The excerpts have been posted.

The prizes have been named.

Can you guess who’s who?

Winners will be posted Monday!

If you haven’t guessed, post them below.
You’ve got……
Naked Scotsman Eating Icecream
Topless Maid Serving Tea
Young Boy Kidnapping His Dad
and
Chick Loses Sexy Red Lingerie

Who wrote what????

“Do you want me to show you around? We have a corral and the barn’s around back.” Drew tried not to role his eyes. Damn, I sound like a horny teenager trying to get the girl alone. 

Alex shook her head “I should probably unload the car first. I don’t want my cameras to get too hot.” 

“We’ll help.” Drew slugged his brother. “Right, Matt?” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“You don’t have to do that. I can manage…” 

“Nonsense.” Drew opened the back door as Matt popped open the trunk. 

“No really.” Alex scramble to the other rear passenger door and all but lunged into the back of the car. “Where is that damn thing?” She shoved a couple of bags around. 

Drew saw flimsy red material on the floorboard, hidden under the driver’s seat. Deep crimson dots stained her cheeks when he picked up the garment. It wasn’t until her reaction registered that he even noticed the bustier in his hand. He had to clear his throat twice before he could speak.  

“Is this what you’re looking for?” 

“He-he.” Nervous laughter tittered out of her. “Yeah.” 

Drew’s eyebrow arched. Holy hell. His mind raced with images of her in his bed, under him, over him, just about anywhere with that damn thing on.  

“Um, it’s kind of a joke.” If possible, her cheeks reddened more. “From Susie.” 

“What are y’all two yacking about?” Matt closed the trunk.  

Alex lunged for the lingerie but Drew was quicker and shoved it under his loose t-shirt. “Not a thing.” He snagged the two large bags off the backseat. “Got everything, Alex?” 

# 

“I, uh, let me grab my purse.” She found the matching panties and stuffed them into her handbag. Her stomach pitched. “I should have thrown that sucker out the window.” 

“What’s that?” Drew’s brother hefted her suitcase as if it weighed nothing. 

“Sorry. Talking to myself.” Heat suffused her cheeks. What was Drew going to do with bustier? And could a woman die of humiliation? The way her head swirled and chest ached she didn’t think it too far fetched. “Where…” her voice squeaked as they rounded the side of the large ranch house, “where am I staying?” 

“The guest quarters in the back.” Drew tilted his head toward the far side of the property. “Is that okay?” 

Thank God yes, she wanted to say, she couldn’t bear to look Drew in the eye and opted for, “Great thanks.” An entirely separate house would put a good distance between herself and Drew. And major temptation. 

“Is something wrong? Matt slowed his pace and nudged his brother. “Did you crack another rib on that stupid horse?”  

“No. Why?”  

“You keep holding your side.” 

Drew’s step faltered and Alex bit back a giggle. Teach him to steal a woman’s unmentionables.  

“Drew if you’re not feeling well, you should go lie down.” Joking she could do. “Matt and I handle all this.” She looped her handbag on her shoulder and reached for her camera bag. “I can take that. I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.” 

“I’ve got it.” Drew dodged her hand. His eyes narrowed.  

Oh she was going to pay for that, she could tell already.

He still had nightmares about it…waking up to the sound of a shotgun being pumped. More times than he’d ever admit to anyone, he’d woken up in some hotel room and broken out in a cold sweat at the memory. To this day, that sound still sent shivers up his spine. After all, what nineteen-year-old wanted to find himself saddled with a wife. When three very large and angry men spoke, Cole had no choice but to marry her.

What other option did he have?

But he left. He left Sarita Littlefeather three days after they got married and never bothered to go back. He never bothered to get a divorce either, figuring she’d do it.

Imagine his surprise when, nine years later, he again woke to the sound of a gun being primed. This time it was a pistol, Smith and Wesson’s finest from what he could tell by the light of the bathroom and standing at the givin’ end was a boy. He couldn’t have been more than nine or ten, slight of build with dark hair and pale eyes that looked spooky in the dim light. His hands shook.

Cole took a long slow easy breath and relaxed against the stiff hotel pillow. This he could deal with. It was just a kid, for crying out loud. Cole was more worried about an accidental shooting than a deliberate one. “What do you aim to do with that gun?”

“Kidnap ya.”

He pressed his lips together, trying to smother a grin. “Where exactly do you plan on takin’ me?”

“Mesa.” The boy’s voice squeaked and then he cleared his throat.

“What’s in Mesa?” Cole propped his arms behind the pillow, trying to act casual despite the heavy pounding of his heart.

“Mary Grace, and she wants you for her birthday. She wished for your sorry ass on a damned star, and I aim to see she gets what she wants.”

“Who’s Mary Grace?”

“My sister. My twin. Now get up ‘fore I shoot your sorry dog ass. We got a long drive.”
“Boy, I got a rodeo today. I ain’t going nowhere with you and don’t swear at me.” There was no way in hell he was missing the Stampede. He needed the points and the money. ‘Cause come December he had a PRCA All Around buckle to win. He grinned in the dimly lit room; his body tensed, ready to spring as soon as the boy let his guard down like Cole knew he eventually would.

“Either you come with me or I shoot you. It’s as simple as that, Dad.”

Mr. Pettibone tasted his tea with the quiet appreciation of a connoisseur and set the demitasse back on its saucer.  “It is always such a treat for me when you come to visit, dear lady.  I save my best blends for these very special occasions.  Rarely is one able to find an associate who shares one’s taste for the finer things in life.”

The woman’s smile curved into the rim of her cup as she casually crossed her long, elegant legs.  “Associate?  You mean competitor, don’t you, sir?”

“Only once a year, my lady; once a year.  Would you care for a bit of cake?”  He gently rang a small silver bell on the tray before him.  “And even at this most exciting time of the season, I can scarcely think of you as a competitor, Eleanor.  It’s not as if you have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning—as usual.”

Mrs. French laughed, the gauzy, ribboned veils on her hat swirling easily in the breeze.  “You’re being unusually catty this year, Harcourt.  I’m glad to see it.  It means you must be just a tiny bit worried.”

He gazed with frank admiration into the glass-green eyes before him.  Summer-flushed skin, perfect bearing, and cinnamon-brown hair that burned bronze in the sunlight.  How astonishing that the only woman who gave him such a thrill was the woman who always proved nearly—nearly—his equal.  “I love the way your Southern accent deepens when you need to use your femininity as a weapon, my dear.  Especially when it’s all you have.”

“Now, Mr. Pettibone, don’t treat me like one of your naïve little schoolgirls.  We both know that I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t heard about—oh, here are the cakes.”

They leaned back in the wide wicker chairs to allow the serving of their treat.  The girl who brought the delicacies was dark-haired and ruddy-cheeked, her small waistline cinched below a bust so bountiful it hovered precariously low over the silver tray.

“Deanna is one of my most gifted pupils.  She’s finishing near the top of her graduating class.  Deanna, this is Mrs. Eleanor French.  I believe you’ve heard of her.  She runs the finishing school just across the lake.”

The girl inclined her head ever so slightly.  “My pleasure, Mrs. French.”

Mr. Pettibone waved distractedly at a marauding bee intent on tasting his tea.  “Would you be so kind, Deanna, as to show Mrs. French your wares before pouring us a little more of that excellent brew?  And then you may excuse yourself.”

Deanna calmly opened the buttons of her starched white blouse and pulled it from the confines of her belt, allowing her unfettered bosom the pleasure of the warm afternoon sun as she carefully refilled their cups.

“Why, Mr. Pettibone,” Mrs. French murmured admiringly.  “I’ve seen the girl on your grounds before—but I never knew she was so lovely.”  Reaching out, she cupped one of the young woman’s breasts, feeling the weight and texture as she jiggled it in her hand.  “Quite delectable, my dear.  Oh, I’m so glad you invited me for tea, darlin’ Harcourt.  If your other selections are anything like this one, we should have one wicked little contest indeed!”

It’s Name That Chica Contest all this week! Can you figure out who’s who? Be sure to check back daily!

Kate Smithfield didn’t think this night could get any weirder until she found a large naked man in her kitchen eating all her Starbucks Java Chip ice cream. She was momentarily struck mute by the sight of his backside – all sleek and sinew with a waist tapering down into a hard round butt that made her nearly swoon. Her gaze lifted to his massive biceps, watching the flexing of his muscles as he dipped the spoon into the tub and then sucked off the mocha colored ice cream.

Still, he was eating all of her favorite ice cream. Without permission even.

“Excuse me, but what the hell do you think you’re doing?” It was the only thing she could think to say while staring at that fine ass. Her mouth watered at the sight of it, not to mention all that heat of long-dead desire running through her veins and right to her core. She could imagine her hands running down the length of his back to grip each cheek while he thrust…

He turned, his head moving slowly and she saw the chiseled features of his brutally handsome face. Her breath caught in her throat as she examined the high cheekbones, the narrow nose, and the dark brows over sooty eyes she could definitely get lost in. Deep, dark soulful eyes. Thick black hair brushed his shoulders with a plait on either side of his head. His square clefted chin led right to a beautifully shaped mouth she suddenly found herself desperately wanting to kiss.

And being naked left nothing to her imagination. She could see every curve of muscle, the dusty sprinkling of dark hair across the brawny chest, his thick biceps that had to be the size of one of her thighs and – oh!

Jesus, God! Is he really that big?

The sight of his engorged penis certainly left her feeling lightheaded. It dwarfed all the battery-operated toys she had seen on her coffee table just hours before. She had only agreed to the sex toy party because she needed to relieve some stress by laughing at the ridiculous and naughty toys with her friends. Cassie, however, had taken things a bit too far when she suggested they “conjure” a man for Kate.

“Are you the stripper?” she asked now. “How did you get in here?”

When Kate had refused to allow her Mother Earth best friend to “invite love to her door” (she really did mean well, but for the love of God, she was into so many different things Kate couldn’t keep up), Cassie had shoved the paper into her hands and insisted she read the spell aloud. And since her two best girlfriends were tipsy and Cassie refused to take no for an answer, Kate had caved and read the spell.

Nothing had happened.

Big and Beautiful answered her query with a silent stare. It was as though he knew what she looked like naked. She watched his large hand holding her spoon – which looked so odd to her – and then his pink tongue lick the remaining taupe ice cream off the back of it. Watching that tongue do that to her stainless steel made her completely jealous. For an instant she wished she were that spoon, wishing she could feel his cold tongue in the dark warm places a man hadn’t explored in a very long time. He gently placed the spoon on the countertop before setting aside the tub of frozen delight and taking one large step toward her.

“I thought Cassie said there was no stripper.”

The words rushed out of her mouth, nearly stumbling over each other. Kate was having trouble breathing now as she forced oxygen through her lungs. She tried desperately to catch her breath when she found herself staring up at the gigantic man who seemed to fill up every inch of her kitchen.

“Hi,” she said on a whisper. Good God. Don’t look at it. For God’s sake, do not look at the erection. No matter how much you want to.