Tuesday, October 31, 2017

Full length pirate historical romances on sale #TinaDonahueBooks #FirstComesDesire #DaysofDesire

Love erotic historical romances? Want a deal?

First Comes Desire and Days of Desire, books one and two in my Pirate's Prize series are on sale October 29 through December 3

In a pirate's lair, nothing is as it seems...




A hunted pirate captain. A reverend's daughter determined to bring him down.

On a lush, secluded island, one passionate adventure leads to another….

Diana Fletcher means business. The beautiful, innocent, reverend’s daughter has traveled all the way to a tropical island off Madagascar on a mission: To find her brother—and to punish the man who drove him to a life of piracy. But when she comes face to face with the enemy in question, the handsome, powerfully seductive man is not at all what Diana expected…

Tristan Kent never intended to harm Diana’s brother. A man of humble origins, Tristan claims he tried to save him from another ruthless captain. Diana is desperate to believe he is telling the truth…and that the intoxicating desire that escalates between them is true as well. But can she trust him? Or is Tristan’s story—and his heart—nothing more than fool’s gold? Amid the haze of sensual delights and soaring ecstasy Tristan has in store for her, all will be revealed…


Women hadn’t been born to yield. Women could yield. They might even enjoy doing so, but only with the right man. One they desired. First came desire. Respect and love followed.

She could only deliver her heart to a man like that.

Even if Tristan wasn’t facing the gallows, he wasn’t the one she needed. His skin was warm against hers but what of it. He was handsome as the devil, yet there was the rub, because he was also brutal, violent, taking what he wanted. His mouth on hers was something she refused to consider, though she could hardly forget how he’d spoken calmly when she’d railed. She insulted and he smiled. He claimed she wanted the same as him. Diana did not. She wanted to be home. She needed to be free.

Her eyes flew open. A sound or voice had awakened her. Reclined on her side, she faced away from the door. An oil lamp had gone out, telling her she’d slept far too long, recklessly too.

Oh my God. Peter.

Diana rolled onto her back but didn’t check his mattress, knowing he wasn’t there or in the cabin.

Tristan was. His long legs, muscular calves, and thighs blocked her view of the door. He’d placed his precious book on the table. The volume was safe. She was not.

Before she could push to a sitting position or think to fight, he straddled her, his hands circling her wrists, holding her arms to each side. His touch didn’t harm, at least not yet.

Her heart pounded.

He offered a smile.

How dare he be so smug. “Release me at once.”

He tightened his grip slightly and studied her mouth, then her eyes. “Violet.” Awe flooded his face. “I wondered about your eye color but never expected this.”

She pushed and writhed but did no good against his strength. Breathless, she stopped. “What have you done with Peter?”

Tristan stared at her eyes. “Amazing color, quite beautiful. Fits your dark hair and pale skin perfectly.”

She rammed her thighs into him.

He held her more firmly. “Stop that.”

“Not until you tell me what you’ve done with my brother.” She slammed into him.

He scooted down and trapped her legs. “Peter’s on the main deck with the other men.”

“He’s a child and proved it by helping you escape.”

“This wasn’t his doing, and you’ve no reason to fear for his safety. I have James, my quartermaster, looking after him.”

“A bloody pirate, you mean. The same as you. Perhaps even worse than you.”

“No. James is a good man.” A haunted look touched Tristan’s features before he shook off whatever had troubled him and became casual. “He saved my life. He’ll take great care to watch your brother.”

She wanted to retort but couldn’t reconcile her indignation with Tristan’s previous anguish and the mean scratches she’d left on his cheek. Dried blood had gone black, the surrounding skin swollen and red. “What do you mean he saved your life?”

“Just that, ask no more for I’ll give you no other answer.”

“The only thing I want from you is my freedom.”

He stroked her wrists. “You want the same as me.”

She pushed against him, straining with the effort.

He tightened his grip, proving she wasn’t a match for his strength. If he chose to take her now, she’d have no choice except to allow him what he willed.

She didn’t beg. Wouldn’t. Not to him or any man, including Bishop. They could conquer her body but not her spirit, never her heart. Reconciled to her fate, she grew limp as she could, pulse racing. “Take what you’ve come for and be quick about it.”

“I shan’t be quick, Diana. With you, I’ll never be quick.”

Heat stung her face and throat. “You won’t be the last, either.”

His gray eyes darkened as storm clouds do, danger building in them. “What do you mean?”

“When you’re finished with me, I go to the man to whom I truly belong. Nothing will change that no matter how long you intend to take raping me.”

Despite her harsh words, he didn’t flinch or frown.

“Who is this man with whom you’d willingly lie?”

“Willingly?” She laughed. “You believe I’ve chosen him any more than I’ve chosen you? The fact is you’ve driven me to him.”

“What do you mean? Who is he? Tell me.”

She turned her face away.

Tristan brushed his lips over her cheek and buried his face in her hair.

Her scalp tingled. She could scarcely draw enough air to speak. “I said, be quick about it.”

He took his time, his lips soft and warm against her temple and ear, breath heated and sweet.

She tensed even more, determined to resist.

“Why do you fight me when you want this as much as I do?” He kissed her jaw.

Pleasure rushed through her, delight making her come alive as she never had, the feelings new, troubling, far too exciting. Her lids slid down.

“Tell me who the man is.”

Tristan’s scent surrounded her, surprisingly clean, tinged with musk.

“Tell me, Diana.”


He suckled her neck.

She trembled, an unfamiliar ache building between her legs, tension mounting within her. Flustered, she fought his hold and failed, growing weak from his imposing size. However, she refused to surrender, wanting him to know what he’d done to her. “He’s a wealthy merchant who agreed to help me find Peter if I promised to become his mistress, which I shall.”

“Never.” His breath skipped over her skin. “No one will have you but me.”

She fumed, her previous weakness gone. “You’ll take me. You’ll never have me.”

“Nor will the wealthy merchant. He owns this ship? Is his name Benedict Bishop?”

Tristan kept surprising her, giving her no defense. She pushed against him.

He eased back. “Is that the merchant’s name?”

“Yes. He’s the man to whom I belong.”

“Not any longer.”




In a pirate’s lair, nothing is as it seems . . .

Shipwrecked! When Royce Hastings is found washed up on the shore of a verdant tropical island, he tells the natives he is a merchant headed for Mozambique. The truth, however, is far more mercenary. Noble by birth, the once favored Royce has lost his fortune and family; now he is a hired henchman on the trail of an elusive pirate. His “shipwreck” was a fake. He’ll stop at nothing to infiltrate the island and capture his prey. His mother and sisters’ lives depend on it.

The last thing Royce expects is to be captured himself. But the lovely young woman who tends to his wounds in the tropics quickly takes hold of his heart. Simone is the island’s healer, and her skilled ministrations not only awaken his soul but disturb his conscience. His path has been predetermined; his identity must remain concealed at all costs. Yet the passion he feels in Simone’s sultry, loving arms cannot be denied. With his loyalties torn, Royce must make an agonizing, unthinkable choice. . . .


He squeezed past the door into the shadowed space. Simone’s fragrance surrounded him, the musky undertones muddying his brain.

She sat on the floor in the corner, grains, seeds, and berries to her side, spread out for the pigeons. They poked their heads through the metal slats in their cage and ate like gluttons. Chickens strutted freely, pecking their food.

Simone stood. The hens scattered. “Are you all right?”

Exhausted and aroused. “Fine.”

“You’re bleeding again.”

“Not much. You shouldn’t be doing this.”

Her chin trembled. “What? Speaking to you? Asking questions? You want me to be silent and unseen?”

He longed to be in her arms, comforted and warmed. Anchored to all the good he’d never really known. Her words proved true. This island had wonderful people. The best life had to offer. Nothing he deserved. “You’re a healer, not someone who tends chickens and birds. Peter should be doing this. Is he a lazy boy?”

She lowered her face, hiding her smile. “A surly one. He thinks he knows everything. Too many times, Diana has promised to thrash him.”

“Good for her. A proper man needs manners. Let me help you.” Eager to reach her, he strode recklessly.

A hen flapped its wings, going right and left to escape his crutch, its squawk ear-piercing. The other chickens scattered, many getting in his way. He twisted to keep from falling.

“Take care.” Simone slipped her arm around his waist, her precious breast pressed to his side.

Surrendering to loneliness and enchantment, he leaned in, his face to her hair. The English countryside couldn’t compete with her blessed scent. Nature had met its equal in her. He nuzzled her glossy tresses. No matter how wrong and irrational his desire, for some reason he’d found home at her side.

Pity he’d managed that too late.

He should have moved away but hadn’t the will.

She guided him to a bed nearly as large as the one in his chamber. This lavish room, like his, boasted a marble floor and whitewashed walls. A lovely place for a new life to take its first breath.

She laid his crutch to the side. “Sit before you fall.” Gently, she pushed him on the silk-covered mattress.

He made a show of falling down.

Her laughter pealed through the room.

Royce feigned insult. “Are you making light of me?”


His laugh produced happy tears. “Have you no pity for a poor cripple?”

“I have never seen a stronger man.” She held her hands behind her, breasts thrust out, and swayed her hips slowly.

Aphrodite in the flesh. “Is that what you think of me?”

“What I know. You survived a storm that nearly tore our isle from the earth and flung it into the sky. You are no mere man. You are close to a god.”

He was a liar when honor demanded he do nothing to ruin anything here. He was a besotted fool when duty required he see to his family. His mother and sisters had no power to liberate themselves. Without his help, Katie, especially, would know nothing except a life spent in hard labor, cowering at harsh words, dreading the next beating or something equally horrible.

Simone cupped his face. “What is it? Is the pain bad again?”

The worse a man could face. Having to choose between angels: the one in here now with him, or those in his family who he’d been trying to save.

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Monday, October 30, 2017

Trick or Treat, Gimme Something Funny to Read! #MagicMayhemWorld

Grab your copy now!

The best part of writing in a Kindle World is the feeling of being invited over to a play with your best friend’s toys, in a playroom loaded with the latest gadgets and fun. Nowhere is this more true than Robyn Peterman’s Magic & Mayhem World. This isn’t my first time playing in the sandbox.

My first mini-series was The Witch Singer. We meet Bridget, a witch on the run with the power to create spells with her songs. She meets Martin the Skunk on the way to Assjacket, and the crazy just keeps going from there.

When I wrapped up that trilogy, I wanted to play again. It’s kind of like Supernatural, with a twist—my characters hunt bad boy and girl witches. They take wild and crazy risks, and well…the first one is out right now. Meet Madison and Grady…a bad ass and a hard case. 

It’s the perfect recipe for a little Halloween fun, a trick and a treat.

Every Witch Way But Floosey’s

Meet Madison—badass lady who is always bringing in the realm hoppers. Her targets have horrible habits and steal things.

Meet Grady—he’s a hard case who brings in targets of his own. He’s got his own team and a penchant for flings. When the fairy tale collides with a legend…will they still be standing after the dust clears.

Discover more about Heather Long

What is Kindle Worlds?
Kindle Worlds is an Amazon exclusive program. The titles written for the world can NOT be purchased at other ebook retailers or anywhere besides the Amazon US site, but they can be read on any tablet, computer, or smartphone using the free Kindle App.

Who is Robyn Peterman? So glad you want to know!
Robyn is a fantastically funny and kind author.  I had the great good fortune of meeting Robyn while I was Romancing the Capital in Ottawa in 2016. What a great meeting that turned out to be. From the moment she clasped my arm, I knew I'd found a friend. More I'd found someone who got me and who possessed a wickedly delightful sense of humor. When she invited me to participate in her Kindle World, I was over the moon, but I had no idea just how much. I immediately devoured all three books upon which the Kindle World is based. I haven't laughed that hard in a while. Don't miss all the fantastic authors who are also participating, I adore these women.  My tales are meant to illuminate the stories of witches who want one thing, but get something else entirely. Sometimes the best prayers and wishes are those that remain unanswered.

To see all the published books in Robyn’s Magic & Mayhem Series, visit her webpage.

Sunday, October 29, 2017

No Tricks, just a Treat #kensingtonromance #kensingtonbooks #historicalromance

Hi Readers,

Hope leaves are falling and pumpkins are ready to carve where you are. We’ll be carving today with our three year old grandson, who is new to the joys of anticipation. He loves to talk about events that are “coming up”—birthdays, Halloween, and Thanksgiving!

As writers we want to keep readers anticipating with every scene. Simple question: What’s your favorite thing to anticipate? The weekend, the new season of “Jane, the Virgin,” that great trip you’ve always dreamed of, your favorite time of year?

What’s coming up for me is the January 2, 2018 release of the first book in a new series--The Husband Hunter’s Guide to London from Kensington, available for pre-order in all formats here:


From now through November 9, readers may enter for a kindle giveaway for 100 readers at Goodreads at the link below:

Today, I’m sharing an excerpt from the first meeting of the hero Hazelwood and heroine Jane.

He rolled the girl onto her back and pulled the top half of the stiff black dress off her shoulders and down her arms. Her corset was remarkably ugly, almost as ugly as the gown, and he couldn’t help but pull it away, too, exposing white shoulders and the rounded tops of her breasts, watching for rise and fall of her chest. He took one of her small hands in his and pulled off the glove, thinking to chafe her hand and perhaps restore her to consciousness that way. Her other hand clutched a small blue volume. Even in a swoon she had not relaxed her grip on the little book. He could not see the title, but he guessed its importance from her hold on the thing.
He warmed her free hand between his palms. His job was going to be easier than he’d thought. She was in his debt. He had merely to explain that he had been about to enter the bank for their appointment when she fainted. He was only too glad to be of assistance in the moment, and of course, ready to be of further assistance in the weeks ahead.
She did not stir. Her pale cheeks gave no sign of a blush. He did not recall seeing such perfect stillness in a female before. The unmarried girls he remembered from before his fall from grace had never been still. Their curls bounced, their eyelashes fluttered, and their bosoms rose intriguingly in a constant motion that drew the eye, at least it had always drawn his eye.
Jane Fawkener slept like a princess under a spell, and in her face Hazelwood saw not plainness but dignity, an untainted dignity that made him feel the weight of his dissolute years. He wondered briefly how the fairy tale prince leaning over the sleeping beauty had dared to wake her with a kiss. Hazelwood had not been tempted to kiss a female, let alone a chaste maiden, in a very long time. But princes were a different lot altogether from wastrels like himself. It was their privilege to kiss a princess and claim her.
A quiet hand touched his shoulder, and he turned to look up at Violet.
“Hazelwood,” she spoke softly, “how fortuitous for Miss Fawkener that you appeared on the scene.”
“Not at all. I’m the protocol officer assigned to her.”
Violet’s dark brows knit in a little frown. “Ah, so this spontaneous gallantry is government-backed.”
“Entirely.” He smiled grimly. He had a job to do. He should be looking at the book in Jane Fawkener’s hand, not at her face. “Why is she clutching a book, Violet?”
“It’s a gift from her father.”
With one hand Hazelwood pushed the slim volume up through the girl’s fingers until he could read the title. The Husband Hunter’s Guide to London.  He straightened. The title brought him back from the realm of fantasy. The girl possessed no secret papers, no map of her father’s journey, and she was not a princess after all, but a more common variety of female intent on marrying to advantage.
He felt his jaw tighten, he knew the type and had once been their quarry. He glanced at Violet for an explanation. She merely shrugged. Her expression said she would not betray another woman.
“Miss Fawkener might not wish to wake with an unfamiliar protocol officer staring down at her in a state of undress. I suggest you leave us, and let me and my female assistants help her dress before you spring that bit of information on her. ”
“Right.” He looked down at the sleeping maiden. He could not reconcile the solemn face with the light-minded pursuits of a London flirt. He should step back and let her awaken with a woman at her side, but he found himself reluctant to let go of the small hand before he received a sign of returning life. He uncurled the slack fingers in his and rested his thumb in her palm.
Violet spoke again. “You never know, my friend, with a sudden waking the lady might fall in love with the first man she sees.”
“Now that would be fatal for the aspiring Husband Hunter,” he said briskly. “I’ll let your father and brother know that she’s under your care, but promise me you’ll find her something decent to wear and burn this gown. And, Violet, I’d prefer to introduce myself, if I may.”
Violet gave him a shrewd glance. “As you wish.”
He nodded. He took the small hand and laid it gently on the sofa, and the girl exhaled a long, shaky breath. Her eyes fluttered open, and for brief moment a dark gleam of sharp intelligence met his gaze. The hand with the book clutched it tighter.
Her lips moved to form a “Thank you.” Then with a flutter of those straight lashes, light as a leaf settling, the eyes closed again.
Hazelwood stood. It was nothing to disturb his peace, after all, a mere glance, nothing that should get in the way of his assignment. It was just that those eyes had been unexpectedly keen, not dazed at all, and he’d been caught gazing at her like a man starving for a kiss from a sleeping princess.

Saturday, October 28, 2017

The Highlander is All That: Untamed Highlanders from Sabrina York #Giveaway


The Highlander Is All That
by Sabrina York

Elizabeth St. Claire has always been hard to please. Dreaming solely of Highlander men her whole life, no prancing London Lord can stand a chance at winning her heart...

… But perhaps a Scotsman can.

Elizabeth watches intrigued as the Highlander of her dreams, a Scotsman named Hamish Robb, arrives to oversee her season at the behest of her cousin, the Duke of Caithness. Elizabeth doesn’t hide her feelings for the striking Scot. But Hamish, determined to obey his order to protect the St. Claire sisters, steadfastly rejects her every seducing lure.

Believing that the debutante Elizabeth deserves a better, wealthier man, Hamish continues to turn away from her affection, even though he doesn’t exactly want to. Can this Highlander Scot resist the tempting seductress’ attempts to win his heart?

Read an Excerpt!

He emerged in the kitchens and, after greeting the plump and friendly cook—and snagging a scone from the cooling tray—he followed her directions out into the garden.
Ah yes. This was what he needed. The scent of mown grass, a hint of flowers, fresh air, and sunshine. He turned his face up to the sky and soaked it in.
Granted, it was a watery sunlight, and it struggled to shine through the haze of coal dust, but it beat the hell out of a musty carriage. He strolled along the path, studying the immaculately trimmed hedges, perfectly arranged rosebushes, and the affected pond in the center of the garden.
Everything was prim, proper, and utterly controlled. How British.
He missed the wild heathers of the Highlands, the raw scraggly trees that clung to the cliffs of the coast, the cold breeze gusting from the sea.
While he had been honored that Lachlan had entrusted him with this mission—for it clearly was important to the duke to support this family he had not known he had until recently—Hamish hated being away from home.
He had a business to run and had been in the process of seducing the lovely widow Dunn when the duke’s summons had come. But when a duke commanded one’s presence, one responded.
Ah well. The lovely widow could wait.
Hamish stilled and the little hairs on his nape prickled as he caught the trail of a tantalizing song. Like a sailor called by a siren, he followed the sound. As he rounded a corner, a whimsical gazebo came into view. There, leaning against a column, was his angel.
Her face was exquisite, delicate, and finely formed, utterly classical but for the button nose. Her hair, curly and glossy, skimmed her shoulders, and her dress pinched in at the waist, highlighting a fine form.
His breath caught as she tipped up her chin and warbled a few more notes. Then he must have made a noise, for she abruptly stopped singing and turned.
As she saw him, her cheeks turned a charming pink, and Elizabeth clapped her hand over her mouth.
“Doona stop,” he said before he could halt the words.
“Oh dear,” she said with a delightful laugh. “I’ve been caught out.”
“You have a lovely voice,” he said, stepping closer.
He should not step closer. He should not be alone with her, here in the garden. This he knew to the depth of his being. But, to the depth of his being, he could not resist.
Her grin was entrancing. “You are a very kind liar.”
“I’m no’ a lair.”
“Well, thank you, sir.” She gifted him with a mock curtsey.
“Do you often sing in the garden?” he asked.
“Only when I am certain no one can hear.” She turned away and stepped into the gazebo. He couldn’t help but notice the seductive swish of her skirts.
He clamped down on his lustful thoughts. She was a girl. One who was far too young to know a thing about seduction. Obviously, his imaginings were born of his own desire, and it would behoove him to remember that. He was here to see her wed. To be her protector. Not to pursue her.
She was the duke’s cousin.
Still, he followed her up the steps into the folly. She sat on a padded bench and he took a seat on the other side, far out of reach.
“Have you recovered from your journey?” she asked politely.
“Aye. A walk in the garden has helped immensely.”
“I can imagine. Traveling can be so dull.”
“Have you traveled much?”
“A bit here and there. Brighton, on holiday. York, for a house party. We went to Scotland once, but I was young.”
“Ah.” That caught his attention. “How did you like it?”
“Oh.” Her face transformed to one of rapt excitement. An expression that grabbed him by the solar plexus and tugged. “I absolutely loved it.”
“Did you?” How . . . intriguing.
“It was so beautiful and wild. The people were lovely and the food was delicious.”
“Even haggis?”
Her adorable nose curled a little. “It has its . . . charms.”
He had to laugh. Her lie was so blatant.
“I would love to go back sometime.” He appreciated the wistful note in her tone.
“I miss it already.”
“I can imagine you do.” She sighed. “It must have been difficult to put your life on hold to come here and help us.”
“The duke insisted.” He regretted his words immediately, as she flinched. “However, I’m certain we shall enjoy this adventure.”
“I do hope your time here is pleasant.” Unfortunately, she’d gone all prickly and formal, which he couldn’t help but regret.
“Thank you.”
“It must be difficult for your family to have you gone as well.” She looked away as she said this, but he caught an odd glimmer in her eye before she did.
“My family?”
She cleared her throat. “Your . . . wife? Children?”
Ah. That was it. The little minx was fishing for information. Something warm trickled though his veins, and he bit back a grin. “I doona have a wife, lass.” Why he invested the words with a low rumble, he did not know. Or perhaps he did.
Her response was immediate. A slow smile blossomed on her beautiful face. Was it possible it made her even lovelier? “No wife?”
“No’ a one.” He chuckled. Damn, if she wasn’t flirting with him. Though it was foolish, the prospect danced through him in ribbons of pleasure.
“And the baron?”
His mood plummeted. “What?”
“Does the baron have a wife?”
Aye, she was fishing for information.
On Ranald.
He shouldn’t be disappointed. He’d already acknowledged that his friend was a far better catch for her. “He is a widower.” A disgruntled offering.
“Oh, how sad.”
“He has a daughter.”
“Oh, that is even sadder. A helpless little mite without a mother?”
“Aye.” Though Catriona was hardly a helpless mite. She was more of a hellion.
“Does the baron plan to marry again?”
This was going from bad to worse. “He hasna spoken of it.”
“I was just wondering, you know, because he is very handsome.”
“And he seems very nice.”
“Aye.” There was no call for such misery, but it swamped him nonetheless.
“What a pity that Anne dislikes Scotsmen.”
Hamish blinked. “Anne?”
“They are of an age.”
Indeed, they were. He cleared his throat. “Anne . . . dislikes Scotsmen?”
“Oh yes. On account of the fact that she fell in love with one, and he broke her heart.”
He barked a laugh. “She canna blame all Scotsmen for that.”
“She can,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “And she does. Faithless philanders, all of them,” she warbled.
“That is no’ true. Scotsmen are the most devoted lovers!”
“Really?” She fluttered her lashes at him, which sent rivulets of delight and alarm through him. Her expression was far too intent. And again, not intent enough.
“I . . . ah. Aye. You’ll never find a more loyal man than a Scotsman.”
Her smile was stunning. “Well, I believe you,” she said, coming to her feet. He followed suit. “But you will need to convince Anne of that.”
He had no intention of doing any such thing.
She held out her arm and he took it as a matter of habit, and then they headed down the stairs.
He had no idea what happened next, other than the vague recollection of Elizabeth tripping on a stair, and his arms coming out to catch her.
But then, there she was. In his embrace. Staring up at him with wide doe-like eyes. Lips parted. Breath soft and sweet on his cheek.
She slipped a bit and gripped him closer, pressing her delicious body against his. His head spun. His cock rose.
She’s too young, some small voice cried from the back of his mind. She is unequal to your experience. This is wrong!
Ah, such a chorus of dissent.
He ignored them all and lowered his head.
The desire to taste her was far too strong, and try as he might to resist, he could not.
He was going to kiss Elizabeth St. Claire, and he was going to kiss her now.

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Read all the books in the Untamed Highlander Series!


Other Historicals

Dark Fancy, Book 1
Dark Duke, Book 2
Brigand, Book 3
Defiant, Book 4
Folly,  Book 5



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