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Entries in Ellora's Cave (5)


Ellora's Cave vs. (resources and links updated frequently)

Both readers and authors learned this past week that Ellora's Cave was suing the blogger site, DearAuthor. com for a blog post they recently added to their website.

The purpose of our blog post is to post links to news, blog posts, and resources on the matter. You can draw your own conclusions:

The original blog post on entitled The Curious Case of Ellora's Cave

The legal document filed by Ellora's Cave vs and Jane Litt (blogger)

DearAuthor's blog post announcing Ellora's Cave was taking legal action:

SmartBitchesTrashyBooks recent blog post on the recent events:

Deirdre (D.S. Moon's) Author Exodus Support Thread:

The Los Angeles Times

F*ck Yeah Young Adult Blog Site has compiled ..A Master post of the Chaos at Ellora's Cave (hard to read links here)

Of interest - Tina Engler, Ellora's Cave CEO, changed her FB profile pic to this:


Want Twitter updates regarding this issue? Follow hashtag #notchilled

More to be added...


Are you a reader of Ellora's Cave books? Might want to read this...

Over the weekend posted a blog article on Ellora's Cave and the current state of affairs there. If you'd like to read it, you can go to:



Sizzling Scenes: BRIDE UNDONE by Kate Deveaux

by Kate Deveaux

ISBN 9781419903540 | Ellora's Cavepublished April 11, 2014

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Amazon | B & N

Reader Warning: Sizzling Scenes are for mature audiences.
Excerpts may be explicit with explicit language

Featured Book

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Sometimes the best cure for cold feet is a hot Texan…

In one week Chloe will walk down the aisle. Yet she’s a bride who can’t stop spying on the weddings of total strangers. Desperate to catch a glimpse of what true love really looks like, she is having serious second thoughts about tying the knot.

Until she meets Wes — the sexy long lost father of her groom. The hunk from Texas confirms her worst fears. She is marrying the wrong man.

Battling her intense attraction for Wes, the flame between them burns too hot to resist. Chloe and Wes give into their scorching passion and struggle with the consequences of their love.


The door opened and Chloe jumped.

 “Chloe?” Wes said in surprise. He froze in the doorway, his jaw tight and his eyes dark.

“Wes, I had to come talk to you.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He nervously glanced out into the hall. “I told you I’m sorry.” He stepped inside the room, leaving the door wide open.

He walked over to his desk and rested his fingers on the glass. “We really shouldn’t be together. I’m leaving today.”

“No, no, Wes.” She moved toward him. “It’s not your fault.”

Wes’ eyes changed from amber to dark espresso. “I have to get to a board meeting. Please go, Chloe.”

Her eyes searched his and she saw pain in his dark gaze. “I can’t.” She moved one step closer to him.

Wes shook his head. “I shouldn’t have come for the wedding. None of this would have happened.”

“Yes...yes, you should have.” A hint of desperation crept through her. “Well actually, there isn’t going to be a wedding, but that’s not your fault.” She searched for the right words. “I was having second thoughts before you ever arrived. I was going to churches and watching complete strangers get married. The wedding was doomed before you ever got here.” Her words tumbled out faster than she could think them.

Wes said nothing but his raised eyebrows and taut neck muscles told her she wasn’t getting through to him.

“I knew what Conner and I had wasn’t right, that there was something missing.” She knew she was babbling but she had to let him know how she felt. “I have feelings for you, Wes...feelings I can’t hide. You probably think I’m crazy, spying on strangers’ weddings, but it just wasn’t right, me and Conner. And when I met you I knew. The minute I met you.” Tears welled in her eyes.

Wes looked stunned, as if someone had punched him in the stomach. She thought he was going to bolt from the room. He stood there staring at her before striding quickly toward the open door.

Instead of leaving, he paused and looked back at her and then shut the door and deliberately pressed the lock button. He said nothing, just turned on his heels and walked back to his desk, placing his hand on the phone.

Shit, he was going to phone Conner. He was going to keep her there captive in his office and call Conner and tell him what a nut bar his fiancée was.

Immobile, she watched him as he picked up the phone.

“Marie. Cancel the board meeting.” He looked up at Chloe and they locked eyes. Chloe’s stomach flipped and she started to tremble as Wes spoke into the phone. “Some new information came and in and I need time to review it. Send them all back downstairs, will you?”

He hung up the phone and stood behind the desk, his posture tense. Chloe’s heart pounded in her chest.

“Chloe,” he said gently, coming around the front of the desk, but carefully keeping his distance from her.

“You might have cold feet. Everyone does. It’s natural.” His eyes softened to amber but she could see the tension in his taut neck muscles remained, belying his calm tone. “I didn’t mean to lead you on.”

Dammit. How dare he think he’d led her on? How dare he discount her feelings so casually and sound so condescending? She knew he felt it when they kissed. And he must be scared. She was too. His expression hardened and she braced for his rebuke.

Wes looked at her, but was silent.

“Wes, it’s not your fault.” She struggled to convince him. “But I can’t marry your son. I have feelings for you and I can’t ignore them. I don’t want to.” She stepped toward him, praying he didn’t push her away.

He didn’t move, just stood there stone-faced.

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel it too.” She gazed at his chiseled face, his strong jaw, the flicker of gold in his eyes making her melt inside as they turned tender.

“Chloe,” he said softly. “What am I going to do with you?”

“You feel it too, don’t you?” She narrowed the space between them until she could feel the heat off his body and the thrum of his pulse.

“F**k,” he cursed as he looked down at his cowboy boots and then slowly back up at her. He shook his head as if in defeat and pulled her to him. He pressed her body hard against his, jarring her with the impact, but loving the strength in his embrace.

His lips met hers and he kissed her, hard and demanding. “Chloe,” he murmured, wrapping his arms tightly around her and making her body hum with desire. “Yes, I feel it too.” One hand smoothed the hair from her face, the other cupped her ass firmly as he pulled her harder to him and parted her waiting lips with his tongue.

She welcomed his tongue eagerly as she grabbed his broad shoulders, running her hands along his strong back, feeling the muscles ripple under her fingers as he moved her across the room while kissing her.

The backs of her legs met the edge of the couch as he hovered over her, pushing her down as he kissed her lips hungrily, then down her neck, trailing his lips along her décolleté. It was if he was going to devour her and she ached for it.





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Day 1: ROMANCE PREVIEWS featuring LORD OF THE HUNT by Ann Lawrence


Ellora’s Cave | Amazon | B&N

Let's set the stage for today's excerpt:

Featured Book

Joan Swan and her hunting dogs have saved Adam Quintin from a wild boar, but she has become trapped in the forest clearing by his gratitude. As men arrive to admire the kill, including a man from her past named Brian de Harcourt, Joan realizes she’s standing among the many suitors for Lady Mathilda of Ravenswood. These men are barons or knights. Men of wealth and weapons. Powerful men, Brian included, and she’s simply the daughter to the hunt master. She knows she’s in the wrong place at the wrong time. She trusts a pack of dogs more than a pack of men.


Excerpt - Day One

Men surged into the clearing, their horses shying from the sweet stink of the boar's blood. Soon the clearing was crowded with men. The scent of greenery was overwhelmed by that of horses and men.

"This is quite a trophy." Brian de Harcourt dismounted and approached the dead boar. He measured the tusks against his forearm.

Others did as he, touching the beast and prodding it with their feet. A woman was not safe with so many men--with these men in particular. Joan’s heart beat more quickly. Her hands began to sweat.

Brian drew a short sword and hacked a tusk from the felled beast. "Here, Adam, have it carved into dice. They would surely be imbued with your good luck." He tossed the tusk to Adam in a spray of blood.

He let her go to catch the trophy.  Blood dotted his mantle and hers. He frowned. "Brian, you've insulted this young woman."

"Joan's not easily insulted, are you?" Brian inclined his head to her.

Joan made a deep curtsy to him, but bit her lip on any retort. Brian's father held an adjoining manor, though Brian had not deigned to visit Ravenswood for nearly two years.

Heat ran over her cheeks. Brian could be at Ravenswood for only one purpose--the Harvest Hunt and Tournament at which the lady of Ravenswood was set to choose a husband. The suitors, ten in all, were all due to arrive before nightfall.

Joan carefully turned to Adam, a man more of her station--a man who, by the lack of ornamentation or trim on his black garb, was the only man she might comfortably speak to or acknowledge with any propriety. "You owe me nothing. Now, I must go."

"Surely you could use a few pennies?" Brian's words held her in place.

How dare Brian imply she was needy? Her father was Master of the Hunt, not some lowly kennelman. She fought to keep her voice mild. "I ask no reward, my lord."

There were quick, sharp exchanges of quips about Adam's unhorsing from the newly arrived men, then a voice penetrated the banter. It was as hard and harsh as the winter wind that would come in a few weeks.

"Ah, Adam Quintin and a wench. A dog and a bitch will always end up in the grass together."

Joan pulled against Adam Quintin's hold. His fingers tightened on her arm, then relaxed and slid down to take her hand. The sensation was soothing, but nothing he could do would make her feel at ease, save that he would release her--and she could flee.

"I can only assume, my lord Roger," Adam said, "that you've spent so much time with your men, you've forgotten the proper conduct before a woman. Lady Mathilda will be tossing you in the moat where you'll stink as much as your manners if you don't improve them."

There was a beat of silence. Then the men laughed and the baron reddened. Joan was a bit shocked a lord would tolerate so tart a response from a mere swordsman.

The baron jerked his reins and retorted, "I've no time for such nonsense. Fetch someone to butcher this animal." With a kick to his mount, he and half the party cantered off. The ground trembled at their departure.

"Forgive Lord Roger's churlish manners," Adam said to her.

Joan's heart slowed, her stomach eased. "It is nothing."

She squared her shoulders, prayed the man would release her hand. It made her uneasy to stand with her fingers in his.

Just as the thought entered her head, he dropped her hand and made her a more proper bow. "A few hours in the saddle and Lord Roger's as prickly as that boar's snout."

Then Adam smiled and Lord Roger and Brian de Harcourt fled her thoughts. She could but stare at his eyes. They were blue as a field of harebells and framed with thick black lashes.

"Now," he said. "Your name is--"

"Plain Joan," interjected Brian.

Adam raised a black, straight brow. He cocked his head and considered her. "Plain Joan?"

She ducked her head. "Aye. So I am called."

His voice dropped even lower. It coiled about her like a silken thread. "Lord Brian is right. I must reward you in some manner, Plain Joan."

Now. I must go now. She turned. Her path was blocked by a small, wiry man on a dun-brown mare coming straight toward her. He led a gray horse as huge as any she'd ever seen. Its hooves were the size of meat platters, its black mane plaited in a fanciful manner with leather thongs. The horse danced and pawed the ground as it neared the dead boar.

"Yer mount," the little man said to Adam. "Ye rightly named him when ye called him Sinner."

Adam grinned and looked sheepishly in Joan's direction. "He should be called Lady. He's as spoiled as any of those fine creatures." Then he took the reins and patted the destrier's heaving side. "And he dumped me like an inconvenient suitor the instant he saw that boar." The horse bumped his shoulder.

Slung across the battle charger's saddle was a shield. Adam was no common man-at-arms, for the shield bore his personal device. It echoed the simple shape of his mantle pin, but painted on the leather cover of the shield, she saw it more clearly. It was a gold 'V' rendered as if by an illuminator of fine manuscripts. The Roman numeral of five--five for a man whose name meant fifth son.

Men with their own devices were not simple. That she'd mistaken him so, staggered her.

"I have to forgive him, though," Adam said as he pulled himself into a sleek saddle of Spanish leather. "There's no finer horse in a battle in all of England."

Joan darted into the trees.

He was a knight. Mayhap a lord. That meant he, too, was here for one purpose only--marriage to the most beautiful woman in Christendom. Lady Mathilda.

Joan heard Adam Quintin shout after her, but she ignored him. She'd save a beggar with her hounds if he had been one so cornered. And in truth, 'twas the dogs, not she, who'd done the work.

The dogs were waiting on the bank of the river that wound from Winchester to Portsmouth Harbor, passing Ravenswood Castle on its way. They had run through the shallows, romped on the banks, cleaning themselves.

She hugged them one by one, stroking velvety ears and rubbing smooth bellies. "You made me proud, my loves. You rescued a man of worth for Lady Mathilda."

She remembered how he'd been addressed with familiar ease by the other men. It took little effort to imagine the carnage to the men's friendship as they vied for Lady Mathilda's hand.

Plain Joan, Brian had called her. His tongue was as quick as ever. Her cheeks heated that Adam Quintin should be introduced to her in such a manner. Now, Brian's opinion would be Adam's. It was an uneasy thought and she thrust it aside.

Her passage through the woods was no longer a joy, the dogs frolicking ahead of her no longer the pleasure of the day.

At a barely perceptible crossing of one deer path with another, she turned to the west. She would come up to Ravenswood Castle from that direction lest she meet any more men who might be rushing to fall at Lady Mathilda's feet.

But as Joan walked, she found her thoughts on fields of harebells. Harebells as blue as the new gown Lady Mathilda had worn this morning at chapel.

Adam Quintin was as fine in appearance as Brian de Harcourt, mayhap finer. Lady Mathilda would have great difficulty choosing between them.  Joan discounted Lord Roger altogether. He looked like a starved crane. She hoped Brian fell in the foul water of the moat along with the rude Roger.

"Adam Quintin." She said the name aloud without thought. One dog lifted his head and whined. "Aye. You're right. I will not think of him." The young hound woofed. She patted his head. "Nay. I mean it. He's forgotten already."


Adam Quintin, a man with a secret past, is on the hunt for a traitor to the crown. To find the traitor, Adam must join the many suitors of England’s most desirable heiress. But when he arrives at Ravenswood Castle to begin his mission and his courtship, his life is saved by the seductive, yet humble daughter to the keeper of the hunting hounds.

Joan Swan has her own secret mission—preserve her father’s livelihood as master of the hunt. Her task becomes nearly impossible as suitors flock to court the lady of Ravenswood. Can Joan protect her ailing father? Can she protect her heart once she falls in love with Adam Quintin, a man destined for her lady?

Originally published January 2003 in mass market paperback by Dorchester Love Spell.

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Read Chapter 1: Love and War: The Beginning by Samantha Kane

Read the beginning of Chapter 1 of ...

Love and War: The Beginning by Samantha Kane

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One night. That was all it took to change their lives forever. Captains Jason Randal and Tony Richards have physically survived the war in the Peninsula, but inside they are slowly wasting away. Until the night they discover a reason for living: each other. This is a short story (4200 words) featuring Jason Randal and Tony Richards, the heroes from The Courage to Love, Brothers in Arms Book One.

Read an excerpt now!

Chapter One
September 28, 1810

“Are you all right, Lieutenant?” Jason stopped beside Bertie Thorne. The young man had seen his first action yesterday at Busaco, and he’d looked green around the gills when Jason had seen him not long after the battle was over. He’d say they won if the victory hadn’t been steeped in carnage.

Thorne stood and saluted. “I’m all right, sir,” he said. His voice was rough. Either crying or throwing up had produced that. Jason himself had thrown up after his first battle. Fear and excitement could both upset a man’s constitution.

“Good.” Jason patted him on the back and made eye contact with Thorne’s friend, Lieutenant Haversham, who was sitting next to the boy before the fire. Both still wore their dirty uniforms, but not an inch of either uniform was out of place. Order was of the utmost importance in war. When a man was steeped in chaos, the very things that seemed so onerous at home—a well-maintained wardrobe, punctuality, decorum—were the very things that soothed his soul and kept him sane at war. Say what you will about the army—it was a well-dressed, well-oiled machine.

Haversham looked unflappable, as usual. “Captain Randal,” he said by way of a greeting. He gave Jason a nod to indicate he’d take care of the other lad, though he wasn’t much older. He’d been well on his way to mad when Thorne had shown up. The two made quite an odd pair, Thorne so wild and a jokester and Haversham so staid and solemn. Haversham had been with the Fourteenth Light Dragoons since before Talavera, over a year now.

Jason shook his head as he turned away. Time seemed to be slipping through his fingers. Each day he felt the constriction of it, as if each passing minute were a noose tightening around his neck, choking the life out of him. There was so much he wanted to do, so much he wanted to see, yet he was chained to this bloody war like Prometheus on the rock, the bastard French eating away at his heart as the mythical eagle ate away at that poor Greek’s liver.

As he trudged through the camp Jason tried to feel the horror, the outrage that had filled him in the beginning after a battle. Now he felt…nothing. No anger, no sorrow, no relief, even. Survival just meant one more day of wading through the muck of an army camp, checking uniforms and filling out forms until the next orders came through, and then it was riding, endless riding, across hostile terrain until he ran into the enemy, almost as if by mistake. They tried to kill each other, and then he moved on to the next army camp and started the entire process over. It was mind-numbing monotony broken by heartbreaking carnage, if he still had a heart to break.

He had to stop and lean against the corner support of a nearby tent as another wave of that foolish breathlessness struck him. It had been happening more and more lately. Not during a battle, thank God, but at times like this, when he had nowhere to go and nothing to do and he let his morose thoughts swamp him. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t catch his breath, and panic began to overtake him as spots danced before his eyes. He leaned down and rested his hands on his knees, his head hanging low, and stayed like that until the feeling passed and he could breathe again.

He straightened and then yanked on his jacket to set it to rights. After adjusting his shako so it sat firmly on his head again, he looked around with a glare, ready to address anyone who had seen his weakness. Thankfully there was no one about. He was frustrated and hungry and wondering where in the hell Tony was, so he stalked off in search of his best friend. Tony could usually talk him out of his blue devils. He was really the only thing that could get any reaction from him these days. More often than not the reaction was a good throat-clearing bout of angry words, but it was better than nothing. He hated the nothingness. Hated it.

As he approached their tent he was surprised to see it was dark. He’d expected Tony to be back from his meeting with His Lordship by now. He was good and pissed about not finding him here. He was ready for a good row.