Sunday, 24 August 2014


This is what my brain currently looks like.

Fried and frazzled from everyday life and lack of recent usage.

I need your help, my lovelies, to get my little grey cells pumping. To wake up the snoozing neurons and slap the shit out of my cerebrum.

So, what I've decided to do is set myself a challenge of a quick (up to) 1000 words free short to be posted each Friday.

What do we have to do? I hear you cry.

Well, what you have to do is help me turn my brain from that to this - with all guns ablazin'!

I want you to chuck a scenario at me, a picture, a sentence, even a single word and each week I'll pick one, crediting you of course, and make a short out of it.

What do you think? My frontal lobe is limbering up as we speak! Let me have it!

Sunday, 17 August 2014

SNIPPET SUNDAY! (Hi guys, it's been a while.)

The spooky season will be on us all too soon, and here you have two ghostly tales for the price of one....  you can get your copy HERE

Dreaming of You:
Noah Kinkade is an up and coming designer, one of the best newcomers in the field.  When he is hired to restore the old Seevers mansion to its former glory, he thinks all his dreams have come true.  He doesn’t know how right he is.

Sebastian Seevers has been waiting for over a hundred years for his lover, Richard. Kept apart by Richard's father, they'd planned to run away together that night, but Richard had not arrived, and pacing the walkway was where Sebastian had slipped and fallen to his death. Yet even in death, their love was so strong, Sebastian still waited for Richard's return. He had almost given up hope—until he saw Noah.

Excerpt: Inside the bathroom, he turned on the shower and slipped out of his clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor at his feet. He quickly stepped under the flow of water as a sudden chill seemed to blow through the room. Must be colder out there than it looks, he thought as he closed the cubicle door behind him. Picking up the soap, he worked up a lather and moved the bar over his body, unaware of the ice blue eyes that watched him from the open doorway.
* * * *
Sebastian's gaze wandered over Noah's lithe body as the young man washed under the strange contraption. He'd waited so long. Some hundred and fifty years to be precise. But Sebastian had known he'd come eventually, that his patience would be rewarded. The moment Noah arrived he'd known it was him. Of course, he called himself by a different name, but it was Thomas; he'd been sure of that the moment their lips met last night.
He watched the bubbles created by the soap roll down Noah's pale skin and his cock hardened in his breeches. Reaching down, he palmed himself through the soft, striped fabric and hissed through his teeth at the sensations that sparked through him.
Thomas was wearing his hair longer now, but that was the fashion of the day, he surmised. The last time he'd seen him, Thomas's hair had been shorn off, the desperate act of a merciless father who thought if he disfigured his beautiful son, Sebastian would no longer want him for the degradation Thomas had detailed in his journal.
How wrong the ingrate had been. As if Thomas's looks mattered to Sebastian. He was in love with the man, not the wrapping. He closed his eyes as the memory of their last meeting washed over him. He'd been waiting then too, pacing up and down the rundown shack deep in the forest behind Green Oaks—their place.

Halfway House:
A shared car ride home from college goes awry for Tyler the jock and “Supernerd” Eliot when they get lost in the dark on a country road and their vehicle stalls. Luckily, they find the Halfway House Hotel, where a series of odd events and unexpected urges seem to conspire to throw them together—and soon Tyler and Eliot decide that not having anything in common is no reason not to take a side trip of their own.

"I’m fine," Eliot said curtly as they made their way up to their room. He opened the door and threw the key down on the table inside the door. Tyler followed him in, closing the door behind himself. "Okay." Eliot turned to face him. "How do you wanna do this?"
Tyler raised his eyebrows in confusion. "Do what?"
"You know." Eliot nodded his head to the large bed, complete with canopy and curtains. "The sleeping arrangements. Do you wanna take the chair, or shall I?"
Tyler glanced at the wingback chair in the corner of the room and then back at the bed. Then he looked down at himself and then Eliot, measuring him from head to toe. "In that chair? Neither of us are exactly short, dude. I got driving to do tomorrow and I wanna get a good night’s sleep." He held up his hand as Eliot opened his mouth. "I know, it’s my fault we need to make up time, you don’t need to tell me again." He waved his hand at the bed. "There’s plenty of room for both of us, but if you want to be a martyr and get backache from sleeping in the chair, be my guest."
Eliot stood with his mouth open as Tyler stripped down to his boxers without any embarrassment whatsoever. He grabbed his wash-bag from his suitcase and walked into the en suite. Tyler closed the door behind him, and Eliot heard the water running in the sink, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. The uppermost one being that he’d rather spend the night on an ironing board than with Tyler Andrews in the same bed. Eliot quickly stripped down to his own underwear and grabbed the folded-up quilt off the ottoman at the end of the bed. He sat down in the chair and pulled the matching footstool toward him with his left foot. He settled back and wrapped the quilt around him, trying desperately to look as though he was comfortable by the time Tyler came out of the bathroom. He wasn’t doing a very good job of it. The upholstery of the chair was itchy on his bare back and thighs, and the quilt wasn’t as thick as it had looked. He sighed heavily just as the bathroom door opened.
Tyler turned off the light and glanced over at Eliot in the chair, shaking his head in derision at him. He made a "whatever" motion with his hand and slid underneath the sheets. Then he plumped up the pillows behind his head and sank into them with a happy sigh. Maybe a little too loud a sigh, because he heard Eliot grumble something under his breath. "Good-night, Eliot," he said cheerfully. "Sleep well."
"Good-night," was Eliot’s bitten-out response.
It couldn’t have been much time later when Tyler sat up in the bed and complained, "Eliot, if you don’t get your ass in this bed right now, I am either going to throw you in it myself or kill you, the choice is yours."
"What’s your problem?" Eliot said crossly, as he tried to tuck the quilt in closer around himself for the hundredth time since he’d sat down in the chair.
"You’re driving me nuts with all the huffing and puffing, dude. You’re obviously not comfortable, and neither of us are gonna get any sleep with you in that goddamn chair!" Tyler’s voice rose slightly higher with each word. "So get your ass in here before I flip out and have to explain to your mother when I drop you off why I beat the ever-loving crap out of you!" Tyler threw his head back against the pillows and turned over onto his side. "Thank God," he breathed a few moments later when he felt the bed beside him dip as Eliot slid under the covers. "Now maybe we can get some sleep." Tyler sighed heavily and closed his eyes, his lips curving upward as he imagined Eliot perched on the edge of the mattress, holding the covers around him like a Victorian maiden. "Don’t worry, dude," he drawled sleepily. "Your virtue is safe with me."
Eliot frowned grumpily into the darkness of the room and turned over onto his side, his back to Tyler. He had to admit that the bed was certainly a lot comfier than the chair, but he would still rather not have Tyler Andrews close enough to be able to feel the heat that was coming off the taller boy’s body. Jesus, he’s like a goddamn furnace, he thought to himself, shifting a little closer, but still not close enough to touch. Just for warmth, you understand, he whispered to his inner voice, which was laughing hysterically at him right now. Sure Eliot, whatever gets you through the night, dude, it whispered back. "Shut up," Eliot said aloud into the stillness of the room, earning himself a mumble and a growl of his name from Tyler. He sighed and closed his eyes, hugging his arms around his pillow and allowing the even sound of Tyler’s breathing to lull him to sleep.

Friday, 8 August 2014


Un anno dopo la morte del marito, le uniche cose che permettono a Parker Adams di andare avanti sono il suo lavoro e suo figlio, Nate. Quando la persona che si occupa solitamente del bambino si trasferisce, Parker decide di assumere una balia che viva con loro, in modo da dare a Nate maggior stabilità. A causa di un ‘disguido’, però, non è la minuta Melanie che si presenta alla loro porta, ma Jake Walsh.
E Parker va nel panico.
Non che Jake non sia perfetto per quel lavoro. Lo è, e anche un po’ troppo. In mezz’ora di colloquio riesce a risvegliare in Parker sentimenti che lui credeva perduti per sempre.
Come farà Parker a vivere con quell’uomo sotto il suo tetto ventiquattro ore al giorno, sette giorni su sette?
Per Jake, invece, ciò che gli viene offerto rappresenta il lavoro perfetto, almeno fino a quando non si rende conto che non solo si è affezionato a Nate, ma si è anche innamorato di Parker.

Monday, 14 July 2014

Winners of the early Going Under Giveaway :)

The winners of the early Going Under giveaway are:-




Congratulations gentlemen, I shall be contacting you by email tout suite.

Thank you everybody for joining in. Don't forget, release date is the
1 August - and there will be another giveaway then :)

Saturday, 5 July 2014


Yesterday saw the re-release of a revised and re-edited version of Going Under, previously published with Silver. I have two shiny copies to give to two lucky commenters - who will be chosen at random by my glamorous assistant next Saturday. All you have to do is tell me your favourite horror movie and don't forget to LEAVE YOUR EMAIL in the comment. Happy commenting!

Battered by unseen forces, Evan Griffin finally seeks help. Paranormal investigator Ross Stone is captivated. Dare he get close to Evan when he’s fighting his own demons?
Evan Griffin moved into his remote country house with all the excitement and promise of a new start... until the strange noises began. When the ghostly attacks become physical, he is left bruised and battered and desperate for help.
When Evan walks into the offices of paranormal investigators, Knight & Stone, Ross Stone is dumbfounded by the injuries the man bears. Injuries Evan insists were caused by an unseen assailant in his own home. Something in the man's eyes tugs at Ross' heartstrings. 
Does he dare risk getting close to Evan when 
Ross is fighting his own demons?
Reader Advisory: This books contains scenes of violence and references to past abuse.
Publisher's Note: This book was previously released by another publisher. 
It has been considerably expanded, revised and re-edited for release with 
Totally Bound Publishing.

Pulling open the curtains to let in the morning light, Evan Griffin gazed out of 
the glass pane at the rolling hills surrounding his house on every side. His house. 
It sounded good in his head. New house and new beginning. He wondered how 
he could be anything but happy here. It was perfect—almost. But he wouldn’t 
think about Mack now—couldn’t. If he let himself walk that road, he’d end up 
in a useless heap on the floor, and those boxes wouldn’t unpack themselves.

Lost in his thoughts, he opened the first box and began to sort through the linen 
he found there. Halfway to the linen closet, he was stopped in his tracks by a 
loud bang. “Fuck,” he hissed, dropping the curtain and padding onto the floor. 
He listened intently for a moment and, hearing nothing, he bent to pick up the 
items he’d dropped. Then he heard it again, coming from the bathroom. 
Swallowing, an uneasy feeling unfurling in his belly, he opened the bathroom 
door and looked around the room. Everything seemed in place. His toiletries 
were on the shelf in a large shoebox and the stack of towels he’d unpacked 
yesterday were still sitting in the bone-dry tub.

The tub was one of the things that had attracted Evan to the property. It was 
huge, and with him at six foot one in his bare feet, a tub that he could actually 
stretch out in was something of a novelty. It sat in the middle of the room on claw 
feet with old-fashioned steel faucets and the head end higher than the foot end, 
like something seen in a Victorian lady’s boudoir. The white porcelain was 
cracked a little with age and he would have to repaint the underside with some 
specialized paint, but he didn’t care. The proportions of the room and the 
grandeur of the fittings, albeit a little worn, were what had clinched the deal. Slam!

“Jesus Christ,” he spat, spinning around to find the bathroom door shutting him 
off from the rest of the house. His heart pounded frantically when there was another 
crash, and he spun around again to see the large casement window at the end of the 
room banging in the wind. “For fuck’s sake, Griffin,” he admonished himself, walking 
over to the window, pulling it shut and securely latching it. “It’s an old house. The 
window was open which made the first slam, then the centrifugal force created by the 
window and the door being open, caused the second.”

He stopped in front of the mirror he had hung above the basin the day before and ran 
his hands through his shaggy hair, scratching his scalp with blunt nails. “If you’re going 
to think that every knock, creak and bang is something sinister, you might as well pack 
up and go back to the city right now.” He shook his head at his reflection before turning 
on his heel and crossing the room to open the door. “And stop talking to yourself,” he 
added with a smile. He firmly closed the door behind him and headed back to the 
bedroom to get dressed.

* * * *

“You think moving houses can get rid of me, Evan?” She watched from her 
seat on the deep windowsill as the man moved around the bedroom. 
“You always were stupid.” She clenched her hands into fists as rage bubbled 
inside her. Narrowing her gaze, she smiled in satisfaction as Evan rubbed his 
hands together to warm them

“What’s wrong, Evan? Cold?” She gripped the wet strands of her hair and 
hissed through her teeth. “Not as cold as me! But you will be…you will be. 
I’m not going anywhere until you and everyone you love has paid for 
what you did.”

Friday, 4 July 2014


Now available at Totally Bound - get your copy HERE

Battered by unseen forces, Evan Griffin finally seeks help. Paranormal investigator Ross Stone is captivated. Dare he get close to Evan when he’s fighting his own demons?
Evan Griffin moved into his remote country house with all the excitement and promise of a new start... until the strange noises began. When the ghostly attacks become physical, he is left bruised and battered and desperate for help.
When Evan walks into the offices of paranormal investigators, Knight & Stone,
Ross Stone is dumbfounded by the injuries the man bears. Injuries Evan
insists were caused by an unseen assailant in his own home. Something in
the man's eyes tugs at Ross' heartstrings. Does he dare risk getting close
to Evan when Ross is fighting his own demons?
Reader Advisory: This books contains scenes of violence and references 
to past abuse.
Publisher's Note: This book was previously released by another publisher. 
It has been considerably expanded, revised and re-edited for release with 
Totally Bound Publishing.

Thursday, 3 July 2014


The Last Train Home, my forage into MF by my alter ego Jae J Jensen, has a shiny new cover by the uber-talented Book Covers by Design and is available at Amazon for $0.99!


Casual hook-ups are not Katherine's usual modus operandi. She's level headed, confident and definitely not into throwing caution, and her knickers, to the wind. 

However, when the last train becomes the stranded in a pitch black tunnel train, she finds herself alone in the dark with a gorgeous stranger, who makes her an offer she ought to, but can't refuse.



For what must have been the hundredth time, Katherine wished she hadn't agreed to work late, not this late, anyway. The entire office was in chaos, trying to get everything ready for the new boss's arrival. Katherine worked for the head of Sales and Marketing at Thacker, Wright & Grant one of the largest advertising firms in the city, and he'd had her staying late every night this week to make sure all his files were complete. Every 'i' had to be double dotted and every 't' double crossed. Which is exactly what Jack Brody was, a double-crossing, ass-pinching, sleazy son of a bitch.
Payroll had done the rounds earlier, and on opening her pay check she was furious to note he hadn't authorized the overtime she'd completed last month—and she knew why. The bastard had been given a written warning last week for his overtly tactile behaviour after she'd made a complaint to Human Resources about his wandering hands. She should have let the asshole present his files to the new VP in their original state—fucking slime-bag.
The screen that had been indicating her train would be arriving in three minutes for the last ten mocked her, daring her to challenge its shitty information. She checked her watch, again. If she'd missed the last train home because of that dickhead she was going to be taking the taxi fare out of his ass with a well-placed Jimmy Choo. Speaking of Jimmy Choos, she was starting to get a little antsy in hers. The silence was deafening and, coupled with the flickering fluorescent lighting, she felt as though she'd stepped into a scene from An American Werewolf in London.
Her gaze flitted around the platform, settling on the homeless person—she couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman from the generic ensemble of filthy overcoat and tattered beanie—curled up on a bench a few feet from her. She wanted to move away, but she also didn't want to make it obvious that's what she wanted to do. Shaking her head at her own reluctance to hurt the feelings of a sleeping tramp, she mentally cursed her mother and the good manners she'd insisted on instilling in her children.
A loud rumbling from the yawning mouth of the tunnel began to build, and the draft created by the approaching locomotive snatched at her coat with icy fingers. Butterflies took flight in Katherine's belly as the roaring grew louder. She loved the sights and sounds of the train pulling into the station. The way the air seemed to be sucked out of the confined space and then pushed back in with a punch when the train burst forth from the darkness like a huge party favour blown between a giant's lips.
Jesus—waxing a bit lyrical aren't we? You must be tired.
Katherine ignored her inner voice as several carriages passed her before the train came to a stop. The doors opened and she stepped inside, looking around and finding she was alone. Thank God, the last thing she needed was some well-meaning fellow traveller pressing her for conversation.  Settling on one of the seats, Katherine sighed heavily and leaned back against the headrest, closing her eyes and willing away the pressure of the day. The train's engine rumbled as it prepared to continue its journey and the warning buzzer for the doors let off its high pitched beep, signalling the last chance to get on.
Katherine's eyes flew open at the expletive and she stared, open-mouthed, at the man who had just managed to squeeze through the doors and onto the car before they'd completely closed. His gaze immediately found hers and he sent her an apologetic smile, which she acknowledged with a brief twitch of her lips.
Katherine couldn't believe he'd managed to get all his appendages inside before the train moved off. He probably used the same expertise it took to shoe horn himself into those jeans. The thought bounced around her skull before she could squash it, and she was mortified to note the playful smile on his face, as if she'd said the words out loud. The train jolted as it moved off and Katherine dropped her gaze to her clasped hands where they lay in her lap.
Jesus, get a grip, Kathy. Anyone would think you'd never seen a hottie before.
That in itself was true; but there was hot and then there was the man sitting across the carriage. Tall, very tall, she'd noticed that when he'd all but fallen onto the train. From the furtive glances she found herself unable to stop taking, she discovered he had dark, brooding eyes, aquiline nose and stubble shadowing his square jaw. His chiselled features could have made him appear hard, if it weren't for his lips. She risked another peak from beneath her lashes. They were full, pouty and looked so soft, for a split-second she wondered how they would feel on her skin. Along with how his black hair would look in contrast with her pale flesh as he slid his tongue down her belly and— Katherine Russell what on earth are you doing? Do you need me to remind you you're a nice girl?
No—she didn't need reminding, but the frisson of excitement sliding down her spine when he turned his dark gaze away from the window and onto her, suggested a bit of a nudge might be a good idea. Of course, if he'd stop sending her toe-curling glances, that would probably help.
How long has it been since we saw any action that didn't involve alcohol wipes or, God forbid, the replacement of triple A's at pivotal moments?
Katherine's cheeks flushed with warmth at the memory. That was definitely one of her lower points, but she hadn't quite hit rock bottom yet. She still had some dignity—didn't she? Trying to tune out the hysterical laughter of her inner Katherine, she gazed out of the window at the dark rushing by. What else did she expect to see? They were on the Central line for Pete's sake. For the next fifty minutes the only scenery she was going to get were black walls and lines of electric cable. She sighed heavily, well used to the joys of being a London commuter, and settled back against headrest.
"I feel like I should introduce myself."
Of course his voice is rich, deep and warm enough to melt butter. What else would it be?
Katherine swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat and turned her head in his direction. "I'm sorry?" Jesus, Katherine, now he'll think you're the village idiot.
Tall, dark and oops I think my knickers just caught fire, smiled widely, revealing an adorable dimple in his left cheek. "It feels kind of impolite to sit here and not say anything when we're the only ones here." He leaned across the small gangway between the seats and held out his hand. "I'm CJ."
American—Texas by the sound of it—she'd seen enough Dallas re-runs to recognize the sexy drawl. "Katherine," she replied, shaking his hand and snatching back her fingers at the tiny electric shock she received from his.
"Good to meet you, Katherine. Pretty name, for a pretty lady."
Katherine huffed out a polite laugh and turned her gaze back to the window. Good grief.
"I'm sorry, that was a really crappy line."
Katherine smiled and admitted, "Worse than some, not as bad as others; but yeah, it was right up there with 'Get your coat, love, you've pulled'."
"Really? British guys actually use that one?" CJ looked aghast at the very notion.
"They still drag it out every once in a while," Katherine's lips twitched in amusement at his expression. "But I can't imagine their success rate is very high."
"Jeez, and I thought us Yanks were corny as hell."
"Nope, we have a healthy market for cheese over here, too." Katherine blushed again as he threw back his head and guffawed at her attempt at humour. Which was pleasing, because not everyone appreciated her dryness. Not to mention the sound unfurled a ball of heat in the pit of her stomach. Heat that warmed her cheeks and sent a jolt of pleasure straight to her core, making her involuntarily fidget in her seat.
"So," CJ said softly. "What's the customary subject for two strangers meeting on a train? This is a first for me. In Dallas the chances of you getting an empty car on the subway is harder than winning the lottery."
Katherine shifted position slightly so she was half turned towards him and crossed her legs, thanking God she was wearing her last pair of un-laddered hold ups, and her new dark purple suit. "Hmmm…," she murmured, as if she were in deep consideration over his question. "To be honest, I have no idea. Whenever anyone says strangers on a train to me all I can think of is the old Alfred Hitchcock classic, and I'm sure that's not what you meant. Unless you have someone you want me to kill, of course."
"Not that I can think of right now," CJ replied with another chuckle, shifting his position to mirror hers she was pleased to note. "Although my landlord still hasn't fixed the hot water yet, so I could change my mind when I'm naked under a freezing shower later."

Katherine tried not to dribble at the thought of a naked CJ under cascading water, whatever the temperature, and couldn't help squeezing her thighs together. The movement sent a pulse of delicious sensation straight to her pussy, curling her toes in her shoes.