Now, on to the interview action!

1.)  Have you ever had a rabid fan fall so in love with your hero that when you answer them “in character”, they “role-played” with you until it got so creepy you had to take a bajillion hot showers to wash away the heebeejeebees?  (This happened to me once, that’s why I’m asking you. lol)

I…um…no. I’ve gotten some interesting e-mails, but that’s never happened to me.

Oh, all kinds of stuff. The characters from The Next Move inherited my penchant for going to the gun range and batting cages to blow off steam. Nick from Cover Me and Scott from Light Switch both have my sense of humor. One character gets hurt in a horse trailer, and that came from a real life experience (not a very pleasant one, obviously). A lot of my books take place in Seattle, which is my hometown, and eventually I’ll write something set here on Okinawa. So, yeah, stuff from my every day life works its way in.

Ironically, a lot of my characters seem to have very particular tastes in alcohol. Scott from Light Switch has a thing for cabernet sauvignon, and Dani from World Enough and Time loves Mac and Jack’s beer. Liam from The Best Man loves Bacardi while Jon prefers Jack Daniels; Nick from Cover Me likes Crown Royal (as long as it’s ice cold) while Andrew likes Maker’s Mark.

As for me? I don’t drink.

Oooh yes. I wrote one in which they played with chocolate syrup, but I’ve written quite a few involving ice, particularly in my BDSM series. Nothing quite like combining ice with blindfolds and/or handcuffs. Actually, there’s an ice scene in Cover Me, my upcoming M/M erotic thriller, but you’ll just have to wait and see what they do.

I actually can’t say, because it could have…repercussions. Interpret that how you will.

No. I actually used to edit porn videos for a living, and a lot of people think that paved the way for me becoming an erotica writer. Nothing could be further from the truth. Porn is so…mechanical. Showing off for the camera, playing it up for the benefit of a voyeur rather than one’s own partner, etc. That’s not to say sex has to be super emotional in every scene, but if it’s as mechanical and fake as it often is onscreen? Boo.

Incidentally, I have been writing erotica full-time for about two years. 8-16 hours a day, 5 days a week. I spent a year working in porn, usually only about 20 hours a week. It took two days for me to become completely desensitized to the videos, and it was a few years after I quit the company before it affected me in the slightest. Erotica still…affects me. Probably more now than it used to. Quoth Scarlett Parrish (http://scarlettparrish.blogspot.com/) about this phenomenon: “Porn = Genitals. Erotica = Brain.”

See above about porn being about the genitals and erotica being about the brain. That said, obviously it can and does have similar effects as porn; let’s face it, it’s a turn-on! I do think erotic romance is seen as a less “shameful” form of stimulation than pornography. Because it’s tied into a love story, it’s “okay”. It’s not sex for the sake of sex. And there’s nothing wrong with sex and love being intertwined in a book, nothing wrong with it at all.

However, I also think there’s nothing wrong with separating the two. That’s one of the reasons I wrote Between Brothers. It’s pretty much nonstop sex (I believe it has 26 sex scenes, but I don’t recall exactly), but there’s no romance. Just fun, no-strings-attached, sex because she damn well felt like it. There’s no shame in that for the character, and there should be no shame in it for the reader either.

I have a Sony Touch, and I love it. I totally whore the Touch out to anyone who will listen, and a few of my friends have bought them. I do still like print books, but since I don’t have access to places like Borders or Barnes & Noble anymore due to geography, ebooks are soooooo much more convenient sometimes. The only bookstores on this island are the ones on base, and the selection sucks. Getting stuff shipped here can get really expensive and often takes forever. Ebooks, FTW.

I like the hero who knows what he wants, and isn’t a complete dick about getting it. I’ve ranted about this subject on my blog a few times, particularly as it relates to BDSM erotic romances. I don’t mind if a guy is a bit cocky and full of himself, but nothing turns me off more than an entitled, arrogant asshat. He can have his pride, he can be stubborn, but I do like a nice guy….and I love a Dom. Those aren’t mutually exclusive things.

At the moment, the third draft of With the Band. I normally don’t do this many drafts, but I’ve had trouble getting this particular book right. Which could have something to do with the love interest – one Bastian Koehler – not informing me until now that he’s actually bisexual and wants a male lover, not a female. Facepalm. Could’ve told me that when I wrote the first two drafts, you butthead.

I’m also finishing up edits for Reconstructing Meredith, which is the very, very, very dark sequel to my BDSM novel, Light Switch. Light Switch is currently on submission, and the sequel will be ready to go soon too.

Oh, there are several, but my number one would be a tie between Jared and Shannon Leto. Hands down. With James Purefoy as a close second. I actually met the Leto brothers in May, and somehow managed to form coherent sentences without making a complete idiot of myself.

As for a list, pfft. I wouldn’t leave him, but we do have “It’s not cheating…” lists…

~*~*~

Thank you, Lauren, for taking the time to chat with us.  Good luck with your writing!

To find out more about Lauren, here’s what you need to know:

M/M Pseudonym: L. A. Witt (The Best Man, Rules of Engagement, The Distance Between Us)

M/F Pseudonym: Lauren Gallagher (Between Brothers, The Next Move)

Upcoming Release: Cover Me by L. A. Witt, M/M Erotic Thriller due out Sept 8 from Carnal Passions

Website: www.loriawitt.com

Email: thethinker42@gmail.com

Hello, Remy, it’s nice to interview you today.  Can you tell us your full name, the title of your book and where we can find it? Howdy Becka, how’s it going? The names Remington Alderich. My Pop was a crackshot, a real pistol and named me after his favorite gun maker. *chuckles* Pop’s a pistol–guess that makes me a son of a gun? The book is called Cry Wolf and it’s from Samhain Publishing. The book came out this past Tuesday. Readers can check us out there.

Tell us about Angela Martin.  Why did you leave her fifteen years ago? I didnt leave her. She shut me down. She had the chance to leave with me after our illustrious Alpha refused to allow us to join and she turned me down.

Then why are you back? I’m a masochist? My Angela is in trouble. I  can’t explain how I know, but I do know it. I got a call letting me know she disappeared from pack land and I have to know she’s all right.

Sounds like you still love her. The hell you say! I’m only going back because…because I’m a freakin’ masochist…

I’ve heard you have some kind of psychic bond with her.  Can you tell us about that?  Do all Lycans have this bond? I dont know what it is. I mean there are legends of special couples that have a fabled psychic link…never knew it to really exist, but somehow we can sense each other’s thoughts and feelings.

Can you hear her thoughts?  Does she love you still? Yes I can hear her thoughts…I guess I’m a delusional masochist because I think she does love me.

Tell us what it’s been like for you to be reunited with her after all these years. Fabulous. I missed her deeply. Now I’ve got her  back in my arms, I’ll do whatever it takes, and I mean whatever, it takes to keep her here.

What if she wants you to leave again?  Are you going to walk away this time? *He growls in the back of his throat. “Next question.”

Sounds like a great book, Remy.  Anything more you’d like to add? No, thanks for letting me chat today.

Thank you for taking the time to answer my questions, and I apologize if I’ve angered you.  Go claim your woman once and for all. *Remy chuckles and smirks then pivots on his heel and strolls away.

Many thanks to Remy for stopping by!  For more information on his book, here you go.

This second chance at love could get them both killed.

Fifteen years ago, denied the only woman he ever wanted as a mate, Remington Aldrich packed his few belongings and left home without a backward glance. Now the pack leader who ripped his world apart is on the other end of the phone, asking for his help.

Angela Martin, Remy’s first love, is missing and the trail has gone cold. She may have refused to defy the alpha and run away with him all those years ago, but Remy can’t stop himself from coming to her rescue.

Abducted by two men—one for his ghastly scientific experiments, and the other for his driving need for revenge against all Lycans—Angela despairs that no one will find her. Then she senses Remy nearby.

Together again and on the run from a killer bent on hunting them down, Remy vows to never again let Angela out of his arms. But first they have to survive—and fight against history’s tendency to repeat itself…

Warning: Hot shape shifters, mad scientists and vengeful hunters, and steamy alpha marking his mate may induce a massive adrenaline rush.

EXCERPT: http://samhainpublishing.com/excerpt/cry-wolf

BUY:  http://www.mybookstoreandmore.com/cry-wolf-p-5867.html

~~Becka

~*~*~

Recently Becka stopped by my blog for a visit and she brought up one of my all time favorite subjects. Cowboys.

It’s no wonder I have a series in the works about…what else? Cowboys. I’ve been having so much fun meeting the five sinfully gorgeous brothers, asking them questions, learning what drives them.

There’s just something about those handsome men on horseback that makes a girl go…well, to tell the truth, a little wild. For someone who loves all her conveniences, and yes, hot water and high heels are a must, I have to admire someone who’s rugged and rough as the land. Perhaps it’s just my idea of what a cowboy should be, rather than what they are or who they were.

Nah.

I think for a man to ride the land, he must be in touch with the land. He must respect both the land and the animals that provide his lively hood. They ride beasts and stare down danger, brave the elements. Tell me you haven’t thought of taming one, at least once.

And seriously, what woman doesn’t love a man who knows his way around leather? Chaps? Yes, please!

Or how about the ropes? This guy could hog tie me any old time.

So here’s to all the cowboys out there. The ones in real life and the heroes in our stories. Do you have a favorite fictional cowboy? I want to hear all about him.

~Selena
http://www.selena-blake.com

~*~*~

Halloween is near, time for everything scary and spooky. I’ve never been one to enjoy being intentionally terrified. I would walk through the haunted houses with my eyes closed (most of the time), and never watch horror flicks. The only “scary” shows I ever watch were Poltergeist (all 3) and movies from Alfred Hitchcock and M. Night Shyamalan.

One movie certain to put me in the Halloween mood, besides “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown,” is “The Lady in White”. Set at Halloween 1962, a young boy witnesses a murder – a murder that had happened years earlier. With ghosts, murder and suspense, I consider it a perfect Halloween thriller.

With every holiday, I enjoy revisiting romances with those themes. Here are some of my favorites for Halloween:

Vampires – Maggie Shayne’s Wings in the Night and Susan Sizemore’s Primes
Ghosts – Shadow’s Kiss by Joan Hohl
The Invisible Man – Splendor by Catherine Mann
Spooky – Kay Hooper’s Bishop series (can’t remember which, but one really freaked me out)
Spy – Dangerous Love by Anne Stuart
Haunted House – Erin McCarthy’s Ohio’s Most Haunted series
Hockey Mask –Deirdre Martin’s NY Blades series (Hey – they’re much hotter than Jason!)
Superheroes – Julie Kenner’s Protector Series

And I would be totally remiss without including:
Dragons – Rebecca Goings’ The Legends of Mynos series

Hope this list gives you some titles to add to your TBR!

Kathy
www.KathysReviewCorner.com

IMAGINATION… ROCKS… OR RAISINS

We sat and lamestormed the subjects of our upcoming blogs.  Pedicures lamenting… lame.  Opinions on ink cartridges… lame.  Could cracking one’s knuckles be flirting… lame.  Finally we decided that we’d write something about ourselves that no one knows.

My mother shared with me her great gift of baking.  I adored baking.  Hung around the kitchen and underfoot, constantly wanting to learn to bake various types of cookies, new types of cakes and pies.   Nothing was from a cook book, everything was from her head with a lot of improvisation.

At the same time my dad share with me the gift of loving animals.  We had a cat at one time, a dog, a hamster, a guinea pig and, of course an assortment of goldfish.

Life gave me the gift of imagination.  Creativity was my muse and took me through many an adventure, albeit often only part reality.

One day, while still at a young age, I begged my mom to allow me to make all by myself my dad his favorite cookie, oatmeal raisin.  She was hesitant at first, but I was also relentless.  She went over and over the ingredients, stipulating how important it was to not leave anything out.  She talked about taking care with oven mittens and hot cookie pans.   I listened attentively and the moment arrived, I got to bake the cookies all by myself.  I was tickled, and dad often came into the kitchen to ask if they were done yet, for the sweet aroma had filled the house.

I carefully placed each cookie on a plate in a perfect pyramid and carried them into my dad.  They were still a little warm.  He sat there eagerly anticipating the treat with a glass of skin milk, though he not a dunker, just a washer-down sort.   He took his first bite, blinking in amazement, swallowing and then regaling me with praise.   I watched happily as he ate every last cookie, pouring glass after glass of milk, and then shoving the cookies into his mouth one after the other as I continued to watch, refusing to miss a moment of his delight.  Afterward, he gave be a big hug and thank you.  Only, as he walked away he had a strange look.

At the time, I couldn’t help wondering if it had anything to do with my one improvisations.  And until now, this very moment, I never told a soul what that improv had been, nor would I have ever but Zi charged me with sharing something that no one knows about me.  I have.  We had been out of raisins, so I used my guinea pig ’s poop.  After all, they looked just like raisins to a girl my age.  I always wondered, did my dad know, and if he did, what a wonderful man he must have been.

When writing KILLER DOLLS we toyed with the texture of the crave of the heroine and felt she needed to be very desirous.  So the readers will find that there are those don’t stopportunities woven into the text.  I suspect our reasoning why we needed this plot device will become obvious.  We hope you enjoy the book.  Let us know.

Unaware that bio-terrorist are using her handcrafted dolls to attack the innocent, Letti Noel finds herself falling for Taut Johnson, an undercover FBI agent.  Even as deceit is a growing barrier to their love, it’s the stalking terrorists that are a threat to their lives.

EXCERPT SEVEN

Tease v. Concern

Taut was quite aware of the danger that was just unvialed and reacted with quick and keen moves. Approaching her from her rear, he placed one huge powerful hand over her mouth so she would not inhale any toxins and his other arm about her waist. Lifting her from the floor, he retreated from the danger. He kept focus. Reviewing what he had memorized from Charles Gallagher’s e-mail.

Letti gasped at the unexpected behavior but she wasn’t adverse to it. After all, he did something similar when he had kissed her so suddenly in her apartment. It felt like one of those fantasy moments, something right out of an old-fashioned bodice ripper. Yet, the moment wasn’t quite right. There were those guys. Shouldn’t they be a bit prudent, or did the possibility of danger turn Taut…well…taut.

She struggled but he refused to release her. He couldn’t let her do anything that might spread the ricin.  Gallagher had provided photos of ricin victims. He would not allow this to harm Letti. No one was to be hurt. Not again.  Not on his watch. That imperative directed his next decisions.

His hold was an aphrodisiac, animalistic, driven, homogeneous with her want, placated only by submission to it, and her body began to respond. Shallow short breaths followed the intense heat smoldering in her groin, incinerating any resistance, and guaranteeing conflagration of raging flames of lust. The tight, pucker of her nipples signaled her growing arousal, and heaviness attached itself to her breasts, having that need to be touched. She surrendered to his authority, submitted, and urged him with her acquiesces to take more.

ABOUT AUTHORS

Their combined accomplishments include book publications in print and/or electronic versions of twenty-four titles, fifteen romance specific, ten manuscripts pending, EPPIE finalist for three books, Cecil Whig award, Hob-Nob Reader’s Choice Award, written over 500 shorts with numerous published in both nationwide and small press magazines, articles published in various local, city and statewide newspapers, including four as a Guest Columnist in addition to trade articles. Both are members of various writing groups.

KILLER DOLLS IS AVAILABLE:  Unaware that bio-terrorists are using her handcrafted dolls to attack the innocent, Letti Noel finds herself falling for Taut Johnson, an undercover FBI agent.  Even as deceit is a growing barrier to their love, it’s the stalking terrorists that are a threat to their lives.

We love to hear from anyone interested in what we do.  Anyone who writes us at angeliahartandzi@yahoo.com and leaves an s-mail address, we will send you a gift and add you to any future mailings.

Angelica Hart and Zi

KILLER DOLLS  ~  September 2009

SNAKE DANCE  ~  February 2010

CHASING GRAVITAS ~  July 2010

angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com

angelicahartandzi.com

KILLER DOLLS can be purchased at

Champagne Books

http://www.champagnebooks.com/

That said, I’d like to share with you a short excerpt from my latest release, On the Silver Edge of Time. This is a Viking Time travel in which the hero first travels to the future in search of his fate, then after finding his future bride, takes her back through time to tenth century Normandy.

A bit about me, I write sci-fi futuristic romances, historical western romances and now, paranormal romances for Champagne Books. You can find all my first chapters and a contest at www.ciaragold.com

Excerpt:

“How is it that you understand English?” Erik raised a brow.

The stranger shrugged. “No great mystery, I’m thinkin’. A sorcerer can do just about anything he puts his mind to.” He edged closer. “Be this Keelin, then?”

Erik joined him. “She is, though I suspect you knew this to be so.”

“Aye.” The old man laughed. “A green-haired sprite, one to tease even a leprechaun’s imagination. I’m Fintan, lass.”

Fintan bent and grabbed her upper arm and tugged her forward. The blanket fell from her grip, and the loosely fitting shirt slipped off her shoulder. “The mark I gave her has faded a wee bit.”

Keely twisted to evade his touch. “You gave me the scar?”

The thin white lines spelled her name, an oddity for which her father had never offered an explanation.

“Aye, I etched the marks with a claw from a dragon, a most dangerous item to own, and then dusted it with fairy powder, so it would remain forever.” He dropped her arm and stepped back. “’Twas I who gave ye your name as your father was no’ available tae do so.”

Hysteria bubbled within. This was unlike any of her other dreams. “You–you lie.”

“Enough. You frighten the girl.” Erik sidled closer to the bed.

“I beg pardon, lass. Ye ha’e nothin’ tae fear from me.” Fintan leaned closer. “Take care though with this great beast. He has anger in his heart for the duty he must perform.”

“What is he talking about, Erik?” she asked.

“Nothing. He issues warnings to instill fear. Be brave, Maid. You have nothing to fear as long as you abide by the rules of the household.”

“Rules?” Why would there be rules? Her suspicion rose and with it, her anxiety.

“I would give you this.” He handed her a choker made of gold with a design delicately etched across the surface.

She touched the exquisite piece of jewelry lightly then retrieved her hand. “I can’t accept. I don’t know you well enough.”

“I insist.” He bent and placed it around her neck before she could protest further. The locking mechanism snapped closed. “The collar bears my mark and with it my protection.”

When he retreated, she fingered the neckband with one hand while gripping the cover with the other. His generosity shocked her, but his words made no sense. “Thank you, but why would I need protection?”

“She thanks ye.” Fintan laughed. “Ach, but I suppose she’ll be cursing ye soon enough.”

Erik threw Fintan a fierce frown. “The collar signifies that you belong to me. The men should leave you alone, but there will be times when they celebrate and emotions run high. You must take care to make yourself scarce on these occasions.”

“Men?” She studied the construction of the bed more closely, noting the lack of nails. Wooden pegs held the structure together, and woven ropes supported the mattress. “Erik?”

“Ja.”

“Where in tarnation are we?”

“Nyjord, Francia.”

“As in France?” A sinking feeling hit the pit of her stomach, and her suspicion returned.

“Tenth century.”

“No.” She hissed the word, hoping her mind played tricks. “No. Damn it. I won’t believe you. Time travel isn’t yet possible.”

He narrowed his eyes and started to speak, but closed his mouth.

“I want to go home.” She pushed the blanket from her body and swung her feet to the floor. “Please. I–I have to pack for New York.”

His gaze softened. “I cannot change what has happened. I’m sorry.”

“Ach, Lass. The jarl speaks true. You were meant to be here. Doona fight fate.”

She glanced at Fintan and cringed. Oh God, he’d just confirmed the fear she tried to avoid. She’d traveled eleven centuries in the past. If this were indeed true, she was screwed. Seriously screwed. She wanted to scream, to pick up the piece of pottery on his corner table and throw it at both of them. Shock rendered her immobile.

Ciara Gold

~*~*~*~

I’m excited to announce my new release, Spanish Eyes, a historical romance.  This is my first book with Bookstrand – and hopefully not my last.  I love writing historicals, and I hope you’ll see why when you read my story.  While writing Spanish Eyes, I had one particular actor in mind.  I’ve been a huge fan of Antonio Banderas, and since he’s the perfect hero…  Need I say more?  I wanted a hero who was sinfully handsome, and who could charm a rattlesnake with just a wink of his eye.  My hero, Anton, has fulfilled my desires, and I hope he satisfies yours, too.   I have an awesome book trailer for this story that I hope you check out – http://www.blazingtrailers.com/show.php?title=672 I have received my first review for this story, and I’m thrilled to share it with you!

5-STARS***** In “Spanish Eyes“ by Phyllis Campbell is a remarkable story of strength, romance, and determination. The sexual tension between Rebecca and Anton is so well written you feel the emotions of both characters. The story has many well written subplots that give it a fullness rarely found in romance novels. Although the sexual interactions are very explicit they are tasteful and believable.  I enjoyed reading this story so much I would like to see more novels featuring these characters. This is a strong 5 star book that does not disappoint. If you curl up with this one be prepared to swoon. ~~ Marilyn Thompson / Mind Fog Reviews

Here is the link to order my book – http://www.bookstrand.com/product-spanisheyes-15658-330.html And to tempt you a little more, here is the blurb and excerpt.

In a world when women must fight for every right, Rebecca Wakefield is determined to become a Pinkerton Detective.  Her plan?  Capturing the notorious thief, Anton Carerra; a man known as much for his womanizing as he is for his brilliant criminal mind.  Will he steal her heart, too?

Lady’s man, Anton Carrera is smitten with Rebecca from the very beginning.  He wants nothing more than to seduce the stiff Miss Wakefield, until he learns she is investigating him for a crime he didn’t commit.  She is innocent and naïve; convinced he is the villain her superiors have painted him.  But her over-zealous determination places both of them in danger and he is forced to play the honorable rogue.

Sweeping her away to Padre Island off the coast of Spain seemed like a clever idea at the time.  But how can he protect them both from his own uncle’s murderous games when Anton’s heart falls victim to a woman as full of independence as she is desire…

**excerpt**

Anton had only one thing on his mind, and it didn’t include waking Rebecca’s older companion. Rebecca was more beautiful, more charming, and more sensual than he’d imagined, and he didn’t want to waste a minute of his time, nor hers. She’d told him earlier she informed men when their attentions were not wanted, and so far she’d yet to convey a negative response to him.

That was a good sign.

He stroked her cheek, still warm from embarrassment over her companion’s untimely slumber, and trailed his thumb over her bottom lip. Fascinated, he admired its gentle curve, loving the luscious raspberry color that contrasted with her creamy smooth skin. High cheekbones, straight nose, and delicate, curved chin made her face nearly perfect. Her eyes held him prisoner. Amber brown with flecks of melted gold—like her hair.

Her beauty couldn’t hide her charade. She had a secret, and determination pushed him to find out why she had been asking so many questions, and in an accent that seemed far too strained at times.

Why the desperate interest in him? His manservant had told him about this woman, and when Anton saw her and her companion crawling through the hedges, he became more curious by the second.

“Rebecca, would you accompany me outside for a walk in the gardens?”

She swiped her tongue across her lips. The urge to taste her tempting mouth became strong, but he refrained for now. There would be time for that later…he’d see to it personally.

Hooking her arm around his elbow, he escorted her through the side door onto a small patio that overlooked a flower garden. A thick patch of trees bordered the secluded area, keeping their walk very intimate. As they strolled, her body shivered against him, her breath escaping in uneven spurts. He smiled, loving the power of seduction, seeing himself as an expert at the art. Rarely did a woman refuse him. This one would fall as easily, he was certain.

“So, Anton, where will your operetta group be traveling next?”

Her voice shook, and he tried not to grin. “Since it is the end of the season, we will take a short break for a few months. I plan on staying in New York during that time.” He looked down into her upturned face. “Does that please you?”

“Why would you think such a thing?” One of her perfectly shaped eyebrows rose.

He gave a low chuckle. “This will give us more time to get to know one another. Is that not why you are here with me now?”

Her lips twitched as if she tried to keep herself from smiling. “I think you are jumping to conclusions.”

“Señorita? Are you not interested in me?”

She shrugged.

The moon gave enough illumination to show him her beautiful eyes. He moved in front of her, circling his arms around her slender waist, pulling her body against his. A gasp sprang from her, but she obeyed his gentle prompt and rested her hands on his chest.

“You mentioned earlier that life is too short. If I find something I enjoy, I, like you, want to savor the moment. You, my dear Rebecca, are one of the pleasures I seek.”

“You have only known me for a short time.”

“But I have sung to you for two weeks. I have memorized every line of your face.” He traced his fingertip along the side of her jaw. “And every curve of your delicate figure.” He dropped his hand to her shoulder and caressed it. “How can you say I do not know you, when in my mind, I have already touched you? In my dreams, I have kissed your sweet lips, held you against my body as your uncontrolled breath brushed my skin.”

Her breathing grew faster, accentuating the sensual rise and fall of her bosom, yet she seemed more relaxed in his arms. Seduction was within his grasp.

He lowered his head and swept his lips across her cheek. “And I know you have been thinking of me. Why else would you come every night to see the opera? Why would you look at me the way you do with your fascinating, angelic eyes?”

Her eyelids closed. Almost there. Brushing his lips across hers, he hesitated, teased, and prolonged the sweet pleasure—if only for a moment. But he couldn’t wait any longer. He had to taste her.

Please visit my website – www.phyllismariecampbell.com Thanks, Phyllis

Chapter One

Cassie Grace checked her wristwatch again and continued pacing the room. Late for a necessary refitting, the maid-of-honor wasn’t answering her phone. Nor, for that matter, was the bride. With only a few hours left until the wedding march began, Cassie had let out the bodice seams, but she needed the body.

She dialed Amy, the maid-of-honor’s, room. Pick up, pick up!

The moment the hotel’s automatic message center began Cassie disconnected. She’d already left two messages.

The bride’s frantic call two days ago concerning an emergency appendectomy for one of the bridesmaids had forced Cassie to reschedule appointments and spend an entire day altering a dress to fit an eleventh hour replacement.

Then Amy had arrived and given Cassie another setback.

The model had made a grand entrance at last night’s rehearsal dinner and wowed the bridal party with her recently enhanced bosom. While everyone had admired the major development, Cassie had scrambled to move her Saturday appointments into next week. The model’s brand new double D’s hadn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of fitting into the bodice of her gown.

Cassie dialed Amy’s room again with no result. She should have insisted on a fitting last night before the entire wedding party went out on the town.

She called the bride’s room. Finally, Heather answered the phone.

“Amy didn’t show for her fitting.”

“What time is it?”

“Ten.”

“Ten! I need coffee.”

“I need a maid-of-honor. Amy’s not answering her phone.”

“She sleeps like a log. Bang on her door.”

Cassie rubbed her forehead to ward away the pain signaling a stress-generated headache. “I did. She’s not answering that either.”

“Uhh. Oh yeah. Try Jason’s room.”

“Jason. The best man?”

“Yeah. Tall. Dark hair. Blue eyes.”

The moment Cassie had laid eyes on the best man she’d understood the breathy exchange she’d overheard between the bridesmaids. The Seattle architect was tall, lean, movie star handsome with broad shoulders, a Southern California tan and a smile that promised passion.

“What’s his room number?”

“The guys are in the north wing of the fourteenth floor. Bang on doors at the end of the corridor, you’ll find him.”

Last night Cassie had hoped for an introduction, but an urgent call from another bride-to-be had demanded her attention. She’d finally get to meet Jason only to roust him out of bed with the maid-of-honor. “Thanks.”

Cassie hung up the phone, shouldered her large leather bag and rushed to the elevator. Standing before the groom’s suite, she chose a door and knocked. A blond man dressed in a pair of knit boxers opened the door. He peered at her between his fingers.

One of the ushers she’d met last night was blond. “Which room is Jason’s?”

He pointed to a door across the hall.

Cassie knocked on Jason’s door. When no one responded she fisted her hand and pounded until it hurt. At wit’s end, she spotted a maid’s cart at the far end of the hall.

Fabricating a story about leaving her key, she convinced the maid to open the best man’s door. Cassie closed the door carefully and tiptoed to the bed.

“Jason.”

Naked and lying face down on a blanket, the best man was stretched out on the floor. Sprawled on her back with her double D’s at attention, a snoring Amy slept in the bed.

Cassie’s gaze slid along Jason’s naked length. Fit to the point of zero fat, his wide shoulders tapered to narrow hips and a tight tush several shades lighter than his back and legs.

Remembering her mission, Cassie stepped over the best man and nudged Amy’s shoulder. The maid-of-honor snorted and resumed snoring. Cassie poked her again.

“Amy!”

In one shocking move, the best man awoke and jumped to his feet. Fierce arctic blue eyes confronted her as a CD player flew out of his hand and bounced on the carpet.

Earphones dangled down his heaving chest. Gaze drifting south, Cassie’s mouth went dry.

“What the hell?”

Cassie started to apologize, but began to garble her words at the sight of his morning erection. He snatched the blanket off the floor and wrapped it around his waist.

Looking her up and down, he yanked out the earphones. “Do I know you?”

She blinked, forcing the image of his impressive erection out of her mind, and met his penetrating gaze. “Uhhhh no.”

Muscles bunched as he lifted his arm and shoved his fingers through his dark hair. “Did Heather put you up to this?”

Cassie shook her head. “Amy’s late for her fitting.”

“Her fitting? You could have knocked.”

“I did. I’m sorry to wake you, but I have to get those,” Cassie pointed at Amy’s breasts, “into a dress designed for a C cup.”

The best man glanced at the sleeping maid-of-honor then he gave her a movie star smile. His teeth were perfect. Either he was blessed or his parents had bought his orthodontist a yacht.

“You’re Cassie, the designer?”

“Yes. I apologize for disturbing you, but Amy wasn’t in her room and…”

The blanket slid down one hip as he bent and scooped the portable CD player off the floor. “And?”

“And I’ve been waiting for her since nine.” Lifting her gaze Cassie caught the slow curl of his lips.

He placed the CD player on the bedside table and hitched up the blanket. “I’m Jason. Jason Land.”

“Jason, I need your help. I’ve only a few hours and I’ve got to alter her gown.”

He glanced at the maid-of-honor. “She’s dead to the world.”

Things weren’t looking good. The young woman hadn’t moved a muscle.

“I could try to measure her as she is.”

“This I gotta see.” He made a circle with his index finger. “Turn around.”

Cassie spun on her heel. Turning her head, she started to peek.

“Order coffee for three while I shower.”

She snapped her head around, looking forward. The bathroom door slammed shut. Taking that as her cue to turn around, Cassie hooked her bag over the back of a chair and called room service. After giving Amy another couple of pokes, she gave up and covered the model with the blanket. The woman moaned and rolled into the fetal position.

A few minutes later Jason walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. He’d combed his hair but hadn’t shaved; still he managed to look sexy as sin.

Cassie caught the clean scent of man as Jason crossed the room and opened the closet. Her gaze was lingering over the muscled vee of his back when he made a circle with his index finger.

“I can wait outside,” Cassie said as she turned away.

Clothes rustled. “No need.”

Dressed in a pair of button-fly jeans and a black t-shirt, Jason perched on the edge of the bed next to Amy.

“Get a wet washcloth.”

Wondering how much experience he had with gorgeous, dead-to-the-world women in his bed, Cassie did as he asked.

Jason touched the wet cloth to Amy’s forehead and cheeks.

“Wake up. It’s Heather’s wedding day.”

Amy moved her head then moaned. “Tired, Jas.”

“She’s exhausted.”

Given the size of his erection Cassie would love to feel that kind of exhaustion. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”

Jason’s blue gaze locked with hers and his lips curved into a sexy grin. She imagined his mouth on her breast, sliding down her belly to her…Ohhh my.

As if he were reading her mind, his eyes narrowed.

Okay the guy was gorgeous, but fantasizing about him while the maid-of-honor was barely conscious wasn’t playing by the rules. Damn rules.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I was referring to her modeling schedule. She was on a swimsuit shoot on the French Riviera. That’s why she barely made the dinner last night.”

He tickled Amy’s bare foot.

Amy kicked his hand, mumbled an obscenity and drifted off.

“She hates being tickled. And on any other day doing that would earn me a solid punch. Sorry, she’s in no condition to put on a dress.”

At the knock on the door, Jason rose. The hotel employee glanced at the sleeping woman as he placed a tray with a coffee pot and cups onto a small table by the window. The man thanked Jason for a generous tip and left.

“Join me.” Jason pulled out a chair and poured Cassie a cup of coffee. “We’ll let her sleep awhile before I try to get a little coffee down her.”

She added cream and asked Jason how long he’d known Art and Heather.

“All of us, the whole group in the wedding, met at college.” He sipped his coffee. “Art was my roommate during our freshman year. He met Heather during the first semester. The night of their first date he told me she was the one. They’ve been together ever since. They’re the glue that holds the group together.”

“They do seem well matched.”

“They are.”

“Are you and Amy—? I’m sorry that’s none of my business.”

“We’re friends, we’re not… We were back in college. She went to New York and I went to Seattle.” He glanced at the maid-of-honor. “I know how it looks, but she passed out and my room was closer.”

Another fantasy featuring Jason played in Cassie’s head as he poured each of them another cup of coffee.

“Do you live in San Francisco?”

Cassie nodded. She told him about the industrial space she’d converted into a design studio and an apartment. He told her about his job. Cassie was pleased he too had an intense commitment to his career, and like her, he worked long hours to ensure success.

“Sometimes I envy my friends who have eight-to-five jobs, but I love having my own business.”

“Are wedding gowns your specialty?”

“My passion. I love meeting the bride and designing a gown just for her, but I also have a walk-in studio. Every bride deserves a beautiful gown, but not everyone can afford a one-of-a-kind.”

“How long have you been in business?”

“About five years. I started it while I was in design school.”

“How many gowns have you designed? Anyone famous?”

“Not yet.” Cassie set down her empty cup. “You’re really not that interested in wedding gowns, are you?”

“No, but I know how I feel when I design a building.”

“It feels good.”

Amy groaned and tried to sit up. The blanket slid down to her hips as she leaned on one elbow. She blinked several times. “Jas, I gotta pee.”

Jumping to his feet, Jason helped the naked maid-of-honor to her feet and walked her toward the bathroom. Amy looked at Cassie and smiled. “She’s pretty. Did we have a threesome?”

“No.” Jason cheeks pinked. “That’s Cassie. She has to find a way to get your new rack into your bridesmaid dress.”

Amy giggled. “Oh yeah. I got new boobs.”

“How about a shower?”

“Okay, but I gotta pee.”

Now it was Cassie’s turn to giggle. Jason glared at her. “How about a little help?”

Cassie rose and gave him her sweetest smile. “I thought you were doing fine.”

“Well, I’m not.” Jason settled Amy onto the toilet. “Cassie’s going to help you.”

While Cassie held Amy steady, Jason removed his shirt and turned on the shower. Although lean, Jason’s back and arms were strong. He lifted Amy as if she weighed nothing.

Beneath the spray, Amy sputtered and swore.

After a few minutes Jason turned off the water. “Grab a towel.”

He held Amy upright while Cassie wrapped her torso in a soft towel. Water dripped from her long blonde hair. Cassie grabbed another towel and covered her head.

Jason carried Amy out of the bathroom and planted her onto her feet. “You need to measure her, right?”

“I got new boobs,” Amy said. “Jas likes my new boobs. Do you like them, Cassie?”

Jason rolled his eyes.

Cassie dug her tape measure out of her leather bag. “I like them so much I’d like to measure them.”

Amy lifted her arms.

“Is she always so easy-going?”

“She let her hair down last night, but don’t be fooled. When she’s working, she’s all business. I’ll keep her steady.”

Cassie measured while Jason looked over Amy’s shoulder. His eyebrow shot up when he saw the number where the tape met.

Amy rocked on her heels. “My head hurts.”

“As soon as Cassie’s done, you’re going to drink a pot of coffee.”

“Give her water,” Cassie said. “Between the transatlantic flight and the liquor, she’s dehydrated.”

Cassie made the necessary measurements. “I’ll work on her dress. As soon as she’s mobile send her to my room.”

“You’re staying in the hotel?”

“After the last minute replacement for Karin and an accidental tear in the bridal veil, Heather’s mother rented a room for me on the eighteenth floor. Saves time and cab fare.”

She gave him the room number and paused at the door to wave goodbye to Amy. The maid-of-honor waved back and said to Jason “I like her.”

“So do I,” Jason replied before the door closed.

A delicious fantasy starring the best man played in Cassie’s head as she rode the elevator to her floor.