My newest ebook, Frosty the Snow Dom, is out today!

I'm happy to announce my newest ebook, Frosty the Snow Dom, is in onlines stores now, just in time for Christmas!

Steaming up the ice..
When ice artist Judith Dane is hired to create a kinky version of Michelangelo's David, she thinks the ice sculpture is just another Christmas party centerpiece. But when she delivers the work she's nicknamed "Frosty the Snow Dom" to the BDSM club Valhalla, the party turns out to be a lot stranger than she expects.
When Frosty comes to life just like a certain snowman, she discovers just how hot ice can be. But what happens when the spell breaks?

Amazon  Barnes and Noble  Kobo  iTunes! Changeling

He cupped her face again, his palm warm and rough. He certainly didn’t feel like a block of ice. “I would never have left you to suffer. You have suffered enough.”

Her brows rose. “What makes you say that?” She felt unmoored, like a balloon hovering in a cloudless sky, caught between the reality she knew and blue infinity.

He shrugged. “I feel the pain in you.”

“But why do you care?”

“Why does anyone? Not to care is to be alone, and I have been alone too long as it is.” Tor smiled, and she was helpless to look away from the warmth in his eyes. “I think you’ve been alone long enough, too.”

Judith caught her breath, gazing up at him, taking in all the shades of blue in his irises -- cerulean, sapphire, cobalt -- the elegant line of cheekbone and jaw, the seductive curve of his lips. “Yeah.” She swallowed, trying to clear the rasp from her voice. “I have been alone too long.”

“Then perhaps we could be together instead.” He leaned down slowly, as if giving her plenty of time to back away from the kiss he so obviously intended.

Yet she had no desire to retreat from the pressure of his lips. Which made no sense, considering that she’d just tried to lay him open with that damned whip.

His lips brushed hers, a soft velvet stroke. Asking her to open. So she did. His tongue slipped into her mouth in a gentle stroke, careful not to invade.

Too careful. Too polite.

She wanted more. Her body ached with a fierce craving for all that hot bare muscle, the grip of his big hands, the grind of his mouth and his cock.

Jesus Christ, I don’t even know him. And what she did know was flatly unbelievable. Nobody could do what he’d just done -- heal a five-inch wound with a stroke of his fingers in the space of a heartbeat, when it should’ve taken weeks. Then clean the blood away with a flick of his fingers.

None of this was possible. She must be trapped in a drug-induced dream. That was really the only logical explanation.

Trouble was, she found she didn’t believe the only logical explanation. No matter how irrational it was, everything in her insisted this was utterly real.

Tor was magic. Alfar. Elf. And she wanted him. His kiss, his hands, the hard length of him. Craved him as if he were something she’d sought for a very long time, now finally within reach.

Heat and desperation seemed to explode in the pit of her belly, and she surged against him, reaching up to thread her fingers through the short white silk of his hair and curl her hands into fists. He surged to his feet, dragging her up with him, snatching her close.

Still kissing her, Tor growled against her mouth, soft and fierce, one hand gripping her ass, the other reaching up to tangle in her hair as she’d grabbed his. Her scalp stung with the ferocity of his hold, but she didn’t care.

Hell, she loved it.

Opening her mouth wide, she coiled her tongue around his in a frantic dance. He stepped into her, pulling her so tight she could feel every muscle and bone of that big body against her. He feels almost as hard as he was when he was ice. For a moment the sheer irrationality of the thought jolted her, almost broke the spell of frantic lust surging in her blood.

But then he cupped her cheek, his palm rough with calluses, warm with body heat. It wasn’t the hand of an ice sculpture or a delusion. It was a man’s hand, as much flesh and blood as her own aching body.

Tor drew back, his lips peeling away from hers as if with an effort. His eyes met hers, wide and wild and ice blue. “I have needed you. I have needed you so long.”

Then he was kissing her again, fierce, biting kisses, teeth scraping, tongue thrusting. Her hands tightened in his hair, and she lifted one thigh to coil her calf around his ass, desperate to press her sex against the erection she could feel hot and hard inside those leather pants. Craving the rough friction, she ground against him.

With a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl, he hooked both hands under her ass and lifted her off her feet. Knowing what he wanted, Judith wound her other leg around him. They both moaned in pleasure at the feel of her sex against his, even separated by layers of fabric and leather. “I want you naked,” she gasped against his mouth.

“Yes,” he rumbled, his voice even deeper than it had been a moment before. His fingers flicked, and sparks poured out, swirling around their bodies in a tingling wave. Her nipples hardened even more, and she whimpered at the sensation of crisp chest hair teasing the tips.

Blinking, Judith looked down. They were indeed naked. She had no idea how, and did not care.