Like to let my readers know when I have a great review.
From Night Owl erotica
Genre: Spicy Romance
Reviewed by: Tigger9
Banished Witch was a great read. I loved the characters and felt for them through the struggles that they were trying to overcome. Danella and Omar know that they are soul mates but Danella is in denial because of what she has gone through and been forced to do in the last ten years. Omar struggles to get through the walls that are guarding her heart and keeping him out. Omar just wants to be with Danella and wants her to be happy.
Read the rest at
Friday, July 9, 2010
By Lisabet Sarai
Eternal Press 2008
Ruby Maxwell Chen, the beautiful and ruthless CEO of a huge British business empire, is used to getting her way. When she encounters American entrepreneur Rick Martell, though, she wonders if she hasn't finally met her match. From the trendy clubs of London to the Hollywood Hills, Ruby and Rick compete for ownership of a strategic factory in Malaysia. Neither has any qualms about using sexual wiles to smooth the path to success. Neither anticipates that their mutual attraction will turn into something more intense and difficult to control.
I hear the door open, open, but for half a minute, I do not look up from the papers on my desk. Let him understand that he is not my most important business.
When I finally do raise my head, it takes every shred of my self-control not to betray my shock. It is him, my arrogant seducer from last night. His hair is neatly combed, true, he is wearing an armani suit and there is a flash of gold at his cuffs, but there is no mistaking that pirate mustache or those intelligent, audacious eyes.
Once again, I sense the sexual force that emanates from him. I will not succumb this time. I will not even acknowledge our previous meeting.
I summon every ounce of power and pride. Rising from my chair, I offer him my hand. “Mr. Martell? I am Ruby Maxwell Chen.”
My skin must be cold, for his feels burning hot. I release him as quickly as politeness allows. “Please sit down.” My voice is cool, even, neutral. Even I am amazed, and I see grudging admiration in Martell’s eyes.
“Thank you for making time to see me, Ms. Chen.” He has decided to participate in the charade. Good, that should make things easier.
“If you had not contacted me, I would have sought a meeting with you. I understand that we have some common interests.”
Am I deliberately baiting him? He wonders, and so do I.
“Quite so,” He says seriously, “And I believe that we can resolve the situation to our mutual benefit.”
I make my face a mask. “Please proceed.”
“I need that fabrication plant in Malaysia. Etymologics needs it.” His eyes flash. “We have several designs nearing completion, and we cannot risk manufacturing them in the states.”
“Risk?” I ask, caught up in his intensity.
“Industrial espionage,” he says. “In the U.S. we could not afford our own fab plant; we would have to contract as a third party. It would be all too easy for our competitors to steal our designs. We have applied for several patents, but as you know, that takes a long time, and provides only the smallest measure of security.
“Malaysia, Baktar’S Plant, is perfect for our needs. A foundry that we can own and control. And I know the country, know the people and how things work.
“So I gather. You grew up there, did you not? In fact, your mother is Malay, I believe.”
Martell grins. “You've done your research, Ms. Chen. Yes, Malaysia is my second home.”
He does not say anymore, but somehow I know that he is aware of my background as well, my part-British, part-Asian heritage. What a strange coincidence, that we should have such a similar history.
“I gather that you have persuaded Mr. Baktar that your company would serve his interests better than the Maxwell Companies as proprietors of his chip foundry. Presumably, by offering him a higher price.”
Martell does not speak, but I read assent on his face.
“And if the Maxwell Companies should meet or exceed your offer, what then?" I lean forward to make my point. “We are a far larger enterprise than your Etymologics, Mr. Martell. We have deep pockets.”
Martell grins, most incongruous given the tension in the air. “I am aware of the size and power of your company, Ms. Chen. However, you may not be aware that Ahmed Nasruddin Baktar is a distant cousin on my mother's side. There are ties of blood to consider.”
And favors, and counter-favors, I think bitterly. Martell is animated and relaxed. He seems not the least cowed by me, though he continues his respectful form of address. From half a room away, I feel the force of his presence, willing me to melt, to accede to his desires.
I struggle to take control of the conversation, and my own unruly reactions to his damned physicality. “You spoke of mutual benefits, Mr. Martell. Do you have a specific proposal to present?”
“Yes, I do.” He suddenly seems almost boyish in his eagerness. “Rather than being adversaries, let us become partners..”
I raise one skeptical eyebrow, but say nothing.
“I propose that we—Etymologics and the Maxwell Companies—invest jointly in Baktar’s Plant. Fifty-fifty, at the price that you last quoted him. In return, Etymologics will have first claim on the Foundry’s capacity, for our own designs. Meanwhile, your company will book and mangae contracts for third-party fabrication projects to utilize the excess capacity.”
“In which company would the title be vested?”
“Etymologics would be the official owner. We need to have final control in order to securely advance our technologies. But we will not require more than twenty-five percent of the plant’s capacity, at a maximum, while the Maxwell Companies will keep eight-five percent of the revenues from all outside projects.”
I do not like the way that this is going. He is too glib. Before I can object, though, he has pulled a slim notebook computer from his briefcase and is beside me, setting it up on my desk.
“Just take a look at these figures, Ruby. You’ll make millions.” He stands disturbingly close as he fiddles with the touch pad, booting the machine. I catch a whiff of his evergreen cologne. Despite my resolve, my knees turn weak. I am assaulted by an all-too-real image of his tumescent cock, swaying in front of my face, and the remembered sensation of the probing whip handle.
He is logging in, eager to show me his analysis. My eyes follow his fingers; I cannot help it. B-A-R-R-A-C-U-D-A. I suppress the urge to laugh at the way his password mirrors his self-perception. As he brings up his spreadsheet, I scrutinize his face. Did he deliberately reveal his password? Or was this a careless slip on his part? He seems unaware of any lapse as he points excitedly at the screen. I file the information away for possible future use.
“You see, Ruby. Based on these projections, your company would clear three million pounds annually, even if Etymologics projects consume the maximum anticipated capacity. Given ramp-up time, I would expect that our utilization will be significantly lower than maximum, especially during the first two years, leaving you with even higher profits.”
“This assumes that the current boom in chip fabrication outsourcing continues, however. May I?” I reach forward without his permission and start typing over the values in some of his spreadsheet cells. “What if the market softens? What if there is another Asian economic crisis, as some analysts are predicting? In that case, not only would I not profit, I would lose money on my investment.” I point to the final column of numbers, which revises itself in response to my changed parameters.
“Meanwhile,” I say, looking him straight in the eye, “Etymologics gets guaranteed production facilities at a discount rate.” Martell holds my gaze, hint of a smile half-hidden by his mustache. “It seems that I am taking all the risk, whereas you get a certified benefit.”
“Quite correct, Ruby.” Some part of me notes his annoying shift to familiar address. “However, the likely returns on your investment if current conditions hold are nothing short of phenomenal.” He looks at me thoughtfully. “As you know, the Maxwell Companies did not grow to their present impressive size without taking some risks.”
He is right, of course, and his basic analysis appears sound. Somehow, though, I don’t trust this man, with his flashy suit, his easy-going American manner and his loose-limbed body that oozes sexuality with every move. He knew that I would be at Proscenium last night, clearly, targeted me and humbled me, just to obtain an advantage in the present negotiations. Was this someone that I wanted as a business partner?
“No, Mr. Martell,” I say finally, trying to put steel in my eyes and in my voice. “Maxwell Companies must own and control the foundry in Cyberjaya. I would be willing to consider providing discounted rates or preferential booking for Etymologics, in return for some investment from you. However, that plant is to be the anchor for Maxwell’s expansion into Asia. I cannot relinquish it to someone else.”
Martell says nothing. For long minutes, we simply look at each other, at an impasse, while the heat rises. He cannot quite believe that I have refused. I try to imagine seducing him as I did my Mr. Dalton, using my body to bend him to my will. I fail utterly.
Thanks Lisabet for stopping by,
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
J.E and I were talking about our characters one day and we decided it might be fun if the two met. Here is what happens when DARK RECKONING meets BANISHED WITCH (for Part 2 please jump over to http://www.jetaylor75.com)
"Damn rain," Steve Williams mumbled as he snapped the wet map in his hand and closed the tavern door behind him. Strolling to the bar, his eyes scanned the dark recesses landing on the stocky bartender. He slid onto one of several empty barstools. "I think I took a wrong turn, can you tell me where I am?"
The bartender continued to dry the beer mug in his grasp, his eyes flicking between Steve and someone just beyond him.
Steve glanced in the direction of the bartender’s stare and did a double take. A sexy blonde took the seat next to him, giving him a full view of her breasts with the sultry motion. She leaned forward and his breath caught in his throat, her ample cleavage teasing him and drawing a quick flick of his tongue over his lips while he dragged his gaze to her smoky blue eyes.
He smiled and shrugged. “I really should know the way to Brooksfield by now, but I must have zoned out and taken a wrong turn somewhere. I don’t ever remember seeing this tavern on Route 4 before.” He turned, studying the rustic pine flooring and basic wagon wheel tables, all of which reminded him of an ancient tavern as opposed to a modern day pub. For an instant, he thought he walked into the early eighteen hundreds and he focused back on the woman next to him.
Her secret smile sent a shiver down his spine, breaking his skin into hard nubs of gooseflesh and shaking a sliver of illogical fear into his mouth. He forced the tinny taste down his throat and nodded to the bartender. “Corona please?”
The bartender’s hands stopped leaving the rag hanging out of the pristine mugs mouth like a dog’s tongue on a hot summer day. “Corona?” His eyebrows scrunched together.
Steve did a quick sweep of the bar, noting the absence of beer bottles lining the back counter, like so many of the establishments did these days to advertise their stock . Even the number of hard liquor choices was sparse and none of the bottles carried labels. This place was obviously a throwback to some earlier time so maybe they didn’t serve bottled beer here. The one draft tap seemed ancient and worn and he pointed his chin in that direction. “What do you have on draft?”
The dust hanging in the air along with an uneasy twinge dried all the spit from his mouth and Steve suppressed a sarcastic comeback and nodded. “I’ll have a beer please.”
With a leery glance in the woman’s direction, the bartender pulled the rag out of the shimmering mug and filled it, the foam mounting and cascading over the edges as he set it on the counter before Steve without a word.
The bartender shuffled to the far end of the bar, busying himself with the other patrons and Steve raised his eyebrows at the sliver of dark amber liquid capped with a frothing head.
“I can fix that for you,” she said and stuck her index finger in the foam before he could protest.
He watched, transfixed as she stirred her hand in languid circles. The foam first clung to her delicate skin then receding to a thin layer before she pulled her hand away from the settling beer. Instead of licking her finger, she wiped it on the cocktail napkin and leaned back in her seat, studying him.
“Thanks,” he shifted under her inquisitive stare and glanced at his watch. He told Jack he’d be in Brooksfield in an hour and according to his watch; he was going to miss that meeting. Shit, Jack wasn’t going to be very happy with him. Not happy at all. Under normal circumstances, he would have gladly ignored his orders and spent more time getting to know the beauty next to him, but this time he couldn’t. A missing child’s life hung in the balance and finding her was more important than satisfying his over active libido. “What’s your name?”
He took a quick swig of the beer, drowning the metallic lining in his mouth and replacing it with a bitter undercurrent. He looked at the beer in his hand and then at her sparkling blue eyes, cocking his head at the unfamiliar taste. Setting the glass down, he unfolded the map. “Well Danni, can you show me where we are so I can get back on the road?”
The map fizzled out of focus and he blinked it back just in time for her hand to cover his, her sparkling red nails shining under the increasing light.
Thanks J.E.Taylor for dreaming up a met between our two characters - Steve and Danni. It was fun.
Now Everyone Check out Dark Reckoning:
A sadistic killer stalks the secluded college town of Brooksfield , New Hampshire . With bodies piling up and rumors of the murders being part of sacrificial hazing rituals, the FBI plants Special Agent Steve Williams in a fraternity at Brooksfield University . His investigation takes a ninety degree turn into the bizarre when he’s introduced to Jennifer, a clairvoyant co-ed who swears the killer isn’t human.
Steve considers the plausibility of the extraordinary, the unspeakable, even the inconceivable when his notebook starts bleeding cryptic messages. Messages that indicate Jennifer is at the heart of the darkness in Brooksfield.
When she describes her latest vision, a trail of violent deaths, including his, Steve asks the million-dollar question: Is Jennifer trying to help . . . or is she actually the one responsible?
Find more about J.E.
and purchase her book at http://fidopublishing.com/store/catalog
Monday, July 5, 2010
Got Erotic Romance Reviews has posted a review for Banished Witch by Anita Philmar.
Rating: 4 Diamonds
Heat Level: Erotic
Other: Explicit language, anal sex, ménage, light bondage
Reviewer: S. K. Fero
You can read the review here:
Here is a little of what they have to say
This is a second chance at love story with a paranormal twist involving a witch and shape-shifters. The characters were fairly well done and their emotions tugged at the reader’s heart. The obstacles they face are difficult, but with determination conquerable.
Check it out,