Emma Lai Writes

Prima Ranieri, heroine of Surrender to Honor by Jannine Corti-Petska

2012-01-27T05:00:00.000-06:00

Please introduce yourself, Ms. Ranieri.

“I am Prima Ranieri from Palermo.”

Society labels you as unconventional. Why?

Primastared at the terribly thin woman. No doubt her false blonde hair weighed morethan she. “Unconventional?”

“Different.”

“Whydid you not say so?” She frowned. “I am not like other women. I wear armor whennecessary, and I handle a bow and arrow better than most men. The sword is alsomy weapon, but in battle the bow and arrow is the first I would choose.

You certainly are unconventional. Have you ever wanted to fit in?

“Fitin where?” Surely the woman didn’t mean the time she got stuck in a narrowwindow just before her marriage to Antonio?

“Beaccepted by others.”

“No.”Prima looked around the grassy field, a forest of trees nearby. There wereclose to100 men on horseback, their clothes an oddity. She glanced at poles andthe metal boxes atop them, wondering how they balanced. And what were all thoseblack, squiggly things on the ground?

Theinterviewer followed her line of vision. “Those are wires. They sendelectricity to the cameras.”

Faith,did she read her mind? Prima shrugged off the woman’s comment and drew a deepbreath. “I care not if I am accepted by others. My husband, his men and theentire household accept me as I am.” They had no choice.

Who is your role model and why?

“Che cosa role model?”

“I’massuming you’re asking for a meaning?”

Primanodded, all the while thinking the woman had lost control of her mind.

“Wasthere anyone who you wished to be—”

“Ido not wish to be anyone. I am Prima.” She dug her fingertips into the wood armrests.

“Wasthere anyone you admired?”

Prima’sbrows rose in question as her frustration mounted. “I know not what you mean.”

“Nevermind. We’ll skip that question.”

If you could do anything without concern for consequences, whatwould it be?

“Thanksbe to God Antonio is not here to answer that question. It is my nature not tothink before I act upon my desires. At first, my husband did not understand myneed to train with weapons.” Like the time her husband’s close friend Nando gotin trouble because she wanted to train with her sword and none of Antonio’s menwould oblige. So Nando stepped in. Antonio caught them touching swords. “Thereis naught anyone can do about my quick reactions.”

Is your husband as unconven— ah, different as you?

“Mayhap.He does not cherish carrying a weapon. I have saved his hide many a time. Hisfool notion that words not weapons settles a fight does not go well for him.”

Have you dark desires you'd like to share?

“Ido,” a male voice responded.

Primaglared at a grinning Antonio. “What are you doing here?”

“Imissed my beautiful wife.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek.

Sheflushed. “Were you not taking the children to the puppet show?”

Hisdark eyes delved deep into her senses. He had that look of a man needing carnalpleasure. Pray he didn’t give in to his desires before they returned home.

Reclaimingher senses, Prima told him bluntly, “She is not interested in your darkdesires. And she oft speaks in a different language, so take care with what yousay.” One glance at the woman, and Prima wanted to rip the ogling harlot’s eyesout. “I believe she has conjured up your dark desires.”

Antonioslid his gaze to the stranger, his smile seducing. She hated when he did that.He could charm the leggings off a stout knight. And the woman… Prima fumed ather flirtatious behavior. She dabbed at her brow then unbuttoned her shirt andfanned herself.

“Yourquestions are over,” Prima announced.

Tearingher gaze away from Antonio, the woman pulled herself together. “Just one morething.”

Please provide a bit of your story that showcases you at yourbest.

“Tellher about how you welcomed me back to Palermo,” Antonio suggested.

Thetwinkle in his eyes disturbed Prima. She’d think he wouldn’t want to tellanother of that particular incident.

Shenodded. “He was atop his horse on a hill overlooking a funeral procession…….”

Antonio squeezed his eyes closed against the roiling memories,but he couldn’t ignore the depressing tone of the mourners. The combined din ofthe old woman’s wails, the creaking and clanking of the cart, the murmur ofgrieving voices—all collided in his head with forceful commotion. As he grippedthe reins, eager to escape the noise, a high-pitched war cry rent the air, andsomething struck his horse’s flank.

Shocked, Antonio gaped at the small warrior clinging to hissaddle, struggling to climb astride. He turned his horse in a tight circle andattempted to shake off his attacker, but the man clung like a dog to a juicybone. Antonio gripped the horse’s barrel as the soldier gained leverage andcaught him off guard with the flat side of a broadsword. Antonio tumbled to theground. The little bastard stood between his spread thighs, one booted foot onhis manhood. The sword’s sharp point poked the hollow of his throat.

“Identify yourself,” the soldier commanded.

“I have no quarrel with you.”

“Be you Massaro or Falcone?”

“Mayhap I am neither.”

“Mayhap Ishould run my blade through your throat and see what color blood pours fromyour veins.”

The soldier pressed on Antonio’s groin, and he sucked in hisbreath. “I have recently come to Palermo and have had little time to acquireenemies. If you will explain your reason for attacking me, I may better explainmy intentions upon this land you guard with your life.”

“I guard against the horrible misdeeds of the familiesMassaro and Falcone. Were you called upon by either?”

Antonio’s eyes darted over the youth. There was no bulk tohim, neither was his voice that of a grown man. He sounded as if he purposelydeepened his voice. It mattered not, though. At the moment, the lad held theadvantage, and another move of his small boot spread painful pressure throughAntonio’s veins.

“No,” he rasped.

“Cooperate, stranger, or you shall not live to see the sunset.”

“Thank you for your time,” the woman said, but her eyes wereundressing Antonio.

Prima yanked on his shirt sleeve and pulled him away fromthe lecherous woman, else Prima would be forced to demonstrate her expertisewith a sword. Her husband gripped her wrist and brought her into him, trappingher in his embrace. Her exasperation with his outward display of affectionboiled up her chest.

“Not here,” she scolded him.

“Then we best get home soon.”

“Can you not control yourself?” She pulled out of his armsand started off. “I cannot believe I married a man whose lust knows no bounds.”

He caught up to her. “I have never heard you complain.”

It was true. How could she fault him when she was just ashot to share his bed. She picked up speed. “Then we best get home soon.”

Jaines Cord from Dark Vow by Shona Husk

2012-01-25T05:00:00.000-06:00

Please welcome Jaines Cord. Mrs. Cord please share a little bit about yourself.

I’m an apprentice gunsmith, or was, now I’m on aquest to catch and kill the Arcane Union Bounty Hunter who murdered my husband.Not an easy thing when the Arcane are immune to bullets. But I won’t let himget away with it. I swore a vow over my husband’s pyre and I’ll keep it or dietrying.

Do you consider yourself unconventional, oris that just a label society sticks on you?

Most women wouldn’t be working in a gunsmithy,or even learning a trade since women can’t get papers from the Unions. While Inever thought anything of it, most folk do think I’m a little odd. But I likethe work, and I like to have busy hands. I grew up in father’s smithy andworking with my husband was nice. Besides it was our life and we didn’t carewhat others thought.

Do you embrace your uniqueness, or have youalways just wanted to fit in?

There was a time when I’d have liked to fit in,to be pretty and be able to flutter my eyelashes at a boy have them kiss myhand. But I always knew it wouldn’t last. I have scars on my belly and shoulderwhere a bastard-horse started feeding on me when I was five. Most men preferwomen who aren’t that scarred and who can make babies. Lance, my husband, nevercared. After marrying him I never cared what other’s thought.

Who is your role model and why?

I don’t remember my mother, so probably myfather. He raised all of us kids, myself and four older brothers, after herdeath and all without complaining. Plus he ran his own smithy. He just got onwith what needed doing, putting his faith that the Lords would take care of everything.

If you could do anything without concern forconsequences, what would it be?

Take down the Arcane Union. They are corrupt,deceitful and care about nothing but their own power. I know that’s blasphemousbut of all the ten Unions ruled by the ten Lords they are the only one thatwill kill to protect the secrets they keep. They are the only Union thatdoesn’t let people chose. You’re either born with magic or you aren’t. If youhave magic the Arcane Union will find you and claim you. Lords help you if youare female.

Is your ideal man as unconventional as you,or are you even looking for Mr. Right?

Mr Right? Oh, the right man to spend your dayswith. I thought I’d found Mr. Right with my husband, and after his death Ididn’t expect to find love again. I didn’t think I’d be able to breathe again.But I learned some things about him, and me, whichchanged my perspective on love and what I wanted from a man. My new man,Obsidian, is unconventional, some would say dangerous given that he refuses togo back to the Arcane Union. But after what they did to him I don’t blame himand I’ll stand by his side any day of the ten-night…even if we can’t marry inthe Decihall.

Any other dark desires or juicy details you'dlike to share?

The secrets I keep could get people killed.

Please provide a bit of your story thatshowcases you at your best.

I think my first meeting with Obsidian is prettymemorable:

Usually I didn’t accept drinks fromstrange men, but this one had hinted at information I wanted, so I followed himto the corner table and sat down. The chair rocked, its legs skewed like it hadbeen swung at—and connected with—too many heads. The man sat opposite me, oneglass in each hand. He pushed one over to me then took a gulp from the one wedgedin the grip of his black hand. His golden eyes, though glassy, never left me.

I pulled out another tinny. This wasturning out to be a very expensive tavern; no doubt I was receiving the specialvisitor prices. “I don’t pay in trade.”

His lips twisted in a cruel smile.“Didn’t expect you to. Not even hale-bale whores take coin from me on accountof this.” He gave the fake hand a jiggle without spilling a drop of liquor.“Might be contagious.”

Cold settled in my gut. It was hisreal hand. I eyed the black skin cautiously. Every detail was perfect—thejoints, the nails, the pores. Some kind of magical disease had stolen his hand.

“Is it?”

“No.” He took a drink, and his gazesharpened beneath his dark eyebrows. He wasn’t as drunk as he appeared. “Whyare you hunting your husband’s killer?”

“He killed my husband.” Wasn’t thatreason good enough?

He shook his head. “I got that, butonly simpletons or the insane step in front of a Bounty Hunter. You don’t looklike either.”

“Mayhap I want to thank him.” Irolled the glass of bizum between my palms, the golden liquid clinging to thesides. Almost the same shade as the man’s eyes.

“I don’t think so. I never heard ofanyone thanking a Bounty Hunter.” He downed the last of his drink. “What makesyou think you can kill him?”

“I can shoot a man’s eye at sixtypaces.”

“Ah, so they aren’t for decoration.”His eyes glinted like sunlight on a pond. He was enjoying pulling my strings.

I wasn’t. I’d misjudged, and he knewnothing. “Did a Bounty Hunter come through here?”

With his good hand he pulled theempty glass free. “You drinking that?”

I shook my head. He put my drinkinto his black hand.

“Why did you bring me over here ifyou’ve got nothing to say?”

“Company of a pretty lady.” He saidloud enough for everyone to hear. He raised his glass and tipped his head. Thenhe lowered his voice to something just above a sigh carried on the breeze.“Taverns have rats. Rats like gold, and they always find an open purse. The manyou hunt will find you out. Then you will be the hunted. Not a game you want toplay.”

“How would you know?”

He swallowed the drink he’d boughtfor me in one gulp then stood and shook his head, as if clearing the bees frombetween his ears. “Because of this.” He tapped his black hand.

“What’s your name?” I was sure heknew something. He just didn’t want to talk here.

“Obsidian. On account of…” He tappedthe hand again. It didn’t sound hollow, more like a weight that had to bedragged around.

“How shall I find you?” If he knewanything about the Bounty Hunter, I was determined to get it out of him.

He raised his dark eyebrows. “Youdon’t. I have more than enough problems, and I don’t need yours.” Obsidianwandered back to the counter and picked up a battered black hat. He walked outwithout looking back.

If he had a tab, he was local. Healso had a magical injury and knew more about Bounty Hunters than he wastelling.

Meet the Author Monday - Lucy Felthouse

2012-01-23T05:00:00.000-06:00

Lucy is a graduate of the University of Derby,where she studied Creative Writing. During her first year, she was dared towrite an erotic story - so she did. It went down a storm and she's never lookedback. Lucy has had stories published by Cleis Press, Constable and Robinson,House of Erotica, Noble Romance, Ravenous Romance, Resplendence Publishing,Summerhouse Publishing, Sweetmeats Press and Xcite Books. She is also theeditor of Uniform Behaviour and Seducing the Myth. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Joinher on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletterat: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

Why do you write the stories you write?

Some are in response to calls for submissions.Others are ones that just pop into my head and pester me until I write themdown. I don't tend to worry too much about where stories are going, I justwrite while I'm in the mood and figure everything else out later.

What are your writing goals for this year?

One is to submit a novella to a publisher I'vewanted to work with for a while. The second one is to write (and hopefully getpublished) a sequel to one of my short stories, Bite with Height. It's a paranormal lesbian romance and is mybest-selling, and also my favourite release. There's also much more of thecharacters' story to tell, which is why I'm planning to devote a whole novel tothem J

Do you have any releases scheduled for thisyear?

So far, I have three confirmed standalonereleases. One is a BDSM mini-anthology from House of Erotica, called Punish Me Good, which is due this month.The Cottage in the Woods is a lesbianshapeshifter romance coming from Resplendence Publishing on 29^thFebruary. The cover for that is already up on my website. I also have a novella(my first!) coming from Xcite Books in April, an erotic romance called Off the Shelf. I have a hopeless crushon the hero of that particular story J

I also have several stories due to be releasedin various anthologies, as well as lots of stories I'm waiting to hear back on.Fingers crossed I'll get some more acceptances!

What do you like to read?

All kinds of things. I like to read erotica anderotic romance, naturally. I love romantic comedies, paranormal romance,fantasy stuff, some horror (though not too terrifying!), crime, thrillers,etc... basically if it's an enthralling story, I'll read it.

What would you like to know from readers?

I love feedback! Many authors will say howimportant it is – and we mean it! Personally I find it useful to find whatpeople are enjoying the most (so I can make sure to write more of it), or whatkind of things they like to read. I'm planning on branching out into m/m thisyear – so I'd be interested to know if readers prefer to read by genre, orwhether they will read lots of different works by their favourite authors.

*****

My latest release:

A wedding, an evil plan, a love story and a sacrifice are theorder of the day in this modern retelling of Snow White and the Huntsman.

Susie White and her stepmother-to-be have neverseen eye to eye, despite all of Susie’s best efforts to be friendly. Eager notto spoil her father’s happiness, Susie still agrees to be bridesmaid at theirwedding. When the big day comes, she meets Louise’s right hand man, Scott.Susie had never believed in love at first sight until that moment. The pair hitit off, sharing a mutual dislike of Louise and her wicked ways. Theircamaraderie quickly develops into something more, and they date in secret untilit’s time for Susie to leave for University – and freedom. Unfortunately, Scotthas an earth-shattering revelation, which means the two of them of them mustwork together to unravel Louise’s evil plan, before it’s too late.

Moreinfo, excerpt and buy links: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/susie-white-and-the-right-hand-man/

Izzy, heroine of After Midnight by Sarah Grimm

2012-01-18T05:00:00.000-06:00

Please welcome Isabeau Montgomery, Izzy to those, like me, who love her.

Isabeau (love the name), do you consideryourself unconventional, or is that just a label society sticks on you?

The worldcalls me a piano phenom, a child with an ear for music; a prodigy. I’ve alwaysfelt a bit like a freak. You see, from avery young age I’ve heard music in everything about me, the blowing of the windthrough the trees or the rustle of leaves. A gift, my mother always said, buthonestly, it’s been more of a curse.

I've always wanted to play the piano, so I have to agree with your mother. You've got a gift. (As does Ms. Grimm, who makes music with words.)

Do you embrace your uniqueness, or have youalways just wanted to fit in?

When I wasa young girl and the world had just discovered the music I could make, I didn’trealize just how different I was. That quickly changed. By the time I was apre-teen, I longed to be ‘normal’. What I wouldn’t have given to be a regularkid instead of an international sensation.

Being a teenager isn't easy. I can only imagine the added pressure to be normal when you have a talent that makes you unique.

Who is your role model and why?

My mother.She died in a car accident when I was twelve, the same accident where Isuffered serious injury. Mom was kind and beautiful. She saw the best ineveryone – brought out the good in people. And when she loved, she did so withall of her heart.

If you could do anything without concern forconsequences, what would it be?

Play thepiano. I haven’t been able to play since the auto accident.

Is your ideal man as unconventional as you, orare you even looking for Mr. Right?

For yearsI’ve wanted a man to see me. To lookbeyond my past and to love me for me, not for my money or the music I used tomake. Does that make the man I’m hoping to find unconventional? Unfortunately,I believe it does.

Any other dark desires or juicy details you'dlike to share?

I can'tsay that I do. I learned long ago that one's desires can be taken away in theblink of an eye.

Please provide a bit of your story thatshowcases you at your best.

One hourlater, Isabeau pushed through the door of her father’s shop with the jingle ofbells, Noah a step behind her.

“Izzy, isthat you?” a voice called out from somewhere out of sight.

“Yeah,Dad, it’s me.”

“I’ll beout in a sec.”

“Noproblem.”

Noahshifted. His shoulder brushed hers as he leaned in. “So you know someone whocan fix my tattoo, do you?”

His mouthwas inches from her ear, his breath a cloud of warmth against her cheek. Aburst of heat snapped along her nerves, tensed every muscle in her body. Sheforced herself to breathe evenly. “I do.”

His eyesamused, he glanced around the shop, from the two private rooms where the bodypiercings and tattoos were done to the large wall of snapshots that showcasedThomas’s work. “Is he any good?”

“He’sexceptional.”

“Exceptional,that’s high praise.”

The warmmasculine scent of him drifted into her lungs. For a brief moment, she closedher eyes and absorbed. Her heart pounded in her head, masking the sound of themusic that looped through her with the annoying persistence of a commercialjingle. “It’s well earned.” She gestured across the room. “See for yourself.”

Hands inhis pockets, Noah strolled around the room. Pausing in front of a glass displaycase, he turned Thomas’ open sketchbook and studied the drawing before him.Then he moved to the wall of snapshots.

“Tell mesomething.” He leaned in for a better look at one of the pictures. “Why am Ihere?”

His hairwas wind tousled after their brief walk from the parking garage. He wore jeansthat molded his butt and hips, his long legs, and a black T-shirt thatstretched taut across his chest.

She wouldhave replied, if there’d been any air left in her lungs. God, he wasattractive. Strong. Male. Capable. And for a moment today, he’d wanted her.She’d seen the hunger in his intense green eyes while he’d studied herbackside. Saw it, just didn’t understand it. Men didn’t look at her like that.Ever.

Her heartbeat wildly against her ribs. Her throat went dry as dust. She felt the hot,reckless pull of need and pondered for a moment what it would be like to givein to it. Press her lips against his tempting mouth, and finally discover thetaste of him. To feel the warmth of his flesh beneath her palms as her handscruised over his mouth-watering body.

“Isabeau?”

Shejolted. Her eyes remained on his as she pushed her fingers through her hair.What was she thinking? A man like Noah Clark wouldn’t be interested in her, atleast not for long. Anything he felt for her was about the music, his drive toget her to play again. His need to show her that she wasn’t complete withoutthe piano.

That factwas blatantly apparent after the story he’d shared last night. How he’d givenup his career only to learn, years later, that he couldn’t live without music.It was crazy to think anything else.

She wants to forget her past. He wants toreclaim his. Sometimes the moment that changes everything comes After Midnight.
http://www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=175_133&products_id=4633

And for those of you who missed my review of Izzy's story...

Ms. Grimm's debut novel, Not Without Risk, was a five-star story for me, so when I found out about After Midnight, I couldn't wait to read it. I was lucky enough to win an ARC and once I started reading, I couldn't put the book down.

Izzy is a strong heroine with deep emotional scars, and Noah is a hot rock star hero with wounds of his own. Add to that, a sinister villain intent on destroying Izzy and the story is rife with drama and suspense. And if all that isn't enough, the sparks between Izzy and Noah are hot enough to start a fire in a heavy downpour.

However, the story isn't bogged down by heavy-handed or overly dramatic emotions. Rather, Ms. Grimm plays out the scenes and emotions with a fine eye that draws the reader deeper and deeper into the story until pages fly by faster and faster. The reader will experience highs and lows similar to those elicited by the finest musical pieces. Bravo, Ms. Grimm.

Release Date

2012-01-13T09:22:00.003-06:00

I've got a release date for

His Capture, Her Rescue.

April 11th!

I need to get a promo tour set up, so if you've got any openings for guests in April shoot me an email at emmalaiwrites at yahoo dot com.

Johnny from Lost Hearts by Kathy Otten

2012-01-11T05:00:00.000-06:00

Please welcome Johnny. Is Johnny a nickname?

Well my maw, she give me the front name Johnny. I reckon shedone it so’s Paw wouldn’t know I was a girl, but she tolt me oncet that shepicked it fer the Johnny-jump-ups that was a bloomin’ when I was born, causethey was the same color as my eyes. Rab said they’s called violets up northwhere he hails from. He’s a Yankee, but he ain’t too uppity about it.

Do you consider yourself unconventional, or is that just a labelsociety sticks on you?

Don’t rightly know what unc-in-vul means. Likely Rab does. Hehad book larnin’. But iffin it has to do with my uncle Cal, I don’t want totalk about him. He’s meaner than a stuck snake an’ he don’t like me much.

Do you embrace your uniqueness, or have you always just wanted tofit in?

Reckon I always jest wanted a paw to hold my hand when we walkdown the street of the town and to help me with my cipherin’. And I want a mawwho bakes pies and cakes, an’ can sew purty dresses. ‘Ceptin’ yeller ones,cause I don’t like yeller. I got me a locket, Henry give it to me, an’ I gottheir likenesses inside.

Who is your role model andwhy?

They was my maw, but shetook sick of the fever. Morning Song, she taught me about yarbs an’ sech, butshe mostly kept to herself ‘til shepassed on. Uncle Henry was more like abrother, but he’d never go ag’in Paw. Henry got hisself gut shot last winter,by some damn whiskey peddler. Reckon there weren’t no one ‘til Rab. Ain’t noone ever took up fer me like he done.

If you could do anything without concern for consequences, whatwould it be?

I’d surely like to put on a purty dress without bein’afeared. One with rows a lace an’ bowsan’ sech. I’d walk down the street jestlike a fine lady so’s Rab wouldn’t have no call to be ashamed a me.

Is your ideal man as unconventional as you, or are you evenlooking for Mr. Right?

Don’t reckon I know Mr. Right, but I ain’t never had much usefer men. They’s all a bunch a no accounts, born tired and raised lazy. ButRab’s different. Smart as a barn full a owls, straight as a yard a pump water andso Goddamn sure a himself. He’s always atryin’ to do the right thing an’ he’ll go from hell to breakfast to see to it. I ain’t never met a man like him.

Any other dark desires or juicy details you'd like to share?

I don’t rightly know. Rab can be as stubborn as a Missouri mule,an’ he’s a mite fond a his bottle a Old Crow. He don’t sleep much cause they’s things deepinside him he afeared of. An’ sure ashell he ain’t a goin’ to like I tolt ya’ll that. So’s I best quit flappin’ myjaws, an’ let ya’ll read a bit of our story. Reckon I ought’a tell ya’ll thatRab, he didn’t know yet that I weren’t really a boy.

Please provide a bit of your story that showcases you at yourbest.

“Okay,outlaw, do it.” He slipped his Smith and Wesson from its holster. “But I’ll bewatching you.”

Thekid scowled. “I sure do hope ya ain’t a-fixin’ to point that damn thing at meagain. ’Cause it sure as hell is a-goin’ to hurt this time an’ I don’t want nodamn hole in my belly when it does.”

Richardlowered the gun to the ground. A breeze sifted through the trees. He shivered.“Just do the best you can.”

Johnnywatched him for a moment then nodded. “Well, I reckon I’d best build up a fire,an’ heat some water whilst I fetch my yarbs.”

Whenthe kid returned to the fire, he carried two lanterns from the cook’s wagon,his doeskin bag, and a bottle of whiskey. After lighting the lanterns, herummaged through the bag and pulled out some dried root.

“Yarrow,”he explained as he mashed it into a pulp. Setting it aside, he carefully liftedthe thick

padoff the wound and applied the pulverized yarrow. Then after a quick glancetoward the prison wagon and the sleeping men, Johnny removed his battered hatand duster, and rolled up the sleeves of his oversized shirt. The kid seemedeven smaller without the oversized duster.

“Youdon’t have very big hands.”

“Seemslike ya ought to be glad I ain’t a-goin’ to poke around in yer laig withfingers as big as yer thumbs,” he grumbled without looking up.

Removinghis book of drawings from his bag, he flipped through several pages thenstopped. Hisbrow furrowed in concentration as he stared at the drawings for severalminutes, then heated up the blade of Richard’s pocket knife and passed him anew bottle of whiskey.

Richardtook a few swallows and passed the bottle back, watching the kid pour thealcohol over hishands.

“Nowdon’t ya fret lawman.” His voice was low and reassuring as he bent over thewound. “I reckon I know more about doctorin’ bullet holes than a jack rabbitknows about runnin’.”

A hissof pain escaped Richard’s lips as the kid began to probe.

“Whydo ya think my paw kept me around? I learnt some doctorin’ from my maw and therest

aboutyarbs an’ sech from a Cheyenne squaw my paw was a using fer a while. She took ashine to me an’ showed me how to use my knife an take care a myself incase onea them no account friends a Paw’s learnt my see—.

“’CourseMorning Song couldn’t protect herself from ’em. Sometimes Paw would pass heraround. That was hard on her. She birthed two babies, but they both died. Iasked her wunst why she didn’t run off. I’d a gone with her. We both could agot away. But she said she was shamed afore her people and didn’t have no placeto go. She took sick with winter fever a couple years back. I don’t figger shetried very hard to get better. It’s been kind a lonely since.”

Thesteady drone of Johnny’s conversation gave Richard something to focus on besidethe agony tearingthrough his leg. He squeezed his eyes and clenched his teeth. Sweat ran downboth sides of his face and moistened his neck. His right hand squeezed the buttof his revolver so tight his knuckleshurt, but he made certain his finger was nowhere near the trigger.

“Gotit,” Johnny whispered, sagging back on his heels.

Richardresponded with a slight nod.

“Sorry,lawman. I reckon that yarrow root wore off quicker than I figgered.”

Hedrew a deep breath and let it out slow. At least it was over. He opened eyes tosee Johnny wigglingthe cork from the top of the bottle.

“Nowall’s I got to do his pour some a this here whiskey in to clean it out good,”Johnny said, and dumped a generous splash into the fresh wound.

Searingpain ripped through Richard’s body in one great spasm as his whole spine archedoff the wagonwheel. His breath escaped in one long hiss. “Goddamn sonofabitch!”

“All done,” Johnny soothed. “Now, soon as Iget ya stitched up, I got some powdered flax seed and blue corn meal paste acookin’ on that fire yonder. I’m a-goin’ to use it to poultice yer laig. Iffinya rest up fer a spell, yer laig should be right as rain in a couple a weeks.”

Theirgazes locked for several heartbeats. Even as Johnny spoke the words, they bothknew he wasn’tgoing to rest.

Johnnyturned away and scooted close to the fire. “I was jest a wonderin’,” he beganafter a lengthysilence. “Iffin ya could tell me what yer name is. I reckon we’s a-goin’ to betogether fer a spell an’ I cain’t jest call ya lawman or Yankee all the time.”

Richard’sspine stiffened. This was exactly what he’d been warning himself against. Heneeded to be firm. Don’t look into those eyes. Johnny was a thief and a liar.

“Ican’t afford to rest up, and you don’t need to know anything about me other than,I am a U.S. DeputyMarshal. Don’t think for a minute that I’m stupid enough to sit here waitingfor Calvin Everett to ride down on us. You and these other men are my prisoners,and I’m sworn to bring you back to Fort Smith for trial. First thing tomorrowwe head to McAlester.”

He's sworn to bring her to justice, though only she can heal his heart.
http://www.thewildrosepress.com/lost-hearts-p-4307.html

Author Website: http://www.kathyottenauthor.com

Chloe from Absolution by P.L. Parker

2012-01-07T05:00:00.000-06:00

Please welcome Lady Clothilde de Grenet, daughter of Lord Alric the Goodand his wife, Lady Isabet de Arreio. (But she likes to be called “Chloe.”)

Chloe, do you consider yourselfunconventional, or is that just a label society sticks on you?

Whilst I didst not think of myself as unconventional inthe before times, I wouldst agree that I be most unconventional by thestandards of this lifetime. My birth the night my maman died in 1387 and mylife afore my awakening here wouldst have been unconventional even were I not avampire. My papa be the King’s man and traveled to the wars, and I be leftbehind as women are want to do, but when my affliction became known, we beforced to flee to France and start anew.

Do you embrace youruniqueness, or have you always just wanted to fit in?

“Uniqueness” be a strange word for one such as I. I be avampire though I didst not know this fact until my awakening in this century.My papa and our Captain of the Guards, Gavin, kept the evil surrounding mybirth secret from me and fed me with the blood of villains and thieves. I doestnot claim to be innocent of wrongdoing. Ignorance be not a good defense for one’sguilt.

I canst not fit in, at least not afore I be cured of thisterrible affliction, but even in these times, I fear a cure is unattainable.

Aye, I wouldst desire to “fit in” as ye say, but t’wouldbe a hard thing to accomplish so I must embrace my uniqueness and doest good,not evil.

Who is your role modeland why?

My best friend and nurse, Abbie. She didst care for meeven when she knew I be a vampire, loving me as a true mother would. Abbiedidst not let others cause me pain and stayed by me when many wouldst not.

If you could do anythingwithout concern for consequences, what would it be?

I wouldst not allow the minions of the evil one, Jochad,to continue their uncontrollable bloodlust. I wouldst fight them with everymeans possible. I be a vampire, but I be not willing to kill the innocent.

Is your ideal man asunconventional as you, or are you even looking for Mr. Right?

Zaccarius carries the same affliction as do I. He beunconventional as ye say, but he fights on the side of good. He loves me as Ibe, telling me I be the light to his dark. He saved me from the evil ones,losing much afore we escaped.

Any other dark desiresor juicy details you'd like to share?

In the afore times, I be entombed by Gavin and my papa,who hoped that someone in the future wouldst cure me. In my prison, I sufferedthe demons of Hell until my rescuers, Earl and Benny, didst release me. Theycarried me across Francewhilst Jochad’s armies sought my blood, and didst keep me safe until Zaccariusfound us.

Please provide a bit ofyour story that showcases you at your best.

Crimsontears leaked from Chloe’s tortured eyes, washing her face in red. “I will not hurtye,” she cried. “I wouldst rather die.”

Earlapproached her slowly, calming her as he would an injured animal. “Just relax,” hecrooned over and over. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

Shebacked up, putting distance between them. “Stay away! Doest not touch me!”

Naïveand willing, he held out his wrist, offering it. “You need to drink,” he said. “Youwon’t hurt me. I know it.”

“Youcanst not know what I be feeling,” she cried. “No one can!”

HurryZaccarius! I be fast losing awareness of who and what I be!

“Youidiot! If you value your life, step back,” a deep male voice rumbled. “She’s fightingfor her humanity and your survival.”

Earl’shead whipped around. The huge warrior, Zaccarius, stalked forward, shoving himaside. Chloe hissed, barring her fangs at the intruder, her eyes glazed withheat. “Stayaway!” She spat, raising clawed hands.

Agrim smile twisted the warrior’s lips. “Do not fight me, little one.”

Quickas lightening, she struck out, clawing a shallow red gash across his chest.

Zaccarius’lips thinned. “It will go better for you if you do not fight me.”

Chloeslashed again, flitting across the room. “Get away!” she screeched, “afore Ikill ye!”

Determined,he pursued her, gliding easily out of reach when she attacked. She feintedto the side and then spun, slashing the air.

“Iwill hurt ye,” she growled, spitting defiance.

“Isuspect you’ll try.”

“Idoest not want to,” she whispered, but struck again.

Zaccariusdetected a forlorn glimmer peeking from the depths of her heated eyes.

Shewasn’t fighting to win. She was fighting to protect him. Inwardly, he grinned.The skirmishwas almost over.

Forcedinto a corner, she crouched, ready to spring. The moment her eyes drifted, seekingan escape, he pounced, wrestling her to the ground and pinning her while she thrashedand kicked, raking his back with sharpened nails. She fought as a wild thing, archingback and bucking, attempting to dislodge him. The cords of her neck strained withtension as she snapped at his neck, pinching skin as her fangs found tissue. So

inhumanlystrong, but so utterly female.

Withher every motion, his body reacted. Long forgotten needs surfaced—needs he’dnot felt since he was human.

Withone expert flip, he threw her over his shoulder and marched into a nearby bedroom,making a mental note to have blood bags delivered in the morning. Flicking thebolt across, he locked the door behind him and tossed the little wildcat ontothe hugebed. Bouncing up, she flew at him, claws extended, going for his face. Hecaught hereffortlessly and tossed her back. Now that she was away from the dimwitted duo

andtheir female cohort, he was enjoying the strenuous encounter. She would notgive ineasily and he exulted in her uncontrolled attack. It had been too long sincehe’d enjoyedthe tender caresses of a lusty female—albeit an unwilling one. Given time and theright instruction, she would make a powerful adversary in the war against theevil ones.He just needed to convince her.

“Chloe!”he barked. “Stop! Remember who you are!”

“Nay,”she growled, hissing like a furious cat. “’Tis too late!”

Shelaunched herself at him, using the bed as a springboard. In a blur of motion,he threwup a forearm, covering his face. They collided with a loud thump, going down in awrithing heap of fangs and slashing claws. Rolling over, he held her pronewhile she thrashed,snarling, snapping and mouthing epithets. Held thus, he studied her, entrancedby the fine texture of her silken skin, the pert well-formed nose and full,

lusciouslips, stretched now over extended canines. Tiny but exquisite, she was roundedin all the right places. Her breasts, flattened against his chest, were fulland soft,and he longed to caress them, to lick the nipples to taut peaks. Lodged between herthighs, he waited for the storm to pass.

Unexpectedly,she lunged upward, piercing his throat. As she drank, he experienced abrief moment of discomfort and then his mind burst as soul-wrenching sexualneed floodedhis being, burgeoning up in uncontrolled waves of primitive heat. His fangs descended.A red haze blurred his vision.

Chloestiffened, pulling back. Stunned and horrified, eyes flaring, she gasped, lush lipstrembling with fear and humiliation.

“Ididst not mean such,” she whispered, tears glistening in her incredible eyes.“Ye mustdestroy me afore I hurt the innocent.”

“Butyou didn’t,” he rasped, his voice guttural with need. “Even in blood lust, you didn’thurt anyone.”

“ButI attacked ye and took blood,” she cried, stricken.

Henuzzled her neck, inhaling the fresh scent of jasmine. “We are what we are,” he murmured,licking her throat with sensual intent. “We didn’t choose this life, it was thruston us. What matters is how we continue. Taking blood is the only way to survive,but we don’t have to kill to do it—and none need to remember us afterwards. I’llteach you how.”

“Yecanst not teach me what I doest not wish to know.”

View the book trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TU0EHWSz054

Author Website: http://www.plparker.com/

Author Blog: http://www.plparker.blogspot.com/

Claire from Honey on White Bread by Brenda Whiteside

2012-01-02T05:00:00.000-06:00

Please welcome Claire.

Thank you, Emma. My name is ClaireFlanagan. I’m nearly eighteen years old and I live with my father, HamishFlanagan in the Mulberry Shade Cabin Court.

Do you consider yourselfunconventional, or is that just a label society sticks on you?

Most people would consider myupbringing unconventional, especially by 1945 standards. Our nosey oldlandlady, Mrs. Snyder, certainly thinks so. What she thinks about my father andme is just plain obscene. My mother died when I was an infant. My father mostlyworks crops, and we’ve traveled around the southwest and California wherever hecould pick sometimes hopping freight trains as our mode of travel. I’ve livedin orange orchards and hobo jungles with the occasional stay on my Aunt Grace’sfarm. Daddy’s always taken real good care of me, but he’s a drinking man so Ihave to take care of him at times. I love the movies and there’s nowhere elseI’d rather be than a movie theater when I’m not with Daddy. Some day you’llwatch me on the silver screen.

Do you embrace your uniqueness, orhave you always just wanted to fit in?

I’ve gone to so many schools andlived in so many places, fitting in sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t. Ihave a very good voice and I always make choral. I’m mature, considering myupbringing, so fitting in doesn’t really concern me. We live in Phoenix now andwe’re staying put until I graduate and move on with my singing career. Daddyhas been pushing to go work some crops for a few months in Hemet, but I’ve putmy foot down. He’s got a good job here, and I’m not moving again before Igraduate. For the first time in my life, I have some very good friends.

Who is your role model and why?

When it comes to my career, it wouldbe Betty Grable. She’s grand. She was discovered sitting on a stool in a sodashop, you know, which is encouraging. I know someday I’ll marry and havechildren. Everyone does. My mother was like a beautiful Indian princess, fullof grace and love but I’m imagining as much from my father’s stories. My bestfriend, Paulie’s mother, Mrs. Russell, seems like the perfect mother. She’sshort and round and sings while she bakes.

If you could do anything withoutconcern for consequences, what would it be?

I’d tell Benjamin Russell exactlyhow I feel about him. He’s twenty and a working man, the older brother of mybest friend. I’m pretty bold with my flirting, but I’m sure he doesn’t see mefor the woman I am. Yet. He’s been interested in my career plans, but he’skeeping company with a harlot named Susan. I’m biding my time. But if I weretruly as bold as I think I am, I’d throw myself at him like Susan does.

Is your ideal man as unconventionalas you, or are you even looking for Mr. Right?

Benjamin is definitely not as unconventionalas I am. His father abandoned him and his five siblings. Benjamin’s beenworking to support the family since he was fifteen. He will always do the rightand admirable thing regardless of the consequences to himself. I really was notlooking for Mr. Right when he came along. The silver screen pales in comparisonto Benjamin.

Any other dark desires or juicydetails you'd like to share?

Without giving away too much of mystory, let me say Susan causes me a world of hurt. I don’t call her a harlotfor nothing. Then there’s Arnold. He lavishes unwanted attention on me whichgets all tangled up with problems for Paulie. Poor Paulie. And his carelessnesslands me in a place I don’t belong. But when you say dark desires and juicydetails, well, only Benjamin comes to mind.

Please provide a bit of your storythat showcases you at your best.

Excerptfrom Honey On White Bread:

“Hello,Benjamin.” I smiled, flipping the hair from my neck.

“Hey,Hollywood.” He nodded. I swore he said it seriously this time, not teasinglylike a couple of days ago. My dinner churned in my stomach. His gaze wassteady, creating a roadblock between my mind and mouth until Paulie tugged onmy arm.

“Let’sget a cola.”

Iignored her directive, looking to Laura for a reason to stay in breathingdistance of Benjamin. “Why, Laura, your dress looks quite stunning. I do thinkbrown is your color.” I spoke to my friend, keeping my face slanted towardBenjamin, obsessively avoiding giving him a profile view.

“Uh,thanks. Your blue dress is…lovely.”

Itipped my chin in acknowledgement of her attempt to match my mature manner.

“Itlooks great with your hair.” She ended on a high note, pleased with her socialbanter.

Paulieelbowed me as she rolled her eyes. “`Scuse us, Ben.” She shook her head, givingLaura a nudge. “Let’s go get a cola, you guys.”

“Youtwo go ahead.” I waved them off. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

“Whatdo you mean you’ll join us in a moment?” Paulie set her hands toher hips.

Iwhirled around, facing her. “I have something to discuss with Benjamin.Go get colas and bring me back one.” I kept my voice low, dismissive.

Paulieclutched Laura’s elbow. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, let’s go. Claire wants to shootthe breeze with my brother.”

Claspingmy hands behind me, I studied the toes of my oxfords for a moment beforelooking at Benjamin. When I did look into his face, he smiled as if he mightsay something.

“What?”I asked.

“Iwas thinking.” His glance skimmed me briefly from head to toe. “You do looknice in blue.”

Icaught my breath, his assessment a visual caress. Shaking tresses of curls frommy face and blinking to regain my composure, I managed a reply. “Why, thankyou, Benjamin.” I dipped my chin, peering into his dark lashed blue eyes.

Henodded his head and took a drink from his beer. His other hand was casuallytucked into his jean pocket, and he stood with one leg crossed over his ankle.I let my gaze wander along his arm, watching the muscle flex below the roll ofhis shirtsleeve as he brought the bottle to his lips. Struggling to breathe ina normal fashion, the rate of my heart was anything but normal. Could he hearmy heart, see the heat flaring across my chest and neck?

Buy Links:

Honey On White Bread Print or e-book

http://www.melange-books.com/authors/brendawhiteside/honey.html

Honey On White Bread Amazon e-book

http://www.amazon.com/Honey-on-White-Bread-ebook/dp/B006LWJ6VU/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1323877492&sr=1-1

VisitBrenda at www.brendawhiteside.com.

Oron FaceBook: www.facebook.com/BrendaWhitesideAuthor

Sheblogs on the 9^th and 24^th of every month at http://rosesofprose.blogspot.com

Sheblogs occasionally on her personal blog http://brendawhiteside.blogspot.com/

The Year in Review

2011-12-30T12:11:00.003-06:00

Thanks to everyone for making 2011 an awesome year! This includes all the wonderful authors who were nice enough to play guest for me as well as all my readers.

This past year saw the publication of Twice Is Not Enough, Slave to Innocence (Sins of Sybaris), Tempting Terms, Not Just Friends, Riding Rodeo (Cowboy Kink) and Time-lost Love. (These are all short stories. If you total the word count, I published about 60K last year.)

I was amazed and humbled when Twice is Not Enough passed 1000 copies sold. A heartfelt thanks to all those who purchased it and those who will purchase it. (There is a sequel in the works, and I hope to have it finished in January.)

Also, I was flattered to receive a lovely piece of fan mail from a German reader on Slave to Innocence. This tale was my first departure from the norm since it's predominantly F/F. My goal was to show that love can pass all boundaries and takes many forms. In the New Year, I hope to see my first M/M published. It contains a similar message as well.

Riding Rodeo was my first foray into menage world, and since it was just published in November, I don't have a solid grasp of how it's sales are doing. However, sales aren't the driving force behind the stories I write, the characters are, and I have another menage in the works I hope to submit in the coming year.

Book 3 of Mates of the Guardians: His Capture, Her Rescue is slotted to release in the new year. I believe it will come out in March, but I'll post more when I have a firm date. I'll also be releasing Blood Sword, the first story in a fantasy serial, in the early months of 2012 under the pen name L. J. Maisen.

Finally, I'll be kicking the new year off with a series of interviews featuring unconventional heroines. I hope you'll stop by!

Happy New Year!

2011-12-28T05:00:00.000-06:00

Thank you for having me here,Emma, and Happy New Year to everyone.

I’ve been making plans.

Even though I gave up resolutionsa few years back—well, quite a few, actually, since I don’t remember the lasttime I actually made one—I still think up trips and lunches-with-friends andwhat I’ll plant in the new flower bed alongside the back porch. I plan mywardrobe for summer, because one of my plans is to be thin. Rather, thinner, because at my age thin doesn’twork so well anymore. I look at paint strips from Home Depot and think This for the kitchen. This for the laundryroom. This for the living room.

I do the same thing with stories.Not necessarily at New Year’s, but when a book is finished and it’s time tostart another, I make plans. I’m a People First writer, so I’m seldom surprisedif I’m awakened in the middle of the night by a fully developed set ofprotagonists with a scene chockfull of conversation and even a little string ofconflict. (No plot, of course. I neverhave a plot. Sigh.) It is as exciting as a trip or a facelift-by-paint or maybe even being thinner.

Now for the truth of the matter.

Lots of my plans—and mystories—never see fruition. I would love to visit Europe every couple of yearsbut the fact is I’ve been there once. I’d love to have the interior of thehouse painted but we put it off because we both hate painting and can’t agreeon colors. I go way too long without seeing friends. My flower bedsare…eclectic at best. My wardrobe is even more so. If I am thinner, stickaround a month or two and I’ll likely be chubby again. The heroine and hero whoare perfect at three AM may not be so by noon, the conflict will be nebulous,and…what do you mean, I need plot?

The other part of the truth isthat it doesn’t matter. Plans are fun and they are important. In our writers’heads and hearts, our stories are, too. And sometimes, sometimes, as Hannibal Smith would say and frequently did on The A-Team, the plan comes together.

In ONE MORE SUMMER, my January 2 release from Carina Press, the plandid indeed come together. It is the book of my heart and I hope you like it,too. Thanks for coming by.

http://ebooks.carinapress.com/19C28077-E8B2-400A-ACBF-FAE0579EE2F0/10/134/en/Default.htm

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/one-more-summer-liz-flaherty/1107412429

http://www.amazon.com/One-More-Summer-ebook/dp/B006BE6HAG/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1324908781&sr=8-1

I’d love to have you visit mywebsite http://lizflaherty.com/ or http://wordwranglers.blogspot.com/where I hang out with some of my best writer friends.

Blurb:

Grace has takencare of her widowed father her entire adult life and the ornery old goat hasfinally died. She has no job, no skills and very little money, and has heardher father's prediction that no decent man would ever want her so often sheaccepts it as fact.

But she does have a big old house on Lawyers Row in Peacock, Tennessee. She opensa rooming house and quickly gathers a motley crew of tenants - Promise, Grace'sbest friend since kindergarten, who's fighting cancer; Maxie, an aging soapopera actress who hasn't lost her flair for the dramatic; Jonah, a sweetgullible old man with a crush on Maxie.

And Dillon, Grace's brother's best friend, who stood her up on the night of hersenior prom and has regretted it ever since. Dillon rents Grace's guest housefor the summer and hopes to make up for lost time and past hurts - but first, he'llhave to convince Grace that she's worth loving...

Excerpt

It was no use.

Grace had taken her lengthy bath in the claw foot tub,shaved her legs and nicked her ankle right on the bone where it hurt most, andput on her chenille robe. She’d poured a tumbler full of the expensive wineSteven had brought a case of and sat on the couch with the book she’d gotten atthe library when she’d read to the kids earlier in the week. Louisa May slepton the couch back, twitching her tail occasionally and smacking Grace in theface with it. Rosamunde dozed contentedly in the baseball cap Dillon had lefton the lamp table. The window behind the couch was open, affording Grace acooling breeze scented by the rain that had fallen that evening.

She’d already gotten up once and closed the pocket doorsbetween the living room and the dining room. But she could still hear it.

Laughing. There were Jonah’s guffaw, Maxie’s theatricaltrill, and the husky whoop that was always such a surprise coming fromPromise’s soprano throat. Now and then another laugh slipped in, quieter thanJonah’s but no less gleeful. Dillon was there too. They sat on the screenedporch, a good forty feet from where Grace sat with her feet up, and still shecould hear them.

They were playing Monopoly. Grace hadn’t played that sincethe day before her mother died. She remembered that last game, the boardbalanced on a bed tray across Debbie Elliot’s legs in the room that smelled ofCashmere Bouquet talcum powder and sickness and medicine. Faith had sat on oneside of her mother, Promise on the other, and Grace at the bed’s end.

“Sit on my feet a little, baby,” Debbie had said. “You keepthem so nice and warm.”

Grace had won the game, and the next day—when Debbie wasdead and life for the rest of the Elliots had irrevocably changed—she had hatedherself for buying Boardwalk and Park Place and forcing her mother into bankruptcy.

“I made her die,” she’d told Steven.

“Her heart made her die,” he’d responded, but Grace hadn’treally believed him until he became a cardiac surgeon.

Sometimes, she still wondered. If Debbie had napped in the eveningas she often did, would that hour of rest have made the difference? If Gracehadn’t sat on her mother’s feet with her eighty-five pounds ofalmost-twelve-year-old exuberance, would the final heart attack not havehappened?

But she refused to think about those things now, nor wouldshe consider the game of Monopoly with an inward shudder of dread. She thoughtinstead of the laughter that was dancing along her nerve endings, and wonderedif anyone else was using the little iron as their token for moving around theboard. The iron had always been her favorite. She liked the way it felt betweenher fingers.

If she just got off her couch and wandered toward the porchlike she was bored with her own company—which she was—would anyone make a bigdeal out of it? If Promise or the others acted surprised by her presence,Dillon Campbell would think she’d joined them just because he was there. Whichwas nonsense.

Of course it was.

She remembered how Dillon’s hand had felt when he pulled herto her feet the night before. She’d avoided unnecessary touch all her adultlife, and one squeeze of Dillon Campbell’s fingers had her wondering if thathadn’t been a mistake.

More nonsense.

She tried again to devote full attention to the book, butfinally gave up and laid it aside. She sat in the harsh light from the readinglamp and sipped her high dollar wine and listened to the laughter of theothers. Isolation and loneliness wrapped around her, not new feelings by anymeans, but somehow deeper and darker tonight.

Maybe this time, as Promise often accused, she was excludingherself and the loneliness was of her own making. Maybe if she stepped onto theback porch, no one would make a fuss and no one would make her feel as thoughshe didn’t belong. It was, after all, her porch.

Carrying her glass, she whispered open the pocket doors andstrode barefoot through the deserted dining room and the kitchen with itsever-present light over the sink. After a moment’s hesitation, she pushed openthe door to the porch.

“Replacement power. Just in time.” Promise’s smile was wideand brilliant. Welcome to the human race. Grace heard the words shedidn’t say. “Now that I’ve been trounced, Grace can take my place while I makepopcorn. No one’s using your iron, so have at it.”

Grace sat in the chair Promise vacated, taking the littlemetal iron from the Monopoly box. It still felt nice between her fingers.

“I’m the banker,” Jonah informed her, passing money aroundthe table. “Since I’m better at losing money than anyone else, I wasunanimously elected.”

“I don’t even know why I play.” Maxie sighed, fluffing herblond hair with heavily be-ringed fingers. “I seem to spend all my time injail. Unless Dillon rescues me with his ‘get out of jail free’ cards,” sheadded with a flutter of eyelashes.

“I’m just a soft touch for a pretty lady.” Dillon smiled ather, his eyes glinting silver in the dim, yellow light on the porch.

Grace’s heart hammered against her ribs.

Geezy Pete, Grace, grow up.

2011-12-23T00:00:00.000-06:00

Someone asked me the other day how we celebrateChristmas here in Australia. Sadly, I had to take a minute to think about it.

So, what do we do that is different from ourfriends up North? Not much! We still have a lot of winter themes: Christmastrees, (fake) snowmen, Santa Claus and more. Here's a question for my Americanand European friends...do you have carols by candlelight, or is it too cold?Because a twilight picnic in the park with candles, and everyone singing carols,is one of the highlights of the Christmas lead-in.

The big difference, as I see it, stems from theweather. Where I live, in Melbourne, it's not always hot, but it's a lot warmerthan, say, New York or London. No snow in winter, and uncomfortably hotsummers.

But some years Christmas day is so hot we don'teven want to eat. I always feel sorry for the shopping centre Santas, in theirpadding and big red suits and fake beards. Even with aircon it has to beunbearable. Probably why we never see them on the actual street.

The heat is probably why the menu has evolvedfor a lot of Aussies. You'll still find turkey, ham, plum pudding etc, althoughit's likely to be served cold, but we also like to throw in the occasionalbarbecue, a lot of seafood, especially prawns, and my personal fave, ice-creamChristmas pudding. My aunt makes one to die for, check out the recipe here.

My family background is Italian, so mygrandmother(s) always like to throw in some pasta, or roast pork. This year,I've been promised arancinifor Christmas Eve, and I can't wait. And of course, there's panettone, which is traditionallyfor Easter, but somehow over the years took over Christmas as well.

I've spent Christmas at the beach, which can bea lot of fun. Not so fun: church without air conditioning when it's 35 degrees(that's celsius, quick calc...95°F). So even the cool-ness of swimming in theocean on Christmas Day has a downside.

I guess when you get down to it, we've adjustedsome things to suit the heat, some to suit family background, and try to keepthe rest the same. It makes the movies seem more real!

Ifyou live in snowy climes, this Christmas you should take some time to curl upwith Inter-Office Relations, my latest release from The Wild Rose Press.

With her resignation submitted, Jeannie Pricehas one last task she’s itching to perform before leaving her job. After monthsof sitting next to hot, sexy colleague Tim Harding, it’s time to turn fantasyinto reality with a scorching invitation to collaborate on matters of the fleshin Conference Room B. Then she can walk away without regrets.

Tim’s dreams of wild, sweaty sex with Jeanniecome true when he accepts her offer, but he’s stunned to learn she doesn’t wantto see him again after their steamy tryst. She may be trying to brush him offas just one more item on her To-Do List, but he’s determined to convince herthere’s nothing taboo about inter-office relations.

Clickhereto buy, or read an excerpton my site.

I'llbe selecting one lucky commenter to receive a title of their choice from Emma'sbacklist. I won’t be choosing until midnight Sunday, so you have plenty of timeto read Inter-Office Relations and tell me what you think!

Hugethanks to Emma for hosting me today!

The Songs of Christmas by Susan Frances

2011-12-21T05:00:00.000-06:00

The Songs of Christmas

Have you noticed that Christmas just isn’t Christmas without songs to ring in the Holiday cheer?

Christmas songs nurture a love of family and community. There are the singalongs like “Jingle Bells” and “Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer” and others that instill the ideals of the Christmas spirit like “The Little Drummer Boy,” which brings a tear to the eyes of the most jaded cynic.

Even today, tunesmiths continue to sow new songs based on Christmas themes. Some have become timeless classics in the Great American Songbook such as Irving Berlin’s tune “White Christmas” made popular by Bing Crosby and his movie by that title in 1954, and the Trans-Siberian Orchestra’s “Christmas Canon” from their 1998 album “The Christmas Attic.” Each of these artists turned to the classic minstrels for their compass, as too has contemporary vocalist Michael Buble for his 2011 release “Christmas.”

The tradition of singing Christmas songs dates back to the 13^thcentury in Italy when the Catholic priest Francis of Assisi encouraged the craftsmanship of hymns and Gregorian-like chants to be sung during church mass on Christmas Day to honor the birth of Jesus Christ. From Italy, a litany of Christmas carols was passed into Germany, France, and England.

John Audelay, a 13^th century Shropshire priest assembled a list of twenty-five “Caroles of Cristemas” which were sung by wassailers, or carolers as they are known today. The wassailers would sing in the streets and collect money from passersby to donate to the church’s charities.

Singing Christmas carols in church and on city streets was banned in England during Oliver Cromwell’s reign in the 1600’s. The tradition was reinstated in 1660 during the Restoration of the Crown, and the tradition took off in America when the English colonists settled in the new land.

One of the first documented Christmas carols is “12 Days of Christmas” based on a Roud folk melody and published in Englandin 1780 with the original author unknown. The song was put in “The Nursery Rhymes of England” in 1846 with the arrangement built around the verse “five gold rings” added by English composer Frederic Austin.

Writing Christmas carols and cataloging pre-existing carols became popular through the 1800’s. In 1823, American professor Clement Clark Moore penned the poem “T’was The Night Before Christmas” as a bedtime story for his children on Christmas Eve. The poem was put to music and has become a favorite in households across the country ever since.

In 1833, William B. Sandys compiled “Christmas Carols Ancient and Modern” which included the religious ruminations “First Noel” and “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.” The material used for the latter minstrel has an Aeolian pattern originating from Ancient Greece, which marks it as from the early days of Christianity handed down from generation to generation. The influence of Ancient Greek melodies on Christian music can be traced to the Emperor Constantine who converted to Catholicism and the nations he ruled,Greece and Italy, around 313 A.D.

Other staples in the Christmas nest include “Ave Maria” based on a biblical prayer which beseeches the Virgin Mary to intercede in the lives of mortals. Arranged by Charles Gounod in 1859, it is set to the orchestral score of Franz Schubert’s “Ave Maria” from 1825 with a piano melody influenced by Johann Sebastian Bach’s first prelude from the “Well Tempered Clavier.”

Another religious hymn, “Greensleeves (What Child Is This)” has become a staple written by William Chatterton Dix in 1865 . It is based on an Old English folk melody widely used in the late 16^thcentury with verses that describes the Nativity, “What child is this who laid to rest / on Mary’s lap is sleeping / whom angels greet with anthems sweet / while shepherds watch are keeping.”

“Jingle Bells” too was conceived in the 19^th century, written by James Lord Pierpont in 1857. Inspired by the sleigh races in Pierpont’s hometown of Medford, Massachusetts, it was originally titled “One Horse Open Sleigh,” but renamed “Jingle Bells” after the motor car replaced the horse-driven vehicles or droshkies.

The next wave of new Christmas songs surfaced in the mid-20^thcentury including “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town,” written by John Frederick Coots and Haven Gillespie in 1934. That same year, “Winter Wonderland” emerged with music written by Felix Bernard and lyrics by Richard B. Smith based on the wintery scenes ofScranton, Pennsylvania.

One of the most prolific composers of Christmas tunes in the 20^thcentury was Johnny Marks, a Jewish American who rose to fame in the 1940’s. He composed the music for “I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day,” a poem written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in 1864, in addition to writing the music for two poems written by Robert L. May, “Have A Holly Jolly Christmas” and “Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer.” The latter one was featured in a booklet published by the store-chain Montgomery Ward.

The 1940’s fostered several other standards like “White Christmas” which is still a favorite in homes and commercial hubs. “Sleigh Ride” by Leroy Anderson and Mitchell Parish had everyone singing along to its catchy verses from its inception in 1846, “We’re riding in a wonderland of snow / giddy up, giddy up, giddy up / it’s grand just holding your hand… snuggled close together like two birds of a feather would be.”

“Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” written in 1944 by lyricist Hugh Martin and composer Ralph Blane also caught on filled with Christmas-inspired motifs, “Have yourself a merry little Christmas / let your heart be light / from now on your troubles will be out of sight,” and peaking with “Hang a shining star upon the highest bough.’ The song made its debut in the Judy Garland film “Meet Me In St. Louis” but its current rendition was modified at the request of Frank Sinatra who found the original verses too depressing.

The 1940’s harvest also produced “The Little Drummer Boy” written by Katherine Kennicott Davis with music by Henry Onorati and Harry Simeone. The melody is based on a Czechoslovakian folk tune and a story influenced by a 12^th century legend retold by Anatole France in “Le Jongieur de Notre Dame” published in 1892 Davis’ story substitutes the street juggler in the original version with a little boy who plays the drums for the baby Jesus.

One of the most recent Christmas songs to become a standard is “Christmas Canon” by the Trans-Siberian Orchestra. Based on the score for Johann Pachelbel’s “Canon in D Major,” the words are sung by a children’s choir chiming, “This night we pray / our lives will show / this dream he had / each child still knows… on this night / on this very special Christmas night.”

Christmas songs have been a staple of the Holiday Season since the luminaries of Christianity encouraged the custom several thousands of years ago. Today, the list continues to grow proving it just isn’t Christmas without Christmas songs, and following the path of the wassailers of yesteryear in spreading good cheer.

Blurb:

Cullen Danes never believed in love at sight, but when the investigator for the British Aviation Ministry meets the girl in his dreams, he surrenders to the emotional currents that consume him. Nina Holt is far too concerned about finding a job in her chosen field of public relations to abandon her quest and put her faith in the stranger with the piercing blue eyes; yet, when Cullen’s life is in danger, she has no other choice but to save him from suffering the same fate as his friend, American pilot Steve McKenna, whose involvement with an international crime ring concludes with his murder.

Together, Nina and Cullen uncover a web of illicit activities that includes government officials, financial institutions and global industrialists. Though the perilous circumstances they encounter tests their mettle, Nina and Cullen's true test comes when he asks her to take a major leap of faith. Torn between jumping into the unknown or remaining in a static position, Nina has to decide whether to take the biggest risk of her life, that is, if the King Maker does not have them killed.

Click here to purchase.

Find out more about Susan Frances at:

http://susanfrancesny.wordpress.com/

http://susanfrancesny.blogspot.com/

http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5310315.Susan_Frances

http://www.nightowlromance.com/nor/Authors/Susan-Frances.aspx

http://freshfiction.com/author.php?id=28517

2011-12-19T08:50:00.000-06:00

Just in time for Christmas, Time-lost Love, has been released. Like the Mates of the Guardians series-- which includes His Ship, Her Fantasy and His Hope, Her Salvation with His Capture, Her Rescue due out in 2012--Time-lost Love crosses the genre boundary. There's a little science fiction, a little fantasy, a little mystery and a little romance packed into this holiday short story.

Winter delivers a mystery into Sarah's lap when she finds the diary of a young woman who once lived in the renovated farmhouse Sarah and her husband, Robert, recently moved into. The diary hints at a lost love and further research reveals an untimely death.

But when Nisse, the Norwegian spirit of Christmas, gets his due, all things are possible, and time's lost love might be found anew.

Available at Amazon.com.

Home Is Where the Heart Is, Book 5: Welcome to Redemption by Donna Marie Rogers

2011-12-16T12:03:00.005-06:00

Melinda "Lindy" Spalding was first introduced in The Perfect Blend, Welcome To Redemption: Book 3 as the sister of Jacob Spalding (known to the good people of Redemption as Matt Jacobs). And she isn't your usual heroine. She's rich and privileged and snooty. But most of it's an act. Though she really does love her designer clothes and shoes. ;-)

She skidded into town in her red sports car, nearly running down Drew Porter's beast of a dog in the process. Well, to be fair, the incident was Bo's fault. But Lindy is so rattled by the spark that flies between her and Drew that she does what she always does--she puts on the pampered princess act and insults him. No worries. Drew Porter has a sizable ego himself, and gives as good as he gets...

Home Is Where the Heart Is, Book 5: Welcome To Redemption

Used to the finer things in life, heiress Melinda Spalding is thrown for a loop when her brother relocates to the Midwest. Her parents even expand their business to the small town and put her in charge of the project. Discovering she likes "Mayberry" and its quirky inhabitants is almost as shocking as her growing attraction to the local auto mechanic. But L.A. is where she belongs...or is home truly where the heart is?

Drew Porter learned early in life how treacherous women can be--and when snooty "Lindy" Spalding skids into his life and nearly makes roadkill out of his dog, she seems worse than most. An unlikely bond between their pets gives him an intriguing glimpse behind her pretentious exterior. While his heart wonders if there more to her than meets the eye, his head tells him to run as fast as he can in the opposite direction.

Excerpt:

“Come on, man, there has to be someone else in Redemption who owns a pickup—the Packers are playing in the Super Bowl! What about Caleb?”

In just a few hours, Drew would be hosting his annual Super Bowl party, and only the third in his lifetime featuring the Packers. The last thing he had time for was a trip into Green Bay for a mattress. Christ, what happened to, “I’ll be perfectly fine on the floor, thank you very much”? Yeah, right, Princess.

“He’s out on an emergency call, and Lauren isn’t sure when he’ll be back. Look, I know this is bad timing, but Carrie and Lauren are making most of the food anyway, and I can start grilling if you’re not back in time.”

The last thing Drew wanted to do was spend more time with Hot Stuff than he had to. She infuriated him like no woman ever had...she also excited him like no woman ever had, which was half the problem. Hell, who was he kidding, it was the majority of the problem. The urge to spank her warred with the need to kiss her breathless, and he knew he’d be a goner if he ever gave in to either urge.

“Fine, I’ll do it. Tell her I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“You’re the best.”

Drew could hear the humor in his friend’s voice. “Yeah, well you’re gonna owe me big time for this one.”

“That I will. Thanks, man.”

As soon as Drew pulled into Lindy’s driveway, he regretted agreeing to play chauffeur. She stood on the porch with her arms crossed, her annoyance unmistakable. She dropped her arms and strode toward the truck, then

stopped to glare at him through the windshield for a couple heartbeats before continuing on toward the passenger side door. Drew suddenly wished he’d brought Bo along to sit between them.

She yanked open the door and climbed in, slamming it closed with both hands. Drew was hard pressed not to laugh at her silent little tantrum.

“You’re late.”

He avoided her gaze as he backed out of the driveway. Damn, it was going to be a long ride into Green Bay.

“Fifteen minutes. Get over it.”

She buckled her seat belt and crossed her legs, one foot bouncing angrily as steam erupted from her ears. Thankfully, she ignored him for most of the ride, staring straight ahead while silently fuming. Finally, she started looking around at the scenery. A small smile even touched her lips.

“Pretty, ain't it?”

Her smile faded. It dawned on Drew that she was still angry with him from yesterday. So Hot Stuff was a grudge holder. Perfect. He let out a long, drawn out sigh as he took the 41 exit south. “We’ll be there in about ten minutes. Think you can handle my company that long?”

“If only it ended there,” she muttered.

“Look, you don’t like me, fine. I’ll drop you off at the furniture store and you can take a taxi home. Maybe if you offer the driver enough money he’ll strap your mattress to the roof of the cab.”

At long last, she looked at him, and Drew was taken aback by the hurt glimmering in her eyes. “You think I’m just some useless fluff ball who doesn’t do anything but file my nails and buy new clothes.”

“Since when do you care what I think?”

She swung her gaze away and stared back out the windshield. “I don’t.”

Drew came up to a stoplight and took the opportunity to study her face. He reached out and cupped her chin. “Liar. I think you care more about my opinion than you want to admit.”

She jerked her chin from his grasp and pinned him with her most haughty glare. He heaved a silent sigh. How nice it would be if she just quit this whole Paris Hilton act and joined him back on planet Earth. Little Miss Silver Spoon was buried so deep in her privileged world he doubted it was possible to draw her out. And hell, who cared? She wasn’t even worth the effort.

Now who’s the liar, pal?

“Get over yourself, Lou, I couldn’t care less what you think. You’re nobody to me.”

“You know damn well what my name is, lady, so say it. Call me by my name or you can take a goddamn taxi back to Redemption.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you so much for having me, Emma. I hope everyone enjoyed the excerpt. I would love to give a free download to anyone who posts. And since Books 1 & 2 are already free (at Amazon, B&N, Smashwords, etc.) that's only 3 books left to buy, at $0.99 each, to complete the series :-)

Amazon/Kindle Buy Link: http://www.amazon.com/Where-Heart-Welcome-Redemption-ebook/dp/B0058VAOTS/

B&N/Nook Buy Link: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/home-is-where-the-heart-is-donna-marie-rogers/1104135950?ean=2940012819093

Donna Marie Rogers inherited her love of romance from her mother. Romance novels, soap operas, Little House On the Prairie--her mother loved them all. And though it wasn't until years later Donna would come to understand her mother's fascination with Charles Ingalls, Donna's love of the romance genre is every bit as all-consuming.

A Chicago native, Donna now lives in beautiful Northeast Wisconsin with her husband and children. She's an avid gardener and home-canner, as well as an admitted reality TV junkie. Her passion to read is only exceeded by her passion to write, so when she's not doing the wife and mother thing, you can usually find her sitting at the computer, creating exciting, memorable characters, fresh new worlds, and always happily-ever-afters.

Riding Rodeo Release Party Winner...

2011-12-12T14:43:00.002-06:00

Congratulations to Maeve Greyson. She's the winner of a $25 gift certificate to Amazon, Barnes & Noble or The Wild Rose Press, her choice.

Underwear for X-mas? A Boxer or Brief Discussion with Jennifer Jakes

2011-12-09T05:00:00.000-06:00

Remember that commercial withMichael Jordon? I'm sure that wasn't the first time the boxer vs brief questionwas asked, but it did make the question popular.

Me, I'm a rebel. I prefer boxer briefs on my hubby. You get the best of bothworlds. They're tight enough to be sexy -- because I hate that baggy boxer look-- and yet, they don't make me think of panties -- as briefs do -- when I lookat them.

And because my hubby has really sexy legs and I like the way they look in boxerbriefs . . . but I digress.

The first men's underwear was probably the Loincloth, a simple strip ofmaterial or leather. A loincloth was also used to describe material pulledbetween the legs and fastened like a diaper. Not a good look for anyone:( Greek and Roman men reportedly wore Loincloth.

During the Middle Ages, Loincloth was replaced by loose trouser like pantscalled Braies. Braies were a step-in design and laced at the waist andmid-calf. Wealthy men also wore Chausses.

By Renaissance, Braies became shorter to accommodate longer styles of Chausses-- and chausses gave way to hose. But since neither Braies nor chausses weremeant to be worn beneath they weren't technically underwear.

Braies were replaced by cotton, silk or linen Drawers which were wornfor years and years and years. And years. I couldn't find much information onhow much -- if any -- the basic design changed. However, in the mid 1800's massproduction of underwear began and people started to buy their drawers insteadof making them at home. The Unionsuit also became popular in the mid1800's -- 1868 actually -- and had the drop seat in the back.

In 1874, the Jock Strap came along to provide support for the bicyclejockeys riding upon cobblestone streets.

The first underwear print ad ran in the Saturday Evening Post in 1911, an oilpainting, not a picture. That would have been indecent! In WWI soldiers wereissued button front shorts though they were often still worn with a union suit.(Which by the way became 2 pieces in 1910 - what we call long-johns).

By 1935 Coopers Inc. sold the world's first men's briefs, the design dubbed Jockeysince it provided the support once only offered by a jock strap. 30,000 pairsof new Jockeys sold within the first 3 months of introduction. In the1950's manufacturers began to make men's underwear from colored and/or printedmaterial. In the 1970's and 1980's advertisers began appealing to the sexualside of selling, foregoing the long time ad practice of comfort and durability.Speaking of comfort - or lack thereof - the thong became popular in the1990's.
So, what do you prefer on your man? Boxer, brief, thong . . . or commando?

BLURB – TWICE IN A LIFETIME

Be Careful What You Wish For. . .

No-nonsense stuntwoman Isabella Douglas will do anything tostop an unwanted divorce and reclaim the happy life she had, even allow her oldfriend to concoct a magical spell to turn back time. But when the spell goesawry, Izzy finds herself trapped aboard a 1768 Caribbean pirate ship with acaptain who’s a dead ringer for her sexy as sin husband, Ian. Convinced he’splaying a cruel joke, she’s furious – until she realizes he doesn’t know her orbelieve they’re married.

Captain Ian Douglas does not have time to deal with aninsane woman who claims to be his wife; he has to save his kidnapped sister.But as Izzy haunts his dreams and fills him with erotic memories he can’texplain, he’s forced to admit he feels more than lust.

Trappedin a vicious cycle of past mirroring present, Izzy knows they only have days tofind Ian’s sister and prevent disaster from striking a second time. If shedoesn’t, their marriage will be destroyed again – along with the man she loves.

EXCERPT: TWICE IN A LIFETIME

Her fingers threaded in his thick hair asshe traced his mouth with the tip of her tongue. “Kiss me.”

He hesitated, then groaned and coveredher lips in a breath stealing kiss. Hot, wet, silky. Her nipples hardened,ached for his touch, the tug of his fingers, the pull of his mouth.

“Touch me.” She pressed a kiss to histhroat, then licked his collarbone. “I need your hands on me.”

He grunted and slid his hands down herback. Rough palms gripped her cheeks, grinding her against his erection. Hisgaze burned through her as he moved his thigh between her legs.

“Yes. Please.” She tilted her hips,rubbing, needing release more than air. “Oh, God, yes.” Desire roared throughher, the ache building. Building. The orgasm so . . .damned. . .close.

A sharp knock sounded at the door.“Captain? The men are ready to go ashore.”

Ian pulled back and swallowed hard, hisexpression hungry, his heart thumping against her breast.

“Captain?”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll be right there.” Hisheavy lidded gaze skimmed her body. Possessive. Aroused. Regretful as he sether aside.

Her mind crawled to process what washappening while her body was doused with disappointment. “You’re still going?”

He raked through his hair, then nodded.“We need provisions before sailing for Jamaica. I’ll only be a few hours.” Hestepped to the door, but turned and pinned her with a hard stare. “But when Ireturn . . .”

“Yes?” Her heart thumped in anticipationof some explicit description of what he would do to her. Oh, but his tongue wasnaughty in all the right ways.

“. . . I expect an explanation.”

Izzy drooped against the door, herthoughts racing even though her legs collapsed. This was going to be theshortest second chance in history.

2011-12-06T10:40:00.001-06:00

Don't forget to stop by Lacey Wolfe's blog to visit with me and enter to win a copy of Riding Rodeo (given away tomorrow after noon CST) and a $25 gift certificate from Amazon, B & N, or TWRP (winner's choice to be given away on December 12th after noon.)

The Magic and the Wonder by Debra St. John

2011-12-02T05:00:00.000-06:00

TheMagic and the Wonder

I love Christmas and everythingthat goes with it.

Well, not everything…I guess I’mnot much of a Christmas shopper. Don’t get me wrong, I love buying presents forpeople. However I don’t feel the need to be part of the Black Friday or anyother holiday crowd. In fact I usually cheat a little and start accumulatingChristmas presents in early Fall.

One of my favorite parts ofChristmas comes after the shopping is done. I love wrapping presents. I set upa card table in the loft, gather my supplies (paper, tissue, ribbons, boxes,etc.), turn on the holiday music, and lose myself in the joy of creating prettypackages. If all goes well, I like to have this done a couple of weeks beforeChristmas, so I can admire the presents under my tree before giving them away.

Christmas music is anotherfavorite part of the season. For me, not one Christmas song gets played untilthe Friday after Thanksgiving. Every year I think long and hard about which CDI’ll play first that morning as we start to decorate the house. We’ve amassedquite a collection of holiday music, so this is never an easy decision. Exceptfor this year. This year to coincide with my new release, A Christmas to Remember, the choice for first song was ano-brainer. I went right for Kenny and Dolly’s Once Upon a Christmas and set it to track 6: You guessed it… “AChristmas to Remember”, which happens to be the inspiration for my story.

I’ve always loved Christmasstories. The ones you read curled up in front of the fireplace with a steamingmug of peppermint hot cocoa. There’s something about Christmas that makes thehappily ever after of a romance even more special. For years I always toldmyself I was going to write one of my own. Finally, earlier this year, I did. A Christmas to Remember was releasedlast month. Not only was it my first Christmas book, but it was my firstattempt at a novella. All in all, I have to say I’m pretty satisfied with theresults. (And I hope readers will be, too!)

Merry Christmas, everyone! I wishyou all the magic and wonder of the season!

A Christmas to Remember (Availablefrom The Wild Rose Press).

by Debra St. John (www.debrastjohnromance.com)

Blurb:

Newly single, Heather Morgan gathers her courage and decidesto take a Christmas ski vacation on her own. However, the festive holidayatmosphere reminds her how dispirited and alone she feels. When she meets amysterious stranger, her lonely vacation takes an unexpected turn.

Sam is at the resort at the urging of his brother, who thinks heneeds to get out and have a little fun. Having no desire to get involved withanyone, Sam needs a way to get his brother off his back. The intriguing Heatherseems like the perfect solution to his dilemma, so he makes her an offer shecan't refuse.

Sam restores the joy of the season to Heather. Their time togetheris magical, something she'll never forget. Soon her feelings for him deepenbeyond their romantic holiday fling. But Sam has a secret, one that couldprevent the fantasy from ever becoming real.

Excerpt:

“So, I guess I’ll bespending Christmas by myself. Well, not all by myself. Actually I’ll bespending Christmas with Jimmy Stewart.”

“No, you…” Sam’s browfurrowed and he stopped. “What?”

Heather gave a shortlaugh, but didn’t meet his eyes. “I found a channel playing an It’s aWonderful Life marathon.”

“Ah. Well with nodisrespect to Mr. Stewart, he’ll be without your presence because you’ll bespending Christmas with me.”

Her gaze snapped to his.“Oh, no, I couldn’t. I mean, aren’t you spending it with your brother?”

“You can join us. Hewon’t mind.”

“No, thank you.Christmas shouldn’t be a part of our deal.”

“I’m not asking you tospend Christmas with me as part of our deal.” On impulse Sam placed his handover hers. “Look, as far as I’m concerned, our deal is off.”

She shifted her gazefrom his hand covering hers to look at him, but she didn’t pull away. “Why?”Did she sound disappointed?

“Because I want to spendtime with you just for the pleasure of being with you. And I want you to do thesame. Not exchanging dinner for skiing lessons. But just because we like beingtogether.”

She smiled. “That soundsnice.”

He ran his thumb overher knuckles. “I’d very much like to spend Christmas with you.”

Review of Healer's Fate by Beth Caudill

2011-12-01T16:59:00.001-06:00

Corliss Rumdone is a Healer on the fringes of the wolf pack hierarchy, but not enough on the fringe to prevent the Alphas from arranging a match for her. Instead of the undesirable Raymond--the beta of the pack--she mates with Liam, heir to the Alphas. To prevent challenges to the mating, Liam takes her away to his retreat, where they find anything but peace. Dark powers are at work, and the two must fight for their love.

I had to read the story in spurts because of my schedule. The first five chapters went by in a flash. The world was well-developed and the characters great. When I came back I was shocked to find a new twist in the story and didn't want to put the book down again. After the couple overcame the first big challenge, I might have benefited from taking a break because the next big challenge didn't hold the same emotional impact for me--even though it was well-written.

The story was well done. The world great and rich in detail. The end introduced a whole new twist that left me curious about what else Ms. Caudill has in store. Definitely looking for more of her stories!

Riding Rodeo Release Party Reminder

2011-11-29T12:50:00.001-06:00

There's still time to enter for a copy of Riding Rodeo as well as the $25 gift certificate from The Wild Rose Press, Amazon, or B & N (winner's choice).

Just visit either of these blogs and leave a comment. I'll draw a winner for Riding Rodeo after noon CST the day after the post. The grand prize will be awarded December 11th. (Each comment is an entry so you can enter more than once!

Nov. 30th - Katherine Grey
Dec. 10th - Liz Flaherty

30% Off - Black Friday TWRP Digital Deals

2011-11-25T08:04:00.001-06:00

The Wild Rose Press has 30% off digital titles at its website: http://www.thewildrosepress.com/

You can pick up the Mates of the Guardians series, by clicking here, or if you're in the mood for a cowboy menage or historical erotica, click here. Don't forget to use the code at checkout!

Happy Black Friday shopping!

Reflecting on Thanksgiving by Katherine Grey, author of Impetuous

2011-11-18T05:00:00.000-06:00

One of my favorite things about the fall season isThanksgiving. We always have a largegathering of at least 15 people for dinner and other guests who pop in and outthroughout the day as they make their way to family members’ homes. Unfortunately, the holidays seem to be theonly time I see some of my relatives who live out of state or even just a fewhours away.

Because we have such a large group of people for dinner withmany diverse religions, we don’t say a prayer before eating. Instead we go around the table and eachperson says one thing he or she is thankful for. Some of the things said can be truly heartfelt while others can be quite comical like the one time my nephew said he wasthankful his grandmother, and not his mother, made the pie we’d be eating laterfor dessert.

As Thanksgiving grows closer, I find myself reflecting onthe past year and all that I’m thankful for. How can I choose just one thing to state at our family dinner? Because of that limitation, I’ve decided tolist a few of the things I’m thankful for here.

1.) AsI look around and see friends taking care of an aging parent, I’m so verythankful for my mother’s good health.

2.) Giventhe unemployment rate and the economy, I’m thankful I have a job. (Even thoughI’d love to be able to devote my time to working as a full-time writer.)

3.) After4 knee surgeries in 4 years, I’m so thankful for my health and that I haven’thad to have knee replacement…yet. I’malso thankful my orthopedist doesn’t like to do knee replacements on patientswho are younger than 55 unless there’s no other alternative and that I’m quitea number of years away from 55.

4.) I’mthankful I can write the stories of my heart and be able to share them withothers.

5.) I’mthankful for my fellow Wild Rose Press authors who so generously share theirknowledge and advice and who are so wonderfully supportive.

Do you find yourself thinking about the things you’rethankful for at this time of year? I’dlove to hear some of them.

Blurb:
Mateo de Montayas, an impoverished Spanish count, comes to England torecover a stolen family heirloom and to satisfy his hunger for revenge againstthe man who destroyed his family. Arriving in London,he learns his hated enemy died three years before but has left behind adaughter. What better way to retrieve the heirloom and exact revenge than touse her to his advantage?

Teresa Darlington will do anything to keep scandalaway from her frail mother and prove her father wasn't a thief, even risk herreputation in a race to find the missing heirloom before the Count does. Butshe didn't count on falling in love with the man determined to ruin her family.Can she find the heirloom before he does and protect her family, or will herheart lead her in a different direction?

Excerpt:

Thehalls had been left dark in this part of the mansion. Herhand cupped around the candle, she prayed the flamewouldn’t go out.

Asthe entrance to the library loomed ahead of her,a figure materialized out of the darkness. She jumpedback, losing her grip on the candle.

Witha quick movement, the intruder caught it inmid-air. Before she could scream, a strong arm wrappedaround her waist, pulling her against his chestand into the room.

Heextinguished the candle with a breath of air thatstirred the tendrils of her hair.

Sheshivered. Her heart beating out of control, sheswallowed and fought back the panic that threatenedto take hold. Teresa’s gaze darted around theroom for a means of escape. If she screamed, wouldanyone hear her over the noise of the ball?

Moonlightcast shadows along enormous bookcaseslining the walls. The balcony doors stood open,the pale silk drapes fluttering in the breeze.

“Well,well, isn’t this a surprise?”

Teresastiffened at the sound of the deep, husky voice.She would know that arrogant tone anywhere. Herheart picked up speed. Slowly, she met his gaze. Hewore the mask and clothes of black as he had donein their previous encounter.

Hereleased her with an impudent grin.

Eagerto put space between them, she crossed theroom and stood with her arms folded on the back of achair. “What are you doing here? This is too muchto be a coincidence.”

“Iagree. Why do you always seem to appear whereI am?”

“Me?”She gestured to herself in outrage. “I am a guesthere. I have been a guest at every occasion thatwe’ve had the misfortune to meet.”

“Butwhy are you here and not in the ballroom withthe others?” He moved toward her, gliding acrossthe room like a shadow. “Perhaps, you were searchingfor me, eh?”

“Andperhaps I took a knock in the cradle when I wasa child,” Teresa snapped. “Do you think me completelyaddle-brained? Why would I be searching foryou when I didn’t know you would appear like

somewraith out of the mist?” Anger drained away hernormal reserve around members of the opposite

sex.She moved closer and stabbed him in the chest withher finger. “If I knew you’d be here, in this

house,I wouldn’t have come within a day’s journey ofit.”

Hegrabbed her hand as she poked him again. “Andwhy is that?”

“Because,”she nearly shouted, “you cut up my peace.I can’t concentrate on my studies. I’ve become

completelymuddle-headed. I even mislaid my notebook.I never mislay my notebook.” Her mouth snappedshut as she realized what she’d said.

Hepulled her closer, laying a finger against her lips.“Then perhaps,” he whispered, lowering his

head, “I have come in search of you.”

Hebrushed his mouth over hers, a light touch thathinted at things to come. Teresa pushed at his chest.Propriety ruled her head for the moment but for how much longer?

You can purchase a copy at any of the following links:

The Wild Rose Press: http://www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=index&manufacturers_id=905

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Impetuous-ebook/dp/B005J7K52M/ref=ntt_at_ep_edition_2_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/impetuous-katherine-grey/1105052736?ean=2940013040984&itm=4&usri=impetuous#CustomerReviews

Divorce, Interrupted by Jill James

2011-11-16T05:00:00.000-06:00

Newly-divorced Todd and Lisa Miller are stranded at their mountain cabin. There to divide a lifetime of memories, they soon are in danger from more than the anger between them.
A vicious storm forces them to rely on each other to survive.

Can they trust the one person they lost belief in? Or are their hearts in danger from more than floods and frigid weather?

Excerpt – R rated – Explicit Sex

It was so right with his male scent surrounding her as they opened the can. He pushed the opened one aside and reached for the other one. Together, they took care of that one as well. She must be getting a fever. Perspiration beaded on her forehead when Todd pushed the can away, but retained her hands. His fingers slid along hers. The trembling had stopped as tremors moved to other parts of her body.

Her legs were limp noodles as his breath whispered at her ear. “I know I shouldn’t, but, God, I want you.”

Her voice was a mere whisper. “I need you.”

She turned in his arms. In a rush, their lips met in a heated kiss. No mere friendly peck. This held all the passion she always enjoyed in his arms. It was magical. It was hot. It was coming home. Her mind was a whirlwind of passion, lost feelings, and remembered hunger. Todd had always been the perfect lover and their months apart setting afire the kinder of her hidden love.

She clung to his arms as if to a life ring in a stormy sea. His tongue forced its way into her mouth to tangle with hers. He tasted of cinnamon gum and hot passion. A moan sounded in the kitchen. She wasn’t sure whether it was her ex’s or her own.

A chill shot up her back as she broke apart from Todd for a second to allow him to remove her top. The cold evaporated as he removed his shirt and she plastered herself to his chest. His constant hot body heat an aphrodisiac of remembrance. She moaned as his lips found hers again.

His fingers tangled in her hair and ripped the rubber band out. The momentary pain gone as he kneaded her scalp with long, strong fingers. An orgasmic thrill shot through her to her core, flooding her with warmth and wetness.

Her fingers struggled with his belt buckle, while he toe-pushed his shoes off. He helped and his pants slid to the floor, with hers quickly following. His arms cradled her as they fell to the kitchen rug. His hands were everywhere at once as he set her skin on fire.

Her fingers grasped his thick hair as he expertly undid her bra with one hand and yanked it from her body. Her breasts were cold for a second until Todd’s mouth latched on and scorched her with the heat of his tongue and lips.

She arched her back, pressing herself to Todd. Wanting to feel every inch of him against her body. An ache built in her throat and tears flooded her eyes. She’d missed every second of this. This feeling alive and loved.

Todd’s fingers traveled up her thigh to her drenched panties. She whimpered deep in her throat as he teased her, his fingers moving slowly back and forth on the surface of her underwear. Her face heated at the thought of her plain cotton panties. Before, Todd was always begging for teddies and nighties and sexy underwear.

All thoughts of what she could have worn were gone as Todd ripped her panties to shreds and tossed them aside. Her gasp at his unexpected behavior was lost as his fingers and his tongue plunged into her at the same time.

The matching rhythms above and below were too much as Lisa knew her climax wascoming swiftly. Todd swallowed her cries as his fingers moved faster and faster. She closed her eyes and gave in to the passion. She hadn’t felt like this in years.

Her nails dug into Todd’s arms as his kisses and sexual movements sent her to the apex and over the edge. Her hips arched, her insides clenched, and her cries echoed louder than the torrential downpour outside.

Her musky scent reached her nose as Todd’s fingers trailed across her body. He reached her mouth and she licked his fingers, coated with her musky scent and his strong, clean smell she loved.

Her gasps for breath slowed, her heartbeat returned to a normal pace as Todd’s fingers found her breasts and his lips traveled to her cheek. His mouth moved to her ear, with his tongue swirling around and upping her heart rate again.

“Nice to see your boyfriend taught you some new tricks.”

Jill’s LinksWebsite: http://www.jilljameswrites.com
Blog: http://www.jilljameswrites.com/blog
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/Jill.James-author
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/jill_james
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/jill_james

Glad to be Home by Lynda Bailey

2011-11-13T08:36:00.001-06:00

It's been a long three weeks for Rae watching two sets of twin boys alone while her husband's out of town on business. It's no wonder she's tired, but when dear hubby starts giving her a little, personal attention, fatigue gives way to desire.

I love this story. It's very easy to relate to the situation, which is nice. What makes it so naughty is the writing makes the reader forget she's reading--adds a bit of voyeurism to the ride. We get to see into the minds of both Rae and Frank and watch as they explore a new aspect of their marriage.

Release Day for Riding Rodeo!

2011-11-11T11:59:00.001-06:00

Riding Rodeo is now available! Click here to purchase from The Wild Rose Press.

To celebrate, I'm giving away copies over the next month to one person who leaves a comment at the following blogs I'm visiting. (Winner announced after noon CST on the following day.) I'll also pick one person to receive a $25 gift certificate to either B & N, Amazon or The Wild Rose Press--winner's choice. (Each comment is an entry, so you can enter more than once!)

Nov. 11th - The Wilder Roses and Sarah Grimm
Nov. 12th - Black Rose of TWRP
Nov. 15th - Rachel Leigh
Nov. 18th - Jennifer Jakes
Nov. 30th - Katherine Grey
Dec. 10th - Liz Flaherty

Risque Business by HelenKay Dimon

2011-11-10T16:16:00.001-06:00

Kari Reynolds represents so many women. She's not a slip of petite, nothing, who inspires the protective instincts in men. But, really, who wants to be THAT woman, or wants THAT man who needs to protect something to feel manly?

I much prefer a man like Matt Bradford, who recognizes women as attractive creatures based on their intelligence and personality (not that Kari isn't good-looking in her own right).

Add a story that flows well, excellent writing and smoking hot sex to great characters and this is a definite winner!

Thankfulness by Sarah M. Anderson, author of A Man of His Word

2011-11-09T05:00:00.000-06:00

It’s that time of the year where we all pause for a few weeks and take stock of our lives, noting each thing for which we are thankful.

Wait. All the Christmas lights are up, the stores are playing “Jingle Bells,” and the mall has posted the Santa visitation schedule?

Where the heck is Thanksgiving? Did I miss it? I swear, Halloween was just a few days ago! Why are there elves everywhere?

It’s a true shame that marketing departments have chosen to gloss over a holiday built around being thankful for what you have and gone straight for a holiday that has been commercialized to revolve around what you want, want, want. I think this does a real disservice to not only our kids, but to us. We get so caught up in getting our shopping done early, our cards in the mail, our house decorated to the teeth that we miss the chance to pause.

By the time the actual Thanksgiving rolls around, most of us have been celebrating Christmas for weeks. We’re already under the gun, stressed by the money we’ve already spent and frazzled by the relentless pace. The turkey, the pie, going around the table to say what we’re thankful for—it’s all so anticlimactic as to be an afterthought.

Not me, though. I refuse to give into the marketing and be tricked into appreciating what I’ve got instead of bemoaning what I don’t. (Although an iPad wouldn’t be terrible. Just sayin’.) So I’m pausing. I stop to admire the last few roses that held on after the first frost, the clear blue sky before the first flurries, and the sheer joy of wearing sweaters but not needing the huge winter coat (or having to track down my son’s mismatched gloves. Again.)

I hope you pause with me. And just to give you something to be thankful for, I’m giving away one signed copy of A Man of His Word to one lucky person who leaves a comment answering the question: What are you thankful for? All commentators will be entered to win this stunning, one-of-a-kind book locket from Artwear by Wanaree.

This post is brought to you as part of the A Man of His Word Blog Tour. For a complete tour schedule and rules and restrictions, visit <www.sarahmanderson.com>. All blog comments are added to the Jewelry Grand Prize list. Jewelry Grand Prize announced on January 1^st, 2012 to one randomly drawn name on the list.

Next tour stop is Book Pushers on November 17^th. <http://www.thebookpushers.com/>

Beginning December 6th, 2011, A Man of His Word is available! Visit your favorite bookseller, or at Amazon at <http://www.amazon.com/Man-His-Word-Harlequin-Desire/dp/0373731434/ref=pd_rhf_dp_p_t_1,> or the Nook at <http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-man-of-his-word-sarah-m-anderson/1103858071?ean=9780373731435&itm=14&usri=sarah%2bm%2banderson>

2011-11-04T05:00:00.000-05:00

Good Morning, Emma, thanks for having me onyour blog today. We’re in the season of the year I love the most. I call it the“Family Season”—a time when most families gather together for Thanksgiving andthen Christmas or Hanukah. This becomes a time of love, laughter, great foodand catching up on each other’s busy lives.

Families often get disjointed by job movesand marriages that carry their own set of obligations. Thanksgiving, for us, iscelebrated with various family members on the phone or via Skype. Calvin’s onlychild lives in Berlin. My daughter and her family live in Indiana. My older sonand family make their traditional trip to my daughter-in-law’s home inPittsburgh. And my youngest son and family either travel to their cabin in theGreat Smoky Mountains or stay at home in Maryland. Either way, they ask us tojoin them.

Every family holds its own share oftraditions on the menu. My mother always made turkey with oyster stuffing—and Ihated it. But I did love her cracker pudding, an old recipe from her Germanfamily. My kids repeatedly asked for my sweet potato casserole.

Other sweet traditions abound, too. I lovethat my daughter-in-law lays three kernels of corn on everyone’s plate. We goaround the table and share the three most important things we’re giving thanksfor this year. I also love that I know my beloved daughter-in-law won’t be ableto share hers without crying—it’s a given. My son, a fabulous cook in his ownright, makes a great turkey. His Bloody Marys aren’t bad either. These arelittle traditions we’ve come to expect and enjoy.

What are yours? For those who share afamily tradition in their comments along with an email address, the commenterwill be entered in a drawing to win an eCopy of Storm’s Interlude.

Since family dynamics are such an importantaspect of our lives, I include them in my stories. Don’t you love when a quirkyfamily is included in a romance? Adults are a product of their families, afterall, and it’s fun to see why they often act the way they do. In Storm’s Interlude, I present an extendfamily of grown twins, an adorable little boy, the woman who raised them, asheriff and a nurse. There are arguments, laughter and unconditional support.

Here’s an excerpt from Storm’s Interlude.

Afterdepositing Jackson on the sofa in the den, he knocked on Noella’s door. Thehousekeeper clasped the lapels of her ancient chenille robe together when sheopened her door. “Si, Master Storm,what is it?”

“Ibrought Jackson home. He’s sleeping in the den.”

Shestraightened her shoulders and crossed her arms into her usual stance ofannoyance. He’d seen it many times growing up. “Drunk?”

“Yes,ma’am. He was crying in his beer about Sunny.”

Noellacrossed herself and shook her head. “They should have married, our Sunny andJackson Cole. His love for her is strong. He’s ten times better than thatworthless mofeta she married. Thankyou for telling me. I’ll take care of Jackson in the morning. Poor man. He’sheartsick, but I say nothing.”

“Who’sred car is out front?”

“Rachel,Miss Sunny’s new nurse.”

Stormswore and ran a hand through his long black hair.

“Isthat any way to talk?” Noella crossed herself again. “You be polite to Rachel.You show that young lady the manners Noella teach you. Si?”

“DoI have a choice?” He reined in his temper at Noella’s frown. “You know I hadreservations about hiring her. All that holistic mumbo jumbo. Massages forcancer.” He snorted. “Acupuncture, for God’s sake.”

Soher name was Rachel. Yea, the name fit: feminine, soft, delicate. He couldstill feel the softness of her lips and did a mental head slap. He’d kissedSunny’s nurse. Just how was he going to handle this fine state of affairs?

Noella’seyebrows shot up. “I don’t care for your attitude, young man. How would youlike to fix your own meals?”

“Blackmailer,”he grumbled.

“MissRachel brought hope into this house tonight. She told me herself she has hopefor our Sunny. I feel it already. It radiates from her like heat from an oven.There’s something about her. You will sense it, too, once you meet her. Shehas…” her hands fluttered as if searching for the right words. She patted herheart. “She has deep kindness, a goodness of the soul. I sense this.”

Heleaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and studied the housekeeper’s face.She’d nail his hide to the barn door if he shared what happened earlier. Worse,she wouldn’t cook for him for a month, and he did enjoy eating. Noella wasright; there was definitely somethingabout the woman he’d kissed out on Longhorn Road, but he doubted it was thesame worthy quality the housekeeper was referring to. “I hope she’s good forSunny. Hope she takes care of her the way she should.”

Noellaput her hands on his forearms. “That’s the real issue here, isn’t it? You thinkit’s your job to take care of us. To take care of your sister and her child.You resent that someone else might take over your job as caregiver.”

“No,that’s not true.” He looked over her shoulder to the television playing in hersitting room, trying to calm himself. How did she know? Noella always knew whatwas going on in his mind, almost before he knew. It was eerie and damnedannoying.

“Isn’tit, my son? From the time your mother left, you became everyone’s protector.Almost as if you took care of us, was perfect for us, we wouldn’t leave you theway she did.” Her dark eyes bore into his, making him feel uncomfortable in hisown skin.

“That’sbullshit.” Noella’s eyebrows shot up when his vocabulary turned too colorfulfor her tastes. “Sorry, ma’am, nonsense.”

Shesqueezed his arms and smiled. “Oh? And is it nonsense that from the time yourmother left, I never had to carry in the groceries by myself? Hmmm? Even now,you always manage to be nearby when I come back from shopping.”

Heshrugged as if it were no big deal. She was right, of course, but he’d neveradmit it.

“WhenI am sick, who brings me a cup of tea? Who drives me to the doctor?”

“That’sonly because you’re too stubborn to go.”

“Son,don’t deny your caring nature. It doesn’t make you weak for one moment. You areas strong as any two men. You are intelligent and you keep this ranchprofitable. Your ranch hands hold you in high regard. No one takes care of hisanimals like you do. These are qualities to take pride in. Si? Take pride also in that you care deeply for those around you.Too many men are self-centered. You, my handsome one, are not.”

BUYLINKS:

Amazon:http://amzn.to/pkkcLq

TheWild Rose Press: http://bit.ly/rcCIMa

Barnes& Noble: http://bit.ly/pb9DQd

Comevisit me at Vintage Vonnie, http://www.vintagevonnie.blogspot.comor my website, http://vonniedavis.com

HAPPY FAMILY SEASON AND DON’T FORGET TO LEAVE ACOMMENT TO BE ELIGIBLE FOR A FREE EBOOK OF STORM’SINTERLUDE

Wednesday Reviews - Menages for All

2011-11-02T10:09:00.000-05:00

Piper is a woman in love...with two men, and neither are willing to share, or are they? Mark Lundgren is the sexy bad boy while Domingo Cardoza is the hot-blooded Hispanic. Both make your knees quiver.

Fulfilled, the debut erotic menage short by Lynda Bailey, leaves you wanting more of the author's stories. Can't wait to see what else she has to offer.

Braden Owens was there for Hale Reston in the darkest hours after the man he loved, Jesse Whitfield, left without a word. But when Jesse comes back Hale realizes he's in love with two men. The question is can they all make a relationship work?

Going Down Hard was my first M/M romance, and what better way to break into the genre than to pick up a M/M/M? Ms. Waters knows how to write a smoking hot love scene with mouth-watering heroes.

Wolfgirl and Captain Marvelous to the Rescue!

2011-10-24T18:02:00.001-05:00

I won this book a couple of years ago, and it sat on my shelf until this weekend when after several (three to be exact) attempts to find a good book to read, I finally picked Captain Marvelous up.

I wish I'd read this book two years ago when I first got it. I didn't want to put it down once I started, and that's saying a lot because it's full of things that usually make me squirm in my seat, namely abuse of women and children. But, don't let that deter you. Ms. Doran conveys the seriousness of the related issues with a flawless ease that doesn't deter from the very hot romance between Annie Wolfe and Ronen Marvelic and the mystery and suspense of the the search for a very mean bunch of criminals. You won't believe who the mastermind is either.

This is a well-written, fast-paced read. There's nothing better than a suspense that keeps you guessing until the very end. Off to find some more of Ms. Doran's books!

Friday News - Reviews and Rebrand

2011-10-21T11:00:00.000-05:00

Received a lovely review from Beck's Book Picks for Not Just Friends. My favorite part...

This is a quick read, full of romance and steam. Emma Lai is an excellent writer and I have not picked up anything yet by her that I disliked. If your in the mood for a feel good romance that won't leave out any details, be sure to check out Not Just Friends.

Click on the link for the full review.

Some of you may remember, I planned to update my banners and taglines. I changed my website a couple of days ago, and for those of you who haven't seen them, here are the new banners.

Passionate Love...Throughout the Ages: I thought this was an accurate summary of all my published work.

As for the Guardians, well I kept the original tagline, but updated the graphics.

I'm still pondering some format changes to the website, but otherwise, I'm happy. What do you think?

Magic, Mystery and Superstition -- Halloween! by Linda Nightingale

2011-10-20T05:00:00.000-05:00

Magic, mystery and superstition– Halloween!

The holiday began as the Celticfestival of Samhain, the end of summer and beginning of winter, when the worldsbetween the living and the dead blurred, and ghosts roamed the earth. People felt especially close to deceasedrelatives and friends. For affable spirits, places were set at the dinnertable, treats left on doorsteps and by the roadside. Candles were lit to guide loved ones on theirreturn to the spirit world.

Today in our trick-and-treatcelebration of the holiday, many of the rituals have become obsolete. A lot ofthe old customs focused on the future rather than the past—on the livinginstead of the dead. Some traditionspurported to help young women identify their future husbands and, with luck bynext Halloween, they would be married. At some Halloween parties, the first successful apple-bobber would bethe first one to walk down the aisle.

I love to dress in costume forHalloween whether I’m handing candy to trick-or-treaters, going to a party orgoing for a drink with friends. I have avampire costume, a dark fairy costume, an angel costume with wing (realfeathers in blue and green) and a Cleopatra costume (I usually wear this withvampire fangs as Anne Rice’s Queen of the Damned).

Do you dress in costume forHalloween? What’s your favorite costume?

Night Before Doomsday isn’ta Halloween story or an inspirational. It is about fallen angels. In Genesis, "The sons of God saw thatthe daughters of men were fair; and they took wives for themselves from thosewho were pleasing to them."

Azazel was a leader of the Grigori, the angels sent to Earth to teach Mankindafter the oust from Eden, how to survive in a less hospitable environment.Nine-tenths of the Grigori fell from Grace, but was it love or lust?

This novella presents the Grigori's tale in first person from Azazel's point ofview--the temptations, his struggles and the final realization that Heavendoesn't speak to him anymore.

Excerpt:

One spring night I picked my waydown a slippery path and found Ruth bathing in a moonlit lake. The sight tookmy breath away, and the song taking shape in my mind fled.

“Golden Azazel descends to hishumble servant.” Ruth twined her armsabove her head, her wet, succulent breasts gleaming in the moonlight.

She forged into shallower water.Excellent night vision bared what the lake would have hidden. The dark curls at her mound drew my gaze.

I averted my eyes. “I’ll leave youto your peaceful ablutions,” but anticipation rooted my feet to the sand. She'll come to me...I wascertain. I turned, placing my wingsbetween me and temptation.

“Ho, Azazel!”

I angled my body so that I couldsee her. Beckoning, she strode throughthe lake, shedding her mantle of water to stand naked on the beach. Moonlight traced lush curves and the ivoryglobes of her breasts. I could almosttaste the rosy, pebbled nipples. Wethair streamed to her small waist. Mybreath hitched. My heart raced, pumpingblood to the shaft tenting my robe. Guilt plucked at my nerves, but I couldn’t look away.

Magdalene waited for me. I should leave before trouble closed thedistance between us. My feet refused tomove. Enchanted, I stared at the felinehuntress. I might have conceived thissensual work of art, my own hands molding from river clay that perfect feminineshape. A thudding awareness of the powershe’d been born with, and that lust had given her, held me prisoner. Then Magdalene’s face flashed before my eyes,turning me toward home.

Deep, throaty laughter mockedme. “You’re afraid of me, MightyArchangel.”

I spun to face her. “I am notafraid of you, Ruth.”

“Oh?” Her arms glided around myshoulders, her fingers massaging tense muscles.

She snuggled her face against mywings, her hands stroking the tender underside. She must know that caressing my wings fired lust. Which of my brothers was Ruth’s lover?

“Bad Ruth,” she purred, “Azazel isa married man.”

I held her back from me. “I’m not a man. I’m an angel.”

“A fallen angel.”

Shame and anger jerked me out ofher embrace. “Mind your tongue.”

She teased my nose with a featherthat had fallen from my wing. “Youcommitted the Original Sin.”

“The Original Sin wasDisobedience.”

Her eyebrows flickered, herexpression mocking. “Did you not disobeywhen you took Magdalene into your bed?”

The truth tore a gasp from me. Angels are the Word made manifest. The Word no longer spoke in me. I had betrayed divine trust.

She rubbed her arms. “Your eyes burn my skin. I’ve made you angry.” With her hand, she traced my hipbone, herfingers then slid across my thigh.

I caught her hand before she couldtouch the hard evidence that I wanted her.

“Smite me with your Seraphicsword.”

“Ruth.” Her name was a plea, a prayer to withstandtemptation.

“I’ll never forget the first time Isaw you.” She winnowed her fingers through my hair. “Thick, straight, silky as the gold threadyou’ve taught us to spin, your hair spilled over the whitest, grandest wings ofall. I wanted you then. I want you even more now. I can make you feel better than you’ve everfelt before.” A fingertip dotted desireon my lips. “I promise.”

Ruth made good her promise. Her body clutched, sucked and milked medry. Delirium took me down, down, deeperand deeper. As a delicious explosiontore me asunder, I cried, “My God, Ruth.”

No, not my God, any more....

I tried to stayaway from Ruth, but memories of her lusty embrace left me moaning, sweating inmy bed. I touched Magdalene, felt Ruth. I craved, yearned, stopped myself just shortof praying to be consumed by her fire. Shadowsin the moonlight, we stole heaven beneath eucalyptus trees. To her credit, Ruth never told our secret—thatshe’d tempted the first angelic husband from his wife’s bed. If she had other lovers, there was noevidence, and our passion blazed out of control

Thank you Emma for letting me guest today on yourbeautiful blog.

Something Different to Read

2011-10-19T10:12:00.002-05:00

The following two books are great horror reads to get you in the mood for Halloween.

Blurb: Tales from Beneath the Dulippa Tree is a dark journey with scenes that remain in your thoughts long after reading the last page.It shimmers with imagery that H.P. Lovecraft conjured so easily.You will find no words of comfort in this scarlet landscape. But for those who are able to recognize the Baudelairean beauty that lies in decay, the Lovecraftian awe of glancing into dark gulfs in which madness dwells, Tales from Beneath the Dulippa Tree can provide this and much, much more.Hewitt fills our descent into chaos with exquisite scenes, mixed in equal parts, of glamour and gore.

Tales from Beneath the Dulippa Tree by M.J. Hewitt is a collection of short horror stories interspersed with a handful of poems. The tales have unexpected twists, both heart-stopping and heart-rending. It is full of beautiful though bloody imagery. Definitely not for the faint of heart. It's a read that will keep the reader in wonder long after the book is put down. If you pick up this book, make sure and read "Big John" before putting it down.

Blurb:What manner of man or beast delivers untold pleasure and unspeakable horror upon the college girls who venture into Delino House? Others have tired and failed to solve the mystery, but Betty Fect believes she can discover the truth.Will she triumph, or will she be haunted by the memory of a never again attainable peak–like those who came before her?

Betty and the Cambion by Ralph Greco, Jr. is the first erotic horror story I've ever read. I had no idea what to expect when I picked up the story. Would the sex be gratuitous or crass? Would the guy be able to paint the female protagonist in a believable light? I was pleasantly surprised. The book is built on the premise of sexual tension, and I think it hit the mark. As for the Betty, well I could totally relate to her plight and feelings. You'll just have to read it to understand the last statement because I don't want to give anything away.

Izzy, Heroine of Sarah Grimm's After Midnight, Names Her Ten Temptations

2011-10-14T05:42:00.003-05:00

Sarah couldn’t be here as she’s in the middle of a blog tour for AFTER MIDNIGHT, the story of how Noah and I met, so she asked me to sit in for her today. Since she’s the one who really brought Noah and I together, how could I refuse?

My name is Isabeau Clark—though you probably know me better as Isabeau Montgomery—child prodigy pianist who owns Izzy’s Bar, where one late night after closing, my entire life changed.

Welcome Izzy, Name Your Ten Temptations...

Material: cashmere, silk, cotton or denim?

“Denim. Denim so worn and faded only the seams hint at its original color. Denim that rides low on the hips and cups Noah as tightly as a hand.” Izzy clears her throat and smiles. “I’m a big fan of denim.”

Hair length: long, shoulder, shaggy, short or bald?

“I’ve never had a ‘type’ I was attracted to. Blonde, brunette, long hair or short, it never mattered to me. Before Noah, men where all the same to me – just someone who could scratch the itch when the itch became too strong, you know? But I’ve got a real fondness for blondes now – a mix of medium and dark blonde, and shoulder length.”

Eye color: brown, blue, green or hazel?

“My eyes are a pale grey/blue, not really either color, just an odd combination of both. Most people find my eyes peculiar, especially when combined with the dark skin tones of my father’s Native American heritage. Being with Noah changed the way I look at myself. Through him, I’m beginning to see that pale grey/blue eyes can be more than just peculiar, they can be beautiful.”

Performing arts: 0pera, ballet, Broadway or symphony?

“I’ve never been to the opera or the ballet, and in all honesty, I’ve had enough of the symphony to last a lifetime. So I’m going to go with a rock concert. Just something about the pounding beat, the roar of the crowd and Noah, spotlighted center stage. I can pick rock concert, right?”

Jewelry: diamonds, pearls, jade or rhinestones?

“I’ve never been all that interested in jewelry. Shoes, yeah, shoes used to be my thing.” Isabeau cups her left hand in her right and stares down at the rings on her finger. “Lately, however, I have a fondness for diamonds.”

Flowers: orchids, roses, lilies or daisies?

“Daisies. Roses are a bit trite, and orchids and lilies a bit fancy for my taste.”

Alcoholic beverage: Champagne, wine, whisky or beer?

“I never touch the stuff. Too many years of witnessing the negative effects it can have on a person, I suppose. Noah likes a dark lager every now and again. Kissing him after he’s had one is the closest I come to drinking alcohol.”

Non-alcoholic beverage: coffee, tea, soda or water?

“Definitely coffee. Or a double mocha caramel with extra whip cream when I can get one. It means an extra mile or two on my daily jog but it’s sooo worth the calories! Sometimes late in the evening, after Noah’s put in a long day in the studio prepping for Black Phoenix’s upcoming Resurrection Tour, we’ll sit together on the back deck, overlooking the Sierra Nevada foothills, and share a few laughs while he sips tea with honey.”

Favorite snack: popcorn, chips, cookies or candy?

“Hmmm, salty snacks have their place, but I’m going to go with cookies – White chocolate chunk with cranberries just like my mother used to make when I was growing up.”

Weather: sunny, cloudy or rainy?

“I love the feel of the sun on my face, but nothing beats a storm. The power and beauty of nature’s symphony – no music is quite like it. I’ve always had a fondness for storms. Lately, my love of them has only grown stronger…”

~*~

Startled, she bolted upright in bed, her hand pressed against the frantic beat of her heart in her chest. A glance at her alarm clock told her it was thirty-six minutes after four. The incessant pounding told her whoever stood at the outside of her reinforced steel security door wouldn’t be ignored.

Wearing nothing but her silk robe, she crossed to the door, paused to peer through the peephole. She blinked to clear her eyes and looked again. With a gasp of shock, she threw the lock and pulled the door open.

Lightning flashed, illuminating Noah as he stood with his hands braced on either side of the doorway. Water ran in rivulets down his handsome face to soak his clothes to his skin, but he didn’t seem to notice. In fact, he didn’t seem to be aware of anything but her as he looked down at her.

Where earlier today his eyes had been emotionless, tonight they were anything but. Her skin flashed hot, her breath caught as deep green eyes filled with longing and desire locked on her. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to. His intent was obvious.

Before she could absorb the shock of his arrival, he used his left hand to push the door open wider. His right curled around her waist and pulled her against his wet body. Sensation overwhelmed her—the damp chill that immediately saturated her robe, the hot press of his mouth against hers and the heady combination of pleasure and pain as he fisted a hand in her hair and tugged her head back.

She realized in an instant that this was not going to be like any coupling they’d shared before. His lips were hard and demanding, his muscled arms like steel around her. He kicked the door closed as he feasted on her mouth, devouring, arousing her with his teeth, his tongue. And far from shying away from it, she fisted her hands in his shirt and begged for more.

He tasted like rain. He tasted like aroused man. Desperate to touch him, she trailed her hands down his chest and slipped them under his shirt. Beneath her palms, his body vibrated. Whether it was from restraint or emotion, she wasn’t certain, but she knew it was important for him to work through it. She was more than willing for him to do it with her.

She rocked against him, shuddering as his heat and strength radiated through their clothes. A groan rumbled out of his chest, and he lifted his head to come after her from a different angle. His kiss was voracious, starving. Rough and demanding. She wanted more.

His arm tightened around her waist and he lifted her off her feet. She braced her hands on his shoulders and arched her back in pleasure as his mouth closed over her breast. She sucked in air hungrily, greedily as he suckled her through the fabric, scraping his teeth across her budded nipple—moaning against the exquisite pain, sobbing his name. Shifting her, he treated her other breast to the same beautiful torture until she felt an orgasm building inside her.

His free hand skimmed over her body, slid down the outside of her thigh then up beneath the robe to cup her bare cheek. Her breath left her in a rush as sensation streaked through her. She lifted her knees and hugged his hips. The action separated her cheeks and his fingertips brushed along the division of her buttocks.

“Noah!” she gasped.

“Tell me to leave,” he growled as his fingertips continued downward, following the intimate curve until his long fingers eased between the lips of her sex and his thumb pushed into her in one devastating plunge.

She clamped tightly around him as a contraction exploded inside of her. “Stay.”

Riding Rodeo has a Release Date

2011-10-13T12:12:00.003-05:00

The last person Amanda Goodson expected to walk into her bakery was Sean Cassidy, the bareback bronc rider who rode her hard one night and left without a good-bye the next day. Since then, she'd sworn off one-night stands and cowboys, but one look at the man she called Rodeo leaves her hankering for another ride.

A nasty injury ended Sean’s career and left him with nothing but time to contemplate past sins, especially the most damning one…walking out on Amanda, the one woman he couldn’t forget. Eager to right the biggest mistake of his life, he finds Amanda–and learns he has competition. Never one to back down from a challenge, he offers to fulfill her darkest fantasy–taking two cowboys for a ride.

When the dust settles, will Sean’s plan to win Amanda’s trust backfire or will she risk her heart for one more shot at Riding Rodeo?

Coming November 11th from The Wild Rose Press.

All Hallow's Eve by Sherri A. Dub

2011-10-12T06:07:00.007-05:00

October is definitely my favorite month of the entire year. Why? Because of Halloween, of course. I love the candy, the costumes and the general ambience that fills the autumn air with spooky chills and crisp scents.

I am a Paranormal Romance writer, so I love to observe the way that other people celebrate Halloween. For myself, a Wiccan for over 25 years, I tend to enjoy solitary candle ceremonies and nights by the firelight with a good novel or a black and white film on TCM. But, I always decorate the house and porch, leave the light on and have plenty of candy on hand for the kids.

While my son was growing up, Wiccan as well, we always explored haunted mansions and hotels together. It was our "thing" so to speak. We never saw anything amiss, but we've scared eachother numerous times over the years with pranks and jokes. All in fun, I assure you.

However, did you know that in the 16th century, the Scottish people coined the phrase, All-Hallow's-Even and sent their children out guising, to sing and perform tricks for their neighbors in exchange for coins and treats? I find this fascinating.

When I grew up, in a traditional Catholic family, my siblings and I dressed up and made a contest out of collecting the most candy we could in large pillowcases. We truly didn't know the diverse meanings of the holiday and all we cared about was which super hero or monster we were going to be that year. By the by, my favorite costume ever was when I dressed in my father's karate gi and had my hair twisted into buns on each side of my head to portray Princess Leia. Sadly, I never had a light saber.

As a paranormal writer, I like to uncover any myths, legends and traditions related to Halloween that I can possibly use in my future stories. One that I found recently, made me think of a million ideas, so I'll share it with you. In Scotland, on the night of All-Hallow's-Even, unmarried women were known to sit in unlit rooms and gaze into mirrors to seek the vision of their future husbands in the glass. If they saw him appear, they would be delighted. If they found themselves looking at a skull, they would die before marriage. I don't know about you, but that seems a pretty scary adventure, no matter the outcome.

This year, as Halloween approaches, I hope that everyone takes the time to enjoy the season. Find a costume that makes you feel a bit less-inhibited by your normal restraits of life. Eat a carmel apple, take a hay ride and by all means, explore a haunted house or corn maze. You never know what you may find. And, if you're a writer like me, the creative juices will be flowing before the last witch's cackle.

As for my husband and I, now that our son is grown, we like to visit Disneyland each year and see the spooktacular transformations of The Haunted Mansion and Space Mountain. Also, the decorations and the delightful treats are always a plus. Who wouldn't want to eat a Jack Skellington carmel apple while riding the train around the park, and donning a pair of ghostly Mickey ears?

For more information on my Paranormal Romance novels, please visit my website: http://www.sheropatra.com You can also friend me on Goodreads.com, Facebook or Twitter under the name: Sheropatra.

If you'd like a chance to win one of my novels, just leave a comment on this blog.

Haunted reading~

Rollercoaster Writing

2011-10-07T12:21:00.001-05:00

I normally strive for brevity. Today's post will fail to hit the mark.

A writer's life is one of ups and downs with enough twists and turns to keep my stomach unsettled. Those of you who follow me on Twitter (@EmmaLaiWrites) know I fight against the loneliness the solitary life of a writer and stay-at-home-mom create. I'm also known to occasionally rant when something really strikes a negative cord.

However, I like to think of myself as an upbeat person. I share good news like signed contracts, new covers (check out the cover for Riding Rodeo) and release dates (Not Just Friends now available at Amazon).

Today though I'm focusing on how a recent discussion with an editor affected my perception of myself as a writer.

I love editors. They help me deliver a better product to my readers. And, confession time, I am an editor myself. So, double the love.

Being an editor, I've had to send out multiple rejection letters, and I always try and provide constructive and helpful feedback during the process. (I have to assume based on the responses I receive from authors that I'm successful.)

Believe it or not, the hardest letters are actually the "soft" rejections, which leave the door open for a rewrite and resubmit. I put a lot of thought into those because if the author makes the changes, I have every intention of pushing for a contract for them.

So when I get one of these as a writer, I strive to address the concerns of the editor and resubmit as soon as possible. But, I must say, the most recent hit my pause button. Not because the requests will be difficult to meet, but because one thing in particular made me wonder if I'm writing the right things.

This work is my first attempt at a full-length. (And let me say I have a greater appreciation for those who write novels after finishing the submission.) However, the editor requested I cut about 20K, which would almost assuredly drop it back into novella length. So, I wondered and still wonder if maybe I'm one of those people who can only write short stories. (Notice, I am NOT questioning whether I should write. At least, I've overcome that particular qualm. Decent sales for Twice is Not Enough, fan mail, reviews and editors' comments have all told me I deliver enjoyable stories, which is all the encouragement I need. I'm so easy.)

This is where having a good and diverse support group comes into play. Someone pointed out the chop request could be to meet company needs. It could also be that when all is said and done, the excess isn't necessary to the story. (I've had this particular suspicion niggling at the back of my mind since two weeks after I hit the submit button. And with my editor's hat on, I say to myself, "Why did you submit it?" But all writers know there are numerous moments of self-doubt in the submission process.)

My decision is too finish the two wips I have in progress before returning to the full-length. This is contrary to my normal inclination, but I've let the editor know I appreciated her efforts and my intent to rewrite and resubmit in the future, so I'll move on with a clear conscious.

My question to my readers is should I stick with short stories? Are they enough to keep you interested? Or, would you like something with more meat?

My comment to writers is to always keep an open mind about editorial comments. They generally put a lot of thought into the words they commit to a page...just like we do.

Review - Saddle Up by Marie Tuhart

2011-10-05T10:04:00.003-05:00

For those of you who follow my Goodreads reviews...you'll have seen the following four star rating...

I'm an insatiably curious person and this book both satisfied and inspired my curiosity. No stranger to sex toys or BDSM, Saddle Up still provided some OMG moments and left me wanting more. Thankfully, there's another book in the series to explore.

Ms. Tuhart had a knack with writing believable characters. Jared was the perfect Dom for me. He took control and maintained it without being an asshole...just a sexy, give-me-what-I-want man. And, his love of all things sex would inspire anyone's passion. Angie was a strong heroine, tired of having to maintain control all the time--so very easy to relate to. Can't wait to read Roped and Ready.

Then, you also might have seen a very similar review on Amazon. However, if something didn't seem quite right, then you probably picked up that Amazon censored my use of the word "asshole." I had to change it to obnoxious. Thank you to the Amazon system for chastising me on my word choice.

For those of you interested in reading more, Angie shared her Ten Temptations with me back in September.

Angie Davidson finds herself at loose ends after her best friend's wedding and in need of a vacation, so when sexy yet aloof co-owner of the Quick Silver Ranch, Jared Turner, insists she stay to explore their sexual attraction, she agrees. Though she loves being a submissive in the bedroom, Jared's distant air after lovemaking brings back bad memories. Can she show this strong sexy man he has nothing to fear from her, or will he abandon her like everyone else in her life has?

Sexy yet aloof Jared, co-owner of the Quick Silver Ranch is eager to explore Angie's submissive side with two weeks of toys and other naughty play. However, the last time he was this attracted to a woman—mentally and phyiscally—she wasn't able to put up with his Dominant streak. Can Angie see that her vacation with him can be the perfect way of life?