Journey's End Now Available

Little did Colleen McBride suspect that the reoccurring dream which haunted her nights, and plagued her days, would lead her to an age old curse which only she could break and her window of opportunity for doing so was rapidly closing.

Past Reviews

"Five Angels! Kay Wilde is without a doubt one of the best authors I have ever read. Tempting Fate: Journey's End is a short story that compels and grips readers from the very beginning. Kay Wilde is an excellent storyteller; even her short stories have an abundance of love and passion. I have read all of Kay Wilde's Tempting Fate series and I have enjoyed each and every one of them. Each story is unique on it's own, but every book consistently portrays believable characters within the context of a very well written, awesome story!" Fallen Angel Reviews
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"Five Flames! Kay Wilde's HOLIDAY FANTASIES short stories just keep getting better and better. The writing is excellent and the story flows smoothly. Colleen and Ronan are wonderful, lovable characters. Their sizzling lovemaking is really magical. JOURNEY'S END is a terrific St. Patrick's Day romance." Sizzling Romances
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“Four Hearts! What a fascinating tale! Ms. Wilde is a master of building sexual tension in her stories, making one get drawn into the story, and feeling everything along with her characters. When the tension finally culminates, the passion is so strong it can cause spontaneous combustion." Love Romances
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"Kay Wilde’s journey with her Tempting Fate: Holiday Fantasies series has been wonderful and thankfully hasn’t ended just yet. Each book just gets better and Journey’s End is another short and powerful hit in this collection!" The Road to Romance
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"Four and 1/2 Hearts! Journey's End was very romantic. Kay Wilde always seems to catch the characters' emotions so well. Kay Wilde has become an auto-read for me, and I'd gladly recommend Journey's End to any romance readers!" The Romance Studio
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Originally released as part of the Tempting Fate Holiday Fantasies collection

Excerpt:

“Please don’t do this, Donal. There must be a way to defeat her,” Megan pleaded, unable to quell the edge of hysteria in her voice.

“The curse the Lianhan Shee forced the old witch to put upon me ‘tis a far better fate than were I to concede to her demands and leave ye to be with her.”

“But Donal, ‘tis it not said ye kin send another to the Lianhan Shee in yer stead?”
Megan suggested hopefully.

“And what kind of man would I be to send another to suffer me fate?”

“Donal, please.” There was a catch in her voice and her tears started to flow as she was forced to accept the inevitable.

“Near tears me heart out to see ye hurtin’ so, me love. But ‘tis the only way. Least this way, I’ll be free to watch over ye.”

“If ye must do this,” Megan forced herself to say, trying to equal his courage, “‘tis also said, the Selkie kin shed their skin at night and walk among humans. We kin still be t’gether.”

“Ah, luv.” With a weary sigh Donal pulled Megan into his arms. “Unless I kin stand by yer side, night and day, as yer husband, protector, and the father of yer children, I must leave ye free to find one who kin.”

Megan held him tightly and then said the words she already knew he loved her too much to accept. “Then I’ll ask the old witch to put the same curse upon me. We will share the same fate.”

Donal had anticipated such a desperate action on Megan’s part. He’d already extracted a promise from the witch that she would grant no such request. “The old witch has done her best fer us. She has given us a chance to say good-bye and the promise that in another time, our souls will be given the opportunity to find one another.”

“How kin I live without ye?”

“Ye will do what ye must,” Donal insisted. “Promise me, Megan. Grant me the peace of knowin’ ye’ll not remain alone.”

Megan knew that without Donal half of herself would be forever missing, and she would never again find the happiness only he could give her. But, if it would give him peace, she forced herself to speak the words he needed to hear. “I give ye me promise, Donal.”
Beginning to feel pain in his flesh and bones and the overpowering call of the sea, Donal O’Shea knew their time together was about to end. Sliding his hands up her back to her shoulders, he gently pushed her away from him. “Me prayers be with ye, me love. And may God watch over and protect ye on yer journeys, ‘til we are again united.”

“I’ll always love ye, Donal O’Shea,” Megan whispered, also sensing the end was near.
His beautiful, long-lashed, dark eyes misted over as he looked deeply into hers, so deeply Megan felt as if he were caressing her soul. “And I will always love ye, me lovely Megan.” He leaned down and tenderly kissed her good-bye, then turned and walked into the sea.

Megan stood on the beach watching as the huge swells washed over him. What seemed like an unbearably long time later, a sleek black seal broke the surface. Bypassing the other seals grouped upon an ocean-washed outcropping of rocks, the lone seal began moving out to sea.

“Nooo,” Megan cried out, then fell to her knees upon the sand.

* * * *

Jerked from the depths of her unsettling dream, Colleen McBride bolted upright in her bed. Chilled, she pulled the quilt around her, wrapped her arms around her bent legs and rested her head upon her knees. The dreams were recurring with increasing frequency, each occurrence leaving her more shaken, with a lingering sensation of desperation which was intensifying. Time was running out. But time for what? All she had to go on were small fragments she remembered from the dreams: haunting, long-lashed, dark eyes gazing deeply into hers; the image of a house on a hill overlooking the ocean; a door upon which a shamrock had been painted; and a door mat embossed with a gold claddaugh design.
Barely having the energy to lift her head, Colleen looked at the clock radio on her bedside table. It was only 4:00 a.m. Previous experience taught her that going back to sleep would be impossible.

Wrapping the quilt securely around her, Colleen rose from the bed. Using only the glow of the street light outside which filtered through her closed blinds, she made her way to the kitchenette area of her small, one bedroom apartment. Taking a glass from the cabinet, she turned on the tap and filled it with water. Her hand was trembling so badly, the glass slipped from her fingers and shattered when it hit the stainless steel sink.

It took a while, but Colleen managed to pull herself together enough to make a pot of coffee, a cup of which she carried into the living room. Still feeling chilled all the way to her soul, Colleen started a fire in the gas log fireplace, then curled up on the sofa, cocooned within the comforting warmth of her grandmother’s handmade quilt. And as she had done on many such nights, there Colleen sat until the sun came up and it was time to get ready for work.

* * * *

“Are you out of your mind?”

“That’s a distinct possibility,” Colleen responded to Karen, her best friend and coworker, as she emptied her personal belongings from her desk drawer and placed them into the cardboard box she’d found in the storeroom.

“I can’t believe you quit your job.”

“He didn’t give me any choice,” Colleen insisted. “I told him something personal has come up and I needed to take a week of my vacation time. He won’t give me the time off without two week’s notice. So I quit.”

“Jeez, Coll,” her friend groaned. “These crazy dreams you’ve been having are really getting to you. You’re exhausted, on edge, and not behaving like yourself at all. Go back in there and talk to Goldstein. Hell, he thinks you walk on water. He’ll give you your job back.”

Colleen’s wordless response to her friend’s impassioned speech was to pick up the photograph of her parents and grandmother from the top of her desk, gently place it in the box, and close the lid.

“Damn it, Colleen. I’m your friend. I care about you. Stop and think about what you’re giving up. You’ve invested six years here.”

“And I’ve barely missed a day in those six years. What about all the days I come in early and stay late, or the weekends I’ve put in. All without overtime pay?” Colleen hastened to point out, cringing inwardly at the sharpness in her voice. “You’d think that would grant me a little consideration the first time I’ve ever asked for anything.”

“You’re also the highest paid secretary in the company and you have an excellent benefit package,” Karen inserted. Working in payroll gave her access to the salaries and hourly rates of all the employees. “Keep your job, Colleen. Give Goldstein the required notice, then take your vacation. What’s two weeks?”

“That’s two weeks more than I have, Karen. If I don’t go now, I’ll be too late.” Colleen knew Karen was trying to be a good friend, a friend who was genuinely concerned for her welfare.

“Too late for what? Go where? You still haven’t told me where you have to go that’s so damn important.” Karen’s voice was laced with frustration, confusion, and more than a little hurt that Colleen wouldn’t confide in her.

Confide what? That apart from her flip answer regarding her sanity, Colleen was also concerned that she might truly be losing her grip on reality. The only answer she could give her friend was the plain and simple truth. “I don’t know.”

Second Chances Now Available

Jill and Brandon had been so caught up in the all-consuming intensity of first love, their social and economic backgrounds never entered into the equation. Despite the opposition of those around them, Jill had believed with all her heart and soul they were meant to be together. She believed their love was strong enough to withstand the test of time and she would have bet her life that Brandon felt the same way.

That was why she had been so devastated when it ended so abruptly ... and permanently.
A Valentine card lost at the post office and delivered twenty-five years later gives Jillian a reason to contact her high school sweetheart, the one great love of her life, a love she’d lost but never forgotten.

Was fate playing another cruel trick, allowing her to receive the card twenty-five years later, six weeks after Brandon returned to town to pick up the reins of Sinclair Publishing? As rumor would have it, a divorced, available Brandon Sinclair. Or, as insane as it sounded, was fate stepping in to set things right?

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"Blue Ribbon Rating: FIVE! “Hold on to your hearts romance lovers because this one is sure to touch it like it’s never been touched before. Twenty-five years is a long time to be cheated out of with the one you truly love. Jill and Brandon’s story is sad and touches you deeply, but never fear, there is sure to be a happy ending. Although you may not have much faith in the post office afterwards. SECOND CHANCES is sure to give you the romance fix you need this month.” Romance Junkies
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"Five Flames! “This passionate, tender short story had me in tears. Jillian and Brandon’s romance was so heartwarming. Ms. Wilde did an outstanding job of making them real and believable characters. It’s a well-written, satisfying romance that I highly recommend.” Sizzling Romances
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"Four/Five Stars! “I am a sucker for this type of story, love lost and found again years later. I’m also a sucker for short stories that are full of emotion, passion, and have that "completed" feel to them. Second Chances is well-rounded; it’s not rushed and doesn’t leave loose ends. The two characters are as "filled out" as any short story would need. We see that the ending of their relationship devastated both Jill and Brandon and how it affected their relationships in the interim twenty-five years. This story was so good for me that I had to immediately re-read it once I finished reading it the first time, making it a definite "keeper" for me.” Just Erotic Romance Reviews
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Five Angels! “One night after a disagreement, he walks out on Jill and she never hears from him again; until a lost Valentine's Day card arrives 25 years later. After reading the card, Jill's mind is overcome with memories of Brandon. She decides to contact him, and wonders if they can recapture the love they once felt so long ago. Second Chances is a short but sweet story full of emotion and romance. It is a tale of love lost and once again found that will warm you heart with every turn of the page.” Fallen Angels Review
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Originally released as part of the Tempting Fate Holiday Fantasies collection

WARNING - This story contains hot, explicit love scenes.

Excerpt:

Perched precariously near the top of a ladder, covered with pale yellow speckles as she rolled paint onto the dingy tan walls, Jill Dennis tried to ignore the persistent ringing of the doorbell. Just when she thought her unexpected visitor had given up, the ringing started again.

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath. Things were slow at work so she'd taken three vacation days to paint, clean and redecorate her living room. Since she started painting this morning, she'd had three phone calls from friends, two from the office, and now the doorbell. If she kept getting interrupted she wouldn't finish before she returned to work.

Laying the roller in the paint pan attached to the top of the ladder, she backed carefully down the steps and picked up a dish towel, wiping paint from her hands as she made her way to the front door.

"I'm sorry for the interruption, ma'am," the female mail carrier apologized after she took in Jill's disheveled, paint spattered appearance.

"Can I help you?" Jill asked, trying to keep the impatience from her voice.

"I hope so. You wouldn't by any chance know a Jillian Williams, who used to live at this address, would you?"

"I'm Jillian Williams, or I was. Williams is my maiden name."

"I thought that might be the case. At least I hoped so. I mean, Jillian isn't that common a name. And two Jillians at the same address..."

"Excuse me?" Jill interrupted, thinking of the paint roller drying out in the pan. The mail carrier was rambling and not making much sense.

"Maybe I should explain," the mail carrier responded. "During our move to the new post office, we found several pieces of mail that had fallen between a bank of file cabinets and the wall. The Post Master felt, if possible, those pieces of mail should be delivered."

"I imagine so," Jill agreed somewhat reluctantly. Knowing her luck, after years of struggling, now that she was relatively debt free, they'd probably discovered some long overdue bill which remained unpaid.

"This belongs to you." The mail carrier handed a red envelope to Jill ... a greeting card sized, red envelope.

If Jill was surprised by the twenty cent stamp on the upper right hand corner, she was even more shocked by the date on the postmark: February 13, 1984. Directly under it, was another postmark with yesterday's date: February 10, 2009. And then the distinctive script on the envelope caught her attention.

Even after twenty-five years, she immediately recognized the bold, masculine scrawl. Jill's hand began to tremble. Her heart began to flutter within her chest like a trapped wild thing struggling to escape. The mail carrier's apology sounded like an incomprehensible roar in Jill's ears.

Barely conscious of doing so, Jill accepted the rest of her mail, closed the door and walked into the living room where she sank onto the sofa. In a stunned daze, she laid her mail aside, except for the card, and sat staring at the handwriting. As much as she wanted to open the card, she couldn't bring herself to do it. Instead, she laid her head back, closed her eyes, and allowed her mind to travel twenty-five years into the past.

Brandon Sinclair’s image and status fit perfectly with the red Corvette convertible his parents had given him for high school graduation. No one expected to see Jill driving anything better than her mother's second hand Ford Pinto, which was in the shop more often than not. He was the only son and heir to the family's publishing company who lived on an estate at the outskirts of town. Jill was the daughter of a divorcee who tended bar at a downtown lounge and lived from paycheck to paycheck. Jill and her mother lived in a modest, two bedroom, tract style home with a postage stamp sized yard.

Jill and Brandon started dating toward the end of their sophomore year of high school and had remained inseparable throughout their junior and senior years. Much to the chagrin of the doom sayers who claimed they wouldn't last, those years were spent with few harsh words or disagreements between them. They'd been best friends and confidants who brought out the best qualities in each other, loving each other without reservation or conditions.

Brandon's parents strongly disapproved of the relationship and never missed an opportunity to make their opinion of their son's choice brutally clear. Jill's mother didn't approve either. She believed boys from Brandon's social class dated girls like Jill for one reason only. Once they got what they wanted, they would move on to the next naive victim, ultimately marrying someone considered suitable, within their own circle.
Jill and Brandon had been so caught up in the all-consuming intensity of first love, their social and economic backgrounds never entered into the equation. Despite the opposition of those around them, Jill had believed with all her heart and soul they were meant to be together. She believed their love was strong enough to withstand the test of time and she would have bet her life that Brandon felt the same way.

That was why she had been so devastated when it ended so abruptly ... and permanently.

Nearly to the very day twenty-five years later, despite everything that had happened during the intervening years, there was still a part of Jill that had never been able to let go of the fantasy.

Jill's mind wandered to the last time she and Brandon had been together, and to the subsequent argument which had severed their relationship with absolute finality. That night remained in her mind with such vivid clarity it seemed as if it had happened mere days ago, instead of on February 12, 1984 ... two days before Valentine's Day.

Independence Day Now Available

Mara Quinn grew up determined that she would never end up like her mother, choosing a career guaranteed to reaffirm those convictions on a daily basis. In doing so, she'd allowed her old fears to become a trap, an emotional prison of her own making.

Never in a million years would Mara have believed that she, who counseled women in abusive relationships for a living, would find herself in the same situation and forced to run for her life.

When she least expected it, when she was too vulnerable to resist, J.T. Dalton had effortlessly stormed the walls she'd so carefully built around herself, making her want more than the sterile emotionless existence she'd set herself up to live. Was it possible for a woman to love a man and still retain her sense of self, her independence? Did she have the courage to find out?

Past Reviews



4.5 Stars “Wow! One thing about this story that this reviewer loves is Ms. Wilde’s ability to take such a sensitive subject as abused women, who may feel all is lost, and turn it into a touching story with new hope and tender, yet passionate love. One gets the feeling Ms. Wilde has done her homework to be able to so realistically portray what women in these situations think and feel.” Love Romances

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5 Angels! “Although Independence Day is slightly darker in subject matter than the rest of the Tempting Fate series, it is no less fantastic than the others. In fact, it just might be the best of the series because Kay Wilde expertly depicts such a sensitive subject. I applaud Kay Wilde for this story! She tells an excellent love story while staying true to the seriousness of abused women. No one writes them quite like Kay Wilde does. Wonderful story!” Fallen Angel Reviews

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4.5 Stars! “Kay Wilde is a hugely talented writer who has managed in a very short space to write a story which will tug at your heartstrings and arouse your senses. She has managed to handle the issue of domestic abuse sensibly whilst at the same giving the readers a marvelous story where the characters were richly drawn and believable, the chemistry intense and the sex scenes steamy. The reader will be rooting for Mara and J.T. towards the end and will finish the book happy at their resolution yet sad that they’ve reached the end of such a brilliant story. Kay Wilde’s story is one which will keep you reading. You’ll enjoy every word!” eCataromance Reviews

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Recommended Read! “Kay Wilde is an author who never lets her readers down and with Independence Day, it’s no exception to her already long list of hits. The fear, confusion, shame and loss that Mara feels is depicted with a sure hand and confidence of this author. The most horrific abuse is that against another human being and Ms. Wilde tells the story realistically and shows that even after suffering at the hand of another, time does heal the wounds and a real love can one day be found. Ms. Wilde takes the tragedy and sadness of a shattered woman’s faith and heart and creates a story of tenderness, self-discovery and love. It is this sort of ability that makes Kay Wilde an amazing author. She always gets to the heart of the matter, grasps it and makes it her own, which leaves a reader with a rekindled feeling of love and hope when the story ends. Independence Day hits close to home for this reader, hits a homerun for Kay Wilde and is her best Tempting Fate: Holiday Fantasies story yet.” The Road to Romance

Excerpt

The sound of air brakes from an eighteen wheeler drew J.T. Dalton’s attention from the ancient boat motor he’d been in the process of tuning up. The driver exited the truck and walked around to assist a girl in her descent from the passenger side of the high riding cab. J.T. immediately felt his anger begin to simmer. Kids today didn’t seem to have a lick of sense. Didn’t they know the dangers of hitching a ride . . . especially for a female? The news was full of stories about young girls who were last seen hitching a ride and not heard from again until their decomposing body was discovered in a drainage ditch several states away. And still they did it, in the arrogance of youth ignoring the risks, believing they were somehow exempt from the possible consequences of their actions. Or worse yet, getting off on the adrenaline rush from flirting with danger.

While the girl and the trucker parted company, J.T. picked up a shop cloth and wiped the motor oil from his hands as he made his way toward the marina office. By the time she turned and headed in his direction, J.T. was leaning against the door, waiting, preparing to give the kid a well deserved tongue lashing for being so stupid.

The words died in his throat, never to be spoken. As she approached and he got a better look at her, J.T. was forced to do a rapid two-step and revamp his earlier assessment. Her petite stature and the impression of extreme fragility had thrown him off. Despite the dark glasses she wore, it was obvious the female in question wasn’t a kid at all but a young woman. A woman who should have been old enough to know better, but also old enough to make her own decisions, right or wrong.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“That depends.”

“Upon?”

“Whether or not you’re the person with whom I need to speak regarding renting a cottage.”

Cultured, articulate speech pattern. “Interesting”, J.T. thought. “You’ve found the right person. I’m J.T., but I’m afraid I won’t be much help.” She didn’t respond, remaining silent as she waited for him to clarify. “It’s peak vacation season. Everything on the lake that isn’t privately owned is normally booked solid Memorial Day through Labor Day.”

“I should have anticipated that,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.

She appeared to wilt before his eyes. Expecting her to buckle beneath the weight of her backpack at any moment, he instinctively reached out to offer support. But before he could make contact, she stiffened and literally jerked herself backward, out of his reach. In the process, J.T. caught a brief glimpse of discoloration high on one cheek bone which had been concealed by the wide lenses of her dark glasses.

He clenched his jaw and choked back the words to keep from asking a perfect stranger the question uppermost in his mind . . . and none of his business.

“Can you suggest any place in the area where I might find lodging for a couple of days? It doesn’t have to be on the lake.”

“Sorry,” he answered reluctantly, truly meaning it. It didn’t take a brilliant mind to put two and two together. With his FBI background, he’d picked up on the clues quicker than most: a lone woman hitchhiking; one clearly old enough and intelligent enough to know the risks; the way she constantly glanced over her shoulder; and her skittish, ready-to-bolt demeanor. The most conclusive evidence of all were the dark glasses to conceal bruising, and the long sleeved turtle-necked shirt, on a blistering hot afternoon. She was most likely a woman on the run, someone in need of a safe place to hole up for a while.

His old partner and mentor was always warning J.T. that his damsel in distress, knight errant fixation would get him killed one day. On his last assignment, it nearly had. With that unpleasant memory still fresh in his mind, J.T. couldn’t believe he was even considering getting involved.

“Look, maybe we can work something out.” The words were out of his mouth before he could call them back. Consequences be damned. Nothing set him off faster than a man low enough to hit a woman.

There was a subtle tightening of her jaw and squaring of her shoulders. J.T. suspected she was wondering just what he was about to suggest, how much it was going to cost her, and would the price be something she’d be willing to pay? Silently, she again waited for clarification.

“I’m just managing the place for a friend who recently suffered a stroke and is in the hospital,” he explained, making idle conversation in an effort to ease her mind. “I can move into his place and rent the cabin I’m currently staying in to you.”

“Just like that?” she asked, hope mingled with suspicion evident in her voice.
“Just like that.” Having no way of knowing her financial situation, J.T. quoted a weekly rate a good deal lower than the usual charge. “Of course the total amount depends upon how long you plan to stay.”

“I’m not sure,” she answered, then asked point blank, “Why are you doing this?”
“Let’s just say I’m a sucker for ladies in distress.”

She opened her mouth to refute his assessment and then closed it as if fearing she’d say something to make him renege on his offer.

“Do you want the cabin?” he asked.

“I’ll take it.”

“Then let’s go inside where it’s cooler and take care of the paperwork.” Her hesitation was so brief, he’d have missed it, if he hadn’t been expecting it.

Once inside, J.T. made his way around the counter, pulled out the standard registration form and slid it across the counter along with a pen. He then stood back and watched. She carefully read through the form, swallowed, then picked up the pen. She hesitated over each blank, including her name. While J.T. knew he should ask to see some identification, he was pretty sure it would be pointless to do so. If she were to produce the requested documentation, it wasn’t likely to have her real name on it anyway. Giving the completed form only a cursory glance, he slipped it into the drawer, planning to go over it later.

“So, Linda, will you be paying by check or credit card?”

“I’ll pay in cash, in advance . . . if that’s acceptable?”

Now why didn’t that surprise him?

* * * *
When she was finally alone, Mara Quinn leaned back against the locked door, closed her eyes and breathed a deep sigh of relief. It was the first time she’d felt secure enough to do so in the past week. Secure? Who was she kidding? She couldn’t afford to let her guard down, not even for a moment.

Turning toward the window to do a quick visual scan outside, she saw J.T. come out of the neighboring cabin. He paused and looked toward the cabin she was in. Mara stepped back from the window so he couldn’t see her, hoping he wouldn’t feel the need to check and see if she needed anything. That he was curious about her was understandable, yet he’d thankfully refrained from asking questions she wasn’t prepared to answer.

He took several steps in the direction of her cottage. Mara felt her body tense. Then apparently having second thoughts, J.T. changed course and headed back toward the marina. She watched until he rounded the bend taking him out of her range of vision.
He was certainly gorgeous, a prime example of raw masculinity, with broad shoulders, muscular arms, trim waistline, narrow hips, and thighs accentuated to mouth watering perfection by snug fitting blue jeans. He had hair that made women fantasize about raking their fingers through, thick and dark with natural curl brought out by the extreme humidity. More than anything else about him, it was his eyes that caught and held her attention, deep, dark and probing, giving her the impression that while he was saying one thing, he was thinking something else entirely. While Mara had never thought a mustache added to a man’s appeal, J.T.’s mustache was neatly trimmed and somehow fit the image of a dangerously handsome devil. And if she knew what was good for her, she’d do well to remember that. Men like J.T. were just that . . . dangerous.

It was because of another handsome devil that she was now running for her life. Outwardly, Ross possessed the same friendly, easy going manner. The same irresistible charm that drew her in, and slowly, before she realized what was happening, began to suck the life out of her. She still couldn’t believe that she was the only one who knew. The only one to discover that Ross’s charm was all smoke screen, a deliberate facade designed to disguise his dark side, his controlling mean streak.

Never in a million years would she have believed that she, who counseled women in abusive relationships for a living, would find herself in the same potentially life threatening situation. In doing so, she’d quickly learned some hard truths. Mara learned how smug and self righteous she must have appeared to the women she counseled. She learned that all the textbook cases, all the pat warning signs, and all the rationale that made so much sense when you were on the outside looking in, didn’t mean shit when you were on the inside looking out. If she was ever able to return to her chosen career, Mara knew she’d do so with a more sympathetic and empathetic attitude.

“For Christ’s sake, Mara, move,” she scolded herself when she realized she’d gone barely two feet beyond the door since she entered the small log cabin.

Familiarizing herself with her temporary surroundings, she walked around the rustic yet cozy living/dining/kitchen combination. A sofa, recliner, and wooden rocker were grouped facing the gas log fireplace and portable television. A round pedestal table with four chairs was centered upon a braided rug strategically placed near the sliding doors which opened onto a wood deck facing the lake. The kitchen was fully equipped with all the amenities; compact range/oven, microwave, refrigerator, pots, pans, dishes, etc. On the counter between the small double sink and coffee maker, she found half a can of ground coffee, her favorite brand. Had J.T. deliberately or accidently left it behind? As Mara set about emptying a sack of groceries, she was grateful for J.T.’s suggestion that while he transferred his belongings to the other cabin, she pay a visit to the small store at the marina for a few supplies. While the selection had been limited, she was able to purchase a few immediate necessities.

A double bed covered with a handmade patchwork quilt, armoire, a small dresser and bedside table filled the small bedroom to capacity. Not large enough for a tub, the adjoining bathroom had a commode, sink, and an enclosed shower. Nevertheless, Mara couldn’t believe her luck in finding something so comfortable, charming, and immaculately clean. She genuinely hoped she’d be able to stay awhile, at least long enough to catch her breath and come up with a rational plan of action. She didn’t intend to run and hide forever. She shouldn’t have to. She hadn’t done anything wrong.
Mara couldn’t stand the repressive heat a moment longer. Unable to resist the temptation of a refreshing shower, she set about unpacking her meager belongings . . . then had second thoughts. “Not a good idea,” she said aloud. “Just in case I have to make a quick getaway.” Stowing both her overnight bag and her backpack in the armoire, she took out a change of clothes, her bath supplies, and headed for the shower.

Scrubbing her flesh nearly raw, Mara could not wash away the shockingly visible evidence of Ross’s handiwork. The bruising at her throat was beginning to turn from purple to a yellowish color. Her wrists and upper arms also bore similar evidence of his anger. What had her stomach churning in rebellion were the long, finger-shaped bruises on her breasts, accompanied by deliberately inflicted love bites, as he’d called them. Attaching the word love to what he did to her was tantamount to reducing the term to an insult. Better to call a spade a spade, crude as it might be, the word was hickey. What he’d done to her was crude and as ugly as the marks marring her flesh. When her soapy washcloth encountered similar markings on her inner thighs, her stomach recoiled, forcing her to bolt from the shower and drop to her knees in front of the commode. When there was nothing in her stomach left to lose, Mara returned to the shower where she remained until the water turned cold and she could no longer bear the bite of the icy pellets against her flesh.

Now Available

Past Reviews

"Five Flames! It’s amazing how much Ms. Wilde packs into this short story. Enough background information is given to show the reader what makes the characters tick, both in the present and the past. Ms. Wilde also includes quite a bit of sex that’s not only hot, but tender and caring as well. I highly recommend this to anyone who enjoys an engaging plot and lots of heated romance in what they read." Sizzling Romances

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"Four Stars! Auld Lang Syne is fast paced with accurate clear-cut characters that are well written. This short story is very sensual and I think the readers will enjoy Jane as she reminisces about her years growing up in high school. Tanner is a very loving guy who has a heart of gold; he has a take-charge attitude that makes any woman want him. Jane and Tanner have a beautiful past together and the night they make love is passionate and sizzling HOT! When I read a book, I like the heroine to grow as a person and Ms. Wilde never fails to make her main character intelligent, charming, and sexy all at the same time. I would recommend this story for any one who loves a great romance." Just Erotic Romance Reviews

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"Four Stars! Ms. Wilde is quite skilled at drawing out the sexual tension, taut as a bowstring just waiting to be released. Tanner and Jane mesh well, their friendship leading them to the path they are now on. Though only a short story, the reader feels the relationship between the two as more then just an affair. Also one will discover, along with Jane, that what she thinks she wants, and what she needs, are not necessarily the same thing, and can be found in the unlikeliest of places." Love Romances

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"Four Hearts! If a quick read is what you're after with a great plot, then pick up Auld Lang Sang!" The Romance Studio

Excerpt

Should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind. Yeah right. That was easier said than done.

The embossed invitation to her class reunion should have hit the trash can the moment she received it. Not only had she not tossed it, she’d actually brought the damn thing with her to New York City. Even more amazing, she was tempted to attend, tempted to show the popular in crowd from her old high school that plain Jane Smith had become someone worth recognizing.

Jane wanted to believe she was a better person than that. That painful, confidence-destroying part of her life was over, finished. She’d moved on, leaving plain Jane, the invisible, non-person well behind her. Jane wanted to believe that to be the case . . . deep down she knew better.

Old hurts and slights died hard. Despite her success, the magnitude of which she still found impossible to comprehend, inside she was still plain Jane Smith, the non-person from the wrong side of the tracks. Was the embossed invitation in her hand a cruel reminder of who she was, who she would always be? Or was it her opportunity to banish plain Jane once and for all?

Playing out on the television screen in her hotel room at the famed Waldorf Astoria, a crush of humanity gathered in Times Square waiting for the countdown and the descent of the glittering ball which marked the end of the old year and the beginning of the new.
Rising from the satin covered bed where she’d been sitting Indian fashion surrounded by a mound of cream colored, satin pillows, Jane walked to the oak framed, full length mirror.

The red and gray nightgown she wore, the same gown that had been loose even when she was sixty-five pounds heavier, effectively concealed the finely sculptured curves beneath. Except for the weight loss, Jane couldn’t deny that she had done little to alter her plain Jane image.

Reaching for her glasses on the bedside table, she glanced at the clock displayed at the lower right-hand corner of the television screen which counted down the minutes. Turning back to her reflection, Jane was determined to be brutally honest as she assessed her own attributes.

Her complexion, which thankfully hadn’t plagued her with an unsightly outbreak of pimples in years, was now smooth and clear. Always considering her hair to be her one good feature, Jane released the confining clip at the nape of her neck. While some might call her waist length hair a mousey brown, it was thick and shimmered with good health. Taking a deep breath, Jane then did something she’d never done before. She released the buttons at the neckline of her nightgown, allowed it to slide from her shoulders, down her arms and hips until it puddled at her feet. She then critically appraised her own body wearing nothing more than a skimpy pair of black bikini panties.

“Not bad,” she admitted, sounding almost surprised. “Actually, pretty darn good.” After leaving her hometown, it had taken her three years to write Silver Lining, the novel which had changed her life. Three years of working two jobs just to make ends meet, and writing during what free time she could squeeze into her days and nights. In high school she’d used junk food as a panacea to make her feel better, which in the end made her feel even worse when she continued to gain weight. On her own, money for food was tight and junk food a luxury she couldn’t afford. She was often so immersed in her writing she forgot to eat all together. The excess pounds and inches had slowly melted away without Jane even realizing it.

Jane reached for the invitation she’d placed upon the chest of drawers next to the mirror. It wasn’t surprising that the social elite on the planning committee had arranged for the reunion to be held at the country club, a black tie affair which would automatically deter the less successful members of the class. Jane reread the information on the card before her eyes returned to the mirror. She felt as if the woman with the killer body gazing back at her was someone totally separate from herself.
“You have to face and conquer the past before you can let it go and move on to the future that’s opened up for you,” the woman in the mirror insisted.
Jane pulled the huge flannel gown back up. Leaving the buttons at the neckline unfastened, she returned to the bed.

On the television the mob scene in Times Square grew loud and rowdy as the ball started to descend and the countdown to the New Year began.

Vowing this would be the last New Year’s Eve she would spend alone, while the rest of the world was out there enjoying life, Jane reached over and poured herself a solitary glass of champagne from the small, complimentary bottle supplied by the hotel.
“Five ... Four ... Three ... Two ... One ... Happy New Year!!!”

Having no one with which to share the toast, Jane held her glass toward the excited, kissing and hugging revelers on the screen as the strains of Auld Lang Syne drowned out the sounds of their cheers.

For Auld Lang Syne – meaning, for old long since, Jane interpreted. Days long gone, best forgot and never brought to mind. Let go of the past and move on with the future. This was exactly what Jane intended to do by following the advice from the lady in the mirror – face and conquer the past.

Jane picked up the yellow, spiral bound steno pad upon which she’d been jotting down notes and ideas for her next book. Turning to a blank page, she picked up her pen and began to write.

New Year’s Resolutions

1. Make over plain Jane
2. Attend High School Reunion
3. Seduce Ryan Shipman
4. Lose Virginity
5. Get A Real Life!!!

Seduction Of The Senses Now Available

Past Reviews

"All I can truly stress about Seduction of the Senses by Kay Wilde, is not to stop reading it until the very last word is read!! This is an author I am finding to be one that gives her readers more than they ever expect, keeps things hot and heavy, brings us undeniable romance and her stories usually come with a surprise or two. Seduction of the Senses is blazing hot. It tantalizes the senses, sends us into over-drive and ready for more quickly. This holiday romp is a true delight that keeps one wondering and has the reader remembering all the things that are important in life. Not many authors can do sexual tension like Kay Wilde, and she does it splendidly. Seduction of the Senses will make one even feel a bit guilty for enjoying it so much…readers must read it to understand why!" The Road to Romance

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"A great romance for couples, Seduction of the Senses is a great way to put a spark back into any relationship." The Romance Studio - Five Hearts

* * * *

Kay Wilde has an extraordinary way with words. The heat of passion and the climatic results make this hot romp a holiday delight. Find something cool to drink rather than your hot cocoa as you follow Allison Beckett through her encounters with this handsome, hunky mystery man. If this is the way one should go about Tempting Fate then count me as tempted. They say that changes and new experiences make life delightful……after reading this short story, I will agree." Just Erotic Romance Reviews - Four Stars

* * * *

"For starters, be warned, do not read this book at work, lunch break or no. It will get the reader caught up in the web of sensation the characters are experiencing. This story is all about the details, and anticipation. Each feeling invoked in Allison is vividly described, so well in fact, that the reader will, see, taste, and hear everything along with her. Sexual tension escalates with each page, and the fantasy builds, driving one forward to the volatile ending, guaranteed to make the reader squirm in the seat. Make sure to have a cold glass of water nearby for putting out the flames after this enticing read. Looking for a guilty pleasure or some interesting ideas to try out? Then this story is going to hit the mark." Love Romances - Four Stars

This is a revised, expanded, version of the story previously published as part of the Tempting Fate Holiday Fantasies Collection.

WARNING: This book contains hot, explicit love scenes.

Excerpt

Allison Beckett checked the time on her wristwatch and glanced around her boutique. The constant ebb and flow of frantic holiday shoppers appeared to have slowed to a manageable pace, which made this as good a time as she was likely to get for a break. Catching the eye of her assistant manager, she pointed toward the store entrance and mouthed the words, “I’m going to lunch.” Nodding her understanding, Cyndy excused herself from the customer she’d been assisting and headed toward the rear of the shop to man the register.

At the entrance Allison took a deep breath as she prepared to step into the fast paced pedestrian traffic flow in the mall’s concourse. She was relieved yet disappointed at the same time to discover the inevitable crush of humanity was not as heavy as would normally be expected for December twenty-first, which meant she would possibly be able to find a table in the restaurant instead of being forced to settle for the food court. Fewer people also meant sales were down. Although her shop was doing well enough, profits for the year had fallen, which was often the case in an election year when consumers watch to see how changes in Washington will affect the economy. In an attempt to cut expenses, she’d taken on less seasonal help, and instead of working only part time, she was pulling twelve-hour days to pick up the slack.

Allison was tired and irritable, and she freely admitted, less effective at home as a mother and as a wife. Not that her husband was home any more than she was. As a financial consultant, her husband’s hours were just as long if not longer than hers. Too often lately he’d been forced to go out of town on business or had canceled out on family plans at the last minute.

Despite the fact that her situation was seasonal and only temporary, her children were spending too much time in the care of their grandparents or sitters, and her relationship with her husband was suffering from the neglect, on both sides.

“It isn’t worth it,” Allison muttered under her breath, for the first time seriously considering the offer she’d received for the purchase of her boutique.

Lost in thought as she was, Allison wasn’t watching where she was going and was momentarily stunned when she walked headlong into a wall of solid muscle.
Strong arms went around Allison’s waist to steady her and her eyes traveled slowly up a black leather jacket until they clashed with coffee dark eyes which were not only amused but glinting with the heat of an unmistakable predatory gleam.

“Are you all right, miss?” he asked, the husky rasp of his voice sending a vibration of awareness slithering down her spine. His compelling dark eyes held hers and for the life of her Allison couldn’t force herself to look away. Her hands rested gently upon his chest and she could feel the warmth of his body through the leather jacket he wore.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, not realizing how breathy her own voice sounded. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

“No need to apologize, sweetheart. It was my pleasure. I assure you.”
“I um...”

“Get a room.” The crude remark sounded behind Allison, snapping her befuddled senses back to reality. For the first time she realized he still had his arms around her and was holding her tightly against him, too tightly, too close. She was a mature woman, in the middle of a busy mall, in the middle of the day, in what looked like a heated clench. Who was she trying to kid? It was a heated clench.

Pushing gently against his chest, she attempted to take a step back. He released her immediately, but not without a deliberate sigh of regret. “You appeared to be in a hurry.”

“I’m on my lunch break,” she responded, consciously swallowing back her own sigh of regret.

He reached out and with his thumb beneath her chin, tilted her head upward, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Then I mustn’t keep you,” he replied as he used his forefinger to trace her lips. Then with a knowing chuckle and a wink, he turned and walked away, leaving her to stand there staring at an incredible ass displayed to perfection in tight blue jeans.

At first the Christmas carols being sung by the high school choir and the chatter and grumbles of the shoppers strolling past her sounded as if it came from a great distance, then gradually clearer and louder.

“Get a grip, Alli,” she chided herself, unable to believe she had reacted to the encounter like an adolescent in a hormone-induced stupor. Yet, there was no denying that the physical awareness sparking between them had been instantaneous, nearly overwhelming.
As Allison had hoped, there were several tables available in the second floor Lookout restaurant overlooking the lower level concourse. Seated at a table for two beside the plate glass wall, she discovered she no longer had an appetite.

While studying the menu for something that looked appealing, a pair of jean clad thighs strolled past her table. She looked up and instantly recognized the ass, and the jacket. He seated himself facing her at the table directly across from hers. With an acknowledging nod of his head, he picked up his menu.

She ordered a small house salad and a cup of herbal tea for its calming effects.
He ordered a club sandwich and a glass of wine.

Allison tried to eat her lunch without looking directly at the man seated at the next table. It was nearly impossible not to respond to what seemed to be some form of mental telepathy between them, as if he were mentally compelling her to look at him. Toying with her salad, barely able to get down a couple of bites, she watched the hustle and bustle of the mall shoppers below and tried to concentrate on the piped-in Christmas carols. She was successful, for the most part, until she picked up her cup to finish her tea.

He watched her, as she watched him play with the moisture beading the side of his wineglass with the tip of his finger. Her nipples tingled, then beaded. Remembering she was wearing her lightweight, off-white, cashmere sweater, Allison didn’t have to look down to know that despite the bra she was wearing the results would be noticeable. He, on the other hand, was obvious in his appraisal of the hard pebbles protruding beneath the soft fabric. His lips curved into a smile, which could only be described as smug, then lifted his glass to her in a toasting gesture before he carried it to his lips and downed the remaining contents.

He rose to his feet and walked slowly toward her table, pausing only long enough to allow her to see the unmistakable bulge straining the front of his jeans. He made a point of letting her know he was as affected by her as intensely as she was by him. Her empty teacup slipped from her hand, shattering when it hit the saucer. Allison again heard him chuckling as he walked away leaving her to pick up the pieces. When she attempted to pay her check, the hostess informed her with a speculative grin that the gentleman had taken care of it along with a generous tip for the cost of the broken cup.

“He said to wish you a Merry Christmas,” the hostess informed her.

Allison took her time returning to the shop, this time making a point of watching where she was going, as she attempted to figure out why she had reacted so strongly to the encounters. They’d been unexpected, making her feel more desired as a woman than she’d felt in a very long time. The lure of the forbidden fantasy was more exciting than she would have believed possible.

Detour Now Available

Her self esteem all but destroyed by a womanizing ex-husband who left her for a younger woman, facing the dating scene at her age was not an option Kayla Reed would even consider. She’d been married for over twenty years to the only man she’d ever kissed, much less anything else. Envisioning spending the rest of her life alone, and facing the prospect of spending her first Thanksgiving alone, in front of the television with a frozen turkey dinner, Kayla reluctantly accepts an invitation from a friend to spend an old fashioned Thanksgiving in the mountains.

But fate has other plans.

Forced to take a detour by a rockslide, Kayla finds herself lost in the mountains, in the midst of a freak snow storm. Driving conditions becoming so hazardous she can’t risk driving any further, she has no option but to take refuge in the only shelter available.

By a bizarre set of circumstances, fate had stepped in and dropped her into one of her fantasy scenarios. She was snowbound in a luxurious mountain cabin with an incredibly handsome stranger. Did she have the courage to experience the fantasy fate had seen fit to offer?

****

“Detour was so intense of a love story that this reviewer was unable to put it down. You will be held spellbound by the plot and the hero is to die for. This reviewer gives this book a Five Flames for a love story that is a classic in itself.” 5 Flames - Sizzling Romances

“Kay Wilde has created a beautiful love short story that is very sensual. DETOUR is the kind of story that gives hope to those of us that are mature and not as firm as we would like to be. It is a story of taking a chance; to grab at opportunities as they arise and finding love and romance when you least expect.” Romance Junkies Blue Ribbon Rating: 4

“DETOUR is a wonderful short story in the Tempting Fate: Holiday Fantasies series. Kay Wilde introduces us to an older heroine who does not view herself as perfect, especially after having a daughter and the stretch marks to prove it, and to a hero who sees past her imperfections to the amazing woman she is. This is a sensual romance, with believable characters, and a cozy love story all wrapped up in one. For a quick romantic read, pick up DETOUR. You will not be disappointed.” Romance Reviews Today

“After reading this charming story I was blown away with Ms. Wilde’s take on this short Thanksgiving tale. The hero and heroine are well written and their needs are defined throughout the book. The reader will appreciate the couple’s good-humor, sexual attraction, and their warm and cozy time in an enchanting cabin. Morgan and Kayla’s love scenes are seductive, intimate and passionate. All in all I recommend that everyone go out and treat yourself to this sweet story." Just Erotic Romance Reviews - Four Stars!

"Four Hearts! The passion between Morgan and Kayla is evident from the moment the meet, erupting over them both during their forced seclusion. The intensity of their affair is hot enough to melt even the mountain snow surrounding the cabin. If a reader is looking for a quick, extra-satisfying short read, this tale will certainly heat one up. Just be sure to have some way of cooling off after reading this sexy story." Love Romances

Excerpt

“This is not good,” Kayla Reed muttered aloud as she switched the windshield wipers from low to medium.

She had originally turned down her friend Paula’s invitation to spend an old fashioned Thanksgiving with a group of friends in the mountains near Gatlinburg, Tennessee. Until then, Kayla hadn’t realized how upset her daughter, Kellie, had been by the prospect of spending Thanksgiving with her father and leaving her mother to spend the holiday alone. Unwilling to put a damper on the holiday for her daughter, Kayla buckled under Kellie’s less than subtle steamroller tactics and had called Paula back and accepted the invitation. In doing so, Kayla was surprised to discover she was actually looking forward to the trip. She was aware that since her divorce she had gone into emotional hibernation, devoting herself totally to her work and to her daughter. A daughter who would be leaving home next fall to attend an out of state university.

Making this trip had seemed like a positive decision on her part, the first step toward the life she needed to get. She’d driven three hours without mishap, until she came up on a rockslide, which had closed the highway and forced her to take a detour. She was now somewhere in the Smokey Mountains; exactly where, she didn’t have a clue. On her right was a wall of jagged granite or limestone, or what ever the hell it was made of. On her left was a flimsy guardrail, which served as the only barrier between her vehicle and a steep, deep ravine. Up ahead and behind through the rear view mirror all she could see were mountains.

Now she had the snow to contend with. A snow predicted by the weather man before she left home to amount to nothing more that light flurries which were not expected to reach this area until sometime late tomorrow, Thanksgiving Day. The engine of her compact car began to groan in protest as it began to climb another steep rise, forcing Kayla to shift into second gear.

All of a sudden spending Thanksgiving alone with a good book and a turkey TV dinner didn’t sound so bad.

As she crested the rise, she was greeted by a yellow, diamond shaped sign warning of a steep drop then a series of hair-pin curves. “Oh shit,” Kayla gasped as the bottom dropped from her stomach and she began the inevitable roller coaster descent. It took all of her questionable skill and concentration to successfully navigate her way down the treacherous terrain, which was rapidly becoming ice covered and even more hazardous.

At last reaching a relatively flat stretch of road, she applied her brakes and came to a stop. Probably not the smartest move, but considering that she hadn’t seen another vehicle in over half an hour it was a risk she was willing to take. She literally had to pry her hands from the white knuckled grip they had on the steering wheel. Her hand trembled as she reached for the knobs of her radio. Again her efforts were rewarded by the same static she had encountered when it first started to snow and she attempted to get a weather report. In her opinion, radio reception in the mountains was, at best, lousy. She reached into the side pocket of her purse for her cell phone, and quickly discovered there was no signal. “It figures,” she said with a groan of frustration. She snapped it closed and tossed it onto the seat beside her.

“Calm down and think,” she told herself. It didn’t take a genius to know she had to get off the road and soon. The windshield wipers were no longer doing the job on medium, forcing her to switch them to high. Under normal circumstances she would just keep driving, knowing she would eventually reach some form of civilization -- a spot on a map from which to get her bearings. These were not normal circumstances.

To make a bad situation even worse, her car was starting to sound strange. Taking a deep calming breath, she then exhaled slowly. “Just get me somewhere safe and we can both rest for a while,” Kayla said as she reached over to pat the dashboard, as if her words of encouragement could coax the necessary mileage from the vehicle.

One more steep climb, one more hair raising descent, and fifteen minutes later driving at a snail’s pace on the slick road, Kayla was nearly at the end of her rope. And then she saw it. A lane curved up the side of the mountain. Unless she was hallucinating, there was a light about halfway up.

The flurries predicted by the weatherman had escalated into a full-blown whiteout. Just her luck. In this area they were thrilled to get even a light snow for Christmas. She gets brave enough to break out of her comfort zone, in November, and ends up in a freak blizzard.

Seeing no other option Kayla turned off the road and began to drive slowly, once again, up the side of a mountain.

The theme song from the movie Deliverance popped into her mind. “The way my luck is going, I’ll waltz into a shack occupied by a gang of banjo playing moonshiners,” she muttered. Kayla had learned some time ago that one of the side effects of divorce and spending so much time alone was talking to herself. It was a side effect which hadn’t concerned her unduly ... until she started losing arguments.
* * * *
“You sound frustrated and cranky.”

“Your mastery in the art of understatement never ceases to amaze me, Frank,” Morgan Warner muttered into his cell phone. His retort was rewarded by a chuckle from his agent on the other end of the line.

“Let me guess. You’re hung up on the sex scene?”

“They’re not my strong suit,” Morgan admitted as he raked his fingers through his hair. Again his response elicited a chuckle from the other end.

“Not on paper maybe,” Frank agreed. “Must be some form of karmic justice for all the broken hearts you’ve left in your wake.”

Morgan chose not to dignify Frank’s comment with some lame excuse for his chosen lifestyle. At this point in his career, his writing was the only demanding mistress he could afford. He’d learned that lesson the hard way, during his marriage to a high maintenance female who liked spending the money his books brought in but not the time he spent writing them. Sheila could not comprehend that the words didn’t just magically appear on the page all by themselves. In truth, after the fact, Morgan admitted he’d been more committed to his career than he was to his wife. Now, he deliberately confined his sexual activities to brief encounters with women who knew the score up front -- to sexually uninhibited women who were satisfied with hot, passionate sex with no demands or commitments expected from either side.

“You still there?” Frank’s disembodied voice sounding in his ear interrupted his thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Morgan replied.

“Take a break, Morgan. Relax and enjoy the holiday,” his agent encouraged. “You’ve been hitting it hard for months. The first six chapters are great and the new book is ahead of schedule. Are your brother and his family still flying in for Thanksgiving?”

“We’ve been hit by a freak snowstorm. I phoned him just before you called and told him not to risk it,” Morgan answered. “They’re staying in Boston and going to Kathy’s parents instead.”

“Take a break anyway,” Frank suggested. “Go into town. Find some woman and get laid. It’s probably what you need to take the edge off. Some hands-on research, so to speak.”

Morgan was in the glass-enclosed porch, the only spot in the cabin where he could get reception on his cell phone. Beyond the three walls of glass, all he could see was a blanket of white. Instead of letting up, the snowstorm appeared to be reaching blizzard proportions.

“Yeah, right. Considering the weather, getting into town isn’t an option,” Morgan informed his agent. “The closest I’m likely to get to relief tonight is the hot tub and my own right hand.”

Frank’s outburst of laughter forced Morgan to pull the phone away from his ear. “Then I suggest you utilize that fertile imagination of yours and fantasize big time.”

“Gee thanks,” Morgan snapped.

“Seriously, Morgan, give your self a break. The scene you’re struggling with will come together. It always does.”

“You make it sound so easy. You should try it.”

“No thanks, pal. That’s why I’m the agent and you’re the writer who makes the big bucks. I...”

Sudden static drowned out the rest of Frank’s words and then the line went dead. Weather conditions being as they were, Morgan was surprised the connection lasted as long as it had. He pressed the end button, put the cell phone on the end table beside the natural wicker sofa and turned back to the bank of windows to stare out at the falling, blowing snow.

Frank, who was usually right on target with his advice, couldn’t have been more off the mark with this one. Relieving his sexual tension in the bed of a warm, willing, experienced female wouldn’t give Morgan what he needed this time.

This book was different. The connection between his hero and the heroine went deeper than it had in the other books in his Blind Justice series. This heroine was different. She was Morgan’s fantasy woman: a beautiful, intelligent, mature woman who had never experienced true passion with a man. He often fantasized about what he would do with and to such a woman as he helped her discover the uninhibited, sensual side of her nature.
“Damn,” Morgan hissed through clenched teeth. He raked his fingers through his hair with one hand while the other hand readjusted the uncomfortable tightness at the front of his jeans.

It was so vivid in his mind. Why was he finding it so difficult to put the words on paper? Because in his other books the prerequisite sex scenes were brief, lukewarm romps with no genuine connection between the characters involved, that’s why. Because as a writer if he was going to be true to the story he’d created, to the characters, and to the readers, this could be no quick case of wham, bam, thank you ma’am. He’d be exposing his own fantasy to the eyes of others in explicit, drawn out detail.

The Phantom Lover Now Available

“THE PHANTOM LOVER by Kay Wilde is a short story of a beautiful passionate encounter that will free a woman from the hold her domineering grand-mother still has over her, long after her death. A well written sensual story; I very much enjoyed reading.” Romance Junkies -- Blue Ribbon Rating: 4

“Sensuality, passion, eroticism, and spine tingling zeal will engulf the reader throughout Kay Wilde's The Phantom Lover. The exquisiteness of a life lived fully explodes throughout The Phantom Lover.” 5 Angels -- Fallen Angel Reviews

“THE PHANTOM LOVER has great character development and the way Kay Wilde changes Tessa is unique. In order to become the woman she wants to be, Tessa must go down a path that will uncover her hidden passion and free her from the chains of the past. Though fairly short, if you are looking for a hot, romantic story with a twist, THE PHANTOM LOVER is a story you want to read.” Romance Reviews Today

“The Phantom Lover is a quickie. It will leave you wanting more. Kay Wilde sure knows how to capture the interest with her ability to lead the reader to the point of wanting a Phantom Lover of their own.” The Road To Romance

Summary:

Despite her best friend's steamroller tactics and her arguments as to why Tessa just had to attend the Halloween Ball, it was the location of the ball which Tessa had been unable to resist. On some strange level she identified with the once neglected estate, the estate which featured in all her childhood fantasies. Along with the man who had come to her rescue when she ran away from home as child and found herself lost on the abandoned estate. Her fantasy prince.

"When you're all grown up, little one, come back and see me," he'd told her then put his finger to his lips and winked. Their visit was to be a secret. Tessa never told another living soul about the handsome man, but she had never forgotten. And now, tonight, Tessa Brandt was a mature woman and she was returning to Rosehaven.

This story was previously published as part of the Tempting Fate Holiday Fantasies Collection.

WARNING: This book contains hot, explicit love scenes.

Excerpt:

“No.”
“It’s exactly what you need.”
“I don’t need anything,” Tessa Brandt insisted. “I like my life just the way it is.”
“Bullshit,” her best friend Jessica came back with a snort of disgust. “You don’t have a life. You have spent your entire life playing the role of little miss perfect that was forced on you by your grandmother. And what has it gotten you, Tessa? I’ll tell you. Nothing. You ramble around in this museum of a house, alone.”
Jessica was on a roll. Knowing it was pointless to interrupt her friend before she had her say, Tessa leaned comfortably back in her chair, propped her feet up on the ottoman, and settled in for the siege. Besides, what would be the point? Tessa had no convincing argument to offer against the truth. They had been next-door neighbors and best friends since they were in the same class in elementary school. Jessica knew her better than anyone else in the world, maybe even better than Tessa knew her self, at least Jessica believed she did.

“Tessa, you know you’re my best friend and I love you like a sister, but let’s be honest. Your grandmother was an autocratic witch who controlled and manipulated you until the day she died,” Jessica continued, jumping with both feet upon sensitive ground that was the one source of friction between the two friends.

“That’s not fair,” Tessa countered, immediately coming to her grandmother’s defense, as she always did. “My grandmother took me in and raised me after my own mother dumped me on her doorstep. Without her, God only knows what would have happened to me.”

“And she never let you forget it. The old woman made you pay for her daughter’s sins,” Jessica argued. “You were never permitted to play, to get dirty, never allowed to mess up your clothes or your hair. I’m not sure you even sweat. For Christ’s sake, Tessa, you were expected to behave like an adult when you were only six years old.”

Not one word of Jessica’s argument was untrue, but loyalty to the woman who raised her would not permit Tessa to admit it openly. “Using my grandmother to make your point is not the way to get my cooperation, Jess. She has been gone five years. What do you hope accomplish by bringing her up now?”

Jessica raked her fingers through her riot of blonde curls, closed her eyes and turned her head toward the ceiling as if praying for divine guidance. With a sigh of frustration she opened her eyes and sat on the ottoman in front of Tessa’s chair, fixing her friend with an earnest gaze.

“I care about you, Tessa. I think you’re wonderful. Hell, you’re a saint. But think back to when we were in high school. Every time you talked your grandmother into letting you go on a date, she conveniently got sick and you stayed home to take care of her. After a while the boys quit asking. You worked hard in school and earned a full scholarship to a university upstate. You know, that was the first and the last time I ever saw you happy and excited about doing something for yourself. Then your grandmother really became ill. You forfeited the scholarship, took the secretarial job you still have, and you stayed home to care for her for the next four years until she passed away.”

“I don’t have any regrets. I was all she had and I owed it to her.” They had been over this before and still Tessa found herself defending her actions as if she had done something wrong.

“And being the kind of person you are, you wouldn’t have been able to live with yourself if you had done otherwise,” Jessica conceded. “I understand that, Tessa. I admire and respect you for doing what you felt was right. But look around you. Your grandmother has been gone five years and you haven’t changed a thing in this house since you inherited it. It’s still her house, not yours. It’s as if she is still here, still manipulating your life.”

“And your point is?” Tessa inserted.

“My point is, you are twenty-seven years old. It’s your turn. It’s time to get a life. And I can’t think of a better time to bury the ghosts than Halloween.”
“Just like that? I dress up in some ridiculous costume, go with you to this masquerade ball, and at the stroke of midnight I become Cinderella and my boring existence is changed forever?” Tessa quipped sarcastically.

“Of course not,” Jessica answered. “But it is a start. Aren’t you tired of living up to other people’s expectations? Just once, wouldn’t you like to know what it feels like to shed your inhibitions and have a good time; to become the sensual woman you have repressed all these years? Damn it, Tessa, I’d bet my new convertible that you’re still a virgin.”

“You’d lose,” was Tessa’s shocking revelation. Her one and only sexual encounter had been hurried, painful, disappointing, and so embarrassing Tessa had never been tempted to repeat the experience.

“I don’t believe it.” Jessica gasped. “When? Who?”

“The last time my grandmother was in the hospital,” Tessa answered, even now unwilling to share how ashamed she’d felt afterward. Her grandmother was dying. She had been alone and vulnerable, spending day and night at the hospital, returning to her hotel room only long enough to shower and change clothes. Looking back on the encounter Tessa knew she’d been an easy target, ripe for seduction by a seemingly sympathetic charmer. “He was a young intern who worked the night shift on her floor. We often went to the cafeteria for coffee when he was on break or just sat and talked in the tenth floor visitor’s lounge.”

“Where did you . . ?”

“In one of the empty rooms on the tenth floor,” Tessa answered before Jess could complete the question.

“Wow! That’s one fantasy even I wouldn’t have thought of trying. How could you have held something like that out on me?” Jessica accused, then asked, “Was it good?”
The expression on Tessa’s face was all the answer she needed. “Uh-oh,” Jessica groaned. “Maybe I won’t try that one after all. Anyway, back to the subject at hand,” Jessica quipped bouncing to her feet and making her way to the garment bags she’d brought with her. “I have two costumes. You can have your pick and I will take the other.”

“Jess, I can’t deny everything you said about my life is true. I do need to get a life,” Tessa conceded. “But making a fool of myself in some outlandish costume at a fancy ball, no doubt an event worthy of coverage by the local media, is not the answer. I’m not going.”

“That’s the point of a masked ball. You will be in disguise, a different person. By the time I’m finished with you, you could make the moves on anyone in town and they will have no idea who you are,” Jessica coaxed. “Besides, even if someone thought a guest resembled you, they’d dismiss it. There isn’t a person in this town who would expect Ms. Prim and Proper Brandt to attend such an undignified affair.”

“No. I’m not going.”

* * * *

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Tessa kept telling herself over and over from the time Jessica’s candy apple red convertible pulled out of her driveway, up to the time they turned between the opened wrought iron gates at the entrance of the restored Rosehaven Estate, soon to open its doors as the exclusive Rosehaven Inn. As an avid history buff and president of the local Historical Society, Jessica had been an invaluable source of information during the restoration of the deserted estate. In gratitude for her assistance she had been sent two invitations to the “By Invitation Only” pre-opening gala.

Despite Jessica’s steamroller tactics and her arguments as to why Tessa just had to attend the Halloween Ball, in the end it was Rosehaven itself Tessa had been unable to resist.

Once, when she was maybe eight or nine years old, her grandmother had refused to allow Tessa to attend the birthday party of a young classmate and she ran away from home. She made it as far as the edge of town, somehow ending up at the tall brick wall surrounding Rosehaven. By then she was tired, hungry, frightened and lost. She had no idea how to get back home even if she wanted to, which she didn’t. Along the west wall she’d discovered an opening where the bricks had come loose and slipped through onto the grounds. To the little girl she was at the time, Rosehaven looked like a forgotten fairytale castle. She had never seen anything so grand nor so sad. On some strange level Tessa identified with the abandoned, neglected estate and she didn’t feel frightened any longer. She didn’t go any closer to the house for fear someone would catch her and she’d be in more trouble than she already was. She sat on the ground, leaned back against the wall and promptly fell asleep. That’s where the man found her.

She woke up to something tickling her nose and opened her eyes to see a man bending down in front of her with a rose in his hand. “Are you lost, sweetheart,” he asked her and smiled gently. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen. She pretended he was the prince who had returned to reclaim his castle. Tessa’s grandmother had warned her never to talk to strangers because some were bad men. Young Tessa knew she should be frightened, yet she somehow knew this man would never hurt her.
“I’m not lost,” she told him. “I ran away.”

“Oh? Now why would you want to do something like that?” the fairytale prince asked as he offered her the daisy he’d used to tickle her nose and wake her.
With her prized rose clutched tightly in her hand, Tessa told him all about the party and how her grandmother wouldn’t let her have any fun like all the other kids. Sometime during her rambling he took her other hand and they began walking in the direction of the house and then down the drive to toward the front gates. He listened to her tale of woe and talked with her, not at her, as her grandmother did. He told her she was special and one day she would grow up to become a beautiful woman, just like the lady who once lived at Rosehaven. When they reached the front gates they opened by themselves and he led her to the side of the road. He stood there beside her, giving her words of encouragement until he saw the mail truck coming down the road. He stepped inside the gates and they closed after him.
“When you’re all grown up, little one, come back and see me,” he told her then put his finger to his lips and winked. Their visit was to be a secret. Their secret. He stood inside the gates and watched to make sure she was safe until the mailman who had been alerted to watch out for a missing little girl stopped the truck. Tessa looked back toward the gates for one last look at her prince. He was gone.

Tessa never told another living soul about the handsome man at Rosehaven, but she had never forgotten. And now, tonight, she was a grown woman and returning to Rosehaven.

Before Tessa had time to breathe, much less bolt, as soon as they stepped through the beveled glass double doors into the entry Jessica hustled her into the powder room. Not that she could breathe within the confines of the tightly laced corset she was wearing.

“Here’s the plan. We go in separately,” Jessica explained. “While even your dearly departed Granny wouldn’t recognize you in that get-up, people do know we’re good friends and I’m likely to be recognized. In order to protect your anonymity, it’s wiser if we don’t stay together. Agreed?”

Jessica would most definitely be recognized. The revealing harem girl costume she wore did little to conceal Jessica’s lush body and left nothing to the imagination of the appreciative male observer, including her identity. For that very reason Tessa readily agreed to her friend’s suggestion that they separate. Tess didn’t want to give anyone the slightest reason to connect the two friends and as such speculate as to her identity.

“Fine,” Tessa agreed and then held up her manacled wrists. “Give me the key to these things before you are snatched up by some Arab sheik, never to be seen again.” While the lightweight manacles linked together by a twelve inch length of chain were padded and not uncomfortable, Tessa didn’t care for the sensation of helplessness that went along with them.

“And give you an avenue of escape? Not a chance my friend,” Jessica responded by slipping the key between her breasts and into the scanty bra of her costume. “Besides, the manacles and the blindfold make the costume. Without them you’re likely to be mistaken for one of the serving wenches likely to be wandering around here.” Before Tessa could argue she turned and headed for the door. “For the first time in your life, don’t over analyze the consequences. Just go for it. I intend to,” was Jessica’s parting shot before she stepped through the door.

Now Available

“The eyes are the windows to the soul”. As the newest rising star in the art world, Lyssa Ryan’s dreams and her budding career are shattered when she is blinded by a freak accident. Her vision restored by a cornea transplant and the amazing generosity of an anonymous donor, Lyssa is unable to explain her compulsion to paint people she’s never met and places she’s never been. A portrait of an unknown man with tortured eyes becomes her obsession; a man who haunts her dreams and imbeds himself firmly into her heart, sending her on a quest for answers and a man whose heart belongs to another.


“Laced with wonderful writing, I’ll Be Seeing You is a story of second chances in ways that most people can never imagine.” Just Erotic Romance Reviews

”This is a fantastic paranormal romance. Well written with real life problems and exceptionally defined characters,this romance will take you on a romantic adventure that has some very surprising parts. Extremely erotic sex scenes that leave the paper blushing. I’ll Be Seeing You has a more refreshing tone than your average romance with loads of emotions. This is a very special romance you will not want to miss.” Coffee Time Romance

“Kay Wilde is an extraordinary writer whose stories never fail to enchant readers everywhere. In I'll Be Seeing You, Kay Wilde has written a page-turning paranormal romance featuring a heroine you can't fail but sympathize with, a sexy and tortured hero and plenty of hot passion and dramatic emotion to keep you turning the pages late into the night. I'll Be Seeing You is a story that manages to be sexy, romantic and poignant. It is truly a story which you will never manage to forget.” ECataRomance Reviews

“One thing is for certain, not everything is, as it seems. I’ll Be Seeing You is a blend of intense emotions combined with a really incredible story, classic Kay Wilde.” Fallen Angels Reviews Recommended Read

This novella has been previously published.

WARNING: This book contains hot, explicit love scenes.

Excerpt

Lyssa shook her head, allowing her freshly washed hair fall naturally to frame her features. “There is a lot to be said for an expert cut,” she informed the reflection looking back at her. It had been six months since a cornea transplant restored her vision, and the novelty of being able to stand in front of a mirror, style her hair and apply makeup still hadn’t worn off.

“What the hell is going on, Lyssa?”

Standing at the bathroom sink wearing nothing but a towel, Lyssa was so startled by the angry voice that she dropped her hairbrush. It hit the porcelain tank cover then fell on to the plush covered lid which she was thankful she had remembered to close. “Jeez, Marti, don’t you ever knock? You scared the hell out of me.” “Didn’t have to.” Martina Sheffield held up the key Lyssa had given her shortly after the accident. “You close yourself off from everyone for months, claiming that you needed to be alone to work and to sort some things out. I respected your wishes because you went through hell and needed time to readjust. Then I receive a note informing me that you’re leaving the city, with no explanations. Damn it, Lyssa, I thought we were friends.”

The anger in Martina’s eyes was as unmistakable as was the hurt in her voice. She was her most trusted friend and the last person Lyssa wanted to hurt or upset.

Her feeling of regret only added to Lyssa’s sense of helpless frustration. “We are friends, Marti. I couldn’t have made it through those six months after the accident without you,” Lyssa said. “I know the note was inadequate, but I didn’t know what else to say.”

“How about the truth?” Marti’s tone was heavy with reproach. “Even if you feel that as a friend I don’t deserve an explanation, as the person who has busted her ass to make Lyssa Ryan a name to be reckoned with in the art community, I do.”

Marti was right. She deserved answers. Which brought Lyssa back to square one . . . she didn’t have the answers to give.

“Why do you feel you have to leave the city, Lyssa?”

“I don’t know,” was all Lyssa could say.

“Okay, then where are you going?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know where you’re going or why you have to go there. Do you honestly expect me to buy that crap?” Marti sounded thoroughly ticked off by Lyssa’s lack of cooperation. “I’m sorry, Marti. I swear to you, if I had . . .” Lyssa began, then clutched at the towel as it began to slip.

“Get dressed. Like it or not, I’m not leaving this apartment without some answers. I’ll be in the studio.” Marti turned and walked away. “Oh, by the way,” she tossed over her shoulder. “I like the hair. It suits you.”

Lyssa turned back to the mirror, taking in her new, short hair style which had been layered to frame her features and required little more than a few minutes with a blow dryer to give it texture, sheen, and as her stylist called it, a saucy bounce.

If Dr. Bartlett’s office hadn’t rescheduled her appointment until this afternoon, Lyssa would have left the city yesterday. She’d have avoided the confrontation with her friend, who was now in her studio waiting for answers.

“The studio. Oh shit,” Lyssa groaned, as she ran from the bathroom into her bedroom. She tossed the towel aside and grabbed her jeans, only zipping them halfway. She pushed her arms into the sleeves of her blouse, buttoning it en-route as she hurried toward her studio.

Lyssa didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she stepped into the room, then exhaled when she saw that the painting she’d left on the easel was still covered. Marti knew Lyssa kept her works in progress covered while she wasn’t working because she didn’t want anyone viewing her paintings until they were finished. Even in her anger, Marti continued to respect Lyssa’s wishes. She had instead, crossed the room to the CD player and was in the process of sorting through a stack of recently purchased CDs.

“What’s this?” Martina inclined her head toward the CD player.

“Billie Holiday.”

“I know who it is. What it is, is jazz, Lyssa. You hate jazz,” Martina pointed out. “I’ve never been here when you didn’t have some funky rock group like Black Eyed Peas or Puddle Of Mud playing at full volume.”

There was no denying the truth in her friend’s observation. “After six months of blindness, my hearing is more acute. I now find rock too . . . I don’t know . . . grating,” Lyssa said. “My taste in music has just changed. No big deal.”

“Probably not, if that was all that has changed. You have changed, Lyssa. Your taste in music, your hair, and your reclusive behavior. There’s even a difference in your paintings.”

“You don’t like the paintings I sent to the gallery?”
Martina rolled her eyes heavenward and gave a weary sigh as if she were attempting to deal with an uncooperative child and failing. “You know better than that. They’re breathtaking, as always, but different somehow.” She replaced the CDs on the shelf, her brow furrowing as if she was trying to find the words to describe the subtle yet unmistakable variation from Lyssa’s usual style. “There’s more emotion. More passion,” Marti explained. “It’s like, three pianists playing the same concerto; two of them are excellent, but one brings a unique passion to those same notes and creates a musical masterpiece. That’s the difference I see and feel in your latest paintings.”

What an incredible compliment. Lyssa couldn’t be more pleased. “And you’re upset because?”

“The reason I’m upset has nothing to do with your paintings, Lyssa. I’m upset because while I represent an artist who has added a magical something to her work, I also feel as if I’ve lost a friend. So, who are you, and what have you done with my friend?” Martina was being sarcastic, but her words hit a little too close to the mark.

Lyssa’s face drained of color, her legs went weak, and she sank onto the love seat behind her.

Shocked by Lyssa’s reaction, Martina rushed over to her, went to her knees and took Lyssa’s hands. “Good Lord. Your hands are like ice. You know me well enough to know that I’m not really angry. You’ve just changed so much and grown so distant that I’m worried about you.”

Lyssa had been on her own for so long that she found it difficult to confide in anyone, even her closest friends. The six months after the accident, when she’d been forced to rely on her friends for almost everything, had been almost as hard for her to accept as the blindness itself.

Billie Holiday began singing, I’ll Be Seeing You. Lyssa’s heart skipped several beats. Her eyes filled with tears and she was filled with the same overwhelming sense of loss she always felt when she heard that particular song. Even knowing in advance how she reacted to the song, why did she feel compelled to listen to it over and over again?

“Talk to me, Lyssa. What’s going on?”

With a sigh, Lyssa met Martina’s concerned gaze. “How much influence does your father have at The Eye Center?” she asked.

“He has several friends on the board of directors. Why?”

She’d have preferred to do this on her own, without bringing anyone into it, but she hadn’t been able to find a way around the brick wall she kept coming up against in her own attempts to obtain the information she needed. “I have to find out who my cornea donor was, Marti. I’ve tried to get the information, but no one will tell me anything, except that the information is confidential.”

“It’s confidential, if the family requests it,” Martina said. “You can see, Lyssa. Does it matter who the donor was?”

“It matters. More than you can possibly imagine.” Lyssa rose to her feet and walked to the easel. She hesitated for a moment. This was the only painting she’d ever done that was hers alone, one she didn’t want to share with anyone. But, if she wanted Martina’s help, Lyssa saw no other alternative. Lifting the concealing tarp, she stood back, allowing her friend to see the painting which had become her obsession.

“Whoa.” Martina’s one word response was little more than a whisper. She rose to her feet and joined Lyssa in front of the painting. It was a portrait of a man who was surrounded by a thick swirling mist; only his face was clear. “He’s gorgeous, but he looks so . . .”

“Tortured,” Lyssa supplied. His dark brown, nearly black hair was way past due for a cut, and he looked as if he hadn’t shaved in days. But it was the eyes that told the story. The only color in the sepia-toned painting was the intense cobalt blue of the eyes. Those eyes haunted Lyssa’s dreams and filled her with a longing she couldn’t begin to express or explain. Eyes that were filled with such bleak anguish that Lyssa’s heart hurt every time she looked into them.

“Who is he?” Martina asked.

“I don’t know. I just know that I have to find him. I have to tell him . . .”

“You have to tell him what?”

“I don’t know.”

Demon Wind

“On a sultry southern night, beneath the full moon, the Demon Wind blows.”

It is said that on the night of a Demon Wind, Southern belles who don't stay inside will find themselves compromised, or even pregnant, with little memory of how they got to be in that state.

Jayden’s beloved, yet overly superstitious grandmother hit her with that one about the time she reached puberty. As a result, Jayden wasn’t at all surprised when she received a call from her grandmother warning to stay inside because the night was ripe for the Demon Wind to blow.

The Demon Wind was nothing more than an obscure local legend, and Jayden Parrish was rooted securely in reason and logic. She didn’t believe in superstitions...

...until she awoke the following morning to find sand in her bed. Sand, and the memory of the most erotic dream she’d ever experienced. A dream in which she had made uninhibited, passionate love on the beach with a man who had come to her from the sea.

Was it a dream? A figment of her imagination? Or was it something else?