It's release day for Southern Hospitality, the latest contemporary romantic comedy from Amie Louellen.
Not much happens in sleepy Jefferson County, Tennessee. That is, until Yankee reporter Roxanne Ackerman’s car breaks down there on her way to Memphis, and she somehow winds up as a murder suspect! With no one to bail her out and the local judge on a fishing trip, Roxanne is surrendered into the custody of her ultra-conservative-yet-oh-so-sexy attorney, Malcolm B. Daniels IV, for the weekend.
Malcolm is nearly engaged, running for U.S. Senate, and really does not need this gorgeous, wild woman in his life right now. He just has to show her a little Southern hospitality until he can get the case dropped on Monday morning, and things will finally go back to normal.
But the more time they spend together, the more sparks fly between them. One weekend might be all the time Roxanne needs to work her way into his heart and make his life exciting again. What if, when Monday comes, he doesn’t want to let her go?
Click HERE for buy links to all of Amie's books including up-to-date links for Southern Hospitality.
He never even bothered to look at her. It seemed as if something over her shoulder held more interest for him. Most likely Lila dancing with Miss Gertie’s great-nephew from Hattiesburg. Malcolm was probably keeping an eye on the pair just to make sure the handsome doctor wasn’t copping a feel. After all, she and Malcolm were practically engaged.
The thought made Roxanne miss the beat, and she crashed into Malcolm—hard. Her foot, clad in its high-heeled sandal, crashed down on top of his foot—hard.
“Sorry.” She winced. That was going to leave a mark.
“It’s okay,” he replied, just like the gentleman he was.
“I know you might find this hard to believe, but I used to be a pretty good dancer.”
“No offense, but what happened?”
She shrugged. “Out of practice, I guess.”
“Hmmm … I thought dancing was one of those things a person never forgets how to do. You know, like riding a bike.”
“Sex.” Roxanne immediately wished she could take it back.
“I beg your pardon?” He picked that precise moment to meet her gaze.
“You can forget how to ride a bike, but you’ll never … I mean … most people have—” She faltered, the heat from her cheeks mixing with the too-warm Tennessee night to make her light-headed. She couldn’t finish the thought with those knowing brown eyes trained on her. Instead, she focused on the tiny black sutures adorning his strong chin.
“Are you trying to say that sex is unforgettable?” The corners of his mouth twitched.
“Uh … something like that,” she mumbled, hoping the slurred words passed for a real answer. Here she was again trying to make coherent thoughts when her mind was filled with images of … well, sex. And Malcolm. And sex with Malcolm. She didn’t know for a fact if sex itself had ever proven to be unforgettable, but she was certain that sex with Malcolm would be.
I’m a wife, mother, and bona fide Southern belle. Published author, expert corn bread maker, and Squirrel Princess.
I live in Tulsa, though I was born in Mississippi. I moved to the Sooner State when I was seventeen and met my soul mate and best friend not long after. I’ve retained a little of my Mississippi accent though most people think I’m from Texas. (?) Rob and I have been married for over twenty-five years and have a son–a mom proclaimed prodigy, of course!
I love homemade tacos, nail polish, and romance novels–not necessarily in that order. I’m a big fan of country music, a staunch proponent of saving the Oxford comma, and I’m shamefully obsessed with all things Harry Potter.
I dislike people trying to convince me to read the Twlight series (I’ll get to it or I won’t, either way I’m good with it), gratuitous violence, and strawberry ice cream. (I know I’m alone on this last one, and again, I’m good with it.)
Favorite movies–(besides HP) French Kiss, Maid of Honor, A Lot Like Love, Just Married, and Sweet Home Alabama. Oh, and Miss Congeniality, Sabrina (both versions) and a 1940’s movie called Dear Ruth. If you haven’t seen it, you should! A-dorable. Anything with Doris Day and most all of Marilyn’s and Audrey’s.
A wolf shifter in the Regency era...my kinda book! A Tempest of Passion by Elyzabeth M. Valey #Excerpt
Hi everyone! I’m thrilled to be here today with my recent release, A Tempest of Passion.
Back in 2013 an idea formed in my mind. Now, to be honest with you, I don’t quite remember how it happened. It could have been my Muse whispering in my ear, a picture I saw or a song I heard… I’m not sure. What I do remember is that two elements stuck out in this idea: a wolf shifter named William and the time period, the regency era.
With those two items, I set my fingers on the keyboard and wrote 50.000 words, successfully completing Nanowrimo 2013. Soon after, in an email I sent to a friend, I told her: “The story needs a lot, I repeat, a lot of editing. I’ve written like a maniac but I’m very aware that some of the things on there don’t make too much sense. It needs to be fixed.”
It wasn’t a pretty sight. A few months later, I went into full editing mode, but alas, I was not happy with the result. There was something wrong with William and Emily’s story, which back then was titled Cry of the Lone Wolf.
I set the novel aside, upset that I could not figure out what was the problem. I spent several months working in other projects, trying to forget a shifter exiled from his pack and a woman that wanted nothing to with marriage. They were impossible to forget. I would see regency era pictures, pictures of women and wolves, men that resembled William, women that reminded me of Emily… and they would come to mind, begging me to finish their story, to make things right.
Finally, a few months ago, inspiration struck. Chapters were rewritten and erased, names were changed, new characters were introduced… and a story that started like a little summer drizzle became a full blown Tempest of Passion.
I hope you enjoy it!
However, as the unknown threat that expelled him from his pack strikes again, William realizes that Emily means much more and he must keep her safe. Now, if only she’d agree to his terms…
As danger grows with each passing day, will the couple learn to trust each other or will their love be nothing more than a temporary tempest of passion?
“Perhaps you can enlighten me. You’re an accomplished dancer as far as I can see and you seem to enjoy it, even if you did tell me you didn’t particularly like it. Why don’t the other men ask you to dance? Must I be on the lookout lest you do something outrageous?”
They reunited on the floor. Emily extended her right foot forward allowing her weight to rest on it before closing her other foot and hopping. She bit back a smile.
“I think most men in town surrendered in their pursuit for me to dance,” she admitted after a moment. “I refused all of them for what I spoke was the truth. I am not fond of dancing.”
“Yet, you’re not chewing on your lips or pulling them in as you have a habit of doing when carrying out unpleasant duties.” William chuckled. “Just like that. Why always so serious, Ms. Bunsbury? Is my company such a heavy weight on your shoulders that you cannot gift me with a smile?”
“Life is serious business, Mr. Dalton,” she replied, going around him in a circle. “There is nothing more odious than being forced to smile.”
“Of course, I know it well.” His friendly smile vanished, his eyes losing their luster.
“I did not mean to upset you,” Emily hurried to clarify, suddenly desperate to see the gay light present in his eyes again.
William’s lips curled upwards, though the gesture did not reach his eyes.
“It was not your fault, Ms. Bunsbury. You inadvertently awoke some sad memories. Life is serious business,” he conceded, twirling her, “but that is precisely why we must enjoy the precious good moments such as these, for we never know how long they will last.”
“Your opinion of good moments is definitely low if you count this to be one.”
She was teasing him. By God, she was teasing him and though it took him a moment to realize it, she was glad at the sound of his rich laughter. Her lips twitched and she found herself smiling in response to his boisterous mirth.
“Of course I do,” he said after a few seconds. “I am dancing with a beautiful woman on a fine autumn day. It cannot get much better than that?” He winked, reminding her of his ulterior masculine motives and causing her cheerfulness to vanish. “Though you probably think differently,” William added.
The melody having come to an end, Emily curtsied and turned to walk away from William Dalton. She’d barely removed herself from the center of the room, when he gripped her elbow. Emily bit back a gasp. Every time he touched her something inside her awoke with a hunger that could not be appeased. Tilting her head back so she could look him in the eyes, she chose to ignore the way her heart leapt.
“That was only one dance, Ms. Bunsbury. You promised me two.”
“Surely, you wouldn’t want to waste your good moments dancing another tune with me, Mr. Dalton.” She made to leave but his fingers on her arm tightened. Anger flared in his eyes and his good-natured smile vanished.
“You think little of yourself, Ms. Bunsbury. I am surprised.”
“You are in the wrong, Sir,” she said as politely as she could muster. “I simply believe that another woman would enjoy your attentions much more than myself.”
Pulling her arm from his grasp, she veered around, desperate for some fresh air. Faster than she could muster, he stepped in front of her, blocking her path. Curling her hands into fists, she fought against the urge to shove him out of the way.
Emily’s eyes flew to his face at the warning in his tone, her wroth vanishing and scattering into the wind as their gazes clashed.
“I don’t take kindly to broken promises,” he whispered gruffly.
Her breath caught as he reached for her hand, his fingertips sliding sensually over her gloved wrist. Her pulse raced, urging her to move or succumb to the persistent throbbing between her legs.
“You may think yourself fast as a rabbit or cunning like a fox, Ms. Bunsbury, but I am a hunter and catching prey is my favorite sport.”
Considered weird by normal standards – what is normal anyway?- Elyzabeth M. VaLey enjoys making up songs about mundane things, doodling stars and flowers on any blank sheet of paper, talking to her Lab whenever he feigns interest and coming up with love stories to make readers dream.
From contemporary to historical or fantasy, she enjoys writing stories about good and evil, love and passion and all that comes in between happy ever after.
Thanks so much for having my boys on your blog today.
Well, I say my boys, but from the minute James and George met, they only had eyes for each other. However, office romances are never a good idea, especially when you’re the new boss, and the man you fancy is your office manager.
George has no idea how to make that first move. He knows James is gay, but everyone in the office assumes George is straight, and besides… you can’t just tell your staff that you want to fuck them silly, now, can you? Never mind the fact that you might be developing feelings for them.
No, a subtle move is needed, and this card is it.
Okay, maybe the card isn’t that subtle, but it sure gets the point across.
After all, The New Year is a time for new beginnings, and George wants those with James… if he can only convince him that Love is a precious thing…
~Love is a precious thing~
When James Dyllon finds an explicit card on his desk he doesn’t know what to think. His hot as Hades boss has never given him the slightest indication that he returns James’ affections, so this card can’t be from him. Two male lovers entwined—someone is having a laugh at his expense.
George MacKenzie is done lusting after James from afar. A New Year brings with it the opportunity for change and George is tired of hiding. Since taking over the company after his father fell ill, he is finally in a position to act on his feelings, and he wants James. The card might be a feeble attempt, but at least James does not seem disinterested.
Together they will be able to weather anything, as long as he can convince James that he really does want forever.
“Happy New Year, boss.”
He put the tray on the night stand, and offered George two aspirin and the glass of water. George swallowed them and winced anew at the sandpapery quality of his throat. James grinned again—in sympathy George assumed—though it was difficult to determine through his blurry eyed vision and the brass band which seemed to have taken up residence in his head.
“Happy New Year.” George managed to croak those few words out and collapsed back on the bed with a groan. “I’m never drinking again.”
“Of course you won’t. Here, sit up, get your caffeine hit, and have a shower. You’ll feel better afterward, I promise.”
George glared at the other man through hooded lids, and decided there and then that James had to be some sort of sadist. No one was this happy first thing in the morning, and took this much delight in torturing another human being into sitting up. The clanging cymbals in his head all decided to bash together in discord and George groaned and held his head in his hands.
James’s amused snort joined in with the percussion instruments crashing against his skull and George screwed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Sadly we haven’t yet. I don’t think jerking off to images of you passed out in my bed counts as fucking you, and I do find myself most impatient to do so, so be a good boy, drink this coffee, and then for the love of God, shower, man.”
Amusement tinged those words, but there was an underlying edge that registered over the fuzz for brains in George’s head, and he cracked one eye open to look at James. The intensity of his gaze made him swallow, and all conscious thought fled out of his brain as James grasped his hands and wrapped them round the steaming cup of coffee.
“Coffee, shower, fuck, in that order.”
James winked at him, and George did as he was told. The slap to his ass as he stumbled off the bed and James pointed him to the bathroom, stung, and made his cock jerk. James noticed, of course and wrapped his hand around George’s shaft and pumped it a few times. Exquisite pleasure shot through George’s system, and he braced a hand on the wall to steady himself.
“Fuck, James, stop doing that, or I’ll never make it into the shower.”
James laughed, bit his shoulder lightly, released his cock, and swatted his ass again.
“Don’t be too long in there, or I’ll be forced to join you.”
George groaned and shook his head.
“Is that supposed to be a deterrent or a promise?” He didn’t catch James’s laughing reply, as he stumbled into the bathroom. By the time he managed to eventually relieve himself, wash his hands, and brush his teeth with the spare toothbrush he’d found propped up against the sink, he felt almost human. The warm stream of the power shower further revived him, and he stood and let the hot spray cascade over him. He wasn’t entirely surprised to hear the shower enclosure open and shut and he sucked in a breath when he opened his eyes. James stood with his back to him, and George got his first good look at James’s dragon. It covered his back, wings flapping wildly, and the art work was supreme. Over James’s broad shoulders, down his muscular back and into his delectable ass, George’s gaze followed the trail of ink, and giving into the need to touch the other man, he let his hands follow the trail of his visual inspection.
His cock reared back into life with a speed and force that left him lightheaded as James’s lust filled groan trembled through the confined space of their shower enclosure, and his lover’s muscles tensed under George’s fingertips.
“That’s fucking awesome, baby.” George ran his knuckles down James’s spine until he reached the globes of his ass. Squeezing the firm flesh he kneaded his lover’s butt cheeks and kissed down James’s back. It took a bit of awkward maneuvering in their confined space, but he managed to drop to his knees, and continue his path downward. James swore under his breath and slapped his hands on the tiled wall for support when George spread his lover’s ass cheeks and licked from James’s heavy balls upward to his anus.
James tensed and panted, when George tunneled his tongue through James’s ring of muscle while bringing one hand round to grasp his thick shaft.
“Fuck, George, you don’t have to… Jesus.”
James’s cock jerked and pulsed in George’s firm grasp, and those tight muscles guarding James’s rear entrance tightened around his tongue in involuntary clenches that told George in no uncertain terms how close James was getting. Anal play was something George had always enjoyed. The mere intimacy of the act showed how much you trusted the other person, and he withdrew slowly and growled his next words into James’s hairy thighs, while he fondled the man’s heavy balls.
“Turn round, baby. I want to taste you.”
Glutton for punishment would be a good description for Doris... at least that's what she hears on an almost daily basis when people find out that she has a brood of nine children, ranging from adult to toddler and lives happily in a far too small house, cluttered with children, pets, dust bunnies, and one very understanding and supportive husband. Domestic goddess she is not.
There is always something better to do after all, like working on the latest manuscript and trying not to scare the locals even more than usual by talking out loud to the voices in her head. Her characters tend to be pretty insistent to get their stories told, and you will find Doris burning the midnight oil on a regular basis. Only time to get any peace and quiet and besides, sleep is for wimps.
She likes to spin sensual, sassy, and sexy tales involving alpha heroes to die for, and heroines who give as good as they get. From contemporary to paranormal, BDSM to F/F, and Ménage, haunting love stories are guaranteed.