7 from Rock My Senses #mysexysaturday #mss66

“What the hell was that about in there? You’ve got blood dripping down your neck.”

Hello and welcome to the 66th week of My Sexy Saturday. I’m sharing seven paragraphs from my new release, which just came out on Halloween yesterday!

Seven from Rock My Senses

“What the hell was that about in there? You’ve got blood dripping down your neck.”

She dabbed at her neck and stared at her fingers, now stained dark red. “What the—” A snowflake went straight for her finger and we both watched mesmerized as stark white met velvet red and was swallowed by it.

A few snowflakes fell onto her cheeks and her tiny nose and I felt an urge to brush them away, but they melted once they met the warmth of her flushed skin. She had delicate features and pretty blue eyes. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place how I knew her. Her blonde hair  lay tousled on her shoulders, set off by the black of a dress that clung to her tight little body. My cock had settled down after the freaky incident inside, but twitched back to life again.

“Are you two into some weird-ass drugs and vampire role-play or something?” I asked.

My question distracted her from her blood-covered fingers. She still appeared dazed, but wobbled less. The fresh air and sight of blood must have jolted her back to reality. She reached into her purse and pulled out tissues to blot the blood.

“I’m not judging,” I clarified, in case I embarrassed her. “We all have our things.” When she didn’t answer me, I asked, “Where do you live?”

She focused on me with a dead-eyed stare. “Figures you don’t remember.”

Rock My Senses

Rock My SensesComputer geek by day, by night Mike Harvey becomes outlandish guitarist Chee Keydood for rock band Velvet Cocks. Spotting two women kissing in a club, he thinks he’s in luck.

Allana Miles isn’t sure what came over her, but she sure as hell recognizes Chee and can’t believe he doesn’t remember her from their one-night stand. But she has no time to think about him—she’s too busy opening her own yoga studio to get involved in a relationship.

When they meet again at a New Year’s party, their attraction reignites, too hot to ignore. But they’ve got issues to overcome. Allana catches glimpses of the man behind the façade, but doesn’t think they can fit into each other’s lives even though the sex is great. Mike has always known he’s a bit different, but is shocked to discover his real nature. Will he be able to protect Allana from danger and convince her to take a chance on him?

A Romantica® paranormal erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

Ellora’s Cave

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My Sexy Saturday – 7 from Highland Shifters #MySexySaturday #Saturday7 #MSS61

Happy Saturday! I’m enjoying my second piping hot cup of coffee after getting up early and reading. Hope the weekend is filled with books and caffeine for you as well–two of my favorite things, especially together!

Today I’m sharing seven paragraphs from Knights of Stone, which is my novella in the Highland Shifters boxed set. I am thrilled to be part of this set with such talented authors. It has shot up the charts, is #1 in many Amazon categories, and is in the Amazon top 50 right now. It has over 70 five star reviews already and readers love it. The initial price of 99 cents is almost over so be sure to get it at this steal of a price before it goes up.

Excerpt from Knights of Stone by Lisa Carlisle

Five torches blazed on the stage all at once, lit by an unseen force. The audience erupted in cheers as the dancing lights from the flickering fire basked the statues. The flames lowered, casting the gargoyles in an eerie, almost reverent glow.

Movement. So slight, Kayla wondered if it was simply a play of light and shadows in her anticipation for the change. She fixed her gaze on the statue in front of her, the one she’d gravitated to each time she’d had snuck out to see the show. Its massive gray form stood straight on two legs built for sturdiness. Its chest jutted out proudly. Gray wings with detailed feathers etched in the stone arched from a point below its shoulder blades. Eyes cast straight ahead on a face that appeared to be a mixture of canine and lion. Its right hand twitched, so slightly she would have missed it if she hadn’t stared so intently. Then a clawed foot inched forward.

Murmurs of astonishment burst from the crowd as the transformation began. Their cries of fervor grew louder as the monstrous statues transformed into taller, slimmer figures with the bronzed skin of warriors who battled under the midday sun. The tartan fabric fell over their thighs as they stood erect, covering their nudity.

Kayla barely blinked, mesmerized as always, as the statue before her stood to full height, taking on the form of a human male, but with beautiful raven wings. Hair just as black snaked rebelliously past his chin. The stony eyes flickered with animation, turning to a mossy green. His deep gaze seared the audience, seeming to burn anything in the path. When he found Kayla, he stopped.

His expression was unreadable, but the intensity in his unblinking eyes made her swallow. She froze under the scrutiny as if hypnotized, unable to break eye contact. Her stomach lurched, heart pounded, and every muscle in her body tightened, fueled with blood now scorching through her veins. His penetrating appraisal affected her so. When his eyes took on a smoldering glint, her skin tingled and a red-hot awareness grew between her thighs.

He broke the stare and continued to assess the audience. She gasped, not realizing she had been holding her breath, and panted while she tried to breathe at a normal rate. He turned on robust legs and strode to a guitar stand. She tore her eyes from him to note the other gargoyles. They, too, had shifted into the form of striking males. One had black hair draped further down his back, one had long blond hair, and two had reddish-brown hair—one wavy and shaggy, the other straight. They took their place at other  instruments. She sought the guitarist again and caught the first sound of the pick striking the strings. On hearing the guitar projected through the amp, the crowd roared again, pressing Kayla forward.

The freak show was about to begin.


HIGHLAND SHIFTERS: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set

12 scorching hot shifter romances for only $0.99!
NO cliffhangers!

Find out what’s under that kilt in this collection of steamy shapeshifter romances! NY Times and USA Today bestselling authors such as Selena Kitt, Michelle Fox, Tabitha Conall, Adriana Hunter and Liliana Rhodes offer stories featuring hot alpha shifters in kilts. Most of the 12 stories in the collection are brand new!

Are you ready to peek under the plaid?

Her Scottish Alpha by Tabitha Conall: In the midst of trying to figure out their mating, Alpha werewolf Lachlan and dragon slayer Keira have to find Keira’s missing sister, fight a war and save Lachlan’s life.

Liulf by Victoria Danann: For two thousand years the Scotia werewolves have enjoyed the protection of the Fae Monarchy, but the world is changing and the tribe must adapt or face extinction. Or move.

Highland Wolf Pact by Selena Kitt: Englishwoman Sibyl Blackthorne escapes her arranged marriage to a cruel Scot only to find herself in the arms of something even more dangerous – and discovers only one wild heart can claim another.

Kiss the Dragon by Michelle Fox: A cursed dragon finds his maiden is already claimed by the future. If he can’t save her, she can’t save him.

By the Light of the Scottish Moon by Red Phoenix: Bryn, the pack leader, is so lost in his own pain he can’t see beyond it. Freya is dying & has come home to Scotland.to say goodbye. Her fate lies in his hands – but to save her he must kill her.

The Highlander’s Mate by Liliana Rhodes: Centuries after an ancient curse on his clan tore werewolf Bran MacCulloch away from his mate Ainsley Drummond, he catches her scent on the breeze. But how can it be her?

Highland Moon Rising by Sarah Makela: When wereleopard Caitlyn returns home to see her werewolf half-brother after he’s rescued from scientists, she’s imprisoned by the Pack. Will the Alpha who hungers for her be the protector she needs?

Knights of Stone by Lisa Carlisle: Gargoyles, tree witches, and wolf shifters have divided their Scottish isle. When a witch breaches into another territory, she’s tempted by a forbidden attraction that may affect the future for all.

The Zrakon’s Curse by Linda Barlow: Sea dragon shifter Colin Malloch’s need for a mate draws a woman from another world into grave danger. How can he keep her safe when his own brother demands her life?

To Tame a Highlander by Adriana Hunter: Curvy nurse Aspyn Montgomery’s night takes a sudden turn when a patient she watched die suddenly turns up at her apartment desperately needing help. Can fated love triumph over the threat of war?

Roots and Fang by Skye Eagleday & Ripley Sage: When McKay takes a male Fae lover it triggers the deadly jealousy of the powerful Pooka shape-shifter the Fae abandoned. Can love conquer all when only one of you is human?

Midnight Hunt by Arial Burnz: As Broderick unravels the mystery of why Monika reminds him of his late wife, his quest for answers causes a chain of events, starting a witch hunt, dooming them both to the fiery stake of judgment.


Check out the other authors participating in this week’s My Sexy Saturday.

Book Excerpt of Dark Velvet by Lisa Carlisle #newadult #paranormal #eroticromance

I’m here to share an excerpt of my recent release, Dark Velvet.  This is the start of a new series of new adult erotic romances set on a remote New England island. Paranormal aspects, a medieval-styled castle, and a hot as hell hero.

Dark Velvet

Lisa Carlisle

Chateau Seductions series

darkvelvetGrad student Savannah Evans is thrilled to be accepted as a resident to a prestigious art colony. Where else would she be able to focus on her craft of writing poetry in a setting like that of the medieval-styled castle? The remote New England island is a respite from her hectic city life. When she meets her benefactor, a mysterious French sculptor, her expectations for carefree days writing near the ocean are distracted by unprofessional fantasies about her sponsor.

Antoine Chevalier built Les Beaux Arts on DeRoche Island to bring purpose back to an existence that has lost meaning. He’s wandered the earth for decades and finds solace in returning to art. When Savannah applies for a residency, something about her words touches him. After her arrival, a physical attraction grows between them, which he struggles against. She deserves more than someone of his kind.

Antoine proposes they become lovers during her stay. But the situation turns complicated when Savannah discovers his secret. She had suspicions about his identity, but finds the truth overwhelming. Consumed by her desire for Antoine and faced with a tough decision, she is blind to the danger that has arrived at DeRoche Island.

New adult / paranormal / erotic romance


Savannah’s fingers traced the cool marble of the god’s muscular back and then the definition in his arm as he drew an arrow to shoot. She pictured Antoine bent over the sculpture, brows furrowed in concentration, losing sense of time as he polished each portion to perfection.

“Do you like this?” A deep voice whispering in her ear startled her.

She jumped at the sound of his voice, bumping back into his hard chest, and he caught her upper arms to steady her. Only one man in the castle spoke in that smooth French accent—the sculptor himself.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Antoine.” She fumbled taking a half step forward, away from him. “I shouldn’t have touched it.”

“No, don’t apologize.” He let go of her arms, but his warm breath tickled her ear.

He took her hand, caressing her palm, which sent tingles up her arm. Her bottom lip quivered as he brought her fingers to rest again on the marble piece. She thanked the gods he remained behind her so he couldn’t witness her nervous reaction, and she bit her lip to halt the tremors. This was not the way for a young protégée to behave in front of her benefactor. He owned the castle, created the art colony here where she was attending on a poetry scholarship—she shouldn’t go gaga simply from his touch. Which was exactly what she was doing.

“It pleases me that you appreciate my work.” Leading her fingers down the figure’s chiseled chest, he leaned in closer and added, “I liked watching you admire it.”

His voice alone sent flames rippling through her. Every nerve in her being lit with awareness in reaction to him. In the months since they’d met, they’d never been alone in such proximity. Weeks of heated looks from afar had inflamed her desire so the slightest touch became intimate, strengthening her need for more.

Sounds of approaching voices indicated this evening’s performance in the chateau would soon begin. Several of the musicians in the art colony had collaborated on orchestral pieces they wanted to play in front of an audience for the first time. As fellow artists in residence, they sought the support of fellow residents.

Antoine kissed her hand like a suitor in a bygone era. “I hope you enjoy the concert, Savannah.”

Her lips parted, opening and closing like a fish while she thought of what to say. When she mustered up the courage to turn and face him, he had already left the room, filling her with both relief and disappointment. Unaware she’d been holding her breath, she exhaled deeply.


Several times over the course of the evening, Savannah caught Antoine’s dark eyes watching her. Her emotions roiled in confusion while the performers played Barber’s Adagio for Strings. The way he held her gaze without blinking made her squirm in the burgundy armchair. The rising tension and resolution from the violin and cello underscored her tumultuous emotions.

She smiled at him briefly and focused on the musicians, aware of how her heartbeat had escalated. When she glanced again at Antoine, he still watched her unabashed, as if unconcerned about what the others would think. He took a sip of Porto, nodded her way, and then returned his attention to the musicians. She sat up straighter and crossed her legs at the ankles, then uncrossed them, and crossed them again.

The attraction was becoming more difficult to ignore. In light of how he breached the physical distance by touching her so earlier, she feared she’d be unable to keep her desires hidden much longer. She’d developed an instant crush since she arrived at the castle three months before. How could she not be—he was a renowned sculptor with a devastating, dark appeal. What was she to him than just another young resident who would be gone in three months, replaced by another.

Was she reading more into the brief exchange than was warranted?

It’s just a look. Only a casual glance my way. Even as she attempted to fool herself, she knew she was full of shit.

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Lisa Carlisle
Dark heroes, feisty heroines, scorching stories

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New Release: Gargoyle’s Embrace by Lisa Carlisle

gargoylesembrace_msrGargoyle’s Embrace

Fifth in the Underground Encounters series.

Tracy isn’t sure why she’s drawn to a particular gargoyle statue in the Goth club where she works. After the stone takes human form to protect her from her abusive ex, she brings the handsome, naked male to her apartment. It’s impossible to ignore the seductive appeal of a man sculpted like a Viking warrior.

Danton has only hours in human form to spend with the woman he has hungered for. He’s convinced what’s between them is more than hot sex, but he needs to convince Tracy of that before he turns back to stone.

A Romantica® paranormal erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

Buy now at:
Ellora’s Cave
Barnes and Noble



Tracy brushed her fingers over the smooth stone of the gargoyle perched at the end of the bar of the Vamps nightclub.

“I’m stuck with the late shift tonight,” she said. “But at least I took in some good money.”

She stood over the crouched gargoyle and ran her hand over the smooth area between its two horns, down the back of its head and over its hunched back where its two wings connected. “Thanks for always listening,” she said, aware of how foolish she sounded speaking to a statue. If anyone saw her, they’d think she was stone-cold crazy. She bent to kiss its smooth, chiseled stone cheek in gratitude.

Over the last few months, Tracy had begun talking to the stone gargoyle as if it were a companion whenever she had a few moments alone in the bar. Why she gravitated toward this one gargoyle while several others were perched around the club, she didn’t know. She found something compelling about it, drawing her in, and she often confided her secrets to it.

Tracy rested her hand on the gargoyle’s shoulder while she scanned the club. Bottles and cups were scattered in every dark corner and under the other perched gargoyles. The scent of sweat and spilled beer still permeated the club.


Was it one of the guys out back? The guys she worked with were bringing out the trash and the bottles for recycling. The other bartenders had already settled up and left for the night. They rotated who could leave first and who had to stay to make sure they were stocked for the next night.

No, they knew better than to call her Trace.

“It’s Tracy,” she said, turning to face the intruder.

And stared into the face of her ex.

“What are you doing here, Brian?” The muscles in her body tensed as she gauged the distance between her and the pepper spray behind the bar should she need it.

She thought she felt a tiny movement under her hand.

No, she had to be losing her mind. As if stone could move.

She kept her hand on the stone like a security blanket, almost gripping it now that Brian had appeared.

“I came to see what you were doing tonight. Thought maybe we could hang out.” The way he slurred the words indicated he’d already had one too many, a bad sign.

“Definitely not. The restraining order should make that clear.”

“Babe, I was in a rough place and I took it out on you. Let’s put the past behind us and try again.”

The cold stone felt warmer beneath her hand. How strange. Was she so heated from the tension of Brian arriving that her palm could warm cool stone?

“No, Brian. I’ve given you too many chances and each time it ended worse than the time before.”

“Babe.” He approached her. “I would never hurt you again.”

“Don’t come any closer.” She moved away from the gargoyle to get to her purse behind the bar.

“Trace, you’re soooo dramatic.” He moved behind the bar.

Tracy was distracted by the gargoyle statue behind him. It was changing color, from gray stone to what appeared to be—flesh.

“Come on, we were good together. Don’t you miss the sex?”

The stone wings of the gargoyle statue unfurled into enormous sleek, black, feathered ones. The gargoyle reshaped itself, rising from a crouched position to stand on two legs to a full height well over six feet.

And its head. The horns sank back into the stone while light-blond hair sprouted to take their place, growing past its broad shoulders. Within a few seconds, the grotesque stone creature she found lovable had transformed into a breathtaking male with flawless bronze skin, long blond hair and the magnificent physique of a Viking warrior. Who stood before them stark naked.

“Holy shit!” she exclaimed, eyes widening.

“I know, babe. The sex was awesome.”

She fumbled for her purse, searching for the damn spray. She wasn’t even sure who she was going to direct it at now with two threats facing her.

It was too late. Brian had grabbed her wrists and tried to kiss her.

“Get off me!”

She attempted to knee him in his testicles, but he deflected the blow by turning his body to the side.

Enormous black wings surrounded Brian and a second later he was lifted off the ground. Brian exclaimed, “What the―” which was cut off as he was thrown over the bar onto the empty dance floor.

He scrambled to his feet on unsteady legs. The gargoyle stepped over to him in a few massive strides. While Tracy’s gaze paused on his sculpted buttocks, the gargoyle raised one of his sinewy legs and kicked Brian in the gut. Brian groaned and clutched his stomach. The gargoyle lifted a foot over Brian’s head.

Tracy screamed while Brian shielded his face with his forearm to brace against the gargoyle stomping on his head.

Excerpt for Bloodlust and Metal by Lisa Carlisle

Bloodlust and Metal
By Lisa Carlisle

Chapter One



On the flight from London, I studied a road map to drive from Boston up to the nightclub Vamps where Bloodlust Diamond was playing. Vamps was hidden in the warehouse district in Caterina’s Cove, a little coastal village on the coast north of Boston. A brochure advertising condos described it as a quiet seaside setting, the perfect place to have access to the ocean without the typical tourist crowd that attacked most of the other beaches on the North Shore.

The brochure conveniently left out how Cat’s Cove, as it was called, was also home to an underground/Goth club that attracted “freaks and weirdoes” as one regular had described it online. In my word-of-mouth research, I discovered it also attracted a small, but growing crowd of supernatural beings. Rumor spread it was once owned by a vampire. After an explosion took out a good chunk of the club, it was bought and rebuilt by the current owner. Employees described him as tall, dark and utterly mysterious; some speculated whether he is a vampire as well.

Vampires. I hated them. Always have. Cold, dead creatures stalking the Earth and sucking sustenance out of humans.


When I got the call from a vampire named Stefano, one part of me cringed. I loathed dealing with these blood-lusting walking corpses. Since this one was willing to pay a large fee and it sounded like an easy gig, I swallowed my revulsion and took the job. All I had to do was hunt down a female vampire who stole from him and ran away. If he disposed of her, even better. One less vampire in the world.

After we landed in the U.S. and waited at the long lines at Customs, I found the car rentals. Earlier I had requested a black car with tinted windows and plenty of space in the back seat and trunk, either which might serve as a temporary abode for Miss Costa. Of course, I told the rental agent I had a lot of luggage. I smirked at the visual of having that bloody vampire bound in the car. Then I drove north to Cat’s Cove.

Stefano knew better than to hire a human to find Layla. They relied on paper trails and online transactions, both of which vampires kept to a minimum, especially considering their extended life periods. He needed someone like me, with abilities beyond a typical human’s. With those and the skills I’d learned in the British military, I had established a lucrative career as a bounty hunter. A job I enjoyed more than I like to admit.

Most of my targets were scumbags. They deserved to be caught and brought to justice. Not all, though. On a few occasions, I suspected the person whom I was hired to bring in might be innocent. But I had to stay objective. It wasn’t my job to judge a person’s guilt or innocence. It was my job to track them down and bring them to whomever hired me. This time, it was the thieving little vampire, Layla Costa.

Tracking her down wasn’t that difficult, but it did take longer than I had expected. I caught her scent all over Stefano’s place. It was rather sweet, reminding me of herbs and flowers, and not the smell of the dead I’d associated with most vampires. This distinctive scent helped me track where she’d went next. With her photograph in hand and scent imprinted in my mind, I asked about her at each location. One location led me to another. And eventually I discovered that Layla Costa was now portraying herself as Angelica Blackwell, a singer for a heavy metal cover band called Bloodlust Diamond. She changed her appearance dramatically, but I could still discern the same features.

She was quite striking, I noted. Both as the dark-haired vampire Layla Costa and the wild heavy metal singer with teased multi-colored hair Angelica.

What did her looks matter, I corrected myself. She was just another job. I would simply grab her, take her to Stefano and collect my money.



I teased my variegated black and blonde hair to get into character for the show. After all these years as a brunette, it was strange seeing myself with blonde. The hair stylist I paid big money to “reinvent me” insisted this is the look to capture attention as the new singer of an Eighties hair band.

“Heavy metal,” I’d corrected.

He’d snickered. “Okay, princess.”

What did he know about music anyway?

He’d bleached one side of my hair a platinum blonde and dyed the other side black. Then he added a few streaks of black amid the blond and white amid the black.

If I turned one way in the mirror, my reflection showed a raven-haired woman. When I turned the other way, my reflection showed the blonde. Amazing how the hair color made me look like two different women. Then I looked at my reflection dead on from the front. Whoever was looking at me would focus on my wild hair, which commanded attention, rather than my face. Money well spent. The better I disguised myself as Angelica, rock singer, the less I resembled Layla Costa. Which would make it harder for Stefano to find me.

I accentuated my eyes with black eyeliner, extending them slightly beyond my lash line to give me a cat’s eye style. Then I added two coats of black mascara. It was too easy for features to wash out under the stage lights. With some blush and a dark maroon lipstick, I made sure it wouldn’t happen tonight.

I put on red stiletto boots over the tight black vinyl pants and readjusted my tank top in the full-length mirror. Then I took a nip of the blood from my flask. Just a little bit to take off the edge. Immediately after drinking blood, I felt almost drunk so I tried not to overdo it before going onstage. But a little sip was my ritual to fortify me for the energy I’d expend tonight.

“Here we go again,” I said to my reflection. Then I drove to the rehearsal space to meet up with the rest of Bloodlust Diamond, the band I’d joined six weeks ago. Their lead singer had quit to enter drug and alcohol rehab. I was looking for a new opportunity after running away from Stefano. What would be more fun than reinventing myself as a sexy rock star for a fun metal band?


With our equipment stashed in the back of the van, we drove to Caterina’s Cove, a town I’d never heard of north of Boston. A woman named Maya Winters had called us from Vamps, some sort of Goth/underground club.

“We’re having a theme week,” she’d explained. “Hair and Roses—The best and worst of the Eighties. We’d like to book you to play here a couple of nights.”

Since Bloodlust Diamond was usually out there soliciting gigs, we jumped on the opportunity.

“How did you hear about us?” our guitarist Joey Bangs asked.

“I’m always looking for new talent to book here. I asked our regulars if they knew any good bands who played 80s covers and a few mentioned you. They’d seen you play around Boston. So I checked out your Web site and liked what I saw.”


When we walked through an alley to reach Vamps, I thought we’d probably made a mistake. Who would come to a hidden club in a town nobody had ever heard of? But when we reached a building with gargoyles perched on each side of the front door, my interest was piqued.

The bouncer called some of the staff to help us unload and set up our instruments, which was cool since we weren’t big enough to hire roadies. When I opened a door with a sign reading “Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here” and entered the main area of the club, my initial impressions changed drastically. Judging by the number of people wall to wall, this place was definitely not unknown.

The dance floor was packed with people jumping or dancing wildly to Ozzy Osborne’s Crazy Train. Although a number of people got into the spirit when they came to our shows, almost everyone here had dressed for the 80s theme tonight. Most of the women had teased their hair to make it bigger and harder than nature intended. Some of the guys had long hair, but I couldn’t tell if it was natural or very good wigs. I should go out there and give some a little tug.

Many of them wore band shirts with torn jeans. I read some of the shirts—Metallica, Slayer, Anthrax, Testament, Biohazard, Danzig. Some of the women opted to vamp out in tight black spandex pants or animal print.

A smaller portion of the crowd dressed from the older punk scene. Spiked hair, hair shaved into an asymmetric style, or mohawks. I wondered if they were punk rockers or just going all out for the night. Punk band shirts—the Ramones, the Clash, and Black Flag—and a lot of spiked belts. An even smaller portion sported a gothic look. Black clothing, pale faces, and eyes painted dark and smoky.

Despite the variety of couture, one accessory was a given—black boots everywhere.

The sounds of Crazy Train faded out and I noticed the DJ at the back of the club. He’d play before and after we had our set. The crowd slowed down as the music dimmed. The DJ blended the final notes into Nine Inch Nail’s Head Like a Hole and the crowd’s energy rose again.


While the guys from the club helped us set up our equipment on stage, I walked up to test the mic and adjust it to my height. Whoever played here last had to be extremely tall as I moved it all the way down to reach my much smaller stature of 5’2”. Maybe I could inch up to 5’ 5” or 5’ 6” in stilettos.

Then I met up with the guys backstage and we went over the set list. Joey caught a glimpse of a tall, striking woman striding toward them.

“Hi, Maya,” he said. I noticed he used the tone he reserved for women he found attractive. “This is Mark, Rocco, and Layla. Guys, this is Maya Winters, the woman who booked us.”

After we all exchanged hellos and nice to meet yous, Maya ran over the last minute details about our set.


Maya walked out on stage as the DJ faded out the end of the song.

“Good evening, everyone,” she said. “I’d like to welcome you to a special event at Vamps tonight. As you know we’re having 80s week here, Hair and Roses, bringing all of you back to the best—and the worst—of the 80s.” Lots of shouts and hollers from the crowd. “Judging by the outfits here tonight, I’m glad you’ve all gone for the best.” More hoots from the crowd. “We’re also going with the best by bringing you an awesome band recommended by some of you regulars out there. Thank you. You know who you are. So without further ado, get ready for some of the best of 80s heavy metal. Let’s welcome Bloodlust Diamond!”

The crowd applauded.

“Ready?” Joey said.

“Ready,” Mark Dudley, who we called Studley, said.

“Let’s go.”

More cheering as the guys walked on the stage, raising their hands in welcome as they took their positions at their instruments.

I sipped another nip of blood while nobody was looking to counter the initial stage fright that consumed me before I went on stage. Once I started singing, I was fine. It was that quiet moment between walking out there seeing the crowd and beginning to sing that gave me an issue. I checked my lips for any signs of blood that the dark lipstick wouldn’t camouflage. Then I walked out to join the guys, striding confidently to compensate for my nerves.

Maya touched my shoulder as she passed and said, “Break a leg.” I had to look up at her. Damn, she was tall. What I would do for long legs like that.

Enough of that for now. I’d already reinvented myself for more than one lifetime.



“This is bullshit,” I overheard some guy in the club say.

“What is?” his friend asked.

“This whole fuckin’ night. I thought we were going to see Bloodlust Diamond play. Now they have some lame ass chic singing. When did that happen?”

I took a sip of my beer, pretending not to listen to the conversation.

“Don’t be such a dick, man,” his friend said. “The other singer left. Went into rehab or something. Their new singer is a woman. Big whoops.”

“She’s going to kill the band. How can a woman sing metal? The way the other singer did? No fucking way.”

“We’ll find out soon, won’t we? In the meantime, relax, dude. Go hang out at the bar if you don’t want to listen.”

“Good idea. You know where to find me.” He walked away in a huff.

His friend noticed me and must have assumed I heard the whole conversation. “I don’t know what crawled up his ass,” he said, then focused his attention on the stage as three guys and then a woman came out. “Who cares if she can sing or not? She’s smokin’ hot.”

I nodded. He was right—she was quite ravishing. The photographs of her didn’t do her justice and I had thought she was striking when I saw those. Now I was transfixed. Looking at the males in the club staring at her with rapt expressions on their faces, I wasn’t the only one. She wore a heavy black trench coat that hid her body and drew all attention to her face. Her large eyes sparkled, and her cheeks looked so soft I wanted to touch them. Her lips with the perfect amount of plumpness, were just begging to be kissed.

Not only had her presence commanded the attention of every guy in the club, but most of the women as well. What they couldn’t perceive, but I could, was she wasn’t human; her skin was far paler and eyes much brighter.

I examined the others in the band. Humans. Did they know their singer was a vampire?

When Layla yelled out, “Hello, all you motherfuckas!” the rest of the crowd looked up, too. “We’re Bloodlust Diamond and we’re here to have a wicked time rocking out tonight. Who’s with us?” A bunch of people hooted and cheered. “Good. I don’t want anyone creeping around in the back of the room. Get up closer. I want to see you. I want to hear you!” The crowd screamed again. “We’re going to start with some old school Metallica.” She turned to the band and said “One, two, one, two, three, four.”

The drummer launched a heavy beat and the band joined in. Then Layla leaned close into the mic and sang the beginning lyrics to Am I Evil.

I hope that jerk at the bar heard her, because as she wailed the lyrics, she left no doubt that she could sing. How a tough-ass voice came out of a petite body like that was a mystery. Even in her red stiletto heels and teased-up hair, I gauged her to be 5’3” at the most. The illusion of the heels and hair made her appear much bigger and tougher than she was.

For some reason, I imagined her coming out of the shower wearing nothing but a towel. No hair done up or makeup on, no heels. All natural. She was probably a wee little thing that you’d just want to pull on top of your lap and hold. And touch…

Wait, why was I thinking stuff like this? I had a job to do—capture her. Not fantasize about her coming out of the shower.

I studied Layla as she played, watching how she moved. Although my eyes scanned every visible inch of her, I convinced myself I was focused on her the same way I would with any other acquisition I’d been hired to bring in. I had to be aware of anything I needed to know to capture her.

She was a vampire so she’d be fast, her reflexes even faster than mine. She’d be strong, but that’s where I had the advantage. I had more strength than most men in human form, and once I transformed, I had the strength of whatever animal I shifted into.

She would be tougher to capture than a human, but I loved challenges. Capturing humans was almost too easy. Throw a supernatural into the mix and that’s when things really got exciting.

When the band finished the song, I went to the bar to order a beer.

The jerk was still complaining at the bar. “Oh great. A girl covering Whitesnake. Just shoot me now.”

I ignored him, even though I agreed with him about covers. Most bands who played covers killed them. They either tried too hard to copy the original and failed or went the other way and tried so hard to make it their own they lost the essence of the song. That’s not to say some bands didn’t kill it in a good way. Every now and then a band would play a cover that blew the original away.

When I heard Layla wail out the first two lines of the Still of the Night, I turned back toward the stage, compelled to see her again. Her voice stirred something inside me. She threw off her heavy black trench coat. When I saw her up against the microphone stand in such an erotic stance, I tried to ignore the sensations surging through my body. Her skintight black pants showed off finely toned legs, making me wonder what her ass looked like. Her black tank top was torn at the top, revealing some cleavage. Her pale arms showed definition as she clutched the microphone.

She belted out the sexiest rendition of the song since David Coverdale sang it. Her voice alternated between a purr and a seductive wail. Whenever I heard this song from now on, it wouldn’t be Tawny Kitaen writhing on a Jaguar that I fantasized about. It would have to be this vixen on the stage compelling me and every other guy in the bar to watch her, listen to her, be her slave.

By the end of the song, I had completely forgotten that I had come to Boston for one specific purpose.

Focus, Devon. Snap out of it. You have a job to do. Don’t let your dick get in the way.



Our guitarist, Joey Bangs, went backstage for a quick change while the rest of us played. When he came back on stage, he’d added a button-down white shirt and tie to go over his black leather pants. Then he donned a pair of black horn-rimmed glasses and the ladies screamed their approval of the sexy intelligent persona.

While Joey distracted the crowd with a guitar solo, I escaped backstage to quickly take off the heels and spandex and throw on a tiny schoolgirl outfit. Plaid skirt, fitted white tank top, and chunky Mary Jane shoes.

When I came back on stage, I took the mic. “Call it heavy metal, call it hair metal, call it rock. We don’t give a fuck. We’re here to play music and have an awesome time. If you’re with us, let me hear you!”

The crowd responded with shouts and hollers.

“That’s what I like to hear. Now Rocco is going to start with a little drum solo I think you might recognize.” I turned. “Rocco.”

He launched into the familiar intro to Van Halen’s Hot for Teacher and the crowd cheered upon recognizing the song. I strutted over to the drum set, moving as sexy as I could to the beat.

Joey joined in with the guitar and I moved over to him, dancing in a suggestive way as I admired his talents. I mussed up his shirt a little and loosened his tie.

Mark started with the bass and I sang the beginning lyrics. Joey and I acted out our new stage personas with him as a tempted professor and me as a naughty school girl. At one point I bent over in front of him so he could catch a glimpse of my white cotton panties and he smacked me playfully on the ass. Mark donned a classic brown wool blazer and a pair of glasses to play the part of the principal. He stood between us as an authority figure, pushing his hands out to the sides to keep Joey and me apart, while I reached past him to loosen Joey’s tie and unbutton the top buttons of his shirt

When Bloodlust Metal hired me to replace the previous singer, I decided not to copy his stage presence. Instead I invented my own. Joey was on board with the concept of his skirting around a forbidden attraction on stage, flirting with the idea of becoming lovers. The act added a fun, sexy element to our shows. Mark often acted as an opposing force, throwing obstacles in our way or even pulling one of us away from the other.

So far, our act was working well. It helped get the crowd into the shows as we continued the forbidden lust-addled love story, rather than having four musicians simply play a string of songs.

By the end of Hot for Teacher, I’d managed to get the shirt, tie and glasses off Joey, so he was now donning a torn Bloodlust Diamond shirt. The ladies loved this part, hooting as I stripped off his good boy image to reveal the bad boy hiding inside the upright and proper professor. Rock star Joey with his wild brown hair and lean physique then took over the role of seducing me with the sultry stances and bedroom looks he’d perfected; I thought a few women might rush the stage and knock me over to get a piece of him.



As I watched Layla play, the sexy way she ran her hand over the mic stand. I pictured her tiny hand running over my body. Down the front of my chest, over the muscles in my legs, in between my legs, increasing the mounting excitement.

It’s just adrenaline building. Your body preparing for the capture.

The hard press of my erection in my jeans told me I was full of shit.

The music ended, jolting me back to reality. I wasn’t here to ogle her and fantasize about what she’d be like in my arms or in my bed. I was here to capture her.

I forced myself out of the mindset of a male attracted to a female and back into one of a predator on the prowl. She was prey.

I watched her say good night to the crowd, thanking them for coming, and then leaving the stage. Swarms of fans surrounded the band members to talk to them. While the females jostled to get closer to the guys in the band, males vied for Layla’s attention. Unfamiliar jealousy stabbed me square in the gut and I forced it away.

I could wait for her fans to subside. I’d wait for her to be alone or lure her someplace alone if I had to. No rush. Besides, I liked to take my time. Like a cat playing with a mouse. The thrill of the hunt.

I smiled at that thought. Like a cat.

The woman who’d introduced them came back onto the stage. “How about a hand for Bloodlust Diamond?”

The crowd applauded with a bunch of hooting and hollering.

“I knew they could play, but I had no idea how visually appealing they would be. A feast for the senses, don’t you think? Did you hear the way she sang? And the guitarist? Yummy.”

More hollering and whistling from the crowd.

“Lucky for you they’re coming back for another set tomorrow night. So how many of you will we see again tomorrow?”

More cheering. “Great. We’ll see you again. And now our awesome DJ is coming back to get all your hot bodies on the dance floor. Give it up for DJ Stark.”

The DJ started up again with The Clash’s Rock the Casbah. People were already back on the floor dancing. I scoured the crowd for signs of Layla, but she’d disappeared. I figured I’d check outside, in case she was a smoker. The bouncer stamped my hand when I said I’d be right back. I opened the large wooden door and stepped out into the cool New England night.

A few people who were smoking had congregated near each other. I wondered if it was a camaraderie thing. With fewer people smoking these days than ten years ago, did they stick together? Complain about being ostracized from the clubs?

I walked down the alley to the main road, which was devoid of people. I saw a black van, which was nondescript except for a few Bloodlust Diamond stickers on the back portion. It must be the band’s van, or some hardcore fans. I hoped for the former, as it  meant Layla Costa had not escaped me.

Although I wanted to hurry to get back inside the club, I resisted the urge to walk quicker. Part of the thrill was hunting her down and I didn’t want the excitement to end just yet.

Back inside, I searched the crowd for her, a petite woman with distinctive hair. One side so blonde it was almost white while the other as black as midnight. On each side strips of the other color. She’d be easy to spot in a crowd.

There she was standing near the bar.


She was talking to a few people, taking a sip of her drink from time to time.

I walked closer while staying behind the crowd so she wouldn’t see me approach. When I was in earshot, I tried to listen to their conversation. Even with my extraordinary senses, I couldn’t hear what they were saying over the sounds of a Siouxie and the Banshees song, Kiss Them for Me.

How would I get her alone?

As I pondered this question, she looked up and noticed me. When her eyes found mine, I froze. Not only did I feel as if I was caught doing something wrong, but something else made my chest tighten. Her dark, inquisitive eyes searched mine as if trying to figure out my secrets. Beyond making me aware that she might be more difficult to capture than a typical human, I was also now aware of parts of my body responding to her inquisitive gaze. My lips felt parched and I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs.

She was a vampire and vampires had that special ability to mesmerize humans, but I’m not human so she shouldn’t have any effect on me. So what exactly was going on?

Another part of me, the one that was former military and current bounty hunter, kicked in. Take control of the situation and seize any opportunity. Use whatever options you have to your advantage.

Now that she’d seen me staring, I’d play the part of a fan idolizing a band. I walked directly up to her and ignored the people around her. I didn’t recognize them as the band members on stage so this might fit.

“Hi!” I said in an excited voice. “I just wanted to say how great you were tonight.” As her eyes focused on mine, I was drawn in to them. They weren’t black as I thought from a distance, but a rich brown the color of hot chocolate on the outer edge fading to a honey brown toward the pupil. I’d never seen eyes like that. Could humans even perceive how Layla’s eyes appeared different from theirs? Utterly spectacular. Her eyes flashed excitement and hinted at mystery all at the same time. I looked away briefly to break the eye contact.

Vampire eyes, vampire eyes, I chanted in my head in an effort to avoid them.

If she was trying to mesmerize me with her vampire charms, it was working. No, I was a shapeshifter, I reminded myself. Vampire tricks that worked on ordinary humans wouldn’t work on my kind. I focused on a bottle of whiskey behind the bar, took a deep breath to refocus, and looked at her again.

“Thanks,” she said, flashing me a megawatt smile that disarmed me once again. Her teeth were perfectly white, even, and gleaming, showing no signs of fangs. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Whether she was sincere or could see right through me and was playing along, I had no idea so I kept going with my act.

“I’d never seen you guys play before and I’m so glad I came tonight. I had a smashing time.”

“What’s your name?”


“I’m Angelica.”

No, you’re not. You’re Layla Costa. I know who you are and why you’re on the run. You’re nothing more than a common thief. I nodded like a devoted fan. “I know.”

“Devon, you’re British?”

“Yes. I live in London.”

When she laughed, the sound was almost musical.

Vampire trait, I told myself. Don’t be taken in.

“I hope you didn’t fly all the way to the U.S. just to see us play.”

“Not exactly.” I didn’t come to see the band, but I did come especially for you.

“So what brings you over to this side of the pond?”

“Oh, you know, I like to travel. You ever go to England?”

“Not yet. I’d like to.”

Liar. You lived there for years.

She glanced at my arms. “Sick tattoos.”


“You get all those in England?”

“Most. I travel a lot.”

“For business or pleasure?”

“A bit of both.”

“Interesting. What do you do for a living?”

Hunt down criminals like you.

A question I would avoid answering directly. “I’m self-employed.”

She nodded slowly as if assessing my evasive reply. I still couldn’t figure out if my shtick was working. Was she humoring me as a fan? Or on to my ruse and playing with me? Time to turn the focus back to her.

“Would you mind giving me your autograph?”

“You have pen and paper?”

I looked in my pockets even though I knew I didn’t have them. “No.”

“Go buy a shirt or CD or something and find me later.”

I smiled graciously and walked away.

That didn’t exactly go as planned. But it didn’t blow up in my face either. As I walked over to the display selling T-shirts, bumper stickers, CDs and all kinds of merch, I tried to think of what my next step would be.

“What can I get ya?” A guy showing more tattoos than his actual skin color asked me.

I grabbed a CD, but then noticed it featured the previous singer. I imagined Layla wasn’t with the band long enough to record a CD. “One of these.”

After paying him, I retreated to one of the back walls of the club so I could think of my next move. I watched her all night. A few times I caught her looking around. A part of me hoped she was searching for me. But I remained in the shadows, lurking and waiting for the right moment. Like a predator.

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Fiery Nights by Lisa Carlisle #sixsunday

Welcome to the last week of Six Sentence Sunday. I’m sad to see it go, but happy to be a part of it. I’m Lisa Carlisle and I’m sharing six sentences from my latest paranormal erotic romance with Ellora’s Cave, part of a series called Underground Encounters.


Something about that gaze arrested me and I stopped dancing. Dark eyes, almost black, on a face that looked as angelic as a young Jim Morrison.


His eyes defied the angelic appearance—dark, penetrating eyes. The eyes of someone who was troubled—maybe haunted.


Why was he staring at me like that? Didn’t he know my weakness was a dark, brooding bad boy?


Be sure to check out other authors for Six Sentence Sunday. Here’s more info on Fiery Nights.


Fiery Nights

He may own a Goth nightclub, but Tristan Stone avoids people—the darkness that surrounds them drains him. When he sees Maya for the first time, alone on the dance floor, a light surrounds her. He must discover who she is and what gives her power. He wants her, must have her.

Maya sees a man with haunting eyes watching her from the back of the club. She feels their connection, but thinks it’s merely physical attraction. Their passion ignites, overpowering them, and they must work together to understand their connection. The heat of their passion could send their world up in flames.

A Romantica® erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

Read an excerpt

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For more on the series, visit lisacarlislebooks.com.

Excerpt for Smoldering Nights by Lisa Carlisle

Smoldering Nights

First in the Underground Encounters series

Smoldering Nights
By Lisa Carlisle

Nike loves visiting the goth club Vamps—she can exchange her firefighter uniform for a slinky fantasy outfit. There she runs into the man she’d been admiring from afar at a rock-climbing gym. He’s been the star of all her sexual fantasies, so is it any wonder they end up in his private room upstairs? Just when things begin to heat up, Michel’s enemies appear.

Michel isn’t an ordinary mortal. And someone from his past is on the hunt for vengeance. Michel and Nike are forced to run and hide out in a coastal cottage in Maine. They can’t resist their attraction and spend the nights exploring each other’s bodies while trying to sort out how they feel. Can they overcome their differences while evading the predators chasing them?

Chapter One


Their strict dress code at Vamps warned curious passersby away: “No jeans, no sneakers, no baseball caps. Leather, vinyl and fetish wear highly encouraged. If in doubt, wear black.”

I looked at the stone gargoyles that flanked the entrance as if they were old friends. Perhaps they were hung there to appear creepy and warn visitors away from this underground club. I preferred to think they signaled protection for whoever entered.

Maya pulled the aged-bronze door handle.

“Ladies, you look ravishing as always,” Byron, the bouncer/ID screener, said. “Like you’re ready to break some hearts.”

“That’s the plan,” I said.

“Except yours,” Maya said, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“You’re such a flirt,” Byron said. “Go on in.”

“This is going to be a great night,” Maya said, grabbing my arm and pulling me along. “I can feel it.”

“The only thing I feel right now is your death grip.”

“Sorry,” she said, letting go. “Maybe we’ll meet someone special.”

“Ha! In a fetish club?” I answered. “Come on. I’m only here to dance, not date. You wouldn’t seriously date some guy you met while wearing a tiny schoolgirl outfit, would you?”

I followed her down the dark tunnel lit by candelabra attached to the stone walls. The flames were powered by electricity so as not to violate any fire codes, yet they still emanated a fiery glow.

“No. Ugh. Do I ever?” she asked, giving me her incredulous look. “Doesn’t mean we can’t meet interesting people,” she said. “Remember those guys from England we met a few months ago?”

I nodded.

“They were a blast.”

I shrugged. “They were okay,” I said. “I don’t know how they found out about this club. All I know is I’m hoping for a good night. It was such a shitty week at the firehouse and I’m more than ready to let off some steam.”

“And it’s not often we get a Saturday night off. Definitely the best night of the week here.”

The general public would consider Vamps freaky Thursday and Friday as well, the other two nights it was open. For some reason, Saturday was extra special. Maybe it was DJ Mistress Mona putting on faster, more exciting music that worked the crowd up to a dancing frenzy on the three platform stages and dance floor. Maybe the bartenders put an extra kick in their smoky concoctions. Or maybe it was the Saturday night regulars, decked out in their most outrageous and scanty outfits, who made Vamps their own.

When we made it to the main dance area, the floor was packed. People appeared free to be themselves, wearing whatever suited them—from fishnets and corsets to kinky cowgirl, from steampunk to punk rock—in an environment where they could be uninhibited and unjudged. And they wore black—lots of it.

I often asked where the regulars came from. Vamps seemed like it would fit better in downtown Boston or at least eclectic Salem rather than this little artists’ village tucked in the North Shore. Most of the regulars came from Gloucester, Salem, Portsmouth, and some even drove up from Boston. They attributed it to a more authentic local flavor than the city clubs often frequented by gawking tourists looking for a freak show.

Maya and I slinked our way through the dance floor. The crowd pulsated around us in an orgy of black, leather and skintight vinyl while gargoyle statues looked down

upon them from their protective perches on the walls. Maya and I maneuvered into an empty space and quickly were entranced by the crowd’s energy, dancing to the beat.

A remix of Rob Zombie’s Living Dead Girl came on. Even though I didn’t have a drink, I lost myself in the music, trying to shake off work-mode Nike. When a couple guys started to dance with us, I barely noticed and I didn’t mind.

Maya and I would dance with them, maybe have a drink, but we’d never give out our numbers. Besides, how do you interact over coffee with some guy you met who had been wearing leather pants, chains and boots that gave a new definition to the word stomp?

After a few more songs, I said, “Come on, Maya, let’s get a drink.”

“Hey, where are you ladies going?”

“Maybe we’ll see you later,” Maya said, and she grabbed my hand to try to move our way off the dance floor.

The guys weren’t usually pushy here so we got away without protest. Unlike some of the other clubs on the North Shore or Boston where you’d be hit on repeatedly by drunk townies or college jocks, here you didn’t have to worry about that.

We squeezed through dancers to make our way to the darkly lit bar guarded by more stone gargoyles on each end. Just as we made it to the other side of the dance floor, I felt someone watching me.

It was him.

Oh my God. He was here.

In all the times I’d come here, dressed in all kinds of tight, miniscule outfits, never had I felt so exposed. I wished I wasn’t wearing a laced-up black leather dress that exposed a lot of cleavage and was tight enough to show a pimple on my ass.

He was sitting on one of the dark-red leather stools, facing the crowd. I looked up at him twice and caught his eye quickly both times before I looked away. Those ice-blue

eyes were so penetrating. Each time I’d caught his eye at the rock climbing gym, I’d have the same reaction—I’d look away quickly.

Why didn’t I have the guts to say hi? He was just another guy. So why did he have that effect upon me? There were tons of hot guys with jacked bodies at the gym. This one—only this one—made me react this way, like a zombie unable to speak.

My palms were beginning to heat up and I was painfully aware of the sound of my heartbeat despite the reverberation of the pounding bass around us.

“I know you from the gym, don’t I?”

Oh God. He was speaking to me. Whenever I heard that sultry voice and the French accent, I trembled slightly inside. Was there anything sexier than a French accent? During my brief semester in the south of France my junior year of college, I was in a constant state of sexual arousal with sounds of the French language all around me. Especially when purred by hot French men.

I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Maya elbowed me.

“Ye-yes,” I stammered, trying to sound nonchalant. “I go to Rock Hard Climbing.” That’s where he worked. “I’ve, uh, seen you there.”

Maya said, “I’ll catch up with you later.”

He nodded at her before she moved down to an empty spot at the other end of the red-and-black-marbled bar.

Damn it. How could she leave me alone with him? She must have figured out he was the guy I often drooled about, when she saw me clam up like an idiot.

I stared at Maya as she scanned the crowd on the dance floor, shooting invisible daggers at her back. I’m going to kill her later.

In all those months fantasizing about this guy, never did I think it would start as awkward as this. Perhaps he’d smile at me first or nod hello at the gym. Then one day he’d ask if I needed a hand with something. Maybe compliment me somehow. I would

appear a bit aloof. Each time I went to the gym after that, things would progress nice and slow. We’d gradually talk a bit more until he finally asked me out.

He snapped me out of my thoughts when he said, “I thought I recognized you. You look,” he paused, “different.”

Never, NEVER, did I think our first conversation would be in some underground club with my breasts pushed up against a leather laced-up bodice, accentuated by a brooch with a silhouetted skull.

“Um, yeah.” I peered up at him. He was wearing a tight black T-shirt that enhanced rather than hid all those hours he put in rock climbing. His black jeans were tight and I didn’t dare look to see if they enhanced certain areas as well. “You look different too, out of gym clothes.”

He chuckled. Did I say something funny? I didn’t think so.

“I only wear my gym clothes while I’m working. But I guess that’s the only time you’d see me,” he said.

I smiled. If only there were other times.

“I’m Michel,” he said, pronouncing it with French accentuation on the syllables. Damn, that was hot. He put out his hand.

“Mee-shell,” I repeated softly the way he had said it, letting his name roll over my tongue like a smooth whiskey. “I’m Nike,” I answered, shaking his hand.

The touch of his skin arrested me and I hoped he didn’t catch my quick intake of breath.

“Like the goddess of victory,” he said. “Fitting. I’ve seen you conquer many tough climbs.”

He held on to my hand for a few seconds longer than what was customary and lightly ran his thumb across my knuckles. My skin felt electrified where he touched it and I resisted closing my eyes to revel in the sensation. I tried not to let his remark go to my head and set my fantasies in motion again, but that slight caress made it inevitable.

I pushed away a vision of us in bed together, rolling in satin sheets as I whispered his name through hot, passionate kisses. He’s just being polite, I told myself. He’d do the same to any other person he recognized from the gym.

“Yes. Thank you. Most people say, ‘Like the sneaker?’ My mother was into Greek mythology.”

“I see,” he said. “Ni-kee,” he drew out the syllables in a low rasp.


“If you are looking for a short story full of action and passion then pick up Smoldering Nights and get ready to be hooked on the series.” ~ Sizzling Hot Book Reviews.

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Also available, the second book in the series, Fiery Nights.

Fiery Nights by Lisa Carlisle

Excerpt for Fiery Nights by Lisa Carlisle

Fiery Nights

Fiery Nights by Lisa CarlisleHe may own a Goth nightclub, but Tristan Stone avoids people—the darkness that surrounds them drains him. When he sees Maya for the first time, alone on the dance floor, a light surrounds her. He must discover who she is and what gives her power. He wants her, must have her.

Maya sees a man with haunting eyes watching her from the back of the club. She feels their connection, but thinks it’s merely physical attraction. Their passion ignites, overpowering them, and they must work together to understand their connection. The heat of their passion could send their world up in flames.



I hadn’t been back since the fire.

Whoever had bought the club had kept the black brick exterior with the painted black windows, ensconcing the club in mystery. Passersby down this hidden alley might think it an abandoned warehouse, unless they got close enough to look up into the recessed doorway to see it flanked by two watchful gargoyle statues.

I felt a moment of hesitation before I walked down the alley. When I used to come with Nike, I never felt threatened. We’d come after long shifts at the firehouse to unwind and dance off some steam. I’d practically bounce down the alleyway so I could get inside sooner.

But now, on my own, the creepiness of the alleyway set in. I wrapped my long black leather trench coat tightly around my body to shield my fishnet-covered legs as if protecting myself. It could be dangerous walking alone through warehouse alleys near the waterfront.

No wonder Vamps was hidden back here. You wouldn’t want an underground club on the main drag, would you?

My Mary Jane heels clicked loudly on the cement. The further I walked, the closer the clicks were.

Easy, Maya, I chastised myself. You’re going to break into a trot in a second.

Finally I made it to the front entrance and pulled on the heavy wooden doors with steel bars intersecting in the middle and was rewarded by a familiar figure.

“Byron, you’re still here!” I said to the extra-large bouncer who had an extra-large heart.

“Maya, where have ya been?” He threw his enormous arms wide and I rushed in, aware that I was grabbing him tighter than warranted, probably due to relief after my misgivings walking here alone.

“Whoa, girl, you must have really missed me,” he said before he let me go.

“Of course I did. It’s been forever. How have you been?”

“Been survivin’. Taking odd jobs here and there while they rebuilt this place. You saw the damage from the explosion.”

“Yes, I remember.” It wasn’t something I could forget any time soon.

“Why you here alone tonight?” he asked. “Where’s your partner in crime?”

“Nike? I haven’t seen her since the fire.”

“Are you kidding me? It’s been what—a year?”After I nodded, he asked, “What happened with her then? One of the bartenders told me how she saw her go upstairs with the former owner that night. What do you think—they hooked up?”

I didn’t know how much to tell about Nike and Michel, even though I was still hurt that I hadn’t seen heard from her in months. Sure, she sent postcards from time to time, but it wasn’t the same. We were like this—if you could see me, you’d know I was wrapping my index and middle fingers together. I know Byron was concerned about her, but I also didn’t want to perpetuate any rumors.

“Word spreads quickly around here, doesn’t it?” I chose to avoid the juicy part of the question and answered, “Last I heard she was traveling around Europe.” I left out the part that she was with Michel.

We were interrupted by a couple who opened the door. He was wearing a red velvet smoking jacket a la Gomez Addams, but didn’t pull off the look completely with his dirty-blond hair. While they showed their IDs to Byron and paid the cover charge, I looked at her outfit to see if she was sporting a Morticia-like dress. To my surprise, she was wearing a cowgirl outfit—hat, tassels, boots and a very short khaki shirt. Not a usual costume for a goth club, but she pulled it off.

 Note to self: see if you can pull off a sexy cowgirl outfit.

After they passed through the next set of doors, Byron asked, “So you’re solo tonight?”

“Hopefully not all night,” I lifted an eyebrow. “How’s the eye candy in there?”

“You know, the usual. Lots of weirdos.”

“Just my type.”

“Who you kiddin’? I’ve never seen you leave with anyone besides your girl Nike.”

“Byron. I haven’t been out in months. I went on some crappy dates this past year and realized I’m happier just being on my own. So all I’ve done lately is work. Which means the only males I’ve encountered are coworkers and they smell pretty rank after a twenty-four-hour shift. Since Halloween is on a Saturday this year, and Halloween was always the best night of the year here, I decided to climb out of my self-imposed isolation and make an appearance.”

“Well then, get in there and be a naughty girl.” Byron smacked me playfully on the ass to push me on. Then he said, “Wait.” He took my hands and extended them out to the side.

“Let me get a good look at you. See what outfit you’re sporting tonight. Are you wearing a costume under there?”

I cocked my head as I took my hands back to open my leather trench coat shawl, which could fit in just perfectly at a gothic club or a Renaissance fair, but not too many other places. Tonight I was wearing a sexy little pirate wench costume, with a laced-up corset top and short leather miniskirt. “Does this warrant your approval?”

He put his hand on his chin as he sized me up. “Not bad. I’ve seen you in worse. Still trying to forget the blue velvet gown, black combat boots debacle.”

“That was hot,” I protested.

He raised an eyebrow before his gaze moved up to my hair. “And you’ve gone back to black hair, I see?”

“Technically blue-black. There’s only so much color I can get away with at work, being a professional and all.” I winked. Lately, I’d been alternating between blue-black and a magenta tint, which was about as much as I could manage without the chief giving me the look. If I was feeling spunky and wanted to sport a hot pink or blue, I had to wear a wig. Could you imagine a firefighter with pink hair coming to your aid to deal with your distress call? I didn’t think so.

“All right, you get my seal of approval. And you know that’s not so easy, princess. Go on in.”

I kissed him on the cheek and walked down the dark tunnel lit by candelabras attached to the stone walls. A new sign adorned the door leading to the main club area. Dante’s quote was carved into the wood: Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here.

“But Maya,” he called after me. “Leave some of the pretty boys for me.”

“Obviously,” I said, rolling my eyes. “So not my style.”

 * * * * *

Much of Vamps looked the same, yet much of it had changed. Gargoyles still guarded from their perches around the club. The three smaller dance platforms were replaced by one larger stage. They now had live bands perform up there as indicated by posters adorning the walls. Or when the stage was free as it was now, it was covered with uninhibited dancers who wanted to be watched.

I was worried that the vibe of the club wouldn’t survive the transition. Some clubs try too hard and end up seeming phony. Vamps always had its own style. Some called it goth for the prevalence of goth-inspired dress and music. But they played other music as well.

Others called it a fetish club for the freaky revealing outfits many chose to wear. Black duct tape pasted over nipples has been seen more than once. And the sexy futuristic outfits with hulking boots were a common choice. But to me a fetish club alluded to kinky sex out in the open, which wasn’t the case here. I’d never caught anyone doing it—but I have seen some couples get pretty close on the dance floor or in a corner.

I’d call it more of an underground club. One that was frequented by people who didn’t stick to conventional dress and music and followed their own path, rather than worrying what other people thought. Whatever the club was, it was where I fit in.

But I wouldn’t want my fellow firefighters to see me in my sexy pirate outfit tonight.

Continuing to look around and assess the club, I thought it still had an authentic feel. The red marble bar hadn’t survived the fire, I noted. But it was still manned—or womanned—by the hot bartender with pink hair and a nice rack. I looked over the drink menu posted above the draft beer.

“What’s in a Tempting Fate?” I asked her.

“Southern Comfort, Amaretto, vodka, pomegranate juice, pineapple juice, grenadine,” she rolled out in a velvety voice that was as sexy as she was.

“Sold,” I said, banging an imaginary gavel.

“You won’t regret it,” she said.

After she gave me my drink, I toasted nobody in particular, well, I guess myself, thinking here’s to tempting fate. Then I watched the crowd as I tasted the drink. It was exquisite and I took another large sip. Maybe I’d pay for it tomorrow, but it was gooood.

When I heard a remix of Type O Negative’s Cinnamon Girl, I left my drink at the bar to slink my way amid the gyrating bodies. My favorite band, one of my favorite songs. Tragic that the super-hot singer died so young.

In a sea of black-clad bodies, I blended right in. It had been months since I danced, but I quickly found my rhythm and lost myself in the music, dancing with the crowd. I didn’t feel the least bit self-conscious that I was alone.

That is—until I felt his eyes on me.

You know the feeling when someone is watching you and you’re suddenly aware of it? I felt that and looked up. A tall guy dressed all in black—naturally—stood alone at the right side of the bar.

Something about that gaze arrested me and I stopped dancing. Dark eyes, almost black, on a face that looked as angelic as a young Jim Morrison. The black hair was a devil-may-care length, past his chin but not quite to his shoulders. Instead of the rock star’s signature black leather pants, this guy was wearing a cape over dark clothing.

His eyes defied the angelic appearance. Dark, penetrating eyes. The eyes of someone who was troubled—maybe haunted.

Why was he staring at me like that? Didn’t he know my weakness was a dark, brooding bad boy?

My lips parted as if they wanted to say something. But what did I want to say? And he couldn’t hear me anyway.

And then with a swoop of his cape, he was gone.

I stood there for a few more moments trying to process what just happened. Was some hot guy in the corner watching me? Who then took off with a flourish of his cape?

It seemed very Bela Lugosi-ish—another dark, brooding bad boy. I tried to shake off my confusion as Cinnamon Girl ended.

The DJ mixed in a version of David Bowie and Trent Reznor’s I’m Afraid of Americans. It took me another moment or two to brush off the effect that dark stranger had on me. I thought to hell with that guy and then got back into my groove.

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Also available, the first book in the series, Smoldering Nights.

Smoldering Nights
By Lisa Carlisle