Writing as Kaye Spencer:
The Dance (contemporary erotic rodeo cowboy)
Out of patience and out of time, Janae Palmer slammed her hands on her keyboard, sending the delete key skittering across the floor. She rarely heard her upstairs neighbor, but fifteen minutes ago, he’d cranked his music past noise ordinance regulations and it wasn’t letting up. With Mr. Cowboy Way literally dancing on her ceiling, it was impossible to finish her book review.
Owen Quinlan was a good‐looking guy in an earthy, tight‐fitting jeans, redneck sort of way—six‐foot something with jet‐black, wavy hair and sky blue, let’s‐get‐naked eyes. Since she’d moved into this small apartment complex a month ago, fantasizing about him had increasingly interfered with her productivity and every time they’d met on the stairs or in the gym, she’d hurried on with only a mumbled hello for fear he’d read the lust in her eyes if she actually talked to him.
Their only real conversation had occurred last week when they’d picked up their mail at the same time. He was clad only in wet swim trunks with a towel draped over his shoulders, and she’d not meant to stare, but he was raw, male sex personified.
Get Branded (contemporary erotic cowboy-turned-model)
"And now the moment you’ve all been waiting for. One lucky woman is seconds away from the dream date of her life—dinner and dancing with romance cover model, Declan Brand!" The emcee waited until the cheering and screaming subsided before continuing. "Drum roll, please."
The spotlight honed in on the karaoke stage and the twirling ticket tumbler. Five hundred Hawaiian Islands of Romance conference attendees held their collective breath. Declan Brand, the hottest, most drop-dead exquisite hunk of a male cover model to come along since that blond-tressed eighties icon of bodice-ripper fame, stood poised and ready to draw the highly coveted grand prize. Sisterhood was nonexistent in the crowd. It was every woman, plus her erotic fantasies, for herself. There wasn’t a set of dry panties in the audience.
Not so for Christy Walken.
Gambling with Love (western erotic)
“I’m sorry, sir, there are no vacancies.”
Nick Foster ignored the desk clerk. He was staring at the poker game in the adjoining room. Seeing Lainie again was like taking a right hook to the gut. It took the wind right out of him. He’d been on her trail for three months, and given how elusive she’d been, catching up with her tonight surprised him. She didn’t often play penny ante places. The snowstorm must have stranded her.
Two months ago, she’d been running a faro table in Tombstone, then moved on to San Francisco. He’d missed her in both towns by mere days. Following a lead to Dodge City, the deputy had told him he’d noticed her talking to an older woman with a small child who had already been in town for a couple of days when Lainie had passed through. The woman and child had boarded an eastbound train alone. The general thought had been that from Dodge, Lainie was headed for Denver by way of Cheyenne.
The Comanchero's Bride (western hot sensual – a previously published novella expanded to full novel for indie-publishing in 2013 – offered as free read on my website in chapter-by-chapter format – Chapters 1–11 are available to read now)
"Comancheros."
The whispered word raced like wildfire through the uneasy crowd. Music and dancing dwindled to nothing as everyone stared at the group of men newly arrived at the Mexican Día de la Independencia celebration. From the far side of the plaza, Elizabeth Bradford White watched the swarthy, flamboyant man standing in the midst of the strangers. Of his compañeros, he alone appeared comfortable as the focus of attention, yet his bearing dared anyone to challenge his presence.
Elizabeth noticed every tilt of his head, every movement of his lean, sinewy body. He turned his gaze upon her, capturing her in unguarded scrutiny. Her breath caught at sensing the aura of raw, elemental masculinity radiating from him, and she found it impossible to look away. A warm flush coursed through her veins, urging her with a primeval force to be near him. The man nodded slightly as if reassuring her to follow her instincts.
Writing as A.L. Debran
Lonely Places (western hot sensual)
Wrapped in a worn and soiled wool blanket, she rode steadily into the night. She trusted the sorrel gelding to take her away from Greeley and into the obscurity of the vast eastern Colorado plains. The roan packhorse followed doggedly in their wake.
Fading in and out of twilight consciousness with pain and boneweary exhaustion, thoughts of the Man troubled her foggy mind. Is he dead? Is he still coming? Why didn’t I make sure he was dead when I had the chance? I shot him with his own pistol. Surely, he’s dead.
The cool night breeze ceased with the welcome daylight warmth that touched her face. Realizing the gentle sway of her ride had ceased, she opened her eyes to discover the horses standing at the edge of a river, drinking deeply. With a twinge of guilt, she knew she’d pushed the horses too hard. But getting as far away from the Man as fast as possible had been her first priority.
Gunslingers & Ghostriders (western hot sensual)
Brenna Gérard rode her buckskin gelding east, toward Trinchera Creek where it flowed off the north slope of Johnson Mesa. A series of late June cloud bursts up on the mesa had sent a torrent of flash flood waters rushing down from Trinchera Pass and the water spilled out across the thirsty Colorado plains toward the Purgatoire River.
She shifted her weight in the saddle, trying to find a more comfortable position. Her shoulders ached and her head hurt. It had been a long, hard week of laying rock foot paths between the buildings in the ranch yard, but it was progressing and she was proud of her work so far.
When she’d tamped down the last rock for the day and sifted sand between the cracks, the only things on her mind had been supper, bath, and bed. She glanced at the sky. Weird swirling clouds and the threat of another thunderstorm loomed close. She breathed in the sweet dusky aroma of imminent rain while, out of habit, constantly surveying the soap weeds, cholla, and scrub cedars for rattlesnakes lying in wait for victims.
The Vampire Oracle, Life (contemporary erotic cowboy)
Jaxon Granger crammed his cowboy hat on his head as he bolted out the front door with his shirt tail flapping. He alternately hopped on each foot as he stomped into his boots then raced across the yard. His heart pounded from coming out of a dead sleep to the sound of the emergency buzzer.
Bursting through the side door of the indoor exercise arena, he vaulted the metal corral panels then walked calmly across the dirt floor to the injured horse. His younger brother, Steve, held the thoroughbred stallion by a halter and lead rope as their foreman, Mac Hartley, kept pressure above the horse’s wound to stem the bleeding.
Jax talked in a low tone and patted the stallion’s rump as he rubbed his hand along the big bay’s back, slowly working his way forward. Blood oozed from a horizontal gash across the stud’s meaty chest, and another slash went up his shoulder. The horse danced around and tossed his head, unwilling to stand still.
*****
Kaye Spencer's Amazon Author Central Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004C6QR64
A.L. Debran's Amazon Author Central Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004C6SKB4
Kaye's Book Trailers - YouTube Channel: http://www.youtube.com/user/kayespencer
Until next time,
Kaye
fall in love…harder, faster, deeper with Kaye Spencer romances
http://www.kayespencer.com
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