Excerpt From Ocean Dreams by Suz deMello

Part of the Naughty Beasts: Shifters, Vamps & Gargoyles, Oh My! anthology - Pre-order Now!

Contains 15 Shapeshifter, Vampire & Gargoyle Stories from bestselling authors writing as The Naughty Literati

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Blurb:
Marine biologist Sandi has never forgotten Blue, the baby dolphin with whom she bonded. Reunited with him years later, she discovers he’s a shapeshifter in the sexiest possible way.

Copyright © Suz deMello, 2017

...the first encounter between a dolphin shifter and his human mate.

*****

She framed his face in her hands, thinking, I’m insane, but kissed him anyway.

He kissed back, a little hesitantly, and she thought, He’s never done this before. At least, not with a human. She was both scared and excited. She didn’t want to rush him, so she opened her lips just a tiny fraction.

He followed, and after their lips had melded and played, she opened a little more and allowed her tongue to gently touch his mouth. When he seemed accepting, she used the tip to tickle the sensitive inner lining of his lips.

He gasped and bucked against her, his substantial erection thrusting against her mound. She slid her hands down his back, finding a small hard lump near the spine. She wondered what it was, but chose to ignore it, instead dropping her hands to his hips. She pressed him against her more firmly while continuing to introduce him to deep kissing.

He moaned into her mouth and tangled one hand in her hair. The other stroked her face, then slipped downward, caressing her throat with respectful fingertips before palming her breast.

 He’s never touched a human breast before me. He took his time, which wasn’t surprising, molding and cupping before he tugged up her pullover and found her bra. He explored it, the lace scratchy against her sensitized skin, then drew it aside to find her nipple.

 Or a nipple.

Human nipples weren’t much like dolphin nips and he seemed quite interested, lingering long, circling the nipple. The flesh hardened, and an “oh” escaped his lips.

Intoxicating, the combined sensations—the kissing, the breast play and his cock against her mound. She was swelling along with him, dampening, ready. Very ready.

Excerpt from Immortal Hunters by Suz deMello

Part of the Naughty Beasts: Shifters, Vamps & Gargoyles, Oh My! anthology - Pre-order Now!

Contains 15 Shapeshifter, Vampire & Gargoyle Stories from bestselling authors writing as The Naughty Literati

Find it here:

Blurb:
Vampire Rama avoids attention by working nights as a private investigator. No one cares if some bad guys disappear on her shift. Then Detective John van Helsing shows up. Bearing the name of the vamps’ greatest foe, he interferes in her case and in her life. Friend, lover or enemy?

Copyright © Suz deMello, 2017

 

Chapter One

Being a vampire can suck… Oops, sorry about the bad pun. Well, it’s true, it can bite… Yikes, there I go again. What I mean to say is that it has its ups and downs. I’m virtually immortal, which is pretty cool. My hair and nails don’t grow, but when I awaken, they’ve been restored to the state they were in when I became undead. It’s inconvenient, since I grew up in a shithole with no running water. A mani-pedi was not merely unavailable but unimaginable. I was an unkempt mess when I was changed, so every evening when I awaken, I devote an hour or two to personal grooming. My long black hair is a no-brainer. Up it goes into a French twist or a braid. Nails are more difficult.

So there I was one night on surveillance, tucked into the comfy front seat of my undistinguished Camry in a dark corner of Santa Martina, contemplating the choices I faced—Mango Madness or Ruby Delite? Through my increasingly foggy windshield, I occasionally cast a glance at the crappy apartment half a block away where I’d run my quarry to ground. Soon I’d take him, after the lights were doused and he’d fallen asleep.

I work for a private investigation firm, and my boss understands my rules. First of all, ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies. Second, night jobs only.

And if a bad guy or two—or three or five or seven—disappears during my shifts, nobody really cares. Operating in Santa Martina is especially convenient due to its location, the northern California coast. Offshore lies a marine mammal sanctuary. Because of the plethora of seals and otters, lots of great whites come to call. The occasional surfer gets chomped. Bodies disappear, or they may wash up on shore, drained of blood.

Get the picture?

As I was saying, there I was one night, picking at a chipped edge of the Ruby Delite flaking off my left index fingernail when someone tapped on my window.

I could see a uniform, so I unrolled. “What’s up, officer?” I asked in a pleasant tone. No sense offending local law enforcement, you know.

“We’ll have to ask you to move along, ma’am,” he said, an officer at his most officious.

We? I looked beyond the uniform and there he was—a suit. An undercover dick on my turf.

In gray pinstripes, he would have been as inconspicuous as I if it hadn’t been for his cornpone, white bread, wheat-fed wholesome handsomeness. Blue-eyed and blond, he would have screamed “farm boy” in TV Land, but in California most farm workers are Hispanic or Asian immigrants.

“Well, if it isn’t John-Boy Walton,” I drawled.

He drew closer, no doubt taking in my black hair, black eyes, black leather, red slash of a mouth and white, white skin. ”Well, if it isn’t Ms. Goth Barbie,” he drawled. Back atcha, honey.

I couldn’t stifle my smile. I like a man with a quick tongue—they have more than one use. “It’s Hestia, actually. Hestia White.”

“Hestia? The Greek goddess of hearth and home? That’s incongruous.”

My smile broadened. I knew few men with “incongruous” in their vocabularies, and fewer still who knew the meaning of the name I cynically used. I liked him. Shame I had to run him off.

He leaned against my door panel, ignoring the condensation wetting his elegant gray pinstriped sleeve. “Well, Ms. Hestia White, you do need to move on out. Police business.”

I lounged back in my seat. “But I kinda like it here.”

“Why? This isn’t the nicest part of Santa Martina. Completely lacks the charm of the marina or the nightlife in downtown.”

I looked into his blue, blue eyes. “I prefer down and dirty.”

He met my gaze without faltering. “I could arrest you for loitering.” He leaned closer, partway into my window. “Take you in. Lock you up.”

“Ooh, handcuffs.” I shivered theatrically.

“Actually, Ms. White, we’re on the job.” His voice had gone crisp and businesslike.

“Actually, Detective Whoever, so am I.” I flipped open my wallet to flash my P.I. license.

His eyes widened. “How come I’ve never heard of you?”

I shrugged. “I keep a low profile. Safer that way. Hey, I’ve shown you mine, so why don’t you show me yours?”

I’d teased out a reluctant smile, one that reached deep inside to heat me from my brain to my box. Yes, that box. I was surprised. Mortals don’t usually turn me on.

He reached for his wallet to show me his shield and I.D. John van Helsing. A tremor ran through me, ruffling the tiny hairs on my nape and my arms. Was it chance that this detective bore the name of the most famous enemy of my kind?

“John-Boy,” I said with phony delight.

Excerpt from Viking in Tartan by Suz deMello

Part of the Naughty Beasts: Shifters, Vamps & Gargoyles, Oh My! anthology - Pre-order Now!

Contains 15 Shapeshifter, Vampire & Gargoyle Stories from bestselling authors writing as The Naughty Literati

Find it here:

Blurb:
Medieval romance from the Highland Vampires series. A Viking raider brings change to little Clan Kilbirnie, especially to the chieftain’s daughter, Rhona.

Copyright © Suz deMello, 2017

Leaning forward, Erland stroked her cheek, gazed into her eyes and set his lips on hers.
Cool they were, but with an underlying fire. Letting her eyes drift shut, she pushed her mouth against his, sure he held the key, knew the secret, could give her everything she’d ever wanted.

From where had that crazed thought sprung?

Her lids popped open, her eyes meeting his.

“Aye,” he murmured. “Everything.”

How did he ken her very thoughts?

Did that matter?

No, she decided. The how of it wasn’t important. That he understood was enough...more than enough.
She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his. He kissed her with more determination and opened her lips with his, then gently slid his tongue inside.

She jerked away. “Och!”

He chuckled. “Bear with me, mistress.”

Another kiss, and now she tentatively let him in. She sought his tongue, eager to learn this new game, and he responded by allowing her to play as she wished.

She became entirely absorbed. She’d seen folk in shadowed corners of the castle kissing, but had never understood the reason people liked it so much. Now she did. She wanted to kiss Erland for the rest of the night. That she might have to kiss him for the rest of their lives... Well, that wouldna be so bad, would it?

He seemed to have other ideas—more ideas—for he started to explore her body. His fingers caressing her breasts along with his kiss was intoxicating, mesmerizing.

Would he feel the same if she did the same? Still with closed eyes and questing mouth, she blindly reached out and touched his chest. Cool and firm, with soft smooth skin overlaying hard muscle, his chest was almost as interesting as his lips and... She opened her eyes. His face. Och, aye.

She loved his face.

She blinked. “Oh,” she breathed.

He smiled, teeth perfect and pearly, then took her long, dark hair in one hand. He used it to tug her head to one side... Why?

He kissed her neck, feathering his tongue over the sensitive skin, and all conscious thought fled. She gripped his shoulders, then stroked them, admiring his strength, a contrast to his sweet, sweet kisses.
Her body was heating, tingling, sizzling, and she wanted to touch herself the way she did when she was alone at night, but... Wasn’t that wanton? Would he cease to treat her kindly if he knew the desires that drove her?

He lifted his head. “Touch yourself. Touch yourself in whatever way feels good to you.”

Excerpt from The Moon Maiden's Mate by Suz deMello

Part of the NAUGHTY PHANTASIA boxed-set, available now!


Find it here:


Blurb:
Luna, 2114… A reluctant Shayna must travel to remote Farside Colony to meet her chosen mate
*Published in a previous Naughty Literati anthology.*


Copyright © Suz deMello, 2017

Excerpt:

Chapter One

New Brooklyn, Luna
Chanukah, 2114

Thank God it was the end of the evening. Turning her back on her date, Shayna wiped her mouth on her sleeve and closed the sli-door to seal the pod with a disgusted flick of her finger. She stomped into the kitchen, where the mild aroma of hydroponically grown coffee lingered.

“So what was wrong with this one?” her mother asked, cradling a mug.

She bent to kiss her mother’s cheek, hiding her blush. She wasn’t going to discuss her date’s make-out style with her ema. “He, umm, he hovers.”

“He vacuums? Shayna, what are you talking about?”

“Not Hoovers, ema, he hovers. He practically breathed down my neck when I ate my latkes.” She carried her mother’s empty mug to the sonic cleaning unit. Hoovering didn’t begin to describe what her date did with his mouth. She considered herself lucky to escape him with her tongue, teeth and tonsils uninjured. She liked deep kissing, but spraining her tongue at the root was a no-no.

“Such a nice boy, and a doctor to boot.”

“He’d make me meshugah.”

“You’ll have to go to the matchmaker for a shidduch.”

Her jaw tightened as she put the mug inside the unit, then tapped a button. The soni-cleaner hummed. “Please, no. I’m capable of finding a husband for myself.”

“You’ve been dating since you were sixteen. You’ve gone out with every single man in New Brooklyn, most more than once,” her mother said. “I don’t know what you’re looking for.”

Shayna’s mind flashed on the image of a tall dark man with smiling gray eyes and a demanding kiss.

Her mother continued, “This one hoovers, that one’s too short… There’s no alternative. If you don’t marry soon, you’ll have to go live on Earth. You know the rules.”

Shayna cast a fearful look upward. She’d never been to her home planet and didn’t want to go. Earth consisted of armed enclaves surrounded by post-Apocalyptic mishegass. On Earth, a Jew was safe only in Beverly Hills, Miami, and Israel.

Those who’d created New Brooklyn had dreamed of completely safe, wholly Jewish outposts on a pristine worldlet. Because of the harsh conditions, stringent rules governed conduct. Skilled personnel were at a premium, forcing the able-bodied to work and produce young to continue this, their great experiment. At twenty-four, she was pushing the age limit.

“All right.” She sighed. “I’ll try a shidduch.”

* * * * *

The next morning, Shayna tapped at the sli-door of Rivka Markowitz’s tiny office. Trained as a cultural anthropologist, Dr. Rivka Markowitz was a valued member of New Brooklyn, not merely because she kept the peace and the laws as a member of the Bet Din ruling council, but she played matchmaker. In a small, tight community, the strength of family bonds was crucial. The men and women who had to marry and bear children while young had to be assured of appropriate mates. Thus, the value of a skilled matchmaker who could create a successful shidduch, an arranged marriage that would flourish.

The door opened, revealing Rivka’s podlet, cluttered with bones, skulls and other unnerving detritus of the anthropologist’s calling. Shayna sneezed, the dust from the artifacts tickling her nose.

Rivka, a diminutive brunette dressed in the same silvery Slicksuit everyone wore, looked up. “Ah, Shayna Goldstein. I’ve been expecting you.”

Shayna moved a stack of infodiscs and sat in the armchair Rivka indicated. “And which of the gossipy yentas infecting this town tattled?”

“Your ema called ahead. She thought it would be polite.” Rivka smiled. “But I’d expected you long before this day. Couldn’t handle the way Harold Mechlin smells, or how Jim Abrams kisses?”

Shayna burst out laughing. She bet that Rivka was good at her job. She’d put Shayna at ease in the wink of an eye. “I needed a towel, the way he slobbers. And the sucking! I had to check to make sure my teeth were still in place.”

“So I’ve heard. I’ll get him married somehow,” Rivka said. “All of the emas think that their sons are such princes that they won’t come to me. But everyone ends up here eventually.”

“Everyone?”

“Just about. Very few on Luna entrust their futures to a random selection process based on hormones.” After opening a drawer, she withdrew a carved wooden box. “Sometimes they merely want their choice confirmed. Others, like you, can’t quite make up their minds.” She passed the box to Shayna.

She lifted the lid, then raised her brows. “Tarot cards?”

Rivka winked. “Most people don’t know the tarot is based on the Zohar, ancient Jewish mysticism. These cards have been modified to receive the emotional and mental vibrations of the user, and I’ve programmed them with the identities of all the single folk on Luna. Go on, take them out.”

The tarots felt peculiarly heavy and greasy in Shayna’s hands. If they were programmable, that accounted for their weight since each card would contain chips or computers of some sort. Dubious, she flipped them through her fingers. They vibrated gently, perhaps responding to her thought waves or whatever. Sounded kinda hocus-pocus to feet-on-the-ground Shayna.

“Divide the deck into three on the desk, here.”

Shayna followed Rivka’s direction.

“Turn over the top card on each stack.”

Shayna obeyed. “Colonel Mustard, in the library, with the candlestick?”

Rivka frowned as Shayna mocked the old and honored game of Clue. She tapped a finger on the first card, which depicted a dark moon beneath a sky full of stars. The Earth, normally a constant companion in the heavens, was absent.

“You are to go to Farside,” Rivka said.

“Farside!” A chill zipped up Shayna’s back despite her Slicksuit, designed to keep body temperature stable.

Rivka tossed the second card at Shayna. It showed a circle of dancers in a festive scene. “The Chanukah party at Farside. You will see your intended there.”

“How will I know him?”

Rivka held up a third, last card, which depicted a dark man. A head taller than his companions, he regarded them with an air of authority. Another shiver chased the first up Shayna’s spine. This was her mate, her one true love?

A dark man. Could it be…?

“Barack Obama?” Shayna hid her nerves with a quip about the first African-American president of the now-defunct U.S. republic.

Rivka glared.

“Sorry.” Shayna shrank back into her seat. “But there are many dark males here. I’m sure Farside is no exception.”

“Your intended will know you. Few moon children are red-headed, remember?”

“But who is he?”

Rivka smiled. “The only possible mate for you.” She shuffled the tarots together before putting them away.

“But I don’t want to live on Farside!”

Rivka’s smile disappeared. “Why not?”

“I want to stay in New Brooklyn. I was born here. This is my home.” Shayna rose to pace, as best she could, Rivka’s tiny podlet office.

“Apparently it’s time you left the cocoon.” Rivka tapped the top of the carved box. “The programming in these tarots has a reliability factor of over ninety-nine and forty-four one-hundredths percent. I assure you, your mate is correctly selected.”

“But why do I have to go?” Shayna wailed.

“‘Whither thou goest, I shall go.’”

She recognized the ancient words from the book of Ruth, and her shoulders slumped.

“It is time for you to commit to something beyond yourself, Shayna maydel.”

Excerpt from Gypsy Witch by Suz deMello

Part of the NAUGHTY PHANTASIA boxed-set, available now!


Find it here:


Blurb:
Ben’s a tough, down-to-earth cop who doesn’t believe in magic, yet he falls for a modern-day witch. Will Ben and Elena’s fragile love be lost when she reveals what she truly is?
*Published in a previous Naughty Literati anthology.*


Copyright © Suz deMello, 2017

Excerpt:

Ben propped himself up on his elbows to better see the naked woman beneath him. Sheened with sweat, Elena’s lush curves glowed in the reddish half-light of her bedroom, curtained in exotically patterned swaths of gauze and silk. A curl of smoke from a lit incense stick scented the air with sandalwood. Otherworldly New Age music flowed out of a boom box in the corner, irritating the hell out of him.

Elena’s bedroom was that of a gypsy witch, and despite the incredible sex he’d been having with her for a month, he wouldn’t allow himself to fall under her spell. Except for in the sack, she wasn’t his type.

They’d met through their kids, eleven-year-olds who’d attended the same summer camp. Now that camp was over, Ben was frankly grateful that Tom and Gina liked to hang out together, since they seemed to keep each other amused and out of trouble. As a single dad, finding activities for his son was tough. Ben hated to admit it, but he sometimes found that Tom was a distraction from his job.

Ben shoved everything extraneous out of his mind to focus on the beautiful woman he was inside. They were the same age—thirty-six—but Elena was nothing short of spectacular. She always wore an enormous topaz on a golden chain that dangled between her breasts. She claimed she focused her power through the jewel. Ben thought that was wacko, but didn’t care.

Too bad she was, literally, a card-carrying nut. He remembered the time she’d shown him her membership in the Northern California Church of Wicca. He’d concealed his smirk only because he wanted to lay her. And that had to be all, he admonished himself. He was a sheriff’s deputy, and couldn’t afford to have a permanent relationship with Elena Lautari. She wasn’t the kind of woman who fitted in with the rest of his life.

He tried to picture her drinking a beer with the other cops and their wives, and failed utterly.

“What?” she asked, running light fingertips up and down his sides, eliciting shivers.

“Whaddaya mean, what?”

“You looked as though you were ten miles away.” Her caress slowed. “I wonder what the kids are doing?”

“I think they went over to my place. They’re probably watching a DVD. It’s too hot to go outside and swim.”

“Who’s watching them?” Her voice sharpened.

“Aw, Elena, relax. They’re okay. They know what they can and can’t do.”

“Mmmm. Hope you’re right.” She reached for him, this time climbing on top. He wasn’t sure he was ready for another bout yet, but she knew exactly how to turn him on.

*****

Hot and dusty, Tom stood with Gina at the corner of 12th and J Streets in downtown Sacramento. Above him, the door of the Masonic Temple was set within a Gothic style arch made of peach-colored stone. The arch was high and pointed; on each side of the arch, a knight stood brooding, eyes downcast, hands folded over stony hauberks.

He ruffled his short blond hair, trying to cool his sweaty scalp, and glanced over at Gina, who clutched a sheaf of notes in one sticky hand. A basket lay on its side at her feet.

“Can’t we do this on an afternoon that isn’t a hundred-million degrees out?” Tom looked over at the thermometer/clock high on the side of the bank across J Street. It flashed 100 in dots at one second time intervals. As he watched, the number changed to 101, and the time to 3:19.

“We’re actually supposed to do this at midnight.” Gina pushed dark bangs off her damp forehead. “But we aren’t allowed out after dark. Besides, it’s dangerous downtown at night.”

“I know that. Why are we trying to do this if we can’t do this right?”

“You got a better idea?”

“Yeah. Let’s go to Vic’s and get ice cream.”

“We spent all our money on this stuff.” She nudged the basket with her toe. “We might as well go ahead with it. It won’t take very long, and then we can go over to your house and swim.”

He sighed. “Anything to drink in here?” He squatted down and emptied the contents of the basket onto the sidewalk.

“Careful, there’s glass in there. Hey, don’t drink that!” She grabbed a bottle out of his hand. “That’s yucky.”

“What is it?”

“Frog’s water.”

“Like frog pee? Eeewww.”

“Here.” She handed him a bottle of Snapple lemonade.

He drank before passing it back to her. After she’d taken a few gulps, she flipped through the notes and sorted the ingredients for the spell. “Lucky my mom and your dad are really into each other,” she said. “I could never have gotten into her spell book if she was paying attention.”

Excerpt from The Cowboy, His Countess and Her Companion by Suz deMello

Part of the NAUGHTY NIGHTS boxed-set, available now!

Naughty Nights Ebook

Coming soon to

Blurb:
The Honorable Amelia Haddon must marry, or lose the income that supports her and her “companion.” Averse to men, she is desperate until an American cowboy proves to be her unlikely rescuer. But will judgmental society drag this happy trio apart? *This previously published story has been revised and re-edited.*

Genre/theme: 

Historical, 1870 f/m/f, British aristocracy, Victorian England, fish out of water

Copyright ©Suz deMello, 2017

Excerpt:

Nate glanced at a mirror just inside the entrance to Almack’s Assembly Rooms and thought he looked like a ponce. The jacket was all right, he supposed, but the shoes were plumb awful, torture devices so brutal he longed for his comfortable, broken-in boots. His cravat felt like a noose, and the shirt’s collar was so high he could scarcely turn his head.

But turn his head he did, for the room was jam-packed with beautiful women. Oh, there were men also, he reckoned, but he didn’t have eyes for them. Because the women—oh, the women were superb. He’d never seen girls so elegant, so perfect. Their complexions were nothing like the women he knew, all rough, red or brown from the punishing Texas sun. He guessed that these girls had what was called an English “peaches and cream” complexion. He bet they’d never known a day’s work in their lives.

But they were beautiful. And as for their bodies...well. He didn’t care for the bustles many wore—they concealed their hips unpleasingly—but necklines were low and the mounded flesh they revealed ranged from boyish to bountiful. Flowery perfumes teased his nostrils, unlike the stinks of dust, piss and unwashed crotches he’d encountered in whorehouses.

Soft music played and elegant aristocrats danced.

Stunned, he realized that these were his people. He blinked. This was the life he’d have led had his father not fallen in love with his mother. His heart shied away from the thought.

Across the room he saw two of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen. Even in the midst of the ball, which was crowded with beautiful women, these two stood out.  One was a strapping gal, tall and brunette, dressed in an elaborate green gown. Low-cut, it exposed most of a gorgeous set he hankered to fondle. Her companion was a complete contrast, small and fair, in a pretty pink dress. She seemed like the kind of girl a man naturally wanted to protect, to cuddle by his side and love tenderly.

He eyed them with longing, but his desire to meet them was dimmed by the sad thought that he’d have to choose between them.

He headed toward them, plowing through throngs of dancers as they twirled through a waltz.

Leonore Wingate eyed the tumult left in the wake of the well-dressed stranger. At age twenty-one, having been out for five years, she thought she knew every eligible gentleman in London. Apparently not.

She turned to her bosom-bow, Amelia Haddon, bending slightly so the smaller woman could hear over the music and chatter. “Can you see that chap? He’s new.”

Amelia blinked. “Really?”

“Yes, and he’s coming toward us.” Leonore pursed her lips.

Amelia daintily unfurled her fan. “Perhaps he means to accost The Diamond.” The Diamond, Lady Camilla Doulton, was the reigning Beauty of this year’s Season. She and a throng of admiring males crowded around a drinks table a few feet to the left.

“If not, we should be prepared.” Leonore grinned. “What shall we tell this one?”  They had been inventing stories to explain their unusual closeness since they’d met at boarding school. Their most innocuous story was that she was Amelia’s hired companion, which was fairly close to the truth. They enjoyed telling others that they were engaged in the study of Sapphic poetry; in the main, their peers had no idea to what they were referring.

Amelia eyed the stranger. “My intuition tells me that this one might not be fobbed off with ease. You do remember that Madame Esperanza told me that my intuitive powers are usually great.”

Leonore withheld a sarcastic retort, but rolled her eyes.

Amelia continued, “Perhaps we should encourage his suit.”

Shocked, Leonore lost her breath and therefore her voice for several seconds. Then she managed to say, “But—but—”

“You have not yet heard my news.”

“That letter you received from your father?”

“Yes. He threatens to cut me off should I fail to marry before my next birthday.”

“But you can’t marry! You can’t!” Heads turned at the vehemence of her tone, and she lowered her voice. “Why?”

“Of course I do not wish to marry, but what else can we do?”

Leonore pressed her lips together. “I’ll not leave you.”

Amelia touched Leonore’s hand briefly, so quickly that she was sure no one else saw. “Of course not. We shall maintain the fiction that you are my paid companion.”

“But what about at night? You can’t, Amelia! It would kill you!”

Amelia drew a determined breath. “We all must do what we must. And I will have to bear his attentions, at least some nights.”

“You’ll lie quietly and think of crown and country? Ha! I’ll not allow it!”

“We don’t have a choice. Many men keep mistresses for such...activities.”

Leonore paused, thinking. “Hm. You are right. Without your funds, we are left with only my tiny portion.” Her birth was impeccable but her fortune small, her parents having inconveniently wasted the Wingate estate before dying in a carriage accident.

She looked at Amelia. Amelia looked back. They sighed in unison.

“Good evening, ladies.” The stranger sketched a clumsy bow.

Leonore raised her brows as Amelia raised her fan. The stranger was so untutored in the social graces that he did not realize that he ought not address ladies to whom he had not yet been introduced. But...

“Your accent is not English,” Leonore said.

“No, I’m from Texas.” He smiled.

“In America?” Amelia sounded excited, and Leonore felt a spark of hope. Perhaps this foreigner would be different from other men. Perhaps he would not demand what Amelia couldn’t comfortably give.

“Yeah. From the good ol’ U.S. of A.”

Leonore winced at his appalling speech. He seemed like a nice fellow, but...

Amelia said, “And what brings you to our shores?”

“I’ve inherited an estate that is in poor shape, and I’m here to claim it and find a wife to help me get it to where it should be,” the man explained in a rush.

Given the accent, Leonore understood perhaps half of what he said. She exchanged glances with Amelia, then said, “Umm, with all respect, sir, we have yet to be properly introduced.”

“Oh, sorry, miss. I’m Nate Fortune.”

“Of the Darlingside Fortunes?” Amelia asked, closing her fan.

If Leonore raised her brows more, she was certain they’d disappear into her hairline. She controlled herself. “You must be the new Earl of Darlingside.”

“Yeah. And you?”

She and Amelia again exchanged glances. Despite the social solecism, Amelia responded. “I’m Amelia Haddon, and this is my...companion, Leonore Wingate.” She hooked her arm through Leonore’s elbow.

He eyed their linked arms and raised his brows. “Your...companion?”

“Yes,” Leonore said with emphasis. “We are quite inseparable.”

Now the stranger—Darlingside?—raised his brows. “That’s good.”

Leonore stared at him.

“Well, it would be very hard to choose between you. You are both such lovely ladies.”

“Flatterer,” Amelia said flirtatiously. She rapped his knuckles with her fan.

“Ow!” Darlingside made a show of rubbing his hand, as though he’d actually been hurt.

Amelia giggled while Leonore smiled.

He smiled back. “So the only question is, which one of you will I marry?”

Excerpt from Peter's Story by Suz deMello

Part of the NAUGHTY GETAWAYS boxed-set, available now!

Naughty Getaways Ebook

Naughty Getaways in Print

Blurb:
Peter Fortune, Earl Darlingside, awakened beside a corpse. Accused of homicide, he must change his dissolute ways or face life in prison. Barrister Roxanne Fox, called Foxy Roxy, is charged with his defense. Will desire derail Peter’s case?

Genre/theme: Contemporary, British aristocracy, AA, alcoholic recovery

Copyright ©Suz deMello, 2017

Excerpt:

Chapter One

One cool, bright summer morning, Peter Fortune, Earl Darlingside, awakened in a big, four-poster bed covered with a fluffy white duvet with a woman beside him. She was dead.

Until that moment, he’d been doing quite well, thank you very much, considering that he’d spent the night before drinking Remy Martin Black Pearl with a number of equally dissolute young noblemen and getting drunk as, well, drunk as lords. He should have had a throbbing head, unclear eyesight and a belly that pitched like bloody hell, but he felt great. And, given that he’d won rather than lost betting on billiards was another point in favor of the day.

Which was, he remembered blearily, Monday, perhaps? Or maybe Tuesday. Did it matter?

The window was open to the Hampstead sunshine and also admitted birdsong. Every once in a while he heard the sound of a distant siren, reminding him of...of…?

Oh yes, the dead girl.

Melanie.

He supposed he ought to call 9-9-9 and get an ambulance, though judging by her total lack of movement and warmth, the authorities would get to her too late. Far too late.

He rolled to the side, reaching for the bedside table where his mobile reposed. Something jabbed his arse, and he threw back the sheet to find a used syringe. A needlestick from an addict’s rig. Oh, shite, I’m fucked. He grabbed the thing and flung it across the room, then called for help.

*****

She’d been called Foxy Roxy for as long as she could remember, but she hadn’t embraced the nickname until her fifteenth birthday. That day she’d visited a charity shop with friends. One had spotted an old fox stole on a mannequin and bought it for Roxanne Fox as a gift. She’d worn that fox pelt around her neck on cool days until it had fallen apart, then bought another and then another. Only from the charity shops, though—she wouldn’t be directly responsible for the death of an innocent animal. Later she’d found a source for high-quality fakes, which fit her vegan habits far better.

This morning, she was nibbling a gluten-free currant scone slathered with soya cream cheese whilst enjoying her second flat white of the day (made with soya of course), reading a fairly interesting case file about a fellow who had been recorded by the many CCTVs roundabout London. Unfortunately for the client, he’d been taped with his zip open whilst fondling an impressive erection. Even less fortunately, the Crown was not amenable to letting the incident go by even though he claimed he’d been “pissed legless.”

Roxanne’s secretary stuck her head into the open doorway, her eyes round. “That prat Darlingside has gotten himself arrested again.”

“Oh, happy day.” Roxy wiped her mouth with a hanky. “What is it this time? Dead drunk? Car crash?”

“No, it’s more serious. Unless someone’s having a go at us.”

“Not chundering onto some poor copper’s shoes?” That had been a memorable case.

“No, murder.”

Roxy sat up straighter. She’d been White, Cheshire and Queen’s criminal defense specialist for four years, having left the Crown Prosecution Service to pursue more lucrative options. At WCQ, she’d had the opportunity to sample a more varied menu of cases than she’d expected. Along with the anticipated tax avoidance schemes and family squabbles regarding bequests—which occasionally devolved into wine-throwing and fistfights—a prominent client occasionally committed the odd sexual peccadillo, like the fellow diddling his dong in Notting Hill.

And then there was Peter Fortune, the Earl of Darlingside, who seemed intent upon imitating his parents’ strikingly self-destructive ways.

Bless him—he’d brought her a case she could really sink her teeth into. “Where’s he being held?”

Excerpt from Saving Sophia by Suz deMello

Part of the NAUGHTY FLAMES boxed-set, available for pre-order now, downloads on December 1st

Click here to pre-order from Amazon


Blurb:
“It doesn’t matter” is cynical Sophie Fortune’s motto. Then her best friend is killed and Sophie herself is targeted. Can her bodyguard show her the way to love, self-respect and safety?
 
Genre/theme: Romantic Suspense,
damsel in distress, model, aristocracy, bodyguard, police/cop romance

Copyright © Suz deMello, 2016

Excerpt:

Chapter One

... After word had got out that supermodel Sophia Fortune was working at Out of the Closet, the charity shop was inundated with customers, which was fine with her. She wanted to honor Tink by donating her time, and better yet, she was kept too busy to mourn more than was healthy. She had cried a river at the funeral and the inquest, which had concluded that her dear friend Belle Tinker had been murdered by “a person or persons unknown” when she’d closed up the shop late one winter evening.

Sophie adored the shop, a quiet retreat from the bustle of Marylebone High Street outside. Carpeted in cream pile, lined by racks of designer clothing and smelling of Chanel No. 5, the long room calmed her the moment she entered, regardless of the number of customers. The chime of the bell above the door and soft Diana Krall piano were equally soothing. No wonder Tink had loved this place.

Tink had mattered. Out of the Closet mattered.

That Sophie’s service, if it lasted a year, would fulfill the conditions of her parents’ odd will was a side-benefit that did not matter. She had more than enough money, given that she’d been modeling since she was thirteen.

Even the warnings of the detective investigating Tink’s murder didn’t pierce her serenity. A tall, well-built fellow in a sombre suit, he’d gathered everyone who worked at the shop together to warn them. We believe that Ms. Tinker was attacked because of her association with this shop... When you leave at night, be sure you’re not alone...

Though he had a pleasant North Country accent like Jon Snow in Game of Thrones, she’d barely heard what he’d said—she’d been too occupied imagining him naked. He looks far too young to be a Detective Inspector. Hazel eyes, dark hair...yum. And what a body!

That freaks targeted LGBTQ folks bothered Sophie, but she didn’t think she was in danger.  Not only was she straight, but she’d been dealing with paparazzi all her life—she knew how to get rid of unwanted attention. And because no additional attacks had occurred, she figured Tink’s murder was a one-off.

So one Friday evening, when the assistant manager wanted to leave early to attend her daughter’s violin recital, Sophie said, “Sure, go ahead,” without a thought to her personal safety.

At six p.m., she locked the front entrance, then set the alarm before leaving via the side door, which opened into an alley alongside. Night fell early in January, leaving the little side-street dark, cold and deserted. She pulled the door closed behind her, double-bolting it. With the shop’s interior lights off, the alley was completely cast in shadow except for one light above Out of the Closet’s door.

But it didn’t matter. The High Street, with open shops and taxis galore, was just a few steps away. After fumbling in her satchel to find her e-cig, she hitched the bag onto her shoulder and sucked in a pleasurable drag, then turned toward light and people.

A blaze of pain shot through her head and she dropped to her knees. “Ow! Shite!” She reached up, and something whacked her hand, then hit the back of her skull again. She screamed before falling forward, forehead to the pavement.

*****

She awakened in a hospital bed, with three concerned faces peering down at her. One she recognized—her brother Peter. “They must have rung you,” she said faintly. The woman was a mystery; a doctor, perhaps, judging by her atrocious garb. And the third was...Detective Inspector Dreamboat.