Jasmine Haynes Files

Happy New Year!

2012-01-01T15:30:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year, everyone!

We have our relatives from Norway visiting, and I just wanted to let you see how guests are treated at my house. We put them to work! But boy, does my garden look wonderful now! And the weather has been gorgeous for their visit. They helped me chop up the big oak limb that fell in our windstorm a few weeks ago, plus cut back a big bush that was obscuring my view.

Since I’m entertaining my guests (and putting them to work) I won’t be putting up another blog for two or three weeks. But I’ll be back eventually! And don’t forget, Dead to the Max is still free, but it will soon be going back to its regular price. And if you missed Revenge Sex, Book 1 in the West Coast series, that’s still available, too. I’m working on the second story, “Submitting to the Boss.”

And be sure to stop by Rosemary Gunn's blog for a short but titillating excerpt of her upcoming story, “The Letter.”

Revenge Sex is here!

2011-12-12T06:36:00.000-08:00

Dead to the Max is still free, but it will soon be going back to its regular price.

I’m very pleased to announce the start of my new West Coast series. No, it’s not about living on the West Coast. West Coast Manufacturing is a Silicon Valley manufacturing company where the executives are exceptionally hot and sexy. Just the kind of company I would have liked to work at in my old accounting days, where the view in the boardroom is breathtaking.

There’s swinging, wife swapping, and now there’s hotwifing, so let me tell you what hotwifing is, in case you’ve never heard of it, because I certainly hadn’t. In a hotwifing relationship, the woman has lovers with her husband or boyfriend’s approval. Usually she comes home from a “date” to tell him all about it. Often they plan the “date” together. Of course, what every couple does will vary greatly, but here’s the most important thing about hotwifing: the man does not have other lovers. Nope, he’s monogamous. And he loves it that way! I didn’t realize I’d written hotwifing stories, but there were a couple of them in my courtesans tales, Dax and Nicole in Yours for the Night being one of them. Past Midnight is also involves hotwifing. I didn’t know what I was writing about until another writer, Cody Alston, pointed it out to me. And defined it for me (thanks, Cody!). So I figured I’d dedicate a whole series to it!

So today I’m introducing the first book in the series, Revenge Sex. Each story is novella length, about 40,000 words (150 pages) and in ebook format only for the time being. Thanks to Rae Monet for the sexy cover! I’ve got a very naughty excerpt from the book, so please be over 18 if you choose to read it.

A brand new series about sexy hotwives and the men who want them

A man, the hotwife he can’t control...and the woman who wants to fix what’s wrong with him.

Tough, autocratic CFO Clay Blackwell strikes both fear and loyalty into the hearts of his employees. But he’s got one quirk no one at West Coast Manufacturing knows; he loves the idea of his live-in girlfriend Ruby being with another man...then coming home to him for the best sex of his life as she describes every naughty detail. He’s only got three stipulations: no sex with anyone from work, no sex with another man in their own home, and she always has to tell him when she has a date. The problem? What to do with a “hotwife” who has all the freedom any woman could want, but still can’t follow three simple rules.

Jessica Murphy has the utmost respect and admiration for her CFO. She also has wild sex fantasies about Clay every night. Not that she’d ever tell anyone. Until she walks in on Clay’s girlfriend Ruby screwing Bradley the financial analyst right on Clay’s desk.

All bets are off and a little revenge sex is the name of the game. Ruby thinks she’ll placate Clay by telling him to have sex with another woman to pay her back for all her rule-breaking. When Jessica learns about that, she makes up her mind to seduce her boss for keeps, not just one night of revenge.

But can she become the more-than-one-man woman Clay Blackwell wants? Or will his desires tear them apart?

Revenge Sex
West Coast Series, Book 1
Copyright 2011 Jasmine Haynes
Chapter One

Hoisting her onto the desktop, Bradley spread her legs and yanked on her pretty purple thong.

“Oh yeah, baby, that’s it, rip them off.” Ruby loved Bradley’s he-man act. Of course, the panties didn’t tear, but so what, he still managed to slide the thong down her legs and toss it into the corner.

Ruby was wet and ready before Bradley even licked her. She’d been wet all day planning the naughty little encounter.

“I’m going to make you scream,” he boasted, then he put his tongue to her.

And truly, she did want to scream. “Oh, that’s so right, baby. Clay never does it like that. He never finds the right spot.” Bradley always needed a little ego boost to get him going, and what better way than to tell him how much better he was than Clay, her live-in boyfriend, lover—whatever you wanted to call him—and most importantly, Bradley’s boss.

Leaning back on her elbows, she drew her knees up so she could watch every move he made. His hair was a lustrous dark brown against the perfect white flesh of her thighs. His shoulders were wide, and she loved the sight of him in his white dress shirt as he went to town on her. Ruby enjoyed watching a man make love to her with his mouth. She loved the brush of soft hair against her skin, and the bristle of Bradley’s perpetual quarter-inch growth of beard. She relished each and every sensation.

She especially loved cuckolding Clay on his very big desk at ten o’clock on a weeknight after the cleaners had all gone home. His second-floor office overlooked the parking lot and road, yet with the conference table between the windows and Clay’s desk, they were virtually unnoticeable from the outside. So Ruby had left the lights on, all the better to see Bradley down between her legs.

“Ooh,” she crooned. “Clay hardly ever licks me.” She moaned. “And I so love the way you do it.” Bradley was twenty-nine and a mere financial analyst, so she had to find ways to coax the best out of him—young men still had so much to learn. One of those ways was to tell him how much more virile he was than his boss, or rather, his boss twice removed. Bradley worked for the finance manager who in turn worked for Clay, but really, it was Clay Bradley had to impress. To be honest, Clay didn’t always appreciate Bradley’s work, so Ruby had made it her mission to help the young man feel he was good enough in other realms. Like doing her nine ways to Sunday. On a Wednesday night.

Then she stopped thinking and let sensation take over. “Don’t stop, lick me, baby, just like that.” The heat built inside her, ready to burst, yet she pushed it off a little longer, like riding a magnificent wave just before it crashes.

Bradley put two fingers inside her the way she’d taught him, and found her G-spot right away. Oh, that boy was improving. She shuddered, then cried out, “Yes, yes, yes.” And the climax pulsed through her body.

Before it could end, she grabbed Bradley by the hair. “Fuck me now.”

Bradley grabbed her hips, and rolled her over, her stomach bare against the cool wood of the desk. She loved it from behind, pushed against a hard surface, taken, almost forced. Especially when Clay took her this way. He was so big, so tall, three inches taller than Bradley’s six feet.

Behind her, Bradley made fast work of the condom. “It’s going to be so good, you won’t want to even go home to him.”

She didn’t tell him that would never happen; better not to spoil the moment. “When he does me, baby, I imagine it’s you.” Actually, when Bradley did her, she imagined telling Clay about it later, how hot he’d get, how it turned him into a wild man. Her wild man.

Bradley plunged deep. Glorying in the feel of him, she stretched out her hands, accidentally knocking over the photo of Clay and his two teenage sons. Oops. But oh, this was good, so very good. He was young and strong, his technique not better than Clay’s, just different. It still needed refining, but he was a fast learner, at least in the sex department. She adored teaching a young man new tricks. She was forty years old—a hot little number, if she did say so herself—and proud of her toned figure and that her face had only a smattering of age lines. She was better than she’d ever been. Bradley couldn’t get enough of her.

“Oh my God,” she cried out. “You fill me up. You’re so much bigger and thicker than Clay.”

At her words, Bradley went crazy, assured of how much more virile he was than Clay. These young men performed so well when you told them what they wanted to hear. Stretching out her arms, she curled her fingers around the edge of the desk and gave herself up to the moment, to the feel of a hard, young cock inside her and the second sweet climb to the pinnacle.

* * * * *

Jessica Murphy jerked, then snapped to a sitting position on the break room sofa. In the dark, the microwave clock flipped to ten-oh-five in bright blue letters. Good Lord, all she’d wanted to do was rest her eyes, a five-minute catnap; she’d slept for over an hour. The board meeting was on Friday, and she needed to review the March quarterly financials tomorrow with Clay Blackwell, her CFO. But there was an issue in CIP, the construction-in-progress account.

A noise had woken her. It couldn’t be the cleaning staff; they’d left before her so-called catnap. She rose from the couch, crossing to the door by the illumination of the microwave clock. The hallway was dark. She’d turned out all the lights, not wanting to waste electricity, especially when she was accounting manager for West Coast Manufacturing, which meant she knew exactly how much the PG&E bill was.

There it was again. Bracing herself against the doorframe, she strained to hear. A moan. Then she was sure she could make out voices, though the words were indistinguishable. She shivered slightly. The automatic thermostat turned the heating down at nine, raising it again at six in the morning. Despite being the beginning of April, the San Francisco Bay Area was still chilly at night.

Stepping out into the hallway, which bordered all the cubicles in the middle of the large accounting department, she made out lights on the far side. From the CFO’s office. But Clay had been long gone before she’d crashed on the break room sofa. Obviously, he’d come back.

What if he’d discovered her sleeping? Jessica fluffed her hair, which was curly and tended to get mashed after she slept on it. It must look like a rat’s nest. And her lipstick was probably smudged. She ran a finger under each eye to get rid of any mascara, then smoothed beneath her lips, hoping that was good enough to fix the lipstick. She hated the idea of Clay Blackwell seeing her at anything less than her best. He lived with the CEO’s executive admin, Ruby Williams, and Jessica didn’t have designs on him—she wasn’t a home wrecker—but she admired Clay immensely and...well...a woman could have her fantasies in the middle of the night when no one else suspected.

All right, nothing could be done about her appearance now. She marched down the small walkway between the cubicles, and the sounds from the other side of the thin dividers grew exponentially louder with every step she took. Jessica’s heart started to pound, and she thought about turning around and getting the hell out. Because really, what was Clay Blackwell doing in his office? And just who was he with?

She might have run, too, if she hadn’t heard distinct words in a female voice—“Clay’s never fucked me like this”—punctuated by a man’s low growl of pleasure.

Turning the corner by the end of a cubicle wall, Jessica could see straight into Clay’s office. Her breath stopped in her chest.

Ruby Williams was facedown on the desk, skirt pushed up over her butt, dark hair flowing around her shoulders, eyes closed, her red lips parted on a moan of intense pleasure. Behind her, Bradley Palmer slammed into her, each thrust shoving her across the desk.

I hope you enjoyed this excerpt. Here’s where you can find Revenge Sex in e-book format: Amazon, Smashwords, and soon to be on B&N (it's still processing in their queue).

Fool's Gold is here!

2011-12-05T05:00:00.000-08:00

First a reminder that Dead to the Max, Book 1, is free on most major e-book retailers. It'll be jumping back up to regular price soon, so now's your chance to try the Max Starr series, http://www.amazon.com/dp/B003XRE4XG.

Last week I told you all about She's Gotta Be Mine, Cottonmouth Book 1. This week, I’ll give you an excerpt of Fool’s Gold, Cottonmouth Book 2! Both of these books are reissues from 2005, but they’re updated, and available for the first time in e-book, with wonderful new covers by Rae Monet Inc!

When I was writing She’s Gotta Be Mine, I actually fell in love with Sheriff Tyler Braxton. I wanted Bobbie Jones to fall him love with him, too, but since Nick Angel was such a misunderstood hottie, she went and fell for the bad boy instead. Which meant I had to write another story so Brax could find his happy ending. Now as I was thinking about Brax, I visited my brother-in-law in Goldfield, Nevada. If you’ve ever seen the old classic Vanishing Point with Barry Newman (rent it if you haven’t!), all the town scenes were filmed in Goldfield. Now that movie was made in the seventies, and I swear to you, Goldfield looks exactly the same. And there are some very odd characters there. My brother-in-law told me a ton of stories, about outhouse excavating and the “twinkie” caper. So when I was making up my fictional town of Goldstone, well, it looks like Goldfield, and it has a lot of my brother-in-law’s tall tales (thank you very much, Jonny)! I made some stuff up, too (there’s no whorehouse called The Chicken Coop, swear it).

So, let me introduce you to Goldstone and Sheriff Tyler Braxton in Fool's Gold:

Goldstone, Nevada: It’s not your typical vacation getaway.

Sheriff Tyler Braxton hightails it out of Cottonmouth to Goldstone for a little R&R, when his sister puts out a distress call. Suddenly, instead of vacationing, Brax is offering advice to the lovelorn! And to top it off, he has to start his own investigation on his sister’s behalf: Is his brother-in-law having an affair with the local erotic author?

Simone Chandler has found her haven in Goldstone; she loves the forsaken town and its lovable but somewhat beleaguered residents. With a thriving Internet business penning made-to-order erotic fantasies, some of her friends in Goldstone just happen to be her clients, too. The problem: The hunky sheriff from out of town wonders if she’s not only writing stories for his brother-in-law, but acting them out with him, too.

Then murder comes to Goldstone, and Brax is suddenly hip-deep in small-town secrets, with sexy Simone Chandler at the head his suspect list.

Is Simone the real thing, or, as with everything else in Goldstone, is she Fool’s Gold?

You can find Fool’s Gold at Amazon, B&N, Smashwords, Sony, and Apple. Here’s an excerpt. In this scene, Brax has been forced to attend a tea party at the local rest home called Our Manor of the Ladies. Be sure to read all the way to the end because I’ve got a special surprise for you!

Fool’s Gold
Cottonmouth Book 2
Copyright 2011 by Jennifer Skully

Brax shot the table at large a winning smile. “May I have one of those delicacies?”

“Scones. I made them myself. They let us use the kitchen here, you know,” Rowena said in her quaint British accent. “I’ve always loved baking, but with my chosen profession, I never had much time. Since I came here, why I bake to my heart’s content, don’t I, girls?”

“You should taste her trifle,” Nonnie added. “Delicious.”

“Trifle isn’t baked, you silly woman,” Divine burst in. “It’s custard and whipped cream.”

“Don’t forget the sherry on the ladyfingers,” Agnes trilled. “Rowena always puts extra sherry. It’s simply orgasmic.”

Brax almost knocked his water tumbler over. He cocked his head and stared at Agnes as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. Then he grinned, which Simone determined to mean he’d decided he’d imagined the word. After all, Agnes, her pile of gray hair knotted and confined in a silvery hair net with tiny sparkles of glitter, certainly didn’t look as though she’d say orgasmic. Simone covered her mouth to hide her smile, though it would have been terribly embarrassing if Brax had understood exactly what their former chosen profession had been.

He came out with “I’d love to try it sometime.”

“And then there’s her nut torte,” Nonnie added. “It’s made with crushed nuts, no flour or anything. It’s amazing. And there’s—”

“Pass him a scone, Nonnie, before he expires of hunger,” Rowena admonished.

“Ladies first,” Brax said politely.

“Oh no, you’re the first man we’ve entertained since Chloe opened the place,” Agnes revealed. “Gentleman callers first.”

“Oh yes, yes. And jam and butter.” The plate of scones rattled against the jam pot as Nonnie passed them to Brax with slightly palsied fingers.

“I can’t wait.” Brax took the offering, but his glance shot speculatively to Chloe.

Our Manor of the Ladies had been Chloe’s brainchild, and she’d funded a goodly portion of it, then chided town dignitaries to raise the additional monies. It had taken almost a year, but finally, the Manor had opened to its first residents, the four women now seated at the table.

“Here’s your tea,” Agnes said, passing the cup. Lukewarm liquid sloshed into the saucer. “And you must have milk and sugar, the way the British drink it. Rowena taught us that.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Brax poured milk, stirred sugar, and spread jam and butter as the ladies tweeted around him like birds.

“Oh my, would you look at the size of his hands.” Eyes wide, hand over her mouth, Agnes was agog.

Brax stopped with a bit of scone halfway to his mouth. Then he extended his arm to look at the aforementioned hand. He quirked an eyebrow. “Is there something wrong with my hands?”

“Oh no,” Nonnie chirped.

“They’re so large,” Agnes went on with awe in her voice.

His gaze flashed left to right, from one lady to the other, his question shouted in his glance.

“You know what they say about a man’s hands, don’t you?”

Oh my God. Catastrophe was coming. Simone opened her mouth to divert it just as Brax said, “No, what do they say?”

Agnes let the words burst forth. “Why, that the size of a man’s hands is directly proportional to the size of his penis.”

If he’d been drinking his tea, Simone was sure he’d have spit mouthfuls across the table. As it was, his pupils dilated, and the scone dropped to his plate, landing with a splat, jam side down.

“Is it true?” Nonnie asked with wide-eyed innocence.

Simone’s cheeks flamed. Why, the old jokesters.

“You two stop that right now. My mother always says the tea table isn’t the place for discussing”—Simone searched for an appropriate euphemism and fell back on—“tallywhackers.” Brax was going to think that’s all they talked about in Goldstone.

Agnes hid behind pouring tea for everyone else and passing out the cups as someone—maybe Divine—snickered. Nonnie blinked behind her jeweled cat’s-eye glasses and said, “It isn’t?”

Rowena sampled her scone and pronounced it “Magnificent, if I do say so myself. And, my dear, in our profession, penises are always the first thing we wonder about.”

“Former profession,” Chloe corrected.

Rowena sniffed. “If men realized the virtue of an older, experienced woman, it wouldn’t be former, darling.”

“Here, here.” The ladies clinked cups, china tinkling in the dining room.

Brax had yet to pick up his teacup or his upside-down scone. Now that was a squirrel-in-the-center-of-the-road look if Simone ever saw one.

Divine tapped Maggie’s arm. “You didn’t tell him, honey?”

Maggie, silent and morose up to this point, twisted her paper napkin until it fell apart in her fingers. “I didn’t think I needed to.”

“Tell me what?” Brax croaked. His voice probably hadn’t cracked like that since he was thirteen years old. He had to know what was coming. In fact, Simone could have sworn he ducked slightly as if to ward off the blow.

“Our Manor of the Ladies is a home for former ladies of the night,” Divine explained.

“Chloe built it for us,” Rowena added.

“Sadly, many of us aren’t terribly good at saving our money for old age,” Agnes admitted.

“We never thought we’d reach old age,” Divine scoffed. “What with AIDS and all that.”

“Speak for yourself.” Rowena tipped her head with a queenlike gesture in Divine’s direction. “I always insisted on protection even before it was fashionable.”

Brax made an odd sound, either horrified laughter or he was choking on the bit of scone he’d just popped in his mouth.

“But Chloe came to our rescue.” Nonnie acknowledged credit where credit was definitely due.

“Isn’t she the most wonderful person?” Agnes said on a grateful sigh. The others nodded their heads like bobbing apples.

Simone couldn’t agree more, but Chloe, flustered by the glowing compliments and admiration, busied herself with buttering a second scone.

That’s why Chloe was the only one in town who wanted Jason’s resort. Most thought it was because she wanted increased traffic through The Chicken Coop. Which was true, but Simone suspected she wanted the extra cash flow to support the Manor. Fifteen ladies now lived in the small rest home, but she constantly received new petitioners. Chloe had a hard time saying no.

Brax finally swallowed the scone. He raised his dainty teacup, which looked ridiculously fragile in his big hand, and saluted each one. “Here’s to the most gracious quartet of ex-ladies of the night I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.” Then he inclined his head toward The Chicken Coop’s madam. “And to Chloe for her generosity.”

They all drank to his toast.

What a sweet guy. He could have run screaming from the room.

Agnes pointed to the hand still holding his teacup aloft and said, “So, don’t keep us in suspense. Eight inches? Or more?”
-----

I hope you enjoyed the excerpt! Here’s my special surprise. My quaint British mother makes the trifle described in the excerpt. The recipe follows! It’s divine!

Mom’s English Trifle

2 packages lady finger cakes
Raspberry jam as needed
4 to 6 T sherry
2 bananas sliced
1 package thick custard
2 half pints whipping cream

Place lady fingers around edge and center of dessert bowl, covering the whole bowl. Spread raspberry jam over top of cake (thin layer to individual liking). Drizzle sherry on top to soak into cake. Layer bananas on top of cake and sherry. Make thick custard from package and spread over bananas and cake. Whip cream and top over cooled custard.

She's Gotta Be Mine!

2011-11-28T05:00:00.000-08:00

I hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving! And I hope you enjoyed Beauty or the Bitch over the last couple of months!

First, some important business! Dead to the Max, Book 1 in the paranormal Max Starr mystery series is free for a limited time on Amazon, B&N, Apple, Sony, Smashwords! This is an e-book only offer, not print. I always to make sure I tell you about free stuff I’ve got going!

And now, I’m so pleased to announce that I’m reissuing my first two books by Jennifer Skully for the first time ever in e-book, with fun and flirty covers by Rae Monet Inc! This week I’ll talk about She’s Gotta Be Mine, and next week, I’ll give you an excerpt of the sequel, Fool’s Gold.

If you missed it previously, KOD Daphne Award winner and Romantic Times Top Pick “Sex and the Serial Killer” is back with a new title, She’s Gotta Be Mine, and a slight text revamp. It’s still laugh-out-loud funny, peopled with hilarious characters in the small town of Cottonmouth, California. Not to mention an alleged serial killer who’s too devilishly handsome to ignore.

I’ve got my husband to thank for this book. He helped me do so much of the plotting for it, providing tons of ideas. Calling my little town Cottonmouth, that was his idea! This book was originally published in 2005, and I can’t tell you how happy he was. My first sale to a major publishing house! My hubby, the Viking God as I call him—because he’s blond and Norwegian and totally hunky—has always supported my writing. I wouldn’t have a writing career if it hadn’t been for him. So thank, sweetie, for all the hours of plotting and all the love and support.

Okay, so I should tell you up front that Jennifer Skully is my funny half. But because I’m still Jasmine as well, there’s a few hot-hot-hot scenes as well! You can find She's Gotta Be Mine at Amazon, B&N, Smashwords, and Apple. Here’s a little blurb, then I’ll give you an excerpt.

She's Gotta Be Mine
Cottonmouth Book 1
Copyright 2011 Jennifer Skully

Dumped? For her husband’s high school sweetheart he hasn’t seen in twenty years? Roberta Jones Spivey isn’t going to lay down for that, no way. Instead, she decides to reinvent herself. The new Bobbie Jones—new haircut, new name, new attitude—will follow her soon-to-be ex to the small Northern California town of Cottonmouth. And there she’ll show him—and his sweetheart—what a big mistake he made.

What better way to show him what he’s missing in the brand new Bobbie Jones than taking up with the town’s local bad boy—who’s also reputed to be a serial killer. Nick Angel is devilishly handsome and sexy as all get-out. In a word, perfect.

It’s all going exactly according to plan...until a real murder rocks the little town of Cottonmouth. Of course, Nick didn’t do it...did he?

Prologue

A mixture of red dye and sweat trickled down her forehead, hovered on her eyebrows, poised to drizzle into her eyes. Soon to be blinded by runaway hair products, Roberta Jones Spivey could force nothing more than a mousy squeak from her throat. She was about to go deaf, too, from the hairdryer blasting her eardrums, and still, she couldn’t open her mouth wide enough to shriek. Any moment now, her hair would spontaneously combust. They’d smell the smoke first, then the aroma of singed hair, but by the time any of the umpteen stylists scurrying about The Head Hunter’s main salon came to her rescue, she’d be bald. If not charred to a briquette.

Help me before my demise becomes a fifteen-second slot on a tabloid show. Now was not the time for a panic attack.

Drip, drip, drip, from her eyebrows to her eyelashes. In a last ditch effort to save herself, she squeezed her eyes shut. Burning tears leaked out to mingle with the caustic fluids. She clamped onto the chair’s arms, a death grip, terrified that if she touched the stuff, she’d end up rubbing her flesh off, too.

Someone. Please. Notice me.

The bowl of the dryer was suddenly jerked up, cool air from the overhead fans wafting across her scalp.

“Bobbie, honey, why didn’t you tell me the color was running?” Mimi was the only person who’d ever called her Bobbie.

Roberta dragged in a breath of air to explain, then collapsed in a spasm of coughing as the stench of chemicals, dyes, perm solution, and her own terrified sweat swooped down her throat.

Mimi’s shoes clicked-clacked away, then back again. “Here, drink this.”

Water had never tasted so good. All Roberta had wanted was a new look. Okay, so she needed a new life, too. Instead, she’d almost died, and her heart was still pounding like the Pony Express. She handed the empty paper cup back to Mimi, who crumpled it, executed a perfect free throw into the trash can, then tugged at a few squishy locks on Roberta’s head, and pronounced, “You’re cooked.”

Roberta was cooked all right. Roasted, basted, filleted, flambéed. And limp as a wet noodle to boot. Residual quivers made her knees wobble as she tried to stand up.

Mimi put a hand beneath her elbow. “Bobbie, honey, you okay?

“I’m fine.” Well, except that Warren had walked out on her three weeks, six days, and seven hours ago. On April eighteenth. Three days after tax day. Two days after he’d left for his little mission up north. In Cottonmouth, California. He’d dumped her with nothing more than a phone call telling her he wasn’t coming back. Ever.

Roberta blew out a breath. “Yeah, Mimi, I’m just fine.”

“Good, for a minute there under the dryer you looked a little panicky.” Mimi patted her arm and led her to the rinse bowl.

“I didn’t want to bother you while you were busy.” Her, panic? Just because her husband of fifteen years had left her for his long-lost, recently-located-through-the-Internet high school sweetheart? The love of his life. The teenage bimbo who’d broken his heart, then disappeared off the face of the earth—or at least left the San Francisco Bay Area for parts unknown. Cookie. What kind of name was that anyway? It made her think of some hairy blue monster on a morning kids’ show. Warren was bound to see he’d made a mistake.

Okay, so she’d made a mistake, too, by actually helping him search the Net. And mailing the hundreds of letters—because he was nervous about calling all those women looking for the right one. And letting him drive to Cottonmouth all alone that fateful weekend. She’d only wanted to help him solve his problem. Because his problem was her problem.

Mimi pushed her head back into the bowl and began rinsing with warm water. Roberta closed her eyes. The water turned off, the soothing scent of citrus conditioner replaced the stinging dye in her nostrils, and gentle fingers massaged her scalp.

“Bobbie, honey, you’re tense. Is work getting to you?”

“No, it’s fine.” Except for those dreaded whispers of “restatement” trickling out of the audit committee, and her boss Mr. Winkleman’s finger pointing firmly in her direction, as Director of Accounting. But she wasn’t worried; she knew every balance, every detail, inside and out. Her numbers were solid.

She gave herself up to the finger pads working her scalp and the little knots at the base of her skull. Her breathing relaxed, the whir of her mind’s gears slowed. Ahh.

“So, where’s your husband taking you for your birthday?”

Roberta’s eyes flew open, and all that lovely mellowness fled through the soles of her low-heeled pumps.

“He’s picked out this new restaurant he heard about on Nob Hill.” The lie just sort of slipped out. Roberta believed in little white lies to keep everyone comfortable. Except that there wasn’t anything comfortable about turning forty. Or about being dumped. What was next? Menopause. Old age. Death. “It’s very exclusive, very dressy, and very San Francisco, he says.”

She wouldn’t have had a thing to wear because she’d lost ten pounds since Warren left. But if Warren was taking her out for her birthday, then she wouldn’t have lost the ten pounds because he wouldn’t have left, and then she would have had something to wear. Her temples throbbed. Everything was so confusing.

“You’ve really got yourself a prince there.”

Yeah, a prince. She just hadn’t realized that princes needed Prozac. Or that a good psychiatrist cost upwards of two hundred dollars an hour—excuse me, fifty minutes—just to say, “Mrs. Spivey, you must realize that antidepressants will have a negative impact on your husband’s sex drive.”

He had no sex drive. That’s why he’d gone to a doctor to begin with.

Tears suddenly pricked the corners of her eyes. “Yes, Warren’s a wonderful man.”

At least she’d thought so. But he’d gone off the drugs for the Cookie Monster, for God’s sake. And the woman was married. Another dumpee in the making. Maybe Roberta should call Mr. Cookie Monster to commiserate.

Maybe she should sue Warren’s psychiatrist for putting the idea of finding closure with his high school sweetheart into his mind in the first place. Instead, she’d dyed her brown hair red.

“Maybe I need a new haircut, too.”

Easing her to a sitting position, Mimi wrapped a white towel around Roberta’s head and squeezed the water from her hair.

“Something bouncy and short?”

Her head enshrouded in terrycloth, Roberta nodded.

“Thank God, Bobbie. I’ve been telling you your hair is naturally curly, the length and weight just pulls it all out.”

Mimi tugged Roberta to her feet and guided her to a chair. The towel came off. What she’d thought would be red was merely a darker brown. Richer maybe, but still brown.

“Don’t pout. It’ll look red when it dries. Now, how short shall we go?” Mimi fluffed the drying strands.

Roberta pointed to her shoulders.

Mimi grimaced in the mirror. “That’ll drag your face down. As we get older, we need to make sure our faces don’t drag.”

Who was this we? Mimi was a pert, perpetual twenty-nine-year-old with lively black hair, wood-nymph brown eyes, and unlined skin. Without opening her mouth, Roberta skimmed the bottom of her ears with shaky fingers.

Mimi beamed. “Perfect.”

Then she started snipping, clipping, drying, and poofing. Roberta squeezed her eyes shut amidst the cacophony of voices, laughter, running water, and blow dryers.

“You can open them now.”

A scintilla of the hysteria she’d felt under the dryer tingled along Roberta’s nerve endings. Then she looked in the mirror.

“Oh my.”

Behind her, Mimi bounced with expectation. “Whad’ya think?”

Roberta didn’t recognize the face framed in silky red hair just brushing the tips of her ears, hugging her nape, gently curling across her forehead. Her hazel eyes looked greener, lush, like new spring grass. Her lips looked fuller. And the tired lines pulling at her mouth seemed to have vanished.

“It makes you look like you’ve lost weight. I think you need to buy a new outfit to celebrate.”

The woman in the mirror needed a whole new wardrobe. Business suits and tailored blouses just wouldn’t go with that face. That face needed vibrant colors and short skirts. Four-inch spike heels.

The hand in the mirror touched the full lips. Lipstick. Something overstated. “Maybe I need some new makeup, too, Mimi.”

“I’ve got just the thing.” Mimi disappeared from the mirror, click-clacking across the linoleum.

Yes, she needed new makeup. Because fixing your whole life couldn’t be accomplished simply by changing your hairstyle.

No, that new hair needed new makeup, new clothes, new shoes. And a new name. Like Bobbie. Bobbie Jones. Without the Spivey, which had always made her think of the word spineless. Spineless Spivey. Warren? Or herself?

And Director of Accounting would never do for Bobbie Jones. Bobbie needed something...exciting. A job where she’d meet new people every day. Doing something she’d shine at. Where she couldn’t help but be noticed.

Where there were no Mr. Winklemans pointing their fingers and saying, She did it. Fire her.

God, could she really do it? Could she really quit, try on another career like a new outfit?

What on earth was standing in her way? There was no Warren. And there was money in the bank to tide her over until she found just the right job.

Could she? Would she? She stared at the familiar yet changed woman in the mirror. That woman could do anything she set her mind to. That woman would find a new goal in life.

Roberta sat straighter, squared her shoulders, put a hand to the brand new curls that overflowed the top of her head. Bobbie Jones wouldn’t have to worry about negative impacts on a man’s sex drive. Bobbie Jones would have her pick.

Roberta Jones Spivey could stick with a job she hated and grovel at the feet of the Winklemans of the world. Roberta Jones Spivey could have panic attacks under a hair dryer because she’d decided to change the color of her hair. Bobbie Jones had better things to do. Important things to do. One all-important thing.

Bobbie Jones was going to Cottonmouth to show Warren what he’d thrown away when he drove off into the sunset to find the Cookie Monster.

Oh yeah, and one more really important thing. Bobbie would have sex for the first time in...much too long.

Chapter One

Bobbie Jones—she’d tossed out Roberta along with her job, her tailored suits, and her frilly blouses—tapped her brilliant crimson lip with the tip of a matching manicured nail. A new woman with a new attitude. And no ugly, painful thoughts.

“I must have that cottage.” No, no, we can’t possibly do this. Bobbie quashed another annoying little Robert-whine. She was getting so much better at doing it, since that day in the salon, a little less than a month ago, when she’d decided every page of her life story needed revising.

Top selling real estate agent and self-proclaimed Cottonmouth maven, Patsy Bell Sapp’s mouth opened so wide, the wrinkles marring her tanned face vanished. Almost. “You don’t want that.”

Bobbie smiled. “Yes. I do.” No, we don’t. Buzz off, Roberta.

The house, little more than a cube tucked into a postage-stamp lot, was the antithesis of the pristine residence on the stately San Francisco street. Warren had chosen the property over having children, a plan she’d, no, Roberta had gone along with because being a parent was too awesome a responsibility.

“But the serial killer lives right across the street.” Patsy hacked out a cough, her penciled-in eyebrows disappearing into the fringe of her bouffant hairdo. With a vigorous shake of her head, multiple shades of gray sparkled in the sunlight.

“Excuse me?” Was the woman serious? Probably not. If she was, why would she even bring Bobbie by the rental?

Still looking at her, Patsy pointed at the shaded, two-story house across the street. “He’s a serial killer,” she mouthed.

The title had a ring to it, even if it was most likely a town joke. Serial killer. Didn’t that fit her mood to a T? Her mood, not Roberta’s. She itched with a mixture of danger, disbelief, and anticipation. Heavy on the disbelief part. But still, he must be a real bad-boy type to fuel such rumors. Back home in Head Hunters salon, she’d sworn to herself she was going to have sex with someone. And sex with an alleged serial killer sounded risky. Edgy. Exciting.

Just the kind of thing a Bobbie Jones, not a Roberta Spivey, would do. It would tweak Warren’s nose right out of joint.

And that’s what this whole excursion to Cottonmouth was about. Right?

Beauty or the Bitch, the final chapter!

2011-11-21T06:15:00.000-08:00

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Oh my gosh! It’s the holidays again! I can’t believe it. I’ve got to get my Christmas shopping done early this year, too, as my mom and sister are going to visit my brothers for Christmas. So were celebrating early out here on the west coast!

And here it is, the final chapter of Beauty or the Bitch!
Copyright Jasmine Haynes 2011

Reporter Dexter King is about to get the story of a lifetime. Shelby Stewart was the hottest rising star in Hollywood until suddenly, she was cursed. Retreating to her mountain hideaway, far from that fairy tale life, she hasn’t been seen in ten years. Now Dex will ferret out the truth behind her fall from Hollywood grace. But will he find a beauty? Or a bitch?

Chapter Twelve

Three months later.

“You don’t owe her anything, Shelby.”

Dex drove through the wrought-iron security gate and up the long drive to the white portico.

“She was my friend. If she hadn’t sent you up there to write my story, I wouldn’t have you. I would still be living alone in that cold, old house.”

Or she’d be dead. He came around to her side of the car and opened the door. She was still of the starlet school where a lady waited for a gentleman to open her car door. She took the hand he offered.

Shelby Stewart was magnificent in a flirty little blue polka dot skirt and white fitted blouse. Her cheeks had filled out, and though he still felt she had more weight to gain to be truly healthy, she was no longer gaunt but the delicate, fragile midnight angel he’d made love to that first night. And many nights since. Long walks and lots of fresh air had added color to her face. Upon her return to L.A., she’d had her hair cut. Just a cute little bob, but the shaggy ends were now gone, and her hair framed her perfect oval face. Her eyes reflected the color of the sky, bright and open. She smiled now, almost all the time, and he couldn’t resist kissing her deliciously ripe mouth.

“Stop that. Someone will see.” But she leaned in for another. “Will you hold my hand while I do this?”

“Always. You know that.”

Since returning, Shelby had stoically braved the media frenzy, answered reasonable questions and scorned those that weren’t. She’d become the woman of the hour, her ordeal would be a TV movie next season, though she’d flatly refused to endorse it. Movie offers abounded, talk shows, the world was once again her oyster. But Shelby had turned it all down. She wanted her mountain home and she wanted him, and that was enough for Dex. They’d spent most of the time arranging for repairs to the old mansion. It needed one hell of a lot of work. But Shelby had been no fool with her money, and the house would once again become what it had been decades ago. And Dex, he’d have to travel sometimes, but he could do a lot with his computer right from the house. When he had to go, she’d agreed to go with him.

The doorbell chimed. He stroked her hand, feeling the tremble. “We can still leave.”

“I don’t want to.” She melted him with her clear blue gaze. “I’m not running again, Dex. Not ever.”

She hadn’t let him trash Eden in the article the way he’d wanted to. Vengeance had been in his heart, not Shelby’s. And as she helped him write, she’d softened him. He wouldn’t ever forgive Eden Alexander for feeding Shelby to the lions, but he didn’t hate her either.

The grand lady opened the door herself. She wore jeans and a T-shirt, as if she couldn’t bother to dress up. Or as if her public persona, her reputation, no longer had the same meaning it once did.

She seemed to drink in the sight of Shelby on her doorstep. Tears glistened at the corners of her eyes. Dex wanted to believe it was an act, she was, after all, legendary. But the woman had only an audience of two.

“Hello, Eden.”

“Shelby.”

“You remember, Dex, right?” Shelby’s fingers tightened around his.

“Of course.” Eden looked at him just as a single tear escaped and trickled down the side of her face. He realized then that she wore no make-up. “Well, won’t you come in? I’ve made some tea.”

Shelby smiled. “You know I hate tea, Eden. What about one of those iced coffees? With the whipped cream on top? I always loved them.”

“I think I can provide that.” Then she took Shelby’s other hand and pulled her inside.

Shelby didn’t let go of him. Dex laced fingers with her and soothed the slight quiver.

Then he followed her. He always would. Wherever she needed him to go.

---

I hope you’ve all enjoyed Beauty or the Bitch! I’ve got some new releases, so come back in the following weeks for sexy excerpts and good times!
If you missed it, here’s an excerpt of my latest Berkley release, What Happens After Dark, DeKnight Book 2.

Chapter 11 of Beauty or the Bitch!

2011-11-14T05:00:00.000-08:00

I just got back from a wonderful week in Palm Springs with my sister! It’s our yearly “girls trip.”

And here’s Chapter 11 of http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004UWPPWC!
Copyright Jasmine Haynes 2011

Reporter Dexter King is about to get the story of a lifetime. Shelby Stewart was the hottest rising star in Hollywood until suddenly, she was cursed. Retreating to her mountain hideaway, far from that fairy tale life, she hasn’t been seen in ten years. Now Dex will ferret out the truth behind her fall from Hollywood grace. But will he find a beauty? Or a bitch?

Chapter Eleven

“David came to me after Shelby went to the police. He asked me to talk to her, tell her it was a mistake. I told him I would. It was always best just to do what David said. I called her. She never answered. And she didn’t call me back.”

“What did he do?”

“He didn’t know. I lied and said I’d talked to her, but that she wouldn’t agree to anything. He ground at me for every detail. I made it all up. If I’d told him she said she’d be quiet, then she turned around and told the newspapers, he’d know I’d lied. So saying I’d talked to her and she’d refused to keep quiet was the only thing I could do.”

“Why didn’t you just tell him to go fuck himself?”

“I should have. But I didn’t.”

Christ Almighty. He wanted to wrap his hands around her throat and choke the breath out of her. “Then what?”

“Then he told me to tell Shelby that if she didn’t keep her mouth shut, he’d ruin her. He’d make sure no one believed her, and then he’d drive her into the ground.”

“You didn’t tell her that either, but you told him you did.”

“Yes.”

“Jesus Christ, why didn’t you at least warn her what he planned to do? You were supposed to be her friend.” He ached for Shelby. She must have been so alone, even in a city of hundreds of thousands.

“Because I was afraid of him. I was afraid he’d do the same thing to me.”

“So you let her sink.”

“Yes. I did. I did do that, Mr. King. And I’m sure, over the last ten years of his life, David Hume killed the spirit of many other little girls, if not their bodies, as he did with Cynthia. I did that, too. I let that happen. For a long time, I believed that we were the monsters. People like me who didn’t say anything, people like the Martins who let him have their little girls, because we were scared of what would happen if we didn’t. You see, we were the sane ones.” She held her palm to her chest. “So didn’t that make us more responsible? Then I realized that David was the master, and we were only the puppets. He knew the thing we wanted, needed, craved the most. He made sure we knew he could take it away just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “That doesn’t make us better than him, it only makes us weaker. But there is one thing I did learn. I learned to spot them a mile away, the users, the manipulators. I want to tell the world that there are people like David Hume out there, and God forbid, don’t let your child near them.”

Dex laughed, bitterly. “You really think your story is going to stop men like him?”

“No. They’ll never stop. But if one parent takes their child and runs for the hills, it’s the most I can ask for.”

But she’d asked for it years too late. “What did he have on you, Eden? What was your button?”

She brushed her cheek with a finger, touched her hair. “I wanted to be a goddess. A goddess at any age. He would have taken that away. He would have ruined my reputation. Then he would have taken all my money. He would have turned me into a bag lady living on the street. I would have done anything for that not to happen.”

“You did do just about anything.” He let the knife slide deep. He had no sympathy. He had no remorse. “So you want me to write all this? You want me tell everyone you were living with a child molester, and you didn’t do a damn thing about it?”

“Yes, Mr. King, I do.”

“Anything else you haven’t told me? Like maybe you brought home little girls for him?”

She winced. “I deserve that. I didn’t do that, but I can’t mitigate the things I did do. The only thing I’d like to add for your story is that I’ve thought often about going up to see Shelby. I never did.”

“Why?”

“I was afraid of him until the day he died.”

Dex blew out a derisive puff of air loud enough for her to hear. “You’re still afraid of him. Otherwise you would have skipped the melodramatic exclusives and gone up there to see her yourself.”

“It’s Shelby I’m afraid of now.”

He rose, picking up the recorder with her confession and stuffing it into his briefcase. “Oh, my dear Eden, I think it’s me you ought to be afraid of.”

She looked up at him. “You’re in love with Shelby, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad. She’s always needed a knight in shining armor.”

“All she ever needed was to believe in herself.”

“So right you are. When you see her, will you tell her something for me?”

“Yes.” Before or after he told Shelby what Eden had done to her, he wasn’t sure.

“Tell her I always believed she was courageous. Much more so than I could ever be. You see, I don’t even have the courage to tell her that myself.”

* * * * *

He called Shelby as the car glided through Eden Alexander’s security gate. Shelby didn’t pick up. It was three o’clock in the morning. She was probably asleep. He shouldn’t even have called.

But the phone was right by her bed. She’d know it was him.

Dex got a bad feeling. A really bad feeling. Maybe it was only his conversation with Eden eating at his gut, but he didn’t like that Shelby hadn’t answered the phone.

He got out of L.A. long before the rush hour started, and he made good time getting to the foothills. But as he climbed, the sky got darker, the sun disappeared, and the snow fell steadily. He wasted precious time putting chains on, but he didn’t want to end up like he had the last time, nor could he afford to get stuck. Shelby needed him. He sensed it, felt it in the pit of his stomach, the ache around his heart. He called every half hour before his cell phone lost its signal.

She never answered.

He could barely see six feet in front of him. He didn’t even know for sure if he was on the right road. All he could do was trust that he’d get there. Once he made it to the high road, the only thing he could be grateful for was the tow truck he’d had up there days ago had tamped down the original snowfall. He followed the quickly disappearing tracks. His head pounded, his neck ached from leaning forward to see out the windshield, and his knuckles were permanently bent to the shape of the steering wheel. But at least he was within two miles of her. Finally, the car chugged up her long driveway.

He thought he’d surely die before he got there, but soon he pulled into the circular drive nestled beneath feet of snow.

It was just past two in the afternoon. The sky was so dark and the snow so heavy, it seemed like midnight. When he climbed out, the wind howled past his ears. No lights glowed in the windows. The electricity must have gone out again.

The door wasn’t locked. He’d never asked, but he didn’t think Shelby ever bothered to lock up.

In the front hall, he stamped his feet and shook snow from his hair. Deathly cold. And silent. His breath formed a vapor in the air.

“Shelby!”

His voice echoed eerily.

“Honey, I’m home.” Like the father in Leave It To Beaver, an icon from way before his time.

He took the stairs two at a time, rammed his hip into the newel post at the top, and crashed into the doorjamb as he went into her bedroom. “Shelby?”

He fumbled to her bedside, felt around the covers, but the bed was made. And empty. The nightlight in the bathroom was out. He flipped the switch. Nothing happened. He checked the phone. Dead again. No fire in the hearth. No glowing embers. He searched the bedside table with his hands, found the lamp and the matches, lit it. A crust had covered the fire’s embers as they’d died and cooled. She hadn’t fed it after he left. Even here, in her room, he could see his own breath.

He tamped down the panic as he dashed down the stairs once more and along the corridor to the kitchen. It was as cold and silent and empty as the rest of the house.

Jesus, where are you? Please be all right. Dear God, please be all right.

He wasn’t a praying man, but he prayed as he took the stairs yet another time. In the nursery, he fumbled at the door to the playroom. The damp and the cold made it stick. In another second, he would have beaten it down with his fists, but it finally gave.

She was in the same chair he’d found her in that last night. Legs curled beneath her, feet tucked in, she wore only her pink robe. A blanket lay beside the chair, but she hadn’t covered herself.

“Shelby?” He touched her cheek. Her cold, cold cheek. Her hair hung in limp strands across a face marred by dry, cracked lips and red nose.

Jesus, oh, Jesus, she was dead. She was gone. He’d left her, and she hadn’t survived. Jesus. He should have taken her with him. He should never have left. He should have—

A light puff of air from her lips vaporized in the cold room.

“Shelby?” He wanted to shake her. Instead, he gathered her cold body into his arms and hugged her to him, rocking her. “Dear God, thank you.”

Cradling her in his arms, he grappled with the lamp. He accidentally banged her feet into the wall, but he got her back to her room. Managing to set the lamp down without either knocking it over or dropping her, he pushed the bedclothes aside and placed her between the sheets. Before he covered her again, he removed her robe. In the bathroom, he wet a washcloth, using it to soothe her face, moisten her lips, and dribble water into her mouth.

She hadn’t moved, but when he felt her throat, he detected a thin pulse.

He jabbed at the hard crust of embers, then piled on two logs and some kindling. He’d never been a Boy Scout, but he did get a fire going. With one last touch to her face, he picked up the lamp and headed for the kitchen.

She’d had little to eat or drink since he’d left, if her dried lips meant anything. Remembering how Shelby lit the stove that last morning, he managed to start it and set the kettle to boil. He opened and closed cupboards until he found a soup mix. All it required was water. He readied two mugs.

The soup made, he put the cups on a plate in lieu of a tray and climbed the stairs once more. The room was infinitely warmer, the blaze in the fireplace doing an excellent job.

Crawling on the bed beside her, he slipped an arm beneath her head and lifted her. “Come on, baby, drink this,” he urged, holding the mug to her lips. He’d cooled it with tepid water from the sink so that she wouldn’t burn her tongue.

She opened neither her eyes nor her lips. He didn’t know how to reach her. And if he didn’t do something soon, he feared she wouldn’t make it through the night, let alone the rest of the day.

Maybe a little tough love was what she needed. “Listen. I’m not going to put up with this shit. Open your fucking mouth and drink this fucking soup or I will fucking pour it down your throat for you.”

She murmured. He almost cried. Then she opened her lips and tested with her tongue. He angled the cup to give her small sips.

“That’s it, baby, come on. Just a little more.”

In the end, he got half the mug down her. It was enough for now. Her eyes fluttered open. Dazed at first, she finally focussed on him.

“Dex.” Her voice cracked. He soothed her neck with his fingers. “You came back.”

“I told you I would.”

“I thought...once you got your story...and you got back to your life in L.A...”

“That I’d change my mind? No way. I’m not leaving you again.”

She traced his bottom lip with her fingertip. “But I don’t think I can ever leave here, Dex. I’m afraid.”

“We’ll take it one day at a time, baby. You’ll leave when you’re ready. But I’m not going anywhere without you ever again.” He lifted the mug once more to her lips. “I don’t trust you to eat enough when I’m gone. Here, have some more.”

She finished the whole mug, then held onto his wrist. “I love you, Dex. I didn’t say that before you left. I should have.”

He tunneled a hand beneath her hair and held her close. “You didn’t have to tell me, Shelby, I knew. I wish you’d believed me.”

“I will,” she said. “I promise I will from now on.”

---

And you have it, Chapter 11! One more chapter next week! Beauty or the Bitch is already available, so if you want to read the full e-book all at once, here’s where you can get it: Amazon B&N Smashwords.

Beauty or the Bitch Chapter Ten!

2011-11-07T05:00:00.000-08:00

Oh my gosh, can you believe it! Halloween is over and the Christmas stuff is coming out in the stores!

And now for Chapter 10 of Beauty or the Bitch!
Copyright Jasmine Haynes 2011

Reporter Dexter King is about to get the story of a lifetime. Shelby Stewart was the hottest rising star in Hollywood until suddenly, she was cursed. Retreating to her mountain hideaway, far from that fairy tale life, she hasn’t been seen in ten years. Now Dex will ferret out the truth behind her fall from Hollywood grace. But will he find a beauty? Or a bitch?

Chapter Ten

Eden Alexander opened the door wearing a turquoise pantsuit that gloved her still-trim figure. She had the body of a woman fifteen years younger than the fifty-five he knew her to be. Her skin glowed, a flawless make-up job concealed any imperfections age might have wrought, and her auburn hair sparkled in the light from the chandelier above her. Eden did not need to hide beneath muted lighting.

Five days ago, Dex would have been enchanted. Now, he merely wanted the story done so he could get back to Shelby. He’d left her alone almost two days. Two days was too long. His bag already lay in the trunk of the rental car.

“Mr. King, thank you for coming.” Five days ago, that melodious voice would have struck a chord deep inside him, reminding of the hours he’d spent in darkened theaters listening to her.

Now, he thought only of Shelby’s cries as she came undone in his arms.

Eden waved a hand. “Come in. I’ve made us some tea. I hope you like tea. If not, I can have coffee made instead. Or perhaps you’d like something stronger? Brandy?”

They stood in the large foyer, the light dancing across the cream walls. He wanted to bring back the light to Shelby’s front hall, to Shelby’s life. “Tea’s fine, thanks.”

“Well. Well, good. Let’s...ah...get started then. This way.” She extended one elegant jeweled hand for him to precede her. Her fingers trembled. She’d stumbled over her words. Eden was nervous. She’d granted the interview—requested it actually—but her nerves seemed to overcome her.

In the room she directed him to, a tray filled with fragile teacups and a dainty pot sat in the center of a glass table. Steam drifted from the spout. Dex took a seat in a spindly, uncomfortable antique, forced to sit on the edge in case his weight crushed the legs. Eden perched at the edge of hers and lifted the teapot.

“Cream and sugar?”

He hated tea. “Just sugar.”

“I prefer it the way the British do. Sweet and milky.” Very milky, he noted.

She handed him a cup he was afraid would break in a clumsy grip. She sipped, closed her eyes, savored, like a woman enjoying an orgasm. Or one trying to calm herself.

Then she took a deep breath and set the cup back in its saucer. “So you’ve spoken to Shelby.”

“Yes.” He waited for her next comment. Allowing the subject to do the talking and saying as little as possible sometimes drew them out. And sometimes not. But Eden Alexander hadn’t called him over here in the middle of the night because she didn’t want to talk.

“Mr. Blevins faxed me your story.”

He didn’t make a single movement that would betray his surprise. “Oh?”

“Yes. That was part of our arrangement. I got to see what you wrote.”

He put his own untouched cup on the table. Awkward and tense, he was going to break it if he kept on holding it. “What exactly was the arrangement?”

She fluttered a hand. “Just that Mr. Blevins would find someone persistent enough to get into Shelby’s house, and that I would see the story before it went out to the public. If he didn’t agree, I’d give my exclusive to another magazine.” She didn’t look him in the eye.

Shit, he’d known Blevins had an agenda. Why not just spell it out in the beginning? “Why would you do that, Miss Alexander?” Why would she care?

“You’ll know that once we finish our interview.”

He knew Shelby and Eden had once known each other. But what the hell was going on? “Then, by all means, let’s get started.”

“Did you bring a tape recorder?”

“Yes.”

“Then we should use that. I don’t want you to get distracted trying to take notes.”

He picked up the briefcase he’d set down by the side of the chair and took out his digital recorder.

“I’m going to tell you my story. You can ask questions to clarify anything you don’t understand, but let me finish before you ask anything else. Afterwards, I’ll answer whatever you want to know. Does that sound equitable?”

“Very equitable.” What the hell was the woman up to?

“Well then.” She fluttered, her gaze flashing around the room, then she settled back into the delicate chair. Dex moved the recorder closer to her. “I introduced Shelby to David Hume,” she said.

His gut clenched. If the man were still alive, Dex would gladly have beaten him to a bloody pulp.

“At one time, David and I were lovers. But that...ended.”

Dex noted the slight pause.

“Shelby needed a mentor. That was David’s...expertise.”

Again, he noted the pause. And the way her gaze dropped to her clasped hands. He wouldn’t forget the small details when it came time to write her story.

“I believed Shelby needed that. She had so little confidence in herself, her acting, her own special beauty. She was the ugly duckling who turned into the swan, but never learned to be the swan. Inside, she always remained the ugly duckling.”

He remembered Shelby’s lack of mirrors. Even in the bathroom. Even now, Shelby was unable to look at herself.

“I loved her so much. She was like the sister I never had. I wanted her to have everything. And David helped her. I knew he would. You could see the difference. Her acting before was...hesitant. After...I never saw Shelby in those characters, only the characters themselves.” Eden closed her eyes as if remembering Shelby up on the screen. “She could play the innocent ingenue, the bitch, the drug addict, even an old woman.” Focusing on Dex once more, she met his gaze straight on. “David taught her to believe in herself. I was grateful to him for that.”

Eden stopped, fortified herself with another sip of tea, giving Dex the sense that the meat of her story was about to come.

“But she never should have fallen in love with him. He loved women too much, all women. I don’t think she could handle it when he paid anyone else attention. She never said anything, not to me, and certainly not to him, but...I saw the change. If I hadn’t known her as well as I did, I would have thought she’d gotten hooked on uppers. She had this sort of...” She stopped, waved her hand in the air as if searching for the word. “...manic look in her eye. She fluttered and flitted, like a hummingbird that has to keep beating its wings to stay alive. She hated going on location because she had to leave him. She picked fights with everyone. No one did anything right. And if David came to the set?” She rolled her eyes. “I tried to talk to her, tried to tell her, God, I don’t know, something to make her feel better. But she’d just deny she was worried about anything.”

She stopped again, stared at the bank of windows, or maybe off into space.

“Then something happened. Something awful. She’d been on location, but when she got back, she wouldn’t take my calls anymore. I don’t think she took anybody’s calls. Her career started to fall apart. No one wanted her, everyone whispered that she was having a nervous breakdown.” Eden closed her eyes again, her nostrils flaring slightly with the breath she drew in. “One day, I heard she was gone. I haven’t seen her since.”

“And now, since you’ve read her story, you know exactly why she left. I don’t think you can blame her, can you?”

“Yes. I know.” She shook her head, eyes remaining closed. “And you’re right, I can’t blame her.”

“But Miss Alexander, I don’t see why you called me here tonight. I don’t even see why you wanted to do this interview at all.”

She opened her eyes, slowly, like someone waking from a long sleep. “Don’t you?”

He cocked his head in question.

“I knew why she left long before you ever wrote that article. I knew it ten years ago.”

“But you said she wouldn’t take your calls.”

“David told me.”

His heart started to pound. For a moment, the woman’s eyes looked akin to the dead eyes of the child Shelby keep seeing in her mind. “He told you she’d found him with—”

“With eight-year-old Cynthia Martin.”

“And what he was doing to her?”

“He didn’t have to tell me that. I knew. You see, I’d found him in precisely the same...situation three years before that. With...someone else.”

Jesus fucking Christ. “You knew he abused little girls?”

She rolled her lips together, smudging her lipstick. “He told me it was only that one time. That it was a terrible mistake. That he was going to seek treatment, and it would never happen again.”

“And you believed that monster?”

She bowed her head. “I wanted to believe him. I needed to believe him.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He balled his hands into fists, fought the rage in his heart and the bile rising in his throat. “You stayed with him, even after that?”

“Yes.” She let out the breath she’d been holding. “Two more years. It never happened again.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I didn’t come home unexpectedly. I always called him to make sure he knew when I’d arrive.”

“In other words, you gave him time to cover his fucking ass.”

Her chest shuddered with the breath she took. “Yes.”

The only things he wanted to say to this woman were not repeatable. But before he ripped her to shreds, he wanted the rest of her story. He had to have it, for Shelby. “So you left him after two years?”

“No. I introduced him to Shelby. I knew the moment he set eyes on her that I had been replaced.”

“And you didn’t care, did you? You thought that saved you?” Christ, he wanted to smash something. She’d pimped for Hume, sold Shelby to him.

“No. I truly had convinced myself that what I saw was just an aberration. I remembered all the wonderful things he’d done for me, for my career. I wanted that for Shelby. I knew David could make her a star. She deserved it. She was good enough for it.”

“But you didn’t tell her, did you?”

She bowed her head once more.

“Look at me and tell me.” He clenched his teeth painfully to hold in the real words he wanted to say.

When she met his gaze, tears shimmered in her eyes. But Dex was immune. He stared, hard, forced her to answer. “No. I didn’t tell her,” she said softly.

“Do you know what you did? Do you have any idea?” He thought of the broken-down woman hiding in her house in the mountains, of the ten years she’d lost, the life she’d lost. All because this woman hadn’t told her the truth.

“Yes, Mr. King. I know exactly what I did. I have lived with that for a long time.”

He snorted.

“I don’t expect you to understand. I don’t even want you to understand. I just want you to tell it.”

He asked her the same thing he’d asked Shelby as she sat in her shrine. “Why?”

“Because Shelby needs to know. You’re the only way I have of telling her.”

“You could just drive up there and spill your guts.”

“No. It has to be this way.”

“Going public?”

“There’s more, Mr. King. I won’t ask you not to judge me. You already have. You should. But you need to know everything.”

“It’s not going to change my mind.”

“No, it’ll make you think even worse of me. But you can’t possibly blame me more than I blame myself.”

“Spare me the drama. Just tell me the rest.” God, he’d revered this woman. But she’d led Shelby to David Hume like a lamb to the slaughter. She’d allowed that monster to touch another child. Her best friend and an innocent child.

What could she tell him that would be worse?

---

And there’s Chapter 10! Only two more chapters left! Beauty or the Bitch is already available, so if you want to read the full e-book all at once, here’s where you can get it: Amazon B&N Smashwords.

Just a reminder from last week! What Happens After Dark, Book 2 in the DeKnight series. You can read an excerpt on my website bookshelf, plus last week’s blog had a different excerpt.

What Happens After Dark by Jasmine Haynes

2011-10-31T05:00:00.000-07:00

Happy Halloween!

What Happens After Dark comes out tomorrow, Nov 1, 2011! The second book in my sexy, emotional DeKnight trilogy, the series continues with the characters from Past Midnight, this time giving you Bree Mason’s tale (the accountant). What Happens After Dark is a dark story seething with emotion, about love, sex, life, death, illness, and tragedy. Yeah, yeah, I know the stereotype about accountants, but really, they aren’t all boring!! But they certainly aren’t all nice either!

As with all fiction books, this is make-believe; still, a writer can’t help but put bits and pieces from his or her own experience. That’s what makes every story different despite common themes, because we bring pieces of ourselves into everything we write. In this book, you’ll meet a character named Marbury, an awful man. Here’s where I blended fiction with personal. Marbury is patterned after a boss I had several years ago. The incident I remember most from my brief time working for my personal “Marbury” (who shall remain unnamed) concerned a raise. I felt I deserved one. Don’t we all!? So I practiced what I wanted to say, enumerating all the reasons why I deserved it. I, of course, thought they were all very valid. I was as polite as could be, too, when I sat in the chair opposite him and gave him my prepared speech. Oh my God! He went ballistic. He called me a prostitute and some other horrible names. It was quite traumatic. But despite his blustering, I stuck to my guns. And I did get that raise. I was proud of myself for remaining steady in the face of his tirade. It had an added benefit, too! That experience helped me create Denton Marbury in Bree’s story. I hope you hate him as much as I did, LOL!

Here’s a blurb on What Happens After Dark, A DeKnight Novel, Book 2.

By day she’s a mild-mannered accountant.
After dark, she’s a willing slave to his wildest fantasies.

Bree Mason longs to be a successful career woman, but secrets keep her chained to the past, afraid to take that next step. And at night, her frustrations are released by the domineering Luke Raven, who gives her what she asks for and more in a sensuous game of master and slave…

But to take control of her life, Bree will have to look within and face the demons of her past. Luke knows the ins and outs of Bree’s body, knows what makes her gasp and sigh and beg. But now he’s willing to push their relationship to the limit—to stand by her side in the light of day and take the greatest risk of all…for love.

I’ve given you all an http://www.skullybuzz.com/newsite/books/bookwhathappensafterdark.html of the prologue on my website. But I thought I’d do something different for today, an excerpt featuring the above-mentioned Denton Marbury! You won’t find this anywhere else but on my blog (or in the book itself!).

What Happens After Dark
A DeKnight Novel, Book 2

The outer office consisted of Clarice seated at a very big desk with her computer monitor, keyboard, and phone all within reach, and a host of office machines lining the walls, including a combination printer with scanner, fax, and copier, a color printer for presentations, and of course a coffeemaker and large refrigerator. Denton Marbury was a large man.

The high-speed printer was spitting out documents while Clarice talked on the phone’s headset and tapped on the keyboard. She’d fashioned her honey blonde hair into a ponytail on the crown of her head. At close to fifty, she seemed a bit old for ponytails, but she’d once confided to Bree that a tight ponytail was cheaper for stretching out the wrinkles than cosmetic surgery. And it seemed to work for her.

She held up a finger to keep Bree for a moment, her polish the most amazing neon orange that actually seemed to glow. Marbury was closeted in his office. Whenever Bree had an appointment with him, he always made her wait, sometimes only a few minutes, but always long enough to show his superiority.

But with his office door closed, escape might very well be hers. Bree merely waggled the manila envelope of documents, mouthed “I’ll leave them,” then slid the package onto the edge of Clarice’s desk.

She almost made it out the door.

“Bree.” The deafening voice raised her hackles. Even when Denton Marbury was trying to whisper, he boomed. The sound matched his body. He was six-foot-three and wide like an ex-football player who’d stopped pumping iron long ago. Because he was tall, she didn’t think of him as fat; she wasn’t even sure he was, there was just so much meat to him. He wore a light brown shirt, brown tie, and brown pants, and all the unrelenting brown seemed to amplify the bulge of his belly.

Okay, if she had an appointment, he kept her waiting. But if she was trying to sneak in, he had some unnatural radar to catch her. He always had to get his pound of flesh, so to speak. “Mr. Marbury, I have to run. Erin needs me right back.”

“Why, I just talked to Erin and she said your father’s ill and you’re working half days.” He smiled. He had the square jaw, fleshy lips, and perpetual five o’clock shadow of the Fred Flintstone cartoon character. He held up his watch. “My understanding was you were on your way home.” He didn’t offer sympathy or condolences. Not that she’d have known what to say if he had.

She certainly shouldn’t have lied, though. She shouldn’t have offered an excuse at all. But he always made her feel as if she owed him something. “I have to run another errand for Erin, then I’m on my way home.”

“What do you have to do for her?”

Most people would never even ask the question. If you were making an excuse, they’d let you get away with it. Because really, what skin off their nose was it? It wasn’t his business anyway. But Denton Marbury always pushed her. He was a total asshole, and if she wasn’t so pathetic, she’d tell him so.

“Denton, Roger says he needs to talk to you.”

Marbury didn’t bother to glance at Clarice as he snapped out, “Tell him I’m busy.”

Clarice was silent a beat, then clucked her tongue. “He heard that, and he says that if you’re too busy to talk to him, he’s too busy to write you a check.”

Bree wondered why she couldn’t think of something pithy and brilliant like that to tell him when he was bullying her.

Marbury growled. “Fine. I’ll be there in a second.” Then he turned back to Bree. “We need to schedule a time to go over the documents.”

Bree wanted to say that they were self-explanatory. At least for anyone who knew accounting and did DKG’s taxes, but with certain people, it was just better to avoid confrontations. “Fine,” she told him. “I’ll look at my calendar when I get to work tomorrow.”

“Be sure to call me,” he said. Not okay, give me a call when it’s convenient or that’ll be good. No, he had to say it like she was a bimbo who would forget or simply ignore him.

Wouldn’t she just love to ignore him. “I will.” But gosh, with all the stress she was under, she was sure she’d promptly forget.

Behind him, Clarice shooed her away with a get-while-the-getting’s-good hand gesture. Bree was well aware that Clarice had come to the rescue with that phone call.

Leaving, she felt like a frightened mouse scurrying away from the cat with the huge claws. She didn’t know why she let Denton Marbury intimidate her. He wasn’t even that smart or great at tax work. She’d had to call him lots of times about errors she found in the tax forms when she reviewed them. He always managed to make it sound as if her work papers were at fault. Not. But she could never tell Erin. She didn’t want to be caught in the middle. Besides, it was humiliating to have to ask Erin to fight her battles.

---

I hope you enjoyed this little excerpt of What Happens After Dark. Next week I’ll be returning to give you Chapter 9 of Beauty or the Bitch. So be sure to come back!

Here’s a complete list of The DeKnight Novels in order:

Past Midnight
May 2011

What Happens After Dark
Nov 2011

The Principal's Office
February 2012

Ch 9 of Beauty or the Bitch!

2011-10-24T05:51:00.001-07:00

Great news, I’ve gotten the rights back to two of my past books I published with Harlequin as Jennifer Skully, Sex and the Serial Killer and Fool’s Gold. I’m going to retitle S&SK, calling it She’s Gotta Be Mine! So look for those in coming months!

Don’t miss the Nov 1 release of What Happens After Dark, Book 2 in the DeKnight series. I’ll be telling you more about this one next week, which means I’ll be skipping one week of Beauty or the Bitch.

And now for Chapter 9 of Beauty or the Bitch! Remember, you need to be over 18 to read this naughty tale!

Beauty or the Bitch
Copyright Jasmine Haynes 2011

Reporter Dexter King is about to get the story of a lifetime. Shelby Stewart was the hottest rising star in Hollywood until suddenly, she was cursed. Retreating to her mountain hideaway, far from that fairy tale life, she hasn’t been seen in ten years. Now Dex will ferret out the truth behind her fall from Hollywood grace. But will he find a beauty? Or a bitch?

Chapter Nine

She knew she must be hurting him. She’d practically tugged the hair from his scalp. “Now, please, I need you now.”

The second orgasm hadn’t quite subsided. She wanted him inside her before the feeling faded away. His lips came down on hers, and he entered her at the same time. She took his tongue and tasted herself. She took his hard cock and gloried in his fullness. He held her hips and pounded into her. It lacked gentleness, but it wasn’t gentle she wanted. She wanted his hunger. For her. She wanted to be wanted, needed, desired, reveled in. She wanted passion. Because you couldn’t find passion all by yourself. She wanted to remember the taste, texture, sound, and heat of his passion.

Her own musk filled her mouth as he kissed her. His fingers dug into her butt, and she knew his nails would leave marks. She wanted those marks to last an eternity. The carpet raked her back as his powerful thrusts drove her closer to the fire. He groaned, whispered words against her lips that she couldn’t understand. She held on with everything she had, her arms around his neck, her legs around his hips, and locked her mouth to his. She would remember this forever, replay it, savor it, and take it to her grave.

Her body swelled, heated, moistened. She lifted to bring her clitoris in contact with the rough hair at his groin. He plunged, and she clung. Until the throbbing took over, until she ground mindlessly against him, until colors and shapes exploded behind her eyelids and heat burst between her legs and his hot wet come pumped inside her.

Sated, they lay silent for a long time. She drank in the feel of his body. Then finally, she needed to tell him what he’d done for her. “That was the most perfect thing I’ve ever had.” She kissed him, then kept her cupped hand to his cheek. “Thank you.”

He nuzzled her nose. “Was it making love?”

“Yes. It was.” She’d never made love before in her life, never, she knew that now. She’d felt his love. And his forgiveness. But once he went back to his L.A. life, what had happened between them would lose its significance for him. Still, she would have this memory.

He wrapped his arms around her, pushing her head to his shoulder. “I won’t do that story, Shelby. I swear I won’t. Not now. I can’t.”

She sighed, snuggled closer. “Yes, you will,” she whispered to his throat. “Because I need you to.”

She could never forgive herself unless he wrote that story. And maybe not even then.

* * * * *

She cooked him breakfast, but she didn’t eat. Not even the piece of toast she’d made for herself.

He’d arranged for a tow truck and a rental car. He’d be leaving within the hour. “I’ll be back in four days, I promise.”

“I know,” she said, staring at the swirling milky coffee in her mug.

“We don’t need to do this.”

“We’ve been over all this. I trust you to write the truth. The truth is all I want. Don’t whitewash me or make it sound all noble or anything.”

“I won’t.” There was nothing to whitewash. She had been noble. And frightened and alone. He was going to make sure she never felt that way again. Whatever came of the story, he would protect her.

He took her hand, forcing it open, and laced his fingers through hers. “I’ll call. Answer the phone, okay?”

She smiled, wistfully, almost sadly. “How do you know I never answer the phone?”

“It’s obvious. But answer it for me. Promise.”

“I’ll answer. Unless the phones go out again.”

“They won’t.”

“I saw on the Internet that another storm’s coming. They might.”

He looked straight into her blue eyes, so blue they burned him. “I love you, Shelby.”

She squeezed his hand. “I know. That’s why you’re going to do this for me.”

“Yes. That’s the only reason I’m going to do it.”

* * * * *

“I can’t print that. We’ll get our balls sued to hell.”

“The guy’s dead. We’ve got Shelby Stewart’s permission.”

Baxter Blevins stared at the copy Dex had stayed up the entire night and most of the morning writing. He hadn’t slept since getting out of Shelby’s bed yesterday.

Setting his briefcase on the small conference table, Dex pulled out their agreement. “Complete editorial control, Baxter, over both interviews. That’s what’s in the contract you signed. Print it the way I wrote it, or I take my marbles and play elsewhere.”

Across the expanse of his oak desk, Blevins glared at him. “You’re a fucking bastard. You know that, Dex?”

“Yeah, I know it, Baxter. I also know you need this story on Shelby. I don’t why, and I don’t care why. But you’ll print what I wrote because you need it.”

“I could always get Pisquet to do the Eden interview, and he wouldn’t mind a little trip into the mountains to redo the Stewart thing.”

“She won’t talk to him. She’s done talking.”

“Why?” Blevins sneered. “Because you fucked it out of her?”

Dex shot out of his chair and grabbed Blevins by the knot in his ridiculous bow tie. “Don’t piss me off. She deserves more respect.” Then he let him go.

His almost-former boss straightened his tie, laughed, a hint of nervousness hitting a flat note. “Shit, just kidding, Dex. You always did know your way around the females. Fine, we’ll do it your way. But if anyone sues, I can bring out the contract, too, and prove you had final word.”

“Whatever.”

Dex packed up his briefcase and left. It was done. The story would appear in the same issue as Eden Alexander’s interview. Shelby would finally be free.

He’d called when he’d reached L.A. yesterday. She’d answered. He called her three more times last night and once this morning. All four times she’d answered, just as she’d promised. But Shelby on the phone was like talking to a mannequin. She just kept thanking him.

He wanted to get back. The storm the Internet predicted had hit. Shelby said it was a blizzard outside like the night he arrived. “I’ll be fine,” he could hear her saying again. “You need to get some rest. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Jesus, he did need that rest. He’d call her once more before he hit the rack, then he’d head out in the morning. No way was he waiting four fucking days. Eden Alexander could wait until he checked on Shelby. But sleep first. Because if he didn’t get a little shut-eye, he’d fly off the embankment just as he had the night he arrived at her house.

* * * * *

The phone rang well after midnight. Dex rolled out of bed, his knees hitting the floor hard, and reached for the phone.

“Hello?”

“Is this Dexter King?”

“Yeah.” A woman’s voice. Familiar, but, still groggy with sleep, he couldn’t place it.

“This is Eden Alexander.”

Holy shit. “Hi, Miss Alexander.” Jesus, that sounded stupid. He leaned back against the bed, cradling the receiver between his shoulder and ear.

“Mr. Blevins said you’d seen Shelby.”

“Yes, I have.”

“He also said you wrote a rather provocative story.”

He was sure that wasn’t the word Blevins had used. Inflammatory. Hairbrained. Something like that. “It’s the truth.”

“I’m glad. How is she?”

He cocked his head at a note in her voice. Tentative. Wistful. “I think she’s lonely.”

“But she did agree to talk with you.”

Agreed really didn’t describe it. So much more had played into it. “She did.”

“Do you think she’ll come down off the mountain now?”

“I don’t know.” But he was going to give it one hell of a college try.

“Mr. King, could you do my interview tonight?”

Tonight? It was almost one in the morning. “Ah, sure. I can be there in an hour.”

“Good. Just buzz at the gate, and someone will let you in.”

She hung up. Dex stared at the receiver. What’s up with that? She’d made it sound like her phone call and her request were nothing out of the ordinary. It was one-fricking-o’clock in the morning.

Dex rose, went into the bathroom, and turned on the shower. He’d gone to sleep a little after four yesterday afternoon. Surely those nine hours of rest would carry him through to make it back to Shelby’s later today. He’d leave right after he saw Eden Alexander. Depending how long that took, he could be at Shelby’s by noon.

Standing under the stinging shower spray, it hit him. The legendary Eden Alexander had just called him on the phone. He’d watched every one of her movies. He lusted after her as a horny teenager. He’d revered her class as an adult.

Yet he felt nothing more than curiosity. Shelby had taken up all the rest of his emotions.

---

And there’s Chapter 9! We’re winding down, folks! Next week I’ll be giving you an excerpt from What Happens After Dark, so Ch 10 will be up on Nov 7. Beauty or the Bitch is already available, so if you want to read the full e-book all at once, here’s where you can get it Amazon B&N Smashwords

And just a reminder from last week, the print version of Baby, I'll Find You by Jennifer Skully, is available! It's also on Amazon. Of course, you can get the e-book, amazon, , B&N, and Smashwords. You can also get the ebook on Apple and Sony.

Beauty or the Bitch! Chapter Eight!

2011-10-17T12:00:00.000-07:00

Thanks so much for joining me last week, Delilah! And congratulations to Emily Tardy on winning her prize, a $10 Amazon gift certificate.

The print version of Baby, I'll Find You by Jennifer Skully, is available! Of course, you can also get the e-book, Amazon, B&N, and Smashwords. You can also get the ebook on Apple and Sony.

And now for Chapter 8 of Beauty or the Bitch! Last time, Shelby had just revealed her terrible secret to Dex! And remember, you need to be over 18 to read this naughty tale!

Beauty or the Bitch
Copyright Jasmine Haynes 2011

Reporter Dexter King is about to get the story of a lifetime. Shelby Stewart was the hottest rising star in Hollywood until suddenly, she was cursed. Retreating to her mountain hideaway, far from that fairy tale life, she hasn’t been seen in ten years. Now Dex will ferret out the truth behind her fall from Hollywood grace. But will he find a beauty? Or a bitch?

Chapter Eight

He found her in the kitchen by the stove. She’d lit it, wrapped her robe around her, then slid down the front. Leaning against the metal for warmth, she hugged her knees to her chest.

Dex squatted beside her, not touching, but very there.

“Come to bed, Shelby.” He ran a finger down her cheek.

“In a little while.” She wanted to curl into his touch. “I’m sorry I was such a...bitch up there.”

“It was the only way you could get it out.”

That sweet understanding was almost her undoing. She wanted nothing more than to fling herself into his arms and feel safe, warm, and loved again. Not again. She’d never felt that way before, not ever, so there was no again about it. What she’d had with David was an illusion.

“It took a lot of courage to go to the police.”

“I know.” It was the other part that hadn’t taken courage, the hiding from what David was when her first plan didn’t work. “I’ll never forget her picture on the TV.” Most little kids wore smiles big enough to show the gaps in their teeth. But Cynthia didn’t smile. Her eyes hadn’t sparkled. “She was so little.”

She’d managed to forget most of what she’d seen in David’s bedroom that night. But she would never, ever forget Cynthia’s face on that TV screen.

Dex took her by the shoulders. “Come on, baby. Let’s go upstairs. I put more logs on the fire.”

More logs on the fire. The room would be toasty warm. Maybe he would make love to her again. Had he used that term, making love? Maybe not.

Making love was another of her fantasies. But just a fantasy.

She put a hand on his arm, digging her nails in. “Will you hold me until I fall asleep?”

“Yes, I’ll hold you.”

So she let him take her into his arms. For tomorrow, or the next day, he would be gone.

* * * * *

Dex didn’t know what woke him. Maybe it was the rising cold in the room as the fire died down. On her side, Shelby curled into him, her breath fanning his chest. Her gaunt face seemed almost peaceful in sleep, though he doubted she had ever felt truly peaceful in her entire life.

He eased away from her, and once outside the bed, pulled the comforter over her thin shoulders, his fingers brushing her warm flesh. Putting two more logs on the fire, he padded to the bathroom.

A nightlight burned in the socket, guiding his way.

A nightlight. Jesus. He flipped the bathroom switch, and the overhead light blazed. Christ. Staring at Shelby from the doorway, he picked up the phone on her nightstand. A dial tone buzzed in his ear.

No. It was too soon. Not yet. He wasn’t ready for the outside world. He needed time with her, time to convince her to leave this place with him.

He put the phone down, relieved himself in the bathroom, then climbed into the warm bed, pulling her close, back into his arms. She muttered something unintelligible and rubbed her nose against him. He hugged her fiercely despite the delicacy of her body. She wriggled her arms free and wrapped them around his neck, burying her face in his hair.

“Let me make love to you, Shelby.” Once more, God, before he had to leave.

She stilled in his arms. “Are you sure?”

He knew what she meant. Was he sure he still wanted her after the awful thing she’d revealed? He could tell her over and over that it wasn’t her fault, but he could prove it to her with his body, with his love. “Yes. I am so sure I want to make love with you.”

She sucked in two breaths, one quickly after the other, as if she stifled a sob. Then she kissed his ear. “I’d like that very much.”

He pulled back, took her face in his hands and stroked her lips with his tongue. She opened, taking him inside, playing with him, tasting him, moaning against his mouth.

“By the fire,” he said, pulling her from the bed. “I want you in the light and the heat of the fire.”

He laid her down against the carpet, the firelight caressing her belly and breasts, then came down beside her. “God, you are so beautiful.”

She turned away to stare at the flames.

“No. Don’t. Look at me.” He tilted her chin towards him. Moisture glistened in her eyes. He licked the corners, tasting her saltiness, her fear, her sadness. “You are beautiful. Believe that.”

He wanted to draw the sadness out of her, destroy it in the heat of the fire, in the heat they would make between them. He wanted to memorize every inch of her. He traced the lines of her cheekbones with his fingertips, the shell of her ear, the fine skin of her neck. Leaving her mouth, he buried his tongue in the hollow at the base of her throat, trailing along her collar bone. She was so thin, so fragile. He dipped into every indentation. He teased her arm with his teeth, licked the sensitive crease at her elbow until she squirmed.

“Dex, please, make love to me.”

“I am making love to you,” he whispered against the flesh at her wrist. “It’s gotta be slow this time. It has to last forever.” Just the way he’d promised her earlier.

She sighed and relaxed, turning slightly toward him.

He kissed his way across her palm, then sucked her index finger into his mouth, mimicking the movements of that glorious blow job she’d given him the night before. He repeated with each finger, then crawled across her body and worked his way back up her other arm. Her soft sighs and gentle moans made him hard, but he wouldn’t take his own satisfaction until he’d exhausted her with orgasm overload.

He tasted the sweetly scented skin above her breasts, feeling every bone through her flesh. He could count her ribs with his fingertips. If he pressed too hard, she might break. But Shelby needed his loving. He took the rosy peak of her breast in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the beaded nipple. She arched, tossed her head, then put a hand in his hair and pulled. The slight pain shivered through his body to the tip of his cock. Christ. He blew a breath on her hot, wet nipple, then dragged in air to hold himself in check.

“Dex, please.” She alternately pulled and pushed at him. He wanted to bring her higher, make her fly, keep her up there on that ridge of desire until she was mindless.

He sucked her other nipple and played with her belly button, then teased the fringe of curls at the juncture of her thighs. “Is this where you want me?”

She moaned. “Yes. Oh yes, please.”

He moved down her body, his tongue and lips glued to her as he traversed her belly, her prominent hipbones, the joint where hip met leg. She wriggled beneath him, trying to direct him. He held her still and moved on to the creamy flesh of her thighs. His hair brushed the silky curls, and she opened her legs. He licked down the sensitive inner thigh, reached her knee, and tilted it to the find the hollow beneath. Her whole body quivered. God, she had sensitive skin. Her tremble only heightened his own needs. He took her calf, her ankle, her feet, and finally her toes. She quaked and laughed and tried to crawl away from him. He dragged her back.

“But that tickles.”

“A good tickle or a bad one?”

Pushing herself up on one elbow, she looked down the length of her body to where he lay at her feet. “Good,” she whispered.

“Then don’t tell me to stop.”

“But I want—”

“So do I. But we both have to wait.”

She threw herself back against the carpet, an arm across her eyes. “I think I might actually come before you even get back up there.”

“That’s fine.” He licked the arch of her foot, then sucked her big toe.

Her back bowed off the carpet, and she pressed her thighs together as she let out a long low moan.

“Was that what I thought it was?” he asked as she subsided back against the carpet, moisture between her thighs glistening in the firelight.

She laughed with a hitch, an uneven, almost embarrassed sound, then covered her mouth. “Yes.”

“Wow. That was beautiful.”

She put her hand over her eyes. “Dex.”

He worked his palms up her legs, stopping at her knees for a moment. “I mean it. I never made anyone come like that before. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

She rolled her head, buried her face in the carpet.

“You’re not embarrassed, are you?” He climbed the rest of the way up her thighs, hovering over that sweet place between, inhaling her tantalizing scent. She hadn’t answered. “God, I loved it,” he said. “Don’t be embarrassed. I want you to do it again.”

She looked at him. “It’s your turn this time.”

He wagged a finger at her. “I haven’t tasted you yet.”

“You’ve tasted just about every square inch.”

He put his palm to her, slipping a finger between her folds. “I haven’t tasted here yet. The other stuff was the appetizer.”

She closed her eyes, bit down on her lip. “Taste me, Dex, please taste me. I think I’ll die if you don’t.”

“Anything you want, baby.” He pushed her thighs apart, crawled between them, and settled his mouth on her clitoris. She rocked. He tasted, drank, licked, sucked, and nibbled. Then he eased two fingers into her and gave her dual action. She moaned, writhing against his mouth. He held her down with the flat of his hand on her abdomen. Her belly quivered beneath his touch, and he knew the first orgasm would be nothing compared to this one. Her hands clutched at her breasts. She pinched her nipples, something he was sure she wasn’t even aware of.

Then she screamed. She grabbed his head and bucked against him. He held her to his tongue, wanting, needing every one of those gasps, moans, screams, and quakes of her body. Her taste filled his mouth, he lapped at the cream.

If he could have given her another, he would have, but Dex needed to be inside her. Needed to bury himself in her sweet body. Needed to fill her up.

He’d sell his soul to make her feel whole again.

---

And there’s Chapter 8! More to come next week! Beauty or the Bitch is already available, so if you want to read the full e-book all at once, here’s where you can get it Amazon B&N Smashwords

Please welcome Delilah Devlin!

2011-10-11T09:05:00.000-07:00

Thanks so much for joining us, Delilah. It's a pleasure to have you!

Here's the latest skinny on Delilah's new book, Enslaved by a Viking. Read on to the end to hear about the prize Delilah is offering and how you can win it!

Twenty lusty Vikings, captured and enslaved for the pleasure of the women of a more advanced world—this novel has it all—passion, danger, the spectacle of the gladiators’ arena. Most of all, it’s the story of two people from two very different worlds who clash, then join together in a turbulent, romantic journey that spans a galaxy.

That’s how I’d describe my latest full-length novel. Why Vikings? Sure, they were rude, crude, and violent. What’s not to love? They were also extremely loyal to family and clan, which is at the center of this novel. On New Iceland, the place my Vikings wound up after making the mistake of accepting an invitation to Asgard from the “gods”, they’ve thrived despite the inhospitable conditions. Another human race on the far side of the universe thought this uneducated bunch of barbarians would be easy to keep enslaved and working to mine the richest energy source in their galaxy. However, these barbarians aren’t easily subdued. They own their planet now. When the others decide to snatch the most virile males, they don’t take it lightly. They hijack space ships and follow. The first book, Ravished by a Viking, describes that first hijacking and ends in a glorious battle with ice dragons. This book has its own savagely beautiful battle, plus the added bonus of watching those virile Vikings play at being sex thralls. Interested now? I hope so. I love these guys and can’t wait to write more stories in my far-away galaxy.

His suffering…

Though proud and strong, Eirik, heir to the Ulfhednars kingdom, found himself seduced and taken from his homeworld by a bounty-hunting vixen, who sold him into slavery. Purchased by a wealthy, Consortium-backed brothel, he is kept at a heavily guarded and secure breeding facility, where he is forced to feed the lustful whims of Helios’s elite at night. He bides his time, waiting for a chance to escape and get his revenge on the woman who betrayed him…

Her satisfaction…

Once a sex thrall, Fatin earned her freedom through service. Now, as a bounty hunter, she is determined to earn enough to buy her sister’s papers from the same brothel she escaped. For this, she abducts a brutishly handsome, breed-worthy specimen from the Viking planet and delivers him to auction. But her desire for justice and his desire for freedom may consume both of them in a passion neither wanted—or can resist.

“This is an exhilarating BDSM (and more) romantic science fiction… With a strong cast made up of several races and a lead couple in love and distrust, readers will appreciate Enslaved by a Viking in outer space.”
~5 Stars, Harriet Klausner, Genre Go Round

"This lusty novel has components of BDSM, scorching sex and the element of surprise. There is clever worldbuilding and tight plotting, with a great cast of characters..."
~4 Stars, RT Books Reviews

Link to excerpt and BUY links: http://www.delilahdevlin.com/books/enslaved-by-a-viking/

Delilah is offering a $10 Amazon.com gift certificate to one lucky person who leaves a comment on this blog. Please leave your email, too, so we can contact you. We'll be choosing the winner on Sunday, Oct 16th. Be sure to pop over to read Delilah's excerpt! It's great!

And be sure to drop by next Monday when I'll be continuing my free erotic read, Beauty or the Bitch. For those of you who missed it, Chapter One started on Aug 22nd. Catch up and tune in for Chapter Eight next Monday! If you don't want to wait for the ending, you can pick the e-book up at www.amazon.com/dp/B004UWPPWC

Ch 7 of Beauty or the Bitch!

2011-10-03T05:27:00.000-07:00

I just got back from Hawaii! We visited my in-laws and climbed Diamond Head four times! I also had a fantastic meeting with Kellie Chang’s Oahu readers group. They treated me like an honored guest. We had a wonderful afternoon tea at a little teahouse in Kailua, which is about half an hour outside of Honolulu, across the Pali Highway. I’ve never felt so special! They presented me with a gorgeous orchid lei and a beaded lei, both of which I’m wearing in this photo. Jan Takane made the beautiful beaded lei which matches my dress. Thank you, Jan! And what a beautiful gift bag they gave me! Ladies, thank you for such a wonderful and memorable afternoon! And special thanks to Kellie for arranging everything. She and I have been emailing for years and it was great to finally meet her. In the picture from left to right starting with those seated, Karen Wong, Janelle Wolf, me, Lyssa Moura, Kainani Enos-Peter, then standing, left to right, Ku’ulei Naniho, Wendy Sato, Jan Takane, Kellie Chang, Janis Honda (peaking over Kellie’s shoulder), Dayna Yasutake, Jeri Sato, Ann Bustillos. Thank you all for such a warm welcome.

A note for next Monday. We’ll be skipping a week of Beauty or the Bitch as I’ll be having Delilah Devlin as my special guest. So please stop by to welcome her and hear all about her new book.

And now for Chapter 7 of Beauty or the Bitch! And please be over 18 for this naughty read!

Beauty or the Bitch
Copyright Jasmine Haynes 2011

Reporter Dexter King is about to get the story of a lifetime. Shelby Stewart was the hottest rising star in Hollywood until suddenly, she was cursed. Retreating to her mountain hideaway, far from that fairy tale life, she hasn’t been seen in ten years. Now Dex will ferret out the truth behind her fall from Hollywood grace. But will he find a beauty? Or a bitch?

Chapter Seven

With a finger beneath her chin, Dex tipped her head up. Shelby stared at him from deep blue pools of anguish. “I don’t need to know,” he told her.

“I need to tell you.” A single tear escaped her eye and trickled into the hair at her temple.

Dex licked it away, her salt remaining on his tongue. “Then tell me, and let’s get over it.”

Silent for a long moment, he knew she was thinking there would be no getting over it. Ever. She’d spent ten years alone trying. And failed.

“But you’re not alone anymore, Shelby,” he said, as if she’d uttered those words aloud.

With a deep breath, and a sigh, she let it begin. “It was about a man.”

It always was. Though Dex remembered no rumors. “You were in love with him?”

“Yes. He was a powerful man. A producer. He knew so much I needed to learn.” She closed her eyes, nestled against him, her head on his shoulder, lips close to his chest, her warm breath caressing him. “He wanted to guide my career. He helped me get the best parts, the parts that really showed what I could do. Critics stopped calling me a bimbo. Meaty parts flowed my way. It was all so good. He was so very good to me. In every way. I felt cherished. He believed I was meant to be a star. A great star. We used to sit for hours talking about how it would be. That by the time I was thirty, people would be coming to me, begging me to be in their movie. I would be able to chose whatever I wanted. I would be whomever I wanted up on that screen, and no matter what I did, people would love me, adore me.”

She pulled back, touched two fingers to his chin, and searched his face. “I’d never felt that way before, never believed I could really make it happen.”

He kissed her forehead. “You were great, Shelby. Always.”

“But I needed him to keep telling me.” She burrowed back into his chest, her words a murmur he felt inside. “But the problem was I never did believe it. I was so afraid that the next one would be a total flop, and he would be disappointed in me.”

“If he loved you, he could never have been disappointed.”

“But I was never good enough, not then, not even before when I was modeling.”

He sensed she’d grown up not feeling good enough. It didn’t matter how beautiful she was; she’d never left that little girl behind.

“Sometimes, I’d shoot a scene that I knew was total crap, and I was terrified of what he’d say. So I did anything to make it look like someone else’s fault. It was the makeup or the co-star or the director or...it didn’t matter who as long as it wasn’t me.”

Hence the prima donna reputation.

“Everybody would placate me, because they were afraid, too. Afraid he’d believe what I said.” She put her arms around him, hugging him close. “I got a girl fired once. She wasn’t even important to the movie. Just a gopher. But I’d tripped, and I said she’d left—whatever the hell it was, I can’t even remember—I said she did it. They fired her. For weeks, I thought about how badly she might have needed that job. I tried to find her, to apologize, but I never did. I was awful to people, Dex.”

He stroked the back of her head, cuddled her close. She didn’t realize how truly simple and uncomplicated her story was. He’d be willing to bet that ninety percent of the people in Hollywood felt the same way, terrified that this movie was their last, terrified that someone would realize they weren’t worth even close to the thousands or the hundreds of thousands or the millions they were paid. The struggle to stay on top killed a lot of them, spiritually or physically, or both.

“If someone had offered me drugs, I would have taken them, anxiety pills, whatever. No one offered because he would have killed them. Not literally, but life as they knew it would have ended. But he was still so good to me. Really good. When he told me I needed to change something, he was so sweet about it. He never said it was my fault. But I knew it was.”

She fell silent, the moment lasting so long, he thought she’d fallen asleep, but then her eyelashes fluttered against his chest.

“What happened then?” He didn’t really need to ask. The man had gotten tired of his possession and cast her out, just the way Shelby’d feared. She’d believed in herself so little that failure had become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

“I walked in on him with an eight-year-old girl. Doing awful things to her.”

Holy Christ. Jesus. Dex’s heart stopped in his chest, then began a ferocious beat. A man who made his living with words, he suddenly had none.

Shelby paused, letting out her breath against his skin in a long sigh. “That poor girl. I’ll never forget her eyes when I turned on the light. I didn’t know a little kid’s eyes could look so...dead.” She shuddered against him. “The first thought I had was that he would throw me out now that I knew. I wasn’t supposed to be there. I was supposed to be on location. I’d disobeyed by flying home for the weekend.” Dex felt the battle her throat muscles waged even to swallow. “But he didn’t throw me out. He just hustled that little girl away and told me I hadn’t seen what I’d seen. That the girl had a nightmare and he was trying to comfort her.”

“Jesus, baby. I’m so sorry.” He’d imagined so many things, but never this. Pulling her flush against his body, he stroked her, gave her his heat. Still she shivered.

“The girl’s parents were at the other end of the house. I should have told them. But I didn’t.” Her voice rose to contain her tears. “I went back to my movie. But I kept thinking about that child. I kept thinking about that girl I got fired. I saw what horrible people we all were. What a horrible person I was. Sacrificing everyone else to save my career.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Just a movie career.”

Dex rocked her, absorbing her tremors, trying to feed her his warmth. He’d never felt so helpless in his life.

“He came to the set, after I got back from location. I looked in his eyes, and I swear, they were as dead as that little girl’s. I knew he’d done this before, that he’d do it again. Maybe he’d make sure I didn’t find out. But he’d never stop. He’d never stopped at anything in his life. We went home. We pretended.” She drew in a deep breath. It trembled out. “I even let him make love to me. But not in that same bed. He acted like it had never happened.”

He held her to him, wrapped his legs around her calves and his arms around her shoulders. “You don’t have to do this, Shelby. It’s over. You don’t have to relive it. I understand now why you came here. Leave it alone. It’s okay.”

He was the one who couldn’t stand anymore. Shelby pulled back, turning to capture his gaze, her eyes filled, tears staining her gaunt cheeks. “I’ve left it alone for too long. I need to tell you. I have to.”

She pulled free of him and sat up, turning her face to the fire. The light flickered across her breasts, her nearly concave abdomen. She wasn’t starving herself; she was fasting, praying for expiation. She’d been doing it for ten long years. Now he was her confessor.

“I left the next morning, after we had sex, and went to the police station. I told them what I’d seen. I gave them my lover’s name. I gave them the little girl’s name. And her address. Her parents came to the house often. They were good friends. I owed it to that little girl to let them know.” She drew in a breath, shifted away from him when she felt his movement toward her.

God, he needed to touch her, to help her. Yet all he could do was listen. Maybe that was the most important thing he could give.

“The next day the cops called and said they’d talked to the parents. They said I was lying. They’d spent the night, just like I said, but their little girl had slept with them in their bed. She’d never left. I told the cops he’d paid them off. They said there was nothing else they could do.” She wrapped her arms around her knees, hugged them to her chest. “But I knew the truth. Those people spent the night so that he could have their baby. They were just like me, doing anything they had to for their careers.”

“You aren’t like them, Shelby.”

She turned, leaned down, and shot him with the harpy voice. “I should have gone to the newspapers, the tabloids, the TV stations. I should have told everyone what he was.”

“But you didn’t have any proof.” Aching for her deep in his bones, his heart, he tried to touch her. She jerked away.

“Who needs proof? All you have to do is say it, and people believe. He would have had to stop.”

“Maybe he did stop.”

She looked at him, her eyes a frozen wasteland. “He didn’t stop. He would never stop. He did whatever he wanted. And he wanted to ruin my career. So he did. Just the way I’d always feared he would. I couldn’t get a movie. No, excuse me, there was one. So forgettable even I can’t remember the title.”

Dex couldn’t stand it anymore, couldn’t stand her living in that place again, even if it was only in her mind. He wanted, needed the midnight angel back. “Shelby, please, let it go. It’s long over.”

She tilted her chin up. “But you haven’t heard why I left.”

“You just told me. It’s all I need to know.” He would never write this story. He couldn’t. She wouldn’t survive it.

“I didn’t tell you what happened to the little girl.”

Jesus, God, no. He didn’t think he could take anymore. But he would, because she had to tell him.

“Her name was Cynthia. One day, less than a year after I last saw her, she got her fifteen minutes of fame. They found her in the bathroom at a mall in Beverly Hills. She’d slashed her wrists and bled into the toilet. She hadn’t even turned nine yet. Tell me, Dex, how does a little kid who isn’t even nine years old know the most effective way to slash her wrists?”

He couldn’t breathe, as if she’d punched him in the gut and taken his breath away. He reached for her, but she stood. Firelight traced her outline. She was the ice queen, the harpy of his nightmares, the prima donna who blamed everyone else.

But this time, she blamed herself.

“I left. I never went back. I never will. That place breeds monsters. That’s what all of us were.”

“Shelby.”

She held up a hand. “His name was David Hume.”

Jesus Christ. He knew the name. Everyone knew the name, and he felt the impossibility of it. David Hume, for God’s sake. No way. It couldn’t be. Yet he believed every word she’d said.

“He died three months ago. And I want you to write this story.”

He threw his legs over the edge of the bed and stood. “No.”

“You owe me this. I didn’t let you die on my front porch. I could have. But I dragged you inside, and I screamed and yelled at you to get you up those stairs, because I sure as hell couldn’t carry you.”

The harpy cussing at him in his dreams. He should have known she’d done it to save him.

But he still couldn’t do this to her. “Please don’t ask me.” They were dead, Hume, the girl, but Shelby was alive, and if he wrote her story, she may never leave this house again. She’d run from her memories ten long years ago, had tried to starve them from her body ever since. This story was her swan song. Once told, he feared no one would ever hear from her again. She would wither and die.

“I want you to tell everyone what we did. I don’t want there to be any documentaries on A&E or the Biography Channel glorifying David Hume or Shelby Stewart. I want everyone to know that we murdered Cynthia Martin, even if she took the razor blade to her own wrists.”

She left. Left him, the bed, the room, the fire, and the warmth he could have given her.

“You didn’t kill her,” he whispered. “You tried to save her.”

Her voice drifted in from the hall. “But I failed. And that’s just as bad.”

---

And there’s Chapter 7! Remember, next Monday, 10/10, is Delilah Devlin and Beauty or the Bitch will be back on Monday, 10/17.

And don’t forget about Baby, I’ll Find You by Jennifer Skully, available at Amazon, B&N, and Smashwords. You can also get the ebook on Apple and Sony. POD is coming soon!

Beauty or the Bitch Chapter Six!

2011-09-26T05:00:00.000-07:00

At last! Chapter Six of
Beauty or the Bitch. So, Dex was actually starting to feel a little sympathy for Shelby. What’s next?! It is a naughty story, so please be 18 so I don’t have to feel guilty about corrupting the youth.

Beauty or the Bitch
Copyright Jasmine Haynes 2011

Reporter Dexter King is about to get the story of a lifetime. Shelby Stewart was the hottest rising star in Hollywood until suddenly, she was cursed. Retreating to her mountain hideaway, far from that fairy tale life, she hasn’t been seen in ten years. Now Dex will ferret out the truth behind her fall from Hollywood grace. But will he find a beauty? Or a bitch?

Chapter Six

Shelby shivered on the hardwood floor by the window in one of the empty bedrooms until the murky light of the sun faded. She hadn’t gotten dressed, just tugged her robe tightly around her, trying to keep out the cold. When darkness came, it came deeply. The snow had stopped falling, but it would be another day, maybe two before the lights and phones were back.

Eden wanted to do an interview.

The implications were enormous. Because David Hume had died three months ago. She’d seen the obituary on the Internet. David. At one time, he’d been Eden’s lover. At the end, he’d been Shelby’s. Not his end, but hers.

The old pipes clanked along the floorboards. Dex was running the shower. The water would be almost cold by now, since the gas water heater wouldn’t be able to start up again until the electricity came on. She should get dressed, take a shower, something. But her clothes were in that room, and she couldn’t go in there. She’d have to look at the bed where she’d lain with him.

She sat there long after the shower stopped and her joints had stiffened with cold. Dex no longer moved about the bedroom, at least she couldn’t hear him.

Rising, the creak and pop of her body loud in the otherwise quiet room, she lit her lamp and padded downstairs to the kitchen. A glass of water didn’t quench her thirst. Nor did the second. She’d been thirsty and hungry all her life, had gotten used to it.

Dragging the huge old tub from the pantry, she set four large pots of water to boil and filled a quarter of the tub with cold water. Its sides had been worn smooth with the many bodies it had bathed. She’d found it in the old garage, scrubbed off the years of grime and rust and used it when the electricity failed. Sometimes she took it outside in the summertime, after the sun went down, loving the feel of fresh air and hot water on her skin. It would have been more practical to install a hot tub, but somehow the antique cleansed not only her body, but her soul.

Pouring the four boiling pots in, she filled them once more and set them back on the stove top, then sat by the tub, swirling her hands through the hot water, cooled to bearable by the cold water with which she’d started. When the pots hissed, she repeated the procedure. By the time the last four were added, the tub would be a hair short of scalding. Throwing her robe on the floor, she climbed in and pulled her knees to her chest. When she slid down, there was just enough room to wash her hair. After, she finger-combed the tangles and draped the tresses over the side to drip on the floor.

The last pots reached the boil. She stepped naked from the tub, filled, and then sank once more into its depths. Water almost sloshed over the sides. Steam rose in the cold kitchen air. But Shelby was warm and content.

Until she thought once again of David.

She’d loved him, God, how she’d loved him. At least she’d loved the man she thought him to be. She’d have done anything for him, did do anything for him.

Then her life fell apart at the seams. Even Eden couldn’t help her.

Dexter King wanted to know why she’d run away. She’d been so afraid to talk ten years ago. Maybe it was time now. David was gone. Eden was doing her own interview. Shelby didn’t necessarily want to tell the world, but she wanted to tell somebody. She wanted to tell Dex.

She’d lived with the burden of guilt for so long, if you could call hiding in this mausoleum living. Let Dex write it, let him tell the world, let her be judged. And be done with it all forever.

* * * * *

The door opened, letting in a rush of cold air that washed over him all the way in the bed. Her scent swept in with it. A clean fragrance, like soap or shampoo, but no less erotic than the sultriest of perfumes.

She entered the room naked, like a queen or a goddess or a virgin sacrifice. By the light of the fire, he could make out the protruding bones as they cast shadows over her body. Cheeks, collar bone, hips. She wasn’t beautiful. He wanted her anyway. No matter the harsh words in the kitchen, she was his midnight angel.

The nipples of her small breasts strained against the cold. Dex held the covers out. “Get in bed. You’ll freeze out there.”

She did, facing him and snapping the comforter down across her throat, trapping their body heat inside. “Touch me first, come inside me.”

“First?”

“Before I tell you.”

He skimmed a finger down her cheek. The firelight played with her hair, catching the strands and turning them golden. She arched to let him touch her neck, her lips plumping with need and pleasure.

“I’ll touch you and make you come whether you tell me your story or not.”

She kissed him, lightly, caressing his lower lip with the tip of her tongue. He was already hard. He could have taken her right then. He moved, sliding down to taste her neck, her cherry nipples, sucking on them like sweet fruit. Though he wanted to taste her pussy again, to give her ecstasy with his tongue, he returned to her lips, taking them, taking her. She moaned into his kiss.

“I want to watch you come,” he said, trailing his fingers over her small exquisite breasts to the quivering muscles of her stomach. He pushed the blankets aside so that he could see her perfect triangle of dark curls and his fingers as they dipped inside her. He brought her knee up, opening her to his gaze.

Then he stopped, looking at her, waiting for permission.

“Yes, please.”

Her entered the delicate lips, found her already wet. And hot. “Have you been fantasizing about this?”

She nodded. “I took a bath. I touched myself beneath the water. But I didn’t let myself come. I wanted that to happen with you.”

His cock leaped with the thought of her in warm water and bubbles, her hand between her legs, her head thrown back in abandon. He rubbed himself against her hip. “You better not tell me anymore or I won’t be able to hold out.”

“I don’t want you to hold out. Isn’t foreplay just for getting ready? Well, I’m ready.”

He kissed her, short and sweet. “No, foreplay isn’t just for getting ready. It’s to be savored all on its own. It can take hours, and the longer it goes on, the better the end can be.”

She raised both brows. “Hours?”

“Yeah, hours.” He pecked a kiss to her nose. “But don’t worry, I don’t think I’m up to taking hours to get inside you. Next time.”

She didn’t smile, and if she heard the promise in the words, she ignored it.

He slid from her warm channel to the little button just within the folds. She made a sound like a purr. “Does that feel good?” he whispered into her hair.

“Yes.”

He circled. “How good?”

“It feels like more than...”

“More than what?” He rubbed a little harder, sliding over the bud of her clitoris.

“Just more.”

He gave her more, gliding back and forth and around her clit, concentrating on just that one small spot until her body jerked and she gasped in a breath. Her lids closed. She sucked her lower lip between her teeth, biting down. Hips lifting to his touch, she begged him to ride her over the edge. She took a puckered nipple between her fingers and pinched. He bent his head and suckled the other. But not for long. He didn’t want to miss a moment of the beauty of pleasure filling out her cheeks and breathing life back into her.

She put her hand on his, showing him that she wanted faster, harder. Her moans filled the room, filled him. Then she flung back an arm, arched her sweet pussy into his hand and came. He didn’t stop touching, forcing her to climax again and again, until he was sure neither of them could tell where one ended and the next began.

Then he put two fingers deep inside her, her body swallowing him, and he could no longer hold back his own need.

Rolling on top of her, he found her, entered her, and thrust deep into her. His body fused to her at the hips, she came again with the friction of his pumping. With only three deep plunges, he lost it, coming hard inside her, bringing her off once more before he collapsed.

* * * * *

It took forever to come down, to breathe again. Shelby held him tight when he tried to roll off her. She didn’t want it to end, not yet. She wanted a few more minutes, to bask in the afterglow, to relish a man’s weight on her, to feel his skin beneath her fingers, and his roughened chin in the crook of her neck.

More memories to store for the long, lonely nights, like a squirrel hoarding nuts to get through the winter. For her, all seasons were winter.

Once he was gone...no, once he heard what she’d done, there would be no more memories to gather. At least, not any good ones.

When he finally pulled out of her, slipping to the side and tucking her to his body, she knew it was time to tell him her story. There would be no going back once he knew the truth.

---

And there’s Chapter 6! What!? What?! I hear you all screaming at me! Once again, I say tune in next week to find out!

Beauty or the Bitch is already available, so if you want to read the full e-book all at once, here’s where you can get it Amazon Nook Smashwords.

Please give a warm welcome to Cerise DeLand

2011-09-22T05:00:00.000-07:00

I have a special guest for you today, Cerise DeLand. She’s going to give you a delightful excerpt from her regency historical, Lady Starling’s Stockings. I love the book cover, very sexy! Enjoy the blurb and the excerpt!

Lady Solange Starling has a special skill. But catching spies within her cousin's embassy has never presented a challenge. Then one moonlit evening in a garden, Solange meets a daring man who once saved her from death~and stole her heart. A man, who even in his youth, carved his place in her life and her reverie.

Monsieur Noir, he calls himself. And so he is, a man living in shadows, dark and dangerous to all he encounters. Now he joins her to weed out the nemesis who attempts to thwart their fight against Napoleon. Together, Noir and Solange finally discover how rich grand passion can be.

But this time can they finally win against cruel fate to give them what they most desire? Each other. Free of torment and loss. Free at last to love.

LADY STARLING'S STOCKINGS, 99 Cents in Kindle http://tinyurl.com/3orc36e and AllRomanceebooks.com at http://tinyurl.com/3h2b4b3

A nibble of my newest cherry:
Excerpt, Copyright 2011, Cerise DeLand. All rights reserved.

Naples, Italy
Evening, October 5, 1815

The evening seemed eternal! Solange read Byron and fretted. Sent two hot bricks up to her maid Cora, brought low by the rain today to her bed in the upstairs servants’ quarters. Then she wrote to her Aunt Minette, James’s mother, and walked the floor. She even played a vicious and solitary game of chess and threw the board, pieces and all, across the room. Still, Noir did not come.

If she could not relieve herself from the anxiety of holding her secrets, she would look like the ravages of hell at breakfast. Why did he not appear? Her visit below stairs had been most profitable. Her visit with James, minutes later in his study, much more so. Noir must learn it all.

Yet, what detained him? Where are you, Etienne? Are you reluctant to come tonight? Afraid I might not welcome you? Or need you?

Clutching her dressing gown around her, she marched to her boudoir window three stories above the Via Espana. No one walked out at this small hour of the morning. The rain broke into torrents, lightning crashed and a downpour obscured the details of the other houses along the boulevard.

A sleek black coach trotted past her door, only to pause at the garden. Had a figure emerged from the cab? She wiped the moisture from the glass, but her vision became no clearer. Her hands upon the latch, she satisfied herself that her balcony doors were indeed unlocked and accessible from the garden terrace.

Climbing into her bed, she lay on her back, folded her hands like a day-old corpse and waited for Noir.

Many minutes later, she heard the latch on the French doors give and the pounding of the deluge become louder as someone entered from the balcony and shut out the sounds of the world. Exhausted but satisfied he had arrived, Solange called to him from the bed.

In the flashes of lightning, she watched his powerful silhouette stop and scan the room. “Do not stand there and drip on my carpet, mon cher.” She flung back her covers. “The night is ugly and we both need warmth.”

“Solange, no,” he murmured, pleading for reprieve from the intimacy she offered.

“Come, Noir. I will not leave this bed.”

Cursing, he divested himself of cloak, boots, coat and stock. Striding to her side, he slid in beside her. Once this close, she knew he would do as he had always done when this near to her. He encompassed her in his arms and she lifted her bare leg to curl around his hips and welcome him to her. He did not object, neither did he move.

“You are chilled,” she murmured, a frisson of delight traveling her spine.

“I am never ill.”

“How well I recall. You could eat nothing, hunt for game or scout for soldiers all day and never tire.”

“To weaken is to lose,” he told her, his lips to her forehead, his tone grim. “You went out with Giorgio today.”

“I did,” she offered simply, replaying the tone of Noir’s voice, listening for the jealousy she sought like a starving child.

“What did you learn?”

Her palm upon his chest, she caressed his well-hewn muscles. Then with an indifference she used like a knife, she said, “He wishes to have me as his own.”

Noir snorted. “Bastard. Of course he wants the lovely English woman. So does every man worth his salt in this city.”

Wondering if Noir would admit to counting himself among those men, she snuggled into him and kissed his throat. The aroma of his musk met her nostrils, the fragrance balm to her soul and spur to her desire.

He cupped her nape, holding her still. “You refused him?”

She sighed. “You and I both suspect him of treachery. We have tried to learn his actions and failed. It seems the best course. I concluded I should accept him.”

Noir pulled back, their gazes locked as the lightning struck to illuminate the room. “You do not wish the man.”

“I wish only to complete my work.”

Noir’s arms tightened. “Such sacrifice is not required.”

“Of course it is. You know it. Recount what you have lost since the Terror. Your entire family. Your lands and your–”

His body went rigid. “I did not relinquish those. They were taken from me.”

“And what do you sacrifice to gain any of it back?”

“Do I work for that?” he asked as if he had never before considered it.

“You live in the shadows,” she persisted. ”Running spies in foreign cities. How do you live? Where? Why have I not seen you–” she tempered her tones of sorrow, “–not seen you in years?” She pressed a tiny kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He flinched. “You have no idea what I have given to the cause of restoration of my rights.”

She heard the bitterness in his words. “I can imagine, mon cher. I can help you and you must not forbid it.”

“Not to give your body to a man who will not respect you! No!”

She tore from his grasp and rolled to her feet. Naked, she rejoiced when the storm obliged her with another bright strike of lightning. Noir drank her in, like wine for his soul. “You cannot stop me, Etienne.”

“Darling Solange, he is not worthy to touch you.” He sprang from the bed and came round to press her to the wall. “How can you expect me to sanction such an act?”

Her heart leaped at his words. Would that he could stop her and make her his alone. “We must learn who aids Murat in this house. Time grows short. If Murat invades and wins back Naples, Bonaparte can return to the Continent!”

“To hell with Bonaparte!” He took her by the shoulders. “The British sail him off to St. Helena.”

“He escaped them six months ago. He could again!”

“Never!” Noir gave her a shake. “I will not let you take that Italian crow to your bed!”

“You have no say!” she incited him, even as her body flooded with delight.

“I do! I have earned a say. Once, twice and now…”

“Now, what?” She wrenched to be free of him.

“After last night?”

At the memory of their passion, her heart raced. Her nipples hardened. Her pussy pounded, gushing with joy that he would recall them together on her bed. Still, she knew to provoke him or lose the moment. “We shared nothing!” she flung at him. You saw to it.

“We could not!”

“No? You left me wanting, needing–“ She pushed at him, all the hurt she’d experienced fueled her movements. “After all we are to each other and all these years of yearning, you left me, Etienne.”

He yanked her close. “How could I make love to you?”

“How could you not?” she demanded.

“I cannot have you!”

“Who forbids it?”

“My conscience! What if we loved and tomorrow escapes us?”

“Mon cher,” she mourned, “it always did.”

He stared at her, hunger and remorse in his stance and in his eyes, desire. “Why do you think I never came to you before this? Why do you think I ran a courier between us? Why?”

She raised her chin and arched her brows at him.

“I did not want to see you. Not face-to-face. I could not. From afar, I saw enough.” His face fell lax with sorrow. “You were so lovely. Yet you appeared so forlorn. Even as a debutante, you roused men. And as a bride to that idiot Starling, you dazzled. Other men spoke of you. Wished for you. Rejoiced when Starling died, thinking like fools they might attract you.”

“What could you care?” she tossed at him, needing his own declarations of desire.

“Care? I cared. I pined like a boy. Wanted you like a man.” He clamped her so close, she melted at the pressure of his cock against her belly. “As you grew older, after you were widowed, I knew your life and I knew if we met again what would happen between us.”

“Did you? Sure of your charms, are you?” she taunted him, roiled he had purposely stayed away and yet had longed for her.

He crushed her against him. This time, his cock rode her cleft and she whimpered. “No coyness for me, my pet. You and I came to care for each other long ago. When survival depended on trust and mutual responsibility.”

The proof of his desire was a torment and she undulated against him. “Still you deny us both any pleasure.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and cuddled so near she could be absorbed into his skin. “The finest bliss I ever knew was with you. The exhilaration of escape. The thrill of victory against all those hundreds who hunted us. The years between our meetings have been so fraught with the perils of ordinary living. And no affection. Or love. How can you refuse the opportunity to seize bliss?”

His expression, so bleak, so stern, shattered. “The devil knows. I do not.”

---

Hope you will read all of Solange and Noir’s story--and then try my other Regencies. See www.cerisedeland.com for a full list!

Ch 5, Beauty or the Bitch

2011-09-19T05:00:00.000-07:00

I’m doing a special double blog this week! Since Cerise DeLand was so nice to have me last week, I’ve invited her here to my blog this week. So I hope you’ll all stop by again on Thursday, 9/22, for an excerpt of Cerise’s latest!

And what you’ve been waiting for! Here’s Chapter Five of Beauty or the Bitch . Last week, Dex and Shelby were at each other’s throats. Let’s see if they both survive! It is a naughty story, so please be 18 so I don’t have to feel guilty about corrupting the youth.

Beauty or the Bitch
Copyright Jasmine Haynes 2011

Reporter Dexter King is about to get the story of a lifetime. Shelby Stewart was the hottest rising star in Hollywood until suddenly, she was cursed. Retreating to her mountain hideaway, far from that fairy tale life, she hasn’t been seen in ten years. Now Dex will ferret out the truth behind her fall from Hollywood grace. But will he find a beauty? Or a bitch?

Chapter Five

She had to get out of there, away from him. Before she did something desperate, like break down into tears. Shelby ran down the corridor, bumping into the wall, then dashed up the stairs to her only other hideaway in the house.

He’d seen her face, her horrible, ruined face. She’d tried to hide in the corner, out of the light, but he’d held it right up to her, shone it on her hideousness.

He didn’t even realize he’d made love to her last night. Okay, she hadn’t expected him to remember. But standing alone in the kitchen, coffee tantalizing her senses, she’d fantasized that in the light of day, he’d take her face in his big hands and tell her how beautiful she was. That he’d see what was on the inside and never notice the ravages on the outside.

She ran to the back of the house, to her special place, and slammed the door. He’d think she was mad, angry-mad or crazy-mad, either of which was good, squashing any ideas he might have entertained about following her.

It had once been the children’s playroom, off the nursery. The closed curtains shrouded the room in almost total darkness. But she knew it so well, three steps forward and two to the right, she’d find another lamp and a box of matches. The power went out often, and she was always prepared. She’d found the lamps on eBay, along with a good supply of the scented oil they used. eBay had saved her life many a time. She even ordered her groceries over the web.

The match flared, she lifted the glass, and lit the wick. Over the small vanity table hung a picture.

Of Shelby Stewart at twenty-five. Perpetually young. Perpetually beautiful.

Shelby, a very different Shelby from the one on the wall, wiped a dustcloth over the frame, then put the small square of material into the drawer. In the back of her mind, she knew it was sick to build a shrine to a woman who no longer existed. Especially when you’d once been that woman yourself.

Except she’d never really been Shelby Stewart. She’d been a frightened ugly teenager living inside a beauty’s body. She’d lived in terror that one day someone would figure it out.

And someone had.

So she’d built this room, and in it, she pretended that had never happened. She had the entire collection of her movies, all on DVD. Except for the last one, which never made it past late-night cable. She always critiqued herself when she watched, not a “you are so stupid” kind of critique but one where she gently directed the young woman on the screen to do this in a slightly different manner, tilt her head that way, or say the words with just a slight change in inflection that altered the meaning entirely, made it more poignant or more frightening, whatever the role called for. She became her own director, the kind she’d always dreamed of having. A Svengali with all the good stuff and none of the obsession.

Other pictures graced the walls and the tabletops. Some were stills taken by professionals, others were candid, at the beach, on the tennis court, playing dress-up before the Oscars. Shelby had always felt like she was playing at dress-up. Her friend Eden had taken that picture, laughing at the way Shelby stuck her butt out, put her hand on her hip and pretended she was smoking one of those long cigarettes like Marlena Dietrich. Then Shelby had painted a mustache above Eden’s lip. That picture sat next to the Marlena look-a-like.

She’d neither seen nor heard from Eden in over ten years. Sometimes she missed her. Eden was old enough to be her mother, but they’d been more like sisters. They’d always laughed when they were together. Eden was the only person she’d trusted with her little-girl fears and anxieties. Eden didn’t laugh at her, and Shelby had always believed that, deep down inside, Eden understood because she had those fears herself.

She sat down in her favorite chair with the padded ottoman in front. In this room, she’d rewritten her life, erased her mistakes. She’d been happy watching movies and reliving the good times. She’d been happy sitting at her state-of-the-art computer and surfing the web.

She’d been happy until the man came. She hadn’t asked his name. She’d made love to him, but she hadn’t even asked his name. She should have thought ahead to what would happen in the morning. Somehow, she’d just figured he’d do a fade-out or ride off into the sunset.

Instead, he’d held the light up to her face.

All she could do now was stay in this room until the phone and the lights came back on. And he left.

She was afraid, though, that just the few hours he’d been here had changed her life irrevocably. Again.

* * * * *

After scrounging some dry bread to fill his stomach and spending most of the morning in Shelby’s bedroom—and he did know this was her room—Dex was sure he’d go insane. He didn’t have his laptop, but he’d ransacked the desk and found a writing tablet and some pens. He wrote it all down, except for the part where he’d made love to a woman in the middle of the night who might or might not have been Shelby Stewart. He noted the décor of her bedroom, the rundown condition of everything in the house except the kitchen and this room, and a verbal picture of the woman he’d encountered downstairs.

He’d finished his notes over an hour ago and left to prowl the halls. But he’d seen neither hide nor hair of the harpy.

Dammit, he had a story to write, and the perfect situation in which to write it, snow-bound and stuck together. It would make great copy. He knew he could wheedle all of her secrets out of her. If he could find her.

She was somewhere on the second floor on the left side of the house, opposite to the kitchen. The slamming door had reverberated through the old building. He’d been back there, along the hallway, and into each room. All were empty, without any furnishings. But she was somewhere. Maybe there was a hidden room.

He held up the oil lamp, walking the corridor, looking for any strange moldings that would indicate a doorway he’d missed. He found nothing. He went into each of the rooms, repeated the same procedure as he worked his way back. Dammit, nothing. In the last room, he turned in a circle, confounded. She had to be here somewhere. Back out in the hall, he stood, looking first to the far end, then facing the window opening. The snow still fell, buying him time.

Then he picked up on something curious. Maybe it was only an illusion, but the bedroom he’d just stood in looked a helluva lot smaller than the length of the hallway. Poking his head in, he confirmed the notion. He moved beside the windows in the hall and looked over every inch of the wall. There was no opening. Back inside the room, he checked it once more. It should have been at least fifteen feet longer. But there was only a closet door at that end, and he’d already checked it.

Well, nothing like checking it twice. But inside, he found no secret doorway. On the outside of the closet again, he ran a hand along the wall, feeling for any suspicious indentations. He put his ear to the wood paneling, but heard nothing. Then he felt it, a small handle low on the wall, much lower than he would have expected. When at rest, it fell neatly into a slot, further disguised by the improper lighting. Pulling it up and twisting, a door suddenly opened in the wall.

The room beyond was almost pitch black, just a sliver of gray light pushing through the closed curtains at the window. For some odd reason, he felt like an invader taking over a place he would never really belong.

But he remembered the mission, the Eden Alexander interview, and what it would mean to his career.

She’d curled into a chair, her feet tucked beneath her, her face in complete shadow. He wondered how long she’d been sitting in the dark.

Setting the lamp on a small table by the door, he looked around the room, at least what he could make out in the poor light. Just as knick-knacks covered every flat surface in her bedroom, photos filled every space here. Photos of the starlet Shelby Stewart. He turned, backed into the room, Shelby’s face staring up at him with a myriad of expressions from laughter to grief to joy to despair. Shelby in every incarnation.

And nothing like the woman sitting in the chair. No one would have recognized her. He hadn’t, not until she told him her name, though he’d been in her house and slept in her bed.

“It’s a shrine,” she said. “To the woman who was me, but is no longer. Kind of frightening, isn’t it?”

Unbearably sad, is what he thought. “I’m going to open the curtains.”

She didn’t say anything, not yes, not no. He pushed back the plush velvet and let the light in. Her photographs covered the walls, too. DVDs, all with titles he recognized as hers, filled a shelf above the desk.

From the shadows of her chair, Shelby said, “I’m searching for something. I haven’t found it yet.”

Her lost youth? Or her lost beauty? She’d never find the former. And the latter? Not if she stayed in this room and this house. But maybe that was the plan.

“Who are you really?”

He’d already decided not to lie. “My name’s Dexter King. But you can call me Dex. I’m a reporter. I came to do a story on you.” She didn’t trust him now, but if she thought he was lying, she’d trust him even less.

She was silent a long moment. “Well, I think you’ve seen and heard enough to write your story.”

“I want—I mean, my readers want to know why you left Hollywood.”

“You already know that. My career tanked.”

Always tell the who, what, how, when, where, and why. That’s what he’d been taught in journalism school a long time ago. But sometimes one was more important than all the others. “Why?”

“You know that, too. You especially know that. Because I was a bitch. I didn’t take direction well. I was unreliable.”

Dex closed his eyes, drinking in the soft low voice of his dreams. Gone was the harpy, now he heard only the angel. “That’s the story I’ve been told. But you could clear up the misconceptions.”

“There were no misconceptions. That’s how I was.”

He knew there was more. Just as he knew his midnight angel and the harpy were one and the same. She was an actress now, perhaps a much better one than she’d been ten years ago. The harpy was just another variation on the prima donna theme. He wanted to find the real woman, the one he’d taken in his arms last night. “I don’t believe you. There’s another story, and that’s the one I want to write.”

“Why?” She turned his own question back on him.

Because he needed to know. He needed to. Not his readers. At this moment, he didn’t give a damn about his readers. The only way he’d get the truth from her was to give it in return. “My editor gave me a choice. Do this story on you, and he’ll give me another exclusive that I want very badly.”

“So I’m second fiddle.”

She wasn’t second to anything, not even herself. “It’s a good professional move for me.”

“It’s very important then? This other interview?”

“Yes.”

“With whom?”

“Eden Alexander.”

He thought she held her breath, was sure when he heard her long exhale. “I knew her.”

“I know.”

“And she wants you to interview her?”

“Not me specifically. But she’s granted the exclusive to my magazine.”

“Eden Alexander. She would make you a star in your field, especially if it’s an exclusive.”

“Yes.”

“And if you don’t do me, so to speak, you don’t get her either?”

He didn’t comment on her double entendre. The weariness in her voice stopped him. “That’s about the size of it.”

“So, I hold your career in the palm of my hand.”

“Yes, Shelby, you do.”

“Then I’ll have to be very careful with it, won’t I?”

She rose, brushed past him, the lingering scent of coffee still clinging to her hair, and left him alone in her shrine.

* * * * *

Dex didn’t see her for the rest of the day, nor did he go in search of her. She knew what he wanted; she’d either consent or not. And he was no longer sure he could write her story.

The pain in that room had been palpable. He ached to understand it, but he wasn’t sure he could do it justice. In that room, he felt he knew her inside and out. He’d held her in his arms last night, but in her small hidey-hole, he’d truly seen the thing she’d lost. Herself.

What do you do when you lose yourself? Life ends. Shelby was just marking time before her body succumbed. At 5’6”, he figured she couldn’t weigh more than ninety-five pounds, if that. This morning, she’d gone without leaving any evidence of a meal. He wondered how many days she went without eating. He wondered why she wasn’t dead already.

He might lose the Alexander interview, his career might tank, but he’d never lose himself over it. He would always find a way to start over, even if he had to write for some tabloid rag or choose another line of work. He’d never run away from life as Shelby had.

The question that burned inside him was why she’d done it.

---

And there’s Chapter 5! Hmm, so there is more to this Shelby story. Think Dex will learn the truth next week? Tune in to find out!

Beauty or the Bitch is already available, so if you want to read the full e-book all at once, here’s where you can get it: Amazon Nook Smashwords.

Chapter Four of BorB!

2011-09-12T05:00:00.000-07:00

Happy Monday! I want to invite you all to Cerise DeLand's Blog this Wednesday, 9/14, where I’ll be guest blogging about Baby, I'll Find You with her. Hope you’ll stop by!

And here’s Chapter Four of Beauty or the Bitch. Thanks, Rosemary! Previously, our heroine Shelby had a very nice time warming Dex up! I think he’ll live! Let’s find out what happens next. It is a naughty story, so please be 18 so I don’t have to feel guilty about corrupting the youth.

Beauty or the Bitch
Copyright Jasmine Haynes 2011

Reporter Dexter King is about to get the story of a lifetime. Shelby Stewart was the hottest rising star in Hollywood until suddenly, she was cursed. Retreating to her mountain hideaway, far from that fairy tale life, she hasn’t been seen in ten years. Now Dex will ferret out the truth behind her fall from Hollywood grace. But will he find a beauty? Or a bitch?

Chapter Four

He wasn’t dead. Dex didn’t feel all that great. His head ached, and his fingers were stiff, but he wasn’t dead, by any means. A soft, gray light shone through open curtains. A fire burned beneath the ornate mantel of the fireplace. Blankets and a comforter weighted down his body, providing warmth, but suffocating him. His clothes hung in various places in the definitely feminine room with its drape of red lace over the bedside lamp and little figurines on every available flat surface. Ceramic teapots, horses, dogs, vendors with balloons or flower baskets, women in long skirts and men in fancy pants. Firelight danced on the shiny exteriors.

All that prissy stuff made his eyeballs hurt. He threw the covers aside and sat for a minute on the edge of the bed as his head swam.

So, if he wasn’t dead—and he was naked—did that mean his midnight angel was real? Dex stood, swaying a little, his need to know greater than his lack of strength. His jeans were stiff but warm from the fire. He eased into his briefs, then the jeans, found his shirt on the bathroom doorjamb, and slipped the sweater on over it. With the movement, pain pulsed through his sternum. He’d slammed his ribs into the lower half of the steering wheel when he hit the tree. Which reminded him he’d hit his head, too. No wonder he had a headache. Following a splash of morning light through a window, he went into the bathroom to examine his forehead in the mirror. But nothing hung over the pedestal sink.

What kind of woman didn’t have a mirror in her bathroom?

A woman like his midnight angel who didn’t have to admire her looks.

He put a hand to his forehead and tested the skin. She’d covered the cut with a bandage. No sign of swelling beneath the thin plastic. Perhaps the extreme cold had acted like some weird compress. Or his angel had kissed it and made it better.

He sat on the edge of a dainty chair to put on his still damp shoes.

Pushing aside the lace under-curtain over the window, he surveyed the expanse of white. Though not falling as heavily as last night, the snow still piled up, flakes dancing in wispy arcs, but coming down steadily. He didn’t know how long it would take for the plows to get up this far, or even if someone would see his car down the embankment.

The interior of the bedroom had been toasty, but a blast of cold air swept in as he opened the door to an outer hallway. The house itself lay in darkness, a musty smell permeating the long corridor, the downstairs depths gloomy. He realized then that the power must be out. Only the bedroom retained any heat, and that only from the blazing fire.

The power must have gone out sometime after he’d found his way up the drive. He’d followed a light, followed it all the way from the main road, where he’d gone over the embankment, to the tangled, weed-choked garden in the center of the circular drive. There it had winked out.

That light had saved his life.

And somewhere in the house was the angel who had made love to him and brought him back from the brink of death. He had to find her. Gripping the banister, he took the stairs slowly, heading down into the dimness. No sound broke the silence except the ebb and flow of tree branches scraping the sides of the old house and the occasional scrabble of small clawed feet somewhere in the walls.

With light and voices and the echo of laughter, the place must have been magnificent. The front hall ceiling rose to the floor above, where an ornate chandelier dangled tear-drop crystals. Cleaned and lit up, it would have sparkled. As it was, the crystals appeared covered with years of grime. Dust layered the marble tops of three round half-tables against the walls. Dirt crusted the slate floor except in a wide stripe from the front door to the bottom of the stairs.

To his left, the hall opened into a large parlor or living room, its furniture covered with dingy sheets. Gray morning light spilled out at his feet. To his right lay a study of some sort, the walls filled with bookshelves, a desk to one side, and chairs in front of a cold, empty fireplace. At the back, beside the stairway, an open door led into a narrow hallway. Shivering in the damp cold, he headed that way, following another path worn through the dirt covering the floor.

The musty smell grew, as if the walls of the hall were streaked with mold, but beneath the odor lay the tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee. He followed the scent as he’d followed the light last night. He passed small empty rooms, the corridor jigged and jagged, and he was sure he was lost until suddenly he stepped through a door into a large room, windowless except for one opening above a sink. The kitchen.

The home of the rich coffee scent. His stomach gurgled. A round table and chairs sat beside him, near the door. A long stainless steel counter passed down the middle of the room, sink, butcher’s block, and cupboards to one side, refrigerator and freezer on the other. A large stove with a counter beside it filled the back wall.

His angel stood next to the ancient stove in the shadows cast by her oil lamp. Busying herself with a coffee cup, she hummed. The sound reached right up inside him, twisting around his heart, a pure, sweet tone filling him with her joyful melody.

The hem of her robe dragged on the floor, and the material engulfed her delicate frame. Her dark hair wasn’t as long as he’d thought, reaching just past her thin shoulders. Her body swayed to the rhythm of her humming.

The ache started in his fingertips, fingertips that wanted to touch her, in his lips that wanted to kiss, a mouth that wanted to taste her, and a cock that wanted to fill her again and again. Words failed him. Good morning, nice to meet you, thanks for saving my life, thanks for making me come so hard I passed out.

None of those trite phrases were enough to express his feelings for his angel.

In the end, he didn’t have to say anything. Instead, she turned, saw him, and her spoon clattered to the cracked tile floor. With the lamp behind her silhouetting her face and body, he was forced to take several steps into the room to see her. She sidled along the counter, deeper into shadow.

“What do you want?”

A huskier, raspier voice, she didn’t sound like the angel that had whispered, please make me come.

“I woke up and smelled coffee.” And was driven to find her. He took another step.

She backed up until her hip hit a doorknob, presumably a pantry door. “You should have waited until I’d finished.”

“I don’t expect you to wait on me.”

Her spine stiffened. “I had no intention of doing that. I was only going to let you know it was here.”

He trailed a hand along the counter’s smooth stainless steel surface—surprisingly clean, considering the state of the front hall—as he approached her. She squeezed into the corner.

“I need to thank you.”

“Don’t bother. It’s not like I invited you or anything.”

The words rang a bell. But he couldn’t quite remember where he’d heard something similar. “Well, just the same, I followed your lights from the road below. If they hadn’t been there, I think the state troopers would have been digging my defrosting body out of the snow come spring.”

“What light? I haven’t had lights since four o’clock yesterday afternoon. And I certainly wouldn’t have left one burning for you if I had.”

He cocked his head to the side, thinking he must have imagined that caustic tone. “Nevertheless, I saw it. Maybe it was your oil lamp there.”

“My room is in the back. I had the curtains closed. And you know what? I think you’re lying. I think you weren’t frozen on my doorstep at all. It was just a trick to get inside. Who are you, and what do you want?”

She had the tone and pitch of a harpy. If it were louder, it would have been a screech or a banshee wail. A bitch harpy. Jesus. This wasn’t his midnight angel, it was the harpy who had cursed him all the way up the stairs, her shrill tone splitting his head open.

“Where’s the other one?”

“What other one?”

“The woman with the blue eyes.” Close enough to grab the lamp, he held it up so the light fell across her.

Though her hair might once have been lustrous, it was now dull and limp, its ends shaggy, as if she’d whacked at it with a knife. Her eyes were not the mesmerizing blue he’d been looking for, but a washed-out shade of gray. Maybe it was only the light, or lack of it, but this woman, this harpy, was in fact the ugliest creature he’d ever seen. Her eyes appeared overlarge in her painfully gaunt face. Dark circles ringed them, the flesh slightly puffy. Her face was all sharp angles and straight lines, her lips so thin and pale, they almost disappeared, and her flesh sallow as if she never went out into the sun. And the shoulders he’d characterized as thin? Her bones almost poked through the terry robe she’d wrapped herself in. She wasn’t delicate and fragile, but emaciated.

“And just who the hell are you? The housekeeper?”

While at first, she’d shrunk from the light, now that she’d been exposed, she straightened against the wall and glared at him. “I’m Shelby Stewart. This is my house and my coffee. Now get that light out of my eyes. It hurts.”

Dex lowered the lamp. Shelby Stewart? It couldn’t be. He’d watched her movies, perused magazines her visage graced, and sneaked a few of his own paparazzi pictures. He was a writer, not a photographer. His pictures hadn’t sold, but his words had. While she’d never been one of his favorites—prima donnas got on his nerves even if they only lived for him up on the screen or between glossy pages—he’d never argued that she was magnificent, somehow ultra-worldly and ultra-innocent all the same time. Though how the hell she’d managed that, he’d never known.

She’d been all of twenty-five when Hollywood threw her out. She wasn’t past thirty-five now. And yet...she was ancient. Not wise, just old. Maybe she’d lied about her age, maybe she’d had plastic surgery gone bad. Maybe that was the story behind her flight from the fairy tale Hollywood life.

In the loss of light, he thought he saw her lip tremble. But when he raised the lamp again, she stared at him with a blaze in her eyes. It was the only sign of life in that haggard face.

“I want you gone. Now,” she said. “My phones are out. Don’t you have a cell phone or something you can use?”

Thinking of his stupidity, a faint flush he hoped she couldn’t see crept into his cheeks. “It’s in my car. It didn’t work this far up.”

“You have a car out there? Well, we can bundle you up in some blankets, and you can walk right back to it.”

“It’s several hundred feet down an embankment with its front end wrapped around a tree.”

“You can sit in it until a tow truck comes to pull you out.” She didn’t even ask if he was all right after the accident.

“Jesus, lady”—and lady was the polite term, because Shelby Stewart was a bitch, ice queen enough to freeze a man’s balls off—“what the hell is your problem? In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a frigging snowstorm out there, and I’m not going back out in it. So we’re stuck together.”

She pressed her already thin lips together, glared at him. “Not together. You stay in the bedroom I put you in, and we won’t have to see each other. Let’s just say everything else is off limits to you. And don’t swear at me.”

That last thing he wanted was to see this bitch again. “Christ. All I wanted to do was thank you for saving my life and ask for a cup of coffee.”

“Fine. You’re welcome. Help yourself. Now get out of my way.”

Then she elbowed past him.

---

And there’s Chapter 4! Wow, I guess we just met the Beast, or the Bitch, depending on how you want to look at it. Tune in next week to find out who does what to whom! Maybe they're going to kill each other!

Beauty or the Bitch is already available, so if you want to read the full e-book all at once, here’s where you can get it; Amazon B&N Smashwords.

Beauty or the Bitch Ch 3!

2011-09-05T05:00:00.000-07:00

Happy Labor Day holiday weekend! Isn’t it nice to have that extra day off. Okay, I put up the Baby, I'll Find You cover again because I just love it so much! Thank you, Rosemary! BTW, Elvis is going home today! Boohoo! I’m really going to miss that little guy. I told him he’s my little boy toy, LOL!

Okay, Chapter Three of Beauty or the Bitch. Last week, Shelby dragged an unconscious Dex in her house. Now she’s got him in her bed. AND she’s taken her nightie off! What will that woman do next!? And it is a naughty story, so please be 18 so I don’t have to feel guilty about corrupting the youth.

Beauty or the Bitch
Copyright Jasmine Haynes 2011

Reporter Dexter King is about to get the story of a lifetime. Shelby Stewart was the hottest rising star in Hollywood until suddenly, she was cursed. Retreating to her mountain hideaway, far from that fairy tale life, she hasn’t been seen in ten years. Now Dex will ferret out the truth behind her fall from Hollywood grace. But will he find a beauty? Or a bitch?

Chapter Three

Shelby wrapped her arms around the cold, clammy flesh of his torso. He flopped like a fish as she tried to still his shakes. With no other method, she climbed on top of him, spreading her legs slightly to accommodate...certain parts.

She took his chill into her own body, then leached it out through her pores. Her nipples brushed his as he struggled. She resisted rubbing the tight buds against him. But God, how she’d missed the slide of flesh on flesh, the tantalizing sensation of a man resting between her legs. She caressed his legs with her calves, trying to calm him as much as warm him. Prickly hair abraded her skin, and she reveled in the sensitivity.

He wouldn’t know. She’d be gone when he woke. He’d never see her face. She would enjoy this moment, sure it would never come again.

Laying her head against his shoulder, she breathed in the sharp scent of evergreen that clung to him. The overwhelming desire to taste overcame her, and she put her tongue to the hollow at his throat. Clean male skin. His body jerked in response. She held his arms, soothed her fingers down the powerful biceps. She wriggled, searching for a better position.

Then she felt his touch at the crease of her thigh. He was growing, a persistent erection that nudged her just short of the mark.

She hadn’t expected that outcome. She’d thought he was dead to his surroundings, that all of him was dead, but with an answering rush of moisture, her body readied itself. Her breath caught in her chest, and a shudder rippled through her. It had been so long, so very long. Almost on their own, her hips adjusted, bringing him closer, until he just breached the folds. She moved. His tip rubbed her clitoris. And she almost came.

God, she wanted to come so badly it was like a physical ache in her abdomen. In her heart. She wanted to feel him inside, his arms tight around her, holding her close, keeping her safe as she jumped into the deep end.

He moaned against her ear, his breath warm. She realized then that he’d ceased struggling. His movements became sinuous, caressing the length of her body. His hips lifted, finding that sweet little spot once more.

Shelby raised her head to look at him. His lashes lay still. But he breathed deeply. His lips parted, then closed. She needed to kiss that gorgeous mouth, but didn’t want to wake him. She didn’t want to lose this feeling, not now.

Trailing fingers down his chest, his side, she lifted enough to fit her hand between them. And she touched the velvet tip. He groaned, turned his head on the pillow. She took the crown between her fingers, rubbing the skin, and encountered a tiny drop of fluid. Sliding in it, she stroked the tiny slit. His body quivered, and he growled against her hair.

One more look told her his eyes were still closed. He probably thought this was a dream, didn’t even know he was in her bed, thought he was out in that blizzard close to death. He’d find out later that he hadn’t died. But she wouldn’t tell him about this. She’d keep it for herself, for the oh-so-many cold, lonely nights that lay before her.

Shelby rose off his chest and skimmed down his body until her face rested close to his groin. Close to that beautiful tool of his. Did men think of themselves as beautiful? Surely not. But this man was. Long, thick, hard, sprouting from a nest of dark curls that sprang back when she touched them. The scent of man intoxicated her. A second bead of fluid beckoned.

She put her lips to the pearl and drank it in, then closed her mouth around him and took him deeply. His hands found their way to her head, tangling in her hair. His hips arched, grinding against her. She took a little more, then let him slide out, dragging her teeth along the underside. He groaned and writhed on the bed.

There wasn’t a part of him that wasn’t warm now, hot even. She’d done her job. She could stop. But Shelby wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. She wanted him. She didn’t know his name. She didn’t care. He was the only man in the world, she was the only woman, and he was hers. She would keep him forever.

Or at least until the morning light revealed whether he would live or die of hypothermia.

But she wouldn’t let him die. She’d take life from him in the form of his delicious taste, and she would give life back to him. Heat. Warmth. Sustenance.

In this moment, she would give him everything.

* * * * *

She took him into her mouth once more. He pulsed at the back of her throat.

He knew he was in heaven and that she was his midnight angel, stealing the chill from his body and replacing it with the warmth of her mouth. He strained against her. He captured silky hair between his fingers just as her tongue, lips, and teeth captured his cock. He wanted to climb inside her, take her warmth for his own.

He wanted to come inside her. He had to come inside her. Or die. Except that he was already dead, his body lying somewhere out on the frozen ground. The bitch harpy’s voice still rang in his ears, screaming at him to get up. But he wouldn’t rise from that frozen ground, not now, not ever, never in the way she meant. Instead, he would get up for his midnight angel.

He pulled her hair lightly until he popped free of her succulent mouth. Eyes the brightest of blues in the firelight, her hair a shimmering midnight black, she looked up at him. Then she smiled. Wine red lips and a hint of a chipped tooth that had hissed when she sucked him. He brought her up to his level and took those lips. She tasted like heaven, like life. And chicken soup. He swept his tongue into her mouth, took her with it, as he wanted to take her body.

Skimming his fingers down her delicate throat to one small pebbled nipple, he squeezed, taking her moan of pleasure. A touch wasn’t enough. He had to taste. He left those luscious lips in search of the second nipple, his hands spanning her tiny waist as he lifted her to his mouth. She moaned again and squeezed him with her thighs. His cock trembled at her core. With one thrust, he could be home-sweet-home.

But he wouldn’t take his angel so quickly. He wanted, but even more he needed to make her tremble as he did.

Riding her body with his lips, he tasted every inch from the underside of her small delicate breasts, to the quivering muscles of her abdomen, to the fine curls covering her pussy. He entered her first with his fingers, tunneling into her moist heat, loving the carnal arch of her back as she took his touch. A beautiful, tight fit. Sliding out and up, he circled her clit. Again, she arched, driving him crazy with her husky moan. He needed to know what she’d do when his tongue replaced his fingers. He rolled her to her back and went down on her.

She cried out, tightened her legs around his head, and pulled on his hair. He loved it. He grabbed her butt, held her close, wouldn’t let her get away. Her musky female scent clouded his mind. He sucked the sweet little button into his mouth and tongued it. Her body rocked against him, and her cries begged for more. He gave it to her, then he drank her come, the nectar of his midnight angel, as potent as the moans she let loose into the night.

When her shudders ended, he climbed her body and nestled his hips between her thighs, nudging her opening. Pinned to the bed beneath him, she opened her blue eyes, stared at him with a dreamy, unfocused look.

“Do it again. Please do it again.”

He figured angels didn’t get much chance to engage in this sort of activity. So he’d give her whatever she wanted. What he wanted. And he drove home, deep, hard, fast.

She screamed.

“Jesus, I’m sorry.” Angels couldn’t be virgins, could they? “I didn’t know...you were a...”

“I’m not.” She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. “It’s just been a long, long time. And you’re so...big.”

“I’ll go slow. Slower.” He kissed her neck. “At least until you ask me to go faster.”

She laughed against his hair. “Okay. Do it.”

“That’s my angel.”

He sank deeper into her. He couldn’t help it, his eyes closed as he breathed in her scent and her tight passage closed around him. “I don’t think it’s ever felt like this before.”

“I really can’t remember.”

“Then pretend it’s the first time.”

She laughed again, arching and welcoming another inch. “I really don’t want to remember that.”

He buried his face in her hair and laughed with her. “I’m going to move now.”

“God, yes, I’d like that. Please make me come again. It’s been so long.”

He would do that. Over and over. Her body hot and oh-so-tight, he flexed his butt, pushed into her heat, then pulled out. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, and she raised her hips to bring him back. He came into her, giving and taking all at the same time. His pace quickened, his breath came fast, and his heart pounded inside his chest. She urged him with her moans and her fingernails. Slipping a hand beneath her thigh, he pulled one leg higher, angling her for a tighter, deeper fit, pushing them both to the limit. The pain she’d felt was long past, and she cried out for him to move faster, harder. He climbed and took her with him. Then he dove off the high dive, slamming into orgasm as if it were the glassy surface of water. Plunging deep into her, he forced her to follow, and she screamed with her release, arms tight around him, legs clasping his waist.

Then he fell asleep in his angel’s arm, and he really didn’t care that they’d be putting him in the ground by the end of the week. At least he’d died happy. Which was more than a lot of people got to say.

* * * * *

Just as the sun began to poke its head through the murky sky, Shelby rose from the warm bed and the even warmer body. At the window, she looked out on the snowbound countryside. She couldn’t see further than the first pine of the grove that surrounded the house. The snow still fell, but with less swirling, less commotion. The wind, at least, had died down. She put two more logs on the fire and tested the man’s brow. Neither sweaty nor cold. After his performance earlier, he was definitely on the road to recovery.

She couldn’t say the same for herself. But she would never forget those moments in his arms. Never forget the way he filled her, completed her, as if he were really and truly hers to have and to hold. When he was gone, which would happen as soon as the lights and the phones worked, she would hold that feeling close. It would have to sustain her the rest of her days.

---

And there you have Chapter 3! Beauty or the Bitch is already available, so if you want to read the full e-book all at once, here’s where you can get it Kindle Nook Smashwords. Then you can find out what Dex does when he wakes up in the morning and realizes he isn’t dead! Otherwise, stayed tuned next week!

Elvis and the Beauty! (Chapter Two)

2011-08-29T05:00:00.000-07:00

I’m not alone in my office today! Elvis has arrived! Yes, he’s taking a nap as I type this out. LOL, not the real Mr. Presley. It’s Elvis, my sister’s puppy. He’s 7 months old now, and I’m doggy sitting for a week. View, he gave me a run for my money this morning on our 3.5 mile walk! Ain’t he the cutest! Just like a kid, he loves his little poodle paddle pool.

Enough of the funny business. We’re on to a new chapter! Last week, Dexter King was on his way to interview Shelby Stewart in her mountain home, but he got stranded in a snowstorm. He even thought he might die out there! Beauty or the Bitch is already available, so if you want to read the full e-book all at once, here’s where you can get it Kindle Nook Smashwords. Or the whole Ain't Your Mama's Bedtime Stories anthology with some wonderful writers. Thanks to Rosemary Gunn for the fabulously perfect cover. And it is a naughty story, so please be 18 so I don’t have to feel guilty about corrupting the youth.

Beauty or the Bitch
Copyright Jasmine Haynes 2011

Reporter Dexter King is about to get the story of a lifetime. Shelby Stewart was the hottest rising star in Hollywood until suddenly, she was cursed. Retreating to her mountain hideaway, far from that fairy tale life, she hasn’t been seen in ten years. Now Dex will ferret out the truth behind her fall from Hollywood grace. But will he find a beauty? Or a bitch?

Chapter Two

Shelby Stewart stared at the dead body on her front stoop.

A grimace froze the once handsome face. A dusting of snow covered his brown hair and frost stiffened the locks falling across his forehead. Black gloves hadn’t protected fingers that curled into fists.

The body moved. Just a twitch of one gloved hand. Maybe it was only a muscle settling. But then he moaned. Or was that the wind groaning in the evergreens?

Shelby set the lamp down on the slate floor and stepped outside. Slushy snow seeped into her slippers, and icy wind ripped through her thick terry bathrobe. She knelt beside him and put her fingertips to his throat. Cold, moist skin, but beneath that, a hint of warmth. And there, a pulse. Faint, barely there, but definitely a flutter beneath her fingers.

My God, he was alive.

How was she supposed to get him inside? She tugged at his arms, but the man was a dead weight. She stepped over him, hunkered down at his back and pushed.

“Come on,” she urged. “You’re going to have to help me.”

His eyelids trembled with effort. Then fell still.

She couldn’t just leave him out here to die. The phones were down, and the power was out. The man had only her. She didn’t want anyone depending on her. That’s why she lived alone and ordered everything she needed off the Internet. The UPS man was her closest friend. But she had a lot of sins on her head already, and letting a human being die on her front stoop wasn’t one she wanted to add to the list. Shelby pushed and shoved, hoping to rock him closer to the doorstep. At least inside, she might be able to drag him across the slate.

He moaned again.

“Get. Up.” She’d beg, plead, anything. She’d even pray. “Dear God, please help me get him inside.” Short, simple, to the point.

He fell forward onto his face. God wasn’t listening. There was only one choice left. Get mad.

“All right, asshole. It’s three o’clock in the morning, I haven’t been to bed, and you’re lucky I even heard you out here with all that wind. Don’t push your luck. I didn’t invite you. I don’t want you here. And if you die on my stoop, I’m going to curse you into hell. Do you hear me? If you don’t get up right this minute, I’m going to kick you all the way inside. Now. Get. Up.”

With a groan, he put one hand on the wet pavers and pushed. Shelby stuck her hands under his armpits, and together they crawled through the open door. She collapsed on top of him in the front hall. The bottom half of his legs still lay outside. Rising, she hunkered in front of him, grabbed his upper arms and pulled. Her feet slipped, and her butt slammed down on the hard slate. But she rose, and did it again. And again. Until he was far enough in that she could close the door.

She stood over him, hands on her hips. The light from the lamp fell across his pale, immobile face. Now what? Since the power was out, the house was cold. If she could get him into the living room, she could dump him by the fire. Which she hadn’t lit yet. He’d be better off upstairs in a bed, covered by mountains of blankets. She didn’t know a thing about frost bite or hypothermia, except that she had to warm him up quick.

Looking from him to the stairs and back again, she decided getting mad was good. It had worked on the porch.

“If you think I’m carrying you up those stairs, think again. I’ll let you die down here.” She poked his hip with her foot. “I don’t care if you die, you hear. I can just crawl into my nice, warm bed upstairs and sleep like a baby.” She squatted beside him and lifted one of his eyelids. All she saw was white. She wanted to cry. Instead she jabbed his shoulder. “The rats will eat you. There are lots of them around here. They don’t bother me because I move quickly, but you, they’ll enjoy eating. And I better not have to clean up the mess, either. Yuk. Get up.”

She hadn’t said this much aloud in ten years. Her voice sounded hollow, her throat felt scratchy. “Do it or die, bub. I don’t really care either way.”

He heaved himself onto his side, his eyelids fluttered, then he reached one hand out to her, fingers grasping.

Good boy. She put one arm across his back, tucking her fingers in his opposite armpit, and pulled. This time he helped, rising to his knees. She looked up at the stairs. When had they become so long and steep? She grabbed the newel post and hauled him to his feet. He stumbled four times going up. She cussed at him the whole way, her bones creaking, her arms and legs shaking with the effort.

On the landing, he almost fell, but she threw her body in front of him. If he went down, she’d never get him up again. The house had several bedrooms, all of them unused except one. Her own. It was the closest, only a few steps along the hall. Plus it had a fireplace. She headed toward the glow of the lamp she’d left burning on her bedside table.

When she finally got him on the bed, her knees gave out and she tumbled to the floor beside him, resting her head on the coverlet next to his legs. Maybe God had answered, giving her the strength to get him all the way up here.

Cold, wet jeans against her cheek forced her to rise to her feet. He wasn’t out of danger yet. The frost on his hair had thawed, leaving it in wet tangles that dampened the pillow. Minus the grimace, he was actually quite beautiful. With sinfully long, dark lashes, an aristocratic nose, and full lips, he could have graced the cover of GQ.

He shivered in his soggy black leather jacket. She started with that, rolling him over to remove first one arm, then the other. Underneath, he wore a beige Pendleton sweater. Though not soggy, it was still damp. Disposing of that, she undid his button-down shirt, revealing an impressive chest. Hairless, muscles well-defined. His breathing, she noted, was far too shallow. Next she removed his shoes, then stood back to study the belt and jeans. Jeans that were molded to hard thighs. Wet jeans stuck to skin like glue.

She hadn’t undressed a man in ten long, lonely years.

The buckle was easy. The button fly popped open when she pulled. Once again, she rolled him from side to side, heaving with effort, but managing to shimmy the material off his hips. His briefs came with them. Oh my. The family jewel nestled in dark hair. Now that was worth a fortune, even in its dormant state. Shelby licked dry lips.

Concentrate. She huffed and puffed, tugged and yanked, and finally the jeans slid off his feet, tumbling her off balance to the floor. Hard male flesh lay the length of her bed, his legs hanging over the edge.

On the other side of the bed, she threw the covers back, then, returning to him, proceeded to push, and roll him into the space. He landed on his side. God, if she had to move the man one more time, she’d break down. Her strength had rapidly dwindled, but at least the hard part was done.

After easing him to his back and covering him with her usual three blankets and down comforter, she threw two more logs on the fire. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, then held her palms to the fresh blaze for a moment. In the bathroom, she grabbed one of her fluffy white towels and returned to rub his hair. He didn’t move, his head flopping as she dried his luxurious abundance of silky brown hair.

Then she noticed the blood all over her towel. God. His forehead was oozing. All the rubbing she’d done had broken open a cut. Rushing back into the bathroom, she dampened a washcloth with cold water, then returned to press it to his forehead. With a hand supporting the back of his head, she held the cloth, removed it, turned it inside out and repeated the procedure. The bleeding stopped shortly. She opened the butterfly bandage she’d brought with her and tapped it to his skin.

Done with that, she pulled the comforter to his chin.

“There now, you’ll be warm in no time.”

She threw his jeans over the back of the desk chair and pulled it in front of the fire, then laid his socks on the fireplace mantle, anchoring them with two small figurines. She put his shirt, which was almost dry, on a hanger and hung it on the bathroom doorjamb. She did the same with his damp sweater. The jacket was another story. The leather would likely crack as it dried. Then again, it might have that very expensive, beaten-to-death look that had been popular when she was out and about in the world. She shoved a sturdy hanger into the armholes, molded the shoulders to it, and attached it to the same chair on which she’d put his jeans.

Did people get dehydrated in the severe cold? She couldn’t remember, but a hot cup of soup to soothe his throat and warm his belly certainly couldn’t hurt. She closed the door behind her, hoping the heat of the fire would permeate the room.

Picking up the lamp she’d left in the downstairs hall, she followed the maze of corridors to her kitchen. At one time, her home had supported an extended family of eight and housed an army of servants. But that had been long ago. One of these days, it was going to fall down around her ears since she’d never completed any of the repairs that needed to be done. For ten years, no one but she had crossed its threshold.

Until tonight.

She lit the old gas stove with a match, then rummaged in the cupboard for a package of chicken soup. Just a broth, nothing that would inflame his innards. She boiled bottled water, then poured it over the mix, making a mug for herself as well. She’d lost more weight and had taken to tying her sweats up with a piece of rope these days. A nice cup of soup would soothe them both and fill her empty stomach.

The room had warmed considerably by the time she got back upstairs. But the man’s face was deathly pale, and beneath the covers, his body quaked.

She sat on the bed beside him, lifting his head enough so that he could drink the soup. She’d put a little cold water in it to bring the temperature to tepid. Without opening his eyes, he took the liquid until it dribbled out the sides of his mouth. She patted his chapped lips with the wet washcloth. When she laid him back down, he still shook. She peeked beneath the comforter to find the shivers traveled throughout his body.

Dammit, without the power, she didn’t have any heat. And she didn’t think more blankets were going to help. The cold had burrowed into his bones. If she’d had her Internet connection she could have looked up hypothermia and researched what to do for him. Gee, she might even have used the phone to call a doctor.

The man needed warmth, that much she knew. She didn’t have the means to give it to him, unless...well, unless she gave him body heat. Her own.

No, she couldn’t.

He’d never know. It wasn’t as if he was aware of anything. Once he was warm again, she could leave without him even realizing she’d been there. He’d never have to see her.

But she couldn’t do that.

She hadn’t been in bed with a man since...well, since the “incident.” She’d never wanted to be in bed with a man again. It was one of the reasons she was here, far away from men, far away from temptation, from guilt, far away from anything that could touch her. Or hurt her.

But if she didn’t, this man might die.

Dammit, dammit. She really didn’t have a choice.

So Shelby Stewart dropped her terry robe and her flannel nightgown, and, for the first time in ten years, climbed in bed beside a man.

And there we go, Chapter Two of Beauty or the Bitch. Well, we definitely know Dex is the beauty, LOL. And Shelby hasn’t been seen in 10 years. Wonder what she looks like now!

Don’t forget Baby, I'll Find You, Jennifer Skully’s new release is available at Amazon, B&N, Smashwords, and in the Apple iBookstore. The book has been getting some fabulous reviews! I'm sure that's due to Rosemary Gunn's fantastic cover!

New Serial Story Chapter One!

2011-08-22T05:00:00.000-07:00

First of all, thanks for the great response to Kinky Neighbors in serial blog. As I said, it was so much fun, I’m doing it again with another story. This one is a special request from one of you who loves fairy tales. So need to guess after that, you all know it’s got to be Beauty or the Bitch! Thanks to Rosemary Gunn for the fantastic cover. The photo is exactly how I picture the house, the woman, the story. I’m going to start with Chapter One, though some of you might have already read the excerpt, I’d like those who haven’t to catch up. And it is a naughty story, so please be 18 so I don’t have to feel guilty about corrupting the youth.

Growing up, Beauty and the Beast was always my favorite fairy tale. I’ve watched every movie version imaginable, from John Cocteau’s 1946 French film (which I have on DVD) to Showtime’s Fairy Tale Theater with Klaus Kinski as the beast (Susan Sarandon as Beauty, not so much) to my favorite Disney movie (LOVE it on Blu-Ray!). Beauty or the Bitch is my take on the classic fairy tale, a contemporary story with lots of sensuality thrown in. This story is already available, so if you want to read the full e-book all at once, here’s where you can get it: Kindle Nook Smashwords. Or read the whole Ain't Your Mama's Bedtime Stories anthology with some wonderful writers.

Otherwise, sit back and enjoy several weeks of Beauty or the Bitch

Reporter Dexter King is about to get the story of a lifetime. Shelby Stewart was the hottest rising star in Hollywood until suddenly, she was cursed. Retreating to her mountain hideaway, far from that fairy tale life, she hasn’t been seen in ten years. Now Dex will ferret out the truth behind her fall from Hollywood grace. But will he find a beauty? Or a bitch?

Chapter One
Copyright Jasmine Haynes 2011

“I’m giving the Eden Alexander exclusive to Neal Pisquet.”

Dexter King jammed his fingertips to his temples to make sure his head didn’t freaking explode. Fresh out of college, Pisquet had worked for the magazine less than a year. “You’re doing what?”

His editor, Baxter Blevins, didn’t even look up from the copy page he was reviewing. “Neal needs a chance to hone his interviewing skills.”

“What interviewing skills?” Neal “Pipsqueak” Pisquet didn’t know a colon (the punctuation part) from a colon (the body part). And Dex would do anything necessary to make sure Pipsqueak didn’t get that interview. Eden Alexander was his. Not only was this the first interview she’d granted in ten years, an exclusive Blevins had secured God only knew how, she was also the most revered star in Hollywood, even if she hadn’t made a film in that same amount of time. She was a screen legend. And Dex’s secret teenage passion when she was at the height of her career. Doing the interview was more than the perfect professional move for him, it was a personal dream. “Baxter, you can’t give this to Pipsqueak. You can’t afford to let him blow it.”

Blevins looked up, raised one brow, then lowered his voice to a deadly note. “I can do anything I want, Dex.”

Dex usually knew how to manage Blevins better than this. But this was the most important interview of his career, maybe his life. And he was blowing it. Calm down. Manage the old geezer.

“Of course, you can do whatever you want, Baxter. I was merely suggesting that perhaps Pipsqueak isn’t the best choice. You need someone more seasoned.” Dex had been doing interviews for years. He knew how to relax, how to cajole, how to wheedle out all the dirty little details that no one else could dream of getting. Not that someone like Eden Alexander had any dirty details to reveal.

Blevins tapped his pencil on the blotter. “Tell you what I’ll do, Dex. I’ll make you a deal. I want to do a follow-up interview in the same issue. A whatever-happened-to kind of thing. You get me that interview, and I’ll give you the Eden Alexander exclusive.”

Shit, that was it. Blevins had planned this all along. “Who do you want?”

“Shelby Stewart.”

“What the hell for?”

“Eden Alexander knew her. It’ll make great copy. I want you to find her and get her to tell you the story of her fall from Hollywood grace.”

Ten years ago, Shelby Stewart had been flying high at the pinnacle of success. She’d reportedly commanded twenty million a movie, rare at the time, especially for a female star barely twenty-five. She’d also earned a reputation of as prima donna, though Dex would have used the word bitch. Then, for no apparent reason—because no one cared if you were a prima donna bitch, or even a drug addict, as long as you made the producers big money—her career took a nosedive. She couldn’t even pay anyone to give her a part. The one B-movie she’d managed to get had tanked at the box office, going to video in less than a month.

At the age of twenty-five, Shelby Stewart was cursed, her star falling far faster than it had risen. She’d reportedly fled to her mountain vacation home in the Sierras, far from Hollywood and the fairy tale life she’d once led. She hadn’t been seen or heard from since.

No one really knew why. Because Shelby had been good, extraordinary. One day, she might have been the legend Eden Alexander was now.

Dex resisted chewing the inside of his cheek to bits. “So, I get the Stewart story, you’ll let me have Alexander?”

“That’s the deal.” Blevins smiled. Like a shark. “After this length of time, she’ll be a hard nut to crack. You’re the only one I can trust to get the story.”

His editor was excellent at buttering up, his skill unparalleled. But Dex knew it would decrease his future bargaining power to give in too easily. “Let me think about it.”

“You give me Shelby Stewart, and I’ll let you have complete editorial control over both interviews.”

Complete editorial control? Unheard of. “Why do you want Stewart so bad, Baxter? There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Blevins held out his hands, palms up. “Nothing up these sleeves, Dex. I just want both stories. And I trust you to get them.”

Trust? Baxter Blevins? He’d be out of his mind if he trusted his boss. But Dex could taste his by-line on the Eden Alexander exclusive. “You’ll put that in writing?”

“In writing, my man.”

“When do you want the Stewart story?”

“Yesterday.”

Shit. Damn. Something was up. But if Dex wanted Eden Alexander, he didn’t have much choice. After that interview, he could write his own ticket. It was even worth killing for. He sure as hell couldn’t let Pipsqueak get to her first. “All right. I’ll do it.”

But he had the sinking feeling he was selling his soul, and Shelby Stewart’s, to the devil himself.

* * * * *

He’d already lost precious hours on the Internet tracking her, hours he couldn’t afford, but he should have checked the weather report before heading out for the Stewart woman’s mountain retreat. Mountains meant snow. Dammit. He didn’t have chains, and the windshield wipers had proven only good enough to smear the falling snowflakes across his windscreen. He couldn’t see a thing. But at least he was almost there.

His car hit a patch of black ice, and the back end went into a skid. Dex white-knuckled the wheel, over-corrected, sliding all the hell over the road, then slammed into a pile of rocks that had fallen off the side of the mountain. Totally out of control, the car flung itself into the opposite lane, then plunged down a steep embankment.

He was a dead man. With branches flashing by the hurtling vehicle, he wished he’d called his mother before he’d left. And his sister. He regretted the time he’d told his best friend about his sister’s secret crush, was sorry they’d laughed at her and scarred her for life. Especially since she was only thirteen, had braces and no chest. And about the time he—

Then the car slammed into a tree.

* * * * *

Dex couldn’t say how long he’d been out. Only that by some miracle, he was still alive. His head ached where he’d rammed it into the steering wheel. Why the hell hadn’t he bought a new car with an airbag instead of driving this ancient monstrosity? What did money matter when you took your life in your hands?

Christ, he was cold. His fingers had numbed, and the tips of his ears hurt like hell. Reaching for the cell phone in his inside pocket, he could barely feel it. And pushing the damn little on button...nothing. When had he last charged it? Sure he’d been rushing, but what kind of idiot drove into the mountains in the dead of night with a dead cell phone? Dex groaned.

How far had he fallen before the car hit the tree? He looked out the back window. Layered in snow, he couldn’t see a thing through it. Opening the glove box, he grabbed his leather gloves and pulled them on. His fingers felt like fat sausages, weak at the joints and difficult to bend. He managed to pull up on the handle and shove the door open. His foot sank in ankle-deep snow. A deadly wind chopped at his bare face and sent icy shivers up his legs.

Bracing himself on the open door, he stared up into the darkness. With the falling flakes swirling in the wind, he couldn’t see the top of the embankment. Which meant no one would be able to see his car from the roadway. He’d bet the snow had completely covered his skid marks, eliminating the chance that someone would notice a car had gone over the side.

The lighted dial of his watch said it was midnight.

Fuck, fuck. No one expected him. He certainly hadn’t called ahead to announce his arrival. He’d wanted to show up on Shelby Stewart’s doorstep, figuring she wouldn’t, or couldn’t, send him away.

No cell phone. A howling blizzard. A crumpled car. A mountain to climb. Soaked shoes, a light leather jacket, paper-thin gloves, and no hat to cover his frozen ears. On the bright side, he’d only been about two miles from Shelby Stewart’s mountain hideaway.

Two miles, and God knew how long a climb to get back to the road.

He’d survived the crash, but he was a dead man for sure.

And there we go, Chapter One of Beauty or the Bitch. And ask yourself, who’s the beauty and who’s the beast?

Just a reminder (because it’s my blog and I get to do a little promo!) Baby, I'll Find You , Jennifer Skully’s new release is available at Amazon, B&N, Smashwords, and in the Apple iBookstore.

Baby, I'll Find You by Jennifer Skully

2011-08-15T05:00:00.000-07:00

I’m so glad everyone enjoyed the photos from RomCon! Hopefully I’ll see some of you there in the future!

I’ve got plans for another story to put up weekly on the blog, just because it was so fun with Kinky Neighbors and everyone got into discussing the story. So starting next Monday, I’ll be putting up a new serial! I’m going to keep you in suspense about what it will be until next week!

This week, I want to give you a taste of my latest Jennifer Skully release. For those of you who don’t know, I wrote as Jennifer Skully for HQN a number of years ago. The books are funny, light, mostly mystery (I usually killed someone and had to solve a murder) and had 5 releases with them. Sex and the Serial Killer (yes, it was funny despite the title) was a Romantic Times Top Pick and won the Daphne Du Maurier Award of Excellence. The sequel was Fool’s Gold. And from there, I had Drop Dead Gorgeous, Sheer Dynamite, and It Must Be Magic. Now, after an absence of 4 years, Jennifer Skully is back with Baby, I'll Find You I’m so excited to finally be out there again with something that’s a little on the lighter side, though there’s definitely a sad theme in Baby, I'll Find You. While it’ll make you cry, some of the quirky characters will make you laugh, too. Be warned, Jennifer is very different from Jasmine, but it’s still the same voice in many ways, and still sexy. Because I can’t write anything that’s not sexy!

Thanks to Rosemary Gunn for the fabulous cover. I love, love, LOVE it! Baby, I’ll Find You is available on Amazon, B&N, and Smashwords. Right now, it's only in ebook format, but I hope to have the POD ready at a later date. Here’s more about the book!

Award-winning author Jennifer Skully is back! This time, she brings readers a poignant tale of loss and renewal. Peopled with Jennifer’s signature quirky and often hilarious characters, this story will make you laugh, it will make you cry, it will make you ache. Step into the world of Jennifer Skully.

Baby, I'll Find You

A man without a future, a woman determined to give him one...

Jami Baylor has lost her job, her fiancé, her hopes, and her dreams all on the same day. But she believes in fate and destiny, and after finding Colton Amory’s CD in a thrift store grab bag, Jami knows it’s serendipity that she’s heard his song now. “Baby I’ll Find You” speaks to her heart, right when she needs it most. So, off she goes to the wilds of Yosemite to discover why Colton Amory hasn’t written another song in seven years.

The only problem? The man who wrote such beautiful music turns out to be a self-pitying jerk. Or so it seems, until Jami digs deeper.

Seven years ago, Cole Amory had a flourishing musical career and a little girl who was his pride and joy. In one split second, he lost it all. He hasn’t written a lyric or played a note since. Buried in a small Yosemite town, he’s now a fry cook at a fast-food joint. And he doesn’t need a woman with stars in her eyes opening all his old wounds and his guilt.

Can two people with nothing left to lose find it all?

Baby, I'll Find You Excerpt
Copyright 2011 Jennifer Skully
Chapter One

Good Lord, he’d fired her. Just like that. Her boss, Richard Headley, had scapegoated her. After five years with the company, Dick Head—as Jami referred to him in the privacy of her own mind—ripped the rug right out from under her.

Jami Baylor had never been fired, not even from the paper route she’d had as a kid.

The Bay Area had a late September rain yesterday, and a damp, musty smell permeated Used But Not Abused as Jami pushed through the thrift shop’s front door. She didn’t know if it emanated from the used clothing that had been shoved to the back of someone’s closet for too long or the ancient orange shag carpet covering the store’s concrete floor. Even the books smelled musty, as if they’d lain for years lost and forlorn in somebody’s attic.

Why did that feel like a metaphor for her life right now?

The stale scent didn’t bother anyone else. The shop was sardines-in-a-can packed. Fifty-percent-off Tuesday brought out shoppers in droves. Jami could barely find a spot to eyeball the latest treasures beneath the scratched glass showcase.

Behind the counter, Olga waddled towards her. “Baby Doll, what are you doing here in the middle of a workday?”

A large woman, Olga had to suck in her stomach to get behind the counter. Her face had turned to leather from years of smoking, and when she laughed too hard, she often lapsed into a coughing fit. Yet for the five or so years Jami had frequented the second-hand shop, Olga always had a kind word and a sweet smile.

Jami gave her one in return. “I needed a Used/Abused fix.”

The woman leaned in to inspect Jami. “You okay? Your nose looks like Rudolph. Got a cold coming on?”

No. She’d been crying. In the car, once she’d left the office, it hit her hard. She’d been fired. She’d worked in Silicon Valley for thirteen years, since graduating university, the last five at Southside Manufacturing. After four years as Cost Accounting Manager, she’d made the leap to Director of Materials, a job she’d toughed out for over a year. The first female director at Southside Manufacturing.

Yet when it came time for someone to take the blame, it was her signature on that purchase order sticking the company with thousands of specially machined parts they couldn’t use when their customer canceled a million-dollar contract. Cardinal rule in Purchasing, give yourself an out. Dick Head had her sign the PO without a cancellation clause. Against her better judgment.

That fact seemed to have slipped his mind when he fired her.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” she said, to avoid explaining. Especially since she might start blubbering again. Really, she wasn’t cut out to be an executive. “I just felt like a day off.”

“Well, good for you, Baby Doll. And let me tell you, we got some fine pieces in this weekend that your nieces will love.”

A woman elbowed Jami out of the way. “I want to see that,” she pointed for Olga, adding another finger smirch to the glass counter.

Jami gave the other lady room. Slightly chipped crockery and fine china with the gold edging worn off filled a display cabinet, and the necklaces and earrings in the glass sideboard were more of the dimestore variety than anything one would find at a jewelry store, but Jami loved buying the trinkets for her nieces. Kids were so easy. At last count, she had five nieces but no nephews, and that lack of a male heir was the bane of her mother’s existence.

By the time Jami came along, her mother already had three girls, each a year apart. She’d wanted a boy so badly she’d actually given Jami the boy’s name she’d had picked out before having the ultrasound. When the tiny fetus turned out to have the wrong apparatus, Mom thought she’d be cute by simply dropping the es off James and adding an i. Jami often wished her mother wasn’t so cutesy. She’d grown up feeling a bit...unnecessary in the scheme of things.

Not finding a thing that would make any of her nieces absolutely hyperventilate, Jami moved on. Halloween was, comparatively speaking, just around the corner, and Used But Not Abused was like any other shop, stocking Halloween gear a month before the main event. Scratched trick-or-treat pumpkins were stacked one atop the other and next to that, an assortment of battered skeletons to hang on the front door and Frankenstein monsters to guard the stoop.

At the back of the store, where the air got a little less circulation, the mustiness was enough to wrinkle her nose. But at least the crowd had thinned out. Most patrons favored the clothing aisles. Jami wasn’t interested in clothing. She’d discovered a treasure trove on a shelf in the back corner years ago. Even if she made it to the shop only five minutes before closing, when she had a particularly hard day, or was stressed at work, or she’d had a fight with Leo, she came here.

Not that she and Leo argued a lot. Their relationship was pretty darn amicable. And comfortable. Maybe too comfortable. What if Leo never thought it was the right time for a family? Jami was thirty-five. It was time. She wanted a child so badly it sometimes felt like shrink-wrap squeezing her insides. They’d been living together for seven years. When would he make up his mind? There was always that next big promotion around the corner or one more financial goal he needed to achieve. Not to mention that their lovemaking had become increasingly perfunctory, and, to be honest, not so much about her pleasure.

Jami shivered. How was she supposed to break the job news to Leo? They lived in his condo, but she shared expenses. She had savings to live on for...well, over a year at least, but it would still be a blow to them both.

Okay, she wouldn’t think about all that now.

Jami hunkered down in front of the stapled paper bags on the bottom shelf. Grab bags. They took her back to her childhood when her favorite uncle visited, with grab bags for her and each of her sisters. Filled with junk that her sisters threw out along with the paper sack, in Jami’s mind, there was always a treasure in there, big or little. Growing up, she’d been the youngest and never learned how to scream the loudest or the longest, and her mother was often too busy dealing with someone else’s drama to notice Jami’s relatively minor problems. The fact that her uncle always knew the perfect treasure to put in that sack, one especially for her, made up for the lack of attention.

Continuing grab-bagging into adulthood was, at the very least, a little OCD, but Jami didn’t care if she had an obsessive-compulsive disorder. She loved the grab bags.

Closing her eyes, she put out a hand for a stapled bag. Best not to think or look too hard. That was the key to grabbing. If you didn’t over-think, the universe stepped in and gave you exactly what you needed.

Then someone snatched the magic bag right out of her fingers. Jami snapped her eyes open and rose to her full five foot seven plus three-inch heels. “Hey, that’s mine.”

“I saw it first.” Easily a head shorter than Jami, the elderly woman clutched the bag to her chest, her bosom heaving.

“I had it first.” Jami narrowed her eyes and secured her stance on her high heels, like a gunfighter ready to quick-draw. She’d touched it first, so she had dibs. She might not have stood up to Dick Head when he’d ordered her to sign that PO, but she’d go to the mat for that bag.

A tear trickled down onto a cheek that resembled an apple wizened in the sun. “But I need it. You don’t need it.”

Jami took in the woman’s blouse, which was literally falling apart at the seams. The torn hem of her skirt dragged on the orange shag carpet. Jami glanced at the bag. Its label read women’s clothing.

Jeez. Did it matter who’d touched it first? The grab-bag thing was about feeling better, and really, if she yanked it out of this poor lady’s hand, she’d feel lower than dirt. “You’re right. I don’t really need it.” She reached in her purse for a dollar bill and handed it to the woman. “But since I touched it first, I still have to be the one to pay for it.”

The woman beamed. She was missing a tooth. Then she snatched the dollar from Jami, pushed between two men arguing about a broken cuckoo clock that cucked but didn’t koo, and slapped the bill on the counter before Jami could change her mind. If the old lady had scammed her, she’d done it well, and Jami didn’t mind.

Instead, she bent down, reached into the maze of bags on the shelf without looking, pulled one from the last row, then made her way to the front.

The two men were still arguing about the cuckoo.

When she reached the counter, Olga patted her hand. “What’d ya get this time, Baby Doll?”

Smiling, Jami plunked down her dollar. “I have no idea. It’s a surprise.”

Olga looked at the sack’s writing through the bottom of her glasses. “It says—”

Jami stuck her fingers in her ears. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know before I open it.”

There was a whole ritual to follow; okay, she did have OCD. She couldn’t read the writing on the outside of the bag, just stick her hand in, eyes closed. It could be clothing, jewelry or books, CDs or video tapes. She’d been known to pick men’s clothing or shoes, but there was always something worth calling treasure, even if all an item did was garner a memory of her father’s Florsheim shoes and the quarters he used to pay her as a child to keep the leather polished. Pops had passed from lung cancer ten years ago. He hadn’t smoked a day in his life.

Olga shook the bag. “It sounds like—” she singsonged in that raspy voice.

“Stop it,” Jami squealed, playing along. “I don’t want to know.”

Olga loved to tease, and they went through the same rigmarole every time. Maybe that was part of the pleasure of grab-bagging. Olga, her teasing, her smiles. Even before Jami left the shop, she always felt sunnier. A little more hopeful.

“Well, I want to hear what you find inside. If it’s really good, I think we’re going to have to consider raising prices.”

“It’s because they’re only a dollar that you even sell them and you know it.” Jami herself was probably the only one who got a big kick out of what was in the bags anyway. “Raising the price doesn’t do you a darn bit of good if volume goes down.”

“Being a high finance mucky-muck, you oughta know.”

Right. She’d been more like Dick Head’s bum girl even if she did have a title. C’est la vie. The bright side was not having to see Dick Head day in and day out. Maybe getting fired was a blessing in disguise.

Olga slammed the cash drawer. “Now get outta here, and see if you got anything fun.”

Jami waved. The bag rattled in her hand as she headed out to her SUV. It didn’t sound like jewelry. CDs, maybe videos; she rarely got DVDs, since everybody was chucking their old tapes.

The sun shone through the windshield of her white 4Runner, and once inside she was toasty despite the taste of fall chill.

“What have we got?” she whispered. Tearing out the staples, she closed her eyes and stuck her hand in.

Could be video games. She didn’t know if they came in jewel cases. She opened her eyes to find Lawrence Welk staring at her, offering his all-time favorite polkas. Oh my God, her aunt would love it! She sifted through the bag, counting nine more CDs. Maybe it was Lawrence Welk’s complete collection. One Christmas present was in the bag, no pun intended. The next one she pulled out, however, was Slim Whitman. Jami laughed out loud. Grandma in the movie Mars Attacks had played a Slim Whitman record on her phonograph and made all the Martian heads explode, thus saving the world. Jami had thought they made up Slim just for the movie, but he was an honest-to-God crooner.

Les Paul and Mary Ford were next. A married couple from the fifties timeframe, and the CD featured their Rheingold beer commercials. Hmm, okay. She found four more Lawrence Welk, big band, ballads, and standards, then the soundtrack for The Blair Witch Project—did it even have a soundtrack?—and two CDs from a guy she’d never heard of. Colton Amory. The first was called Dream Sweet and the second Dreaming of You.

She flipped over one to read the song titles on the back, and her heart simply jumped into her throat. Even in a studio portrait, Colton Amory had the most penetrating pair of blue eyes she’d ever seen, as if he were looking right into her soul. Jami held her breath for several seconds. His hair was dark brown, and though his mustache had one or two streaks of gray in it, she could swear he wasn’t more than mid-thirties. He had a cock-eyed smile that made her want to smile right back at him as if he could see her, and laugh lines around his gorgeous blue eyes.

The dollar she’d paid was worth it for Colton Amory’s photo alone. She turned over the other CD, Dream Sweet, and this time his smile was only a hint. As if he had a sexy secret. His mustache was minus the gray streaks. But damn, he was hot in both photos.

The copyright dates on the inside covers showed Dream Sweet was the earliest, nine years ago, and the second album, Dreaming of You, a couple of years later.

By now, Colton Amory probably had a paunch and a big bald spot, but she could still fantasize about what he’d looked like seven years ago. Since he’d found his way into a Used But Not Abused grab bag, however, his music was probably crap.

She started the engine, yanked his more recent CD out of its jewel case and shoved it into her player, then pulled into traffic to the opening strains of Colton Amory’s guitar. It had an odd sound. No, not odd. Not out-of-tune either. It was unique, in a different key that pulled a person’s soul right into the music. Some songs didn’t penetrate the consciousness. Usually, she’d be thinking about the million things she had to get done in the first five minutes at work and never even heard the songs on the radio. Colton Amory’s music didn’t allow her to think of anything else. It sucked her in and wouldn’t let her go.

Then he started to sing, his voice like the smooth taste of a glass of Kahlua-n-cream going down. Sweet and velvety like cream, yet rich and smoky like Kahlua. In “Baby, I’ll Find You”, he sang about dreams and soul mates and finding the perfect woman. More than a partner, the person who fulfilled you, completed you, the one who gave you synergy. Separate, you were just going through the motions, but together you were so much more than simply the sum of your separate parts. His words spoke to her inner heart; his voice mesmerized her. She ran through the tail-end of a yellow light, cutting it way too close to red.

Oh. My. God. Colton Amory was a grab-bag treasure among treasures. His lyrics made her want to reach for her dreams.

At the next light, she closed her eyes and shivered with an ache so bad, it made her insides quake. God, she wanted. Everything. A baby growing inside her, then finally, finally, that cherished little human being in her arms. Leo’s ring on her finger. His breath in her ear saying how much he loved her, wanted her, needed her. A four-bedroom house she and Leo owned together, something in the suburbs with a white picket fence and rows of hydrangea bushes. She wanted the blue ones. She wanted all the passion in that song, to rediscover it with Leo. Now. Not tomorrow or next month or next year.

The emotion Colton Amory seared into his music was more than mere words. It was a message. In that grab bag, the universe had given her exactly what she needed. Maybe the universe had been sending her a message when Dick Head fired her, too. It was time to take a stand, go for the gusto, take charge of her life, and ask for what she wanted. She’d waited seven years for Leo to make up his mind. She wasn’t getting any younger. She’d spent far too much time waiting for things to happen. It was time to let go of her fears and force them to happen.

Finding Colton Amory’s music was serendipity. Or fate. Maybe even destiny. Jami knew what she had to do.

Tonight, she’d make up Leo’s mind for him.

Chapter Two

“I hate to say it, sweetie, but no man buys the cow when he can get the milk for free.”

Jami’s shoulders tensed, then her neck, until finally a mammoth tension headache sprouted like an alien probe inside her head. With her outdated clichés, her mother was an anachronism. You’d think Mom had been raised on fifties TV shows like Father Knows Best and Leave it Beaver. She’d actually caught her mother watching old reruns on TV Land.

But Mom was right, things with Leo hadn’t gone the way Jami planned.
###

I hope you enjoyed this taste of Baby, I'll Find You and Jennifer Skully. I’m sure she’ll be back for more! And don’t forget, next week, the start of another serial!

RomCon 2011!

2011-08-08T17:00:00.000-07:00

I had a great time at RomCon in Denver, saw lots of old friends, and made lots of new ones! In this blog, I’ll update you on the conference and share some of the fun photos! I attended the conference with Ellen Higuchi, my local romance readers group leader.

First, here’s a photo of Sue Grimshaw, Ellen, and Mary Jo. I hung out with these ladies a lot! And what great discussions we had!

While everything from my erotic authors panel to the erotic author mixer and the book “rumble” on Sunday was fantastic, I would have to say the highlight of the weekend was the Victorian Fashion Show put on by Deeanne Gist. She was extremely knowledgeable about the subject and the dresses were fabulous. The first portion of the event was a parade of historical authors dressed in period pieces. I’ve got a few sample photos provided by Ellen Higuchi (because I was a dork and forgot to put my camera in my bag!)

Here’s a wonderful photo of me with Jade Lee in a bathing costume. Can you believe that they even wore bustles in their bathing suit!?

I just loved this gorgeous dress. I must apologize because I can’t remember the name of the author wearing it so prettily. The eye candy on her arm is cover model Brooks Johnson, who graciously helped all the ladies get up those stairs to the stage!

And this is Delilah Marvelle in an elaborate skating costume. The whole point of skating was falling into your desired man’s arms! In this case, Brooks’.

The next two photos are off Deeanne Gist demonstrating the work Victorian ladies had getting all that clothing on. The first is of the undergarments, which included drawers, chemise, corset, and crinoline cage. By the time dressing a lady was done, they must have needed to take a nap! It’s hard work. The second photo is Deeanne all dressed up. Wow, she’s so beautiful that all the hard work was worth it!

And here’s a few fun photos of me with friends.

Me with Cyn (Mistress Kitty)

Me with Diane Smith

Isobel Carr at the book signing. She made me a lovely pin to wear with the cover of What Happens After Midnight.

What Happens After Dark

2011-08-01T06:03:00.001-07:00

Happy August! Oh my God, where is the summer going!? I hope you’re all enjoying your summer vacations! I just had a great vacation with a visit from my friend Rita. What a wonderful time we had! But now I have to get back to work, and I started in yesterday with reading the galley of What Happens After Dark, DeKnight novel 2. Gosh, I love the cover Berkley did for the book! The galley is the proof, where I do my last check for any typos. And really, I don’t know how those typos get by me in all the other reads! Actually, this one isn’t two bad, I’ve only found two so far, like “it was all tied up in a neat little bowl.” LOL. And ugh, my wireless is giving me fits and starts! I’m thinking it’s time for a new computer. In the meantime, for your enjoyment, here’s an excerpt of what I’m currently working on. What Happens After Dark will be out in November! It continues with the characters in Past Midnight and DeKnight Gauges, Inc (DKG), this time giving you Bree Mason’s story, DKG’s accountant, a woman with a lot of secrets that no one at DKG would ever guess. BTW, as usual, it's a naughty excerpt, so really, you should be over 18 to read it.

By day she’s a mild-mannered accountant.
After dark, she’s a willing slave to his wildest fantasies.

Bree Mason longs to be a successful career woman, but secrets keep her chained to the past, afraid to take that next step. And at night, her frustrations are released by the domineering Luke Raven, who gives her what she asks for and more in a sensuous game of master and slave…

But to take control of her life, Bree will have to look within and face the demons of her past. Luke knows the ins and outs of Bree’s body, knows what makes her gasp and sigh and beg. But now he’s willing to push their relationship to the limit—to stand by her side in the light of day and take the greatest risk of all…for love.

What Happens After Dark
A DeKnight Novel, Book 2
Copyright 2011 Jasmine Haynes
Prologue

He tipped his head back, savoring the feel of her mouth on him. Christ. She knew every nerve that excited him. Dropping his chin, he opened his eyes to drink in the sight of her down on her knees on the plush, navy carpet, her silky black hair cascading down the slope of her back. Red fingernails, red lips, and alabaster skin, she was more beautiful than any model gracing the cover of a fashion magazine.

He groaned as she hit a sweet spot with her tongue. His legs trembled, his tension rising, need pulling at him.

For six months, she’d been his to command. Since the night he’d won her away from Derek, her bruiser boyfriend, in a downtown club. She wasn’t made for the club scene, and he’d taken her from Derek as if she were the war prize in hand-to-hand combat, which technically she was, since he’d decked the guy to rescue her.

And what a prize she was. Squeezing his cock, she tantalized him, drove him mad. He thought his head would explode. Shoving his fingers through her hair, he pushed her back. “Not yet,” he murmured.

She gazed up at him with eyes the shade of sapphires. “Did I do something wrong, Master?” Her voice was soft, sweet, like the gentle babble of a distant brook.

She insisted on calling him Master as if he were her dom and she his submissive. He’d never gone in for the dominance and submission lifestyle, but after he found her in that San Francisco sex club, he’d read a bit on the Internet. There were aspects of it he enjoyed immensely—tying her down, blindfolding her, a good spanking, toys, forcing her to push her sexual limits—but other elements, humiliation, degradation, making her cry, giving her to another man as if she were chattel—which was what he’d caught Derek doing—that stuff, not so much. She liked to be dominated, but she needed to feel special. She needed approval. She withered when she was ignored.

He couldn’t have ignored her if he’d tried. Even when she wasn’t within sight, he fantasized about her. Hot fantasies where she was handcuffed, spread out on his bed, and begging him to crawl between her legs. Yeah, he liked the dominant role. “I told you not to make me come yet,” he said sternly.

“You should punish me for that,” she whispered. “Because I’m such a slut, and I’m bad.”

That was another thing she liked, the name-calling. Bitch, slut, even worse. At first he’d used the names because they made her wild. But they made him burn hotter, too. Being with her had taught him how sexy a little dirty talk could be. And then there was the punishment thing...

“Get on the bed, whore,” he ordered, and his erection surged, his blood pumped faster.

She bit her bottom lip, drew in a breath, her nostrils flaring with her excitement. Then she rose gracefully, her movements steady. He’d closed the blinds against the cold January night, and the soft lighting of his bedroom illuminated her slender body, the elegant curves of her back and bottom. Her limbs were long and lithe, her breasts small, the areoles dusky pink buttons. She was a tall woman at five-nine, and barefoot, she was only a couple of inches shorter than him. He’d never been worried about his height; Derek had been taller and bigger than he was, but he’d still won the girl.

She climbed onto the big bed on all fours, her ass heart-shaped.

“On your back,” he instructed. “Spread your legs and arms.”

She laid down, her pussy glistening. The rich burgundy of the bedspread made her skin glow. “I know I’ve been bad, Master. You need to punish me and call me the names I deserve.”

For her to feel that way, he’d assumed she’d had bad relationships in the past that had marked her with some deep-seated insecurities. Derek the horse’s ass certainly wasn’t the first. He also couldn’t deny his desire for a little tender lovemaking and more intimacy. He wanted to know more about her, exchange more than sex, reach a deeper level. But there was power in dominating her, too. They both excelled at dirty, nasty games. He’d bought the fur-lined handcuffs; then he’d bought the four-poster bed to attach them to. The scarves in the top drawer of his dresser—which could be used as either blindfolds or bindings—hid a variety of toys he’d used on her.

He hoped to God one of his daughters didn’t start rooting around in there during their frequent trips home from college.

“Scarves or handcuffs?” He could gauge her mood by the kind of restraints she asked for. “Which do you deserve, you dirty little bitch?”

Her lips parted; her eyes darkened. “Handcuffs,” she whispered.

She wanted things a little rougher. Something must have happened at work today. Not that she ever told him much about her life outside the bounds of their relationship. She was secretive even when he questioned her. Her evasiveness was one of the things he’d had yet to break her of, but he would, eventually. Tonight, she’d been tense when she arrived. In fact, she’d been unusually stressed for weeks, and he’d learned that the worse her day had been, the higher degree of domination she required.

“Wider, slut,” he demanded as he took one delicate ankle in his hand. She stretched for him, her scent rising, swirling around him. He was hard for her, ravenous, but the night would end quickly after he came. He wanted to stretch it out.

She’d never spent the night. They didn’t cuddle afterward. He didn’t know precisely where she lived or the name of the company she worked for, only that she was thirty-five, unmarried, no children, made her living as an accountant, and she was promiscuous. He’d gathered that the fact he’d been her only lover over the past six months was unusual.

He took it as a testament to how good he was at giving her what she needed.

She needed the trappings of submission, but what she loved best was making him climax with her mouth and swallowing his come. She relished every groan, every cry of pleasure he gave. If he didn’t make her come before he did, she wouldn’t come at all. As if she didn’t require the orgasm to be satisfied.

But in this moment, he craved her climax, her pleasure, to feel her body tremble for him.

Rounding the bed, he restrained her other ankle. Then he went to work on her wrists, anchoring them to the bedposts. He didn’t ask her if it was too tight; she would merely tell him that she would take whatever he chose to dish out.

“What are you going to do to me, Master?” Her voice quavered, but it wasn’t fear; it was need. When she was restrained, he could force her to let go.

“Would you like me to fuck you?” he murmured, climbing onto the bed, leaning close to draw in the scent of her. She made his head spin.

“I’m your whore. You can do whatever you need, Master.”

Need? Christ. He needed so much, all the things she withheld, herself. Her thoughts, her feelings, her fears, her joys, her past. Yes, all those things; but for now, he would take this, savor it, until she gave him more.

He grabbed her chin, held her, forced eye contact. “I want to hear you scream my name when you come.”

She blinked rapidly a moment, and he knew that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She wanted his orgasm. But she was his slave, and she answered the way she had to. “I will.”

He lowered his lips to hers, though he didn’t kiss her. “I’m going to lick you, my sweet little slut. That’s how I want you to come,” he whispered against her mouth.

She tensed. He’d never gone down on her when she wasn’t restrained. He’d never made her come with his mouth, tongue, or fingers when she wasn’t immobilized and unable to fight him. He loved it that way, too, because in those moments, she was his, she let herself go. As if somehow the restraints actually set her free.

“But don’t you need to come?” Her voice rose slightly at the end as if it were a question, yet she cajoled, her voice like a siren in the night.

God yes, he needed to come inside her, or her mouth. Or by her hand. She could work him up in any way she tried. But he wanted her climax, which was tantamount to her capitulation.

“I’m going to lick you, and you’re going to scream.” He covered her, flesh to flesh, held her gaze, her eyes wide, pupils dilated, her nipples pebbled against his chest. “Right?”

She gave in. “Yes, Master,” she whispered on nothing more than a puff of air.

Then he crawled down her body, tasting her skin as he dragged his tongue over her breasts, her belly, down to the finely trimmed mound of her sex.

“You have the sweetest scent.” He breathed her in, then put his tongue to her a moment. “And the sweetest taste.” He loved her pussy; she was gorgeous, full, pink, her clit burgeoning.

He swiped his tongue across her, back and forth, swirling her taste in his mouth. God. How he loved this. She writhed against her bonds, and her soft sounds of delicious distress filled the room. He fit first one, then two fingers inside her, and played her G-spot and her clit in tandem.

She panted. Moaned. Music to his ears. Then her legs started to shake, her cries rose, she called out his name, and her body jerked. He kept at her, rode the tide of her orgasm, until she fell limp against the comforter, her dark hair splayed across his pillows.

Her taste lingered on his lips as he shimmied up her body to lay beside her. “Was it good?”

“Master, it was heaven.” She swallowed, closed her eyes.

He wasn’t looking for affirmation. There was just something too . . . fast. As if she’d wanted to appease him.

“But you didn’t come,” she added.

He gave her a long, measured look, something inside him shifting. “You didn’t come either, did you?”

She swallowed again. Like a nervous habit she’d suddenly acquired. “I did.”

“Don’t lie to your master.” He clenched his teeth against the epithet that rose to his lips. He could call her whore, slut, bitch, almost anything as he was seducing her, but the words lost their sexiness in the aftermath.

She filled herself with a great gulp of air, her chest rising, her skin tinged with pink, though not as if she’d just surrendered to a luscious orgasm. More like... nerves.

“I’m very displeased that you didn’t come.” He used language she understood and responded to.

Yet this time she evaded him. “I’ll suck you,” she whispered. Straining against the handcuffs, she tugged her wrists as if she needed to touch him. “I’ll make you come.”

A coldness spread through him. “How often do you fake it?”

“I don’t,” she whispered, looking at his nose, his cheek, his mouth, anything to avoid meeting his eyes.

But he felt her lie in the stiffening of her limbs. He wondered how many times she’d faked an orgasm, how many times he’d been so wrapped up in her, in what she made him feel, that he hadn’t realized how good an actress she was.

Fuck. He was forty-five years old, too old to get rankled, yet the fake cut him. He wanted into her life. He wanted her to know about him, his daughters, his work, even his failed marriage. And he wanted to know everything about her. There were times his gut roiled against her secrets, the way she held him emotionally at bay. But this was what they had. She phoned, came to his house, had him call her names, tie her down or cuff her, blindfold her, spank her. When she was at his mercy, he could do anything he wanted. The sex between them was fantastic, but he wanted something more authentic from her, more real, more than just bits and pieces of her life. He wanted a whole night without her rushing away. He’d wanted all that for months, but he hadn’t pushed. He’d bided his time. Only to find out she’d actually faked some of her orgasms. Damn her.

“Fuck me,” she whispered, and he recognized the deliberate seduction in it. She never said what she wanted, never asked for anything, but she could follow orders. Jesus, she could follow orders and blow his mind. This, asking for it, was different, unlike her. “I’ll make you feel good,” she added.

Sinking inside her body, he’d feel better than good. When he was buried deep, she took him to another plane of existence. No other woman had done that, not even his ex-wife when he’d still believed her to be the woman of his dreams.

He was being manipulated. She was avoiding what he really wanted from her. He climbed from the bed, stood beside it, gazing down at the perfection of her body in her supine position, losing himself in the shimmer of her brilliant blue eyes. He knew he’d fuck her. Because he wanted her, badly. He had from the moment he first laid eyes on her.

But the game would have to change, the rules revised. He wanted more than sex; he wanted everything. And he would have it. Even if he had to order her to give it to him.

After all, he was the master.

Hope you enjoyed the excerpt. Look for What Happens After Dark in November!

The DeKnight Novels

Past Midnight
May 2011

What Happens After Dark
Nov 2011

The Principal’s Office
April 2012

Kinky Neighbors Wrap Up Discussion!

2011-07-25T05:00:00.000-07:00

Thanks so much for all the support on Kinky Neighbors! I’m so glad all of you enjoyed it. If you haven’t read the whole story, skip this discussion, because it’s totally a spoiler. Go back to the March 14th blog where it all starts!

As I mentioned last time, I thought I’d tell you a bit more about writing the story. When we lived in our old house, some neighbors down the street both went through a divorce, and the husband of one of the couples had an affair with the wife from the other couple. The two couples had been very friendly, BBQs, card games, making the rounds of the wine festivals together, biking, etc. Then the affair began. As I recall from all the neighborhood gossip, that went on for about six months before they were discovered, and of course, all hell broke loose. I decided to write about the feelings of betrayal that kind of thing causes, not just the affair, but that it was with such a close friend. And how do the spouses who were cheated on feel about each other after something like that? After the divorces, everyone moved away, and as far as I know, the couple who had done the cheating didn’t marry each other, and the other two spouses moved out of the area.

Now, I took literary license and added the whole swinging thing, because, after all, I’m an erotica writer! Of course in adding that element, it really changed things from the original neighborhood gossip, especially because I’m all about the HEA. Someone had to get together in the end!

I specifically chose only Drew and Alexis’s point of view to tell the story, because to me, they were the “hero” and “heroine.” I wouldn’t have been surprised if many of you knew from the beginning that those two would end up together! Cat and Logan were pretty devious, making little remarks all the way through to direct Drew and Alexis where they wanted them to go. My main goal with the story was to get you, the reader, to feel the growing emotions between Drew and Alexis, and thus make the betrayal feel even bigger in the end.

If you’ve got any questions about the story, have at it! Thanks for hanging in there for 19 weeks! I hope you enjoyed the time as much as I did! I’m thinking about doing another story on the blog! What do you all think about that?

If you missed any of the story, Chapter One started on March 14th. It’s a very naughty read and you must be at least 18 years old. And of course, if you want to read it all at once without going through the blog, you can buy Kinky Neighbors on B&N, Amazon, and Smashwords. And, as always, thanks to www.rosemarygunn.com for the sexy cover design!

Kinky Neighbors, the Final Chapter!

2011-07-18T05:00:00.000-07:00

So here it is! The final chapter of Kinky Neighbors! I want to thank you all for having so much fun with me these last few months! I'm happy you stuck with it! Next week, I’m going to post about where I got the idea for the story, and various other discussion topics, so I hope you’ll come back for that, too! If you missed any of the story, Chapter One started on March 14th. It’s a very naughty read and you must be at least 18 years old, thank you very much. And of course, if you want it for your keeper shelf on your e-book reader, you can buy Kinky Neighbors on B&N, Amazon, and Smashwords. And, as always, thanks to Rosemary Gunn for the sexy cover design!

Kinky Neighbors
Copyright 2011 Jasmine Haynes
Chapter Nineteen

Final. The papers were signed. Six short months, and now he was a divorced man. Legally free.

Overhead, dark clouds rolled in as Drew made his way through the parking lot to his car. March and April were usually wet months in the Bay Area. If he was lucky, he’d make it back to work before the rain started. He had his Monday staff meeting to prepare for, and he needed a bite of lunch before he dug in.

“Drew.” Cat had always had a way of calling his name that resonated along some cord inside him. He was afraid she always would.

She’d told him she had a last couple of questions for her lawyer, implicit in the statement was that she wanted to talk to him. He hadn’t waited. But he turned now. “It’s going to rain, Cat. I’m in a hurry.”

She was out of breath, as if she’d run after him in her high heels. She was still pretty, still perfectly put together. “I wanted to know if we could be friends. Since it’s all over.”

“Friends,” he said, considering the word. The divorce had been amicable, everything right down the middle, the house sold, the furnishings divided equably. “Trouble in paradise already, so you have to run back to me?” he asked.

Something flashed momentarily in her gaze, but she quickly covered it with a sad look and a shake of her head. “Everything’s great.” Cat was living with Logan. He’d signed his freedom papers two weeks ago, another amicable divorce, all so civilized. “That’s not why I want to be friends,” she said, almost plaintively.

She and Logan weren’t going to last. It wasn’t bitterness or wishful thinking. Drew found he didn’t really care how it ended for them. He simply knew in his gut that when the newness wore off, they’d tire of each other, then they’d start lying. Or perhaps they’d have an open relationship, dating other people, fucking other people.

Drew had yet to start dating. He had yet to have sex with another woman since the night Alexis ran out the door.

“We always got along so well,” Cat said when he didn’t answer. “I hate to lose that connection.”

Connection? He wanted to laugh, but only smiled faintly instead. “That’s the thing I admire about you, Cat. You know how to make living in Lalaland work for you.”

Her shoulders drooped. “Oh, Drew, please don’t be bitter.”

“I’m not.” It wasn’t a lie, at least not much of one. “Before we can be friends, we have to be honest with each other. Now we’re divorced, the truth can’t make any difference. So I need to know.” He left it hanging.

She actually brightened as if she thought an answer to whatever question he asked meant they’d be friends, or whatever it was she really wanted from him. “Of course.”

“When did you start fucking Logan? Before Tahoe?”

She shook her head, the high ponytail she’d put her hair in swishing back and forth. “In Tahoe. With you. I swear it.”

He was an engineer, his mind analytical, and he’d had a lot of nights to think. “That’s not all of it, though, is it.”

She pursed her lips, her pert breasts rising. “I’d looked.” And she’d wanted.

Drew waited.

She shot out a harsh breath. “We thought it would all be fine if we did it as a foursome. Then everybody would be happy, and no one would feel left out.”

“We?”

She pouted. He used to find that sexy. “Yes, Logan and I talked about it,” she admitted. Then, understanding his look, added, “Yes, before Tahoe.”

“So you and Logan figured it would be fine to fuck each other if all of us were doing it?”

She flipped out her hands with a touch of exasperation. “Well, it was okay. You loved it when you were DPing me.”

She didn’t understand that had been the beginning of the end. When he realized he didn’t like her kissing Logan. “Weren’t you afraid I’d like sex with Alexis too much?”

She shrugged. “Logan said she wasn’t a real firecracker.”

They had indeed planned the seduction, deciding the things they’d each say to get the legitimacy they wanted, permission to fuck. “Alexis was a firecracker, just not for Logan.”

“Are we going to play tit for tat, Drew?” A sharp breath gave her nostrils the slightest flare.

“No. I just don’t want you to denigrate her.”

She softened her lips with a smile. “I wasn’t. Logan and I are both sorry it happened. We didn’t think we’d have feelings.”

“But when you started having feelings, you sure as hell didn’t stop doing it.” He doubted her definition of feelings was the same as his, though.

She gave him a typical sheepish look, her eyes a deep, sad brown. “I know. I’ll never forgive myself.”

He didn’t believe that look for a moment. She was still trying to manipulate him. “Which is why you need me to forgive you.”

She put a hand on his arm. “Please, Drew.”

He looked at her hand, then raised his gaze to hers once more. “Do you know the only difference between you and Logan, and Alexis and I?”

She dropped her hand and shook her head, the ponytail bouncing. “No. Tell me.” She thought the answer would be her expiation.

“When Alexis and I had those same feelings, we did stop.”

“You and Alexis?” she echoed.

“Yeah. Me and Alexis.” He remembered the last time he held Alexis, kissed her. That night had been both momentous and bad timing. So good and so bad. Neither of them was ready. Though, to be honest, he’d never asked her if she was ready.

“Cat, we can’t be friends. It’s not possible, not because I’m still angry or bitter. We just don’t have anything in common. We’re too different. We always were, but I didn’t realize a marriage can’t survive like that.”

“But Drew—”

He held up a finger. He’d always let her have the last word. Not this time. “If you need forgiveness, then consider yourself forgiven. But that’s all I’ve got to give you, not friendship, nothing else. Now I’ve gotta go. There’s somewhere I have to be.”

There was someone he needed to see. It couldn’t wait until after his meeting. He suddenly realized he’d left it far too long already.

* * * * *

It was just starting to rain as Alexis dashed across the parking lot. Whew, made it. These days she did a lunchtime speedwalk around the lagoon out by Shoreline. She didn’t like the gym, but walking toned her muscles, got her heart rate up, and eased any lingering tension from the morning’s activities. She’d bought a condo closer to work and dropped her commute time to fifteen minutes.

Entering the lobby, she headed for the ladies’ room. There were lockers and a couple of shower stalls in addition to the lavatories.

“Hey, Alexis, you’ve got a visitor.” George at the front desk pointed to the small vestibule behind a half wall and a row of potted plants where visitors could have coffee while they waited. “I told him I wasn’t sure when you’d be back.” George leaned over the counter and whispered, “He’s been here half an hour.”

She looked down at her sweatshirt and leggings. Damn. They’d seen better days. Not to mention the perspiration. She needed a shower. “Who is it? A vendor?”

George wasn’t the one who answered. “Not a vendor.” Her visitor had risen from a chair and looked at her over the wall.

His deep voice was like warm chocolate drizzled over her skin and licked clean. Drew. His dark brown hair was cut shorter than she remembered, and he looked so damn edible in a white shirt, red tie, and black pants.

She, on the other hand, looked like crap.

“You looked perfect, Alexis.” Ever the mind reader, always knowing what she was thinking and feeling, he rounded the wall. “Got a few to talk?”

He’d already been waiting half an hour; she couldn’t use up another fifteen minutes for a shower. “Sure. We can go to my office.” She led him up the stairs. “Is everything okay?”

The last time she’d seen Logan, when the divorce was finalized, he’d said Cat was wrapping things up with Drew soon. She should have had an emotion then, that day in the lawyer’s office with Logan. Anger, sadness, hurt, blame, something. Yet the biggest emotion had been relief that she didn’t have to deal with it anymore. She could start over.

And she was so totally aware of Drew close behind her now.

“Everything’s fine,” he answered her question. “I saw Cat today.” He followed her into the office, closing the door. “Nice digs.”

“It’s small.” She sat behind her desk because standing made her nervous.

“Big enough.” He took the chair opposite. “I’ll get to the point. Cat and I signed the divorce papers today.”

She had long since admitted her intense feelings for Drew. They’d gotten mixed up with finding Logan and Cat in bed, hearing Logan say he was in love with Cat, and good-bye babe. Then having sex on her hands and knees in Drew’s hallway. Cat’s hallway. It was so messed up then. Now, there were just the memory of those feelings about Drew.

“Logan mentioned it when I saw him.” She wasn’t sure what Drew’s divorce had to do with her, though. He’d made it clear that night that he couldn’t deal with a relationship. It hurt, but she understood. She was over it now, bad timing all around.

“I asked Cat a question. I wanted to ask you the same one.”

Her skin prickled, and she felt short of breath. “Sure.” Only she wasn’t so sure.

“Do you know the difference between us and them?” His eyes were so dark, so serious, as if her answer were the most important thing in the world to him.

But she didn’t get it. “No,” she whispered.

He dipped his head, glanced down a moment, then at her again. “They acted on their feelings. And we didn’t.”

We. He said we. He knew how she’d felt. He’d felt the same. But she still didn’t know exactly what that meant.

He rose, rounded her desk, stood over her. “I’m not sure I was in love with you then. I had to get through this, to understand what happened, and I had to be done with Cat. I had to have you be done with Logan. But now I know I’m in love with you. I need to know if you still have the same feelings or if I killed them that night.”

She rolled back her chair and got to her feet. Away from him. Because he smelled so good, she couldn’t think. And she hadn’t taken her shower yet. God, this was so strange, she’d thought everything was over. Then she laughed.

“What?”

She tapped her head. “Just a stray thought.” He popped back into her life, and she knew none of the feelings were gone. She’d been hibernating. “Even when Logan was walking out, I was thinking about you. I felt guilty about that.”

He touched her cheek. She remembered how he’d kissed her that night, cupped her chin, and pushed her up against the wall.

“I hurt you,” he said softly. “I handled everything badly. Fucked you, then told you it was a mistake.” A step closer, he wrapped his hand around her nape.

“I’m all sweaty,” she murmured.

“You’re perfect. I love hot, sweaty sex And I was wrong. The only thing that wasn’t a mistake was touching you, having you, right there in the hall. Without that, I wouldn’t have made it through.” Leaning down, he rubbed his nose against hers, touched his lips to her mouth. “But I ruined it afterward. I hurt you, and I’m sorry.”

Her heart was hammering so loudly, she almost couldn’t hear him, but her body drank in every touch.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I need a chance to make up for what happened.”

He was so beautiful. For the first time, she didn’t have to feel guilty for how she felt about him. “I’m all sweaty but I want you to kiss me anyway. Because I love you, too.”

“Yeah.” He smiled. Then he kissed her, parted her lips, and tasted her. It was so damn sweet, she felt tears as he backed off to take a breath. “It’s just you and me. No threesomes, no foursomes, just us. I never want to share you with anyone. You’re mine.”

Rising up on her toes, she wrapped her arms around him. “Just us. Always us.” Then she kissed him the way she’d always dreamed of.
# # #

And there you have the whole story, Kinky Neighbors by Jasmine Haynes. I hope you’ve enjoyed it. I’ve certainly enjoyed discussing it with everyone. Drop by next week for a follow up discussion of the story!

Chapter Eighteen and a new book announcement!

2011-07-11T05:00:00.000-07:00

I’d like to unveil the cover and blurb for my latest Jennifer Skully novel! Many of you might not know that I write funny, sexy contemporary romances under another pseudonym, especially as my alter ego has been on hiatus for a few years. Jennifer Skully will make you laugh, she’ll make you cry, and she’s back with a bang...and a gorgeous cover by Rosemary Gunn. Isn’t it beautiful? Here’s a blurb for Baby, I’ll Find You, which will be released this summer.

Baby, I’ll Find You
Copyright 2011 Jennifer Skully

A man without a future, a woman determined to give him one...

Jami Baylor has lost her job, her fiancé, her hopes, and her dreams all on the same day. But she believes in fate and destiny, and after finding Colton Amory’s CD in a thrift store grab bag, Jami knows it’s serendipity that she’s heard his song now. “Baby I’ll Find You” speaks to her heart, right when she needs it most. So, off she goes to the wilds of Yosemite to discover why Colton Amory hasn’t written another song in seven years.

The only problem? The man who wrote such beautiful music turns out to be a self-pitying jerk. Or so it seems, until Jami digs deeper.

Seven years ago, Cole Amory had a flourishing musical career and a little girl who was his pride and joy. In one split second, he lost it all. He hasn’t written a lyric or played a note since. Buried in a small Yosemite town, he’s now a fry cook at a fast-food joint. And he doesn’t need a woman with stars in her eyes opening all his old wounds and his guilt.

Can two people with nothing left to lose find it all?

But on to what you’re all waiting for, Chapter Eighteen of Kinky Neighbors! Last week we all certainly had a big shock! What’s going to happen next!? If you missed any of the story, Chapter One started on March 14th. It’s a very naughty read and you must be at least 18 years old, thank you very much. You can buy Kinky Neighbors on B&N, Amazon, and Smashwords.

Kinky Neighbors
Copyright 2011 Jasmine Haynes
Chapter Eighteen

Opening the door, he pulled her to him, then closed them in against the night. She’d changed into her favorite sweats and a tight shortie top that made him hard. That casual outfit had always made him hard.

“Drew.”

He didn’t give her a chance for more. Shoving her up against the foyer wall, he cupped her chin in his hand and took her mouth the way he’d wanted to for so long. Christ, she tasted good, all salty and sweet. Her skin was wet against his fingertips. He delved deep until she moaned and fisted her hands in his shirt, pulling him flush to her soft breasts. He kissed her until he couldn’t think, couldn’t remember, could only feel her and nothing else.

Without taking his mouth off hers, he planted his hands on her ass and lifted her. She spread her legs, locking her ankles around his waist, her flip-flops falling to the floor. He rubbed his cock along her pussy, and she was already warm and wet through the fabric between them.

“I want to fuck you,” he murmured against her lips, then took them again, driving his tongue deep, savoring her.

She moaned, and he felt like his insides would burst with how badly he wanted her. Fuck, he deserved this, he needed it, and he’d take it.

He dropped her feet back to the floor, then tore at her sweats and the tiny panties beneath, shoving them down her legs.

“Tell me you want it,” he demanded, “you want me, it’s all you’ve thought about.”

“Yes, Drew, yes. I want you so badly.” Her eyes were dark as a stormy sky, her hair tumbling over her shoulders.

Sliding his hands under the shirt, he held her breasts. They were bare, nipples hard. He pinched. She laid her head back against the wall, closed her eyes, licked her lips.

“Undo my slacks, take me out. Do it now.” He felt the need to subjugate and command.

Eyes wide, lips parted, she unzipped him. Fumbling a moment, she found him through his briefs, then her warm fingers wrapped around him. His eyes damn near rolled back in his head. “Fuck. That’s so good.”

He bent his knees, reached between her legs and stroked along her apex. Jesus, she was wet, ready.

“How do you want me to fuck you? Against the wall, on your hands and knees, flat on your back?”

She tipped her head back. “I—”

He didn’t let her finish. “I want hands and knees.” He turned, pulled her down to the front hall runner, positioned her. “You’re going to be so tight around me that way.”

He didn’t even take off his pants, just reached between her legs, found her, and shoved his cock inside.

“Oh Jesus.” He wanted to die in there, she was so good and tight.

“Drew,” she cried out.

“Tell me how good it is.”

“You’re so good, Drew.”

He pushed her down to her elbows, took her with long, slow thrusts. Then he draped himself over her, wrapped his arm around her waist, and played her clit. Beneath him, she shivered, then her body quaked. His lips to her ear, he whispered words, how pretty she was, how hot, how wet, how good. He fucked her into the floor, fucked her into the heavens, fucked her until he came so hard that he couldn’t hear Logan saying he and Cat had fallen in love or the sound of Cat rolling her suitcase across the hall floor.

* * * * *

Alexis lay on her stomach with one knee pulled up and her cheek resting on Drew’s arm. She still wore her top, but was naked from the waist down. Her pussy throbbed from his delicious penetration, and she floated in that orgasmic aftermath where she felt every muscle tick and every inch of his skin along hers. He hadn’t removed his clothes, and he’d pulled out after they’d both collapsed to the floor.

God, that was good. She thought maybe she’d said that aloud, but she was so delirious, she couldn’t be sure.

She’d never been taken like that before, as if he’d die if he didn’t get inside her right that second. Not even Logan had done her with that same urgency or ferocity.

Logan. In addition to all the other sensations, she could now feel the hardness of the floor beneath them, the scratchy carpet runner, and hear the death knell of her marriage.

The only consolation was this, Drew’s arms around her, his breath fanning her hair, his solid warmth.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice so low it was almost masked by a car rushing by outside.

For what? It was on the tip of her tongue to ask. But she was afraid.

“I shouldn’t have done that to you.”

That was exactly what she’d been afraid he’d say. If he’d commiserated about Cat and Logan, she could have handled it. Or about the fact that they hadn’t used a condom, that would have been fine, too. She was on the pill. She trusted he was clean.

She couldn’t handle that he regretted the lovemaking.

“I’m fine,” she said softly, hoping he’d stay as he was a little while longer. Please don’t take this away, too. It wasn’t what she’d been looking for when she rang his bell. She’d intended to offer comfort, support, whatever he needed. He’d needed sex, and the moment it started, she’d known how much she needed it, too.

“It was the wrong time to jump you like that.” He started to pull away. She felt the brush of his fingers as he straightened his clothes. The rasp of his zipper cut her on the inside, as if it were as final as Logan saying, “Sorry it turned out this way, babe.”

“Drew, it was fine. I wanted it, too.” She was forced to sit up and scramble for her panties and sweats.

“You’re all mixed up. I took advantage.”

He was already standing as she wobbled trying to get her panties on. He steadied her.

She couldn’t help the reflexive flinch. It wasn’t him; it was what he was saying. There was so much potential between them. God, that was an idiotic thought. The thing they’d started could only end badly. He stepped back, pulling ever farther away.

“The timing sucked. We both need to think about things before jumping into a physical relationship like that. It shouldn’t be a rebound or some sort of revenge.”

“Please, Drew. Don’t worry about it. It was probably exactly what I needed in that moment.” She wanted him to shut up. She’d needed comfort, commiseration. Instead, he made her feel pathetic. But a revenge fuck? She wasn’t like that. He turned what they’d done into something wrong and illicit.

“I’m sure what you needed to do was talk. Instead I was all over you.”

Her sweats finally on, she was tying the knot at her waist as she looked at him. “Yeah, I needed to talk, but don’t beat yourself up.”

“Do you want a drink?” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen.

“No. Thanks.” She needed to get out. It hadn’t been a revenge fuck, but it was most certainly a rebound thing. Deluding herself into thinking she’d come over to comfort him, the truth was, she’d needed a man to tell her she wasn’t a complete loser. She’d needed Drew to tell her. But he was part of the whole mess. They weren’t any good for each other. Not now. “I’m sorry, Drew, I need to go. You’re right, this isn’t something we can help each other with.”

She already had the door open, then she bent down to grab her flip-flops from the floor where they’d fallen when she’d wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Alexis, that’s not what I meant,” he was saying as she closed the door on him.

She didn’t want to hear. She’d heard far too much tonight. She couldn’t take one more fucking rejection. Not now. Without stopping to put her flip-flops on, she sprinted along the sidewalk to her driveway. She’d left all the lights blazing. Funny, she hadn’t remembered turning them all on, as if she’d been wandering the rooms in a fog after Logan left.

Her purse was on the kitchen counter where she’d left it when Logan said they needed to talk. Her cell phone was inside. She speed-dialed him.

He didn’t answer. Her belly crimped with the knowledge that he was with Cat and probably wouldn’t take her calls. So be it. She left him a message. “I’m putting the house on the market tomorrow. I’ll call you with the details.”

She’d have to get a lawyer tomorrow, too. There were procedures to follow; she had no clue what they were. She didn’t think Logan would try to screw her over in the settlement. God, that thought made her laugh; he’d already screwed her over. Whatever. She was sure he’d want out as quickly as she did.

She needed to lance the pain. She needed to move on. She needed to forget. And she sure as hell couldn’t stay in the house next door to Drew.

And there was Chapter Eighteen of Kinky Neighbors by Jasmine Haynes. Oh my! Will it all work out? Tune in for the concluding chapter next week!

And don’t forget about the Max Starr. This emotion-packed series will keep you on the edge of y our seat and craving more of Max and Witt. Amazon B&N Smashwords POD

Kinky Neighbors! Ch 17!

2011-07-04T05:00:00.000-07:00

Happy Fourth of July!

I’ve got some great news to share. Hers for the Evening, , Courtesans Book 2, won the National Readers Choice Award for erotic romance. I’m ecstatic. Almost as wonderful, Mine Until Morning, Courtesans Book 3, was also a finalist in the contest. I’m honored!

But on to what you’re all waiting for, Chapter Seventeen of Kinky Neighbors! Where were we, oh yeah, Alexis just told Drew what was going on in her bed between Cat and Logan! What’s he going to say, what he’s going to do! If you missed any of the story, Chapter One started on March 14th. And yes, it’s a very naughty read and you must be at least 18 years old, thank you very much. And of course you can buy Kinky Neighbors on B&N, Amazon, and Smashwords. Thanks to my best bud, Rosemary Gunn for the book's great cover. Can’t wait for your visit !

Kinky Neighbors
Copyright 2011 Jasmine Haynes
Chapter Seventeen

Drew drummed his fingers until his knuckles ached. He didn’t know if Alexis should have told him either. Cat was fucking Logan in the middle of the day. No foursome, alone. He assumed they’d been in Alexis’s house. When his jaw started to ache, he realized he was grinding his teeth.

He didn’t know how he felt. Cat was Cat. She loved sex. She would have looked at it as an extension of the fantasy sex. If Alexis hadn’t found them—and obviously gotten upset—Cat might have told him that night in bed just before she took his cock in her mouth.

Yet there was a raw slice of betrayal. She’d wanted to go on separate dates, and he’d nixed the idea. So she understood he wanted to keep it to a foursome.

Their pizza arrived. “Here you go.” Their waiter slid the pizza platter onto a metal stand and shoved a flat serving utensil beneath a piece. “Anything else, folks?”

“We’re fine, thanks.” He wasn’t fine. That strange, happy, giddy schoolboy feeling that had run rampant through him the moment Alexis called now circled the drain right along with his appetite. In fact, he’d wanted to shout at the waiter to take the fucking thing away.

Scraping a hand down his face, he looked at Alexis’s stricken expression. In that moment, she wasn’t pretty. Her features were ravaged with emotion, anger, pain, fear, making her look her age.

“Should I have told you?” she asked again.

He felt his chest rise with a deep breath, but the air didn’t fill him. He was empty. He realized he didn’t want to know. He and Cat were fine. She’d fucked another man two days ago without his knowledge, and Drew had fucked her last night without a qualm. His life was good, comfortable, smooth, and he had a hot, insatiable wife.

Knowing meant he had to do something about it.

“Drew, please, I’m so sorry.”

Despite the sweetness of the past few weeks, the longing for her that seemed to invigorate him, he needed the ease of his life before Tahoe. He’d feared the whole thing would ruin the friendship. He’d ignored that it could ruin his marriage.

“I don’t know what you want me to do, Alexis. Punish Cat for you?”

She shrugged, helplessly. “I didn’t want to feel like I was keeping secrets. Like we were all lying to you.”

“You were right tell me”—even though he’d have preferred the lie—“and I think you know everything’s over.” All of it. His desire for her was now tainted, illicit, as wrong as Cat and Logan. He cocked his head. “It had to end this way. You just can’t do the kind of stuff we did without consequences.” In a way, he was glad it was Cat. Because he didn’t want to be the betrayer. It was so much easier to be the betrayed.

Hitching his hip, he dug out his wallet and threw some bills on the table.

“Drew,” she said as he rose.

“We’re okay, Alexis. We’re fine. We can all get over this and move on.”

That was a crock of shit. Everything had changed. Everything was fucked up. The worst was that he couldn’t even keep the good memories of Alexis. All he could do was walk away from her.

In the car, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

Cat answered on the second ring. “Hi, hon.”

“Is it true?” Her long silence beat in the hot car. He didn’t need that excruciating pause to know Alexis hadn’t been lying. “We need to talk tonight when I get home,” he said, then ended the call without waiting for Cat’s answer. She didn’t ring back.

Tonight, they’d figure out if they could move past it.

* * * * *

Logan’s car was in the drive when Alexis got home that evening. Unusual, since he had the longer drive. She almost always had dinner ready when he came in, if he didn’t have a late meeting. But he must have left work early. Her stomach felt like it had dropped to her toes. Someone—either Drew or Cat—had told him about the lunch date, and Logan was probably pissed about what she’d done. Old stick-in-the-mud Alexis who was all worked up.

But Drew hadn’t liked it either. “We’re okay, Alexis. We’re fine.” Just who was we? Not him, for sure, and she’d been the one to bring on the hurt. She could have left him in the dark. She had a feeling he would have been just fine with that.

Alexis realized her hands were clenched on the wheel, and she hadn’t turned the engine off yet. She pulled out the car key, opened the door, and grabbed her briefcase. Time to face the music, as the old saying went.

But why was she the guilty one? She still hadn’t figured it out, yet that’s how she felt. She was the one ruining everything, the one who couldn’t deal with it.

She found Logan in the kitchen. He’d already exchanged his suit for jeans and a T-shirt. “We need to talk, Alexis. I’ve asked Drew and Cat over.”

As he said it, the doorbell rang. Logan started to pass her in the kitchen entry. “I told Drew,” she said.

Halfway across the foyer, he turned, eyes narrowed, his gaze the hot green of anger. “I know. Thanks. You didn’t even talk to me first, give me a little heads up.”

Well, screw him. Something snapped inside her. “Just like you didn’t give me a heads up you were fucking Cat.” God, she was bitter. In her gut, she was suddenly sure this couldn’t be fixed. They’d crossed a line, and no one could ever go back.

Logan opened the front door. Cat and Drew stood side-by-side, not touching. “Let’s do this in the great room,” Logan said, sweeping out an arm and stepping aside.

Drew’s features were hard, unsmiling, and he didn’t offer a handshake. Logan simply glowered, generally, not at anyone in particular, but Alexis knew it was for her.

Then there was Cat. “Hi, hon.” She smiled; it might even have been a bit smug. Bitch.

Dammit, there was nothing to talk about because there would be no more card games, no more barbecues, no more fucking. She wouldn’t have it, and that’s what she’d say. She was last into the great room.

The late afternoon sun shone through the windows. Logan had opened the curtains. A pain slammed up between her ribs. It wasn’t her heart; it was the sudden blast of images from the last time they were all in this room. The things they’d done. Cat and Logan whispering, nuzzling. And Drew’s kiss.

Logan sat on the loveseat, adjusting his jeans over his knees. Drew and Cat took the sofa, Cat in the corner closest to Logan. Alexis supposed she was meant to take the place beside Logan, but she refused to sit.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush.” Logan, the man’s man, taking control. Didn’t he see the double entendre? He’d already been beating around Cat’s bush.

Oh yes, she was bitter.

“Cat and I didn’t mean for this happen, but after Alexis found us the other day, we talked everything over, and we realize we’ve fallen in love.” From his corner of the loveseat, he took Cat’s hand on the arm of the sofa. They looked into each other’s eyes.

The air in the great room was so still that Alexis could make out each individual breath. A sigh from Cat, a sharper puff from Logan. And nothing from Drew, as if he’d stopped breathing altogether.

“This is a joke, right?” she said.

“No, Alexis, it’s not.” Logan looked at Cat. Alexis remembered that gaze from long ago, the sweetness of it. When it was for her.

She didn’t feel anything. Not one single thing. Except that her body felt like someone had just shrink-wrapped it. And that if she hadn’t been shrink-wrapped, she would have stabbed Cat’s eyes out with a rusty fork, then started in on Logan’s heart.

She glanced at Cat. “Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered. She hated the false pity. Cat didn’t feel any of that. She was happy, triumphant, but trying to hide it behind that smug little smile of hers.

Then Drew exploded off the couch. “Fuck you both.” He was like a tornado rushing through, sucking all the air out with him as he left. The slam of the front door reverberated in the walls of the house. Cat and Logan glanced at each other, then Logan jutted his chin. Cat rose, as if they’d just had some silent communication that only married people should have. Or lovers cheating on their spouses.

This time the front door closed much more quietly.

“I believe it’s better if we separate.” Logan put his hands on his thighs and shoved himself out of the loveseat as if he’d suddenly aged ten years. His knees creaked.

No marriage counseling, no nothing, just suddenly...separate.

“You’re in love with her?” Alexis didn’t even recognize her own voice. It was high, squeaky, even petulant.

“It just happened, Alexis.”

But when did it happen? “How long was this going on? Before Tahoe?”

“Of course not.” He said it exactly the way Cat had. Then he passed her, headed down the hall to their bedroom. “Please, let’s not dissect the whole thing.”

She wanted to dissect herself, figure out what was going on inside her. Because she was numb. She knew he was lying, but she had no feelings about it. She just wanted to lie down and go to sleep. Forever.

But she had to act like she felt something so she followed him to their bedroom. His suitcase was open on the bed, filled with shirts and underwear. The clink of the medicine cabinet slipped around the edge of the bathroom doorjamb. Logan came out, set his shaving kit in the case, then flopped the lid closed, zipped, and hauled it upright onto the floor.

“You were packing before I even got home.” The words come from a hollow place deep inside her.

“You gave me no choice. You told Drew. We needed to make a decision.” He passed her, entered the walk-in closet, and came out with a suit carrier, already packed with his suits.

“Sorry it turned out this way, babe. I didn’t mean for it to happen like it did.”

Fifteen years and that was all he had to say, sorry it turned out this way, babe?

He hefted the carrier over his shoulder, rolled the suitcase out the door, and left her.

Yeah, that was all he had to say.

Alexis didn’t feel anything. She would not allow herself to feel anything. If she did, she’d never make it through the night.

* * * * *

Drew was in the hallway when the door opened behind him. Cat’s suitcase was in the corner by the door. When he’d gotten home from work, she’d caught him as he came in the garage and told him they needed to talk with Logan and Alexis. He hadn’t even gotten inside.

Without turning, he pointed. “What if I’d walked in to take a leak and saw the suitcase there?”

“I would have told you then,” she said.

Did she even get the callousness of it?

“I’m sorry, Drew,” she whispered.

“This isn’t what we signed on for,” he said, not willing to accept or forgive. “I told you I didn’t want everything fucked up, but you did what you wanted to do anyway.” He didn’t want to know how much more she’d done without him.

“I couldn’t help it.”

He’d fucking helped it. He’d had emotions he’d walked away from. He’d chosen his marriage to Cat over some fleeting lust.

He clenched his fists until they ached. “Don’t touch me,” he said as he felt a shift in the air currents. He didn’t know what he was capable of. He wasn’t an angry man or a brutal one. But he didn’t know himself right then.

“Do you want to talk about it, let me explain?”

He closed his eyes. He wanted to shout. He wanted to do violence. Instead he kept his voice steady, kept the tremors inside. “No. I want you to get out.”

“You’re not going to try to change my mind?”

He turned then because he couldn’t even begin to gauge the note in her voice. She was curiously lacking in expression, just pretty, sexy Cat doing a role play. Only a moment before, if she’d touched him despite what he said, maybe he would have tried. But there was something about this Cat that was so real. So her. She wanted to hear him beg. She wanted to know she still had a hold on him, that his life would dissolve when she was gone.

“Always playing the game, aren’t you, Cat.” He’d let her lead him around by the balls for years. He hadn’t cared. She’d given him all he thought he needed, home, hearth, stability, and off-the-charts sex. He was envied at every company Christmas party. He’d achieved the American dream. It all meant so much to her that she’d fallen in love with the neighbor in a month. He’d been cheated, not just sex, but everything. “Your bag is packed. Take it and get the fuck out.”

“Drew,” she said. For the first time, there was a hint of pleading.

He laughed, a painful rasp in his throat. “Do you want me to wish you all the best, have a great life, all that bullshit?”

“I don’t know what I want. Just for you not to feel so bad.”

He got right down in her face. “Is that what you were thinking when I was buried in your ass and you were kissing him?”

“Drew, don’t be mean, please.”

He backed off, his vision blurred. He blinked to clear it. “You ended it, Cat, not me. You didn’t even have the courage to tell me yourself. You had him do it. It’s time for you to go to him.” He looked at her, let all the emotion drain out of him. “You’re his problem now.”

She stared at him, her gaze stark as if she saw for the first time what she’d done. Then, reaching behind, she turned the door knob, bent down to raise the roller handle of her suitcase. He walked away before she left him. From the kitchen, he heard the front door close.

There were take-out cartons on the counter, the cardboard cold to the touch. Was she going to ply him with dinner first, soothe his savage beast, so to speak?

There were so many questions crowding his head. When did she decide to leave him for Logan? Was it when he called her after his lunch with Alexis? Christ, that seemed like days ago. Had Cat called Logan then, and they cooked up this thing? He didn’t understand anything.

He poured himself a draught of Southern Comfort and sat down on the couch in the family room. What the fuck? His life had just been shot to hell.

Sitting there for God only knew how long until dusk had faded to evening, he thought of so many things. He thought of Alexis in that room tonight. Every ounce of color had literally drained from her face, leaving a ghost of herself. He’d walked out on her this afternoon at the restaurant, left her alone to deal with it.

Christ, he sucked.

But if she’d never walked in on them in the first place. If she’d hadn’t told him. If she’d let sleeping dogs lie. They could have gone on fucking, having a great time, nothing changing. They could have kept everything.

The doorbell rang, a jaunty obnoxious tune that Cat thought was so much better than a normal ding-dong. He hated that fucking bell. Now he could rip it out.

She was a shadow through the opaque glass of the front door. Alexis. He’d wanted her. He’d given her up for his wife who was fucking Logan anyway. Screw Cat. Screw Logan.

There was nothing stopping him now.

And there was Chapter Seventeen of Kinky Neighbors by me, Jasmine Haynes. A bit of a shock! Tune in next week to see what other shocks are coming! Only two chapters left!

And don’t forget about the Max Starr. This is a wonderfully emotion-packed series that will keep you on the edge and craving more of Max and Witt. Kindle Nook Smashwords POD

Chapter Sixteen! Kinky Neighbors!

2011-06-27T05:45:00.000-07:00

I just turned in The Principal’s Office, my third DeKnight Novel. I really enjoyed writing this book. It’s due to be released in April 2012. Don’t miss the first in the trilogy, Past Midnight. Here’s where you can get in e-book format, Amazon and B&N. It’s available in print at all major stores. Look for Book 2, What Happens After Dark, in Nov 2011!

I’ll be blogging at RomConInc on Thurs, June 30. Stop by and leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of The Fortune Hunter.

Chapter Sixteen of Kinky Neighbors is here! As you will recall, Alexis was just about to confront Cat! How on earth will that go? Can Alexis actually come out on top? Only four chapters left!! If you missed any of the story, Chapter One started on March 14th. And yes, it’s a very naughty read and you must be at least 18 years old, thank you very much. And of course you can buy Kinky Neighbors on B&N, Amazon, and Smashwords. Thanks to my best bud, Rosemary Gunn for this great cover. Can’t wait for your visit out here!

Kinky Neighbors
Copyright 2011 Jasmine Haynes
Chapter Sixteen

Donning her flip-flops, Alexis trudged next door. If Cat had returned to work, she would damn well follow her there, too. The pounding beat of her heart drowned out the tinkling of the doorbell inside the house.

Despite her resolve, she wanted to run when the door opened. Cat was polished and beautiful, her auburn hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Wearing a chic lemon yellow sheath that hugged all her assets and showed off her flat stomach, Cat was perfectly put together, immediately putting Alexis in the one-down position.

Damn her that she could look so good after having hot, sweaty, disgusting, cheating sex.

Alexis inwardly cringed at the thought, and her skin shriveled when Cat grabbed her arm to pull her inside. “Oh, hon, come on in. We can straighten this all out.”

How were they supposed to straighten out the fact that Cat had been fucking Logan while Alexis was at work?

“I know what you’re thinking,” Cat said, leading Alexis into the kitchen. Like a lamb to the slaughter? “Let’s pour some coffee first. I was going to come get you so we could talk this through.”

It was so surreal. They were going to have coffee? Alexis hadn’t even said a word yet. Was she going to let Cat just explain it away?

“I don’t want any coffee.” She ignored the mug Cat set on the counter. “I don’t care how it happened or why. I just want you to tell me it’s not going to happen again.”

Cat tipped her head. She didn’t smile exactly, but something, maybe a smirk, creased her mouth, and she widened her eyes as if she couldn’t possibly have heard Alexis correctly. “But we’ve all been having such a good time together. You enjoyed it. Please don’t tell me you were faking all those orgasms.”

Alexis gaped. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“You did have some out-of-this-world orgasms, didn’t you?” Cat put out a hand, her fingernails finely manicured.

Alexis jerked away before Cat could touch her. “What has that got to do with fucking my husband in my bed while I’m at work?”

Cat blinked, Miss Wide-eyed Innocence. “I honestly didn’t think you’d mind. I was checking in with Logan when he was driving down this way for a meeting, and I had a break between clients, and we thought what the heck.”

“So why didn’t Logan tell me about his meeting?” And why were they always calling each other?

“I don’t know. You’d have to ask him.”

Goddammit, that wasn’t the point anyway. “I don’t care how it happened. Just tell me you’re not going to do it again.”

“Look, if I’d known you’d get upset—”

“Cat, you were fucking my husband. How could you not think I’d be upset?”

“But I’ve been fucking him for a month.” Cat narrowed her eyes slightly, almost imperceptibly. “And you’ve been fucking my husband.”

Alexis felt a twinge, but she wasn’t going to be beaten down. “You just don’t get it.”

“You’re right, I don’t. Drew and I were going to talk to you guys about going on separate dates, like role playing. Then coming home and reliving it all with our own spouses. I thought you’d go for that.”

“Are you crazy?” Her head was aching, a migraine behind her eyes. “That is not okay.”

Cat shot her a woebegone just-been-kicked look. “Hon, I’m so sorry. We should have talked about the ground rules right up front. We were both thinking different things. But it’s all out in the open now. We can agree on the do’s and don’ts, make sure we all know the expectations, what’s okay, what’s not acceptable.”

She wanted to scream. Taking a step back, then another, she was suddenly crowded up against the refrigerator. She tried breathing slowly so she didn’t hyperventilate. “None of it is acceptable anymore. Don’t you get that you crossed the line today?”

Cat gave a little shrug of her shoulders. “Honestly, I didn’t know you’d be so touchy. You should have said something.”

She should have said something, like this was all her fault? “I can’t believe you, Cat.”

“Why? You liked it all before.” Cat moved in on her, and blocked by the fridge, Alexis had nowhere to go. She was in her flip-flops, and with her high heels, Cat towered over her. “You loved it. I made it possible for you to take what you wanted, my husband.” Her voice low, almost seductive, Cat stepped right into her personal space. “You liked everything. Even what I did to you. And you know you want more. I gave you that first little push into getting with the program. Logan loves it, doesn’t he? The sex between you two has gotten so much better, hasn’t it? Isn’t this kinky foursome we have the thing he’s always wanted? You just needed a little push.” She shook her head gently. “You can’t give it up.”

Cat’s suddenly cloying perfume made her nauseous, but Cat’s words were beginning to register, take on meaning. “You and Logan talked about all that?”

“I wanted to test the waters, that’s all. I didn’t want to ruin a good friendship.”

“So you talked to Logan before?” Alexis pressed.

Cat smiled. Alexis thought of the snake offering Eve the apple. “Hints, that’s all. Nothing specific.”

But Alexis thought back. It was always Cat and Logan urging her, and they’d urged Drew, too. The first switch of cocksucking, the first fucking, Cat or Logan setting things in motion.

Good God, they’d planned it, between the two of them. It was monstrous.

“You were fucking Logan before Tahoe, weren’t you?” Her voice felt like a raspy whisper, hurting her throat.

“Of course not.” But Cat didn’t blink, didn’t look horrified at the suggestion. “We never talked, just bantered, enough so I thought it would be okay.”

Alexis didn’t believe her. Without conscious thought, she threw up a hand and shoved Cat. She stumbled into the counter. “I came over for two things, Cat. To tell you not to come near my husband again and to make sure you told Drew what’s been going on.”

“There’s nothing going on. You’re getting hysterical.”

“I’m completely clear. Are you going to tell Drew I found you in my bed with my husband?”

Cat crossed her arms, her first defensive posture. “Seeing the way you’ve reacted, I think it’s probably best he and I don’t discuss it. I’ve miscalculated everyone’s reactions.”

“Yes.” Alexis nodded her head sharply as she spoke. “You did miscalculate. And you better tell Drew.”

“Or what?” Cat snarled like the feline she was.

“Or I’ll tell him, and you won’t like how I do it.” She stepped in close and stabbed her finger just short of Cat’s chest. “And don’t come near my husband again.”

* * * * *

The bravado wasn’t like her and two days later, Alexis hadn’t followed through on her threat to Cat. She didn’t know what the hell she expected, for Drew to come over and talk to her, to Logan. Something. There was nothing from the house next door.

She and Logan didn’t talk about it, but they didn’t talk about anything else either. She wasn’t giving him the silent treatment, but she didn’t have anything to say beyond the perfunctory everyday stuff, like when they’d each be home, what was for dinner. In the evenings she read the same pages of a book over and over. They slept in the same bed, but they didn’t have sex.

She didn’t know who was waiting out whom.

By Friday, she couldn’t take it anymore. She called Drew and said, “You want to get together for lunch?”

She didn’t have a clue what his long hesitation meant. “Where do you want to meet?” he asked.

How about in your bed so your wife can walk in on us fucking? She didn’t mean it, but her anger simply would not go away. She didn’t want to ask if Cat had talked to him about what happened. If Cat hadn’t, then it wasn’t something that could be discussed over the phone. “How about Frankie Johnnie & Luigi’s on El Camino?” It was always packed and noisy, and no one would be able to eavesdrop over the cacophony of the place.

They agreed on eleven-thirty so they could beat the rush.

When she turned the corner from the parking lot, Drew was standing by the entrance. Mr. Tall GQ, he was enough to stop a woman’s heart. Hers literally lurched in her chest. He looked so good, it hurt. She shouldn’t have had any feelings at all. They all should have died when she walked into her bedroom and found his wife with her husband. With a rush of guilt, she realized that Cat was right; she’d wanted many of the things they’d all done together. She’d wanted Cat’s husband.

Drew smiled. “Hey, there.” He didn’t hug her, kiss her, or even touch her elbow as he opened the door for her.

I am so mixed up.

The restaurant was like a big Italian kitchen, noisy with laughter and voices, rich with the scent of tomatoes and spices. A dark-haired waiter in black pants and white apron showed them to a table in the corner.

Drew glanced at his menu when they were alone. “You want to share a pizza?”

Over the top of her own menu, she scanned the room and determined none of her coworkers had decided on lunch here, thank God. “That would be fine. Pick whatever you want.” She didn’t care about eating.

He ordered a Vegetarian Fantasy.

The word set her nerves jangling. Such a short time ago, he’d been her fantasy. It had all gone bad.

“What’s wrong?” He didn’t have to be intuitive to know she was a wreck about something. After all, they’d agreed to avoid each other, yet she’d asked him to lunch. Without their spouses.

Where to begin? “Has Cat talked to you about”—about what? She couldn’t even say it aloud—“anything?”

“She wondered why you and Logan hadn’t wanted to get together.”

For God’s sake, she couldn’t believe Cat would mention that. “What did you say?” It didn’t matter, but she couldn’t help herself.

“That I thought maybe you guys weren’t comfortable with what we’d been doing so we should back off until you’re ready. Or not.”

That bitch. Alexis was angry all over again, and she knew she’d say it all wrong. Stupid, stupid to have done this. She should have dragged Logan over there tonight. Confronted them. Then again, what difference did it make now? Everything that had happened was done, over, the friendship was totally screwed, and so was her trust in Logan.

“Talk to me, Alexis.”

She didn’t know how long she’d been stewing. “I’m sorry I did this, Drew. I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

He put his hand close to hers on the table, spoke softly, his voice layered beneath all the noise around them. “Since we’re here, why don’t you tell me what this is about.” He was so calm, so gentle, comforting.

Why couldn’t Logan have been like this?

“I don’t know any other way of saying it.” She heaved a great sigh that seemed like a weight on her chest. “I had to go home midday on Wednesday and I walked in on Logan and Cat.”

Drew just sat there. Looking at her. As if he didn’t get what she was saying.

Maybe she needed to be more specific. “They were—”

“I understand what they were doing,” he said sharply. His lips pressed flat, then he swallowed, and finally, the fingers of one hand drummed on the table.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know if I should have told you or not.” She felt sick. This was stupid, wrong. She hurt, so she had to make him hurt, too. Was that what this was all about? To make sure everyone else hurt the way she did?

God, how she longed for the days before Tahoe, when life was less complicated. When she still believed Logan wanted only her, and she didn’t ache for Drew’s touch.

There you have it, Chapter Sixteen of Kinky Neighbors by Jasmine Haynes. Cat’s a little late with the whole ground-rule thing, isn’t she!!! What’s Drew going to do now? Tune in next week! Only three weeks left to complete the story!

And don’t forget about the Max Starr. This is a wonderfully emotion-packed series that will keep you on the edge and craving more of Max and Witt. Amazon B&N Smashwords POD

Get ready for Ch 15 of Kinky Neighbors!

2011-06-20T05:00:00.000-07:00

Chapter Fifteen of Kinky Neighbors is here! As you may recall, Alexis just got the shock of her life walking into her house. How’s she going to handle it? Only five chapters left, folks, so what’s going to happen!!?? If you missed any of the story, Chapter One started on March 14th. And yes, it’s a very naughty read and you must be at least 18 years old, thank you very much. And of course you can buy Kinky Neighbors on Nook, Kindle, and Smashwords. Thanks to my best bud, Rosemary Gunn for this great cover.

Kinky Neighbors
Copyright 2011 Jasmine Haynes
Chapter Fifteen

Alexis ran. Like a child. Like a woman who couldn’t confront. If Cat hadn’t seen her, she didn’t know how long she would have stood there watching without saying a word.

She couldn’t go back to work. Instead, she ended up at Steven’s Creek Reservoir. Close to lunchtime, runners were stretching before taking off to run the trails. She sat on a picnic bench in the shade, her fingernails cutting half moons into her palms. When a man in orange running shorts asked if she was okay, she realized she’d been hunched over, hugging herself and rocking slightly. He probably thought she was having a nervous breakdown.

She picked up her cell phone and started to call Drew, but what the hell would she say? I just found my husband sixty-nining with your wife in my bed.

She could still hear the sounds of Cat’s mouth, slurping, sucking, and Logan saying how good it was.

How would Drew answer? Since they’ve already fucked each other nine ways to Sunday, including that hot DP session, what difference does it make?

Not to mention that Alexis had fucked and sucked Drew. And loved it.

She hugged the cell to her chest. She and Drew weren’t in that room. It wasn’t a foursome, it was a twosome. That made all the difference. Didn’t it? God, she was so mixed up, and she hurt, her belly cramping like she was starting her period. She crossed her legs, swinging her foot, back and forth, back and forth as if she were hypnotizing herself.

They were supposed to take a break. Logan had agreed they’d give it a break.

“Christ, I need to fuck.” Cat’s voice buzzed in her ears. Maybe that’s all it was. Cat needed fucking. But Logan didn’t. He’d fucked every night, taken Alexis in their bed, the one he’d just been in with Cat. What was he doing home in the middle of the day? He worked in San Francisco, for God’s sake; that was an hour drive.

A more debilitating thought hit. How many times had he come home during the day to fuck Cat in their bed?

A hot wind blew beneath the trees, ruffling her hair. The angle of the sun shifted, rays falling on her foot, burning her skin right through her pantyhose.

Okay, see, there was a whole logical part of her brain saying that it didn’t really matter because she’d already sanctioned their fucking. Yet there was that hole in her gut saying she’d only gone along, and she’d hated seeing Cat with Logan, and it didn’t matter one damn bit that she had fucked Drew and liked it. She’d never fucked him outside of the foursome. Never. In fact, even as she was drawn to him, she’d pushed him away. So it wasn’t okay, it just wasn’t fucking okay.

She grabbed her phone off the bench where she’d let it drop and stabbed Logan’s speed-dial. If he didn’t answer, if he didn’t fucking pick up, she’d—

“Baby, where are you?”

“Don’t you fucking baby me.”

“Come home. We need to talk.” He sounded so calm. She knew what he’d say if she came home. Get over it, baby, it’s not big deal. If you don’t want me to do it again, I won’t. But it doesn’t mean anything. You know how much I want you.

“Did you take the day off so you could fuck her?” She was so angry even her eyeballs hurt.

“I had an afternoon meeting down here. She called. That’s all. It wasn’t planned. Come home. We can talk about it.”

She didn’t want to talk; she wanted to scream. And she hated Cat, that bitch. This was what Cat wanted all along. To have a fuck buddy next door she could run to when she got an itch.

God, her head was going to explode. She ratcheted down. “Is she gone?”

“Of course. If you’d stayed, we could have talked it out.”

“Why does that fucking sound like you’re putting the blame on me?” Okay, she hadn’t ratcheted down, but really, arguing on the phone wasn’t the way to do it. “I’ll be home when I’m home.” She stabbed the End button.

He’d wonder if he had time to finish what he and Cat had started before Alexis got home. She stood, and her flesh felt tight over her bones as she moved, as if she’d lost all elasticity.

“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to do.”

A car pulled into the lot. The couple didn’t get out. A man and a woman. They looked at her as if trying to figure out whether she was leaving or not. They were probably married to other people, and this was a lunchtime rendezvous. She’d probably suck him off in the parking lot, then they’d race back to work and pretend nothing had happened.

God, she was warped.

In the end, of course, there was nothing else she could do but go home and talk to Logan.

* * * * *

“Look, baby, it’s not a big deal.”

“I knew you’d say that.”

They were seated at the kitchen table. Logan had made her a cup of tea. She didn’t need a fucking cup of tea.

Alexis had called her boss, told him she’d gotten a headache from the dental work and wouldn’t be back in today. On the drive home, she told herself she would calmly state her position, tell Logan what he did was unacceptable. “You fucking cheated.”

“Honey.”

She knew she was saying fuck way too much. It wasn’t like her. “Don’t honey me.”

He laid his hand flat on the table. Instead of putting on jeans, he’d dressed in his suit again as if he were going back to work after he’d talked his wife down off the ledge. “It didn’t occur to me that it would be a big deal for you. You and Drew have fucked. Cat and I did. You didn’t seem to mind.” He was so reasonable.

But she had minded. She’d told him, too, that she wasn’t comfortable with it all. “I never signed on for you fucking her behind my back in my bed.”

“It was poor judgment, I’m sorry.”

She laughed. What exactly was poor judgment? That he’d fucked Cat or that he’d done it in their bed? “I’ve seen how you look at her, how you kiss her.” She felt a heart-wrenching twinge. The same way Drew had kissed her on Saturday night when he was buried in his wife. Oh God, am I any better? She’d felt emotion. For Logan, it was just sex.

“I don’t look at her in any special way.”

Despite her guilt, she couldn’t help going on, like poking at a sore tooth. “You do. You look at her thin, perfect body, her pretty face, how young she is.”

Logan pushed up from the table, turned, shoving his hands through his hair. “Is that what this is all about? Because you think she’s younger, prettier, sexier, and thinner than you? Jesus, Alexis, have some self-esteem.” He pivoted, glaring at her. “I come home to you every night, I fuck you every night, I tell you how much I want you, and it’s still not enough.”

She simply gaped at him. “You fucked another woman.”

“And you fucked another man. When are you going to accept it’s just sex and get over it? If you didn’t want it all, you should have said that in Tahoe the first night. Don’t think I didn’t notice how you drooled over Drew’s cock. You wanted him. Admit it.”

For the first time, she felt a semblance of calm wash over her. He was turning it back on her. And he was right. She’d wanted Drew. She’d let it happen because she wanted to taste him, feel him inside her. She’d loved the dirty texts he’d sent. In fact, she missed them. The only thing she hadn’t done was screw him behind Logan’s back. What she’d wanted didn’t make what Logan had done in their bed today right, but it did affirm that she wasn’t blameless either.

They could dwell on it. Or they could try to move on with a few ground rules. “I don’t want you to see her anymore. I don’t want to do foursomes with them, and I don’t want to go to sex parties with them. It’s over.” God help her, a pain gripped her belly. Even with her jealousy, she felt the pang of loss over Drew. But it had to be done.

“Fine. Whatever you say.” Logan’s lips were a thin slash of red, the muscles of his face tense.

“What is Cat going to tell Drew?”

“I have no idea. It’s not my business.”

“Well, I don’t want to be the one keeping all her secrets. How can I look at him knowing everything when he doesn’t?”

“Just avoid him then.”

“He’s going to wonder,” she countered.

“Then let Cat come up with whatever excuse she wants.”

“I don’t want to be in the middle of it, between them.”

“You’re only in the middle if you put yourself there.”

“What if she tells him and he comes over here with a shotgun looking for you?”

Logan actually laughed. “I seriously doubt he’d do that. He’s not that deep.”

Logan had no idea how deep Drew was. Alexis hadn’t been kidding. Why would Drew feel any less betrayed than she did?

Logan grabbed her mug off the table and set it in the sink. “There, are we done with this? Can we put it behind us now?”

She didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t behind them. It wouldn’t be for a very long time. She wondered if he’d try to make love to her tonight as if nothing had happened. “I feel weird, Logan, really weird. I’m going to need some time.”

He pulled out the chair he’d used earlier, pushed it closer to hers, sat, then took her hands in his. “I screwed up. I forgot how sensitive you are. It’s all my fault, baby. I got carried away, thinking you loved all the kinkiness, too.” He watched her with a tender gaze, waited.

“Okay.” It was a throwaway word, a throwaway emotion. She wasn’t okay.

“Look, I’m really sorry, but I’ve got that meeting.” Yeah, the one he had to be down this way for when Cat called.

She wondered how many other times Cat had called him. She was afraid to ask, afraid to know.

When he was gone, she went into the bedroom. He’d actually made the bed after what they’d done. Alexis stripped the sheets and threw them in the outside trashcan. Then, standing by the side of the house, she yanked off her silk blouse and tossed that in, too.

Back inside, she stared at the bed without seeing it. What she saw was Logan and Cat. Then, inexplicably, she saw herself on the bed, with Drew. She straddled his face, then bent over to take his cock in her mouth. Eyes closed, she could actually feel his tongue on her, in her. He loved oral sex. He loved doing it to her. He wanted her, desired her. The last time she’d talked to him, out by the garbage cans, no less, he’d wanted to touch her. She knew it. She’d been wet wanting it so badly.

Opening her eyes, Alexis put her hands to her warm cheeks. She wasn’t much different from Logan and Cat. She wanted. She fantasized. She needed. The only difference was that she hadn’t acted on it.

But how long would that have lasted? How long before it was her in Drew’s bed with Cat walking in on them?

“No,” she whispered to the room. “I wouldn’t have done that.” Yanking open her drawer, she pulled out a pair of capri sweats and a crop top. Logan wanted to put it behind them. She wasn’t like that. It was going to fester inside her unless she somehow exorcized it. There was only one thing to do.

She had to talk to Cat.

There you have it, Chapter Fifteen of Kinky Neighbors by Jasmine Haynes. I have to admit that Cat really bugs me. I wonder what she’s going to say to Alexis. Just blow it all off like Logan did? And what about Drew? Who’s going to tell him or are we all going to keep him in the dark? Tune in next week! Only four weeks left to complete the story!

And don’t forget about the Max Starr. This is a wonderfully emotion-packed series that will keep you on the edge and craving more of Max and Witt. Here's where you can get the first book, Dead to the Max. Amazon B&N Smashwords POD

It's here! Those Kinky Neighbors! Chapter Fourteen

2011-06-13T05:00:00.000-07:00

First of all, Happy Birthday to my sister Janice and to Rita!

Chapter Fourteen of Kinky Neighbors is here! Last week, the Harts and the Mitchells got really down and dirty! How could they possibly top that? You’ll find out soon! If you missed any of the story, Chapter One started on March 14th. And yes, it’s a very naughty read and you must be at least 18 years old, thank you very much. Of course you can buy Kinky Neighbors on B&N, Amazon, and Smashwords. Thanks to my best bud, Rosemary Gunn for this sexycover.

Kinky Neighbors
Copyright 2011 Jasmine Haynes
Chapter Fourteen

Drew broke his vow on Monday when he pulled into the driveway after work and saw Alexis wheeling the trashcans out to the curb. He could have just waved. He should have waved.

Instead, he noted that Cat wasn’t home yet, that Alexis’s car was the only one sitting outside their garage, and walked to the end of her drive as she set out the recycle can. “How was work?” It sounded innocuous enough. Except that he’d never trotted over to ask her before.

She wore a sleekly tailored cream suit with a short jacket that accentuated her hourglass figure. “Fine, thanks.”

She shaded her eyes against the sun behind him, and he shifted to ease the brightness for her. He felt tongue-tied and stupid, shades of being a gawky teenager. “I wanted to make sure everything was okay after Saturday.”

She dropped her gaze to his tie. “Everything’s fine.”

“I mean, well...” Fuck. He sounded like a weak-kneed SOB. Just fucking say it. “I don’t want you to feel awkward. Cat can be pretty...” Seductive was the right word, but he didn’t want to use it in this case, nor did he want to call Cat pushy because it made him sound like an asshole who criticized his wife. “Forceful,” he finally settled on. He didn’t like to think of himself as a pushover, but he let Cat call a lot of the shots because he didn’t care about most of the stuff she wanted to do. He liked their relationship to be easy. But it wasn’t only him she was pushing this time. “I want you to feel comfortable saying no to her, Alexis.”

“I can say no to Cat.” She took a beat too long saying it, then pursed her lips. That press-lipped look always meant a woman wasn’t saying what she was thinking. Except for Cat. Because Cat said whatever she wanted.

Alexis was so much more reserved, he couldn’t always gauge her feelings. “I sensed you were uneasy with some of the things that happened,” he ventured.

She tipped her head back, her gaze moving across his face, then slowly, a smile curved her mouth. “Some of the things?” she emphasized with the lilt of a question. Glancing up the street, she leaned in. “We had wild, crazy sex, Drew. That’s not just things.”

But they didn’t have sex. He’d kissed her, nothing more. Yet the kiss had seemed like so much more. “Let me rephrase. Are you okay after your husband and I fucked the hell out of my wife? Does that adequately describe things?” He tried to make it sound light rather than dark, like a joke between them.

“Yes.” Her eyes glittered with something he couldn’t get a bead on. Not humor, not tears either. “I’m fine with that part of it.”

Which meant there was a part she wasn’t fine with, but before he could ask, she turned it around on him. “You vamoosed pretty quick. Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly.

“We’re moving too fast, aren’t we.” She put it out there for him, not a question, but a statement.

“Yeah.” What the fuck was he doing here, trying to get close? It wasn’t about making sure she was okay; it was to wallow in the scent of her, the sound of her voice, her pretty smile.

They were near enough for her to put a hand on him. He wished she hadn’t. Because he felt that touch deep in his gut. An ache.

“Why don’t we take a breather?” Her voice was soft, as seductive as if she had whispered fuck words to him. “We’ll just have something else to do for the next couple of weekends. Let it all settle down.”

“It’s not you, Alexis.” He jumped in quickly to reassure her. “It’s not about how desirable you are.” Because Jesus, he could fuck her all night long and wake up beside her in the morning. “I just think we all need to be centered with what we’re doing.”

“I did feel left out,” she admitted, staring down at her shoes. He wondered how much that admission cost her.

“Then it’s no fucking good.” He wanted to touch her, communicate his fervency through tactile sensation. If a car hadn’t turned down their road, he might have.

As it passed, she looked at him. “Thank you. I...” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, like a nervous tick. “I really appreciate you talking to me about it.”

He got the sense that she and Logan didn’t talk about it. Or couldn’t. Which made it bad all around. “Let’s give it a couple of weeks, then.”

“Yeah.” She fluttered a hand in goodbye, turned, then turned back just as quickly. “I like it with you, Drew. Just so you know. I do like it.”

He watched her go and wished to God she hadn’t said that.

* * * * *

“Cat and Drew are starting to think we’re avoiding them, Alexis.”

Alexis could feel the argument brewing in Logan’s voice. With her cell phone to her ear, she crossed her office to close the door. “I’m not avoiding them. But Connie wanted us over one more time before school started for the kids.” After seeing Drew a couple of days ago while she was putting out the trash bins, when they’d agreed to slow things down a bit, she’d jumped on Connie’s invitation.

“We were there in June.” Logan had two younger sisters, three nephews, and two nieces, both of them living in the East Bay out by Pleasanton, an hour’s drive. His folks were gone and his sisters liked to pretend they were keeping the family together. Logan hated family get-togethers, mostly because he disliked his two brothers-in-law. Alexis was the peacemaker and usually got Logan to agree to Thanksgiving, Christmas, and one barbecue in the summer.

She was now pushing for two summer visits. It was an excuse not to see Drew and Cat.

She remembered Drew’s words as they stood by the curb. She could say no to Cat. The problem was saying no to Logan.

Or maybe the problem was that look in Drew’s eyes. He’d said his desire to cool things off wasn’t about her, and with the way his gaze had trailed over her body, she’d believed him. The look had been a caress. It made her remember his kiss. Even now, it had the power to weaken her knees.

“Talk to me, baby, tell me what’s wrong.” Logan’s plea reminded her of his whispered baby. Not to her, but to Cat.

God, her emotions were all so mixed up, her stomach sick with guilt over how much she thought about Drew, how much she wanted him, yet jealousy pounding behind her eyes when she heard Logan’s sexy whisper in her head all over again. “I don’t want to do it anymore, Logan. I’m not cut out for it; I can’t handle it.”

“The DP?”

He could be so damn obtuse. “All of it. I just feel...” She didn’t even know which feeling to express, there so many contradictory ones.

“Saturday was once in a lifetime, something I’ve always wanted to experience, and there it was right in our laps. I know it’s not something you’d ever want.”

So it was her fault. Pulling out a chair at her small conference table, she slumped into it, rubbing her temple. “I felt left out.” Except for Drew, who never stopped touching her even while he was fucking Cat. He made her a part of it all. And that kiss. She closed her eyes.

“Baby, it’s not about her. It’s you I want you. But this has made things between us so much better. I can’t get enough of you now. What we did on Saturday was just a part of it all, baby.”

Baby. True, he’d had her every night since. And he’d called her baby. It just didn’t have the same meaning now. Whenever he used it, she saw him under Cat, his cock buried in Cat, his hands in Cat’s hair, kissing Cat.

She didn’t know how she could hate that memory so much when she was also so attracted to Drew. It all made her crazy. “Please, Logan.”

“We can take time off from them, okay, baby? Then later, maybe we can all go up to the city, to some sort of party like we all talked about, just to watch. The kink has been so good for us. Don’t let it all end on a bad note.”

She wanted to laugh. There were already so many bad notes. She was supposed to book that trip to Madonna Inn, but she’d never even looked into it. She didn’t like the way she felt, not about Drew, not about Logan. Especially not about Cat. Because she was starting to dislike her. It wasn’t even Cat’s fault; Alexis had agreed to everything.

“All right, Logan, a little time off. That would be good. Thank you.”

“So does that mean we don’t have to go to my sister’s this weekend?”

“No.” She laughed, trying to make it sound light and normal. “I already told them yes. And the kids love you.”

“They enjoy torturing me.”

“That shows they love you.”

After hanging up, she admitted to herself she’d given in. She’d still have to deal with later.

* * * * *

Dammit. Alexis had forgotten about her Wednesday dental appointment, and she’d worn a silk blouse to work. Now it was covered with water spots and flecks of the mint paste the hygienist used. She was fifteen minutes from home and decided to see if she could repair some of the damage to the blouse. Besides she couldn’t go back to work with her clothing in that state.

She was feeling better. The weekend barbecue at Logan’s sister had gone well. There were no dates with the Mitchells on the event horizon, and true to his word, since their little talk last week, Logan couldn’t get enough of her.

Life was good. If she felt a little hiccup of emotion when she pulled into her driveway and thought of Drew, how he moved, how he tasted, how he felt inside her, well, that would go away eventually. She’d seen him mowing the lawn; they’d exchanged friendly waves. What had happened was just a weird month where they’d gone crazy, that’s all.

Unlocking the front door, she stepped into the cool house. In summer, she pulled all the curtains to keep the house from overheating. She dropped her purse on the hall table, then unbuttoned her blouse as she headed down the hall to the master bedroom. Damn. The silk might be ruined. She’d taken three steps into the bedroom before she realized it wasn’t empty.

Logan moaned. “Oh yeah, baby, that’s so good.”

Cat was on top of him, straddling his face, his cock buried in her mouth. Sixty-nine. The slurping of tongues and mouths filled the room. Alexis didn’t know how she could have missed the sounds all the way down the hall.

“God, I love your cock,” Cat said to the piece of meat in her hand before she once again devoured it.

The sounds, they were louder and louder until they seemed to echo off the blue walls of the bedroom and pounded right into Alexis’s head. Or maybe that was her heart pounding its way out of her chest.

“Christ, I need to fuck.” Cat pushed herself straight up on her arms. Then she saw Alexis rooted to the floor as if her feet had grown down into the hardwood.

And Cat smiled.

There you have it, Chapter Fourteen of Kinky Neighbors by Jasmine Haynes. So how many of you were expecting that!!?? I don't think Alexis was either. What's Drew going to do when he finds out? Or will he find out?

And don’t forget about the Max Starr. This is a wonderfully emotion-packed series that will keep you on the edge and craving more of Max and Witt. Kindle Nook Smashwords Createspace POD

Chapter Thirteen! Kinky Neighbors!

2011-06-06T05:00:00.000-07:00

The conservatory at the Bellagio in Las Vegas, from my trip there at the beginning of May! Very cool place!

Chapter Thirteen of Kinky Neighbors is here! Last week, the Harts and the Mitchells were about to venture into new territory! Now, are they actually going to do it!? If you missed any of the story, Chapter One started on March 14th. And yes, it’s a very naughty read and you must be at least 18 years old, thank you very much. And of course you can buy Kinky Neighbors on B&N, Amazon, and Smashwords.

Kinky Neighbors
Copyright 2011 Jasmine Haynes
Chapter Thirteen

Alexis had barely said the words, and they all seemed to be naked. Except her. She didn’t remove one single stitch of clothing.

Down on her knees like a geisha, Cat yanked on Drew’s zipper and pulled his shorts down his legs. Logan stood, dragged his shirt over his head, tossed it, then dropped his shorts, kicking them aside. Cat’s skimpy shorts simply melted away.

She waggled her eyebrows. On her, it was actually sexy. “How shall we do it, boys?”

Alexis’s belly cramped. She didn’t want to do double penetration. And she wasn’t sure she wanted Logan to do it to Cat. This foursome thing was snowballing on her. Suddenly it was Logan, Drew, and Cat, and Alexis was on the outside looking in.

“Lady’s choice,” Logan said. “You tell us where to put what.”

“Eenie, meenie, mienie, mo,” Cat singsonged.

Alexis had wanted to say no. But Drew looked at her. It was like the moment in the front hall when Cat brought up the oral sex thing, like it was no big deal unless Alexis made it a big deal. She could feel Drew wanting to step in, wanting to protect her, as if she was the only one in the group who couldn’t handle it.

He was about to come to her rescue again. She’d opened her mouth to stop him. And out came that idiotic statement. “I want to watch.”

God help her, if she shut this down, she wouldn’t get to touch Drew again either. She put her hand over her mouth before hysterical laughter bubbled up. It was the most insane reason. Now the chance to put a stop to things was gone.

Cat made her choice. “Logan on bottom.” She smiled, licked her lips. “Drew in the rear.”

Alexis couldn’t decide which was the primo location, bottom or rear.

“Lay down on the carpet, Logan.” Cat played choreographer. “Where are the condoms, Alexis?”

After everything, her cheeks actually flamed. “In the side table over there.” She pointed.

Drew fished two out of the drawer. “Do the honors, Alexis.” There was that flash of warmth in his brown eyes. He didn’t want her to feel left out. His cock was hard, his cheeks ruddy with desire, and with that look, he made her feel it was all for her more than the DP.

She smiled her thanks. Tearing the condom packet, she knelt next to Logan. “Well, my dear, it looks like you’re more than ready.”

His cock a flagpole, Logan grinned. “I’ve never had DP before,” he said, as if he were talking about a different flavor of ice cream or a brand new Corvette.

She stroked him for good measure, and a bead of pre-come leaked from his tip. Leaning down, she licked it away. He sucked in a breath. “Jesus, baby.”

Then she rolled the condom down his length. “Come on, Cat, climb aboard.” She could do this. She could get into it.

Cat straddled Logan as Alexis held his cock aloft. Knees bent, legs along his flanks, Cat seemed mesmerized by the sight. “That’s so sexy,” Cat murmured. “Like you’re feeding him to me.” She put a hand on Alexis’s shoulder. “Tell him to fuck me,” she whispered, her lips so close, Alexis was sure only she heard.

“Fuck her,” Alexis murmured. “Fuck her really good.” As she said the words, she felt a hand on the bare strip of skin just below the back tie of her halter top. Rough fingers pad stroking her. Drew.

Then Cat sank down on Alexis’s husband, forcing Alexis to let go of his cock as Cat took him fully.

Logan groaned. “Christ, she’s already wet. No one’s even touched her and she’s so fucking wet, Drew.”

“She always is.” His breath whispered across Alexis’s hair as he spoke. His body heat seared her. She was sure she was as wet as Cat.

“I need to fuck him a little, get us both ready for the next step.” Leaning over him, hands braced on the carpet by his head, Cat rocked on Logan, the muscles of her ass flexing.

“Jesus. God.” Logan groaned. “That’s so fucking good. You’re so tight, baby.”

Baby. Her blood chilled in her veins. She was his baby, not Cat. It stung, the endearment on his lips about another woman.

Then Drew touched her. “Take my cock.” He climbed into position behind Cat as she bent over Logan.

For a moment, Alexis could only stare. Logan’s balls were full, hard, his cock buried in Cat’s pussy. She’d never seen it so up close and personal. Someone, Drew, had always been doing something to her, holding her, licking her, touching her, fucking her. Jealousy inexplicably stabbed through her.

“Take my cock,” Drew said again. He’d already put on the condom. It was his own wife’s ass, but he’d donned one anyway. “Cup my balls,” he urged. “Touch me.”

There was a subliminal message there. Look at me, see me. Could he read her thoughts? Was he trying to distract her from them?

He’d taken the bottle of lube from the drawer, too. “Put it on me,” he told her.

Cupping his balls the way he wanted, she squeezed him as she poured the lube over his cock. His eyes were an earthy brown. “Put it on her, too.”

He didn’t say Cat’s name, as if this were about them, not Cat and Logan. As if they were separate, apart.

Cat undulated slowly, her ass high, her hole visible between her cheeks. Alexis drizzled the lube over her.

“Spread it around with my cock.”

Alexis used Drew’s cock to smear the lube over Cat. Though she was careful of the condom, she stroked him.

“Put me at her opening. Help me in.” He held Cat’s hip with one hand, but the other he kept on Alexis, along that bare strip of skin, down to cup her ass, back up. His nose in her hair, he breathed deeply, taking in her scent.

It was the sexiest thing, that sound. It drowned out Logan’s groans and his whispered baby, baby, and turned her molten.

She held him to Cat’s ass, and together they pressed closer. She helped him ease in, out, not fully penetrating, but a little more each time, until the head of his cock breached Cat fully.

“Oh God.” Cat moaned, sighed, held perfectly still. “That’s good. That’s so good.”

They were all so close, Logan beneath Cat, Cat’s hip glued to Alexis’s abdomen, Drew’s arm around her. Then Logan thrust.

Cat gasped. “Wait, wait. Let him get inside me, baby.”

There was that twinge again. Between them, baby was wrong.

Cat turned her head, dropped one shoulder so she could look back. “Drew, honey, do me. Take me. I need it.”

“Yeah, baby.” And he eased deeper, slowly deeper.

Baby. Drew used it, too. It was no big deal. It was part of the act they were doing.

“Look at that,” he whispered. Alexis was forced to meet the deep amber glow of his gaze. “Help me fuck her.”

She let him draw her in with just his words, just his voice.

* * * * *

He was drowning in sensation; Alexis’s scent, her skin against his, Cat tight around him, even Logan. The other man’s cock stroked him through Cat’s thin membrane. But mostly there was Alexis.

“Tell me how good it is,” she whispered to him.

It was like a siren’s song. “She’s so tight, and you smell so good.”

Alexis sighed with pleasure.

“Fuck me harder, Drew.” Cat didn’t look over her shoulder. “The harder you fuck me, the harder I fuck Logan.”

He did what she wanted. He always did what Cat wanted. He was her stud. She didn’t even glance at him, simply directed him. For one moment, he felt so apart from her, it was like a chasm between them despite the fact that his cock was in her ass. He was just the tool; Logan was the real receiver.

But in return, he got the heaven of Alexis’s touch on him. Fuck if he cared right now what that meant. He wasn’t bitter that Cat needed this. Holding her hip in one hand, he fucked his wife, his balls slapping Logan’s flesh.

“Oh yeah. Fuck. Christ.” Logan was vocal, the muscles of his thighs tense along Drew’s calves. “Oh man, give it to her. Give her to me. Fuck yeah.” Then he fisted his hands in Cat’s hair and pulled her head down. They stopped moaning and groaning, and there was just the slap of flesh and the wetness of that kiss.

It was the heat of the moment. He’d never told Cat kissing was off limits.

His arm around Alexis flexed involuntarily. It was off limits for him. He wasn’t supposed to kiss Alexis. But Cat, fuck, she could do anything. He pounded into her, and she took it all. He pounded into her and gave her to another man at the same time. Forced her down on him. He was her fucking stud.

But she wasn’t supposed to kiss Logan. They kissed, then they whispered to each other. He couldn’t hear what they said. He could only feel the ache rising in his balls. A pain, a need. Building in him, blinding him. God, he’d wanted Alexis’s kiss so badly he’d thought he’d go mad from it. Yet he’d denied himself.

Fuck if he’d deny himself one more moment.

Wrapping his hand around Alexis’s nape, he pulled her close. The first touch of her lips against his was an explosion of taste, sweetness. She opened her mouth to him, gave him her tongue, and he felt the punch of need deep in his gut. He lost himself in her kiss, so sweet, so deep, so giving. For a moment, it was her body he was buried in, her flesh surrounding him. It was her lips that wrenched the orgasm from him. For a moment, as his body simply imploded, there was only Alexis.

The guilt didn’t come until he came to amid a tangle of bodies, his cock buried in Cat, Alexis tight in his arms.

He’d cheated on his wife. He hadn’t even been inside Alexis, but for one moment, she’d owned him. Jesus.

He opened his eyes; her gaze was like a mirror, reflecting everything he felt.

“Jesus H. Christ, that was too fucking perfect.” Logan’s voice, from somewhere under the mass of arms and legs. “Cat, you’re unbelievable.”

The line of Alexis’s throat worked as she swallowed. Then she slowly pulled away, disengaged, disconnected. Mentally and physically. The loss made him feel empty. He hadn’t even been fucking her, only kissing her, yet she’d turned him inside out.

“Oh, honey, that was so perfect.” Cat moved beneath him. “But you need to get up now.”

“Yeah, sure.” He pulled out, rose, and entered the small half bath off the laundry room hallway to clean up and dispose of the condom.

His face in the mirror was drawn. It reflected his mind, his emotions. He couldn’t do this again, no fucking way. He couldn’t cut that cord between emotion and sex. He was in lust with Alexis. Lust wasn’t some vague attraction, some random thought like, “Heh, I could do that lady.” It was so much more, a beginning. They should never have touched, let alone fucked. Maybe it was a guy thing, but it had flipped some switch in his brain, and now he couldn’t turn it off. He had to stop it all before lust turned to something more, something so much worse.

“I love my wife,” he whispered to the mirror. “I love Cat. My marriage is important.” It was like a fucking mantra he’d need to keep repeating.

He had never felt this kind of pull for another woman since he’d fallen for Cat. He’d been an idiot to think it would be fine to fuck Alexis. He should have told Cat no.

“Did you flush yourself down the toilet, honey?” Cat. Outside the door. “I gotta pee.”

Okay, okay. Calm down. This wasn’t the end of the world. He’d just tell her he was done with the foursome thing. They’d had their fun, but he didn’t want anymore.

He didn’t want Cat kissing Logan. He knew how dangerous it was.

He opened the door. She’d pulled on her shorts, but not her top, and her breasts were perky, her skin flushed. She leaned in, smelling like sex and clean feminine perspiration. “That was so hot, honey.” She kissed him lightly. Her lips didn’t taste the same as usual.

Fuck. He could swear he tasted Logan on them.

She dashed past him into the bathroom. Back in the great room, he yanked on his shorts. Upstairs, a toilet flushed. He could hear Alexis in the kitchen. When she appeared in the doorway, his heart was beating so hard, he felt lightheaded. Don’t say anything, not a fucking thing.

It was better not to acknowledge it. Maybe it was all in his own head. She didn’t feel any of it. The thought made him crash. See, he was fucking crazy. Manic.

She pointed up. “Logan will be down in a minute.”

“Thanks for dinner.” It sounded totally absurd.

Cat bounced back into the room, grabbed her t-shirt off the couch and pulled it on. Her nipples were still hard, her eyes still bright; she wanted more. He got them out of there before he did something really bad.

And he vowed he wouldn’t go back.

And there you have it, Chapter Thirteen of Kinky Neighbors by Jasmine Haynes. Things are definitely getting all mixed up, aren’t they!

And remember, my little erotic fairy tale, Beauty or the Bitch will be on sale for .99 for the month of June at both Amazon and B&N. Thank you to Rosemary Gunn for all the cover designs!

Chapter Twelve!!!

2011-05-30T05:00:00.000-07:00

Happy Memorial Day!

Just a reminder about my little erotic fairy tale, Beauty or the Bitch. I’m putting it on sale for .99 for one month starting June 1 at both Amazon and B&N. Thank you to Rosemary Gunn for all the cover designs!

Chapter Twelve of Kinky Neighbors is here! Last week, Cat really pushed for some naughty activity which Alexis is still reeling from! If you missed any of the story, Chapter One started on March 14th. And yes, it’s a very naughty read and you must be at least 18 years old, thank you very much. And of course you can buy Kinky Neighbors on B&N, Amazon, and Smashwords.

Kinky Neighbors
Copyright 2011 Jasmine Haynes
Chapter Twelve

“The Mitchells want to know if we’d like a barbecue this Saturday,” Logan called over the rush of water in the shower. “I think Drew needs to get his cock inside you again.”

Alexis smoothed moisturizer over her face as her heart raced. Drew hadn’t put his cock in her on Friday. Just his tongue. She closed her eyes. She could still feel him.

“We can’t this weekend.” She raised her voice almost to a shout so Logan would hear her. “We’ve got that party at the Redmonds.”

“What party?”

She rubbed scented lotion onto her legs. She wondered if this is where most couples did their talking, in the bathroom, because their lives were go-go-go. Last night, Tuesday, Logan hadn’t gotten home until after ten, some big strategy meeting. He’d collapsed into bed.

“I left you a voicemail,” she said after he’d punched off the shower. Alexis wasn’t fond of either of the Redmonds, but Richard Redmond worked for Logan, and when his wife, Trina, had emailed yesterday, Alexis accepted.

She was well aware it was an excuse not to see Cat and Drew this weekend. She needed to think. Things were...strange. She’d let Cat make her come. She’d never done anything like it before. Then there was Drew. He hadn’t texted her this week. That in itself wasn’t a problem. The problem was how often she’d glanced at her phone checking to see if he had. She was like a woman who’d had a great first date and was dying for the guy to call her again.

She had to put a stop to her runaway urges.

“Redmond’s an asshole.” Logan toweled off. “I don’t feel like spending my Saturday night with him.”

“He works for you, and it’s polite. Besides, it’s only a few hours.” Naked in front of the mirror, she smoothed the lotion over her breasts. The touch made her think of Drew. How he’d stroked her body after what Cat had done to her, his tenderness. How they’d both watched as Logan took Cat. It was almost fierce, as if the sight of two women had made Logan a little crazy.

She and Logan hadn’t talked about it. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the whole thing, her with Drew, Logan with Cat. Was she jealous? If she thought too much about watching the two of them, she felt a little queasy. She didn’t want to examine her emotions. Instead, she’d accepted Trina Redmond’s invitation.

“Is it a bunch of people from work?” Logan tossed his wet towel over the rack. She’d straighten it later so it would dry properly.

“I didn’t ask, but I assume so.”

Joining her at the counter, Logan grabbed his shaver and tackled the bristles on his face. He was big and beautiful, his muscles toned. Her husband was an intelligent, commanding man, a born leader. In every way, he was a perfect specimen of manhood.

So why did she suddenly think about Drew, how he asked after her feelings, wanted to make sure she was okay after Saturday, how he made a conversation about her. But he’d never kissed her when they were doing it. Why? She wanted him to kiss her.

Logan put the shaver in its cleaner, then patted on aftershave. “The party’s fine. Sorry I’m bitching. Redmond was just a pain in the ass at the meeting yesterday.”

God. The things she was thinking about. Sex with another man. Wanting another man’s kiss. She was glad Logan wasn’t looking at her in the mirror. “Redmond might be a pain in the ass,” she said, “but Trina makes the best appetizers.”

“They serve good wine, too,” Logan agreed. Then he laughed and patted her ass on the way out. “We can do the Harts next weekend. You wanna call Cat and tell her?” he said from the bedroom, the bureau drawers slamming as he pulled out underwear and socks.

“Sure.” Okay, she’d gotten out of one barbecue, but now she had to call Cat, and she’d have to extend an invitation for next weekend since she was cancelling this one. Alexis was a little nervous about talking to the woman who had gone down on her. What if Cat wanted her to return the favor? No, no, no.

But oh, she wanted Drew to do things to her again. She wanted it far too much.

* * * * *

“I want dual penetration,” Cat whispered in his ear as they stood on the Harts’ doorstep.

Drew shivered. Didn’t every man dream about dual penetration? It was the ultimate dirty fantasy, and Cat was trying to seduce him with it. Inside, he heard footsteps. True to her word, Cat had waited for the Harts to make the next move. Except for a hand wave across the hedges between their respective houses, he hadn’t seen Alexis for two weeks. He hadn’t texted her. He wasn’t thinking about her day and night. See, that’s all he’d needed, a little distance to get some perspective.

Then she opened the door. Her blond hair hung loose and flowing over her shoulders. A halter top emphasized her breasts and tight shorts hugged her hips and ass. A sexy strip of skin showed below the halter, and her legs were a golden brown. His heart beat faster.

“Come on in.” She swept a hand out.

“You look great.” Salad bowl balanced on one hand and a homemade dip in the other, he leaned over to kiss her cheek as he passed.

Her scent swamped him; for a moment he couldn’t think, lost in the eddy of citrus and woman.

Damn. So much for perspective.

Then Cat hugged her. “Don’t worry,” she murmured, “I’m not going to make you do anything naughty tonight, swear it.”

Alexis’s cheeks flushed. Then, after only a moment’s delay, she said, “You lie, Cat. You’re always trying to get me to do naughty things.” She shook her finger. “But I’m not licking you.”

Cat laughed, hooked her hand through Alexis’s arm, and dragged her to the kitchen. Drew followed. She’d sounded like Cat, flippant, sure of herself. He wondered how much that air of lightheartedness had cost Alexis. But he was proud of her, too, telling Cat in no uncertain terms what she didn’t want.

In the kitchen Logan was uncorking a bottle of red wine. Alexis took the salad and dip as Cat sidled up to Logan and grabbed his arm, clinging to his side. “Alexis says she won’t lick me,” she said, punctuating with a sexy pout.

Logan glanced over her head at Alexis, then at Drew. He winked. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you can find a man or two to take care of the duty.”

It was out there. They weren’t even going to pretend the night was about something else. He’d told Cat not to push and rush, but you couldn’t hold her back. She was into the game. He wondered how far she would push everyone to go before she got tired of it.

“What’ll you have to drink, Drew?” Logan raised a brow.

Drew couldn’t help it. He glanced at Alexis. Then he caught himself and turned right back to Logan. “Something sweet.”

Logan set the wine aside, and opened the cabinet next to the fridge. “Margarita?”

“That would be great.” He was going to hell for sure. Because the something sweet he wanted was a long slow sip of Alexis.

An hour later, after a dinner he couldn’t remember and more Margaritas than he should have had, Drew’s desire hadn’t lessened. His thoughts still careened down the wrong road. Wanting a touch, a taste, the texture of her beneath him. Alexis. He was in big fucking trouble.

But no one had to know about his obsession. Logan fucked Cat. Drew fucked Alexis. They all fucked each other, and they were all having a great time. So what if he had a few untoward thoughts and feelings, as long as he didn’t make them public.

“Did Drew tell you what I want for tonight?” Cat batted her eyelashes at first Logan, then Alexis.

The Harts’ great room was huge and furnished with overstuffed chairs, couch, and loveseat. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked their terraced yard filled with blooming bushes. In summer, the foliage was all green, but in spring, the colors were breathtaking.

On weekends past, they’d been out on the stone patio enjoying the summer heat. Tonight they were inside, Logan and Alexis on the loveseat, he and Cat on the sofa. Inside, because the games they planned to play were better done indoors. Unless, like Cat, you wanted the audience. Best not to do that in your own neighborhood, though.

He was sure Cat would get around to asking for something more public eventually.

“Drew didn’t tell me a thing while we were barbecuing. Maybe you should enlighten us.” Logan played along with her, coaxing her. As if he had to.

Cat slid off the couch and down onto the carpet, her excitement so high, she couldn’t keep still. “DP,” she whispered.

Cat was more out there, knew all the terminology, but by the sudden stillness of her body, Alexis knew the acronym as well.

“I’ve never had it. I want it. Just to see what it’s like.” Cat smiled at Alexis. If she shone that beam on a man, Drew would have called it seductive. “Haven’t you ever thought about it?” she murmured.

Alexis shook her head slowly. “No.” The one word was barely even a sound.

“Just once?” Cat prodded her.

“No,” Alexis said more clearly.

“Let me show you. If it’s good, really good, then they’ll want you to have it, too.”

Alexis swallowed. She glanced at Logan. He slid a finger down her bare arm. “Just once, baby. We’ll do it to Cat first, so you see it’s okay. Then we can share everything.”

“I don’t want that.” She rolled her lips between her teeth, worried them a second as she drank in a deep breath, her nostrils flaring.

“We don’t have to do it, Alexis.” Even with the alcohol swirling in his brain, Drew didn’t like the pressure they were putting on her. It sobered him slightly. Yeah, the idea was hot, but she had to be willing, no reservations. “We all have to agree or nobody does it.”

“I’ll show you how good it is,” Cat offered.

Alexis tipped her head as if she were looking at some new species she’d never seen before. “You really want that?”

Cat nodded. “I want to experiment. With people I like and trust.” She threw her hand out to encompass them all. “I want to try new things where it’s safe.” She gave Alexis a long look. “Don’t you?”

Drew should have said no. He should have risen from the couch, pulled Cat to her feet, and declared an end to it all. They were pushing too hard.

He might very well have done it, too, swear to God. Except that Alexis looked at him. “I want to watch,” she said.

All his good intentions went up in flames.

And there you have it, Chapter Twelve of Kinky Neighbors by Jasmine Haynes. I cannot believe Cat!!! That naughty woman certainly has a lot of fantasies she wants to fulfill. Past Midnight is still available on Amazon and B&N.

Kinky Neighbors, Chapter Eleven!

2011-05-23T06:30:00.000-07:00

Just for fun, here’s a photo of my sister’s new puppy, Elvis! He’s 12 weeks. Isn’t he adorable? I’ll be babysitting him when they go away.

Chapter Eleven is here! Last week, Cat was entertaining the Harts with a sexy strip tease! If you missed any chapters, you can read them on the previous blog posts. Chapter One started on March 14th. And yes, it’s a very naughty read and you must be at least 18 years old, thank you very much. And of course you can buy Kinky Neighbors on B&N, Amazon, and Smashwords. Thank you to www.rosemarygunn.com for all her cover designs!

Kinky Neighbors
Copyright 2011 Jasmine Haynes
Chapter Eleven

Cat leaned in, her breath sweet against Alexis’s lips. “Your husband wants to watch us kiss,” she whispered.

Alexis was mesmerized by Cat’s slightly unfocused gaze and the slide of Drew’s tongue between her legs. She moaned. Oh God, she was crazy, because nothing that wasn’t completely dangerous could be as good as Drew licking her while the scent of sex blistered the air around them.

“Kiss me for him,” Cat urged.

Alexis found herself opening her mouth, taking in the sweep of Cat’s tongue. They kissed like men and women kiss, with lips and tongues, heads angled, bumping and grinding as Cat rode Drew. The taste of another woman’s lips was oddly sexy. Alexis tightened her legs, gripping Drew between them. She thought of his cock buried inside Cat as he licked her. And he was so good at it. How could Cat say he didn’t like this? He had to love it.

Cat deepened the kiss as if she could hear Alexis’s thoughts. Then she backed off slightly. Holding Alexis with her deep brown hypnotist’s gaze, Cat tweaked her nipple. A sizzle of pure pleasure shot through her, ending right at the spot where Drew’s tongue had taken command. Her clit heated, tingled.

“Your breasts are so much bigger than mine,” Cat said. She’d slowed her pace on Drew’s cock, simply rocking against him. Laying her palms lightly on Alexis, she rotated her hands slowly over the nipples. Alexis sucked in a breath at the exquisite sensations, Cat’s hands, Drew’s tongue, and Logan’s breath on her nape as he watched.

Cat leaned down and sucked one nipple deeply into her mouth. She worried it, then bit down gently.

Alexis moaned, laid her head back on Logan’s shoulder and rocked against Drew’s mouth. “Oh,” she whispered. “Oh.” To say anything more seemed impossible.

Cat played with her belly, slid down to her mons, just above Drew’s chin, and drew lazy circles in the trimmed curls. “I want to lick you the way Drew’s doing.”

Alexis stiffened. Until Logan pulled her back, nestling her against him. “God, baby, I’d love it. I want to watch her taste you, lick you, make you come.”

Between her legs, Drew stopped sucking, pulled back. Did he want it, too?

Trembling with need, she locked gazes with Cat. “It’ll be so hot, so different,” Cat murmured. “I’ve never done it, I want it.” She slipped between the folds and rubbed Alexis’s clit. “Look how wet Drew made you. It’ll be just like him doing it.”

Raising her hand to her lips, she licked Alexis’s juice from her finger. “You taste good.”

Alexis could barely take in a breath. She’d never thought of being with another woman. But this, it was so seductive. She was so hot, so needy. She had to have something. She had to have it now. Her clit actually throbbed between her legs, almost painful she needed a touch so badly.

Then somehow Logan was pulling her back in his arms, draping her body between his legs. Cat climbed off Drew’s cock, and he rolled over. Then, with a long look that made Alexis’s heart race, he spread her knees for Cat.

It was as if she were the sacrificial lamb, the two men holding her down, offering her up. In slow motion, Cat slid down between her legs. She stroked Alexis’s thighs, moving her hands higher until her fingers lay along the edge of Alexis’s pussy.

“Drew says you taste so good.” She dragged one finger down Alexis’s center, grazing her clit. Alexis jumped.

“Shh,” Cat quieted her, her breath warm. She stroked up and down, wetting her fingers. Alexis closed her eyes and shuddered as Cat circled her clit. “There,” she crooned, “doesn’t that feel good?”

“Yes.” Oh God, yes, it did. She was letting a woman touch her, and it felt so good.

“I want to lick your pretty little pussy,” Cat whispered, a puff of air tantalizing Alexis’s clit.

Then Cat put her lips to Alexis and licked. She sucked, pulled the hardened clit into her mouth and worried it. Alexis moaned. Her hips rocked on the carpet, and her head lolled against Logan’s chest.

“Is it good, baby?” Logan whispered in her hair.

“Oh God.” It was all she could manage. Cat seemed to find every sensitive spot, licking, sucking, circling. Stabbing her tongue just below Alexis’s clit, Cat put a finger inside her.

Alexis cried out and seemed to lose control of herself, her body bucking and rolling as fire leaped to her nerve endings. She chanted, “Oh, oh, oh.” Then she had to look, had to see.

The sight was so decadent, Cat’s dark head between her legs, her fingernails red-tipped against the pale skin of Alexis’s thigh. Drew was behind Cat, holding her hips, fucking her. With every thrust, he pushed Cat’s mouth hard against Alexis, forcing her fingers deep inside, hitting the G-spot. It was sexy, seductive, terrifyingly good. Because of the naughtiness, the taboo, the fact that she’d never done anything like it.

And because Drew was looking at her instead of Cat, concentrating on her face, her pleasure. Not Cat’s.

Alexis screamed out her climax. It wasn’t a ripple or a even a starburst. It was all twenty-one cannons of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture.

* * * * *

“Are you mad at me?”

Drew pulled Cat into the crook of his arm. “Why would I be mad?”

He felt her shrug against his shoulder. Alexis and Logan had left half an hour ago. The bedroom was dark, the night quiet, and his body sated. As Cat brought Alexis to climax, Drew had come deep inside his wife’s pussy. Yet his gaze had been on Alexis as she lay sprawled on the carpet, cradled in Logan’s arms. Christ, it had been out of this world. Logan had fucked Cat then. Alexis had been too dreamy, too exhausted for the deed. So Drew had lain beside her, asked her if she was okay, then soothed her body with a light massage. He hadn’t fucked her. He’d wanted only to drench himself in her scent and the feel of her skin. And that emotion was the danger. A man who just wanted to hold a woman afterward was a man wanting too much.

If anyone should be pissed off, it was Cat. Except that she didn’t know how much Alexis consumed his thoughts.

Cat’s answer to his question confirmed she didn’t have a clue. “I thought you might be upset because Logan wanted me to lick Alexis, and I did it. Maybe you’re freaked out by it.”

“I’m not freaked out you licked another woman.” Cat would try anything once. Maybe twice. But the fact she was confessing that Logan had asked for it, hell, that was a different matter. “When did you talk to Logan about it?”

“When I invited them for dinner.”

Okay, yeah, he was officially a freak. Because contrary as it was considering his own emotions, it pricked him that Cat and Logan were planning the course of their dates, that she’d do stuff for Logan, stuff she’d never done for him. Except that Drew had never asked her. Cat was the one who drove all their fantasies. He was fine with straight-up sex.

She pulled her leg up to caress his shin with her foot. “Is there something you want me to do?” Obviously she’d correctly interpreted his silence. She flicked his nipple, and despite all they’d done earlier, his cock roused. “Maybe you want to watch Logan take my ass,” she whispered. “Or how about if I sucked his cock and Alexis licked me?” She nipped his neck, then blew a warm breath in his ear. “Tell me what you want to see, and I’ll do it, honey.”

She loved to be watched. That’s why she enjoyed the strip tease. But she didn’t let him take her ass very often. Yet she was offering it to Logan.

“Whatever you want,” he murmured, then closed his eyes, his thoughts and feelings all screwed up.

“Come on, honey. I need input.”

He was a freaking nutcase. He was daydreaming about Alexis. He’d even swapped dirty texts with her and asked her to masturbate in the ladies’ room. Yet here he was pissed off that Cat wanted to make him hot by performing sex acts for him. At least she was involving him, not going behind his back.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Let me think, what do I want?” He needed to stop being a freak. In the beginning he’d been leery of the foursome idea because he didn’t want sex to ruin a good friendship. But he was the one in danger of messing up a good thing.

“What if we went on dates?” she suggested, now that she thought he was into the game. “You and Alexis. Me and Logan. Then we come home and swap stories. You could drive her to some secluded spot and do her in the car. Or a movie theater. Or on a crowded dance floor.”

They were all things that he and Cat had done. “What would you and Logan do?”

“You say what you want me to do, then I’ll come home to tell you all about it. It would be your choice.” She sounded like an excited child talking about a trip to an amusement park. Except that it was about sex. With Logan.

The whole thing sounded too fucking dangerous. It was a bad idea to have a date with Alexis. Really bad. It wasn’t good to send Cat off with Logan either. It was too personal. Too separate. “That’s going too far, Cat.”

“You’re right,” she said quickly. “I got carried away thinking about the role playing you and I used to do. It just felt like another role play.”

Except that it was with another man and another woman.

“I’ll come up with something else,” she went on in that same excited child’s voice. “I just want something that will outdo what we’ve already done.”

“We don’t have to outdo. It’s not a contest.”

“But we have to keep it fresh.”

“Maybe if we didn’t do it every weekend.”

“It’s not every weekend. We only just got back from Tahoe a week ago.”

“That’s what I mean. Give it some time. Don’t push everything so fast.” He stroked her arm to take the sting out of his words. But slowing down was good. He had to slow down. He needed to center himself. He needed to stop thinking about Alexis when he was at work, and he sure as hell wasn’t sending her any more text messages.

The warmth of Cat’s breath caressed his chest. “All right. I’ll let them ask the next time.”

“Good.” He waited a beat. “We don’t always have to have sex. We can just have a barbecue and some cards, too.”

She tweaked his nipple. “Spoilsport.”

He laughed. “I don’t want them to get tired of us.”

The problem wasn’t the Harts. It was him. He was the one who needed to find some perspective before he let things get out of control and ruined not only a good friendship but possibly even his marriage.

And there you have it, Chapter Eleven of Kinky Neighbors by Jasmine Haynes. Well, it does seem like there’s a bit of trouble in foursome paradise! Tune in next week! Honestly, I can’t remember what happens next! I’ll find out along with you when I make the blog post! Past Midnight is still available on Kindle and Nook.

Chapter Ten of Kinky Neighbors!

2011-05-16T05:00:00.000-07:00

Heads up, I’ll be blogging with Delilah Devlin on Wed 5/18 about Past Midnight, Kindle and Nook.

And not to waste time, Kinky Neighbors Chapter Ten up for you next! Last week, Logan and Cat were sending each other dirty texts! If you missed any chapters, you can read them on the previous blog posts. Chapter One started on March 14th. And yes, it’s a very naughty read and you must be at least 18 years old, thank you very much. And of course you can buy Kinky Neighbors on Nook, Kindle and Smashwords. Thank you Rosemary Gunn for the cover design!

Kinky Neighbors
Copyright 2011 Jasmine Haynes
Chapter Ten

Drew was seated in the first chair along the back wall of the boardroom. He was up next, a brief presentation on the latest glitch in the rotation software and his fix for it, but Sanders, the company’s controller, was lost in his numbers. Drew was in his first year as Engineering VP of NexGen, a maker of visual enhancement software for computer displays, and had inherited the rotation software from his predecessor. The software supported rotating display orientations from portrait to presentation to landscape. It wasn’t working. He’d advocated scrapping the whole program and starting over. The board overruled him. He was in here damn near every month with another update.

He checked his messages on his smart phone. There were a couple of texts from his admin. He scrolled down to his saved texts, in particular, the ones from Alexis on Saturday night.

“I want both of U to fuck me. One after the other. Until I pass out.”

Jesus. He felt the words stroke him as if she were whispering in his ear. In the Union Square hotel, they’d fucked her nine ways to Sunday. Same with Cat. Then they’d all crashed on the bed like a pack of exhausted animals. It was now Wednesday, and Cat hadn’t stopped chattering about it. He hadn’t stopped dreaming about it.

The whole thing was crazy, but, as if they’d all climbed on some runaway freight train, he couldn’t stop it, didn’t want to. Not yet. He hadn’t had his fill of Alexis.

In the darkest part of the night, while Cat lay sleeping beside him, he could admit he was afraid he might never get his fill.

Taking stock of Sanders’ report, he figured the man would go on another fifteen minutes. Drew keyed in a text.

“In board meeting hard as rock about Saturday night. Have to keep jacket buttoned for presentation.”

He didn’t expect her to read it right away. He’d sent a few texts over the last few days. There was something about the look on her face Saturday when she’d realized Logan had texted dirty to Cat. Like she’d been hit in the head. He’d sent that first text to show her it wasn’t important. And to make her feel sexy.

The texts were no big deal. Cat often sent him dirty messages when she was horny, and vice versa. It started his motor before he got home. Logan probably realized that egging on Cat would get the ball rolling for the evening. Drew hadn’t been sure if it would all go on after the vacation ended, but hell yes, there was no stopping now.

He was about to put his phone back in his pocket when it vibrated. His heart rate actually picked up when he saw it Alexis.

“Naughty man making me wet middle of the day. I’d rather be sucking U than working on spreadsheets.”

He’d rather she were sucking him, too. One of the nights in Tahoe, that’s all she’d done, claiming she wanted an all-oral night; no fucking, just sucking him until he thought he’d lost his mind. She took him to the edge, then jerked him back one second before he lost it, until he went off on his own, unable to hold back.

Lost in that memory, he started typing without planning, desire the only motivation. “Go to ladies’ room. Touch yourself. Then text how wet U R.”

Hitting send, he glanced up. The board members were engrossed in profit projections and damn near unattainable margins. His blood pumped, and his cock was rigid in his slacks. He imagined her wearing a prim blouse and lifting her skirt for him in the restroom.

He waited interminable minutes. Would she, wouldn’t she? He was crazy for starting it, but Christ, it had him going.

Then she was vibrating in his hand. “OMG, so wet.”

“Pretend it’s my tongue. Cum,” he typed. At the front of the room, Sanders was winding down.

He was high on adrenaline and sex, all with a phone and a few typed words. But it was the image; Alexis getting herself off for him.

“OM, so fast! So hard. So good. How can I work now?”

If he didn’t have the presentation, he night very well have jumped in his car and rushed over to her office. Christ, it would be freaking hot to lock her door and take her on the desk.

“U R one sexy woman. Damn! If I didn’t have this presentation now...”

He was hard and worked up, and yet there was the faintest flicker of unease. As if he’d stepped over a line he never should have crossed. Almost as if he’d cheated on his wife.

* * * * *

Just as she heard the garage door opening for Logan’s car, Alexis finished deleting the text messages to and from Drew. Her cheeks burned and her heart raced as if Drew had just dashed out the back door and she hadn’t gotten her panties on yet.

“I will never do that again,” she whispered aloud.

But she hadn’t thought of deleting the texts until she’d set her phone on the kitchen counter. The way she always did. And suddenly wondered how Logan would feel if he saw those texts. They’d been so exciting in the middle of the day. A special, naughty, dirty secret. Especially when Drew told her to masturbate. More so when she actually did it for him and texted back. Was that phone sex? This thing was starting to feel like a drug. Then she slapped a hand over her mouth to hold in the hysterical bubble of laughter wanting to come out. Drew had fucked her, licked her, she’d sucked him, and he’d come in her mouth so many times. How were a few texts worse than that?

Because Logan doesn’t know about it.

“Hi, baby, what’s for dinner?”

Alexis almost dropped the phone. “Shrimp stir fry?” She’d forgotten to take anything out of the freezer this morning, but the shrimp defrosted in minutes.

“Sounds great.” He pecked her on the cheek, turned away, then, as if on second thought, he came back and stuck his hand down the front of her blouse. “Your nipples are hard, baby.” He was so close his breath was sweet on her cheek. “Been thinking naughty thoughts?”

Oh God. Yes. He knew.

He pinched her nipple. Alexis groaned.

“Maybe we should wait on the shrimp,” he murmured. “I’m hungry for something else right now.” Then he lifted her skirt, hooked his thumbs in her pantyhose and rolled them down her legs. “Put your hands on the counter.”

Giving him her back, Alexis braced herself as he pulled her thong aside and ran his finger down her center.

“Christ, you’re already wet, you dirty woman.”

She heard the ticking of the clock and the rasp of his zipper. He took her without a single preliminary, his cock hitting high and deep. Alexis moaned.

He leaned over her, pumped slowly. “You’re so creamy. God, that’s fucking hot, baby.” He hadn’t even removed his suit jacket or tie.

“Yes, yes, fuck me.” Her fingers hurt she gripped the counter so hard. Then the orgasm rolled through her, fast, hard, and it keep on coming like a tidal wave dragging her under.

Hot, fast, and nasty, just the way Logan liked it. But she was wet because of Drew.

Half an hour later, over hot and sour shrimp, Logan said, “Cat emailed. She wants us to come for dinner Friday night.”

Friday, as if she couldn’t wait for their usual Saturday get-together. Why did Cat email Logan with the invitation? Right on the heels of that came the thought, Yeah, right, and why did you rush to the restroom to do what Drew told you to?

Suddenly the shrimp seemed tough and overdone. “That’s fine. I’ll call her and ask her what she wants me to bring.”

“The orzo salad like we had in Tahoe, she said.”

Alexis gritted her teeth. They’d had a whole conversation? What else did they say? Did Logan ask Cat to rush to the restroom and...

God, she had to stop. She had to get some semblance of control. She had to decide whether she was jealous of any outside contact Logan had with Cat or guilty because of her own texting with Drew.

God, maybe she wasn’t cut out for this swinging, wife-swapping or whatever the hell it was they were doing.

* * * * *

“Let’s do a strip tease for the boys.” Cat held her hand out to Alexis.

On their living room couch, Drew sat back, almost distanced from his wife, watching, analyzing. She was manic, her eyes bright and glittering like she was on coke, yet she hadn’t consumed more than half a glass of wine at dinner.

“Not me,” Alexis said, laughing. Perched on her hip along the wide arm of the easy chair Logan occupied, she leaned against the back, her bare arm draped behind Logan’s head, one hand on his shoulder. Her sun dress had ridden high up her thigh. “But feel free to give us a show.”

“Then prepare to be dazzled.” Cat raised her hands over her head and undulated sinuously in the center of the living room, the couch and two easy chairs in a semicircle around her. The sliding glass door, open to the backyard and the warm summer evening air, framed her perfect body.

She’d gone braless beneath a skimpy midriff top, and her shorts were so damn short her butt cheeks were falling out. Drew had to admit the outfit got his heart pumping, but there certainly wasn’t much to strip off.

Trailing her fingers down over her body, she plumped her breasts a moment, then slid one hand down to cup her pussy briefly.

He imagined he could scent her arousal on the night breeze blowing through screen behind her. Sweet hot sex and the hint of her favorite jasmine perfume.

Alexis whispered something in Logan’s ear, and he grabbed her hand, holding it to his cock. A moment later, she withdrew, probably because of the awkward angle.

Cat popped the button fly on her shorts, revealing the sky blue of her miniscule panties. Then she slipped her fingers inside the elastic.

He thought of Alexis masturbating for him over text messages. His cock was suddenly painfully hard.

“Dare me to do it,” Cat murmured.

“Make yourself come,” he answered.

Next to Logan, Alexis made a noise, a light moan, and shifted her leg, pulling her knee higher. He wondered if she heard the echo of his words to her, if she were remembering how she’d touched herself for him.

He didn’t imagine she’d do it for him now, along with Cat. She was so much more reserved. Some day. Because every time they did this, they extended their limits.

Cat was dexterous, rotating, the sway of her belly, the dance of her hips. Head back, hair swinging, she rocked to her fingers in her panties. She didn’t need music, she made her own, the soft panting breaths, her light moans. She loved exhibition, every eye on her, the two cocks in the room at attention for her.

“Stroke yourself,” she demanded.

Drew unzipped his jeans. Alexis tugged on Logan’s pants. For a moment, he felt like they were at a fifty-cent peep show, beating off, tongues hanging out like dogs.

Then Alexis licked her lips, her mouth a deep glistening red. He recognized some of the same manic brightness in her eyes and wondered how much of a push it would take to get her up there beside Cat.

“Oh God,” Cat wailed, her body jerking once.

“Come on,” Logan urged. “Let us see you climax.”

He didn’t know whether Cat faked it or she actually came, but her smooth, gorgeous skin flushed, she cried out, panted, moaned, then bent over, hand clasped tightly between her thighs, her burnished hair hanging down to brush the carpet.

Then she burst back up, laughing. “Was that hot or what?” Skipping to him on the couch, she threw herself down, straddling him, his hand still on his cock between them. Fisting her hand in his polo shirt, she got right in his face. “Fuck me, honey, I need it so bad.”

Cat was a force of nature. Like an earthquake where you had no warning she was coming. Drew couldn’t think. But he looked at Alexis, her bare thigh so inviting. He looked at Logan right beside her, hand in mid-stroke, cock hard.

Cat wanted, Cat got. She’d wanted to fuck their neighbors and she got it. A hot sexy foursome every weekend. They were like flies in her Venus trap, marionettes dancing to her tune. Sometimes she moved so fast, pushed so hard, he couldn’t keep up. He longed for easy. He could revel in long and slow. A breath of fresh air. Like Alexis.

Fuck if he didn’t hate himself for the thought. Cat was perfect. What man would want her to slow down even for a moment?

“Yeah, fuck me,” he whispered.

“On the carpet, so they can see it all.” She seduced him with a low musical voice, rising from his lap, pulling him up. She dispensed with his clothes as if he were in a dream, then she pushed him to the blue carpet, the fibers plush and soft against his back.

Cat took him, climbing on top, holding his cock for Logan and Alexis to see, sliding down on him slowly for maximum viewing. She was so tight, riding him, working him with those belly dancer’s muscles.

Drew closed his eyes, and God help him, he pretended she was Alexis. Fuck, it was good, her softness.

Cat’s voice dragged him back. “Alexis, let Drew lick you. Climb over his face.”

“Come on, baby,” Logan coaxed. As if Alexis had somehow shown a hesitancy.

Then, miraculously, she climbed over him, facing Cat, though he would have preferred to having her facing him. But Cat was directing, having her way, positioning Alexis. He stroked Alexis’s flanks, her skin so delicious beneath his fingers, and her sex flowered above him, plump, wet, glistening like her lips.

Her pussy was like a sweet, succulent peach. He sucked her juice, worried her beaded clit. He could identify her moans versus Cat’s, slightly higher. Christ, the taste of sweet pussy on his tongue while his cock was buried in warm, wet flesh...fuck, could there be anything better? Not even when they’d sucked his cock together.

He didn’t just want them both, he needed them both. He was fast getting to the point where he couldn’t live without the sweet taste of Alexis or the balm of her voice.

And there you have it, Chapter Ten of Kinky Neighbors by Jasmine Haynes. Drew, you naughty man texting Alexis like that. Hmm, are things going too far yet? Tune in next week!