Thursday, December 15, 2011

New release -- Sinful Wager from Changeling Press

Prepare to see Lucifer in a whole new way.  He brings new meaning to "sexy devil."

How about this fabulous cover by the divine Angela Knight?

Marty Davis takes a wrong turn in the casino called Pleasure Palace and winds up in a place where the machines pay off with hot sex and everyone wins. Turns out she's in hell, and Lucifer is the sexiest guy there. With all that going for the underworld, who'd want to go back to reality? She makes a deal with him -- if she can make him beg for the privilege of giving her an orgasm, she gets to stay on as his partner.

Lucifer doesn't need a partner, but this woman gets his libido hot and bothered, something that hasn't happened for longer than he cares to remember. Besides, her ideas for running the casino have the place humming. He takes her challenge and finds, to his chagrin, that he can't seem to win.

Note:  This excerpt is PG, but the story is erotic.

Modern casino chips sure didn't make the satisfying clatter silver dollars used to. That didn't keep Marty Davis from ruffling her thumb upward along the pile in front of her on the bar. Thapthapthapthapthap over and over again until she couldn't stomach the sound any longer, so she spread them out in a precise line and scooped them up again.

Tim's hand came across the bar and down on hers. "Are you doing that to irritate me or yourself?"

"Both," she answered. "Is it working?"

"I can only speak on my own behalf," he said. "Yes."

"Make me a drink, will you?"

"Sure thing. What'll it be?"

She considered the question. The house wine they served in the casino sucked. The local beer was swill. The best bartender in all of Las Vegas, Tim could make eight-layer frappe things out of various liqueurs so sweet they'd give you cavities. None of that held any appeal.

"Mix me something strong enough that I'll go jump some guy's bones," she said finally.

Tim smiled and leaned over the bar toward her. "My bones are always available."

Indeed they were, as he made obvious at every opportunity. She'd normally take full advantage of such a thorough and considerate lover, but Tim had become too attached, and she'd had to break things off before he got hurt. He deserved kids and a picket fence, not a woman who bored as easily as she did.

Instead of waiting for her to make up her mind, Tim took the bottle of good Scotch from the shelf behind him and poured a generous amount into a tumbler. He set that and a cocktail napkin in front of her. "On me."

"Thanks." She lifted the glass in a toast and then sipped at the smooth liquor. Tim couldn't afford much of this stuff on his salary, and she normally wouldn't accept it from him, but she couldn't keep rejecting everything he offered.

"Quiet night?" she asked.

"Pretty much. I only had to call security on one rowdy drunk."

"What about him?" she said, nodding in the direction of a man sitting at the end of the bar. The guy wore a suit a bit too big for him and sat with his head in his hands, his fingers stuck into his fringe of hair. "Shouldn't you be getting him a cab?"

"He's just depressed," Tim said. "Lost a bunch of money."

Marty pushed the pile of chips toward Tim. "Give him these."

Tim's eyebrow went up. "That's a lot."

"I have more on this," she said, holding up the card the last slot had coughed out after she'd won a jackpot.

"Lucky night?" he asked.

"Just like every night."

Tim picked up the chips and headed toward the man with the bad clothes and the worse expression. She didn't catch much of the conversation, but the guy perked right up, lifting his head out of his hands and smoothing his hair into place. After giving her a thumbs-up, he climbed off his stool and disappeared into the crowd around one of the craps tables. That might have lifted her spirits if she hadn't known he'd piss all the money away again. By the time he did, she'd be gone from here one way or another.

Tim returned. "You made his day."

"I give him an hour before he's back and broke again."

Tim studied her for a moment. "You're really down, aren't you?"

She shrugged. "Not down so much as..."

Empty was more like it. A nice, long, miserable crying jag would feel pretty good, but she had no real reason for sadness.

"Things come too easy lately," she went on. "I landed the biggest account at the agency without even trying. I keep winning here, no matter what I play."

"Every man in the place has the hots for you," Tim said.

She wouldn't have brought up the subject and rubbed Tim's nose in it, but she'd had lots of opportunities in that department, too. She'd had enough lovers in the last month to fill an anthology of really naughty stories. Not a disappointment among them. The ones without huge endowments had all had skillful fingers and tongues. Others could go all night. An embarrassment of riches. All that ought to make her happy.

"Faust," Tim said.

She snapped back to reality. "I beg your pardon?" "The Faust story," he said. "You're living it."

"That's right. You're the literature major."

"That and bartender school got me this glamorous job." He extended his arms, gesturing around him.

"Tell me more about this Faust thing."

"Faust was a man, not a thing." Tim grabbed his cloth and wiped the top of the bar the way he always did when he either told a story or listened to one. "He had everything he could possibly want, but nothing gave him any pleasure."

"That pretty much describes me," she said. "What did he do?"

"The devil offered him a bargain. If Satan could show him something so beautiful he'd want to hold onto it, Faust would have to surrender his soul."

"How did the story come out?" she asked.

"Depends on whose version you're reading," Tim answered.

"I'm not likely to find anything so interesting as Satan here."

"The Pleasure Palace is a pretty big place. Are you sure you've explored every corner of it?" Tim asked.

"Enough corners." Tim had a point, though. The hotel/casino complex was one of Vegas's newest, biggest, and most luxurious, but it had the added cachet of having been built on the foundation of several older gambling houses. An intricate web of corridors went off in all directions beneath the massive building, ending abruptly in some cases. Rumors had circulated during construction about things workers had found in basements. All hype, no doubt, but few people could claim they had actually seen every square foot of the place. Lots of tourists came here specifically to explore, and none ever complained of being disappointed.

"You know I'm right, don't you?" Tim said. "Where are you going to find the devil if not in Las Vegas and where in Las Vegas if not here?"

"What the heck? It's too early to go home, anyway." She got off her barstool and picked up the ridiculously expensive Scotch. After downing it, she leaned across the bar to give Tim a quick kiss good-bye and then wandered off into the huge gaming area.

The usual chaos of lights and noises surrounded her as she went. After a while, it all blended together into a kind of sensory overload and from there into visual and auditory white noise. For a moment, Marty went adrift in it, losing her way among tables and machines she'd visited off and on for months.

Maybe Tim had slipped something into her Scotch. No, he wouldn't do that. He might ask and cajole to get back into her bed, but he'd never do anything underhanded. Still, something had knocked her off her bearings. Maybe she'd had some kind of reaction to the liquor.

After several seconds, the sensations faded, her mind clearing. She shook herself briefly, turned a corner, and found herself in a part of the club she'd never seen before.

As she glanced around, the feeling of newness grew even more pronounced and for good reason. She'd never visited an X-rated casino -- hadn't even known such a place existed -- but she stood in the middle of one now.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

New release! Nightwatch from Red Sage

Note:  This excerpt is PG, but the story itself is erotic.

Janice went into the kitchenette and found a bottle of flavored iced tea in the refrigerator, Ann hovering right behind her the whole time. When Janice turned around, she found her sister’s face nearly touching hers.

“Perch somewhere, would you?” she said. “I can’t think with you crowding.”

“Okay.” Ann sat on one of the stools at the serving area of the counter. “Shoot.”

Janice got out two glasses and filled them with ice. “That man…Sam…lives across the courtyard.”


She poured their drinks and sat on the stool across from Ann. The whole thing about watching him had been eating at her. She had to tell someone or she’d go nuts. Her sister might get meddlesome from time to time, but she didn’t blab.

“Absolute, most sacred pledge of secrecy,” she said.

Ann’s eyes grew round. “Wow, must be good.”

“I mean it,” Janice said. “If you tell, I take your firstborn and sacrifice him to Satan.”

“Come on. You know I don’t repeat things.”

“Not even to Ralph.” Janice didn’t need her brother-in-law looking at her funny at family reunions.

“Spill, Janice.”

“That man, Sam Windsor.” She took a fortifying drink of her tea. “His bedroom faces mine across the courtyard.”

“Okay.” Ann leaned toward her as if expecting the real story.

“You don’t understand.” Janice set her glass down and rose. “Follow me.”

Janice led her sister into the bedroom and to the window in question. “Look.”

Ann did. “You have a pretty good view.”

“Not only that, but you know about the acoustics out there.”

“Ahhh.” The light dawned in Anne’s eyes. “You can hear him, too.”

“A few nights ago, he had a visitor, and he left the window open.”

“He did? Doesn’t he know how sound travels out there?”

Janice shrugged. “He’s new to the building.”

“So he had a visitor in his bedroom.”

Janice went to the bed and sank onto it. “A woman…and they were…with the window open and the blinds up.”

“Oh.” Ann stared in that direction again as if something really interesting might happen. “I see.”

“You don’t, but I did,” Janice said. “You’d better come away from there.”

“Yeah.” Ann sat next to Janice on the bed.

“They were going at it. Doggie style.” She still had those images in her head. The way he‘d done the nasty with that woman. The expressions on his face the whole time. “I could see everything.”


“I do mean everything.”

Ann fanned herself. “What did you do?”

“I watched.” There, she’d said it. She’d peeped in on a couple making love. Did that make her some kind of pervert?

“I slunk down by the windowsill and watched the whole thing,” Janice said.

“Well, um…” Ann’s face turned red with embarrassment. But then, she’d always blushed easily. “That’s not illegal. At least, I don’t think it is.”

“I sure hope not.”

Ann bit her lip for a moment. “Is he, that is, how is he…is it…?”

“Big. Really, really big.”

Ann fanned herself. “Oh, my God. And he’s drop-dead gorgeous.”

“Plus, he’s really good with his fingers.” And his mouth. She wouldn’t forget his mouth. “You should have heard the noises she made.”

“Well.” Ann cleared her throat. “I’m sure he’ll keep the blinds down in the future.”

“Um…not exactly.”

Ann put her hand on Janice’s arm. “You mean you saw more?”

“Last night, he had a man.”


Thursday, September 29, 2011

Excerpt from Miss Foster's Folly

Juliet released Lady Mitford’s arm and went to stand in front of one particularly nice flower. She touched the lip carefully, tracing the outline of the flower with the tip of her finger. “An excellent blossom. Firm and fleshy, not limp and soft.”

Derrington cleared his throat softly.

“Why, Mrs. Marlow.” Lady Mitford’s hand fluttered to her chest. “What an interesting way to talk about a flower.”

“Science isn’t delicate in its description, Lady Mitford. I’m only telling the truth.” This didn’t have anything to do with science, but why quibble? “A desirable orchid blossom should be turgid enough to stand erect and proud, fully exposed to the view of its admirer.”

Lord Blandings snapped to attention from whatever self-induced trance he’d been since they arrived. “I say. Isn’t science grand?”

Derrington picked the orchid up by its pot and put it into her hand with more force than necessary. “I’ll buy it for you.”

“But, my lord.” She put her other hand over her breast. “It’s a very expensive plant.”

“I insist you take it,” he said. It might have been a gesture of courtesy, but it came through more like a threat.

She calmly lifted his hand and returned the orchid to it. “I couldn’t accept such an expensive present. It wouldn’t be decent.”

“Do tell us more about orchids, Mrs. Marlow,” Blandings piped in from the rear.

“I’d be happy to.”

Derrington glowered at her, and she smiled back at him. “You see, orchids like this one grow on trees. People think they’re parasites, but they actually only use the branches for support.”

Derrington relaxed a bit, his shoulders lowering slowly to their normal position.

“Instead of fibrous roots, like most plants have, orchids have thick, fleshy ones,” she went on. “With tips that extend past their absorbent coating.”

Millie pried her way through the group until she’d reached Juliet’s side. “I don’t think our hosts really want a lecture in botany.”

“I do,” Blandings said.

This time, Derrington glared at him.

“What?” Blandings sputtered. “What did I say?”

She pointed toward the beginning of a root appearing from the base of the plant in Derrington’s hand. “This little protuberance, for example.”

Anger flashed in Derrington’s eyes as he dared her with his expression to continue. Fine. She liked dares.

“It’s small now,” she said. “But soon, it’ll elongate and thicken.”

Lady Mitford laughed in earnest this time. Lord Mitford covered his mouth and coughed, but he couldn’t cover his mirth completely.

Juliet glanced toward the bench. “Oh, look. This plant’s root has grown so far it’s plunged deep into its neighbor’s pot.”

Millie stood close enough to touch her without the others seeing, and she reached out and pinched Juliet in the ribs. Hard. Juliet smiled back at her for a moment and then turned to Derrington. She took the plant from his hand and held it up nearly under his nose.

“But, the most remarkable thing about this flower is this structure.” She trailed a fingertip along the blossom’s column in a slow caress. “It holds the reproductive organs, both male and female.”

For just a moment, she could have sworn she could hear Derrington’s teeth grinding.

“And behind this cap on the head. Ah, yes, here.” She ran her fingernail along the underside of the column up to the anther cap. When she removed it, the pollinia came away stuck to her skin. “See, two little nubbins of pollen.”

Derrington’s face turned three shades of red, but he kept his features even. He took the plant back and held it out toward Lady Mitford. “Would you hold this, please?”

She took it from him. “Certainly.”

He grasped Juliet’s elbow, using as much or more force as he had the night of the ball. “Excuse us for a moment.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and pulled her toward the back of the glasshouse. Despite her long stride, she had to struggle to keep up with him as he guided her toward the back door.

“When will you stop dragging me around?” she whispered.

“When you learn how to behave yourself,” he whispered back.

They reached the rear exit, and he opened the door and nearly shoved her over the threshold into a dirty alley behind the glasshouse. He let the door close loudly behind him as he released her arm and turned on her. “What in hell did you think you were doing in there?”

“Explaining orchid anatomy.”

“Sexual anatomy,” he said.

“Orchids have to reproduce somehow,” she said. “Everything I said was true and accurate. Ask your nurseryman.”

“Where did you learn all that rot?” He was almost shouting now.


“Not the botany. Where did you learn such graphic sexual innuendo?”

“Books.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s not as if you’re giving me any real lessons.”

“Oh, I’ll school you.” You couldn’t call the statement a growl, although it did come out rather snarly. It definitely sounded like a threat.

“I’ll put you over my knee and paddle your lovely arse until it’s a bright pink,” he said.

She gaped at him in astonishment. “That sounds interesting. Do people really do that?”

He made an odd sound. Strangled and loud at the same time. “I swear, you’ll drive me mad.”

“If you keep making noises like that, it won’t take much.”

At that, he raised his hands in a gesture of pure frustration. This time, he did growl. Not unlike the sort of passion she’d expected from a Roman warrior, not a British lord. Good Lord, did Derrington have that much hot-bloodedness in him? She’d chosen him because she’d thought an Englishman wouldn’t present any kind of challenge. She might need to reconsider that.

Despite her considerable height, he pulled himself up so tall he blotted out the light. She couldn’t help but cower beneath his fury.

“From now on, you will behave like a lady,” he said.

Her breath caught in her throat, but she lifted her chin to stare him down. “I don’t have to do what you tell me.”

“Oh, no?”

“I’m a free woman.”

“With a respectable family back in New York,” he said. “What would they do if I cabled them and told them where you were and what you were doing?"

The blasted man would think of that. Even her accountant friend couldn’t save her if he contacted the siblings. Not only would they discover she was in England making a spectacle of herself and showing off her breasts, but they’d find out she’d assumed another identity. They’d locate a pleasant asylum upstate and a judge who’d been a friend of her father’s to send her there for her own good. Whether she wanted to go or not.

“Maybe I did overplay my part a bit,” she said.

“Turgid flesh, wide open flowers, nubbins of pollen,” he said. “I’d say so.”

“I’ll be a bit more discreet.”

He leaned toward her, until his nose almost touched hers. He might have meant the gesture to intimidate her, but it brought his lips close to hers, too. She planned to kiss him again, but not in a dingy alley where someone might come by.

She put her hand on his chest and pushed him away. “Lord and Lady Mitford expect me to entertain them, but I suppose I can make the entertainment less outrageous.”

“Do it,” he said. “Or the cable goes to New York.”

Monday, August 8, 2011

New release! Always a Princess from Carina Press

Eve Stanhope masquerades as a foreign princess at ton parties, stealing jewels from the nobility she despises and returning to her London slum at the end of the night. She's carefully plotting revenge on her former employer—a society cad who's ruined her reputation. Now it's her turn to ruin him. What she doesn't expect is to encounter the criminally handsome Orchid Thief on one of her heists...

Philip Rosemont, Viscount Wesley, is also in disguise. Bored and stifled by society, he steals jewels for fun and leaves orchids as his calling cards. He knows the woman he's cornered at the ball is no aristocrat, much less the Princess of Valdastock. But something tells him she's not exactly common, either. Now he must uncover her motives while he enjoys her illicit kisses. Can these two become partners in crime even as they give in to their mutual seduction?

Thursday, July 7, 2011

New release from Changeling Press - Mirror, Mirror: Gladiator

Buy this story

Book Summary

Salome Jones has been sent on a forced vacation by her overworked staff. Canticus has been exiled because he won't play nice with the women administrators who oversee the games on his planet. When the two of them end up stuck in the same hotel suite, sparks fly. So do clothes and limbs. Can the two arrive at a solution that will allow them to continue their sexual explorations?


Mirror, Mirror: Gladiator

Alice Gaines

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2011 Alice Gaines

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Tavoro Sands Resort: "A Feast for the Senses."

"The senses" must mean sore muscles from struggling with luggage. You'd think a place that advertised luxury would have someone to take your bags up to your room.

After years of international business trips, Salome Jones had learned how to travel light, but this time, her staff had packed for her and presented her with the suitcases, the airline tickets, and an ultimatum... "Go on a vacation, or we all quit." Who knew what they'd put in the bags? It all weighed a ton, and she'd had to drag it across the lobby and stuff it into the elevator on her own.

Said elevator continued its climb to the twenty-sixth floor. At least she'd have a good view of the ocean as she contemplated her navel. The gang had informed her, as well, that no business calls or e-mails would receive an answer. The company would putter along without her, and the rest of the staff would get something done for a change.

An insurrection. That's what it was. With a huge IPO for the latest social media site next week, European sunshine futures on the line, and a time bomb on the Yen about to go off, her people had pulled the rug out from under her. She'd note the insubordination in all their performance appraisals the minute she got back. She'd do it now if they hadn't taken her company cell phone away.

She crossed her arms and tapped her foot, but the elevator didn't climb any faster. Instead, she only got an image of herself in the mirrored walls. That, in itself, was pretty weird. With all the sides catching reflections of all the other sides, she seemed caught in a kaleidoscope of herself. An impatient, red-headed woman with the beginnings of wrinkles at a too-young age. A bit on the thin side but tall enough to intimidate most women and a lot of men. Still dressed in the business suit she'd put on probably twenty-four hours before.

The climb to twenty-six slowed -- slowed! -- and then came to a complete stop. She went to push the buttons, but somehow, they'd disappeared. They'd been there before, and now nothing.

"Hello," she shouted. "Can someone hear me?"

No answer. She was probably trapped between floors, but who could tell? She might as well be in a mirrored coffin.

"Hello!" She pounded her palms against the wall. "Help. I'm trapped."

Some vacation. She'd take this out of Jeanne's hide, and when she'd finished with her, she'd chew on Ted for a while. She'd kick Charlie into next Sunday. They worked for her, damn it. She never should have let them talk her into this trip. "Hellooooooooo!"

One wall vanished -- whoosh -- showing the living room of a hotel suite. For a second, she jumped back at the shock, but she recovered quickly and reached out her hand to where the mirror had been. Her fingers met glass. There was still a barrier, just a transparent one. Maybe she could smash through it.

She bent to open one of her bags, searching for something to use as a battering ram. She didn't find anything more lethal than a shoe, but she grabbed that and straightened. She jumped and dropped it at the new sight in the glass.

The image had changed again... the same living room, but now, a man stood just on the other side, staring at her as if she'd surprised him as much as he had her.

Huge and muscular and dressed in the costume of a Roman gladiator. Not exactly that, maybe, but a "skirt" of leather panels exposed his calves, knees, and firm, firm thighs. For armor, he wore a breastplate engraved with some royal crest, but his arms were bare except for golden bracelets that circled his biceps. Those seemed as firm as his legs, and marred here and there with scars. He'd taken some hits with swords or spears, but that did little to diminish his beauty. Gorgeous. A splendid male specimen.

When she finally got around to looking at his face, she found that as wild and appealing as the rest of him. A piercing blue gaze stared back at her with as much interest as she had in him.

He seemed to sniff the air around him, like a huge cat, smelling his mate. Tawny, ragged hair nearly to his shoulders made him resemble a lion. He might start roaring any minute. If he did, she'd answer.

Somehow, he reached for her. The glass seemed to melt around his fingers as his hands went through. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back into the suite with him. The passage should have hurt, or at least, she should have felt something. Instead, she made an effortless transition from what had been an elevator and then a sort of cell.

Now fully in the room, she went directly into his embrace. Not that she'd had any choice in the matter as he tugged her roughly against him.

"Female," he growled...

copyright 2011 Changeling Press, LLC,%20Mirror:%20%20Gladiator

Friday, June 3, 2011

New release! Beach Master

Lookee here!  Chains on the beach.

I jumped at the chance to write a light bondage story with a hunky guy on a desert island.

A sexy island paradise, a strong dominant lover… what more could a frigid girl want?

Berni Fellowes’s has a problem. She just doesn’t get all the hoopla about sex. When her fiancé sends her to a secluded, tropical island to meet the Beach Master, a Dom who can teach her to be more orgasmic, she decides the tall, seductive stranger is more interested in setting up her hammock than dominating her.

David needs a partner who can stand up for herself, not this woman who’s afraid of her own desires. But once Berni finds her voice and demands what she wants, all David has left to do is make her his own. There’s just that one little matter of her fiancé…

Beach Master

Friday, May 6, 2011

Now available -- Make Me Beg

I'm so excited!  My third Spice Brief is available at E-Harlequin.

Rake Thomas Boulton no sooner decides to abstain from pleasures of the flesh than he meets the most arousing woman he's ever encountered. Widow Olivia Trent is clever, confident...and determined to beat him at the game of seduction. She challenges him to play sensual games until one of them pleads to be bedded. Thomas is sure he will soon have Olivia at his mercy—or will he be the one forced to beg?

Make Me Beg

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Guest blogger, Em Petrova: A Banana is Not Just a Banana

By Em Petrova
Most of us have seen those annoying ads while surfing the web or Facebook that say if you never eat a banana, you’ll lose belly fat. Well, I’m here to tell you if eat a banana, you’ll increase your sex drive. Yep! No lie. Bananas are rich in potassium and B vitamins—necessities for sex hormone production—and its phallic shape has long been the reason it’s an aphrodisiac food. The encyclopedia states that an aphrodisiac is anything that “arouses sexual excitement.” Keep reading to learn ways to use foods to excite your lover, and then make your shopping list in preparation for a fun evening!

Aphrodisiacs were first sought out as a remedy for sexual anxieties. Fears of inadequate performance and the need to increase fertility drove people to search for ways to insure male and female potency. In olden times, food wasn’t as readily available as it is today, so nutrition factored into loss of libido and reduction in fertility rates. Substances that represent seed or semen such as bulbs, eggs or snails were heralded to have sexual powers. And foods that had a physical resemblance to genitalia were considered stimulating. Hmm. I’m thinking of a few, are you?

Other aphrodisiac foods started in Greek mythology. Aphrodite, the love goddess considered sparrows to have an “amorous nature” and therefore used them in aphrodisiac brews. (I’m envisioning little feathers sticking out of people’s mouths, are you?) The ancient list of aphrodisiac foods includes anise, basil, carrot, salvia, pistachio nuts, sage, sea fennel, turnips and orchid bulbs amongst many others. Here are a few from the modern lists.

Almond: A fertility symbol throughout time. The aroma is thought to induce female passions. So guys should slather themselves in almond oil and then serve Marzipan (almond paste) in the shape of a fig leaf as a dessert.

Aniseed: Has been an aphrodisiac since the Greeks and Romans believed it had special powers. Sucking on the seeds is said to increase your desire. Is that why my Italian grandmother used to sprinkle the seeds onto her tongue? Okay, that will give me nightmares later.

Asparagus: Is often enjoyed for its phallic shape. This gives new meaning to the words Jolly Green Giant. Feed your lover steamed spears for three days for the most powerful effect. Or just say hell with it, feed it to your pet rabbit, and then do it like bunnies.

Chocolate: Ohhh, here is one we women can get into, right? The Aztecs referred to chocolate as “nourishment of the gods.” It contains an antioxidant similar to red wine. The secret is to combine the two. A glass of Cabernet with a bit of dark chocolate is a sensuous treat for you and your mate.

Carrots: The phallus-shaped carrot has been believed to stimulate the male since ancient times. It was used in the Middle Eastern royalty to aid seduction. If you’re using it, guys, we like ‘em thick.

Coffee: Small amounts of rich dark coffee in little cups will stimulate both the mind and body. Good for those all-nighters.

Ginger: Raw, cooked or crystallized ginger root is a stimulant to the circulatory system. Try it in a stir-fry and stir up some passions in the bedroom later.

Honey: Medieval lovers plied their partners with Mead, a fermented drink made from honey. Newlyweds drank it on their wedding nights. But I bet you can come up with some better uses for honey than fermenting it. Like drizzling it on flesh.

Pineapple: It’s rich in vitamin C and used homeopathically for impotence. Add it to enough rum and you’ll be dancing in the sheets.

Vanilla: Old lore states that “the young daughter of the Mexican fertility goddess loved a Totonac youth. Unable to marry him due to her divine nature, she transformed herself into a plant that would provide pleasure and happiness.” I wouldn’t suggest transforming yourself to a vanilla plant to sate your lover, but the scent and flavor of vanilla is believed to increase lust. Use some vanilla lotion on your partner for a delicious massage, or drop a vanilla bean into a glass of champagne to heat things up.

Next time you’re feeling a lull in the bedroom, try some of these aphrodisiac foods to spur new passions. As a writer, I know my characters will employ a few in the future. Now how many uses can I come up with for the banana?

Em Petrova

Isolde’s Wish—an erotic medieval fantasy by Em Petrova

Buy Link:


With a wild boar on her heels and a naked man before her, Princess Isolde has no clue which danger is greater. When she trips and falls into the dirt at the feet of the axe-wielding warrior, giving her a very close encounter with his manhood, she battles her undeniable awareness of the sculpted man even after she finds he has a price on his head for attempting to assassinate her father, King Adlard.

The bold son of the man executed for sleeping with the king’s wife, Sadler attempted to avenge his father at a very young age. Now he’s faced with the temptation of King Adlard’s daughter and presented a fresh opportunity to right his failed assassination attempt.

But when he learns a powerful earl seeks the princess’s hand in marriage, Sadler realizes his passions run deep. Desperate to keep her from the arms of his enemy, he plans to steal her away from the kingdom and make her his own.



What the hell had she been thinking to run toward the loch? The cold mist seared Isolde’s lungs, and a bloody cry welled on her tongue, prepared to lick outward at the first sound of the demon creature on her heels. Her silk slippers dug into the soft earth with a squelching noise not unlike the beat of hooves. She strained to hear its movements in the wild tangle of underbrush. It circled her, herding her almost.

Nay. Best not to think of such things. Isolde had the upper hand. She could outthink any man in the castle. Certainly she could outwit this pig. Except the pig wasn’t wearing ten pounds of fabric.

Still, the voice in the back of her head told her it was lunacy to run toward the loch. What would happen when she reached the water’s edge? She couldn’t swim a stroke, and in this damned confining brocade gown, she’d sink like a stone.

Behind her she heard the drum of hooves in the thick foliage. Adrenaline shot through her veins, propelling her legs faster. Branches lashed at her face and plucked at her gown. Her fingers cramped from holding up her heavy skirts, and the high grasses stung her bare calves. The pines gave way to leafier trees, and soon she would break through the deep woods and onto the shores of the loch.

The beast closed in on her, grunting and gasping in a way that made her think of the men sawing logs for the castle’s new android horse paddock. These mechanical horses needed good, strong fencing that could keep their heavy metal bodies from escaping during a stampede, which frequently happened when they were frightened.

A flash of bristly black hair flickered in the corner of her eye, and she veered sharply left, away from it. The scream was poised on her lips now, ready to be released into the empty woods. Even her strongest bloodcurdling scream would bring no one. She was too far from the castle for even the field workers to hear.

And that beast had tusks like spears on it. She’d be killed for sure, even if she didn’t drown first trying to escape. Could pigs swim?

Back and forth she zigzagged through the woods, thigh muscles burning and forearms tense from holding the weight of her skirts. She fought to remain upright as she forged a path through the web of tree roots. Her throat was clogged with fear.

With a shriek that raised the hair on her neck, the wild boar rushed her. Its meaty body struck the backs of her legs. She pitched forward, releasing her skirts to instinctively catch herself and nearly breaking her neck as she tripped over the mass of spun-gold fabric.

Righting herself, she continued to bolt toward the loch, knowing no other course now, but hoping someone had left a mist boat moored there. The mist on the loch was thick enough to power a lightweight boat halfway around the perimeter of the country. If she could only reach a boat, she’d fire up the engine and race to the middle of the loch, far from the beast pursuing her.

The thunder of hooves bore down upon her. She lunged through a wall of vines, tripping and wheeling, blinded by greenery, branches scratching her face, heels over head, only to fall at the feet of a naked man.
Buy Link:

Thursday, March 3, 2011

New release of old stories

Changeling Press has just released a bunch of my older stories in one volume at a lower price than if you had to buy them all individually.  The original Adventures of Wonderslut appears in here.

Changeling Press

Demons R Us: When a mysterious book of spells drops into Vicky’s lap, she decides to summon a demon to evict her soon-to-be-ex -- and his girlfriend. Asmodai and Ilbris don’t want her soul in exchange for their help. They want her body.

Eria’s Ménage: On the distant planet Heriad, Queen Eria, needs an heir. A daughter conceived in the royal manner. Suitors from around the galaxy have assembled. Tad and Brath have a plan of their own… and it’s not a temporary arrangement.

Fairy in My Bed: Steve can’t believe who, or what, has let herself in through the cat door. She’s twelve inches tall and claims to be a fairy. His third wish takes them both by surprise!

Sexation: Carly Osborn’s found just what every flagging marriage needs -- a little green man on a sex vacation to Earth! But when It the Twenty-third’s vacation comes to an end, will they be able to convince him to stay?

Adventures of Wonderslut: Mild-mannered orchid grower Felicity Plumswindle has a secret identity -- Wonderslut, Avenger of the Non-Orgasmic. She travels the country rewarding caring lovers and punishing insensitive ones. Not only are the government morality police hot on her tail, but she’s also feeling the need for a hero of her own…

Friday, February 25, 2011

Welcome Guest Blogger, Rayne Hall


The Writer's Most Useful Weapon

For historical fiction, a dagger is the ideal weapon: plausible in many scenarios, and loaded with emotional connotations. Yet, its under-used, because few writers grasp the dagger's fiction potential.


Many authors write sword fight scenes where a dagger fight would be more plausible. Swords are large and heavy, cumbersome to carry, slow to draw, and almost impossible to conceal. In many situations, it's unlikely that a protagonist happens to carry a sword with him. By contrast, daggers are small, lightweight, quick to draw, and easy to conceal - perfect for quick responses, spontaneous action, brawls, suicide bids, self-defence and assassination.

While only people of wealth and rank can afford a sword, owning a dagger is feasible for all but the poorest. Wielding a dagger requires only moderate strength, which makes it plausible weapon for a lady. Even an injured person may be able to summon the strength for a final defence with a dagger.

For almost every scene, the dagger is a better choice than the sword (the exceptions are horseback fights and battle scenes).

The concealment offers exciting fictional opportunities. Typically, a dagger is carried in a leather sheath on the belt, easily concealed under a cloak if required. For secrecy, it can also be hidden in a boot or in a bodice. Indeed, during the renaissance, it was quite common for women to carry a dagger between their breasts (the sheath was sewn into the bodice). A dagger can also be concealed in the back of the bodice or in a hair ornament. The heroine, preparing to fight off a lecherous advance or to assassinate an enemy, can pretend to twist her necklace anxiously, or to fidget with her hair, and quickly draw the blade. Bodice daggers hilts without cross guards.

Here's a picture of a bodice dagger:


Besides its many practical uses, the dagger carries a lot of emotional and erotic symbolism.

To stab someone with a dagger, the fighter has to get close, which makes it one of the most intimate weapons. When the dagger penetrates the flesh, the hand almost touches the victim. This is very different from a bullet or arrow, which can be shot from a great distance. The closeness creates an intensely personal connection between attacker and victim. Daggers (and knives of all kinds) are often used in fights where emotions are running high: gang warfare, hate crime, vengeance.

The shape of the weapon and the fact that it's typically worn on the belt make it a symbol of male virility. In many cultures and periods, men demonstrated their manhood by displaying ornate daggers at the front of their hips, the bigger, the better.

Sometimes the hilt rather than the blade was exaggerated: Many daggers from 1200 to 1800, especially in England and Scotland, had huge, stiff, upwards-pointing wooden hilts with balls on either side. They were unblushingly called a 'bollocks daggers' (or 'ballock daggers'). Here's a picture of a ballock dagger (be prepared to gasp):

In addition, the motion of sliding a dagger into or out of the sheath can be highly suggestive. Talk about daggers lends itself to suggestive dialogue, with comments like 'Nice weapon. Are you any good at wielding it?', 'Want to see my other dagger, babe?', 'Does your dagger need polishing?', 'So you like swordplay, Milady? How about daggerplay?'


Book cover designers love daggers, especially when depicting the hero. They adore the chance to imply male virility. The elongated weapon on the hero's belt - or in the heroine's hand - hints at other things.

A dagger on the cover may increase your book's sex appeal, so it's worth telling your cover designer about it. However, many cover artists get carried away by the concept, with cringe-worthy results. I've seen covers where the hero wore the naked blade in his belt without sheath: a prelude to self-mutilation!


All fight scenes are fast-paced, and dagger scenes are the fastest of them all. Use all the fast-pace techniques you know, e.g. short paragraphs, short sentences, short words. Focus especially on verbs: cut, stab, pierce, act, slash, thrust, target, push, drive, force, press, duck, poke, kill.

Words with 'k' sounds are especially effective for dagger fights: duck, poke, cry, hack, kill.

Daggers are stabbing weapons with sharp points, usually with long, thin blades. When describing a stab wound, show blood spreading or oozing. The aim in a fight is to stab a vital organ. Stabbing directly at the chest seldom works, because the blade may glance off the ribs. If the fighter has dagger experience or anatomical knowledge, she will position the dagger below the ribcage and drive it upwards (through the diaphragm into the lungs). This is lethal and works from the front or from behind. If she knows her anatomy well (e.g. if she's a professional assassin), and if the dagger is long enough, she can aim for piercing the heart, which leads to a quicker death. Trained assassins know additional spots where a stab is lethal, e.g. under the armpit or under the chin.

Some daggers are designed for slashing as well as stabbing. These have one or two sharp edges. When describing a slash wound, show a lot of blood, streaming or even spurting. The aim in a fight with this type of dagger is either to slash the opponent's throat, or to disable him by cutting tendons, muscles or ligaments (followed with a deadly stab). Fights with slashing daggers are very bloody. The point-of-view character's hand may grow slick with blood, and her grip on the weapon may become less firm.

If you're aiming for a sanitised, gore-free version of a dagger fight - e.g. for a romance novel -, you may want to stick to pure stabbing daggers.


For an assassination scene, give your assassin stealth and knowledge of human anatomy. An assassin will plan in advance how to kill the victim, and carry out the killing with calm efficiency. It will be with a single stroke, probably a determined thrust from below the ribs.


An attacker who is motivated by intense feelings, such as outrage or hatred, will stab the victim repeatedly, and keep stabbing, perhaps even after the victim is already dead. If the motive is long-held hatred, the attacker may stab or slash the victim's face, disfiguring it.


If both fighters are armed with daggers, the fight may include wrestling-type moves as each tries to restrict the other's weapon hand.

They will also try to disable each other's weapon arm, for example by slashing the inside of the elbow. Such fights are often fuelled by emotions, intense, irrational, very bloody, and fatal.

You can watch a demonstration of dagger fighting with wrestling moves here:


If a fighter expects a fight, e.g. in a battle, he may use both sword and dagger. He fights with the sword in his right hand and the dagger in his left. This was common during the renaissance.

You can watch a sword&dagger demonstration here:

The versatility of the dagger, combined with its symbolism and connotations, makes it a perfect weapon for historical fiction.


Rayne Hall writes dark fantasy and horror. She has published more than twenty books under different pen names in different genres, and her stories have earned Honorable Mentions in 'The Years' Best Fantasy and Horror'. She holds a college degree in publishing management and a masters degree in creative writing, and teaches online classes.

Even if you've never wielded a weapon, you can write an exciting fight scene. Rayne will show you how, in her workshops on 'Writing Fight Scenes'.

The next workshops are:

March 2011:

June 2011:

Friday, February 4, 2011

Coming February 18th...Moon Bitten

Jared turned to go, but for some reason, the hairs on the back of his neck chose that instant to stand on end as if the air had taken on an electric current.

“Jared Scott?” a husky female voice said from behind him. Not Gloria. Another woman had arrived.

He turned back. “Well, finally.”

“I told you she was perfect,” Gloria chirped.

Amanda didn’t appear to appreciate that assessment any more than he did. She scowled at the receptionist for a second and then gave him the once over.

He did the same for her. Nearly as tall as his own six feet, she stood straight, her chin lifted, as she stared at him out of eyes the color of dark sapphires. Pale skin and black hair done up in a rigid twist completed the picture of someone formidable, even severe. The two of them likely wouldn’t do any giggling during their relationship.

Relationship? She’d design the execution of his wish. No more.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Jared,” she said.

No formalities, indeed. “I forgive you, Amanda.”

She flinched at that, but only just barely. Someone who spent less time than he did reading people would have missed the slight narrowing of her eyes. Either the forgiveness bit or the pointed use of her first name had irked her. Fine. Only his few friends called him Jared. No one here counted as his friend.

“Well, then. Let’s get on with it.” She headed down a corridor, her long strides taking her away from him and forcing him to catch up. He took his time doing it. For one thing, she could damned well wait for him for a bit. For another, hanging back gave him a good view of her ass.

Though more slender than the pixie-cat, Amanda had her own curves. She wore leggings underneath a bulky sweater, and the movement in there sent his imagination into overdrive. Every swing of her hips, no matter how subtle, suggested the rounding of her buttocks.

By the time she stopped in front of one of the offices, he’d measured her breasts from memory. Small but firm. And when they’d entered and she’d taken her seat behind her desk, he’d already begun to have a very male reaction to her.

She bit her lip and shot him a gaze that went right through his chest and down to his groin. Recognition. She already knew what was happening between them.

“Please, sit down.” Her voice came out as deep as before, but now it had a hint of breathiness as well. She had a husky way of speaking. Something that made her linger for a millisecond on the vowel sounds. Sweet. Seductive.

Before his anatomy embarrassed him completely, he sat and watched her sift through some papers. She didn’t make eye contact, but a flush to her cheeks told him she was as aware of his presence as he was of hers.

After a moment, she picked up one sheet and studied it for a long moment. Her eyes widened as she stared up at him. “This is your wish?”

“To hunt a werewolf. Yes.”


“I suppose you’ve read my dossier,” he answered.

“Everyone in R and D becomes acquainted with the histories of our clients,” she answered. “You’ve served as CEO of a number of companies. Now, you have your own.”

“Government contracts. Top secret much of it.”

She set the paper down and studied him. “Military?”

“Intelligence mostly.” In fact, his agency contacts would take a dim view of his coming here and an even gloomier one if they knew what he’d come here for. None of their damned business. “So, you can see why confidentiality is so important.”

“We never give away information of our clients.” There was that deep tone again. The slow downward inflection on clients.

“Then, we understand each other,” he said.

“Not at all,” she said. “What does your history have to do with your wish?”

“Human beings… ordinary people… how shall I put this?”

She stared at him evenly. Assessing him the way he normally did with others. He had no reason to doubt her intellect, but he seldom encountered an equal. Given that and what her body did to his, she might present a real challenge with more than a little pleasure on the side. Right now, she obviously wasn’t going to help him explain himself.

“I want to hunt the greatest predator on Earth. You’d think that would be a human being,” he went on. “But average people are motivated by only a handful of things. Once you’ve figured out what they want, they’re really rather boring.”

“And so, your interest in werewolves.”

“What a creature. Imagine. The speed and keen senses of the wolf combined with the mind of the human. What kind of opponent one of them would make,” he said.

“Your wish is to hunt one.”

“You can’t hunt big game these days, and honestly, I have no interest. Animals are dumb beasts, and they belong in the wild.”

Another woman might have applauded his kindness. Amanda sat and stared at him out of her startling blue eyes.

“I don’t think the authorities would like me hunting people,” he continued. “But if WishLabz could create a werewolf for me, I could hunt that without breaking the law.”

The room fell into complete silence, and the woman sat across from him like a sphinx, not moving, hardly blinking. After a moment, she leaned back in her chair. “Create a werewolf?”

“You can make magic here, at least according to the people who referred me. I don’t know what sort of technology you have. If you can’t design a credible werewolf for me, you can refund my money.”

“And how would you kill this creature?” she asked. “Shoot it with a high-powered rifle from hundreds of yards away?”

“I didn’t say kill. I said I wanted to hunt it.”

“Killing the target’s the whole point of hunting, isn’t it?” she asked.

“One or both of us might die, I’ll admit,” he answered. “It’ll be dangerous sport.”

“Sport,” she repeated. This time her accent suggested more than a hint of derision.

“I don’t expect you to understand.”

That got a definite reaction -- one eyebrow arching. “Because I’m a woman?”

“Because you’re not in a position of command. I fought like hell to get where I am. Now that I’ve arrived, I miss the fight.”

She nibbled her lower lip for a few seconds. On another woman, the action might have suggested uncertainty. On her, it suggested she needed to gnaw on something and she hadn’t decided if he’d be worth the effort.