Three Books For The Price of One!!

You heard me right!  Right now I’ve got a very special offer for you lovers of contemporary romance. Three of my VK Sykes books—the sexy romances I write with my husband—are available in one beautiful anthology, currently on sale for only 99 cents!

Yep, for a limited time we’re offering three full length books for only 99 cents.  The stories in this series revolve around the players on a major league baseball team, and their friends and families. It includes Fastball, Hardball, and Bigger Than Beckham. Here’s the blurb for Hardball, which recently won The Kindle Book Review Best Indie Books of 2012 Contest, in the romance category:

After years of hard work, Dr. Holly Bell has finally landed a position as a cardiac surgeon at a prestigious children’s hospital in Philadelphia. She’s always been about her dedication to work, and she’s not letting anything or anyone get in her way. And a hot affair with a superstar athlete is most definitely getting in Holly’s way.

Nate Carter, star pitcher for the Philadelphia Patriots, is at the height of his game, with a great career and the most gorgeous women in town in full pursuit. Nate has everything he wants, or at least he thinks he does, until he meets the beautiful and brainy Dr. Holly Bell. He’s totally up for a hot affair, and Holly turns out to be the hottest.

But when the lovely doctor starts changing the rules, Nate realizes he just might be playing for keeps.

The Philadelphia Patriots 3 book box set is now available on Amazon, Kobo, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, and will soon be up on Apple. We’ll soon be releasing more books in this series, so this anthology is a great way to catch up.

So if you like sports romances, sexy contemporary romance, hot heroes, or any and all of those three things, I hope you give The Philadelphia Patriots a try!

#SampleSunday: Bigger Than Beckham, by VK Sykes

Some of you know that in addition to my historical romances, I also write contemporary romance with my hubby under the pen name of VK Sykes.  We have a new book just out.  Bigger Than Beckham is book three in our Philadelphia Patriots series of sports romances.

The heroine, Martha Winston, finds herself the new owner of professional soccer team, left to her by her recently deceased father.  It’s the last thing she needs in her busy life, but her father extracted a deathbed promise that she’d do everything she could to keep his beloved team in the family.   Unfortunately, The Thunder is on the skids and deep in debt, with the bank about to bring down the hammer.  As Martha ponders her next move, she receives call from Tony Branch, former English soccer star and sports maven, and a man she’s been secretly dreaming about for quite some time.

In truth, it would be hell convincing her skeptical backers that her plan to turn the team around was working since there was scant evidence to back up the claim. The Thunder had been sinking fast when she arrived in June, and they’d fallen ever deeper down the rabbit hole since.

Sadly, her team sucked. It needed a full overhaul, requiring both time and money. A lot of money. Meanwhile, the fans would have to be patient.

Fat chance.

Jane Corrigan, her personal assistant and long-time friend, tapped lightly on her open door. Ever-cheery, she gave Martha a grin as she stepped into the spacious but sparsely furnished office. “There’s a guy named Tony Branch on the line. He’s calling from London, and that’s London as in England,” she said, her thin brows lifting in a question.

Martha’s pen fell from her fingers. Tony Branch? With his ruggedly handsome face, toned body, and penetrating gaze, he’d made an impression she’d never forgotten, even two years later.

Suddenly flushed, she brushed a hand carelessly across her heated forehead. It was exactly the same physical reaction she’d experienced when their paths had crossed in England.

“Are you all right, girl?” Jane asked. Her friend knew every one of Martha’s arsenal of looks and gestures, having spent five years working alongside her in the sports department of the Philadelphia Post.

“Right as rain,” Martha said with forced cheeriness as she fanned a hand in front of her face. “It’s just a little warm in here. As for Mr. Branch, please tell him I’m just finishing up another call, and I’ll be with him in a minute.” She needed a few seconds to regain her equilibrium.

Tony frigging Branch. The way-too-sexy Brit had wasted no time undressing her with his smoking hot gaze after that Wimbledon charity dinner. Though the encounter had been short, Martha had no trouble remembering all the relevant details about the man. Tall, with longish dark and wavy hair. Deep-set, dark eyes. Square jaw. On the lean side, but with a soccer player’s well-toned, well-muscled body. A British sports hero, a man worshipped by rabid fans since he was a teenager.

And a total lady-killer, if the gossip rags held even a hint of truth.

She couldn’t deny that his roguish, arrogant smile had almost knocked her off her pins. She’d been instantly attracted both to his looks and his can-do reputation, and had thought the attraction was shared. But, sadly, she’d let that twit from the tennis magazine hustle her off so quickly. The event had practically bored the silk stockings off her, and she’d been happy to leave early. Until she met Tony Branch, that is. Then the evening had ended all too soon.

When she got home, she’d even pitched a feature about him to her editor at the Post. But he’d told her that nobody in the States wanted to read about a British soccer personality unless his name was David Beckham.

But why would Tony Branch call her now? They’d just met the once, and that had been over two years ago.

Flutters danced below her ribcage. She pressed her hand against her stomach, trying to ignore them.

She picked up the phone and punched the flashing light. “Good morning, Mr. Branch. Oh, but I guess it’s already afternoon for y’all over there, isn’t it? You’re way ahead of us colonials, at least in that regard.”

People had always told her she sounded naturally perky, but she ladled an extra measure of southern sass into the mix to try to cover her twitchy nerves.

“Yes, it’s well into afternoon here,” Branch said with a deep chuckle. God, his voice sounded like whiskey poured through dark chocolate. “And please call me Tony. I’m not calling too early, am I?”

Martha remembered the way she’d been instantly drawn to his deep, throaty rasp when they met. There was no trace of poncey schooling in Branch’s voice. A working class lad all the way, and she’d found that enormously appealing.

“Oh, heavens, no,” she said. “It’s nine o’clock here. I’ve already put in two hours’ work.”

“That’s the stuff. Got to get up with the roosters if we want to stay ahead of the pack, don’t we?” Branch said, with a spectacular mixing of metaphors.

“Indeed we do.” She thought she’d enjoy a bit of banter with him, but her nerves made her impatient to discover the purpose of his call. Still, that didn’t stop her from firing a little salvo. “I have to say how glad I am you called. Maybe you could give a rookie owner some tips,” she said in a playful voice. “Lord knows I could use a few. My team’s five and nineteen, and I can’t find a fan these days with a GPS and a bloodhound.”

Branch let out a rumbly chuckle. “Ouch. I can feel your pain. But look, Martha—may I call you Martha?” When he purred her name, her knees actually went weak.

You can call me intrigued. “Why, sure you can, Tony.”

“Excellent. Martha, believe me, I’ve been there. My first year after taking over Blackhampton, we managed one miserable win and two draws in our first fifteen matches. The fans wanted my bollocks on a plate.” He paused. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be using coarse language speaking with a lady. But in any case, after that we only lost six of the final twenty-one, and suddenly I’d become a savior instead of an incompetent, washed-up football player, as one columnist called me.”

Martha smiled. She knew Branch had performed miracles with his top tier club, getting them promoted to the Premier League in only a couple of years. And now they were more or less competitive for the league championship. “How did y’all turn it around, Tony? I’ll pay real good money for any of your secrets.”

Okay, I don’t have any money, but that’s beside the point.

Branch laughed again. Martha liked the throaty sound of it. Low and sexy as, well, sex on a stick.

“I had to kick a few backsides and get rid of some deadwood,” he said. “But the key was that I was able to convince the lads that I’d do whatever it took to turn the side a winner. I promised them that the next season we’d pick up a couple of top-flight midfielders no matter what the cost. The lads trusted me because they knew I’d been one of them. A player who’d gone through all the negative garbage they were going through, both on the field and off. Pretty soon they started acting like winners. Playing hard every minute of every match. Gutting it out.”

Martha sighed. No matter what the cost. It must be a sweet feeling to have deep pockets. Right now, hers were about as deep as a coat of paint. Hell, at this rate she’d be lucky to make payroll until the end of the season.

“You’ve certainly made a success of it,” she said, forcing a cheery voice. “Sixth place last year. Maybe fifth this season.”

“You follow the Premier League that closely, Martha?”

She frowned at the obvious note of surprise in his voice, hoping he wasn’t like some of the team owners and players who considered her little better than a dumb blonde.

“Of course,” she said as a flush of resentment swept over her. But she tamped down the spike and kept her tone light. “Some of us over here on the frontier still manage to keep track of what’s going on in the soccer motherland.”

Branch laughed again, and the rumble sent hot pinpricks dancing across her skin. The charming Brit seemed to appreciate her quirky sense of humor, something she’d found many men didn’t. “I’m glad to hear it. I think I’ll sleep better at night now knowing that.”

She picked up her fountain pen and tapped it against the leather trim of her desk blotter. Why wasn’t he getting to the point? She rather liked chatting away with him, but her stomach kept rolling around and perspiration was beginning to trickle down her spine. “Well, then, sweet dreams,” she said, hoping he’d get on with it.

He seemed to pick up her change in tone. “All joking aside, Martha, I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m contacting you.”

“Can’t say the thought didn’t flicker through my mind. But we southern folk would never be so impolite as to ask straight out.”

He cleared his throat. “I’ll come straight to the point, then. I know you’re in a bit of a pickle over there, and I’d like to find a way to help you out of it.”

You can read another excerpt of Bigger Than Beckham on our website, along with excerpts from our other books in the Philadelphia Patriots series.  Bigger Than Beckham is on sale for $3.49 at Amazon, Smashwords, and Kobo, and will soon be available on the Nook.

Happy Sunday, everyone!


We Have Winners!

Lots of winners today!

Katharine Ashe’s book, Captive Bride – Dawn T

Alpha Male Blog Hop – Tammy T

Brenda Jernigan’s Christmas in Camelot – Belinda

Congratulations, ladies!  I’ll be in touch.  Thanks to everyone for stopping by the blog.

And just a friendly, shameless reminder that my new VK Sykes book, Bigger Than Beckham, is now available in e-book.

You can find it on Kindle, Kobo, or at Smashwords in a variety of formats.  To read an excerpt, check out my VK Sykes website.

Have a great day!

Bigger Than Beckham Now Available!!

I’m thrilled to announce that my latest contemporary romance, Bigger Than Beckham, is now in e-book stores.  Woot!  These are the sexy books that I write with my husband under the pen name of V.K Sykes Bigger Than Beckham is the third book in our Philadelphia Patriots Series, following Fastball and Hardball.  If you like sports romances, I think you’re going to love this book – we sure do!

Here’s the blurb:

Sports journalist Martha Winston loves her career, but her life goes sideways when she inherits a pro soccer team from her father.  The team is almost bankrupt and on the skids, but Martha has vowed to save her beloved father’s legacy.  But she needs to get a financial infusion fast, or else lose the team to the wolves baying at her door.

Former British soccer hero Tony Branch wants to add Martha’s team to his growing sports empire.  But he wants it strictly on his terms.  When Martha turns him down flat, he’s determined to change her mind by any means necessary.  If that includes using the sexual heat flaring between them, Tony is more than willing to play a game of seduction.

Our heroine, Martha Winston, appeared in earlier previous books in the Patriots Series and she’s a bit of a firecracker.  She and Tony really do heat things up!  To read an excerpt from the book, stop by our website.

Bigger Than Beckham is available in e-book from Amazon, Kobo, and in various formats on Smashwords.  It should also be up on Barnes & Noble and in the iBook store very soon.  Stay tuned for details!

And don’t forget that today is Day Three of the Alpha Male Blog Hop.  Over 200 bloggers and authors are chatting about all the things we love about alpha male heroes.  We’re giving away great prizes too – like a Kindle Fire or a Nook Tablet.  On my blog, I’m giving away a copy of Bigger Than Beckham and an Amazon gift card.  Just click here to start hopping!

Have a great Sunday, everyone!


Guest Author: Stacey Joy Netzel & Giveaway!

My friend and very accomplished author Stacey Joy Netzel is on the blog today.  She writes fab romantic suspense and also lovely contemporary romance. Her heroes are rugged, her heroines resilient, and her books are a real treat.  I’m going to turn the blog over to Stacy now, as she asks us a very important question.

Sensual or Explicit?

What’s your preference in romance?

As a reader and writer, I’m a fan of sensuality in romances versus outright explicit sex. I like the promise of what’s to come, the delayed gratification of a sizzling attraction, and getting to use my imagination a little (or a lot).

I love the drawn out foreplay, not forever mind you, but just enough to get my heart beating that slow thud of anticipation like the heroine’s. Whether it’s in a specific scene, or through a good portion of the book, if it’s done right, there are times I enjoy the expectation more than the actual act.

Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with the end result of the sensual foreplay and I’m even getting more comfortable writing it, but when a writer can make me experience that thrill of anticipation along with the heroine, that’s gold!

Here’s an excerpt of a sensual scene that I enjoyed writing in my contemporary western CHASIN’ MASON:

When his father announced his engagement to a gold-digger with a lying, scheming fourteen-year old daughter, seventeen-year old Tripp Warner left Warner Ridge Ranch and never looked back. Until the day he got the phone call that his father had died unexpectedly.

Reggie Reed lives with her guilt every day but can’t quite work up the courage to track down the son of the man who raised her as his own. When Tripp shows up at his father’s funeral eleven years later—and a hell of a man to be reckoned with—he has no interest in her too-late apology. Worse, they’ve inherited half shares of the family ranch—but only if they work together to catch Mason’s Gold, the stallion a young Reggie let escape and made sure Tripp took the blame for.

Tripp proposes a secret competition to the beautiful witch who stole his life: whoever catches the stallion first gets the ranch all to themselves. It sounds simple, but once they’re out on the range, tempers and passions flare in the Texas heat and nothing goes as either of them expects.


“You’d better put your boots back on, Princess. You never know when you might happen on a rattler.”

White-hot anger seared through her again. She whirled around so fast he took a half step back.

“It’s Reggie. Or, if you prefer the bitch version, then call me Regan, but stop calling me Princess.” She took a step closer. “And touching as your concern is, my boots are soaking wet because of you, so just leave me alone.”

One side of his mouth quirked. “Poor, Princess. You didn’t see him today, did you?”

Just that quick, he flipped her on the defensive. She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin as he stepped past to spread out his wet clothes.

“At least I looked,” she griped.

“I looked.”

“Yeah, right, in your dreams, maybe.”

“Saw him, too.”

She was pretty sure he was lying, yet her stomach still flipped uneasily. “Where?”

“Like I’m going to tell you.”

Biting back a growl of frustration, she muttered, “Cocky jerk,” on her way over to the woodpile next to the cabin. Since she obviously wasn’t going to get the sleep she needed, she might as well start the campfire to dry out her boots and make some dinner.

Reggie piled her arms with a couple pieces of smaller kindling, a couple larger chunks, and—

An ominous rattle froze her in place.

Over the logs in her arms, her gaze sought out the source and spotted a coiled Western Diamondback who must have been sunning itself against the cabin logs—three feet from where she stood. In all her years out here, she’d never run into a rattlesnake. Because she was careful, watched what she was doing, and honestly, had just been plain lucky.

Damn Tripp and his warning—he’d jinxed her! Without her boots for protection, if the snake bit her, she’d be in real trouble.

The rattle continued and the snake’s head rose higher as it moved slightly to the side. Reggie’s fear mounted. What should she do? Throw a chunk of wood at it? Stay frozen? Run? God, she’d forgotten everything Judd and Ernesto had drummed into her head and her limbs started to tremble from the strain of holding perfectly still with the armload of wood.

“Don’t move now, Princess.”

Tripp. She would’ve sagged with relief, but didn’t dare move a muscle. She hadn’t even heard him coming up behind her.

“He’s big,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

“I see him. Easy now, I’m going to put my hands on your arms.”

She knew it was coming but still flinched. His firm grip revealed his tension, which only made her more nervous.

“Strike distance is half the length of his body.” Sure, that she remembered. “He looks at least six feet long.”

“He’s lucky if he’s five—we’ve got a good six inches on him,” Trip assured her. His breath fanned her ear as his body pressed against her back. “We’ll just give the little guy a minute to settle down.”

His hands slid inch by slow inch down her arms until he held her in the circle of his arms. She wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but she relaxed, leaning against him as he helped absorb some of the weight of the wood to relieve her aching muscles. Even though the air was still quite warm, she welcomed the reassuring heat of him against her back, somehow safe in his protective hold.

Quick as it’d begun, the rattling subsided. The snake uncoiled and slithered away toward the woods, mesmerizing in its gracefulness. Reggie followed the reptile with her gaze until the striped tail and lighter colored rattle disappeared. She closed her eyes in relief.

You’d think she could breathe now. Move. Do something.

“You can let go of the wood,” Tripp said, his voice somewhat gruff.

She wanted to press her ear against his warm mouth. Instead, she said, “It’ll drop on my toes.” He chuckled and the sound sent a curl of desire straight through her.

“Then let me help.”

Leaving one hand curved around her stomach, he used the other to methodically toss each piece of wood back on the pile. When her arms were empty, he slid his palms down along her forearms, twined his fingers with hers and wrapped her in the most sensual embrace she’d ever experienced.

With her eyes still shut, there wasn’t a single inch they touched she wasn’t aware of. His cheek alongside hers, chin resting on her shoulder, chest to back, his hips nestled just above the curve of her butt. As the tension drained from her body, she let her head relax back against his shoulder. She’d gladly stay right here for eternity.

Her eyes popped open. What was she doing? The danger was not gone—he would hurt her. He’d made no secret of the fact that his main goal was to get back at her, to take away everything she held dear, like she’d done to him.

She stiffened in his arms, straining to break free of his hold. She thought she heard him sigh as he released her, but when she spun around to escape into the cabin, he caught her arm and drew her against him.

Face to face. Chest to chest. Hips to hips.

Another wave of heat swept through her when she realized she wasn’t the only one physically affected by the moment of insanity in his arms.

“It’s only going to get worse, you know.”

“W-what is?”

“This thing between us,” he said. “It’s not going away, so why fight it?”

She refused to look up; she couldn’t let him get to her—even though he was probably right. “The only thing between us is the last eleven years.”

His fingers flexed against her skin. “And despite that, I still want you, Regan.”

The rough statement weakened her knees, but his use of her given name reminded her of his true opinion of her. It gave her the strength to finally meet his blue eyes, desire-darkened to the color of a midnight sky. When it came right down to it, she was fighting for her life.

“No, Tripp. You want to ruin me, and apparently, you’ll use any means necessary.”


CHASIN’ MASON has just been re-released with a brand new sexy cover and is on sale for $1.99 for a limited time (regular $3.99). Get your copy at: AMAZON, BN, SW, ARe

So, again I ask, do you prefer sensual or explicit in your romances? Let me know and I’ll enter you into a drawing for your choice of an ebook from my backlist.

Thanks so much to Vanessa for having me here today, and to everyone who’s come by to visit. Happy reading!

Thank you, Stacey, for that wonderful excerpt! Readers, Stacey is a wonderful writer–I’ve read her books and I love them. So answer her question, then check out her website for more info on her books!