I hope you've reached the right place, and I hope that you're over eighteen. This website is for adults only. No, I don't sell adult toys or videos or anything like that, this isn't a porn site. But it is the site of an erotic romance writer.


If you're looking for a steamy read, long, short or in between, where the characters are all over each other, get down and dirty, than I can guarantee that you will find something here. I'm going to level with you, my erotic romances are explicit and graphic in nature, but they all have happily forever or happily for now endings.


Enter at your own risk!


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TORY RICHARDS

Erotic Author

Wednesday, December 7, 2016

Kiss Me at Last by Holly Cortelyou


 



 BLURB:

KISS ME AT LAST (A Wescott Springs Novella) by Holly Cortelyou

What's better than wine, chocolate and a little renovation magic? A sweet and sexy matchup between a handsome, hammer-swinging contractor, Sean McMallory, and a flirty and stubborn champagne bar owner, Melinda York, who's in a remodel pickle! Kiss Me at Last brings you back to the charming mountain hamlet of Wescott Springs, Colorado in a heartwarming contemporary, small town romance that's sweet with a little kiss of heat!

One tempting kiss will rock his world…

Melinda York has every last penny tied up in her business remodel so the last thing she needs is a complication—like surly Sean McMallory. But when "McGrumpy" blows through her front door with a hammer and toolbox, she knows she’s doomed…her replacement contractor is none other than the jerk who humiliated her at the town council meeting. With Melinda buried in sawdust and the exasperating, but ever-so-sexy, Sean constantly underfoot, how is she supposed to maintain her professional poise when she can’t stop daydreaming about his broad shoulders and his unexpectedly kind heart?

Sean McMallory likes his life simple and straightforward, and his plate is full with a booming construction business and family responsibilities. When a cousin begs a favor, he’s plunged neck-deep into the whirlwind that is elegant, jet-setter Melinda York and her wine bar renovation. There’s just no trusting the flirty Melinda even if he can’t forget her kissable lips and surprisingly, vulnerable eyes. So he’ll stick with his beer and country roads, and she can keep her bottles of bubbly and fancy truffles!

Can one kiss build a bridge to love and heal their wounded hearts?

~~~~~~~~~~~~

EXCERPT
He stared at her with those penetrating emerald eyes and Melinda's voice petered to a stop. There was a small furrow between his eyebrows as if he was curiously studying a new breed of beetle or a peculiar specimen of noxious weed.

Melinda gurgled a nervous laugh. So much for unnerving him with a bout of pushy flirtation. She went for broke. "One of these days, we're going to convince you to sample our wares."

Sean's gaze whisked from her face to her chest and then down to her hips before returning to her eyes. Melinda flushed. That backfired.

"I'm a beer kind of guy. I'm here for the truffles." His voice was dismissive, but his eyes widened as if he noticed the disparity in his choice of words.

Melinda blinked and refused to smile, but she had gotten under his skin…at least a smidge. "You might be surprised. Many of our goods are most approachable to any type of customer. You only have to be open-minded to new things."

A flicker of a grin played at the corner of his lips, and a glimmer of triumph streaked through her veins. Ha! She'd scored a hit. But just as quickly, his expression darkened. He glanced at the ornate clock hanging on the wall.

"I'm running late," Sean said. "I'll stick with the usual."

"Of course," Melinda replied and was careful to keep her fingers from touching his as she took the debit card from his hand.

Without another word, Sean signed the receipt, picked up the white and gold bag with its expensive cache of rich, French chocolates, and exited out the door.

She glared at his retreating back and wished for the hundredth time that he would move to a new town. Melinda scrunched her nose in irritation.


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Holly Cortelyou is a romance author who pens sweet and spicy small town, contemporary romances as well as supernatural and paranormal romances. On any given day, you’ll likely find her posting dog and cat pics on Facebook (HollyCortelyouAuthor) or goofing off on Twitter (@HollyCortelyou) and Pinterest! And of course, you can always visit her on the web at www.HollyCortelyou.com. Holly has hazel eyes, a goofy sense of humor and…all the rest is subject to change without notice.



Nook http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1125051573
iBooks https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1170953022
Kobo https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/kiss-me-at-last
Amazon – https://www.amazon.com/Kiss-Last-Wescott-Springs-Novella-ebook/dp/B01N3NGALX/ref=sr_1_1



GIVEAWAY INFORMATION and RAFFLECOPTER

Holly will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here: 


http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2016/11/book-blast-kiss-me-at-last-by-holly.html


a Rafflecopter giveaway

Monday, December 5, 2016

Hard to Regret by Kris Pearson



Sexy Contemporary Romance
Date Published: November 4, 2016
 
Heiress Anna Wynn is hiding a secret – a secret that has blighted half her life and forced her to become an unfulfilled over-achiever. Even preparing for her wealthy family’s summer break in their idyllic New Zealand holiday house, Anna has to be all business and is strung tight as piano wire. Finding her bedroom appropriated by an over-muscled, overbearing, testosterone-soaked tower of annoyance is the final straw.

Dragged up under the callused thumb of his dirt-poor father, Jason Jones regrets his choice of security over his dream. His ambition to work as a freelance photographer has been ruthlessly suppressed in favor of setting up his own construction company. He has a pre-Christmas deadline looming on the current project, and the last thing he needs is constant surveillance by the owner’s sharp-tongued daughter – or the lure of her hot body and big blue eyes.

Forced to endure each other’s company in the small-town beach house, mutual frustration and undeniable chemistry pull Anna and Jason together for a few stolen days. Enemies become lovers – but how long before secrets are revealed that will change everything?
HARD TO REGRET is the first in Kris Pearson’s new Scarlet Bay series of sexy, funny and heart-warming romance novels and is intended for mature readers.
 
 Excerpt: 
CHAPTER 1 – SAUSAGE ON A FORK

“I’ll do it,” Annaliese Wynn said, heaving her travel bag from the back of the taxi to save the overweight driver waddling out. Finally she’d be swapping her stilettos for summer sandals and solitude, and hopefully winding down from the everlasting treadmill of her life. 
As she listened to the waves crashing on the shore of Scarlet Bay, she drew a deep satisfied breath and discovered the delicious aroma of grilling meat wafting on the warm breeze. She glanced at her watch. Someone was barbecuing. At ten-fifteen? She inhaled again. Her tummy gave an unladylike gurgle. The barbecue smelled amazing after her hasty early breakfast of a fresh pear. 
Sighing, Anna clicked the bag handle up into place and rolled the case over the cracked concrete path to the old shorefront cottage. This would be her last holiday here before it was demolished to make way for a new, much larger dwelling for her extended family to share. She unlocked the front door and stepped back into her childhood. Faded Indian cotton curtains, Great-aunt Emily's fussy watercolours (also fading) and… the back door at the end of the hallway swinging wide open!
She stood stock-still, like a cat transfixed by a bird that had just landed unwisely close. Loud masculine laughter billowed in and echoed around the high-ceilinged space.
“Shit, no…” someone said.
“Totally crappy luck,” another man agreed.
“And probably a spoiled little bitch,” a deeper voice added.
Anna released her bag, set down her laptop, and crept the length of the old house on tiptoe, trying to stop her high heels from echoing on the varnished hardwood floor. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, bursting through the doorway.
Four pairs of eyes swivelled in her direction. Three men stuffed meat into their mouths and chewed.
“Ms Wynn?” the deeper voice asked. The attached male raised a can of cola and took a leisurely swig. Dark eyes locked with hers over the shining can, and she watched his tanned throat constrict as he swallowed. He lowered the drink and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.
Anna Wynn. Why are you all here?”
Plainly they were the crew from the almost finished house through the hedge. Why weren’t they there instead? And how had they opened the door?
Three sets of teeth continued to chomp. Three pairs of eyes shifted away. The other man set the cola can down with no haste, and stood. 
Up and up. 
Anna had to tilt her head back to keep eye contact.
He thrust out a large hand as though he expected her to shake it. “Jason Jones,” he said. 
He blocked out the light, stole her breath, irritated her far beyond anything that was reasonable.
“We’re having breakfast,” he added in that gritty velvet voice that had queried her name with unmistakeable amusement.
She inspected his fingers for cleanliness before extending her own. His boots were caked with mud, his long, powerful legs were smeared with dust, his khaki shorts had the zipper at half-mast, and there was sawdust all over his garish orange visibility vest. She tried not to ogle his arms and shoulders.
“Breakfast?” She found her fingers enclosed in firm warmth and then held captive. 
“Or brunch, if you want to be fancy.” A faint grin teased the corners of his mouth.
Suddenly Anna’s choice of high heels and tailored black silk crepe pants felt ridiculous. Why hadn’t she worn jeans?
She tried to retrieve her hand and he tightened his grip, allowing her no escape. 
“We’re on the job by seven in weather like this, and we work hard. We’re ready for more than a sandwich by now. You want a sausage?” Without waiting for a reply he reached sideways with his other hand, speared one from the barbecue on a bent and tarnished fork, and passed it to her.
Of course she didn’t. Nothing was further from her mind. A sausage with a gang of rough builders who had no business intruding into the house? From this over-muscled, overbearing, testosterone-soaked tower of annoyance?
Her traitorous stomach chose that moment to give another loud gurgle, and she gave in to the inevitable, trying to accept the fork without touching him any further. She took a cautious nibble and closed her eyes. She possibly moaned. God, it was good!
“Ketchup with that?” the velvet voice asked, stroking every one of Anna’s nerve endings exactly the wrong way. 
Snorts of amusement exploded from the other men and he threw a sharp, “Shut it,” in their direction. She opened her mouth wider and took a more ravenous bite.
“Go for it…” the youngest man encouraged.
“Shut it, Hoolie,” Jason Jones repeated.  He turned to Anna. “Doesn’t take much to amuse someone with no brain.”
Anna glared at them all. The youngest one grinned from ear to ear, the other two tried to stifle their laughter, and even Jason Jones had the faintest twitch at one end of his surprisingly gorgeous mouth. No prizes for guessing what they were imagining.
She managed to swallow the mouthful without choking, took a step backward in case it made him look less impressive, and pinned him with her best ‘you’re-an-insect-beneath-my-notice’ gaze. “And I’ll ask you again; what exactly are you doing here? This is my family’s home. I’m staying to do some work for a few days, and I’m not expecting, or wanting, company.”
Jason Jones folded his tall frame down onto a battered white plastic chair and glanced toward the open back porch of the old house. “I arranged with your uncle for us to use the… facilities… there.  But some big rocks slid down the hill and bashed the wall in a couple of days ago.”
“No more facilities,” young Hoolie explained helpfully. “No bog, broken basin, only half a shower.”
Anna flicked her gaze into the damaged porch, bared her teeth, and took another bite of sausage - a really savage one - while looking Hoolie in the eye. Her action had the intended effect, and she had the great satisfaction of seeing him flinch.
She tried to suppress a smirk as she chewed and swallowed. “You’ll have to get a Porta-loo then. I don’t want you in the house. How did you get the door open?”
A big hand rummaged in the pocket of the khaki shorts. Anna glimpsed lime green undies through the gaping fly. Lime green? Did the man have no class?
He pulled out a key on a twist of string. James’s key. The little white lighthouse on the end of the string was a souvenir she’d given him on a long-ago holiday. 
He swung it to and fro. “Your uncle gave me this in case I wanted to stay over. There have been burglaries from the other house. Boxes of tiles, appliances - and I don’t need any here at mine.”
Why don’t they lock things up more securely? 
“So you’re the foreman?”
“Project manager.”
This brought a ‘yeah, right’ from Hoolie, and a tightening of Jason Jones’ features. He glared at the offender and said, “Hoolie’s not worth meeting until he grows up a bit, but the rest of my men are.” He waved an arm in their direction, and the sun glinted on gilded skin and bulging muscle. “Brett Lambourne and Eric Hansen.”
“Pleased to meetcha,” the younger Brett said. 
“Yeah, gidday,” balding Eric added, wiping his lips with a crumpled handkerchief and stuffing it back into the pocket of his shorts.
“But…” Anna said. This was absolutely not what she wanted. She shook her head. “I don’t want to share my bathroom with a crowd of men.”
Jason leaned back in the chair and drew a deep breath. Anna found it hard not to stare as his chest expanded, and saw from the set of his jaw that he was making quite an effort to stay polite. 
“There are only four of us,” he said in a tone suitable for explaining quantum physics to young children. “And I’ve been telling them to take their boots off. But okay, I’ll order a Porta-loo. I can’t guarantee they’ll have it here before Monday though. Not with the big surf carnival over the weekend.”
“Every bog’ll be busy,” Hoolie contributed.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Annaliese snapped. She took the last bite of sausage and wondered what to do with the fork. A big hand on the end of a long arm closed around it and she let go in a hurry. “Thank you,” she added, a few seconds too late, turning and flouncing back into the house.
“Yep - spoiled little bitch”, she heard Jason say just before the door swung closed. So it was her he’d been talking about as she arrived? He’d already known she’d be staying? She nearly whirled around and gave him another earful, but what would that achieve? It wouldn’t do to make an enemy of the builder. Keeping out of each other’s way would surely be the wisest course. 
She inspected the bathroom as she returned down the hallway. Men! Four empty toilet roll inners sat along the windowsill… the tap wasn’t properly turned off… and very dirty handprints decorated the pale blue towel. 
Oh well, at least they washed their hands to some degree, and from the lack of mud on the floor they were indeed kicking their filthy boots off before they came inside. 
She tried to be pleased about that as she collected her bag and pulled it into the front bedroom - the one with the best and biggest bed. 
Someone had been sleeping in it. The cover had been tossed back and the pillow held the unmistakable indentation of a head. A half empty water bottle and an electric shaver sat on the chest beside it.
Jason Jones’ firm, clean-shaven jaw came immediately to mind, and for some reason his gorgeous mouth, and she just knew it would be him. Turning on her heel she clattered back along the hallway and flung the door open again.
“Who’s been sleeping in my bed?” she demanded.
“Big bad bear?” Hoolie suggested.
Brett Lambourne grinned. “Don’t you know your fairy stories, boy? Big bad wolf.” 
Eric Hansen threw back his head and managed a passable howl. 
“Hell,” Jason muttered. “It was the longest bed.”
“Well, will you move please? It sounded like you knew the ‘spoiled little bitch’ was coming to stay.”
Jason drew another of those devastating, chest-expanding breaths. “Your hearing’s a bit too good, eh? Sorry about that.” He set his can of cola aside and stood. Anna was almost willing to believe he was blushing under his tan.
“Move your stuff out at the end of the day,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to stop you working.” This time she slammed the door behind her so she wouldn’t hear any more smart comments.

New Zealander Kris Pearson was born to write - at twelve she completed her autobiography – an easy subject which required no research. It filled a whole school exercise book! 
Her first proper job was as a radio copywriter. After living in Italy and London she returned to the capital city of Wellington and worked in TV, radio again, several advertising agencies, and then spent many happy years as a retail ad manager. Totally hooked on fabrics, she followed this by going into business with her husband as a curtain installer. It was finally time to write fiction. In sixteen years she hasn’t fallen off her ladder once through drifting off into romantic dreams.
 
She writes sizzling contemporary romance, pure and simple. Well, maybe not that pure! They're sexy stories about modern couples who fall in love and into bed along the way, just like real people do. She’s the author of fourteen novels, three of which were finalists in New Zealand’s Clendon Award. Four have been translated into Spanish.
 
The most widely distributed is 'The Boat Builder's Bed'. She gave away more than two million ebook copies of this to kick-start sales of all her others. Did it work? Beyond her wildest dreams. See them all on her website - http://www.krispearson.com
 
Contact Links
Twitter: @Krispiewrites
 
 
Purchase Links

 
 
Giveaway
3 ebook copies of Hard to Regret
 
 
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Saturday, December 3, 2016

The Mists of Time by Susan Squires

Paranormal Romance
Date Published: Originally August 31, 2010, New release Nov. 21st
 
Divided by Centuries
Diana Dearborn knows all about romance, at least in the books she writes. But passion eludes her in real life—until she’s offered the chance to travel back in time to Camelot. The world of King Arthur and Guinevere is nothing like she pictured, and neither is the knight she encounters upon her return to San Francisco: Gawain, the hero of her current project. He’s complicated, mysterious, and sexier than anything her imagination could conjure. And he’s been waiting for her…

Entwined by Desire
Now, joined together in a desperate race, Diana and Gawain must prevent an ancient, evil force from wreaking mayhem in the all-too-real present. Diana must learn to trust Gawain, even while she encounters secrets about her own past. But even if their mission succeeds, does Diana’s destiny lie with this man from another time—and will their love alter history forever?
 
Susan Squires grew up among the giant redwoods of California. She thought she was being practical by changing her major in college from theater to English literature. Immersed in a PhD. Program, she slowly realized that none of her graduating friends had work. So she dropped out after receiving a Master’s degree to take an paying job in the business world.


As an executive in a Fortune 500 company, she returned to her love of writing while continuing to hold her day-job, much to the amusement of her fellow executives. Her novel Danegeld, had already been purchased by Dorchester by the time she accepted a Golden Heart for Best Unpublished Paranormal Manuscript from Romance Writers of America.

It was the first of an eclectic group of historical and contemporary paranormal stories known for their intensity. Body Electric was named by Publishers Weekly one of the ten most influential paperbacks of 2002, for blending romance and science-fiction. Book List compared No More Lies to the works of Robin Cook and Michael Crichton, but it was also a Rita finalist for Best Published Paranormal Romance by Romance Writers of America.

Susan’s Companion Series for St. Martin’s Press continued to garner attention with admiring reviews and several visits to the New York Times Bestseller List. Publishers Weekly named One with the Shadows a Best Book of the Year, and several of the series received starred reviews. Her books have won the many regional contests for published works of paranormal romantic fiction.

Susan no longer has to use tales of romance and adventure to escape budgets and projects. She finally left her day job, and researches and writes her books at the beach in Southern California, supported by three Belgian Sheepdogs and a wonderful husband named Harry who writes occult mysteries as H.R. Knight.


6 Reasons Why Writing Time Travel is Fun

1. You get to research another time period—very thoroughly. If you are setting a book in a different time period you must do careful research. Time Travel readers want to know what it would really be like to live there.

2. You get to tweak history. I set myself a rule that I would always make events come out looking like they do in the history books. But HOW and WHY events happen can change. Or events can look the same, but really be very different. It’s like a puzzle! In Mists of Time, the characters actually do change history, at least for a little while. It was fun to figure out what the impact would have been.

3. Your main character becomes a “fish out of water,” faced with new situations and new dangers. How will your character adapt? Will they find new strengths and talents? What talents from their own time will help them in their present situation?

4. You automatically have a really big barrier to forming relationships if you are writing a romance. The hero and heroine come from different backgrounds, different cultural norms, and to get together one of them is going to have to give up everything they’ve known and loved from their own time.

5. There’s something very elemental and satisfying about imagining yourself in another time. Kids do it from a very young age.

6. You are joining a long tradition of some very fun books in many genres, not only Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series, but Mark Twain’s A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, H.G. Wells’s The Time Machine and Robert Heinlein’s The Door Into Summer, to name but a few.

What’s your favorite time travel book? Come on, you know you have one.

 

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