Rendezvous by Lisabet Sarai
For Rebecca, Halloween has always been special, an opportunity for her to cast off her sensible, ordinary self and assume a new look and a new identity: someone extraordinary, sensual and seductive.
When Halloween night finds her stranded by a breakdown in a seedy motel nearly a hundred miles from her friend's annual party, she's terribly frustrated and disappointed. Then she discovers that her room is haunted by the invisible but unquestionably virile ghost of a rake who seduced local women nearly half a century earlier. Gradually, the ghost unmasks Rebecca's secret desires, fulfilling every one.
By the time midnight tolls, Rebecca has come face to face with more magic than she had ever imagined.
Twelfth of Never by Bobbie Russell
Author Zoe Shepard races away from an unfaithful lover in the States only to fall into the arms of a spirit in Ireland. While she has no intention of allowing another faithless male in her life, she doesn't mind this particular man because he demands nothing and night after night he gives her incredible climaxes. It isn't until the full moon that Zoë actually meets Keegan McFallon, knight and lord of clan McFallon, in human form.
Because of a sorceress's spell, he's doomed to remain in the spirit world, except on the nights of new and full moons, until he has an orgasm on the Twelfth of Never. Unfortunately, that is a riddle he cannot seem to solve. Keegan, with his long blond hair, broad shoulders, and constant hard-on, is so much better in the flesh than in spirit form that Zoë sets about trying to discover how to release him from the sorceress's spell. In the meantime, she decides to write his story, but…
Who's going to believe a story about a five hundred year old spirit who has to orgasm on the Twelfth of Never to return to mortal form?
Wishcraft by Ashley Ladd
Felicia likes to dabble in love potions, but when she brews one for her old enemy Acacia, it goes awry when Acacia's intended, Jeremy Knowles, falls for Felicia.
Jeremy pursues Felicia and although she fears it's only spell-induced, Felicia can't resist his charms. She only hopes that she won't be forced to turn Acacia into a toad to keep the secret so that Jeremy won't find out, before she can confess her sins.
Reader advisory: These books contain scenes that some readers may find objectionable.
General Release Date: 20th October 2020
Excerpt from Rendezvous
It was as though I'd been cursed.
First, my boss sent me on an out-of-state sales trip for the day. That effectively nixed my plan to leave work early and help Christie get ready for her party. Then, as I was rushing to get back to the city, the trusty Taurus blew a gasket on an empty stretch of I-35 south of Emporia. The mechanic told me that the problem wouldn't be fixed before noon the next day.
The next day? I couldn't believe my bad luck. I was stuck until November 1st in some dinky town nearly a hundred miles from Kansas City. If the car had been my own, I would have found a bus or a cab home and come back after Halloween to pick it up. But of course it was the company's car, and I knew I'd catch hell if I abandoned it in some no-name garage.
The motel was the last straw. Maybe I could have consoled myself in a nice modern Holiday Inn or even a Super-8: taken a long hot shower, relaxed on the king-sized bed, and wallowed in self-pity while eating take-out pizza and sampling the mini-bar. The Ranch Motel, though, was the kind of relic that you’d think only exists in horror movies. The fake pine panelling was warped by damp. Staring at the wall, you felt that you were looking in a fun-house mirror. The furniture was pure Ozzie and Harriet, right down to the twin beds with their faux-colonial bedposts. The shower head dribbled even when shut tight; streaks of red stained the bottom of the bathtub. Rust, of course, but I couldn't suppress a little shiver at the gory appearance.
The grizzled desk clerk shook his head when I asked about restaurants, bars, any kind of local entertainment. “Closest food is the diner in Cottonwood Falls, eight miles back. But they don't deliver past six.” He looked alarmed when he realised that I was on the verge of crying. “There's vending machines 'round back, Miss.”
Seeing that this did not reassure me, he reached under the counter and brought out an unopened half-pint of cheap scotch. “Here, you can have this. Help you relax. And we've got satellite TV, too. Works most of the time.”
I managed to swallow my tears and take the bottle. “Thanks. What about breakfast, though?”
“If you're awake by six tomorrow, I can run you into Emporia at the end of my shift.”
“Thanks, I'd really appreciate that.” I paused at the screen door, surveying the empty parking lot. “Expecting anyone else tonight?”
“Nope. Might get some late-night trucker, but they usually want a place with better —amenities, I think you call 'em.”
“Yeah, that's right. Amenities.” I tried not to be sarcastic. The old guy was working hard to be nice.
I strolled across the gravel on the way back to Room 7. It was crisp and breezy, but warm for October. A golden crescent moon hung near the horizon, across the fields of stubble that stretched in all directions. If I strained my ears, I could hear the distant hum of traffic on I-35. Otherwise, it was as quiet as the grave.
An appropriate comparison for Halloween. I threw myself down on the chenille spread, tears threatening again. Damn, damn, damn. Why tonight, of all nights? I checked my watch; it was just seven. Christie would be in costume already. She'd be lighting the candles, dumping the brandy into the witches' brew punch, laying out the tarot cards in preparation for her guests' arrival. I wanted to be there, more than I'd ever wanted anything.
You have to understand. For me, Halloween has always been special. When I was a child, I'd count the months and then the days. I'd spend weeks working on my costume, thrilling with anticipation of the moment when I'd actually put it on and become someone else. For a few glorious hours, I'd be a witch or a black widow spider, a gypsy or a pirate or a creature from outer space. On November 1st, I'd already be planning who I'd become on the next All Hallow's Eve.
I haven't changed. I still believe in magic. The air is still full of possibilities on Halloween. As I've gotten older, I've realised that some of the thrill is sexual. On Halloween, I become someone more exciting, more daring, more willing to take risks. I exchange my dirty blonde hair and B-cup breasts for raven tresses and a voluptuous cleavage, my suits and sensible heels for fishnets and stilettos. On Halloween, I flirt, I fascinate, I bewitch. I draw my lovers to me, attract them with the pure power of my lust.
Of course, I hadn't actually had a lover for nearly a year, since Jim packed up and moved to San Francisco. On Halloween, though, anything could happen.
To miss Halloween was a tragedy. To wait for another year, for my next chance... I couldn't bear it. I buried my face in the lumpy pillow and wailed at the injustice. What had I done to deserve this?
I cried until my eyes burned and my throat was sore. When I finally sat up again, the disappointment had settled in my chest as a dull ache. I poured several inches of the clerk's scotch into a flimsy disposable cup, and swallowed it in two gulps. The liquor soothed my throat but smouldered in my belly. In fact, I felt warm all over.
I stripped off my blouse and slacks and then helped myself to more of the scotch. Well, at least I could do our traditional midnight toast, even if it would be solitary. I considered calling Christie, but couldn't bring myself to that, not yet. I'd do it later, when I was drunker, and it didn't hurt so much.
Excerpt from Twelfth of Never
Zoë turned the ancient skeleton key, shoving her shoulder against the huge oak door when she heard the lock click. Hoping the realtor had gotten the cottage cleaned as she had instructed, she dropped her suitcases just inside the door, utterly exhausted from the transatlantic flight.
Colleen Bannon, the realtor, had said the electricity couldn’t be turned on until Monday, and this was only Saturday evening. She was too tired to explore the rental, but there was just enough light from the setting sun for her to make out large, sheet draped objects in the room off to the left of the entryway. She wrinkled her nose at the musty, closed up smell that permeated the hallway. It was no wonder she had gotten the place so cheaply. She dug in her backpack for a flashlight then wearily climbed the stairs. This place didn’t look, or smell, as if it had been lived in for...forever.
Mentally following the floor plan she had seen on the internet site, she turned at the top of the stairs. Bathroom on the right, bedroom at the end of the hall. The loft bedroom was supposed to overlook the lake, and she hoped it did, if only to provide her the peace she needed. Setting her flashlight on a small round table against one wall so it pointed at the bed, she quickly pulled off the faded comforter, folding it inward to keep any dust trapped. In minutes she had a set of clean sheets spread across the huge bed, then stripped out of her travelling clothes and pulled on a T-shirt. As soon as her head hit the pillow, she fell into a deep sleep, thoughts of home and heartache temporarily forgotten if only through her deliberately imposed exhaustion.
Warm breath caressed her bare stomach, and Zoë kicked off the sheet to better feel the exquisite touch. Seconds passed and she held her breath, wanting more.
“Please,” she murmured, not sure what she was begging for, but knowing she wanted it, needed it, to take away the pain. “Please.”
Butterfly light kisses skimmed from her toes up one leg, pausing at her knee when a hot tongue snaked out and licked the sensitive skin before travelling along her thigh. Calloused hands pushed against her thighs, and she spread her legs willingly, the ache building in her sex. The instant a rough tongue touched her clit she arched, a moan coming from deep in her throat. His mouth was hot and wet, devouring her, nibbling on her clit and then sucking, taking her to the edge of an orgasm where she hovered and then crested, her pussy clutching in need, every nerve ending throbbing.
His touch continued across her stomach and then upward, licking the underside of one breast before sucking her nipple into his mouth. The aftershocks of her climax continued as he milked her, first one breast then the other, her entire body tingling as though a thousand feathers touched every inch of her skin. There was no weight against her chest, no hard muscles pressing her hips down into the bed. Only the constant, lingering touch, as light as the breeze from the window, but igniting her need and feeding her hunger. His fingers pinched her nipples, the pleasure/pain shooting through her. She planted her feet on the bed, pushing her hips up against him, spreading her legs as wide as she could to take the invasion of his cock as he entered her. He was enormous, his thickness stretching her beyond anything she had ever felt and yet she took him all, feeling the tip of him buried deep as his hips ground against hers, his balls slapping against her ass as he began to pump into her.
She felt his breath against her temple, his hand sliding between their bodies and opening her lips so his cock rubbed against her clit every time he moved in or out. She pushed, her hips arching off the bed as another orgasm slammed through her, the effect so strong she cried out.
Zoë shot straight up in bed, gasping as her pussy continued to throb with the after effects of an incredible dreaming orgasm. The room was pitch black, and for a minute she had no idea where she was. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was naked. She felt around the bed and found her T-shirt, struggling into it as the breeze chilled her aroused skin.
Stumbling out of bed, she felt along the wall until she came to the table, grabbing her flashlight. When she flipped the switch, it was to find the room empty. She turned quickly and swung the light to the windows, which she saw were closed, exactly as she had left them. Then where was the breeze coming from?
Excerpt from Wishcraft
Drawing together her brows, Felicia checked her mental agenda as she gave her potion one last stir, and then went to see who was brave enough to venture here without an invitation. No one was scheduled, and her clients were well schooled to ring before venturing here. No one visited the Heks’ house unless they were an out-of-town salesman or a lost traveller who hadn’t been spoon fed the gruesome, if made up, stories about human sacrifices and demonic rituals.
“Felicia, open up! I hear you scuttling around in there,” Acacia Pangbourn’s voice shrilled through the house just before the floorboards creaked suspiciously.
Mere seconds later, the door slammed testifying to an illegal entry.
Blimey! Acacia was one of Felicia’s ex-classmates, a ghastly creature who’d made her secondary school years a constant misery. Not only had she made goo goo eyes at every man in whom Felicia had shown an interest, she’d committed the unforgivable crime of trying to steal Jeremy. The other woman had never known how close she had come to being turned into a chalkboard eraser.
To her dismay, Felicia discovered the woman was already through the front door and well into the house before she could catch her. Swearing under her breath, she followed the whispery sound of her nemesis’ footsteps on the throw rugs.
After her father had expunged Jeremy’s memories of their beautiful night together and had made Felicia swear never to date another Naggie, not even to talk to another one, the embers of the dead flame had blazed to life. Of course, she had done a little fanning. Okay, more than a little.
No matter what her father had decreed, no matter how much she respected her pop, she couldn’t live her life without Jeremy. She’d had to face the facts—she was a Jeremy addict. He had been as heroin in her blood. His presence intoxicated her and she savoured every memory of their cherished night.
And so, unable to live without him, she’d won back his love.
One summery night after they had graduated, they slow danced under the moonlight, wrapped in each other’s arms. Lost in love, teetering on the precipice of ecstasy just holding one another, they’d gazed into each other’s eyes.
“You’re a vision,” he’d murmured against her lips, his breath minty and highly stimulating.
With a halo of moonlight making his dark hair gleam, he was the vision. As if struck by lightning, she’d sucked in a ragged breath and huskily murmured, “So are you.” Then, with her heart hammering with such force she feared it would spill from her chest, she’d stood on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to his.
Without hesitation, he’d accepted her gift, drawing her up to him. Plundering each other’s lips, they’d let their tongues finish the tango. Fevered, she’d moulded herself against him, noting how perfectly they fit. Only a brief twinge of guilt had crept in to dim her bliss. How could a magical person, or “Maggie,” as they called themselves, fit so well with a Naggie? According to her father, this was impossible—and more than distasteful.
She’d found it anything but distasteful. Jeremy was the most luscious man she’d ever met, his touch the only one that had ever made her senses whirl.
“I only feel alive when I’m with you. All I ever want to be is with you.” It had taken a lot of courage for her to admit this to herself, much less to him. Her father would have disowned her. Her family would have mourned the unholy association. They’d sooner have seen her copulate with a demon.
“I can’t believe what a lucky bloke I am, to have such a beautiful woman in love with me.” He’d stroked her hair away from her flushed cheeks and then nibbled on her ear. His hands had roamed her back and settled on her bottom before he pulled her hips tight against his.
Only later in retrospect had she noted that he hadn’t declared undying love for her. Wryly, her lips twisted. Had it all been one-sided? Oh, sure, he’d been consumed with lust. But love? If it had been love, would any spell have vanquished it?
She didn’t know, but she shook her head.
Now, as then, Jeremy wouldn’t go away. Rather, the memory of him refused to leave her in peace.
I became addicted to words at an early age. I began reading when I was four. I wrote my first story at five years old and my first poem at seven. Since then, I've written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and of course, lots of erotica and erotic romance.
In addition to writing, I also edit erotica and erotic romance. My editing credits include the ground breaking anthology Sacred Exchange, which explores the spiritual aspects of BDSM relationships, the massive collection Cream: The Best of the Erotica Readers and Writers Association, the charity anthology Coming Together: In Vein, a collection of vampire tales that benefits Doctors Without Borders, and six volumes of the Coming Together: Presents series of single author charitable erotica books. You'll also find me writing the newsletter and occasional articles for the Erotica Readers and Writers Association (www.erotica-readers.com) and monthly reviews for Erotica Revealed (www.eroticarevealed.com).
My lifelong interests in sex and the written word became serenditipitously entwined more than a decade ago when I read my first Black Lace book by Portia da Costa. Her work inspired me to take my fantasies out of the closet (and the private email files) and expose them to the world. The rest, as they say, is history (although granted, no more than a minor footnote!)
I've always loved traveling; my husband seduced me in a Burmese restaurant by telling me tales of his foreign adventures. Since then I have visited every continent except Australia, although I still have a long travel wish list. Currently I live with him and our two exceptional felines in Southeast Asia, where I pursue an alternative career that is completely unrelated to my creative writing.
Ashley Ladd lives in South Florida with her husband, five children, and beloved pets. She loves the water, animals (especially cats), and playing on the computer.
She's been told she has a wicked sense of humour and often incorporates humour and adventure into her books. She also adores very spicy romance, which she weaves into her stories.
Bobbie was born in California, married in Iowa and now resides in Kansas. The years in-between were lived in most of the southern states and three in Japan because her father was an Air Force pilot. That probably explains why she still loves to travel and explore new places and usually, each of her novels is set in a different locale.
She has written practically all her life, beginning with journals of family vacations. She is now published in poetry, short stories, essays, magazine articles, teacher resource materials, and full-length fiction. She has also written and co-produced a documentary on Kansas history that won state and national awards.
Bobbie loves talking almost as much as she loves writing, and has been a teacher for grades K-8. While in education she made over 100 presentations at state and national conferences on material she had developed in the classroom. Later, during 14 years with public television, she was on air as a program moderator and during annual pledge drives. She has a BS in Education and an MA in Communication and has taught public speaking classes at the college level.