BLOG CONTEST all this week!

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SEDUCING THE MOON by Sherrill Quinn

It's here!


It only takes a little moonlight to bring out the primal desire between two lovers...

Declan O’Connell has a history with Pelicia Cobb, but not the kind that’s going to help him win her back. It was bad enough that he broke her heart as a gruff ex-commando. Now he’s got another side to his personality, a furry, fierce side that goes a little wild under the light of the moon…

Pel wants nothing more than the chance to clean up the mess Declan made of her life—without his interference. But with a sniper taking shots at her on her doorstep, there’s no one better to protect her than Declan. And it’s hard to ignore all of his deliciousness, especially the way her body responds to his undeniable magnetism. There’s no question the rugged Irishman brings out the animal instinct in her—an instinct that propels her toward him, even when she knows she should run away…


Available now at Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble, Borders and Books-A-Million. You can read an excerpt or buy here as well.

Sierra Dafoe signs with TKA!!!

I am very excited to announce that I have just signed with The Knight Agency for literary representation!

Nephele Tempest, who reps authors Nalini Singh, Gemma Halliday, and Shannon K. Butcher among others, will be working with me on my new paranormal series -- come join my newsletter or my yahoogroup to stay updated on further developments!

Charity raffle!

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Contact: Rochelle Sorzano
Charity Co-Coordinator
2055 Utica Ave
Brooklyn, NY 11234
Phone: 347-221-0260
http://www.treasuretrovecharity.com/


Our Goal for the Sweet, Sassy, and Sexy Raffle is to get at least 5,000 donations at $20 .00 each. We are fully aware of the current financial climate and understand that $20 is a lot to ask of you. What we are asking is that you give in the spirit of giving. The three causes, St. Jude's Children's Hospital, The 3 Day. Org (Cure for Cancer) and Save the Quiet Kitty are worthy causes. The whole purpose is to help others, we ask that you take part in this endeavor and help us help others.

Simply Simone Inc and the Pink Chair Dairies Presents the Treasure Trove Charity Raffle, each prize is worth an estimated $400.00 and counting. This idea came about when my friend and co-coordinator Author Selena Illyria approached me with an idea to help fellow author and friend The Quiet Kitty/Camille Anthony who was diagnosed in 1989 with Pulmonary Sarcoidosis, caused by exposure to asbestos while an employee of the State of California. (There is a pending class action lawsuit against the State of California, which has been in Pre-Trial hearings for almost a decade.) Camille is now a full time author with no health insurance. She is in stage four of Pulmonary Sarcoidosis and cannot get health insurance because of this pre-existing condition.

I loved the idea and wanted to help as much as possible; And, I thought we should extend it to include a couple of my other favorite charities. Breast Cancer is a concern for all of us and it will take all of us to help find a cure. In addition, St. Jude, when I first heard the story of how the Hospital came to be it struck a chord with me. Moreover, I always promised myself that if I can ever support them with the wonderful work they do I would.

My very talented friend Selena Illyria came up with the Sweet, Sassy, Sexy Charity Raffle, a nod to the cheeky erotic stories she and fellow authors pen. We thought this would be a fun way to give back to those who are generous enough to donate to our charity. We called on all of our writer friends from all over the romance world to donate to these worthy causes, and to my delight, it just kept growing and growing. Until each trunk is now worth over $400.00 and counting.

You can also help us help others, by donating at www.treasuretrovecharity.com and selecting the trunk of your choice and then clicking the donate button. Each theme will represent a charity and at the end, we will share 60% of all net profits equally to the charities.

Rules: There is unlimited bidding until the time the raffle comes to a closed.


Please Note:

60% net of the proceeds goes to the above-mentioned charities.


For information: http://www.treasuretrovecharity.com, http://www.simplysimoneinc.com/, http://www.pinkchairdaires.com/ or
Contac: rochelles@simplysimoneinc.com
Phone: 347-221-0260

New Release - DRAGONHEAT by Sherrill Quinn

DRAGONHEAT, the sequel to my top-seller DRAGONFIRE, is available now at Amber Heat!



Nikolai Zelenka and Rainer Batsakis are sent by the leader of their dragon clan to find out what happened to a geneticist working for them. They meet the scientist's sister, Deirdre "DeeDee" Adair and immediately recognize her as their mate.

DeeDee doesn't need dragon DNA to know she's wildly attracted to both men. But first she has to understand--and accept--them for what they are. And they must protect her against the dragon hunters who are after her...

~ * ~
Nikolai's stance became ultra-alert, his nostrils flaring and eyes narrowing. His gaze slid past her to the large curtained picture window on her right. "Get away from the door," he ordered in a low voice.

"Now, listen here," she began, only to be cut off when he charged toward her. Eyes wide, fear closing her throat, she still managed a squeak of alarm and depressed the button on the pepper spray. The stream soared over his shoulder to land harmlessly on the carpet. God, he was fast! He grabbed her and moved behind the sofa. He pushed her to the floor and slanted his big body over hers, his large hands cradling her head.

At the same time Rainer turned off the lamp. She heard him moving, his heavy boots squeaking as he crawled past her on his way to the picture window.

Heat from Nikolai's body seeped into her, tempting her to stroke her hands along his lean sides. Ay-ay-ay. Get a grip, girl. Now's not the time to be lusting after him, though that's an interesting development. She wiggled a bit and the bulge pressing against her abdomen hardened even further.

Just as the thought that he might be planning to rape her killed the burgeoning lust she was beginning to feel, loud pops filled the air. Staccato in rhythm, it took a few seconds for her to realize it was weapons' fire. "Someone's shooting at us!"

"No shit, Sherlock," came the muttered reply from the man crouched beside the window.

Ass, she thought with some heat. "I've never been shot at before, you putz."

"I have." His voice was still as low as before.

"Can you see them, Rainer?" Nikolai lifted his head. He rose up onto his elbows and stared toward the man by the window.

"No. Dammit."

DeeDee twisted her neck to get a better look at what was going on. She could barely make out Rainer as he crouched by the window, peering out through the curtain.

"I told you it was too dangerous to entrust information like this with humans." Rainer's deep voice had a decided bite to it.

She blinked. What did he mean, give it to humans? As opposed to...what? Monkeys?

More gunfire erupted and Nikolai dropped back down onto her. She heard the breaking of glass, the shattering of ceramic, and shards of the table lamp rained down over her. Well, mostly over Nikolai, since he was still smashing her into the floor. His warm breath wafted against her cheek, sending tiny shivers up and down her spine.

Contrary to the strangeness of the situation, the man on top of her felt...familiar.

Like...home.

"Fuck this." Rainer's voice was harsh. "I'll be right back."

"Be careful." Nikolai tipped his head up. Though he looked at his friend, DeeDee was enormously aware of just how very close that luscious mouth of his was to hers.

Rainer headed toward the kitchen in a crouching run. Then Nikolai looked down at her. In the darkness of the room she couldn't make out very many details, even as close as his face was, but she could see the light amber of his eyes.

Wait. Amber? Hadn't his eyes been...brown? Or maybe hazel?

"Stay down." He pushed away from her, pausing with his knees bent and his palms planted on the floor on either side of her shoulders. "I mean it, Ms. Adair. Stay put until we get back."

From outside came the sounds of men's shouts and a roar like a fierce wind, but different somehow, a sound that she couldn't quite figure out. Seeing that Nikolai was waiting for her response, she gave a nod. If people were outside firing guns toward the house, she wasn't a fool. She was much less likely to be hit by a bullet if she was flat on the floor.

He leaned down and for the briefest of moments his lips touched the corner of her mouth. Then he was gone.

Copyright 2008 Sherrill Quinn. All Rights Reserved.


DRAGONHEAT - available now at Amber Heat!


What reviewers have said about Dragonfire:
"5 Hearts!...This is a powerful story with excellent dialogue and characterizations..."--Dee, The Romance Studio
"5 Lips!...Sherrill Quinn has written a perfect shapeshifter novel...A story you simply must read...Sherrill Quinn does not disappoint!"--Tara Renee, TwoLips Reviews
"5 Angels!...I loved this book. From the first page till the last it captured my attention...I hope Sherrill Quinn continues to write Dragon books and I would definitely buy them if she did. I look forward to reading more stories by her."--Ashley, Fallen Angel Reviews

It's here!!! The DARK PANTHEON series has arrived with WICKED OMEN!

Whee! The first Dark Pantheon book, Sherrill Quinn's WICKED OMEN, just released at Ellora's Cave! Come check it out, and stop by darkpantheon.com to learn more about this exciting series!

WICKED OMEN
by Sherrill Quinn

Book one in the Dark Pantheon series
http://www.ellorascave.com/AuthorsBooks.asp?AuthorCode=SQui

They are children of the gods. Half-immortal, yet never whole. Until they find the one we burn to possess for all eternity...

Wicked Omen

In the seventh century B.C., Kalla must pretend to be one of the hated enemy -- a Spartan -- in order to save her family. Her gift of sight has brought her to the attention of her Spartan master, Praxiteles, who is determined to use her to overthrow one of the dual kings of the Spartan monarchy. She has no choice but to play along, or her father and brothers will die.

Nikolaos, an Aresian vampire, is a fierce proponent of one of the Spartan kings -- in direct opposition to the man who threatens Kalla's family. When Praxiteles introduces Kalla as the Spartan's new oracle, Nikolaos is suspicious of her, both because her behavior is inconsistent with that of a Spartan woman but especially because of her association with Praxiteles. However, he can't resist her beauty and intelligence.

When she tells Nikolaos something that happened in a recent battle that no one but one of his men -- in whose fealty he has absolute trust -- could know, he begins to believe her. With his skepticism put to rest, he gives in to his desire for her.

Kalla and Nikolaos must now face a common enemy -- one who threatens both Nikolaos's way of life and Kalla's family. But their happiness is not guaranteed. What will Nikolaos do when he discovers Kalla is involved in the plot to overthrow his king? Can their love overcome the bite of betrayal?

Excerpt

There had been a time not all that long ago when Nikolaos would have welcomed the sting of death, had eagerly anticipated the journey to the Isles of the Blessed where all heroes spent eternity. He was tired of war, tired of the loneliness that ate away at his soul. It wasn't easy, watching those around him grow old and die while he stayed youthful and fit. But in spite of his many headlong rushes into battle, the god of the underworld apparently did not want him.

Nikolaos would have thought one less Aresian on this plane of existence would be a good thing, but it seemed Hades preferred that the vampire descendants of the gods be Zeus' problem instead of his.

"I'd prefer to die in battle," Nikolaos went on, "than at the end of an executioner's axe."

"Aye, my lord." Castor turned away from him and started back the way he'd come.

Nikolaos fell into step beside him. Within moments, they came upon the rest of his troops. He scanned the crowd, at one glance taking in the beaten Helots on their knees with their hands behind their heads, huddled in a group with the tired but victorious Spartoi gathered 'round them. But there was one man missing... "Where's Deucalios?" he asked, referring to his boyhood friend and fellow Aresian vampire.

Castor's throat moved with his hard swallow. "He has fallen, my lord." He gestured toward the rocky knoll that crowned the hill upon which they stood.

In spite of the warmth of the day and his own overheated battle-worn body, a chill iced its way through Nikolaos. With leaden steps, he walked in the direction his lieutenant had pointed.

There, in what clearly had been a killing frenzy, Deucalios lay in pieces. The gaping hole in his chest was further mute testament that the butchers who did this knew how to make sure the Aresian warrior could not be restored to life.

Fisting his hands, Nikolaos went to his knees beside his fallen comrade. His eyes burned with unshed tears, his throat tightened around the howl of grief clawing to be set free. What was the benefit in having near immortality if it only made you a target of vicious attacks like this? Until the heart had been removed from his chest, Deucalios would have been coherent enough to feel every bite of the blade that rendered him asunder.

The only reason Nikolaos could think of for the viciousness of the attack was because, like him, Deucalios was an Aresian.

When Nikolaos returned to Sparta, he would visit the oracle and discover whatever portends she could envision. For now, though, he would avenge his friend. He put his hand palm down in a deep crimson pool of his friend's blood. Then he placed his hand on his brass chest plate, over his heart, marking himself with Deucalios' life essence. "I will avenge you, my brother," he muttered, bowing his head.

Grief turned to an all-consuming rage that brought back his bloodlust. A red haze colored his vision. He jumped to his feet and returned to the captives. His nostrils flared as he sought out those who had brought Deucalios to such an ignoble death.

He paused in front of each enemy soldier, breathing deeply, taking in the multitude of scents that fierce battle always brought. The coppery smell of blood, the pungent tang of sweat, the stench of fear. But there was one particular aroma he sought�the same scent that wafted to his nostrils from the bloody palm print on his chest.

Deucalios cried out for vengeance.

Get your copy of WICKED OMEN today!
http://www.ellorascave.com/AuthorsBooks.asp?AuthorCode=SQui

Explore the Dark Pantheon at http://www.darkpantheon.com

Wicked Witch of the West Village-out now

"Wicked Witch of the West Village"
By Anna J. Evans
Ellora's Cave-Exotica
Super Plus novel-paranormal, erotic

http://www.ellorascave.com/productpage.asp?ISBN=9781419914768

BLURB:

Life's a bitch and so is Gail Teril, evil romance editor by day, failed heroine of her own life by night. She's the wicked witch of the West Village and she likes it that way…or at least likes it enough to avoid the scary process of trying to change her wicked rep.

But when a violent nut allergy at a writers' conference sends Gail into a coma and she wakes up in an alternate dimension, she has no choice but to take a hard look at her new life and herself. In a very adult somewhere over the rainbow peopled by sexy barbarian lovers, an evil zombie-making fiend and a green skinned man she knows she could come to love, Gail learns that sex can sometimes lead to power, but only her heart will lead her home.

EXCERPT:

I followed Kathy into the small conference room, feeling like the lowest form of dog shit as I thought back on our conversation and its probable implications. If Kathy said it, it had to be true. Kathy was nice, Kathy was a fantastic friend and Kathy never told a lie. If she said Richard was beyond retrieval she had to be right.

The realization made my stomach twist in an angry knot around my black coffee and two cinnamon rolls.

I'd lost him. I'd really lost him and only now did I understand I probably loved Richard, no matter how many times I'd dismissed him when he pressed me to make some grand declaration. Now he was gone and a part of me wanted to crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head and never come out again.

It was horribly melodramatic and self-loathing inducing, which made me struggle to find someone else to blame. Luckily, a target soon presented itself.

As I sat behind the table and gazed out at the over-eager faces of at least a hundred romance writers, I had to resist the urge to start throwing rotten tomatoes. It was their fault, those damn women who wrote those damn books that I read in spite of myself.

I was an editor of romantic fiction, it was my job to read romance novels, but I didn't have to enjoy them as much as I did. I didn't have to purchase all the newest titles from my favorite authors to take home and savor over the weekend in the name of market research or reread my keeper-shelf novels until the front covers were tattered.

The prolonged exposure had obviously rotted my brain. I should have stuck to my guns in my early twenties until I was transferred to the literary fiction division. But I had stayed in romance, snuggled in like a pig in shit until I was the head editor honcho at the tender age of thirty-two, the top dog on the steaming pink pile of lovey-dovey nonsense that was the romantic fiction department.

So young to be so successful…and so increasingly bitter.

"Welcome and thank you so much for coming to learn more about Handler and Handler." Kathy's bright blue eyes shone warmly out at the audience as if she actually gave a shit that anyone had shown up. She probably did, she was nice. "I'm associate editor Kathy Hewitt, and this is Gail Teril, executive editor."

I waved my hand in brief acknowledgement of my name, then pretended great interest in the folder in front of me as Kathy proceeded to outline the new directions Handler and Handler were hoping to take our Visions of Love line.

I, for one, wanted to start by outlawing anything having to do with vampires--what the fuck is romantic about a man who wants to feed off you like a leech while he moans about his tortured immortality? I also wanted to do away with heroines who weren't at least twenty-three or who hadn't slept with a minimum of four men before Mister Right.

What woman these days hasn't had at least four lovers before she settles down for the happily ever after? Now I'm sure there are some exceptions, but even my brother's new wife--originally from Georgia, sweet as a peach, inside the Baptist Church every time they open the doors--confessed to me that she had three guys before Rick. I had to get her pretty tipsy on wine coolers before she shared the info, but I proved my point, at least to myself.

I was also more than a little tired of the "sweet as pie" crap. Why could the hero be a big jerk who needed "love's tender caress" to "set him free", but the heroine was always a near virgin who saved whales for a living, ran a soup kitchen in her spare time and took in homeless animals and domestic abuse victims? All while teaching the hero how her generous and perfect soul could help even a rake like him learn to love, of course?

Not to mention she's also stunningly gorgeous with perfect tits, no cellulite, skin that's smooth and pore-less sans makeup and no body hair in undesirable places in addition to being the next Mother Mary. I have issues with the omission of body hair maintenance in my novels. You never read about a romance heroine having to wax her moustache. As a half-Cuban woman who inherited more from my mom than thick, shiny, luxurious dark brown locks on my head, I would appreciate my heroine having to work a little to be so goddamned perfect.

But everyone else seems to want the heroine to be beyond reproach, other editors and readers included. I was the only one with a problem. I couldn't identify with most heroines because I was a cranky slut jerk who should have been born an alpha male. If I had, then maybe I would have found a sweet Georgia peach like my younger brother or a sassy, incredibly loyal scriptwriter like my older one. If I'd been a boy, maybe I would have already been tamed by love and become contented with venting my crankiness at work like the rest of the penis-owning half of the population.

Too bad I'd been born a gal and a straight gal on top if it. Double too bad most men weren't into putting forth the effort to break through my gruff exterior to find the diamond in the rough underneath. Triple too bad most men didn't find my take-no-prisoners-get-up-in-your-face-and-call-you-a-cock-sucker attitude particularly sexy.

A shame, that. Girls just love an aloof, bossy, unattainable "bad boy". But what about "bad girls"? Was I a bad girl?

You're the Wicked Witch of the West Village.

I hated my subconscious sometimes. Especially when it was right, even more especially when I'd just screwed up a relationship with a guy who thought my potty mouth was "cute" and had the guts to tell me to shut up from time to time and really make me listen.

Especially when his dick was so unbelievably wondrous and you're never going to get to roll around in bed with him EVER AGAIN.

"I'll take that question," I said with a forced smile, deciding that sharing my opinions on the future trends in romantic fiction was better than sitting there stewing in my own horrible thoughts.

Of course, that's where I made my next stupid mistake. Never open your big mouth unless you're prepared to put your short, fat foot in it.

Fan the Flames...
http://annajevans.com
Ms. Evans is an author who could quickly become habit-forming!
-The Romance Studio