March 2010
Dear Friends,

I’m absolutely thrilled to announce the April 6, 2010 release of my newest novel, Tease Me.  An erotic suspense set in the gritty world of New Orleans’s underground, it features a strong and sexy hero and a kickass heroine, who won’t let anything stand in her way of finding out the truth about what is happening to girls who are disappearing from their homes and college campuses across the continent.  Add in the fact that it’s been getting great reviews and I couldn’t be happier.  Check out the excerpt I’ve included below.

In other news, I just got the word that I’ve received my first RITA nomination from Romance Writers of America!!!  My December Superromance, The Christmas Present, is nominated in the Contemporary Series Suspense/Adventure category, and to say that I’m thrilled is an understatement. :)

Also, my first dragon shapeshifter romance, Dark Embers, comes out in July.  It’s the first in the Dragon’s Heat series and I’m writing it under the name Tessa Adams. I hope you’ll pick it up—it was great fun to write and has a hero that I’m half in love with myself.  I also have my next Harlequin Superromance, Beginning with Their Baby, coming out in July, which is a follow-up story to From Friend to Father, my June 2009 Superromance.

I’m also running a contest with Shayla Black through April 7th on my blog, We’re giving away great books every day and on April 7th we’ll give away the grand prize, an iPod touch! And don’t forget to stop by my brand new website at and tell me what you think—I’ve got a contest running there as well.

Happy Spring, everyone!

Tease Me Excerpt

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.

“This darkly dangerous tale transports readers into a world of sensual delight."
~ 4 ½ stars, Top Pick from Romantic Times

“Grab some ice romance lovers because TEASE ME by Tracy Wolff is scorching hot!”
~ 5 Blue Ribbons from Romance Junkies

“Drama, action, seduction, intrigue, romance and sexy hot scenes with strong and needy characters. A great read!”
~ Fresh Fiction

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

I went to grad school in New Orleans for three years, and while I was there I discovered all kinds of wonderful dishes I had never had before.  One of my favorites—whether for comfort food, a late night study snack or to celebrate, was Brennan’s Bananas Foster.  I’ve listed the recipe below and hope you’ll give it a try.  It’s absolutely delicious!

Brennan's Bananas Foster

- 1/4 cup (1/2 stick) butter
- 1 cup brown sugar
- 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
- 1/4 cup banana liqueur
- 4 bananas, cut in half lengthwise, then halved
- 1/4 cup dark rum
- 4 scoops vanilla ice cream

  • Combine the butter, sugar, and cinnamon in a flambé pan or skillet.
  • Place the pan over low heat either on an alcohol burner or on top of the stove, and cook, stirring, until the sugar dissolves.
  • Stir in the banana liqueur, then place the bananas in the pan.
  • When the banana sections soften and begin to brown, carefully add the rum.
  • Continue to cook the sauce until the rum is hot, then tip the pan slightly to ignite the rum.
  • When the flames subside, lift the bananas out of the pan and place four pieces over each portion of ice cream.
  • Generously spoon warm sauce over the top of the ice cream and serve immediately.

And once again, as a special treat just for being a loyal reader and subscribing to my newsletter, I'm hosting a separate contest just for you! Just send an email to with your full name and mailing address. Please be sure to mark the heading as Wolff-March2010. Two winners will each receive a $10 gift card from Starbucks and a copy of my novel, From Friend To Father! Winners will be contacted shortly after April 20th, 2010.


Tracy Wolff

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