Today I am delighted to have A.M. Hartnett visiting with a decadent post sure to delight your sweet tooth—and other portions of your anatomy. She has gone to town—or rather, the candy store—with her photos and write-ups for the characters in her trilogy of sultry novels. But before we get there, here is a bit of information about each title:
“Mr. Taureau, is there anything I can do for you?”
For years, the Taureau-Werner building has been Grace's playground. Hot men in suits have provided her with one sinful diversion after another without ever having to leave the thirteenth floor.
Grace thinks her secret indulgences are safe, until one late night alone in the office, a call comes through from billionaire recluse: Jacques Alain Taureau. And in Taureau's lonely world, Grace meets a prince with no intention of escaping his secretive retreat by the sea.
Readers say: "I stayed up all night reading this book." And "This is one sizzling hot read."
“It’s a skill not every man possesses, and it can’t be taught. That’s why I’m good at what I do.”
For half his life Quinn has been making his living as a professional Casanova. Challenged by Molly to take his business elsewhere, he strikes a bargain with her: give him until New Year’s Eve and she’ll never see him again, and in the meantime he’ll make it worth her while.
As their arrangement becomes a passionate affair, there’s no denying that Molly’s been waiting for him to come into her life for a very long time. She never imagined that a man like Quinn would be the one.
Readers say: "If you want a novel filled with hot sweaty wall to wall sex then this one will be right up your alley."
Readers say: "If you want a novel filled with hot sweaty wall to wall sex then this one will be right up your alley."
“I'm not your type. I should leave, but if I do that I'll drive myself crazy wondering how good to me you can be.”
Simon Reeve is charming, sly, and a man who can make things happen. But a foray into the dirty world of politics has left him with a tarnished reputation.
Sharing the responsibility for her orphaned nephew with a feckless sister and putting her own ambitions on hold, Miranda is barely keeping her head above water. She's never taken a man home before, but there's something about Simon's haunted eyes and easy smile that's irresistible, and once in bed he opens her up to heart-pounding heights she never imagined she'd experience.
As they grow closer, two people who thought they knew who they were and where they were going learn to see themselves in each other. For Simon, it means becoming the man Miranda needs him to be. For Miranda, it means realizing she's more woman than her crushing little world has allowed her to be.
Now, here is Ms. Hartnett with her Halloween greetings....
Oh heavens, how ever will I survive? I've committed myself to buying goody bags for the characters from my Carried Away series (Mischief, 2014) and now I need to go out and buy all sorts of delicious things, all of which will probably be left behind by my guests. Then who will eat all these tasty morsels?
So Grace & Jacques aren't really fun "let's get one another cute gifts" kind of couple. The truth is that Grace would probably put together both gift bags - Jacques would never admit it, but she kind of runs the show. Then This is why for herself she'd chose something that makes you lose your breath -- something she aspires to do to Jacques every time: a bit of Goldschlager and some hot tamales.
As the voices coming from the computer speakers droned on, it became more of a challenge to keep the giggles in. Taureau in the hall trying to catch his breath; Grace strapped to a chair with a pearl necklace; and Caroway, Patton and Stewart spouting off survey results in their respective offices.
Taureau returned, light on his feet, naked from the waist down, and tapped the keyboard to render the other men deaf to their activities once more.
‘All right, smart mouth, if that’s how you want it.’ He came to her front once more and lifted her head. He was anything but gentle as he scrubbed her with the warm washrag he’d brought with him, then circled around to her rear.
Grace cackled. ‘You’re just pissed because you wrote a cheque you couldn’t cash.’
He loosened her in an instant but didn’t free her. Instead he dragged her and the chair into the hall.
‘How many times do you need to be fucked in the run of a day before you’re satisfied, Miss Neely?’ he asked as he shoved her down.
‘Are you keeping score?’ she called to him, and dissolved into giggles as he returned with his bag. He looked stern as he drew out a second hank of rope. ‘Sore loser.’
‘You say that like we’re playing a game. I don’t play games, Miss Neely. I don’t know what else I can do to impress that upon you, but I’ll sure as hell try.’
By the time the third book comes around, they've been together long enough to have an established a healthy level of affectionate sarcasm between them. Jacques' goodybag would include a packet of poutine mix, a wink to his French Canadian background. A bit of rich, dark chocolate that reminds her of what it's like to be in the dark with him. Oh, and she'd throw in a Coffee Crisp bar as a nod to my friend, Jess, whose constant poking spurred me to write the first book in the series to begin with.
Keep quiet, she thought, the noise is how he knows you’re close.
And so she squeezed her eyes shut and focused on breathing in and out. It seemed to be working. The fluctuation of power became less chaotic.
All she needed was a minute, just one minute with a bit of juice …
‘You’re awfully quiet out there,’ he called to her, and killed the vibe.
She looked up at him. One hand on the computer, one on the remote, and his eyes still looking forward.
‘Are we getting the gist of things, Miss Neely? I would have thought you’d know by now that no matter how far away I am, you’re all mine.’
Oh, nothing but the best for Molly. A premium chocolate to melt on her tongue. She likes a classic vodka over ice after a long day, and she likes her vodka Russian. Quinn knows this, and as much as he likes watching her try new things, he couldn't convince her to give up her Smirnoff for something in a fancier bottle.
Her impatience was bubbling over, but there was something hypnotic about his storyteller’s voice. She nodded and was met with a smile. He beckoned her again and, once she was before him, he gestured at the floor.
‘You want me on my knees?’
‘Don’t get too excited. I’ll tell you why once you’re down there.’
Down she went and sat back on her calves, when what she really wanted was to pull out his cock and disturb his unflappability.
He leaned forward and went on. ‘First, she wanted me to give her a stern talking-to. She wanted me to grill her about her business dealings, her personal life, how often she cancels her appointments with her personal trainer, how much of a credit-card balance she keeps, and so on. Once her failings were laid out before her, it was time to get physical.’ He leaned forward and cocked his head. ‘Have you ever had a good hard spanking, Molly Archer?’
She shook her head. She would have answered, but her tongue had gone useless on her while her body was struck with a charge.
A good hard spanking? Not only had she never had one, but she’d never really wanted one. She’d always found the fantasy off-putting, but as soon as the question had left Quinn’s mouth she ached to reach down and give herself a bit of a rub.
Not that he can say much about her tastes, given that he likes his rum cheap and straight. Even if he’s particular about how he’s presented, he’s down to earth. He usually goes for the rum with the most interesting label, like Kraken, but his go-by is Captain Morgan. He's been keeping himself fit for 18 years -- not many women want to pay to fuck a pot-belly -- but he has his cheat days, and Molly knows his penchant for a big bag of miniature chocolate bars.
‘I have to say that you’re a lovely hostess,’ he said softly. ‘So accommodating to my every whim whenever I visit, and I always leave feeling satisfied. As a houseguest, on the other hand, you’re terribly shameless.’
He drew out ‘shameless’ and let it slither into her ear and down her body to warm like a kiss between her legs. She tilted her head slightly, but his fingertips pressed into flesh, leaving their impression like she was made of clay.
‘You’re a selfish, spoiled girl,’ he went on in that wonderful drawl. ‘And after I was so good to you. Wasn’t I good to you?’
‘You were,’ she crooned back at him. ‘You’re always so good to me.’
He released her. Free from his clutches, Molly turned around and watched, expectant, as he collected one of the chairs around that monstrosity of a table and brought it towards her.
‘I am, aren’t I?’ He dropped the chair in front of her, back to the window, and crossed his arms over his chest. ‘See the upholstery? That’s hand made with real leather. It’s easy on the ass, but, for you, easy on the knees. Kneel.’
Starting on what I suppose would count as their first date, Simon wins over a rain-soaked Miranda by taking her to a toasty cafe for hot chocolate and scones. Now, the hot chocolate she gets at that cafe is the real stuff, rich with a heaping head of real cream and drizzled with chocolate syrup. But as he hands over his stash he'd tease that she's a cheap date and a couple of fifty-cent chocolate packets would get her panties around her knees. And if she put up an argument, he's instantly disarm it with a selection of Jolly Ranchers to evoke the memory of their adventure sampling flavoured lube.
‘I’m curious about the pomegranate, but I have a point to make,’ she told him as she withdrew the blue packet.
She straddled Simon’s waist and wriggled so that his cock nestled between her nether lips, and grinned as the shaft gave an insistent throb.
She snagged the cap between her teeth and as soon as it opened, she squirted a dollop on her fingertip.
‘Here,’ she purred, and smeared the lube over his mouth. ‘Raspberry.’
She crooked her finger into his mouth, and as he curled his tongue around she thrilled with the reminder of what he had done with his tongue moments ago.
Relinquishing her finger with a pop, Simon ran his tongue between his lips. ‘I think I’d prefer the cherry.’
Simon is known for being sly, but Miranda is pretty sly herself, which is why she filled his goody bag with green tea. She's noticed him remarking about how his weight gain in the last couple of years has started to bother him. He likes green tea, and a little googling tells her that it's good for weight loss. But Simon deserves his treat -- some raspberry hard candy, her own little nod to their lube sampler.
‘So you think you’re paddle is better than mine, do you?’ he asked close to her ear.
It wasn’t a question seeking an answer, she recognized immediately. This was that mindfucking she had asked for back when she first rejected his paddle.
‘Granted, I’ve had a lot of these in my hand, and just as many walloping my ass. I wouldn’t have gone for purple. I prefer simple black leather or PVC, or maybe even a bit of wood. I like my splashes of colour to be just that, like the plug you’re trying not to think too much about or that pink rope you’ve been avoiding looking at.’
He was right. She’d been avoiding everything on the table, mainly the paddle he now held, but the rope was just as intimidating. Unlike the scarves she’d tied him down with, his rope had a one occupation, and combined with the paddle and the plug, it was as thrilling as it was terrifying.
And what about me? I think that I deserve a bit of a treat. After all, I had no intentions of writing a series but here I am three books later. Even if I do get leftovers I'm happy -- but what's this?
A bit of wine for my troubles? Awwww, you guys. And I didn't even have to dress up like a slutty nun to get it! And books! I get to read some great books by some of my favourite writers once this whole series thing is over! Don't worry ladies, I'll *hiccup* share the wine.
I wish I could share the candy and booze with everyone, but instead I’m going to give away books! One winner gets al three Carried Away books, and all you need to do is tell me your dirtiest secret — yup, I want to know the candy you buy for Halloween but is actually the stash you give out last so you can have it all to yourself. Or, if you’re a better person than the rest of us, tell me your favourite Halloween candy.
Happy Halloween to Alison, and to all her evil minions!
A.M. Hartnett began writing erotica upon receiving what, at the time, she considered very bad advice from a career counselor. Since 2006, her short stories have appeared on the web and in various anthologies, including Alison Tyler’s Nine-to-Five Fantasies: Tales of Sex on the Job and Kristina Wright's Best Erotic Romance series. Visit www.amhartnett.com for more information.
Happy Halloween from your favorite trollop, too!