First Review for SEDUCING THE MOON

5 Blue Ribbons!

From Romance Junkies: "Seducing the Moon continues the story that author Sherrill Quinn first introduced in Daring the Moon, which ended with Declan O’Connell being bitten by a rogue werewolf. In Seducing the Moon, we get to find out more of Declan’s story, including his stormy past with Pelicia Cobb. With a fast-paced storyline that never lags, sharp and witty dialogue and infused with incredibly steamy love scenes, Seducing the Moon is another wonderful offering by Ms. Quinn that is sure to win over even the most discerning fan of paranormal romance." (Cheryl M.)

You can read the full review here.

Thanks, Cheryl! :)



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...

~ * ~
"O'Connell, you had better be all right, because if you've broken your worthless neck on my property I'm bloody well going to kill you."

Declan raised his head from the steering wheel, rubbing the sore spot on his forehead where he'd connected with the unforgiving plastic. Already he could feel the slight bump caused by the impact was lessening. Being a werewolf did have its advantages. And from what he'd experienced in the last four months, not that many disadvantages.

He focused on the woman stomping toward him. The deep red t-shirt she wore set off her creamy skin to perfection, and her jeans hugged curves that he hadn't touched in much, much too long. The morning sunlight glinted on her honey blonde hair and reflected off the anger glittering in her ocean-blue eyes.

Stripping off her gardening gloves, Pelicia Cobb stopped beside his vehicle and looked at the corner of the historic bed and breakfast that had seconds before become an unplanned hood ornament on Declan's rental car. "Oh, my God. Look what you've done!" She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Where did you get a car?"

"They've set up a small 'cars for hire' booth near the ferry office, darlin', you know that," he said through the open window.

"Like we need more cars on our tiny stretch of roadways." Her scowl deepened. "And don't call me darlin'. I got over that charming Irish brogue a long time ago." Her gaze went back to the corner of the house. Something like a growl came from her throat. When she looked at him again, her eyes were hard with anger. "Just when exactly did your mission in life become one of making my life a bloody impossible mess? Tourist season just got underway and now you've demolished my house."

Thinking to tell her she was overreacting--as a former commando and demolitions expert in the Royal Marines he damned well knew how to properly destroy something, and this wasn't anywhere near what he could have done--he opened his mouth to respond.

She forestalled him with a sharp downward slash of one slender hand. "Never mind," she growled. "I already know the answer. It was two years ago, the last time you deigned to grace me with your presence."

Even with the deep frown on her face, Pelicia was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"You'd damned well better have insurance, because I can't afford to fix this." She gestured toward the corner of the granite house where several large blocks were clearly askew. "Even with an occasional guest, it's been a hard off-season, as usual."

"It's not like I did it on purpose," he responded, doing his best to not sound like a teenager making excuses to his mum. Although she certainly was doing a bang-up job of making him feel like he was about fourteen again.

He pushed open the car door. The crumpled metal protested with a loud grinding groan, and he had to exert pressure to get it all the way open. He climbed out from behind the wheel. "Besides, you know I'm not anythin' if not responsible."

Her lips twisted. "Ah. Right. How could I forget? The great Declan O'Connell, commando extraordinaire, responsible for eradicating villains from the world one innocent at a time."

Declan gritted his teeth at her sarcasm. Forget fourteen years old. Try five. Though as unfair as her words were, he couldn't fault her for her feelings.

Two years ago, the firm he'd worked for at the time had sent him to London to assist with an investigation into an international document-forging organization--primarily because of his friendship with Pelicia and his knowledge of the Isles of Scilly. In the course of his investigation, he'd been instrumental in getting her arrested. Even though she'd been cleared of all involvement, in the end she'd lost her job and her reputation had suffered. She'd returned to St. Mary's to take over this bed and breakfast after her grandfather--the real talent behind the forgery ring--had been sent to prison.

"Listen, Pel--"

"Oh, forget it." She sighed and crossed her arms.

She looked so fragile and defenseless that he had to fight to keep from pulling her into a comforting embrace. He knew the second he did he'd have a snarling wildcat on his hands that would quickly dissuade him from thinking she was either fragile or defenseless.

Copyright 2009 Sherrill Quinn. All Rights Reserved.


Seducing the Moon - available now for pre-order at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Borders and Books-A-Million. Coming to a bookstore shelf near you in August!

New Release - ANGEL & THE DUKE OF SEX

Angelique Chadbourne had been trapped for 10 years in a loveless marriage while her wastrel husband chased after prostitutes in the East End of London. Now, in 1888--two years after his murder--she has ended her period of mourning and is ready to live life on her own terms. And a big part of that is learning what passion is all about. For that, she needs Harry Atherton, the Duke of Sexton or, as he is notoriously known in upper society, the Duke of Sex.

Harry has always had his eye on Angel, thinking her to be the perfect woman to be his wife. She's beautiful, gracious and intelligent--just the sort who would fit in his household and provide him with an impeccable hostess. To find out she also has hidden passions she wishes to pursue is the sugar in his tea. He's never been one to let an opportunity pass him by, and he's not about to start now.

Oral sex, anal sex and a menage e trois round out Angel's education, but there's evil threatening her. Jack the Ripper is in their midst and it's only a matter of time before he strikes again.

~ * ~

He stood in the shadows and watched a stylishly clad gentleman step down from the elegant brougham stopped in front of the Ten Bells, one of many pubs dotting the East End of London. The well-dressed man reached up and helped down a young woman—a woman more like an angel, with dark hair piled on top of her head, showing off her long, slender neck. Her fancy day dress drew his eyes to her curvaceous figure.

She was so different from the women in this world he’d chosen to inhabit. She was fresh and clean and pure. Not like these filthy whores who sold their bodies for tuppence or a glass or two of whiskey.

The older man bent over the angel solicitously, his expression wavering between concern and irritation. It was clear he didn’t want to be here in Whitechapel.

The watcher straightened and strained to hear the murmured conversation between the two. He caught a few words, “Freddie…husband…goodbye.” Then he heard her name.

“Angel,” the older man said, drawing her back toward the carriage, “Freddie is gone. Seeing where he died will serve no purpose other than to renew your pain.”

She shook her head, her chin tilted in challenge. Her response was in too soft a voice for the watcher to hear.

But that was all right. Her name was Angel. His angel.

Reaching down, he stroked his fingers idly over his erection, enjoying the slow rise of his flesh. It always began this way. He saw a woman, he wanted her. He stalked her, he fucked her.

He killed her.

He’d never had a woman like this before. Even though his upbringing was respectable and he moved about freely in Society’s upper crust, he’d never felt like he belonged.

He glanced around to make sure he continued to be unobserved, then looked again at the woman in the creamy yellow dress. His hand stroked a bit faster over the hard ridge of his cock. What would it be like to fuck her? To bury himself in the hot depths of her body, to plunder her at will?

Then get about his job, showing her the error of her ways?

“Oy, luv.” A woman’s voice with a lilting Irish accent interrupted his musings. “Don’t ya be lustin’ after the likes of that one. She’ll not give ya the time a day.”

He turned his head slowly to stare at the small woman standing to his left. Only a foot away from the doorway in which he stood, she leaned one shoulder against the brick wall. Her dark dress was frayed and torn in places. Her right shoe had a small hole in the tip.

He looked back up at her round face. The East End hadn’t yet dulled her vivacity; blue eyes holding a hint of life sparkled at him.

“And you would?” he asked.

“Wot? Give ya the time a day?” At his nod, she grinned, showing surprisingly white teeth, though they were a bit crooked. The cheerfulness in her expression made her appear even younger than she was. “Aye, luv. That I would. For a small price, o’ course.”

She twirled a strand of red hair around her index finger. A small black hat sat at a jaunty angle on her head atop a small fringe of hair at her forehead. She wasn’t an unattractive female, for a female of her sort.

“What’s your name, darling?” he asked, turning his attention fully upon her. The angel in yellow was a fantasy. This little pretty was reality. She was a whore, all right, and his job was ripping whores. It was time he got back to it.

“Mary.” She held out her hand and he took it, automatically bringing it to his lips to press a kiss upon her bare knuckles. She giggled like a schoolgirl, impressed with his manners, as he’d known she would be.

“Mary Kelly.” She gave another giggle and tapped him flirtatiously on the shoulder. “An’ just who might you be, sir?”

“You may call me…Jack.”

Copyright 2009 Sherrill Quinn. All Rights Reserved.

Angel & the Duke of Sex - available today at Ellora's Cave!

SEDUCING THE MOON

Seducing the Moon, book 2 in my Brava werewolf series, is available now for pre-order at Amazon.com, Borders and Books-A-Million!


Here's the blurb and an unedited excerpt:


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...

~ * ~

"O'Connell, you had better be all right, because if you've broken your worthless neck on my property I'm bloody well going to kill you."

Declan raised his head from the steering wheel, rubbing the sore spot on his forehead where he'd connected with the unforgiving plastic. Already he could feel the slight bump caused by the impact was lessening. Being a werewolf did have its advantages. And from what he'd experienced in the last four months, not that many disadvantages.

He focused on the woman stomping toward him. The deep red t-shirt she wore set off her creamy skin to perfection, and her jeans hugged curves that he hadn't touched in much, much too long. The morning sunlight glinted on her honey blonde hair and reflected off the anger glittering in her ocean-blue eyes.

Stripping off her gardening gloves, Pelicia Cobb stopped beside his vehicle and looked at the corner of the historic bed and breakfast that had seconds before become an unplanned hood ornament on Declan's rental car. "Oh, my God. Look what you've done!" She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Where did you get a car?"

"They've set up a small 'cars for hire' booth near the ferry office, darlin', you know that," he said through the open window.

"Like we need more cars on our tiny stretch of roadways." Her scowl deepened. "And don't call me darlin'. I got over that charming Irish brogue a long time ago." Her gaze went back to the corner of the house. Something like a growl came from her throat. When she looked at him again, her eyes were hard with anger. "Just when exactly did your mission in life become one of making my life a bloody impossible mess? Tourist season just got underway and now you've demolished my house." Thinking to tell her she was overreacting--as a former commando and demolitions expert in the Royal Marines he damned well knew how to properly destroy something, and this wasn't anywhere near what he could have done--he opened his mouth to respond.

She forestalled him with a sharp downward slash of one slender hand. "Never mind," she growled. "I already know the answer. It was two years ago, the last time you deigned to grace me with your presence."

Even with the deep frown on her face, Pelicia was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "You'd damned well better have insurance, because I can't afford to fix this." She gestured toward the corner of the granite house where several large blocks were clearly askew. "Even with an occasional guest, it's been a hard off-season, as usual."

"It's not like I did it on purpose," he responded, doing his best to not sound like a teenager making excuses to his mum. Although she certainly was doing a bang-up job of making him feel like he was about fourteen again.

He pushed open the car door. The crumpled metal protested with a loud grinding groan, and he had to exert pressure to get it all the way open. He climbed out from behind the wheel. "Besides, you know I'm not anythin' if not responsible."

Her lips twisted. "Ah. Right. How could I forget? The great Declan O'Connell, commando extraordinaire, responsible for eradicating villains from the world one innocent at a time."

Declan gritted his teeth at her sarcasm. Forget fourteen years old. Try five. Though as unfair as her words were, he couldn't fault her for her feelings.

Two years ago, the firm he'd worked for at the time had sent him to London to assist with an investigation into an international document-forging organization--primarily because of his friendship with Pelicia and his knowledge of the Isles of Scilly. In the course of his investigation, he'd been instrumental in getting her arrested. Even though she'd been cleared of all involvement, in the end she'd lost her job and her reputation had suffered. She'd returned to St. Mary's to take over this bed and breakfast after her grandfather--the real talent behind the forgery ring--had been sent to prison.

"Listen, Pel--"

"Oh, forget it." She sighed and crossed her arms.

She looked so fragile and defenseless that he had to fight to keep from pulling her into a comforting embrace. He knew the second he did he'd have a snarling wildcat on his hands that would quickly dissuade him from thinking she was either fragile or defenseless.

Copyright 2009 Sherrill Quinn. All Rights Reserved.


Seducing the Moon - available now for pre-order at Amazon.com, Borders and Books-A-Million!

Happy New Year! Do You Dare...?

TODAY'S THE DAY!!

My first Brava book is available and waiting for you! Yay!!!


It takes a lot to ruffle Taite Gibson, investigator with the Pima County Attorney's Office. But the enormous, snarling werewolf that's stalking her through the streets of Tucson? Yeah, that oughta do it. Those terrifying attacks convince Taite to seek out Ryder Merrick, a reclusive British horror writer reputed to know everything about werewolves, including how to kill them. Turns out he also knows how to leave her shaking with desire...

On his remote private island, Ryder can live safely with the beast inside him, unable to harm others or himself. Then Taite arrives, her lush, sweet scent and gorgeous curves tempting him to give in to every wicked hunger. And as a full moon rises, the only way to keep Taite safe from the evil that's followed her here is to convince her to trust in an attraction that's deeply dangerous, and wilder than she ever guessed....

~ * ~

Something thumped against the front door. Ryder grinned at the picture in his mind of Taite slamming her balled-up fist against the unforgiving wood. Another thump and a pithy comment. Then more thumping.

Cobb’s footsteps sounded in the foyer and the front door squeaked open. “Yes?” his employee asked in a bored, unwelcoming tone.

“Hi.” Taite’s voice was bright and friendly in direct contrast to the dark comments muttered at his door mere moments before. “My name’s Taite Gibson. I’m here with Declan—”

“Mr. Merrick is not at home to visitors, miss, which I believe he made very clear to Mr. O’Connell when he called.” The door squeaked again and Ryder knew Cobb was about to close it in the woman’s face.

He sighed at Cobb’s stubborn insistence on maintaining their privacy, even after Ryder had told him not to. When he heard a thud, he cracked open the door of the study to see Taite standing with one hand planted palm-down on the front door.

“Wait a minute. Please,” she said, her smile still in place. “We’ve traveled all day.”

“I’m sorry, miss. But if you leave now you’ll reach St. Mary’s before dark. It’s not convenient for Mr. Merrick to have visitors at this time.” Cobb’s voice was cool and polite, but Ryder heard the underlying thread of steel. The little man didn’t look like it, but he was quite the watchdog.

Even now, he chose to disobey Ryder’s instructions in an effort to protect him. Cobb went on, “As I have said, Mr. Merrick is not available.”

“But we’ve come all the way from the United States to talk to—”

Without a word or even a change of expression, the short, balding man closed the door. Ryder fully opened the study door and leaned one shoulder against the sturdy frame.

When Cobb turned, he caught sight of Ryder standing in the doorway of the study. At Ryder’s raised eyebrow, Cobb said, “This isn’t a good time, you said so yourself.”

“I also said they’d have to at least stay the night. The sun will be fully set in another hour—I don’t want them trying to get back to St. Mary’s in the dark.” Ryder knew he was making a complete reversal in what he’d said earlier.

He wasn’t sure why but, even knowing he couldn’t have her, he needed to meet this woman. Nodding toward the front door, he said, “We’ll just have to be sure the basement door stays locked at all times to avoid awkward questions. Let her in.”

The older man sighed and turned back to the door. Pursing his lips, he swung open the door and stepped back as Taite’s raised fist nearly caught him on the nose. “Come in, miss,” he said in a long-suffering tone. He waited until she’d picked up her suitcases and walked into the house, then he went out and collected the other two suitcases Declan had left on the small portico.

Coming back inside, Cobb set the suitcases down and closed the door, shutting out the cool November wind.

Ryder could see the flecks of gold in her dark eyes, could smell her beguiling scent so much more clearly. Her lips were slightly parted, showing small, white teeth, and he clenched his fists against the desire that slammed into him with the force of a gale.

God, she was lovely. Why couldn’t the person with Declan have been a man? He wouldn’t have been tempted by a man. Oh, his condition would still flare but, without sexual arousal, it would have been…manageable. Throw his hard dick into the mix and he wasn’t so sure he could maintain control.

But as great and as immediate his need of her was, she was off-limits. He didn’t trust himself with her, not with the time of his Change so close. More determined than ever to get her and Declan off the island in the morning, he moved forward.

Daring the Moon - copyright 2009 Sherrill Quinn. All Rights Reserved.

5 Blue Ribbons from Romance Junkies!

"Daring the Moon is Sherrill Quinn’s first novel in a dark and seductive new series, and what a stunning debut it is! From the very compelling first paragraph to the shocking conclusion, Daring the Moon is an exciting new take on the werewolf legend. The best way I can describe the tone of the novel is modern gothic, with a heavy dose of sensuality guaranteed to leave the reader breathless. Author Sherrill Quinn draws the reader in with her lush, descriptive language and intriguing characters. I’m very excited about this new series, and I can assure other lovers of paranormal romance that they will be delighted with Daring the Moon and will definitely want to add it to their keeper shelf."

Full review: http://romancejunkiesreviews.com/artman/publish/paranormal/Daring_the_Moon.shtml



Daring the Moon - available now at a bookstore near you or online at Borders.com, Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble and Books-A-Million!

New Release - DRAGONHEAT

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

DARING THE MOON

Check this out: now available for pre-order at Borders.com and Amazon.com!



Blurb:

It takes a lot to ruffle Taite Gibson, investigator with the Pima County Attorney's Office. But the enormous, snarling werewolf that's stalking her through the streets of Tucson? Yeah, that oughta do it. Those terrifying attacks convince Taite to seek out Ryder Merrick, a reclusive British horror writer reputed to know everything about werewolves, including how to kill them. Turns out he also knows how to leave her shaking with desire...

On his remote private island, Ryder can live safely with the beast inside him, unable to harm others or himself. Then Taite arrives, her lush, sweet scent and gorgeous curves tempting him to give in to every wicked hunger. And as a full moon rises, the only way to keep Taite safe from the evil that's followed her here is to convince her to trust in an attraction that's deeply dangerous, and wilder than she ever guessed....


Excerpt:

Something thumped against the front door. Ryder grinned at the picture in his mind of Taite slamming her balled-up fist against the unforgiving wood. Another thump and a pithy comment. Then more thumping.

Cobb’s footsteps sounded in the foyer and the front door squeaked open. “Yes?” his employee asked in a bored, unwelcoming tone.

“Hi.” Taite’s voice was bright and friendly in direct contrast to the dark comments muttered at his door mere moments before. “My name’s Taite Gibson. I’m here with Declan—”

“Mr. Merrick is not at home to visitors, miss, which I believe he made very clear to Mr. O’Connell when he called.” The door squeaked again and Ryder knew Cobb was about to close it in the woman’s face.

He sighed at Cobb’s stubborn insistence on maintaining their privacy, even after Ryder had told him not to. When he heard a thud, he cracked open the door of the study to see Taite standing with one hand planted palm-down on the front door.

“Wait a minute. Please,” she said, her smile still in place. “We’ve traveled all day.”

“I’m sorry, miss. But if you leave now you’ll reach St. Mary’s before dark. It’s not convenient for Mr. Merrick to have visitors at this time.” Cobb’s voice was cool and polite, but Ryder heard the underlying thread of steel. The little man didn’t look like it, but he was quite the watchdog.

Even now, he chose to disobey Ryder’s instructions in an effort to protect him. Cobb went on, “As I have said, Mr. Merrick is not available.”

“But we’ve come all the way from the United States to talk to—”

Without a word or even a change of expression, the short, balding man closed the door. Ryder fully opened the study door and leaned one shoulder against the sturdy frame.

When Cobb turned, he caught sight of Ryder standing in the doorway of the study. At Ryder’s raised eyebrow, Cobb said, “This isn’t a good time, you said so yourself.”

“I also said they’d have to at least stay the night. The sun will be fully set in another hour—I don’t want them trying to get back to St. Mary’s in the dark.” Ryder knew he was making a complete reversal in what he’d said earlier.

He wasn’t sure why but, even knowing he couldn’t have her, he needed to meet this woman. Nodding toward the front door, he said, “We’ll just have to be sure the basement door stays locked at all times to avoid awkward questions. Let her in.”

The older man sighed and turned back to the door. Pursing his lips, he swung open the door and stepped back as Taite’s raised fist nearly caught him on the nose. “Come in, miss,” he said in a long-suffering tone. He waited until she’d picked up her suitcases and walked into the house, then he went out and collected the other two suitcases Declan had left on the small portico.

Coming back inside, Cobb set the suitcases down and closed the door, shutting out the cool November wind.

Ryder could see the flecks of gold in her dark eyes, could smell her beguiling scent so much more clearly. Her lips were slightly parted, showing small, white teeth, and he clenched his fists against the desire that slammed into him with the force of a gale.

God, she was lovely. Why couldn’t the person with Declan have been a man? He wouldn’t have been tempted by a man. Oh, his condition would still flare but, without sexual arousal, it would have been…manageable. Throw his hard dick into the mix and he wasn’t so sure he could maintain control.

But as great and as immediate his need of her was, she was off-limits. He didn’t trust himself with her, not with the time of his Change so close. More determined than ever to get her and Declan off the island in the morning, he moved forward.

Daring the Moon - copyright 2009 Sherrill Quinn. All Rights Reserved.


Available now for pre-order (w00t!) at Borders.com and Amazon.com!

Release day! WICKED OMEN by Sherrill Quinn

Hello everybody! Sherrill's having computer woes (on a release day, ack!!!) so I get to play on her blog, whee! I'm really excited because her WICKED OMEN is releasing today -- Book 1 in the Dark Pantheon series!

Whose idea was the Dark Pantheon? I can't remember now who started the whole ball rolling, it might have been Sherrill (Sherrill?) But somehow it gestated and grew and became a shared-world vampire series from the Deliciously Naughty Writers -- and the first one is out RIGHT NOW at Ellora's Cave!

WICKED OMEN
by Sherrill Quinn

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

They are children of the gods. Half-immortal, yet never whole. Until they find the one they 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.

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DARK PANTHEON: WICKED OMEN

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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' 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?

~ * ~

Nikolaos pushed back the flap of his war-tent and entered. Inside were accoutrements of life in battle—his bedroll and coarse woolen blankets, a small table and chair for planning strategies, a rock pit for a fire in the evening and a knapsack with extra clothing.

Scowling, he pulled off his helmet and placed it on the table. He removed his red cape, his scowl deepening at the tears in the fabric. Although that was the cloak’s function—to act as a barrier and to hide his wounds and any blood that otherwise might be bared for the enemy to see—for an adversary to get that close… He needed to increase the intensity of his practice sessions.

He sat down on the rickety chair that always surprised him with its ability to withstand his bulk. With a low grunt, he leaned over and unfastened his greaves, straightening to set the bronze shin guards on the table. Then he closed his eyes and rotated his shoulders to ease the tension riding him.

Ares preserve me. He needed a blood thrall, but the uncertain—and often brutal—life of a warrior on the battlefield didn’t lend itself to having a companion who would be left unguarded and vulnerable.

His eyes burned. He could wait until his captain brought him the Helot who’d murdered Deucalios. Then he would replenish the blood he’d lost from wounds sustained during the battle as well as discover whether others were involved in the despicable butchery. In the meantime, he had to get the stench of war cleansed from his body. There was no time or means for a true bath, but he had a bucket of water and cleansing rags. They would have to do.

He stood and shrugged out of his breastplate, hanging it from a nail in the center post. He traced one finger through the drying blood of his friend, then discarded his sandals and the rest of his clothing. He dipped one of the cloths into the water and stroked it over his torso and arms. The tepid temperature of the water helped cool his overheated body, yet there was one part of him that refused to be appeased.

Battle and blood always made him hard, ready for sex.

He wrapped the wet cleansing cloth around his erection and stroked, hard tugs of his hand, uncaring of technique. He had but one goal—relief from the lust that made his flesh ache.

He was just about to ejaculate when a clearing of a throat from outside his tent garnered his attention and stayed his release. He let go of his flagging erection. “Come,” he growled, not bothering to cover his nudity—or his still half-erect cock. He was not the only man in camp in this condition and so whoever entered would not be surprised to see him thus.

Castor ducked between the flaps of the tent, pulling along with him the Helot. The man’s hands were bound behind his back and his feet were fettered with manacles and a short chain. The captain gave the man a push, sending him tumbling to his knees.

“Perhaps this kunarion can provide you some relief, Lord General.” Castor’s gaze flicked down to Nikolaos’ erection, his dark eyes flaring with unmistakable interest. It wouldn’t be the first time the captain had satisfied Nikolaos’ lust-ridden body after a heated skirmish. Castor had dispensed with his helmet. His dark hair was wet, his face, hands and arms cleansed of the blood that had streaked his skin. Clearly, he’d taken the time to bathe some of the stench of battle from his body as well.

“Not in a thousand lifetimes,” Nikolaos muttered. He inhaled, taking in the scent of the defeated man’s fear, and the blood lust hammered at him. “But he can provide relief of another sort.”

“Do what you will to me. It cannot be worse than a life of slavery.” The Helot met Nikolaos’ gaze briefly, then his eyelids dropped and he stared at the ground.

“You think not?” Nikolaos took his time studying the man, allowing the fear to escalate. Soon the overriding energy from the strong emotion zinged through Nikolaos’ veins, heightening his arousal so that his rod rose toward his belly. He took the few steps necessary to stand directly in front of the enemy. “Accept your place in life. You are no longer a free man. You will never again be a free man.”

The man’s jaw flexed, but he remained silent.

Nikolaos could no longer ignore his need for blood. “Have you ever been the blood thrall of an Aresian? No, of course you haven’t.” He answered his own question. “Else you’d know there are worse things than death.”

Copyright 2008 Sherrill Quinn. All Rights Reserved.


Wicked Omen, book one in the Dark Pantheon series - available July 11th at Ellora's Cave!

New Release - JEWEL OF APTHGAR

Today's a double post day.


First, my erotic fantasy romance Quickie, Jewel of Apthgar, releases today at Ellora's Cave!


Rahziya Sanura, princess of Gar, and Callum Hefeydd, prince of Apth--two people in love but separated by feuding kingdoms. Their one hope for unification--both for themselves and their countries--is the legendary Jewel of Apthgar, a 6-inch long amethyst said to have come from the great god Apthgar's sword. Sent by their respective fathers to retrieve the gem, they must first defeat the dragon guarding it.

Will the Jewel provide the means for them to be together, or will it drive them apart?

~ * ~

Rahziya stared at her father and tried unsuccessfully to tamp down the rising anticipation that tightened her stomach and made her heart thump faster. Her father… Was he finally taking an interest in her? Seeing her as a person of value rather than the infant who killed his beloved wife in childbirth?

“My scouts believe they have located the Jewel of Apthgar,” he went on, releasing her elbow and continuing on to his throne. With a flourish, he swept his crimson robe out of the way and sat down. “In order to be a strong leader, all Garan heirs to the throne must perform a feat of great bravery before they may rule. As my only heir—” His jaw tightened and she saw the familiar disappointment in his eyes. She tried not to react to it, though it hurt, as always.

Her father cleared his throat. “As my only heir, I want you to retrieve the Jewel. It will do much to solidify your reputation as a worthy successor in the eyes of the citizenry.”

Rahziya’s eyes went wide. The Jewel of Apthgar! An artifact treasured most highly by the Garans, as well as their political enemies, the people of the Kingdom of Apth. Said to be an amethyst taken from the hilt of the great god Apthgar’s mighty sword, it was purported to have been used in unifying ceremonies exclusive to the nobility.

That was the story, anyway. The Jewel had been lost for four hundred years. No one knew what it looked like—at least, if they did, no one had ever told her. But it was said to be around six mahtongs long, roughly two-thirds the length of her forearm, and carved from one solid piece of amethyst.

“If we know where it is,” her father said, standing to pace in a circle in front of his throne, “then you can be sure that that bastard knows as well.”

That bastard—meaning the king of Apth. The father of Prince Callum.

Callum, the one man she was forbidden to have. The animosity their fathers felt toward each other was based solely upon the centuries-old feud between the two families that had divided Apthgar’s kingdom to begin with. If she and Callum were anything other than politely apathetic toward each other in public, it could plunge the two countries into war.

But because the Jewel was the one thing both peoples would rally behind, it was the one thing that would bind the two kingdoms together once again. And, too drunk on power and prestige, that was the one thing neither ruler wanted.

She did. And she knew Callum did. Perhaps peace would come with their generation.

“Are you listening to me?” The king strode to her and shook her shoulder. “I don’t want that bastard getting his hands on it. Idiot can’t even measure things right,” he muttered. His brows knotted as he went on about what he considered to be the useless intricacies of the Apthian system of measurement. An argument she’d heard since she was little as to why merging the two kingdoms would be impossible. His hand tightened on her shoulder, his grip bordering on pain. “Gods above. Not only did I not get a son, I ended up with a girl who’s always off in la-la land.”

Rahziya clenched her jaw against a tart rejoinder. This was her father, her only parent, and he was the king. He deserved her respect.

She despaired of ever receiving the same in return.

“Where is the Jewel?” she asked, easing away from his hold.

His gaze slid away from hers. He turned his back and walked toward his throne.

Her heart dropped into her stomach. That her father, usually so blunt and no-holds-barred in his approach to people—especially her—would instead be reluctant to impart information did not bode well for her.

Not looking at her, he gruffly cleared his throat. “It’s in Dearthrealm.”

Dearthrealm. Where the dragons lived.

“Protected by a fearsome wyvern that carries poison in the barb of its tail.”

She stared at him. “Well, you’re just full of good news, aren’t you?” she muttered under her breath. Of all the species of dragons, wyverns were the fiercest, protective of their entire territory, not just their hoards. One strike from that barbed tail brought about a horrible death, the victim transformed to liquid from the inside out.

Her father turned to face her, his brows drawn down. “What was that?”

Rahziya took a deep breath. “You want me to face this creature alone?”

“Don’t be daft.” He sat down on his throne. His face suggested he’d about used up his quota of patience with her. “You’ll be accompanied by a full complement of royal guardsmen.” He leaned to one side, resting his elbow on the padded arm of the oversized chair. “You surely aren’t afraid of this task I’m setting before you, are you, Ziya? After all, you’ve been telling me since you were a youngling that you’re as good as any son I might have had.”

Of everything she’d said to him over the years—most of which he’d ignored—trust him to remember that.

Copyright 2008 Sherrill Quinn. All Rights Reserved.


Jewel of Apthgar - available at Ellora's Cave.


Second, if you're here looking for Installment #21 of Faery Kisses, scroll on down.

JEWEL OF APTHGAR

Release Date: February 13, 2008
ISBN: 9781419915604
Publisher: Ellora's Cave

Rahziya Sanura, princess of Gar, and Callum Hefeydd, prince of Apth--two people in love but separated by feuding kingdoms. Their one hope for unification--both for themselves and their countries--is the legendary Jewel of Apthgar, a 6-inch long amethyst said to have come from the great god Apthgar's sword. Sent by their respective fathers to retrieve the gem, they locate it but only after they defeat the dragon guarding it. Will the Jewel provide the means for them to be together, or will it drive them apart?


WARNING: The following excerpt is ADULT rated--not child or work safe!


Princess Rahziya Sanura, heir to the Garan throne, stood as witness to the latest marriage ceremony between two noble houses and tightened her lips at the unfairness of it all. Why could a duke of Gar and a countess of Apth get married, yet her father continued to forbid her to have anything to do with Prince Callum?

She smoothed her elegant gown over her hips and glanced over the heads of the bride and groom to the Apthian delegation. Her gaze met Callum Hefeydd's and, as always, her pulse zoomed at the look of banked desire in those gray-green eyes. If it weren't for her father's--and, admittedly, Callum's parents as well--continued resistance to a reunification of the kingdoms, this could be her and Callum declaring their love publicly.

"With the vows spoken and approval given by these witnesses, there is but one more stage to complete." The magi took the hands of the nude bride and groom and joined them, keeping his on top of them. His solemn gaze went first to the couple, then to the assembled guests. "One of the joys of being a magi to the people is the task of conducting unification ceremonies such as these. To be used by the great god Apthgar to bless these young people's union is both a privilege and an honor."

Knowing what was coming, Rahziya swallowed and tried to calm her breathing. She always became so aroused at these ceremonies, and with Callum standing just on the other side of the small circle, this particular union would be unbearable to witness.

The magi unfastened a few of the loops holding his robe together, then shrugged the purple and blue garment off his shoulders. The clothing pooled around his feet, leaving him as naked as the bride and groom. At his nod, the couple knelt at his feet. First the bride kissed the magi's penis, then the groom. Accepting a cup from a nearby neophyte, the magi drank the contents. Immediately his cock began to engorge, becoming erect in a matter of a few seconds.

"I humbly offer myself in the place of our god, sanctifying this union and offering myself in place of the Jewel of Apthgar." The magi took a step back. The bride and groom stretched out on a large pad at his feet.

The dark-haired groom pressed a soft, lingering kiss against his bride's lips then trailed his mouth down her neck to her breasts. He began suckling her, moving from one rigid tip to the other, and stroked one hand between her thighs.

The woman moaned and bent her legs, her knees falling apart to open herself more fully. She brought her hands up to the man's head and clasped him to her breast.

As the groom began thrusting his fingers into the bride's pussy, his thumb rotating against her swollen clit, Rahziya drew in a sharp breath. She clenched her thighs together to try to stem her own rising arousal. She took her gaze off the couple and looked up to find Callum's heated stare on her.

His face was impassive but for the banked fire in his eyes. From her peripheral vision she could see the bride and groom repositioning themselves, the groom going to his back with the bride straddling him, taking his hard length into her sheath.

Rahziya couldn't break her gaze away from Callum. The gasping cries and moans of the wedding couple only heightened her own frustrated desire for the enemy prince. The man she loved.

The man she could never have.

Jewel of Apthgar - available February 13, 2008 at Ellora's Cave

ToThe Victor Go The Spoils

To The Victor Go The Spoils - Coming November 30th to Ellora's Cave:


Devon Maertissa is on the run. Her abbreviated time as a resistance fighter resulted in a botched hijacking of an arms shipment in which the arms dealer died. Unjustly accused of being the direct cause of his death, she takes a chance to attend her sister's wedding, even knowing bounty hunters are after her. The one man she's most concerned about is a cyborg named Bane Carradoc.

Bane's determined to do his job and bring in another fugitive. He's not prepared for Devon. The longer he's with her, the more he begins to believe she may not be guilty of the charges. When another bounty hunter shows up, Bane has to save her and then make a decision.

Does he complete the mission as he always has? Or does he let his conscience be his guide? And...what then?

~ * ~

Breathing a sigh of relief, Devon turned the corner and picked up her pace. She couldn't get caught. Not by Bane, not by any bounty hunter. She'd heard the stories of what happened to prisoners at the hands of the Elysian Federation.

As much as she despised the local resistance leader, she wouldn't betray him. The colonists on the outer fringe deserved protection and Wilder and his band of merry men was it.

Her skin prickled with awareness. As she started to turn to look behind her, a big hand grabbed her upper arm. The hard clasp drew her up onto her toes for a moment.

"Just keep going." The voice was deep, well-suited to the tall, broad-shouldered man walking by her side. His gaze met hers and she sucked in a breath.

Bane.

Draped from head to toe in unforgiving black, he looked stiff and unyielding.

Without thinking, she twisted around and rammed her foot as hard as she could into the juncture of his thick thighs.

He bent with a groan, letting go of her to cup his abused genitals.

Devon didn't wait around. She sprinted down the corridor, her heavy shoes clumping on the metal floor.

A deep roar echoed after her, then the pounding of heavy boots.

Gasping for breath, she ran into the passenger transport area. She pushed her way through the crowd, her lungs heaving so hard it hurt. Her body cold with fear, she kept moving. She had to get away. Had to! She couldn't be taken prisoner.

Voices behind her cried out and she turned to see Bane striding after her, dark fury on his face. Without regard, he pushed his way through the crowd. Those who had time jumped out of his way to keep from being knocked roughly aside.

Gogogo! She spun on her heel and ran toward the far end of the platform. She heard the grunts of people behind her and knew Bane was close. As she went into a crouch to jump down into the open area where the shuttles docked, thinking to duck into one of the maintenance hatches, his hand closed over the collar of her jacket and yanked her back.

"Don't think so, li'l chickie." He wrapped a brawny arm around her neck, locking her against him. The heat from his large body seeped into her, warming her fear-chilled skin.

He crowded her up against the wall and turned her to face him, bracketing her with forearms braced beside her. Using his greater height to try to intimidate her, he leaned over so close she went cross-eyed looking at the pores on his nose.

Devon cast her gaze about, desperate to make eye contact with someone who might be willing to help her. But people kept their eyes averted, careful not to draw the big man's attention. She finally looked back at his face.

Deep, dark eyes stared down at her from beneath thick, black eyebrows. As she gazed up into his face, the pupil of his right eye dilated. She realized the cybernetic implant he had was scanning her. For what, she didn't know.

At any other time, this was a man she could very well be attracted to. His face was too rugged to be classified as handsome, but it suited her aesthetic sensibilities. It was a face that was purely masculine with its narrow blade of a nose and sensual lips, lips that were now held in a tight, grim line.

A muscle by his eye twitched, making the jagged scar dance. "You're a slippery one," he rumbled. "And don't think you're not gonna pay for that kick in the balls back there."

"Give me a break," she muttered, forcing bravado she didn't feel. Her pulse thudded in her throat, and she fought the urge to reach up and hide the throbbing vein with her finger. Even though she was scared--she didn't want to be taken in to face charges of treason that carried a death sentence--her body betrayed her by responding to his nearness. Her nipples tingled, the areolas puckered as if she were cold and a hot slick of cream slid from her core. She forced her burgeoning arousal back. "Like you wouldn't have done the same thing."

"Yeah, but then it wouldn't have been me on the receiving end of that fucking thick shoe." He drew away enough to look down at her feet. One brow quirked. "Nice touch, by the way." His nostrils flared as if he was smelling her and that brow went higher, though he didn't say anything.

Devon kept quiet as well. Her gaze strayed behind him to the crowd of people still studiously avoiding them. No help there.

"Might as well give it up, chickie." He brought one hand to her face and stroked long fingers slowly down her cheek. "I've gotcha, fair and square."

Copyright 2007 Sherrill Quinn. All Rights Reserved.


To The Victor Go The Spoils - coming Friday November 23, 2007 to Ellora's Cave!

Excerpt - The The Victor Go The Spoils

Available on November 23rd at Ellora's Cave:


Devon Maertissa is on the run. Her abbreviated time as a resistance fighter resulted in a botched hijacking of an arms shipment in which the arms dealer died. Unjustly accused of being the direct cause of his death, she takes a chance to attend her sister's wedding, even knowing bounty hunters are after her. The one man she's most concerned about is a cyborg named Bane Carradoc.

Bane's determined to do his job and bring in another fugitive. He's not prepared for Devon . The longer he's with her, the more he begins to believe she may not be guilty of the charges. When another bounty hunter shows up, Bane has to save her and then make a decision.

Does he complete the mission as he always has? Or does he let his conscience be his guide? And...what then?

~ * ~

Bane Carradoc leaned one shoulder against a corner column at the rear of the small chapel on the K4 Space Station. Hidden from most of the guests--they'd have to look over their shoulders to see him--his vantage point enabled him to view the entire room. He crossed his arms and rested the toe of one of his shit-kickers on the floor. As he stared around the chapel, a scowl covered his face. The ceiling had been draped in light blue material, strands of flowers curled along the walls, and the sound of chirping birds filled the little room.

Much too fru-fru for him. Give him the plain gray metal walls of his ship any day.

With a soft snort, he shook his head and looked out over the crowd. Approximately forty people--an eclectic gathering of humans and aliens--were seated in straight-backed chairs. Two Regalians with their tufts of feathers towered above the group while a lone Marchan stood directly opposite Bane. The Marchan's reptilian eyes met Bane's, and the lizard-man brought two clawed fingers to his temple in a haphazard salute.

One bounty hunter acknowledging another.

Bane held the other creature's gaze for another moment or two, then continued his perusal of the crowd. He hoped the fugitive didn't get snagged by the Marchan--the lizards weren't known for their mercy.

Movement to his right caught his attention. An elderly woman hobbled into the small room on the arm of one of the groomsmen. As the young man led her to a seat in the last row on the groom's side, she patted his arm and brought a lacy pink handkerchief to her eyes and dabbed. Then she slowly lowered herself onto her chair, holding onto the young man's arm until she was all the way down.

The groomsman glanced at the front, where the groom stood off to the side, waiting for the ceremony to begin. A look passed between the two, and the groom gave a brief nod. The groomsman turned and pulled the chapel doors closed and then walked up front. The two men took their places as the small orchestra began playing the bridal march.

Bane scowled. What was it with spring and weddings? As far as he was concerned, June was just another month. Nothing more or less romantic about it than any other month of the year.

Activating the computer implant in his prosthetic eye, he scanned the assembled guests, the wedding party, and the small orchestra. His implant read body temperatures, heart rates and other physiological reactions of the various people gathered for the wedding. Although no one appeared overly anxious or nervous--well, except for the groom, and he knew the groom wasn't the person he sought--it was only a matter of time before Bane narrowed in on his quarry.

Nearly eight years as a bounty hunter had honed his senses, and the addition of his cybernetic implant enhanced his own natural abilities. The fugitive was here, he knew it. His senses were on high alert. He'd learned the hard way to listen to his gut.

And his gut told him he was close. After two solid months of following leads, talking to what seemed like every low-life scum in the galaxy, he was damned close. So close and yet his quarry continued to elude his grasp. He was starting to get a little irritated, especially after he just missed the renegade at Darva Station two days ago. If he'd only been five minutes earlier…

Hell. No use crying over spilled whiskey. This time, the damned resistance fighter wouldn't get away. If Bane had to wade through every single wedding guest, he'd get his man.

Or, in this case, his woman.

Copyright ©2007 Sherrill Quinn. All Rights Reserved.


To the Victor Go the Spoils - available November 23rd at Ellora's Cave

New Cover - It Takes A Thief Or Two

Coming December 9th to Amber Heat:


Brock and Nick Phillips are security experts with a problem: their bond as twins enables them to feel what the other feels, even physical sensations. They've always known they'd have to share the same woman, and the woman they want is Jessica Norton. Jessica has wanted both men for years, but doesn't think she can have both of them. When her grandmother arranges to have the men come to the house to set them up with a new security system, the men seize the opportunity to convince Jessie she's wrong. She can have both of them and, if they're lucky, they'll steal her heart. Add an encouraging grandma and the approving ghost of her grandfather, and luck just might be on their side.

~ * ~

“We finally got our ‘in’ with Jessie.” Brockton Phillips walked into his brother’s office and plopped into the worn leather chair across from Nick’s desk. “Old lady Norton wants us to check out her place.”

His twin let out a low whistle. “I’ve always wanted to get inside that old Victorian.” White teeth flashed in a wide grin. “The house, I mean.”

“Hmm. They say it’s haunted by old man Norton.” Brock shrugged. “I don’t care. I just want to get inside Jessie.” He slung one leg over the arm of the chair and slouched into the plump depths. “I know she’s interested, but something keeps holding her back. I think maybe it’s my record.” His gut twisted with regret over stupid things he’d done as a kid, things he couldn’t undo now. Things he was afraid she wouldn’t forgive.

“She can’t hold against you stuff that you did when you were fifteen.” Nick leaned his elbows on his desk. “That was twenty years ago.”

Brock rubbed a finger over the two-inch scar on the underside of his chin. “Yeah, well, I was pretty wild then.” He met his brother’s gaze. “You know she grew up with an abusive father—that’s why she came to live with her grandparents when she was twelve. Now that she’s back in town…” He shrugged, trying to be nonchalant and seeing from Nick’s expression that he wasn’t pulling it off. “She probably doesn’t want to take a chance with me.” He motioned to the scar. “How many other men do you suppose she knows who have scars from a knife fight?”

Nick frowned. “But you haven’t been in trouble since you were a kid. And even then you weren’t beating up girls, just rival gang members. Jessie should know you’d never hurt her.” Nick lifted one dark brow. “She should know I wouldn’t let you.”

Brock shot him a grim smile. He and Nick had had their fair share of skirmishes over the years, and almost always it had pretty much come to a draw. They were evenly matched, and they both knew it.

Nick’s gaze darkened, and Brock knew he was thinking about the woman they’d both wanted for years. “Besides, I was a good kid,” Nick said. “Why is she fighting me?”

“Maybe you scare her,” Brock murmured. “You can be pretty intense at times, you know.”

Nick’s brows shot up. “I can be intense? You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re the definition of intensity, especially once you’ve decided you want something. It’s like trying to steal a gazelle from a lion.” He leaned back in his chair. “Good thing you don’t mind sharing with me.”

“Some things I don’t mind sharing. And it’s not like we have much of a choice.” At the thought of what the two of them would like to do with sweet Jessica Norton, his cock thickened, elongating against his thigh.

“Cut it out,” Nick muttered, shifting in his seat.

With the bond the two of them shared—one that went far beyond that of normal siblings—Brock knew he was broadcasting his lust to his twin. It happened whenever either of them experienced strong emotions. But he was helpless to stop it. Ever since Jessica had returned to town five years ago, he’d wanted her.

Hard.

Fast.

But she was skittish, and he’d had to practice restraint, a quality he wasn’t particularly known for. But with her he’d settled down with a patience that was surprising—especially to him.

And now he thought they might be able to move forward. She’d be more comfortable in familiar surroundings, and her grandmother liked them. God knew why, but she did. She’d even dropped a few not so subtle hints about her granddaughter’s lamentable single status. So surely she’d put in a good word or two.

Not that she had any idea that both men planned on being with Jessica. Through trial and error they’d discovered a long time ago that each of them being with different women didn’t work. Brock remembered the last time Nick went on a date alone. Brock had been at a meeting with his college counselor when the distinct feeling of fingers fondling his dick had broken his concentration. He’d realized immediately that Nick was with a girl and his twin’s experience was being broadcast to Brock. Five excruciating minutes later, when Nick had blown his load, Brock had, too.

Thank God the counselor had moved out of town the next year. He didn’t think the old man would ever recover from seeing one of his students have an orgasm without anyone touching him.

That had been ten years ago. Since then, any woman who set her eyes on him had to accept his brother as well. Sometimes she was intrigued, sometimes not.

But eventually the woman would decide she wanted only one of them, and the relationship ended.

“So,” Nick said, breaking into Brock’s memories. His twin cleared his throat. “When do we meet with Mrs. Norton and her lovely granddaughter? And how do you want to handle it?”

“Let’s handle it the same way we would with any other client. Otherwise Jessie will be suspicious.” As he dragged his thoughts back to business, Brock felt his erection begin to subside. “We’ll go out and have the preliminary meeting with Mrs. Norton and Jessie, find out what current security measures they have in place. Then I’ll test those measures and see just how good they are.” He stood and thrust his fingers into the back pockets of his jeans. “She wants us to come over tomorrow.”

Nick’s smile was slow and held the same anticipation that coursed through Brock.

One more day. Their wait was just about over.

Jessica Norton’s time was running out. She was about to be claimed

Copyright ©2007 Sherrill Quinn. All Rights Reserved.

Release Day - Demon of Her Dreams

Available today!!

Urian Vakidis settled into a seat in the back and watched as beings of every description filed into the room. This was the meeting of the Brotherhood where the assignments would be handed out--he hoped someone would make mention of the top dog who was doing the handing. After all, that was what he was here to discover.

He straightened his legs, crossing his ankles under the row in front of him, and stretched his arms across the backs of the chairs on either side of him. Maintaining an air of nonchalance, he gazed out over the crowded meeting room, making mental notes of which divisions of Sassy Devils were represented.

There were two werewolves over in a corner eyeing a leprechaun, who edged away from them nervously. A hairy, grayish-green chupacabra sat a few seats away from the wolves, chewing on what looked like a rib bone. Urian peered a little closer… Yep. Rib bone. Probably from some homeless guy no one would miss.

At the front of the room, just taking her seat, was a harpy, wearing some sort of diaphanous purple thing that barely covered…anything. When a sasquatch leaned toward her, a leer on its face, she snarled, showing two-inch canines. To drive home her point, she curled her claws toward the Bigfoot, showing off nails as sharp and pointed as ice picks. The sasquatch backed off and, after fluffing her feathers a bit, the harpy settled into her seat.

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Urian glanced toward the right. Just coming into the room was a violet-haired pixie trailing glittering faerie dust in her wake. Her skin had that translucent quality many of the older faes had, indicating this one had probably been around a very long time, indeed.

A lone vampire sat three chairs down and, as if feeling Urian's gaze on him, he turned his head.

Urian tilted his chin in greeting and looked away. Vampires were ordinarily solitary creatures, and for one of them to be a member of the Brotherhood--mingling with all these other beings--meant he had some major anger issues.

Issues Urian didn't have time to get tangled up with. All he wanted to do was prove to his father he could carry out this assignment successfully so he could go back to his real job as a sex demon.

There was nothing like it--easing into women's dreams, arousing them, feeding on that arousal. The psychic energy generated from sex was spectacular and he missed it. With one woman in particular.

Hailey. He remembered her clearly--sea blue eyes, high cheekbones and a dimple in her chin, all framed by short, dark hair. She'd been a sophomore in college when he'd first visited her dreams and he'd watched her grow into a lovely young woman over the years.

Damn, but he wanted to be back in her dreams, bringing her to a fever pitch, drawing out her arousal until she begged him to take her. It had been months. When he had allegedly defected to the Brotherhood, he'd heard that someone else had been assigned to her, a nightmare that had begun to terrorize her.

As soon as he'd heard it, he'd wondered if the nightmare was secretly working for the Brotherhood. Like vampires, nightmares were beings that preferred to be left alone, but could prove to be valuable allies. Or formidable enemies.

And so here he was, sitting on this damned uncomfortable chair like a bump on an ogre's nose, playing at being a spy.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he tried to unobtrusively ease the numbness out of his ass. A muscle flexed in his jaw. Lucifer was just trying to get back at him for his continued refusal to take on management responsibilities. The old devil just wouldn't accept that Urian liked his job. He had no desire to sit behind a desk.

He needed to be out in the field. Back in Hailey's dreams.

Get the job done and you're there, he reminded himself. Just get the fucking job done.

His gaze roamed over a group standing near the doorway. He raised his eyebrows as he realized one of them was a guardian angel. Well, he supposed the being was a former guardian angel, since he was part of this disenfranchised group of misfits.

Urian shook his head. When he'd woken up this morning, he sure didn't think he'd be in a room later on where a goody-two-shoes angel talked amiably with a satyr.

Copyright ©2007 Sherrill Quinn. All Rights Reserved.


Demon of Her Dreams - available today at Ellora's Cave!

Demon of Her Dreams

Here's my newest cover from Ellora's Cave, for my October 24th release:



Isn't it gorgeous?!?

Book 1 in the Sassy Devils series:

Urian Vakidis loves his job. Not many demons get to make their living--and gain their strength--by invoking sex dreams in women. Well, there were quite a few incubus around, but with all the other demons, relatively speaking he was in a minority. One woman in particular has touched him in ways he'd never dreamed--Hailey Kovac.

But she's off limits. Until she's made a target by the Brotherhood of the Red Claw. It's up to Urian to protect her and find out who's behind the Brotherhood. Because if the delicate balance of good versus evil is upset, chaos would reign. With a little help from his father, the Prince of Darkness himself, he might just be able to save the day.

~ * ~
Urian Vakidis settled into a seat in the back and watched as beings of every description filed into the room. This was the meeting of the Brotherhood where the assignments would be handed out--he hoped someone would make mention of the top dog who was doing the handing. After all, that was what he was here to discover.

He straightened his legs, crossing his ankles under the row in front of him, and stretched his arms across the backs of the chairs on either side of him. Maintaining an air of nonchalance, he gazed out over the crowded meeting room, making mental notes of which divisions of Sassy Devils were represented.

There were two werewolves over in a corner eyeing a leprechaun, who edged away from them nervously. A hairy, grayish-green chupacabra sat a few seats away from the wolves, chewing on what looked like a rib bone. Urian peered a little closer... Yep. Rib bone. Probably from some homeless guy no one would miss.

At the front of the room, just taking her seat, was a harpy, wearing some sort of diaphanous purple thing that barely covered…anything. When a sasquatch leaned toward her, a leer on its face, she snarled, showing two-inch canines. To drive home her point, she curled her claws toward the Bigfoot, showing off nails as sharp and pointed as ice picks. The sasquatch backed off and, after fluffing her feathers a bit, the harpy settled into her seat.

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Urian glanced toward the right. Just coming into the room was a violet-haired pixie trailing glittering faerie dust in her wake. Her skin had that translucent quality many of the older faes had, indicating this one had probably been around a very long time, indeed.

A lone vampire sat three chairs down and, as if feeling Urian's gaze on him, he turned his head.

Urian tilted his chin in greeting and looked away. Vampires were ordinarily solitary creatures, and for one of them to be a member of the Brotherhood--mingling with all these other beings--meant he had some major anger issues.

Issues Urian didn't have time to get tangled up with. All he wanted to do was prove to his father he could carry out this assignment successfully so he could go back to his real job as a sex demon.

There was nothing like it--easing into women's dreams, arousing them, feeding on that arousal. The psychic energy generated from sex was spectacular and he missed it. With one woman in particular.

Hailey. He remembered her clearly--sea blue eyes, high cheekbones and a dimple in her chin, all framed by short, dark hair. She'd been a sophomore in college when he'd first visited her dreams and he'd watched her grow into a lovely young woman over the years.

Damn, but he wanted to be back in her dreams, bringing her to a fever pitch, drawing out her arousal until she begged him to take her. It had been months. When he had allegedly defected to the Brotherhood, he'd heard that someone else had been assigned to her, a nightmare that had begun to terrorize her.

As soon as he'd heard it, he'd wondered if the nightmare was secretly working for the Brotherhood. Like vampires, nightmares were beings that preferred to be left alone, but could prove to be valuable allies. Or formidable enemies.

And so here he was, sitting on this damned uncomfortable chair like a bump on an ogre's nose, playing at being a spy.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he tried to unobtrusively ease the numbness out of his ass. A muscle flexed in his jaw. Lucifer was just trying to get back at him for his continued refusal to take on management responsibilities. The old devil just wouldn't accept that Urian liked his job. He had no desire to sit behind a desk.

He needed to be out in the field. Back in Hailey's dreams.

Get the job done and you're there, he reminded himself. Just get the fucking job done.

His gaze roamed over a group standing near the doorway. He raised his eyebrows as he realized one of them was a guardian angel. Well, he supposed the being was a former guardian angel, since he was part of this disenfranchised group of misfits.

Urian shook his head. When he'd woken up this morning, he sure didn't think he'd be in a room later on where a goody-two-shoes angel talked amiably with a satyr.

Nearly every subdivision in the Other realm was represented. This just might be worse than they'd thought--and they'd thought it was plenty bad.

Copyright ©2007 Sherrill Quinn. All Rights Reserved.

Excerpt From SEASONS OF SEDUCTION VOLUME 1

Gaelen Brecca and Leax Ilan are sent to retrieve their leader's errant bride. The princess becomes stubborn, plus they're attacked by enemy Raiders, and so end up taking Earth woman Madison Marquette along as well. The two men are enchanted by her beauty, her bravery, and her wit. She might just be the woman these bond-brothers need to complete their triad.

Madison has lived an adventurous life--vicariously through the wild tales of her best friend, tales that Madison has turned into sci-fi romance novels. Grabbing onto the opportunity to truly have an adventure, she is stunned to find lust and love as well. She must overcome her natural tendency to look for safety and make a life for herself with her two alien lovers. Can they secure her sensual surrender?

~ * ~

Through the wide view screen at the front of the ship’s bridge, Gaelen Brecca stared at the planet his space vessel currently orbited. “I’ll teleport down, grab the woman, and we’ll be out of here before anyone knows what happened. Stay out of range of their satellites, Chardon. And be ready,” he cautioned his communications officer, who also manned the teleportation controls.

“There have been reports of Raiders in this area, and you know how much they’d love to get their hands on a royal princess. The ransom they’d get for her would fund their weapons deals for years.”

“I’ll be on guard, my lord.” The blond man didn’t look up from his control panel. “Sensors indicate there is another woman with Supreme Lord Travven’s betrothed. You may want to take a pacifier, sir.”

“Thank you, Chardon.” Gaelen moved into the maglift. “Have Commander Ilan meet me at the teleport pad.”

The maglift whisked Gaelen to deck fifteen, where he stopped at the med bay to pick up a tranquilizer pistol. He snorted as he remembered what Chardon had called it. A pacifier.

Doctor Braden Tabari stepped out of his small office. “What can I do for you, my lord?”

Gaelen scowled. “With every last person on this ship ‘my lording’ me, Bray, I’d hoped I wouldn’t hear it from you, too.”

“You are now the First Province of Drace, my lord,” the doctor replied, seemingly unperturbed by his captain’s burst of ill temper. By the mischief sparking in his dark eyes, Tabari actually seemed to be enjoying it. “It would be inappropriate for us to address you as anything other than ‘my lord’. Or would you prefer ‘Lord Brecca’? Or perhaps ‘Brecca, Bearer of the Most Sacred—’”

“Oh, for the love of Mystros,” Gaelen muttered. “I’d prefer that you call me Gaelen. We’re friends, remember?”

Smiling faintly, Tabari clasped him on the shoulder and squeezed. He dropped his hand and asked again, “What can I do for you, my lord?”

“Kotka njall.” After growling the curse, Gaelen raked his hand through his hair. If he’d known that becoming First Province of Drace would put such formality between him and his friends, he’d have told his cousin Rafe to retrieve his own damned woman. Or, better still, to go fuck himself. He just might yet, after this fool’s mission. He was governor of the largest province on Reivas and the captain of the fleet’s flagship. His last mission shouldn’t be as some goddamned babysitter for the runaway bride of the Supreme Lord.

Family could be a real pain in the ass sometimes.

With a shake of his head, he brought his thoughts back to the matter at hand. “I need a tranquilizer pistol, just in case the princess refuses to cooperate.”

Tabari’s eyebrows rose. “That’ll go over well with the Talarians. You tranquing their princess and all.” The doctor opened a cabinet and withdrew a small, silver gun. “Obviously you’ve located her.”

Gaelen grunted. “After four months of following her trail and stopping by three other planets, yes, we’ve finally found her.” He nodded toward the tranq gun. “I’ll only use it if she leaves me no other choice. Make sure you load it with enough for two.”

“What, you’re planning on bringing a female back for yourself?”

“No.” Gaelen didn’t appreciate the humor and sent Tabari a dark look. “I want it in case I need to tranq the woman with Juliska if she gives me any trouble.”

“What woman with Juliska?” Tabari pushed two vials into the chamber and primed the barrel.

Gaelen shrugged. “A friend, perhaps? We’ll be teleporting directly into the house where they are. I doubt she’s seen people appear out of thin air before. I want to be prepared for trouble.”


Choosing Madison, part of SEASONS OF SEDUCTION VOLUME 1 - available at Ellora's Cave and Amazon.com!