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© 2006, Sherrill
Quinn, Raelynn Blue Reviews For TORRID TEASERS Volume 18 by Sherrill Quinn & Raelynn Blue “The Haunting”: This is truly a haunting yet electrifying tale with an unusual and unexpected twist; definitely a recommended read! This reviewer is very pleased with this particular volume of the extensive Torrid Teasers series!-EuroReviews/ Reviewed by Anne
Specific to my story, Tall, Dark & Naked: "Wow, this is a very different Santa Claus story, definitely not a bedtime story for the children... This is a story no woman will want to miss reading. I hope when Santa is checking his list he sees I want to be naughty instead of nice..." For the duet as a whole: "This anthology is a delightful mix of romance and burning hot desires. Be sure to pick it up so you can enjoy reading it." Review Site: Coffee Time Romance "Sherrill Quinn has an incredible way with sizzling erotica that just won't quit; all this and a love story too! This is a must-read!" Review Site: EuroReviews
..Sherrill
Quinn's...story was fun to read, and who doesn't like a good Christmas
story about having a wish come true." 4 Cups!
"Wow, this is a very different Santa Claus story, definitely not
a bedtime story for the children... I hope when Santa is checking his
list he sees I want to be naughty instead of nice." Sample Chapter For TORRID TEASERS Volume 18 by Sherrill Quinn & Raelynn Blue “Oh, give me a fuckin’ break, Kris.” Jasper Snow paced around the spacious office, his booted feet making little noise on the plush crimson carpet. “You cannot ask me to run a damned fru-fru division. What will the rest of the clan think?” The man behind the ornate cherry desk stroked one hand down his snowy white beard. Over the rim of the reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, his sharp blue eyes narrowed. “Don’t worry about what they’ll think, Jazz. I’m the patriarch of the Winter clan; they’ll think and do what I tell them.” Leaning back in his chair, he steepled his fingers over his ample belly. “As you will.” Leaning forward again, his eyes more intent, the big man went on. “Every year, the loneliness and despair at Christmastime grows, expanding person by person. We need this division. I need your expertise. The Delivery Division wouldn’t be near the success it is if it weren’t for you.” Even as he warmed at the rare praise, Jazz spread his hands in a gesture meant to ask for reconsideration. “Kris, the reason I’ve been so successful with the Delivery Division is because I’m a damned good strategist. What the hell do I know about romance?” Kris swiveled side to side in his chair, studying Jazz long enough to make him uncomfortable. Finally, the older man leaned forward and rested his chin on one meaty fist. “Well, if your language is anything to go by, not much. How many times have I asked you not to swear?” When Jazz would have responded, Kris straightened in his chair and held up his hand. “I’ve made my decision, Mr. Snow. You are now officially the president of our Mended Hearts Division.” When Jazz stood there staring at him, searching for something—anything—that could change the other man’s mind, Kris waved his hand in a shooing motion. “That’s all, Mr. Snow. You may go.” Jazz clamped his jaw on the pithy retort that strained against his lips and scrubbed his hand over his goatee. Damned sanctimonious… Turning, he stalked to the office door and flung it open. “Oh, there’s just one more thing,” Kris said, his tone colored with a dark note of glee. “I want you to personally handle our first client. Show the troops how it’s done, so to speak.” Jazz slowly turned to face his tormenter. Kris’ chubby cheeks were red and his blue eyes sparkled with good cheer. At Jazz’s expense. “I don’t do field work,” Jazz said through his teeth. Forty years he’d spent here. To be told he had to go back out in the trenches—to handle a fucking romantic issue yet—wasn’t welcome news. He clenched his fists against the urge to throttle Kris’ thick throat, patriarch of the clan or no. “You do now.” Kris stared at him and the good humor leeched from his gaze. He appeared every inch the patriarch—hard, cold and immovable. “You still have ten years of your fifty-year commitment here at the North Pole, Jazz. I know you’ll make the Mended Hearts Division the best-run division in Santa Claus, Incorporated. You can get your assignment from Sapphire.” He looked down at the paperwork in front of him, effectively dismissing Jazz. Jazz walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind him, restraining his temper until he could get someplace more private. He glanced at Kris’ assistant and scowled at the smirk on her lips. “Oh, come on, Jazz,” Sapphire Goldstone said. “Lover-boy that you are, you could do this with both hands tied behind your back.” She tucked a strand of periwinkle-colored hair behind one pointed ear and held out a slim folder. “Your assignment, should you decide to accept it…” When his scowl deepened at her reference to a human television spy show and he refused to take the folder, she giggled and placed it back on the desk. “You Water Elementals, always so serious.” Standing, she sauntered over to him. His gaze skimmed up her long, slender legs, over her curvy hips and up to her large breasts. She brought her hands up to cup those lovely mounds of flesh, her clear green eyes darkening as she pinched her nipples. “You should be more like us Earth Elementals, Jasper.” “How’s that?” he asked, raising one brow. “Lusty? Flighty and flirty?” “Oh, Jazz.” Her eyes went half-mast as her fingers on her nipples moved faster. “All Elementals are lusty. We all take our pleasure when we can, even Kris. Even you, lover. And if someone watches, well…” She moaned softly and shivered. Stopping in front of him, she moved her fingers to the buttons of her flimsy green blouse and began undoing them. “You want some help getting started on your assignment?” she asked. Jazz kept his gaze fixed on her silken flesh as it appeared in the gap of her blouse. When she shrugged off the silky material, he immediately bent and pulled one stiff pink bud into his mouth, sucking hard. Her fingers wrapped in his hair and she moaned. He moved to the other breast and licked the hard tip, then sucked the entire areola between his lips. He wasn’t even close to being done with her pretty breasts when she moved away. She waggled a finger at him. Cupping her breasts again, she said, “These are for inspiration only, lover.” “And I’m inspired,” he growled, reaching for her. She danced out of his reach. “Behave, Jasper, or you won’t get what you need from me.” Jazz braced his fists on his hips. Sapphire always liked to play before sex. He just wasn’t in the mood today. “Oh, don’t pout,” she whispered. She rubbed her thumb over his lips, then dropped to her knees in front of him. Looking up from under her lashes, her tongue swept over her lush lips as she pulled down his zipper with agonizing slowness. Reaching into the opening, she freed his cock and wrapped both hands around his growing length. “This is what I want.” There wasn’t another elf in the North Pole who could suck a rod like Sapphire. Once she got going, the man attached to that hard piece of flesh didn’t have a chance. When she pulled him into her throat and swallowed, he groaned, the sound coming from deep down in his gut. Then she swirled her tongue around the sensitive crown, lapping at him like a sexy little kitten. Her fingers danced over his taut balls, tugging and pulling in rhythm to her swirling tongue. She took another deep draw on his cock, but before he could spurt, she gripped him tightly at the base of his shaft, stemming his release. With a smile, she pulled a red ribbon from her pocket and tied it around his cock, making a fancy multi-looped bow with the ends. Then she slid his still-hard decorated shaft back into his pants and pulled up the zipper. She patted his groin. “There. Now you’re ready to head off on your assignment.” Sapphire walked back to her desk, pulling on her blouse as she spoke. Slender fingers opened the folder. “Your assignment’s name is Anna O’Banyon. She lost her mother six months ago after a long battle with pancreatic cancer. She has no other family.” She looked at him with a glossy sheen of tears in her eyes. She was a true Earth Elemental—emotional and empathetic. “She’ll be all alone on Christmas. She wants, just once, to wake up with someone on Christmas morning.” Closing the folder, she handed it to him. “Help her, Jazz.” Grandma Liz found the ring in the display case at an antique shop in London and purchased it on the spot. She shrugged off the dealer’s claim that it once belonged to Queen Elizabeth the First of England with a laugh and a, “Oh, hogwash.” And as far as the dealer’s warning about Queen Elizabeth’s curse on the ring forbidding anyone other than herself to wear it was concerned, Grandmother offered “hogwash” and departed with her newly purchased, totally British piece of history. Twenty years later, the ring came to me—her favorite granddaughter and namesake. The first time I slipped it onto my finger, I felt a tingling sensation on my hand. A shiver raced down my spine and just for a second, I thought of the dealer’s warning. “Hogwash,” I said in my grandmother’s memory and merrily went about cleaning her old bedroom, a task that seemed completely overwhelming. I took the ring off and slipped it into my jeans pocket. “It must be done,” Corrine said, her breath coming in a gasp. She’d mistaken the “hogwash” I’d uttered as referencing the cleaning chore that had me on my knees. “She did leave it all to you.” The bare whisper of jealousy in her words burrowed into my ears like greedy little ticks on a dog. There must be something said of sibling rivalry—something naughty and nasty, no doubt. “Yes, I know, Corrine, but you could lend a hand. This place is enormous!” The dusty, antique three-bedroom house was willed to me two short weeks ago. Now not only did I share my name—Elizabeth Owens—with my grandmother, I also, at times, shared her homestead. The place held vivid memories of a happier time, when life was simple and filled with love—true love. Not the commercial, Hallmark card kind of love, but the kind that stuck with a person—like mashed potatoes. “Yeah, I could,” Corrine said with another brief smile, which didn’t quite reach her eyes. She glanced briefly at grandmother’s open jewelry box. “Being that it’s Saturday, hello! I got stuff I can do, and since you were her favorite…” With that last ringing tone of outright spitefulness, she picked up her purse and exited through the room’s beautiful mahogany door. Outside, a gorgeous day, free of clouds and bursting with bright sunshine, beckoned. Groaning, I turned around and searched about the room. A fresh layer of dust covered the somewhat new sheets that floated around like ghosts. Belongings had already been taken—relatives claiming cherished memorabilia and the local church thrift shop stopped by to collect a few odd collectables I hadn’t wanted to bother storing. Or cleaning. But many of the smaller things—pictures, books, and statuettes—remained. The bedroom, her sanctuary, was the last of it. Why the cleanup fell to me was as simple as lemonade. Grandma Liz willed the place to me, and it was where I spent many of my childhood moments. The days were long back then, and I enjoyed watching my grandparents solidify a bond that would later be broken by death—tragic death. Underneath the bed, I spotted shoeboxes missed earlier and hauled them out into the sun-filled room. The dust billowed into the air, and with a few sneezes and wandering dust bunnies, I put them on the bed. I assumed the heap of boxes hid various styles of block-heeled shoes, Grandmother’s favorite. I was wrong. Most of the cardboard boxes were filled with aged letters held loosely with elastic bands and paper clips. But the last small red shoebox held what appeared to be an old, leather bound book tied tightly with a satin, crimson ribbon. I pulled one of the ties until the bow collapsed—excitement surging through my hands, up my arms, and slithering down my back with icy accuracy, causing my stomach to tighten in anticipation. With the bedroom’s hot stale air hovering like an anxious nanny, I opened the book and immediately recognized Grandmother’s long, slanted loops. At the top of the yellowing page was a date. A diary! The last date was as recent as the previous year. What had grandmother thought about her life, her children, her grandchildren? What thoughts had she only written in her journal? Curiosity piqued, I stuffed the diary back inside the box and put it next to my purse. It would be a must read for later that evening when the cleaning was done. |