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

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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

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"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.