NEWS + UPDATES

Deliaria Davis grew up in the cold winters and mild summers of Anchorage, Alaska, where her heart remains to this day. She met her husband there and would return in a heartbeat.

She has five amazing kids, and when she isn’t writing she is homeschooling her autistic son, or helping her youngest son with therapy for his disabilities.

Currently, Del resides in Spokane, WA, where she is hoping to someday be able to afford a house big enough for each of her kids to have their own door to slam.

Until then, she will continue to write whatever pops into her head, and loves to interact with her fans.

Up and Coming!

So, I would love to tell you all about my next book I have coming out, Midnight Kisses, which is being released in Hot and Sinful Nights, a new boxed set, set to release September 26th!

One song was all it took, now he’s stuck on her hook.

Sol Hickey just wants to move along. She’s bored, she’s stuck, and she’s in a rut. Her favorite rock band, Addison Crow, is her ticket out of town. She doesn’t know just how true that is when Jace Crawford pulls her on stage.

Jace Crawford is tired of groupies. The last one he had to file a restraining order against just to get her to leave him alone! Then, he pulls Sol onstage during a performance and hears her sing.

She’s running from everything, he’s running toward the future in Rock and roll. Will these two get over their fears of the past to run into each other?

 

This was easily the hardest book I have had to write. I am an erotica author by trade, and I leapt at the challenge of writing a book without a ton of sex and language. Well, sexy language. These are rockers, and rockers curse. A lot. If you’ve ever been to a rock concert you know exactly what I am talking about. If you haven’t, oh you should go to one. They are a blast!

I have to say though, I have someone I have to thank for the inspiration for this book! K.K. Allen! Without her Wolf and Lyric I never would have had guts to write this.

Excerpt:

“Every show we pull someone up on stage with us to sing. Tonight, Jace, our lead guitarist,” Jinx pointed at his band mate, “pulled this hot momma up here with us. Honey, tell the crowd your name.” He shoved the mic in her face, as though she didn’t already have one in her hand.

“Sol.” Her voice quivered as she stared at the crowd, her eyes staring as though she had been caught in the headlights. Maybe she had, though. The headlights of fame.

Jace shook his head, listening to her quivering voice. Great, he thought. Another meek fan who’s going to be too starstruck to sing, or just sound like a warbling goat. Why the fuck did we believe this was a good idea?

He watched her as she took a deep breath, shook herself, and squared her shoulders. Jealousy flared again as Jinx raised an eyebrow at her and she grinned. Sol had looked around the stage before she nodded at the guys, letting them know she was ready.

“Are you ready to rock, Spokane?” Jinx waved his mic back at the roaring crowd.

Jace took a deep breath, preparing himself to restart the song, praying he was wrong about the hotty on stage.

“Here’s your shot, Sol. Let’s Get Ripped!” Jinx roared as he jumped to the edge of the stage landing on an amplifier as he started singing. Sol picked up the background vocals remembering them from the live album.

I can’t give you all my secrets and song lyrics, but I can give you the title song of the book! I hope you enjoy reading my book as much as I enjoyed writing it for all of you!

 

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You’ll love Hot and Sinful Nights. 22 full length novels including…No Strings Attached by Marie Long…

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Desmond Black worked the doors of the New York City clubs for five years as he struggled to escape the haunting nightmares of his younger sister’s death. One night, he takes his anger out on an unruly patron, ultimately costing him his job. While drowning his sorrows in whiskey, Desmond meets the mysterious and talented bass player, Tianna Gadson. He senses there’s more to her than she’s letting on. The closer he gets to her, the more he realizes his feelings for her have become hazardous to them both—attracting the attention of a dangerous underground organization with its sights on Tianna and her family.

 

Is Desmond willing to risk his life for Tianna? Or will he be forced to keep their relationship strictly business?

Excerpt:

Whiskey tends to taste better when my brain is wrecked. Not even the light jazz music playing on stage can soothe my nerves. My mind has been in a week-long spiral from hell, and I wish I could just forget.
But that’s not gonna happen. I’m a man with dignity, and I stand by my decision.
You didn’t take the first swing; he did, I keep telling myself. Last week is a blur. That beautiful girl—what was her name? Danielle?—thought she could sneak into the club with a fake ID and her fortysomething ‘boyfriend.’ But I’ve dealt with that shit in my line of work far too many times. Her sugar daddy thought she was privileged to go to this club or something because she was so young, so ‘innocent.’ No, you stupid sick fuck.
I’d expected the usual: a plastered look of utter shock, a declaration of authenticity, and a smirk as some rolled-up cash was discreetly forced into my hand. I would’ve proceeded to bounce them right on their pretentious asses. But no, this guy decided to be a punk instead, lashing out with a solid punch to my ribs. If I hadn’t stepped back, he would’ve broken his hand on my damn near harder-than-steel body. I’d returned the sentiment. My knuckles felt nice across that asshole’s face. But apparently, the ‘excessive force’ had cost me a one-week job suspension without pay. Unlike the grungier underground New York City clubs I’d been used to for years, the elite Posh Diamond Luxury Lounge preferred subtler means to remove unruly patrons. Thank God I had friends in high places who were able to get my assault charges dropped.
I pick up my shot glass and stare at its light-brown contents. I’m sure that bastard’s doing whatever he pleases to that poor girl. He strikes me as the type, and rarely am I ever wrong. It comes with the territory—and the job—of being around a lot of personalities for long periods of time. You can read people, know their intentions, empathize, almost like a sixth sense.
I down the shot in one gulp and set the glass on the bar top with a clunk, thinking about how fucked up some people are.
Charlie comes over with a bottle of whiskey. “You look like shit. Need another?”
I can’t waste away like this. I made a promise a long time ago that I wouldn’t. I nod and casually flick my hand. “Yeah, sure, man. One more.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, and he fills the shot glass. I swipe it up and stare at its contents.
“Listen, Desmond.” Charlie wipes the bar with a white cloth. “It could’ve been worse. At least you still have a job, y’know?”
I snort. “Shit like that gets under my skin, Charlie. There’re too many desperate people out there looking for acceptance. For love, whatever that means.” I down the shot. “I can’t help them.”
“No, you can’t. For some people, that’s the only life they know.”
I swivel in the high-backed barstool and look out at the crowd. The nightclub’s packed for a Thursday night. Couples sit at tiny tables and loungers, and larger groups claim the semicircular booths surrounding a small stage, where a four-man jazz band plays. “Say, you got any work around here for me?” I ask Charlie without looking at him.
“Nah, kid. Joe’s got it.”
Applause erupts from the crowd as the band wraps up. I look back at Charlie, who’s nervously checking his watch.
“Damn, where is she?” he mutters.
I arch an eyebrow. “Who?”
“Marigold.”
“Since when did you start hiring strippers?”
He chuckles. “She’s a local jazz artist. She was scheduled for an eleven o’clock gig, but…” He checks his watch again and frowns. “This ain’t the way to make a good first impression. Know what I’m sayin’?”
I nod and gaze out at the crowd, letting the lull of voices ease my mind. So many personalities and so many stories. Some of those stories I know all too well, like the three men in a round booth center right of the stage—players, all of them, from their too-nice button-down shirts and designer blazers to their flashy bling and gaudy sports shoes.
Their faces are flushed, their eyes glazed. They laugh and make lewd comments at an approaching waitress carrying a pitcher of beer. She hastily refills their drinks, avoiding eye contact, turns, and hustles to another table.
“Christ, there she is!” Charlie suddenly says, and I whip my head around.
A girl rushes through the entrance, snaking her way through a small group of people on their way out. She carries a black guitar case on her back. A bright-orange marigold is tucked in the white headband holding back her shoulder-length dreadlocks. Out of breath, she reaches the bar and plasters an exhausted smile on her full lips. “Hi, I’m Marigold,” she says between pants. “Sorry I’m late.”
Charlie’s lips form a thin line. “S’alright, Miss Marigold.” He gestures to the stage with his head. “Go on. Your audience awaits.”
She smiles graciously and brushes past me. For a brief moment, we lock eyes. She’s got those doe eyes, brought out with a little makeup. She’s beautiful. Her gaze falters and moves to a point beside me, as if she’s overwhelmed by the initial contact. I sense beyond that beauty, she carries an ugly story.
She gets up on stage, sits on the stool, and retrieves her bass guitar and a small MP3 player from her backpack-like case. It takes her less than a minute to set up. She does a quick tune of her strings then smiles at the audience. The stage track lights shine on her smooth mocha skin and bring out the bright red of her halter-top.
“Hi, everyone. My name is Marigold. Thank you for having me here tonight. I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves.” She scans the room as she talks, her eyes settling briefly at the bar—on Charlie, most likely. Lucky son of a bitch.
A mix of mellow drum and piano accompaniment filters through the stage speakers, and Marigold starts to play. Her fingers glide across the strings with ease as she produces some articulate vibes that I can’t help bobbing my head to. The audience falls silent, puts down their phones, and stares attentively toward the stage, moving their bodies in time with the beat.
Then she starts to sing. She doesn’t need a mic. Her beautiful voice, relaxed and flowing like smooth velvet, carries throughout the room, complementing the low, mellow strums of the guitar.
“…Why, oh why, do the birds gotta fly?
Fly so far, far away from me?
Why, oh why, can’t I spread these wings?
Spread these wings and fly so free…”
“Wow” doesn’t even begin to describe her multiple talents.
Charlie tends to a patron a few stools down then returns to me.
“She’s good,” I say.
Charlie nods. “Yeah. I guess I can forgive her for being late just this once.”
Smiling, I look back at her. She’s fearless as she sits up there alone, strumming her heart out. But fear and doubt are definitely in her. She reminds me of Little Miss Danielle, except Marigold looks several years older. Marigold’s song speaks of what I can see in her eyes. She sings about pain and running away, but she hides it in her catchy tune. The audience seems none the wiser.
My smile fades as I look at the group of guys in the corner, who appear pretty damn close to their drinking limits. They eye Marigold like a pack of hungry wolves. Thankfully, they stay put and quiet while she plays. Wandering waiters and waitresses keep their drinks coming.
Marigold sings four more songs, and before I know it, it’s already midnight. Marigold’s show is over. She rises from her stool, bows, and receives massive applause from the crowd. Even the drunk guys are on their feet, clapping wildly and whistling. She packs up her things. Some audience members make their ways to the exit.
I release the breath I’d been unconsciously holding. “Wow, Charlie, you have got to have her back here.”
“I plan to.” Charlie grins. “That was the loudest applause I’ve heard all night. Not bad for a stripper, eh?”
It’s my turn to laugh.
Marigold stops at the bar and smiles at Charlie. “Thank you so much for letting me play. And I’m sorry again for being late.”
Charlie shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. You did a good show. When are you available to come back?”
Her doe eyes widen. “Whenever you want me, sir!”
He grins. “Okay, how about this Saturday? Same time?”
“That’s perfect! I will be here. Thank you so much.”
They shake hands, and she brushes past me again. The side of her guitar case bumps into my arm. She stops and turns around, her face flushed. “I’m sorry, sir.”
I smile at her cute look of embarrassment. “It’s all right. Hey, you were pretty good up there. Great show.”
“Thank you.”
I look at the case. “Do you need some help with that?”
“No, I got it. Thanks.” She heads for the exit.
I watch her leave, taking in every bit of her from behind. When she’s gone, I face Charlie, who smirks at me. “Ever the gentleman, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, and what of it?” I puff out my chest.
He laughs and moves farther down the bar, gathering up the empty wine and shot glasses.
I glance out at the rest of the club. The crowd’s gotten considerably thinner. I look for the guys in the corner, but they’re gone. A waitress is busy cleaning the table with a grateful look on her face.
Remembering the primal way those guys ogled her, I feel my throat tighten. Did those guys leave with Marigold? She couldn’t have gone far unless she took a taxi home. I tap the bar to get Charlie’s attention. “Hey, I’ll see you later.”
Charlie gives me a small salute and turns to another group of customers. I grab my baseball cap out of the empty chair next to me and hurry outside. Even on an early Friday morning, Midtown Manhattan is still busy. I look around for any signs of Marigold, but she’s nowhere to be found. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I cross the street toward the subway station. A small crowd emerges, and something on the stairs catches my eye. I stop. On the second step is an orange marigold, trampled by many feet. My skin prickles. Is she in trouble? I look down the stairs. A few more people come and go, brushing past me as though I don’t exist. I head underground…

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About the Author:

Marie Long is a novelist who enjoys the snowy weather, the mountains, and a cup of hot white chocolate. She’s an avid supporter of literacy movements like We Need Diverse Books (WNDB) and National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo).
Join Marie’s newsletter and get a FREE story! www.MarieLongAuthor.com/newsletter

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Exclusively featuring….

NOBLESWORD

By Katalina Leon

 

Did curiosity really kill the cat, or did the cat decide that facing life with her curiosity unsatisfied wasn’t worth living?

If you felt safe, would you sign a contract that allowed an exclusive sex club to claim you as their property for twelve hours?

If exciting partners could deliver your wildest fantasies, would you submit?

If the situation were completely secure and all members vetted, would you say yes?

If management knew what you really wanted and not just what you said you wanted, would you say, take me, I’m ready?

Gwen Bel Geddes just did.

Now she’s going to discover the secret to one of the world’s most exclusive sexual boutiques. Going undercover as a submissive, Gwen turns herself over body and soul to be transformed into an erotic plaything for wealthy dominant men and a very special man stakes his claim on her.

Noblesword is a lush “free play zone” where adults can express themselves and test their personal boundaries. Erotic games of every description are played here. Gwen must determine for herself if the risqué Noblesword is as dangerous as it looks or simply an erotic circus of the mind.

Would you sign the contract and take the biggest sexual adventure of your life?

Note: At Noblesword sexual expression is encouraged. Be warned that the novel contains graphic material, BDSM, some sensual f/f interaction along with a described m/m/f ménage.

 

Noblesword -katalina-leonWant a free taste of NOBLESWORD?

Claim a sample chapter here: https://www.instafreebie.com/free/IJTUo

 

Author Bio.

katalina-leon-picKatalina Leon is an artist and author who can’t commit to a single romance subgenre. Her favorite playgrounds are historical, sci-fi, contemporary, and most of all paranormal realms. Lately, she has paranormal romance and vampires on the brain. Katalina brings a sense of adventure and a touch of the mystical to romance. She believes there’s a daring heroine inside every woman who wants to take a wild ride with a strong, worthy hero.

 

Read More from Katalina Leon

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 https://www.facebook.com/katalinaleonauthor/

www.katalinaleon.com

 

 

 

REIGNITED is coming in paperback on Oct. 9th! 

 

It’s never too late to reignite an old flame.

She’s the woman he’s always wanted.
 
He’s the man she’s always dreamed about.
 
Now at their ten-year high school reunion, there’s nothing stopping Harper Webb and Mason Shaw from reigniting those feelings and having each other at last. At least until the weekend ends.
 
They fit together in every way. But their lives are in different places. Can they make a fantasy weekend into something more?



*Cover by Uplifting Designs*

 

 
Ashelyn Drake is a romance author. While it’s rare for her not to have either a book in hand or her fingers flying across a laptop, she also enjoys spending time with her family. She believes you are never too old to enjoy a good swing set and there’s never a bad time for some dark chocolate. She also writes speculative fiction under the name Kelly Hashway.

 

Don’t want to wait until October 9th? You can preorder HOT & SINFUL NIGHTS now for only $.99 and get Reignited along with 21 other hot and steamy romances by bestselling authors!

 
★ Pre-Order for 99c ★
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2rXt5hH
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Amazon AU: http://amzn.to/2sWYS7m
iBooks: http://apple.co/2sWMzb1
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The curtains are drawn, and the sheets are rumpled…Prepare to melt for 21 tales of lustful abandon that will fulfill your deepest, darkest, most secret desires on many HOT & SINFUL NIGHTS.

Inside, you’ll find over one million words of sexy and steamy romance from today’s NEW YORK TIMES, USA TODAY, and International bestselling authors!

These wanton and wicked novels promise happily ever afters and enough heat to set more than your heart aflame with bikers, bad boys, fighters, dashing rogues, rock stars, athletes, doctors, billionaires, and more!

Don’t worry – there are plenty of book boyfriends to go around! So go on…be a bad girl…and preorder your copy today!

Including Stories From…
Alice Ward 
USA Today bestselling author Barbara Devlin 
Ella Miles 
Courtney Hunt 
Shyla Colt 
Alyson Reynolds 
Ingrid Seymour 
Jeanne St. James 
USA Today bestselling author M. H. Soars 
Award-Winning author Jenna Bayley-Burke 
D.K. Combs 
Sylvie Fox 
Alexis Alvarez 
Amity Cross 
Award-Winning author Katalina Leon
Award-Winning author Holly Dodd 
Ashelyn Drake
Kacey Shea
Lena Bourne
Deliaria Davis 
Award-Winning author Marie Long 
Kristen Luciani

 

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from…Breath of Life by Shyla Colt, one of 22 HOT Romances in Hot & Sinful Nights. Preorder yours for 99¢

We round the corner, and I spot my black SUV. “That’s me up ahead.” I parked beneath a street light.
The rectangle sputters and dies, plunging the street into shadows as the sun gives up its control and night emerges. I’m suddenly glad he insisted on walking me back to my car. The scuff off shoes on concrete make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“Did you hear that?” I whisper. I glance at Ollie who steps in front of me.

“Yeah, I did.” He turns to face the alley a few feet away from where we stand.

Three men emerge from the alleyway dressed from head-to-toe in all black with hoods that partially obscure their faces. With my height, I’m peering up and have a ringside view. I pray to God they don’t realize that. I grip the handle of my case. The street is deserted, and my car offers no shelter, despite its proximity. They’d catch us before we could clamber inside and drive off.

I grip the pepper spray on my keychain. Doesn’t fucking help when there’s a group.

“Hey, man. We don’t want any trouble,” Ollie says.

“Give us your wallets, and we won’t have any,” the large, bulky figure in the middle growls.

“All right, man, just take it easy,” Ollie says, holding up his hands. He reaches into his back pocket and slowly pulls out a wallet.

“And hers, too.”

I fumble with the messenger bag looped across my body and dig out my black wallet. Ollie takes it from me and hands it to the thief with his fingertips.

“Keep your asses here until we’re gone, and no one will be hurt. Try to play hero, and we’ll take ourselves a prize.” His lecherous gaze turns my stomach.
Over my dead body. I’ll take a bullet to the head before I go anywhere with them.

“You won’t have any problems for us.” Ollie steps back until my front brushes his back. He reaches his hand around and grabs my hip.

Leaning into him, I clutch his plaid shirt like a lifeline as I rub the tip of my nose over the soft material, filling my nostrils with his crisp, clean scent. Right now this cologne is my favorite smell in the world.

The thugs begin to blend back into the blackness one by one. The ring leader keeps the barrel of the gun aimed at Ollie as he retreats into the alley. He stops. My knees shake and nearly give as I suck air into my desperate lungs. When did I hold my breath?

“I changed my mind. I think we’ll take a little something for the road.”

My blood pressure sky rockets as my vision blackens around the edges and my heart tries to burst from my chest. Adrenaline begins pumping through my veins. My muscles tense. Fight or flight slams into me like a two-ton wild beast.

“We don’t have anything else to give,” Ollie says coolly.

“But you do,” he replies, fixing me with a lewd gaze as he licks his chapped lips.

I scan the area, seeking out a place to run. I’d never make it into my car and get inside before they caught up to me. I clutch my pepper spray and lift it, ready to fight.

“Like I said, we have nothing else.” Ollie stands to his full height, and I brace myself.

“Take her,” the man sneers.

Ollie surges forward, wrestling for the gun, and I let the pepper spray fly. Time blurs as my brain is overloaded with fear, cries of pain, and movement. I fight against the hands grabbing at me, keeping my eyes sealed shut as I spray blindly and pray I don’t hit Ollie who I try to keep in front of me. My throat is on fire. I cough as the spray penetrates my nostrils by force. A loud pop stills all movement as if someone screamed, “Red,” in a game of red light, yellow light. The meaty sound of a bullet ripping through flesh that follows pries my eyelids open. Water obscures my vision, and it’s like looking through frosted glass.

Feet pound over the pavement. They’re leaving. I swipe at my eyes, desperate to restore more of my vision. My stomach roils as I recognize Ollie’s prone figure. A dark stain blossoms on his plaid shirt. I kneel beside him.

“O-Ollie?” My voice and my hands shake as I reach for my cell phone. His skin is pale, and an ominous hiss like a slow leaking bike tire hits my ear.

He grimaces. “I’m here. It’s hard to breathe.”

Red flags wave as I punch in 911 and place a hand on his shoulder.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Yes, I-I need help. W-we were just robbed, and my friend was sh-shot in the chest.”

“Where are you?”

“I-I’m here on King street.”

“Are the people still around?”

“No.”

“Do you know what they looked like?”

The question threw me. “I … Tall, unkempt, dark hair. Late twenties to mid-thirties. I don’t know. It was dark, and they were all in black. Please send someone. I hear an odd sound like a deflating balloon or a tire. He’s pale.”

“Help is on their way. What’s your name?”

“Me? I-I’m Quinn Fleming.”

“And the gentleman’s?”

“Ollie … what’s your real name.”

He gives a bark of laughter that ends with a wet cough. “Finally got your name. Oliver Hemingway.”

I repeat his name to the operator. Her steady voice is a lifeline keeping me from panicking.

About Shyla Colt…

authoe centralShyla Colt is the sassy international bestseller of the popular series Kings of Chaos and Dueling Devils M.C. This genre-hoppers stories feature three of her favorite things: strong females, pop culture, and alternate routes to happy ever after. Listening to her Romani soul, she pens from the heart, allowing the dynamic characters, eccentric interests, and travels as a former flight attendant to take her down untraveled roads.

Born and raised in Cincinnati, Ohio, this mid-west girl is proud of her roots. She used her hometown and the surrounding areas as a backdrop for a number of books. So, if you’re a Buckeye, keep an eye out for familiar places.

As a full-time writer, stay at home mother, and wife, there’s never a dull moment in her household.
She weaves her tales in spare moments and the evenings with a cup of coffee or tea at her side and the characters in her head for company.

You can interact with Shyla Colt online via her website www.shylacolt.net
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorshyla.colt and Twitter: @shylacolt
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/shylacolt/