of Arc, who’s better than most men in just about every way (we could work around the whole “no penis” thing). Can I have, like, 6? Or 8? Or just give me the Tardis and I can boff my way through history?

5/ They’re making a movie of your life. What’s the theme song?

Well, the whole soundtrack would be punk, because I am one. Suicidal Tendencies, Social D, The Buzzcocks, Dropkick Murphys…sigh! But the theme song would be “Psycho Killer” by Talking Heads. Oh, the things you don’t know about me, authors. Speculate amongst yourselves.

6/ If the 10th Doctor, Spock and Bruce Willis were in Saw, who would survive and why?

*GASP!!!* Dare you even ask?! I am highly insulted and now must defend my honor! Lawyers or pistols at dawn—your choice.

Dude. Duh. The Doctor would survive, and not just because he regenerates and has a magical screwdriver (*snicker* She said “screwdriver”). Spock’s mightier-than-thou attitude will get him killed inside of 43 seconds and Bruce Willis…c’mon. Who doesn’t want to kill Bruce Willis? There’s no contest. The Doctor would outlast both if for no other reason that he’s 79 times less annoying.

7/ When is the most inappropriate time to use the word “fuck”?

When— Wait… Nope. Can’t think of a single fucking one.  ;)

Badger Kelli to within an inch of her life on Facebook and Twitter. She likes it. Really!

1/ “…intriguing and compelling…” Dare Me (Long and Short Reviews. Five Stars)

2/ “This really was an incredible read.” Triple Dare (Smitten With Reading. A)

3/ “Hot! Hot! Hot!” Ty the Sexy Dragon (Romancing the Book. Recommended Read)

4/ “…pure, raw and unapologetic…” Suck and Blow (Pearl’s World of Romance. 91/100)

5/ “Nick’s rock star with a heart is delicious!” Tropical Sin (Joyfully Reviewed)

Soooo, have you read any of my books lately? Wanna share a thought about any of them here? *grin*

Beloved Readers, I give you How to Love Your Dragon

Fire Mate, Book Two

Yorick “Rick” Hayes takes only two things seriously—his work as a veterinarian and the seduction of lovely ladies. He’s unprepared for the lovely lady police officer who pulls him over for speeding, however. Inexplicable, overwhelming lust threatens to make him do something stupid—like try to seduce her on the side of the road. Throw in sudden flashes of past life memories and Rick is confused, monumentally horny and borderline obsessed with his sexy, no-nonsense cop.

For nearly half a century, Officer Kenna Mackay has denied her dragon side. Her twin sister was betrayed by her mate, and Kenna refuses to risk the same fate—until she makes eye contact with Rick. Her dragon awakens with a vengeance, the mating fire claiming both woman and beast. Hard. Hot. Unstoppable. And exquisitely arousing. The dragon wants her Fire Mate—now.

But history could repeat itself when that mate turns out to be a Druid; one who may have done something bad to dragon-kind in his past life. Something very, very bad indeed.

EXCERPT

Kenna Mackay couldn’t believe she was on fire. Now, of all times, every molecule in her body was at the incineration point.

Is this why you didn’t call for backup?

She stared at the serious man lifting the poor dog from the fence. A man who, only a short while ago, had been roguishly, worryingly sexy as he’d tried to flirt his way out of a ticket—and felt her entire existence burn hotter still.

And the only way that could be happening was if part of her existence, the part she’d denied for so long, was recognizing her destined mate. And there wasn’t a hope in hell that was—

“The gauze, Officer. Now.”

Kenna blinked, numb shock smacking into her. The man’s blue gaze flicked from her to the dog and back, his expression both calm and determined.

Oh hell, the dog.

She leaped forward, pressing the folded strips of gauze to the torn wound in the beagle’s left side. Hot blood flowed from the hole in the dog’s body, staining the gauze red with horrific speed. But the animal didn’t make a sound, nor fight the man sliding him from the fence. In fact, the dog gazed at him, something close to utter trust in his beautiful brown eyes as the spike quickly exited his body.

Kenna had never seen anything like it.

Without hesitation, she scooped her arm under the beagle and pressed her other hand to the wound, now freshly exposed. For a few seconds she held the dog’s entire weight, her stare jerking between the surreally calm animal and the man she’d chased to this very spot, and then said man wrapped his arms around the dog, placed his hands over hers and said, “I’ve got him.”

But the words didn’t make it to her ears. Not when the roaring of her blood was so deafening. Not when, at the very instant he touched her, she was engulfed in heat so incinerating the only sense left to her was sight.

She gaped at him, her heart hammering its way into her throat, her mouth, her temple.

Good Lord, her Fire Mate was touching her.

No. It’s not happening. I refuse to acknowledge—

“Honey, I know you’re feeling whatever the fuck is happening between us as well, but you’ve got to let go of Barney now so I can save his life.”

The words, uttered in a low murmur, made her blink. Her stomach clenched. No, her sex clenched. No, it was her chest, her heart. Her ass. Her wings…

Wings? Wings? What the hell is going on?

Kenna staggered back a step, sliding her hands from beneath his, her stare still locked with the stranger’s.

And the fire consuming her abated. A little.

The man’s lips curled in a loose smile, two dimples creasing either side of his mouth, his face turning from handsomely serious to blow-your-mind gorgeous. “We’ll talk about that later,” he said, curling his arms until he cradled the beagle against a chest Kenna only now noticed was broad and undeniably well sculpted. “But first…”

He turned from her and lowered the dog to the ground, the animal far calmer than he should be, given he’d just been impaled by a fence.

And yet even that fuck-with-your-head fact wasn’t important. Not now. Not when, after forty-two years of constant, tenacious suppression, the dragon deep inside her was surging to awareness. The very aroused dragon.

God save her. It was mating time.

Ready?

Finally, she couldn’t take any more. The raw desire in Luke’s eyes was too much. The promise of what was to come too daunting. She closed her eyes and slumped back against Addison’s chest, her climax shuddering through her. Owning her. Controlling her.

And all the while, Luke watched her. She could feel his gaze on her face, her breasts, her body. A caress she wished more than anything was as real as Addison’s caress inside her sex.

Soooo….there you go. How’s that for a tease?

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What do you think? What’s your favourite teacher movie? Do you have one? Who’s your favourite movie teacher? Go on…tell me. I promise I’ll give you an A+ for effort

Well, here it is and it’s available now at Samhain, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iBooks as well as all sorts of other brilliant ebook sellers.

 Defying death is the ultimate dare. Defying love? Well, that’s just stupid.

A Red Hot Weekend story.

Back-to-back medical degrees took Emily Knox right where she planned to be: treating patients in an alternative cancer clinic. But nothing prepared her for a cocky, cheeky Aussie who strode into her life and dared her to cure him. She told herself it was his challenge she couldn’t resist—not his daredevil charm.

Eight months later, Rob’s out of danger…and Emily’s in trouble. She’s in deep, too deep. Worse, Rob has left the clinic against doctor’s orders. There’s nothing for it but to follow him across eleven thousand miles of land and sea to give him what for—as his doctor, of course.

Rob never expected to survive the brain tumor. Nor did he expect to fall head over heels for his very proper, very English oncologist. The problem? Her Hippocratic Oath hangs between them, keeping her just out of reach. Now, with “cured” on his medical chart and his duty as best man for his best mate calling, he takes off for home to start getting his old life back.

Trouble is, while the good doctor cured his cancer, she seems to have inflicted him with something else—desire he just can’t shake.

What do you think about those? Seriously, I can’t help but read them over and over again