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Shiloh Walker

The Right Kind of Trouble

McKay tirlogy

Coming in August…

Desire won’t take no for an answer.

In the small southern town of McKay’s Treasure, everybody knows that the handsome local police chief, Gideon Marshall, has been carrying a torch for Moira McKay. It’s also no secret that Moira has been rejecting Gideon since…forever. But after an attack from a mysterious stranger bent on taking down the McKay family, Moira becomes filled with distrust toward most men. Now she wonders whether she’s been wrong about Gideon all along—and if it’s not too late to admit him back into her life…and into her bed…

Gideon has finally convinced his wasted heart to give up on Moira, the woman he’s loved since he was sixteen years old. But when Moira is attacked,Gideon vows to protect her. But how much is he willing to risk for a woman who’s always kept him at bay—until now? And is it too late for Moira to tell him that her love for him has always been locked deep in her heart…and he holds the key?

Read more about the McKays>>

Headed For Trouble | The Trouble With Temptation


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Headed For Trouble…now out

scottish romance heroes

Available now!

“That’s it,” he growled against her mouth. “Ride me . . . that’s it . . . ”

She whimpered, the sound broken now, almost stunned.

He eased her down, slowly, because when he took her back up the next time, she was going to be wrapped around his dick.

Slowly, he withdrew his hand.

Feeling her eyes on him, he lifted his hand to his lips and licked his fingers.

She blushed, staring at his hand as if mesmerized.

“Ah . . . ” She blinked and looked around.

He cut off the question with a hard kiss. “Tell me you have a condom with you.”



Neve blinked up at him. “Um . . . no?”

He squinted at her, as if the word made no sense.

Then he backed it up.

“What d’ you mean . . . no?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“Just that. No.” Her fingers hurt. The reason why became apparent. She was practically trying to imprint them on the ridged track that made up the sexy Scot’s torso. Uncurling them, she looked around. Embarrassment would probably settle in later. But for now, all she wanted was a damn condom.

Blushing furiously, she stared at him. “I don’t typically pick guys up in bars. I never really have a need to carry condoms around so I don’t have them.”

She didn’t carry a purse anymore. She had her cash and credit cards with her, along with her cell phone. There was pepper spray on a quick release hook on her back, and her passport was tucked in a concealed flap inside her backpack.

There were definitely no condoms.

As he continued to gape at her, she had to try not to sulk. “What about you? You’re the damn guy. Don’t you have anything?”

He opened his mouth, then shut it.

“I don’t carry them because I don’t often have a need of them,” he said, looking put out. “But why does logic have to play into this?”

It took a moment for his words to make sense. She was so busy staring at his mouth and remembering how his beard had felt as he kissed her that she didn’t care what he was saying.

“If you keep staring at me like that, I’m going to go mad.”

She didn’t even have time to breathe before his mouth crushed hers and she was trapped between him and the gate, his hard, heavy body driving into hers, the rhythm unmistakable. His tongue sought out hers, echoing the rhythm of his hips, and she reached out, closing her hands around the hard, round curve of his ass.

Thirty seconds later, he had her wrists in his hands.


“Enough,” he muttered, letting go without noticing anything was wrong. He sucked in a harsh gulp of air. “We’re leaving. I’ll go across the bloody square, buy a box of condoms. My flat is just up those stairs—we can be back here in five minutes.”

His gaze came to hers and Neve’s knees went weak as he added, “I’ll be inside you within six.”

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The Trouble With Temptation…

So… I told y’all about my sexy Scot, right?  Ian?  He’s in Headed for Trouble with Neve, the first book in The McKay series, starting in January.

FYI, Ian is fun and dirty lives to make Neve blush and laugh.  Be warned, dirty words ahead.


Ian studied her solemnly and then looked down. After another moment, he picked up a letter and added it to the board game in front of them.

Neve looked down and felt her face go red as she read the word c-u-m. “That doesn’t count as a word. Well, not unless you’re a thirteen-year-old boy.”

Ian winked at her. “A thirteen-year-old boy lives in the heart of every man, love.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re just trying to get cheap points now. I’m going to win and you know it.”

“Well, if we’d played strip Scrabble, it wouldn’t matter who won or lost. But we had to play it with our clothes . . . oi, that’s not a word, either!” He glared at the board where she’d used a d to make out the word v-a-d-e-r.

“Sure it is. As in Darth Vader.” She smugly tallied up the points. “If you can use dirty words, then I can use names.”

“Dirty words, eh?”

She realized she’d somehow unconsciously challenged him. A few minutes later, he had the word c-u-n-t and she wrinkled her nose at him. “I don’t like that word.”

“I don’t see why not.” He shrugged, unabashed. “It’s short for cunnilingus, you know, and you do enjoy that. So if I were to say, Neve, I want to lick your cunt—”

She threw one of the little letters at him and he didn’t dodge it in time. “Come now,” he said, rubbing at the red mark on his cheek. “What if you’d hit me in me mouth? I wouldn’t be able to put it to good use later.”

“Are we going to play or are you just using this to try and embarrass me?”

Ian reached out and stroked his finger down her hand. “Why would it embarrass you to know that I plan on putting my hands all over you later, Neve?”

Her breath hitched when he caught her hand and lifted it to his lips, catching one finger in his mouth and sucking on it. Heat fluttered inside, then spread when he pulled that finger out and moved to the other. “It wouldn’t embarrass me if you sat there and told me that you wanted to put your mouth on my cock. Or any other part of me.”

Before she could formulate any sort of reply, he let her hand go and then braced his elbows on the coffee table. The lights were dim, the remnants of a pizza on the table next to them. “Right, then. Your turn, Neve.”

Dazed, she looked down at her letters.

She had no idea what possessed her but she did it.

She reached out and took from the words already on the board, highly aware of Ian’s bemused expression. As she spelled out the word c-o-c-k, she didn’t dare look at him.

A moment later, the Scrabble board went flying and she was on her back on the couch, with Ian sprawled on top of her.

“I think you win that round,” he said, his voice gruff.

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So…that’s Ian and Neve.

May I introduce you to Hannah and Brannon? Brannon is Neve’s older brother, while Hannah is one of her friends from high school.

Love is the greatest risk of all.

After seven days in a coma, Hannah Parker remembers nothing about the accident that landed her in the hospital—or how she ended up pregnant with Brannon’s baby, the man she’s loved since high school. Her body and heart have burned for him for years, and when she wakes up, he’s sleeping by her bedside, anxious to keep her safe at all costs. But as Hannah struggles with her amnesia, a threat looms closer—one that could have deadly consequences if she recovers her memories.  She will have to trust Brannon completely if she is to keep what haunts her at bay…and their baby safe….

Brannon McKay spent the last ten years fantasizing about Hannah. In his mind, he’s explored every passionate scenario he can think of while, in real life, Brannon took their budding relationship and threw it away with both hands. Hannah doesn’t remember what happened but now that she is awake, Brannon would rather die than watch her walk away again. When Hannah and his unborn child’s life is threatened, Brannon must stake claim to the woman who has held his heart captive for years…or risk disaster tearing them apart…



Hannah gasped at the feel of his hand on her lower back.

“I’ll be right back,” Dr. Shaw said.

Hannah barely heard her over the sound of blood roaring in her ears.


Slowly, she lifted her head and met Brannon’s eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked.  The soft, gentle note in his voice was so unlike him.

He brushed his fingers down her neck and she looked away.  A shiver raced down her spine and she had to fight the urge to lean into his touch, lean into him.

His lips slid across her temple and she caught her breath, need stirring inside her.   Need, love…so many emotions.

In the back of her mind, she heard the echo of his voice…wake up, come back to me…I’m  sorry.

She knew he’d come to see her in the hospital.  People told her that he’d been there.  Every day.  One of the nurses, Jenny, she’d said he read to her.  He’d read Jude Deveraux’s Velvet Song to her.  The first romance Hannah had ever read and she was on her third copy of it.  He’d found her dog-eared copy and brought it to her, read it to her while a cop stood on duty outside her room.

A crazy urge drove her and before he could pull back, she turned her face toward his, lifting her mouth before he moved away.  Twisting her head around, she reached for him, fisting her hand in the collar of his shirt and dragging him closer.   He didn’t move as she pressed her mouth to his.

“You’re going to drive me crazy, Brannon,” she said against his lips.

When she kissed him again, a harsh sigh escaped him.  He stood there, his hands braced on the table, one near her hip, the other precariously perched between her knees.  She wondered what he’d do if she wiggled closer and rubbed against him.

Then she stopped thinking at all, because he’d broken the kiss.

The interruption might have lasted mere seconds.  He moved from his position at the foot of the table to standing in front of her.  One hand went to either of her knees and she sucked in a breath as he pushed them wide and moved to stand between splayed thighs.

Then he reached up, tangling his hands in her hair.  “Open your mouth,” he said, his voice a low rasp, scraping against her senses like raw silk over bare flesh.

She parted her lips and his tongue swept him.

The taste.

She shuddered and reached up, grasping at his arms, her nails sinking into his biceps.

She whimpered when he cupped her breast, the heat of his hand apparent even through her bra and shirt.

I’ve probably fantasized about getting my hands on your tits about a hundred times now.

Hannah tore her mouth away, shoving him back.


Panting, she stared at him.

Cool air kissed her flesh and she looked down, dismayed to find her shirt open.

How had he managed that?  He’d had his hands on her maybe thirty seconds.

“Hannah, what’s wrong?” Brannon asked, taking a step toward her.

She shook her head and hopped off the table, moving to stare outside.

I’ve probably fantasized about getting my hands on your tits about a hundred times now.

It was Brannon’s voice she heard in the back of her head, clear as day. She knew what was happening.  It was another one of those memories, trying to slip free from whatever held it trapped.  It had started like that at first—Brannon had been the one to make all those blocks come down to begin with.  He’d sat in with her in the room in the hospital, along with Neve.  Neve had been talking about school and Hannah had listened, but with despair.

“You hit me in the head with a rock once,” he’d told her.

Those words, so easily delivered, had startled out of her misery.  He hadn’t even been looking at her as he said it.  He’d been busy staring at his phone, tapping away at it, like there was nothing going on outside that screen that interested him.

He’d paused for a moment and looked up at her. In an almost bored tone, he said, “There I was thinking I’d need stitches and bleeding all over the place and you told me to stop being a baby so you could clean it up.”

Wanna order? Sure! Go ahead~

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Meet Neve & Ian…Headed for Trouble

For those who like my small town romances…

Nine years ago, Neve McKay fled her small Southern town and disapproving family to seek a career in the big city. Now she’s finally coming home-and hoping for a fresh start. But the relationship that shattered her world still haunts her. And even among her nearest and dearest, she doesn’t feel safe. . .

Ian Campbell is a pure Scottish muscle-as hard and handsome as they come. But when Neve walks into his bar, his heart melts. . .and he vows to have this gorgeous and somewhat vulnerable woman in his life-for better or for worse. What is Neve’s tragic secret? And how can Neve expect Ian to protect her, when doing so could put his own life at risk? The only thing Ian knows for sure is that he will do whatever it takes to keep her out of harm’s way-and in his loving arms. . .


* * * * *

I’ve seen the cover and it’s oh so awesome.

Also, no.  This isn’t the surprise.  This is the first in my next trilogy with St. Martins, centered around the McKay family, Neve, Moira and Brannon, patriarchs of the town McKay’s Treasure, a small Mississippi town.

I had mad fun with these two.

Here ya go…


She stood in the doorway, oddly apart from everybody else even as she studied them, eyes moving to linger on a group here, then there.  After a couple of moments, she moved away and he found himself tracking her progress.

Don’t be here to meet somebody, he thought and immediately, he wanted to kick himself.  What did it matter if she was?

He told himself it didn’t and glanced up at Gary Harnett settled down and ordered his usual.  Ian started to build the Guinness as they chatted, but the entire time, he watched her from the corner of his eye.

She moved like a dancer, effortless grace and easy elegance.  He could imagine those legs, long and slim, wrapped around his waist, could picture that torso—just as long and slim—bent back as he leaned over to press his mouth to pale, soft skin.

Gary said, “They say it’s going to break a hundred again tomorrow.”

“Imagine it will,” Ian murmured, the easy chatter second nature and in his mind, he continued to mentally undress the redhead.

She slid onto a vacant stool tucked up against the wall just as he finished Gary’s Guinness and Ian was took a moment to appreciate the fact that he had a heavy, solid bar between the two of them, because thanks to his wandering mind, his bloody cock was hard as iron and pulsing.

She looked at him then, her mouth unsmiling, but wide and soft and lush.

Fuck me.

He rested his hands on the bar and smiled.  You’ve a job to do, so do it.

He opened his mouth.

You’re the sexiest fucking thing I’ve seen in ages—maybe forever.  He could feel those words hovering on the tip of his tongue.

Biting them back, he fell back on the job he’d been doing for ages.

“Well.  ‘Allo.  What can I get you?”

A faint smile flirted around her lips and a hot ball of lust twisted inside, settling down low in his balls.  Mad.  He’d gone mad—that’s all there was to it.

She nodded toward the Guinness he’d just finished and said, “I’ll have one of those.”

He nodded. Self-preservation told him to move his arse and get to work.

He told self-preservation to get fucked as he got to work on her Guinness.  As he did, four more orders came in and he filled three of them before her Guinness was ready.  By the time he had another minute to breathe, she had folded her hands around her glass and was studying everything around her, almost mesmerized.


She blinked, a startled look in her eyes.  Her gaze slid away.  “Depends on your point of view.”  Then she flashed him a wide smile.

It was disarming, that smile, bright and wicked, the kind of smile a temptress would give a saint to lure him into all manners of sin.

Ian was many things—a saint had never been one of them.  As she propped her elbows on the bar, he found himself easing closer. “I’m here for…personal things, but that’s for later,” she said, lifting her shoulder in a shrug.  “Tonight…?  Tonight I’m just trying to not think.”

I can help you with that.

The words popped into his brain and they almost escaped his lips.

He managed to keep them trapped inside, but one thing he couldn’t do was keep his eyes off that mouth.

She noticed, too.  He could tell by the hitch in her breathing, the way her pulse slammed against the fragile wall of her throat.  Curious, he reached out and pressed a finger against it.

He could very well be doing the stupidest thing he’d ever done.

Her lids drooped and her head slumped, angling slightly to the side.  He skimmed his finger down lower, tracing the elegant line of her collarbone.  “I’ve had days like that,” he said softly.  “Days where the last place I want to be is inside my own head.”

He lowered his hand.

She lifted her head and met his gaze dead-on.

He started to turn away.

“How late do you work?”

Coming in December

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Ups and Downs of Being a Writer

There are times when being a writer feels like the best damn job in the world.  Seriously. I mean, you’re hardly ever bored.  You can look at a corkscrew and get an idea.  You can ride the Haunted Mansion ride at Disney World and have an idea for a book (or two).  You can go to Disney World and write the whole damn trip off because you had an idea (or two) for a book–then sold it!

But then there are times when you’re up until 3am-because the voices in your head just won’t shut up.  Yes, voices, because that’s how my stories come to me.  People talk to me.  These are my characters.  I’ve mentioned before that I feel more like a narrator than anything else, because I’m just taking down the notes for the people who are living out the stories that happen in my head.  So imagine these people…living in your head…and they never shut up.

That’s been my head for the past month.  Several shiny, dazzling new ideas and I’m letting them all out to play before I knuckle down and get to work on RS project #2.

Which I have to start on this week.

The problem with letting them all out to play is that they don’t want to stop playing.

They don’t want to shut up.

They don’t want to let me sleep.  They don’t want to let me think or read or do anything but write their story.  They’d take me over and turn me into a…a STEPFORD writer or something if I let them.


Maybe this shouldn’t be a down side to be a writer, but it’s exhausting.  Too many noises inside the noggin.

So this weekend, I shut down.

I barely read email, I didn’t open my laptop.  I took a bubblebath or two.  I watched tv.  I read books.  I went to church. I went to the mall.

On Sunday, I did glance at my email….

And I saw one I’d been hoping to see.

From editor M. with St. Martins.

About RS book 1.

I’m loving this…

Hot damn, yes.  This is the upside to be a writer.  When somebody loves a book.

Now maybe I can shut up those many voices and focus on the one voice I need to focus on.

Here… snippet.  This is from book #1.  Right now, I’m calling it Nothing but Trouble, but that title might change.  No release date, etc available right now.

But let me introduce Neve McKay.




Her throat clogged from the memories and she blew out a breath.  She’d let herself get all sentimental and stupid later.  For now, though, she was going to have herself that damn beer and figure out her next step—and decide if she was going to call her brother sister right away, or wait until tomorrow.

Some frisson of nerves twisted inside her at the thought of trying to deal with the rift she’d caused in her family, but she’d deal with that when the time came.  All of that was for later.


“Just a drink,” she told herself.

And with that in mind, she started toward the door.

She had to take a minute to acclimate herself once she ducked inside.

The few glimpses she’d had inside the dive that had been Treasure Island didn’t match up with what was before her now.   The servers wore kilts—shorter lengths for the girls, although nothing that would make their mothers hide their eyes if they bent over—while the guys had a similar style that hit the knee.

She smirked, amused.  So they were going for a Scottish theme?  And still using the name Treasure IslandOooookkayyy.

To each their own, she mused as she wound her way through the crowd, ducking her head when somebody looked at her too long, averting her face when somebody looked familiar.

She had to avert her face a lot.

Treasure wasn’t a big town—population at the last census was just under nine thousand.  Her graduating class hadn’t even topped two hundred.  Just in the short walk from the door to the bar, she’d heard several familiar names and seen people she hadn’t seen in eight years.

But she hadn’t seen the people who counted the most, and that was all that mattered.

As long as she could brace herself before she had to see them, then everything would be just fine and dandy.

Spying an empty seat, she slid onto and looked up at the bar.  She hooked her backpack on the little hook in front of her and shifted to keep it between her legs.  She’d had people try to relieve her of her belongings more than once.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, she let herself relax.  Now…for that drink—

“Well.  ‘Allo.  What can I get you?”

At the sound of that voice, a shiver raced down her spine and a punch of heat—something she hadn’t felt in far too long spread through her, warming her from head to toe.


Sweeter than Sin… releases next week…

Sweeter than Sin is due out next week.

I’m doing another FB party…if you’re on FB, you can join us. We’re giving stuff away and having fun. 🙂



It could be said that Adam Brascum loved women.

It could be said.

But it would be off-target.  Adam didn’t love women—he didn’t hate them, but he didn’t love them, either.  He needed them.

The soft curves, the scent of their skin, the husky voices as they whispered to him in the night.  If he worked it right, he could spent the night with any number of them, and he wouldn’t have to be alone unless he wanted.

Wouldn’t have to be alone, with just the voices in his head, the memory of a phone call, the memory of a smile, the memory of the girl he might have been able to save.

If only he’d done something.

Now, years after, when it was far too late, he was doing something.  Drowning his sorrows between the thighs of just about any woman who would have him.

There had been a time when he’d drown his sorrows with a woman, along with the help of his good friend, Captain Morgan, or maybe some Jack Daniels, but that had all stopped on a cold wintry day.  He could still remember the soft, sad words spoken in his ear and at the foot of a grave, he’d made a promise.

He didn’t make them often, but when he did, he kept them.

So the booze was gone.

His only vice now was women.

Lately, though, that vice wasn’t doing it for him anymore.

He didn’t even know the name of the woman in bed next to him.  She was beautiful, a long, sleek woman maybe ten years older than him and she had left him feeling like she could put him through his paces for the rest of the night.  He’d slept maybe thirty minutes, her neck tucked against his chest, her hand resting on his stomach.

And then the nightmare hit.

He was standing in front of the house.

Just standing there.

It was dark.

It was cold.

The dimly lit windows mocked him.  If he moved any closer, the lights would go out, and he’d find nothing.

But he could hear her.  Her voice, whispering his name.

Adam…why didn’t you help…

Why didn’t you…

Why didn’t you…


He came awake, choking back the oath.  He’d learned long ago that when he made noise, whatever partner he had in bed with him tended to ask questions.  Questions weren’t the kind of thing he liked to entertain in bed, so he eventually figured out how to strangle the groans, the curses…even the screams.

After all these years, it was second nature.

Next to him, there was a long, soft sigh.  He froze, listened.

After years and years of slipping out of beds, he’d all but perfected it to an art and he could almost tell to the second when a woman was about to wake.

She shifted, rolled onto her belly.

Adam turned his head, stared at her in the dim light filtering in through the skylight.  Her face, all but lost in the darkness, was a clean oval, her skin a warm, rich brown, her lips sweet and full.  She had a wicked laugh and she’d looked at him like she had more than a few ideas about any secrets he might harbor.  She’d looked, and she hadn’t cared.

I just divorced a son of a bitch who’d been cheating on me for eight years.  I knew, and I couldn’t leave him.  Now I can.  She told him that, sitting across from him at the sports bar he owned, staring at him with clear eyes.  This is how I burn those bridges.

He’d lifted an eyebrow at her.   Just how do you burn them, Jez?

He was the only man I ever shared my bed with and I plan on changing that damn fast.  I’m almost fifty years old and I don’t want the only man I’ve slept with to be a lying, cheating son of a bitch.

He was a son of a bitch, but he couldn’t be called a cheater.  He’d never married, never even had a serious relationship. Again, it went back to promises.  If you didn’t make them, you didn’t have to worry about breaking them.

I might be a son of a bitch, but I’m clear on the rest of it.

She’d smiled at him.

They’d ended up in her room at the B&B, not the big one in town, but a smaller, quieter one out near the river and she’d all but turned him inside out.  A hungry woman, a hot woman…that should have left him too burned out to dream.

But here he was, on the edges of a desolate nightmare.

While Jez slept on.

He leaned in, brushed her cheek with his lips.  “Find somebody who’ll do more than just share your bed, Jez,” he murmured.

She made a grumbling sound under her breath and then sighed, a faint smile curving her wicked, delicious mouth.

Then she shoved her face into the pillow.

He was gone in less than three minutes.

But he didn’t go home.

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