Serena Janes Romance



Here's a short excerpt from my erotic romance, Cult of the Black Virgin, the first book of The Black Virgin Trilogy.

Joanna 's breathing had become shallow and fast, heart racing, jelly legs shaking, as Luc carefully and deliberately stroked both arms from shoulder to fingertips, and back up to armpit, one more time. She made a soft sound, and his hand moved to her throat, causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand up. He touched her jaw line, her cheek
first one, then the otherand then her chin. Underneath the chin. She didnt know her face could be so sensitive. It was shivering with pleasure, burning with exquisite anticipation of a kiss. A thousand kisses.
     His face was still less than an inch from her ear, and she leaned heavily against the wall for support. Her outstretched arms began to tingle as they strained to hold her upright.

Is this what you want from me, Joanna? His words were so soft she could barely hear themor perhaps her hearing wasnt functioning very well.

Yes. But more. She couldnt help herself. The words leaked out of her like little sighs, like tears, like the sweat that was helping hold her to the wall.

     Smiling, he lowered his mouth to the side of her neck, and placed an exquisite lingering kiss on her wet skin. His first kiss. She started at the sensation, but then remained very still. Then he placed both hands around her waist, holding her there as his lips moved along her neck. He bit her, lightly. She jumped, a deep quiver beginning in her lower stomach. He raised his mouth back to her ear, and kissed her there, softly.

     His hot fragrant breath seemed to flow into her brain, into her blood stream, intoxicating her. His lips moved to her cheek, grazing it lightly. Delicately. He licked her once. Then the other side of her face. But he didn
t touch her lips. She whimpered a little in frustration, longing to feel his mouth on hers, more than she thought she could stand, but she dared not move. This was his game.

       If she moved she might break the spell.

     He kissed her forehead. He kissed each eyebrow, slowly running his tongue along the arch, then softly he kissed each eyelid. He kissed the tip of her nose. She stood perfectly still, barely breathing.

     Just when she thought he would touch her lips with his, he said brusquely,
Turn around. The hands at her waistline pulled at her body.

     Shocked at his words, she looked up into his eyes and saw such fire and excitement there that she almost fell forward against him as her numb arms flopped loosely to her sides.
     With his help, she turned around.

   And this is from the opening scene of Revenge of the Black Virgin,  the second book in The Black Virgin Trilogy.

  Somewhere in the middle of obsessing Jo sensed the crowd in the Vancouver International Airport Arrivals hall had thinned. The room was noticeably quieter. She stuck her head out from behind the pillar and scanned the room.
  Where is he? He should be...
  Her heart recognized her lover before she did. It jammed upwards into her throat, causing her to stumble as she stepped away from her hiding place. Only then did her brain register that her French lover was real, and standing in the middle of the room, looking abstractedly around him.

  He was wearing a dark wool sports jacket over a pale shirt. Jeans. Loafers. He hadn't shaved and his dark hair was longer than she remembered, and rumpled. He looked amazing, her body told her with a spike of adrenaline.

  But he wasn't alone. A stylish blonde with a trolley of luggage stood beside him, talking, searching for something in her over-sized purse. She found what she was looking for--a business card, it seemed--and thrust it at a bewildered-looking Luc.

  Jo could hear the woman's words, now. "If your friend doesn't show up, give me a call. I'll be in town for the week." Batting her lashes she smiled up at him as he fidgeted with his laptop bag. He didn't seem to know what to do with her card.

  Automatically, Jo snapped into action and charged towards them, stopping a few inches short of Luc. He and the blonde turned to look at her. The woman's face showed fear, Jo smugly noted. Luc's showed nothing.


  Jo stared into his beautiful dark blue eyes. She saw no love there. She saw no longing. But she didn't detect any fury, either, and without thinking she grabbed the lapels of his jacket and roughly jerked him towards her in a clumsy embrace. Her face burrowed into his chest, and she breathed in the scent that had the power to pull her right back into the cult's grip. The power to destroy her world all over again.

  It was exactly where she wanted to be.

This excerpt is from the last book in The Black Virgin Trilogy: Gift of The Black Virgin.

Landing at Charles de Gaulle only a few hours earlier, Jo was exhausted from her flight from Seattle, but buoyed with the anticipation of two glorious weeks with her French lover. They had been separated for two weeks--two agonizingly long weeks--and she ached for him body and soul.
  Her suitcases bulged with her prettiest clothes, her sexiest lingerie and her most ridiculous high-heeled shoes. But when she disembarked, instead of an amorous fiancé with an armload of roses, she was greeted by a tearful, dishevelled wreck of a man who couldn't wait to drag her onto a train back to Cahors.
  "A party's the last thing on my mind now. I have to cancel everything," he said.
  "When was this party supposed to be held?" Jo asked carefully.  Despite losing her romantic week in Paris, she decided she should be pleased about this one small thing. The idea of an engagement party, where she would meet Luc's family and friends, was touching. But now, of course, it was unthinkable.
  "Next Sunday. At the family house in Nice," Luc said into his hands. "My father and brother were going to come down from Lyon. I'll have to call them tonight and tell them what's happened."
  Jo could hear the uncharacteristic tremor in his voice, she could see his shoulders shake, and her heart swelled in response. She had to be brave and face the facts. Daniel was Luc's only child, and he had been injured in a soccer match. Maybe seriously.
  And she, along with her sexy underwear, had fallen into the background.
  Casting a longing glance at her suitcases, which were stacked on the racks over their heads, she put her arms around her beloved as best she could in the awkward seats, ignoring the curious glances of their fellow travellers.
  "Never mind the party. Although it was very sweet of you to have thought of it. How did Daniel react when you told him about me?"
  "Not well."
  "Oh?" She hadn't anticipated this, and couldn't think of anything else to say. The back of her throat burned with a bitter bile. Motion sickness--her perennial friend whenever she travelled--was threatening to make her retch. She leaned down to her bag, fumbled for a chewable Gravol and popped it into her mouth.
  Luc, watching her, continued. "First he became quiet, retreating like I do when I'm upset."
  He squirmed in his seat, rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and then looked again at Jo. His dark blue eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his lips white with the effort of clenching his jaw.
  "He wouldn't leave his room, and then he said he wasn't going to play in the cup final this weekend."
  "Do you know why?" she asked as she sucked hard on the cherry-flavored tablet.
  He sighed. "Not really. He loves soccer. Maybe it was his way of punishing me. He knows how proud I am of him and how well he plays.
  "And probably because I wasn't going to be there to watch him," he added.
  Jo began to piece it all together. It wasn't sounding good. "Because you had to meet me?"
  He nodded. "When you and I made our plans I'd forgotten about his game. Of course it's the biggest one of the season. I feel like such a shit."
  He turned back to the window and the autumn scenery flashing past. "It was too late to change anything," he continued. "You'd already booked your flights. I'd booked our Paris hotel. So I just told him to stop being silly. I said he had to play. He owed it to his team. And to himself. I guess I shamed him into it."
  "And then what happened?" Jo asked, although she guessed what was coming.
  "He played very badly, I'm told. And then he went for a shot and must have misjudged his position because he tripped and fell head-first into the goal post."
  Jo felt her heart contract when she saw the anguish on her lover's face. "Luc, whatever you think, it's not your fault. You did what you thought was best," she said, squeezing his arm gently and swallowing the last of the vile little pill. "Don't blame yourself. If anything, it's my fault."
  Platitudes weren't good for much, Jo thought.
  But what else can I do?
  "It is my fault. I don't know what I'll do if I lose him!" was all he would say for the next four hours.
Here's a short excerpt from Just Desserts, a sweet romance.

An unusually heavy snowstorm paralyzed the city in the third week of January. Jackie couldn’t get a bus from the hospital and had to slog through three-foot snowdrifts for almost two hours to get home. She was exhausted after her day’s work and the difficult walk and was just toweling herself after a hot bath when her phone rang. It was Sam.

    “Hi. Its me.

    “You? Astonishment. Anger. Curiosity. No words came to her for a moment.

     “Uh, yeah. Me.

   “Well. How are you, Sam? Her voice was as chilly as the weather.

    “Im okay. You?


    “Good. Are you snowed in?

    “Pretty much. You?

    “Its quite bad out here. But I have the four-wheel drive.

    “Its bad in the city, too. I had to walk home from the hospital. She began to thaw slightly at the sound of his sexy voice. She couldnt help it.

    “Really. How long did that take?

    “About two hours.

    “Thats harsh.

    There was an uncomfortable pause.

    “What do you want, Sam? Her wits were now composed, and she felt a healthy dose of anger building.

     “Uh, I just wanted to talk to you.

     “Well you are.

     “Im serious, Jackie.

     “About what? she asked with heavy sarcasm in her voice.

     She heard him exhale loudly a
nd then there was silence. Nothing. Her heart froze. Was he going to hang up on her? Had she pushed him away again?
      “Listen. I guess you’re pissed at me for not having called you over the holidays, and everything. Am I right?”

I wouldnt use the word pissed. Her voice carried ice as well as attitude.
Whatever. I understand.
     Silence at her end.

     He continued, voice rising. Lookyou couldve called me, you know. Youve got the goddamned number.

To tell the truth, I had considered it once or twice. But I chose not to. After all, what was I going to say? Happy goddamned Christmas? Oh, and by the way. In case youve forgotten me, this is the pathetic goddamned charity case you couldnt take downtown until you fixed her up with a decent pair of shoes.
Look, Jackie…”

The sniveling wretch you probably regret having taken out in public that one time because shes so unsophisticated, so unfashionable, and it was so embarrassing when your old nightclubbing friends saw you with her.
Stop it!
Stop what? Isnt it the truth?
Of course not. Youre being ridiculous.
Im not being ridiculous. Im being realistic. I know Im not the type of girl someone like you would be interested in. But I guess I fooled myself into believing you really did like me. It wasnt your fault. The delusion was all mine in the making.
Its not a delusion. I really do like you.
But not like that."
Like what?
Oh cut the crap! You know damned well what I mean! Ive never seen a man pull himself out of a womans embrace as fast as you did. You must be awfully stupid if you cant see what I want from you.

     Tears welled in her eyes and the lump in her throat had made her words thick. Her heart stood still as she waited for his reply.
     But there was just silence on his end.

This is from the first book in the Tracking Tor series, called Mirage. It should be available in the fall of 2013.

   Julie pushed open the heavy door of the building housing the Danish Archaeological Society and was met by a wall of stale, stifling air. No air con. It was eerily quiet, and she felt like a trespasser.

Just as she spotted a staircase leading to the second floor, she heard a door open and close somewhere above her head. Then heavy footsteps. The footsteps stopped at the top of the stairs and she looked up to see boots. From her vantage, they looked pretty sexy. They were real men's boots. Serious boots. And then they were coming down the stairs towards her. She saw a fine pair of legs encased in a lightweight grey pants. Not riding pants. Stay-around-town pants. A thick brown leather belt. A pale grey cotton shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Strong brown arms. A pair of square shoulders and a smooth brown throat.

  Then all she could see were the eyes. Grey and hard as steel, they glared at her. She tried to step towards him, but found she couldn't move a single muscle. Her body seemed to have gone numb.

  "Can I help you?" he asked in English, with a thick accent that threatened to melt her bones.

  "I, um, no. I mean, no thank you. I was just looking around and I thought I'd come in out of the sun. It's awfully hot already, although it isn't even ten yet. I'm not used to the heat, and..."

  The look on his beautiful face stopped her short. He was clearly not impressed. She shut her mouth.
  God! I'm such a dope. Get a grip.
  Extending her hand, she took a deep breath and stepped towards him, saying in a completely different voice, "Hello. My name is Julie Stevens, and I'm traveling with a cultural tour from a university in Vancouver, Canada. I'm afraid I may be a little jet-lagged and culture-shocked at the moment. But I am very glad to meet you."

  He took her hand in his. He was strong, but he shook it lightly. It was exciting. She thought she'd never felt so much pure masculine energy in a handshake before. When he let go she was momentarily confused.

  Then she heard what he was saying to her in his lilting English.

  "I am Torval Jensen, from Copenhagen. You can rest in here for as long as you like, but I must excuse myself. I have a meeting. Good bye."

  He walked past her and out through the door.

  Gone. Just like that.

  Julie was rigid with surprise. And deeply disappointed. She thought she'd never see her mystery rider again, but here he was. It was as if the gods, the muses, or the planets had conspired and aligned to give her a perfect opportunity to get over her wounded heart. But the Dane, damn him, wasn't cooperating.

  He was still in town--yes--yet she couldn't keep him engaged for more than five seconds. She needed to try harder. She wanted another crack at him.

  Her body was making it perfectly clear to her head that she had to see him again. Somehow, she felt, it was fated.

  Pushing the door open, she watched him
walk towards his bike. He exchanged a few words with the young men watching over it, tossed a few coins to one of them, then strapped on his helmet and drove off. He didn't head towards town, but rode deeper into the desert.

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