Taming Beastie
Goodreads / Amazon / iBooks / Kobo EXCERPT: My fingers ached with the need to touch him. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.” I glanced away and then back. “You didn’t have to get me anything for my birthday. Besides, my birthday isn’t for another couple days.” “I wanted to get you something that would remind you of me.” His lips curled up into a small smile. My body craved to be touched by him, and as if he sensed my need, he suddenly leaned in, putting his nose against my neck. My lips parted as his alluring aromatic scent of expensive cigars, sandalwood, and rich earth wafted around me. I almost dropped my glass before carefully placing it on the table with trembling fingers. He leaned away, and when he pulled a small plate over in front of me, his arm brushed the side of my breast. Scooping a teeny portion of truffle mac and cheese onto a plate, he dug into it and held out a forkful. “Here, open up for me, darling.” Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. “You do know I’m not a two-year-old?” I countered. But there was something sexy about him feeding me, and it aroused my senses and body. “Open your mouth, Hope,” he demanded in a voice that was low, seductive. My breath quickened. Well… if you insist. My lips parted, allowing him to slide the fork inside. Damn, it is good—in every fucking way possible.
GIVEAWAY!
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Book Description:
Not believing won't make the ghosts go away.
New Orleans' homicide cop Maggie York is at the top of her game until a sniper's bullet changes everything. She flatlines, comes back. But not quite the same. She sees and hears things...ghostly things. And she blurts out enough to her doctors to end up on medical leave with a diagnosis of PTSD. If only. Six months later, the voices have faded and the ghostly sightings are less frequent. The department still won't let Maggie return to the job. Oh, she's quit talking about ghosts, except to a few friends and the loony relatives who believe she's a witch, but Maggie doubts herself. Since inactivity is making it worse, she sets out to track down her shooter, only things get complicated...a ghostly witness wants his own murder solved, and sexy homicide cop, Josh Brandtâwho just happens to be her replacementâwants her to butt out of his case. After Josh catches her at the murder scene of a key witness, he wonders how the attractive redhead is staying one step ahead of him and how deeply her involvement goes. She doesn't appear as unstable as he's been told, but she's hiding something. He recognizes the signs...because he has secrets of his own. Unraveling her case soon draws them down twisted but intersecting paths. And failure may cost Maggie her life.
Excerpt:
Maggieâs gaze sharpened as the old crime scene routine fell into place. Discarded clothing near an old washing machine, empty beer cans. Hurst and his girlfriend hadnât been especially tidy, but sheâd seen worse. The kitchen was clutter-free except for an empty pizza box on the counter. Large. Smelled like pepperoni. The fridge contained three takeout cartons of leftoversâgumbo, red beans, something indefinableâa quart of milk, half used, and three beer cans in the plastic holder from a six-pack. Apparently no one cooked.
She entered the hallway. A check of the guest bedroom and a glance in the living room yielded nothing unusual, only the expected drawer or cushion out of place due to the police search.
Sheâd left the main bedroom for last.
The bodies were gone and the bed stripped. She knelt to look under the bed, but anything on the floor and nightstand had been bagged and removed to the lab. Otherwise, it was much as she remembered. Ten by ten, holding a full-size bed and one dresser. She moved across the room to check the closetâ¦and heard a floorboard creak in the hallway.
Maggie froze, her heart hammering. Someone was in the house. She hadnât been particularly silent, so they must know she was there. Why so quiet? She glided back to the door, the SIG Sauer already in her hand. When the hardwood floor emitted a second small sound, she whipped around the corner, pointing her gun at the intruder.
And faced the deadly end of a Beretta, held by a tall man with compelling, steel-blue eyes. The air vibrated with energyâ¦and for one long moment, they stared at one another.
âWho are you?â she demanded.
âPolice. And you?â The voice was cool, richly masculine.
She took in the dark blue jacket over a white shirt open at the collar, a loose tie slightly askew, and his black hair just long enough that an unruly strand curled over his forehead.
âShow me your badge.â She was stalling for time. Maggie didnât doubt the confident, intense man on the other end of the gun was a cop. A very good-looking cop who wasnât the least bit happy to find her there. How could she explain her presence?
He flipped open his jacket with one hand, revealing the badge clipped to his belt. âDetective Brandt. Now put down your gun and back away from it.â
He hadnât raised his voice, but the or else was loud and clear. She nodded, slipped the safety on, and set the weapon on the floor, keeping her hands where he could see them.
âWhat are you doing in here?â he asked.
She figured heâd soon find out anyway, so she told him the truthâalbeit a limited version. âAssessing the murder scene. The male victim was involved in my own shooting.â
The copâs eyes narrowed, but the gun didnât waver. âShould I know you?â
She shrugged. âIâm Maggie York.â
Bio:
Ally Shields is a Midwestern writer with a love for mystery and the paranormal. Following a career in law and juvenile justice, she took up full-time writing in 2009. In 2012 her first paranormal was published, and she has two completed urban fantasy series. Ally loves to travel and includes many of those settings in her novels. Readers are welcomeâand encouragedâto contact her through her website or track her down on Twitter. (@ShieldsAlly).
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Erotic Romance
Date Published: 5/1/2016
Her betrayal sent him to prison for a crime he didn’t commit. He’s out now, and he wants revenge!
Raze is a member of the Wreckers MC, sentenced to life for a crime he didn’t commit, by the words of his best friend’s little sister. New evidence surfaces, proving him innocent, and once he’s released he’s determined to find the woman responsible. It doesn’t matter that they had history, doesn’t matter that he’s wanted her for the better part of a decade. Rosa’s betrayal has cost him three years of freedom, and he’s going to wreck her.
EXCERPT
Once inside the small kitchen I went to the cupboard, where I knew the fucking booze was kept. I grabbed the first bottle of unopened whisky and started to reach for a glass before deciding that I didn’t need it. I needed more than a fucking shot to fuel me for what I wanted to do to Rosa. I couldn’t let her get to me. I wouldn’t. We may never have acted on our feelings for each other, but we both had known they were there.
Well, the time for acknowledgement had fucking lapsed. Her betrayal had sealed her fate, and I was ready to make her pay. I downed about three shots worth, letting the raw burn settle in my gut and fuel my hate. Running the back of my hand across my mouth, I headed for the bedroom where Rosa was locked up, thinking about her pretty face as she’d sat on the stand condemning me, hearing again her tearful words as she’d sworn that I had done the killing, and recalling the silent plea in her eyes as she’d stared at me. I’d understood then that she didn’t believe what she was saying, yet it hadn’t stopped her from lying.
I came to her door, turned the lock, and opened it. Rosa turned from the window she’d been staring out of, tear tracks lining her smooth, olive-toned cheeks. Even in her disheveled state she was fucking beautiful. Her midnight hair was shiny and half tumbling down to her shoulders. I let my gaze wander lazily down her full curves, taking in the slight changes that had occurred since I’d seen her last. She was soft and ripe, and I was going to devour her.
She took a hesitant step toward me. “How many men have you fucked, Rosa?” I asked from the doorway. My question startled her, and she halted abruptly. I could see the confusion shimmering in her eyes. Her brows furrowed. Those sweet, full lips parted as she opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out.
“How many men have been between your legs in the last three years?” I snarled, baring my teeth. She stepped back against the window in fear.
She began to shake her head. “No one,” she whispered. “There’s been no one since—”
“I was locked up?”
Tears swelled in her fucking eyes. “Raze, I’m so sorry—”
“No!” I was on her before she could finish. “You don’t fuckin’ get to say sorry, as if that will make it all go away,” I gritted into her upraised face, upraised because my hand was in her hair, pulling her head back so that she was forced to look into my eyes. I could so easily snap her neck if I wanted to. “Three fucking years, Rosa. For three fucking years your lies kept me behind bars, kept me from my club.” I swung her around and crushed her against the window, moving my mouth next to her ear. “Kept me from fucking.”
Keeping her pinned, I reached for the zipper at the top of her dress and pulled it all the way down her back. When it stopped at the top of her luscious ass I took the parted material in my hands and ripped it the rest of the way open until her whole fucking backside was exposed. I ignored her gasp, taking in the smooth slopes of her rounded ass, naked because of the thong she had on. Lust slammed into me like a freight train at the sight of all that curvy flesh. I wanted to squeeze it until she was branded with the imprint of my hand, leaving no doubt as to who she fucking belonged to.
How many times over the last decade had I imagined fucking Rosa?
“Then I guess we’re both overdo, “I grated into her ear.
About the Author
I’m a grandma who writes smut. I'm also a mother, daughter, aunt, friend, and sister who discovered my passion for writing at the ripe old age of ten. Before I received my first manual typewriter, with pencil in hand, I would jot my stories down on notebook paper. Later, after receiving that desired typewriter at the age of thirteen, I spent hours in my bedroom writing, where my parents thought I was doing homework.
I was born in Maine, where most of my family still lives today. However, for most of my life I've lived in Florida, where I attended school, married, and raised my daughter.
Writing is a hobby for me, and even though I've retired from Disney it remains a hobby. I'm happy to be making just enough "mad money" from it to be able to keep my cats fed, travel a little, and spoil my grandchildren.
For a while (many years actually) life got in the way of my dreams. A few years ago, with the encouragement of my family, I decided to get serious about my passion, and I haven't looked back!
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**Warning! For mature audiences only! If you find this material offensive, please do not continue reading this post!
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