Good morning! If you enjoy St. Patrick’s Day themed romances with magical creatures, please check out Becharmed. This duet includes two previously published erotic paranormal romance novellas.
Jolene’s Pooka: Jolene longs for more than just peace and quiet. She wants the love of a real man — one who is not afraid to sweep a woman off her feet and possess her completely. The mythic creature she finds somehow seems to know the deepest desires of her very soul — and he wants nothing more than to make her his woman.
Bound and Becharmed: The son of a leprechaun and a fairy queen, Brendon might have been considered perfect, like his brothers, except for one unforgivable flaw. He’s about twice the size of an average leprechaun. At six feet two, Brendon doubts he’ll ever find a mate. Until a visiting Valkyrie leaps into his arms. The passion sizzles between them, until Loki nearly ruins everything. That’s when Brendon proves a little bondage and a lot of leprechaun charm can overcome just about anything.
I hope you enjoy the following excerpt from Becharmed:
Brendon shook his head and muttered to himself as he followed the brook to Greenhill Castle, the most famous inn for magical folk visiting Ireland. His aunt owned the castle and kept merchandise from Brendon’s family’s shoe factory in stock at the inn’s gift shop.
Though leprechauns were known for their shoemaking skill, Brendon’s family had a reputation of being the absolute best. Their shoes were the most stylish and lasted for ages. Brendon’s father was so confident in his product that he offered a two-hundred-year guarantee with each pair of footwear.
Brendon was now on his way to make a delivery, a full sack of shoes slung over each broad shoulder. It annoyed him a bit that he was always selected to make deliveries, yet he could understand the necessity. The road between his family home and Greenhill Castle was guarded by an ogre with a sour disposition. While the ogre often harassed Brendon’s brothers, it had quickly learned not to victimize Brendon himself, for he wasn’t an average leprechaun.
At six-feet-two-inches, Brendon had already made the magical record book as the world’s tallest leprechaun. In his younger years, he’d slouched to hide his height (as if that could work!) and repressed his tremendous appetite to keep himself from appearing larger than necessary. Unfortunately, the skinnier he got, the taller he appeared.
For years he watched his brothers court and marry tiny winged fairies who fawned over their perfectly-proportioned leprechaun physiques — for everyone knows that leprechauns are exquisitely handsome and well-muscled men who just happen to be under three feet tall. Try as he might, no female fairy so much as glanced at Brendon, let alone accepted a date when he garnered the courage to ask. Some were polite and told him they already had a boyfriend. Others laughed in his face.
The rudest he’d ever met had tossed her shimmering blond hair over her shoulder, flapped her gossamer wings until she floated high enough to look down her tiny nose at him and said, “You can’t be serious. No fairy in her right mind could possibly contemplate being seen with you, let alone attempting to take you to bed. I shudder to think about the size of certain parts of you.”
She’d flown off, leaving Brendon practically snorting fire. Rather than wound him, her words had proved that no matter what he did, he was going to be big. If no Irish fairy would have him, so be it, but no more cowering like some overgrown dolt. From that day on, Brendon stood straight and worked on developing the powerful body he’d been given for whatever magical purpose he had yet to understand.
That purpose became clear when the ogre moved into the neighborhood and attacked two of his brothers who were making a delivery to Greenhill Castle. Though they tried to defend themselves, the ogre was too strong and, unlike leprechauns, spent his life perfecting the art of violence. He’d stolen their sacks of shoes and sent them home bruised, bleeding, and mighty pissed off.
Brendon had made the next delivery and though the ogre gave him two black eyes, he’d fought him off and reached his destination. Brendon might not be able to carry on his family line, but he’d made his kinfolk proud by becoming their protector and the only deliveryman to make regular journeys to Greenhill Castle.
He walked along, lost in thoughts of past deeds, a new muscle-building workout he intended to try, and of course dinner. Knowing he was long past the ogre’s territory, he indulged in thoughts of freshly baked bread and clover stew.
Then a helmeted warrior in gleaming mail dropped out of the sky, slammed into his chest, and nearly knocked him onto the grass. The warrior’s legs tightened around his waist and gloved hands tore at his hair.
“Drop those sacks, you thieving ogre, and fight me. Hel awaits you in her realm once you die at the end of my sword!”
The warrior’s distinctly feminine voice shocked Brendon almost as much as her initial attack. “Get off me, you crazy wench!”
“How dare you insult me,” she bellowed, batting her head against his, using the steel helmet to almost knock him unconscious.
Brendon dropped the sacks, grasped her around the middle and threw her off him. No sooner had she struck the ground than she kicked his legs out from under him. He fell hard on his back and she straddled him, her fists pummeling his face before he managed to reverse their position. A moment later she lay on her back beneath him. Her helmet had flown off in their struggle, revealing a wealth of golden blond hair and a beautiful face with flashing blue eyes, a sturdy jawline, and lips that would have been lovely had they not been drawn back in a ferocious snarl.
“Get off me, you ogre!”
“First of all I’m not an ogre. Second, even if I was, what gives you the right to attack me unprovoked?”
She stopped struggling and lay panting beneath him, her brow furrowed. “Not an ogre? One of the other guests at Greenhill had gone out for a stroll earlier today and was attacked by a giant green ogre. In case you hadn’t noticed, you fit the general description.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I am not green. It’s merely my clothes that are green,” he snapped.
“Well, you don’t seem dangerous.”
“And I hate to think of what dangerous by your standards might be. I think you might have broken my nose.” He stood, touching a hand to his face to wipe away blood. “Damn. It’s my best feature.”
Becharmed is coming this week from Changeling Press.
Thank you for stopping by!