Welcome to the 1Romance Ebooks Blog Tour!

Happy Anniversary to 1Romanceebooks.com! 

My personal thanks to Chelle Cordero at http://chellecordero.blogspot.com for sending her guests on to me here at The Depraved Duchess. This is stop #9 on the tour. Once you've read my excerpt below, please keep reading for your chance to win a prize from me! You can't win if you don't stay in! 

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 Synopsis:

Hatshepsut is a God’s Wife, a member of a secret political society of Egyptian noblewomen who use whatever it takes for the good of Egypt—money, assassination, even sex. Royal by birth, her entire life is spent in training to be the consort of the Pharaoh, Tutmose.

Despite her love for Senmut, who as a humble scribe is an unacceptable husband, Hati succeeds in winning the Pharaoh’s affections. But when Tutmose dies unexpectedly she is left as Regent of Egypt and pregnant with the dead Pharaoh’s heir.

Akenmose, her husband’s brother, is plotting to kill her and the babe—and to take the throne of Egypt for himself. Hati must protect Egypt against his deadly schemes until her son is old enough to take the throne. With Senmut and the God’s Wives standing behind her,  Hati will use every weapon she finds to keep her infant son alive. Will her sacrifices be enough to save Egypt?Or will Akenmose’s schemes succeed despite the power of the God’s Wife?

http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/more-hot-reads/the-god-39-s-wife/prod_310.html

Excerpt:

No man still breathing could've resisted the look she shot him over her shoulder from the door to the bathing chamber. Mo was sure he was still breathing, albeit raggedly. "Move, you idiot," he commanded himself softly.

It was the greatest irony that, when he could command an empire, his own body wouldn't obey him instantly. It moved like one of the wooden puppets sold in the markets, but move it did at last. His goblet of juice dropped unheeded on the floor. For once, he refused to care about a stained fur.

Mo entered the bathing chamber and found Hati waiting, already naked, in the brown water. Her long hair was piled on top of her head and held there with a single skewer. The ends of her hair curled in the steam and framed her face with little wisps. Her feline smile was still there, making her brown and gold eyes gleam in the lamplight like some lioness waiting to pounce on prey in the dark.

 Mo hesitated in the doorway, fighting the lingering feelings of self-doubt. With shaking hands, he undid his kilt, placing it on the bench provided. Mo felt like a virgin, though assuredly, he was not! Images of his previous lackluster performances threatened to un-man him, as they had so many times before. Perhaps he would be a eunuch for the rest of his life.

Hati read his thoughts as easily as she could read a scroll, for Mo could feel the bright spark of her ka in his head. Softly and enticingly, she called out his name. "Mo."

As much as he tried not to, Mo stiffened. Were it not for the fact that his unworthy brother, Akenmose, would ascend to the throne, he would have abdicated and fled into the desert rather than chance failure once more. It would be a far worse fate to allow Akenmose to plunder Egypt in his evil greed. He had to try, for the sake of Egypt. Mo set his jaw and faced his fear.

"Come, get into the bath, Mo. I cannot massage you unless you get into the water with me. The stress of ruling has made you tighter than the strings of a lyre. Let me help you. The hot water is very soothing and smells good."

She had no need to lie. He was tense, and her massage skills were excellent, as she'd proven many times since he'd accepted her as his bride. The water did smell good for all it looked horrid. There were even tiny flowers floating in the water and sticking to her wet skin.

Mo came closer and slid into the herbed water, trying to smile. "You look like a Nile goddess, Hati, with little flowers all over your—skin." One little flower clung desperately to a little pink nipple, and his eyes lingered hungrily there.



http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/more-hot-reads/the-god-39-s-wife/prod_310.html
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I remind you that you must be registered as a participant in this blog tour and have a participant number. If you don't have your number, please return to 1romanceebooks.com and register. You don't want to miss out on all these great prizes! Speaking of prizes, mine is a FREE EBOOK from my backlist at Changeling Press. If you've not visited there, the address is: http://www.changelingpress.com/author.php?uid=11 if you want to do a little anticipatory browsing. 

Now, here's the Question of the Day: Only one of my books is presently available in print. Name that book in a comment to be eligible for a prize. The more comments you leave on the tour, the better your chances of winning the grand prize: a Sony e-reader! 

Now that you've commented, the next stop on the anniversary tour is #10 with Charisma Knight at: http://charismaknight.blogspot.com . Good luck!

ADULT Excerpt: Dharma in Eight Lessons by Sarah Black (Contemporary, GLBT)

Read an excerpt

Dharma in Eight Lessons by Sarah Black cover art by Bryan Keller ISBN: 978-1-60521-459-7 Genre(s): Guilty Pleasures (Contemporary), Hot Flashes Theme(s): Gay and Lesbian Length: Hot Flash

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1418


Blurb:
Mike was searching for something more than a quick grapple in the dark -- love, a meaningful relationship, even just a friend. When he went to Annan for lessons in mindfulness meditation, they started walking together down a path neither was expecting.
Excerpt:
Dharma in Eight Lessons

Sarah Black

All rights reserved.

Copyright (c)2010 Sarah Black

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.


Mike had a Friday afternoon off work, and he spent some of it looking up mental illness on the Internet. He concluded that his symptoms were not bipolar disorder or adjustment disorder or anti-social personality disorder. All of these disorders implied actual mental illness, and Mike was not mentally ill. He was just... blah. Miserable and gray and blah. He wasn't interested in finding a relationship, and relationships did not appear to be interested in him, either. He couldn't work up enthusiasm about the beautiful spring. He didn't have any plans for the summer. He felt empty, bored with himself, out of touch with something essential. What did it all mean?


"You're a self-indulgent, spoiled prick," he suggested. "Lazy, willful, and you don't care for dick besides your pickup truck. You're a joke. You're an asshole." He didn't feel upset with himself at these harsh words, or guilty.


He went to the park across the street from his apartment, the one in front of the beautiful Idaho State Capital building. The grass was the tenderest green, the sunshine was warm, and the air was full of the smell of roses blooming. He didn't care about any of it. There was a homeless guy sitting on a sleeping bag under a tree, his backpack tied to his ankle to prevent theft, and even in his sleep, the guy was smiling. Even homeless guys managed to be happy! That was great, just peachy. How did that song go? No shoes, no shirt, no problem. They didn't know how good they had it.


Mike lay on his back, studied the pattern of sunshine and shade through the leaves of the tree. Something had to be done about the current state of his mind. No, that wasn't it. He had to do something! Yes! He had to take a step, do something to fix this dullness and boredom. Find a way to make his life mean something. Maybe find a person who felt like he did, someone who was looking for a meaningful life. He sighed and closed his eyes. Making the decision to change, that was the first step. Now he could relax a bit and think things through carefully.



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Mike walked up 8th Street and around the corner to the new Vietnamese bistro that had opened a couple of months earlier. It was called Pho, and the delicate lemongrass and cilantro smell that came out of the door when it was opened was very tempting. He had found an old copy of the Shambhala Sun in Dawson Taylor's coffee shop, the cover stained with coffee rings. It looked like it had been used as a coaster, but he spotted the words on the cover like they were a beacon: "Guide to Mindful Living: Anyone can do it and it changes everything." It was all there! Happiness, cooking, work, relationships. It was like some strange accident in the universe had left this copy of the very magazine he needed, on his usual table, at the very moment he was having this existential crisis!


Mike wasn't really sure what that meant, existential crisis, but it sounded like the way he felt, so he had begun to identify his blah mood with this phrase. He said it to himself several times throughout the day, you're just having an existential crisis, and this naming seemed to keep some of the demons at bay.


Pho was delightful, and smelled even better inside than outside. He spotted a likely-looking dish on a neighboring table, a plate piled with greens and cucumbers and clear noodles and tiny slivers of grilled pork, told the waitress he would have one of those and a pot of jasmine tea. He wasn't a tea drinker, but something about sitting in a Vietnamese bistro, reading the Shambhala Sun and thinking about mindfulness meditation -- Diet Coke was just not appropriate.


He was digging into his noodles with a pair of chopsticks when he spotted the man. The cook came out from the kitchen to greet him, and the waitress gave him a long hug, patting his back. He was Thai or Vietnamese, Mike thought, or some other version of Southeast Asia he was not skilled enough to recognize. He had shoulder-length black hair pulled back from his face in a ponytail. He was wearing old Levi's and a white linen shirt that was too big for him. His wrists looked almost delicate with the cuffs from the shirt rolled up. The waitress taped a small sign up next to the bar for him, and they both stood back to look at it. "Lessons in Mindfulness Meditation."


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Lena Austin

Adult Excerpt: City by the Bay-- Morgan's Vigil by Sophia Titheniel

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City by the Bay: Morgan's Vigil by Sophia Titheniel cover art by Bryan Keller ISBN: 978-1-60521-438-2 Genre(s): Paranormal Theme(s): Gay and Lesbian Series: City by the Bay Length: Novella

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1398


Blurb:


Morgan's life isn't that bad. Sure, he's bullied, but what gay guy isn't. He doesn't have many friends, but it's high school, a notoriously shitty period in the life of every teenager. He's eighteen, and in just two months, he'll leave for college, where he'll major in Modern Literature and Poetry, and he'll be far, far away from Mission High School.
Until a bullying episode drives him running straight into a speeding car. Morgan's life is suddenly hovering by a thread. But Morgan isn't dead -- he's just out of his body. No one can hear or see him but Derek, his red-haired, unapologetic intern who sticks by him and helps him overcome his fears and find his path in life.
Derek's a keeper, and Morgan's sure he's in love. But will those feelings last once he's back in his body?
Excerpt:
Morgan's Vigil
Sophia Titheniel
All rights reserved.
Copyright (c)2010 Sophia Titheniel

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.


The Golden Gate stretched on and on, from one shore to another. It glittered like a jewel in the hot, dry summer sun, not a trace of fog in sight. It looked as though the bridge was calling wanderers to move along their journey, silent yet provocative, like a siren --


"Look at this!"


Morgan's eyes snapped up and he frantically tried to grab his notebook back from the hands of the stocky, tall football jock -- said Keller on his jersey. "Give it back," Morgan snapped, trying to keep his voice steady.


"The Golden Gate stretched on and on, from one shore to another," Keller read out loud, putting on a high-pitched squeak, "It glittered like a jewel, in the hot, dry summer sun --"


Morgan's Bambi-brown eyes prickled with unshed tears as the courtyard filled with people -- other football players, friends of Keller's, cheerleaders, and a bunch of curious onlookers. "What kind of fag writes shit like this?"


"Give it back!" Morgan yelled again, but Keller was dangling it out of his reach to raucous laughter.


He grinned maliciously. "Say please." He was a good foot taller than Morgan, who had always been a bit on the scrawny side, and at least twice his size in shoulder width alone.


Morgan swallowed, trying to blink back tears of humiliation. "Please."


"Do you want it back?"


"Make him beg!" a voice shouted, and Morgan flushed so hard he could feel his glasses steam up.


"How do you want it? Hard? Fast? Is that what you faggots like?"


"Make him say it!"


"Make him beg."


Morgan found it harder and harder not to burst into tears, but he didn't want to give them that satisfaction. This wasn't anything new. Morgan had been the butt end of every fag joke in the book. He was very used to people harassing him, slamming him into lockers, flushing his stuff down the toilet. Morgan tried his best to stay under the radar, but it didn't always work. No one would stick his neck out for him, not the people from his calculus class, or the drama club. Morgan had grown up with his dad's talks on how liberal and wonderful San Francisco was, but he'd never experienced that tolerance firsthand. Quite the contrary.


"If you want the stupid book go get it," Keller rolled his shoulder back and threw the book as far as he could towards the dumpsters at the other side of the road, opposite the high school's cafeteria. The crowd cheered and laughed, clapping their hands as they chorused "fag" with elaborate fake coughs.


Morgan rolled his lips into his mouth, his ears red and his chest squeezing in, humiliation so thick it was suffocating. He ducked his head and ran across the road, not looking at anything, ignoring the yells, the calls of his name, just staring straight ahead at the dumpster where his notebook lay and --


Crash!



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Casey fell out of his chair, all his breath driven out of him. Sandra lifted her eyes from the paperwork she was sorting through and immediately jumped up in alarm as Sadie started to bark from her cushion.


"What's happening?"


Casey pinched at the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath as he tried to focus. "Where's Evan?" was the first thing out of his mouth, his palms sweaty as the vertigo pushed him back down on the floor, the whole room spinning.


"I'm right here." Evan crouched down next to Casey, his green eyes staring at somewhere in the vicinity of Casey's face. "I'm fine. It's not me."


Casey nodded, mouth dry. He usually only had that kind of strong reaction if Evan was involved -- that's how they'd met, really. Casey's psychic abilities had guided him to Evan when he had been attacked, and from there on, throughout their relationship, that connection never faded. Evan hadn't really liked it at the beginning; he was a little too guarded, and a lot too scared. The idea of Casey having full access to his thoughts was a bit more than he could handle. But their relationship had grown past the somewhat rocky start, and now Evan really relied on the way Casey was able to see for him.


"Something bad happened," Casey explained as Evan helped him to his feet. "On the crossroad of St. Louis and Fifth. A car crash. Someone's hurt."


http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1398

Lena Austin