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Secrets Volume 11

Trade Paperback

“Indulge yourself with this erotic treat and join the thousands of readers who just can’t get enough. Be forewarned that Secrets 11 will wet your appetite for more, but will offer you the ultimate in pleasurable erotic literature.”
—Ballston Book House Review

“Secrets 11 quite honestly is my favorite anthology from Red Sage so far.”
—The Best Reviews

Ancient Pleasures by Jess Michaels

Isabella Winslow is obsessed with finding out what caused her late husband’s death, but trapped in an Egyptian concubine’s tomb with a sexy American raider, succumbing to the mummy’s sensual curse takes over.

Jess’ first story for Red Sage is a hit: 
“Jess Micheals keeps you on the edge of your seat with this highly sensual adventure to die for! Can’t wait to hear more from this unique author.”
—The Belles & Beaux of Romance/Reader To Reader Reviews

From Jess Michaels:
A Victorian woman searching for the truth, an American tomb raider looking for treasure, and a tomb with a sensual curse. The Egyptians never had pleasure this potent…
 
An excerpt from Ancient Pleasures:
“Who the hell are you?”
With a start, Isabella pivoted and found herself looking down the short barrel of a pistol. It was being aimed at her by the most handsome man she’d ever seen. He had tousled brown hair and stubble that indicated he hadn’t shaved for at least two days. His eyes glittered in the torchlight, reflecting back intense blue fire that almost had her turning away. Only she found she couldn’t. She was too drawn in, despite the threat he posed.
Swallowing, she managed to find her voice. “Who the hell am I?” she asked. “I think a better question is who the hell are you?”
“I’m the guy who’s laying claim to this place, lady,” he said in a decidedly American drawl. He inched the gun away from her face, though he didn’t holster it as he shot a side-glance toward Surai.
“Laying claim?” she repeated as shock and anger wiped away some of the sharp desire she’d felt when she first met this stranger’s gaze. “You have no right, sir. My husband found this tomb and it is rightfully his to harvest its findings for the British Museum.”
The man motioned his head toward Surai, who had taken up a battle stance in front of Anya. He looked every inch the ancient warrior. “That your husband?”
She blinked. “No. My husband is—well, he’s dead.”
The blue eyes widened and then the man had the audacity to laugh. And not a chuckle, either, but a low belly laugh that seemed to fill and shake the narrow corridor in which they stood.
“And just what is funny about that, sir?” she asked with as much dignity as she could muster when her cheeks were flaming with a blush.
“If your husband is dead, then he has no claim to anything in this world.” The man’s intense gaze lingered on her for a long moment. “Anything at all.”
The knot that had closed Isabella’s throat when she’d first seen this rude stranger now filled it again. She knew a man’s desire when she saw it, and it was clear in every part of the unknown outsider before her. Worse was that her nipples hardened in answer to his pointed stare and her thighs clenched.
Obviously she’d been too long without a man’s touch if she was considering this… this lout to be an object of lust.
“You still haven’t told me your name,” she said coolly.
He grinned as another man appeared from the narrow corridor behind him. Now the odds were worse for her party, though she strangely felt no fear. She wasn’t sure why, but she knew without a doubt that these men wouldn’t hurt her or her servants.
“Jake Turner at your service, my British lady.” He jerked his head toward his friend. In the lamplight she could see he had blonde hair and coal gray eyes. Eyes that were focused not on her, but behind her at Anya and Surai. “And this is my partner is crime, Rafe Christian.”
“Very nice.” She thinned her lips to a frown. “Now Mr. Turner, Mr. Christian, I’m going to have to ask you again to leave. This tomb is now under the jurisdiction of the British Museum. Marauders are not allowed.”
Turner gave his partner a look before let out another low laugh. This one raked over her senses and made her ever more aware of her reacting body. What was wrong with her? It wasn’t like she’d never seen a handsome man before. Or heard a deep, throaty chuckle like his. But her body was behaving like a sex-starved wanton. She hadn’t been so wet in… well… ever.
“Are you a representative of the British Museum now?” he asked. He leaned closer and the heat of his minty breath warmed her skin. “Because I’d like to see your papers.”
She opened her mouth in outrage, but he held up a hand to silence her. “I’m sorry, lady, but this tomb is free to the public now. And my friend and I have our own plans for it. You and your crew are certainly welcome to whatever spoils it is you’re looking for. I’m sure there’s more than enough booty to go around.”
He turned to walk away, but she caught his arm. Instantly heat and electricity shot between them. With a gasp, she yanked her hand away and he reeled back a few steps as if he’d felt the same reaction.
She struggled for equilibrium. “You mean to raid the tomb?”
“That’s what treasure hunters do,” he said, though his eyes moved over her again. “We ravage and pillage.”

Masquerade by Jennifer Probst

MANHUNT by Kimberly Dean

The reviewers rave: 
“Manhunt is the most erotic of the four novellas and will have you wishing that it was longer. I cannot wait to see what Ms. Dean comes up with next.”
—The Best Reviews

Her brain finally kicked into gear as she studied him. He was wet, disheveled, and dirty. A day’s growth of stubble covered his chin, and dark circles underlined his eyes. A too-small trench coat strained to span the breadth of his shoulders, but the dull gray material managed to cover most of the bright orange jumpsuit he wore. She didn’t know where he’d gotten the coat, but it had obviously managed to hide him from detection. Her gaze dropped to his feet. His boots were wet. He’d shoved the pant legs of the jumpsuit into them to try to hide more of the jail uniform, but they, too, were wet and muddy.
“You’ve escaped.”
His lips twitched. “You always were quick.”
Taryn desperately tried to make sense of her predicament. The county lock-up was on the other side of the city. How had he managed to get all the way here, and why had he made this his destination? What did he have in mind? Revenge?
Oh, God.
She hadn’t really known him at all, had she?
Her gaze flew to the bathroom door. If she ran, could he catch her?
Yes.
Tears burned in her eyes, but she fought to stay calm. He was bigger, stronger, and faster than she was. The only area where she matched him was brainpower. She couldn’t allow herself to fall apart, couldn’t let her emotions cripple her. She might not be in control of the situation, but she could keep control of herself.
She focused. Information was power. She needed to approach this situation like she approached a case. Logically. Straightforward. And observant for any loopholes.
She desperately needed to find a loophole.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“To talk to you. Alone. Just the two of us.”
She watched as he raked a hand through his thick, dark hair, rumpling it even further. He looked around the room, and she got the vague impression that he didn’t know what his next move should be. He was acting on instinct now - a hunted animal trying to avoid its pursuers.
It made him all the more dangerous.
“What are you doing?” she squeaked when he suddenly moved.
He looked up from his crouched position. “I’m grungy, stinky, and cold to the bone. I’m going to take a shower and see if I can get my head on straight.”
A shower? He’d come all this way for a shower? Her focused mind started sliding down the slippery path towards panic.
Calm down, she told herself. If he got into the shower, she might have a chance to escape. A slim chance, but a chance none-the-less.
A rare smile crossed his lips. He pulled off a boot and dropped it onto the floor with a thud. “Here’s some advice, Swanny. Never play poker. That angel face of yours gives away every single thought that runs through your mind.”
He tugged off the other boot and began to peel off wet socks. “You’re not going to bolt for the door when my back is turned. Know why? Because you’re going to be in that shower with me. I’m not letting your sweet tush out of my sight.”
Frozen, Taryn watched as the trench coat hit the floor. He reached for the zipper of the jumpsuit and any thought she might have had fled her mind as it slid downward. The bright orange material parted. With unwilling fascination, she watched as he shrugged it off his shoulders.
His chest was enough to make her mouth water. Muscles and sinew wove their way under smooth skin. She remembered his strength when he’d grabbed her, and her knees went a little weak. “Please, don’t do this,” she said softly. “If you leave now, I swear I won’t tell anybody you were here.”
“The moment I hit that door, you’d be on the phone.”
She shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t do that.”
He stopped in the act of pushing the jumpsuit over his hips. The expression on his face was cold as he looked at her. “And why am I supposed to believe you’d be that generous? Because you like me?”
Her throat tightened. She’d like to think they’d been friends, but they both knew their relationship was more complicated than that. The stolen glances, the brushes of skin, the pounding heartbeats… She’d tried to keep things strictly professional between them, but something hot and wild had always lurked just below the surface. It had boiled over once… She pushed the heated memory from her mind. “I used to,” she said quietly.
“Yeah? Well, I used to like you, too.”

Wake Me by Angela Knight

Chloe Hart received a sexy painting of a sleeping knight. Radolf of Varik has been trapped for centuries in the painting since, cursed by a witch. His only hope is to visit the dreams of women and make one of them fall in love with him so she can free him with a kiss.

Angela Knight once again thrills reviewers: 
“You are going to love this one! Angela Knight can get you steamed up in a hurry
with her erotic tales.”
—The Belles & Beaux of Romance/Reader To Reader Reviews