M. Leighton's Blog, page 4
April 23, 2016
The Cougar Chronicles by Courtney Cole
So, for those who haven’t read the first book in the Cougar Chronicles, you are missing out! Confessions of an Alli Cat is one hilarious book! Written by the fantastically talented Courtney Cole, this series is one I’ve looked forward to reading more of and I’m happy to say that IT’S HERE! She is going to be writing a series of novellas about the comedic exploits of these “cougars” and I, for one, am very much looking forward to the kinds of crazy messes and outlandish antics these ladies will get caught up in.
This is the blurb for book 2, followed by the Amazon link to purchase it. At the bottom of the page is the link to the first book, which is a full-length novel that you don’t want to miss!
The Cougar Chronicles 2
Our definition of Cougar:
A sexy, confidant woman who knows who and what she wants.
This is Sara’s story.
She’s fiery, sassy and explodes at any given second.
She’s sexy, funny and wildly inappropriate.
She pokes holes in eggplants,
And has an obsession with penises.
She might be a train-wreck,
but she sure has fun before she crashes.
Purchase Book 2 on Amazon
Purchase Book 1 on Amazon
April 20, 2016
The Empty Jar Cover Reveal
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Release: May 8, 2016
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First of all, a huge, heartfelt thank you to every single one of you amazing women who is helping me reveal this cover today. I appreciate everything you do for me, for authors and readers in general and for this community.
Secondly…
OMG IT’S FINALLY TIME FOR THE EMPTY JAR COVER REVEAL!!!
I feel like I’ve been waiting AGES to share this with you!
This cover… GAH! Y’all, it took me forEVER to get it just right. There was a certain “feel” that I wanted to achieve with it and I wasn’t happy until I felt that it jumped right out when I looked at it. I wanted the cover to speak of the book, wanted it to show the highs and lows, the sweet and the poignant, the depth of it, if you will. And finally…finally, I feel like it does:) You might not realize just how much NOW, but once you read it, you’ll be like, “Yeah. It’s perfect for this book!”
When I got the paperback proof in the other day, I held it in my hands and I just stared at it. Not only is this story extremely special to me, but this is probably my favorite cover of all my books. Ever. When I look at it, I see so much more than just a picture. I see all the things that I find in life as well as what I put into the story that is The Empty Jar. It’s a blend of happy pinks and brooding blues. It’s light and it’s dark. There are highs and there are lows. There is morning and there is night. But if you notice the sky on this cover, there are little flickers of brightness in the bodies of the lightning bugs. Life is that way, too. Even in the darkest part of the night, there is a spark of hope. There is beauty. There is the romantic glow of a full moon, the silvery face of your mate, the delicate twinkle of fireflies. It’s all there if we look hard enough—that balance of beauty and tragedy.
And love.
Always love.
Below is a little more about the book. It’s hard to tell you much without spoiling anything, but I think you can get a feel for it. It’s such a special story. So raw, so real. I honestly can’t wait for y’all to read it! I hope you love IT and the cover as much as I do:)
Description
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The Empty Jar
(May 8, 2016)
Three months touring Europe.
Romantic. Dazzling. Unforgettable.
The trip of a lifetime.
But some lifetimes are shorter…
We couldn’t have known it would work out this way. No one could. No one could’ve guessed that something so beautiful could be so tragic.
But it is tragic.
Yet so, so beautiful.
That’s what sacrifice is—beauty and tragedy.
It’s pain and suffering for something or someone you love.
And this is the ultimate sacrifice.
One stunning act of true love.
This is our story.
Our true love story.
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A Little Tease
April 17, 2016
The Empty Jar– what it is
I just realized that the last time I wrote on my blog was after my father’s death.
Wow.
So much has changed since then. I was struggling to deal with his passing, worrying about my mother and her health, and trying to figure out a way forward that didn’t include crying every day. It’s odd how the loss of someone you’re close to leaves this gap in your life. It’s like a pothole that you find yourself carefully tiptoeing around so that you don’t fall in and drown. And that’s exactly how I felt–like I was constantly trying not to fall in and drown. I avoided talking about it unless I had to, I avoided thinking about it if I had any other choice. I just avoided the pain as much as I could.
Only that didn’t do me any favors. The one thing I can say about grief is that it has to be experienced, no matter how diligently you put it off. It will come for you. It will have its day.
On top of that, I was trying not to freak out over the fact that I couldn’t write. That I didn’t really want to. Only, the thing is, part of me did. I needed to be able to throw myself into something, anything, heart and soul, as I coped with my real life. I needed to drown in something else, something less…real.
Enter The Empty Jar.
I was lying in bed one night, thinking about work and how I wanted to write something different, something that matters. Or, at that point, to even be able to write at all. I mean, this is my livelihood. And other peoples’ as well. I was seriously getting worried. But then, out of the darkness of my bedroom, out of the quiet of the midnight hour, came a woman. She didn’t have a name yet, but I immediately knew her story. Well, at least the short version of it. The CliffsNotes if you will. It was tragic and gorgeous and I knew I had to write it. I went to sleep thinking about her and the first thing I did after downing a cup of coffee the next morning was write the first three chapters.
And they flowed.
Like a river.
Like fine wine.
Like destiny.
They flowed.
I knew within a day that those words were going to leave they’re mark on me, that they’d change the way I look at everything.
And they have.
I credit the combination of God (whom I give credit for all my inspiration) and my father. I wanted so much to write something he’d be proud of. But also, on some level, I knew I had some grief to work through. Now, looking at the finished product of this book, I know I’ve accomplished both.
I’ve been asked countless times in the last few days what kind of book The Empty Jar is. Is it a romance? Is it women’s fiction? Is it sad? Does it have a happy ending?
The answer to all of those questions is YES!
Is it a romance? Yes. It is the most romantic book I’ve ever written. Of the people who have read it thus far, several have called it “the ultimate love story.” And, the odd thing is, none of them know each other.
That makes my heart soar!
Is it women’s fiction? Yes. It is a story I believe any woman will be able to appreciate and relate to. It is sad. It is tragic. It is exquisitely beautiful. It is the story of a lifetime. Quite literally.
Is it sad? Yes. I cried almost every day while writing it. But it is so, so beautiful. Not because I wrote it. That statement has nothing to do with me. It has everything to do with the human spirit and sacrifice and love that knows no bounds.
Does it have a happy ending? Yes, I believe so. It doesn’t have a fairy tale ending, but every character does find happiness. I can tell you with absolute certainty that it ends exactly as it’s supposed to. Exactly as it’s supposed to.
The Empty Jar is a story of light in the darkness, hope in the sadness, and lightning bugs in the backyard. It is a story about life.
But more than any of that, it’s a love story.
A love that is true and real and raw. And it ends with that same kind of love, one that extends far beyond the boundaries of time.
It is my favorite book by far. It is the best work I’ve ever done. It is the book I’m most proud of. It is the book that holds pieces of my soul. It is the book that has changed my life, my world, and my perceptions.
All I can say is that I hope it changes you, too:)
This is a little quote from Lena that I think tells you something about the book and maybe something about life.
I find it odd how happiness and agony so often travel in tandem, almost as though the one is made stronger by the other.
And it’s true, y’all. Without night, the sun wouldn’t be so bright. Without black, white wouldn’t be so light. And without agony, the beauty of true happiness wouldn’t be so…so…beautiful.
I hope you’ll check out The Empty Jar when it releases on May 8, 2016. I thought Mother’s Day was the perfect day since I believe there won’t be a woman out there who can’t appreciate this story. So, ladies, this one’s for you. May this book leave you with hope, optimism and a profound gratitude for the beauty of true love.
****ADD TO YOUR GOODREADS SHELF**** http://smarturl.it/TheEmptyJarGR
December 9, 2015
Gone, but never forgotten
Many of you know what a tough year 2015 has been for my family, beginning in January with my mother’s diagnosis of breast cancer and ending with the death of my father on December 4, 2015. If you’d told me five years ago, or even ONE year ago, that this is where my life and my family would be today, I’d have been shocked. I might not have believed you at all. My loved ones have been blessed with great health for the most part, right up until my dad started having heart problems in 2012. He was convinced that his heart would “get him.” None of us would’ve dreamed that stage 4 esophageal cancer would invade his body the way it did. So quickly, so viciously. He was officially diagnosed on September 28th and he was brought home from one of several hospital visits on his birthday, November 18th, and taken into hospice care. He wanted to spend his last days in his home with his family, surrounded by love and all things familiar. And that’s exactly what happened. I was only at my house in South Carolina for 6 days since November 1st. Every other day I spent with my amazing father, making memories, taking pictures, holding his hand and praying that the God we have all believed in and trusted would make his last time on Earth comfortable and happy. I feel like those prayers were answered. While healing wasn’t in God’s plan for Dad, mercy was. With the help of a wonderful hospice team, we were able to keep him virtually pain free for his last 16 days of life.
I know many of you feel like I’ve dropped off the face of the planet these last month–or actually this last year–and in some ways I have. Work has taken a back seat to the most important thing–family. But I wanted to share with you some pictures of what has pulled me away, of who has pulled me away. One of the most incredible men I’ve ever known. A credit to the human race. A blessing to this world. And now an asset to heaven. This life was never really his home, but he used every opportunity in it to make his mark, to leave behind a wonderful and lasting legacy, to tell others about his God and to leave his family better for having spent a lifetime in his care. I would not be who or what I am today without him, and my goal is to live out the rest of my days in a way that would make him proud.
I was always a daddy’s girl. I’m close to both of my parents in completely different ways. I always knew it would hurt to lose them. Hurt like nothing else has ever hurt me. But nothing–no amount of time or warning or expectation–can prepare you for losing someone you love so desperately.
This is us on October 4. We’d begun to get the inkling that he wasn’t well, but we had no idea what was coming. That was probably a blessing.
This is the Bible from which he read until the pages LITERALLY fell out and fell apart. It will be one of my greatest treasures. In it are the words that remind me always to be kind and generous, to follow Jesus, and to love others because I am loved.
I won’t share many pictures of him when he’d begun his decline toward death, but there are a couple that are so precious and cute that I feel like you can see a little bit of who he was by looking at them. One of them is this picture of him during his last hospital stay. They were giving him breathing treatments and he always held the tube like a big Cuban cigar. How many people can pull off “cool” in a hospital gown when their death is only a couple of weeks away? One that I know of. I called him dad.
This is the only other that I’ll share of his last days. It’s a 10-second video. This was taken the day after we brought him home. He was beginning to get confused at times and he’d been working on some old glasses of his. I turned around and he was wearing them. I asked if he’d gotten them fixed and this is what he did. I made him do it again so that I could tape it. (click the link to play the video)
This once-strong hand…
…held mine as I took my first steps, helped me up when I wrecked my bike, showed me how to throw a softball, and helped me grip my first gun. These fingers curled around mine when he walked me down the aisle…
…and they squeezed mine as I held them the night before he left this world. Those hands shaped worlds and offered love. They toiled every day of his life, helping out on the farm, working in coal mines as a teenager, completing classified missions as a young man, and providing a life for his family for the last 40-plus years. Now they are at rest. Now he is at rest.
There just aren’t enough words or days or years for me to tell you how precious he was. How precious he IS and will ALWAYS BE. And not just to me. He was not only an amazing father, but a wonderful husband for 52 years.
He was also a wonderful grandfather…
And a wonderful soldier, as you can see by the full military honors he received at his funeral.
I have never witnessed something more heartbreaking yet more beautiful in my life. Every moment of it, from the folding of the flag to the 21 gun salute to the playing of TAPS, was gut wrenching and perfect. I’ve never been more proud that he was my dad. I have video of it, and one day I’ll be able to watch it without crying for the whole day. But that day isn’t today. Or tomorrow. Or probably any day soon. The pictures I can look at, even though I’m bawling as I sit here typing this. But I want you to know how great he was. I want EVERYONE to know how great he was. I wish I could shout it from the rooftops. He was my father. One of the most important people in the world. And now he’s gone.
I’ll end with one of the most poignant moments of my life, certainly of that day, Monday, December 7, 2015. It was when the guard held to his chest the neatly, carefully, respectfully folded American flag that had adorned my father’s casket, dropped to one knee and, with bowed head, handed it to my mother. It was absolutely silent but for the light patter of rain on the top of the tent, and his words rang out like quiet drops of finality–the thanks of a nation for the sacrifices of a single man.
My father was a husband, an uncle, a grandfather, a church member, a soldier, a lover, a fighter, an intellectual, a practical joker, a friend and one of the best people I could ever hope to know. He will be loved. He will be missed. He is gone. But he will never, ever, ever be forgotten.
Rest in peace, Dad. I’ll be seeing you one of these days.
A special thank you to everyone who sent gifts and flowers and cards and words of encouragement over the last couple of months. It will take time, but I will make my way around to each and every one of you with a truly, deeply, sincerely heartfelt thanks.
November 3, 2015
Rogan is here! Check out the first three chapters of “Tough Enough” right here
ROGAN! ROGAN! ROGAN! Rogan is here, he’s here! OMG y’all I seriously CANNOT wait for you to meet him. There are no works to describe this man. Well, wait–there are: hot, sexy, intense, hot, driven, dark, protective, hot, delicious–and did I mention hot? Yeah.
And let’s forget Katie. Her story makes me tear up every. time. And together with Rogan…well. Just love.
Go meet them! Get Tough Enough on Amazon, iBooks, Nook, Kobo, and Google Play. And don’t forget to add it on Goodreads!
Here’s a bit about the book:
He’s a fighter who never loses, but is he tough enough to win her heart?
There was a time when I had everything–a wonderful family, a bright future. Love. But all that was taken away in a single night, torn from me like flesh from bone. Since then, I’ve hidden away in my second-choice job as a makeup artist. But I prefer it that way, actually. I’m comfortable in the shadows, where no one can see my scars.
Kiefer Rogan literally took my breath away the moment I met him. MMA champion-turned-actor, notorious playboy, charming to a fault—he’s everything I vowed to avoid.
But he just wouldn’t stop until I opened up and let him in. Maybe I should’ve tried harder to resist him. Maybe I shouldn’t have fallen in love with him. Because I, of all people, know that everyone has secrets. Scars. And that they’re usually ugly and painful and destructive to the people we love most.
I just never guessed that they could be deadly, too.
And because I know that reading is the BEST aphrodisiac …specially when it comes to a guy like Rogan …here are the first three chapters of Tough Enough. Enjoy!
Chapter One
Katie
“You’re not the least bit excited to be putting makeup on the Kiefer Rogan?”
Mona and I slow our walk as we approach my office. I use the term office loosely since mine is really just four thin walls that house a makeup chair, a bank of lighted mirrors and a wraparound counter. Two of the four walls are covered with shelves that hold the supplies of my trade—a wide array of everything from pancake makeup to prosthetic noses. It’s not fancy, but it feels as much like home as any place does.
I turn my eyes to Mona’s cornflower blue ones. She is the only person who might even come close to being called my best friend. “Am I excited to be putting makeup on Kiefer Rogan?” I repeat. Am I oddly nervous? Yes. Am I extremely uneasy? Yes. But am I excited? “Not even a little bit,” I reply sincerely.
Her full lips fall into a disbelieving O. “Wow! I can’t even imagine not getting excited over a guy like him.”
“He’s just a guy,” I declare with a shrug. I wish I felt as casual as the gesture indicates. Kiefer Rogan is just a guy, but guys like him spell trouble. For that reason alone, I can’t really be as nonchalant as I pretend to be. There’s no point in dwelling on it, though, so I try to redirect her. “Besides, why should you care anyway? You’ve got a boyfriend.”
She grins, which makes her look even more innocent than her platinum hair and eyes that are too big for her face. Physically, Mona is the perfect split between a Barbie Doll and a Precious Moments figurine, all with a touch of clueless porn star thrown in for good measure. She can work her assets like nobody’s business, but she does it in such a way that doesn’t make her detestable. That alone is quite a feat. She’s very genuine, too, which is one of the things I like most about her. That and the fact that we are polar opposites in practically every way.
Mona is tall and fair and beautiful with a sweet, outgoing personality. I am none of those things, which is probably why we get along so well.
“White’s great, but he doesn’t look like that.” White Bristow, Mona’s boyfriend, is the executive producer of the show. He’s fairly good looking, but nothing like the man I’m about to meet, Kiefer Rogan. White’s as much of a player as Kiefer is alleged to be, but Mona loves him enough to overlook it. No matter what else he’s doing (or who else he’s doing), he always comes back to Mona. I guess maybe he loves her in his own way and that seems to be enough for her. “God, I wish he did, though.”
“Looks aren’t everything,” I remind her softly.
Her expression falls into one of regret and sadness. She reaches out and smoothes the hair that I always keep swept over my left shoulder. It can always be found draped around my neck to hide my scars. She’s one of the few people who know what lies beneath the swath of hair. And how sensitive I am about it. “No, looks aren’t everything, but if they were, you’d still be one of the most wanted.”
I smile. That’s Mona—always seeing the best in me, whether it’s accurate or not. “That’s sweet, but you and I both know that’s not true.”
“Oh, but it is. Look at you, Katie. All this thick, wavy auburn hair, those big dark blue eyes and you’re so tiny! I’d give anything to be petite like you.”
“Mona, you’re like a living, breathing Barbie Doll. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to change a thing, not even your Amazonian height,” I tease. She’s not the least bit insecure about her five-eleven frame. In fact, she’d be the first to tell you that it’s her unusual stature, replete with legs that go for miles, that helped her get the attention of White. And White is the person responsible for bringing her into the Hollywood world.
I stop in front of my “office” door and turn to face her. Mona leans up against the jamb, her eyes going all dreamy. “I wonder if Rogan likes tall women,” she muses.
Back to Kiefer Rogan, I think with a deflated sigh. I won’t be able to avoid him much longer, so why do we have to talk about him now?
My bitterness surfaces. A guy like him—beautiful, wealthy, had the world in the palm of his hand—showed me just how destructive men like these could be, and he left me with scars to prove it. Scars that won’t ever let me forget it.
In an uncharacteristic show of emotion, I let that bitterness flow, secretly hoping it’ll stop her from bringing the conversation back to him. “From what I’ve read in the tabloids, he likes anything with boobs. But I think he’s into the divas mostly, which would count you out. Thank God!” I, for one, am glad that Mona isn’t conceited about her looks or her position here at the studio. She’s utterly guileless, happily clueless and I like her just the way she is—diva not included.
“I could be a diva,” she says, straightening, her expression turning enthusiastic. “I could totally be a diva. If it meant having those flirty green eyes and that drop-dead gorgeous smile turned on me, I’d be whatever he wanted me to be.”
Her little-girl giggle belies her words. She could never be a diva. “You don’t have a diva bone in your body. Besides, why would you want a guy like that? He dates the most horrible women and he goes through them like water. I mean, look at Victoria,” I say, lowering my voice as I scan the hall left and right to ensure we aren’t being overheard. “What kind of decent person would date her? She’s awful!” I go on cynically, finding some strange comfort in pigeonholing him, calling a spade a spade. Hoping that maybe if I build up my armor against him, I won’t be swayed by his pretty face. “I bet he’s a conceited jerk who only cares about what his arm candy looks like.”
“Guys who look like him can be annnything they want, as long as they stay hot.”
“Well, he’s all yours, then. I don’t have room for cocky, obnoxious, self-involved sleazeballs in my life.” I glance at my watch. Six fifteen a.m. Mr. Rogan should be here by six thirty, but I won’t be holding my breath. “I bet he doesn’t even show up on time. Jerk!”
Mona sighs, tilting her head, a faraway look in her eyes. “I’d wait all day for a guy like that. He makes my special places shiver.”
“Well, you and your special places are welcome to him. I don’t see what the big deal is,” I reply, turning into my office. “He’s not even that good-looking.”
I take two steps through the door and come to an abrupt halt. There, settled in my makeup chair with one ankle resting on his other knee, looking highly amused and as though he’s been here for a while, is none other Kiefer Rogan.
More gorgeous than words.
A rising star.
My first client of the day.
And the guy I just insulted.
Chapter Two
Rogan
I sit in the makeup chair listening to the conversation happening out in the hall. I don’t feel guilty. I’m not trying to eavesdrop. They brought that shit to my door. Literally. So of course I’m going to listen.
I’m curious to see what the two women who are talking look like. One is obviously very complimentary, while the other is anything but. I’m more used to flattery than dismissiveness, so I’m already working on a mental picture of the skeptic. I mean, yeah, I have an ass-ton of flaws, but I was lucky enough to be born with a decent face and a strong body, a combination that never leaves me without plenty of female attention. I’m not arrogant about it. It is what it is. I don’t try to be handsome. I guess I just am. I mean, hell, I make a living getting punched in the face. Well, not anymore really. There aren’t many who are good enough to land one on me these days. That’s the beauty of rising to the top in the mixed martial arts arena.
I’m surprised when the two women walk through the door into the room where I’ve been waiting. I’m even more surprised by the way they look. One is a tall, blond goddess, the kind of woman I love to spend my nights with. The other is shorter and darker, but no less appealing. In fact, something about her immediately snags my attention. Holds it pretty damn tight, too.
She’s staring at me with wide, midnight eyes, her deliciously lush mouth hanging open in shock. A long, thick rope of reddish hair is swept over one shoulder in a sexy wave and she’s wearing a prim little dress that’s the color of an apricot. What’s inside that dress is just as appealing as the rest of her—two plump, more-than-a-handful tits pressing rhythmically against that soft cotton. They make my palm tingle to touch them, to see if they’re as firm as they look.
When I make my way back to her face, I realize quickly enough that she was the one running me down. She doesn’t have to say a word. It’s all right there in her expression. The blonde looks dazzled. This one just looks . . . shocked.
Of course, me being the healthy guy that I am, she’s the one I want.
The one who doesn’t want me.
Chapter Three
Katie
Even though Mona is still pressed flat against my back where she nearly ran me over because I stopped so quickly, I can’t seem to budge. All I can do is stare, open-mouthed and embarrassed.
“Mornin’, ladies,” Kiefer Rogan drawls, dropping his ankle from his knee and crossing two thick arms over his impressive chest. He looks like a man who has not a care in the world.
And why should he? Look at him! I think.
Sweet Mary! His pictures don’t do him justice. I knew he was a handsome guy. I mean, I’m not blind or dead. I’ve seen the tabloids. I’ve seen the news. But I had no idea just how handsome he would be. He’s stunning. Simply stunning. Practically perfect in every rugged, manly way.
His short hair is dirty blond and his brows are just a few shades darker. They hover in a dramatic slant over amazingly bright green eyes. They nearly glow in the tanned sea of skin that’s stretched tightly across his angular face. His mouth is chiseled perfection, and his jaw and chin might as well be carved from a chunk of granite. He’s not so perfect that he’s pretty, though. No, he has flaws. Well, at least one that I can see. It’s his nose. There’s a slight crook at the bridge. Obviously it’s been broken a few times, but it does nothing to detract from his looks. Not. One. Thing.
“Mr. Rogan,” I finally manage to mutter. “You’re early.”
“Just Rogan,” he instructs in a sandpaper voice. “I may not be that good-looking, but at least I’m a prompt selfish asshole.”
Ohgod ohgod ohgod! He heard me!
I can hear Mona’s soft whisper in my ear. “Shit!”
For far too long, that’s the only sound in the room aside from the pounding of my heart and the crackling of the fire that I’m certain has engulfed my face. Or is that just my imagination?
“I didn’t call you an asshole,” I defend weakly.
“You might as well have.”
“But I didn’t,” I maintain, starting to feel a bit prickly, like a cornered animal.
“Touché,” he says with an acknowledging nod. As I watch, one side of his mouth pulls up into a grin that’s so sexy, for a split second I worry about Mona’s panties bursting into flames and burning us all alive in this tiny little square of an office.
I don’t know how to respond, so I say nothing. I just stand here, sinking in the quicksand of his stare as the silence stretches between us like thick, stringy taffy. Unfortunately, that gives me too much time to notice how his smile makes my stomach feel shaky and how the sparkle in his jade eyes makes my skin feel warm. None of this helps my composure.
Mona recovers first. I hear her clear her throat just before she steps around me. “Hi! I’m Mona. Mona Clark,” she says in her friendly way.
My best friend strikes out across the room toward Rogan. As I watch her, I’m a little deflated. I could never measure up to a woman like Mona. And I don’t just mean her California looks, surgically enhanced figure and her loose-hipped swagger, the one she’s using right now. No, it’s something more than that. It’s her outgoing personality, too. Mona’s just the whole package.
And I am not.
I can see her from the side when she stops and sticks out her hand for Rogan to take. She smiles and I think to myself that there aren’t many men who can resist Mona, least of all men like this one. But when I swing my gaze back to his face, I’m more than a little surprised (and even more disconcerted) to find that he’s not looking at Mona—Mona the beautiful, Mona the charming, Mona who’s standing right in front of him offering her hand. No, Kiefer Rogan is still looking at me.
Instantly, my tongue goes dry, dry like a damp cotton ball that’s been left out under a hot sun all day. Only this hot sun is a hot man with a curious gaze.
With my breath coming in odd little bursts, I’m forced to admit that I’m feeling a little starstruck, which is totally unlike me. Yes, Rogan is probably the most attractive person I’ve ever seen, but that shouldn’t matter. It’s no longer in my DNA to care about things like that. About men at all. I’m the classic “once bitten, twice shy.” Things like this don’t happen to me.
Ever.
Or at least not anymore.
I frown, confused by his attention. My confusion seems only to make him smile bigger, though. I want to look away. I really do, but I can’t. I feel like a fly trapped on flypaper, glued to this spot by his penetrating stare. Stuck until he decides to let me go.
Just a heartbeat before his disregard of Mona would be considered rude, Kiefer Rogan finally shifts his focus to my friend and takes her hand, grinning up at her. “So, Mona, are you the one who’s supposed to cover up all my imperfections?”
“No, that’s Katie. And don’t get me wrong, I love her and she’s one of the best artists in the biz, but I don’t think God Himself could improve anything on you,” she gushes with her most winsome, wholesome smile. I can tell she’s about ten seconds from stripping and throwing herself in his lap, but I doubt he can see it. She’s all calm confidence and cool beauty.
God, she’s good!
I envy my friend’s ability to be flirty and natural and unflustered in situations like these, whether she feels it or not. I used to be that way—poised and outgoing—but that girl, that version of Kathryn Rydale, got burned up in a fire a long time ago.
“I appreciate that, Mona,” he replies in a surprisingly genuine manner, “but I think the hi-def cameras might disagree. Apparently, scars are a bad thing.”
I cringe a little on the inside, even though I know it doesn’t show on the outside. If I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s how to hide. Emotions, insecurity, myself—hiding is the one defense mechanism that I’ve mastered.
“Why? Scars make a man . . . a man,” Mona assures him with a cute wink. That’s something else I could never pull off—cute. It would look clumsy and ridiculous on me. I don’t know what I can pull off, but I have a feeling it would be more in the neighborhood of awkward or weird.
“Oh, I’m a man, all right. All man,” he teases, shifting his eyes back to me. The instant they connect with mine, I’m unable to move or speak.
Again with the flypaper thing, I think in exasperation.
I want to avert my eyes, to hide from scrutiny like I’ve done for so long, but I can’t. It’s like I literally can’t look away. Even though it makes me distinctly uncomfortable in my own skin, I can’t look away. Maybe that’s because it also makes me feel breathless and warm and nervous and . . . fluttery.
In some way, the bizarre apprehension I’ve carried all morning makes perfect sense now. My gut told me he would be trouble. I just never expected him to be this kind of trouble. No one affects me this way anymore. No one. It’s been safer for me that no one has. And I liked it that way. Because this isn’t safe.
I work to hide my unhappiness with this situation. After all this time, why am I reacting to Kiefer Rogan? Of all people, why him? Is it his looks? His attention? The position of the moon or a random twist of fate? And why did I know, deep down, that he was going to be a problem? I don’t know the answers. What I do know is that my life is much less complicated when men aren’t a part of it. And Rogan is not just any man. He’s danger on two legs. And danger is something I don’t need. I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime.
“I don’t doubt that one bit,” Mona murmurs, drawing me back to reality and the conversation going on around me.
“So does that mean you’re Katie?” he asks me, blatantly ignoring Mona, who is still clutching his hand, practically drooling all over it. “Are you the beautiful artist I’ll be spending my mornings with?”
There’s a silk thread in the gravel of his voice now. It soothes and it entices. It invites and it promises.
No wonder the world fell in love with him. He’s flat-out hazardous! That smile, that friendly nature, that wickedly handsome face . . . It’s a potent combination. It’s even working on me! And, as damaged as I am, I didn’t think any masculine wiles would be able to penetrate the thick scars I’ve developed. But, then again, I never expected to meet someone like Kiefer Rogan either.
“Yes, I’m Katie,” I mumble when I finally find my voice.
Rogan unfolds his big body from the makeup chair. I catch and hold my breath, stunned into immobility for the second (or it is the third?) time in a few short minutes.
He’s got to be over six feet; six feet of solid muscle and graceful lines. Wide shoulders, narrow waist, thick arms and legs, and it’s all encased in denim and cotton that hugs him like a lover.
In a slow walk that practically screams SEX, he makes his way across the room to me, not stopping until I have to look up at him from my diminutive five feet, three inches. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Katie. I look forward to changing your mind about me.”
I’m spellbound. As much as I don’t want to be, I am. Not only is he gorgeous, which is bad enough, it’s clear that he’s charming, too. Good God, what a combination.
Up close, he’s even more heart-stopping. I can see that, unlike his hair, his lashes are nearly black and sinfully long, framing his eyes and turning plain green into dazzling emerald. I can also see that there’s a tiny scar marring the smooth line of his upper lip. I wonder what it would feel like to run my fingertip over it. I find myself inordinately fascinated by it.
I drink him in, albeit reluctantly. Kiefer Rogan is like champagne—undeniably delicious, deceptively light, and too easy to get drunk on. To lose your mind with. To make a mistake with.
That mouth quirks into a half-grin and my gaze flies back up to his. His expression is amused. Confident. Sizzling.
Not taking his eyes off mine, Rogan reaches for my hand, curling his warm, rough fingers around mine. He lifts and shakes my hand, each pump a leisurely, measured movement, like he’s thinking of things other than the polite, innocuous gesture. It gives me a little chill to imagine what those things might be.
When I reply to his determination to change my mind about him, I’m proud that it’s in a calm that belies my inner flux. “That’s not necessary. We don’t have to like each other. I’m just here to pretty you up for the cameras each day.”
“Oh, I already like you,” he claims in a low voice. Before I can respond, he continues. “But Mona here doesn’t think I need much prettying. Do you disagree?” His eyes twinkle with mischief, and I can only imagine what a less scarred and backward woman might be feeling right now. Dazzled, flattered, lustful. All of the above?
“It’s my job to make everyone prettier,” I reply mildly. I know better than to stir up that hornets’ nest. I’m used to stroking egos and protecting pride. I work with some of the world’s vainest actresses. Diplomacy is practically a job requirement in my field.
One corner of his mouth curls into that irresistible, lopsided grin again. This time, he’s so close that I can see a dimple appear in his lean cheek. “Then consider me your willing canvas. Do your worst.”
I would take a deep breath, but my lungs feel like they can’t expand anymore, like they’re already near bursting. “Then have a seat and we’ll get to work,” I suggest breathily, hoping he’ll take the hint. At this point, I’d say just about anything to get some space from his disconcerting proximity. If I’m to spend the next six weeks in his face, touching him and getting him ready for his part as Drago in the cable series Wicked Games, then I need for day one to begin with as much professionalism as possible. And at this rate, that’s looking less and less likely to happen. I mean, I started off by insulting the guy within earshot. Not an easy opening from which to recover.
After a few seconds of staring at me with that bone-melting gaze of his and then giving me a full-blown smile, Rogan finally turns to head back to his chair. I carefully and quietly let out the breath I was holding.
“Captivating the crowd already, I see,” a cool and cultured voice says from behind me. I turn to find Victoria Musser, actress, beauty, and witch extraordinaire, standing in the doorway behind me. She looks perfectly rumpled, as though she fell out of bed looking amazing and dragged herself in here to hypnotize all the cameras, with or without makeup.
Having worked for Cinematic Studios for two years, I’ve been assigned to her before, and I despised every minute of it. I was thrilled when Kelly, our key makeup artist, assigned someone else to fix her up.
Before anyone can comment, Victoria is sweeping me into a hug. Her arms feel like scrawny, steel traps.
Or maybe like spider pincers.
I’m stiff as a board. Even after she releases me and smiles down into my face. Her blue eyes are soft and her expression is warm. I have no idea what to think of her right now. Other than that she’s possessed.
“Katie! I’m sorry I haven’t been around to see you in a while. I’ve missed you, girl!” I’m not sure how I manage to keep my mouth shut, but I’m glad that I do. I just stare at her like she’s sprouted wings and a tutu as she makes her way around me to accost Mona. “And, Mona, how are things with White?”
Although Mona is not only the girlfriend, but the personal assistant to the executive producer, just like me she is far, far, faaar beneath the notice of Victoria Musser. Well, until today, that is.
Mona looks dumbfounded as she, too, gets drawn into the cold-fish embrace of Victoria. I suppress a grin, wondering if that’s what my face looked like when she hugged me.
“And, Rogan. God, it’s been too long. How have you been?”
Like a slinky kitten, Victoria eases herself into Rogan’s lap, wrapping her arms around his neck in that familiar way that says, “Yeah, we’ve seen each other naked a million times and it was awesome.” When she leans back from her hug, her face still very close to his, Rogan returns her smile. Even from this distance, I feel the effects of it. Like a drug, which is what reminds me that men like him are toxic. Especially to me.
So what did you think? Do you love Rogan and Katie yet? ;-) I sure do! Go get the rest of their story on Amazon, iBooks, Nook, Kobo, and Google Play. And don’t forget to add it on Goodreads!
October 23, 2015
A New Face for M. Leighton Books
OMG y’all! I just got a makeover and I think it looks AHHH-MAZING! So many pretties! Have you looked around? Holy wow! So much awesome to see! And all thanks to the lovely Dawn with Austin DesignWorks. If you’re searching for a new look, you should totally check her out!
Be sure to sign up for my new blog here, but you can always go back and read previous posts on Blogger.
*raises glass*
Here’s to fresh new beginnings and the hope that 2016 is going to be eleventy million kinds of awesome! After some incredible holidays, that is … LOL.
October 10, 2015
Miracles, Family and Work
It began with my mother's diagnosis of breast cancer at the beginning of January. It progressed to a scare of my own at the end of the month (turns out it was a lymph node- phew!) and then ended with her having surgery. In March, she started chemo. In June, they had to discontinue one of her drugs because of the severity of the side effects she was having. She's still taking the other, though, and won't be completely finished with chemo until March of 2016. That brings us up to now.
Now.
*sigh*
My father has just been diagnosed with stage 4 esophageal cancer. I feel like this awful C-word has come into my life, into the life of my loved ones, like a wolf into the hen house, eating up everything good. I think I've prayed more this year than maybe at any other time in my life. But the fact that i can pray at all reminds me that not ALL good things are gone. I've always got God. I have a close relationship with Him anyway, but this year He has taken on a whole new role in my life. My faith has been tested at every turn, it seems. I've prayed for miracles. More times than I can count, I've prayed for miracles. And it's not that God didn't answer my prayers; it's just that the answer was "no". And sometimes that happens. Sometimes the answer is "no". Things could've been much worse for Mom, though, so maybe that was a miracle in and of itself. And maybe there's still a miracle for Dad somewhere in the future. I haven't stopped praying for one, nor will I. Why? Because what I KNOW is that, just because my family doesn't get a miracle in this instance doesn't mean that God's not doing them anymore. I've seen them before. I know they can happen. But one of the hardest parts of life is learning that sometimes the best thing for us is the very hardest thing in the world. If that happens, and usually it will at least once in a lifetime, all we can do is pray for the strength to go through it with grace. So that's what I'm doing. I'm trying to handle this with grace. And I'm still praying. Praying for all I'm worth.
What I'm also doing is spending as much time with my family as I can. I want to be there with them for the hard parts as well as the fun stuff, which I'm hoping the holidays can still be. I really want to have a wonderful Thanksgiving and Christmas for them. I'm praying for that, too. That's what brings me to write this post.
I have to address work.
I'll be late in delivering Handful of Tears, the book to follow Pocketful of Sand. At this point, I'm not even going to hint at a date because I just don't know what to expect. Also, I've decided to shelve Madly. A very wise and successful writing friend told me at a retreat in September that sometimes we have to do what's best rather than what our readers want. This is what's best for me. This is what's best for Madly. I know this won't be a popular decision, but trust me, you do NOT want me to force myself to write it. I'd rather leave Madly and Jackson alone right now than to risk writing something subpar for them. I hope you understand. And to one particular reader, you know who you are, who recently told me to "man up, Leighton" when I bared my soul a little bit on here, I can only hope that you never, ever, ever, ever have to watch both of your parents struggle with cancer at the same time. Or AT ALL. But if you do, I guarantee you that hearing "man up" will be at the top of the list of things you really don't appreciate.
As for travel, I want you signing organizers to know that I'm so, so grateful for being invited to your events! However, I won't be doing any travel for the foreseeable future. Now you know why. I hope that things will be brighter next year and I can get back in the saddle in 2017:)
With all this being said, I want to thank y'all for your unwavering support and understanding. I never want to come across as negative or as a whiner or complainer. These are simply facts. Irrefutable, irreversible facts. No matter how much I wish that weren't the case, it is. I'm dealing with this the best that I can, but it's time for me to put family first and that's what I'm going to do. If I don't respond to a message in a timely manner, I apologize in advance. I know it's going to happen. Just know that it's not intentional. Y'all have changed my life and I'm grateful for every one of you who reads my work and who takes the time to message me or tag me on social media. I appreciate you every single day!
Also, I want to thank everyone who has kept my family in their prayers. I can only hope that your friends rally around you in this very same way when you need them the most. It makes a world of difference!
And lastly, y'all, BE HEALTHY! Take care of your body. Eat good food. Get some exercise. Laugh. Love. Live every single day like the world might end tomorrow. It may or may not end, but it sure might feel like it. So enjoy the perfect days. Give thanks. Be kind. Keep on keepin' on.
September 26, 2015
Awareness and helping others
It's about cancer.
Everybody hates that word. I am no different.
This topic---and ANY variety of cancer---has taken on a very personal note for me. My family is suffering from it in every direction. My mother with breast cancer, my cousin and two of my aunts with the same, my uncle and my niece's boyfriend (at 20 years old) with lymphoma. My best friend, my former boss, my childhood friend, SO MANY of my relatives with skin cancer, and now a scare with my dad (which is all I hope it will be--just a scare), it seems that this awful disease is attacking lives and families from multiple angles these days. That's why when I was approached by a lovely lady who'd been diagnosed with and BEAT mesothelioma, someone who wanted my help in spreading awareness about it, I felt it my duty to jump in. We can never know when a life will be saved because a person is caused to look at their symptoms differently and maybe seek help because of them. We can never know when our story or that of a loved one can bring comfort or hope or just a feeling of not being alone to someone else. So here I am, broaching a painful subject for most, and sharing with you a little of what Heather Von St. James shared with me.
For a little background on Mesothelioma Awareness Day, I celebrate every year by raising awareness for mesothelioma. It's often considered a "silent" disease because it can take decades for symptoms to begin to show and exposure to asbestos very easily occurred because the dangers weren't known. I was exposed by wearing my dad's jacket that had been covered in "dust." :( -- Heather Von St. James
You can learn more about Heather, her illness and her story by visiting her on social media or tuning in to her tweet chat on Friday (flyer at the bottom).
I'll end with this: For all those who are worried about their symptoms, for those who are awaiting a terrifying doctor's appointment, for those who are preparing for a test, for those who have just gotten the scariest diagnosis of their life and for those whose loved ones are at one of the stages above, please know that you are not alone. Seek out support, be it in a group or a perfect stranger or a close friend or family member who has been through it before, find someone to talk to. It can make the weight much more bearable. You aren't suffering alone. Only together, through sharing and awareness and fundraisers for research, can we make strides toward beating this horrific disease with all its many ugly faces.
Live every day like it's your last. I know that's cliche, but it's so, so true! We can never, ever know when this day, this hour will be the last one of its kind--where our loved ones are healthy and alive, where our bodies aren't ravaged by something we can't understand, where sadness and heartache aren't constant companions. Enjoy every good day, every good minute. Take pictures. Write about it in a journal. Share it with your kids or your parents or your siblings or your best friend. Whatever you do, grab every second with both hands and make wonderful memories. I promise you won't regret it:)
September 24, 2015
Initium by Courtney Cole
I never knew what the consequences would be.
I say that like it’s a defense, an excuse.
It’s not. It’s simply the truth.
I never knew what he would become to me.
Through everything, he’s become everything.
My rock, my air, my love.
My everything.
And then….
Things changed.
Because it was wrong.
Because sometimes, our sons must pay for the sins of their fathers.
Or their mothers.
I’m afraid that I’m lost,
that I’m damned.
After you read this, you’ll probably agree.
Really, it doesn’t matter.
All that matters is that I save him.
Because he shouldn’t pay for my sin.
Judge me if you like.
But keep reading.
This is our beginning.
This is where the darkness truly starts.
INITIUM (Nocte #2.5) links:
Amazon: http://smarturl.it/INITIUM-Amazon
Nook: http://smarturl.it/INITIUM-Nook
iBooks: http://smarturl.it/INITIUM-iBooks
Kobo: http://smarturl.it/INITIUM-Kobo
Goodreads: http://smarturl.it/INITIUM-GoodreadsNOCTE (Nocte #1) links:
Amazon: http://smarturl.it/NOCTEAmazon
iBooks: http://smarturl.it/NOCTEiBooks
Nook: http://smarturl.it/NOCTENook
Kobo: http://smarturl.it/NOCTEKobo
Audible audiobook: http://smarturl.it/NOCTE-AudibleVERUM (Nocte #2) links:
Amazon: http://smarturl.it/VERUMAmazon
iBooks: http://smarturl.it/VERUMiBooks
Nook: http://smarturl.it/VERUMBN
Kobo: http://smarturl.it/VERUMKobo
Audible audiobook: http://smarturl.it/VERUM-Audible
September 8, 2015
The Music of My Life
So, I was on my way back from town, driving along in my car, music blaring, minding my own business, when this song comes on. It's not a new song and I'd heard it several times before, but for some reason it just hit me like a ton of bricks that something about it--not necessarily all the words, but the feel of the song--reminded me of me and my hubby. I downloaded it (I know you're not supposed to do things like that when you're driving, but in my defense, I was stopped at a red light when I did it) and I proceeded to listen to it on repeat for the rest of the way home.
I was already in good spirits when I walked in to find my husband making dinner. He looked as handsome as ever, doing something kind and thoughtful for me. Nothing new there. I told him I'd heard this great song that reminded me of us and then played it for him. When the chorus came on, no lie, I broke out in cold chills all up and down my arms. Hubby was looking at me over the stove and it occurred to me (not for the first time) that I love that man so much more than I ever thought I could love another human being. I mean, he is my other half. My better half. He is what makes me happy. He is what keeps me sane. He is what keeps me grounded. He is the person I want to walk through every day of my life with. I want to laugh with him, cry with him, experience new things with him, chase dreams with him. That's no small thing, finding someone that you love that way. And I found it. Found him.
As I listened to that song and we watched each other over the stove, I thought about how we really were born with fire and gold in our eyes. Fire for life, fire for each other. Together, we shine. He makes me shine. I write for y'all, for myself, but I write about him. We are lightning in a bottle. Or at least that's how he makes me feel. He's the kind of happiness that I want to cherish every single day and I hope that every time I play that song, I'm reminded of that. I don't ever want to take him for granted, or take what we have for granted. He's my happy place and, together, we can do anything. He is the music of my life, his love the song I always want to sing. Letting stress or worry or anything get in the way of the happiness he brings me is a tragedy. Nothing is more important than he is (except God, of course. He always comes first), and I realized that if I keep my focus where it needs to be, on the positive rather than the negative, life is pretty dang sweet. Every. Single. Day.
So carpe diem, y'all! Hug your kids, kiss your man, tell your sister you love her. Whoever is important to you, let them know. Wallow in their love. Revel in how blessed you are. Concentrate on the things that matter most. Everything else will take care of itself:)
Peace and love and book boyfriends.
