Dear Reader,

Dear Reader,

2010 has started with a bang! Along with three new contracts from my publishers (for more dragon paranormals, more Harlequin Superromances and a young adult paranormal), my December Superromance, The Christmas Present, has been nominated for a Rita award (the Academy Awards of romance novels) and I couldn’t be happier. That book is one of my favorites and one I waited a long time to be able to write.

But I’m writing today to talk about my brand new erotic suspense, Tease Me, which is another one of my favorites and a follow up to last year’s Tie Me Down. The story of Lacey and Byron, two characters who love to play games even as they search New Orleans for the brutal truth regarding a human trafficking ring, it’s garnering great reviews—including 4 ½ stars, Top Pick from Romantic Times Magazine! Here’s the quick blurb:

The “edgy and erotic” (Shannon McKenna, New York Times bestselling author of Tasting Fear) author of Tie Me Down and Full Exposure offers another steamy novel of sex, lies, and sultry games. Burned once too often, true crime writer Lacey Richards has sworn off love. Instead, she explores her deepest desires through her anonymous- and very provocative-blog. Anonymous, that is, until her dark and ultrasexy neighbor discovers her dirty secret.

Stockbrocker-turned-carpenter Byron Hawthorne gave up life in the fast lane, hoping to start over in a new city. When he learns his alluring neighbor is the one writing the sizzling blog that keeps him up all night, he can’t resist offering to fulfill her fantasies in the flesh. But Byron isn’t the only man provoked by Lacey’s writing. Now Lacey doesn’t know who she can trust-and who she can dare to tease.

There’s a quick excerpt down below. I’d love if you stopped by my website or blog and dropped me a quick note—along with entering me new contest. Other than that, things are going fine—just incredibly busy. I’ve written four books so far this year and have five more to go, all of which means 2011 is going to be a crazy busy year for releases.

On the home front, my three boys are pulling me in all different directions—football, baseball, violin, guitar, swimming, Tae Kwon Do, art lessons, choir … the list goes on and on, as I’m sure it does for you as well. My husband is traveling a lot—the mantra this month is four continents in four months—which always makes things just a little more exciting around the house. But my classes are going well—I have a wonderful bunch of students this semester and I’m really enjoying them.

Thanks so much for taking the time to catch up with me. I really appreciate you letting me into your lives and your in-boxes. Have a wonderful spring and I’ll see you in July, when my first dragon book, Dark Embers, releases!


Tracy Wolff

Excerpt from Tease Me

© Tracy Wolff

“Sultry, sexy and with a couple whose chemistry leaps off the pages, Tracy Wolff’s Tease Me is a book you shouldn’t miss!” National Bestselling author Lauren Dane

Hours later, they were still searching, but this time at Byron’s apartment and on his very fast, wholly tricked-out computer. When she’d been poring over the evidence files she’d managed to finagle from the NOPD, she’d found strings of numbers the police had done nothing with during their investigation. She’d been determined to find out what they meant, but hadn’t had a clue where to start.

When she’d showed them to Byron, he’d poked around a little and proclaimed them bank account numbers. Which is why they were now sitting here with his friend, Mike—a tall, beautiful, African-American man who ran a computer-security firm—as the two men tried to unravel the miles of security codes built into the banking sites they’d traced the numbers to. Curses were flying left and right as they tried to hack the network.

“Come on, you son of a bitch,” Mike muttered through clenched teeth as his fingers flew over the keyboard. “Let me in.”

“No, don’t go there. Check out that piece of code down—”

“I’ve got it.” More typing. “Now, let’s see what this baby can really do.”

Lacey watched them in bemused silence, shocked at just how much enjoyment the two of them were getting out of pitting themselves against a security program. When Byron had first mentioned bringing Mike in, she’d been more than a little leery—after all, the last person she’d talked to about the case had ended up dead, and she couldn’t handle it if someone else died while trying to help her.

But Byron had been insistent. Mike was the best of the best, a retired superhacker who now made his living keeping others out of places he’d spent years breaking in to. If anyone could find a back way through the security and find out who the accounts belonged to, it would be Mike.

He’d been right. They were making progress—already they’d identified two of the feeder bank accounts as belonging to a U.S. senator who had professed to be “the moral choice” in the election he had just won, as well as a high-placed Washington lobbyist. And from the amount of money flowing into their accounts, it looked like they were actually involved in the ring somehow. Besides regular monthly deposits in the tens of thousands, each also had a few large deposits of over a hundred thousand dollars—a well as a couple of big withdrawals.

She couldn’t help wondering if those big additions and subtractions had more to do with the buying and selling of sex slaves to rich perverts than it did with the thousand-dollar-a-night fees Crescent City Escort Service charged.

As she took notes on how to follow up, Lacey’s stomach was in knots. God only knew what else they were going to find before this was done. But she knew whatever it was, was all bad. And she’d brought Byron—and now Mike—more trouble than she’d originally imagined possible.

Besides, what was she going to do with this information when she eventually got it? Write a book, obviously, but the stuff they were talking about was really heavy, criminal stuff. She needed to find out who to call, who to report this to. Right now, all she knew was that it needed to be someone not from New Orleans or Louisiana or D.C. Someone who wasn’t involved.

Because, as things were unraveling, it was becoming more and more apparent that she’d been right about the human-trafficking ring, right about the sex slavery. She’d been going through the pictures from the strip club one at a time, trying to match them to the photos she had of the girls who had been reported missing from Canada and Mexico.

She’d found three so far besides Anne Marie, all from Canada—Beth Coulter from Toronto, Michelle Donovan from Windsor and Stacy LaRue from Quebec—but she knew she’d find more. These bastards had been doing this for a while—definitely since Katrina, but maybe before it. And with a lot more girls than the fifteen she’d managed to track; there were probably hundreds, maybe thousands, of girls they’d managed to kidnap in the past four years. The fifteen who had turned up dead were their failed experiments—girls who, for whatever reason, had been more trouble than they were worth.

Girls who were easier to eliminate than sell.

Her stomach turned as she tried to puzzle things out. At one point she’d run out to the nearest drugstore and bought a map of the U.S., and had begun to map out places and times and dates the girls were taken, followed by the times and dates their bodies had been found in and around New Orleans.

For a brief moment, she’d played with the idea of taking this to the FBI and praying that she got an agent who wasn’t on the take. But when Byron traced one of the bank account numbers to the NOPD police commissioner, she gave up. There was just no way to know who was involved with what—not right now anyway, and maybe not ever.

From what she could see, the only other option they had was the press, and she was prepared to take that option if she had to. But before she went to them, all her ducks had to be in a row, and she had to be able to lay them all out—with evidence. Otherwise, she and Byron and even Mike would be the ones to pay the price.

The idea that these girls were being triply victimized—first by the bastards who took them and sold them, second by the men who paid for them and third by the system that allowed it to go on—was infuriating, maddening, so awful she could barely wrap her mind around it.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Mike called a dinner break around eleven, and the three of them stood around Byron’s kitchen island, eating roast-beef sandwiches and talking about anything but what they’d spent the entire day doing. The reality was too disturbing, too disgusting, but as they looked at each other, there didn’t seem to be much else to say. What did a baseball score mean when weighed against the agonies these girls had suffered?

Soon after midnight, Mike left, promising to come back the next day after work. Lacey had planned to work after he left, but as the door shut behind him, she dissolved into hopeless tears.

“Lacey, baby,” Byron pulled her into his arms, onto his lap, and rocked her much like he would a child. She felt so small in his hands, so fragile, and he wanted nothing more than to take her pain away. Yet that was impossible; she was crying like her whole world was crashing in on her and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

He wanted to say something, anything, to take her pain away. But how could he? He was sick—sick at heart, sick to his stomach, sick in every way possible at what they were finding. He could only imagine how much worse it would be for Lacey, whose job it was to crawl into the gutter with these monsters and make some sense out of what they were doing.

In the end, he didn’t say anything at all. Just held her while she sobbed like her heart was breaking, then took her into the shower and held her while she cried some more. Finally, he put her to bed. She’d clutched at him, begging him to climb in beside her. Which he did—then held her as she slept. But he stayed awake, watching over her, counting down the hours until daylight. Trying to figure out how the hell he was going to make this okay for her.

As night bled slowly into dawn, he was as miserable as she had been. Because he had no new ideas—no ideas at all—that might somehow help Lacey fix what was going on down here. At least, not without getting her killed.

He was a failure, just like his father so often told him. Because it didn’t really matter what he was good at if he couldn’t do the one thing he needed to do above all else: keep his woman safe.

Amazon Barnes & Noble Books-A-Million


Tracy's got a special contest for NewsWire readers! Just visit her website and find the answer to the following question -

As many of my readers know, I went to graduate school in New Orleans and it is still one of my favorite places to visit. What’s one of your favorite vacation spots?

Send your answer to and be sure to mark the heading as Tease Me. Please also include your full name and mailing address.

Three winners will be picked and each will receive a copy of Tracy's RITA nominated Harlequin Superromance, The Christmas Present.

Contest deadline is April 28th, 2010.

Good luck!

Designed by
We'd love to know what you think of this newsletter. Please email us with your comments!
Not a subscriber? Sign up here! Join us on Facebook & Twitter