Please give a big welcome to one of my sisters from the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pens, Kastil Eavenshade. She’s written another naughty fairy tale for Evernight Publishing’s eponymous line of erotic romances. Here to share a little insight into the making of her latest sexy spin on Grimm is Kastil herself.
Kastil: I have a confession to make—I’m a big Project Runway fan. I also know my way around a sewing machine. Each costume my son wore in his trick or treat days were sewn by me—often alterating the patterns to fit his big imagination. When I decided that Rumpelstiltzkin would be one of the fairy tales in the Beowulf Hollow series, I had to put elements of fashion in it. Going to Celtic Festivals where I live also inspired watching videos on how spinning wheels are used. Watching a woman spindle the yarn captivated me almost as much as the music. Most importantly, I wanted the passion to follow dreams to shine in the characters. Sparks ignite and memories are reborn.
Rumpled Between the Sheets
By Kastil Eavenshade
Published March 20, 2015
By Evernight Publishing
Some want to find love at all costs. Some believe there is a cost to find love.
When Mary Becken’s mother passes away, she takes over her exclusive tailoring business. Not satisfied with the fabrics available, she unearths her mother’s loom and creates a new textile by weaving thin strands of gold. Soon her small mountain town of Beowulf Hollow is swarming with new customers and invitations come pouring in for New York Press Week.
Benjamin Elstiltzkin is downright ruthless when it comes to his fashion business, and no small town upstart is going to dethrone him as king of the fashion world. When he hatches a plan to force Miss Becken to work for him exclusively, the one thing he doesn’t expect is the temptation she poses to his never-ending bachelorhood.
With a deadline looming to gather his collection, Benjamin might have met his match in more ways than one.
Hey everyone! I have a sexy new short story in Evernight’s latest anthology, Uniform Fetish. New story. New Hero. I think you’ll like this one. He’s definitely on the alpha side and smoking hot to boot in his uniform.
(c) 2009 Rob Lang
Meet NCIS Special Agent Damien Spiros. Yes, he is of Greek descent. His grandparents were from Crete. I’m sure you’ve noticed those baby blues. So did heroine, Connie Patel, a beautiful forensic specialist, also with NCIS.
Connie had her eye on Damien for quite a while, but professional bickering and his reputation as a ladies man, kept them at arm’s length for months.
Until that night…
In this post, Damien tells his side of the story of the events that led up to that night in a short prequel to “Person of Interest” contained in the Uniform Fetish anthology.
You ever ride a roller coaster in pitch darkness? You feel yourself click-click-clicking up a hill, but you have no idea when you’ll reach the top or how far the drop will be. Could be a mild dip or could be the mother of all freefalls that rips a scream from even the bravest of souls.
English: The First Drop Of Millennium Roller Coaster At Fantasy Island UK (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
That was what knowing Connie Patel was like the first six months I knew her…the click, click, clicking part.
Connie’s first day with NCIS was imprinted on my memory—overdressed in a severe black business suit with high heels, frayed nerves on display and painfully polite. That didn’t last long. Within two weeks, she lost the heels and the suit in favor of colorful, gauzy attire that accentuated her dusky Indian looks—the plus side of familiarity. On the negative side, her emails lost the “dear Damien” at the beginning and the “thank you” with a smiley face at the end. She wasn’t rude, but she flirted with the boundary between curt and efficient. And she made my skin itch, my brain glitch and my dick twitch.
I made it my mission then and there to poke holes in her starchy demeanor, to ruffle her as much as she ruffled me. My day wasn’t complete until I found some way to fluster Connie Patel. Childish? Sure. Entertaining? Abso-fucking-lutely. Did it solve the problem of my itch, glitch and twitch? Not really, but creating the same effect on her did help salve her effects on me. We volleyed back and forth this way for months until one day I spotted her in The Brass Nuts, a local bar and night club. A bunch of us from NCIS were celebrating the end of a particularly nasty case.
“Wicked Game” began playing. By then I’d tossed back a few a drinks and a pleasant buzz had taken over. The place was packed. The dance floor lights reflected off Connie’s cascading black hair, little tiny tractor beams that ensnared me, made me leave my chair and head her way. She must have sensed me coming, because she peered over her shoulder and caught me in her gaze from a gap of at least five feet.
“Damien Spiros,” she mouthed. She slipped off her bar stool and met me halfway. “Dance with me,” she commanded grabbing my hand and tugging me toward the dance floor.
“Okay.” I had to laugh. I had been planning to ask her to dance, but she beat me to the punch. No matter. I’d beat her to the next one.
“Don’t laugh at me.” A ruby red bottom lip poked out for a brief second before curling into a Jezebel smile with its upper mate. “I need to dance. I need to burn off some of this alcohol making me all…” A hand fluttered about her head.
“I would never laugh at you, Connie.” I must have smirked a little because her brow wrinkled, and she poked a finger into my chest.
“You do. You do. All the time, you do.” A pair of cinnamon colored eyes lifted to meet mine.
“Let’s just dance.” I pulled her into my arms. She was a tiny little thing—my arms could have encircled her twice and the top of her head barely cleared my chin—but she fit like God had made her just for me.
The sultry twang of the steel guitar played and the din of the bar gave way to the singer’s mournful voice. The song was an oldie but goody and sexy as hell, but nothing compared to the woman I held.
She pressed her cheek against my chest. Her lilac-scented perfume drifted to my nose, a hint of femininity and a perfect choice for the warm soft woman who wore it. With one hand holding hers tucked in between us and the other wrapped around her body, we shuffled and swayed to the music.
I splayed my fingers against her back and thought I detected a moan. Testing my theory, I curled my fingers and grasped a handful of her blouse. Her head nuzzled in closer. My body responded in kind. No internal sharp shooting calculations could distract my dick from its mission. I hoped she hadn’t noticed.
She raised her head and looked up at me. “Did you wear your gun to the bar or are you just showing off.”
I had to chuckle–what else could I do—and come clean. “We’re expecting trouble, so I came prepared.”
“You and Mr. Johnson?”
She got me. I laughed, my shoulders shaking while my head did the same. “Mr. Johnson?”
“What do you call it?”
“I prefer Mr. Wonderful.”
“Really. Mr. Wonderful. Does he live up to his name?”
Oh shit, she was killing me. Killing me! But I could play along too, see how far she’d take the flirtation even if it ended in a “gotcha!” zinger. “Mr. Wonderful always takes a back seat to his guests’ needs first. He’s very polite.”
Connie’s laughter tinkled, her teeth gleaming beneath the black lighting I’d danced her under.
“In addition to being tough as nails, driven, and relentless.”
“Sounds like someone I’d like to meet, this Mr. Johnson,” she said in a husky voice. But when she lifted those cinnamon-colored eyes to mine, my lips parted in a soft gasp of anticipation as the roller coaster paused and leveled out.
“Take me home?” she asked, nudging us over the edge into a plummet that stole my breath and my soul.
Read “Person of Interest” to discover what happened next on Damien’s and Connie’s bumpy ride.
When Connie Patel’s computer and IP address turns up as a match to a recent hacking attempt into the Navy’s top-secret terrorist database, fellow NCIS employee, Special Agent Damien Spiros is sent to confiscate the device.
Over her dead body.
This isn’t the first time Connie and Damien have butt heads. They’ve butt other body parts too but that was when they were both drunk at a chance meeting in a nightclub and it didn’t count. Did it?
Damien doesn’t believe Connie is guilty, but he’s still got a job to do. The harder part will be keeping his head on straight where the feisty forensic expert is concerned.
Now for a little reward. Please use the Rafflecopter below to enter for a chance to win a prize.
Purchase Uniform Fetish at these fine booksellers:
Uniform Fetish Stories and their Authors:
Cat’s Rescue by Doris O’Connor
To Serve and Protect by Sandra Bunino
Wilde Start by Susan Hayes
Person of Interest by Lila Shaw
A Passionate Witness by Moira Callahan Always by Donina Lynn
Wings of Gold by Evie Knight
Unshakable Me by S.J. Maylee
Welcome Home, Jason by Wren Michaels
First Class by Meredith J. Scott
Uniform Fetish Manlove Edition Stories and their Authors:
Rain and Promises by Elizabeth Monvey
Fine Dining by Nicola Cameron
The Layover by Gale Stanley
Scars by James Cox
A Walk on the Wild Side by Pelaam
Real Life Role Play by Tamsin Baker
Mile High Rebound by L.D. Blakeley
The British Are Coming by Lilith Duvalier
Fired Up by Lucy Felthouse
Lia Risso walked in on her fiancé and three other women on Valentine’s Day. Two celibate years later, her roommate creates a profile for Lia on a dating website—without her knowledge—and sets up a date. On Valentine’s Day.
Ryan Walsh, a self-made millionaire and libertine, refuses to commit to any one woman. Tossed from foster home to foster home as a child, Ryan is on guard against becoming vulnerable ever again.
One dinner…one night of dancing and flirting with the attraction between them, puts both Lia and Ryan in danger of heart break.
They have a choice—open themselves to the possibility of hurt or walk away, never knowing what might have been.
My nerve endings stirred as the subtle scent of sandalwood wafted across the table time and again. What man used sandalwood-scented soap anymore? By the cut of his suit and the Rolex on his wrist, Ryan Walsh had money. And plenty of it. Why no expensive cologne? The chick-lure nectar of the gods his type bathed in?
He grinned again, and heat filled the empty place only Mr. Pink had seen or stroked in two years. Ryan’s attention drifted to my lips and lingered as our waiter took his time pouring our wine.
I forced myself to breathe as my treasonous nipples pebbled, begging for attention.
Damnation. I do not want this.
He was too friggin’ sexy for his own good. And by his suggestive grin and the twinkle in his eyes, he knew it too.
“Are you ready to order, Lia?” Ryan asked, his focus staying on my face instead of dipping downward like most men’s did.
Praying my voice didn’t betray my arousal, I turned my attention the waiter. “I’ll have the shrimp Fra Diavlo.”
“And for you, sir?”
Ryan spouted off a few words in Italian, never once breaking eye contact with me.
My lips twitched. Papa would be impressed.
When the waiter ambled away, a smile—a real smile, not the cocky, you-know-you-want-me ones he had offered until then—revealed straight, white teeth. “So.”
His low voice caressed my ears, and I pressed my thighs together. Thank God I hadn’t shaved. No doubt he had little trouble getting women into his bed. Or their bed. Or against a wall.
About Lynn Burke:
Lynn Burke is a full time mother, voracious gardener, and scribbler of spicy romance stories. A country bumpkin turned Bay Stater, she enjoys her chowdah and Dunkin Donuts when not trying to escape the reality of city life.
Her current work, the Risso Family Novellas, revolves around four siblings from Boston’s North End.
They fight to protect those who would never welcome them into the human world…
Petúr always knew he and his brothers-in-arms were different. Something more. Something not human. Yet, he never expected to find out the truth of their origins, nor fall for a human woman whose father was set to destroy Neverland.
Ever since she was a child, Wyndi dreamed of an angel with eyes of the purest gold, although she never really believed such a man existed until she met the hauntingly beautiful Petúr of the lost boys.
With a prophecy to fulfill, a woman to protect, a portal to find, and evil darklings out for blood, will Petúr be strong enough to rise up and claim what’s rightfully his, or lose everything to a long-time nemesis, Grapple the Dark?
Rise of the Lost Prince Listening List:
Hoobastank – Crawling In The Dark
Godsmack – Serenity
Linkin Park – Papercut
Alter Bridge – Rise Today
Keane – Somewhere Only We Know
BrunuhVille – You And I
Matt Walters – The First Time
Creed – One Last Breath
Mat Kearney – Breathe In Breathe Out
Gabrielle Aplin – Salvation
Her long lashes fluttered, causing spiky shadows to stipple the tops of her cheeks. “I forgot my laptop. I need to get it from my office,” she said. “That’s where I was going when I got mugged.”
“Here you go,” said Dash. He’d gathered up the woman’s things and tucked them back into her purse. “I don’t think he got anything.” He handed the tan bag over to her. “I think we interrupted the mugger. Petúr tried to catch him, but he got away.”
“Thank you,” she said, taking her scuffed-up purse.
“It’s a good thing we were walking past this alley,” said Vibe. “We heard you scream and—”
“Yes,” she said in a robotic voice, nodding. “You scared off the mugger.” She was looking at Petúr in that unseeing, vacant way, the pupils in her eyes large and pulsing.
He inclined his head. “Here,” he said. “Let me help you up.” He gave her his hand. She took hold, and he couldn’t stop himself from noticing the petal softness of her skin. After she was steady on her feet, he thought to introduce himself. No need to be uncivilized. “I’m Petúr.” He pointed to his right. “That’s Vibe.” Vibe gave her a two finger salute. Petúr tilted his head to his left. “And that’s Dash.”
“I’m Wyndi,” she said, her voice becoming less animated. “Wyndi Darlingheart.”
“Of Darlingheart Incorporated?” Petúr asked.
She brushed a few strands of hair from her face. “In a roundabout way.”
What did that mean?
“Roundabout?” Dash asked the question he himself was dying to know.
She glanced at Dash and kept her gaze trained on him for a long moment. A too long moment. Something hot and possessive twisted in Petúr’s gut. He wanted to reach out and turn her pointed little chin back in his direction, away from the other warrior.
“Cromwell Darlingheart is my father,” she said.
That piece of information got the muscle in Petúr’s jaw to working and quickly stamped out the unusual possessiveness he’d been experiencing.
“Father?” he asked, needing the confirmation one more time.
She nodded and looked up. Her sky-blue gaze went to his mouth then flitted up to his eyes, locking with him. She gasped.
The woman welded her beautiful eyes shut and muttered, “Nothing.”
Could she be afraid of him? No. He didn’t think it was fear he saw swimming in the depths of those liquid blue pools. More like realization of him, mixed with feminine lust.
His golden gaze meandered over her, catching on her cleavage a moment, before moving on to the shape of her hips. Curvaceous. He cleared his throat. Her long lashes fluttered open. Unable to help himself, he was staring at her spectacular face once again. She worked her bottom lip over with her teeth.
She was an oddly captivating, deliciously sweet smelling, eye sparkling female with a mouth he wanted to taste. Taste? Really? He mulled that over for a moment. Yes. He wanted… No. What he was experiencing was more than mere want. He needed to taste her. All of her, he realized taken aback.
He’d been with numerous women before in a quick, rough coupling just to satisfy his animalistic desires, however he was having thoughts he’d never had. Animalistic, yes, but….
He studied her, the arch of her brows, the way strands of her hair framed her face. How delicate she was compared to him. Wyndi Darlinghart. He allowed her name—the daughter of the rich scum-sucking asshole who’d purchased Neverland, intent on clearing the land, as well as him and the lost boys out of their home—to simmer.
Her sweet cotton candy scent assaulted his nose once more. His dick stirred beneath the leather of his D-ring jeans. Would she melt in his mouth like the candy would? His brow furrowed. What was wrong with him? He took in another deep breath, allowing her bouquet to linger. Maybe the ache would go away if he just tasted those full lips. No. He shook his head in an attempt to shake away the urge.
Seconds ticked by. Damn it. He couldn’t shake off what he was feeling. His eyes narrowed. Of all the women in the world, why did it have to be this woman he seriously wanted to thoroughly enjoy in a slow, lingering manner?
Because fate is a cruel bitch. That’s why.
“She’s a Darlingheart,” he heard Vibe say.
No. Not say, but project inside his head.
“Right,” he mumbled, but when Wyndi’s eyelids fluttered open, and she locked gazes with him once more, all the hardened steel he’d erected around himself, as well his common sense, fell away.
Crazy though it might well be, Petúr found himself, for the first time in his long life, wishing for more. More time with her. He wanted to talk, and touch, and kiss. Shit. He wanted to kiss her so bad he physically hurt.
He broke the eye contact this time, and turned away. Who was he kidding? He might want more than fast, anonymous, no strings attached sex, but he wasn’t a choirboy either. For what he had in mind, there would be strings. Maybe even ropes.
“We’ll walk you to your office,” Petúr said, unwilling to let her out of his sight, as he tried to tell himself the over-protectiveness was necessary, even though darklings never attacked the same person twice.
“Um…” Wyndi muttered.
He watched her out of the corner of his eye. “That’s where you said you were headed, right?”
“Yes.” She straightened her shoulders and took the lead.
Petúr homed in on the sway of those hips as she walked in front of him. Oh yeah. He might want more. More than he’d ever given or received from any other woman, yet he also wanted to strip this little human, go to his knees, and map her feminine folds with his mouth, listening to her call out his name in a breathy entreaty as he tasted her pleasure upon his tongue.
I see three people on the cover. You know what that means…
Scarlet is back with a hot new release and this is the first in a series! Here to tell you a little more is Scarlet herself:
Did you watch the Super Bowl halftime show? I was super-excited to see Katy Perry perform I Kissed a Girl with Lenny Kravitz. After all, the song inspired my new series, I Kissed a Girl.
The pop lyrics are fun, but do you remember how controversial they were when the song was released in 2008. Katy tells W Magazine, “It was a bit radical to sing about bisexuality, but it was a topic that was on the tip of everybody’s tongue. And even though it was ‘I kissed a girl, and I liked it, and that’s what I like to do sometimes,’ I sang it with a wink. It may be a fun little pop song, but sometimes fun little pop songs most clearly express the zeitgeist.”
Katy started a trend. She helped tear down labels and made it acceptable to experiment. Because, as Tessa Walker says in the opening of I Kissed a Girl in Vegas, “Let’s face it. You can’t always choose what turns you on.”
Here’s a fun fact about Katy’s I Kissed a Girl lyrics: Did you ever wonder why she sings about Cherry Chapstick instead of watermelon, strawberry, or grape? Sure it sounds the best but there’s another reason. Cherry Chapstick = Lady Bits
Consult Urban Dictionary for details then be sure to check out I Kissed a Girl in Vegas. There’s kissing in it. xoxo
Tessa Walker’s business trip takes her to one of the poshest hotels on the Vegas Strip. Nursing a break-up, she can use of weekend of fun and sun. Little does she know, her pool cabana mate is none other than famous chef and restaurateur, Gianna Lucini, who introduces her to the world of great food and forbidden passion.
Life as a jet-set chef isn’t all it’s cracked up to be for Gianna. Like her restaurants, she insists on control in the bedroom and her tastes run anything but plain vanilla. She’s ready to give up on love until Tessa serves up an offer Gianna can’t turn down.
“Mark has another talent you’re sure to enjoy. I’m going to take over for him so he can show you. Just keep an open mind and let yourself go, Tessa.” Her slow words mesmerized me as her strong fingers took over and Mark let go. Her hands were small and soft in comparison to his. Gianna’s fingers traveled across my shoulder blades, loosening tight muscles along the way. I grabbed the edge of the table and slid my chair back a few inches. “Relax,” Gianna whispered. Mark moved to my side and casually leaned against the table. He picked up my hand and rubbed small circles around the sensitive area where my thumb met my palm.
“You have a hard time letting go. Don’t you, Tessa?” he asked.
I took a deep breath and reached for my glass of wine, hoping it’d provide much needed liquid courage. Mark grabbed my other hand before it could capture the wineglass.
“You don’t need that to relax. Let me help you.” His graveled voice rumbled its way through my body and stoked the heat settling low in my belly.
My chair suddenly moved out further and he stepped between my knees, facing me. His gaze moved from me to above my head where Gianna stood. She continued her ministrations on my tight muscles. Mark smiled and his gaze moved back to me. His fingers rubbed the inside of my palm in unison with Gianna’s hands at my shoulders. I’d never had two people touching me in this way before. Every cell of my body stood at attention. Like the rhythm of a gentle ocean, their hypnotic caresses washed away any lingering insecurity.
Waves of pleasure coursed through my body in the secluded room smack in the middle of one of the busiest hotels in Vegas. I should’ve been embarrassed by the attention. I should’ve got up and walked away. Things like that don’t happen to me. However, my ass might as well have been crazy-glued to the chair, because I wasn’t moving. The tablecloth brushed over my bare legs as Mark let go of one of my hands and his fingers brushed my thigh. He lowered his muscled body to his knees as Gianna gathered my hair into a ponytail. Her fingers raked through my scalp while Mark’s fingers drew imaginary lines from my knee to high on the inside of my thigh and back again. I swallowed hard as my pulse quickened. I was sure Gianna could see how fast my heart was beating when she pulled my hair and coaxed my face upward to meet her stare.
She smiled down at me. “I want you to clear your mind and just enjoy the moment. Can you do that for me?”
I nodded and closed my eyes. A flash of pain gripped my scalp as Gianna tightened her hold on my hair. My eyelids flew open and I met her crystal-blue gaze that was the color of a Caribbean ocean.
“Be here with me, Tessa. Don’t escape into yourself. I want your eyes on me, or Mark. Believe me, it will make the experience incredible.”
I nodded again and she loosened the grip she had on my hair. Mark’s tongue had replaced his fingers and he left a warm, wet trail on the inside of my thigh. He released my other hand and both of his hands were making their way up the tops of my thighs and under my short skirt.
Gazing at me, his eyes burned hot and he shot me a grin. “Lift up a little, sweetheart.”
I did as he asked and my lacy underwear was quickly swept from me, losing my shoes in the process. His palms cupped my knees, nudging them farther apart. A wave of insecurity washed over me as his gaze shifted to my sex.
“Remember what I said. Relax and enjoy.” Gianna’s voice filled my ear.
About the author:
Scarlet Chastain is the semi-secret pseudonym of a multi-published, best selling author of sensual erotic romance. Scarlet’s focus is female-centric sizzling stories written about women, for women.
She lives in the suburban shadows of New York City but her heart belongs to the beaches of Key West. Scarlet can usually be found in her favorite chair of her newly acquired writing cave.
If you ask her nicely, she will usually tell you her other pen name. She’s sweet that way.