Yesterday I found out two things:

One – Suck and Blow has a release date (15th November)

Two – My Samhain editor (the most brilliant Heidi Moore) offered a contract on Whispers in the Night.

Today I discovered one thing: Tropical Sin is on the Samhain Coming Soon Page.

All three things are pretty damn exciting enough to warrent a Muppet Flail, I believe.

Now that I’ve got that out of my system, I thought I might share a little something from/about each of the above titles. Ready?

Tropical Sin

Tropical Sin part of a four book contemporary (erotic menage) anthology I wrote with the most fantastic Vivian Arend and Jess Dee. All books are set on the fictious resort, Bandicoot Cove on the fictious Bilby Island in Tropical Australia. What’s even more fantastic about this anthology is the first book, Exotic Indulgence, is FREE! Yep, Free. The Bandicoot Cove series follows the sensual exploits of a group of close friends and family members during the soft opening of the resort. Let me just say, if you liked Triple Dare, you are going to luuuuurve Tropical Sin. Trust me 😉

It takes more than a rock star to rock your world. Sometimes you need a friend.

Tropical Sin

Bandicoot Cove, Book 3

Available 6th September from Samhain Publishing
McKenzie Wood is Australia’s star gossip mag journalist, and she’s just spied the story of a lifetime: rumor-shrouded rock star, Nick Blackthorne—who thinks he’s incognito at Bandicoot Cove resort. The word is Nick’s a sex addict about to come out of the closet, and who better to lure Nick out than her BFF, Aiden Rogers—a pulse-poundingly gorgeous firefighter who is always there when she needs him, no matter the challenge.

Aiden admits it’s pretty damned pathetic that he can rush into burning buildings, but not have the guts to tell McKenzie he’s in love with her. No way can he tell his best friend he’d like to do some seriously sinful things to her, especially since she’s never shown one iota of sexual interest.

Nick looks forward to some “unfamous” downtime in his home country. He’s surprised to find his creative muse stirred—more like brought to rigid attention—by a couple so sexy that all he can think about is the three of them. Together.

Three bodies move together as one, and the music becomes a smoldering beat that rivals the island’s heat. When the truth inevitably comes out, the heat might be enough to save three souls…or end up just another sinner’s lament.

Oh, and incase you were wondering, Exotic Indulgence is Book 1, Viv’s Paradise Found is Book 2 and Jess’ Island Idyll is Book 4.

Check out an excerpt here

Whispers in the Night

The thing I want to tell you about Whispers in the Night is that there was something magical about writing it. I can’t tell you too much more at this point because it would give too much away, but it was a book that had me both scared witless because I had no idea what the characters were doing, had me in tears when I discovered what they were doing, and had me wondering where I’d lost my brain because it is by far the deepest, most emotionally wrought and yet romantic book I’ve ever written (and remember, I wrote a hero once who had brain cancer). Mari Carr (who I so want to be when I grow up) called Whispers in the Night my best book yet.

Oh, and when it’s released I promise you’ll fall in love with the hero. 😉

Suck and Blow

I love this book. I love it’s heroine, a wild-child, hellion if ever I’ve written one, called Frankie Winchester. I love the title. But most of all, I love that Rhian Cahill asked me to write a four book series with her around the brilliant premise of adults playing party games, the kind teenagers play when they’ve got the house to themselves. Yes, those kind of games. Here, take a look…

Chapter Two

Frankie stared up at Alec, her heart thumping into her throat. So much for running away from him. She’d thought she’d lost him in the house. She thought she’d given him the slip.

She’d thought he hadn’t come after her in the first place. Why would he? In all the years they’d known each other, they’d never shared anything more than a stilted word after whatever event or competition he’d thoroughly trounced her at. Why on earth would he follow her?

It didn’t matter though. Rational thought had deserted her the second she’d laid eyes on him. Deserted her, and here she now was, hiding out in a game of Suck and Blow with Alec bloody Harris standing before her, showing her once again, how monumentally stupid she was. Damn him.

It’s been ten years, Francesca. It’s time you grew up, don’t you think? Besides, he may not even remember you.

She gazed up at him and her breath stuck in her throat. Did he remember her?

Brilliant blue eyes moved to her, direct and way more confident than they’d been as a teenager. “Hello, Francesca.”

Her sex constricted, an involuntary response to his stunning good looks and the sinfully sensual way he murmured her name. Had to be involuntary. Why else would she be feeling all squirming and…and…

“Fuck off,” the guy beside her growled.

Alec gave him a wounded look. “C’mon, mate. This is my old girlfriend from school. I haven’t seen her for ten years.”

Frankie’s mouth fell open. Okay, that’s not what she expected him to say. What the hell?

With a lopsided smile, Alec raised one sublimely muscled arm, pressed one straight finger gently underneath her chin and, his grin growing wider, slowly closed her mouth.

And she let him.

She let him. What the hell was she doing? She let him?

The guy standing beside her, a bit-role actor if she was correct—and she always was about this kind of thing—slid his own striking blue eyes in her direction.

“C’mon, mate,” Alec said and, God help her, Frankie’s pussy constricted some more at the languid confidence in his voice. “Help a bloke out.”

Before Frankie could say anything, or do anything—like, hmmm, slap Alec’s hand from under her chin perhaps—the guy on her right let out a disgruntled snort and stepped out of the line, holding out his arm for Alec to take his place. He gave Frankie a steady look. “I’ll be at the Twister station if you’re interested.” He flicked Alec a glower. “After Mr. Ex is done no doubt reminding you why he’s Mr. Ex.”

“Oh, he was a witty one,” Alec commented, watching the man shove his way through the crowd. He swung his attention back to Frankie, giving her a wide smirk. “But a little too tame for your standards if I remember rightly?”

Frankie opened her mouth again, a searing heat flaming through her. Just as Alec nodded toward something behind her back. “Head’s up, Francesca,” he murmured with a grin, closing his fingers around her shoulders just as gently as he’d pressed his finger to her chin. “It’s our turn.”

He turned her around, in time for her to see the man next to her in the line lean forward, the ten of hearts stuck to his lips.

She blinked, her ears roaring. Alec’s fingers held her shoulders with steady pressure, the warmth of his tall, lean body licking at her back.

A prickle of something far too unnerving washed over her, something too aware of his maleness, his nearness, and then the man with the playing card on his mouth was pressing his lips to hers as Alec’s hands smoothed down her arms to come to rest on her hips.

She sucked in her breath, the sudden gasp fixing the playing card to her lips. His fingers scalded her through the supple leather of her pants, his grip loose and relaxed and far from suggestive. So why was her heart thumping so hard? Why was her pussy fluttering like a psychotic horde of ADHD butterflies?

The man currently nose-to-nose with her pushed his face a little closer, an over-powering smell of Jean Paul Gaultier’s Pour Homme slipping into her nostrils and she staggered back, Alec’s hips brushing her backside as she did so.

Oh God.

Her heart leapt away from her, the soft pressure of his fingers at her waist making her head swim. Or was it the fact she was holding her breath? Holding her breath with the goddamn ten of hearts stuck to her lips?

Do something, woman!

She didn’t have to. Alec did it for her. With a gentle push and pull on her hips, he turned her around to face him, his blue, blue eyes holding hers, his dimples flashing as the sides of his mouth curled. “So, who’s going to win this one, Frankie?”

The question was asked on a low chuckle, each word making her sex constrict.

She stared at him. Watched him lower his head to hers. Watched him draw closer. Closer. Her lungs burned. Her head swam. The room fell silent.

And her breath ran out just like that, the card slipping from her lips at the loss of suction a mere second before Alec’s mouth pressed to hers.

Explosive heat shot through Frankie, like she’d suddenly and inexplicably grabbed a live wire on an electrical fence. Except it wasn’t electricity charging through her, singeing her nerve-endings and making her nipples pinch hard but arousal. Instant and undeniable. A wicked ribbon of warm tension unfurled through her belly and into the junction of her thighs, and before she could stop it, a low groan vibrated deep in her throat.

His lips were warm, soft. They melded to hers with perfection, slightly parted, his intake of breath drawing her exhalation into his mouth.

He’d expected to feel the playing card pressed to his lips now, of that she had little doubt, but instead of pulling away as she thought he would, his lips lingered on hers. Slanting over them as his fingers on her hips curled a little more firmly against her body, tugging her closer to his body with an insistence that made her head swim just as much as her earlier oxygen deprivation.

She stiffened, for the first time in her wild, uncontrolled life she was utterly and completely bamboozled as to what she should do next. Her feet stumbled over each other, her lurching forward momentum halted by Alec’s hard form.

And he was hard. Very hard. All of him. Hard and big and impressive.

His stomach pressed against hers like a sculpted plane of marble. His chest was hard and smooth under her palms.

Her palms? Frankie’s already rapid heart beat kicked up a notch, thumping against her breastbone like a bloody sledgehammer. When had she put her hands to his chest?

Who cares? The brazen thought whispered through her head at the very moment Alec’s lips parted against hers and his tongue dipped into her mouth.


He tasted of sinful paradise. Pineapple and coconut and rum. It was intoxicating. She wanted more.

Snaking her hands up over his shoulders, she tangled her fingers in his messy crop of blond hair, opening her mouth wider to his kiss and stroking her tongue against his. She rose onto tip-toe, the elevation aligning her hips to his, the hard heat of his cock nudging at her groin.

Oh. The single word was nothing but a soft sigh in her mind—a mind furiously trying to remind her just who in the bloody hell she was kissing. Alec Harris. Alley Cat, Francesca, you’re kissing Alley Cat.

And he was kissing her back. And doing a superb job of it.

There was nothing chaste about it. Nor was it aggressive and arrogant. His tongue danced over hers, a teasing caress that sent a shiver up her spine and a liquid tension into her pussy. It was, simply put, a kiss designed to do one thing and one thing only, make her want more.

Oh, fuck, this can’t be—

A munitions dump exploded around them. Or at least it sounded that way.

As one, the partygoers squashed into the media room roared with deafening cheers, some stamping their feet with drumming force, some clapping with equal ferocity, others wolf-whistling and caterwauling and crying out “yeah!” like a crowd of horny teenagers.

Frankie jerked backward, her lips burning from Alec’s inexplicable kiss, her heart slamming up into her throat.

She stared up at him, the sight of his lips glistening with moisture—her moisture from her kiss—making her pulse pound.

He stared back, ignoring the slaps on the shoulder and back the other men around him were giving him, ignoring their guffaws of encouragement and congratulatory chuckles. His blue eyes held hers, even as his hands slipped from her hips, his expression growing…closed.

“Looks like I win again,” he said, no hint of humour in his deep voice.

Someone sucker punched Frankie in the stomach. Some unseen, invisible assailant. How else could she explain the way her gut suddenly seemed to knot? Or the way her breath burst violently from her lungs. She blinked. “What?”

Her face filled with heat. Not just a delicate blush, but a burning heat that didn’t just creep up her chest and neck to paint her face red, but engulfed it with a greedy ferocity. She shook her head, stumbling back another step, bumping into the guy behind her, her backside pressing against his groin. He laughed, his hands falling onto her shoulders to steady her.

“Bloody hell, mate,” he said over the top of her head, and Frankie didn’t need to turn around to see his exclamation was directed at Alec, “why couldn’t I have been standing in your spot?”


So, what do you think? After the above three discoveries and announcements, can I deserve a Muppet Flail? Do I?