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Will one night in Sin City equal a lifetime of regret?

Nothing Stays in Vegas

© 2008 Moira McTark

On his way to be best man at his friend’s wedding, Caleb Daniels has high hopes that his run of bad relationships has come to an end. He can’t wait to lay eyes—and hands—on the funny and intelligent maid of honor. They’ve never met, but she’s been charming him for weeks over the internet.

At first Lara Sinclair’s cyberspace chats with Cal centered around the preparations for her sister’s extravagant wedding, but it quickly blossomed into an intense online affair. Now she’s more than ready to meet him face to face, and have his fingers stroke more than just the keyboard.

But before she can even say hello to the sexy groomsman, her trouble-come-hither, look-alike sister bursts her bubble with a bona-fide, happily-every-after emergency. And Lara finds herself faced with a heartbreaking choice.

Let her sister solve her own problems, or risk her budding relationship with Cal to help save the wedding—by pretending to be someone she’s not.

Warning, this title contains the following: explicit sex, graphic language, mistaken identities, hot sex in a boathouse, and proof that what happens in Vegas doesn’t always stay in Vegas!

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Nothing Stays in Vegas:

From her vantage point, Lara could see the men collecting their bags, laughing, exchanging jokes. Nice looking bunch—even the airport shuttle driver, who caught sight of her at the window and winked before circling around to the back of the van. But no one’s looks alone screamed “I’m Cal!” Then a last pair of legs beneath the trunk caught her eye. Thick fingers reached over the edge and swung the trunk closed, revealing a smiling, chiseled face that made her heart skip a beat. Lara swallowed and sucked her bottom lip between her teeth.
Please let this be my best man.

Hunk didn’t begin to cover it.

He was taller than the other men by several inches, and the fit of his khakis and long sleeved T-shirt suggested an athlete’s build. Wide shoulders, defined pecs and a back that flexed with enough definition to show through the taut fabric of his shirt when he threw the strap of his bag over his shoulder. Well-formed was an understatement. Disheveled was an understatement for that matter. The spray of thick sandy hair shooting out in all directions had an authentic quality about it. That tousled look was pure cowlick and pure sexy. Only a man could mistake it for “horrible”.

The bedroom door jerked open behind them. “Oh my God, Lara, I need you. Bitty, leave!”

Lara spun around to see her sister, Claudette, white as a sheet, backed against the wall. Her arms outstretched like she was trying to hang onto the ivory and sage wallpaper to keep herself from falling. Dette tended toward the melodramatic, but the frantic expression plastered across her face had Lara at her side in a second.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, rubbing her sister’s arms.

Dette’s eyes were wide, her face flushed. “Do you love me?”

Oh no.

Bitty walked over, hands on her hips and jutted out her chin. “What’s the matter now?”

“Bitty, I’m serious. Leave, I need to talk to my sister, in
private
.”

Their cousin huffed. “Just say no, Lara. Whatever it is.” Grabbing the bin of boxed almonds, she walked out.

When the door closed, Dette’s gaze fixed on the ceiling, tears already pooling at the corners of her eyes. “This is serious.”

Lara’s gut tensed, her face hardened. Damn, she’d only been here for two days, this couldn’t be happening already. “Just tell me what happened, what you need me to do.”

“Say you were in Vegas one month ago. No one will know you weren’t.”

Dette talked and Lara listened, the sinking feeling in her stomach increasing as the story unfolded.

“One of the groomsmen?” Lara shrieked.

“This is a bona fide happily-ever-after emergency! I know it’s bad, don’t give me crap right now.”

“Happily every after? Dette, fairy tale romance doesn’t include the bride-to-be running off to screw one of her attendants a month before the wedding!”

“I didn’t know he was a groomsman!” Dette hissed, her arms, straight at her sides, ending in balled fists of frustration. “He said his name was Kenneth or something…but I just saw him outside, so he must have been lying,”

Dette never ceased to amaze her. “The fact that you didn’t know who he was really isn’t the point. You slept with someone other than Adam!”

“Damn it, haven’t you ever heard of cold feet?”

“Are you kidding me? You went to Vegas, picked up a stranger, had sex, and now you want me to pretend that I did it so you don’t get caught?”

Dette glared at her. “Sort of.”

“Four weeks ago!” Lara took a breath and softened. “What are you going to say to Adam? You have to tell him.”

“Like hell I do.”

“I can’t lie for you when it comes to a marriage. I can’t cover this up for you.”

“Can’t, can’t, can’t,” Dette shot back, her eyes brimming with tears. “Can’t you stop judging me for once in your flawless life? Not everyone is as perfect as you.”

Lara wanted to laugh, only it wasn’t funny.

Dette’s eyes darted around the room, finally settling back on Lara. “I didn’t want anyone to know this, but Adam broke off the engagement, dumped me. He was the one with cold feet. I was brokenhearted. I ran off to Vegas, wanting to get away from everything. I drank way too much. Woke the next morning with a blinding headache, a man in my bed, and no memory of how he got there.”

Lara stared at her with more than a little skepticism. There was one way to get a straight answer. “Oh my God. Maybe he drugged you.” Lara gripped her sister’s wrists, daring her with her eyes. “I’m calling the police.”

“No, no…fine,” Dette shook off Lara’s hold. “I remember taking him back to my room, but I was drunk and stupid. I should have known Adam would get over his wedding jitters and be calling to apologize the next day, but I was so self-destructive, self-defeating, maybe I just didn’t believe I deserved to be happy.” Gripping her sister’s shoulders, she stared into her eyes. “I would give anything to take it back, do anything to change it, but I can’t.”

Lara held her breath for a count, memories of Dette’s tear-streaked pleas for help all running together in her mind. The rash choices, the uncontrolled outbursts…the sorrowful eyes filled with regret. Dette had such a hot head. She acted before she thought, and it always seemed to come back to haunt her. Almost like she was still trying to get caught.

“Adam broke up with you?”

“For two days. Neither of us told anyone.”

“Maybe if you explained what happened, he’d understand.”

“Are you crazy?” Dette squeaked. “He would never forgive me, never get over it. What if this guy walks in and announces to everyone what happened? The wedding would be off. I didn’t tell Adam before and I’m not going to now. This is my life,” she pleaded. “I just want to be happy like everyone else is. I need your help, but if, now, when I need it more than ever, you are going to leave me to twist in the wind, then fine. I guess my most desperate hour is even more hopeless than I thought. I’ve been abandoned by my own sister.” She sniffed, a single shiny tear drifted down her cheek. “My best friend.”

Shaking her head slowly, Lara studied her. For all Dette’s accomplishments, grace and glamour, she believed she never got a fair shake, that everyone else had it easier. She needed to grow up, but at twenty-eight years old and days before her wedding, Lara didn’t want to be responsible for teaching her that lesson. And if Adam really broke it off, then what happened over those two days was none of his business.

Lara closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose. “We might look alike, but how are you going to get past the names?”

“Give me some credit, I crossed the country to make sure no one recognized me, of course I didn’t use my real name. Contrary to the way you treat me, I’m not stupid.”

Of course.

“Okay, what do I need to do?”

Dette yanked her down the hall into her peaches and cream bedroom, stuffing Lara into the seat in front of the mirrored vanity they’d been playing dress-up at since they were girls. It charmed Lara that her sister, who always needed to have the newest and hottest of everything, left her bedroom exactly the way it was from her childhood fantasies. Glass-front cabinets held row upon row of pristine china faced dolls in silk dresses, miniature porcelain horses, and a collection of ballerina jewelry boxes. Her attachment to her girlhood treasures was one of the sweeter things about Dette.

A silver-backed brush began to rip through Lara’s hair with determined pulls. “I slept with him one time in Vegas. He was blasted, coming off some break-up of his own. He might not even remember but, if he does, he’s going to remember that it was you. I’m going to fix you up because, when your hair and face are done right, you look more like me than I do.”

Lara’s jaw set and her eyes closed. She just needed to take this one hit for Dette.

If this Vegas guy thought he recognized her, she’d avoid him. She’d be with Cal most of the time anyway, she just needed to make sure Dette’s mishap didn’t get in the way of what they’d started.

Why did Dette always have to go for the sleaze—Adam excluded, she assumed without really wanting to know—why couldn’t she be attracted to the decent guys like Cal? What kind of a creepy pig would pick someone up like that? The one-night stand was gross enough as it was, but to lie about his name on top of it? Who did that kind of thing?

Breathing through her nose, she stopped. Dette did.

Can a god of fire melt the heart of an ice queen?

Melting the Ice Queen

© 2008 Savannah Jordan

When a mysterious package shows up on the doorstep of self-proclaimed frigid bitch Cassandra Moore, she’s more curious about who could have sent it to her than about the statue of the Egyptian god inside.

That night, the human spirit of her statue appears in her dream, giving her hottest sex she’s ever had in her life. Emin is every girl's dream lover. He's mysterious, sexy as hell, and eager to satisfy every erotic whim Cassie entertains.

Yet Emin has secrets as deep as the myths of Egypt—he has sacrificed his magick and his life in the spirit world to be with Cassie.

The fires of passion blaze hotter with each encounter. But if Emin cannot melt Cassie’s heart and convince her to love a fantasy, he is doomed to the hell between the realms.

Warning, this title contains the following: explicit melt-your-panties sex, graphic language, ménage a trios, and a demigod that will make you gasp and swoon.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Melting the Ice Queen:

He was Egyptian, in the traditional pose and garb of a pharaoh or god. One hand held a staff, while the other was extended as though beckoning the faithful to his feet.

Who in the gods’ name is this?

My heart, which refused to pick up a steady rhythm since the first contact with the statue, pounded in my chest. My mind whirred.

Egyptology was my favorite subject years ago in school. I had studied the myths and legends, gods and goddesses and I watched television specials, read every magazine article. But I’ve never seen this man. I picked up the ivory statuette, turning it in my hands, stroking the man’s form and looking for a cartouche or indicating mark to tell me whose representation I held.

No name, no dynasty. Not one single indicating mark on the statue.

“Who are you?”

He did not answer, and I didn’t expect him to—mystical happenings were just that, mystical, and the supernatural was something I had yet to experience in this lifetime. I shrugged and then dumped the remaining packaging material into the garbage. I wrapped the idol in my fingers, and the ivory warmed to my touch. Cradling my newly arrived treasure to my chest, I climbed the stairs to my bedroom.

A pile of discarded shoes cluttered the floor beside the door jamb. I skirted it and instead picked up a T-shirt dangling from the lid of my hamper in the bathroom, and stuffed it back in. Shoes were a necessity, crumpled laundry was not.

A breeze billowed my sheer linen curtains. Moonlight lay on the patchwork quilt, and left the rest of the room to shadows. The air was fragrant with lavender and cool as the breeze caressed my skin, just the way I like it. My radio, however, heralded doom. The little Sony sat on the nightstand and blasphemed about a coming heat wave, and the sweltering grip it would take on the city.

I hate hot weather.

I silenced the electronic harbinger, switched the setting to
Alarm
and shoved the clock radio back to make room for my Egyptian statue.

The statue was a mystery, but he made an excellent addition to my already Egyptianesque décor. His ivory blended well with my eggshell walls, the aged look made him appear all the warmer and more appealing. He stood, plinth slightly at an angle so that he was facing my bed. The staff he held now pointed directly into the moon outside my window, and his hand pointed at the center of my bed. Satisfied with his placement, I stripped off clothes as I walked through the room and into the adjacent bath. Then showered and in my nightgown, I climbed into bed beneath the gaze of the newcomer to my life.