New Hot Read!!

A Navy SEAL and a beautiful aide doctor navigate hostile territory in their attempt to rescue a kidnapped doctor and discover what is killing entire villages in the Horn of Africa.

When his SEAL team’s mission fails in the Horn of Africa, Declan O’Shea is separated from his team. Rescued by a group of women and hidden until he recuperates, Irish’s main goal is to make it back alive to his team.

As a doctor with Doctors without Borders, Claire Boyette puts her life at risk rescuing the American SEAL. When her partner is kidnapped and the village they’re hiding in is ransacked, she’s forced to go on the run, relying on the sexy SEAL to keep her alive.

Navigating through hostile territory, Irish and Claire, seek to reunite with Irish’s SEAL team, search for the kidnapped doctor and discover the source of what’s killing the entire population of villages in the Horn of Africa.

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“It’s fucking Grand Central Station in Samada tonight,” Declan O’Shea muttered into his radio. On point for this mission, he studied the small village in semi-arid, southwestern Somalia. Either Intel had it wrong or the al-Shabaab leader, Emir Fuad Hassan Umar, had called a meeting of all his leaders, or he had beefed up his security in the past twenty-four hours.
“I count fifteen bogeys on the south corner.” Swede had moved into position on the southern end of the village.
“Same on the north,” Fish reported. “Tight perimeter as well. No one sleeping, yet.”
“Over twenty stationed outside our target structure,” Irish said from his location thirty yards from one of the grass huts on the east end of the village. He hugged the shadows, his night vision goggles pushed up on his helmet, unnecessary with the full moon lighting the sky like daytime. Not conducive to a surprise attack on the emir.
Orders were orders. Over two hours ago, the eighteen-man team had fast-roped from the two Black Hawk helicopters several miles from the target. They’d moved in on foot, carrying the explosives and weapons they needed.
SEAL Team 10 had been tasked to decapitate the head of a growing al-Shabaab faction led by a murderous former member of the Somali Islamic Courts Union who’d wiped out entire villages of people. In one village, he and his men had gone through, hut by hut, and killed the men, raped the women and slaughtered the children. When they were through pillaging, they burned the structures to the ground. In other villages, he’d wiped out the entire population and strewn their corpses for the scavenger birds.
A freelance news reporter happened upon the scene shortly after. The pictures he’d sent back to be printed in the US and the UK newspapers had shocked the westerners. But not until the rebels raided a small women’s college in a suburb of Mogadishu, kidnapped all the females and sold them into slavery, did the U.S. administration take action.
Langley did their magic with satellite images, and SEAL Team 10 got the alert to stand ready to deploy.
They hadn’t known their destination until they boarded the C-130 aircraft bound for a joint forces post in Djibouti, on the Horn of Africa. They landed in Camp Lemonnier at night, were secreted into an operations building where they slept through the day and prepared for the mission to be conducted the following night. After a thorough briefing by intelligence officers, they loaded helicopters from the U.S. Army’s 160th Special Operations Regiment, otherwise known as the Night Stalkers—the aviation unit known for its ability to fly helicopters fast, at low altitudes and under extremely hostile conditions. They had more balls than all the other pilots in the military and were the SEAL team’s life line.
Intel had estimated thirty terrorists, not the fifty Irish counted with Fish’s and Swede’s numbers combined. Those were the figures they could see on the outside of the main building. The emir could have called a meeting of all of his subordinate leaders, and they could be gathered inside the building, plotting their next murderous raid.
The SEAL team was highly outnumbered, and the rebels were well armed, each carrying a semi-automatic rifle with thirty-round banana magazines and spares.
“Count on fifty to seventy rebels. Your call, Gator,” Irish spoke softly into his mic.
The leader of their team Remy “Gator” LaDue’s voice crackled through Irish’s headset. “They have to sleep sometime.”
That was the team’s cue to wait and watch.
Irish got comfortable, tucked into a bush, his face blackened with camouflage paint, alert but conserving energy for the battle to come.
Slowly, the rebels settled in for the night, many of them lying in the dirt, weapons clutched in their hands.
An hour went by before the door to the target structure made of straw, sticks and mud opened, and men poured out. Ten loaded into nearby trucks and left, others collapsed onto the ground and talked for a few minutes before lying down to sleep. The village grew quiet.
Forty-five minutes later, Gator’s voice came through, “Let’s do this.”
Irish crawled out of the bush, flexed his muscles and moved forward, shifting his finger to the trigger of his specially modified M4A1. His muscles bunched, his control tight on every movement. Surprise was as much a weapon as the rifle in his hands.
Ten yards before he reached the first perimeter guard hunkered against the side of a hut constructed of sticks, with a grass, thatched roof, Irish paused. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Something wasn’t right. The ground around him was too clean, too clear. He dropped to his haunches and scanned the area. A thin glint of light alerted him to something shiny stretched between two bushes.
“Fuck! The perimeter is wired—” he said into his mic.
As the words left his mouth, a loud explosion ripped through the silence and shook the earth, spitting dirt and rubble into the air.
Irish flattened against the ground, his pulse slamming through his veins. The trip wire hung inches from his nose. The explosion had gone off to the south where Swede, Big Bird, Gator and Sting Ray were. Someone had tripped the wire.
Every rebel in the village leaped to his feet shouting, guns at the ready. The door to the target structure burst open, and more men ran out into the yard.
“Plan Bravo!” Gator called into Irish’s headset.
Irish, Tuck and everyone else opened fire on the rebels in the village, taking out as many as they could to provide cover while Hank and Dustman carried out their part of Plan Bravo. Positioned twenty feet on either side of Irish, the two SEALs, half-hidden in the brush, came to their knees and fired off two high-explosive grenades from the M203A1 grenade launchers attached to their rifles, aiming for the hut at the center of the village. One landed short, the other hit. Both exploded with a bright flash.
Half of the team pulled back, heading for the helicopter pick-up point. Their communications man would have put in a call to the waiting Night Stalkers. The helicopters would be in position when the SEALs reached the appointed landing zone.
They just had to get there.
Irish, Tuck, Swede and Fish would be the last to bug out, providing cover fire for the others.
“Gator was hit,” Big Bird said into Irish’s headset. “I’ve got him.”
“Get out of here,” Tuck said. “We’ve got your six.”
Irish eased away from the village, firing as he went. The chaos of going from sound asleep to fully alert was wearing off the rebels. In full-defense mode, they fired back, strafing the darkness surrounding the village in hope of hitting their attackers.
Hunkering low to the ground, Irish ran, doing his best to hug the shadows of trees and bushes. With the moon shining brightly, the SEALs could see the enemy, but the enemy could see the SEALs as well, especially when they were on the move.
Less than a mile away, the thumping sound of rotors whipping the air gave Irish incentive to pick up the pace. His teammates sounded off as they boarded the helicopters.
After one chopper filled, it left the ground and headed north toward Djibouti.
Irish could see the outline of the other chopper, the blades stirring dust in the air, whipping leaves and grass like an impatient child ready to leave.
“Come on, Irish,” Tuck urged.
The words, barely audible over the pounding of his pulse against his eardrums, gave Irish incentive to pick up the pace. Rifle fire erupted behind him, the thunk of bullets hitting the dirt around him was even more compelling. He gave up zigzagging to avoid catching a bullet and ran full out, leaping aboard the helicopter.
He hadn’t even gotten in when the aircraft left the ground, rising up into the air. Tuck grabbed him by his gear and dragged him all the way in the fuselage. Irish sat up and turned toward the open door. Even though he was inside, he wasn’t safe yet. The door gunners on both sides fired onto the rebels below.
When the chopper was only fifty feet off the ground, a flash of light below made Irish’s blood run cold.
The door gunner barely had time to yell, “Incoming!” when the helicopter gave a violent lurch and spun to the left, tilting precariously, losing altitude at an alarming pace. The pilot attempted to compensate and the craft lurched to the right before it hit the ground.
Irish slid across the floor, scrambling for purchase, his hands finding none. He tumbled out the open door, bounced off the skid and fell twenty feet, landing on his back in a pile of rubble of what had once been a hut. Stunned, with the breath knocked out of his lungs and his vision blurring, Irish watched as the helicopter pitched back to the left, flew another half mile, shuddered and crashed to the ground.
His heart banging against his ribs, Irish tried to rise. Pain shot through the back of his head, and he collapsed. Like a candle’s flame in the wind, the moonlight snuffed out.

FREE for a short time: WICKED GAME

“A thrilling murder mystery wrapped around some sizzling hot sex.” – Meagan’s Romance Reviews

WickedGame_600x900Family means everything to P.I. Alexis Signorino. After being orphaned at a young age she grew up running rampant between her uncles garage and the biker bar next to it. When bar owner Jimmy D, a man she thinks of as family, is charged with murder there’s nothing that can stop her from running to his rescue.

Going home isn’t easy, but she slides smoothly into the role of cocktail waitress in The Crib, and begins searching for the real murderer. When Devon Kaye strolls into the bar, not only does her libido kick into high gear, so do her instincts. There’s much more to the criminally hot biker than meets the eye. Her gut says the sexy mystery man isn’t the murderer, but he’s definitely hiding something.

The questions are piling up, and Lexy is determined to find the answers even if it means indulging in some sinful acts along the way. *
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“This is a raw and sensual story. Lexy is not your average heroine, and Devon is more than her match.” – Romantic Times BookClub

“[Wicked Game is] so smooth and compelling. Raw when it needs to be, romantic and sensual when it needs to be. I just enjoyed the story so much!” – USA Today Best Selling Author Julie Leto

previously published by Kensington as “The Crib”.

Chapter One

A heady mixture of adrenaline and arousal coursed through my veins as I lifted the half-full snifter to my lips to sip at the creamy concoction. I’d been trying for hours to wrap my mind around the latest news I’d received. Jimmy D, a man I considered family, was a murder suspect. My temper had been simmering since I got off the phone, and I couldn’t seem to get a grip.

I’d learned that the only way for me to deal when that happened was to go in search of a physical release. A fight was one way to take the edge off my emotions and give me a chance to think again, but my sparring partner was out of town, so I had gone with option two.

Setting the drink down again, I swiped my tongue slowly across my top lip to catch anything left behind, and watched my companion’s eyes darken. A slow flush crept across his high cheekbones and he inched closer.

He was a good-looking guy. In a clean-cut boy next-door kind of way that made him look younger than he probably was. Not my usual type. However, I knew for a fact that looks could be deceiving. And the fact that he was hanging out in this bar, a known meet-market, told me that he wasn’t as naïve or innocent as he appeared.

Just like I wasn’t as frail or delicate as I appeared.

“What was your name again?” I tossed my hair over my shoulder and looked him up and down.

“Steve,” he answered.

“Are you horny, Steve?”

Now it was his neck that slowly turned red. I slipped my hand below the edge of the bar, leaned into him, and reaching between his legs, tested his size. His cock swelled beneath my fingers, and a satisfying feeling of power swept over me.
Men. They were so predictable.

“I think you’ve discovered the answer to that question yourself,” he spoke with confidence.

With a naughty smile I stroked him a few times through his trousers. That was all it took. He reached into his pocket and tossed a few bills on the bar for the tab. Stepping back, he took my now empty hand in his, and we exited the bar.
The night air was humid and the parking lot was dark, a couple of the lights along the roof of the building burnt out. I automatically scanned my surroundings, noticing dark corners and the proximity of potential danger zones. It was the perfect place for illicit activities.

God, I loved the rush of living-on-the-edge, of doing the unexpected.

Steve lead the way across the parking lot, with me following him, not saying a word. Instead, I focused on the way my heart raced, my pussy lips plumped, and my juices pooled between my thighs.

He hadn’t even touched me yet. The overeager reaction of my body was a clear sign I was doing the right thing. I needed this liberation from my tangled thoughts for just a short time.

Steve stopped next to a big shiny red pickup truck that was backed up against the building, and beeped the door unlocked.

“This is yours?”

“Yup.” He ushered me between the truck and the compact car parked next to it. “Where are you going?”

Instead of climbing into the truck like he’d expected, I continued to walk toward the building. With a quick glance I confirmed my suspicions. There was just enough room for what I had in mind.

Reaching into my bra I skipped over the small blade I kept nestled between my breasts, and pulled out the condom I’d tucked next to it earlier. I handed it to Steve, and then let down the tailgate of the truck.

Bending over the end of the truck, I planted my hands on the truck bed and spread my legs, feeling the cool air on my hot sex. I looked over my shoulder, quirked an eyebrow at the gaping man, and wiggled my tail.

“Here?” he croaked.


An eager grin spread across his expressive face and he couldn’t unzip his pants fast enough. Once I saw him rolling the condom onto his rigid hard-on, I turned away and looked out over the parking lot.

“Lexy, baby,” he said as he lifted my skirt and grabbed my hips. “You’re a fantasy come to life, aren’t you?”

“Don’t talk, Steve.” I arched my back and thrust back against his groin. Reaching between my legs with one hand I gripped his cock, guiding him to my entrance. “You’ll ruin the fantasy.”

An ecstatic groan echoed in the empty lot as he thrust deep. My eyelids dropped to half-mast and I fought to keep my head up, to keep my eyes on the other dark corners as my insides pulsed low and heavy. The thrill of the forbidden enhanced the fire burning through my veins. A moan slipped from me when the man behind me gripped my hips tighter, and pumped into me faster and harder. His rigid cock slid in and out, filling me and pulling away in delicious torture. Our panting breaths filled the silence in the dark night air and my insides started to clench. A mini spasm swept over me when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.

It was another couple, strolling into the parking lot, arms wrapped around each other. They hadn’t seen us yet and I doubted they would as they were heading for the other side of the lot. But just the chance that we might get caught had me striving for the orgasm already building inside me. I lifted a hand from the truck bed, reached between my thighs, and pinched my swollen clit.

A shudder racked my body, and I bit my lip to stifle my outcry as pleasure rolled over me in waves. My orgasm set off Steve’s and he bucked against me, groaning loud enough for the couple across the parking lot to turn in our direction before jumping into their car quickly.

Steve leaned over my back for a few seconds to catch his breath before pulling out. I used that time to catch my own breath and shake off any misplaced sense of shame.

I turned to Steve after pulling my skirt down, and patted him on the cheek softly. “Thanks. I needed that.”

“Can I get your number?” He called out as I walked away.

I didn’t bother to answer. The orgasm had cleared my head, and I knew what I had to do. I didn’t really want to go back to Edmonton, but I wasn’t about to stand by and lose another loved one when I could do something about it.

Most men think women use sex to get what they want, out of them, out of life. But I know different. I know that women are trained from childhood to believe that sex is something special, to be shared only with someone special. That it’s more than just an urge, or a natural high. I know that if women really used sex as a weapon, they’d be more dangerous.

They’d be more like me.

What to do?

This fall I was hoping to catch up with some long overdue novellas that my fans have been waiting patiently for – ROGUE HEART and ONE CHOICE – but I’ll be honest. The way time has been flying past has made that highly unliklely, though, and the creative juices are flowing so I’m not promising anything there right now.

The funny thing is, I believe those other ideas are simmering for a couple of reasons. The main one being, I think the erotic romance market is over saturated. I choose to believe this is why my sales are so slow. Because there are so many choices out there, and I’m lost to readers who don’t already know me.  And while I love choices, I also love to be able to pay my bills. I can’t afford to do big promotions, and massive giveaways like I’ve seen some do, and well, to be honest, I don’t know HOW to do a lot of that stuff. I’ve tried to pick up the pace with promotions, and events, but it’s not helping. And when the sales are this slow, well, the writing slows down. So I’ll be going back to a full-time day job this fall. Less writing time.

I’m also rethinking what I’m going to spend that writing time on. I had such high hopes for Overwatch, and my author friends tell me I need to have a few more books in the series before I give up on it, but I just don’t know if I can. I love the characters,and the stories they have to tell, but, well, I gotta live, and they just aren’t selling.  I’ll be blunt so people can understand. NONE of my Overwatch stories have paid through. That means that after putting out money for cover art, editing, formatting, and some small promotions, I have not made a penny in profits. Not one.

And my living expenses are not counted in the books expenses. So once again, I’m back to living on credit. (Yes, this happened when I was writing fro NY publishers too. I made more money, but I spent a lot more on promotions, thinking it was an investment that would eventually pay off. And maybe it would’ve if I hadn’t fallen into a depression and stopped writing for 4 years. But I did, and I think any momentum I had disappeared.

Now, I’m not pumping them out every three months like some do/can, and I’ve come to the realization that if that is what it takes to be a success as an author now-days, then I’m not gonna make it.  It’s that simple. I made writing my life for five years, and it just about killed me. I’m not being dramatic. I’m being honest. I gained over 150 pounds, fell into a depression, and suffered major health problems. I have been fighting for four years to get back to myself. I’m not willing to lose myself to be a full-time writer again.

So, I’m just not sure what to do, and the truly sad thing…I’m not the only one thinking/feeling this way. My associates that are feeling this way are not new to the business either, we’ve all been multi-published for many years, and  were so excited by the chance to go Indie and have some control and maybe make some money, but for whatever reason, we’re drowning now.

Anyone with thoughts or advice, please share.





Summer Plans

My summer plans have been in motion for a few months now, and well…. plans just don’t seem to work out for me. It’s getting frustrating. .
For health, I’ve been doing water aerobics and pool workouts 2-3 times a week. My back and knees are feeling good enough that I’m starting to add strength training as regular thing too. I’m determined to get back a healthier me.

Healthier equals happier, and more creative. Seriously, I always notice a big upswing not just in motivation but in my creativity as well, when I’m being more active.

Speaking or creativity. Here’s the plan.
I set aside my futirstic/sci-fi in June. I’ll get back to it when I feel the urge, which who knows when that will be. LOL

Current WIP is MARKED BY A DARE, a novella set in Carly Phillips Dare World. It’s set ot release on Sept 22, and I’m just staring it- even though I tried to start it July 1st. I’ve had a very hard time getting it going.

Then I’m expanding and rewriting UNABASHED, the second  Ronnie and Ian novella. If you’re read UNFETTERED – and if you haven’t, Why the hell not? – then you know who I’m talking about. I revisited them recently with my novella UNABASHED. It’s in the Every Which Way anthology that is out right now, in case you didn’t know.  I was going to write a third installment/novella to stand on it’s own and decided against it. Instead of releasing UNABASHED on its own as it is, I”m just going to expand it,so Unabashed is longer, and completes the main introduction/story of Ronnie and Ian and release it as one story instead of two shorter novellas. What do you think? Good Idea? or do you like a couple of shorter novellas instead of a longer one?

Once this is done, then Ian and Ronnie’s story will be caught up with where PRIMAL ends, timeline wise, then I’ll move forward with CARNAL.




Happy Canada Day!

I love living in Canada.It’s an amazingly beautiful country, from ocean to ocean, mountains to prairies, city to countryside.

I love being Canadian, and am proud of our diversity, and the fact that we, as a culture, are known for our kindness. I also love that we grow some awesomee talent in this country!!

Help us celebrate Canada Day by picking up a book from a fab Canadaian Author.
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