Sinner Free at Amazon! Manhandled on Sale for $.99!

Now’s the time to pick up Sinner FREE at Amazon for a limited time only! And Manhandled is just $.99!!!

Here are the purchase links and remember Sinner is FREE:

Excerpt from Manhandled:

Rolan Anthony Paxton’s dawn fantasy had him in a state of rapture.Manhandled-Jianne_Carlo-200x320

“Rolan, sweetie?”

Stifling an automatic wince, he lifted one eyelid and looked at the blonde servicing him. Cindy-something, great boobs and a god-awful, high-pitched, nails-on-the-blackboard voice. He should have picked the other one.


The yacht’s engines hummed to life, and the boat vibrated and rocked. An open porthole let Mediterranean brine into the room, along with an unexpected morning chill. Monte Carlo’s perpetual traffic buzzed in the background.

At least she hadn’t stopped using those wonderful hands, but that happy thought evaporated with the dig of a nail.

“Ouch,” he winced and glanced down. “Watch the nails, babe.”

“Oops, sorry.” She cupped a hand over her mouth to suppress a nervous giggle.

A barrage of firm knocks hit the cabin door, and he cut to the sound, mood souring and lips curling.

Figured—it took him longer and longer these days, and the slightest mishap turned him off. Age, it had to be, since he was thirty-one and tired of the same old, same old.

Money, fame, success—he had it all and nothing counted anymore.

He knew he should be grateful. How many athletes made it to the championship, not once, not twice, but three times?

Startled out of his brooding by a repeat of rapping on the burnished mahogany door, he shot a look at the blonde and ordered, “Cover up.”

In a louder tone, he called, “Come in.”

Without looking up, he snagged the cover sheet and began drawing it over his calves. He stopped when an audibly gasped “Oh, no” penetrated the silence.

His head snapped up, and a stunned paralysis claimed his limbs.

He’d never forgotten those eyes, the color of liquid caramel, that wild hair, every shade of a fiery sunset, and a bottom lip so plump, so inviting that one night he hadn’t been able to resist nibbling on it for hours.

Sarita Khan, the nose-in-a-book classmate he’d been forced to serve four Saturdays of detention with during his last year in high school. The girl whose virginity he’d taken on prom night after breaking up with the captain of the cheerleading team. Those sweet elfin features haunted his dreams intermittently over the last twelve years. Adrenalin surged in his veins, and his heartbeat accelerated.

Sarita, his Sarita.

That bronze-dusted complexion paled beneath his scrutiny and she swayed. The breakfast tray balanced on her forearms listed back and forth. She swallowed, slapped a palm onto the table cemented to the left, and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Are you okay?” He hopped out of the bed, oblivious to his nudity, and stalked forward. “Here, let me take that.”

For a few seconds she gripped the tray tighter, but she didn’t lift her lids. Then her hold slackened.

He tugged the tray away and set it on the table. Eyes Krazy Glued to her delicate, heart-shaped face, raking a quick assessment of the changes over the last twelve years, he forgot Cindy, the boat, the injuries plaguing his career—everything save Sarita and sweet memories. The compulsion to trace the soft curve of her cheek, cup her face, and suck that lower lip was defeated only by a nervous giggle in the background. Rolan stifled an internal groan, and he fisted his hands.

Excerpt from Sinner:

The first kitchen cabinet she opened yielded ten packs of candles. By the time Lincoln Sinner-Jianne_Carlo-200x320returned, Destiny had finished her list, and a dozen flickering candles imbued a soft golden glow to the main cabin.

Surveying the room, she sighed.

Wasn’t this every woman’s fantasy?

Stuck in a warm cabin in the mountains with a hunk who looked like he knew more about sex than Antonio Banderas. So he thought she was easy. It wasn’t as if they’d ever meet again in real life. And he didn’t seem to have any problem with her being ten pounds overweight. Okay, okay, maybe fifteen. But who would know? In four months she turned twenty-seven, and she’d never had torrid sex, never had a hot affair.

The wind howled and lifted the top of a snowdrift into the air when Lincoln, carrying a bundle of logs, kicked the door open. An icy finger sailed on the gust, trailing a chill around Destiny’s neck. She wished she’d packed a scarf, and tugged the blanket over one ear.

Lincoln used his boot to slam the door shut.

“Why didn’t you start a fire?”

“With what?” She’d held a dozen lit matches to one log, and the wood didn’t even catch a spark.

He looked to the ceiling.

“The normal tools—paper, logs.”

“Bite me,” Destiny snapped. All dreams of a romantic snowed-in couple of days went poof. What a bully.

He stacked the logs on the other side of the fireplace and, in less time than it took her to inhale, or so it seemed, had a blazing fire crackling and spewing sparks. The scent of pine infused the air.

“I will.” He stood and unzipped his parka. “You like it rough, I take it?”

Lincoln shrugged out of his jacket, stowed the garment on the three-hook wooden coat stand to the right of the door, turned to face her, and smiled.

She shivered. The man had a bone-melting, devil-may-care grin.

“What?” He couldn’t mean….

“You like to be bitten?” A forefinger stroked the cleft of his chin.

“None of your business. What are you? Into kink?”

“Depends on the kink. I’m not into pain, but I’m not averse to a love bite here and there. Or a few spanks.”

Spanks? She was in over her head. Cripes, she’d always wondered about that. Pervasive guilt from Sunday school lessons and spending three hours in a porn superstore made her blurt, “Look, let’s get a few points cleared up. Those toys and DVDs weren’t for me. I don’t do that kind of stuff.” She paused, trying to erase the image from her pupils of her over his knees.

“And here I was hoping that deep throat was your specialty.” He started unbuttoning his shirt. “Do we have food?”


Hope this starts your Magic Monday!




Chainsaw Chad!

Wolf_Raider-Jianne_Carlo-200x320One of the coolest aspects of being an author is creating your characters. I love, love giving my heroes and heroines traits that I can only dream about – like being tall. I’m short, as in almost midget short. So, I love to give my gals mile high Rockette legs. And I’ve got boobs, as in humongous breasts. Let’s just say that men talk to my mounds constantly.  So, for the heroine of my latest romance, Lizzie, she’s an amalgam-mile high legs and big boobs. But, she’s a cut-throat lawyer  who knees men in the balls on a regular basis.

Here’s a quick peek at Wolf Raider, book #4 in my White Wolf Pack Series:


Chad sought to allay Lizzie’s anxiety. “I followed you to Decadence.”

“What?” Brows yanking in surprise, she gaped at him. Squinched her eyes closed and mumbled, “No. No.”

Dismay lanced her fervent plea.

His lips twitched, but he knew her temper would explode if she caught him smiling.

“Strange. You thought nothing of going to a BDSM club with the rest of the team. Yet, me being there at the same time makes you blush.”

Before that moment, he would’ve sworn that an entire body couldn’t blush.

“I don’t blush.” She tossed her head and strands of silky hair slid like quicksilver over his forearm somehow igniting his groin.

“True. If I’m not around. But, when I’m with you, you blush like a teenager.” He grinned when the color in her cheeks deepened. Unable to resist the siren temptation of her tousled blue-black curls, he played with the ringlets arranging a few thick strands around the undersides of her breast.

She hissed, her stare fixed to his fingers playing with her tits and hair. “How…how did you find out? That we were going to Decadence?”

He chuckled. “Come on. You know better than that. I know everything that happens with my team. I installed keyboard trackers on your laptops. You were absolutely correct to yell at Dave for emailing the directions to the club to your work address.”

“Keyboard trackers?” she barked, lobbing death-blow daggers at him.

“I protect mine own. You’re mine, Lizzie.” He plucked her rosy nipples, smiling in pure alpha satisfaction when the buds engorged into stiff peaks.

She wriggled her hips and thrust her chest upward.

“You were riveted to that Shibari scene with the Dom. But, you didn’t like it when he blindfolded the female.”

Her eyes had gone so wide all the corner crinkles stretched out. He followed the rapid rise and fall of her ribs and breathed in the musk threading through her fragrance pleased by her swift, passionate arousal.

“Oh.” The one breathy word filled with dawning comprehension.

“Exactly. You’re at my mercy, which is where you’ve always yearned to be. Isn’t that right? Have you fantasized about us together like this?”


Hopefully that excerpt drop-kicked you into next week!

Have a merry Monday!


Hot and Heavy with Wolf Raider!

Wolf_Raider-Jianne_Carlo-200x320OMG, I just got the cover for Wolf Raider, #4 in my White Wolf Pack series! Is this not totally scrumptious?

Normally, I’m not a fan of facial hair on my men, but I looove the sexy mush and goatee. He looks so scruffy and lickable. And he’s the epitome of ‘Chainsaw Chad’ MacTire, my’Wolf Raider’ hero!

So, it simply segues into a tantalizing excerpt from Chad and Lizzie’s tale.

Excerpt from Wolf Raider:


Blizzard conditions—check.

Transportation impossible—check.

Being ‘forced’’ to spend the night at Chad MacTire’s condo—check.

“My sister keeps a few clothes here.”

The object of Lizzie White’s sexual fantasies for the last five months raked her from tilted beret to BDSM-style boots. Her breasts sizzled under his searing stare. She prayed her feverish desire and frazzled nerves didn’t show, and clamped her mouth shut.

“She’s shorter than you.”

Near hypnotized by Chad’s mesmerizing eyes, the color of wet slate, his words didn’t register for a three-second delay. Even when her brain translated the meaning of his last couple of sentences, her vocal cords refused to activate. She should murmur some polite inanity. But, the enormity of what she was about to do fried any semblance of rationality left in her singed gray matter.

“And not as full-figured.” His Texan drawl punched a lingering note of carnality into the remark. Ebony lashes, too thick and lush, for any male, dropped when his gaze skimmed the twin mounds of her breasts straining her shirt.

No amount of willing her blood to cool worked. Her nipples budded and she went wet down there. Sweat coated her nape and her grip on the laptop case white-knuckled.

“It’d probably be better if I loaned you one of my sweats and a T-shirt. They’ll be big, but that’s better than wearing too tight clothes.”

The devil had it in for her.

Chad’s sweats abrading her pussy. The material that gloved his cock riding her clit. Cat on a hot tin roof had nothing on the sexual tension driving Lizzie. “Thanks, but not necessary, I sleep in the altogether. I am sorry to put you to such an inconvenience, however.”

Lie number one—she wasn’t sorry at all.

Had Mr. Stoic actually blinked at her I-sleep-naked declaration?

A hint of a smile teased the corners of a mouth Jared Leto would envy. Chad’s sexy lips and those mesmerizing granite irises such a total disconnect from a jaw so square and sculpted she doubted steel fists could dent his flesh.

How did a man whose nose had to have been broken at least twice and whose features epitomized Mafioso toughness own a full head of inky curls? In certain instances, his profile reminded her of Lord Byron, the famous Regency poet.

Lizzie stifled a snort.

Chad MacTire was so not the poet type.

Known as ‘Chainsaw Chad’ by his hapless victims, for way he dissected conglomerates, and ‘the Wolf Raider’ by his media admirers because his Irish Gaelic last name translated to wolf, Chad had not a gram of romance in him.

“It’s not as if you caused the worst weather conditions in the last century of Chicago weather.” As usual, his smile didn’t quite reflect in those impenetrable silver-rimmed eyes.

She repressed a smug smirk.

Of course, he’d never in this universe believe she’d caused the blizzard deliberately.

But, she had.

It formed the focal point of her scheme to seduce him.

Lizzie couldn’t wait for him to see her without the glasses and the dowdy clothes she normally wore. As it was, the BDSM-style boots had had him flummoxed from the second she’d stepped into his condo. The thrill of that small victory, when he’d done a double take after she unbuttoned her coat, still flared beneath her ribcage.

“The snow’s so wet I wouldn’t be surprised if we lost power soon.”


Hot screwing happened in blackouts.


Hope that made your Monday marvelous!!



Start The Week Hungry!

Prymal Hunger’s up and running at Amazon!!! Yay – Snoopy Happy Dance!!!

Save 20% by pre-ordering Prymal Hunger ! Click on the link below:


Kydd Kolton leads a charmed life. A Rogue wolf and retired UWF fighter, he parlays his toned bod and surfer good looks into a wildly successful acting career. Rich, famous, handsomer than sin, Kydd’s never had to lift more than a pinky or a perfect brow to snare a woman until he meets Helle.

Helle snares the dream job to launch her Hollywood ambitions—she’s Kydd Kolton’s new personal assistant. After her recent horrifying kidnapping by a sexual predator, the mere notion of desire repulses her. The last thing she expects is her explosive attraction to Kydd. When Kydd tells her he’s a shifter, she’s certain he’s lost his marbles.

Then he shows her his wolf.

And the secret she’s kept for her entire life unravels, tumbling Helle and Kydd into murder and mayhem. Can she trust Kydd to keep her safe?


Helle Francis Rivers froze.

Her lungs went on total shutdown and her oxygen-deprived brain reeled with an intoxicating giddiness.

She couldn’t haul her gaze away from Kydd Kolton’s mesmerizing eyes, one moment the breath taking blue of the azure California sky, the next a turquoise sparkling with emerald facets.

No human being should be so gorgeous.

Kydd Kolton was even more beautiful in person than onscreen. The straight, shoulder-length blond hair, those incredible turquoise eyes, and the way they actually twinkled when he flashed her the baddest-bad-boy grin on the planet.

A thunderstorm of déjà vu frazzled her gray matter. An overwhelming awareness of him swamped her. Helle felt like she’d known him for an eternity. She recognized his distinct scent, a mixture of leather, grass and wind, comfort, and spiraling excitement.

Why did he smell so familiar, so right? So frigging sexy.

She clenched her vaginal walls hoping to stem the creamy rivulets now tickling her panties. This could not be happening. No man had ever turned her on.

Not once had she ever experienced desire.



How many times had she Googled the symptoms? Mentally evaluated them while kissing or being caressed? Not once in her life had her sex ever creamed. Except for that hint of moisture while she’d been on the phone with Kydd Kolton first thing this morning.

No. No. No.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

She did not, could not, want to jump Kydd Kolton’s bones.

All at once, an image of Kydd and her naked on a beach with foamy waves lapping at their joined bodies sucked away what was left of her rationality. The fine sand molded and sank when he drove his cock into her.


Helle stiffened to repress an all-over body shudder.

Was she actually fantasizing?

“And who’s this?”

The scratch-on-a-blackboard voice jerked Helle out of her sensual daze. The contempt-laced question came from a mouth of plumped and painted perfection. The face belonging to those luscious lips held not a hint of a flaw. The traffic-stopping body attached to Ms. Perfect’s countenance flared plumes of envy and instant dislike within Helle.


What a fool she was.

How could she imagine Kydd Kolton desired her when Ms. Perfection was draped all over him?

For a second, Helle’s gaze touched down on the blonde’s G-cup breasts. She choked back a howl of frustration. As if Kydd Kolton would deign to examine her almost non-existent A tits.

She had imagined his reaction.


For Helle knew without a morsel of doubt no man could ever want her. Not a woman with her morbid secrets. Secrets so dank, so vile it had driven Josiah to his death.


Why did she have to think of Josiah now?


Now ain’t that a great way to start the week???


Merry Monday everyone!



Is Romance Enough?

A strange title for a blog post written by a romance author, right?

You bet.

Why even ask the question?

Because after eight years of writing, I’ve learned that romance isn’t enough for me when writing a tale. If there isn’t a mystery to solve along with the romance, I’m totally bored. So, every single one of my books has some sort of puzzle to solve.

Soul_Deep-Jianne_Carlo-200x320It was only when I first started spinning the White Wolf Pack stories that I realized how thoroughly I enjoyed having a murder/mystery to solve. Soul Deep, the first story in the series, sets the tone for the rest of the books.

My Alpha, Book#2, continues in the same vein. My Alpha chronicles the hot romance between Joe and Susie during the frenetic hunt for a pedophile and serial killer.

It wasn’t an easy tale to write because of the subject matter, and, since I wanted to inject humor into what is a morally deplorable topic, even more difficult to strike a balance between funerals and laughter. For those of you who’ve had loved ones leave, you know that the first time you laugh after death, guilt is all consuming. How can you smile when the one you love’s no longer there to share the joy?

My_Alpha-Jianne_Carlo-200x320Here’s an excerpt from My Alpha that explores this conumdrum:

In this scene, Joe’s best friend and his wife, (Kieran and Barb) are burying their only son, Petey, and Joe’s been asked to read W H Auden’s most moving poem, Funeral Blues.


The pastor opened the proceedings.

Kieran’s father delivered the eulogy. The only dry eyes in the house after his moving speech were Kieran’s.

Joe let the tears stream unchecked. Susie nudged him. It was time for his reading.

He hated public speaking worse than he hated crying.

Joe trudged to the podium.

Closing his eyes because he knew if his gaze met Barb’s or Kieran’s, he was done for, Joe said, “Barb asked me to do this reading. It’s a poem by W. H. Auden and is titled, ‘Funeral Blues.’ There have never been words more fitting.”

He took a deep breath then began to recite. “Stop all the clocks…”

His voice faltered when he heard the rustle of the mourners. Clenching his fists, he managed to croak out the rest of the verse, but had to swallow a few times after delivering the terrible line. “Scribbling in the sky the message: he is dead!”

The memory of Petey’s gap-toothed grin made his throat clog. He gritted his teeth and doggedly continued. “He was my north, my south, my east and west, my working week and Sunday rest.”

Barb sobbed aloud, a cry of anguish that sliced his heart in two, and he met her stare. Her cheeks were wet and glistening and she had bitten her lips raw, but she jerked her chin at him, demanding he continue.

“I thought love would last forever; I was wrong—”

His vocal chords refused to function and he just stood there holding Barb’s gaze for what seemed like an eternity.

All of a sudden Susie was right beside him. She grasped his hand with both of hers and squeezed.

Knowing he had to finish the whole poem for Barb’s sake, Joe concentrated on her and blocked out everyone else. “Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. For nothing now can come to any good.”


If you haven’t read this moving poem, you should. I’ve found it comforting in my hours of grieving for a lost, loved one. Here’s a link to the entire Funeral Blues:

Having a morose Monday today, but wishing you a marvelous one instead.



Mother’s Day!

mothers dayIn South Florida, summer usually starts in April. That’s when we see the end of our low humidity and perfect breezy 70 degree weather and the start of our oppressing, sticky summer days. This year was extraordinary in that as of yesterday—Mother’s Day, no less—we woke up to 60 degree weather and the most amazing perfect day weather-wise!

But, of course, what makes Mother’s Day isn’t the weather—it’s having your loved ones around. My mom, who lives in Trinidad, managed to be here (ostensibly for a medical checkup), along with two of my three sons. We had a lovely brunch in Delray Beach at Max’s Harvest, and a great grilled steak dinner later on.

Somewhere along the way, I realized that I’ve never written a Mother’s Day into a story. Hmmm. Now, of course, I have to find a way to make the holiday a crucial part of a plot line. It’s too late for my current work-in-progress—Wolf Raider. And I can’t, for obvious reasons, inject the day into my current Viking tale, Wùlfe.

Therefore the challenge falls to my new contemporary series, Sanctuary, and book one—Seathe. Seathe’ s tale is a fast-paced (think breathless) romantic suspense set in the Caribbean. Genie’s BFF (Genie’s the heroine) is nine months pregnant when the story begins.

Think it’s too cheesey to have her birth her baby on Mother’s Day???

What’s your opinion?

Have a marvelous Monday!



Soul Deep Blog Tour April 18-29 – Win A Kindle plus more Prizes!


To celebrate my latest release, SOUL DEEP, White Wolf #1, I’m hopping on a blog tour. Here’s the dish:

Tour Prizes

$15 Amazon Gift Card

5 eCopies Soul Deep

Download two of my other ebooks FREE

Sinner-Jianne_Carlo-200x320                                                 Prymal_Lust-Jianne_Carlo-200x320           

Tour Schedule

soul deep sched
It’s a Rafflecopter Giveaway, so no need to leave a comment (I’d love it if you did though).

In ADDITION, checkout my AMAZON KINDLE GIVEAWAY and you can win a FREE KINDLE!

Here’s the link: