Have you seen this year's Stocking Your E-Reader Sale? Check it out at: http://bit.ly/2020StockingSale for awesome reads from today's best-selling and hot new authors in the #pnr #urbanfantasy and  #fantasy genres. 

PLUS, need a new Kindle? Enter to win one! Sale and contest runs through December 30th.  

#booklover #bookdeals #ebooks 


Free For the Holidays!


My Ugly Christmas Sweater story, Counting On Christmas (which is a sequel, of sorts, to Let Me Count the Ways) is currently available as a FREE READ. 

Mike's been a very good boy this year and Santa Claire has the perfect present picked out for him--one that's both naughty and nice! ​ 

***This story was originally released as part of the Nine Naughty Novelists' Ugly Christmas Sweater story collection *** ​ 

Click HERE to download.

This story is ONLY available during the Holidays--to make it a little special--and THIS YEAR, to make things even MORE special, I've decided to make Let Me Count the Ways available too.

She's thinking fling, he's thinking forever. 

 Sexy former film star Claire Calhoun is used to having her pick of studly young men. Now that she and Derek have called it quits, however, the actress-turned-entrepreneur is feeling vulnerable. After one mojito too many at a party one night, she decides it would be fun to try something new-in this case, Mike Sherman, her staid accountant and long-time fan. 

Claire has been Mike's fantasy since the first time he saw her bare it all for the camera. Now that she's in his bed he'll do whatever's necessary to keep her there. But he's not a stalker, right? He's just a devoted fan. 

Click HERE to download

And here's an excerpt from Let Me Count the Ways. Because I  love excerpts. 


The gallery was crowded. The music was loud and not to my liking. And although some of the art on display was interesting enough, let’s face it; I wasn’t in the market for any more investments. I’d sunk almost everything I had into The Body Electric, which was still in its ‘hot new thing’ phase. Sure, business was good—for now. But who knew how long that would last? 

Still, the evening wasn’t a total loss. The drinks were complimentary and the bartender was to die for. I sipped my mojito and looked him over once again. 

He caught my look and smiled. “How is everything?” he asked, meaning my drink. 

“Just delicious,” I replied, making sure he knew I didn’t. 

Could I just say right here that I love men? For, oh, so many reasons. Just the sheer maleness of them. Even the sight of a five o’clock shadow on a rugged, square chin can turn me on. Can make my skin burn. Can make my fingers itch with the urge to touch and make me quiver as I imagine soft, sandpapery warmth in all my most sensitive places. Then there’s the strength in their hands, their fingers. The softness of their lips. The musk of their sweat. I swear those veins that stand out on their arms when they flex their muscles are enough, sometimes, to make me crazy. Not to mention the muscles themselves. 

The bartender had it all going on—including a killer smile and a soulful, sweet expression beneath a pair of jet black brows. He was an actor, of course. Just like everyone in this town. At least, everyone under twenty-five. That seems to be the cut-off. By twenty-six you know if you stand the ghost of a chance or are just marking time. If you’re still in the business at twenty-eight it’s because you’ve either tasted success or figured out that there’s nothing else you’re suited for. 

When I was twenty-five, I thought I was Money. I had it made. It didn’t last. I wonder, sometimes, if it wouldn’t have been better—for me—if it hadn’t ever happened at all. Sure, I wouldn’t have been famous, but maybe I’d have been happy instead. 

Some days it feels like I gave up a lot to get here. Others, it feels like I gave up too much. Still, even on those other days, fame does have its perks. Maybe especially on those days. I’m a name. I’m a face. And I could still recall how the game was played. 

“What’s your name, sweetie?” I asked, getting into the role. The bartender’s eyes lit up. 

“Javier,” he replied, with another deadly smile. 

I pushed my glass across the bar and returned his smile with one of my own; every bit as lethal. “Well, Javier, the ice in my drink has begun to melt. Why don’t you be a darling and see if you can’t find a way to freshen it up for me, okay?” 

His smile disappeared. “Right away, Miss Calhoun,” he said as he hustled away. 

“Claire,” I murmured watching him run. Have I mentioned he had a nice butt, too? “Call me Claire.” 

Would Javier sweetie really be quite so attentive if I was just a washed-up, not quite middle-aged, no-one-in-particular? Not bloody likely. But even tarnished stars still have some shine. No doubt he thought I could open doors for him. That I knew people who knew people who would give him a break. And maybe I did. Maybe I would. For a price. 

Cold? Possibly. But don’t expect me to shed any tears over yet another aspiring Adonis. This town is full of them. And, male or female, we all have to pay our dues. There’s only one real difference between Javier and me and it’s this: when I was in his shoes I was wearing heels. 

In less than a minute, he was back with a fresh new mojito. I smiled my thanks. “So, Claire, what are you doing after the party tonight?” he leaned in to ask, ambition gleaming brightly in those sweet brown eyes. No doubt he’d checked out the room while he was re-filling my drink. He’d obviously concluded that I was either the biggest name here or the easiest to hit on. Maybe both. The next move was mine. 

Before I had a chance to make it, however... “Red wine, please,” a man’s deep voice ordered sharply. 

Startled, Javier scrambled back to work. I turned to find Mike looming menacingly behind me. He looked quite resplendent tonight, if a little grim, dressed in charcoal pin-stripes paired with an olive silk shirt. 

“Nice suit,” I said, as I took it all in. “Fioravanti?” 

Mike snorted in amusement. “Don’t I wish. No. Dolce and Gabbana.” 

“Also nice.” I continued to study him, idly twirling the straw around in my glass. “You clean up good.” 

“Thank you,” Mike said, shooting another stern glance in Javier’s direction. The slight clenching of his jaw drew my attention higher, to the small, brownish gold stone shining in his left ear lobe. 

“Is this new?” I asked, reaching up to touch it, my fingers grazing his cheek as I did. Mike’s eyes widened into an astonished expression. His gaze flew to my face. 

“Oops.” I grinned. “Sorry. I guess my fingers are cold, huh?” 

Mike shook his head. “No. Not at all.” Red stained his cheekbones. His skin felt very warm against my fingers. 

“Liar.” Clucking my tongue, I withdrew my hand. My eyes, however, stayed locked with his and a familiar thrill ran through me. I love being desired. Who doesn’t? I love that flash of heat that flares in a man’s eyes when he wants you. I could see it in Mike’s eyes now and it made it hard to look away. 

“Your wine, sir,” Javier murmured from somewhere far away. We both ignored him. 

“You don’t wear that all the time, do you?” I asked. 

“Not very often. Just special occasions.” 

“Oh? So is this a special occasion?” 

Mike nodded gravely. “Yes. Most definitely.”

For more freebies, please be sure and check out my holiday free reads at:  https://www.pgforte.com/only-for-the-holidays

OR join my FB reader group in the next couple of days to get even more freebies: https://www.facebook.com/groups/TheCronesNest


Happy Winter Solstice!

 It's the Winter Solstice--and a very special one, what with the Jupiter-Saturn conjunction happening TODAY. And, God knows, we all need a little Christmas Magic to turn this trainwreck of a year around--or move it off the tracks or whatever metaphor works for you. But, being as it is the solstice, I couldn't let the opportunity pass to post a Winter Solstice excerpt. 

I  live for excerpts, after all.

This is from OAK (previously published as The Oak King) which is ON SALE for the next few weeks along with several of my Winter-Holiday--themed stories (details below). Enjoy!


December 1895
At the time of the winter solstice

 From his vantage point, beside the farmyard gate, Kieran surveyed the seemingly peaceful scene spread out before him. The night was still with nary a breeze to stir in even the topmost branches of the nearby trees. High above his head, thin white clouds stretched misty ribbons across the sky, blotting out great swaths of stars and wrapping the half-dark moon in a gauzy embrace. Kieran studied the orb’s shadowed form for several moments, the better to divine her wishes. Fionn might claim to serve the sun alone, but Kieran, Ruler of the Waning Year and creature of the ’Tween, knew better. There was naught on this earth could escape the Night Queen’s influence. 

In a little over a week, when the moon rose full, it would be for the thirteenth time this year. A rare and unusual occurrence, it signaled a time of transition and change, a time when one might reasonably hope to alter one’s path. A hot swell of anticipation arose within him as he thought of it, the moon of opportunity and rebirth. The opportunity to change—wasn’t that exactly what he needed, what they all needed? 

Tonight. Why should it not be tonight? 

The sentinels of the forest were used to biding their time. A delay of several decades before a goal could materialize or a dream come to fruition meant little to one such as he. That didn’t mean he didn’t suffer through the waiting, however. It didn’t mean he couldn’t yearn, or covet, or long for what he could not have, what he might never have, or what he might have foolishly thrown away. 

Tonight. Please let it be tonight. 

 On the surface, the cozy farmhouse nestled in its tidy yard looked much as it had the previous year, snug, warm, and inviting, but as Kieran well knew, looks were oftentimes deceiving. 

Last year, even despite the pleasant setting, the sight of this place had sparked only fear and uncertainty within him. Tonight, the small stone building, with its whitewashed walls and slate-tiled roof, with candles burning in the windows and a lazy curl of smoke eddying from the chimney, marked the seat of all his hopes and dreams, as well as the crux of his restless discontent. Within its four walls resided everything he longed for and ached to possess. 

It was that which kept him standing out here in the cold, which made him hesitate, afraid to enter or even to make his presence known to those inside. Fear. Anticipation. Hope. Uncertainty. Excitement. Desire. Love. Regret. 

If his dreams were ever to be realized, it would have to happen sometime. It might be now, or a hundred years from now. Kieran would much prefer it be now, of course, but even a hundred years was better than the third possibility—that his dreams should die aborning and never be realized at all. 

Maybe he’d already had his chance and lost it. Maybe what he longed for now would never be his again. In truth, he didn’t know what to expect. That, at least, was the same as last year. 

He’d sped here last winter on the full moon’s bright wings and his own breathless terror, his whole mind focused on a single goal—that of saving Fionn’s life. When he’d arrived at the farmhouse, it was just in time to hear Aine’s threat to cut down his grove—and out of nothing more than spite! It had seemed to Kieran then that his fears had all been justified. 

Now, he could laugh about it. A smile creased his face as he remembered it. How fierce and fiery she’d appeared. Despite the danger she’d represented, she’d been radiant with her red-gold hair catching the fire’s light and her blue eyes gleaming like sapphires over her flushed cheeks. Even smudged with flour and seething with rage, she’d been a sight to render him almost speechless. 

She’d seemed even more magnificent in her anger and wounded pride than she had on that previous midsummer morning. She’d looked like a goddess or a proud young queen as she’d stared Fionn down. Her hands had been fisted on her hips. Her chest had heaved with every angry breath. But queens and goddesses are ofttimes cruel, as Kieran was well aware. And, in that moment, nothing about the situation had struck him as even remotely humorous. 

On the surface, his plan to stay close and keep an eye on his temperamental goddess had seemed a good one. He’d thought it sensible, rational, certainly harmless enough. It turned out, of course, to be anything but. How could he have known how disastrous it would prove to be? How could he have ever anticipated that, in the process of getting to know Aine, he would fall so deeply in love? 

The fact that she was Fionn’s bride should have been his strongest ward against her. That alone should have sufficed to keep his feelings in check. He’d been insulted when Fionn suggested he might be planning to seduce his wife. In retrospect he could better understand the Oak King’s concerns. 

On the other hand, Kieran would dare anyone to do what he had done—spend six months in Aine’s presence, day in and day out—and not fall under her spell. Over the course of those six months, he’d become hopelessly enthralled. And when it came time to leave her, the grief had nearly killed him. 

Last summer, he’d told himself he was only acting to protect Fionn when he convinced Aine to wait at home for her husband to return, rather than venturing out into the woods to meet him there. And it was true in its way; it didn’t hurt Fionn to have a moment to himself. Mostly, however, Kieran had been protecting himself. 

 The hint of despair in Aine’s eyes as he bid her good-bye had done more to warm his heart than even a thousand summer days could have achieved. It was that memory he wanted to take with him into the darkness. It was that he wished to hold on to during his months away, not her subsequent joy at being reunited with her husband. And tonight, it was that memory that finally propelled Kieran to push open the farmyard gate, that and the hope of what he might see in those eyes tonight, if he were lucky—his own feelings reflected back at him.


Twice each year, Aine Murphy ventures into the woods to hold ceremonies to honor the Oak King and the Holly King, never dreaming these Lords of the Forest could be anything more than myth. When the legends spring to life in front of her, how can she help but fall for the sexy demi-gods she's loved all her life? 

 From midwinter to midsummer, Fionn O'Dair rules the Greenworld as the Oak King--a role he feels is beyond his abilities, and one that dooms him to a loveless future, forever craving the one man he can never allow himself to have. How can he resist what Aine offers--the sweet devotion that soothes his aching soul, and the slim chance to live a "normal" life as her husband, if only for half a year? 

 Holly King Kieran Mac Cuilenn never desired a human lover--until now. Seeing Fionn and Aine together fills him with longing for the love he threw away and awakens feelings he thought he'd buried with the last Oak King. Is there enough magic in the solstice to correct the mistakes he made years ago? Or is he doomed to be forever left out in the cold?