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	<title>Erin McCarthy &#187; printable</title>
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		<title>The Beast Within</title>
		<link>http://www.erinmccarthy.net/index.php/the-beast-within/</link>
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		<pubDate>Mon, 08 Mar 2010 13:58:24 +0000</pubDate>
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				<category><![CDATA[(Not part of a series)]]></category>
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		<description><![CDATA[“I know you feel grateful to him, but you can’t build a marriage on gratitude.  He can’t possible want that.  Won’t want that if you’re honest with him.”

The little food she’d eaten burned in her stomach.  “I care about him.”

“And you’re dreaming about being eaten by wolves on your wedding night.  Look, if you can’t call it off altogether, just postpone it.  Indefinitely.  Tell him you’re not ready.  Just go on dating or whatever and give yourself time to figure it out.”

“Do you think he’ll be okay with that?”  Liv asked, grasping on to hope.  That seemed possible.  Workable.  It would buy her a reprieve.

But not from sex.

She should want to have sex.  It had been six months since she had, and her body should be eager, primed, on fire, yet she chilled out and dried up every time she contemplated it.

“I honestly don’t know.  Scarborough doesn’t exactly seem like a patient kind of guy to me.  He’s… brisk.”  Mary Fran made a face, her hand checking the back of her gold hoop earring.  “But it’s worth a shot when the alternative is a marriage you don’t want.”

Liv wanted to protest, but she couldn’t even dredge up a convincing enough voice, so she let her silence speak for her. 

Then Mary Fran spoke the words she couldn’t stand to hear.  “Just because you don’t have family doesn’t mean you’re alone.  Remember that.  You have friends who love you.  You’re not alone.”

Yes, she was.  She knew Mary Fran meant well, and she knew her friends cared about her.  But it wasn’t the same.  Since that horrible night twenty years ago when her parents had been murdered, she was alone.  Some of her teachers growing up, one couple out of the many foster parents, and a few close friends had all cared about her, but she didn’t have family.  Someone who was biologically or legally tied to her.

Orphan was a word she’d hated growing up and Sebastian and Scarborough understood that, owning the lonely label themselves.

“Are you sleeping with him yet?  How is that going?”

Looking uneasily around the crowded room, Liv pulled her dove gray crew sweater closer around her.  “No, we haven’t.”

“Why does he even want to marry you?”

The words were like a slap.  “Probably guilt because his brother not only wouldn’t commit to me he stole what little money I had and left without a word.  I mean, why else would anyone marry me?  I don’t bring a lot to the table, dead broke and emotionally stunted.  It’s pity, that’s why he proposed. Hello.”  Saying it out loud was liking taking a bullet, even as she hid behind sarcasm, but it was the truth.  It wasn’t like Scarborough was marrying her for true love either.

God, what a mess. 

Mary Fran’s voice softened.  “That’s not what I meant.  Of course you bring a lot to the table.  You’re generous and smart and compassionate, and you’re beautiful.  Any man would be lucky to have you.  But with everything that’s happened, I don’t understand the push for marriage… if Scar has feelings for you it would make more sense for the two of you to explore that slowly.”

“I think we both want security.”

For that reason, maybe more than any other, Liv would marry him.

He was giving her a home, a family, the possibility of children, a life she craved to the very marrow of her bones, and had since she was eight years old and had lost her parents in one swift brutal act of violence.

Scarborough was loyal and stable and motivated.

And he was the one man alive she trusted to keep her safe during her frightening all night black-outs.
]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><em>The Howling</em>:</p>
<p>When Liv Lugaru&#8217;s boyfriend Sebastian disappears, she finds comfort in his brother&#8217;s arms. But Sebastian is much closer than Liv realizes&#8230;and he&#8217;ll stop at nothing to protect her from the feral danger that comes alive only when she sleeps&#8230;</p>
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		<item>
		<title>My Immortal</title>
		<link>http://www.erinmccarthy.net/index.php/my-immortal/</link>
		<comments>http://www.erinmccarthy.net/index.php/my-immortal/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 01 Jan 2010 07:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Seven Deadly Sins- Ongoing series]]></category>
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		<description><![CDATA[Marley watched out the window as the taxi turned into a deeply rutted drive, nearly consumed by low hanging branches and lush foliage.

“Are you sure this is it?” It looked abandoned, and there was no sign, no address marker. Just thick oppressive trees that formed a heavy canopy, blocking out the relentless sun.

 “Sure it is,” the driver told her, dark eyes glancing at her in the rear view mirror. “Everyone here ‘bouts knows Rosa de Montana. Lots of people coming and going all the time.”

“Why?” This didn’t look the kind of place anyone would be eager to just dash off to on a regular basis. They were miles from anything resembling civilization, and Marley thought most funeral homes were cheerier than this isolated entryway. The two dilapidated posts on either side of the drive screamed Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Amityville Horror, The Seventh Sign.

“Parties.”

“Parties? Like cocktail parties?” Maybe Damien du Bourg was the Jay Gastby of the bayou.

Her driver gave a little laugh and smiled at her over her shoulder. He was in his fifties, his hair a bristly gray, and he wore an ear bud for his cell phone. “Not exactly. Word is they’re more like sex parties.”

“Sex parties?” Marley adjusted her canvas summer purse on her lap and contemplated the concept. “What do people do at sex parties?”

Okay, so that came out wrong. Of course she knew that sex had to be involved, somehow, but she was having a little trouble visualizing exactly how these things played out in a crowd. It seemed to defy logic that a large gathering could dissolve into intimate hedonistic sexual gratification. Were there hor d’ouerves? Alcohol? Did they start off mingling over dinner, cocktails… and then what? Someone rang a bell? Were there rules? Who did you hook up with? Was it in front of other people?

Yeah. She had a hard time visualizing it.

The driver gave a real hearty belly laugh, the guffaws cutting in and out each time the taxi hit a rut in the pitted driveway. “Sweetie, you sure you want to go on up there?”

“I have to. My sister is there.” She hoped, anyway. No one knew where Lizzie was, and Marley was more than a little worried, fear starting to replace her earlier irritation.

So Lizzie was unreliable. So she had run off before and always resurfaced. But never had she cut herself off from her family for over eight weeks. It was too long, and the only place Marley could think to look for Lizzie was here, at the plantation house she had mentioned in her last email.

“She know you’re going to visit?”

“No.” But Lizzie would be glad to see her. Her sister was always glad to see her even when she pouted and told Marley she was a fun-sucker, ruining all Lizzie’s good times.

It was true. She was a fun-sucker. She couldn’t help it. Someone had to be rational, even if it was boring.

They slowed to a crawl, the taxi turning into the circular drive that abutted the impressive mansion. It had definitely seen better days. The once white paint had softened to a dirty gray and flaked aggressively in all directions. The shutters clung to the house precariously, like novice mountain climbers with white knuckles, knowing if they relaxed just a little, they’d be down on the ground.

“She ain’t much to look at,” the driver said.

“No. But it’s still gorgeous.” It was massive, its long galleries sweeping left and right from the front door, a grand reminder of the days when conversation was an art, when the French owned New Orleans, and sugar was the road to riches.

In the closed chill of the car, the air conditioning blasting next to her shoulder, Marley was puzzled. This type of crumbling house, with the past struggling to remain in the present, the musty whispers of history wafting out from it, was Marley’s brand of pleasure, not Lizzie’s.

Marley loved history, the past, anything vintage or antique. A progressive Jesuit priest in college had told Marley that history and religion were the most effective means to avoid the present and she suspected that was true. She had certainly used both as a means to that end from time to time, though she felt no guilt for it. Every day she was firmly grounded in reality as an urban teacher and designated Sane Person in her dysfunctional family and was entitled to an occasional respite. She found that in antiques, and in old houses, with the stories they breathed, and how they sparked her normally dormant imagination.

On the opposite end of the spectrum sat her sister. Old made Lizzie itch. She wanted new, shiny, clean, the next big excitement, the latest and the coolest. This wasn’t the kind of place her sister would enjoy staying in, yet Lizzie had claimed she was here.

Marley had spent the last three days trying to track down her sister with no luck. None of her friends knew where she was, her cell had been disconnected, and her last landlord had evicted her in June. Doing Internet research on this plantation and Damien du Bourg had revealed only that he did in fact own the property and that it was a Louisiana historic landmark, but closed to the public since it was privately owned. The house had been in the du Bourg family since it’s construction in the late eighteenth century, and that was the extent of what she’d been able to determine.

There had been no way to know if Lizzie was here so Marley had hopped on a plane to find out for herself.

She handed the driver fifty dollars. “Can you wait for twenty minutes or so? I just want to make sure someone is here before you leave.”

It didn’t look teeming with activity. The whole house gave the feeling of abandonment.

“Sure. You okay going up there by yourself? I can park and walk you up.” The driver suddenly looked worried, his head leaning towards her paternally.

“No, thanks. I’m fine.” Maybe. She forced a smile. “I’m the well-adjusted sister. I’m just going to go in there and haul her out.” She’d done it before. Marley had never had Lizzie’s looks or her confidence, but when it came to protecting her sister, she would do whatever it took, and she doubted anything Lizzie did could shock her.

“You do that then.” He nodded in approval. “This isn’t the place for a nice girl like you, you know what I’m saying?”

What bothered her was knowing that Lizzie wasn’t a nice girl, hadn’t been one in a long time, and she couldn’t fix her sister anymore than she had been able to fix her mother. So she just smiled at the well-meaning driver. “I know, thanks.”

Marley opened the door and felt the heat hit her, heavy and invasive, filling her lungs and pricking her skin. The porch gave low moans of protest as she climbed the steep steps, her sandals making slap, slap sounds as the rubber hit the wood. Worried but optimistic, she knocked and waited. Knocked again. Waited some more. Peeped in the window and saw nothing but shadowy hulks of furniture.

Walking to the end of the porch, she leaned over, trying to see more of the property. How the heck her sister had ended up in such an obscure corner of Louisiana was a total mystery to her, and she would actually doubt it was even true, if it hadn’t been for the letter Lizzie had attached to her email. It had been a letter, from one Marie du Bourg, a resident of Rosa de Montana, and a confession to her priest two hundred years earlier.

Whether it was real or fiction was almost irrelevant. Why had Lizzie attached it to her email, with no explanation? And the plaintive yet polite tone of the letter had disturbed Marley, had her rereading the words several times. She sensed Marie’s agitation, but she didn’t know why Lizzie would have wanted her to read it. Bottom line—why had Lizzie been here and how had she gotten that letter in the first place?

“Hey,” the driver called to her, the passenger window down as he looked up at her.

“Yeah?” She didn’t want to leave, but she couldn’t see anything but weeds, and a row of tiny wooden buildings slowly deflating with age, soldiered behind the trees.

“There’s a man coming round the other side of the house. He came out of the pigeonnier.”

Marley didn’t really know what a pigeonnier was, but she was relieved that at least there was someone on the property. She started back across the porch, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. She was sweating from the heat and nerves, and she was sorry she’d worn jeans. A loose skirt or shorts would have been a better choice in this climate.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she spotted him. The man coming from the other side of the property walked with strong, graceful strides, his MP3 player dangling around his neck, like he’d just pulled it off his ears. He was tall, he was broad-shouldered, he was gorgeous. Even from a distance it was easy to tell he was a complete hottie, which was irritating. Marley didn’t do well around hotties. Normally articulate, in the presence of male physical perfection she tended to make strange gurgling sounds and blush like a Victorian virgin.

Six year olds she worked wonders with. Men baffled her.

“Damn,” Marley muttered. He was almost at the bottom of the steps and there was no way for her to run down them quickly and meet him before he noticed her. Acutely aware that this was not her best angle, she started down the stairs anyway, walking slowly so nothing on her body would jiggle. It was a futile attempt. She was a bit—okay, a lot—curvier than Hollywood standards dictated, and from down there, her thighs probably rivaled the porch columns for width.

“Hi,” he said as he stopped and smiled up at her, hands going into the pockets of his jeans. “Can I help you?”]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>In the late 18th century, a spoiled, selfish plantation owner struck an unholy bargain with a fallen angel: an eternity of servitude for the gift of immortality. For over two hundred years, Damien du Bourg has held up his end of the bargain,by inspiring lust in everyone around him!</p>
<p>Stumbling upon Damien&#8217;s plantation on the outskirts of New Orleans while searching for her missing sister, Marley Turner enters a world of shocking decadence. Drawn to the tortured man at the center of it all, Marley feels a powerful sensuality stirring inside her. For the first time, it&#8217;s Damien who can&#8217;t resist the lure of a woman. But his past sins aren&#8217;t ready to be forgotten,or forgiven!</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">&#8212;&#8211;</p>
<p style="text-align: left;"> <em>&#8220;This is an intriguing, rather unique story with a captivating hero and an innocent heroine. The characters develop nicely and the ending is well done.&#8221; &#8211; Susan Mobley from RTBook Reviews</em></p>
<p style="text-align: left;"><em>&#8220;Erin McCarthy pens a fabulous tale of love, lust, evil, and finding the good inside oneself despite the surrounding baggage. I couldn’t put MY IMMORTAL down. The New Orleans scenery was lush and descriptive, Damien and Marley had instant spark and fabulous conflict, and the love scenes will knock your socks off. Fans of McCarthy will be thrilled by this new facet of her writing. I know I was.&#8221; &#8211; Cat Cody from Romance Junkies</em></p>
<p><em>&#8220;I would also be remiss if I didn’t mention that the story was very, very erotic and part of the sexuality was provided by the atmosphere and not just the intimate scenes.  </em><em>I liked the darker aspects of the book and wish that they had been explored more fully.&#8221; &#8211; Jane from Dear Author</em></p>
<p><em>&#8220;With secondary characters who pop and add even more flavor to an already outstanding story, MY IMMORTAL has the chops for a Perfect 10 rating, which is what I’m giving it. The writing is seamless, the story a page-turner, and the romance is one to defy all odds. What more do you need? Go get it. Now!&#8221; &#8211; </em><em>Amy Cunningham from Romance Reviews Today</em></p>
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		<item>
		<title>Flat Out Sexy</title>
		<link>http://www.erinmccarthy.net/index.php/flat-out-sexy/</link>
		<comments>http://www.erinmccarthy.net/index.php/flat-out-sexy/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 01 Jan 2010 07:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Fast Track- Ongoing series]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[books]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[“I’m sorry you lost your purse,” Elec said.  “I hope it turns up.”

“Me, too.  I don’t even know what I did with it, and that’s driving me crazy.  I never lose things.  Never.”  Tamara waved her hand in the air.  “God, this weekend has been a total disaster.  Maybe I should have just stayed home.”

            That would have been seriously unfortunate because then Elec wouldn’t have been treated to the view of her long legs or her luscious lips, and that would have truly been a damn shame.  “Why?  What else has gone wrong?”

            She shot him a sheepish look.  “I brought a man I’ve been seeing with me.”

            Elec felt a serious kick of disappointment.  She was dating someone?  That was just all sorts of wrong.  “So where is he tonight?  Why isn’t he taking you home?”  And could Elec pay him off to get rid of him?

            “I broke up with him.”

Thank the Lord.  Now he didn’t have to worry about stealing the poor sap’s woman, because he was fairly certain he was going to take a crack at it, morally wrong or not. 

“There just wasn’t any…” she cleared her throat.  “He’s very nice, but there was no… between us, you know.  Do you know what I’m saying?”

            “You mean no sexual attraction?” he asked, not sure why she wasn’t just saying that outright.  It happened all the time.  That’s what friendship was for.  Sometimes you just didn’t feel any sort of physical connection with someone of the opposite sex.

            She nodded rapidly.  “Exactly.  Only, I feel like I led him on by inviting him for this weekend.”  She turned more fully to him, uncrossing her legs and drawing them up onto the seat in a way that created a tunnel between her dress and her inner thighs.  “The thing is, I haven’t dated at all since my husband was killed.”

Distracted by the fact that he could almost see up her skirt- almost, but not quite- which was teasing him something terrible, Elec was having a little trouble concentrating on her words.  He forced himself to drag his gaze away from those legs and look up at her face.  Focus.  Form words.  He could do that.  “Well, that’s understandable.  It hasn’t been all that long, has it?  Two seasons ago, right?  You don’t get over something like that in the blink of an eye.”

Hell, how did a wife ever get over losing her husband in a wreck?  He wasn’t sure.

“Thanks for saying that.”  Her name came out and softly touched his knee before pulling back.  “And I’ve been busy raising my kids, juggling my career.  This was the first guy I’ve gone out with and I thought I could make myself like him since he’s nice and safe and stable.  Tonight I figured out I can’t do that.”

            Elec wanted to touch Tamara back, to stroke his own hand over her bare knee, or slide his fingers into her thick hair, but he restrained himself.  “No.  You can’t force yourself to feel attracted to someone.”  He’d learned that with the bimbo brigade.  Just because a woman looked good on his arm before a big race didn’t make up for the awkward silences, or worse, the mindless chatter she threw at him until all he wanted was a remote control to turn her volume down.

            “No.  You can’t.”  She gave a soft laugh and pressed fingers to her temples.  “God, I have no idea why I’m telling you all this.  You’re probably regretting getting saddled with me.  I’m babbling.”

            “Obviously you needed someone to talk to, and sometimes a person you don’t know is the best bet.  You feel like they have no bias on whatever you’re saying.”  He gave her a smile.  “And I’ve been told I have one of those faces.  People like to tell me things.”  Sometimes things he could do without, frankly, like the bank teller’s description of her hysterectomy.

            “You do have one of those faces,” she said softly.  “Like you’re actually listening, not just looking for an opening to turn the subject back to you.”

            The look on her face led him to believe she’d known a lot of men like that.  He shrugged.  “I like listening to people talk.  Most people are fascinating.  And I’m not all that comfortable in the limelight, anyway.”  Which had been a major setback in his career, something he fought against every day.  “My mother used to call me Elec the Eyeball, because I was always sitting and watching.  Staring, I guess.”  He grinned.  “Not really a flattering nickname, but I actually think she appreciated me being a quiet kid, and meant it in an affectionate way.  My brother and sister were kind of loud.”  In the way that the roar of forty-three cars circling the short track at Bristol was kind of loud.

            She laughed.  “Elec the Eyeball?  Mothers give their kids the most appalling nicknames.  I call my son Peter-Pants and I really need to stop.  He’s nine years old and it’s not so cute any more.”

            Ouch.  Poor kid.  He’d take Eyeball any day of the week over being referenced as a fairy boy in tights.  Elec grinned.  “Just don’t call him that in public.  That’s a fistfight with the other boys waiting to happen.”

            “Ugh.  I can’t stomach the thought of my baby getting into a fistfight.  Ryder is Petey’s godfather and I’m going to be calling on him for help the first time a punch is thrown.”  She laughed.  “And don’t even get me started on how I handle the day my son discovers girls don’t have cooties… I won’t be turning to Ryder for advice there, trust me, since he’s got a new woman every week.  I think I’ll just lock my son up until he’s thirty instead.”

            “I don’t think that will go over well.”

            “I’m hoping that since Petey’s main interest in life is bugs and nature, that he won’t discover girls until he’s eighteen.”

            “Just because he likes a good cockroach doesn’t mean he won’t be fantasizing about girls between tromps in the woods.”

            “That’s true, I guess.”  She sighed.  “Lord, I don’t even want to think about it.”

            “I bet you’re an amazing mother,” Elec murmured, wondering if she had any idea at all how damn hot she was.  He was such a skunk.  For all he claimed to be a good listener, and for all that he really was interested in getting to know her, he was seriously distracted by how close she was to him in the cab.  Her perfume drifted over to him every time she shifted on the seat and her legs came dangerously close to bumping his over and over, tormenting him.  He wanted to just reach out and taste those plump juicy lips and see if they were as delicious as they looked.  He wanted to slide his hand up her leg, under that dress, and discover if she wore practical panties, a sexy thong, or nothing at all.  If he were a betting man, he’d put his money on black lace.

And while he was thinking all of that, she was talking about her child, which meant he really should be heartily ashamed of himself.

            He wasn’t feeling it.

            “Thanks,” she said in a soft voice, her eyes widening, like she realized which way the wind was blowing.

            Like she knew he was two seconds away from kissing her.

            Elec leaned forward.

            Tamara sucked in a breath.]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>Independent single mother Tamara Briggs wanted to find a new, sexy, no-strings-attached man-just not one as young as NASCAR driver Elec Monroe. But he sure does get her heart racing. And after she&#8217;s tricked into a blind date with him, Tamara gives in to her passion. Things screech to a halt, though, when he asks to meet her children. Whatever happened to wham-bam-thank-you ma&#8217;am? Suddenly Tamara has to decide how much risk she&#8217;s willing to take to experience the power of true love.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">&#8212;&#8211;</p>
<p style="text-align: left;"><em>&#8220;FLAT-OUT SEXY starts a new series that sizzles both on and off the field.  Tamara and Elec’s attraction is so explosive that it is impossible to see how they can talk to each other without tearing their clothes off.  The secondary characters are quite interesting and will make for some fireworks of their own.  I can’t wait until the next book in the series because if FLAT-OUT SEXY is a sizzler then the next one will be a scorcher!&#8221; &#8211; Ann from Romance Junkies</em></p>
<p style="text-align: left;"><em>&#8220;The searing passion between these two is explosive, and the action starts on page one and doesn’t stop until the last page. Erin McCarthy has written a fun, sexy read. The love scenes are sizzling, and the characters are memorable. Pour yourself a glass of merlot, ladies, and enjoy.&#8221; Deborah C. Jackson from Romance Reviews Today</em></p>
<p style="text-align: left;"><em>&#8220;Although this is an amusing tale, there is also a depth to Tamara and Elec’s relationship that I found noteworthy. With the exception of her vampire series, I have read all of Erin McCarthy’s books and I think she keeps getting better at writing this tender side of romance.&#8221; &#8211; Lea Hensley from All About Romance</em></p>
<p style="text-align: left;"><em>&#8220;Probably the greatest strength of this book besides the sexiness (and yes, it is super sexy) is the humor&#8230; The morning after scene is one of my favorites in the book even though the dinner with Elec, Tamara, her friend, Suzanne, Suzanne’s ex, Ty and his bimbo du jour is another priceless piece of entertainment and if a reader is interested in knowing what that scene reads like, well, she’ll have to read the book.&#8221; &#8211; Jane from Dear Author</em></p>
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		<title>Bled Dry</title>
		<link>http://www.erinmccarthy.net/index.php/bled-dry/</link>
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		<pubDate>Fri, 01 Jan 2010 07:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Vegas Vampires- Completed Series]]></category>
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		<category><![CDATA[rerelease]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[            “Well, it’s not the flu.”

            Brittany Baldizzi watched her general practitioner tuck her hair behind her ear as she stepped back into the room.  Perched on the edge of the examination table, Brittany was seriously confused.  “An ulcer then?  I’ve felt this awful nausea for weeks.”

            “Not an ulcer.”  Dr. Hopkins smiled.  “You’re pregnant.”

            “Excuse me?”  The room went stark white and a buzzing rang in Brittany’s ears.  “Pregnant?  I can’t be pregnant!”

            There was no way.  It wasn’t possible. 

“Have you been practicing abstinence?” Dr. Hopkins asked with a rueful shrug.

“Yes, I’ve been totally abstinent.”  How in the hell could she be pregnant? 

Dr. Hopkins raised her eyebrows.  “Really?”

             Okay, so that wasn’t completely true.  “Well, mostly.  I’ve only had sex once in the last six months.”  But that had been with Corbin Atelier, and that didn’t count because he was a vampire.

“Once is all it takes.”

Normally.  When you were having sex with regular, mortal men.  “But…” Brittany rubbed her head.  “He can’t have children.”  She didn’t think.  Of course, he had never really said he couldn’t have children.  But neither had he suggested birth control.

“I’m sorry this is such a shock, Brittany, but obviously he can have children, because you are definitely pregnant.”

“Well, I had no idea.”  That vampires had sperm.

Which was a stupid assumption on her part.  After all, hadn’t her brother-in-law sworn to her up, down, and sideways that her own biological father had to be a vampire?  But she hadn’t put two and two together when she and Corbin had been talking that night.

Though to be to totally honest, it wasn’t like she and Corbin had devoted a whole lot of time to conversation when he had climbed in her bedroom window and asked for blood.  She’d given him her blood and her body, and now he had given her a baby.

Holy crap.

It really would have been nice if he had warned her his boys could still swim.

 

 

Corbin Atelier stared out the window at the Vegas cityscape, feeling restless with his confinement.  He’d been living in Las Vegas for nearly four decades, and never had he felt the yoke around him so tightly as now.  There was no reason for it, but he longed to be able to leave the desert, to fly to the ocean, to the mountains, to smell the crisp air of Paris in late October. 

A knock sounded on the door of the suite of rooms he had been staying in for the past two weeks as he oversaw Ringo Columbia’s withdrawal from his drug blood addiction.  Corbin made no moment to answer the door, staring, searching, wanting some kind of answer from the view in front of him.

“There’s someone here,” Ringo said.

Corbin turned and saw that Ringo was slumped on the divan with his eyes closed, legs stretched out in front of him.  A cigarette dangled at his lips, and his cheeks were pale, skin sallow. 

The knocking came louder.

“Would you answer that?” Ringo asked, voice rising in irritation.  “It’s probably Kelsey.”

Corbin didn’t know what the relationship was between Ringo and Ethan Carrick’s secretary, but her visits usually had a positive affect on the patient.  However, this wasn’t Kelsey.

“It’s a mortal.  I can sense it.”  Corbin moved to answer the door, suppressing a sigh.  He had work to do and every day he spent stuck in Carrick’s casino, forced into the role of part prison guard, part medical doctor to Ringo, the longer his research was delayed.

Brittany Baldizzi was standing in front of him when he pulled open the door.  Corbin was so startled he said the very stupid and obvious, “Brittany!  This is a surprise.”

“Hi, Corbin.”  Her cheeks went pink, and her eyes didn’t quite meet his.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.  “Are you recovered from the flu?”  Truthfully, she still didn’t look one hundred percent healthy.  Her skin tone was off, and she looked like she had lost weight.  Corbin felt both worried and guilty.  He should have checked up on her a second time, but he hadn’t been entirely comfortable with his own feelings towards Brittany, so he had avoided her.  Yet again.  He had done plenty of avoiding as well following the night he had bedded her.

“How did you know I had the flu?” she asked, looked startled.

“I saw you.  I came to your apartment one night when you were sick.”  The night he had heard her call him mentally, felt her suffering.  Without thinking, he had gone straight to her and found her sick in her bathroom.  He could have sworn at the time that she didn’t have a fever, but she must have if she didn’t even remember seeing him.

Her eyes went wide.  “You were really there?  I just thought…”

“What?”

“That I was dreaming.”

This beautiful woman he had made love to thought he was in her dreams?  That pleased Corbin more than it should.  “No.  I was there.  I put you to bed.”

“Oh.  Well, thanks.”

“You are welcome.”  Corbin suddenly remembered that he had manners.  “Would you like to come in?  Are you here to see Ringo?”

She shook her head.  “No.  I’ve actually never even met Ringo.  I wanted to talk to you for a minute.  Privately.”

He couldn’t possibly imagine what she wanted to discuss with him, but she looked so anxious Corbin didn’t hesitate.  He admittedly had a rather soft spot when it came to Brittany.  Not to mention he’d been attracted to her since the first night they met, when she had thought he was a serial killer.

“Certainly.  We can go into the other room.”  It was a bedroom, which wasn’t the best place to be escorting a woman he thought was so beautiful, a woman he’d impulsively made love to in a moment of total sexual weakness.  It had been a wonderful, madly erotic five minutes, and a bed was sure to remind him of that, but the only other option was the bathroom, and he was too much a man of the nineteenth century to speak to her by the commode.

He offered her a seat in the sleek gray suede chair next to the bed, but she shook her head.

“What is the matter?” he asked, unable to resist the urge to smooth her hair back from her forehead.  She really looked ill, and he felt prickles of concern.

“Corbin… I’m pregnant,” she blurted, looking eyes with him for a second, before dropping her gaze to the floor.

“Pardon?”  She’d spoken so quickly, mostly to the carpet, that surely he had misunderstood.

Those dark eyes, that he found so innocently alluring, locked onto his.  “I’m pregnant.  I’m having a baby.”

That was rather unpleasant news.  Granted, he had not spoken to her since the night they had made love, aside from when she’d been ill, but he had foolishly thought she had felt the same way as him- knocked off his feet by their encounter.  He had not so much as looked at another woman in those eight weeks, yet she had moved to another man’s bed.  He was not so memorable, it seemed.

“Ah.  Zat explains the vomiting,” he said, his English slipping as it always did when he was irritated.  “Morning sickness, yes?  Well, I wish you happy.”

The last remaining bits of color in her cheeks leeched away.  She frowned at him.  “Is that all you’re going to say?” 

Corbin shifted uneasily.  He didn’t see how the situation called for him to say anything else.  “Take care of yourself,” he said politely.

“Uh!” 

Tears came out of nowhere and rolled out of her eyes, scaring Corbin senseless.

“What ez the matter?  Don’t you want to have a baby?”  And why was he the one standing there in complete discomfort patting her arm inanely?  Where was the baby’s papa?

“I want to have a baby.  And I thought that it was only the right thing to do to come and tell you that you’re having a baby, but it seems like I shouldn’t have wasted my night.  You could care less!”

Corbin listened to her words.  Played them back in his brain.  Was she saying… “I’m the father?”

“Duh.  Of course you are!”  Brittany swiped at the tears on her face.  “Who else would be?  You’re the only man I’ve slept with in six months.”

Well, that was pleasing- she hadn’t found him so lacking as a lover she’d had to find another.  But that also meant… “Mon Dieu, you’re having a baby?  Our baby?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

Corbin needed to sit down.  He needed a drink.  He needed to think this through.  Good God.  A baby?  A small, crying, helpless, mortal creature.  That was half his, half Brittany’s biology.  It didn’t seem possible.  There had only been that one night.  But he had made no effort to use birth control or even withdraw at the precipitous moment.  Quite the opposite.  He had enjoyed exploding deep inside Brittany.  Just the memory had him shifting, manhood swelling inappropriately.

“You are certain?”

She sighed.  “Yes, Corbin, I’m certain.”

“We didn’t use birth control,” he said, trying to reconcile what she was telling him with what had happened.

“No.  But I didn’t think you had sperm.”

Corbin frowned at her, feeling insulted.  “Of course I have sperm.  I am still a man.  I still function, do I not?  I have everything that is manly the same as a mortal.”

Brittany couldn’t stop a small smile from crossing her face.  Corbin looked so outraged and French.  “Yes, you still have everything.”  And then some.  She would never forget how in five minutes he’d given her better sex than some guys had in six months of dating.

“Absolutely.”  He nodded up and down once.

Brittany couldn’t tell how he was taking the news.  He didn’t look angry.  He looked surprised, but nothing more.  Damn, he was cute.  She’d almost forgotten how adorable he was in person with his caramel colored hair and rich, chocolate eyes. 

Corbin rubbed his jaw.  “And as such, I owe you an apology.  This is my fault and I accept complete responsibility.  I will marry you.”

Brittany forgot how cute he was.  “What!”  Of all possible reactions, she hadn’t even considered that one.  He was smoking something if he thought she was going to just marry him because he’d gotten her pregnant.  And what kind of a proposal was that anyway?  A sucky one, that’s what kind.

“It is for the best.”  He nodded, like everything was decided.  “We will marry and hire a nurse to care for the babe.”

Someone had fallen back into the nineteenth century and it wasn’t her. 

 

 ]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 4.5pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Hooking up with a vampire has its risks,but getting pregnant usually isn&#8217;t one of them. Tell that to Brittany Baldizzi, who finds herself in the family way with no father in sight. After their one night of passion, vampire Corbin Jean Michel disappeared off the face of the earth,or at least off the Vegas strip!</span></p>
<p><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 4.5pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Corbin is a vampire with a cause, secretly trying to find a cure for his condition. But when he finds out Brittany is pregnant with his child, Corbin can&#8217;t keep his parental instincts from trumping his bloodsucking ones. Even when showing his hand could cost him the woman he can&#8217;t help but love!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 4.5pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 4.5pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">&#8212;&#8211;</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 4.5pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><em>&#8220;Vampires, babies and politics generally are not a good mix, but in McCarthy&#8217;s newest Vegas Vampires tale, they certainly are wacky. Her sometimes dangerous and somewhat kooky characters add a special humorous charm to these stories of love and political maneuvering. McCarthy is on a winning streak!&#8221; &#8211; Jill M. Smith from RTBook Reviews </em></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 4.5pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><em> </em></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 4.5pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><em>&#8220;Erin McCarthy&#8217;s BLED DRY is a wonderful tale of unexpected blessings and unforeseen complications.&#8221; &#8211; Robin Snodgrass from Romance Junkies</em></span></p>
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<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 4.5pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 4.5pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><em> </em></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 4.5pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><em> </em></span></p>
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		<item>
		<title>The Magical Christmas Cat</title>
		<link>http://www.erinmccarthy.net/index.php/the-magical-christmas-at/</link>
		<comments>http://www.erinmccarthy.net/index.php/the-magical-christmas-at/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 01 Jan 2010 07:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Ohio's Most Haunted Town]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[books]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false"></guid>
		<description><![CDATA[            “The love of my life is not going to wear a pink shirt.”  Bree Murphy looked at her little sister Abigail in disbelief, who was waving what remained of the tarot deck in her hand with total confidence.

            “It’s right here in the cards, Bree.”  Abby tapped the Empress card lying on the kitchen table.

            Bree fought the urge to roll her eyes.  Teaching Abby tarot had been her own idea, apparently a stupid one.  Abby couldn’t divine her way out of a paper bag, if suggesting Bree would date a man in pastels was any indication.  It wasn’t going to happen.  Ever.  Besides, the Empress was an indicator of her own destiny, her own strength, not about a man.

            “No men in pink.  I like men in black who read poetry.  You know my type.”

            “Your type usually looks like they need a flea dip,” Bree’s older sister Charlotte commented.

            That was a total exaggeration.  “Hey, no one I have ever dated is unclean.  Give me some credit.  But being empathic makes me sympathetic.  I sense when men need my support and emotional counseling, and I can’t help but respond.”

“That’s actually kind of creepy,” Abby said, her lip curling back.  “Who wants a guy who’s that needy?”

Hey, Bree knew it was a bad pattern.  She could admit that.  That was why she had stayed away from men for the last two years, which suddenly seemed like an incredibly long time.  A long, celibate, lonely time.  But she did not need her eighteen-year old sister passing judgment.  “And you’re the expert on men, how?”

“I have a boyfriend,” Abby said, tossing back her dark hair.

Now Bree did let loose with an eye roll.  “Whatever.”  Bree didn’t think Abby’s boyfriend was any sort of model of male attentiveness but there was no point in arguing.  “But seriously, no men in pink shirts.”

“He does something corporate,” Abby added, as if she hadn’t heard a word of protest.  “I see him in an office.”

That got Bree’s attention.  Not because she would ever date someone corporate, because she so wouldn’t, but because Bree was speaking with such total confidence, and there was nothing in the tarot spread in front of her that should be giving her a clear visual of any man, let alone a candidate for the corner office.  “Abby, where are you seeing this?”

Despite Charlotte’s lifelong protests, Bree knew that all three of them were witches.  It was a trait of Murphy women, going back as far as Bree could trace.  And she knew that she was empathic, meaning she could see and feel people’s emotions almost as clearly as if they were her own.  She also knew that Charlotte could move objects when she really focused, and that Abby could insert herself into her sisters’ dreams.  She’d been doing it since she was a toddler.  But until now, Bree had never thought Abby could be psychic.

“I don’t know.”  Abby shrugged.  “It’s just like there.  In my brain.  I thought that’s what happens with tarot.”

“No, not really.  Tarot is an interpretation based on the spread of the cards.”  Bree lifted her cat Akasha off the floor as she walked by and settled her warm bulk in her lap.  “What else do you see?”  She was curious to know if Abby was in truth seeing anything or if she was just projecting her own thoughts and imagination out onto the cards.

If Abby were psychic after all, she clearly had Bree mixed up with someone else, because she was not, repeat not, going to be falling for a man who thought money was the ultimate goddess and treated his overpriced car like a high class hooker to stroke.

“Um.  I see him walking up to the house and ringing the doorbell.” 

Because the love her of her life was actually just going to stroll up to her very own house and ring the bell.  Like that ever happened to anyone, let alone Bree.  No one came to her front door but the mailman, and he was fifty and happily married.

Then Abby cocked her head to the side, staring off into space.  “He wants to have sex with you.”

“Okay, that’s enough.  This is ridiculous.”  Abby was either making fun of her for not dating in twenty- count them- twenty months or she was fishing to know about her sister’s sex life.  Either way, Bree wasn’t biting.

Charlotte didn’t look thrilled with the conversation either.  “You know, we should probably get started if you want your Christmas tree up by the end of the day.”

Bree wasn’t really dying for a Christmas tree at all since she usually burned a Yule log, but it made Charlotte happy to provide her with one, and Bree could always put a witch spin on it.  “Sounds good.”  She moved to put Akasha down and paused.  “What’s in her mouth?”  She tried to reach for the cat, but Akasha twisted her head in protest.

“Oh, my God,” Charlotte said, reaching out and snatching something from the cat’s mouth.  “It’s the mistletoe.  From last Christmas.  The one we put the spell on.”

As her sister waved it in the air, staring at the greenery like it was possessed, Bree winced.  “Whoops.  I meant to destroy that.”  It was nothing more than a sprig of mistletoe, but she and Charlotte had loaded it with symbols of lust so Charlotte could lure her friend Will to make a move on her.

It had worked, forcing the longtime friends to confront their intense feelings for each other, resulting in Charlotte with a wedding ring and a new house to live in, but Bree knew she never should have left that mistletoe just lying around.  Last she remembered, she had tossed it on her dresser a solid twelve months earlier, which meant Akasha had probably dragged it off and under the bed or something.  No wonder Bree had been plagued with sex dreams for months.  She had a powerfully charged hexensymbol hanging out under her bed.

And no man to satisfy her.

Ugh.  She hated feeling discontent.  And in a constant state of arousal.

“It’s probably not a big deal,” Charlotte said, carefully laying the loaded mistletoe down on the kitchen table.  “Will said it didn’t work.  He already was lusting for me way before we made this thing.”

   Bree had known that, that’s why she had encouraged Charlotte to go for it with Will.  “Yeah, but you can’t just leave magick laying around.”

Especially anywhere around her bed.

“The doorbell’s ringing,” Charlotte said.  “Want me to get it?”

“No, I can get it.”  Bree stood up, noting that Akasha had already leaped up onto the fourth empty chair and had snagged the mistletoe again.  Bree was going to have to grab that thing and stuff it into a drawer until she could destroy it bit by bit.

Abby was two steps behind her. 

“Why are you following me?” Bree asked her sister, darting a glance at her over her shoulder.  “I can answer the door by myself.”

“It’s him,” Abby said in an awed whisper.  “The guy I saw.”

“Sure.  Or it’s my mailman letting me know I have a package.”  Bree went down the hallway of the big Victorian house she had inherited from her grandmother.  It was a lot of house for her now that Charlotte had moved out, but maybe Abby would want to move in after high school.  Living with their parents was sometimes nausea inducing since they were engaged in a perpetual love fest.  It was sweet and warming to see from a distance, but on a daily basis all the groping got old.  Abby would probably appreciate some space.

Bree pulled open the front door and almost had a heart attack.

Have mercy, it was a man, about thirty years old, and very clearly wearing a pink dress shirt under his winter coat, the collar peeking out above the zipper.  He was just standing there.  On her front step.  With snow on his shiny black shoes.

She knew this man.  It was Amanda Delmar Tucker’s lawyer from Chicago.

Bree had only met him once, for a brief minute, the previous December, and he had clearly thought she been sniffing her black nail polish given the look of disdain on his face at the time.

Now he was standing on her doorstep with nary a smile in sight.

Abby was whispering loudly in her ear, “It’s him.  Told you so.  Right on up the sidewalk to the front door.  Ringing the bell.  I’m so right.”

Caught between wanting to muzzle her sister and slam the front door shut, Bree just stared at him.  He stared back, his compelling chocolate brown eyes boring into her. 

And suddenly she knew that her sister was right as her empathic ability picked up on the feelings he was projecting, unaware that she could sense them.  This man, this lawyer, wanted to have sex with her.

Yikes.]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><em>New York Times</em> bestselling author Lora Leigh and top-selling authors Nalini Singh, Erin McCarthy, and Linda Winstead Jones have a special gift for readers this year: never-before published holiday stories featuring passionate romance, paranormal adventure, and a distinctly alluring feline touch. With four new stories-including one featuring Lora Leigh&#8217;s genetically altered Feline Breeds-this is a collection packed with more surprises than Christmas morning, and more chills than the snowiest winter night . . .</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">&#8212;&#8211;</p>
<p><em>&#8220;Erin McCarthy never disappoints and it is definitely a pleasure to return to Cuttersville. I loved how Bree and Ian saw each other as being very different people when in reality, once they looked below the surface, they saw they had a lot more in common. Love, an appreciation for life, and some very odd dreams make them a good match. CHRISTMAS BREE is a top-notch Erin McCarthy tale!&#8221; &#8211; Sarah W. from Romance Junkies</em></p>
<p><em>&#8220;Four major talents produce a sexy, exciting holiday anthology. Each of these authors excels at her craft, and three of the tales build off previously published stories. The combined firepower is outstanding and sure to provide hours of reading delight.&#8221; &#8211; Jill M. Smith from RTBook Reviews</em></p>
<p><em>&#8220;Opposites attract and repel each other in <strong>Christmas Bree</strong>.  Witty banter, emotional upheavals, and a little magic weave around the pair as the holiday season heats up. Strong writing, terrific characters, and Christmas are very nicely wrapped up in the charming <strong>Christmas Bree</strong>.&#8221; &#8211; Jennell from Romance Reviews Today</em></p>
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		<item>
		<title>Bit the Jackpot</title>
		<link>http://www.erinmccarthy.net/index.php/bit-the-jackpot/</link>
		<comments>http://www.erinmccarthy.net/index.php/bit-the-jackpot/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 01 Jan 2010 07:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Vegas Vampires- Completed Series]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[books]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[rerelease]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false"></guid>
		<description><![CDATA[            Cara couldn’t even imagine why she had thought it was a good idea to go out into the alley wearing jeans, flip flops, and a short satin robe.  No bra.  No cell phone.  No purse.

            She had lost her everlovin’ mind, and if she hadn’t been drinking bottled water only all night, she would swear she’d been drugged.  It was the only explanation for why she was crouched in a corner watching Seamus Fox- if that was really his name- brawling with two fat guys in bad outfits.

            And they weren’t just fighting.  They were doing some freaky shit.  At first it had looked like normal punches but then Seamus had gone all Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, doing moves that looked humanly impossible.  He was like a blur in a black T-shirt, and at one point, she could absolutely swear he had actually risen vertically in the air.

            She was too scared to move, afraid they might see her if she tried to sneak back in the door.  Clearly even though Seamus was outnumbered, she wasn’t going to be of any assistance to him.  Her major talents in life were dancing naked and animal care.  Somehow she didn’t think doing a hip rock or clipping his nails would help Seamus at the moment.  It would be best to leave them to their beating the crap out of each other thing, but Cara had retreated too far from the door to go back in without being seen.

            Cara? Seamus called to her, shattering her illusion that she hadn’t been spotted.

            Not to mention she was almost certain he hadn’t spoken out loud.  Just in her head.  She licked her lips nervously.  What? she whispered tentatively, her lips moving automatically even if no sound came out.

            Go back in the club, beautiful.    

            She fell back on her butt, startled that she could hear him so clearly in her head.  Yet he wasn’t even looking at her.  He was slamming one of the big guys into the brick wall.

            I’m serious.  They want to kill me.  Get back inside.

            It seemed like a good plan.  Get back inside away from big, hairy men throwing punches.  But for some reason her legs weren’t moving.  Leaving Seamus all alone just didn’t seem right.  She bit her fingernail nervously.  If she ran toward the door, she could call 911 and get Seamus help.  That would be the smartest thing to do.

            She stood up, hugging the wall, staying in the shadows as she inched toward the door.

            Right then Seamus leaped six feet in the air in the most unbelievable move Cara had ever seen and kicked one of the guys in the back of head.  It should have dropped the big dude to the ground, but instead, he just growled and bared his teeth.  The streetlight was right on his face and Cara had a perfect view of his face and mouth.  Of his fangs.

            “Arrghh,” she said involuntarily, covering her mouth with her hand.  Those were not just exceptionally large canines.  Those were fangs.  And Seamus was leaping through the air like he had superpowers.

            Something was very, very wrong here.

            Now the big guy had seen her.

            “Who are you?” he asked, getting back to his feet after kissing concrete.  He took a step toward her, a leer on his face.  He wasn’t as ugly as the other guy, who was currently in a headlock under Seamus’s armpit, but he looked stupid. 

“Leave her be.  I’ll wipe her memory,” Seamus said.

Excuse me?  That didn’t sound pleasant.  Cara started fast walking toward the door.

Stupid cut her off, stepping right in front of her escape path.  His nostrils flared. “You smell good.”

            Cara grimaced.  That just didn’t sound like a compliment.  But to prevent pissing him off, she murmured, “Thank you.”

            If she ran the other way, toward the street, she could get help.  She chanced a glance at Seamus.  He still had the ugly guy in his grip, but was getting his head pounded against the wall in retaliation.  Cara winced.  That must hurt.  That was brain damage in the making.

            It was up to her to make a break for it.  Especially since Stupid was leaning towards her, his mouth wide open. 

            “I bet you taste really good, too,” he said.

            Eeew.  Time to move it.  “What’s that?” Cara asked, pointing behind the guy’s right shoulder.

            “What?”  He turned.

            She ran like hell to the end of the alley and out into the street.

            It was a good plan.

            What she hadn’t factored in was the possibility of a car driving right in that particular spot.

            She popped out with too much momentum to slow down, even as she realized an SUV was only a few feet from her.  She felt the impact of the huge car like a massive shove, her brain rattling, her breath sucking right out of her lungs.  Then she was hurtling through the air with nothing to hold onto, a scream stuck in her throat.

            This could be a problem.

            Cara landed, pain ripping through her entire body, crunching and jarring and tearing. 

Then with great relief, she passed out.]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>Campaign manager-and vampire-Seamus Fox becomes obsessed with a mysterious woman who dances behind a screen. And though Cara is a stripper, she&#8217;s the rarest of Vegas attractions-a good girl. And Seamus is falling fangs over feet for her.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">&#8212;&#8211;</p>
<p style="text-align: left;"><em>&#8220;More humor and sexy shenanigans explode from McCarthy&#8217;s second Las Vegas vampire novel. Sure to bring a smile to your face, these characters, with their endearing foibles and their attempts to do the right thing, make this a fun and highly satisfying book.&#8221; &#8211; Jill M. Smith from RTBook Reviews</em></p>
<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><em>&#8220;BIT THE JACKPOT is a sassy tale of vampires, strippers and madmen.  Ms. McCarthy pens a witty tale full of passion that will have you laughing and reaching for a fan.  Within these pages, you will find suspense, humor and amusing characters that will keep you entertained.&#8221; - Billie Jo from Romance Junkies</em></span></p>
<p style="text-align: left;"> &#8220;<em>It’s a campy, fun romance with no pretensions of being anything but entertaining; and it is entertaining even the second time around.&#8221; &#8211; Jane from Dear Author</em></p>
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		<title>Bad Boys in Black Tie</title>
		<link>http://www.erinmccarthy.net/index.php/bad-boys-in-black-tie/</link>
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		<pubDate>Fri, 01 Jan 2010 07:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
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				<category><![CDATA[FBI Agents- Completed Series]]></category>
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		<description><![CDATA[            CJ White hated Wyatt Maddock.  She hated the way he walked, always leading with his dick, and hated the way he talked, like he was determined to coax a giggle from every woman he approached.

            She hated the way he grinned, all white teeth and wolfish charm.  She hated the way he propped his feet up on her desk at work, and she hated the way he was leaning over Special Agent Dempsey right now, whispering in her ear as he held her close enough to inhale her, breasts first.

            Yep, she hated him and every single minute of the last lousy three months that she’d been stuck working this insider trading case with him for the Bureau.  It hadn’t been as bad before, when they’d been working a price fixing investigation, because she’d had Agent Knight to buffer her from Wyatt’s stupidity.  On this case it had been just the two of them until tonight.

            Yet despite that stupidity, somehow Wyatt had managed to snag the exciting side to this investigation.  Their boss Nordstrom had claimed Wyatt fit the corporate image, and she had to admit he was right.  The man dressed like a CEO instead of an FBI agent, and could charm the bite off a snake.  So Wyatt got to head off to the Chicago stock exchange every day and play stockbroker undercover, while she got stuck transcribing tapes, filling out forms, and dealing with Nordstrom and his temper tantrums.  Then at the end of each long day spent playing secretary, she had to deal with Wyatt and his amusing stories of his adventures as a fake financial whiz.

            Which didn’t amuse her at all. 

            “Hey.”  Fingers snapped in her face.  “Get that table cleared, we’re running behind.”

            CJ looked at the man frowning in front of her and promised herself she would be a good FBI agent and not fling him over her shoulder like she really wanted to.  His name was Fisher Carter, and he was just one more reason to hate Wyatt.  Somehow it just had to be Wyatt’s fault that she was stuck being a catering assistant to Fisher at Sharecron’s annual Christmas party, an offensive display of wealth and ego.  Sharecron was the target of their current investigation, and the company was knee deep in insider trading.

            “Sorry, Fisher, I’ll get right on it.”  CJ started slapping dishes onto the metal cart she had pushed over to the table. 

            The plan was that Wyatt was supposed to use his image as corporate playboy to feign drunkenness, and whisk his date off down the hall to his office for a little Christmas cheer in private.  Really, he was going to search the computer database for evidence.  CJ was supposed to be the look-out, make sure no one followed him, since he needed a good agent covering his back.

            At least, that had been the official reason given to her by Nordstrom.  Somehow she thought it wasn’t coincidence that Brandy Dempsey, a blond and buff agent just helping on the case for tonight as Wyatt’s date, looked a hell of a lot better in a dress and heels than she would.  CJ didn’t even own a pair of heels and she suspected her hair was stuck into the permanent shape of a ponytail.

            Not that she cared that she was here wearing a waitress white shirt and Wyatt was in an expensive tux, looking like he’d been born in it.  She had too many concerns in life to worry about being anything but comfortable in her clothes.  Let Brandy deal with Wyatt Maddock and his roving hands, which were now sitting right above the curve of Brandy’s ass.  Like that was necessary.

She snorted as she finished loading her tray, hearing Wyatt’s deep laugh as he bent over Brandy’s neck.  She should be absolutely grateful that she’d been spared the hell that Brandy was enduring in the name of the Justice Department.

            Hell.  Hah.

Because that was the real reason CJ hated Wyatt.

            She hated him because every time she looked at him, she wanted him.  In her bed, over her, under her, sliding into her hard and deep, pleasing her the way he had pleased so many other women, reminding her that somewhere locked inside her frozen body, she was still a woman.

            Like that was going to happen.

            He didn’t think of her that way, and even if he did, she’d never let him.  He was all wrong for her, the exact opposite of what she needed in her life right now, when she needed to concentrate on her son.

            So if Wyatt ever did decide he was up for a challenge and put the moves on her, he’d be wearing his balls like earmuffs.

            Let’s see how Pretty Boy liked that with his tux.]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><strong>Miss Extreme Congeniality</strong></p>
<p>CJ White knows there must be a catch when Wyatt Maddock &#8212; her despised FBI partner &#8212; offers to transfer out of Chicago and far, far away from her. There&#8217;s a catch, all right, and it&#8217;s a big one: CJ has to spend one sexy night with the untamed playboy, wearing the outfit of his choice, the pig. Okay, so the guy&#8217;s hot. So his reputation in the bedroom is the stuff of legend. So CJ&#8217;s been in a dry spell for about, oh, three years. So maybe one night to be rid of him isn&#8217;t so unbearable. But once the sheets have cooled, CJ&#8217;s just starting to heat up, and moving away is the last thing on Wyatt&#8217;s mind&#8230;</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">&#8212;&#8211;</p>
<p style="text-align: left;"><em>&#8220;McCarthy follows with sizzling passion topped only by her genuine emotion, which makes her writing voice distinct.&#8221; &#8211; Tanya Kacik from RTBook Reviews</em></p>
<p><em>&#8220;Erin McCarthy turns up the heat with CJ and Wyatt.  Especially in a certain hot tub scene!  All three authors have created fantastic heroes who are irresistible in or out of black tie!&#8221; &#8211; Alane from Romance Junkies</em></p>
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		<title>Bad Boys of Summer</title>
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		<pubDate>Fri, 01 Jan 2010 07:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
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				<category><![CDATA[Bowling Friends- Completed Series]]></category>
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		<description><![CDATA[“Is there something wrong with me?  Do I have a sign on my behind that says Lie To Me?” Trish asked in exasperation. 

She pushed the ashtray in front of her to the side and marveled at how morose she was being.  This kind of thing didn’t usually bother her.  Life went on, with or without men, and thankfully, she’d never actually been emotionally hurt before, just annoyed.  But lately she was getting lonely and while good for many things, a computer couldn’t carry a conversation or sexually satisfy her.  Okay, if you wanted to get technical it probably could do both in a roundabout sort of way, but it just wasn’t the same.  She wanted to hear someone breathing next to her when she had a… conversation, and she didn’t think that was too much to ask, damn it.

“You just intimidate men, that’s all.”  Joe turned to deliver the drinks to customers, leaving Trish to ponder that.  Intimidation was all about power, something she appreciated.

Intimidation was good in the courtroom, but not the bedroom.  She’d never thought her sex life- if she could remember that far back- was lacking in anything.  But put in those terms, she wondered if she had ever really had a relationship with a man where they weren’t both scrambling for control. 

On nights like tonight, when Trish was alone, and her friends were all cuddled up with their men, she couldn’t help but feel a little tinge of something.

God, she was actually jealous.  How small.

Joe bustled back and offered her a glass of wine but she shook her head.  “Just a water, please.”  She didn’t want an innocent glass of wine.  Nor was she certain she could stop at one or two drinks of the hard stuff, not when her defenses were feeling as weak as they were tonight.  And getting drunk alone was the adult equivalent of being the last kid picked for the dodge ball team in grade school.  Sad.  Better to stick to water. 

“Shake it off, babe, you know you’re hot stuff.”

            The drinks were so-so at Ryan’s Pub but it was nice to see a familiar face, nice to hear Jake’s staunch support.  Trish had been wandering in this pub off and on for five years, and hung out with her girlfriends there twice a month after their bowling night.  “You know what, Joe?  I don’t feel like shaking it off.  I want to feel sorry for myself tonight.”

            Maybe she wasn’t justified.  After all, she had a budding career as county prosecutor of domestic violence, a great apartment, and good hair.  But men didn’t seem to appreciate any of those things.  She didn’t think she was asking too much.  It wasn’t like she expected comfortable pantyhose to be invented.  She just wanted a nice guy, loyal, honest, friendly.

            She supposed she could get a dog.

            But Kindra and Mack’s yappy poodle annoyed the hell out of her.  A lizard was more her style.

            “If you’re going to feel sorry for yourself, slide on down the bar and join my buddy Caleb there.  He’s having a hell of a pity party tonight.”

            Without much interest, she glanced over.  A guy was propping his head up with a massive muscular arm, and trying to sip his beer without lifting his head.  Moisture from the bottle dribbled onto the bar and his arm, and he made a halfhearted swipe at it.  A quick count showed six empty bottles in front of him.

            Now there was a winner.  Hold her back.

“Do you know him?” she asked Joe, hoping she didn’t look that pathetic.  This guy looked like he’d set down some serious roots in Loserville.

            “Yeah, I’ve known him for more than fifteen years.  We played ball in high school together and he’s a good friend.”  Joe leaned on the counter, moving closer to her, and kept his voice low.  “He never drinks.”

            The six bottles hadn’t emptied themselves.  “Could of fooled me.”

            “I’m serious.  But tomorrow his ex-wife is getting married.  He’s celebrating by getting shit-faced.”

            Trish forgot to clench her toes, and her shoe fell to the floor.  “That does not look like a man who is celebrating.”

            Joe stood back up.  “I know.  Looks like he’s feeling sorry for himself to me.  But that’s what he said- that he’s celebrating.”

            This was not a man who was about a blow a party horn and throw some ticker tape.  If he called this celebrating she’d hate to see sulking.  “Did you know his wife?  Was she a bitch or something?”

            Trish would lay down five bucks she was.  The ex was probably a busty blonde who had henpecked her mild-mannered husband while weeding the flowerbed in her bikini.  And clearly this guy was still passionately in love with her, devastated by the divorce.  Sitting in a bar plotting the new fiancé’s murder.  Or worse, planning to dash into the wedding ceremony in one of those cringe-inspiring moments and yell, “Bambi, no one loves you like I do!  Don’t marry him!” 

            It was definitely a court case waiting to happen.  Public intoxication, disturbing the peace, stalking, assault and battery, one of those was probably in his future.  Trish’s whole career revolved around that kind of idiotic behavior.   

Joe paused and scratched his light brown goatee.  “No, she wasn’t a bitch at all.  She was one of those people who’s always smiling, always something nice to say, always dressed like she was on her way to church.”

            Well, that didn’t fit Trish’s image of his wife at all.  No wonder he’d gotten divorced- he’d been married to the wrong woman.

            “He said he has a plan,” Joe said.

            Here it was.  Poisoning the fiancé, slashing the tires on the limo, kidnapping the bride.  Trish leaned closer to Joe.  “What is it?”  If he was planning something illegal it was her duty to warn him of the ramifications.
            “He said he’s not leaving until he finds a woman to sleep with.  Tonight.”]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><em>It&#8217;s About Time</em></p>
<p>County prosecutor Trish Jones has had it with smooth-talking, under-performing suits. And though she&#8217;s never had a thing for big, brawny guys, one look at Caleb Vancouver&#8217;s bulges makes her think she might have been missing out. One Harley ride later they&#8217;re back at her place, and she realizes that she has been missing out . . . on quite a lot . . .</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">&#8212;&#8211;</p>
<p style="text-align: left;"><em>&#8220;Foster, McCarthy and Garvey do excellent work writing uninhibited 21st-century women.&#8221; &#8211; Jennifer Madsen from RTBook Reviews</em></p>
<p style="text-align: left;"><em>&#8220;I love the combination of wit and wisdom that Erin McCarthy brings to her characters.  And did I mention steamy?  IT&#8217;S ABOUT TIME is a great story all around.&#8221; &#8211; Alane from Romance Junkies</em></p>
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		<title>Bad Boys Online</title>
		<link>http://www.erinmccarthy.net/index.php/bad-boys-online/</link>
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		<pubDate>Fri, 01 Jan 2010 07:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
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				<category><![CDATA[Bowling Friends- Completed Series]]></category>
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		<description><![CDATA["Hard Drive"

 

            “I want to lick your nipples until you…”

            Kindra jumped in her swivel seat as a low voice spoke over her shoulder. 

Please don’t let that be who she thought it was.

She turned.  It was.  “Ohmigod. Mack!” 

Whipping the mouse around on her desktop, she tried frantically to close the email that was up on her computer screen.

            The dirty email from her cyber-partner, Russ.  The dirty email that was being read by her real live crush and co-worker, Mack Stone.

            God, where was the minimize button?

            “come like a rocket, hot and wet…” Mack’s amused voice trailed off.  “What is this?”

            “Spam,” she managed to say, a sweat breaking out under her white blouse and black jacket.  “I get all kinds of junk emails.”

            Kindra clicked the close button as Mack’s finger touched the screen. 

“Then why does it have your name on it?”

            “I don’t think it did,” she lied without compunction.  There was no way she was admitting to Mack “different girlfriend every week” Stone, that she had been engaging in a cyber affair.

            “Yes, it did,” he insisted.

            Annoyed, she looked over her shoulder at him and gritted her teeth at his total and utter perfection.  Why?  Why did she have to spend every day for eight hours looking at this paragon of masculinity?  From his short black hair, past the strong jaw, down to the broad chest and gorgeous pecs covered in GQ inspired clothing, and continuing on down… lower, he was perfect.

            And very out of her league.

            She glared at him, willing him to back away from her chair and take his arousing after-shave scent with him.

            A grin spread out across his face, showing off perfect white teeth.  He probably never even got cavities.  “Kindra Hill, are you having cyber sex?  I never would have guessed.”

            Her impulse was to just push him out of the way and run down the hall and hide in the ladies room until he left the building.  But that hadn’t worked in ninth grade when Tommy Slade had pantsed her in front of her geometry class, and she didn’t think it would work now.

            Two choices here.  Deny.  Or brazen it out.

            Being a proverbial wallflower, she had never brazened anything out in her life.  It was time to try. 

Taking a deep breath to gather some courage, she said, “So what if I am?”

            Okay, what was meant to sound seductive came out defensive.  She sounded like a bitter divorcee who goes through a vibrator battery a week. 

            His ice blue eyes went wide.  “Then I’d say there’s more to you than meets the eye.” 

Then he shook his head, clearly curious.  “But I figure, why talk about it online, when you can be doing it live and in person?”

            Yeah, if she had him to do it with.  But Kindra’s choices had never been so appealing.  After a few mishaps that had ranged from yawn inspiring to borderline gruesome, she had decided she was better off snuggling up with the blue light on her computer screen every night.

            “It’s easier this way… safer, cleaner,” she mumbled.  Then she straightened up and turned back to her computer, on the verge of collapsing from mortification.  Had she said that out loud?

            She had.  Mack leaned over her, his hot breath tickling across her ear.  His tie fell forward and brushed against the back of her hair, sending a shiver through her. 

“But it’s so much more fun the old fashioned way.”

“Sometimes.  And sometimes it’s messy and complicated and just plain lousy.”  She gave a shrug that was meant to be worldly and nonchalant, as if she’d sampled men aplenty and found them all lacking.  Instead she managed to clip him in the chin.

He grunted.  “I think you’re wrong.”

“I don’t care.”  She scooted forward, away from him.  Hint, hint, take it please.  Go away and take your hot bod with you.

“I can prove it to you.”

She froze.  He couldn’t possibly mean… no.  Mack Stone had never given her the time of day before. 

But if he did mean that, did she want to take him up on it?  Her head said of course not, you naïve and greedy slut.  Her inner thighs had an altogether different answer, one that had her pantyhose turning into a mini-oven.

He wasn’t serious though.

“I’m serious,” he said.

Help. 

Kindra opened her mouth, knowing full well her brain had ceased to exist and her crotch was in complete control.

“What kind of proof are you talking about?” 

She fought the urge to clap a hand over her mouth.

Now she’d done it.

He’d think she was actually interested.

Which, of course, she was.

But she shouldn’t let him know that.

Mack was still leaning over her.  He said in a low voice laced with amusement, “I think you know what kind of proof I’m talking about.”

Well, she thought he was talking about having sex with her.  But if she said it out loud, and she was wrong, she would have to quit her job and move to Europe.

Kindra cleared her throat.  “Maybe, if you explain it to me?”

Mack’s hands gripped the back of her chair and she found herself slowly being turned around.  Since grabbing the desk and clinging for dear life would be rude, she settled for crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap.

Perfect position for a woman claiming to be disinterested in live action sex.

Except that somehow Mack had managed to place a leg on either side of her chair and his… pants were eye level.  Fascinated, she took a long look.  Kindra licked her lips.  Mack’s pants jumped.

Oh, my.

She forced her eyes upward.  He no longer looked amused.  His legs and other body parts took a large step backwards, removing the masculine scent of him from her personal space.

“If I’m going to prove to you that one-on-one sex is better than cyber sex, I can only think of one way to do that.”

Here it was.  It was coming.  “Oh?” she squeaked.
            Mack nodded, his hands sliding into his pockets.  “Yes, that’s right, Kindra.  It looks like I’m going to have to have sex with you.”]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><strong>Hard Drive</strong></p>
<p>Mack Stone can&#8217;t believe he&#8217;s just walked in on the delicious Kindra Hill having an online affair in her office. Being discovered in flagrante computer delicto doesn&#8217;t seem to bother Kindra. In fact, she claims to prefer the impersonal touch to the complication of a relationship. That&#8217;s enough to make Mack issue a challenge of his own: He wants Kindra to grant him twelve nonstop hours to turn every erotic e-mail into a hot reality and prove that in love and pleasure, there&#8217;s no substitute for the real thing&#8230;</p>
<p><strong>User Friendly</strong></p>
<p>Computer guru Evan Barrett can solve any tech problem, but the sight of Halley Connors&#8217; lovely head pasted onto some woman&#8217;s nude body &#8212; courtesy of a hacker determined to derail her catering website &#8212; just has him in a cold sweat. Imagining his secret crush in the buff is the kind of fantasy that drives him wild every time Halley&#8217;s near. Now, as they work overtime to save the business, Evan realizes that not every fire needs putting out so quickly&#8230;and some require very little stoking to catch&#8230;</p>
<p><strong>Press Any Key</strong></p>
<p>To Jared Kinkaid, the only way to keep his mind &#8212; and his hands &#8212; off his luscious co-worker Candy Appleton is to insult or ignore her at every turn. But his efforts at lust control have his boss convinced that the partners need a little help via online couples counseling. But when they&#8217;re mistakenly signed up for sensual couples counseling instead, Jared and Candy&#8217;s shock turns to pleasure as they each deliver some hands on therapy of their own&#8230;</p>
<p>Take a little time to reboot, &#8217;cause these sly guys give a whole new meaning to on-site tech support&#8230;</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">&#8212;&#8211;</p>
<p><em>&#8220;Debut author Erin McCarthy pens a sizzling anthology that triples our reading pleasure! She superbly combines wicked humor with red-hot passion. Together, they make for an unforgettable reading experience.&#8221; &#8211; Suzie Housley from RTBook Reviews</em></p>
<p><em>&#8220;In her first book, Erin McCarthy, gives us three fun, sexy, sassy, sensual, and seductive stories that all center around that device that most of us have discovered we can’t live without – the Internet. The characters are well developed, the action is fast paced, the dialogue is witty and the love scenes are beyond hot.&#8221; &#8211; Missy Andrews from Romance Junkies</em></p>
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		<title>Bad Boys Over Easy</title>
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		<pubDate>Fri, 01 Jan 2010 07:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
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				<category><![CDATA[Bowling Friends- Completed Series]]></category>
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		<description><![CDATA[Lucas Manning was absolutely certain he hadn’t ordered a box of neon pink dildos.

            Yet there they were, packed four across, three deep in plastic bags, a faint rubbery smell rising from them.  They were very bright.  With sparkles.

            “Holy crap.” 

             Lucas closed the box back up to find the packing label.  He hadn’t actually looked to see who it was addressed to.  The package had been sitting on the front porch outside his door and he’d brought it in the house with the rest of his mail.

He sure in the hell wished he’d looked first.

Or hadn’t looked at all.

The box was addressed to Ashley Andrews, who lived in the upstairs apartment of his house.  Ashley, his best friend Jason’s older sister, who Lucas had secretly been lusting after for, oh, about the last decade.

And she had bought a case of dildos.

Lucas opened the box again and was sorry he had.  They were so goddamn pink.  And there were so many of them.  What did one woman need all these for?

Since Lucas was a chemist and schooled in logic, he was convinced there must be a logical explanation for this.  He just had to figure out what it was.  Leaving the box on his kitchen table, he went to the refrigerator for a beer.

He needed it to think.

So maybe Ashley had got up an order together with her friends so they could receive a group discount.  That was kind of uninhibited, but plausible.

Maybe they were all for her, so one was always in easy reach.  Lucas took a sip of his beer, swished it around his mouth.  One for her bedroom, one for the living room, one for her purse…  He stuck the cold bottle to his head.  He was sweating. 

One for the shower- damn, there was an image.  Ashley, her wet blond hair clinging to her breasts, water sluicing down her fair skin, rocking on to a neon pink…  He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

One for the kitchen?  No, he just couldn’t picture a sex toy alongside the spatulas.  So that was only four.  Which left eight unaccounted for.  He tried to imagine other uses for them, but drew a blank.  These were no cat toys.

Maybe she had ordered them online and had changed her order from one to two.  Only when she had added the 2, the 1 hadn’t been removed and it had shown up as twelve.  He could live with her buying two.  Twelve was alarming.

Of course, Ashley’s really good friend, Kindra, was getting married soon.  Maybe these were gag gifts for the bachelorette party.  That sounded reasonable.  And Ashley liked to throw really fun parties.

Not that he’d ever been invited to any of them.

Ashley still thought of him as her little brother’s geeky friend, Lucas.

Which, he supposed, was true.

But that didn’t stop him from having a killer crush on her.  She was so vibrant, so energetic, so enthusiastic that he got pleasure just from being near her.

But not twelve dildos worth of pleasure.

Lucas set his beer bottle down with a hard slap.  He picked up the box, grimacing.

Heading out onto the porch he took the two steps to Ashley’s front door.

As he rang the bell he wondered if he should tape the box back up and plead ignorance.

Nah.

He’d never sleep again if he didn’t hear the explanation for the package of pleasure addressed to her.]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><strong>Fuzzy Logic</strong></p>
<p>Ashley Andrews has taken &#8220;shop till you drop&#8221; a little too much to heart, and finds herself facing a massive credit card bill. It seems like the perfect solution to get a part-time job as a Pleasure Party consultant, showing romance-enhancing toys and products to women. Lucas Manning is Ashley&#8217;s next-door neighbour and her younger brother&#8217;s best friend. When he accidentally opens a box outside his door addressed to Ashley, he&#8217;s a little startled to find an entire selection of neon coloured vibrators. By the end of the night, Ashley and Lucas have taken quality assurance to new levels, and Ashley sees the benefit in a man who is full of smart and sexy ideas.</p>
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<p style="text-align: left;"><em>&#8220;McCarthy magically captures the excitement and the sweetness that comes when old friends turn into lovers.&#8221; &#8211; Susan Mitchell from RTBook Reviews</em></p>
<p style="text-align: left;"><em>&#8220;This delectable selection of hot, gorgeous bad boys is the perfect way to start any day.  FUZZY LOGIC takes one of my favorite themes, friends who take their relationship to a new and much deeper level, and gives it a humorous new perspective.&#8221; &#8211; Alane from Romance Junkies </em></p>
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