We’ve all been there – indulging to excess when we shouldn’t. Whether it’s at a holiday feast, enjoying too many beers during a sports event, or partying a bit too hearty on the weekend. Wherever the extreme takes us, we start to regret it.
With that in mind, I wondered what it would be like to lust. I mean, way past the normal sense where you see a hot guy and think – damn, I want him. But to yearn constantly and endlessly without letup.
That’s the theme of my newest release The Yearning – carnal lust to the nth degree because of a curse.
I’ll let the blurb, excerpt, and teasers speak for themselves.
Book One – The Wanderers – Erotic Paranormal – October 24
The Wanderers – secretive, nomadic, steeped in the occult.
Beware the Wanderer who lusts. There is no freedom from their boundless carnal hunger. Hiding within plain sight, they walk among the unsuspecting, prepared to pounce. Only those with paranormal powers have a chance against evil so old and ruthless few have escaped its destructive end.
The Yearning Blurb:
To break this curse, they’ll have to turn the heat up. Way up.
Jasmine Dante prowls Key West’s nightlife, fighting a losing battle against a jealous rival’s curse that forces her to seek carnal pleasure, no matter the danger. Weakened from lack of sleep, driven by insatiable lust, she spots a man who stirs her desperate craving, and begins yet another dance of seduction.
Except the dark stranger who returns her direct stare is no ordinary lover. Inside his powerful body lies a raw sexuality that just might be enough to break her curse. There’s only one way to find out: imprison him in her bed and feed on his passion.
Former Deputy U.S. Marshal Mike Stearn is many things, but he’s no woman’s sex slave. The deadly telekinetic power he ruthlessly suppresses comes alive again at Jasmine’s touch. Beneath her bold, potent sensuality he senses vulnerability and desperation. He may be in handcuffs, but she’s the one who’s enslaved.
As Mike resurrects his power to free himself so he can find the curse’s source and defeat it, Jasmine revels in his masterful rule. Her ravenous yearning evolves into rapture as she surrenders to his hunger, her darkest needs—and the emotional connection that lies beyond. Unless the curse takes her life first…
You will want as I want. You will know insatiable lust, but no peace.
The curse drew Jasmine to this man as the road to hell seduces a born sinner. She walked in time to the music’s sensual beats. Inwardly, a part of her cowered. For him and what would soon come, she offered a welcoming smile.
He returned her greeting easily and took in her black halter dress. Its low-cut top and short skirt tantalized.
“Hi.” Her voice seemed throatier than she recalled, nothing like the woman she’d been. She leaned close so he could hear her above the band and caught his clean, soapy scent. Her thoughts derailed. She fought her compulsion to cup his face and brush her lips over his. “Mind if I join you?”
His gaze lifted from her black high-heel slides. Unashamed interest flickered across his face. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” He pushed to his feet.
She raised her face. Though she was tall like her father, her height was no match for his. He had to be six-three. Anticipation rippled in her belly. “In that case, I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”
“I doubt you will.”
His baritone soothed and enticed.
Her legs went watery. She sank to a stool and tried to hide her arousal. If he guessed what she had to have, he might grow wary and leave.
The band ended their set.
Still looking forlorn, the singer caressed her microphone. “We’ll be back in a few.”
Groans and protests rose from the crowd.
He ignored them and regarded Jasmine. “Thanks for the drink. What are you having?” He motioned for the bartender.
“Just a sip of your beer, if you don’t mind.” She couldn’t risk losing control by drinking. “I’m watching my weight.”
“False alarm.” He waved off the bartender and gave Jasmine his brew. “No, you’re not.”
She gripped the bottle. “What?”
“You don’t have to watch your weight.” He settled on his stool and studied her. “You’re fine just as you are.”
The old Jasmine flushed in delight and embarrassment. The woman she’d become gave him a feline smile. “If you say so.”
“What’s your name?”
The question rattled her when it shouldn’t have. She struggled to remember the fake one she and her sisters had concocted but came up with nothing except Jane Doe or Mary Smith, generic and unbelievable choices.
Her cheeks burned. Never a good liar, she caved. “Jasmine Dante.” She offered her hand. “And you are?”
“Happy to make your acquaintance, Jasmine.” A roguish grin crinkled his eyes, mellowing his features. His large hand covered and warmed hers.
She liked his effortless confidence and calm strength. It recalled her father’s behavior with her mother.
He squeezed her fingers.
The small intimacy reached her soul, leaving her breathless and lighthearted. “So, do you go by Happy or do you prefer the more formal Make Your Acquaintance?”
He chuckled and released her hand. “Call me Mike.”
“Ah, a nickname. I like that; Mike…?” She sipped his brew, giving him time to add his last name and more.
Unease seeped through her previous comfort. Travis had offered nothing except that he owned a body-piercing shop. He hadn’t confided his violent past. No matter her attraction to Mike or her cruel need, Jasmine couldn’t take another gamble on her safety. She had to find out about him, but how?
Perfumed flesh and liquor scents thickened the air. Animated chatter created a din near the tables. Someone laughed too loud. A woman squealed.
Jasmine gave him the bottle. “Are you a musician?”
He enjoyed a sip and shook his head. “Never came close, not even in high school when it’s more or less required to be considered cool.” He appeared amused. “Why would you think I played?”
“You haven’t noticed anything except the band. Is that why you’re here tonight?”
“I like their sound. What brings you here?”
“I thought going out tonight might be fun.”
A deeper smile tugged at his rich mouth. “It might be. So, tell me about yourself, Jasmine.”
Again, he’d taken command of their conversation, as a cop would. He acted like one, never answering a question. However, his long hair didn’t fit with the occupation, unless he worked undercover in vice. “You first. I insist.”
“Why?” He glanced at her breasts. “I’m not half as interesting as you.”
“Let me be the judge. Please.”
Something flickered in his eyes. Confusion? Fascination? He put the bottle on the bar. “My name’s Mike Stearn. I spend my days in front of a computer.”
Jasmine fought to hide her surprise. Of all the jobs she might have given him, none would have called for using a PC full-time. He didn’t look like a programmer or an Xbox junkie. “You’re a novelist?”
He laughed, an easy, rumbling sound. “I swear I don’t have a creative bone in my body.”
She smiled. “Then that leaves being a hacker. You’re a computer bad boy?”
His laughter wound down. He rested his arm on the bar. “Hardly. I’m an outside consultant for various federal and state agencies.”
That could include law enforcement. Her throat tightened. Not wanting to grill him too obviously, she wagged her finger. “Please tell me the IRS isn’t included in your work.”
“You cheat on your taxes?”
She gave herself to men she didn’t know to relieve her oppressive hunger, which put her in danger. Tonight’s plan was supposed to end that. “No, but if you could divulge a few tips on how I might get away with it, I’d be forever in your debt.”
“Sorry.” He ran his thumb over his mouth to tame his smile. “I have no affiliation with the IRS.”
His expression gave nothing away.
Anxious, she threw out guesses. “CIA?” No response. “DOD?” He didn’t even blink. “FHA?” He regarded her with increasing amusement. She played into it. “MTV? DVD? JD? CD—”
“Enough.” He put up his hand. His shoulders shook with laughter. “Before you go through every acronym you know, I will tell you this much—I used to be with the U.S. Marshals Service, all right?”
Jasmine nodded but worried his consulting work required him to carry a gun. That would play havoc with tonight’s plan.
She took him in. No weapon bulged beneath his shirt or by his jeans’ waistband.
A scar ran near his tattoo. The puckered pink skin looked frail and vulnerable on his sinewy arm. She touched the uneven surface. His muscle jumped. Compassion, rather than an indecent urge, weakened her. “Is this from a bullet? Did someone try to kill you? Is that why you left the Marshals Service and went into consulting?”
His features clouded, cautioning her not to pursue the subject. He grabbed the Dos Equis and finished a fourth.
Her spirits sank. Her need grew. She feared he’d leave because of her foolish questions.
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