Saturday, May 30, 2015

New and Hot from Lisabet Sarai (#poetry #tattoos #dystopia #erotica #shortstory)

The Last Amanuensis

Sooooo...what's an amanuensis, you ask?

  1. a literary or artistic assistant, in particular one who takes dictation or copies manuscripts. what's this story about?

Poetry is like bloodyou cant hold it back.
The Emperor has decreed that Reason will rule in his lands. Art and literature are banned in favor of  military technology. The fearsome Preceptors prowl the capitol, arresting anyone who dares, even secretly, to engage  in forbidden activities.
A former teacher and frustrated writer, Adele is grateful for her job as secretary to the enigmatic Professor. During the day, she transcribes his learned  treatises on a vast range of topics. Then  he calls her to his room one night, to give her a more difficult and intimate assignment, one that risks both their lives.

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I saw relatively little of the professor during the week. He spent his days in his basement laboratory, which was strictly forbidden to me, or shut away in his study, presumably filling new notebooks with observations and innovations that I would eventually be required to type. I'd leave my neat stacks of typewritten pages on the table outside his door so as not to disturb him. I worked in the small parlor across the hall and took my meals in the kitchen with the taciturn cook.

On Sundays, however, he and I dined together. After a glass of sherry, his chilly manner thawed a bit. He'd quiz me about the information I'd been transcribing, initially to see if I understood what I'd read, but later to solicit my opinions.

He asked me other questions, too, questions that bordered on improper.

Who is your favorite novelist, Adele?

My heart executed a sudden somersault. Was he trying to entrap me?AhI'm not sure, sir. Of course I haven't read any fiction since His Excellency rose to glory and urged us to abandon such frivolous pursuits.I scanned his face. The deepening creases at the corners of his eyes belied his serious tone.

But you did read, when you were in your teens, did you not? Before the Ascension? A mind as nimble as yours must have devoured everything you encountered.

My fear ebbed, though I remained wary. Meanwhile, his compliment kindled a warm glow in the pit of my stomach.Yes. I did read a lotbefore.His lips twitched and his icy gaze softened, inviting my confidence. I basked in his rare, concerted attention. His interest, the sense that he viewed me as worthy, urged me to recklessness.I used to write, too. Crazy, fantastic stories about impossible quests and eternal love.

The smile I'd heard in his voice finally bloomed.I'm not surprised in the least. Nor am I shocked, Adele. Be reassured of that.To my astonishment, he covered my hand for a moment with his own. His cool, dry palm whispered over the backs of my fingers before withdrawing. Blood heated my cheeks, as if I were still the young girl we were discussing, and a disturbing heaviness grew between my thighs. 

Theyahwere silly things,I stammered.Trash. A waste of mental energy, as the Emperor has said.

But you poured yourself into those tales, I'm sure. They were part of you.Those crystal-blue eyes of his gleamed, luminous behind his glasses.

A new wave of panic swept me. What was going on? I pushed my chair back from the table, eager to excuse myself and end this disturbing conversation.If you'll excuse me, sir, I'll retire now. I've something of a headache.

For an instant I thought he'd stop me. Then his smile fled and his body collapsed into itself, his advanced age suddenly obvious.Very well. I'll see you tomorrow. But tell mewhat happened to those fantastic stories of yours?

My throat constricted around an impending sob. I could scarcely get the words out.

I destroyed them, of course.

My employer regarded me gravely.Right. Of course.

About Lisabet

From my elementary school years, when I devoured everything I could find by Asimov, Heinlein and Bradbury, Ive been drawn to speculative fiction. Now that Im an author myself, I create my own futurescapes. My visions are sometimes bleakbut always illumined by desire.


Friday, May 22, 2015

A Hot Kiss from a Hot #boxedset! (#99cents #romance #kindle)

The Book Boyfriend Cafe's first boxed set is a runaway bestseller, and of course I'd like to think that my contribution makes all the difference.

Today in the BBC's blog hop we highlight something we all dream of: The Hot Kiss.

Here's a hot kiss from Fashion Victim, my novel in the BBC's Summer Lovin' boxed set:

Slipping his hand over my nape and into my hair, he eased my head back, tilting my chin toward his lips. Our eyes met. His gaze was gentle, yet mesmerizing. His other hand trailed along my collarbone, exploring the neckline of the poet’s blouse.
My skin tingling, I sucked in a breath.
He teased one button out of its hole and helped another slip free, then slid one finger between my breasts.
The tingle became a sizzle. I lifted my face toward his and we kissed.           
Heaven, the warmth of his mouth on mine. Then a more intense pleasure as our lips opened, and we began to soul-kiss as naturally as children licking lollipops.
I grabbed his lapels to bring him in closer. Our tongues met in a languorous
dance, and my sex-starved imagination took flight. I pictured myself seated on him in the comfortable old chair, my legs spread wide over the padded arms, while he rocked in and out of me, deeper and deeper, his golden eyes, reaching inside me, deeper and deeper…
My body clenched with need, and my hips involuntarily bucked. A husky moan broke from his throat. Jolted out of my x-rated fantasy, I pulled away.

He looked as startled as I was. He’d shared my intensity, and I knew he’d been as shaken as I by the kiss.

Here's what the book is about:
Hot isn't a hot enough word to describe corporate raider Fletcher Wolf, but since he's suing couturier Cara Fletcher for, oh, a gazillion dollars, she figures she shouldn't hit on him…at least not too hard.
On top of that, she wonders if he's responsible for the harassment and vandalism that's plaguing her, irritants that escalate into crimes when her workshop is trashed to the tune of a hundred thousand dollars. The economic damage enables him to seize her company, bringing him into her life on a daily basis. When her Manhattan loft home is torched and her assistant murdered, Cara realizes that the man she wants is the only man who can keep her safe.

       Here's what others have said about Fashion Victim:

“...delightful romantic suspense...”
~Publisher’s Weekly, 12/6/10

“Enjoyable inside view of the fashion world...”

~Kirkus, 10/8/10

“mixes sex, danger and fashion...will appeal to readers of Janet Evanovich...” 

 ~ Booklist, 12/1/10

Get the anthology here:

Remember, this is a blog hop! Enjoy other sexy hot kisses here:

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Fashion Star or Fashion Victim? (#boxedset @romance #99cents)

This has been a banner year for boxed set anthologies, those collections of excellent reading that usually retail for between 99 cents and $2.99. They're great for the reader, of course, and not too bad for struggling midlist writers like me. My books sell far better in a collection than they do as standalones.

Tomorrow there's a new boxed set out--this time, novels. 

Book Boyfriend Cafe's boxed set, Summer Lovin', includes a romantic suspense novel of mine, Fashion Victim.

After you read it, decide: is my heroine, Cara Fletcher, a fashion star or a fashion victim?

Here's a snippet to pique your interest:    
I stared at the forbidding courthouse, repressing an unnerved shudder. The four-inch stiletto heels had been a big mistake. I’d worn them to add some height, since five-four isn’t exactly impressive. Better, the gorgeous periwinkle suede matched my suit. But, given the slippery-looking stone stairs outside the building, as well as my morning tranq, I had to struggle, picking my way to avoid falling on my butt. I told myself it was okay, since I still had twenty minutes before the nine o’clock hearing.
Even so, I clung to the rail with a death grip. Once inside, I passed through security and then found the correct floor. My attorney had said we’d meet outside the courtroom, but I didn’t see her.
A trio of males outside one of the courtrooms grabbed my attention. One of them raised his head to give me the eye, and even took a step away from his group. Despite the seriousness of the situation, I couldn’t help responding.
Hot wasn’t a hot enough word to describe this guy.
Unfashionably longish hair with silver streaks. A maverick. He wasn’t afraid to buck the trend toward brush cuts and no doubt would never dye his hair to look younger. But despite the hair and body—big, solid, and buffed—it was his eyes that grabbed me in the gut and wouldn’t let go. They were an unusual shade of hazel. Golden, really, feral and predatory, like a wolf. Or maybe one of the great cats. A lion or a cougar.
His face was all bold planes, with high cheekbones, a strong jaw, narrow but sensual lips. And a small scar by the side of his mouth . . . how had he gotten that? A knife fight? A beer bottle in a bar brawl?
I silently laughed at myself. He probably fell off his bike when he was six. But still, he was hot. Very hot. Beyond hot.
His gaze caught mine, and my temperature shot from ninety-eight-point-six to at least one-oh-two in a second.
A set of nearby double doors banged open, and I blinked, jolted. A redheaded woman in chic brown tweed burst into the hall, followed by a phalanx of attorneys, bees swarming their queen.
“I didn’t pay you thieves a grand an hour to get screwed!” she screamed, her stride an angry clatter on the stony floor. Buzzing with temper, the group rushed by. I stayed upright until the last attorney in the swarm plowed into me.  The jerk didn’t stop, though my feet slipped on the marble.
At my side in an instant, the mysterious, amber-eyed stranger grabbed me
before I hit the floor. He lifted me onto my feet with a gentleness at odds with his size, his strength, and the uncivilized gleam in his eyes.
“Are you all right?”  The stranger’s pleasant bass had a slight, sexy  southern accent, which turned me on even more. What was it about a southern accent? Something about it called up all my Rhett Butler fantasies. I was a sucker for a southern accent.
He straightened my lapels without brushing my breasts, which tingled anyway. Embarrassed, I tugged at my jacket as he again gave me the once-over.  “You look fine,” he said, emphasizing fine, “but I’m afraid you’ve torn your stockings.”

I looked down. He wasn’t lying. One of the knees of my pantyhose had ripped. I sighed. “What else can go wrong today?”
He laughed. “It’s not so bad. Look at it this way. You aren’t paying someone a thousand dollars an hour to get screwed, are you?”
We shared a chuckle. “You’re right,” I said. Then I staggered a few steps away toward the women’s room before recalling my manners. “Umm, thank you for your help. I hate to seem rude, but I have a very important court appearance, and I can’t have a run in my hose.”
I hurried down the hall as fast as I could without risking another fall while digging in my satchel for the spare pair of pantyhose I hoped I had in there. 

When I emerged, the hall was empty. Sweat broke out all over my body as I sprinted for the courtroom door. I scurried in as a bailiff was calling, “All rise!”
I found my seat next to my lawyer as the judge, an older balding fellow, entered with a flutter of black robes. He thumped his gavel to begin the hearing as I looked down the long wooden counsel table.
Then I saw him. At the opposite end of the table. Well, hell. Was the hottest of the hot my opponent? My opponent’s attorney?
I met his glance then tried to look cool, calm, collected and in control, but the reality was that everything I cared about was on the line.
The bailiff announced the case, and a man sitting next to the hottie stood, buttoning the jacket of his navy pinstriped three-piece suit. “Michael Muckenmyer of Muckenmyer, Radcliffe and Soames, representing the plaintiffs, Fletcher Tool and Gear, Inc., and Fletcher Wolf, who is present.”
Fletcher Wolf. I should have known. I had the bad luck to have fallen instantly in lust with my enemy, a man who could tear apart my life and destroy every one of my dreams.
Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I recalled what I’d said to Wolf outside the courtroom. What else can go wrong today? Now I knew.

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