Samhain Publishing

When I created Lianon, the female hero of my first book, Crossing Swords, I knew I’d be spending more time with her. She’s one of my favourite characters ever, and according to many readers and a few reviewers, she’s what made that book for them, too. But Lianon is something of an anomaly in the genre. She’s the anti-romance heroine.

Other heroines may be tough. They may be resilient and uncompromising and willing to do what’s necessary, no matter how horrible it is. They might even kill people for a living, and not find anything in their profession to feel guilty about.

But Lianon is…different. She’s unapologetically bisexual, and her last lover was ::gasp!:: a woman. She also doesn’t have a girly bone in her body—in fact, she’s barely female at all. She lived as a man, and with the face of a tomboy and the body of an Olympic gymnast, she had just about everyone fooled. Most shocking of all, she didn’t put on a dress at the end of Crossing Swords, only to discover some hidden feminine side that makes everyone like her better.

When I wrote Crossing Swords, I was as shaken as Lianon was by how hard she fell for Gil. She met him at a low point in her life, a point where she wanted—needed—to lean on someone, to be taken care of, to not have to always be the strong one—and who better than Gil al-Moirae to give her that. He brought out a submissiveness and vulnerability in her character that I imagined was both comforting and scary for her, but it was exactly what she needed.

At the same time, part of me was saddened that she would never have a woman in her life again. That she would never be in a position where she was the D in the subtle D/s dynamic of the typical romantic relationship. I envisioned her recovering from the terrible events in Crossing Swords to discover her role as “the woman” in her marriage was too small and unchallenging a place to happily exist. So when she started to fall for Kaela, the battered rape victim she and Gil took in at the end of Crossing Swords, it didn’t come as a surprise at all.

Nor did Gil’s misgivings over Lianon’s plans to help Kaela get past the rape that scarred her, inside and out. Which made the f/f/m polyamorous happily ever after in Bound by Steel that much more gratifying to write.

Click here to enter my f/f/m poetry contest for a chance to win a signed copy.

Click here to read the blurb and an excerpt.

…except she’s no lady.

I’m speaking of Viera, the heroine of Healer’s Touch, my second Samhain release, out this month in print! She’s a whore with a heart of gold and a libido equal to any jaded rake, and she wants what she wants.

What she wants is Aru, a 1200 year-old fallen Darjhan, a social pariah who employs her sexual energy to perform miracles of healing for his patients. She’s been working for him for months, and despite his pledge to remain true to the wife he’ll never see again, she’s determined to have him.

But Aru is more stubborn than she’d anticipated, and Viera finds herself recruiting her new friend and confidante, Inella, to help her show Aru everything he’s been denying himself. As the three descend ever deeper into a maelstrom of eroticism and repressed desire, Aru finds his carefully crafted emotional armor cracking under the strain.

What ensues is a battle of sexual attrition, where Viera’s every volley leaves Aru weakened and desperate, his only options total retreat or full-on engagement. And Viera isn’t the type to admit defeat. She wants what she wants, and she’ll do whatever is necessary to get her man.

In honor if Healer’s Touch’s print release, I’m holding a contest at my blog. Simply caption the cover with the most sexually suggestive double entendre you can think of, and leave it in the comments, and you could win a signed copy.

Jump over the broomstick for a steamy excerpt of Healer’s Touch.

Viera came back to herself by excruciating increments. Her limbs quivered, hovering on the verge of spasm. Her breasts were tender and sore, and between her legs she still burned, though the sensation gradually eased to a throbbing ache not unlike desire. It was a few moments before she realized she was alone with the patient.

Ignoring the protesting of her muscles, she pushed herself to her feet between the two beds and settled her robe on her shoulders. Hands shaking, she tried to fasten the buttons, but her fingers were too stiff and numb. With a muttered curse she gave up, clutching the sides together at her midriff with one hand. The woman in the other bed slept. Viera pulled the blankets up over her and settled her limbs more comfortably. Then she went to find Aru.

He stood in the little-used salon off the modified dining room that served as his new infirmary, staring out the window at the tiny, shaded courtyard. A few beams of sunlight poked in through the foliage of the laurel in the yard to form a bright halo of dust motes against his golden hair. The entire length of his lean form was infused with tension. Viera’s stomach knotted as she approached his back, as if she faced a wild creature that might at any moment turn and tear her to pieces.

“Aru?” she whispered, her voice rough from the lingering effects of the session.

He gave no indication that he had heard, that he was even aware of her presence. She circled around him, giving him plenty of space, until she could see his profile. He had that detached mien she was growing accustomed to, as if his body and his mind were in different places. But his chest rose and fell as if from exertion and there were tears on his cheeks. When she looked down she saw that his member stretched the fabric of his trousers, and a tiny patch of wetness betrayed where fluid welled from the tip.

She swallowed, her heart hammering. She knew he became aroused when healing—who would not?—but that arousal always faded soon after. And from the very beginning of their odd partnership he had made it clear that their interactions must be based solely on the work they did together. That despite her attraction to him—and his to her—he was resigned to a life of celibate fidelity to his absent wife.

Viera had agreed, not only because of the shivering pleasure she experienced each time they healed a patient together, but also because she liked the idea that there was something positive she could do in this world. That she might be a whore, but the qualities that made her a good person still existed somewhere beneath the face paint and gaudy dresses.

Aru’s hands were at his sides, clenching and unclenching. His left, she saw with shock, was raw and beginning to drip blood.

Her eyes filling with tears, she reached for it. As her fingers made contact, he jerked his hand away, rounding on her. His gold eye was like a glowing ember, his gray one flinty and hard. “Don’t touch me!” he hissed, raising his uninjured hand as if he would hit her.

“You’re hurt!” she choked, reaching again.

He glared at her and took a step back. “It’s nothing.”

“But—”

“Leave me, Viera,” he said in a voice like a razor blade. His gaze raked her, from her hand where it clutched the panels of her thin robe together, to her exposed thigh where the silk parted and fell away.

Her belly coiled, half fear half excitement. Her eyes flitted down to his groin, to the shape of him clearly outlined against the damp wool of his trousers. She wondered what his cock looked like. Was it blue-veined and ridged and purple at the tip, like an Andun’s, or as pale and smoothly unblemished as the rest of him? She wondered what his come tasted like, how his shaft would feel embedded deep inside her. Would sex with him be as arousing as when he drew her energy to heal a patient? Would it be even better?

“Get out,” he said. His eyes, slanted and cat-like, narrowed on her face. “Before I do something I can’t take back.”

She wet her lips. “Like what?”

His face was so clenched and angry she thought it might crumble to pieces, and he held himself so still he might have turned to stone. His eyes were fastened on her lips, and she nervously ran her tongue over them once more.

Her heart thudded against her ribcage, until its heavy beats seemed to drive the breath from her lungs. Between her legs, she was melting, her tissues swelling and tingling in anticipation. She wanted to wrap herself around him. Wanted to climb up his body and mount herself on the thick, hard shaft she could see outlined so distinctly behind the wool of his trousers. But at the same time, she was scared to touch him, scared of what might happen if she tried.

His voice shook when he finally spoke. “I have already broken my covenant with the god. Please. Don’t make me break my vow to my wife as well.”

Desire instantly transformed within Viera. “What has your wife ever done for you?” she shouted at his stricken face. “What has she sacrificed? Did she leave paradise to share in your exile? Of course not! That would mean giving up the comforts of the Deathless Land! And now that you’re stuck here for good, where is she? Where? Enjoying the good life in the garden of delight while you languish for want of human contact!”

He only stared at her, his gaze filled with a despair as wailing and empty as the void between worlds. He was silent but for the ragged wheeze of his breath, and gradually the opportunity to make any kind of reply seeped away into the ether. The space between them, less than an arm’s length, seemed to stretch to forever.

Scrubbing at the wetness on her face, Viera turned and left him standing there, and went to get dressed.

I have a confession to make. I’m a traitor.

I’ve been an epublished author for ten months now, and I couldn’t be more thrilled with the experience. I’ve had the opportunity to work with a great company, a wonderful, editor and a whole team of friendly, devoted professionals who have all contributed to making my books the best they can be. I’ve managed to find lots of enthusiastic readers, a few honest to goodness fans (gulp), and some amazing bloggers, authors and reviewers who’ve become online friends. Along the way, I’ve become an advocate for ebooks, expounding at every opportunity upon their environmental benefits, as well as the many advantages of the format for publishers, authors and readers. I’m not just an ebook author—I’m also a rabid and nearly exclusive ebook reader, as well. When someone recommends a book to me nowadays, my first question is always, “Is it available in e?”

So why am I a traitor?

Because as much as I love my shiny new Sony Reader, as much as I think ebooks are the bright and shining future of publishing, as proud as I am of what I’ve accomplished in being multi-published in a genre I love, there’s just something about having that actual, physical, really-and-for-true book in your hand that makes it hit home. The sheen as the light hits the cover, the rustle of the pages as you flip them, the scent, oh-so-subtle, of ink on paper (and yes, I’m not ashamed to admit it, I smell my books—sometimes so hard I can practically feel my brain cells popping like soap bubbles). The weight of it in your hand, so tangible, so tactile, so…real.

That’s why I feel so fortunate to be published by Samhain. They offer authors the best of both worlds, an opportunity to reach those tech-savvy digital readers, and die-hard fans of ink and paper. And as hot as ebooks have gotten in the last year or so, those ink-and-paper fans still monopolize the market. My author copies for Crossing Swords arrived last week, and once the dizziness wore off (dang, that ink smells goooood), I started showing them off around town. And all those people who gave the patented blank stare when I told them I was epublished were suddenly full of fervent congratulations and well-wishes. And demands to know where they can get their copy.

Don’t get me wrong—I love ebooks and I love being epublished. But dang, if print isn’t nice, too!

Crossing Swords, available in print, January 27th!

But just when she’s found something to live for, the father of her lover’s murderer surfaces. He wants Lianon to die screaming—and he’s all too happy to take Gil down with her.

Warning, this title contains the following: explicit sex, including f/f; bad language; violence; bland, rubbery veal; a little sexual healing; and one killer blowjob.

We’ve all read them. You know the romances I’m talking about: sweet, spunky, hymen-packing ingénue enchants jaded, too-handsome, oversexed rake. Was a time when I gobbled those things up like popcorn, couldn’t get enough.

But when I began to write my own stories, somehow the plucky virgin heroines were nowhere to be found. In their place was an eclectic assemblage of hired killers, slaves, mercenaries, thieves and whores. And the heroes populating my little universe, though frequently too handsome for their own good, were often unseasoned, even naïve, and not always so experienced with the bed stuff.

My beloved healer, Aru, embodies these qualities, and then some. Barring the novelty that is the virgin hero, Aru is possibly the least sexually experienced romance hero ever. Conversely, Viera, the woman who wants him, is a former prostitute who found much to enjoy in her old vocation, and even more to love about her new one.

You see, Aru heals by channeling the sexual energy of his patients, or—if those patients are too ill or badly injured—a willing surrogate. Viera, whose sexual energy exceeds that of any he has known, has been acting as his surrogate for months.

It isn’t hard to see that something’s gotta give, and soon. One sexually aggressive, take-charge woman + one poor sap clinging to celibacy by the atoms on the tips of his fingernails + one working relationship steeped in sex = one heck of a seduction. One thing’s certain: you can only push a 1200 year-old celibate dude so far before he finally goes all explody and someone’s bodice gets ripped.

Duck under the lintel for an excerpt!

~~~

Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Viera turned back to the stove, pushing pans around without purpose. Aru’s gaze was a palpable weight on her back, not unpleasant, but unnerving.

“Inella is much improved,” he said at last.

Viera closed her eyes and tried not to be disappointed. What did she expect? A declaration of love and devotion? Just because her world had irrevocably changed last night did not mean he would feel the same. Hadn’t she seen it time and again? No matter how a man was moved by moonlight, it was business as usual when the sun rose. Clearing all trace of emotion from her face, she turned. “She still has pain in her ribs.”

He fled her glance, seeking safety behind his cup of jaffha. “Another session then.”

Her stomach clenched, equal parts anxiety and anticipation. “When?”

“This afternoon, I think.”

“I’ll be ready.”

His brows drew together over the rim of his cup. “Actually, I thought you could take Mai and the children out while I work today.”

She kept her face carefully mild, even as the pain of his rejection flowered in her breast. He didn’t want to draw from her. He didn’t even want her there to assist. “All right,” was all she could manage.

His eyes flicked to her, then away. “Inella is well enough, she doesn’t require a surrogate,” he said reasonably. “But the mother and the children will only be a distraction, or worse.” He picked at his food as if his appetite had abandoned him. “Would you talk to Inella first? Let her know what is involved, so that it will not come as such a shock?”

“All right,” she said evenly. Everything he said was true, of course. Inella was nearly healed, and Viera would be more help in keeping the woman’s family out of the way, but that didn’t make it sting any less. She thought about how they had parted last night and could not help but regret the indifference with which she had dismissed him. She hadn’t felt indifferent. In that moment of repletion, every cell in her body had yearned toward him until it was all she could do to lie back down and not throw herself into his arms. She had a purpose, though, to guide her. She could draw him with sex, but holding him would require something more, something deeper than carnal weakness. All she had to do was withhold that something and wait for him to realize he wanted it. Then she would have him, even if it destroyed them both.

For a moment, he looked like he might say more, but then he clamped his lips shut and scowled into his jaffha.

Viera turned back to the stove, clutching her purpose like an anchor.

I’m thrilled to announce the release of my first novel, Crossing Swords, a fantasy romance with a little pepper on it!

If you’ll believe, Crossing Swords is a story nearly twenty years in the making. Back when I was a young’un of barely seventeen, I wrote a scene in a tavern involving Gil, a killer for hire, and a woman named Lianon who dressed as a boy and hired him to kill her. The two fought their duel almost to the death when Gil discovered her ruse, and then…

And then the pages sat in my file-box for almost two decades, a sad, dejected tale without a middle or an end. But the characters haunted me. I thought about them. I dreamed about them. I knew they had a story, if only I could find it. It wasn’t until I discovered the wonderful world of erotic romance that I finally knew exactly what was going to happen to Gil and Lianon. They were going to fall in love, of course!

Jump over the broomstick for blurbage and excerpt!

A straight duel to the death. A professional opponent who’s paying him to win. This was going to be the easiest money Gil had ever earned. Except he never counted on his opponent being a woman. And he never counted on falling for her.

After avenging the brutal murder of her lover, all Lianon wants is to die a clean death. Too bad the man she hired doesn’t do women, and he’s furious over her deception. Not only does he renege on their contract, he has the gall to lock her up in his apartment—naked, no less!—to punish her for her ruse.

If she could just get her mind out of the gutter, she’d cut him a new smile. But ever since he saw through her boy’s clothes, all she can think about is getting him naked, too.

But just when she’s found something to live for, the father of her lover’s murderer surfaces. He wants Lianon to die screaming—and he’s all too happy to take Gil down with her.

Warning, this title contains the following: explicit sex, including f/f; bad language; violence; bland, rubbery veal; a little sexual healing; and one killer blowjob.

Excerpt:

His vision narrowing, he squared his shoulders and trudged back to the ring. The boy backed away and let him in, an extravagant courtesy. Not what Gil would have done, but there was no arrogance in the youth’s face. Just wariness and the unmistakable beginnings of hypothermia. His teeth were chattering—he was probably soaked to the skin under that crust of snow. His eyelids had started to droop as his strength leeched away along with his body heat, but his sword was perfectly poised.

Gil crushed down the pity he couldn’t afford to feel. Swept his blade up in a wide arc intended to provoke overcompensation. The boy was too cold and too weary to see it for the trap it was. Took too broad a step to the right, and couldn’t quite bring his blade up to block Gil’s backswing. The crowd oohed at the blood that flowered on the young man’s sleeve, staining the snow that still clung to it. A good cut, clean and deep, to his forearm—more importantly, his sword arm.

With a muttered curse, the boy switched hands, hefting the blade in his left with unexpected proficiency. Blood dripped down onto the packed snow at his feet, but he ignored the wound and held his injured arm out behind him for balance. He smiled fiercely. “Come on, then!” he hissed.

With a salute, Gil obliged him, launching into an attack that should have hammered a weakened opponent to his knees. The boy, left-handed, parried and blocked like mad, heedless of the life that was now pouring out of his right arm. Sustained a second cut to his shoulder. Not severe—indeed, he didn’t seem to have felt it. Was strong enough still to begin a complex assault of his own, all the more lethal because he fought with his left. His blade sliced a razor-cut along Gil’s collarbone, just shy of his throat. A gasp rose and fell, but Gil wasn’t listening anymore. Heedless of the sting at his throat, he stabbed in at an opening, waited for the parry, then hammered his left fist into the boy’s face.

Between the blow, his weariness and the uneven footing, the boy went down, his sword tumbling from his numb grasp. Gil kicked it out of reach and moved to stand over him.

Gray eyes, filled with tears, met his. Dirty blond hair fanned out like a halo around a face already turning blue from the cold. His head lay at an odd angle, the fine cords of his neck standing out. At the sight, something clenched in Gil’s gut, nagging at his memory. He glanced up at Viera where she stood with her hand at her mouth, a stricken expression on her normally amiable face. A memory of her with the boy’s hand up her skirt. And the boy himself…that nagging sense from the very beginning that something just wasn’t right.

“Do it,” the boy whispered. “Send me to her.”

Gil’s cock had been hard, watching the boy bring Viera off. The boy’s had not.

“Do it!” the boy hissed, his chest heaving with the beginnings of real panic.

Gil shook his head with wonder. His eyes raked up and down the youth’s prone body—lean muscles, small feet, delicate hands, no throat-knot. The eyes, now pouring tears, only confirmed it.