Sam’s Sunday Snippets – Demon’s Mate


What if real love began in the pages of a paranormal novel? And what if that love leapt off those pages, and into an avid reader’s arms?
Terra fell in love with Jacobin when he was the hero in a sexy paranormal novel, but when he showed up at her door she thought she was losing her mind. Imagine how she felt to learn her fate had been scribed onto magic pages and could just as easily be erased. Would she be willing to give up everything, just to hold onto a love she never dreamed she’d have?

 PaulineMichael, Night Owl Reviews:
“Sam Cheever creates a fantastic world with this fast-paced erotic paranormal romance. The new world described in these pages is fascinating and I want to know so much more about it. I am hooked on this and cannot wait to read more. I’m truly looking forward to visiting again and again as she introduces what is bound to be some of my favourite characters.”


“She is lovely. Very nice hand-melons.”

Jacobin turned to the demon Alaire and frowned. The other man’s gaze skimmed over the lightly clad form of the woman on the bed, lingering in places where it shouldn’t linger. “Do not make me bludgeon you to death before breakfast.”

Alaire lifted his hands, laughing lightly. “Satan save us from mated demons. As soon as a demon finds his mate he replaces his brain with a meat pie.”

“At least my brain is beneath my horns. Your brains are in your cock, and there isn’t much room in that tiny protuberance for them, which explains their limitations. Just tell me she will recover from this shock.”

“She’ll be fine. Despite the apparent delicacy of her frame, she is a strong creature.” The demon eyed the black-and-white blob resting next to her. The creature fixed a suspicious green gaze on them and spat whenever they came too close. “What is that?”

The king shrugged. “It must be some kind of minion. I’ve ordered it taken away and kept safe until I have the opportunity to question my mate about it.”

Alaire stepped toward the bed and scooped the spitting, wriggling creature up. “I’ll give it to Cybele. She’ll know what to do with it.”

Jacobin nodded. “I still cannot believe she threw that book into the fire. I thought the world was going to shake itself into dust.”

“It was an exciting affair to be sure.” Alaire opened the door. “I see an interesting future for you and your mate.”

Jacobin scowled at his friend’s retreating back before turning back to his mate. His scowl softened as he looked at her. Alaire was an insensitive lout, but he’d been right about Terra. Even in sleep, with soft snores whistling through her berry-tinted lips, his mate was an appealing morsel.

A thick cloud of white-blonde hair covered the pillow beneath her head. Her wide eyes, a bright blue beneath her lids, were fringed by a generous arc of slightly darker blonde lashes. Her oval face looked small beneath the swirl of hair, her pale cheeks touched with rose-petal tints.

Jacobin’s eyes skimmed quickly along his mate’s long, slim throat to her broad shoulders and slim, nicely toned arms. His gaze stalled out over her breasts, which strained the wispy confines of her tiny top. The dark pink cotton of her shirt molded to the delicious mounds of her lush breasts and highlighted the perky nubs of her nipples. Apparently his mate was embracing heated thoughts in her sleep. A fine thing to do, in Jacobin’s opinion. The only better exercise would be embracing those thoughts with him, while awake.

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Authors Supporting Authors — Join me and Over 100 Authors for Prizes and Fun!

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The event runs from August 25 through August 31 with tons of prizes!  Here are the Rafflecopter links:

Giveaway #1:

a Rafflecopter giveaway



Giveaway #2 a Rafflecopter giveaway



Giveaway #3

a Rafflecopter giveaway


Giveaway #4 a Rafflecopter giveaway


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Sunday Snippet – A Honeybun and Coffee

I’ll be part of a huge, multi-author event August 25th through the 31st. There will be not 1 but 4 Rafflecopter giveaways in the event! Look for that information on this blog next week.

I’m giving away 3 copies of A Honeybun and Coffee in the event. Here’s a snippet for your reading pleasure:


These Honeybuns are sugar free, but hot enough to burn!

Surprised into hiding in a men’s room stall at work, Angie Peterson, owner of the Dunk and Run Coffee Shoppe, overhears two men talking about killing someone named Alastair Honeybun. Picturing a frail, helpless old Englishman, Angie rushes to warn him. There’s only one, small problem, Alastair Honeybun is six foot two inches of yummy man, who’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself. But when the thugs show up while Angie’s still there, they soon figure out they’ll need to take care of each other.


Alastair Honeybun lived in a really nice neighborhood, with beautiful older homes, mature trees in the yard, and perfectly manicured lawns. His house was small, but very elegant in red brick with white and black accents. His yard was cut short and outlined by perfect flower and shrub beds. This didn’t surprise her at all. The image of a white-haired older gentleman who puttered in his yard as a hobby was reinforced in her mind.

She knocked on his door and thought about the fact that he hadn’t really sounded old on the phone. The cold was probably just throwing her off.

A guy with the name of Alastair Honeybun had to be old.

The sound of shrill barking greeted her insistent knocking long before she heard footsteps on the other side of the door. She suddenly felt as if someone was staring at her and waved at the peephole in the door, smiling.

She figured he’d open the door just to find out who the ditz on his doorstep was.

The door finally slid slowly open to reveal a mass of vibrating blankets with close cropped, red hair. The blankets sniffled and shuffled toward her. “Whadya want? I’m not interested whatever it is. I’m dyin’ and I just wanna be left alone.”

A small, black and brown sausage type dog wriggled past the blankets and hopped around excitedly on the small front porch. He barked happily, wagging his entire backend in greeting. The little dog raised himself up on two stubby back legs and put oversized front paws on her knee. Angie reached down to pet the dachshund’s head and tried to peer under the blankets at its owner.

“Hello, I’m Angie Peterson. We spoke on the phone a while ago.”

The blankets gave a jerk and started to turn back into the house. “Go away.”

Angie grabbed the edge of the door before he could get it closed and forced her way into the house. “I’m sorry. I know you must feel like hell and I’m not normally this pushy. But you have to listen to me. I really believe your life is in danger.”

The man in the blankets sneezed and stared at her. Finally he turned back into the house and headed down a long hallway toward the back of the house. “I don’t have the energy to throw you bodily out of the house so if you’ll promise to make me some of that tea you suggested I’ll sit and listen to what you have to say.”

This extended speech ended in a bout of violent coughing that sounded as if Mr. Honeybun was about to spew a spleen. Angie quickly threw the bolt on the front door and followed him. The happy little dog bounced after her down the hall.

When they reached the kitchen the little dachshund flew past her and exited through a flap at the bottom of the back door. She turned the bolt on that door too. Turning to Alastair Honeybun, who was now perched miserably on a chair at the kitchen table, she asked, “Do you have any other doors I should lock?”

The cap of bright red hair was underscored now by blue eyes with a thick fringe of dark red lashes and a pale, sweaty brow. Unlined. Angie did a quick reassessment of the old guy thing.

“What are you some kind of mobile rent a mommy?”

Angie blew out a sigh of frustration. “Humor me.”

He jerked a blanket clad shoulder toward another door across the room. It looked like it probably led to the three car garage she’d noticed as she’d climbed out of her Edge.

Angie walked over and locked that door too. Then she turned back toward the shivering mass of blankets at the table. “Tea?”

The bristly red head nodded toward a long cabinet in the corner of the room. “Pantry.”

Angie moved briskly toward the pantry and dug out two tea bags. Then she looked at him again. “Cups?”

“Over the sink.”

She grabbed one mug that proclaimed, God’s Gift to Discerning Women, and another that said, If it Weren’t for Bad Love I’d Have no Love at all. She arched a brow at the quivering pile of blankets at the table and it shrugged. “What can I tell you, my friends are all a bunch of smart asses.”

Angie shook her head and added water and the tea bags to the two mugs. Then she put them into the microwave and set the timer for six minutes. She busied herself gathering honey, cream, and spoons until the timer on the microwave chimed and then carried the mugs to the table, where she handed the God’s Gift mug to the blankets.

She added honey and cream to both of their cups of tea and handed him his. Pushing aside the blankets just long enough to take a sip of the hot, sweet beverage, Alastair Honeybun smiled at her. “Good. Thanks.”

Angie got a jolt of surprise at the extremely pleasing face that she could almost see between the edges of the blankets. Not old. Not at all. And maybe the mug was right after all. But then she remembered why she was there and, setting down her mug of tea, she leaned across the table toward him. “Mr. Honeybun…”

“Alastair.” He shrugged. “You made me tea and tucked me safely into my house, we’re practically best friends.”

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