Monday, February 10, 2014

First Kiss: You'll want to kiss Deborah Macgillivray's Wolf in Wolf's Clothing @Scotladywriter @KMNbooks #firstkiss

KAREN: After reading a snippet of A Wolf in Wolf's Clothing by Deborah Macgillivray, you'll gladly don the red riding hood cape for a chance to kiss this wolf. Enjoy a sneak peek at Trev and Raven's first kiss and a chance to own a trade-size copy of A Wolf in Wolf's Clothing.
FIRST KISS from A WOLF IN WOLF'S CLOTHING 
by Deborah Macgillivray


A Wolf in Wolf’s Clothing (Book 3 of the Sisters of Colford Hall) Montlake Imprint, Amazon Publishing.   
 
Rain sheeting down upon them, Trev followed steps behind as Raven hurried to the front of the cottage and onto the roofed porch.  Twice she tried to pull her hand free from his grip, but he held tight, sensing she was in full retreat and tossing up barriers to avoid inviting him inside.  An old Scottish adage spoke that it’s easier to keep a cat out than to put him out.  He had a feeling this fey Scots lass now adapted the kernel of wisdom to include wolves as well.  Raven was resolute in keeping him outside so she need not confront putting him out.  In frankness, she had admitted she did not deal well with conflicts.  This Tolkien World she had built far away from everything was a testament to that truth. Only this time, circumstances would force Raven into meeting her hidden desires head on, something she’d been shunning here in her haven against life, a prospect that likely threatened her even more than his presence in her safe, secure domain did.  If he’d stayed in the car as she had pointedly suggested, she could’ve escaped without having to handle him― more specifically, face those choices she wasn’t ready for.

Well too bad, Red, I checked that little maneuver, he smirked to himself.

Now, she was attempting another gambit.  He watched her stop on the small stoop, turn and block him from coming any farther, deliberately leaving him on the steps in the pouring rain.  Silly wench, she hoped by denying him the shelter of the gabled porch that the storm would hasten him back to the car. Pitiful drops of water wouldn’t keep him from this woman.  He smiled, and then realized he hadn’t smiled quite like this before― one which seemed to go soul deep.  Bloody hell, a whole herd of fire-breathing dragons couldn’t deter him from Raven.

Standing in that old-fashioned cape with the huge floppy hood, and the stoop hardly stopping the slashing rain from whirling around her, Raven appeared ethereal, a sorceress, more than a simple being of this world.  She was the Fairy Queen weaving enchantments to trap poor Tamlin’s mind, and just like that besotted Scottish fool, Trev suddenly welcomed her witchy lures.  He would slay all the Orcs in Isengard, duel blue-eyed Gypsies, and topple kingdoms for her... he would... feeling ridiculously inane, he closed his eyes and tried to exorcise his mind of these alien thoughts.  This night was making him loopy.  Fairytales, wolves and Riding Hoods were morphing him into a blethering moron!  Long ago, he accepted that he didn’t have a romantic bone in his body― or so he’d thought.  If he started to recite, ‘But soft, what light through yonder window breaks...’ he was going home and soak his head!

Oddly, ludicrously, wonderfully, he didn’t feel the rain.  It was beyond his explaining, but there was some quality so elemental, nearly supernatural about this night that the storm merely seemed a part of this extraordinary enchantment.  Opening his eyes, he put his foot on the top step and then slowly raised himself up, his stare never leaving Raven’s face, cosseted inside the red velvet hood.  She was tall, around five-seven, and with her on the porch and he on the step below, that put their eyes on the same level.

Letting go of Raven’s hand, he curled his fingers into his palms to keep from grabbing her.  He sighed in frustration.  It’s bloody friggin’ tough for a wolf to be gentlemanly.

“Well… um… you should get out of the rain.  It’s pouring.  Thank you― again― for everything.”   

She managed a tight little laugh. Red Riding Hood naively thinking escape was in sight. Struck a mindless tomfool, words seemed outside his grasp.  He swallowed hard and then slowly reached up with both hands.  The moment lengthened, spun out to where the world ceased to turn on axis.  His heart slowed, beating painfully.  His fingers took hold of the hood and slowly pushed it off her head, allowing slanting spray to mist upon her long hair.

Spellbound, she stared at him.

All he could think to say was, “You’re beautiful in the rain.”  And she was.  Sadly, the velvet cape would be ruined, though he deemed it a small price.  The image of her haunting face, the power of this point in time, was forevermore seared into his memory.  He so wanted to kiss her, taste the cool sweetness of the raindrops on her lips.  Instead, he simply remained frozen in this crystalline moment, wondering if he’d fallen down a rabbit hole. Raven’s lashes lowered.  He’d seen reflected in her sad eyes that she didn’t believe him.  And that made him want to smash that idiot Beechcroft in the face all over again.

His immediate goal was to get inside her cozy little bungalow.  Only three little steps to the door.  Steps Raven was going to prevent him from traversing if she had her way.  If he could achieve that much, then he’d stamp out the seeds of self-doubt, which had taken root within her, teach her how special and rare she was.

“You are, you know.”  His thumbs brushed under her chin to gently lift her head.  Once more the urge to kiss her slammed through his entire being, tensing muscles and spreading a strange tightness in his chest.  “Very beautiful.”

Her lids remained lowered, evading his probing eyes, her voice barely audible over the rain pattering around them.  “Please don’t.  I told you about me.  I’m not the kind of woman a wolf wants.  Let me go.”

Her hand shook as she opened the small clutch, frantically searching for her keys.  They rattled in her grasp and then slipped through her wet fingers.  Before they hit the wooden porch, he snatched them in midair.  Her head jerked up and she held out her hand for them.  Only, he took that step she didn’t want him to take and levered up on the stoop.  She had to back up or their bodies would brush.  He offered her an easy smile and moved past her to the door.  Raven had just gifted him with the key to inside― literally and figuratively.

“A gentleman always sees a lady to the door.” Recovering a bit of equilibrium, she laughed.  “Is that what you are?  This night you wear many masks.  Devil?  Wolf?  Gentleman?  Which is the real Trevelyn Sinclair?”

Her question hit mark, more than she could ever suspect.  Yes, he was wearing a mask tonight, but one even he didn’t recognize.  The whole night was a dichotomy of what he had foolishly envisioned would happen.  Instead of sweeping Raven off her feet, he’d been sucked up in this confusing, whimsical whirlwind of emotions, dreams and hopes he’d never considered.  He’d only had two drinks and that faint buzz had been burned up in his annoying confrontation with Beechcroft.
He was stone cold sober all right.  And that’s what scared the bloody hell out of him.

“You might say a bit of all three.”  Trev inserted the key in the antiquated lock.  His mouth compressed into a frown that this was the only defense she employed against the world, as if she expected no menace would dare invade the bubble protecting her quaint bungalow on the corner of the vast Colford estate.  He tried to push the door open, but it held fast― and not from the inadequate lock.

From behind him, Raven suggested, “You have to shove hard against it.  In wet weather it sticks.”

Trevelyn chuckled.  “Wet weather?  Which is nearly every day in Jolly O’ England.”

Putting both hands to the frame, he gave a strong thrust and it finally popped and swung inward.  In a neat little maneuver, he removed the keys from the lock and stepped into her warm cottage.  The only illumination was the dim bulb of a floor lamp in the kitchen, shining down the hallway to cast the living room into a contrast of shadows and light.  He held out his free hand, gesturing for Raven to enter.  Poor Riding Hood, she’d have to put the wolf out now he had deftly slipped within. And she knew it, too.  Instead of coming in, she remained on the opposite side of the threshold.  Those luminous eyes watched him, knowledge that she’d lost the game reflected in their amber brown depths.

Lightning flashed close, followed by the earth-shaking boom of thunder, causing her to jump.  Still, she hesitated just outside.  “I didn’t show you the cards I drew from the fortuneteller,” she said redundantly.

“No, you didn’t.  However, I saw your reaction to The Lovers on mine.”  He couldn’t help it― the side of his mouth tugged smugly upward.  A scared doe, she hesitated to step over that dangerous threshold.  He entreated softly, “Come inside, Raven.”

She tried to smile.  Failed.  Desperation… capitulation were written upon her striking face.  “I’m not certain, but it might be safer if I turned and ran into the night.”

“You’d risk pneumonia?”  Chuckling, he shook his head at the absurd idea.  “The night isn’t cold.  Even so, a walk in the October rain is a sure way to court a visit to hospital.  Come inside, Raven.  I promise not to bite.”  With a resigned sigh, she took a step over the doorsill, but pulled up short when he added, “Unless you ask.”

“All wolves bite― whether you ask or not.”  Raven looked at him as if he’d fall on her and gobble her up in two chomps, maybe with a side of fava beans and a nice Chianti.  He couldn’t resist teasing.  “My, what big eyes you have, Miss Riding Hood.”

Her mouth pursed as she reached for the doorknob.  With a lift of her brow, she replied, “All the better to see tricky wolves.”

As the door shut, muting the sounds of the storm, he stepped to take her cape.  Raven tensed when he placed his hands on her shoulders.  “Relax, Red, I’m just removing the wet cloak― being the gentleman again.”

“I think a gentlemanly wolf is likely an oxymoron.”  She turned her head to glance over her shoulder, watching his reaction.

“Possibly,” he conceded, then challenged, “but finding out is half the fun, eh?”

“I don’t consider sticking my finger in a light socket fun.”  Reaching into her clutch she pulled out the two cards and held them up.  “The ones I drew from the Gypsy.  The fortune on the back warns me beware of a wolf in sheep’s clothing.  I pulled the same card twice.”

“With the lovers on the face,” he reminded.  “Since you suspect your brothers stacked the deck, why do you pay such heed?”

“I don’t...  I...”  Her words faltered as she looked down at the cards.

“My card warned the lamb is often stronger than the wolf.  Perhaps you should put the two fortunes together to make one and take comfort in that,” Trev suggested, removing the velvet cloak from her shoulders.

Carefully, he laid it across the bench of the entrance hall tree, next to the antique umbrella stand.  He swallowed against the tightness cording his throat, desire coursing through his blood until it was hard to think.  Turning back to her, he flexed his hands at his side in an effort to cover the trembling.

Trev resented Raven’s sway over him, hated how out of control he was.  In his mind, he’d played the movie of what would happen this night, over and over.  Just before he dropped off to sleep, it unfurled in the same manner― his dazzling Raven at the gala and them coming home to an evening of hot sex, then calculatingly using that physical attraction to bind to her to him in the most elemental, primitive fashion.

Contrarily, nothing was going as envisioned.  So odd, no woman before had provoked him to feel this way― powerless, humbled and infinitely needy.  His hands reached out and lightly cupped her bare shoulders, savoring the coolness of her soft flesh.  Raven shivered, but didn’t step away.  He sensed she was as caught up in this strange magic as he.  They remained locked in the moment, the sound of the storm outside wrapping around them and enfolding them in a sensual cocoon.  Compelled to break the silence, he asked, “Do you recall the ending to Little Red Riding Hood?”

“Vaguely.  Something about two woodsmen killing the wolf.  I shan’t go into the gory return of granny to the land of the living.”

Trev leaned forward and nuzzled the hair by her ear.  Brothers Grimm.  I never cared for that ending, instead I rather fancied Charles Pennault’s version.  Perchance, you’re familiar with it?”

“I’m not certain.  There’s dozens of variations.  I never cared for Grimm’s tales and those of that ilk.  A bit lurid at times.”

“Well, Pennault’s version moved along in the same manner, right up to Red asking Mr. Big Bad Wolf, my what big teeth you have.  From that point the tales diverge.”  When she said nothing he went on, “How, you may ask?  A child’s fable designed to teach little girls to be scared of wolves.  Ah, but then, there are various kinds of wolves, eh?  In Pennault short but interesting version, Mr. Big Bad tells Red, ‘All the better to eat you with, my dear.’  ―and then he does.”

She stiffened, catching his double entendre.  “As I said― lurid.”

“Hmm... you think so?  Are you sure, Red?  Really?”  He whispered against her ear, “Imagine... you and me... the thunderstorm raging overhead… and me teaching you just how delicious lurid can be.”

In the hushed silence, he kissed the side of her face and then nipped along the shell of her ear, until he reached the tantalizing morsel of her lobe.  His tongue flicked it.  When a shiver shuddered over her body he smiled.  Sucking the delicate flesh into his mouth, he rolled her diamond stud earring against his tongue, savoring the sensations with the ardor of an epicure tasting his favorite meal.

Raven closed her eyes on a sigh and leaned back against him, clearly relishing the feel of their bodies touching.  The velvet clutch and the cards fell to the floor.  Almost as though she feared her legs couldn’t hold her weight, her hands reached behind and grasped the sides of his thighs.  Her fingers flexed around his legs, her sharp nails biting into the fabric of his slacks and the muscles underneath.

Trev drew in a slow breath to rein in the spiraling emotions pulsing through him.  And not succeeding.  He needed to go gentle with this woman; she was unique, extraordinary, and too delicate.  Oh, not physically.  He had a feeling she could lock those long legs around him and ride him until they both dropped in exhaustion, meeting him stroke-for-stroke... offering all she had and taking everything he could give.

It was the inner woman that now troubled his mind.  At this late hour in the game, he wasn’t sure why everything was shifting like quicksand under him.  Desmond’s plans were meticulous, years in the forming.  Now, he felt like that proverbial fish out of water.  His brain was screaming to do a three-sixty― give her a chaste goodnight kiss and then politely leave.  Not what she expected from him.  He could send roses, later call and invite her for a beautiful candlelight dinner, and romance Raven as she deserved. 

Then, the wolf inside him howled.  A violent hunger that refused to be denied.  Twenty-four hours ago, it’d never entered his mind he could be concerned about her, fretful over what would happen to Raven because of his actions.

Twenty-four hours ago he never anticipated he’d experience the power of this dark fire igniting between them.  The need shook him to the core, made him want to toss caution to the wind.

Worse, as he placed his hand on her belly and pulled her back against him–– let her feel how hot his passions ran–– he was rattled by the thought that she might not be the only one hurt by an affair.  He disliked these qualms, especially didn’t like the second-guessing― too damn much like Jago fussing at him.  Bugger all, a conscience was something he’d learn to live without years past.  Nothing but a bloody nuisance.  Who needed some Goodie Two-Shoes inner voice spoiling all the fun?  Well, he wasn’t going to permit his supercilious superego to rear its head now.  Blocking out these odd musings, he focused on the delicious sensation of his palms moving up her ribcage to almost cup her breasts.  That oh so tantalizing almost.  She wanted him to shift his caress, waited for it.  Her breath caught on a raspy hitch, willing him to move his hands just a little higher.  Instead, he held them at the brink, his thumbs brushing the soft swells underneath, as he allowed the sweet heady drug of anticipation to course through them both.  Inhaling the scent off her body, he gave over to her and the witchcraft she wove to enthrall him.  His inner voice screamed he wasn’t taking her― she was claiming his soul― yet, he was powerless to stop her.

Did not want to stop her. 

Angry with himself for allowing her this sway over him, he spun her around, intent on taking her mouth in a bruising kiss, unleash the demons clawing at his insides.  Let her see the full scale of his craving for her.  Instead, he stopped cold, gut punched by her fragile beauty.  He simply stared at her, grappling to unravel the specifics of how she affected him, reached into his whole being with a craft that was changing him.

What made Raven different than other women?  He’d been with some more beautiful... well, perhaps as beautiful.  Only, as he looked at Raven’s face, he had a hard time recalling any of them.

When he’d turned her to face him, he aimed to take her, hard and fast, with them barely half out of their clothes... on the floor or up against the wall.  Raw.  Primitive.  Animalistic.  Deliberately drag down these spiraling emotions to an animalistic level, where he felt more in control.  He was a wolf, all right, one that didn’t even make a pretense of wearing sheep’s clothing.  Primeval mating instincts surged in his blood, nearly overpowering any checks and balances of his mind.  And he saw she would let him.  Still, compelling as this driving impulse, another force bound him to ignore the call to mate.

He asked, giving her a half bow, “May I have this dance, my lady?”

Her lips twitched into a fleeting smile.  “Back to the knight in shining armor?”

“Safer that a wolf, eh?”  He teased, easing back the escalating sexual tension.  A wasted endeavor.  His body refused to listen.  In a dramatic gesture, he leaned down, snatched up the clutch and the cards, and then set them on the table.  “Dance with me, Raven.”

Her eyes were pulled to the tarot cards on the floor against the back of the sofa, lingered on the naked man and woman― lovers intertwined.  “There’s no music,” she said, hesitating.

Despite Raven’s air of weakness, Trev had a notion she could’ve dealt with him if he had come at her like a steamroller.  It’s what she expected of him.  Perhaps she might reluctantly embrace that headlong leap into the flames, because if he played the Big Bad Wolf, she could surrender to his overwhelming charisma.  The choice taken from her.  This switch back to the gentleman was confusing Raven, maybe scaring her in another way.  She’d have to make the conscious decision to take him into her bed.  The corner of his mouth lifted as he rather liked forcing her to make that step.

He stepped to her and put one hand lightly at her waist, then lifted the hand on the opposite side, proper stance for a waltz.  “Can you not hear it?”

Her perplexity deepened.  “I don’t hear anything.”

“Come, come, you’re not trying.  There… just audible over the rain.  Fairy music.  Like tiny chimes of a music box.  The Wee Ones play for us on this magical night,” Trev kidded, however, as he encouraged Raven to strain to hear notes, he almost could catch the soft tinkles of a melody as well.  Somehow, it didn’t surprise him.  Anything seemed possible tonight.  She laughed as he swept her into the rocking steps of a slow waltz.

“What, you vexsome wench?  Surprised I can waltz?”  He twirled her through the doorway and into the open area of the larger green house.

“I don’t think vexsome is a word.”

“See, I’ve created one especially for you.”  Trev spun her across the stone slab floor, and under the canopy of glass as the storm raged around them.

Raven gasped, “You’re making me dizzy.”

“Dizzy?  You think you’re dizzy?  Woman, you haven’t seen dizzy yet.”  He dropped her hand and then scooped her into his arms, turning around and around in circles.

“What are you doing, Trevelyn Sinclair?”  Her hands clutched his shoulders, holding on.

He smiled.  “Why, I’m sweeping you off your feet.”

Their laughter echoed against the glass walls as he kept rotating, but finally he slowed and the laughing died.  In the center of the glass house, amidst her ferns and flowering plants, Trev couldn’t think of any place on earth he’d rather be.  Enrapt, they stared at each other, silently speaking volume, yet unable to find the few words to set them on the proper course.  “I could kiss you goodnight, leave, and then call you tomorrow.  Ask you out for a date; bring you roses, but... 

“But?” she asked in a breathless whisper.

“Only, I don’t want to leave.  I want to stay with you and fully explore the magic of this mystical night.  It’s not a come on, but I’ve never experienced an evening quite like this one.  My instincts drive me to hold on to the last minute of something so rare.”  The words that came from his lips almost seemed as though someone else had spoken them.  Even so, deep down Trev knew he meant every one.  Desperate to cling to each second, he didn’t want dawn to arrive to banish the darkness and this strange enchantment, frightened all these feelings would vanish like a puff of fog in the harsh realities of the morning light.

Trev wasn’t sure if she believed him.  Such sentiments sounded foreign coming from his mouth.  While they were dancing at the gala, she’d displayed a jaundice eye and assumed he was handing her a pat line.  Would Raven now take the chance and trust him?  For, despite whatever pale aims that had propelled them to this byroad, he did mean it― he didn’t want this night to end.

When she didn’t say anything, he asked, scared of her reply, “Shall I leave?”

Nibbling the corner of her mouth, Raven reached up and pushed an errant lock off his forehead.  Clearly enthralled with the power of the simple gesture, of touching him, her dark eyes traced the lines of his face.  Her hand slowly fell to his cheek and she stroked it with her thumb.

“Stay, Trevelyn Sinclair.”

She wouldn’t have to ask twice.  He had played the gentleman and given her the out, something he couldn’t begin to explain to himself.  Then so be it.  There was no turning back for either of them.  He tilted his head and very lightly brushed his lips against hers, savored the softness of her sweet mouth. 

Not giving in to the overpowering hunger, he gently kissed her, feeling the world shift under his feet.

Fingers of lightning arced around the greenhouse, as if the storm fed off the emotions rising within them, its fury magnifying with a savage wildness.  Never had he felt anything as moving as standing in the center of the glass room with Raven in his arms, and knowing this instance in time was uncommon, pure.  All the emotions too much to handle, he just gave over to the magic and Raven.

The fingers of her right hand wove into his hair, clutching the curls; her left arm slid over his shoulder.  Raven opened her mouth to him and her wicked, clever tongue ran over the curve of his lower lip.  He thought he couldn’t get any harder.  What a joke!  His erection bucked in agony and all the blood left his head in a whoosh.

Breaking the kiss, he groaned.  “No tongues.”

“No tongues?”  Confused, she blinked.

He chuckled.  “Well, at least until I get you into the bedroom, Red.” 

“Down the hall and the stairs are on the right, Mr. Wolf.”  Placing her head on his shoulder, she playfully nipped the side of his neck.

His heart pounding with the force of his desire, Trev carried her through the darkened house and up the L-shaped stairs.  Oddly, he again felt the slippage of time― he was the conquering warrior carrying his damsel to the safety of her bower.  A shiver rippled up his spine, as if he’d done this before, in some distant fragment of time.  Only, as he looked down at the woman he held, her hair was black, black as his own, long, wavy and cascading free.  It caused him to pause before the bedroom door in an attempt to blink away the intruding images.

“Duck.”

Raven’s voice finally made Trev realize he’d been standing, locked in the strange spell.  He gave a small shake of his head to align his thoughts to the here and now.  Still, he frowned.  Never before had he been given to flights of fancy.  Casting his mind back, he couldn’t ever recall experiencing Déjà vu.  Yet, this was so strong.

“Duck?  I thought I’m a wolf?” he joked, striving to grasp a sense of normalcy.

Raven’s laughter was soft, husky.  “No, duck your head.  The door’s opening is a bit low as many thatches are.”

Turning sideways so her feet didn’t hit, he danced through the door, stooping to miss bumping his noggin, and then spun toward the bed until they fell onto its plane.  Their laughter echoed in the room, but that faded as awe of this very special moment filled them.  They were strangers, yes, but this choice would bind them and make them more... so much more.  They’d be lovers, just like the man and woman on the Gypsy’s cards.

He wanted to study the cozy bedroom that would be a reflection of her character, the space she considered most private.  Only, as he watched her huge, unblinking eyes, the curiosity to know all about her was driven from his mind.  The one thing he did take note of― and a detail that shouldn’t surprise him given the rest of the house― the back slant of the room’s roof was glass.

He started to remember some fairytale about the princess placed upon a glass mountain, but caught himself.  Too many damn children’s stories with princes, Red Riding Hoods and thoroughly bad wolves kept dancing through his besotted brain.  There simply wasn’t room for more!

Despite the thunderous storm overhead, tranquility filled the room, as though time was held at bay in the small bower.  He couldn’t envisage a more sensual setting.  The heat off her body mixed with the scent of her arousal and the faint hint of her perfume.  It filled his mind, more intoxicating than fifteen-year-old The McCallans.  Something dark and profound coiled within him as he stared at her, half under him.

Something terrifying.

“Allow me, Miss Riding Hood.”  He inched down the bed to where he could slip off her red satin slippers.  Not glass, alas, they were ruined by the rain, like the velvet cape.  It’s hard to hold onto magic, he supposed.  One shoe fell to the floor; then he removed and dropped the other.  “Hum, this is similar to unwrapping a Christmas present.  Where do I start?  The shoes and the cape are damaged from the rain.  It’d be a shame to damage this beautiful dress as well.  I believe my clever little hands detected a zipper while we were dancing.”

Raven reached out and took his left hand between hers.  She ran her thumb back and forth over his palm, raising deep prickles on his scalp.  Never would he have thought such a simple gesture could be so damn arousing!  His groin cramped with the thick blood of his desire.  She stroked the backs of his fingers.  “Clever?  Perhaps.  But hardly small.  Warriors hands, yet ones blessed with the grace of a magician or a pianist.”

Feeling devilish, he reached out and ran his thumb pad across her lower lip.  “You know what they say about men with long fingers.”

“Are your long fingers good with a zipper?”  Ignoring his question, she rolled over onto her stomach and exposed her back to him.

His hands were unsteady as he spread them across her bare shoulders.  Moving them down the smooth flesh, he located and took hold of the zipper tab, slowly pulling it along the path of her spine.  
She held perfectly still, didn’t draw a breath as he dragged the metal clasp over her hips, but tensed as he placed a kiss to the center of her back.  He grinned against her flesh because no strapless bra crossed its perfect curve.

“Oh, fairy godmothers must like Big Bad Wolves,” he teased.



Paperback or Kindle copy available at Amazon. 

A Wolf In Wolf’s Clothing
© Deborah Macgillivray, 2013
All Rights Reserved
****GIVEAWAY: You'll have a chance to win a trade-size copy of A Wolf in Wolf's Clothing just for leaving comment. It's that simple. Don't forget to leave your email also so Deborah may contact you if you should win. :) Good Luck!

Deborah pens contemporary romances, The Sisters of Colford Hall – The Invasion of Falgannon Isle, Riding The Thunder, and A Wolf in Wolf’s Clothing, and a historical romance series The Dragons of Challon, A Restless Knight, In Her Bed, and One Snowy Knight.  She also has an anthology of cat romance, Cat O’ Nine Tales.

Coming books – Redemption, Some Things Never Change, and To Bell The Vampire

10 comments:

Karen Michelle Nutt said... Best Blogger Tips

Deborah,

Thanks so much for be a part of the First Kiss event.

I love this series. Just can't say enough about it! And if I was forced to pick a favorite, it would be Trevelyn and Raven's tale in Wolf in Wolf's Clothing! Romance, and a wee bit of the paranormal, too.

Just curious...What's next in the series?

Cathy said... Best Blogger Tips

Deborah,

This sounds really good! I'll have to check out your other books in the series.

Do I need to read these in order?

cnickol @ verizon . net (no spaces)

Debra St. John said... Best Blogger Tips

Deborah...wow! That's quite the snippet. Any woman would give her eye teeth to make that wolf howl. Yowza.

bn100 said... Best Blogger Tips

Nice excerpt

bn100candg at hotmail dot com

Cheryl Pierson said... Best Blogger Tips

Deborah,

Great excerpt, of course! I really can't wait to dive into this book-- I have it, so don't enter me in the drawing. Just wanted to stop by and say hello and let you know how I love your writing!
Cheryl

Sarah J. McNeal said... Best Blogger Tips

I'm so sorry to get here this late, Deborah. The link kept taking me to an empty page, but Karen posted a new link that finally worked.
I really enjoyed this excerpt. You hero is so oh-la-la sweet and sexy.
He's better than a muffin with chocolate chips!

Savanna Kougar said... Best Blogger Tips

Especially enjoyed the magickal setting you've woven around Trev and Raven... fabulous descriptions!

Jacquie Rogers said... Best Blogger Tips

This is a terrific book and I'm happy you're continuing with the series! ♥

Diane D White said... Best Blogger Tips

This wonderful book is on my keeper shelf...I've read it twice. Terrific prose, Deborah! But then, I'd expect nothing less from you. :)

Best,
Diane

Deborah Macgillivray said... Best Blogger Tips

Debra St. John was the winner of my contest. If you will contact me so I can arrange shipment?

Congrats, Debra