Over the months, I’ve had some comments about how lucky I am to have RAH. Absolutely. He’s a great guy, a great father, a supporter of my writing. I couldn’t ask for more. Normally. Then there was last night.

It wasn’t quite midnight, so that part is an exaggeration, but I did get serenaded. Before you get jealous and wonder why your husband/SO/other half doesn’t sing to you, this is not something I welcome. If RAH dared to audition for Simon Cowell, let’s just say I don’t think he’d belt out more than a line or two before Security would be *ahem* escorting him out. Second, RAH likes to make up songs off the top of his head that he knows will annoy me. Picking on me is how he thinks he’s going to lift me out of a bad or heavy mood. After nearly 16 years, he hasn’t learned yet that singing to me very off key about my cold feet and the way they shock him like 5000 jolts of electricity when I put them on his back isn’t going to make me smile.

I try to make a deal: I’ll remove my feet if he will stop singing. Nope. He says that I should feel lucky to receive such stunning impromptu concerts before belting out another line. :shock: Strange, strange man.

I’m back to ramble. Lucky you… Yes, it’s Sunday. And yes, it’s my birthday.

People have asked what I’m doing to celebrate. Um, RAH is helping with laundry. He’s doing the grocery shopping for me. I’m writing!! That’s my present to me. He read the blog and I’ve got a gift certificate to get a great facial…when I can find the time to make an appointment. He’s updating my iPod right now. We’re having dinner with friends later today. It doesn’t get better!

Last night, we got a sitter for the munchkin (the first in about a year) and went to see Casino Royale. Okay, Daniel Craig was totally hot in that movie, so despite the violence (and there was a lot of it), I’m glad I picked the movie. Wow! He just gave me so much…inspiration!

While we were at the mall waiting for the movie to start, I obsessively stopped by the local Books A Million. I’d called on the 11th to see if they had any copies of WICKED TIES I could come by and sign them. They did. Then one thing led to another and I just didn’t get over there. So we went into the store last night so I could sign whatever was left. Nothing. I asked the guy at customer service, he said they’d sold out. In 2 weeks. Okay, so that made it a happy birthday for me.

Have a great Sunday!

Gang, happy Friday! I thought I’d bring you a treat–something new from hot Samhain author Annmarie McKenna. The PRINT edition of SEEING EYE MATE is here! If you’ve read her previous title BLACKMAILED, then you know she writes HAWT! I’m looking forward to curling up with SEEING EYE MATE as soon I’m done with my novella in progress! If you’ve read the book, comment here and let everyone know what you thought.

Genre: Paranormal Romance, Red Hots!
ISBN: 1-59998-356-7
Price: $13.50
Length: 256 Pages
Publication Date: January 16, 2007
Buy from Amazon
Buy from Barnes & Noble
Buy from My Bookstore and More
Cover art by Scott Carpenter

Warning, this title contains the following: explicit sex, graphic language, and violence.
Stretching her arms above her head, she worked the kinks along the length of her spine. It was only early afternoon but she was exhausted. The sheer magnitude of an upcoming vision was daunting enough without being tired.

Stumbling toward her bedroom, she unsnapped and unzipped her jeans, prepared to strip down to just her panties and T-shirt and take a nap. She’d be asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. Cleaning up the foyer could wait.

The instant she sat on the bed to kick her shoes off, someone knocked at her door. For a second, she thought about answering it but then shook her head. Whoever it was could come back later. She flopped down onto the quilt her gramama had made years ago, the material soft and inviting with its age and memories.

The knock sounded again. “No,” she groaned and covered her head with her pillow. “Go away.”

“Answer the door, Tulla. Now.”

No one who had a little voice in their head had one as commanding as her grandmother’s.

She dragged herself off the bed and back down the hall to the front door. At least she was still dressed. The frame shook as her visitor pounded again. Only people peddling the Word came to her door, and she didn’t have the energy for God right now. She closed one eye and looked through the peephole with the other.

God was not standing on her porch. Instead it was the incredibly yummy man she’d left standing in her car’s dust five days ago. Caelan.

“This is who you thought I needed to get out of bed for?” Her heart skipped a beat. My Lord, the man was more gorgeous than any man had the right to be. He was even more devastating in the light of day and had an animal magnetism about him that drew her in. Love at first sight? No. Not possible. She hated men. Didn’t she?

“Tieran!” her grandmother yelled, yanking her back into focus.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

She grasped the knob with both hands and yanked on the door she’d never locked. It burst open with an unwilling protest. Being partial about her privacy, she quickly placed her body in the foot-wide opening.

“Oh, it’s you.” Did she sound uncaring enough? She wasn’t grinning like a lovesick puppy, was she? She gripped the door, too tired to stand here and discuss life with the man who’d so rudely stared at her before.

“He also saved your butt.”

“Well, there is that.” Not to mention the fact the man was gorgeous.

“It’s nice to see you too,” he said, grinning.

“Is there something I can help you with?” She tried to ignore his devastating smile and the fact that her insides were melting because of it. Then it occurred to her. “Hey, how did you find me?”

A dimple creased his cheek, making her tummy do a weird little flip-flop, and he shrugged. “I own a security company. Finding people is part of what I do.”

“Huh. What about people who don’t want to be found?” she asked, lying through her teeth. If her panties got any wetter, her cream would be dripping down her legs. Who wouldn’t want to be found by this man?

Me, she inwardly shouted. Remember Peter and never wanting anything to do with a man again?

Caelan peered around her head like he had every right in the world to invade her space. “What are you hiding in there?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Moi?”

“Yes, you. You look like you’re guarding state secrets in there.”

“Oh, that. Well, I was attacked, and there’s a mess—” Her breath left on a whoosh. One second she was in her house, the next Caelan had her pinned to the wall outside by a well-muscled arm. A growl vibrated his rib cage. With his other hand he whipped out an ugly black gun faster than she could blink.

“What are you doing?” she shouted, and struggled to disengage herself from his hold. Not that it wasn’t nice to be held and protected, but she was clueless as to why he’d suddenly gone security guy on her.

“Is he still in the house?” he whispered, controlling her squirming with what seemed like little effort on his part.

“He?”

“You said you were attacked.”

Reality dawned. “By the door, big guy.”

“What?”

“The door. It was stuck, and then I tripped over my bags and spilled everything inside. I was too tired to clean it up, so I left it.” She leaned in close and whispered in his ear, the urge to lick it strong as hell. “I didn’t want you to see it.”

He looked adorable standing there with an expression of utter disbelief.

“The door.”

“Afraid so.”

His eyes closed, his jaw started ticking and he seemed to be counting to himself. She bit her lip to keep from laughing. Then he opened his eyes and leaned even closer to her face. His breath puffed on her nose when he spoke.

“You’re gonna be the death of me and I haven’t even gotten to know you yet.”

Happy Friday!!

Y’all, I have to share this. Names have been changed to protect the innocent. And no, I’m not saying where this occurred. But it’s cute and made this author very happy. The reader said she was red-faced, and I hope she forgives me for posting this. I was so flattered that I had to share…

With that huge preface, I’ll say that on a reader chat forum on which I frequently post, I found this charming story about one reader’s experience with WICKED TIES. I hope you enjoy!

Shelley, I got of work early today and decided to stop by my favorite Borders to pick up WICKED TIES. First mistake I made was to decide to get a Vanilla Chai and read it before I got home. I really think you should put a warning label on the book not to read it in public.

Man, I’m not going to be able to go back in there for a while. The only good thing was I had the last copy in the store. I forgive you, maybe. I have been reading stuff in public and never had this problem before. I’m so very embarrassed. I can’t decided whether to laugh or cry.

I vote for laugh. She’ll look back on this someday and giggle like crazy. Stories like this are great and I’m grateful to the readers who have reached out to me to tell me they’d read the book and their thoughts about it.

More to come, including a new DECADENT cover soon, a Feature Friday starring Annmarie McKenna and something fun…

Okay, so I’m totally off schedule. I know I’ve neglected Feature Fridays…but I’ll be getting back to it this week. Promise!! I also know I’m a little slow blogging these days. You can blame the characters of my upcoming novella for Samhain, entitled A LITTLE PAYBACK. Shanna and Alejandro are keeping me on my toes. Sorry, inside joke…

Anyway, I awoke this morning and heard that today is characterized as the saddest day of the year for a lot of people (Patriots and Saints fans aside). I’d never heard this, but the rationale made sense: By now everyone has received their credit card bills from the holidays. The weather generally sucks. Many people have already given up on their New Year’s resolutions. And it’s a Monday. Generally a downer, right?

Nope. Good things happened today. I have 2 new possible DECADENT covers to choose from. I like them both, so it’s tough, but I think I’ve got a decision. I’ll be emailing my editor in the morning. The weather here is actually up 30+ degrees over this time last week. Warmer weather always makes me happier. I have a birthday coming up on Sunday. Not usually cause for celebration, but I’m hoping that RAH (are you reading this, honey?) will get me a gift certificate to a local day spa. I’m a sucker for a good facial. I’m making good progress on my novella for Samhain. My top secret project…while still top secret is something I’m feeling good about. And best of all Heroes was back on tonight!!!

Save the Cheerleader, Save the World!

If you haven’t watched the show yet, you’re missing out. Creative, tense, fun, inventive, complicated and totally fresh. I’ve never looked forward to Mondays the way I do when there’s an episode of Heroes to watch.

And now that I’ve had my fix…it’s back to work! I’m curious, though. How many of you have watched Heroes. Love it? Hate it? Who is your favorite character?

That I HATE winter! Loathe it with a massive purple passion. See, I’m originally from Los Angeles. When I moved here, people asked me what my winter coat looked like. All I had was a windbreaker. The South isn’t cold, right? *wrong!* The first winter I lived here, we had days that were, like, six below! Okay, for anyone living in Wisconsin, Minnesota, eastern Canada, etc. no laughing. I have thin California blood. Really.

It was bad enough over the weekend to be trapped inside by an ice storm that barely was…but so dang cold, no one in their right mind would travel out in the junk. That already put me in an unhappy frame of mind. But then, when I woke up today to surprise snow. SNOW? It almost never snows here!!

This isn’t my neighborhood–found this on the Internet. But it may as well have been…

Needless to say, my munchkin was thrilled. I, however, was unamused. Snow angels are not my thing. Bah Humbug. After being trapped in for so long, I’m running out of things to do! Today ended up being documentary day.

I had my laptop out and, in the background, watched stuff about what the Earth would be like if we had no moon. Then onto a hour about the 95 moons in our solar system and which would be the most habitable. Um, none. They’re all so COLD!! Then I switched gears to something about Navy Seals in Vietnam. Harrowing… So I switched to a bad Charlie Sheen movie on HBO, before hitting the video on demand for some House Hunters and Designed to Sell. I think I finished the afternoon with something about the contributions of the Navajo in the U.S. Military and a disturbing hour about Osama bin Laden. On that cheerful note, I made dinner and lost myself in American Idol.

On a nice summer day, I could have been out walking, or in the pool or…any number of wonderful activities that didn’t involve freezing off parts south of my body. Would someone wake me up when it’s April?

Once again, it’s time for my husband to pontificate about whatever is on his mind. There’s never any telling what’s going to come out of his mouth. Could be anything from his favorite Andy Griffith episode to the best sniper position at 400 yards. Buckle your seatbelt and hang on…! This month is brief. If I never told you, RAH is a man of few words. In fact, in his estimation…the fewer words said, the better.

Greetings from RAH!

I wanted to share with you all what one aspect of marriage to a romance/erotic fiction writer. As Romance Author Husband (RAH), each day presents what my wife likes to call…unique opportunities. Shelley continues to add dynamic new layers to our relationship and surprise me. A good example of this is when Shelley puts on her “Shayla” persona and needs to walk-through a scene. Now, when Shelley was writing historicals or simple romantic contemporaries, this was no problem. Pirate? Sure. Computer geek? Not too far from the truth. “Shayla”, however, has different requirements. These could involve anything from ropes to paddles. While I’d never admit it, she continues to amaze me with the bounty of educational and athletic opportunities.

Frequently, I find myself asking, “um, honey, will this chafe?”

Gang,

This draws to a close the week of excerpts for WICKED TIES. I hope you’ve enjoyed it. It’s been a great week for me, especially since I just found out that Fallen Angels has given this book a 5 out of 5 and a Recommended Read!! A reader also wrote me and was writing her own review to spread around, which said, “This book is a KEEPER in the HOTTEST section of your Keeper Shelf!!” I’m really thrilled. Really. I haven’t been feeling that well, so if I seem underwhelmed, I’m not. I really treasure these positive reviews.

My top secret project is coming along. I’ve been editing it to make it extra special. I’m hoping to be able to tell you all about it soon. It’s something I’m so stoked about!

Oh, and I don’t mean to insult the dentists of the world, but novicane is one of the worst inventions ever, and you all must have a strong streak of masochism in order to do what you do. I’m just sayin’…

Okay, onto the excerpt, Morgan has decided, for a variety of reasons, to give Jack’s idea of good sex a try. The decision didn’t come quickly or easily. And she may be in over her head…

Excerpt
Copyright WICKED TIES by Shelley Bradley/Shayla Black
Adult material. If you are under 18, please navigate elsewhere.

She concentrated on her body, the cool air on her exposed nipples, the bra lifting up her breasts like a proud offering. She focused on the crotchless panties that didn’t quite cover her ass or stop the gush of moisture rushing from her vagina to coat her inner thighs. She felt the thigh-high stockings hugged her in every way, emphasizing the small square of cloth covering her damp curls.

Nervous, yes. But far more aroused. And determined not to examine what she and Jack did or judge their actions. If it sounded good and felt good, she’d just do it.

That all sounded good, but without any idea what Jack might want—demand—from her, Morgan waited, aware of the ache of erotic fear and need building, building inside her.

Jack opened the door wearing black leather pants—and nothing else.

His eyes walked all over her, starting at the swollen mouth she’d been chewing on for the past ten minutes, down the pale slope of her breast, gliding over the flat of her bared tummy, then zooming in right between her thighs, framed by lace, silk, and fishnet.

She watched his face. The heat raced to his eyes. The firm lines of his jaw grew tight. Her gaze skipped down past the bunched golden muscles of his wide chest and shoulders, down farther to the thick erection that grew at record speed.

Despite her nerves, Morgan smiled.

“I wouldn’t be too happy yet. I’m going to make your earn my cock and your orgasms tonight.”

Her smile faltered. If he noticed it, Jack said nothing.

“Come in and sit on the table.”

“But—”

“No speaking unless I give you permission. Is that clear? Either nod or shake your head.”

Stern, intense, beautiful. Morgan knew she should have been furious with his high-handed attitude. Instead, she was curious and wet and wanting. And filled with an electric thrill.

She nodded and made her way into the room.

Jack swung the door wider to accommodate her, and it felt symbolic. A door opening. She would just embrace this part of her without judging it, without dwelling on what others would say.

“Sit,” he barked. “I won’t repeat myself again.”

Morgan snapped to attention and brought herself back to the present. Time for thinking later. Time for obeying was now. With quick steps, she made her way to the center of the room and perched her ass on the table, scooting back until she was fully seated. She crossed her legs, clenching her thighs together to relieve the ache, and waited.

With a hot challenge lighting his eyes, Jack placed a hand on each knee and pried her thighs apart, then wide. “Don’t cross your legs to me. When we’re alone, they’re open wide, signaling your availability and showing me your sweet, wet pussy. Understood?”

She wanted to be angry that he was going to tell her how to sit now. It was damn demanding. Overbearing. And arousing as his stare made its way down to the wet flesh he exposed, and he caressed her with his eyes. A fresh ache tightened behind her clit, gently pulsing in time with her heartbeat.

And she understood. This was why she thrilled to Jack’s domination. He was so focused on her, so concentrated on taking her in with each sense, in every way he could. He enveloped her mind in the sexual experience so thoroughly, she couldn’t possibly think, much less think about anything else. Soon, she would have all his power, testosterone, and self-control directed at her pleasure. At the thought, she felt flushed, faint.

And Jack hadn’t really even touched her.

“Do you understand?” Jack asked between gritted teeth.

Morgan answered him with a nod.

He turned away to open a few boxes on the counter behind him. He stuffed something she couldn’t see in the pocket of his pants, then turned back to her with something long and sparkling and golden. When he held it up for her, she saw it was a thick gold chain with a ruby-studded heart dangling. It was beautiful. Stunning. Too big to be a bracelet, certainly. Too short to fit around her neck and have the pendant dangle between her breasts. What did he intend?

“If you agree to wear this, you agree to be mine. Only mine. Sexually, you do what I say, when I say, how I say, and where I say. If you put this on, the word ‘no’ leaves your vocabulary. You answer me with a polite ‘yes, sir.’”

He stroked the ruby pendant across one exposed nipple, then the other. The cold of the gems, the riot of sensations, forced her to draw in a trembling breath.

“You may speak. Ask me questions before you answer.”

Be his? For tonight? That had to be what he meant. No way was the man talking forever.

Morgan licked her dry lips, aroused, oh-so-needy. “I have no questions, sir. I want to be yours.”

The pulse jumped at the base of his neck. He swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. This meant something to him, and the fact he couldn’t quite conceal it touched her heart. But her eyes didn’t stop their visual dessert. Her stare moved onto the veins roping his heavy forearms, bulged as he formed fists. His flat belly taut, as if he was poised to spring into action. And his cock, she hadn’t thought it possible but he seemed to lengthen another inch.

“I want that, too, cher.” His stare seduced and revered her at once.

Palms sweating, Morgan longed to press her thighs together to relieve the fresh, heavy ache he’d created…but didn’t dare.

“You understand that, once I put this on you, you are mine to tease, punish, torment, and fuck at will?”

Yes. Fine. Hurry. The waiting was killing her. Quickly, she nodded.

“You know that your entire body will belong to me?”

Again, she nodded.

“That anytime I indicate I want to make use of your mouth, your cunt, or your ass, you assume the position I request, no matter what?”

Morgan hesitated for a moment, then nodded. The unknown, anal sex, and anything else he could dream up, wouldn’t worry her. She had to trust Jack to make everything good. God knew his words alone were reaching into her deepest fantasies, pushing her past caution, past her inhibitions.

She shot a deferential gaze up to him, her nipples hard as diamonds. “Yes, sir.”

“I will take care of you. Trust me to know when you need my cock and how. Trust me to understand your fantasies and make each of them come true. Trust me to know when you need a good spanking and when you just need me to wrap my arms around you.”

Wrap his arms around her? As if he would, what? Support her? Love her? He talked like he meant this to be beyond tonight. Like he did meant it to be forever…

“Understand?” His voice was soft, but no less demanding.

Not really. But she was too impatient to ask. “Yes, sir.”

Without another word, he stepped behind her and clasped the jeweled pendant around her neck. It clung to her like a choker, snug but not restrictive. The pendant of rubies pooled in the hollow at the base of her throat, rapidly warming to her skin. He walked around the table again for a peek.

“It looks perfect on you.” With a gentle finger skimming her skin, Jack outlined the pendant.

His gaze never left hers. Never wavered. A world of promise and sinful mastery lay in his eyes. Morgan had seen Jack in a lot of ways in the past few days: angry, asleep, protective, aroused. But she’d never like this, possessive and totally determined.

Morgan exhaled a ragged, aroused breath.

“Perfect,” he murmured. “Lie back and keep your legs spread so I can see that sweet pussy.”

Thanks for reading this week. Hope you enjoyed!!

Happy Saturday! I have a busy weekend planned. First, we have to de-Christmas. Didn’t do that last weekend, and now I regret it. Of course, there’s football. The munchkin wants to go to the movies. And I REALLY need to get started on my novella for the SNEAK PEEK Anthology.

RAH is assisting me this weekend. He’s promised a blog, so for those of you who are amused by him (and it’s hard not to be), you should have one next week. I’ll keep pestering him (or making promises ) until I get one. He’s also going to brush up the myspace page I created and screwed up. Isn’t he a great guy???

On to today’s excerpt… This takes place shortly after the interrogation in excerpt 3. Morgan went to bathe and take care of the nagging ache Jack created in her. But the shutters didn’t close all the way, and Jack may be tough and brave and smart–but in that moment, he wasn’t noble and got quite a show.

Excerpt
Copyright Shelley Bradley/Shayla Black
This excerpt contains adult material. If you are under 18, please navigate elsewhere.

Oh my God!

Morgan leapt from the tub, grabbed a towel with shaking hands and wrapped it around her, covering as much of herself as she could. He’d seen her—and everything she’d done!

She turned back to the window, eager to assure herself Jack had had the decency to leave and give her privacy, now that she’d caught him being a voyeur. But Jack still stood there unblinking, shirtless, his massive chest rising and falling with harsh, tightly controlled breaths. Worse, he watched her with a hot, predatory gaze. Completely sexual. Totally lacking in apology. His gaze told her that she aroused him. He wanted her. He meant to have her. Period.

The ache between her thighs she’d tried to quench pulsed back to life. Morgan squeezed her eyes shut, struggling against the morass of feeling swirling inside her. Desire and fury galloped in her stomach. They raced neck in neck, mortification a close third.

But at the finish line, fury won.

Damn him! Jack might have saved her life, but that didn’t entitle him to invade her privacy, to watch…whatever she did by herself—and arouse himself doing it. Arrogant. Rude! So like a man.

The famous O’Malley temper her mother had always talked about was rising hot and fast inside her, greedily lapping at propriety and calm.

Shooting him a venomous glare through the window, Morgan whirled and left the little bathroom, then stalked down the hall, into the kitchen/living room area. She barreled toward the cabin’s front door.

Before she reached it, the door opened. Jack stepped in, fierce and silent. And so taut she could probably bounce knives off him. He closed the door behind him with a quiet click that was nearly lost in the hard stamps of her wet feet across the gleaming wood floor.

“You son of a bitch!” she yelled, charging toward him until they stood a mere foot apart. “How dare you? Did you think I wouldn’t notice or care? Or maybe you thought—”

“Enough.” He didn’t raise his voice but it still lashed like the sting of a whip.

“Go to—”

“Morgan,” he warned, jaw clenching.

She started, clutching her towel around her, her chest rising and falling with anger. His voice filled the room. A command burned in his eyes. He was angry with her? Unbelievable.

Before she could tell him to pound sand, he said. “I had no right to watch you, cher. I went outside to check the perimeter security. You left the partially shutters open, and I couldn’t look away. I’m sorry.”

An apology? That was it? No arguing, no defending himself?

Fury dissipated—much faster than she wanted it to. Hard to stay frothing furious at someone who’d offered an apology, damn it. Even harder to stay mad at a man who’d been transfixed because he liked the sight of her.

But she was an O’Malley and not nearly ready to give up the fight.

“You didn’t have any right! I—I’m completely embarrassed.”

He edged closer. “Of your body? Of being a woman with needs?”

“Of being watched! I can’t believe you just stood there and looked at me like I was the star of some sort of freebie sex show.”

“It’s not good behavior for hosts, I agree. It’s not a habit.” His eyes sparked truth—and a desire that wasn’t going away. “Morgan, admit something, though: Knowing I watched you, that I couldn’t look away, arouses you.”

“No.” She refused to give him the satisfaction, despite her awareness that moisture gushed between her legs at his words.

“Those sultry blue eyes say yes, cher.”

“You need glasses. Did you think I would be okay with you turning my bath into a peepfest? Did you think I’d say, ‘Sure, I know we just met yesterday, but feel free to spy on the most intimate moments of my life?’”

“I was only aware of how of beautiful you looked.” He leaned in. “If you were mine, you’d have no reason to self-pleasure, cher.” He quirked a smile. “Of course, I’d love to see you stroke yourself now and then for the pure viewing fun.”

Risking a glance down, she couldn’t miss the outline of his rigid erection straining the front of his jeans. Morgan felt a flush rise to her skin and that ache tighten between her legs again. No! She needed her anger, all whipped into a nice, frothy fury.

Instead, she became all too aware of how close he stood. Of the fact he was half dressed, while she was barely covered at all. Dangerous territory, especially with Jack looking at her with a dark flame of want blazing in his eyes. Especially with her body warming in response.
Morgan retreated a step.

“Stay there.”

His quiet tones rang with command, vibrated through her. Morgan hesitated, mind racing. She didn’t have to listen, didn’t have to stand before him nearly naked and follow orders. In fact, it was much better if she didn’t…

“Bite me. I’m not a two year-old or a robot,” she shot back and stepped away again.

Jack reached for her.

Run! she ordered herself. Instead, he encircled her wrist with a gentle grip, but she felt its steel beneath. And his heat.

“Stay there.”

For some reason, something in his voice… She couldn’t not listen to him.

Maybe that’s because Jack embodied every sin she’d ever yearned to experience, ever masturbated to in her dark, lonely bed, only to have frustration douse her satisfaction when she realized none of it was real.

He released her slowly and began to pace around her with unhurried steps, brushing her shoulder with gentle fingertips as he stepped past. Her heartbeat accelerated. Goose bumps erupted across her arms. She didn’t even want to think about what was happening to her nipples or how bad they ached.

He stopped behind her. Jack’s hot breath tickled the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulders. His heat radiated along her back and legs. Morgan sucked in a breath. God, he was standing close. Too close to ignore. Too close to deny the effect he had on her.

The ache between her thighs zinged to new heights, as if she hadn’t stroked her way to climax mere minutes ago.

She sent a cautious glance over her shoulder. Jack stood right there, waiting, as if he’d known what she would do. Their gazes connected, his full of fire and demand. He hovered a mere breath away, tall and towering.

He was going to touch her.

A zip of electric thrill raced through her, even as she called herself twenty kinds of stupid. She tore her gaze from his and stared at the front door again, clutching the towel around her body. He said nothing, but Morgan could feel his eyes on her, taking in her still-wet skin, her rapid, telling breaths.

Now what? This had gone from an ass-chewing to an ass-viewing in about two minutes. If she didn’t want him doing anything else with her ass, she had to get away now.

“Tell me why you needed that orgasm,” he murmured into her ear.

She couldn’t. It would only confirm what he must know: That some deviant, out-of-control part of her wanted him, felt more than journalistic curiosity about what he could give her.

“It’s really none of your business, Jack…”

“Don’t call me that, not when we’re alone.”

He wanted her to call him sir. Trembling, she stood still, thoughts and heart racing between uncertainty and forbidden thrill. She felt…claimed by Jack’s words. His iron commands reached something inside her and called forth a barrage of need.

What would it be like to surrender? To give in to that voice?

Dangerous. Bad. Giving into everything Jack represented and everything she shouldn’t want. If she did, she’d only be forging a new path to hell.

“How about jackass, then? That’s appropriate.” She dug up her bravado and turned to face him. “Don’t bully me.”

She waited for his angry comeback, for a growled command of frustration. It didn’t come.

Instead, he shuffled a heartbeat closer, until a mere whisper separated her from the raging heat of his body. “There is no reason to be embarrassed about your desires.”

“I’m not. Call me repressed, but I am embarrassed about having an audience during orgasm,” she snapped.

“That’s not true,” he said softly.

Swallowing, Morgan tried to tear her gaze from his knowing, sexual stare. His scent assailed her next, full of man and mystery, spicy as Cajun food and as hard to fathom as the swamp itself.

She inched back. “Do you think you know me now?”

“I know things about you. I know you’re uneasy about your sexuality. You have desires you don’t like to admit to. I see them all in your eyes. A craving to be bound and dominated—”

“You don’t see a damn thing! I’m not depraved.”

“No, you’re not. Anyone who thinks you are is an idiot.”

Jack reached for her again, determination all over the fierce masculine angles of his strong face. She didn’t want to know exactly what he was determined to do. Panic flared, and she batted his hand away and leapt out of his reach. Her back hit the door.

And Jack kept coming for her with soft, slow steps.

Have a great Saturday!

Sorry I’m a little behind. Life, my top secret project, the novella I should have started by now and RAH getting sick have all contributed to my tardiness.

Before I go on, let me thank the folks who stop by this blog who joined my chats earlier this week. I was so thrilled and touched to see you there. Thanks for coming out so I wasn’t there alone, hearing crickets or trying to do my American Idol impression.

Talked to my Berkley editor again. She won’t be reading the draft of DECADENT until late next month, most likely. Several reviewers are already asking for the ARC, and I love the advance quotes…but not until my editor has put her stamp of approval on it. Here’s hoping she will…

What else? Oh, RAH’s birthday is coming up. No idea what to get him… Christmas was tough enough, but it’s horrid to have to dream up new and inventive gifts for the man by the middle of January. Time to put my thinking cap on, I suppose.

Oh, you’re here for the excerpt, aren’t you? Not my chatter. Understood. Without further ado…

This excerpt takes place the morning after #2 (see below). Jack has taken Morgan to his remote cabin in the middle of the Louisiana swamp and he intends to get some answers. He’s also wanting to get something else…but one thing at a time.

Excerpt
Copyright Shelley Bradley/Shayla Black
This excerpt contains adult material. If you are under 18, please navigate elsewhere.

Morgan woke to an unfamiliar room pervaded by shadows. Mosquito netting draped the warm, well-used bed. Beyond that, an old-fashioned kerosene lamp on a nightstand with mission-style lines dimly lit the room. Where was she?

Blinking, she sat up with a creak. She frowned when she saw purple leather stretched across her torso and hips. Purple leather? Her? It wasn’t uncomfortable…but had to be discomfiting to be seen in. Why the hell was she wearing it?

Then she recalled. Her stalker shooting. Master J—no, Jack—to the rescue, his gaze eating up her flushed skin, his hands on her body.

Still, she had to thank Alyssa for the shocking get up. It, along with Jack and his outrageous behavior, had gotten her out of Lafayette alive.

A downy beige comforter warmed her legs. Black sheers floated at the room’s lone window, made transparent by the silvery moonlight. A stout dresser of warm, old cherrywood sprawled against most of the wall beside the window.

Turning her head, Morgan skimmed the other half of the small bedroom. The open door led to beautiful hardwood floors, which gleamed in the dark, empty hallway.

And in the chair wedged between the door and an armoire sat Jack, shirtless and tousled, alert—and focused on her.

“Good morning, Morgan.”

Morning? His stare touched her through the moonlit inkiness of the room, caressing her cheek, sweeping over her mouth, gliding down her neck to the rise of her breasts above the leather bustier. With just a glance, heat bloomed inside her. Even eight feet away, the potency of his sexuality broadcast in blaring waves. Everything they had done in Alyssa’s bedroom came back to her in a rush…along with a tight, nagging ache between her legs.

She remembered everything—the way he’d touched her, his kiss, his touch, the way he took control. His mysterious scent, his growled words—they’d intrigued her. Even after a few hours’ sleep, nothing had changed. Curiosity and desire gnawed at her as Jack stared, knowledge hot in his chocolate eyes. The ache knotting her body tightened.

She couldn’t afford that, couldn’t afford him. Morgan looked away, breaking their visual connection.

How he felt, how she felt—none of it mattered. She had to focus on staying safe and doing research for her show. Drooling over the heavy slabs of muscles covering Jack’s shoulders and chest that screamed virile and contemplating all the ways he could use that power to pleasure her wasn’t going to improve her show—or her chances of staying alive.

“How are you? Okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said finally. “What time is it?”

He shrugged and glanced out the window. “About five in the morning. You can go back to sleep. I’ll be here to watch over you.”

Morgan stared back. The knowledge that Jack’s eyes were on her was really going to induce her to roll over and sink into dreamland. As if. She could hardly breathe with Jack’s gaze all over her. Sleep would be impossible.

What was it about this man? Sure, he was yummy, but she’d dated good-looking guys before. Something about the way he stared?

The truth finally hit her like a slap. No, it was his intensity, his self-possession, his air of controlled power. She’d always been a sucker for men of power. And unlike the other men in her past, Morgan knew Jack was the real deal.

He wielded one of the ultimate powers, a sexual one. He wouldn’t just tie a woman down; he would dictate her response and his, be in complete control of her body, her orgasms, and in that moment, her very soul.

The thought appealed to Morgan far more than was wise.

Easing toward the edge of the bed to put distance between them, she said, “No, I’m awake. Do you want the bed to catch some sleep? I can get up.”

“Stay.”

The single syllable ricocheted through her body. It was a command, pure and simple. Every place it bounced around inside her, the heat intensified, confusing her. She didn’t like being bossed around—by anyone. But Jack barking orders at her made her uncomfortably achy in all the wrong places.

Hell, maybe she was just horny in general, and it had nothing to do with Jack. After all, it had been nearly a year since she’d split up with Andrew.

“I’ve been sleeping in the chair,” he clarified.

“That can’t be comfortable.”

He laughed. “Cher, go spend a few months in Afghanistan with the army. This chair will seem like the Ritz.”

Morgan nodded, conceding the point.

“If you’re awake, I want to ask you some questions. You need coffee first?”

She shuddered. “I don’t drink the vile brew. Too bitter.”

A flash of white teeth told Morgan that he smiled. “I wouldn’t say that too loud around here. We’re known for our thick chicory coffee. Not drinking that is sacrilege.”

“I’m likely to burn in hell for some other things in my life, starting with painting my cousin’s G.I. Joe’s fingernails pink when I was five. I’ll just add that to the list.”

Jack laughed, a scratchy sandpaper sound. “Wow, that is vile. Satan’s got a special place reserved just for you.”

Morgan nodded. Then the room turned quiet. The momentary banter drifted away, leaving a tense silence in its place. Still, she felt Jack’s gaze on her, lingering on her hair.

Self-consciously, she pushed the strands off her shoulders, behind her back. “You took off the wig. I—it’s red,” she stammered. “My hair, I mean.”

He hesitated. “I didn’t expect that.”

His stare changed then, turned pensive. Morgan frowned. What had he expected? Why did the color matter? Maybe he only liked blondes. Maybe…but his stare said otherwise.

“And I see you took off the boots.”

“They looked uncomfortable.”

The idea of Jack touching her as she slept unaware raised the heat coiling in her body another notch. Had he touched anything more intimate than her head or feet, while she slept?

That question ratcheted up her body heat again, now laser focused between her legs. Morgan squirmed, seeking relief. She didn’t find it.

“What do you want to ask me?” she said. Conversation, yes. Much safer than staring.

Jack’s slouched posture instantly gave way to a taut awareness. He leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his knees. “How about we start with anyone you can think of who might want to stalk and kill you?”

Enjoy!

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January 1st – WICKED TIES Week of Excerpts – #1 winner is Larissa.
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More tomorrow…