She is the ‘savage’ of the Red Petticoat Saloon, a white woman raised by Indians only to be ripped from her adopted family by enemy soldiers and—with her half-breed son in tow—forced back into a life she does not remember or want. She does not smile; she does not trust, but she will, for a few extra dollars, put her buckskins on before taking a man to bed. Called Emerald, she has bitten more customers than she has forgiven. It never once occurred to her that anyone would find that treatment enamoring… until the day of the Great Brawl when the eldest Drake brother stormed the Red Petticoat in his vengeful hunt for Gabe and the youngest, Garrett, tackled her to the floor. She’d lived up to her reputation that day, grinding her teeth into the palm of his hand until she tasted blood, and forever won herself the erstwhile affections of a man who refused to understand the concept of ‘get lost’.
 
No one knew how to hide behind a smile like Garrett Drake. Haunted by a past he would never honor with words, he knew the soul-biting pain of incorporeal scars when he saw it. And from the moment he clapped eyes on Emerald—and she clamped her sharp little teeth on him, painting her lips with his blood—Garrett recognized his suffering soul’s long absent mate. She was prickly, temperamental, tense… afraid… what about that could draw him as intensely as it did, he had no idea, but the more she insisted he go away, the more impossible he found it to leave.
 
And then soldiers came to Culpepper Cove with orders to remove Emerald’s very young son to a reservation in which she could not go. After that, leaving ceased to be an option. Armed with an off-kilter joke and a smile, Garrett allied himself to the woman he loved…whether she wanted him to or not. Because she was warming to him, by God, and that right there made everything he was about to do worth it.
 
DISCLAIMER: This book contains the spanking of adult women and explicit sexual scenes. If any of these offend you, please do not purchase this book.

Excerpt:
 
“You’re not spanking me,” she breathed, hating how it came out of her low and trembling. As if she were afraid. She wasn’t. She wasn’t afraid of anyone, much less Garrett.
Garrett both nodded and winced. “I am hoping I won’t have to, but you’re kind of backing me into a corner. Let’s see if we can avoid it.” He patted his knee. “Sit.”
She’d sooner sit on a cactus. Her look must have said as much, because his look also changed. Only his eyebrows moved, and yet that feeling of ominous warning began to grow heavy all throughout the room.
“One,” he said, in a tone that was no less menacing for all that it held notes of amusement.
“One, what?” she countered, honestly unsure what she was more: confused over why he should think counting numbers worse than simply spanking her, or annoyed that he had to sound so damned paternal while he did it. She had a father. Hell, she’d had two. They were both dead now, and she wasn’t in any mood to be adopted by a third.
 He pointed to his knee and with even softer authority said, “Sit down, Lydia. Right here.”
Sit, not bend over? If not for his grip on her arm, she would have recoiled. It was a trap, it had to be. Lydia shook her head. “You don’t have any right to—”
“Two,” Garrett said, cutting off her protest mid-sputter.
She floundered, blinking rapidly, at a total loss for how to proceed. “H-how many do I have?”
“Not nearly enough, I promise. Your hairbrush fell out of your bag when you threw it at me. It’s there on the floor behind you. Would you mind handing it to me?”
Startled, Lydia twisted far enough to—sure enough—see the hairbrush lying bristles-down on the floor practically under her skirts. Just as startled, she looked back at him. “Yes, I do. I think I mind very much. If I hand you that hairbrush, you’ll use it on me!”
“Would you like to sit on my knee instead?”
Indignation, embarrassment, anger—the heated flames of all licked up behind her cheeks, flushing them hot as a sunburn. “If you think I’m just going to let you spank me like—like—like some errant farm girl dancing to the tune of your hickory switch—”
“Nice imagery,” he complimented, a spark of interest in his eyes even suggesting that compliment was sincere. “Hairbrush, though. There aren’t any good switches here in town.” He brightened. “All the best ones grow out behind my house. Don’t ask me how I know. A man should never reveal the secrets behind his brother’s harmonious household.”
“—you can think again!” Lydia stubbornly continued, her voice rising in volume and shrillness. “I do not accept your authority over me!”
His smile turned wry. “I’ve noticed.”

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Author Bio:
 
I am a wife, coffee whore, pain slut, administrator at two local BDSM dungeons, resident of the wilds of freakin’ Kansas (still don’t know how that happened) and submissive to the love of my life. An USA Bestselling Author, I have penned more than 120 novels, novellas and short stories, and am the author of the Masters of the Castle series, of which Kaylee’s Keeper reached #1 on all Amazon.
 
Visit her blog here:
http://badgirlscorner.wordpress.com
 
Friend her on Facebook
(which she visits far more often than she does her blog):
http://facebook.com/Maren.Smith.10
 
Don’t miss these exciting titles by Maren Smith and/or Blushing Books!
 
Masters of the Castle:
Book 1, Holding Hannah
Book 2, Kaylee’s Keeper
Book 3, Saving Sara
Book 4, Sweet Sinclair
Book 5, Chasing Chelsea
Book 6, Owning O
Book 7, Maddy Mine
 
Corbin’s Bend:
Last Dance for Cadence (Season 1, Book 8)
Have Paddle, Will Travel (Season 2, Book 7)
 
A Few Other Titles:
Angel of Hawkhaven
B-Flick
Black Sheep
Daughter of the Strong
Enemies
The Great Prank
Jinxie’s Orchids
Katy Run Away
Kindred Spirits
Life After Rachel
The Locket
Morogh the Demon
The Mountain Man
The Next Ex
Something Has To Give
The Suffragettes
Treasure
Varden’s Lady
 
Up-coming New Releases:
 
Maren is currently hard at work on four new stories due to be released between now and March of next year. Sadly, they are all super secret and, under penalty of pain and certain death, she has been sworn to silence until everyone is ready to announce each project.
Okay, “death” might be a bit extreme, but you can’t just tell a masochist, “Don’t tell anyone, or there will be pain!” At that point, you may as well announce it yourself.

Twenty years ago Claire Wellington was in love with two men. She chose the wealthier, mild mannered George and lived a privileged and comfortable existence. The three stayed friends, even though Travis Forrester didn't always approve of the way Claire behaved. When his best friend George died he asked Travis to take care of Claire and for two years Travis tried, keeping things on an impersonal level and managing her inheritance.
Even though Travis has loved Claire for the past twenty years, he no longer likes the women she has become. He knew if wouldn't be long before she crashed and burned. When she does, he has to decide if saving Claire is worth losing his heart a second time. Will she accept that she not only needs him to take control but that she craves what he is offering, even if that means she’ll be sitting uncomfortably when her behavior is out of control? Can he help her find the sweet, loving woman she’d been when they met decades earlier? Is she worth the risk?

DISCLAIMER: This book contains the spanking of adult women, elements of light age-play, explicit sexual scenes involving anal play. If any of these offend you, please do not purchase this book.

    Excerpt:
     “Okay, Travis.  You’ve made me sweat suitably, done your best to shame me, now write the damn check.  I have things to do,” she hissed, glaring at him.
      “No.”
      “No?” she asked, stunned.
      “That’s what I said, Claire.  I will not write you a check.  You receive a more than adequate monthly allowance to maintain your lifestyle and yet like clockwork you present yourself in my office each month asking for more.  It’s going to stop, and I mean right now,” he informed her firmly.
      “But it’s my money,” she stammered, her eyes wide and somewhat confused.
      “Oh Claire,” Travis sighed.  “You’re such a child at times,” he continued, shaking his head.  “Yes, it is your money, but in what I consider one of the smartest things your husband ever did, he put it in trust for you. 
      “George adored you, but he wasn’t entirely blind to your faults, thank God.”  Travis explained for the umpteenth time.  “A trust means the money is safe, protected and doled out over time so you don’t find yourself in a situation where you can’t afford to live.  He appointed me the trustee for two reasons.  One, I could be trusted and two, you wouldn’t be able to sway or manipulate me away from my duties.”
      “But you’ve given me extra money lots of times,” she exclaimed.
      “Yes I have.  You were grieving, honey, and I cut you some slack.  I see now, after this trip,” he informed her, picking up the stack of bills, “that you are no longer the heartbroken widow and I’ll be damned if I let some loser take advantage of you.”
      “It’s none of your business what I do with my money,” she cried, rising and stomping one foot.
      “Unfortunately, it is, I write the checks,” he said, unable to hide his smile.  Lord she was pissed.  He watched her struggle to rein in her temper and then sidle around the desk.  Pushing his large executive chair back she plopped down on his lap.
      “Please don’t be nasty to me, Travis,” she pleaded. Claire ran her fingers through the touch of silver at his temples.  “George trusted you to take care of me,” she pouted, resting her head on his shoulder.
      “And that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” he assured her, wishing she’d stop wiggling her bottom.  “Claire, if I let you continue unchecked, you’ll be broke within ten years.  You can’t spend money like water and expect it to last forever.  I won’t allow you to fall victim to some guy looking for a cougar.”
      “A cougar,” she cried, bolting upright on his knees.  “You think I’m old?  That someone will only want me for my money?” 
      “I think you’re perfectly lovely and always have, but you’re almost forty, Claire.  It’s time to grow up, baby.”
      “I am grown up, and I know my rights,” she insisted angrily, her dark eyes flashing.  “I’ll have you replaced as my trustee.”
      “I’m sorry, but that’s not possible.  George’s will was very explicit for just that reason. The only way you’ll get a new trustee is if I die.”
      “Don’t tempt me,” she retorted, taking hold of his tie and pulling.
      “Careful Claire or you’ll find yourself facing the other way over my knees,” he warned, locking his gaze on her.
      “You wouldn’t,” she insisted.
      “Don’t count on that, honey.  I’ve wanted to blister your ass since the night of your and George’s first anniversary party when you tossed your drink at him over some silly little remark.”
      “I was drunk.  That shouldn’t count,” she whispered in protest.
      “On the contrary, that was no excuse and I would have spanked you for overindulging too.”
      Slowly she began to skootch off his lap and for a moment he grasped her hip, holding her in place before allowing her to escape.  When she was safely on the opposite side of his desk she leaned forward, planting her hands palms down on the cool dark wood.
      “I always knew there was something different about you,” she sputtered, “something…unyielding. That’s why I picked George, even though I loved you both. George was so…”
      “Manageable?” he drawled sarcastically.
      “Yes, exactly!  And don’t say it like it’s some kind of flaw,” she barked out.
      “George was a great guy, fun, loving, easy-going.  I miss him,” Travis admitted sadly, “but he didn’t do you any favors.”
      “How can you say that?” she demanded.  “He did everything for me.”
      “Yes, and now you can’t seem to do anything for yourself; even manage your finances so you don’t have to come in here every month asking for more money.  He left you well off.  You should be grateful.”
      “I would be, if you’d let me have enough money to have some fun once in a while.”
      “Claire, this discussion is over,” Travis snapped rising.  “You can expect your monthly allowance in your account on the 1st, but you’re not getting another dime before that.  Have I made myself clear?” he asked sternly.
      “Abundantly,” she shot back, picking up her purse. “It doesn’t matter anyway.  I have plenty of things I can sell outright, including my apartment,” she sneered, “although I hardly think that’s what George had in mind.”
      “Claire, don’t you dare sell that apartment,” he ordered rounding the desk.
      “You may control the trust, Travis, but you can’t stop me from doing what I want with the rest of my things.  Maybe if I’m homeless a judge will overrule you and give me my inheritance in a lump sum,” she called over her shoulder as she walked to the door.
      “I’m warning you, Claire,” he growled.  “Your attitude is not acceptable.  Come back here!”
      “Sorry, the cougar has left the building,” she cooed just before slamming the door behind her.
 
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