A Hot man and a Quickie ~ Cuffed and Ready

The hot man:

Around here, the hot man is romance cover model and body builder John Quinlan. When John mentioned recently he had a new shoot lined up, I begged for images of him in a suit. You can thank me later. After you sit here and stare at this image, knowing what lurks beneath.

John is such a down-to-earth, nice guy, and he loves to talk with his fans. If he weren't a damn Red Sox fan, he might be just about perfect. Connect with John here:

http://irishjohnquinlan.blogspot.com/

http://www.johnquinlan.org/

http://twitter.com/johnjquinlan

Pinterest board featuring John and his romance covers: http://pinterest.com/taabia/model-john-quinlan/

The quickie: (Excerpt from Forceful Negotiations, Carmine Club No. 01)

Scott gripped Cam’s elbow, walking him past their hostess. “The auction’s very simple, really.” The other man gestured toward the long room and stepped back. Cam’s eyes widened. The brass luggage carts seen dotting the property during his arrival had been pressed into double duty. They were large carts, with thick brass rods about five and a half feet tall at each corner,  curving to intersect over the center. A nude woman knelt on the red carpet lining the base of each wheeled stand. Their arms were raised above their heads, wrists clasped by silver metal handcuffs. The chains connecting those unyielding bracelets were wrapped around the ball-shaped finial jutting from the top of each cart. The polished chrome shackles glittered like diamonds against the mellow brass. Some women tugged at their bonds. Others merely bowed their heads.

“You were given a marker, right?” From the hint of peevishness in his boss’s tone, Cam was certain Scott had had to repeat his question.

Slipping his hand into his trouser pocket, Cam fingered the big red marble embellished with his name in gold, much like a personalized golf ball. “Yes.” Surveying the line of naked breasts, Cam mentally recited the amount he could afford to bid. There were only thirteen women. Would three grand be enough? He could manage four, even five grand, he supposed, but going into debt for pussy would derail his plan to buy a building in the new city and renovate it into condos. Not to mention, this was a recurring expense.

The row of masked eyes and out thrust nipples made it hard to think about mundane things like real estate. Every size and color of nipple, from large and brown to small and pink stared back at him, their shapes emphasized by the stark walls. Each hard peak stood erect, begging to be touched. The masks and the women’s bare skin were the only color in the all-white room, save for the carts and a few sinuous, gilded mirror frames. Behind Willa, a pier mirror stretched almost to a ceiling he calculated to be sixteen feet. Positioned at the end of the spacious room, the glass reflected a stunning row of curvy bottoms above folded legs. A gust of arousal made his head swim.

If all goes well, Forceful Negotiations will be available next Saturday. Thanks for dropping in, and have a great week!

A Hot Man and a Quickie ~ 'Baseball' Means 'No'?

The hot man:

While I do enjoy a good game of football, I'd love to persuade gorgeous romance cover model John Quinlan to pick up a baseball bat for his next shoot. Perhaps that's because I have baseball on the brain right now. Come on, Opening Day! 

Places to stalk John:

http://irishjohnquinlan.blogspot.com/

http://www.johnquinlan.org/

http://twitter.com/johnjquinlan

Baseball  made an appearance in my excerpt today,too:

The quickie: (excerpt from Forceful Negotiations, Carmine Club V.1)

What's that? Oh, yeah, I did change this cover again.  (blush) This is the final version, pinkie swear. 

Jane merely smiled and pressed her palms to her knees, locking her elbows. “You understand this is role play, Cameron?”

“I understand no means no.” The frost in his tone should have painted her office walls whiter than that damn ballroom. He stared over her shoulder, refusing to look at the woman, though he felt her scrutiny. Instead, he looked at the neat row of her diplomas, framed in black. The wall behind them was painted dark beige or light brown. He couldn't decide what to call the color. He did know what to call the obscenity written on the paper she wouldn't take from him. Rape. How many times had he promised a jury no woman had ever asked to be raped?

“In this case, ‘baseball’ means ‘no’.” Jane’s statement sounded so ludicrous, he turned to look at her. “That’s her safe word, the word that causes all activity to cease immediately, no matter what may be happening. She wants this, Cameron. It’s her fantasy.” Jane leaned forward so abruptly her glasses slipped down her nose. She laid her hand on his knee. “Cam, you went into that ballroom. You picked her. You touched her, maybe even intimately. A connection was formed. Despite the titillating idea of illicit sex, what happens here is quite different. These women bare themselves so they can get some sexual healing.”

Looking away from her beseeching eyes, Cam narrowed his gaze on the row of diplomas again. “Then she needs a shrink.”

“No, what she needs is for you to get in touch with that man you've muted, the less civilized one lurking inside.” 

Her voice. Dear God, Aphrodite’s voice came from the throat of this plain woman. It was like audible sex. He didn't want to listen, but her words seemed to penetrate his brain.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Speaking of baseball, starting April 1, I'll be writing a novel in

 weekly installments, right here on my blog. Guarding the Line 

is a paranormal baseball romance. How's that for genre-

bending? You can read the premise here. 

Thanks for dropping in! See you next week, when hopefully, I'll

 be announcing the release of Breaking Glass.

A Hot Man and a Quickie ~ Polishing Eve's Pomegranites

Wow, Saturday already. Time for a hot man and a quickie. 

The hot man, 
as always, is romance cover model John Quinlan.

Do take that shirt off, John. It's summer somewhere.

Places to stalk John:

http://irishjohnquinlan.blogspot.com/

http://www.johnquinlan.org/

http://twitter.com/johnjquinlan

The quickie. 

I figured it's time y'all met Eros, the uninvited paranormal guest who's hiding from the mighty warrior angel Ishmael the Lessor at Carmine House, much to Willa's chagrin. 

(unedited excerpt from Carmine Club's free prequel ~ Breaking Glass)

"You have been summoned." Ishmael pointed his sword at Eros, sounding all bad-ass.

"Cool, there’s an orgy?" He took pleasure from the tight lines appearing around the angel’s mouth. "I’m so there."

"Hardly. The Judicious One requires your presence. Leave the toy bow and arrow here. No more of your accidents." The angel glared down his nose.

One accident, Eros ruffled his feathers. Just one little accident. His fingers twitched on the taut string he’d just installed on his bow. Not for the first time, he contemplated shooting an arrow at the chaste angel. What fun it would be to watch the smug bastard driven insane by a lust he wasn’t allowed to enjoy, but he'd never quite worked out what the consequences of that act might be.

 The bastard had a memory longer than his wings. Millenniums had passed since the day they'd all visited to Earth to admire One’s new Garden. Eros's arrow had missed the juicy red fruit he’d been aiming for, striking Eve. He was almost positive Ishmael used his massive wings to create the naughty wind spoiling his perfect aim that fateful day. Ishmael never missed a chance to rub Eros's nose in the fact he'd set the downfall of mankind in motion. Seriously, to hear the angel talk, you’d think the Serpent had been an innocent earthworm, hanging about holding a hankie in case Eve needed her pomegranates polished.

Have a great week! Thanks for dropping by!