Thursday, 5 September 2013

Discover Nash's Niche @RavenMcallan @evernightpub #newrelease

I have managed to grab hold of Lady Felicity Oakley, heroine in Raven McAllan's Nash's Niche, publisher by Evernight Publishing.
Just look at this cover. Lovely!

So over to Lady Felicity -

Now Michaela, I understand you want to interview me?
Well, my name is Lady Felicity Oakley.
In my era that which you call Regency, I'm considered to be a little long in the tooth. Almost an old maid, because I wasn't married before I was one and twenty.
My papa said he was happy about it, that I could chose a husband I loved. Then all of a sudden? Phht. He is trying to make me marry a prosy, fussy, bore, and I will not have it. He and Mama were in love. I expect the same thing.
So I plotted and planned. Poor Raven had no idea.
(I never do—R)
 Now let me see. What would you be interested in? Hmm, well as a lady of the ton, I don't wear drawers. Only the lower classes and well fast women do.  Giggle. I think that's a silly expression, because surely to be fast, the less clothes the better? I really do detest corsets and as for damping my muslin? Shudder Ugh. Wet muslin against the skin. So clammy and slimy and oh no, not for me. I prefer to wear my gown undampened. I am no hussy… Raven be quiet. A little cheeky, yes, a minx, probably, but a hussy no, not ever.
(I never said a word—R)
 Where was I? Oh yes. Me. Well I can drive a phaeton and pair better than a lot of men, and ride to the hounds as well. I like exercise… stop sniggering, and well, blush I have a tattoo.
Nash? Oh my Nash. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when things came together. Oh dear that sounds bad doesn't it? giggle Well yes that as well. Maybe I am a hussy after all? Perhaps I should just say, I'm glad my impulsiveness, and hoydenish ways were not in vain.

Now I was told you want quick fire answers, so I'm ready.
Hounds… oh I have to let you write the questions down? Sigh very well.
Food—anything Andre the chef cooks when not under the thrall of Harold. Otherwise Maggie's oyster and ale pie. I hate liver.
Town or country—country with Nash. The town for perhaps a week or so a year, to replace my wardrobe, and go to a few balls.
Pastime—too much information would be needed.
Author—rolls eyes Perhaps I should say Miss Austen, but it wouldn't be correct.

You can find Felicity in Nash's Niche, available from

A chance meeting at a masked ball leads to explosive and unforgettable sex for both Nash and Felicity.
Reunited under dangerous circumstances, they realize they may have to fight for their love, especially when Felicity is promised to Nash's brother.
With the future of the country at stake and unsure who to trust, can there be a future for the star stuck lovers?
A wee tease

Felicity was having a beautiful dream. Her brandy-filled, hazy mind was full of body thrumming pleasure. Someone was playing with her curls and increasing her juices. His—she knew it was a he—fingers teased and played with her nub, and then with an exquisite slowness pushed inside her cunt. She moaned and wriggled as he thrust into her channel. She squirmed. Why fingers? Why not his tool? A thought struck her. Dreams didn't talk. She opened her eyes and from out of the mist that surrounded her, and the semi lightness of the night, she saw a large figure. It loomed over her and she jerked back, no easy feat, as his hand clamped onto her skin like a limpet. The wicked fingers increased their pressure both inside her and over the tiny nub, which she had learned could give her so much pleasure.
He pinched her, and she tried to pull back even as the sensation of a climax began to roll through her. Felicity had oft thought how lucky she was to know what the tingles and goose bumps that bombarded her could herald, how to enjoy every last nuance until her juices coated whatever digit or toy she used, and let her body shudder in completion. Only once had she known a true climax—well, not once she allowed, but one night. However, now wasn't the time to think about that. Now was the time to extract herself from this predicament.
She screamed, even as she matched his movements.
There was a growl, a growl for heaven’s sake, what sane man growled, and those magic fingers moved ever faster. She couldn't help but match them. Then he said the silliest thing ever, and told her not to move. Felicity thought there was as much likelihood of that happening as the King recovering. She ignored him and thrust against him. She was so very close to coming, and surely he wouldn't deny her?
It seemed he would. The deep velvet voice flowed over her, and increased her arousal. The words did stop her in her tracks though. "I have a weapon, and I will use it."
If anything was guaranteed to stop her coming, those words were it. Felicity's arousal disappeared as fast as a pickpocket with a fob watch. She heaved a sigh and pulled as far away from him as possible. There was a rustle and the mattress shook, before she heard the noise of a match scraping over a tinderbox. A flare of light as it caught, and then a candle sent long shadows dancing over her skin.
 Felicity narrowed her eyes and watched as a man—a tall, dark-haired, and incredibly handsome man set the candle into a sconce. She looked him up and down, and couldn't help the chuckle escaping.
Apart from a fine linen shirt, he was naked. And just below the hemline that seemed to frame it, his long, thick, and hard cock waved a welcome. Felicity looked at his face, then let her gaze drift lower to admire his prick. Then she stared back at his face again. Her stomach churned, as the gentleman—even only wearing a shirt, and with a rampant staff that stood out proudly from his body, he couldn't be anything else other than a gentleman—stared at her. Her pulse jumped. She would bet her pin money she knew him—in the biblical way. If only her brain wasn't brandy-fuddled and his shirt would lift just one more inch, she could be certain. However, even in the flickering candle light Felicity was sure. It was the one man she had glimpsed heaven with, and vowed to leave well enough alone, who threatened her. She thought quickly. He had no idea who she was, and she intended to keep it that way.
"Well now," she said slowly. "You're right, you most certainly do have a weapon. I do hope you know how to use it properly."

Now some nosy links
Raven lives in Scotland, along with her husband and their two cats—their children having flown the nest—surrounded by beautiful scenery, which inspires a lot of the settings in her books.
She is used to sharing her life with the occasional deer, red squirrel, and lost tourist, to say nothing of the scourge of Scotland—the midge.
A lover of reading, she appreciates the history inside a book, and the chance to peek into the lives of those from years ago. Raven admits that she enjoys the research for her books almost as much as the writing; so much so, that sometimes she realizes she's strayed way past the information she needs to know, and not a paragraph has been added to her WIP.
Her lovely long-suffering husband is learning to love the dust bunnies, work the Aga, and be on stand-by with a glass of wine.

You can find out more about Raven here…       (author page)

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