Happy New Year! Winners announced

Well it’s time to start off 2011 right.  With free books!  It was fun to recap 2010 with you all today.  I enjoyed all your comments and I’m looking forward to my first 2011 release in just a few weeks.  Morgan’s Surprise (sequel to Kate’s Crew) will be out on 1/25.  Woohoo!

Congratulations to the following winners.  Please use the contact me page to email me your format preference!

Picture Perfect – Vanessa
Kate’s Crew – Patti
Dream Machine – Desi
Driven – Brandy W
Night is Darkest – Tracey D
Through My Window – Cari Quinn
Shifting Gears – Lisa B
Razor’s Edge – Missy V
Star of Christmas – Rachel R

Thank you for partying today and I hope you all have a fantastic year ahead.


Year in Review Party – #10

starofchristmas_HiResWe made it!  My ninth and final release for 2010 was Star of Christmas, which just came out a few days before Christmas.  It’s the second episode in the life of Star, a sex worker in Amsterdam.  Just tonight I finished Can’t Buy Love, which I hope will be the third volume in the series.  This book was another interesting one.  It contains some electrophilia.  You can check out pictures of some of the equipment featured in the book on the release day post for Star Of Christmas.

Remember to check back at midnight for winners from all of today’s posts.  Thanks for ringing in the new year with me!

Available from Ellora’s Cave


Star has seen it all as a sex worker in Amsterdam. She harnesses her intense sexuality to bring her clients satisfaction—or whatever else they desire. When one of her favorites, Rick, makes an unusual proposition, she accepts the rare opportunity.

She finds herself onstage, the lead in a naughty Christmas pageant, indulging in electrophilia where anyone can witness her client-turned-costar give her a present she’ll never forget. The sparks between them grow into something more, forcing them to decide if they’re strong enough to seek more than simple pleasure together.


By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.


Copyright © JAYNE RYLON, 2010

All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.


Through my window, snow is falling. Unique flakes dazzle me as they swarm and crash then disperse, earthbound, in the glow from my red light. Gorgeous and yet a pain in the ass—like so many things in life.

Let me count the ways.

Customers stay indoors to avoid the chill or romp through the rare weather, making for slow nights in Amsterdam’s infamous district. Unless you factor in the men who seek alternative methods to keep toasty and stranded passengers from Schipol taking advantage their airline delays.

Slut shoes plus treacherous icy cobblestones equal a terrifying combination. I’m not the sort of woman who wears rubbers to work—at least not the kind that protect my investment in my Louboutins—only to slip on sumptuous six-inch stilettos at the last instant. My pride rebels. The mystique generated by my stacked heels is part of who I am.

Which is why I cringe when Rick, a frequent customer, fills me in on the news.

“Damn it, Star.” He pants as his orgasm weakens him. My liquefied bones leave me unable to protest as he withdraws his softening cock from my pussy and crashes to the mattress in my booth’s loft. The hint of frustration in his tone has me squinting.

“You’re not satisfied?” A complaint would be a first for me. Not that whores have the equivalent to a corporate comment box system, but my popularity and the abundance of my repeat clients reassure me of my skill.

I sit up, crossing my legs, lifting his head to rest on my thigh as I play with his hair. Dozens of shared sessions with him have taught me I don’t have to hesitate to explore in the aftermath of our pleasure. I figure he craves the interaction. After all, he purchased a full hour tonight when he never requires more than a quarter of that to reach satisfaction in my body, usually dragging me along with him.

Something about his honest craving for me—not just an easy lay—affects me. The chemistry between us makes serving him a pleasure. Sure, he hires other girls in the district from time to time. Then again, I sometimes try a new ice cream flavor before indulging in Rocky Road for my standard Saturday night treat.

“No. I mean, yes. I’m satisfied. More than.”

I massage Rick’s scalp until he rewards me with his content relaxation. Before I can gloat to myself, he shakes his head, caressing me with his thick mane. When he tilts his face to meet my curious stare, his nostrils flare in response to the scent of the arousal he’s inspired.

He laughs. “I can’t think straight when I’m near you. What I meant is, I didn’t come here for this.”

“You didn’t?” What else would he seek from me? I’m providing his essentials.



Intimacy without responsibility.

“Not tonight.” He levers upright, granting me the opportunity to admire his toned torso as he rests his shoulders on the wall beside me.

A far cry from baby’s-butt smooth or steroid-strong. A natural ideal. Nice.

“Star, I have a proposition.”

Question: Did you make a resolution for 2011?  What is it?


Year in Review Party – #9

Razor's Edge So it looks like I miscounted since this is release number eight but there’s still one left!  Oopsy.  Anyhoo, up next–second to last–is Razor’s Edge (Men in Blue Book #2).  This book is loooong and it probably took me as long to write as all the other books of 2010.  Seriously.  But, in the end I love how it turned out and can’t wait to start writing Mistress’s Master (Men in Blue Book #3) which will be out in September 2011 featuring Jeremy Radisson.  Yipee!

Available at Samhain Publishing
Available at Amazon
Available at B&N


There’s a thin line between protection and betrayal…and they’re dancing on it.

Men in Blue, Book 2

Isabella’s marriage to the wealthiest man in the state looked fairytale perfect. Only she knows the truth behind the nightmare forcing her to run with the clothes on her back, the scars on her body and no one to trust. Not even her own father.

When the man hunting her has unlimited resources, hiding in plain sight is a wise choice. Isabella basks in the protection of the limelight as an instructor on a pro-am TV dance competition. Perfect plan, except her ornery partner is packing moves she never learned in any studio.

A rookie mistake in the line of duty earned Razor months of rehab and a healthy distrust of innocent-looking women. Determined to prove to his fellow men in blue his green has worn off, he goes undercover as Isabella’s dance partner to investigate her possible involvement in a sex-slavery ring. But as he attempts to cozy up for information, their instant chemistry challenges his detached composure.

An attempt on her life should have cleared the air. Instead it muddies the waters even more, forcing them both to trust each other. And depend on the one thing Razor thought he’d lost. His instinct.

Warning: This book contains ultra-sexy young cops, who aren’t afraid to show a girl their best moves on and off the dance floor.


“I quit!”

Chief Leigh chuckled.

“For Christ’s sake! I’m a cop, not some twinkle-toed ballroom dancer.” Razor gawked in horror when his superior officers didn’t flinch. They were dead serious.

“Listen, kid. You don’t have a lot of options these days. Your cover is blown. We can’t use your baby face to bust drug rings in the schools anymore. Not since you’ve been plastered all over the news this last year.”

No one mentioned the reason why. They pitied him too much to talk about how fucking stupid he’d been—how he’d let his dick lead the way straight to hell.

After five months in rehab, thanks to the two bullets he’d caught with his chest and the one that had skimmed his thigh, James “Razor” Reoser had reported back to duty only to find the department planned to farm him out on some feel-good publicity stunt as a hometown hero. Some damned hero. Maybe they didn’t trust him with real police work anymore.

He wouldn’t blame them.

But why were Mason Clark and Tyler Lambert in on this meeting? They’d been at the core of the fiasco that had landed his ass in the hospital for months. Thank God his fuck-ups hadn’t cost them, or their woman, their lives in the end. He never could have survived that.

“They’re screwing with you, Razor.” Ty broke the tension, letting him off the hook. “There’s more here than some bullshit assignment.”

The chief nodded. “If you think you’re up to it…”

“I am.” Razor didn’t need the man to finish.

“I have one last undercover op for you.” His boss retrieved a manila folder from his desk and handed it over. “You’ve heard about Mrs. Isabella Buchanan Carrington leaving her husband?”

“Uh…yeah.” Razor scrubbed his hand through his hair as he tried to recall the society news. Not exactly his usual cuppa. In fact, he fast-forwarded through those stories to reach the local sports scores on his DVR most nights. But the second the captivating woman’s picture had flashed on his screen a few days ago, her interview had fascinated him. Or at least he’d studied her luscious mouth as she recounted her sob story.

Disgust had rolled through his gut when his cock stiffened for the first time AG—after Gina. All for a damsel in distress who’d probably staged the whole drama to leech cash out of the sucker she’d married while she schemed to run away to Mexico with the pool boy.

“She’ll be your partner on the show.”

His stomach cramped.

“Is this some kind of sick test? To see if I can keep my hands to myself?” Razor hated that they might think him incapable of remaining impartial. More, he feared they were right.

“Not exactly.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” he grumbled.

“Let’s say there are advocates in the administration for your early retirement.”

“Fuck! I’m twenty-four, sir. I’ll be the only retired rookie in history.” Just when he thought his destiny couldn’t decay beyond miserable. Now he’d have unemployed to add to crippled and gullible.

“It’s not going to come to that. You need to regain your edge, that’s all.” Mason clapped his giant hand onto Razor’s slighter shoulder. He always felt like a freaking hobbit compared to the hulking man. “You’ve got this. Ty and I will have your back.”

“Tyler, brief him.” The chief monitored the city playing out on the other side of his seventh story window.

“Isabella Buchanan Carrington. Age—twenty-two. Height—five-foot-two. Blond, amazing sky blue eyes, I’m guessing 32C…”

“Ty!” Mason wasn’t in the mood to fuck around.

Razor appreciated his focus. Regaling the movie-star looks of his new mark couldn’t possibly help.

“Yeah, yeah. She comes from money. Lots of money. Married more money. We’ve been after Malcolm Carrington for years, but had no luck proving he’s supplementing his inheritance with dirty deeds. Yet, his tastes run to more expensive shit than he should be able to afford. And, believe me, that’s saying something. He’s been involved in Buchanan business for years. The night Isabella turned eighteen Carrington was spotted wining and dining her at The Summit. Gossip columns billed them the perfect couple despite the fact he’s nearly fifteen years older than her.”

Razor couldn’t imagine that kind of lifestyle. Hell, he’d have to save for the next five years to have an appetizer at the swank restaurant. He supposed extravagance helped when attempting to snag the hottest, richest lady in the state. Hell, maybe the country.

“When she turned nineteen, Carrington proposed in front of a quaint gathering of five hundred guests at Rolling Greens, the country club both he and pops belong to. The platinum couple was engaged for a year and married the day before her twentieth birthday.”

“This guy was on a schedule, huh?” Razor blew out a sigh.

“Seems like it. Didn’t hurt that she was set to inherit some of her mother’s cash either, I bet.” Mason’s disgust for Carrington rang through the room.

“Set to?”

“Seems when her mother died in an accident at their mansion, a clause in her will left her share of the wealth to the daughter. Unless Isabella were to marry into a family better off than hers—hard to conceive of—in which case old man Buchanan could keep the dough to support himself in retirement. Like the bastard needs it.”

“Lambert, that’s enough.” The chief beat them at politics every time. One reason he’d made the grade and they never would—never wanted to.

“What kind of douche takes from his own kid, even if he’s allowed?”

“Move on.”

“So the babe gave it all up for her husband. Who, by the way, was spotted by one of our watchers with another woman in the garden at his own fucking multi-million dollar reception. Paid for courtesy of daddy’s new stash, I’m sure.”

“And she fell for all this bullshit?” Razor could have kicked his own ass when the three other men in the room stared at him without uttering a single word.

When he thought the supercharged atmosphere might spontaneously combust, the chief said, quietly, “Malcolm could be an expert con man. What chance would a sheltered girl have against a shark like him?”

“It looks like she might be wising up now.” Mason added.

“Or she was in on it from the beginning.” Razor scrubbed a hand through his hair and tried to ignore the subtext. “So why do we care? Yeah, maybe they shat on her one time too many and she decided she wants out, maybe demanded her nest egg, but there’s nothing criminal here. Just greed. All of their greed.”

“On the surface, you’re right.” Tyler snatched the briefing. “But lately we’ve been picking up some chatter. The joint Carrington-Buchanan holdings are vast. They’re into lots of legitimate businesses and a few that skirt the line. This time they may have gone too far. Ever hear of Black Lily?”

Razor paused. Should he admit that? In front of his boss and his superior officers? Who already had reason to doubt his judgment when it came to sex? Fuck it. No sense in lying now. “Uh…yeah. I know what it is.”

“Ever been there?” Mason arched an eyebrow.

“Maybe once or twice.”

“Malcolm Carrington is the proud owner of the establishment. On paper. Lots of people say Buchanan has controlling interest but doesn’t want the trail leading in his direction.” Tyler winked at him. “Again, nothing illegal about people enjoying consensual BDSM scenes in a private club. However, we’ve heard rumors of something…darker going on in the reserved rooms.”

“What do you mean? Prostitution?” Razor had heard whispers the last time he’d visited—forbidden offers—but it’d been a while.

“Worse.” Mason spoke through clenched teeth. “They’re allegedly trading sex slaves in the dungeons. Offering test drives, rent-to-own deals and other arrangements I can’t comprehend. One of our moles reported seeing someone resembling Mrs. Carrington on site.”

Razor cursed under his breath. One psychotic woman who thrived on power games was enough for any man’s lifetime. He’d barely survived Gina. They wouldn’t sic another on him, would they?

“We need to know if she’s involved or if she can slip us information. With trouble in paradise, she could help us crack the case, bring Malcolm down.”

“And you think I’m going to be able to figure out the truth? You think I can fucking tell if she’s lying—if she’s up to her perfect tits in trouble or masterminding the plan? We all know I can’t tell jack shit when it comes to the femme fatales of the world.” He hated the panic squeezing his vocal chords until his pitch rose.

“I believe you can.” Tyler looked straight into his eyes as he offered the reassurance Razor never could have asked for but desperately needed. “You won’t get fooled again. We’ll be at every show, watching, helping.”

“You’re on the case. You better get your act together.” The chief didn’t stray from his place at the window. “I won’t be able to overrule the administration again.”

“It’s all about your edge. You have to hone your instincts. Jump back on the horse.” Mason nodded in Razor’s direction. Not a single trace of doubt tinged the more experienced cop’s expression.

Razor didn’t have a choice. He was being pitched into the lion’s den. Again. “There’s just one thing…”

“Yes?” The chief hesitated a moment before answering.

“I don’t do sequins.”

Mason and Tyler’s laughter boomed through the office. The chief pivoted, flashing a hint of a smile. Ten tons lifted from Razor’s shoulders. If he could pull this off maybe things could return to normal.

Question: What’s your favorite dance move?


Year in Review Party – #8

Shifting Gears by Jayne RylonHere it is… my seventh release of the year.  Shifting Gears was released on October 29th.  This book features one of my favorite heroes of all time.  Mark Rossi.  You might remember him as the third from Sebastian and Lynn’s menage in Driven.  Well, now the three of them are on tour in China.

This book is unique because it’s the first foursome (involving two couples) I’ve ever written.  The dynamic was really interesting to explore.  It’s an f/m/m/f foursome, in case you were wondering 🙂

The other fun part of writing this book is that I got to use a lot of things I saw on my own trip to China including Guangzhou, Hong Kong and Cheung Chau.  I posted a bunch of picture of things in the story if you’re interested.  You can find the post on the blog from Shifting Gears release day.

Available at Ellora’s Cave
Available at Amazon
Available at B&N
Available at ARe (60% off sale going on right now for all EC titles!)


A standalone book in the Cougar Challenge series, this book picks up the story of Mark Rossi (introduced in Driven).  Books in the Cougar Challenge series do not have to be read in order to be enjoyed.

Mark envies his friend Sebastian and the Cougar who tamed him. For years he’s had his eye on a sexy, older, married woman. Despite his and Bastian’s sexual adventures, he refuses to poach outside his steamy fantasies.

Sloan travels with the race car drivers as the league’s publicist. Living abroad can be lonely, especially when touring somewhere like China—where beautiful landscapes surround them but language and cultural barriers are high. Until she meets Lynn, who shares her love of erotic romances. In Lynn, she gains more than a friend because sexy-as-sin navigator Mark is never far from the Cougar and her fiancé, making Sloan wonder if it’s time rejoin the dating scene after a nasty divorce.

When Lynn notices the chemistry between Mark and Sloan, she issues the Cougar Challenge. Sloan never imagined she might grant her younger lover the strength to explore the sexual tension that has been building between him and his friend since their Cougars entered their lives.

Four friends, two couples, one night none of them will forget.

Reader Advisory: Novel contains a f/m/m/f ménage.


By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.


Copyright © JAYNE RYLON, 2010

All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

Chapter One

“Oh my God!”

The woman on the corrugated aluminum bleacher several rows in front of Sloan turned with wide eyes when Sloan shouted. She caught Sloan’s stare on the sexy cover of her erotic romance novel and flipped it closed—cover side down—discretely.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” Sloan smiled. “I know how it is when you’re lost in a good book. And that book is fan-fucking-tastic! I love Mari Carr. Her stories are smoking hot. Especially the ménages. Yum.”

The woman grinned and nodded. “I’ve read almost all of hers. My reading group back in the US mailed me this one. It arrived last night and I’m halfway done already. I tried to ration it out—a chapter a day—but it’s impossible.”

“Thank God for ebook readers, huh? I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have access to all the new releases from this side of the globe.” Sloan stepped into the stands then picked her way down the incline, closer to the woman, careful not to slip in her three-inch heels.

At least she’d worn jeans to the race site today instead of her usual skirted suit. “I hear that. It can get lonely being a foreigner in a country where you don’t speak the language. Especially one as difficult to pick up as Mandarin or Cantonese. Reading keeps me from getting too homesick, though it leads to other…complications.”

When the woman laughed, her entire face brightened. Around Sloan’s age, close to forty, she seemed carefree and infectiously happy. “I know what you mean. Or at least I used to. Now I have a young stud to keep me occupied when I get revved up. I’m engaged to Sebastian Fiori. The driver for—”

“Oh! Don’t worry, I know who he is. Sexy as sin and a four-time world champion rally car racer to boot. So you must be Lynn Madison, you bitch.”

The humongous diamond flashing on the woman’s finger had confirmed Sloan’s suspicions.

Talk of Bastian and the alluring cougar who’d tamed him had run rampant this season. Scores of young sex goddesses mourned their loss. Many had tried for years to snag him or his luscious navigator Mark Rossi, but none had succeeded in tempting either guy into more than a one-night stand.

Until Sebastian fell head over heels in love on first sight last season. Everyone agreed he’d never performed better. Lynn must be good for the man.

What was good for the driver was good for the sport.

And that was good for Sloan.

“It’s true.” Lynn sighed and her eyes took on a faraway look. “I’m the luckiest woman alive.”

“I’m Sloan Desai, by the way.” She held out her hand, but Lynn hugged her instead of shaking it.

“Sorry, but after two minutes I feel like I’ve known you forever. Have a seat.” Lynn gestured with the spine of her novel toward the racetrack, which snaked past the base of the stadium they sat in. “You know, Bastian’s mentioned you before. I think we might’ve even talked on the phone once when you scheduled some of his interviews. You’re the publicist for the league, right?”

“Yep. That’s me.” Sloan winked. “In charge of keeping the boys out of trouble with the media, managing their images and bringing fans in by the truckload.”

“Seems like you’re doing a great job. I heard the first couple days of the exhibition are sold out.”

“They are. Thanks.”

“So how do you like China so far?”

The event would take place in Guangdong province, about a half-hour outside Guangzhou, in a few weeks—a great chance for the teams to tune up or experiment in the off-season. The crews had arrived early to acclimate, which meant Sloan had to be on-site to defuse any…situations…that could cause trouble with the local hosts.

Full of testosterone and daring, the guys in the league sometimes crossed the line.

“I haven’t been able to do much sightseeing. I have to stick fairly close-by.” Sloan shrugged.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Lynn grimaced. “The teams do tend to get rowdy on occasion. Maybe you can take a day trip or two with me. I write travel guides for a living, so I like to check out as much as I can in the areas we visit. Sebastian gets nervous when I’m out on my own though. Especially in locations a little more exotic.”

“You don’t seem like the kind of woman to sit around and wait for a man simply to ease his mind. A woman after my own heart, by the way.”

“You’re right, I’m no shrinking violet.” Lynn grinned. “But I worry that if he’s worried, he’ll be distracted. The sport is dangerous enough as it is. Plus, I miss him if I stray too far.”

“I hope ‘him’ is me.” A deep growl sounded from behind their spot on the bench. Sitting side by side, neither woman had heard the soft soles of Sebastian’s racing sneakers on the concrete as he approached. “Or I’ll have to kick some ass and those days are supposed to be behind me.”

“Old man.”

Sloan swallowed hard at the jibe from the other guy who strode toward them—Mark Rossi. It was either that or moan aloud at his spectacular build. Thick muscles filled out his racing jumpsuit to perfection. She wished she’d seen him going instead of coming so she could check out his killer ass, but the bulge at his crotch and the humor in his warm eyes made for scrumptious consolation prizes.

She’d spied him from across the room at events she’d arranged, but usually she had a job to do while in attendance. Of course she’d found herself staring at promo shots of him on more occasions than she cared to admit, but never before had she been able to take her time and study his legendary features in person—bold cheekbones, olive skin and glossy, sandy hair.

And, shit, now she was staring.

Maybe her imagination played tricks on her, but it seemed as if he might be gawking in return.

Available at Ellora’s Cave
Available at Amazon
Available at B&N
Available at ARe (60% off sale going on right now for all EC titles!)

Question: I love to travel and use lots of the destinations I’ve been to in my books.  What’s your favorite place you’ve traveled to?

Year in Review Party – #7

Through My Window by Jayne RylonMy sixth release of the year might be my favorite.  Through My Window came out on September 30th and features Star, a sex worker in Amsterdam.  The inspiration for this story came from my trip there last year when I toured the red light district with my husband.  (No we did not make any purchases, thank you.)  Still, the windows fascinated me and so I wrote this book.  A previous blog has a bunch of pictures from the city if you’re interested.  The second book in Star’s ongoing saga just came out in December.  It’s called Star of Christmas but we’ll chat more about that closer to midnight!  I also just typed THE END on Can’t Buy Love.  Here’s hoping my editor likes what would be the third installment in this series.

Available at Ellora’s Cave
Available at Amazon
Available at B&N
Available at ARe (PS. I just heard ARe is having a big EC sale which makes this book only $1.19 on their site!!!)


“Through my window, a sea of strangers swirl and retreat like waves in an ocean of humanity. I brush my hair, fix my makeup and flip on the glaring red light in my booth before turning to face my audience on the other side of the glass.”

For Star, this is another night on the job, though no two are ever alike. Adaptable and perceptive, she becomes many things in the course of one evening—whore, lover, nurse, psychologist and friend. But above all, she’s still a woman. Join her, through her window.


By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.


Copyright © JAYNE RYLON, 2010

All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.


Through my window, a sea of strangers swirl and retreat like waves in an ocean of humanity. I brush my hair, fix my makeup and flip on the glaring red light in my booth before turning to face them on the other side of the glass.

They begin each evening like still waters. Ebbing and flowing past my window. Unaffected by buffeting winds or brewing desires. Eddying in swirls as they gather, peek around our infamous district with downcast eyes then scatter—awkward and unsure yet inquisitive.

Curious couples setting out on tandem adventures, young men high on the moral freedom of Amsterdam and clusters of women indulging in a wild night with friends all dip their toes in the pool.

Later, much later, they will roil and crash against the glass in a typhoon of wanton excess—of food, drink, drugs and sex—that never ceases to amaze me.

Or to infect me with its primal power.

Most women shoot me glances of pity if they look at me at all. I feel sorry for them, that they don’t understand. But some…some grin and nod.




A select few go further, seeking my services so they can share in the rush for a brief time.

Men are more likely to notice my sincere yearning to please right away. All manner of them from young to old, rich to poor, thin to fat and virile to impotent appraise me with hungry eyes.

Cynics might say my killer curves, mile-high stilettos or long mane of platinum hair are responsible for their focused attention. I don’t buy that. I’m not the most attractive working girl on the block. But I’m one of the busiest.

Customers can sense I’m different than most. They recognize I’m here not because I have to be but because I want to be. I absorb their stares before returning some of my own. The authority they grant me is intoxicating and addicting.

I love enticing a kindred spirit to my lair for both our enjoyment and my profit.

The hot, red lights of my booth, along the canal slicing through the heart of De Wallen, glint off my silver-sequined costume. What little of it there is anyway. The warm air in the space caresses my bared skin each time my neighbors let someone in or show them out.

Satisfaction guaranteed.

Theirs. And mine. Ours.

Question: Do you enjoy books written in first person (from the main character’s POV)?

Year in Review Party – #6

Night is Darkest by Jayne RylonSo here were are, up to September, which was a double release month!  The first book was the print version of Night is Darkest (Men in Blue #1).  This was super cool because it happened right around the time of Lora Leigh’s RAW and I got to meet so many fantastic fans eager to get their hands on Lacey, Mason and Ty which hit bookshelves on September 7th, 2010.

Available from Samhain Publishing
Available from Amazon
Available from B&N


Some secrets refuse to stay hidden.

Lacey Daughtry’s perfect weekend is interrupted by tragic news of her brother’s murder in the line of duty. Plagued by a rash of mysterious phone calls, she turns to her brother’s best friends and fellow officers for protection…and comfort.

Spending time in close contact with Mason and Tyler, the two men she’s dreamed of since her first girlhood crush, seems like the answer to a prayer. Especially when they begin to explore the desire she’s harbored for so long.

But the partners are holding out on Lacey. Determined to suppress the most extreme facets of their lust, they agree to settle for sharing the woman they crave while concealing their desire for each other. Until Lacey cracks their resolve, unleashing a torrent of emotions that threatens to distract them when they can least afford it.

Their blossoming relationship is complicated by secrets. And the only way to evade the killer threatening their lives is to bare their souls in the darkest hours of the night. Or everything will come crashing down, just before the dawn.

Warning: After reading this book you’ll never look at a pair of hot cops, a cemetery or a can of Spaghetti-O’s the same way again.


Chapter One


Lacey could guarantee that the eerie sound of the first shovelful of dirt landing on the polished surface of her brother’s coffin would reverberate through her nightmares for eternity. The skittering of pebbles adding one more barrier between her and her last blood relative caused her to flinch. A warm, gloved hand reached out to bracket her elbow. Tyler. She didn’t have to turn around to recognize his steady, comforting touch. He and Mason stood resolute behind her in their dress uniforms like her own personal honor guard.

Her spine straightened. She drew her shoulders back and lifted her chin against the agony she struggled to hold at bay. Rob would be proud of her stoic bearing. Though, in all honesty, she couldn’t cry. She hadn’t shed one single tear since she’d received the news of his ultimate sacrifice. Whoever he’d died to protect, she prayed they were safe. She had to believe his loss held some value.

With dry eyes, she scanned the monstrous crowd. Rows of black clad mourners, so deep she couldn’t make out the end, ringed the gravesite beside her parents’ under the oak tree in the city’s oldest cemetery. The preacher’s speech—designed to comfort—couldn’t penetrate the gloom in her heart, which complemented the dreary, overcast day. In her mind, she heard Rob’s laugh, then replayed the petty argument they’d had over dirty dishes last Wednesday, before remembering his daily warning.

“Stay safe.” It was the last thing he’d ever said to her. He’d whispered the standard entreaty in her ear as he captured her in a bear hug before she’d headed off to work Friday evening. In her mind’s eye, it seemed he held her tighter—for a moment longer—than usual, but she recognized the wishful thinking.

If only he’d listened to his own advice.

She shivered against the October breeze as crispy leaves wandered past the pointed tips of her black leather boots. A few moments later, Mason’s jacket enveloped her. Lacey tugged the lapels over her breasts, soaking up the heat of his body. She could make three fitted coats from the fabric that had so recently framed his broad shoulders.

Over the past several days she had thrown herself into the preparations for this service and the party—she refused to call it a wake—that would follow. At no time had she been left alone. Though they’d stayed in touch with the fruitless investigation, one of Rob’s best friends had accompanied her while she delivered Rob’s dress uniform to the funeral home, selected music and readings, gave input into the obituary she’d penned and stopped just short of following her to the bathroom to see if she needed their assistance to wipe her ass.

They were driving her insane.

Mason nudged the base of her spine with a discreet pat. “Go ahead, doll. Do you need me to escort you?”

She blinked to clear the haze from her mind. The police commissioner now stood at the edge of the jagged hole in the ground, sparing her a glance drenched with pity. In his outstretched hand rested Rob’s badge, hat and service revolver. The sea of miserable faces focused in her direction goaded her forward, fortifying her determination to stay strong. She picked her way across the soggy ground to collect the personal effects presented with honor.

The eleven baby steps seemed like a marathon but, though her legs wobbled, they held. Lacey pivoted, then appraised the two men whose suffering mirrored her own. The support and worry in their glassy eyes, offset by the twin lines of their clenched jaws, spurred her to make the return journey to their sides without delay.

When the ceremony concluded, strangers pressed against her on all sides as they encroached on the open grave. They either wanted to offer their genuine sympathy or to gawk at the morbid spectacle, maybe both. Misery threatened to drown her. She couldn’t bear to witness Rob’s sweet girlfriend, Gina, weep through another silk handkerchief or observe the droves of people he’d touched say goodbye. Even the open arms of Tyler’s mom couldn’t entice her to linger. Instead, she snagged a flower out of the elaborate spray at her feet, clutched it to her heart beneath Mason’s coat, then turned to her brother’s best friends.

“Get me out of here.” The plea had barely crossed her lips before Ty sheltered her under his massive arm and Mason took point, clearing a path.

While he navigated a course around the headstones, she focused on tactical things. Things like how many place settings they’d need, the logistics of heating up the food generous neighbors and strangers alike had donated for Rob’s farewell party, and the ripple of Tyler’s six-pack against her ribs as he ushered her to Mason’s waiting truck.

Only when they sandwiched her between them on the bench seat, isolating her from the morose gathering, did she surrender a tiny sigh. Mason turned over the big block engine with jerky motions of his stiff limbs as Tyler enfolded her hand in his, chafing it to infuse some semblance of warmth into the frigid digits.

“Take me home, please.”
* * *

Lacey wove between the lingering clusters of guests at Rob’s party, picking up another empty hors d’oeuvre tray. She accepted Gina’s hug as one of the young officers, James “Razor” Reoser, prepared to escort the wrecked woman home. It became a struggle to find things to keep her occupied as a troop of helpful visitors, including Mama Rose and Lacey’s co-workers from the hospital, lent a hand without being asked. Though they meant well, their presence in her home and kitchen unsettled her.

“Lacey, why don’t you come sit down for a minute.” Her friend Jambrea patted the sofa beside her but even the comfy cushion couldn’t entice Lacey to grant her aching feet a reprieve. Like a caged animal, the pacing seemed to help.

“No thanks, I’m going to clean up a bit.” She waved the black plastic clutched in her fist then hurried in the opposite direction.

When she bent to retrieve a disposable cup forgotten under the side table in the living room, the intensity of Mason’s stare scorched her. She glanced up to find him scrutinizing her every move from his post near the front door where he thanked departing guests for coming with a solemn yet composed grace while he handed out copies of the photo-collages she’d designed yesterday. Her knees bent of their own volition. She didn’t want any observers to think she teased him by offering a glimpse of the bows edging her thigh-high stockings at a time like this despite the reputation she’d earned for tormenting him through the years.

Not that he’d ever taken the bait. After enduring the disappointment of a thousand rejections, she refused to delude herself into imagining he wanted to anymore. Only a greedy woman would wish to trade the enduring friendship he’d given her for a single night of wild passion anyway.

“Want me to grab that, Lacey?” Her neighbor, Rhonda, started to reach out but Lacey lunged, snagging it first. She collected the stray glass along with several discarded napkins before heading out the backdoor to add her overflowing trash bag to the growing pile. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of the whispers she left in her wake.

“…so cold.”

“Hasn’t cried at all.”

“In shock…”

Out of space to retreat, she glanced around in panic at the fence surrounding their postage-stamp sized yard. The aged wood made her even more claustrophobic than usual. The lawn Rob had enjoyed manicuring now hosted a hodgepodge of folding tables, deck chairs and chimineas gathered from around the neighborhood. People had shared one final meal over fond memories of their co-worker, high school buddy or distant acquaintance by the fires but they’d abandoned the chilly evening with their obligation to attend fulfilled hours ago.

A burst of anger at life in general made her grunt when she flung the garbage, harder than necessary, toward the pile of trash. The seam of the black plastic sack split in flight, depositing half-eaten food, plastic utensils and God knew what else in a five-foot swath of debris.

“Damn it!”

“I would have helped you with that, Lacey. If you’d just asked.” Tyler’s weary statement came from a nearby table. She hadn’t seen him sitting there in pensive isolation.

“I can handle it.”

He moved like lightning to her side and, with an unrelenting grip on her arm, prevented her from avoiding the sight of his red-rimmed eyes to tidy up the mess. He’d always been the most sensitive of their group. Empathetic and kind. But the raw agony she witnessed now compelled her to break free and finish her task. He stilled her attempts with a shake.

“Enough.” No sign of his typical charm or easygoing smile could be found in the harsh set of his flattering features. “You’ve done enough. Let me fix it. Before he died… I promised Rob I’d take care of you. And I will.”

“You think cleaning up this shit is what he had in mind? Fine, go ahead!” She shook her head in disgust at the shrill tone of her outburst then schooled herself to release the tension in her spine before snickering at the fun-loving, shockingly handsome man. All her emotions bubbled and swirled in a confusing mix she couldn’t control. It was too much to deal with at once.

“Little one, you need to take a break. Come relax with me for a minute. I’ll rub your shoulders.”

As if that’ll help. The sure massage of his hands wouldn’t calm her down one bit.

“You have no idea what I need, Tyler.” The bitterness in her heart overwhelmed her better judgment as she let the stinging truth fly. “You’ve never understood me.”

His emerald eyes widened, the sexy arch of his eyebrows raised and his luscious lips parted as his jaw hung slack. She wrenched out of his grasp before he could recover, rotating with a sharp motion that tore the grass beneath her heel.

Lacey stomped up the stairs into the kitchen without a backward glance, in search of another task to occupy her thoughts. But, when she got there, she realized someone had already washed, dried and stored the dishes. The floor had been mopped, the leftovers boxed up and put in the freezer, the lavish flower arrangements she’d set aside to donate to the hospital had vanished and pointless conversations no longer echoed down the hall.

She blinked.

There wasn’t a single thing left to do.

The haunting silence threatened to suffocate her. She bolted for the rear staircase then took the steps to the second floor two at a time as she headed for her parents’ room. After their deaths, she’d often crept into their bed at night somehow hoping their essence would linger in their personal space. Ten years had passed. The stale air in the room provided no comfort now. Instead, the oppressive weight of the emptiness reminded her of a mausoleum.

How dare they all leave her behind to suffer alone?

Irrational rage propelled her to lash out. She swept the photos of her and Rob as children from the dresser. The happier times she’d experienced before the harsh realities of the world corrupted her blissful ignorance felt like a minefield of cruel lies waiting to detonate with one misstep of fate. Lacey faced the windows, yanking down the yellowed eyelet curtains her mother had prized. Maybe, if she could erase the memories, she could avoid the tsunami of misery zeroing in on her heart.

The flowered comforter suffered her wrath next as she ripped it from the king-sized bed, flinging it into a pile with the curtains in the corner. A primal roar escaped her chest as she climbed onto the bed to reach the framed portrait taken weeks before the accident that had stolen her parents. She twisted to drop it over the cushion of the comforter but lost her balance on the squishy mattress. The glass covering the photograph shattered on impact against the corner of the nightstand on her way down.

Her lost loved ones stared back at her with timeless grins covered in broken shards as she collapsed on top of the wreckage of her life.

“Lacey! What the fuck’s going on?” Tyler’s shout snapped her out of her daze.

She raised her eyes to his but couldn’t force a sound past the constriction of her throat.

The spit-polished shine of his dress shoes captured her attention as they gobbled the distance from the door to her landing site in two huge strides. His hands curled around her waist in a protective hold as he righted her. Instead of soothing her, the touch incited another bout of her righteous fury.

“Put me down!” Though he pinned her shoulders to his chest with one sculpted arm, she lashed out with the three-inch spike of her boot, hoping to connect with his shin.

“Mason! Where the hell are you? Get up here!” Tyler bellowed as he spun toward the bed then flattened her thrashing body to the mattress.

“Get off me, you overgrown asshole!” Lacey continued to squirm and kick but she moaned when the motion rubbed her against every inch of the flexed muscles blanketing her, subjecting her to another kind of torture. She had to get out from under temptation before she did something crazy. So she turned her head and bit the vulnerable flesh on the inside of his forearm. Hard.

“Son of a bitch!” Tyler jerked. With the opening presented, she slithered from his grasp then made a break for the door.

Arms folded across his monolithic chest, thick thighs braced apart, Mason blocked her escape route. His imposing frame occupied the entire opening. He took an ominous pace forward, the dangerous glint in his ice blue eyes not one she’d seen aimed at her before. The intimidating glower caused her to retreat a teensy bit before she could check her instincts. She bumped into the solid wall Tyler had formed behind her. Trapped between the two men, who overwhelmed her senses on a good day, she abandoned all vestiges of sanity.

“Leave me the hell alone, both of you!” She lunged to the side in a futile attempt to slip between them.

Mason’s broad hands gripped her shoulders, though the gesture made it seem more like he cradled her instead of jarring her as she expected. “Hang on to her, Ty.”

One sleek arm wrapped around her hips while the other clamped above her breasts. A whimper snuck from her throat when Tyler accidentally brushed her nipples along the way. Her breath huffed in and out of her lungs beneath his embrace as she wished he caressed her for more pleasurable reasons. The tired dream refused to wither.

Lacey averted her gaze from the intuitive question on Mason’s face but it landed on the raw mark she’d inflicted on Tyler’s arm. The sight of his injury deflated some of the mad overtaking her system. “Shit, I’m sorry. I-I don’t know what came over me.”

She leaned forward to place a tender kiss beside the ring of bruises already forming beneath the raven hairs dusting his forearm. His husky whisper came close to her ear, washing her with the scent of the chocolate cake he must have eaten.

“It’s alright, little one. It’s about time you let some of this out. There isn’t enough room inside your itty-bitty bod for all that rage.”

His gentle understanding unleashed a torrent of emotions from behind her carefully constructed dam. If he hadn’t supported her, the force of the gush would have knocked her off her feet but she squeezed her eyelids shut against the liquid threatening to seep out.

“You’re bleeding.” Mason’s rough timbre broached the awkward silence. He scooped up her hand from where it dangled at her side, raising it for inspection. When the moist, heated silk of his mouth surrounded her index finger, her eyes flew open. The vision of his lips suctioning the droplet of blood from the immaterial scratch punched her in the gut.

Lacey wanted nothing more than to let them care for her. But they wouldn’t soothe her the way she needed. They never had before, no matter how many times she’d made a fool of herself in an attempt to entice them. Instead, they’d remained steadfast friends, always close yet never close enough. What did a nick on the tip of her finger matter when her heart had been through the wringer?

Sudden, rending pain slashed across her soul as one too many of life’s disappointments annihilated her shaky composure. Her chest heaved with dry sobs a moment before an unearthly wail burst from her throat. Grief obliterated all perception of her surroundings. Tears poured from her, dripping off her cheeks in a steady stream.

Lacey thought she would drown in sorrow. For her brother. For herself. Someone lifted her then deposited her on the flannel sheets with infinite care. She curled into a ball on her side. Dual heat sources bracketed her shuddering body. Even through the despair shredding her guts, some basic part of her recognized Tyler’s attempt to comfort her by rubbing her back. She cried in horrid gasps, unable to stop the flood of grief now that it had begun.

Rob! Not him, too. It’s not fair! She pleaded with the powers that be to transform this nightmare into some colossal mistake through divine magic. When that plan fell through, she emptied herself of heartache, crying until nothing remained but a hollow shell, brittle to the touch. After what seemed like hours, the steady murmuring of Mason’s soothing litany reached through her sniffling and the occasional cough.

“That’s right, Lace. We’ve got you.”

Unfortunately, his attempt at calming her incited another crying jag. Their intimate display of affection was temporary. She couldn’t get used to having them so close—to relying on them. After all, they weren’t hers to keep.

All her life, she’d craved her older brother’s best friends. They’d indulged her girlish desire for adventure by helping her climb the tallest trees, smuggling her extra pieces of her favorite candy or racing her on their bikes while always keeping her safe. Then, their wicked good looks had inspired her first teenage crushes. Instead of fading from puppy love to deep-seated friendship, her longing for them grew year after year as she watched them mature into amazing men.

Smart, funny, aggravating and sexy. Together, they were everything she’d ever wanted.

Question: Do you enjoy reading m/m/f menage books (books where the boys touch each other)?  More or less than m/f/m (books where it’s all about the heroine)?


Year in Review Party #5

DrivenThe four book release I had this year was a super fun one.  I was asked to join the Cougar Challenge series (books are related but don’t have to be read in order) and gladly accepted as some of my favorite authors also write this fun stories!  I wrote this book featuring a rally car racedriver and his best friend.  Only thing is, his best friend spoke to me loud and clear so he ended up getting a story of his own (but we’ll talk more about Shifting Gears later)!

Available at Ellora’s Cave
Available at Amazon
Available at B&N


Lynn Madison transformed from repressed corporate drone to bold seductress overnight when her online friends at Tempt the Cougar encouraged her to take charge of her destiny.  Their advice haunts her as she drools over the hottest Italian Stallion on the planet while stranded in an airport.

Sebastian Fiori is a master of speed.  A rally car driver, he’s used to winning on and off the track.  He sees no need to brake around the sophisticate who revs his engine.  After spotting Lynn’s decadent ménage novel, he prepares to take her for the ride of a lifetime—with his navigator, Mark.

Storm delays threatening Lynn’s brand new life would be far more upsetting if her young stud wasn’t offering a first-class ticket to indulge her fantasy on the way to fulfilling her dream.  Neither of them expects their rendezvous to last beyond their transatlantic flight on his private jet.  But sometimes there’s no escaping the forces of nature.


By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.

An Excerpt From: DRIVEN

Copyright © JAYNE RYLON, 2010

All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

Chapter One

“Ladies and gentleman, this is your captain speaking.”

Lynn Madison strained to hear the distorted announcement despite the shitty airplane speakers and the baby who’d been screaming since they’d taken off over an hour ago. She didn’t blame the munchkin. She would bawl too if she didn’t get that the gray clouds causing the turbulence, which bounced their regional jet across the sky, weren’t as ominous as they appeared.

“We’ve been in a holding pattern, circling New York for the past fifteen minutes. Air traffic control just radioed. They’re closing the airport until this cell blows over. No one’s allowed in or out. We’ll be diverting to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania but the delay shouldn’t cost us more than an hour.”

Groans of disappointment and frustration drowned out the sporadic whispers of concern proliferated by less-seasoned fliers. Lynn jumped straight to rearranging her tight schedule in her mind as the pilot droned on.

“We’ll grab some fuel then wait for an update. If the situation changes, we’ll let you know. We should be on the ground in about twenty minutes. Thank you for your patience. Be sure to keep your seat belt fastened; the air will be bumpy during our descent. Flight attendants, please prepare for landing.”

Before the beady-eyed flight attendant could scold Lynn about stowing her netbook, she clicked to her browser window then hopped on the Tempt the Cougar blog she shared with a circle of friends. Her college roommate Rachel had introduced her to the group of erotic romance enthusiasts after Lynn had bitched about her bland sex life. The ladies had recommended several novels that had her eyebrows climbing and her fantasies growing spicier by the minute.

They’d quickly become very close, welcoming her into the fold and encouraging her to follow their lead in prowling for a younger man to seduce. She had to admit, the stories she’d heard since hanging around them had inspired some wicked fantasies.

Lynn envied the women who’d found love along with their wild adventures. But their proactive attitude in snatching the reins of their lives had resonated with her more than their steamy affairs. Enough to spur her to some serious introspection on what she wanted to do with the rest of her time on earth.

She’d set up a get-together with the members who lived in the tristate region while she killed time during her layover. She hadn’t wanted to wait until next year’s RomantiCon to meet them in person.

Thank God she’d splurged on the in-flight Wi-Fi.

LynnLuvs2Travel: Only have a few seconds, ladies. Flight is being diverted due to weather. Looks like I might have to bail on dinner. Was so looking forward to it! Sorry L Expecting an update when we land. Fingers crossed I don’t miss my connection to Europe!!!

Lynn sighed as she snapped the lid closed then tucked the netbook into her seatback pocket. Figured this would happen on the first day of her new life. The monumental changes she’d implemented had almost seemed too easy so far. Like blowing out the single candle that had topped the cake Rachel had baked for Lynn’s fortieth birthday.

In the instant before she’d snuffed the flame, she’d wished her destiny were her own. No more wasted years, working on someone else’s clock. Figuring out what she’d rather do, since retiring early would mean living in a cardboard box for twenty years or so until her investments kicked in, had taken a bit longer. But not much.

Three months later, she’d quit her job as a sourcing agent for a high-end retailer. Instant lightness had pervaded her soul when she turned in her resignation, reaffirming her decision.

After a dozen years of dreadful stays in spartan hotels, eating meat-and-potato meals or hauling ass through sketchy parts of foreign cities—all on the recommendation of her male counterparts—she knew better than most that a series of travel guides aimed at professional women going solo constituted an undiscovered niche in the market. It wasn’t that the guys had deliberately sabotaged her, but her priorities ran more to a clean room, a spa and healthy meals than the number of strip clubs in a half-mile radius or a smoky bar with nonstop sports playing on a bazillion flat screen TVs.

Preoccupied with reliving the whirlwind of the past couple weeks, she was surprised at the squeak of the wheels meeting the runway.

As soon as she peered through the fogged plastic porthole to the tarmac, she abandoned hope. No fewer than a dozen jets kept their stranded plane company. Even if the sun shone bright at JFK in the next half-hour, the snafu had induced a logistics nightmare.

Sure enough, the pilot emerged from the cockpit to address the cabin face-to-face. “I’m sorry, folks, but things look worse than we originally thought. Traffic is being rerouted along the entire East Coast. We’re going to let you head into the terminal until we receive a better estimate on our revised departure time.”

Lynn’s heart raced in her chest. She had lived well within her means despite her hefty corporate paycheck. The nest egg she’d accumulated had supplied her a shot at pursuing her dream but, in this economy, she’d had a hell of a time securing outside investors to back a no-name upstart. If the delay caused her and several hundred other people to camp out and compete for the limited vacant spots on cramped international flights, her itinerary could be ruined.

Everything hinged on making it to her starting point as scheduled. Train passes, local guides, connections, sold-out hotels…

The idea of all the lost work, not to mention cash for the original reservations and the last-minute bookings, had tears stinging her eyes. Would her old job consider rehiring her if this venture flopped? Probably not.

She gathered her belongings then filed down the stairs onto the tarmac for the march into the dinky terminal. On top of everything else, they had to be stranded at a two-gate airport with rudimentary facilities and limited options for connections.

Note to self… Include a chapter on travelers’ insurance and the appropriate amount of time to leave between flights. Not that the six hours she’d allotted would help much in this situation. The insurance policy she’d selected would cover her flight arrangements if necessary but nothing could recoup the lost time. She’d have to drop chapters of her book.

As the herd of disgruntled passengers trundled up the ramp into the steel and glass building, which seemed out of place in the surrounding fields, they merged with the unfortunate occupants of the other impacted flights. A red-faced man doused in cheap cologne yelled into his Blackberry. He cut her off in his dash to hit up the airline representatives waiting inside. He rammed into her shoulder, knocking her oversized purse containing her netbook onto her elbow. The shifting weight threw her off balance on the slick surface.

Lynn skidded several feet toward the railing before a warm, muscled arm wrapped around her waist and a grumpy mumble washed over her earlobe. “Asshole.”

She flinched, attempting to shy away. “What is wrong with people? I tripped.”

One touch from an unknown man and she just about swallowed her tongue despite his rude treatment. Lame!

A carefree laugh replaced the foul temper she’d attempted to deflect. “Sorry, gorgeous. Not you. I meant that asshole who shoved you. He’s lucky I don’t kick his inconsiderate ass.”

Her imagination ran wild at his tone—confident, worldly, bold, gallant but not too stuffy. The midnight voice colored by subtle hints of a Mediterranean accent inspired a million dirty thoughts that had her squirming. The broad hand on her ribs flexed so close to her breast she sucked in a gasp, willing her nipples to stop hardening beneath her thin, silk blouse.

“Damn, are you hurt?” He spun her into the shelter of his arms, his palms bracing her shoulders.

So young! Heat blossomed in her cheeks. Here she was, lusting after a man at least a decade younger than her who probably thought himself a good Samaritan for helping his elder. As quick as she chastised herself, a naughty whisper invaded her embarrassment. The Cougar ladies had scored men like this. Those lucky bitches!

Hell, some of them had even managed to bag two virile studs.

“Let me help you inside.”

Did he think her deaf and dumb on top of clumsy after that giant space out?

“I’m fine. Really.” She shrugged from his hold, instantly regretting the loss of his touch. Her skin tingled where his fingers had rested. “Thank you.”

“Any time.”

She picked up the pace to avoid an awkward silence as he shuffled along next to her through the crowd, but he somehow managed to dodge a harried mom pushing a double stroller, a gentleman wrestling with a cello and a couple holding hands to keep even with her.

In her peripheral vision, she admired the agile maneuvers of his lean but built body. His black duffle, peppered with logos, rode against a trim hip covered in the dark navy denim favored by recent trends. The lighter creases around his upper thighs led her straight to dangerous territory. She jerked her gaze upward but had to cant her head pretty far to glimpse his unruly brown waves beneath a red baseball cap with something embroidered on the front.

His scruffy jaw couldn’t obscure his sculpted cheekbones. The shadowed skin highlighted the contrast of his bright blue eyes. The impact of his stunning looks almost had her tripping again. It’d been fifteen years since she’d gotten her hands on prime beef like that.

Lynn Marie, how crass! Maybe the Cougars really were rubbing off on her.

Available at Ellora’s Cave
Available at Amazon
Available at B&N

Question:  If you were stranded in an airport and a hot stranger asked you to join him in his limo, would you go?


Year in Review Party – #4

Dream Machine by Jayne RylonOkay, so Dream Machine released for the first time in digital format in 2009 but it was first available in print on March 2, 2010!  This book is special to me because it’s the first one I ever wrote… and rewrote… and rewrote.  🙂

I have to say I’m thrilled by all the emails I get telling me that people enjoyed the book.  Even better are the ones who ask if Luke Malone will ever have his own story.  If I have my way he will though I won’t have time to dig into it until 2012.  I have notes.  Lots of notes for a book called Healing Touch featuring Luke as well as Kurt and Becca.  *fingers crossed*

Available from Samhain Publishing
Available from Amazon
Available from B&N
Available from All Romance Ebooks
Available from Fictionwise


The best dreams are made of naughty and spice.

Rebecca Williams is about to achieve her goal of graduating from a prestigious university and winning a coveted spot in her mentor’s cutting-edge psychology practice. She just needs one more qualification: sexual experience. She never dreamed it would come at the hands of the man she’s admired and wanted for six years. Dr. Kurt Foster.

Kurt, a brilliant psychologist in the field of sexual therapy, is a scientist to the core. Attraction and lust are nothing more than chemical reactions, in his clinical opinion. Love? It’s just a figment of the imagination born of nature’s directives. He’s on the brink of proving it with a new machine that uncovers latent desires.

In short order, Becca’s forbidden lust for her boss is exposed. As Kurt continues to enlighten her on the darker facets of her sexuality, the student unexpectedly becomes the teacher.

And suddenly Kurt is confronted with the irrefutable proof that love is so much more than a societal construction.

Warning: This book is only suitable for readers who are turned on by hot doctors engaging in sexual experiments, bondage, ménage a trois, exhibitionism, suspension, anal sex and other deviant behavior using mechanical stimulation devices they’ve invented to make your wildest dreams come true.



Chapter One

“This is a bad idea.”

Dr. Kurt Foster revolted against the ultimatum his colleague, Dr. Luke Malone, had just delivered on behalf of the Elembreth University Psychology Board. Kurt shook his head then continued, “I won’t do it.”

“Don’t make this harder than it already is, Kurt. You no longer have a choice.”

He registered the genuine regret in Luke’s expression when the other man slid the rejected paperwork across the glossy surface of Kurt’s desk.

“They denied your plea. There are consequences to decking James, even if the bastard deserved it.”

Kurt yanked open a drawer, dumped the folder inside then slammed it shut, wincing as he flexed his scabbed knuckles. “She’s been violated once. I won’t let her be subjected to it again without her permission.”

“Calm down. I admit it’s not typical procedure but I’m here to do the only thing in my control to prevent the board from kicking your ass out and firing you from the job you love.” Luke inhaled, his gaze darting away for a moment. “The board has ruled. You’re to conduct the Dream Machine experiment with Rebecca.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Board President.” Kurt sneered. Luke didn’t deserve his foul mood but he couldn’t suppress the urge to swipe at someone while everything he’d built crumbled around him. He shoved back then began to pace, scrubbing his hands through his hair. “Damn! I don’t mean that, Luke. I just…”

“I know.” Of course the renowned psychologist understood. “You feel guilty because her dreams were invaded, because watching them made you want her more and because you’re afraid she’s not ready. But you have an impeccable record. You know I think of you as a brother, but I’m speaking for the board when I say you’re the right man for this job. This is the only opportunity you have for a true control. You’d never be allowed a blind trial if Dr. Dipshit hadn’t broken into your lab. He proved it’s safe. And that Rebecca wants this. You starred in every single wild dream of hers. She needs you.”

The fury Kurt hadn’t succeeded in pounding out on James prohibited him from answering. He’d never intended his invention to be used like this. As a leader in the field of sexual therapy and repression research, he strived to help people, not hurt them.

Two nights ago, he’d forgotten to lock the damn door to his private laboratory, which adjoined the university practice. His assistant, Rebecca Williams, had paid the price for his moment of carelessness. And she didn’t even know it yet.

Now, he had to fix it.

If he didn’t agree to the board’s demands, they would find someone else to take his place. Probably Luke. Jealousy sealed his fate.

Defeated, he sank into the plush leather desk chair.

“How’s this going to work?”

“The board is giving you seven days to prove the Dream Machine is a viable treatment for sexual repression. They agreed to allow you to operate without a witness in person, but you have to record the proceedings for me to review each day. If you tell her about the break-in, the board will terminate the study. I won’t be able to intervene to protect you again. You’ll bring her to a board meeting midway through to present your progress. If they see merit in the work, they’ll allow you to continue to completion.”

Kurt knew Luke well enough to identify the heat layered beneath concern in the other man’s eyes. He growled low in his throat. “Don’t be thinking about her like that.”

A rich laugh rumbled from Luke as a wicked grin spread across his face. “I admit it. I’m envious. Just think, this is your golden chance to have her without ruining your working relationship. She’s not the innocent young woman you first met as your student. She’s about to graduate at the top of her class and, no one knows better than you, her stellar performance in the university psychology intern program makes her a clear candidate for a permanent position.”
The knot of worry, frustration, anger and betrayal lodged in Kurt’s gut loosened for a moment. “Does that mean my nomination was voted on?”

Luke confirmed the only good news he’d had today. “The board agreed this experience will complete her training. If she can learn to cope with her emotions instead of repressing them, their last reservations on her character will be invalidated. If the experiment is successful, and if she accepts the position, the board will appoint her as your partner. The decision was unanimous.”

“Then it’s a deal.” Kurt would do whatever necessary to ensure Becca’s dream came true. It was the least he could do. “But how the hell am I going to get her to agree to be my subject without filling her in on the details? I won’t do this without her consent.”

The wattage of Luke’s smile doubled. That look had lured in many willing women over the years they’d been friends. It appeared charming but the devilish smirk meant he’d been up to no good.

“Shit, you already started didn’t you?” Kurt groaned.

“Let’s say the wheels are in motion. She’ll come to you. Soon.”

“Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” Kurt rose, shaking his head.

Luke met him halfway around the desk then clapped his hand on Kurt’s bruised shoulder. They walked side by side toward the office door. “Call me when you have the first stage finished then I’ll gather the board. And please, be careful.”

“Got it. Luke…” Kurt pivoted, tempted to hug the man who’d been his closest friend for years. After a brief but awkward silence, he settled for silent communication. “Thanks.”

Luke responded with a tiny nod before slipping into the lobby.


By four o’clock in the afternoon, it’d already been a long day for Rebecca Williams.

Well, two days. She’d pulled an all-nighter studying, then taken her early morning final exam before going straight to work at the clinic. Dr. Foster was booked solid, which meant a lot of prep work for her. There hadn’t even been a second to talk to him about the memo on her desk. As soon as he finished his meeting with Dr. Malone, she’d do it.

She promised herself she wouldn’t back down.

Her pencil paused in mid cross-through on the last item of her to-do list when the front door burst open. A woman barged into the lobby, her eyes puffy and red from crying. Mussed hair stood out from her scalp as though she’d run her hands through it a million times.

“Mrs. Henderson?” Rebecca hardly recognized the disheveled woman. She jumped to her feet, meeting the woman halfway. “What’s wrong?”

The woman rushed straight to her and flung her arms around Rebecca. “I caught Jim with some piece of trash. In our room. Right on my own bed.” The words were muffled against Rebecca’s shoulder. Sobs wracked her body. Steering her down the hall, Rebecca led Mrs. Henderson to privacy in a vacant patient room.

“Everything’s going to be all right. Have a seat and I’ll get Dr. Foster. It’ll be just a moment.” Rebecca helped the woman to the chair while she tried to soothe her with a calm voice.

“No! Don’t go. I’d rather talk to you.” Mrs. Henderson grabbed her hand, preventing her from turning away. “Please.”

How could she deny the woman?

“Of course.” She settled on the adjoining chair, Mrs. Henderson still grasping her hand like a lifeline. “Where would you like to start?”


Rebecca updated Mrs. Henderson’s case file with the details of their session when her cell blasted the shrill emergency ring associated with her sister. She dove for her purse then dug out her phone. Can this day get any worse?

“Calm down, Elsa.” Rebecca quieted her hysterical younger sister over the phone. “I think everything’s going to work out. I didn’t tell you yet because I don’t want to get your hopes up again but I have a plan. I can’t really talk right now, I’m at work. I’ll know for sure by tonight. I promise I’ll call you then.”

“Becca, that’s awesome!” Her sister’s elated voice proved she had skipped over the maybes going straight to assuming everything was taken care of. Great. “I’m going to tell Mom. Talk to you tonight! Love you!”

“I love you too, Elsa.” Rebecca wasn’t sure her sister heard her response as she went off in the background, screeching for their mother. She hoped the woman was having a good day but she could only worry about so many things at once. Sighing, she slipped her cell phone back into her plain purse.

As she tucked the black bag under her desk in the reception area of Dr. Foster’s university practice, the door to his office opened and Dr. Malone emerged.

“Thanks for covering, Rebecca. See you soon.” The tall, handsome doctor always found time to chat with her, no matter the difference in their ranks. She enjoyed seeing him but, today, she was swamped and finding it difficult to focus on anything but the decision she’d made earlier.

“You’re welcome, Dr. Malone. Have a good day.” She responded automatically, without questioning the curious look he shot her before making his way out the front door.

Slotting Mrs. Henderson’s file back into the cabinet, she decided it was now or never.

Rebecca snuck one final glance at the paper fluttering in her hand, willing herself to stop shaking. She paused then drew a deep breath to fortify her nerve before knocking on the heavy wood-paneled door to Dr. Foster’s office.

“Come in.”

She nudged open the door to his workspace then turned to guide it closed, eliminating the risk of anyone overhearing her outlandish request. Resisting the urge to make up a lame excuse and duck back out, she scanned his inner office then took a wary step forward.

The area was spacious but comfortable. Soft incandescent light emanated from lamps positioned around the room. The warm illumination made the space seem intimate for its size. Plush carpet covered the floor and substantial masculine furniture in rich jewel tones clustered to facilitate group conversation.

Dr. Foster had designed the soothing atmosphere to encourage his patients to relax during their sometimes intense sessions. The innovative psychologist specialized in relationship therapy and sexual repression issues while holding a distinguished position here at Elembreth University, where he both taught and maintained a small clinic.

“Rebecca, is there something I can do for you?” Kurt—no, Dr. Foster—asked. She kept slipping lately.

“Yes, Doctor. First, while you met with Dr. Malone, Mrs. Henderson came in.”

“Damn. Is Jim screwing around on her again?” Dr. Foster cared for each of his patients on a personal level. She admired the fact that he didn’t need case notes to remember the details of their situations.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Tell her to come in. Luke was my last appointment for the day, I can see her right now.”

Rebecca hesitated. Would he be angry she’d overstepped her place by talking with Mrs. Henderson? His displeasure would make her offer even harder to make.

“Actually, she’s gone now. She requested a session with me instead.”

“About time.” He didn’t seem the least bit concerned.

“You don’t care that I met alone with one of your patients?”

“Of course not. You’re ready for this, Rebecca. You’ve put six years into your residency here at the clinic. You did have your last exam today didn’t you?”

She nodded.

“Since you’re my best student, I know you aced it. Therefore, waiting for your degree on graduation day is a formality. You’re a well-qualified therapist. Mrs. Henderson is one of my more dramatic patients. How did you feel dealing with her radical emotions alone?”

“I did as you’ve taught me. I listened actively with compassion, then worked the case by giving feedback on what I heard, provided the statistics of cheating husbands, supplied her with resources for local support groups and talked her through how to find help if she chooses to divorce him.”

“Sometimes it takes more than facts and methodology to heal someone’s heart. But for your first time flying solo, it sounds like you did very well.”

Pride swept over her. She’d worked her ass off for this. His approval meant more than the piece of paper that would bestow her official title.

And his sexy smile made an excellent reward.

Dr. Foster could make a blind woman do a double take. In his mid thirties, he had slight laugh lines crinkled around his dark grey eyes. Their stormy depths contradicted his inviting personality, which enhanced his charm and made her curious about what lay beneath his enigmatic surface.

Standing over six feet tall, he towered above her. His height and lean but powerful build combined with his wavy black hair, which he kept long enough to graze his shirt collar, to give him a dangerous edge. It caught her off balance at odd moments during the day when her overactive imagination insisted she’d caught him staring at her.

To Rebecca, his psychical perfection was only a fraction of what made him attractive. Touted as the genius of his field, he had risen to his prestige early, though with some controversy. His opponents argued against his sometimes-extreme methods but, based on his record-smashing success rates and the rave reviews of his patients, they had conceded his superiority in the field.

His drive and passion for helping others outshone his piercing eyes in her estimation. The gentle care and devotion he lavished on his patients when assisting them in resolving their issues had made him her idol.

A million tiny things along the way had gradually shaped her case of professional infatuation into a deep caring for the man behind the doctor. From his easygoing personality, to his effortless problem solving and the natural insight he had into the way people wanted to be treated, Rebecca admitted her attraction to him had never been stronger.

Which made him perfect for her proposition.

“Your respect means a lot to me, Dr. Foster.”

“You’ve earned it.”

“Well, then, I also wanted to inquire about the ad for an experiment subject you assigned me to place in the paper.”

“Um…the ad?” For a moment he looked lost, as if he had no clue what she referred to. Before she could clarify, he recovered then asked, “Is there something wrong with it?”

Rebecca paused, gathering her courage before answering. “No. That’s not what I meant.”

Last chance, Rebecca. Say it or leave.

“I’m interested in participating in the study myself and wondered if volunteering would be against office policy.”

He blinked, not responding immediately to her statement, so she continued. She’d gathered her facts in anticipation of convincing him.

“You have a very competitive fee listed here but, no matter how much money is offered, finding volunteers for this type of personal, sensitive experiment is often a long and painful process. In the six years I’ve worked here, I know of eight promising studies left untried due to lack of willing participants. We both know no amount of theory will substitute for praxis.”

If she could assist in Dr. Foster’s experiment, she could repay some of the selflessness he’d shown her as a mentor. Her arguments seemed to work. He leaned forward, setting aside the case folder he’d been reviewing. He cupped his chin, a gesture she’d come to recognize as his thinking posture, while he studied her across his expansive mahogany desk. She tried not to shift but failed beneath the weight of his stare.

What did he see when he looked at her?

Compared to the elegant, tailored suit conforming to the defined lines of his torso and great ass, her bargain-bin outfit must seem frumpy at best. Fancy clothes didn’t make the cut in her student’s budget but she made sure to dress professionally, if not always fashionably.

For a moment, they assessed each other.

Rebecca couldn’t help but note the way his unruly hair feathered across his brow in contrast to the neatness of everything else in the room. When the silence stretched a little longer than comfort allowed, Rebecca’s uncertainty grew. She began to stammer.

“I understand. You know, if it’s not okay for me to participate. I just thought it might be hard for you to find subjects or something.” God, this is unbelievable! She was an articulate researcher used to communicating detailed observations but she couldn’t form a simple sentence around him sometimes.

Dr. Foster smiled up at her. Rather than soothing her nerves, the expression filled her with desire and fuddled her mind further. The edges of his full mouth turned up until she glimpsed his brilliant white teeth. The thrill of anticipation his wicked grin caused reminded her of the way a mouse might feel right before a hungry cat gobbled it for a snack.

Why didn’t he say anything? This had to work. The study could solve several problems all at once. Efficiency appealed to her.

“Have a seat, Rebecca.” His careful, modulated voice gave no indication of his acceptance or refusal as he gestured to the heavy wingback chair in front of his desk. When she perched on the edge, with her back straight and ankles crossed tight beneath her, he continued. “There’s no rule against staff participation so long as you are fully informed of the requirements and demands of the experiment. Though, I have to admit, I don’t know if you’re right for my study.”

Her stomach pitched at his reservation. She had to get this assignment. Stoically, she sat still as a statue while he took his time observing her reaction. If he wished to gauge her commitment, he wouldn’t find a crack in her resolve.

“My research will get quite personal. I’d need you to be open and honest with me in order for the trial to be successful.”

Rebecca hid a blush, recalling the times she’d copied over notes for the doctor’s case files. Although she’d tried to concentrate on typing the erotic words scrawled in his hasty masculine script, she couldn’t quite block out the detailed stories recounted to him by successful patients on follow-up visits.

Most of them had required standard treatment involving discussion and counseling but, on occasion, a case called for a more unconventional approach. The doctor had been known to observe couples having difficulty in order to provide objective, real-time feedback—witnessing an experience, he contended, neither party could be objective about relating in a traditional session.

“I can handle it, Doctor,” she said, not quite able to confront his steely gaze.

“Rebecca, I’m not trying to dissuade you. However, I need to be frank just as I would be with any other candidate. The study will test a new invention I’ve created. I believe the Dream Machine has the potential to revolutionize the field of sexual therapy. There are so many people who live their lives without realizing their sensual potential because they’re too afraid to tear down the boundaries imposed by society and be free enough to experience what they desire.”

As he explained, it seemed as if he spoke of her instead of a generality. Did he suspect her underlying reason for volunteering? Her face flushed and she hoped he couldn’t detect the telling reaction in the diffused lighting. Somehow, she knew he did. After all, he was a trained observer, noted for his attention to detail.

“My invention taps into subconscious desires by capturing dreams. During the study, I’d monitor your REM cycles using the device then discuss your fantasies with you. Are you prepared to do that with me?”

Rebecca shifted in his desk chair, which engulfed her, while she contemplated the ramifications of participating. Trying to still the subtle hints of her trepidation, she met his gaze head on.

“Yes, Doctor, I think I can.” Shame flooded her when the simple thought of revealing her fantasies to Kurt began to arouse her. Personal feelings shouldn’t be involved in a professional proposition but, from the first day she’d worked at Dr. Foster’s office, she’d battled a dazzling attraction. She gripped the black leather arm rest to keep from fanning her face. Moisture gathered between her legs to serve as indisputable proof. Instead of being mortified, she admitted she’d wanted him for so long that this would be a welcome relief.

She hungered for the things he could teach her.

“There’s one more thing. I’d need to monitor and influence your arousal level both during the dream stages and during our sessions. This will involve significant intimate physical contact between us. Can you agree to the terms of the experiment?”

“I… I…” The scientist in her wanted to ask for more details but the woman in her was too reserved. She’d been with a few men, boys really, during the first years of college but the brief liaisons hadn’t resulted in anything momentous. She’d done it to ease her innate curiosity. None of the encounters had been satisfying. Besides, she’d been much too busy studying and working to spend time on needless pursuits. To be completely honest with herself, she conceded no one but Kurt had ever held her interest.

Afraid she might not live up to his expectations, she hesitated. A vision of him touching her, bringing her pleasure with his skilled hands, overtook her imagination. What if she wasn’t all Dr. Foster required? What if her capability to experience passion fell far below the level of normal desire? Her unease hung in the air as the pause lengthened.

Kurt sighed.

“Becca, it’s all right if you’ve changed your mind. I understand if you can’t do this. I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do.” The supportive words couldn’t mask the disappointment resonating in his voice. The fact that he’d called her by her nickname, a name her mother and sister used, made his assurance cut to a more personal level. She recognized it as another test of their evolving relationship.

Instead of confessing her deeper reasons, she took the easy way out.

“No, Doctor, I want to participate. And…well, I need the money right now.” It embarrassed her to admit it. He compensated her well and she didn’t want to seem ungrateful or careless with her finances. But, even if she did, that was easier than admitting how desperately she wanted him to tutor her on more than clinical depression or the scientific method.

“My sister is coming to the university next year. This morning we were notified of an administrative error in the financial aid office. The scholarship funds were overdrawn and hers got cut. If I don’t do this, Elsa can’t enroll.” Rebecca hated to admit her need for assistance. Her pride rebelled.

“This isn’t about money, is it?” Though he sounded reluctant to ask her, his eyes seemed almost angry. Afraid she had made him uncomfortable, she worried he might dismiss her as a participant because of his inherent morality. “I’m more than willing to give you an advance on your salary instead. You can always come to me for help.”

“No!” she protested, a little too loud for the quiet intimacy of the office. She’d have to give him more of the truth to assure his acceptance. “I want to help you. You’ve supported me for years. Without you, I’d never have learned so much. I want to do this as a favor.”

“You don’t owe me anything. You’re hands down the best assistant I’ve ever worked with. Having you here has been my pleasure.” His sentiment seemed sincere. Slight dimples accentuated his cheeks when he smiled. Every time she saw them, it spawned an insane urge to lick the delicious indentations. Reining in her impulse, she focused on their discussion.

“I think an apparatus like yours could be a beneficial tool. I would love to see it become a reality. I’d feel honored to know I had some part in its development. Look, I know you’ve given me raises when you didn’t have to. You pay me a lot more than you should. Any student would love to work for you, to learn from you, for free. And finding another subject might be impossible. Please, let me do this to repay you.”

Some of the jovial reassurance faded from his expression. His professionalism slipped for an uncharacteristic moment. “Understand this or our discussion is over right now. You worked your ass off the last few years. You earned every bit of your way. I’ve never seen someone try as hard as you have. Hell, you push yourself to exhaustion half the time. You even fell asleep at your desk two nights ago!”

Oh crap. She’d never seen him get pissed off.

“Dr. Foster, I’m sorry about that. I was studying for finals the night before and I had a few cases I wanted to catch up on before I left the office.” Mortification zinged through her. She didn’t think anyone had noticed.

On most occasions, she could operate effectively on less sleep than the average person could. With the recent culmination of her education, she’d had to make do with the time left after work and school, which was less than she could handle on a routine basis. She counted on the sacrifices she’d made paying off as soon as she finished her degree.

“Shh.” Dr. Foster waved off her excuses, his features relaxing again. “You misunderstood me, I’m not angry with you. I only meant it as an example of how far beyond my expectations you constantly go. In fact, you work too hard sometimes. If I thought for a second you’d listen, I’d order you home for a nap right now.”

She wondered why he glanced away when he spoke. Was he lying about being upset? Before she could ask, he continued.

“Let’s try a little test. If you can’t see it through, you can quit at any time. All you have to do is say you’re done and we’ll stop with no repercussions. Look at me, Becca.”

She met his stare. His eyes shone with tenderness and understanding.

“I realize we’ll be pushing the boundaries of your comfort and experience. I promise you, I won’t hurt you or force you to do anything you don’t want. You know that, don’t you? In fact, I’m willing to pay you for your participation regardless of whether or not you finish the study. I won’t allow money to be a factor in your decision.”

This was the familiar Dr. Foster. Her foolish discomfort evaporated. After all the kindness he had shown her, how could she think he would be mad over one tiny slipup? She’d never before met anyone she admired so much.

Picking up his favorite fountain pen, he twirled it between his fingers as he contemplated her proposal. “Let’s be clear. I want you to participate. I think you would be an excellent candidate. However, I’ll only accept your request if this is something you choose to do of your own free will. I want you to do this for yourself. I think it’ll be an enlightening experience for you, though also probably one of the most difficult assignments you’ve ever had. There are no books to study for the answers here. They have to come from within you.”

Of course, he understands. I need this. Her inability to overcome her shyness and articulate the real reason she wanted to join the experiment underscored her convictions. She could never reach her full potential as a sexual therapist when she remained so out of touch with her own desires. This experiment, and Dr. Foster’s invention, could be the answer. Her cure.

“So, Becca, what will it be?” Leaning back in his chair, Kurt steepled his fingers over his trim abdomen while he considered her. He paused, giving her a moment to mull things over. The space should have been a relief but his self-assured posture compelled her to accept.

“Will you be my subject?”

Rebecca gasped beneath the intensity of his stare, so persuasive it drew her in until his regard consumed her consciousness. She could detect his rich male scent, so strong and spicy in this room, and she shivered in response. Before she knew it, an answer escaped her lips.

“Yes, Doctor. I’m yours.”

Question: Is it hot or not to play doctor?  If not, what’s your favorite occupation for a hero?


Year in Review Party – #3

Kate's Crew by Jayne Rylon

Next up, Kate’s Crew (Powertools Book #1).  This book heated up the winter when it hit ebook shelves on February 9th.  I’m thrilled to announce that my next release (1/25/11) is the sequel to this book, Morgan’s Surprise.  There will be four books in the Powertools series as each member of the Crew finds his mate.  Kayla’s Gift will be out in May followed by Devon’s Pair in early 2012.

Available at MBaM
Available at Amazon
Available at B&N
Available at All Romance Ebooks
Available at Fictionwise


Nothing’s sexier than men with power tools.

Sultry summer heat has nothing on the five-man crew renovating the house next door. No one could blame Kate for leaning out the window for a better view of the manscape. The nasty fall that follows isn’t part of her fantasy—but the man who saves her from splattering the sidewalk  is definitely the star.

When Mike personally attends to her injuries, she realizes her white knight in a hard hat has a tender side, giving her no choice but to surrender to the lust that’s been arcing between them since day one. In the aftermath of the best sex of her life, she whispers her most secret desire: to be ravaged by his crew.

She never expected Mike would dare her to take what she wants—or that the freedom to make her most decadent desires come true could be the foundation for something lasting…


Kate wiped her palms on her paint-splattered cutoffs before adjusting her grip on the rebuilt window casement. A flash of tan skin drew her attention to glistening muscles. They rippled over five sexy frames as the crew renovating the townhouse next door hammered nail after nail into their first-story roof, just a few feet below her perch.

From inside the bedroom where she worked, she inched to the edge of the ladder rung then craned her neck through the opening in front of her for a glimpse of the intricate tattoo spanning Mike’s broad shoulders. Instead, she caught him reaching up to their stash of supplies for another pack of shingles. When her gaze latched onto the drop of sweat that slid along his neck, she forgot to breathe. She watched in fascination as it journeyed over his defined pecs and six-pack abs. After it was absorbed in the ultra-low-riding jeans snugged to his trim hips by a bulging tool belt, she heaved a sigh of relief.

Kate swiped at a blob of paint that had plopped onto her wrist unnoticed while she’d ogled Mike. Her tongue moistened her lips as she imagined licking a similar trail down his body. The edge of the fresh trim gouged her thigh as she strained for a better view. The gasp she made busted her. His head lifted, catching her spying. Great, now she’d never convince him to take it easy with his persistent innuendo or date invites. And, no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t indulge either of their desires.

Mike threw her a dazzling victory grin. The anticipation sparkling in his cocky stare blasted a shockwave through her, screwing with her balance. The ladder wobbled then tipped. She probably could have righted herself if she hadn’t been standing on tiptoes to maximize her view of the scenery. In slow motion, she watched his expression morph from flirtatious to horrified.

Kate flung out her arms in an attempt to catch the frame before she tumbled through it but the momentum swung her around. Her temple grazed the custom-made pewter latch she’d installed the day before. She hung, suspended in midair, as Mike rose from his crouch. The other guys began to turn toward her, but he was already sprinting for the edge.

Terror froze her insides when he launched himself across the ten-foot gap between their houses. Then she spun away, losing sight of him. She braced for imminent impact.

Shit, this is going to hurt.

Everything happened at once. Air whooshed from her lungs when she slammed, on her side, onto the roof. She rolled, flexing her ankles in an attempt to find purchase that would halt her skid toward the brink. But her knee wrenched at an awkward angle while she continued to rake over the slate. Her hand caught the ridge of an attic vent, slowing her descent, but gravity overcame the tenuous hold. Her frantic fingers recoiled from the sharp metal edge.

The gutters rushed closer, her last hope. After that, she’d have to pray the evergreen shrubs would cushion her, preventing any broken bones. The heels of her work boots hit the aluminum edging but kept going. Her legs dangled in thin air.

Then a strong hand banded around her wrist. Her arm nearly jerked from the socket as she lurched to a stop. Kate shoved on the edging shingles with her free hand, fighting to stay on the roof.

“Son of a bitch!” Mike hauled her the rest of the way up.

Available at MBaM
Available at Amazon
Available at B&N
Available at All Romance Ebooks
Available at Fictionwise

Question: How many is too many?


Year in Review Party – #2

Picture Perfect by Jayne Rylon Ahhh, Picture Perfect.  The year started out with a novella which was re-released from Ellora’s Cave on January 29th.  This book is one two paranormals I’ve written, though for all of you who’ve asked, yes, I do have a story in mind for Deirdre.

Available at Amazon
Available at B&N
Available at Ellora’s Cave
Available at All Romance Ebooks


Conn Hennessey suffered nine hundred years trapped in a godforsaken painting.  Halloween magic gives him one chance at freedom.  With just twenty four hours to break the spell, by convincing the woman he loves they belong together, a day never seemed so short.

Dana Kavanagh wishes she were gullible enough to believe her sexy stranger’s story. He looks and acts like the man of her dreams but magic, time travel and a pissed off witch seem farfetched.  Afraid of looking like a fool if it’s a hoax, can she live with the consequences if she’s wrong?

The clock is ticking…


By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.


Copyright © JAYNE RYLON, 2010


Ireland, Twelfth century

“Do you love me?”

Conn peered down into the adoring eyes of the alluring young witch lying beside him on the forest floor, the light dappling her fair skin. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she recovered from their frolicking dash through the trees. Enchantment surrounded her, lounging on a bed of leaves, raven hair strewn about her delicate frame. A word away from her surrender, he refused to lie to her.

“Deirdre, I care for you.”

“But you don’t love me.” Though her eyes flashed with hurt, her tone reflected resignation. He honored their pact to settle for nothing less, despite the consequences.

“I’m sorry.” The words were soft but final. Conn let the regret and longing that ached inside him flow through his kiss.

It was goodbye.

Deirdre relaxed beneath him as though absorbing each scrap of emotion from the final contact. He retrieved his sword from the mossy ground, buckled it over his tunic and then swung a leg over the stallion waiting at the side of the clearing. “I never meant to hurt you.”

Rising in front of him, she blocked his path. The flowing silver gown draped around her. Its embroidered belt, which proclaimed her high rank, cinched her waist, emphasizing her figure as she spread her arms wide. Power crackled through the air as tears dripped from her midnight eyes and dropped silently to the forest floor.

“Conn.” The plea in her voice could not be mistaken. “I’m sorry also. Someday you’ll understand that true love means doing what’s right even at great personal cost.”

A sudden, unnatural heat enveloped Conn, starting with his legs and spreading up his torso. Panic accompanied it, causing him to struggle with a desperation reserved for survival. “Deirdre! What are you doing? Stop this!”

“Remember that I loved you.”

Chapter One

October 30th, Present day

A shrill ring burst from Dana Kavanagh’s pocket as she wrestled the bags of groceries onto the kitchen counter. After consulting the display of her cell, she rolled her eyes then flipped it open.

“Yes, Jenny, I still plan on going out with you tonight.”

“Dana, I’m so sorry but it looks like I’m going to have to work late.”

“Awesome!” Dana did a dorky happy dance as she eyed the carton of melting ice cream and the new book she’d just set down.

Jenny’s chuckle carried over the phone line. “Not so fast, you don’t get off the hook that easily.”

“It’s my birthday. Can’t I spend it however I want?” Dana groaned.

“No!” Jenny’s exasperation transferred over the phone. “A girl only turns thirty once, you have to do it with style.”

“Does ‘with style’ really mean ‘in a club, consuming a lot of alcohol’?” Somewhere loud and trendy would be par for the course with Jenny. Not that Dana disliked a night out on the town every now and then, but she didn’t feel the need to visit each bar in the city the way her best friend seemed to.

“And hot guys. Don’t forget the hot guys.”

“I hate to break it to you, Jenny, but I don’t know very many unattached hot guys.”

“Exactly why you need to get out more!”

Dana sighed. “Listen, I really do appreciate the thought. But lately I feel like hanging out at home. It’s not a national emergency, I’m just tired of meeting the same kind of man. I need a break. A change.” The metrosexual guys who worried about the caloric content of their fancy-named drinks and loved drama more than a housewife addicted to soap operas got old quick for Dana.

“Then I think you’re going to like my idea even more. I want you to come with me tomorrow night instead. There’s a private costume party for All Hallow’s Eve at my brother’s estate. It will be exclusive, sophisticated and more reserved than any club.”

“I don’t know, Jenny. I always feel out of place there.” Wealth and prestige seeped from the sprawling mansion and sculpted grounds. Even the sincere welcome of Jenny’s family couldn’t eclipse Dana’s unease. She might knock over a priceless vase or use the wrong fork at dinner. “Besides, I don’t have a costume.”

“I knew you were going to say that.” Jenny sounded smug. “And I know just what you should wear. The dress.”

“My grandmother’s dress?”

“Yes! You’ll look stunning. You can be a princess.”

Dana had to admit the idea held some appeal. The dress called to her. It looked like something straight out of a fairy tale. And when else could she wear it? What the hell, why not?

“Okay. I’ll do it, but you have to help me with my hair.”

“Deal! I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll be over around five tomorrow. Happy birthday!”

Question: If you could live in any time period, which would it be and why?

Check back at midnight for the announcement of all of today’s winners.  Good luck!

Available at Amazon
Available at B&N
Available at Ellora’s Cave
Available at All Romance Ebooks


Year in Review Party #1

Happy almost New Year!  I decided to throw an impulsive party.  Except you don’t have to change out of your PJs or brave any bad weather to attend 🙂  Somehow, I managed to have eight book releases this year.  Woohoo.  So I thought I’d do a little countdown with contests to recap all the fun.  For each of my 2010 releases I’ll post the blurb, an excerpt and a question.  Leave a comment about the question and you’ll be entered to win an electronic copy of the book.

Even better news… I already have eight more releases lined up for 2011:
1/25/11 – Morgan’s Surprise (Powertools Book #2)
3/15/11 – Northern Exposure with Mari Carr! (Compass Brothers #1)
May 2011 – Kayla’s Gift (Powertools Book #3)
July 2011 – Southern Comfort with Mari Carr! (Compass Brothers #2)
September 2011 – Mistress’s Master (Men in Blue Book #3)
September 2011 – PRINT – Razor’s Edge (Men in Blue Book #2)
November 2011 – Eastern Ambitions with Mari Carr (Compass Brothers #3)
TBD – Needing a Cougar – PRINT – Anthology including Driven from Cougar Challenge series

Good luck and Happy New Year!


Star of Christmas – Out today!

starofchristmas_HiResIt’s release day!!!  I’m so excited that the second installment in Star’s story is out today.  If you haven’t read Through My Window yet the second story does stand alone.  However, it picks up after Through My Window and explores one of the relationships first mentioned in the first book.

I’ll have to admit this is one of my more risque books.  No, not because Star is a sex worker in Amsterdam, but because one of her frequent clients, Rick convinces her to step in as the Star of the local Kinkmas pageant.  Yep, there’s sex on stage.  And as the main act Rick and Star engage in electrophilia.  So…  if you don’t know what that is, I have some research materials for you! 😆

The Sexual Practices Encyclopedia defines electrophilia as “Arousal from electrical stimulus.”  This is a pretty broad definition but I think you can get a better idea of what it’s about by checking out this informative FAQ by the maker of erotic electrostimulation equipment Erostek.

The equipment is fascinating, but if you’re more interested in learning about people who enjoy this practice and why it’s appealing (aside from the obvious, it feels good), I highly recommend investigating the busy and informative SmartStim forum.

So… are you scared yet?  If you’ve finished your research and you’re interested in reading about electrophila or if you’d rather learn through reading a short, hot story, I have just the thing.  Here’s a little about Star of Christmas, the next installment in the ongoing saga of an Amsterdam sex worker.


Star has seen it all as a sex worker in Amsterdam. She harnesses her intense sexuality to bring her clients satisfaction—or whatever else they desire. When one of her favorites, Rick, makes an unusual proposition, she accepts the rare opportunity.

She finds herself onstage, the lead in a naughty Christmas pageant, indulging in electrophilia where anyone can witness her client-turned-costar give her a present she’ll never forget. The sparks between them grow into something more, forcing them to decide if they’re strong enough to seek more than simple pleasure together.


By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.


Copyright © JAYNE RYLON, 2010

All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.


Through my window, snow is falling. Unique flakes dazzle me as they swarm and crash then disperse, earthbound, in the glow from my red light. Gorgeous and yet a pain in the ass—like so many things in life.

Let me count the ways.

Customers stay indoors to avoid the chill or romp through the rare weather, making for slow nights in Amsterdam’s infamous district. Unless you factor in the men who seek alternative methods to keep toasty and stranded passengers from Schipol taking advantage their airline delays.

Slut shoes plus treacherous icy cobblestones equal a terrifying combination. I’m not the sort of woman who wears rubbers to work—at least not the kind that protect my investment in my Louboutins—only to slip on sumptuous six-inch stilettos at the last instant. My pride rebels. The mystique generated by my stacked heels is part of who I am.

Which is why I cringe when Rick, a frequent customer, fills me in on the news.

“Damn it, Star.” He pants as his orgasm weakens him. My liquefied bones leave me unable to protest as he withdraws his softening cock from my pussy and crashes to the mattress in my booth’s loft. The hint of frustration in his tone has me squinting.

“You’re not satisfied?” A complaint would be a first for me. Not that whores have the equivalent to a corporate comment box system, but my popularity and the abundance of my repeat clients reassure me of my skill.

I sit up, crossing my legs, lifting his head to rest on my thigh as I play with his hair. Dozens of shared sessions with him have taught me I don’t have to hesitate to explore in the aftermath of our pleasure. I figure he craves the interaction. After all, he purchased a full hour tonight when he never requires more than a quarter of that to reach satisfaction in my body, usually dragging me along with him.

Something about his honest craving for me—not just an easy lay—affects me. The chemistry between us makes serving him a pleasure. Sure, he hires other girls in the district from time to time. Then again, I sometimes try a new ice cream flavor before indulging in Rocky Road for my standard Saturday night treat.

“No. I mean, yes. I’m satisfied. More than.”

I massage Rick’s scalp until he rewards me with his content relaxation. Before I can gloat to myself, he shakes his head, caressing me with his thick mane. When he tilts his face to meet my curious stare, his nostrils flare in response to the scent of the arousal he’s inspired.

He laughs. “I can’t think straight when I’m near you. What I meant is, I didn’t come here for this.”

“You didn’t?” What else would he seek from me? I’m providing his essentials.



Intimacy without responsibility.

“Not tonight.” He levers upright, granting me the opportunity to admire his toned torso as he rests his shoulders on the wall beside me.

A far cry from baby’s-butt smooth or steroid-strong. A natural ideal. Nice.

“Star, I have a proposition.”

Buy Star of Christmas here