New in Print: All For A Dead Man’s Leg by R. Ann Siracusa

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500x800 - AllForADeadMansLegMeet Harriet Ruby, a well-balanced MIT graduate with a degree in languages, whose life has been good but ordinary and predictable. Wanting new experiences before she settles down to a career and family, she accepts a position as a tour director in Europe.

Meet Will Talbot, a handsome Europol spy and covert operative for the US government with a dark troubled past, major trust issues, and dissociative amnesia. Driven by guilt over something he believes he did, he has a penchant for rescuing innocent victims caught up in dangerous circumstances.

Harriet’s first solo stint as a tour director in Spain and Morocco is going well until they get lost in the medina in Tangier. There, one of her tourists becomes ill. Harriet needs to find a doctor, can’t speak Arabic, and doesn’t know how to get out of the walled city. A handsome and mysterious stranger, Will Talbot, examines the tourist, pronounces him dead, and offers to help her smuggle the body out of Morocco. At this moment, Harriet’s once-predictable life turns upside down. Little does she know that getting out of Morocco is only the beginning of an incredible adventure in pursuit of murders, smugglers, terrorists, and a meaningful relationship.

Buy your PRINT copy here!


Looking back on it, I could see everything would have worked out fine if Archie Philpot hadn’t chosen that particular time and place to die.

Not that he did it maliciously, mind you, nor did he exactly choose. But I’m sure if he’d thought about the welfare of the many—our tour group, to be specific—as opposed to the convenience of the one, he might have staved off the event for another ten or twelve hours. Then there would have been no problem.

Well, not exactly no problem.

But perhaps I should start when everything began to fall apart.

My name is Harriet Ruby, Tour Director Extraordinaire. Or so I’d thought. I had just begun to believe my first solo stint in Europe was a roaring success when we got lost in the medina—the ancient walled city—in Tangier.

“Let’s stop here for a moment,” I called to my tour group.

While they assembled, I glanced around at the souk, the market place within the city walls. It was a maze of tiny shops, tents, and winding passageways crowded with Moroccans.

“I’m never going to find my way out of here.” I pulled out my cell phone and punched in my driver’s number. Mario knew the route and spoke Arabic, but he had gone to fix a flat tire on our bus while I herded our fourteen tourists around the medina. That was two hours ago.

No answer.

Harriet, this does not bode well for your goal of a long and successful career in the tour business.

With the back of my hand, I swiped at the perspiration popping out on my brow. “Please stay right here and don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

All of them smiled and nodded. Grimacing, I hurried to one of the tea shops we had passed to look for someone who spoke English. No luck. I was only gone for two or three minutes, I swear—well, maybe it was five or six—but when I returned to the place where I had left my tourists, they were gone.

This was not starting out to be a good day.

“Mez Harri Boobies!” The shrill cry sliced through the confusion of sweating bodies crowding the market. An arm shot out of nowhere, and a brown hand clamped my wrist. I swallowed my shriek of surprise. Tangier was rife with hands that grabbed at foreigners.

“Mez Harri Boobies, you come queek,” the man whispered in my ear. “Mezter Pillpot no good, yes? You come.”

“It’s R-u-b-y, not Boobie.” I repeated my name for Mr. Takamura, one of the three almost-English-speaking Japanese tourists in the small group I was directing through Spain and Morocco. While my name was not destined to be in lights on Hollywood marquees, for the past twenty-four years, it had served me well enough. I had a sentimental attachment to it.

Without a reply, he released my arm. Insinuating his slight body into the crush of street peddlers, dirty children, and veiled ladies, he moved quickly out of sight. With a deep sigh, I tucked my Adventure Seekers sign under my arm and followed him, devastated by the foreboding that I would be nicknamed “Hairy Boobies” for the rest of my career as a tour director, which might not be very long after this little incident.

He penetrated farther into the ancient market through twisted, narrow passageways filled with malodorous bodies and a myriad of colors rippling in the heat—red, blue, amber, purple of clothing, goods for sale, food, tents. In pursuit, I skirted white-robed Moroccans bartering for goods, men sipping mint tea, and women painting the hands of girls with rich sienna-colored henna. The humid air, replete with an exotic mixture of scents—ginger, curry, rare perfumes, cigarette smoke, donkey dung—stirred my senses. The crowd babbled in many languages, counterpoint to the lilting melody of the seruani pipes.

“Wait!” How in the world had they gone this far in such a short time?

He hesitated for an instant, turned, and waved. Then he disappeared again. Finally, Mr. Takamura stopped in a small plaza with a colorful tiled fountain in the center, a calm refuge in the midst of chaos. In stray beams of sunlight, tiny motes of dust danced in the thick atmosphere. The Japanese gentleman waited for me to catch up, then smiled and bowed.

My gaze followed his nod. “Ohmigod!

Archibald Philpot of London, the eldest and most distinguished of my tourists, knelt doubled over the lip of the fountain, hurling his guts. Oh, boy.

My tourists—three American and two Swedish couples and the other two Japanese—watched with helpless concern on their faces while a growing knot of Moroccans glared at us,  mayhem glinting in their dark eyes.

The disbelief and thin-lipped anger on their faces indicated they were not pleased about the desecration of what was probably their water supply. I couldn’t blame them. This could get dicey. A drop of sweat dribbled into my eye.

Edith Johnson, a ditzy fiftyish blonde trying to look thirty, was the first to see me. She clapped her hand to her bosom and cried, “Thank goodness you’re here, Harriet. Do something.”

Who, me?

I dropped down beside Archie. His complexion was grayish-green, his rheumy eyes were glazed over, and by the stench, I guessed the poor man might have a case of diarrhea. My stomach heaved. Swallowing hard, I managed to maintain my tour director decorum. This was definitely not in my job description.


R Ann Siracusa Author PicI’m a California girl who earned her Bachelor of Architecture degree from UC Berkeley, then went immediately to Rome, Italy.  On my first day there, I met an Italian policeman at the Fountain of Love, and the rest is history.  Instead of a degree from the University of Rome, I got a husband, and we’ve been married 46 years. 

In Rome, I worked for as an architect and planner for a land development company for several years until we moved to the United States.  I’m now retired from a 35+ year career in architecture and urban land use planning, and spend my time traveling and writing.

Two HOT New Releases!

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We have two incredible releases for you today!  I have to admit that Domino and I have been arguing about who is going to read which one first and she’s “rock / paper / scissors’d” me into letting her read this first book before me. Dammit!

L’Wren, Hawk and the Doves by DK ffrench

L’Wren, Hawk_ 200x300Captain Saker Hawkings and First Mate L’Wren James agree to keep the mission and passion separate, but with two beautiful alien empaths onboard, it’s not only planetary peace negotiations that are in danger of breaking down.

L’Wren James and Saker Hawkings know that there’s no room on a starship for a captain and first mate to indulge their passion during a dangerous peace mission. The fragility of the cease-fire in the gender war on the divided planet Ourania threatens the stability of subspace shipping lanes, and the starship Sulaco’s mission is to get the negotiating team there and deliver them safely back.

When they take onboard Anchises and Cytheria, mysterious empath negotiators from the secretive world of Turaceona, they find their commitment to duty and to each other a struggle to maintain in the sexually heightened and emotionally charged atmosphere.

But Anchises’s and Cytheria’s struggle to keep their secret and the loss they cannot speak of hidden leaves one dangerously injured and the other missing in action. Only the truth about the man he is and the woman she is can save them.

Can Hawk and L’Wren face up to the challenges of duty, passion, and sexuality and still save not only their relationship but the peace process itself?

Buy your copy HERE!


Kink Inc: Mr. C by Juliet Chastain

Mr. C 200x300Black leather bustier, a whip, and man who appreciates them. To her surprise, Miss V finds being in charge in the bedroom can be satisfying.

When the fabulously wealthy want to go wild, Kink Inc. sends Miss V to help them realize their deepest, most secret fantasies. She wants to try everything as long as she can be submissive, but Mr. C has requested a steamy dominatrix, and she must pretend to be up to the task.

If Mr. C likes her bossy ways, even if they are punishing at times, can Miss V make him give her what she craves?

A short, steamy, bed-time read.

Buy your copy HERE!


You see what I mean?  This weekend is going to be extra steamy!!

Chat soon,


What’s in a Name?

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Pics 295What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” William Shakespeare

We recently asked some of our readers if they felt that some names were just naturally sexier than others.  Of course, we were really happy that one of the first answers (from Kitsune Kitkat) was a great question… “But are the names more important or the character being relateable? (Like Shakespeare’s question)

After all, isn’t that a valid and vital point?  Does the name really matter if the character is a great character?  Unfortunately the answer is most likely “yes”.  After all, when last did you read a red-hot romance where the hero was called “Dave” or “Martin” or even “Brian”?  Equally, are “Esther” or “Margaret” or “Gladys” going to make you think of your quintessential heroine? Didn’t think so.

The truth is that different names are hot at different times, so if you read a book from decades ago, you’re likely to find names that make you grin and I’m sure in a few decades people will read contemporary books and chuckle at some of the names we think are hot now. It made me wonder though if there are some names that are more “timeless” than others?  After all, in much the same way as many movies from the 80’s or 90’s will always be dated by their clothes, names and references, your book could be dated by your choice of name.

It’s a tough one and something which every writer will have to consider for themselves. One bit of advice was to do a bit of research to see which male and female names had made the most popular lists for the past 60+ years.  Any names that which have appeared frequently in different decades would be less likely to date your novel to a specific period of time (obviously if you’re writing a historical romance, that’s a different kettle of fish entirely).

So here’s the question for you as an author or as a reader… how do you feel about the power of the names in a story?  Do they detract from the character or help to set up your expectations for what kind of character to expect?

Until next time…

Domino xx

Casting the Spotlight on The Substitute by Spencer Dryden

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The Substitute_200x300A journeyman plumber breaks union rules, risking the loss of his career, and assumes a false identity to substitute for an injured friend who owns a non-union plumbing shop. When “Gary” arrives on the job, he is stunned to discover that the client is expecting sex and not plumbing services. It’s the beginning of a day of surprises.

Motivated by his obligation to a friend and seduced by the allure of the client, “Gary” has some of the best sex of his life. He is at peace until he overhears the client making an immediate referral to a friend. Torn between conscience and friendship, he accepts the referral.

His day turns again as Britta initially spurns his services, much to “Gary’s” relief, then asks him to do some plumbing work. While he is working, Britta slowly drops her hostile manner, sharing more of her personal story. “Gary” finds himself longing for a deeper connection, but has to dispel Britta’s feelings of inadequacy and deal with his hidden identity.

Order your copy here!


Her head thrashed in the pile of her frosted, layered mane of silver and black hair. She was so strong I thought she was going to lift my two-hundred-pound frame from the floor as her back arched in the agony of a hard orgasm.


I was breaking all the rules that day, but the last one I ever expected to break was fucking a client on the clock. But technically, she wasn’t my client.

My strange odyssey began when my plumbing trade school buddy, Steve, called me in desperation from the ER where he was being treated for a severely turned ankle.

“Dude, you gotta take this job for me today.” His voice was full of mirth, making me suspect he was loaded with painkillers.

“Steve, you know I can’t do that. I’m a union journeyman, and you’re a non-union shop.”

I couldn’t work for one of my best friends, not within the rules the union had set for us. Rules that protected us from exploitation, but limited our choices.

“It’s just one job, goddamnit. I don’t have anyone else I can trust.”

“Yeah, but that one job could cost me my career.”


Spencer Dryden Author PicSpencer Dryden is a new to writing fiction, but an old guy on the threshold of draining any reserves left in Medicare and Social Security. In real life he is a handyman, an at-home dad, inventor, and web videographer, living a quiet life in the frozen tundra of Minnesota, USA.

He earned an MBA from a prestigious Midwestern university but is so far behind on the career earnings scale of his peers that the university has offered to refund his tuition if he will return his diploma and disavow his affiliation, lest he continue to denigrate the school’s impeccable brand.

He has a beautiful trophy wife ready to spend his royalties. Like all good romance writers, he has a cat but prefers to pet his wife.

This is his fourth work published by Breathless Press.

He can be reached at multiple locations:

Check out his website:

He’s on Google+ :

Tweet Him at: @SpencerDryden

He is a regular contributor to the multiauthor blog, Oh Get A Grip:

And Facebook:

If you liked this book, please leave a review at Breathless Press or at Goodreads:

Minx Juliette – Fresh in Print!

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Minx Juliette 200x300Shot and nearly drowned, psychic Sergeant Julie Dennison is saved by a handsome rebel leader who’s searching for his kidnapped son.

When Sergeant Julie Dennison is shot and nearly drowned, she’s saved by a handsome Latino stranger who can’t wait to get rid of her. Wolf is a leader of a group of rebels, working together to take down crooked cops in Mexico. He searches for his kidnapped son, and the man who killed his wife. The problem is that he doesn’t want to give his heart away, and Julie refuses to fall in love. Together they conquer the rainforest on a search for the Toxic Tango Troop, and Julie’s twin sister, Jinn.

Order your copy HERE!


Heat burned along Julie’s side, and a hard lump pressed into her hip. One of her lovers, she couldn’t remember who, must have fallen asleep after they’d had sex. That was one rule she refused to allow to be broken. At ten years old, she’d been separated from her family. She’d promised herself never to become attached to anyone, to protect her heart.

It hurt to stretch, but she wanted to, like a cat. As she opened her eyes to find darkness, Julie wondered where she was. Her bed-partner breathed deeply, and evenly on her neck, sending delicious shivers up her spine. His arm rested on her waist. When she moved, pain radiated from her chest, and reality came crashing back.


Julie, I…

The man beside her moved, lifting his head. He pressed his palm on her forehead, and sighed.

“Still have the fever. Damn.”


“Yes. Stay put. I’ll get you something to drink. We have to cool you down, and get you well enough to move out of here.”

“You seem to be in a real hurry to get rid of me.”

“You are a danger to us all.”


His expression shuttered suddenly, as though he’d given something away. “I’ll be right back.”

He lit some candles and left the bed, barely able to stand erect due to the low ceiling. Julie estimated he stood well over six-feet tall when not ducking, and his shoulders took up much of the space in the small room. His narrow, muscular waist drew her gaze, as did the bulge in his denims that pressed against her while he lay beside her. She bit back a grin when he adjusted his jeans and turned to leave. From the look on his face, he didn’t appear to be thrilled with her effect on him.

A few moments later he came back, carrying a tray laden with a drink of juice, a bowl of stew, and some bread. He avoided her eyes and focused on feeding her, staring at her lips as they accepted the spoon. When he frowned, she smirked.

“What’s so funny?”

“If I weren’t weak as a kitten, I imagine you’d have other things on your mind than feeding me.”

Startled, he looked at her this time. “Eat your food,” he said, growling.

Julie gave a low, throaty laugh, and took another mouthful. His hand shook a bit, and he spilled some of the gravy on her chest. This time, she said, “Would you care to lick it off?”

To her surprise, Lope leapt to his feet, banging his head on the ceiling. She snickered and then bit her lip to stop it.

“What’s wrong?” she asked with an innocent look on her face.

“You obviously can feed yourself.” He turned and climbed the stairs, leaving her.

Hey, nice ass.

Lope stopped in his tracks, his back to her. Her chest hurt like crazy, yet she laughed aloud. He heard my thoughts. She watched as he disappeared upstairs. Once he’d slammed the trap door shut, she lay down and closed her eyes, exhausted, the dinner forgotten.


Franny Armstrong Author PicBorn in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, Franny Armstrong has written creatively since she was a child. Her mother always told her to write down her feelings and she did. When she was ten, she started writing and acting out plays in her garage for the neighborhood kids.

When she became ill in her forties, she used her writing skills to create stories that took her away. Living in the country with her husband and mother, three dogs, and two cats, she loves the silence when working on her books, when she can get it. With three full grown children and four grandchildren, she has a full life. Previously, Franny had ten published paranormal romance books, but took them off the market when the contracts ran out to fine-tune her career as an author. She hopes to find new homes for them.

Writing is her life now. Her main goal is to be a #1 Best Selling author and tour with book signings.


It was time…

Posted on by . photos of objectsOk, I have a shocking confession… and perhaps it will sound a little silly… but the loss of the blog hit me a lot harder than I thought.  I can only liken it to losing a manuscript that you’ve toiled over for 2 years because that is somewhat how it feels to me.  Dominic is slightly more pragmatic about the whole thing and has been on my case to get back up and running.  As you can tell… I wasn’t quite as enthused as he was.  However, truth be told… I missed you guys!

What also helped was a recent conversation with a friend who had indeed lost her whole book in a computer meltdown.  She called me late in the evening and sobbed brokenly down the phone into my ear. She lamented the hours of painstaking work that she’d put into the novel.  The unending arguments with her lead characters, the beautiful dialogue that had poured forth during her inspired moments and the blood, sweat and tears that had lead to the harder parts of her work being completed.

In fact, she had been in the middle of a particularly inspired bit of dialogue when her computer coughed, sputtered, flickered briefly and then went black.  She confessed to staring at it in shock for a full minute before attempting to restart it in the vague hope that all would be well.  It was to no avail.  No amount of technical CPR could resurrect the machine and a seasoned professional had tried all manner of witchcraft and spells in order to recover the files, but sadly it was not to be.

As she hiccuped and sobbed I realised that her sense of loss was possibly worse than mine as she had toiled on a book that had yet to be shared with the world and which she had hoped would generate some income whereas I had lost words that I had toiled over sure, but which had already been seen, read and appreciated by hundreds.  I wanted to sob with her and tell her my own tale of woe, but instead I encouraged her to start again.  To remember that the words had already been born once and would no doubt be reborn if she only gave them the chance.

After all, that is the truth of it.  If you lose your work, you need not give up.  If that world exists within you once, the chances are that it exists within you still.  No, it probably won’t be the same, but it could be so much better if you give it the chance.  You need to believe.

In offering her this advice I finally had to kick myself in the butt and stop sulking.  So… we’re back and I’m going to allow Dominic to do what he’s wanted for weeks… and blog too!  *grin*

It’s so lovely to see you all again.

Until next time…

Domino xx

Secret Identities Anthology

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Secret  Identities_200x300Ever wonder what it’s like to fall in love with a caped crusader? Or perhaps you would rather be a damsel who loves to fall into the wrong hands? Breathless Press presents seven sultry tales of adventure filled with superpowers that would make any pants quiver with excitement. Face foes who are too hot to resist, and find love on the wrong side of the spectrum. These dashingly dangerous authors will have you thirsty for more:

Brantwijn Serrah

Jen Bradlee

Winter Bayne

McKayla Schutt

Ivy Bateman

Find out what’s under the cape…

Buy your eBook copy HERE

Buy your Print copy HERE


Right Where I Want You by Brantwijn Serrah

Clarion City’s Midnight Defender finds himself in the clutches of his arch-rival, the sultry villainess codenamed The Mink. She’ll give him the chance to win back his freedom…but only if he gives her everything she wants.

Manipulator by Jen Bradlee

Manipulation has always come second nature to Addison, but an unexpected ally takes the time to show her where her true value lies.

Heroes for Hire: Striker by Winter Bayne

Shade is an average woman until the government changes her with superhuman powers. Striker is ex-military who sees the benefit of altered humans and turns his vision into a business, Heroes for Hire. On opposing sides, passions flare for them leaving one unanswered question—how good can sex get?

Hear the Heat by McKayla Schutt

Being a mind reader, Kelly struggles to find the perfect man as she puts criminals in jail. At a speed dating night she meets the sexy detective Brad in Richmond, VA. Find out if they can make it past the one night.

Edged in Flame by Ivy Bateman

“You and I can light up the world together.”

Ever since Lizzy first slipped into her super suit, she’s longed to hear words such as these from the perfect hot partner. But now that it’s happened, have they been said by the right man?

Playing Hard to Get by Brantwijn Serrah

Brooke doesn’t really play well with others, and she wants nothing to do with an organization out to recruit “talent” like her. It’s a little tough to refuse, though, when they send a recruiter with some very special talents of his own…

Bound in Memories by Jen Bradlee

Adele realizes too late that behind the façade of the perfect gentleman who saved her from prison beats the heart of a ruthless villain.



A Clean Slate

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Well, it wasn’t what we wanted and heaven knows we hate change, but some gremlins stole our blog so we’re trying to resign ourselves to the fact that we’ll be starting over.

Like Dominic says… now we can repeat ourselves if we need to!!

Hopefully we’ll get all the formatting and stuff resolved soon.

Have a stunning day!

Until next time…

Domino xx