KISSED FROM BEYOND
A Paranormal Erotic Romance
About Kissed From Beyond
This 'must read' anthology will take you to the mystical beyond and back with four erotica
novellas from bestselling and award-winning authors:
Can you handle the magic?
CRADLE OF DREAMS – Keta Diablo
With visions of battle still fresh in his mind, Roane Bradfield returns home to find the
woman he loves betrothed to another. He corners Kendrick Moreland at Dowager
Huggins’ Grand Ball and whisks her into the secluded library. One way or the other, he
will know the reason the duplicitous beauty cut him from her life when she promised to
Kendrick can’t believe her eyes when Roane suddenly appears at the ball. Has he truly
risen from the dead? Amid wagging tongues and hushed murmurs, the fantasy of her
every dream whisks her from the ballroom. And the expression on his face is anything
but loving. Revenge, danger and powerful love collide in the Cradle of Dreams.
Follow Keta's Haunt & sign up for her newsletter. She gives 3 books away every time it
goes out. http://www.ketadiablo.com
Keta Diablo lives in the Midwest part of the country on six acres of woodland. When she
isn’t writing or gardening, she loves to commune with nature. Keta is a multi-published
author in both erotic romance and gay fiction. Her latest paranormal novel Where The
Rain Is Made has been nominated for a Bookie Award by Authors After Dark in the Best
e-novel category. In addition, Keta’s books have received numerous Top Pick, Book of
the Month, and Recommended Reads awards from the top professional review sites.
Excerpt from Cradle of Dreams:
By all that was holy, Roane Bradfield appeared within Kendrick’s line of vision. Her
Roane Bradfield. Dear God, it wasn’t possible, couldn’t be him. Her stomach fell, and
the room spun. How she had mourned his death, cried a million tears when his name
appeared in the Savannah Republican—Roane Bradfield, Killed in Action, Battle of
Petersburg. At the time, the words had blurred on the page and waves of grief brought
her to her knees.
It had taken her weeks to drag herself from bed every morning, months to come to terms
with his death. Had she ever really come to terms with it or had she merely put one foot
in front of the other and stumbled through life a phantom specter? She knew only one
thing at the time—if she lived to be one hundred she would never again love a man as
she had loved Roane Bradfield.
Beside her, Pitt’s back stiffened, and below her trembling hand his arm tensed. So many
times, she had imagined Roane Bradfield cutting through the masses toward her, but
this was no illusion. Beneath the bright chandelier, his midnight hair glistened, and even
from this distance, a palpable hunger burned in his eyes. Something else burned too . . .
The crowd parted and onward he came, all sinewy muscle and dark beauty—broad
shoulders, narrow waist and long, muscled legs. And depthless ebony eyes. She should
have known someone as vibrant and alive as Roane couldn’t die. Beneath her gown, her
legs gave way and every joint in her body went boneless.
“Good, God, look who’s risen from the dead?” her fiancé said.
“Pitt, please, how can you say such a thing?” Kendick’s knees shook and she felt faint.
She didn’t have the facts, but truly, Roane had risen from the dead. For a flash of a
second, her heart overflowed with joy, and then she saw the look on her former love’s
face. Unadulterated vengeance. He came to settle a score.
Roane stood before them, his bronzed hand reaching for hers. “Kendrick, lovely to see
you again, darling.”
Sparks flared and a jolt of lightning pedaled through her veins when he brought her
fingers to his lips. “Roane . . . we-we heard you were―”
“Yes, so the Dowager informs me. You thought me dead. Well, you can see I’m here in
the flesh, and quite alive.”
“See here, Bradfield,” Pitt said, his voice cracking amid the undercurrents. “Kendrick
is betrothed to me now. I hardly think you should address her as darling or any other
Roane paused, his rakish gaze assessing her head to toe before he turned to Pitt. “Be a
good chap, Fleming, and refresh my drink.”
With Roane’s fluted glass touching the fabric of Pitt’s waistband, her betrothed
floundered for words. “I don’t believe I should abandon my fiancé in light of the―”
Roane visibly blanched at the word fiancé. “I assure you, Pitt,” he replied, his tone
glacial, “Miss Moreland is in no danger while an enormous crowd looks on. In any event,
I believe we have something to discuss, do we not, Kendrick?”
Roane knew her better than she knew herself. Her initial joy at seeing the decadent man
gave way to rage. Heat traveled the length of her neck and scalded her cheeks. How
he enjoyed making her blush . . . and cringe. She had never been able to hide her true
feelings from him. By his arrogant smirk, he knew he still held the power to decipher
God curse the man. Only Roane Bradfield would dramatize his sudden return to life in
front of an assembly of onlookers. The last thing she expected to encounter tonight was
Roane in the flesh, and yet elation and an undeniable series of shivers coursed through
Dear Lord, help her. The man would make her regret her actions during his absence.
Roane would never believe she thought him dead, would never accept her admission
she agreed to marry Pitt only when everyone in Savannah, including her, thought him
lost forever. The cock-sure man would remain calm and collective while she stumbled
with ineffectual explanations. If only he would stop looking at her as if he could see
through her gown.
Her hand went rigid in his and then she withdrew it. Again, he studied her intently, no
doubt heard the wheels of panic and terror grinding in her head. Read this, Roane
Bradfield. I long to wipe that ersatz grin from your face; tear your eyes out for putting me
Silence filled the crowded room; all eyes were upon them. Within five minutes of her
arrival, he had cornered her like a hapless hare. Unless she desired a scene, she would
have to agree to speak with him. With a thin smile, she turned to her fiancé. “Go ahead,
Pitt. Whatever Roane has to say won’t take long.”
‘TIL WE MEET AGAIN – Stacey Kennedy
Ethan Thomas has spent years alone, forever trapped between worlds. Once a soldier
in the Civil War, he’s now a ghost bound to a chaise lounge that once belonged to him.
He’s spent centuries lingering in Savannah, Georgia, waiting to be saved…
Cassandra Cole is an interior designer hired to restore an old Victorian home. As she
begins to furnish the home, strange happenings erupt around her. She suspects the
house is haunted. Determined to find out, Cassie will set out to discover who the ghost
is, why she feels a connection to him, and what she has to do to free him. The answers
will surprise her in ways she couldn’t have imagined.
Follow Stacey’s web site:
Stacey Kennedy is an avid lover of the paranormal romance, urban fantasy and erotic
romance genres. If she isn’t plugging away at her next novel, tending to her two little
ones, she’s got her nose deep in a good book. She lives in Ontario, Canada with her
husband. Be sure to drop her a line at www. staceykennedy.com, she loves to hear from
Excerpt from ‘Til We Meet Again:
For so many years, isolated days and nights, Ethan had been stuck in purgatory.
He’d been shuffled from home to home, living among people who were at first strangers,
but became constant companions over time. For close to ten years now he’d called
Twilight Antiques in Savannah, Georgia, his home.
The shopkeeper, Mrs. Higgins, finished her Sunday morning routine of putting the
new antiques out she obtained at auction. He’d never grown attached to her, because
she had no connection to him. In her seventies, wrinkles canvassed her skin and Ethan
had watched them grow deeper throughout the years. Beneath the sign of her age,
soft pale blue eyes still held the beauty of a warm woman. Her silver hair, cut prim and
proper, sat in tight curls atop her head, like women of her age nowadays. She might be
elderly, however, she still took pride in her appearance.
The antiques held monetary value. To Mrs. Higgins, they were much more than
that—a piece of history to be cherished.
Not an emotional attachment, a physical one. He couldn’t quite explain the reason
his soul never crossed over after he died in the Civil War. Instead, he became bound to
a chaise lounge he’d favored in the years he walked the earth. Without anyone to ask
how or why, his life―or death―had become timeless.
He’d grown bored of watching decades ago.
The front door to the store chimed, drawing Ethan away from his thoughts as he
lingered on the chaise. He sighed. Another customer to walk through the store and not
give a second look at the chair he once loved, and still did.
“Hello there,” Mrs. Higgins said, greeting the woman.
“Hi,” a small, sweet voice responded in a tone Ethan found charming.
In all his time at the shop, he’d yet to see anyone walk through those doors who
caught his eye. On the rare occasions a younger woman came into the store, none
though, appealed to him on a physical level.
If he stood, he’d tower over her delicate frame. Her long, chocolate brown hair stood
out against her pale skin, except for the pinkish tinge on her cheeks and baby blue eyes
that held a note of sweetness.
He might be a ghost, nevertheless, a man still resided in his soul, and she, a woman
to behold. Her beauty mesmerized him.
“How can I help you, my dear?” Mrs. Higgins asked in a rich southern accent.
“Have you heard of the Landsby home?” the woman asked.
Ethan could tell her heritage didn’t come from Savannah. She sounded American,
yet not from around these parts.
“Yes, dear, are you the new owner?”
The woman shook her head. “No, Mrs. Nash is the owner. I’m the interior designer
“Oh, so you’re here to furnish the house?”
The woman nodded. “I’m not from around here—”
“Where are you from, dear?” Mrs. Higgins interrupted.
“New York.” The woman smiled. “And the name is Cassandra Cole―Cassie.”
Ethan studied Cassie. All the dear comments seemed to displease her. What
bothered her so? She fascinated him and he hadn’t been interested in anything or
anyone for some time. How intriguing.
“Well, Miss Cassie,” Mrs. Higgins went on. “What can I help you with today?”
Cassie glanced around the store before meeting Mrs. Higgins gaze again. “Mrs.
Nash decided the theme for the Landsby house should reflect its history. She wants to
restore the home to its original condition.”
“A wise decision,” Mrs. Higgins agreed.
“So. . . .” Cassie looked around at the store. “I have some shopping to do.” She
glanced back to Mrs. Higgins. “Do you have―or know of―a rental truck for hire to deliver
what I purchase here today?”
“Mr. Pitts does deliveries for me. I’ll call him now and see he comes by with the truck
soon to help you.”
Cassie smiled. “Thank you.”
She strode around the store, looking at the items spread out, and Ethan stayed
with her. In fact, he drew in close and stood mere inches from Cassie watching a deep
shudder run through her. “You’ve got a draft in here,” she called out to Mrs. Higgins.
Busy talking on the phone, Mrs. Higgins didn’t respond.
Ethan leaned away from Cassie to let the warmth wash over her body again, yet
continued to study her. She appeared so focused, so determined, and so adorable.
His cold soul lit up with a heat he’d long yearned for.
ONE RUB MORE – Elise Hepner
Flynn has been cursed for over a century for a social slight he never committed. A
voodoo priestess hexed him and forced him into a teapot where he could only be
summoned by the rub of a woman’s palm. Once free, he grants these women three
sexual favors—and cuts off his own emotions in the process. Unable to break free from
an invisible cage of lust and sex to fall in love again, he’s resigned to being a sex object
and nothing more.
Helena has been house sitting far, far away from her complicated past in England—
including her former childhood sweetheart, who wasn’t satisfied when Helena didn’t want
to be barefoot and pregnant. She’s resigned to leave behind the complications of men
and sex. She hopes that logic will win out over her unreliable emotions—but she’s put to
the test when she accidentally summons Flynn from his teapot prison.
Follow Elise’s web site: http://celise91writer.blogspot.com
Elise Hepner lives in MD with her spastic cat, two bouncy ferrets, and her always-
entertaining, programmer husband. She’s been writing erotica for over five years and
just recently started her foray into erotic romance. She’s been previously published with
Excessica, Cleis Press, and has a new release coming soon from Ellora’s Cave. If you’d
like to learn more or explore her backlist please visit her web site.
Excerpt From One Rub More:
He existed only in dreams. A part of her mind fought to break free from this sensual
playground. Deep beneath the aching need, she needed to leave. But his touch breathed
new life into her body. His cock pressed between her legs, a taunt that made her writhe.
No denying there was some reality here. Somewhere between fantasy and Pat's kitchen,
this man of many faces swept her hair away from her cheek and drew his tongue lightly
from her ear to collarbone. A path sparked across her nerve endings.
She begged, unashamed, for more of him.
He never spoke words. Only small, unintelligible noises that broke across her skin
and elicited shivers. He didn’t need to say anything, because his meaning was traced
lazily with his fingers over her body. He played out every syllable. Until she tightened,
wet and alive, beneath the slow burn of his skin that marked her like a brand. Nothing
made sense. Just when she thought she had grabbed a hold of something, it floated away
with a rasp of his tongue or the brush of his hand. Magic.
Pleasure moved inside her and strained outward as if her flesh was just a barrier to
bypass. Desire reached her toes and shot upward from her spine. An electric shock that
made her inner walls clench hard. An orgasm fought its way to the surface. No, not ready.
It wasn’t time and he wasn’t buried deep where she wanted him. Not enough contact to
warrant such a reaction.
A flush scalded her cheeks and chest because he coaxed her flesh to do his will
as he shifted above her body. Normally, it had been hard to climax. Always fighting
with her toes curled against the rough lip of pleasure and there was no helpful push that
would send her pin-wheeling through time and space. Choice had been taken out of the
equation. In this world, she imagined, everything must be easier.
Until the light brush of his mouth on her nipple was the final straw. All pretenses
of control shattered as she came. Her head dipped back and she arched tight against his
strength. Vaguely aware of a faraway pain in the back of her head as he anchored her to
the pleasure and she screamed out her ragged need.
Then it was gone. As if a switch had been flipped behind her eyes, leaving behind a
painful pulse. How long had she been out? Must have been hours.
When she forced her eyes to focus on the digital stove clock, it had been mere
minutes. By the sharp ache in the back of her head, she knew she was alive. But as
her eyes adjusted to the bright bars of sunshine across her body, she pried her wobbly
frame from the kitchen floor, she came to the conclusion she was, well, relaxed on her
kitchen floor. When was the last time she had lost this tension she carried around like a
backpack? This was new and different.
Though her hands still shook, the sensation sprang from the aftershocks of pleasure
more than fear that skittered across her brain only to hide again. She shook her head and
swallowed past the parchment paper taste on her tongue. What the hell just happened?
And why wasn’t she as startled about it as she should be given the circumstances?
Her limbs ached as if they'd been run over by a truck carrying blocks of cement.
She moved her fingers across the back of her head, relieved only to find a large knot and
no blood. So it had happened. Interesting. Without having to process, her mind sunk
into logical mode. Answers sprang to the top of her mind as if she’d found a leak. All
her repressed guilt had led her to a heady manifestation of fantasy. She had obviously
run away with the idea of sex and had become lost in her need for release until she had
masturbated on the floor.
But that didn’t explain the lilac smoke filling most of the room. Or the teapot. Oh
God, the teapot. There was no way she’d imagined that. With renewed purpose, she
hauled her ass off the kitchen floor despite the persistent groans of her body and glanced
around for the cursed hunk of metal. Mrs. Higgins must have known it was special. But
how could a sweet, little old woman have experiences with that kind of special? Helena
let a shudder fall down her back.
Over in the corner, she spotted the offender's silver surface spinning on its side. And
a man—a very sexy man. Jesus Christ! She nearly jumped out of her skin. A scream
clutched at her stomach and tried to pry its way out of her lips. She had lost it. When her
lower back hit the counter and there was nowhere left to go, she squared her shoulders
and crossed her arms. He couldn't have just materialized in the kitchen. Things like that
didn't happen outside of daytime television shows and movies. How hard did she hit her
head? Hard enough to see things—maybe. If she were truly seeing things, there was one
way to make this delusion go away. No backing down from it. He would go away if she
stayed firm. There was nothing to be afraid of because a trick of the mind couldn’t hurt
her or even touch her.
Which is when her delusion spoke.
A LOVE SOUL DEEP – Amber Scott
If only Sara had known no man would ever make her feel like Crew did, she
would have let him love her. A regret that can never be undone. His death haunts
her dreams and her wishful thinking only reminds her of everything she has lost.
Years later, a visit to an antique store in sultry Savannah changes everything
and makes her deepest wish come true. Her beloved returns to her. Her every
fantasy gets the chance to be fulfilled. But she wants more than one night. She
wants a lifetime and wonders what magic will let her keep A Love Soul Deep.
Follow Amber’s web site: http://amberscottbooks.com
In between naptimes and dishes, Amber Scott escapes into her characters’ fates, lusts
and transformations. She lives in Arizona with her husband and two children. She often
burns dinner, is addicted to chocolate and still believes in happily ever after.
Short Excerpt from A Love Soul Deep:
My tongue thickened in my mouth. I jerked my gaze to where the Crew-clone stood.
He bee-lined for my table. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. He even walked like Crew,
loose hipped, long strides. A thud on the table made me realize I’d been clutching the
locket and it had slipped from my fist. Probably because my hands were drenched in
Crew-clone sat down.
“Hi,” he said.
The music thumped around us but I had no problem hearing the velvety sound of his
deep voice. A thousand moments from the past pinged through my head.
“Hi.” I spoke despite the dryness of my mouth.
His gaze fell to the table. To the locket. He reached it before my hand could move
to retrieve it. I wanted to hide it. Everything around us seemed suspended as he drew the
locket closer, pulling my neck as the chain strained. I leaned in, speechless, my mind a
jumble of confusion and hope.
He popped the gold frame open. His large rough hands made the locket seem all the
more delicate. Seeing the pictures inside, he gave a half-chuckle.
“She looks like you.”
I felt my eyes widen. “He looks a bit like you.”
My voice sounded far away.
He closed the frame, his eyebrows drawing together. “If we were in a bar somewhere
and had never met, that would be the perfect line, don’t you think?”
I laugh-gasped. “Uh, yeah. That would be convenient. A bar. Strangers. Old photos.”
My tension eased by a few degrees seeing the humor glinting in his eyes.
Still a tease. No! Just a clone and a lot of coincidence. Moira would have seen the
resemblance if there was any. She’d have peed herself. Not just because Crew was dead,
or because my heart was still strung so tightly to him, but because she believed in a lot of
witchy woo-woo shit.
“Good thing we’ve already met,” he said. A chill slid under my skin. “Or this might
“Awkward? You and me?” I teased back, loving the feel of flirting again. “Never
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