|
|
|||||||||
|
|
The 7th Chrissy McMullen adventure. Ebooks Now Available At: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/117764 http://www.amazon.com/Uncorked-Chrissy-McMullen-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B006QXOAB0/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1327803558&sr=8-1 Print Copies At: http://www.amazon.com/Uncorked-Chrissy-McMullen-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B006QXOAB0/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1327803558&sr=8-1 -----------------------
Highland Jewel is back and available now at:
------------- Beloved Beast Historical Romance short story
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/beloved-beast-lois-greiman/1107873935?ean=2940032880110&itm=1&usri=beloved+beast+lois+greiman http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=beloved+beast+ebook+lois&x=17&y=18 An Accidental Seduction
On Sale Now! -------------
NOT ONE CLUE
“Snappy dialogue
and fast-paced action result in a comically compelling tale. Her
budding romance is hot and sassy.” Romantic Times
In book stores April 27th, 2010!!
Read first chapter below. ___________
Not One Clue by lois greiman
Give me ice cream or give me death. Chrissy McMullen, during an ongoing bout of teenage angst
Chapter 1 I had just drifted into the feathery nest of Sleepdom when the phone rang. Cracking one aggravated eye, I glared at my bedside clock. Eleven seventeen. Okay, eleven seventeen may not exactly be the wee hours of the morning, but I have a deep and abiding affection for sleep and tend to get somewhat miffed when I and my beloved, namely the sweet respite of slumber, are separated. I happen to consider REM to be the next best thing to chocolate which is the next best thing to…dammit…I couldn’t remember anything that beat the cocoa bean for sheer unadulterated bliss, and that wasn’t a good sign. I was pretty sure there had once been something rather titillating. The phone blasted my eardrums a second time. I gave it a jaundiced glare, but it remained unrepressed and rang again. Cheeky bastard. Snaking an arm across Harlequin, the dog that disguises himself as a hundred pound door stop, I hauled the receiver from its cradle, dragged it into my lair and rumbled an impolite salutation. There was a moment of silence followed by, “Jesus, McMullen…” Rivera’s smoky voice sizzled through my system like cheap wine. Believe me when I say I am familiar with the sordid effects of cheap wine. Not only was I once a teenager, I was also a college student. And let me say for the good of the student and the universe at large, the two should not be allowed to exist simultaneously in one hormonally charged body. “Did your larynx have a run-in with a sander or are you just on a bender?” Meet Lieutenant Jack Rivera, L.A.P.D. down to his cotton boxers. He and I go back a ways. When Bomber Bomstad, client and ex-football star, dropped deader than kibble on my overpriced Berber, Rivera was the first on the scene. Irritating, smart-mouthed, and preposterously hot, he’s as tempting as truffles. He is also equally restricted, because although a little dark chocolate may boost your serotonin levels, a steady diet is likely to be fatal. And I had no intention of suffering death by Rivera. On the other hand, I had no qualms about a little Latin appetizer. I turned on my side, letting the cord drape over Harley’s bi-colored ear. He ignored it as if it were the ‘sit’ command. “Maybe this is how I sound when I’m satisfied, Lieutenant.” My voice was sexy-low and husky. “Like you need a defibrillator?” I grinned a little. After all, he couldn’t see me, so it was okay to admit that sometimes I kind of appreciate his smart-ass wit. “You a doctor, now, Rivera?” “If that’s what floats your boat.” I could hear the sigh in his voice as he started to unwind. Maybe a cop’s day can be as stressful as a shrink’s, which just happens to be my calling. “In your dreams,” I said, but the dreams were more likely to be mine. I’d had enough fantasies about Rivera to fill an erotic miniseries. “You’re usually Catwoman in my dreams.” “Catwoman.” My stomach tightened a little at the thought that I might occupy his late night imaginings “Crime fighter with a tail.” “You’re one sick bastard,” I said and he laughed. There was something about the sound of it that did naughty things to my otherwise saintly equilibrium. “Maybe you could play the doctor this time.” His voice rumbled through me, but I fought off the effects. After all, I was no longer a pubescent tuba-player. In fact, I had worked like an illegal immigrant to become a card-carrying psychologist. Even harder to become immune to the kind of low-level charm Rivera exudes like rush hour exhaust fumes. “Did you have a reason for calling?” I asked. “This is it,” he said. “Sexual harassment?” I could hear the shrug in his tone. “I won’t call the cops if you don’t.” I snorted a laugh. Sometimes when I’m really tired I tend to sound like a overwrought Guernsey and it was now… holy cow…eleven twenty-two. “So what do you think?” he asked. “About what?” “Sex.” The buzz that had begun in my overzealous endocrine system geared up to an insistent hum. “In general or—“ “Now.” My breath caught in my throat. “You’re not under my bed or something are you?” “Freaky,” he said. “But if that’s what trips your trigger, I’ll try to squeeze in.” “Big of you,” I said and refrained from dropping my head over the edge of the mattress to take a peek. “You’ve no idea,” he said. I refrained from rolling my eyes, mostly because, in actuality, I did have something of an idea. There had been a rather memorable episode involving an overdose of Niquil…and Rivera…in the shower. Holy crap cakes! The insistent hum of my hormones launched into a full fledged symphony. But I had been down this road before. “Listen, Rivera, as much fun as this is, I have to work tomorrow.” “I didn’t think it would take that long, but I’m willing to call in sick if you think it necessary.” “Are you drunk?” I asked. “That’s not the adjective I’d use.” “Adjective…” I rolled onto my back, warming to the conversation. “I’m impressed.” “They’ve been teaching us to read down at the station.” “Our taxes…” I said. “Hard at work.” “I’m willing to share what I’ve learned.” “Maybe you can send me a syllabus.” “I could deliver it in person.” “I said syllabus not syphilis.” He chuckled. I could hear his chair squeak as he leaned back, and imagined him stretching, lean body arched, cuffs rolled away from dark, well-muscled forearms, black hair teasing his button down collar. “You always this mean when you’re sleeping alone?” “Who said I’m alone?” “Me.” “Maybe you’re wrong.” “I’m willing to put money on it.” I considered swearing at him, but that was the old Chrissy. The new Chrissy was saving the ‘f’ word for major emergencies. And L.A. drivers. Low fat muffins. And Mondays. “Unless Elaine’s sleeping with you,” he said. “I’m not that desperate.” “Yes you are. But if she’s not doing her fiancé I think I can trust her with you.” I scowled. He had inadvertently touched on a raw nerve. Because Laney Brainy Butterfield, beauty personified, and my best friend since the fifth grade, was betrothed to a man I referred to in nothing but four letter words. The kindest of them was nerd. “So how you doing with that?” he asked, and I wondered in my sleep-deprived brain if that was why he had called in the first place. It didn’t take a genius…or a homo sapient…to know that I was patently unhappy about the impending nuptials. It wasn’t just because Elaine would forever belong to someone else. It was because she would belong to the geekiest guy on the planet. And that made my skin crawl. “Fine.” “Yeah?” “Of course.” Reaching out, I fiddled with the pad on Harlequin’s left hind. I’d learned early on that Great Danes did not necessarily make stupendous watch dogs. He was a gift from Rivera. As was my Mace, the cactus that guarded my yard, and the baseball bat I’d stuck in my hall closet. Rivera seems to have a penchant for things that can inflict pain. “I’m a grown woman.” I waited for his comeback but he was silent for a moment, then; “He’ll be good to her.” For a moment I couldn’t say anything. Elaine had been my pillar through every major catastrophe in my life: my first period, zits, and the devastating realization that most guys are like my brothers. That truth can still bring me to tears. But the thought of her wedding looming over me like a gawking gargoyle was almost more than I could bear. The only positive thing to come out of the impending ceremony was the fact that this would be the first time my bridesmaid gown wouldn’t look like a pink train wreck. “You know that don’t you?” Rivera asked. “That he’ll be good to her?” “Sure.” My voice sounded a little strange. I glanced up. The iron knob on the antique bed Laney had given me as a wedding gift gleamed dully. She’d said it had been found at a Hollywood estate sale. Upon examination, I had found the initials A.A.L. scratched the metal. With my luck it probably stood for the forerunner of Alcoholics Anonymous. “Besides, you can always kick his ass if he isn’t,” Rivera said. I refrained from sniffling. “It wasn’t his ass I was thinking of.” He was silent for a moment, then, “Jesus, McMullen, if you’re considering any part of Solberg’s anatomy, it might be too late for me to save you.” I was scowling at the ceiling. “But I’m willing to make the effort.” I laughed despite myself. “You’re a giver.” “Like a saint.” “God, I hope not,” I said and he chuckled. “Last chance,” he said. “Promise?” There was a momentary pause, then; “Not on your life,” he said and hung up. I did the same, shuffled the receiver into its cradle and smiled despite the fact that there was less than a month left until my best friend’s wedding. A month during which time she would be living with me. I had hoped we would have some time to spend alone together, but her schedule was pretty hairy. Not only was there the wedding from Elm Street to content with, there was also a considerable amount of hoopla involving the upcoming spin-off of Amazon Queen. Jungle Heat featured several of Laney’s co-actors and would premiere soon. Wesley Donovan, a relative newcomer to female fantasies, would play the male lead and create most of the hoped-for heat. All this meant that the geekster would not only be nearby, he could damned well be in my house. The idea made my skin crawl, but the phone rang again, pulling me from my morbid musings. I grinned through the darkness at it. There’s nothing like a trash-talking stalker to make a girl feel special. I picked up the receiver on the third ring. “Okay. But bring a condom,” I whispered, then squirmed a little and wondered how I was going to sneak him past Laney. “Hell,” I corrected. “Bring a box of ‘em. Do they still come in boxes? It’s been--” “He’s dead,” a voice hissed. I jerked upright in bed, heart crammed tight in my throat. “What? Who is this?” I rasped. But the dial tone was already buzzing in my ear. ___________ CHARMING THE DEVIL In book stores now! Or order online.
The third installment of the bewitching Witches of Mayfair trilogy A Romantic Times Top Pick! and a K.I.S.S. award winner! "Danger, deception, and enmity swirl around Faye and Bain as they struggle with love and trust issues in this complex, sometimes dark, and always suspenseful romance..." -- Kristin Ramsdell, Library Journal See below to read the prologue!
A young Gerard Butler Inspiration for Rogan MacBain, my current hero. ___________ CHARMING THE DEVIL
1813 London England
Prologue
Shaleena was naked. Absolutely exposed from the top of her fiery head to the tip of her ridiculously pointy toes. Not a bonnet. Not a stocking. Not a stitch. She must feel silly, Faye thought. Not to mention chilled. Summer had yet to visit the soggy streets of London and none had stirred a fire in the hearth an arm’s length to Faye’s left. The hearth which housed a secret compartment where one could hide if need be. A compartment where she rather longed to closet herself away even now so she could no longer see Shaleena’s demmed pointy… “And what of you, Mrs. Nettles?” Lord Gallo’s voice broke through Faye’s reverie with a jolt, though, in actualiry, she’d been watching him the whole while. Far better even to concentrate on the man in their midst than to stare agog at Shaleena’s oversized… “Do you still feel prepared to take on this mission?” Panic struck her like a bolt of lightning. Mission? There was a mission? What mission? Had she agreed… But yes. Of course she had, even though she was as mad as a wild hare. Or, perhaps, because of-- “Mrs. Nettles?” Gallo said again, and Faye focused with an effort, calming her mind before something went awry, lifting the delicate tea cup carefully from its saucer. It was hand-painted. Imported through the East India Trading Company. She took a refined sip. “Of course, my lord,” she said, pinky just so, not too stiff, not too limp. She was not, after all, a barbarian. Or so she had been told. “I shall learn who, if anyone, caused the death of Lord Brendier. All will be well.” There was a moment of silence before Madeline spoke. Some might have felt a bit of breathless anxiety in that silence. “You understand you’ll be expected to speak with…men.” Faye kept her grip light on the cup’s delicate handle for they had been known to snap off with the slightest provocation of late. “Of course,” she said and forced a genteel smile. “We’ve reason to believe a Mr. Rogan McBain may somehow be involved. It is said he visited Brendier some hours before the baron was found dead,” Madeline added. God help her. “Valuable information,” Faye said. Madeline’s lovely brow furrowed a little. “McBain is thought to be something of an intimidating character. He was a decorated lieutenant.” “Ahh.”
“And
there are rumors that he killed someone in a duel some years back. A
Mr. Winden, I believe.” Madeline’s scowl deepened. “So that’s acceptable to--” “Oh for Christ’s sake!” hissed Shaleena and jerked to her feet. Her bosoms bobbled as she pointed a finger at the fireplace. Flames popped like firecrackers on the nearby logs. Startled from her carefully varnished pretences, Faye jumped, nearly jerking out of her chair. Shaleena laughed. “I’m sorry, little witch, did I frighten you?” For a moment terror ran rampant in Faye’s soul, riding rough-shod over her senses, firing up ashy memories, but she forced herself to remain as she was, forced her lips to move, her grip to loosen. “Not at all. I’m simply--” “What?” Shaleena asked and laughed again. “Frightened out of your wits? I’m sorry if my little bit of magic startled you. But that’s what Les Chausettes do. That’s what all those who are gifted do,” she said and swept her hand sideways to encompass the handful of others who occupied Lavender House’s elegant parlor. “We freeze and concoct and enflame,” she said and lifting her arm again, made the fire burst dramatically upward. Faye felt her heart thunder in her chest, but when Madeline spoke, her tone evidenced no tension whatsoever. “Yes, that’s very nice, Shaleena. You may well equal Ella’s pyrotechnics if you continue in your studies, but we did not call this meeting to enjoy your fire show. Indeed, there was something else entirely we hoped--” “I will challenge your sister,” Shaleena hissed through clenched teeth, “to a match of powers anytime she wishes to humiliate herself and prove to everyone--” “We have hired a gardener,” interrupted Lord Gallo. All eyes turned to him. His tone, Faye noticed, was somehow bland but assertive all at once. “A gardener?” questioned Darla. She was not the oldest of the witches, yet her hair, hip-length and swaying with a life of its own, was as silver as mercury. “Do you think it wise to bring another into the fold? We have already welcomed the boy named Cur and--” “Cur!” Shaleena snapped and turned sharply away, red hair bouncing over fleshy buttocks. “Have there been troubles with the boy?” asked Gallo, skimming the faces of the women before him. “No,” Darla said. “He’s…impetuous at times.” “I’m rather fond of him,” Beatrice said. But Bea had an unearthly bond with the beasts of the field, so it made some sense. “He’s quite gifted,” said Heddy. She looked like nothing so much as someone’s grandmother. Few suspected the astounding physical strength she could conjure. “For a young male he is marvelously--” “Gifted! What can he do?” Shaleena stormed. “He has quite a talent for changing his voice.” “Voice. Any jackanapes in Cheapside could do as much,” she argued and grabbed a fistful of locks near her left breast. “He set my hair on fire.” There was a moment of stunned silence. “Well, I believe that answers your question, then,” Madeline said. “I don’t want him here,” Shaleena rasped. “His visits are sporadic at most,” Madeline said. “And as you said, this house is for the gifted. Surely you can accept--” “I cannot accept. Either he goes or--” “I would recommend caution,” Gallo said. His voice was almost inaudible, yet it seemed as distinct as sunrise. Shaleena turned to him with a snarl. “He can barely invoke the simplest of spells.” “Perhaps you’ve yet to learn all there is to know of our young friend.” “He is not my friend. Indeed, I am not entirely certain he’s human. There’s something…disturbing about him. What good is he to us?” “What good were you when first you came to us, Shaleena?” Gallo asked, and for the first time in her memory, Faye saw Shaleena falter, but she rallied quickly. “Even then my powers were clear. You said as much yourself.” “And I am saying the same of the boy. He’s searching for understanding. For a family of sorts that will--” “Family!” Shaleena spat and laughed. “What are you trying to tell us, Jasper? That he’s your newly discovered by-blow?” Perhaps Lord Gallo’s mouth pinched the slightest degree, but if he was angry, he showed no more signs than that. “I am saying some compassion might be in order. Most of you were well aware of the source of your powers long before you could control them. Is that not so?” “Grandmother’s abilities were far different than mine,” Beatrice said. “But she was clearly gifted.” Others nodded. Faye remained silent. Conjuring memories was a dangerous thing these days. “Cur was a foundling,” Madeline said. She and Lord Gallo had been wed less than two full years, but they worked well as a team. “He has no idea of his heritage. No way of knowing-” “Then he’s among the lucky few,” Shaleena said, “for family…” She stopped abruptly, teeth clenched. “What of family?” Madeline asked softly, but Shaleena raised her chin, defiant in the face of would-be compassion. “He’s had fair warning to stay clear of my path,” she said. “Very well then,” Gallo said and rising to his feet, touched his bride’s shoulder, his hand almost hidden from view, as if he had no wish to be thought affectionate, but could no longer bear the distance from her. “Then let us discuss the gardener.” “I only worry about exposing ourselves to too much scrutiny,” Darla said. “Thus far we have gotten on with a minimum of outside interference, and I would--” “I think it a fine idea,” Shaleena said and tossed her hair with vicious verve over her shoulder. “It will be pleasant having a true man about. He will do more than trim the hedges, won’t he?” she asked and raised one suggestive brow. “He seems capable of a good deal,” Gallo said dryly. He had long ago become adept at maneuvering the battlefields of conversation. “We have planned for him to care for the stables and to act as driver as well.” “Ahh, an accomplished man,” Shaleena said, preening as she glanced at Madeline. It had been abundantly clear for some time before the wedding that Shaleena had set her cap on Lord Gallo. Gallo’s burgeoning interest in the soft-spoken Madeline, however, had come as something of a surprise. “How refreshing.” “Can we trust him?” Darla asked. “We would not consider him otherwise,” Madeline said. “As I’m sure you’re aware, Jasper has a way of sensing these things.” Heddy scowled. “Are you saying this gardener is gifted?” Lord Gallo’s ability to ‘feel’ power was what had gained him the unenviable task of gathering the members of the cover, of guiding them, though he claimed no real powers of his own. “A small amount, perhaps,” Gallo said. “He seems to have the ability to change his appearance somewhat?” “How unusual,” Darla said, “that we would find two gifted males at once.” “It is indeed rare,” Gallo admitted. “Unprecedented here at Lavender House,” Ivy said. She was tall and willowy, with a round face and pretty eyes. “I don’t care if it’s unheard of in all of Christendom,” Shaleena said. “I am only interested in his…” She slanted her gaze toward Faye. “How shall I say this without making our little Faerie there swoon? Physical nature,” she said finally. “Tell me, Madeline, is this gardener handsome?” “I believe you may have met him in the past,” Gallo said. “Truly?” Shaleena sounded intrigued. “Well…I’ve nothing against old lovers so long as they know their--” “He calls himself Joseph. I believe he might be Hungarian. Or Rom. As you may remember, he was Madeline’s butler for the short while she lived apart from--” But Shaleena stopped him with a hiss. Faye turned to her in astonishment, for even from Shaleena, she had never heard such vehemence. “Is something amiss?” Gallo asked. “Why would you invite that foreigner here?” Shaleena’s violet eyes narrowed in her alabaster face. “Because he was brought to us,” Gallo said. “And he needs a place in the world.” “Find him another place.” “What have you against him?” Gallo asked. Shaleena shook her head, eyes wild. “There is something about him.” “Something…” “Dark. Evil.” Gallo’s usually implacable expression evidenced the slightest hint of curiosity. “What makes you think--” “Hah!” she crowed. “And you are supposed to be the one who knows these things. Who feels these things. The one chosen by the Committee to care for us.” Silence erupted in the room, but Lord Gallo had already recovered from his overt display of emotion. “Feel free to broach my regrettable shortcomings with the Committee if ever you feel there’s a need,” he said. She glared at him for a seeming eternity. “Keep him from my sight,” she hissed and turning, stormed from the room. Silence fell around them. “Well,” Madeline said finally. “Are there any other concerns?”
There
were none, but for Faye’s fervent wish that she truly
belonged among Les Chausettes. Wished she possessed a fourth of
Shaleena’s fire. A smidgeon of Madeline’s wisdom. A nugget of
Heddy’s strength. Good heavens, she’d settle for Darla’s hair
. For she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she could not
complete the mission set before her. Not now. Not ever. ___________
SEDUCED BY YOUR SPELL February 24th, 2009
Just nominated for Best Historical Paranormal of 2009 A Romantic Times Top Pick!!
"SEDUCED BY YOUR SPELL is a wild ride
through the streets of London where people are not who they seem to
be; spells and magic are the order of the day, and love is being
pushed away by two very needy souls. Mystery surrounds Jasper, as
well as the ladies of Lavender House, but it also dominates the real
reason why the girls are disappearing off the streets. There are
some heated fantasy scenes between Jasper and Maddie, and a few real
encounters which will have readers fanning themselves!
"Greiman grips readers with a tale of
witches caught in a maelstrom of violence and passion. The pages fly
by, sexual tension--both real and fantasized-- rises and surprise
after surprise lead to the finale.. Greiman is a storyteller
extraordinaire."
“Lady Redcomb.” Lord Weatherby greeted Madeline with an affable
smile, both hands extended, palms up.
Faeries Gone Wild
One Hot Mess
Review
|
||||||||
|
Relax and Read Zone |
|
||||||||
