Blurb from Naval Maneuvers:
Men and women of the armed forces experience lust and love pretty much like everyone else. Except, well, there is that uniform. And the hard-to-resist attraction of “duty, honor, service” as a man might apply them to a woman’s pleasure. All things considered, romance among the military is a pretty sexy, compelling force for which you’d better be armed, whether Weighing Anchor and moving forward into desire, Dropping Anchor and staying put for passion, or setting a course for renewed love with Anchor Home. Explore the world of love and the military and see just how hot Naval Maneuvers can be.
Buy link: Amazon KU
Excerpt:
She cleared her throat. Finally concentrating on the map he held she asked, “Where are we again?” Jeez. The thing had to have every trail in the area on it. Even with this map, she’d be just as lost.
He studied the paper for a few seconds and then folded it so he could use one hand to hold it. With the other he pointed. “We’re here. I’d say if you head back west about a mile and then turn north you’ll run right into the campground.” Sure enough, right under his finger was a mark for Paradise Valley Campground. “About four miles should do it.”
“Four miles?”
“Done in?” He smiled and in the dappled sunlight his eyes twinkled and his straight teeth seemed blindingly white. He was good looking enough to be a model. An underwear model. Yeah, her mind’s eye pictured him in only underwear. She licked her lips.
Unfortunately, in her current state—more hair pulled loose from her ponytail than still in it, Redskins ball cap half on, half off, scratches on her arms and legs, and probably smears of grime from where she’d wiped sweat off her face—she must look more like a reject from Deliverance.
“I’ve been out since about ten and I’m not used to these mountains. I usually do my running on flat ground.”
“Did you have plenty of water with you and something to eat?”
“Water, yes. But only a cup of trail mix.”
He raised his brows until the right brow disappeared under the shock of hair on his forehead. “Where do you normally run?”
“Around D.C.”
“Ah. Where there’s a coffee shop every few blocks.”
Just because she was lost was no friggin’ cause for him to patronize her. “I normally run ten to fifteen miles a day with nary a coffee break. This is just my first time here, and I’m not quite used to the ups and downs.”
“They do call them ‘mountains.'”
And they do call them assholes. Shocks of sexual electricity and hyper-attraction did not excuse a man from being a dick. “You’re right. So right. Thanks for the help. I’ll be on my way now.” After consulting her compass once more she started west, the thought of four miles draining what was left of her energy. But she could do it. Four miles was nothing. Nothing. She did more than that every day of the week.
A branch knocked the cap off her head just as a vine caught her leg and she fell, sliding on her butt into a shallow ravine. Her hair clung to her neck and face. She pulled strands out of her mouth, off her forehead and back behind her ears. When had she last been this hot, sweaty, and just plain exhausted? Maintains one, Carie zero.
Leaves rustled behind her and over her head. “You can make the four miles,” he called down to her. “I don’t have any doubts about it. Or you can walk half a mile to the road and I’ll drive you.”
Half a mile? There’s a friggin’ road half a mile away? Why didn’t he point that out on his little Boy Scout map?
Sighing, she dragged herself to her feet and started up the five yards of hillside that looked more like a mountain. When she was close to the top, he extended his hand. She took it and another spark sizzled up her arm, across her shoulder, and zipped south. Good God! He was like a sexual magnetic pole. If she pointed her compass at him, the needle would snap right to S-E-X.
Powered by Linky Tools
Click here to enter your link and view this Linky Tools list…
with a beautiful seductress until the British government sends him on a spying assignment. The deadly mission sees Adrian and his family running for their lives through a war-torn Europe. On the perilous road to home, a web of spies and assassins surround them on all sides. As the danger grows, Adrian finds himself more drawn to the lovely Gabrielle. A nightmare of betrayal and brutality follow them as Adrian risks everything to get his family back home.
Men and women of the armed forces deal experience desire and love pretty much like everyone else. Except, well, there is that uniform. And the hard-to-resist attraction of “duty, honor, service” as a man might apply them to a woman’s pleasure. All things considered, romance among the military is a pretty sexy, compelling force for which you’d better be armed, whether weighing anchor and moving forward into desire, dropping anchor and staying put for passion, or setting a course for renewed love with anchor home.
We all remember our firsts in life; first kiss, first love, first sexual experience. Black Velvet Seductions present a collection of eleven short stories, from eleven great writers, on the subject of First Submission within a Domination and submission relationship. The authors are from different backgrounds across the world and have written a broad spectrum of stories on such diverse themes as straight, gay, BDSM, domestic discipline, age play and multiple partners. A red hot read of wide ranging sexy stories to thrill and tantalize! Discover the authors and their stories on the 
policeman and so much more. There’s a little erotic romance for everyone, including ménage, BDSM, spanking, and… Well you’ll have to see for yourself on the 
“I just won a big award!” Said one way, it’s bragging. Said another way, it’s marketing. Here are a few ways marketing and bragging differ.
with a graphic of the award, review snippets that prove the award was deserved, and a plea to buy the book so that you, too, can enjoy this really great book—great because someone else determined it, not you. Sometimes there is a thin line between bragging and marketing, but other times they miss by a mile.
mom used to collect those little Hummel figures—not the real ones. But I was never drawn into that. I’m sentimental…and yet, not. My mother-in-law once convinced me to collect pewter cups. In Virginia, pewter is readily available and some of the fine cups used for display are really beautiful. I collected three and then lost interest. Maybe I don’t have the patience to build an actual collection. However, for hoarding…I find that a little too easy.
silver serving tray, silver monogrammed drinking glasses, and silver tipped salt and pepper shakers. Nope, never used them. Kept them in the same boxes we received them. But I kept packing and moving them with us because for some reason I just couldn’t let them go. Crazy? Yeah, I think so a bit. Finally, in a wild downsize, I sent all of that stuff to the Salvation Army but—I won’t lie—it was painful.
ridiculous dust collector I picked up in Chicago, book my mom gave me fifteen years ago, etc.), so I can’t toss it away.” That’s how it goes, folks. One day I will have to say goodbye to all of it, but until then, all of that stuff is in four tubs stacked in my closet. Sigh.
Series: Deerbourne Inn (book 4)
About the Author
