Free Promo Friday: Knightly Desire - Lisa Fox

Today, I'm more than happy to hand my blog over to Ms. Lisa Fox, who is awesome and wonderful and full of lovely. 

All yours, Lisa!

Hi Everyone! I am thrilled to announce the release of my erotic, fantasy romance, KNIGHTLY DESIRE! To celebrate, I am giving away a copy to one lucky commenter on my blog. Head over to LISA FOX ROMANCE between now and Sunday, March 24, 2013 to enter!

Blurb: 

A routine mission turns disastrous when Knight Captain Brant and his men encounter a renegade mage. Injured and near death, Brant is brought to a nearby sanctuary of the god Ison, where the chaste sisters heal all those in need.

He is given into the care of Gabrielle, a talented healer. She is young, vivacious, bold—and a mage. She is everything wrong for him, and yet their desire and need can’t be denied.

Brant lives for his duty. Gabrielle belongs to a god. The lust-filled bond between them is powerful, but forbidden. No matter the consequences, their erotic bond cannot be ignored. 

An Excerpt From: KNIGHTLY DESIRE
Copyright © LISA FOX, 2013
All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

“You’re awake,” a female voice said and Brant jumped. He turned his head toward the sound and found a young woman roughly twenty years his junior sitting on a stool on the opposite side of the room. His armor, sword and shield sat on a table beside her. “The Mother feared you would never rise.”

She was a spark of brilliant light in the otherwise barren room and Brant hungrily drank her in, everything in him yearning to absorb all of her vibrant energy. He took in her round face, smooth with the innocence of her youth and marveled at the striking contrast with her wide, sapphire eyes. Those eyes held ancient wisdom in their depths and seemed to know secrets far beyond her years. That look, that shadow, added maturity and dimension to her youthful appeal, making her a devastating woman. He tried to tear his eyes away, he knew his examination was improper, but he couldn’t help himself. It had been too long since he had gazed upon anything beautiful.

She ran her hand over her short, spiky red-brown hair as she studied him. Her eyes trailed over him as she waited for him to respond, her gaze both curious and sensual. Her lips parted as she lingered over his bare chest, and when she dragged her tongue over her plump bottom lip, his cock stirred. Visions of capturing her warm, wet mouth assaulted him, and he could almost feel how soft her lips would be against his, how sweet she would taste. Blistering arousal ignited in his chest, awakening all of the nerve endings in his body, and he was suddenly, acutely aware that he was naked beneath the thin white sheet. Her gaze traveled farther down, leaving a path of fire in its wake, and when she paused at his waist, he almost gave in to the fierce, animal desire.

With a silent curse, he bit down on his tongue, hoping to temper his thundering pulse. It was completely inappropriate for him to respond to her in this manner. Especially since he had no idea who she was or what circumstances had brought him to her. He cleared his throat and tried to shake off the lust racing through his bloodstream. “The Mother?” he asked, and winced as fresh pain shot through him. “Where am I?”

“The Britnol Sanctuary of Ison,” she said, and he blinked, finally taking notice of her robes, the red and white adornments of the sacred Sisters of Ison. Brant let out a disgusted breath. Oh, but he was a fool indeed. Even without the cowl of her station—which was odd, he’d never seen a sister with her head uncovered before—he still should have recognized what she was.

“Where is everyone?” he asked. The other sanctuaries he had been to were bustling centers of activity, the sisters treating multiple patients for a variety of injuries and illnesses. He seemed to be in a private room rather than the main hall of the temple, separated from the other patients, and disquiet settled in his chest. Could it have something to do with the mage? He had been touched by magic, was he now…tainted? He quickly pushed the thought aside. He was whole, weak, but still himself. He glanced over at his newfound companion. She did not seem overly concerned about being in his presence. He didn’t think she would be so calm if there was any reason for worry.

She shrugged one shoulder. “Who knows?”

Before he could stop himself, his gaze drifted back down to her mouth and unbidden desire resurfaced in his heart. There was probably a reasonable explanation for his segregation, but their isolation tested the limits of propriety. This woman may be a sister, however youthful her appearance, she was obviously old enough to have taken her vows, but he was an outsider. “Surely they wouldn’t allow a sister to remain alone in the presence of a strange man?”

“Why not?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. The gesture was all at once innocent and impishly wicked. “They say you are a man of honor.” She touched the white stallion emblazoned upon his shield. “They say that this means it is so.” She met his eyes. “Are they wrong?”

Brant’s heart swelled with pride as he looked at the stallion on his shield. It stood for everything he believed in, everything he fought for, held dear and would die to uphold. Honor, justice, duty. He met her gaze. “No, they are not wrong.”

Her smile brightened her entire face and her eyes sparkled. “Then why do you ask?”

He laughed. He couldn’t help himself. Her whole aura demanded it. She may be innocent, but she was also a tad bit too flirtatious for a sister. When the sisters took their vows, they gave themselves to Ison alone. He wasn’t much of a follower, but he did know that Ison was a jealous, possessive god. Brant decided he would do well to remember that—for both their sakes. He forced his face back into seriousness and tried to assume as commanding a tone as possible considering he was lying in a sickbed. “Bring me the Mother. I wish to depart.”

Her smile widened and his blood heated. He had seen beautiful women before, he had mingled with and even romanced some of the refined ladies of the royal court, but none had ever stirred in him the longing that she inspired. It was thrilling. “Oh, I don’t think that’s going to happen,” she said, her tone playfully admonishing. “You were quite wounded when your men brought you here and we vowed in His name to heal you. The Mother is not going to let you go until she feels that is done.”

That was not the answer he wanted and he bristled at the confinement. He needed to get back to his men. That mage had been gathering an army. He needed to make sure that the threat had been eliminated, that everyone was safe. He was almost certain that he had succeeded, but there was always a chance that the man still lived, still posed an immediate and terrible danger. “I’m fine.”

She laughed, a joyful sound that filled the entire room. “Are you? Well then, stand up.”

He couldn’t believe his ears. Was she actually challenging him? He was so shocked, he almost laughed. “What?”

“Come on,” she said, humor and mischievousness and deep knowing in her blue eyes. “Stand up. Prove how well you are.” She rose to her feet and extended her hand to him. “If you can take even two steps, I’ll get her for you.”

She was teasing him. He shook his head in disbelief. And he was enjoying it! “Why do I have to prove anything to you?”

She smiled. “Because, Sir Knight, I am your keeper until you have recovered.”

“You?” he said, and this time he did laugh. “You’re barely old enough to be your own keeper.”

“I am older than I look and we both know that wisdom is not reliant upon age.” She raised an eyebrow and her smile transformed into a smirk. “And you have not gotten out of that bed.”

He told himself that he was not being baited. He was going to get up, prove to her how fit he was and end this ridiculous game. And he was fine. Mostly. Fine or not, he had to get back to his men and resume his command. He wrapped the sheet around his waist and rose from the bed. His legs folded beneath him.
She was by his side in an instant, holding him up. She hugged him tightly and the soft, floral scent of her filled his head. He breathed deeply, taking in her delectable fragrance. Her body moved against him, lithe and firm under the heavy, shapeless robes, and the fire that had been simmering in his blood flared back to life. He wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her closer. Her smooth, white skin flushed a rosy pink and he could feel her breath catch. His eyes fastened on her mouth and hunger descended upon him in a wave of lust. She lifted her chin to him, her pink lips slightly parted and he leaned into her, accepting the unspoken invitation. The warm flutter of her breath tickled his lips and long buried desires swept through. He wanted to drink in her heat, her beauty, her feminineness, things that were forever missing from his life.

His cock awoke with deep, throbbing need and his eyes drifted shut as everything in him yearned for one tiny taste of heaven.

The door opened and Brant started at the sound. The Grand Mother entered the room, frowning mightily as she took in the scene and the girl froze in his arms. The Mother’s steely-gray eyes fixed on the sister and he felt her twitch. “Gabrielle, attend,” the Mother commanded, and his beautiful keeper deposited him on the bed and went to the Mother’s side. “I believe it is your turn to stock the warehouse?” she asked, and Gabrielle flicked him a last look before nodding and leaving.

When the door shut behind her, the Mother turned her attention on him. “Welcome to the Britnol Sanctuary of Ison, Sir Brant,” she said. “I trust you are finding it comfortable here?”

Her voice was sharp with disapproval and it only deepened Brant’s regret for his actions. He had come into this house of a god and tried to take what didn’t belong to him, what he had no right to claim. “Mother,” he said, inclining his head to her. A formal bow would have been better, but it was the best he could manage. He did not think he could stand up again without help. “Thank you for taking me into your house of healing. I am in your debt.”

The Mother inclined her head in return. “We do our sacred duty here,” she said, and then met his eyes.
Brant heard the warning loud and clear. A warning he was ashamed to have to receive. He had tarnished his own honor when he tried to take advantage of the young sister. It was not a mistake he would make again, no matter how much his desire for her enflamed his blood. She was not his for the taking.


Buy: http://www.ellorascave.com/knightly-desire.html


 About the Author: 

World-renowned neurosurgeon, jet fighter pilot, secret member of American royalty, seducer of legions of beautiful, outrageously sexy angels and demons and vampires and werewolves and the occasional pirate, Lisa Fox has done it all…in her own mind. In reality, she can generally be found at her desk with a cup of coffee close at hand. Or maybe a martini. It really depends on the day.
Feedback, comments, opinions, words of wisdom, chocolate cake and the addresses of super hot men are always appreciated and encouraged. Please feel free to contact Lisa any time. Email: lisa@lisafoxromance.com Website: www.lisafoxromance.com
Twitter: @LisaFoxRomance Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/LisaFoxRomance

Free Promo Friday: Art of Attraction by Lisa Fox and M.A. Ellis

Art of Attraction
Two smoking hot stories from Lisa Fox and M.A. Ellis!

Sculpting A Demon:

Lila Callahan lives a subdued life, devoting all her time and energy to her sculpting. When her best friend coerces her into performing a love spell, the last thing she expects is to wake up the next day with an outrageously sexy demon in her bed.

Arien is a fallen angel with a penchant for mischievousness and a talent for all the most decadent delights. He promptly turns Lila’s quiet, controlled world upside down and sparks fly between them, both inside her bedroom and out.

Arien shows her sides of herself she never knew existed, and Lila finds the love and passion she has always secretly longed for. But when Arien learns the true nature of her spell, he knows there is trouble ahead. The denizens of hell are only supposed to answer calls for greedy, lustful, malicious desires—and her little love spell was none of those things. There’s a way for Lila to have him for her own, but only if she’s willing to take a risk.


Filigree and Fantasy:

Whitney is ecstatic over her internship to Macedonia and the opportunity to hone her craft at the hands of a filigree master. She doesn’t know that the old man has an ulterior motive. He plans to use her talent to save the dwindling numbers of his family’s canine shapeshifters, the Sharplanjat.

Jovan isn’t a shifter, but his sense of duty rivals that of the Sharplanjat—until his unbridled attraction to the woman who might very well hold his family’s future in her hands forces him to throw caution aside. To hold her. Taste her. Drive her to the brink of exquisite passion and beyond.

Mesmerized by sexy, violet-eyed Jovan, Whitney is ready for a quick, steamy affair. But Jovan has more than a few days of scorchingly wild sex in mind. He just doesn’t know what Whitney will do when she learns his family secret. Will she run screaming in fear or embrace the fantasy that can be found in his protective arms?

An Excerpt From: SCULPTING A DEMON
Copyright © LISA FOX, 2010
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Chapter One

“Nice,” Lila said aloud in her silent loft as she examined the phoenix sculpture she had been carving all afternoon. She shifted her weight, trying to get the feeling back in her lower regions and winced as the pins and needles prickled her legs.

She rotated the stand, carefully checking the phoenix from every angle, and zeroed in on a tiny flaw in the carving. Well, almost nice. Bending back over the sculpture, she carefully enhanced the wing detail, happily losing herself once again in the creative bliss bubble that always enveloped her whenever the work was going exceptionally well.

When the doorbell rang, Lila almost shattered the delicate wing she jumped so hard. She shot a frown toward the door, wondering who it could be. She wasn’t expecting anyone.

The bell rang again, an obnoxious, persistent series of buzzes. Groaning aloud, she stood up and brushed the shavings from her jeans. Obviously whoever was out there was not going to go away, however much she wished they would. She gave the sculpture one last longing look, and then answered the door.

“Surprise!” a high-pitched female voice screamed as a body barreled into hers. “Lila!” the woman screeched, and Lila smiled while she tried to untangle herself from her visitor, her very best friend from New York, Angelique Durand.

“What are you doing in Pittsburgh?” Lila asked. While it was wonderfully surprising to see Angie, it really wasn’t all that shocking. Angie always had a habit of popping up in the most unusual places. Lila held her at arm’s length so she could get a good look at her. “You look fantastic,” she added, more than a little jealous of the slinky black Versace dress her friend wore.

“Torque is here this weekend and I got the short straw,” Angie said, breezing by Lila into the loft.

“What’s a Torque?” Lila asked, closing the door.

“Torque is not an ‘a’. Torque is a he,” Angie said, heading for the kitchen space. She placed the bag she had been carrying on the counter and rummaged inside. “And he’s the very most hottest, hippest designer in the entire northern hemisphere.” She glanced over her shoulder at Lila. “For the moment.”

Lila balked. “If he’s so hot, what’s he doing here?”

“He’s from here,” Angie said, pulling a bottle of very nice red wine out of the bag. She held it up for Lila to see. “Wants to make his first major debut at home, as it were. Put Pittsburgh on the map or some such nonsense.”

“And you’re, what? Going to interview him?” Angie wrote for one of New York’s top glossy magazines. The kind of magazine that didn’t deign to give precious ad space to just anyone. If they sent her here after him, he really must be the current god of the fashion scene.

“No, I’m here for the full-on schmooze,” Angie said, struggling with the corkscrew. “Cocktails, dinner, nights on the town, you know how it goes. And I get the absolute pleasure of listening to him go on for hours and hours on what I’m sure is his very favorite subject, his very own fabulous self.” The cork came free with a loud, pleasant pop. “Where do you keep your glasses?”

“You sound excited,” Lila said, and retrieved two glasses from the cabinet over the sink.

“Oh yes,” Angie replied, matching Lila’s sarcastic tone. “Should be a blast.” She handed Lila a glass. “Let’s have a toast.”

“To what?” Lila asked, raising her glass.

“To fashion! Beauty! Art!” Angie said, touching her glass to Lila’s. “And most importantly, to amour!”

“Right.” Lila laughed, and then took a sip of wine. “So, how are things in The City?” she asked. “I miss it.”

“I still don’t see why you ever left,” Angie muttered.

Lila shook her head. They had been through this too many times to count. For Angie, New York was the only place worth living. “Because I, unlike you, do not have a trust fund. At least here I can actually afford rent and food.”

“Overrated,” Angie said, her high heels clicking against the hardwood floor as she strolled through Lila’s loft. “Who needs to eat when there’s so much to do?”

“I’d rather eat,” Lila said. “Besides, I’ve done more shows in the year I’ve been here than I did in all the years I lived in New York.”

“Yes, yes, I get it,” Angie said, the wine swishing dangerously in her glass as she moved. “Big fish, small pond and all that.”

“Something like that,” Lila said under her breath. Mostly it was that Pittsburgh offered her opportunities New York never would, not unless she somehow became an heiress or transformed into Rodin. Though she doubted even Rodin would catch a break in the New York art scene without the right connections or finances.

“Oooo,” Angie said, stopping in front of the six-foot-plus sculpture in Lila’s workspace. “What’s this?”

“It’s not finished,” Lila said, refilling her glass of wine.

“Well, obviously,” Angie said. “He’s got no face.” Her eyes trailed down the stone statue. “And not even a proper package, poor boy. But I do like it. It has definite promise,” she said, her fingertips tracing the abs Lila had painstakingly chiseled into the block of alabaster.

“I guess,” Lila said, coming to stand beside Angie. “I started out trying to do a modern take on the David, but it’s not really working. There’s something…” She frowned, frustrated with her inability to put what was wrong into words. “Missing,” she finished with a shrug.

“What you need is inspiration, girlfriend,” Angie declared. “How long has it been since you’ve even seen a real, live, naked man, hmmm?” When Lila didn’t answer, Angie nodded her head. “Just as I thought. For your own good and continued sanity we clearly have to go out and find you some stimulation.” She shimmied her shoulders. “Get those creative juices flowing.”

“No way,” Lila said. When Angie got that gleam in her eyes, it meant something outrageous and probably illegal in most states was brewing in her devious little mind. “I refuse to let you loose on the unsuspecting people of Pittsburgh.”

“You’re no fun,” Angie pouted. “Don’t worry,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “I’ve seen that look on your face too many times not to know that no matter what I say you’re not going to budge. Not even for a hot night of gloriously anonymous, earth-shattering sex.” She began to pace the loft, tapping her finger against her lips. “Well, if we can’t go out…” She let her voice trail off and then a bright smile bloomed on her face. “Then we’ll make him come to us!”

“What?” Lila asked, blinking hard at Angie’s sudden burst of enthusiasm. This couldn’t be good. “Who—?”

“Candles,” Angie said, cutting her off. “I need some candles and a pink scarf or cloth or something and some red chalk.”

“What are you talking about, Angie?”

“We,” Angie said, spinning on her Manolo Blahnik heel to face Lila, “are going to perform the most stupendously powerful love spell ever. We’re going to conjure you a man!”

“We’re going to what?” Lila gaped. “Are you kidding?”

“No joke,” Angie said. “I did a four-page spread on love spells last month. Four pages, Lila. This wasn’t some front-of-the-book filler fluff. I interviewed oodles of witches, warlocks, shamans and santeros. For the most part it was all utter drivel, but this spell,” she said, ransacking Lila’s kitchen drawers and cabinets. “This is The One. They all said so.”

“You’re crazy. You know that, don’t you?”

“Positively mad.”


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