All right – right off the bat – contest winners from last post are: Karen K Hrdlicka and daje90! You win a copy of LOVE’S MAGIG SPELL – email me at

I went to East Texas over the weekend to check on some property there – a house, some cows, some cats and the people who take care of it for me and when I got there, even though I had told them I was coming – I had no internet, no TV and no phone! So, I was forced to take something alien to me, something I don’t like, something I dread – run from – mistrust – – DOWNTIME!!!! Downtime for me is time that I’m not working. Time that I am not holding this dang laptop and writing or editing or juggling manuscripts and editors or some other form of the business. Now most people aren’t like me, they seek downtime, they plan for it, they schedule it, they crave it. Do you know why I’m not like that?


I feel like I have to work, I have to produce, I have to create or I’m letting someone down!

Now, the unusual thing is – or it’s probably not unusual, it’s just not something I count on. I AM MORE PRODUCTIVE AFTER DOWNTIME. Ideas come to me, I work out problems, I get neat plot twists during the downtime. Usually, the only leisure time I allow myself is when I’m in the shower – yea, the shower – so you can be assured I’m squeaky clean! Haha!

But this weekend, I was at a loss, I couldn’t work, I couldn’t watch Heart of Dixie, I couldn’t order from QVC or write or edit or talk to my Promo folks – I WAS ALONE WITH MYSELF!!!! HORRORS!

But, during that time, I plotted a new book. My mind relaxed and the ideas flowed so I guess I should do this more often. I also had a spooky experience. I heard my mother’s voice, she called me just as plain as day and I answered before I remembered she was gone. She’s been dead a long time. Has anything like that ever happened to you?

As you all know, I love this time of year. I’m preparing for Trick or treaters even though I might not have any, I’ve moved to a new neighborhood and I’m not sure how kids are conditioned out here as far as trick or treating goes – but I shall be prepared.

Tomorrow night – Monday the 27th – me and Beau Coup and Debbie our host, is presenting our first Gumbo Ya Ya radio show. It’s going to be spooky. I’m going to be there talking about my experiences and my philosophy on the supernatural and we also have Isobelle Cate, Helen Downing and Alicia Sparks. They share my esoteric outlook on life and like me, have had some wild things happen to them. One of these ladies owns a witch store and one got married in front of Marie LaVeau’s tomb! So we are quite a group!

I went to see Dracula last weekend and for Halloween, I’m going to watch a marathon of scaring movies. But I’m not going to leave you out – I have a marathon of appropriate reads to offer to you.

Here are covers, links and excerpts so you can line up these treats – no tricks I promise you.


jade wishing moon 

Arabella Landry is a witch on a mission. She is desperately seeking for the incredible lover that has been setting her dreams on fire. With the help of the powerful women in her family, she finds him. Unfortunately, he is completely paralyzed from a devastating rock-climbing accident.

Jade Landale, a conservative Texas Congressman falls head over heels for the beautiful woman that refuses to give up on him. Soon, his world turns topsy turvy as he finds himself embroiled in a world of magic, murder and the hottest, sweetest love-making imaginable.




Just the tip of his tongue parted her lips, feathery light, making her push closer, seeking to deepen the kiss. God, she wanted him. Breathing in his scent, she noticed he smelled of warm sunshine and salt spray. The palms of her hands moved feverishly over his golden skin, up over his broad shoulders and around his strong neck. His hair was long, the color of sunflower honey and she couldn’t resist winding her fingers in the strands at the back of his head, pulling him nearer to her. She fought the urge to wrap one leg around his hip in a soundless plea to be filled. A desperate hunger in her pussy made her tingle and ache.

Joy coursed through her bloodstream as he cupped her hips in his hands, first pulling her up hard against him, and then picking her up off the ground. Gratefully, she parted her legs and encircled his waist, pressing her soft center up against his rough jeans. Racing uncontrollably, her heart felt as if it were going to burst through her chest. His lips caressed her mouth, and wandered across her jaw and down the side of her neck. She gasped with passion, never had she felt so molten and eager. Arching her back, she met his gaze. Eyes, the color of a tiger’s eye jewel, framed with thick dark lashes feasted on her face. “Who are you?” she gasped.

Instead of the answer she longed for, he bent low and warmly nuzzled the top of her breasts with his lips. The gentle swell peeked from the top of the silk nightgown clinging damply to her fevered body. Muscles in her thighs contracted and she longed to thrust her hips against him.

Delightful stubble on his chin chafed her skin and Arabella reveled in the slight pain the friction generated. “Please…” she breathed. Allowing one hand to support her weight, he slid the other hand between their bodies and gently palmed the silk and lace providing a filmy barrier to paradise. When she offered no resistance, he pressed on, pushing the delicate material aside, slipping his strong fingers deep within her slit. Over and over again he massaged her clit, making her moan with desire. Unable to resist, she nipped the hard muscle of his shoulder, grazing the supple flesh with her teeth.

Light and heat exploded within her and she threw back her head crying out, as she convulsed in ecstasy. He pressed gentle lips to her ear and whispered, “Come to me.” The last thing she saw before reality dimmed was a full wishing moon shining bright in the velvet sky.


Arabella lifted her hips off the bed, searching in vain for someone who wasn’t there. Quaking with desire, she wrapped her arms around herself and tried to breathe. Lying still, she listened to the lonely sounds of silence. The house was quiet. She was all alone, as usual. How wonderful it would be to have someone in her life like that incredible man. She lay there for a moment and relished the sensations she had enjoyed in his arms. Never had she experienced a dream so intense, yet the climax still vibrating between her legs was definitely real.

Searching her memory, she relived the dream. Who was he? He seemed so familiar, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember where she would have known him from. Maybe the sense of recognition was just an after-effect of the incredibly erotic dream. A face and a body like his would have been impossible to forget. Hugging herself tightly, she fought to hold on to the memory of his touch. When she had awakened from the dream, finding herself alone had been sheer torture. Every fiber in her being longed for him, making her want to reach out and take him in her arms once again. Only, he wasn’t here.

How frustrating. Perhaps the time had come to find a real lover.

She flung the sheet off her body and sat up on the side of the bed. Slowly she stood, and steadied herself enough to walk to the bathroom. Pulling the silk gown over her head, she turned on the shower and faced herself in the vanity mirror. Lifting her long hair from her neck, she twisted the long honey colored strands into a knot and secured the heavy weight with a clip. Leaning closer to the mirror, she gasped. Flipping on the brighter overhead light, she could not believe her eyes or her fingers. Dream or no dream, her neck and upper chest was covered with a faint red rash; a rash left behind by her dream lover’s five o’ clock shadow.

The abrasions on her soft skin seemed to be evidence that more had happened in the twilight hours than just a dream. This intrigued her. How could this be possible? Could he be a real person? Could she return to his arms? The possibilities racing through her mind would have been unusual for most people. However, Arabella Landry was definitely not your typical twenty-four year old woman.

Arabella looked at life through different eyes. For her, the world was a magical place, where probability and certainty could be manipulated by sheer will, and forces existing beyond the bounds of imagination could be tapped into and used to create reality. She had been brought up accepting magick as a way of life.

When she viewed last night’s dream through the lens of magick, a whole new world of possibilities opened up. Something deep within her seemed to be convinced the Adonis with the incredible body actually lived and breathed. Arabella wanted to believe he was a flesh and blood man more than anything.

He had to be real. The words he had whispered were burned in her memory. “Come to me,’ he had said, and she intended to do exactly that…just as soon as she figured out how. She made her shower quick, and after towel drying her body, she slipped on jeans and a soft cotton top.

From the mirror, she could see the reflection of her bed. Nothing would have made her happier than to crawl back between its soft, welcoming sheets and dream. She wanted to see him again. Closing her eyes, Arabella remembered nestling against that incredible chest and clutching those shoulders, which were as broad as a bus. And his face! He had the face of an angel. Undeniably, her dream lover had to be the most powerfully built man she could ever remember seeing, touching, or kissing.

Arabella didn’t have a lot of experience with men. Opening up to people had always been difficult for her. So often when she tried, she’d been slapped down for her trouble. So far, she hadn’t been lucky enough to find a man who could accept her different lifestyle. How incredible it had been to see no judgment in his eyes, only acceptance and desire.

She wanted to hold on to every detail of last night’s dream. The desperation to do something to connect with the sexy phantasm bedeviled her until she realized she needed to make a sketch of him before a single detail of his beautiful face faded from her memory. She sped down the stairs and found her sketchbook. Flipping on the coffee pot, she hopped up on a bar stool and began to draw…him. High cheekbones, chiseled features, soft hair, well-defined abs and steel-strong legs all added up to much more than a sum of his parts. The smoldering look she added to his face came straight from her mind’s eye. Arabella ran her fingers over the drawing, remembering how caressing his skin felt. Propping the sketchpad up on the bar, she poured herself a cup of strong, fragrant coffee. Adding sugar and cream, she stirred the mixture and licked the spoon, all the while studying the portrait she had quickly drawn. He still looked vaguely familiar.

A sense of urgency washed over her. How could she just go about the tasks of the day after last night’s experience? How could she think of anything else but him?


Jade Landale was a prisoner in his own body. Just a few weeks ago, he had been vibrant, alive and free. Now, he might as well be dead—in fact, he fantasized about escaping this nightmare. Paralyzed from his neck down, he couldn’t even swallow on his own. Communication proved to be impossible. Reese had tried, he had continued to ask him questions and instructed him to blink if he understood, but the doctors were not the least bit encouraging. They kept using the term catastrophic injury. Apparently, this time he had really screwed up. Kate had been after him to give up the extreme sports he loved so well, she said his career needed to come first. But he loved the feeling of scaling a sheer rock wall or free diving in the depths of the sea. She told him he would end up killing himself, and, apparently, she’d been right.

Since the diagnosis, Kate had only been in to see him twice and the last time she made an appearance, Jade could tell she’d given up on him. She couldn’t even bring herself to touch his hand. His girlfriend had always been overly squeamish. Apparently, she didn’t have the stomach for a fiancé who might never be more than a vegetable. Despite what Reese told her about the blinking, Kate didn’t believe he could hear her or understand her. Frankly, he wished he had the opportunity to tell her how hard conveying a message to someone who wouldn’t look you in the eye could be. Dr. Reynolds did not want to give up on him; he had said more tests needed to be done before they could be positive of Jade’s prognosis. One of the other doctors assisting on his case said he wasn’t sure Jade was cognizant of his surroundings at all. But he was, much to his dismay—he was, achingly, aware of everything.

The realization of his situation terrified Jade. He screamed endlessly in his head. Over and over, he relived the moment when the bolt failed and he had fallen from one of the sheer faces of E-Rock. He’d known from the moment he landed so brutally and awkwardly at the base of the cliff that his situation was bad. Blessedly, he had only remained conscious for a few moments before passing out. From the moment he regained consciousness, he had known something was horribly wrong, because he felt nothing—absolutely nothing.

The only relief Jade found were his dreams. When he closed his eyes and slept, he could walk and talk and hope and believe that somehow this nightmare would soon be over. Reese and other members of his staff still refused to believe fate could be so cruel. After all, they had pinned their hopes on him being the next governor of the great state of Texas. Now unless a miracle came along, all of his dreams had come to an end.

While a nurse turned him from side to side, giving him a sponge bath, he escaped to a better place deep within his own mind. Last night, he had experienced a particularly intense and strange dream. He had been back on Enchanted Rock—not climbing this time, but with a woman—an amazingly beautiful woman. His dream body had reacted instantly to her, and without the expectations of reality, he had enjoyed her in ways he knew he would probably never enjoy a woman again. She had been so lovely and so very responsive.

Dreams were his only solace, now. He much preferred an alternate reality to this one. The land where he escaped to when he closed his eyes reminded him of something his great grandmother used to tell him. The only daughter of a Cherokee medicine man, she carried with her the old ways and the old beliefs. She used to tell him that even though her body had grown stiff and uncooperative with age, at night—in her dreams—she went to places she could no longer go and did things she was no longer capable of doing. She had called the odd phenomenon ‘walking on the wind’. Maybe, that’s what he had been doing. One thing he knew, his dreams sure beat the hell out of where he was now. He shut his eyes and left the room.


A plan began to formulate in Arabella’s mind, things her mother and grandmother had taught her. Quickly she grabbed a pad and pen and made a list of items she could use to insure she returned to the dream state where she had left her dream lover. Hastily, she wrote.



Amethyst gemstone

Purple mojo bag

Purple candle

Everything in her longed to get started now, but going back to bed immediately after rising wouldn’t accomplish the rest of the day’s work. With reluctance, she laid aside the note for later in the day and reached for her datebook. Arabella kept an extensive journal where she wrote everything down. She flipped open the book, which served as part almanac, part Book of Shadows and a place to record her daily to-do lists. Turning to the correct page, she checked what was on the agenda for the day. A lot.

Arabella was proud of all she had accomplished, but keeping up with everything was a challenge. Since graduating from the University of Texas in Austin with a degree in computer science, she had built a successful home business from the bottom up. Combining her green thumb, her magical acumen, and considerable computer skill, she had founded Wildflower Way. Her brainchild is a company that sells dried herbs, oils, tinctures and herbal formulas, which she created for a number of health issues. In her own way, she helped people with their rheumatism, allergies, low energy and headaches. Sketching and drawing were also passions of hers and she designed a catalogue, labels and seed packets to complement the products Wildflower Way offered to the consumer.

Her home in the Texas Hill Country was an oasis of lush gardens, greenhouses and enchanted paths, which connected small rustic buildings where she dried herbs and flowers and concocted the potions she packaged and shipped to satisfied customers across the country. Arabella took pride in her gardens and appreciated people stopping by just to look in amazement at the varied plantings she maintained. Some would ask for the secret to her green thumb, but she had no answer for them. She could hardly tell them her mother’s explanation—Elizabeth said the garden of a good witch always flourishes.  Glancing at the date—it hit her—today was a special holiday. December 21st, the winter solstice was a sacred time when candles were lit and future plans were made. Tonight, her grandmother, Nanette Beaureguarde would scry the future—something she did on this, one of the most magical nights on the wheel of the year. All of the family knew they would hear from her if she saw anything of interest. But in the meantime, Arabella had Yule preparations to make. The whole Beaureguarde clan planned to come to her house for the holidays, so there was plenty of baking, shopping and decorating to be done.

Wildflower Way was a special place during each of the seasons, and winter, especially so. Arabella spent days stringing thousands of little white lights through the trees and putting out dozens of peanut butter pinecones to attract the birds. By the time she was through, her home was a wonderland. She enjoyed this time of year so much. Elation filled her heart; she had so much to look forward to. And today was Sunday, so she could do exactly what she pleased. Any orders to be filled could easily wait for the next day.

Once again, her hand moved to her neck to linger on the light abrasions, which were still present. The small bumps were the only real link she possessed to the incredibly intriguing man who haunted her every thought. Stop! she chided herself, all of this dreaming will just have to wait until later.



eric sweet evangeline

Evangeline is magical. She longs to find her soulmate – and being a woman of power – she whips up a spell and conjures him up. Austin Firefighter Eric McCallister is enchanted by the beautiful woman who sculpted his likeness from a dream. Immediately, their attraction and chemistry burns like a wildfire. But, all is not a fairy-tale. An arsonist is stalking Eric and someone is trying to kill Evangeline. On top of that, there’s magick afoot that can call down storms, bring the dead back to life and break ancient curses. But, the greatest magick of all is the love Eric has for Sweet Evangeline.



The class assignment had been to create the perfect man.

As a witch, she should have known better. But it had been so much fun.

No, this wasn’t Hogwarts. The project was for a final grade in the Advanced Sculpting Class at the University of Texas in Austin. And since Evangeline had all of these powers just lying around, she decided to cheat. If she were going to sculpt the perfect man, she wanted it to be her perfect man. After all, it was somewhat a tradition for the women in the Beaureguarde clan to seek out the face of their beloved. Her grandmother, Nanette had seen her grandfather’s face in waters obtained from an old well dug by slaves down in New Iberia Parish, near Bayou Teche. So, why shouldn’t she try? All she wanted to do was look. There couldn’t possibly be any harm in that. Could there?

The more she thought about it, the more excited she became. Up to this point in her life, men had just not been a factor. Despite what some would call her wild pagan ways, Evangeline was an old-fashioned girl. She was a romantic. As pathetic as it might sound, she was saving herself for the man of her dreams. And so far, he had kept himself very well hidden. Now that she had decided to tempt herself with his face, she couldn’t think of anything else. The Summer Solstice was at hand and according to her Book of Shadows, there was no better time for this exciting experiment.

God, she was hot! She stood in the dark and listened to the creaking of the old house as it settled on its piers. Living off campus hadn’t been a mistake; she needed the room for her sculpting. But still, the nights were almost unbearable. It was the incessant heat! Austin was under a heat wave advisory and the air conditioning did little to cool the poorly insulated house. But that wasn’t the heat that kept Evangeline Martel awake; it was the heat of desire that flowed through her body.

Evangeline cast a circle and then sat down in the middle of it. Despite her initial enthusiasm, this had not been an easy decision. Evangeline knew love spells were not to be taken lightly. Through the years, she had seen lonely women come to her grandmother, seeking assistance in finding true love or holding on to a man who was ready to pull up stakes and move on. Love spells could back-fire on you. So, Evangeline had to be very careful.

He was out there. She could feel him. Their paths had not crossed; she would have known, she would have recognized him. And she longed to see his face. Tonight, she would.

Sipping a tea made from orange peel and meadowsweet, she closed her eyes and willed herself into a trance like state. Holding her palms upward, she hummed—just a couple of notes—a melodic, poignant repetition that settled her mind and opened her spirit to the powers surrounding her. When she felt she had made a connection to the Goddess, she lit a red candle and uncovered the black scrying mirror that lay before her.

Placing her hands over the mirror, but not touching the surface she began to speak.

“Mirror of power, show me his face

Show me my true love, through time and space

Bring me his image, revealed in your light

Share with me your vision, bring him to my sight.

Slowly, she moved her hands away. At first the surface of the mirror was smooth, but then it was as if it became fluid and a mist seemed to rise from the depths of the blackness. A light began to glow from deep within the reflection. Evangeline’s heart began to race and her blood was rushing so fast it roared in her ears. She leaned over the mirror, her long dark hair creating an ebony curtain on either side of her face. “Come on sweetheart, let me see you,” she spoke to him as if he could hear her.

A form began to appear. It moved closer, slowly, as if coming from a long distance. Evangeline closed her eyes, willing him to come to her. “Come on, baby, I’ve waited for you so long.” She opened her eyes. And gasped.

An image was in the mirror. It was a man, and he . . .was . . .beautiful. No human being should be so perfect. “Please, let him be real.” she prayed. He didn’t look real. He looked like an angel. Angel. Until she had a name, that was what she would call him. Hair of gold, eyes of green, a body that Adonis would die for, and he would be hers? “Come to me, love. I can’t wait to hold you.” Her grandmother would faint at the sacrilege, but Evangeline couldn’t help herself, she bent down and kissed the surface of the scrying mirror. Because right now, it was as close as she could get.


Evangeline Martel could never leave well enough alone. Now that she had seen Angel, she wanted him. As her hands fashioned the clay, they itched to touch his skin. As her fingers molded his muscles, they longed to knead his flesh. She had it bad. If she were a regular girl, she would have sighed with longing and endured. But she wasn’t. What was the use of possessing ancient tomes of wisdom if they just lay on the shelf to catch dust?

On the second floor of the small house she rented Evangeline had made a ‘craft room’. The thought made her laugh. So many Martha Stewart wannabe’s had craft rooms filled with hot glue guns, paper cutters, beads and such. However, her craft room was different. It was full of herbs, oils, gemstones and candles. A rug lay on the floor that was inscribed with a circle. Next to the window, a small altar sat that held her bell, her Book of Shadows and a beautiful pentagram carved from a sacred oak. Bookshelves lined the walls, each level laden down with books concerning the craft. The types of magick represented were myriad—there was Celtic, Hoodoo, Voodoo, and Santeria, even Egyptian. There were books on the magical uses of herbs and the proper way to use crystals. Far Eastern knowledge was also represented with books on Reiki and chakras. If a spell was needed, Evangeline had no excuse.

Sitting on the floor, she thumbed through a likely volume. Yes, here it was. ‘How To Call Your Dream Lover To You’. Perfect.

Evangeline lay alone in her bed and longed for a man.

Not just any man would do, it had to be him. She closed her eyes and willed him to come to her. She wasn’t dreaming, she wasn’t even asleep. Evangeline was wide-awake and desperately hungry for his touch. Her eyes went to the closed door of her bedroom. She imagined it opened slowly.

Someone was standing there, in the shadows.

‘Oh Goddess, please let it be him,’ she breathed. The figure stepped forward and her body began to tingle. It was Angel! He had heard her heart’s cry. He had come.

Her eyes devoured him. His chest and shoulders were massive, yet he was lean and hard and muscled to perfection. A pair of jeans, low slung, covered powerful thighs and tight hips. But what caused the cleft between her legs to dew with excitement was the blatant evidence of his desire for her. Angel was immensely aroused, his erection straining the threads that kept it bound.

She came to her knees on the bed and held her hand out to him, pleading for him to come closer. Her dark blue eyes, the color of the Caribbean Sea at twilight, locked with eyes of the deepest forest green. “Angel, I need you so.” At first glance, his face appeared hard and unyielding, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw line. But his lips were sensuous and when he smiled at her, a hint of a dimple next to his mouth made her want to probe the tiny well with her tongue.

“Do you want me, love?” he asked, seemingly sure of her answer. He came to her, placing one knee on the bed next to her, pulling her body close to his. Evangeline’s breathing grew ragged. She clung to him, pressing her needy breasts to his rock-hard chest.

“I am desperate for you,” she confessed. She let her tongue play over his chest, circling his nipples, nipping at the defined pecs. Her hands were not still. She feverishly caressed his shoulders, slid her palms down his arms, around his waist and up his back. He moaned his enjoyment, his hands cupping her hips, kneading. Pulling her tightly against him, his own hips begin to buck slowly against her, pushing rhythmically, making her know exactly what he wanted—to be inside of her.

Breaking the embrace, she pulled her own gown over her head, anxious to feel his hot skin rub against her own fevered body. “Take these off,” she urged, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, pushing them down his hips. Her hands cupped him through the cotton briefs, tracing the living evidence of his manhood. “I love how your cock jumps in my hand.” In answer to her caress, he ripped the jeans and briefs from his legs, giving her full access to all that he was. She pushed him back on the bed and knelt over him. “I can’t get enough of you.” She took him in her hand, marveling at the length and breadth of him. “You are so thick. I cannot tell you much I want you to push deep inside of me, stretching me, filling me. I ache for you.” He tried to sit up, as if he would take control. But she would not have it, not yet. She took him in her hand, rubbing his shaft up and down, letting her other hand gently massage his sac, a growl escaping from his lips as she teased his round, hard balls. She couldn’t keep her mouth off him. He tasted salty, musky, and manly. Her tongue tickled the large, mushroom-shaped head of his penis. But that wasn’t enough. He pushed it up toward her lips, and she gave him what he longed for. She took as much of him into her mouth as she could, letting her tongue and lips feast on him. Setting a pace that was designed to drive him mad, she moved her mouth up and down his rod until he lifted her from him, laid her back and rose over her.

“Are you ready for me?” He cupped her pussy; the creamy wetness he found was a testimony to her excitement.

“Completely.” Evangeline closed her eyes, lifted her hips and relished the exquisite thrill that rushed through her when he began to enter her trembling depths. “Oh, Angel, I’ve dreamed of this for so long!” She flexed her inner muscles, drawing him deeper, hungrily pulling him in, until he was buried completely—their joining a merging of minds and hearts, as well as bodies. “How does this feel?” she asked as she undulated her hips, milking his shaft with the contractions of her inner muscles.

“Amazing.” He leaned over her, drinking from her lips, scorching her neck with hot, wet kisses, and then blazing a trail from the hollow of her throat to the peak of a plump, swollen nipple that throbbed with need. He wet her nipple with his tongue, blew his heated breath on it, causing it to thrust upward seeking his attention. “Do you want me to suck them, love?”

“Oh, please.” He gave her relief, opening his lips wide, taking as much of her breast into his mouth as he could. Then he began to pull on the areola, creating a mind-blowing suction that spiraled directly to her clit, forcing a groan from her lips. He laved the swollen bud with his tongue, and then he began to move. In and out, in and out, increasing the rhythm until she was mad with sensation. He held her up, moved to her other breast and gave it the same heart-melting attention. All the while, he was plunging, pumping, rocking, thrusting, pleasuring her until she arched off the bed and shuddered in unspeakable ecstasy.

The contractions of her climax went on and on, spurring him toward his own explosion of heat and light. “Oh, Angel, I love you so.” She held her arms up to him, ready to draw him down for a sweet, deep kiss.

But her hands closed over nothingness. He was not there, he never had been.


“Holy Shit!” Eric McAllister woke up from the wettest dream he had ever had. Lord, you’d think he was sixteen years old, again. Damn! To be honest, he had never had a dream like this at sixteen or since then. He looked down at himself and the sheets. Laughing at his predicament, he began extricating himself from his bed linens. Cum was everywhere, he had exploded in the most thunderous orgasm of his life. Desperately he tried to hang on to the feeling, to the touch of those hands, to the velvety rasp of her tongue. God in heaven, she had been the hottest lay in he had ever—and it had all been a dream.

He crawled reluctantly from his bed. It seemed that if he closed his eyes and held out his arms she would come to him. Long dark hair, creamy soft skin, big ole’ navy blue eyes and the most delightful body he had ever wrapped himself around. What blew his mind was that it had been so damn real! He could still feel the heat of her pussy on his cock. She had squeezed him like a vise. Never in his fairly vast sexual experience had he felt like this. He was milked, drained, thoroughly wrung out to dry. Every cell in his body was vibrating with earth-shaking, mind-blowing lust.

Walking to the bath, he flipped on the light and stared at himself in the mirror. “Hell, if I could meet that sweetheart in my dreams every time, I would go to a doctor and demand to be put into a permanent coma.” Letting his eyes drift shut, he remembered how she had went wild, taking control, pushing him back on the bed, straddling him, sucking on his nipples. God, she had nearly devoured him. And speaking of nipples, her breasts had been succulent, he had latched on to those hard little nubbins and sucked to his heart’s content. The sexiest thing was—the more he gave—the more she wanted.

Now, that was a woman. He hated to compare a dream girl to the real woman he had been dating. Unfortunately for Jessica, she fell far short of the hot little angel who loved him so hard in his dream. Her voice had been husky and wanton, and she had the sexiest braid of long thick hair that he had used to anchor her in place as he had drilled into her with gusto. The scary part of this whole thing was that sex for him might never be the same—now that he had had the best—how was he ever going to settle for less?

Even hours later, Eric McAllister was still restless. After cleaning himself up and changing the bed linens—he finally admitted to himself there was something missing from his life. It was haunting him; an aching, yawning void that left his soul yearning for…for…for what he didn’t exactly know.

Not being able to sleep, he climbed from his bed and walked to the window. Looking out over the Austin skyline, he tried to pinpoint his dissatisfaction. To anyone observing his life, he had it all. He had a good job as a firefighter for the Austin Fire Department and was next in line for a promotion. He had been honored by the city for bravery beyond the call of duty, not once but twice. A diploma hung on his wall from his beloved University of Texas, and when he grew tired of battling blazes, he could delve into any number of careers with his degree in Psychology.

His love life was satisfactory, for the most part. Of course after tonight, the bar had been raised to an unbelievable height. Who would have thought his own subconscious could produce such unbelievable ecstasy? Or was there more to it than that?

For years, Eric had prided himself in being firmly grounded in reality. ‘What you see is what you get.’ He was a student of the ‘if you can’t see it, touch it, taste it, or smell it, then you can’t prove it by me’ mentality. In some ways, he had even rejected his father’s super spiritual mind-set. Eric only wanted to deal in the absolutes of life. However this dream he had, uh—enjoyed, last night—this dream was pushing the boundaries for him. He wanted his nighttime ecstasy to be more than a dream—he needed this to be more than a dream. In fact from now on, Eric knew he would look for this girl. His eyes would scan every crowd, every car he passed on the freeway, every woman he passed on the street. It might not make logical sense, but it was the way it was going to be. The tiny taste of paradise he had enjoyed last night in her arms only made his appetite ravenous for more.

Settling down hadn’t been high on his agenda; he made a practice of keeping it light. The woman he was currently seeing was absolutely gorgeous. She inspired more jealousy and envy among the men he worked with than Angelina Jolie would have, but even with that something was missing. Yea, and now what was missing had a face—and breasts, and legs and the hottest, sweetest little pussy in the universe. Shit!

Eric loved sex. He loved everything about sex, and like any typical, healthy twenty-eight year old male, he couldn’t get enough. Despite Jessica’s looks, she merely tolerated their physical relationship. Although this was beginning to get old, Jessica’s coldness wasn’t the root of his problem. Eric wanted more.

More. More. To be honest, he wanted laughter and companionship. He wanted passion, the kind of desire that one bout of good sex couldn’t satisfy. Eric wanted to be the center of someone’s universe; he wanted a woman to look at him as if he hung the moon. He wanted to be pursued, seduced, cherished and pleasured. “You don’t want much, do you?” Eric laughed at himself—here he was, standing in the nude, looking out at the velvety night, his cock getting hard for the nameless woman of his dreams. Bottom line—Mr. No Nonsense Eric McAllister was looking for a little magic in his life.



Tory has one magical night to learn what love is all about.

Night after lonely night, she tosses in her solitary bed, longing to touch and be touched, to experience desire and rapture. Her body aches to know fulfillment, to be taken and possessed by a man—but only one man will do.

Raylan West is the man of her dreams, and Tory Summers would give everything she owns for a chance with him. But it isn’t going to happen—a man like him is not for her. Unless…Tory finds a way.

 Deep in the bayous of South Louisiana there are secrets, magical secrets. Hoodoo. Witchcraft. Will-o’-the-wisp floating over dark waters, lit by unearthly light. 

Desperate for a chance, Tory places her faith in the supernatural. She travels deep into the swamp to acquire a love potion promised to bring Raylan under her spell for one night, one perfect moonlit Halloween night where anything is possible. For a few precious hours, Tory will be beautiful, desirable, and sexy in Raylan’s eyes.

The only problem is…Tory wants the magic to last forever. 






“Tory, I need coffee.” Raylan announced as he came through the door, locking it. He walked to her desk, took her by the arm, and pulled Tory to her feet. “After I have you…”

Relief that he was safe swept over her body. “I’m so glad you’re back. I was worried.”

“Show me how glad you are,” he growled as he ran his fingertips underneath her shirt, pushing it up and over her head.

“Give me your hand, Sheriff.” He allowed her to guide his fingers between her legs. Even through the material she knew he could feel her heat. “See how much I missed you?”

Raylan took advantage of where she placed his hand and cupped her, massaging the soft place between her thighs, causing Tory to cling to his shoulders and go up on her tiptoes, wanting more.

“Have you been a good girl while I was gone?”

“No, Sheriff,” she drawled. “I’ve been a bad girl. I’m behind on my typing and filing because all I can do is fantasize about you.”

“Consider yourself under interrogation. What kind of fantasies?” While he spoke to her, Raylan was busy kissing her neck and backing Tory from her desk toward the jail cell wall.

“I feel so guilty.” She panted. “I’ve been plotting to get you into some…compromising positions. On top of me, under me, behind me…in me.”

Sheriff Raylan West chuckled. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you into custody.” He pushed her till her back was against the enclosure, then he lifted her hands above her head and fastened a pair of cuffs around her wrists, attaching them to the bars.

“Yea,” she moaned as he pulled her bra down and cupped her tits, squeezing them, lapping at her breast. “Oh, that’s good. I think you should…” She stopped talking because she couldn’t think while he was sucking her nipples.

“What should I do to you?”

“I think you should f-frisk me.”

He pushed aside her panties. “What is this I feel?”

“That’s my fleur,” she purred. “I had it trimmed especially with you in mind. You love the Saints, and I love you.”

“Damn.” He traced the design with his finger.    

Tory licked her lips. “I’m at your mercy, Raylan,” she whispered in his ear. “I think I’ve committed a penile offence.”

“Oh, really?” Raylan laughed.

“How about a full body search?” She suggested breathlessly.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Their lips crashed together, tongues tangling, gasping for breath. He pulled down her panties and tugged them off, tossing them to one side. “Spread ‘em, sweetheart.”

Tory cooperated fully. Freeing his cock, Raylan placed a hand under each knee and lifted her, impaling Tory in one full, fluid thrust of his hips. “Yes, Raylan!” she cried as he began hammering into her soft, wet pussy.

“Harder, harder.” She panted, wrapping her legs around his waist.


Tory blinked, her daydream suddenly brought to a halt.

“Tory, I need coffee.” Raylan stalked into the front office, slamming the door. Tory didn’t jump, she was used to his grand entrances.

Pushing aside her sexy fantasy, she brought herself back to the boring reality. “You need more than coffee, just sit down and I’ll bring you something.” As she brewed him a cup dark enough to be espresso, Tory warmed a beignet in the microwave and let out a long sigh of relief. He was back. He was safe. She could breathe again. “How did it go?”

“Rance Bertrand is crazy. How do you think it went?” Raylan sighed, sitting down at his desk. He propped his feet up on the top drawer, which was open just enough to accommodate his size 12 alligator skin boots.

She sat the coffee and pastry on his desk in front of him. “Here, it’s hot. Be careful.”


Tory returned to her chair and watched Raylan gingerly bite the beignet so the steam wouldn’t burn his mouth. “I’m just glad he didn’t shoot you. The man lives so deep in the swamp, he thinks the long arm of the law doesn’t reach that far.” She tried not to let fear for his safety reflect in her eyes. Hiding the fact that she was in love with Raylan West was a full time job.

“He knows something, Tory. Getting him to talk to me will be the hard part. He’s seen something, but all I got out of him today was tales of the rougarou and swamp lights.”

“My dad always said the Atchafalaya was a place of secrets.” Tory’s family had lived in Bella for four generations. Her dad had worked for the county, building roads. “He always said that all those folks traveling from Houston to New Orleans passing over our eighteen mile bridge across the basin have no idea that below them is two thousand square miles of swamp that time forgot.”

“I’ve lived here all of my life and I’ve seen a lot of strange things. This is a beautiful land of bald cypress and spreading water oaks. Why, I’ve seen snakes as big around as my arm and alligators fifteen foot long. There’s a prehistoric feeling in the swamp, like you’re stepping back in time.” Washing the rest of the beignet down with a sip of coffee, he stood and walked to the window. “Unfortunately, the giant reptiles aren’t the most dangerous thing in the Atchafalaya anymore.”

“Like Gar Arceneaux and his boys?” Tory asked without blinking an eye.   She’d heard rumors of meth labs and drug deals. “You can hide a lot of evil in a marsh this big.”

Raylan moved quickly, gracefully, like a big lion. One moment he was at the window, the next he was leaning over her desk. “A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t even know people like Gar Arceneaux exist. You should be spending your time thinking about what dress you’re gonna wear to the fais do-do, not contemplating the actions of dangerous thugs.”



This is a link to our test radio show – Debbie is interviewing me and there’s some good stuff, some funny stuff and some pretty scary accents going on there –


Thank you so much!



About sablehunter

Sable Hunter writes erotic romance. She writes what she likes to read and enjoys putting her fantasies on paper. Her stories are emotional reads where the heroine is faced with challenges, like one of her favorite songs – she’s holding out for a hero – and boy, can she deliver a hero. Her aim is to write a story that will make you laugh, cry and sweat. If she can wring those emotions out of a reader, then she has done her job. She grew up in south Louisiana along the mysterious bayous where the Spanish moss hangs thickly over the dark waters. The culture of Louisiana has shaped her outlook on life and made its way into her novels where the supernatural is entirely normal. Presently, Sable lives in Texas and spends most of her time in wild and wonderful Austin. She is passionate about animals and has been known to charm creatures from a one ton bull to a family of racoons. For fun, Sable has been known to haunt cemeteries and battlefields armed with night-vision cameras and digital recorders hunting proof that love survives beyond the grave.She writes for Secret Cravings Publishing as well as publishes much of her own work. Join her in her world of magic, alpha heroes, sexy cowboys and hot, steamy, to-die-for sex. Step into the shoes of her heroines and escape to places where dreams can come true and orgasms only come in multiples.
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  1. wyndwhisper says:

    Hi Sable,
    sounds like the spooky part of the weekend was the being alone without your computer! LOL!
    i understand that, my computer is so old it quits when there is even a suggestion of a storm coming(i live in Oregon)! 🙂 i wish that i could attend the show but i have plans with family that night. i can say that i have read ,repeatedly, Wishing Moon and Sweet Evangeline, along with most of your other wonderful books and i am looking forward to reading the new one”Love’s Magic Spell”. Hopefully on Halloween while i am passing out all the junk food to the kiddies. 🙂

    can you tell us anything about the new one you started plotting while you were trapped with yourself sans technology?

    Tammy Ramey

    • sablehunter says:

      Hey, Tammy! Yes, I am in the process of lengthening BREATH OF HEAVEN, the one about the King Family of El Camino – Cade and Abby Grace’s story and I plotted its sequel Honor and Justice, I think will be the title – maybe Seeking Justice or some other Justice – haha. This is Abby’s older brother – he is going to be coerced into running for mayor of a tiny town against a woman he knows used to have a huge crush on him – a woman who was his childhood friend. She is the town’s doctor and the situation is awkward, funny, heartbreaking and gets complicated fast. I’m still working it out but I think its going to be good.

  2. Clare O'Beara says:

    Quite a variety there!

    Having no net access or power would be no problem for me, because I would walk and observe nature or I would read. I’m sure you brought a book or a Kindle!

  3. suzlyne says:

    No matter how hard it is sometimes you just need that downtime. Just remember how much you actually accomplished while unplugged the next time you start feeling guilty. Plus we benefit from your downtime with the stories you come up with!

  4. Shirley Long says:

    Wish you had contacted me while you were in East Texas. I could have hooked you up with internet, phone, etc. But you know, it was probably really good for you to have the downtime. Means more fantastic books for us out here in reader land. Be safe & have a HAPPY HALLOWEEN,

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